The forest floor teemed with its own life. High above, Pidgeotto and Spearow squawked from branches thick with leaves, their calls echoing in the canopy. Below, the rustle of undergrowth might betray a slithering Arbok, a scuttling Paras, or the quick dash of a Furret.
This sector marked the deeper edge of the park grounds. The Pokémon here were... common. Nothing to draw serious trainers or crowds of excited tourists, mostly just those passing through on the automated tour buses, briefly disembarking for a cursory glance before moving on.
His cabin wasn't far now. Xiu pushed open the simple wooden door – no lock, no chain, a testament to either trust or insignificance – and stepped inside. He placed the wrapped dinner—still faintly warm—onto the rough table. From the cabinet, he retrieved a book, its cover already worn despite being relatively new. He'd had someone purchase a few for him: basic Pokémon identification guides and elementary texts on creature care and raising. Essential knowledge, if he ever hoped to be more than just... this.
He settled at the table, opening the book. The script inside wasn't the familiar characters of his past life, nor Japanese as some might expect from the origin of Pokémon. It was an alien script, unique to this world, dense and angular. A page full of these characters still looked like someone had spilled dried instant noodles, he thought wryly. It was a bizarre, recurring comparison, but apt.
Thankfully, the orphanage, in its cold pragmatism, had ensured Ka Xiu received basic literacy lessons – likely to make him more useful, or perhaps marketable. It saved Li Xiu, now Xiu, the humiliating task of learning to read all over again. Tucked away with these official texts was another notebook, this one filled with his own characters – Chinese – where he'd been trying to record his fragmented understanding of this new reality, like a disjointed diary bridging two worlds.
He focused on the borrowed book: "Basic Knowledge for Primary Breeders." The afternoon light slanted through the window, providing just enough illumination. He read until the light began to fail, the sky outside shifting from blue to orange and then deepening purple.
No electricity reached this remote cabin. Night meant relying on a cheap solar lamp, its weak glow barely enough to see by, casting long, dancing shadows. Reading was a daytime pursuit; nights were for sleep, or for lying awake listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the forest.
He closed the book with a sigh. Ordinary people here still know so little. The flashy Pokémon battles, the journeys of celebrated trainers broadcast on flickering public screens – they felt impossibly distant from the reality he inhabited.
The book confirmed what he'd pieced together from observation and snippets of conversation overheard from park visitors: obtaining one of the coveted "starter" Pokémon – the Bulbasaur, Charmander, Squirtle, or their regional equivalents – was incredibly difficult for the average person. The official allocations were minuscule. Not everyone got that idealized beginning. Many so-called "trainers" simply snagged a common Rattata or Pidgey from the roadside and declared themselves adventurers.
Those with wealth or connections? They bypassed the system entirely. Caught what they wanted, bought what they needed. It fueled a thriving, often illicit, market – Pokémon hunters, poachers, traffickers operating in the shadows. Another layer of darkness beneath the bright facade.
This world, he mused, was a stark pyramid. At the apex sat the monolithic Pokémon Alliance, its power absolute. Below them clustered the ancient, powerful families and colossal corporations whose influence spanned regions. Then came the network of Gym Leaders and accredited Pokémon Research Institutes. And at the very bottom, crushed beneath the weight of it all, were the ordinary people. Like him.
Acquiring a starter through official channels involved navigating a labyrinth of prerequisites, contributions, and costs far beyond the reach of a normal family. It required demonstrating significant value to the Alliance. In a way, possessing an official starter wasn't just about the Pokémon itself; it was a badge of identity, a symbol of belonging within the Alliance structure, granting access to privileges and resources denied to outsiders.
What exactly were those benefits? Xiu didn't know. He had no way to find out, stuck here on the fringes. But they had to be significant. Alluring enough to drive the entire system.
'Not that it matters to me', He reminded himself, the familiar bitterness returning. 'I pick up garbage, after all.'
Silence reigned, until a drawn-out, guttural howl ripped through the twilight calm.
