Well, starting a new story. Hopefully an improvement from the last multi-chapter story I made. I will try my best, alright? Don't like? Don't read.

Also, I am in the Writer's Heaven Discord server so if you want to talk with me or other authors who are on there, check the link on my profile.

Excerpt from The Goldenrod Post.

Date: May 11th 2013

After years of search with no leads present to assist, the Goldenrod police department has named Matthew Alexander dead. This was the final loss of the three teenagers who had been allegedly abducted from Goldenrod high school on December 7th 2005. The previous two, Madison White and Clyde Drawlin were found two weeks later in their own beds in a catatonic state, they died four days later.

The chief of police stated in an interview, "This was, by no means, an easy decision. We faced heavy force from the parents of these children, who are looking for who could have done this to them." The chief went on to say, "It is so hard to look someone in the eye who had just suffered a great loss and say, 'I don't know how this happened.' Because, the three children had disappeared without a trace."

Date: January 19th, 2019

Time: 11:57am

Jeremy Orade thought he knew every action that occurred in the Silverline motel. Partly thanks to the thin drywall that lined all the rooms, including his seat behind the counter in the lobby, and also thanks to his seven years running the damn thing. All he needed was a simple knock on a counter or a slam of the toilet seat and it could be traced fairly easily to a room. It wasn't as though he had ESP levels of knowledge, there were only eight rooms all on ground level. He knew enough, however, so when somebody took it too far, he could march in and kick their ass out.

If people knew this, which they probably did considering the thin walls, they may think Jeremy would be spying on them. He would argue that security cameras were a luxury in The Trench, the worst part of town, and that he would prefer relying on his own senses. It was more than just that, snippets of information were very pricy in the dark parts of the city and could pay at least two months worth of bills if they were good enough. He never worried about getting shot when telling a drug mule that he had 2 kilos of a certain substance in his suitcase or a mob member of his conversation of an underground gambling location. If so much as a pickpocket happened in The Trench, the police would have reason for arresting everyone there. So Jeremy kept quiet, and listened.

Jeremy found it odd that there were specific rooms that people booked, on preference or at random, that had strange characteristics. Room two was always where a trade was going down, sometimes arms or drugs, always illegal. Room five was what he liked to call, "The Anguish Room". This was due to the fact that every time a couple went in there, a woman came running out, sometimes with marks, with the partner running after. On the opposite side of the spectrum, there was room he named "The Anti-Blacklight Room" from his friend's suggestion. The only hint he gave to the unlucky soul who may venture in was, "The mattress sometimes sags a bit".

Winter was an off-season for the motel. Everyone had gone off to vacation in Alola or stay behind with families. Snow was starting to pile against the lobby door so he grabbed a book from his minute pile of literature and began reading. Nobody was coming in today, which he liked. Managing the motel was enjoyable as long as you took out every measly little complaint he achieved in his career. But it didn't matter. The weather was bad and holidays were near, so no one was coming. That's why it surprised him when, out of the blue, a person with an anxious expression opened the door.

He was taller than Jeremy, which was not a hard feat, and had a grey parka that likely fetched a high price. But what amazed him was his oxymoronic head. He had white hair that stuck out so it looked poofy but still had a slight spikiness. Had Jeremy seen it first he would have thought a senior mental patient wandered in, but then there was his face. It was young, perhaps twenty years or less. Jeremy's conclusion was this was a youth who had bleached his hair or, as he dubbed, "Hair suicide" but it was definitely not. The spikes in his hair shown some of his roots which were as white as the snow outside. White as a hair colour? Odd, but he didn't consider it, the sooner this guy was out of the way, the faster the day would go by. "Whaddya need, kid?" he asked, coughing out some of the musty lobby air in exchange for the crisp, fresh variety.

"A room, if you've got one," he replied, looking behind him for a moment before turning back to Jeremy.

"Sure, but it's a bit of a weird time to ask for one, don't ya think?" he said, peering over to the clock that had its hands at one minute to noon.

The guy shrugged, "It's a weird world."

Jeremy decided to take the answer for what it was worth and opened up his laptop to input the name. He couldn't quite shake it, but had he seen this guy before? Something about his face maybe? He wasn't sure. "Your name, please?"

