"Wow, you look like a Hariyama walked all over you."

Jonah looked over at the…his Hariyama. A small group of Chansey had clustered around the fighting type, appearing to debate the best method of removing the remains of the spear still embedded in his torso. While medical technology was advanced enough to heal most of the injuries Pokemon suffered without ever having to leave their Pokeballs, silly inconsequential things like embedded pieces of metal still required the attention of qualified medical personnel, even if said personnel were egg-shaped and pink. The bruised fighting type watched the spectacle occurring around him with befuddled interest. Jonah turned back to the nurse, who was busy applying various ointments to the large bruises covering his torso.

"You don't say," he replied in a tone that could have been used to anchor a cruise ship. It's not that Jonah didn't like the nurse, per se: she was amiable and clearly possessed of a berth of medical expertise, human or otherwise. It was more due to the fact that she was one of those people who could breathlessly talk for hours about the ligaments in a knee and how amazing they were at enabling locomotion but was unable to see the connections in a four-piece jigsaw puzzle. On a certain level this was a relief: she wasn't particularly concerned with why a Hariyama had a knife stuck in its gut and why a Gardevoir sporting a bullet wound had both come into the Pokemon center on the same day, which meant that there was no need to answer awkward questions that at some point would have probably involved the police.

"All done," the nurse said, finishing up the last of the bandages on Jonah's torso, "now if you'll excuse me, I need to check on how your friend's Gardevoir is doing." The nurse walked past a Chansey coming into the room carrying a footstool and a pair of pliers.

Jonah sat back and watched as the group of egg Pokemon formed a line behind the Chansey with the pliers, the latter who had clamped down on the piece of the blade that had somehow survived the fall still lodged in the Hariyama and begun to pull. He admired the fighting type's resilience as the Chansey began to heave-ho as a group, grunting with communal effort: if it was painful the Hariyama wasn't showing it.

Your first Pokemon.

The thought echoed around in his head as he watched the Chansey go to work. The very concept that he had taken for granted nearly all his life suddenly seemed patently absurd: he now "owned" a Pokemon who could tear him in half if the mood struck him, and yet ever since he had worked up the courage to release the Hariyama from his Pokeball for treatment the fighting type had made no indication that it wished to do so, despite having every reason to the contrary. Jonah realized that his only real control over the quarter-ton Pokemon was a device that had become so cheap to manufacture that it was sold in supermarkets by the tabloids. It was not a comforting thought.

The line of Chansey tumbled over like a line of oblong dominoes as the knife blade finally gave way, causing the Hariyama to grunt as its wound began to bleed. The Chansey quickly clambered to their feet and ran to get something for their charge, nearly bowling over Caroline and Syl as they rushed out the door and down the hallway chattering noisily. Caroline and Syl watched them go with a bemused look before coming inside the room and closing the door behind them. Whatever the nurse's flaws, she had done a bang up job on Syl: her skills plus modern medical technology had healed Syl to the point that it was impossible to determine that she had ever been shot in the first place.

"So, how are you two doing?" Caroline asked.

"I've been worse," Jonah said, lifting his shirt to show Caroline his bandages. Hariyama grunted what Jonah assumed was an affirmation.

"Hey Caroline," Jonah asked carefully, "that thing we talked about in the forest…can we do it now?" Jonah stared at her as she tried to remember what he was talking about: it had been a hectic 48 hours, and it took a moment for Caroline to realize what he was asking for.

"I don't see why not," she said. "Is there any reason you want to do it right now?"

"I have a question I'd like to ask." Jonah's eyes briefly flickered at the Hariyama, and then returned to Caroline.

Caroline nodded. "Fine by me, I guess. Syl, are you up for it?"

Yes. The psychic type suddenly winked out of existence, and reappeared uncomfortably close in Jonah's personal space. She leaned in closely, just in case any had survived her initial intrusion. Look me in the eyes, she commanded.

Jonah's remark about how her eyes took up nearly half her face and thus would have been hard to miss was suddenly snuffed out as the psychic type's eyes began to glow…

And then it was over. Syl vanished and reappeared beside her trainer. Jonah blinked. He didn't feel any different.

