The Breeding Industrial Complex
God gives us [Pokémon] to love and things to use, not things to love and [Pokémon] to use.
- Author: Max Lucado
Cynthia’s Garchomp screams out, slamming its foot on the ground. The floor under it crumbles, shockwaves spread out from the epicenter and barrel into my Snorlax. She tanks the hit but is visibly damaged and will not be able to take another earthquake. The text
Snorlax had its HP restored. appears after I use a full restore. Garchomp uses earthquake a second time and then a third. The process of using full restores on Snorlax to tank the earthquakes from the fully sword danced Garchomp continues, until it finally runs out of power points. I send out Empoleon after Snorlax faints to a dragon claw.
Good job, I think to myself while I pray my steel, water type penguin can finish the job. Empoleon nearly faints to dragon’s talons clawing into it but hangs on due to the bond we have. Pushing itself up from the ground by its flippers, my final Pokémon musters up the strength to use waterfall, knocking out the former champion’s demon sweeper. But this is not a victory, for my team did not deserve to be mercilessly pummeled. I make an oath at that moment; in our rematch, when Cynthia attempts to take back her title, my Pokémon and I will clean house.
I ride my bike up north on route 209 through Solaceon Town, passing by a father and daughter enjoying the tall grass and rolling hills on route 210 and stop in front a tree which provides shade to most, but only serves me as a marker to return down the path. Speeding south towards the small town, an egg I carry hatches. While most humans do not know where the pocket monsters come from, the newly hatched Marill only acts as a reminder that I alone bear the curse of knowledge. The sequence of buttons
X,
R, and then
+, allow me to check the baby’s inherent values. Only three out of its six IVs are perfect, making it worthless trash. The blue mouse stares at me, wondering where his parents are, who I am, and if I will love him unconditionally. It then only feels fear as it flies towards a patch of grass after I chuck it near a territorial Geodude. The party space only allows for six Pokémon, one of which is reserved for my Magma Armor Macargo, who allows eggs to hatch faster than they should, and the rest for new eggs to be hatched. The Geodude uses explosion; I do not know what happens to the level one Marill.
The process of going up and down the route continues. New Marills hatch, are evaluated, and then released into the wild. Racing through Solaceon, the daycare owner will sometimes stop me to hand me a new egg, stating that he “doesn’t know it got there…”
Idiot, I nearly blurt out but manage to keep to myself. The female and male Marills stored there are non-stop breeding. Every 250 or so steps, a new egg will appear, and a new opportunity for the offspring to have better inherent values than its parents. The old man and his wife, while well intentioned, have accidentally set up a breeding mill for only the most determined to abuse. Like Prometheus, do I share my knowledge?
No, I decide; it is only Pandora's Box. I snag the egg and proceed on track.
30, 50, 100 eggs later and I still have not obtained a perfect Marill. Doubts overcome hope, apathy proceeds guilt. As eggs hatch, each monster is examined then tossed away. Some cry out as they look for someone to love them, onlookers along the path look in disgust as the babies are left to die in the wilderness. But they do not understand, they have not seen the horrors of real battle. Attempting to breed the perfect team is a necessary evil to stop a tyrant from becoming Champion. This is my Vietnam. A Marill cries out at its body thuds against a pile of rocks by the east river on route 209. It falls into the well and an awful, ghostly wail comes out. I only hear it faintly, I’m too far up my path.
This is only the beginning; I am doomed to breed. Ad Nauseum.