Red was ten years old, sitting on the couch in the modest, comfy Pallet home he'd grown accustomed to over the past year. His hair stuck up in places, no comb having graced his head. It was sometime in the morning, though Red had lost track, absorbed as he was into the wildlife channel on TV he watched religiously.

Pallet Town wasn't so bad, he thought. There wasn't much to do, but it was very pretty, and the people were usually nice. He glanced out the window facing south, out toward the ocean. His parents were on Cinnabar now, working for a better future, discovering the secrets of the universe. His parents were so cool that way.

He peeked down at the slightly crushed pine cone in his right hand. He'd taken it from the top of the tallest tree bordering Pallet Town, conveniently hidden by the protrusion of a cliffside so no one could see him and tell him to come down. His parents were doing groundbreaking, impossible things on Cinnabar, and Red wanted to prove he could do cool things too.

His mom and dad had never actually mentioned what they were doing on Cinnabar, but they'd always said it was really cool. He'd never had a reason to doubt them.

They were supposed to be coming home soon, and then he'd show them the pine cone as well as the shaky picture he'd taken from the top of the tree. The view was absolutely beautiful, like nothing one could ever see from the ground. He wondered why more people didn't climb trees like he did. Sure, he'd scraped up his arms and legs on the tree bark, and he had to tell Christine he'd just tripped instead of admitting he'd gone four stories up a dangerously swaying tree, but the risk just made it more fun.

His mother would always get huffy once she found it how he'd risked his life for a simple bauble or bragging rights, but then she'd hug him and tell him how much she loved him and wanted him safe, and in some weird, twisted way, Red craved that expression enough to do something crazy and stupid all over again. Just to hear her say "I love you" in the most genuine way before disappearing back to the island.

His father was different. His father would sigh, shake his head, and tell Red he shouldn't have gone so far for something that mattered so little. But rather than getting all emotional, his father would take a walk with him and calmly explain how proud he was of his little boy, his growing young man, not afraid to take risks and see the beauty in the world, even though he wished he did it more safely.

"You're not old enough to risk your life yet," his father would say, "but I admire that you have the courage to try. Remember that." Then they would often get ice cream or play on the beach, and his father would take the time to gently explain what Red should have done differently and why.

His mother's response and his father's were so different, and while both were really just forms of admonishment, he didn't know which he craved more.

Red's head snapped to the door as it opened and shut. It was Christine, his caretaker while his mom and dad were gone. She was only twenty years old, so she felt like a big sister to him. Now, Christine's movements were slow, like she was walking on eggshells, and her eyes were red. For a few seconds, she wouldn't look at him.

She didn't cry very often, and she was trying hard not to now, but even at his tender age Red could see the river building up behind the dam. He felt his spirits sink. He got the feeling he didn't want to hear whatever she was about to say. Had she lost her job? Had a friend died? Red was no good at comforting people.

Christine took a shaky breath in and crossed the living room to sit on the couch beside him. She muted the TV and finally looked him in the eye. "Something's happened," she said, voice wavering, trying to maintain an assuring smile, but she wasn't much better than Red at this. She paused, sniffing as the tears threatened to spill over.

Red's body felt numb. Every second that passed hammered in the point: this was about to sideline his entire life. He wanted to crawl away, but he couldn't move.

Where were his parents?

Red awoke to something viciously slapping him in the face back and forth. He rolled over, trying to shield his head, flailing at his attacker and feeling something warm and fuzzy standing on his chest. The slaps kept coming, smacking him against his arms as he covered himself.

"All right," he heard Garlic order, "he's awake. Get off him."

Red peered through his arms to find FaceEater on his chest, arm raised in prime slapping position. FaceEater stared him in the eye for another second, slapped him one more time, and hopped off, retreating to Garlic and Cowlick by the tree they'd camped under.

Red sat up in his sleeping bag and rubbed his face. He'd woken up to worse things, but he still wanted to strangle FaceEater. If only the Mankey had a neck. "I don't remember appointing any of you as my personal alarm clock."

"'Bright and early tomorrow,'" Cowlick said. "Your words exactly as we left the Gym yesterday. The sun is over the horizon, and we ain't moving yet."

