The last thing he remembered was the sound of screeching tires and the blinding glare of headlights cutting through the rainy night. He had been walking home from the midnight release of the newest Pokémon game, the collector's edition box clutched against his chest like a precious treasure. Twenty-seven years old and still as excited about Pokémon as he had been when he first picked up a Game Boy at age six. His friends had teased him about it, called it a childish obsession, but he never cared. Pokémon had been his escape, his comfort, his constant companion through every difficult moment in his life.
The rain had been coming down in sheets, obscuring his vision as he hurried across the crosswalk. The signal had been in his favor—he was certain of that. But the driver of the pickup truck that came barreling through the intersection clearly hadn't been paying attention. Perhaps they were drunk. Perhaps they were texting. Perhaps they simply hadn't seen him through the downpour. It didn't matter in the end. The impact had been instantaneous, a moment of searing pain followed by an strange sense of weightlessness, and then nothing but darkness.
He had expected that to be the end. No white light, no tunnel, no life flashing before his eyes. Just the simple cessation of existence that he had always assumed death would bring. He wasn't particularly religious, had never given much thought to what came after. Death was death, and he had accepted it in that final fraction of a second with a strange sense of calm.
Which made waking up all the more confusing.
The cold hit him first. Not the mild chill of an air-conditioned room or the crisp bite of autumn air, but a bone-deep, penetrating cold that seemed to seep into every fiber of his being. His lungs burned with each breath, the air so frigid it felt like inhaling shards of ice. His body was numb, his fingers and toes tingling with the warning signs of frostbite. Snow pressed against his face, wet and frozen, melting slightly against what little warmth his skin still possessed.
He tried to move, tried to push himself up from where he lay face-down in what felt like several feet of powder, but his limbs refused to cooperate. They felt wrong somehow, different in ways he couldn't quite articulate. Lighter, maybe. Younger. The aches and pains that had become his constant companions in his late twenties—the bad knee from a college sports injury, the chronic back pain from too many hours hunched over a computer—were gone. In their place was a body that felt strong and capable, despite the cold threatening to shut it down.
With tremendous effort, he managed to roll onto his back, gasping as the movement sent fresh waves of cold washing over him. The sky above was a flat, featureless gray, heavy with the promise of more snow. The wind howled around him, whipping ice crystals into his face with stinging force. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, trying to make sense of where he was and how he had gotten there.
A mountain. He was on a mountain, that much was clear. But not any mountain he recognized from his previous life. The peaks that surrounded him were too tall, too jagged, too impossibly dramatic to be anything he had ever seen in photographs or documentaries. They looked like something out of a fantasy, or perhaps something out of a—
His heart stopped. Then started again, pounding so hard he could feel it in his temples.
He knew these mountains. He had seen them rendered in pixels countless times, had spent hours navigating their treacherous paths, had faced his greatest virtual challenges among their snow-covered slopes. This was Mt. Silver. The legendary mountain that sat on the border between Kanto and Johto, accessible only to the most elite trainers, home to the most powerful wild Pokémon in both regions.
Home to Red.
Impossible. This was impossible. He was dead—he knew he was dead. And even if he wasn't, even if some miracle had spared him from that truck, there was no mountain on Earth that looked like this. Mt. Silver didn't exist. It was a fictional location in a fictional world, a place that lived only in video games and anime and the imaginations of millions of fans around the globe.
And yet here he was, lying in the snow at what he instinctively knew was the summit, the cold very real against his skin, the wind very real in his ears, the altitude making each breath a struggle in a way no video game had ever captured.
He sat up slowly, his body moving with a grace and coordination that felt foreign. As he did, he caught sight of his hands—and froze.
They weren't his hands. Or rather, they were his hands now, but they hadn't been his hands before. These hands were younger, slimmer, with long fingers that looked like they had spent years handling Poké Balls. They were covered by black fingerless gloves that he didn't remember putting on, gloves that looked remarkably similar to ones he had seen in promotional artwork for—
No. No, no, no.
With trembling fingers, he reached up to touch his face. The features beneath his fingertips were wrong. The nose was different, the jaw sharper, the skin smoother. He grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled it in front of his eyes. Black. Jet black, when it had been brown his entire life.
