This time, there was no film crew.

The morning was overcast, grey without being dismal. Cool, but not cold. Damp rather than wet, unwelcoming rather than forbidding, warning rather than threatening...

...I was probably projecting a bit.

Admiral stood next to me, hopping impatiently from foot to foot. I hadn't known my new Squirtle for even twenty-four hours, and he'd spent much of that sleeping, but I'd already studied his personality in detail. The Professor had given me the Association's file on him the day after Blue's stunt, and I had devoured the document a dozen times over before I'd had the chance to meet him.

Boisterous, impatient, and impetuous to a fault. He'd obey when it mattered, the file assured me, but he was willful and had little patience for rules. He was strong, he was talented, and he knew it. Arrogant. A persistent need for attention, adulation, and excitement. A Pokémon born for the spotlight.

I'd been tempted to call him Blue.

Despite the dreary weather, a surprising number of well-wishers had appeared for my second departure. Maybe they wanted to show their support, or maybe they were hoping my brother had managed to arrange another prank all the way from Pewter City. The way they all kept swivelling their heads around, you'd think they were expecting it. Maybe he had arranged something. Hell, we hadn't heard anything about him for almost a full day; perhaps he'd resurrected Mew and was on his way back to cleanse evil from Kanto, end all human suffering, defeat entropy, and nick Admiral.

Yes, I was bitter.

I had spared myself the cameras, at any rate. I'd followed the Professor's suggestion after I lost Eevee, acting like it was no big deal. There wasn't a chance in hell that they believed me - you could actually see my jaw clench as I shrugged - but it provided a more compelling narrative than "Kid Loses Starter, Cries Like a Little Bitch," so they ran with it. The next Viridian convoy wasn't due for another few days, though, and I wasn't willing to wait any longer just for some photo op.

Some quiet goodbyes, a few in-jokes and reminiscences. Five different people joked about checking my Pokéball, each thinking they were clever. Worse than the flippant, though, were those who patted my back with pity in their eyes. Daisy pressed a Ponyta figurine into my hand. The Professor went for a hug this time, a quick pat on the back, a smile. The entire ceremony had an air of irony - it was difficult to make a grand farewell when you already did that last Thursday.

I added 'catharsis of an emotional goodbye' to the list of things Blue had robbed me of.

The gates stood open, and the clouds ahead promised that delaying would not be to my benefit. I walked to the edge of the grass, the arch of stone masonry above me. A glance down to check Admiral was still there - he was, and he looked back at me with gleeful excitement plastered across his face. The taller stalks of grass swayed, brushing my fingers. I took a deep, shuddering breath of the cool morning air.

I stepped forward, and crossed the line.

One step. Two. Three.

Behind me, gates creaked. Wood met stone with a thud, a great beam thunked into place to bar the way.

I suppressed the urge to choke, to gasp. A surge of fear struck me, loneliness and isolation, but I tamped it down. The way back was shut. The only path was forward.

It was a blustery day. High winds screamed over the cliffs Pallet Town had been built atop - deafening, freezing, and invigorating. The weather's violence shook me from my reverie, disrupting my self-pity and filling me with a shot of adrenaline. I was here. On my way. Beginning an adventure I'd dreamed of since I was a child. I was going to strike out, carve a name for myself, change the world for the better. When I returned to Pallet Town, I would not be Professor Oak's son. I would not be Blue's adopted little brother. I wouldn't be the kid who could rattle off all 150 of Kanto's Pokémon but couldn't tie his shoelaces until he was six, I wouldn't be the weirdo who practised throwing rocks at targets for hours on end. I would be Red Oak, Pokémon Master. Admired. Beloved.

Respected.

We found the road quick enough, but didn't stick with it. The road to Viridian City was straightforward enough - the thin strip of land that was the Pallet-Viridian route left little opportunity to go far awry - and if I was going to be a Trainer, now was as good a time to start as any. Admiral had some combat training, he was familiar with the basic commands, but he needed exposure to real battle. And capable though he was, I needed more Pokémon.

