Keta
indubitably ineffectual
- Pronoun
- they
Here is the piece I'm working on for Nanowrimo. I have no idea what to name it... D:
Synopsis: The Pokemon world is under colonization by Earth refugees. So far, Kanto and Johto are known regions under the jurisdiction of Shin-nippon, or Neo-Japan. Proteo-oncogenes (proteo from proteus; oncogenes from cancer-causing genes) have been discovered in Pokemon by leading scientists in New Britain University. Team Rocket is interested. Shit goes down, lalala.
Rated M. Strong violence sprinkled with swearing.
----
I'll be honest here, and I don't really want to have significant criticism of the plot of this piece- as it's going to demotivate me for Nanowrimo.
What I'm looking for is suggestions on how to improve the fluidity of the writing. Also, I want to know if it is boring- is it keeping your interest? (I know the beginning's fairly dry work)
Also, title suggestions are appreciated.
"This world is inhabited far and wide by creatures called Pokemon. For some people, Pokemon are pets. Others use them for battling. As for myself... I study Pokemon as a profession."
- Professor Samuel Oak
Chapter 1
“Everything originates from the Earth. Yet, though it is our strength that we stand upon, like us, it is still an unusually fragile thing.”- Brock, Pewter City Gym Leader
“The first round of colonization of planet B-216 began in 2047 CE- in other words, five years after its discovery. Our current calendar, the Tajiri calendar, established 2042 CE, marks the discovery of B-216, as year zero.”
The holographic display flickered, then the four projectors, each at a corner of the huge square dais, generated an image of the Milky Way galaxy in little blue pinpoints. The lecture hall's lights dimmed, and a miniaturized model of outer space materialized in sharp quality. The planet Earth, highlighted in green, passed around a glowing yellow sun in its elliptical orbit; several feet away shone another planet highlighted in green.
“Each ten centimeters or so is a light-year. From Earth, in this arm of the solar system, the first colonizers traveled this distance to reach B-216.” The professor paused there, and she whisked out a long metal pointer. Her wrinkled hand shook slightly as she traced the line from Earth to B-216.
“The first on Earth to realize the dire situation economic and industrial activities had put the Earth in were the Japanese. Though their population suffered from severe economic and human resource strains, the Prime Minister at the time pulled off a genuine feat of political maneuvering. PM Sugimori Kenji, a double major in Physics and Political Science from Ryuutani University, was one of the most scientifically literate politicians of his day, not to mention one of the most underhanded and manipulative. Placating the Diet and an increasingly restless military with bribes, he secretly diverted a significant portion of funds towards scientific research. The exact time period in which Sugimori operated is unclear; however, it is estimated to have been around 2037 CE.
“There were those among the Japanese scientific community who hoped a new international space race would flourish; however, such hopes were dashed quickly. The world plunged into what was known as the Third World War at the time, but what is commonly referred to in modern history textbooks as 'The Last War on Earth'. Most of the war was a war of attrition; warfare at the time was conducted with droids and machinery, and the battlefront was largely devoid of any humanity besides the occasional technician.
“Upon the discovery of B-612, the Japanese scientists rejoiced in their good fortune. The first spaceship launched to B-612 was named “Kamiwaza”, or “divine miracle”- however, the pet name of the scientists was, humorously enough, “Kamikaze”. Sugimori Kenji lost significant popularity upon revealing his great project; his ratings slumped, and he was largely dismissed as an eccentric mad scientist playing in the government.
“As a result, Sugimori pulled what little influence he had in enticing the citizens of nations at war to board the Kamiwaza in settling B-612. The most willing were small groups of Ethiopians, Chinese, and Dutch- an eclectic mix of peoples, but all refugees of the international conflict.
“Sugimori's next decision was very interesting and still sparks debate today. In exchange for giving them the privilege of settling B-612, he demanded that all of these groups learn the Japanese language and adopt Japanese customs. The current debate is actually quite fascinating- the greater issue being whether this imposition of cultural oppression was just or not and the underlying issue being whether Sugimori actually suffered from mental illness or not. But I digress.
“In retrospect, the rigorous cultural standards imposed upon even foreigners gave a sense of collective identity that still can be seen in Neo-Japan today. As you all know, nearly all Neo-Japanese are bilingual in English and Japanese, but even most citizens of African, Caucasian, Hispanic, or non-Asian descent have spoken Japanese from birth and have Japanese habits, such as communal bathing or celebrating Japanese holidays.
“Now,” spoke the Professor, her voice suddenly imperious. Her stern gray eyes narrowed at the sleeping students scattered throughout the crowd. Upon being met by her iron glare, the neighbors of these drowsers edged ever so slightly away from their embarrassing friends. “Who would like to tell me when the British colonization began? Anybody?”
“Senkawa knows,” drawled a blonde football player lounging in the front row. He raised a muscled arm and gestured vaguely behind him, his eyes lazily eyeing those of the professor.
“SEEEEENKAWA!”
“Oh yeah, ask the kid genius as usual...”
“SEN-TEN-BEN-MAN!”
Kent Senkawa cringed inwardly at the attention. He sat in the furthest row of the lecture hall, some thirty-something rows of seats behind the first catcaller. The countless faces staring up at him unnerved him. His young face, still rounded with some baby fat, bereft of the stubble of most college males, flushed slightly. Even so, he did not let his embarrassment show on his face. Staring straight at the teacher, Kent raised his hand stiffly.
“The British colonization of B-612, otherwise known as Gaia, began in 2058 CE, Professor Albreight,” Kent responded, his words loud and clear across the lecture hall. Show them no fear. Show them no fear. Even so, his hands were clenched underneath the desk. He heard the customary sniggers amongst the crowd at his high-pitched voice and felt indignant rage- it was not his fault that his voice had not deepened yet.
“Very good Kent, but perhaps it would be best to let others have a try for once,” said Professor Albreight, but the corners of her lips twitched upwards slightly. Kent noticed this and relaxed, but only slightly. At least someone respects me, but I'll probably never hear the end of “teacher's pet” after this...
“As Kent just informed us, the British colonization of B-612 began in 2058CE. It was a last ditch attempt; the British of the late 22nd century CE were woefully headstrong and, in fact, their cultural supremacist attitude may have surpassed that of the Japanese of the time...”
Chapter 2
“Science and astrology both claim to foresee the winds of change. But the only way to really know what will change is by riding them yourself.”
- Falkner, Violet City Gym Leader
The bell rang shrilly above their heads. Lecture section was dismissed.
