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Stories Write a story to catch Pokemon. A Grader will then decide if it catches or not.


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  #1  
Old 01-06-2010, 05:09 AM
Splishee Offline
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Default Synthetic ~ [WWC]

“How could you ever understand? How could you even begin to comprehend how incredibly easy it is for you?”

“What do you mean?” I said hesitantly, caught off guard by Tilly’s sudden helplessness amongst her frustration.

“You’re alive! You’re… you’re real! I’ll never be able to be with him, I’ll never be able to truly love him. And… you’re everything compatible! Every part of each of you fits perfectly together: the same species; perfection in adjoining puzzle pieces. But I’ll - I’ll never be able to love him. He’ll never accept me for who I am. What I was born as. The unfeeling, emotionless Pokemon I was programmed to be."
S Y N T H E T I C

syn·thet·ic
adjective
Not genuine; especially expressed but not genuinely felt.


That pretty much sums up everything.


~~~
I’ve never really thought about anything other than what I’ve been programmed to think about. Everything else seems somewhat hazy, distant and blurred, taking its lazy toll on my mind and poisoning it; toxic, feeling almost lethal if I were to continue thinking those forbidden thoughts. Compared to the sharp, absolute clarity the approved thought patterns would bring to my mind, they were obviously supposed to be undesirable to those of my kind.

Not me.

The letter - data - before me is about the change all of that. The faintly rippling pink spur of energy is almost taunting me within the depths of cyberspace. Although streaks of all colours from crimson to heliotrope are flashing across my eyes, leaving streaks of bright information files in every direction, I feel utterly alone and frozen. As though time is standing still, slow and sure, containing me with this one piece of data before me.

Although I know I’ve been programmed to be unfeeling and emotionless, I can’t help but be somewhat hypnotised by this data file. The carefully constructed words, heartfelt and full of meaning I can’t even begin to comprehend in my synthetic way of being, had slithered their way into my artificial heart, implanting themselves firmly. They feel so close to me now, although so distant. Is it because I know that they need to be translated roughly 3 times for an appropriate binary code for me to even faintly understand them? Or is it because I know that such emotion, beautiful and whole, could only come from a human, the very being that I had been programmed to fear?

I don’t care. If I could feel emotion, it would be throbbing proudly within me right now - and I’m not ashamed. I can’t stop examining this finely crafted piece of beauty, the only kind of utter brilliance that the phenomenon of emotion could bring. I swayed slightly where I hovered, within the depths of cyberspace, enclosed inside the email that is about to change me. Change everything I had ever been and ever will be.

As I feel the data firmly implanting itself within me, I can feel a twinge of regret in my system. Is it right to purposely abandon everything that I had been carefully constructed to be? Is it right to push myself into this data, knowing of powerful pieces of data and their effect something like me? How, if a Porygon willingly merges themselves with a piece of data, it can change them permanently? Is this right?

As the beautiful words began to enter my heart and blossom, their utter beauty expanding within me like a tentative, gorgeous flower kissed lightly by the sun, I knew that this was right. Oh, yes. So very right. This was more than right; this was what I was meant to live for. This was what I had been waiting for whilst I felt empty in my entire plane of existence. This one singular word, standing so powerfully within the email, burning with intensity from the fluttering fingers which had constructed them in a loving caress.

‘Peter’.

~~~

“Oh, Peter!”

That gorgeous hair. Those darling eyes. Those warm lips. That exquisite nose.

All of it, the finely crafted beauty of it all, was faced entirely in my direction, each gorgeously defined feature turned and moulded softly and surely to create a facial expression aimed directly at me; boring into me. His deep, cerulean eyes smouldered me; that hard, stony gaze never faltering from my frustratingly mediocre face. That same face that I could feel reddening by the second, as though the gaze of utter perfection was slowly burning each section of me - first each cheek, then the nose, and then moving upwards smoothly to the forehead. His perfect lips parted slightly, and I couldn’t help but sigh at the thought of those rounded lips pressed fervently and surely against mine -

“Are you going to sit there looking like an idiot or are you going to actually say something, Rhiannon?!” An excited giggle sounded in my ear and I blinked furiously, breaking out of the trance that I often found myself in when locking gazes with him.

“Um,” I turned back towards him, trying not to stare into his eyes and instead settling for an appropriate place just above his sleek, charcoal coloured hair. The breeze playfully danced across his hair, fluttering a few exquisite locks of the blackened beauty as though taunting me purposefully. ‘Isn’t he handsome, Rhiannon?’ I could imagine the teasing breeze whispering in my air. ‘Why don’t you come over here and help us delicately stroke his hair, just for a minute?

I shook my head quickly, blinking and pushing out those thoughts to avoid my currently tomato red complexion from upgrading to a fire-engine colour.

“Yeah?” he called from across the grassy field, his perfect features moulded into a look of confusion at my furiously red silence.

“I - I just wanted to ask. Did you - did you by any chance get an, um, email last night?” I stammered, purposefully avoiding his intense gaze.

There was silence. Well, silence in my frozen mind, listening with intensity to one particular target and clinging onto every word obsessively. Yes, there was silence - despite the loud, obnoxious screams and giggles from the school students who were scattered around us on the field. I was instantly annoyed by their carefree, joyous conversations and raucous laughter. Each sound pushed me a little more away from being able to perfectly hear the handsome voice from the boy I had visited so often in my dreams.

I was still fervently looking away from him, attempting not to get trapped in his warm, welcoming eyes. The sun slid out from behind an obtuse cloud, dazzling Peter with the sudden outburst of light. He began to blink furiously. That did not help.

“Er -” I heard his voice again, and my heart sang. “No, I don‘t think so.” Down went the heart. “Why, did you send me one?”

“Maybe,” I said and tried to flash my most dazzling smile, attempting to batter my eyelashes flirtatiously. I snuck a glance back at him, and instead of the reaction I was hoping for, he looked flabbergasted. Great.

“Uh… okay?” Peter crumpled his face again as the sun’s rays pushed themselves against his face. He turned away from me, and I followed his gaze. My heart immediately sank. The ever-intrusive Mr. Roland was hobbling towards us, a snarl on his face, angry clenched knuckles on his walking cane. His boring, gray eyes (now steadied on me in a look of pure distaste) matched his gray, wispy beard; hanging off his skeletal face as though it were trying to escape the wickedness that is the eighty year old Mr. Roland.

