Hey guys, NightFall here with a new story idea to pitch to you guys. Well, by this time, I'm done with the second season of HDD, and thought I'd start up this new idea to counteract it. Essentially, my thought process is that HDD is definitely set in the main game universe with allusions to main series locations, gym leaders, and other characters, so I thought maybe the best way to keep any other idea from conflicting with that would be to set this one in a separate universe. Obviously, this is my over thinking starting to take over as I'm guessing you guys care little to nothing when it comes to that. Still, my story my rules. Well, from there, it's obvious that to keep the story from conflicting, the other universe would be the side games which are sort of their own little worlds to themselves, sometimes literally. That being said, let's see if I can get this idea out there and we'll see how it works. As always, information will be on my profile, and I look forward to this new idea.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN POKÉMON, BECAUSE IF I DID, REMORAID WOULDN'T EVOLVE INTO AN OCTOPUS.

Prologue: Just an Old Story

Have you ever heard that there're only about seven truly original stories? Or maybe you've heard that any kind of narrative is simply a variation or combination of those original seven? That's kinda depressing when you think about it, though. Consider this, those original stories were first told hundreds, thousands, or even tens of thousands of years ago, and we haven't been able to come up with anything else since then? That's just a sad testament of human imagination, or is that really the point of what people are trying to say? Despite what people like to think, there are very few things, if any, that are truly unique. Something like that would have to be truly unlike anything else in the universe, and chances are something like it might exist. Even those original stories are similar in one aspect, they entertained people. They all had characters with identities, journeys, interactions, and everything that makes a story what it is. So, maybe the next time you're told that nothing can ever be truly original, take comfort in the fact that just because something is similar, doesn't mean it can't be its own beautiful entity.

Many people in this world are familiar with the idea of pokémon battles; sanctioned competitions of strength, cunning, and dexterity between two creatures of immense power and elemental abilities displaying the bond between pokémon and trainer. For many, it's a simple sport, nothing more than a fun way to weigh yourself against other people. And then there are others who choose to use it for, shall we say, not the intended purpose. Just like anything, there are two kinds of people: those that follow the rules and those that don't. But consider something first, the idea of a pokémon battle isn't one that was simply conceived from thin air, and the elaborate competitions in place around the world had to start from somewhere. But sadly, this isn't the story of how pokémon battles came into being. Rather, it is the story of searching for proof of an old story and the adventures that went along with that, and the battles that would present themselves along the way.

Dateline: September 29, Fall City, Fiore Region

Night had just fallen over the horizon, the changing seasons coming with the increasingly swifter transitions from day to night. A brisk wind blew through the air, picking up several of the fallen leaves, painting the scenery a mix of yellow, brown, and red. To watch them dance in the swirling patterns would have been lovely, if anyone was around to see them.

The people of the town, despite its bustling economy in its port trading, were all but hidden away in their homes, their doors and windows locked tight, and tucked safely away. They weren't necessarily cowering, but just cautious of the kinds of people who would be out at this late hour. Some children peered out of their windows to see if there was anyone like their mothers warned them about, but were quickly pulled away. The adults of the city knew that if they just stayed in their homes at night, nothing would happen. As long as they remained ignorant to it all, they'd be left alone.

The streets didn't stay bare for long. After a few hours of the sun disappearing, a small group began either quickly ducking behind houses so as not to be seen, wearing dark colors to hide themselves in the night, or in the case of the single man, walking proudly along the road. The two groups were definitely on the same side, neither seeming to impede the other's process. Behind the man in the suit swinging a cane in a giant circle on its curved handle stoically floated a giant creature cast entirely out of iron and other metals. Its body clicked rhythmically, the teeth of the giant gears that comprised it fitting perfectly into each other.

The mysterious man looked out from where he stood at the homes of all the people in town, and simply smirked as he walked by them, his hands outstretched as though challenging them to come at him. However, none of them did. The gargantuan behind him kept them from even peeking out their windows which made him almost laugh maniacally. He basically had the entirety of this town afraid of one person just because they were too afraid of getting hurt.