"So, that's it?" Jonah asked.

"Yep," Caroline replied.

Were you expecting a trip down your psyche, perhaps? Syl asked. Being forced to face your inner demons, that sort of thing?

"Well, yeah."

Syl's look indicated Jonah had guessed wrong. It's a psychic technique, not performance art, she said with a tinge of disdain.

"Well, did you have to be so close to me to do it? I mean, you lift things with your mind, couldn't you have done it from where you are?"

I have some sense of presentation.

"Excuse me, Lady Caroline," a rumbling voice cut in, "could you explain to me what that was all about?" It took Jonah a moment to realize that it was the Hariyama's voice.

"Hey, I understand you!" Jonah said. His Hariyama turned to look at him.

"You did not before, sir?"

"No…wait, did you think I could?"

The fighting type looked lost. "But she understands me," he said, gesturing to Caroline.

"Few people can," Caroline replied, and then added, "you haven't met many humans before, have you?"

"Besides you, one other time when a human tried to fight me with a Caterpie. Does he count?" Hariyama asked.

Caroline thought it over, then said, "Did he try to talk to you?"

"I am not sure. He did yell at me very loudly for what I did to his Pokemon, but I am not sure that he wished to engage in conversation."

"I don't think that counts, th-"

The conversation was interrupted by voices that struck Jonah's ears as sugar cubes with razor blades inserted in them being dragged across a chalkboard. The group of Chansey that had been in the room minutes before came bursting back in, nearly trampling Caroline and Syl in their haste.

"Excuse us!"

"I have the bandages!"

"No fair, you got to do it last time!"

"But it's my turn!"

"How about we all bandage him up together?"

"Okay!"

"Great!"

"There's no 'I' in 'team'!"

"But there's a 'team' in 'team'!"

"Wow, you're right!"

"We're being helpful!"

"Yay!" the Chansey all cheered in unison as the got to work on bandaging up the Hariyama with nearly commando-level efficiency.

"Pass it over here!"

"Does anyone have the rubbing alcohol?"

"I do!"

"Be nice, wrap it twice!"

"And we're done!"

"Another job well done!"

"We're helpful!"

"Hooray!"

The group of Chansey charged out the door as quickly as they came, a pink tornado less occupied with tossing trailers and livestock about and more occupied with finding its next sugar rush. Caroline and Syl had the presence of mind to be well out of the way this time. Jonah rubbed his forehead.

"I think I was happier when I didn't know what they were saying," he said.

Caroline sighed. "Chansey are not…uh…the brightest Pokemon," she said as charitably as she could, "but their hearts are in the right place. That's something, isn't it?" Jonah shrugged and turned to his Hariyama.

"You have a name, right?" he asked. The Hariyama nodded.

"My mother called me Hachiman," the fighting type replied, "but I have not been called that name in many years. I lived alone until you came, sir."

"'Hachiman' works for me," Jonah replied. "I also have something I want to ask you."

"I am at your command, sir."

"That."

"What, sir?"

"The whole 'sir' thing. Why do you think I command you?"

Hachiman looked confused. "You are a Pokemon trainer and I am a Pokemon. You have defeated me in battle and therefore I am honor bound to follow you."

Jonah's looked at the fighting type in disbelief. "And that's it?"

Hachiman began to wonder if this was a trick question. "Is another reason required, sir?"

Jonah sagged. "No, I guess not."

The nurse popped her head in the doorway, once again demonstrating the ability of medical professionals to instinctively interrupt important conversations. "Oh, the Chansey are already done?" This despite the fact that the Chansey had used enough bandages on Hariyama to wrap half of the Egyptian pharaohs.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll need your Hariyama returned to the Pokeball in order to finish recovery," she said. A minute later she was walking towards her office, Hachiman's Pokeball in tow. The trainers and Gardevoir watched her go.

"Hey Jonah."

"Hm?"

"Why do I feel like we've forgotten something?"


"Urgh."

Raticlaw was finally coming out of his paralysis-induced unconsciousness. The rat Pokemon got up slowly, working out the stiffness in his limbs.