The guy opened his mouth and then closed it, then once again with a response. "Jacob… Jacob Reynolds."

Jeremy eyed him dubiously but put it in anyway, as long as he had cash he could call himself Johnny Fuckshit and get away with it. "...Alright then Mr. Reynolds, you did come unreserved so you'll have to make the damage deposit of fifteen hundred pokedollars now." In reality, everything in his motel rooms probably totaled twelve hundred right out of the packaging.

'Jacob' shoved his hand into a jacket pocket and pulled out crumbled bills of all values and, seemingly at random, plucked a few chosen bills and put them on his desk.

Before Jeremy even touched the bills he knew they were the right amount, and counting them just solidified his theory. "You got some weird hair there, buddy," he said, stuffing the bills into his sweatpants pocket.

"Yeah… I know," he said, scratching the head of his. It didn't even look like any hair was displaced, they just wavered from his fingers and set back to their original places. "Actually, I was born with white hair. Don't know how but… yeah," he took another glance behind him, "So do I have a room yet?"

"You do indeed, room four," he smiled, and then added wickedly, "The mattress sometimes sags a bit so just go easy on it, alright?" He grabbed the key from the drawer by his side and held it out to 'Jacob' who reached out to take it but recoiled.

"Could I have another room?" he said, to Jeremy's surprise.

"What's wrong with that one?" he replied, raising an eyebrow. Did he know about what happens in there? And again with the somewhat familiarity coming from him. This was too weird.

"It's the slow season, right?"

"Yeah, your point being..?"

"I think I can take some liberty over my room selection," said 'Jacob' in a near talking-down sense.

Jeremy knew there was something more here. But it was scary how he couldn't figure it out. It was easy to see when someone was at the motel for more reason than just to sleep, an extra ₽1000 when they pay or some extraneous substance. This guy, 'Jacob', walked in with a snow jacket, a backpack and white hair and he had the nerve to patronize him, a man ten years older than him. He counted bills without looking, knew about room four and was looked so familiar it felt like a connection should have been made, but no dice. It was fucking weird and he wanted nothing more to do with this. "Well then… which room do you want?"

'Jacob' went into thought and then answered, "Room six, if it's open."

Jeremy could see it in his eyes, he already knew that room six was open. But that didn't matter anymore, he needed to get the guy out of his head as soon as possible. His hand returned the key to its rightful spot and swapped it for a key two digits ahead of it. He held out the brass key and the strap that weaved through the top hole. "Here, it's yours," he said, not making eye contact. Just take the fucking key, kid. I don't need any torture for my brain today, he thought.

The key left his grasp and he heard one final message from the kid, fittingly enough, being the one that would most likely haunt him for a few days until he decided to take some of the extraneous substance in his secret desk drawer. "Thanks, Jeremy."

Jeremy never wore a name tag. And the more he thought about it, the more he came to the same conclusion. Drugs were way too potent to be wasted on a stale, three-day old memory. After 'Jacob' left, he reached down and picked a small garbage bag, hearing the crumbling of powder mountains as he shifted the contents. But just as the urge came, it left. He tucked the bag back in, picked his book up, and decided to throw on a pair of headphones.

The memory of 'Jacob Reynolds' faded within seconds. As though he never existed.

That was changed when he heard a gunshot a few minutes later.

Time: 12:01pm

He opened the door and was met with the same aged scent that appeared in the lobby. Room six was fairly neat, at least compared to others. Two queen beds with a desk opposite to them. A mirror was hung by the entrance to the bathroom and gave him the reflection of his perturbed expression. No television but that was fine, he wasn't planning on staying here for very long.

He had taken many risks coming into the motel so quickly. His appearance was eye-catching to the manager who was making a connection to him as the conversation progressed. But he was able to stop Jeremy from remembering who he was, thanks to his power. This didn't change the fact that he took a chance and nearly blew it. Oh well, he got away with it and there were much more important things at hand.

He stepped in, dragging in snow that quickly melted from the radiator nearby. His hands, which had made themselves home in his pockets, were brought out and closed the door behind him. Time to get to work, he thought.

