"Mmmm, not quite, but you should have them before Thursday, I imagine." "In that case, you should be happy to know that the newest batch of sanctioned starters will probably arrive next week as well." "Of course, that's what I meant," Oak rolled his eyes. "Charmander, " Red interrupted him, an obstinate gleam in his eyes, "Not one of the three starters. You will then be given a choice between the three starters, out of which-" You are going to have to wait until your pokédex arrives. "Does that mean I get to pick a charmander from the ranch?" A third transport system functioning through psychic teleportation did exist, but it was far too expensive for the average trainer.
For those who found pidgeotto too slow for their purposes, there existed a secondary, high-speed version, which involved pidgeot instead of their younger forms. Easily affordable and widely available, this service was integrated into the cultural aspect of the Kanto mainland. The cheapest form of long-ranged transportation was the Kanto Mail Service, an organization that bred and maintained several hundred pidgeotto under their care and trained them to transfer mail from one city to another. "You should be getting your pokédex and your Trainer ID by Monday." "Arrogant brat," he muttered, good-naturedly. Oak rolled his eyes at his grandiose response. "I'd rather follow the path of Samuel Oak the champion and not the professor. Red pulled himself away, absently rubbing his cheeks. "Besides, most people would give their right arm to work under the great Samuel Oak." "Can you blame an old man for trying? You'd really be a good researcher, just like your mother." He puffed his chest up in mock-haughtiness. The old professor had the decency to look away in embarrassment. "Stop trying to manipulate me into staying back as a research apprentice. "Yeah, yeah," The teen rolled his eyes at the overly dramatic gestures and crossed his arms. In a few days, you'll be gone on your own journey, leaving this old man all alone." The old professor pinched said cheeks a little harder for good measure. A man, who had found power, fame, and wealth and yet had chosen to spend his time in such a humble location. Today, Samuel Oak was like a massive tree, with most of the Kanto mainland under his shade and his roots spread across the entire world.
Then, he had given it all up and taken pokémon research as his new passion and sunk into it wholeheartedly. He had come out of nowhere, sweeping through the pokémon world and ending up as champion for the next twenty years. Once a ruler of both the Kanto and Johto sub-continents and now a researcher who single-handedly built the world's largest Pokémon research network, Oak was a living legend, a model for trainers and researchers alike. He had progressed into the world of research, leading the world through several important discoveries, his most well-known invention being the pokédex technology. He had willingly stepped down from the throne, allowing the previous Champion Calem to take over the reins. An undefeated Champion for over eighteen years, Samuel Oak had decided to leave the world of pokémon battling and change his career, much to the shock of the rest of the world. This was Professor Samuel Oak, revered all over the world as 'The Pokémon Professor'. You are now eligible to be a pokémon trainer." "Congratulations, Red." Professor Oak beamed, handing over a printed document, "you passed your trainer certification exam with honors. Contrary to his grim situation, this strangely amusing thought was the last thing that crossed his mind.
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Picturing himself with his back full of spiky needles, he let out something between a giggle and a cough. He looked into the calming eyes of the doctor looking down upon him as yet another needle was gently slid into his body. His fingers were slowly losing their sense of touch along with the rest of his body as he felt the tentative hold on his consciousness slowly fade away. How- how did it turn out like this? He idly wondered.
Despite the rough treatment and the constant injections, there was no pain, a fact for which he was beyond grateful. He felt strangely disconnected from his own body, almost like a spectator, as he watched the doctors work around him. His eyes traced the tubes connecting the bottles with colorful liquids to the needles stabbing through his skin. Several white robbed people surrounded him, speaking in hushed tones. His eyes were half-closed, his fingers lightly tapping the metal rails of the stretcher as he felt himself being rushed through a white door. "Get him to the operating room! We don't have much time."
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