Rebuilt Snagem Hideout, Eclo Canyon, Outskirts of Orre, March 4th, 1978

  The oldest lesson ever taught was that there is no truth.

  Yet it was exactly that which gave truth meaning.

  The earth spun, day turned to night, and the sun and moon danced around each other in an eternal chase. Yes, perhaps these could be considered universal truths, but such a thing was not the same as truth.

  For some, the earth stood still, shattering underneath them as the world fell before them.

  For some, day never came, its light smothered in darkened clouds of an unending storm.

  For some, the sun and moon were not celestial beings in the sky, but unknowable deities on the ground, laying in wait.

  And for her… her truth was simple.

  There were two types of people in the world.

  Predators…

  And the Prey.

  Jade was never the philosophical sort – she never had the time nor the desire to pursue such thoughts.

  This did not mean she never had such thoughts – look at her now, thinking about truth – but time was precious, and wasted time was a wasted life.

  Whether by one’s own hands or by another’s.

  Jade was a hardened woman - fourteen years of age - borne by the death of a silly girl who didn’t understand the truth of the world.

  Jasmine - like the flower she was named after - was always such a pure girl, even amidst a wretched world. She never knew her parents, but that was okay, because she had friends on the streets who looked after her.

  They were the most reliable type of friends.

  They were trapped, like her.

  They could never leave.

  She learned from them, and fought with and against them, depending on the day. To be pure was not the same as being innocent – there wasn’t a single soul in Orre who could claim to be innocent – but Jasmine always strived to be a good girl in a bad world.

  She was weak she was stupid she was prey stupid prey weak prey-

  Jasmine - small, thin wisp of a girl - knew hunger well, and knew the taste of desperation even better.

  And, oh , she was a desperate girl, trying - praying - to escape the slow purgatory she was stuck in for something more fulfilling than swiping scraps off the streets before the local Raticate tore it apart leaving none for you and the other orphans of a land torn apart by foreign powers for such a lucrative prize of precious minerals-

  But, then, she was getting ahead of herself.

  And Jasmine tried - oh, she tried - to keep her purity , even as the world around her lost all sense of order, all sense of meaning.

  Jasmine had friends once, the type of friends that only came together because staying on your own meant you’d be stolen away and sold off to Cipher or - gods forbid - the brothel.

  They were never the kindest - kindness was a synonym for weakness in their tongue - and she had many sleepless nights nursing her stomach, bruised by the older boys who wanted her to know her place-

  She never did attack back - even though her mind catalogued all of the most vulnerable places on their body - and they eventually got bored of her in favour of moving onto new blood.

  She stood to the side, as that one girl - two years younger and half her size - was beaten to a bloody pulp as ‘initiation’.

  She thought about offering the poor fool a hand.

  She thought about it, and did nothing more than think.

  And though the world wore away at her, Jasmine still held onto her purity with shaking hands. She was always a stubborn one, never knowing when a fight was impossible to win.

  Her death came on an unremarkable day, ten years after she dragged herself to this mess of a world. Mortality came to her in the form of a drunken man with a knife, bearing darkened eyes clouded over with lust.

  There may have been a world out there, a strand of the Veil casting a much more merciful destiny for the young girl. One where she grew up to be a leader, a doctor, or otherwise simply happy.

  But this was not such a merciful world.

  And Jasmine was faced with a choice.

  The drunken man forced himself upon her, uncaring for her size or her age.

  Jasmine had always been weak.

  She froze, in fear - in shock - and tried to get away.

  Jasmine had always been kind.

  But, oh , something writhed in her heart, and snapped its jaws in rage as the man became a touch more violent, a touch more handsy , and cornered her.

  Jasmine had always been Prey.

  And the man forced himself on her, keeping her still with his weapon as he defiled the sobbing girl below him, defiled the few shreds of innocence she kept, defiled the purity of her soul.

  And in her heart, a pit of black ichor - a putrid hatred that festered every day under a burning sun - spread its roots and sunk its teeth.

  Jasmine had always been prey, yes…

  But she had the heart of the predator.

  The man’s grip on the knife loosened, and the girl grappled for it, wrestling against the man’s clumsy hold before disarming him, and stabbing-

  The knife tore into the man’s chin, and into his throat.

  The girl gasped as the man’s hands left her throat, as he fell onto the floor, gasping for bleeding air.

  And though the girl had screamed, had cried, had plead to the man and the world around her, nobody came upon her and the man.

  This was not to say none heard her – oh, yes, plenty did hear her screams.

  But this place – this hellish purgatory – was never one to foster such emotions as compassion, now was it?

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  And Jasmine - sweet, pure little girl - gave her final breath that day, a gasped sob mingling tears amidst bloodstained cheeks.

  And as the girl’s sobs slowed, and her breaths leveled out, once-kind eyes turned cold, as a layer of writhing hatred was chained together into an invisible mask.

  The girl knelt down, and grasped the knife, yanking it out of the man’s chin.

  The predator stood, and wiped the weapon clean, before leaving the prey behind to be picked apart by birds.

