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Pokemon FireRed: Despairlocke	By : Atxdepboy Category: +M through R > Pokemon Views: 4976 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is purely a work of fiction. I own no rights to Pokemon or any of its associated offshoots, nor do I make a dime for any work. Or a nickle. Or a penny. Or any unit of currency.

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CHAPTER 3: STRAYS

Four Days, Three Hours Since Pallet Town:

Reed had never imagined that it could be this dark during the daylight hours - the dense canopy of Viridian forest offering what was, at first, a welcome respite from the brutal sun on their brows. Now, though - he was starting to see the downside. The cool darkness protected them, shielded them from sight from the Elite speeders that passed above and the metaphorical vultures who circled the main highway that passed through the forest, eager to pick off trainers who were foolhardy or overconfident enough to travel on the roads. But it shielded danger from view, as well. Brax moved in a circle, pivoting on his heel as he dodged out of the way of a beedrill's stinger, the poisoned tip carving through air and then sinking into the peeling back of a nearby tree. Brax wasted no time, throwing his hips into a kick to the insect's side, sending it tumbling through air away from him. His instincts were getting better, he was learning how to use his prodigious strength. Even still, it was obvious that the insect was barely affected by the blow, straightening itself in the air and turning, intending to take another pass.

"You gotta focus on it's wings! Kyne, scratch them apart!"

Leaping from a nearby stump, sailing through the air with claws extended, came a sphere of tan fur and corded muscle. Pig-snouted and glaring, the mankey caught the beedrill by the wing, tearing through the fibers of its wings, sending the insect spiraling to the ground. The mankey wasted no time in descending upon it, tearing into its body. Reed grimaced, turning from the sight, holding his hand out to get Brax to come to him. The machop hesitated for only a moment, staring at the violent display, before complying.

"Enough, Kyne." The mankey's trainer held out his pokeball, returning the creature to it in a flash of light, leaving what remained of the beedrill to slowly stream its neon-yellow contents over the grass. He was a handsome young man, tall and slim with a swimmer's build. Another young man roughly his age approach from behind, clasping him on the back. He was a bit more portly than his friend, and had a smile that Reed found off-putting. It was insincere - it reminded him of Orson. Contrasting Reed and his uncle, the two were well-groomed and well-fed. The mankey's trainer went by Bruce, and his friend went by Donnell. They too were new trainers, participants in the Grand Tour and residents of Viridian City, part of the section of free non-elites who helped maintain the slave processing centers. Reed had been intensely opposed to traveling with them through the forest. Haden had overruled him.

"Jeez," Donnell muttered, his voice inflected with the slightest whistle of air between a gap in his front teeth. "You gotta get that thing under control."

"It's fine," Bruce said, walking forward and nudging the dead insect with the toe of his boot. "He's just pent up. We'll need another session soon. Once we get through the forest."

Reed patted Brax on his head, before moving to Haden - leaning against a nearby tree, keeping wary of any more surprises with his charmander's ball in his palm. He hadn't smoked since they'd entered the forest, and the way his jaw was drawn up tight showed it. He was annoyed. "Fucking beedrill." He called out, a bit louder. "How much longer do you think we'll be in here, anyway?"

"One more night should do it," Donnell said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and glancing at it. Even the way they were dressed set Reed's teeth on edge. Viridian City's non-elite lived far beyond what those from Pallet could ever expect. Bruce and Donnell wore well-made hiking boots, thick coats, carried well-made packs with multiple pockets. They made Reed and Haden, in their foot-wraps, their worn t-shirts and frayed pants, look like vagrants. Which, Reed supposed, they technically were. The only thing that connected the two pairs were the watches on their wrist - that identified them as trainers.

"So eager to leave your new best friends, Haden?" Reed muttered, low enough so that the other two couldn't hear.

"Don't be a shit," the older man grunted, shaking his head.

Haden had maintained from the beginning that as participants in the tour, they had no choice but to recognize who the real enemy was. The last few days traveling with them had been an exercise in paranoia for Reed. He knew that he could be less-than-friendly, knew that he could be a complete ass on-occasion. But his uncle's willful refusal to see the difference between them seemed, to him, to be bordering on madness. Still, he kept quiet. And kept Brax close to his side.

