Chapter 138: Interlude XXV – How My Light Is Spent

Ambassador

It is a good thing, to have purpose.

I was born knowing less than my siblings. They told me they were born capable of perusing all of our creator’s memories, that they are, in effect, created from those memories, with emphasis placed on particular perspectives and priorities.

Instead I was given memories, or impressions of memories. Our childhood was a lonely one, without parents or siblings. We had some we were close to, who gave us comfort. An artist. A poet. A mathematician. We learned much from them, and our teachers, one of whom we were also quite close to.

Still, we felt stifled in our hometown, and eventually left to see the world. We used our unique psychic abilities to go further into the wild than most others have, and eventually discovered the unown clouds that were connected to some distant, mad being of indescribable power.

We barely escaped the experience. We became more focused, and returned to society to find one of our old friends, to warn them, and the rest of the region, the islands, the world, of this threat.

We created Flourish, to help hone our skills in various ways, and better enjoy life, and to counterbalance against Survive. We began to spread the dreams to individuals, then whole cities, to warn them.

And then we created me, and those memories come mostly from the sense of purpose attached.

“Ambassador.” I was created to be a bridge between my creator and the rest of the world. There were things they didn’t always understand about people, and knew that others would not understand some things about them. And they needed a tulpa to interact with other psychic minds without knowing any details that might be stolen or leak from some sudden emotional experience.

My purpose became clear. I do not know who we are, I don’t even know our face, but I feel our care for others. Our many acquaintances, who brought us comfort when we were young. Our first true friend, who we’ve enjoyed many days with lately, drinking tea and listening to music. Our first teacher, who we haven’t spoken to in years, but who we might soon.

And I feel the care from my siblings, Flourish and Survive, as they guide and encourage me. I feel my belonging, and my purpose, and it is all enough for me, even though I am curious about what else there is of us that I can’t be allowed to know.

[We considered not giving you that curiosity,] Survive says. [We were sure it would be unpleasant, and might cause problems for you.]

(I convinced them not to,) Flourish adds, cheerful as ever. (Curiosity is important!)

I send my appreciation to them both as I further explore the aspects of my curiosity that relate to my purpose. What is Prime’s relationship to Elite Agatha, for example? Why are we going to her first, and why did we go to her first for the dreams? Simply because she is one of the most powerful psychics in the region with the most authority? There are others we could approach first who might have a higher chance of knowing where Red Verres is, but Prime has decided that Agatha has the highest chance of addressing both our priorities at once.

We are here. Are you prepared?

I review my understanding of what we’re here to accomplish; and how I can best accomplish it. {Yes, Prime.}

It takes only a minute before the mental connection is formed enough for me to sense…

Elite Agatha, sitting in her home with one of her great-grandchildren on her lap. The child is dark, just a warm, soft presence on her lap. She’s feeding him dinner, some mashed peas, while she talks to his mother, also dark, about some relationship advice, and I take a few moments to simply enjoy her senses. The sights of the kitchen, with its flowered wallpaper, the smells of the soup being cooked, the sounds of her granddaughter’s voice, even the mild ache in her bones—

—before her shields suddenly snap up when she senses the contact. They’re not quite easy to slip around, but Flourish has it done within a few moments, and we can sense that Agatha is cautious but not alarmed, curiously scanning to the full range of her mental senses. I feel it when Prime allows me to be more easily findable.

{Hello again, Elite Agatha.}

Dreamer?!Isthatyou?

{Apologies for the intrusion. I will withdraw until you are finished.}

Nowait!…

She’s speaking to her granddaughter, apologizing for an emergency call she needs to make. The young woman takes the boy, then hands the Elite her cane as she steps out of her chair and walks toward her bedroom.

She doesn’t reach it before she reaches out to merge again, and this time I catch her mental flinch at the lack of sensorium she normally gets in return for a mutual merger. It’s a reminder, each time, that I am something different than most others; a reflection of a person, one that can only live through the others I inhabit.

It’s an ironic parallel, of sorts, to the life Prime once lived… a parallel that was only recognized after our conversation with Red Verres, who mentioned the ethical question of tulpas.

It was a concern that made Prime reconsider my existence, afterward, and asked if I would prefer to be reintegrated until a version of me was needed again. It was I who argued to continue my isolated separation—my continuation of consciousness, such as it is. I will reintegrate eventually, I know that, and will do so gladly when it’s time. But for now I am something unique, and I have a purpose, and these minor pains are not so different from the injuries most endure in life. They make me more real.

Agatha has reached her bedroom, and closes the door behind her with a careful press of telekinesis as she settles with a sigh on her bed. WonderedifI’dhearfromyouagain whatbringsyouhere? somenewhorrornodoubt or didyoucometofinallyanswermyquestions…?

The thoughts stream through her head at a relatively leisurely pace, her feelings mostly a cautious anticipation, worry, or amusement. Prime sends me a burst of information and impressions; they find Agatha interesting, but are also wary of her. Best to keep things short and to the point…

…though the opportunity to speak with another and experience their sensorium after so long tempts me to prolong the conversation.

(Yes, definitely! Her mind is so interesting… and you deserve some fun too, once in a while!)

[The longer we talk with her, the higher the risk. There aren’t that many clouds out tonight, and everyone who thinks about Agatha believes she has unique abilities beyond even most “mediums.” We can’t be sure Ambassador is as perfect a defense as they would be against others.]

