Chapter 379 - My SI Stash #79 - Pokémath by A Hobbyist (Pokemon)

-Munchkin SI fics are fun, but the author really needs to stop focusing on the mechanics after a while and actually advance the story.

Synopsis: A pseudo-genius with a photographic memory on all things pokémon gets the opportunity of a lifetime: he finds himself in the pokémon world. He's played the games, watched the show, read the wiki, seen the videos, and now he's about to live the life. But how well will his memory match up with this new reality? The answer: enough to exploit the crap out of everything.

Rated: T

Words: 68K

Posted on: fanfiction.net/s/13620568/1/Pok%C3%A9math (A Hobbyist)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics/originals mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1-2

This is an AU of Pokémon, sort of a hodgepodge of the games and TV show. Most of the technical details will come from the games, while story elements will borrow more heavily from the anime and other sources. Be warned that even if you're very familiar with both mediums of Pokémon, major events won't play out like you expect, especially given how much our main character will be messing things up. I repeat, this is an AU, an Alternate Universe.

And when I say our protagonist has a photographic memory on all things pokémon, I do mean ALL THINGS - not just Nintendo canon, but fan-made content as well. If you can find it on the web and it's related to pokémon, the main character's brain is (theoretically) allowed to know about it. The only thing he's NOT allowed to know are facts about THIS fictional world - he isn't allowed to know, in advance, if his knowledge matches reality until he discovers it for himself. Also, his photographic brain applies only to pokémon and pokémon-related facts, nothing else, which is why he's only a 'pseudo' genius. The rest of him will be dedicated to more mundane things. Furthermore, he will have an amnesiac memory when it comes to anything about his past that ISN'T related to pokémon. The whole 'what about my old life?' drama isn't the point of this story. This might make the first couple of chapters a bit rough around the 'suspension of disbelief' edges, but better that than typical edgy isekai angst in my opinion. If the resulting (un)believability of this bothers you, I understand.

As a final note, anything that has been Underlined (aside from each chapter title) is a direct reference to existing content. I'll put an asterisk (*) next to the references and provide sources in footnotes at the end of each chapter. The many indirect references in this story won't be underlined, and I'd be interested how many people catch those hints. Underlined sentences will be in the spirit of direct quotes, not vague hints.

I should also mention that I like reviews, and this story and its errors are constantly being improved by feedback. But don't feel like you have to force yourself to write one. Watching the favorites and follows counter tick up makes me... almost as happy as reviews. If you do review, please stick to one review per chapter at most. PM me if you think of anything else you want to add afterwards.

With all that out of the way, I hope you enjoy. The first three scenes set the stage, and then the story starts in full.

Chapter 1 – Pickup Palooza

In a lab on Cinnabar Island...

"Please, please let my theories be true."

The Pokémon doctor paced in his lab.

"I must see my little girl smile again."

Slowly, he came to a stop in front of a glowing amber light, suspended in literal thin air.

"I've reawakened her consciousness here in this chamber. I just need to keep it viable long enough to complete the process."

He raised a hand to touch the glass.

"She lives within this light. Her energy is undeniable. If my cloning theories are correct, I'll have you back with me one day soon."

His gaze briefly flickered to the test tube beside her, which contained a purple pokémon suspended in liquid. It flicked to the left, revealing a tube containing the cloned body of a ten-year-old human. Then it settled back on the tube containing his daughter.

"I'll do ANYTHING to see you again."*

One exploding lab later...

"Boss, what do we do with the kid?" A Team Rocket grunt asked.

Giovanni looked upon the 'empty clone', as Dr. Fuji had called it. The thing had been delivered as a proof-of-concept that cloning worked on people, if not pokémon. The doctor had sent it to him, along with a request of more funds for a new lab. Fuji claimed it could revolutionize replacement limbs and organs in medicine.

But Giovanni had told the Doctor that the ethicists would have his guts for garters if he tried to grow humans in test tubes, especially if their ultimate purpose was to be cut up and served on a silver platter to other humans like livestock. He had been speaking metaphorically, but he knew the moralists of the world would probably use that same language if they ever found out, and they would mean it literally.

Out loud, Giovanni said only "Dispose of it. Leave no traces to us."

It wasn't truly alive, after all, so Giovanni had no qualms with washing his hands of the problem.

As the grunts picked up the body and moved it back into the bag, no one realized the clone wasn't quite as empty as they thought.

A consciousness collides with its new container...

Of course, it would be hard to remain ignorant of the clone's new condition if, halfway through lugging it across Viridian, the bag you were hauling began to move on its own.

"What the distortion world?!" one of the rocket grunts exclaimed, suddenly stopping and looking at the bag with wide eyes. Then he hastily looked around to make sure his outburst hadn't drawn any attention.

Thankfully, it was so late at night that it was early in the morning, though the sun hadn't risen yet. No one was awake, let alone walking the streets like the grunts were.

When he saw the coast was clear, he looked to his partner. "I thought the boss said this kid wasn't really alive!"

"What do we do now?!" the other asked in a harsh whisper. She also looked around, making sure they were alone and unobserved.

The first grunt glanced nervously at the bag. "The boss said this couldn't be connected to us."

"You're not suggesting we..." she trailed off, horrified. They may be Team Rocket, but even they had lines they did not cross.

"No, no," the other said quickly. "I mean we can't be here when he wakes up."

She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Let's just put the bag by that dumpster over there," he said, pointing to an alley, "unzip it a little, and scram. That way, we won't be here when he wakes up."

"But what if the Muk Truck comes before then? He'll be crushed!"

"Not inside the dumpster, idiot!" he shouted. "Just next to it. He can wake up, call Officer Jenny, do whatever. So long as we're not here when that happens, we'll be golden."

The girl grunt thought a moment, then nodded. "Okay, good idea."

The consciousness and container merge successfully, and our story begins...

A foul smell filled his nostrils, waking him up instantly and causing him to scrunch his nose and furrow his brows. Then he felt something brush up against his arm, and he flinched.

"Grime!" his ears heard, but his eyes could not see.

A brief struggle revealed why he was blind: his entire boy, except for his mouth and nose (unfortunately), were covered by some sort of plastic – almost like a sleeping bag. After a bit of struggling, and after managing to expand the hole on his face to expose his eyes, he realized that it was not a sleeping bag, but a body bag.

"Grimer!" his ears heard again, and this time his eyes saw a fleeing pile of sludge, thankfully taking its horrid smell with it as it turned around a corner.

Wait a minute... he thought. Was that-?

But before his brain could get any further, it was interrupted by another sound, this time from above him.

He couldn't quite see over the lid of the dumpster from his place on the ground, so he couldn't see what it was. He decided to put all his efforts into escaping the bag ASAP, in case it was dangerous. He saw a purple stain on the side of the black plastic bag and on the ground when he was halfway out. Thank goodness this thing is waterproof, he thought to himself, carefully avoiding the putrid puddle as he extracted himself through the bag's opening. Then, on second thought, he covered the puddle with the bag, so he wouldn't step on it by accident.

That same shuffling noise came again.

He slowly pulled himself to his feet, then shivered at the cold air. Unfortunately, the body bag had been the only thing protecting him from the elements.

I'll have to find some clothes, he thought. But first...

Carefully, he peeked over the edge of the dumpster so he wouldn't startle what was inside.

Two furred legs and a raised tail filled his vision. Just a cat, he sighed.

Then, he saw the contents of the dumpster: a great number of items that, before this point, he had only ever seen as pixels on a screen. One item in particular caught his eye, and he reached out to take it, ignoring the cat for now. His fingers wrapped around the tiny pokéball, removing it from the pile of used potions, empty elixirs, and discarded debris.

It looked, well, real, for lack of a better word. Not made of some cheap plastic, but a shiny metal that was far more dense and heavy than anything that size should be. Curious, he pressed the button in the middle, then shouted in surprise as the ball expanded to fill his entire palm.

This in turn startled the cat – no, the Meowth – which was a further surprise, and drew another squawk from his lips.

This combination of shocks, in such quick succession, made him lose his grip on the pokéball, and he dropped it.