The group moved closer into town, more towards the shopping areas, different stores lining the streets. As soon as he reached the middle of the roadway, the man snapped his fingers, and the entirety of the black clad group rushed to the different stores. All of them stayed in groups of two, the man himself being shadowed by one of the grunt members. The two travelled further down the way to a smaller store with its lights still on. The man motioned at his subordinate and the younger man quickly removed his hood, unzipping his jacket with a more neutral color on the inside. This way, they looked less…conspicuous.

They walked inside the store, both of them looking up and seeing lines, entire shelves full of old books and manuscripts. For a small bookshop, only consisting of two floors, this could have some high-end merchandise.

"Can I help you?" the shopkeeper, an aging man asked as the man approached him.

"We're just browsing for the moment," he said, leaning over the front desk. "But I can assure you, we won't be leaving without a few acquisitions."

"Well, take your time," the older man encouraged. "I pride myself on giving people plenty of time to look around. I'm just surprised you two were brave enough to venture outside this time of night. Ever since that Scrapper gang showed up, people try to stay in their houses any time after seven. Hopefully the Rangers can put a stop to them."

"They make promises, but how many of them are ever kept?" the man questioned, the shopkeeper becoming a bit more wary of them, making sure to watch the younger one in the hooded jacket. "Let's face it, they're not police officers. Half the time, they act like glorified firefighters. I admire their efforts, but sometimes they need to admit when they're out of their element."

"I'm not sure I appreciate that tone, sir," the manager brought up. "I have family that's been a part of the Ranger program, and I've seen them take down just as many villains as they have saved people from natural disasters. Their partnered pokémon also make sure they can get the job done, so maybe you shouldn't speak so low of them."

"You should work on your customer service skills, my good man," the other said, beginning to walk around closer to his companion. "Why do you keep these books locked up?" he asked suddenly, the shopkeeper looking at a collection of books hidden behind a giant tumbler lock.

"They're a special collection," he answered. "I don't have them for sale. They're just a display. I usually just end up loaning them to the Ranger Training Facilities around town when they need them for research. I'm afraid I'm not going to open it for any other customer."

"Oh, that's fine," the man said, hailing his partner over, the younger man unloading a large duffel bag kept over his shoulder. "I'll just help myself," he finished ominously, holding up a large drill-like object with a giant clamp instead of the normal drill bit.

"What do you think you're doing?!" the manager quickly shouted, about to rush towards them, but was immediately cut off by the younger man, his jacket now covering his face. "Guess I should've figured you were Scrappers from the late hour. But you're not going to get that safe open with just an idiotic invention like that. I've had dozens of people try to steal from that. What makes you think you're going to be much better off?"

"Because the boys at our 'lab', so to speak, developed this drill to rotate anything it clamps onto at over 3500 rpm," the man explained. "That's about the speed that a vehicle rotates at when travelling seventy miles an hour. With a basic strength safe like this, how long do you think it'll hold out until it just shatters from the pressure?" he challenged, the four clamps quickly tightening on the ends of the safe tumbler.

The man watched a bit nervously as the tool was turned on, and it began pulling against the safe, able to hear it working, but no visible movement. He seemed relieved until they all heard a quick snap, and the safe made a full turn around. After the first full turn, the drill strained again, the shopkeeper realizing it wasn't going to hold if it really was that powerful. As the drill continued going through the different parts of the lock, the man in the suit looked back at the subordinate.

"Make sure we're not going to be disturbed at all," he ordered, the younger man nodding as he released the shopkeeper, the oldest out of them still in shock at how easily that machine was working. "Don't feel so bad. Our little gang is robbing all the shops on the street tonight. You shouldn't feel so special right now. And you better hope for their sake, my friend up there doesn't find anyone else." The older man immediately made a quick inhale and looked up towards the second floor.

