Pokémon are creatures of unconfirmed origin, bearing elemental powers of epic proportions. They stand superior to most other animals on the planet, and are to be regarded with utmost respect for their capabilities. Hell, if they all were to join forces tomorrow, it wouldn’t be farfetched to suggest that pokémon could overcome people and take charge of this world. But what have we humans done with these magnificent creatures? Rather than worship them as the gods they are, we have enslaved them, and forced their natures for the sake of petty sport.
Six pokémon to a trainer. Unlimited holding space to store the other, unneeded captives. Billions upon billions of yen invested each year on capture balls, potions, and other devices created for the sole purpose of promoting perverted tyranny over innocent creatures, in the name of greed. And to think, we’re teaching our children that this despicable evil is not only acceptable behavior, but somehow honorable? What have we become? Where is our shame? Whatever happened to virtue?
It must be stopped. It MUST come to an end!
***
"Prepare your ponchos, front row folks, because Brendan's Swampert has just summoned a tidal wave from the field's pool!"
The roaring of the stadium crowd was drowned beneath the mighty echo of rushing water as a wall of water stacked itself between the two pokémon combatants. A gargantuan blue creature leaped upon the Surf attack it had created, and from ten feet below, its rocky opponent stared up with a mingled expression of defiance and horror. One moment later, the massive wall of water smashed relentlessly down upon its victim, crushing the target into the dirt. As the water drained, Swampert stood victoriously over its fallen foe. The referee held up his flag.
"Adamanteres is unable to battle. Swampert is the winner!"
As the stadium erupted into cheers, Hibiki vaguely heard an indignant voice issue from behind him.
"Will you turn that television down? You have the volume up WAY too loud."
"Sorry, Mom," the fourteen-year-old replied without taking his eyes off the luminous screen. "It's hard to keep it constant. The commercials are even louder than this match, and the stupid people in the audience keep screaming at the top of their lungs. Kenta must be going deaf out there."
"Have you seen him yet?" called a masculine voice from behind Hibiki.
"No, not yet, Dad."
"Who's winning, by the way? Birch, or that girl from the Herron Region?"
"Well, Rosette was winning. But now they're tied with-"
***
"-one pokémon left on each side, and the tension is rising as we all eagerly await the sight of Trainer Rosette's final battler!" roared the commentator over the din of the crowd. Down in the stadium's third row, almost indistinguishable from the rest of the spectators, two young men sat side by side waving banners with the Hoenn League symbol stamped upon them. Kenta Nyna, a fairly long-haired man with a youthful face, turned jubilantly to his companion in glasses and a traditional kimono. "You see, Curtis? What'd I tell you, dude? Didn't I say this would be the greatest match ever?"
Curtis Kuchinana, who at age eighteen was a year younger than Kenta, looked down at the mess of popcorn at his friend's feet, which Kenta had spilled when leaping out of his seat at Swampert's defeat over Adamanteres. "I'm glad that your hero is making a comeback," he said collectedly. "But you're acting even less mature than usual, Kenta. I've never seen you so riled up over a match before."
"We should savor every moment of this," Kenta mused, leaning forward in his seat and watching as the female champion from Herron tossed her last pokeball down onto the battlefield. "Dont forget, we're viewing the last big match of the year. The toughest of the tough pokémon."
"And Rosette summons Revelashine, the All-Seeing pokémon!" cried the announcer, as a glowing quadruped with enormous eyes appeared before Swampert. "Well, Brendan has fought this whole match against unfamiliar pokémon from the elusive Herron region, but now his Swampert wages war against a newly-discovered type! Who will take home the trophy; the pride of the Hoenn region, or the first Champion of the mysterious Herron?"
"Time to get the cops' input on this," muttered Curtis with a smirk, eyeing Kenta cheekily. Kenta returned the grin with an apologetic smile. "Now, now, Curtis. That's classified information."
"Oh, bull crap. Come on, Kenta, don't dangle it over my head."
"You're right," Kenta laughed in defeat, "what kind of a friend am I? Alright, the Herron pokedex is still under construction, but we know that there's at least one official new type, possibly the ONLY one. It's called the Light-type, and Revelashine is a third-evolution pokémon of that attribute."
"Uh-HUH." Curtis adjusted his glasses and watched with interest as Rosette's Revelashine charged down the field at Swampert in a burst of golden light. "He looks kind of puny for a third form. What are their stats like?"
"Better than average. You could say he's like an Ampharos, or a Nidoqueen, or critters like that."
"Oh, okay. Basically, he's like the first pokémon you'd get in your party who remains reliable throughout the whole region?"
