Chapter 1: The Day Everything Changed
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The park was too quiet.
I tugged my hoodie tighter, the autumn air biting through the threadbare fabric. Sunset bled across the sky in sickly oranges and purples, but the usual hum of evening life—crickets, distant traffic, the laughter of kids chasing ice cream trucks—was absent. Even the breeze felt stale, like the world was holding its breath.
This is why I don't go outside.
I slumped onto my usual bench, the one with the cracked wood and graffiti that read "EAT THE RICH" in peeling red letters. My phone buzzed with the tinny fanfare of a Pokémon FireRed victory theme. Sixteen years of playthroughs, and I still felt that Pavlovian twitch of satisfaction when the pixelated Elite Four collapsed. It beat the alternative: staring at the water-stained ceiling of my studio apartment, counting down the days until my parents' inheritance ran out.
— — —
The first scream wasn't human—it was metal.
Tires screeched. My head snapped up just as the truck careened off the road, plowing through the park gate like it was made of cardboard. My body moved before my brain could catch up, muscle memory forged in five foster homes where hesitation meant a slap, a locked door, or a night sleeping in the yard.
There's a girl.
She jogged ahead, headphones blaring, ponytail swinging. Spiky blonde hair caught the dying light like a halo. Something about her stride—chin up, shoulders squared—triggered a memory.
Emma Foster, age 8, sprinting across the Fosters' lawn. "Race you to the tree, slowpoke!"
"Hey!" My voice cracked. She didn't turn.
The truck's grill loomed, a steel jaw hungry for bone.
— — —
I tackled her waist, the impact knocking her headphones into the dirt. We hit the ground hard, rolling as the truck obliterated the bench I'd been sitting on seconds earlier. Glass rained down around us, glinting like cursed confetti.
"What the hell?!" She shoved me off, her glare sharpening. Then froze. "…Alex?"
I winced. Her voice hadn't changed—still all bark, no bite. "Uh. Surprise?"
She stared, a flicker of hurt cutting through the shock. "You left. No note. No goodbye."
The accusation hung between us, sharp as the glass shards littering the grass. I'd packed my bags at midnight after aging out of the system, too numb to face another tearful "family dinner" that tasted like obligation. Now, twelve years later, the guilt curdled in my gut. "Emma, I—"
— — —
The air crackled.
Emma stiffened. "Do you… hear static?"
A low hum built in my skull, familiar and wrong—like the glitchy Lavender Town theme from FireRed, the one that made my childhood self yank the Game Boy's batteries out in panic. The hair on my arms stood on end as purple lightning split the sky.
Not natural. Not possible.
"Run!" I grabbed her hand.
Too late.
— — —
The bolt struck us with the precision of a sniper. Pain seared every nerve, white-hot and electric. Through the haze, shapes flickered—a mouse-like silhouette with jagged lightning for a tail, a rustling bush, a voice murmuring, *"Destination confirmed: Pallet Town."*
Then, darkness.
And a whisper, oily and ancient:
"Welcome, Vessels."
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### Hidden Journal Entry
Observation Log: Entity "Erebus"
Subject: Emma Foster (Primary Vessel) and Alex Trent (Unintended Consequence)
Date: 23rd February 2023
The anomaly is thriving.
Emma Foster remains the ideal candidate—her resilience, athleticism, and latent psychic sensitivity make her a perfect conduit. However, Alex Trent's interference complicates matters. His gaming expertise and tactical mind suggest untapped potential, but his emotional instability introduces risk.
The lightning strike was no accident. By merging their fates, I've ensured their survival hinges on cooperation. Alex's knowledge of Pokémon lore may prove critical in navigating the trials ahead, though his self-doubt threatens to destabilize the bond.
Next Phase:
- Monitor their adaptation to the Pokémon realm.
- Test compatibility via controlled encounters.
- Eliminate if synchronization falls below 70%.