ID Systems, in theory, are pretty straightforward. A set of documents are given to prove that, yes, this person is who they say they are. While this is certainly useful when you need to travel to another country or withdraw your life savings from the bank to flee the country with, most people tend to feel a bit nervous carrying around such critical documents at all times.
Hence, most people rely on more informal forms of documentation during their day to day life. Photo ID, Drivers Licence, Student Cards. All these are typically used in place of a passport or manilla folder of documents, when trying to get into a crowded music gig.
However if you lived in a world where the most popular sports, cutest pets and most stalwart companions had been rolled into one thing, you would instead find yourself using the Trainer ID.
How the ID works is simple, every person upon coming of age is able to apply to their local Pokémon Authority to receive their very own trainer ID. There are several opt-in programs and tests that, if passed, give a starting trainer additional perks; these range from increased carry limits or a weekly stipend, all the way to the coveted chance to receive a “traditional” starter Pokémon.
The card proudly displays a trainer's name, home region, and the all important Trainer ID Number. A unique string of 16 numbers that serve to identify a trainer and their Pokémon team.
While it is largely assumed that everyone has and uses this Trainer ID system, there are fringe cases who don’t. Tribes who distance themselves from regional bureaucracy, the odd person who never takes interest in gaining a Pokémon partner and, of course, career criminals.
Don’t forget. This world is, by nature, a perilous one.
When a quick walk to the store could see you ducking out of the way of your neighbors charging Rhyhorn, it’s easy for that precious ID card to fall victim to 115 kgs of rock dinosaur.
But don’t worry!
Any Pokémon Center, City Hall, Pokémon Gym, or other league affiliated locations will be able to print you a new one.
All you need to do is give them your name and birthday. Then they can look you up in the database, do a quick check to match your photo, and you're back on your way with a snazzy new card in hand.
In theory.
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“Is this really necessary?”
“Yes! Yes it is! Frankly, it’s concerning how relaxed you seem about it” The woman from the reception, a Nurse Martha by the name tag, replied with a clipped tone. “Now, look this way please”
As it turns out, expressing to a healthcare professional that you can’t remember your name, and in fact can’t remember quite a lot now that you think of it, causes some alarm.
Having been quickly and sternly directed down a nearby corridor to clinic office by the (surprisingly strong) Chansey, the man was being run through an array of basic tests quicker than he could follow them.
“What day is it today?” The nurse asked, shining a pen light into his eyes.
“Uhm, I don’t know?” Came the answer, squinting through the glare.
“Hmm… What are the weaknesses of fire type Pokémon?” The pen light went back down onto the table, as the nurse reached for a small plastic hammer.
“Water, ground and rock… I think. Are these all go- OW! What was that for?”
“Reflex test. Who’s the current reigning champion?” The hammer went back down next to the other tools. A clipboard pressed into the nurse's hands by Chasney, replacing it.
“Steeeven? Steven Stone?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” The scritching of a pen against clipboard papers filling the room for a long moment.
“Steven. Steven Stone.”
“Well” The nurse says, not looking up from her writing “Your information is a bit outdated, but that’s far from the most concerning thing you’ve said in the last half hour”.
The nurse passes the clipboard back to Chansey, who looks over it briefly before taking it over to a nearby scanner. The gentle whir of the machine is the only sound in the room as the nurse packs away her gear.
“Well” she declares with a short sigh “You seem in fine enough health. Your memory problems are a concern, but it will be best to wait and see if they return with time. Of course, you are free to seek treatment from a psychic specialist if that’s an option you want to explore.”
Martha stands, gesturing for the man to follow, and begins to walk back out to the lobby.
“In regards to your ID, without a name it will be difficult to find anything on you in the system. We’ll try and investigate regardless, but what we can do in the meantime is issue you a new ID”
As the two of them return to the lobby Martha steps behind the front desk and reaches into a set of drawers.
“Should we find any information on your identity in the future, this ID can be migrated back over. Here, catch.” she says, tossing something at the man who very nearly fumbles the catch.
