The artificial lights shining over my head reminded me vaguely of the bright hospital lights back home. Hospitals weren't unknown to me – my parents worked in one, after all – but nothing about the Rocket center suggested healing. None of the trainers passing by had an amiable look to them, from their expressions to their wardrobes. The Rocket uniforms a few wore were a sooty shade of black coupled with aggressive red highlights, definitely not colors that inspired a sense of security.
On the far end of the entrance lay what I knew from my previous visit to be the main desk. The middle-aged lady controlling it didn't look up from her typing as I approached. The machamp looming behind her, however, wouldn't take its eyes off me. I pondered briefly as to whether or not it could detect my increased heartbeat or the sudden churning in my stomach, but decided that it didn't matter. The years of Unovan therapy had trained me not to panic at the sight of fighting types.
Like I was doing now.
Well, I wasn't really panicking, but it was huge and bulky and the brute had four goddamn arms...
"Can I help you, miss?" the lady snapped irritably. I nearly flinched, but kept myself steady. If there was one thing I couldn't do, it was show fear. Not that I was afraid or anything.
I crossed my arms and ignored the menacing glare coming from behind the witch. "Yeah," I replied. "I applied for a trainer's license and Team Rocket membership last week, you guys told me to return today...?" Realizing my stance radiated hostility, I allowed a confident smile to spread across my face. These people respected strong people, not trembling little girls.
She clicked her plastic fingernails against the desk. I recalled a documentary about charmeleons I'd watched in a pokemon biology class. In some regions filled with scorching hot caves, they would click their claws against the rocky walls to lure curious prey before ultimately roasting them alive. That was what she reminded me of, an underground chameleon wearing an obscene amount of makeup.
"This is Celadon City, dear. I don't memorize every new recruit who comes through here. You'll have to show me your forms so I can look up your files."
I wanted to throw a fit about her patronizing tone, but the presence of the machamp instantly crushed that idea. I still avoided looking at it. "I never got any forms back."
"Oh, really? Then I'm afraid that if you still wish to apply, you'll need to fill out the paperwork again." Her tone conveyed concern, but I detected a hint of malice. The charmeleon bitch was enjoying this! If it wasn't for that machamp, I would... Well, I wouldn't actually do anything, but I would still be pissed.
Machamp or not, however, becoming a trainer had been my dream ever since my parents steered me away from that path. I was so close already, there was no way a four-armed freak would get between me and my trainer's license. I was already sixteen, way past the normal training age.
And not to mention, if my aunt found out that I went against my parent's wishes after what happened...
No, this simply would not do. I wouldn't back down now. "Come on," I groaned. "I already spent an hour completing all that fucking paperwork, and now you want me to do it over again just because you screwed up?"
Instantly I regretted my words in case the machamp decided I was too much trouble and would be easier to handle when torn in half, but I wasn't damned to an early grave quite yet. As soon as the charmeleon lady's eyes narrowed, someone coughed behind me.
Though I had been bracing myself for something to go horribly wrong (likely involving that damned pokemon), I definitely didn't expect anything from behind and flinched despite myself. The desk lady hadn't seen his approach either; she appeared equally startled and immediately stood up whilst stammering.
"Ah! Brutus, sir! Mr. Kurosawa requested to see you once you arrived, and the -"
"Yes, I've taken care of that." I considered turning around to look at the mystery speaker. His name sounded ridiculous – I doubted that any parent would name their child that, so it must had been his trainer's name.
"You know," he continued. "While we're on the subject, I've heard that Mr. Kurosawa has been very displeased with your harassment of new trainers."
"Harassment?! I-"
"I could hear you all the way across the room, and unless you're insinuating that one of us has gone stupid, we both know you were lying to the girl." He sauntered next to me to lean against the desk, and I took a second to glance warily at him. Younger than I had expected, perhaps a few years older than me, he still cast an appearance menacing enough to make the machamp look away. Many powerful trainers were still only young adults, but it nonetheless unsettled me to see such a strong pokemon shy away from the trainer.
