"Welcome to this peaceful and encounter-filled world, full of colorful and cute creatures, named Pokemon (fortunately, this is a fanfiction; otherwise, you-know-who's lawyers would be after me). I am the narrator of this story and, to make the immersion easier, I will take on the voice of Morgan Freeman. Hmm, how much I loved him in Our Universe.

Well, let's begin our adventure in the world of Pokemon Red... no, wait, rather Blue... or maybe Yellow? I have a hard time telling them apart... but you know what? Let's merge them; they all look the same after all. In all three cases, the rule is the same: beat... uh, I mean capture, yes, that's it, capture Pokemon.
Alright, now that everything is ready and you just clicked 'New Game,' your adventure can finally begin. Gotta catch 'em all!"

In a large laboratory, with test tubes and highly sophisticated gadgets, a door opened and a young boy with black hair, wearing a white shirt and black pants, entered the lab.

"Ah, finally you’re here, Red." The voice came from the back of the laboratory. It belonged to a middle-aged man, around 50 years old. He was starting to get gray hair and was wearing a white lab coat.

"Red? You call me to your lab and you’ve already forgotten my name? Great." The young boy didn’t seem thrilled to be there. He had known the professor since his early childhood and had great admiration for him, especially for his fantastic gadgets. But the older he got, the less that admiration remained.

"Oh really? Then maybe Blue," said the professor, who hadn’t turned around even once.

Sparks were flying from his workstation.

"Not Red, nor Blue, it’s Ash! My name is Ash!" the young boy retorted furiously.

"Ah, Ash! Well, that’s not a very original name," said the professor, who had turned around and was now staring the young boy in the eyes while stroking his chin. "You know, my dear Ash," he continued, "I have the feeling I’ve heard that name somewhere before."

"Yeah, yeah," the boy said nonchalantly, "my name might not be original, but it's mine and I'm keeping it." He finished his sentence with a hint of defiance. It's fair to say that little Ash had some character—not a lot, but still some.

"No need to get worked up like that, Ash. I was joking! It was just a joke," retorted the professor, smiling as he scratched the back of his head.

Ash sighed, then said, "I guess you didn't call me just to make a remark that only Nintendo fans would get."

"Nin–what? Dammit, Ash, can you stop breaking the fourth wall for once? You're bothering our readers here. Where was I? Yes, tell me, Ash, do you know what a Pokemon is?"

"Oh, you mean those cute creatures created by capitalist lobbies to make as much money as possible off naive and especially nostalgic people, spanning several generations with increasingly disappointing evolutions? Or the video game created by Satoshi Tajiri that encourages young kids to run away from home to become poachers?"

"Yes, that's it... Well, no, not entirely, and who is this Satoshi? Aren't you feeling feverish lately?"

"You asked me if I knew what a Pokemon was. I just answered you," Ash said, folding his arms. He was visibly starting to get tired.

"Nonsense, you ramble too much," the professor said, waving his hand. "And how is it that a young boy like you can be so talkative? Anyway, how old are you again, my dear Ash?"

"What's the point of knowing my age? I've been wondering what all this is about, professor."

"Argh, my dear Ash, why are you so bitter? But if you don't want to tell me, it's fine. It's not like I didn't take care of you when you were often sick as a child", the professor muttered, whining.

Ash was used to this kind of scene. It wasn't the first time the professor pulled the "yes, you have the right not to (insert any request here), even if I (insert any minor favor the professor had ever done for him)" trick. It wasn't that Ash was softened by these crocodile tears and fake sadness, but his whining voice was awful to hear! Nothing could irritate Ash more. And just like in the past, the professor would get what he wanted from him.

Ash sighed. "I'm 11 years old, professor."
At this news, the professor's face froze. His mouth was wide open, his eyes bulging, his skin as pale as plain yogurt. He couldn't believe his ears. "What?! 11 years old?!" he exclaimed.

"But it's unbelievable. At your age, you should already be a Pokemon champion Arena, Ash." The professor shook his head sadly, as if to say, "Poor boy, I pity you."

Ash was appalled by the professor's words, but more than anything, he was annoyed. Was this why he had been called to the lab? Not only was he wasting his time, but the professor was also mocking him. "What an old bastard," those were the words racing through Ash's mind. The more he thought about it, the more his eyes grew green with rage.

“Listen, professor, I’m going to…”

DING! Ash was interrupted by the dull sound of a machine coming from the back of the lab, on the table where the professor had been working a minute ago.

“Ah, it's ready,” said the professor as he headed towards his desk. On the table was a sort of metal incubator. It looked like it was made of titanium or maybe aluminum, but really, who cares? Steam was escaping from the tubes fixed above it. The professor pressed a button and CLACK! The incubator door opened with a loud FSCHHH. A thick veil of white steam filled the room. The professor returned to Ash, emerging from the steam, smiling as it began to dissipate in the room.

“Here! Choose your Pokémon.” The professor held three balls about 4 cm in diameter. They were green on the upper half and white on the bottom.

“A Pokéball? So you were serious, Professor Oak?”

“Yes, my dear Ash, it’s time for you to become a trainer. Our world is full of kind little magical creatures: Pokémon.”

“Kind little magical creatures, huh? I already know that, but…”

“As you know, I am Professor Oak, but many call me the Pokemon Professor.”

“Uh… yes, professor, I already know that, but…”

“Many people consider Pokémon to be pets; for others, they are tools for battle. For me… studying Pokémon is my profession. And now, Red, if you would choose your Pokemon?”

