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To: diamondpearl876Guilt and worry tore at Landon’s heart as Trapinch fell to the ground; the Pokemon’s miniature legs were unable to hold his meager weight. Across the indoor arena, a young girl—Landon’s opponent—jumped in joy. Her Azurill’s bubble attack was too much for Trapinch, and the Ground-type fell to the floor in defeat. Landon ran forward and took Trapinch in his arms, looking his companion over. Though Trapinch was unconscious, he didn’t seem otherwise hurt—he’d just need some rest and some food.
All around the young brown-haired boy, trainers shouted commands at their Pokemon and hurried to-and-fro. Verdanturf’s Trainer Hall was, as usual, packed with people battling in an effort to raise their Pokemon to become better, stronger fighters.
Landon stood up and started making his way towards the door, still cradling Trapinch in his arms. For whatever reason, raising Trapinch seemed to be an excruciatingly slow process. Trapinch had lived with Landon and his family for three years. Though his parents saw the Pokemon as a pet, Landon knew he was something more. Trapinch was there for him whenever he needed a companion to talk to, to listen to, or even just be with. When Landon came of age to receive his Pokemon trainer’s license, the two of them decided to become serious about battling and take on the Pokemon League.
But Landon quickly discovered that Trapinch was more suited for playing tag in grassy fields and hide-and-seek in craggy cliffs than he was for Pokemon battles. The two had been travelling and training for over a month, but as far as Landon could see, there was no progress. Trapinch just wasn’t a natural-born fighter.
Landon sighed, still feeling guilty, as he headed towards the doorway. As he stepped outside into the sweet scent of flowers and gentle rays of sunlight, he saw a girl pick up a Delcatty that collapsed in the grass and run into the Pokemon Center. Landon followed her, his mind slowly turning over various possibilities in his head.
Inside the Pokemon center, he saw the unconscious Delcatty lying on a cart and a Chansey wheel her away into a backroom. As he handed Trapinch off to the nurse, his heart panged. His gaze lingered on his Pokemon until the nurse had carried Trapinch out of sight. With a heavy heart, Landon sat on a couch in the waiting room. In his mind, he played over and over the various ways in which Trapinch had fallen unconscious during battle the past month.
Maybe the Pokemon League really wasn’t for them.
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The Delcatty lay on a platform inside a small chamber as beams of light passed over her body and scanned her. A computer screen was attached to the outside of the chamber. Nurse Victoria glanced over the Delcatty’s full-body scan. Though the Pokemon fared for worse in a Pokemon battle, she made a full recovery and showed no signs of adverse health. The body scan was just a last-minute check to make sure everything was all right, and—
Victoria blinked.
The scan showed small patches of… something on various parts of the Pokemon’s body.
But she had just seen Delcatty herself, and the Pokemon looked totally fine. There was nothing on her body.
Whatever these things on her body were, they must be microscopic. But what were they? They didn’t seem to actually cause any problems with her health, but she could hardly give the Delcatty back to her trainer with… whatever these were.
Her decision made, Victoria called in the medical doctor. Doctor Krank soon marched in, making a beeline straight for the computer. He looked at the scan, his bushy grey eyebrows narrowed over his thick glasses in perplexity. He didn’t know what these were.
“Whatever they are, they seem to live outside of Delcatty. Maybe even inside, too. I’ll take a sample,” he said, holding up a buzz razor and a petri dish, “and send it to the research lab over in Rustboro. In the meantime, we should hold on to the Delcatty and monitor her closely to make sure she stays all right.”
Victoria obliged and went out to the Pokemon Center lobby. She saw the girl, Abby, who owned the Delcatty. Abby’s face lit up when she saw the nurse, but it quickly fell again when Victoria told her of the mysterious microorganism on Delcatty and that they would have to hang on to her Pokemon for a while longer to make sure that these organisms were benign.
The nurse walked back into the laboratory and heard the angry yowling of the Delcatty and the pleas of Dr. Krank—getting the sample seemed to be harder than he had thought.
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Landon bit his lips to prevent them from quivering as he watched a Chansey wheel away Trapinch on a cart. The little Pokemon was covered in burn marks—that Torkoal had made short work of him.
Landon sat down on a couch, his elbows on his knees and his head hanging down. It had been weeks since he first started training at Verdanturf Battle Hall, but Trapinch’s fighting had not improved. Every time his companion fell in battle and Landon took him to a Pokemon Center, his heart hung heavier with guilt. And in spite of Trapinch cheerfully greeting him whenever the nurses had restored him to health, Landon always felt bad about taking his Pokemon back to battle—back to more fighting, more pain, more injuries, more frantic trips to the Pokemon Center…
Landon clenched his dark brown eyes shut and buried his head in his hands. It just couldn’t go on.
