Disclaimer: I don't own the Pokemon Universe, otherwise I'd be on a beach somewhere sipping Cristal out of a diamond-studded goblet while a shirtless John Krasinski handfed me grapes. (I'm just saying. I would be.) The story is mine, as are a few original characters who show up later.

Rating: PG-13, for language and violence.

Author's Note (6/22/08): Confused as to why this story is back in the "updates" pages? Not half as confused as I am. There's a longer author's note explaining why at the end of this chapter. For those of you who've read this before, feel free to skim ahead. For those of you who haven't… well, I just hope you enjoy this seven-year old favorite of mine.


Pocket Monsters 2005

Chapter One: Meetings
An icy wind whipped through the trees of the dark forest. A single human walked swiftly down the path, using the moon for light. She had the slightest bit of a limp, slowing her progress just a hair. The young woman pulled the hood tighter around her frail body, looking from side to side nervously. One hand held firmly to a dagger, the other kept her cloak in place. She shivered involuntarily, glancing with alert blue eyes at the foreboding trees surrounding her. Viridian forest was a dangerous place at night, especially to a woman traveling alone.

As if reading her thoughts, a shadowy figure stepped out from behind a nearby tree, slowly followed by two others.

"Well, who could this be?" the first one sneered, strolling up casually to the lone woman. "You shouldn't be walking this path alone, little lady, or you might find yourself in a world of trouble."

"Get out of my way," she ordered. "I don't have time for this."

He held out a hand to grab her by the coat. "Aw, that's too bad, sugar. 'Cause I got all the time you could want, and the next couple minutes are gonna be spent making sure you don't get out of here with money."

"Hand everything over and you won't get hurt," another of the trio told her, licking his blade. "Much."

"Let go of me, scumbag," the woman hissed, readying her knife to stab him.

"Scumbag?" He slapped her. "Some people don't have any respect, do they? Oh, and if you were planning on using this," he pulled her hand up, revealing the weapon, "you're outta luck." In one quick movement he wrenched the dagger from her hand, throwing it on the path. "Now, about that money..."

She kicked him squarely in the groin, forcing him to let go of her. "I don't have any, and even if I did I wouldn't turn it over to someone like you."

"You're gonna die for that!" the other two growled, advancing on her.

The young woman looked around. Her knife was too far away to grab, and these men were faster than she could ever run. 'At least I can give them a fight,' she thought, raising her fists defensively. 'And I sure as hell won't let them get me to the ground. I'll die before I ever let them ra…'

Her thought was snapped off as a soft hiss echoed from the nearby trees and one of the two thieves fell to the ground, dead.

"Theo?" the second squeaked. He didn't have much time to think about it, for he soon joined his friend.

"God, I hate bandits."

A cloaked man stepped out of the forest, holding a laser-gun in one hand.

The leader of the group, who had now recovered from his fall, backed away from the man with the weapon. He smirked. "Sure, you're tough with one of those babies by your side, but how would you be in a hand-to-hand fight?"

"Want to test me?"

The thief never answered. The woman, having gotten her knife back, cut him down from behind, spitting out blood from when he'd hit her.

"Not very sporting of you, stabbing him in the back," the strange man commented.

"He shouldn't have pissed me off," she replied. She cleaned the dagger off in the grass, not taking her eyes off the new man for an instant. "I'm Anita Lockheart. And you are?"

He looked away. "I have a camp off the road a ways. If you need a place to stay for the night..." His eyes moved back down to hers. He held out a hand to help her up.

She took it, noting that her new acquaintance had the most dazzling emerald eyes. They were blank and cold, so cold that they almost made her pull her hand away again, but there was something familiar in them, too. It made her want to trust him. "Thank you. I think I'll take the offer." She peered closer, but couldn't make out any more features under the hood.

Once she was up, he took his hand from hers and began to head towards camp. "Coming?"

She nodded, trotting off after him.

xxx

The stranger handed her a bowl of soup. "It's not much, but it's good."

Anita pulled her hood back, revealing red hair tied up in a bun. A thin burn scar on her right cheek was the only thing to mar her otherwise lovely appearance. "I, uh, wanted to thank you... for saving me back there."

"It was nothing," he told her, voice calm and even. "Bandits are scum; they deserve whatever they get."

He pulled back his hood; a head of lavender hair tied into a ponytail brought another wave of nostalgia to Anita. She shook it off and forced a grim smile. "Can't argue with that, I guess."

Remembering a loaf of bread she had in her bag, the young woman went over to fetch it. As she bent over, her savior's voice asked, "So, Jessie, you're going by Anita these days?"

The woman's eyes widened and a soft gasp sneaked out of her throat, betraying her surprise for only a second. She forced herself back to composure, back to that tough surety. "Now there's a name I haven't heard in a long time." Jessie's face broke into a thin smile as she turned to face the man on the other side of the campfire. "James Morgan. I knew you looked familiar, but after so long I couldn't be sure."

"It's been five years," he said.

"Feels like twenty."

"I can relate."

"What are you doing out here?" Jessie asked.

He shrugged, not meeting her gaze. "Looking for someone. You?"

"On my way to Pewter. I need to find a job to get some money, then move on to the next town."

"Works hard to find these days, though. Ever since the war began."

Jessie chuckled humorlessly. "This damned war. What a mess." She sat back on her heels. "So, what are you going by now? Obviously James Morgan would be a little difficult to keep."

He nodded. "I earned the name Jake Carol. Though, some know me better as Silent Death."

Jessie's eyes widened. "The famous bounty hunter. That's you?" A nod. "You're a first class assassin."

"You've heard of me." He said it more as a statement than a question.

"Who hasn't?" She smiled dryly. "That would explain the high-tech laser gun. Not really the career I would have seen you in."

"You play the cards your dealt." He paused again, poking at the fire thoughtfully. "I thought you were dead. When the building went up in flames, I was so sure... and when Cassidy came out and said you were..."

"Cassidy says a lot of things. That's what got her killed in the first place." Jessie tried to meet his eyes, but couldn't seem to do it. "When I woke up, and heard that you'd run off, I thought that... I assumed you'd been killed, too."

"I was. James Morgan died the day he found out his best friend was gone." He, too, couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm Jake Carol, now. I told you that."

"I guess we're in the same boat, then, though I hope you don't mind me calling you by a dead man's name," came the wry reply. Jessie took a breath and forced herself to meet his gaze. After another careful second, he did the same. "Now," she said with businesslike calm, "what are you really doing here, and so close to me? I seriously doubt the two of us just happened to be walking the same path at the same time."

