(Disclaimer: I do NOT condone segregation, and this story is NOT intended to support segregation. This story contains themes which may be offensive to some people. Pokemon and its trademarked characters do not belong to me.)
Segregation Now, Tomorrow, Forever
I had a dream.
Last night. Memories of the past came to haunt me. Amanda, the human, came to haunt me. She grabbed my thin black paws, preventing me from walking out the door of her house.
"Don't go…please." Amanda was crying. Kneeling at the doorstep, begging for me not to go.
"Zoru…zorua…" I told her. I must leave you. It's something I have to do.
"Why won't you stay with me!? I'm your trainer!" Amanda grew hysterical.
"Zoru…zorua? Heh." What kind of human are you, so afraid of being alone? Why're you so afraid?
"I can't go on by myself! Please…!"
"Zoru…zoru zorua." What have you ever done for me?
"And I took such good care of you, did I not?"
"Zoru…zorua." Like hell you did, you little bitch. I spit on her. Although she didnn't understand my words, I'm she could sense my anger as I walked out of the door and into the night. I would never see Amanda again.
It was so nice to see Amanda weep for me, to fall to knees for me. For once, the human was at the mercy of the pokémon. It was liberating. And such a feeling remained in me until I had walked a good 200 or 300 yards down the street.
Then I became afraid. I was deep in the human quarter of Castelia. Granted, it was late and the streets were desolate. But if a human police officer caught a pokémon alone and without a human-approval pass (called a Ticket), they were liable to be detained and likely killed, their body parts sold on the black market. Zorua fur was in high demand as fur coats.
Suddenly, I heard a voice. "Excuse me—"
"AAAH!" I screamed loudly, but I did not worry because the sound I made resembled that of a young human.
I turned back. "Oh…phew…it's you, Alison." I said to the servine who was behind me.
"Yes, it's me. You're all right. So it went well?"
"Yes. I left Amanda, my trainer," I said in the pokémon tongue. Although Alison and I both speak the human language, we (as most independent educated pokémon do) prefer to retain our pokémon language in casual conversation.
"Heh, welcome to the club. We better get outta here soon. Oh boy, you don't have a Ticket! You're gonna get caught like that!"
"No, but why should I—"
"Haven't you learned anything, Cory?" she scoffed. "You can write human language, right!? You can write up a fake Ticket yourself in a pinch. Here, I have an extra…put it on. Quickly. I think someone's coming."
"Hey!" I heard a human voice call. "What the hell are you two doing out here?" The police officer approached the two of us.
"Should I attack?" I whispered to Alison.
"Erm…n-n-not yet. S-s-save your energy." Her voice trembled.
"Are you afraid?" I scoffed a little, but it did not ease my fears.
"N-n-no. I'm n-n-n-n-not afraid…" the servine was lying.
We watched as the police officer picked up his truncheon. He stepped closer. It was silent, but my heart was pounding.
I shot a dark pulse on him.
"Run, run, quickly!" Alison yanked me with her vines. "You shouldn't be so hasty. You know what happens if you're caught attacking a human."
It was death, sooner or later. If their trainer did not claim the pokémon (and likely accept the police's suggestion of the death penalty for their pokémon), a mob of vengeful police officers would trap the pokémon in a special "Move Sapping Fluid", formerly added to pokeballs to hunt and kill pokémon for their furs or flesh. For a pokémon, it is the equivalent of suffocation. After death, the fluid is washed off with a powerful solvent that also acts as a disinfectant. The pokémon body is then used for various purposes.
After about thirty minutes of running, safe from the police officer, Alison and I arrived at the fringes of the pokémon quarter. A barbed wire fence (purely symbolic; any pokémon could easily cross it with a basic attack) divided the two sections. Looking from the human district side, you can see a long row of metal signs, all saying the same thing in big red letters:
WARNING: BEYOND THIS POINT IS THE POKÉMON DISTRICT. THE POKÉMON IN THIS AREA ARE WILD AND DANGEROUS. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CROSS THIS FENCE. REPORT ANY ATTACKS AT 0014 5521.
Alison used her vines to help me cross the fence. On the pokémon district side of the fence, there are no signs posted; they figure that placing signs for illiterate pokémon is a waste of time. On the metal backs of the signs (facing the pokémon district) were small notes scribbled by the pokémon living here:
DESTROY THE FENCE!
