Full Meteorological Panic!

Note: I am aware that Castform uses several TM moves in this story, but this is only for the purposes of the narrative and I am in no way expecting to retain them if he is successfully captured.

EDIT: Intended Capture: Castform ((Can't believe I forgot to put this is))

Expected Character Count: 30-40k
Actual Character Count: 31,511



Fighting is all I know. Even as I float here in the air, I am unable to enjoy the sensation of the rainwater cascading down my body, unable to enjoy the majesty of this storm. Nothing much occupies my thoughts beyond my mission. Every rumble of thunder is simply a distraction, the crackling lightning – a light source…and a weapon. Another blast of electricity tears open the sky ahead of me, the massive bolt silhouetting a shape that I recognise even before the computer on my Battle Harness chimes in.

“Magnifying image…analysing…Fighter Aircraft, Model F-22 ‘Raptor,’ IFF designates as United Nations. Orders – Terminate,” the softly spoken voice casually declares.

I didn’t need the results of the scan, it was an easily identifiable plane and you could never trust the data received from the Identification Friend/Foe system. Besides that, my orders had been simple from the start, I was the only friendly unit out here and until I received orders to the contrary I was to treat anything else as hostile; just the way that I like to do things.

I silently wish for the umpteenth time that there was a way to disengage the Battle Harness computer, despite knowing that I was stuck with it. It wasn’t that I didn’t find the system useful, in fact the communications suite, the additional power access and combat stimulants are all very much appreciated. It was just that the head-up display (commonly referred to as a HUD) can get in the way, particularly the target tracking protocols, and the computer voice could sometimes be distracting. A phantom image of the approaching fighter is overlayed onto my vision, dancing between rivulets of water running down the goggles. I ignore the targeting data that it provides, confidant that the pilot will turn left to avoid the high air pressure zone that he would otherwise move through.

I briefly hover my vision over an icon in the top-right corner of the HUD and after a short delay feel a needle drive into the back of my head. The pain is only momentary as a potent cocktail floods through my system, heightening my senses, focussing my power. I concentrate, forming a mental image of the lightning bolts forking through the air, and once the image if firmly cemented in my mind I unleash my power.

An arc of electricity streaks across the heavens, and even through my drug-induced dissociation I know that it came from me. The attack strikes the enemy aircraft on the left wing as it turns, sending electrical discharges dancing across its skin and causing an explosion which blasts the wing off.

He continues to turn as he falls, aiming the nose of the plane towards me. I hold position, bullets flashing past either side of me; I am invincible. The pilot’s final moments play in my mind, I relish the thought of his panicky demise but mere imaginings are not enough for me. The Battle Harness once again responds eagerly to my commands and intercepts his transmission, no doubt a desperate cry for help.

“This is Knight 3, I am down and ejection system is suffering an electrical malfunction.”

“King to Knight 3 what is your position?”

“1.5 klicks west of Point Charlie, do not send recovery, repeat no recovery. I’m a goner and there’s a monster defending the approach.”

“Please repeat last transmission.”

“Intelligence was right, Project Tempest is active. Threat Index off the damn charts, do not attempt to engage.”

I smile at the thought that the enemy know who I am; the satisfaction of destroying them would be all the sweeter with the knowledge that my name would inspire terror in their camps. Perhaps this light display of my power was all that was needed; now that they knew invasion was impossible without encountering me they might lose their stomach for this war.

“Knight 3 this is Pegasus, it’s not like you to give up so easily kid. I’ll send one of my team to rescue you and then I’ll deal with Project Tempest,” a new voice, oozing with easy confidence had joined the dialogue. “After all, how tough can a Castform really be?”

I can feel the anger boiling up inside me, who is this man who would dismiss my power in such an off-hand manner. Whilst it’s true that we Castform are not the toughest Pokémon on the planet, my conditioning and training have put me far in advance of the rest of my species.

My Battle Harness begins to scan the area, trying to locate this smug human using the call sign ‘Pegasus.’ No matter how firmly he believed in his skills, they will be no match for mine. He wouldn’t be able to achieve a missile lock, thanks to the harness’ jammers, and I presented too small a target to hit manually. I am the ultimate aerial defensive system, no aircraft exists anywhere in the world that can hope to measure up to me.

