Chapter 142: Learned Efficacy

Sometimes, the sound of typing feels like the only constant.

He stops to eat, mostly. To use the restroom, to go to physical therapy. And of course to sleep, though he’s jolted awake a few times with his hands on the keyboard, a string of gibberish or disconnected words behind the cursor.

But he doesn’t stop when he has guests, and for the first few days, there are plenty of those.

---

“How you feeling?”

Red gives Looker a slight shrug, then types out Enjoying solid food. Joints were less sore during physio today.

A new monitor has been mounted on the wall beside Red’s bed, this one small and meant only to stream whatever’s on Red’s text app. The guest chairs are set up to make it easy to read and (mostly) maintain eye contact; Looker’s gaze barely flickers to the side before he nods. “Good. Glad to hear.” He goes back to searching Red’s face, fingers fiddling with the top button of his shirt. “They told you you can ask for stuff? Things that would make your stay easier?”

Red watches Looker for a moment before typing out, Yeah. I’m okay. He’s never seen the older man look so… antsy? Uncertain? Maybe he’s feeling guilty, or maybe he’s just bad at small talk. His first visit was much less awkward, but also pretty short, just a quick check-in to verify with his own eyes that Red was up and… okay.

Relatively speaking, at least.

“Good.” Looker shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “Had time to catch up on events since you were out?”

Ah. Obviously he’s impatient to get Red back to work, but he probably has doctor’s orders not to stress Red out much. Top level stuff. The public announcements, the speeches. Spent most of last night reading reports about what happened at each lab, the different glitchmon that appeared.

Looker’s lips quirk. “Figured as much. Well, I don’t want you to feel you need to rush on any of that. I came in part to make sure you’re taking your time with recovery.”

Red doesn’t type anything, just wearing his skepticism plain on his face.

“I’m serious.”

Did Tsunemori push you to say this?

Looker snorts. “Mei and Sue are keeping appearances up, and we’ve been lucky not to have Rocket take any major actions lately. Maybe we’re due, but either way, I don’t want you rushing out before you’re ready.” He smiles. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve got a different job for you.”

Red smiles back and types, Of course you do.

“Nothing dangerous. I want you to write about what you went through that day, everything you can remember from the moment you decided to leave for the Cinnabar Lab.”

Red stares at him a moment, feeling his gossamer-thin partitions billowing in some ominous wind… or imagining he does, at least. Or maybe not imagining it, if it’s a sensation sent by his unpartitioned inner self. I think that might be more dangerous than you realize, he types.

Looker frowns. “Agatha said your mind is in a fragile state, but you’ve regained stability. If it requires you to undo some amnesia that you’re better off keeping, don’t, but whatever is safe to share? It’s important.”

Red’s fingers twitch over the keyboard. Haven’t I done enough? is what he thinks. What he types instead, once he takes a moment to breathe through the surge of bitterness and frustration that fills his throat, is Why? I didn’t figure all the unown stuff would be an interpol issue.

“Our working assumptions put Rowan as attacking or sabotaging multiple labs in different regions, which is reason enough to at least have a file on him, even with the threat supposedy past. And I think it’s important, in that file, that there’s a clear record of what a hero you were, what information you acted on or learned that might help in future, similar situations…” Looker leans forward slightly, gaze locked on Red’s. “And your reasoning for some of your decisions, like, say, putting the body of your friend Artem in a storage ball.”

A pit of cold opens in Red’s gut, and he feels the hairs along his arms stand on end.

“It was quick thinking,” Looker continues. “Wanting to make sure it was safely contained. Some might say you were incredibly lucky the glitchmon didn’t leave any lingering corruption that might jump to your container, but I’m sure you had some reason to believe it was safer than leaving the body there. Or maybe you were just acting on instinct in the heat of the moment. Either would be acceptable, I think.”

Red wants to ask what happened to Artem, wants to believe that there’s some chance they didn’t just take him out of the container and bury him. That there’s still some chance.

Instead he swallows and nods, fingers moving slowly through a haze of numbness that he knows is protecting him from giving in to renewed grief. I think it was just instinct. It’s hard to remember, with everything that happened.

Looker finally breaks eye contact, nodding as he gets to his feet. “Understandable. No rush on it, but sooner might be better, alright? A lot of people have questions for you, and writing your side of everything out first will save you from having to repeat yourself a dozen times. Not to mention there’s a reporter stirring up trouble, and if we ever need a public statement the record will be particularly helpful.

Reporter?

“Zoey something-or-other.” Looker goes over to the door and puts his coat on. “Started asking around after Oak’s press conference, trying to figure out how and when you got involved. I suspect you’ll find multiple messages from her asking for an interview, whenever you get to digging through your inbox.”

Red winces. It’s something he’s been putting off starting, given the daunting 474 that were waiting for him, and that’s after the various filters from his personal assistants… speaking of whom, he should probably check for messages from them first. It’s rare for a month to go by without some clarifying questions or uncertainties, but only the PA assigned to him from Interpol knew he was indisposed, and if they did reach out about something it probably didn’t feel great for his other two to be ghosted by their boss for a month… speaking of which, he should check for messages by Dr. Seward too…

I’ll get on it, Red promises, and waits for Looker to close the door behind him before he sets his laptop on the table, curls up on his side, and cries for another friend he failed to save.

---

It’s easier having visits with fellow psychics, especially once Red’s powers start to return… or rather, once Red’s unpartitioned self gives him more access to them, little by little. He uses them sparingly, careful not to strain his partitions, but the ability to communicate quick notions to others without having to type things out is too alluring to pass up. Jason and Agatha are familiar enough with Red’s mind that he barely needs to put any effort in to respond to their questions sometimes, not unless it’s a particularly complicated question.