And there was something on his head. Something that hadn't been there before. He reached up with shaking hands and felt the familiar shape of a baseball cap—a cap with a distinctive curved brim and what felt like a half Poké Ball design on the front. A cap he had seen in a thousand pieces of fan art, had worn replicas of at conventions, had always thought looked impossibly cool on the silent protagonist of his favorite game series.
Red's cap. He was wearing Red's cap.
He looked down at himself, taking in his appearance for the first time since waking. A black jacket with blue flame patterns running along the sides covered his torso, the high collar and fluffy hood providing some protection against the mountain's brutal cold. Black pants tucked into sturdy sneakers completed the outfit, practical and stylish in equal measure. It was exactly the kind of thing Red might wear if he had upgraded from his classic look, a modern interpretation of the legendary trainer's aesthetic.
His breath came in short, panicked gasps, each exhale creating a cloud of vapor that the wind immediately snatched away. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't possible. He had died—he knew he had died—and now he was... what? Reincarnated? Transported to another world? Dreaming the most vivid dream of his life in the moments before his brain shut down completely?
A soft sound cut through his spiraling thoughts. A chirp of concern, high-pitched and achingly familiar. He turned his head toward the source and felt his heart stop for the second time in as many minutes.
A Pikachu sat in the snow beside him, its ears drooping with worry, its brown eyes fixed on his face with an intensity that spoke of deep, genuine concern. But this wasn't just any Pikachu. This Pikachu was different from the ones he had seen in the games and anime. Its fur seemed to glow with a subtle, healthy sheen. Its cheeks sparked with barely contained electricity. And around its neck was a small red collar with a lightning bolt charm—the signature accessory of the partner Pikachu from Pokémon Let's Go.
"Pika?" The Pikachu tilted its head, one ear perking up slightly. "Pikachu pi?"
He opened his mouth to respond, to say something—anything—to acknowledge the impossible creature sitting mere feet away from him. But no sound came out. His vocal cords refused to cooperate, refused to produce even the smallest noise. He tried again, straining with effort, but all that emerged was silence.
He couldn't speak. Just like Red, he couldn't speak.
The realization crashed over him like a wave, bringing with it a strange mix of terror and wonder. He wasn't just on Mt. Silver. He wasn't just wearing Red's clothes. He was Red. Somehow, impossibly, inexplicably, he had died in his world and been reborn as the legendary Pokémon champion in another.
The Pikachu—his Pikachu, apparently—seemed to sense his distress. It scampered closer, climbing up his arm with practiced ease and settling on his shoulder, its small body radiating warmth against his frozen cheek. "Pika pi," it said softly, nuzzling against him in a gesture of comfort and reassurance. "Pikachu."
He reached up instinctively to pet it, his fingers sinking into fur that was softer and more luxurious than anything he had ever felt. The Pikachu let out a contented chirp, its eyes closing in pleasure, and he felt some of the panic begin to drain away. Whatever was happening, whatever impossible situation he had found himself in, at least he wasn't alone. He had a Pokémon—a real, living, breathing Pokémon—and that was more than he ever could have dreamed of in his previous life.
As the initial shock began to fade, other sensations started to register. There was a weight at his waist that he hadn't noticed before, a familiar pressure that drew his attention downward. Clipped to his belt were Poké Balls—dozens of them, in multiple varieties. Standard red and white balls, Great Balls with their distinctive blue coloring, Ultra Balls in their black and gold glory, and other types he recognized from the games. Premier Balls, Luxury Balls, Dusk Balls, Timer Balls. And at the center of the collection, in places of honor, were several Poké Balls that made his breath catch in his throat.
Master Balls. Purple and pink with the distinctive M emblazoned on their surfaces. There were multiple Master Balls on his belt, something that should have been impossible even by the games' logic.
With trembling hands, he reached for one of the regular Poké Balls, his fingers curling around its smooth surface. It was warm to the touch, humming with a subtle energy that he could feel even through his gloves. He pressed the central button, and the ball expanded in his palm, growing from its minimized size to its full dimensions. The sensation was strange and wonderful, like holding a piece of the impossible in his hand.
He threw the ball without thinking, muscle memory that wasn't his own guiding his arm in a perfect arc. The ball opened in mid-air, releasing a burst of white light that coalesced into a familiar shape. Charizard materialized before him, its orange scales gleaming even in the grey light of the overcast sky, its tail flame burning bright and hot against the cold mountain air. It was massive, easily eight feet tall, with wings that spanned an impressive distance. The heat radiating from its body pushed back the cold, creating a bubble of warmth that made him gasp with relief.