  Where Jasmine’s death came in a singular, sharp end, Jade’s birth was muddled, unknown, spanning for a period of two years where the girl simply wandered.

  There were still aspects of Jasmine to be found in Jade, echoes of a girl who clung to the belief that the world was kind. But those similarities mattered little to the few who knew her. They didn’t like Jade as much as they did Jasmine.

  They always felt safe with Jasmine, that foolish little girl that reigned in her wrathful heart.

  But they were scared of Jade, for her heart was no longer chained.

  They didn’t understand why her name was different than before, and she never cared to educate them.

  Names were precious to those like them – they were the last link between them and their families.

  To forsake one’s name was unheard of – to forsake one’s name was insulting.

  She saw her once-friends less as time moved on, and eventually, she never saw them again.

  And where Jasmine had hope for the world, Jade was aimless in her anger. She no longer held any desire for a better future, for she could no longer imagine such a thing existing.

  That was why, when recruiters for Team Snagem - the new dominant power over her town - asked around, instead of hiding underneath trash heaps and tarps as Jasmine had done, Jade willingly joined them.

  She wondered, for a time, just why Team Snagem had gone to her, had gone for the children lingering on the streets. Few of them had any experience in pokemon battling, and most could boast anything more than meagre skills in pickpocketing and sleight-of-hand.

  Of course, she was something of an exception.

  She had blood on her hands.

  It quickly became apparent to her, though, even if none of the other fools her age understood it. To her new taskmasters, she was little more than clay , to be beaten and shaped into a desirable object, moulded towards absolute loyalty for them.

  And it worked , for most her peers. Consistent shelter and food were practically a myth for most of them, and despite the harsh words and occasional beatings - ‘physical training’ they called it - most of them grew to call this little canyon hideout a home.

  Jade was not one of those people.

  She had no home.

  Yet, despite her distaste for the taskmasters and the hatred in her heart, she took to their unique brand of training, and excelled at it.

  None of her peers fought better than Jade. None of her peers snuck better than Jade. None of her peers planned better than Jade. None of her peers lied better than Jade.

  None of her peers were better than Jade.

  And, naturally, the taskmasters noticed. It was a blessing and a curse in many ways – higher expectations leaned towards harsher punishments in the case of failure, but she never failed.

  She had no friends among her peers - not like Jasmine did with the kids on the street - as they all glared at her anytime she passed, whether in jealousy, doubt, anger, or some combination.

  However, while she had no friends, she retained a single ally amidst a sea of strangers.

  Once she and the others were fully inducted, they were assigned a pokemon to train alongside with. They said it was chosen randomly, but Jade had become better at detecting lies.

  Her taskmasters lied in every word.

  She met Bagon through this process - assigned to her due to his sickly constitution; a test of her will - and they quickly formed a bond.

  It wasn’t anything magical – certainly nothing like the fairy tales peddled along by desperate children in a dying town – instead borne out of the necessity for survival than any true friendship.

  Jade trained Bagon to overcome his weaknesses, to turn them into strengths. She proved his worth to people who didn’t care whether he grew into a Salamence, or was butchered for meat.

  Through this, her own strength was proven to them as well – grunts were expendable, but she wasn’t.

  No, unlike her peers - unlike the fools parading around, claiming to be ‘master criminals’ - she was cunning, she was observant.

  She was dangerous.

  And she lived in a dangerous world - she’d learned that long ago now - where legends were real and wrathful, where gods could be chained by man to do its bidding.

  There were rumours, spread in hushed whispers between the taskmasters and other adults, thinking she couldn’t hear. Tales of terror, of savagery committed against people that made her own experiences pale in comparison.

  For a while, all she heard of the outside world were horror stories of Cipher, and a corrupted God of Storms. Where the taskmasters trembled in fear under the might of the living god, Jade could only hear the rumours and think of the opportunity.

  After all, if Cipher could subdue such a powerful creature, why couldn’t she?

  But then, the whispers began to change, as operatives came back from the wasteland with charred clothes and charred skin, telling tales of an unending wave of fire , raining down from the sky.

  They said that the people of Orre had finally angered the gods too much.

  And they responded with a storm of cascading fire.

  And Jade couldn’t help but think to herself - in voices both her own and that of a long-dead little girl - that the shivers of the men around her, the terror in their eyes, all painted them not as the terrifying predators they believed themselves to be.

  But as prey, cowering away from something greater.

  And Jade wanted to scream , wanted to yell , wanted to tear out their throats , because they were being stupid if they thought they could simply hide away and wait for their nightmares to peacefully walk away.

  She wanted to run - she wanted to fight - she wanted to scream - she wanted to rip and tear with foaming teeth-

  She was a predator.

  She was prey.

  She was the only one who wasn’t surprised when the world around her shook, and shattered.

  The earth stood still, as the walls of their base caved in with a blast of flame.

  The light of day flashed away, as harsh shadows splintered against charred remains.

  And the sun and moon fell from the sky, as a legend chained tore through those who rose to defend.