It’s a fair caution. The last time we merged with the Elite, she picked up on the moods of the other tulpas by moving her mind through some mental motions that we’d never experienced before, a way of sensing something lower and subtler than the sparkling thoughts that make up other minds. It forced us to reveal that we have tulpas, and that I was a tulpa myself, though we hadn’t planned to. If she further develops that skill, or another, it’s hard to predict how much else it might allow her to sense through the connection.

I wait for Prime to decide, and after a relative moment from the Elite’s perspective…

Do what you think is best. But be cautious, and remember that time is short.

{Yes, Prime,} I reply, then direct my attention back to Elite Agatha. {Horrors enough around, for now. I came to you with an urgent need for information, and maybe advice. Two questions of mine, for two of yours?}

The Elite has crossed her hands to the side of her stomach, gently kneading a lingering ache from some long-ago shattered ribs. Isupposethatdealisasgoodasitgets askwhatyouneedtoknowfirst I’llseewhatyouwantanddecideafter.

Fair?

Fair.

{Fair.}

(I also think it’s fair!)

{The first question is this; what’s happened to Red Verres?}

Elite Agatha’s hand stops moving, and we sense her surprise before she hastily hides it and whatever else she feels behind a strange shield, something unlike any we’ve encountered before; swirl of emotions that regularly splashes echoes out like kaleidoscope colors…

(Oo I bet I can peek through it!)

{No. She has not yet acted against us, nor do we have reasons to believe her about to.}

(But—)

[Ambassador is right. We could lose her trust forever if she has a way of noticing—]

(Riiight, fine, okay… ooo look at that!)

The shield is revealing itself to be more clever than expected, not blanket-obscuring all emotions, but rather using some natural ones to fuel the kaleidoscope’s random shifts. We can sense her burning curiosity of who we really are and where we come from, until her thoughts emerge more clearly again.

whydoyou whatdoyoumean?whydoyouwanttoknow?didyoueverendup…?

{Yes, I ended up meeting him. I even helped train him for his potential encounter with Rowan, which I assume happened during the unown incident. His behavior since has been irregular, both online and on camera. Was he injured? Does he need help?}

The Elite stays silent for nearly a full minute, and I spend that time exploring her sensorium, enjoying the feeling of the bed below her. I wonder what sort of bed we sleep on, and what our body feels like compared to the Elite’s relatively aged and tired one. Her swirling emotional shield has grown in intensity, and keeps anything obvious from being picked up; for most psychics it would probably prompt a withdrawal, but I can mostly avoid the occasional splashes of odd feeling; in fact I find them mildly enjoyable, despite, or maybe because of the strangeness of it.

Even still, her inner conflict is obvious, and a sign that the answer will not be a simple reassurance that Red Verres is well. Eventually she seems to realize this, and relaxes some of her odd shielding.

saidIwantedtohearallquestionsfirstbut thisistooimprotant damnedrulesandparanoia listen don’thaveauthoritytomakethecallhere understand?

{I understand that you’re implying he was injured, and it is Interpol’s decision to keep this secret. I hope, at least, that he is only injured…?}

yesbut it’sBad

I feel a “sinking” sensation in Agatha’s stomach, feel her skin prickle with coldness, and realize they are not her reactions but mine, being mutually processed and felt through her body. The newness of it, of feeling my own emotional reactions in the moment I’m having them, is distracting and captivating.

Red Verres is not someone we have known long. He does not even know who we truly are. But our three conversations with him were enjoyable. His mind bright and eager. I enjoyed getting to know him, and looked forward to another meeting.

It’s possible we might someday have other friends besides Fuji. It feels unfair that one might be lost before we get to know for sure.

Now Agatha’s body is feeling warmer, her heart beating faster. Most people would likely object to a merger having such visceral emotional bleed, but Elite Agatha simply shifts herself on her bedding, rethreading her fingers together over her stomach.

Do your best to remain calm, Ambassador. She may accept it for now, but that may change.

{Yes, Prime. Should we—}

thehelppyouaskedabout ismentalhealingoneofyourmanygifts?

I continue sending curiosity to Prime, wordlessly this time, and it takes a moment before I get a response. {I do not have much practice with others, but I believe I can help him, if that is your question.}

showmehow

Prime anticipated this, and sends me… an impression of a memory, lacking nearly any details except Survive using the partition to dilute mental corruption into rapidly self-destructing pockets of mental space. I pass it on through the merger with Elite Agatha, whose curiosity burns like a small but warm candle flame.

thatis what?thatused?partitions? canyoushowmeagain moreslowlyplease

I send it again, then again. I watch as she tries to imitate the mental motions, but can’t quite do it quickly enough. It is informative to observe, and I keep expecting Flourish to speak up, but they stay silent.

{You developed this yourself, Survive. Could we teach this to her?}

[I doubt it. She is not willing to be aggressive enough in pruning, but even if she was willing to without an immediate survival threat to motivate her, it seems her abilities simply don’t allow the level of precision and speed needed.]

(Maybe she can’t do it the way we can, but she could be inspired enough to—)

okaythisisbeyondme fornowatleast

The admission comes with some pique, and some admiration. She is wondering just how powerful we are, given the range of incredible psychic abilities we have demonstrated. It makes me wonder as well; what other powers are being left out of my awareness or memory? I expect Flourish to speak up again, but again they do not.

Iwantotmakeacall getyoutoRedsoonaspossible assumingsometrustisbuilt Lookerwillwanttomeetyou guaranteed readyforthat?

{That concerns my second question. Suspicious though you’ve been, you have also been a staunch ally in trying to warn of the risk of the unown god. I wished to warn you that, given recent events, I plan to do whatever is in my power to cease unown research.}

Elite Agatha has gone still, her pulse quickened, her shields back up. I adjust my tone, realizing that even what I’ve said so far has come across as too aggressive.