Admiral raced ahead, disregarding my commands to heel. Association-raised from birth, he would have had little opportunity to explore. If this new world seemed large to me, it must have been massive for him. No amount of shouting would slow him down, and I found myself breaking into a run to try and keep up with him. Some twenty feet ahead, a trio of Pidgey launched into the air, flapping madly. A stream of pressurised water rocketed upwards, clipping a wing but failing to take the bird down. When I caught up with Admiral, his eyes shone with maniacal glee as he laughed in short, nasal honks.

I had to join him in his laughter, even as I ordered him to stay close. He stuck his tongue out and made to dash again, but was cut short when he condensed into a beam of red energy.

He was pouting when I let him out. Adorable little dickhead. He made no further attempts to bound away, but kept surreptitiously glancing at the hand I held his Pokéball in. I promised him we'd find someone for him to fight, and that seemed to return a bit of spring to his step.

We made good time as we walked, but it took some time for an opportunity to make good on that promise. Pidgey and Spearow abounded, but their first instinct was to flee, not to fight. Packs of Rattata scurried away before us, their tails the only glimpse we caught before they vanished into their warrens. A pair of Growlithe barked alarm and hid. Even a Mankey - not usually ones to shy from a fight - bolted rather than face a confrontation. A few years ago, that would have been unheard of in these parts. Now, the Reclamation had made it a daily reality. Four hours we walked, and not once did anything confront us or return our challenges.

When we finally heard a high-pitched bark, I was actually relieved.

The entire route sat atop cliff-faces on either side - the east staring out into the Great Bay of Kanto, the west towards the distant shore of Johto - but here the terrain was so steep and rugged as to constitute another set of cliffs. To our right, the earth curved down into a great cove, providing shelter from the prevailing winds from the west. People unfamiliar with the area often took this welcoming offroad path, thinking it an easier journey. A couple of miles further, however, and the inland cliff would curve around to form a dead-end, and they would be forced to backtrack. This, locals would dryly remark, was why the road swept west instead of east - but tourists always think they know better than some village hicks at the end of the world.

To the left, the road swept upwards - a long and challenging uphill climb, with treacherous footing exacerbated by howling winds from the west. The way was narrow, steep, and unforgiving - and, of course, exactly the path we had to take. And with growing black clouds darkening the sky, we wanted to take it fast.

The barking was just audible over the high winds, coming from beyond a wide patch of tall grass that obscured its source. At least, it seemed to - between the screaming wind and the echoes generated by the uneven terrain, it was difficult to pinpoint a source. Somewhere just below the cliff's divide, I thought. Admiral glanced up at me, lowered to all fours in preparation for a sprint. I raised an open palm, then gestured for him to follow me.

We advanced as quickly as we could without being overloud. The short yipping barks grew louder and more aggressive, and Admiral shot ahead to place himself between me and their source. I couldn't deny his courage. But as we reached the edge of the grass, it became clear that the show of aggression was not for our benefit.

Two Nidoran, both male, stood in a patch of low grass some ten feet apart. One - the larger, it seemed, though it was difficult to be sure - had positioned himself atop a short stone shelf set into the cliff, perhaps six feet from the ground. The right side of his jaw had a deep cleft running through it, either an old wound or some birth defect. Below him, the other reared up on its hind legs, and it was from him that the high barks were coming. He was a darker, deeper purple than the other, a drop of venom beading at the tip of his horn. If not smaller, he was certainly younger.

A dominance challenge. These would often resolve without violence, but if we were lucky the two would come to blows. Then we could simply swoop in and capture the victor while it was weakened. I gave a short order to Admiral to hold, and while the look he gave me dripped contempt, he obeyed. The two Nidoran started at the noise, heads swiveling towards me but otherwise frozen, but I bowed my head in a supplicating gesture. After a wary moment, they returned their focus to one another, intruders forgotten.

The young challenger resumed his barking, flailing his paws in the air. The elder, with the advantage of size, high ground, and presumably experience, did not seem particularly concerned. A forceful demonstration would not be enough - if the young one wanted this territory, he would have to fight for it. The younger one, apparently realising this, lowered himself down to all fours.

He pawed the ground for a moment, hesitated, and then charged.

The shelf was much too high for him to reach, but a pair of lower flats provided access. He bounded to the first, then the second, and without the slightest pause hurled himself across the divide to where his opponent had braced himself in readiness, horn lowered.