Kenta took his eyes off the match for a moment to look at Curtis in wonder. "That's actually a really good observation," he marveled. "Are you sure you don't want to come work for Silhouette someday?"
"Nah," said Curtis, watching Swampert bulk up its chest and absorb slam after slam from its glowing foe. "I can't stand taking orders. I get enough from Grandpa already, y'know? He takes more apricorns than he can handle, and then I get stuck with a majority of the load because his hands are getting too old and shaky. He's always yelling at me to- woah, did you SEE that?"
Down on the battlefield, Brendan's Swampert had unleashed Bide, drawing back a fist and mashing it into Revelashine as the glowing ball of light shot past. The skull-shattering blow sent its unlucky target skipping over the field like a flat pebble on water, and only the arena wall brought Revelashine to an abrupt and resounding halt. The crowd let out a collective “ooh!” as they cringed at the brutal attack, and after a few seconds, the referee raised his flag.
“Revelashine is out of the match. The victory goes to Swampert!”
The crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheering, and everyone bounded to their feet. “That’s it!” came the announcer’s excited, booming voice, “This year’s tournament is finished! Brendan Birch of Littleroot Town has defeated Rosette Cedars of Russet Town in the deciding battle for the pokémon international championship, with a final score of six to five! Well done, trainers, well done!”
As the announcer continued to issue congratulations to all of the League finalists of 2007, Kenta took his eyes off the two pokémon gasping on the battlefield and looked instead at their trainers. The defeated Rosette Cedars was no longer on her command platform, but he could see her sliding recklessly down the side of the battlefield wall towards the spot where her fallen Revelashine lay. Her down-turned face was invisible under the hair which covered her eyes, but Kenta could guess she was probably in great emotional pain. Was it from losing the final match? No, too petty. It was Revelashine. How badly hurt was the poor bastard? That final Bide attack had been overkill. He’d been smashed harder by Brendan’s Swampert than almost any other pokémon that Kenta had ever seen in his life.
Almost, but not quite. He’d seen worse.
On the other side of the field, the champion himself stood in a hunched posture with his fingers gripping the safety bars of his platform. Because he was seated much closer to Brendan than to Rosette, Kenta could actually see the young master’s face. Brendan’s eyes were glazed over as though in stupor, yet alive with an absolute battle frenzy. Kenta could see his teeth; though they were bared and clenched tightly together, Brendan appeared to be chewing on something. Being a major fan of Brendan (to the point that he’d actually dressed up as him for the match), Kenta had observed Brendan’s zen-like battle state in the past, mostly through the television set. He chewed nothing during battles, lest it hinder his vocal commands. Yet here he was, chewing on all the pressure that came with a major pokémon battle rather than letting the pressure eat him up. That was the cost of being a good trainer. In order to bond as one with your pokémon, you simply had to empathize with their pain, and bear the emotional grinding mill of six exhausting battles in a row. From what Kenta could tell, Brendan was still catching up from somewhere further back in the battle, perhaps from when his Gardevoir was pressure-hosed by Rosette’s Narwill, or when his Slaking had been incinerated by a devastating Flame Pillar from her Liegorin. He bore the pain from it all. Soon enough, he would also bear the pain of the dentist’s drill for ruining his own teeth.
“Man, what a match!” beamed Curtis, as the spectators around them began heading for the exit. “The ending was a bit anticlimactic, though. I thought Rosette’s last pokémon would’ve lasted a lot longer than that.” He looked at his friend, who appeared to be in a trance as he stared continually out at the battlefield before him. “Hey, Kenta. Kenta. Officer Nyna. Look, that woman’s being harassed by somebody!”
“What? Where?” Kenta tore his eyes away from Brendan and stared intently at Curtis. The latter raised his hands and smiled. “Ha ha, I kid. You were in a daze.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Kenta grinned punched him playfully on the arm. “Don’t do that, man. I thought you were serious.”
“Hey, ow!” complained Curtis, rubbing his arm. “That was hard. You know what? I was about to tell you something good, but I don’t think I will, now.”
“I’m sorry. What is it?”
Curtis pointed down in the battlefield, where a PKTV Network crewman with a camcorder was coming around with the camera pointed at the audience. “Didn’t you say your brother was watching? That guy down there is about to pass us. Since it’s a live broadcast, nothing will be censored . . . want to moon the camera, or give him the finger or something?”
“Nah.” Kenta lowered his head a little and turned to get in line with the retreating crowd, feeling suddenly depressed. “I would have, earlier. But there’s no point now. I’m going to go before the street gets too crowded.”
“Eh? But he’s right here! . . . Kenta!”
