"Is there money in it? Sure. But only if you're the cream of the crop...the best of the best. The guys good enough to advance in the Pokemon League tournament every year are rolling in dough and sponsorships – they're pros that enjoy borderline celebrity status. The rest of us are barely scraping together enough money to feed ourselves and our team. Everyone hears those stories about the rags-to-riches orphans. I don't think that most people understand how good you have to be to win at that level of competition. By the time one competes at the tournaments, they've been through a lot. Their Pokemon are conditioned to fight and kill. And yet, even at that level, being a good trainer sometimes just doesn't cut it enough to win and become a Champion. Hard work always beats talent, but when talent works hard, then nothing can stop it. Some people are born for this." - Luke Jackson, Pokemon Trainer, 2001

Chapter Three

I awoke with a stinging pain in both my head and my arm – the only remaining evidence as to yesterday's unfortunate sequence of events, aside from the singed smell of the burning house that still stuck to my clothes. The tent in question had simply been an old pool tarp supported by a broken branch and the rusted end of an old plumbing pipe, and was far from the luxurious camping enclosure that I had imagined. The blankets too, had been thin and threadbare, making for a rough sleep troubled by much tossing and turning. I felt like a homeless person.

A larger part of me wondered how trainers on the road coped with the stinging temperatures of autumn and winter, when snow banks and sleeting rain introduced a dynamic of freezing to death. Perhaps there would be glitzy hotels and cozy inns for those lucky trainers that had managed to scrounge enough money together during their previous battles, but the poor were forced into sleeping outside in the cold, at the mercy of nature and her elements. I swallowed bitterly. There were kids my age who would likely die this upcoming winter simply due to the fact that they would be unable to either find or afford shelter, while the rest of normal civilization lived onwards, overlooking their plight and chalking up the deaths as the unfortunate side effects of capitalism. We were not children or young adults in the eyes of society, but rather individuals open to exploitation.

I crawled out of the makeshift shelter with a groan, gingerly stretching out and sucking in a breath of fresh, morning air. We had peeled off of the main road late into the previous night, much too tired to engage in the back and forth question and answer session that I had been promised upon leaving the torched plantation. The particular meadow in question was innocent enough according to Brock – somewhere far off enough from the main route so that malicious passerby would not happen upon us, but close enough to the old trading road so that we would not lose our bearing. Somewhere far in the distance, the babbling of a brook could be heard amongst the morning calls of a few bird Pokemon flitting through surrounding trees. The warm sunlight hinted that it was going to be yet another gorgeous, summer day. Brock was already situated against a mossy log, fumbling with a hand rolled cigarette and a match before returning his attention to an old frying pan crooked into the center of a smoldering heap of embers.

"Good morning," I mumbled.

Brock grunted and looked up. "Howdy kid. I got us some firewood and a little bit of luck found us a Pidgeotto nest with three eggs in it. I saw a stream over there somewhere if you want to wash up. You probably should – who knows when we might get a shower next."

"Sweet," I replied, cracking my back and stretching out. "Got anything else with the eggs?"

The older boy snorted. "A leftover loaf of artisan bread and a can of baked beans if you like 'em. If not, eat up anyways. Rule number one as a trainer is that you eat when you can and sleep when you can. Behind not talking to strangers of course. You learned that firsthand. And don't get used to eating this good either. I took the bread from that plantation and those eggs were a lucky find."

"Better than the peanut butter sandwiches that I had yesterday," I said, sitting on the log and staring into the fire while Brock dedicated the remainder of his attention to flipping the frying eggs and opening a dented can of baked beans. After pouring the contents onto the other side of the pan, he leaned over with the homemade cigarette in his hand and offered it to me, a small smile adorning his features.

"Wild cloves and tobacco. Sometimes I come across 'em on my travels and cure them myself," he said. "Take a hit and get the edge off of your nerves."

I shook my head as I remembered the lessons I had learned in school. Smoking was bad for your health and could cause cancer and other complications, although I was now questioning whether I could survive as a trainer long enough to deal with the side effects. "No thanks."

"It's all natural man. None of that nicotine stuff in the markets – this shit was grown in the wild," he replied, chuckling and tapping my hand with the stogie. "At least try one hit."

I relented, if not simply to please Brock, but to revel in the fact that I was able to smoke without adult supervision. If I were going to be a trainer, then perhaps I would have to enjoy the smaller parts of what independence truly entailed.