"Always the observant one. No, it wasn't a coincidence that I happened to be nearby," he said, still sounding completely emotionless. "In reality," his green eyes flashed, "I'm here to kill you."

"Kill me?" Jessie's eyes widened only a fraction. "Why would someone want to kill me?"

"I don't ask my employers for reasons. But, they wanted Anita Lockheart dead, and they hired the best of the best to do it." He put a hand on his gun. "The only reason I helped you back there was because I knew you were 'Anita' and I wanted you for myself. Not the good guy anymore, am I?"

"There are no good guys, not these days," she told him. "So, you going to kill me, or not?"

"Don't you want to get away? I could give you that."

"Why? So you can track me down and shoot me before I know I'm dead? I'm not into that. I prefer a face-to-face death. No, it'd be in my best interests to die now, rather than later." Jessie leaned back, keeping her eyes on his. "It's nothing personal; I know it's your job and I won't hold it against you." She watched as he picked up the weapon. "I've heard those new lasers don't hurt if you use them right, and from what I saw you do back with those bandits you can wield a gun. Fire away."

He held it to her head, a few inches away from her forehead. "You'd do it to me, if it was your job," he said.

"Most likely."

There was a pause, as the two looked each other in the eyes, trying to read the other one's thoughts. James' finger tightened on the trigger. Jessie closed her eyes, knowing it would be over soon and then she wouldn't have a care in the world anymore. And besides, there were worse ways to go, weren't there? She heard the soft sound of the gun going off, a blast of hot air by her face, then nothing. She opened her eyes, looking to see what had happened.

"But I'm not you," James said quietly in that calm, even tone. "Call me weak, but I can't will myself to shoot you."

She followed his eyes to the patch of ground near her. The laser had made a one-by-one-foot sizzling crater in the ground. 'That could have been me,' Jessie thought. "James—"

The assassin got up and walked to the edge of the camp, looking into the forest. "You should get some sleep. It's late, and we'll be getting up early."

Jessie knew she should say something - a thank you, a good night, anything - but nothing would come out. She simply crawled into her sleeping bag and tried to fall asleep.

James stood at the edge of the clearing for some time, watching the trees rustle in the autumn wind. He thought back to that fateful day, so many years ago...

"James, where do you tink yer goin'?" Meowth questioned.

He turned, a deep pain in his eyes. "I'm leaving. I can't stand fighting in this damned war any longer."

"You can't do dat! Dey'll send someone after you! An' you know what happens to deserters."

"I don't care," he said flatly. "I've seen more people die in the last two months then I've seen in my entire life. And, now Jessie's one of them..."

"Yer a dead man walkin' if ya leave here," the cat argued. "No one's evah escaped dis place an' come to a nice end. You know it as well as I do."

"It wouldn't be so bad, really," he thought aloud. "At least I wouldn't have to worry about it any longer. And, I'd see Jessie again."

Meowth shook his head sadly. "Yer lettin' yer heart do all da thinkin' for ya. Dat's gonna get ya killed someday, Jim. Caring'll be da death of ya..."

"Caring will kill me," he mused. "Yeah. I'd like to know where that so-called 'kind' person went to."

xxx

A young man, still in his early twenties though with the soft, careworn eyes of one much older, ran a hand through his spiky black hair and gazed out at Viridian Forest. He titled his head towards the inner city as the clock in the bell-tower chimed noon.

"Oh joy," he said sarcastically. "Only two hours to go." He sighed and pushed himself off the wall of the fort. "Well, time to report." He put a silver whistle to his lips and let out one shrill blast, indicating the all-clear sign. It was always clear from that direction, these days.

"How did I get stuck with this nowhere job?" he asked himself, leaning heavily against the ramparts. "Whatever happened to the aspiring breeder who was gonna get hitched to the cutest girl in the world?"

'The war happened,' he thought. The growing tensions between the major powers, the hostilities from the more unstable, developing countries, and finally the assassination of the Almanese dictator and the subsequent collapse of the resource-rich nation had just been too much for the world to handle. Someone launched a surprise attack, then someone retaliated, then all their allies sprung forward out of combined duty, fear, and greed. Bombs fell like raindrops. Cities and governments collapsed. And still, the war went on. The young man tried to remember the complete death toll up to this point. Half the world's population? Three-fourths? Something like that, anyway.

He looked back at Pewter City, smiling slightly. He was proud of his hometown, despite being stuck there. They'd fared a lot better than most of the cities in Kanto, and they were the only one to think of building a wall around the remaining part of the city. Past the wall, on the far side, was the destroyed area of Pewter, where they had been attacked. A crumbling gym, three dead siblings, and the only home he had known for a time still sat there. The thought made him frown, and he turned away from the inner fort to attend again to his boring duty.

"Brock! Hey, Brock!"

Brock Harrison turned around to see who was calling him. A teenaged girl bearing the same unruly black hair and slanted eyes staggered up the steep wall steps, carrying a bag. "Oh, hey Frita. What's up?"

"Celia told me to bring you lunch. It's nothing fancy, just a sandwich or something, but it'll hold you over." She held it out to him with a smile. "Only two more hours, right?"

Brock nodded. "Yeah, but it'll seem like twenty by the time I'm done."

"Every day feels like a year, it's so boring. I almost wish they'd start school up again," Frita commented. "Too bad they can't get any teachers. Everyone's put to work 'cause of the war and stuff." The younger girl paused. "Brock, d'you think this'll ever be over? Pewter hasn't been attacked in a while, but there's no treaty yet, and Cerulean just got bombed a little while ago. The rest of Nomekop still blames this on Alman, don't they?"

"That's right."

Frita thought for a moment. "It was sort of their fault, but I don't see why we have to keep attacking. It just racks up more deaths. If I were the president of one of those big world-powerful countries, I'd try to knock some sense into everyone's heads. If they got off their fat butts for a change and took a look around, they'd see nothing good is coming of this, you know what I mean?"

Brock didn't like to talk about it. It brought back some painful memories he preferred to forget. "Hey, you should stop worrying about it, Frita. You're too young to have to bother with something like this. Where'd you hear all that, anyway?"

"Celia usually keeps the TV turned to world news, since it's about the only channel that still works. I watch it once in a while - it sorta helps the day go by a little faster." She stood to leave. "You want me to stay, keep you company?"

"Nah, that's all right. Say 'hi' to the others for me, okay?" He looked back towards the forest, then asked, "How's Kris doing?"

"Oh, Kris." Frita's half-smile dropped. "He's, um, no better, but no worse. You think that's a good sign?"

"Maybe."

She shifted nervously. "Um, Brock? You know a lot about taking care of stuff. Is Kris gonna last a little longer, before…?"