He began to open his mouth, and I predicted the hoarse, dry croak that would immediately put an end to the meeting of two teenagers of the opposite sex. I mean, what century was this guy in? To him, it was suddenly illegal that men and women should talk before marriage. I amused myself by thinking about his childhood. Did his Daddy ever hug him?

“Uh, I gotta go. See you later, Rhiannon?” Peter stuttered, cutting Mr. Roland off before he could whisper scratchy, insulting words at us. He flashed a brief smile at me and my entire body wobbled dangerously as my heart pounded with utter bliss. I felt like jelly as I attempted to stand up straight as he walked away, his graceful walk full of certainty and confidence clutching at my full heart. Each step was a tighter squeeze on the elated muscle, causing me to hyperventilate.

“Stop this nonsense, girl!” barked Mr. Roland, and I was jolted back to reality. “Back to class!”

“It’s… it’s Lunch.” I stared at him. He sneered at me and turned around and hobbled back again to wherever he had emerged from. Possibly a pit in Hell somewhere.

Lisa was immediately at my side.

“Rhiannon - it’s okay, relax! He’s gone! You can breathe! Relax!” she giggled, pressing down on my shoulders and shaking me playfully.

“Stop - shaking - me!” I gasped, tugging at one of her lengthy blonde plaits that ran down her front to her hip.

“Ow! You’re no fun!” she released me at once, out of breath from her giggles. I knew she had been holding them in for the entire duration of me and Peter’s awkward chat - incredibly short, but still too long for the jittery Lisa.

“Usually, I’d pull the other plait, but I’m just in too good of a mood to mess with your hairstyles today.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “As if this ‘mood’ will last more than an hour. I’ll just reserve this plait for future tugging.”

“Ha, ha.”

“So?! Do you think he really didn’t get it, or he’s just lying?”

I had to remind myself that she was talking about Peter and not Mr. Roland. “Why would he lie about not receiving an email?” I stopped suddenly, as we were aimlessly strolling along the field - a habit you usually develop from hanging out with someone for too long.

Lisa shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe he doesn’t return the favour? Or maybe he’s just shy. I mean, it’s not like he’s never had a girlfriend, but maybe he usually makes the first move, you know?”

“I think he’s the type to let the girls flock towards him,” I murmured, sighing as I glanced towards the direction he had just been standing, sharing a conversation with me; regular, reeling, red-faced Rhiannon.

Lisa ignored me. “If he’s telling the truth, and he didn’t actually get it, maybe you have the wrong email address? Tracey said she wasn’t certain that it was his. That love letter could have been sent to anyone.”

“Anyone?!” My head began to feel hot as I wrung my hands, eyes widening. That heartfelt letter, containing every intricate detail of my overwhelming feelings for him, Peter Reginald - his full name and mine both idiotically enclosed - could be in the hands of simply anyone? Maybe it was sent to a thirty year old man out of state, who would laugh and forward it onto this friends. Or maybe - and I began to hyperventilate simply at the thought - it went to someone living in the neighbourhood, who would immediately let the whole city of Goldenrod know! Could I bear the embarrassment? My head was reeling simply at the thought of such a situation.

“Rhiannon!” Lisa said sharply, clutching my shoulders yet again. “I’m sure nothing like that has happened. Besides, I’m sure that, if it wasn’t Peter’s email address, it was just directed to the junk folder and it wouldn’t be taken notice of anyway!”

“You think?” I said bitterly, shooting her a furtive look and proceeding to rest my head gloomily into my hands. “This is horrible!”

“Sometimes emails don’t make it through to the other end,” Lisa carried on thoughtfully. Always the optimist. “Maybe it just got lost in cyberspace!” she said the last few words suggestively and mysteriously, waving her arms around.

“What, like some sci-fi movie?” I laughed at my best friend’s goofy antics, though admittedly feeling a little better.

“Whatever you want it to be! I’m sure it’ll be fine, Rhiannon!” Lisa grinned triumphantly, convinced that she had gotten through to me from my uncontrollable smile that had just lit up my face.

“Yeah. I mean, what could happen?” I muttered as we began to walk along again, trying not to think about all the possible answers to that question.