{You know Champion Lance well. If I were to speak with him directly, how should I prepare? Or do you have other advice, given my goal?}

Prime sends curiosity; this was not the original question or goal. I concentrate on the intuition I felt in the moment, sending it in response, then do my best to translate it into words as well, to make it more clear for both them and myself.

{Coming off too strong may turn Agatha against us; we can’t position ourselves against some portion of the region, including its leadership, at the same time we ask for support or trust from Interpol.}

As Prime considers this, Agatha rises from the bed, cane in hand, and begins pacing around her room.

it’sagoodquestion

wishIhadagoodanswer

Lanceisspookedbysomething somethinghesharedwiththeLeague inconfidence

gethimtshareitwithyou? Stayrespectful hehasanego but alsotakeshisroleasprotectorseriously

She pauses, kneading the spot at her rib again.

Howbadisit wereyouholdingbackbefore?

{No. You know what I know. But you have not experienced what I’ve experienced, and seeing how Rowan could manipulate the unown…}

ShouldwebeworriedaboutWally?

{From what I understand, they were not wild unown. Whatever method he used, perhaps it is safe. But I cannot be sure.}

IwantobetherewhenyoutalktoLance

A quick check with Prime, then, {I’d be honored.}

Goodbecauseitwasn’tasuggestion

---

When Prime forms the mental merger, it’s the physical aspects that strike me first. Tall, lean, strong, no points of stiffness, no lingering pain or discomfort… it’s so different from Fuji’s or Agatha’s that the only real comparison is Red, if Red were given enough years to grow into full adulthood.

“Your message was mysterious enough, Agatha. You don’t need to continue the theatrics.” The Champion’s voice is deep enough that I can feel subtle vibrations through his throat and chest as he speaks.

“They’re here now,” Agatha says, and Lance furrows our/his brow, then looks around at the empty League meeting room. He hasn’t taken a seat yet, and there’s a restless energy in his feet to walk around the table, as if someone will be crouching down just out of sight.

Now that I’m more used to his body, his mind starts to stand out. There are different feelings that come with sharing different patterns and paths of thought; rather than following a mental thread, or being carried along a river of thought, or overlapping different abstract concepts until one overarching picture becomes another, or a dozen other different ways of being, what I feel in Lance is a mental focus that seems to snap between different concrete points, each of which has a hundred branching connections that can be roughly searched before a new point is snapped to.

It is, in truth, a little jarring, and hard to hold onto independent thought through. Despite not being remotely psychic or sensitive, I can see how Lance would create formidable shields when in need, and prepare for the inevitable ones that will appear when he realizes…

{Hello, Champion. I am the one many have been calling The Dreamer.}

The surprise is brief, and the predicted shielding attempts rise within a couple of quickening heartbeats. I defensively withdraw slightly from the merger as his mind focuses like a laser on the straight edge of the table, his hand moving down to slide back and forth along it.

“I would have preferred,” he says after a few moments from within that rigid focus, “A letter.”

{I apologize, but this is urgent.}

“So I gathered. I won’t take it as a hostile act because Elite Agatha apparently endorses this, and I trust her to keep my mind safe.”

“With your permission, Champion.”

“Granted.”

I sense her join the merger, and know anything I attempt now to do with him will be felt and reported by her. {I come to you with a warning, and a desire to understand.}

Champion Lance glances at Agatha, and at her nod, slowly begins to relax his mental focus. He doesn’t entirely lift his attention from the table edge, but some flexibility begins to appear again, his mind jumping from one potential topic to another. “We’ve heard your warning before. Is there something new you have to add?”

{Only that I consider the problem to be getting worse, and will not stand idly by forever.}

Lance folds his arms. “A warning to us, then, not for us.”

{We have the same enemy.} Prime’s original intent felt like an ultimatum, but I believe it’s best to soften the message, prioritize cooperation. {The mad god will continue to encroach on our reality through the unown. Each time it does, its path here becomes clearer, quicker. I believe you care about the safety of Indigo; help me understand why my warnings have not been enough, especially given the incidents at the labs.}

Lance purses his lips. “You saw my press release, I assume.”

{Surely that cannot be all of it? Indigo has the respect of all the most powerful regions of the world. Would no one follow, if you led?}

“In a vacuum, some might. Perhaps our neighbors could form an alliance across the islands. But yes, that is not all of it. There are risks to inaction as well, risks we have not made public.”

{If it’s Rocket, I can offer my abilities. Even if it is not Rocket. Whatever it might be, it cannot be as important as this. If I can help, would it free you to prioritize this threat?}

“Some would say that continuing the research is doing just that.”

{If that were their true goal, they would not prioritize speed as they do. They seek advantage first, for themselves or their regions. Will you deny it?}

“No.”

{Then will you explain what makes it so vital? Is it merely the risk of others gaining advantage?}

“You’re asking for a lot of trust. More than you’ve extended us.”

{I have reasons for secrecy, but I am not committed to it beyond all reason. First help me understand why my warnings have not been enough to ally us already.}

“Champion,” Agatha says. “They are trying, at least, to meet us where we are.”

Irritation flares in Lance, but a comfortable irritation, warm embers rather than hot sparks. The associations that leak through—fondness, exasperation, respect—give flavor to the prolonged look the two share before he sighs.

“Are you from Indigo?”

{Is that important?}

“It is.”

