Authors note: hey there, world! I would like to begin by sadly acknowledging that i do not own Pokemon. Rats! I do, however, own all of the inventive, creative, and ultimately fictional add-ons to the pokemon world that are being used in this story. But no worries, Lawyers! This is purely non profit, and if any profit is being made by this whatsoever it is being done without my consent. You may sue them.

Now, to all readers: the only thing i can tell you for sure is that i am going to put hours and hours of effort into this. Whether or not those hours are rewarding will depend heavily on the responses to what i wright, so please be considerate of that. the other thing i can guarantee is that one chapter a week is probably beyond my abilities, but that i will try my best to please any readers who show interest with consistent up-dating. should you ever lose faith in this stories continuation, just remember that i have the whole plot pre-written, and that i wouldn't have written twenty eight pages of blue print for this thing if i wasnt dedicated. Never lose faith! So please, enjoy this Prologue of the pokonomist, and leave a suggestion or two for me afterwords if you have the time.

THE POKONOMIST

He found it hard to go to bed that night, but sheer force of will and stubbornness drowned out the excitement, and he found himself drifting after only a short while of tossing and turning.

The moment he opened his eyes the next morning, the excitement returned. He prepared for the day with more enthusiasm than five years of schooling had ever invoked in him. And why not? It was, after all, the last month of school, and it was going to stand out from the rest of his years fabulously.

Searching through his wardrobe was always a quick process, and He quickly threw on a black shirt and some equally black pants. In a school where poverty and funding were a large and always present concern, certain pleasures, such as multiple color shirts and pants to choose from, had quickly been Axed. That particular fact had never really bothered him though, and of today of all days the usual complaints did not even enter his mind. Today, it simply didn't matter! The only thing that mattered was his heart pounding with excitement and the knowledge that this was finally it.

The apartment that he slept in was small, but bursting through his door and speeding along the campus, it all seemed small. He felt detached from it as well, as if he had conquered the small school, which was an odd contrast to his usual feelings about the place. The school had been his home, the place that had excepted the young child that he had been when nobody else would, and taken him away from the orphanage. But it had been tough living, always poor, always challenging, and the fact that he had come to the school two years younger than his other classmates had not helped.

And yet, as he sprinted through the outdoor campus, raising an angry cloud of dust in his wake, it was triumph that coursed through his veins and gave him the uncharacteristic urge to leap for joy, even if the others saw. Especially if the others saw. They could disapprove of him, silently or loudly, and in just one month It wouldn't matter. His sprint gained force at the exciting implications.

The main auditorium zoomed into view all too soon, and he, the young man, slowed to a fast walk in front of its arching brown doorway. By the time he pushed through the impressive doors and entered the small, window lit room, his pace had fallen to nervous steps, and another change slowed him even further, until the young man was all but forcing his limbs to move. An iciness had fallen over him at the sight of the room, and at some point between crossing the doorway and entering the isle the excitement had dimmed, replaced instead with an overwhelming sense of anxiety. Reaching the front, he found himself all to eager to sit, and as he did so noticed the room around him with unusual clarity.

The room itself was small for its function, just like everything else the young man could picture of the campus. The auditorium was capable of seating at most sixty people, though only eight would be using it that morning. The front of the room was occupied by a small stage with brown floorboards and a single microphone placed in the very center of it. Very soon, the young man's teacher would walk onto the stage and explain the special curriculum that would dominate every graduating students schedule for the next month.

At least, he assumed it would be his teacher. Their had been no announcement on just exactly who would be the one talking, but their teacher was always responsible for anything to do with them. There were only five teachers after all, one for every grade, and something of a fabled principle who was never seen around campus, but was heard of as off fighting financial battles in the city. A small building near the entrance to the school remained the single solid evidence of the mans existence, but existent or not, the young man was confidant the principle would not be appearing that morning.

In fact, the auditorium remained empty but for the young man, who fell about to anxiously waiting for the others to arrive and the procession to begin.

The silence stretched on in the slow way that time passes when one is continually aware of it, and when the young man looked down at this wristwatch and discovered that only five minutes had passed frustration began to accompany his anxiety. If only the others would come and the thing could start, he could be finished with this terrible waiting! And yet another five minutes passed slowly and painstakingly before a loud creaking noise and a sudden burst of light down the isles announced the presence of another.

