Please rectify me if I'm not allowed to do this, but this is a written piece. Just please PM me, or notify me rather than just deleting it so I don't have a sad face when I notice it's gone. For those of you familiar with me, I like to tinker with the written word. For some of you, you might be interested in what I have to say about the World of Pokemon; others couldn't give less of a damn. This is for the former. Taking a serious spin on the otherwise whimsical World of Pokemon, this is a short introduction to what I intend to become an ongoing narrative to be written in my spare time (most likely updated weekly.) If you guys like this, let me know and I'll keep writing it. If not, let me know and I'll keep writing it, but not tell any of you about it! Seriously though, this is for those who asked for it and for myself. Project New Island Hide (Move your mouse to the hide area to reveal the content) Show Hide Hide Hide Our world is inhabited by creatures called Pokemon. For some people, Pokemon are pets. Others use them for fights. Myself…I’m a survivor. It’s been three weeks now; Clouds of ash hang in the air indistinguishable from the original and the streets are littered with the bodies of the dead. I’ve been on the move ever since the incident, keeping my head low and my hopes lower. If they catch me–no, when they catch me–it’ll be the end. It’s not safe to keep this journal; it’s not safe to stay in one spot too long; it’s not safe to even be human. Everything started two years ago when a mysterious virus caused the Hayflick limit to drop from fifty-two divisions to a crippling twenty-six effectively cutting human life expectancy in half. Some people blamed radiation poisoning, others claimed divine intervention, but in the end it all meant the same thing–humanity had become endangered. Biomedical engineering failed us, and with the number dropping with each birth, we had become backed up against a wall. Many committed suicide, even more committed murder. The world became run by chaos and fear. It wasn’t until a year later when Professor Fuji stumbled upon the discovery that would save us; the discovery that would ultimately doom us. Through evolution and superior genetics, Pokemon had not only become immune to the disease, but found a way to benefit from it sporting abnormally high Hayflick limits–limits not in the hundreds, but the thousands. However, an antidote could not be created from their DNA–it was impure, already linked too tightly to the Pokemon genome proving incompatible with human strains. Fuji figured that evolution had separated our species too far, stretched the gene pool too wide; the only way we could bind their DNA to ours, and effectively save our race, was to trace it back to where everything began–Mew. There were fossil records dating before recorded time–records claiming that Pokemon had been the original inhabitants, not humans as we once suspected–but that’s all they were, records. The last sighting of Mew had been centuries ago and they had since been labeled extinct. The only beacon of hope lay in a single fossilized eyelash said to be that of an ancient Mew. The fossil was accurate. Scientists began work on extracting the DNA and subjugating it to compatibility tests–they were a success. Mew’s DNA could be bound to ours; mew’s DNA could save everyone. The only problem was that while Mew’s Hayflick limit was a hundred times greater than our own it was still limited; If we were to save our race, we would need more cells. This prompted Project “New Island.” After months of failures and wasted cells, scientists at last managed replicate Mew’s tissue with a living host. February 6th, Mew gave birth. We named the newborn Mewtwo. Mewtwo became the focus of both worldwide admiration and scrutiny. Activists claimed it morally wrong to use a Pokemon purely for its cellular value, relating it to stem cell research, while others argued that the ends justified the means. In a staggering landslide, the United Nations declared project New Island both acceptable by humanitarian standards and necessary. While he incubated, Mewtwo developed awareness; a trait we had futilely tried to discourage–just as we had his psychic powers. For months he slept, suspended in a large glass tube–a specimen bred for human consumption and nothing more. Fuji urged researchers to heed his warnings that Mewtwo had gained sentience, but brainwave monitors showed no abnormal activity. The researchers were obsessed with their victory over nature; soon humanity would be saved and the world would return to normal. They applauded each other and themselves, bragging about how they would perfect project New Island and mass produce “Mewtwo” as necessary. They began talks about supply and demand, prices for the prescription, whether or not they should cure the disease or simply prolong it for profit. Fuji became disgusted with what had become of New Island and abandoned both his research and the team. All the while, Mewtwo sat in silence, listening–absorbing the hateful remarks about him. He grew to hate humanity, believing–correctly–that he was nothing, nothing but an experiment bred so that an inferior race could continue. He began to test his mental capacity by lifting small objects from afar and eventually rearranging the lab daily to the confusion of the team. By late August, he had grown from the size of a small cat to 6’07’’ and 269lbs. On August 31st, project New Island was declared ready for public release. On September 1st, Mewtwo struck back. The destruction was absolute leaving no survivors of project New Island. The military fought back, but the war on humanity lasted only a week. In seven days, every major city fell to Mewtwo’s psychic onslaught and he declared humanity obsolete. Most of the Pokemon flocked to him, whether by his psychic