Having packed his things carefully during the last few minutes of class, Kent was one of the first to get out of his seat and stalk out of the hall. Though most of the college students had congregated into their little cliques, meaning that their attention would not be on him anymore, Kent still felt uneasy, and with large steps he climbed the steps up to the exit.
Just because I have more of a future than they do. Just because I have more time, he thought resentfully. He glanced at himself in the mirror. The messy black hair and that face still rounded with the remnants of baby fat greeted him.
He was around 5'4” tall. So, in a sense, Kent was lucky; he was not so short as to merit second glances, as did the midgets and the physically handicapped. But even that population was small within the University. And that did not change the fact that, if he tried, his own voice could probably handle a soprano girl's in choral club.
Kent shrugged his backpack higher on his shoulders and made his way down the hallway. He watched the lab rooms as he walked by, a casual thing any student would do. He noticed one student, her bland white labcoat's anonymity broken by an ostentatious red bandana. She was avidly peering at molecular models on a high-res screen in one of the labs. Curious, Kent quietly walked into the room behind her, and he tiptoed in an attempt to see over her shoulder.
“What are you doing here!? Oh shit, oh fuck, oh damn-” The girl tried to pull away from him, and her elbow swung in a speedy arc straight into Kent's jaw.
The force knocked Kent backwards, his shoulder slamming into the heavy lab door painfully. On instinct, he stepped forward and grabbed her wrists with his hands, then with a sharp movement, he pinned her to the huge computer monitor. She was at least one or two inches taller, and judging by her chest definitely over middle-school age. Black hair, streaked with shades of brown highlights, framed a round and angry Asian face. Her dark eyes narrowed in a glare.
“What are you going to do now?” she hissed in a low voice. She tried to shift against him, and Kent felt something small and oblong in her pocket. The tell-tale lanyard trailed out of her lab coat; it was definitely a flash drive.
That's definitely fishy.
“Taking data from university laboratories is against the rules,” he said, and once the high-pitched words came out he instantly regretted it. I sound like a kid tattletale.
The girl raised an eyebrow at his voice, but she did not do much more. She turned her face towards the hallway, her eyes scanning the area. Kent felt his face flush a little; her profile was quite pretty. Unconsciously, his eyes fell downwards... Damn, she's pretty well off for a full Asian, unless she got surgery at her age...
He felt a sharp, painful slap on his cheek- the suddenness freed him from his small reverie, and he realized that his hand had let go of her wrist, and that now she had grabbed his wrist. The skin at his own wrist was turning a painful white.
“Listen here,” she told him in a low voice, her dark brown eyes staring straight into his. “I am going to make a break for it. Yes, this is a teacher's lab, and yes, I did get in. But you are not going to hear the end of it.”
“... what are you talking about?” asked Kent nervously.
“You, my good sir, are coming along. With me,” she said mockingly, waggling her head and mimicking a British accent. She stared at Kent thoughtfully now, much less resentment in her expression. “Come to think of it... why don't you have an accent?”
Kent opened his mouth to respond, but he was quickly cut off. “Nevermind that. We need to go. Now.” At the word “now”, Kent felt his entire body being tugged in the direction of his wrist. Following the strange girl, he took on an awkward speedwalking gait- then finally broke into a run.
They rounded a number of sharp turns through the laboratories, the sterile white rooms and quiet jars of entrails staring back at them from unlit rooms behind their glass cases. Kent's legs began to burn quickly- the girl was a sprinter, and she had high endurance at that. He tried to calculate the distance. They ran out of Lab 210-H, and now they were reaching the corridor for the 300-numbered labs in the next building over...
The girl abruptly stopped next to the fire alarm. She scanned the diagrams at his side, and Kent could see her eyes tracing the dotted lines that marked the evacuation procedures. He suddenly felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Oh god, she better not-
The girl slammed the fire alarm down. The entire building blared a deafening alarm that felt like it was grinding the innards of Kent's ears. He tried to clap his hands over his ears; his left hand succeeded, but his right hand was jerked away by the girl, who crashed through the door and pulled him into the hot summer air outside.
Just when Kent was hoping they were done running, he was pulled again into another dead sprint away from the laboratories, towards the chain-link gates framing the outdoor sports facilities. A rusted corner of it had peeled away over a muddy puddle.
“You're going under. Do it now.” The girl shoved Kent into the mud. He thought he tasted dirt, an unpleasant condiment to the humid summer air. Kent scrambled awkwardly through the hole and emerged from it incredibly dirty.
“Catch.” Kent looked up just in time to see his backpack flying towards his face. He seized it from the air, and standing in front of him was the girl. Involuntarily, he stepped backwards from her and averted his eyes.
“Oy. Take me out to lunch,” she commanded him, this time a small smirk playing about her lips. She jabbed a finger into his chest. “What's your name?”
“Kent... and you?” he stammered.
“Janice. Okay, now that that's over, food time. Let's go.” Without letting go of his painfully squeezed wrist, she dragged him in a determined march towards the city.
---
“So, let me get this straight. You're a... double-double agent. You're doing spy work in New Britain, in the name of Team Rocket, and you're feeding the information to your home base, which means you're still perpetrating information leaks to some organization or another-”
“That's the gist of it. Good man.” Janice took another deep sip of her lemonade. The ice cubes clinked lightly in the glass. She daintily nibbled the remains of her lime pie from the tip of her fork. Crumbs littered the dish she had earlier strong-armed Kent into treating her to.
“But what makes your group any better than the Rockets? I mean seriously, your group sounds sketchy enough- you just said they weren't government or NGO-affiliated.”
“'Official qualifications' and the like are merely words in the end. It's the actions that show you really mean it, and I expect we'll be seeing a lot of action soon,” she replied thoughtfully. She leaned back in her chair, absentmindedly twirling a lock of hair.
Kent shifted uncomfortably. Though the air conditioning rendered the indoors considerably less hot and humid than outside, he still felt the stares of other patrons of the cafe, their narrowed eyes flicking over his muddied clothes. Janice's lab coat had saved her clothing from much of the grime Kent's jeans and t-shirt had accumulated; she was wearing short denim shorts and a tank top. That left Kent alone as the one sore sight in the cafe, a smart blend of solid colors, shades of blue, along with shining clean furniture. Not only do I look terrible... but my wallet's going to look depressing as well, he thought dejectedly, halfheartedly looking at Janice's empty plate.
