The morning dawned like any other. The world does not shift its procession for anyone. Not even on their birthday.
This is where Chris found himself, facing the ceiling, trying his best to calm to the growing feeling of excitement and trepidation in his chest, hoping the world had stopped progressing and this day hadn't come. Chris had never been one to look forward to the day he would receive his Trainer's License, not like his peers did, discussing their starters and goals. Chris was far more content to avoid pokemon. They were dangerous after all, and with that in mind, he pulled himself out of bed, and withdrew his spare Potion from his bedroom PC. Chris prepared himself to spend his day out of town, avoiding his fated coming of age ceremony as long as possible. Children from all families receive their licenses when they turn twelve, getting a starter pokemon from their parents, or Professor Oak if their family couldn't supply one. Chris would rather be out in the fields.
He descended the stairs to find his mother had a beautiful breakfast laid out, a four course meal affair with waffles, berries, fruit, and vegetables. There was even a stack of pancakes, 'Happy Birthday' carefully scrawled in syrup and framed by twelve candles. He ignored the empty place setting across from his mother and sat at her right.
"Good morning," He greeted. His mother started a bit, having been lost in thought, but she smiled when she looked up and stood to serve her son. Chris objected, "I can get it, Mom, you don't have to."
"Nonsense," her voice was soft and warm, "It's your birthday, Chris, and you'll be leaving soon, the least I can do is make sure you're well fed." Chris relaxed back into his seat and muttered a quiet, but earnest thank you.
The meal passed in idle, comfortable chatter. They both avoided talking about what the day meant, or what it meant for most kids of Chris' age. In the weeks leading up to it, Chris had remained stalwartly indignant. Oak could give Chris a starter, if he really needed to, but Chris didn't want to be a trainer. His mother needed him. It could be lonely at home.
Chris cleared his plate and moved to the door. His mom smiled and wished him a quiet, reluctant happy birthday as she avoided eye contact, and Chris stopped at the doorway.
"Right... All boys leave home someday. It said so on TV." She sounded distant. Chris headed out without responding.
The lab loomed large, in town, by far the biggest building in sleepy little Pallet. It was a good landmark, and Chris headed directly away from it. The gates to Pallet Town made a tenuous barrier between civilization and wilderness. A mere handful of feet across the threshold the grass grew wild, broken only by the winding paths of the brave who headed north to get to the shop in Viridian City. Pokemon lived in that thick grass, making nests deep into the foliage, away from the paths. That didn't make it safe, though. At any time, an individual pokemon may be traveling near the path, or even using the path itself for its ease. It's always a possibility to get caught on the wrong side of a rattata or pidgey.
The smell of thick grass and pokemon musk wafted on waves of wind that rippled over the grass into town. He loved being out in nature, no matter how dangerous. He found it more peaceful. Besides, he'd never met a pokemon he couldn't avoid, he reasoned. And, that was where Chris was headed for the day.
"Stop!" A panicked shriek stopped Chris short, mid-step. He started to turn, only to be tackled into the dirt. He landed hard, sliding slightly with the new weight thrown upon him.
It was easy to see who the assailant was. The one and only, famous world-wide, Professor Oak. Oak wasn't looking at Chris as he threw a glare into Oak's face, though. Oak's eyes were firmly planted into the grass only inches away. Chris began to protest, only to be silenced by an angry hiss. Frustrated, but curious, Chris followed Oak's intense glare.
In that grass, inches from Chris' face, was an incredibly large, ruffled pidgey. It was one of the largest Chris had seen, ever. One could normally hold a pidgey easily in both hands, but this beast was perhaps twice as big as any other pidgey in the area. And, it was pissed.
Oak began to shimmy crawl back, away from the pidgey, slowly. The bird pokemon ruffled further and chirped in protest, but Oak maintained his glare and continued to retreat. Only several feet after the pidgey had become indistinguishable from the surrounding grass did Oak heave a tired sigh. He offered Chris a hand after he stood himself.
"You have no business heading out there without a pokemon of your own. In general. But, especially not now, it's the season for the pidgey of this region to lay their eggs. They're exceptionally territorial and aggressive. Thankfully, I could grab you, and my methods were drastic enough to startle the bird before it could attack." Oak brushed himself off as he lectured. His coat didn't look like he'd gotten dirty, but that always seemed to be a particular detail of Oak. His white lab coat was always crisp and clean. He was staring at Chris, now, confused.
"Hold on a second..." he pinched his chin, "Chris... right? You're due for a pokemon soon, aren't you?" Chris sighed in resignation.
