A tall, slender bicyclist raced along the dirt trail cleaving through the Viridian Forest, bent but unbreaking beneath the weight of a large, leather backpack. The bicyclist, whose name was Gray, was a young man with long, ropey platinum-blonde hair that wavered in a wind and he wore a blue-and-green work uniform. A Caterpie, attempting to cross the branches that met overhead, dropped like a wad of pudding right into his path; it squealed and cowered, but the bicyclist rocketed straight by. Inexplicably, he had changed his course moments before the Caterpie had fallen.
Gray never even noticed the Caterpie. Gray remained focused through his wide-lensed goggles on the ruggedness of the road. Here the undergrowth intruded further and further inward, and trees extended their long and treacherous roots just below the soil. These were roads less traveled by, those leading to the west and Ochre Woods rather than north towards Pewter City.
Soon the trees huddled so densely on either side, bending like old men over winter flames, that they had shut out the mellow golden light of mid-morning, wrapping him in the dense shadows of the leaves. Brief glimmers rippled across the ground as a strong breeze rattled the boughs, but he did not need them. Gray had driven this route so many times he could still follow the narrow imprint of his tire tracks in the shadow.
Suddenly he burst back into the light, as the trees shied away from the steep shores of a high-banked stream. Rubber wheels rattled against the thick, strong planks of a wooden bridge that crossed the stream, leading yet again into an autumnal wood, where the leaves flamed scarlet and orange all year long.
Partway through this wood, Gray skidded to a stop so sudden his wheels scrapped through the dirt. He felt acutely tense suddenly; his eyes were drawn to a thorny bush on the side of the road growing beside a rotted old log.
Gray stared at it for a long second, stepped off his back, and clutched the pokéball strapped to his belt. "Go, Scrappy!"
The pokéball unleashed a Charmander; a pair of curved horns scissored through the briar, clenching them before hurling them forward. Charmander gaped, then managed to dive just out of the way. The thorny bundle landed and rolled a few feet as the Pinsir stomped from its hiding place, uttering its hoarse, rasping cry.
"Use Ember!"
Charmander spewed a flurry of small flames, striking the Pinsir's face-chest, and it covered its eyes with its hands. Charmander charged forward, repeatedly scratching at its stomach and hands. Pinsir's stubby foot lashed out, striking Charmander's chin and knocking it onto its tail. Pinsir rubbed its eyes, blinked angrily, then abruptly turned and returned to the undergrowth.
"I guess it only really wanted a one-sided fight," said Gray, as he checked on his pokémon. He suspected it was the same Pinsir that had attacked him a month ago, probably attracted by his food. Gray gently lifted Charmander's his with his finger to look at its chin.
"Just a little bruise, looks like."
Gray sprayed a dab of potion on it. When he lifted up his pokéball, Charmander shook its head and stretched its arms forward insistently.
"Well, alright. It's not that much farther."
Gray lifted the Charmander onto his shoulders, though its hot body and fiery tail made his neck and back gush sweat. Fastening the little pokémon's leg on either side of his neck, he remounted his bike, and carried on a little more slowly. He distracted himself from his discomfort by wondering what that Pinsir was doing in Viridian Forest. Perhaps it had been abandoned, or it came here to lay eggs where the pokémon were weak, or it had been driven far from home in a territorial dispute—this sort of wondering distracted him from his discomfort until he penetrated the forest and reached the verdant hills rolling on the other side.
Gray pumped up the hills and rolled down them, rising and falling with the trail, running between aged wooden houses with browning picket fences. Only a handful of people lived in this deeply rural region in the foothills of Indigo Plateau, where even the mail truck didn't go, and most of them were elderly. He pulled up to the dark oak door of old-fashioned cottage with fading red roof and homely beige walls and knocked.
It took a few minutes for him to hear the sound of someone moving inside, followed by the clank of the heavy, iron lock being twisted. A small, aged woman, bent over her aluminum walker, slowly pulled the door open.
