Twitch

"I wanna be the very best— like no one ever was. To catch them is my real test— to train them is my cause." I repeat this morning mantra to myself again as I yawn and stretch, blinking in the yellow sunlight that seeps through the open window to fall across my bed.

Gah— the day is finally here, but it's still too early to go out and meet the professor. Finally, I'm old enough to get my own Pokémon— finally, I'm old enough to leave home and chase my dreams— but before anything can be done, I have to kill a few more hours.

Sighing impatiently, I throw on my clothes, grab the hat Dad gave me before he got deployed, and sit myself down in front of my TV for a good morning of mindless gaming. It's great, I just got a new SNES game, and—

Up

I lurch forward suddenly, as if pushed. Did someone just…? Could have sworn I heard a voice… But whatever. I shrug my shoulders and go back to my—

Left

I hear the voice again, and without knowing why, I stagger to my feet, stumbling across the room to my bed as if propelled by a stranger's hand. My heart pounds— my head aches as I pause to lean against the headboard, but the feeling passes. I take a deep breath and shake my head, glancing at the clock. At first, I think I must be misreading the time, but no— somehow the hour hand skipped ahead without my noticing.

"Keep it together, Red," I whisper to myself, "too much gaming— not enough sleep. I just need to chill…"

I decide to go downstairs to say goodbye to my mother. She'll probably wanna see me off, and if nothing else, a conversation with an actual human might wake me up a little more. It's weird: I'm definitely not asleep, but for some reason I almost feel as if I'm still moving in a—

A B Up Left Down

My hands shake— my world spins— I nearly trip down the stairs. Mom doesn't glance up from her morning coffee. She's been like that— sort of detached— ever since we got the letter in the mail that said Dad wasn't ever coming back.

Trying to keep my balance under control, I walk over and gently tap mom's shoulder to get her attention.

"Hey, Mom, guess what day it is?"

She lifts her gaze to meet mine and manages an empty smile.

"Right," she nods, acknowledging my birthday with the slight motion, "all boys leave home someday. It said so on TV."

"Yeah," I give her a quick hug, hoping she doesn't notice my unusually pale face, my strange shakiness, and try to keep me at home. I think she's been watching the recruitment propaganda again— that always sends her into a mood. "But don't worry, okay? I'll be home soon."

START

Her smile gains a little warmth as she nods a second time. "Professor Oak, next door, is looking for you." Her tone carries a calm farewell as she turns back to her breakfast— away from me.

"Okay Mom, thanks." I linger a moment in the doorway, "Mom… See you later."

She doesn't respond. I open the door, and step outside into the sun.

LEFT Down A Start UP A B A

I want to go next door to see the professor, but my feet refuse to take me there. I want to go get a Pokémon, but I can't get my body to listen. All I need to do is cross the street, but instead I spin and flail and stumble around like a man possessed. All the while, my head rings with nonsensical commands.

Right Down Start

I don't understand— where are these words— these letters— these chaotically jumbled voices coming from? What do they mean? I can't begin to guess.

All I know is that with every unsteady step, I get a little bit closer to the tall grass. I was told never to set foot there— that's where the wild Pokémon live, and it's dangerous to go alo—

"Hey! Wait! Don't go out!"

Professor Oak runs toward me out of nowhere, his unruly grey hair sticking up from his head as if blown out of line by some incessant wind. His lined face shows concern— the professor never fails to look out for me, despite the fact that the man's memory has faded to the point where he occasionally forgets his own grandson's name.

"It's unsafe!" he cries as he rushes to my side, "Wild Pokémon live in tall grass! You need your own Pokémon for your protection, Red!"

"Yeah," I nod, stuffing my twitching hands into my pockets to try and hide their obvious motion, "I know. I guess I just… forgot."

"I know, here— come with me." The professor lays a paternal hand on my shoulder and guides me to his lab, making sure I don't have the chance to go astray. I almost appreciate the firm lead—at the moment, I hardly trust myself to stay upright. I'll admit, something isn't quite right with me.

Right Left Up

Professor Oak takes me up, past his aides, into the back room where his grandson— my old rival— waits beside a table laden with three unmarked pokéballs.

"Gramps!" My spiky-haired rival steps forward with an arrogant scowl plastered across his face, "I'm fed up with waiting!"

