This world is inhabited by creatures that we call pokemon. People and pokemon live together by supporting each other, but now the scourge threatens the safety of the entire region. Kohaku has become a dangerous place, where children stay at home and only brave souls go adventuring.
Welcome to KOHAKU. Come for the nightmares. Stay for the tea and crumpets.
The season is SUMMER. It is easy for survivors to forage for food from the land, as there are entire abandoned farms ready for harvest. On the downside, you can smell the corpses.
swarms
GRAND OPENING !
Welcome to KOHAKU REGION's grand opening! If you're interested in joining, come check out our grand opening giveaway!
Being admitted into the EOS was only grasping the next rung. Meeting with Cypress would be the pull that moves him upward. He had no belay. It was either this or head home. Actually, let’s be real: home wasn’t an option. No region wants to try fate with Kohaku exports. Mustapha was ready for the long haul as green as he was. Thing was, he had knew clue where he was actually headed.
Mustapha showed up to the lab rather business casual. The kid was collared up and ready to impress. A footsoldier en route to the void didn’t need any top-dogs already doubting his worth. He read the handbook to this game and was prepped to write the walkthrough. He knocked on the door twice before noticing the doorbell. He pressed the jingle-set knob for good measure.
Somehow, everything about him was chilled. His breathing and heartbeat were normal. Mustapha didn’t feel like getting a workout by standing still and worrying. His only anxiety was that of a fanatic. The boy knew that Cypress was active in making the famed vaccine. He had antigen questions, politics questions, and sort of wanted a few life lessons out of this. It’s not like Mustapha’ll see many Pax researchers from here on out.
He checked his reflection in the mirror before licking his eyebrows and fixing his turban. HE LOOKED TIGHT; he was ready to go.
There's the sound of a great many things ramming into the front door from the inside, followed by desperate scratching that honestly sounds like there's an army trying to get out of hell, rising in urgency by the second --
-- until it abruptly stops. The door swings open to reveal a frazzled man, hair mussed and glasses askew, with a strained smile. "H-hi," he pants, leaning on the doorframe.
"You're -- you're, um, ... Mustapha?" Cypress steps back and waves him in. "I'm Cypress, and, um, d-don't mind ... those." He gestures at the around the room, where there are frantically struggling rattata suspended in midair.
The alakazam in the corner of the room offers a friendly smile at Mustapha before levitating all the rattata into another room and shutting the door.
Cypress presses a hand to his forehead, attempting another smile. "You are Mustafa, r-right?"
Rainforest sounds from behind the door broke Mustapha’s first sweat. He could only imagine what in blue hell was going on inside. But, he did hear a man’s voice, and that reassured him that at least the professor wasn’t eaten alive by his research participants. The door swung open and pokemon smells wafted in his face. Mustapha noted that the professor wasn’t totally eaten by his subjects. He could work with that. The guy did seem a bit off, though. Who was he to judge the top of his field?
“Yes, Professor Cypress. It’s pleased to meet you si-” The sight of trapeze rattata karate kicked the words from his mouth. He quickly figured that they were in psychic stasis and not on some invisible wire. That settled him. He felt like learning his trade from a ringmaster was not okay. The boy offered the Alakazam a brief wave then turned to his superior.
“Yes, Mustapha of Canalave, Sinnoh. The acceptance letters said you offer vaccinated subjects to recruits, Professor.” He figured the older man knew that, but he couldn’t be sure with how weary the guy looked. tuyet
He nods, gesturing for Mustapha to follow him to the side of the room. Cypress grabs a little booklet from a desk as he passes, handing it to the researcher-to-be, and pushes forward a cart with labeled pokeballs on it.
"Here they are -- um, if you want to l-look at them you can!"
Mustapha gulped while hearing loud, hospital floor footsteps. He had to keep reminding himself that he was in Professor Cypress’ laboratory. His heartbeat quickened pace as he saw the slab lined with pokeballs. The pokemon in the brochure were all promising. Could he possibly take down notes on them all?
Mustapha checked his watch. Unfortunately, he needed to pick his starter as soon as possible. His landlord wanted the house clean and empty in another two hours. Although noting the brief details of each, his eyes hovered over one pokemon in particular. The fossil-bred prototurtle. He picked up the corresponding pokeball, weighed it in his hand, and then released the beast on the floor beside him.
At once, the researcher hopeful took out his notepad and jotted down notes about this particular tirtouga. The black spots on its flippers were fascinating and suggested constant amphibian behavior. Evolution pitted this pokemon’s genus against a lot of struggle which only strengthened its outer shell.
“These pokemon. Tirtouga. They’re to be 100-some million years old, I read. Why not have history on your side, right?” He spoke distantly to the probably uninterested professor. He returned the pokemon and turned to the scientist.