Disclaimer: The writer of the contents herein as well as the aforementioned content is in no way associated with Gamefreak, or the Pokémon Company, this is purely a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes.

"So what's the state of the resistance here?" The Master asked.

"Including myself and we have 6 trainers, and between all of us only 26 Pokémon." Chi-sai reported.

"Only 26?"

"Empty pokeballs are hard to come by nowadays, and the surrounding forests are so damaged that wild Pokémon can't inhabit them anymore."

"How could I be so out of the loop? I'm supposed to be the leader of the resistance."

"It's not your fault, all the phone lines and cell towers are down, we haven't bin able to send a message out in awhile. Any news regarding the war has come to us by word of mouth."

"What was the last piece you heard?"

"The last update we got was regarding Castelia Cities fall."

"That was 8 months ago."

"I guess we were the ones out of the loop."

"So you have no idea what's been happening recently then?"

"None."

"Gather your forces, there is a storm coming that you need to be prepared for."

A few minutes later Chi-sai had his entire resistance fighter gathered at what was once the Pokémon Center. It still was a center for medical treatment, however with the way that battling had 'evolved' in recent times; it had been tending more to people than Pokémon. The master stood in front of the main desk, while Chi-sai's rag-tag group gathered in the lobby. No not a rag-tag group, calling them rag-tag would imply they were misfit, but still scrappy and hopeful. If you looked in their eyes you could tell this was not the case. These people were broken.

Including Chi-sai there were also 5 other trainers.

Cpt. Bolt, leader of the Sinnoh region branch of the resistance, famed not only for his mastery over electric Pokémon, but also for his high energy and boundless confidence, combined with a certain tendency to be a bit too energetic. This man was now absolutely calm, cool, and collected, his eyes completely trained on the Master standing in front.

Morstan a fire type specialist from Lavaridge in Hoen after the Mt. Chimney incident he joined the resistance to avenge his town, the Master recalled what he was like when they first met. He was the very embodiment of fire on the battlefield, never stopping and burning down all in his path. Now he looked exhausted like he was running on fumes, every time he tried to make the smallest movement or gesture it seemed like it was a great effort, and you could tell he was thinking what's the point of even trying?

Meenaraen a natural talent with bird and bug type Pokémon. The master had known her for a long time. He briefly reminisced to the time when they were still young beginners who had just set out on their respective journeys; even then she had a knack for bug and flying types, rather ironic since one prey's on the other. And when the war broke out, she was one of the first to step forward and stand against the tide of the tyrannical self-proclaimed king. Her skills in air combat were legendary. But now if you looked at her all you would see is a bitter old woman.

Walden, often known throughout the resistance as "The Plain Man" famous for looking so ordinary in his white button down shirt, and khaki's, and yet still be counted as among the strongest members of the resistance. His skill with normal type Pokémon rivaled Whitney's. The Master always considered him to be somewhat of a bore, never really saying anything too interesting, always having an annoyingly smooth moisturized pair of hands and face. One rather convenient habit he had though was that he always had a bottle of water, and an energy bar handy, that he was always willing to share. Now his hands were calloused, his face covered in stubble, his famous plain white button down shirt, stained and in tatters. And instead of water, in his hand there was what judging from the bottles on the floor, was his third bottle of whiskey.

And finally there was Lyra. His beloved, the women who would have been the mother of his children had circumstances been more fortunate. He remembered how she was always annoyingly perky, how the happiness in her eyes always lit up his world. The way she would sway with every delicate step she took. She was in a wheelchair now, apparently a result of when Goldenrod city fell. But even more depressing to him at least, was her eyes. There was no more joy in them, no more spark of mischief or flash of adventure. They were dark and desolate, almost as if to mirror the world they now lived in. He could have handled the misery of the other's, but to see the light of joy was no longer present in his beloved's eye's was more than he could bare. He fought desperately to hold his composure but realized it was hopeless, not caring what the others would think he collapsed to his knees, put his head on Lyra's lap and began to cry. Lyra cradled his head.

He wanted to say he was sorry, he wanted to tell her he was going to do everything he could to make it right again. But the truth is he had done everything he could. He had fought tooth and nail, everyone in this room did, and they lost. They had put everything they had on the line to protect the innocent and defenseless, gave their minds, hearts, sweat, blood, and souls, and they lost. The Master knew they only had one chance left. Once his tears stopped, he got back up, brushed off his coat, and then explained to everyone the plan.