The other member of this Scrapper gang climbed up the staircase, far fewer texts lining the shelves as most seemed to be full of nothing but folktales. He drew his finger along the spine of a few books, looking in between some of the cases to find any other customer. Honestly, he didn't expect anyone to be here given how scared everyone else in town was, and he just gave passing glances at the spaces in between shelves.

He passed by another, barely looking, but quickly noticed something seemed out of place. He turned back into the opening, and saw someone huddled over with a book pressed to his face. He could see the top rims of his glasses, and a long rod leaning on his side. From the length of his back, the Scrapper figured he couldn't be much taller than five foot six or seven, not necessarily short for his apparent age, but nothing he couldn't handle, especially from his thin build. As he walked towards him, figuring this kid would be the only he'd have to deal with, the Scrapper noticed a bit more. It was mostly the normal things; his hair was a dull color, almost appearing gray, reaching down his neck and a bit over his ears. Not too long, but longer than he was used to seeing. The only other thing that struck him was the pale color of his eyes from behind his spectacles. Cold and green, like a fresh frost over a field.

"Hey, kid," he called out, the young man pointing the end of his rod down the hallway.

"To your right, you should find it pretty easily," he said blankly, the gang member taking a second before hesitantly walking down the corridor created by the two bookcases.

As he reached the end of the hall, he looked off to his right like he was told and his shoulders immediately slumped over at the sight of the restroom. Turning back on his heel, he stomped back over to where the younger man was still seated too engrossed in his book to see who was glaring down at him. Now he could see him fully, wearing fairly neat clothing in spite of the time of day. He wore a pair of dark gray cargo pants with a matching pair of running shoes underneath, and a black buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Underneath that, he could make out the coloring of a dark blue t-shirt and a good quality watch on his wrist.

"Alright, kid, no more funny stuff," he tried to sound intimidating, brandishing some kind of club, several metal nodes lining the thicker end. "This thing will send a nasty shock straight to your system if you don't listen up. Hey, did you hear me!" he said louder, the one in front of him still not reacting to anything he said. "You're starting to get on my nerves, kid."

Suddenly, the book closed with the sound reverberating through the hall as the boy stood up. The gang member took a defensive stance while watching him carefully, and just saw him turn around, the long staff still leaning up against him. Gently, he placed the book back into a space where it come from off the shelf, and then ran his fingers along the spine of a few others. The gang member was still watching him in silence, and just watched as this kid just started walking down to the other end of the corridor. For a second, he forgot why he was even standing in front of him and then swung the bat behind him, making heavy steps towards the boy who probably hadn't even registered him.

"Are you trying to make me angry?" he asked, seeing him pick out another book, and then immediately sit back down on the floor, a large vein snapping in his forehead. "Okay, that does it!" he shouted, making a quick lunge at him with the bat held like a sword, giving a wide swing from above.

However, with a passive swing of the boy's rod, the club struck a curved tip covered in a heavy leather case, gravity forcing it down the entirety of the shaft. As it hit the ground in a loud thud, the Scrapper took a second to figure out exactly what'd just happened, and made another sudden attempt at an attack, this time swinging it to the side. But like before, the young man's stick caught it on the blunt end, and the rest of its length carried it off to the side, this time the rod coming all the way back around, nearly tripping the man after striking his leg.

"Are you just trying to toy with me, now?!" he questioned, his anger easily getting the better of him as the bespectacled one finally closed his book and looked directly up at him. "Now what?"

The boy never said anything, and slowly removed his glasses, tucking them into his shirt collar. He grabbed the long staff, and then held it up in a fighting stance.

"You wanted to fight," was all he said before the gang member quickly lunged at him with the bat again, the boy taking in a deep breath before lowering his stance.

Just as the Scrapper made another swing, the younger one's weapon made a giant circular motion forward, catching it again, and twisting it all the way around so it was stuck behind the man's back while the two were now in close quarters. With one hand on his own weapon and another on his assailant's wrist, the boy stared blankly and began intensifying his grip, forcing the club out of the older man's hand.

