Alright! Since I'm a completely new author and this is my first fic, this is the part where I introduce myself. If you want to skip the boring part and go straight to the fic then scroll down to the big bold number one that signifies the beginning of the chapter.

Firstly I would like to say that constructive criticism is always welcome, and that flamers can kiss my ass.

I would also like to thank some of the authors on this site for their excellent works of fiction. If you haven't read Pokemon: Revival of Aura by ShootingShadow, Limit's End by Complete Hollow and Naito Writer, Choice and Destiny by Russell B. T. Kirkpatrick, the many works of Fujin of Shadows and Johan07, or Destruction's of One's Heart by Thomas3Garchomp then go read them before you read this. It is stories like these that inspired me to try to write in the first place. You may also notice some references in this fic to Yu Yu Hakusho and Naruto, two excellent animes.

So please enjoy Angel in the Machine. Review if you feel like it, and let me know if you think I should continue with it.

DISCLAIMER: All characters, plot lines, and concepts within the Pokemon universe are the intellectual property of their respective owners, licensers and distributers. The author of this fanfiction makes no claim to own any part of the Pokemon franchise and generates no income thereby. This fanfiction is free of charge, and if you have paid for it then you are a victim of fraud.

1-Advent

"The past leaves innumerable scars on us all. We can run from them, try to hide them... but we can never escape them. We can only live with what we've done and hope that that horrible certainty doesn't crush us in the end."

-Ash Ketchum

It can be a funny thing, a photograph.

It's the sum of its parts- paper and stain. It doesn't matter whether it's an interesting result of a silver chromate emulsion or if it's millions of pixels that have been told to get up and glow; it's all just physics. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't hurt.

But it does.

The photograph shows a woman. She is beautiful, but not in a stunning way—she's just very pretty and obviously very happy. Her brown hair, worn in a ponytail, is shifted slightly, suggesting wind. This impression is confirmed by the billowing of the white sundress that she wears. She smiles at the camera, her blue eyes shining with the happiness of a young mother.

In her arms is the boy.

While the woman's age is indeterminate (one could say twenty-eight and be off by a decade in either direction) the boy's is a little more certain. He's young—he must be, as he can only remember the woman in the vaguest of terms. Only two or three then, far too young to remember the photo... but old enough to remember what happened after.

He doubts that he will ever forget that, as hard as he tries.

Mom was a contrast in terms. It was horrible to remember her like that, but it wasn't as if I could help it. White and red, happy and sad, cold and warm. Well. She was cold. It was her blood that was warm. Her dark red blood all over the cold white snow, and all over me. She was happy too, in a weird way, because she knew that they wanted me alive. She was happy because I had a future, even if it was a god-awful one. She was sad because she knew she wouldn't be there to see it.

She even smiled at me through the blood and the pain. That must have been hard. I could see that she wanted to reassure me and tell me that everything would be alright—but even if that hadn't been a lie she couldn't have done it. The lights in her eyes faded... and then went out. She was dead. The only person who had ever loved me was dead. And behind me the... thing... that had killed her moved.

Movement was bad enough, I didn't want the damned thing getting any closer to me or to her. But what happened next was worse. It made me realize that I wasn't dealing with a force or an accident; I was dealing with a thinking being. Something had consciously made the decision to murder my mother.

It spoke. It picked me up by my neck, smiled at me, and spoke. Just one word, but it was the most frightening moment of my life.

"Mine."

I woke up screaming, which actually isn't that unusual for me. In my first year at the orphanage, some of the older kids had tried to prank me in my sleep, and I nearly beat one of them to death before I'd fully woken up. Gary says that I'm "asymptotically neurotic"... which, come to think of it, is a fairly technical term for a guy who devotes his entire life to the pursuit of sex. He probably looked the words up in a dictionary to sound smart.

