Why do we need disclaimers anyway? We're not making a profit from this, and it's a fan fiction. Emphasis on FAN. What's the point in it?

Note: Anything on this fic is inspired by the GAMES ONLY (and a bit of imagination). I don't watch the anime, therefore if something doesn't look correct in comparison to the anime and it annoys you, this may not be the fic for you.

Chapter 1

Leaves rustled as a sudden gust of wind brought the woods to life for a brief moment. The air was misty, glimmers of moonlight shining on the dew of the ground and vegetation. But other than the moon's reflection, it was pitch black and now silent once more. The cold mist swirled above a wet, muddy floor of decay. Rot was the only scent of this place, and it wasn't just the leaves that were rotting.

A body tumbled and squelched into the mud. A single, bear, outstretched arm prevented the body from falling in any further. From it a boy's head hung. His hair was brown, or at least it would have been if it weren't for the darkness as now where it was soaked in blood it hung down black as death, obscuring his face.

There was a moment of silence. The only movement from the boy's body were waves of shivering. His shoulders hunched and his free arm was held close to his body. Dressed simply in a black t-shirt and black jeans he had no way of protecting himself against the biting cold. He just stayed in one place, steam billowing from his mouth.

A whimper croaked from his throat before the teenager's arm gave way, sending him splashing into the mud before he had the energy to change his weight. His face hit the ground with a slap, and the shivering stopped.

'October 3rd. 2008. I got a diary. I know diaries are for girls, but if I'm going to be a pokemon master, I'm going to have to keep one. Who knows when it might come in handy.

It's my birthday today. I'm 18. Big deal. My parents make a huge fuss about it, telling me how I have to be responsible and shit like that. They expect me to get some big important job just because I took a basic ass course in literature (which I failed, but I won't tell them). Well, that's not the way things are going to work out. I can't stand fat office bastards that sit around typing on their little computers all day. I mean, where's the fun in that?

I'm going to make it big in the pokemon league. My buddy Daniel knows Professor Oak who gives out starter pokemon. He told me I should be able to get one so long as I don't have a criminal record or shit like that. Good for me, I don't. Lots of people think I'm girly just because I wear black eyeliner. I'd better not get some pink cotton candy pokemon. A dark pokemon, now that would be cool!'

Something screeched in the woods, and the boy's whole body jerked. His eyes opened wide, revealing their shimmering shades of cold blue. His pale skin was covered in muddy blotches and the right side of his face, facing upwards, was caked in dried blood.

A deep, hoarse coughing forced its way out from his throat. He didn't try to get up, though. He held his arms close to his body and curled up on his side, squeezing his eyes shut. He fumbled around with his right arm, half in the mud, to make sure what he was carrying was still there. It was; soggy and heavy was his backpack as he held tight the strap slumped over his shoulder.

'October 5th. 2008. I just got this backpack sent over from my uncle Davie in Hoenn. It's a specialised trainer's backpack with all the pouches and shit for placing things when I get them, like potions and pokeballs.

Me wanting to be a trainer was just between me and Davie, because he's a trainer and I was sure I could trust him. The rest of my family all hate pokemon training, especially my parents. They jabber on about it being brutal and shit, and I just nod and smile. In a few days I'm gonna grab my first pokemon, get my backpack and say sweet goodbye to this place. Pallet Town is way too dull for me to spend the rest of my days here. I need to get out in the open, y'know?

I decided I won't take the Kanto League challenge. I'm off to Hoenn. I'll catch a ferry there and meet Davie at Slateport. I don't know shit all about what I'll do afterwards, but it'll be good!'

Cries of men echoed off the fungus infected trees. The boy shivered in silence, listening out for them getting any closer. He tried to recall the stage of events that had led him up to this moment. How he had been so stupid as to try and steal. A shiny pichu would have sold for a bucket load, but the price for his temptations were unknown. He remembered, running the film of memory over in his head, wishing he had just stayed clear of the pokemon and left it alone.

