I-I guess I figure I should at least tell you about my family and how everything went wrong. I don't think I can bring myself to tell beyond that. Only up to my capture. But maybe you'll be interested. It is quite violent, so please be warned.
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I grew up with my Gothitelle mother and my Bisharp father. I was the youngest of three, and my sister was already a Gothorita when I hatched, but my brother was only a Paniard. Most of the families around were pure Gothitelle families. It was hard to find male Gothitelle's though, and they were always being picked on by other Pokemon. My dad was tough, though. He was my pillar of strength. Unfortunately, I was made fun of for it.
The other Gothita's and Gothorita's made fun of me. I kind of ignored it though. Just like my father and mother stood their insults. No tears, no showing any sign of hurt.
But I wasn't that good at it. The other girls and boys knew that it hurt me, and I ran home when they were looking and cried to my mother. But her answer was always the same.
"Lollita, don't cry!" she hushed. "Do not be ashamed of me or your father. They are jealous. Jealous that they are not as strong as you. They wish they have what you do."
"B-but what do I have?! A strange father!" I sniffled.
"No, you have a brave heart. One day, you will be more powerful then all of them. You will be strong, I just know it!"
She was right, but she never knew just how right.
One day, men crashed into our little Gothitelle village. No human had ever found us before. They were not interested in the adults, who desperately were trying to fend off strange pokemon, but while they were distracted, Gothitas were being captured, in pokeball, nets, jaws of impossibly strong pokemon. My sister was left, but I saw them take my brother. When my mother turned her back, a pokemon, I later learned to be a Herdier, appeared from behind it's larger evolution and picked me up, taking me, screaming and crying for my mother, to a human, who stuffed me in a bag with other Gothita's, all afraid and crying as well.
It was a while later that the bag was opened. One by one we were pulled out and caged in a small metal box with a wire door.
We were left there, fed barely livable and disgusting meals. It lasted what I can best guess to have been a week, before we were taken out. The men were wearing large white coats. Scientists, I later learned. They were rough with us, making sure we couldn't concentrate long enough to attack them. I can not talk for the others, but I was given a shot. The huge needle was scary, but I refused to cry, even when it stung as it was stabbed unmercilessly into my arm. Other screams and crying came from nearby, but my vision was blocked by white cloth, scientists all around me.
As soon as the needle was out, I was quickly tossed through a small door, into a large, open room, with dirt ground and a cylinder-like wall all around. I was not the first in, nor the last. All the other Gothita's were tossed in, still sniffling, crying, screaming for mothers. When I could finally stop to think, everything felt strange. I was scared, angry, and upset. What ever drug was in my system was elevated my psychic power and altered my judgement. Everyone here was an enemy. Everyone was a threat.
I still can't remember how the fighting started. Most of the fight is just a black spot. I've surpressed the memmory so many times I couldn't remember if I wanted to. The next part I can remember is being the last one standing. There was blood all around me, on me, coming from the gothita's that at one time had been my playmates, bullies, friends. There was a sense of pride, at first. I was the strongest. The winner. My enemies had fallen to me.
But then the drug wore off. Than filthy hands I had been admiring were now terrifying. The bodies were not just fainted. They were dead. I had done most of this. I had killed them.
Nothing was ever the same.
