{Hey, gang. It's the Author, here. So. 5 years ago, I started this fanfic called Aftermath. I wasn't in the best state mentally at the time, tried to rush through a posting schedule, and it burned me out. It's been eating at me to try it again. Rather than start afresh, I'm reuploading the first few chapters, and hopefully I'll be fixing some pacing issues, making sure to add some more detail, and weed out any inconsistencies and spelling/grammar errors I had back then. Hope you all enjoy, and bear with me as I get back into the swing of this.}
"We built our entire civilisation around Pokémon; our economy, our agriculture... problem was, nobody stopped to think what might happen when all of that came grinding to a halt. At least, not until it was too late.
It happened slowly, over a period of weeks; a flock of Pidoves swarming over a picnic unprovoked, here; a Growlithe taking its duty too far, there, tearing the throat out of a small time jewel thief, ignoring the calls of the officer it had been partnered with. Different sides of the world, isolated events, too far apart to be connected, or so we thought at the time. It wasn't until the Johto League that people started seeing the truth; and that the world began to fall apart.
Live television, millions of viewers across every region, and a Feraligator flies off the handle, decides that it's owner would make a tasty mid-battle snack. No amount of PR bullshit can smooth something like that over.
It turns out we'd been overlooking the signs for much longer than a few weeks. There was a chemical imbalance in the upper atmosphere, driving Pokémon back to a more primal, instinctive nature; aggravating the territorial, aggressive centres of their minds. The wild Pokémon were affected quicker, but nobody took much notice. They were always territorial, and most of the attacks happened out in the more remote areas, so it took days for the news to be reported, if at all.
Those Pokémon with trainers; kept in their balls or in storage; lasted longer, protected by the system itself, but even they couldn't last indefinitely, and before long even they turned on their trainers.
The world burned... And we let it."
- Note found in the files of Professor Elm, New Bark Town, edges charred
New Bark Town. 327 years AP (After the Purge)
Wren had been awake since long before dawn, but that wasn't anything new. She'd never been able to sleep well, or at least, not at any point she could remember; her sleep plagued by nightmares of the attack that had taken both of her parents' lives; visions of snapping, ravenous fangs, of black and white fur stained red with the blood of her mother and father as they tried to shield her infant form from the pack of Poochyena that had attacked them as they had made their way from Cherrygrove towards New Bark Town. With no Pokémon of their own to fend the pack off, it had been a massacre. And it was only through sheer luck that the infant Wren had made it through unscathed. Physically, at least. As luck would have it, they had been close enough to town that the commotion had been heard by some of the townsfolk, and their combined efforts had driven there pack away. It had been too late for her parents, but Wren had been saved. The event was burned into her memory, despite having happened some 17 years prior, and at such a young age.
So she sat at the window, watching the world outside the fences drift by. As the first blush of red-gold light licked at the furthest reach of the horizon, she watched the Hoot-Hoot and Dustox take their perches in the trees, silhouetted against the golden glow of the sunrise. The last yipping howls of the Poochyena, layered in with the deeper, more guttural bellow of the local pack's alpha, a grizzled old Mightyena, called the pack back to their den for the end of the day, sending a shiver of unbidden fear down Wren's spine.
"Hey, squirt. Can't sleep?" Startled, she momentarily overbalanced in her chair, arms flailing to catch herself before steadying herself on the table in front of her. Blushing slightly, embarrassed, she glanced up at her father, Jared. Not her real father, of course, given her parents' fate, but she was reminded of the fact every time she looked in the mirror. Jared stood at nearly 7 feet tall, broad and muscular, with a deep tan, thick, bushy black hair, and dark brown eyes, almost black.
