For a long time, no one typed anything.
The chat—once a living, screaming organism—sat frozen in place, its last lines hovering like ghosts that didn't know whether they were allowed to move on.
The stream was still live.
That was the strangest part.
No emergency cut.
No static.
No official interruption.
Just the camera.
Shaking slightly.
Still broadcasting.
On-screen, Aakash stood in the clearing, his movements slow, deliberate, almost mechanical. There was blood on his clothes—dark, smeared, undeniable. His breathing looked controlled, but the stiffness in his shoulders said otherwise.
In his hands—
A Pokéball.
He knelt.
Primeape lay motionless at his feet, massive chest rising and falling unevenly. For a moment, some viewers thought it was dead. The idea spread silently, without words, like a collective held breath.
Then Aakash pressed the ball forward.
Red light enveloped Primeape gently.
No force.
No command.
Just… retrieval.
The Pokéball clicked shut.
One soft sound.
Final.
Aakash stood and clipped it to his belt.
Behind him, the jeep rolled into frame.
Apoorv jumped out first, face pale, eyes still wide. Arpit followed, jaw clenched so hard it looked like his teeth might crack. Neha was already scanning the treeline, weapon raised, professional instincts kicking in a few seconds too late.
The camera—still mounted to the hood—caught everything.
They had arrived just in time.
Just in time to see Mankey—no, Primeape—obliterate a man.
No edits.
No blur.
No mercy from the lens.
Across the country, across the world, parents reacted faster than governments ever could.
Streams were shut down mid-frame.
Phones were snatched from children's hands.
Tablets went dark.
Some parents didn't say a word.
Others shouted.
Some cried.
Many just stared at the black screen afterward, hearts racing, minds trying to protect their kids from something that couldn't be unseen.
But millions had already seen it.
And millions more hadn't looked away.
The silence stretched.
Then—
The chat moved.
Slowly at first.
Like fingers testing whether ice would crack.
[Did that just happen?]
A pause.
[Is this… scripted?]
Another pause.
[No way. No fucking way.]
The messages began to stack.
[That was a gunshot right??]
[PLEASE tell me this is some sick prank]
[Is Aakash okay??]
[THE BLOOD—]
Someone typed what everyone else was thinking.
[Mankey… jumped.]
The realization spread like a delayed explosion.
[Wait…]
[It wasn't Aakash who got hit?]
[Mankey took the bullet??]
The chat accelerated.
[IS MANKEY ALIVE??]
[Someone answer PLEASE]
[He evolved… right?]
[It's Primeape now]
That line froze the chat again, just for a second.
Then—
[He just killed someone.]
No emoji.
No exaggeration.
Just a statement.
That single sentence split the audience cleanly down the middle.
Some reacted with horror.
Some with disbelief.
Some with justification.
And some with something much darker.
[That guy tried to assassinate him]
[WHAT WAS MANKEY SUPPOSED TO DO??]
[Self defense]
[Pokémon aren't soldiers!!]
Then it appeared.
The first slogan.
[Pokémon are not safe #HailLiberation]
It was immediately buried under replies.
Then repeated.
Then quoted.
Then screenshotted.
[#HailLiberation]
[What is #HailLiberation?]
[They said it before he died]
[Did anyone else hear that??]
Clips began circulating already—slowed, zoomed, isolated.
The final shout.
The raised fist.
You could hear it clearly in every version.
"Hail liberation!"
Across India, government offices went into lockdown.
Phones rang without pause.
Emergency meetings were called before anyone had fully processed what they'd seen.
An assassination attempt.
On Aakash.
The face of the new era.
The architect of coexistence.
Broadcast live.
In Konkan.
In India.
In their own backyard.
International channels cut into programming.
Foreign analysts scrambled for context.
Security agencies rewound footage frame by frame.
And somewhere in the chaos, a new narrative began forming.
Not from officials.
Not from experts.
From the audience.
Some called Aakash a victim.
Some called him reckless.
Some called Pokémon dangerous.
Some called Primeape a hero.
Some called it a monster.
And threading through all of it, like a virus finding a host—
A name.
Earth Liberation.
A slogan.
#HailLiberation#EarthFirst#LiberateEarth
The stream was still live.
The camera still showed the clearing.
Aakash hadn't spoken yet.
And that silence—
That calm, unbroken silence—
Terrified everyone far more than the gunshot ever could.
