Survival Project: The Hero's Game

When you get drawn to enter the Arena, it's practically a glorified invitation to die. One Pokémon, no supplies, and twenty-three others out for your blood, for starters. And that's not even half of it. Only one of us gets out alive, and I'm pretty sure it isn't going to me. Not like that's going to stop me from trying.

T-rated for future blood and violence, naturally, and some sporadic language. No, really. This is HG-inspired. There will be blood, there will be violence, there will be gore. You have been warned.

Chapter One: The Games We Play

Sixty seconds... and then... the madness starts.

I'm debating if it'll be worth it just to step off of my plate and get blown to smithereens. It'll be pretty easy to end it all, right here, right now, and then at least my death won't be long and drawn out.

I finger the lone Pokéball at my waist. I'm only allowed to keep one Pokémon with me now, instead of six. It makes me feel safer, at least, knowing other competitors only get one Pokémon as well, but it feels weird without my team on my side. With some amount of luck, I'll be able to catch more Pokémon in here, but everyone knows that the Pokéballs they give us are few and far between. For the time being, it's Ketsu and me.

They say that stuff used to be different here, hundreds of years ago, but I have a hard time believing it. They say that Gym Battles weren't always the brutal attacks they are now. They say that the people used to live in peace alongside one another, and poverty didn't cripple every city on the continent besides Saffron.

They say that there was a time before the Survival Project, where travelling the League and training didn't have a horrible, horrible price. Once upon a time, they said (but not any more).

After Team Rocket took over, they wanted to stop training. Something about how every single attempt they had made before to take over the region was thwarted by some scrawny little kid and his Pokémon. So after they managed to crush everything into submission, they put a price on training. I hadn't meant to get involved. But the money we got from winning seemed to outweigh the consequences of training, for a while. It brought food to the table, at least, something that was harder before.

But training has a price. Getting your trainer's license puts your name in once into the pool for the Reaping, and you get another slip for every year you renew your license. Every Pokémon you catch grabs you one more entry. Every evolution nets you another. Every gym badge that you earn gets you one more. The message is clear: if you train between the ages of twelve and eighteen, if you bother trying to protect yourself against the oppression of this desolate region, if you even look like the slightest threat to the Rockets, you had better be prepared to die (I wasn't).

So it was only a matter of time that I, with five years of training, seven badges, a team of six, and nine or so evolutions to my name, would end up here. My parents cried, but I found that the tears won't come.

I think this is what it means when people say that going into the Arena causes you to lose your soul.

Forty-Five seconds... for... the beginning of the end.

I've wasted fifteen seconds thinking about how I got here. I can't afford to do that any more. Not here, not now. Now I have to focus on Survival. They've thrown me into the Survival Project to see if I could get it out, and I need to prove them wrong. If not for me, then for Ketsu. I'm going to get both of us out alive now, because I have no one left to care about.

They draw three of us from each city. There are nine cities left an towns in Neo-Kanto in all after they burned Lavender Town to the ground, but only eight cities send their tributes. Team Rocket rules from Saffron City, some sort of opulent and beautiful paradise that I had only heard rumors before I ended up here. The Arena is somewhere on the outskirts now, in some place they used to call the Safari Zone. Saffron, with its outlandish fashions and decadence, has one main perk: if you live there, you live in luxury, every need supplied by the border towns. And, of course, you're exempt from the Survival Project. Of course, no one decides to live in Saffron. You're either born there, or you're not. That's it.

That leaves eight towns and twenty-four of us, an eclectic mixture of teenagers, and we're all going to fight to the death so that we can get out of this alive. They say that the survivors of the Survival Project get fame and fortune to last for a thousand years. I'd see my team again, at the very least, and I might even get to become a Gym Leader. With any luck, I'd be strong enough that no one would get my badge. Then, at least, no kids would have to enter the Survival Project on my account.

Also, they're not the ones lying dead in the dirt when the dust clears. I watched the Survival Project as a kid. Everyone did. Every year, it's a mandatory thing from age four to sit at your television and watch as children and their Pokémon fight to the death, and I've been watching for twelve years, now. This would have been my thirteenth time, but instead I'm the one on the television, instead of curled up on the sofa to watch the carnage like it's some sort of glorified honor.

