Union Resistance

[Charizard of Shadow]

Hello. I am the Charizard of Shadow, and this is my new Pokemon Fanfic, "Union Resistance".

First of all, I'd like to point out that while this is my first fic here, I am actually a veteran Pokeficcer with 3 years+ of experience. I decided to come here because seemingly everywhere I go I am one of the least popular authors, lucky to get one review for every two chapters- so nobody reads. Why? Extremely bad luck, I'm guessing.

So I came here, chenged the fic title, my name and my entire personality in hopes that they might have been my problem (I was once told that they were)

The shortness of this Prologue and lack of description are intentional. Grammar and spelling errors are probably typos.

Please try your hardest to enjoy the Prologeu of this ific, because chances are if you don't nobody else will.

***
-Prologue-

There was a heavy sadness in the wet, muggy evening air of suburban Viridian City. Two children sat on a sofa of the front lawn of an empty, one-story yellow house. The two friends stared blankly at the three moving vans on their street, loading up the stuff from both of their houses.

"It's not fair!" whined the little black-haired boy as he kicked the air. "Why do we both hafta move?"

The little red-haired girl sat back. "I dunno. Adults do crazy things sometime."

The boy glared at her. "You don't seem at all sad that we're leaving and may never se each other again ever ever ever!"

She looked to the side, at her own house, where the furniture was being carrier into one of the trucks by the movers. "You know that's not true!"

"We don't even know where each other are moving to!" he whined sadly, looking down at his folded hands.

"That doesn't matter," the girl said, watching the crates that had been in her room earlier now being carefully carried down her front walkway and into the trucks. "Our parents are best friends. 'Sides, I know that I'm moving to Pallet and you're moving to New Bark!"

"New Bark is in another country!" complained the boy. "And everyone knows that when you move to one country, it's impossible to go to another country!"

"That's not true!" said a voice from behind them. The two children turned around. Leaning on the back of the couch was a ten-year-old boy with neat, dark brown hair and glasses. "Five-year-olds are so dumb."

The little girl leapt to her feet. "Are not!"

The boy scowled and hopped over the couch and into her seat. "Really? What's five plus five?"

"Ha!" the little boy said confidently. "That's an easy one- fifty-five!"

The older boy snorted with laughter.

"You're so dumb!" shouted the little girl, stamping her foot on the sodden ground. She grabbed her friend's wrist tightly, and dragged him off.

The two of them moved towards the swing set, where they sat side by side, swinging this way and that, thinking and remembering and wondering how they'd ever live without their best friend right next door.

"Why are adults so stupid? Why do they want us to be apart?" pouted the little girl.

"Maybe they hate us," ventured the little boy.

The girl thwacked him hard on the head. "No, stupid! Our parents love us! That's why they decided to have us!"

"Have us?!" laughed the boy. "They ordered us from the stork!"

"Nu-uh!" said the girl.

"Really? Who said?" asked the boy.

The girl beamed proudly, happy to be carrying this secret knowledge, which had been unknown to her comrade. "My mom. And my mom's always right."

Suddenly, there was a loud slam of a car door. "Honey!" shouted a voice. "Get your bad off the couch, and say good-bye to your friend. We're going!"

The little girl stood up, pulled her friend off the swing, and flung her tiny arms around him, embracing him to the point that he could no longer breathe.

She then turned away, said a quiet "bye" and then raced off to the couch where she had been sitting. She grabbed her pink backpack and hopped into the open doors of the minivan, taking a seat next to her older brother. She slammed the door shut, buckled her seatbelt, and then stared out the window as they pulled out of the driveway of the place she once called home.

And as they pulled away, she stared blankly at her friend, who was waving at their car and watching his best friend go. And she waved back, too, unaware that she was crying.

It was time to begin her new life.
***

So how was it? Please reply in here or private message me with praise and critisism. If you're going to flame me, please Private Message me, so the entire board won't have to see me report you. In other words: DON'T FLAME. General rule of courtesy, people.

-Chariz

[DannyBoy]

This is pretty good for a start. One thing I don't understand is, if you know there are spelling erros and grammer errors, why wouldn't you check it before you post it? I'm not trying to be mean but, it confuses me. Can't say much till the first chapter, but again, pretty good.

[Charizard of Shadow]

People are naturally blind to thier own mistakes, so no mater how many times I look it over, I am still bound to miss something.

-Chariz

[mistysakura]

Pretty good, so far. Although it was short (not complaining -- any longer and it would have dragged), it caught the emotions nicely, which was good. Let me guess; the first chapter starts at least ten years later?

[Charizard of Shadow]

Thank you very much for your praise, MS. Here is chapter one, and it takes place five years later.

Union Resistance

-Chapter One-

"Uh-oh!" I exclaimed, ducking behind a bench on the side of the road as a police car drove by. As the car rounded the corner, I peeked out, checking to see if the coast was clear. Good. No cars.

I walked out from behind then bench and sat on top of it, catching my breath. I checked my watch to see how much time had passed since I had left Pallet. It read 9:32 in flashing red numbers. I had never been good with electronics, but I knew that it wasn't supposed to blink.

"Damn thing," I cursed, fiddling with random buttons. It stopped blinking, and the two changed to a three. I sighed deeply and took a drink from the water bottle I had clutched in my hand.

Boy, I thought to myself. Skipping school was a lot harder then I thought!

I leaned back in the hard wooden seat and looked to west down the road, checking to see how far the woods went. They continued down for about and eighth of a mile, I guessed, until the road turned slightly north, and I couldn't see past the turn.

I decided to get up and continue walking down the road. It was a side road, infrequently used, that led to a bridge leading across the river to the border between Kanto and Johto. Very few people walked across the border nowadays, which explained the few cars that drove down it. And the only cars that ever drove down in on a school day were police cars.

This road was commonly used by kids who skipped school, and wanted to get from Kanto to Johto or Johto to Kanto to stir up some trouble in another country. I wasn't really one of those people; it was just that ever since Johto and Kanto's governments had a little disagreement their friendship had disappeared into thin air, so my mom and I never went to Johto anymore. I guess that was why I skipped school today; to go to Johto to see it for myself.