The impact sent two of them tumbling off the shelf in a ball of shrieking and growling, horns and beaked mouths tearing at one another. They collided with a piece of jutting rock as they fell, separating them as they fell back to ground. They both rolled as they landed, not even pausing before they raced back at one another. If the impact pained them, they made no sign of it. They tumbled around each other, scraping and clawing and biting, emitting short barks and loud growls as they ripped.

They rolled, and the elder emerged on top, his sharp teeth tearing at the challenger's exposed neck. The younger one's growls and barks turned to shrieks, his hind legs desperately kicking up at his attacker's underbelly in short, reflexive movements. Claws dug into the exposed flesh, but the elder took no notice as he savaged the young one's neck and face.

Finally, he landed a solid blow, and the elder was propelled off him. Even as he rolled back to his feet, the younger pursued, blood streaming from his neck, driving his horn low in a vicious thrust. It connected, penetrating deep into his opponent's shoulder - had the elder turned a half-second slower, it would have been his throat.

The younger moved to pull his horn out, but it caught. He wrenched back, and the elder howled in agony, but he could not dislodge it. The older, realising his enemy was trapped, twisted his own head low and drove his horn into the younger's exposed side. The flesh tore easily, his horn ripping through the young one's side over and over, goring the trapped creature.

The younger was screaming now, a terrible keening noise of raw, primal fear. Finally, he managed to pull the horn free...

...and drove it back in.

The fight was over. The younger had lost. He was bleeding from a dozen wounds and the elder, while hurt, was still going strong. The challenger lunged again, but the attack was slower, clumsier. The elder dropped back, evaded, and rammed forward, driving his horn through the younger's belly and tossing him aside - but the youth got right back up, wobbling even as he stood, and pawed the ground for another charge.

He was going to die.

Too stubborn to give up, he was going to get himself killed. I wasn't about to watch this stupid creature end his life meaninglessly.

"Squirtle, end it!" I shouted.

He didn't need encouraging. Admiral raced into the fray - I should have instructed which Nidoran he was to attack, but fortunately he seemed to desire the greater challenge. A torrent of high-pressure water struck the elder Nidoran square in the side, propelling him into the cliff-face. He struggled back to his feet, but a second volley narrowly missed him and convinced him to take flight.

Thoughts of capturing the victor were forgotten. The younger was bleeding severely - he wouldn't last another few hours in the wild. I ran towards the injured creature, tearing a Pokéball from my belt, and threw it at him. It struck him, pulling him inside in a burst of blue energy, and jerked around as the Apricot within attempted to subdue him.

The Pokéball shattered, and the Nidoran burst out.

How the hell was he still resisting?

"Squirtle!" I called. I'd given Admiral his new name only this morning, he wouldn't yet respond to it instinctively. There would be time for that later. "Knock him out, gently."

Domesticated Pokémon could generally understand human language, though they could not speak it. Exactly how that mangled command translated into Admiral's comprehension I will never know - but he seemed to get the gist of it. He did the best he could, unleashing a stream of high-velocity bubbles that knocked the injured creature flat on its side. He moved quickly towards it, even as it began struggling to get back up. Knees wobbling as it rose, the Nidoran let out a pitiful growl at Admiral's approach.

Glancing at me, then back to the Nidoran, Admiral sat on it.

The extra weight was too much. The Nidoran collapsed, exhausted and broken, his legs splayed out and kicking feebly. I threw a second Pokéball, wincing at the impact, and sagged with relief as a loud click indicated a successful capture.

I plucked the Pokéball from the ground, a flush of pride swelling through my chest. Not quite how I had envisioned it, but your first capture is always a special moment.

There was no time to bask, however. Had he been left alone, he would have died within a few minutes. The Pokéball gave us a greater window - perhaps half an hour - but not enough. Viridian was still six hours away if I made good time, more likely eight. He needed field medicine, and he needed it now.

Beckoning Admiral, I moved to a patch of clear ground that hadn't been sprayed with Nidoran blood. From my belt I unclipped my First Aid Pokéball, flicking it open to deposit a white plastic medical kit on the ground. It was as I'd prepared it - already open, with a pair of Potions, multipurpose antidote, and an emergency burn heal all clearly labeled and ready to go. Needle and thread, bandages, disinfectant, tourniquets, and a few of the more uncommon antitoxins were carefully organised in the transparent compartments built into the underside of the case's lid. Beneath the surface layer of emergency kit was a collection of medicines, blankets, and distilled water that rendered the knee-high case far too heavy to conveniently carry.