"Everywhere Delivery, ma'am," said Gray, he said, holding forward a blue-and-white medicine bag. "Are you Mrs. Mayberry?"
"Oh, you're just in time! I was just about to run out," said the old woman. As she took the bag in hand, Gray presented a sheet of paper and a pen.
"Can I get your signature, please?"
"Oh, of course, deary. You know, my grandson usually brings my refills every month, but I'm afraid he got sent away on a business trip…." Mrs. Mayberry carried on as Gray turned around, letting her use his back to sign. "He's a good boy, of course, really, I shouldn't impose on him so… But it's very hard to find anyone who will delivery out here… So really, you're a life saver…"
There were two forms, one for Everywhere Delivery, and a second for the pharmacy. Gray checked that she had signed them both. "Can you look inside the bag and make sure it's in good order?"
The questioned pushed Mayberry out of her ramble, and she peaked inside. "Yes, yes. It looks all good. But my, my…" Her large eyes stared at his Charmander. "What a cute little pokémon you have there. I remember when I went on my pokémon journey, so long ago. It was such a wonderful time. I remember, I chose Bulbasaur, because I loved flowers. How lucky you are, to still be on yours."
"Oh, no, ma'am," said Gray. "My journey ended years ago. I'm just a delivery boy now."
"Ah, but you're still traveling with your pokémon, aren't you?" she said.
"I suppose…"
"Oh, dear! Here I am, gabbing all day, while you have a job to do. Thank you very much, young man."
"Please remember Everywhere Delivery for all your future needs," said Gray, tipping his blue-green hat with the scarlet ED logo.
As mounted his bicycle, Gray felt suddenly irritated, as if the job that had been so simple and pleasant had suddenly become taxing. The fiery heat on his back no longer seemed negligible, so he snapped Charmander back into its pokéball without warning.
As he drove back the way he came, he focused on pumping the pedals far harder than he needed to, burning himself out unnecessarily, rather than thinking about that innocuous conversation. Before he knew it, he was cycling through the fine grassy plains leading back to Viridian City, and a passing breeze cooled his blood a little.
Within the city he first stopped at the purple roofed Viridian Pharmacy from where he had first received the package. The pharmacist confirmed the signature—Mayberry had actually called with compliments—and signed another form. With that done, he had no further business, and could finally finish the job.
Everywhere Delivery's office was a small, old, grubby concrete building set up right opposite the Viridian Post Office. Carved wood red letters "ED" were set on a tall, blue pole, like the signage of a fast food restaurant, and the full name was painted on the front of the building. An enormous air conditioning unit rumbled in its own pen to the building's right. The front display window had nothing but a handful of photographs of wild and rugged places, such as Mt. Moon and Seafoam Islands, where its employees were willing to go, and the price to be paid for the service.
Everywhere Delivery's specialty was sending packages to places the mailman feared to tread. Most of their employees, as far as Gray knew, were former trainers who still had their pokémon and some aptitude with using them, so that they could drive off any wild pokémon that got in their way. This place was their only office; the handful of delivery agents scattered throughout Kanto generally operated from their own homes. It was a niche business, but it did well enough.
As Gray stepped inside he could swear his sweat was already freezing his shirt into his back. The chemical tang of the eternal and aged air conditioner always embittered the air during the summer. The sickly yellow wallpaper was peeling, the plywood front desk was unoccupied, as were the rickety wooden waiting chairs whose splinters pointed threateningly upward.
"Tristan?" called Gray. He received no answer but passed through the entryway covered in a dense black curtain into the backroom. The backroom less resembled a work place than a living room, with a semicircle of worn leather couches facing a boxy beige TV that had been there for decades. All the windows were shuttered, so that the only light came from commercials, whose image was slightly distorted due to the old-fashioned screen.
A hissing, wheezing noise rose from the couch. A heavy, wheeled canister of oxygen was set next to it, and tubes ran from it to an old man, wearing a grayish shirt and worn jeans. He had tan skin and a white, frizzly beard. Short hair dangled from the sides of his bald, mottled pate. He grimaced, baring his horsey teeth.
