This Ain't Kanto

[Red]

I'm choosing to nave Red not remember the Omni meeting. That's why it's not included.

You're probably wondering how I got here, and there's a totally legit explanation: I have no fucking clue.

Previously, I was in the midst of completely destroying a bug catcher kid. We met in a forest (the only place those fuckers seem to hang, like emo kids loitering Hot Topic) somewhere between Viridian and Pewter. He wore the typical “I like bugs” outfit—khaki shorts, older brother's loose tank-top, and one of those stupid ass hats—while hiding behind a tree.

Dude probably assumed I didn't see him, but I did; I walked passed his dumbass on purpose, because I knew it would entice him to challenge me. Little known fact: I already had seven gym badges—that's right, I bucked the goddamn system, got them out of order (Hollywood will probably create a vaguely accurate movie about my success, replacing my name with some retarded condiment pun).

I took a sadistic pleasure in torturing his line-up. Each Metapod he called upon to fight on his behalf received the punishment of my Charizard. I specifically ordered my servant to roast them with his tail flame; the helpless fellows all tried to harden, but slowly bubbled like marshmallows until showcasing those familiar 'X' eyes.

Bug catcher Tony (I think? Who cares, he was bug catcher my bitch currently) began quivering like the frigid pussy he was. His eyes were all bold, and glossy—it was a mixture of fright and disbelief. I guess his theory of Metapods being the best Pokemon had been proven wrong that day.

It was the perfect opportunity to add insult to injury. “Suck my nuts, bug boy,” I shouted.

I opened my flap to say more, but a weird sensation started to claw at my brain. Then I whited out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When I regained consciousness, my surroundings were vastly different. Regardless of which direction I turned my head, my eyes caught the same scenery of empty white plains, which extended as far as my vision permitted; if not for a small contrast in shade, rimming the horizon, the sky could have seamlessly blended into the earth.

Was this heaven? Couldn't be. I didn't have a doctrine in religion, but even a retard could tell you my ass had no business in a place like heaven . . . at least not the biblical version. Hell, perhaps? Not enough people doing meth and practicing sodomy. No people at all, actually.

I was alone.

[Red]

Well, at least I still had my slaves... right? As long as I still had them, I'd be okay.

I pulled my jacket back to glance at my waistband; when my eyes caught nothing, they raised like yeast. “Where's my slaves?!”

I expected to see six pokeballs lined along my belt, all containing a happy little servant inside (I imagined that they weren't that happy, but I didn't give a shit, frankly). Instead, I saw just one pokeball; beside it, was a strange orb—definitely wasn't there before—that held a palette-worth of colors inside, which swirled around like a galaxy.

I kicked at the ground, and threw a flurry of wild fists into the air. Pissed much? You're goddamn right I was. My body felt like a kettle filled with boiling water; how it rushed to my head felt like steam was trying to escape through my ears. I worked hard as shit for those little slave-fucks (where the hell did they go; did they run away on some type of underground poke-railroad; why the fuck did they take my damn balls with them?).

Ok, calm down, Red, I told myself. ”Worst case scenario: you rob some pussy motherfucker for their pokemon.

As I grabbed the lone pokeball on my waistband, my mind began to wonder what would be inside. It had a solid chance of being one of my favorites—Charizard, Gyarados, Dragonite—but that one-in-six possibility of the drawing Marcel, the stupid Mr. Mime I traded for, was haunting me (I wish I could change his name, something cool like Silent Loser, but the dumbass copy-cat didn't respond to anything else).

“Moment of truth,” I muttered.

Directing the pokeball's face to the ground, I called upon my mystery slave. A red beam shot from the front of my ball like a laster target, and started to expand into a medium-sized shape.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I could feel sweat glazing my forehead. Not bitch-face Marcel, not bitch-face Marcel! At this point, I'm in all out panic mode. If this pokemon is Marcel, I'm extremely liable to beat him to death with my bare fists.

“Charmander!” the pokemon cheered. “Charmander, charm!”

[Red]

A Chamander... W.T.F.

It was better than Marcel—right now anything was better than Marcel—but I still wanted to cringe.

The feelings that overwhelmed me were a mixture of disappointment and bewilderment. Somehow, my glorious Charizard—destroyer of trainers, and torturer of Metapods—had reverted into his first form; the once bonfire that consumed the end of his tail was now smaller than the flame of an ember.

“Chamander!” the pokemon said, full of glee. He stared at me with the sparkling eyes of a child's innocence.

How disgusting. I wiped my hand over my face, and let out a deep sigh. “Return, Charmander.” The same red beam that materialized Charmander snatched him back into the pokeball.

As I latched the pokeball onto my waistband, my eyes were chained to the mysterious orb. Fractured memories started to float in my head. I remembered a vague being—naked, and without genitals—smiling at me. He handed me—

“Omnilium,” the word spilled from my mouth. “With it, all things are possible.” Consciously, I knew nothing about this Omnilium; but subconsciously, I felt as if there was never a period that I didn't know about it. It was like lullaby programmed into an infant through constant repetition. “You will find that using it comes naturally. Just think of what you desire most.”

I thought about my bike. The red paint. The chrome. The bumper sticker on the back fender: I <3 Tits. It was the best goddamn 21spd money could buy; usually, it costed more than a bajillion pokecoins, but mine was free—I stole that bitch while the clerk had his back turned.

That's what I wanted: my bicycle.

The orb began to glow; my eyes widened. Before my awe subsided, my 21spd appeared in front of me—fuckin' A!!!

I launched my fist at the air, knocking out my imaginary misfortune from earlier. Finally, something positive.

[Red]

Oh, the memories I had on this thing. The first day I got it, I drive-by punched this elderly lady in the face. Her cane did cartwheels in the air as she keeled over into a patch of tall grass. No witnesses, bitch! I yelled while making me escape from the bike shop; I remember the shop clerk rushing out to chase me, but then quickly turning his attention to the old woman.


Good ole' days.


The leather seat was as comfortable as I remembered, and the handgrips were in great condition; I squeezed them tightly, flexing my wrists as if revving a dirtbike. “Let's see how far this empty place goes.” Placing my feet on the pedals, I pushed forward. Destination: unknown.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

I must have pedaled for at least twenty good minutes. The all-terrain tires on my bike glided across the flat ground; I even cranked it up to the 21spd gear, yet my calves didn't need to work any harder. It reminded me of Route 17, back in Kanto, but minus the douchebag wannabe biker gangs—Victreebel's Angels, and The Exeggutors (no, they didn't traffic PCP or meth, unfortunately).


As I continued to travel fuckknowswhat direction, something began to climb over the horizon. I peered. Two palm trees bent towards each other, blending together like laced hands; leaves plumed from the merged top. The space inside of the trees appeared to ripple, and glistened like ocean water. It reminded me of those sci-fi movies, where mystical gates would wormhole two adjacent universes to each other. As I brought my bike to a stop in front of the portal, the scent of sand and seagull became prevalent. It reminded me of Route 19, and its bare shore.