It would've been a mighty fine morning, Alfie supposed, if it weren't for the overbearing fact that all those he had loved have been so cruelly taken from him. Setting aside those thoughts for now, he decided that he would focus on survival now and figure out his devious plot later. That is assuming he doesn't get in over his head and killed beforehand.
First things first, he thought, he needs a way to avoid attracting absolutely any attention. If he so much as leaves his scent where a morph can find it, they'll know he's alive on the island and he'll be hunted down. If he's spotted, he'll be hunted down. If anyone of them stumbles across him by accident (which is highly unlikely given his place of residence, but you can never be certain), no matter if he leaves them dead or alive, the pokémorphs will know of his presence, and hunt him down.
The Isles of Scilly are 28 miles away from the coast of Cornwall, so he would have to be properly equipped if he were to make the journey, which meant food, water and any equipment for surviving on the mainland. The disadvantage of such a trip however is that the PLM had likely begun their assault or will soon.
The morphs were using St Mary's as a centre of command for the assault on the Cornish Coast, and he could only just see their lonesome patrol boat left to guard their new territory, thank Arceus, meaning they probably wouldn't venture to any of the other islands without good reason, leaving them to him to pillage. He could think about being a needle down their throats later. They only came over to kill or capture the civilians after all, since they'd brought their own supplies.
He could easily find food to last him a good while in the numerous convenience stores and homes scattered across the Isles. This left his only concern if he were to fight back being manpower and arming himself. 'Fat lot I can do myself' was a recurring thought. With luck the British Military would strike back soon, or the civilian resistance - just like the Home Guard in World War 2. Without luck, he's on his own, but he would make do with what's available.
Getting into a crouched position from his dirt-and-mud bed, he overlooked the Island of Tresco. It was quite a lot for just one person, and due to its status as the second-largest island in the Isles of Scilly, he would likely have to relocate somewhat soon - St Martin's would seem like a good hideout in the times to come.
Once he was sure that the near vicinity was deserted, he made his move, crouch-walking towards the concrete road. He wasn't too worried about being spotted using it, but the threat was ever-present. So, as any sane person would do, he broke into a home. Well, he himself didn't break into it. The door was already slammed off the hinges, but it was the thought that counts.
Stepping inside, Alfie could see the extent of what those damned pokémorphs had done. They hadn't just taken the occupants of the buildings, no. They had completely disregarded any respect for anything that could have held sentimental value to its former owner. Family pictures? Stomped underfoot. Small wood-carved figures? In splinters. Any furniture had been torn to shreds as if it were in the lair of a rather large cat or two. He felt revolted at the sight and pity for the unfortunate victim of such an act. He took a moment out of his day to make a quick prayer to the lord, Arceus, or any other gods, he didn't care who, as long as it was answered.
Once he was done praying for the benefit of the poor house owner, he got to work defiling the property himself. The kitchen was the obvious first choice. Food and water were a must, so here's to hoping that they would both be found.
Upon opening the wooden cupboards, he found - to his great relief - a fair few canned foods, cereals, and the other essentials. He couldn't believe his luck! Those foolish rot-for-brains had neglected to even touch the food on this island under the impression that it would never be used and would spoil! Alfie chuckled at the fact that they consider humans to be unintelligent and inferior. Silly buggers.
A weapon was easy, just reach into the cutlery drawer and find the sharpest and most suitable one. He ended up with a reasonably sharp meat knife. He would guess it to be around 12 inches long, if not slightly shorter, and he didn't wish to test how sharp it truly was. Later he would realise how useless it would be in a fight as he would be toast before he could reach for it, but the reassurance was welcomed.