The backpack was sent onto the queen bed closest to him. Carefully, as to not destroy the contents inside. From there he cleared the desk of all the paper and contact information. He went back over to the bag and pulled out the first piece of equipment: A video camera. It was small and outdated but it was cheap and it worked. He set it on the desk and turned it on. A little red light appeared and he got into position; sitting atop the queen bed the camera faced.

He got up to his feet and stopped the recording. His fingers played with the buttons on the side until he got to his video. Sure enough, he was seated on the bed and was perfectly centered. This was good, he only got one take at this and if he blew it, well, it wouldn't turn out well for anyone.

A new recording was started and he made his way over to the bed. He sat down and began speaking.

"My name… is Matthew Elgin Alexander and… I guess I'm supposed to be dead. At least that's what everybody has been thinking for the past six years…" He stopped and sighed, "Well I'm not. And whoever group or person finds this video, don't show it to anyone else. Trust me with this, the things that I am about to share are never to be spoken about openly. You'll see why." Another sigh, "Alright, let's start."

As he spoke to the camera lens, he felt his heart was being poured out on the spot and the whole world was watching. Everything that he had experienced, everything that they did to him and everything that needed to be said was being released onto this video. There was no regret in taking this action, only release.

Halfway through his confession, a headache started building. Through the will to keep going, he managed to push it off but for how long? It was unclear, the migraines usually lasted anywhere from two minutes to two hours. He wasn't sure how long this speech was going to be, but he had to tell everything and a migraine was not going to stand in his way.

Four minutes more with the cranial throbbing and it was becoming intolerable. Every word undulating through his mouth caused a twist in the mind, making him pause at the ends of sentences to ease the strain. It wasn't too bad though, his episodes could be a lot worse.

Soon, his confession was ending and he found himself pushing his white hair to the side to rub his temples. "I have to repeat myself… Please, do not take this video public... For your sake and mine, please don't…"

Matthew stopped talking and felt only the steady beat of the migraine bouncing on his brain. Carefully, his hand reached into the backpack and pulled out his second piece of equipment. The dangerous object was jet black, but had tanned brown leather on its grip and a shiny grey ring around the edge of the barrel. It looked good, for a handgun. He wondered if the person he swiped it from paid a lot for it.

He gritted his teeth and shook the gun. Little clinks could be heard from the magazine and loading chamber, only one bullet. His grip eased on the handle as his body shook to the point where it nearly fell but he tightened his hand at the last moment. C'mon Matt, don't pussy out now.

"I… I have to do this to attract people, okay? Others don't know about my ability and if I just fire randomly… it'll blow over fast. People will come, the police might too… Hopefully someone will find this… Someone not with them." He reached his hand out, feeling the energy flow through him, and used his ability to turn off the recording. He used it once more to push it behind the desk and mostly out of sight.

He let out a monumental exhale, enough cause the shiver of anticipation to chill his veins once more. His hand tightened on the grip and quickly brought the weapon to the side of his head, feeling the hair move back to their positions despite the interference. Please don't hurt as much as last time, he thought. Then he pulled the trigger.

The world was colourful with the light blue bed sheets and the textured wood frame and had a nice chill in the air from the outside snow. He could hear light creaking of the old mattress he sat upon as well as the whistle of wind blaring outside. All of that was turned off at the sound of a shot.

There was no pain for the time being, Matthew could feel the blackness around him move like a thick fluid similar to tar or oil. He was not floating nor falling, just… being. Then, the blackness caught fire and he felt the scorching pain writhe through his vessel and heighten his senses almost to the point of overwhelming. He could hear Jeremy's voice piercing through the black, saying something along the lines of, "Oh Arceus, what the fuck!" His steps went away, and were eventually covered by the high pitched note of tinnitus.

Matthew opened his eyes next, his head was searing from the wound, and saw the blurry image of the floor. The sense of taste and smell were the last to come back. The taste of copper was seemingly embedded in his tongue from how much blood was in there as well as the stench of near death roaming by his ears. A warm stream came from the right and left side of his face; the bullet had gone through fully, good.