*(OOC: Heya, folks. This is only my second time posting a fanfic here, and I hope the copying and pasting from my Word program doesn't mess up too badly in transition. If you like what you're seeing here, I'd just like to remind you that you can actually listen to the audio version if you click the link in my signature. Thank you for taking an interest in little ol' me.)
Six pokémon to a trainer. Unlimited holding space to store the other, unneeded captives. Billions upon billions of yen invested each year on capture balls, potions, and other devices created for the sole purpose of promoting perverted tyranny over innocent creatures, in the name of greed. And to think, we’re teaching our children that this despicable evil is not only acceptable behavior, but somehow honorable? What have we become? Where is our shame? Whatever happened to virtue?
It must be stopped. It MUST come to an end!
***
"Prepare your ponchos, front row folks, because Brendan's Swampert has just summoned a tidal wave from the field's pool!"
The roaring of the stadium crowd was drowned beneath the mighty echo of rushing water as a wall of water stacked itself between the two pokémon combatants. A gargantuan blue creature leaped upon the Surf attack it had created, and from ten feet below, its rocky opponent stared up with a mingled expression of defiance and horror. One moment later, the massive wall of water smashed relentlessly down upon its victim, crushing the target into the dirt. As the water drained, Swampert stood victoriously over its fallen foe. The referee held up his flag.
"Adamanteres is unable to battle. Swampert is the winner!"
As the stadium erupted into cheers, Hibiki vaguely heard an indignant voice issue from behind him.
"Will you turn that television down? You have the volume up WAY too loud."
"Sorry, Mom," the fourteen-year-old replied without taking his eyes off the luminous screen. "It's hard to keep it constant. The commercials are even louder than this match, and the stupid people in the audience keep screaming at the top of their lungs. Kenta must be going deaf out there."
"Have you seen him yet?" called a masculine voice from behind Hibiki.
"No, not yet, Dad."
"Who's winning, by the way? Birch, or that girl from the Herron Region?"
"Well, Rosette was winning. But now they're tied with-"
***
"-one pokémon left on each side, and the tension is rising as we all eagerly await the sight of Trainer Rosette's final battler!" roared the commentator over the din of the crowd. Down in the stadium's third row, almost indistinguishable from the rest of the spectators, two young men sat side by side waving banners with the Hoenn League symbol stamped upon them. Kenta Nyna, a fairly long-haired man with a youthful face, turned jubilantly to his companion in glasses and a traditional kimono. "You see, Curtis? What'd I tell you, dude? Didn't I say this would be the greatest match ever?"
Curtis Kuchinana, who at age eighteen was a year younger than Kenta, looked down at the mess of popcorn at his friend's feet, which Kenta had spilled when leaping out of his seat at Swampert's defeat over Adamanteres. "I'm glad that your hero is making a comeback," he said collectedly. "But you're acting even less mature than usual, Kenta. I've never seen you so riled up over a match before."
"We should savor every moment of this," Kenta mused, leaning forward in his seat and watching as the female champion from Herron tossed her last pokeball down onto the battlefield. "Dont forget, we're viewing the last big match of the year. The toughest of the tough pokémon."
"And Rosette summons Revelashine, the All-Seeing pokémon!" cried the announcer, as a glowing quadruped with enormous eyes appeared before Swampert. "Well, Brendan has fought this whole match against unfamiliar pokémon from the elusive Herron region, but now his Swampert wages war against a newly-discovered type! Who will take home the trophy; the pride of the Hoenn region, or the first Champion of the mysterious Herron?"
"Time to get the cops' input on this," muttered Curtis with a smirk, eyeing Kenta cheekily. Kenta returned the grin with an apologetic smile. "Now, now, Curtis. That's classified information."
"Oh, bull crap. Come on, Kenta, don't dangle it over my head."
"You're right," Kenta laughed in defeat, "what kind of a friend am I? Alright, the Herron pokedex is still under construction, but we know that there's at least one official new type, possibly the ONLY one. It's called the Light-type, and Revelashine is a third-evolution pokémon of that attribute."
"Uh-HUH." Curtis adjusted his glasses and watched with interest as Rosette's Revelashine charged down the field at Swampert in a burst of golden light. "He looks kind of puny for a third form. What are their stats like?"
"Better than average. You could say he's like an Ampharos, or a Nidoqueen, or critters like that."
"Oh, okay. Basically, he's like the first pokémon you'd get in your party who remains reliable throughout the whole region?"
Kenta took his eyes off the match for a moment to look at Curtis in wonder. "That's actually a really good observation," he marveled. "Are you sure you don't want to come work for Silhouette someday?"