I stood up, stretched and yawned, and then continued walking down the road, under the cover of the trees.

I walked until the road turned, and looked around the corner. It continued for a few yards, and then came to an old, wet wooden bridge going over a slow-moving river. I shrugged, and made a run for it, thinking it looked safe enough.

In taking my first step on it, I realized I was wrong- it wasn't safe. The old boards were creaking terribly, and it sounded as though it would break if I continued to walk across it. However, not about to give up, I took a few steps back, and then sprinted across it.

My feet slammed on the old, sodden wood boards, and my heart pounded as I raced across, my mind racing with thoughts. What would happen if it fell? The water wasn't deep, but there were sharp rocks down there! What kind of dangerous Pokèmon were down there?

That didn't matter now, because I was across on the other side, standing on the firm ground. I turned to leave, but I heard a loud boom behind me, and I turned around sharply. Had someone see me?

No. The bridge had collapsed. I sighed with relief, glad I hadn't been on it, but then a new realization dawned upon me; how would I get back?

I shrugged to myself, and then decided not to worry about it until the time to worry came. I continued down the path, now in the foreign and unwelcoming country of Johto.

***

I sat back in the shade of the tree in the field outside of New Bark Town. I smiled happily; no one would know that I was skipping school, now; no one would be suspicious, since if they asked me if I was a trainer and I lied and said yes, they wouldn't ask to see my nonexistent Trainers' License.

I had never bothered to try becoming a trainer, but I did have an Eevee. That made my dad really frustrated; he wanted all three kids to become Pokèmon trainers, and eventually masters, just like him. His name was Red Blaise, one of the greatest trainers of all time, and he got married to Green Forrest, who was also one of the greatest trainers ever. Then, that had three kids; first Salvador, my older brother, next my, Enya, their only daughter and finally Luke, my younger brother.

Everyone knew who I was; I looked really distinct and hard to forget. My hair was a bright red with a few strands of blonde in it, making it look pretty cool. My eyes were a bright turquoise, and I also had a few freckles. I usually wore my favorite black pants with the Pokéballs on the knees, with my back t-shirt with the flame in the middle (I was wearing them now).

Fortunately, I was in Johto, and I really doubted anyone would recognize me, which was good. I had been on TV with my dad a few times in my younger days, but I didn't think anyone would know who I was, since it had been years since I was last on TV; ever since my dad left.

I could still remember that day perfectly. It was five years ago, when I was just ten and my little brother was eight. The feud between Kanto and Johto was really severe then, and everyone was afraid war would break out. Dad had suspicions that someone would take advantage of the pandemonium that came with war and try to take control of both Kanto and Johto. So, he decided to go meet with a few of the strongest trainers from Johto in Goldenrod City, and, bringing my older brother with him, he left, never to be seen again.

There were never any telephone calls; just quite a few letters. For the first few months, they came in often; letters that only parts of could be shown to my little brother and me. Mom kept the private parts to herself, locked away in some place unknown to us. After a while, however, the number of letters coming in decreased, and then stopped altogether. My mother refused to let me se the last letter he ever sent; she said that it was about grown-up things, things I was to young to hear about.

I remember firmly believing that my father was dead, since on all of the TV shows, whenever parents told children sadly that it was about "Grown-up things, things that children couldn't understand" it usually meant someone died. I wasn't too young to understand death; I knew what it meant. I had learned that it meant that the person had gone to their eternal rest; and would be in heaven or in hell, depending on how good they were, and that I would see him again when I went to heaven, and that it was celebrated by some early peoples as a passage to a new life.

Regardless, I decided not to ask to see it anymore. Since I guessed that maybe my father had written it when he was sick and dying, I chose not to remind my mother that he was gone, never to return to the Earth again.

Then, about a year after the letter was received, I had a change of mind as my mother and I drove in the car on the way home from a family trip to Vermillion City.

~Flashback~

"Mom, can you turn on the light?"

"No honey, we're driving, and the light could get in my eyes and cause a car crash."

I sighed and sunk back into the soft front seat. "Then why isn't it illegal?"

"It is illegal, in some places," my mother explained.

"So is letting kids under fourteen sit in the front seat, but you let me do that!" I exclaimed.

"Sh!" my mother said, obviously dodging the subject. "You'll wake your brother."

I turned around and looked into the back seat. Sure enough, he curled up in a ball clinging to his blanket, fast asleep. "Well, it's not fair. I'm bored, and it's dark now so I can't read!"

My mom shrugged. "Well, then why don't you turn on the radio? But keep it down, remember, you're brothers' sleeping."

Yeah, whatever," I mumbled, sitting foreword and pressing the "on" button on the radio. I turned the volume down and changed it to a random station. It was late on a Saturday night, so I suspected that there would be some kind of love song program going on.

I sat back and listened to the slow tunes one by one, ad listening to the lame requests.

"Hello, Kerrie!" said a voice over the radio, obviously someone calling into the show.

"Well hello," said Kerrie's calming voice. "Who is this, and what can I play for you tonight?"

"Um, this is Grace,"

"Hello, Grace!" said Kerrie.

"And, I'd like to make a dedication for my mother! She's been so good to me!"

"Really? Well, what did she do for you?"

"Well, she taught me to do everything, because I was home schooled, and she was my teacher, and she didn't have any help raising me, because I was her only child, and my father died, so I'd like you to play a song for her."

"Okay, well, Grace, I'll pick a song for you and your mother, alright?"

"Okay," Grace said. "Bye!"

Then, a slow song came on on the radio. There was a strange tenseness in the air around my mother and I.

"So, what do you think it would be like to be home schooled?" my mother asked, trying to make conversation.

I shrugged, and remained quiet.

"And having no siblings, and having your father pass away…"

I looked down at my hands, and I fidgeted uncomfortably in my seat. Mo me, and her sharp brown eyes softened. "Oh, honey…"

"What?" I said, pretending not to know what she was talking about.

"Did you think-" she stopped. "Did you really…?"

"Yes!" I admitted. "Yes, and I do know, but I didn't break into your room and read the letters or ask you about it because I didn't want to hurt your feelings about it!"

