It's my 18th birthday. My 18th birthday, and my mom decides to give me a freaking journal. Oh well, I guess I can use it to write down things I need to remember. Like whatever may happen on my journey, which begins today. Being 18 means that I get my first Pokemon and am set off into the world. Or at least what's left of it in this new hellish landscape. It was eight years ago when everything changed.
I had just turned ten, and was of course overjoyed to be finally getting my own Pokemon. My parents had always told me about their own adventures. How they had both gotten to the elite four, then after several failed attempts at beating them, they ran into each other and soon decided to settle down, happy to have gotten as far as they did. I grew up alongside their Pokemon and became all too excited for the day I would get my own, and when it finally came I couldn't help but be outside of Professor Elm's front door at 5 AM. The Professor had answered my frantic knocking with a huge smile upon his face, and he ruffled my hair as I ran into the white lab to try and get at my prize even faster. That's when Elm's PokeGear began ringing with the fearful voices of the entire region. Their Pokemon had fainted in a battle, but now weren't getting up. Not even the nurses could do anything to help, as the Pokemon were showing no vital signs at all.
At first, the retrieval of my own Pokemon was delayed by hours, as Professor Elm answered all of the calls, and set straight to work to try and figure this whole thing out. Hours became days, and days became months before everyone figured out that this was a new, and permanent, thing. Something had gotten into the DNA of every Pokemon, changing it so that their moves became more lethal, inflicting killing blows instead of just knocking out the other Pokemon. Gyms were then shut down, researchers were sent around the regions to find out more about this whole thing, and everyone was advised to find a place in a nearby town and stay there. My dreams were hashed apart as I was then told I would never get a Pokemon of my own. For my own good, of course.
A year passed before the second tragedy hit. I was in Professor Elm's lab, staring at the pokeballs which had just gathered dust, forgotten since the day they were set out for me to choose between. The lab exploded into a frenzy as the calls came in about the researcher's pokeballs malfunctioning. They were attempting to catch new pokemon when the ball would zap them and the Pokemon, killing it. More research into this led to the conclusion that now only one pokemon may be caught per forested area, and it could only be the first Pokemon that was stumbled upon in that area. Even if an egg hatched, or people traded Pokemon in an area, it would be counted as the catch. There was an anomaly however, where if the first Pokemon found was the same species as one the finder already owned, the pokeballs would allow them to continue looking until they found a pokemon they didn't own. When some researchers tried to come back from far off regions, they also found that their pokeballs would basically suicide, killing all Pokemon within.
Everyone began to believe that someone must be behind this whole thing, and so it was decided that once more old trainers should resume their careers and new trainers should be sent out into the world, all for one purpose. To find out who was doing all of this, and then stop them. The age limit for new trainers was increased however, so that they were more mature and could make better decisions when other's lives were in their hands. Now it's my turn to be thrown out into the world with a new partner, as everyone hopes that maybe I'm the one who will end this madness. Yet they all know it is way more likely that I will just end up another casualty in this war. Maybe that's why my mom gave me this journal. So that if I do end up disappearing or dying out there, a bit of my own tale can live on.