The late afternoon sun draped Cerulean City in a tapestry of warm light, streaks of gold and amber pouring between rooftops and spilling across rain-dark cobblestones. The earlier downpour had left the streets slick and reflective, each puddle a fractured mirror catching stray clouds and the fiery hues of the lowering sun. The air smelled faintly of wet stone and garden blossoms, tinged with the distant scent of the river.
Red walked beside Misty, his posture relaxed but his eyes always moving taking in the people, the alleyways, the rhythm of a city he was passing through but already calculating the fastest way out of. The sound of their boots meeting stone was the main rhythm between them, punctuated only by the faint trickle of water sliding into drains and the occasional passing carriage.
They reached the broader part of the city, where homes began to take on the shape of wealth—whitewashed walls, iron gates, ivy crawling in controlled patterns up brick façades. Here the air felt a little quieter, the streets cleaner, as though even the sound of footsteps dared not linger too long.
It was in this quieter district that Misty slowed her pace. Her gaze flicked to the left, toward a wide avenue framed with pale stone mansions, each sitting behind gates like silent sentinels.
"You could stay at my place tonight," she said casually, though there was a careful weight beneath the words. "Plenty of room. Closer than hunting down an inn."
Red didn't even turn his head. His answer came quick, sharp, and without hesitation.
"I'll be challenging you first thing tomorrow morning for the badge."
Misty stopped mid-step. Her brows lifted slightly. "You… already know I'm the Gym Leader?"
He met her eyes without pause. "Yeah."
There was no boasting in his tone, just certainty as though the fact had always been obvious.
She folded her arms, her voice losing some of its casual veneer. "That wasn't the only reason I was inviting you. I wanted to talk about taking down Team Rocket."
Red's reply was as blunt as a thrown stone. "I'll handle them myself. Don't need anyone but my Pokémon."
The words carried a weight that was more than just pride; it was an edge forged by something deeper, a refusal to lean on anyone. Misty's lips pressed together faintly. She'd seen him fight at Mt. Moon seen the ruthless efficiency in how he commanded, the clarity of his movements, the way his Pokémon responded to him as though they shared one mind. He'd cut through Rocket grunts like they were a minor inconvenience. If anyone could take them down alone… maybe it was him.
Still, she couldn't help but press back. "It's fine to take help from others sometimes," she said, softer now.
They continued walking, the silence between them thicker this time. Then her tone shifted, lighter, almost teasing. "You don't need to waste your time battling me. I already know how that'll turn out. At least let me thank you properly."
Red didn't answer, his eyes fixed forward. Misty, however, wasn't the type to drop something once she'd decided on it. She filled the next few blocks with half-jokes, casual offers, the occasional sharp poke at his stubbornness.
Finally, Red let out a quiet exhale. "…Fine."
Misty's relief showed in the way her shoulders loosened and her pace quickened. Her smile returned, this time warmer. "Good. Come on then."
---
Misty's "house" was hardly that. It was a mansion in every sense of the word an expanse of pale stone and wide glass windows framed by perfectly trimmed hedges. Decorative lanterns lined the path, and the garden was so meticulously kept it looked almost artificial, as though not a single blade of grass dared grow out of place.
Two uniformed maids stood at attention near the double front doors, bowing slightly as Misty approached.
"Please take Red's things," Misty said with a light authority, handing over his jacket and pack. "And have his Pokémon healed in the treatment room."
One maid whisked away his worn traveling gear, the other accepted his Poké Balls with a level of care usually reserved for precious artifacts. The smoothness of the exchange was almost unsettling no hesitation, no wasted movement.
Inside, the air was cool and faintly scented with lavender. The polished marble floors reflected the soft glow of ornate wall lamps. Compared to the noisy inns and campfires Red had grown used to, the stillness of this place felt almost… alien.
---
By the time evening rolled in, the smell of food had spread through the hallways. Misty led him to a dining room big enough to seat twenty, though only two places were set. The table gleamed with polished silverware, crystal glasses, and porcelain plates painted with thin gold edges.
