Gilroy Redwood, who went by 'Gil' most of his life, became a Pokémon Professor around the same time the far more famous Samuel Oak did. Unlike his Kanto counterpart however, he stayed in Unova, in his family's home town.
There had always been a Redwood Lab adjacent to their farm land, handing out Pokémon to Trainers from towns all over the largely unpopulated north east. Most would hardly even call that area Unova, Unovans would call it 'northern Unova', and given that not many people lived up there, not many people minded the lack of an official region name.
Unova was close enough of a trip whether by car or flying Pokémon, so it didn't really matter to the locals of that area. It was, however, far enough for Professor Juniper and her associates not to bother with it. Unova proper had enough Trainers as it was, and it was hard enough getting them Pokémon.
Because of the general lack of people, Trainers around that region within a region didn't usually set off on journeys. The people who lived there could generally trace their roots in the area back five generations, and the Redwoods were no exception. Unlike more populated regions, this also meant that the official lab servicing the area didn't stick to a trio of particular starter Pokémon. It was more of a 'choose what's around, and go catch it' type of experience.
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This is also what caused the local Trainers to start so much later than other regions. The north east was dangerous, home to Tyranitar, Ursaring, and even the occasional Beartic. The winters were usually harsh and long, and the summers didn't tend to last through August.
Despite all this adversity, the area did tend to breed a tougher kind of Trainer, for the few who actually bothered to prepare to go on a journey. Most kids worldwide were taught early on about tall grass being dangerous, but the locals here had a different tradition.
They let their youngsters wander the woods, and they left it to the esteemed Professor Redwood to teach them. There were wild Pokémon all over the place, and walking through grass was an inevitable nuisance. Thus, the community had decided long ago to educate the children early.
This was how poor Gil got roped into sticking around his hometown. He would've much preferred to go south and study the strange Swamp that took up half the coast, or continue to wander the world searching for unique variations of known Pokémon species, like the Black Salamence, but he was needed at home. It was hard to up and leave when most of the youngsters relying on you for their education were related by blood.
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The Redwoods had, by far, the largest family for miles, with an aged manor home that could barely fit them all. They never had an issue with extending the barn to make room for more Miltank and Tauros, but Gil's brother, Renault, had outright refused to let anyone touch the house itself.
When Gil and Renault's father, Professor Alaric Redwood, finally passed, the surrounding towns were left without an official Pokémon Professor for several years, as Gil was still getting educated. Becoming a genuine Pokémon Professor tended to take a long time, especially if your specialty was on rare and unique Pokémon that were, more often than not, completely made up.
Gil spent many years as a Trainer of sorts, on the road, traveling the world. Decades had passed by the time word reached him of his father's death, and his brother's. Thus, he managed to miss his nephew's generation entirely, and they were all grown by the time he returned to the family lab at the ripening age of seventy-five.
It became obvious on day one that he would be arguing with his brother's children for the rest of his life. Renault had four, and they themselves were in the process of making even more children. Renault had passed while Gil was still in school, and thus when he finally returned, his young nephew Frederick was playing the 'man of the house'.
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It was an altogether dreary, depressing place in his opinion. The children had clearly been raised 'proper' and saw Pokémon as a source of income, not fascinating creatures meant to be studied and loved, that were more full of wonder and mystery than most people even realized.
Frederick had three siblings, Lisa, Edward, and Gilbert (who also went by Gil, making things even more confusing), and they were all in the process of expanding the family line. In short, he returned to a house full of pregnant women and screaming babies. This is how he took to shutting himself in his lab's basement, rather than the uppermost room of the manor, which had been deemed his. It had also been used primarily for storage space, and the Professor didn't have the back strength to move it all. Nor was any of his younger family willing to help him do so.
Everyone was okay with this relocation, as 'The Professor', as they all called him, had a 'foul and disgusting habit'. Smoking Leaf had been illegal during his school days, and that had only made it slightly thrilling. Now, he mostly smoked to alleviate the headache his relatives gave him.
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He spent some years living like that, out of his lab's basement, until eventually, by an act of Arceus, he found a woman. Elaine was a 'local', which meant she was from one of the surrounding towns. Nobody cared that her hometown was on the north-eastern coast and not far from Bostonia, they still considered her 'local'.
For a local, she was quite a looker. Hair that was a wonderful cross between red and scarlet, curves in all the right places, and as if that wasn't enough, she shared his sarcastic wit and love of the Leaf. He knew as soon as he met her, and discovered these things, that he would marry that girl.
Which of course, he did, despite his age. With their technology, humans were living longer than ever, and the males of their species didn't lose their juice until they hit their nineties. It also helped when one's lover had a thing for older men and still looked as young as women in University.
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For about a year, things were fine. Their basement was extended, if only to give them a private bedroom, and while it was cozy and stank of many, many smoked bowls of Leaf, the two were quite content to live there.