The first thing that came to memory, before the events that had led him into the forest, it was about eight pm. A skinny man left his dark prints on the sand, shaded blue from the fading light. The dark came early in Autumn, and the roar of the waves warned of turbulence to come. White foam rolled in from the sea, but it was too cloudy to see the moon, so the man couldn't tell if the tide was coming in or not.

He had the collar of his long, khaki coat up as a windbreak, but it only seemed to flutter feebly in the gales, just like his mousy blond hair. His eyes squinted and his thin eyebrows fell. The receding hairline was clearly visible and his sharp, bony features had aged well beyond his true years. But with a straight back and eyes fixed ahead of him he looked ready to take on even the forces of Mother Nature. Pale ribbons were his lips, but he had them still and under more control than the average person. His eyes were probably the most startling thing about him, as white and blue as the sky on a sunny day, eyelids pink and fleshy, unlike the papery skin given to him by Slateport's erratic weather. They were the only indication to his true youth.

Sat on the stone wall feet away was a boy, probably in his late teens. In his hand he held an open diary. He wasn't writing – only reading. Pale blue eyes peered out from flat, wet looking brown hair that seemed far past its due cut. It didn't seem to bother him to be shaking the hair out of the way every few minutes. Habit had sorted that. Hanging at his lower back was a backpack. It seemed unusually loose, like he had deliberately fixed it that way. The bottoms of his baggy jeans had strains of light, frayed material trailing from them, living undisturbed thanks to their wearer's disregard for anything tidy.

At his feet at the bottom of the wall was a helmet-like object. It was settled on the tiny dunes of soft sand and at first appeared still. Then the grains of sand began to stir. The dull, dome body began to slowly turn in the sand. Sharp little claws made their appearance, scuttling like those of a crab to get into a more comfortable position. Beady black eyes peered out from the front which were turning to face the sea. Rapid movements in its legs kicked up a few sand particles as it shuffled with its front pincers before it settled again, laying still for there was no reason to have to move anymore.

"Are you going to name your Kabuto?" The older man mentioned.

"I started calling him Ancience." The boy on the wall close to whispered. He had a relaxed tone in his voice.

"Dean, do you even know if…" Davie frowned, as if he felt sorry for the Kabuto for having an unusual name, "…Ancience… is a he?"

Dean looked up and squinted his eyes as if he hadn't understood the question. "He looks like a he."

The older man, known by his nephew as Davie, grinned and gave out a chuckle. Lines formed around his mouth as he did this. "Ancience – she's a she."

"Bullshit. How'd you know?"

"Remember, when we took her to the centre for a check up. I thought I'd ask while we were there."

Dean just stared with his eyes squinted from the hair that was flying around in his face. He shifted his feet and looked down at the pokemon. This one hadn't been resurrected from a fossil, like most of its kind. This one had been bred from a small colony existing wild. Nevertheless, it still seemed to have the same absence in its consciousness as its prehistoric ancestors. As it sat there motionless it seemed like a robot awaiting a command. A creature so primative it had no memory, no compassion and no free thought. It would only respond to its most basic instincts.

"Ancience!" Dean called. There was a moment of silence, but no reaction from the crustacean. He gently tapped it with his foot, provoking it to instantly retract its sharp limbs under its shell causing its body to lower a little.

"I thought you said this was a good training spot."

Davie looked round at Dean who was clearly bored. He nodded and started to head for the concrete steps. "It's late. We'll take a look around town tomorrow. Find some trainers, make Ancience strong."

"Sounds like a plan…" Dean heaved himself down from the wall and picked up his pokemon by the sides of its shell, its four legs outstretched and feeling around to get a footing. It seemed unaware it was being carried as its red underbelly eyes blinked on and off. "Tomorrow, I'm going to set myself a goal to beat someone."

"I hope so." Davie chirped.