He waited a few more seconds for the pain to settle down before he made the attempt to adjust his body. His legs, while stiff, moved on command and went from behind his head to under it.

The double vision cleared up after a few minutes. He could hear sirens from afar but due to his ears probably not working as well as they were in the lobby, they could be nearer than he wanted them to be. The last thing that he would want would be to end up in a hospital or morgue.

"Get up, Matthew. Get up," he said huskily, shaking with intensity as he felt the holes on either side of his head stop bleeding, begin shrinking and eventually, disappear. "See? You're fine, totally fine." He grimaced at the ache of his head, it would last for some time but it was not important now. The sirens were coming close.

Matthew gripped onto the sheets of the bed he once sat upon and ignored the hot vermillion stain that rested on it. There wasn't as much blood as he was expecting, thank goodness, but enough to invoke a crime scene and investigation. He took another clump of fabric into his hand and worked his way up to the bed.

After a minute of torture, he found his upper body slumped onto the top of the bed. His motor control for his legs and arms had improved and he was now ready for real movement.

His walk was slow and would probably appear to be a limp to those looking at him. Reaching his doorway, he peeked out into the snowy city. Jeremy was nowhere to be found, much to his relief. The brisk air soothed the hot patches of skin from his recent hemorrhage.

Carefully, he began walking outside and built the pace up to a steady jog. Before he knew it, the Silverline motel was gone from his sights. The lights of police cruisers and fire trucks could be seen a block away, and then, they passed him. Alright, part two. Time to lure out the wolves, he thought.

He passed by the stop sign for a third time, the snow now had piled up an extra quarter inch since he checked last. It was almost becoming tiresome to walk the loop over and over, waiting for them to come looking for him. They would never took this long. For someone like him, he expected perhaps a half-loop's worth of time. Although, it occurred to him that it probably looked like he was setting up some smoke and mirrors for walking out in the open without a disguise. Nevertheless, they would be here eventually.

His environment was also not exactly the friendliest invitation. The buildings around him were dilapidated as well as everything else in the trench. Ancient relics of civilization such as phone booths remained in an almost antique state, only being eaten away slowly by father time.

A hand brushed over his hair, feeling the crumbly, solidified blood that remained from his act of self-harm. The pain had long been forgotten as well as the memory of him pulling the trigger. He knew he did it but still found it odd that one isolated memory would be gone, the rest being untouched thanks to his abilities.

Matthew stopped walking, seeing a shady, solitary figure ahead of him. There was no need for him to find out who this was. The wolves were lured out, and one was giving the impression that it was alone, waiting for the moment for the prey to get near before the entire pack comes to assault. Matthew smiled, taking steps forward.

"Hey there, Matt. It's not much like you just to be wandering in the open," the figure said, the familiar voice resonating like a cave echo. It had been some time since he had heard that voice. Though, he couldn't put his finger on who it was. Nine years had the tendency to make people forget.

"Well, a nice change of pace is welcome after some time. You should look into it… uhh... Sorry, I forgot your name, man," Matthew said, shoving his hands into his pockets. But sometimes, I want to forget for a reason.

I heard a light chuckle from him, "Don't worry about it." He raised his head of black hair, toned to the style of a crew cut, and revealed his stark face that showed little more than the pure intention of determination. A slight smirk, revealing shiny white teeth, showed only the smallest bit of malice, but Matthew knew better. A name wasn't important if you knew exactly what they did. "I did too, thanks to you," his voice was lined with what Matthew could only assume was pique.

"Heh, I think I remember you now," Matthew said, stepping closer. C'mon you sons of bitches, step out of the shadows already, you're not fooling anyone here. "Colvin, wasn't it? You're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you. I guess Team Saber got your brain up and running."

Colvin's smile wavered, "Sure did, all of 'em did, actually. But I suppose you figured that out thanks to those powers of yours."

Matthew stopped walking forward, there was a good amount of length between him and Colvin but the tension was rising between the two at an exponential rate. "Are you gonna get your grunts to attack or is this gonna be one on one?"

He shrugged, "Doesn't matter, but one way or another, you are coming back to the Deity Lab."