As it was just about to fall to the ground, the man looked back and a powerful gust of blackened wind blew from the end of the hall. With the large bookcases acting as a kind of funnel, the bat was carried clear over the edge to the first floor, forcing the gang member to look from the wind's origin point, seeing a curious creature. It was a pokémon like his superior's, but not one he'd seen before; a small spirit with a large skull instead of a face, its head cocked to the side with one large, round red eye staring back at him. For a few moments, the pokémon's eye looked as dead as the boy's, and then began to intensify as it lowered its head.

"Makotsu, meet your victim for this evening," the boy said, quickly shifting himself flat against the bookcase. "You're going to want to run," he directed to the gang member, the older man looking at him a bit confused until he turned back and saw the small pokémon charging at him.

With only a second to hesitate, the Scrapper turned away from the small ghost type pokémon, Duskull, but before he could run, the bony top of its head impacted with the man's back. As the pokémon the boy named Makotsu rebounded off of him, the man was sent ghost back down the hallway against the railing directly above the first floor landing. The two downstairs saw what'd happened, the man in the suit groaning as he motioned at the large metal contraption standing guard outside.

"Klinklang, if you could deal with that, I'd be much less inclined to hurt someone," he said, the steel pokémon following orders as it burst into the shop and floated just barely above the ground.

The massive gears continued cranking in their rhythmic fashion as it slowly levitated itself off the ground towards the second floor, unsure of what it was going to face. With both possible obstacles out of his way, though, the shopkeeper quickly made a break for the front desk and immediately pressed a button attached to the bottom. All of a sudden, an alarm rang out, nearly deafening those in the shop, the man in the suit turning back angrily as the safe finally was cracked all the way open.

In a quick escape, he grabbed the books and manuscripts from the closed display, and ran outside the shop, despite the owner's best efforts to chase after him. The man gave a loud whistle in the middle of the street, the other members of his gang reacting to the sound of it, already having heard the siren. The shopkeeper looked back up to the second floor, however, still aware that his young customer was probably still up there. He started climbing the staircase to the next landing, and saw what he thought was impossible.

Despite their obvious difference in size, the boy's pokémon was actually able to hold back the giant monstrosity. Klinklang's defenses, while impressive, were beginning to waver at the constant barrage of attacks made by Duskull. The boy himself, though, simply walked past them both, still keeping his face focused on the book he was reading previously, motioning for the shopkeeper to stay out of the way.

"Makotsu, we're leaving!" he called out to his partner, Duskull nodding as it jumped back away from its chrome plated opponent.

Next, it flew forward, Klinklang ready to accept the next attack, but was immediately disoriented after meeting the ghost type face-to-face. With a gleam in its eye, a powerful screeching noise came out of nowhere in Klinklang's head, almost bringing it to a state of confusion. As the pain began to intensify around it, Klinklang's body began producing its own electricity for protection, the field around it absorbing the damage it would've taken. Using the time its opponent took to use the Charge, Makotsu ducked under it, its small form catching some of the air as it launched itself from the second floor and to its trainer side. Before it was out of sight, the steel type focused its gaze on Duskull like it was studying it, seeming to lock onto a specific section of its body.

"Shall we leave?" the boy suggested, about to walk out of the store, feeling a tap on his shoulder, his partner glaring back at him, and then at the book under his arm. "Oh, yeah…forgot about that."

By now, the shopkeeper was still taking cover under his desk, a bit dumbfounded by what was happening. Suddenly, he heard the ringing of the bell just above him, lifting his head up to see the boy staring back at him, Makotsu doing the same from his shoulder.

"Um…what?" the old man wondered.

"I'm ready to make my purchase," the younger one said nonchalantly.

For a second, the two stayed motionless in silence, the shopkeeper hesitantly nodding, and brought up the price of the book the boy was interested in. As he reached for his wallet, he bent his head over, leaving Duskull exposed on his right side, a sudden beam of charged electricity wrapping around the railing like it was being drawn to something. And just before the boy brought his head up, Makotsu was blasted by the Charge Beam, rocketing from its place into the wall with a quick moan, the shopkeeper watching in shock as it happened.

