A/N: Do I have an excuse for this? Not really. I just wanted to commit some slander and utterly ruin people's favorite mons. Please understand this is crack and not meant to be taken seriously. Not all chapters will be related to each other; think of this as a one-shot compilation. Rated T just to be safe and for future shitposting.

Into the Wilds

*Electric Oreo Donkey*

The deerling happily munched on some tall grass, enjoying the light Unovan spring breeze that lightly ruffled its fur. The smell of fresh greens led the normal-grass pokémon further and further into the brush, blissfully unaware of the possible threats that could be lurking in the tall grass. The deerling cried out happily and shoved its face towards a nearby patch of berries. It pulled the first one off, swallowed, and went back down to get another mouthful. The pokémon was too hungry to notice anything else but the nearest source of food, enjoying the freedom of the open air without having to worry about a beartic making dinner out of it. It was probably the reason why it didn't notice the black and white stripes of one of Unova's most feared native pokémon, a cruel and zero-fucks-giving monster that caused over a third of emergency room visits in the region, directly in front of it.

The deerling received a kick to the skull for its troubles before it could process the danger, and it paid the price dearly.

With its soul now evicted, the now deceased deerling toppled over with a resounding thud, startling its herd and sending them fleeing in every direction. The hoof responsible for making the poor pokémon shuffle off the mortal plane settled back down in the grass, and the zebstrika glared into the eyes of a startled sawsbuck, daring it do something about it and letting its mane spark.

The sawsbuck wisely chose to preserve its own life and fled as fast as its legs could take it, leaving the zebstrika to snort and go back to munching on grass before it was disturbed by some careless deerling.

Cole lowered his camera and took off his hat to let the wind ruffle through his brown hair. The man reached down for the pouch along his waist, brushed his hand against the pokéball containing a braviary and briefly considered trying to capture the beast.

The deceased deerling's lifeless eyes stared back at him and he shuddered, moving his hand towards his hipflask instead. That's what a zebstrika will do to something for solely existing too close to it. I've already seen what they do to threats to their life.

His studies on the wild behavior of zebstrikas had left him with a completely different view of them. When he first got a job with the rangers, he assumed they would behave like any other horse and wouldn't choose violence if approached.

Oh, how wrong he was.

What he had discovered was that zebstrikas were not the cute black and white electric horses non-trainers were led to believe. They were actually some of the most murder-happy pokémon he had ever had the pleasure (or displeasure, depending on one's view) of researching. Generational trauma of being hunted by krokorok, stoutland and fraxure had turned zebstrikas into a vicious herbivore that didn't need a reason to put someone or something in a casket. They just did.

One thing Cole learned very quickly after studying the homicidal pokémon for less than a month was why they were considered one of the hardest to tame. They were asses and slow to trust, with an almost personal hatred of anything even remotely resembling a canine. If something dog-like sniffed at a zebstrika, the zebstrika would river-dance on its spine and kick it until it broke something that couldn't be fixed before playing with the corpse.

One of his fellow rangers learned that the hard way, losing his mightyena to a fatal kick.

The zebstrika munching away on grass slowly lifted its head up and turned its head to stare at the ranger. He couldn't hear the annoyed huff, but he could catch the brilliant flash of yellow light gathering in its mane and he slowly backed away from it, knowing fully well to leave it the hell alone. That was a warning sign to back off if you valued breathing, for the next step a zebstrika would take wasn't pretty. They would charge the threat down with the full intent of committing a murder, all while unleashing powerful Shock Waves and Discharges that would put a gyarados into a stir-fry.

That was not an exaggeration. He had seen it. It took weeks to get all the stains out, and no one ever felt comfortable eating in that enclosure ever again. Twenty rangers retired not long after, haunted by the war crime they witnessed. You had to be a special kind of crazy to spend most of your daily life around wild pokémon that had not only the capability but attitude to turn you into a news headline. Cole said it once and he'd say it again.

Rangers were not paid enough for the crap they dealt with.

It was no stretch to say he felt more comfortable being alone with a beartic than he did with a lightning ass.

That wasn't slander. It was being scientifically correct.

Cole shook his flask and frowned. It was only half-full of the delicious mind bleach he used whenever he saw something he really wished he hadn't. Definitely more on the half-empty side of things.

This particular zebstrika was unnecessarily vicious, and he was able to spot the wounds on its hindquarters. The pattern of tooth marks suggested a krokorok had tried its luck, probably sensing it had both a predatorial and typing advantage. Seeing as the zebstrika was still alive and clearly capable of snuffing out a life if it chose to, the krokorok lost the encounter.

I'm going to end up finding the mutilated remains of a krokorok on the side of the lake, aren't I?

He knew one thing. He was not approaching that war criminal unless he had a full team with him.

A/N: *looks for sorry. Item not found*

The slandering will continue to others as well. Have you ever imagined how murkrow and noctowl would really interact?

It isn't pretty. I'll elaborate on the next one.