An hour later, the nurse returned to the lobby with Trapinch’s Pokeball in hand. Landon mustered up a smile, took the Pokeball, and exited the Pokemon Center. Sunlight beamed down on him as he stepped onto the grass. Landon walked to the alleyway next to the Pokemon Center where no one was around and released Trapinch. The Ground-type looked up happily at his trainer. He was all better!
But Landon didn’t smile. He went straight to the point. “Trapinch, this isn’t working.”
Trapinch’s glee evaporated. What wasn’t?
“This—us trying to fight and battle. I just don’t think it’s meant for us—I don’t think we’re meant for it. I mean—“ he took a deep breath “—you’re going to the Pokemon Center almost every day! You’re getting injured and hurting, and what if—what if one day they can’t heal you? What if you get injured permanently? Trapinch, I can’t do this, I can’t keep putting you in battle, I can’t keep sending you out when I know the opponent is stronger and you’re just going to keep getting hurt—Trapinch, I can’t!”
Trapinch stared at Landon, his red jaws slightly agape.
No—they couldn’t give up! And Trapinch was okay with getting hurt. He just wanted to keep fighting, to do his best! And he became a bit more experienced and learned something new every time—sooner or later, he’d win something! It was okay if he got hurt, he just wanted to make Landon proud.
Landon shook his head. “Trapinch, I don’t need that—you can make me proud in other ways, but not this. Come on, we’ll find something new to do.”
No! Trapinch pleaded—he would fight, he would win! He needed to fight and win. He couldn’t give up when he was in this state, he had to keep trying. If only Landon would give him another chance, he would fight until he would win! Just let him prove himself, please!
Landon hesitated, then slowly said, “One win. You can keep fighting. But we’ll go for easier, less-experienced Pokemon, okay?”
Trapinch nodded vehemently. If that was what it took to be allowed to keep fighting, then yes!
The duo silently walked down the sidewalk. Landon thought of Trapinch’s proposal—he was doubtful it would work, but if Trapinch really wanted to keep fighting, he would at least give him the chance. Did Trapinch want to evolve? Did he want to grow wings and become a big Flygon? He had never before expressed any desire to do so, and seemed content in his little red body—but perhaps it provided some sort of hidden, subconscious motivation. Maybe that was why he wanted to fight so badly.
As Landon pondered this, Trapinch walked quietly beside his trainer, trying to appear hopeful, trying to hide the fear in his heart. He just had to win once—just once. Then he would make Landon proud, and maybe Landon wouldn’t stop loving him.
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Weeks passed. The researchers in Rustboro kept examining and experimenting with the strange life form while the Pokemon medical team in Verdanturf carefully monitored the Delcatty. Eventually, the lead Rustboro researcher, Dr. Zhu, logged in to his computer to give Dr. Krank a call. He had been studying the microorganism almost non-stop; he had hardly seen his wife or daughter in the time since. He did feel a bit guilty, as his wife had yelled at him again from prioritizing work over family… And he missed his daughter’s school play—that really tore him up. But there was no dwelling on it now. He called in to Dr. Krank with his finished report.
“They’re some sort of bacteria,” Dr. Zhu told Dr. Krank over video chat. “They live outside and within the Pokemon themselves. Once inside, they infect the Pokemon’s muscular system and release capsules. The capsules infect muscle cells and cause some sort of enzymatic reaction—overall making the Pokemon grow faster.”
Dr. Krank frowned as he looked over at the Delcatty napping behind the glass. He felt bad for her; the Pokemon had minimal interaction with anyone, and was occasionally allowed to see her trainer—but not cuddle or play or with her.
“Yes…” he murmured to Dr. Zhu. “And there don’t seem to be any harmful effects at all. Though it’s had to tell, what with keeping her quarantined like this. I wonder if the faster growth would produce any effects as far as evolution and battling are concerned.”
“If you see no ill effects from the microorganism, you may as well just give the Pokemon back to her owner. Just have her come in for weekly check-ups and monitoring. It’ll be interesting to see where this goes.”
Dr. Krank did so. Abby and the Delcatty were overjoyed to be with each other again. Dr. Krank carefully explained to Abby to be watchful of Delcatty’s condition, and that she should visit Pokemon Centers at least once a week to have Delcatty monitored. Though she was displeased that her Pokemon was going to undergo more monitoring, she understood and agreed.
