Author's Notes: Thank you for choosing to read this story.
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon (of course), nor do I own the song "Baba O'Riley," by the Who, to which this story owes its name. Nor do I own "Welcome to the Machine" by Pink Floyd, to which this arc owes its name.
Finally, tremendous thanks go out to user AureliusX-3c33 for beta-reading the story.
07:00 - October 9th, 2007
"Good morning, and thank you all for joining us today! This is Jubilife TV News: the news that comes directly to you. I'm your host, Pete Goodman, and if you're watching this, I'm so glad you've tuned in to us today. How are you feeling? Feel free to call in at any time and tell us what's on your mind, and we'll try our hardest to give you a listen! Today's date is October 9th, the time is seven o'clock exactly, and according to our wonderful weather team's ever-reliable Castform Weather Forecast, expect a cloudy day with spots of sunshine throughout. To kickstart the news, then, our top story for today: GERECHT have promised a full investigation of the area surrounding the meteor that landed in the Battle Zone two days ago..."
A new day was dawning in the city of Jubilife. The sun ascended above the cluster of towering buildings, climbing above the thick clouds to peer upon the world below, gazing upon the melodious splendor of the city. A symphony of footsteps, speech and noise echoed throughout the city as people and Pokémon alike went about their days in peace and harmony. As usual, the clowns of the Pokétch company performed their riddles, gifting their wares to starry-eyed young trainers as they prepared to head off on their journeys. Likewise, the Pokémart in town prepared to open its doors for the day, as did the trainer school, each offering their services to the people of the region. The city's TV station began its daily morning broadcasts, telling the people of Sinnoh the news for the day, providing them entertainment. All in all, it was an average day for most of the people of Jubilife City.
Among these people was a young man who was coming to his senses after a night of little sleep.
Groggily opening his eyes to a world of haze and blur, he raised a sore arm from beneath his torso, drawing debris from his eyes as his index finger and thumb rubbed across his dry, heavy eyelids. The skin atop his thumb gave quite an unpleasant sensation as it came over his short thumbnail, aching as it dug into his bitten, worn down nail - he'd made it a point to try and get out of doing that. Slowly rising into a sitting position in his bed, he yawned and looked around. Light was creeping in through his curtains, black and punctuated with Pokéball decals. It peered through, shining onto a navy blue t-shirt and jeans sprawled across the floor. From his bed, he could just about hear the familiar buzz of his parents' television in the next room. Slowly stretching as his mouth went agape to let out another yawn, he stopped midway as his baggy, brown eyes widened. Something dawned on him.
Today was the day. The day he was due to begin his adventure and become an official Pokémon trainer. License, Pokédex, badge case, neat hat, the whole nine yards.
A gasp left his mouth as, in an instant, a wide, open-mouthed beam sprung to each cheek. He practically flung himself out of bed in his haste to get ready for his journey, a bundle of flailing limbs as he leapt across his room. He'd packed last night, but it didn't hurt to be sure everything was there. Back up clothes? Check. Food and water for the next week? Check. Wallet? Check. Sleeping bag? This was going to be a hell of a heavy backpack, but regardless, check. The bracelet? ...Where was the bracelet? Crap. His hand fumbled across the nooks and crannies of his bag. It was a miracle the bag was holding itself together, not tearing at the seams; yet he didn't seem to have the most important thing. That bracelet had been with him since he was a child, and he'd be damned if he wouldn't give it back to its owner, or at least, what it even was.
As long as he could find it. His hand grasped around until he made contact with it, as he pulled it out. Yeah, this was it. He double-checked the text on the outside of it. 'Evelyn,' it read, in faded red letters. He couldn't help but wonder who, or what, this Evelyn was. What was it written in, too? It seemed like a pencil crayon or something. Nevertheless, there it was, safe and sound, and he thought he knew where he'd find the original owner. He tucked it into a side compartment, ensuring it wouldn't get lost.
Regardless, though, everything seemed to be in order. He glanced at his clock. Half past nine.
Oh, crap, I'm gonna be late!
Panicking, he flung himself into the bathroom with all the speed and grace of a Deerling on ice.
"Connor…? What are you doing up and about so early? The professor's office doesn't open until ten," came a fatigued, feminine groan from his parents' room as the shower started running.