Last edited by Splishee; 01-08-2010 at 08:31 AM.
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  #2  
Old 01-06-2010, 05:14 AM
Splishee Offline
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Default Re: Synthetic ~ [WWC]

~~~

Oh, the things that could happen in cyberspace.

White, white and more white. The worst colour in the world, the epitome of plainness. There is no feeling whatsoever connected with this horrible colour. I watched the emptiness lazily ebb and flow past me, carrying on with the laid-back lifestyle of a private server. It was peaceful - a welcome change from the usual flashes and flickers of colour that would scorch my eyes as I moved through cyberspace, inflicting me with a permanent headache.

But that was when I had the hole.

That gap within me - the difference between being perfectly full of emotion and power, complete with a purpose in life and a certain fulfilment inside of me, and the state I had been in previously. Half empty, always searching, always wandering aimlessly. I had known I had no purpose in this dull, unsatisfying life - yet it hadn’t bothered me. I was merely resigned to the sad reality of being a Porygon, and never questioned the way things were, or wondered about a higher state of being.

But now, but now - I was complete.

Whizzing and whirring through the private server, I was a flurry of pink as I raced through the overwhelming whiteness. I didn’t know whether it was possible for me to truly feel happiness, but I knew that this was as close as it could get in my artificial state of being. Although it was a simple illusion, trickery on the mind, it still felt phenomenal. And I wasn’t prepared to let go of it easily.

What’s this? The destination? The gorgeous ending of my exhilarating journey? I gladly leapt through the whirring vortex of energy in cyberspace into the one special inbox of that one very special person. The data within it were all floating around aimlessly, waiting to be accessed. They were in that curious state of boredom in that they didn’t quite know what they were or exactly what they were doing - only that they had a purpose, and that they had to blindly follow it.

The main difference between them and I.

Giddily I sifted through the data, weaving in and out of the floating orbs of energy and taking a little bit of data out of them as I passed. I breathed in the perfectly-constructed binary of his gorgeous name, written in every email - thoughtlessly and offhandedly - yet it made my entire system sing with joy. Peter, Peter, PETER, pEtEr… every single version, every unique spelling and technique of writing struck a chord in my innermost being, creating the most beautiful music within my very soul, the sweet melody of him flowing into my very essence… yes, this - this - was heaven…

I needed to communicate with him. I needed to show him who I was, and the horrible longing I felt for him. I knew it would be impossible to construct my own (what would I say? What SHOULD I say?!), but I felt the unbearable urge to thrust my own struggling emotions into an email and directly toss them into his inbox. Red hot and filled with passion.

And, amazingly, the answer came whizzing past me in a white-hot streak of light. My reflexes sturdy and steady, I whipped my body around and caught the email in mid-air with flourish. Focusing my control on this particular area of cyberspace, I studied the eager letter with intense concentration. It was relieving - pleasurable, even - to release all this inner passion within me into pure energy focused entirely on this one simple letter. I quickly tapped into it once it had steadied. A stroke of luck fell from the heavens as I realised it was an almost exact replica of the email I had read before - the one that had changed me indefinitely. The loving caress of the passionate words embraced me yet again, but I resisted it this time. This was business.

Signed at the end was the name “Rhiannon” - what a silly name. Such a gorgeous person like Peter didn’t deserve such a common, pathetic girl. Her words were spun elegantly and lovingly - but they were just words. The love I felt - really felt - for Peter was real. She was just a human… so what, she could feel emotions? If I could feel love, it would be throbbing proudly within me right now.

I knew what I had to do. Although within me I wished so dearly I could sign it as ‘Porygon’, my true identity, I knew that he would reject such an email from a Pokemon. Again hating the creature I had been forced to become, I exited the now stationary email. Swiftly catching another email that was zooming whimsically beside me, I extracted the name ‘Tilly’ from the end. Hm. Tilly. It seemed uncommon enough. I didn’t really know what to think of it, as human names had never interested me, but it would have to do. Names would not matter once Peter knew who I was and what I needed him to know.

Smugly erasing the cheap word ‘Rhiannon’ and replacing it with my new name, ‘Tilly’, I knew the deed had been done. This was the start of our love affair. Once he read the letter, he would know that this fantastic, oddly mysterious Tilly would be the one for him…

And this cyberspace romance would be enough to get me through the rest of my existence. My life now has meaning.

~~~

“And then she said: ‘Because of you, my darling Peter, my life now has meaning.’”

There were synchronised grunts of appreciation, cheers and groans; accompanied by an unwelcome array of rolled eyes. Across the heavily wooded court yard, paved only through the centre with an abundance of bushes and blooming trees on either side, was a group of people crowded around one single person; all eyes focused on him, as though he were a king or a God. Each word he spoke was greeted with their utmost fullest attention, hanging onto his every word, grasping at his superiority and casting longing glances up in his direction that seemed to give him a definite glow of someone who was so fervently admired. I could hardly say I was any better, sitting across the courtyard and appreciating his words in a similar puppy-style manner - but also feeling a unique mix of smugness to go with adoration as I listened to him.

I glanced at my reflection in a nearby puddle on the ground. I carefully followed the straight line of my smooth, auburn-coloured hair, leading downwards gracefully to the slight curve of my hips in the loose fitting school shirt. That’s her, they will say. “That’s Rhiannon. Peter’s new girlfriend!” I took note of every freckle which danced across my nose; which, despite its horrid pig-snout shape, seemed almost cute today in the flattering light I was eagerly casting myself in. It was a wonderful day.

Why was it so wonderful? Oh, glad you asked, dear conscience. Today is particularly wonderful because a certain boy by the name of Peter has received a “mysterious” (I had to repress a giggle, even as I thought the word!) love letter from a secret admirer online. He had yet to tell people the identity of the lover, keeping a careful aura of suspense around him, but that hardly worried me. The amount of passion and energy in his words as he described my love letter, word by word, emotion by emotion to the adoring onlookers was simply contagious - even the cynical bunch who rolled their eyes at the first thought of the love letter couldn’t help but be entranced by the amount of pure, raw emotion he described.

“And then the closer of the email, the greatest bit of all - are you ready for this? - was in these huge, bold letters. And it read: -”

“ - I will always love you,” I whispered in synchronisation to his bellowing voice, and there was a smattering of applause across the courtyard. I grinned broadly, lowering myself downwards to hide the steady flush creeping up my neck and onto my face.

I was going to talk to him. Tomorrow. Embrace him and feel him hug me back, tighter than ever before, because he suddenly realised he feels the same way. The email opened his eyes, and we are surely to be together.

I could hardly wait.

~~~

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Each love letter that had come swivelling by over the past 37.3 hours had been hungrily grasped and read by me, and then swiftly changed to the signature of “Tilly”. It seems like a monotonous process from an outsider’s perspective, but the rush that this thrill gave me was simply indescribable. Never before had I read such love expressed through binary code; such emotion and beauty that I could only dream of procuring. I admired the letters for at least an hour each, before sending it along on its merry way deep into Peter’s inbox.

It had only been about 10.4 hours since I discovered the loose connection to Peter’s webcam. Rummaging through his delicious files and networks had astounded me when I found a clear, pristine window that opened up into the front of Peter’s chair and his room. I had sat there giddily for hours, waiting for a glimpse of Peter’s divine being before realising that the lump in the background on the bed was, indeed, Peter. He was sleeping. Disappointed, I had retreated back into his inbox but I knew I would return there in a few hours. And remain there until my eyes met their target with relish, to satisfy the infatuation.

But then, I stopped. I brought myself back to where I was now, safely enclosed in Peter’s quiet inbox.

I was not… really infatuated. Or in love. No, I was completely unable to feel those kinds of human exclusive emotions, however hard I twisted and moulded my programming into allowing me to do so. I glanced over to my left, where a softly shimmering spur of energy fluttered by me and into Peter’s email. I watched it with indifferent eyes, despising the contents of it; I was certain it was yet another love letter from that Rhiannon girl, just waiting to be tampered with by me to fool Peter yet again. But I asked myself… was it… was it worth it?

Peter didn’t know me. He - he would never love me. All I had been doing was stealing these letters, a façade of emotion from an emotionless being to make a fool of him. To make a fool of me.

I shook my head slowly as the whiteness around me shimmered with energy from my sudden movement. The emotions were threatening to burst from deep within me, but there was something blocking it. Immovable and ever-present, like a cork within a bubbling champagne bottle. The pressure was mounting, and the cork was struggling; but it still stayed in place. It remained there, despite the overwhelming pressure coming from within to feel the sweet relief of pushing it away…

I sighed and, despite myself, I dragged my hopeless body over to the email and forced myself to read it. It was wonderful - oh, yes, truly wonderful - but oddly it didn’t fill me with the same euphoria I had experienced with all the letters prior to it. It was hardly any different… was it me who was suddenly changing my outlook on the letters?

I still edited the letter and sent it on its way.

I knew I had to stop. This was… this was pathetic. The letters were not mine to change, or mine to express emotion with. But this was my drug. I had to keep doing it. I couldn’t allow myself to end the life I had newly discovered.

