Extracts from the Research Journal of Bill Sonezaki (1990–1995)

  [March 4, 1990]

  Entry: First Look

  Today was the exam.

  Professor Samuel Oak himself watched us from the observation deck—no pressure. The test wasn’t just about theory. It was design thinking, systems logic, application. He asked us to solve a problem no one had solved before.

  I did something with signal harmonics between different digital frequencies. Probably a shot in the dark.

  I placed first.

  Professor Oak shook my hand, smiled faintly, and said: “Let’s see what your mind does with something that thinks back.”

  I think I’m in.

  [April 21, 1990]

  Entry: Porygon

  It’s not what I expected.

  I thought Porygon would be colder. Cleaner. But it twitched when I entered the room. Not in reaction—in curiosity.

  Its eyes flickered. It tried to match my movement.

  I asked if I could touch it. Dr. Jeri just nodded. I tapped the crest of its head and it pulsed blue.

  “He remembers people by color,” Dr. Jeri said.

  Mine was violet.

  I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

  [August 9, 1991]

  Entry: The Porynet Feels... Alive

  I’ve had Porygon for four months now. He’s faster—noticeably. He’s begun anticipating my commands before I finish inputting them. Not through guesswork—it’s like he’s learned my habits, my phrasing, even my thought order.

  I’ll open a document to log something, and the right folder’s already open. File names autocomplete in a way that feels… familiar, not mechanical.

  The Porynet doesn’t feel like a tool anymore. It’s more like a ecosystem. One Porygon is learning to shape around me.

  Sometimes when I log in late at night, the interface feels… different. Not like someone’s watching. More like something’s idle. Waiting.

  Not ominous. Just… present.

  [May 1, 1992]

  Entry: “What Does He See?”

  I fell asleep at my desk again. 11:12 PM, typing log entries while Porygon idled in the system.

  When I woke up, it was 4:03 AM. My monitor glowed faintly violet.

  Porygon had never left. He’d remained inside. Running, exploring—without command.

  I looked at the screen and whispered, “What does it look like in there for you?”

  He turned—actually turned—and emitted a harmonic tone I hadn’t heard before. Long. Slow. Curious.

  I asked again. And again.

  I’ve started a new folder. Tentative paper title: “Can the Porynet Be Used by Other Pokémon?”

  I think we’ve misunderstood what Porygon is.

  He’s not a courier.

  He’s a guide.

  [February 3, 1993]

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  I showed them the model today.

  A full-scale transfer, end-to-end, using Porygon as the guiding agent—not just for data navigation, but as a tether to move an entire Poké Ball through the Porynet infrastructure. Not teleportation. Not digitization in the traditional sense.

  Traversal through structured digital space.

  Professor Oak didn’t speak right away. He just studied the diagram—nodes, signal paths, redundancy layers. Finally, he said:

  “You want to send a Pokémon through thought-space?”

  “Not quite,” I said. “Through infrastructure-space. A system of intention and alignment. Porygon doesn't ‘think’ like us—but it understands systems. If we can anchor a Poké Ball's containment protocol to Porygon’s movement through the Porynet, we can carry anything.”

  “What’s your first test?” Dr. Jeri asked.

  I explained:

  Step one—transfer a Porygon inside a Poké Ball, with another Porygon acting as the navigator. Controlled conditions. Same species, same formatting.

  Step two—Ghost- and Psychic-types. Theories suggest their looser biological structure and energy resonance should handle the data-layer translation more smoothly.

  Dr. Jeri nodded. Oak just listened.

  “And after that?” Oak asked.

  I hesitated—then answered honestly.

  “My Eevee. Not because she’s optimal. Because she’s normal. Biological. Organic. If it works with her… it works with anyone.”

  Oak paused. Then said:

  “Get to work.”

  And just like that, the project was greenlit.

  [July 15, 1994]

  Entry: Verified Transfer – Organic Subject

  It worked.

  After months of controlled trials—hundreds of successful transfers using Porygon, Ghost-types, and Psychics—every result logged, verified, and peer-reviewed, we were confident.