Early?! What're you on about? I have half an hour to shower, dress myself and run to the next town, you mad woman! thought Connor to himself, his heart pounding as his mind went into overdrive. His mother was never in bed this late, too - something was definitely up. Had everyone overslept? Impossible. Short of a Hypno somehow breaking into the house, there was no way his mother would be in bed past half eight. Unless she had the day off. No, that wouldn't happen - he cast his mind back to last night when she explicitly stated she wished that this was the case.
Come to think of it, Pete Goodman's news report always began at seven in the morning, without fail. That realization was quickly followed up by another one - he'd forgotten to put batteries in his clock last night. He dropped his shoulders and gave a relieved "phew," mimicking a sweatdrop.
"Connor?" came the voice again.
What was he going to say? That he forgot to put batteries in his clock? Nah, that was why they bought batteries in the first place - what was the point in buying them if they weren't going to be used? Besides, he'd come off as lazy. But what else could he say? His mother was waiting for a response - think, Connor, think!
"Heh, well… it never hurts to be ready on time, does it?" he called back, unable to suppress neither an awkward grin and raised an eyebrow from sprouting upon his face, nor the air of uncertainty, of faux-confidence in his voice.
There was a pause, before Connor let out a soft sigh, flaring his nostrils.
...Really? What is wrong with you?
Nevertheless, he stepped into the warm shower. He quite liked showers. The water was relaxing as it went down his back, he was rarely disturbed and it was always a plus, he thought, to have his thoughts to himself. Thoughts about the day ahead, about his Pokémon. About the journey that lay ahead of him. As much fun as it was going to be, there were certain things he was going to miss about being at home - the showers, for one. With all the nights he'd be spending outside, camping and whatnot, he wouldn't be able to have these showers as often. He'd have to rely on hotels for things like this, and even then, there was no telling how often he'd come across them… well, there was, but in Connor's hype for an adventure, he'd forgotten to check. Typical, he thought, but not the end of the world. He'd relegated himself to crossing that bridge when he got there.
Besides, showers were not at all why he'd chosen to head out on this adventure. Far from it. No, it was the freedom to leave home, to see the world, to meet new Pokémon and become closer to his own, become stronger as a trainer, as a person. As for making new friends, well… he always had his Pokémon. He wasn't really too keen on other people, truth be told. Never really got around to making friends when he was younger. Usually stayed indoors. There was that one asshole who just wouldn't leave him alone, always ripped into him when he had the chance. What was his problem? Still, it'd been a while since they'd last met. With any luck, they wouldn't meet again.
He poured out some shampoo and prepared to wash his messy, dark brown hair as it fell over his eyes like limp noodles.
Even if they did meet, though, he finally had a Pokémon to protect himself. His first Pokémon. Finally, he was going to have someone he could speak to in the knowledge they would listen, someone he could travel with and grow alongside, a friend he knew wouldn't judge him. So what if it was something like a Kricketot or a Starly? That was of no concern to him. No Pokémon was perfect, after all; everyone had their own strengths and weaknesses. Connor's first priority was ensuring he had a friend that could fight for him, and he'd always believed in one thing: true strength was having a cause to fight for. Only after that did the ability to win and lose come into it.
But Connor wasn't strong, and he knew it. As far as causes went, "wanting to be stronger" was hardly anything special. Millions of people had set off on journeys for that same reason, to varying degrees of success. What did he have that they didn't? Was he just destined for mediocrity, or worse, failure? Connor looked down, downcast, his wet hair flopping over his head. In the grand scheme of things, he was nothing; to the rest of humanity, he was nothing but a scared teenager who liked Pokémon. What could he possibly do to change that, if he couldn't even bother to get used to other people? This whole adventure was doomed from the start, and nothing he could do would ever change the fact he was merely… mediocre. Then there was the matter of the bracelet, too. What if he couldn't give it back to its owner? What if he lost it on the way? What if they'd completely forgotten about it, anyway, and keeping hold of it for so long was completely futile? Honestly, outside of sentimentality, he couldn't think of any purpose it could serve. Maybe it wasn't worth finding the owner; a long, menial venture into mediocrity and uselessness.