“Triangulating target position, estimated time 120 seconds.”

Hmmm, a disappointingly long time in aerial combat, but I can live with the wait; anticipation will make the final strike seem so much sweeter. The delay gives me a short while to reflect on how I had come to be here, the long years of training that had been Project Tempest. It had all begun on the day of my birth, right from the hatching.

----​

I can remember the first moment that I truly became conscious, still inside the protective shell of my egg. There were indistinct noises outside, some of them could have been voices, others I would later recognise as medical monitors. I didn’t understand much back then, but I had a sense that there were people waiting for me, desperate for me to hatch.

So I escaped that tiny prison, repeatedly bashing my head against the side of the egg until a crack developed. More bashes widened the gap, letting light spill onto my vulnerable body for the first time, blinding me with its radiance; but I didn’t let that stop me. I didn’t stop until I was all the way out and could take my first blurry look upon the world.

I couldn’t make out much of anything beyond a few feet from the table I was sat on. The shattered remains of my egg lay directly behind me, and I was in a blanket-lined tray. The tray lay on a plain metal table, beside a pair of strange screens and buttons, that I would later learn were computers, that trailed wires towards my egg; evidently they’d been monitoring me. However I was far more interested in the people standing around the table.

Nearest to me was a pair of scientists, although I didn’t understand the significance of their lab coats at the time. One of them faced away, talking in quiet tones to a man in the military uniform of my home land, a camouflage pattern of greys and blues, but the other scientist was looking directly at me. She had a kind face bearing a soft, almost maternal, expression that I immediately responded to.

In my newly born state I didn’t understand much, but love was something instinctual. I had an inbuilt desire to be loved and this woman, the first person I’d really seen clearly since hatching, seemed to want to give it. I tried to jump towards her, but the military man intervened, in a foreshadowing of the rest of my life.

He stepped forwards and struck me with the back of his closed first, slamming me back against the table. The blow made my head ring, but more painful than that was the sting of rejection, I was too hurt even to cry. His disdain for me was evident upon his features, and the fear that I could see in the scientists’ faces indicated how ruthless this man was. His harsh, grating voice and aging, battle-scarred features would become an object of terror for me too, but eventually that emotion would be drilled out of me, along with all others. General Nezaan was a cruel man, and unfortunately liked to take a hands-on approach to his projects.

“You are a weapon X-03,” Nezaan declared, “and don’t ever forget it. We’ve already lost two experiments thanks to incompetent personnel treating them like anything more.” That last comment didn’t seem to be aimed towards me, but I still realised what it meant. Any hope I’d had of leading a normal life had been dashed within less than a minute of my hatching.

“I don’t mean to talk out of turn sir,” the female scientist was visibly quaking as she spoke up, “but Pokémon that are raised with love and care tend to perform better.” The room was silent, you would have been able to hear a feather drop, never mind a pin.

Nezaan turned slowly to face her, I never saw the expression on his face, but the tone of voice and later experience gave me all the information I needed. Like many men of his type it was easy to tell when he was truly furious, his voice became quiet and menacing; a man of his calibre doesn’t need to shout. “We are not raising a Pokémon, we are creating a weapon. If my methods don’t meet your…moral approval,” he made the words sound like a curse, as if decency and ethics were somehow anathema, “then you are free to resign your position.”

By now the scientist was dammed whatever she did, remaining would result in lengthy psychological torment, and as for quitting, no one ever heard from quitters again. General Nezaan ran Project Tempest with a free reign, he could do whatever he desired to the staff and there wasn’t a single thing they could do about it. I’ve heard that things are pretty much the same nation-wide, but my current mission is the first time I’ve ever left the compound so I couldn’t possibly comment.

“As for you X-03, tomorrow your training begins. Someone ensure that it is healthy and fed, I don’t want it damaged because one of you techs screwed up a simple job. Once that is done and X-03 is put to sleep you are all free until sunrise.” He turned again to face my direction, aiming his next statement at the female scientist. “I’m sure your husband and daughter will be waiting for your return, or will you be visiting your sick mother first?” he asked, his voice positively dripping with malice, before he left the room.