The trouble started when Elaine discovered she was having a girl. The Leaf smoking stopped, of course, and suddenly, their living conditions were unacceptable, a fact Gil agreed with. The only problem was that by now, everyone had four-year olds running around the main house.
Frederick was also finally married which meant the promise of more children, and he refused to expand the house, as his father had, and also refused to let Gil take his portion of the family money to build a proper house elsewhere. Gil even offered to extend the lab into a second house, but that too was 'unacceptable' with how much of the ranch the expansion would take up.
These long months of stress, coupled with the total lack of stress-relieving Leaf sessions, is what caused Gil's hair to finally turn from a rich auburn-brown to gray. Not entirely at first, but enough to be noticeable, around his dwindling hair-line.
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What turned him snowy white was his wife's death, in childbirth. As obscure as their town was, they'd made the trip to Unova for the birth, and for reasons that were never fully explained to him, he lost his wife, but gained a daughter. The combination of shock, lack of sleep, and having to drive a screaming child up to his home, alone and grieving, kept him from questioning it properly for years.
As a Professor, he should have pressed harder. He had been trained to handle human injuries, as well as Pokémon's, and he knew enough about the human body to understand the medical jargon that the average layman would not. He stayed preoccupied however, as the depression, funeral planning, and lack of sleep thanks to his screaming daughter kept him from being anywhere near as sharp as he should have been.
His demeanor changed, after that trip. He stopped arguing with his relatives, barely leaving his lab. Almost all of his aides left, and the few that stayed only did so because they had become ingrained in the town after spending so long at the relatively isolated lab. Many said that he'd simply lost the 'spark' that had driven him to investigate even the most absurd rumor in search of a new Pokémon legend, and it was only his years of travel and experience that kept the rest around. That, and his always-full Leaf jar.
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His daughter, Malina, grew up in the main house mostly, spending most nights with the other children. By the time she was five, she was already sick of their smelly basement, and was more than eager to get on with becoming a Trainer. Her father didn't often brighten up, but every once in a while, he'd tell her about his travels. For a brief moment, the man he used to be would return.
The cold cynic would always come back, however, as the story only had one ending, and he stopped telling it long before he got to mentioning her mother. By the time Malina was ten, Frederick had finally managed to have his first child, who he'd named Alexander. Up until then, he and his wife had cared for her like a daughter most of the time, and she was a large part of what kept the two men from arguing.
Malina was sixteen when she demanded to be taught to be a Trainer, claiming that Unova girls were already adventuring, and taking down evil organizations with full teams of Pokémon. She had a point, as everyone had seen what Hilbert and his sister had accomplished against Team Plasma. The old Professor finally relented, and resumed teaching the new generation about Pokémon, as best he could.
Aside from a few Trainers who came by seeking a proper starting Pokémon, his students were the offspring of his own nieces and nephews. He taught them everything his own grandfather had, how to walk in tall grass without angering wild Pokémon, which Pokémon were territorial, which would attack to defend their territory, and which would simply growl if they accidentally intruded. He also impressed upon them the importance of carrying spare berries around. Usually, a peaceful offering of food was enough to dissuade Pokémon from attacking a human.
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He noticed two things as he began educating his thirteen relatives. His own daughter, and Frederick's son, were remarkably close. What was more, was the son in question clearly did not take after his father. His eyes lit up around Pokémon just as brightly as Malina's. He clearly loved them, and one had to be blind not to see that love reciprocated. He'd narrowed his little eyebrows at the idea of his Miltank friends being sources of money, rather than unique individuals, at which point his father had passed him to the Professor to teach.
He'd been in class for a week before Alex and his daughter had run off to the nearest pond to try to find a Squirtle, or a Bulbasaur. Naturally, the rest of the kids had followed, and Gil pretended not to notice. There was to be a full moon that night, and the air had a tingle to it. There was no better time for fate to unite a Pokémon and a human for life.
It ended rather quickly, when young Alex's father found out. The other children had been just as eager, but when their parents discovered their plans to go around the nearby wilds in search of Pokémon, they mostly shut them down. A few of the older kids, like Malina, Geralt, and Aria had already managed to catch an Eevee, Rockruff, and Swablu respectively, by convincing them to become their partners. That too, was a Redwood specialty.
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Like his grandfather, Gil taught the kids that offering a chance to join your team, rather than snatching a Pokémon from their home, usually made for better companions. Some Pokémon would battle to test a Trainer's worthiness sure, but most were capable of deciding whether they wanted to be part of a Trainer's team or not.
It was an 'outlandish' theory to the more popular Pokémon Professors, who to that very day continued to tell new Trainers that 'weakening' them was key, but it was one theory that Gil had seen disproven over and over again on his travels. There was no need for a battle if the Trainer in question could approach a Pokémon properly.
He had no idea where the concept of needing to battle before catching came from, but he'd done his best to discredit it. That, along with his discovery of how to tell the difference between truly unique species variations, and regional variations, was what had given him his small amount of fame. His actual research into the myths and legends of the Pokémon world had been laughed at by mainstream scientists, who mocked his evidence based theories of Arceus and other legends like Necrozma and Eternatus being a part of some fabled 'original Arceus'.
