by K.A. Rose

Pokemon monsters, characters, items, names, locations and everything else is copyright Game Freak, Creatures, and Nintendo, and licensed by 4Kids, Hasbro (I think) and probably some others. Used without permission.

Norei, Bruuka and Sellia property of K.A. Rose. Miscellaneous trainers and incredibly minor characters being negligible beings are not property of anyone, though inspired by the Pokemon fan community.

Note: This concept fic is meant as a harmless rant as to the spread of popular culture, and not intended to insult or demean the Pokemon fan community, even if critique is given. Also, forgive me for any incorrect references, etc., for this is my first attempt at a Pokemon fanfic.

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  When I was young, you could sit out on the beach and watch the dolphins playing their leaping games way out at sea, as the sun set across the distant horizon. I remember lying on the cozy white sand shores with Bruuka, then a pup, letting the last tangerine rays of sunlight wash over me. I recall the tide gradually drawing in, the crabs scuttling about in and out of the waves, ignorant of the ever-fading light.
  There weren't any Tentacools washed up on the sand, and when you went fishing you never hooked a Magikarp. Life was simple and sane back then, when I was a kid. Back then I was blissfully unaware of all those new scientific studies commencing in Cinnabar and who knows where else, talk of new mutations in animals, rumors that these new creatures weren't earth-born at all. No: back when I was a kid, a dog was a dog, a fish was a fish, and when the sun set, you still knew these things to hold true, and you figured it'd be like this forever.
  But it didn't stay like that. As I grew older and Bruuka grew up along with me, I learned that things do change, and I was watching them change. Evolve, I guess. Suddenly dolphins were passé and every kid but me wanted to go catch Dratini and Goldeen. They had fancy names for every new creature the scientists were discovering, and they always seemed like the muddled kid-like pronunciation of its animal cousin. When I turned nine, they started constructing a new building in the main town, about five miles from my house on the beach. It was dome-shaped, crimson and paper white, and the owners called it a PokeCenter.
  Why way out in the boonies where me and Dad and Bruuka lived, with maybe three hundred-some others in the total area? It made no sense to me. This area would not be a major traffic zone for field researchers for those fabled Pokemon professors, the "trainers" as they were called. I mean, how could it be? The only attraction our little lot of land had was the ocean. And there was nothing remarkable about it for them, I was certain. They were after the new monsters, the new creatures that kept appearing. Pocket Monsters, they called them, Pokemon for short.
  At age ten I was the only kid at my school who wasn't going to late afternoon classes at the Pokemon Academy in the next town over. It was well established that children at the age of eleven could take time off from school to become trainers, working for this or that professor in the effort to learn more about the new Pokemon creatures. To become a trainer they needed to pass the Academy's exam, and the only surefire way to pass it was to take the classes, which weren't exactly cheap. How'd these laws get passed anyway? Why the heck did the Prime Minister approve them? I heartily agreed with my dad that eleven-year-olds were way too inexperienced to handle being trainers: I wasn't conceited like my fellow children, with dillusional thoughts of power. I was a child, and grown-ups were most often the only ones who could handle things.
  I remember coming to school one day, exhausted from the five mile hike I undertook twice daily to get to and from school. Bruuka was with me: back then it was still okay for pets to come to school (or at least there were no rules against it) as long as they stayed outside the classroom. As I walked on to the dirt playground, I saw some other kids huddled in a circle, clamoring loudly about Butterfrees and Weedles. I remember how they stopped as I approached, alerted by the joined panting of both me and Bruuka. The entire crowd of kids, all boys, looked over at me. Many of them were sporting Pokemon Academy wear, handling prototype Pokedexes. Aaron, who'd just turned 11 two weeks prior, was even wearing a belt bearing six small, identical balls, each in the likeness of the dome-shaped PokeCenter.
  Aaron began once again his old game of teasing with me. "Wazza matter, Norei? Yer Growlithe's growth bin stunted?"
  "Bruuka's not a Growlithe," I said quietly, trying to contain the venom of my tone. "Bruuka's a purebred Scottish Redtail sheepdog."
  "Ain't never heard of it. I know Growlithes and Arcanines and lotza other buggers, but ain't never heard of a Scottish Redtail. Izzint it more'n likely he's jus' a baby Growlithe?"
  "No. Because Bruuka's older than all the Growlithes around here. He's not a Pokemon. He's a dog."
  "Ain't never heard of a dog!" Aaron chortled. "Wanna battle yer Growlithe against my new Dratini? 'Got it jus' yesterday down at th' beach, came right up on ma line--"
  "So that's who was at the beach after hours," I said, then remembering the shady silhouette of a boy up on the bluff last night after sun had set. "You wasn't 'sposed to be there, Aaron. I'm gonna tell yer daddy on you--"
  "Who wazzit ye think suggested I go out there? Ma daddy's the local professor, ya know. Now quit yer stallin' and get yer Growlithe ready fer the fight!"
