I'd been screaming at my Croconaw – it had torn a strip out of one of my pairs of pants, a new set that I'd just bought (it's true, I don't steal EVERYTHING I own) – when Eevee came scrambling into the cave as fast as it could. Its paws scratch lightly against the soft stone ground, pushing up puffs of dirt in its wake. Growlithe comes bounding after it, much to my dissatisfaction. Both are quite excited, yipping back and forth to one another.

(Croconaw uses the distraction to waddle its way out of the cave. I can hear it snickering as it goes, but catch only a brief glimpse of brown corduroy trailing around the mouth of the cave. For something with such stubby legs it sure is fast.)

"Whaddya want?" I grunted, pulling on a different pair of slacks. I disliked these, as they bore a few holes; but a fray here and there is always preferable to a missing crotch.

As always the Pokemon are uncommunicative. What else do I expect? All they can do was bark at me. Eevee zips around behind my leg and tries valiantly to push me forward, which, given its small size, is rather difficult. Instead I pick it up, stroke its fur, wrinkle my nose at the dampness of said fur ("What the hell have you been into today?"), and peer at Growlithe with critical eyes. It raises one paw in the air, as if to beckon me after it, and dashes back out of the cave. Eevee punctuates Growlithe's lead by nuzzling my arm with its nose.

"Ahhh, fine… better not be a waste of time, though, I was just getting ready for breakfast…"

And so I have been. According to my watch it is seven in the morning. I usually refrain from training until nine, and spend the time beforehand reading and eating. Today, though, I pull on my boots (my shoes were swallowed by mud long ago) and trek out of the cave.

It is the middle of summer, now, and the air is humid. Storm clouds off in the distance tell me that today will be like any other day around Vermillion. I have a hankering to pull my shirt off but refrain from doing so, as the mosquitoes in the early morning will eat me alive.

(As always I wonder if you could catch a mosquito in a Poke Ball. Somebody has to ask these questions, y'know.)

Growlithe leads me on through the tall grass, past groups of skittish Paras and a few brazen Spearow, to a clearing that I've often trained in. It boasts a small hillock that proves a superior choice to sloshing about in the muck all day.

Today, however, it is occupied by an unexpected visitor: a gangly, middle-aged man with wrinkled skin and light blonde hair. He has a pair of ridiculously long boots on, and is propped up on a cane embedded deep in the wet dirt of the hill. He looks to be sleeping.

I've not seen this man before, yet like all local trainers he looks prepared for the elements. His shoulders and neck are protected by a thick poncho. Maybe he doesn't get out often? Either way, I'm already hyped to challenge this new man, in the hopes that he might (though I can't expect that Surge would arrange a replacement older than himself) be the new gym leader.

"Hey! Hey, old man!" I called out. "Wake up!"

The man doesn't bat an eyelash, but responded promptly. "Oh, so you're here, then?" He yawned and smacked his lips.

Growlithe comes to a rest at my heels and looks up at Eevee. I refuse to let Eevee down, despite its best attempts to get back to terra firma. I'll resist their friendship as best I can. "You sound like you expected me."

"Oh, I did, I did. If you're the one I'm expecting, that is." He opens one eye, looked me over, and closes it again. "Yep, that's you."

I tense, but only for a moment. Apparently my reputation had preceded me. "Guess I made more of an impact than I thought."

"Did you ever, young man. The Early Morning Club sends its regards, by the way."

"The Early Morning Club? What kind of retarded name is that?"

The man straightens and swings his cane around. He was watching me, now, full of merriment. "It's matter-of-fact, that's all. And I'm one of the founding members."

"So you're to thank for the dumb name, then."

"Only partially. I'll admit that it lacks flare, but nobody's awake to criticize us most of the time, so. You know."

"Not really."

"Ah, kids these days. . ." The man extends his free hand; clutched tightly in his fingers is a Poke Ball. "Allow me to get to the point. We of the Early Morning Club wish to challenge you to a series of duels."

"Gee, I'm flattered. A bunch of old men want to pick on a fifteen-year-old."

"Actually, if I remember correctly, you're sixteen, now. Your birthday was last week."

I stop cold. Tension runs thick in my blood; and, soon, it is joined by anger. "How. . . how the hell do you know that?"

"We've been checking up on you. News travels quickly in this world, and it's good to be prepared when it comes knocking on your doorstep. Particularly when said news is as brutal as you're purported to be."

My reputation really has preceded me, but I'm beginning to think it had been spread by Brock, not the trainers of Vermillion. I want to snap at the man but he cuts me off.

"I can practically see the veins popping in your head, young man. Calm yourself! I'm not here to chastise you for your misdeeds! Rather, I'm here to present you with an opportunity!"

I force my rage down, and at the same time wonder when I'd developed such a temper. I'd never thrown hissy fits as a kid. "What. . . kind, of opportunity?"

"We of the Early Morning Club have a close association with Vermillion's gym. Or, more specifically, with its new leader. He is amongst our ranks."