"That should be exact change," the young man informed, the owner barely even paying attention as he counted, the boy smelling something like it was burning. "What's that?" he wondered, turning to his shoulder and saw a significant absence where his partner should've been. "Makotsu, this isn't the time to be playing around. I already told you we're leaving."

As the small phantom looked up groaningly, and gave an expectant look to its partner, noticing the Klinklang rising up again from the hallway, and moving towards the lower landing. Without warning, Makotsu flapped both of its wispy arms, two small bursts of fire impacting with the steel monstrosity, stunning it long enough for the two to run out of the shop and keep the old man from any more danger.

Now out in the middle of the street, both pokémon and human looked towards the farther end to see a veritable army of gang members staring back at them, and in the middle of them all, Klinklang's trainer. The man straightened his tie and took a few steps forward, ready to address the younger boy specifically, the strike of his cane on the ground echoing in the night.

"Well, color me impressed, my young friend," he said, giving a slow clap as the other Scrappers watched carefully. "I wouldn't have expected there to be a trainer in that bookstore at this late hour. Then again, I suppose you'd have to be one if you're brave enough to be outside the same time as us," he confidently figured, Makotsu turning at the sight of the steel pokémon exiting the shop, hovering from the boy's shoulder and to the ground facing it. "Well, any words you'd like to say?"

"Not really, I just want to find a hotel," he said, placing his newly acquired book in a small bag draped over his shoulder. "Makotsu, don't waste time patronizing other pokémon. I think this is the third time I've said we're going."

Duskull begrudgingly agreed and made a quick flap towards the metal creature, lifting itself further off the ground, and back to its partner's shoulder as the two began to move towards the group, using the long staff as a kind of walking stick. As he got closer to the man in the suit, the older one couldn't help but feel…insulted by how little he was being thought of.

"Weren't you told to not think lightly of your superiors?!" he angrily questioned, swinging the metal handle of his cane towards the boy, the ghost pokémon just staring back as the other Scrappers froze in place at the sight of it all. "H-How?"

In that one second, with barely any movement, the shaft of the rod had switched hands, and caught the hooked handle inches from where it would've struck the nape of his neck.

"I'd rather not do something like this," the boy said, giving a quick jerk on the staff weapon, pulling the cane from the man's hand, the others watching it tumble over the ground directly under Klinklang.

The man's anger quickly got the better of him. "Klinklang, attack!" he commanded, the steel type rushing towards the young boy and ghost pokémon, its body quickly charging again with electricity. "Give 'em a Charge Beam!"

With the command, a powerful blast of lightning shot forward at the young targets, Makotsu preparing to take the attack head on, removing itself from its partner's shoulder. Just as it was about to hit, though, as if it were breaking the very laws of physics, a flash of green darted out from the crowd of gang members, throwing a short punch towards the attack. Upon impact, the electric energy splayed out in all directions, Duskull watching in amazement as any residual damage was completely absorbed.

The new challenger was a different kind of pokémon, bipedal unlike the free-floating Makotsu, but more of the grass persuasion in terms of element. It had a long tail, and what looked like a mushroom cap for a head.

"Breloom," a commanding, feminine voice from behind the Scrappers began. "Get this place cleaned up now before this disease starts festering even more. And do so with extreme prejudice, I was enjoying my night off." Both trainers looked at the source and saw a woman, probably in her twenties standing out among the almost cowering crowd in what looked like a business suit, but with a recognizable badge brandished in her palm.

"Damn it, a Ranger," the man in the suit recognized. "Klinklang, change of plans, we're leaving NOW!" he ordered, another energy focusing in his pokémon's body, this time releasing a pulsating, reflecting light at the other two pokémon, exploding directly in between them.

