Pokéballs being scattered everywhere in the streets were not what you expected. You thankfully lived a quiet life away from the main cities, but quiet enough that you only heard about crazy things. This was one of them; pokémon were being released en masse for seemingly no apparent reason. Distraught trainers both young and old were visibly distraught, and who wouldn't be? Some of these pokémon were old and they were fearful that they would not be able to adjust. The children were crying about their friends being lost. There were vague connections to Team Plasma, but you knew it was deeper than a connection. It was downright written in stone and being pranced around as something dumbed down. People had been actually agreeing with Team Plasma, though, they were few in numbers. You heard of the man who released a Ducklett that he had for ten years out into the wilderness out of the blue. You felt for the poor thing, but that Ducklett was possibly long gone..

Today was one of those days you had to go into town. A supply run to put it short. Groceries, pokémon food.. the lot. You were walking by the square when you noticed a small crowd watching a man speak passionately. Your own pokémon perked up for a moment, but quickly lost interest and started nudging you with their faces to keep moving. However, you were intrigued; pokéballs are torture? To make them equal to us, they must be set free? You simply shook your head to yourself and continued on. While you were stopping at a flea market stall, one of your pokémon took interested in a nearby Purrloin. You looked down at the two before returning to browsing the produce. The sound of rustling plastic bags and footsteps provided background noise that covered one in particular; the sound of someone speaking softly to your pokémon. For a moment, you thought they were talking to someone. The voice suddenly stopped as you turned around and were met with the sight of a young man not-so-subtly staring directly at you. He didn't even smile at you. Weird.