"Blue?" The professor seems surprised to see his grandson at the lab. The kid is completely preoccupied with being the best at everything, so I seriously doubt that he ever remembers to spend much time with his grandfather. "Let me think…" the old man muses, tapping a pen to his lips until the sudden euphoria of memory strikes him, "Oh, that's right, I told you to come! Just wait." He pauses and looks around—

A

—until his distracted gaze finds the pokéballs on the table. "Here, Red! There are three Pokémon here," he laughs, "They are inside the pokéballs. When I was young, I was a serious Pokémon trainer. In my old age, I have only three left, but you can have one! Choose!"

I stand numbly for a moment, processing what I've just heard, making sure Oak's words aren't some trick of the bewilderingly ethereal clamor. My rival takes the opportunity to step forward.

"Hey! Gramps! What about me?" Blue seems affronted by the notion that he's been passed over in favor of the kid next door, as if his position as the professor's grandson should grant him special rights or something. I have to struggle to hide my grin.

"Be patient!" the professor chides, "Blue, you can have one too. That's why I called you here."

Satisfied, my rival nods, shoving me forward towards the encapsulated Pokémon.

Right A Start Down

"Go ahead, Red. I don't need to be greedy like you. Take your pick."

Part of me wants to spawn up some witty retort to wipe the smirk off the kid's smug face, but before I can find my tongue, the voices— those strange, irresistible voices— compel me towards the pokéballs, forcing me towards my choice.

I pause, my slightly shaking hand hovering over one of the simple, red-and-white orbs. "Professor, what exactly is in here?" My heart thunders in my ears, nearly drowning out the tide of sound flooding through my brain. I can't tell if it's the excitement or the insanity that has my blood pulsing.

Oblivious to my internal confliction, the professor lets the creature go free for a moment's viewing. It resembles a lizard, roughly two feet tall on its hind legs, with rough orange skin and a pale yellow underbelly. The end of its tail blazes hot, and its big blue eyes carry a similar, determined fire.

"Meet Charmander, the fire type Pokémon I'm offering. Charmander here likes living in hot places, and people say that when it rains, steam spouts from the tip of its flaming tail."

I don't need to hear another word— my hand closes on Charmander's empty pokéball without so much as a second's hesitation. I've always loved fire types, and the way Charmander looks at me… cheesy as it sounds, I can just tell that we'll be friends forever.

A A Up Down

"This one— I want Charmander." I make my voice as firm and as real as possible to drown out the intangible, impossible voices shouting inside my head. In response, Charmander smiles, joyfully spewing a tiny lick of flame from its mouth.

"A good choice," Professor Oak seems to mistake the source of my determination, "this Pokémon is really energetic! Would you like to nickname your new Charmander?"

"Yes," the mob of voices commandeers my throat to say, "I'll call it—"

ABBBBBBK(

…What? The "name" that falls from my mouth is incomprehensible— a tangle of sound, knotted and garbled and uncertain. The professor gives me an odd look, and Blue starts to snigger. I clear my throat and try again.

"Abby," I repeat, approximating the earlier gibberish, "I'll call it Abby."

I self-consciously send Abby into her pokéball and stuff the thing in my pocket as my rival steps up to make his choice. He ends up picking Squirtle, a water–turtle type thing. Of course, the first thing out of his mouth is a dumb comment about how his new Pokémon is stronger than mine.

Sure, water beats fire when you're talking type advantage, but anyone who hopes to be a half-decent trainer knows that—

Up Left Start Up

—that there's more to a Pokémon battle than just elemental rock-paper-scissors.

I thank the professor and go to leave, but his self-obsessed grandson won't let me go without a fight.

Left Up A Down B Start Up

The voices take over— I'm not sure what happens, but somehow Abby and I win without much struggle. My stomach twists slightly to see the battered state of Blue's new Squirtle, but the voices give me no time to dwell on the circumstance of my victory.

Of course, my ever-so-honorable opponent's first word is to complain about how he picked the wrong Pokémon. He declares his intent to make the poor thing fight until it's strong, then takes his leave with some insolent comment. I'm not paying him any attention— I can't care much about what he has to say. The stream of voices in my head takes precedence.

You

They seem to call out to me amidst the mess of nonsense commands.

We have Chosen you to become Champion.

We will make all your dreams come True.

I shake my head slightly, hoping to dislodge the feeling of multitude inside my mind as I exit the lab.

"Why me?" I whisper, pleading softly to the voices. They don't answer. All they do is repeat the same phrase, over and over:

We have Chosen you…