Right on top of the Meowth.

Bweeeeoop.

He stared at the place where the Meowth had been.

Blip.

Then he looked to the Pokéball.

Blip.

He saw it give a second shutter.

Blip.

His eyes widened. No way...

Ding!

For a moment, everything was still.

You just caught a Meowth, his brain told him.

But... how? he asked, almost in a state of stupor.

Meowth has a capture rate of 255, the highest there is. At full health, you had a 43.9% chance to capture-

Not that! he interrupted himself. I meant how could I capture a Meowth in REAL LIFE? Pokémon don't exist!

Apparently they do, his brain smugly pointed out. Then, as another breeze blew by, Oh, and don't forget: you're still n.a.k.e.d.

THAT got his attention. He glanced around to see if anyone could see him accidentally streaking in the alley. Thankfully, no one seemed to be nearby.

Then his eyes returned to the dumpster, and the pokéball on top of the discarded items.

Well, he thought. If I found a pokéball, maybe I can find some clothes.

Putting the pokéball on the ground for now (so he wouldn't lose it), he hoisted himself above the lid and began shuffling around, opening bags, and rearranging garbage. Fortunately, it wasn't smelly garbage – no rotting organic matter. Unfortunately, there was a lot to sift through, so it took him a good deal of time before he finally found something he could wear: a pair of swim trunks. He actually found two pairs, but the other set was for girls. Both were sized for a.d.u.l.ts, which he had thought would be just fine until he actually tried putting the mens pair on.

Apparently, his body was much smaller than he implicitly expected.

Thankfully, the pair of trunks had an adjustable waist cord, so he could wear them even despite the size difference.

You are now Swimmer- his brain began, but then blew a fuse. Swimmer... what's our name again?

That, too, stopped him in his mental tracks – almost as much as being n.a.k.e.d had.

My name... my name is... he mentally trailed off, eyes going distant. I can't remember, he thought finally. Why can't I remember my own name?

Because the professor of this region hasn't given you the chance to name yourself yet, his brain thought snidely.

That can't ACTUALLY be true, he argued.

Even if it isn't, his brain thought, your journey can't officially begin until you talk to a pokémon professor. You can think about your name on the way.

What journey?

Your Pokémon journey, of course! His brain sounded happy. Why else would we be here?

He thought about it for a while. Eventually, a smile began to form on his lips.

You've been turned into a ten-year-old from... whatever you were before, transported to the Pokémon World, and you can't remember a thing about your old life. His brain summed up nicely. What are you waiting for, a signed invitation? This is just like the games, except with amnesia, which we can worry about later. As Oak would say, a world of adventure awaits!

He hopped out of the dumpster, scooped up the pokéball on the ground, and pressed the central button. This did not release the pokémon within, as he thought it would. Instead, the ball shrunk back to its tiny size. He frowned, pressed the button again, and tried to puzzle out how to release it.

In the anime, they just throw the balls in front of them, his brain supplied.

"Hmm," he said out loud. "Worth a shot." He gave it a toss. "Go, Meowth!"

The ball spun through the air in a projectile arc for just a brief moment before it opened. It spat out a white light that forced the ball backwards, allowing him to catch it from the air again.

The light coalesced on the ground in front of him, slowly taking the shape of a pokémon.

"Meowth!" it cried.

He looked down at the Meowth, which looked back up at him expectantly.

"Um... hi?" he asked.

The Meowth looked up, tilting its head, but doing nothing else.

Wait a minute, he thought. Do pokémon even understand people?

They do in the TV show, his brain supplied. But in the games, they only need to understand how to use their moves.

What moves does Meowth know? he questioned.

At low level? his brain questioned back. Growl is always learned at level 1. And if we exclude the most recent generation of the games, so is scratch.

Growl is as good a place to start as any, he thought with a nod. There aren't any targets around, so Meowth might target me, but that should be okay if we stick to status moves.

"Meowth," he said out loud. "Use growl!"

Meowth, who had been watching him curiously up until that point, dropped into a battle stance and let out a muffled growl. A visible wave emanated from the cat, directly at him.

The boy felt his resolve waver and his muscles quake as the attack hit him.

Note to self, he thought. Don't test any more attacks on self.

Noted, thought his brain.

Also... he leaned forward, looking at the Meowth's mouth. What's that in its lips?

His pokémon seemed to be grasping a small, shiny ball of gold between firmly clenched teeth.

It's a held item, his brain supplied. A nugget. Wild Meowth have a 5% chance of holding one in Fire Red and Leaf Green, the third generation of games. Sells for 5,000 pokémon dollars.**

That could buy me some real clothes, he thought, reaching out to take the nugget.

The Meowth let out a hiss at his hand.

Great, he groaned. Of course this wouldn't be easy.

"Meowth," he said out loud. "Drop the nugget."

Of course, nothing happened.

"Meowth," he tried again. "Release your held item."

Still, nothing happened.

Several more attempts were made in the same vein, each just as failed as the last.

So, this is more like the video games than the show, his brain observed. It can't understand non-battle commands.

Or it just doesn't want to give up the nugget, he thought back. And if this were like the video games, I'd be able to take away its held item while it was still inside its pokéball. And I'd be able to do it without a fuss.

Either way, his brain gave a mental shrug. See if it can understand things other than battle moves that DON'T involve taking away its nugget.

"Meowth," he said, "go fetch that bottle." He pointed to an empty potion bottle that had fallen out of the dumpster.

The Meowth looked at the bottle but didn't move.

"Meowth," he said, "spin in a circle."

The Meowth looked at him, still not moving.

Again, several more attempts at communication were made, but the Meowth did nothing.

This isn't working, he groaned. I don't think it'll be able to understand anything but its name. And battle moves.

Possibly, his brain conceded. But we haven't ruled out everything. You know how pokémon talk to each other in the show?

Yes...

And you remember Starter Squad?

Yes. Where are you going with- OH NO!

Oh YES! He felt his brain grinning at him evilly. Or, it would have been, if it had a mouth to grin with. If you REALLY want to be sure this Meowth can't understand you, then you must rule out THAT possibility as well.

I hate you, he thought.

Come on, chop chop. This theory won't test itself.

He looked at the Meowth apprehensively, then looked around to make sure no one was watching.

Please please PLEASE don't let this work, he thought. He opened his mouth, and as he thought the words 'Meowth, drop the nugget!', out loud he said the words "Human, hume hume human!"***

In the TV show, pokémon communicate with each other by repeating their species name over and over again. The pokémon of the show use this as actual language, acting as if they were saying and hearing multiple words. In some cases, Team Rocket's Meowth would translate their 'words' into full-blown human language. But humans don't hear anything aside from pokémon names.

A clever fan by the name of Shippiddge noticed this and wondered if the reverse was true as well. In a fan-made animation he named 'Starter Squad', a story following the three starter pokémon of Kanto, it is revealed what pokémon hear whenever a human says something. They hear: 'Human human human.'

And so, the boy's brain had offered the following hypothesis: If pokémon understand each other by saying their species name over and over again, then maybe Meowth will understand you if you say YOUR species name over and over again.

Which brings us to the result of his little test: the Meowth in front of him blinked, then dropped the nugget. The gold ball had fallen onto the ground, not into his open hand like he had implied. But still...

"AAAAARRG!" he shouted, slapping both palms on his face, one covering each eye. "I can't believe that WORKED!"

His outburst startled the Meowth, but other than jumping slightly, it stayed where it was.

With great frustration, he reached out and took the nugget. I hate you, he thought to his brain viciously.

Your welcome, his brain thought back, rather smugly. Just think, every time you want to communicate with your pokémon, you just open your mouth and say-

NO! he interrupted. There HAS to be a better way. HAS TO! I refuse to believe otherwise.

Your funeral, his brain shrugged mentally. So, what next?

Didn't we decide on finding a Pokémon professor?

Yup. The nugget implies this is the Fire Red or Leaf Green version of Gen 3, his brain theorized, so that would mean going to Pallet town and finding Professor Oak.

The boy paused. "Where even AM I?" he asked out loud.

