A low hum throbbed through the darkness, pulsing rapidly as ominous shadows flashed past. The motorcycle sped me through the black night, as though I were racing daybreak. The headlamp, a star in the void, burned a hole in the obscurity and illuminated the dirt road blurring beneath my wheels. This thin path ran along the edge of Indigo Plateau, coursing through the border of its vast plain high above Victory Road and the path to Viridian.

It was five in the morning, and I was the only soul on the road. The dull glow of dawn crept from behind mountains and wispy clouds to the east, washing a soft gold into the sky and shaping a breathtaking horizon of jagged peaks.

The Indigo League Committee lends out motorcycles in its constant efforts to keep tournament competitors entertained. Before noon, the only ones available are the new electrically powered models, which don’t possess the massive roar and force of the gas-fueled bikes. They’re good enough.

I pulled down the dark visor on the helmet to shield my eyes from the glare of the rising sun. A trail of dust lazily drifted off the road behind me as I streaked toward the far end of the plateau. The path took a sharp turn left, away from the sheer cliff drop. I jerked the bike to one side, sending it into a lateral powerslide before abruptly coming to a stop at the edge. Stretching my arms, I surveyed the vast landscape before me. An immense plain stretched across the land below the plateau. Grasses blanketed the terrain, with trees and smaller rock formations sparsely dotting the area. I removed my helmet and sat silently on the bike, breathing in the cool air of dawn.

Indigo Plateau is a massive stone island set in a sea of grasslands. Thin beams of orange light played off the swaying stalks far below, completing the illusion of a vast ocean. It seemed as though islands of various sorts consumed my entire life. Cinnabar and Seafoam dominated my memories, and somehow my very life WAS an island. I never fit in with the rest of the Pokemon trainers. While they began their journeys at age ten, I waited until I was eighteen. Here I was, an island in an ocean of those vastly different than me. Heather and Jack are the closest I’ve had to family since I left Pallet Town. I thought for once that the allegory of my life was broken, yet now we’re in a constant danger that’s wrenching us apart. I feel personally responsible for everything that happened during ‘Operation: Arctic Chill.’ …Islands…

Brilliant sunlight shone off the bike’s chrome into my eyes. I slid my helmet back on and shifted the vehicle back onto the road. Clutching the throttle, I launched back toward the tournament village, away from the glow of daybreak.

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