A/N: Arbitrary mixing of game-, anime- and manga-elements and personal head-canon. Writing out of my ass a bit. Update schedule: whenever I feel like it.
Chapter 1
Burning.
The world was burning.
It was a sight that he would never forget so long as he lived. The previously grand and pristine building lay in smouldering ruins. Fires raged, devouring the remains of death. Bodies of man and monster alike were scattered and broken over the field, like the devil's toys.
Three heads peered down at him, an admiring disgust that one could only hold for a foe painted clear in their eyes.
And he made a promise to himself.
That he would only tolerate their presence in hell.
Per the initiation laws set down by the International League of Powers, willing children were able to travel the world alongside pokémon – so long as they were qualified. Aptitude tests were held once every six months in every major city of the Common Regions.
The youngest ever to pass the tests were the legendary trainers Red and Gary of Pallet Town, Kanto, at the minimum eligible age of eleven. The former was (hard work aside) a genius savant and natural from birth. The latter had (natural talent and determination aside) fantastic pedigree.
Cheren had neither, Hilbert reminded himself. Neither did Hilda or Bianca. Still, passing the tests at the age of sixteen was impressive. Cheren had passed a year before when he was fifteen, but had taken them two more times so that the three, tight friends from childhood, could start together.
Hilbert had never really taken anything more than a passing passion towards pokémon, but he was a big fat liar if he ever said he wasn't jealous of them.
"Those tests aren't the only ways to become a trainer, you know," said his older brother one morning.
Hilbert's brain was still in the early morning process of wondering where his liver and other important organs went to get his body functioning again, so he could do little other than stare at his brother in dumb befuddlement.
Right, something about the three star children of Nuvema starting their journeys. Adventures and pokémon and all things coming-of-age. ("Oh, Mrs Black, you shouldn't. Hilda's been packing for weeks!" "No, no, no, Mrs White. My son doesn't have an adventurous bone in his body. It'll catch dust in our house!")
Going on the Unovan dream or something.
"'s not right," Hilbert muttered around some scrambled eggs. "They test you so you don't die or get lynched out there, ain't it?"
"Relatives of Gym Leaders, Elite Four or Champions sometimes get in through connections. Some are exceptions because of family tradition, and the official responsibilities of their family's trainers fall onto them, not the League. A few like Gary Oak had to take the tests, anyway."
Hilbert sniffed, pushing away an offered cereal box. (He hated cereal. Evil, grainy things that went soggy too fast. He preferred slow.)
"Sooooo, family tradition, like Koga's ninja clan?"
"Seriously, I say family tradition and the first thing you think of is ninjas?"
"Bro, it's the year ten-twelve, not the Tribal Ages. Family tradition nowadays is like Skyla and her grandfather. Only dragon clans stick with voodoo stuff."
His brother sighed.
"Eh, well. Point is – training license is easier to get than you know. Don't go thinking the world is all cold and straight. A lot of bureaucracy and tradition out there. I heard Norman Senri slapped his son in the face with a license, kicked him out and told him to not even think of crawling back home until he had at least four badges under his belt."
"Huh, wow," Hilbert said, chewing through his sausages slowly. "Isn't that the guy who got between those environment-freak guys and schooled them both?"
His older brother nodded.
"Some things are in the blood, I guess."
Right, in the blood.
Cheren didn't have much of that trainer blood. Despite his immaculate appearance and behaviour, his family was dirt poor and struggling for money. They were close enough that Hilbert knew that much. Maybe that was why he worked so hard, to make up for what he didn't have and for what he felt he needed. His qualification tests had all been paid for in scholarships. That probably hadn't come around easily.
Bianca was the daughter of a rich, high-ranking manager working in the League. Hilbert had only ever seen him once – a cold, powerful man who seemed worn from life. Something must have changed, because during that one time, it had been rather obvious to anyone watching that he was vehemently against his daughter being a trainer. Unless Bianca had given him the slip, which he had no doubts that even a sweet girl like Bianca would do when she had something she truly wanted.
Hilda White was the centre ground. Hilbert actually had quite a lot in common with her. Middle-class families, pokémon keepers, working fathers and housewife mothers. Only, Hilda's father was white-collar, while his own father's collar was very much blue from working in the dangerous, but well-paying rigs.
That was where the similarities ended, however. Star Girl was Star Girl, grew up in a house of colourful pokémon, strong friends and had the affections of every boy in town. The jealousy of every girl that wasn't fluffy little Bianca as well.