The sounds of the orphanage in morning mode begin to filter into my consciousness. Crying from the younger kids, sleepy cries of "Shut the fuck up!" from the older kids, the occasional yawn... pretty much the same as any day. It wasn't actually a bad place to live once you got used to it. It had been worse when I first arrived but the patient teachings of Michael and the sheer volume of insanity-fuelled ass-whuppings I had passed out in my first few years had calmed things down significantly. Michael was the oldest among us, and sort of an unofficial guardian. Whichever governmental branch saw to it that we were fed on a semi-regular basis was completely faceless, and although Michael was old enough to leave he stayed to help us out. He was patient and tolerant, and was always trying to get us to get along. As for me... well, let's just say that I was not the most stable of people when I first came here. I managed to stop most of the fighting though... eventually. There was actually a massive increase in fighting the month after I came here, followed by an even greater drop. I guess nearly biting someone's ear off meant that most people knew that I was more trouble than I was worth. Five years later and I was one of the older orphans in the place, so I tried to keep an eye out for the younger kids. I'm actually pretty fond of kids—adults hate me and people my own age tend to fear me.

Well, most people. There are a few that tolerate me, and that's why I'm rushing to get out. Misty gets pissed if I'm late, and, while I don't care much about school, a pissy Misty is nothing to look forward to. I should know. I am the world expert at getting her angry, which sort of requires me to be the world expert in knowing when I can get away with it. Those who don't know when they can get away with it (her sisters come rather forcibly to mind) don't tend to last long. Female compassion is an ephemeral, transient thing, but a mallet is a mallet.

Misty and I were actually best friends, to the shock of all who knew us. Outsiders only saw the bickering, the well constructed, logical arguments (me) and the childish obstinacy (Misty). They also saw us as complete, social opposites with Misty being rich (compared to me), good at school (compared to me) and attractive (again, compared to me. Most people look good compared to me, the assholes). I was... me. Ash. A loser and a freak to those who didn't know me and an unstable freak to those who did. But Mist was more like me in the ways that counted. She didn't let assholes tell her who to be, she wasn't afraid to stand up for what she believed in, and she was stubborn as all hell. Despite this, she could be incredibly kind and caring if you got her in the right mood.

Not that I'd ever tell her that. I was having much too much fun bickering with her to get all serious.

You speak of the devil, and there she is. At 5'7" she wasn't the tallest girl on earth, but it was easy to lose track of that when she was angry. She was also a half-inch taller than me... for now. Stupid girls. Stupid puberty.

She was dressed well, but still forwent a skirt—I guess pants were just one more way of telling the world not to assume she was weak. I knew a defence mechanism when I saw one. She had, however, started to wear her hair down about a year ago; instead of the side-ponytail thing she had kept it in when we were kids. Gary had made one crack about it being called "Ash's handlebar" and the next day he was in the hospital and the ponytail was gone.

She looks pissed off as I sneak up on her from behind, and I can hear her muttering.

"Where the hell is he? He had better not skip again!"

I come up behind her, slip my arms under hers so she can't hit me, and cover her eyes. She stiffens immediately getting ready to either scream or (more likely) bite.

"Okay, you get three guesses... and I'm not Batman."

She relaxes as soon as she hears my voice. I let her go and she whirls around, half angry, half laughing.

"You're right. You're just an asshole."

Misty smiles at me, and I know then I'm safe. I was worried there for a second. After I grabbed her she seemed redder than usual. I had assumed anger, but maybe she was just embarrassed at being caught off guard.

We walked to class together. I try to skip when I can—our kindly, loving government doesn't really give a shit if AK117-261-338 (yours truly) shows up or not, however ditching class in front of Misty is a sure-fire recipe for pain. As the class representative, it is her duty to "ensure the respect of all students towards blah blah stop skipping Ash!" I get the same lecture every time.

We get a few odd looks as we walk down the hall, but no one talks to us. Alright, correction, no one talks to me. Misty just happens to be caught in my "don't approach the loser" zone. She actually has plenty of friends; it's just that a lot have them have heard the rumours of what I was like after the... incident... and so spend most of their time surreptitiously trying to find out if I'm beating her. I don't know why, anyone who tries to rape Misty is going to find out what it feels like to be stabbed in the face with the remains of their own genitals.

Eugh. What an image.

Anyway, the point is that most of Misty's friends won't go near me except to make sure Misty's OK. Well, none of them except-

"Hey Ash. I see you've got on your best morning scowl. So are you trying to scare children and bruise fruit or does it just happen?"

Gary Motherfriggin' Oak .

"You wanna see bruises then just keep talking Gary."

"Ooh someone's angry." he smarms up to me. Don't ask me how anyone can smarm, he just does. "You seem tense man. Lose the edge."

