It takes a lot, to break someone. The spirit had to be made malleable, like clay. Willing to be molded under the hands of the oppressors. Or shattered into enough miniscule grains to make something new.

That was what N considered himself at times. A shiny piece of glass forming up from the rubble of humanity. A light to help rid the world of the scum who hurt every precious thing they touched.

Of course his adoptive father saw him this way too. A savior, one that needed to see injustice. That was why he gave him so many abused Pokémon as a child. To show him the scum of humanity, to show the abuse, right? That all Pokémon were better free, that all people could do was harm? N had heard their cries, their pain, he'd listened to the stories of the Pokémon his father brought to him.

He gave N power, gave him what he needed to help the world. Because all Pokémon were harmed, all of them scared of their owners, N had known nothing else. The only ones he would consider any different were his own Pokémon, who stayed by his side, who he listened to and cared for. Hungry? A meal was cooked. Tired of training? Pick up the work again tomorrow. He was high above other so called "trainers", keeping their Pokémon in pokeballs, ordering them.

Yet he could never go against his father, Ghetsis. Never, he shouldn't question him. Any time he argued the methods of his father's madness it was yelling, insults, telling of how HE adopted N, HE adopted N's older sister's, and he could take it away if N ever decided to bite the hand that fed him.

After N tried to defend himself, say he was just suggesting a less violent or menacing way for people to release their Pokémon. He was hit with the supple wood of his father's cane, thrice. He admitted defeat, his head throbbing and blood on his forehead.

So now he lies on the grass in a forest away from father, listening to the idle chatter of Pokémon, that no one else understood. With his zorua on his lap, and nursing his head and popping a few ibuprofen, repeatedly.