I had almost hoped that she would pick me up, and cuddle me, and tell me that everything would be all right, but Nezaan’s words had had a profound effect upon her. The hollow expression on her face indicated that his implied threat was enough to crush any resistance in her. She adopted a detached, clinical manner as she examined me, quickly coming to the conclusion that I was fine, and then left me in my billet.

The room was barely more than a 3 foot cube with a pile of straw in one corner and a bowl in another, the bare steel walls and ceiling adorned with nothing more than a fluorescent strip light. Over the next year that room would be the closest thing I ever got to a home. The closest that I got to love was the occasional Poffin that I would find mixed into my food as it was slid out of a chute in the wall. I ate greedily that first night, trying to soothe the pain, to fill the empty hole in my heart with something. I ended up crying myself to sleep every night for my first week or so, after that there were no tears left in me.

----​

Over the next four months they brutally drilled me every single day. The first week or so is little more than a haze of pain in my memory, but after a while I got used to the routine. Every morning would begin with endurance training, a three-mile ‘run’ with a two kilo bag strapped to me, more than twice my own body mass. If I collapsed, or even faltered, General Nezaan was there to give me a lashing with the vine cane that he always carried; designed to hurt without causing debilitating damage, not physically at least.

The afternoons were combat training, which was the only duty that started out lightly at first. As cruel and desperate for results as they were, even they knew that a freshly hatched Pokémon can’t be expected to be able to attack properly. Early training mainly consisted of exposure to various weather conditions and having other military Pokémon teach me how to create the main four; Rain, Sun, Hail & Sandstorm. I tried to make some connection with them, but they wouldn’t even speak without orders, and more beatings taught me the same lesson. Once they were confidant that I could do the basics on command they had me fighting mock battles with the same Pokémon who’d been my tutors; I rarely came out on top.

The final piece of the regular training schedule was theory and tactics, beginning with the basics of warfare. I was taught the proper way to wage a military campaign, how to engage, how to retreat, what to do with prisoners (surrendering was disgraceful, and we made sure prisoners were reminded of that every single day that their cowardice had bought them), everything that I could possibly need to know. After that we moved on to unit identification and recognition; memorising weak points, dangers, strategies. The whole time they tested my knowledge, giving me tactical simulations to resolve and quizzes on technical data. I entered my answers on a computer, jumping on keys to input data and receiving more verbal and physical lashings for every wrong answer; even if it was just a typo.

At first I tried to resist their attempts to militarise me, stubbornly refusing to allow them to drill all emotion and free thought out of me, but eventually they broke my spirit. Their methods varied, never allowing me to adapt, and ranged from simple physical abuse to sleep deprivation (courtesy of several very talented Ghost-types using Nightmare) to the constant emotional abandonment. I realised that the only way to survive was to give in, and once I begun to play it their way the punishments lessened; I was even treated occasionally, allowed to administer abuse of my own on helpless prisoners. I didn’t care who they were, or why they were being given this treatment, I knew from experience that only those who deserved it were punished.

The base personnel gradually begun to treat me like a prized Pokémon, showing me a modicum of amiability; all of them proud to be helping with Project Tempest. I even earned a name beyond my experimental designation, and because of my improving performance General Nezaan permitted it, though he never used it himself. Caliban was what they called me, I understood that it was a joke of some sort, something to do with a play, but the context was never explained to me or within my earshot. But I didn’t care, for the first time in my life I knew what it was like to be accepted, to have a real purpose.

It was about that time that the next phase of training begun. Up until that point I was acceptable as a Pokémon, I was about as powerful as I could get and my understanding of tactical theory meant that I could get the better of Pokémon far outside of my power range. Of course that wasn’t enough, Project Tempest was about creating the ultimate aerial offensive/defensive weapon; I needed to get stronger.

----​

I clearly remember the day that General Nezaan stopped in on one of my combat training sessions, something that was unusual at this point in the project; he’d been content to watch the recordings and have someone else monitor me. I had just finished an engagement with Tropius, a Grass/Flying Pokémon more than six times my size that belonged to a rival of Nezaan’s. The man had doubted Nezaan’s claims of my power and sought to test me; he was forced to grudgingly admit the success of Project Tempest.

