Green was silent as his grandfather wheeled him over to the dining room and positioned his chair in its regular spot at the head of the table. Mrs. Roth stood waiting behind her chair, to Green's right; the professor nimbly crossed the room to pull out her chair as she smoothed down her blouse and sat.

The smell of fresh Tauros ribs and a biting, tangy sauce filled the air, the scent almost as thick as the heaving droplets of barbecue dripping onto Green's plate. A basket full of baked potatoes, pre-sliced, sat beside the ribs and a serving dish filled with butter squares. Mrs. Roth had also made her neighborhood-famous asparagus spears to round out the dinner.

The young boy scratched at the stump of his right thigh as he sobbed internally. He could not believe the humiliation. He just knew those photographs had already made their way around the student body. His face covered in blood and Pidgey feathers - his foolish, boyish hope that Maisie had somehow fallen for him.

Stupid cripple, he offended himself. Useless sack of shit. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Unlovable. It's a good thing your mom is dead, she would be so embarrassed by you.

"Green?" came Mrs. Roth's melodious voice, although the normally merry melody seemed to carry a touch of sadness. The boy wondered if it was just him.

"What's up, Mrs. Roth?" Green barked back, tearing a bone from his rack.

The neighbor woman looked down and closed her eyes, before reciting what was clearly a prepared speech.

"I wanted to tell you that these last few years getting to know you and your grandfather have really meant the world to me," she started, before the cracks in her visage became clear. Tears began to stream from her eyes, eliciting a bewildered look from Green. She sniffled, and continued. "I've watched you transform into a truly, truly remarkable young man and I feel blessed that you have let me into your life."

"Mrs. Roth - hey, hey, stop crying," Green stammered. He'd never seen this side of her before - not even when her son went missing. Roth the Rock, he remembered. The professor reached over and took her hand in his, gently rubbing the backs of her fingers with his thumb. Green could see that her sorrow started to affect his grandfather, too.

"It's hard - gods, it's hard-" she continued through sobs. "We've all struggled so, so much, since the attack, and the war, and everything."

Green's internal pain turned outward. Mrs. Roth was not his mom - he never knew his mom - but she was the closest he'd ever had.

"I just want you to know that wherever you are, you will always be close to my heart," she finished, wiping the deluge of tears away from her face.

Green did not know what to say. What had brought this sudden anguish about?

"I'm not going anywhere," Green reassured her, placing his hand on the table to hold hers. "Not for a few years anyway. I'm only 15 - I can't even drive!" he joked. She smiled and took his hand, idly tracing her thumb over faded scars.

She then turned to the professor and shared a knowing look with him. One that sent a chill down Green's spine.

The professor cleared his throat. His voice was strong. Stern. Direct.

"You received a letter in the mail today, Green."

"Oh," Green answered, blindsided by the sudden, inelegant segue. "Who's it from?"

"The League."

The League? he wondered. That was strange - he usually only got letters from the League at the end of swim season. Fake words of affirmation, fake autographs, fake awards for his physical fitness and academic prowess.

"Here," the professor concluded, producing an envelope from somewhere beneath the rim of the table and laying it down in front of Green. Mrs. Roth whimpered.

Green suddenly felt as if he were in the electric chair, and the letter was the lever that would end his life.

The seal had already been broken, so Green reached in with his fingers and slid an orange sheet of paper out of the envelope. Unfolding it, he noted the Official Seal of the Kanto League printed in white ink behind the black text.

He started to read the letter aloud.

"Dear Green Oak, you are hereby notified that pursuant to League Act 1996 approved 1/1/20XX, you are called for military service of the Kanto Federation from among those persons whose registration cards are within the jurisdiction of this local board."

Mrs. Roth's quiet cries had gone silent. No - the whole world had, save for the pounding of Green's heartbeat in his ears.

"Is this a...draft notice?" he stuttered. His eyes shot to Professor Oak, who met his gaze with steely affirmation. "What the actual fuck?!"

"Green-" Oak started, as the boy felt his reading comprehension approach the level of a savant. He absorbed every word of the letter with quickness, but it still didn't make any sense to him. A draft letter? For the kid with one leg and dentures?

"What the fuck is this, Gramps?! I've been DRAFTED?!" he forced from his lips, shaking his head as full body tremors took over. Mrs. Roth's mothering instincts took over and she tried to calm the teenager down. If he'd had both legs, he would have stormed off to process the information in private. But he couldn't.

"I'm missing a goddamn leg! What do they need me for? Do they need a-a guy to play the corpse in training or something? What, did they run out of soldiers with legs? What the fuck is this!"

The professor slammed his fist on the table in protest of the boy's language, but it did nothing to quell the hot fury Green felt.

After several moments of expletive-laden rage, Green looked to his grandpa and Mrs. Roth for something - anything.

"You are to report to the Cerulean City Gym for fitness testing in one month," the professor intoned. "You'll be under the command of Artemis Williams. I've spoken to her over the phone and she's aware of your condition. But I'm afraid that missing a limb is no longer a disqualifying condition for service."

Green slunk down in his chair and tossed the letter to the other end of the table. He couldn't believe his misfortune. He didn't know whether to scream, or cry. A swirling darkness inside him took hold and refused to let go.

Finally, he made a noise.

A laugh.

What started as a few ill-timed chuckles soon developed into full on hysterics.

You fuckin' pidgey! he heard Maisie's voice in his head, and the laughs of her entourage.

He laughed, and he laughed, and he laughed until his stomach was cramping so hard he could not sit straight.

Green the Pegleg Marine, he insulted himself. So this was it - this was how he died. Not a bolt of lightning, not three heart attacks in the hospital. Not overdosing on pain pills or leaping in front of a train.

On the fucking battlefield, far from home, with no one to mourn him but an old man and a sad, lonely neighbor.

It was absolutely hysterical.