You Are The Pokemon AND You Have Declared War

Chapter 1: The Machamp in The Kitchen

   Now imagine this.

   Chaos.

   Discord everywhere.

   Pokemon are now out of their pokeballs, free from the prison spheres they were in. Free from the chains we call childishly as "friendship". Now, after all the years they were badly treated and forced to battle each other, they go chase down their trainers, mostly going for the kill, and causing ruckus on everything see from electric boxes to explosive tanks.

   Of course, it was the triumph of every Pokemon and by what I mean by 'every Pokemon' I mean that the usually friendly uncaptured wild Pokemon also joined in the mess. From sewages to Diglet stampedes, to the dragons and birds that rained fire. Literally.

   Now pan over to John, the guy in tuxedo, holding his umbrella for dear life. Did I mention that he had amnesia and he forgot about everything he ever was? No? Surprise.

   If you read the previous part, you would remember that he was in a party, a birthday party. That would explain why he's in a tuxedo. But now, he finds himself outside of Helix Hospital, the hospital that tried helped him recover, where a big wailing Waillord has been unleashed and now it 'sits' on the remains of the first or second floor... or was it third?

   John, not even sure if that is his real name, snapped into consciousness. He finds himself outside the hospital, on its grassy lawn, and saw everything. Pokemon chasing trainers and trainers screaming for their lives as they get burned, electrocuted, poisoned, hypnotised, dismembered and/or bitten. Horrific, yes, but what caught his attention was a considerably fat man in a toque, a chef perhaps, just a few yards away from where John was lying on. And John recognised him behind the sores on his face. And his pursuer was his Machamp, Fists.

   I know, I know, not very creative when it comes to names.

   "Fists!" John called out, "Please stop!"

   Fists froze his about-to-be-swung arm. He immediately saw John and began to chuckle. "Well well, if it isn't John. That bloke who can finally understand Pokemon blah blah blah..."

   Again, if you read the last book, you would remember that John can actually understand them due to an accident– toxic wastes spilled over him. He may be from Unova but he was brought here because only Helix Hospital had the technology to contain and cure the toxicity he got into. Yeah, like some cliche X-Men superhero origin story or something.

   The Machamp began to approach John, dragging his trainer who was now begging to not hurt him. "You see this punk in my hands? This guy has a 'doctorate' on cooking stuff," he said throwing it in between him and John so that John can see how bruised up the chef was. "Sure, he's nice to all y'all but he didn't show us mercy. All because we're Pokemon!"

   The Pokemon gave the chef a few more punches on the face until it was purpler than before. It startled John and he wanted to crawl away but he knew that he can't outrun this mad Machamp.

   "He was a liar, a prosecutor, an unfair trainer and a biased piece of trash!" Fists shouted, throwing a fist after fist for every word. Then he stretched one of his four arms back, going for a fatal blow "And he deserved to die!"

   "Fists don't–!"

   The Pokemon's hand broke through the other side of his trainer's head, blood splattering everywhere. The body stopped moving and the limbs gone limped the moment it stopped receiving any signals from the brain. He was dead. The chef was dead. He was killed right in front of John's eyes. Satisfied with his presentation, Fists retreived his blood covered fist and threw the body into the air, not caring where it will land.

   "Everyone of you must suffer. For all you have done, for all you did to us."

   John scrambled to get up but he can barely move. "Th-that's not fair... I can't remember anything I ever was. I don't- I can't even remember if I even have Pokemon!"

   The four-armed Pokemon picked him up, ready to mash up John's face as well. "Hmm... Let me help you remember because somewhere down there, you know that you had Pokemon before this silly amnesia. And if you have Pokemon, you have made them suffer too."

   John struggled with the grip on his collar but it was no use. The Machamp raised an arm, about swing a blow... until car drove into them and sent them flying to the ground.

   "Hey kid! You might wanna hop in!" the insane driver said. But John doesn't seem to respond. He slammed on horn. "Kid! You coming? You knocked out or something?! Oh you be kidding me."

   The truck's driver hurriedly got out, picked up John's unconscious body and threw him among the other unckncious people in the back of the truck. He picked up a receiver and murmured something into it. He then verbally nodded, got behind the wheel and drove away.

   Away from the mess.

   Away from the explosions.

   Away from the painful cries of the Waillord that sat on top of the remains of a hospital...