Beginning of Act 1: How the West was One

Chapter 1: New Game Plus

The morning sun rose over the Attaman Desert. Or at least it would soon. The Great Mountains that made up the desert's eastern edge would prevent the sun from showing itself for another hour, only letting the smallest amount of light by. For the moment though, Trapinch Mojave was content to watch from the top of his building as the black and purple night sky was slowly replaced by orange and yellow. His building was among the tallest in its part of town, so his short stature didn't matter as much as it normally would have. The gusts of chilly desert wind bothered him a little, but he was determined to make the most out of this morning. Were it any other day he would already be out and about, preparing for the work he had ahead, but this was not a regular day.

Mojave turned away from the mountains and took a good look at town. From his incredibly short vantage point, Mojave could at best see the tops of other buildings, and if he felt like risking it, he could poke his head over the edge and see a little bit under that. From what he could see, the entire town was a giant sea of rectangular sandstone pillars spaced out apart from each other just enough to make passageways that barely met the criteria to be called roads. Crude squares were cut out of the sides of some buildings and had panes of glass fitted into them. Mojave could never understand why someone would want a window in a town as cramped as this, but to each their own he supposed.

In some of these windows lights came on as their residents woke up and began their day. Mojave turned back to the mountains and saw that the sun was finally poking up above the peaks. Mojave decided that the time had finally come to check on his… "guest." He waddled over to the hole in the roof where the stairs came up to and took a deep breath.

For as much as he could climb up stairs, the way down always scared him. Mojave's job literally called for him to use stairs every day, but he still could not shake his fear. There was always this doubt in the back of his mind that his four-legged body was ill-equipped for stairs. He was always worried that he would slip and tumble uncontrollably to the bottom.

To counter this, Mojave developed a plan for getting down the stairs. He wouldn't have to worry about when he fell if he started the fall himself. He would instead start falling the moment he began his descent, charging over the edge a little bit and then letting gravity take over. It was nowhere near as effective as getting over his fear would have been, but Mojave didn't care. If he was going to fall, it was going to be on his own terms.

Readying himself, Mojave closed his eyes and hurled himself down the stairs. He didn't worry about disturbing anybody as he tumbled down, as he was the only resident in his building, and had been for quite some time.

Mojave didn't like thinking about that however, and turned his mind to something positive. If he had timed things right, the oran tea he had prepared would hopefully be done by now, and he could be somewhat presentable for the stranger.

He landed with a thud and shook himself out. Breathing heavily, he collected himself and waited for his head to stop spinning. He felt sore all over, but for the most part he thought that he had come out better than the last time he tried this stunt.

Mojave turned his gaze to the corner of the room he had just fallen into. There, nestled against the wall was a messy, hastily made bed of straw. And on that bed was a male Gible, shaking and shivering in his sleep; the stranger that he had taken in.

He wasn't quite sure what was going on. At the moment, he was in what could only be described as a void. It was blank and white, and stretched as far as he could see. He initially thought that he was dreaming, but that was dismissed pretty quickly. If he was honest, he didn't have much to go on besides a gut feeling, but he felt like he was awake.

But as awake as he might have been, something felt off. There was this dull pain that didn't seem like it would go away, and it hurt to think. He racked his brain trying to think of the events that led to him waking up in the void, but found nothing. Even worse than that, he couldn't remember anything at all. His name, family and friends, even his species failed to come back to him.

To put it mildly that was not good. Panic began to set in before he managed to calm himself. Okay, that's- uh, that's bad. But, I can- um, probably figure something out. I can still see – probably – so that mean's I'm not blind right? So if I'm not blind I can probably turn to see myself. That won't give me many answers, but I'll take what I can get.

For a brief moment this train of thought unsettled him for some reason. The logic was sound, but by all means it shouldn't have been enough. He had just lost everything he ever had and was somewhere he didn't understand, yet he brushed it all aside with a few sentences. Uneasy and struggling with himself, he decided to think of everything as a dream and push on.

He tried to look at himself and figure out his species by piecing together clues from his appearance. He could still remember other Pokémon, it was just himself that failed. And fail again he did, as looking down provided no results. Trying to move limbs into his field of view didn't work either. All he saw was more void. So, unless he was a Dunsparce, it was safe to say he was no better off than before.

Well, if he was a Dunsparce he should still have a mouth. Maybe someone was around to help? "Uh, hello? Is anybody out there? I could use an answer or two. And maybe some reassuring words." Not the most dignifying way to introduce himself, but at least he was honest.