"Jesus, laid low by a goddamn Oddish," he grumbled to no one in particular as he became aware of his surroundings. He realized that he had woken up in a copse of trees and unidentifiable underbrush, a small island of greenery making its futile last stand against the overwhelming yellowish brown of the grass covering most of the hills. He also realized that he was alone.

"Son of a bitch, the fuckers left me behind!" Raticlaw's diatribe continued in its unprintable form for several minutes until his stomach alerted him that, yes, while it was important to vent that he should also pay attention to what his nose was telling him.

Raticlaw carefully crept through the copse and peered out. A highway lazily snaked through the valley below, carrying a small flow of cars on their way to destinations unknown. A small town grew around the highway like a tumor, apparently having originated as a single fast food restaurant that builders had obviously felt required a significant local infrastructure for support. The smell of grease and burning meat assailed Raticlaw's sensitive nostrils, even from so far away.

Raticlaw looked up at the sky. The sun was descending behind the mountains, signaling the end of another day. Suddenly, a small Rattata with bat wings appeared, clinging easily behind Raticlaw's right ear.

"Don't be a pussy," the Rattata hissed, grinning as far as a rodent is capable of grinning, "it's easy food and it'll be dark soon. What's to lose?"

There was a moment of silence, as if Raticlaw was waiting for something.

"Aren't there supposed to be two of you?" Raticlaw finally asked.

The Rattata's laugh came out as an obnoxious, high-pitched squeaking. "You, having a good side? Nah, I have to pull double duty."

"I saved those kids, didn't I?"

"Whatever Mr. Hero, don't act like I didn't hear you just now. You'll never get into the Justice League with such a potty mouth you know."

In one quick motion Raticlaw reached above his head, plucked the witless Rattata by its tail and dangled it in front of his face. "Okay you obnoxious little freeloader, you have five seconds to explain why you're here before I remove you with extreme prejudice."

The Rattata looked thoughtful rather than threatened. "Well, as long as I can remember I've been mucking around in your subconscious. You think you got it bad? You've never lived inside your own head and it is fuckin' nasty in there." The figment sniffed in disdain.

Raticlaw glowered. "Piss off."

"Hey, it's not like I had any choice in the matter."

"If you don't answer my question you won't have to anymore. You'll also be in several pieces."

The Rattata continued to look unphased by Raticlaw's posturing, likely because The Idiot's Guide to Tough Talking was one of its favorite books in the prefrontal cortex. "Okay, okay. If I had to guess it's probably because you're still, how shall we say, 'tripping balls' off of the Stun Spore."

"So I'm stuck with you until it wears off?"

"Yep!" the Rattata chirped happily. Raticlaw grumbled and tossed the smaller rat back onto his head before setting off towards the town below.

"Wow, you're finally listening to me!"

"Yeah," Raticlaw replied flatly, "and if I keep listening to you maybe I'll be able to find a bottle of booze so I can drink you out of existence."


"He's a pretty impressive specimen, you know."

Jonah took a moment off of counting the floor tiles to look at the nurse. "Hm?"

The pair were sitting in the nurse's office, a room so whitewashed, orderly and sterilized that bacteria couldn't have taken it without military organization and possibly heavy artillery. Hachiman's Pokeball sat on a nearby healing pad, humming quietly as energy was transferred to mend the fighting type's wounds. The nurse seemed too engrossed in watching her computer monitor to pay much visual attention to her human charge, and Jonah leaned back in his chair, waiting for the seemingly interminable healing process to end. He wasn't sure why he hadn't gone with Caroline to take care of Raticlaw instead of sitting around twiddling his thumbs: his best guess was misplaced obligation to watch over his new Pokemon. Not that the sumo Pokemon would have really needed his help in the off chance that the fecal matter had hit the rotary airflow device.

"Your Hariyama, sir," the nurse said with no tinge of reproach. "Most Hariyama stand about seven foot seven and weigh 559 pounds on average."

"And?"

"Your Hariyama is about eight feet tall and weighs over 600 pounds!" the nurse said with far more excitement than Jonah felt the situation warranted. "How did you find such an amazing creature?"