It would had been a terrible idea to continue staring, so I fixed my gaze down on the desk. Near the edge, I noted a smudge of something next to an empty plate which could have been ketchup, if not the blood of the machamp's last victim. Probably just ketchup, though.
"Really? Why don't we just ask her, then?" I felt the weight of three pairs of eyes and realized that I had zoned out when I should had been paying explicit attention. Whoops.
"Alright, fine! Look, kid, you'll need to go see Lionel West, he's in charge of the new people." She let out a dramatic sigh and examined her computer screen as if it suddenly fascinated her, but her indignation remained obvious. I had no idea how I would find this new person without directions or my forms (though, at this point I was beginning to suspect that there had been no needed forms to begin with), but once again the other trainer saved me.
Well, he more of startled me half to death by squeezing my shoulder, but it had the same outcome. "C'mon, then. I was heading that way anyway." He held on for only a few seconds, but the touch lingered long enough to feel the sheer strength in his grip. Why were great trainers always strong? It was like they worked out alongside their pokemon.
...maybe they did. I wasn't exactly an expert on the subject.
He led me down a series of uniform hallways that I surely would had gotten lost in on my own. "So, uh..." I had no idea what to say to someone who intimidated a machamp. "Thanks for that."
"No problem. We're not all like that, but her feathers are ruffled easily. Anyway, I had nothing better to do, I'm just waiting for the doctors to heal my crawdaunt." All of the menace in his voice had vanished, now he sounded almost cheerful.
I didn't mind crawdaunt, but I hoped I wouldn't get something like that for a starter. The pincers were just... weird. "You have a crawdaunt? Will it be okay?"
"Yeah, he'll be fine. We just got in a rougher fight than usual. You'll get in plenty of those, though. How long have you been training?"
"I haven't started yet," I admitted. "Parents made me stay in school until now. I was kind of hoping to get a starter here."
"Oh, really? Well, I'll tell West to give you one of the good ones. And come see me if you're still in the city by next week, I might even be able to throw a job your way." He sounded genuinely interested in me, which I figured to be beneficial. Even with a team like Rocket backing me up, I'd need allies for support.
Upon reaching a door with a small window, he didn't bother to knock before entering. "Hey, West! I've got someone applying for their license here!"
I followed. Facing us stood an older man holding a sandshrew. He wore a lab coat rather than an official Rocket uniform, but it was clear that he was someone important. "Hello Curtis," he greeted. "I was just testing this sandshrew. Did you know tha-"
Brutus – or Curtis – interrupted: "West." His tone retained its light quality while still being several shades darker than before. I couldn't tell if he was playing around or seriously threatening the professor.
"My apologies, Brutus. I'll just get this girl set up, then. I wasn't aware that you were so interested in our female recruits. I'll admit that-"
Once again he was interrupted. "I'll be leaving," Brutus growled. Without looking at me, he slammed the door hard enough to make the sandshrew hiss.
I coughed awkwardly. Had I done something wrong? Seeing my confusion, West chuckled. "Don't worry about him, it's practically one of my jobs to give him a hard time. He named himself after a damned Shakespeare play, after all! I'm Professor West."
Letting out a relieved breath, I introduced myself. My confidence swelled now that I felt secure.
The professor proceeded to type something into his computer. Presumably, he was looking at my files. The baby sandshrew mewled at me. I offered it a hand to sniff, then regretted it when it licked me with a tongue like sandpaper.
"You're already accepted, with all the benefits of a registered trainer. Just choose a name and I can give you a starter, if you want one, and your ID and pokedex."
I let the sandshrew have my fingers. "Name?"
"You know, your trainer's name. Or you could stick with your real name, but most new trainers like to start fresh."
A long respected tradition called for trainers to go by fierce nicknames rather than their actual names. Over time, laws had been passed to allow these to become secondary legal names of sorts. It made identifying trainers a lot easier as well as prevented bitter rivals from taking revenge on the other's family.
"Uh..." As much as I'd dreamed of training, I'd never considered the details. "I just want something simple."
