I

Monday, 11th, 4:56 PM

"Bugging-in" and "Bugging-out" were the first two words that Agatha Pridmore had learned to associate with the zombie apocalypse.

It had all started in the most unlikely of places: a subway train, heading towards the east side of Goldenrod. Agatha, at that particular moment, was clinging to her seat with long fingers, unwilling to allow anybody else to claim it for themselves. She was returning home after a hard and laborious day at university, her workbooks cradled on her lap. She raised one hand to silence an itch hidden somewhere in the myriad of chocolate-coloured strains of her thick, messy hair and glanced around at other passengers with silvery eyes. There was the occasional chatter from somewhere at the back but other than that it had been a relatively quiet trip – something, of which, was a rare treat for the young adult.

This peace, however, was about to be forgotten – as the train whirred down to a halt someone started to get up, a middle-aged man, unaware that one of the spherical, red and white objects on his belt had started glowing a disturbing shade of ruby. It was only when he was about to step down onto the platform did he realise that something was wrong with the Pokeball around his waist. His fingers were about to grasp it when the ball shot out a crimson beam of light, taking the shape of a large weasel before it fell to the ground in a heap of shards. The two-tailed weasel reeled for a moment, trying to gather its balance, the gold floatation sac around its back and neck swaying slightly. "F-F-Floatzel?" The man stuttered, backing away slowly. "Are you alright?"

The Floatzel reared its slender head, its orange pelt bristled, and replied to its owner by plunging its saw-like teeth into the man's neck. Agatha, by that time, had gotten up, keeping as close to the doors as she could. Others had begun to crowd around the man, obviously trying to pry the Floatzel off of him, and almost caught her denim jeans and lavender jumper on the corner of the seat. She glanced at one of the people in the group – noting that one of the Pokeballs on his belt had stated to glow with that same, chilling colour too and she decided it would be better to get as far away from the train as possible. Agatha bolted, her grey sneakers charging past swarms of humans trying to find out what had happened, and the hairs on the back of her neck raised when she heard an ear-splitting roar relaying in the distance.

. . .

On a normal day Agatha would've been disgusted by the messy state of the kitchen, but today, as she rushed through the door, locking it tightly, the large pile of dirty dishes on the counter next to the sink was a welcome sight to her worried eyes. She turned to the couch in the living room which surrounded the kitchen and placed herself on the hard cushions, grabbing the remote which turned the medium-sized television on and changing channels to see the news. It seemed that Agatha was just in time, too, as the elderly newsreader had just begun to mention the unusual increase of aggressive Pokemon. "… This abnormal behaviour, some scientists are suggesting, seems to emulate that of victims who contract a rare strain of PokeRus," The elderly man explained. "In which Pokemon begin to act violently towards both other Pokemon and trainers," Agatha leaned in slightly, listening to ever word keenly. "Experts have recommended people to stay inside their homes and only leave if there's an emergency, there shall be more on the Ten O'clock news later this evening."

The girl glanced down at her belt for a moment, realising that she'd grabbed one of the two Pokeballs attached to it protectively. Fear tugged at her thoughts and she instinctively plucked it off and pointed it to the floor. "Come out, Gregor," She commanded with a harsh Scottish accent. The sphere unleashed a beam of white light and, striking the floor, manifested in the form of a red arachnid. The beast looked up at his mistress with eyes that resembled amethysts, his fangs glistening as he chirruped a greeting. Agatha sighed in relief. "Gregor, I'm glad that you're okay," She began and scooped the Ariados up onto her lap, his striped legs dangling as she held him. "I don't know what I'd do if I were to lose you…" She stroked his back gently, trying to sort her mind out.

. . .

Two hours crawled by, and still the thoughts that cluttered Agatha's brain remained. She'd gotten up from the couch, leaving Gregor to scuttle around the room for a bit, and was now munching absentmindedly on a slice of chilled pizza. She was looking down upon the streets below, peering curiously at what appeared to be a large tent, possibly being erected by the police or a medical squad. A sharp tapping noise caught her off guard – someone was knocking on the door to her apartment – and she nervously walked over to open it. What faced her when she twisted the doorknob was a girl, whose timid complexion suggested that she was no older than twelve or thirteen. "Yes?" Agatha asked after a moment of silence. "May I help you?"

The girl lowered her gaze down across her baby-yellow dress to her cherry flip-flops shyly, she hesitated for a moment. "My mom sent me to fetch you," She began, mumbling. "There's a notice that the police officers downstairs put up about checking our Pokemon."

Agatha stooped down to the girl's line of sight. "Where is your mom?" A pang of worry invaded her throat.

"In bed," The girl replied. "Mom's sick, so she couldn't come," She turned and pointed to the apartment door facing them, her blond hair shifting across her shoulders. "She's been sick for a week and I'm really scared for her."

Agatha bit her lip, but kept her calm façade. "Okay," She started. "Does she have any Pokemon of her own?" The girl nodded at her question. "I'll take them for her, then."

The girl's great, dark eyes widened in thanks and she walked away across the musty corridor into her apartment, emerging moments later with two Pokeballs cradled in her arms. "Be careful with them," She pleaded as she offered them up to Agatha. "Mom's had them since before I was born."

Agatha held the two spheres in her hands very delicately. "I'll be gentle with them, don't worry," She reassured. A question suddenly crossed her mind. "By the way, what's your name, sweetie?"

"Abby." The girl's voice shook slightly as she spoke. Agatha calmly turned and went over to the entrance of her apartment, glancing around to find that Gregor had placed himself in the living room, obviously trying to listen in to what was going on.

She beckoned to him. "Gregor, come," And watched as he gave a small squeak, followed by the pitter-patter of his feet as he approached her. She faced Abby again and started heading towards the stairs. "I'll be right back." She promised, and started the long trek down to the streets where the police were lurking.

Abby just stood there, watching as her mother's Pokemon were carried away beyond her line of sight.