By contrast, even at 18 years old, Wren stood nearly a full 2 feet shorter than him, at only 5'3". Her skin was many shades paler, almost pure, alabaster white, marred only by a smattering of freckles that scattered her cheeks, nose, and shoulders. Her hair was a deep, rich red, somewhere between auburn and mahogany, falling in a cascade of tousled waves that brushed against the tops of her shoulders; a fringe wafting over her face, half-hiding bright, almost luminescent green eyes. And as those emerald orbs settled on the form of her foster father, she was struck once more by how different she was. She forced a smile, blinking back tears that she hasn't realised she'd been crying, shaking her head slightly;
"You know me. I'm part Noctowl, remember?" Jared, either not noticing the tears or choosing to ignore them, chuckled, reaching over and ruffling her hair, bringing a slight scowl to her lips, before the expression softened, and a more confused one took its place. Her father was notoriously lazy, and it was rare to see him out of bed before noon. "Uhm... What are you doing up this early? Is something wrong?" He paused, his usually cheerful expression frozen in place, an expression of... almost regret... crossing his face.
"No, no... Nothing like that. Just had some news, that's all." Wren blinked, confused. Nothing ever happened in New Bark, and if anything ever did, it got around quickly. It was a small town, after all. She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could, he continued; "You know Professor Juniper, right? She lives down on the edge of town?" Wren nodded. Professor Juniper was a mystery to those living in New Bark. She'd arrived a decade ago, taking up residence in the old Elm laboratory. Most people in town thought she was a crackpot, always spouting nonsense about returning the world to the way things used to be. Nobody took much notice of her, though she kept to herself more often than not, so everybody left her alone. "She's asked if you could go over to the lab this morning to lend her a hand with something. Wouldn't say what, but it seemed important. Whaddya say?" Wren nodded, still confused, but willing to see what it was about, at least. There was something about the Professor that had always piqued her interest, but she'd never had any reason to visit. The last vestiges of her childhood curiosity, maybe; the professor's lab being that shady house at the end of the road that parents told their children to steer clear of. "Alright, kiddo, grab something to eat and head off. I figured you'd be up early, so I told her you'd be over after breakfast."
After Breakfast
*Crash!*
"Come back here, you piece of-"
*Shatter!*
"Fuck! Don't touch th-"
The words from within the lab were cut off by a muffled crash and the sound of glass breaking. Wren stood just outside the door, hand raised to knock, frozen in a mixture of bemusement and confusion, not sure what exactly she'd stumbled into. Before she could complete the motion, however, the door burst open from within and a small, red furred streak tumbled through it, colliding with Wren's stomach, driving the air from her lungs and knocking her off her feet. She swore softly under her breath, struggling to her hands and knees, gasping for breath, trying to see what had hit her. A small, red furred creature sat in front of her, gazing at her intently, all six tails whipping about curiously, its head cocked to one side. It yawned widely, before lowering its head, sniffing at the air slightly and letting out a soft yelp of "Pix!" Wren froze, any air she'd managed to gather escaping her lungs with the force of a hurricane, leaving her breathless, eyes wide with terror.
A Vulpix? Here?! She winced, muttering under her breath;
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" She squeezed her eyes shut, silently praying that the thing would lose interest, that it would leave her alone, head back out into the wild. Then, another thought passed through her mind, and her whole body tensed, nerves and fear replaced by an urge to motion, adrenaline surging through her form. There must be a breach in the fence! She had to warn some-one. They had to fix the fence before-
"There you are, you little bitch. Thought you could get away from me, did you?" The voice had come from in front of her, from behind the door she'd been about to knock at. She froze. Someone else was here? Her mind raced for words that tumbled from her mouth with the speed only pure, unbidden terror could muster, her eyes still squeezed shut, not daring to look.
"Run! You have to get away! Warn the others! There's a breach in the fence, and-" She trailed off, not hearing the sound she would expect. There was no screaming, no running. Just... Laughter? A low, husky chuckle that seemed mid-way between care-free and derisive. She opened her eyes, dreading what she might find, but as she looked up, she could see that the owner of the voice stood at ease, leaning against the doorframe, the Pokémon at her feet, not having moved, simply looking down at her cowering form curiously. The owner of the laughter; a woman of maybe 40 years old, clad in a long, flowing lab-coat, grinned down at her.
"Hey. You must be Wren, right? Your father said you'd be over. I'm Professor Juniper. Nice to meetcha."