"It's nice huh?" asked the older boy as I took the cigarette and puffed it. The cloves carried a rich, spicy flavor while the tobacco seemingly evened it out. I coughed nonetheless and shrugged nonchalantly, earning a louder laugh from Brock. "I wasn't asking about the stogie man. I meant being out here at your age. Just a couple of days ago you had to do chores and schoolwork and be in the bed by a certain time. Like it or not, trainers are the modern day cowboys. No one tells us what to do or who to be. We drink as we please and smoke when we want and fuck who we want. You can do what you please without someone breathing down your damn neck all of the time."

I shrugged again. "The law still applies to us though."

"You would be surprised at how many trainers think they're above the law Ash. Out here on the road, power is the law. There's nothing between you and other trainers except for you and the five or six Pokemon that you rock with. I know it sucks right now, but you might grow accustomed to it. You can get away with a lot," stated Brock, taking the cigarette back and taking a long draw. "Just make sure you don't get tangled up with the Rangers. Those corrupt bastards think that they own the countryside just because their job as federal agents is to regulate trainer affairs."

Get away with a lot. Like that murder yesterday. Self-defense or not, murder is still murder. But there would be no trial unless the perpetrators were caught irregardless, and we were long gone with the ruins of the plantation well behind us. My mind stuck at the mind of the Rangers though. Brock had mentioned the group of individuals with caution multiple times, as though they were indeed a force to be reckoned with, even for the most hardened of trainers. "So who are these Rangers?"

Brock coughed and took another long drag before passing the stogie back. "Well, like I said, a bunch of self-entitled bastards assigned to keep trainers in check. Think of them as highway patrolmen. A regular police force would never be able to stop a trainer or wild Pokemon if they went mad or committed heinous crimes, but another trainer could. So the federal government commissioned a special force of former trainers to serve as needed. They all got five badges at one point or another. Some of them even have all eight."

"And they're corrupt?"

He nodded. "Not all of them, but enough to be weary of the whole gang. Never trust the government man. But like I said, they all have five badges and they can scrap with the best of them when it comes down to it. Get into it with them and you'll find yourself in the darkest cells in OFP after court."

"OFP?"

His face darkened. "Olivine Federal Prison. There's a bunch of jails in the four regions that house both trainers and regular prisoners, but that one is reserved for the worst of the worst – you know, people who went mad and committed mass murder with their Pokemon or robbed banks and such. People have gone crazy in there."

"Which is why we shouldn't trust the government, right?"

Brock laughed again. "The government and the Orphan Act started all this. A long time ago, the economies of all four regions were fine without relying on Pokemon training as a source of income. And then almost out of nowhere, the economy collapsed. A recession had been expected and forecast by most of the experts at the time for quite a while, but no one had accurately predicted the actual extent of the damage that the four regional financial systems would be dealt from an economic slowdown. It became more than just a slump – one economy ground to a complete halt due to rampant corruption and mismanagement by those within the government at the time. After that, it turned into a ripple effect that monetarily wiped out every financial system that had managed to weather the initial recession. Unemployment shot through the roof and people ran to withdraw what little money remained in the national banks, which made things even worse. According to some of my older family members, it's hard to understand how bad things really were. People lined up for work everyday at the ports and factories that were still open."

I blinked hard at the history of the regions. "So like...a depression?"

"That's exactly what it was. It lasted for seven years."

I rubbed my chin. "But how does the Orphan Act tie into what you just said?"

"I was getting to that. One political party emerged though that offered an end to the hardships and most people ate it up. Their whole platform was based on rejuvenating the national economies through Pokemon training. You really can't blame them either. At the time, the training industry was a sector that made around one hundred million dollars annually across the four regions. That sounds like a lot, but when we're talking about four economies of nearly one trillion dollars each, it was really just a drop in the bucket to most. Anyway, the people within this campaigning political party realized that Pokemon training was an untapped area. Think about it – trainers stimulate the economy in more ways than one. They travel and stay at places and spend money in local towns. They buy supplies. The Pokemon League competition each year is televised and broadcast nationally. People have to work in the factory that builds the supplies. Workers have to build the factory, and so on. Many believed that training could create an exponential amount of jobs. We aren't talking about hundreds of thousands of jobs either – we're talking nearly a million of them. Every aspect of Pokemon training was seen as a cure to create jobs."

I guffawed sarcastically. "But training is something that nobody wanted to do."