"It's all been done," said Gray, passing over the forms. Gray wasn't sure if those old eyes could actually see the signatures in the dim light, but Tristan seemed satisfied.
"Good… Although it was an easy job. The money's in your account already… And I've already got another job for you."
"Is it scheduled for today?"
"The pickup is," said Tristan. "The delivery will take a few days; its north of Cerulean City."
"Why isn't the Cerulean person doing it?"
"The package is coming from Pallet Town, that's why," said Tristan. "Basically, the lab in Pallet Town is sending some equipment to some scientists studying the wilderness up there. What I need you to do is go down to Pallet Town this evening to pick it up. Then you can rest tonight and set out in the morning. You think you can do that? Pallet Town is a quick, easy ride…"
Gray felt somewhat annoyed at being sent out again, but a trip to Pallet Town was basically nothing.
"How much is it for?"
"Oh, don't you worry, it's a high-dollar job. The lab equipment, apparently, is very important."
Tristan's grimace widened. The light from the TV subtly changed as a Pokémon League logo, accompanied by the league's trademark fanfare, appeared.
"We're back, ladies and gentlemen, with today's Pewter Gym Challenge Broadcast. So far today Brock has taken down three challengers and we're about to see him handle a fourth…"
It was the local public access channel dedicated to broadcasting local gym challenges whenever they occurred.
"You still watch this?"
"Of course. It's how we met, remember? Just because I can't travel easily nowadays doesn't mean I'll ever stop watching trainers lose to Brock." Tristan chuckled unpleasantly before having to choke and wheeze.
The announcer and referee shouted out the rules and terms; Brock stepped up to his side of the battlefield, as shirtless and cross-armed as ever. The opponent was a Youngster dressed in yellow cap and shirt. Brock tossed his pokéball forward, releasing his Geodude. The Youngster produced to call out the name of a Rattata.
Tristan laughed and choked wildly. "Ah, rookies! Rookies never change!"
Gray felt his stomach steadily curdle as he watched the Rattata flail against the Rock-type's hard, brown body. Its tackles and bites rebounded pathetically against Geodude's stone body; Geodude slapped it away after every failure, and soon enough it did not try again.
Next came a Bulbasaur but that only made Tristan grin more broadly. Vines whipped out from its bulb, violent lashing Geodude's forehead, flinging it back to its trainer's feet. Brock, unfazed, released his Onix.
The monolithic stone serpent spread and loomed throughout the arena. The shadow of fear crossed the Youngster's face and the Bulbasaur timidly cringed. However, the Youngster still managed to give a command, and the Bulbasaur lashed outs its vines again and again, but the Onix moved with unexpected agility, slithering and burrowing, crashing its bulk onto the Bulbasaur with every opportunity, until the battered Bulbasaur could only collapse.
"That's what happens when fools think a type advantage alone is enough… I remember thinking that…" Gray heard footsteps and Tristan looked up. A Wartortle was coming from another room, a kitchenette, carrying a beer bottle and two cups. Its tail and ears were hoary; dark-green moss mottled its shell. "I thought Wartortle alone could beat the gym… I tried, and tried, and tried, but I never succeeded… But you know what that's like, hm?"
"Yes," said Gray briefly.
"Aren't you glad I pulled you out of that life!" barked Tristan wheezily. "Really, we're both better off as we are now. We help people. Trainers… What good are trainers anyway…"
"I need to get to Pallet Town. Do I need anything?"
"No, no. I told him to expect you." The Wartortle opened the bottle with its prominent front tooth and poured out a cup for both of them.
"That's good," said Gray, glumly.
Once outside, he half-stepped onto his bike, then stepped off. He released his Charmander. It emerged with a quizzical expression.
Gray knelt to its level. "Scrappy… I'm sorry about earlier."