"Today, actually." He said, with enough spite to almost sound like determination. Oak nodded.
"Happy birthday. Follow me." And, with little fanfare, Oak turned and started walking back to the lab. Chris looked wistfully back at the tall grass one last time, considering a mad dash past the territorial pokemon, before surrendering to the inevitable and following.
Oak marched brusquely back to his lab, trailing Chris behind him. He didn't look back once, simply assuming that his charge would not waver. He was correct, but he also failed to see the growing terror and discomfort in Chris' expression. This was, in many ways, Chris' worst fears come true.
The lab was orderly, at first glance, a single assistant working in sight, just in front and to the left of two impressive bookcases. While the research section made up the entryway, they held the meat of the lab behind the two floor-to-ceiling bookcases.
The back side of the lab made up two-thirds of the building. A scattered collection of lab tables and equipment ranging from glassware to massive machines. Chaos dominated the space, save for an oasis, dead center, at the back. Interestingly, the only section of the back lab that was visible from the entryway. Chris mused that it was not a coincidence.
The space was not empty, another boy, about Chris' age and very familiar, was waiting impatiently. Foot tapping, arms crossed, head whipping back and forth in agitated boredom. An... impressive head of auburn red hair largely overshadowed a black polo and jeans. It was simultaneously animated and stagnant. It seemed to stand of its own volition, reaching off the pre-teen's head like so many quills, yet also seeming to not move at all as the head turned to reveal an angry, smug young man.
"Gramps!" His voice was coarse and piercing from youth, but full of the arrogance of someone who'd been handed everything. "What's the big idea making me wait all this time?!"
Oak didn't flinch, but his face seemed to scrunch slightly, like something didn't quite smell right in the room.
Finally, he said, "What was your name, again?"
Chris had to cough violently to cover his laughter as Oak's apparent grandson grew cherry red in rage.
"H-how dare you?!" He seemed to silently cycle through multiple choice phrases before stuttering out the question.
"What?" Oak didn't seem perturbed, moving around the young man to get to his desk, "It's not my fault my kids choose to be particularly... prolific, and even less my fault that they seem to think that sending their kids to their aunt every time one of them turns twelve is particularly convenient for either of us! Now, what was it? Gary? Clyde? Blue?"
"That's just a color!"
"I guess you'd be surprised."
"It's Yari!" He finally shouted. Oak, in the meantime, had arranged three pokeballs on a nearby table.
"That's it, Yari. Leave it to my lineage to come up with the stupidest names..." The last of that was either too low for Yari to hear, or he simply ignored it, tired of his own outrage.
"Whatever, I'm just here to get a pokemon, anyway." Yari said, returning to his arm-crossed, disinterested stance.
"Patience, Yari, in due time. Chris gets the first pick." Oak said. He turned to Chris and began to speak again when Yari shouted out with another complaint.
"What! That's not fair, I was here first! Why should he get to choose first, huh?" The impatient rage had returned, Yari was nearly shaking, and Chris could see the research assistant peaking around the bookcase to watch.
"Because," Oak responded calmly, "You are a spoiled brat that needs to learn that not everything is simply given to you, and that shouting rudely rarely gets you what you want." He continued to stare Yari down until his grandson shifted his gaze to Chris, huffed, and turned away once more. Oak nodded at that and returned his attention to Chris. Chris stared at Yari.
If Yari wanted to go first, he could, Chris couldn't care less, at the moment. He raised an eyebrow at Yari in quiet question. Yari looked at him for a long moment, then shook his head with a sort of devious smirk.
"Heh, I don't need to be greedy, like you. Go ahead and choose." The smirk persisted. Chris shrugged and turned back to Oak, who wearily continued.
"As I was saying, I have three pokemon for you to choose from today. A bulbasaur, the seed pokemon, a Grass and Poison-type. A charmander, the lizard pokemon, a Fire-type. And, a squirtle, the tiny turtle pokemon, a Water-type. Choose wisely, for this pokemon may be your closest companion."
Chris didn't want any of them. He still held a certain distaste of the idea of owning a pokemon and what that meant. He looked up at Oak, who prompted once again to pick. It seemed he had no choice. He looked over the pokeballs again, reading the small plaques and examining the images. Finally, Chris realized his eyes kept getting drawn back to the squirtle, the tiny turtle. He thought the depiction was... cuter than the others, and something about the shell he found relatable.
He reached forward and picked up the pokeball.
"Finally!" Yari stomped forward, and without hesitation snatched up the bulbasaur's pokeball. "Guess I'll take this one, then!" He sneered at Chris as Oak heaved a sigh.
