Do I really belong here?

There are a thousand and one things wrong with my job, and people would have to be stupid not to notice. And no, I'm not stupid. Don't look at me like that, because I'm not insecure, either.

You don't survive in the wild alone, just a little bit after your tenth birthday (hiking across tick-infested grasslands and whatnot the whole time), by angsting about it. When you boss around beasts that could kill you without trying, if they wanted, you can't be insecure. You definitely can't become the best of the best when you're stupid. I'm not stupid. I'm not insecure. And I definitely don't angst (not that much, anyway).

So when I say I don't belong, you know I'm telling the truth. I'm just so different. The rest of them are a lot of aliens, furries, a smattering of royalty, some sentient exercise balls, bounty hunters, and NASCAR fans, so I guess you're thinking that I must be pretty weird to stand out.

I'm not, and that's just it. I'm a guy with a few pets. There's nothing special about me.

What got me thinking about all this, you say? It was the hazing.

They rang the doorbell, popped a bag over my head, and tied me to a chair. Then, they carried me into a van (I think it was a van) and drove off somewhere. I was waiting in there a long time, and guessed it was because they just wanted me to sweat a little. When the door did open, I could hear and feel the soft whoosh of a spell as it was released and settled over the room. Nothing else seemed to happen, but that was probably part of the spell. I waited.

Someone pulled the bag off my head. After blinking the blinding sunlight out of my eyes, I realized it was Mario. At the time, I thought he wanted me to fight him, but I didn't have any of my Pokemon with me.

"Sorry. Can't." I shrugged. He passed me my Pokeballs. "Hey! Where'd you get those?" They were definitely mine, no doubt about it.

No answer. I didn't really expect one. I was being hazed, after all, and I was under a spell. He just walked away, and I followed him. I felt like I was dreaming, and reminded myself that I probably was.

After a walking for a while (I don't know how long), we got to this flat, white space with no platforms or anything. There were only two dimensions there- up and down, and sideways. Where was the light coming from? There were no shadows, and nothing to cast them. It was just flat and white and completely impossible.

Bizarrely, Mario still wanted to fight, or so I thought. He flapped his cape a little, and I got out my Pokeballs. Wasting no time (better get the stupid part over with), I threw a Pokeball right at his big bicycle-horn nose. But as soon as it left my fingers, I realized that I didn't know which one I had thrown. It was a good throw. As soon as the thing hit his nose, it cracked wide open.

Before I saw anything, I smelled it. It was a smell like old teeth and rotten fish and sand. It was the smell of death.

Instead of its normal bright rays of light, the Pokeball began to ooze thick, black, nasty-smelling smoke. It creeped through the air like syrup creeps through water, and where the Pokemon should be, a shriveled stem thing, either burnt to a crisp or slimy and decayed (I couldn't tell which), grew, mostly blocked from my sight by the fumes. It rose up, bent, and broke. The broken half fell off the impossible landscape and into oblivion.

I still couldn't tell which Pokemon it was.

Desperately, I threw another one, not caring what was inside it, as long as it was alive. This one fell off completely.

Where were they all falling to? Why didn't I fall? I can't say. I was down to my last Pokeball.

I threw it. (Where was my common sense?) Thankfully, it stuck and opened, quite normally, in a flash of light. But I had thrown it too close to the where the first Pokeball opened, and the smoke covered everything. Heart-wrenchingly, all I saw was one reproachful eye before it was swallowed by the darkness. The eye could have belonged to any of them.

I took off my hat and bowed my head.

Then it began to rain Pokeballs. I didn't move, and I didn't want to. Mario, who I had completely forgotten about, gathered an armful of them and threw them into the air like a little kid throws confetti. Suddenly and irrationally, all the most powerful Pokemon in the world popped out. Although they didn't so much as look my way, it was obvious that to them, I was the enemy. While I was staring, Mario walked over to me and grabbed me by the collar (hell, I don't think I even wear collars).

This world is not your world, he hissed.

You don't belong here. We don't play by your rules. You are nothing. He gestured to the legendary Pokemon, every trainer's Holy Grail, gathered around him. Without them, you are nothing. If it was possible to spit without moving a muscle in your face, he spat.

Why are the strong imprisoned by the weak? Why are the strong forced to fight until they are close to death, for the entertainment of the weak? Who gave the weak power? No one did. You are weak. You are powerless. Your rules are not our rules. Your little slaves would be much better off without you, or dead. Go back to the cesspit from whence you came, because you will never understand our world.

Your world is a farce. A twisted, tragic, comedy. And you are a prime example of the filth it spawns.

I was pretty messed up. My Pokemon were gone. The most respected hero in the world was practically choking me. My Pokemon were gone. A whole pantheon of legendaries was giving me death glares. My Pokemon were gone, too, which made me want to give up and let him kill me. Sadly, Stupid Red, hidden in the corner of my mind, had other ideas. He thought this was by far the weirdest, most idiotic thing that ever happened to me, and he said so.

"MY world's a farce?"

Oh, me and my smart mouth. It was worth it, though. Mario's face twisted in anger; then whole scene twisted, and it was gone.

I was staring at the inside of a bag.

Told you so. But sometimes I still wonder.

(They said later that it wasn't hazing, just a kind of entry exam. You gotta be tough, they said. Tough on the inside.)

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This chapter was hard to write (and rewrite, and re rewrite and re rerewrite), but I think it was worth it.

Coming up next, Lucas!

Review? Tell me if it was long enough?