When it came to medical preparedness, the Professor did not fuck around.

I instructed Admiral to restrain the Nidoran, and hold him down if need be. With a Potion ready to spray and Admiral at the ready, I opened my fresh capture's Pokéball.

Despite the obvious futility, he tried to resist. A wild Pokémon, he had no conception of medicine, no comprehension of human language, and certainly no belief that the strange creature approaching him was trying to help. He kicked out at Admiral, growling and snapping, but it took no real effort to hold him down.

His entire right side had been brutally opened, muscle and even patches of bone exposed. Blood was everywhere, flowing freely. The side of his neck had been mangled by the elder Nidoran's beak, snipped and torn in multiple places. A wide gash marred his left cheek, probably from initial lunge.

And for all this, he was tiny. When I pointed the Potion at him, I realised my hand was as wide as he was tall. His little chest was heaving, his breaths growing shallower by the moment. I had underestimated the severity of his injuries. He didn't have minutes. He had seconds.

I pulled the trigger, and the Potion sprayed over the worst of his wounds. Blood began to clot, a pale pseudoskin knitting over the holes in his side and neck. His breathing eased and slowed as the painkiller took effect. Inside, I knew, the Potion would be identifying his blood type and muscle composition, adapting and replicating the tissues in crude approximation. Imperfect, but it would keep him alive.

Probably.

The Nidoran stopped putting up resistance - either because he'd realised I was there to help or because he had no strength left to fight, I did not know. The pseudoskin sealed together cleanly, which spared me the task of sewing him back together. An abnormal growth of muscle blossomed atop his shoulder, but it didn't appear debilitating enough to warrant improv amputation. I opted to leave it for the Pokécenter.

As the regeneration settled, I set to work bandaging up the various wounds - they were so extensive, I left him half a mummy. A low rumble rolled across from the west as I worked, and after a few minutes I felt the first spots of rain on the back of my neck. A glance upward confirmed the clouds had turned from grey to black, darkening the sky in all directions. While the cliff sheltered us from the worst of them, the westerly winds were still ferocious.

I would have pushed forward. Honestly, I would. I put the Nidoran back in its ball, stowed away my first-aid kit, and even set off back towards the road. The wind struck me like a sledgehammer as we left the ridge's shelter, but I endured. However, the sight of a Nidorino bearing fresh-but-superficial wounds, standing tall astride the cliff and directly blocking the path, exultant in its newfound power, was very much the final straw.

We retreated back to the shelter of a small cove and set up camp for the day. It was only mid-afternoon, but this would be the best opportunity for cover we'd find today, and it wasn't like we lacked for anything to do. Nidorino were aggressive and territorial in general, and this one was still thrilling in the rush of evolution, and the power boost that came with it.

Not to mention it probably had a bit of a bone to pick with us.

Our tent was sturdy, even as the scream of wind and the heavy patter of a torrential downpour beat upon it. Our portable heater radiated a solid wall of heat, battling against the chill that sought to permeate the canvas walls. The accommodation was small and modest, but in circumstances such as this I saw it as precious sanctuary. How did people even live before Pokéballs? Trying to carry all of this would have been madness.

Not wishing to exert the Nidoran just yet, I sat with Admiral for a while and rehearsed some basic commands. Ordinary speech would suffice for the moment, but once we began finding ourselves in battles with skilled opponents it would be far too cumbersome. One of the critical skills that a top Trainer needed was the ability to rapidly communicate with their Pokémon in a personal, custom shorthand - partly for speed and efficiency, partly to avoid confusion as multiple Trainers called out commands, and partly so the enemy wouldn't know what you were ordering until the attack was already upon them. He was a quick study, if impatient and a little too fond of breaking out into spontaneous bouts of air guitar.

My initial concerns about the fate of the Nidoran proved unnecessary - the Potion had acquitted itself well. The young creature's breathing had stabilized, it showed no obvious signs of bleeding or severe pain, and had proven itself already capable of limping, huddling, and sulking. After the first ill-fated attempt to carve a path through the canvas walls in a bid for freedom was ended by Admiral sitting on him, I decided to begin the process of taming the creature.

