how many households have you seen throughout the years?[break]
you've honestly lost count by this point, haven't you?[break][break]

ironically enough, you do know the bare minimum about your biological parents. they were good from what little you remember about them— it's just that, all things considered, they hadn't been ready for you. you remember walking in on a couple conversations they had when you were a kid; discussions where they debated on what they should do. something about...money. keeping the apartment.[break][break]

adult stuff that you never really understood 'til way later.[break]
adult stuff that you could honestly care less about, now.[break][break]

they got ratted out by a neighbor that saw your guys' living situation by chance. one thing led to another, child protection services got involved, and bada bing, bada boom, you never saw them again.[break][break]

and just like that, life in the system began. sometimes, you ended up staying with a given family a bit longer or shorter than the rest, but the average with every family that took you in was about a year or so, give or take. a few of them were good. most of them obviously only cared about the financial benefits that came with fostering, and damn did it show. it went on, and on, and on— well into your teens, but you got to the point of not caring a bit earlier on.[break][break]

strike one. strike two.[break]
strike three. strike four.[break]
flash forward to strike whatever.[break][break]

by the time you hit your junior year of high school, shit ended up hitting the fan super badly. all things considered, the situation back home wasn't too good. you dropped out. got your ged. after the situation with your foster family at the time got brought to light, you got sent off to another group like always, and you just went straight to work from there.[break][break]

by then, you finally landed a family that actually gave a damn about you, but as far as you were concerned, it was too little, too late. you tried to stay in your lane, and they tried to "save" you. they tried to "redeem" you; tried to "fix" you; tried to "love" you.[break][break]

you'd saved enough from work and side gigs to get your own place by eighteen.[break][break]

and go figure— life just got better from there. imagine things taking a turn for the better when you got to regulate your own life. imagine things taking a turn for the better when you weren't constantly hounded by deadbeats that wanted nothing more than the financial benefits you brought to the household. it was all bullshit in the end, after all, and it's absolutely why you had a lot of issues through your prematurely ended academic career.[break][break]

you still remember picking fights and getting picked with.[break]
you remember the sniveling looks on their faces when they realized they bit off more than they could chew.[break][break]

expelled, expelled, expelled... it was just the road not chosen, but forged before you within a blaze of shame with every single curveball thrown at you throughout life, and in the end, that road brought you here. the road was fucked, bluntly speaking, but there were friends and shit you made along the way; friends that introduced you to avenues and the like that you only used to boost yourself higher, and higher, and higher.[break][break]

it's how you found your way into rocket, but more importantly, it's how you found your way into the ring. now, that right there…that was where it was at. that was your life; your calling. you remember your first match so vividly, alongside the loss that came alongside it when you, untrained and undone, hit the ground rolling— but that didn't stop you. no, no, no…loss only tasted as bitter as the blood in your mouth.[break][break]

so, you fought.[break]
you became better.[break][break]

you trained, and you trounced, and you fought—tooth and claw—to the very top. where once you were a sniveling pup, you'd forged yourself into a fiend of war. you were a king, not born, but made by none other than yourself.[break][break]

and so you sat upon your throne of bones, with adornments of blood and and all else another would consider grime.[break][break]

your life was built on blood. your life was built on corruption.[break][break]

the ranks you climbed, forged by blood. the money you earned, forged by blood. the fighting rings you eventually started; the smuggling rings you found your way into and in charge of; the power that you settled yourself into.[break][break]

blood, blood, and more blood.[break][break]

the region was new to you, but just like the rest, it was rife with the same shit you've seen in the past.[break]
you think you let that stop you?[break][break]

rhetorical question, obviously, seeing that you’re standing here. at the very least, you knew what you were getting into when you were transferred to the hoenn branch of rocket, but fuck if you underestimated the sheer amount of bullshit you’d experience firsthand. yeah, whatever— the state of the region was in shambles from an outsider standpoint. it was like watching whatever drama on whatever channel and finding yourself wondering about how the cast kept themselves together with sticks and glue after every single happenstance.[break][break]

then you got caught in the crossfire through the line of work, and a single dream and a long-faded picture later, you’re still equally confused about the state of the region as before. the main difference is that you have, like…a little more context than before. better than nothing, you guess.[break][break]

after some comms to the higher ups, you were transferred to a the unovan branch of rocket while you had a larger-scaled hit to collaborate on with a few other people. about half a year later, you found yourself back home in hoenn for better or worse.[break][break]

so, y’know. let’s take it from the top.[break][break]