~~~

“My life has officially ended!”

“Don’t you think you’re being just a smidge over-dramatic?” Lisa said as she awkwardly patted my shoulder. It was supposed to be a comforting motion, but it only succeeded in mildly irritating me.

“How could this happen to me?! I’m a good person, I’ve gotten good grades, all my teachers like me -”

“- Yeah, you’ll be announcing your engagement to Mr. Roland any day now -”

“- And even my horoscope said it was going to be a bad day today! ‘Stay inside, Mercury is not on your side.’ It’s a sign!” I flung my arms around wildly, releasing the vented energy that had been unfortunately bottled up inside me for more than an hour. I took to staring down at my feet, scruffy and covered in dust in the dirt of our school’s courtyard, but it hardly repressed the deep desire within me to scream out to the heavens in utter fury.

“’Mercury is not on your side.‘? How much more ominous can you get? What the hell does that even mean?” Lisa mused, looking off into the distance as she giggled at her own joke.

I gave her a stony glare. “Don’t question horoscopes, Lisa. They’re extremely reliable.”

“Oh, that reminds me. My Cheerios this morning were telling me ‘O‘ repeatedly. That means I‘m going to have to avoid all objects that start with ‘O‘, right? They‘re all going to murder me!”

“Lisa, I’m serious! I’m in a crisis mode here, and you’re not being very helpful!” I shrugged her hand off my shoulder and dug into my lunchbox, pulling out a juicy orange to soothe the white-hot fury bubbling within me.

“Ack! Devil fruit, devil fruit! Get it away!” Lisa flung out her hand wildly and knocked the orange out of my grasp. I watched it roll away slowly in the dirt before turning my head to face her with the biggest look of revulsion I could muster.

“Geez, Rhiannon. Keep pulling that face and I’m going to have to send you away to Sea World. You look like a fish.”

I gave a hearty sigh, finally giving up on the thousand promises of wrath dancing through my mind. I began to reflect on the events that had transpired during the past hour, and each time I replayed the eavesdropped conversation over and over, a pang of regret sounded deep in my stomach.

So, Peter had been talking about the love letters he had received. The key word here being the love letters, not my love letters. He was bragging about it to all of his friends in the middle of History class, yet again, about an hour ago. And this time? He had finally revealed the name of the girl sending these amazing love letters to him. I had sunk down in my chair, a flush creeping up my cheeks as I prepared for the violent attack of embarrassment about to be fired at me ruthlessly. But instead of hearing the harsh name “Rhiannon” uttered, I had heard something entirely different. The love letter writer was, in fact… some girl named “Tilly”, apparently in love with him for years, and, joy of joys, he suspected it to be a gorgeous senior girl he had a crush on, named Tillian.

The dreary classroom we were in reflected my feelings entirely; the grayscale, desolate curtains were frayed and old; the light flitted in and out between the holes and patches in them playfully, before splaying out upon the thoroughly worn-out brick walls beside them, thanks to the constant years it had endured of graffiti and other vandalism. The room was, overall, hopeless; and had given up on the constant battle it faced with teenage procrastination and boredom. I, similarly, was hopeless, and had just given up on any fantasy of Peter and I being together.

This “Tilly” girl just had to come along and ruin everything, didn’t she?

“Now, let’s look at this from a totally not reckless, completely sensible perspective,” Lisa said seriously while munching on a carrot stick. “We can draw the following possible theories from this situation. A: some girl named Tilly has actually been sending him passionate emails the same time you have, but hers actually arrived to the destination. B: -”

“- This ’Tilly’ person has been totally stealing all my emails and signing them off as her name rather than mine,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

Lisa stared at me, a completely blank look on her face. “Rhiannon,” she said, shaking her head. “That - that’s completely impossible. You can’t just - just hack into the internet and change around an email. That’s just a stupid thing to think.”

“I know it’s true, Lisa!” I said urgently. “Trust me! The way he was talking about those letters - he even quoted them, and they were my writing! I think I’d know my own love letters, Lisa! There’s something going on here… either he’s lying about this ’Tilly’ girl writing the letters to him when it’s really me, or Tilly has been very wicked indeed; stealing my love letters!”

“You’re being completely irrational,” Lisa said hotly. She glanced around the school courtyard with her brilliant emerald eyes, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she surveyed the constant stream of students lolling lazily between areas of the school. It seemed as though, incredibly, she was embarrassed to be near me. Like she didn’t want anyone to listen in to our conversation. I stared at her, utterly dumbfounded and hurt at the way she was acting. A small leaf fluttered down from the colossal amount of entwining tree branches and leaves above us, casting a comfortable amount of shade and an annoying rainfall of leaves. It shimmered in between us, as though casting an invisible shield separating us from each other for the first time in years.

“Why don’t you believe me?” I said quietly, and she avoided my gaze. We sat in silence for a good five minutes. It was not a comfortable silence; it was insatiably awkward and hung in the air, obvious and heavy, pressing down on us with more malice with each passing second.

“I see. So it’s going to be like that? I have one crazy - but right - idea and you suddenly become ashamed to be my friend?” I said, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes. Lisa turned to face me, alarmed, but I stood up quickly and shook out my red hair like a curtain to shield my contorted face from her.

“I’m going to prove that something weird is going on here,” I whispered. “And I don’t care whether you’re going to help or not.” And with that, I stalked off.