Turning his head quickly at the sound, the young man was then relieved at the sight of his old friend and companion, Latif. The other youth had halted upon entering the auditorium, and the young man could tell that his friend was having trouble adjusting to the difference in lighting between the bright and colorful outside world and the darkened room. Waving his arms to alert the squinting Latif, his friend appeared finally to have adapted to the new lighting as a return wave and a grin were sent the young man's way. Latif then sprang into action, moving rapidly down the isles and towards the front of the window lit auditorium, coming to a rest finally next to the young man.

"You're a bit early" he commented, turning to face the young man, who was smiling competitively now back at his friend.

"You too, you know.", he countered, and the two chuckled slightly as they settled back in their chairs and turned to the front. Their friendship had always contained a hint of rivalry, and companionable silence was traditionally never reached before a competitive comment or two. He always won, of course. Silence began to descend on the two, and the young man made to break it, knowing that fits of quietness were all to easy to get stuck in with Latif.

"So...any idea what they've got in store for us?" He asked softly, leaning his ear closer to Latif despite the absolute quite and stillness of the room.

"Oh...hours of torture probably," Latif whispered back, leaning conspiratorially towards the young man, "worse possible scenario, they make us learn something," he continued, playfully adding mock disgust to his words. His friend shook his head in response, the movement exaggerated.

" Ahh...we can only hope they have something more humane in mind. Like drowning" he added thoughtfully, and Latif began to stroke his chin.

"Or kicking us," He expanded, and the young man copied the chin stroking movement.

"With steel toed shoes?"

"Of course. Sharpened, too."

"That would be better."

The two grinned two themselves, chuckling softly in the quite of the Auditorium. The sound echoed undisturbed around them, the only noise piercing the stillness, but the two only had seconds to enjoy the uplifting sound before the door opening drew their attention. A second shaft of light appeared in between the roes of seats, and framed by it stood a young woman, who the two immediately recognized as their fellow classmate and student Alysa. The teen emerged slightly into the room and stayed there for a second, the door to the Auditorium creaking noisily shut behind her as she let her eyes adjust to the darkness.

Squinting around the room, it took a moment for Alysa to see the two young men sitting in the front row staring back at her. Like the two, Recognition was swift, and The young woman peered hopefully around the room for another moment but found herself alone but for the males. Striding reluctantly forward, the teen came to the front row and turned left, eventually seating herself in the corner farthest from Latif and his companion.

The young man sighed, and Latif wondered briefly if it was a sigh of relief or depression as his muscles relaxed. There had always been something of a gap between the two males and their six classmates, from the moment Latif had been accepted into the school. The young man had closed that gap in the first five minutes, providing the shaken and confused kid that he had been with a valuable friendship. He had never figured out why the others had shunned him as they did, whether it was the two year age difference, the strange and foreign name, or how emotionally devastated he was. The only thing that he had managed to figure out was why the young man to his left had not.

Because he was two years younger than the others, because he had a funny foreign name, and most importantly because he had needed a friend, too. And so their class had always been a group of two, with Latif and the young man on one side, and the other six children of their class on the other.

The subject was somewhat touchy for both of them, but after five years of constant togetherness Latif had learned to dislike his fellow classmates for their differences. The two of them had always been slightly silent and withdrawn, and preferred their humor to exaggerate that reclusiveness and to be ever present. The others were crude, sarcastic, and often would single in on one of their own in order to make jokes, mocking the individual close to tears.

Latif despised the lot of them, and if it had been himself sighing it would have unmistakably been a sigh of relief. His friend had more of a history with them than himself however, and it was not in his nature to hate as easily. Latif suspected that deep down, the young man had never quite given up on some sort of harmony between the eight of them, but had found their character differences simply too great of a barrier to scale.

But silence had returned to the room, and the young man began fiddling with his thumbs, completely unaware of his companions thoughts. Latif's silence on the other hand was perfectly apparent to him, and He turned himself away from the far off Alysa to stare at his long time friend. Snapped back to awareness by the young man's attention, Latif saw the beginnings of a question forming on his companions lips, which was thankfully interrupted by the sound of the door opening for a third time.

