"We were idiots. We thought our little perfect world was gonna last forever. What nation trains it's children to fight if it does not want war? And when they told us other regions were attacking us, we weren't smart enough to question it. We rushed to "save" our people. At first, there were minor skirmishes. We went in groups, deep into the enemy territory, taking out power plants and similar. And then Kanto and Johto regions formed an alliance."
"After that, they didn't stand a chance. After their pokemon were dead, we burned the city down. That's were I lost my Charizard. Two... kids. Defiant, angry kids. Their Solrock and Lunatone teamed up on my Charizard while he was burning the place down. I watched him die. The kids died soon afterwards. The city was burned down to a crisp. We fell back. When reinforcements arrived in the morning, from Lilycove and Sootopolis, there were no survivors left to save."
"Soon, all regions were fighting one another. Our experienced pokemon died soon, and there was no time to train the new pokemon. They were sent to us at the front lines, newly captured. Most of my team was alive at that time, so I didn't use the new pokemon. That made me strong. That made me an officer. No one even bothered to catch rare pokemon anymore. Swarms of Butterfree were spraying poison gas at enemy cities, while packs of Bedrill picked of anyone trying to escape."
"At one point. We caught too many. There were fewer and fewer pokemon left to capture. So they gave us guns. Told us to fight. And we did. I don't know whose brilliant idea it was to use nuclear weapons, but all the regions got the same idea at once. I used to be called Red. Then they called me Lieutenant- Commander Red, hero of Mossdeep city. Or butcher, depends on the side. And now, they call me the Hermit. I still believe this world can be saved. Even in this dead wasteland there is hope."
"Take a look at the world around you. Look, I tell you. Ghost pokemon used to be rare, and look at them now. Pokemon used to stay clear of humans, and now they attack us like rabid dogs. We used to be friends with pokemon. But you wouldn't remember. You've never even seen a pokeball. Well, here... look. This little thing used to contain a pokemon. Only he was never in it. He hated it's guts. How did he get in this? I've got no idea..."
"We had scientists back then. And they created all sorts of wonders. Yet, everything they created was used to butcher, to kill. The pokemon in this particular pokeball? Oh, no, he survived the war. He died a few years back. Radiation exposure. He was the last one of my team. He was the first one I got, too. He was sick for years. I traveled the whole world... I hoped a Pokemon center survived somewhere, that I could save him somehow. It was stupid, I know..."
"You wouldn't understand it. To you, pokemon are beasts. They are monsters doing their best to end what's left of humanity. But think about it. We did this to them. We forced them to fight and kill each other. We hunted them to use in our war until there were almost none of them left. And then, we dropped down our nukes to kill what little of them remained. When did you last see a Ponyta? A Scyther? Do you even know what a Bulbasaur looked like? I used to have one..."
"I don't even find it sad anymore. What happened to us, I mean. We brought it upon ourselves... and pokemon will survive, I hope. I'm only sad that your generation will never know what's it like to be friends with a pokemon. If only your generation could know what pokemon are really like, if only you could stop gunning them down like monsters... No! They are not monsters! They may be broken, savage now, but we made them that way, and we have to fix them."
"You don't believe me, don't you? I can't blame you. It's hard to imagine these... pokemon were ever those beautiful, gentle creatures I remember. But they were... and I'm sure they can, again. Here, take this. No, I insist. No! Pikachu is dead, and this pokeball will not bring him back. It might be the last one in the world, I don't know. Take it. Go out there and capture a pokemon. Why? I don't know. Maybe I hope you will change the world back. I've lost everything. Don't take my dreams away."
Sam could remember that speech clear as day, he'd taken the red and white ball with a sense of reverence and dread, not knowing how to tell him that it was the stupidest idea ever conceived, but honoured that he would give him his most treasured possession nevertheless; afterwards for a time Red, or Ash like Sam was allowed to call him, seemed more at peace, more...relaxed, until in one of those skirmishes he had to participate every now and again he got the perfect chance to save a rare caterpie, no one would have to know, it was small enough that he could've hidden it somewhere, nurtured it to health, all of this still in time for Red to see the beginnings of that hope he had so desperately craved for, instead he shot it down in cold blood.
Red never found out, not technically, but Sam never had much guts in the first place, for anything; as his guilt grew and his visits to his only friend, parent, and brother became a rarer occurrence he became certain that Red had guessed. Red died a year later, and it had been months since his last visit whereas before they all but lived together, nobody had even found out, not until Sam came over and noticed the stink, he'd been decomposing for days. That night he locked himself in a bathroom, sobbed for hours on end cradling the stupid ball to his chest, missed the funeral and all, apparently General Gary had asked for him, wondering why he hadn't shown up, why he was the only one there, of course he didn't want to be, whatever else Red might've degraded to in his last few years he had also been The War Hero and the general had to make an example of honouring their veterans, not that it made the ordeal any more pleasant.
