Thanks to all who read this piece. I've been away from Fanfiction for a while, but I just had to type this up. Let me know if this should remain a Oneshot.

Note: I don't own Pokemon.

The skies of Vermilion City were painted a marvelous blue, filled of clouds and birds.

This bar, he thought, was the exact opposite from the outside. A black counter was in the right half of the room, covered in passed out or intoxicated men. The floors hadn't been swept in ages, with a mysterious stain across the room. The tables all had a thick layer of dirt to them, and the actual chairs were broken. The only artificial light source was a swinging light-bulb hanging on the ceiling.

He sat in his own booth. The restaurant wasn't the most extravagant place in the world, he thought. Drunks sat all along the dark wood counter, where a man would gladly take their money for more ale. The man in this situation was old, at least old enough to retire. His one working eye was a dead black color, while the other was white without life.

"Hey Mac," one of the drunks called to the old man. "Gimme another round over here."

The one in the booth eyed Mac, as he walked around from his previous position behind the counter to the front. The man who summoned him had no more than twenty years, yet he drank like he was a professional. He was a regular in the bar, yet he didn't look it at all.

"Alright, Jeff. What'll it be?" Mac spoke with the sound of a tired soul, wishing to go home and rest.

Jeff had a strong contrast from Mac, as the person in the booth noticed. A Vermilion dockworker, Jeff had muscle mass that would scare even the burliest man. Jeff's beard had the thickness of a wooly mammoth coat. Mac, on the other hand, had a receding white hairline and an extremely skinny physique.

"Bloody Mary," Jeff ordered. "…The usual."

Mac prepared to turn back to the sink and prepare the guest's drink when Jeff noticed somebody in the bar. The sailor tapped Mac on the shoulder, with a thumb pointed to a booth in the corner. There sat a youth covered by a dark cloak, and nothing ordered yet. Mac nonchalantly peered over.

I've been noticed, he thinks. He wore a black trench coat with the only thing uncovered being his backpack. The hood had been pulled up. Jeff estimated the kid stood at just past five feet. He sat looking oblivious to his surroundings.

"It looks like a little kid, Jeff," the bartender went back to his work at the counter.

Jeff saw his opportunity to make some extra cash. He wasn't a professional mugger, but Jeff's brawn easily made his appearance scary. Flexing his muscles, the sailor strode across the bar to the booth.

Now standing over the child, Jeff smacked his open palm on the table. The cloaked stranger there gave no response. Jeff waited a moment, then proceeded to use a verbal assault.

"Hey kid," Jeff began with an abundant supply of false bravado. "This is my bar, get it? There's a cover fee to get in of, oh say…fifteen hundred bucks. My bartender pal says you've yet to pay. Is this true, kid?"

Mac turned from behind the counter, noticing the mischief about to go down. Jeff merely waved him away. The kid in the booth still didn't stir.

Suddenly, the youth's shoulder was firmly gripped. Jeff held him there with a force no child could hope to match. To Jeff's surprise, his victim still stayed put. He spoke one sentence with a monotone voice. The voice sounded young, still in his youth, but with masculine confidence.

"Touch me again…and that hand will be the next ingredient in this bar's sad excuse for a soup."

Jeff jumped back as if he had been punched. He heard the drunks back at the counter gave hoots of laughter, but Jeff ignored their commentary. Instead, Jeff decided he would resort to his old fashioned way of solving issues. Jeff would kill the boy and take whatever money he had, as thanks for humiliating him so. He reached to his belt and withdrew a small sphere. It shone a brilliant crimson, with red paint on one half of the ball and white on the other. A circular lock held the contraption together. The one at the booth knew the weapon well: it was a Pokeball.

Jeff hurled his Pokeball at the ground so hard that the chairs trembled. It smacked onto the floor, and bounced back up into Jeff's hand with the same force. In its place now was a white light, which quickly took form. Standing before the youth at the table now was a blue man with muscles that made Jeff look like a child. Instead of hair, it had three round ridges. It wore a brown fighting belt, giving away it's identity. Jeff had summoned a Machoke.

Before Mac could utter his complaint about bar brawling, the sailor uttered a command to his Pokemon. "Machoke," he called. "Smash that twerp into next week! Seismic toss!"

Another flash of light appeared on the ground. This one was not of white light, but of a Magenta color. The instant that the light faded, Machoke was no longer in front of its owner.

Machoke was impaled across the wall, stuck in a giant crevice. Jeff noticed this only after the other drunks had stopped drinking in favor of watching the events. Jeff turned to his fallen ally, but quickly turned back and saw something nobody ever thought would be seen again.

The kid stood up, with his own fighter perched upon his shoulder: Pigeot, a large bird with talons that could rip an opponent apart. It's long, multicolor feathers signaled skill no grounded combatant could compare to.

He had a familiar look, one known by every man across Kanto. He had spiky brown hair, dark brown eyes…and a red cap.

Mac noticed who was in his bar long before the other drunks did. "…Red? It cannot be…"

Jeff made an attempt at intimidating his opponent further. "No," his voice quivered. "Red died three years ago, at Mount Silver..!"

Everyone knew the story of the original Pokemon Master, Red. Red quickly rose to fame, defeating the Kanto Gym Leaders in record time. He put a stop to any and all plans Team Rocket ever attempted, and he was the first to defeat the Elite Four. From there, Red ventured into the Johto region, where he took solitude at Mount Silver. Children looked up to him as a hero, and the ladies all swooned for the guy. Too bad he was twelve.

Red received a challenge from a trainer from foreign land, a trainer called Gold. A child as well, he bore sixteen badges and had foiled Team Rocket alone. A match inevitably ensued. Gold emerged victorious, and took his title as the Pokemon Master. Gold went on to defeat the Hoenn league, the Battle Frontier, the Indigo Plateu, and become the most anticipated fighter in the Pokemon Coliseum in Orre.

As for Red, he vanished for three years. New heroes attempted to take his place, but none managed to fill the void of a true warrior of right in the world. Most thought Red committed suicide after his only defeat.

The boy smiled to himself, staring at the floor. All eyes were on him. No more than fifteen, he had a commanding presence among any crowd. Jeff remained spellbound.

"No," the boy finally spoke, stroking his Pokemon. "Red was the name of the boy who was powerless against Gold…"

Everybody in the bar held his or her breath.

"You may call me…FireRed."

Jeff stood two feet over this child, yet knew he was hopelessly outmatched. Even if he was Red, Jeff still had no power.

The one called FireRed calmly walked outside, towards the door. Nobody tried to stop him from leaving. Mac continued to eye this new, mysterious trainer. Was it really Red, back from the grave?

FireRed said one final thing, standing in the bar door.

"And I am going to destroy Gold."

With that, the trainer exited the bar. Silence continued to claim the room, and Machoke still hung in the wall. Jeff suddenly collapsed, and fell to the floor. He wore an expression of utter disbelief. Did he just try to mug the legendary trainer Red?

He knew one thing was for sure: the world was on the verge of change once again. With the re-emergence of a hero, something must be up…something more than simple vengeance.

Mac merely shook his head. He called to the sailor who lay on the floor.

"Hey, Jeff?"

"…Yeah?"

"All out of Bloody Mary. Want a regular beer instead?"

Fin