"Nah," said Curtis, watching Swampert bulk up its chest and absorb slam after slam from its glowing foe. "I can't stand taking orders. I get enough from Grandpa already, y'know? He takes more apricorns than he can handle, and then I get stuck with a majority of the load because his hands are getting too old and shaky. He's always yelling at me to- woah, did you SEE that?"
Down on the battlefield, Brendan's Swampert had unleashed Bide, drawing back a fist and mashing it into Revelashine as the glowing ball of light shot past. The skull-shattering blow sent its unlucky target skipping over the field like a flat pebble on water, and only the arena wall brought Revelashine to an abrupt and resounding halt. The crowd let out a collective “ooh!” as they cringed at the brutal attack, and after a few seconds, the referee raised his flag.
“Revelashine is out of the match. The victory goes to Swampert!”
The crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheering, and everyone bounded to their feet. “That’s it!” came the announcer’s excited, booming voice, “This year’s tournament is finished! Brendan Birch of Littleroot Town has defeated Rosette Cedars of Russet Town in the deciding battle for the pokémon international championship, with a final score of six to five! Well done, trainers, well done!”
As the announcer continued to issue congratulations to all of the League finalists of 2007, Kenta took his eyes off the two pokémon gasping on the battlefield and looked instead at their trainers. The defeated Rosette Cedars was no longer on her command platform, but he could see her sliding recklessly down the side of the battlefield wall towards the spot where her fallen Revelashine lay. Her down-turned face was invisible under the hair which covered her eyes, but Kenta could guess she was probably in great emotional pain. Was it from losing the final match? No, too petty. It was Revelashine. How badly hurt was the poor bastard? That final Bide attack had been overkill. He’d been smashed harder by Brendan’s Swampert than almost any other pokémon that Kenta had ever seen in his life.
Almost, but not quite. He’d seen worse.
On the other side of the field, the champion himself stood in a hunched posture with his fingers gripping the safety bars of his platform. Because he was seated much closer to Brendan than to Rosette, Kenta could actually see the young master’s face. Brendan’s eyes were glazed over as though in stupor, yet alive with an absolute battle frenzy. Kenta could see his teeth; though they were bared and clenched tightly together, Brendan appeared to be chewing on something. Being a major fan of Brendan (to the point that he’d actually dressed up as him for the match), Kenta had observed Brendan’s zen-like battle state in the past, mostly through the television set. He chewed nothing during battles, lest it hinder his vocal commands. Yet here he was, chewing on all the pressure that came with a major pokémon battle rather than letting the pressure eat him up. That was the cost of being a good trainer. In order to bond as one with your pokémon, you simply had to empathize with their pain, and bear the emotional grinding mill of six exhausting battles in a row. From what Kenta could tell, Brendan was still catching up from somewhere further back in the battle, perhaps from when his Gardevoir was pressure-hosed by Rosette’s Narwill, or when his Slaking had been incinerated by a devastating Flame Pillar from her Liegorin. He bore the pain from it all. Soon enough, he would also bear the pain of the dentist’s drill for ruining his own teeth.
“Man, what a match!” beamed Curtis, as the spectators around them began heading for the exit. “The ending was a bit anticlimactic, though. I thought Rosette’s last pokémon would’ve lasted a lot longer than that.” He looked at his friend, who appeared to be in a trance as he stared continually out at the battlefield before him. “Hey, Kenta. Kenta. Officer Nyna. Look, that woman’s being harassed by somebody!”
“What? Where?” Kenta tore his eyes away from Brendan and stared intently at Curtis. The latter raised his hands and smiled. “Ha ha, I kid. You were in a daze.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Kenta grinned punched him playfully on the arm. “Don’t do that, man. I thought you were serious.”
“Hey, ow!” complained Curtis, rubbing his arm. “That was hard. You know what? I was about to tell you something good, but I don’t think I will, now.”
“I’m sorry. What is it?”
Curtis pointed down in the battlefield, where a PKTV Network crewman with a camcorder was coming around with the camera pointed at the audience. “Didn’t you say your brother was watching? That guy down there is about to pass us. Since it’s a live broadcast, nothing will be censored . . . want to moon the camera, or give him the finger or something?”
“Nah.” Kenta lowered his head a little and turned to get in line with the retreating crowd, feeling suddenly depressed. “I would have, earlier. But there’s no point now. I’m going to go before the street gets too crowded.”
“Eh? But he’s right here! . . . Kenta!”
*(OOC: Heya, folks. This is only my second time posting a fanfic here, and I hope the copying and pasting from my Word program doesn't mess up too badly in transition. If you like what you're seeing here, I'd just like to remind you that you can actually listen to the audio version if you click the link in my signature. Thank you for taking an interest in little ol' me.)