I have to remind myself to look around again, to scope out my competition. I don't recognize the two other trainers from Viridian City, but I can see the green, plant-like insignia on their sleeves that marks the three of us as trainers from Viridian. They say that the great Giovanni came from our town, although Team Rocket certainly doesn't repay any favors. We live in poverty, just like everyone else.

Thirty seconds... before... all hell breaks loose.

I look around again. The clock is ticking down, faster than I have ever known, but I know that as soon as that bell goes off and we start to run, there won't be any way that time will go quickly enough for me. There are trees everywhere, and this year's Arena is supposed to be a forest of some sorts. That's good. I'm familiar with forests, a little. Viridian Forest is right on our borders, and those shady boughs used to be my refuge before I was old enough to train.

I'm certainly not going to be a great fighter, of course. That's what Ketsu's here for, although I really wish that I had been able to evolve him before we got here. That's luck, though, and evolutionary items are almost impossible to find out in Kanto. One stone costs enough to feed my family for a year, and it's not like we've ever had more than a bare minimum in our lives.

My eyes fasten on a Dawn Stone near the mouth of the Cornucopia, nestled between a few Ultra Balls, some Escape Rope, and a Hyper Potion. The good stuff is all the way in the middle, of course, and I know that I won't have a shot in hell of reaching the golden horn before some trainer slashes the life from my body. I want to run for it, so very badly, but the back of my mind is already telling me that it's useless. Ketsu's just going to have to stay unevolved. That's okay. We've always managed before.

I'm starting to regret all of the times I decided to laze around, though. I can run all right, and I'm certainly not like a Snorlax, but I'm average when it comes to strength and stamina. I can run pretty far. I'll give myself that. I was one of the runners as a kid, the ones who ran through Viridian Forest with messages, and I'm pretty fast and can run pretty far. But that's about it. I'm starting to remember all of those traitorous times, the times when I decided to Fly instead of walk or Surf instead of swim. Because while I have trained my Pokémon pretty well, if I say so myself, I'm not some sort of ninja.

Good thing I'm not in some sort of contest where we fight to the death, right?

Fifteen seconds... and... it all comes crumbling down.

I spot a Pokéball a few feet from my ring. I can reach out and grab it, and then be long gone. Pokéballs are one of the most valuable items in the Arena, and I have a feeling that they'll be even more useful than normal given the tendencies of forests to be infested with wild Pokémon. I know that getting more than one Pokémon on my team can be the difference between life and death. Ketsu's great, but I really need a flier or a swimmer. My strategy is going to be to remain as hidden for as long as I can, and when I get confronted, to give my foes the fight of their lives. Ketsu's not a fan of lurking and hiding (he has this thing with honor, sometimes), but frankly, there's little else I can do.

So. Current objectives: I have to, under all circumstances, grab that Pokéball. There's a pack next to it, no doubt filled with something that is mildly useful, and then I'm going to have to get running. I would love to go into the Cornucopia, to try my luck, but I know that I'm not strong enough. I'm not a fighter. I'm not a hero.

(Oh, and not die in the process.)

Ketsu's Pokéball is in my hand, cold metal beneath my fingers that snaps me back to reality. Around the circle, I can see the others getting ready, as well. Once the time runs out and the mines are disabled, I'm releasing Ketsu and getting the hell out of here. He's my only ally in here, but I know that he's going to be enough (he has to be).

I bend down and prepare to run. Everything's suddenly happening so quickly, now. I can't afford to hold back. I'm stronger than this.

And I'm going to survive. I'm going to win.

The clock hits zero. Ketsu's out of his ball in a flash of white light, and I start running.

Zero seconds... until... Survival.