"You've got it all wrong," she said softly. "Your father isn't… he isn't really…"

She stopped, since she saw that I was looking out the window now, my eyes shining. I was on the verge of tears. "It's okay mom, I'm not too young to understand! I can take the truth! I've been able to for the last year, and I can take it no! Actually, I'd be happier if you told me, so I'd know that my own mother isn't keeping secrets from me!"

I was crying, now. The full-blown truth that my mother- my only parent left- was keeping secrets from me was too much then my mind could bare.

"Well," she said slowly. "I admit, I have been keeping secrets from you- but what ever made you think that your father had died?"

"It's obvious!" I shouted. "I knew that you were trying to make me feel better, but you weren't! You just made me feel worse about it! And you don't have to keep lying to me! You don't have to hint that he's not dead, and that he will be coming back! I know exactly what death is- I know just what it's like to have a parent die!"

I crossed my arms and continued crying silently once again.

"Listen dear," my mother said as we turned onto another highway. "If your father was dead, I would tell you. And he's not."

"Really?!" I said. "Then how come the letters stopped coming? How come you seemed so depressed after that last one?"

"It is because your father said that he would have no way to communicate with us anymore."

"Why couldn't you have told me?!" I sobbed.

"Because you didn’t need to know! I assumed that you knew that he was unable to communicate with us!"

"So he's not dead?" I asked finally.

"No, he's not," my mother said.

"Really?" I asked.

"Yes, really. Trust me, he's alive somewhere."

"Where?" I asked.

My mother sighed. "Well, I just don't know about that. All I know is that he is alive, and that he will be coming back someday soon."

"Hm." I said. I was still angry with my mother for not telling me the complete story, but I was too tired to continue the argument. Giving in to immense sleepiness, I dozed off into a light sleep, to the lulling sound of the car's monotonous motor.

~End Flashback~

So, after that night, I knew the truth, that my father was not dead. I wasn't so sure now; it had been roughly five years since our last contact, after all. However, my mother still insisted that he was alive and well, though how she knew was a mystery to me. I guessed that she had just been guessing to keep my brother and I hopeful.

I sighed and leaned back on the rough bark of the large Elm tree I sat under. The scent of early autumn was through the air; it was an indescribable scent; yet whenever I smelt it, I felt an immense sadness, though I didn't know why.

I put my hands behind my head and yawned largely. My eyes traveled from left to right, looking for something interesting to stare at, since I was too tired to get up. I yawned and stretched again, and then opened up my backpack. I fished around in it, and pulled out a red and white sphere. Tossing it lightly onto the soft, green grass, a small, fuzzy brown fox-like Pokèmon emerged.

"Wevee!" It chirped happily, hopping into my lap. I smiled and petted its smooth, neat fur, then, scooping it in my hands, I stood up.

"Come on, Eevee," I said, making my way towards Cherrygrove. "Let's see what Johto is all about."

[DannyBoy]

Good chapter, the only problom I seen was Eevee. Eevee is over used so I hope you make sure to give it a real good personality. Eevee can be really good, but with that chapter I think its ok. Keep it up!

[Charizard of Shadow]

Actully, Eevee isn't Enya's starter. Eeve is Enya's little pet, and really doesn't play a big part. I just needed something fuzzy. And yeah, Eevee is a bit overdone. But don't worry- it will soon be overshadowed by a Raichu, if you prefer the orange chubby type.

-Chariz

[mistysakura]

Nice flashback, I think that his dad has something to do with the whole Kanto/Johto feud thing. And he's probably going to be pulled into it in some way, hence the fic title. I like all this background stuff, it's cool and since most of it's done in a flashback, it doesn't bore people like recounts do. How nice.

EDIT: This is what happens when you read a fic and respond to it the next day. Go me...

[Charizard of Shadow]

H-His!?

^^;;; Hold on there, Enya's a girl's name! She's a girl! Daughter of Red? ><;;; Yeah, she's a girl, alright.

Blegh. I'm straying from my whole "Dark Shadow" Personality, and my real online personality is shining through.

Anyway... The next one'll be up soon!

-Chariz, who's surprised that this fic is on the first page o0

[Sentra]

Hello again! (It's been, like, forever... ><)This is, umm, Chariz! ^^; The thing is, I forgot my password form Charizard of Shadow, and then I forgotted my password for my e-mail adress... so I got a new e-mail, and got a new screenname, blablabla...

... :what:

What?! You think I'm pretending to be Chariz?! NO! I'm really her... I know, I know, there's no proof, but you have to beieive me! Really! Okee-dokes, here be chapter two, for your enjoyment! Umm, tis a bit bloody in the end, so watch out....

If you're squemish, keep away...

I know, I know, there may be typos, but I'm blind to my own mistakes...

***
Chapter Two

***

Cherrygrove was almost nothing like Viridian, even though it was Viridian's Johto counterpart.

It was a lot less urban, and there were many more parks. Everyone seemed to be a lot friendlier to each other. New trainers were becoming best friends right in front of my eyes, and I used to think children had to be Cub Scouts to help little old ladies cross the street until I came here.

The scenery was a lot nicer, also. Even though they weren't in bloom, it was obvious that the healthy trees that lined the streets were Cherry blossoms.

I walked down the streets towards the park, trying to look as convincing of a Pokèmon Trainer as I could. But that was tough- I had never been a Pokèmon Trainer. Sure, I had a backpack, and even though it was filled with books from the classes I had skipped, it was a backpack, nonetheless. Of course, I had my trusty Pokèmon, Eevee, by my side the whole time. But as I sat down and leaned back in the wooden bench in the park, I looked at the true trainers and knew that there was definitely something that separated me from them, though what it was, I did not know for certain.

Maybe it was their perk. I didn't look as happy and excited as they did, and even though this wasn't my first time sipping school, I was still very tense. Annoying qualms drifted into my thoughts, causing me a certain degree of discomfort. First, there was the fact that I didn't have a Pokéball belt. Sure, I had a Pokéball, but every trainer in their right mind had a Pokéball Belt. Second, there was my battle experience- I didn't have any. Cherrygrove was a place that attracted new and young trainers- the hyper type that would run up to you and force you into a battle with their cute young visages. Next, there was my age. I was fifteen, so I would be out of place among all of these ten and eleven-year-olds.

