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Trigger Warning: Descriptions of pokemon abuse and violence.[break][break]
--Excerpt from the journal of Amadeus Irving, dated December 14th 2019--[break][break]
My name is Henry Colt. Once upon a time it was Amadeus Irving, but Mister Irving has unfortunately passed. I killed him to ensure my own survival. For propriety's sake, I am creating a record of my life as Irving so that I may never forget my failures. In my mind, it is the only way to move forward. Now, where to begin?[break][break]
My childhood wasn't very eventful, I consider my true life to have started while attending university. Still, a few facts should be noted for clarity. I was born into a wealthy family in Unova. My father was a lawyer, and my mother was a doctor. A human doctor, for the record. Growing up I had always been fascinated with pokemon, I found them to be fascinating creatures, and spent as much time as I could examining them. My infatuation with their anatomy began in high school; we were learning in Biology about the bodies of various pokemon, and at one point we dissected some Patrats in class. I was enthralled by their organs, I assumed of course they would be different from a human's but I never imagined their innards to be so intricate. It made me curious on how other pokemon functioned; were they all this complicated on the inside?[break][break]
I read many pokemon biology books to study up on the inner workings of our strange worldly companions. Yet the more I learned, the more questions I would develop. At this age they were rather basic, such as 'How does a Roggenrola breathe?' or 'What gives a Kling life?'. I could never find answers to these queries, after all how would it reflect on me if I went around ripping wild pokemon apart to examine their insides? These fixations however did inspire me to choose Pokemon Biology as my major when I began attending Castelia University. There I gained access to their dissection laboratory, and after getting on my professor's good side I was allowed to aid in his research. That is where my infatuation transformed into a passion. Conducting autopsies on pokemon, examining their organs and observing how they functioned, it filled me with such serene delight. Better yet it fueled my own studies, for every question that was answered within that lab a thousand more would sprout into my mind. My obsession expanded to include genetics, and from this evolution my ultimate curiosity would form: Is there such thing as a perfect Pokemon?[break][break]
It was all in the organs; as I became familiar with the vastly different anatomies of various pokemon, I began to recognize the various imperfections within our subjects. Many of the pokemon we dissected died from some sort of failure, a genetic dice roll that landed unfavorably. Eventually my curiosity stretched to the point that I could no longer stand to examine these sickly corpses, I wished to dissect a healthy specimen. First I had to find a work space of my own. The laboratory would be the obvious choice, but they would never have condoned nor allowed what I sought to do. I ended up renting a space downtown, a little warehouse that was just out of the way enough to avoid any prying eyes. I used the generous allowance provided by my parents to obtain the equipment I needed, which left me only to decide which pokemon I should study. I decided upon studying Zorua, as their organ layout was rather simple compared to other pokemon found within Unova. The only problem was that Zorua were a rare species, and if I wanted to have enough on hand to conduct my experiments I would need to breed them myself.[break][break]
I spent an exorbitant amount of money to obtain two compatible zorua of opposite genders and played the waiting game until there were enough offspring to begin. I remember my first dissection well, it was a very exciting night for me. I picked out the healthiest looking of my brood and carefully cut it open. It was refreshing to see a subject with such fresh innards, yet something was amiss. Its muscles were so thin, even compared to the sickly zorua we had dissected in the lab. Over the next few months I would examine multiple other zorua, and each had some sort of anatomical defect. Eventually I examined the original parents, and they too had defects though none of them matched their offspring. This lead me to the conclusion that pokemon are naturally imperfect, lending each very unique strengths and weaknesses. I was convinced I could use this information to breed a perfect Zorua, one that had no defects at all. Thus over the next few years I juggled obtaining my Phd and breeding zorua to dissect. These ones I took more care in examining, putting them to sleep rather than outright euthanizing beforehand. I would let imperfect specimen die, while those who had favorable traits would be sewn back up and get breed further.[break][break]
I remember when I finally found that perfect specimen; the pride as I looked upon its flawless innards--and the despair I felt once I realized that I had ruined it. The damned thing had a large scar on its belly now, its perfection was tainted by my curiosity. I kept it alive, and had it breed until I found another perfect specimen. It didn't take long, my first perfect subject was a resilient breeder. I shall be honest here, I only
assumed my second perfection was a success. I couldn't possibly ruin it by opening it up, exposing its perfect organs to the disgusting air of the outside. I gave my previous perfection the closest I could to a perfect mate, and hoped that their child was the best of both. It passed all of my physical tests, it displayed incredible intelligence, and above all it
looked perfect. I kept it for myself, gave the unopened Zorua away and disposed of the rest. I used my research to conduct my doctorial thesis, although I framed it in a way to not reveal my morbid methods.[break][break]
And that was that for a time, with my degree I landed a job at a pokemon lab in Black City and conducted further research with like minded colleagues. On my down time I would raise my zorua, until eventually it would evolve into a zoroark. It has remains to this day my greatest achievement, yet a lingering doubt always vexed me. Since I never opened it, I never truly knew if my zoroark was perfect or not. In fact there was truly no way to know if a pokemon was perfect unless you opened it up and examined every bone and vein. As my definition of perfection expanded, I soon realized that breeding a perfect pokemon for use was impossible. However, the answer to my troubles hit me as I passed a construction site on a walk one day. It was such a simple answer to, it was a wonder that I didn't think of it earlier. A perfect pokemon could not be bred, but perhaps it could be created from the ground up.[break][break]
