Chapter 1

Life sucks.

I'm not going to lie, I hadn't been faring well lately. Underneath that thin veil of society the world is harsh, ugly, and unhealthy. The veil, a finely crafted blanket of infrastructure, politics, and peace, all threaded together by good people with the intention on making the world a better place. Those who were on the blanket were happy, loving, caring. Humankind and pokémon alike enjoyed this lush blanket, taken it for granted. The forces of good work tirelessly to keep that blanket well insulated and clean. Occasionally holes will appear through that blanket, which is why society have emergency services and institutions to patch them up. They patch up most of the holes, but not all.

These holes are mostly small, usually just the size of a pebble in the blanket of society. The good guys can't keep these holes closed because they are so small, that if one were to open up in their backyard they cannot see it. What comes out of these holes comes from underneath the blanket. Evil. No, not greed or corruption, these ideas do not relate to evil. They sit between the holes, sometimes over or under. They don't have a place on the blanket, they're merely pillows.

Evil itself is spread deep underneath the blanket of society. It was where the bad people live. The holes that form in the blanket tend to suck people in, turning them into something different. The freedom of evil persists because of greed and corruption gone mad. It was all about the self, fuck everyone else. Evil is so nasty that it can consume itself. Just how do I know this? I fell down one hole and fallen deep.

My name is Tesla Westinghouse, and I have a confession to make.

Anyone who hears a story, they imagine the narrator being the garniture of a human. One who either knows all or knows what is limited to the main guy in the story. Just for the record, I'm not human. I never was. I am an old pikachu with too much time on his hands, and all that time is so volatile it will burn your hands clean off your wrists. But please, hear me out. I won't bite, and I am not necessarily a bad pokémon. Hear the story through my words, my voice. I have a lot to get off my chest, I do not want to take this burden to the grave. I may ramble on without end and you may not understand some parts of what had happened. Just listen to what I have to say and take it into thought.

. . .

I was in the port city of Soho sometime in the late morning. The Unovan town seemed dead. Destruction and garbage littered the streets. Windows were busted, boarded with plywood. Cars were smashed, lamp pillars toppled. The power had been switched off, the city's sub-station ultimately destroyed. The water lines were cut. The sewers were flooded. The blanket of society had been removed from this town many years ago when Nobark Westinghouse, the scrafty with dissociative personality disorder, decided to attack the town with a pokémon army because he wanted to bring equal rights to pokémon. "Liberation" as he put it. His revolution had failed because it didn't make any sense. His army, the Pokémon Resistance Army, or PRA for short, was made to stop oppressive humans from asserting their will on helpless pokémon. That was not the case. If you wanna bring equal rights to pokémon, why would you use violence and oppression against violence and oppression?

He rounded up all sorts of pokémon whom felt the dark side of humanity and turned them against good people. It resulted in good people doing bad things, which attracted bad people who surrounded themselves in righteousness. A wall was built up, law enforcement membership swelled. It was reasonable at first, until the wrong pokémon were being punished. Not only pokémon were forbidden to be outside their poké balls, they were forbidden to be on their own. The corrupt powers that used to be in play executed any stray pokémon caught within the city limits. Incoming pokémon trainers were screened, even kicked out in some cases. In one unfortunate case, a dumb associate of mine named Mark Kissinger jumped off a fuckingcliffbecause he tried to smuggle concealed weapons into the city. More on him later.

I wondered after all these years what had happened to Nobark after our trainer had passed. Had I known he was trying to recreate the conditions we used to live in, I would've intervened. I only found out later after his "soldiers" picked off my great-great granddaughter's trainer and forced her into hiding. Yes, I am that old and pikachus breed fast. Despite my age, I used whatever strength I had left to hunt down the perpetrators and stumbled into this mess of racism and discrimination. Nobark was to blame, and it was indirectly my fault. He was sick in our day and I defended him from being put down, now many lives are lost. The monster within my friend had consumed him, flooding his aging brain with thoughts. He begged me for mercy, and that's what I gave him.