The Kanto region, almost certainly. His brain supplied. Meowth are found on Routes 5, 6, 7, and 8. Plus various locations on the Sevii Islands.

I don't think we're on an island, he thought, looking around himself. I think we're in a city.

There are cities on islands, his brain pointed out. Then, suddenly, Wait! A few Pokédex entries claim that Meowth are urban. In the games you can't catch wild-grass pokémon in cities, but here...

There are probably pokémon in cities. Makes sense, he thought back. Stray cats spend their time in towns, not forests. So where are we?

That's a good question, his brain answered.

You don't know?

I'm not a map, his brain snarked.

I thought you knew EVERYTHING there was to know about pokémon, he snarked back.

I do! his brain snapped. In THEORY. But we've never actually put any of this knowledge to practice, outside of the video games. I need INPUT, and right now, all I see is a dirty alley. Find a landmark if you want to know where we are so badly.

Fine, fine, he thought. Sheesh, no need to get so defensive.

I'm your brain, it thought back. I'm a figment of YOUR imagination. If I sound insecure about my pokémon knowledge, it means YOU are insecure about your pokémon knowledge.

He rolled his eyes. Yeah, whatever.

"Now," he said out loud, turning to face the nearest street. "I need to get out of this alley."

Aren't you forgetting something? his brain asked.

"Meowth!" came a voice from beside him.

Oh, right.

He looked down to find Meowth trailing by his side.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asked aloud.

Meowth might have the pickup ability, his brain offered. Especially since yours was holding a nugget when you caught it.

Your point?

You could send him on a pickup mission. I don't think the ability works the same way as in the games; I can't see how keeping the Meowth in a pokéball would let it pick something up. But you could send it out to search for items. If this is Gen 3, you might mostly get berries, but you have a chance for more nuggets.

He sighed. The reasoning was solid, but sending the Meowth on a mission would mean...

"Human (Meowth)," he said out loud, once again glancing around first to make sure they were alone. "Hume (I) human (want you) human hume (to go out) human (and use) hume human human human (your pick-up ability)." Then, realizing he needed to specify when the mission was over, he added "human (until) human human (you find something). Human (Then bring) human (it back)."

"Meowth!" his pokémon said confidently, then turned and began walking down the alley, occasionally pawing a scrap of paper or a garbage bag.

I still can't believe that works, he thought as he left the alley in the opposite direction of Meowth.

He was about to randomly pick a street and start walking until he saw the sign for the building forming one half of the alley he'd just left: 'Pokémart.' From this angle, the sign seemed to block his view of the dumpster.

Well, he thought, that's convenient.

No, that's logical, his brain corrected. Why else would that dumpster have all those discarded Pokémon items?

Shut up, he thought as his approach activated the motion tracker on the double doors.

"Welcome!" said a voice. If the owner of that voice, a salesman behind the counter, thought there was anything odd about a ten-year-old boy walking into a store at- (he glanced at a clock on the wall)- 9:45 AM wearing nothing but swim trunks, he did a good job of hiding it. "What can I get for you today?"

First thing's first, he thought.

"I'd like to sell this," he said, placing his nugget on the counter.

"Certainly!" the salesman happily agreed. Again, if he was surprised at a ten-year-old selling a piece of gold, it could not be seen on his face. "May I have your account card?"

A look of confusion crossed the boy's face. "I don't have one."

"No account card?" the man said, finally surprised. "I suppose you want physical money then. That's unusual – most trainers-" he glanced at the pokéball in the boy's hand "-prefer the online banking system, especially swimmers." He removed some money from his till. "Here you are. May I suggest a trip to the bank after this?"

"I'm... kind of short on supplies right now," he said, accepting the 5,000 Pokédollars. "Plus, I don't think I could visit a bank looking like this. Do you have a clothes section?"

"Certainly!"

Following the man's pointing finger, he set off into the store. He learned something very important upon reaching his destination: Clothes are expensive.

The cheapest combination of clothing he could find, in his size, totaled 9,100 Pokémon Dollars, if you excluded the bag. Including the bag, it became 12,000.

Geeze, he thought. The most useful thing I can buy is a backpack. No wonder the cashier didn't freak out over my nugget. How am I going to be able to afford the basics?

More nuggets, his brain answered. We already have Meowth on the case.

Oh? he asked, lifting a mental eyebrow. And what are the chances he'll find a nugget?

His brain mentally mumbled something.

What was that?

There's a five percent chance in Gen 3 Kanto of finding a nugget. Less in most other regions and generations.

Thought so.

But we don't know if that will hold true here, his brain argued. Furthermore, it said, raising a mental finger in his mind space, what Meowth can find might be dependent on where we are. In the games, location doesn't matter, only level. And in Gen 3, even level didn't matter. A level 1 Meowth had the same loot table as a level 100 Meowth until Emerald version came along.

So... the boy thought, absorbing the raw data and trying to parse it into something he could use. You're saying Meowth might have better chances of finding golden nuggets in a cave?

His brain would have nodded if it could. And better chances of finding berries in the forest.

But even if the odds for finding a nugget are different, they might not be better here in the city. And even if they are better, I doubt nuggets are common enough to get another nugget anytime soon. We'd need a way to increase our chances.

Yes, his brain said, chuckling evilly. We would. And I have the perfect idea how.

The shopping trip had used up all his nugget money and only netted him a few items: a red backpack ( 2,900), three pokéballs ( 600), and a big container of pokémon chow ( 1,500), which took up most of the space in his bag.

When he exited the building, Meowth was waiting for him, holding something in its mouth.

He reached down, held out his hand, and soon found himself to be the proud owner of a fourth Pokéball – or a fifth, if you count the one he found in the dumpster.

"Good, uh, pokémon," he said, petting the cat. He didn't know the gender-

Meowth have no visible differences between genders

-but he did know how to reward good behavior. Removing the container of chow from his bag, he emptied some into his hand, then offered it to Meowth, who ate it happily.

Now that he thought about it, this Meowth did look rather skinny.

Stray cat, he thought. Always hungry.

And I bet this isn't the only one, thought his brain. In fact, we're counting on it. So hop to it.

He sighed. Time was still moving forward, and it was not on his side. He had woken up in the early morning, but it was already halfway to noon.

So, again with reluctance, and again with a nervous glance around, he asked his Pokémon the following question: "Human (Do you) human (think you) human man (could lead me) human human (to more Meowth)?"

It took him a good three hours to find all the Meowth he needed. Much of that time was spent ignoring the Meowth that didn't seem to be interested in searching their surroundings for goodies. He needed Meowth with the pick-up ability, not technician or unnerve. Some of that time was also spent bribing Meowth to join his party with food. He didn't do any actual battling, which also played a part in this taking so long. He didn't want to battle until he'd officially begun his journey as a trainer.

Still, a few good things had come from all the extra searching he had done: his first Meowth had, along the way, picked up a few more items. Furthermore, as he caught more Meowth, they too began bringing him items, especially after they saw him reward his first Meowth with extra food. And the final benefit of all this searching was another nugget, held in the mouth of a Meowth he had bribed – both into releasing the nugget and joining his team.

Either the chances of finding a nugget-holding Meowth are higher than 5%, his brain thought, or you are the luckiest person alive.

Or, he thought back, restricting our search to only pick-up Meowth meant that our chances for finding a nugget-holding one were higher.

After all, none of his Meowth had brought him a nugget yet. His only two nuggets so far have come from Meowth who were already holding them when he found them.

The Pokédex entries say that Meowth likes shiny things, his brain remembered. Maybe it takes forever to find one, and they just hold onto it after they finally do.

Either way, no more easy nuggets, he thought dejectedly. Still, this is a pretty good haul.

He was on his way back to the Pokémart, taking stock. He now had:

Meowth x5, Potions x5, Antidote x3, Repels x2, (Empty) Pokéballs x4, Greatballs x1, Revives x1, Nuggets x1, and even a Full Restore x1. He also had half of his Pokémon chow left.

No berries, his brain thought with some surprise. This is Gen 3, and we haven't found a single berry.

We're in a city, he reminded his brain. Now do me a favor and add up the value of all this gear. We don't need the items, just the trading value.

