The burly man stared out into the desert, with rocks strewn about as sand tore across the area in front of him. He rocked in his chair as he reminisced, a large red train that seemed oddly out of place in the Orre Desert. The Outskirt Stand hadn't had any visitors since the second shadow incident, and that had been so long ago. He sat there on the porch every day, manning the shop for his elderly father, and waiting for the day he could sell the place. He dosed off, but was rudely awakened by the sound of an engine. He jolted upright, and saw a young man dressed almost entirely in black step off of a modified motorcycle. The man nodded in approval at the bike, noting how much more complex they had gotten with time. The approaching man cleared his throat, and began to speak. "I'm looking for the owner of the stand."
"Sorry, kid. He's sick today. Why don't you just run along, there's nothing to see here."
The man in black smirked, and pulled a Pokeball out from his trench coat. "I am afraid you are mistaken. You see, I simply must get through."
The workman was intrigued, not having fought a battle in years. "Tell you what, kid. We'll have ourselves a battle, three on three. If I win, you run back to your mommy. If you win, I'll let you pass." He dropped a ball on the ground, revealing a Larvitar.
The other man smirked, "Very well then, Gastly, go!"
In a flash of light, a black spirit appeared in front of him. The battle was on.