The Charizard turned to look at him, its intelligent eyes studying his face. For a moment, he was certain it could tell something was different, that the person inhabiting this body wasn't the same trainer who had raised it from a Charmander. But then it let out a pleased rumble, lowering its head to nudge gently against his chest in a gesture of affection. Whatever it saw in his eyes, whatever it sensed about his changed circumstances, it apparently didn't care. He was its trainer, and that was enough.
One by one, he released the other Pokémon from his belt, his collection expanding to fill the summit clearing. Venusaur emerged next, its flower blooming wide despite the cold, releasing a sweet fragrance that somehow made the harsh mountain air more bearable. Blastoise followed, its water cannons gleaming with condensation, its powerful body exuding quiet confidence. The original Kanto starters, fully evolved and clearly at the peak of their power.
Lapras materialized in a flash of light, looking somewhat out of place on the snow-covered mountain but adapting quickly, its graceful neck swaying as it surveyed its surroundings. Snorlax appeared next, immediately yawning and looking for a place to lie down, its massive bulk creating a crater in the snow where it settled. Espeon and Umbreon emerged together, the psychic and dark-type Eeveelutions circling each other in an affectionate dance before turning their attention to him.
More and more Pokémon filled the clearing. All nine Eeveelutions, from Vaporeon to Sylveon. The fully evolved forms of every starter from Kanto and Johto. Alakazam and Gengar, Machamp and Golem, Dragonite and Tyranitar. The legendary birds—Articuno, Zapdos, and Moltres—descended from the sky in a display of power that made the mountain itself seem to tremble. Mewtwo appeared in a flash of psychic energy, its presence commanding and intimidating even as it regarded him with something approaching respect.
And the Johto legendaries followed. Raikou, Entei, and Suicune materialized in bursts of electricity, fire, and crystalline light. Lugia emerged from its ball with a cry that echoed across the mountains, its silver wings spreading wide against the grey sky. Ho-Oh followed, its rainbow plumage creating a stark contrast to the monochrome landscape, its sacred fire burning eternal.
He stood in the center of them all, surrounded by creatures of unimaginable power, and felt tears freezing on his cheeks. This was everything he had ever dreamed of, everything he had ever wanted. A world where Pokémon were real, where he could touch them and battle with them and forge bonds that transcended the barrier between species. He had played hundreds of hours across dozens of games, had imagined countless times what it would be like to actually live in this world, and now that dream had somehow become reality.
But it wasn't without cost. He had died to get here. His old life, his old identity, was gone. The family and friends he had left behind would mourn him, would remember him as the victim of a tragic accident. He would never see them again, never explain what had happened, never let them know that he was okay—that he was more than okay.
The grief hit him suddenly and without warning, a tidal wave of loss that buckled his knees and sent him sinking into the snow. The Pikachu on his shoulder cried out in alarm, and within seconds he was surrounded by his Pokémon, their warmth and presence a comfort against the cold both outside and in. Charizard curled its tail around him, the flame providing heat. Venusaur extended its vines in a gentle embrace. Even Mewtwo reached out with its psychic power, creating a barrier against the wind that had been stealing his warmth.
He sobbed silently, his body shaking with the force of emotions he couldn't express. No tears fell—they froze too quickly in the mountain air—but the grief poured out of him nonetheless. He mourned his old life, his old self, the future he would never have. He had been planning to propose to his girlfriend next month. He had been up for a promotion at work. He had just bought tickets to visit Japan in the spring, a trip he had been planning for years.
All of it was gone now. Erased as completely as if it had never existed. In its place was this—a new life in a new world, with new possibilities and new challenges and a new identity that he was still struggling to understand.
The Pikachu nuzzled against his neck, its cheeks sparking gently with comforting electricity. "Pika pi," it murmured, its voice full of empathy and understanding. It had known Red—the real Red—for years. It could tell that something fundamental had changed. And yet it didn't pull away, didn't reject him for being different. It stayed close, offering its support without question or judgment.
Gradually, the storm of emotion began to subside. He wasn't sure how long he sat there in the snow, surrounded by legends and champions, but eventually the worst of the grief passed and he was able to think clearly again. What was done was done. He couldn't go back, couldn't undo what had happened. All he could do was move forward, figure out what kind of life he wanted to live in this new world, and try to honor the legacy of the character whose body he now inhabited.