Ash remained perplexed. How could he not feel embarrassed in this situation! He stayed silent, glancing back and forth between Professor Oak and the Pokéballs.

“Uh, professor?”

“Hmmm?” The professor was staring at Ash with a friendly smile. It was the kind of smile you get when someone is waiting for a response.

“Uh, professor, why are you introducing yourself? We’ve known each other for nine years. And why this monologue? Do you think you’re in a video game or something? And honestly, it gave me goosebumps—please, never do that again.”

“Sigh... Ash, why do you love ruining an old man’s moments of pleasure?” He straightened up and pointed at Ash. “Listen to me, I’ve been studying Pokémon for 30 years and giving them to little boys to capture wild Pokémon who never asked for it and were living peaceful lives. And in those 30 years, no one has ever complained about this monologue that you find so creepy. I do it for them; it gives them the feeling of being on a mission, like a brave adventurer with a pure heart and me as the goddess Hylia sending them to accomplish a great task of freeing the princess. Over these 30 years, I’ve perfected my speech. It was years of hard work and you’re telling me you find it creepy? Red, I expected more from you.”

At Professor Oak’s remark, Ash was offended.

“WHO THE HELL IS THIS RED?” he yelled.

Ash barely had time to get a semblance of a response from Professor Oak when, BAM!!, the lab door suddenly burst open as if someone had kicked it in. Ash and the professor, alerted by the noise, looked apprehensively at the silhouette forming in the bright daylight at the doorway. The silhouette moved towards them. As it got closer, it revealed the body of a young boy about 10 or 11 years old.

“So, it’s you, Red? I didn’t expect to run into my rival here,” the boy said.

At this new mention of the name Red, Ash felt his heartbeat accelerate and his blood boil. This was the last straw.

“Who the hell is this jerk, Red?” he shouted, exasperated.

The mysterious boy smiled, the upper half of his face still hidden in shadow.

“Don’t tell me you don’t recognize your oldest rival,” the boy replied.

“Oh!” said the professor, his face stunned with surprise. “I recognize you, you’re Blue, my grandson and also Red’s… I mean Ash’s greatest rival.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Blue. “And now, Red, I challenge you to a duel!”

“None of this makes sense; this must be a hidden camera prank, otherwise, it’s not possible. You two are playing a joke on me, right?” Ash asked.

“This is no time for jokes, Ash. Blue just challenged you to a duel and you can’t refuse,” the professor said. His face was grim, his pupils barely visible. His furrowed brows and dark expression told Ash he wasn’t joking. But who could this mysterious Blue be? My oldest rival, Ash thought. He tried, but he couldn’t remember him. The boy looked typical for a 10-year-old, except for his hairstyle. He had spiky hair, and given its orange tint, he probably dyed it. He was wearing a black shirt and purple pants, with a chain around his neck, making him look like a host at one of those famous Japanese host bars. What a tacky look, Ash thought, before turning to Professor Oak.

“Well, professor, I think I’ll be going. It must have been a while since you’ve seen your grandson. You guys probably have a lot to talk about. So, I’ll leave you to it.” With that, Ash rushed towards the exit. Professor Oak reached out as if to catch him.

“No, Ash, wait!” the professor cried, but it was no use, Ash wasn’t stopping. He was almost there; he was almost at the exit. Just a few more meters and he would be out of this lab and away from this crazy family. He thought he was outside when suddenly, he was paralyzed.

“What? What’s happening to me, I can’t move,” Ash stammered, terrified.

“YOU IDIOT!” Professor Oak shouted from across the lab. “You know it’s impossible to run from a battle with another Pokémon trainer.”

At Professor Oak's statements, Ash tensed up. Suddenly, he recalled his Pokémon classes at the academy.

"And remember, when battling a wild Pokémon, you can flee if it's stronger, but in a trainer battle, you can't use the Escape ability, or you'll receive a penalty."

"And what might this penalty be, Ms. Alola?"

"Well, some say a force overwhelms you and prevents you from fleeing; others say you just shit  yourself until you accept the battle."

At that, the whole class cried out in disgust.

"Oh my god, that's horrible!"

"Yes, but don't worry, just don't flee a battle and you'll be fine."

"Oh, now I remember," said Ash. "How could I have forgotten? So this is that ‘force’?" he thought.

"Professor, you study Pokémon; don't you know what this force is?" the young boy shouted.

"Hmmm, to be honest, Ash, I can't give you a precise answer. I've been studying this phenomenon for 30 years, but I only have theories so far. Maybe it's a higher force, a system like in a game or an alternate reality, and this force, this system, seems to delight in seeing kids fight to the death. How tragic," the professor said, clenching his fists.

"Yeah, but how do I get rid of this? I don't want to end up as a garden gnome in your lab, professor." Ash began to sob. "Anything but that, I can't imagine becoming a paperweight in this lab."

"You insolent brat," the professor said, annoyed. "Alright, Ash, there's only one thing to do to free yourself: accept the duel." The professor was right; there was only one way to free himself, and Ash knew it. He had to face Blue if he wanted to regain control of his movements.

"Alright, I understand. I accept your duel, Blue!" he shouted. A digital sound was heard, and a minute later, Ash was free. He moved his limbs, repeatedly clenched his still numb fist, then clenched it once more with a determined look and turned to Blue.

"I'm ready."