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With most of the burgeoning Redwoods prohibited from becoming Trainers, Malina's closeness with Alex's parents soon faded, and only faded further as they were primarily focused on caring for Eric, who'd been born three years after his brother. When Gil made his rare visit to the main house to watch the PNN, and his old friend John Crimson, he noticed something else that irked both him, and his daughter.
Eric had been three when the family decided that catching more Pokémon would mean too many mouths to feed, now he was five, and his brother was seven. There was no seven-year-old alive that wanted a Pokémon as badly as Alex Redwood. He talked constantly to his 'Gruncle Red' about having a Charmander, or maybe an Oshawott, or a Tepig, and so on. It changed almost hourly, but he usually stuck to Charmander as his default. The kid was obsessed with watching Galar's own Champion, Leon, and his seemingly endless winning streak.
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His father was adamant though, he could have a Pokémon when he could afford one. It was no secret that the family funds were running on the low side, even with Gil doing what he could to help out. Pokémon Professors got a nice paycheck from the Pokémon League, especially when they actually started a Trainer on their journey. It was hard to do that, given the lack of gyms in their 'region', but he managed.
Not long after his favorite cousin left for University, Alex had been taken to Castelia, in New Tork City, where one Doctor Frank Ein had seen to it that his destiny was forever altered through lies and manipulation of his parents. He'd been in a dark place, for a child, and that darkness had turned from sadness to rage when Eric had been given a Squirtle, before even reaching the age of ten.
Gil had sighed when Eric received the Squirtle, and seeing the glimmer of hope in the young Alex's eyes fade as they took in that sight caused more of a heart ache than he thought he could still feel. His naïve daughter, who'd been home on Festivus Break, had been sucked in by those large blue eyes on the verge of tears, and she later admitted she spent much of that night keeping him from crying. Even back then though, he'd managed to keep his face somewhat passive, though his chin had trembled.
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When asked why Alex was still being denied a Pokémon, Frederick's response had been to have a long talk with his uncle's daughter. His reasoning had been thus: because Alex had a tendency to be quiet, shy, and withdrawn around people, the local kindergarten teacher had informed his parents that something was 'wrong with him' back when he was seven.
When he did talk, it was about Pokémon. Rather than doing math, he drew doodles of Charmander. Even at recess, he'd wander into the nearby woods and entertain himself with the Caterpie there, rather than join the other kids. Were it not for his size, he would've been bullied.
His parents had 'tested' him then, driving him down to Unova so a 'proper Doctor' could examine him. The Doctor in question, one Doctor Frank Ein, had determined him to be 'mentally deficient' and recommended keeping him from becoming a Trainer, lest he hurt someone with the power a Pokémon could put out. It wasn't that far-fetched of a fear. There were teenagers running around taming Legendary Dragons, after all.
Malina was, of course, furious when she heard this. It was clear what young Alex's parents thought of their children. One was a 'Professor in the making'. One would be lucky to live out his life as a stable hand. Naturally, she went to her father with this news, only to discover that he'd known about the Squirtle, and the testing. Gil had tried reasoning with his nephew, but as usual, that got him as far as it ever had, and it seemed Alex would continue to be denied a Pokémon. Frederick had even gone as far as to threaten to evict the Professor if he got one for his son anyways.
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That, more than anything, set his daughter off, and it was only his laughing that kept her from demolishing their cozy basement furnishings. He told her that she reminded him of her mother, even though she'd inherited his brain and his hair color. They talked long into that night, and even enjoyed a bowl of Leaf. He wasn't all that surprised to learn she'd become fond of it while away at school.
The next morning, she demanded that they go down to the hospital in Castelia City to find out what had actually happened to her mother. Given that he had always preferred Pokémon to machines, he called out his aging Rapidash, who was still every bit as fiery as he'd been in their youth, and rode him down to the city.
It was more crowded than he remembered, but much of his memory of his last visit down here had been hazed over by pain and time. Malina was adamant though, and eventually, they tracked down the hospital. Gil had to blink several times as he stared up at the symbol that now adorned the entrance of the building that had not been there previously.
The symbol of Arceus, supported by a metal cross underneath it. Evidently, the Arcean Church had bought out yet another building. He paused, holding his daughter by the shoulder. "We should stay out here. There's no reason to get involved with these people…and knowing them, the records are probably ash by now."
Malina sighed at him, "Dad, most records are kept on computers. Honestly, how old are you?"
The Professor sighed, and muttered something about being too old for 'tude, before heading in. The desk monitor already had her hand on the desk phone, presumably to summon security, as he walked in. He didn't particularly find a brown suit covered by a lab coat threatening, but evidently this poor woman did.
