The Journey Begins

The bright sun reflected off of the dew covered leaves. The droplets fell upon the heads of the scurrying Wurmple as they slithered into their annual spring hiding places. The Tailow flew into the woods from the east, from their Sootopolis City winter home, and pecked at the Wurmple as they slid into their holes and the Shroomish danced, scattering their pollen upon the grassland floor. Spring had come back to the woods and the Pokemon played with one another as the flowers bloomed around them, making a collage of color.

North of this, in one of the sycamores, sat a crude wooden structure that had various vines growing from the side and a misshapen roof that tilted lopsidedly to one side. In front of it held a door that was halfway off its hinges. It is modestly furnished with a small bed, a dresser with scattered magazines and news papers and a woven twine basket. If you walk inside you will see the back end of a war ridden Blaziken, its scarlet and gold feathers looking like a blazing fire but, in the front you will see naught but a seventeen year old boy with amber eyes and a grim expression. He stood in front of the rectangular window of his treehouse next to his resting Slakoth, the last of its kind.

They watched and marveled at the Pokémon below them and Darren absently stroked the head of the Slakoth, involuntarily waking him up. Slakoth stared at him angrily through half-lidded eyes. Darren smirked at him and held out his hand. A lone Tailow appeared before them and landed upon Darren's out stretched hand. It waddled on his palm like a drunken man then dropped to its side.

Darren worriedly gave the bird a check up when he noticed a white tag that covered its right talon. He slipped it off quickly and waved at the Pokémon as it flew into the dawn. He caressed the tag with his thumb and forefinger and flipped it around and read the contents. His eyes widened with each word and he trembled when he was through. Memories bombarded his skull relentlessly and he covered his ears as if that would shut them off.

Slakoth stared at him with concern reflected in his irises. He raised his paw and sifted through Darren's feathers, comfortingly as he wept. Darren had tried to ignore it, his past called for it, but the evidence was in his hand. The lab coats were taking more Pokemon than ever before and the tag proved it. As he looked over the window seal he wondered how many other of the woodland Pokemon had the tags and how many children had disappeared from their mothers and fathers. Just the thought of it scared and disgusted him.

He wanted to do something; but what? He had run away from his past for so long he had forgotten his training. He tilted his head back, holding in his breath, and felt the presence of burning fire inside of him. He remembered ember and flamethrower at least. Darren wearily slid a hand through his feathers. He needed someone's help.

He went over to his dresser and flipped through the magazines when he came across the article that he wanted. It had dated back to 2004, forty years ago, and was tinted a light tan color. Taking up three fifths of the article was a picture of the gym leader Norman and his daughter May, son Max, and his wife. It stated that he was the newest gym leader in the Hoenn region and had moved all the way from the Kanto region with his family.

Darren skipped all of that and read down to the last paragraph:

"Norman now resides in the Petalburg Gym with his other trainers, where he constantly trains his Pokemon and battles young trainers who yearn for the Balance badge. On the weekends he visits his wife and son in their small house in Littleroot Town. His daughter is traveling the region aiming to become the Hoenn Champion. He says that he wishes her nothing but the best and jokingly says that she'll never beat him in a million years."

Petalburg City huh, he thought softly. I wonder if he still lives there. He glanced at Slakoth whose eyes were open wide, staring at him. Well, there's only one way to find out.

"Slakoth we're taking a little journey."

The Pokemon gulped, put his paws over his eyes, and whimpered softly.

Petalburg City was deserted. What was once a vibrant community was now a ghost town with the houses and businesses were boarded up and their residents were completely gone. Over the years fewer and fewer trainers had come to the city, causing many to move to bigger cities like Slateport, Rustboro, Mauville, and Lilycove city. Corphish and Marill mingled with one another on the shore and climbed houses covered in moss. The intimidating structure that was once the gym was battered and bruised from old age.

Darren stood in front of the gym with a hesitant look upon his face. Was Norman even here? Slakoth lay beside him with his tongue hanging out, panting, even though it was a few feet walk. Darren never looked at him once.

"Come on boy. It's time to meet Norman."

The Slakoth grumbled and followed Darren through the askew wooden boards. Inside the gym it was oddly clean. Not a single spec of dust was on the dressers or spider web in the corner. The sound of their claws slapping polished wood echoed through the seemingly empty gym.

"Wow…looks like it's deserted boy," he said this in a quiet whisper.

They went through the various trainer rooms with awe upon their faces. Each room seemed carefully preserved in its original format. It was so vivid that Darren could almost see the fierce Pokemon battles that had raged on in the rooms. They reached the door of the gym leader and approached it with caution. They didn't know who lived here now, but they had kept good care of the old gym.

"We're almost there Slakoth. We-"

The butt of a gun grazed the back of his cranium and sent him flying to the other side of the trainer's room. Darren now seemed knocked out and Slakoth turned and growled hatefully at the sudden attacker. It was an old man that seemed to be no older than 70 years. The man's once raven black hair was now stark white, peppered with flecks of sliver. The deep wrinkles of age were upon his face and yet he still had a tint of youthfulness. He was hunched over and his hair fell across his face, contrasting with his black eyes that had fear shown inside of them. He wore a red and black stripped shirt and blue cargo pants.

At seeing the Pokemon the old man, guiltily, put the gun down and went over to Darren.

"Poor thing," He said as he caressed his feathers with a wistful look of remembrance.

"My daughter May had a Blaziken. She always said that it was her favorite Pokemon," He looked back at Slakoth, who was lying down on the floor resting. "…..And Slakoth was mine. I shouldn't have shot you, although I wonder what you're doing all the way over in Petalburg. No one has seen a Blaziken in years. In any case, since the Pokemon Center is gone, I'm going to have to take care of that bump on your head myself."

The old man sprightly picked up Darren one inch off the ground then let out a loud gasp. Everything on his body looked as if he was a regular Pokemon but his face was of a young boy.

"Y-you're a hybrid?"