Red growled, slipped out of his sleeping bag and began rolling it up. "So turn your karate chops against your conqueror?"

"Some people drink coffee," Garlic observed. "This is how FaceEater greets the morning, evidently."

Cowlick watched Red continue to work. "So what's the plan? Hit the forest? 'Cause you're damn lucky I joined this little crusade. All kinds of bugs crawling around in there I'm good at taking care of."

"Some crusade," Red muttered, returning the small sleeping bag to his pack. "Between Garlic judging me, FaceEater killing me awake, and you painting my clothes, I'll be kept on my toes at least. But we haven't actually battled any other Trainers yet, and therefore we don't have a great deal of money. There should be Trainers in Viridian Forest, and as you so aptly pointed out, you should be good at taking care of any problems. We'll have breakfast, buy some supplies, cut north through the forest, annihilate any opposition, get some dough, grab some lunch, train some more, and check out the Gym. If we're feeling confident and there's enough time, maybe we'll annihilate the Gym Leader too."

"Take it slow," Garlic advised. "These are Leaders among Trainers we're talking about."

Red hoisted the bag onto his shoulders and looked back to Viridian just south of them. "Most Trainers fight for money or honor. I fight to change the world. Few things are more dangerous than conviction."

Viridian Forest felt like it was hiding something. The trees parted enough to create wide passages guiding its travelers onward, probably a result of human meddling the way the trees were so neatly arranged. Despite the gaps of light, most of the forest was fairly dark, the sun obscured by the canopy branching out above. Red hadn't seen much more than a few small, slow Bug-type Pokemon, Caterpie and Weedle and the like, and they didn't seem very powerful, but he couldn't shake the notion that something large and ugly could have just as easily popped out of nowhere.

The forest was too easy. Anything too easy made him a little nervous.

Red wasn't impressed by his first real battle with a Trainer. It was some scrawny runt in a straw hat who claimed he was obsessed with bugs and wanted to catch all he could. Clearly his focus was on collecting and not battling, because even FaceEater with his type disadvantage against Bugs was able to nonchalantly stomp on the boy's Pokemon. It merely proved Red's point that not all Trainers had conviction. Without it, they were like free money dispensaries.

But as scrawny kids who cared more about bugs than battle, they didn't pay much. His battles in the forest gained him enough money for perhaps one expensive meal in Pewter City or a fresh new load of Trainer supplies. He could tell, though, that his team was growing stronger from the battles, both by learning new techniques and strategies and by their bodies physically toughening as a result of the battle-ready genetics of every Pokemon.

It took them about four hours to make it through the forest. Eventually the trees thinned, the sun shone down on them again, and they could see the big gray city up ahead, appropriately the same color as its name. As far as Red knew, they'd defeated every single Trainer in that forest.

He had this under control.

FaceEater looked positively radiant. A forest chock full of fighting was his version of a spa day. Cowlick looked a little bored, having encountered little trouble in the forest. Garlic was scanning each building in the city ahead, probably looking for the Gym. Despite her nagging, she'd cottoned on to Red's team and ideals better than anyone else so far.

"Huh," Cowlick grunted. "Never been on this side of the forest before."

"Is it everything you ever dreamed of and more?" Red asked.

Cowlick thought. "Well no. Why is the whole city monochrome? But then again, I guess it is kinda cool seeing life in the legends. There really is a city of stone on the other side."

Red led the way forward. "Come on. I have no idea what makes Pewter City cuisine unique, but we're about to find out."

"Rocks?" Garlic suggested.

It took them another one or two hours of walking before they reached the city limits. Compared to Viridian which had felt small, cluttered, and closely intertwined with nature, Pewter City's buildings were arranged in neat, symmetrical rows, separated by white stone streets. Most of the buildings were the same shade of either gray or light brown, but patches of color decorated the place here and there; gardens of vibrant flowers, parks with verdant green fields, the occasional neon street sign. It was actually a rather beautiful contrast now that Red saw it up close.

If Red was ever to settle down and raise a family somewhere, it would probably be Pewter based on all the places he'd visited so far. A car drove by the street in front of them, hinting at a thriving automobile industry in the place. Safe, clean, symmetrical, plenty to do. Not a bad place to live.