It had already been a couple of months since then, and Sam had never been more miserable, he had never been very good at making friends, or getting along for that matter, and guilt and misery for a man everybody else had thought was a crack pot with schizophrenia didn't help, his interaction with other was limited to what was absolutely necessary so that sometimes he'd go days without uttering a word. Today he was on patrol duty in a team of six, he put on his vest, made sure that he had ammunition and emergency pills, loaded a plasma machine gun, standard now with so many ghost pokemon. While he was doing all this their captain was giving them the usual speech about their duties, and what exactly it was that they were supposed to do today, as if they didn't know it by heart already, once that was finally over they got on the pickup truck and drove fifteen miles east, where they would relieve another team of duty, camp for a month under the stars, then whatever came next.
An uneventful trip, where, as ever, Sam talked to no one and no one talked to Sam. The rest of their assignment proceeded in a similarly predictable fashion, until in one of the many times they had to go out and see what their traps had yielded, and reinstate the ones that had sprung, he found a Fortare, a ghost-fighting type, not exactly uncommon, but they rarely ventured so near until they had evolved. This one was dead by the looks of it, gently so as to not touch the electrical wiring he removed what he believed was decomposing smoke, until it opened a bleary eye and looked at him, in about as much shock as Sam must've been feeling at that moment. Not actually knowing what he was doing he finished leaving the pokemon on the ground right besides him and, as he caressed its head with one hand finished with the wiring trap with one hand, and only then did he steal a good look at the pokemon.
It was mostly a blob of smoke, only its face and hands being truly recognizable, both fists were easily as big as the rest of his body, and his face was half buried in the ground, while it spied him with a single eye, as if it were shy. Too afraid of going for his gun he instead left a rations pill for him to eat, and when it finally turned to look at the white thingy he then made a break for it. He checked two more traps before reuniting with the rest of the team at camp, where he settled at the very edge of the camp behind a tent to read, the pokemon was there, peeking from behind a tree, floating in a lopsided manner, nibbling on the pill he'd given it. The moment he caught sight of it scuttled behind a tree and tried peeking at him from the other side of the same tree, Sam couldn't help but smile, but confused all the same, almost by accident he started to caress the pokeball, funnily enough he didn't actually know how capturing it was supposed to be done, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't be too difficult.
Instead he took out another pill and offered it to the pokemon, who hesitantly at a baby's pace, started gliding towards him, before rushing the final distance and scooping up the little pill settling to cuddle by his leg. It seemed quite content to take its time with it, admiring every bite for a while as it juggled it between its giant fists, tentatively Sam tried caressing it like he did before, it didn't seem to mind, or notice for that matter. A snapped twig made Sam turn his head, and look up to see John aiming at the little critter with his plasma shotgun but looking at him at a complete loss as to what to do next, he shook his head, and what followed was a series of hesitant jerky movements on John's part: he started to point his gun upwards, seemed to think better of it and stopped, leaving his gun pointing at some random direction right over Sam's head, next he tried retreating only to find that he was stepping on a particularly crunchy leaf and stopped there balancing on the balls of his feet.
"what are you doing?" this was said by captain who had walked up behind John with his gun at the ready, only to stop just as dead in his tracks when he saw the commotion; all the while the little Fortare remained oblivious to the potential danger, instead it had taken the liberty of climbing up Sam's vest in search of some other edible snack, revealing in the process, for the first time in their recorded history, that it's fists could actually unclench into four puzzle like fingers.
"should we shoot it?" John asked.
"we'll hit Sam too."
"how did this even happen?"
"it was in the wiring traps."
"...and."
"i thought it was dead, only it wasn't, I couldn't go for the gun so instead I gave it a snack."
"so he likes pills?"
"now what?" John asked captain.
"i don't know, can you get rid of it?"
"if it only stays for the pills it's bound to leave eventually if we stop feeding it."
"no dinner for you tonight then." and with that he motioned the rest to leave and Sam was left to wait till the little critter got bored and left, only, that never happened, it did leave his side a couple of time, but no more than a few paces when it, somehow, despite it's inconsistency, rolled off of him while it was playing with his now, mostly empty pockets, then when it was finally starting to get tired the little bastard had the gal to cuddle itself in the crook of his neck and fall asleep there. That's how the captain found him in the morning, Sam still sitting against the pole of the tent, his head bent forwards in an uncomfortable position and the Fortare hanging by his neck, both still completely asleep.
that's the first entry, for starters I need to point out that everthing that's written in cursive was actually written by a guy in 9gag in the comments section:
/gag/aDwgEEN
and that the whole inspiration for the idea came entirely from that, unfortunately he didn't seem too thrilled at writting fan fiction, so I took the liberty of having a stab at it myself.
Secondly that as far as I got stuck, and because it's been a week and I haven't unstuck, I'm gonna take the lazy way out and continue after a time jump, (short one)