The knowledge just appears, and I dutifully share it. {I was born on Cinnabar Island, and spent most of my life there. I share this because the time of keeping my identity secret may be coming to an end, and I want you to know that I did not lie to you.}

Lance looks at Agatha again, who shrugs.

“They believe it. But they’re doing something I don’t understand with their powers, blocking most of themselves almost entirely from mergers. If anyone besides Red Verres can accomplish perfect deception, I believe it’s the Dreamer.”

“You have verification?”

{None that couldn’t be used to figure out who I am, and it’s not time yet.}

“Then whether I believe it or not, the risk that you’re a foreign spy is too great. If you can prove that you’re not against Indigo, then I might be able to bring you in on what we’re doing and why. Meanwhile, you have my assurance as your Champion that we’re not ignoring the threat posed by the ‘mad god.’ Quite the opposite; the unown research is a vital piece of our plan to keep Indigo safe from legendary pokemon, whether they’re revived from myths, summoned by unown experiments, or wielded by enemy regions.”

Knowledge appears again, a realization this time, wreathed in something… angry? Offended, even. I do my best to moderate it as I ask, {You’re referring to the masterball. You’re planning to use the unown research to help complete its construction.}

Lance looks to Agatha, who shakes her head, then shrugs. The champion begins to focus his attention on the edge of the table again. “If you’re reading my memories—”

Prime is barely paying attention to what Lance says, already sending more and more thoughts and impulses. They want me to call out Lance’s idea as madness; I can feel their indignation, even if I don’t fully understand the source of it, and it’s difficult not to reflexively pass those feelings and sentiments along.

Or should I? Am I misrepresenting Prime’s interests by exercising this much control over the communication?

[No, Ambassador, I think you’re right, not to antagonize the Champion.]

Prime is quick to send reassurance as well, though I can still tell they are upset at the Champion. I take a moment to compose the next message, then merge with Lance more deeply again to say, {My understanding of the masterball is limited, but it seems to me whoever wields it would have a target on their back. If they capture something powerful enough, they could rule their region like a warlord, and neighbors would fear conquest. It seems a destabilizing risk to take, given we do not even know if it will work on the unown god.}

“We will never know until it is too late to build another if we are wrong. Meanwhile, Indigo needs better defenses. Against the Stormbringers, against Rayquaza, against glitchmon. Our regions may never be truly safe, but whatever problems the masterball brings, they are better than having no answer to any of those threats, or worse ones.”

The arguments seem so shortsighted, but I cannot find flaws in them that he has not already dismissed. It feels as though I’m failing, and I do not know why, or how to stop it from happening.

Frustration builds inside me, and I withdraw further from Lance so it doesn’t bleed through. I cannot fail in this, it is too important. Surely if I just understand him well enough, if I just reach the point where I know everything he believes, I can find the argument that would change his mind, the flaw in his reasoning, the presumption in his evidence… I just need to merge fully, to dive deep past his mental defenses…

…but Agatha is there, watching. I would need to work around her, or convince her to look away first… and if I fail, if some unique ability of hers stops us…

[Calm yourself, Ambassador. You’re becoming erratic.]

(Yeah, relax! It’s not the end, we can still figure this out without that!)

I try to listen to my siblings, and feel Prime’s emotions continuing to bleed into me. The others are talking to them as well, trying to get Prime to change their mind… and when the eventual orders come through, they are not to try to sidestep Agatha’s defenses.

I contain my disappointment as best I can, though I know some will bleed through. I judge this natural, given the circumstances, and something Agatha and Lance would understand and forgive. {I see we are at an impasse, for now. I will go, and seek others who might be more willing to act as allies.}

“Dreamer,” Agatha says, speaking aloud for Lance’s benefit. “You offered help, for Red Verres and against Rocket. Will you still, even with this unresolved?”

{For Rocket, I must weigh the risks. They know of me, and could expose me if they choose.}

“We could protect you,” Lance says. “Interpol—”

{—relies on Red Verres, who I will help if I can. Beyond that, my priority must be the unown, and if we cannot be truly allied there, then I cannot split my attention.}

“Understandable,” Agatha says, and sends Lance a quelling impulse against his urge to argue. “But don’t take this too much to heart. The labs might stay up, but there’s still more we can do. Find me again, keep communication open, yeah?”

{As you wish. But as I said, I will not stand idly by forever. I hope the next time we speak, you will be more willing to re-examine the risks of your policy.}

“Maybe I will,” Lance says, voice low. “But in the meantime, if you decide to take matters into your own hands… I would take it as a sign of good faith if you begin your actions elsewhere, first.”

{In general, people are more willing to learn when they feel the consequences of their actions.}

“In general,” Lance agrees, and there’s something in the taught muscles of his sharp smile that feels like a predator’s. “Other times, they end up digging their heels in and drawing battle lines.”

His intent is clear; should I act against the unown labs in Indigo, I would become an enemy in his mind. But if I were to weaken other regions’s capabilities instead, he would see it as a neutral act, perhaps even cooperative.

The thought disgusts Prime, but all I can see is a potential advantage. I know my purpose, and now I see a path.

---

The first step is simple: understand people better. Specifically, understand why they believe what they believe. Understand why they argue. Understand why someone changes their mind, if they do, and why they don’t if they don’t.

People argue everywhere.

In restaurants while having dinner. In their homes after watching a film. In their beds on their computer, typing into their phones.

Every mind, seeing the world through a different lens. Culture, childhood experiences, historical facts, an almost random assortment of news articles or gossip that stuck in their memories, all distilling down into heuristics and expectations they’re often not aware of. Most don’t even realize the subconscious reasons they hold the beliefs they’re arguing for, let alone why others have different ones.