Matthew lost his smile and narrowed his eyes. "Over my dead body," he said through barred teeth.

"I guess that's the hard part, huh?" Colvin was the one who stepped forward this time, his grin widened and discomfort set over Matthew. He stuck two of his fingers in his mouth and whistled.

Matthew jerked his head around, sensing all the grunts in the area that were hidden amongst the abandoned buildings. Then, from behind, a grunt stepped out with a Manectric and launched an attack.

"Thunderbolt! Now!" the grunt yelled, just as Matthew was turning around. The Manectric generated large sparks in its fur and launched out a bolt of lightning directly at Matthew.

It hit him square in the chest and he fell to the street paralyzed, twitching as the electricity surged through him.

Shit… that hurt. C'mon, heal up already Matthew, don't get shocked again. His control came back to him but he remained idle on the ground, he had to be sure about this. He was not going to be taking any risks if he had the possibility of going back to the Deity Lab.

"Shock him again," Colvin's voice drifted over to him.

"Sir?" the grunt said, more footsteps surrounding the voice told Matthew that the others were coming out. And judging by the rough scraping sounds of claws on concrete, their pokemon were coming out too.

"Do it," Colvin said coldly, "make sure he's done."

Hate to burst your bubble but… Matthew jumped up and readied his attack on the surprised Colvin and grunts. His hands and eyes lit up with magenta energy and he focussed it all on the ground. The resounding boom was loud enough to be classified as an explosion but there was no evidence of it.

The grunts were displaced, all of them in the position that Matthew was in a few moments ago. The short lasting earthquake had done its job. Now he was in the clear, they were focussed on him and not where he had been. The tape was safe, at least for now. Hopefully it was enough time for the police to take it, and then just maybe, there was a glimmer of hope for him.

"Hey! Bastard!" Colvin yelled. Matthew turned his head.

He was standing back up, holding a black pistol, not unlike the one Matthew had used recently. His smile was far gone, replaced by the full weight of malice that Matthew remembered all too well. "Lay down the gun, Colvin, I'm just gonna leave."

"Ohh.. Ohh no, you aren't leaving… You've done too much to me without paying for it. That's gonna happen now… You are going to pay for-"

His hand was surrounded by magenta energy and his hand on the gun loosened for it to drop onto the ground. "I'm sorry, but you knew I had to break out and get a head start," Matthew shrugged, "and bullets don't kill me too well, if you remember."

The gun slowly caved in on itself, the energy flowing around it like plasma gradually crushing the plastic and metal into an abstract art sculpture. Colvin turned his eyes up at Matthew, letting out a tiny grin. "Yeah, yeah but paralysis seems to work in our favour."

Matthew only looked inside his head for a second but it was too late as another electric attack caught his backside. His muscles tensed and he once again fell to the ground, desperately trying to hold onto his powers.

It never came to pass, the electricity was keeping his powers from being released and now, just as the effects seemed to be wearing off, another shock hit him on the ground. They weren't letting up this time. But this couldn't be the end, not now. They would not take over his being and force him to be their slave. Not again.

"Zap him again! Don't you dare let him get up!" he heard Colvin scream. A bombardment of electric attacks connected with Matthew's body. The pungent scent of ozone irradiated off his body. He jerked and twitched and yelled out in pain as the electricity burned the lining in his parka and dripped liquid faux fur onto his back.

No… Damn it… I can't let this stop me. Don't black out Matthew, don't let them take you back. But it was so hard, the electricity kept sending the gruesome current through his nerves and pushing him to spaz in the position. All the while, he could slowly but surely hear Colvin's footsteps approaching at a frightening rate. Out of the corner of his eye, the black work boots of the mercenary stepping into view.

"This is only personal, kid. Don't think about it too hard," he said snarkily. While Matthew's ears were far from functioning at peak performance, he could still hear the click of loading a gun. He attempted to brace himself for the pain, but was not able to from the unforgiving attacks.

Agony sprung up in his right shoulder, quickly followed by his left. But the gunshot wounds in either arm were forgotten by the reminder of searing electrical suffering. Just focus, you can get an opening soon, the pokemon ought to get tired sometime. Just don't black out. His sight was getting rather darker than he wanted it to be.