Hilbert was…
"Go get Monk checked up at Juniper's this morning, will you? And do the dishes before you go."
Well, Hilbert was one of those pebbles on the side of the road.
Giving a mumbling grunt of affirmation, he threw one of his pop tarts at the family darumaka and watched sleepily as the pokémon gobbled it up.
Just as well, Hilbert thought. The way his mum doted on the pokémon, Monk might as well be the third son of the family.
Professor Juniper's laboratory was all stylish Late-Modern Era architecture and warm orange roofs. It didn't look like a lab from the outside, and probably on purpose, too, so it didn't stick out like a sore thumb in the classic Unovan town. Labs of famous researchers tended to house rare and sophisticated pokémon, which in turn tended to attract thieves.
Which meant there was security, of course, but most people of some importance in Nuvema knew each other. It wasn't the first time Hilbert was taking Monk for his monthly check-up at the only pokémon medical facility in town, and he thought it sure as hell wouldn't be his last.
"Look, it's old man Jay, Monk. Wave. He might grant us the right to be spat upon at last."
Monk the darumaka chirped and cackled up at the old ranger who stood guard at the front entrance. Ranger Jay raised a craggy old eyebrow at the both of them, his scarred, ancient tyranitar basking restlessly in the sun behind him.
Jay was a grumpy old championship-tier trainer who'd fallen into the ranger occupation after his glory days. Even when Hilbert was little, it'd been obvious that he was old, as in old-old. Like, back when poké balls had screw-locks and needed charging, and Samuel Oak's name was blazing on newspaper headlines over the world as the hot and young World League Champion. Now he was just a weird old scholar.
Leaving the towering, hawk-like guard to look down on him, Hilbert hopped right over the electronics into the territory of Aurea Juniper, sitting down in front of the massive pokémon. He shook out a treat from his bag, humming a happy tune.
"Watch what you feed him, kid," Old Ranger Jay rasped. "Quartz is getting old. If there's any of that shitty processed meat in that, it's your head."
Quartz the tyranitar narrowed his eyes and sniffed at the meaty pie, nearly inhaling Hilbert's cap. He shared a look with his trainer and then shrugged his massive, scaled shoulders.
"Naw, mum's a health freak," Hilbert assured cheerily. "I'm pretty sure this meat was a part of a living, healthy nonmon just yesterday or something."
Jay snorted, but allowed Hilbert to unwrap the pie and offer it to Quartz.
"Shouldn't Quartz be retired or something then?"
The ranger gave a grunt that didn't sound like anything much. His tyranitar, instead, gave the far more appreciable and easily deciphered sound of enjoyment, nudging his shoulder roughly with his giant, battle-worn snout. Smiling, Hilbert took out the second and last piece of pie, splitting off some for Monk.
If it was old man Jay, however, he'd probably work until he was cold and dead. Quartz, too.
For some reason, Hilbert thought he didn't want to be around when that happened.
Professor Oak was the man to go to whenever pokémon were involved, but it was generally agreed among researchers that Professor Rowan was most senior. Most of his study was focused around evolution, a field that required time – and a godly amount of patience and concentration.
Aurea Juniper had grown up reading his papers and listening to his lectures more than any other scientist's. She'd done so when she'd tried her hand in training, gotten burnt and realised that it wasn't for her. She'd done so when she'd tried breeding and distribution management. She'd done so when she'd travelled the world, hitching rides in travelling trainer caravans as a nurse.
At the end of the day, discovering something new about a super-powered monster filled her heart more than raising them.
Which led to her current internal conflict. On one hand, the day when Professor Rowan asked for her assistance himself had come; a dream come true. On the other hand, it meant that she would have to relinquish the chance to personally study two of the most frustrating, evolution-tied breeds in Unova.
"Trainer's on his way, ma'am," said Derrick, a heavily built lab aid with a western drawl. "I sent his ID to your Xtransceiver."
Aurea gave a whimsical hum in response, absentmindedly switching her wrist-mount on.
Precious few trainers were granted the trust of top researchers, especially to transport Class Ten rarity pokémon. Incredibly fewer were in their teens, and even fewer were high school age. Whoever this Barry Pernula was, Professor Rowan had most likely scouted and groomed him from a young age. Cynthia had been one such trainer.
