Excerpt from the Kanto pioneers Encyclopaedia of Wondrous Beasts, on Gyarados (then known as the Great Sea Vane):

A beast of considerable size and near-limitless ferocity, the Great Sea Vane is truly proof of not only the existence of God, but of his wrath and disappointment of mankind. As long as a longship and covered in scales that can deflect even the heaviest harpoon tips, the Great Sea Vane is ever hungry, ever wrathful.

With a whip of its tail, it sends waves in the open sea, capable of sinking ships and with a roar, it unleashes from its gut the fire that burns within, reducing even the greatest ships and the best crews into fine dust that’s left to sink in the ocean and pecked by the tiny fishes.

But no indicator of God’s cruelty is made more obvious in the Great Sea Vane than its terrible jaws. Perpetually hanging open, equipped with rows of hidden teeth, the Great Sea Vane grabs sailors with the tip of its lower incisors and reels them in, where he chews on bone and flesh with its crooked teeth, spilling gore down its belly.

For all the ferocity and severity of the wounds bestowed, the position of the Vane’s teeth is such that no wound is ever truly fatal, ensuring that the sailor bleeds out long before succumbing to his wounds. It is a cruel death, unfitting even the vilest of heretics.

The ground floor of the hospital is a warzone, a constant explosion of powdered glass, toned by the alto intrusions of screams, framed by a polka dot of blood, fur and the occasional set of scales.

Something dribbles down from my left ear but I’m too scared to check. It feels warm as it’s drying on the side of my head. I’m not entirely sure, but I think it’s a deep shade of red. I’m praying to God it’s not clear, because clear would mean that either my eardrums have burst, or that my brain’s leaking out.

Then again, it doesn’t feel like my brains are leaking out. Though it might have been a welcome change, under the circumstances.

The pokemon that I let out of their pokeballs are either wounded or screaming, looking for cover. Their bodies are covered in cuts and bruises, eyes are put out. I see a Pidgey, uselessly flapping its wing on the linoleum floor, its hollow bones probably reduced to dust. I catch sight of my Scyther, if only for a moment as it retreats to a distant ceiling corner, behind-first. I try to call for it, but the pokeballs slip out of my hands before I even know it. I look at my hands, shaking uselessly and I’m thinking:

What’s wrong, Vincent? You pussying out on me?

I chance a look above my front-desk cover: the sounds of battle have died down, even against the constant buzzing in my ears. I see the Snorlax and the Gyarados grappling, locked in combat, their jaws and claws looking for an opening that will give them the advantage. The Snorlax’s face is a mask of hate, painted red. There’s a great gash where its left eye ought to be, oozing blood and clear jelly. Its belly is a mess of jagged teeth marks and torn fur. Its claws are dug deep into the Gyarados’ skull, digging into the flesh, looking for a hold in the bone underneath.

The Gyarados is spilling fish-blood, as it clenches its tail around the Snorlax. Their muscles shift like continents, grinding against each other. Every now and then, something pops. Perhaps a rib, or the spine. I can’t see the Gyarados’ face, but I can tell that it’s missing an ear, ripped clean off.

Something inside me snaps at the sight, turning an unknown switch: I find myself thinking about the people; hospital staff, doctors, Officer Jenny (mostly Officer Jenny). I look around at the mess on the ground floor and I’m thinking:

I don’t see any of them. They ought to be okay.

It takes a lot out of a man to pretend to not see the things that are definitely not pokemon, lying broken on the floor. Looking back, I wonder if I perhaps chose not to acknowledge the mess of broken hospital beds that rained down from the first floor when the Gyarados smashed its head against the ceiling.

The black pokeball’s sitting on my lap. If you ask me, I think it’s following me. I hold on to it, just in case. I take a deep breath, pretend that I’m praying to God, trusting my survival to a higher power and then bolt out of cover.

SAomething roars behind me. Something breaks. I’m running through the smashed plate-glass doors, cutting my feet to bloody ribbons and I daren’t look back. A black, unmarked van screeches to a halt in front of me. The men in black suits burst out; I notice the origami crane death-squad brooches and scream at them:

“Shoot me, shoot me, for God’s sake, shoot me!”

But the sawed-off shotguns on their hands don’t rise up to meet me. They swivel past me, at whatever it is that’s speeding behind me. I hear the tolling of church bells, as one of them shoves me in the passenger seat. As we’re speeding away, I notice the driver’s face sideview into a Noh Mask of sheer, unadulterated terror, after chancing a look at the sideview mirror. He keeps mumbling for a while, then falls silent.