"Uh…let's just say he fell into my life," Jonah replied. Well, it wasn't exactly a lie, he thought silently to himself.

"And I take it you got him from someone close to you?"

"Sure, you could say that." Jonah shifted nervously. She wasn't actually realizing that something was amiss, was she?

"That explains why you're not in the system then?"

"The system?" Jonah asked with some trepidation.

"You're not registered with the NPL," the nurse clarified, unaware that Jonah suddenly visibly relaxed, "you said you were going to compete in the league, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, normally you're registered with the league when you get your starter," the nurse continued, "but I can register you here if you like." The nurse stopped typing for a moment. "Speaking of which, I think your girlfriend needs to register as well. I guess I'll have to ask her when she gets back."

Jonah was caught off guard, until he put two and two together. "Uh, she's not my girlfriend."

The nurse stopped what she was doing and gave him a conspiratorial wink that suddenly made him ill at ease. "You can be honest with me, dear. I was a trainer when I was your age too you know."

Jonah had a sense that he knew where this was going, and against all reason decided to continue anyway. "…and?"

"Oh come on. Out on your own, no adults for miles and miles? I met a boy while I was traveling…" the nurse began to stare off into the distance with hazy eyes as she continued to ramble, "handsome, tall, built like a Machoke…my first kiss, the way his hand cupped my-"

Jonah's mind was racing full speed, imagining the nurse in front of him and a man in flagrante delicto. It was less successful at imagining the nurse being three decades younger, much to his horror.

"Please stop," he groaned weakly.

"…and put his hand in my-" the nurse continued oblivious, now completely lost in her own memories. Jonah put his head in his hands.

"Why me?"


"Raticlaw, where are you?" Caroline called out. She and Jonah had decided to leave Raticlaw in the copse before heading into town to see to their own Pokemon and find medicine for the rat Pokemon. Things were currently not going according to plan.

"Any luck?" she asked Syl.

Syl shook her head. No, he's not here.

"Are you sure you didn't miss him?"

You don't "miss" a mental presence like that, Syl said firmly. Yes, even more obvious than a Rhydon covered in Christmas lights playing the drums, Syl added, reading Caroline's thoughts. Doesn't look like something bad happened to him though. You don't think he…

It was Caroline's turn to finish the psychic's thoughts. "Why not? He's a rat, it's not like he's going to be a picky eater. She began to walk back down towards the town, and Syl followed behind her obediently. "Come on, let's go get something to eat."

Are you sure, Carol? Syl asked. Shouldn't we try to find him first? She heard the rumbling of her own stomach and tried her best to ignore it.

Caroline shook her head. "He can take care of himself. And if he's doing what I think he's doing, we're bound to run into him eventually."


The nurse smiled and handed Hachiman's Pokeball back to Jonah. "All done! Your Hariyama is fit and fighting ready."

Jonah accepted the Pokeball, now filled with more knowledge than he would have cared to know than when he had given it to the nurse an hour and a half ago. "Thanks," he said with the little enthusiasm as he could muster. He turned to leave.

"Have you had any trouble feeding him?" the nurse asked him as he began to pass through the doorway. Jonah stopped and turned to her.

"No, why?"

"Oh, so finding him enough to eat hasn't been an issue?"

"Not really," Jonah said. "But, let's just say…hypothetically speaking of course…how much does a Hariyama eat?"

The nurse sat back in her chair a moment, eyes flickering as if reading through some mental archive. "Well, the rule of thumb for Hariyama is that they eat roughly five times that of a normal person daily."

Jonah nearly choked on his own surprise. "Five times?"

The nurse nodded. "That's just for your average Hariyama, though. Yours probably eats around six times, right?"

Had the nurse been more observant, she would have been able to almost literally see Jonah's heart sink down into his feet. "Yeah, probably."

"Well, so long as you aren't having any problems," the nurse continued. "See you in the morning, dear."

