Chapter Two: Misuse

The sixth time Tommy woke from a short, restless sleep, he decided to cut his losses. After his morning routine of stretching and groaning, he sat up and felt a sudden warmth touch his cheek. A beam of sunlight jutted through a gap in the curtains, lighting his face with pure ecstasy and marking the beginning of what he knew would be the best day of his entire life.

He sprung out of bed and landed with one foot inside a bowl of old cereal. Too absorbed by the day ahead to be grossed out by the lumpy consistency of the milk, he chuckled, tore off the wet sock and then scooped up the bowl and balanced it on a tower of plates in the sink. After pouring himself a fresh bowl he sat beside the window and pulled one side of the curtains open. The height of his apartment offered a spectacular view of Celadon City.

The sun peeked over the top of the enormous department store in the distance, causing a long shadow to fall over the orderly rows of houses before it. To his right, a soaring, pink-bricked hotel loomed over a cluster of tourist hotspots, his favourites including the Game Corner Arcade and the fairground, an alluring pocket of vibrant lights and looping roller-coaster tracks.

Celadon Forest bordered the city, a rolling blanket of luscious greens, the foliage thriving in the summer heat. Countless flocks of pidgeot were beginning to leave their nests in search of food, and could be seen foraging along the banks of a glistening river that snaked its way through the forest and into the city and housing estates.

On the pavement below, Tommy noticed a small family walking towards Celadon University, a neat arrangement of tall buildings which outlined an enormous park. It was in this location that the inhabitants of Celadon would gather for the annual ceremony and witness new trainers receive their pokémon licence. Hot dog venders, ice-cream vans and many other kinds of portable businesses were being prepared for a long day of serving the public. Event organisers were hustling about, too, handing out flyers, hanging colourful banners and streamers in the trees and constructing a high podium for the head of the council to address the public during the ceremony.

Tommy scanned the third floor of the University, picking out the location of Professor Ercus's lab.

Thinking about the professor immediately brought back the conversation he had with him the previous night, and his newfound fear of interference from the council. He also recalled the painful news that another pokémon battle had ended in tragedy. The realisation that protestors may be preparing to take a stand against the celebrations made his stomach jolt.

Please just let today happen.

The thought was followed by the guilt that always accompanied his selfishness. He let out a small sigh, his enthusiasm somewhat quelled. Looking back to the event organisers in the park, he immediately convinced himself that they had hung up a lot less decorations than they had the year before. Surely there had been more banners than that?

His gaze landed on the small family again. This time he watched them with intense scrutiny, and despite the great distance, decided that they did not appear excited enough.

Several minutes passed as he watched the city, fretting about what could lie ahead and spying on random people, wondering if they were contemplating the same scenarios that were troubling him.

It wasn't until he realised that his cereal had gone mushy did he put his racing thoughts of negativity aside and vow to stop his worries from ruining a perfectly glorious day.

After Tommy showered he dressed in shorts and a vest and then left his apartment, pushing his blonde hair out of his eyes and speculating how he would kill the couple of hours he had until the ceremony began.

Just as he reached the stairwell the answer came to him in the form of a thick, toxic aroma that did a good job of violating his sense of smell, considering the tolerance he had built from living in an apartment that was indefinitely suspended in a state of chaos.

He changed course and headed over to his friend's apartment. Noticing that the door was ajar, he pushed it open and stepped inside, fighting back the urge to pinch his nose. The vile smell of chemicals had intensified.

"Well, if it isn't little Tommy Halen on his big day," Max said from the couch once he came into view.

Tommy waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom and then took a seat. Since the curtains were closed, the only source of light came from a small TV that had the volume on so low he could barely hear it.

"Your apartment smells like an experiment."

Something white flashed on the TV screen, illuminating the coffee table in front. Several test tubes were strewn across the surface, most containing remnants of what looked to be a black, sticky substance.

"I guess I was right," said Tommy, inspecting the tubes from a safe distance. "I'm kind of afraid to ask, but what have you been up to?"

Max placed a hand on his heart and arranged his expression into one of feigned offense. His pallid complexion heavily contrasted with the dim, yet the dark crescents under his eyes and his mane of hair were almost lost in shadow. "Thank you ever so much for your concern, but since you failed to ask politely, I will refrain from telling you."

Tommy blinked.

"Okay, watch this," Max said, grasping a clean test tube from the table. "Koffing! Get in here!"

A large, purple orb came floating in from another room, its eyes droopy and sullen. It bore a picture of a skull over crossbones on what Tommy considered to be its chest. The koffing hovered to a stop in front of its master and said its own name in a depressed stupor.

"Do your thing," said Max, holding the opening of the tube to Koffing's mouth. The koffing exhaled into the container, spewing a murky gas inside. "Ah, geeze, you got some on me again. Just get out of here!"

Tommy's hands became fists. He watched Koffing tilt forward in what he took to be a dejected manner, the way a human would hang their head in despair, and glide back out of the room. It was difficult for Tommy to suppress the burning desire to snatch the tube from Max and ram it down his throat.

"Chill," said Max, detecting Tommy's stiff demeanour and sudden change in expression. "Koffing knows I don't mean most of the things I say. Besides, he only produces toxic gas when he's upset."