The city was also surprisingly quiet. Then again, it was, according to Cowlick, a "city of stone," sort of dead and unmoving by definition.

"Why is it so big?" FaceEater asked, wide eyes taking in the surroundings.

"Humans live in big settlements," Red explained. "They can't just set up camp anywhere like Pokemon."

"But we do," FaceEater rebutted.

Red shrugged. "We're strange. Let's find a city map, then a Pokemon Center, then some lunch. I'm starving."

The city map revealed Pewter to be just as orderly and symmetrical as they'd expected, almost a perfect grid all across the board. They could have easily played tic-tac-toe on the map. There was a Pokemon Center not far from the southern entrance to the city, so they made a beeline for it to heal the team, rest up, and plan their next move.

It was around 2:30 in the afternoon when they finally tracked down a restaurant boasting authentic Pewter cuisine. Turned out it relied heavily on meat, vegetables and mushrooms, courtesy of the wildlife and plants in the mountains surrounding the city. Interestingly enough, the restaurant did feature a "rock pie," which looked startlingly like a slab of stone but was actually made primarily of soft chocolate and marshmallow. It was pricey and he only ordered one, eventually surrendering it to FaceEater before the Mankey could flip a table in anger and make a scene.

Bellies full and curiosities piqued, they chose to explore more of the city, guiding themselves in the direction of the Pewter Gym. Asking around, most Pewter residents spoke highly of the Gym and its Leader, Brock. An honorable young man, they said, had trouble keeping his eyes open for whatever reason but a stalwart Trainer and reliable friend of the city. As expected, his Gym specialized in Rock-types. That ruled Cowlick out as a combatant, but Garlic and FaceEater would do just fine.

The outside of the Gym looked much more...Gym-like than Viridian's had. It was a perfect rectangle, colored a slightly darker shade of gray than the rest of the city. A garden of boulders, some in interesting formations, lined the path leading to the front door. A sign next to the entrance proclaimed the Gym's pride as part of the Pewter community and its strong Leader, Brock Stonewell. Everything about the man's name bespoke rocks. He was like Pewter City's flesh-and-blood incarnation.

For a moment, Red wondered what it would be like to have a Gym of his own and what the sign outside might say about him. Pallet Town's first Gym, the most interesting thing about this bundle of sticks, led by Red Hearthfire who trains Pokemon, we guess? One day they'd have something interesting to say about him.

"Let's go inside and break stuff!" FaceEater screeched.

"We'll go inside," Red amended, "but keep the breaking down to a minimum. We need training and intel first."

Stepping into the Gym was like stepping into another world. The walls straight-up looked like stone; in fact, upon running his hand on the nearby wall, Red discovered it was, carved to look like the uneven wall of a cave. There was enough light coming in from unidentified sources to illuminate the interior, revealing another rock garden and a few Trainers milling about. Red knew there had to be back rooms and offices tucked away somewhere, but the initial room was the perfect first impression for newcomers.

One Trainer coached a Geodude and a Sandshrew in a clearing in the rock garden. Another polished a boulder by the edge of the garden, aiming to give it that perfect Gym shine. At the back of the room sat another man crosslegged, dark brown hair spiked up, a notebook in his lap and a pen in his hand. He had to be the Gym Leader, Brock Stonewell.

"Are we allowed to just watch?" Garlic asked quietly.

"Well, they haven't thrown us out yet," Red noted.

FaceEater raised a hand in karate-chopping-position and ran toward the Trainer with the Geodude and Sandshrew, screeching bloody murder. Red closed his eyes and bowed his head, cursing his misfortune, and trotted off after him. The Trainer looked up in time to see a furious Mankey charging him.

FaceEater flashed back to his Poke Ball just as he sprung at the Geodude. It wouldn't hold him for long, but it would buy them some time to explain and gracefully depart.

"What was that?" the Trainer asked, still a little shocked.

Red rubbed his jaw. "My Mankey likes to hit things, as I discovered this morning. He sees Rock-types and he goes bananas. No pun intended." At least Red assumed FaceEater's type advantage against Rock had spurred him onward.

The Trainer, probably not older than sixteen, shook his head in disbelief. "You need to reign in your Pokemon. Training's all about discipline."

Red frowned. "I know it is. FaceEater's a little raw."