“Not yet Bukar, X-03 is merely a powerful Pokémon it is still far from being a viable weapon.”

“But surely the weather manipulation alone…”

“Is insufficient,” Nezaan cut across him, his tone indicating that he had not quite finished speaking. “X-03 will need far more power to pose a threat to any aircraft designed within the last ten to fifteen years. Fortunately I foresaw the limitations to its power and have been working on a secondary project to overcome them.”

Up until now I’d barely been paying attention, aware that curiosity and eavesdropping were not encouraged; I had beaten Tropius and that was enough, I didn’t need to hear this pair of dinosaurs’ verbal posturing. But upon mention of a way to achieve more power my ears pricked up, metaphorically. Whilst keeping a carefully neutral appearance I listened in, hoping to learn this secret. If I could become even more powerful, then perhaps I would be deployed to active service and crush our enemies.

I needn’t have bothered being surreptitious, Nezaan was clearly intent upon showing off the system to General Bukar, and so I would be needed for the demonstration. “X-03, follow me,” he ordered, leading me off through the base without another word, with Bukar in tow.

----​

Eventually we were brought to a section of the base that I’d never been in before, a large sign declaring it to be the ‘Special Research and Development Division.’ The room superficially resembled the one in which I’d hatched, for all I knew it could have been. There were large banks of computers everywhere, scientists milling about, one or two things that resembled weapons or vehicles I had seen before; it seemed that Project Tempest was not the sole purpose of this establishment.

“Once I realised that there were limits to how much power Castform could use, and that they were far below what we needed, I had my intelligence networks begin scouting for ways to overcome them. Within a few weeks one of my agents had found this for me,” Nezaan brought us to a halt at one of the groups of computers. Amongst the computers were several tables strewn with various electronic components, two of which were covered with black cloths.

He reached across and removed one of the cloths, unveiling what looked like the arm piece of an advanced suit of armour, but it was oddly bulbous in design and badly charred.

“What on earth is that?” asked Bukar, appearing to be genuinely curious.

“This is part of a power amplification harness, designed for an unknown Pokémon. My spies managed to get eyewitness testimony from one or two Pokémon trainers and a member of the criminal organisation that owned this creature; it was the most powerful Pokémon to ever exist, barring certain mythological exceptions, if their reports are to be believed. I managed to track down the lead scientist who built it and smuggle him here to safety.”

This was certainly interesting information, although I wondered whether the Pokémon in question had been powerful before the addition of the harness. I then noticed a man stood by the other covered table, feverishly typing something into a handheld computer. He was almost worryingly thin underneath his lab coat and tall enough to appear gangly. The major features of his face were an overly large pair of glasses, a long, pointed nose, a faint topping of wispy, grey hair and what seemed to be a perpetual expression of worry.

“Apparently your employers didn’t appreciate the fact that the armour made it powerful enough to escape, did they Professor Faraday?”

The scientist looked up from his computer, and faintly shook his head. “There’s no need to worry about that happening again General, this system is a vast improvement.” Faraday took this opportunity to remove the second sheet to reveal a circular mask with an opening at the mouth area and green, translucent eyes. A band of metal extended in a circle behind it, to which a small pair of cylinders was connected, at the rear.

Even before Professor Faraday opened his mouth I was positive what this device was, and the implications it had for me. “This is the Battle Harness for Project Tempest. The integrated computer system will assist X-03 with targeting and communications, provides a jamming effect to keep it safe from target locks and has an extensive library of moves that Castform can be taught to use. Once the Harness is attached to X-03 it will interface with his nervous system, allowing him to learn how to use those moves in a matter of seconds. In additional to all that, the cylinders contain a cocktail of stimulants and other drugs that will increase his power by a considerable margin, and allow for much finer manipulation of weather, and the narcotic effect will keep him obedient.”

I didn’t understand some of the technical language that he used, but the gist of it was pretty clear. This machine would help me to achieve my life’s purpose; I would become the ultimate weapon, a hero, a legend.

