Game Crasher
I hate my life.
Four words, four very simple words, that however perfectly encompass everything that needs to be said about me, about what is going on, and about
why it's going on. The why isn't really all that important, all things considered, and I know this sounds more than a bit mad, but you need to understand this very important facet of my life before we can move on.
My name is Shade.
No, no, ignore the tag that says 'Brendan'.
My name is Shade.
I have no idea what form, sort or otherwise incomprehensible god decided that it would be fun to make my life a living hell, but I am not 'Brendan', I am not 'Brendie', and I am not, in no way whatsoever, the son of the woman currently trying to get more than a few words out of me.
And she won't get them. Yes, call me petty, yes, call me a bastard, yes, yell at me that I need not to needlessly offend someone who somehow brought me into this world and who couldn't possibly be at fault for this...and yet, I won't give you the satisfaction.
I have but one mother, and one brother, and a father I'd rather see dead in a ditch, but that's neither here nor there. No, the point of the story is that I hate my life, my current life, and I swear if I had a choice, I'd have run away before the move to Johto, but I knew it would have been needlessly futile to do so.
So here I was, in Hoenn.
Eleven years old, in Hoenn.
Hating the universe, in Hoenn.
Do you know what the problem is, with being young? Nobody takes you seriously.
Nobody.
On the plus side, Littleroot Town was actually bearable. It was a port-town, similar to my real hometown, and I could suffer that. Frankly, I had always been a 'stay at home' kid when I was younger. Here, I couldn't stay in the house. I couldn't look at the woman who wasn't my mother, and I knew it hurt her to look back into my eyes, so I did what was best for us both. I stayed away as much as possible.
The fact was, she never understood I didn't need to practice talking.
I went from silence to talking without missing a beat, because I had practiced in private, and because I didn't want to show weakness. Never show weakness.
She was a single mother -unfortunately, the one who got the 'Father as the Gym Leader' turned out to be May, with her little brother Max, in some form of unholy union of Anime and Game.
I didn't really care about that. It was better this way.
So, to rephrase the start of this story, to make it abundantly clear how things began and how they reached this point, I must state that I was neighbors with both May and Max, although May in the Anime had stated she was from Petalburg -but again, having two houses and the parents distant due to work issues wasn't uncommon, wasn't unheard, and was pretty much a sensible thing due to the commute hours. And Professor Birch was somehow not only a Pokémon caretaker, but also a 'Let me try and get the sulky child to actually speak to his mother' type.
He didn't succeed, and neither did his assistant Joshua.
But you know what I understood?
If you point your finger at a Cyndaquil while being a ten year old kid, and ask 'Pretty Please may I take care of her', it actually works in getting the pokémon.
But again, I must tell you why I hate my life so much.
The reason is a dumb, pathetic, red and white capped moron who has a Pikachu, and who is grinning like a loon wanting to challenge me and my Cyndaquil.
You see, I do not know what sort of pathetic, moronic god would enjoy this, but I am not going to care.
I'm not going to start my journey into the pokémon world at eleven years of age.
I mean it.
I was four when I managed to cross a busy road without dying, further proving that I was both mad and under the protection of the Holy Trinity, but that didn't mean I had to face off the world of Pokémon as an eleven years old.
I refused that on principle.
I refused that, and there was no way I would ever accept it.
Again, I'm getting ahead of myself. You see, we all know, at least, I know, that Ash's Pikachu was some sort of demigod of Thunder merely shitting everyone else by faking being a weak and pathetic electric rat. I knew from the very start I'd lose the battle, and call me stupid, but I do not fight losing battles.
Hence I refused on the principle of 'Not wanting to battle because no'.
Somehow, 'Because No' is a perfectly valid reason for adults, but an utterly stupid one for children.
"Go Pikachu! Thundershock!"
Said eleven year old in question needed to be on the receiving end of a punch of glory, such aptly named punch being a Shade Specialty involving grabbing a bastard by the neck, and then proceeding to punch-stomp his reproductive system until tears were all there was left on the face. I admit, I would have loved that, but I was an eleven year old, and I didn't have that kind of strength.
I had Cyndaquil, who looked as bothered as me about the entire ordeal -he who goes with his pokémon, learns to be his pokémon, and the pokémon who goes with his trainer, learns to be his trainer- and who was really in no mood to fight.
Thus, he decided to return to his pokéball before the lightning attack could hit him.
The lightning produced by the Demigod Pikachu didn't just hit the wood, of course. It pulverized it.
The end result was that I hated my life.
I was wet, wooden shrapnel was inside my skin, and I was bleeding. Mostly, I was mightily pissed because while I did have a watch, it wasn't waterproof. I was angry, because I had said no and Ash Ketchum was simply smiling and gingerly scratching the back of his head while saying sorry.
I was seeing red, complete and utter red, because I did not want to have anything to do with him.
Mostly, salt water on wounds hurt, and my Cyndaquil agreed that while burning a kid to death wasn't the answer to all of life's problems, it would make the particular problems of today easy to deal with.
<<I can always roast him, Shade>>
<<I have no intention of going to jail or seeing you in prison, Napalm>>
"So...my name is Ash, Ash Ketchum, from Pallet Town!" Ash said, extending a hand to help me up from where I sat, halfway embedded in the sand with the waves lapping at my chest. "And this here is Pikachu."
I could feel the veins throbbing on my forehead as I glared at him, before slowly coming to a stand while ignoring his proffered hand.
"Leave. Me. Alone."
I walked away, and once on the dry, glorious concrete-land, Cyndaquil nicknamed 'Napalm' emerged and huffed, lighting his back on fire to heat me up as it nestled on my head.
<<I hate water>> I grumbled in my head as I tried to dry off what I could by squeezing and wringing my clothes.
<<I hate water too, Shade>> Napalm agreed, and I knew that the bond we shared went deeper than just him being a fire-type and hating water, and me hating getting wet and cold for no reason.
<<I hate dumb kids>>
<<I do not dislike the moniker 'Hot-Headed'>>
<<It's a horrible pun, Napalm>>
AN:
So, what do you think as a first chapter?
Still in the work, this is one of the possible starts for the Hoenn region. Nothing finalized, but this...well, it's one of those that inspire me due to the 'I never before wrote about an SI
born in the world in question and all the delicious angst that goes with it'.
Hey Shade, do you still want fanfiction requests? It would be cool to see some mook stories. Generic Iwa chunin, unseated Shinigami, a Grey Warden, Stormtrooper, etc. Seeing them react to the heroes and world changing events in a variety of styles. Fatalistic acceptance of their status as mooks, blind belief in the ideology leading them, sheer "I just want to go home" it's your choice.
If only it weren't so late I'd write something about this!
Well, wait tomorrow and cross your fingers!
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