Author's Note

This is not meant to be serious in any way whatsoever. Please understand that this story is not actually supposed to make much sense, and that I was very, very bored in the IT lesson at school when I wrote this.

There will be a very serious and dark Pokémon fanfiction with my own interpretation of the Mystery Dungeon universe being worked on soon.

- Spyromaster64

I was once told that Kalos was the most beautiful region in the Tiamean Isles. It's forests and streams entirely clean of any pollution, it's wildlife larger than life and more varied that Hoenn or Kanto – and yet the only thing I've proven to myself to be correct so far is that tourists will often need to carry a firearm at all times.

The date was November the 14th 2013. I, Arkus Eon, was taking a fairly relaxed stroll through Route 15, located just on the eastern edge of central Kalos. The sun was, contrary to popular belief, not shining – in fact, it was my fault that I wasn't. I had ordered one of my Pokémon to use Rain Dance in a recent battle and the effects hadn't quite worn off, yet. Looking down at the Pokéball which contained the Absol responsible, I pondered how many Trainers on this path were now going to die from hypothermia.

I just patted the ball in ignorance, before jumping onto a bike that some kid had left unattended for a few seconds and was now, like, totally mine. Riding away, I "accidently" ran over some small children before jumping off again and hoofing it into Lumiose City, the drug/warlord central of the Kalos region. Fecking drug/warlords.

As I headed off to the Poképhiliac Brothel/Pokémon Centre, I passed a man, seemingly distressed, who muttered in fatigue,

"These narrow alleyways… they reek of danger…" I laughed and threw rocks at him because he wasn't normal.

On my first visit to the city a few months before, I couldn't help but notice the huge abundance of cafés in the city, thus I came to the conclusion that everyone here was a fecking caffeine addict that would instantaneously combust if they did not have their fix within every five minutes. I found this to be amusingly true as the brothel Pokémon Centre stank of burning flesh and was also the only place in the city lacking a distinct coffee aroma. Either than or Nurse Joy has been practising "medicine" again.

"Oi, whore!" I shouted. Nurse Joy turned to me and smiled.

"Hello, there! Welcome to the feckhouse." She paused for a moment, a blank expression on her features. "Oops, wait, I forgot I'm not meant to say that anymore. Welcome to the 'Pokémon Centre'" She even used the hand gestures and everything. "Would you like us to resurrect your dead mates?" I nodded. "Then please pay the one-time annual subscription one-off daily fee of 9999999 PokéDollars." I handed her ten Kenyan shillings that I had found on the floor. "Thank you!" She gave a disgustingly toothy smile, black, missing and rotten teeth showing. "I will get to work immediately. Chansey!"

A large, severely obese pink mass hastily waddled into the room, squealing in response. It got about two feet from the door and collapsed in intense fatigue. "Chansey, you little gobshite, do be a dear and "heal" this little fecker." She threw all of my Pokéballs at it, most of which bounced off. It struggled for a moment, but managed to sort of use it's own weight to topple back up onto it's feet.

"Chanseh!" it squeaked, saluting, which threw it off balance again.

"Good. I'm going back to Battlefield 4." 'Nurse' Joy walked off, kicking Chansey in the woman bollocks as she went.

"Good to know my friends are in professional hands!" I said to myself confidently. "Better go and mug Professor Sycamore for more Pokémon to sell on the Black Market – whoops, I meant Wonder Trade."

I left the centre with only Hannah, who looked like she really badly needed to shit out the sky trainer from two days ago.

"Actually, feck the Professor," I muttered loudly in front of a toddler and his mother. "Hannah, let's go to some posh gig with food." Hannah normally likes that sort of thing, and probably would now, if she didn't need a crap so badly. I approached a cab driver.

"How much for a ride down the road?"

"For you, good Sir, only 80000 PokéDollars!" My eyes widened. That was a hell of a lot of money to drive twenty metres.

"Seriously?" I spluttered. "Couldn't you just drop the cost a little bit?"

"Nope! I'm sorry, company policy to overcharge on all fees!" The cabbie grinned.

"Right, listen you feckin' little shit," I growled, pulling my M1911 on him. "You're going to drive me the 20 metres down this FECKING road or so help me, I will obliterate your feckin' head. I could have walked the bloody way already."

The cabbie smiled and grabbed my gun.

"Oh, but you MUST take a ride." He began to laugh evilly. I pulled it away from him in frustration as his watched bleeped. His eyes widened in horror. "Oh, shi-" At that moment, he spontaneously combusted into an impressive burning, writhing mass. Ignoring his frantic screaming, I grabbed him by the neck, my hand somehow not burning, and dragged him out of the taxi onto the floor. I replaced his post in the vehicle and started the car with the keys he had left in the ignition.

