Look at all those freaks in their trash-can-strewn pleasure den!

He turned and walked away from me, and that was when I saw the utter disaster that was somehow an official Pokémon League-sanctioned gym. An incredibly unnecessary number of garbage cans littered the expanse of the room, but that wasn’t the most startling aspect of this unholy environment. Human beings slumped in bizarre positions throughout the room -- possibly needle freaks, obviously junkies of some sort. I followed the hippie as he zigzagged across the room, rummaging through the refuse.

“Lose your favorite needle?” I asked.

He apparently didn’t find this funny and kept muttering something about “secret switches.” As he dug his way through the bottom of the last container there was an audible click in the back of the gym as a door slid open to a frightening cacophony of sounds. Lights flashed as sparks lanced across the room, and I could see the telltale sign of rodents skittering back and forth across the scarred wood floor. Above all, however, were raucous cries of ecstasy.

The source of the moans was none other than the gym’s leader, Lt. Surge. The man was lying back on a mat, bare-chested and legs covered in old combat fatigues. Were he not writhing on the floor in the fits of some freaky fetish, I might have liked him.

“Pikachu! Thunderbolt!”

“Dear god, man! What are you doing?!” My warning was cut off by a yellow rodent scurrying madly up Surge’s leg, digging his claws into the man’s abdomen, and delivering a shock that was a hundred thousand volts if it was one. Surprisingly, the man somehow avoided being killed and crisped instantly.

Back in his prime, before the electricity addiction.

Instead, he bellowed one of the most unsettling noises I’ve ever heard produced by a human being and collapsed on the floor in a heap. The little yellow rat scurried away into a corner somewhere, presumably to nurse its undoubtedly wounded psyche.

I kept waiting for Surge to sit up, but all I was privy to was the rapid rising and falling of his chest. The closed-door pleasure-den antics of a Kanto gym leader, though possibly worthy of print in their own right, were not my story. I nudged him with my boot.

“Hey.”

Nothing.

“HEY!”

I had grown tired of waiting. I knew of a collection of delusionals around the corner known as the Pokémon Fan Club. Surely they, or possibly someone at the Pokémon Center, could tell me where to go. I decided to leave this sad, sorry heap to his own devices. I turned around to spit on him, but he had miraculously vanished. When I turned around, he had already grabbed me by my shoulders.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Why? Aren’t you my 8 a.m.?”

“Yes, but...”

“You’re Markson’s man, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Well, how is the old bastard?”

Trapped as Lt. Surge's...umm...slave?

Clearly I wasn’t going to get out of this one. But as long as he was up and about instead of lying dead or comatose on the floor, I supposed I could humor this freak for a few minutes, provided he told me what I needed to know.

“He’s fat and angry as ever.”

This was greeted with a much bigger laugh than I expected. That yellow rat’s jolt had knocked something loose in this freak’s brain. I needed to be on my toes.

“So, you’ve come a long way. What can I do for you? I see you’ve got a Pokéball there. Do you want to battle?”

“No, no. I’m just here to write a story on a famous trainer. Goes by the name of Red. Do you think you might tell me where I can find him?”

At this, his jittery, seizure-like movements ceased, and he became eerily somber.

“Wh-why do you want to find him?”

“He’s the champion, isn’t he?”

“Well, yeah. Fiercest trainer I ever went toe to toe with.”

“That’s why I need to see him.”

“But you guys don’t even have Pokémon where you’re from! What do you care about Red?”

“Look, man. I just cover the stories that old bastard friend of yours assigns me. You going to tell me where this Red guy is or not?”

“I don’t know exactly where he is. But I know where he’s from.”

After this, he offered nothing more.

“Well, out with it, man!”

“If you want to know where to go, you’ll have to beat me first.”

“Look, I’m no trainer. I’m just a reporter, I…”

The awful fate that awaited me.

But it was too late. I could already see the trainers in the gym waking up, strange red and white spheres which were definitely not Pokéballs rolling toward me, eyes set for battle.

Wait. Eyes?

I turned back towards Surge, but he had completely transformed into the fierce soldier I had heard about. His small yellow rat -- and one that looked like its older brother -- circled me slowly. The air began to stink of ozone once again.

This was not going well.

Tune in next time as our intrepid reporter tries to uncover the mysterious past of Pokémon Trainer Red!