This time a procession of six poured down the temporarily lit isles, the sudden burst of a noise an unpleasant shift in the previously peaceful atmosphere. The first five, teenagers like Latif the young man and Alysa, entered the building quickly and took up seats beside their friend, animated conversation carrying with them as they walked and gaining Alysa's voice as they sat beside her. The six figure through the door entered slowly.

The man was adorned by a long black cape, the traditional black of everything worn in the school, seen also in the mans black pants and black, long sleeved shirt. To complete the image, black, dust covered shoes had been fitted over the mans rather large feet, and shoulder length black hair drooped down over the mans face. The Man was the classes teacher, Mr. Gershom, and had been so every day for the last five years.

The young man new both why Mr. Gershom moved with a frustrating slow limp and why the man never cut his hair short. Mr. Gershom had been a Pokemon trainer himself for many years, only because he had chosen foolishly to continue as one even after it had become apparent he held no particular talent for the career. Mishap after mishap had scarred and damaged Mr. Gershom's body, but the man had managed to overcome his lack of talent and develop something of a prestigious career.

Because of it, when the man had reached fifty and been forced to quit Pokemon training, his reputation had earned him what no other facility could offer an uneducated, scarred, and lame old man; work. The limp was the result of a Pokemon wound. The long hair was meant to hide the scars on his face.

Limping his way onto the stage, Mr. Gershom from there moved slowly to the mike at the center, every eye in the room focused on his lumbering gait. When at last Mr. Gershom was before the mike, he removed it from it's stand and flipped a switch at the bottom. A low key screeching sound jumped from the sound speakers around the room, and Mr. Gershom tapped the mike twice to make sure the ancient device was still working. The enhanced tapping sound that boomed from the loud speakers attested that it was, and Mr. Gershom cleared his throat before bringing the mike up to his lips and beginning.

"Huh-hem. Good morning," a dull good morning echoed back from the crowd, and Mr. Gershom chuckled slightly , "That all the enthusiasm you can muster for your last month of school? I thought you all hated this place?" He commented teasingly into the mike, and this time a much more enthusiastic response rolled back from the crowd, one man standing up and shouting " YEAH! It sucks here!", all of which drew a couple more chuckles from Mr. Gershom.

"Thats right, your happy to be leaving. Gonna get yourselves screwed over by the world!" Mr. Gershom chuckled much harder at his own joke, and The young man and Latif shared a glance. There was something of a controversy over whether or not their old teacher was likable, and the negative argument was mostly comprised of the fact that he seemed very confidant in the classes collective and imminent death. Whats more, Mr. Gershom laughed shamelessly whenever he brought up the subject, apparently very amused by the whole idea. He was otherwise a very informative, very fascinating man that had made learning an interesting experience for the entire class, but it was hard to get close to a man that seemed to relish in your own demise.

The laughing eventually died out, and Mr. Gershom cleared his throat again before returning to topic.

"Huh-hem. Well, be that as it may, we're still gonna be giving you your trainers license at the end of this month. That is, we will be giving you your trainers license at the end of this month if you survive. Heh heh heh. Huh-hem." Another wry glance at each other at their teachers antics, but the young man and Latif returned their attention to the man just as quick, curious.

"Well, as you all know, they don't let us just send you out into the world as Pokemon trainers. Its tough out there, and we've only got so many of you. In order for you to gain your license, you have to prove yourselves," The young man nodded to himself. Thats what they'd been doing for the past five years after all, building up their knowledge, qualifying themselves for the tasks ahead. But what did they have to do now?

"Well, The traditional way to test someones abilities is to see them perform in action," Mr. Gershom paused, and was staring about the room now with a particularly humorous glint in his eyes that the young man and Latif could only interpret as Ominous.

"Well..." he continued slowly, dragging his eyes once more over the students, "That's the best way to test Young Pokemon trainers as yourselves too, as it turns out. Heh heh heh." Mr. Gershom chuckled dryly to himself once more, and every student in the room froze. The young man felt his mind go blank with the slow onslaught of terror, and felt even more acutely every hair on his body raising as a cold sweat broke over him. What did that mean? Mr. Gershom continued.