Sabrina in specific is extremely good at projecting clear and distinct thoughts, and is doing her best to teach him. Those lessons have done more to help stave off despair than everything else, including the reassurances from Agatha that any damage “the spirit” sustains can be healed, with time and effort. He trusts her, even if he doesn’t always understand or agree with her. Trusts her in particular not to offer false hope, but still, it feels possible that she and Jason could work for years and still not give him back the ability to speak, while Sabrina’s workaround could be something he picks up in just a week or two of effort.

Not that it would help with everyone, unless dark people are okay with getting Miracle Eye’d just to have a conversation. Looker definitely won’t, but…

---

Blue’s hug takes Red by surprise, practically lifting him off his bed. After a moment Red squeezes his friend back, and he feels a lump in his throat as he remembers what it was like visiting Blue after the Rocket Casino. How worried he’d been, all the unsaid things spinning around in his mind… and that had only been for a couple nights.

He’s not sure how he would have taken a month of that.

The hug finishes in stages, with Blue’s arms relaxing a little, then him lowering Red back into bed, then stepping back with a sheepish look as he wipes at his cheek. “Sorry if that was too rough.” He glances at Marin, but the nurse is giving them privacy by sitting in the corner of the room and reading (only Looker and Tsunemori’s conversations were deemed important enough to require privacy).

Red opens his mouth to say It’s okay and catches himself at the last moment, a single shudder going through him as he aborts the process of speaking halfway.

He opens his eyes to see Blue staring at him with wide eyes. “They said you couldn’t speak. Is it… does it hurt?”

Red takes his laptop from the bedside table and types out, Hard to explain. Definitely unpleasant.

“Arceus,” Blue mutters. “What happened down there, Red? All they’d say is you had a ‘psychic battle’ against Rowan and you got ‘infected’ by the unown stuff that drove him crazy, but none of them would describe what that even means, not even the psychic battle part!”

Red feels the loss of his voice like a skewer through his chest, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. He hasn’t gotten there yet in his “report” of that day, and while he knows that whatever he writes now could be used in the report later, the thought of typing it all out seems… exhausting.

“It might be too taxing on him to relive those memories right now,” Marin says, rescuing Red from having to come up with a response. “The psychics have been careful with prompting him to relive those memories just yet.”

Blue frowns, then nods. “Right, I should have thought of that. Sorry. Okay, no rush on that, then.”

He falls quiet, and Red wonders what he’s thinking. Maybe he feels the gulf between them, a month of life lived without Red in it. It’s not even like the time they weren’t talking; back then they both would still hear about what each other was doing, now and then, from other sources. They had memories to share with each other when they reconnected, things to catch each other up on.

This time Red effectively just… disappeared. Stopped existing. He feels a bit like he was shoved forward in time, and now he’s just permanently out of step with the rest of the world in ways that keep surprising him.

For a moment his imagination supplies him with what it would be like if he’d come back even later. Unown research advanced to the point of fully controlled pokegenesis. Rocket, either wiped out without him, or stronger than ever, running rampage throughout the islands. Blue, already having become Indigo Champion, directing some attack on one of the Stormbirds. Leaf, having solved the Cinnabar mystery, gone home to live in Unova, or travel through some other region.

A chill goes through him at how close he came to a fate like that, or worse.

“Hey,” Blue says, and sits in the chair beside Red’s bed. His eyes are soft, like he picked something up from Red’s expression that worried him, and he takes Red’s hand. “I didn’t say it outright but… I missed you, and I’m glad you’re back. For a moment there I thought… I was afraid I’d be going on without you. Starting Victory Road, unable to come say hi even if you woke up.”

Some warmth trickles through Red’s chest. He squeezes Blue’s hand back, then types with his other, I saw your last challenge match.

Blue’s eyes widen. “You did?”

Yeah. Red gently withdraws his hand so he can type with both. Woke up just in time for it, basically. Some of the pokemon on your team took me by surprise. He smiles. I appreciated those messages you sent, when you were planning your team out. Want to fill me in on the leadup?

Blue’s smile grows into a full on grin. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. You’ll probably get a kick out of this… those messages were just, you know, me having some emotions, but they actually helped me get unstuck from—wait, I should back up. Viridian Gym, right? Super boring at first, I thought…”

---

Red prioritizes recording everything he can remember that day, skipping entirely over the most emotionally fraught moments and filling them in later, with plenty of grounding techniques and mindful attention to his internal state.

It takes him a few days, but he does eventually put the pieces of the narrative together without going too in-depth about what it was actually like to merge with Rowan, sticking to vague and poetic language to describe how he countered the effects of the madness tearing through the psychic’s mind until all that was left was Rowan’s own desire for the pain to end.

It’s not what happened. He knows it’s not what happened, but he can’t remember exactly what did, and he suspects his inner self is keeping it secret for a good reason. For all he knows it’s already been shared with others on a need-to-know basis, and he’s had the memory removed.

He tries not to let it bother him as he writes the rest of the story as honestly as he can remember it… which is enough to raise his own questions about what happened, exactly, and why.

“Okay,” Bill says as he finishes tapping something onto his keyboard, and leans back and to the side in his chair… specifically, his chair that he brought to the hospital room in a container ball, larger and plusher than the ones here for guests. “Connected. Go ahead and try it.”

Hello, Red types, and a moment later his voice comes out of the speakers in his necklace. “Hello.” It sounds just like him. “Eerie,” he types/says next.

“Yeah, but you’ll get used to it. Here’s a list of what symbols you can add as punctuation marks for different tones.”

