Rocket Ball Revolution

I left home to become a Pokémon Trainer, like everyone does when they turn 18. I thought I’d catch my first Pokémon, challenge the Gyms, become the Champion.

First Capture

It started when I ran into Team Rocket.

I was walking through the Viridian Forest when I heard a scream—human, not Pokémon. My blood went cold, and I ran toward the sound.

That’s when I saw them.

Jessie. James. The two idiots I’d seen on TV, standing over a man who looked terrified.

In James’ hand was a Poké Ball. But something was wrong about it. The glow was darker, redder, almost hungry.

Before I could say anything, he threw it.

The ball sucked the man inside. His body flickered—his mouth opened in a silent scream, and then—snap.

The ball clicked shut.

He was gone.

My stomach twisted. “What the hell was that?”

Jessie grinned. “Our newest little invention.”

“We call them Rocket Balls,” James added, spinning one between his fingers. “Catches humans, just like Pokémon.”

My whole body froze.

Poké Balls weren’t supposed to do that.

They were for Pokémon—creatures meant to be captured, stored, commanded, traded, used.

Not people.

Not people.

Jessie took out another Rocket Ball.

“And since you saw that,” she said sweetly, “we’re afraid you’ll have to—”

I moved before she could finish.

Lunged.

Knocked the ball from her hand.

It rolled at my feet, pulsing.

Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed it—and threw.

Red light engulfed them both. Their bodies twisted, shrinking, pulled inside. The ball wobbled—once, twice—then clicked shut.

Silence.

I had just caught two people.