Gary is a playboy's playboy. He charms women a decade older than him, which is actually sort of creepy. Being the grandson of a famous researcher, and a rich one at that, did not hurt. Misty and I had a bet on what STD he'd die of first. Whichever one it was, I hope it hurt.

But he was still a friend... sort of.

In the end he walked to class with us. I was now getting death glares from the entire student body. I guess losers aren't supposed to walk with the popular set, even if they are as weird as me. Ok, fine, I get it, I'm weird! How am I supposed to change if everyone assumes I can't?

Class was probably about the same. I say probably because I didn't really listen. History of the alliance, advanced tactical theory, Ki manipulation, release manifestation... half of it I knew and the other half didn't apply to me. I may not be the greatest student of earth, but I learned long ago what to listen to and what to tune out. I knew most tactics like the back of my hand, as well as a few things you can only pick up on the street. Fighting fair is for people who like picking their teeth up out of the gutter.

As for Ki... I'd never been able to use it. The manipulation of internal energies was apparently something I couldn't do. No flames from my fingertips or swords made of light for Ash... which was probably for the best. I was prohibited from entering official academy battles which led those who didn't know me to look down on me. The consensus seemed to be "He's weak but crazy. Stay away." Even for people I'd beaten up in the past. I can say this for not having Ki, you sure learn to deal with pain fast. As if I'd needed more lessons for that.

The day finally ended. I usually go back to the orphanage straight after, but Misty said she had something to show me after sports. She's on the swim team and she's always practicing. I find just watching it exhausting, so I went to go check on my pokemon while she swam.

After she was finished we started walking. She actually lived in dorms, but being male I couldn't follow her in there, and I don't let her come to the orphanage for obvious reasons. I like to walk around town though, and Misty and I don't really have much time to hang out anymore. She works her ass off and I try to avoid people, so it's no surprise that we've been spending less and less time together. There's also the fact that puberty has made things... weird between us. I hope Mist doesn't become like her sisters. I've never met them, but I hear the stories, and I'm just not sure how long I could talk about shoes. Ten seconds is my current guess. I noticed that our walk was taking us deeper into what passes for a shopping district in Pallet.

Later, after my life started taking some odd fucking turns, I would wonder what would have happened if I'd let Mist go home alone. I would have lost a friend, and maybe nothing else would have changed... but I can't help wondering if things could have been different. I don't regret it, it just makes me wonder.

The first sign I had of any weirdness was the pulse. Misty was ahead of me, her orange hair awash with the glow of the setting sun. I was just about to call out to her when the whole world tilted, and flashed a weird shade of blue. I staggered, trying to keep myself upright. Black lines crept into the edge of my vision. I looked up at Misty-

The girl is dead.

What?

The girl is dead. She just doesn't know it yet.

Am I hearing things now?

I can taste the death on her. Her agony will be beautiful.

What the fuck was this?

Misty turns around to me and smiles a little worriedly. "What's the matter slowpoke?"

I wasn't listening to Misty. I had just seen the car. Jet black and threatening, it was bearing down on her with a speed I knew I couldn't match. The idiot driving was going much too fast, and probably wouldn't even know Misty was there until he killed her.

I started to run. I shouted something incoherent. Misty began to turn, but she'd never have time to move.

You want to save her?

I have to.

Use me.

I can't let her die!

Need me.

Shitshitshit I am so not going to make this.

Embrace me.

I gathered up all my energy for one desperate dive.

Unleash me.

I felt power course through me. Somehow I had gotten to Misty and thrown her clear. Of course, on the downside that meant I was right in front of the car. I only had enough time for one moment of triumph before an incredible pain lanced through my body. The last thing I remember was hearing laughter. Laughter and screaming.

Then the world turned black and mercifully, I passed out.

The man stood on the hill overlooking the city. With his face covered it was impossible to tell his age or his looks, put he managed to convey a sense of intimidating power nonetheless.

Just as the sun was setting, he felt it. A surge of power. He had come here knowing something important was coming. He didn't know what, but he had the unpleasant suspicion that he was about to find out.

His pokemon, who up until this point had been lying quietly by his side, spoke in his mind.

Master, it has begun.

The man sighed.

I know, old friend. May the gods have mercy on us, I know.