Brock nodded. "True. At that time, only the poor trained simply because they had no other job to turn to for survival. It was dangerous to be a Pokemon trainer, even if they weren't hated as much back then. Those in power were quick to realize that their plan to rejuvenate the economy was dead in the water without a ten-fold increase in trainers."

"And they couldn't just openly declare a trainer draft or anything. That would have caused an uproar," I interjected.

He nodded again. "Exactly. So they came up with a bit of legislation that would casually and gradually increase the amount of trainers in the regions. First, the regional governments sat together at a summit meeting in the Orange Islands and agreed to a right to life clause. The law instantly banned all forms of contraception. Overnight, abortion clinics closed, condom factories were closed, and birth control pills became contraband. The clause seemed innocent enough – the issue of being pro life had been simmering in the regions for years before that, so the most casual of citizens believed that the law had finally been passed and that would simply be a way of life. Yet an increase in the general population would not necessarily guarantee an increase in trainers. The government passed another clause – one which was seemingly as innocent as the right to life bill. This new act stated that the state would seize and repossess all of the orphanages in the four regions to ensure quality and well-being. The children would be cared for by the state until they turned fifteen, at which point they would be given Pokemon and ordered to collect five badges. Some mathematical statisticians proposed that by the fifth badge, the average trainer would have generated enough funds and jobs to contribute to the national economy in a positive way. This became the Orphan Act."

I frowned. "And it works? No one thought to fight back?"

"The economies of the regions have been stable ever since. No one fights for the poor or disadvantaged Ash. Most of the voters weren't immediately affected by the new law. They had parents or were parents to their children. The orphans couldn't even vote because they weren't of voting age. The bill passed and created the situation we see today. Our lives are now centered around Pokemon. The Pokemon League merged with the government and became the most powerful institution throughout the lands. The saddest part about this whole thing is the exploitation of Pokemon trainers. We make these four regions run, and yet we get spat on for it. Officially we enjoy the same rights as normal citizens aside from being legally obligated to collect at least five badges, but society treats us like dirt."

I mumbled, "Like a caste system."

The words tasted bitter in my mouth as I recalled their meaning. We had learned the term in school years ago, although I had not made much of an effort to pay much attention. In ancient times, people had been separated based upon their social class which they had been born into – largely against their will. The poor and unfortunate were not allowed the same social rights as those who had garnered more wealth. The result had been a sharp divide between the wealthy and the poor that had extended for many centuries. Modern times had of course demolished such an archaic structure as an official governing system as it had done with slavery. Yet through callous legislation encouraging inequity and unfairness, the caste system seemingly lived on in spirit – an unfortunate beast that had swallowed me as yet another victim in its grander scheme. The government claimed that every human had a right to freedom and the pursuit of happiness. The same entity viewed me as something less than human – instead labeling me as a Pokemon Trainer whose sole legal purpose was to pay back a debt that I had not necessarily earned. It was more than a caste system. I was and indentured servant to the state.

"You catch on quickly for a fifteen year old," said Brock. He took the frying pan out of the fire and dished the contents onto two, old tin plates. "You have a lot more intuition than I did at your age. But then again, I was never an orphan."

I blinked, stunned at the sudden revelation. "Why are you a trainer then?"

"That might be a story for another time kid. We have to get back on the road. I want to be in Weed by the early evening. Eat up."

I opened my mouth in protest, but soon decided against it. Brock had saved my life – I figured that I at least owed him his own slice of privacy. Breakfast was surprisingly food. The eggs were a bit greasy, but the issue was remedied with what remained of the loaf of bread and the baked beans. Packing up camp afterward proved to be somewhat simple. Brock was able to stow the makeshift pool tarp back into his bag without much of a fuss, and he used a water bottle to clean the used dishes. I decided against washing in the stream, as Brock said we had a day's worth of walking ahead of us and that we needed to head out.

An hour later, our sneakers were once again treading hard against the packed dirt of the old trading route that had carried us the night previously. Looking in the direction of New Bark proved somewhat futile. The town had dropped out of visible sight in the manner of an hour yesterday, melting into the surrounding countryside. We had indeed walked far the previous night as well. I thought that I could see the farm that we had lit on fire the previous night, but I convinced myself that the hazy blip from where we came was just a tree. I wondered silently if the Pokemon Rangers would discover the house and link its burnt out contents to us. But what evidence would they have? Undoubtedly the plantation had burnt to the ground. Brock seemed to have had ensured that.