Dinner was a quiet affair at first. Steaming bowls of seasoned vegetables, roasted river fish with a honey glaze, fresh bread still warm from the oven. Red ate without comment, though it was obvious from the small shift in his expression that this was far better than the rations and roadside meals he'd been relying on.
Halfway through, Misty leaned back slightly, her tone light but curious. "So… now that you've got the badge, where's your next stop?"
"Vermilion City," he said simply.
She held his gaze for a moment, her lips curving faintly. "Figures."
He returned to his meal. The muted clink of silverware against porcelain filled the space again. For Red, the calm felt strange foreign in its lack of urgency. It had been days since he'd last had a moment without movement, without conflict, without the constant edge of the journey pressing at him.
Still, even here, in a place where nothing threatened him, his mind was already on the road ahead.
---
The next morning dawned pale and clear, a thin layer of mist drifting low over Cerulean's rooftops. The streets were still mostly empty when Red stepped out of the mansion, his pack slung over one shoulder, his cap pulled low. Misty stood at the gate, her hair catching the soft light like strands of copper.
"You're really heading straight out?" she asked, her tone casual but with the faintest thread of reluctance.
"Yeah."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright… just try not to burn down half of Vermilion while you're there."
He gave her the faintest of smiles small enough that most people would have missed it and turned toward the road.
---
The route southward stretched open quickly once he passed the last of Cerulean's outer homes. Morning dew still clung to the grass, soaking the edges of his boots. Tall trees lined parts of the road, their leaves stirring faintly in the cool breeze. Pidgeotto's Poké Ball hung at his belt again retrieved from storage before he'd left Cerulean, his team once again back to full strength.
Not far from the tree line, movement caught his attention. A Bellsprout swayed just off the path, its thin vine-like arms twitching as though testing the air.
Red stopped, eyes narrowing. A quick battle here would sharpen his team's rhythm for the day. In one smooth motion, he pulled a Poké Ball from his belt.
"Go."
The flash of light resolved into Pikachu, tail flicking lazily at first before the little electric-type noticed the opponent. Bellsprout reacted instantly, whipping a vine toward them.
"Sidestep. Thunder Wave."
Pikachu darted left, the vine slicing empty air, and sent a pulse of electricity racing into Bellsprout's frame. The paralysis took hold fast, its movements growing jerky and sluggish.
"Quick Attack. End it."
A blur of yellow streaked across the grass. Pikachu slammed into Bellsprout's side, sending it tumbling into the dirt. Red had a Poké Ball in hand before the wild Pokémon could recover. The capture was clean a single shake before the click.
---
Further along the route, the midday sun was climbing when Red spotted something else small, quick movement along the roadside.
A Rattata ordinary enough at first glance, until it turned its face toward him. Something in its eyes, in the curve of its mouth, sparked a strange recognition.
The Rattata spoke.
"You can hear me, right? Good. Listen, I'm not really a Rattata—I'm a human. My name's Bill."
Red didn't flinch, his expression unreadable. "Bill?"
"Yeah—Bill. I'm… stuck like this. Some lab experiment gone wrong. I need help getting back to normal."
Red didn't move, though his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Red's grip on his Poké Ball belt loosened slightly. "You're saying you used to be human."
"Yes! That's exactly what I'm saying! And I need your help to fix it before—"
The rest of the sentence was lost in a sharp shriek overhead. A shadow swept over them. Red looked up just in time to see a Fearow diving, talons outstretched.
"Move!" he barked, but the bird's strike was fast. Its claws snatched the Rattata from the ground in a single motion. Bill's voice rose in a panicked yell as he was carried skyward. "HELP!"
---
Red was already moving.
"Pidgeotto—go!"
The Poké Ball burst open, and the bird took flight in the same breath, wings slicing through the air with practiced strength.
"Pursuit. Force it down."
Pidgeotto surged upward, closing the gap on the larger bird. Fearow, sensing the threat, twisted sharply in the air and tried to climb higher. Its talons flexed, tightening around the struggling Rattata.
"Quick Attack—now!"
Pidgeotto became a streak against the sky, colliding with Fearow's side in a midair strike. The larger bird screeched, wobbling from the impact but refusing to let go.
Fearow retaliated, beak flashing in a Peck aimed for Pidgeotto's wing.
