Author's notes: I do not own Poke'mon or any of the characters mentioned in here with the exception of the main character that I'll be glad to sell for 10 dollars. This story is heavily AU and for a mature audience. There's gonna be blood, death, drug use and some sexual content later on. If that makes you all queasy then I hear there's plenty of fluff pieces out there that will get you all cozy. Other than that, enjoy.
Poke'mon Uprising – The Story of Gray
Gasping for air, legs burning and dots of light dancing across my vision. I didn't care. I kept running. The tall grass was thinning, thank heavens. Like a bullet, I was tackled to the ground by three Ratata. Their fangs bared, eyes glowing red in the full moon light. I kicked, punched and clawed them off me. I crushed the skull of one before running off before they regrouped. Pallet was close, if the map I had was correct. It had deserted recently, but maybe one of the houses was unlocked and not infested. I could rest for the night and replace some of my bandages.
I stumbled out of the long grass and took in the darkened town in front of me. One of the houses closest was missing a wall, exposing the decimated interior. Another was missing most of its roof. In the distance there was a larger, intact, building. It looked like a laboratory. I started off at a slow jog, trying not to make too much noise. I managed to pick to lock of the lab and stole inside. The air inside was still. There were no sounds, but for the occasional creak of the ceiling. Making my way further into the building, I came across the emaciated body of someone who obviously worked here. He'd been dead for a while, the smell of decomposition was faded and most of the body was covered by a torn and blood-stained lab coat.
Looking around, I noticed a couple of candles and some matches. I lit one and used it to look around more thoroughly. I found a journal in a desk drawer and set it aside to read after piling some clothes and other lab coats into a makeshift bed. After settling in, I opened the journal.
The Journal of Professor Samuel Oak
I suppose this giant mess started with the advent of the Poke'ball. Before then, people and Poke'mon lived in peace without some notion of superiority over one another. Ridiculous to think about those days, long gone as they are, I suppose. The Poke'ball was invented and ushered in a new era where humans had power over the beast and creatures that we gifted with powers that we didn't have. We invaded their forests, their mountains, oceans and deserts. We captured them and forced our will upon them. Poke'mon were no longer respected for their abilities, but bent to purpose – to build, to power and eventually to battle.
We didn't see it coming. Why would we? We're human. With all our knowledge, inspiration and ability for the arts and science, why would we be wary that Poke'mon, simple and damn near domesticated, would have figured out a way to loosen the chain that bound them to us. There had always been instances, but even then they were few and vastly far between. A rebellious Poke'mon that refused to be held within its Poke'ball was seen as a novelty, something that sometimes caused agitation for a wanna-be trainer or researcher. It wasn't anything dangerous, so we thought.
Instead, with our capacity for complacency bordering on delusion, we continued. We built 'stronger' Poke'balls that had the technology to capture stronger, more advanced Poke'mon. We used these advance Poke'mon for grand displays of power and ability. Tournaments were held for money and spectacle. The cheering of the crowds infected everyone, pushing back the more rational thoughts that would have forewarned us.
The first instance of the uprising sent shockwaves throughout the Kanto region. A young girl was playing with an Ivysaur that had ventured into her family's back yard. I'm not sure what triggered the Poke'mon's rage, but the girl, he father and mother were found strung up by the beast's vines, the life choked out of them and displayed as some form of gruesome triumph. The Ivysaur was killed. Mobs of humans from the village the family lived in had found it in the forest. Pitchforks and torches. Every news channel broadcast the murder and subsequent retaliation. Our over-reaction can be laughable sometimes. So-called 'wild' Poke'mon were rounded up and slaughtered because of their potential to harm humans. Why take the risk, right?
It wasn't long before our Poke'mon, those we captured and tamed, began to feel resentment on behalf of their hunted brethren. They were free from the rampage on the basis that we had already broken them. That didn't stop us, of course, from treating them with suspicion. Some were sympathetic, and some were just hungry for the chaos that could be caused. Our card houses collapsed and like the proverbial flood, Poke'mon turned on their trainers, their breeders, anyone who thought they had some form of control over them.
We couldn't go back to the way we had lived before. There would be no peaceful semi-cohabitation with them. They had witnessed our hubris and our cruelty. They wouldn't be at peace until they erased our species from the face of the planet. We had become the hunted. As of today, the Johto region has been wiped clean of humanity. Cities once bustling with activity are dead and silent. Buildings that reached toward the sky toppled down by the Poke'mon who helped build them. Here, every human has fled to Saffron City, cowering behind the steel walls as weapons became available to battle the hordes. Maybe we as a species will survive. Maybe this rage that has gripped our former 'companions' will burn out and the collective onslaught will cease.
Maybe I'm just an old man groping in the dark at possibilities and hoping for the best.
I set the journal down and looked over at the man who had written in it. Samuel Oak. I remembered hearing his name when I was a kid. I didn't know much. The uprising started when I was six. Education wasn't much of a priority from that point on. Survival was. I remembered that he was one of the big shots in the region. Funny that he should live in this tiny village. Actually, someone else, equally as famous came from here, I recalled. He was a trainer. Long dead, I imagine. His name was Ash Something. Not important, but interesting. Tossing the journal aside, I pulled a coat over myself and drifted off to sleep.