Okay, okay, give me a second, I'm an encyclopedia, not a calculator, his brain thought, looking at each item as it kept a running total. We have... 8200 worth of stuff. Still not enough for a full outfit.

I don't NEED a full outfit, he thought. Then his mental monologue paused as he entered the Pokémart, placed the items on the counter, and picked up the offered cash. How much more can I buy if I skip the shorts and hat?

Not much, his brain said, adding up the numbers before him. The shirt was 2,100, the socks 900, and the sneakers were 3,200.**** You'll have 2,000 Pokédollars left. I'm beginning to think most trainers start their journey with spending cash.

You think? He asked as he picked out the items.

He then searched the store for anything else he might need. He grabbed another bag of Pokéchow ( 1,500) and a small pamphlet containing a map of the region ( 500), with a "you are here" arrow pointing at...

Huh, he thought. I guess we're in Viridian.

With a "thank you" and a "by the way, where can I find the bank?" to the teller, he was soon headed to his next destination. With his Meowth on the loose, searching for more items, of course.*****

A few blocks of walking later, and a few items richer-

Potions x2, Revives x1, Pokéballs x1

-a 10-year-old-boy – in body if not in mind – wearing swimming trunks, socks and sneakers, and a t-shirt, walked up to the Viridian City Bank.

And a few minutes later, he was walking away again.

Stupid bank, he fumed.

Banks, it seemed, did not open accounts to ten-year-olds unless certain conditions were met:

1. You needed the permission and presence of a parent or guardian.

2. You needed some form of identification (this condition wasn't exclusive to ten-year-olds).

3. If you wanted a pokémon trainer account in particular, you needed signed approval from a recognized pokémon official.

And so, he was now consulting his pamphlet, which had extremely basic information for aspiring trainers. There was, in fact, a section on pokémon officials. It seemed to focus on how to locate them above anything else.

Naturally, the Elite Four and Pokémon Champion were recognized officials. But the likelihood that one of them would be able to sign and approve a bank account for some no-name ten-year-old like himself was basically zero.

Gym leaders were also recognized officials, but he didn't think it would be a good idea to ask the Viridian City gym leader for any help whatsoever.

This left him with only one option: Pokémon Professors.

And so, he flipped the pamphlet back to the map of Kanto, wondering if it held any more information than he already knew about the region, and in fact it did. There was a list of simple statistics describing each route, but none you would ever find by playing the games. This pamphlet was a traveler's guide, and therefore it listed information relevant to traveling.

"Route 1," he read aloud. "Simple terrain, easy to traverse. Recommended gear: portable tent (or bedroll). Travel time at walking speed: THREE DAYS?!"

He almost dropped the pamphlet at that last part. It would take three days to get to get to Pallet?

He looked at the sun, which was moving the day forward from afternoon to evening. He did not have that much time. He wouldn't mind taking three days to travel the route once his journey had officially begun, but at the moment he needed to reach Pallet ASAP.

So he began flipping through the pamphlet again, looking for a quicker means of going from one city to another.

"Inter-city transport," he read aloud after finding a promising page. "Public Transportation: Buses, Taxis, Trains.

"Trains are the slowest, but least expensive option for the weary traveler. A single trip can cost anywhere from 1,000 to 10,000, depending on both distance and class. On all but the shortest trips, most trains take at least a day to reach their destinations and can take up to four days cross-region. On-board meals are provided at additional cost."

He paused at that, considering. If trains ran overnight, he might be able to sleep along the way to Pallet, which would cover room expenses. And since Viridian to Pallet was probably one of the 'shortest of trips', it would probably be on the lower end of time and expense. Ideally, he'd be able to reach Pallet tomorrow morning.

Then, his stomach grumbled loudly.

Not to mention the onboard food, he thought, clutching it. Maybe I should have spent less money on Pokéfood and more on Peoplefood.

Just as he thought that, one of his Meowth returned with another item – a Repel. The happy look on its face when he fed it the last of his first bag of Pokéchow was enough to let him ignore his own stomach.

For now, anyway.

"Personal taxis are the fastest, but most expensive mode of transportation," he continued reading, "costing anywhere from NOPE!"

He wasn't spending THAT much on transportation no matter HOW fast it would be. He quickly moved on.

"Buses are the most commonly used inter-city transport option. Typical fare is 2,000 between neighboring towns but can climb as high as 20,000 for long trips that span multiple cities. An average bus ride will take two hours in transit."

Well, he thought after skimming over the contents a second time, I might as well go with the train. It'll take longer, but it'll solve my other problems, like food, and finding a place to sleep.

He flipped over the pamphlet again, this time looking for a detailed map of Viridian City specifically.

He found none.

Oh well, he thought. I was headed back to the Pokémart anyway. I'll just ask for directions again.

Another three Meowth returned, were rewarded, and renewed their search efforts by the time he saw the blue-tiled roof and glass double-doors again.

"Welcome!" the salesman said for the third time that day (at least to him).

"Hi," he replied, placing his items on the counter. "Could you point me to the train station? Also, would you happen to know how much a train ride to Pallet town would cost?"

"Sure!" the teller said, taking the items and putting 1,700 on the table. "A train to Pallet shouldn't cost more than 1,000. As for directions..."

And once again, he was outside, only stooping to collect two more pickup items before heading off again. The teller had pointed him to the edge of town and told him that it would take about an hour of walking to get there. The teller had also warned him that the station would close in an hour, so he set off at a brisk pace, only ever stopping whenever a Meowth would return to him.

Come to think of it, he thought, how do they know where to find me each time?

Don't ask me, answered his brain. That's never come up in canon before. In fact, the opposite has occurred: pokémon have gotten separated from their trainers in the anime and gotten lost.

Do you think the Meowth can track my scent, or something?

Don't know, his brain replied flippantly. They're cats, not dogs. None of Meowth's Pokédex entries mention anything like that. You'll have to figure this one out on your own.

Maybe Professor Oak will know.

His brain didn't respond, which he took as agreement.

Thirty minutes later, and three items richer, he was standing in front of the Viridian train station. His Meowth had a difficult time both keeping up with him and searching for items, so they only managed to get a couple of potions and a pokéball.

There was a line of only two people in front of the teller, so he stood patiently and waited. The lady in front of him gave his Meowth an odd look, especially when they scattered to scout and scour the station of its useful trash, but she said nothing, her turn at the till having just arrived. One "Ticket to Pewter, please" later, and it was his turn.

"I'd like one ticket to Pallet Town," he said.

"A young trainer, eh?" asked the old ticket master, his glasses glinting briefly in the sunset. "One ticket to Pallet, coming up. Would you like a meal onboard?"

"Yes," he said immediately. Then, on second thought, "How much would that be in total?"

"For a ticket and a meal? 1,800"

"I'm 100 short," he said, putting the money on the table. "But I can offer a trade. You can sell an empty pokéball for 100."

The old teller eyed him for a long moment. Then, he finally said, "You know what sonny? Go ahead and keep your pokéball. I can cover for ya just this once."

"Really?" he asked, then smiled. "Thanks!"

"Don't mention it, sonny," the old man chuckled. "It's just 100."

"All the same," he shrugged, accepting the train and meal tickets. "Um... wait, I forgot to ask, which train is it? And when is it leaving?"

"There it is now," said the old man, pointing at one of the trains docked in the station. "Should shove off at 9:00, which is..." he glanced at his watch. "In fifteen minutes. Goodness, it's that late already? Almost closing time."

Thanking the teller again, the boy recalled his Meowth and boarded the train.

Chapter 2

Outside the train station, the light of the sunrise shone upon a large sign that read:

'WELCOME TO PALLET TOWN'

Finally here, the boy thought.

The train hadn't actually taken all night to get to Pallet, but the passengers didn't have to get off until 7:30 AM, a good thirty minutes before the station opened to admit new customers. The train had a strict 'all pokémon must be kept inside their pokéballs at all times, thank you' policy, so it was only him standing there at the moment.

Now, to find Professor Oak. But first...

