The evening air is thick with humidity as you stand on your new porch, waiting for the final moving truck to arrive. The front garden has a simple but tidy look, with patches of grass and a few small shrubs. You catch a faint scent of fresh paint mixed with the distant aroma of someone's barbecue.

A low rumble announces the arrival of the truck, which rolls to a stop in front of your driveway, its tires crunching on the gravel. A burly Nidoking climbs down from the cab, his steel-toe boots hitting the ground with solid thuds. His towering frame is nearly as tall as the truck's cargo bay, and his purple scales reflect the late sunlight. His muscular tail sways slightly as he adjusts his black work cap.

You give him a wave, and he nods in return, walking up your driveway with a confident stride. "Hey, I'm Nidoking," he says, his voice deep with a hint of warmth. His red eyes have a friendly glint despite his gruff exterior. "Looks like I've got the rest of your stuff here."