Welcome one and all to my first pokemon story. I have been working on this for over a year and now find myself wanting to share.

In Present tense to allow for dynamic action, the rest of the story is in the past tense as this acts as a prologue.

All questions will be answered. Thank you for taking time to read this.

Blood drips down into the tarmac and disperses into the puddle that slowly grows in the downpour. The rain beats down, rebounding off the tarmac hissing in the night. The red water moves through grooves in the tarmac until it joins the rest in the ditch. The dry earth soaks up the concoction drawing the liquid into fading green stems of berry plants that spider out in the air.

Slowly a man crawls out blood running down his nose. He smears in on his worn leather jacket, examines the colour against his pale skin underneath tears in the denim.

He curses; his left arm feels numb but not from the chill of the rain, a dark bruise crawls up his right thigh. He could feel it pulse in his leg; the frantic beating of his heart draws more pain.

Another teammate flies aside from a blow, covered in bruises and wounds across old scar tissue on his baldhead. A scream of terror emits from him as he sees the wreck in the tree line.

The gravel crunches underfoot as he draws a metal capsule from his belt. The round sphere in half cast colours grows as he presses the round white button in to activate the energy. He locks on his target before hurling it forward.

'Bite let's go.'

The large Raticate leaps at the tall hooded attacker who screams in a high-pitched tone as the Pokémon's teeth bite into their arm. The black leather punctures and flesh receives a U shaped cut that removes with precision a lump of skin.

A knife flashes out.

The man in the ditch chokes as he falls back with a long knife jutting from his throat. The pokemon squeals skittering to him chattering in a low tone, it smells the blood on the knife handle nuzzling the cheek of its trainer. There was no answer.

Only pressurized blood spurting around the blade, the man down on his back seemed eerily peaceful.

'Barry...you were a waste.'

The other fallen man struggles on aching arms; he crawls through the wet to reach Barry.

Dragging dirt and clumps of gravel, he cries silently, continuing to pull raw skin along solid unyielding tarmac.

He cradles the young man as he reaches him. Kissing the brow of the dead man nearly laughing with manic sadness and the pokemon croons to him too. His hand has an open cut, and as he rubs between its ears, he smears blood into the matted fur.

'Sorry Barry.'

Footsteps approach booming on the tarmac, he glares up at the tall women in black. His cold body shook with pain and chill, the attacker stood motionless with hot breath clouding about the hood. The road is quiet for a Saturday afternoon; their car remains against the tree where the driver had crashed it. A ride back together singing 'Hello Money' turned into red flash of warm death, screeching metal with the safety buckling point going faulty with one big ass tree trunk.

The body lies slumped at the wheel half over the bonnet amongst the cracked windscreen; the red convertible is dented on the left side with the front bumper caved inward. Strangely, the oil seeping into the earth has not ignited with the crash, the crumpled vehicle has no glass left in any window, and their smokes have fallen on to the rubber mats soiled with drink and mud. This left no means for a fire, the man sighs and a bonfire or explosion would be nice, if even for the warmth.

'Shit...the hit was easy. Who are you?'

A gloved hand reaches down pulling the knife free with a slick wet sound. The bloody knife captivates the man, so small a thing can cause so great a strife in other lives.

'Your crew raided Pewter city knowing the leader is missing. You never deserved the ID to train.'

'You're sick. What kind of an answer-'

The knife slashes across his cheek carving open his flesh; the pokemon sprang at the face of the woman who elbows the pokemon away. A thud follows as a metal-capped boot scatters the pokemon away. It chatters springing up to see the eyes of the woman, it pauses whimpering backing away from her.

The trainer did not see the look given only the pokemon turning tail.

'Raticate-'

A foot kicks him savagely in the gut rolling him across the tarmac. He yelps as he slams against the window cutting his neck and back. Pulling away leaving shards in the wound, he notices the tires.

The front left tire has been punctured by a gunshot.

'You-'

'Who gave you authority to prey on the weak? Those ID you carry are not power to be used for selfish abuse. They are keys, keys to prove you have the strength of character to rise above corrupt action.'

The man looks into the red eyes seeing a hatred swirling amongst cold disgust and a hungry calculation. It made no sense. What did she mean a key? ID is just ID.

He raises a hand to defend his body. He strikes the bonnet of the car with his back and gazes into the eyes of the driver. Sweat mingles with his cuts as he pants voiceless for the first time since he bragged the ease of their hit.

How did this person know? Their raid and road map was secret, know only to chosen people.

'Are you a Rocket?'

The red eyes narrow.

He knew he had made an error, this was not a Rocket at all and yet he still wondered whom.

