Point of Departure
The air is hot and sticky, full of the smell of cut grass as Leaf crushes it methodically underfoot. She would check how much money she has left, but her shirt is stuck to her back with sweat, and movement is repressively uncomfortable.
Blue has just shot away on his expensive new bicycle, the one that would probably pay for a month's worth of food, and left her standing in the middle of the dirt road.
"Go away, Charmeleon," she mutters, mostly to herself, because she's already pulling out its Pokéball. "You're just making it hotter."
She's barely out of Cerulean, standing by the bridge that someone told her was called Nugget Bridge. The heat rises and shimmers over the water, intensifying the headache that she gets every time she hears her rivals shout, "Leaf!"
"Hey!" a kid standing on the bridge calls. Leaf looks up for a moment, the back of her neck prickling. When he sees she's looking at him, he says, "Wanna battle?"
She doesn't, as if it matters once he's challenged her. Kids never have money, and she desperately needs to earn enough to eat tonight.
"Beat the five of us and win a fabulous prize!" he says.
In that case.
The trainers on the bridge are easy, even though Charmeleon's presence makes the summer that much hotter. She's sweaty all over again by the time she's done, fine trails making their way down the side of her nose. She goes tiredly to the man at the end of the bridge, hoping he's seen her victory, because she doesn't want to explain anything any more.
"Congratulations!" he says brightly, as if it isn't a hundred degrees outside and he isn't a wandering trainer trying to win enough money to eat. "You beat our five contest Trainers! You just earned this fabulous prize!"
He produces a leather pouch, from which he removes something shiny, and flicks it to her. By the time Leaf raises her hands to catch it, it's gone, and she has to stoop and pick up the bright golden Nugget. She stares stupidly at the man's bag, half because it's too hot to move and half because she's mesmerized by the glimmering gold.
He notices her eyes, and casually tosses her another. This time, she catches it, barely, on sweaty fingertips.
"How much's this worth?" she manages, her voice almost gone from disuse.
"Five thousand apiece," he says. "And more where they came from." He shakes the heavy bag a little.
"What do you want?" she says, her voice is a little less rusty this time. She would sell her soul if that's what this man offers, because she's tired of starving in shabby Pokécenters while running the world's errands.
"How would you like to join Team Rocket?" he says.
"Who?" she says dully.
"We're a group of professional criminals specializing in Pokémon! Want to join?"
She looks at the three enamelled badges pinned to her bag, and then down to the shiny golden orbs in her hand. The sun dances on the water, reflecting her face back at her.
"Yeah," she rasps. "I do."