Prologue

The eight year old boy sat high above the ground on the steel structure of a half completed building. It was supposed to have been a fancy office building overlooking the Goldenrod City Bay, but its construction was halted when the company the building would have housed went under with the stock market crash years before. All that was left was the abandon construction site on the side of the heavily polluted bay.

But the boy loved the spot. It was the spot he'd hide from the world. His childish fantasies of fame and fortune seemed much more realistic when he was a hundred feet off the ground and staring at the blazing sunset. His messy brown hair ruffled in the sea breeze like a lion cub's mane while his bright brown eyes had an ambitious gleam.

Few people knew the boy's real name, though the nickname 'Rocky' has stuck with him all his life.

With his cheap and beat up radio, Rocky listened to the commentary of the Inter-Regional Pokemon League Tournament. "It's been an intense and breathtaking tournament so far this evening. Now, as the sun sets, the first round of the semifinals with Trainer Ethan Blackwell of Fuchsia City versus Trainer Alexander Ramirez of Cainwood City."

Suddenly, Rocky's attention was torn away from his radio. Below, in the perilous construction site, conflict was brewing. Two groups on motorcycles and ATVs roared into the lot, halted on either side of cement drainage ditch leading to the bay.

Rocky, being raised in slums during tough economic times, was streetwise enough to recognize the two parties as rival street gangs and was also smart enough to know that he shouldn't be seen by them. Quickly, he started climbing down the metal structure. When he reached the ground, his initial instinct was to hop on his rusty bike a ride back home, but his curiosity got the better of him. Due to his lack of height, he was not noticed as he darted through the decrepit construction sight and hid behind a rusty and broken down bulldozer, half buried in the gravel and dirt. Then, from his hiding spot, Rocky peaked at the two gangs. He easily identified the two leaders as they antagonized each other on either side of the ditch.

"Good evening Jimmy! It seems that there is some confusion about which one of our turfs this construction sight belongs to. Perhaps we can clear up this misunderstanding." An imposing teenage boy taunted.

The other gang's leader replied, with equal mockery, "Yes, we sincerely apologize for the confusion. We had thought that we made it perfectly clear that this lovely piece of bayside real-estate belongs to the Southside Boys."

"Au contraire; it belonged to the Southside Boys. It is now the headquarters of The Goldenrod Wildflowers, so get the hell out of here before I hop across this ditch and kick your punk-ass." The leader of the notoriously ruthless Goldenrod Wildflowers threatened.

Jimmy, the leader of the Southside boys, scoffed and retorted, "Seriously? A fistfight? What are we, five years old?" As he drew a red and white Pokeball from his belt.

"Oh, so that's how you want to settle it? Okay, cool." The Alpha of the Goldenrod Wildflowers agreed as he displayed his own Pokeball. "Nobody wants a huge gang fight that might attract the attention of the cops, so let's keep the battle between you and me."

Rocky no longer cared for the Inter-Regional Pokemon League Tournament as he was about to witness a more intense battle, with a front row seat opposed to a radio. But suddenly a hand grabbed Rocky by his jacket and threw him to the ground.

"Hey, this little runt is spying on us." A brute yelled, attracting the attention of both gangs.

"Hey bro, take it easy. I just wanted to watch the show." Rocky reasoned, shakily, as he started to stand up.

"Punk, don't talk to me like I'm one of your homeboys!" The thug barked as he pushed the eight year old boy back to the ground with his foot.

"Think he might rat us out to the police?" Another gang member asked.

"Hell no, I ain't no snitch!" Rocky bellowed.

"Shut up, kid!" The second gang member yelled.

Suddenly, two more gang members appeared. To Rocky's surprise, they were twin girls, only slightly older than he was.

"No." Said one of the twins. "He's not going to squeal to the police."

"Yeah, because you're not that dumb, are you?" The other asked Rocky as she pulled out a switch-blade and waved it in Rocky's face. "Because we'll cut you up real bad if you tell anyone that the Flowers are conducting business by the bay. Now run home to your mommy you little runt."

Rocky then ran as fast as he could, unable to go back for his bike or his radio for it would risk further danger from the gangs.

As Rocky put a few blocks between himself and the construction site, he slowed to a fast walk. Most eight year old children would be frightened half to death after being threatened by a street gang. But Rocky wasn't most children. He wasn't scared or intimidated. He was angry. Angry about being pushed around, put in place, and most of all, about being unable to do anything about it. But as he returned home that night, Rocky made a vow; a promise to himself: to become powerful so he wouldn't be pushed around by anyone. He swore that he would rise up out of the slums. He swore that he'd create his own future. Rocky vowed to one day be the best.