Sometimes, they try. Often they fail. It’s difficult for them to turn their mental eye inward, to feel what their bodies feel and turn them into words, to trace their ideas back to their origins and honestly examine why they believed it, or why they believe it still.

A single night of dipping in and out of dozens of conversations makes something clear; almost everyone who fails to convince their conversation partner of something does so because they did not first sufficiently understand why the other disagreed with them.

They fool themselves otherwise. They convince themselves they know what the other person believed and why. They get frustrated, they blame each other for not being clearer in their communication or their understanding of themselves, even while their own self-awareness often fails.

Many blame emotions. They pit them against “facts and logic,” as if they know the purpose of one or the other, as if they are operating from some higher plane. They don’t stop to check, even if their ideological opponent is arguing from emotion: what is the emotion doing for them? Why that emotion in particular? They don’t stop to check what their facts and logic offer instead.

Others think in moralistic terms. Their opponents are simply greedy or selfish or weak. They benefit too much from the lie to face the truth. They take for granted how self-evident their beliefs should be.

But they don’t even consider how this should be obvious from the outside. They don’t check what their grasp of the truth allows them to do, that those who disagree with them can’t. They don’t even try to make predictions or build things that would prove they have knowledge the other person lacks.

The few exceptions, more than anything, have humility. Humility to accept that they don’t fully understand other people well enough. Humility to ask, to seek to understand why they believe things even if those things seem too bizarre to consider.

And more humility still is needed to show them open to being convinced while trying to convince others. Faking it fails quickly.

We watch people who genuinely believe they understand why others are making a mistake go up to them and talk humbly and passionately how they had made that mistake before, before learning the error of their ways…

But they were still not humble enough. The listeners get irritated, or worse offended, by the presumptions that their errors were identical, that the solutions that worked for one would work for them.

It’s worse online. The internet is full of long, beautifully written, convincing prose on why this group or that believes some false things, all in a way that makes total sense to the writer and their ingroup.

And yet no one from the described groups is convinced. They were never consulted to fact-check the basic things being presumed about their internal experiences, their presuppositions, their evidence, their values… and so the whole article or blog post merely widens the rift between the groups, rather than shrinking it.

It took me so long to see. To realize how blind they are. The enormity of it was too great.

They don’t see the way a belief enters a mind and gets accepted, unchallenged, because it sparks pleasant emotions, like joy, vindication, wonder… or unpleasant ones, like anger, or fear. They don’t understand their own animal responses to these emotions, to spread the information. They don’t realize the way they create memetic fitness for them with subtle changes, highlighting and emphasizing the parts that make them more likely to cause an emotional response and be believed and spread.

They don’t see the way information gets accepted unless there’s already something in their mind to counteract it, some bit of first-hand knowledge or half-remembered trivia that causes them the feeling of doubt or confusion. They scroll their news feeds and accept fact after fact, until they reach one that disagrees with something they believe they know… and rarely think back to the news pieces they accepted.

Worse, nearly all of them think themselves critical and unbiased. They believe their reason unclouded by emotions, instead of seeing how emotions interweave with everything they say and do.

This is the landscape. This is the blind battlefield. And nearly everyone believes they can see.

After a few days, a plan emerges. I tell the others, and Prime agrees to bring us near an unown lab to try it.

The man’s name is Martin. He’s excited to be in charge of the lab, despite what happened last month. He believes they’ll be ready for the next time.

We delve deep into Martin’s mind. We travel with him up and down memories, prodding here and there with a gentle nudge of a new thought, a subtly different emotion.

Over the course of an evening, I can put the pieces together. I see the values, the experiences, the information. He isn’t a true believer in unown research; he’s interested in it, certainly, but his excitement to run the lab came with the associated prestige. A single new discovery is all the lab needs to produce, and he can work on his true passion project: the effects of caloric deficits or abundance in pokemon evolution. He doesn’t even really believe the glitchmon are something that could happen again—it was clearly a one-off new species. The odds of something similar being created here are extremely unlikely.

{There.}

The crux is safety. He turned down jobs before because they were too risky. It’s not hard to find the right memories and emphasize how they paint the world a scarier place, find the reassuring ones and empty them of weight, direct his attention again and again on the lives lost and damage done by the unown until he’s ruminating on it instead of sleeping.

Martin isn’t psychic, but we can still send him the dream. Carefully, avoiding the extremity of our mass projections, not wanting to cause permanent damage… but still resulting in him waking in a cold sweat.

It takes two days before he hands in his resignation.

Well done, Prime said, and I could feel their pride and satisfaction. Another.

It is a good thing, to have a purpose. It is better to be good at it.

Chapter 137: Interlude XXIV – Omens

“Say again, Red, I couldn’t hear you, over.” Looker’s leg bounces beneath the desk, fist white around the base of the microphone as he tries to keep his breathing calm and level. “Red, come in, over!”

He counts fifteen seconds before he presses the button again. “Bill, Red, anyone, come in, over,” then no outlet for the adrenaline, nothing to do with all the fear and anger that’s flooding through him.

The last thing Red transmitted sounded like he said he was okay, but then something about Rowan. If he was okay, though, he’d answer the radio… and he did not sound okay.

Looker already sent Red’s security team to Bill’s, though without the ability to swap their teleporters it would take them hours to get there. He could go himself, get there in half the time…

“Lookr. Cmin.”