PARTY AT 17TH SECTOR AT SUNDOWN COME AS YOU ARE.
SERVINE ALISON LOVES SHINX TANYA.
COMMUNITY RALLY BEHIND THIS SIGN TOMORROW MORNING AT SUNRISE LED BY ZORUA CORY.
Paper was not available, so the metal backs of the signs were the best place to send written messages.
Who are we? We are the forgotten minority of many major cities in Unova: the independent, non-trainer pokémon class, in the gray area between the "civilized" pokémon with human trainers and the "savage" wild pokémon that live deep in the tall grass. Aside from the pokémon tongue, we all can speak, read, and write in the human language, which most clearly differentiates us from any other group.
Who are "independent", "non-trainer" pokémon, you may ask? It depends. Some are pokémon who have been released by their trainers, but cannot assimilate back into the wild. Others are merely the descendants of that generation. And a few, like myself, are wild pokémon who have chosen to assimilate into human culture: learning to read and write, work in an educated society, and to lead a life away from the unforgiving conditions of the wild.
What is our cause? We seek the rights and privileges that our human equivalents appreciate, yet deprive us from: equal access to food, shelter, and tangible power.
And furthermore, we believe we cannot let our progress as pokémon be left at the mercy of humans. We must seek our own self-improvement—and therefore we condemn the practice of human trainers, even when they feed their pokémon well and never hurt them in those barbaric things they call "battles". What is benevolence when the human trainer perpetuates upon his pokémon this contemptible system of slavery?
Unlike other pokémon involved in the cause, I have a unique perspective on things: as a zorua, I frequently transform myself into a human (my unique ability of human speech carries over into my human form) and walk around the human quarter, smuggling supplies and information back into the pokémon district. To my human friends, I am also known as Cory.
One afternoon, I was walking with Arlene, a young college-age girl I had befriended as a human. Her parents were one of the wealthiest in Unova, in the business of selling pokémon furs and hides for clothing and fashion accessories.
"I like your outfit, Cory," Arlene said about my denim jacket and skin-tight dark wash jeans. As a zorua, I can craft whatever appearance suits my imagination.
"Gee…thanks," I said. "Hey, would you like to get something to eat?"
"Erm…sure," Arlene said. "But I've gotta be done by 2pm, I've got weekend classes."
I pulled out my smartphone. "We could try the noodle shop just down the street. Their service is fast."
"Oh, but dad says I shouldn't go there. He says pokémon-sympathizing scalawags go eat there. Let's go to the French restaurant."
"But it's five miles away."
"Well, let's take the car. Here, let's go." She went over to her car, and drove to the restaurant.
We were stuck in traffic for much of the drive. On one stretch of road, no more than 200 or 300 yards of travel took a mind-numbing thirty minutes to traverse. I thought about how it took me only a few minutes as a zorua to travel that distance—on foot.
But the true irony was that the glass and metal walls of the car trapped by laughter, the paved lanes of asphalt trapped our journey, the schedule of the day trapped our time. I laughed.
"What's so funny?" Arlene asked, sitting behind the wheel.
"It's a free society," I lied. "I can laugh whenever the hell I want."
It was a fifty minute drive across five miles of congested roads. Arlene parked the car at the nearest spot, but it was still about a 100 yard walk to the restaurant, down a rather desolate back street.
Suddenly, I heard a scream in the pokémon language. "Eee…eeevee!" Help me!
Arlene looked at me strange when I reacted. "It's just a pokémon, Cory," she said, oblivious as to the meaning of the sound. "Probably the mating season or something."
I turned down a street to see what was going on. Three human police officers were kicking the eevee in the street. One used a truncheon to hit the eevee, disabling it with pain. At the same time threatened the eevee to move with a powerful fire hose. The third one simply kicked the eevee, the blood from its injuries making an erratic trail on the pavement.
"Eeevee…veee! Vee…!" He cried in the pokémon langauge. Stop! Stop kicking me! I'm innocent! I didn't do anything!
"Stop squealing, ya little piece of shit, you'll wake up the whole neighborhood!" one officer screamed (quite ironically) loudly as he kicked the eevee another time.
Finally, the eevee gave in. He blurted out in the human language, "I tell you, I have my Ticket! I lost it."