  "Dogs don't go into battles!" I cried, mortified. I knelt down and hugged my dear Bruuka around the neck; he nuzzled my cheek to express he understood my concern for him. "Who would? Isn't it wrong to make any bugger, animal or Pokemon, fight another one just fer betting and pride?"
  "Ya got yer daddy's stupid ideas. All the other daddies and even the other mommies think you're dad's a... what was the word they keep usin', fellas?"
  "Dick!" the other children cried in happy unison.
  "Thas the one. Always sayin' this 'ole Pokemon thing's a waste o' every'un's time. It's a shame ya took up on it like ya did. Ya coulda bin a great trainer-- still worse'n me, though! Ye jus' wait, I'm gonna be the greatest thar is, an' I'm gonna be the person all da other stupid trainers come up 'gainst to prove they's worth it!"
  With that Aaron ceased the talk, took a ball from his belt, and pressed the button in the center. At the touch it instantly enlarged to about the size of a baseball --this was back in the day when people still understood that baseball existed-- and Aaron threw it at the ground. It burst open-- I was quite hopeful the great trainer had botched it and destroyed the little ball, but it split in two and from it spilled a brilliant red light, and the look on Aaron's face suggested this was just what was supposed to happen. It took the form of a long snake-like creature, which flushed blue and white. It had large, watery eyes, like a fish, but with a decidedly horselike face. With a casual glance at it I would have guessed it to be some sort of mutated eel at very best.
  "Waitaminit, Aaron!" a shrill voice cried out. The group of boys, Aaron, and I all darted our heads to the left, and we saw Millicent, one of only eight girls at the entire school. She was a small girl at that time, maybe a year or two younger than me, dirty blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, boy's shirt and boy's overalls, not exactly the image of femininity, but boys of that age still loathed her simply over gender, as boys were prone to do anyway. Nevertheless, she was an aggressive girl, and had displayed from the first day of school a wish to take me under her wing to protect me against the other children. "He ain't a 'proved trainer yet! Yew fight 'im an' yer gonna git yer license takin away!"
  "Oy, Norei, yew gonna let a GURL difend ya like that?" Aaron argued.
  "Leave Millie alone," I said. "And leave me an' Hikari alone too, 'cause it's best for alla us. Millie can't fight, 'cause she'll get in trouble, bein' a girl an' all, and I can't fight, 'cause my daddy don't like me doing that, an' Bruuka can't fight, 'cause he ain't a monster critter, he's just a dog!"
  "There ain't no such thing as dogs! Theys all dead now! An' the only things even like 'em iz Growlithes an' Arcanines, and those critters fight! Now fight my Dratini so I can prove I'm th' best!" Aaron began to get impatient, and he stamped his foot on the ground, kicking up dust.
  "Bruuka can't fight!" I protested, louder and with more force than before.
  "Don' give it a name! It's tacky! Just call it by its species! Go, Dratini!" Aaron pointed at Bruuka then, and the Dratini's face curled up in determination, and its body coiled up like a snake's. I remember it springing up and at Bruuka and me like a footless lion, ferocity and all. And in the midst of it all, I forgot about Bruuka entirely, taking my arms from him and shielding myself in terror. I never forgave myself for what happened because of it.
  I know dogs aren't like Pokemon, not capable of thinking on the same level as them, but at that moment he might as well have been the Growlithe everyone jokingly accused him as. He left my side and ran out ahead, facing the Dratini head-on. A normal dog up against something like that! His doggy skull cracked against the eel's, but the latter's proved much weaker in comparison to the Scottish Redtail, and recoiled, red trickling down through its eyes.
  Bruuka having thrown off the Dratini's attack, he turned to full offensive. He opened his jaws down upon the blue eel. The entire crowd of boys and Millicent turned away with cries of horror: some began sobbing.
  "No fair! No fair!" Aaron wailed, rushing forward and hugging the little blue Pokemon around what you could call his neck, where a large bleeding gash was expressed. "Illegal move! You're not 'sposed to do that!"
  "That's with Pokemon," I told him. "An' Bruuka's not a Pokemon."
  Millicent ran up to me then, overjoyed at Bruuka's "victory". All the others, however, were stumbling back, horrified. The sight of blood on a Pokemon seemed to disturb them beyond all reason: for all the violence they had the creatures commit, blood seemed to be crossing the line. Hypocrites.
  From the main road by the playground we heard a shout, and the sound of adult footfalls. Millicent and I turned around to see the sheriff approaching, appearing worried out of his head.
  "I saw it! I saw it all! Norei, little snot, yer in fer it this time! Doncha know anything?! Goddamn, are ya gonna git it! Ain't nothin' yer daddy can do fer you and that mutt this time!!"
  "What?" I asked, dumbfounded. Millie seemed just as confused, but she expressed it as anger, balling up her fists as if in an attempt to challenge the sheriff to a fight. "What'd Bruuka do wrong? All he did is defend himself an' me! It ain't wrong! It ain't bad! It's what animals do!"
  "But he didn't attack no animal, little punk!" growled the sheriff, grabbing me by my thin wrist. "You goin' down this time, brat! An' so's yer mongrel! We's gonna kill 'im off so he don't hurt no one else!"