----​

The Harness worked like a charm. I became far more powerful than I could have imagined and gained access to attacks that made those which I’d learnt naturally look worthless. But with the additional capability came new challenges. The difficulty of my training escalated rapidly, first moving me up to taking on the most powerful Pokémon we had available. Once I had proven myself against them I progressed to engagements with military vehicles, tanks and such to begin with, then aircraft. I bear many scars to this day that I received in those live-fire simulations, but that wasn’t the hardest part of using the harness.

It wasn’t long before I learnt what Professor Faraday had meant when he was talking about the combat stimulants. After the first week or so I found that I was taking them more and more frequently in combat, even when I didn’t need the additional power boost. The time between combat sessions gradually became a torturous experience, my every thought focussed on counting the seconds until I could next engage the system. There was a period of 8 days when the base’s supply of combat stimulant ran out, forcing me into a state that the personnel referred to as ‘cold turkey.’ Since then they’ve always ensured a healthy supply is available and that I am given several smaller doses throughout the day. The situation has gotten better, but I’m still very much dependant on the stimulant. Considering the degree to which it amplifies my power I think it’s a fair price to pay.

Three months was the length of time spent on this, final, section of the training. I fought hard to live up to my potential, and in the eyes of General Nezaan I succeeded The second that the opportunity presented itself, he officially unveiled me to the leaders of our proud nation.

----​

We met them in a room unlike any I’ve ever seen, before or since. Rather than the spartan decoration to which I was accustomed this room was upholstered in an overly lavish style. Bright colours abounded, every piece of furniture looked like it would be far softer than my straw bed and all but a few available spaces were adorned with artistic works. I was kept in a cage underneath the vast table that occupied the centre of the room, whilst General Nezaan talked to the Emperor and his Council.

“I’m sorry Your Excellency, but I’m still unsure as to why Nezaan is even here,” the timbre of this man’s voice carried the weight of years with it, and the burden of cowardice. “His various weapons research programs have cost us greatly and produced no viable results. We are facing a full-scale invasion by United Nations forces, intent on dethroning you; they won’t be happy until you are in the dock for numerous human rights violations.”

The full-scale invasion sounded very important; perhaps this would be the chance for me to prove myself in the field. I had no clue what the latter part of his statement had meant, but I did understand that it was bad. Though Nezaan had never really told me anything about our Emperor, I had been instilled with a great loyalty to Nezaan, and anyone he was loyal to must be important. I would gladly do whatever was necessary to protect this Emperor.

“Once again Councilman Tral you are mistaken.” I presumed that this was the Emperor’s voice, it was even more softly spoken than Nezaan in a rage, but oozing with authority. “Nezaan, you have our undivided attention.”

“Thank you,” there was a hint of nervousness in his voice, so subtle that I barely noticed it; I hadn’t thought him even capable of fear. “Esteemed Council I present to you a weapon system that will guarantee us protection from the invading force. Our glorious military is the pride of the world in the realm of ground-based combat. Up until now we have potentially been at the mercy of other nations from air- or sea-borne assaults, but…”

“Oh do stop grandstanding and get on with it,” the only female present forcefully interrupted him.

“Of course Empress.” He reached below the table and withdrew my cage, placing it on the table before him with a flourish, “I give you the result of Project Tempest, X-03.”

I took the opportunity to look around the stunned faces at the table. The council was a fairly uninspiring group, seeming to be nothing but a collection of decrepit old men in fancy attire. The pair sat at the head of the table, whom I believed to be the Emperor and Empress, were more ostentatiously dressed than the rest, but appeared to be even older. I will never understand how they could inspire devotion and fear in a man like Nezaan, but it is not my place to question him.

Laughter began to ripple around the room, causing Nezaan some visible flustering as he activated a view-screen mounted on the wall. Footage of my most recent combat demonstration, the successful destruction of five F-16 Fighting Falcons (the predecessor to the F-22), played for them; the laughter was quickly replaced by silence. Nezaan’s sense of satisfaction was almost tangible.

