Johann Kabuto was not a pleasant man, but he was an efficient one, and did not shirk from unpleasant tasks. He was fair haired and very tall, with a beak-nose, long face, and lean, lengthy arms that made him look as if he'd been violently stretched at birth. All features that made him stick out among the generally darker haired, shorter people who lived in the western plains, beyond the Viridian Wildlands, on the frontier of Kanto.
He did not blend.
He rode ahead of his three companions, weathered hands holding the reigns loosely as his Rapidash pounded the earth beneath him. It was just past the height of summer but neither Johann nor his fire pokémon noticed, though sweat darkened the sides oh his wide-brimmed hat and dust began to mar his horse's snow white flanks. Every so often he would crook his head slightly to ensure his companions were still following, relishing his solitude but careful never to ride too far ahead. While he was an adequate hand with a pokéball and Rapidash had certainly assisted through the many hazards of life in the semi-wild, Route One was poorly traveled these days and the risk of running into a flock of feral Fearow or an Arbok nest were not insignificant – it was why he had three Hikers with him in the first place, no doubt cursing his admittedly excessive pace as they trailed behind on rented Ponyta.
But he did love the wilderness. With a grunt of "Gah!" he kicked his heels and set off at a gallop as he raced forward, the summit of the final hillside in view.
The group of four stopped at the crest, looking down into the valley falling gently below, filling the narrow space between the Silver Foothills and the sea. Pallet Town. It was late now, the Hikers had caught up and insisted on refreshing themselves and their pokémon before going into town. Johann squinted towards the sun, it was well into the afternoon – though this far south there was more than enough time to continue into town. Johann smiled, a look that did not suit the naturally dour man in the slightest. This though, this he enjoyed – watching the Hikers' Gravelers and Primeapes grappling on the hillside. His work as a League Collector didn't leave much time for hobbies or travel – it had been years since he'd been to one of the great Coliseums in Saffron or Celadon or Cinnabar, or even a caught a Circuit Match in Viridian. But men like himself were barely contained violence by nature and of nature - perhaps that's why he loved the provinces, the dangers here were greater than any caged battled. Reflections were lost when one of the Graveler landed a particular nasty looking hook right in a Primeape's snout; he shook his head – this was not the place for fond recollection or introspection, however much he might sometimes wish it were.
"Pokémon away boys, save it for if we get real trouble," Johann interrupted the murderous 'sparring' session. The Hikers grumbled under their breaths, but they recalled their pokémon quick enough to suit. As they did so, he gave a grunt of satisfaction and turned back around, idly patting the flanks of Rapidash and readjusting the saddle for the remainder of the trip. He hoisted himself up, taking a final moment to appreciate the sight before him.
He only came this far into the backwaters once a year, and despite being a town of no particular import, their was a beauty in Pallet's summer sunsets rolling down the hills across the impeccably blue seas and white sands of its coast – it was a sight he remembered fondly, about the only part of this trip that he routinely did. It was a shame he couldn't simply set up camp here and have the villagers come to him, instead of spending the evening in a second-rate inn of a third-rate hamlet.
"We going in tonight, Boss?" The largest and leader of the Hikers, a brute who had introduced himself in Viridian as 'Fatback' asked. "We usually like to wait, me and the boys. Best to go into town at sunrise before work starts and everyone spreads out. Less chance for trouble that way."
Johann looked at him – Fatback lived up to his name: he was enormous with a round face full of bristling sideburns and a thinning beard; and giant, barrel shaped arms and legs. No neck. He looked even absurd, sitting on top of his tiny Ponyta. He was oddly comfortable on horseback for such a large man and though he'd never make a recruiting poster, Johann suspected he'd done service in the Rhyhorn Corps before becoming a Hiker.
"I'm afraid we must continue forth. I have business in town that I needs to be taken care of before tomorrow's assembly. Pallet Town has never given us problems, it won't now."
"If you say, boss..." Fatback trailed off skeptically. At Johann's look of impatience, he continued with an enormous shrug. "Times are getting tougher, is all. Locals might not be happy to see us. They wasn't last time we stopped by."
Johann snorted. "They're never happy to see the likes of us. But I've got a job, and I'll damn well do it. And your job is to make sure I can do my job. So you do that."
"No problems, Boss," Fatback replied immediately, arms raised slightly in a token gesture of surrender. "Me and the boys ain't failed a job yet. Just asking a question is all."