No. That wasn't going to happen, thought Connor, defiantly tucking the hair over his eyes back. It wasn't going to be an easy journey, that was for sure, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let himself fail. So what if he wasn't a people person? The sole measurement of how good a trainer was was his skill with Pokémon, and he didn't spend all that time as a child locked in his bedroom reading about Pokémon for nothing. Just as long as he could build a bond with his Pokémon, win some battles, that was all that mattered. That was all he had to do. That, and give the bracelet back. How hard could it be?
It was the least he could do. After all, if his hunch was correct, they saved his life, all those years ago.
With a defiant smile, he shut off the shower, threw his clothes on, and marched downstairs to get himself some breakfast.
"So, yer finally becoming a trainer, eh, son?"
The voice greeting him was his dad's. It was gruff, yet warm, with a hint of concern. A hint of concern that seemed to fly completely over Connor's head, as he merely nodded with a smile.
His father looked straight down at him with contemplative green eyes, before sighing. Connor knew what was coming next, and couldn't help but roll his eyes in anticipation.
"Are ye sure yer ready? Look, I get that you really like Pokémon and all, but, if I'm bein' honest, I don't really know if yer ready just yet. The real world can be a tough place and all, and I get that yer growing up and all that, but… ye do know that ye are gonna have to swallow yer pride and meet new people, right? 'Sides, Pokémon are way different to look after than ye think. Some of 'em are more powerful than ye could ever believe, and ye might end up gettin' yerself hurt badly… or worse. Battles are hard work, too, Connor, and we don't want ye injurin' yersel-"
Connor's look gradually became more withering as his father's lecture went on. This certainly wasn't the first time he'd heard this whole spiel, and, truth be told, he really wished his parents would just stop worrying. His father was not oblivious to these hints, and stopped in his tracks, moving to put a hand on his son's shoulder. Connor recoiled back in response, shooting his father a glare. His dad considered this, giving him a concerned look and a firm half-smile as he retracted his hand.
"...Son, if yer absolutely set on it, then, then I mean who am I stop ya, heh heh... but… but I really do think ye should reconsider."
Connor glanced away as he went a soft shade of red. "I mean… I appreciate the concern and all, but, uhm…" he began in a murmur, before sighing and taking a deep breath as he looked his dad in the eyes, a determined flicker in them. "I'm sixteen, Pops; I promise you, I can handle it. Really. What's the worst that's going to happen? I might get a few bruises here and there, but, y'know, that's just part of the experience. Besides, I've been avoiding other people for as long as I can remember. It won't be that hard to keep it up out there."
"Mhm. So ye've no problem with fighting others? For yer gym badges, and whatnot," replied his father, monotonously.
This had been a concern of Connor's. In all honesty, gym battles were not an aspect of the trainer experience he was looking forward to. The mental aspect of it all seemed quite… troubling; after all, he was never good at sussing people out, nor was he any use at mind games. But it could grow on him over time, he thought with a hint of optimism; perhaps it was something he'd get used to? Hopefully, it was something he'd get used to. Reflecting upon this, he felt a nervous chuckle bubble within him, about to escape his lips. But he couldn't let himself show this. No, as he prepared his response, he knew his father had to be convinced he was confident.
"Well, we'll just have to cross that bridge when we get there, won't we?" Connor chuckled, nervously.
Why are you the way that you are? thought the trainer.
"...Right, right. If y'insist, son," replied his dad, quite apprehensively, before being met with a third, feminine voice heading down the stairs.
"Good lord, Michael, I ever tell ya that you worry too much? He'll be fine, relax," replied the voice incredulously. It was Connor's mother, looking at her husband with a raised eyebrow and light-hearted grin. "Now, go and get the thing from the kitchen."
The thing? Connor tilted his head, giving his mother a questioning response. Nevertheless, his father sighed and stepped back, his hands raised. "Sorry, dearie. I'll go fetch it fer 'im now. Just... Connor, be safe out there, please. Mmkay?" he sighed before heading into the kitchen, as his wife began to speak to their son, smile still intact.
"So, Connor, since you're becoming a trainer and setting off on your own today, your father and I decided that it would be appropriate for us to give you a little gift before you head off. But, just to be sure, you will be sure to call us and let us know how you're doing, will you? I don't want to-"
"Mom," groaned Connor, rolling his eyes as a small, embarrassed grin escaped his lips.
"...Right, right, you're not a child anymore, sorry. I just don't want to have to put up with your big lug of a father's worrying all the time. Anyway, you know how when you were little, you used to head into the mines all the time with him to look at all the Pokémon there? You always used to say your favorites were Steel-types, because of how strong they were, and how you could use them to defend just about anything, or something like that, didn't you?"