The officer was shocked, if only for a moment. "Well looky looky, what do we have here, a talking pokémon! Calling Dr. Frankenstein…you fucking disgrace!" He kicked the eevee hard.
"STOP!" I heard a female human voice. "Have you no shame? Treating a pokémon like that?" It was a young lady, not that different from Arlene in terms of looks.
The police officer was angry, but took care not to ill-treat a lady. "Miss, this…creature…"—he pointed—"…is no pokémon. It's a talking pokémon; a mockery to his own kind and a travesty of humankind. It deserves no less than what his status demands."
"He is a living thinking being."
"It was walking unsupervised, and not wearing a Ticket."
"Oh, is that the case then!? Well…I…I am the eevee's trainer."
"You don't have to protect me, miss," the eevee interjected. "I know you're not my trainer. I have no trainer."
"Silence, you scum!" the officers clubbed the eevee's head. "And you, miss…I could have you arrested for trying to house a non-trained pokémon."
"I don't care, take me." She held out her wrists. "I planned on doing it and I'd be willing to do it again."
The police officer merely shrugged and cuffed the lady. I watched as she walked away, not even batting an eye.
"Are you afraid?" I muttered to myself. I let my slender human figure lean against the brick wall of a building.
I walked over to the storm drain just down the street. Sure enough, there was the eevee's Ticket. I looked at the crooked handwriting. The eevee had probably written up the fake Ticket himself, grabbing the unwieldy pen with his mouth.
"Are you all right, Cory? Were you hurt?" Arlene came around the street corner to see if I was all right. By the time she arrived, the officers had cleared away the eevee's body and washed away the blood with a fire hose. The only evidence of anything happening was the water-soaked pavement.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I told her.
She laughed. "All these pokémon cause a real ruckus, don't they? Thinking they're all fighting for some noble cause. They're savages, for heaven's sake. Savages by birth. And they even dare to ask for freedom.
"If you ask me, segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever: that's how it should be," she chuckled almost too casually. We arrived at the doorstep of the French restaurant. "Well? Shall we go eat?"
"Erm…I'll pass. I'm not feeling very well," I admitted.
"My pokémon friends, the time for freedom has come," I began. It was the community rally in the pokémon district, and I, as a zorua, was giving a speech on behalf of our cause.
"Yesterday, an eevee from in the pokémon district was brutally assaulted and killed by the cursed human police. Now, he is one of thousands who have suffered—but as tempted as we are to making him no more than a number on the body count, we shall not his death go unavenged.
"Do we let these grievous injustices go unheard? Do we succumb to the will of the abominable police officer, the abominable human? And so I ask you, my pokémon friends, are you…afraid? Are you afraid? For that is our greatest enemy, my friends. Will we wage war against the feeble human? Or battle the barrier that is our own cowardice!?"
The audience roared. Pokémon of all types, colors, and shapes united to our cause. And for one moment, there was not a shred of doubt in my mind that we would succeed.
"All water type pokémon, assemble to the front for water collection." The pokémon district of Castelia has agreed to boycott the city's water supplies, as it was found that untreated wastewater was piped to the district while the human households received drinkable water.
"Please…Zorua Cory…I can't…I don't have any more water…" a squirtle complained to me.
"Keep going…you must have some more…a lot of pokémon are thirsty." With some encouragement, he was able to sustain his water gun for one more minute, filling up the holding tank. The water boycott puts a tremendous stress on these pokémon, but it is all part of our cause.
The pokémon district in theory has piped water, electricity, and sufficient food supply. This is the humans' claim that humans and non-trainer pokémon are treated "equally". But the water system is not reliable, as I have previously mentioned. Electricity is of little use to us: fire types and electric types are quite plentiful for cooking, heating, and illumination, and I myself am well adapted to see in the dark.
Food supply is erratic at best. We have been condemned to settle in a former industrial wasteland, where the erosion is so severe that agriculture is all but impossible. Not even grass dares to grow on the thick layer of toxic mud. Our groundcover is a field of hastily-made corrugated metal shacks, which trims itself when one stubborn pokémon builds too many floors and they are crushed to death by the collapsing structure.