"Wing Attack—meet it head-on!"
The clash cracked through the air like a whip. Feathers flew, and Fearow's balance faltered. It dropped several meters, wings beating hard to recover altitude. Bill tumbled free, plummeting toward the grass below.
Red was already moving to intercept, sprinting and sliding to catch the small Pokémon before it hit the ground.
Above, Pidgeotto pressed the attack.
"Gust—full force!"
The wind roared to life from Pidgeotto's wings, slamming into Fearow and spinning it off-balance. It fought against the current, shrieking in rage.
"Close in. Tackle—put it down!"
The final hit struck true. Fearow crumpled from the air, hitting the ground in a flurry of wings and dust. Red had a Poké Ball in his hand before the dust settled, sending it spinning toward the downed bird. One… two… three shakes, then the click of capture.
Silence returned, broken only by Bill's relieved panting in his tiny rodent form.
"You… actually did it," Bill managed, still wide-eyed.
---
Bill's lab was perched on a quiet stretch of land overlooking the sea. The building smelled faintly of salt and machine oil, the inside a tangle of consoles, wires, and humming devices. Red moved through it without hesitation, letting Bill lead the way to a strange, glass-sided chamber.
It took some time commands shouted from a small Rattata mouth, switches flipped, data scrolling across displays but at last, a hum rose through the floor, and light filled the chamber.
When it dimmed, a human stood where the Rattata had been. Bill staggered, catching his balance, then looked at his own hands like he wasn't quite sure they were real.
"…Feels good to be me again," he said, relief flooding his voice. Then he smiled faintly. "I owe you for this one, Red. Also just so you know I'm a Pokemon expert"
Red simply nodded, already turning toward the door. His business here was done.
---
By the time Red reached Vermilion it was afternoon. The air smelled of brine and engine oil, gulls crying overhead as ships moved in and out of port.
He walked the streets without hurry, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking over storefronts and alleys. The city was alive with noise merchants shouting over the fish market, sailors laughing outside taverns, the distant clang of hammers from the shipyard.
At the far edge of the harbor, the massive frame of the S.S. Anne dominated the view. The ship gleamed white in the sunlight, ropes creaking against the tide.
That's when an older man, round-faced and beaming, approached with surprising speed.
"You there! Young man—are you a Pokémon Trainer?"
Red didn't answer immediately, eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.
The man's expression only brightened further. "Marvelous! Simply marvelous! I must see your Pokémon please, indulge me."
Red weighed the request in silence. Then, slowly, he unclipped one Poké Ball.
Pikachu materialized at his feet, ears twitching.
"Ohhh!" the old man exclaimed, eyes practically sparkling. "What a fine specimen!"
He introduced himself as the president of the Pokémon Fan Club, and before Red could refuse, he'd been invited to their gathering.
---
The Fan Club building was modest from the outside, but inside it was crowded—people in casual clothes, trainers in uniform, even a couple of older sailors, all gathered in small groups talking animatedly.
The moment he stepped through the door, all eyes seemed to find him not him exactly, but the small yellow shape at his heels.
"Ahhh! Adorable!" someone exclaimed, kneeling to scratch Pikachu under the chin.
Pikachu's tail flicked in irritation. More hands reached out, voices crowding over one another.
"What do you feed him?"
"His fur is so soft!"
"How long have you had him?"
Red's expression didn't change. "Three days."
The answer landed like a dropped stone killing the giddy curiosity in an instant. A couple of people exchanged uncertain glances. Pikachu took the distraction as an opportunity to slip behind Red's legs, shooting a sharp glare at the nearest hands.
From the far side of the room, the Fan Club president who'd been glowing with pride was suddenly interrupted by the sharp slam of the front door bursting open.
A man stumbled in, panting, his eyes wide and wild. "They took him! They took my Exeggutor!"
The air seemed to freeze. Someone gasped. Another voice muttered, "Not again…"
Red's gaze sharpened.
The distraught trainer's words came out in broken pieces cornered near the market, black-clad figures, Poké Balls snatched in seconds. Gone before he could give chase.
From the murmurs and shaking heads, it was clear this wasn't an isolated incident.