Back in Rustboro, Dr. Zhu rubbed his clean-shaven chin as he gazed down at the little microorganisms on the petri dish in his lab. They lay inside the glass dish with some Pokemon skin cells, forming little black colonies over them. What were they? Bacteria, viruses, archaea, or something else entirely? Where did they come from?
If these Pokemon-viruses turned out to promote Pokemon growth, would they be useful for trainers? Young men and women, boys and girls, and aged people all alike were aiming for the Pokemon League. There was a craze for anything that could help their Pokemon improve in battle—herbs, pharmaceuticals, massage therapy, musical therapy, berries…
Dr. Zhu bent over the petri dish and gazed at the biota within, the gears in his mind turning. Were there harmful effects from these? And if not, would people go crazy for them just as they did for anything else that improved Pokemon performance?
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A few more weeks passed, and Abby only noticed one change in Delcatty: the Pokemon’s battling ability improved at an alarming rate. The Normal-type soon learned new battling moves, and overall seemed to learn much more from each battle than she had before. She was more alert, her reflexes had improved, and was faster, stronger and more durable than before. Abby took her in for weekly check-ups at the Pokemon Center, but aside from the presence of the microbes, the doctors could find nothing out of the ordinary with her.
Abby was nothing short of delighted, as was Dr. Zhu when he heard the news. He rushed back into his laboratory; the little room was stocked with cases, each of which was filled with hundreds of vials of the microorganism. He found that, as long as he placed Pokemon cells into glass containers, the microorganisms lived.
In little time—and a lot of paperwork and discussion with legal authorities—the biota were on store shelves. Dubbed “Pokerus,” the microorganisms were sold in drug stores under the pretense that they promoted the growth of Pokemon—which they did. Though the market was slow at first, soon trainers were clamoring to buy them to give to their Pokemon.
On the streets of Rustboro City, Landon picked up a newspaper from a stand. He decided to try some training with Trapinch closer to home, where—he hoped—Pokemon would be on a similar battling level with Trapinch. Scanning the newspaper, the boy noticed an ad for Pokerus. A spark of hope lit his heart—maybe this was it! Maybe, with Pokerus, Trapinch would be able to grow, to improve, and finally evolve…
Reaching into his pocket, Landon took out the Pokeball and sent out his companion. Trapinch yawned, his red jaws opening wide and displaying rows of sharp teeth.
“Hey, Trapinch, look at this.” Landon bent down, putting the newspaper in front of his Pokemon. Trapinch squinted at the print. He couldn’t read, but he always tried to anyway.
“It’s an ad for Pokerus—it’s something that helps you grow faster. I figured that, if you’re willing, we could try it out!”
Trapinch looked hesitant. Landon had suggested pharmaceuticals and other methods to enhance training before, but the Pokemon never liked the idea of using them. He wanted to get by on his own strength. Using those seemed so unnatural and desperate.
But he was desperate. He so wanted Landon to love him, to approve of him, to trust that he could be the fighter he always tried to be! All he wanted was to make Landon proud. Would using an artificial enhancer just show that Trapinch wasn’t strong enough on his own? Or would it be what he needed to earn Landon’s approval?
Landon saw his Pokemon staring at the newspaper unblinkingly. Trapinch didn’t seem happy at the prospect of using Pokerus.
“Well, I only wanted to check with you in case you were interested. We don’t have to actually use it.” Landon rolled the newspaper up and put it in the side pocket of his backpack. He tried to hide his disappointment, but he wasn’t surprised. He knew Trapinch didn’t like to use enhancers. They would just have to figure something else out…
Trapinch saw the look of dismay on his trainer’s face and immediately felt scared and guilty. He backtracked—he promised he would use the Pokerus! If it would make him a strong Pokemon like it said, if he would win battles and grow—he would do it!
Landon’s face broke into a smile of relief. He looked down at the Ground-type. “You sure? You’re fine with doing this?”
Trapinch nodded vehemently. He absolutely would do it!
“Awesome! Let’s go get it!”
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Dr. Zhu looked down at the sales records. He handed over sales managing and marketing Pokerus to someone else—at the end of the day, his heart lay with conducting research. He wasn’t a business man.
But business had gone really, really well. Sales were, predictably, slow at first. Trainers were usually wary of putting new substances into their Pokemons’ bodies. But all of those who tried reported really good results—and it took off.
Though Dr. Zhu was hardly struggling for money before—he did have a PhD, after all—the extra money attained through Pokerus was nice, if mainly because he could afford to spend less time working. He was able to attend his five-year-old daughter’s ballet recital, and just spent the week on vacation with his wife and daughter in Dewford Town. A week with only his family, no worries about work… Life had not looked this good in quite some time. Quite a long time.
