A sigh, permeating the stuffy, still air of the pressurised cabin, hanging listlessly in the humming silence of the aircraft.

A young figure, no older than eighteen, crossed his arms and leant back in his chair, brown eyes closed behind silver-rimmed glasses in a futile attempt to get some rest. Wavy brown hair fell down the sides of his pale face like a chocolate stream, the dark strands falling messily over his face. His neck was hidden by a black scarf that was itself tucked into a dark grey military jacket hugging his slim form. Accentuating this monochrome image were black gloves, hidden under his crossed arms, black cords adorning his legs, and smart, polished black shoes that shone in the artificial glare of the cabin lights.

His eyes cracked open again after no more than five seconds as he realised that even a slight snooze would be as likely as Blaine putting on a Speedo and swimming in the Olympics. He immediately grimaced as this mental image played itself out in his head. He looked to his left, out of the small window set into a fuselage, seeing an expanse of glittering blue ocean; an expanse that hadn’t really changed for the last half hour or so. He groaned, and looked over at the girl in the seat next to him.

She was perhaps a year older than him; a tall, slim redhead with stormy grey-blue eyes, her long wavy hair falling in auburn ripples down either side of her face. She was clad in an indigo top under a grey hoodie, the dark blue material peeking out from under its folds. Dark grey jeans and soiled white trainers completed her attire, a sharp contrast to his own grim, formal clothing. He whispered to her after a few seconds of silence.

“Jo.”

A pause.

“…Jo?”

He frowned. Why wasn’t she responding? He looked at her for a few more seconds, before noticing the small white lead coming out of her ear.

He grumbled something about not having his own MP3 player, and looked back out the window again. He really didn’t know why he had let Jo talk him into this. Those bloody eyes of hers…he just couldn’t say no.

‘Damn that letter,’ he thought viciously. ‘I’m missing an Indigo Plateau League match for this.’ He thought back to a few days prior, when the envelope had fallen through the young couples’ letterbox. He recalled the feeling of dread that spread through his body like icy poison in his veins as Jo read it out. All of the matches he was going to watch, all those carefully laid plans of staying up three nights in a row to watch the late-night broadcasts from Hoenn had gone up in smoke as the words came out of her lips.

“…Oh my God…it’s from the Bannister Foundation!” she had cried, her mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ of shock. She turned the envelope around to show him, the ornate ‘B’ logo displayed on the front.

He rolled his eyes. “Probably fake,” he droned. “Why would anyone from the Foundation contact us?” he was curled up in a seat in the front room of their house, petting Wire, his Pichu, while it snoozed in the crook of his arm. “We’re just two normal trainers out of hundreds of thousands.”

“It really looks genuine…” she mused, slitting open the top with a nail and taking the latter out, unfolding it and looking at it. Her eyes went wide.

“Matt…”

“Hmm?” he mused, scratching Wire behind the ears as it squeaked at him, drowsy and half-asleep.

“It’s a handwritten letter for Sir Henry Bannister.”

It was Matt’s turn to gape. He carefully lifted Wire, expertly placing the small mouse-like Pokémon on his right shoulder, and rose from his seat, crossing the room to read the letter with Jo.

Indeed, the letter was handwritten; it was a simple writing style, neither too curly nor fancy, in normal black ink. Typical Bannister style; it was common knowledge that the billionaire hated excessive fanfare, protocol, and everything that separated him from the public.

“I don’t believe it…” Matt mumbled, shaking his head, while Wire squeaked something and nuzzled his neck. He started to read the letter aloud, imagining the warm, cheery voice of Sir Henry Bannister in his head, the voice he had heard hundreds of times on the news.

“Dear Sir and Madame,

It is my great pleasure to invite you both to a very special event being held by the Foundation to commemorate the completion of one of our most ambitious projects to date. You are extremely lucky to be selected to receive an invitation; along with yourselves, only ten members of the public have received this letter, all of them trainers of some kind.

You may have heard that the Bannister Foundation – an organisation dedicated to philanthropism, generosity, scientific advancement, and all of that razzamatazz. I really don’t like all of those definitions, they really don’t seem like they fit well enough. I should really ask my PR department to come up with something that describes us more efficiently…nevertheless, I shall refrain from derailing my train of thought any longer, especially since this is supposed to be a formal letter, which of course I despise with a passion.”

Jo chuckled. “He’s certainly…frank, isn’t he?” she said.

“It’s better than receiving a letter that is so stiff and formal you could beat someone to death with it,” Matt said, a smirk on his face. He continued reading the letter.