"...Yeah," he replied, intrigued.
"Well, your father found something you might like down there a couple of days ago, and we thought it would make a good first Pokémon. You're familiar with the Pokémon Aron, aren't you?" continued his mother, smiling throughout.
"Aye," nodded Connor, still intrigued. There was a pause in the air for a brief few seconds as Connor attempted to figure out what his mother was hinting at before he finally realized where she was going with this. He gasped as his eyes widened, flickering with delight. The cogs of his mind whirred as he jogged his memory.
Aron, a Steel- and Rock-type Pokémon. Small. Heavy. Very physical-based; very decent defensively. He recalled they ate a lot of metal? But what type of metal was alright? Iron was probably a safe bet. Aluminium too, maybe. Either way, Pokémarts stocked aluminium foil all the time, and he could definitely find iron in pretty much any store. Evolved into Lairon and Aggron. Both specialised defensively. How were they behaviour-wise, though? His brain was being thoroughly wracked as he continued to jog his memory. Aron was pretty docile. Good for children. Have to make sure they have a constant food supply, though. Can be ravenous when hungry. Lairon, fairly headstrong and rushes into things a lot, but still a great companion. Some aggression issues, though - no worry. As long as he had a good bond with it as an Aron, it should have been fine. Aggron was a daunting prospect - no, that wasn't the right sort of mindset, thought Connor. Quite an aggressive and territorial Pokémon; maybe not going to be very social, try to keep it out of the path of other people, it might view them as a threat. Reminded him of someone, he chuckled. But he had a lot of time to prepare for that. He'd have to have a lot of battles, patience and training before he'd have an Aggron on his hands. Battles. Type effectiveness. Steel/Rock. Keep out of the way of Fighting-types. Great counter to Flying-types, normal-types; good for Starly-
"...and if you can't call us, then at least try to write - ...Connor? Are you listening to me?" enquired his mother, pointedly.
"Hm? Oh, sure," answered Connor as he turned his focus back to the conversation at hand, nodding quickly. His mother's look wilted into one of doubt, a peer of suspicion, as a silence festered between the two. Connor couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, as the air of awkwardness grew between the two. That was a terrible lie, Connor, and you know it - and she knows it! What if she goes through the whole lecture again… wait, Connor, can you even hear yourself?! She's your mother! It's not as if she's gonna kill you - by Arceus, why are you like this? This sort of thing won't fly in the real world, Connor; you've got to stop doing this...
"Uh huh," replied his mother, pausing for a second to choose her next words before exhaling. "Connor, I get you're sick to death of hearing this, but please: just look after yourself, alright?"
"For the hundredth time, Mom, I'll be fine. Please, just trust me," offered Connor flatly.
At that moment, his father re-entered the room, a Pokéball in hand. "Awright, son, here ye go," he replied, handing it to him. "I'm assumin' yer mother's told ye what's it is?"
"Yup," answered Connor, excitedly placing it on a holder at the center of his belt.
"And ye promise ye know what-"
"Yes."
"Right, right. In any case… I guess the only thing for us to say is stay safe and have fun out there, son. Don't forget yer folks at home when yer up there, competing in the Pokémon League, awright? We love ye," boomed his father, an encouraging beam spreading from cheek to cheek.
"Love you too, Mom, Pops," chimed Connor as he strolled out the door, turning to face and wave at his parents one last time before he ventured on out into the outside world, away from home, on his own. His parents waved back in response, beaming as if to encourage him, tell him that they believed in him. After a couple of seconds, he turned back around and shut the door, walking away from his childhood home. He was finally free. An adventurer, soon to be an official trainer, with a Pokémon to his name. It was time for him to spread his wings and make a name for himself. His first destination? To Sandgem Town and the Professor's lab, right away!
"I give it a week before he comes back."
"Probably. Wouldn't hurt to 'ave some faith in the boy, though."
As it turned eight o'clock, Connor was marching down Route 202, a large nugget of iron from a Pokémon Center in one of his pockets. The fires of euphoria still burning bright within him. It had become apparent that both of the jackets he'd chosen to head out with were too big for him. It was baggy and flowing down his back, red and white on each side of a large Pokéball. Too short to be considered a long coat, but too large to be considered his size. For now, though, it would do. As long as it did a good job of keeping him warm in winter - besides, if it was ruined, he always had a spare in his backpack. It would also make a nice blanket for Aron to keep warm in, sleep in if, for some reason, he couldn't go into his Pokéball.