He stood slowly, his Pokémon parting to give him room while still staying close enough to offer support. The wind had died down somewhat, and he could see further across the summit than before. There was a cave entrance not far away—the same cave where challengers would emerge after making the treacherous climb to face him. The path down the mountain was barely visible through the snow, a narrow trail that wound between deadly drops and patches of ice.
He recalled his Pokémon one by one, each returning to its ball in a flash of red light. Only Pikachu remained outside, refusing to leave its perch on his shoulder. That was fine. The partner Pikachu from Let's Go was special—it never went in its ball in the games, always preferring to stay close to its trainer. Apparently, that quirk had carried over to this reality.
He started to walk, his feet finding their way down paths he had never traveled but somehow knew intimately. Red's muscle memory guided him, twenty years of navigating this mountain encoded into the body he now possessed. His sneakers crunched through the snow with practiced ease, finding stable footing on surfaces that should have been treacherously slippery.
As he walked, he took stock of what he knew—and more importantly, what he didn't know. He was in the Pokémon world, that much was clear. But which version of the Pokémon world? The games and anime had different continuities, different rules, different takes on the same core concepts. The presence of the partner Pikachu suggested elements from Let's Go, but the setting on Mt. Silver was pure HeartGold and SoulSilver. Was this a merged universe, combining elements from multiple sources? Or was it something entirely new, a reality that followed its own rules?
He reached the cave entrance and paused, looking back at the summit he had left behind. How long had Red been up here before he arrived? In the games, it was at least three years between Red's championship victory and his battle against Gold atop Mt. Silver. Had he taken over Red's body at some point during that isolation, or had this version of Red always been him, waiting for his consciousness to awaken?
Questions without answers. He filed them away for later and stepped into the cave.
The interior was warmer than the outside, protected from the wind and benefiting from geothermal heat that seeped up from somewhere deep below. He removed his gloves—Red's gloves—and flexed his fingers, restoring circulation to digits that had grown stiff despite the protection. The cave walls were covered in a thin layer of ice that reflected the dim light filtering in from the entrance, creating an ethereal blue glow that illuminated his path.
He walked for what felt like hours, descending through tunnels and caverns that grew progressively warmer and more hospitable. Wild Pokémon watched him pass from the shadows—Golbat hanging from the ceiling, Graveler rumbling in alcoves, the occasional Ursaring standing guard over its territory. None of them attacked. They recognized him, knew who he was, and gave him a wide berth reserved for apex predators and legends.
Finally, he emerged from the caves onto a windswept ledge overlooking a vast valley. The view stole what little breath he had left. Below him, nestled between towering peaks, was a town that he recognized immediately from its distinctive layout and architecture. Blackthorn City, home of the Dragon-type Gym and the Dragon's Den, one of the most remote and isolated settlements in all of Johto.
He was in Johto. The realization settled over him like a warm blanket, familiar and comforting. Johto had always been his favorite region, the setting of his favorite games, the place he had most wanted to visit if Pokémon were real. And now here he was, standing on a ledge overlooking Blackthorn City, with a Pikachu on his shoulder and a belt full of legendary Pokémon.
The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that reminded him of Ho-Oh's plumage. It was beautiful in a way that screenshots and anime frames had never quite captured—the colors more vivid, the light more alive, the entire scene imbued with a sense of wonder that made his heart ache.
He started down the mountain path toward Blackthorn, his pace quickening as civilization grew closer. He needed answers, needed to understand what was happening and what was expected of him. Was he supposed to just... be Red? Live out the legendary trainer's life, battling challengers and maintaining his status as champion? Or was there something more, some greater purpose to his presence in this world?
The path wound through forests of towering pines, past frozen waterfalls and across rickety bridges spanning bottomless chasms. The wild Pokémon here were different from the ones in the cave—more diverse, more active, more willing to approach the strange trainer passing through their territory. A Sneasel watched him from a tree branch, its eyes glinting with curiosity. A herd of Stantler paused their grazing to observe his passage. A Teddiursa waddled out of the underbrush to investigate the Pikachu on his shoulder, only to be shooed away by its protective mother.