"Well," Oak said, "would you like to name your new pokemon?" Yari shrugged.
"Not really, don't see the point." Oak glared at him, but quickly looked back at Chris. Chris thought about it a moment.
"Bartles." Chris said firmly. Oak nodded, and Chris could have sworn he heard something muttered about Oak family naming traditions. Oak approached and held out a rectangular device with a strap.
"Your Trainer's License. Put it on whichever arm you like, then power it on. It will prick your skin to get a blood sample, attuning to you personally, so don't be surprised by that. I'll activate it, and log Bartles. Then everything else will be essentially automated. It will keep track of your pokemon party, credits earned, catch limits on routes, badges... it even has this handy slot for your six party pokemon."
As he spoke, Chris slid the device up his forearm and turned it on, feeling the promised puncture. It felt like a sort of punctuation mark, sealing his fate. Oak fiddled with it for a moment, snapping Bartles' ball into the first of a set of six hemispherical slots, and inputting some administrators code to assign the new name. When he finished, Chris took the opportunity to examine it closer.
It wasn't bulky, sitting sleekly to his forearm, the strap a clean nylon broken by a metal strip along the inner forearm that held the ball. The face of it was a screen, and with a tap it displayed his picture, an ID Number, his credit count, and a set of eight grayed slots. Tapping on the blank pockets caused the screen to pop free, revealing the device opened like a book, displaying 8 slots roughly half an inch across, presumably for badges.
Chris looked around and realized no one was paying him much mind, Oak arguing with Yari about his own License, so Chris turned to leave. It was just as he reached the bookcases that he was stopped.
"Wait!" Yari shouted, "It's Chris, right? Let's check out our pokemon! Come on, I'll take you on!"
Chris was shaking his head in denial as Yari approached; a loud ping from his wrist distracted him. When he looked, his License was flashing. A bright exclamation mark appeared on the screen, only to be replaced by a message:
Yari wants to fight!
Chris put his hands up in surrender and started to walk away.
"Don't do that!" Oak barked, suddenly, and Chris froze. "You have to accept any challenge from an opposing trainer the first time they issue it. You are entered into a Region wide ladder tournament, after all." His eyes narrowed as Chris continued to edge backwards.
"Trust me, Chris, neither you, nor your mother, can afford the penalty for refusing." Finally, Chris stopped moving.
Did that mean they tied his finances to his mom's? Maybe, he didn't have any sort of account of his own. He tapped his License. His ID popped up, and he pointedly looked at the credit count. Two thousand. He definitely did not have two thousand credits to his name. He had never thought this was possible.
Then, a second, more severe realization hit Chris. His mother only had two thousand left to her name. She had never let him know how destitute they had become. He suddenly felt sick, but refused to allow himself to throw up, not knowing exactly how costly that birthday breakfast could have been. Chris looked up, nausea surging as his eyes settled on the casual smugness of Yari, Oak behind him, understanding, but resigned. Oak shook his head in another warning.
Chris didn't see much choice. He reached for the pokeball.
"Go, bulbasaur!" With a flash of white, a gray-green little monster was staring Chris down. He fingered the pokeball, clicking the button to expand it. Chris could feel a coldness spreading through his chest, but with it a strange sense of rage. Indignant at the injustice forced upon him.
"Go! Bartles!" His voice carried more enthusiasm than he knew he could muster. And, then there he was. A tiny, blue turtle, looking back at Chris with bright red eyes and a smile. His License pinged again; a picture of Bartles and a stat read out, and, at the bottom, a list of moves overtook the screen. Only two with two blank spots below them.
Tackle or Tail Whip. One of those sounded much more helpful than the other.
"Bartles, tackle it!" Chris decided he felt ridiculous immediately, but Bartles leaped into action, dropping to all fours and charging at the bulbasaur.
"Move, you idiot!" Yari shouted, but it came a moment too late. The bulbasaur tried to jump away, but Bartles swung his tail, pivoted hard, and slammed into the unfortunate creature's side. "Tackle it right back!" Yari's voice sounded more shrill than at first.
"Don't give him an inch, Bartles!" And they started to dance.
Bartles was clearly faster than Yari's bulbasaur, managing to land another head first hit before the bulbasaur found its feet and used its own head to slam right back. Bartles took the hit on his shell, retracted his limbs, and rolled away. Arms and legs popped free in stance and he charged right back in. The hit had barely fazed his natural armor.
"Bulbasaur, use Growl!" Yari cried. It confused Chris. That hardly sounded threatening, and Bartles was already moving in for another hit.