- - - -

Four Days, 16 Hours Since Pallet Town:

They had to keep the campfire low, out here. Otherwise they risked giving away their location to anything lurking out in the dark. Or setting the whole forest aflame. Reed sat as close to it as he could, resenting Haden for being able to keep off in the dark by himself, the heat that his charmander radiated more than enough to sustain him. Bruce and Donnell sat opposite him, while Brax’s footsteps cracked twigs behind him, the machop poking about the underbrush. He’d taken to letting him do whatever he liked, when they were camped. He trusted him to not get in-trouble.

“ What I’m saying is, you just tip your hand when you carry them like that,” Bruce said, idly flicking small twigs and pieces of grass into the fire. It was part of an argument that he and Reed had been having on-and-off all afternoon. Donnell stared into the fire, eyes glassing over. “For fuck’s sake.” he muttered, clearly tired of hearing it.

“Why would I not want to show what I have? Anyone who’s interested in picking a fight might be discouraged if they know I have more than one.”

Donnell snorted, and Bruce waved his hand dismissively.

“Everyone has more than one. Everyone who’s anyone. That’s not how this works. Have you ever fought another trainer?”

Haden shifted a bit, looking like he might say something, but held his tongue. Reed’s expression darkened. “Nothing . . . nothing official, really.”

“Well, then you need to know this - the challenger sets the terms of engagement. They choose the minimum number of pokemon to enter in a fight. If they think you only have the one, they’ll only set it to one. Worst case scenario if you lose, you lose one of your pokemon. But you’ll still have others on-hand. It’ll keep you from-”

Haden coughed loudly, and the four of them went silent.

“You grew up in that place,” Reed said quietly, staring into the fire. “You saw it every day. What they do to people. How could you stand it?”

Bruce frowned, reaching a hand up to drag it back through his thick brown hair.

“You get used to it.”

Reed gave a single, dark chuckle. “Especially when it means you live so comfortably.”

“Kid, easy.” Haden called out.

“Fuck you.” The words were dark, any playful edge hidden beneath hot defensiveness. “Don’t get high and mighty. If you could trade places, don’t pretend like you wouldn’t.”

“The hell I-”

“And besides,” Donnell said, finally speaking, “its not like Pallet Town is the only place where people lose the ones they care about.”

Reed’s shoulders slumped slightly. The reason for Donnell’s smile seeming insincere. Perhaps he’d misjudged it.

They were quiet for a long while, before the sound of grunting came from behind Reed. He ignored it at first, imagining that Brax had likely found himself something to eat. Donnel’s strangled guffaw, followed by Bruce’s wide eyes and laughter and Haden’s surprised noise, somewhere between a chuckle and a gasp, was enough to disabuse him of this notion. He turned, his own eyes widening and his cheeks turning pink.

Brax leaned against a tree, facing them, his head bowed so that his chin was touching his chest. A grey hand was wrapped tightly around his penis, stroking it feverishly, his eyes screwed up in concentration. The foreskin which wrapped around it moved up and down in time with his strokes, causing the pink-hued head to poke out as he self-pleasured. Somehow, Reed had simply gotten used to the pokemon’s nudity. Even if he had a more humanoid shape, it wasn’t really any different than seeing an animal’s genitalia, at least as far as Reed was concerned. Now though, seeing the machop in such a recognizably human position . . .

His hands were on the machop’s pokeball faster than even he had realized he could move, Brax giving a startled cry of “-chop!” before bursting into light and being pulled inside the ball. Reed exhaled, his heart pounding as he turned back to the fire and slumped. The laughter from the Viridian trainers continued.

“Wow, haha. I guess your guy there has gone a little while, eh?” Bruce wiped an errant tear of laughter from the corner of his eye. “Seriously, you need to take care of that.”

The pink in Reed’s cheeks grew a little stronger. “A-and what am I supposed to do about it? He’s never done that before.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Really? Huh. Must just be starting to come of age. You’ll probably wanna choose a beta, soon.”

Reed did his best to mask in his expression just how clueless he was, and how embarrassed he still felt. “Beta?”

From the nearby tree, Haden grumbled something under his breath.