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“You’re Mister Fuji’s men, aren’t you?” I ask him, clenching the black pokeball in my hands so hard it hurts. The driver just nods, the Noh Mask unphazed, unshifting.

“Thank you.” I weep tears of joy. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

***

Vermillion City:

“Joey? Joey, are you awake?” came the soft voice from behind the curtain of bandages around the trainer’s face. The pain had somehow subsided now, but his left eye was still aching. He kept trying to close it, but the red-haired woman with the straight razor had taken his eyelid.

“Um.” said Joey, whose legs felt like they’d been hollowed out and stuffed with thumb-tacks, his every flinch a moment of constant agony, after the hollow-point bullets had shattered his kneecaps in a million pieces.

“Joey, it’s dad. I need you to look at something, Joey. I need you to take a look at a man and tell me if he’s the one who hurt you, okay?”

“Um” said Joey, his tongue lolling around uselessly, sometimes slipping out of the gash where his left cheeks used to be. He’d bite on it sometimes, as he struggled with the feeding tube and he’d cry like a baby, bawling his eyes out for hours.

The bandage was moved barely an inch, but Joey’s eyes hurt so, so much under the glare of the phosphorescent lights. Someone placed a screen in front of his face, showing him grainy, security-camera shots of a man dressed in a hospital patient’s outfit, screaming. A swipe of familiar fingers later, the man was throwing pokeballs, screaming. It took Joey exactly a second to put the face together, to match it with the horrors of the day before.

“Uuuuh!” Joey moaned, as the face of the man clicked into place. The man with the Scyther that ate Nadia, the man with the red-haired woman who smashed his best friend’s face in, the man who made his face into a big red pulp. His bladder let go and Joey soiled himself, but he was too scared to care.

“I want this son of a bitch found, I want every bone in his body broken and then dragged here so my boy can pull the trigger as he’s begging for his life. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But first, let’s give him a little something to hate himself over, really clinch the deal. Does this piece of garbage have any family?”

“Just his mother, in Saffron City. Declared an invalid from the state for the past ten years. Psychological reasons.”

“Have her killed. Send him her tongue, or a finger. I’ll leave that up to you.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

En Route to Lavender Town:

“What do you mean, she’s not home?”

The man jabbers something through the speaker that doesn’t help to alleviate Mister Giovanni’s nerves. After Saturday’s mess, having to spend his Sunday negotiating the trade of an invaluable asset with one of the most dangerous men in Kanto with one of his men on the line is nothing short of a waking nightmare.

“Then find her! Find her and bring her here, understood?”

He’s cut off the line before the man is done talking. With Violet missing, he loses any leverage he might need to make Vincent just that little bit non-compliant, to make him perhaps bite his lip, to keep himself from spilling his gut when Mister Fuji breaks out the pliers.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Mister Giovanni barks at the driver.

“Can’t risk it, sir. There’s a Snorlax that’s gone on a rampage near Lavender town, might be making its way to the Freeway again.”

“If we crash into it, then I’m gonna drag myself out of the wreckage just so I can kill your family. Understood?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Giovanni.”

“Good man.”

The driver steps on the gas and Giovanni prays to the God of his father that perhaps Vincent hasn’t spilled his guts out yet. That maybe, just maybe, this won’t be a disaster.

Then he thinks of Mister Fuji, clicking his pliers mockingly and knows that he’s only fooling himself.

Lavender Town:

The red nurse was not enough for Ghost, not even close. By the time it had swallowed its bones, the fire in its belly had returned. There was a Chansey in the Pokemon Center, but that was too feisty and barely edible. Ghost only ate the softest parts, left the screaming meat behind.

Ghost waited for a while, until the sun went down. It burned Ghost’s skin and it hated it, so it waited. But the hunger make its belly rumble, set its brain on fire. From somewhere in the distant, Ghost caught a whiff of blood, the sounds of battle. It dared the sun, creeping along the shadows of the buildings.

Ghost found the wrecked building that wrote Hospital on the front. It was falling apart. Blood was congealing on the driveway, the parking lot. There was meat strewn all over, some of it even breathing. Ghost waited until the sounds were done. It didn’t feel like it was up for a fight, so it only crept closer and drew the broken bodies to it. One bite, two bites, three bites, gulp and they were gone.

The Snorlax lasted longer and the Gyarados still whipped it with its tail, as Ghost swallowed it, head first. Mashing it between its teeth, its stopped. Ghost should have been filled, but it knew there was more. It couldn’t risk going without a meal again.

It likde the woman in blue best. The one who kicked at it and shot it in vain. Ghost loved its meat with a hint of fear.