"Yeah, good night," Jonah said darkly. He walked out of the nurse's office, out through the Pokemon center's doors and out into the cool night air. The National Pokemon League had established such centers across the country to serve both as veterinary centers for Pokemon and as hostels for Pokemon trainers, and many were staffed by ex-trainers-cum-nurses who were believers in the cause and a retinue of Chansey who felt that a sufficient level of enthusiasm was an adequate replacement for a sufficient level of competence. All of this sounds rather noble until one learns that the centers were partly established by the NPL as a PR move to convince the public that Pokemon battles were a respectable sporting event for the whole family and not overglorified cockfighting for uneducated hicks (although said hicks still made up a healthy portion of the league's revenue).

And more pressing for Jonah, they didn't offer free meals. He was starting to wish he could have mowed more lawns before setting out on his journey, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He looked down at the Pokeball in his hands and lifted it into the air.

"Hachiman, come on out," he said. The ball opened as a jagged beam of light erupted from the center and coalesced into the Hariyama. It turned to Jonah and began to speak in its rumbling tone.

"Sorry Hachiman," Jonah interrupted, "I can't understand you if Syl's not around."

Hachiman looked down at his feet apologetically.

"Don't worry about it," Jonah continued, "we'll learn to play it by ear, alright? You up for some grub?"

Hachiman cocked his head at him.

"Food," Jonah clarified. Hachiman began to speak, stopped, and nodded instead.

"Well, come on then." Jonah began to walk off towards the center of town, and felt a steady beat of slight tremors as Hachiman followed behind. Jonah's mind began to wander as he walked.


The problem is that you're looking at it from a humanocentric view, Syl said.

"What the Hell does that mean?" Jonah asked. The nurse had just taken Hachiman for healing, and Caroline had decided to slip out to ask the woman if she had any medicine for paralysis. Syl had begun to follow, but had sensed Jonah's uncertainty and had decided to stay behind to answer the question she had seen coming.

Syl sighed. Look at it this way. Let's say you were to describe me: you'd give me qualities that you use to describe humans, yes?

"Yeah."

But you would not say that I am human.

"Of course." Jonah rubbed his temples. "Are you going somewhere with this?" He avoided her glare.

Simply put, she continued, you see the world through human eyes and view it in human terms. You accept that your Pokemon is not human but yet you are surprised that he does not see the world in the same light as you do.

"Syl, you're making my head hurt."

Would a human have sat in the middle of a path for days just to pick a fight?

"How crazy are we talking here?"

You think it's crazy. To a fighting Pokemon it's not. To humans, a Tyrogue taking on Pokemon that it has no chance against is pure insanity, but to fighting Pokemon doing so is a demonstration of courage and drive to improve. In short, an embodiment of the fighting spirit.

"So you're saying that Hachiman sees me as a Tyrogue."

Syl considered this. In a sense. He has a deep amount of respect for you, you know.

"How do you know that?"

Being psychic helps.

"Oh, right."

Fighting types value courage and strength above all others. Having challenged him to battle you proved the former, having beaten him you proved the latter. That's all the reasons he needs to follow you into the mouth of Hell itself.

"But I didn't beat him, you made him trip!"

Syl gave him an innocent look. Why, I don't know what you're talking about.

"Yes you did!"

Are you calling me a liar? A sudden mental sensation washed over Jonah. Had he known of phrase at the time he might have described the feeling as "plausible deniability."

"Whatever," he said, dropping the subject. "So you're saying that the only thing stopping my Pokemon from ripping me in two is respect."

That's the short of it, yes.

"That doesn't make me feel a lot better."

Why? Did you really think there was more to trainers controlling their Pokemon than that? I could be "free" in seconds if I wanted to be. What do you think stays my hand?

"The power of friendship?"

You said that to be sardonic, but correct nonetheless.

"But why would he give up his freedom to follow me, of all people?"

What did I just tell you about humanocentrism?

Jonah stared at her to see if she was joking. She wasn't. "How is the idea of freedom humanocentric?"

You see it as enslaving a sentient being. Hachiman sees it as a guarantee that he will find battle and grow stronger.

"But…"

The people who have the most idealistic view of living "wild and free" are the ones that have never done it. Look at it from a Pokemon's perspective: they can either live a "free" life, uncertain when their next meal is coming or that death is just around the corner, or they can become a trainer's Pokemon, be guaranteed steady meals and fights that are for fun and not life-or-death. What would you choose?

