Perched on the edge of a decaying balcony, I stare into the swirling fog, the rain hammering the crumbling wood beneath me. Each clap of thunder reverberates through my body, a reminder of the storm raging within me. My mind is haunted by the terrified eyes of the Pokémon I’ve captured and subdued, their fear a heady elixir that seeps into the deepest recesses of my soul.

It wasn’t enough to simply defeat them—I needed to break them, to strip away their resolve and bend them to my will. Their futile resistance, their trembling bodies, only heightened the thrill. The intoxicating moment when their spirit shattered, when they stopped struggling and surrendered completely, filled me with a primal satisfaction. It was an obsession, a hunger that consumed me with every victory.

Badges and recognition held no allure for me. My desires ran deeper, darker. Every encounter was a game, every battle a stage for my domination. My voice, smooth and commanding, wove a spell over them, promising comfort while ensuring their submission. Their resistance, though fleeting, only sharpened my appetite. I craved the sight of their bodies quivering, not just from fear, but from the realization that they were mine, utterly and completely.

As the storm rages around me, the memories of my conquests play in my mind like a forbidden melody. I recall the way they looked at me in those final moments—eyes wide, breaths ragged, their wills broken. The thought stirs something within me, a dark and insatiable desire to relive it all, to go further, to take more.

This was my purpose, my destiny. With every step, I ensnared them—through deception, through power, through their own curiosity. Breaking them wasn’t merely a challenge; it was an art. The thrill of watching their realization, that they belonged to me in every way imaginable, was unparalleled. Their attempts to resist, their trembling bodies pressed against mine as I whispered promises of torment and delight, only stoked the fire burning within me.

No region was safe from my shadow. From Kanto to Paldea, I hunted them relentlessly, my reputation growing as a sinister force. They were drawn to me, sometimes unwittingly, sometimes willingly, but always to the same inevitable end. Their fate was sealed the moment they crossed my path.

Now, standing on this decaying balcony, I grip a battered Heal Ball in my hand. Its once-vibrant pink and blue are dulled by time, its surface scarred and worn. A faint name—“Meows”—is etched into its side, a reminder of one of my first. The ball hums with a faint, almost seductive energy, pulsating in time with my own dark thoughts.

I smirk, leaning closer to it, my breath brushing against the scarred surface as I whisper, “They were always mine. They couldn’t escape. Their destinies were bound to me from the start, their spirits, their bodies, all of them mine to claim.”

The storm envelops me as I step into the darkness, the rain masking my movements. My thoughts are already on the next, the thrill of the hunt igniting my senses. Somewhere out there, another waits, unaware of the predator closing in. The night is my ally, the shadows my domain.

In the Pokémon world, my name lingers like a warning and a promise: AL, the Predator. A figure driven by a desire that knows no bounds, a lust for control that consumes all in its path. My mantra echoes, a seductive challenge to all who dare:

Gotta catch ’em all… if you can.