"You worried about the house?" grunted Brock, nearly thirty minutes into our fresh start. He looked at me sideways, a bead of sweat running from his mane of nappy hair. I realized that this was a young man capable of picking up on vibes with ease.

I mumbled quietly. "A little bit. I'm not a criminal."

The older boy scoffed and wiped his head with a wadded up bandanna crusty with months of previous travel sweat. "Stop saying that shit. You still don't realize that you're a trainer kid. I can almost guarantee you that you're going to end up committing several crimes – most of which are a lot worse than simply burning a house down. I pulled the trigger back there in self-defense."

"You said they would never believe that."

He chuckled dryly. "And I was right. A trainer testifying in court against a dead man when the evidence points towards outright murder is about as useless as a bag of dicks. You need to get it out of your pretty little head that we're equal to normal citizens in the eyes of the law. Everyone else is innocent until proven guilty. We're guilty until proven innocent."

"But the Constitution - "

Brock snapped. "Fuck the Constitution! Did that old, crumpled piece of paper live up to its guarantee of providing you freedom and happiness?"

I could feel the tears biting once again at the back of my eyes. Brock seemed to have realized how harsh he sounded.

"Listen kid. I just can't have you going all soft on me out here. This is a world where people will think of themselves as superior just because we have a Trainer ID tattooed on our arm. This is a world where people will see kids like you and see a quick way to get their twisted rocks off or worse. There are people out there who would snatch you from this road and just as soon sell you or traffic you like used goods. For the sake of God, there are other trainers who would kill you or mug you for a few hundred dollars and the very clothes on your back. This is not a game. It is not about what is fair. Either play the system, or let it play you man. And I can tell you right now – there's things out there happening to other trainers as we speak that would make you beg to have been raped and shot. Are we clear?"

I nodded numbly. I was soft. Of course I was soft. I had been coddled in the orphanage in New Bark. This was an environment in which everyone in my position was dealt the worst hand of cards possible, and one in which everyone wanted to escape from as soon as possible. No doubt people would be desperate. It was a matter of survival for us. I'm not sure why, but I vowed at that very moment to make the best of the situation – yes, I may have been victim to a blanket piece of legislation, but I was determined not to let that unfortunate bout of luck define me. I would get my five badges and get the fuck out to be normal again.

"I like that look," said Brock, interrupting my thoughts. "What's on your brain?"

I clenched my hand and looked at my tattoo. 0554205. Just another pawn. "Winning. Getting five badges and enough money to start a new life in the real world."

"Fair enough. But I'm warning you now...it's not easy. You stick by me though, and you might just have a shot."

I detected a hint of amusement in his voice, as though he were pleased to finally see me grow a bit of a backbone. The early morning mist burned away and became shimmering heat waves once again as it had the day before. I noted that the first purchase I would make in Weed would certainly be some sunglasses, although Brock warned during our spats of small talk that buying sunscreen would be a waste of money. Eventually my body would become acclimated to being in the sun so often, he claimed, and would simply be tanned and not burnt. I learned quite a bit about Brock as we walked. Most often he talked about the girls from his home region that he had slept with, or other trainers that he had courted to his sleeping bag on cold, Winter nights. I frankly believed some of the stories to be quite hilarious, although some of them did have a serious note or lesson infused within them – chiefly problems he had run into as a new trainer such as how he learned to forage for food and stay away from sketchy looking plants. I took in his wisdom like a sponge, reciting his advice in my head. Don't do this. Make sure to do that. I found the help enticing.

Early noon however, proved to be a break in our simple walking routine. The landscape had gradually begun to include a thin amount of trees and hills once again, and we had taken to counting how many Pokemon had found refuge in their shade from the heat. A small dot suddenly appeared on the horizon, wavering against the shimmering waves rising from the baked, summer soil of the trading route. An accompanying cloud of dust rose in a sandy plume behind the new figure. There was no room to debate – someone was coming in our direction, and fast.

"Hey kid," muttered Brock, placing his forearm across my chest in an attempt to slow our pace. "Keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking. We might have some trouble."

I felt raw adrenaline pump into my veins – an occurrence that was seemingly becoming more normal than ever within the past forty-eight hours. The figure morphed into the crisp image of a thin, sinewy man bearing down on our position with haste, a white horse adorned with flames bucking wildly between his legs. Leather armor dyed with faded, foliage colored camouflage patterns gave the man an air of authority, and a pair of hard, surveying eyes that peeked outwards underneath a wide-brimmed hat only cemented the image.