On cue, FaceEater burst out of his Ball again, hand raised, screeching at the top of his lungs. Red grabbed a tuft of his hair to keep him from charging the Trainer's Pokemon again.

"So much for gathering intel," Cowlick snorted.

Now the Trainer looked angry. "You know what? That Mankey needs a hard lesson. If it wants to fight, let it have its way."

Red tried not to vocalize the swears building up in his mind. Breathing deeply, he stepped back and said, "Fine. Say the word, and I release this angry ninja to hack as he pleases."

From the back of the room, Brock watched them carefully but didn't move.

The Trainer stepped back as well, giving the Pokemon room to fight. His Sandshrew took the field first, sharpening its small claws against one another.

"This really should be Garlic's fight," Red mumbled. Per Trainer regulations, only one Pokemon per team could battle at once, or at least however many were agreed upon prior to the battle's beginning. He figured he would let FaceEater work the rage out of his system before switching to Garlic.

The Trainer nodded once. "Begin." He looked down to his Sandshrew. "Prepare for the long haul."

Red raised an eyebrow. Sounded like a strategy the team had practiced.

The Sandshrew curled up and its body began to glimmer. It was raising its own sturdiness somehow.

However, Team Hearthfire had practiced their own strategies. "FaceEater," Red commanded. "Heaven and hell."

Retaining enough of his bearings to remember his training, FaceEater slid at the Sandshrew, throwing it into the air with his feet before jumping up to meet it and slamming it with both hands back down to the ground. The Sandshrew opened up as FaceEater descended, hissing and extending its claws. FaceEater took one claw to his stunted nose before he caught both of the Sandshrew's hands and threw his head down into its chest, smashing it multiple times before jumping on it with both feet. He looked like a child throwing a temper tantrum, but so far it was working.

FaceEater jumped off, bleeding from the nose but still pulsing with adrenaline. The Sandshrew tried to stand, but stumbled and fell to its knees. The Trainer called it back and replaced it with his Geodude, an angry lump of rock with two arms.

FaceEater raised his fists as if he'd already won. "I have type advantage!"

Red ran a hand over his face. "I swear, this Mankey's going to be the death of me."

The Geodude turned around, shielding its face from the charging Mankey before producing a gathering of rocks seemingly from nowhere and hurling them behind it. FaceEater dodged sideways, letting most pass by and chopping one more that strayed too close, then dove in for the kill. His hands an inch from his target, he was stopped when the Geodude rolled away, grabbed FaceEater by the arm, and slammed him to Earth, picking him back up and bashing him against the ground multiple times like a ragdoll.

Red clenched his jaw. He wasn't exactly sure how to coach a Pokemon in the midst of being flung around like a toy. "FaceEater, uh...eat faces. Please."

Hearing the call to action, FaceEater snapped back to attention as if a spell had been broken and righted himself in midair, planting both feet firmly on the Geodude's head as it tried to slam him down again. Its momentum gone, FaceEater took advantage of the pause in action to grab the top of the Geodude and smash it into the floor. After a few more smashes, FaceEater gave it one solid chop to the back. His work done, he stepped off, tiny shoulders heaving.

"It's a capable Pokemon," a man's voice said.

Red had been so engrossed watching FaceEater practically execute the young Trainer's Pokemon that he hadn't noticed Brock approaching. He remembered what the city folk had said about Brock's inability to keep his eyes open. At the time, he'd thought it had been a metaphor for something, but no, Brock's eyes were squeezed so tightly shut it was a wonder he could see anything at all. Whether it was an interesting quirk or a birth defect, Red wasn't sure. He didn't look much older than his early twenties, and his bronzed skin indicated he'd probably seen a lot of sun. Ironic for the Gym's dark cave decor.

"I have type advantage," FaceEater huffed, a little more quietly this time. Red was actually rather impressed FaceEater even knew how to pronounce 'advantage.'

Brock nodded once slowly to FaceEater as if afraid to invoke his ire. He turned back to Red. "But as Mileworth pointed out, it's unruly and undisciplined. You should work on it with restraint and subtlety so it doesn't seriously hurt someone."

Red shrugged. "In our business, isn't 'seriously hurting' sort of the idea?"