  The monstrous Moltres opened its maw and screamed , casting plumes of flame that melted through steel walls and plated floors.

  And Jade, frozen as bodies scrambled around her - to run, to fight, to shout, to die - looked into the eyes of the mortal god-

  And saw death, the destroyer, riding upon it, staring back with crimson eyes ringed with darkened void.

  Jade blinked - death looked away - and was knocked off her feet as Shelgon rammed into her.

  She scrambled to get back up - she wouldn’t die on her knees - but the dragon held firm on her clothes, and dragged her beneath smouldering rubble.

  It would almost be funny, if her mind weren’t clouded by ichorous wrath.

  She was predator – she was prey.

  Shelgon - her partner - was neither.

  He simply survived.

  And so she watched, as the base was torn asunder, and set ablaze.

  Seconds passed, falling over into minutes. Hours and days warred in her head, for the fire was as bright as the summer sun, and no less hot.

  Finally, after hours - or days or weeks - of writhing flames, there remained only piles of debris, as the chained god rested its neck down, allowing its human riders to dismount, and smell the ashes.

  And where before she could only see their silhouettes emblazoned in flame, she now held in a gasp as she watched them survey the wreckage.

  They were both young – not much older than her.

  The first - the shorter one - watched the devastating with guilt on his face, well-hidden beneath a veneer of coldness, not unlike her own. He almost looked her age, were it not for his eyes. They were a warm amber - beautiful, in a simplistic way - which clashed against the bags underneath his eyes.

  He looked remarkably tired for his age, and almost sick by the sight before him.

  That weakness undercut any awe she may have felt at the sight of him.

  In the reaches of her heart, she knew this boy was prey.

  But the other - with eyes of darkened void - walked with an easy grace that the other lacked.

  He, too, looked young - yet something told her he was older than he looked . He watched the carnage he wrought not with any guilt, but satisfaction.

  The lingering flames around them licked against the man’s skin, leaving it unblemished aside from the scars it already bore. Even amidst the hellish light, he seemed to retain a shadow, almost sentient in how it moved around him, obscuring his form.

  The man paused, and her breath caught in her throat as he turned to stare at her directly, despite being hidden underneath the rubble.

  And for the first time of her life - both Jade and Jasmine’s - she knew what it meant to be under the gaze of an apex predator , one who was unchained by any fear or weakness.

  For all that Jade tore herself away from Jasmine’s identity, she still retained the weakness of prey.

  Yet now, as she gazed upon what she knew in her heart to be the most dangerous man she would ever meet, she felt her heart seize, as desire filled her lungs.

  She wanted what he had – the strength of a monster, the grace of a killer.

  The eyes of a hunter.

  The heart of a predator.

  She wanted to be feared like she feared this man. She wanted to inspire the same awe she felt in his presence.

  So, as predator and prey locked eyes, she stared back with conviction, with purpose.

  And the predator - the monster lying in wait - smiled.

  And she read much in that smile - a dark mix of sorrow and loss and wrath and grief and humour - before it faded away, as the predator turned to the boy beside him, and murmured, “ Come, Takashi. ”

  She held her breath as the two mounted once more on the tamed god, and watched them take to the evening sky.

  She waited until she couldn’t see them, then waited a little bit more, before emerging from the rubble. And like Jasmine before her, Jade passed away to make way for the birth of another.

  The sun set on a burning world, and from the wreckage of her old home, Hunter J emerged, a predator among prey.

  I don’t really know how to feel about this one.

  I dunno, I tried going for something of a character study/origin story for Hunter J, or at least the depiction I’ll be using in Act 2. There were some heavier themes than usual in here, so I hope I wrote them in a respectful way.

  As you can probably guess by now, Hunter J will have a decently prominent role in Act 2 as one of the antagonists. I’ve only recently learned of her existence, and she quickly rose to become my favourite anime-original villain.

  There’s also precious few fics that have her as a character, so I wanted to try my hand at it.

  Also, I wrote this in a single day. The original idea for this interlude was a similar origin scene to Wally (Rival from Gen 3), who also plays a major role going forward. However, I ended up writing a really good intro scene for him in Ch 20, which kinda rendered the OG idea for this interlude kinda pointless, so here we are!

  Speaking of Act 2, progress on that is mixed. I’ve planned out the entire thing, spanning 19 chapters and 4 interludes, each of which have detailed notes. I’m not going to write in on-the-fly like I did for most of Act 1, so there’ll be less meandering.

  However, this current semester is my busiest yet, so I’m only almost done with Chapter 20. I don’t expect to have any more than 4 chapters finished by April 28th, so… I have a question for y’all.

  Would you prefer for a monthly upload schedule for the summer (since, like last year, I expect to not have much time to work on this fic), or would you prefer a biweekly schedule? The former would give me much more time to (hopefully) keep consistent updates into the next school year, but the latter would lead to a drought of updates during June/July/August.

  I’m fine either way, but let me know what you prefer.

  Anyways, that’s all I have to say.

  (Join the Discord, we’re chill: )

  Cheers!