Final order of business was water. There were bottled drinks, some soft and some alcoholic, in the unpowered fridge, but there was no running water. Made sense, he supposed. These drinks would last him a fair amount of time, and he could stock up on drinks from any nearby houses and stores. When those run out in the far future he could probably find an inflatable in one of the houses or convenience stores to butcher and spread to capture rain - this was a small island and tourist attraction after all, and what kid doesn't love playing in the sea? If that didn't work out for him then he would have to use any containers he could come across. If he can't find anything suitable then he'll spread out some pots and pans out the back door. He doubted he'd be alive by the time it gets to that, so he figured he should stop his overactive imagination.
This train of thought led him to another possibility. He was surrounded by boats, everywhere. Boats, kayaks, canoes, you name it. If he were to get between islands, and eventually to the mainland, well, he isn't a great swimmer, and would probably freeze to death anyway. His first thought went to the kayak - it was low profile and swift, but he doubted he could fit anything other than himself and a few days food and water in one. Most of the boats were ruled off immediately - their sails were practically beacons, and a moving one would certainly garner attention. A motorboat would create too much noise, and that's neglecting the need for fuel. That left the canoe - low profile, like the kayak. Somewhat fast, though not ideal, it was practically silent and had a lot of room for storage. He could cram food and water for a few days in one of those and scout out the other islands. All he would have to do would be find one in the days to come.
He could barely suppress a fist to the air; he WILL get through this, and in doing so he'll rile up those scum. Priorities, of course.
"Argh! God damn those abominations!"
I would say that today hasn't been good to me, but put in perspective, it's been a guardian angel, I suppose. Anyhow, I'm holding up fine in this drafty house of mine. Technically it belongs to the Pokémorph Empire now but I couldn't care less. Anything to make them mad.
You see, I'm rather peeved off because normal people don't wreck a convenience store for amusement, subsequently wrecking the merchandise. Granted, morphs aren't exactly normal but that's beside the point. I strolled up expecting a hefty supply of food, drinks and, well that's what I was expecting I guess. I didn't expect half of the building to be incinerated and the other half lightly charred and waterlogged. Seems like two imbeciles had an argument about whether flaming everything would do more damage than summoning a deluge. I vouch for the fire type.
A surprising amount of the lot was salvageable - got plastic wrapping to thank for that (and incompetent saboteurs). I loaded up my backpack with the basics - long-life food and that which I don't need to cook, a lot of water - might as well, since collecting rainwater will be a pain.
It's quite a peculiar feeling, being here. I've known the neighbours all my life, I've held countless discussions with the man who owned this store, and now they're all gone, leaving me to pick from the ripe bushes left behind. I can if I wished to peek over the counter and take everything in the register, and walk slowly off. I won't, because that's disrespectful as all hell, but you know what I mean. I'm not sure what I should call this feeling. I suppose it's a dab of nostalgia in a soup of longing. Ok, that sounded strange, but let's cram all that in this bloody heavy bag of mine and bring it out later.
I would give nearly anything to have someone else with me. I'm sometimes saying my thought process aloud as a comfort (I'm not sure if 'sometimes' is the right word for it to be honest), but it's nothing compared to another real, true voice speaking with me. Schizophrenics have it good nowadays.
My wallowing in self-pity has brought me all the way back to my lovely new home, where I dragged my sorry arse inside and gently closed (slammed) the front door. I can't keep going on like this, I just can't. I feel an urge, a strong yank, to do something, anything, to get back at those morphs for killing my family and taking away my... brother. Damn this. Damn them.
"DAMN YOU ALL!"
I've been wallowing in my misery for the past two days completely oblivious to the fact that my brother and a few of our former neighbours are currently being held captive and probably forced to fight for food in some sick, twisted entertainment! Arceus damn it, how could I forget that? I so urgently want to do something but I know anything I do in this state will be worthless. I'll be throwing away my life for what, honestly? I'll get slaughtered before I come within ten yards of them. Yes, I have my kitchen knife. That short blunt blade that I was so keen to unite with, but to be frank what good will it actually do me in a fight? I was so confident then, but look at me now.
