Elevator Pitch: Pokemon and dungeons started appearing all over the world in 2012. I know, generic. The caveat is that the monsters were easily recognizable. Each dungeon seemed to have a theme, a type. Things happened, people were people, and nuclear winter set in by 2015.

Liftoff 1.1

February 2015

The snow crunched audibly beneath my boots as I trekked through the Oregon forest. It wasn't too deep but still enough to give the forest a winter-wonderland feel. There was a decent mix of conifers here, fairly common all throughout southern Oregon. That was good; conifers were hardy trees capable of surviving colder temperatures. They'd suffer for the lack of a warm season but they'd survive, which was more than could be said for many other plants.

I'd seen my fair share of animals and pokemon throughout my year here. There were normal game like rabbits, hogs, elk, pheasants, wild turkey, and even a bear if i felt like being suicidal. Then there were the pokemon. The spearow line was especially common here, as were pidgey, hoothoot, rattata, zigzagoon, poochyena, and sneasel. I'd even seen a stantler a while back.

Experts said global temperatures were expected to fall by anywhere from eight to fifteen degrees across the board, more depending on how close you were to the detonation site. That didn't sound unbearable until you realized just how narrow temperature tolerances could be for agriculture.

And that was assuming people could farm at all. Between a mass migration south, raiders, and the fucking wild pokemon, keeping a respectable harvest was a near impossibility unless you happened to have some of the military remnants on your side.

I let out a weary sigh. Three years ago, when pokemon began to magically appear in the wilds, I was so goddamn excited. Thrilled. Like so many others, I thought I could live out my childhood dreams. I wasn't quite to the point of hailing Tajiri and Miyamoto as prophets, some people were fucking loons, but I wasn't too far behind either.

Pokemon! The childhood fantasy of billions! Real!

And then reality sank in. The modern world was woefully unequipped to handle an influx of what amounted to magical super-fauna. We lacked pokeballs. Potions. Organizations and infrastructures dedicated to dealing with them. And perhaps most important, we lacked trust.

The games and anime harped on it again and again, the "power of bonds," but it was all background noise for so many of us. Until suddenly, that nonexistent relationship became a matter of life and death. The humans of the pokemon world had thousands of years to build a coexisting, mutualistic society; we didn't.

It wasn't long before reports started coming in. People died trying to "train" pokemon. Children poisoned to death by "weak" weedle, carried off by oversized pidgeotto, or gored through by rhyhorn because they didn't fully grasp that these creatures were now real. They had real needs and instincts paired with an intelligence that could sometimes put humans to shame.

It was only after that guy, Ziegler or something, explored and cleared a dungeon in the Black Forest in Germany that we discovered a new aspect of our changed world: Dungeons contained what we'd missed, what we desperately needed. He returned with a "bonded" houndour at his side, swearing up and down that there was an honest-to-God fantasy treasure box at the end with three funny-shaped acorns. He'd said that some kind of screen told him they were called apricorns.

The forest guide didn't know what that meant but I did, as did millions around the world. He'd returned with three apricorns, the keys to pokeball technology. Once the German government realized what the hell Ziegler had in his hands, the apricorns were confiscated for testing. Two to plant, one to study. It wasn't long before another dungeon, one in Australia, was cleared, this time with a single piece of paper inside the box that contained the instructions for the manufacture of pokeballs.

That was how the world discovered the importance of dungeons: Anything and everything, the technology, berries, and all other miraculous secrets of the pokemon world, were available in the dungeons. Super-foods that could survive any climate? Done. Potions that could damn near revive the dead? Just risk your life for it and pray you're lucky. Secret training manuals of the Aura Guardians? No one had found them yet, but that sure as hell didn't mean they weren't available to the bold of heart.

Those who cleared them, Ziegler being the first, acquired not only a bonded pokemon, but an increased vitality. They "awakened." Ziegler described it on international TV as being "at once with his existence." He'd since become something of a wanderer, the "Ranger of Black Forest," they called him. Last I heard before international comms went down, people were saying the man himself had superpowers.

Dungeons held the secret to survival. Every treasure, every knowledge, could be found in there if you were lucky enough to survive. The trouble was, pokemon were dangerous, even more so inside the dungeons.

I kicked a branch out of my way. That was all beyond me. I wasn't military, if there were any reputable units left of them at all. I was just a hobbyist backpacker who lucked out. I'd been hiking the Cascade Mountains when the nukes dropped in July last year alongside Rocket, my trusty zigzagoon, named for Marvel's very own trash panda. Good thing I was out too, because I lived in the Mid-Atlantic and DC was just about the first nuclear target.