"To be fair mate, you didn't even need this anyway, did you?" Hannah hopped on top of the vehicle, pushing it's suspension dangerously low down as I pulled away from the sidewalk. Nobody seemed to give a shit that a cabbie had just been both carjacked and combusted, and left him on the floor, screeching.

Casually, I cruised around the city a bit, occasionally drifting onto the sidewalk for some bonus points before eventually going to where I actually wanted to go, which was some two star restaurant. Hannah jumped off the vehicle, causing a small earthquake and catapulting a toddler into the sky. We stood there for five minutes trying to figure out how to lock our new ride, and I didn't see him come down.

Despite being a laughable two star joint, the place actually looked fairly well composed. I noticed a man at the desk, who stared at me intently, picking his nose with a fork. I left Hannah to answer nature's call on a blind man's plate while I talked to the grotesque man at the counter.

"Excuse me," I spoke politely, "How much do you ask for a three-course meal?" The man, who was dressed in sharp, clean tuxedo, shot me a glare that I almost took for offence.

"Well, we is offerin' the big one for, like, 15,000 PokéQuid, innit?" he answered, gesturing wildly to a menu behind him. "You is wanting the triple or the rotating-thing shit, is I right?" I stood there for a moment as my brain processed whatever the Hell he had said. Eventually, I managed to decode his cryptic language, and responded,

"Wait, battles? I came here for food. This is a restaurant, right?"

"Yeah, blad, innit?" murmured the man, dribbling. "Is you like, well dining posh, or is you a pukka skank who is gonna go nab me some well-dissin' KFC?" I couldn't be bothered to try and understand it this time, so I just gave him 15,000 PokéDollars and told him to "surprise me".

Hannah was already sitting at a table, looking surprisingly refreshed. I took a seat, and a waiter almost seemed to appear from nowhere immediately.

"How are you today, Sir?" he spoke.

"I'm good, tha-"

"Now, the starter today is squished berry on a plate." He had a thick French accent that was considerably less difficult to understand than the chav at the counter. "'Ere is your starter." He dropped the plate onto the table, causing it to smash.

Not really caring, I picked up my knife and fork. The waiter's eyes widened. "No, no, good Sir, you must let it cool!" I gave him a confused look.

"But it's uncooked."

"JUST BATTLE ME, BITCH!"

"Listen, I don't want to battle," I told the waiter, somewhat confused. "Can't you just let me eat?"

"B-but Sir," he spluttered, looking as if he was about to burst into tears. "You're the Champion… We must battle!"

"No," I responded coldly. "Go away." The waiter slumped away, whimpering pathetically. I looked up at Hannah, who was already happily eating the berry paté without restraint.

We left, filled with somewhat mediocre food, and made our way through the North Boulevard. Hannah happily bounded along, giving smiles to the passing residents of Lumiose City as she occasionally stepped on toddlers who hadn't gotten out of the way fast enough.

"LOL!" screeched some anorexic teenager from the sidewalk. We ignored her, making our way over to the Sycamore Pokémon Lab.

"Hey, Professor?" I called, opening the door. "You in here?" There was a muffled crazed laughing from upstairs. "Professor?!" A door up the stairs exploded into wooden shards as Professor Sycamore barrelled out, laughing maniacally.

"HELLOYESYESYESHELLOAREYOUDEARLITTLEDADDY?!" he shrieked. Hannah looked at me worriedly.

"Yeah," I said to her, sighing. "He's been smoking Crayons again."

"WHYHALLOMYDEARLITTLEBOYNYAHAHAHAHAHA" he continued in a loud, shrill voice. "DIDYOUSWANTMYPOKEMONWELLNOUFAGGOTUCANSSNNOTTHAFFDEM?!"

"Professor," I muttered sternly, "Come down here and talk to me."

"NO!" he whined. "ILIKEITUPHERE!" I pulled out my M1911 again.

"Professor. Now." He vaulted over the handrail, performed a graceful somersault in the air and promptly landed on his head, inducing so much pressure on his neck and spine that a fairly audible snap could be heard – he appeared fine, however.

"OHUPOORCHILD," he screamed. I nodded at Hannah, who returned the gesture, walking over to the Professor and turning him up the right way. She placed him gently on the floor, where he automatically crossed his legs and began humming unnervingly.

"Okay Professor, I'm here for a simple questi-"

"OOH!" he squealed suddenly in apparent excitement. He shoved his hand into his lab coat pocket before withdrawing what looked like very badly made LSD pills. "IS IT THE RED ONE OR THE BLUE ONE?!" I sighed. At least his speech was eventually becoming slower.

"No, Professor," I muttered, moving his outstretched offering of illegal drugs out of the way. "I need to know if Pokébank is out yet."

"WHY, YES! YES, YES, YES, OH GOD, YES!" the Professor shouted. I was becoming afraid of the health of my eardrums at this point.

"Well, okay, do you mind if I use the lab's GTS machine?"

"HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM," he droned for a while, seemingly in deep thought – it was fairly obvious he wasn't, though. Professor Sycamore isn't really capable of anything beyond counting to four. "IT IS DEPENDINGS ON WHAT YOU IS WANTINGS."

"Well, actually, I was thinking of a Snivy," I told him. "Or anything along that evolutionary chain." Sycamore seemed Hell-bent on glaring at my private area as he continued humming, occasionally making intermittent 'pip' sounds with his lips.

"Weeeell…" he sighed, his voice now noticeably quieter. "I don't knoooow… what will you pay me…?"

"I'll give you 20 more crayons," – his eyes lit up – "on the condition that you don't use them until I'm gone."

"Done! Done deal! Fabulous!" he sang delightedly. I never quite understood the Kalosian obsession with the word 'fabulous'. I could easily title it as disturbing.

"Alright, here's the crayons," I spoke, handing him a box of Crayola rainbow crayons – his favourite. "Try to remember our terms, will you? I don't want to have to use this on you on the way out." I beckoned to my M1911, which I had just holstered. When you were travelling in a land as completely screwed up as Kalos, you needed some form of firearm protection.

I myself was from Britain, but had always had Pokémon since I was young. I had received Hannah as a Goomy when I was just three, and the pair of us were inseparable since. I had already toured Kanto, Johto, Hoenn and Sinnoh – and after Kalos I planned on catching a ferry to Unova.

I wasn't focused on Gym Badges, either. I mean, not everyone can 'be the very best' now, can they? So I just, well, toured, as aforementioned. Saw the sights. Watched the wildlife. Shot the local criminal gang members. In the balls.

"Okey-dokey, you mother goose!" the Professor laughed worryingly, waving at me as I went upstairs, looking as if he was dangerous detached from reality.

I entered a room filled with ominous machinery, phials filled to their brims with elusive fluids, Bunsen burners and shelves upon shelves of nothing but Chimchar skeletons. Don't worry, nobody's quite sure about that last one.

In the centre of this room was a large terminal constructed from a simple 14" touchscreen and no end of complex mechanics connected to various bits and bobs here and there.

Almost as soon as I approached the touchscreen, the terminal recognised my presence and promptly greeted me with a wonderful message.

FUK OF HOOMAN

I think it's safe to say that Professor Sycamore never really achieved admirable results in his English exams.

Nonetheless, I placed an intrepid hand on the screen – half-expecting some electric voltage in excess of 450V to course through my body, knowing the Professor's level of homicidal intent – and brought up a questionably explicit login screen, bordered with all sorts of horrific Poképhilia images, all starring our good friend Professor Sycamore. Ignoring the Professor's frankly sickening attempt at homescreen decoration, I managed to log into the system fairly quickly using my Trainer ID and fingerprint, accessing the latest version of the Global Trade Station network.

I was brought to a screen which asked me to type in the name of the Pokémon I was looking for, where I simply wrote 'Snivy' into the textbox. To my fair surprise, I was almost immediately greeted with over twenty offers from Trainers who simply did not want their poor little Snivy anymore.

Regulations had previously been in place to prevent most Pokémon from others regions – most notably starters – from being taken into Kalos, mostly to prevent the accidental spread of foreign disease and to prevent crossbreeding. However, this didn't prevent the Professor from smuggling possibly hundreds of Bulbasaur, Charmander and Squirtle stolen from Professor Oak's laboratory into Kalos from his little holiday in Kanto before handing them out to many a Trainer who paid him a visit, including myself.

Ergo, this regulation also covered Unova starter Pokémon – any of the species that Professor Juniper offers to new Trainers – including Snivy. However, the International Association of Pokémon Abroad and Perspiration Anger (IAPAPA) recently passed a new law to the Kalosian government, who – after some convincing – accepted. The law is… well, it's name is long and very, very complicated, so us Trainers just call it 'Pokémon Bank'. It more or less permits cross-regional trades on the GTS of Pokémon into Kalos.

Now the system would accept offers of foreign Pokémon. However, what was immediately noticeable was the wanted Pokémon in return for each Snivy. Because nobody in Kalos legally had a Snivy with them at the time, asking for something powerful in return was probably to be expected - but when you're looking at the offers of twenty or so Trainers and most of which are demanding Pokémon such as 'Level 100 Arceus with 31/IV Spread, need a shiny for masturbation reasons' for a young Snivy that was probably hatched only two minutes or so ago, things can feel a little hopeless.

I browsed through them, my heart steadily drooping in my chest as each new hope was mercilessly crushed under the weight of progressively more and more ridiculously powerful legendary Pokémon in return. Some people are just desperate, I guess.

I was almost ready to give up on the matter and leave it until another time, but considering I had just gave up 20 crayons to a complete nutjob for this privilege, I eventually decided on one offer that I knew I could complete, however dearly it would cost me.

I needed to capture a Zapdos.