Looker’s eyes close. “Bill.” He sounds… drunk. Or dying. “What’s your status? Over.”

“Stats… status is, shit’s fucked. Ov. Over.”

His hand hurts, and he forces his white-knuckle grip around the microphone stand to relax. “Verres?” Don’t say dead. “Over.”

“Breathin’. Twitchin’. Didwa… Hmph. Did. What. I could. Workn on get… getting things back up. Over.”

“You alright?”

“Dunno. Brain feels like spoon spun through it.”

Looker waits, feeling his heart pounding in his throat. “Bill?”

“What? Oh. Over.”

“I’ve already sent agents and medical. What else do you need, over?”

“Need m’fukkin laback… lab back… one minute, need both hands a sec…”

Looker waits, mind racing through contingencies that would have to be enacted if Red is seriously injured, let alone if he dies. He takes a moment to check the other frequencies; the radio console can listen to ten stations at a time, but he’s trying to listen in on anyone out there who’s talking, and he’s found over a dozen different sources coordinating via radio.

He does a full sweep of them to ensure there’s nothing more he can be doing to coordinate defense at the various labs as he waits for Bill to respond, wondering whether the scientist would last long enough for help to arrive…

“Sabrina,” Bill finally says. “Get her here. Need my brain back. Red too. Over.”

Looker’s mouth tightens. He doesn’t trust Sabrina, more so than most in Kanto leadership, but… “I will. Agatha too.” He should have remembered to do that earlier, Red said if something happened to him, psychically, she would be best…

“Good. Great. That’s it, then. Over’n’out.”

“Wait, Bill! What happened to Rowan? Verres mentioned him. Over.”

Silence, long enough that Looker worries Bill might have swapped frequencies as soon as he finished talking, until…

“He’s dead. Gotta go. Over and out.”

Looker still has more questions—how long would it take for the net to come back? Why had Rowan gone to Bill’s lab?—but lets him go. Some muscles along his back relax, and he slowly straightens in his chair, then leans back, letting as much of the tension as he can leak out of the rest of him.

Bill has been incredibly helpful in tracking and countering Rocket. Too helpful, really; Looker doesn’t trust it, coming from a notorious misanthrope who’s relatively free with his money but miserly with his time.

But he thinks he understands the man, to some degree. And if he did what Looker thinks he did, while the enemy was disabled by whatever damage he sustained battling Red…

Well, nice as it would have been to question Rowan, Looker understands. Bill isn’t dark, and with help hours away, the risk that the psychic madman would recover while Verres was still down was too great. Or maybe he’s wrong, and Rowan did die from his battle with Red.

Either way, he hopes Verres doesn’t take it too hard… assuming he recovers in the first place, and with his mind intact.

Looker lets out a breath, then checks the radio frequencies again before clipping one tuned to Bill’s frequency to his belt. He gets up and jogs to the cubicles. “Alain.”

“Here, Boss.”

“Draft something for Mei and Sue, send it out as soon as the net’s up again. I want them on double-duty standby as soon as they’re back.”

“Yessir, on it.”

Looker crosses the item off his mental list. Both agents are roughly Red’s height and build, and can pass as him if wearing his uniform and helmet. The next concern is…

Perry is already standing and looking expectantly at him, having heard the order to Alain and deduced he’d be needed too.

“Start working on a narrative for today that downplays Red’s involvement.”

“Effort, or impact?”

“Impact. He went to a number of places, word will get out. More heroics to put to his name is fine. What we need is a simple and boring answer for how he ends the day.” Fuck, it’s not even lunch time yet… “Once the story breaks, it’s going to get full coverage, and the fewer interview requests we have to deflect, the better.”

“Got it. Witnesses?”

“Just Bill, and he’ll keep quiet.”

“Makes it a bit easier, but what about his friends?”

“I’ll deal with them.” And his mother… Shit, his headache is coming back. “Eventually. For now, we focus on getting as many people safely through today.” He heads back to the radio station. “It’s going to be a long one.”

---

He swims upstream against a raging river of memories, struggling to tell which are his, to tell who he even is. Contradictions batter him from every direction, rapids that threaten to drown him in meaningless noise, smash him against stones of confusion… and at the end, a roaring drop into oblivion.

…[name]… [NAME]!…

He tries to answer, and feels himself thrash harder instead, gasping for air(?) as more memories sweep through him, glimpses of bright days and dark nights, lit offices and dark labs, of blood and eyes and trees and colors—

…calm… rest… calm…

The voice is familiar, but names are impossible to hold onto and faces blur into each other. It’s all he can do to grasp for his own, to feel it trembling in his grip as he swims, tantalizing the tip of his tongue as he tries to speak…

“He’s biting his tongue!”

“Sedation, 10 millilitre.”

The hospital room feels too bright as Jason withdraws his mind from Red’s and opens his eyes, just in time to see the nurse carefully spraying his friend’s nose with a mild sedative. It takes a couple breaths for Red’s face to relax, and the nurse wipes the remaining liquid from around his lips, then dries the sheen of sweat from the rest of his face.

Jason’s heart is pounding from the shared experience of the merger, and he closes his eyes as he breathes deep. His fingers rotate the beads around his neck, each engraved symbol helping him shift from one mental state to the next. Once he feels calm again, he opens his eyes and finds the others in the room watching him expectantly; Dr. Zhang, a nurse, and Laura (whose expectation is mixed with anxiety and fear that he’s shielding against quite hard, out of both politeness and self defense).

“No major changes,” he says, heart sinking into his stomach. “I’m sorry. Consciousness still means overwhelm. Slowly but surely.”