  "But all he did wuz beat the Dratini!" Millicent insisted, trailing after as the sheriff began to drag me in the direction of his car. "An' anyway, it didn't die!"
  "Pokemon fighting iz until point o' exhaustion, not death, leel girl," informed the sheriff. "You ain't 'sposed ta do actual damage, y'see. Bruisin' is the limit. But Norei's goddamn beastie didn't go by that, an' now we gots ta make sure he don't do it again. If'n a Pokemon did it, we could jus' tell it not to, an' it would listen. But not an animal, they's too dumb for that." We arrived at his vehicle, and before I could react I found myself shoved into the back seat. In an act of spontaneity, he grabbed Millie too, and threw her in as well. Locking us in, he went back for Bruuka.
  Millie and I climbed around in the police car and squirmed for a good view out the side window, as we watched the sheriff come up on Bruuka. The dog was still prowling back and forth, as if to vent some anger. I could see a little red around his jaw that matched the color of his tail. It didn't make any sort of violent move toward the sheriff: Bruuka was, after all, a dog raised around humans. He was civil. Millicent and I watched, helpless, as the sheriff took the baton from his police belt and walked toward the dog, who now sat patient, almost as if he were expecting the nightstick to be used in a game of fetch with him.
  Millicent was tough, but she looked away with a stifled sob when the sheriff descended the baton upon Bruuka. I was paralyzed, so I saw everything.
  The playground dirt around the dog became a reddish sort of mud.

  So now you know, I'm not exactly on good terms with a lot of people. Police, Pokemon trainers, and pretty much anything that conforms to all this Pocket Monster mania.
  Bruuka didn't die that day, by whatever miracle, but he'd never attack again. The baton had crushed his skull. That day, in a rush of adrenaline I broke through the glass of the car window, and ran, bleeding, five miles to home to get my father, and together we drove at far past the speed limit to get back in time. He was dying when we found him. We took him to the vet, but the vet was now of the Pokemon vet variety, and of very little use to us. At an exorbiant price that to this day we've never fully compensated for, we obtained from the Pokevet a "potion" that kept Bruuka alive long enough to get him to Celadon. And there we paid even more for medics to work on him.
  I don't know why my father spent all of that for me and my dog, I honestly don't. Perhaps it was out of pity for a dying race. Perhaps because he thought that, were Bruuka to die, I would soon follow, and I was the only family he had left. We sold the house, our exotic beachfront mini-resort went for half its actual value. We cashed all of my savings bonds that were intended for my college education. We borrowed from everyone who would lend. And we are still in debt.
  But Bruuka survived, and he's still with me. Twenty-eight years old, almost two hundred in dog years: needless to say past his normal life span. He still looks to be only a few years old, though if you look in his eyes you'd see a pain that a little dog would never show. But no one ever looks in his eyes.
  The fur all over his body was stained red, and even new coats that come in have that coloring. I have no idea why. But he resembles a Growlithe more than ever now, which I suppose is sort of a double-bladed sword. It is aggravating to see someone mistake him for a Pokemon, but at the same time I guess it's best that way.
 Things got worse since that day, for me and globally. Prejudice towards animals got worse, and nearly all species were wiped out, down to fleas. Dolphins built spaceships and escaped the planet: but despite the hilarity and wonder of the event, it scarcely even made the papers. If you were a Pokemon trainer, things were getting better. PokeCenters were available in nearly all city and town establishments, and along long stretches of road. Any town not conceding to a PokeCenter and PokeStore was usually taken over by a government more keen to the idea. Shippers of the "Pokemon Movement" continued to increase in power in national government: half the Prime Minister's advisors were for it, and two thirds of the voting house as well. Dozens of Pro-Pokemon laws were passed. Tournaments, guilds, academies, research centers-- all of these went up in the name of Pokemon, and they were supported with such mass fanaticism that the small voice of resistance was scarcely heard.
  I don't think anyone's even noticed that life used to be different: it was like the magic of Pokemon training and fighting brainwashed them to an extent, to where the politics being played, the strings being pulled, none of it even occurred to them. Did it make sense for towns that wanted nothing to do with Charizards and Rhydons to be forced to host centers, stores, and competitions, often the only selling point being the profit? Ethics seemed to disappear under a wave of some new mission, a holy crusade. For some demented reason, someone somewhere wanted the Pokemon Movement to go international, and they were starting to get their wish. And by whatever means, they were getting all the knights they needed.
  I was the only one without a single PokeBall in his backpack as he traveled the lands. What did I travel for? Well, after my father's livelihood was crushed because of Bruuka, neither of us had much choice but to wander, looking for a new beginning.
  My father never did get the chance to settle down again. His death was an ultimate irony to us both: he was trampled to death by a Tauros.