Johann nodded. "Let's go." He hadn't made any sort of small talk with the Hikers since settling payment back in Viridian, but curiosity got the better of him. "You've spent time in Pallet, then? Hardly seems like your type of place."
Fatback snorted. "Piece of shit is what it is. Last coupla years I've Hiked this damned Route more times a year than I can count, and nothing worth a Rattata's shrunken testicles along the whole of it." Then he shrugged, "Beats life as a civ though. Chop my own dick off with a Pincer if that was how I was gonna end my days,"
Johann nodded, a little crude but his mirroring his own sentiments, less the castration-by-giant-insect . "We're off then," Johann grunted, nudging Rapidash and setting off down the final slope into Pallet. The other three followed, the wilderness soon giving way to maintained fields and the occasional orchard, less bursting than they should be so late in season, before these too ended at a rough dirt road and stout stone wall that marked the boundary of the town.
Their entry did not go unnoticed. Scruffy looking children playing summer games looked up at the sound of hoofbeats, and scurried away out of sight when their identities were unmistakable. They still got pointed at and followed by the bravest and oldest children – novelty giving way to the threat of danger. The adults that were out though eyed them warily and shied away, but continued their day's work, carefully masked faces and forced routine still visibly showing signs of distrust and fear.
The town's layout was not unusual and the journey was not new for any of the four – in short order they arrived at their destination just off the town center, a modest but well kept two story home. A worn wooden sign reading 'Pallet House – Rooms available' the only indication of its function as one of two hostel's in town. Johann sighed internally – a real inn at least would have real Vermillion ale, over-priced no doubt, but not whatever passed for peasant piss here. But from experience Pallet House was more discrete, and that was important in delicate matters where the locals would kill a man if they weren't more terrified of the repercussions.
"You two, stay outside. You," he nodded to Fatback, "with me." Almost as an afterthought, he flicked a pokéball from his own belt, the ball hitting the ground at his feet with a light clunk before emitting a red light. Seconds later, the light solidified into the form of a Flareon. Two identical clunks followed suit from behind, and as he entered the inn, he heard the distinct growls of Graveler, dragging themselves into position around the fire horses that had been tethered out front.
It was all for show of course – the local townsfolk wouldn't (shouldn't) have anything more dangerous than a blacksmith or stone mason's Machop, completely untrained and unsuited for battle, and the horses were more than capable of looking after themselves. But impressions had to be kept, and overwhelming firepower – literally and figuratively - made a lasting impression.
"Good Afternoon, what can I get -" An auburn haired women stopped mid-sentence when she caught sight of him. Her eyes flickered to the fire pokémon by his side. Flareon did not disappoint, choosing now to open its mouth wide in yawn as it shook of pokéball fatigue... revealing a glimpse of its tiny, needle-like fangs. "Good Afternoon, Mr. Kabuto..."
"Ms. Ketchum. Pleasure to be back in town again. One room, three beds in the commons if you don't mind," Johann reeled off the order like an old habit, polite but clipped.
"Of-of course, sir. Will there be anything else?" She asked, voice trembling slightly and not quite meeting his eyes, they flickered just up to chin level and then flittered over to Fatback, back and forth, back and forth. She reminded him of a frightened Pidgey. Johann on the other hand kept his gaze steady on her – dominance, check. That would make everything else go smoother.
"Yes," he responded after a moment, allowing the silence to draw itself out as his eyes left her and wandered slowly around the parlor. "Please, let the Professor know I've arrived, if you could. I would appreciate if he'd join me here for dinner – I'll take the private dining room for the evening." Without breaking his lazy gaze around the room, he settled two small silver coins on the front desk.
Her eyes locked on the coins. "Of course. I'll get one of the boys to contact the professor right away. Make yourselves comfortable." Her smile strained, but she made the coins disappear quick enough.
When she left, he allowed himself a small smile. Pallet may be a backward pisswater of a pond, but right now he was the biggest son-of-a-Seaking in it, no questions about it.