As he raises it closer to his face he sees it’s -
“A room key” The nurse continues “It’s the off season, so there’s plenty of empty rooms at the moment. Go take a shower and I’ll ask Chansey to bring you over some things from the lost and found”
Suddenly, the idea of a shower sounds both amazing and exhausting.
“Thank you.” The man says weariness suddenly apparent in his voice “Seriously. What do I owe you for this?”
The nurse gives an amused snort “Don’t worry about it, it’s all government funded anyway. Besides,” she adds with a hint of mischief “I know you don’t have a penny to your name Mr. No-Shoes”
Right. The man thinks to himself. I’ve got to pick myself a new name before that sticks.
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Chansey, as it turns out, is an absolute sweetheart who deserves the world.
Not only did she bring the whole Lost and Found box up the stairs to the young man's room, but Chansey was also kind enough to bring a pre-packed sandwich and a bottle of water.
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
After scarfing down the food with his best Zigzagoon impression, Chansey and the young man turned their attention to the plastic box crammed full of odds and ends. A quick rummage through, and with fashion input from Chansey, provided some much needed clothes and a few odds and ends.
The spoils of war:
One (1) pair of black running shoes. Half a size too small.
Zero (0) pairs of socks to wear with said shoes.
Two (2) shirts. One with a graphic of an Alolan Raichu, and the other promoting a store called Rydel's Cycles.
One (1) empty velcro wallet with a picture of a Clefairy sitting on a crescent moon on the front.
One (1) dark brown messenger bag with a broken zipper.
After thanking Chansey for their help and taking a quick shower. The young man stood alone in their room.
And finally, the events of the day began to hit all at once.
Waking up alone in the woods.
The realization that Pokémon are real, and this world is real.
The fact he had no money, friends, family or legal identity here.
Missing memories.
That last one should bother him more than it does.
Why doesn’t that bother him? It should, shouldn’t it? Most people would understandably react negatively to the idea that chunks of their memory, their life, are just. Just gone.
Yet, even with this roundabout way of thinking, he still feels no concern about the gaps in his head.
All he feels is… a headache.
The young man lies down onto the single bed, the cheap springs squeaking. It’s barely past noon, but surely… a quick nap wouldn’t hurt.
Quick naps, however, are a slippery slope that lead to waking up the next morning dazed, confused and somehow more tired.
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Upon waking the next morning, and stumbling through to the communal kitchen, the young man is greeted with a letter on the bench addressed to him.
Well.
It’s addressed to Mr. No-Shoes, which seems pretty targeted.
Hey Mr. No-Shoes,
Tried to check up on you in the afternoon, but you seemed to be pretty fast asleep by the way you were snoring.
Help yourself to whatever's in the communal area. If it’s not got a name stamped on it it’s fair game, but maybe check the expiry first?
I’ve taken the liberty of organizing a meeting to get your trainer ID sorted. I’ve let them know to expect you sometime today so go visit the Pokémon Gym and they’ll run you through it.
Grab one of the tourist brochures near the entrance, it’s got a map that will point you towards the gym.
If you need anything I’ll be manning the front desk, but I won’t be able to leave it unattended except in an emergency. (Yes, someone claiming to have severe amnesia and looking like they lost a fight with a Poochyena counts)
-Martha and Chansey
A quick look through the cupboards reveals a jar of instant coffee and some (nearly) expired cereal.
Pouring the cereal into one of the chipped bowls from under the sink, the man ponders an important question.
Zack? No, I don't feel like a Zack.
Taking a seat at the bench the bowl is quickly emptied.
I could go by Cereal? Hmm… might get confusing.
Washing up is soothing, a task with a clear start and a clear end. Soon enough the bowl finds its way to a drying rack.
If I started calling myself Steven Stone will I gain the ability to talk to rocks?
Shoes are put on, still pinching a bit too tightly.
Oh no, do I need to come up with a last name as well? That’s way too much effort.
Out of the room and down the stairs, into the lobby of the Pokémon Center.
I could just not have a name. It’s not like that would make it difficult for anyone to refer to me.
A quick “Thanks” as he passes the front desk, grabbing a gaudy tourist brochure.
What's a cool, fresh name? Can names be fresh? It’s making me think of toothpaste.