“What are you anyway? Ethnically.” Janice chewed through her last bite of pie, staring thoughtfully at Kent's face. Kent could feel the heat rise behind his ears from the attention.
“Half Japanese. Half British. Why?” Kent stiffened a little. “That doesn't matter. More importantly, what do you want with me now?”
“First, pay our bill.” Janice casually flicked the crumpled paper from her straw with a fingernail; it landed nearly in the black tray with their receipt on it. Kent sighed; he no longer had the energy or willpower to complain about the events. As he pulled out his wallet, he noticed too late the evil gleam in Janice's dark eyes. With a swift movement, Janice snatched the wallet from his hands.
“What the fuck did you do that for, I-” Kent stood up indignantly, this time ignoring the stares he was garnering from bystanders.
Janice clapped a hand over his mouth. “You don't want to cause a scene, do you?” she asked him silkily, leaning closely. Kent felt his heart beat faster, and his brain frantically tried to generate a response. With a deft movement, Janice opened his wallet, and withdrew, to Kent's horror, his New Britian citizenship ID. The watermarks shone faintly in the sunlight as she held it up to view. Kent tried to lunge for it, but Janice withdrew quickly, pocketing her treasure in her shorts.
“I'll be keeping this. It'll be a nice incentive for you to shut up, I am sure. You won't be able to catch me, that lab incident was an exception,” she responded smugly. “Thanks for the meal. I'll contact you later.”
She got up, brushing her hair to the side. Kent could see her flash drive hanging on a belt loop, a small purple chip filled with stolen data... but Janice left as suddenly as she had appeared; before he knew it, she was gone.
Kent rubbed his eyes. A sleepless day coupled with intense physical activity and stress must have been addling his brain. Yet the white plate, dusted with crumbs, still sat in front of him. So did the bill, a terrible white slip of paper on its black tray.
Kent closed his eyes and sighed.
Chapter 3
“Water is forgiving when it is tamed. It puts out fire and quenches thirst; it is salvation for the living. But even water has a temper, and, even fire has its uses. In that respect, they are the same.”
- Misty, Cerulean City Gym Leader.
He punched in the numbers on the number pad, and the garage door opened. Kent entered the house as quietly as he could. He rounded the corridor, and he shut his door as slowly as possible, its habitual creak silenced to a whisper. Kent quickly pulled off his clothes and tugged on fresh jeans and t-shirt, tossing their mud-encrusted brethren into a corner.
Kent let himself fall face-first into his bed with a thud. The soft blanket was a balm to his exhaustion, but he could not completely get himself to relax. A strange girl had broken into a computer in the biology department of the University- specifically, the Pokemonology wing. Though no one ever wanted to call it that; the British academia were notoriously anal about classifying Pokemon as “animals”, as opposed to the Japanese scientists, who had decreed that the metabolic and genetic differences between Pokemon and animals rendered them entirely different kingdoms.
The models on the screen- Kent tried to recall their structure, but he could only see the back of his eyelids. He groaned into the bed.
“Kent Senkawa! Are you in your room? We need to go now, it's Alan's big day, and we can't miss it!”
“Mmmph.” Kent forced himself to unglue his face from the pillow. “Yeah mom, I'm ready. Give me a minute.”
His round-faced brother, not even a teenager yet, looked up at him. Like Kent, his hair was a mousy brown color, but it lay flat on his head in bowlcut fashion. His eyes were dark, but they were large- obviously inherited from his mother.
His two parents looked down at Kent, stark contrasts to each other in appearance but their expressions of anticipation and pride evident. His father stood only around two or three inches taller than his wife, but both were fairly thin, like Kent, but unlike his pudgy little brother. His hair straight and black, Professor Senkawa had thin but smooth features, his dark eyes always thoughtful. On the other hand, Mrs. Senkawa's hair was dyed blonde, cut in bangs framing her narrow face and light brown eyes.
“About time,” Kent's dad said impatiently, glancing at his watch. “We're driving to the pier, the ship's leaving in 10 minutes.
“Alright dad, alright, I'm going,” said Kent, resigned to his fate. A knot of frustration had coiled itself at the base of his stomach, and he deliberately averted his eyes from his brother. Meanwhile, Alan excitedly waved his stuffed Pikachu doll in the air, jabbering rapidly to his mother while his mother responded with laughter in her eyes.
This is really unfair. I can't get over how unfair it is. I reach my 10th birthday and get good grades, and what do I get? I get another two years in tutoring and accelerated programs, I get another two years and counting in University. And as for Alan, he gets to have what I've always wanted, on top of being incompetent and childish. Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?
I wanted to become a Pokemon trainer.
---
The spectacle on the grassy field rivaled that of the little league baseball events Kent vaguely recalled from his middle school years, or, what little time he did spend in middle school. Family members and parents gathered on the field, a few of the ambitious ones even setting up tents, whereas most of the rest stood at the outskirts of a roped off square patch of grass.
At the center of the field, a pompous-looking, white man, dressed in a formal gray suit paired with a blue checkered tie, harrumphed at his seat on a plastic chair behind the folding table set up on the field. On the center of the table, a box like an egg carton held the prizes of the day. Shiny new Pokeballs gleamed in each slot, some overshadowed by a huge cardboard box, at the top of which Kent could see the gleaming red cases of newly-manufactured Pokedexes.
“Welcome, one and all, to the first annual New Britain Pokemon Trainer Registration Ceremony! Congratulations to your children who have submitted and passed the preliminary tests, your children will have the honor of becoming Pokemon trainers in Neo-Japan! If you have not already, please stand in that line, down over there, to register dual citizenship with Neo-Japan; without a Neo-Japanese ID card, you will not be able to continue your journey,” boomed the man on his microphone.
“Don't you mean Shin-nippon?” piped up Alan, to Kent's embarrassment. Kent hastily grabbed Alan's shoulder, causing him to wince. “Keeeent, what was that for?” But luckily, no one heard Alan's childish statement.
You don't call it that here, thought Kent to himself. It's always Neo-Japan, and those “Japs” here.
A small line of children started forming at the edge of the table, Alan Senkawa standing third in line to two other chubby white boys. Kent shifted uncomfortably at his position behind the rope, and he looked at the ground in taciturn frustration. The second glances he got from people did not help either; he pulled out his earphones and plugged them into his ears tightly so as not to hear or notice the gossip passing around. The contrast between his parents, who had picked the patch of grass closest to the rope, could be easily seen by the crowd, which a large majority of was Caucasian.