'...'

The silent contemplation lasts for ten seconds until a loud police siren cuts the stillness. The headlights could be discerned as two yellow eyes coming closer.

The man brakes from his trance peeling his eyes from the dead man. He cringes openly as he rotates his vision back to the attacker.

He is alone.

The rain washes over him as he stares pressed against the bonnet seeking around the area for his attacker.

The police car darts ahead to pull across the road blocking the way, this is mirrored by the second, which pulls in to the right hand side of the crash site. The engines are switched off and doors swing open with three officers in each car drawing out guns using the cars as cover.

The man stumbles over, one hand clutching his shoulder and the other stretches out to them asking for protection. A few converge on him surrounding him suspiciously before cuffing him; he collapses into the sea of familiarity. Jail was nothing compare to those red eyes, that despair and condemnation.

Their questions came in waves; he drops to his knees shaking with pain. The words blur together. The officers stand surveying the area as two police kneel beside the man; another starts noting the accident site chalking out details. The officer in charge surveys their efforts before voicing questions.

'Has he spoken yet?'

One policeman glances up at the officer with half moon glasses and shakes his head.

'Nothing decisive, just babble about a tall woman.'

The officer frowns at his fellow officer beside the wreck who shrugs, as far as he was concerned documenting the wreck and mopping up the gang is standard and hearsay unimportant.

'These teens must have been lead by this one. Records support that. As for the comment I suppose drugs and woman can be added to theft and violence.'

The glass-wearing officer nods curtly disappearing over the tree line calling back.

'I will check ahead to rule out bodies thrown forward.'

The officer moves his flashlight over the bushes and tree trunks. He brushes past the branches snorting as rain trickles down the neck of his collar. The light runs swiftly over the scene pausing for a moment with no pattern as if he did not care.

He groans moving his shoulders, hating the water chilling his spine.

One check behind him confirms the others were busy.

He darts behind a tree marked with a silver dye that glistens with rainwater; he stares into the base where the branches broke from the trunk. Picking out a small device from his pocket, he powers it on saluting immediately.

'Sir.'

In an office, the suited man sipped his brandy in comfort, slowly smiling at the grumpy face of the officer. His placed the fine crystal down to light up a cigar, puffing twice and exhaling the smoke. The newly opened box lay neatly beside the phone and pens placed on the mahogany desk.

Leaning back into the leather seat, a large hand lowered to caress a furry head unseen by the officer on screen. The deep purr was the only sign of another being in the low-lit room.

'Well?'

'Sir, the remains of the Pewter gang are here. One alive with two dead on scene and the driver was dead on impact. The other looks like a butcher's slab. Good knife work I must say...I'd love to meet the one responsible.'

The officer on screen ran a hand over a knife hilt on his leather belt wistfully.

'The culprit?'

'Ah, gone with no sign of direction. The mud is undisturbed. No sign of anyone going down the road, we would have seen if they had.'

The suited man drew his cigar from his mouth exhaling, he tapped the end letting ash fall into a marble tray. The man's eyes darkened, he clenched his other hand in his lap until his felt the nails leave marks.

'Those league officers are worthless and you not much better in my eyes.'

The man lowered his head.

'Look at me. I despise cowards. Look at me without fear. Good. Clean up the mess. Did my ninja get the chase and the battle here on record?'

He watched the man check a mobile phone briefly.

'Yes Sir.'

'Then we have a visual without a name. If you dredge one from that scum, inform me. I do not tolerate lone vigilantes on my turf. The only Law in western Kanto is mine and the rest will follow.'

'Shall I send out crews?'

The man chuckled once in a low baritone.

'No, cool down the fires for now. Stir a little theft in Viridian, pick a trainer...'

The screens on his left he touched, scrolling down Ids as he reviewed local trainers and their known teams before pausing.

'Tell Wolf he has a new piece to acquire for my collection. In one week it will be brought to me, William is our incentive.'

'The culprit.'

When his Boss raised his glass, the officer smirked at the screen on his side and saluted.

'Correct. The target will be recognised by the move set they use. Circulate the knowledge.'

The screen blanked out.

Another screen opened up a message box and a tanned hand typed out a brief message:

'FILE REQUESTED ON CULPRIT. SEND DATA TO DIGLETT. TWO WEEKS.'

Finishing the brandy on the rocks, he sighed stretching out in the chair lifting both arms above his head. Massaging his forehead, he sent the message and leant back steepling his fingers. In the light only below his cheekbone showed, the black Armaldi suit otherwise absorbed the light.

A smirk played along his lips with a soft musical chuckle emitting between his teeth.