"But why would he choose to follow me? I don't even know what I'm doing!"

And he's out of his depth as well. I guess you'll both have to learn together then, yes?


A finger thicker than his neck tapping him on the head brought Jonah out of his thoughts. He turned back to Hachiman, who gestured towards a nearby alley. Growling and clanging metal could be heard echoing in the darkness. Jonah peered into the murky blackness for a moment and turned back to see Hachiman patiently waiting for orders. He realized that Hachiman was not going to be able to fit into the alleyway, which meant that he was on his own barring being able to outrun whatever it was in the darkness. Jonah would have simply ignored the noise and continued to walk on, but the weight of his Hariyama's expectations hung over his head, and he became aware of how easy it would currently be for the line holding them up to snap.

"This is my garbage can you mangy fleabag! Get the fuck out!" Jonah jerked as he recognized the voice.

"Hachiman, stay here," he ordered, and the fighting type nodded in confirmation. He dived into the alleyway. "Raticlaw, is that you?"

"What the Hell are you doing here ki-" the voice was suddenly cut off by a gurgling scream followed by, "you little son of a bitch!"

Jonah hurried to reach the source of the sound. What greeted him when he got there was Raticlaw, an overturned garbage can, and a mangy-looking Growlithe whose very appearance suggested "stray". Jonah could see where the fire Pokemon had singed a small patch of fur off of Raticlaw's torso, but it was an injury that was more angering to the rat than painful.

"Raticlaw, what the Hell are you doing?" Jonah asked.

"What the Hell am I doing? What the Hell were you doing leaving me behind? I oughta gut you like a fish!"

"We didn't think you wanted to be brought into town!" Jonah replied angrily, "Caroline just left the Pokemon center a while ago to take care of you!"

"That…" Raticlaw began, "is actually a good point." Realizing he was losing the initiative, he redoubled his efforts. "Damnit, you're not allowed to be right when I'm pissed!"

"Why are you picking a fight with a stray over the garbage?" Jonah asked. Said stray was watching the fight between man and rat, confused as to what was going on and how it had gotten involved in this whole mess.

"Because it's my garbage! I got here first, and if Sparky here thinks he can take it from me he can get to know 'Sin' and 'Punishment' personally." Raticlaw held up his clawed forelimbs for emphasis.

"We'll buy you something to eat, for God's sake," Jonah said with exasperation, "just stop fighting! You're going to get found out if you keep this racket up!"

Raticlaw's stare belied his sudden burst of rage. "Oh I see how it is. 'Mean old Raticlaw is picking on poor Fluffy Wuffy, and only I, City Brat McAssface, can save the day.' Well piss off you obnoxious little jizzstain, I guess I'll go find another garbage can and leave the little puppy alone so as not to wound your bleeding heart." He began to walk off muttering, "I can't believe I risked my damn life for you."

"That's not what I-" Jonah began, but it was too late. Raticlaw had scampered up a nearby wall and was already gone. He looked down at the Growlithe, who whimpered. Jonah tried to avoid the mesmerizing gaze of its puppy-dog eyes and failed.

"I'm already feeding six, what's one more?" Jonah conceded in defeat as he wandered out of the alleyway, Growlithe wagging its tail happily as it came up behind. Hachiman gave him a questioning look as he emerged from the alleyway.

"Don't ask," Jonah said as he began to consider how he was going to feed both Pokemon without bankrupting himself. He looked up at a lighted sign nearby, and suddenly inspiration struck.


The manager leaned back in his chair, watching his employee's nervous expression. The new kid hadn't even been employed a week and already there was trouble. "I want you to run that by me again."

The employee began to speak without stopping for breath. "So I was working at the front when this kid came in and asked for a table for three and he was all alone so I asked him if the others were coming and he said yeah, so I went ahead and charged him for three and then two Pokemon come out of their balls and I tell him that we don't open the buffet for Pokemon and then he said that he paid for three and that I didn't say that the customers had to be human and that since we don't offer refunds we had to serve them and then…"

The buffet manager held up a hand, stopping the employee in his rhetorical tracks. "So you're telling me that you fell for the oldest trick in the Pokemon trainer book."