The Pikachu, for its part, seemed delighted by the attention. It waved at passing Pokémon, sparked its cheeks in friendly greeting, and generally acted as an ambassador of goodwill for its silent trainer. Its personality was exactly what he would have expected from a partner Pikachu—energetic, affectionate, utterly devoted to its human companion. It had adopted him completely, accepting him as its trainer despite whatever differences it might have sensed.
By the time he reached the outskirts of Blackthorn City, full night had fallen. The stars above were brighter than any he had ever seen, the light pollution of modern civilization completely absent. He could see the Milky Way stretching across the sky in a river of pale light, punctuated by constellations that looked familiar but somehow different from the ones he remembered.
The city itself was quiet, most of its residents retired for the night. A few streetlights provided pools of illumination along the main roads, but large sections of the settlement were dark and still. He walked through the empty streets, his footsteps echoing off the traditional architecture that defined Blackthorn's aesthetic—buildings with curved roofs and paper screens, gardens of carefully arranged stones and manicured trees.
He wasn't sure where he was going. Red's muscle memory didn't extend to navigation within cities, apparently—he had spent most of his time on Mt. Silver, after all. But instinct drew him toward the center of town, where the Pokémon Center stood as a beacon of bright pink light against the darkness.
The doors slid open automatically as he approached, and he stepped into the warm, welcoming interior of the healing facility. The scent of antiseptic and Pokémon treats filled his nostrils, a combination that should have been off-putting but instead felt like coming home. A few trainers sat in the lobby, recovering from their day's adventures, but most of the space was empty.
Nurse Joy stood behind the counter, her pink hair and cheerful expression exactly as he remembered from countless games and anime episodes. She looked up as he entered, her professional smile widening as she took in his appearance. "Welcome to the Pokémon Center! Would you like me to heal your— oh!"
Her exclamation drew the attention of the other trainers in the lobby. Heads turned, eyes widened, and whispered conversations suddenly fell silent. Even in a remote city like Blackthorn, it seemed, Red's fame preceded him.
"You're... you're Red!" Nurse Joy's voice had risen an octave, her composure slipping in the face of celebrity. "The Champion! What are you doing all the way down here? Is everything okay? Are your Pokémon injured?"
He opened his mouth to respond, then remembered that he couldn't. The words died in his throat, replaced by frustrating silence. How was he supposed to communicate? How did the real Red handle situations like this?
The Pikachu on his shoulder seemed to understand his dilemma. It hopped down onto the counter, striking a pose and unleashing a torrent of "Pika" sounds that somehow conveyed meaning despite being completely unintelligible to human ears. Nurse Joy nodded along, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding.
"I see! You just want to rest for the night and have your Pokémon checked. Of course, we'd be honored to help!" She took the Poké Balls he offered, handling them with reverent care. "The Champion staying at our Pokémon Center... wait until the other nurses hear about this!"
A young trainer—a boy who couldn't have been older than twelve—approached hesitantly, his eyes wide with wonder. "E-excuse me," he stammered, clutching a Poké Ball to his chest. "Are you really Red? The Red who beat the Elite Four and became Champion? The one who caught Mewtwo?"
He nodded, a simple acknowledgment that seemed to be all the confirmation the boy needed.
"Oh wow! Oh wow, oh wow!" The boy was practically vibrating with excitement. "I can't believe I'm meeting you! You're my hero! I started my journey because I wanted to be like you! Can I... can I have your autograph? Please?"
An autograph. That required writing, which presumably he could still do. He nodded again, and the boy thrust a notebook and pen into his hands with almost comical eagerness. He stared at the blank page for a moment, considering what to write. What would Red write? Something simple, probably. Something that conveyed meaning without requiring words.
He drew the half Poké Ball symbol from Red's cap, then added a simple lightning bolt underneath—a tribute to the Pikachu that had climbed back onto his shoulder and was watching the exchange with amusement. Below that, he wrote three words in careful script: "Chase your dreams."
It was cheesy. It was the kind of thing you'd expect to find in a fortune cookie or a motivational poster. But the boy's face lit up like he had been given the keys to the universe, his eyes glistening with barely contained tears.
"Thank you," he whispered, clutching the notebook to his chest. "Thank you so much. I'll treasure this forever. And I promise—I promise I'll become a great trainer someday! Just like you!"