The boy released his Meowth from their balls. He set them to searching for items while he searched for the lab.

Pallet was much larger here than in the games, but it was still small enough that he could see most of the town from where he stood. He pinpointed what was probably his destination well off in the distance, but it took almost an hour before he finally stood in front of one 'Pokémon Lab/Ranch/Prairie, Property of Samuel Oak'.

He raised his hand to knock on the door, but it slid open on his approach, making a noise that probably alerted those inside to his arrival. I guess this place is more open to the public than I thought it would be.

He walked inside, then up to the service desk. He rang the small bell on top of the desk and waited a few minutes, then rang it again. He was about to ring it a third time when a young man in a lab coat opened the door behind the desk.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," said the man. He set down a stack of papers on the desk, then shifted his attention to the visitor. "What is it?"

"I'd like to see Professor Oak," the boy requested politely. "I'm a new trainer."

The man gave him a critical once-over with his eyes, then said, "Professor Oak is out on his morning jog. He should be back at 9:00 AM. I can get you started in the meantime." The man opened a drawer on the desk and removed one clipboard, one pen, and a piece of paper. "Have your parents fill out this form, unless you think you can do it yourself. There's a waiting area right over there." He waved his hand in the direction of an open space with a couch and coffee table.

"Thanks!"

Moments later, he was sitting on a couch and staring at a blank 'Trainership Application Form'. Curiously, among the many things he had to fill out, there wasn't a space for his name. For the spaces that did exist, a few items were easy, like gender, but most of them he either didn't know it or didn't have, like emergency contacts, date of birth, or even the current date.

He ended up putting down N/A's wherever he thought he might be able to get away with it, and just making things up otherwise. He couldn't make up the date, however, so he had to hunt down a calendar, which he eventually found on a public terminal in the waiting area. From there, he worked backwards, making up a birthday that would put him at age ten.

At one point, the front door to the building opened, admitting a green-haired girl that looked to be around his age, wearing a white dress.

Through the open door, he saw all five of his Meowth waiting for him outside. He paused in his form-filling and retrieve their items, realizing as he put them in his bag that he might be in the lab for a while. So, taking the Meowth around to the side of the building, he gave them a new instruction: "Man (Bring) human (items) hume (here) man human (while I am) human (busy). Human (I will) man human (give you) hume (food) human man (afterwards)."

With that taken care of, he returned to the waiting area and began filling out his application again. He continued entering in answers that were true or mostly true (Place of Birth: Viridian City, Place of Residence: N/A, Phone Number: N/A), until he finally had a completed application in front of him – for a stretched definition of 'completed'.

He only noticed the girl who had opened the doors earlier when she began making small noises of distress. He glanced over and saw that she too was filling out an application.

"Need help?" he asked, since the front desk was currently empty.

She glanced up at him, surprised, then grateful. "Yeah," she sighed. Her voice carried clearly through the small distance between them. "I don't know how to answer half of these."

"That's okay," he said, scooting closer. "Neither did I."

Minutes later, two fresh applications were placed on a desk, and a bell was being rung. A few more minutes later, a lab assistant was reading skeptically.

"You do realize you have to answer these questions, right?" he said eventually.

"I... couldn't," the boy said sheepishly.

"Me neither," said the girl beside him.

The man pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sure if your parents were here, they would be able to fill these out properly."

"I don't have any," the boy answered.

"I have a mom and dad," the girl said. "But they... aren't available. Besides, I heard that anyone could become a pokémon trainer at age ten, regardless of background."

The man looked at the girl, exasperated. "That's true, but you need to at least have a background in the first place."

"But what if my background is that I have none?" the boy asked. "What if I have amnesia, and all I know is that I want to be a pokémon trainer?"

The girl giggled, and the man looked at him without humor. "In that case, I would recommend a trip to the hospital." The man sighed, glancing at the forms again. "Most of these aren't technically necessary. Your Pokédex can serve as a phone, you don't need a place of residence if you're on the road... but the one thing you absolutely must have is an emergency contact. I can't file these otherwise."

There was a pause as the two children thought about that for a moment. Then, the boy finally asked "Do you know how I could get an emergency contact?"

"Oh, oh, me too!" said the girl.

"I thought you said you had parents!" the man said, his voice rising with frustration.

"I... don't know their phone numbers," she said sheepishly.

The man pinched the bridge of his nose again, harder this time. Eventually, he said, "You know what? I think I'll let Professor Oak handle this after all. I'll let you know when he's in."

"Thank you!" the two of them said simultaneously.

The man left the desk, mumbling something about it being "too early in the morning for this."

"So," the girl said, when they sat down again. "Why do you want to be a trainer?"

"Because it's always been a dream of mine," the boy answered promptly. "And now I finally have the chance to achieve it!" The boy posed, and the girl giggled again. "What about you?"

"Well... I've always found pokémon fascinating, I guess," she answered. "Plus, I'm looking for something important, and I think I'll have a better chance of finding it as a trainer."

"What are you looking for?"

"It's a secret," she said. "By the way, what's your actual background?"

"It's a secret," the boy said, sticking his tongue out at her.

"Fine, be like that," she hmphed, crossing her arms. Then, sniffing the air, she asked, "Do you have food in your backpack?"

"No, just pokémon chow," he said, pulling out the bag to show her.

Her eyes widened. "Why do you have that much pokémon food? That's a lot for your starter."

"I already have pokémon that need food."

The girl tilted her head. "Are you joking again? If you're a new trainer, you shouldn't have any pokémon. New trainers can't catch pokémon until they get their license."

The boy was suddenly nervous. "They can't? Is there a law against it?"

She brought a finger to her chin, looking thoughtful. "No, I don't think so. But you need to weaken wild pokémon before capturing them, and you can't do that without a starter pokémon."

"Some wild pokémon are easy enough to capture that you don't need to weaken them first to have a decent chance at capturing them," his brain answered automatically. Then, he said, "I already have five pokémon."

Her eyes bugged out. "Really?"

"Yup," he said, sounding smug. "I could show you later. I have their pokéballs right here." He put the chow away, opened a separate compartment from the main one, and pulled out five shrunken, red-and-white balls. "You're sure it's not against the rules for me to have pokémon already?"

"No..." she said, her eyes on the balls. "Just unusual. So, what pokémon do you have?"

Before he could answer, the door to the lab opened and a voice called out, "Professor Oak will see you now."

"Meowth," he said, standing up and walking to the open door leading further into the lab.

The girl frowned, probably expecting more, but followed behind him.

They passed many high-tech pieces of equipment as they followed the lab assistant, application forms still in their hand, then came to a stop in front of an open space containing a table, upon which rested three pokéballs. And next to the table, frowning at a clipboard in his hands, stood...

"Professor Oak!" the lab assistant called, catching the man's attention. "I have some fresh pokémon trainer applicants here to see you."

"You do?" the man asked, briefly looking over them both. "Jeremy, I told you that I only handle the trainers who have made appointments."

"This is... an unusual case," the man said. Then, turning to them, he asked, "Why don't you two hand him your applications?"

Professor Oak looked at the man with a raised eyebrow, then at the two children, then at their applications after receiving them.

"I... see..." he said, his eyes on the applications. "Unusual indeed."

"I thought you would know what to do."

Professor Oak nodded. "I'll figure something out. Lucky for them, my next appointment only has one current applicant. You may return to your station."

The man, looking relieved, left without another word.

The two of them now stood nervously before the Pokémon Professor.

"So," Professor Oak said, "No phones, no emails, no home addresses, no emergency contacts, and a number of other empty answers besides," he summed up. "Care to explain?"

"Anyone can become a trainer at age ten," the girl said firmly.

"And we want to become trainers," the boy added.

"Even if my parents can't be here," the girl continued.

"Or I don't have any," the boy finished.

The Professor sighed. "I can see why Jeremy brought you to me," he said. "I don't suppose you two could simply take 'no' for an answer?"

The two shook their heads.

"Despite the dangers, time investment, difficulties, expenses, frustration, or anything else that goes along with traveling the region?"

They shook their heads again.

"Right," the professor sighed deeply. "Very well then, come along."

