Never had Red witnessed a place so colorless as this.
It was so stark from the sunflower carpet on the above floor. It was dirty, yet clean— clinical, almost. The walls were milky, but the floor was moldy: not quite grey, but not quite green. Not quite clean, but not dirty. The tiles were made of dusty celadon, and Red hated it.
The hollow echo on the walls; the empty buzz of the fluorescent lights; the metallic smell of machinery— it had begun to make him sick, and he only just arrived. His fingertips still rested on the staircase’s banister. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and that was good. They weren’t supposed to be here either.
He stepped forward. It took only a few moments before their eyes locked: Red, and Rocket. This one looked to be only a teenager, barely older than Red himself. Without words, both withdrew their first Pokémon. Too seething to even fight, he only stared at those angry eyes of the Rocket underling. His ears were deaf to any battle commands that were called. His Nidoking raged alone, not the slightest bit helpless without its trainer’s guidance.
His silent tirade continued through the metal basement. With each battle, he gave nothing— no whistles, no signs, not even a glance at the Pokémon. He stayed locked onto the faces of every Rocket, wondering every time if this was the one who killed that Cubone’s mother. If this was the one that stole Pokémon from people. If this was the one that ran this whole corruption. And when they ran away, he remembered their face. He remembered that look in their cold, angry eyes. Then he would heal his team and continue forward.
At the end, he finally listened to what a Rocket had to say. The blood that beat loudly in his ears was gone. The smell of rust left his nose. The pounding of his heart came to a stop.
“ I am the leader, Giovanni! ”
At last, he was blinded— his sweaty hands clenched, his jaw tightened, his ears rang, his stomach turned, his chest collapsed in on itself— there was a ferocious wind that blew through the room, pushing on his face until he could hardly breathe, challenging his balance like a flood and a tornado all at the same time.
A fire burned in his eyes as he pitched his Poké Ball toward Giovanni, the hard metal sparking as it skid on the floor. With a burst of light, a mighty Gyarados filled the room, ROARING with a boom that shook the mugs and papers from the table. In silence, Red stared into the eyes of this evil man.
And their battle began.