control or by their choice we are still uncertain, and turned on their trainers. That was three weeks ago. It’s no longer a matter of if I will die, but rather when. My badges mean nothing, my League Championships are void in this new world; all I have left are the only friends that I‘ve ever had–and I’m too terrified to find out if they still are. Hide (Move your mouse to the hide area to reveal the content) Show Hide Hide Hide Whenever I slept, I continued to have the same dream; Past memories that seemed so distant that might as well have been nothing but dreams. They would always start out back home in Ecruteak City. My mother would be tending to her garden in the early morning sun and always welcomed me with an aroma of fresh flowers. Father spent most of his time in the gym; Grandfather Morty always told him he worked too hard, that he should spent more time with his family while he could, but Father had always been a distant man constantly wrapped up in one thing or another. The world would shift, my mother melting into her dress, the house sinking into the ground, and the familiar form of the Gym would begin to take shape. There was always a challenger in my dream–one that reminded me a lot of myself. It was never a close battle–my father always crushed his opponents with his Ghost Pokemon. My memory racked itself to remember his face when he turned to me afterwards–to remember his voice when he spoke to me. “A Pokemon chooses it’s partner, not the other way around Victor. If you don‘t understand this, than you‘ll never become a Champion.” I wanted to tell him that I hated the name Victor and just to call me Vex, to tell him that his son had finally found the partners he wanted me to find, to tell him that we had become League Champions for him; but he was long gone before any of that happened, and he was nothing but a dream anymore fading into the darkness. When I would wake, my mind would claw at the memories just wanting them to stay a little longer before seeping through the fingers of the past before becoming lost in the waves of time. Now more than ever, I wished I could just go back to that time. Rolling a poke-ball between my fingers, a stiff knot wrapped itself around my heart; I’d never felt so alone before. I was ashamed of myself for what I had become–A broken shell shivering in the confines of a hollowed out office with nothing but an old bombers jacket and pair of jeans, gorging myself on the bags of chips and cans of soda I had scavenged from the vending machines, stealing glances desperately at the night sky hoping–praying–to see some sign of relief. My belt hung limp on my side, weighed down by the six friends I had grown to depend on. Deep down I wanted to believe that the bonds we shared would remain, but something had happened to the Pokemon. In the streets I saw trainers mauled by their own partners as they cried out in hopes their friends were still in there somewhere; there was no telling what mine would do. Alone and miserable, I sat perched in the windowsill and watched as a man was chased down by an Arbok. The snake was moving quickly, slithering over and under destroyed cars while the man tripped over the cracks in the street. Screaming, he crawled backwards, shielding his face with his arm. The snake reared it’s head, flared it’s body, and lunged; I turned away. The screams stopped, replaced by a roar that shook the dust on the windowsill. In front of the man stood a Tyranitar, it’s fangs bared as it’s tail began to whip sand into the air. Behind him, a man was quickly approaching, shouting orders. The Tyranitar leapt forward, smashing its tail into the side of the Arbok sending it reeling, before mounting and tearing into the snake’s writhing body. It’s claws separated Arbok’s jaw from the rest of its face before completely tearing it in two. Another roar signaled the descent of a chopper from above–its blades spinning wildly, kicking up the sand that had already been swirling. The cowering man was helped to his feet and led into the chopper. I couldn’t contain myself–it was a rescue. I tried yelling out to them, but my voice was lost amongst the whirring of the motor. Groups of soldiers began to emerge from various buildings, some with wounds and others with survivors. We were going to be saved–I was going to be saved. Running towards the stairs, my belt got caught on a jutting piece of steel–a remnant of the large door to the main office–and I heard the familiar clink of metal roll across the floor followed by a sound I had not heard in three weeks–the sound of an opening Poke-ball. Turning on my heel, it was to late to stop it. The form grew in size bathed in red light. It’s form was massive with spikes protruding down its spine, leading into a powerful tail. The red soon began to dim to a dark purple and the face of my Nidoking looked solemnly at the floor. My heart was beating like mad, looking to him like I had never seen him before. His eyes focused on me–the soft eyes of my Nidoran from twelve years ago. And then he snapped. His body began to shake and convulse as if electrocuted, his pupils fading from sight. Wailing and smashing his tail, Nidoking collapsed in a heap clutching his head in agony. I tried to console him, tried to approach him, but the ground began to shake beneath us–an earthquake. The floor began to shake apart; large fissures ran from Nidoking, surrounding him and myself, before it all gave way. My body was a rag doll with no ground upon which to stand. Every floor collapsed under his weight as he tumbled down, bringing the building with him. Five floors we fell, each one worse than the last. My mind was racing, my vision blurry. I saw men running into the destruction; I felt them pulling at me, dragging me away. I saw a Tyranitar locked claw in claw with a Nidoking. I saw blackness.