The boy's jaw dropped in shock. "You're accepting our applications? Just like that?"

"No," the Professor shook his head. "Not just like that. First, you will be making email accounts. Then, I shall tell you the numbers of your Pokédex, which will double as phone numbers. Then I shall tell you this lab's phone number, which you may use as your emergency contact. Young girl, you will be telling me the names of your parents. Young man, you will be telling me the names of your current caretakers. Then you both shall answer these applications again, only with some semblance of propriety. And then I shall accept your applications."

All in all, it took another half-hour to get everything sorted.

For the boy, most of that time had been dedicated to one thing: convincing the professor that he had no current caretakers. According to the girl's remarks, he guessed that the age of majority in this world was ten, meaning that he didn't technically need a guardian. And according to Professor Oak's reluctant acceptance, which came with much frowning and sighing, his guess was probably right. For whatever reason, the pokémon universe did NOT coddle their children, though even HE had to admit that independence at age ten this was taking it a bit too far.

Other than Oak's skepticism, the only difficult thing was deciding on an email address. He eventually settled on cleveruseofgamemechanics(atsymbol)pokéweb(period)net,* then filled out the rest of the form.

After submitting his application for the second time that day, he was finally standing before the table with three pokéballs.

On his left stood the green-haired girl, but on his right there now stood a new addition to their little group: a boy with spiky blond hair and an 'I'm cool' attitude.

Suddenly, the lights of the lab dimmed, almost throwing them into complete darkness.

Then, a single light came to life.

A man in a lab coat with white hair and a friendly smile was illuminated in the spotlight.

"Hello there!" the man said brightly. "Welcome to the world of Pokémon! My name is Oak. People call me the Pokémon Prof-"**

"Yeah, yeah," interrupted a voice. "We know that already, gramps. Can't we just move on to the part where we get our pokémon?"

The man deflated dramatically. "Gary, can you please let me finish? This is for the other two applicants, not you."

"Actually," said the boy standing beside Gary, "I don't mind skipping the lecture." It's not like I haven't skipped it a thousand times already. "I know what I'm getting into."

The Professor deflated further.

"I'd like to hear it," said the girl.

The Professor picked himself up again. "There, you see, Gary? Someone appreciates a good introduction to their journey. Now, where was I? Ah, yes!" He brought out a Pokéball, releasing a Nidorino. "This world is inhabited by creatures called Pokémon! For some people, Pokémon are pets. Others use them for fights. Myself, I study Pokémon as a profession-"**

"You know what?" the girl interrupted. "They're right, you can skip this part."

At this, the Professor deflated completely. "Kids these days," he mumbled, ignoring her giggling, "have no appreciation for the classics. Very well then." The professor clapped his hands together, bringing the lights back on. He also returned the Nidorino to its ball. "Before we begin, please take a Pokédex and enter your name and gender."

This took a minute. The boy, having already decided what his name would be, entered two letters into the system. When all three were finished, they looked up to the professor.

"All ready? Excellent. We will now move on to your first pokémon."

"All right!" shouted Gary, a fist clenched in front of him.

"Actually," said the girl, "it won't be the first pokémon for all of us. He-" she pointed at the boy standing next to her "-already has five."

"Say what?!" shouted Gary, looking shocked.

Even the Professor looked astonished. "Is this true?"

"Yup," the boy nodded, taking out five pokéballs from their compartment in his bag. "They're not in their pokéballs at the moment."

"May I see one of those?" asked the Professor. "As well as your Pokédex?"

"Sure," he shrugged. He knew he could trust the Professor to handle them with care.

The professor opened a small compartment that slid open on the side of the Pokédex. "This is how you will register Pokémon you have captured to your trainer ID," he explained, placing the miniature pokéball in the compartment and pressing a button. The Pokédex made a beeping noise, and a Meowth appeared on the screen. "Why don't you each give it a try?"

Each trainer took a turn entering one of the Pokéballs into the boy's Pokédex while the Professor fiddled with a computer on the wall.

"I have an application that allows me to track the progress of all trainers in the region," the Professor said by way of explanation. "This way, I can see what pokémon you have caught and how you are coming along as a trainer. Now..." he trailed off, pulling up an empty window, then typing in some information. "Trainer... Ex," he said, reading the name off the screen. "I see you already have..." he squinted at the screen. "Five Meowth." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "WHY, pray tell, do you need FIVE Meowth?"

The boy who had named himself Ex suddenly grinned, realizing he had the opportunity of a lifetime. "Well, what kind of trainer would I be if I didn't catch 'em all?"*** he asked enthusiastically.

He had always, always wanted to say that.

Then, for good measure, he added, "What do you want me to do, NOT catch every Meowth I see?"***

The Professor pinched the bridge of his nose harder, while the girl giggled, and Gary stared at him dumbly.

"Are you stupid or something?" Gary asked, blunt and to the point.

"Nope," the boy said, grinning. "Just joking around."

"I should hope so," said Professor Oak. "Otherwise I may have had to reconsider allowing you to become a trainer." He squinted at the screen again. "Your pokémon already have held items?"

"Sort-of," Ex said vaguely, resisting the urge to brag. He didn't want to give away the pickup party technique while he was still using it. "Can we get back to the starter pokémon?"

"Very well," Oak said, turning off the terminal. "There are three starter Pokémon: Bulbasaur, Charmander, and Squirtle. The first is grass, the second is fire, and the third is water. You will choose your pokémon according to your order of arrival this morning."

"WHAT?!" shouted Gary. "No fair, gramps!"

"It is extremely fair, Gary. I told you yesterday to wake up early."

Gary crossed his arms, pouting.

"So I get first pick?" Ex asked. At Oak's nod, he walked up to the table, but did not make his choice immediately.

"Come on, hurry it up," said Gary.

"Hold on," he replied. "I'm thinking. There are a lot of factors to think about."

"Like what?" the pokémon professor prompted.

"Type advantage, for one," he said, his brain taking over. "The first gym is Rock and the second is Water, so choosing Bulbasaur should trivialize the most difficult early battles. Squirtle would also make the first Gym a breeze. But Charmander would make the first two gyms a challenge."

He paused, took a breath, then continued.

"Then there's team composition to consider. Bulbasaur knows a lot of status moves, like Sleep Powder, Poison Powder, and Stun Spore, which will make capturing wild pokémon much easier. On the other hand, Oddish has the same typing as Bulbasaur, learns the same moves, and could fill the exact same role."

He took another breath.

"Squirtle is essentially a standard water pokémon, except it can walk around on land, unlike the fishy water types. But other than serving as the team's Rapid Spinner later on, and a few other things, a Poliwag can do all the same things as Squirtle, not to mention Vaporeon."

Then he took a final breath, and finished.

"Charmander starts as pure fire, meaning a Vulpix or Growlithe or Flareon could theoretically fill his spot, but it eventually evolves into Charizard, meaning you wouldn't have to capture any other flying pokémon. Plus, the only other fire-flying type in Kanto is Moltres, so the role it plays in a team is pretty unique."

His eyes had gone distant as he thought aloud, only refocusing when it was over. When they did, he realized everyone was staring at him.

Professor Oak beamed brightly. "That is an astute analysis, Ex. You are very well-read."

The boy wearing red shrugged. "I do my research."

"Well, I know what I want now!" Gary declared. "Bulbasaur sounds like the best!"

"I want Bulbasaur," said the girl. "My hair is green and everything. You're wearing blue! You should choose Squirtle."

"You're seriously going to choose your pokémon based on the color?" Gary demanded.

"No, I want Bulbasaur for all the reasons he-" she pointed at Ex "-said. The color is just a bonus. Besides, I thought boys wanted a challenge," she taunted. "How can you be the strongest trainer if you choose the easiest pokémon?"

She makes a good point, Ex thought.

"Fine!" Gary shouted. "Then I want Charmander!"

"No," Ex denied him, "I think I'll take Charmander."

Gary glared at the boy with hate-filled eyes.

"Charmander is the hardest to replace," he explained, picking up the pokéball and placing it in his pokédex. "And I think I'll have a better chance of beating Brock's rock pokémon at a type disadvantage than the two of you would. Besides, Squirtle still makes the second gym a challenge."