Brock started to pace. "Well, think of it this way: a day may come where you want 50% power, and your Pokemon may go 100% and destroy whatever it is you were going for. Control comes before power."

Red glanced down at Cowlick. "Are you taking notes?"

Cowlick spread his wings. "With what?"

Brock stopped pacing and sighed. "It's a dangerous profession. Without control and discipline, it won't be long before you go off the rails. If you like, you can battle me here and now, and you may learn something."

A mere two days after leaving Pallet Town, and Red was already looking at challenging a Gym Leader. Some were more notoriously powerful than others, but Red had forgotten what the tier list was like and where the Pewter Gym might be on it. Besides, Gym Leaders of any stripes weren't to be trifled with.

"Choose wisely," Garlic advised.

Cowlick toddled away from the center of the Gym. "I'm out. If you fight I'll be pulling for you."

Red had a little more experience under his belt since the day he'd started, and he'd learned his lesson from Avay. Besides, there was no way Brock would let it get so far as to seriously hurt another Pokemon. Hadn't control been his whole spiel? Red gave Brock a sharp nod. "You know, I think I'll take you on. What have we got to lose?"

Garlic sidled closer to Red. Under her breath, she said, "A lot if we're not careful."

Brock smiled. Red wondered if anything could ever knock the man off center. "Great. Let's find some real estate and we can begin. Remember, win or lose, it's an opportunity to learn something."

Cowlick snorted. "What is he, Lord of the Inspirational Flash Cards?"

Red gestured for the Pidgey to go further away. "You'll want to be pretty far when this starts, pipsqueak. One errant rock and you're pushing up daisies."

Brock settled himself about thirty feet away, not too far from where he'd been sitting with the pen and notebook. Red stayed where he was. Truth told, he wasn't confident he could win against a Gym Leader, even with FaceEater and Garlic on his side, but he felt compelled to push his limits.

"FaceEater, return to your Ball," Red instructed.

FaceEater looked betrayed. "What?"

"Garlic has this under control. You can take over if things get hairy."

FaceEater stomped his foot but flashed back to his Poke Ball anyway. Garlic walked into the fray, staring Brock down, waiting for his first Pokemon. She was putting faith in him. Given Red's shaky origins as a Trainer, there was a fair chance that was misplaced.

Brock crossed his arms. "Ready?"

"Yup," Red responded. Garlic threw him a quick glare, though he didn't know why.

A Ball on Brock's belt opened up, sending out a flash of light to the middle of the room opposite Garlic. It was another Geodude, this one a little bigger and craggier than the last. Brock had probably spent a lot of time raising this one.

"What's the plan?" Garlic whispered to Red.

Pokemon unlocked new techniques within themselves as they grew stronger. As far as Red knew, the only truly special ones she'd discovered were two called Leech Seed and Vine Whip, and he hadn't had a lot of experience with them. They would have to wing it and hope Garlic's type advantage would push her through.

The young Trainer, Mileworth, stood at the edges of the room like a referee. He raised his hand, chopped it downward, and said, "Begin."

Faster than Red had expected of a small boulder, the Geodude tucked its arms in and rolled forward, barreling toward Garlic. Not knowing which ill-practiced strategy to use, Red merely said, "Uh...Vine Whip."

Standing her ground, Garlic lashed at the rolling Geodude with a vine, but it unfurled at the last moment and caught the vine in its hand, pulling it aside and throwing her to the floor. She returned to her feet with a grunt, in pain but still full of fight. The Geodude produced a shard of stone within its palm and punched forward, carrying its body with it. Garlic dodged aside, choosing not to whip at it in case it grabbed her again.

Brock's Geodude was too quick and perceptive. Conventional methods of attack wouldn't work. However, Brock expected Red to be a fresh, inexperienced Trainer, and while he technically was, he was far craftier than he let on. So long as Brock and his Pokemon didn't think Red was smart enough to try anything new, they would keep using the same strategies. Putting on his best dumb Trainer face, Red sputtered, "Uh...Vine Whip. Again. But hit him this time."

Garlic glanced very briefly in his direction. She hadn't known him long, but she probably sensed something was up. Red hoped she caught onto his strategy.