“You seriously don’t know? They really don’t teach you much about Pokemon, in Pallet town.” Donnell cleared his throat. “Look you know that Pokemon are smart, right? Smarter than normal animals. Well, they’re also . . they have needs. Just like people, only more than people.”

“Most people,” Bruce snorted.

“Most people. Certain species need it more than others, Especially as they evolve. Your boy there, he seems like he needs it less often than many. He might evolve into something someday, and that might change. Bruce’s mankey, for instance-”

“Horny little bastard,” Bruce said, nodding.

“But what do they . . . I mean, in the wild. There’s only one in a hundred Pokemon ever born female, and the Elite snatches those up as fast as they can.” Reed glowed for a moment, remembering the fact he’d read in the guidebook that Haden had given him.

“Well . . . yeah. So they usually just find weaker males to do it with.”

Reed felt his stomach clench. “What?”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant by a ‘beta’. The weakest pokemon you catch, one that can be used by the others,” Bruce added, tapping the pokeball on his hip. “In addition to Kyne, here,” he reached into his backpack, pulling out another. “I have this rattata. Every once in a while, I let them both out and, well . . . but it’s necessary, y’know? Pokemon that don’t get release become ornery, they lose focus in battle, eventually you won’t be able to control them at all.”

“But what does the rattata think of all this?”

Bruce hesitated, then shrugged. “Can’t say. Imagine he hates it. But it’s the way of things.”

“But that . . that’s not right. You can’t just force it to accept that, that’s fucked up.” He gripped Brax’s ball in his hand, images flashing across his mind of the machop pleasuring itself. Then, of Okie - fierce and fiery. His stomach clenched again.

“Well, the only alternative is to take care of it yourself,” Bruce said, sniffing in disdain. “I’ve heard some people do it. Deviants, and the occasional girl that manages to undertake the challenge. But that’s the worst case scenario.”

Reed said nothing. An hour later, he rose to piss. Haden followed suit, and they stood next to one another, releasing their water against a nearby tree.

“For the record, I’m proud of you. You learned how to recognize an injustice done when you see it. Can’t ask for much more, in this world.”

Reed was quiet, tucking himself back into his pants and nodding. A quiet, simple “thanks” was all he had to offer.

- - - -

Five Days, Nine Hours Since Pallet Town:

Things had gone so wrong, so fast. After three days in Viridian Forest, avoiding fighting with anything but the occasional beedrill swarm, Reed had almost convinced himself that he they were in the clear. Just as he’d thought it, as if someone were waiting for it to pass through his mind, they’d heard a scream from nearby. A young man’s scream.

“We shouldn’t,” Haden said, cursing inwardly that he was so standing far away from his nephew, that he couldn’t reach out and grab his arm.

“We -really- shouldn’t,” Donnell added.

But Reed and Bruce were already off, ducking through the underbrush and leaping over roots. They managed to find their way to a clearing. Reed’s heart sank, instantly. Three trainers leaned up against nearby trees, while another sat on a fallen log near them. It was obvious immediately that the one sitting on the log, the youngest by several years, had been making the noise. An ambush.

“Well, well. We have some good samaritans, here.”

One of the leaning trainers stepped forward. “Good afternoon, gentleman. I hope you found your journey through the forest relaxing. I’m afraid that up ahead, all you’ll find is some real bad times. That’s why we’re out here, get it? To save new trainers a bit of trouble - and Brock, too.”

Reed raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t familiar with the name. “We’re not looking for a fight.”

“Hey, neither are we.” Another of the trainers stepped forward. They were all older, in their late thirties. They looked rough, grungy. Poor in the same way that Reed and Haden looked poor - like they’d been that way all their lives, and had long-since accepted it. “So tell you want. I see you, little guy, you have two different Pokemon.” Reed cursed himself for not following Bruce’s advice, and hiding away his second pokebell. “Why don’t you give us one, and we’ll let you keep walking? You can make it all the way to Pewter City before giving up and going home. Your friend, old one-ball here, well . . . sorry to say, but doesn’t look like he has much to offer, anyway.”

Bruce blushed slightly, reaching down to grip his pokeball, glancing sidelong at Reed - nervous. Reed, meanwhile, spat on the ground - giving it enough reach to make it several feet in front of him. “Or, alternatively, you can piss right off to whatever gutter you crawled out of.”

