A sharp knock came from the door, startling me. I eased off the bunk and paced the few steps to the entrance, eager to see who was calling. A young man about my age and height stood on the other side of the door with a serious expression on his face. When he saw me, his gaunt demeanor appeared considerably more relaxed. I was neither a snotty little child nor a grizzled veteran. I was just a guy in my late teens, like him. “How’s it going?” I asked, still slightly shaken by the dossier. “Neil Stryker.”
“Hey, man,” he replied. “Just fine. I’m Alan Greylin. My handle’s ‘Hunter.’ Yours?”
“Stryker. Just Stryker,” I answered.

Hunter’s father was the project leader behind the “G-Leviathan” series. I never knew what Alan’s first jobs for the PRI may have been, but he was brought on board the current mission because of his connections at the GeMLab. He told me a lot about himself. Since he was from Pewter, he was raised outdoors, tracking wild Pokemon through the woods and rocky fields. He was never serious about Pokemon training; he loved studying their behavior and habits, but didn’t have much affinity for making them fight. He was more of a consultant on PRI operations, adept at assessing situations yet incapable of taking them on single-handedly.

My new comrade was able to provide one intriguing fact about the G-L project. Just before G-L2 escaped the compound, several prominent scientists abandoned the PRI to apparently work on a similar project for Team Rocket. Not much more than that is known, but they are rumored to be stationed near the Lake of Rage in Johto. Hunter and I talked for a while longer, then submitted to the arduous tasks of the operation.

_

A blinding flash of lightning illuminated the ominous skies as opaque black thunderheads blotted out the sun far above us, giving the impression it was night. It was three in the afternoon, the day after I met Hunter.

Offshore storms are unbelievable. I stood shakily on the deck of the gargantuan Navy cutter, nervously searching the horizon. Two other trainers and Hunter were nearby, surveying the sea for any sign of our quarry. Military personnel in gray uniforms bustled through the narrow catwalks and open decks of the vessel, preparing it for the storm. Orders were barked from across the bow as the first heavy drops of rain began to fall, the immense ship struggling over the steadily growing waves that mercilessly pounded its hull.

I stood at the base of a six-foot wide mast, trying in vain to maintain my balance and composure. When the thick raindrops splattered on the deck around me, I looked up to evaluate the weather. The torrent began. Everyone on board was instantly drenched, as though the clouds were literally pointing fire hoses at us. For someone who had spent his entire life near the ocean, I loathed the sickening sway of the vessel. The trainers further out on the deck began shouting and running for cover. A fierce wind blasted the ship, knocking two of them to the ground. I braced myself and tried to shield my face from the blinding rain. Stinging sea spray pelted us as maliciously as the water from above, causing tears to well up in my eyes. I closed them tightly, feeling that this battle against nature was a lost cause.

Most of the Navy crew had retreated to the innards of the cutter after having lashed down extra equipment outside. With my eyes firmly shut, I was forced to concentrate on the sounds emanating from the environment. Everyone had stopped shouting and was either taking refuge in the ship or braving the storm. The only sound was the sharp whistle of the wind, roaring through the girders and beams of the deck. Hesitantly, I allowed my eyes to again view the seemingly apocalyptic world.

The incessant rain let up just enough to allow me to see a thin stretch of coast on the horizon behind us. The white beach was a sliver of light crushed between the oppressive sky and even blacker sea. Every few seconds a thin jolt of lightning would dance across the sky, sometimes followed by a deafening clap of thunder. As the wind tentatively receded, the two other Pokemon trainers scurried over to the side of the ship, anxiously peering down into the churning maelstrom below. They seemed to be nervously conversing, their gazes affixed to the waves. Fighting the gale, I trudged forward in the direction of the railing. Hunter hung back, uncertain of what to do. I turned to him, wondering why he hadn’t moved, when the two kids at the side began to shout. One was a boy in his early teens, the other a slightly older girl who seemed rather familiar. They abandoned their posts, jumping back several feet in defensive postures.

With a smooth movement, the girl detached a Pokeball from her belt and threw it to the deck. A burst of brilliant white light mimicked a simultaneous flash of lightning as an odd form materialized before its trainer. Vileplume is a truly bizarre creature. It resembles a flower in that it has thick, elliptical petals set atop its body, which is a stubby purple stalk. Standing around three feet tall, you would swear it was a plant if not for its feet and face. The aberration assumed a deceptively fragile stance in front of its trainer, its red petals spread wide.

The male combatant shouted something to his companion, whom I recognized as Erika, the Celadon City Gym Leader. I couldn’t comprehend their plaintive shouts, but my senses absorbed something that chilled me to the very core of my being. I could feel the wind quickly dying, but the sound remained. The situation puzzled me for a split second until I understood what was happening. It wasn’t the howl of the wind I was hearing…

_____