With the constant barrage, Duskull was forced to move further back, Breloom putting itself forward, and kicking off the ground with a brilliant blue light gathering in its fist. Speeding past its target, the grass and fighting mix rushed back towards it from behind, nearly launching it at the other gang members. As the woman walked out from among them, she snapped her fingers as Breloom was already directly overhead, the sprout on its head releasing a curious powder. In a single fluid motion, she placed a piece of cloth over the boy's mouth in case any wafted over towards them.

The two watched as the black haired woman's pokémon almost immediately put the entire gang to sleep with the widespread Spore attack. Unfortunately, the man in the suit also covered his mouth, and upon the sight of not only his subordinates, but also his pokémon now unconscious, made a quick dash for the two who just stood watching everything. With the same fluidity, the man elbowed the boy in his chest, pushing him over a few feet, and grabbing the woman's hand, and with his free hand, placed the specialized drill from before directly over her wrist.

"Nobody said I'm ever going down without a fight," he said, about to attack the clamps on her bare skin, about to receive a punch from Breloom as it sped out of the crowd. "Don't even think about it!" he ordered, two of the clamps already squeezing down on her, the man finding there was no actual reaction from either of them. "Do you Rangers even have souls?"

"We choose not to show any kind of courtesy or admission of any kind to the likes of your gangs, Scrapper," the woman said bitterly. "If you want to break my wrist, go ahead. It'll just mean more jail time for you, anyway."

"As if prison scares me in the slightest," the villain said maniacally, the final two clamps coming down on her bone joints. "Shouldn't we hide the kid's eyes?" he mocked, the youngest of the three holding his head down with an easy breath coming out of his mouth, almost sending a chill up both Breloom's and Makotsu's spine, or lack thereof, as though they were reacting to something.

Slowly, with the other two watching in anticipation, the boy brought the staff up to a ready position, pointing it directly at the gang leader, and taking a low stance. At first, the man laughed it off as nothing until the Ranger noticed the expression in his eyes intensifying, and his free hand coming up in front of his face. With only his middle and index fingers extended, there was a noticeable trembling in both the boy and the ghost pokémon when his pointed his fingers down towards his partner. Duskull's expression shot open and it immediately jumped back behind its trainer.

With a single thrust forward from the boy's arm and Makotsu's arms, the leather case shot off from the top of the staff, and rocketed towards the two adults. However, the Ominous Wind whipped up by the ghost pokémon this time was much more powerful, carrying the covering faster and farther until it struck the man squarely in his jaw. It was obviously painful as the man held his mandible, and then stared menacingly at the boy about ready to activate the drill to nearly take off this woman's hand.

However, when they both looked at him, or at least where he was supposed to be, neither saw anything. Both the Scrapper and Ranger looked around and found nothing until a shaded figure appeared from the side opposite to his pokémon, holding his staff high above his head. This time, with a gleam in the moonlight, the two were nearly terrified by the broad and obviously sharpened blade at the end of the shaft.

With a quick and purposeful swing, the sword-like edge sliced cleanly through the drill bit just as the man was about to turn it on from instinct. With the disconnection from its other part, the tool just rotated pathetically, the woman showing the clamps to her pokémon, Breloom expertly breaking each of them off. With the sight of both his pokémon and his weapons down, the man in the suit looked up and saw the Ranger staring down at him.

"The police will be here shortly to pick up this garbage, and I want to make sure you get in that car first," she said, leaning over to stare into his nearly petrified face. "Just so you can be the most cramped when we put all twenty of you in the same car." Clearly she enjoyed this part of her job, but as far as the young boy was concerned he was done, reaching down and fitting the case back on the blade of his weapon, retying it, and giving a quick click for his pokémon.

Just as Makotsu floated back to his shoulder, he began to walk away, only to feel an intense grip on his shoulder, looking back with a slightly nervous grin at the Ranger who still hadn't looked away from the gang leader.

"And of course, we need to have a nice little chat, my young friend," the woman continued from earlier with a wild, terrifying grin on her face.

"Are we making dinner plans?" the boy asked with a smirk, only for it to immediately disappear as the door to a small interrogation room shut closed with the lights all focused on him, only his earlier lazed look remaining.