Or, like most boys who started young, he'd probably done something very foolhardy and stupid and had been lucky enough to get noticed. Baptism through fire. Heaven knew where Cheren had even gotten that purrloin when he was nine. If she recalled correctly, the Blacks' younger son had been a culprit-in-arms–
"Excuse me, my pokémon's due for a check-up today…"
Speak of the devil.
"Ah, Monk?" chirped one of her lab aids, Marissa. The pretty, energetic girl waved brightly at the darumaka. "Hello-hello!"
"Darrrruma~!" the pokémon flailed one of its stubby limbs back in glee.
"Haven't been feeding him sitrus steroids again, have you?" Aurea teased, brushing aside her fatigue.
The easygoing boy coloured, but laughed it off naturally. Not at all like Cheren, all uptight, shields up and proper (and not even the tiniest bit mysterious). It was frankly a breath of fresh air. Aurea had growing suspicions that the Hilda girl only kept him around for the smarts.
Oh, to be young, pretty and self-centred again.
"Well, he ate three of my pop tarts this morning, but I think he burnt off the sugar rush on some pidove in the garden."
"How barbarian," Aurea laughed. "I'll take him from here and see how much sugar you put in his poor bloodstream. You can stick with Derrick while you're waiting. Come, Marissa."
Derrick grunted.
"Don't touch anything," he said.
"You're an inspiration to all of us, Ricky."
"Whoa, who are they?" Hilbert asked a bespectacled, curly-haired lab aid, pointing at a transparent monster nest at the heart of a sprawl of machines.
Inside were two small pokémon enjoying the VIP security treatment. One quadruped, all bluish-black fur and long necked. The other looked like a fiery, white-haired larva.
The aid nervously shifted his glasses.
"Ah, uh, that's why we've got eyes here twenty-four-seven. There's a big name researcher in Sinnoh who requested for them."
"Huh, we allow pokémon to migrate to Sinnoh?" Hilbert blinked.
"No. Post-war regulations have relaxed, but don't expect garchomps and luxrays," he warned. "The Institute had to strangle with hundreds of big shots and lawyers in the League to get them cleared for strict research purposes."
"If it was a lesser researcher, it wouldn't have stood a patrat's shit of a chance of flying," a chain smoking aid remarked, running a hand through his hair. "Even Alder and Cynthia in all their saint-y whatsit would come down on your ass to see if you like sleeping with the basculin."
He kept staring, though – a deino and a larvesta! Most of Hilbert's generation had never seen the two pokémon before.
A larvesta was so incredibly rare that they were nearly extinct (even Alder couldn't use his volcarona in serious battles). Most trainers went through their entire lives not seeing one in person. It was the same for trainers many centuries back.
A deino was a different story. Most of the deino-line had been spent in the Union War – his grandfather's generation. The remorseless destructive urges the line suffered from contributed to their many losses, although in exchange for felling massive enemy numbers. Rumour had it that Drayden had lost his after it had taken down an entire air fleet, even through a multi-layered Fairy defence.
He drooled, already having shoved his face over the glass containment window.
The two pokémon stared back at him dispassionately.
His wide eyes sparkled back.
"Can I pet them?"
The aid put a hand on his shoulder.
"My man, do you want Professor Juniper to hate you?"
Hilbert giggled.
"I don't think I'll care once I get to pet them."
"This one's dangerous. I should call Jay."
"Must be his plan," another aid joined in. "He'll ask for Alder and Cynthia's autograph when they're busy interrogating him."
"'Is that your garchomp Miss Cynthia? I'd love to touch her fin!'"
"'I'd love to touch you as well while I'm at it!'"
"Man, you guys suck at jokes," Hilbert remarked, eyes deadpan.
"Oh, shut up, we've been up for days. You try keeping 'it' down when Juniper bends down for the tenth time in the day to adjust a pipe, grunting and moaning–"
Hilbert had no time to laugh, because at that precise moment, the ceiling of the lab – quite clearly and loudly – exploded.
Burning.
Juniper's lab was burning.
It was a sight that he would never forget so long as he lived. The once grand and pristine machinery lay in melted, twisted coils. Broken bodies of men and monsters littered the wreck. It would forever be engraved in his mind as a mark of determination. Survival.
And hatred.
Three pairs of eyes stared down at him, icy and unrepentant. He stared back, frightened and shocked, but unyielding.
In that moment, he made a promise to himself.
That when he was through with them, their presence would only be tolerated in hell.