Spearow are flock Pokémon.
In the wild, encountering a solitary Spearow almost always signals that a Trainer and their Pokémon should brace for a full-scale onslaught by dozens more.
Alex's luck was holding.
At high noon, the Spearow attacking him and Caterpie appeared to be a foraging party—their nesting grounds clearly absent from the immediate vicinity.
"Let this be a cardinal rule: Provoking hyper-aggressive, grudge-holding mass-colonizing species like Spearow in the wild is professional suicide—unless you fancy getting mobbed by swarm numbering in the hundreds."
Recalling how a certain chosen rookie had been ambushed by a frenzied Spearow flock on his very first day, Alex casually cautioned his live-stream viewers—receiving unanimous agreement. Though privately, he still wondered if an "Ash Ketchum" even existed in this particular reality.
"Maybe someday I'll swing by Pallet Town to meet that legendary 10-year-old with two decades of journeying under his belt."
To cut to the chase...
There's a cardinal rule among rookie Trainers: Never provoke Spearow in the wild—under any circumstances.
Novice Trainers generally lack the capacity to confront them head-on—especially when dealing with Flying-types that excel in speed and pursuit. Once provoked, escape becomes nearly impossible for the victims.
This threat amplifies exponentially when multiple Fearow infiltrate the swarm—their participation in the hunt instantly elevates the danger to Code Red levels.
Wild Pokémon don't adhere to combat ethics.
Annual casualty reports confirm countless Trainers maimed or killed by Spearow talons and Fearow beaks—with Code Red incidents spiking 300% when both species coordinate attacks.
Naturally, Alex and Caterpie belonged to a different class of trailblazers—exempt from such grim statistics by virtue of their calculated preparations.
"Gotta admit though—Alex is looking sharp out there."
"Stay safe out there, streamer—we're counting on you to keep the Hydro Pump triple misses coming when you're back for online battles."
"The streamer and Caterpie's synergy is next-level—seriously, that combo's unstoppable."
The livestream brigade's hype hit critical mass as they bore witness to Alex and Caterpie's coordinated takedowns of three wild Pokémon waves; the chat erupted in real-time, spamming reaction GIFs and fire emojis that mirrored the escalating ferocity of the onslaught.
Crisp, surgical combat never fails to deliver viewer catharsis—each frame-perfect takedown triggering dopamine surges across 82% of the audience's prefrontal cortex.
When Alex pinpointed enemy positions through auditory triangulation, Caterpie snapped into action without command—initiating protective protocols with millisecond latency. The electrifying display of interspecies trust manifested as a blur of silk strands intercepting threats at 3.8m/s.
The screen had erupted in a frenzy of superchats and bit badges. Alex's manic grin widened to alarming proportions.
"Solid work, Caterpie."
After scanning the perimeter for wild Pokémon threats, Alex fished a custom-blended Pokéblock from his utility belt—tossing it to his partner with a flick of practiced precision.
"Mweh!"
With an acrobatic flip, Caterpie gulped down the Pokéblock mid-air—its mandibles snapping shut with 0.3 Newtons of bite force calibrated for optimal nutrient absorption.
Combat drained Caterpie's stamina reserves far more aggressively than standard training regimens ever could.
Hence the critical imperative for Caterpie's stamina replenishment via custom-engineered Pokéblocks—ensuring Alex's sole combat asset maintained 24/7 operational readiness.
Yet despite the stamina depletion, Caterpie's battle fervor had somehow spiked to 112%—its antennae vibrating at frequencies matching Gen IX's Focus Band activation parameters.
Combat provided a thrill solitary training could never match—the addictive rush of conquering foes through sheer power pulsed through Caterpie's veins with intoxicating intensity.
Caterpie's spirits were soaring.
the grueling training regimen and round-the-clock dedication it had poured into every fiber of its being were undeniably yielding tangible results commensurate with its relentless drive.
Once this training pays off, I'm so gonna wreck that flightless rock lizard and the derpy fish!
"Mweh!"Caterpie gulped down the Pokéblock, its compound eyes refracting prismatic determination as it met Alex's gaze—an ocular lightshow rivaling Hoenn's Contest Spectacular stage effects.
"Alright, let's push forward. We need to reach the designated campsite before sunset."
With Caterpie in optimal condition—a living validation of his training regimen's efficacy—Alex quickened his pace through the forest. Their synchronized movements wove between ancient oaks, navigating around dense thickets with military-grade precision as golden-hour light filtered through the canopy.
"Yo streamer, what's your target Pokémon type? Bug monopoly continues?"
"Caterpie prodigy here—aiming to go full Bug-Type specialist? "
"Rookie Trainer my ass! This is straight-up smurfing in Viridian Forest!"
"RIP rookie tournament participants. Imagine getting styled on by a Caterpie main KEKW"
As they pressed onward, the barrage of viewer questions in the live chat never let up.
The chat was flooded with hilarious jokes and playful banter—so goofy you couldn't help but laugh.
Alex's stream was blowing up, drawing in tons of new viewers by the minute.
The chat was stunned to see someone actually live-streaming wilderness exploration—it felt like witnessing Red and Green's legendary debates materialize in real-time.
Seasoned breeders and elite-tier trainers guard their trade secrets like Dragonite hoarding berries—only a select few like Roxanne maintain a digital presence for educational mandates. But their streams drown viewers in technical seminars drier than a Cacnea's habitat, with engagement metrics plummeting faster than a fainted Magikarp.
Streamers like Alex—charging into Viridian Forest-level challenges with just a Caterpie and no-nonsense battle tactics—are unicorn-tier content. His live raids against wild Pokémon pack the adrenaline rush of a speedrun finale, yet remain rarer than encountering a shiny with 1 HP left.
Nothing hooks viewers like raw combat and gritty expeditions—it's the primal thrill of a Gym Challenge showdown colliding with Victory Road-caliber discovery.
Alex cracked the algorithm, but that's a code not everyone can decipher.
Alex and Caterpie's prowess has genuinely earned the community's respect.
"The streamer has not yet decided which type of Pokémon to capture, but after obtaining a Caterpie, they may no longer continue to capture Bug-type Pokémon. The future development direction may lean toward becoming a multi-type Pokémon Trainer."
Between tasks, Alex checked the chat and answered key viewer questions with precision.
Stats don't matter much to me, Alex said. "What I care about is the bond I build with my Pokémon."
Quality over quantity. With limited energy to train multiple Pokémon, Alex keeps his team lean—just enough to handle the challenges ahead.
"If a Wynaut catches my eye, I'll train it into a Wobbuffet that can Counter even Giratina."
Alex joked, the destination now in sight.
"LMAO Giratina's catching strays?!"
"Stop laughing! Alex is gonna bag Legendaries or die trying!"
"When's the squad road-tripping to Hoenn to snag Groudon and Kyogre?"
"Y'all disrespecting Rayquaza like that?"
"Rayquaza's literally vibing off-cam right?"
"Caterquaza confirmed?!"
A solid ten minutes into the trek, Alex halted mid-stride, gaze locked onto the forest's shadowy depths.
"Bzzrt—!"
The faint yet razor-sharp chirp of mandibles sliced through the forest's white noise, its carrier wave frequency pinpointed to 17.8kHz—smack in Caterpie's threat detection sweet spot.
"Caterpie, prime time's here."
Alex grinned, locking eyes with the quivering Pokémon, their shared adrenaline syncing like a Double Battle team spotting the same threat vector.