Prologue
He walked down a darkened street in Amethyst City, which the following morning would be hosting a great spiritual leader, a Leader of the Prophets, who foretold and ceased the battle between two titans, Kyogre and Groudon. This wise and powerful man would be making public appearances all around the region, oblivious to the fact that he was nearing his final hour.
The stranger on the street lit up a cigarette, and drew in the sooty blackness of the smoke, letting it fill his lungs, setting him at ease with the world. It was his twentieth of the day; he had almost doubled his usual amount because of the nerves and the conscience he carried over what he and his organization would be doing the next day.
He looked over his shoulder, his short, neatly cut hair remaining perfectly still, and surveyed the area. The scout team that had been sent out earlier in the week had given some useful information regarding excellent places for cover against attacks from all sides, a good sniping vantage point, and the fact that a skilled group of Aero pilots could be in the area within a matter of minutes, with absolutely no hint of a counter attack. With the people in the crowds and the inevitable army resistance force pinned down by Aero Hyper Beam fire, he could get in close to the Holy One and deliver his final striking blow. He was familiar with this procedure, he had done it countless times before, but never on this big of a scale. Never to a spiritual leader worshiped by many, if not all, of the worlds population. Never, to a national hero…
He looked around himself slowly, with the concealed hand in his pocket ready to pick out one of the Poke Balls and release the finely trained monster inside. The man was an excellent trainer, at one point coming close to beating the champion. However, it was merely a friendly match and had no title on the line. He stood perfectly still, amazed by the lack of guards here on the night before the parade. He wondered if not everything was as it seemed…
Once again drawing from the cigarette, he could see something move from the tiny amount of light. He swung round taking out a Poke Ball and got ready to throw it, when he saw it was only Neil.
"Hey, Da-I mean, Havok" Neil corrected himself; to ensure their real names remained secret. "The boss wants us all back. Now. He wants a final run through of things for the big job tomorrow. Seriously dude, if this works out, we get massive pay off."
"Bullshit." Havok spat back at him. "We wont get shit. It's all going to the greedy twat up there in his leather chair, sipping his wine. Bastard."
"Hey man," Neil replied "don't start this crap up again. Maybe he doesn't do any of the hands on stuff, but he's good with words, and money. We needed someone like him. Every crime syndicate needs a well, from which to draw their monetary needs, and we hit it big. Raman wants to talk to us too."
"That moron is even worse." Havok replied. "But, whatever. How we getting' there? Neither of us have an Aero."
Neil produced from his belt a small sphere like object, red and white in colour, and threw it high in the air. From it, emerged a massive Dragon like creature, Salamence. It hovered down to eye level with Neil and stopped the movement of its powerful reddish-orange wings, gracefully dropping a few feet to the ground. The Salamence was about seven feet in length, fairly small for its species, but looked elegant, graceful, and most of all, powerful. Neil mounted onto the back of the dragon, and said to Havok, "Lets go dude."
"NEIL! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" Havok hissed. "We were meant to be inconspicuous. Not let out fucking seven-foot dragons. Jesus. We have to get out of here, now. Fuck stealth, LETS GO!"
Neil took off at full speed, while Havok released another dragon like creature from a Poke Ball, mounted it, and fled like the wind. If anyone saw that, especially any security officers down there, they would be hunted down. "Jesus Neil. Moron" Havok thought as he flew off into the night sky.
Someone had seen them. A young teen, about fifteen years old. He had crouched in an alleyway, listening to the entire conversation. He was the leader of a small gang of children, all hated by the community because they were no more than thieves. However, this boy was different. The only one to actually try to get a job to help support them. He was the oldest, and acted like a father figure to them. He would make sure they were safe at night, with shelter and food, then he would wander the city, looking for things. Things he didn't know existed, but yet he believed to. His memories. Where he came from, who he was, what his name was. The things everyone should know about themselves. His earliest memory was of being found by an older boy in the street. He was terrified, cold , lonely, and had hardly any clothes. The boy took him to a small sheltered area, with a few other children, which would eventually become the gang.
The older boy was mortally injured when one of the bouncers from a nightclub nailed him on the back of a head with a metal pipe, then shot him several times. The gang found him dead, lying motionless on the ground in the dead of night. Being the second oldest, the young boy took charge and ever since has looked after everyone. However, the conversation he had just heard shocked him, perhaps even more than the events of his childhood. They were going to assassinate the prophet? "No way…" the boy thought. "We have to do something."
With that, he walked back, amazed by what he had heard. He wondered what he could do to help the prophet, and against his better judgement, decided the gang would have to get involved.