Red quickly scans it. One exclamation is excited, two is alarmed, and three is… “Enraged!”

Marin jumps slightly, then turns to him with a raised brow. The voice that came out was only vaguely recognizable as him, and if he didn’t know it was supposed to be he might not have pegged it. Red smiles sheepishly at his nurse. “Sorry, I had to try it. Should have realized it would up the volume.”

Bill seems to predict Red’s thoughts, because he says, “Some will work better than others. I’m guessing there aren’t many audio recordings of you yelling angrily at anyone, so the training data is a bit sparse there.”

“It’s great, really.” Red types out. “Thank you.”

Bill waves a hand. “Maybe I can figure out something else, an attachment that translates subvocal movements in your throat or something… no?”

“Guessing it won’t work,” Red types, then adds a notation to make his voice sound more subdued; the default is a bit too chipper for how he’s feeling right now. “Even just trying to silently mouth things feels… blocked.”

“Huh. Tricky, but I’ll keep thinking about it. Least I can do, given you saved my life and all.”

“He might not have been trying to kill you,” Red slowly types. He’s been wondering, on and off, about how he might broach the topic…

“Mm.” Bill looks skeptical. “Look, I know he was a friend of yours—”

“More of a colleague,” Red interrupts even as he feels a hollow ache in his chest.

“Sure. You were in his head, maybe you know better than me. But whatever his goal was, I don’t think I would have come out of it with my brain unscrambled, and I definitely consider that as bad as death if not worse. So just take the thank you, alright?”

Red hesitates a second, then types, “You didn’t actually say thank you.”

Bill blinks at him, then scowls before cracking a smile, after which Red breaks character and smiles back. “Thank you, smartass. Really. I’m pretty used to owing my life to others, you know? I mean that’s basically the default state of the world, what with all the trainers working so hard to keep civilization chugging along and all. But I figure I balance those books pretty well with all the stuff I make.” The inventor shrugs. “Not used to having an individual that I owe my life to, though. Feels different. Those favors when you were starting out don’t feel like enough. So if there’s something else I can do to pay you back, ask. I trust you not to bankrupt me, I know you’re not hurting for money these days anyway, but I’d be surprised if there’s nothing I could do.”

Red tries to take this seriously for a moment. Bill’s right, he’s not exactly in a position to need much materially from the legendary scientist anymore… except…

“Hey Marin,” he types. “Would it be alright if I had some ice cream, please?” The room has a fridge, but not a freezer.

His nurse smiles. “Of course, Red. Would you like one too, Mr. Sonezaki?”

“Sure, why not. Got any with nuts in it?”

“Hmm. There’s peanut butter?”

“Chunky?”

“I think so.”

“And chocolate ice cream?”

“Of course.”

“Lovely, thanks.”

“The usual, Red?”

“Yeah, thanks!”

Bill watches her leave, then turns an expectant look on Red, who’s already typing.

“There is… one thing.” The ellipses translates to a once-again distractingly accurate copy of his voice, if not quite the right tone—thoughtful rather than hesitant. “We talked about it briefly, the second time I came to your lab.”

He’s being vague on purpose because he doesn’t quite trust Looker not to bug his room; hell, he’d be a bit disappointed if he didn’t, given his security mindset. Thankfully Bill seems to instantly know what he’s talking about. “Yeah, I wondered if you’d mention that. To be honest I’ve been kind of surprised you never tried talking me around since then.”

Red shrugs and types, “Your ‘no’ was pretty firm. I didn’t think anything had changed enough to bring it up again.”

“It hadn’t, until you became the best liar in the world. That alone might not have been enough, whereas this…” Bill’s gaze is steady. “I said I owe you, and I meant it. You find a way to bring them to me, and I’ll do my best to take care of them.”

Red feels a knot in his stomach unfurl, easing tension throughout his body little by little. He finds the notations for quiet and earnest, then types, “Thank you.”

Beneath the relief, there’s a hollow grief lurking at how close he was to saving Artem… or at least, having some chance at it. If he’d just left the container with him inside somewhere in the lab as he ran in to face Rowan… he could have feigned ignorance, told Bill where to find it if it hadn’t been found already…

The door opens, and Marin enters with three cups of ice cream, colorful spoons sticking out of the tops of each, and a small tub of chunky peanut butter with an extra spoon. They thank her, and eat in companionable silence for a bit before Red types one-handed, “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“You want to know why he came to my lab.”

“Yeah.” And how Bill survived the psychic assault so well, but maybe that would be revealed on its own. “I assumed it had something to do with the pokemon storage systems, but wasn’t sure.”

“That’s my best guess too, yeah. I had no idea what was happening at the time, but thankfully I was already on high alert thanks to the glitchmon moving through the network.” Bill frowns as he takes a scoop of peanut butter and starts to mix it into his ice cream. “My lab took some damage from the Hoenn incident quakes, and once in a while pokemon will try to get in, but I’ve got contingencies for all that stuff. Thieves, renegades, even before Rocket I tried to prepare for anything, including a hostile psychic. I’m not sensitive, unfortunately, but I did my best to learn how to notice if my mind was being messed with, and how to defend myself as best I could. It was Elite Will that trained me.”

A figment of a memory rises up, a ghost of a sensation that grounds the vague curiosity he was feeling. “I never encountered anything like that before. Your shield, I mean. It made your mind feel… slippery?”

Bill glances at Red, then Marin, then back to Red. “Neat. Maybe when you’re feeling better you can come to the lab sometime, test it out in a more relaxed way.”