“Jack Kingsley, is it?” boomed the official. The black-haired boy in front nodded vigorously. “Which Pokemon would you like, Bulbasaur, Charmander, or Squirtle?”
“Bulbasaur,” declared Jack, and he thrust out an open hand for his prize. The official chuckled, his double chins wobbling as he did, and the microphone amplifying his guttural laugh. He handed the boy a Pokeball, and a Pokedex. Jack exited the fenced off area by ducking under a robe, straight into the arms of his parents.
“And your name is... Ronald Brown?”
After Ronald and his Charmander finally came Alan. Kent stared forward, deliberately blanking his mind. I am happy. I'm happy for him, just like mom and dad. I'm happy that Alan gets to go on a Pokemon journey, I'm happy he has to leave us because then the house will be emptier, but I'll have his room, I'm trying to be happy...
“Alan Senkawa, is it? Which one would you like?”
Kent saw Alan scrunch up his face in concentration, and he was tempted to walk up, seize a Pokeball, and shove it into his brother's mouth. Please don't tell me you haven't been thinking about this. Please don't say something stupid like “You pick” or “I don't know”.
After an agonizing minute of waiting, Alan made his choice. “I want a Squirtle,” he told the man. He got his Squirtle, and, like the rest, he came running towards Mr. and Mrs. Senkawa.
“Go, Squirtle!” he cried, pressing the button on the Pokeball and throwing it up in the air.
Kent had the first impression of a huge brick materializing on the grass, then it solidified into a turtle shell, around two feet at its longest length. A curled tail poked out from one end, and a round head from another, its dark black eyes staring up at Kent. The Pokeball landed on the grass with a thud, and Alan sheepishly walked over to pick it up. “I'm going to work on that,” he declared with renewed confidence.
Kent felt his own heart skip a beat from the eye contact with the Squirtle, and he could see the uneasiness but also the intelligence in the little turtle's eyes. Tentatively, he extended a hand towards the Squirtle and patted it gently on the head. Its skin was smooth and flat, the miniscule blue scales almost like human skin. The rest of the Pokemon's little limbs emerged from his shell, and it clambered clumsily to its feet. It gazed at Kent with questioning eyes.
“Isn't he a little runty for a starter? I was fairly sure they were bigger,” commented Mr. Senkawa. He placed a hand on Alan's shoulder, and he gestured towards Alan's starter Pokemon.
“I'm your trainer, not him! He's my older brother, he's Kent. He's nice too, but you're my Pokemon,” said Alan hurriedly, noticing Squirtle's attention on Kent. The Squirtle spun around, an expression of bewilderment in his eyes. The turtle toddled forward on its two feet, walking closer to Alan. Kent felt a small pain in his heart, and he averted his eyes. Aimlessly, he watched as another girl stepped up to claim her Pokemon.
“I-I'm Rosa Lee. I want a Charmander, please,” she said in an almost inaudible murmur. She nervously held her hands together, shoulders hunched. Her black hair fell slightly past the white summer dress she wore.
“Alright Rosa, here you go,” said the man kindly.
Rosa smiled falteringly, then she turned away from the man. “Y-you can come out now, C-charmander,” she called aloud.
The burst of red light materialized into a bipedal orange lizard. Unless it was Kent's imagination, the Charmander was slightly larger than average, at least a few inches above two feet... Its tail swished side to side, the characteristic flame burning brightly at its tip, hovering dangerously above the grass.
Sniffing the air, the Charmander waved its head back and forth in a way not unlike a snake. It glanced towards Kent, and Kent felt a jolt of irrational fear once he saw its eyes. The dark bluish eyes were looking in opposite directions; the left eye looking left, right eye looking right. A few of the parents had similar reactions; they stepped backwards or barely concealed their gasps. Kent decided to ignore the spectacle. I'd feel terrible if I were Rosa... but I guess I also feel bad for the Charmander. He idly watched his brother interact with the Squirtle; Alan had grabbed the Squirtle's front claws and waved them back and forth in a “dance” of sorts. The Squirtle did not seem to mind; it gurgled at Alan interestedly in response to Alan's poor singing.
A high-pitched scream suddenly erupted from the center of the crowd. Kent snapped to attention, and he gasped in horror.
“N-no Charmander, no, please,” cried Rosa softly. Blood erupted profusely from her right leg, a mangled mess of flesh and bone. If it had looked unnerving before, the Charmander looked even more inhuman now, its eyes flushed with blood and crouching on all-fours at her side. Ignoring her weakening pleas, it snarled viciously, tail waving side to side intently, and it lunged for her face.
Kent averted his eyes, his heart beating fast. Fucking hell. Then he heard it: the crunching sound of her windpipe and her last words dying in her throat. A chill ran down his spine, but a fire burned within his stomach. He clenched his fists and shoved roughly through the crowd of paralyzed onlookers. Time seemed to slow; either that or Kent's thoughts were going at a mile per minute. I need to stop this.
“Alan!” he yelled. His brother looked at him fearfully, tears shining in his eyes but his expression so vacant Kent dismissed any hope of depending on him. He decided to switch tactics.
“You there! Squirtle! Watergun it, now!” He pointed a finger at the blue turtle crouched at its trainer's side.
The Squirtle's eyes widened, but it started to withdraw its head and tail closer to its brick-colored shell. Kent groaned in frustration, and he glared down at the turtle Pokemon. I can't take any more of this idiocy. He roughly seized the Squirtle and pointed him the field, striding forward with his eyes squeezed closed so as not to see the bloody scene ahead of him.
“Open your mouth, and spit whatever water you have at it! Do it now!” He screamed.
The panicky Squirtle squirmed in his arms, but to his command, it gargled out a thin spray of water at the Charmander. The lizard froze in its actions, its tail swishing intently and its dark eyes flicking upwards towards the turtle. Upon eye contact, the Squirtle withdrew itself totally in its shell and shivered violently in Kent's hands. The Charmander bared its teeth in a hiss, its unnatural eyes still staring to the left and right. Then it scampered under the roped area, past screaming parents and children, and disappeared into the woods.
Kent nearly dropped the Squirtle; as the adrenaline left his veins his arms grew slack and an overwhelming sense of weariness flooded his consciousness. However, he seized the Pokemon as closely to his chest as he could, and he turned towards the audience.
The rest of the day was like a blur. He was recovered by his parents, had some questioning by the authorities to which he gave mechanical, blunt answers, and was neatly packed into the family car and driven home, with the Squirtle and Alan sleeping against his shoulders. That much he knew.