“As you can see, between the weather manipulation and attacks, X-03 is almost unstoppable. Its principal area of operation is in the air, though it is also quite capable at ground level and theoretically could be quite devastating at sea. X-03 will be able to keep our aerial borders safe from invading armies, unassisted.”

The entire council was speechless, none of them could believe that such power could be achieved by a simple Castform. Eventually the one who’d spoken earlier, Councilman Tral, piped up. “Your Excellency, surely you can’t condone the use of this monstrosity. Need I remind you that the Environmental Modification Convention strictly prohibits the use of weather manipulation in warfare, we are bound by its strictures.”

“It amuses me how you appeal to meaningless papers Councilman,” the Emperor chuckled. “Every person at this table has flouted several international treaties, but the second we present a defensive weapon that is in contravention of an insignificant convention… Your concerns stem only from the fact that you can be proven to have knowledge of Project Tempest’s existence, and you fear the results of your own trial once the UN has successfully deposed me. Have you so little faith?

“General Nezaan, you have permission to deploy X-03 to the front lines at precisely 0100 hours. Its orders are to destroy anything in the skies; we won’t bother to deploy our own air-force, not that they’re good enough to be relied upon anyway.”

Nezaan bowed to the Emperor and picked up my cage, leaving without another word. Once we were beyond earshot he lifted me closer to his head and whispered quietly, “I’m proud of you.” That was the only time he ever said anything complimentary to me, it indicated the gravity of the situation, and the importance of this mission.

----​

“Target closing on a bearing of 015 by 120, distance 0.5km.”

The Battle Harness computer shakes me from my reminiscing, reminding me that there are still enemies who need to be shown my power. I turn to look in the direction it indicated and see the first sign of my target, the one who had such disdain for my capabilities.

Moving out of the cloud of smoke trailed by the F-22 I’d brought down earlier I can see the shape of a human, riding on the back of something large and metallic. The computer quickly identifies it as Metagross, a Steel/Psychic Pokémon that nears the top of the range in terms of power. Excellent, this will almost be a fair fight.

I fill my mind with visions of burning, and let loose a stream of powerful flames in the direction of this invader, hoping to finish him in a single strike. But it seems that it won’t allow me such easy victory, it has generated some kind of force-field and completely nullified my attack.

“I don’t know why you’re so intent on fighting for these people Castform,” the human yells out, “but I’m going to defeat you.” He reaches towards his belt and then throws a red and white orb that had been attached to it. Somehow this device had contained another Pokémon, which erupted from it in a flash of blue light. “Salamence hit him with Dragon Pulse and follow up with Thunder Fang.”

The blue dragon fires out a ball of indigo energy in my direction, pathetically easy to counter. I retaliate with a stream of coldness that my computer informs me is called Blizzard. The two attacks connect in the space between us, exploding into a cloud of smoke. This will provide me with a few precious seconds to plan my next move.

Aaargh, a burning pain flows through me as I take a glancing blow from its next attack. I spin away from the monster as it floats in front of me, trying to work out what happened. It must have used the cover of the smoke to advance more quickly than I’d expected.

This calls for a change in tactics, I need to make the environment hostile to it and increase the power of my attacks. I manipulate the flow of air currents and quickly achieve my objective, causing a local hail storm. Every cell in my body instantly responds to the changing conditions, the water droplet coating around my head fading into wispy clouds.

‘Focus on the cold, focus on the weather,’ I tell myself, condensing a ball of energy in front of me. Once the ball has achieved sufficient mass I blow it in the direction of Salamence, using the winds to manoeuvre it accurately into the dragon. The light blue ball of energy hits it as it struggles to evade, the large chunks of hail falling from the sky seem to be slowing it down. As the ball strikes, tendrils of ice begin rapidly crawling across Salamence’s body, paralysing its wings.

There is no feeling like the joy of defeating one’s opponent so thoroughly, even the rush of the fresh batch of combat stimulants that is injected into me pales in comparison. I feel safe enough to turn and watch as he falls towards his doom, only to disappear in a flash of red energy. I don’t know what happened to him, but I’m sure that he is suffering wherever he is.

Wait a second…why has the atmosphere suddenly gotten warmer? I can feel my body reverting to its natural state, what is happening?