Now I found myself walking among the ruins of this mess. My friends who were also caught in the conspiracy had gone home. Ash and Rex went back to Kanto, Mark went back to Faraday Island. I used to have a home, it was in both of those places. I had nothing left in them now, or so I thought at the time.

I dragged my sorry tail down the sidewalk, taking great care not to step on the glass. I was covered in wounds, both old and fresh. Much of my skeleton was broken during my pokémon battling career, I had a not so noticeable scar on my side from a liver replacement surgery. The rest were bullet wounds, a mixture of 5.56mm, 9mm, and .22-caliber rounds. All were fired from people and pokémon I cared for. The 9mm and .22 were healed some time ago, but the assault rifle rounds were fresh. Nobark shot me during the assault of the second raid of Soho when his madness finally consumed him. I got to his rational side too late, I forgave him, but the wounds he gave me still hurt. Nonetheless, I was used to the pain. My body had suffered enough to tune it out.

I wasn't sure where I was going, I just kept walking. I didn't have a destination in mind. I just walked in circles around town. Soho was still dangerous, even after the PRA had finally crushed the city's selectmen and most of its emergency services. I didn't care, I had enough. I held out against the worst of humanity and found myself against the worst of pokémon. I stopped the oppression and got nothing in return. No rewards, no badges, nothing. Just bullet wounds that would have bled out without the help of human hands. A price to pay for being a good pokémon. It was sad, but hey, that's my life, or was my life.

I had done a lot of things I wasn't proud of because I never wanted this life. Neither I asked nor did I begged for help. I was happy in my old Kanto home. I had a family. Parents, siblings, cousins, other extended relatives. I had lots of family. They were happy. I was happy. Everything was fine until the poachers came in and separated us. The next thing I know I was forced into a life under the caretaker of a "Pokémon Master" in a new land under a new identity. I was angry, grumpy, I couldn't bring myself to like, even love my trainer. Irvin Westinghouse was corrupt, but he loved and cared for me, and I realized this too late when he passed away from a heart attack. After he died, I regretted all the bad things I had ever done to him and to my friends under his care. Now they were all gone, my apologies answered with silence.

My legs were hurting, especially my knees. I found a good spot by a brick wall that wasn't covered with glass and sat down, my joints cracking as I relaxed. I wasn't sure how this old frame held out for a hundred and seven years. It was unheard of, impossible. Few pikachus can barely make it to their 50th birthday and they would have the body of an 85 year old man. I couldn't remember how long I held the record for being the oldest pikachu in the world. It was disputed at first, until they searched my serial number on the internet.

My number, KVF115, shown the date of which I was captured. A pitiful memory. In those days pikachus were tagged by tattooing their feet. Now the numbers are longer, scientists were adding in the pokédex numbers with the serial numbers and adding in new serial letters; instead of tattoos, they now use small bio-chips which they inject underneath the pokémon skin. Things were more sophisticated now, but I still hold my old number. Maybe that is what I am, a number. Not a name, but a number. I lift up my foot and peaked underneath. There it was, faded with age from walking, but still there. I frowned, I got it the day when I was taken captive from Team Rocket poachers. The last day I ever saw my old family.

I sit back and tried to relax. My knees and feet hurt, tired of holding my chunky frame. No wonder mice pokémon are a quadruped species. I flexed my muscles and loosen up some joints. I winced as my wounds pinged. I lowered my arms and held still until the stitches went back to sleep. Ugh, pure misery.

