A grunts beginning

**Pokémon Rocket: A Grunt’s Tale**

*A novel inspired by Pokémon FireRed: Rocket Edition*

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### Chapter 1: Welcome to Team Rocket

They told me I had potential. They said I had a future in Team Rocket.

Turns out, all that really meant was that I was just another grunt in a cheap black uniform, standing in the back of a dingy warehouse, waiting for my first mission. The air smelled like old Poké Balls and cigarette smoke, and I could hear my fellow grunts whispering nervously.

Then, he walked in.

Giovanni. The Boss himself. His presence was like a silent earthquake—no shouting, no theatrics, just a cold, calculating aura that made everyone shut up instantly. He scanned the room, his gaze settling on each of us as if he were weighing our worth.

"You are here because you have chosen power," Giovanni said, his voice even and composed. "And power is not given freely. You take it. You earn it."

I swallowed hard. I had trained for this. I had fought my way through back-alley battles, cheated, lied, and done whatever it took to prove I was worthy of Team Rocket. And now, I was here, standing in front of the most infamous man in Kanto.

He turned to a burly admin standing beside him. "Assign them their missions. No second chances."

That was it. No grand speech, no handshakes—just a reminder that if we failed, we were done. Giovanni walked out without another word.

The admin, a tough-looking guy named Archer, smirked. "Alright, rookies. Time to get your hands dirty."

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### Chapter 2: The First Job

I thought Team Rocket had some kind of master plan—something grand, something bigger than just stealing Pokémon from kids. Turns out, on my first day, they sent me to *Cerulean City* to rob a trainer at Nugget Bridge.

"Stick to the shadows," Archer had told me. "Find a trainer alone. Don’t screw up."

I hid near the edge of the bridge, watching as a kid—probably no older than ten—walked along, his Pikachu trotting beside him. He had that fresh look of a new trainer, someone who thought the world was all about friendship and adventure.

Too bad for him.

I stepped out onto the path, blocking his way. "Nice Pikachu," I said, forcing a smirk. "Bet it's pretty strong."

The kid blinked, confused. "Uh, yeah! We've been training real hard!"

"Cool, cool," I said, rolling a Poké Ball in my palm. "Hand it over."

The kid’s eyes went wide. "What?! No way!"

I sighed. "Look, kid. You either give me the Pikachu, or I take it the hard way."

He clutched the Poké Ball tighter. "I won’t let you!"

I grinned. "That’s the spirit. Let’s battle."

I sent out my Rattata—nothing special, but it got the job done. The battle was quick, brutal. Pikachu fought hard, but my Rattata had been trained in backstreet brawls, not friendly sparring matches. A few bites later, Pikachu collapsed.

The kid was on the verge of tears as I stepped forward, picking up the weakened Pikachu. I felt a pang of guilt—but that’s the thing about being in Team Rocket. You learn to push that guilt away.

As I turned to leave, my communicator buzzed. "Job’s not done," Archer’s voice crackled through. "We need someone to hit the house near the gym. Get moving."

I looked down at the Poké Ball in my hand. The kid was still staring at me, fists clenched. I had done my job, but Team Rocket always wanted more.

And I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.

### **Chapter 3: Breaking and Entering**

Cerulean City was quiet at night, the streetlights flickering weakly as I made my way toward the marked house near the gym. Archer’s orders were clear—break in, take whatever valuable Pokémon they had, and leave no trace.

I wasn’t the only Rocket grunt assigned to this job. Another guy, a lanky grunt named Vick, was already waiting by the back entrance. He nodded as I approached, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Yo, Dusk. You ready for this?" he muttered, exhaling smoke.

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if I was. Robbing a kid on Nugget Bridge had been one thing. This was straight-up burglary.

Vick didn’t seem to care. He knelt by the lock, pulling out a small toolkit. "Takes me about thirty seconds to pop these open," he boasted. True to his word, the door clicked open soon after.

We slipped inside. The place was dark, except for the faint glow of a fish tank in the corner. A Poliwag swam lazily inside, its spiraled belly shifting with each breath.

"Pokémon’s gotta be around here somewhere," Vick whispered.

I moved toward a nearby table, spotting a few Poké Balls resting on a tray. Jackpot. I picked one up and clicked it open—nothing. Empty.

"Looking for these?"

The voice came from the stairs.

I turned fast, my hand flying to my belt. Standing at the top was a man in a blue uniform—one of Kanto’s officers. He tossed a Poké Ball up and down in one hand, the other resting on a baton at his hip.

Vick cursed under his breath. "Dammit. Looks like we got sloppy."

The officer smirked. "You Rockets really don’t learn, do you?" He threw the Poké Ball, and in a flash of light, a Growlithe stood before us, its fur bristling as it let out a low growl.

Vick shoved me. "We gotta run, man!"

But I wasn’t running. Not yet.

I grabbed one of my own Poké Balls and tossed it. "Go, Rattata!"

The little rat appeared in a flash, baring its fangs. The officer raised an eyebrow. "You sure you wanna do this, kid?"

I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. But I knew one thing—if I backed down now, I was as good as out of Team Rocket. And if I was out… well, Team Rocket didn’t like loose ends.

"Rattata, Quick Attack!"

The battle had begun.

### **Chapter 4: Fire and Fangs**

Rattata was fast—lightning fast. It darted forward, slamming into the Growlithe’s side before the officer could even react. The fire pup staggered back, but it wasn’t down.

"Bad move, Rocket," the officer sneered. "Growlithe, Ember!"

A burst of flames shot toward my Rattata.

"Dodge it!" I called.

Rattata leaped aside, but the flames still singed its fur. It let out a sharp squeak, shaking off the heat. I gritted my teeth. This wasn’t a battle in some alleyway—I was up against a real trainer, someone who’d been trained to take guys like me down.

Vick was already edging toward the back door. "Dusk, man, we gotta *go*! Forget the Pokémon, this ain't worth it!"

I didn’t want to admit he was right, but this was bad. I was good, but I wasn’t Champion-level. We were losing time.

I made my call.

"Rattata, Smoke Out!"

It wasn’t a real move—just a trick I’d trained it for. Rattata lunged at the old rug in the middle of the room, tearing it up and kicking dust into the air. The tiny space filled with debris, blinding the officer and his Growlithe.

I didn’t wait to see if it worked.

"Move!" I barked at Vick, grabbing my Rattata and bolting for the back door.

We burst into the night, sprinting down the dark streets of Cerulean. Behind us, I heard the officer shouting. Sirens would be blaring soon. We had to vanish.

Vick led the way, ducking into a narrow alley between two buildings. We pressed against the cold brick wall, panting, listening. No footsteps. No sirens.

For now, we were safe.

Vick looked at me, his face twisted in frustration. "That was reckless, man! What the hell were you thinking?!"

I exhaled slowly, still clutching Rattata’s Poké Ball. "I was thinking we don’t fail missions."

Vick scoffed. "Well, we failed this one."

I knew he was right. We hadn’t grabbed anything. No Pokémon, no loot—just a close call and a whole lot of heat on us.

My communicator buzzed. I hesitated before answering.

"Report," Archer’s voice came through.

I swallowed. "We… ran into some trouble."

Silence. Then: "Meet at HQ. Now."

Vick groaned. "Great. We’re dead."

I didn’t answer. I just started walking. Because in Team Rocket, failure wasn’t just a mistake. It was a death sentence.

And I wasn’t planning to die tonight.

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