This fanfic is sort of a continuation of the Pokemon XD plot, except staged way far from that time period in the future. Here's part 1. I will most likely be putting down 1 chapter per week (since I already have about six chapters that make up all of part one, and one and a half chapters for part 2) and hopefully will put down part 2 when I eventually get that done. Anyway, enjoy the show! Pokemon XD 2: The Rise of Darkrai Prologue In a world five thousand years after the events of Sinnoh and Team Galaxy, the species (edited out... you know what I mean) sapien have developed the power to become attributed to one of the eighteen different types of pokemon. However, this peace did not last for long. Only about a hundred years later, a great disaster called Global Warming created an almost Armageddon like situation. Not many people survived the rising waters, heat, and multiple hurricanes at the same time. The affect was like the Black Plague, creating a time where technology went backwards. Almost all technology was completely wiped off the earth, and almost one half of the population of the world survived. When the devastation was over, a time period usually called The Great Revival started. Around two-hundred years after the first great hurricane hit, the legendaries decided to help the human race by giving a little bit of each of their powers to a certain group of people. These different groups all started off with one person, but quickly the traits spread to other people like disease, but a good one. The first people of each tribe were the Grand Master, and in some ways are worshipped as well as the god that contributed this power to them. In this new society, when person was born they were given a pokemon that was born with the type of the newborn within the past 3 days. Their bond would be for a lifetime. Laws were passed for children to learn about how to control their power at the age of 5, so they could hone their powers and help the whole of mankind. Tournaments every year raged to give the best trainers and their pokemon recognition and fame throughout their land. The types tend to stick together, therefore each type have a certain settlement within the five regions: Kanto, Johto, Houen, Orre, and Sinnoh. A rough amount of four to five types lived in each area. The tribes next to each other know the other tribe well, while the farther away tribes have almost no relations with them. Some intertribe marrying cases have been found, though within most tribes this is frowned upon. Now closing down on this time, there have been many civil wars breaking out between close tribes, all within the same time period. For a hundred years, this has been happening. And even closer to the year this story partakes in, only seven years before this time the fire tribe teamed up with the Dragon tribe and completely destroyed half of the Ice type’s cities. The Ice type has not been able to fight back due to the dwindling number of types backing Ice up, and most debates have been about what to do with the remaining members. Now this story is strictly about what somebody did to try to get this hostile period to end. 1 person from each tribe was taken into a game show, and put in a two trainer team tourney. Now, the teams were formed by taking the hostile types and pairing them together. An example would mainly be Ice and Dragon. This story focuses on many different people, and starts with a creepy new thing called… a reality show. Back to back posts merged. The following information has been added: Part One: The Arena Chapter One In a small secluded room, eighteen people were knocked out cold, each lying on a separate bed. The beds were bunks, about six to a stack, three stacks. There was a table in the middle, and a few chairs. It looked like a combination of a bedroom and a living room, packed into a small area. After a while, one boy started to stir. He wore a ragged shirt; it looked even a bit too big for his skinny body. His head was covered with a full head of shaggy brunette hair and his jeans reached way too far down his legs onto his shoes, which read “Seclude”, and looked almost like the word said they were. Completely away from reality, though you couldn’t tell why. The boy who fit this description started to move, and even got up on his bed. The air around him felt cold and not understanding. He sat down, twiddled his fingers, and waited for the other seventeen people to wake up. Slowly, over a period of about three hours, each person woke up. All had a different personality. One girl with a scarlet pigtail hairdo was slamming her fists on the door, and screaming, “Let me out of here! LET ME OUT!” One looked like he was comforting another, one was pale and soaking everything in, and some were even finding people to talk to. A few really realized what they were: Captives. Most of the kids were silently moping to themselves the unfairness of the situation. The cold room was a death sentence to them: their old lives were dead, only to be reborn imprisoned in a lonely concrete room. Some denied the existence of the circumstances. It was all a dream, they said. A few cried for lost pets, parents, sisters, brothers, and material possessions that were a faint memory now that they had lost it all. One person kept very composed, and looked questionably shabby in his skinny composure. His ribs were slightly showing, but he was not eager for food. He hungered for knowledge, studying every inch of the room. His eyes eventually went over the first to wake up. He looked like he was deep in concentration, trying to place this mysterious new character in a category. He settled on lonely. Now, assured that he knew all that he could glean from a first impression, he spoke. “I see you’re from the diminishing Ice Tribe.” A few stopped fiddling around and looked at the pitiful boy. A few moments later, the adolescent responded. “You are correct. Not like I could be anything else.” The words crept around the room like frost on a cold day. Now heads turned to the person who knew the adolescent’s tribe. He took his time weaving his words. “Yes, you are a bit… chilly, if you catch my drift. My name is Lucian. And yours?” Many heads were now turned towards the Ice tribee, who whispered in his weary tone, “My name is of no importance to most, but if you need to know…” he paused for a second, and then continued, “I am Veilend.” All introductions before this event struck up again, and the two guys who once spoke went back to looking around, or in Veilend’s case, just sitting there. However, only a minute after conversations started up, the door opened. The red haired girl was knocked back by the door opening. The other girl who was soothing a young, crying boy who was immediately ran to her and started checking her injury. The man started speaking in what seemed to be a low baritone. He said little words, and none of them were reassuring to anyone, except for the ending. “Do not try to escape. You will be stuck here for a while. Food will be sent in an hour or so.” He then slammed the door shut, and then new subjects about food struck up once again. The caring girl was talking to the red-headed one. “So, where does it hurt? I learned this from my elder, who is experienced with aromatherapy.” “I see you’re from the ‘fabled’ grass tribe. Hello. It hurts on my left side of my head, thank you. I’m from the Fighting Tribe of Orre, thank you.” The small boy who was crying was now walking towards the caring girl. He seemed to be from a family who had at least the money to supply him with good nourishment and clothing. He seemed about the age of eight, and he wore a tank top that read “Splish Splash” and had a slashing insignia around it. He looked pretty strong all around, especially his upper body, and it showed real well with the tank top. His shorts looked like they came from Dewford. In fact, Dewford was exactly where he came from. He walked up to the girl and hugged her. She seemed a bit surprised, but then turned her head around and saw who was hugging her. She patted his head, and left him hanging on her body. “Awngely, howsee you doing?” He spoke like an eight year old would talk, though he had a lot of trouble with the girl’s name. “I’m doing fine, thanks! You seem a bit better than you did a hour or so ago, huh? “Yeah, Isee doin’ fine!’ The red haired girl piped up. “Well, that’s just dandy, Isn’t it?” The boy hid behind “Awngely.” “Aww, you’re ok Blake. She’s a friend. He name’s…” “ Kristen.” “Kristen, right. Go say hello!” Lucian eyed the other seventeen children. Looked like the emotional boy was the youngest, and a chit-chatty boy in the corner, maybe about twenty, was the oldest. “Frosty” was sitting on the ground, pretending not to care about the dire situation. Then, the door opened a second time, about forty-five minutes earlier than expected, but all the better for the captives. It was the man again, but with a silver platter. He walked inside the tiny room, closed the door, and placed the tray upon the table. He then opened it to show a nice amount of fruit and a salad. Not the best meal, but the kids were starving. They dug right in. The man slipped out once more, this time without the kids knowing. The kids didn’t know much, but most importantly they did not know much of what was about to happen.