9/22/2012:

Hi, everyone! This is my first story, so please be nice. I don't own Pokémon, and this concept is based off of The Hunger Games. I want to get that out there right away. I'm going to have different plot and characters, of course, but the base idea isn't mine. So. Official disclaimer: the concept of having children between the ages of twelve through eighteen thrown into an area called the Arena to fight to the death upon the whims of a very powerful capitol city does not belong to me, but to Suzanne Collins. The concept of having monsters that you can fit into red and white spheres the size of baseballs does not belong to me, but to the Pokémon franchise and Nintendo. Again, this story will have different plot and characters than both of the franchises above, and I don't own those ideas, and blah blah blah.

But. Speaking of characters. OC's are accepted for this story! I decided that having all of the pre-Arena stuff is too similar to The Hunger Games for my taste, so we aren't going to need characters like mentors and stylists (unless you really, really want to, but... well, go for it, then ._.) There are, of course, twenty-three other tributes, but I'm going to have to close submissions after a couple of chapters because of the tricky dead-but-then-not-dead complications that might arise. I've got a few of my own for later chapters, but I'd love to see what you guys can do!

Name: First/Last, please. Nicknames optional.

Gender: Note that there are three tributes per town instead of two, so as long as we don't have three guys or three girls, it's okay. :D

Pokémon: Each OC only gets one Pokémon to begin with. No legendaries, please, and try not to use one that's already been done. Nicknames suggested slash encouraged, and I might end up picking meaningful nicknames if you don't.

Pokémon Personality: It doesn't have to be very much. Just a little background on how your Pokémon behaves and stuff. (you can also list suggestions of Pokémon that your character will catch in the Arena. Note that most characters will only catch one or two additional Pokémon at best, and will rarely carry more than one, due to deaths and whatnot. If you have any dramatic ideas in mind, feel free to PM me with that)

City of Origin: Only three trainers per city. Cities up for grabs are Pallet Town (livestock), Viridian (lumber), Pewter (stone), Cerulean (fishing), Fuschia (medicine/supplier of Arena), Vermillion (electricity), Celadon (farming), and Cinnabar (...geothermal energy?). Try to match your character's Pokémon with their city of origin, or at least make it make sense - electric types in Vermillion, water/fire types in Cinnibar, starters in Pallet, and so forth. Also, feel free to suggest a new purpose for any city. Especially Cinnabar.

Age: 12-18.

Appearance: Note that your character is going to end up dirty, bloody, and generally unattractive, so. XD

History: Nothing fancy. Just a bit of back story. No Katniss Everdeen ripoffs, please. Nothing too dramatic. We can't all have parents who died of cancer while stuck in a burning building defending their precious children after one of their sons suddenly became evil and tried to kill their angelic, innocent daughter, who was forced to kill her brother and blah blah blah...

Personality: The most important part. Try to make this more than "happy, smiley person who loves her friends," if you can, and try to make it as detailed as possible.

Tentative Strategy: Also important. What does your character plan to do in the Arena? Will they try to make some big team and then backstab their "friends" later? Will they hide in the trees? Will they pick off others when given the chance? Do they even care?

Strengths: Try not to have too many. Most people are fairly average. The concept of Careers isn't really canon here, but one or two people can do it, I guess. Just let Katniss stay in THG. No magical bow and arrow perfect accuracy tree climbing awesome people allowed, hopefully.

Weaknesses: Everyone's gotta have something. And not just "he's so beautiful and strong that people swoon when they talk to him." Or something.

Weapon of Choice: I'm still torn on having guns. For now, yes. If someone can convince me otherwise, no. Your character does not need to have a weapon. In fact, most of your characters aren't going to know how to use weapons very well, seeing as they're trainers, and they might just have a weapon where it's like "oh, this hammer is cool," rather than "I'M SUCH A BEAST WITH MY NINJA STARS LOOKIT".

Remember, a lot of OCs are going to end up dead. Please don't be offended if your charrie dies at any point, because he or she probably will. I don't hate you if that happens, I promise; by the very nature of this story, almost all OCs, my own included, are going to end up dead. I'm still grateful for any submissions that I get, though. 3

Oh, and if someone can do good coverart for this, I would love you forever. And ever.

Questions? Comments? Suggestions? PM me and I'll be happy. 3

Enjoy!

~Chaos