I'm cooled by this revelation. It explains their knowledge of my past battles, and excites me with its prospects. "Is he, now."

"He is. He has learned of your reputation and would enjoy battling you. And he knows all too well that you must do so outside official gym protocol, which is something he revels in. He is not one to follow the rules."

"Somebody after my own heart."

"Indeed." The man stifles another yawn. "He has decided, however, to impose a restriction upon your battling him."

"And what's that?"

"First I must explain the nature of the Early Morning Club, I think."

I sniff. This is going to be boring. Eevee continues to fidget in my arms, and I, annoyed, drop it to the ground, where it playfully attacks Growlithe. Somewhere off in the distance I can hear the heavy crashing of grass, and know it to be Pinsir, stomping about and looking for breakfast. It must be in a foul mood, as it now usually hunts in relative silence.

"Normally trainers begin their wilderness hunting around nine or ten in the morning. I'm sure, having lived out here, that you know this well."

"Sure, why not."

"We of the Early Morning Club are dedicated battlers, like the rest of you; however we prefer the calm of the dawning day to fighting in the midst of the afternoon drag. We find our minds work best if we battle shortly after waking up, which, I'll admit, comes exceedingly early in the morning."

"How early?"

"Three-thirty."

"Even in the winter?"

"We haven't been around long enough to test that." The man smirked.

"You're crazy either way."

"Possibly so. At any rate, we find the still air conducive to clearing our thoughts and training our Pokemon. And so our leader, the head of the gym whom you so desperately seek-"

"That's an assumption."

"A correct one."

"Meh."

"- would like you to battle us in the morning. All four of us."

"Huh? I don't mind beating the rest of you up, but I only really want to fight the gym leader. You're free to take offence to that."

"Fighting the other three members of the Early Morning Club is amongst his conditions for engaging you in the first place. If you do not, he will refuse to reveal himself."

"So I have to beat the other three of you before he'll take me on?"

"Correct."

"Anything else?"

"Yes. You must find and defeat us all before nine o'clock. Once it is past nine we all go home for the day."

"Wait, 'find'? I have to look around this soggy hellhole for all three of you?"

"Yes, indeed. Consider finding me a freebie."

"That's bullcrap."

"That's the world you live in, young man." A sly look seeps into his crinkled cheeks. "The moment you decided to assault Gym Leader Brock is the moment you stepped outside mainstream Pokemon battles. Now you must fight under specialized rules. Trust me, our leader could have chosen much more difficult conditions for combat."

I knew it was true. My hasty nature had cost me. But what do I care of such things? I am who I am, and I'm happy with that. There's lots of people out there who can claim to some kind of moral superiority but who are completely fake. At least I'm true to myself.

Aren't I?

"Have you nodded off, young man?"

I shook my head. "No, I was just contemplating how badly I'm going to beat you. Ready to lose?"

"Perhaps I am. Is a one-on-one battle sufficient?"

"Sure, whatever. Do your worst, pops."

"As you wish." The old man tosses his Poke Ball, I order Eevee forward, and our match begins.

--

Since this battle will practically take care of itself, I think it's time to address a matter of some concern to myself, that being my memory.

I've begun to notice considerable gaps in my memories. Not that they weren't there before, of course; I know all too well that the time at which I first met my Eevee is spotty, at best.

Yet there's more to it, now. I've begun to notice that I can't remember what it was like living with Eevee at first. Details of our life together are in my brain, but they float about in some sort of amorphous mess. It's a jumble of images and feelings that don't manage to join together very well.

For example, I don't remember what happened when I brought Eevee home that first time. What was my mother's reaction? Had she been angered? That sounded like her, but. . . she could have been happy, too. Memories of my mother are fleeting. (Which is weird, since she's alive and well in Viridian.) And what was my father's reaction? Had he welcomed Eevee with open arms?

What had my father done?

I seem to remember him doing something terrible. But was that right away? Or had he waited a while?

I just don't remember.

I wish I could ask Eevee. Surely it knows.

Maybe then it could tell me why it slashed my chest. I know it broke my arm, so it must have done that to my chest, too. Maybe then it could apologize, and we could be friends again, and we'd be able to move on from all this.

Why did Eevee hurt me? I know it had been out of control, but which of its evolutions comes complete with razor-sharp claws?

--

I leave my self-revelry to discover that the battle has, indeed, handled itself. Eevee's opponent – a Weepinbell – lies crushed into the mud outside the clearing. Eevee is pummelling it with vicious hind kicks. The man, far from his previous bravado, is pleading with me to stop hurting his Weepinbell.

"Enough, Eevee," I whisper, though distractedly. Its ears prick up and it comes galloping over to me, a bit of greenish juice (plant blood, maybe?) on its snout.

The man is rushing over to his fallen Pokemon. His eyes are wide open, now.

"So where's the next of you losers?" I inquire casually, watching Eevee, wondering again and again why it is so damn vicious.