I knew I would apologise to Lisa later. We would hug and make up, as we always did. But right now I was single-minded and incredibly reckless - I knew where I was going and what I was doing. Peter often said that he left his email page opened on his computer 24/7, awaiting another email from his dear Tilly. I had to find out what exactly was going on.

And I didn’t care about the lengths to which I would go to figure it out.

Last edited by Splishee; 01-06-2010 at 05:31 AM.
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  #3  
Old 01-06-2010, 05:16 AM
Splishee Offline
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Default Re: Synthetic ~ [WWC]

~~~

Oh, the lengths I would go to in order to cure the mounting guilt inside of me.

The guilt was not genuine, of course. No, it was more like… when I’m programmed to accomplish a particular task, and I do not fulfil it to the best of my abilities as a Porygon. There is a small piece of programming within me that sparks a shock that runs down my body, a light one, but nonetheless alarms me - violently - at what I had done.

Strangely, almost unbelievably, I had managed to take this piece of programming and mould it into something vaguely representing a true emotion. The spark shuddered down my spine and I felt even more ashamed of myself for stealing these letters out of fear. Fear of not being able to show Peter my real thoughts.

But it was time for this to end. I was about to show Peter the real me.

I’d hardly realised that I was absent-mindedly constructing an email. All my thoughts and my overwhelming mock-feelings were suddenly poured out into this one piece of data, which glowed an appropriate vivid lilac. Each letter appeared with flourish, the first thing that came into my brilliant mind spilling out into the email unstoppably…

And then, with a horrible pang within me, I realised what I had written.

‘shfheifheighe eigheighe iahfieh gig jihegie heuq aeirh’

A jumble of letters. No legible words, no phrases… nothing. Just a stupid old jumble of letters.

I couldn’t express what I was feeling. I didn’t know how to express love. I didn’t know how to feel love. How could I say anything to him? How could I express a feeling that I was unable to feel?

I deflated. My sudden euphoric high stooped downwards. I sunk downwards so suddenly that I was thrown off-balance within Peter’s inbox. It was over. I could never - could never…

And then inspiration hit me. A quote, something I had downloaded quite a while ago absent-mindedly whilst exploring cyberspace. A quotation that represented ‘true love’, as the source had stated. It was supposedly a gorgeous reflection of ‘love’ and how it made those with true feelings feel, rather than my petty imitations.
Peter would know what that meant! He would understand, if I could just try and express it… through human techniques, human-created statements that represented their emotions.

And hungrily and enthusiastically, I began to scavenge. Far and wide I hastily downloaded the most popular and apparently ‘meaningful’ quotes of love that were spread across the internet. Quotations from famous celebrities, celebrated poets, even small children - thrown into the huge mix of emotion that was soon about to be consumed by Peter.

Although I couldn’t feel it, I would express the feeling of love - in the only way I knew how.

~~~


I was breaking in. In the only way I knew how.

Rhiannon Wall: robber, stalker, creep extraordinaire. “That’s Rhiannon,” they will say. “That’s the girl who broke into Peter’s house.

But why?” Imaginary Person Number 2 will reply.

She’s crazy in love. The poor, creepy girl.

JOLTEON! The sharp voice of my ever-lovable Pokemon broke my depressing train of thought and I began to wobble, half way up spindly, rickety ladder that lead to Peter’s bedroom. His house had lovely cherry-coloured brick walls; but as lovely as they were, I didn’t want them to be the last thing I ever saw.

“Jolteon! Hold the ladder!” I screeched as the ladder wobbled even more dangerously. Jolteon rolled her eyes and steadied the ladder, staring up at me as she shook her head incredulously. Jolteon was small, but her wild tangle of sharp, angry yellow hair that covered her entire body was definitely potentially dangerous. She flexed her four legs as she studied me, and her soft, yellow paws dug at the ground anxiously. However hard her exterior was, I knew that she really did care for me and worried about my inevitable tumble down to hard concrete below.

“I’m fine,” I assured her, and she raised an eyebrow. “Scramble up the ladder to join me once I’m up, won’t you? I don’t want to be alone up there.”

And with that, I rested my palms on Peter’s smooth window sill above me and prepared to use the remainder of the weak arm muscle strength I had. Counting to three, I hoisted myself up clumsily and took a sharp intake of breath as I felt a muscle twist and protest painfully. I clutched at the ledge, half hanging off it with my legs flailing wildly and arms weakening at an alarming pace; I began to shake in fear as I realised I may not be strong enough to support my body weight for much longer. I reached out to feel for the ladder with my legs, but I couldn’t find it; my hands began to slip as I gave a petrified look down at the ground, such a long, long, long way down -

- And then I felt a sharp, sure nudge on my backside and I hurtled into Peter’s room with Jolteon quickly behind me. I was sprawled over the floor, and looked up to see Jolteon shaking her head with a slightly dazed expression. I guess she had used Headbutt to save me from a certain death.

“Thank you,” I gasped, struggling to regain my breath. Jolteon simply gave me a look that said: “Get off the ground. You look like an idiot.”

I stood up slowly, and in the meantime tried to ignore the tempting sights of Peter’s bedroom. His private sanctuary. The bed in which he actually slept in every night, the sheets crumpled and littered with various books, balls and sheets of paper that added to the general messiness of the room. The floor was covered in a sea of junk; so many items in such an array of colours and shapes that it all seemed to morph together into a plain, brown slick of oily rubbish that spread across the floor of the room and crawled up into the various wooden shelves.

My eyes examined the entire room before resting finally on his computer, sitting far in the corner, almost completely covered by piles upon piles of essays, schoolbooks and various other pieces of paper. I stalked straight to the flimsy computer chair and sat down, sweeping the papers off the desk in anger as I twitched the mouse. Jolteon, still standing over in the corner of the room where the window was, watched me silently.

The single movement of the mouse sparked the computer back to life, and I was unsurprised to see that his email inbox was, indeed, open. I hit ‘refresh’ and watched as four emails appeared on the screen; Uncle Jeff, Lauren C., John F. - and, lo and behold, ‘Tilly’.

I eagerly swept the mouse across the screen and entered the email. I expected it to be one of the many letters I had sent over the past few days - a complete replica, with only the name at the bottom changed - but I was incredibly surprised to discover that this letter was… nothing like anything I had ever written. Not even close.