I wasn't sure how long I sat there, but it was well past afternoon when the squad car showed up. Despite the destruction from Nobark's little war, this cruiser was spared. It was pristine, though a little dusty. Probably it was stashed away in a garage somewhere for some time before it was called into duty. The two officers sat inside, one behind the wheel while the other was riding shotgun. They both looked tired, I could see the dark bags under their eyes. When they made eye contact with me, they flipped on their flashers but not their siren. The cruiser pulled to a stop beside the road. They didn't rush or screamed, they just calmly climbed out of their cruiser like I wasn't a threat. Totally unprofessional, but I can understand. I had the power to turn people into dust, I could have vaporized them the moment when their feet touched the asphalt. Their authority could not protect themselves from me, not even their guns. Even though the situation was on my terms, I didn't do anything. I just sat there, kept my cool.

When they approached, I sighed and merely said in human speech, "Oh, I was waiting for somebody else."

The driver's nametag read Hoover, his partner's tag said Quincy. They kept their distance. I sensed they weren't a threat. The Hoover guy spoke first. "Who were you expecting?"

I said, "Well we all gotta go sometime, I just wish it was a little more heroic."

I was referring to my actions back at the pokémon center. How I faced off against Nobark in this weird pistol duel. A piss-poor duel, nothing spectacular besides the arterial spray and his twitching corpse. They seem to know what I was talking about, so I cut to the chase and asked, "Is there a problem officers?"

"There's a warrant out for your arrest," said Officer Hoover.

"Oh, I have rights all of a sudden?"

"Well technically it's a bounty, but they're treating it like an arrest warrant."

I raised an eyebrow. "Who're they?"

Officer Quincy said, "The Unova Regional Police, they issued the warrant."

The URP? Well now I'm fucked double-time. The URP's reach extends all over Unova, including their little province of Faraday Island. I wasn't sure what they were charging me with. If I'm being granted rights, then I better act like I have them. "I have the right to remain silent, and I am not saying a word until we're at the station and I have a lawyer."

Hoover and Quincy glanced at each other, then at me. I saw some sympathy in their eyes. Whatever the charges were, they were overlooking them. If they were fans of my pokémon battling days, then they were saying zip about it. Maybe they realized how I somehow gotten myself into this situation, or maybe they had learned of the conversation I had with Nobark. No matter, it changes nothing. I was under arrest and I had no place to run.

. . .

They dropped me into the backseat of the squad car and drove me toward downtown. The heart of the city had suffered the worst of the firing. Burned shells of buildings were still smoldering, skeletons of cars burned and torn apart by explosions. I had seen war occur in my lifetime but never had I seen a war torn city in person. There were police officers stationed nearby. URP SWAT teams stood by the corners of the streets. Barely a few police officers on the streets were Soho PD. I later learned that much of the remaining police officers were on unpaid leave, being tried in court for corruption charges. The few that remained were the honest ones. Good people. I wasn't abused nor was treated like prey the entire time I was being handled by law enforcement. Which makes me wonder what they wanna do with me. I had no home, much of my personal contacts were long gone. I was on my own, for now.

Hoover and Quincy didn't take me to their bunker of a police station. It got burned out, rendered unusable by the PRA. So they took me to a makeshift refugee camp that was set up by the Soho rail yard. FEMA and Unova Red Cross tents were set up across the rail yard. Soho citizens who survived the carnage gathered around food lines. They looked like ordinary people, not too different from the people I saw in Kanto and the rest of Unova. Officer Hoover drove down the road running parallel down the tracks, then drove off the road and pulled up to the corner of the camp. This section of the refugee camp had temporary Kevlar walls set up. Soldier-like guards wearing full body armor were stationed all over the place. No face plates or exposed skin. Everything was covered to the point where they looked more like robots than human beings. They had no insignias on their armor, besides the word Police spelled out on their backs in white capitalized letters. They weren't URP nor Soho PD. That was clear. It took me a while to realize who they were.

The International Police, the law enforcement arm of the World Government.

"Interpol," I muttered under my breath.