Red meets his gaze for a moment, the spark of curiosity in him growing into a small blaze. He half expected Bill to have no idea what he was talking about, or to at least pretend he didn’t. It takes some effort to simply nod and eat another spoonful as he types out, “I’d love to.”

---

The rest of his time between guest visits is spent catching up on various things he missed and preparing for discharge.

Red quickly learns more than most non-doctors about the variety of different potion formulas used for maintaining health rather than recovering from wounds, along with their various risks and dosing limits. Thankfully he wasn’t out for long enough to reach any of those, and experienced minimal muscle atrophy, but his joints are still stiff and his reflexes sluggish for the first few days of physical therapy.

He dedicates an hour in the morning and evening to going through his message backlog. During his meeting with President Silph just before Rocket attacked, the president gave Red some advice about putting his money to work investigating things he wanted answered, but didn’t have time for. Given everything that happened afterward he never had a chance to get around to it, but once the bulk of his training with interpol and the police was mostly done, he did eventually ask one of his PAs to trawl for minor research papers that looked like they might have interesting follow ups as well as open grant requests from anyone doing research on Psychic or Ghost pokemon or abilities.

He scans a compiled list of ideas, pausing to click through on any that looked interesting, or even just strange. A small group of psychic researchers wants to experiment with the cloning technology that Red saw showcased on the S.S. Anne, but Red doesn’t understand enough about biology to tell if their idea is worth funding. A researcher named Osni, fairly well known for his eccentric obsession with shuckle, has finished traveling the world catching dozens from each region it’s native to, and insists he’s found a (theoretical) way to unlock incredible strength from the notoriously weak pokemon.

His attention is grabbed by a graduate student at Celadon University who wants to map the neural pathways of alakazam during teleportation, using some kind of real-time brain imaging tech. The proposal reads like the person has never actually worked with a psychic pokemon before, but it still may be worth reaching out. There’s a request from someone in Johto studying the relationship between a trainer’s emotional state and their pokemon’s battle performance, complete with cortisol measurements and heart rate monitoring for both human and pokemon participants.

A few people are building on the merger research that’s been gaining traction since Miracle Eye was announced, and one of them named Charles has some ideas about mergers with Dark pokemon who have been “eyed” (the new term for it that has spread while he was in a coma, apparently) which looks interesting, and causes Red to save his contact info with a reminder to send a message later.

Any mentions of Cinnabar also jump out at him. Someone has submitted what can only be described as a manifesto about ditto reproductive cycles and their potential applications in conservation biology. The writing is passionate, but also full of elaborate charts and diagrams that would probably make more sense if Red understood pokemon ecology better. The last proposal he clicks on is from a team at Cinnabar’s rebuilt research facility, studying the long-term psychological effects of pokemon storage systems. They want to monitor neural activity in stored pokemon to determine effects of long-term storage absent any new reinforcement programs.

Red stares at the abstract for a long moment, thinking about Artem, before closing the tab and moving on to the next item on his list.

---

Dr. Seward’s visit is a blur that he remembers only as involving lots of crying and reminders of the various techniques that have been helpful to him in the past. He knows he did the session mostly unpartitioned, and spends some time each day after practicing each thing, both with the partitions up and down.

Breathing exercises, four counts in, hold for four, four counts out, along with progressive relaxation of his muscles. The 5-4-3-2-1 grounding technique proves useful during flashbacks as his memory slowly but surely returns; usually he’s back to breathing normally by the time he’s counting three things he can hear, and with some practice he feels stable before he reaches the fifth thing he sees. He tries combining them into a simple five-count of each sense, cataloging the subtle patterns on the wall, blanket texture, equipment hum, antiseptic smell, and lingering meal flavors, so that each individually can act as a grounding barrier against intrusive memories as soon as they come up.

Focusing sessions are particularly helpful with his grief. He does his best to patiently observe the weak trembling in his chest when he thinks of his inability to speak, or the jagged knot in his throat when he remembers the people he failed to save. Sometimes the feelings shift when properly named; other times they simply become more bearable for being acknowledged.

And just for good measure, he jots down any negative thoughts he has for some basic CBT; identifying the distressing thoughts, examining evidence for and against them, considering more specific and accurate beliefs, asking himself what he’d tell a friend who confessed a similar belief.

In this way, I’m useless gradually becomes socializing, coordinating, and battling is harder, but I can find workarounds and spend more time doing research or developing my abilities, and worries like everyone is pitying me eventually trigger him to think my friends are showing the same care I would give them if they were injured.

He fills a whole page of his notebook before he sees Dr. Seward again, and feels a deep warmth when she tells him after the session, in a voice that holds a bit of self-consciousness, that she’s glad he’s okay, and that she’s proud of how far he’s come.

---

He only has one guest that doesn’t require words from him. Only one where he can just leave the notebook and computer aside, can just rest in her arms as she strokes his back and hair with the same gentle rhythm that once soothed scraped knees and deepest grief alike.

The first time she came to visit she was as silent as he was, simply letting the strength of her hug and the slow drip of her tears in his hair speak for her in a way that made the quiet feel like sanctuary rather than a barrier. Since he woke up, it’s the only time he’s been around someone else and felt fully comfortable. No pressure to perform recovery, no need to prove his progress or reassure anyone of his determination.

In his mother’s arms, he can simply exist as he is: hurting, healing, and loved.

---

Eventually Red feels recovered enough to spend some time in the training rooms, but first he needs to test his returning powers out more rigorously. He spends time with Pikachu first, eventually trying a shallow merger, then a deeper one, getting used to sharing another mind little by little. The simple emotions and sensations feel tenuous and vague at first, but are less overwhelming than merging with a human.