  It was that crowning act of spite that had me set a goal: stay aloof through it all, never give in to society and their damn Pokemon. Let them keep the Pikachus and Squirtles to themselves. Yet, despite all my efforts to remain away from them, their persistence to assimilate me never wavered. As I said, it was like a holy quest for them. Any trainer I came up against insisted that I take it up. In fact, many made it almost a personal mission in life to get me to convert. Evangelical Pokemonism.
  I bet you're wondering just how I get around so much if I don't have Pokemon. After all, the wild country is pretty dangerous, they say, what with all those deadly monsters only trainers can handle. Bruuka isn't much help in this regard: he can't fight in any sense of the word, serving only as my travel companion and friend. My success through it all was a mix of intelligence, nature skills, and a little something I call a taser. With all these things on my side, I can keep the Flaafys and Sunkerns at bay well enough.
  We were in Johto, traveling to Goldenrod to stock up on trail rations (the store that sells them seldom gets customers, seeing as the department store has pretty much everything the Pokemon trainer could need. At this time, if you weren't a trainer, you were more or less a nobody, hence deserving nobody things. So Bruuka and I were camping out on the roadside: my dog was idly watching Pidgeys finding nests for the night, Ratatas coming out for a midnight prowl, wary of any Hoothoots or Noctowls in the area, though they seldom came down this road. I was fighting with the box of matches to get the fire started, and not having much success.
  The dark figure of a girl appeared just beyond the range of my nighttime vision, academy vest bearing gym badges clearly evident even in so little light. "You know," she said, "if you used a Fire Pokemon, it'd be easier."
  I ignored her. I'd heard the suggestion too many times already.
  "Isn't that a Growlithe you have there? It looks funny. Are you taking care of it?"
  I didn't reply.
  "You deaf?"
  Silence.
  "Look... I'm trying to start up a conversation here, and all you do is ignore me. I've got a Typhlosion if you need the fire. You can save your matches for another day."
  I stopped before striking another match against the side of the box, and I studied the silhouetted girl. None of her features were very clear under the starlight. "Why are you offering me help?"
  "Well, so you're not mute after all!" she said, impressed. "And I'm offering you help 'cause it's the proper thing to do. One trainer to another, right?"
  "I'm not a trainer."
  "Breeder on the go, then?"
  "Not a breeder either."
  The girl laughed. "Then what?"
  I struck the match, twisting the wrist a bit more than I had with previous attempts, and the match came alight. I quickly touched it to my wood pile, and a small flame began to arise. A pale orange light swept the area about fifteen feet in each direction, and the girl's face was illuminated. She seemed to be dark-skinned, with dyed-blue hair twisted into dreadlocks, and missing the usual "cool preteen trainer" cap; her jacket was very heavily adorned with badges, more than you usually see on your average adventurer.
  "I'm just a traveler," I said shortly. "I go from here to there looking for my place. A drifter, I guess,"
  "Well, drifter, looks like you've been living on dried fruit for far too long. If you let me join your orange and crimson arena, I'll let you have some of my jerky."
  I shrugged. The female trainer took that as a means of saying yes, and sauntered close to the fire. She sat a foot from me, cross-legged, and relieved her shoulders of her heavy backpack. It was academy issue, but she'd decorated it with what I guessed were her own hand drawings. There were rats, not Ratatas, cats instead of Meowths, and dogs instead of Growlithes or Snubulls. It puzzled me until I looked at her face again, and saw it to be very matured, maybe as old or older than me. You scarcely see male trainers older than teenagers, let alone women ones.
  "You were around before the Movement," I observed. She nodded with an air of solemnity, zipping open the backpack and removing a small tin container. Popping the lid of it open, she drew out a thin strip of dried, crumpled meat, and offered it to me. I took it without hesitation, biting in and then snapping back in surprise at how much it hurt my teeth. I'd been accustomed to soft things too often. "Why's a girl like you running around catching Pikachus?"
  The girl snorted in contempt at the name. "Please. That's so overdone already. I just take what's powerful and train it up to where it comes of use. I don't do themes or go with what's cute. I just use what works."
  "Still, you're a trainer..."
  "You seem to have a little distaste for the trade," said the girl. "Mind telling me why?"
  "Long story. Besides, it's not a very good one."
  "I've got time. And I like stories."
  "Why should I tell it to you anyway?" I reasoned, trying again with the jerky piece to tear some off to the point where I could actually eat it. Bruuka came closer to the fire, now seeking the warmth that it provided. The female trainer offered a piece of the jerky to him as well. Bruuka sniffed her hand, then took the jerky, lying down to eat it. "I don't even know your name."
  "You can call me Sellia. Sally is just fine, people seem to find it easier. And what about you?" Sally asked.
  "Norei. I never had any nicknames, so that name will have to do." I shrugged and took another bite of the jerky.
  "It's a pleasure to meet you," Sally insisted, extending her hand. I stared at it for a few seconds, before recalling that it was formal for people who meet like this to shake hands. I'd been away from main society for a while, so such things escaped me. I hastily shook her hand with a loose grip, but it seemed enough to satisfy her, so she continued: "So about that story?"
