Not an auspicious start. It seems that, stumbling around in the darkness, I have woken someone up. Presumably this is the person whose house I am burgling. Awkward. This mystery homeowner then proceeds to ask me for the time. I warily oblige, informing him that it is 1:15 AM. This is a lie. Just goes to show how much of a rough customer I am.
I am a pretty rough customer.
My companion seems shocked at the number of minutes I have listed. Perhaps he suspects my ruse. I whip out my trusty knife, ready to silence his inquisitive questions. Actually, I just stand there talking. I don't have a trusty knife, see. I blew all my credits on hookers. And ether. Yeah, ether…
So, turns out I am not in a house at all. I have blundered into the winter-cave of a deranged hermit mystic. He welcomes me to the world of Pokemon, a world I have inhabited for, oh, I don't know, maybe my entire life. He claims to be a both a tree and a scientist. Then he morphs into a beach ball with ears. I flip shit. I can't even listen to the rest of what he's saying. In my panic, I tell him my name. He morphs back, promises me dreams and adventures, and casts a spell on me. My bones splinter and my body screams as I turn into a tiny doll. The stranger promises he'll see me again shortly. Everything flashes white.
And I awake in a daze on the floor in my mom's attic. I have a headache the size of Mount Silver. Fuck. I am never doing ether again.
I crawl downstairs and immediately my mom accosts me. It seems my pokegear is back from the repair shop where, presumably, it was getting the bloodstains cleaned out. Probably not my blood.
Great. Now she's asking me what day it is. Monday, duh. I'm not stupid. Yes, I know how to use the phone, mom! Geez! Whatever. I blow that popsicle stand (i.e. my house) and saunter over to Elm's lab.
He requests a favor. I decline. He refers to himself in the third person. I roll my eyes. He offers me a rare pokemon. I take them all and run, beginning a life of crime that culminates in me becoming Giovanni's right hand man. Actually, I just take one. It has a fire mohawk on its back and is totally lame. I hope my Team Rocket buddies don't see me with this dumbass pokemon. They're not actually my buddies, per se, but they will be when they see how cool I am. That'll be totally awesome.
What, heal my pokemon? No way! Hardcore Rockets like me don't heal our pokemon. Pokemon are just tools for evil, Elmo.
He enters his phone number into my address book. Try as I might, I can't delete it. Great. The damn thing just got repaired and it's broken already. Just great. As I'm leaving, the professor's aide forces something into my hands. I hope it's ether.
There's a woman right outside the lab. She comments on my pokemon's beauty and expresses her intention of taking it. I panic and flee.
Okay, Grell. Stay cool. You lost her.
I'm wandering through the deep grass now. A rattata pokes its head out of a hole. Shit. Rattata are super-powerful. All I've got is this dumbass mohawk-mon. Fortunately, I'm able to run away. I guess the rattata had already eaten. Here comes a sentret, eyes blazing with primal fury. I skedaddle.
And now I'm in another town. I quickly head to the mart to buy some poke balls and ether. They don't have poke balls and ether. What they do have is awakening. I buy twelve. Awakening is like coffee, right? Only one way to find out.
When my mind finally clears, I am lost somewhere in the wilderness. I don't feel so hot. I stumble into a convenient building, my eyes popping and my ears ringing. My mind seethes. A man in a suit who somehow knows my name greets me. He claims to be working for Dr. Tree, the shapeshifting magician of nightmares. He gives me an egg. I'm not entirely sure, but I think this means we're having sex. I put the egg in my backpack.
Turns out he got the egg from an elderly couple. I'm not entirely sure, but I think this means he cheated on me. I whip out my trusty knife. No, wait, I don't have a trusty knife. I just get increasingly confused and angry. It seems he has talked about the egg with Professor Elm as well. He's just sharing his egg with everyone.
I thought we had something special.
The suited man casts a spell invoking tree spirits that turns the innocent scientist in the corner into the terrible Dr. Tree. Shit! He recognizes me!
Whenever life gets me down, my therapist says I should focus on happy thoughts. So I'm not thinking about you, tree-man. And I'm not thinking about that bastard who gave me an egg and left me. I'm thinking about Giovanni. Giovanni wouldn't let strange men harass him. He'd sic his pokemon on them and they'd be torn to ribbons. Standing there amidst the carnage he'd brush some stray tatters of flesh off his suit, straighten his tie, and laugh that deep laugh I've always imagined he has.
But I don't have a suit. I only have these stupid clothes my mom got for me. And I don't have badass pokemon. More like bad hairdo. Fucking fire-mole. I try my best impression of a manly guffaw. Somewhere along the way out of my throat, it turns to a gurgle.
Oh shit. Tree-guy just implanted me with some sort of tracking device. I try to run but the rat-bastard restrains me. He tells me to rest, and my world goes dark. When I wake again, he's still standing right there. I whimper a little and crawl out the door. He watches me go.