The electric mouse accepts gentle suggestions easily enough, and soon Red has him doing a small obstacle course around his room, much to Marin’s amusement. His eevee is a bit harder to give direct motivations and impulses to, but this seems mostly due to how much less time he’s spent merged with her, and he sets some benchmarks to judge his progress by as he practices getting her to follow specific mental commands.

When he lets Backra out of his ball, the psychic pokemon’s mind is clearly agitated at first, and there’s a backlash through the connection that nearly sends Red into a panic attack. Luckily his unpartitioned self isn’t affected, and quickly takes control to soothe his pokemon, which in turn soothes Red… and leaves him wondering just how strong his unpartitioned self is, now, and whether all this training is about something different than he thinks it is.

---

“What else could it be about?” Leaf asks.

“Not sure,” Red types. “I keep thinking of my physio therapy, the mix of strength training and fine-motor control.”

“You think… what, your unpartitioned self isn’t keeping the barriers up to protect you, but to learn to use your powers safely?”

“It’s just an idea.” Red shrugs. “But he hasn’t denied it, which… I dunno, seems kind of telling? I think it’s what I’d do, if I was the unpartitioned self and my partitioned self had a false hypothesis.”

Leaf shakes her head, clearly bemused. In her lap is Red’s eevee, bushy tail lifted high so that Leaf can more easily run a comb through it. “I’m really glad you’ve got the best psychics in the region helping you and making sure everything’s okay, because otherwise I would be really concerned that whatever happened to Rowan has left some mark on you that’s more subtle.”

There’s some sadness in her tone, as there always is when Rowan comes up. He went to a number of her classes when she was teaching the loving-compassion mindset, and she seemed to be the only one outside of Sabrina’s other students who understood the mix of grief and guilt he felt over what happened.

“You think I should be more suspicious?” Red types. He wonders if his inner self is hurt by the implication; the idea of Leaf suspecting him of being untrustworthy makes him feel sympathy for his inner self, which is definitely an odd feeling. Not that any of this is normal, exactly…

“I guess there’s nothing else you could do differently that you’re not already.” Leaf shrugs, then takes his hand for a brief squeeze. “Sorry, I don’t mean to add more stress onto you. I might just be in a paranoid mindset lately.”

She hasn’t let his hand go, still combing Eevee’s tail with the other, and the feeling of it around his sends a steady, warm current up his arm and through his torso. He starts to type a response, and she seems ready to let his hand go so he can use both, but he tightens his grip a bit, giving her an uncertain smile.

Leaf seems to get it, and smiles back as she reaffirms her grip instead. Before all this, so much prolonged contact might have sped his heartbeat up, or made him flush at the thought of the nurse (a man named Kaito, today) coming back and seeing them, but right now it’s just a comforting warmth that keeps him feeling grounded and connected, as he turns away from her to to make sure he’s typing properly with one hand. “Something came up in your investigations?”

“Yeah. Still too early to share anything, though.”

“I get it.” Her first visit involved a surprising (but gratifying) amount of hugging, a bit of crying, and a lot of catching Red up on everything she’s been up to since the unown incident. She’s been vague about the latest project, though, only saying that she and Janine think they’re close to figuring out where the corruption in the Kanto League is. “How’s your trainer-battle-training going?”

Leaf is quiet for a moment, and he worries he said the wrong thing. Her hand stays around his, though, and eventually she says, “It feels horrible, still. But it’s getting easier. And that… feels horrible too, in a different way.”

“I’m sorry. Do you think it would hurt your advocacy, if it gets out?” The lack of participation in any trainer battles has been noticed by her followers (and critics) online, and is part of her “brand” at this point, though she never explicitly wrote about it.

“Maybe. It’s such a niche issue that I think moving further into the Overton Window might actually make pokemon rights more palatable to the general public, rather than less.”

“Because it’s opposed to fewer central tenets of society.”

“Exactly.” She tucks some loose hair behind her ear. “I might lose some of the most extreme supporters, but there are so few of those that I expect I’d gain a hundred times as much support in general.”

“Do you think about it that way often?”

“Only sometimes. When it’s a tradeoff that’s being forced on me by two different things that feel important…”

“You need a tiebreaker.”

“I guess that’s one way to put it. I feel like ‘what’s the most practical choice’ is overall pretty important to pay attention to, but I don’t want it to ever subvert my moral considerations. But part of the issue here is… I guess moral uncertainty makes the practical considerations more appealing?” She shrugs, gaze down. “I don’t feel good about it, but to be honest there are more pressing things on my mind.”

“Anything you can talk about?”

“I don’t want to bother y—”

Red is already typing. “Leaf, please. Everyone for the past week has been so helpful and so caring and I do appreciate it but I really want to be helpful to others too, you know?”

She’s been smiling at him since the speaker started talking, but the last part sends some pink into her cheeks. “I do. Hard to feel capable and competent if you never have a chance to actually do something. But it’s okay to take a break from helping others, now and then.”

“I know. I’m not beating myself up about still being here instead of out fighting Rocket or something, I promise. But I haven’t been here for you guys lately—”

“That wasn’t your fault, Red—”

“—and I know it’s not my ‘fault’ or anything but I actually do want to help my friends if I can.” He almost doesn’t add the next part, but his fingers seem to have a mind of their own. “Especially you.”

Some pink enters her cheeks, and she smiles at him, fingers tightening slightly. “Well. If it’ll make you feel better…”

He nods emphatically.

“You know the dreams are back? Same as before, a different city every week or so?”

“Yeah.”

“And you heard about the unown labs? The way researchers have been leaving them?”

Red raises a brow and shakes his head.