  "Do you remember the days when there were dogs and cats and fish, and none of this stupid Pocket Monster crap?" I asked, to which she nodded. "I'm going around like I do because I want those days to return. Back before this madness. But I can't do a damn thing, so instead I just try as much as I can to avoid today's society."
  "But why?"
  "Ever since Bruuka there was little and me with him, they called him a Growlithe. He's not. He's a Scottish Redtail." Explaining it to Sally seemed to let some weight off my chest, possibly because she listened intently instead of looking with disbelief.
  Sally looked at Bruuka, then back at me. "I've never--"
  I finished for her, "Heard of it. Well, of course you haven't. No one in the world but me seems to have--"
  The trainer returned by interrupting me as well. "No, it's not that. I've heard of them. They're very adorable. I've just never seen one." She reached over and scratched Bruuka behind his reddish ears; he sighed in delight from it. "They're almost all dead now, aren't they?"
  "Bruuka would've joined the number," I said. "I daresay he's one of the last --or the last-- of his kind."
  All Sellia could say, or felt necessary to say, was "I'm sorry." She fed Bruuka another piece of jerky in a motion of sympathy. "Must be tough. I mean, to have a dog instead of a Pokemon. I can imagine all the ridicule..."
  "More than not, it's people getting confused. No one knows what a dog is anymore, you know. You tell them and they just stare dumbly, or figure you're lying. Either way you end up getting the tired old lecture on it not being too late to become a trainer."
  Sally stared at me for a long time. I wondered if I'd said something wrong, when she spoke up: "You're traveling to find a place where the movement hasn't spread, but you find yourself going in circles, don't you?" She broke into a smile. "You and I are similar, you know that? I figured that being good as a trainer would give me some freedom, enough to where I could break out of all this mess off to somewhere else, to get some peace and quiet. If I get enough badges, I can go fight the Elite Four..." Her voice grew excited. "...and then if I win, everyone will know it, and my fame will get me places. I could leave the country! I could go far, far away from here--"
  "What about your Pokemon?" I asked.
  Sally shook her head. "I'll try to give them off to nice people when they've served their purpose-- but when it comes right down to it, all they are to me are means of getting to my goal, and when I no longer need them, I'll discard them."
  This was different. Usually a trainer will go into a huge speech about how every Pokemon they catch is their dear friend, when in truth, how many people actually did that? I was confounded by Sellia's honesty: her Pokemon were her tools, not companions. She announced what so many practiced.
  "What, you expected me to do a Ketchum and proclaim my undying trust and loyalty to them?" she asked.
  "You're quite the weird one," I said, rambling. "So against the mold-- you remind me of a girl I knew as a kid. How did you manage to get through the academy in one piece? How do you keep from getting burned at the stake by all the other trainers?"
  "I keep a taser constantly at hand," she explained.
  "After my own heart."

  Sellia left the next morning before I awoke. The fire was now a small pile of ash, a thin trail of smoke rising into the air. She'd left the rest of the container of jerky for us, and her cell phone number. Only I didn't have PokeGear, so it was of limited use to me except in towns. I kept it anyway.
  The rest of the trip to Goldenrod seemed to flash by without distraction. Very few Pokemon came upon us, and no trainers appeared interested in an "old guy" and a deformed Growlithe. I was thinking about what Sally had said: about what she observed to be my purpose to travelling. Was she right? It wasn't just a matter of finding a place to settle down, for that was simple enough, it was that I needed a place removed from this whole society. The endless talk of Poke this, Poke that-- were I to take up residence in any area, the talk would drive me insane, whereas when traveling I could just drift away when I didn't like the conversation.
  Why do I run from it? It's consumed life as I knew it. Rather, life as I knew it was long gone, and I'd refused to adapt.
  Entering Goldenrod, the huge mecca for Pokemon trainers in Johto, a shoeless, probably homeless, old man came hobbling up to me. He was about twice my age, and possessed half my teeth, with dirty bandages all over, covering burns and scratches. "Interested in some Charcoal, gov? Fresh from Azalea. Or how about an Amulet Coin? 'Has trainers give higher pay when you win battles..."
  I stopped and stared at him, pained. "What did you do before the Pokemon Movement?" I inquired. The old man stopped his sales pitch and looked at me, bemused.
  "Before the movement, gov?" he asked, for clarification. I repeated my question for him. "I was a doctor-- veterinarian, actually. Peeps used to bring me their cats and dogs. I was outta the job when there was less of them cats and dogs and more of them other creatures. Ones that were translucent or were plants or shocked ya if you got too close..."
  "Really successful vet?" I persisted.
  "Very," the homeless man swelled with pride. "Used to run my clinic right where that gym is now," he pointed to Whitney's gym, far off in the heart of Goldenrod, past the railroad tracks. "Got my calls from peeps all over the nation an even from Kanto. There wasn't anythin' I couldn't cure. 'Was rich enough to start my own reservation down south, in Africa. Well, what used to be called Africa. Don't even know what they call it now, if it's even still there... My reservation had lions, cheetahs, elephants, everythin'-- it's still there, I think. Movement didn't bother to spread that far south an' all."
