Chapter Two - Unplanned
Closing the door behind me, I walked up a set of stairs, before turning into my apartment. It was neatly picked-up, just as I had left it.
My bed was made, the kitchen was as close as I could manage to get it to being spotless, and there wasn't a spec of dirt visible on my gray carpet.
Of course, I lived in a small place, so it wasn't hard to keep clean. And the blue walls really lightened the place up. But even with the lights on, it was abnormally dark for a time like this.
Peering through a blind with my finger tugged down, I looked outside. There were a lot of those Team Plasma guys out there.
I was safe, though, since I lived on the second floor of the building. It was doubtful that they'd decide to come through my doors.
And if they did? Eh . . . well, I'm sure I could worry about that later.
Working my way back to the one-seater I had in front of my television set, I plunked down on it, sinking in comfortably. For "cheap furniture," I sure was living well.
Hand on the remote to my TV, I pressed it on. It did turn on, but the screen stayed black. No stereotypical static or stuff like that, but just black.
Before I could get more into it, a loud clunk sounded from outside, causing me to jump in my seat. Quickly, I stood up and ran to my patio window, before opening it and looking outside.
There stood a good fifty or more—definitely more—of those Team Plasma people, seeming to surround my apartment from whatever direction they could. Since the roads were pretty limited, they were forced to line up behind one another as they converged on this one spot under my patio.
Continuous sounds of metal clanging and various footwork would go on, before I frowned and looked over to the space just down and left of my patio.
With this really long, light-green hair, and a black and white cap—not to mention a white shirt and some tan khakis—some young man stood in pose as those Plasma guys would take their turns in trying to attack him.
My brows came to furrow, as I was taking a minute to process the scene—since he was holding his own against so many people. Must've been a pretty good fighter. But he definitely wasn't winning.
"Hey! Leave the guy alone!" I shouted, banging my fist twice against the stone rail I leaned on.
A man in all-different decor—of Team Plasma, wearing a big cloak instead of a tight-fitting suit—looked at me, before shouting back, "We'll deal with your defiance after this man!"
Well, that looked like a pretty open invitation to me.
Kicking my legs up onto the side of my deck, I laid there for a second, before slowly rolling off and plummeting feet-first.
One of my feet caught onto a man's shoulder, who then proceeded to thunk to the ground since I wasn't very light. Whether he was knocked out or not wasn't really a concern, as I put my back up against the wall. It was much more crowded than I thought prior.
From the moshpit of clanging and yelling came a single aimed sword in my direction, to which I ducked under. I regained my footing up until another attack came my way, but instead of dodging, I pulled my sword half-way from its sheath, blocking it altogether. Repeatedly, the same weapon swung at me, before I leaned over and grabbed that blade, managing to yank it out of whomever's hand. Throwing that aside, my free-hand attached to the sword I owned, before slowly drawing it out and raising it.
Before continuing, visuals might be easier to imagine if I explain what that looks like, first. My sword was just a standard pseudo-longsword in that it was too long to be a short one, but too short to be a long one. Its handle was wrapped in leather, and long enough to fit two hands—though I barely did that.
It was a gift from my mom. Probably the only real cool thing I own.
So, with that gift I held, I proceeded to thrust it inward—into the hand of an unlucky Plasma grunt. She screamed and dropped her sword, which I caught, before turning around and jamming it into the leg of another person.
Following to a drawn-back stance with my blade at eye-level, I moved low and forward while cutting deeply into the haunch of another. I was in the middle of the crowd, now, keeping my movements as tight together as I possibly could. Switching in hands, I swung my sword upwards, slashing into the back of someone else.
Among the collection of people, I felt a sharp stab into my left leg. Following a pained noise, I arched my side outward and jut my blade into the arm of the individual. In no good space, I grabbed a person and threw myself back into the middle with that other person—the one with green hair.
I only caught a glimpse, but he was bleeding pretty badly from some part of his head. Panting and just trying to keep himself from getting killed—I would believe.
There wasn't much I had done, which meant I had to do something fast, or I might end up dead.
I saw the extended wrist of a man, thrusting his weapon forward to try and hit me—missing altogether. It wasn't something I really wanted to do, but decisively, I cut my sword upward from my side, severing his hand entirely.
He shouted in pain, but I kept moving on against these guys.
