The desert sands crunched under the single wheel of the oddly-constructed, but massive and powerful motorcycle. On it rode a man of about twenty-five. Spiky white hair fluttered in the wind, and under his eyes were two white tribal stripes. Behind him flapped a long blue-ish coat, and at his hip was a belt of six red and white balls.

Balazar walked past the ruins of the ancient Orre Colosseum. Constructed by the Seven Tribes almost a thousand years ago, the ruins still held contests for the strongest trainers in Orre. Somehow it had survived the desertification, and the collapse of the government, more than the old town of Pyrite.

The region of Orre had once been a tropical paradise. Hundreds of Pokemon had lived there, and there was hardly any crime or war. The government made sure of that, building huge Colosseums in the capital of Pyrite and the outlying cities of Phenac and Realgemea. There the disputes were settled with high-stakes Pokemon battles.

But the nation had over-taxed itself. The factories and power plants that fueled the expansion eventually turned the air black and the forests died out, lush green turning to the dun of sand. The Pokemon fled, most dying out. Only a few species made it across the Tractless Sea that separated Orre from the rest of the world.

Without any power, the government collapsed. The cities took control of themselves, and while they generally kept to themselves in peace, they did have spats of violence occasionally. What few remaining Pokemon became the friends of trainers, and were put to difficult, dangerous double battles.

Pyrite, once the capital, slid into disrepair. The Colosseum started breaking apart, and the populace left it, having no funds to rebuild. From this power vacuum, CIPHER emerged.

CIPHER was a group that was actually founded by the remnants of the old nation. They wanted their power back, and they would not stop at anything. One of their plans was the SHADOW Pokemon.

SHADOWs were Pokemon whose hearts, the link to the cosmic vibrations around them, had been closed off from that vibration. They were filled with hatred and pain, and this drove them to fight with a fury unmatched, especially to any non-SHADOWs. CIPHER had been beaten back, driven to its knees five years prior, by the man whose boots now touched the far edges of the Orre region.

- His coat was tattered at the edge where the dust and wind and sand had eaten away at it. His goggles were in a state of disrepair; one of the lenses had broken, and the other was cracked at one side. He was a broken man; they had his wife, his little son, and they had promised him that they would not put a second thought into slitting their throats if he didn't obey. Not many people outside of Snagem had the bikes they rode, and not many had the kind of mobility that racing over the desert on one. At his hip were the same six balls, but the red paint had been scoured away, and the spheres were dented and dinged. Strapped to his back, however, was the most strange, macabre, and disturbing thing most had seen.

In a large, slightly blue tinted, liquid-filled container was a large, six-chambered, still-beating heart. It thumped up against the sides rhythmically, sound ever reminding the man of his ultimatum: deliver XD001's heart to Outrim Station, then leave Orre in the Deathly Desert and never return. His wife and son would never be released, but they would live their lives in comfort. And he would be an exile, never to return to his home, not even in death.

They had wanted to remove XD001's heart and destroy it, forever ending any hope of purifying it and releasing it from CIPHER. However, to destroy the heart was to end any of the beast's power; they stemmed from the connection to the vibration of the cosmos. To have the power of the beast's psychic mind, the heart would have to stay.

After it had been surgically removed, it was replaced by an advanced machine that kept pace with the monster's exertions, much like a regular heart. The real, biological heart was to be kept alive in Outrim Station, an unknown place in the desert used to test CIPHER's weapons and artillery crews. There it would stay forever, beating in a slow, regular, unchanging pace for eternity… The man's name was Wesley.

- Balazar took off the belt that held his Pokeballs and looked at the purple one specifically. Inside this Master Ball rested the monster Greevil had created: XD001, SHADOW Lugia. The great sea Pokemon had been twisted, forced to do evil for the evil organization. He shook the little ball around in his palm, tilting it between fingers, until he finally came to a decision. He donned his gear and stepped out of the lab into the courtyard.

He took out the little ball and pressed the tiny button in the center. Instantly the ball shook, then the top half sprung open as a beam of blue-white energy sizzled out, and then materialized into the legendary Pokemon Lugia. Except this…monster…wasn't Lugia.

Instead of the holy blue and white, this Lugia was a purple and a light grey, with spiky claws and bladed eye-ridges. And instead of sea blue, soft eyes, these eyes burned red, indescribable hatred of the world, and especially of him. Balazar, however, held his ground under that stare, and then rushed the Pokemon before it could do anything to counter.

- I came out of the poorly simulated digital universe of the Ball and materialized back into the Real universe. Now I could feel the wind on my skin, the ruffle of the breeze slide over my hide.

Then I noticed the…human…at my feet. I glared at the scum. His kind had taken everything from me! My memories, my Nest, my compassion, my soul…even my heart! They had literally ripped my body apart and ripped out my still-beating heart, then replaced it with their foul machine. Even now I felt the thing trying to keep up with the hormones my hatred-addled brain was sending.

Then the boy embraced me. I looked down in shock. What human had embraced me since….? When was the last time I was embraced? Who was I?

I felt the tears run on my skin. The boy was crying, but for whom? Certainly it couldn't...could it be? Was he actually crying for me?

I tried to speak to him, but the tampering with my Being had made it impossible, no matter how hard I tried. Infuriated, I let out a roar, and then looked at the human to see how he reacted. He had jumped, but otherwise still stayed attached to me.

I had no patience for this lovey-dovey bullshit. I picked him up with my psychic powers, lifted him a few feet, and then dropped him. He hit the ground with a dusty thump, and then I turned away. I tried to hide the long, jagged scar on the left side of my ribcage.

- Balazar groaned as he stood up. The SHADOW Lugia had rejected him, and now sat, hunched over, in a corner of the courtyard, in the darkest shade. "Shit…" he muttered.

But something was wrong. In the moment before he had hit the ground, he had noticed a long white scar on the Lugia's ribcage….right over where the heart would be.

He took out another Ball, and let out his Umbreon. He told her to try to get close to the SHADOW Lugia, and then left the matter in her capable paws. He went to go look for Professor Krane.

- Outrim Station was a hunkered down, wind-scoured building that was carved into the side of the sandstone pillars that were unique to Orre, and marked its border. He cut the engine on his bike and heaved the heavy cylinder with him to the door. He keyed in the code, but the door never opened. All it did was grind and squeal in its tracks.

He unstrapped the cylinder's pack and placed it gently on the ground. Then Wesley turned and faced the door. What he didn't notice was the tiny trickle of water that had seeped from a broken external cistern pipe. The water made contact with the cylinder, and the heart inside immediately began to pump a little harder. Not enough to be of major importance, but enough to carry out its intended task. Even an organ of a psychic had some small power.

While this phenomenon occurred behind him, Wesley faced the door. He leaned back, and with a hoarse roar, kicked his thick-soled boot into the door. It snapped off of its tracks and toppled inwards. He entered slowly, and pulled out his flashlight. Flicking it on, he saw walls splattered with blood, blood everywhere. Bodies were piled in the center of the room, with one tied to the main table. In the man's chest, an insignia that Wesley wasn't familiar with was carved, brutally and bloodily. Furniture was shattered, and the lights now started to flicker.

He turned to leave, and was met by a man who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He swung a large club at Wes, who ducked and snapped a finger stab to the man's ribs. He went down, struggling to breathe.

Wes rushed out to see another bike race away, this one with a familiar canister lashed to the back wheel. "No!" Wes screamed. That was his wife and son's only lifeline. He leapt on his bike, fired it up, and charged off in hot pursuit.