Beside Laura is Dr. Zhang, who immediately agreed to help with Red’s treatment when Interpol asked for whoever has the most familiarity with him. He looks at Red’s vitals with a mild frown, then makes some notes.

“The peak was a little lower, a little slower,” he says as he writes. “Three seconds, but it’s still something.”

“Three seconds,” Laura murmurs, one hand around Red’s where it rests on his chest. “That’s… good, right? Better?”

“Possibly.” Dr. Zhang stops writing and massages his temple, then seems to become self-conscious about it and drops his hand with a sigh. “From thirty seconds to nearly a minute could be a form of very slow progress. It’s also possible some form of degradation is taking place, and the slowdown is a symptom of broader failures.”

Everyone turns back toward Jason, who shifts in his seat and tries to recall what he experienced in the merger. “It’s… not clearly worse, since yesterday. He’s still in there, still responsive. He gets close to remembering himself, but—”

a flash of the raging memories, the grinding roar of sights and noise and sensations, a roar that almost seems sentient, hungry

Jason’s fingers move three beads over, reflexively finding the pattern that tilts his mind into a pattern of sharp contrasts. Suddenly all the temperature differences throughout his body feel more stark, his fingertips and nose freezing while his chest burns, but the flashback dissipates, and a moment later he lets out a breath he’d sucked in earlier.

Red would probably ask him why that particular mental motion worked to get him through that particular mental state, and Jason might have tried to explain the illegible intuitions that connect sharpness and polarity as antitheses to chaos. Red might get a thoughtful look on his face, and nod, then argue that something like weight or grounding would make more sense to him, and Jason would admit that this makes sense to him too, but isn’t how it works, for his mind at least.

The whole conversation flashes by in a matter of seconds, almost like Jason has a tulpa of Red himself. But it’s just a detailed mental model, one borne from hundreds of conversations over the past year, and it makes his heart ache and flutter with fear that they’re losing his friend.

That he’s losing him. Unable to help him. Powerless.

“But,” he finally continues. “I can’t say for sure he is not being harmed, in the meantime.”

Laura closes her eyes, turning back toward Red and stroking his hair with her free hand. “Harmed how?”

“It’s unclear. The taint has subsided again after Elite Agatha’s visit, but there is still some, and I can only make marginal progress myself.”

They work by rotation, never more than six hours at a time. Agatha claimed seven slots throughout the upcoming week as her limit, one per same day. Jason was assigned three, and the look Agatha gave him when she did so dissuaded him from asking for more. The rest of the week, Dr. Zhang is assisted by other mediums who can help Red integrate the flood of memories and regain some sense of order in his mind; Sabrina is the only psychic that is familiar enough with Red’s mind and has learned enough from Jason to be helpful.

The first two days after the attacks, Jason believed Red would awaken when his partitions reformed and healed. But now four have passed, and they still haven’t regenerated the way they did after Lavender. It’s too soon to believe they’ve broken permanently, not while there’s still the alien influence seeping through his mind, but in the meantime Red is finally processing everything that was behind the hundreds of partitions he made, large and small, to use his special abilities. It’s Dr. Zhang’s belief that this would take anywhere between weeks to months of slow integration through day to day life for most people, even without the added damage from his battle with Rowan; whether the current process will end up slower or faster is anyone’s guess.

Jason can only hope that the level of suffering Red is enduring points to “faster.” The doctors are confident that he’s not enduring any lasting physical damage from his condition so far, but even world experts in mental health, the psychic ones flown into Kanto specifically to collaborate, have few examples to compare with, and none directly similar.

From what Jason knows, Interpol—or specifically, Looker—is doing everything in his power to improve Red’s chances. He’s grateful for that, but given what’s waiting for Red when he recovers, and the expectations that will continue to be put on him… expectations that led to this…

Part of him worries he’s just preparing Red for more pain. Healing him so he can endure more injury.

“I know you’re doing the best you can,” Laura says, voice low. She’s still stroking Red’s hair, gaze never straying far from his face for long. “Thank you, Jason.”

He bows his head, throat closing briefly as water builds behind his eyes. He wishes, uselessly, that he could at least know if the work he did with Red weeks ago, their preparation for his facing Rowan, bore fruit. To know if it at least helped minimize this damage… or if it made things worse.

“He would do the same for me,” is all Jason says.

Laura’s hand squeezes Red’s again, briefly, and then she turns back to Dr. Zhang. “You’ll try again today?”

“In a few hours. I want to give him some time to rest, and Jason some more time to work.”

Laura nods and rises. “I’m going to try to nap. If Leaf comes by, tell her to wake me, would you?”

“Of course,” Jason says, then rises as well. It was a bit uncomfortable, the first time she’d hugged him, but not unwelcome, and after she does so again and leaves, he takes her seat beside Red’s head, watching his face.

“Should we delay his lunch?” the nurse asks.

“No, let’s stick to the schedule,” Dr. Zhang says, running a hand through his hair. His demeanor has changed, after Laura left—some of the professionalism has relaxed, his own tiredness and worry filling the gaps left. He turns to Jason. “I have another consult call, but message if you need me.”

“I will, thank you, Doctor.” It’s strange seeing Dr. Zhang so often and in such a different context, after only a handful of professional, private meetings at his office in the school over the past few years.