And not a moment later, a deep and loud voice boomed in the void. It seemingly came from everywhere and nowhere at once. Just listening to it was strange. It was almost like he wasn't just hearing it, but the very words themselves sprang up from his internal monologue.

"OH. BACK AGAIN, ARE YOU? AND SO SOON THIS TIME. I REALLY COULD HAVE SWORN YOU HAD IT. IF ONLY YOU HAD FOLLOWED MY GUIDANCE AND NOT DONE THE ONE THING I WAS PRACTICALLY SCREAMING AT YOU NOT TO DO. OH WELL." The voice insulted. Well that was weird. Did he know this guy? Was it a guy? They must have been friends, acquaintances at the least, for him to be passive aggressive like that.

However much he wanted to respond, retort back that he had literally no idea of what happened, he couldn't. His mouth – or whatever he used to talk with earlier – was gone. Trying to move his vision didn't cooperate either.

The way he thought changed too. Whereas before he could form sentences in his head, now all he could do was process emotions. Anger came first after realizing this, but gave way to resentment as he "focused" back on what the voice had said.

"I KNOW, I KNOW. YOU NEVER REMEMBER ANYTHING AFTER COMING BACK HERE. JUST LET ME HAVE THIS, ALRIGHT? THIS IS THE ONLY CHANCE I GET TO MAKE FUN OF YOU. KIND OF A SHAME IT'S JUST YOU AND ME RIGHT NOW. OH WELL." Still, the voice didn't make any sense. What was "coming back" supposed to mean? And judging from what else they said, this relationship of theirs must have been really one-sided. Confusion swelled up most of all.

"ALRIGHT FINE. I'LL INDULGE YOU A LITTLE BIT. YOU'RE GOING TO FORGET ALL OF THIS, BUT I FEEL A LITTLE BIT BAD FOR WHAT I SAID. ONLY A LITTLE THOUGH." How reassuring.

"SO BASICALLY, YOU DIED REALLY STUPIDLY, AND NOW I'M GOING TO SEND YOU BACK. AHEAD OF SCHEDULE. AGAIN. SERIOUSLY. IF I GAVE A PAUPER ONE POKÉ FOR EVERYTIME THIS HAS HAPPENED HE'D BE RICHER THAN SOME KINGS." Well that could have been a little nicer. But then again the voice only felt "a little bit bad" so he'd take what he could get.

He waited for what felt like an eternity for the voice to continue. "HANG ON A MOMENT. I'VE GOT SOMEONE ELSE ON ANOTHER LINE." This must have been their rock-solid friendship at work again. "OH? HOLD ON. THIS JUST MIGHT WORK. YOU MUST HAVE KNOWN MORE THAN YOU LET ON. EITHER THAT OR YOU HAVE AN IMPECCABLE SENSE OF TIMING. HERE'S THE DEAL. I'M POOLING TOGETHER ALL I CAN FOR THIS. EVERY OUNCE OF INFLUENCE, ALL THE SPARE FAVORS I HAVE LEFT. I EVEN MUSTERED UP ENOUGH FOR A MIRACLE OR TWO."

Now he was really confused. Miracles? Influence? Just who really was he talking with? What was "this?" Before he could even start to process any of that the voice began again. This time it seemed even closer, more aggressive than before.

"LISTEN TO ME VERY CLOSELY. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE. I'VE DONE ALL I CAN TO GIVE YOU AS MANY ADVANTAGES AS POSSIBLE. I WON'T BE ABLE TO ASSIST YOU ANY MORE THAN THIS HOWEVER. NOW KNOCK 'EM DEAD! THAT'S AN EXPRESSION BY THE WAY. PLEASE TRY TO CONTAIN YOURSELF. WHEN IT COMES TO KILLING. GO ALL OUT ON EVERYTHING ELSE THOUGH. …please."

It was though his definition of confusion had been rewritten entirely. What was even his first chance? Just what were these advantages? Countless questions spiraled around him as things began shaking. The void around him started shifting colors, as the white he had grown used to was eaten away by spots of purple. His mouth must have come back from being nonexistent after a dry taste started forming on what was hopefully a tongue. And was that… sand too? Everything went dark. And a second later he opened his eyes.

The Gible shot awake. Mojave had seen the effects of a chesto berry up-close countless times, yet he still always found himself amazed at how quickly they took effect. "Hey, hey. Don't be alarmed. You can call me M- err, Trapinch, alright?" Mojave knew that he would have come off as friendlier if he gave his true name, but a nagging sense of professionalism forced him to switch over at the last second.