He knew what happened. He just didn't know what he thought of what just happened.
Synopsis: The Pokemon world is under colonization by Earth refugees. So far, Kanto and Johto are known regions under the jurisdiction of Shin-nippon, or Neo-Japan. Proteo-oncogenes (proteo from proteus; oncogenes from cancer-causing genes) have been discovered in Pokemon by leading scientists in New Britain University. Team Rocket is interested. Shit goes down, lalala.
Rated M. Strong violence sprinkled with swearing.
----
I'll be honest here, and I don't really want to have significant criticism of the plot of this piece- as it's going to demotivate me for Nanowrimo.
What I'm looking for is suggestions on how to improve the fluidity of the writing. Also, I want to know if it is boring- is it keeping your interest? (I know the beginning's fairly dry work)
Also, title suggestions are appreciated.
"This world is inhabited far and wide by creatures called Pokemon. For some people, Pokemon are pets. Others use them for battling. As for myself... I study Pokemon as a profession."
- Professor Samuel Oak
Chapter 1
“Everything originates from the Earth. Yet, though it is our strength that we stand upon, like us, it is still an unusually fragile thing.”- Brock, Pewter City Gym Leader
“The first round of colonization of planet B-216 began in 2047 CE- in other words, five years after its discovery. Our current calendar, the Tajiri calendar, established 2042 CE, marks the discovery of B-216, as year zero.”
The holographic display flickered, then the four projectors, each at a corner of the huge square dais, generated an image of the Milky Way galaxy in little blue pinpoints. The lecture hall's lights dimmed, and a miniaturized model of outer space materialized in sharp quality. The planet Earth, highlighted in green, passed around a glowing yellow sun in its elliptical orbit; several feet away shone another planet highlighted in green.
“Each ten centimeters or so is a light-year. From Earth, in this arm of the solar system, the first colonizers traveled this distance to reach B-216.” The professor paused there, and she whisked out a long metal pointer. Her wrinkled hand shook slightly as she traced the line from Earth to B-216.
“The first on Earth to realize the dire situation economic and industrial activities had put the Earth in were the Japanese. Though their population suffered from severe economic and human resource strains, the Prime Minister at the time pulled off a genuine feat of political maneuvering. PM Sugimori Kenji, a double major in Physics and Political Science from Ryuutani University, was one of the most scientifically literate politicians of his day, not to mention one of the most underhanded and manipulative. Placating the Diet and an increasingly restless military with bribes, he secretly diverted a significant portion of funds towards scientific research. The exact time period in which Sugimori operated is unclear; however, it is estimated to have been around 2037 CE.
“There were those among the Japanese scientific community who hoped a new international space race would flourish; however, such hopes were dashed quickly. The world plunged into what was known as the Third World War at the time, but what is commonly referred to in modern history textbooks as 'The Last War on Earth'. Most of the war was a war of attrition; warfare at the time was conducted with droids and machinery, and the battlefront was largely devoid of any humanity besides the occasional technician.
“Upon the discovery of B-612, the Japanese scientists rejoiced in their good fortune. The first spaceship launched to B-612 was named “Kamiwaza”, or “divine miracle”- however, the pet name of the scientists was, humorously enough, “Kamikaze”. Sugimori Kenji lost significant popularity upon revealing his great project; his ratings slumped, and he was largely dismissed as an eccentric mad scientist playing in the government.
“As a result, Sugimori pulled what little influence he had in enticing the citizens of nations at war to board the Kamiwaza in settling B-612. The most willing were small groups of Ethiopians, Chinese, and Dutch- an eclectic mix of peoples, but all refugees of the international conflict.
“Sugimori's next decision was very interesting and still sparks debate today. In exchange for giving them the privilege of settling B-612, he demanded that all of these groups learn the Japanese language and adopt Japanese customs. The current debate is actually quite fascinating- the greater issue being whether this imposition of cultural oppression was just or not and the underlying issue being whether Sugimori actually suffered from mental illness or not. But I digress.
“In retrospect, the rigorous cultural standards imposed upon even foreigners gave a sense of collective identity that still can be seen in Neo-Japan today. As you all know, nearly all Neo-Japanese are bilingual in English and Japanese, but even most citizens of African, Caucasian, Hispanic, or non-Asian descent have spoken Japanese from birth and have Japanese habits, such as communal bathing or celebrating Japanese holidays.
“Now,” spoke the Professor, her voice suddenly imperious. Her stern gray eyes narrowed at the sleeping students scattered throughout the crowd. Upon being met by her iron glare, the neighbors of these drowsers edged ever so slightly away from their embarrassing friends. “Who would like to tell me when the British colonization began? Anybody?”
“Senkawa knows,” drawled a blonde football player lounging in the front row. He raised a muscled arm and gestured vaguely behind him, his eyes lazily eyeing those of the professor.
“SEEEEENKAWA!”
“Oh yeah, ask the kid genius as usual...”
“SEN-TEN-BEN-MAN!”
Kent Senkawa cringed inwardly at the attention. He sat in the furthest row of the lecture hall, some thirty-something rows of seats behind the first catcaller. The countless faces staring up at him unnerved him. His young face, still rounded with some baby fat, bereft of the stubble of most college males, flushed slightly. Even so, he did not let his embarrassment show on his face. Staring straight at the teacher, Kent raised his hand stiffly.
“The British colonization of B-612, otherwise known as Gaia, began in 2058 CE, Professor Albreight,” Kent responded, his words loud and clear across the lecture hall. Show them no fear. Show them no fear. Even so, his hands were clenched underneath the desk. He heard the customary sniggers amongst the crowd at his high-pitched voice and felt indignant rage- it was not his fault that his voice had not deepened yet.
“Very good Kent, but perhaps it would be best to let others have a try for once,” said Professor Albreight, but the corners of her lips twitched upwards slightly. Kent noticed this and relaxed, but only slightly. At least someone respects me, but I'll probably never hear the end of “teacher's pet” after this...
“As Kent just informed us, the British colonization of B-612 began in 2058CE. It was a last ditch attempt; the British of the late 22nd century CE were woefully headstrong and, in fact, their cultural supremacist attitude may have surpassed that of the Japanese of the time...”
Chapter 2
“Science and astrology both claim to foresee the winds of change. But the only way to really know what will change is by riding them yourself.”
- Falkner, Violet City Gym Leader
The bell rang shrilly above their heads. Lecture section was dismissed.