Following my sword's momentum, blood slipped off, before I took another swing, embedding my blade into the shoulder of another person. I yanked the weapon out of there, which left a sheet of fresh blood on the metal of the sword.
As all had continually tried to do, stabs and cuts would repeatedly come around, but too slow to really be hit by. These people had no space, which was good in my favor.
Yet again, I swung, slicing down the chest of an unguarded man's torso. And again, I attacked. And again. And again. And again.
And the more I did so, the more space I managed to take. Looking back, I noticed that the other guy was managing about as well as I had. Difference being that it looked like he had actually killed a few people.
I jut my head back into my direction, slowly cutting at the crowd with light movements and otherwise non-harming cuts or stabs.
It wasn't until a little after that I noticed that people were running off—slowly bringing more and more of the crowd with them. As they'd back up, they'd notice that there was no one behind them like before. So, repeatedly, they'd run off—away from here.
Up to the last person, I stood, stopping to stand in place as she realized she was the last one there. Similarly, she turned around and ran off.
I watched in that direction until I couldn't see anymore of those Team Plasma people, before taking the shirt under my sweatshirt and wiping off the bit of blood that collected on my sword. It slid back into place all the same, which left me to just stare.
A hand padded at my shoulder, causing me to jump and turn around.
That man with green hair . . . all I could really notice was that his eyes were alternating colors—one was red, and one was blue. I blinked and tilted my head over, watching him move his mouth with no sound.
He was definitely talking to me, but I couldn't hear anything. Everything was tuned out, which left me staring blankly to this man.
"Are you okay?" I first heard, my vision snapping back to the sound of his voice, and the gentle washing-over of the water right by my feet.
Slowly, I nodded, answering, "Yeah, are you?"
". . . I am, yes. Got cut up a bit . . . but I'm fine," he told.
Taking a moment to catch my breath, I turned away from him and sighed, looking out to the town.
"What was that all about?" I asked.
"My dad's trying to get me killed."
I frowned, questioning, "Your dad? Why?"
"He needed me for something, but now he doesn't, and I'm apparently a problem if left alive," he explained.
I looked to him, taking on a blank face as I couldn't really understand what he meant. Why would his dad do that to him?
"Oh, my dad's the leader of Team Plasma. Ghetsis."
"Ah . . . I guess that makes a bit more sense."
"Yeah. . . . But now that I'm still alive, I can't even take a minute to relax . . ." he muttered.
"Why not?"
"My dad—Ghetsis—he's going to destroy this island as a test for his new 'weapon'."
I stared, scrutinizing him with squinted eyes.
"None of what you're telling me makes sense," I stated.
He sighed and looked to his feet, kicking at the ground some.
"Look . . . my dad, Ghetsis, is the leader of Team Plasma. He's come to Alto Mare to test out his new weapon. That's why he's imposed 'Martial Law,' just in case someone else would decide to try and stop him from doing what he's doing. Plus, it would apparently keep all people inside and make it easier for him," he would follow to explain.
". . . Huh."
With my short reaction, he then turned around and began to run down the street.
"Hey, where're you going?" I loudly asked.
"I'm going to stop my father."
"W-well wait, stop!"
And so he did, turning around and looking at me as I made a slight jog up to him.
"What's this weapon he's planning to use?"
". . . That weapon is the legendary Pokémon, Groudon."
I wide-eyed at him, yet again eyeballing oddly. Though, with what's been happening . . . I guess it was believable to a degree. Even if it was the technical "god" of what everyone knows as ground. Even that was somewhat believable.
"Really?"
"Yes. He's going to destroy this island with that Pokémon. And after that, he might go after the major regions."
My look deviated to my feet, watching as I tapped the floor a few times.
"Well, I guess I'll help you, then."
"Wait, really?" he asked, surprised somewhat.
"Yeah. If what you're saying is true, then I should come since I don't really feel like dying today."
"O-okay! Then come on!" he commanded, before breaking into a sprint in the same direction he had. Similarly, I followed, running alongside him in the heavy clothes I had on. My eyes looked over to him, but he continued to look forward.
Thinking back on it, everything was pretty surreal. I was following this guy whose name I didn't even know, past the scene of what could be a potential dozens of dead men, and towards the threat of a "god."
Not what I planned to do on a normal Tuesday afternoon.