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"'Morning, ma'am. I was here about two decades ago with my wife, while she was giving birth to this one," He patted his daughter's head, and smirked as both women gave him a look, "Unfortunately she died during the birth, and nobody could tell me why. I wasn't in my right mind at the time obviously, not enough to prod anyways, but now we'd both like some answers. Do you happen to have any records from back then?"
The woman looked between him, and his daughter, then shrugged. "You can hav'a look in tha basement. Don't get'cha hopes up though. Floodin's a bitch." He nodded his thanks, but the evidently locally born and bred woman was already focused on her Holociever again.
Upon seeing the basement, the Professor had to agree. Flooding had indeed been a bitch, but by an act of Arceus, the records from the year in question had been stored on a top shelf, and thus were some of the only papers still intact.
The two Redwoods searched what they could when the Professor suddenly asked, "Malina, what did you say the name of Alex's Doctor was? The one Fred took'im to?"
She was by his side seconds later. "I think it was…Doctor Ein…wait, he handled mom, too!?"
The Professor's eyes narrowed as he examined the picture. "That name…why does it seem so familiar…I feel like I've heard it before, but where?" Malina had shrugged, and Gilroy's brow remained furrowed as he struggled to recall something that was seeming more and more important as his clever mind began connecting dots.
The two left quickly and quietly then, with a lead to follow. The entire ride back up to Derrion Town, the Professor was lost in thought, using his considerable brain power to try to remember why that name sounded so familiar to him. It had tickled his memory when he'd first heard it, but he'd been too enraged by his nephew's idiocy to focus on it.
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Once he got home, he began researching on the Pokénet while his daughter eventually dozed off on their basement couch. He'd shared as many stories of her mother with her as he could bear, over a bowl of Leaf of course, and then once they'd cried themselves out, she had fallen asleep. It was hard to remember she was still just a kid as, like her mother, she'd developed relatively early. He had enough on his mind though, and put the thought of worrying about boyfriends away for another time.
Three hours into his research, he finally dug up something useful. A report from Orre, where a scientist by the same name had been involved in the Shadow Pokémon incident, a calamity that had gained worldwide attention when it had been leaked that a Lugia had, briefly, been infected with Shadow energy as well. Thankfully, the science was too complex to easily replicate, and those who had started the research were either in prison, or defectors who sold out their former comrades for reduced or no jail time.
The Professor had had many gut feelings over the course of his life, and he didn't like where this one was leading him. He needed to follow it regardless, however, which meant more digging. He left his daughter a note, got a haircut, and trimmed his beard. He added a bit of hair dye, red like his wife's had been, and he was reasonably disguised.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
He got on his Noctowl, Soren, then and headed for the distant Fornia region. The trek was long, and his Noctowl was as old as he was, but he was still a stealthy flier. They moved at night, when he was hard for humans to see, and eventually, they managed to enter the Fornia region by coming down from the north-western coast. That small region was the only part of the coastline to remain free of Arcean control.
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Infiltrating the Church wasn't exactly difficult. They welcomed new members, especially members with a background in science and the study of Pokémon. A friend in the north-western Takoma region had given him a fake ID, as a Fornia-certified Professor. His name was changed, but his skills were still very much real. Within a week, he had passed their PokéMeter tests, and was admitted into their main lab in the center of the region, in the city of Sacreus. Sacreus itself was an unusual sight, as it resided in a crater, caused by an impact of something massive, from the days when humanity had been in the process of tearing itself apart, after trying to send colonies into space.
Military installations lined the interior of the crater, despite the fact that Fornia hadn't officially been at war since the Prophet of Arceus united the region. The city itself was a quiet, but bustling place, and the people did not stop to socialize on its streets. They were all too focused on their own tasks, and completing them in a timely manner.
Being inside the organization itself, it was easy to see why so many people clung so tightly to their status as a member of this cult. At that moment, he was a cog in a much larger machine, and had he not had an ulterior motive, he might've been swayed into believing their menial busywork actually had a greater purpose. It was nice thinking that their efforts were benefiting the entire planet.
The longer he stayed, however, the more the corruption began to peek through the cracks in the aesthetically pleasing society. Coworkers would appear with bruises after not having any the day before. Female workers were often called into their superior's offices, and one didn't have to be psychic to guess what was going on behind the doors. He could only hope it might be consensual.
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What got him in trouble, were the children. He loved teaching young ones, and had done so many times on his travels, as well as back home. Many of the words that came out of their mouths made him genuinely laugh, and they always had questions, which he was happy to answer, with his learned brain and life experience. His station in the medical wing often had him walk by classrooms full of children, whose parents were presumably hard at work 'in the name of Arceus's Prophet'. He noticed one of the supervisors of these children, not much older than some of his own family members, getting far too friendly with several of them. Boys, girls, it didn't seem to matter to the man in question.