"Good afternoon," he stated, rearing the horse to a stop. The creature was unlike anything that I had encountered before, although seeing pictures in many storybooks helped to identify it as a Ponyta, which were generally seen in the Kanto region. "Trainer IDs please."

I opened my mouth and then remembered the warning that Brock had issued. No speaking.

"Nice Ponyta. Didn't know the Rangers here in Johto had access to them," said Brock, casually shoving his hands deep into his jeans and nodding towards the disciplined horse. I blinked. This was indeed one of the famed Rangers that Brock had warned me about earlier that morning.

The man nodded curtly before speaking with an even keel. "There's a few herds that migrated over from Kanto and found a home in the mountains of Route 45. The Pokemon League thought that it would be a good idea to breed them for us to get around easier. I asked for Trainer IDs. I won't ask again."

This man meant business.

"Alright. No need to get all uptight," muttered Brock, fishing into pocket and pulling out a grimy identification not much different than my own. I followed suit, allowing the man to gather the cards into his calloused hands.

The Ranger squinted at the pictures. "Brock Harrison from Pewter City and Ash Ketchum from New Bark Town. You must be related to Gym Leader Flint."

"My dad," muttered Brock, his jaw clenching. I felt my blood run cold. Why had Brock hidden that from me, especially if his dad was someone of such a high status? From what I remembered in my history and civic government classes, most Gym Leaders were akin to the governor of their entire provinces. Being the child of such a high status individual would certainly help to avoid one succumbing to the fate of training, right?

The Ranger chuckled sourly before throwing the cards onto the ground. "I never did understand how he managed to raise ten different fuckups. You and your siblings were born into wealth and status, yet you all turned into Trainers and criminals anyway. Quite an embarrassment for your parents. Some would even say a slap in the face for the higher-up Pokemon League officials."

I swallowed hard. How bad could the situation have been if a passing Ranger knew of how notorious the Harrison family was? Millions of people lived throughout the regions, yet this man knew of Brock and his family. Certainly, Gym Leaders and high officials seemed to enjoy some sort of celebrity status or infamy. I began to wish that I had stayed awake in my government classes a bit more.

"Leave my family out of this. I'm a normal trainer just like anyone else. You wouldn't have known if it weren't for my last name and the ID that says I'm from Pewter City," said Brock, his brow furrowed in clear anger.

The Ranger shrugged. "Whatever. I don't care if you're a Gym Leader's son or not. I'm out here investigating an arson and a murder that occurred last night on a local farmhouse. Typical trainer activity."

"Nothing to do with us then," lied Brock, his voice cool and even.

The Ranger snorted and cocked a hand on his utility belt, where three Pokeballs, a shiny badge, and an M9 handgun lay holstered. "I would trust a rabid Gyrados before I took the words of some petty Trainers to heart boys. Where are you boys coming from, where are you headed, and where the hell were you around early evening yesterday?"

Let me do the talking.

"We were in New Bark. He's a new trainer and I'm just drifting from town to town," replied Brock.

The Ranger squinted. "You mean from region to region? It says here on the ID that you're from Kanto of course. Registered right to Pewter City."

"I wanted to experience something new."

The man frowned. "Not sure I'm buying you're story. I need to run the number on your tattoo and see if you have any priors related to last night. And why the hell are you the only one talking? Is he a mute?"

"As a matter of fact, he is," replied Brock. I noted that the atmosphere had grown tense.

The Ranger pulled out a small, hand-held device similar to my Pokedex and leaned forward, his voice not at all friendly anymore. "Lemme punch your number into the database here so that we can get to the bottom of this once and for all. For all I know, you might have an outstanding warrant on your head."

Brock did not make an effort to raise his arm, and time seemed to freeze. If you murder or attempt to kill a federal Ranger and they'll bury you in OFP. Life sentence. But Brock had nothing to lose it seemed. Cooperation was due five minutes ago, and was not being offered now. This Ranger was going to arrest us.

"Guess you boys are gonna have to come in for further questioning then." The gun was out now and aimed at us with a trained flick of the wrist, while the other hand was situated tightly around two pairs of zip ties.

But the sudden noise of a field radio crackling to life interrupted what was likely to be a resistance to arrest, and perhaps a double homicide. The Ranger froze and turned the dial on the receiver attached to his belt to maximum volume.

