Altered

by EEevee

If you watched the commercials, talked to the trainers or admired the Elites, you get the idea that the world of battling and being the very best there ever was is grand. But how do the pokemon feel about it? Bred as a tool for battle and shuffled around from trainer to trainer. Or worse. What happens to the pokemon that fall through the cracks of this happy little perfect world?

1. Prologue

Title: Untamed

Chapter: Prologue

Author: eeevee

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction that is intended for entertainment purposely only.

Author's note: As NaNoWriMo approached, I realized that I haven't written much in the past 3 years while I have been living in Korea. I decided this year to participate, but I felt I was really rusty. So I decided to do what I've wanted to do for awhile now. I'm re-writing one of my first fanfictions.

Prologue

A sharp gasp tore through the room, echoing slightly off the walls. The small brown fox-like animal gasped again as the skin along her flank rippled violently. She twisted around trying to reach the pain, to sooth it. Anxiously her sand paper tongue flicked roughly across the fur pulling out small tufts. Normally, grooming would calm her, but not now. The pain was too overwhelming. It seeped into all her conscious thought, the drum-like stabs of pain with an undercurrent of dull, thrumming pain riding beneath the surface.

Three tiny creatures huddled to the side of the box. The three cubs were so young that their eyes squinted a milky blue and their little ears were folded over into nubs. Despite hatching from eggs, young pokemon like these needed their mother's milk and care for at least six weeks, when their needle-sharp teeth grew in and their senses functioned.

Despite being unable to see or hear normally, the three cubs were upset. They could sense something was wrong. The two females mewed faintly, pressing tightly against one another and trembled pitifully. The lone male, slightly away from his two sisters, bawled loudly, his little pink mouth shaped in a tiny 'o' of discontent.

The mother couldn't stand it. Every single noise was like a sharp wire of pain cutting through her. She lashed out feebly as the noise, catching the male a solid cuff to the head. Unaware how close he had come to severe injury, if his mother had been at full strength, the male cub howled even louder.

The mother shrunk back, ashamed. She had never struck at her offspring before. But… but she couldn't stand this pain. She pressed against the far wall and looked up beseeching for some salvation.

"Richard, she's getting worse."

The mother panted and curled up tightly while the three cubs wobbled forward on stumpy little legs. She barely noticed them, sucked inward. Her tongue flicked in and out as her ribcage heaved.

"I know. None of the treatments have worked. I fear our concern for the pups may well have killed her. But I assumed it was a mere cold. You know how most mothers are after a litter is born."

A scraping sound and then the top came off of the box. The cubs squealed and crouched down in alarm. The mother gave a plaintive cry, trying to stand up and reach towards the towering faces that stared down at them. She lost her balance and crumpled into a heap of greasy, brittle fur.

"This is awful to watch. What are you going to do?"

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Find a foster mother for the cubs. They are too young to eat real food yet. They need milk for at least two more weeks. I just don't have the kind of time it takes to take care of them myself. I'm too busy to play nursemaid to a couple of baby eevees."

"My niece could take care of them." The second voice offered, "She enjoys doing things like that. She wants to be a pokemon nurse when she grows up. It'll be good experience for her, right?"

A large hand descended into the box. The cubs hissed and tried to run away. The large fingers curled around their golden-brown, pudgy middles and the two females dangled passively. The hand disappeared for a moment then came down for the male. He was already tripping his way towards his mother. He crouched down in front of her and spat again. The hand simply scooped him up while another hand reached over to touch the mother. It ran lightly across her head and spine. She groaned at the known touch then whirled around as it became alien. The hand, though, made a calculated jerk back and a rumbling sigh pressed down around the little brown animals.

"What about the mother?"

"We'll do what we can, but sometimes all you can do is give them a little mercy at the end."