He reported it to his superior of course, with the idea that not even the Arceans, who he'd never had a high opinion of to start with, would be okay with a pedophile in their midst. Instead of punishment however, the supervisor in question was moved to a different classroom with fresh prey, and Gil got to spend eight consecutive hours in 'PokéMeter Therapy', until he admitted that he'd only 'made up' those accusations because he had 'guilt' for his own 'crimes'. After eight hours of repeatedly answering the same damned question, he made up whatever lie he could, just to get out of that room. After that, he began to understand why it was so hard for people to leave. This was little more than brainwashing. Legal brainwashing, he reminded himself.
He resolved to get out as soon as he could, and thankfully, an opportunity presented itself two weeks after he was brought to live at the facility. His room was spartan, and he'd seen jail cells with better lodging, but he didn't mind. Living in this helhole gave him access to what he needed: files.
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He'd mentioned early on that he could work night shifts with ease, and as he'd guessed, most of the other night workers were not nearly as adjusted. Most adults worked sixteen-hour shifts, so he couldn't blame them. Most teenagers worked the same shifts. If you were in an Arcean family, you let the Church educate you, and Church education left much to be desired. Like actual education. Those who conformed to the rather harsh standards required by Arcean Trainers excelled, and were given the basic knowledge one would need to function as a Trainer in a foreign region. Those who did not conform, as they preferred to enjoy their freedom their own way, ended up mining for fossils in the region's north at large, isolated camps run by only a few adults.
The lack of education was yet another shackle that kept the potentially disillusioned cultists where their leaders wanted them, as even if they did escape, they would never earn enough money to support themselves on battling alone in the modern world. If one family member left the Church, the others either disconnected from them in every conceivable way, or left with them. Sadly, the families in question, while saddened at losing a family member, thought the 'Prophet's mission' was far more important. Thus, the very idea of leaving was considered taboo. It was a clever idea, turning every member of the cult into a potential snitch certainly dissuaded any thoughts of disloyalty or subversion, but at the same time, it did not promote trust between the people of the region.
It was on one of his many graveyard shifts that the old Professor finally managed to find what he needed: a detailed file on 'Doctor' Ein's experiments. It seemed that after the Cipher Organization had fallen to pieces, the Arceans had quickly moved to absorb what was left of them. One of their own former admins, Ardos, was reportedly working for the Prophet himself, as one of his Hands. Caleb Pravus's Hands were like extensions of his will, and their presence was usually a sign that something terrible was about to occur. In Gil's experience, that was usually seeing a coworker having the snot beaten out of him for some 'crime', which in this cult, could be real or imaginary. The idea behind calling them Hands was that, because Arceus himself was rumored to have created reality with a thousand arms, his 'Prophet' should have many arms as well. It was the highest position one could hope to attain in the Church. Some Hands had more importance than others, but all had the authority, and security clearance, to enact the Prophet's will.
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The research on Ein's work almost made him grimace where he crouched. The Church had evidently started up the process of creating Shadow Pokémon again, but as before, they had been unstable. This Ein character had gotten the brilliant idea to use human stem cells to try to stabilize the darkness, and after injecting them into several Pokémon eggs, they'd had a breakthrough. The madman had copied what the scientists behind Team Rocket's Mewtwo disaster had done. Evidently, they wanted history to repeat.
He couldn't really blame them, as Mewtwo was monstrously strong. According to the file, the specially infected Pokémon were bathed in Shadow energy, and then handed out to local Trainers, as this variant of Shadow Pokémon could gain strength from battle, but only as an unevolved species. Naturally, the poor things were confused, angry, and unable to bond, unless their Trainer proved themselves by dominating their partner.
In this way, the Fornian Trainers kept the weaker bleeding hearts from advancing too far in the Church, while those who embraced their cruelty were given legitimate power, to be used in the name of the Prophet. After that initial success, a mandate had gone out from the Prophet himself, to ensure as many Trainers as possible started with these new abominations of science. Then, he looked at the date said mandate had been handed down. Almost three decades earlier. He had a growing feeling of unease as his brilliant brain did the math, and having first hand experience with how Arceans expanded, he extrapolated the numbers, and reached a simple conclusion. They had to have been harvesting such cells from outside of Fornia. Likely, in every region they'd established a presence in.
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The Professor's gut guided him towards the source of the stem cells used, and his lunch nearly came up as his worst fears were discovered. The use of stem cells to extend human life and repair damaged organs had been discovered ages ago, the only problem was getting a supply of them. Most modern doctors had moved on to other methods of repair, and only used such cells sparingly when needed from the donated surplus their organizations managed to collect, but from what the files he dug up said, the Church had been gathering a stockpile large enough to support a second Shadow Pokémon project. Many of their sources were hospitals in Unova, and other States that their Church considered 'enemies'.
He could only imagine what three decades had done for their research. He carefully took the files, and gave them to his Noctowl that night, who carried them to a safe place, far from Arcean jurisdiction. Given that they were paper files, created in case the computers ever went down, he didn't expect them to be discovered missing for quite some time.