"All available field units between New Bark, Weed, and the surrounding province, please note. Code 163 in progress at the Fairfax Motel in Weed regarding the Code 92 last night. Immediate backup requested."

The Ranger cursed and spat into the radio. "Fuck! This is Ranger Delaney. Show me en route by means of horseback."

He turned back to us, an exasperated sheet of sweat covering his forehead.

"It must be your lucky day gentlemen. There was a series of break-ins reported at the New Bark laboratory a few months ago that was kept hush-hush. We figured the bastard who did it might have been hiding out locally for a while trying to lay low or sell some of the tech that was lifted. They just cornered him back in Weed apparently."

The Ponyta roared as the man kicked it hard and bucked it in the direction that they had come before kicking up a massive plume of dust and grit. Seconds later, his figure had already begun to fade into the distance. My hands shook as I retrieved the fallen ID cards. Another close call. Even Brock looked shocked into submission.

He had some explaining to do.

.

"It's true."

We had spent the rest of the day walking in relative silence, my mind analyzing and picking over the information that had been thrust into my lap. I had been traveling with the son of a Gym Leader. Someone that definitely should not have become a Pokemon Trainer, let alone a criminal. Brock Harrison clearly had a record a mile long – and that sheet likely included arson. If the Ranger had been allowed to crosscheck his history against the murder and homicide that had occurred on the plantation yesterday, that would have warranted enough of a cause to arrest us and maybe even try us. Brock himself had said that many Trainers were deprived due process of the law and a fair trial. We had been only seconds away from becoming the next victims of such a system.

Brock spoke again, this time louder and more firm. "It's true Ash. My father is Flint Harrison, the Gym Leader of Pewter City, in the Kanto Region."

"It seems like a pretty big thing to hide." The words sounded hollow in my throat. I felt heat rising in my stomach. I wished desperately that I had been born into a position in which I would not have to become a Pokemon Trainer. At least I would have had a home to live in, and with enough money to live comfortably. I could see why the Pokemon Ranger had expressed an air of amused disappointment when referring to the Harrison family. Many Pokemon Trainers, including the Ranger himself, probably would have killed to be born into such a prominent position. There would have been no getting kicked out at fifteen or worrying about being raped, or murdered, or even starving to death.

The boy rubbed a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I wasn't sure if you would understand man. Don't go thinking that I was some kid born with a silver spoon. Sure, me and my siblings were born into wealth and status, but that man used to beat the hell out of our mom and us. He's a raging drunk. We all left home at fifteen, one by one. I was the second one to go behind my older brother Forrest. The rest came after. People make it seem like we voluntarily became Pokemon Trainers, but we had to escape him before his drunken rages ended up killing one of us. We came from a broken home. And you sound pretty damn selfish right now."

"And the record?" I asked. "You said yourself you did time. Are you even a legitimate Pokemon Trainer?"

Brock paused. "Yeah. I am a registered Pokemon Trainer. I have four badges from Kanto. I'm here in Johto to get another four to qualify for the Pokemon League Tournament. The only problem is that I left home an angry kid with only one goal in mind – to grow strong enough to hurt my dad in the same way that he hurt us. But it can be hard for a broke Trainer just starting out, as you seem to have learned now. So I became a petty criminal to supplement my initial start. I would rob whoever I could and steal whatever I wanted from normal people and other Trainers. It got me into some questionable situations with some questionable people, and one particular incident ended with me killing two other Pokemon Trainers and maiming another in self-defense after they caught me stealing from their camp."

"Self-defense? You were robbing them!" I spat.

Brock nodded. "True. And they tried to kill me for it with their own Pokemon. But I got the drop on them and managed to take two of them down before the third and I got tangled up in hand-to-hand combat. Some passerby saw all of the damage from the ensuing battle and called the local Rangers, who broke the whole thing up. The next thing I know, I'm serving out a lifetime felony sentence for robbery and a double homicide in Cape Cerulean Penitentiary. Maximum security. Worst of the worst in Kanto."

"How did you get out then?" I asked.

The boy smirked. "It was the damnedest thing actually. It turns out that the three Trainers that I had fought with in the battle had actually been on a crime spree of their own. They had raped and killed the cousin of a Champion from Hoenn – and that's a pretty big deal. Once the third one came forth with the confession during confinement, that same Champion pulled some strings to have me released."

"Strings strong enough to commute a life sentence?" I muttered, shaking my head at the corruption of it all.