Through the sliding doors, and out into the city streets.
Mint? Maybe. Hmm.. What about…
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Normally when dealing with governmental bureaucracy, the mind instinctively shuts down. This is a defense mechanism, designed to protect the higher functions of the brain from the dull monotony of the process.
Stand in line. Receive papers. Fill Papers. Return to the line. Deliver papers. Sit down. Wait. Wait. Wait. Receive more papers. Fill Papers. Question life choices. Fill more papers. This could have been a web page.
It is only after the danger of tedious bureaucracy has passed that it is safe for light to return to the victims eyes.
So it is a nice surprise, to be so quickly ushered from the front desk of the Pokémon Gym into a cozy office stuffed with books and papers.
The floating rock with eyes is just a regular surprise.
“Thank you for your prompt arrival” The woman behind the desk begins “My name is Roxanne Breccia and I act as the local Gym Leader for Rustboro City and across the wider Rustboro area.”
Indeed the woman, who appeared to be in her early 20s at a guess, strongly resembled Roxanne from the man’s memory of the games. The woman behind the desk was far from a perfect replica. Small details like the faint accent of her voice to more obvious details like how she wore a smart button up with slacks. Which only makes sense, here she is a real person and real people have voices not text boxes, and real people typically had more than one outfit.
The young man technically had two shirts, so he technically counts as a real person.
“Now,” Roxanne continues “I’ve been led to understand you are lacking in any… pre-existing identification, is that correct?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s correct. Is that going to be an issue?”
“Not at all.” Roxanne replies with a polite smile “You aren’t the first person to find themselves in a similar situation. Now, there is normally a lot of paperwork involved in this process, but I can expedite the process a bit with your permission”
At this cue, the Solrock, who had been floating passively beside Roxanne begins to spin in place emitting a faint humming noise.
“Solrock here is a part-psychic type Pokémon, and will be able to use low level telepathy to verify your answers to a series of questions. If you accept, this would allow us to issue you an ID much quicker, and of course, you would be free to decline answering any questions at any time.”
“I accept” the man says before he can convince himself otherwise “Do I need to do anything?”
“Just answer to the best of your ability.” Roxanne turns to face Solrock, and a silent command passes between them as Solrock’s eyes emit a faint glow.
“Let’s begin” Roxanne’s polite smile leaves her face.
Things start out simply enough.
“What is your name?”
“I uh… don’t remember”
“Where is your current residence?”
“The Pokémon Center. Room 203”
“When is your birthday?”
“Don’t remember”
“How old do you think you are?”
“... Early to Mid Twenties?”
Gradually the topic of conversation shifts away from personal details
“Do you have any Pokémon under your care at the current moment?”
“Nope.”
“Do you have any prior experience in handling or caring for Class-3 or above Pokémon?”
“...No?”
As things progress further, the questions start to take a strange turn.
“Are you or have you ever been a member of a criminal organization?”
“No.”
“Are you or have you ever had ties to a criminal organization?”
“Again, no.”
“What is your knowledge of Team Magma’s and Team Aqua’s goals?”
“Magma wanted more land, and Aqua more sea?”
“Have you ever, willingly or otherwise, been subjected to large amounts of Psychic, Ghost or Dark typed energy”
“That’s a thing?! No, no I don’t think so”
“Have you encountered any strange phenomena, Pokémon or otherwise, in recent memory?”
“Uhh…No?”
“SOOLLLl…”
“Sorry, yes if we’re counting Pokémon. I’ve never seen a Solrock in person. Or had my mind read for that matter”
Until finally.
“Do you declare that everything you have said here today is the truth, to the best of your knowledge?”
“Yes.”
At that, Solrock’s eyes lose their strange glow and Roxanne places the paper back down onto her desk, and slides it over to the man on the other side.
“Now all that's left is the matter of your name.” Roxanne says, placing a pen down on top of the page. “Unless you would like to go by your ID number you are going to have to pick a name, even a temporary one will do.”
With little hesitation that man takes the pen and quickly scrawls out a signature.
Taking the paper back, the gym leader gives it a look over and politely smiles once again.
“Well then, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Roxanne says.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” Basil replies.