  "And now look at you," I sighed.
  "Now look at me," he agreed.
  I got the coin pouch from out of my backpack and gave him a handful of coins-- some of it the Pokeyen of today's currency, some of it from before. The old man looked at the pre-Poke coins with wonder.
  "'Been years since I'd seen one of these," he said, tears forming in the corners of his black ringed eyes. "Just brings me back-- to when I would wake up to a pager full of calls about dogs with colds and cats with bruised tails... oh, those days... Thank ye kindly, gov! Earned yourself the best o' my wares, ya have! Would you like the Rainbow Apricorn or the Slowpoke Tail?"
  "Neither," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "You just go spend that on something worth while, okay?" I returned the coin purse and waved goodbye to him, and set off down the road into the main part of the city.
  It was Sunday, so the main part of the city was stuffing itself into the department store, where I didn't want to go anyway. Bruuka and I walked down main street, seeing pretty much no one on the roads. The radio tower on the left side of town loomed in the sky, only thing in the city like a tower other than the big store. I passed another PokeCenter, where a pair of trainers were leaned against the wall comparing Pokedexes.
  They looked up at me. One of them whispered to the other: "Boy, I bet that guy thinks he's so hot 'cause he's got a Pokemon outside the ball following him like that."
  "Yeah, I know!" laughed the other. "It's, like, so Ketchum, isn't it? You'd think an old guy like him would be smarter than mimic a great like that..."
  "What's an old guy like him walking around being a trainer anyway?"
  "Yeah. That guy's old enough to be my dad!"
  They looked at each other; I pretended not to notice them before, but now I was getting worried. One of them said, in stage whisper: "Let's see what he does if I..."
  "No!" the other giggled. "It's, like, mean!"
  "Exactly," the first one said, smirking. He turned to me, standing up straight, and took a Pokeball from his belt in a very straightforward guesture. "Hey, old man! I challenge you to a battle!"
  My heart skipped a beat, but not out of glee. I glared at him in an effort to get the message across that I was in no position to fight. But like all bratty little trainers, he was blind to any visual signal subtler than waving your arms or holding up a sign.
  "Go, Pikachu!" he yelled, tossing the ball forward, a small burst of red light appearing as it split open. It took the all-too-familiar shape of the yellow rodent, fat with a long, bended tail and ears like a rabbit.
  It looked up at me from its spot on the ground, tiny black nose twitching, watery brown eyes glittering dumbly in their sockets. I don't see how anything could look upon this creature and see a form of intelligence. "Chuuuu..." it let out.
  "What's the matter?!" the trainer demanded. "Why don't you send out your Growlithe?"
  "Bruuka can't fight," I explained, monotone.
  "Whaddya mean? Your Growlithe looks able enough. And 'sides, you've gotta have plenty of other Pokemon!"
  I verbally disagreed, displaying for them the lack of a Pokemon belt around my waist. "Plus, I'm not a trainer," I added when they still didn't seem to get the picture.
  "'The hell you got Pokemon for if you're not a trainer?!" the opponent screamed, furious.
  "Well, see, about that--"
  "You're just trying to get outta the fight! It's not how we play, old man! Pikachu, Tackle that guy!" The yellow rat looked around at its trainer, incredulous. "I said do it!" It shrugged --though that was mighty hard without much as far as shoulders went-- and leapt up into the air. Natural reaction had me bring up my arms to shield my face, which did about as much good as if I'd kept them at my sides. Its pudgy, yellow little body attached itself to my right arm, which was outmost, and hung on with its tiny claws. "Bite!" commanded the trainer, and it obeyed, lunging forward with mouth agape, vicious little teeth beared.
  My left arm still freed from the yellow thing's grip, I reached down and fumbled around in my jacket pocket before remembering I'd put the taser in my backpack.
  I reached back for the backpack, which made only for a very silly picture of a Pikachu chewing on a guy's arm as he made a futile attempt at the bag slung from his shoulders. Giving up on trying for the taser, I brought the left arm up and grabbed the Pikachu by the back of what would be its neck, gripping onto a chunk of loose fur like that you find on a cat. Its claws pulled out from within my skin, and I managed to loose my bleeding arm from its mouth before it regained a good amount of control over itself once more, and began lashing out wildly.
  With nothing else to do with it, I flung it through the air. The Pikachu made a high-pitched squeal like a pig, and landed with a thud on the ground. I still stood just as I had before, though now cradling a very damaged arm.
  "Kaaaaa..." it whined. Looking hard at it, it seemed it had landed on its back, and was having difficulty rolling over to the point that it could get up. Its tiny arms and legs flailed in the air.
  The trainer made no move at it, seeming almost paralyzed at witnessing what'd just occured. I, however, was not finished. I walked up to the incapacitated Pikachu, until my feet were right next to it. I looked down at the fluffy yellow mound that people dared called an intelligent creature. I had to control the urge to spit on it, opting instead to wedge my foot beneath it... and once again send it flying.