Brock shrugged. "Yeah. All of the Champions are poster-children for the Pokemon League man – they're superstars. They can call in favors like that. Certainly they're not above the law themselves, but they're pretty damn good at bending it to their will. I never even got to meet the guy either. I guess it was just a corrupt way of completing the circle of vengeance for him. I can only say that I got extremely lucky, and that my biggest regret was killing those two guys. They were rotten apples coming at me with excessive force for stealing, but matching that level of force with attacks of my own was unnecessary. So many trainers are serving time for the mistakes they made as teenagers, most of whom won't even see the light of day again."

The concept of rotting to death in a dank cell in either OFP or CCP sobered me greatly. There were kids who would grow old and die in there, forced from one bad situation into yet another. Some didn't stand a chance.

"How long were you in for?"

Brock sighed. "I was booked when I was fifteen, so about your age. Then I did three years before the sentence was commuted and spent another two years collecting these four badges and rehabilitating myself and training. Here I am now. Like I said before; my plan is to now collect four more badges for a total of eight. I want to become a Pokemon Champion and make enough money to buy the gym from Flint."

"He would sell it to you? No offense, but he sounds like a dick man," I said. The heat that I had felt before had faded into slight pity for Brock. He had it as hard as I did after all.

Brock laughed. "True, he's a scumbag that cut me and my siblings off and disowned us. But the political clout of being a Champion would be enough to apply pressure on the Pokemon League officials in charge of delegating gym ownership, and it would make even more sense seeing how I'm in his bloodline for inheritance anyway. It would still cost me millions to purchase the gym, but becoming a Champion would net me more than enough cash to do so. That's why I can't afford to go back to prison. I'm doing this for my family. Trust me Ash. I'm not some scumbag that kills for sport. I made a mistake when I was younger, and I saved your neck yesterday, sure. But at worst I'm a common thief looking to redeem himself. I still have nightmares about the two men I killed man. That shit weighs on your soul."

I nodded and we continued to walk again in silence, although this one seemed much more relaxed. Brock wasn't who I thought he was – in more ways than one. He was a veteran Trainer, but also not the most experienced either. Four badges still wouldn't be enough to drop out of Pokemon Training and return to the normal world due to the five badge requirement, and garnering the eight needed to qualify for the Pokemon League tournament would be difficult. Nonetheless, his time on the inside, as well as the limited time that he had been a free Trainer was already proving invaluable to my knowledge. I promised myself that I would take any advice he gave, so not to make the same mistakes. The rest of the day passed relatively quickly as the scorching heat faded into a balmy evening. The surrounding trees and hills increased in thickness, and the horizon finally coughed up a faint, yellow prick that grew larger as neared, framed beautifully against the purple sky. By the time the lights became structures, the stars had begun to twinkle above, welcoming us silently to the town known as Weed.

Weed didn't seem so different from New Bark. Nestled into the surrounding woods and hills, a scattered handful of wood cabins and some brick storefronts lined both dirt and paved roads. Here and there, townspeople bustled about, wrapping up their long workdays and heading home to their quaint houses. I supposed that many of the buildings were common to most other small towns.

"So this is Weed," said Brock, stretching as we idled to a stop in front of a local tavern. The bright lights inside welcomed us, casting yellow light on the porch ahead, while the sounds of drink and merriness spilled onto the street.

I shrugged. "I guess so. Seems like a normal town."

"Yeah man. Pretty much every small town looks like this. There's thousands of them across the four regions and they all run together in your mind after a while unless they're along the main routes...a few taverns, some motels, a PokeMart – some of the bigger ones have a Pokemon Center and a hospital, you know?" he replied. "This place says there's a vacancy. Let's stay here for the night and rest up."

The clinking of glasses and din of voices stalled momentarily as we walked in – several pairs of eyes flitting over us before returning to the loud conversations and frothy beers. It was a mix of local farmers and a dingy collection of Pokemon Trainers, both of whom were getting quite loud and rowdy over an argument about league politics and taxes. A graying, old barmaid flagged us down and waved us over, her wrinkles crinkling with wisdom.

"How can I help you boys?"

Brock nodded to the wall of bottles behind her. "Two shots of that whiskey followed by a couple of pints of ale ma'am. And a room if you have one to spare."

"Just your luck that we do," she said. "We usually ain't this packed out, but the main local motel is shut down due to an investigation by them damn Rangers. Bastards thought they had a thief in there earlier and blew the place half to bits with their damn Pokemon. Corrupt pigs."