Professor Oak was a man of enormous intellect and for all his eccentricity and quirks of habit, a reliable and rational fellow, liked and respected by all. He was even still referred to by his old title of "Professor", despite parting ways with the Inidgo Research Institute decades ago. Years ago, in his youth, his prestige had been further supplemented by his status as one of Kanto's groundbreaking researchers in pokémon inter-type biological compatibility. The boy-wonder of the west, when by the age of twenty-three he had solved the missing piece enabling pokémon to breed true with one ditto parent. That was half a century ago, but even so, it spoke volumes that he was unquestionably the leader of Pallet despite a rocky personal relationship with the League and his complete lack of surviving political connections with any of the larger prefectures, particularly Virdian City, Pallet's lifeline with the larger world.
It irked him to be reduced to begging.
"You really do have to appreciate the situation we've been in. Three years of droughts. And ever since the League raised the mobilization orders against Johto, we haven't had any pokémon sent to us capable of battling anything more fierce than a Pidgeotto. I mean no disrespect, but -"
"It doesn't really matter, what you mean," Johann interrupted. "The law is very simple. Every year there is the tribute. That tribute that protects us and ours from the Johtese barbarians who would overrun our frontier given half a chance – a frontier that you live on, I might add. Every year you must pay either in food for the soldiers who protect you, Kiy, or pokémon. We are very generous about this, we give you many options. You know all this. And yet again, your shipments to Viridian do not match what is required of you." Johann paused, taking a sip from his tea and letting his words sink in.
"Do you think that Pallet Town should live in decadence while the rest of Kanto toils for our survival?"
Johann's tone did not betray his grim humor at the situation – he, afterall, set the tribute. Set it deliberately just out of reach. The penalty for insufficient payment was very harsh, and while the tribute went (mostly) in its entirety to the League, the penalties would net him a handsome profit, personally.
Professor Oak backed down, then paused, anger bringing back some semblance of bravery to the older man. "We've paid. Every year we pay. If you keep cutting us off at the knees, it won't be long until it doesn't matter what the tribute is, we won't be able to pay it and you won't be able to take your pound of flesh."
Now Johann did laugh, rudely. "We shall see. I've been doing this for a long time, and your people show no signs of ceasing to breed. Tomorrow we shall assemble the town and I shall have a look." Johann's face hardened. "Should anyone not show up, the punishment will be severe."
Professor Oak nodded – he had experienced the ramifications personally last year. Mew alone knew where his grandson was now.
"Very good then, I will see you just after sunrise. Goodnight."
Oak did not need to be told twice. Dinner unfinished, he stood, ready to head home. Just as he was going he stopped, turning around, head bowed in defeat. "Please let me know... this time... will it be boy or girl?"
Johann paused at that, leaning back in his seat slightly, as if thinking through the decision. "Boy, I think. We'll see... but there's a war coming, so..."
Oak nodded grimly, heading out of the house to his own home.
It was well after dark when Ash Ketchum returned home, the long summer evening spent down at the port, he and the other young boys assisting the local fisherman prepare their nets for the following morning,; small, dextrous fingers untying the mess of knots from the great nets and scooping out the gore from gutted fish that were an inevitable consequences of the fisherman's trade, paid in bulbanto and the invaluable currency to ten-year-old boys the world over – stories of the perils and freedoms of the seas, of the great henever they dared too close to the Orange Archipelago. It was a happy Ash who entered the Pallet House that evening, singing a variant of a fisherman's song that his mother would not approve of in the slightest. That he didn't really get it was irrelevant, the fisherman laughed whenever they got the boys to sing it so that's what mattered.
I wanna be, the very best.
Like no one ever was.
So lost in dreams and future ambitions that he didn't notice a very harried Professor Oak nearly bumping into him on the front steps.
To get a lass outside her dress,
And frisk her with me paws.
He let himself in. No merchant ships had come into town while he was in port – they rarely did, nor the spectacular and even rarer frigates of the Kanto navy, with their gilded Gyrados figureheads roaring from their bows. He sighed, another quiet night.
I will travel across the land searching far and wide,
Find every wench, to understand, the power that's inside.
"POKÉMON!" Ash shouted the original chorus that never changed, however inappropriate to the verse in question, slamming the door as he did. He mimicked throwing a pokéball with the doorknob.
"Ash!" His mother appeared out of nowhere, her face strained, voice hushed even while shouting. "Quiet!" she ordered.
"It's quite alright," Ash jumped at the voice, his face flushing. How many times, had he been told to always assume company, no matter how quiet the day's news had been? The man stared at him for a moment, then looked back to Delia. "Didn't recall you having a kid. Night."