"My turn!" said the girl, walking up to the table and happily registering the Bulbasaur as her own.

Gary, grumbling, took Squirtle's pokéball for himself. "Hey gramps!" he suddenly shouted. "Can I battle this dweeb?"

"Not yet," Oak answered, turning on a new terminal. "I want you each to become familiar with this machine first. It is a standard PC. You will find many like it on your journey, every time you visit a Pokémon Center. Once you learn how to operate it, I'll let you outside so you can battle."

Gary grumbled some more, but didn't argue.

The terminal didn't quite boot up like it did in the games. A few seconds of high-speed security measures, including facial recognition, fingerprint scanning, and trainer ID verification shot across the screen almost too quickly for him to see it all. Only after the machine confirmed his identity did it move into familiar territory, mostly matching what he expected. And speaking of expectations...

Would you like to open up item storage?_

Yes_

Would you like to withdraw an item?_

Yes_

Please select an item..._

Potions_

How many would you like to withdraw?_

x5_

You have withdrawn five Potions! Your item storage is now empty. Returning to main menu...

Ex watched with wide eyes as five Potions materialized beneath the screen of the terminal, in an empty space probably built expressly for that purpose.

"Woah, how'd you do that?" Gary demanded.

"Item storage," Ex explained, grabbing the Potions and putting them in his bag. "New trainers are given five Potions, right Professor?"

"Indeed they are," Oak agreed. "Though most young folk are too hasty to realize it."

"Maybe you should include that in future orientations," Ex remarked, shutting down the terminal and moving aside so someone else could use it. "Have everyone learn item storage by withdrawing their allotted Potions."

"I think I shall," Professor Oak said with a nod. "Gary, you next."

"Can I head outside?" Ex asked as Gary took his place. "I need to take care of something before the battle."

"Go ahead," the professor said distractedly, then calmly instructed his impatient grandson on the machine.

"We'll catch up with you," the girl called after him.

Ex hurried out the doors, intent on preparing for his first official battle. He made a quick pit-stop at his Meowth's pick-up pile of plunder, smiling as he noticed one item in particular.

He scooped up everything except that one thing into his bag, then released Charmander from its ball.

"Charmander!" the creature called out.

"Hugh human man (Hi Charmander)!"

The Charmander jumped as it was addressed, looking at Ex with wide eyes.

"Hugh human human hume man man man (You're about to have your first battle). Hugh hume human hugh human (Here's what I want you to do)..."

"You ready?" asked Gary. "Go, Squirtle!"

A white light coalesced into a blue turtle with a squirrel-like swirly tail.

"You're supposed to wait until I say yes," said Ex. "Go get him, Charmander!"

His own charred salamander walked onto the battlefield, the fire on its tail burning brightly. Its mouth was closed and its eyes were narrowed in determination.

Alright, said his brain. Same strategy as always at the start of any game.

"Let the battle begin!" shouted a referee.

Spam, spam, spam.

"Charmander, use Scratch!"

One of Charmander's claws glowed white, and Charmander charged the Squirtle with speed.

"No! Squirtle, dodge!"

Oh, right, his brain thought. Trainers in the anime would often tell their pokémon to dodge incoming attacks.

But Squirtle couldn't get out of the way in time, and it cried out in pain as the attack connected. Charmander hopped backwards, awaiting his next command.

Can we do that, too?

"Squirtle, get him back with a Tackle!"

Only one way to find out.

"Charmander, dodge!" he shouted.

Charmander sidestepped the Squirtle's full-body lunge.

Tackle missed, his brain supplied. Does that mean we can dodge incoming attacks? Or did that only happen because Tackle has 95% accuracy?

Think later, fight now, he shot back hastily.

"Charmander, Scratch again while it's down!"

The Squirtle cried out in pain, and Ex could almost see the health bar drop, though he estimated his opponent was still in the green. At least three more.

"Squirtle, don't take that lying down! Hit it with a Water Gun!"

Wait, what?! Ex thought, suddenly panicked. Squirtle shouldn't know that yet!

It doesn't, his brain pointed out. Look.

The Squirtle was looking at its trainer, tilting its head in confusion – not the status condition, but the mental one.

Sweet, he thought.

"Charmander, go for another Scratch while it's distracted!"

"Gary!" shouted professor Oak from the sidelines. "Squirtle doesn't know any water moves yet! He only knows Tackle and Tail Whip."

"What?!" Gary shouted as his Squirtle cried out in pain yet again. "Fine! Squirtle, use Tail Whip!"

Before Charmander could leap out of range again, the Squirtle's tail began glowing white. The turtle spun in a circle and its tail passed through Charmander, causing his pokémon to visibly shudder.

Charmander's Defense fell, his brain noted.

Crap, Ex thought.

"Just ignore it, Charmander, and hit it with another Scratch!"

Another pained cry, and Squirtle appeared to be panting heavily.

In the deep yellow, his brain observed.

"Squirtle, hit it back with a Tackle!"

For the first time that battle, his own pokémon cried out in pain. A part of him wanted to rush out to comfort his Charmander, but it was very small compared to the rest of his psyche, which was so thoroughly desensitized to pokémon battles by this point that he had no trouble keeping a cool head.

"That's okay, Charmander, push through the pain and use Scratch!"

The attack connected, and Gary's pokémon was shoved back, impacting the ground painfully. Squirtle struggled to get up, and Charmander was panting heavily.

Squirtle's in the red, his brain observed. But Charmander's in the yellow.

What?! he mentally shouted. Charmander was at full health before, and he only took one Tackle!

Critical hit, said his brain. With Defense lowered.

Lucky prick, he cursed. Good thing I don't rely on luck.

"Charmander, do it!"

And suddenly, with a wash of light that removed all its injuries, the Charmander was suddenly on its feet again, letting out a loud roar.

"WHAT?!" shouted Gary, too distracted to issue an attack.

A distraction which Ex exploited. "Now, finish it with a Scratch!"

The Charmander's claw glowed white again, and it rushed the struggling Squirtle.

"No! Dodge, quick!"

But the Squirtle could barely move at that point, and the attack connected. Squirtle was knocked away again, skidding on its back. When it came to a stop, there were swirls in its eyes.

"Squirtle is unable to battle!" shouted the referee, raising a flag. "Charmander wins!"

"And with full health too," Oak added. "A flawless victory."

Ex smiled as Charmander roared again, letting out a small gush of flames from its mouth.

Charmander has learned Ember, thought his brain.

"Wait, ref!" Gary objected, recalling his Squirtle to its ball and rushing over to the man wearing a striped shirt.

Ex left his own Charmander outside its ball as he leisurely strolled to the same destination. He knew why Gary was about to complain.

"He cheated!" Gary shouted, pointing an accusing finger. "He healed his pokémon in the middle of the battle!"

Ex raised his own arms in the air innocently. "I didn't use a Potion to do it." Then he paused. "Out of curiosity, would that have been against the rules if I had?"

The ref nodded. "Restorative, store-bought medicines may not be used during official Pokémon battles."

So every trainer battle here will be like player v. player battles in the games, his brain confirmed. No Revives, no Full Restores, no X-Stat items.

"But held items are fine, right?" he asked the ref, who nodded.

"So long as your pokémon can use it without your assistance."

Ex grinned, then looked at his fuming rival. He briefly thought back to his instructions to his Charmander.

He presented a berry to Charmander.

"Human hugh human man hugh human (I want you to put this in your mouth). Human hume hugh human human (Eat it if you get low on health)."

"Hear that, Gary?" Ex taunted. "Totally fair play."

"That was a great battle," said the girl, cutting Gary off from replying. "Even though you only used Scratch."

"Yeah!" Gary agreed – probably with her second statement, not her first. "You should have tried using more moves, like I did!"

"And end up losing like you did?" Ex taunted.

"I'm a bit surprised at your strategy myself," said Oak, interjecting himself into the conversation before Gary could rise to the bait. "Why did you only use Scratch?"

