"Go suck on those pubes you call a mustache, you dickhead! I quit!" Robert Stark, known as Robb for the sake of simplicity, cursed, slamming the door of the office of his former boss.
A small group of loitering teenagers gleefully looked on as he did so, gladdened for the gossip they'd just witnessed, and parted like a sea as he stomped toward the shop exit. An even smaller group of parents looked on with curiosity, scandal, and in one particular instance, arousal. Robb would have probably pounced on that, had he not been in such a foul mood. Ignoring all their looks, he took his badge off and threw it at the register, flipping the store one last bird before leaving the premise.
He trudged through the mall that his former store was located, making way to the employee lot, which, even worse, was on the other side of the building campus. Once he arrived at the parking lot, he struggled to find his car. It was a moonless night, and the sketchy ass mall that was home to his as-of-recent previous job didn't have any decent lighting to make up for that.
Doesn't help that my car is midnight black, either, Robb thought, growling with frustration.
Taking a deep breath, Robb loosed his anger and bodily slumped with a tired moan. Still looking for his car, he dug through his pocket and pulled out his phone. With a groan, Robb hit up the one number he knew he had to call, no matter how much he didn't want to.
After a few rings, a woman answered with a sleepy voice. "This is Ellie Llang with Tanning-Litt Employment Agency, how can I help you?"
"Hey Ellie," Robb began, awkwardly. "It's Robb."
"Stark?"
"…Yeah."
Something in her voice brightened, though that sleepy quality didn't leave by much. "Been a bit. How's it going? You got a job at that Hot Topic knockoff at the local mall, right? I know it's not much, but you gotta take what you're offered until something better comes along. What was its name again…?"
"Doesn't matter," Robb said, stopping. He leaned over the bed of a well-used truck, uncaring that it wasn't his car. "I quit my job, Ellie."
"What?!" She barked out, sounding furious. There went her sleepiness. "What do you mean you quit?! This is the third job this month you've either quit or were fired from!"
"My manager refused to pay me for last week! Called it a training week, even though I clocked in over 60 hours! I need that money Ellie, you know I do!"
"Which is why you get in contact with the city Labor Department. Or a lawyer. Or the general manager, your boss's boss! God damnit, now you're not getting paid and you're not even able to file for unemployment because you weren't fired or let go!"
"I know! I know!" Robb groaned, wishing he had a joint on him. Or a bottle of whiskey.
"No, I don't think you do!" Ellie howled. Oh, she was mad now. And when Ellie Llang got mad, she got mad. "I staked my reputation out for you, Robert! My company didn't want to take on some middle school dropout from foster care, but I changed their mind! They said there was too much opportunity for failure, but I told them you'd be a good fit, that it'd be a good thing if we could help somebody that came from nothing become a functioning member of society! And now, not even after two months with us, you've completely ruined that, and absolutely tanked everything I've been working towards this year! What the fuck, Stark?!"
Robb sighed. "I'll do better next time, Ellie."
Ellie was taking deep breaths on her end of the call, trying to calm down. A dog was barking in the background, adding to the noise level. She must have been working from home. "No. No, you won't. Robb, I'm sorry. I really am. But I can't risk it. Effective tomorrow, I'm going to take you off our registry."
"Ellie!" Robb sounded, panic seeping into his voice. "Please, don't do that. I'll be better! I promise!"
"You've had your three strikes, Robb. At this point, it isn't even my decision. It's company policy. You can reach out to us in six months if you still haven't found gainful employment by then, if you want. That's when we remove your strikes from your record. But I won't be taking you on again. I've learned that lesson."
"Ellie…" Robb tried, near begging.
"Goodbye, Robert." She said, sounding honestly done. "I hope you are able to find your success."
And then she hung up. Just like that. Robb stared at his phone, unable to wholly comprehend the massive shitstorm that had just occurred.
But when his mind caught up, so did his emotions.
That anger from before returned with a roaring vengeance.
"RAAAAAAGH!" Robb screamed, punching the truck he'd been leaning on. A firm dent appeared in the frame, and though Robb's fist pulsed with pain, he did not let up. Punch after punch, the echoing sound of flesh on metal rang out through the parking lot. When he was through, his knuckles were swollen and bleeding, the truck looked like it'd been rammed by a mountain goat from behind, and Robb was red in the face and teary-eyed. His phone had also been noticeably damaged, likely even destroyed in his fit of rage.
He fell to the ground, rubbing his eyes. Robb struggled to comprehend how his life had gone so poorly.