"I hope so."

"If only we could get some of that medicine..." she whispered to herself, then glanced back to her older brother. "Brock, why'd Quiana have to launch that virus here? Kanto never did anything to them."

"If I knew, I'd tell you."

Frita's fists bunched up. "I hate them. They oughta get blown up, sky high, just like they did to Johto. It's their stupid virus' fault Kris is sick, and, well... Dad, and Eric and Millie, are..." She couldn't finish it.

Brock knelt down, so he was eye level with his sister. "You shouldn't wish that. I know that what they did was bad, but you have to understand that they're in a desperate spot too, just like we are. The whole world is. Wishing ill on someone is one of the reasons this war hasn't ended. People keep trying to blame others, and those people get hurt, then their allies bomb the country who began it, and it never ends." He stood up. "Now, you better head home, or Celia'll get worried. Okay?"

"Yeah, all right." She wiped a sleeve across her eyes, where tears for her younger brother had started to form. "You know, it's too bad we don't have people like you running the world. Things'd be a whole lot better, wouldn't they?"

Brock looked away. "I'll see you in a little while. Tell Celia it's my night to cook."

He listened as she trotted off down the steps towards home. Brock sighed for nearly the fourth time that hour. "I could just get up, pack a bag, and leave. So why don't I?" He stared in the direction of his family's small apartment. "Hm. I wonder."

xxx

A tall, male form stood on a high cliff atop Mount Silver, overlooking the charred land of Johto. His height and narrowed eyes marked him as an adult, yet his lanky limbs and softened chin betrayed his real age, told that he hovered somewhere uncertainly between a boy and a man. His messy black hair fell in a mop across his head, swept back along with his League cape in the icy wind. He was alone save for a small, yellow rodent that sat perched on his shoulder, looking on with intelligent eyes.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said sarcastically. "Just like Pallet looks, and Cerulean, and most of the rest of Kanto. At least we know we aren't the only ones who lost family."

The electric mouse, a Pikachu by name, set a cheek to his owner's, the gruff squeak of his name rumbling softly from his mouth.

The wind picked up again, sending a chill down the youth's spine. "We ought to go back inside. It looks like a storm's about to hit."

They turned, the black cape which marked the boy as League Champ sweeping out behind him. He entered a dim cave, lighting a fire wordlessly until it was blazing brightly. The wind blew across the curtain separating the cave from the outside, but he made sure to tie it down tightly so nothing could come in.

He looked across the fire, where a girl only a couple years older than himself slept quietly. He was silent about his tasks, not wanting to wake her. Even so, one eye opened slightly when the wind whistled past.

"How long was I sleeping?"

"Only a few hours. I let you rest. You need it, after all that."

She nodded, brushing strands of shoulder-length, orange hair out of her face. "I'm so glad you found me back there. I was so far gone, that if you hadn't, I don't know if I would've..."

"Don't talk about it," he advised. "We've both gone through that, but it's okay, now."

"Oh, yeah, it's fine," she spat. "It's only that our entire families are dead, and—"

"I thought I said not to talk about it," he snapped.

She was silent for a moment, gazing into the flames in something of a trance. "I don't see why we shouldn't talk about it. It's all very real, and it's happening all around us. Hiding up on this mountain won't do either of us any good, you know. You can't pretend this war's not going on."

"I can pretend anything I damn well want to!" he growled. "Look, Misty, you think you've been to hell and back? Try living through what I did."

"That's exactly it. I don't know what you had to go through, and I never will until you start talking. If it's that bad, getting it off your chest will be the best thing." She turned her sad sapphire eyes to his dark brown ones. "It'll help. I know. I told you, and even though it still hurts, I'm better because of it. I've spilled my guts; don't you think you owe me the same thing?"

"I gave you food, water, a listening ear and a place to sleep. I don't owe you anything. If you want to leave tomorrow, I don't care, but I won't be coming with you. I've been traveling for a while, and I haven't seen anything but suffering. I'm sick of the human race. So, I'll be staying here, for a while," he said bitterly. "You want a sob story? Go talk to Brock."

"Brock?" Misty repeated, her eyes lighting up at the name. "I haven't written to him since Cerulean…" She trailed off, changed directions. "What makes you mention him?"

The youth pulled some fruit out of his bag. "If you've been writing to him then you probably know most of it, but half his family's dead. The attacks, and then the virus."

"Half," she said quietly. "I wonder if that means they lost Millie, too."

No answer from her friend.

"Ash, is... is everyone in Pallet dead?" she asked timidly after a moment. "On the news reports, a while back, they said there'd been some rioting, and that virus had hit somewhat hard, but after the bomb they weren't really clear on the numbers…"

At first Ash didn't say anything. Then, before he could stop himself, it all poured out in a tidal wave of anguish. "I was up on the Indigo Plateau when the bomb hit. Lance's house, at about 6 PM, eating dinner with him and his family. Funny, how you remember these things. The news report talked of devastating damage. Lance loaned me his Dragonite, and I made my way over as quickly as I could. Of course, as you know, the bomb didn't hit Pallet dead-on. It struck Cinnabar, but the nuclear activity was so strong that the sea winds carried it into Pallet. There wasn't anything I could do. Rescue crews were on the scene, hurrying everyone out as quickly as possible, but it was no good. In a few days they started dropping like flies. Do you know what it's like, watching your own mother waste away, and knowing there isn't a thing you can do about it?" He ran a hand across his eyes - it was the first time he had felt tears since the attack. "Stupid me. Of course you know. Your family..."

A hand fell gently on his own. Ash looked up. Misty was staring into his eyes, smiling weakly. "Maybe it is best that we don't talk about it. You okay, now?"

"Yeah. I just... I'm fine."

Misty bit into the apple Ash had given her. "So, where's the rest of the Elite, if you're here? Are they...?"

"No. Lance got them to a safe spot, up in the mountains, where no one would ever consider bombing. That's where I'm headed, I guess." He managed a faint grin. "Prima sends her regards."

Misty let out a small chuckle. She had a thought. "Did you... have you heard from Tracey recently? I know he and Gary went off, to fight in the war..."

"A lot of people did. Lieutenant Surge, Koga, even Bugsy and Sabrina. There were some others, I'm sure. I can't remember them all."

"Any word from them?" she pried.

"Last time I got a letter from either of them was when the bomb struck Pallet. Gary was trying to come back, for his family's funeral, but they wouldn't let him go. Tracey... he said it's horrible, all the fighting, but that he didn't think the war would last much longer. Granted, he wrote that nearly a year ago..."

"So, as far as we know, they're dead."

"Yes."