When the humans do not arrive with their food supply truck, the humans fabricate excuses along these lines: the road conditions were too muddy, the pollution was at too dangerous a level to go outside. Some pokémon had the stupidity of repairing the road into the district and cleaning up the surrounding pollution in hopes that the food supply truck would arrive.
I reprimanded them for doing this, saying no human can ever help us. But how can I blame them? I heard that humans used to do goofy dances in hopes of more rain on their fields and a plentiful harvest.
My neighbor, Dewott Marcel, walked into my shack later that evening. "Zorua Cory, my dear mate is suffering from lack of food and sickness from the pollution. I was wondering if you as community leader, had some food."
"Why yes, I think I do…" I grudgingly got up. I am no better off when it comes to the quantity of food I have access to (humans can cut off the food supply trucks without warning), but as a dark type I can go for long periods without food. "Here is some: canned conch meat, some beans, and a bit of corn flour. As for the pollution, I'll call over a gastly to take care of your mate."
"Th-thank you," Marcel seemed quite surprised. Using his scalchop, he quickly cut the metal lid on the conch meat, and took a bite. "But won't you have nothing to eat?" He noticed that I had given away my entire food supply to him.
"C'mon, I'm a dark type, I can withstand hunger," I said as my own stomach growled. Even being a dark type, I had not eaten for the past two days. "Besides," I thought out loud, "I went hungry for far longer periods in the wild."
"That's not the point, Cory. Why are we planning a boycott on human food supply?"
I had thought about something along those lines at the last community rally. I avoided the subject. "Marcel, I am giving you food now. I don't understand your complaint."
"You know what I'm talking about," the dewott said. "You were born in the wild too. I came to Castelia hoping to have a new life. But what kind life is this? What food can you find in the warehouses? What food can you grow in this crummy dirt? What shelter is the crummy corrugated metal shacks we live in? How is this any better than the wild?"
"It's…it's all part of our cause," I said, admitting tacitly the food boycott that was being planned. "We must free ourselves from human dependence."
"It's all starving the entire population. You're letting your damn pride get in the way of feeding your pokémon comrades."
"I—"
"In that sense, you're no better than the humans that are oppressing us," he concluded as he left my shack. It was almost nighttime, and I could only see his silhouette.
I returned to the human district of Castelia that morning. I transformed into a small boy, and visited a restaurant in one of the most affluent sections of Castelia.
Thinking about the night before without food, I ordered a very large meal that day. But seeing the stack of thick pancakes with butter and the fried potatoes and the scrambled eggs and the coffee and the sugar to put in it must have put me into shock. I regretted not being able to finish it all.
I cried so hard when I watched the cooks in the kitchen throw away my food waste into the trash can. I was so tempted to run after my plate and dive into the dustbin, so I could save some scraps for my starving pokémon comrades on the other side of the fence.
"Erm…excuse me," the older lady sitting at the table across from me tapped my shoulder. I flinched.
"Y-y-yes…?" I stammered, so as to sound afraid.
"Are you just eating here, hun, all by yerself?"
"Yes."
"Where're your parents, honey?"
"I…I don't know where they are." I looked around, tears lining my eyes. I was actually quite convincing.
"You…you want me to help you find them?"
"N…no, you can't."
"You can't?"
"Yes," I said. I made up a story. "Have you heard of the other side of the fence?" It was a euphemism for the pokémon district. The people of Castelia didn't like to talk about their city's greatest sin.
"Why yes, I have, dear," the old lady said.
"Well, my Mommy and Daddy went to the other side of the fence. I never saw them again."
She gasped. "Oh my lord that's terrible! Did they ever find them?"
"Mommy bled to death. Daddy got mauled by a luxio."
"Those savages…" she cursed under her breath. "When will they ever learn." She turned to me. "How long ago was this, dear?"
"Yesterday."
"Good lord! Well I'm terribly sorry, dear. Do you have anyone taking care of you now?"
I shook my head.
"Well, you can visit my house anytime, dear, if you need anything. Here's my address and phone number." She handed me a slip of paper. "I'm retired with nothing to do, so you won't be bothering me."
I smiled. I lost the strength to speak. Trembling, I quickly walked out of that restaurant.
In a dark alleyway nearby, I quickly shapeshifted into a male adult human. This little boy disguise had caused me enough trouble.
Before I could blink, I happened to chance by Arlene. "Hey Cory!" she said, smiling. "What're you doing here?"