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As he entered his third week of hard meaningless labor and graveyard shifts, the wear was starting to show on his weathered features, but he couldn't give up yet. He needed hard evidence to tie Ein to his wife. He'd read that one of the methods of collection was siphoning cells from umbilical cords that were supposed to go to legitimate facilities, and legitimate doctors who, presumably, still held a moral code.
Such methods could only get so many cells however, and after finding a vague mention of siphoning cells from fetuses about to be born, it didn't take a large leap in logic to assume what might have happened to his wife.
He could stand to be tired if it meant discovering that secret. He'd even risked being caught, but he no longer cared. The truth was out there, and it was so close. He remained stealthy however, always making sure to get a full rest before attempting another search. It didn't mitigate the exhaustion completely, but it helped.
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It took many long hours of scouring through records both physical, and on the net. He knew he risked discovery by using his computer, but he had no choice, if it meant following a lead. He tried to hide his extracurricular searches in between the numerous logs he made to keep the medical wing running smoothly twenty-four seven, but eventually, his luck did run out.
It was on the day that he finally found hard evidence of Ein's pass card being used on the same Unovan labor ward his wife had been in, when he was confronted. He'd been the only person in the office that night, and had taken the chance to dig online for what he needed. Had he been more awake, he might've smelled the not-so-subtle trap.
"Well well well." A smooth baritone interrupted his search, and he felt a chill go down his aging spine. The tone might've been charming had it not oozed sleaze. "Someone has been searching for information in all the wrong places. You're clever though, Professor Redwood. It took us far longer than I'd like to admit to notice where you were digging, and why."
After spending several months pretending to be a devoted Arcean, the Professor knew who he was talking to. The Prophet of the Arcean Church was a figure the workers pledged their oaths of loyalty to on a daily basis, and he had been a figure in thousands of their cringe worthy workplace videos that were, of course, mandatory to watch on a yearly basis. The Professor coughed, his voice rough from disuse, "Caleb Pravus…I thought I smelled a Muk."
The strike to his cheek was as hard as it was fast, and it sent the elderly Professor spinning in his chair towards his keyboard. He snagged his data disk, and slid it up his sleeve, along with the saved napkins he'd kept from dinner. He glared at the man, wondering how anyone could purposefully go for the 'evil villain' look, goatee and all.
"I guess the rumors are true then…beating subordinates must be so easy... when you control every aspect of their lives…" The Professor expected the next punch, and the one after that, as his arms covered his face. One glance at the 'Prophet of Arceus' told him all he needed to know. The man was enjoying beating on him a little too much. The look in his eye was almost manic.
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"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Professor?" Pravus grabbed what little dyed red hair he had still, primarily on the back of his balding head, and forced their eyes to meet. "I had no problems ruining your life…it was so easy to fake her death…on paper, at least. Ein was the one who had to get his hands bloody, weren't you my friend?"
The bespectacled man with dark hair and a hair flick that was entirely too long walked into the Professor's vision. "Caleb, we shouldn't be-" The man was silenced as the fist that had been holding the Professor's hair swung to strike the scientist across his face.
"You will Address me…as the Prophet! Sir will also suffice…" Pravus was panting slightly, his face red from the exertion. It took the Professor a moment to realize that it wasn't exertion that had caused his heavy breathing, but pure, undiluted rage. He stared closer at the temporarily distracted madman, and the chill in his spine deepened, as he realized what was hiding in the man's shadow.
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Gil wondered for a moment how a man with such issues managed to control a state as large as Fornia, which made up the majority of a coastline, with absolute authority. Then, he surmised, a cult was probably the way he would've gone about it as well. In this era, such groups were rare enough, but they always devolved into brutality behind their closed doors. During the Dark Times they'd been far more popular. Thankfully, the modern world had turned more peaceful, and rational. To a point.
Ein glared at his superior, and then adjusted his black, spiky glasses. They were several years out of style, and now had cracked lenses. "Sir…is it wise to be telling him so much?"
Pravus turned back to the Professor, and smirked, "Oh Ein…fret not. This wrinkled sack of skin won't ever see daylight again. Put him in the Hole."
The Professor felt himself being lifted by two burly sets of hands, but after being struck and beaten, his vision was becoming unsteady. Fist fights and old age did not mix well.
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The next thing he knew, he was waking up to the feeling of someone shaking him. He blinked his weary eyes open, then looked around. He was still clothed, and judging by his exhaustion, hadn't been out for too long.
He noticed then, that he was being shaken by a blonde boy, who couldn't have been older than Alex. "Hey mister," he said, sounding entirely like a twelve-year-old, "You should sleep in the day, when it's hot. It's better to be awake at night. That's the only time we get food."
Groggy as he was, it took the old man a minute to comprehend the boy's words. "Food? What?" He blinked again as several loaves of bread, covered in what looked like dumpster gruel, fell on top of them, and the forms of several other huddled humans nearby. He grabbed one, and sniffed. He'd tasted some harsh dumpster gruel in his time traveling the world, namely in Eous, but this was an entirely new level of foul. His aged nose picked up feces, and he grimaced, tossing it away. As the others around him tore off the gross parts and ate the rest, he hoped they weren't all covered in the same filth.
