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Blazing Ambitions

-Chapter Two-

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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 Pokčmon Trainer as I could. But that was tough- I had never been a Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon, 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 Pokčmon) 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 Pokčmon 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' Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon to get wounded trying to settle their petty differences.

That was why I never wanted to become a Pokčmon trainer. It was just plain cruelty. And despite popular opinion, there was no such thing as a true blue trainer/Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon and tires it out, but it also prepares the Pokčmon's body for the trip inside the Pokéball.

"As I'm sure you're well aware, Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon through any type of opening, a chemical reaction occurs within the Pokčmon, causing it's body cells to rearrange themselves. The chemical reaction causes the Pokčmon to turn from a solid to a gas-type material. When the Pokéball opens, the gasses are sucked into the ball.

"Now, if the Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon is out of contact with the fumes, the effects are still with the Pokčmon. The fumes weakened it's body the first time, but now, the fumes are weakening the Pokčmon's willpower. The Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon has no control.

"However, if the Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon goes hand in hand with physical strength, explaining why, if a trainer does not prove that they are worthy of their strong Pokčmon by collecting badges, since the Pokčmon is physically strong and can do so, the Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon will be used to the fumes, and the artificial friendship will stay--- however, sadly, it will never be a true friendship, since the Pokčmon 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 "Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon that could only be achieved through kindness and respect, and a new era of cooperation between humans and Pokčmon. 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-

Pokčmon trainers disgusted me. No matter how kind the trainer was to their precious Pokčmon, 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 Pokčmon abuse is a terrible thing- that you should be kind, and treat your Pokčmon with compassion.

Then, later, they decide to go out and have a little bit of fun--- and force their Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon trainers are slave drivers, and I hated them with a deep passion.

Of course, whenever I tried to explain that to my brother or father, they would shake thier head, and say something corney like: "No, no matter what Professor Oak says, a trainer and their Pokčmon share a bond that isn't forced--- Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon 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 wothout much reason 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 Pokčmon burst out of it while the sphere was in midair--- a Pidgey, one of the weakest Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon Centre. Upon touching the roof, the Pokéball exploded, and there was a loud crash as the Pokčmon 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 Pokčmon 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 grin, and then stabbed himself in the chest. I gasped horrifically as his face turn a pale shade, and the blood oozed from where he had struck himself. The knife gently loosened from the wound and into his hand, which was still twitching.

His appendages grew limp, and the knife slipped out of his hand and landed onto the ground in front of me. He was dead. A shudder ran down my spine- a shudder so great that I began to feel weak, and I wanted to be sick. Hands shaking, I picked up the bloody knife by the handle 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 thre policelice cops blocking the exit to the alley. 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 nervously. "It- it's not how it looks!"

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

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So how was it? E-mail me with praise, or constructive critisism at Veggykel@aol.com. But please, no flames, no viruses and no... *umm* bad and sick stuff, okay? Cheers!

-Setra