The employee shifted uncomfortably. "Yes sir."

"Well, I guess I'll have to handle this then," the manager said, climbing out of his office chair. "You do realize that this is coming out of your paycheck?"

If dictionary makers ever needed a picture to go with the definition of "crestfallen," they would have been hard-pressed to do better than capturing the employee's expression. "Yes sir."

The manager strode out of his office, into the restaurant, and face to face with a Hariyama who had decided to forgo the formality of using a plate and had instead decided to grab an entire ham from the buffet table. Since the manager was stocky and short and the Hariyama was stocky and tall he was "face to face" with the Pokemon only in the figurative sense.

"Now look here," he began, and suddenly felt his conviction waver as the Hariyama turned its gaze to him. Survival instincts hurried to remind him that coming between a Hariyama and its food was roughly as intelligent as coming between a mother Ursaring and her cubs. A trainer, apparently the Hariyama's master, looked over from a nearby table with a Growlithe busying itself with licking some plates clean.

"Excuse me, is there a problem?" the trainer asked with an innocent voice that suggested anything but. The Hariyama continued to stare down at him with its distinctive glare, as if challenging the man to take back the ham already cradled in his massive fists.

The manager calculated how many smoked hams his life was worth, and decided to be conservative with his estimate. "…no, have a nice evening," he said weakly, and beat a hasty retreat back to his office. The employee was still inside, waiting expectantly.

"Did you take care of it, sir?" the employee asked.

"Sure, sure," the manager said hurriedly. "Don't you have something to do? I spilled something on my pants and I'd like to change them if you don't mind."


In an alleyway dumpster elsewhere in town, a certain rat was busy drowning his sorrows in flat soda, half-eaten hamburgers and rotten fruit.

Raticlaw stared at a half-eaten apple in his hand as if trying to project his anger and despair onto the fruit. He wasn't very successful. "It's bullshit how nobody respects me," he muttered, before unceremoniously tossing the entire fruit into his mouth.

The Rattata watched Raticlaw intently, having somehow managed to acquire a leather chair, pencil and pad of paper designed for someone a foot and a half tall. He scribbled on the pad energetically.

"I think," the Rattata said, chewing on the eraser, "it all has something to do with wanting to have sex with your mother."

Raticlaw stopped in mid-chew. "Whuf doff dat haff to do wiff anyfing?"

"I dunno," the Rattata said, "but according to humans it's important or something. Freddyian, I think."

Raticlaw swallowed. "I hate you, you know."

"And I hate you too," the Rattata said bluntly, continuing to scribble on the pad, "and I am you…well, a part of you…so it turns out you hate yourself! Pretty deep, huh?"

"Fascinating. What are you writing on that thing? Some notes for to keep track of your 'deep' thoughts?"

The Rattata looked up, puzzled. "Notes? Nah, I'm drawing a picture of a Ditto doing its impression of a tangle of wires. Wanna see?"

"No thanks."

"Your loss, then."

A sudden commotion outside the dumpster cut the pair's conversation short.

"I'm not playin' around wit' you! Gimme your goddamn purse!"

A voice Raticlaw recognized as elderly cried out as the sound of flesh hitting flesh reached his ears. The Rattata walked by him on his hind legs, pad in paw and continuing to chew on his eraser thoughtfully.

"You know, an outlet for aggression is good for long-term mental health," the Rattata said.

"First thing you've said that I agree with," Raticlaw replied, before kicking the top of the dumpster open. He peaked his head out and saw a gangster holding an old woman by the collar of her dress, both wearing the same expression of surprise. Raticlaw noticed a growing bruise on one of the woman's cheeks.

Raticlaw grinned wickedly. "You caught me in a bad mood, punk."

"Who're you callin' a punk!?" the thug yelled as he let go of the woman. Temporarily forgotten, the old woman took advantage of the distraction to make for the street as fast as her aging legs could take her. Raticlaw watched as the man reached for a pistol tucked into his belt. He leapt out of the dumpster screaming, claws bared and ready.