The Geodude turned and flung the shard of stone in its hand. It shattered in midair, showering Garlic with pellets of rock. She hunched over, letting her bulb absorb the hits for her, then charged at the Geodude with two vines extended, whipping around it. It deflected one vine with an arm, grimacing through the type-induced pain, and rolled out of range of the others.

Brock's face was expressionless, but he and the Geodude almost looked a little bored. Doubtless they'd sent plenty of arrogant young Trainer hopefuls packing. They were in the perfect frame of mind.

Garlic was observant. She would understand what Red would say next. "Garlic. The last strategy."

Actually, the last strategy Red had instructed was "eat faces," but he knew she would think back to the "heaven and hell" technique. She charged the Geodude one more time, flinging the vines at its lumpy body. She withdrew them just before they reached the Geodude's arm length, watching as it grabbed at nothing, then circled them low and scooped up, wrapping around its body and carrying it high into the air. Straining from the heavy load, Garlic slammed it back down to the ground, pulled the vines back, and lashed both across its body.

On the other end of the room, Brock's eyes had opened slightly.

The Geodude rolled back and forth, trying to get back to its feet, but Garlic had been too successful. It disappeared back to its Ball with a flash. Something far bigger flashed onto the battlefield in its place, expanding rapidly, growing until Red was concerned it would overtake the arena. Red jumped back on instinct.

The flash faded, revealing the pewter-hued rock body of a gigantic snake, somewhere around thirty feet in length, composed of a long segment of boulders linked together. A long horn protruded over a furrowed brow, the surprisingly human face of an Onix.

Fully stretched, the Onix would poke through the ceiling. Garlic was barely taller than Red's knee. Type advantage or no, it didn't look good. Even worse, they'd already used up their element of surprise, so Brock would be on guard for it.

"What now?" Garlic whispered too low for Brock to hear.

Red raised a finger. "Uh..."

The Onix roared and drove its horn down at Garlic. She jumped out of the way, sliding to a halt as it righted itself before it could crash into the floor and circled around her. Despite its size and weight, it really did seem in control of itself. Cheers and accolades to Brock for carrying through on his ideals.

Red recognized the Onix's maneuver, though. He'd seen it performed countless times on TV and videos online. Trap the opponent, tighten the coil, squeeze the life out of them until they either passed out or gave up. Or were crushed into pudding, but given Brock's speech about discipline, he was counting on the man not to go that far.

Garlic was so tiny. Bulbasaur were sturdy, but even she couldn't handle an Onix's crushing grip for long. On instinct, he merely called, "Seed."

The Onix tightened the coil, wrapping the thinner end of its tail around her. Before it could complete the move, Garlic's bulb opened, spitting a medley of seeds into the Onix's boulder-lined body. The seeds hit the crags between the boulders and immediately sprouted into tiny plants. Leech Seed, a devious technique that would continuously siphon the life from an enemy until they lost consciousness. It might not save her from the bind, but it would weaken the Onix and delay its victory.

She gasped as the Onix tightened its tail around her, squeezing in on her. Leech Seeds or no, she wouldn't last long.

Red remembered a technique he had brought up to Garlic almost jokingly the previous day. It was a longshot, but she was trapped and Brock had already seen them redirect their attacks. They needed to play with their minds again.

"Whiplash," Red ordered.

Brock gave Red a quizzical look. Perhaps he thought in the heat of the moment Red had forgotten what Vine Whip was called.

Garlic squirmed in the Onix's grip, trying to get enough room to shoot a vine out. With a final struggle, she angled herself just enough to pry a vine free. It writhed in the air for a moment, too weak and out of control to attack at first.

The Onix glared down at its prey, casting a dark shadow over Garlic. Garlic's vine attached feebly to the tip of the Onix's tail, trying in vain to pull it free. A low rumble came from deep in the Onix's throat.

"You can do it, Garlic!" Red yelled, pretending to spur her into pulling the tail off.

That was impossible. The world's strongest Bulbasaur couldn't pry off the tail of a Gym Leader's Onix, not when it was all locked up. They did, however, need the Onix to think they were stupid enough to try.