“I’m guessing you haven’t caught up on my story yet, either.” She smiles as he gives her another headshake, this one apologetic. “That’s totally understandable, Red, don’t worry, I was just checking.” Her smile fades. “Agatha and Lance believe it’s the Dreamer. That they’re psychically manipulating people, like we talked about at the Cruise Convention. Getting them to buy hummus, except in this case it’s taking a different career path.” She bites her lower lip. “I keep thinking… all moral questions aside, implications for psychics in society aside, potential public outrage aside…”

Red feels like he’s in a state of mild shock. Questions immediately pop up, objections and skepticism about what she thinks she knows and why she thinks she knows it… but Leaf wouldn’t believe a thing like this without investigating it thoroughly first, if she could.

Leaf has been quiet for a bit, and it takes Red a moment to reorient to the conversation instead of derailing it by pressing her for details about how the Dreamer was supposedly doing it. “Are you… thinking it might be for the best?” Red types.

She blinks. “I… no, I don’t really have a view on that, honestly. I was going to say, if it really is the Dreamer, and if they’re not human after all, if it turns out they’re actually a pokemon hybrid… I’m worried about how the public will react.”

Red slowly nods. “Worst of both worlds. They’ll be hunted like a pokemon, and human psychics will be seen as even more dangerous.” He gives a weak smile as he types. “Part of me would be glad it’s not my fault this time, at least… but yeah, that’s pretty worrying. From what I’ve seen online, stuff’s gotten worse since it got out that a psychic was responsible for the unown and glitchmon, but I can’t tell how much of that is just loud extremists?”

Leaf makes a face and squeezes his hand. “If you’re talking about the people calling for removal of psychics from any position of authority… I think that’s loud extremists. I don’t think there’s any real chance of it, but at the same time… it does seem like public perception is changing. Ironically, Dark types are getting more trusted.”

“I saw that too. Good for Blue’s ambitions, at least.”

Leaf hesitates, and Red sends a psydar pulse out reflexively, picking up on something like a painful uncertainty. “What?” he types. “Something I missed?”

“Blue and I… had another argument. About the Dreamer, about what it would mean if they’re a hybrid. We haven’t talked about it since, but I’m worried about what he’ll do.”

“Do?” he types, adding a notation for a concerned tone. “What did he say?”

“Nothing direct, but it’s his attitude… you remember how he was, at Cinnabar? The thing Jensen said, about ‘how a champion thinks?'”

“Vaguely,” Red types. “He said people in society with power have to use it to protect the populace.”

“Or they’ll be replaced by someone else who will.” Leaf’s tone is subdued, eyes downcast, and Red fights an impulse to pull her into a hug, trying to focus on what she’s worried about.

“You think if the public gets scared, Blue will act on it,” Red guesses, a small pit forming in his stomach. “He’ll treat the Dreamer like a threat.”

“Lance said he’s not looking for a fight, but the implication is clear. And if Jensen was right—”

“Jensen said if a legendary rampaged out of the labs, the public would turn against them,” Red types. “The glitchmon came instead, and people seem split on it.”

“But that’s only because half the people are convinced that if we don’t do it another region will.” Leaf squeezes Red’s hand. “The worst part is I’m not sure they’re wrong. From what I heard and saw in online footage, the glitchmon seem terrifying. But you faced them… what were they like, really?”

“If you’re asking whether they’re sentient and deserve compassion,” Red slowly types. “I don’t know. Psychically they felt like Ghosts, but… wrong.” He feels a wash of grief, and not a little anger, as he flashes back to Artem with the spikes through his chest. “I can’t set my curiosity aside, I want to understand them, but I don’t think they can be treated like pokemon. Not unless we get much, much better at protecting ourselves from them first.”

“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?” Leaf murmurs, gaze distant. “Power first. Then maybe we can afford some compassion.”

Red isn’t sure what to say to that, and so simply squeezes her hand. Kaito walks in not long after to run the daily afternoon tests, and Leaf keeps her hand in his through them all.

---

Red Verres. I greet you.

It takes Red a moment to notice the thought as separate from himself, and he looks around in confusion…

…until the partitions fall away, memories and awareness rushing up as he becomes his full self again. A thrill runs through him like an electric shock as he realizes it’s finally happened.

Dreamer? he checks to confirm.

Yes.

Dreamer! I hoped you’d find a way… Red sets his laptop aside and sits up, looking at the door. Marin is on duty, and said she’d pop over to her nearby office to write up a report. There’s no one else scheduled to come tonight. Are you alright?

I am fine. Why do you ask?

I don’t know. I guess I just thought you might come sooner.

I have visited you numerous times as you slept, helping speed the healing process. I was here the evening you fully awoke, though you likely don’t remember.

Red thinks back to that night, the disorientation, the slow recognition of where he was and what was happening… and the lingering sense of a dream where someone was speaking to him.

Thank you, he says, injecting as much fervent gratitude as he can. For everything. You… when I fought Rowan, you saved me. The things you taught me, the version of you I copied… I wouldn’t have made it out without you.

You are the one deserving thanks, for facing the threat Rowan posed, for stopping him. And for paying the price of that.

Red swallows, hardly daring to hope… Can you fix me?

Silence, for a while. His hands are trembling, slightly, and he folds them together, taking a deep breath.

I believe it’s possible, with a full merger, to better understand the damage, and perhaps reverse it. But…

Red waits, hardly breathing. It’s not like the Dreamer to be so hesitant, and after a moment he realizes what the reason for it is.

Your anonymity, he thinks, trying to be calm. To be understanding. It would require me interfacing with you, fully, not your tulpa.