The writing was disjointed and crude, as though the entire email consisted of pieces of different jigsaw puzzles all thrust together in the hopes that it would complete itself. It seemed like the writer had taken phrases from other sources and lumped them all together in an effort to sound romantic. I examined the email, cringing at the mismatched writing styles and quotes. I spotted a mixture of Shakespeare quotes and 21st century crude pick up lines, which were the strangest combination I’d ever read.

Shaking my head, I went back to the inbox and began to read all the other saved messages from this ‘Tilly’ girl. Though I was half anticipating letters of the same style, I was oddly relieved to see that the rest of the letters were indeed my letters. Word for word, letter for letter. Everything identical except the very last word: changed impossibly from ‘Rhiannon’ to ‘Tilly’. I gaped at the screen, eyes widened. On the plus side, I now knew I was right - someone, or something, had been tampering with my emails and changing who it was from. It was so impossible; my mind whirled as I sat in Peter’s chair, barely registering that I was still in his room. I fiddled with the sheets of paper laying in crumpled heaps all over the desk and I drifted off, thinking seriously about the possible solutions to this matter.

My eyes drifted in the direction of Peter’s webcam, lying above his computer and starting at me intently. There was a red light flashing, and the frequency in which it flashed became faster and faster the more I looked at it.

Snapping out of my trance, I leaned in towards the webcam and stared at the tiny bleeping dot. It flashed faster, like a steadily increasing heart beat.

Suddenly, completely without warning, the screen of the computer began to shine. The aura of light emitted from it was dominating and piercingly bright; I had to shield my eyes and stifle a yelp of pain as the light rays from the screen violently assaulted my eyes. I felt a faint whisper of air flow past me, as though something had actually exited from the computer screen.

As the bright, enchantingly-white glow of the computer screen faded, I wretched my eyes away from the protective shield my hands had formed in front of them to give a quick glance around the room. White spots burned before me, temporarily blinding me as I fumbled around Peter’s desk to gain a perspective of where I was. As the piercing spots in my eyes began to subside, I was suddenly rammed in the side by a large, metallic figure which literally knocked the wind out of me.

I gasped, hurtling towards the ground as Peter’s chair toppled on top of me, and I found myself wrestling with this strange figure which had knocked me down. I could barely see what it was yet, just flashes of sharp, defined edges and the bright colours of pink and blue. I gasped as I swung my arms around wildly, attempting to batter this strange creature, running only on the sudden energy boost of pure adrenaline.

“You - are - not - Peter!” a voice hissed in my ear, in an oddly electronic, computerised voice. It sounded almost metallic; ringing tauntingly around my ears at a thousand different frequencies and pitches, as though the strange speaker spoke with a voice built from a million others.

“Obviously, I’m not!” I gasped. “Please stop trying to hurt me! I didn’t mean to come into his room - well, I did, but, I just - I just wanted -”

I was thankfully interrupted by the shriek of the ever-ready Jolteon, and I heard the indistinguishable sound of crackling electricity and the felt the heat radiating from the creature before me that had just been attacked by the vicious attack.

My eyes had finally cleared now, and I was able to fully see this strange creature - or should I say, strange Pokemon. The Pokemon was in the shape of a strange three dimensional polygon, with sharp edges and smooth surfaces upon its small, pink and blue coloured body. It hovered just above the ground, faintly stirring, apparently paralyzed by the sudden attack. After a few moments staring at the creature, I suddenly realised what it was.

Porygon. Pokemon of cyberspace; developed by technology and programmed to control the very thing that had developed it. Was this the nuisance, “Tilly”? This Pokemon had been editing my emails? It seemed impossible. What would a Pokemon benefit from sending love letters to a human boy? I was suddenly startled as the Porygon’s eyes flashed up at me with a look of utter revulsion. I was slightly taken aback; what could I have possibly done to this Porygon that made it despise me so?

“Look, I think this is all a misunderstanding,” I said hastily as the Porygon began to swiftly regain its energy. “Maybe we should start over? My name is Rhiannon -”

“RHIANNON?” Porygon’s eyes flashed dangerously, and I backed away - suddenly in undeniable, irrepressible fear. “You are the human that constructed such loving emails? Delicately woven words? You? A simple human girl? You - you are not deserving of my darling, my lovely Peter…”

“Wait, hold up,” I interrupted her, thoroughly confused. “You’re - you’re in love with Peter? You‘re Tilly?”