"Good Night," Delia responded meekly. As soon as he disappeared up the stares, she gave Ash her best glare. There had been a damn good reason Ash had been out of sight on previous visits.
"I'm sorry," Ash mumbled, not catching her eye. "I know..."
Instead of scolding him and repeating the often enough said lesson, she simply nodded, too exhausted with the day's events. "Go to bed Ash, you need to be up early tomorrow."
Ash shrugged – he was up early every day – but didn't argue the point. "Night, mom."
Ash awoke to the morning bells. But unlike most mornings, these did not quickly stop. Dread filled his stomach as his brain slowly turned on and the bells rang on. There was never a good reason for unceasing bells. Morning bells are Weepinbells, the saying went.
Ash got ready as fast as he could and his mother was waiting for him on the steps, they walked quickly to the town common, no words spoken but Delia's hand gripping tighter and tighter on Ash's shoulder.
The townsfolk from across Pallet assembled into a ragged square of not-quite ranks, small familial clumps formed into columns. Johann didn't particularly care for the ragged nature of the formation, watching from the front with the Hikers forming a loose perimeter around the townfolk, Professor Oak looking sick at his side. They were here at least, and when the Hikers finished the head count it came close enough to the census roll he'd been given back weeks ago back in Celadon to not worry about the difference. He knew how the towns worked – any absence could be excused as a fisherman at sea or a merchant hawking his wares to a frontier garrison.
"You have failed in your duty to the League," He decreed as the last bell faded away. "By order, I am to compensate your debt with," a quick, final glance at the parchment granting his authority. Sixteen. "Twenty trainer recruits, or three A-level pokémon in each trainer's stead." The last bit was A-level Tauros of course – the denizens of Pallet Town would be lucky to have a B-level pokémon between them.
An anguished gasp rippled throughout the crowd at the steepness of this year's penalty. Any chance of revolt was quenched by the roar of Fatback's Onix at the back of the crowd, and the highpitched thrum of a freshly-released Magneton, blinking into existence at Johann's side.
The Hikers went through the crowd, examining clusters and pulling out boys. Professor Oak recalled Johann's statement from last night – looks like he had not changed his mind. Delia held her breath as a Hiker examined Ash, letting out a silent exhale when he walked by a moment later. Not this year.
Fifteen minutes and an eternity later, it was over. Casually, callously, the crowd was dismissed, the normal routine of work coming back with a surreal speed for a town that had just had its ranks of apprentice brick builders and fisherman and militiamen decimated. This was the cruel reality of life; the way things were, simple and awful and brutal.
"Thank you for your hospitality," Johann called out to Delia, once more mounting Rapidash, the Hikers already heading out of town, a scared line of boys tethered behind them. "Till next year."
Mimemimemimemime.
Two heads snapped up at once, one furious and one terrified.
"Civilians aren't allowed Psychics," Johann growled. "That rule is very, very clear." And with good reason – years ago he'd been young and daring and a damned fool in love and had promised a cute young thing from Cerulean an Abra from the cape if only she'd show him the time of day beneath the infamous Nugget Bridge. And she had and he'd made a show of going up the cape with plans to caper off... only to have his brain damn near fried by one angry bastard of a Kadabra. Never had fully recovered the use of his right hand.
By the Birds, what he'd give to personally choke an Alakazam with its own spoon.
Mimemimemime!
"He's not! He's... he's broken. Can't produce so much as a Confuse Ray, I swear on Mew (bad choice). I... I have papers, f-from the Saffron Gym. If you give me a moment, I swear, I'll get them. He came in the last shipment... I can tell you the ship if you give me a minute. He's just help around the house, not even a class-D. If there's a penalty I didn't know about... I can pay... You can take it too..."
Her frightened ramble continued and perhaps – perhaps! - that would have sufficed, and for the most part Johann knew better than to settle personal vendettas on league business, especially ones so damned unpredictible as this. Had the Mr. Mime not chosen that moment to come out and begin sweeping the porch, its enormous mouth frozen in a look of mild astonishment, eyes bugging out and its odd, almost tik-tok walk and it swept a broom from side to side.
"Keep your Mime," Johann growled slowly, "from speaking in my head!" He punched it.