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He took the time then to figure out what exactly was going on. The boy, whose name was Bradley, said that they were in 'The Hole', and that it was where people went when they were bad. When he asked the boy what he'd done to get put in here, he said, "I…lost my Charmander…Uncle told the Prophet I lost it on purpose, and then he…then I was put in here."
The Professor gave the lad a shoulder pat, though he kept it brief, as he felt the child stiffen in fear at the contact. That was another aspect of this cult he didn't particularly enjoy. Members were required to report other members for violating the 'rules' of the Church. Not doing so got you put in here, or so he heard from his fellow prisoners, and he realized that was probably what had gotten him eight hours of meter time.
Night eventually gave way to the day, and the Professor chuckled. It was amazing how wrong Pravus could be. Judging by the hole's entrance, the sun would be visible for several hours a day, at least. By his third day in the pit, he'd figured out the guard rotations, and from then on, began to plan his escape.
He knew Soren was likely looking for him, and given that they'd been in worse prisons than this, he felt escape would be relatively simple. To the guards, he was just a sunbaked old man making hooting noises for hours on end, but he knew the hole's acoustics would likely be what helped his sharp-eared friend find him.
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Eventually, of course, he did. Hypnotizing the guards was simple, it was helping his fellow prisoners that almost derailed his plans. None of them would escape with him, each of them, Bradley included, said that they couldn't just abandon their families.
Leaving them behind was hard, but after ten minutes of arguing, he'd had enough. He had information to share, a story to tell, and a daughter to go home to. If these people refused to help themselves, he couldn't force them. Not with only one flying Pokémon. Soren flew him back up north, sticking to the treetops, and eventually, they passed over the Kanadian Wall, into Takoma, and freedom. He patted his old feathered friend, and thanked him.
Once he was safe in his friend's Takoma hideout, he shared what he knew with his ally. He had a vested interest in bringing the Arcean Church down as well, as he was Takoma's Champion, and well aware that the Arceans had designs on conquering his region. They discovered that the old man did indeed have useful information, on not only Ein, but Pravus as well.
Gil had taken to walking around with a pocket recorder years ago, as he and his wife had won or lost arguments by recording previously spoken words. He'd kept hers for years without over-writing it…and in the moment he'd been caught, he'd turned it on more by reflex than anything else. He wouldn't let the loss of the last recording of her voice be in vain. He had proof, now all he needed was an exposé, and he knew just the man to do it.
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"I'm sorry Gil, but I'm not the man to do this." John Crimson said as he poured yet another glass of what looked like scotch. They were in his penthouse apartment of the PNN building in Castelia, and the legendary reporter was bathing in his hot tub, a tray with his favorite meal floating before him, "The Arcean Church has been trying to buy this studio for years, and they're about to succeed. If I run this story, the entire network might go down after they sue us for every charge their lawyers can cook up."
"John, I have the man on tape admitting to covering up murder. That's as hard as evidence gets. It's like you, in Nimbasa's Red District." He'd made four copies of the tape when he'd returned home, and hid them in every safe spot he could think of. Paranoia was a blessing, sometimes.
John Crimson shrugged, "If it's that hard, bring it to the police. If Officer Jenny can't make it stick, no one can."
After several more minutes of arguing, the Professor eventually left the PNN building, and went to the police. Finally, after weeks of hardship, he felt progress was being made, as the officers at the station guaranteed him they could convict on evidence like that.
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He went home then, and slept soundly for the first time in a month. He called a week later to check the status of the investigation, only to find that the officers at the station had no recollection of his visit, the evidence he'd presented, or the charges they'd discussed filing. The man on the other end of the phone was more interested in knowing if he had any additional copies of this evidence however, and the Professor disconnected the call before swearing loudly and colorfully in the privacy of his lab-adjacent room.
He went to every news station that would take his call then, resolved to give the story to a hungry young reporter, eager for a 'scoop'. After the Ryme City scandal, they'd popped up like weeds the world over. Before he could contact them, they came to him, asking questions about a rumor so obviously fabricated that, by its design, he knew it came straight from the nonsensical realm the rest of the Arcean Church's accusations manifested in. The Arceans had moved quickly to counter him. Pokésites had popped up, claiming that the esteemed Professor Redwood had recently taken a vacation to the Fornia region, infringed on the religious rights of the Church, and had returned home, drunk off his ass, trying to sell a fake story in order to get a scrap of fame.
Any idiot with a three-digit intelligence quotient would've been able to tell who was sponsoring the aforementioned sites dedicated to smearing him, but the press' interest was on his personal affairs, not the truth. Moreover, they'd taken a similar tactic to his own, and used his own recorded words about his 'crimes' to slander his name. His tone was clearly sarcastic, irritated, and exhausted, but the 'evidence' that was little more than rearranged words in his own voice, was damning. Eventually, he resigned himself to the fact that he would never be in a position to take Pravus down.