The pokemon couldn't get tired fast enough. Every passing moment the attacks were weaker but his strength had decreased tenfold. His hope was dwindling but still he kept on, even with bullet holes leaking newly spilt blood onto the road and staining the parka a sickly scarlet. The situation he was in was very bad in itself but the Deity Lab was so much worse. Oh Arceus, was it so much worse.

Then it happened, an opening. There was a brief pause in the attacks of the pokemon and he collected as much strength as he could, almost certainly going past the safe amount of energy the body should gather in the window of time he had.

"Why the hell did you stop!? Keep going damn it!" Colvin's voice echoed in his ears.

You got this, just focus, keep focussing until you're far away. And then… Just…

From Colvin's perspective, Matthew had flashed a brilliant cyan then completely disappeared, leaving nothing in his place.

There was no solid emotion in his mind for a second and then-

"That son of a bitch teleported! HE FUCKING TELEPORTED! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS!?" he yelled, making his grunts shudder from his brunt. But in his mind, scared troopers took up none of the space. After nine years of waiting to get payback for what Matthew did, he disappeared.. Rage fuelled fire burned his mind, making him shout profanities to a near infinite extent.

"Sir…" a grunt said, and was given a death glare. He gulped, "He couldn't have gone far, he was weak from the electricity."

Colvin strutted forward and brushed the grunt off with his shoulder, making sure the grunt knew that he still had his gun in hand. He grabbed the grunt on the shoulder and gave him a forced smile. "Yes… Yes, of course… And that would be so nice if it wasn't for the fact that he can fucking heal and teleport another damn time!"

A beep sounded out from Colvin's transceiver and he shoved the grunt away. Team Saber just had to call him now, they had to call him right when he lost Matthew.

He took out his transceiver and held the side button down, "This is Colvin Drinth reporting."

A voice came from the speaker, deep and condescending which didn't help his state of mind. "Have you found NH-3 yet?"

"Yes, sir we have…"

"And…? Have you caught him then?"

He cringed, they would not tolerate what he was about to say. Right after he had begged them to take on this task, just so he could see Matthew again and take his vengeance, he had lost him. No matter how he you looked at it, he was screwed.

"No… He escaped… We got some hits off him but he got away."

There was nothing but static coming from the other end of the channel, as though their connection had been severed but this was very unlikely. Colvin gritted his teeth, Team Saber was probably debating what they would do with him now. He was once the top mercenary for the organization and never failed a task. Then, that one kid, that one damn kid…

"Come back to the Deity Lab, Colvin," the voice said softly, as though acting like a friend, "There's something we need to do."

"Sir, there's a chance that he is still somewhere around the city," Colvin said, not believing his own words. "Just give me a bit of time and…"

"This is non negotiable. Our cameras have yet to detect him regardless. Meet at the rendezvous point." The voice went silent and the static began buzzing again.

A for a second, Colvin was ready to shatter the transceiver on the pavement but resisted; this wouldn't do anything. Team Saber had his fate in their hands and was looking for ways of bending and shaping it into their own version of what they wanted, whatever he did now would only increase the likelihood of a less than pleasant end.

Unless he ran. But it was cowardly, and yet he would be free, at least for some time before Team Saber would inevitably catch him. He would be able to possibly get a job, maybe even one in his line of work and could work up to getting justice against Matthew. It may not be an ideal life, but it was life he could live. And yet…

"Sir, are we going to move out?" a grunt spoke from beside him. Colvin kept his eyes on the ground, watching tiny snowflakes fall and melt on the asphalt. "Sir? Are we-"

"Yes, let's head to the rendezvous," he said quickly, hooking his transceiver back on his belt. He breathed once, and then started forward.

Matthew felt the texture that he was atop change instantaneously from the rock hard concrete to soft but slightly frozen grass. He sighed from the relief of electricity but still felt the melted material from his parka sticking to his back.