It bounded immediately into his arms, licking at him until he laughed, and he hugged it close to his body. "Alright, alright… That's enough. Thank you, Scrappy. You know what…"
Gray took his second pokéball from his belt and let loose his male Nidoran. Enviously it jumped into Gray's arms, doing as its only pokémon partner had just moments before.
"Okay, Byron, I get it. I'm sorry… Here, you get in the basket, and we'll all ride to Pallet together. I don't know if we can ride together back, though, it depends on how heavy the package is."
Gray lifted Nidoran into his front basket, set Charmander back in place on his shoulders, and settled back onto the bike. Soon enough they were driving south, the sinking sun to their left, as he bicycled south through the rolling, flower-dappled hills of Route 1. In the aging daylight it seemed so different than that golden yellow morning eight years ago. It seemed as though there was less grass and more dirt, and there was litter here and there—not that there hadn't been any before, but it had stood out less, somehow.
Gray could feel Charmander eagerly fidgeting and he remembered what he had read about a pokémon, and its connection to its birthplace. Some pokémon could home in on their birthplace, returning there every year, and no one knew how; Pokémon Rangers kept soils of various habitats to aid in calming pokémon down. It seemed to be having the opposite effect on Charmander, however, and the bicycle swayed somewhat dangerously across the hills.
Soon the scattered, humble neighborhoods of little cottages that composed Pallet Town peeked beyond the hills, and beyond them, the darkening band of the sea. It glittered with dim flecks of orange and red. Charmander began chattering excitedly, as if in greeting, as they could see the hill rising to the southeast, peaked with the bulky silhouette of Oak's lab. A windmill thrust upward with arms spinning slowly in the light breeze.
Gray skidded to a stop and stared. His heart had leapt into his throat. By all rights, he should have nothing but happy memories of this place, but all he could feel was dread. Eight years ago, he had left on his journey and here he was now, having not earned a single badge.
"He won't remember me," he muttered to himself. "I won't even see him…. I'll just see an assistant… I bet he's recording his radio show…"
In Pallet Town he did not see a single soul, but he could sense the activity of television-watchers and those eating dinner through windows. Once he found himself at the foot of Oak's hill, he stuffed his bike in some bushes. Gray set Charmander down, letting him and Nidoran scamper freely at his feet, and wiped down his neck with a washcloth.
"Come on now," he said to his pokémon, "Don't either of you wander off on me."
Gray reluctantly trotted up the hill as his sprightly pokémon all but ran laps around him, rough-housing and chasing one another, without the slightest care in the world. Gray found himself trying to keep his breath even. It was not a hard walk; the trail up to Oak's was paved with well-tended cobblestones. At the end, he confronted the old lab. Beyond and beneath it, in the hollow behind the hill, spread the fields, hills, and ponds that composed his ranch, inhabited by hundreds of pokémon, who could be seen from afar as flecks of moving color scattered everywhere.
Gray paused at the front door, took a deep breath, and pressed the doorbell. He waited several minutes. Then Professor Oak opened the door.
"Good evening," said the Professor with his croaking voice. "Everywhere Delivery, isn't it? I've been expecting you! Come in, come in, please have some tea…"
Gray stepped in, wavering, "No need to intrude, I can just get the package…"
"Nonsense, surely you're tired! I know you aren't setting off tomorrow. Look, your pokémon could use a rest, too!" Charmander and Nidoran had scampered in.
"Well… Alright…"
There was a kitchen and a small dining area just to their right—the entire living area seemed bunched up near the building's front—and Professor Oak hustled him to the simple oak chair. Oak already had tea ready on his stove; he poured a cup for the both of them, then joined Gray. Gray drank long and deeply; it was painfully, refreshingly bitter, just the way he liked it.
"My, my…" Professor Oak had not yet drank; he had his eye on Charmander, who had come to his feet and was looking up expectantly.
"Well, well, well, I know you, don't I?" Oak lifted Charmander up by the sides of its lean body and it relaxed reflexively at that familiar old touch. Oak looked at the short, blunt spines jutting from its back. "I thought so! And you—" Oak looked towards Gray. "I can't say I remember every trainer I send out by heart—but seeing your pokémon, I remember you. It's been six, no, maybe eight years, I think… Gray, wasn't it?"