"What were you thinking, you idiot!?" the woman shouted, both her and Breloom pacing back and forth past each other, the boy letting out a passive sigh as he reached into his bag while the Ranger continued lecturing. "Had I not been there to do something, I doubt things would have ended as quickly as they did. I'd say we were lucky in this situation," she went on, turning back to him, only to see his feet propped up on the table with a sketchbook in front of him, causing her to immediately fall over. "Maybe it should be me that kills you."

"Now, now, Miss Cecilia," another voice came from the doorway, this one also feminine, about the same age if not a few years older with hair similarly dull in color to the boy currently being interrogated. "Keep worrying like that and you'll start to get wrinkles."

"Personal appearance doesn't matter in the face of what just happened," the Ranger, apparently named Cecilia, commented, turning her attention back to the boy. "After witnessing what this kid did, I'd say I've earned a few minutes of worrying."

"So I was briefly told when you burst in, saying you were going to interrogate him," the other woman said, the boy noting the difference in condition in the two's Ranger badges. "So why don't we start off simple? What's your name?"

"Iori," he answered. "My full name is Iori Hasegawa," he finished, still looking down at his paper, drawing at a moderate speed, looking up every now and again to stare intently at Breloom, the grass pokémon almost feeling bashful at it.

"That's not a very common name in this country," the second woman noted, Cecilia obviously not enjoying this small talk. "And what is this little one's name?" she asked, stroking the underside of Duskull's face, a contented groaning sound coming from the spirit pokémon.

"Makotsu," Iori answered, looking back up at his partner. "My teachers named him using the characters for 'demon' and 'bone'. I thought it a bit cliché at first, but after a while, the name grows on you."

"I suppose so," they continued. "Now, Iori, we do have some serious business to talk about. You just helped apprehend some of the most dangerous criminals in this part of the country, and we need to know everything that you know. So, what do you exactly know about Scrappers?"

"All I know is what I've seen in news articles," the young trainer started, continuing the draw as Cecilia walked around him and looked down, seeing he was sketching an outline of Breloom, the grass and fighting mix unsure of whether it should move or not. "I've heard they're gangs of thieves that use advances in science and technology to break into otherwise well secured places for profit and gain, maybe get some new tech for what they already have. Something like that drill that guy tried to use on her," he said, pointing directly at Cecilia despite her still moving.

"Yes, and I suppose you know how we are," the woman wanted to make sure.

"You guys are Rangers," Iori continued. "You're trainers like the Scrappers, but instead of stealing, you largely use your pokémon for helping others in dangerous situations. Normally stuff like natural disasters, hostile environments, and rehabilitation of wild pokémon affected by disease. Since Scrappers have become so common, you guys also act like police specific for them."

"Exactly," the interrogator confirmed. "So our questions are going to be very brief on this matter since we have all the offenders in custody. First, why are you even here? Second, what is that weapon behind you? And third, why are you drawing my Breloom?!" she grilled, adding extra emphasis to that last one.

"One, I'm looking for something and sadly it's not something that's common knowledge, so I'm going from place to place to get more information," Iori started. "Two, it's called a naginata, a pole arm weapon from my culture. My teachers called it the Winter's Blossom; again, the name kinda grew on me. Third, drawing helps me relax in tense situations," he said, looking from behind his glasses. "Also, it's an unattainable dream of mine to see all the pokémon in the world, and record them in some way. Maybe someday it can be used for something interesting."

"I do agree many pokémon are still mysterious to us," the second woman said. "But you said you're looking for something. What is that, Iori?"

Pushing the drawing aside, the first woman looking impressed by the amount of work relative to the amount of time, Iori leaned forward in his chair. "I'm looking for evidence of the Ransei Region." For Cecelia, this meant very little, nothing more than an old story.

"Really?" the other woman continued. "I've heard it's all just myths and legends. It can sound very farfetched with stories of ancient warlords fighting alongside their pokémon, able to give them extra strength in battle with magical powers. Do you think they're real?"