"Right. Well, some gemstone names have recently become available." Which meant that the trainers with those nicknames had died.
"Like what, Sapphire? Come on, I'm not a prostitute!" And I refused to steal a dead trainer's nickname.
He found that incredibly amusing. "Fine, you have a point!" Pointing at the chain I wore, he asked, "You like silver?"
"I guess, but I don't want that name." I rubbed the dog tags together. They weren't something I wanted to discuss.
Typing something else, West replied, "Silver is already taken. I wanted to suggest Chrome. It's pretty, isn't it? And it's simple. People will remember you that way. Some very successful trainers named themselves after colors and metals, you know."
"Well..." I pulled my hand away from the sandshrew. It whined, but my fingers already felt sore. "At least it's not a Shakespeare character. I guess I could make it work..."
"Great! Your training ID card will start printing, but let's get you a starter. Have anything in mind?"
He ushered me into a side room. While appearing to be a closet from inside his office, it turned out to be spacious and packed to the ceiling with shelves full of pokeballs. Several other doors led into other rooms or hallways. I tried to pick up one of the pokeballs, but the heat radiating from it nearly burned my fingers.
"Ouch! I haven't given it much thought. Not a fan of fighting types, so none of those. I just don't want anything... I dunno, weak?"
Reaching up to rummage from a box on a higher shelf, West laughed. "Well, no one ever really wants a weak pokemon, now do they? You won't know until you train it. I once saw a badly trained scyther beaten by a little weedle. Power is about the trainer as much as it is about the pokemon. We don't give scyther to new trainers, but you get the idea."
I failed to imagine something as vicious as a scyther losing to a weedle. My heart beat heavier in my chest. What if I chose the strongest pokemon in the room, but it turned out weak because of me? I knew absolutely nothing about training, there was no way I could be like Brutus or one of those famous trainers.
"Keep in mind," West continued. "No one ever bothers to label these pokeballs, so it's sort of like a lottery."
"...you're joking, right?"
The only response I received was an amused snort. "This one feels like a water type. Let's see what it is!"
A bright flash filled the room, indicating that the pokeball was either of low quality or currently set to max brightness. Probably the former. I definitely didn't want a cheap pokeball, since a bright flash like that in the wild could potentially cause feral pokemon to maul you.
I had no time to dwell on pokeball quality, however, since the pokemon which plopped on the floor looked nowhere near happy. If anything, it wanted to murder everything in sight. Which meant me. The pissed off tentacool flailed its tentacles, smacking me in the gut multiple times. I dropped to my knees, wheezing from the excessive force, then realized with a jolt that I had a few seconds before it strangled me.
"West!" The damn maniac was still shifting through the box, not paying the slightest bit of attention to what he had unleashed! "Get this thing back inside! Shit!" With its tentacles wrapped around my neck, I focused on breathing rather than mindlessly shrieking. I tried to pull the slimy appendages away from my throat, but my actions enraged it further.
"Hm?" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw West finally taking an interest in the current events. He swiftly clicked a button on the pokeball, which enveloped the tentacool in a soft red glow before containing it. I gasped for breath, figuring that I had a new appreciation for life.
"Well, it's certainly strong. Want it?"
I glared at him. "What!? Are you kidding me?" My throat would be aching for days because of that thing, there was no way I would train it.
"It's still young! If it only took a few seconds to nearly strangle you to death, imagine how much damage it'll do to enemies when it grows!" He spoke lightly, as if it hadn't just attempted to kill me.
"Absolutely not!" I groaned. "Just... just find something that doesn't want to destroy me, okay?"
A few mutters about ungratefulness drifted across from room, but other than that he gave no reply. The next pokemon he released was a zubat that screeched so shrilly he dropped its pokeball. He dropped down to retrieve it and left me to fend for myself. Aiming for exposed skin, it swooped at me twice before West shot the pokeball's red beam at it. Even then, it managed to avoid the beam several times before attempting to dive at me again, at which point West managed to hit it with the light.
