Puppets Without Strings
Chapter 1: Embracing The Storm/Prolouge

Lightning rolled and lit up the blackened sky. The force winds were wiping the tree's branches around in every direction. It seemed to be as if the world outside was angry. But the three shadowed figures paid no mind to the roaring of the thunder or the rain soaking their small, red tent. A light flickered on inside the tent, making it give off an eerie glow.
The howling wind and the pouring rain made the last few embers of a campfire a few feet away from the tattered and worn tent burn to almost nothing. The small ember coals lit up one last time, as if in silent protest, then died down to leave only their ashy remains.
The yellow streaks of lightning gave one last howl and then became hushed. No longer did the sound of the thunder make the small, wild pokemon shiver in fear each time it let out its mighty roar. Nor did the driving rain continue to drench the tent or the charred and torn white uniforms that were surprisingly just holding on to the string to which they were attached. That left silence. It was now as quiet as death itself. The stillness was so abrupt it was alarming. The only sound that could be heard was the sound of a zipper reluctantly being opened. The right flap on the tent was gradually being lifted open and one of the figures crawled out from inside of it. The figure was a male's. (A very pretty one at that) The man's long, flowing hair was gently blowing with the small, new breeze that had picked up. He straightened his back and scanned his emerald colored eyes for anything that might be suspicious. His eyes surveyed from the unlit campfire to the uniforms now gently blowing in the breeze. He was about to make his decision to go back inside but then something just barely caught his attention. It was one droplet of water left from the night storm quivering on a green leaf about ten feet away. He gazed wearily at it. The drop of water moved steadily downward, curving with every shape of the leaf, and then rolled off of the plant falling in what almost seemed slow motion down to the dirt ground forming a small puddle. It was the same journey for new drops of water falling off the same leaf: roll down the leaf, fall off of it, and then take its watery fate in the small puddle now on the ground. The man stood transfixed at watching the water's voyage. His eyes were always matching the water's plunge. The only sound outside now was of the "drip, splash, drip" echoing sound of the raindrops. His eyes stayed aligned upon the raindrops until a familiar voice broke his train of thought. "James," his partner cried, "Come back inside! We still need a plan to capture the twerp's pokemon." "Coming," He said loyally, turning his back to the dripping water. He crawled back inside the tent and zipped it back up. He then sat down criss-crossed and turned toward his two friends. He leaned back slightly and set his gaze upon his best friend, Jessie. The light from the small, black flashlight made her face seem to have a nice, warm glow. She looked so beautiful in that light. But, then again, he always thought she looked beautiful. The nice glow in the dark tent seemed friendly and welcoming but for some reason, James couldn't shake off the feeling that a worse storm was yet to come.