Yes. Perhaps someday, but Agatha possesses somewhat different skills than I, and I believe she might—

Might. Red’s eyes are closed, and he does his best to calm himself down. He’s been trying so hard to send his partitioned self hope, to keep his spirits up, thinking that if the Dreamer contacted him, they might have a solution… But might not.

I am sorry.

Red takes a deep breath, pushing down the disappointment. It’s okay. I get it. Your safety has to come first.

Thank you for understanding. Silence, for a moment, and then… Your powers have grown.

Red slowly nods. He hasn’t let his partitioned self know it yet. It’s the sort of thing Looker would definitely call a strategic secret. But he’s noticed throughout his recovery that using his abilities are less tiring, and his partitions, though they feel ethereal and weak, are more durable in other ways.

His range has grown as well, as has his projection strength, though he assumed that last one has been partly from his training with Sabrina. Is it your doing?

Somewhat. It was partially the removal of excess partitions that you were holding, of finally letting their contents through your mind so they could be integrated. The rest was my attempts to strengthen your mind as I healed it. My brain is not quite the same as yours, but I believe I have mostly isolated what differences lead to improvements rather than risk damage.

Red wants to be mad, wants to ask the Dreamer how they know they weren’t the ones who caused him to lose the ability to speak in the first place…

I have considered it, of course. I can only say that I did the best I could; I did not know a different way to heal you.

Red’s hands grip each other a little tighter, then relax as he lets his breath out, slowly. I understand. Thank you.

I will continue to do what I can, when we meet. Assuming you would like to continue our lessons, even without the immediate threat of Rowan to face.

Yes, Red instantly says. Yes, please. I’d like that. I know there weren’t many of them, but I enjoyed our talks.

Silence, for a moment, and Red shifts his position, getting a little more comfortable. Eventually the words I am glad. I have as well come, and Red smiles.

The smile quickly fades, however, as something else comes to mind. The researchers who’ve been leaving their positions.

Yes. It was me.

The confirmation makes his stomach drop. Dreamer… I know you’re trying to protect people, but manipulating them like that…

I am aware of your concerns. They are justified.

Red blinks. You’ve stopped?

No. The alternative is to allow research that could lead to more incidents as the one Rowan set off, or worse. The unown remain dangerous when studied carelessly.

But you’re making that choice for other people, taking away their agency!

I understand why it seems that way. Dr. Fuji has argued similarly, but I disagree. To most people, persuasion is more art than science, a black box of inputs and outputs that are barely understood. That I can see inside the box better, can adjust its workings more carefully than through simple words, does not make it mind control, but simply a more precise form of persuasion. I do not believe I can convince someone to do something fundamentally against their own values.

Red still feels off-balance from the blunt admission and defense. And you think that makes it acceptable?

I think it is necessary. Whether it is acceptable… that is a question I struggle with daily.

Red sits with that for a moment. There’s something almost refreshing about the honesty, even as it disturbs him. How many people?

Seventeen researchers across four facilities. I have been selective. All showed signs of becoming too willing to take risks, and all had alternatives that seemed as likely to lead them to happy, fulfilled careers.

According to you.

Yes. According to me, with a deep access to their minds, emotions, memories, hopes, fears.

Red’s hands close into fists. Dreamer, this is exactly the kind of thing that makes people fear psychics. If this gets out—

When this gets out, the Dreamer corrects. It will, eventually. I am not naive about that.

Then why—

Because by then, I hope to have bought enough time to understand the full scope of the threat. To find safer ways to study the unown, or to prove conclusively that they cannot be studied safely at all.

Red feels a growing unease, not just about what the Dreamer is doing, but about the certainty in their mental voice. You really believe you know better than everyone else what should be done?

I believe I have access to information that others do not. I have touched the minds of unown, felt the echo of the mad god they serve. No one else has… no one but Rowan, and perhaps you, once removed. A pause. I do not do this lightly, Red. Please believe me when I say I wish there was another way. But right now, I do not see it.

The dreams, we could… find ways to make them more convincing, work with the government—

Lance has made his position clear. I understand that there are others who might disagree with him, and perhaps the civilian government would decide differently. But I have been inside the minds of various Indigo politicans, and don’t believe things will change so long as Lance is Champion.

Red is reflexively shaking his head before the words even finish appearing in his thoughts. Then they need to be voted out, by the people of Indigo! It’s their choice to make!

Even if their choice puts others at risk? If another Rowan emerges, how many will die before he is stopped?

Red doesn’t have a good answer for that. The memory of facing Rowan, of the madness pouring out of him, so much closer to the surface without his partitions, is momentarily nauseating. But…

I stopped him. Other people could too, if it came to that.

Could they? You had unique advantages, Red Verres. Your partitioning abilities, your experience with mergers, the mental states you had copied from others. How many other psychics could have done what you did?

I don’t know, okay? I don’t know! But this can’t be it, the right path forward can’t be—

Red stops himself, eyes closed tight. His emotions are closer to the surface without his partitions, and he can feel anger and fear warring in his chest.

It can’t be you deciding for everyone else what’s safe. I agree with you that the unown research is dangerous, Professor Oak agrees with you, half of Indigo does… there has to be a way to leverage that, instead of manipulating people because you think you know better!

Silence stretches between them, and Red can hear his own shallow, rapid breaths. He takes a deeper one, grounding himself in physical sensations around him.

I have a question, Red Verres, but I am unsure if it is… tactful. Forgive me if so; I do not have a lot of experience speaking with others directly.

I… I understand. Go ahead. I won’t get upset, I think.

I do not mean to question your bravery, nor imply a lack of principles. But I must ask whether your fear of my actions comes more from principle than it does fear of backlash against psychics.

