Wolf Stanislaus was born in Lavender Town to a young woman named Bonnie Stanislaus. He never knew who his father was, and neither did she; it was one of the hazards of a lifestyle like hers. Another one of the hazards was being murdered in the night—and she was, when Wolf was five. And so, just a child, he was left alone in the world, to wander the streets.

It was some time after that he first ran into a Rocket grunt. She was a young woman with a sympathetic streak, who hadn't been a Rocket for very long, herself. She found him on the street, begging and felt sorry for the dirty little street urchin. "Hi," she said, kneeling next to him. "What's your name?"

"Wolfie," he said shyly.

"Where's your momma, Wolfie?" she asked softly.

Too young to understand death, Stanislaus just couldn't say. The Rocket guessed what had happened though. "You're all alone?" she asked. Stanislaus nodded. "Aw, you poor little thing. …would you like to come with me, Wolfie?"

He nodded and she held out her hand to him. "My name's Sevim," she told him. "I'm going to take you to see some nice people, okay?"

"Okay," said the little boy, taking her hand. She led him along, toward Celadon city.

"Do you like pokemon, Wolfie?" asked Sevim as they walked.

Already he was warming up to her;—she had a very kind, round face and large expressive eyes, and every word she spoke was soft and welcoming. "Yeah," said Stanislaus, nodding. "I wanna—I wanna be a trainer."

She smiled. "What's your favorite pokemon?" she asked.

"I like kangaskhan," he told her.

"That's a good pokemon," she said. "They have all sorts of pokemon where I live. Do you know what I do, Wolfie?" He shook his head. "I work for Team Rocket."

"Team Rocket?"

Nodding, she explained, "We go around and make friends with all sorts of pokemon. We get to travel with them, and help save them from people that don't know how to treat them right. Does that sound nice, Wolfie?"

Stanislaus nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I like pokemon. Can I be in it, too?"

"I don't see why not," said Sevim.

And, indeed, when they reached the Celadon base and Sevim spoke to her superior about the boy, he was let into the organization to be trained and indoctrinated. He was given a rattata, Orla, whom he trained diligently within the Team Rocket base for many years, alongside a few other wild children who had been brought into the organization and—occasionally—beside the leader's own son. By age ten, he was a full-fledged Rocket grunt, and was finally allowed to work with the other Rockets, outside of the hide out.

It was a good life for him. Better than he could have otherwise hopped for. And yet, there was something extremely empty about it—something isolated and lonely. He rarely saw the other children outside of training and so, for all purposes, his only friend for many years was Sevim. When he was finally a grunt, they often went out on assignments together, which was nice. Still, however, it seemed to Stanislaus that he was somehow hollow.

"You always look so down," Sevim would tell him. "Cheer up. You're young; you have so much of life ahead of you." She'd kiss him softly on the head, and he couldn't help but smile. She always smelt of flowers. Long after she was gone, Stanislaus would think of her when he was sad and alone, and be absolutely convinced that the smell of flowers was in the air.

It was on one of these days—one of those sad, lonely days long after Sevim was gone, when the scent of flowers was heavy about him—that Stanislaus returned to Lavender Town, now eighteen years old. He walked the streets he had begged on as a child, his hands tucked into his pockets, his trusty raticate Orla behind him. He sighed and Orla brushed against his leg, trying to cheer him up. "I'm alright," he told her, rubbing her behind the ears. He turned his face toward the mountainous path north of the little town. "We're supposed to check the power plant, right?"

"Rati," said Orla, nodding.

As they headed toward the mountainous path, a young man slouched over against the wall of the Pokemon Tower caught Stanislaus' eye. The kid—not much younger than himself, really—was huddled with a fainted sandshrew in his arms, crying silently. He was a handsome youth, Stanislaus thought—a straight nose, curly auburn hair, full lips—and he thought the tears only served to make him more handsome. Stanislaus watched him for a few minutes. He was not a man easily moved to sympathy; as much as he had loved Sevim, he was not like her. Indeed, he might have just walked on and forgot all about the young man, crying and griping his fainted sandshrew, and never thought about it for even a second the rest of his life.

He might have. But on this particular occasion, he did not.

Instead, Wolf Stanislaus approached the youth, hands in his pockets. "Hey," he said, and the young man looked up, rubbing the tears away. His clothing was dirty and tattered and covered in mud. "Looks like your pokemon's knocked out, huh?"

"Y-yeah," said the boy, holding tighter onto his pokemon.

"You're not from here, right?"

"No…"

"Are you crying because your pokemon fainted and you can't find the pokemon center?"

He shook his head. "N-no, that's not it," he told the Rocket Grunt. "I—I guess that's part of it, but no. I'm… I left home and I thought I could do this and I can't and I'm an awful trainer and I've let my pokemon down and I just can't go back I just can't I just—"

"Hey," said Stanislaus, kneeling in front of him and wiping the tears from his cheek gently with his thumb. "Cheer up. You're young; you have so much of life ahead of you. What's your name, kid?"

"Dixie," he answered, sniffing. "I'm… I'm sorry I didn't mean to bore you or anything. I'm sorry."

"Hey, don't worry about it, Dixie," Stanislaus said, smiling. Dixie felt himself swoon a tiny bit at that smile. "Here, why don't I walk you down to the pokemon center, and you can get some help for your little pal, there, eh?"

Dixie bit his bottom lip. "But," he said. "But what'll I do after that…?"

"Well, Dixie," said Stanislaus, helping Dixie to his feet. "Have you ever considered joining Team Rocket?"

A/N: I have to say, writing flashbacks is probably my favourite thing. If you guys are sick of these or hate them, please feel free to speak up so I don't keep torturing you with them.

A new picture is up--this time of Stanislaus. Can be checked out from my profile, as is my usual style.