More disturbing, unrelated thoughts entered my mind, and I began to feel regrets about skipping school. First, there was that bridge that I had broken. There were only two ways (besides swimming or riding a water Pokèmon) to get back to my home in Kanto. One of them was to take the old wooden walking bridge, but that option was gone now. The only other physically safe way to get home was to walk through this gate to cross the border- and these days, for kids to cross, you needed to present your Pokèmon License to them so that they knew that you weren't some punk who just wanted to get some revenge on the other country.

Then there was my accent. It was obvious by my slight accent that I was from Kanto, and people from Kanto were really frowned upon in Johto, so it wouldn't be a good idea for me to talk. That would present a small problem.

I shook my head, trying to shake those thoughts out of my head. Naturally, it didn't work. My stomach still churned restlessly like it does when you're nervous. I decided it would be best to get my mind off of my troubles and watch some young trainers' Pokèmon kill each other.

I walked a little farther down to the path towards some designated battle areas. It was around lunchtime, so most of the young trainers were eating lunch on the top of the old metal bleachers by the fields.

I took my seat in the middle of them, alone, just to insure that, in case any suspicions that I wasn't really a trainer would arise, I would be at a safe distance. Eevee leapt beside me and sprawled out on the cold metal, closing his eyes. I took off my backpack and placed in on the ground at my feet, leaning over and putting my chin in my hands and watched two of the kids drift onto the field and interact with each other.

There appeared to be some kind of disagreement between them, so instead of trying to talk it over and settle it between themselves, they'd force their innocent Pokèmon to get wounded trying to settle their petty differences.

That was why I never wanted to become a Pokèmon trainer. It was just plain cruelty. And despite popular opinion, there was no such thing as a true blue trainer/Pokèmon bond. I knew by studying with my father's old friend Professor Blue Oak, what Pokéballs were really for.

-Flashback-

I yawned largely and slouched back in a chair in the corner of the room. This small, dusty old library located in the laboratory of Professor Blue Oak was just about the last place on Earth I wanted to be. His voice was not boring, but it was very annoying. I did not, however, insult him or make any faces behind his back while his daughter, who was also one of my best friends, was there. The nine-year-old me finally gave in and decided to pay some attention to what he was saying.

"You see, When Pokèmon are defeated in battle and the Pokéball is thrown by the trainer, the end of the Pokéball, if it is unused, will release a special type of fume. That fume not only weakens the Pokèmon and tires it out, but it also prepares the Pokèmon's body for the trip inside the Pokéball.

"As I'm sure you're well aware, Pokèmon are made of much less stable material then any other type of living organisms. When the fumes from the Pokéball enter the body of the Pokèmon through any type of opening, a chemical reaction occurs within the Pokèmon, causing it's body cells to rearrange themselves. The chemical reaction causes the Pokèmon to turn from a solid to a gas-type material. When the Pokéball opens, the gasses are sucked into the ball.

"Now, if the Pokèmon is still strong, it may be able to break out of the Pokéball and free itself. But if it is weak, and gives in, then the Pokèmon will become permanently sealed within the Pokéball. While in the ball, it is exposed to the fumes even more, to keep it in the gas form, for when it is out of contact with the fumes, it will become solid once again.

"Once a Pokéball is opened once again, even after the Pokèmon is out of contact with the fumes, the effects are still with the Pokèmon. The fumes weakened it's body the first time, but now, the fumes are weakening the Pokèmon's willpower. The Pokèmon becomes weak of will, and will give in to any of it's trainers' orders. It will also become very mellow, and will form some sort of forced bond with a trainer- it's not a friendship, mind you- because the Pokèmon has no control.

"However, if the Pokèmon is strong-willed to begin with, then it will be able to resist the effects of the fumes and disobey the trainer. Usually, strong resistance in a Pokèmon goes hand in hand with physical strength, explaining why, if a trainer does not prove that they are worthy of their strong Pokèmon by collecting badges, since the Pokèmon is physically strong and can do so, the Pokèmon will resist the effects of the fumes and disobey the trainer.

"After prolonged exposure to the fumes, the effects of the fumes will become permanent. The Pokèmon will be used to the fumes, and the artificial friendship will stay--- however, sadly, it will never be a true friendship, since the Pokèmon never had a choice in the beginning. Pokéballs have always worked like that. Pokéballs are really just stylish, better-looking versions of apricorns, actually. It's really the apricorns that the fumes come from. Did I ever tell you who discover that apricorns could be used that way? Well, let me explain…"

It was then that I began to zone out once again. The whole "Pokèmon are not really our friends" thing interested me, since it proved wrong my fathers' theory that there was an unbreakable bond of true friendship between a trainer and Pokèmon that could only be achieved through kindness and respect, and a new era of cooperation between humans and Pokèmon. Blech.

So, I sat back in the old squishy armchair and gazed at a piece of dust fall from the ceiling to the floor. My eyelids dropped with that piece of dust, and when it his the floor, my two eyelids met, and I fell into a light sleep.

-End Flashback-

Pokèmon trainers disgusted me. No matter how kind the trainer was to their precious Pokèmon, forcing it to fight was violence, though most people didn't think of it that way, and violence is downright wrong.

I see trainers all around- trainers looked up to as heroes to society (like my dad) act like such hypocrites. They spend their days preaching that Pokèmon abuse is a terrible thing- that you should be kind, and treat your Pokèmon with compassion.

Then, later, they decide to go out and have a little bit of fun--- and force their Pokèmon to attack each other to the point that they're terribly wounded, just to prove who's the better trainer.

In my opinion, ANY trainer who makes their "friends" go through physical strain like that is no friend at all. No matter how much they deny it, all Pokèmon trainers are slave drivers, and I hated them with a deep passion.

Of course, whenever I tried to explain that to my brother, he would shake his head. "No, no matter what Professor Oak says, a trainer and their Pokèmon share a bond that isn't forced--- Pokèmon can love their trainers on their own!"