I'd found Rocket halfway through a packet of beef franks in my campground one day. Paranoid fucker that I was, I tried to club him to death with my thermos. He bit a gash into my forearm, the scar I still had today. I used some bear spray. Shitty trash panda Tackled me into a tree.

In the end, exhausted and hungry, we came to an understanding. I wasn't a trainer, not really. Pokeballs were expensive as fuck and I hadn't cleared a dungeon so I was just a vanilla human, but maybe that wasn't what was important?

Fictional as he was, wasn't Professor Samuel Oak the authority on pokemon? If he was right, it was the bond that really determined a trainer's worth. A pokeball was ultimately just a tool, an expression of that bond. It wasn't strictly necessary… Or so I kept telling myself…

"Well, little fucker hasn't killed me in my sleep so I guess it's working," I muttered.

"Zig," Rocket chittered as he walked beside me.

He hopped onto my backpack and cheered as the straps dragged me onto my back. Despite being barely a foot tall at the shoulder, the fucker was dense, closer to forty pounds. That much weight suddenly latching onto my already overloaded back left me doing my best impression of a turtle.

"Oi! You son of a bitch! I oughta turn you into a hat!" I swore at him.

He sat on his haunches two feet away, his tongue wagging out of his mouth. The smug fucker wasn't even remotely sorry.

Grumbling, I rolled onto my front so I could stand. I'd looted as much as I could from the only sporting goods store in Bend, a small town south of Portland. I had a hunting crossbow, a bowie knife, some stackable cookware, a stick of flint and striker, a rudimentary first aid kit, a map of the west coast, a thermal sleeping bag, tarp, and mat, water purification tablets, and as much canned food as I could carry. I'd also brought along packets of vegetable seeds. Was it optimistic as hell? Yes, but I wanted something to work towards, maybe a little plot of land for myself if I ever felt secure enough to try.

All told, I had roughly thirty-five pounds of gear, perfect for a backpacker, or an amateur survivalist doing his best to eke out a living on his own because Bend was bound to descend into anarchy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a pine tree with some of its bark stripped off. It was too low and uneven, which told me it wasn't likely a bear or bull elk marking its territory. I nudged Rocket with my foot. "Oi, Rocket, see that?"

"Zig," he studied the tree with a gimlet eye.

"Feral swine?"

"Zigzagoon."

I stared at him blankly. "Yeah, sorry, bud. I don't have a clue what you're saying."

He snorted derisively. "Zigzaa…"

"Whatever. Can we hunt it?"

"Zig."

"Good. Odor Sleuth. Track it for me."

WIth a bark, he was off into the underbrush. This was the crux of our relationship. Despite what the anime and video games led me to believe, Rocket wasn't mighty. He couldn't move mountains or shatter castles with a single Hyper Beam. Most pokemon couldn't in fact, had little to do with being a zigzagoon.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

The average pokemon was very much greater than their wild animal counterparts, both in intelligence and power, but they were hardly the landscape-altering monsters I knew. They were still dangerous, but only when directly provoked.

Rocket, being about a foot tall, couldn't hunt big game. If left to his own devices, the trash panda would do well enough foraging for rabbits, blackberries, and the like, but he could eat much better if he played scout to a hunter with a crossbow.

I had some vague hopes that we'd be able to work together more closely, form a real team, but I wasn't holding my breath. People, really unlucky people, had found the hard way that you couldn't build a lifelong bond with a pokemon just by feeding it some scraps every now and then. Pokemon were intelligent, which meant they typically didn't take being treated like dogs too well. Smart partners or stupid pets; you couldn't have it both ways.

Rocket paused so I slowed my steps until I caught up. Two flicks of his tail told me it was within a hundred yards. We crept along slowly until I spotted the animal, a completely mundane hog. That was good. The last time we tried this, I'd run into a stantler. Thankfully, the skittish pokemon had left after only hypnotizing me into a stupor.

I brought my crossbow to bear at thirty yards, closer than an experienced hunter needed. I wasn't a crackshot, but a year of mandatory hunting made me decent enough.

I took a deep breath and remembered what few lessons I'd received before being sent out as a discount "ranger." Deep breaths. Calm and centered. Lead slightly. Aim for the heart, not the eye; even if you miss by a bit, you'll hit something important.

"Spearow!"

"Holy fuck!" I cried in alarm as the most irritating bird pokemon across all five generations dive-bombed the hog with seemingly zero regard for its own well-being.

