Oblivion
Warning: There is some of my own speculation here.
Last Revision: 1/9/2018 (Fixed grammar and comma usage)
Nestled in a quaint house in an almost constant sandstorm, Neil Lindsey moved about his living room, edging around a wooden table stained dark mahogany which was surrounded by four rather unused chairs. He approached a bookcase against the wall full of cracked, thick books, all of which he did not own. Instead, the assortment belonged to his daughter's son, Cyrus. Cyrus possessed an immense deal of intellect, and Neil wondered exactly how much that Cyrus was overthinking into certain things, for he had multiple books detailing about the same topic, which seemed to be about space and all knowledge that humans had of the cosmos. Other novels dealt with psychology, mostly on those detailing about emotions. Some books were too advanced to the point that even Neil himself had trouble comprehending about the various topics that his grandson was interested in so thoroughly. Cyrus was no normal person, and Neil worried about him. Cyrus preferred to be locked in a room alone, isolated from the world while he studied, read, or fumbled with various machines for inspection. Cyrus occasionally expressed that his lack of venturing out into the world was because he thought that humans were tremendously flawed to the point of no return. He mentioned that if every function of the current world could be started anew, that there might be some hope for "failing mankind."
Neil touched one particular book, a yearbook, from a distant time ago when Cyrus attended middle school, and Neil withdrew it from the other assortment of tomes. He opened it up, thumbing through and examining the ten-year-old images. Back then, Cyrus had positive potential. Now Neil was sickening from the proposition that his grandson was on a path towards destruction- of himself, of the world, and of all that he encountered. Cyrus's parents did not often praise him, even when Neil believed that he performed the best he could. They continently nick-picked at his flaws and failures, pointing out that if Cyrus was so brilliant, that he should learn from person X's mistake, follow Y's path, and stop being so much like person Z. In essence, Cyrus was reduced to an asset that his parents strived to be absolutely exceptional at the denial of what made Cyrus a person.
How good was good enough for them? Whatever his parents' definition was, Cyrus never lived up to it.
Looking at the twelve-year-old Cyrus in the yearbook, Neil saw that he found Cyrus's face was loose, smiling, and pleasant, words that probably would never fit Cyrus now, who should be twenty-one. The last time Neil had seen him, Cyrus was seventeen, his face blank and cold, out of reality's touch as he drifted into his trances.
Shortly after Cyrus's graduation from high school, he simply told everyone he was leaving, taking nothing but his essential items with him. His parents overruled the notion, but Cyrus had obtained a trainer's license that Neil had allowed the league to give him, for his parents constantly rejected the idea. Anyone above the age of ten with a parent or guardian's consent could leave his or her home if one had the license. Neil reasoned that Cyrus was practically an adult and his being seventeen for about eight more months without the license would drive Cyrus insane. His grandson was beyond old enough to leave his nest. Cyrus left his house calmly, his parents flustered. His parting left Neil with his first real a flicker of indecision in that Cyrus departed with such haste that Neil suspected Cyrus developed a plan dating back years that he never expressed to any soul.
About a year following his grandson's leave, Cyrus's father took up a better job opportunity in Jubilife City. He and his wife prompted to move to the big city immediately. Conversely, they needed to downsize, leaving all of Cyrus's old possessions to Neil. Downsizing wasn't the only reason for leaving Cyrus's belongings to Neil. They wanted to forget that he ever existed.
He remembered his son-in-law's disgusting and injuring statement. "We don't need this stuff to take up space or even want a damn reminder of our disappointing son. You take his things."
That fiasco concluded Neil's intermingling with Cyrus's parents. Ever since Cyrus's departure, Neil scanned newspapers through Sinnoh, gazed at the computer for hours, trying to find exactly where his grandson had gone to. If he could contact him, by all means, he would go out into the field just to see if his grandson was all right. He knew his grandson would be dangerous if left alone, viewing nothing except all the negative horrors that were present in the world. Sometimes Neil wished that he could have listened to the words his grandson had expressed so frequently and would have taken them as telltale signals that Cyrus was brewing into a possible monstrosity. He thought that four years prior that one logical teenager could not do much harm. Now Neil rethought that. No one heard from Cyrus, not his parents, not his old neighbors, and not from the teachers that found he was a prodigy. What were his plans? Why hadn't Neil addressed and helped Cyrus considering that Neil had an inkling of a thought that Cyrus could wreak havoc with his brilliance?
He, along with multiple others, had seen the beginning of that downward spiral, and they had done nothing.
Neil remained stationed in the same home six years later, and he had lost hope of ever learning the ultimate fate of his grandson. However, a young man happened to find his house, curious as its location was tucked away from society's prying eyes. Neil knew the youth's face, for he was the thirteen-year-old Sinnoh champion, Lucas. He was the very individual that foiled and put an end to Cyrus's ambitions abruptly.
He never directly told the young champion his grandson's identity, but Neil's words were stated in such manner that Lucas easily assumed who Neil was talking about. After much discussion, Neil learned his grandson's whereabouts were currently in an unfathomable realm simply known as the distortion world.
The world's hate would land upon Neil inevitably, for people were curious about what drove Cyrus, and it had stemmed partially from Neil himself. He would be unveiled as the grandfather of the leader of Team Galactic, and to further the discomfort of everyone, he acknowledged Cyrus's strife and did little but sit back and hope that Cyrus would turn out okay if he simply left his parents' grasp. His solution which occurred ten years ago nowadays seemed like an easy and cheap fix. Neil should have done more. The idea revolved around his mind daily.
Neil just wasted his days staring at the computer before him, trying to envision how perhaps Cyrus managed to develop a plan that, albeit insane and difficult to achieve, was do-able with the right manpower, knowledge, and tools, three things Cyrus had as the organization's boss.
His mind could never wrap around the concept that a sole human being could do such a thing so grand. The most terrifying aspect about the ordeal was that Cyrus was only twenty-seven, and by that age alone, he literally could have been called merely a young man. It was hardly a term to label an individual that almost granted himself ascension to become a deity. The notion made Neil conclude that this dangerous potential was what made humans one step ahead of the creatures that were widely accepted to be superior to the human race.
Time flowed its course, and the old man remained too grief-stricken to focus on any other proposal than he might have been able to convenience his grandson that the world was not as terrible as Cyrus viewed.
A few months followed, and a group of frantic reporters knocked at his door, viewing Neil with intrigue yet distaste.
They knew the damage he caused.