With a few interested colleagues, I founded my own lab on an island near Route 117. Our research began on what it would take to create life itself, a question that required many sacrifices to answer. It soon became apparent that we would need an enormous amount of subjects in order to complete our research, and so I spearheaded an ingenious ruse. I founded a charity known as the Harmona Foundation, a pokemon rescue and rehabilitation initiative. I worked with law enforcement officers and volunteers to locate abused pokemon and took them into my custody to heal and rehabilitate them. At first I did just that, and once my charity had a reasonably respected reputation I began to use the pokemon that were turned in as fuel for my 'Perfect Pokemon Project'.[break][break]
While this helped with our supply enough to make progress, it became clear that we would need even more to accomplish our task in a timely manner. And so I went further, expanding the tenants of my foundation. I began to hire compelling public speakers to denounce the act of owning of pokemon, using bogus studies to cite the harm incarceration caused. It didn't work very well, none of my speakers had the charm to sway the public to the extent we needed. So I decided to create my own public speaker.[break][break]
If you the reader to not think ill of me by now, this next excerpt shall certainly push you into loathing my existence. I would not blame you for doing so, though I would like to defend myself from the outset by insisting on the necessity of my actions. If what stood in the way of an artist and his masterpiece was a specialized tool to finish an especially challenging angle, would creating it himself not be the easiest solution? I did what I had to in order to reach perfection, and I feel no guilt over it whatsoever. I suppose it's no use to beat around the bush any further, what I did was this: I interviewed multiple surrogate mothers and impregnated the most charming and genetically healthy among them (I wish to note that this was done non-sexually, as I abhor the very idea of being associated with fornication of any kind). Once their children were born, the mothers were compensated and sent on their way. Only one died from childbirth, and as if fate was providing an explicate sign it would be that very child that would lead to my success.[break][break]
I raised the children separately, engaging each in a multitude of tests and conditionings in order to shape them into my vision. Most failed, and by the dawning of age five it was clear that the one I had named Ethel--whose mother was the one that died giving birth to her--would be the most suitable candidate for what I required. The other children were sent to an orphanage, and I put all of my efforts into raising Ethel. She was such a clever child, with an unnatural charm and a connection to pokemon I had never witnessed within a human. By this point my foundation was entirely focused on pokemon rights, and so I drilled within her a phony philosophy that pokemon were destined to be free and that training them was an abhorrent crime against nature. I even stopped keeping my own pokemon in pokeballs, convincing her that they were my willing companions. Meanwhile, my perfect pokemon was gaining steady traction. Its nervous system was nearly completely laid out, but we would naturally require more subjects to begin work on its bone structure and the formation of its muscle tissue.
Ethel came in very handy for this purpose, as when she grew up she would convince trainers to let their pokemon go. My foundation would take these released pokemon into our care, where we would break them down to aid in my creations completion. As we came closer and closer to our goal, my colleagues and I became sloppy. We began to hide our intentions less and less, and I would instruct my foundation employees to begin outright forcing pokemon away from their trainers. This eventually got the attention of Interpol, as well--by happenstance--a very talented trainer whom one of my minions tormented. My fall occurred within a blink of an eye, on the eve of my creation's birth. Interpol raided my lab with the assistance of that very trainer, all efforts to keep them away failing miserably. Ethel was nowhere to be found, which I took as a sign that she had abandoned my cause. I had no choice but to take what data I could and entrust it to my most loyal assistant as they made their escape. I stood my ground, fighting my assailants until my inevitable defeat. I was taken into custody, and my creation--my life's work--was destroyed.[break][break]
I spent about a year in prison, lamenting my failure and cursing my enemies. My daughter was not among them, as she was but a means to an end and while her disappearance troubled me the loss of my creation pained me more. I didn't stay in prison for long, my assistant and some lingering minions broke me out. I won't trouble you with the details, it was a complicated plan that required months of planning and to be honest recollecting it makes my head hurt. Once free we began the process of regrouping. My plan was ruined, but with the left over data perhaps I could begin anew elsewhere. Using my connections I underwent minor facial reconstruction surgery to hide my appearance, and underwent training to change as many of my vocal and physical mannerisms as I could. When I had reached as far as I could, I departed Unova. I would be venturing off alone, my assistant staying behind to regather my loyalists and rebuild my organization. I had chosen Hoenn as my destination, I hear rumblings that certain parties would be very interested in assisting me in my research. I might no get as close as I did on the fateful day of my downfall, but perhaps I can help them in their own goals. I am on my way there now, hastily writing my life story in my cabin. I can't imagine what awaits me Hoenn, but I hope and pray that it is a bright new beginning. Then again, with my luck I can't imagine it will be long before my past comes back to haunt me.
--End of Entry--