"Hm. Comforting bit of news," Misty said. The wind whistled past again. "Blizzard?"

"Too early, even this high up," he answered. "Probably just a rain storm." A blast of thunder proved his point. "You can leave tomorrow, if you want."

"Ash… thanks for the help. It's probably more than I deserve. I know I haven't always been very nice to you."

He shrugged. "Call it payment for that bike I never returned."

Misty chuckled. After a few minutes, she looked up, staring intently at him. "Now tell me, why are the Elite hiding up in the mountains? They're some of the most respected members of society. Couldn't they help put an end to this stupid war?"

"Because," he took a bite from a pear, "I told them not to."

"You?" she gasped. "Why would you do something like that? Letting the war go on will only hurt more people like Brock, and Tracey and Gary's hopes of coming back alive get slimmer—"

"Because I don't want to see anyone else I care about die!" he said sharply. "The Elite've been like family to me ever since I won the League, and now they're the only family I've got left! Getting involved would only put their lives on the line. You know how it is - there are cult groups all over the world who are convinced that the end of the world has to come around because of this. If the Elite stepped in, they'd be assassinated in a week. The way I figure, we're going to sit this out in the middle of a mountain valley. It'll have to end, eventually."

"At the cost of what? My death, Brock's, Tracey's, Gary's and a million others? I know it's been hard for you. It's been hard for all of us. But you have to think beyond your 'family' and look at the whole world. Three billion people have been killed." She took his hands in hers, looking at him pleadingly. "How could you live, knowing that you could have done something and didn't?"

He pulled away. "It wouldn't make any difference. People would still be killing each other. Maybe this is the way it's supposed to be."

"You can't mean that."

"I do." He stood up, pacing the room restlessly. "You think the Elite has all the answers? Newsflash: we don't. Who's to say that maybe this is just what's supposed to happen? Like with the ancient Pokémon. Almost everyone will be wiped out. The few left will pick up the pieces when it's all done. Start over. And hope that they don't screw it up this time."

Misty stared at him as if looking at a stranger. "Who are you?" she demanded hotly. "I mean, I sometimes used to really dislike that cocky prodigy child who won the Pokemon League at twelve. But I'd rather have him annoying the hell out of me than you, sitting around watching the world die."

"Yeah? You aren't exactly the mirror image of your old self either."

Misty looked down at her wrists, and at the thin line of scar tissue that marked each. She shuddered, trying not to think of her weakest moments. "I'll be leaving, tomorrow."

"Where will you go?" he asked blandly.

"Pewter. I haven't contacted Brock in months. He probably doesn't even know I'm alive. It'll be tough there, I'm sure, but I want to be with people I care about, and anything would be better than waiting around up here with you."

"Your choice. I won't stop you, but I would advise against it." Ash told her. "You'd be a lot safer up here."

"Safe isn't always the best thing. Maybe I could live out the rest of my life in a mountain paradise, but it wouldn't be a happy life. Unlike you, I still care about this world. Maybe, before it's too late, you will, too."

xxx

"Hey, easy on that arm, Erika," a brown-haired man in a pilot's uniform complained. "I gotta use that to fly, you know."

"Yeah, Gary I know," she replied teasingly, if not a bit impatiently. "And, despite my warnings, you'll be out there tomorrow, won't you?"

"Naturally. It's my sworn duty as a member of the Kanto Air Force!" he cried, raising his free fist melodramatically towards the roof. "B'sides," he added with a flippant smile, "one more plane down and I get a medal."

"Another? How many is that, now? Four, five?" she wondered.

"Six. But who's counting?" He turned serious suddenly. "How's Trace holding up? He gonna be fighting fit in a couple more weeks?"

"He was a lot better this morning. He's going to have some nasty scars, but I think he'll be all right. He managed to get out of that plane just in time." She laughed to herself. "Funny. The first thing he wanted this morning was a pen and paper."

"To write home?"

"Yes."

"Poor idiot. That's the fifth in the last two months. I bet not a single one has gone through." He patted his arm as the ex-gym leader finished the bandaging. "You think I can go in and see him?"

"I'm really not supposed to... but oh, what the heck. Go on. But you'd better make it quick."

Gary ducked under an awning and into the nearly empty hospital unit. Tracey sat in the far bed, wearing a white hospital gown. Bandages dotted his body, most prominently along his left cheek and arm. His right hand sported a thick wrap as well, and he was having a rough time getting the pen to do what he wanted.

"Need a little help?" Gary asked, standing next to the bed.

Tracey didn't look up. "Yeah. Who're we fighting again?"

"Hell if I know," Gary replied. "Last time I checked it was Yumar, but... just put that down. No one'll know the difference anyway." He waited for a minute, watching with mild amusement as Tracey tried to scribble down the country's name. "Hey, want me to do that?"

"It'd help." He handed over the notepad. "Just put down who we're fighting, and tell Ash that both of us are alive. There's not much else to say, is there?"

Gary quickly jotted down what Tracey wanted. Then, jokingly, he said, as if writing it: "I am getting a whole ton of action. Man, the babes around here just love me. Gary is too busy winning metals to notice, though. He's got six already, but that's okay, because I've managed to score eight times with eight different—"

Tracey reached out and smacked him with his forearm - about the only spot that wasn't burnt. "If I wasn't stuck here I'd kick your ass."

"I'm so sure." Gary finished up the letter fast, then folded it up and stuck it in his pocket. "You really think he's gonna get this? I mean, we sent them to the Pokemon Center in Pewter, so I'd think he would go there a lot to visit Brock, but... You know, Ashy-boy might not even be alive."

"We probably would have heard," Tracey said decisively. "The Pokemon League Champ doesn't get blown up and nobody notices."

"Let's just hope our letters are even getting through the post. I heard this guerilla force was blocking the road to the mail carriers," Gary pressed.

Tracey shrugged. "It'll get through."

"Wish I had that kind of optimism. Too bad for me I'm a realist."

"You're also cocky, self-absorbed, a hopeless flirt, suicidal, and—"

"Yeah? Well you couldn't even draw a crooked line with a ruler," Gary taunted.

"I resent that! Professor Oak said—" They both grew very quiet. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up."

Gary shrugged. "Eh, it's no big deal. It's been a little over a year. You come to terms with this stuff sooner or later." He flashed a grin that tried to be careless. "Besides, we're all gonna be walking that road pretty soon anyway."

"Thanks for the pep talk," Tracey muttered, rubbing his bandaged hands together nervously. "God, Gary, I'm only twenty-one. I'm not interested in getting killed out here."