Bastard.
Having my location known at all times is going to be problem when I join Team Rocket. My buddies will be all, "Hey you want to do some crime?" and I'll be all, "Fuck yes I do," and they'll be all, "Sweet. You kick so much ass, Grell." But then the cops will find us and I'll get us thrown in jail and they'll hate me forever. So I gotta find some way to remove my Pokedex.
A wimp would run home, crying for mommy. But if the conversation I just fantasized about is any guide (and it is), I'm no wimp. I'm a badass tough-guy Rocket. And badass tough-guy Rockets don't run home. We walk. At a dignified pace. And we only cry a little.
I start the long walk home. But before I can get anywhere, Elm calls me, wailing about his problems. I'm too busy with problems of my own to pay any attention. Whatever happened to him can't be as bad as what just happened to me. And if it is, then at least I'll have someone to cry on and comfort and hold.
In a platonic, manly way.
Somebody bumps into me. He is very rude, but what can you expect from a redhead? He calls me a wimp. I brandish my trusty knife, ready to retaliate. Or at least I would, if I had a knife. Instead, he sics his blue-skinned demon-fanged hellbeast on me. I throw mowhawkmon in its path but he is swiftly eviscerated. Fucking worthless.
Still, it must have sated his bloodlust because he refrains from mauling me. The ginger brute announces his name, proclaims his intention of becoming the world's greatest pokemon trainer, shoves me aside, and runs off. What a moron. There are thousands of trainers in the world and only one can be the greatest. The odds are just absurdly low. You might as well try to win on the lucky number show. It requires a hell of a lot less effort.
There was an old man sitting there, watching the whole thing! I could have been slaughtered and he did shit! Motherfucker! When I confront him about this, he says he can tell I'm a rookie. Then the arrogant asswad offers to teach me how to not suck so much. Sputtering in fury, I decline.
Everyone in the whole world is a jerk.
Finally back home. Unfortunately my vision was clouded by rage so I stumbled into Elm's lab instead of my own home. I march towards Elm, fully intending to chew him out for calling me in the midst of a severe emotional crisis.
Shit! Cops!
Just one cop, actually. Even so, my blood runs cold. I cup my hands around my mouth, trying to smell my breath. Will he notice the ether? I hope not. What I wouldn't give for some gum. Or charcoal. I heard that works. I just won't open my mouth. I'll exercise my right to not exhale.
He says a pokemon was stolen by a young male with long red hair. Unable to help myself, I blurt out that a similar individual recently tried to murder me. The pig asks me what the psychopath's name is. I fill him in. I feel kinda bad for betraying someone to the fuzz, but Rival has it coming. I hope he rots in jail.
The cop hurries out, presumably to administer swift and brutal justice to the bully. Elm asks me about Mr. Pokemon a.k.a. the cheating bastard. I shove the egg into his hands. I don't want anything to do with Mr. Pokemon or his crummy egg. Elm is physically knocked backward by the force of my bitterness. I tell him about the pokedex. He is so horrified that he starts stuttering. After spinning some bull about me becoming a champion, he actually talks some sense. He suggests I take the pokemon gym challenge. Genius! Dr. Tree won't be able to detect anything unusual in my movement patterns with his tracker. And since I'll be moving from town to town a crime spree is practically guaranteed. Thanks, Elm. I guess you aren't always a doddering old man – just most of the time.
He suggests I talk to my mom before I go. Fuck that. Why would I talk to her? She'd just go on about wrapping up warm and getting lots of sleep and eating good food. No way, Elmo. This bad boy's hitting the road right away.
As I'm exiting the lab, a problem occurs. After mohawkmon's death, I don't have any pokemon. Elm's aide fixes this problem by hooking me up with some poke balls. Sweet.
I trot out of New Bark Town, ready to make my merry way in the world. Immediately I am accosted by someone who reveals himself to be my stalker. He then reveals himself to be a shitty stalker. He doesn't even know how many pokemon I've caught. What a moron. He offers to show me how to catch pokemon, which I assume is a metaphor for rape. I say no. Oddly enough, this makes him cease his sexual advances and return to lurking in the weeds. He's the worst stalker ever. I really couldn't care less. I have a mission to fulfill. Operation Catch a Rattata must succeed. Right now, though, I'm not seeing any. Instead I'm being bombarded with owls. It is highly unpleasant.
But soft, what is this noble beast upon which I gaze? O pink-tailed stalwart! O lord of the field! Pray, lend me thy majesty!
Time seems to slow as the ball flies from my hand. It (the ball, not time) spins through the air, bounces, swallows the rattata in a burst of crimson light, and rolls to a stop. A few twitches later, the day is mine. I am ecstatic. My first pokemon! I decide not to give it a nickname. Nicknames are gay.