The original Professor Oak, Professor Samuel Oak, the grandfather of Professor Blue Oak, would have been believed by everyone. However, information about the artificial bond between a Pokèmon and trainer had been discovered by Professor Blue Oak about ten years ago--- two years after Samuel Oak passed away due to heart attack.

I sighed and picked up my backpack, pulling out the brown crumpled paper bag that contained a turkey sandwich, a can of Pepsi One, and a bag of Salt and Vinegar Potato chips. My lunch.

I ate quickly as I watched the two kids on the field go through their backpacks and pull out one Pokéball each. Once both of the children were ready to battle, they each rushed towards opposite sides of the field.

"Pidgey, go!" shouted a young female trainer as she tossed her Pokéball into the air. A Pokèmon burst out of it while the sphere was in midair--- a Pidgey, one of the weakest Pokèmon in existence.

"Ha!" laughed the little boy on the opposite side of the field as he held his Pokéball in his outstretched arm. "A Pidgey? I'll pound that thing! Cyndaquil, let's make this thing wish it were never born! I choose you!"

He smashed the Pokéball into the ground before him, and Cyndaquil appeared in a flash of white light.

"Cyndaquil, Ember!" the boy commanded.

"Hey, no fair!" whined the little girl. "It was my turn!"

"Ya snooze ya lose!" taunted the little boy, a smug smirk on his face.

The girl whined loudly. "You're so mean!"

I scowled a packed the remnants of my lunch into my backpack. The trainers of this battle were really starting to get on my nerves--- one of them was a complete jerk, and the other was a whiner. I just couldn't take it.

I shouldered my backpack and started down the stairs of the bleachers, jumped the last two steps, and landed on the firm ground once again.

I made my way out of the battling areas and back towards the main area of the park, a scowl still in my face. The people of Johto were just as I had always thought them to be- annoying or mean twits with no sense at all. I decided I'd had enough of Johto to last a long time. I exited the park quickly and walked quickly down the now crowded streets of Cherrygrove. Now that the lunch hour was over, everything was a lot more fast-paced. As restaurants and diners emptied, the streets were filled. I roughly shoved my way down the crowded streets, but in time, I decided it was too crowded for my liking.

As I walked I thought quickly about how to get out of the crowds. Finally, I cam up with an idea. I would walk down deserted alleyways--- one of them had to lead to a shortcut, I thought.

So I went down one. It lead to a dead end. And another. Another dead end. The dead ends kept going on, but that didn't wear my spirits--- I was determined to find a shortcut.

I wheeled to go down the next alleyway. This one turned sharply to the left a few meters down it, as I could see upon entering it. I sighed and tossed my head upwards, hoping that there wasn't some psycho-maniac waiting around the corner for me.

As I looked up, something caught my eye. There appeared to be a Pokéball flying through the air, coming from deeper into the very alley I was standing in. It flew through the air for a fraction of a minute before reaching the red dome-shaped roof of a Pokèmon Centre. Upon toughing the roof, the Pokéball exploded, and there was a loud crash as the Pokèmon Center began to crumble.

A shudder ran down my spine. That was no Pokéball--- that was a bomb.

I remembered once hearing about those on the news. Sick-headed people disguising bombs as harmless Pokéballs. And somebody in this alley was one of those people.

My fear quickly turned into anger. How dare he try to attack innocent children and Pokèmon in a Center?! Even if they were just a pack of Johto- born brats, that didn't matter- a life is a life, no matter how it's lived. They could have changed, to become strong, intelligent experienced trainers- but not anymore. I didn't doubt that he'd take at least one life.

I clenched my fists as my blood pressure rose. I stormed down the alleyway, with no idea what I was getting into.

I turned the corner to see the person who had thrown the first bomb was clutching the second.

"Hey, you!" I called out.

He wheeled around and looked at me. He was a young man of about sixteen or seventeen; not much older then myself. He had wild unruly black hair, and eyes so bloodshot the color could not be made out. He was dressed in a black shirt with a black jacket, and baggy blue jeans--- he looked completely casual, and the Pokebomb clutched in his left hand added nothing odd to his appearance. The only odd thing about him was, held tightly in his left hand, was a short dagger. His gaze pierced me, and I took a step back, as he was waving his dangerous dagger in the air now.

I wanted to run and scream for help, but me legs were frozen and I couldn't find my voice. He advanced slowly, still holding both the dagger and the bomb. Sudden, he dashed the few meters towards me. My heart raced wildly, and jumped out of the way just in time. The blade tore a rip in my shirt, and I looked down for a split second, only to look up again and notice he was racing foreword at an alarming rate. I let out a cry of shock and clumsily leapt out of the way not a moment too soon. He missed me completely this time, and it was a good thing. His speed was so great that he could not stop himself, so he slammed directly into the opposite wall. The Pokéball-like bomb flew through the air when he fell, and landed on the ground next to me. I pocketed it and ran towards his limp form, slouched upright against the wall. I had him pinned, but he had the knife. Then, he smirked a crazy psycho grim, and then stabbed himself in the chest. I gasped horrifically, as I watched his face turn a pale shade.

His appendages grew limp, and the knife slipped out of his hand and landed onto the ground in front of me. He was dead. I picked up the bloody knife and pulled the bomb out of my pocket, stepping aside. Suddenly, I jumped. Somebody was coming- I heard their footsteps.

I turned around to see the police. They looked at the knife and bomb in my hand, and then at the limp bleeding form of the man on the ground. The three men gaped for a second, looking horrified. And I knew why.

"Wait!" I shouted. "It- it's not how it looks!"

The cop in the center regained his composure. "Put your hands up!" he said in a loud, commanding voice. You're under arrest for seven counts of murder!"

***

...and it was? Good? Bad? TELL ME!

-Sentra, aka Chariz. IT'S TRUE!

[Suite Madame Blue]

Hey, nice cliffhanger! Was the guy who threw the bomb and killed himself her brother? Don't say if I guessed right, I'd hate to spoil anything. :sweat4: I liked your explanation of how pokeballs work, and your use of flashbacks in general. I just don't know about the way you're entering/exiting the flashbacks - for me, it's distracting. But that's my only criticism. Nice description of Enya, I like the fact that she's not the typical "trainer" character.

Welcome to TPM. I hope your posting experience here is a good one.