"You think I am? Granted, I've been around a few years longer, but I wanna do something more than this before I die." He looked out the window of the tent, into a lush forest not yet marked with bombs and blood. "Like get married, start a family... maybe finish the legacy Grandpa never could. Dying in a flaming plane, waving the Kanto flag is a noble death, but it sure as hell ain't the way I wanna go."

There was an awkward pause, both pilots gathering their thoughts.

"Well, this has been another lovely episode of War-Torn World, but I think I'm gonna try and get some sleep," Tracey said after a moment. "You probably ought to do the same. You'll be flying tomorrow, right?"

"Wild Tauros couldn't keep me away." Gary gave Tracey a thumbs-up. "Medal number seven, here I come."

"Be careful out there. I don't wanna have to write an obituary tomorrow," Tracey told him.

"Hey, when have a not been? Carefulness is my middle name."

"I thought it was Samuel."

"Don't back-talk your elders," Gary joked. "Kids these days - no respect. Maybe I'll come by tomorrow evening if I get a chance. See you around."

"You know where to find me." Tracey waved a farewell to his friend, watching as the door closed shut behind him. As soon as Gary had gone, the weak smile on Tracey's face disappeared. He stared out the window at the star-streaked sky, sighing and wishing for the hundredth time he was anywhere but here. "Ash, Misty, Brock… wherever you are, I hope it's a lot better than this."

xxx

Jessie rolled over, opening her eyes halfway to adjust them to the morning light. "What time is it?"

"Not quite nine," James told her, frying what looked like an egg over the fire in a skillet. "You don't have to get up now, if you'd rather sleep."

"I'm used to being up about now," she said, sitting up and looking around. The forest, undergoing a transformation overnight, now seemed inviting and cheerful. The fall breeze played across the forest floor, stirring up leaves and causing Sentrets to dart in-and-out of the swirling mass. Jessie smiled slightly. Even through all this, there was still beauty if you knew where to look. She turned back to the bounty hunter. "I didn't know you could cook."

He shrugged. "You teach yourself over the years. It's not the best, but I manage to choke it down." He slid a piece of bread topped with fried egg in her direction. "Eat it if you want, but it probably won't taste very good."

Jessie bit into the meal testily, then, finding she liked it, ate the rest quickly, followed by more bread and a cup of coffee. "Not bad. A lot better than the crap I stir up." She looked hopefully at James, hoping to get a smile out of him. Nothing.

After he'd finished eating, he donned his grey cloak again, standing and shouldering his pack and gun. "I'll go with you as far as the edge of Viridian Forest. After that, you're on your own again."

"Nice to see you're escorting me. I gotta tell you, it'll be easier traveling through this forest with someone packing artillery. A knife can only work in so many places," Jessie said lightly, also putting on her cloak and pack. "Nice day for a stroll in the woods. Shall we, then?"

"I don't see how you can be so cheerful," James remarked as they started down the path. "Just because I'm not going to kill you doesn't mean my employer's going to give up. They'll find someone else."

"Well, you could just tell me who your employer is. Then, I could track them down and kill them," Jessie suggested.

He shook his head. "I can't do that. Revealing my employer is something I just don't do. It's breaking the code."

"Code?"

"You wouldn't understand."

They walked on in silence for a couple of hours, Jessie enjoying the scenery and James always on the alert. Jessie tried a few times to get a reaction - any reaction - out of him, but it never resulted in anything. How could someone be so emotionless? It was like he really was dead.

'What happened to you, James?' she thought to herself. She'd been through some awful moments, to be sure, but nothing that had killed her spirit like this. Jessie frowned, still in deep thought when they reached the edge of the forest.

"This is where we part," he announced. "Good to see you're alive. Maybe we'll cross paths again."

Jessie watched him start to go, but began speaking before she knew what was happening. "James. I have a proposition to make."

He stopped, but didn't turn to face her. "I'm listening."

"Someone's after my life. You won't tell me who they are, but you know they won't give up. Now, I'm not going to be as lucky as I was the first time. I need someone to help me out - someone who I know could handle the job." She waited. He didn't say anything, so she took it as a sign to keep going. "Since you don't seem to have a definite job at the moment, I'm willing to give you one. I'll hire you as my bodyguard. You'll get food and a room, plus fifty dollars a week for anything else you want. If you get tired of it, you can leave, or you can stay until we kill the one behind it. Your choice."

"You told those bandits you didn't have any money. And you told me you had to go to Pewter to make some cash," he reminded her.

"I lied. In reality, I got a lot of money out of being hurt-in-action. I get paid monthly, sort of like a handicapped fee." She laughed. "They decided to count my little limp, fortunately." James didn't say anything. "So, you in?"

He turned slowly to face her. "Could I ever turn you down?" There was the slightest bit of amusement in his voice - the first hint of emotion Jessie had seen in the past two days. It was a good sign.

"Great to know." She faced Pewter Fort, nothing but a silhouette in the distance right then. "I didn't lie about going to Pewter, though. I need supplies, and I heard an old 'friend' of ours is staying there."

James walked up behind her. "Lead the way."

Jessie started off, James only a few paces behind her, keeping a lookout on things. She smiled, making sure he couldn't see it. There was something oddly comforting about having him following her down a path. Jessie liked it.

xxx

Brock stared out at the road in front of him, blinking rapidly. He had to be imagining things. No one ever came to Pewter, especially not from the direction of Viridian. "I need to get my eyes checked."

But, deny it as he did, the images kept growing bigger, until he could make out two people, a man and a woman, both wearing cloaks. The man had his hood pulled up, face indistinguishable, but he could see that the woman sported a youthful face and red hair tied up in a bun. There was no pretending he was seeing things now. In a few minutes they reached the small brass side door. The man stood back a ways, carrying a deadly-looking laser gun, while the woman slammed the knocker down hard. Brock snapped out of his surprise and went down to let them in. Obviously the couple wasn't dangerous, despite the male's gun, so Brock figured after a few questions he'd allow them access.

He slid back the slit, so he could see them, but all they could see were his eyes. "Names, please."

"Anita Lockheart."

"Jacob Carol."

Brock's eyebrows raised. "The bounty hunter?" A nod. "Is your weapon charged, sir?"

"Of course," he replied simply. "I don't intend to use it on anyone inside."

"He's my bodyguard," the young woman – why did she look so familiar? – said. "Neither of us will hurt you. We're Kanto natives, and I only want room, board, and a few supplies. Can we come in?"

"Oh, sure." He slid back the bolt, opening the door wide enough to let them in and shutting it behind the two. "My name's Brock Harrison. Welcome to Pewter Fort."