Garlic pulled at the tail for one more second, then reversed direction in a flash and hit the Onix straight in the eye. It roared and reared back, loosening its grip. Garlic struggled out from the Onix's wrap and hopped to the floor, taking in deep breaths after having her lungs constricted. The Onix turned, trying to knock her aside with its tail.

Red had been sure to go over evasive maneuvers with Garlic. "Vine away."

Garlic lashed at the Onix's horn with her vines, wrapping them around it before pulling herself up and over the sweep of the snake's tail. Dangling from her vines, she was nearly blown aside as the wind in the tail's wake blew over her. She released one vine, letting herself drop to the floor before wrapping it back up and pulling forward. Off balance and succumbing to Garlic's momentum, the Onix pitched head-first into the ground, cracking it beneath its weight. For good measure, Garlic withdrew her vines a little and whipped them repeatedly across the Onix's face, hard enough to leave thin scars.

The Onix growled long and low, but didn't move. Garlic stood before it, panting and heaving.

If not for the combination of the last-minute Leech Seed and Garlic's Grass-type, she wouldn't have gotten nearly so far. She had just taken down a Gym Leader's Onix.

FaceEater sprung from the Ball on Red's belt, fists raised in victory. "You have type advantage!"

For a moment, Brock said nothing. Then a smile cracked his face and he started to laugh, long and genuine, from the heart. Mileworth, who had been staring dumbfounded at the defeated Onix, widened his eyes even more at what had to be his normally-stoic Gym Leader.

Brock crossed the room with several quick strides and extended a hand to Red. Red reluctantly met it with his own. Brock grabbed it with the other and gave him a hearty two-handed shake.

"Even Leaders are still learning new things," Brock said. The corners of his eyes were crinkling. He really was thrilled to have seen his own Pokemon beaten down and thrown about. "I learned to stop underestimating even young, fresh Trainers. Some humans and Pokemon alike were born to Train, and when they come together, magic happens. You've shown me this today, and I thank you greatly for it."

Red grinned at Brock wryly. "To be honest, I'm just as surprised as you are."

"I think that makes all of us," Garlic panted.

Brock withdrew his hands from Red's and went to his Onix's side, caressing its thick, stony body. "You won today because you and your Pokemon worked in sync to outwit my team and I. I thought you would lash at my Pokemon mindlessly as so many others have, but you reigned it in and fought with perception. Your team does have discipline. Draw that out in them. In yourself."

Red crossed his arms, feeling radiant. He'd beaten a Gym Leader. He'd left Pallet Town two days ago and he'd already beaten a Gym Leader, something that took most other Trainers weeks or months to do. He could conquer this region, and all of Yamato if he so desired. He would pry every answer out of Cinnabar. He would answer to no one.

Red opened his hand. "The Badge now, if you please."

"I haven't forgotten," Brock chimed. He reached into his shirt and lifted up a necklace Red hadn't seen. Numerous identical gray Badges lined it, twinkling in the light of the Gym. They were so simple, little more than three-dimensional octagons, yet they were enrapturing. He unhooked one and handed it to Red with reverence. "I'd wager this is your first Badge. With your resolve and ingenuity, you can get many more. Don't ever give up on this path."

Red snatched the Badge from his hand, studying it between his fingers. It was dense and heavy, smooth and polished. So simple, yet so beautiful he could hardly stop looking at it. "Trust me, I won't. Your Gym is a stepping stone to greater things."

Brock put a hand on his shoulder. Red may have just met the friendliest man alive. "Let the Boulder Badge be a constant reminder of your wit and courage, even when times get tough. Because they will, my friend, make no mistake. Training is a dangerous profession. Always remember: he who conquers others is a fierce warrior, but he who conquers himself is the greatest warrior. He can never be defeated."

Cowlick toddled into the fray between them, looking up at Brock. "Have you ever considered selling motivational posters as a side business?"

Red would conquer himself, this Gym, Kanto, Yamato, whatever it took. He couldn't stop. Victory was delirious, intoxicating. He craved more of it like a drug. He closed his hand around the Boulder Badge and turned for the exit. "I'll be sure to put your words on the wall of my Indigo Plateau office when I become Champion. Very inspiring."

"And you can get that far," Brock added, his parting words before Red left the Gym for his next conquest. "But you can only arrive at their doorstep by conquering yourself first."