  At that I began to walk away, and Bruuka began following after me. The old dog seemed quite overjoyed at my triumph over the rodent, and I had a flashback at that moment of the time when he'd fought the Dratini.
  "Seems we've both broken the law now, boy," I said, and we kept walking. I knew without looking back that the trainers were running to the police station to say what they'd witnessed. And my assumptions were confirmed when, a few minutes later, I began to hear sirens. I had the capacity to run and escape, but what was the point? It was like life: sooner or later, you had to face all this shit anyway.

  "Norei Hizagawa, you are found guilty of violating PokeAct one-eight-four-four-seven, article twelve, section three, paragraph fourteen: human abuse of Pocket Monster creatures. How do you plead?"
  I smiled, twisting my arms around in the too-tight handcuffs. The weeks were like a daze. I was glad to finally hear those words from the judge's mouth. It meant that it'd soon be over. "Guilty, your honor," I said. There was a buzz in the courtroom as those attending the session began to talk amongst themselves at my statement.
  "The trial will proceed regardless, as per national law, only to confirm that your actions are as you and witnesses say." The judge leaned forward in his seat, staring down at me. The crick I was getting in my neck from looking up at him, this huge difference in height however atificially fostered, it reminded me of the day back in my youth where I could do nothing to defend myself against grownups. It seemed that even as an adult, I was life's hackysack-- not that anyone here knew what hackysack was. "Do you have anything to say in your defense, Hizagawa?"
  "I pleaded guilty, didn't I?" I reasoned.
  "Don't you wish to explain your circumstances?" The judge seemed less than impressed by my good-natured acceptance of the situation. I guess he'd seen far too many cases where the accused tried to fight things.
  "Oh, there were circumstances? I was unaware." I shrugged.
  "Please refrain from sarcasm in my presence, Hizagawa, or I will hold you in contempt of this court. I repeat: is there anything you wish to say in your defense, or something to make this trial go quicker?"
  "There's a lot of things I want to say, but I doubt anyone would care to listen," I looked over at my shoulder back at the rest of the court room. The rows of seats were completely filled with spectators. News reporters were dotted here and there, writing down notes of the events. My assigned lawyer sat, shuffling through the files in his briefcase, oblivious to the entire scene. I was about to look back at the judge to say I had nothing to add, when I saw two girls next to each other in the second row. One was black, with blue hair in dreadlocks. The other was peach-skinned and heavily freckled, and messy dirty blonde hair. I hadn't seen her in years. Despite her ever-present tomboy appearance, she was now quite evidently female. Sellia and Millicent whispered words to each other, keeping their eyes trained on me.
  "Anything at all, Hizagawa?" the judge prompted once more.
  "Yes," I said suddenly. The entire mass of spectators, jurymen, guards, and Sally and Millie looked with rapt, intense attention. I looked back at the judge. "If I could face the courtroom for this..." The judge waved his hand in permittance.
  I turned around and looked over the faces. The disinterested lawyer who was supposed to be defending me. The jurymen who tried to take note of everything I said so they could take it into account later on. The news reporters who waited, pencil ready. And Sally and Millie. The two girls smiled at me in encouragement, and I allowed myself a quick smile at them back.
  I drew in a large breath, and began. "I grew up in rural Kanto. Back then, there were no Pokemon. And when they started appearing, I was the only one who didn't care. I liked my life with my father and my dog --not Growlithe-- Bruuka. I remember one day being faced by the kids at school and challenged to a Pokemon fight... that is to say, my dog against a boy's Dratini. The boy's name was Aaron, by the way, Aaron Oak-- you may know him as the son of Professor Oak, and father of the boy who preceeded Ash at beating the Elite Four. My apologies for not remembering his name, but hey, I can't be expected to know every detail of other people's lives.
  "When Bruuka harmed the attacking Dratini by biting it and drawing blood, everyone reacted in horror, because it wasn't what you were supposed to do in Pokemon battles. Yet when the sheriff came after witnessing Bruuka's attack, he then tried to kill my dog. If not for my father's and my efforts, Bruuka would have died that day." I noticed myself beginning to get choked up. I swallowed, then continued: "Ever since then, I was wondering-- where do we draw the line between acceptable and not? And what makes harming a Pokemon an eternally worse offense than nearly killing an animal? Let's look at the reality of it for a second here, shall we? Studies have shown the genetic code relation between Pokemon and animals is very pronounced, and only a few strands actually differ between the two. And don't forget the theory that Pokemon are actually mutations of animals. And yet our standards regarding them are as different as night and day.
  "What makes us value Pokemon above animals? They're more intelligent? They do as commanded with very little effort on the part of trainers? After years of thinking on this, I figured that it was because they were a step down from animals. They have less individuality, as is evident in their outward appearance and inward personalities. Don't give me that crap about every Pokemon being unique. If that's so, it's as a result of a person's training, and not from nature. I figure that because they're so easy to dominate, we have more reason to keep them, and hence the highly individualistic animal species are no longer valued.