Thank Aceus I decided to wear a hoodie that day. Judging that it might be safe for the moment, I lowered the hood I had covered my head with, not even caring about the condition of my hair.
A natural optimist, West began to look through more pokeballs. "How about you pick one this time? Third one's the charm."
"What, because the two you picked were vicious monsters?" I snapped. Nonetheless, I was eager to choose a pokeball. I knelt down to examine one of the bottom shelves. My fingers swept across a messy row of dusty spheres. Most of them had different feels, ranging from a dry heat to dampness to a thin layer of ice, but none of them felt right.
Layers of dust settled on my fingertips as I searched, but none of the pokeballs struck me as particularly lucky. Behind me I could heard West moving to a different shelf. Higher up I found another pokeball iced over. I disregarded it, however, since I didn't want an ice type as a starter. Knowing my luck, it would freeze me in the middle of the night.
My attention turned to a different shelf. Another pokeball gave me a small shock. The next one unsettled me ever so slightly, making my skin crawl for whatever reason. I pushed them both to the side. This was difficult. I didn't want a starter that would be impossible to train.
I looked away and picked a pokeball at random. This one didn't give me any weird feelings. That wasn't a good thing. If a pokemon was truly meant for me, wouldn't I feel the connection? None of them were giving me a mystical feeling, though, so I didn't set the pokeball down. Maybe this was the one after all. I could sense West staring in my direction, waiting for me to release the pokemon.
With a heavy sigh, I put the pokeball back. After a second, it was back in my hands. "You won't know what it is until you open it," West reminded me. I knew he spoke the truth. Before my mind agreed to open it, my fingers pressed the button to release it.
I perceived the pokemon flashing into existence, but the low rattling that the pokeball produced caught my attention first. I blinked in confusion, but promptly came to realize that the sound originated from the ekans glowering at me on the other side of the room. Wrapped around a shelf pole, it looked to be nearly three feet long. Its slitted eyes were a deep shade of amber and filled with sharp intelligence, fitting for a snake. As if hypnotized, I returned its hostile gaze.
"Want it?" West questioned, but I barely heard him. The ekans opened its mouth in warning. The fangs certainly looked painful, but I didn't care. It wasn't trying to kill me! Sure, it was about to, but it had so far resisted the urge to brutally mutilate me. That was a good start.
Hearing my real name being called out, I glanced at West. He switched names: "Alright then, Chrome. This one looks clever enough, and it'll grow considerably if you feed it right. You won't know what special abilities it'll get until it evolves, but even if that doesn't work out it looks strong already."
Of course. An arbok had special abilities based on the patterns on its hood. There were six common patterns around Kanto, but other regions and countries had different patterns which signified various things. "It's way better than a stupid tentacool."
"He. Females have tiny rattles, but his is large."
"Right," I murmured. Cautiously walking towards the snake, I held out a hand. Trust issues could always be worked out later, but I wanted to at least be able to hold it. Despite my most sincere look, it hissed at me in increased volume. "C'mon, I'm not going to hurt you," I whispered.
"It probably won't take to you right away," West warned. "It's an ekans, not a jigglypuff."
I persisted, however, and continued to speak to it. "What, would you rather be trapped in this room for the rest of your life? I'm not here to hurt you, I just want to take care of you!" I retracted my hand when it snapped, nearly catching my fingers. As much as I wanted to pet it, those fangs were a bit too long for my liking.
West tremendously enjoyed the situation. "Kid, if the snake doesn't kill you, then I'm sure you'll survive!"
"Please stop."
"Why? This is hiss-terical!"
At least I knew the ekans possessed the intelligence to understand human speech, since it shot West an even nastier look than it had given me.
And while I had a sinking feeling that things were only going to get rougher, there was one important thing that I had achieved today.
"West, I'm a trainer now, right?"
"You have a single pokemon that won't even listen to you, but yeah. You are."
I wasn't a vapid student anymore. I was going to be Chrome, the fearsome Team Rocket trainer with her ferocious arbok.