Flushing slightly, looking down, Gray mumbled, "Yes."
Nidoran, envious of the attention, hopped beside Charmander and settled on its hind-legs, looking up expectantly. Oak scratched the nook behind its ears, its favorite spot.
"Oh-ho-ho! What a large Nidoran you have… Probably at the high end of the species' size range. What a lucky trainer you are!"
"I'm not really a trainer anymore," muttered Gray, but Oak didn't hear, and instead looked at Charmander's spines again.
"Goodness me, your Chamander takes me back!" Gray was startled to see Oak grow somewhat bleary-eyed.
"Why?" asked Gray with some alarm.
"These spines, you see," said Oak.
"I sometimes worry about those," said Gray. "Other Charmander don't have them."
"Not anymore they don't! But when I was a boy, most of them still did. It's fascinating, really." Gray sensed an oncoming lecture and leaned forward, tantalized. "You see, these spines are in fact a vestigial trait. In Charmander's evolutionary past, these spines used to be used for something, but aren't anymore. As a result, they have been growing smaller with every generation, and now they've all but vanished. I've often pondered what their old function used to be, but fossils with the spines are so rare, you know, and people care more about finding extinct pokémon to revive nowadays than studying fossils…."
Gray's eyes lit up, delighted by learning something he had never known. Oak trailed off, looking mildly surprised. "Oh, are you still listening? Usually young people are asleep by now! Ohohoho!"
"I love little things like that, little tidbits about how pokémon live, and their biology… So Scrappy's really unique, isn't he?"
"Not quite unique, but yes, very uncommon nowadays. But not for long, I'm afraid; once he evolves, they'll be gone for good. Younger forms are more inclined to demonstrate vestigial traits than evolved forms; they'll vanish as soon as he evolves. If you look at a Charmander embryo, you'll see they all have spines early on, even if they don't hatch with them."
Gray had never thought of pokémon embryos before, but his imagination was immediately seized by what Oak said and he had a strong desire to find a book full of images of pokémon embryos, wondering what secrets they might reveal about their evolution and origins. But then hearing talk of evolution dampened Gray's spirits, and he mumbled something under his breath.
"What was that?" asked Oak obliviously.
"I'm not sure he'll ever evolve…"
"Why not?" asked Oak, his tone unchanged.
"…Aren't you disappointed?"
"No? In what? Why would I be disappointed?"
Gray's chest felt all cold and twisted as he spoke. "It's been eight years. You gave me a Charmander so I could become a trainer, but in all this time, it hasn't even evolved, or gotten stronger… I tried to get a badge… Again and again… But I failed. I'm a failure of a trainer."
"Oh? You think so, do you?" Oak pursed his lips contemplatively, then walked to Gray's side. "Here. I want you to take a look at something. Go ahead and close your eyes."
"… Okay."
Gray closed his eyes.
"Give me a minute… Yes, yes, right there, that'll do… Okay, open them!"
Gray opened his eyes. All he saw were his pokémon standing in front of him, perhaps slightly frowning, as they sometimes did when he gave a command they didn't understand.
"… What am I looking at?"
"Your pokémon, of course! Are they happy? Are they healthy?"
"… Of course. You can see that. You're the world's foremost expert on pokémon." He had known exactly the best way to hold the Chamander, the exact spot to pet the Nidoran. Really, perhaps, it would be better if they lived with…
"Exactly!" said Oak excitedly. "It's quite clear from looking at your pokémon that you are an excellent trainer!"
"But…"
"If there's anyone in the world who would know these things it would be me, the world's foremost expert on pokémon, after all," echoed Oak, rather smugly. "Now, enough of that silly nonsense of you being a bad trainer! It's high time we get down to why you're here."
