Austin, a die-hard Pokémon fan, is disenchanted with the series' direction post-Sinnoh. After a typical late-night binge-watch, he drifts off to sleep, only to wake up in an unimaginable reality: he is Ash Ketchum, and today is the morning his legen...
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As Austin sat alone in the cafeteria, the simple breakfast of eggs and toast before him seemed less ppealing by the minute.
The radio hummed quietly in the background, the morning news filling the space around him. His ears perked up at every mention of Mt. Moon, hoping for any news on Team Rocket. The probability of encountering them at Mt. Moon felt almost certain. Not only had Ash run into them there in the anime, but it was also the first location where Team Rocket made their appearance. This consistency in their patterns wasn't lost on me; it suggested that their presence at Mt. Moon wasn't just possible—it was likely.
This realization kept gnawing at him as Austin poked at his eggs and toast, barely tasting them.
Beside his plate lay a spread-out map of the region. He studied it intently, tracing the routes with his finger. He had learned that Mt. Moon wasn't just a single mountain, but a range that acted as a natural barrier between Pewter City and Cerulean City. The tunnels, originally built as a trade route, offered a two-day journey through, a stark contrast to the daunting two-week trek across the mountainous terrain above.
As he considered the possibility of avoiding Team Rocket, his grip on the fork tightened unconsciously, the metal bending slightly under the pressure. The image of Pikachu and Vee, potentially harmed or worse, victim to a Team Rocket attack, flashed vividly in his mind. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as his heart rate picked up.
"No," he muttered to himself, shaking the thought away with a firm head shake. That won't happen.
Over the last five days, he had won a dozen battles. He had also prepared enough meals to last everyone for two weeks and had dedicated significant time to rock climbing training, ensuring he was as prepared physically as he was strategically.
He was ready, or as ready as one could ever be. Taking a deep breath, he folded up the map and tucked it into his backpack. Standing up, he tossed the remnants of his breakfast into the trash and slung the bag over his shoulder.
Let's move to plan A.
Plan A was straightforward: he would place a fake emergency call to the Pokémon Rangers' office and direct them to Mt. Moon, letting them handle Team Rocket. That was, after all, part of their job.
Over the last few days, he had pinpointed a phone booth, one located away from any prying cameras. Despite the seeming safety of the location, he took no chances and wore a mask to further conceal his identity as he approached the booth.
The booth itself was old, its once-vibrant blue paint faded to a dusty teal, chipped and weather-worn. The glass panes that made up its sides were thick and yellowed, giving the inside a claustrophobic feel, only exacerbated by the musty smell that clung to its confines.