Oh brother, I'm so sorry. I'm in over my head and completely useless when you need me the most.
No. Scrap that. He'd probably shoot me in the back of the head with that BB gun of his for thinking like that. Accursed inflicter of pain and bruises. He was a real pain with that thing.
Well, if I'm going to do anything to pluck a hair from their shining coats, I need to start at the basics. How do I piss them off, really, really hard?
Well for starters, there's my attitude. Mum always had a go at me for it, saying it did me more harm than good. Never have truer words been spoken, though in the short term they may do me some good. Then there's arming myself - which I went on about a few days ago I know, but I was being unrealistic then. All I have available to myself right now is blunt kitchen knives, toy guns, and I guess bleach? I heard a long time ago from a former morph friend that it really messes up fur. Miss that guy, he was great.
So, I have the trusty (and useless) kitchen knife that I'll inevitably never use, my brother's BB gun once I pay a visit back home, and some household bleach. Who am I kidding, this isn't gonna work. But, I suppose, I can only try. I mean I could think of outlandish thoughts like real guns and bombs and the such but - oh screw that I'm being delusional again. I'll sleep this off and scribble a plan on the walls.
So, I think I've got it. I have enough food to last me months for certain, alongside water. That's not a concern. From online forums and word on the street I know that my brother will be held either on the patrol boat, or, due to a lack of space, they'll be crammed into some boarded up building too weak to make so much as a dent against a wooden plank. Makes sense, those sadistic bastards would naturally cage us in our former property.
As to how I'm going to get them out, I'll need to cause a diversion to get attention away from wherever they're being held. Good old rubber band and deodorant can. I pulled off this trick a few years ago in school. Got a good laugh out of it, a good punishment too, but importantly it reeked. Now imagine something that's already borderline unbearable to us inferior humans, and then amplify your sense of smell to that of an animal's. That's gotta be plain nasty, and nasty is what I want.
There's a toolbag in this house and a trusty hammer I can make much more use out of than a knife. I can use that to wreck anything keeping the captives in I expect. my brother's BB gun stings like hell and has a high firing rate, so that has potential. Mainly for stinging the pokémorphs and just causing them pain. Anything that cripples their abilities in the slightest is good in my books. I still haven't thought of a way to use bleach effectively, so I doubt I'll use it. Granted I could just lob a slashed-open bottle of the stuff at them.
As for how to cause actual harm, I gave it a good think-over earlier and figured "There has to be something flammable around here, right?", and damn right I was. The former owner of this house had a reasonably large bottle of barbecue lighter fluid, which, with a cloth and some matches, I can make an incendiary weapon out of. God alive I sound like a professional arsonist now, which I promise you I'm not and don't plan to be.
All in all, if in the unlikely event I don't screw something up, this could work. Wishful thinking maybe, but inevitably I'll run out of supplies in the end anyway, and am I really living right now, or just surviving? I can't see myself wasting away with my brother gone by horrific means. Either I succeed or I die, and hopefully take a few with me. This is making me a really morbid kid. To think I used to be called a sissy.
Aight, well that was an insight into the head of a British teenager who's lost everything. I'm trying to fit the violent ideas and all-round strange mentality of teenage boys into a package that's willing to die to spite those causing him so much pain. I'm trying to show his violent delusions and mix it up with the kind of plan that some of my typical teenage testosterone-filled friends would come up with (believe me, what I've came up with is pretty tame compared to a certain friend of mine).
I'll probably come back and edit this at least twice as I think up more of the story over in Britain. The British Isles will play a big part in the defence of Europe, and I'll see if I can fit in a naval battle later in the story. I'm thinking a fleet of frigates and 2 destroyers up against an invasion force on the South-East coast is in order. Tell me what you think.
As always, thanks for reading. If you can, please leave a review and a suggestion for how I can improve my works. I'm still trying to filter out some of my 10pm and later delusions and snarkiness. I should start writing in the mornings instead.