Tommy didn't see how that justified his behaviour, however he knew too well that Max had a tendency to turn hostile upon receiving judgement from others. On top of that he remembered his earlier vow to himself; he refused to let anything negative ruin his day. He pushed his anger aside and continued to watch Max demonstrate his experiment.

With his thumb clamped over the test tube, Max used his free hand to lift a glass spray bottle from under the table. "After I have the gas in here, I add this."

Tommy eyed the spray, recognising the blue liquid it contained at once. "Max Potion?"

"It's great how fitting that is, isn't it?" said Max, a stupid grin curling from ear to ear. He wasted little time squirting a few shots of Max Potion in with the gas and then placed his thumb back over the tube. The substance foamed and bubbled, becoming a muddy liquid and then quickly fizzling back into a gas.

Max then did something Tommy never would have anticipated. He brought the tube to his lips and inhaled the gas, drawing it deep into his lungs.

"What the hell are you-"

But Max silenced him by raising a finger to indicate he was about to explain. He shut his eyes tight and then slowly exhaled a thick, spiralling plume of smoke. Tommy finally gave in and covered his nose after he was hit with an eye-watering stench.

Max's eyes opened, gleaming with delight. When he spoke, Tommy snorted, half due to the nasty taste that was now caught in his throat and half because Max's voice had become ridiculously high pitched, as if he had just swallowed a balloon. "The healing properties of the Potion counteract the toxicity of the gas, eliminating any unwanted side effects. The way they combine is just . . . incredible. But I need to find a way of making the gas last longer in the tubes so that I can start making some serious money."

Tommy was about to ask who would pay for such a thing, but the look of absolute euphoria on his friend's face stopped him in his tracks. He was sitting there with a vacant expression and just the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, taking deep, calm breaths, as if he had reached a level of satisfaction far beyond what the ordinary world could offer.

"You're getting high off your pokémon," said Tommy. His lips pressed together to make a straight line. "Unbelievable."

"I call it 'Max's Potion'. That should stay off the radar, right?" said Max. His voice had returned to a normal pitch, but had become slow and lazy. He allowed the tube to fall from his hand and onto the carpet. "The buzz is just . . . indescribable. It's a shame I'll never be able to get you to try some. You wouldn't be so quick to throw your judgements around."

"Well, you're right about one thing," Tommy shot back. "You'll never get me to try some."

"That's cute," said Max. His smile had vanished and there was a harder edge to his tone. "And ever so moral, as always. Just like that professor you love so much. Well go on; say it. I know you're just dying to tell me this is a misuse of pokémon. Am I right?"

Tommy allowed his silence to confirm it was true.

"You know, it's not like I'm using Koffing to hurt anyone. Take these lunatics we hear about on the news, for example. Now that's a misuse of pokémon."

Max grabbed a remote from the arm of the couch and raised the volume on the TV.

An attractive female reporter was standing in front of a library, where it was clear a fire had taken place. The windows that had not shattered from the heat had been blacked out by smoke, and there was a gaping hole in the roof, surrounded by charred tiles.

". . . Such as the other disasters that have recently occurred," announced the reporter. "It remains to be seen if the inferno was caused by a human or a pokémon, despite several witness reports that place a growlithe to the scene minutes before the fire."

A phone number and stock image of a growlithe appeared onscreen, along with a caption that urged anyone with any information on the growlithe to call in. The growlithe, an orange dog with cream tuffs of fur on its head and chest, may not have seemed particularly vicious, but the pokemon's reputation for following commands with absolute ferocity was well documented.

"Is this wreckage the work of a wild pokémon acting on its own accord, or as many people believe, the carnage left behind from another deadly pokémon battle? It's unclear if any of these incidences are related or who is responsible, but one thing that couldn't be more apparent is that today is a sorrowful day indeed for the people of Celadon City."

"Today?" Tommy repeated, confused. "But Professor Ercus told me about this last night . . . he said it happened on Route 7."

"That was yesterday. This happened a few hours ago," said Max, causing Tommy's heart to sink. "I'm sure this was deliberate. There's no way all of these people are getting killed just because some trainers don't know when to call it quits. I'll tell you something else for free, too. Whoever is doing this is upping their game. The library is a risky place to attack in broad daylight, right before the ceremony. The city is swarming with security. There were more deaths this time, too. The last body count was at fifteen."

"Fifteen . . . ," was all Tommy could say, barely above a whisper.

"Fire types are just the worst, aren't they?" said Max, smirking.

Tommy watched him with clenched teeth, appalled by his smug attitude and complete lack of sensitivity. Then something within him snapped. He jumped to his feet, seething as the rage he had been fighting to supress took control.

"You might not be worse than whoever is doing that," he said, pointing at the TV. "But you're no better, either. You don't deserve to have a pokémon. These deaths are going to force the council to do something crazy, like put an end to pokémon battles, and it's all because of people like you."

"The council put an end to pokémon battles the moment they limited everyone to a single pokémon," Max countered, glaring back at Tommy but remaining surprisingly calm. "Just leave, Tommy. If you're going to be your usual self and freak out at me then I'd prefer it if you weren't here."

"That's perfect," Tommy hissed, getting to his feet, "because I was just wondering why I even bothered to come over here."

"It's my fault, really. I keep leaving my door unlocked," said Max, still eerily calm. "I'll have to stop doing that."

Tommy stormed out of the apartment and came to a stop inside the hall, listening to the echoes of the door crashing shut and the sound of his shallow breathing.