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He became even more withdrawn after that, his daughter met a man from Kanto, and moved overseas with him, desperate to get out of that lab basement and start her life. He never heard from her again.
Abandoned, slandered, and outfoxed, Gilroy resigned himself to his studies, but his efforts were fruitless. His sole comfort was his grandnephew, Alex, who alongside his uncle, Gilbert, often joined him in the Lab's basement for talks about life, and Leaf smoking sessions. Of Frederick's generation, Gilbert had turned out to be the least stuffy.
The Professor buried what evidence he had in his former bedroom, and took to sleeping on the couch. Eventually, he sealed the door entirely, utterly convinced that what was behind it would never be useful.
He often wondered why people had so easily believed the lies on the Pokénet, and the cynic in him said it was because most people were too thick to dig a little and find the truth. Eventually, he stopped caring altogether, and focused on trying to impart some kind of life wisdom onto his favored relatives, namely, the newest generation.
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He'd tried telling Alex's father who the Doctor responsible for 'testing' him really was, but as usual, Frederick took his word, and chucked it. Like everyone else, his nephew bought into the Church's propaganda, and told him to his face that he was lucky that they didn't evict him for his supposed predilections. He was, for the foreseeable future, no longer welcome in the main house, full of kids as it was. He showed his nephew the hard proof that he'd believed would help Alex, the actual step-by-step indoctrination methods for kids with battle talent that they couldn't control. Gil had no doubt they'd put him on a PokéMeter, and he knew all too well what had happened after that.
The boy had no doubt registered some degree of talent, enough to be a threat. Arcean procedure then instructed the meter reader to either indoctrinate the individual in question, or keep them from becoming a threat. Ein had deemed Alex too 'mentally unfit' to handle a Pokémon once the attempt to indoctrinate his parents failed, and thus Alex grew up without Pokémon. The only comfort he had was the love the Pokémon of the ranch showed him. He handled them better than anyone, and thus was often the one left to clean up after them. It took him all day, usually.
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The Professor wanted to help him out, but knew that giving him a Pokémon would only result in his eviction, as the straw that broke the Camerupt's back, and that would leave young Alex without a supportive mentor of any kind. Something needed to change, before Gil risked that, and eventually, something did. New neighbors moved into the old mansion roughly a mile from their own plot of land, and the Professor watched the new arrivals with curiosity, at first. There was an awful lot of construction work for a house that, having once belonged to the Redwoods, was still in fairly good condition.
The head of the smaller Gladstone family first met the crotchety Professor during Festivus, and the two soon hit it off. There was something familiar about the well-mannered man in his seventies, and eventually Professor Redwood discovered, and aided him in his own...private endeavors.
For Alex, it was a chance to bond with people over Pokémon, though Gilroy suspected they only kept coming around because there was literally nothing else for bored rich kids to do in town. Not long after the neighbors came, Frederick made a deal with the man of their house, capitalizing on his new friendship with the Professor. Eventually, they had reached an agreement to share the vast swathes of land that had been 'town property' for decades now, and far out of the Redwood's price range.
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The number of ranch Pokémon increased, the Redwood family clawed their way back from bankruptcy, and by the time Alex left for University, they were once more sitting comfortably on a pile of golden currency.
Alex had changed as well, however. The Professor had noticed a hardened look in his eye one day, and from then on, it seemed obvious the lad had a goal. He'd spent his years on the ranch battling Tauros against Bouffalant or vice-versa, learning Pokémon moves, and squirreling away what allowance he received in order to buy items.
It didn't take a Professor to figure out he was going on a journey soon, and it wasn't until he asked for aid on a topic for a school paper that the old man got an idea. He recommended his grandnephew research the Arceans. They had helped contribute to his Pokéless existence, a fact he would realize, if he dug deep enough into the cult to learn of PokéMeters, and their purpose. He had a mind that, with maturity, had become as sharp as his brother's, and the Professor knew that he wouldn't stop at the surface of the rumors he'd no doubt find.
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The Arceans hadn't become kinder in the years since his infiltration, and his hunch that they would eventually out themselves with their plans for world domination eventually became substantiated. He slowly realized, after watching his relative battle with a Turtwig against a Tyrantrum in his final exam, that this was a Trainer who could out the foul cult, perhaps permanently. All it took was a bit of strategic placement, and timing.
John Crimson agreed to help this time, and by pure coincidence, one of the newest Hands of the Prophet paid the PNN building a visit on the same day Alex Redwood gave an interview. In truth, the Professor had thought his plans foiled before they began once Alex disappeared on the Dragon Mountain, but when the video of his grandnephew's Charizard surfaced, he was more convinced than he'd been in decades. This was a chance for retribution.
Fate, it seemed, agreed with him, as it was Ghetsis's own pride that led to Reshiram's freedom, and all the wonderful things that followed.