He reached out and ruffled the boy's hair—a gesture that came naturally, pulled from memories that weren't quite his. The boy beamed, then ran off to show his friends his prize, leaving him alone with Nurse Joy and the Pikachu.
"That was very kind of you," Nurse Joy said softly, her eyes warm with approval. "A lot of famous trainers wouldn't take the time to do something like that."
He shrugged, not sure how else to respond. It hadn't felt like a big deal. The kid was excited, and making him happy had cost nothing but a few seconds of time.
"Your room is ready," Nurse Joy continued, gesturing toward a hallway at the back of the Center. "It's our best suite—usually reserved for Elite Four members, but for the Champion, nothing less would do. Your Pokémon will be fully healed by morning. Is there anything else you need?"
He shook his head, then paused. There was something he needed, actually—information. He needed to know what was happening in the world, what year it was, what major events had occurred. But how could he ask questions when he couldn't speak?
The Pikachu came to his rescue once again. It hopped down from his shoulder and began an elaborate pantomime, pointing at the television in the corner of the lobby, then at a stack of newspapers near the door, then at Nurse Joy herself. It took a few tries, but eventually the message got across.
"Oh! You want to catch up on current events?" Nurse Joy laughed, a pleasant sound that filled the lobby. "I suppose you don't get much news up on Mt. Silver. Let me see... well, the biggest story right now is the situation in Goldenrod. There's been some kind of disturbance at the Radio Tower—something about a group calling themselves Team Rocket. Can you believe it? I thought they disbanded years ago!"
Team Rocket. Active. At the Radio Tower in Goldenrod City.
He knew exactly what this meant. This was the Johto storyline, the events of Gold and Silver playing out in real-time. Team Rocket had attempted a comeback, taking over the Radio Tower to broadcast a message calling for their former leader Giovanni to return. In the games, it was the player's job to stop them, to climb the tower and defeat the Rocket Executives one by one.
But where was Gold? Or Silver, or Crystal, or whatever the protagonist of this particular timeline was called? Were they on their way to Goldenrod right now, preparing to save the day as they were meant to?
Or was that his job now?
He stood abruptly, startling Nurse Joy with the sudden movement. The Pikachu leaped back onto his shoulder, sensing the shift in his mood. Team Rocket was causing trouble, and there were innocent people in danger. He couldn't just sit here in a comfortable Pokémon Center room while criminals terrorized a city.
"Wait!" Nurse Joy called out as he headed for the door. "Your Pokémon aren't healed yet! At least take some potions with you!"
He paused, accepting the bag of supplies she hastily pressed into his hands. Potions, Super Potions, Revives—everything a trainer might need to tackle a major challenge without their full team at their disposal. He nodded his thanks and continued toward the exit.
"Be careful!" Nurse Joy's voice followed him out into the night. "Team Rocket is dangerous! Even for someone like you!"
He appreciated her concern, but he wasn't worried. He might not have access to his full team at the moment, but he still had Pikachu—a partner Pikachu at that, with all the enhanced abilities that implied. And more importantly, he had knowledge. He knew Team Rocket's plans, their weaknesses, their leaders. In the games, they had been obstacles to overcome. Here, they would be the same.
The night air was cold against his face as he headed toward the western edge of town, where the route to Mahogany and eventually Goldenrod began. The journey would take days on foot, possibly longer depending on conditions. He didn't have that kind of time.
He released Charizard from its ball, the fire-type emerging with a roar that echoed across the sleeping city. People would talk about this tomorrow—the Champion, arriving in Blackthorn City late at night and departing almost immediately on the back of his legendary Charizard. It would add to the mystique, to the legend of the silent trainer who dwelt atop Mt. Silver.
He climbed onto Charizard's back, the Pikachu nestling into the hood of his jacket for protection against the wind. With a mental command—not words, exactly, but clear intentions that his Pokémon seemed to understand—he directed the dragon westward. Charizard's powerful wings beat once, twice, three times, and then they were airborne.
The landscape fell away beneath them, Blackthorn City shrinking to a collection of tiny lights surrounded by endless darkness. The wind tore at his clothes, threatened to rip the cap from his head, but he held on tight, his eyes fixed on the horizon where Goldenrod City awaited.
He had been given a second chance at life, reborn in a world he had always dreamed of visiting. He didn't know why, didn't understand the mechanics of whatever cosmic force had brought him here. But he knew one thing for certain.
He wasn't going to waste it.