[Sentra]

Thanksamillion for your reply! ^^

I really appreciate it- lately, I've kinda lost hope of ever being replied to again. ><;;

Yeah, I've heard alot form people elsewhere about da flashbacks but don't worry, that was the last flashback for a while. ^^

I should have chapter 3 up in a while. Meh, I'll post the new one up after I getanother reply or two.

-Sentra

[Sentra]

Finally, friends, here lied chapter three. Yeah, I've written up to chapter six, just been a bit slow in the posting. Gah, life is catchimg up to me, I'm growing eld (wait--- what am I talking about?! I'm 13! Meh, oh well...)

Okay, here she is! One of my worst chapters, 'cause I know nothing of the Kanto legal system... ^^;

Chapter Three

***

It all happened so fast. My arms were thrust behind my back and my wrists were bound with handcuffs.

"Wait!" I cried as I was pushed out of the alley. "I didn't do anything!"

As I entered the street, I noticed everyone was staring. There were whispers, and people were pointing. They cleared a path for the three cops and I, and I was roughly thrust into the back of one cop car. The cop who was obviously in charge got into the car, and through the windows, I saw the other two men get into another car.

The police car moved slowly through the streets. We drove with the other police car flowing directly behind us. The cars drove by the site of the Pokèmon Centre that had been destroyed. There were bodies being pulled out of the wreckage- dead, alive, or too injured to tell from a distance.

I gasped weakly as I saw a body completely covered with blood being pulled carefully from under a large pile of bricks. The body was deformed, and it was obviously dead--- but even under the blood, I could tell who it was. It was the little girl from the Pokèmon battle.

I whimpered weakly, and I felt sick. Quickly, I turned away, away from all of the destruction, the blood, the death. And now everyone thought it was my fault.

The car quickly turned down a deserted side road, and then sped up considerably. After just two short minutes, we arrived in front of a large, square brick building. The car pulled up and parked right in front of it. The door was quickly pulled open, and the officer thrust me out, and pushed me quickly across the lot and up the walkway lined with bushes and flowers.

He hastily flung open the two front doors and we entered into a waiting room.

It was a boring room, with grey walls, a grey ceiling and a grey carpet underfoot. There were some black metal chairs along the wall, and there was also a glass window opposite the door which had a desk behind it. Left of the window was a door, which was opened quickly by the cop, and I was shoved through.

We entered into a hallway with cement walls, floors, and ceiling. It had four or five doors on either side, and one at the end. I was beginning to wonder why I wasn't being surrounded by cops. I had never imagined being arrested would be like this. I imagined I would be completely surrounded by cops with a gun at my head, and I would be put in chains and tied to the back wall of some dark dungeon-like cell. It was all very strange, seeing as I had just been wrongly accused of killing a bunch of innocent kids.

We half-ran down the hallway, and I was pushed into the last door on the left.

The cop and I entered into another room. There was a desk with a computer and various papers cluttering it, and a tall, thin wiry man in a blue uniform sat behind it. On the other side of the room was a small empty cell in this room, which I assumed I would be going into.

But I wasn't. I was shoved past it towards another door on the other side of the room.

"Hey Bob what's the rush?" asked the man as he looked at the cop, and then at me.

"The media," he said in his low, rough voice. "I want nothing t'be seen. No pictures, no no information. No matter 'ow clear the evidence may be, we're not certain yet. I'm gonna interrogate 'er now, and then I'll decide what 'appens next."

The man nodded and returned to his papers. The door we were standing by was then opened by the officer, and I was shoved in.

We entered into a small, cramped, dusty room with a desk and a chair behind it, as well as a chair in front of it. I was sat down on the cold metal chair in front of the desk and I waited. It was a dark room- the only light there was was that that managed to creep through the closed blinds of the large glass first-story window to the left of the desk. The cop then locked the door, and sat down in his own seat, which I assumed was much more comfortable then mine.

He waited for about a second, and put on a pair of reading glasses. I stared at what was on his desk. Tons of papers and dust, and also a small sign that read a name.

Chief Robert Barrington, it read.

I need to remember that name, I thought, so I can loathe it my entire life.

"So, girl," Barrington said harshly, "You're gonna start by givin' me your name."

"Enya," I said. "Enya Green Blaise."

I decided then to answer truthfully. I usually lied when it came to getting myself out of touble, but I knew that this time lying would only worsen my situation.

"Alright," he said slowly. "Your parents names, now."

"Full names?" I asked. "First middle and last with my mothers maiden name?"

He shook his head. "I don't need their middle names."

"Okay," I said. "My mothers' name is Green Blaise, and her maiden name is Forrest."

Barrington scribbled it down quickly and then nodded. I continued. "And my father's name is Red Blaise."

Barrington didn't seem surprised at all, and that perplexed me. Usually, when I even mentioned my last name, people would say, open mouthed: "As in Red Blaise?!" But Barrington seemed not to notice. It could, however, had to do with his age. He was a little bit younger then my mother was, and he had an accent not at all similar to anyone of Johto, Kanto or Hoenn, so I guessed that he was not from here.

"Now, where do you live?"

"Pallet Town."

"No, girl, I mean where exactly?!"

"321 Wailmer Peak lane," I replied.

"Your home phone number, now," he inquired.

"555-8067," I said. "Do you need me to repeat it?" I was trying to be as polite as possible, but it hurt. While I wasn't acting like it, I actually wanted to leap out of my chair and beat his big nose in, but I knew that that would only get me into more trouble.

Barrington shook his head. "Okay, now tell me any other ways your parents can be contacted. Your mother, first."

"Alright," I said. "My mother can be contacted at the number 555-6666. She's the secretary at a Silph office in Viridian City."

"And your father?"

"Eh-" I began. I stopped. How was I to answer this one? I didn't even know how to contact him! Only my mother did. "I'm… not quite sure. I don't think you can, really, 'cause see, he's kind of-"

"Dead?" finished Barrington.

"No!" I exclaimed. I decided to lie this time. Telling the truth and saying that he was on some sort of government business wouldn't sound very convincing. "There was a divorce, see, and, he moved out of the country, and I really don't know where he is!"

