The Pikachu Survivor Game - ★Festive Pika Anarchy Edition!★

[The Nonexistent Tazz]

If Latias it hit once it'll be a miracle, ladies and gentlemen.

Naturally, it's going to happen because I believe in miracles, and also reality bending over backwards to spite Latias for her pentaguard.

On a completely unrelated note, I really wish I really DIDN'T have to worry about a to-do list or my alarm clock right now. Granted, being a Pikachu infected with a disease (which is presumably going to be a painful and horrible in ways that realistically would make it definitely a 50/50 situation at best and possibly make it impossible to survive-barring fantasy magics) that infects everyone else to turn into them a-la Zombie Apocalypse would probably get me quarantined in record time by the Government for the sake of half of their population not being barely over a foot tall and having interesting new abilities regarding electricity, if not killed because I've gone and lost my head, to say nothing of the fact that I cannot properly communicate through language and I'm now tiny as a runt, with an indecipherable biology that no-one has presumably seen in all the lands before, to say nothing about how a tiny outburst may fry any number of electronic appliances (which given the situation now fully apparent is definitely stressful in some part), and that would really suck because I can't come into contact with the family that, at this point, I would oh so desperately want contact with beyond text, but I would nevertheless desperately want to text all day and all night to falsely assure them I'd be fine. Assuming I'm not insane, again. And that's just if I'm alone in this-let's say that I'm not first infectee over here and now the whole town is overrun with rodents who suddenly believe that society is collapsing, and given what I've heard when these situations arise people can and will get nutty-and having superpowers only makes it worse even if they're ineffective on each other, because you know, wrecking infastructure like electric telephone lines can ONLY make things better, right guys?! One-hundred percent foolproof logic. And now I have to deal with the sudden influx of wackos who were actually always there and you never realized it, and while you might be an electric mice with considerable capability to shock a man unconscious or even dead and unrealistic abilities regarding physical strength if Pokken Tournament/Smash Bros is to be believed, they have guns and size on their side and that can more than even the field. And that's ignoring the question of how the living bleep did such a disease even come into existence in the first place, and if such a thing is only a sign of worse things to come in the future (or at least we're going to start having more Pokemon diseases, like Bellossolosis or something like that), like world-ending plots, and all things considered a foot-tall rodent is probably NOT going to be your chosen one, lightning powers aside. And this assumes that Pikachuism is the FINAL and ONLY stage, and there aren't a bevy of horrible symptoms in-between (I will just assume Slow-acting is another term for delayed symptoms, which is a thing), or worse, stages further on that make the transformation more...Dramatic. Which could range from suddenly being a Raikou or some other Legendary, to ascending to Omniscipotence as I joke about with being the Pikamodder (which itself would DEFINITELY make me insane, you have not seen the Pikamodder in legitimate action), to basicallu turning into Bloodborn with Rats instead of Wolves (I'd say electric rats but Darkbeast Praal exists as well as other elemental beasts, so just sit back and imagine a giant 'pikachu' that pukes lava everywhere the size of an apartment building. You're welcome.)

If this wasn't a really humorous game then this situation would be straight-up awful; quite literally there is no upside greater than the downside, and that's just with the concrete details.

...I was in a poor mood when I typed that up, but whatever. That's the Pikapocalypse for you, it makes you lonely and starts encouraging you to write up silly readable journals regarding your grim situation that inevitably signal your doom to the disease (or worse), but you write them anyway because you never watched TV enough to learn your darn lesson and are henceforth bliteringly genre blind.