Mime! A split second later, Johann was ten feet away, stumbling down the steps of the porch and sprawling on his back. Furious, he picked himself up, then knelt down to pick up his hat and ignoring the heat in his face – the boys must have like seeing that, he'd have to make sure they didn't get any ideas on the journey northward. Insult to injury, he's only been physically assaulted by the psychic pokémon.
Not just the boys. The townspeople were watching, staying back and taking pains not to be seen congregating, but he knew they were all taking pleasure at watching the Collector get his, even in this small way. That couldn't be tolerated – a town could not be allowed to view their Collector with anything but terror.
"Hell with your papers. Keep your damned Mime."
Delia bowed.
"But," he pointed at Ash, whose head was poking out from around the door, "I'm taking the boy. One of mine ran off." The lie was that much worse when all could see the twenty boys clear as day, but a Collector's word was law. That was important.
Delia froze, her worst fears realized. Before she could react, Flareon was released once more, joined by a Beedrill and Machoke.
"Come out boy, quickly now." Ash shuffled unthinkingly forward at the command – a deference to angry League Collectors an engrained trait in mere denizens.
"No! Not my boy! Not Ash!" Delia wailed, desperation forcing action. "Not my boy!" Her screams roused Ash, who suddenly took a heavy step backward – only to find himself locked in place by Machoke.
"Not my boy!" Deliah repeated, rushing towards Ash. A dangerous buzz in her ear caught her attention, and she found Beedrill's stinger hovering dangerously just above her throat.
"Mom!" Ash sobbed, but it was futile. And despite the pleas of mother and child, in mere minutes Ash had joined the line, now twenty-one strong.
"Keep order," the man shouted to the gang of boys. "We walk until Viridian city, and the faster we get there, the faster you get a hot meal."
He nodded at Fatback, and then looked westward, a predatory smile crossing his lips. "No fear, boys. There's war on the wind – and that means if you do exactly as I say, there's no Pewter mines or pressgangs off the Orange coasts for you. Five of you even get to go on to an Academy, so make sure you impress me with good behavior! Fatback, let's have a marching song, get their training started early.
Fatback smirked, a nasty, less-than-fulltooth grin. "You heard him boys, some of you peasant bastard might one day amount to a pokémon trainer. Sing strong, march straight!"
I wanna be the very best, like no one ever was.
"Louder Boys!"
Hikers: A general term for the semi-professional bands of mercenaries that operate within Kanto. While not answering directly to any particular bureaucrat or Gym Leader, all Hikers must belong to officially recognized groups and provide an annual payment to the League in exchange for access to the Pokémon Transportation and Recovery Network run through the pokécenters as well as maintaining an up-to-date writ of assistance on behalf of the Indigo Chateau. Initially formed to supplement the overstretched League forces in establishing control over Mount Moon prefecture and the infamous labyrinth of the Rock Tunnels, the Hikers' numbers have declined in recent years, surviving only on the provincial fringes as rented men-at-arms and privateer crewmen. Due to League restrictions on elemental types, Hikers generally rely on a brute force stable of rock, ground, and fighting type pokémon. It should come as no surprise then that the most popular recruitment grounds for Hikers are ex-military types with fond memories of hard hitters; in particular, veterans from the Pewter City Rhyhorn Corps and the Saffron Hitmons together make up a majority of currently licensed Hikers.
Route One: A north-south route running from Viridian City to Pallet Town. Initially hailed as an national logistical gem with the intent of turning Pallet Town into the land locked Viridian City's own port-of-entry (and hence the seemingly prestigious name), the deterioration of relations between Johto and Kanto and the subsequent constant simmering of hostilities on the frontier made expansion and maintenance of the east-west routes far more important priorities, and Vermillion's subsequent fall as a hub for international trade made the port route irrelevant. Today, Route One is a backwater, more of a semi-routinely patrolled well marked trail than a proper road. Claims that more dangerous and aggressive pokémon are returning to the area have begun to gain credence.
Kiy: Kanto Imperial Yen, the currency of Kanto. One Kiy is fixed at .75 grams of gold. Other coinages include the bulbanto, valued at .01 grams; and the pikanto, at .25 grams. Large exchanges are usually administered in nuggets – a large, highly decorative coin worth 1.00 gram of gold. Thanks both to their rarity in common circulation and the most popular images engraved upon them, nuggets are colloquially referred to as Dragongold or Alakazams.