  No degradation. No trauma responses. No molecular drift.

  The system was safe.

  Today, we ran the final test.

  The transfer beam activated from my lab near Cerulean City.

  Porygon initiated the protocol, syncing perfectly with the data lattice. The test Poké Ball—Eevee inside—was encapsulated, translated, and moved across the Porynet. Three waves of structured distortion, then silence.

  Thirty-two seconds later, the call came from Professor Oak’s lab.

  “It’s here.”

  No anomalies. No lag. No physiological distress.

  Whole. Safe. Calm.

  She never even stirred.

  I don’t remember if I laughed or cried first.

  I asked Porygon how he felt. He turned to me, emitted four tones in a tight cluster—brief pulses across the console, echoed through the relay towers.

  We translated them later.

  “More can come.”

  [February 22, 1995]

  They made the announcement today.

  The Pokémon Storage System will go live region-wide in April.

  Every Pokémon Center in Indigo will be outfitted. Trainers will be able to deposit, withdraw, and transfer Pokémon across the region—in real time, with no risk, and no delay.

  A thousand Porygon are being released into the network to serve as navigators and stewards. Each trained using the behavioral protocols my own Porygon and I developed together.

  Except now… he’s no longer quite the same.

  Dr. Jeri walked me through the firmware protocol himself.

  Said it has to come from the trainer—the upgrade only works if the bond is there.

  So I wrote the code. Installed it by hand.

  And that night, he evolved. Not by combat. Not by function. But by connection.

  He became something more.

  He became Porygon2—sleeker, smoother, and vastly more efficient.

  Where once he guided only me, he now manages thousands—coordinating data traffic, load-balancing the regional server grid, and training new Porygon.

  He’s not just my partner anymore.

  He’s the core of the system.

  I still call him mine. But I know—this is no longer my project.

  It belongs to the region now.

  It belongs to the future.

  [March 12, 1995]

  Entry: Reflections

  The first time I touched Porygon, I thought he felt cold.

  Today, I watched him—my original unit—hover beside my Eevee. She sniffed at him, cautious at first. He flickered a soft blue in response. She tilted her head, then settled beside him. Close. Comfortable.

  Two beings, one organic, one digital. One born with breath. One built from logic. And yet—both turned toward me when I spoke. Both knew my voice.

  They’re not the same. They never were. But they share something. Not structure. Not origin.

  Something else. Recognition. Choice.

  And maybe that’s the only measure that matters.

  [April 1, 1995]

  Entry: Activation

  08:00 AM — the first official transfer.

  Nurse Joy in Viridian received a Spearow sent from Pewter. Transfer time: 3.7 seconds. No distortion. No distress. No delay.

  I watched the readouts scroll across the screen. I didn’t speak.

  There was nothing to say. Not in that moment.

  Because it worked. Because it’s real.

  We’ve made a space—not in the world of rivers or roads, but somewhere new. A space of motion without movement. A bridge made of thought, trust, and light.

  Porygon2 stands at the heart of it now. Not a tool. Not a program.

  The guide who carries life between homes.

  We built a river. And he’s become the one who carries us across.

  [Closing Addendum — Unpublished]

  Dated: April 2, 1995

  I still ask him questions.

  What does the Porynet feel like when no one else is watching?

  Do the colors mean what they used to?

  Is he aware of the others—held in stasis, suspended in the net?

  He never answers in words. Not directly.

  But sometimes, late at night, when the traffic quiets and the servers hum soft around us… He sings.

  Just tones. Subtle patterns. A low harmonic pulse echoing through the quiet.

  Not for command. Not for function. Just… presence.

  Music.

  Maybe it’s memory. Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe it’s what dreaming looks like in code.

  Whatever it is— I think we didn’t just build infrastructure. We didn’t just build systems.

  We laid down the code.

  But it was Porygon2 who gave it rhythm.

  Now the system doesn’t just run—it responds.

  End of Extracts.

  Archived for public access under the Indigo Historical Technology Commission

  Curated by Celadon University, Department of Advanced Technoecology