It hadn't always been like this. He hadn't always been a loser. At one point, Robb had been on the fast track to success. An aspiring actor from the age of five, Robb was quasi-child star with multiple television cameo appearances and a niche in voice acting. Hell, he'd had more money in his bank account at the age of thirteen than most people did at thirty. But the bigger they are, the harder they fall, and when Robb's star fizzled out, it did so with the force of napalm in the morning.
He remembered it well, much as he wished he couldn't. His agent had been trying to get him a more structured, consistent role, something that could be treated like a job rather than a gig. The role that they'd found seemed perfect: to be the voice of Max Maple, for the Pokemon franchise. Robb loved Pokemon, loved everything about it. Hell, he spent his first ever paycheck on a Game Boy Color and a copy of Pokemon Gold. Robb absolutely adored the series and was excited for an opportunity to be involved in his favorite media operation.
And yet, when the audition came, literally as he was in the recording booth, after a long, harrowing process of mail-in tapes, the worst possible thing for a child voice actor occurred.
His balls dropped.
Laughable, he knew. But for somebody in his position, it truly was the worst thing that could have happened. Puberty was a cruel mistress.
His voice fluctuated without control from low and masculine to high and childlike. Robb had no ability to filter his voice, no ability to manage his new reality, and without even a chance to explain himself, he was kicked out of the audition. In the end, they went with a woman named Amy Birnbaum to play the role.
Robb had been annoyed about that, but he couldn't be too annoyed. Rejection was 98% of the entertainment industry, and he certainly knew that fact from personal experience.
What he didn't know however, was how big of a dickbag his talent agent was. The man had been mortified of Robb's audition, and decided, after only a single failed instant, to blacklist him from the agency. Robb lost his job, was unlikely to find new work, considering his voice problems lasted for the following five years (he had a long puberty), and having never gained the life skills his fellow foster kids did, because life had been going better for him than most normal kids, he didn't know how to pick himself back up. And he'd already quit school to pursue his acting, and was too stupidly stubborn to rejoin, thinking he'd be able to return to the limelight.
Simply put, his spiral into the now began from a young age. Now, the only thing interesting about him was that he shared the name of a famous television character, based off of a book series that took ten reading levels higher than what Robb was capable of to comb through.
"Oi," a man grunted, causing Robb to freeze. Craning his neck up, Robb caught sight of what could only be described as a flamboyant redneck. He was a tall man, with a thick beard and a shaved head, clothed in a ratty flannel shirt and a pair of jean shorts that showed off a pair of oddly glistening shaved legs. His tan was, even in this darkness, clearly sprayed on, and attached to his hip, Robb saw, was a gun holster. "What've you done to Sheila?"
"…Sheila?
The man growled and pointed to Robb's right. Glancing over, Robb saw the license plate of the truck. 5HE1LA. Sheila.
Shit.
"Look," Robb breathed, standing. The man before him tensed, hand rushing to his holster. Robb had been in a good few sticky situations before, but never had a firearm been involved. He doubted admitting to a temper tantrum would do him any favors. "I'm sorry. I saw some guy just slam your truck and thought it'd be better to stick around for a bit in case you came back. Literally happened only like three minutes ago."
"That so?" The man asked, humming. He came closer and placed his hand on the dents, feeling them.
"I couldn't catch their license plate, but they were in a pretty obvious car," Robb said. He knew the rule about lying, that there had to be a bit of specificity to make it sound real. "Pontiac Firebird. One of the old school ones."
"Those're beauties," the man acknowledged. He was still rubbing along his truck.
"Which makes it hitting your truck all the worse, in my mind. If you want, I was about to call up the police and let them know what I saw. I can stick around, be a witness."
"Nah, you're fine."
Robb paused. "You sure?"
"It'll take some work, but I'll fix the damage. Thanks for sticking around though. You can go."
"Well," Robb began, already stepping away from the scene of his crime. "If you need anything, holler."
"Actually," the man called out, causing Robb to freeze in place. He'd only been able to walk two parking spaces past. "There is one thing."
"What's that?" Robb queried, glancing back.
A bang cracked through the air, and Robb felt the sting of coldness seep through him. Looking down, he stuttered to comprehend the red dribbling from his body, the hole in his belly.
Oh, Robb realized mutely. I've been shot.
It was hard to describe. It was painful, but at the same time, past the point of pain, almost calming. Robb slowly sank down onto the ground, delirious and lost.