Having packed his things carefully during the last few minutes of class, Kent was one of the first to get out of his seat and stalk out of the hall. Though most of the college students had congregated into their little cliques, meaning that their attention would not be on him anymore, Kent still felt uneasy, and with large steps he climbed the steps up to the exit.
Just because I have more of a future than they do. Just because I have more time, he thought resentfully. He glanced at himself in the mirror. The messy black hair and that face still rounded with the remnants of baby fat greeted him.
He was around 5'4” tall. So, in a sense, Kent was lucky; he was not so short as to merit second glances, as did the midgets and the physically handicapped. But even that population was small within the University. And that did not change the fact that, if he tried, his own voice could probably handle a soprano girl's in choral club.
Kent shrugged his backpack higher on his shoulders and made his way down the hallway. He watched the lab rooms as he walked by, a casual thing any student would do. He noticed one student, her bland white labcoat's anonymity broken by an ostentatious red bandana. She was avidly peering at molecular models on a high-res screen in one of the labs. Curious, Kent quietly walked into the room behind her, and he tiptoed in an attempt to see over her shoulder.
“What are you doing here!? Oh shit, oh fuck, oh damn-” The girl tried to pull away from him, and her elbow swung in a speedy arc straight into Kent's jaw.
The force knocked Kent backwards, his shoulder slamming into the heavy lab door painfully. On instinct, he stepped forward and grabbed her wrists with his hands, then with a sharp movement, he pinned her to the huge computer monitor. She was at least one or two inches taller, and judging by her chest definitely over middle-school age. Black hair, streaked with shades of brown highlights, framed a round and angry Asian face. Her dark eyes narrowed in a glare.
“What are you going to do now?” she hissed in a low voice. She tried to shift against him, and Kent felt something small and oblong in her pocket. The tell-tale lanyard trailed out of her lab coat; it was definitely a flash drive.
That's definitely fishy.
“Taking data from university laboratories is against the rules,” he said, and once the high-pitched words came out he instantly regretted it. I sound like a kid tattletale.
The girl raised an eyebrow at his voice, but she did not do much more. She turned her face towards the hallway, her eyes scanning the area. Kent felt his face flush a little; her profile was quite pretty. Unconsciously, his eyes fell downwards... Damn, she's pretty well off for a full Asian, unless she got surgery at her age...
He felt a sharp, painful slap on his cheek- the suddenness freed him from his small reverie, and he realized that his hand had let go of her wrist, and that now she had grabbed his wrist. The skin at his own wrist was turning a painful white.
“Listen here,” she told him in a low voice, her dark brown eyes staring straight into his. “I am going to make a break for it. Yes, this is a teacher's lab, and yes, I did get in. But you are not going to hear the end of it.”
“... what are you talking about?” asked Kent nervously.
“You, my good sir, are coming along. With me,” she said mockingly, waggling her head and mimicking a British accent. She stared at Kent thoughtfully now, much less resentment in her expression. “Come to think of it... why don't you have an accent?”
Kent opened his mouth to respond, but he was quickly cut off. “Nevermind that. We need to go. Now.” At the word “now”, Kent felt his entire body being tugged in the direction of his wrist. Following the strange girl, he took on an awkward speedwalking gait- then finally broke into a run.
They rounded a number of sharp turns through the laboratories, the sterile white rooms and quiet jars of entrails staring back at them from unlit rooms behind their glass cases. Kent's legs began to burn quickly- the girl was a sprinter, and she had high endurance at that. He tried to calculate the distance. They ran out of Lab 210-H, and now they were reaching the corridor for the 300-numbered labs in the next building over...
The girl abruptly stopped next to the fire alarm. She scanned the diagrams at his side, and Kent could see her eyes tracing the dotted lines that marked the evacuation procedures. He suddenly felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Oh god, she better not-
The girl slammed the fire alarm down. The entire building blared a deafening alarm that felt like it was grinding the innards of Kent's ears. He tried to clap his hands over his ears; his left hand succeeded, but his right hand was jerked away by the girl, who crashed through the door and pulled him into the hot summer air outside.
Just when Kent was hoping they were done running, he was pulled again into another dead sprint away from the laboratories, towards the chain-link gates framing the outdoor sports facilities. A rusted corner of it had peeled away over a muddy puddle.
“You're going under. Do it now.” The girl shoved Kent into the mud. He thought he tasted dirt, an unpleasant condiment to the humid summer air. Kent scrambled awkwardly through the hole and emerged from it incredibly dirty.
“Catch.” Kent looked up just in time to see his backpack flying towards his face. He seized it from the air, and standing in front of him was the girl. Involuntarily, he stepped backwards from her and averted his eyes.
“Oy. Take me out to lunch,” she commanded him, this time a small smirk playing about her lips. She jabbed a finger into his chest. “What's your name?”
“Kent... and you?” he stammered.
“Janice. Okay, now that that's over, food time. Let's go.” Without letting go of his painfully squeezed wrist, she dragged him in a determined march towards the city.
---
“So, let me get this straight. You're a... double-double agent. You're doing spy work in New Britain, in the name of Team Rocket, and you're feeding the information to your home base, which means you're still perpetrating information leaks to some organization or another-”
“That's the gist of it. Good man.” Janice took another deep sip of her lemonade. The ice cubes clinked lightly in the glass. She daintily nibbled the remains of her lime pie from the tip of her fork. Crumbs littered the dish she had earlier strong-armed Kent into treating her to.
“But what makes your group any better than the Rockets? I mean seriously, your group sounds sketchy enough- you just said they weren't government or NGO-affiliated.”
“'Official qualifications' and the like are merely words in the end. It's the actions that show you really mean it, and I expect we'll be seeing a lot of action soon,” she replied thoughtfully. She leaned back in her chair, absentmindedly twirling a lock of hair.
Kent shifted uncomfortably. Though the air conditioning rendered the indoors considerably less hot and humid than outside, he still felt the stares of other patrons of the cafe, their narrowed eyes flicking over his muddied clothes. Janice's lab coat had saved her clothing from much of the grime Kent's jeans and t-shirt had accumulated; she was wearing short denim shorts and a tank top. That left Kent alone as the one sore sight in the cafe, a smart blend of solid colors, shades of blue, along with shining clean furniture. Not only do I look terrible... but my wallet's going to look depressing as well, he thought dejectedly, halfheartedly looking at Janice's empty plate.
“What are you anyway? Ethnically.” Janice chewed through her last bite of pie, staring thoughtfully at Kent's face. Kent could feel the heat rise behind his ears from the attention.