If I was wanted by Interpol, then there is no corner in the world where I could hide. Their reach extends everywhere. No local law enforcement jurisdiction will stand in their way once they set their sights on a prize. The entire planet was their jurisdiction, no way any region will bar them from their territories. Officer Hoover slowed down and drove up to the front gate, the tires crunching against the gravel as it bore the squad car's weight. He stopped at the kiosk and shown the guard his credentials. I didn't make eye contact, but I could feel their eyes were pointed at me. The guard saw everything was in order and waved him through.

Once we were in the Kevlar wall perimeter, I saw multiple temporary buildings were set up. These were square pods of various sizes, perhaps made out of the same material as the walls. They were all painted navy blue and held no writing but the manufacturer's decals. So bland, yet so quick and easy to set up. I was taken to the back of the Interpol camp where the Kevlar walls were joined with the existing Soho Great Wall. A small shack that looked like it was put together by plastic panels was set up. It was long as a trailer,and the words Correctional Housing was plastered above its plastic door. Officer Hoover pulled the car up to the building where two URP SWAT team officers came out. Hoover and Quincy didn't get out, they were just the delivery boys. The URP troops opened the door and I was grasped by a rubberized-metal clamp. It almost crust my chest and arms. I didn't struggle as they pulled me out of the car and carried me inside the "Correctional Housing" building. I glanced back at Hoover and Quincy, they just sat there and stared at their dashboard. I can tell they were regretting bringing me here.

The air inside the makeshift building smelled like fresh plastic and vinegar. Everything had a plastic cardboard-like texture. It was like being inside of a giant cardboard box that was repurposed into a dollhouse. There was office equipment everywhere, radio comms and monitors were plastered over some walls. Interpol's logo were all over the place. Intimidating, yes. They need to be. It makes you wonder if they were really good people at all. How can anybody tell they weren't an authoritarian government that demands unquestionable loyalty? As they hauled me to the back room I caught sight of white-collar working stiffs, they manned the computers and desks. They acted like robots, typing away at their keyboards or reviewing important documents. None of them looked up as I passed by. I could tell they were good people, but they were powerless to help me. They just work here.

The police had a special cell waiting for me down a series of small rooms. I was taken to the back where they opened the plastic door. Inside was a chrome skeleton cube big enough to hold a raichu. It had a small latrine, a simple hole the size of the diameter of a soup can cut into the corner of the metal base board. A plastic bottle three liter bottle was mounted by the side. It was filled to the brim with water, capped with a metal spout suited for my mouth. The Interpol soldier holding me placed me inside the cube and released the rubberized claw. He quickly pulled the claw out of the cube and the walls went live with a transparent plasma force field. It made the air taste like metal and smell like ozone.

My eyes burned as I peered through the forcefield. The URP officers left the room and closed the door behind me. When they locked the door I turned my attention to the water spout. It was sticking out through the corner of the cube, avoiding the force field altogether. I rushed up to it and clasped my mouth over the spout. I was thirsty, I hadn't have anything to drink in hours. They probably put drugs in the water to throw me into a stupor. That didn't matter, they may be doing me a favor in giving me relief, not making the situation for their benefit. I pressed the tip of my tongue against the metal ball and water start coming out. I drank until my belly was full, then stepped back and took a deep breath.

Well, here I am. Trapped in a box, again. History has a tendency to repeat itself. But at least this one was different. I let them take me away. No resistance, just my cooperation. These were trusted people after all. They have no tolerance for corruption. That, however, did not guarantee they weren't going to kill me. The blanket of society had nasty holes in its fabric and Interpol is here to patch them up. They see me as one of the pokémon who was making those holes. I don't blame them. I took over the PRA after Nobark passed away, now I must bear the responsibility and consequences for my best-friend.

. . .

There was no clock within the room, but I have a good sense of time. It was around 1532, I had been here for a couple hours now. It was hot and I was cooking. The water gave me no drug-induced ailments so I kept drinking it down. I wondered if there was a pin hole in the wall with a mounted camera, watching my every move. It wasn't like I was going anywhere, so why bother keeping an eye on me like some kind of Big Brother?