"Hey, little fella," I said to the Nidoran. "How you doing there?" Admiral began relaying my words, speaking in a low babble that I hoped was a reasonable approximation of what I was saying.

The Nidoran shifted its gaze several degrees to the left, as it wasn't yet facing the exact opposite direction to me.

"You holding up okay there, buddy? Want me to take another look at that wound?" I reached my hand out to pat him, but as soon as my fingers made contact his hind legs slammed into the ground in a short, huffy thump.

"I'm not going to hurt you, little guy. I just want to check you're okay." Admiral relayed this, and was met by nothing more than a low growl as the Nidoran shuffled further away, scooting forward until his face was pressed directly into the canvas wall.

Many Pokémon wouldn't respond to entreaties like this. Aggressive and territorial Pokémon - which this Nidoran definitely was - often required a show of dominance before they would accept commands from their new master. I'd have to pin the Nidoran down, have Admiral Water Gun it. I didn't want to use corporal punishment, but if that was what was required to assert myself as the alpha in this little creature's mind, then that's what I'd do.

Later. It was getting dark, the little guy was hurting, and I just didn't have it in me to add to his humiliation right now. Besides, he'd be more cowed by shows of force when he was at full strength - if I dominated him now, he might ascribe his defeat to his injuries, and prove belligerent once recovered.

I dropped back from the crouch I'd found myself in, allowing myself to bask in the warmth of the heater, and wondered what I would name him. He was small, but damned if he wasn't a fighter. 'Scrappy' came to mind. 'Spike' had a nice ring to it. He was venomous, arrogant, and untrusting - perhaps another candidate for the name 'Blue'.

"Yeah, not giving him the power or anything," I muttered to myself. Admiral tilted his head at me, opening his mouth for a moment before closing it again. Apparently that didn't quite translate into Pokéspeak.

Blue was already on his way to Pewter City - apparently he hadn't stopped at Viridian Gym, for whatever reason - and I was still struggling to make my way out of Pallet. Some echo of the Professor's voice bounced through my mind with a vague admonishment to not let myself fall into bitterness, but I took some base satisfaction in ignoring it.

I looked at Nidoran, face buried in the canvas.

Mew knew how many miles away from me he was, the thought of me doubtless far from his mind, and yet his presence felt as strong as ever. I looked at the starter that was supposed to be his. The substitute for my Eevee - the Squirtle I'd spent several hours actually calling Blue, before the Professor asked me for his name. On the spot, I blurted out my second choice, fearful of the scorn I was certain he would hold for a choice so snarky.

I looked at Nidoran, quivering with fear.

Even when I was naming my own Pokémon, I was thinking of him. Paying homage or passing insult, either way he held sway. Hell, I'd even based my own name after his. I had been so impressed with his wit I'd leapt to emulating it, rather than making attempt to best him on my own terms.

I looked at Nidoran, shivering with anxiety.

Smarter than me. Faster than me. More beloved than me. Even when he took Eevee, people reacted with awe and admiration rather than the contempt that he deserved. Laughter and chuckles and lighthearted jibes, a crime and a betrayal treated as a witty gag. A lost friend, treated like a lost toy. But, I supposed, even that had been better than the pity. Those who looked at me like a lost idiot, with pats on the back and low soothing voices. I wasn't a child seeking their condescending sympathy, I was a Trainer. Even when I had played the Professor's game, laughed it off and made retorts, played the Farfetch'd to Blue's cold rains - even then, there were still plenty who had pushed forward with condolences and unsolicited wisdom.

I looked at Nidoran, shaking with rage.

I didn't want to be Blue's little brother. I was a Champion. I knew I would be. I hadn't done it yet, but it was within me. No question, no doubt. I just wanted everyone else to see it. To see more than the ignorant child that I was, to see who I was destined to become.

I looked at Nidoran, and I knew his name.

"Your name is Nidoking."

And, barely perceptibly, his little back straightened.

Feedback is always appreciated - I am a believer that art must be criticized to improve.

I am on Twitter, under the username RadHominin.

Due to an unexpected life event, The Line has been temporarily suspended. I anticipate chapters will resume in the second week of August.