It wasn't the normal cry of a forest creature. It was raw, desperate. 'Something is wrong...'
Instinct, sharpened by the mandatory three-day safety training Bao Ba had subjected him to upon arrival, kicked in. He snatched the bulky communicator device from the table. 'Poachers.' The word flashed in his mind, cold and sharp. The training had been blunt: poachers were ruthless. Obstacles, whether human or Pokémon, were removed. Violently.
He didn't just blindly charge out. The training emphasized caution and initial assessment. His role here wasn't just trash collector; he was also part of the park's early warning system, a human alarm. He was responsible for this patch of wilderness. If something happened on his watch...
He had to investigate. Confirm the source of that sound. But if it was poachers? The training had been clear on that too: Run. Report. Survive. His life wasn't worth a captured Pokémon or a park reprimand.
The initial howl was followed by shorter, choked cries. Xiu moved swiftly but cautiously, trotting towards the sound, weaving through the familiar trees. Near the riverbank, the trees thinned, and he spotted the source: a large Kangaskhan crouched by the water's edge, its massive frame trembling, emitting heart-wrenching cries towards the dark, flowing river.
He recognized her. The Kangaskhan that nested on the nearby hillside. He saw her often, always with the small joey tucked securely in her pouch.
The pouch. His eyes darted to it instinctively. It was empty. The baby Kangaskhan she guarded so fiercely was gone.
This wasn't grief; it was panic. Primal fear. Xiu knew better than to approach a distressed Pokémon of this size, especially a mother separated from her young. Only the return of her baby could soothe her now.
'But where is it? Stolen by hunters? If so, why wasn't the mother rampaging, chasing them? Why cry at the river?'
Just as he raised the communicator, ready to report a potential poaching incident, a faint disturbance caught his eye. A small cluster of bubbles breaking the river's surface downstream from the distraught mother.
The implication hit him like a physical blow. 'The river.'
Without a second thought for his clothes or the cold, he plunged in.
The icy shock stole his breath, a gasp lodging in his throat. He forced himself under, eyes straining against the murky water. Visibility was near zero. He groped blindly, sweeping his arms through the current. Ten seconds felt like an eternity. Then, his fingers brushed against something small, solid, sinking. Got it!
He pulled, kicking desperately towards the surface. The baby Kangaskhan was impossibly heavy, a dead weight dragging him down. His lungs burned. The surface seemed miles away. Just as his head broke through, sputtering, gasping for air he couldn't seem to draw in fast enough, he felt his strength failing. The baby started to slip from his grasp. His vision swam.
CRACK!
A thunderous sound echoed as the mother Kangaskhan, seeing her child surface only to be potentially lost again, slammed a fist into the water beside them with terrifying force. A wall of water erupted, catching Xiu in its pincer-like grip. He felt like a rag doll, flung upwards and outwards, the baby wrenched from his weakening fingers—No! He lunged, grabbing it again even as the wave carried them both through the air.
He landed hard on the muddy bank, the impact driving the air from his lungs in a painful whoosh. Coughing racked his body, water sputtering from his lips. His head spun.
He blinked, vision clearing slowly, and saw the baby Kangaskhan lying motionless beside him. Its face was a horrifying shade of purple 'F*ck!'
Panic surged, overriding his own pain and exhaustion. If it dies... on my watch... Trouble wasn't a strong enough word.
He fumbled, turning the small creature onto its back, supporting its neck as the training video flashed through his mind. He placed his hands on its small chest and pressed. 'Once. Twice. Come on!' He repeated the compressions, rhythmically, desperately.
After what felt like an eternity finally came a small cough as river water trickled from the corner of the baby's mouth. A faint, shuddering breath. Then another, stronger one. The purple tinge began to recede. Its breathing, though ragged, stabilized.
Relief washed over him, so potent it left him weak. He collapsed onto the damp earth beside the sputtering infant, gasping for air himself. His arms felt like lead, trembling uncontrollably. Alive. They were both alive. For now.