"Brock Harrison?" the man repeated. He glanced to the woman at his side. "Looks like you found your old friend."

"Do I know you?" Brock asked, looking at the woman.

She laughed. "You don't remember us, do you? I guess I can see why - it's been a while, and we've changed a lot over the years." She turned to her friend. "Maybe if you pull down your hood it'll jog his memory."

He did as she said. Brock stared into two emerald eyes, framed by a head of sleek, lavender hair, then back to the woman with her red hair and clever blue eyes. They were older, to be certain – the man had filled out, still thin but with the definition of muscle that told of maturity, his tall form and long limbs 'graceful' instead of 'gangly'; and the woman's sharp features had smoothed and thinned, leaving her a shade softer around the edges, somehow prettier despite her new scar; and both, of course, shared the careworn eyes that Brock also possessed – but there was no mistaking them, not when they stood side by side like that.

Brock took an unintentional step back. "Jessie and James. But I heard that you were both…" Jessie shrugged and he shook his head, trying to clear the shock. He even managed a relieved smile, surprised at how easily it came to him. "I should've known you two would find a way to survive this thing. Even so, you're the last people I would've expected to see around here." Past and present at last collided in his head and he whirled, staring at James in disbelief. "James, does that mean that you're—?" He nodded. Brock whistled. "Jake Carol the assassin. Never would have thought it."

"Do you know of a place where we can get a roof over our heads and a good meal?" Jessie asked. "We haven't eaten lunch yet."

"Actually, there's an extra room in my family's apartment building. You could stay there if you'd like. My shift's over, so I can take you there." He paused. "But, it'd probably be in your best interests not to. The virus has sort of taken its grip on the household."

"I've had it already," Jessie said. "You can't get it twice."

James glanced around, not liking to be in the open like this. He pulled his hood back up. "I've been around a lot of people with it. I think I'm immune." He turned to Jessie. "You'll be safe here, especially if you're with friends. I know some people I should visit. I'll be back by nightfall."

"My place is at 1608, Apartment B. You'll be staying in C. Celia will have dinner ready, so you can come in and have some, if you want," Brock said. James nodded his thanks, then disappeared silently down the street. "He was acting sort of odd. I've never seen him so… blank, I guess."

"Then I'm not the only one who feels it," Jessie thought aloud. As they walked down the street, she remarked, "I'm surprised you gave us such a warm welcome. I thought, what with everything that had happened between us, you might..."

"What, call the police on you?" She nodded and he couldn't help but laugh. "For what? Let's be honest, Jessie – we might've thought of each other as 'enemies,' but we helped each other out just as much as we fought. And besides, it was years ago. Who even remembers? Who even really cares?"

"You'd be surprised," she grumbled. "And besides, I'm sure you know that James deserted. They always run a list of people they're after."

He nodded. "That was a long time ago too, though. Didn't that troupe get massacred a little while after that?"

"Yes. And so did several of my closest friends, James with them," Jessie said quietly.

"I'm sorry," he said sympathetically. "I certainly know how that feels. But what do you mean by 'James with them'?"

"Oh, you saw how he was. I don't know, but, from what he said, it sounds like he started acting like that when he got the news that I'd been killed." She grinned wryly. "Ironic, isn't it, that the only members of that troupe to survive were the deserter and the one declared legally dead?"

They reached the door of Brock's home and he turned to look at her, hand on the doorknob. "You can come in, or you can go to C and I can bring a tray of food over. It can get pretty noisy, and what with Kris being sick—"

"I'll come in. I could use some human company," she said. After a moment's pause, she asked, "How many have you lost?"

"Six, including my father," he answered somewhat shakily. "Three to attackers, three to the sickness. Kris might be next."

Jessie, unsure of what else to do, followed him inside. A young woman stood behind a stove making a quick meal. Two teenagers sat around the TV, watching a news program, and another was curled up in a chair reading a book. The atmosphere was a pleasant one, though the closed door and sounds of rough coughing left an aura of sadness hanging over the apartment.

The young woman cooking and the girl reading looked up.

"A guest? Now there's a first," the cooker said. She wiped her hands off on her apron and walked over to greet Jessie. "I'm Celia. The one reading is Frita, and the two in front of the TV are Gwen and Zach." She winced at the sound of a cough in the background. "Sorry that we aren't a little more hospitable, but it's been pretty hectic. If you'd like to stay for lunch, you're welcome to."

"Hey, Brock, who's your new girlfriend?" Zach teased, finally noticing the new visitor.

"Zach, grow up," Gwen reprimanded. "Boys are impossible."

"Shut up! All you ever do is squawk about something stupid! I'm sick of listening to it."

"Then don't. Now be quiet - this is the only entertainment show we ever get, and I already missed who the culprit was."

"It's a re-run! You've seen it a million times!"

Celia smiled. "They're twins. They fight like that all the time." She headed back over to the kitchenette. "It's just some sandwiches, leftover soup, and some tea, but if you're not starving it'll hold you over."

"Brock makes the best miso soup, too," the girl reading, called Frita, piped up. "Even when it's not fresh it's still absolutely amazing!"

Jessie took her meal with the squabbling family, loving every minute of it. Never having a real family of her own as a child, it was nice to soak in the pleasant, crowded atmosphere. Brock hadn't been so unlucky, really - the group seemed cheerful and very close to one another, despite growing up parentless during such a vicious war.

While Celia and Zach were cleaning up the dishes, Brock volunteered to show Jessie around and take her to a good supplies store.

"Um, Brock?" Gwen stopped him. "Kris wanted to know if you could go in. He needs someone to talk to, and since you're the only one who really can..."

"Right." He looked to Jessie. "You don't mind?"

"No, of course not. I understand completely."

Frita immediately jumped in. "I can show you around if you'd like, Miss Smitt. There's not much to see, but if you want—"

"Call me Jessie," she corrected. "And, if it's okay with you, I'd rather just go alone. I need a little time to myself."

"Oh. Sure, definitely! Um, I guess you'll be back for dinner?" Frita asked.

"Probably. A friend of mine will be coming too," Jessie explained.

"Wow. Two people in one day! You have no idea how boring it is around here, always the same faces. Nice to see someone new for a change."

Jessie said her thanks to the family again, closing the door with some reluctance and heading down the street. She felt sorry for Brock, after losing so many from this war, but at the same time felt a pang of jealousy. He'd had it tough - the Harrison family all had - but at least they'd had each other to lean on, when things were at their worst. Neither she nor James had been so lucky.

She bought her supplies slowly, then strolled through the small fort, thinking and enjoying the change of scenery. As the sun started to set, a cloaked figure fell into step beside her.