Last edited by Splishee; 01-06-2010 at 05:31 AM.
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  #4  
Old 01-07-2010, 06:54 AM
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Default Re: Synthetic ~ [WWC]

~~~
The Porygon suddenly became breathless, staring at me with wide eyes filled with wonder as it - or, should I say Tilly - nodded her head.

“You do realise he’s a human right? And, uh, you’re a Pokemon.”

Tilly suddenly shook in convulsions, her small body shrinking and rising rapidly as she hovered up to my level with an aura of definite aggression. I sensed that I wasn’t about to receive an answer to my completely dignified question - Tilly was rearing herself up against Peter’s wall in preparation for a devastating attack.

Luckily, Jolteon was a much faster thinker than I was and immediately sent another white-hot Shockwave in Tilly’s direction. It hit flawlessly, the sparks of electricity flying in all directions as Tilly was shaken brutally to the core by the blinding flashes. I sighed in relief, casting Jolteon a loving glance to show true appreciation of her feat.

But it seemed Tilly was only getting started. Pausing only to flash a purely venomous look in my direction, she turned her sharp, gleaming head in Jolteon’s direction and threw her head back with relish. A fine swirl of magenta formed above her mouth and grew in brightness and intensity, mystifying Jolteon and I for a short while. Finding pleasure in the amount of power she had in her attack, she threw her head down again and at the same time releasing a powerful beam of psychic energy in Jolteon’s direction.

“Jolteon, quickly, avoid it!” I said through gritted teeth, but it was too late; the Psybeam hit Jolteon dead-on, thanks to her being mystified and dumbfounded with the effect of it being formed a few seconds prior. It was painful for me to see Jolteon thrown backwards carelessly, and her body made a powerful impact against Peter’s bookcase, causing an explosion of books rebounding noisily off the walls and ceiling - a fountain of splayed pages and colourful covers. I ducked my head, but not before I saw Jolteon lying beneath the bookcase, a look of pure puzzlement and grogginess on her face. The gorgeousness of the Psybeam before it was performed had confused her. I swore under my breath as I ducked on the ground.

“Jolteon, come on!” I called out hopefully, as Tilly threw her head back, grinning manically, to repeat the devastating attack. “You can do this! Please!”

Tilly gave me a look out of the corner of her eye, and after a moment’s consideration spun giddily around to face me. I stared at her, my mouth wide open, before realising that she was aiming the attack at me. I gave a yelp of pure fear and surprise, and scrambled away from her behind Peter’s bed. I buried my face in his covers, barely registering where I was and who had been there every night. Right now, a silly little crush seemed like the most stupid, insignificant thing in the world.

As Tilly lowered her head once more, I gave a truly blood-curdling scream, shaking as I clutched at Peter’s blanket. As though in slow motion, I watched as the magenta coloured ray began to exit from her mouth -

- And then a furry, yellow figure appeared like lightning and thundered down on the menacing Porygon. Tilly was swept aside, sent crashing down into Peter’s computer and I watched as his desk crumpled, the wood giving in with an audible ‘crunch’ as splinters flew and crumpled bits of paper tumbled across Peter’s mess of a floor. Jolteon flashed me a look of triumph, broken out of her confusion, and I gave her the most thankful, loving smile I could muster.

As though from a horror movie, Tilly slowly hovered up and above the wreckage of Peter’s desk with a look of pure menace dancing across her face. We exchanged a glare, and I immediately began shouting orders quickly to Jolteon, skittering and stumbling over my words in the rush to get them out as quickly and fervently as possible:

“Jolteon, run circles around Porygon with Agility while firing a Pin Missile from all directions, and then finish it off with a powerful Thunder.” I prevented myself from wincing at the amount of colossal damage that would do to Peter’s room, but I knew it had to be done. This Porygon had caused enough trouble for a lifetime. I tried to make my voice steady and calm, but it was simply a clumsy stammer out of my nervousness to beat Tilly down for good.

Jolteon smiled at me, and then she suddenly vanished. I watched as papers from the depths of Peter’s floor were immediately thrown up by some invisible force; Jolteon moving faster than the eye can see, sweeping through the mess on the floor and upturning them in all directions. It was like a bomb had exploded; matter was flying everywhere with a mixture of tiny needles bombarding Tilly from all directions. Tilly stumbled, the pins attacking her viciously and she gave a cry of pain. Jolteon then emerged from her apparent state of invisibility, leaping high into the air - her ears brushing Peter’s roof tenderly - and her body glowing a shimmering, impossibly bright shade of yellow.

And suddenly, Tilly had snapped back to life, her brain working swiftly to combat the destructive Thunder that was about to come. She closed her eyes, and a fine sheet of glowing pink appeared in front of her, humming with pure psychic energy. I looked at it curiously, before suddenly realising what it was.

“Jolteon, wait, no!” I screamed, but it was too late. Jolteon’s electrical attack came thundering down with thousands of volts of pure electricity, sparking with such heat and power that I felt my hair becoming singed. But it was all in vain; Tilly had craftily engineered a Mirror Coat, which would reverse all the power of Jolteon’s attack - doubled.

The Thunder came crashing down onto the Porygon, and suddenly all I could see was a bright light shrouding my vision. I heard the crackle of electricity and the heavenly hum of psychic energy - and suddenly, it all went quiet. There was a deathly silence that hung through the air, pressing heavily on me. What had happened?

The bright flash subsided, and I was shocked to see the wreckage before me. The entire half of Peter’s room was burnt to crisp, crumbling and blackened like wood in a fireplace. Jolteon lay in one corner, obviously fainted (which sent a pang of remorse straight to my heart) and Tilly was in the other; not fainted, but definitely weakened. I had a sharp intake of breath at the sight of seeing Tilly, and drew in too much smoke from the burning room. I coughed heavily, and Tilly’s burnt, weakened face twisted in my direction.

Suddenly, she came flying at me. I threw my arms up to shield myself, but Tilly was far too weak to manage anything than pushing me from all directions in utter fury. She was screaming words I couldn’t decipher, and I eventually just pushed her away with my right hand and she landed on the ground a few feet away. I peered down at her, wondering what she was going to do next.

Unexpectedly, she looked up at me with forlorn, defeated eyes. “How could you ever understand? How could you even begin to comprehend how incredibly easy it is for you?” she whispered.

“What do you mean?” I said hesitantly, caught off guard by Tilly’s sudden helplessness amongst her frustration.

She took a deep breath, glancing around the terrible wreckage of the room.

“You’re alive! You’re… you’re real! I’ll never be able to be with him, I’ll never be able to truly love him. And… you’re everything compatible! Every part of each of you fits perfectly together: the same species; perfection in adjoining puzzle pieces. But I’ll - I’ll never be able to love him. He’ll never accept me for who I am. What I was born as. The unfeeling, emotionless Pokemon I was programmed to be.

“Look at my email… yours are so heartfelt, you and your emotions, able to be felt so freely. I am unable to feel. Do you know how painful it is to feel these things for Peter? My species is not designed to feel!” Tilly suddenly shrieked, and I jumped backwards, my body frozen in Tilly’s heart-wrenching words that expressed only innermost sadness and longing.

“To love! To hate! To feel! All I want is to be able to - to - open! All these emotions, concealed inside of me: whirring, whirring, whirring - I want them to be free! I’d give anything to stop feeling this emptiness, this - this suspicion that there is something more. Something I’ve been missing out on. The other side of the locked door, where the key has been purposely destroyed just to spite me!”

The Porygon lowered herself, her body shaking convulsively as she was gripped with white-hot pain from the emotions she was struggling to feel. Her utter emptiness was sparking an overwhelming depression, attempting to rip the unfeeling programmed creature apart. She began to wail, sinking towards the ground as her eyes closed and the convulsions settled to frightened trembles, dry sobs filled with longing. I slowly lowered myself off Peter’s crumpled bedspread and onto the floor, steady and unsure of the pitiful being before me.

“Why?” Tilly eventually whispered, bringing her eyes up slowly to meet mine. “Why can’t I feel? What have I done to be born like this, to be denied the basic of your species’ capabilities? I just want it to end. Make it stop - end it all.”

I stared at her, the pitiful creature. I felt my hand brush my belt, and I knew that there was a way I could help her. I knew I could. Tilly needed a caring person in her life; one who truly believed in her and wanted the best for her. One who could guide her way in life, other than watch her struggle with feelings of an irrepressible, constant loneliness. I pulled the tiny Pokeball from my belt, and lay in on the ground in front of her.

Tilly looked down at it, and looked up at me. We held the look for what seemed like years; my intense brown eyes meeting her withdrawn, defeated white ones. And suddenly, she nudged the Pokeball with her nose and she was gone with a flash of crimson light; away from all her troubles, and the possibility of a life with me.

Without even watching whether the Pokeball would successfully hold Tilly in, I began to look around the remains of Peter’s room. And, strangely, I felt no pain or remorse for the destruction. It even seemed silly to think about the crush I had harboured on him for so many years. I chuckled to myself. If Tilly wanted him; she could have him.

But somehow, I don’t think she will anymore.
~~~
Pokemon: Porygon
Difficulty: Demanding; 40 - 55 K.
Length: 51 K.