"They've been taking our Pokémon for weeks," someone near the wall said bitterly. "Even the president's Abra."
Everywhere Red looked, he saw the same defeated posture the slumped shoulders of people who'd given up.
"Most had given up hope. "It's been too long," someone muttered. "They're gone."
Red's voice cut through the low murmur, calm but edged with steel.
"If you really loved your Pokémon, you wouldn't give up." His gaze moved across the room, pinning each in turn. "If you aren't willing to fight for what you claim to care about, then you're not trainers you're collectors. You like how they look. That's all."
Every head turned toward him.
"You say you care about them," he continued, tone flat but edged like a blade. "But all I see are people more worried about how their Pokémon look than whether they're safe. If you're not willing to fight for them, then you don't get to say you care."
Silence. Uncomfortable. Heavy.
Red recalled Pikachu in one motion and turned for the door. "I'll find them myself."
---
Outside, the air was sharper. Red's mind turned over the facts quickly:
Multiple Pokémon stolen.
No sightings of where they were taken afterward.
Needed a way to transport them without drawing attention.
A large, mobile storage.
And in a port city, there was nothing larger than a cargo ship.
His eyes slid toward the S.S. Anne, still gleaming at the docks.
That was his lead.
---
Getting aboard required timing. Red waited until late afternoon, when the flow of passengers thinned and dockworkers were focused on loading supplies. With quiet steps and an unerring sense of blind spots, he slipped up the gangway and into the ship's interior.
Inside, the ship's corridors were a maze polished wood and gold trim masking the hum of hidden machinery. He kept his footsteps silent, ears tuned for anything out of place.
It was in the lower decks, near the smell of brine and oil, that he found it a storage bay stacked with towering crates. The air felt heavier here, thick with the faint hum of electricity.
Something small and round caught his eye near the floor. A Poké Ball, he thought until it shifted, the white half lifting like a lid.
The Voltorb's glare was the only warning before it sparked violently.
Voltorb crackle of electricity discharged. Red darted aside, the blast scorching the crate behind him.
Before Red could even send out one of his Pokemon , a voice rolled out from the shadows.
"Well, well. A trespasser. I see"
Heavy footsteps. Figures emerged—three, then five, then more. At their head stood a broad-shouldered man in a military jacket, the stripes on his sleeves gleaming in the dim light.
Red knew the face.
Lt. Surge.
Surge's eyes narrowed. "You've got guts, sneakin' onto my ship. Not many make it this far."
Red didn't answer his implied question. Instead, his tone was level. "Why are you here?"
Surge smirked. "I run this ship, kid. Everything on it, I own."
"Then you know about the stolen Pokémon."
The smirk widened. "I'm the one takin' 'em. And you've got sharp eyes to figure out how. Overpampered, overdomesticated Pokémon worthless to the trainers who keep 'em. We're giving them a new purpose. Selling 'em for real money."
There was no guilt in his voice—only pride.
Red's expression didn't shift, but the air around him felt colder. "You're pathetic."
Red's fingers tightened around Charizard's Poké Ball. The Lt. Surge knew in his old world would've never done something like this but he had to accept it that it was the reality now.
"Charizard go!"
The dragon's roar filled the hold, firelight spilling across the crates.
"That's a rare partner you got there…" His eyes gleamed. "Fully evolved, well-trained would go high on the black market."
He snapped his fingers. The men beside him released Pokémon two Raticates and a Magnemite.
Surge sends out Electabuzz, its frame straining against the chains looped around its arms. It wasn't tamed—its eyes wild, posture tense.
Surge yanked the chains loose.
Electabuzz attacked immediately, lightning dancing along its arms as it lunged.
"Dodge," Red said, voice calm.
Charizard pivoted smoothly, the electric strike carving through empty space.
"Flamethrower"
The gout of flame hit Electabuzz square in the chest, knocking it backward into a crate with a crash. The wooden slats splintered, the air filling with smoke and the smell of burnt wood.
Surge's confident smirk faltered. "What the…?"
He looked at Red again and saw the boy's eyes under the brim of his cap. They burned a sharp, dangerous red. His right hand held the tip of that cap, shadowing most of his face.
---