"Nice to have you back. You missed a marvelous lunch," Jessie commented. "So, how were your assassin friends?"

"Fine," James said. "How did you know they were assassins?"

"People like to group with their own. Like, I enjoy the company of other people who have no idea what to do with their lives," Jessie told him.

"Hence why you employed me," he concluded.

She chuckled as they reached the door to Brock's apartment. "Here we are."

"I'm going to our room," James said. "If you'd bring me over something-"

Jessie whirled on him, wagging a dictatorial finger in his face. "Oh no you don't! You're coming in, and you're going to be social for once. I think it'll do you some good."

James didn't bother to argue, but just nodded and followed her wordlessly, taking in the hectic scene in a moment. Celia came up to him, sticking out a hand as she had done to Jessie. "You must be James, otherwise known as Jake Carol, otherwise known as Silent Death. Pewter's heard some stories about you, like I'm sure most places have." She turned back to help Brock in the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. The world news is just about to start, if you'd like to watch."

James and Jessie took seats on the floor next to Gwen, Zach and Frita. Faintly James heard a restless cough, immediately recognizing the source of the sound. He shot Jessie a nervous look that seemed to say, "Why am I here?"

Zach looked over when he sat down. "No way. You're that assassin guy, aren't you?" James nodded and Zach's mouth dropped. "That is so cool! I'm sorry, but we hear stuff about you around town, about how good you are!" He stared at the laser gun. "Oh, wow! Oh, cool! These things are top notch! Only the best ranking generals get to carry one! How did you ever find it?"

James shrugged. "I have my ways."

"Zach, stop scaring him," Gwen snapped. "Geez, you'd think he was some big hero or something."

"But he is! He never fails! He's the very best! If this guy was fighting the war, it'd be whack! bam! good-bye enemies! They wouldn't have a chance!"

"Look at that, now he's blushing. Congratulations, Zach, you managed to embarrass him. Nice first impression."

Frita, tired of the conversation, grabbed two rice balls that were sitting on the table and shoved them in the quarreling duo's mouths. "Can't you fight during a commercial? This is interesting. We just attacked Yumar."

Jessie heard an odd sound to her left. Looking over, she realized it was coming from her bodyguard. She leaned in, trying to see around the bangs that framed his face. To Jessie's amazement, James was laughing. It was hushed, hoarse, and broken, like he hadn't done it in years and wasn't quite sure how, but there was no doubt what it was. She smiled and leaned her shoulder against his, sharing the quiet chuckle. He wasn't completely gone yet, and Jessie was going to make sure it stayed that way.

xxx

It took Misty a minute to remember where she was. Once she had, she wished she hadn't. Rolling over, she saw Ash standing at the entrance to the cave, the cover now pulled back. The sun was shining in, and the rain glistening off the rocks had a sort of serene beauty to it.

"The storm's stopped," he pointed out needlessly. "We can leave now, if you want."

"We?" Misty repeated. "What do you mean?"

Ash kept his back to her, surveying the sun-soaked mountains on all sides. "Maybe I took what you said yesterday to heart. Maybe I just want to see some old friends again before we're all killed. At any rate, I'm going to Pewter with you."

Misty wasn't sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. "At least you're starting to sound compassionate again. But I was hoping that you'd think of telling the Elite to help put a stop to this."

"I'm giving the human race another try," he explained. "If I decide it's worth saving, then I'll get them to help. If not—"

"You go up to your mountain haven and wait for the bombs to stop flying," Misty spat. "No, there's no change from last night. You haven't gone through some magical transformation in twelve hours."

"I could just go there now, and forget I ever met you." He turned to give her a sharp look. "Would you prefer that?"

She paled at the thought. "No. No, I'd rather have you come with me… and give the world a chance again. But if you wait too long, it won't make much difference."

"Two months. No more, no less," he said. "Get your things together, and we'll leave. There's a small town at the foot of the mountain - we can eat lunch there." He tossed her an energy bar out of his backpack. "That should hold you over for a few hours."

She considered throwing it back at his thick head, but thought better of it. "Thanks."

Shouldering their things, the duo set off down the mountain. It was tough going, what with the rain from the night before, but Ash knew the right paths and led them safely to the bottom. A small town greeted Misty warmly enough, but seemed a bit cold to the League Champion. After a small meal they started off again.

"We should reach Viridian Forest by nightfall," Ash announced. "From there, it's about a day's journey to Pewter." He gave Misty a vicious smile. "That is, unless we meet up with some bandits. They're packed in Viridian, you know."

"I'm not afraid of a couple of thugs," she assured him.

"A couple? I'm talking about gangs of twenty, who'll rob you penniless and kill you in cold blood," Ash emphasized, chuckling darkly. "See why I'm sick of people, now?"

Misty shuddered. "You have a twisted, tortured mind Ash Ketchum."

'And yet,' she thought, 'I can't help but be glad to have him traveling with me.'

xxx

Gary's plane had gone down. Tracey couldn't believe the news when Erika told him.

"When? How is he? Did they find him?" he demanded once he'd fought through his shock.

"It happened three days ago. Everyone was too busy with the injured to tell you, and besides we figured you both needed your rest."

"'You both'? Then he's alive?"

"Yes. He crash-landed in the forest, and we found him in time. He's alive. Though, after everything that happened, he may not want to be," Erika explained.

Tracey raised an eyebrow. "Why not?" She sighed and looked away, but he wasn't about to give up. "Erika, why not?"

"He lost a leg, Tracey," she spilled out. "From the knee down. Gone."

"Oh. God," he choked. "How…?"

"It got trapped in the wreckage. There wasn't anything else we could do. We had to cut it off if we wanted to save him." She swallowed hard and steeled herself, continuing with the news. "Normally we'd fit him with a prosthetic and send him somewhere to recuperate, but there're just no funds for that right now. So, once he's healed up a little more, they're going to send him home as he is. Though, home to where, your guess is as good as mine." Erika managed a tiny smile, though it was so faint it could almost have been Tracey's imagination. "Actually, that's the other reason I came in. I was told to tell you that they got in several new recruits. Normally, they wouldn't let someone off on some burns, but the doctors said you won't be able to move your left arm as well as you used to, and with the new pilots... you'll be going home with Gary. If you want to."

Tracey, even through the sorrow for his friend, felt his heart stick in his throat. Home. He was going home. "Is he awake yet?"

She nodded. "If you want... I suppose I could let you see him. He's back in the intensive unit. Do you think you're well enough to walk?"

Tracey ran a hand over his face, where he could feel the scar tissue. Most of the bandages had come off that morning, except for the length of his left arm, where the burns had been at their worst. "Yeah. I'm a little shaky, but... I'll be okay." He stood up, and using the wall for some support, was able to get around without much trouble.