The bulbasaur squared up, the bud on its back hoisted forward. Bartles closed in, head retracting into his shell to shoot out again for the hit. Yari's bulbasaur surged forward, opening its mouth and releasing an off-toned, guttural sound. The air vibrated, visible shock waves radiated from the bulbasaur's mouth. Chris felt it. He could see it, the subtle flinch of Bartles head further into his shell. He hit, but not quite as hard as before.
Somehow, a Growl, as impactful as it was, a simple Growl had made Bartles... weaker. Chris glanced up and saw Yari grinning triumphantly. Manically.
The fight drew more even, Bartles couldn't hit as hard, but the bulbasaur could hurt Bartles as easily. It dragged on, weak hit for ineffective hit, one after the other. Bruises started to show, blood started to seep. Finally, Chris watched the end come. Bartles missed. Bartles missed and the bulbasaur happily took the opportunity to hit him in the back of the knees.
"Yes!" Yari cried, fist raised, "Finish it!"
The battered bulbasaur gave a weak, but triumphant, cry and coiled its legs to spring. An idea came to Chris, unbidden, unwelcome. A last resort.
"Bartles! Withdraw!" And he did, tucked his whole body into his shell just as the bulbasaur leaped, clearly aligned to fly right over Bartles. "Now, Tackle!"
And Bartles sprang from his shell, straight up, head colliding with the bulbasaur's throat. The bulbasaur missed, and Bartles' hit was critical.
And, Chris realized he had won.
Bartles was panting, bruised and bloody. The bulbasaur was not moving. It didn't appear to be breathing.
"What?! Unbelievable! I picked the wrong pokemon!" Yari cried out in frustration. Chris snapped his head up and stared at the petulant boy, stomping his foot and glaring at the fallen body. Yari trudged towards it. His foot reeled back. Chris started to lunge.
Oak was there, grabbing Yari by the hair and yanking him backwards, throwing him to the ground. Without breaking stride, Oak scooped the limp creature into his arms and carried it back to one of his tables. Machinery set to life as Oak marched back to the fallen Yari to snatch the bulbasaur's pokeball. Returning, he put the bulbasaur back in its ball and slotted the expanded ball into his machine that immediately started glowing. He turned and motioned at Chris.
"Put Bartles away and bring him over, I can patch him up as well." Chris didn't argue, acting quickly. He marched past Yari without making eye contact, glad for his silence for a change. Bartles' pokeball slotted in next to the bulbasaur and started to glow in turn.
"It's a good thing," Oak mumbled, "That the League regulations have a measure of leniency before you receive your first pokeballs. I'm allowed to ensure that this bulbasaur does not die... But," and he looked over his shoulder, at Yari, "I can't legally take this poor pokemon back..."
They sat in silence while the healing was done. It was only a handful of minutes. When the machine beeped, and the glow subsided, Oak pulled the pokeballs, handing Bartles back to Chris.
"Another fortunate point in the lapse of League oversight, what you did was technically illegal." Chris immediately pictured the prone body, but Oak continued, "Of course your pokemon can know over four moves at any given time. They're incredibly intelligent creatures. But, the League restricts what is permissible in battle, even organizing move lists that they allow you to update as your pokemon grows stronger."
Chris thought about that for a moment, imagining the blank slots in Bartles' move list. "That's stupid." He finally said, but Oak merely shrugged and walked away, over to Yari.
He held the bulbasaur, safe in its pokeball, back just a moment, staring meaningfully at his grandson; finally, he handed the ball to the boy. Yari stayed there just a couple seconds, staring at the ball in his hand. Then he grunted and turned, walking out of the lab. He called over his shoulder.
"Okay! I'll make my pokemon fight to toughen it up! Chris! Gramps! Smell you later!" And, then, he was gone. Oak and Chris stared at the door, then at each other, and Oak sighed.
"I don't know what in the hell that was supposed to mean. That kid is gonna kill a lot of pokemon." He looked back to Chris, "There is an upside to all that nonsense. Check your ID, again."
Chris robotically lifted his wrist to check. It displayed new words.
Bartles grew to level 6! Chris defeated Yari! Chris got $175 for winning!
Chris stared for a moment, waiting for the hollow shock to pass, then it hit him.
He had won. He won, and it felt great. And, he earned money for winning! Suddenly, not just his, but his mother's bank account was a little less destitute. It was only a meal's worth, but it was quick, and relatively easy to get. He could make a lot of money pretty quickly like this.
With a snap, Chris realized what he had just decided. He would be a trainer. He was going on a journey.
He would have to tell his mom.