The bullet holes that had been inflicted into his shoulders healed at a moderate pace. He soon sat up and carefully took the large winter coat off, feeling the now solidified material peel off from his skin. Once off, he felt his ability switching on and fixing up the damaged flesh. Alleviated, he brought his parka to his eyes and surveyed what was left.

The back had a gaping hole, where he imagined all the material that was once on his back was, and had its edges singed. His long sleeve shirt was much of the same, save for the larger hole. On the inside, there was a mess of milky white goo that was once the inner lining. Needless to say, it was very much totaled.

Matthew sighed, his psychic could keep him warm but his energy would go down much faster. And if he collapsed in the snow, with all his energy gone, then even his healing ability couldn't help.

But he wouldn't have that. Team Saber could not win. No matter the cost he had to stop them. He just had to get another parka from a different city and he would be golden. Teleporting there would take way too much energy however, he would need to walk.

He stood up and took in his surroundings. Right in front of him was a wall of pine trees towering over the clearing he on. Snow cascaded down their needles that formed a soft and gentle ambience, nearly forcing a smile from him. The ground was very much white and cold with a littering of pines scattered amongst the bases of the trees, thinning out near where he was. He turned around and saw the mouth of suburbs just beginning to open a little ways from him, a house sat at the end of an unpaved road and two more could be seen further down. Goldenrod City was beyond that, perhaps two miles away. The teleportation had done its job, albeit a shorter distance than he could be comfortable with. Now he could continue.

He started walking, abandoning his parka. The snow had stopped falling for now, and the wind had ceased blowing in its typical unforgiving manner. For Matthew, this little break in the cycle of shit being thrown at him was met with overwhelming solace.

His boots crunched the snow beneath him, making a shummf noise at every interval of his feet coming down and then wrenching them out with a shhuh sound.

Shummf, shhuh, shummf, shhuh, shummf, shhuh.

The beat was almost relaxing. It made him recall his time with his friends in the band they made. So long ago, such peace.

Shummf, shhuh, shummf, shhuh, shummf, shhuh.

Did he want to go back to that life? Yes, very much so. But he knew that it wasn't possible yet, so he just needed to make the path open for him. And that started with getting a new parka and leaving another message.

Shummf, shhuh, shummf, shhuh, shummf, shhuh.

The amount of messages he needed to leave didn't concern him. If he had to shoot himself in the head a thousand times over to tell people of the danger that was Team Saber, then it was to be done.

Shummf, shhuh, shummf, shhuh, shu-trruh

His mind couldn't process the break in the pattern fast enough before his right foot underneath him was pulled up at lightning speed. A measly scream of surprise shot out from him as his sight turned upside down.

"What the hell!?" he said in the confusion, swinging slightly like a pendulum. Looking up at the situation, his leg was snared in a poacher's knot of all things. Had he seriously just walked into a trap for pokemon? Wherever the hunter was, he hoped they would release him without too much questioning.

Except there wasn't anyone around to his knowledge, any human would have made themselves known by now. It occurred to him the possibility of an automatic system and seeing as that he couldn't detect anyone as of yet, he was relatively safe.

He reached his hand to where the knot was and focussed his powers. He expected the knot to unravel any second and he would come crashing down but… nope.

You're still surprised from the trap, just try again, he assured himself. And so he tried harder and managed to get a spark of psychic energy to be emitted from his hand before being doused quickly. There he was left with his hand extended to his feet, a strained expression being shown on his face and being hung two feet off the ground by a simple rope. He felt really stupid, as though he was missing something.

Oh, forget it. He abandoned his first plan and reached his arm up to the knot, being barely out of reach. He turned his head up, trying to get a better view. His arm stretched relentlessly and he swore he would pull a muscle very soon but he only managed to brush against the very edge of the rope.

"Come on… You gotta be kidding-" he was whispering to himself before he felt something sharp poke the top of his head and he let himself drop in shock. Once he recovered, he didn't like what he saw.

A Lucario was standing before him, holding a sharpened spear that it had directed right between his eyes. Slowly, Matthew raised his hands up (down?) and gulped audibly.

"Oh shit," he said, less audibly.

Well, first chapter done. Hope you enjoyed and see you next time. Please leave review if you enjoyed.

Peace!

-Minusbomb