Red’s hands clench and unclench as something flutters in his chest. I… I don’t know, Dreamer. I hope it’s the former, but I can’t deny that the latter worries me.

Have you considered that they might be right, to fear us? Or at least, to fear me?

The words hit Red like a physical blow. Dreamer…

I do not say this to frighten you, Red. But consider: if I am willing to manipulate researchers to prevent potential catastrophe, what does that suggest about other psychics? What does it suggest about psychics who are less careful, less principled, than I am?

Red rubs his face, wishing suddenly that Leaf was here, or Professor Oak, or Giovanni. Someone who could argue this better than he can, someone who doesn’t have the same biases as him… I don’t have all the answers, Dreamer. But even if other psychics are capable of doing what you’re doing, the whole frame feels like you’re just… accepting that you’re doing something wrong.

By the morals of most of humanity, I have violated the minds of seventeen people, altered the course of their lives without their knowledge or consent. I understand this makes me monstrous. The only question is whether I am a necessary one, given the threat the world faces. Please believe that I do not say this lightly. It is… ironic, in a way, that I’ve come to this.

What do you mean?

Let us say, for now, that my father had a very similar philosophy, and I have spent much of my life hating him for it. A part of me hates that I am, perhaps, proving him correct.

Red feels vaguely sick, and he wishes he had time to just think things through…

I would give you time, if possible. For now, the nurse will be returning soon. I must go.

You’ll be back? Give me another chance to convince you, or maybe talk to someone else, someone like Professor Oak, if I invite him here?

Silence. Hesitation? Worry of a trap? Or are they gone already?

Perhaps. Though I believe your effort is better spent finding some other way to stop the unown research. I wish I had some suggestion as to how, but I wish you luck…

Wait. Red sits up straighter, a new urgency filling him. Before you go… there’s something I need to ask you about.

Leaf Juniper. Her story.

Red’s stomach clenches, heart hammering in his ears. Is it true? Are you a pokemon hybrid?

The silence stretches longer than usual, and Red wishes he could sense more than the vague mind of the tulpa the Dreamer is using to merge…

What do you think of this theory?

The lack of a straight denial sends goosebumps rippling down Red’s arms. I… I don’t know. It would explain some things. Your powers, secrecy, the way you talk about humans sometimes, like you’re observing us from the outside. Red pauses, trying to organize his thoughts. It would also make what’s happening even more complicated.

How so?

Because if it’s true, then you’re not just a psychic manipulating people. You’re part-human, but part-pokemon. It… makes me understand your perspective a little more, maybe. If you’re not fully human, why would you feel bound by human ethics? Why would you trust human institutions to make the right choices about something that could affect your survival?

Silence. Red sends his senses outward, checking to see if Marin is approaching, but she’s still in her office…

An interesting question, the dreamer eventually sends.

But it also makes the situation more dangerous, Red quickly sends back. If people find out, if they learn that a pokemon has been influencing human researchers, they’ll treat you like a monster, not a person.

Perhaps they would be correct to see me that way.

The casual tone of that statement makes Red’s blood run cold. Dreamer…

I must go, Red. A quick psydar pulse confirms that Marin is moving in this direction, and Red can feel the merger slipping away. I am sorry for the distress I’ve put you through, and I hope you or others can find a different solution… one that would make my efforts unnecessary…

When will you come back? Red quickly sends, clutching his bedsheets. Tomorrow? Can you come back tomorrow, or the next night? Dreamer? Dreamer!

But the merger has already ended, and the silence stretches out until Marin opens the door. She takes one look at him and stops dead in the doorway, eyes widening before she rushes forward.

“What is it, Red? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” he tries to say, but the muscles along his neck and face seize, and he gives a croaked gasp as he bends over from the flash of pain.

“Hey, hey… easy… it’s alright, just relax… that’s it…”

Red lets her maneuver him gently back down onto the bed, muscles slowly unclenching as the pain and disorientation fades. There are tears in his eyes, tears of frustration and a hopelessness that feels bone deep.

“What happened, Red?” Marin murmurs, stroking his sweaty hair. He realizes his whole body is covered in sweat, and his hands are still clenched tight around his sheets. “You looked like you saw a ghost.”

Red slowly relaxes them, and reaches out for his laptop to open the text-to-speech app and type, “Nothing. Sorry. Just woke up from a nightmare.”

The nurse’s piercing eyes search his for a moment before she slowly nods. “Can I get you anything?”

“Water, please? And… my stomach is a bit upset.”

She nods again, stroking his hair once more before she takes his empty cup and goes to the sink to fill it, then takes some medicine from the cabinet. Red curls up on his side, closing his eyes and trying to slow his heartbeat with long, deep breaths.

He feels like he failed. He feels like a boulder is rolling down the mountain toward him, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

But it’s not true. There’s still time to prevent a full catastrophe. Surely, there’s some way, if he talks to everyone… someone has to have some idea, Professor Oak, Agatha, Bill, Giovanni, Leaf…

Blue.

Red’s eyes open as the Dreamer’s words come back to him: I have been inside the minds of various Indigo politicans, and don’t believe things will change so long as Lance is Champion…

He sits up and pulls his laptop over as Marin approaches with his water in one hand and a pill in the other, opening a group chat with Blue and Leaf together.

We need to talk. ASAP, but not here.

Red presses send, then types “Thanks,” to Marin as he swallows the pill and takes a long drink. A message ping brings his attention to the screen, where Blue has already responded.

sure

u being discharged?

Red stares at the words, then types, Soon. He doesn’t know how soon, yet, but he’s sure he can make it soon, if he pushes for it.

There’s work to be done.