“Half Japanese. Half British. Why?” Kent stiffened a little. “That doesn't matter. More importantly, what do you want with me now?”
“First, pay our bill.” Janice casually flicked the crumpled paper from her straw with a fingernail; it landed nearly in the black tray with their receipt on it. Kent sighed; he no longer had the energy or willpower to complain about the events. As he pulled out his wallet, he noticed too late the evil gleam in Janice's dark eyes. With a swift movement, Janice snatched the wallet from his hands.
“What the fuck did you do that for, I-” Kent stood up indignantly, this time ignoring the stares he was garnering from bystanders.
Janice clapped a hand over his mouth. “You don't want to cause a scene, do you?” she asked him silkily, leaning closely. Kent felt his heart beat faster, and his brain frantically tried to generate a response. With a deft movement, Janice opened his wallet, and withdrew, to Kent's horror, his New Britian citizenship ID. The watermarks shone faintly in the sunlight as she held it up to view. Kent tried to lunge for it, but Janice withdrew quickly, pocketing her treasure in her shorts.
“I'll be keeping this. It'll be a nice incentive for you to shut up, I am sure. You won't be able to catch me, that lab incident was an exception,” she responded smugly. “Thanks for the meal. I'll contact you later.”
She got up, brushing her hair to the side. Kent could see her flash drive hanging on a belt loop, a small purple chip filled with stolen data... but Janice left as suddenly as she had appeared; before he knew it, she was gone.
Kent rubbed his eyes. A sleepless day coupled with intense physical activity and stress must have been addling his brain. Yet the white plate, dusted with crumbs, still sat in front of him. So did the bill, a terrible white slip of paper on its black tray.
Kent closed his eyes and sighed.
Chapter 3
“Water is forgiving when it is tamed. It puts out fire and quenches thirst; it is salvation for the living. But even water has a temper, and, even fire has its uses. In that respect, they are the same.”
- Misty, Cerulean City Gym Leader.
He punched in the numbers on the number pad, and the garage door opened. Kent entered the house as quietly as he could. He rounded the corridor, and he shut his door as slowly as possible, its habitual creak silenced to a whisper. Kent quickly pulled off his clothes and tugged on fresh jeans and t-shirt, tossing their mud-encrusted brethren into a corner.
Kent let himself fall face-first into his bed with a thud. The soft blanket was a balm to his exhaustion, but he could not completely get himself to relax. A strange girl had broken into a computer in the biology department of the University- specifically, the Pokemonology wing. Though no one ever wanted to call it that; the British academia were notoriously anal about classifying Pokemon as “animals”, as opposed to the Japanese scientists, who had decreed that the metabolic and genetic differences between Pokemon and animals rendered them entirely different kingdoms.
The models on the screen- Kent tried to recall their structure, but he could only see the back of his eyelids. He groaned into the bed.
“Kent Senkawa! Are you in your room? We need to go now, it's Alan's big day, and we can't miss it!”
“Mmmph.” Kent forced himself to unglue his face from the pillow. “Yeah mom, I'm ready. Give me a minute.”
His round-faced brother, not even a teenager yet, looked up at him. Like Kent, his hair was a mousy brown color, but it lay flat on his head in bowlcut fashion. His eyes were dark, but they were large- obviously inherited from his mother.
His two parents looked down at Kent, stark contrasts to each other in appearance but their expressions of anticipation and pride evident. His father stood only around two or three inches taller than his wife, but both were fairly thin, like Kent, but unlike his pudgy little brother. His hair straight and black, Professor Senkawa had thin but smooth features, his dark eyes always thoughtful. On the other hand, Mrs. Senkawa's hair was dyed blonde, cut in bangs framing her narrow face and light brown eyes.
“About time,” Kent's dad said impatiently, glancing at his watch. “We're driving to the pier, the ship's leaving in 10 minutes.
“Alright dad, alright, I'm going,” said Kent, resigned to his fate. A knot of frustration had coiled itself at the base of his stomach, and he deliberately averted his eyes from his brother. Meanwhile, Alan excitedly waved his stuffed Pikachu doll in the air, jabbering rapidly to his mother while his mother responded with laughter in her eyes.
This is really unfair. I can't get over how unfair it is. I reach my 10th birthday and get good grades, and what do I get? I get another two years in tutoring and accelerated programs, I get another two years and counting in University. And as for Alan, he gets to have what I've always wanted, on top of being incompetent and childish. Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?
I wanted to become a Pokemon trainer.
---
The spectacle on the grassy field rivaled that of the little league baseball events Kent vaguely recalled from his middle school years, or, what little time he did spend in middle school. Family members and parents gathered on the field, a few of the ambitious ones even setting up tents, whereas most of the rest stood at the outskirts of a roped off square patch of grass.
At the center of the field, a pompous-looking, white man, dressed in a formal gray suit paired with a blue checkered tie, harrumphed at his seat on a plastic chair behind the folding table set up on the field. On the center of the table, a box like an egg carton held the prizes of the day. Shiny new Pokeballs gleamed in each slot, some overshadowed by a huge cardboard box, at the top of which Kent could see the gleaming red cases of newly-manufactured Pokedexes.
“Welcome, one and all, to the first annual New Britain Pokemon Trainer Registration Ceremony! Congratulations to your children who have submitted and passed the preliminary tests, your children will have the honor of becoming Pokemon trainers in Neo-Japan! If you have not already, please stand in that line, down over there, to register dual citizenship with Neo-Japan; without a Neo-Japanese ID card, you will not be able to continue your journey,” boomed the man on his microphone.
“Don't you mean Shin-nippon?” piped up Alan, to Kent's embarrassment. Kent hastily grabbed Alan's shoulder, causing him to wince. “Keeeent, what was that for?” But luckily, no one heard Alan's childish statement.
You don't call it that here, thought Kent to himself. It's always Neo-Japan, and those “Japs” here.
A small line of children started forming at the edge of the table, Alan Senkawa standing third in line to two other chubby white boys. Kent shifted uncomfortably at his position behind the rope, and he looked at the ground in taciturn frustration. The second glances he got from people did not help either; he pulled out his earphones and plugged them into his ears tightly so as not to hear or notice the gossip passing around. The contrast between his parents, who had picked the patch of grass closest to the rope, could be easily seen by the crowd, which a large majority of was Caucasian.
“Jack Kingsley, is it?” boomed the official. The black-haired boy in front nodded vigorously. “Which Pokemon would you like, Bulbasaur, Charmander, or Squirtle?”