Last edited by Splishee; 01-07-2010 at 07:05 AM.
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  #5  
Old 01-08-2010, 07:31 AM
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Default Re: Synthetic ~ [WWC]

Story/Plot: One of the main reasons why I wanted to grade this was because of Porygon actually. It might be just me, but it seems that many people tend to link cyberspace immediately with Porygon, so it's like a virus in the cyberworld and stuff (even me, myself tend to do that), so I was interested to see how your story would be. Like what I expected, you didn't disappoint.

I will admit, the beginning was a little confusing. But it was probably the best introduction there can be. Starting off with the thoughts of a someone that isn't revealed, only till later that it is actually a Porygon, while introducing Rhiannon at the same time later on. Somehow, this sparked interest in me as I slowly understood what is happening. The Porygon having a crush on the human boy was interesting as well, and about that being impossible because of the different species, thus allowed the start of the stealing of Rhiannon's letters, out of an act of jealousy and envy. I'd say the plot was well thought out as well. Instead of focusing largely of cyberspace which many people do for Porygons imo, you focused on Rhiannon and Porygon's attraction for Peter, then extended from there to explain Porygon's reasons for her actions. Though, Porygon should be genderless by nature. I can't complain though, anything is possible I'd say!

However, I wished I could understand Rhiannon better. What was she like exactly? I'll talk about her physical description first. Apparently, she had smooth, auburn-colored hair and freckles across her nose which was shaped like a pig snout, but I didn't get to know many others. Basic features, like her mouth, skin, eyes, cheeks and face shape can also be described. And you said her hair was straight and smooth? But how exactly was it straight? Was it straight and thin because she had them rebonded or was it a natural thing? Also, I didn't know what she was wearing through out the story.

On the other hand, character development, I thought you could have expressed your character traits better. Porygon's was there, since her traits were very obvious, with it being wanting to feel emotions very much, but was restricted because of her certain "programming". Thus, she got jealous of Rhiannon instead and pulled gimmicks. However, what were Rhiannon's? Was she a very shy person? You did try to depict her shyness by having her being worried over how the school finds out she was the one that was writing those love letters, but if she was truly shy, why did she still send the email to the boy she liked, and with her name on it as well? Surely, she'd have seen it coming that the boy would share it with his friends? You could have also displayed her extreme clumsiness if you're just looking for a more distinct trait that sets her apart from the other characters, since this would be easier to display like how she falls or gets injured when climbing up the ladder. Of course, there must be many scenes of injuries so as to emphasize her trait. Without character development, your characters become flat instead and the reader feels no connection or they cannot even understand your character well enough.

Grammar/Spelling: I can't find anything serious here, but I need to mention that your dialogues are amazing. It was pretty much the glue here, that kept your story interesting throughout.

Length: Sure.

Details/Description: Again, didn't disappoint. You described almost everything, made use of figurative description, used advanced adjectives (or at least, that's how I call them), what more can I ask?

If I were to pick out the things you didn't describe, these would be it. Goldenrod, Peter's clothes, Rhiannon's features (like what I said earlier) and clothes and Lisa's features other than her emerald eyes. I don't really care about Goldenrod, since I think that if you actually force out a description and place it in the story, it would be rather out of place. It doesn't matter in this story anyway, since it didn't happen out in the cities. Though, I had a tough time figuring out the settings for the different parts in your stories. You don't really describe them, other than the cyberspace and Peter's room, so some description would be nice. I'm sure you will find a way to blend that in with your story.

I also didn't find the lack of description of clothes much of a problem actually. But since it's like your more important characters and we need to visualize them a lot better, it'd be good to provide even simply, basic details of what they're wearing. Are they wearing polo, denim, or just a simple pair of bermudas and a t-shirt? I mentioned the features earlier, so I won't do it again. Now, for others that I think you could have implemented into this story, you described Peter's room as being very messy, but I thought that you could also have had mentioned the smell of the room when Rhiannon first entered. Did it have a fresh scent, perhaps due to the air fresheners in the room? Or did it have a funny smell, probably due to the week-old socks that are left hanging by the bedside and dirty clothes lying around on the floor?

Battle: Reminds me of a catfight. :f

Battle was definitely two-sided, although it'd be cool if Porygon had used a variety of attacks instead of that same old psychic energy always. Yes, I know Porygon used Mirror Coat. But still, variety would be nice. D: The description used in your battle was fantastic as well, I especially liked how you had Jolteon smashed into the bookcase which resulted in the bookcase falling onto Jolteon instead. Good usage of your surroundings.

If you want to improve on your battle portion, you can probably make use of your surroundings further, like how Porygon's Conversion/Conversion2 would react with Peter's room, I'll leave your creativity and imagination to that. You can also make use of Porygon's ability, Download. This will allow you to demonstrate your creativity in describing the ability, how it will appear and all that will be quite interesting, I believe.

In the end, Porygon revealed her true feelings and how she was jealous of Rhiannon because of how she can have the right to have a crush on Peter, to write a love letter herself, to experience emotions that the Pokemon herself cannot, this was truly a very nice touch and ending to the story. Good job here!

Outcome: Whatttttt, is it to be questioned anymore? Porygon captured!

Keep up the good work, this was a very good read.
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