Barrington scowled. "Okay, no need to get all hysterical on me."

"I wasn't being hysterical!" I shouted. "And you were prying into my business, anyway!"

"Girl, we're not prying into your business," he said. "We're getting information so that we can alert your parents of-"

"Of what?!" I exploded. "That you falsely accused me of killing seven people?! Look, my mother knows that I would never kill a bunch of innocent kids, even if they were just a bunch of Johto brats! Why would I anyway? It's just a waste of my time, and the bombs would be a complete waste of money! And what would motivate me? I'm not mentally ill! I wouldn't just come here for fun and decide to kill people! I-"

Barrington cut me off. "Than why were ya here?"

"To-" I said. I stopped. Why was I here? "Just to look around, I guess."

"Right," he said, obviously not believing a word of it. "And maybe stab a man along the way!"

"I didn't stab him!" I yelled.

"Really? Then who did? Was it a phantom? A Ghastly perhaps?"

"No!" I said. "He stabbed himself! He threw the bombs and I saw him do it, and I trued to stop him from throwing the second one, but he tried to stab me with his dagger, an I had him pinned to the wall, and he must have heard you coming, because he stabbed himself and dropped the knife in the ground in front of me so it would look like I did it!"

"Really?" the officer said. "And do you have any proof?"

I stopped. Did I? No. Wait- I did! I looked down. "He tore my shirt with his knife when he dove at me, see?"

He inspected the large rip in the cloth of my shirt. "Girl, anyone could of done this! You could have torn it yourself! Look, I want you to stop making excuses and start telling the truth!"

"I am telling the truth!" I shouted loudly.

"Shoutin' won't get ya anywhere."

I growled and took a breather. It seemed hopeless. All the evidence was against me, plus it was obvious he knew that I was from Kanto. My only hope was that my mother would come, and them maybe somebody would recognize her and realize that the daughter of Red and Green- two of the greatest trainers in the world- would never attack some innocent children.

Barrington stood up and walked over to the door, unlocking it. He swung it open and walked out to the younger man at the desk.

"I'm not getting' anything out of her as to why she did it, but she gave me her anem and the names of her parents."

There was a pause. "Sir," said the young man. "Don't you recognize her name? She's Enya Blaise! Daughter of the Red Blaise and Green Forrets! Two of the greatest trainers to walk the planet! I really don't see how-"

"Look, I don't care who the hell her parents are," Barrington interrupted.

"But you don't understand!" said the younger man. "You don't even know who these people are! How great they were! What they did for Johto and Kanto! Surely, you don't get it!"

"Look," Barrington said firmly. "I just want you to call these numbers and tell her mother to get down to this station. Right now. You don't need to explain why, just tell her it has to do with the well-being of her daughter."

I clenched my fists behind my back. If that wasn't a threat, I'd never heard one.

"Y-yessir," the younger man said.

I heard Barrington's steps nearing the room once again, but they stopped. "Oh, and one last thing."

"Yes?"

"Send White in. If I can't get it out of her, maybe someone her won age can."

"Yessir."

Barrington's heave steps began again, and I heard the door close and the lock click. He was back in the room.

I said nothing, but began to fidget in me seat. White. I knew that name. I new it well, like as in the name of someone I had known. I had heard it many times… but I could not remember where. It was a name from my childhood- my very early years, maybe from when I was five or six. It could have been the name of a kindergarten classmate, or an old neighbor from Viridian, or something like that. I didn't quite know for sure, and it was bugging me. White… nothing came.

Barrington wasn't saying anything. He stood by his desk and was shuffling through papers as my mind wandered, wondering what was going to happen next, wondering what my mother would be thinking as soon as she received that threatening phone call Barrington had requested.

A minute later, he walked towards the door. "Okay, girl," he said. "If you won't talk to me, I'd assume you'd talk to someone your own age, right?"

"I already told the truth to you," I replied firmly. "It's just you won't believe me. And talking to some kid my age just as slow as you won't make me lie and say I killed anyone, because I didn't."

He sighed. "Well, I'm bringing him in, anyway. I hope he'll make you tell the truth…"

His voice trailed off as he opened the door once again. He walked out, but I never head it shut. I sat there staring blankly at the off-white wall; the only place I could look.

After about five minutes of waiting, I heard more footsteps, but these were soft, and a lot more clumsy, sounding alto less like that of a chubby police officer and more like a careless little kid.

The person neared the door and slowly creaked it open. He scowled and then closed the door and locked it.

He shuffled slowly towards Barrington's desk, and I could finally see him.

He was a teenage boy, about my age, maybe a little bit younger. He was too short to be older then me- about my height, which was strange. He had light blue eyes that may have sparkled, had he not been scowling. His hair was a jet black and spiky, (which contrasted his slightly pale white skin) and it partially covered one of his eyes. He was wearing a light grey hooded sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his hands were in the pockets of his slightly baggy dark grey cargo pants.

He sat down in Barrington's chair and folded his arms. "Alright," he said. "Spill it."

"Spill what?" I asked, slightly relieved. Quite unlike Barrington, this wimpy kid was not intimidating at all. As a matter of fact, he was just that- a wimp.

"You know," he said. "You story. The truth, about why your sick mind decided to kill those kids."

Strangely enough to me, his accent wasn't Johto, or Kanto. It seemed to be a slight mix of both, except a little bit heavier on the Johto side. I stared into his eyes for a fraction of a second, and then turned away. There was something familiar about those eyes. Something… I knew. "I didn't do it."

"Quit lying," he said. "Lying doesn't get you anywhere. Or are you just stupid, so you think so?"

I clenched my fists. This kid was a jerk.

"Well, kid-" he began. I cut him off.

"My name's not 'kid'," I interrupted. "And anyway, you have no right to call me kid, runt."

"Then what is it?"

I smirked. "You should have known to ask the man at the desk, hu? Knowing my name would give you a head- I don't know yours."

He rolled his eyes. "Alright, just tell me already."

"No way," I said stubbornly. "You can ask the man at the desk."

"But that would make me look like a moron, not being-"

"It'd be tough to make you look any stupider," I said.

"What was that?!" he said, leaping to his feet.

