So you think you've got the makings of a power bottom, do ya, kid? The best there ever was, perhaps? You're not the first wannabe shockjockey to come in here running his mouth, thinking he's gonna light up the whole Kanto seaboard. Take some advice from a man who's been doing this job for forty years - stick to stroking off Pikachus on a battery farm. You'll live longer.

Sure, there's power out there. Everyone knows the wild electricity is the freshest and there's plenty of Raichus with fat, bulging cheeksacks of it, just waiting for some fertile female to discharge into. And when they're in a rut, they ain't picky.

But when you're out in the field, you're off the grid. There's nowhere to shed load if your capacitors start glowing white hot. Nothing but your suit's batteries to hold the charge. And when there's some Raichu stud riding your ass, lightning rod pumping your power socket with 20,000 volts of juice, and there's nothing more than an inch of rubber between you and certain death, you better have nerves of steel and bigger balls than batteries. And you gotta know when to cut and run, and run fast, 'cause those monsters don't take no for an answer once a female's got 'em in the mood.

Still think you've got what it takes? Hrmph. Then come over here. I may as well check your suit's seals before you go get yourself fried. Who knows, if you keep on top of maintenance and lucky, maybe you'll survive to see next mating season.

Oh, and there's one last thing I should tell you before you go; there's one messed-up Pikachu out there that likes to collect naive young men like you.

Some say it's a science experiment gone wrong. Others that it should have evolved a long, long time ago - only it never found a lightning stone, so it just bloats with more juice every year, getting bigger and meaner as it does.

All I know is, they call it The Beast.