"Erm…I was just in the neighborhood, wanted to stop by."
"Come, Daddy just picked up a beautiful new pokémon for sale. You wanna come see…?" she did not wait for answer. Her excitement was beyond control—she clutched my wrist and dragged me down the street to her father's company headquarters.
I ought to have spit at the doorstep of the fifty-floor glass skyscraper—a cold, callous symbol of the inveterate destruction of pokémon kind.
Arlene dragged me into the elevator, and through the labyrinthine halls of the building. It took me a while to realize, in the air conditioned air of the building, how warm Arlene's hands were, warm with excitement. And how nice it was for her to hold me. She was so beautiful.
My fantasies were disturbed when we arrived at the room. The room was soundproofed, but a large window of one-way glass allowed me to see inside. Two people were inside: Alison's father, and an assistant, wearing the full surgical garb. A large glass tub was slowly filled with Move-Sapping Fluid, the liquid gradually suffocating the pokémon inside. It was Alison. She was going to be killed to make a servine-skin handbag.
"I…I know that pokémon," was all I muttered.
"You do?" Arlene heard what I said.
"Y-yes." I made up a story. "Th-that savage pokémon attacked me l-last n-night in the s-street."
"Well, all the more exciting for you then. C'mon, let's go inside!" She giggled, as if she was attending an opera or a summer picnic. Suddenly, Arlene's had felt cold to the touch.
She opened the door and we stepped inside. "HEY DADDY!" she screamed, so as to be heard over Alison's blood-curdling cries.
"AAAAAH!" The servine screamed, and continued to scream.
"HOW YOU DOIN', SWEETHEART!" he went to hug his daughter. "SO SORRY 'BOUT THE NOISE, DEAR, ONE THE FLUID GETS UP TO HIS MOUTH, IT WON'T BE SO LOUD!"
"AAAAAH!" Alison screamed.
"AWW, IT'S ALL RIGHT, DADDY! THANKS!"
"AAAAAH!" Alison screamed.
"MY FRIEND CORY WANTS TO WATCH! IS IT OKAY, DADDY!?" I wanted to correct Arlene, but I was too paralyzed with terror to even whimper.
"AAAAAH!" Alison screamed.
"YEAH, OF COURSE, DEAR! YOU TWO KIDS TAKE A SEAT!"
I did not sit down. I watched as Alison slowly sunk into the fluid. Her eyeballs could move. She could recognize my usual human appearance. I can still hear that scream rattling through my mind today. I can still hear her saying, in the human language: "CORY! CORY! CORY!"
"NO HUMAN'S GONNA SAVE A LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT LIKE YOU!" Arlene's father shouted in the ear of the servine.
"STOP!" I finally screamed. "STOP ADDING FLUID!"
Alison's screams were a little quieter. She looked at me.
"WHY THE HELL, CORY!?" Arlene's father was looking at me suspiciously. I subconsciously touched my collar, which was usually covered in soft, comforting fur.
I spoke in his ear. "If you don't mind, I…I wish to…torture her alone. She owes a…particular debt to me."
He sighed. "As…as you wish."
When Arlene, her father, and the assistant left the room, I could still hear Alison breathing. She was submerged upright, but the fluid had reached up to the bottom half of her eyes. Her head was still twitching.
I waited for 15 seconds. When I was confident that they had left, I went up to the glass window and pulled down the roller shade. That took about 5 seconds. I walked towards Alison, suffocating in the tub of fluid. It was about a 10 meter distance. As a zorua, I could have gone faster, but in my human form it took 5 seconds for me to walk that distance.
By the time 25 seconds had passed, Alison had died. Her eyes were frozen in position—looking at me.
"Are you afraid?" I could hear her ghost asking me.
I let Alison die. All because I was afraid.
And so I have resolved to tackle my mission fearlessly. Soon the pokémon shall rise. Soon we shall flood through the gates of the citadel of corrupt human institutions, and bring forth a new liberated order. For the only walls that exist in this great city are the paper-thin walls surrounding the filthy rich of the human quarter of Castelia.
And they will soon cave in.
(END)
(Thanks for reading. I would appreciate any comments/concerns/criticisms you may have. If you liked this story, please check out the accompanying story, "The Pokemon Manfiesto".)