Gray smiled at his pokémon, who enthusiastically nuzzled his legs before returning to their pokéballs and followed Oak deeper into his lab. In a dense, cluttered workspace, full of tables covered in little machines, papers, and biological samples, Oak found a small handheld device. It was shaped like half-an-oval with a spiraling orange antenna jutting from the flattened side, a green glass screen, and a spindly red handle with which it could be held and pointed.
"This is the PPL, the Psychotronic Pulse Link," said Professor Oak, setting it down inside a small metal case along a paper booklet and an official-looking card. "My associate, Professor Mahogany, is in Cerulean Cave right now studying Psychic-type pokémon. He can use this to track the wavelengths of their psychic energies. He can even figure out how strong they are, or even if they are a specific species, as well as send out signals to attract pokémon."
"Cerulean Cave?" said Gray. "But—"
"You know your stuff, don't you? Yes—trainers can only enter with special authorization from the League, which is why I'm including a special pass for you to show the guard. It marks you as being a member of the expedition."
"Oh, good."
Suddenly, he felt electrified—the idea of being allowed to enter such a restricted, legendary areas, that only legendary trainers could enter, full of the rarest and most powerful imaginably pokémon of the Kanto region. Did he still have any spare pokéballs, he wondered…
Professor Oak placed a few more papers into the case, then snapped it shut and handed it to Gray. "Everything's in order. I wish you good luck on your journey."
"I promise I'll do everything I can to make sure this arrives safe and quick," said Gray. "I'll head back to report the pickup to my boss, then set out tomorrow morning."
Gray turned down offers for more tea, feeling somewhat antsy at the sight of the sunlight retreating from the windows, and let Oak guide him back to the exit. Deciding he was too tired to let his pokémon out for the return trip, he was climbing back onto his bike when he heard Professor Oak call out to him from the door.
"Yes, Professor?" said Gray.
"Well, Gray… I just thought I'd like to say…" Oak hesitated, weighing his words. "There are many kinds of trainers in the world, and with them, many kinds of happiness. I believe that so long as someone finds their happiness alongside their pokémon, no matter how they go about it, they are a pokémon trainer. Indeed…" Oak closed his eyes and his expression relaxed; Gray felt an impression of nostalgia in the old man. "I think that is what it means to be a Pokémon Master."
"Professor…" Gray was not sure what to say; he felt happy, as he hadn't felt for a long time, but then—unbidden—the phantom memory of the Onix, rushing forward and roaring, renewed an old bitterness. "Thank you, Professor. "I'll… I'll keep that in mind."
Gray double-checked the security of the package in his basket, bade the Professor farewell, and pedaled down the way he had come.
All this, unknown and unsuspected by either the professor or the delivery boy, had been observed from afar, by eyes enhanced by technology. The electronic binoculars zoomed in on the back of the Professor as walked back into the lab, then hurriedly snapped to follow the bicycle. They focused on the metal case in particular.
The owner of these binoculars was a slender young woman with sharp-featured face and a dark-blue hair tied up in a ponytail. She lay on her stomach, concealed by shrubbery, on a nearby hill; she wore a black midriff shirt and skirt, and as she rolled slightly, propping herself on her elbow to better follow Gray, she revealed the crimson R emblazoned on her top. She squeezed the communicator of a grizzly, old-fashioned walkie-talkie in her hand.
"Agent Lancet, this is Agent V… Target sighted and identified. Requesting permission to pursue and acquire. Over."
A voice growled its response through a haze of static so dense she could barely hear it. "Permission granted."
The woman glared at the walkie-talkie with disgust in her eyes, relaxing her grip, silencing the awful static. A paper tag with the logo of a popular toy brand dangled from its plastic black antenna.
"Maybe if we succeed this time," she muttered under her breath, "we'll finally be able to get a budget…"
Agent V watched the boy vanish behind the hump of a small hill.
"Team Rocket forever!" she cried. "All Hail Giovanni!... Wherever he is."
#
My current plan, depending on how things go, is to update this every Sunday or so, maybe quicker if I feel like I'm really into it.