Speaking of which, I should probably introduce myself to the little dude, make sure he's doing alright and all. I wonder if it is a he, actually? I'll check if they've been fed, too; it wouldn't hurt to leave a good first impression on 'em. What're they like, too? Should be fairly docile, but if not, that's fine, too - just means a little extra hard work and they'll fight a lot harder, is all.
The pulse of his heart crept faster and faster, as Connor took a deep breath in and out. Clenching his teeth in a determined grin, there was something of a fire in his eyes as he grabbed a hold of the Pokéball. "Alright, bud," he began, aiming the ball at the ground as his thumb hovered over the button. "Let's see what you're all about, eh?"
With a click, the button opened, and a light blue light streamed out onto the floor, sparkling as it materialized. Connor's determined grin melted into a warm, welcoming smile as he knelt upon one knee, looking closer at the Steel-type. The Pokémon before him was a tiny thing, not even reaching Connor's knees as it gazed back at him with large, pale blue eyes. Its small, grey stubs slowly trudged towards its new trainer, letting out a high-pitched grunt as it looked back at him, pupils dilating.
He's male, and he's hungry. Right, noted Connor, reaching into his pocket and leaving the newly-purchased metal a couple of inches in front of the guy - at this stage, trying to get him to eat from his hand was not the best idea, not until he had a better idea what this particular Pokémon was actually like.. "There you are, little guy," he muttered softly, taking a step back and observing. Apprehensively, the Aron stumbled forward - alright, quite shy. He glanced at Connor. Slowly, he took a bite of the iron, keeping his eyes on Connor throughout. Connor deduced sudden movements would not be a good idea. He waited until the Pokémon finished taking a bite, and took another bite, eventually devouring the whole thing, giving Connor time to analyze and consider his next move.
As he finished the meal, the Aron's gaze softened up, growing less suspicious and more friendly. All positive signs so far. Good. Slowly, he offered an outstretched palm to the Pokémon, gesturing for him to take a step nearer. The Pokémon paused for a moment, as Connor watched. He offered the same warm grin throughout, making sure not to bare teeth - he wouldn't want the Pokémon to think he was a predator, after all. Carefully, Aron trundled forward. Carefully, Connor reached to stroke the Pokémon's head with the back of his hand. Aron didn't recoil. Cool. Good first impression so far. He rubbed the back of his fingers on the Pokémon's face softly - it felt cold, almost robotic. As was to be expected for a steel-type. Aron let out a contented squeal in response, nuzzling Connor's hand. Connor's grin grew across his face, as he let out an overjoyed chuckle.
All was good so far. It seemed to Connor as if they'd be the best of friends in no time, and with a bit of training, they'd be blazing through gyms in no time. Indeed, in that moment, it felt as if that nothing would be able to stop the two - nothing whatsoever!
"Hah! I see you've gotten yourself a Pokémon now, have you, dickweed?"
Except that.
Connor froze, half in horror, half in anger. His smile evaporated in the blink of an eye. That voice… it was familiar. Too familiar. He'd recognize that sneer, that sense of superiority, anywhere; even now, without even looking, he could just sense that crap-eating grin.
Oh, Arceus, no. Not him. You couldn't be content with letting him terrorize just my childhood, could you? Please, don't let him become a regular part of this adventure. Any other human on the planet, and I'd just about be willing to accept it… anyone but him.
Anyone but Hawley.
Pokémon Stats - Aron
- Trainer: Connor Murdoch
- Male
- Type: Steel/Rock
- Ability: Rock Head
- Level: 10
HP: D (50)
Attack: C (70)
Defence: B (100)
Special Attack: E (40)
Special Defence: E (40)
Speed: E (30)
"Aron is a Pokémon that tends to live deep within caves and mountains, regularly feeding on metals such as iron. They occasionally feast upon railroad tracks if particularly hungry. They are renowned as docile creatures and make very good beginner Pokémon, having very good physical stats for first-stage Pokémon; however, any trainer interested in owning an Aron must be aware of their ravenous appetites."