A hiker next to us snorted, while a farmer in the corner yelled out. "I'll drink to that! Those damn Rangers have gotten out of hand!"

Brock slid her a few bills and turned to the hiker to discuss as I downed the whiskey with a cough. As the warmth of the alcohol spread through my extremities, I wondered whether being a Pokemon Trainer was so bad after all. Sure, we had almost died multiple times so far, nearly been arrested, and were doing this against our own will, but this time last week, I would have been nestled into a cold bed at the orphanage, alone. At least here, amongst the rowdy, suntanned farmers and the other, hardened Trainers that were also passing through, I was with company. Somewhere in another corner, two Pokemon Trainers had gotten into a drunken fistfight with a man who had been bragging all night that his cousin's friend's sister was personal friends with a Champion – a tall tale indeed. It was orderly chaos.

Brock had resolved to hitting on two female Trainers who weren't looking all that standoffish either, both playing with their hair while he flirted and hit on them with ridiculous tall tales of his own. The young man looked up and waved me over with a wink, introducing me as his long time friend and buying another round of beers. It wasn't until well past midnight that the barmaid began to kick everyone out who would not be staying the night, much to the chagrin of the barfly farmers, who lightly protested and then filtered out with Trainers who had managed to book what was left of the motel.

"So Ash, Sue and Jennifer here say that we should join them upstairs in their room before we head up to our own. Apparently they want to show us something on their Pokedex," chuckled Brock, as we ascended the rickety staircase with a variety of other drunk, tired Trainers also headed to bed. The girls tugged at us with intoxicated laughter. There was no doubt in my mind what they wanted to show us.

I shook my head and laughed. "I'm feeling a little tired man. Go ahead and give me the key to the room and I'll leave our door unlocked."

"Suit yourself bud. Don't wait up for me. Get some rest. Tomorrow I'm going to help you tame that Pikachu and get you started on training. And hey, make sure you shower and change your underwear!" he yelled, bounding down the hallway with the girls, who laughed, causing the other Trainers to hiss from their own rooms to keep it down.

I just groaned and drunkenly staggered to our own room and fumbled with the key, which dropped onto the hallway carpet and caused me to swear. "Fuck!"

"Hey!" hissed a voice, high and taught with subdued annoyance. "Keep it down. Some of us are trying to sleep, jerk."

I looked up at a pair of dingy, red sneakers, from which a pair of long, slender legs sprouted, capped off by a pair of denim shorts and a yellow crop-top. It was a freckled girl that had rattled off the insult, her viridian colored eyes blazing brighter than the shock of orange hair tied into a messy ponytail. Her tall frame bespoke more of a tomboy, rather than a girly-girl, although there was no mistaking that she was cute. I felt a blush beginning to crawl upon my cheeks as she leaned closer, highlighting the fact that she was nearly an inch taller than myself.

"Take a picture, jerk. It might last longer. Men are perverts. I saw you and your little friend down there getting those two girls drunk. I bet you're on your way to their room right now!" she said, rolling her eyes.

I opened my mouth to protest. "Actually - "

But my words were cut short as she huffed, turned, and abruptly slammed the door to her own room, leaving me in the hallway with one hand raised in explanation. I didn't know shit about girls, and it seemed as though I would have to talk to Brock about how the hell they actually worked. I stumbled into our room and enjoyed a much needed shower before collapsing onto the soft bed before the room began to spin out of vision. For the first time in my short career as a trainer, it had not been an entirely bad day.

Little did I know, the journey had just begun.


Author's Note: Sup guys? I was busy finishing with grad school, but I'm done now. I graduated! So now I'm writing again. I'm also working on my other story (Heated Hoenn), but I felt that I at least owed this one an update first. The concept is so unexplored - Pokemon has the potential to be a very dark concept. I hope that I can push the envelope, and especially appeal to the older generation of Pokemon fans (shoutout to those who played RBY and GSC back in '98 - '03). I think Pokemon Origins was a great showed geared for us. That being said, I'm hoping that I can expose a new side of Pokemon to the new generation of Pokemon fans as well - those who grew up playing on the Nintendo DS and the Switch and Pokemon GO. Once again, a big shoutout goes out to Acey, Afroshock, and 50caliberchaos. Ya'all inspired me when I was a teenager reading your stories on this site. Hope ya'll like Misty lol.