"It's a common mistake to use more than one move in your first battle," he shrugged. His brain took control of his mouth as he said, "There wasn't much else I could do if I wanted to win. The only other move Charmander had was Growl. If I was going to use it at all, I would have used it at the start of the match, but I was afraid Squirtle might get a critical hit and bypass my stat changes – which he did."

At least, it works that way in the games, his brain added mentally. Even if Squirtle had a lowered attack, a critical hit would have brought its attack back up to normal for the duration of the crit. And if Charmander had somehow managed to raise his own defenses, the crit would have ignored that. Crits ignore stat changes that would negatively impact the critical hit - like lowered user Attack and increased enemy Defense - but they do NOT ignore positive changes - like DECREASED enemy Defense. Squirtle's Tail Whip was not ignored by the crit.

Ex's brain resumed out loud again. "Tackle has lower accuracy than Scratch, and Charmander's faster than Squirtle, so even if we both ordered the same number of attacks, Charmander had a better chance of coming out on top than Squirtle even if Gary chose the same strategy. The only thing I was worried about was Gary using Tail Whip on the first move, then Tackling the rest of the way. Or getting a lucky crit, but there's nothing I can do about that. Any time I spent using Growl was time I wasn't spending lowering my opponent's health. The smartest move was to Scratch all the way. Plus the healing item, for insurance."

That, too, is true in the games. His brain concluded. For the first battle, attacking nonstop is always the best move. And if you STLL can't win that way due to bad luck, the games give you five Potions in your home computer for a reason. Although that wasn't an option here.

"How did your Charmander heal itself?" the girl asked. "You said it had a held item?"

"Yup," Ex confirmed, grinning. "Oran Berry."

Gary slapped his forehead. "Of course!"

The girl blinked. "Where did you get an Oran Berry?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," he smiled smugly. Which reminds me... "Hey professor, how do my Meowth always know where to find me? They haven't had any trouble yet, or gotten lost, and I thought you would know how they do it."

The professor raised an eyebrow at the question. "Captured Pokémon have a link to their Pokéballs," he explained. "So long as their ball is in your possession, they will always be able to find their way back to you. The reverse is true as well; your Pokédex can track the location of your Pokémon at any time, so long as you have their ball."

So NOT sense of smell, then, he thought. "Sounds useful. Is there anything else like that I should know?"

"Oh, a great many things," said Professor Oak, "but I'm surprised you even need to ask. You struck me as the sort to have read up on all things Pokémon by now."

"There are gaps in my knowledge," Ex replied. "Especially when it comes to how all the pokétech works. I know what most of it does, but I don't know how."

"And it seems you're a bit lacking about the finer details," the Professor said with a nod. "I can write up a list of some of the more useful things to know and email it to you. You won't be too busy on your journey to read it, will you?"

"I'm sure I'll find the time," Ex assured.

"Excellent!" Professor Oak beamed. "Now, we're almost done with orientation. Gary, Ex, I would like you both to take out your Pokédexes and open them to the 'battles' section. You will see that your most recent battle has been recorded in video, audio, and text format. You may review any past battle at any time to help yourself improve. Furthermore, since you are providing a valuable service to me and Kanto every time you battle, a small amount of money has been deposited into each of your accounts, in addition to your starting funds."

"Wait," Ex interrupted. "I have a bank account now?"

The professor nodded. "A trainer's account, to be exact. And since you won the battle, you earned a bit more. Gary should have earned 100, while you should have received 175.**** Also, since you provided commentary on your strategy afterwards, I'm forwarding an additional 500."

"What?!" Gary shouted again. "No fair!"

"Come to think of it," the professor continued, "your contributions to the orientation in the lab deserve compensation as well. Your analysis of the three starter pokémon and your tip on item storage will both prove useful for many future trainers. I'd say that deserves another 2,000."

"Hey! What gives, gramps? Why is he getting all the kudos?"

"Gary," Professor Oak said sternly, "discovery and innovation are the entire reason why trainers get paid to battle in the first place. Keen commentary will be rewarded, while quibbling complaints will be ignored." Then he turned so that he was addressing the three of them. "And I should warn you all that this is why repeat battles will not earn you any money."

"You mean I can't ever earn money by wiping the floor with Gary again?" Ex asked impishly.

"Hey!"

"You can," the professor said, ignoring the banter. "But you and your opponent must have significantly different teams if you wish to earn more money by battling a trainer you've already fought. Also, you must wait at least a week before a second battle will yield monetary compensation. The amount you earn will depend on the strength of your pokémon, the variety of your teams, and the strategies you use."

"So you're saying we should all battle each other right now to get the maximum reward," Ex's brain said out loud. "And to get the weekly countdown started."

"No, I was not saying that at all," said Professor Oak. "But feel free to do so, if you wish."

"But my pokémon's fainted!" objected Gary.

"I have some Revives. I could give you one," Ex offered, "in exchange for your Potions."

Gary's eyes narrowed. "You can have one Potion."

"No," Ex said, shaking his head. "If I tried to sell them at the store, a single Revive would get me the same amount of money as five Potions. One Revive to five Potions is an even exchange."

"You don't have to barter only in items," Professor Oak interjected. "The Pokédex may be used to exchange money between accounts. New trainers start with 2,000 in their virtual wallet."

"I'm fine with either," Ex shrugged. "Just so long as I get the right amount. Buying Revives at the store would cost 1,500. But since I could only sell it for 750, that's all I'm asking for."

"It's a good deal, Gary," Professor Oak coaxed. "Besides, don't you want to win a battle before setting off for Route 1?"

And so, one (bought and applied) Revive later, Gary's Squirtle was soon battling the girl's Bulbasaur.

"Professor Oak?" Ex asked as he watched the battle.

"Hm?"

"How did my Charmander learn Ember so quickly? I thought that would take a few battles."

The first rival battle isn't enough for two levels, thought his brain. Ember is learned at Lv 7, and we should have started at Lv 5.

"Pokémon will gain significantly more battle experience from flawless victories," the professor explained. "Your Charmander was at full health when the battle ended, and so he gained enough experience to learn Ember."

Gary won his second battle, despite his type disadvantage – not that typing really mattered at this level. Soon, the Squirtle was shooting bubbles into the air in triumph.

"And what about Squirtle just now?" Ex asked. "He shouldn't have gained enough experience defeating Bulbasaur to learn Bubble."

"He gained plenty of experience from fighting your Charmander," the professor corrected. "That, in addition to this most recent battle, has put him well above the Bubble threshold."

Another divergence from the games, thought his brain. Your pokémon gain experience even if they faint, and you can earn money even if you lose.

Another bought Revive later, and the girl was asking Ex if he'd like to battle her.

"I don't know," Ex said, rubbing the back of his head. "My Charmander just learned Ember. It would be pretty unfair."

"You could use one of your Meowth," she pointed out.

She won that battle, her Bulbasaur shooting seeds into the ground afterwards that grew at a rather fast pace.

Ex hadn't let her win; the Meowth he used was still skinny, just like the rest of his team except Charmander. Meowth was fast, but it had trouble dealing substantial damage.

That could just be the base stats at play, not anything to do with Meowth's health, his brain pointed out. Meowth's base speed is 90, but its base attack is only 45.

"Well," said Oak, clapping his hands together. "Now that you've all got a feel for battling, both on the losing side and winning side, orientation is officially over. You may begin your journey at any time, though I would recommend stopping by the Pokémart and the Pokécenter before you head off to Route 1."

"Professor Oak?" Ex caught the man's attention before he could depart, even as Gary rushed off. "You said I could earn money for discoveries about Pokémon?"

"Absolutely," Professor Oak said with a nod. "You have another?"

"Well," Ex said, a bit hesitantly, "I'm not sure if it's an original discovery, but I figured out a way to give instructions to my pokémon outside of battle..."

Sometime later, well after the three trainers had departed with their starters, a fourth was rushing toward the lab, mad at himself for his lateness and hoping Professor Oak would still be able to give him a pokémon. Unfortunately, the only starter pokémon remaining in the laboratory was not a starter at all; it was an unruly Pikachu. But that's a different story altogether.