Noah wasn't the kind of kid people noticed.
He wasn't a loser. Not really. He had decent grades, kept quiet in class, showed up on time, never started shit.
He was the human version of a gray hoodie—comfortable, forgettable, and easy to ignore.
At 18, he was floating through his final year of high school like driftwood on an empty lake. No girlfriend. No part-time job. No idea what came next. His parents were nice enough, but exhausted. He couldn't blame them. Their lives were falling apart slowly—jobs cut, bills late, and the house quieter every month.
So Noah stayed quiet too.
When he got home, he'd hole up in his room. Switch on his laptop. Slip his headphones on. Open YouTube.
And disappear.
That's where he found Nuzlockes.
Not the casual kind. Not the ones where some guy plays with a Pikachu and cries when it faints.
Noah gravitated toward the brutal runs. The unscripted agony. The channels that played Pokémon like it was a war crime simulator.
"Hardcore Platinum Nuzlocke: Only bug type."
"Why Nuzlockes Hurt More Than Real Breakups"
He watched these YouTubers suffer like it was gospel. They'd raise their Pokémon, grow attached, give them nicknames, tell stories—and then lose them to a crit, a bad matchup, a dumb misclick. The streamer would go quiet. Sometimes they'd rage. Sometimes they'd cry. And sometimes they'd just whisper, "I'm sorry," and bury their digital partners in the graveyard box.
Noah understood that kind of loss.
He didn't cry often. But when a Mudsdale named Brutus got frozen by a surprise Blizzard and shattered mid-run, he felt it. It hit like someone punched through his chest and turned the volume down on the world.
That was real grief.
It started small.
He downloaded emulators. Started a FireRed run. Chose Mudkip as his starter. Named him Neo because, somehow, it just fit.
He set his own rules:
One catch per route.
No items in battle.
Faint = Death.
No resets.
He lost his Pidgey on Route 3.
Then his Nidoran to Brock.
But Neo the Mudkip carried him through.
By the time he reached Lavender Town, Neo had evolved. Sturdy. Reliable. Noah loved that Mudkip more than any real person in his life. That's just how it was.
He beat the game with only three survivors.
He started a new run.
And another.
And another.
It became his whole world.
By summer, he wasn't hanging out with anyone. Just runs. Just YouTube videos. Just forums where strangers mourned the loss of Level 18 Rattatas like real people.
"Just lost my starter to a crit from a wild Machop. I want to scream."
"I swear, losing a Pokémon you named hits harder than losing friends."
Noah agreed.
Some nights, he'd lie in bed, phone glowing, watching a streamer bury their Pokémon in a graveyard box while sad piano music played.
He whispered to himself:
"If I had to live like this... I don't think I'd make it."
It happened on a night like any other.
Rain pattered gently on the glass. His laptop was open. YouTube autoplay was cycling through videos.
He was lying on his bed, hoodie pulled tight, watching a theory vid play.
"What If Nuzlocke Was Real?" – A Dark Pokémon Fan Theory."
The voice was smooth, low, strangely hypnotic.
"Imagine feeling it. The death. The grief. The guilt of your own mistake costing a life."
Noah's eyes felt heavy, but he mumbled back,
"…Yeah. I'd never forgive myself."
The video glitched.
The screen turned black.
Words appeared—white, blinking text on a void.
Do You Want To Feel It For Real?
[YES] [NO]
Noah frowned, half-asleep. He reached forward and clicked YES.
He woke to the chill of stone.
And a voice.
"Yo. You alive?"
Noah blinked awake to a blood-red sky churning overhead, clouds roiling like boiling ink. He lay flat on cold stone, half-soaked from the dew or… whatever passed for it in this place.
A boy stood over him—shaggy hair, worn jacket, battle-ready boots.
"You good?" he asked again. "Thought you passed out."
"I…" Noah sat up, confused, head pounding.
The boy gestured casually. "You must be new. Tower hits hard your first time. Don't worry—same for all of us."
Noah looked around.
Stone towers. Ruins. Torchlight flickering in brackets along cracked walls. Around him, other teens were forming a line. A line—and at the front of it stood a man in a white coat, clipboard in hand, releasing Pokémon from Poké Balls and speaking calmly to each trainer.
Dozens of other white coats moved in the background, prepping gear, scanning ID cards, answering questions.
Noah stared. "Who…?"
"The Professors," the boy said, raising an eyebrow. "You seriously don't know? They give out starters. It's their job. They run the floor logistics. Kinda important."
Noah blinked. "Oh. Right. Professors. Yeah…"
He caught the boy looking at him funny, so he added, "Just got dizzy. Must've hit my head."
"Happens," the guy said with a shrug. "Anyway, you're almost up."
Noah looked and—yep.
He was next in line.
A heavy bag had already been tossed at his feet. Canvas. Rugged. His name tag clipped to the side:
NAME: Noah Everett
INITIATE – FLOOR B0
GEAR: 1 Potion | 2 Poké Balls | Pokédex
STARTER: [-----]
The Professor at the front glanced up and waved him forward.
"Step up. Time to choose."
Noah swallowed hard.
All around him, others looked calm. Normal. Like this wasn't terrifying. Like being handed a creature and thrown into a death trap was just what happened when you turned eighteen.
To them, it was.
To Noah?
It was surreal.
But he didn't let it show.
He stepped forward, chest tight, and looked down at the three Poké Balls held out on a tray.
[Fennekin. Rowlet. Mudkip.]
His hand moved instantly. Like instinct.
Right ball.
MUDKIP – Level 5 – Male
The moment he picked it up, the others vanished in a flash.
The Professor nodded. "Good choice. Don't waste him."
Noah took a deep breath and held the ball close. "Neo…"
"Huh?"
"Nothing."
A shriek echoed in the distance. Long. Inhuman. Hungry.
The boy who had woken him up glanced toward it. "That's the first floor. Sounds like it's open. Better move fast unless you wanna get left behind."
Noah turned the card in his hand over.
Only one line waited on the back, written in red ink:
[THE ONLY RULE IS: DON'T DIE.]