After hours of waiting, the door finally opened. I sat up from snoozing and squinted to see who it was. Jenny, Agent Jenny, walked right in. She wore a pristine black Interpol uniform, she must have the time to clean herself up after helping me defend the pokémon center. She had a folding chair under her arm. The feet were rubberized, of course. She unfolded the chair before me and sat down. I wasn't sure what I was going to say, nor did I know how to say it. What did Agent Jenny want, and why was she here to see me?

"How are you holding up?" she asked.

"Tired," I spoke. "This cage is getting hot."

She reached over the top of the cube and pressed a button, the force field enclosing the cage's ceiling vaporized and fresh cool air rushed in. "You need anything, Tes?"

"A lawyer," I said.

"We're finding one right now."

"Who's we?"

"Interpol."

I asked, "What am I being charged with?"

Agent Jenny said, "Multiple accounts of vandalism, property destruction. Most of it is in Soho's jurisdiction, but since the city charter has been nullified by Unova they're going to be dropped."

"So what am I really here for?"

"For one, you have an assassination charge on your head. You are being accused of assassinating the late Chief Hattricks of the Soho PD."

I said nothing.

"They found hair samples at his house, the DNA is yours without question. The murder weapon was wiped clean, but they found plenty of fingerprints on Hattricks's wallet."

"That was in Nobark's possession."

"It was on his body when he died."

I said nothing.

Then Agent Jenny said, "My Sheriff counterpart in the town of Dixie has been indicted on negligence. Have you met her?"

I merely said, "I have a right to be silent, but please tell me what you know. What makes you say I know her?"

"The other charges were burglary, they found hair samples inside of a citizen's house. Your DNA. The Unova Transportation Authority collected skin and hair samples from the welcome sign of Dixie that had an obviously-shaped pikachu dent in it. Again, your DNA. We found poacher equipment near that town that also bore your fingerprints. A man named Andy Westinghouse became a person-of-interest when multiple illegal firearms were discovered at his house. Some of those weapons have your fingerprints on them. The URP also found hair samples all over his house that belongs to you, according to the DNA tests."

I said nothing.

"This case has been building up for quite a while. We even found a dead swoobat in a dumpster at Springfield, your hair samples were found on the body. The ATMs were also drained of cash, they have your fingerprints. The empty cash registers have your fingerprints."

I said nothing.

Agent Jenny added, "Tesla, I have never seen a police investigation this thorough before. They looked at things that people would normally overlooked. I don't even know why they checked the dumpster, I don't even know why they checked the ground around it for evidence as well. Whatever you did, you pissed them off. You're getting one charge after another, it's mad."

I held my peace.

Agent Jenny leaned forward and said, "Tesla, do you know what this means?"

I said, "You tell me."

She sighed, "All these charges, plus the murder charge of a public official, is under URP's jurisdiction. Interpol is involved because of the possibility of an invasive species spreading through that area, instead they found evidence you may have committed murder. Chief Hattricks's assassination is the last straw."

"This is not Interpol charging me, just the URP?"

"Correct, I made sure you're clean with Interpol but there is nothing I can do about the URP."

I said nothing.

"If you were to leave Unova, then my efforts have been negated."

I said, "Does it look like I'm going anywhere?"

Agent Jenny shook her head, "No, it doesn't."

She reached up over the cube and hit the button again. The forcefield sealed itself back up, trapping me again. I asked, "Wasn't that a security risk?"

Agent Jenny said, "You have enough as much as I do. I'm sorry it has to end like this Tesla."

"Don't worry about me, you save yourself from here on out. I'll handle my own battles, no pun intended."

I think she cracked a smile, but she was hiding it. Agent Jenny stood up but left her chair where it was, she walked toward the door and opened. She didn't look back nor even paused for a moment, she just kept right on going and locked the door behind her. I smiled, I think she liked me, even though I was an asshole.

TO BE CONTINUED…