That hog had to outmass the dumb bird by an order of magnitude but science took a backseat to poke-magic bullshit as its wings were cloaked in white light. The hog squealed in alarm as the bird ripped sizable tears in its fat. Still, it failed to secure the kill.

I swore and took my shot. Whether by luck or practice, my bolt found its mark in its right shoulder, causing the pig to squeal in pain. Not immediately lethal but the fucking bird spoiled my shot. I grunted in annoyance and pulled back the string and notched another bolt.

"Shit, someone's there," I heard a man shout. I whirled to find a middle-aged man with a hunting rifle fifty yards to my right. By the look of him, he sure as hell wasn't a mountaineer. He had a large beer belly under his winter jacket that made me think he wasn't familiar with walking, never mind hiking mountain trails. Still, he had a gun and I didn't.

He took aim at the pig and fired once, sending every fucking bird in the forest flying in blind panic. He wasn't a very good shot, another point in favor of someone being forced into the deep end faster than he could adapt. A second shot struck the hog in its flank but pigs were sturdy bastards.

I grimaced as its dying squeals filled the forest. I hated this. Basic respect for life demanded we kill it quickly. "Put it out of its misery," I called.

"I know!" he shouted back. He got closer until he was less than twelve feet away and pulled the trigger a final time. He wasted no time claiming the kill. "My shot, my hog."

I looked him over once again and gauged my chances. A hunting rifle like the one he was holding had five shots in its chamber. Assuming the chamber wasn't modified, he had two shots left by my count. It wasn't worth fighting over the kill, even if I'd shot it first.

"Sure," I said with false nonchalance. "Let me grab my bolt and I'll be on my way."

"You do that."

I emerged from behind my tree and walked over. I leaned down to pluck the bolt from the body and turned to walk away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the spearow give the man a venomous glare. There were pokemon strong enough to shrug off bullets; the spearow wasn't one of them. It flew off with a screech.

"Hold on," he called. "You got a lot of stuff there, friend."

I swore under my breath. This, this bullshit was why I left Bend. The winter brought out the worst in people. It made them greedy, self-serving with the worst sort of desperation. I glanced back at him. His gun was halfway raised now, two shots to my one.

"How 'bout you share the load?" he called again, more confident with my silence.

"Try up north, four days walk. Bend's got a bulbasaur to help farm. Got an orchard and everything." They did, some girl named Haley managed to tame one. Her parents lived like fucking royalty while the world burned. That bulbasaur was the only reason they'd lasted so long but with people coming south from Washington and Canada, I saw the writing on the wall. Was it a dick move to send him into a powder keg? Yes, but so was robbing a guy mid-hunt.

Fuck this guy.

"You let me worry 'bout where I'm headed. Drop the bag and we won't have any problems. The crossbow too, could use a nice and quiet one."

"You don't want to do this," I warned him. If there was one thing I remembered from the anime, it was that spearow rarely worked alone. There was probably a flock somewhere nearby, a flock that'd be mighty pissed about one of them being scared off its kill. If he wasn't here, I could have taken the hog and maybe the spearow too. Or maybe cut a chunk of pork while leaving the rest as a peace offering.

I grunted in annoyance. The dumbass announced us for everything in the forest to track. I let out a click of the tongue that he interpreted as disappointment.

"I think I do. The gun's loaded. You turn around, I shoot. Come on, man, your supplies aren't worth your life."

"They are my life."

"Tough," I heard him shrug.

"You're really gonna do this?"

"I reckon I could use the supplies."

"Fine." I allowed the crossbow to hang off my hip. Slowly, I pulled one arm through the strap of my backpack, then the other. "Liftoff."

The bush next to him practically exploded as Rocket let out a vicious cry. He launched himself up using his oversized tail. White light cloaked him in a textbook Quick Attack that found his face.

"Aaah!" he yelled as Rocket's little teeth found his face. Guns didn't mean shit t that range and I knew from personal experience how sharp the pint-sized fucker's chompers were.

"Liftoff" was just about the only thing I'd taught Rocket. I got the idea when he used Tail Whip to slap a squirrel unconscious. Sure, it wasn't strong enough to damage a pokemon, or even a decent-sized human, but his tail was deceptively well-muscled. Combined with Quick Attack, it gave him a significant boost, at least in a straight line.

It was damn useful for scaring rabbits or pheasants out of their hiding places, and apparently, also for ambushing assholes.

I completely let go of my pack and rolled to the side, hiding behind a bush to minimize my profile. Then I brought my crossbow to bear.