"I don't know what kind of fool you take me for," the man that had shot Robb spat. "But I ain't no fool. I damn well saw you beat up Sheila. Hell, your hands tell their own tale, even if I hadn't. You fessed up to it like a decent man, maybe you'd be standing. But no, you had to be a liar, didn't you? Worlds got enough of those, I say."
Robb found he couldn't comprehend the rest of what his shooter was saying. He couldn't really comprehend much at all. There was this dogmatic understanding of his circumstance, the truth of mortality fast approaching that couldn't be refuted. He was going to die, wasn't he? He was going to die and there was nothing else to be said on the matter.
Robb realized he didn't know what was going to come. He'd never been religious. Hell, he'd only been to church a few times in his life, each of which was at the behest of an ex. He lived in the moment, and rarely considered the future. Certainly, he'd never considered his death.
What happened when you died? Was there a heaven and hell? Was there nothing? Reincarnation?
As time passed and the cold of his body gave way to the most comforting warmth Robb had ever experienced, all thoughts seemed to muddle away. Everything seemed to jumble together and yet be perfectly clear in its loss. As Robb closed his eyes for the last time, one final, cognizant thought took center-stage.
Whatever happens after death, if there even is anything… Let me have the chance to do better.
In another world, in another galaxy, in another universe that was alien and yet familiar, a young boy that was also named Robert Stark found himself on deaths door.
The coincidence of this matter ends there, however.
This Robert had his end coming due to a medical malady, rather than a poorly performed lie. Having suffered for months on end due to a hemorrhage of the brain that was impossible to surgically mitigate, he had been living the last of his days in a hospital bed, his only true comfort being an odd bird with green feathers that had taken to perching on his windowsill, offering the occasional chirp of acknowledgement.
Similar to the older Robert of Earth, it was dark out for the younger Robert, and though hospital staff were on premise 24/7, other matters stayed their hand away from an unfortunate child unable to experience life as he ought to be able.
The boy, having fought and struggled to live for months, years even, had finally begun to give way. The malady of the mind had finally won. The sound of a flatline rang out through the hospital, a nurse scrambled inside, and no matter how she tried to bring him back, the Robb Stark of that universe had passed away.
And with his passing, something miraculous had begun.
In the far reaches of the cosmos of these universes, a Being of unimaginable power took in these simultaneous scenes. In most cases, these deaths would not warrant any form of interest for this Being. However, something rare had occurred, and that, more than anything, warranted attention.
Every mortal that had ever existed in a universe had a mirror of their life in every other universe. Each simple fish would have its mirror in another world, as would each blade of grass, each simple sheep, and yes, each human being. This is a factor that is unquestionable; undeniable. This does not mean that the experiences of these mirrors is similarly mirrored, however. Though one mortal might be relegated to torment or monotony in one world, they might find peace or fantastical success in another. There is an ever-shifting balance between universes that thus is maintained, though the reasoning for this is beyond mortal ken.
The rarity, however, was for two alternative versions of the same mortal soul to perish at the same time. Most mirrors did not even exist at the same time. Most did not even exist within any span of one another. It is odd that these occur simultaneously, but not outside of expectation. That these Robert Stark's were of different age groups further maintained that probability.
But a simultaneous death between two mirrored souls was peculiar to the near extreme.
The Being took in these fleeting, mortal souls. In an instant, the Being understood all there was to know about the pair. The Being knew their wants, their dreams, their failures, their struggles.
The Being also knew that the pair both fervently wished to keep living. To do better.
Compassion does not exist for Beings such as this in the traditional sense. That said, a fleeting feeling of pity washed over the Being, and with that feeling, action took place.
The two souls fused together. Their memories, once separate, become one. All that they were, all that they knew and wanted and dreamed for, came together in one glorious bounty of life.
With this fusion, the two souls that had been on their way to experiencing their next great adventure became too… full, to go into the beyond. The Being, recognizing this, came to a decision. The fusion of these souls was wasted on the body of the older Robert Stark, for it would only experience life for less than a moment.
The younger Robert Stark, however, still had the chance for life.
The Being thus sent the soul back into the body of the young boy. The Being examined the integration of the soul into this old-new form, offering it the bare enough attention necessary to determine a proper existence. Once life bloomed anew in the body, improvement noticeably vast in comparison to what it once was, the Being determined it had succeeded in its task and returned its attention to the myriad of universes under its purview.
Unexpectedly, Robb found consciousness come over him once more.
He awoke in a hospital bed. The sanitized smell and white-washed color of a hospital was hard to ignore. The sun was shining bright through the room window, signifying a clear-cast morning. Robb felt happy that he was in a semi-familiar environment, and honestly just grateful to even be alive.