"I'll be back up front if you need anything," she said, walking out.

He made his way to the back area, where Gary was sitting. A large bruise blossomed on his paler-than-usual cheek, and Tracey spotted several spots across his arms and collarbone sporting bandages and scrapes, but he looked surprisingly healthy for someone who had just survived a crash. He was leaning back on a mound of pillows, eyes closed, but by his breathing Tracey could tell he was awake. "Gary?"

The pilot opened his eyes, glancing over. "Looks like your wish came true, huh? We get to go back to good ol' Kanto. Can't say that I'm not happy about it, but I wouldn't have minded getting released in a more glorious way." Neither of them could seem to look down at the bandaged stump poking out between the covers. "Oh, I got that seventh medal, though, and I hear they're giving me a Crimson Band for bravery in the field, too. Not bad, eh?"

"Great," Tracey agreed. He leaned against the wall. "Glad to see you in such a good mood. I thought, what with everything…"

"Hey, this is me. I fall in a hole, I dig myself out. No use crying about it, you know. And I hear the girls love war veterans." He laughed, but his heart wasn't in it.

"So what home do we plan on going back to?" Tracey asked after a moment.

"There's only about two cities left that planes'll fly to," Gary reminded him. "Pewter and Celadon, I think."

"Pewter, then?"

He nodded. "We might as well dump ourselves off on Brock for a while."

Tracey shifted awkwardly, not sure what else to say. "So… in a few weeks?"

"That's the estimate. But see, they don't know me very well." Gary put his hands behind his head. "I figure we'll be out of here in seven days, tops. That's how long it's gonna take me to get back on my... foot." The ending fell flat. He heaved a fake yawn and rubbed at one of his eyes. "Well, all these heroics have wiped me out. I'm gonna hit the sack."

"Right. Maybe I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Maybe. See you."

Tracey limped out, resting against the wall right outside of Gary's room. As a former watcher, one skill he'd developed over the years was his ability to read things – people as well as Pokemon – with stunning accuracy. Gary could pretend all he wanted, but Tracey knew that now, on top of his family's deaths, he had his injury to deal with, and he was suffering much more than he'd ever let on. He risked a peek back into the intensive unit. Gary was turned away from him, but the young artist could tell by his shaking shoulders that he was crying silently into the sheets. His heart sank in his chest.

"When I said I wanted to go home," he whispered to no one, "I didn't mean like this."


6/22/08

An Explanatory Note (Or "Why Fanfiction-dot-net Made Me Do It")

I can't believe I'm actually doing this. Seven years after writing the original, five years after losing interest in the series, and three whopping years after the incidents in the story supposedly take place… and here I am, editing, and commenting, and reminiscing back on a middle school life filled with after-school sports and Pokemon battles.

So what happened? What made me open the old Word documents (that weren't even Word documents originally, but Wordpad files, lovingly typed away on a rusty old Windows 3.1, saved to floppy discs, and transferred to the internet via America Online's dial-up service)? Basically, we can all thank or blame fanfiction-dot-net for this. They screwed up my old scene break formatting, and I wasn't about to let even my old fanfics look ugly and unprofessional. So I took care of the one-shots in one fell swoop, then cracked my knuckles and set to work on the bigger babies – namely, this and The Rift. I realized that it would be a lot easier to just delete everything but the first chapter and then, using MS Word, go in and fix the scene breaks like that. Which is exactly what I started to do.

But I forgot one very important thing: I'm a crazed perfectionist who had secretly been waiting for the chance to find an excuse to go back and fix spelling errors, continuity screw-ups, and anything else in my more beloved old fanfics. I tried to ignore it, but my Creative Energy (I call him Alex) literally grabbed me by the throat and would let me think of nothing but this fanfic. I finally gave up and plunked down with both a sigh and – I'll be honest – a big, silly smile, and, well… here we are.

For the returning readers, I want to promise you that, unlike my current rewrite of Fushigi Yuugi: The Next Chapter, I made very few changes or additions to Pocket Monsters 2005 (let's call it 2k5 for short). Although seven years have passed and many things about both my writing style and view of the world have changed, this story as it is has a special place in my heart, so I decided to keep it the way it was when I first wrote it, with all its strengths and weaknesses. The characters are the same characters and the story is the same story. I even bit my tongue and kept in a bunch of my old semicolons and adverb-heavy descriptions, though it almost killed me to do it.

But here's what I did do:

-I fixed all the old spelling errors. With luck I even managed to catch all the nasty "then/than"s that I seemed to have had such a hard time with back in middle school (but if anyone spots one that I missed, don't hesitate to point the Grammatical Finger of Doom at me).
-I changed the reason for the war (Y2K? I mean, seriously, seventh-grade me. Lame). I kept things simple and admittedly vague in the edit, because I am trying to keep the original feel of the story. There were some other little continuity/scientific screw-ups that I tried to iron out as well.
-I made sure everyone's speaking patterns stayed the same from beginning to end (more slang for Gary, very proper grammar for James, etc.). Because of that, some of the lines – especially some of the lengthier "explanation monologues" later in the story – got changed around a little… or, in one case, a lot. But more on that when we get to it.
-I tried to answer some of the questions that I left unanswered in the original, which is why there are a few new scenes and bits of dialogue (cookies for returning readers! Hooray!). Also, I was originally going to write a series of short-ish prequel stories, but I lost interest in the Pokeworld before I could finish more than three of them, so some of the additions serve sort of as "apologies" for never getting those done. I did my best to match my old writing style, so hopefully the new stuff doesn't stand out from the old stuff too badly.

And that's pretty much it. I did split some of the chapters in half because I felt they were a little too lengthy, but the chapters themselves have not really been changed. I'll also be tagging on a bunch of extra information to the end of each chapter about characters, the making-of, and so on. So think of this as the "Seventh Anniversary Edition – now with creator commentary!" Or something exciting like that. :-)

But if you do want the old version, it's still available – type-os and all – on my ancient Pokemon website, Ii Kanjii (Where the trio of prequel stories are, incidentally, also kicking around). Drop me a PM if you can't track the site down.

Okay, that's enough chatter for this chapter. I'll come back next chapter and probably go all reminiscent on everybody. "Why, I remember the good ol' Indigo League days..." and all that. Also, I'll be answering the pressing questions that any new readers might have about timeline, character development, and the absence of such individuals as May, Dawn, and whatever that little boy with the glasses is called. Gnawing on your keyboard in excitement? Oh, I know you are.

'Till Next Time!—Dee