" Heh heh heh. Huh-hem. Well, don't worry, to much. Like I said, theres only eight of you going out there this year, and we don't particularly want any of you to die," The young man felt this statement poorly reflected by the amusement on Mr. Gershom's face. "So we've made things easy for you, ya' lucky ducks. Every student will be given three weeks to research what type of Pokemon you think would best qualify as a starter. You can choose one for whatever reason you might have, but were gonna test you for a good one after the three weeks are up, and the criteria you should be choosing it on if you want to pass is personality harmony. No, don't worry, ill explain what I mean by that.

"We want all of you to choose a first Pokemon that you can handle, plain and simple, 'cause your relationship with this one will define every relationship with every Pokemon thereafter. Pokemon are SMART. They can communicate just fine, and if that first Pokemon of yours tells your second that you can't handle him, than that's it. You'll never have the respect of another Pokemon until you get the first one under wraps. So we need you to understand what your capable of. Are you a patient guy? Well, maybe you can handle a Gyarados then, but if you know that your not, don't make a stupid decision like trying one of those out for a starter. They're known for savagely attacking incapable trainers and making us wait an entire digestive cycle to get the body back. Heh heh he. Huh-hem"

"So, like I said, were gonna test you on your decision, and were gonna expect well thought out answers. Anything short of that, and were gonna mill you around this place for another year as a janitor, and hopefully your smarter next time. But if you pass..." Mr. Gershom pause for a moment, and though the young man knew that what was gonna be said next would not be pleasant, Mr. Gershom didn't laugh. He simply stared at the students from behind his black hair for a moment, and then continued.

"But if you pass...than you get the chance to become the Pokemon trainer you've been trying to be for the past five years. The academy will give you one poke ball each, and you will all be lent the use of a terrain capable helicopter. You will then direct the helicopter to any point in Tohoku, where you will have a week to capture your starter. The helicopter will drop you off in the wilderness, and leave you there with a small remote that has a single button on it. The button will send out a signal that calls back the Helicopter. Press it once you have obtained your Pokemon, and the Helicopter will pick you up, and if at the end of the week you still don't have your starter, than you fail and must press it anyways in order to go home."

Mr. Gershom stopped and stared around the class for a third time. The young man sat slumped in his seat, an overwhelming shock just barely managing to hold back his other emotion, fear. Following his teachers gaze, He noticed that Latif had overcome his shock and was visibly shaking with terror, while the other students were all respectively at some point in between. One of them was stuttering unintelligibly.

As the young man observed, the student managed to force down the stuttering and raise his hand tentatively into the air. Mr. Gershom, in the midst of closely studying the students horrified expressions for his own amusement, immediately noticed the hand and gestured for the student to speak.

"Si...sir, what if we misplace the remote somehow, or... its faulty, or breaks. How do we come into contact with the helicopter then?" he said, and the young man could tell from where he sat how difficult the speaker was finding it just to operate his lips. Mr. Gershom stared from under his long brows at the student for a moment, his expression guarded, until moments later a huge grin spread across his face. The student who had spoken flinched harshly back into his seat, and the young man felt his and every other students in the rooms blood run cold.

"You there...I cant see you well in the dark, who's that? Ra'uf?" Mr. Gershom asked, his grin losing some of its force, and the speaker relaxed enough to stutter a response, as the the horrible smile had been aimed at him.

"N...no, sir, I'm Tom. Ra'uf's sitting over there," Tom said, his hand raising hesitantly from his side to point across the room so that the young man suddenly felt every eye in the Auditorium turned temporarily to him. Mr. Gershom leaned forward slightly to gain a better look, then leaned back with an affirming grunt.

"Tom, then, " he said, and class wide attention returned to Mr. Gershom, who had taken his eyes off of him. Ra'uf felt the relief of the attention shift like a heavy block of ice leaving his chest.

Mr. Gershom finished his sweep of the room, and the usual Humorous glint returned to his expression. He continued slowly, savoring the students response. " ...Whether or not you have died, we will consider you dead if you have not pressed the button by the end of that week. Make sure you don't lose or damage the remote, because that's the end for you then, too." Mr Gershom paused a final time to watch the class shudder.

"Heh heh heh. Huh-hem."