And as he walked back into his laboratory, his face newly-bronzed from the Dewford sun, one of his lab techs ran right up to him.
“Dr. Zhu, sir, the Pokerus are dying.”
Dr. Zhu snapped out of his reverie. His blood went cold in his veins, and his face turned pale. “What?”
“The microorganisms, sir—they suddenly started dying, we can’t keep them alive. We’ve given them more living Pokemon cells, but they won’t do anything—they die even if we freeze them!”
Dr. Zhu made his way to the back of the lab, where technicians were moving about frantically. Their faces fell when they saw him.
“What’s this about the Pokerus dying?”
“I—it’s true, sir,” one tech said timidly. Her goggles slipped, and she trembled as she adjusted them. “Look at the petri dishes—they just all started dying yesterday, and we can’t keep them alive.”
Dr. Zhu looked through the microscope at the organisms on the petri dish. The cells didn’t move—dead. He glanced up at all of his lab techs who looked expectantly at him.
“We have to find out what’s happening.”
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Landon walked out of the Rustboro City Pokemon Mart, a black vial of Pokerus in his hand. He didn’t know what to feel as he gazed at the vial.
This could be the key to getting Trapinch to grow and become a true fighter. And if it didn’t work… he would deal with that problem later.
He stopped. People around him bustled to-and-fro on the busy city street. He kept looking at the Pokerus in his hand. Something didn’t feel quite right.
He pushed away the feeling, pulled out a Pokeball and released Trapinch. The Ground-type looked happily up at Landon, but became hesitant when he noticed the vial in Landon’s hand.
“Are you ready?” Landon asked Trapinch. He still didn’t feel good about using the Pokerus—not because of safety reasons, though.
The two of them stood there, Trapinch looking up at his trainer, and Landon looking at the vial in his hand. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Trapinch. And, almost without meaning to, Landon started speaking.
“You know, Trapinch, just in case this doesn’t work—if it doesn’t make you grow faster, or you don’t evolve, or whatever—we’re still a team. We’re still in this together. I’m not going to be upset at you, or—or send you away, or anything.” He paused. “Just—just thought I should make that clear.”
He moved his eyes away from the Pokerus and looked down at Trapinch and felt his heart plummet into his stomach. Judging by the look of surprise and disbelief on his face, Trapinch did not trust Landon to keep him and train him.
The guilt was overwhelming. Had their focus on battling brought their relationship to this?
Landon cleared his throat. “You—you got that, Trapinch?”
Trapinch started, then hastily nodded.
Landon could only stand there, staring at his Pokemon, reflecting on what the two of them had become.
After a few minutes, Trapinch chattered. The Pokerus would die if Landon didn’t use it soon.
But Landon let the vial fall out of his hand where it clinked on the pavement. Bending down, he reached out his arms and pull Trapinch into a hug. And Trapinch felt a glimmer of warmth amidst his fear.
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Within the next few days, all the Pokerus had died. Dr. Zhu was unable to keep them alive. He found out, too late, that the Pokerus had to be transferred frequently between living Pokemon to stay alive. But in the time it took for the legal paperwork to keep Pokemon contained purely for breeding and cultivating Pokerus had finished, all of his samples in the lab had died.
Though the market and influx of money was gone, Dr. Zhu was full of excitement. He knew the bare minimum effects of these little creatures—how much more there was to research! What was their life cycle? Where did they come from? How long did they live? How did they metabolize? So many questions just waiting to be answered! Without any extant samples, he would—somehow, somewhere—have to find a new stock of them to research. And his family was grateful he had gotten any extra time at all to spend with him.
Landon sat in his parents’ apartment in Rustoboro City, looking over the treetops of evergreens to the north. The year was coming to an end, and though Hoenn was mostly tropical, the humidity made the cold all the more intense. Landon sat on the carpet, his back against the couch while the television played Dr. Seuss’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas! Just what kind of a creature was the Grinch anyway? Some sort of intelligent Pokemon? Or a hairy, green human being?
Beneath the boy’s right arm, Trapinch lay with his head on his trainer’s lap. His little red legs were curled under him, and his eyes slowly blinked as he gazed, glassy-eyed at the television.
Landon smiled at his Pokemon, his heart aglow with joy. They hadn’t tried battling ever since Landon almost used the Pokerus. Maybe, someday, being a great trainer would make Landon and Trapinch happier—but it definitely didn’t do so for the time being.
Landon closed his eyes, the melodious voice of Boris Karloff filtering through his head. Trapinch was happy. He was happy. And, at the moment, that was all he needed.