The man who’d last spoke growled under his breath. “Watch the hurtful words, kid. It’s four against two. You really think you’re ready to take on two trainers in a row?”

“You’re math is kinda shit, big guy,” Haden’s gravely voice came from the treeline, as he and Donnel stepped out - pokeballs in hand. Haden wore both of his pokeballs on his belt, while Donnel only had the one - Reed knew that there was a second in pack, just like Bruce. “It’s four on four. How lucky are you lot feeling?”

The joke was starting to feel a lot less funny to the four ambushers, as they squared off - each picking the partner they’d battle. Each of them thumbed a button on their watch. The trainer that squared off with Reed was a wirey, bearded man. Reed thought that he looked like a goat.

“Two, eh? You’ve been busy. Fine. We’ll go with two.” He pressed some buttons on the watch. Reed’s own watch began to vibrate. Glancing doing at it, a small screen read three simple words. “Locked in battle.” Fifteen seconds passed in unbearable silence, as each combatant readied his pokeballs. Haden was getting ready for a two vs two. Donnell and Bruce were each only using one. So he and Haden were the only ones in true danger. He’d expected to be terrified. But somehow, there was a serene calm over him. The roar of two Elite speeders sounded overhead, and the chrome vehicles crashed downward through branches, landing at the edge of the clearing. Reed had seen pictures before of old-world helicopters. The speeders struck him as similar, though lacking in the obvious blades and much more rounded in design. Two enforcers stepped out of each, circling the spot where the battles were going to take place.

One of them moved close to Reed and his opponent, each lantern-jawed and bulky. “Challenger wagers two pokemon. Begin combat at the count of five.”

Reed didn’t remember hearing the countdown. Blood pounded in his heart, the beating threatening to deafen him. All he saw was his opponent throwing, and him throwing in-kind. A beautiful butterfly sprung out, pale wings and purple body. From his own throw came Okie. The butterfly didn’t hesitate, flying up and beginning to spray a crystalline dust from its wings. It wasn’t fast enough. It wasn’t even close. Okie was a scrapper, slinking and sprinting around the battlefield. It left with remarkable grace, tackling the butterfly in mid-air, dragging it down.

His opponent swore. He didn’t understand the word. Didn’t have time to think. But he heard it all the same. Heard the fear in it. He’d been expecting an easy mark. Next came a rattata. Like Okie, but longer in body, older. He didn’t hesitate. He pulled Okie back, throwing Brax forward. The machop burst out of the ball, thankfully flaccid after the events of the night before. He aimed a kick at the rat, which managed to dodge out of the way. Once, twice. It couldn’t get a move in. Finally, on the third, it got greedy - moving in to bite. Brax caught it on the jaw instead, sending it sprawling.

He didn’t even realize the battle was over, until Brax came to him, gripping him gently by the arm and looking up at him. The Goat was on his knees, shell-shocked, stunned that this had gone so poorly for him. To his left, Haden’s battle was over as well. The opponent had used bug pokemon as well. The smoldered on the floor of the clearing, Haden’s charmander pressing its face into his knee.

To his right was a different story. Donnel’s own pidgey was laid out, beaten by a strange rock-like pokemon - a little sphere with arms. And Bruce’s mankey, Kyne, had been similarly overpowered - another butterfree having managed to paralyze it with the same powder that had almost been used on Okie. Apparently, Kyne wasn’t fast enough.

The other two had lost.

“Match complete,” called the enforcer who had been supervising Haden’s match. “Double fatality in favor of the challenged.” He turned to the trainer, the young man who’d lured them there in the first place. “Do you have any pokemon remaining?” The young man merely nodded - pulling another pokeball out to show the man.

Reed didn’t even realizing that his own enforcer was speaking now. “Match complete. Double K.O. in favor of the challenged. Defeated pokemon classified as C-rank.” The Goat was shaking slightly, as the enforcer stepped forward, removing the pokeballs from his hands. He didn’t try to stop him. “Pokemon will be taken into custody and destroyed. Do you have any pokemon remaining?” The Goat merely nodded, showing one ball as well.