I'll do better, he thought. This was a second chance. One could only be a fuck-up for so long.
He'd also have to look into the registry of his admittance into the hospital. Robb needed to thank whoever called 911 on his behalf. Unless it was the shooter having second thoughts. He could go fuck himself.
Robb groaned, trying to sit up. His body felt sluggish and weak, which, considering he'd been shot, should have been expected. But it felt different than he'd thought it would. There was no immediate pain or strain at his middle, where the bullet pierced through flesh. Instead, the sluggishness seemed to begin at his limbs.
Morbidly curious, Robb lifted up his hand. It looked… small? That was the only word to describe it. Small, and thin. Which, while he'd never had particularly large hands, was very different when compared to what he knew.
"What in the wor-" Robb began, only to freeze. He knew that voice, though he'd not heard it come out from his mouth in years. That lilting, high pitched tone was perfectly reminiscent to his voice when he was a-…
Staring at his hands again, Robb robotically began to feel at his face. His cheeks felt puppyish, his chin small, his nose undefined… His face was not the face he'd come to know.
Fuck, he almost felt like a child.
Okay, Robb thought, steeling his nerves. There's a logical explanation for this. Pain killers might be messing with my head. Maybe it's a new medicine? I might even be dreaming. Yeah, that's it. This is just a dream.
Looking around, Robb saw a nurse-call button attached to his bed, a bright pink + labelling it. Robb pressed the button, flinching as the buzz echoed down the hall of the room. That was loud. Shrugging with some effort, Robb chose to ignore the oddity and instead stare at the door to his room. Waiting.
His wait was short, thankfully. The door opened, and an attractive woman walked in. She had bright pink hair, deep blue eyes, fine pale skin, and wore an outfit that, while designating her as a nurse, could have also been the beginning number of a hospital-themed stripper. If it were a little tighter, there would have been no doubt in Robb's mind that that was her designation.
Heh, Robb snorted. She's even got on one of those stupid nursing hats with a cross on it.
Smartly, Robb didn't say that out loud. Instead, he settled for a simple greeting. "Hello."
"My goodness!" She exclaimed, mouth ajar. Her eyes went wide. "You're awake!"
How… professional? Not. "Was I not supposed to?"
"Oh," she stuttered, waving a hand. "Absolutely not! It's just, well… You flatlined. You were dead for just under 60 seconds. We were lucky we were able to bring you back, but there was no telling when you'd wake up, really."
I… died? "I don't know what to say to that," Robb admitted, feeling lost.
"You don't need to say anything at all," the nurse said, smiling. "I'm just glad to see you looking alright."
"How much is this gonna cost me?"
She paused for a moment. "You… don't pay for medical services. Especially not at your age. This was a necessary procedure and stay. The only time anybody has to pay for anything in this hospital is for a treat from the snack machine."
Yup, Robb thought, flouncing back into his pillow. I'm still dreaming.
It was disappointing, really. He could do with not needing to worry about medical coverage bullshit.
The nurse clicked her tongue. "Anyway. You might be awake now, but rest is still the best thing for you. I'll have Chansey give you a boost."
"Who?" Robb asked, blinking. Did he hear her wrong or something?
As if to answer, the nurse reached into her puffy skirt and withdrew a sphere the size of a golf ball, painted red and white. She pressed a button, and the thing expanded until it was as large as a baseball, and then split open down the middle, a great flash of silver light suffusing the sphere, before what could only be described as a pink blob with an egg in a sack stood in the room.
"Chan!" The blob said, bouncing.
Whatever the blob, the Chansey, was going to do soon became irrelevant. Robb felt as if his mind had short-circuited, and without control, he slumped into delirium.
His last thoughts before passing out completely were thus:
That was a Pokemon… Wasn't it?
This is not a Y'Know Nothing Jon Snow Version 2. I felt the need to clarify that immediately.
Instead, this is going to be an attempt at a more grounded story in the Pokemon world, with a new main character (though named from the same source).
I did this because I still love Pokemon. I am constantly inspired by the works in this world that I see on this website, and for the community that surrounds the franchise. That said, there needs to be a more appropriate build up to the crazy shenanigans that Jon got up to, and having already rewritten the story once before, I felt it best to just try something new, with only a hint of the old.
The adventure of Robb Stark will be different. His start will be different, his prose will be different, and though many of his goals will align with Jon, his reasonings will be different.
