Many regions of the world are known and recognized proudly by many of you readers.
Kanto.
Johto.
Hoenn.
Sinnoh.
Unova.
Kalos.
Alola.
But our region? It's not glamorous. Things aren't as happy and as bright here as you've heard about the other regions. We don't have any distinct Pokemon, so we're like a big dumping ground. Well... That is except for our one indigenous species, Phorb. Phorb are basically just floating pink sphere Pokemon, pure psychic type. They can teleport, but that's it. Scientists are baffled as to why they exist at all. Not even novice trainers here would be caught with a Phorb on their team, yet we hold them as the pride of our region. That's our claim to fame.
This... Is Phorbia.
Our tale begins in the middle of the night.
An orange tinted building, unmarked, stood alone in the night. You'd think it to be a normal building, but camouflaged soldiers with rifles sat everywhere. This building is referred to as "The Labs". No one knows quite what it is, but it's believed to be a testing ground for Pokemon.
"This is Bazalam, reporting in." A man spoke into a small microphone on the collar of his black shirt. With this alerting sound, all rifles were pointed at him.
"Sir! You are not allowed to be here! Leave, as a direct order from the Phorbian government!" One of the guards shouted from atop the Lab.
"Aw shucks." The man, Bazalam, put his hands up, "My bad. However, I have some business to attend to here."
The hectic flash of rifle bullets flying through the dark night illuminated the scene like a meteor shower. Before the large shells could hit Bazalam, he was gone. He used his words as a diversion to teleport himself into The Labs. The guards hadn't noticed that the pink stud imbedded into his collar was a Phorb.
"Ah hell." One of the high ranked guards sighed with a gasp of smoke, a cigarette jutting out of his mouth, "Get all troops in there. We can't risk this man seeing anything. Kill him if need be."
Bazalam knew what he was doing though. It was a straight shot through the lower office. His incredible speed lent him to the far reach of the first floor. He stuck his hand out, grabbing a confidential manilla folder from a desk. This was all he needed. At this point, the guards were inside of the building, ready to shoot him down.
"Now's not the time to let me down." Bazalam hoped under his breath.
There was one exit that he could live from. The window. You see, The Labs were situated on a hill. The entrance was level, but the ground from this end was at least a 50 ft drop. If Bazalam's getaway wasn't there, he would die with no doubt. No time to consider this, he threw himself through the window, unaffected by the shards of glass that managed to edge through the bits of skin that were exposed. And... He landed. He was very much alive. He landed on a large pink bean bag, attached by a wire to a sleek purple motorcycle.
There was a woman in a similar suit as Bazalam on the motorcycle.
"Hold on boss, it's gonna be a rough ride." She smirked, starting up the motorcycle.
With a rumbling sound, the motorcycle took off through the abandoned street. With his bloodied hands clasped onto the sides of the bean bag, which was in the air, being pulled like a parasail, Bazalam laughed.
This woman was one of Bazalam's most important assets. Her name was Janae.
No, these aren't our heroes. The polar opposite actually.
These were two thirds of the head of all of our story's conflict.
Team Psyche.
What was in the folder?
The solution to the one issue that stood between Bazalam and complete control of the Phorbia region.
Nobody could stop the ruthless brutes that were Team Psyche.
Well... Nobody except for one person...
To Be Continued
Kanto.
Johto.
Hoenn.
Sinnoh.
Unova.
Kalos.
Alola.
But our region? It's not glamorous. Things aren't as happy and as bright here as you've heard about the other regions. We don't have any distinct Pokemon, so we're like a big dumping ground. Well... That is except for our one indigenous species, Phorb. Phorb are basically just floating pink sphere Pokemon, pure psychic type. They can teleport, but that's it. Scientists are baffled as to why they exist at all. Not even novice trainers here would be caught with a Phorb on their team, yet we hold them as the pride of our region. That's our claim to fame.
This... Is Phorbia.
Our tale begins in the middle of the night.
An orange tinted building, unmarked, stood alone in the night. You'd think it to be a normal building, but camouflaged soldiers with rifles sat everywhere. This building is referred to as "The Labs". No one knows quite what it is, but it's believed to be a testing ground for Pokemon.
"This is Bazalam, reporting in." A man spoke into a small microphone on the collar of his black shirt. With this alerting sound, all rifles were pointed at him.
"Sir! You are not allowed to be here! Leave, as a direct order from the Phorbian government!" One of the guards shouted from atop the Lab.
"Aw shucks." The man, Bazalam, put his hands up, "My bad. However, I have some business to attend to here."
The hectic flash of rifle bullets flying through the dark night illuminated the scene like a meteor shower. Before the large shells could hit Bazalam, he was gone. He used his words as a diversion to teleport himself into The Labs. The guards hadn't noticed that the pink stud imbedded into his collar was a Phorb.
"Ah hell." One of the high ranked guards sighed with a gasp of smoke, a cigarette jutting out of his mouth, "Get all troops in there. We can't risk this man seeing anything. Kill him if need be."
Bazalam knew what he was doing though. It was a straight shot through the lower office. His incredible speed lent him to the far reach of the first floor. He stuck his hand out, grabbing a confidential manilla folder from a desk. This was all he needed. At this point, the guards were inside of the building, ready to shoot him down.
"Now's not the time to let me down." Bazalam hoped under his breath.
There was one exit that he could live from. The window. You see, The Labs were situated on a hill. The entrance was level, but the ground from this end was at least a 50 ft drop. If Bazalam's getaway wasn't there, he would die with no doubt. No time to consider this, he threw himself through the window, unaffected by the shards of glass that managed to edge through the bits of skin that were exposed. And... He landed. He was very much alive. He landed on a large pink bean bag, attached by a wire to a sleek purple motorcycle.
There was a woman in a similar suit as Bazalam on the motorcycle.
"Hold on boss, it's gonna be a rough ride." She smirked, starting up the motorcycle.
With a rumbling sound, the motorcycle took off through the abandoned street. With his bloodied hands clasped onto the sides of the bean bag, which was in the air, being pulled like a parasail, Bazalam laughed.
This woman was one of Bazalam's most important assets. Her name was Janae.
No, these aren't our heroes. The polar opposite actually.
These were two thirds of the head of all of our story's conflict.
Team Psyche.
What was in the folder?
The solution to the one issue that stood between Bazalam and complete control of the Phorbia region.
Nobody could stop the ruthless brutes that were Team Psyche.
Well... Nobody except for one person...
To Be Continued