“You may have also heard about one particular project of ours, a project we have been keeping largely under wraps until now. Ever heard of Isla del Vida? Off the east cost of Kanto. Lovely place, if I do say so myself, and the site of this mystery project that the media have been trying to find out about for months. Well, I can finally reveal what it is we’re doing there exactly. Isla del Vida is the site of a Foundation project known as Steel Eden.”

Jo’s brow furrowed. “I remember that name…” she mused, arms folded. “Steel Eden…Steel Eden…”

“Steel Eden is the Foundation’s attempt to create a full-scale CES (closed ecological system) of all of the world’s distinctive climates, and to provide a near-as-real simulation of natural Pokémon habitats, allowing visitors to observe at least two hundred species Pokémon in their natural environment. As of the beginning of last month, all twelve Biomes – the massive dome structures that house each climate – their support systems, the connecting tunnels, and the visitor’s complex have been completed, and are fully ready to be opened to the public.”

“Wow…” Jo had whispered, her eyes on the letter. “Look at the list of Biomes,” she said, pointing out a small list next to the paragraph. “Artic, Tundra and Snowfields, Desert, Caves, Jungle…and that’s just for starters. They’ve really been able to do it…”

“Must have been a technological nightmare,” Matt mused, noting Bannister’s mentioning of ‘support systems’. “To maintain all those different climates…” he shook his head, and continued.

“We aren’t truly ready for launch yet, as there’s been a problem with introducing some Pokémon to their habitats. It seems that the stronger and/or more evolved they are, the slower they adapt to their old environments, having just gotten used to being in transit. Some have turned violent, and have been secured in security Biomes within their native habitant Biomes until they have settled back in. Nevertheless, we are more or less ready to open our gates to the public.

This is where you come in. In three days, we will be (hopefully) greeting you off a flight from Saffron City onto the soil of Isla del Vida. You will be the first people to visit the Steel Eden project, where you will stay in the finest Foundation hotel complex on the planet, be treated like royalty (if you so desire), and be given the chance to journey into the varied climates of the Biomes, observing the changing climates and varied species of Pokémon, and marvelling at the trinity of science, ecology, and engineering that made this project possible.

The tickets for the flight have already been paid for, and are waiting in the envelope for you. The flight departs at four-thirty PM sharp; don’t miss it. Most people would give an arm and a leg for a spot on this pre-opening tour.

I sincerely hope to see you there.

Sir Henry Bannister

CEO and Tired Old Figurehead of the Bannister Foundation.”

“He’s refreshingly frank for a CEO, I’ll give him that,” Matt said, giving the letter to Jo and drifting back to his chair, Wire still snoozing on his shoulder.

“Don’t you mean ‘Tired Old Figurehead’?” Jo said, smirking. “Ooh, I’d better think about what to paaaaack…taking my Pokémon with me, of course…”

“We’re not going.”

Jo’s face fell. “We’re not?” she said, looking pleadingly at Matt.

“Well, I’m not, and I know you won’t want to go without me,” he said. “Ergo, we’re not going.”

Jo pouted .”But Maaaaaaaaatt…” She said, sticking her bottom lip out.

Matt paled. “Damnit Jo, don’t use those eyes on me. I’m begging you!”

She used those eyes, of course. And after a lot of pleading and persuading, Matt finally caved in, and agreed to come.

In retrospect, it may have been for the better…

Matt’s mind snapped back to the present. Here they were, on this flight from Saffron, going to Isla del Vida for a ten-day stay at what the media called the ‘crowning scientific achievement of the world’s leading visionary’.

And the flight was taking bloody ages.

‘If the Foundation could shell out enough cash to make Steel Eden a reality, you’d think they could pay for a faster jet,’ he thought dryly. ‘Deep Vein Thrombosis, here I come! Whoopee.’

His mental whining was interrupted by the ‘bing’ of the warning lights above the seats. The belt light had switched back on, and Matt could sense that the aircraft was starting to drop slightly. He refrained from punching the air in victory, even though he’d finally made it to the end of the one of the most boring flights in his life.

“Matt.” It seemed Jo had stopped listening to her player for now. Matt knew it was because the battery had finally ran out, because the only other thing that would stop her listening to it was the Apocalypse, and he didn’t seeing any flaming meteors or blood raining down from the heavens.

“Yes, Joanna dear?” he drawled.

“We’re gonna laaaaaaand soooooooon…” she said, grinning stupidly.

“Boy, I never woulda guessed. Thank you for your incredible insight.”

THWAP!

“Ow! That hurt Jo!”

--------------------

Airspace east of Kanto, 652 miles out at sea

Seven minutes past six in the evening

Day Zero