"I said you already look like such a moron it would be hard for anything to make you look any dumber!"

His face was turning a shade of red. I didn't really care what kind of consequences this would have on me later. This kid was soft, and extremely stupid, too.

He clenched his fist and I saw his jaw clench. The look in his eyes switched from glazed to furious, but that didn't scare me.

"You wouldn't hit a girl," I said tauntingly.

"I-" he said. He lowered his fist. "I could but-"

"But what?" I smiled impishly. "You're afraid I'd pound your face in? I could, you know, even with my hands tied behind me. You look so tough."

His fist rose again and he stomped his foot. He looked about to explode, but I wasn't done.

"Come on now," I scolded. "Throwing a hissy fit won't get you anywhere."

He opened his mouth to say something, but he stopped. There was a loud thud. I thought nothing of it. The clumsy fat Barrington probably tripped over his own too feet upstairs, or something. I chuckled quietly at the thought.

The boy, however, did not notice. He lunged out from behind the desk and peeked through the blinds. He squinted and then sighed, and opened them completely.

I could see now, and what I saw startled me. There was a large building crumbling, and next to it, there was a gigantic fire. In the sky in the area a few large birds with riders circled the wreckage. My interrogator gasped. "Oh… my…. God…"

"Well, you can't blame this one on me," I said. "I'm tied up right here. Told you I was innocent."

"…" he said nothing and just stared blankly out the window. "The rider on that Pidgeot… he just pointed to me."

"What?" I asked. "Why? Are they looking for you?"

"I dunno," he nervously, quickly closing the blinds. "They're coming this way!"

Suddenly, they heard a loud bang coming from above them. I looked up and gasped. The ceiling above me was crumbling. I would have leapt out of the way that second, had I not been tied up. The boy quickly scurried over to me, pulled a key out of his pocket, and unlocked my handcuffs.

And just in time, too. I had just enough time to leap out of the way when a large chunk of the ceiling smashed on the seat where I had once been sitting.

I lay on the floor, trying to catch my breath. "We gotta get out of here," I panted.

"No duh," he said, lunging for the door. He scrambled to his feet and turned the handle of the doorway.

"Hurry!" I hissed. There were more part of the ceiling crumbling, and I was hearing more and more loud booms, thuds and screams. I was trying my hardest to stay calm, but it was difficult.

I watched in impatience as he fiddled with the handle.

"Unlock it!" I exclaimed.

"I did," he snapped. "But it's stuck!"

I scrambled to my feet and raced over to the door. "Let me," I said, fed up with his incompetence.

Gripping the doorknob, I began to fiddle with it- but I had no luck. However, being the persistent type, I didn't give up. I turned the handle clumsily, then banged on the door, then fiddled with the knob some more, and smashed the door again, continuously repeating the process.

"Stoppit!" the boy shouted shouted. "You're just going to jam it more!"

"I'm being a lot more effective then you were- I think I've almost got it!"

"No you're not," he said sharply. "You're just messing around, it won't help!"

"Just shut up!" I said, annoyed.

"Hey wait- take cover!" he exclaimed, pointing to the window.

"What?!" I shouted.

Then, I saw it. Through the blinds, I could see that there was a large bird outside diving right towards the window. I cried out with surprise, bracing myself. The bird was going to hit the window- and the glass would shatter. I closed my eyed tightly and clenched my fists. I was ready.

Swish. Crash. Thud. Boom. Slash.

There was aloud cry that sounded like it had come from a bird, and also a roar of victory.

I opened my eyes. The glass from the window lay in shattered pieced on the floor. Lying amongst the glass was the limp form of a Pidgeot, and standing over it was a Charizard like I had never seen before.

It was nearly twice the size of your average Charizard. Its head was basically the only normal part of its body, but its jaws were enormous. It was missing it's right arm- in the place of it was a large metallic arm. Both of its legs were missing also- and in their place were two robotic legs. The base of its tail was also metallic, and the flame was unnaturally large. Lastly, in the place of its wings was what appeared to be something not unlike a jetpack.

This creature looked so dangerous, but in it's eyes were a look of compassion and pride. I looked back at the Pidgeot. Covered in scratches from the glass, and burns from the Charizard. One of its wings was also horribly dislocated. I shuttered and turned away.

"Enya?" I heard a voice from seemingly nowhere say. "Izzat really you?"

"Hu?" I said. The voice sounded extremely familiar, but where I had heard it before, I didn't know where.

"Whu… Enya?" I heard the voice of my interrogator say. I looked down. He was sitting on the ground next to me, covered in scratches from the glass.

Wait a minute, I thought. Why wasn't I injured?

Then, it occurred to me. My interrogator- the one I had been so rude to- must have jumped in my way and stopped me from getting injured. But why?

"Who just said Enya?" he demanded.

"Not me," I answered.

"I did," said the voice.

"Who's there?" I asked. And where was he?

"The Charizard?" the boy asked.

"No!" exclaimed the unidentified voice. "Me! Ugh. Never mind. I guess you can't see me from where you're standing. Maybe it's better that way. Alright Chairzard, put 'em to sleep…."

"What?!" the boy and I exclaimed together. "You're gonna put us to sleep?!"

But he got no answer. The Charizard outstretched his arm and a small hole in his palm opened. Out poured some kind of sparkly spore.

"A sleep powder!" the boy exclaimed. "Kid, hold your breath!"

"No," I said, sitting down. "Let's just accept it and hope for the best."

He shook his head. "No way. I'm not gonna give in."

I sighed. "Whatever."

And then, I took a deep breath of the spore as a felt myself slowly drifting off out of consciousness.

***

Yay! A cliffie! ^_________^

So... good? Bad? Do tell! I'm not getting any replies from the three other places this is posted, so please tell moi!

-Sentra

[Suite Madame Blue]

Finally, I get a chance to read/reply! Don't worry about your knowledge of the Kanto justice system. That's the beauty of fanfic - you can fill in your own details, as long as it sounds plausible. Nice description of the Charizard. Although for some reason I'm picturing a Borg-Charizard creation. Curse my wretched Star Trek-laden brain! :nut: Anyway, it'll be interesting to see how this all fits together. Good job on this chapter!