  "A lot of you look at me as if I'm speaking nonsense here, this whole animal thing. That's another problem I've found: so many of you are so caught up in this Pokemon thing you've forgotten that there was ever anything else! You look at the world you live, the spread of the Pokemon Movement so complete in KAnto and Johto to where you can't visit a single town anymore without there being a PokeCenter, and you think it's normal, and that it's sane. Am I the only one who doesn't think so? Do any of you here realize that only twenty-some years ago that it was so different? And does anyone notice all the dolphins are gone?"
  "Hizagawa..." said the judge. "Despite how moving your speech is, I fail to see the relevance to your case..."
  "I'm getting there," I assured him. I figeted with my handcuffs once more. "Look... maybe I'm alone in this, but I think that we should all be on equal ground with one another: Pokemon, human, and animal. That's a huge thing to ask in today's society. But could it be that someone has the wrong idea when kicking a Pokemon earns a fine, a jail sentence, and causes national uproar, and genocide of millions of animals doesn't even make the papers? Did any of you turn your heads when all the dolphins said their goodbyes and flew off into space? Or were you too busy with your Pokedexes?"
  A little kid voice spoke up out of the gathered crowd, before his mother could silence him. "What's a dolphin? Is it like a Donphan?"
  "See?" I said. "That's what I mean." I turned back towards the judge, saying "I'm finished now," but it went unanswered. The judge was resting back in his seat, face screwed up in despair that he tried with futility to conceal. He did not speak for several minutes, and no one argued.

  It was months later. We were out camping near Fuschia in Kanto. Millie strummed clumsily on her guitar while Sally procured the food from her backpack for dinner. Bruuka and I were a bit far off, wandering about for firewood. We weren't being very successful at gathering the wood, because every time I found a good piece, I ended up playing fetch with it with Bruuka.
  As to how Sally and Millie knew each other: they'd met outside the courtroom the morning of my trial, and once they learned each other's relation to me, they bonded. Since I'd left that day of Bruuka's near death, almost 21 years ago, she'd refocused her school activities from bullying boys to learning law-- of course, the little town hadn't provided much in that regard, so she ended up moving with her parents to Celadon. Yep, she was a lawyer. As I watch her speak of catching bullfrogs as she tuned her beat-up old acoustic, dressed in boy's rough-housing clothes, it's really hard to picture her that way.
  We had little else to do nowadays but help Sellia along as she tried to get all her badges and on to the Elite Four. I put aside my grievances for the art for Sally... and the prospect of going to Africa with her after she became famous. I wanted to see if that reservation was there as the old man in Goldenrod said.
  That night after dinner we lay under the stars, the three of us, in our sleeping bags. We were talking randomly about this or that, occasionally touching on the subject of what to expect on Indigo Plateau, when Millie stopped and pointed up at the Mewtwo constellation, where something streaked across the sky.
  "Look," she said. Sally and I did so. "A shooting star."
  "Or maybe not," I proposed. "Maybe it's one of the dolphin spaceships, stopping by to see if the world is ready to have them back yet."
  Sellia said, "Either way, let's all make a wish, okay?" The three of us closed our eyes for a few seconds. When done, Sally asked me: "Norei, what'd you wish for?"
  "That Bruuka could find a lady Scottish Redtail." I said, scratching Bruuka behind the ears as he lay asleep beside me. He gave a pleasant sigh. "What about you, Sel?"
  "Oh, the usual, you know," Sellia smiled. "That when I come up against him, Lance is suddenly overcome with illness and has to forfeit the match... What about you, Millie?"
  There was a bit of silence, as Millicent thought, and then she replied: "Government reform, the abolishment of all these pro-Pokemon laws that make things severely slanted in their favor. Equality. Freedom for all."
  "Oh, yeah, right," I said, reaching over with my nearest arm and poking the blonde girl. "What'd you really wish for?"
  "Honestly? That I could find Aaron Oak... and beat his face in!" Millicent said devilishly, demonstrating her wish by smacking her fist into her other hand. And together around a tangerine fire, the three of us laughed, while the sky above erupted into a million shooting stars.
 
 

THE END
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  Okay, just a note, this was just a concept fanfic I wrote because I wanted to get it out of my system. And also as a test, because with the exception of one or two really crappy stories I made when I was seven, NiGHTS has been my only genre. I did not intend this as a great epic story, or actually much of a tale at all-- otherwise I would have included a better resolution. This is what they call a concept fic-- though it's kinda on the longish side and not REALLY to standard concept fic form.
  It started when I was playing Pokemon Gold and was in Azalea Town. And something struck me as odd, a PokeCenter way out in the boonies like that, and hence the start of the fic you see here. It's intended more as a comment on modern society, if you want a big technical answer. Almost has an Orwellian flavor to it.
  This is extremely against the mold of what I usually do, so I hope it didn't turn out TOO awful. If it helps, my NiGHTS fics have WAY more consistency-- if you don't mind it actually being about an alternate dimension parallel to the one in the game.

If you liked this story, please visit http://lunaseer.com for more works by K.A. Rose.