Reed felt his entire body go cold, as the enforcer slipped the pokeballs onto his own belt. Destroyed. C-rank pokemon, those considered useless to the elite, were destroyed. Killed. He’d just doomed two pokemon. That brought it up to three, now. He felt nauseous, helped in no part by the enforcer for Donnells’ round announcing the same result. C-rank. Destroyed. Donnell was crying. Reed wanted to go to him, but found that his legs wouldn’t move.

“Do you have any pokemon remaining?”

Donnell nodded. “B-but I . . . I want to turn them in. I want to go home.”

The enforcer said nothing, holding out his hand. Donnell withdrew the pokeball from his pack, handing it to the man, and moving to his feet. To Donnel’s right, Bruce was already following suit.

“I have one left too! Please, I don’t . . . I don’t want to do this anymore, I give up.”

It was his rattata. The rattata he’d made service his mankey. Who could say what rank they would give to the poor thing?

“Match complete,” the enforcer said, taking the pokeball from him. “K.O. in favor of the challenger. Defeated pokemon-” the brute stepped forward, withdrawing a spray from his belt - misting a green liquid over the mankey that allowed it to move again, clearing away the dust, “-is classified as a B rank. As such, it will be taken into custody and sterilized. The Elite shall find a use for it.” He turned to the man that had beaten Bruce. “As victor, it is to your discretion whether it shall be allowed final release, beforehand.”

The four challengers had certainly lost most of the wind from their sails, having watched two of their number be soundly thrashed. However, this question gave Bruce’s challenger a smirk. “Yeah, sure. Seems he earned it.”

Reed didn’t know exactly what was happening, but he could tell that Bruce’s face had fallen. “But . . . but I used that rattata for that. Can’t I-”

The enforcer, to his credit, displayed no emotion about the situation at all. “If no pokemon is available, trainer will be responsible for honoring wishes of the victor. Please drop your trousers, and assume the position.”

Reed realized, in that terrible moment, what was about to happen. He felt his jaw go slack, as he watched Bruce begin to fumble with the buttons on his pants, the same that Reed had felt so envious of not a day beforehand. He looked so much younger now, his face streaked with tears, his pants around his ankles like he was a little boy about to get a spanking. Donnell was looking away. Even the victors were looking away, unable to enjoy their gloating in the face of this debauchery. The enforcer pulled another spray from his belt, spraying it over Bruce’s backside - making him jump slightly. Kyne perked up, moving behind his former trainer, sniffing at him. Reed could see it between the creature’s legs. A fat little prick, maybe four inches long. The mankey gave another sniff, before clambering aboard, gripping Bruce by the waist.

“N-no, wait, don’t let him-”

The young man gave a pitiful howl, as he was breached, the mankey giving no mind to his comfort - pushing all the way in and rutting animal-like against him. Reed surged forward. “You bastards, you can’t-”

The enforcer that had overseen his own battle placed a hand in the center of his chest, stopping him in his tracks. “Interfering with a victor’s rite will be interpreted as an act of rebellion. Continue, and a battle may be necessary to pacify you.”

Reed grit his teeth, wanting so badly to get Brax to tear the man apart, tear them all apart. Bruce continued to moan and whimper on the ground, until finally giving another high pitched whine, the mankey tensing for a moment, before finally slipping off of him - disappearing into light, into the pokeball in the enforcer’s hand.

“All matches complete,’ another called out. “Will there be any further battles?”

At first, the two victors turned their eyes to Reed and Haden. After seeing the fury boiling behind the young man’s eyes, the decided against it. The enforcers led Donnell and Bruce towards the speeders, Bruce having to be frog-marched as whitish goo dripped down his legs. Reed did not to after them. Once more, he felt like he couldn’t move.

Haden came to him, pulled him into a hug. Haden rubbed the back of his head, told him he could cry. Reed didn’t cry. He didn’t need to. He could hear Haden’s voice.

“We need to keep moving. Pewter city is less than an hour away.”

He had to keep moving. Had to.

He wondered, idly, about the rattata. Bruce’s. Would he lay awake at night? Would he remember what had happened to him? Would be think of it in more familiar terms? He wondered if Bruce had ever bothered to name it.

He was certain that, in that moment, Bruce had named it. A name he’d take with him to the grave.
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Pokemon FireRed: Despairlocke