“Warning, meteorological interference detected. Source…Golduck’s ‘Cloud Nine’ Ability. Recommendation; terminate.”

I follow the directional indicator on my HUD, and manage to catch a glimpse of a blue duck-like Pokémon sat on the human’s Metagross. My view is quickly obscured as a multi-winged purple bat strikes me with its wing, setting my head ringing.
“Good work Crobat, now use Cross Poison on that mask it’s wearing.”

No, not the Battle Harness, but it’s already too late to avoid the glowing purple X. I turn to try and mitigate the damage, but that only makes things worse. The attack connects with the band that attaches the Battle Harness, cracking it open. My spinning causes the crack to widen, tears the Harness loose.

It falls, and I chase after it; nothing matters except getting the stimulants back. Without the Harness I will be nothing more than ordinary, all my excess power, all my extra attacks, all lost.

Suddenly my vision is blurred out by a red light, similar to the one that took Salamence earlier. I can feel myself contained in a prison of some sort, far smaller and more inescapable than anything that I was treated to at the Project Tempest base. I struggle against this cage as the light fades slowly to black. I don’t know why, but I’m sure that once the light fades completely I will be trapped forever. But without fresh stimulants I’m not sure if I can escape…but I must try.

Interesting side note: The Environmental Modification Convention is a real document, signed May 1977, that actually prohibits weather manipulation as a weapon of war. Here’s a link to the Wikipedia article on it: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Environmental_Modification_Convention and the full text of the document, under its original title: http://fletcher.tufts.edu/multi/texts/BH700.txt)).

 

Claimed. I owe you for reffing all my battles.

Edit: I finished your grade but the damn internet went out and deleted it, so it'll take a while to re do. Sorry, dude. I'm pissed enough for both of us.

 

Intro: Your intro was great. It pulled me in, gave your character personality, and made me excited for the rest of the story. Full points.

Plot: Your plot was nothing less than awesome. A Castform used as a military weapon? Amazing. You did a great job with this plot, so I award you full points.

Dialogue: Your dialogue was pretty good. It flowed naturally, seemed realistic, and had few errors.

Grammar: You didn't have too many errors, but the ones I saw, I've listed below:

This needs to be changed from a comma to a colon:

It should be:

This comma needs to be changed to a period:

Like so:

This word needs to be changed:

I couldn’t make out much of anything beyond a few feet from the table I was sat on.

It should be:

You also spelled detatched, detached at one point.

You had lots of places where commas were left out, or needed to be exchanged for other types of punctuation. Other than that and the areas mentioned above, your grammar was fine.


Detail: You did an awesome job describing the military stuff, a good job describing people and okemon moves, an okay job describing the places your story was set in, and a not too great job describing Pokemon. Now that there are so many Pokemon, it is important to give a brief description of the Pokemon that are in your stories, as it is hard for people to pull up a perfect image of each one in their minds.

Length: You needed a minimum of 30k for a Castform, and you had 31.5k, so you're fine.

Reality: I didn't see anything unrealistic in your story, and it was free of plotholes, so you're good here.

Personal Feelings: I thought your story was awesome, and was disappointed when it was over. I have no hesitation in saying...

Outcome: Castform...captured.

Congrats. You had a few problems with grammar, and you didn't really describe any of the Pokemon, but your awesome plot and great job describing military stuff more than made up for it. Here's your Castform, doc:

 

Thanks for the grade, I'll try an bear your advice in mind for future stories (although I've practically finished a couple, so I probably won't catch everything when I go back through them).
Just one note, I thought that detached was the correct spelling? Unless it's spelt differently in American-English. On that point I've been called on using UK-English spellings before, until I pointed it out to the Grade, should I start noting at the beginning that I'll be using UK-English rather than US-English.

 

I dunno. It's hard for me to catch all the UK-English spellings, even though I know a bunch....I used to play Neopets, and the site is owned by British people, so I kept getting in trouuble at school for spelling color, colour, or fairy, faerie. But yeah, as long as you make a note of it, you won't lose any points for UK-English spellings. Most of the time, you won't lose points on misspelled words anyway, unless you do the whole thing in chatspeak or something.