Because the world had just watched blood spill.
And no one knew what he was going to say next.
__________________________
I took a moment.
Just one.
That was all I could afford.
My eyes were still fixed on the body.
Headless.
Collapsed at an angle that didn't look real, like something placed wrong in a scene that hadn't finished rendering yet. Blood soaked into the earth, darkening the soil, creeping into cracks between stones.
My stomach churned.
I felt queasy—not from fear, not from danger, but from the sheer finality of it. Death had weight. A physical presence. And now it sat a few steps away from me, undeniable.
I didn't let myself think about whether the kill was righteous.
Not now.
That question was a luxury.
I already knew the answer I didn't want to admit—this wouldn't be my last experience with death. Not if I kept walking this path. Not if I kept standing where I stood.
I turned away.
Apoorv, Arpit, and Neha were standing nearby.
At first glance, they looked composed. Calm. Controlled.
But I knew them too well.
I could see it in the stiffness of Apoorv's shoulders, in the way Arpit's jaw was locked too tight, in how Neha's eyes kept sweeping the treeline even though the threat was already gone.
Fear.
Uncertainty.
Buried deep and held down by discipline.
Aarey had at least taught them that much—how to keep emotions from spilling out when everything inside was screaming.
We were sixteen.
Sixteen-year-old kids.
And we'd just lived through something many trained soldiers never did.
I felt something heavy settle in my chest.
Not guilt.
Responsibility.
The stream was still live.
The world was still watching.
And now… they were waiting.
I knew what had to come next.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and switched the stream feed—away from the jeep camera, away from the clearing, away from the body.
The screen flipped.
My face filled the frame.
Blood-streaked clothes.
Dirt on my hands.
No filters.
No edits.
Just me.
I took a steady breath.
"Everyone," I said calmly, "I apologize for letting you witness such a gruesome scene."
The chat was moving again—but slower now. Hesitant.
"An inquiry and a full investigation into this incident will take place," I continued. "Every detail will be examined. Nothing will be brushed aside."
I paused, choosing my next words carefully.
"Though I wish none of you had to see this," I said, "I also believe… in some ways… it was necessary."
I could already feel the reaction building.
"Especially for those of you who aspire to become professional trainers."
I shifted the camera slightly, letting the background enter the frame again—not the body, but the forest. The place where it happened.
"We have rules," I said. "We have laws. We are building systems meant to protect both humans and Pokémon."
My voice hardened, just a little.
"But people who seek to disrupt peace and spread chaos will always exist."
I glanced toward the body and gave it a light, dismissive kick—not in anger, but in finality.
"Professional trainers won't just deal with dangerous Pokémon," I said. "You will deal with humans like him."
Silence followed.
"I know many of you are scared," I continued. "That's natural."
Then, more firmly—
"But don't let fear cloud your judgment. Don't let it destroy the trust we've built. The coexistence we are moving toward doesn't break because of one stain."
I walked a few steps and turned the camera toward the fallen Fearow.
The viewers saw it clearly now.
Metal reins biting into flesh.
A shock collar fused to its neck.
Scars—old, layered, deliberate.
"This," I said quietly, "is how they treat Pokémon."
My fingers curled.
"They see them as tools. Weapons. Disposable assets."
I looked back into the camera.
"Whoever stands behind this—whoever shares that ideology—I will make it my mission to wipe that stain from humanity."
Not a threat.
A statement.
I exhaled slowly.
"I wanted to end today's stream on a happy note," I said. "But reality doesn't always allow that."
I straightened, posture firm.
"So here's my advice."
My gaze sharpened.
"If you don't have what it takes to stand against the waves… to shoulder storms like this—do not apply for the Pokémon Academy entrance test next month."
The chat surged.
I didn't stop.
"It will be brutal," I said. "You will face real danger. This is not a game. This is not a hobby."
I let the words settle.
"We are not just looking for students," I continued. "We are looking for people who can one day stand beside me."
A pause.
"And defend our nation."
My voice softened just a fraction.
"Those who want to work with Pokémon in other ways—research, medicine, logistics, ecology—there are other colleges. Other disciplines. All of them matter."
I nodded once.
"I'll leave you with that."
My finger hovered over the screen for half a second longer.
Then—
The stream ended.
The forest fell silent again.
But I knew—
The world would not be.