"I'm with the Protectors Association, okay? I found you out cold in a mystery dungeon yesterday, so I brought you back to my place. Are you alright?" Mojave had been rehearsing these lines countless times since he made the Gible's bed and felt himself ease up after finishing them.

The Gible moved one of his stubby arms up to his left eye and rubbed it. Mojave noticed that the eye had a scar over it, with two small triangles of scales above and below the eye slightly paler than the ones around them. The actual eye itself however seemed to be perfectly fine. Mojave considered his observation for a moment, when the Gible finally spoke.

"Uh, wait what? Who are you? Where am I?" Gible stood up and started looking around the room. Mojave sort of expected this kind of response. Things rarely ever went according to plan nowadays.

Mojave made sure to repeat what he said again, adding more detail and taking it slower. "You can call me Trapinch. Last night I found you at the end of a mystery dungeon, unconscious. The doctor's office was closed so I brought you back to my place. Are you okay? Do you have anyone I can get you to?"

"Okay uh, so in order. My head hurts but I think I'll be fine, and I have, uh, I have, nobody? That can't be right. There's my… You can take me to… Oh no." Gible's eyes went wide.

Mojave tried to steer the conversation back to somewhere useful. "Okay, let's ignore that for now. What about you? Do you know how you got there? To the end of Groudon's Gift?" Groudon's Gift was the name of the mystery dungeon Gible was found in.

It was an expansive network of canyons and valleys that took visitors to a plateau overlooking the rest of the dungeon. It wasn't an outstandingly difficult dungeon, but it could take people by surprise, just like any other dungeon could.

"Gible? Are you sure you're okay?" While Mojave was talking Gible seemed to only get worse. He started sentences and trailed off on them at an alarming rate. "My… The… I… I-I can't remember! Trapinch, I can't remember!" Gible's arms and legs shook as he began yelling, his arms pulled close to his jaw.

"Okay, okay. Th-that's fine! How you got there doesn't matter. We can-" Gible cut Mojave off.

"No! That's not it! I can't remember anything! I can't remember my friends, I can't remember where I live, I didn't even know I was a Gible until you started calling me that!" Gible's whole body shook as he spoke. "I can't remember! Why can't I remember?!" The corners of his eyes seemed to sparkle as what Mojave could only guess were tears started forming. Gible was sobbing by the time he finished. "What do I- What do I do?"

Mojave didn't get the chance to answer as Gible fainted, hitting the bed with a sickening thump.

This was not good. Mojave's relationship with Gible just got a lot more involved. The original plan was to escort him to whoever or wherever Gible said to, get his reward, and file the memory away as an oddity. His diary would maybe get an entry or two about the ordeal, and that would be that.

But this revelation changed things. A Pokémon like Gible, with no memories or ideas about himself would be eaten alive in this city- or anywhere in the desert for that matter. Probably literally too. Dragons were a rare sight anywhere and the well-to-do carnivores in town would kill for a new taste.

Mojave then felt a rush that he hadn't felt in a long time. This was it. His first real mission in forever. For the past few years Mojave's work as a Protector had been spent doing easy jobs. He went into mystery dungeons to retrieve lost items or Pokémon that overestimated their abilities. He had the skill to take on tougher things like taking down criminals, but the fact that he was alone always scared him out of pursuing them.

But now he had no choice. He couldn't just abandon Gible, and certainly not while he was like this. As a member of the Protectors Association it was his duty to help Pokémon of all kinds with whatever ailed them. Helping Gible was going to be unlike anything he'd done yet in his career, but he would do it anyways. This was going to be tough though.

But if what Gible said was true, Mojave didn't have anywhere to start from. What should he do? Take him to every city in the region and hope that someplace jogged his memory? Would that even work? Could Gible be reminded of something from his past, or did they have to wait around for it all to come back?

Mojave decided to stop worrying about that for the moment. The tea he prepared was going cold, and he was still sore from his fall. He would wait for Gible to wake up, and then the two of them would figure out what to do.

Author's Note: Heya! Thanks so much for reading my fic! I don't normally read author's notes, so I'll keep these rare and (hopefully) brief. Feel totally free to skip these too, it won't hurt my feelings (much)! This my first time trying anything like this, so reviews are more than welcome! That being said, if you do leave a review, I have a minor request for you! I wanna try and use as many niche Pokémon as I can, so if you have a favorite include them in your review and I'll try to put them to a character I have in mind! Just please write an actual review too, I don't want it to end up looking like a YouTube comment section. Cheers!