From: Jose L. Solano (jsolano199@aol.comlink) Subject: [PW!] Preview: Trent Retwin-Revised Newsgroups: alt.games.nintendo.pokemon Date: 2000/04/04 Pokewars: Trent Retwin (Second Season/Preview) Preview (Not title, as of yet) Jose L. Solano Saffron City, the city that never sleeps. This would almost be true, were it not for the lone figure walking down the dark streets. Several light posts lined the street, clearing the way for the man. His only companion was his own shadow. The only sound he could hear were his own footsteps. His only thoughts were on making it home safely. The man continued walking down the street. It was late; the buses had stopped circulating hours ago. The man couldn’t afford a car, so he had to walk back to his apartment from his office. His footsteps kept their rhythm, and his shadow continued mimicking his actions. He adjusted his glasses as he walked down the street. He stopped under a street light and checked his watch. "Three fifteen," he said to himself. He scratched the back of his neck and yawned. The first thing he would do when he got home was hit the sack. He didn’t have time to fill out the paperwork in his briefcase. He’d do it first thing in the morning. He swiped his hair out of his face. He’d have to get a haircut soon. His chin was beginning to itch. He rubbed it slightly, feeling the stubble that had been forming. He’d have to shave as well. His footsteps kept their rhythm. They were a bit loud against the concrete floor, especially at this unholy hour. Everyone was asleep, except for him and the occasional stray Meowth, begging for scraps of food. His footsteps kept their rhythm, almost as if playing a dull song. But soon the footsteps changed. The rhythm was similar, but faster. Nervous, the man walked faster, but the phantom footsteps only followed. He stopped; the footsteps stopped. More afraid than before, he began to run, holding his briefcase in his arms. "No..." the man said to himself. The phantom footsteps had disappeared. "It was just my imagination. I’ve been working too late..." The man continued, although more alert now than before. He stopped under a street light and removed the glasses from his face. He rubbed them against his jacket and placed them back on his nose. He looked behind him; no one. Before him; no one. To either side; no one. He straightened his tie and walked out of the light’s range. Just as the man walked out of the light, he felt a deep pain in his stomach. His breathing was becoming forced. He coughed up something, most likely saliva. This didn’t help; he continued his struggle for air. Slowly, he began to take in less and less of the precious gas, his head feeling more and more as if it would roll off his shoulders at any minute. His gasps began spreading as he put his hand to his abdomen and felt the warm fluid oozing out. They pain was unbearable. He knew the end was near; it had to be, he prayed for the end to come, to end his suffering. Finally, he fell to the floor, his blooding spilling onto the sidewalk and into the range of the street light. The black-clad assailant stepped into the light and took the precious briefcase from the man’s cold, lifeless hands and motioned for another being to follow. The black-clad man and his short, quilled partner walked out of the light without making a sound. The man’s loud footsteps had finally been silence. At long last, Saffron finally slept.