"I'd be remiss if I didn't believe in the home of my ancestors," Iori said with a confident grin, tucking the sketchbook back into his bag, patting the cover of the book he just bought. "Besides, all stories have to have someone who told them. For me, the Ransei Region isn't something that my parents told me at night to get me to keep training with this thing," he said, the long rod of his weapon draped over his shoulder. "That place is real to me, and even if it is all gone, I want to find a piece of it, to prove that there was at least a place."

While Cecelia was looking at him like he was a bit crazy, the older woman smiled and stood up from her chair. "I wanted to know, Iori, if you were at all interested in becoming a Ranger?" she offered, extending her hand, Iori removing his glasses and tucking him into his shirt pocket.

"No, I'm not," he answered calmly, the woman smiling back as she sat back down.

"I didn't think so," she admitted. "But the other training facility heads would have my job if I didn't offer you the chance. But can I ask on more thing?" she asked, Iori waiting. "Will you fight against the Scrappers with us?"

"If I'm there, if they're doing something I don't like, and you guys need help again, I might be willing," he said, beginning to walk out of the interrogation room, weapon slung on his back with a harness and Makotsu above his shoulder.

"Why don't I at least give you lodging tonight?" the chairwoman of the Ranger training facility called out to the open doorway. "If you just talk to one of the attendants outside, they'll take you someplace you can rest for a while."

"I humbly accept your kindness," Iori said, walking further away as Cecilia sat back down in the seat he'd been sitting in, Breloom finally letting out a breath and collapsing to the ground.

"Well, he's interesting," she commented.

"I think so," the chairwoman agreed, playing with the ends of her long dirty blond hair. "Were you ever told stories of the Ransei Region when you were a kid, Cecelia?"

"Yeah, my mom and dad used to tell them to me and my siblings," the Ranger admitted. "Can't say I ever believed them, but they were kinda cool. Better than the nursery rhymes some kids were forced to listen to. At least our stories had a bit of depth to them."

"I think it'd be interesting," the older woman began. "To see someone who could help their pokémon when they were fighting side-by-side, I mean. It was said that in the Ransei Region, a warrior could infuse a magic power that increased their pokémon's speed, strength, defenses, or even their health. Sometimes, they would afford a pokémon special powers that gave even more strength when they defeated pokémon in hordes, or allow them to heal all of their allies. There's a certain romanticism to it all."

"What's your point?" Cecelia asked bluntly.

"What if that kind of stuff was genetic?" the chairwoman wondered. "Maybe it was something the Ransei Region's Descendents could do, as well." She left the room, the younger Ranger giving a large sigh now that she was alone.

"As if something like that is possible," she said to Breloom, suddenly remembering the expression on its face when Iori took that second to breath, or the unnaturally strong wind gust Makotsu was able to make. Nah, that was all coincidence…or was it?

Characters:

Iori Hasegawa and Makotsu the Duskull: NightFall00

Prologue Complete: Can we still call this a prologue? I mean, this is almost twice as long as some of my other prologues that I've written in the space of a few hours of getting an idea for a story. Then again, maybe the fact this is so long means it has a better chance of sticking around, especially if I'm willing to work this hard at it. Can't make any promises, but if you guys get as excited about this as I am, there's a good chance. So let's talk a bit about this shall we? For a prologue, there's quite a bit of stuff happening here. We got the introduction of the different kinds of characters, the intro to our main character Iori, and honestly a bit less than what I wanted. In a perfect world, maybe I would have ended it sooner and had the interrogation scene a bit later, but at the same time, I think I needed this in there to get the exposition of the different characters out of the way. But I also took things out about the scene that I can add in later scenes.

So, for those that want to help make characters for this story, head to my profile where the info will all be there. I have to reiterate that you actually need to read the form and understand everything, and make sure you read it to the end. NO OCs BY REVIEW, ONLY BY PM. Follow these rules and actually be willing to work, and we might be on the verge of something great here. Thanks for reading, and until we meet again, ja na.