I paused. Was this worth it? I'd killed before, animals and wild pokemon, but this felt different. This felt like I was crossing a line somehow. Yes, he'd tried to rob me first. Yes, he was going to leave me stranded in a forest with no weapon or supplies. But he was still a person, right? He had the same concerns I did.

As bitter as it made me, I understood.

Then he swung at Rocket with the stock of his rifle and my heart hardened. My mind made up, I placed my finger on the trigger and aimed for center mass.

"I understand," I whispered. "Nothing personal."

With the subdued twang of the bowstring, the bolt sprouted from his chest and I'd made my first kill. He gurgled on the ground as lifeblood filled his lungs.

I walked up to him and ripped the bolt from his chest.

He tried to say something but the blood in his lungs made him glub like a goldfish.

"Nothing personal," I repeated.

"Zig?" he asked, waving towards the man with a cream-colored paw. "Zagoon?"

I remembered what I taught him. "Yeah. Clean kills are a mercy."

"Zag."

Pulling out my bowie knife, I drew a crimson line across his throat. It was jagged from the trembling in my hands but I managed. "You started this," I whispered, "don't blame me."

It was… easy. Uncomfortably so. I didn't feel like throwing up. I didn't hate myself. I just felt… tired? Accepting? At peace? I'd taken a life; I'd just have to live with it. In a way, I supposed it was something I'd been ready for. Maybe I'd been subconsciously working myself up towards it, preparing myself the best I could. The US government didn't exist. There were no laws. Really, it was a minor miracle that I'd gone this long without having to fight another human for my life.

Did that make me a coward? Or merely conflict-avoidant?

I was drawn out of my thoughts by a white light that surrounded Rocket. I'd never seen it personally but recognized it immediately: Evolution.

The light faded and I looked over the linoone. He didn't get any taller. He was still only a foot tall at the shoulder, laughably short for an evolved pokemon. What he lacked in stature, he gained in length. He was now almost six feet long from nose to tail, with chocolate-brown stripes running along his fur.

"Linoone," he called. He sniffed at himself and let out a cheeky, doggy grin.

My stomach sank. "You evolved."

"Lin."

I grunted and stood. "Lucky you."

I dusted the snow off my jacket and began to walk away. A linoone… Not an apex predator by any means, but more than adequate for forest living. He didn't need me anymore. He wasn't a pet. I had no ball. We had an arrangement: He'd be my scout and I'd feed him bigger and better prey than he could acquire on his own. That was now superfluous. The best thing I could do was get out of dodge before he decided I looked tasty enou-

I almost fell on my face as seventy pounds of ferret landed on my shoulder. I twisted and managed a clumsy slump onto my side. "Oof, what the fuck, Rocket?"

Instead of needle-sharp teeth, I felt him curl his body around my neck like an oversized scarf. "Linoone, lin-linoone."

"Get off, you don't need me anymore. You can hunt bigger game on your own now."

"Lin."

I stumbled to my feet with more than a hundred pounds on my back. "You're fat."

"Lin," he barked, nipping my ear in displeasure.

"You're gonna stick around, huh?"

"Linoone."

"Well get off because you're fucking heavy."

"Oone?"

"No, who needs a scarf that weighs seventy pounds?"

"Oone," he said. For something that could only say its own name, he /did a remarkable job conveying how smug he was.

I sighed and shrugged him off. My boots crunched into the snow and I heard the almost snake-like rustle and slither as the oversized ferret followed my lead. Even without a ball, was a year of hunting together long enough to form the vaunted bond Oak liked to go on about?

Apparently, yes. I smiled as I made my way through the snow. Maybe I was better at this whole training thing than I thought.

Author's Note

Yeah… This is definitely darker than Spoon. Let me know what you think because I frankly have no idea what to think of this myself. I rejected "zombie apocalypse" so my brain decided to go to some weird places. There's a lot of worldbuilding to do because the premise is more complicated than the usual "X gets isekaied into Y familiar setting." Hopefully it's not too boring to read.

Note: This is a Hoenn zigzagoon. It's not a dark type. I wanted to emphasize that the MC is not some chosen one. He has no grand destiny or unique talent. He's just a hobbyist backpacker and forester caught up in the fall of human society as we know it. Which isn't to say linoone are bad. If you play competitive, you know what build I'm going for already.

Also note: Pokemon XY was released in 2013, which means that in this fic, people only know up to Black/White. Will newer gens show up? Yes. Will they be surprised as fuck? Also yes.

Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.