“Bulbasaur,” declared Jack, and he thrust out an open hand for his prize. The official chuckled, his double chins wobbling as he did, and the microphone amplifying his guttural laugh. He handed the boy a Pokeball, and a Pokedex. Jack exited the fenced off area by ducking under a robe, straight into the arms of his parents.
“And your name is... Ronald Brown?”
After Ronald and his Charmander finally came Alan. Kent stared forward, deliberately blanking his mind. I am happy. I'm happy for him, just like mom and dad. I'm happy that Alan gets to go on a Pokemon journey, I'm happy he has to leave us because then the house will be emptier, but I'll have his room, I'm trying to be happy...
“Alan Senkawa, is it? Which one would you like?”
Kent saw Alan scrunch up his face in concentration, and he was tempted to walk up, seize a Pokeball, and shove it into his brother's mouth. Please don't tell me you haven't been thinking about this. Please don't say something stupid like “You pick” or “I don't know”.
After an agonizing minute of waiting, Alan made his choice. “I want a Squirtle,” he told the man. He got his Squirtle, and, like the rest, he came running towards Mr. and Mrs. Senkawa.
“Go, Squirtle!” he cried, pressing the button on the Pokeball and throwing it up in the air.
Kent had the first impression of a huge brick materializing on the grass, then it solidified into a turtle shell, around two feet at its longest length. A curled tail poked out from one end, and a round head from another, its dark black eyes staring up at Kent. The Pokeball landed on the grass with a thud, and Alan sheepishly walked over to pick it up. “I'm going to work on that,” he declared with renewed confidence.
Kent felt his own heart skip a beat from the eye contact with the Squirtle, and he could see the uneasiness but also the intelligence in the little turtle's eyes. Tentatively, he extended a hand towards the Squirtle and patted it gently on the head. Its skin was smooth and flat, the miniscule blue scales almost like human skin. The rest of the Pokemon's little limbs emerged from his shell, and it clambered clumsily to its feet. It gazed at Kent with questioning eyes.
“Isn't he a little runty for a starter? I was fairly sure they were bigger,” commented Mr. Senkawa. He placed a hand on Alan's shoulder, and he gestured towards Alan's starter Pokemon.
“I'm your trainer, not him! He's my older brother, he's Kent. He's nice too, but you're my Pokemon,” said Alan hurriedly, noticing Squirtle's attention on Kent. The Squirtle spun around, an expression of bewilderment in his eyes. The turtle toddled forward on its two feet, walking closer to Alan. Kent felt a small pain in his heart, and he averted his eyes. Aimlessly, he watched as another girl stepped up to claim her Pokemon.
“I-I'm Rosa Lee. I want a Charmander, please,” she said in an almost inaudible murmur. She nervously held her hands together, shoulders hunched. Her black hair fell slightly past the white summer dress she wore.
“Alright Rosa, here you go,” said the man kindly.
Rosa smiled falteringly, then she turned away from the man. “Y-you can come out now, C-charmander,” she called aloud.
The burst of red light materialized into a bipedal orange lizard. Unless it was Kent's imagination, the Charmander was slightly larger than average, at least a few inches above two feet... Its tail swished side to side, the characteristic flame burning brightly at its tip, hovering dangerously above the grass.
Sniffing the air, the Charmander waved its head back and forth in a way not unlike a snake. It glanced towards Kent, and Kent felt a jolt of irrational fear once he saw its eyes. The dark bluish eyes were looking in opposite directions; the left eye looking left, right eye looking right. A few of the parents had similar reactions; they stepped backwards or barely concealed their gasps. Kent decided to ignore the spectacle. I'd feel terrible if I were Rosa... but I guess I also feel bad for the Charmander. He idly watched his brother interact with the Squirtle; Alan had grabbed the Squirtle's front claws and waved them back and forth in a “dance” of sorts. The Squirtle did not seem to mind; it gurgled at Alan interestedly in response to Alan's poor singing.
A high-pitched scream suddenly erupted from the center of the crowd. Kent snapped to attention, and he gasped in horror.
“N-no Charmander, no, please,” cried Rosa softly. Blood erupted profusely from her right leg, a mangled mess of flesh and bone. If it had looked unnerving before, the Charmander looked even more inhuman now, its eyes flushed with blood and crouching on all-fours at her side. Ignoring her weakening pleas, it snarled viciously, tail waving side to side intently, and it lunged for her face.
Kent averted his eyes, his heart beating fast. Fucking hell. Then he heard it: the crunching sound of her windpipe and her last words dying in her throat. A chill ran down his spine, but a fire burned within his stomach. He clenched his fists and shoved roughly through the crowd of paralyzed onlookers. Time seemed to slow; either that or Kent's thoughts were going at a mile per minute. I need to stop this.
“Alan!” he yelled. His brother looked at him fearfully, tears shining in his eyes but his expression so vacant Kent dismissed any hope of depending on him. He decided to switch tactics.
“You there! Squirtle! Watergun it, now!” He pointed a finger at the blue turtle crouched at its trainer's side.
The Squirtle's eyes widened, but it started to withdraw its head and tail closer to its brick-colored shell. Kent groaned in frustration, and he glared down at the turtle Pokemon. I can't take any more of this idiocy. He roughly seized the Squirtle and pointed him the field, striding forward with his eyes squeezed closed so as not to see the bloody scene ahead of him.
“Open your mouth, and spit whatever water you have at it! Do it now!” He screamed.
The panicky Squirtle squirmed in his arms, but to his command, it gargled out a thin spray of water at the Charmander. The lizard froze in its actions, its tail swishing intently and its dark eyes flicking upwards towards the turtle. Upon eye contact, the Squirtle withdrew itself totally in its shell and shivered violently in Kent's hands. The Charmander bared its teeth in a hiss, its unnatural eyes still staring to the left and right. Then it scampered under the roped area, past screaming parents and children, and disappeared into the woods.
Kent nearly dropped the Squirtle; as the adrenaline left his veins his arms grew slack and an overwhelming sense of weariness flooded his consciousness. However, he seized the Pokemon as closely to his chest as he could, and he turned towards the audience.
The rest of the day was like a blur. He was recovered by his parents, had some questioning by the authorities to which he gave mechanical, blunt answers, and was neatly packed into the family car and driven home, with the Squirtle and Alan sleeping against his shoulders. That much he knew.
He knew what happened. He just didn't know what he thought of what just happened.