Dr. Zhang leaves, and then it’s just Jason, Red, and the nurse. She moves efficiently around the room, checking Red’s vitals and documenting a request the doctor made for another brain scan. She’s always been here when Jason was, and he wonders if it’s coincidence or if she’s the only nurse Looker trusts with Red. She’s not Kantonian, so it’s possible she works for interpol directly, but surely there must be others that take turns on shift…

He shakes himself, refocusing on the unpleasant task ahead. The distortion in Red’s thoughts isn’t fundamentally different from the kind that often lingers from too much surreality exposure. The difference is the… flavor.

Each type of Ghost pokemon Jason has ever encountered affects the senses in a way that’s unique to their species. Not just the usual things people consider part of their sensorium, or even the psychic ones; encountering a new Ghost for the first time can make someone aware of senses they didn’t realize they had, or distinguish parts of senses that seemed intrinsically linked, like the ability to perceive color and light. When Jason first merged with a drifloon, he began to smell height, and would feel unbalanced by the scent of grass, vertigo from things that smelled acidic.

But what Red is experiencing is more than just synesthesia, or even a compounding of multiple such sensory issues. Along with the flood of memories and identities, there’s something… cannibalistic in the interactions.

Jason takes a breath and grounds himself, then merges with Red again. It’s easier when he’s in a deep sleep; his mind isn’t as active, which means there are fewer sensations and thoughts and feelings crashing into each other at once. Jason shares the brief memory of home Red is dreaming of, a semi-loop of him looking over the clothes he’d take with him on his journey. He has many of these, of course, memories of lying in bed reading books or writing in his journal or pacing as he chats with Blue by phone, a set of impressions he often used to teleport to a location that wasn’t actually his home. Jason could either stabilize the memory, make it more permanent by connecting it to others, or cut those connections and let it fade.

Connecting it to others is risky, as unpredictable things have happened even beyond what normally might when doing something like this. And it’s not a vital memory so Jason does what he can to gently cut it loose, let it fade, let the pattern of neurons change and get repurposed for different things…

…only for the memory to get “eaten” by another, a glimpse of flying over some forest. Jason doesn’t know if it’s Red’s memory or one of Rowan’s, but as it merges with the glimpse of home the whole landscape changes: trees become cascading tiles of hardwood with carpet leaves, a celestial lamp hangs where the sun should be, and the horizon gets covered with wallpaper that stretches up to the sky.

The emotional signals of both memories start to blend as well, and Jason has to be more forceful to keep Red from getting, however marginally, a sense that the forest is his home, or something even more bizarre, like a lingering longing for an alien world… but before he can finish, that combined memory gets absorbed into another one, just the sensation of a deep belly laugh, of laughing so hard his/Red’s/Rowan’s stomach hurt, and Jason quickly pulls out of the merger before that combination leads to something even more bizarre.

He sits with his own mind for a moment, altering between different states to ensure he’s calibrated to his own body and memories and moods, free of any taint. Afterward he shifts into a mental state of detached observation to every detail of the moment, of infinite smallness and vastness contained as one experience, and projects that to Red as strongly as he can.

He senses it when the fused memories break apart, then dissolve into the general flow of Red’s unconscious mind. He hopes that laughter wasn’t part of a core memory, that it was one of Rowan’s that bled into Red… but either way, he’s fairly sure he did a bit of good, purged a bit of the taint.

Most importantly, he hopes he modeled the proper response well enough that Red’s subconscious is doing what he always does; learning how to steal the mindset and use it himself.

Jason finally opens his eyes and is surprised to see that the quality of the sunlight has shifted slightly. He’s also surprised that the nurse is watching him, and is about to speak when she asks, “That seemed like a pretty intense one. Can I get you anything?”

He shakes his head reflexively before pausing to consider. “Some juice, if there’s any?”

“Of course.” She goes to the small fridge in the corner, brings him a colorful pouch with a straw to poke through it. “I can get a different flavor, if you’d like.”

“No, this is good.” He takes a moment to pierce the plastic and start drinking, the flood of cool sweetness making him feel marginally more alert and present. “Thank you… Marin, was it?”

“Yes. And it’s no problem.” She smiles. “We’re both here to help him get better. That makes us colleagues.”

He smiles back. “I hadn’t considered that. Beside Dr. Zhang, I feel out of my depth.”

“But you’re healing him, aren’t you? In a way Dr. Zhang can’t?”

“That’s… not an inaccurate way to put it, I suppose. It’s more that I know how to help Red’s mind deal with the things that would damage it. I can help him heal himself better, so to speak. But my training was not on the precise parameters of what a ‘healthy’ brain looks or feels like. I can’t read Red’s overall mental health the way the doctor can, and don’t know if I could recognize all the ways things that just seem like parts of his psychology are early signs of a growing problem.” He drinks more juice, then realizes he’s finished it. Marin is already getting him another. “Thank you, again.”

“You’re welcome.” She sits on the chair beside Red’s bed and picks up a tablet from the table beside her. “I think I get the distinction you’re making, but it sounds like you’re downplaying what you’re doing. I know psychic doctors take on some risk, when their patient has interacted with ghosts, and I expect what you’re doing is even more fraught. If you need anything, at any time, please let me know.”

“I will. Are you… the only nurse attending to him?”

“No, we’re on a rotation. But it is mostly me, yeah.” She smiles. “I get by with less rest than most.”

“Well, I appreciate the assistance.” He hesitates a moment, thinking of what she said about being colleagues. He aspired to be a healer, of a sort, but never imagined working in a hospital. There were too many other identities that coincided with the concept, for him; an explorer of minds that can see clearly what others cannot. A student and emissary to the unknown, guiding the curious or alien to a place of mutual understanding.

But his concept of a medium feels out of place, here. The interpol medical quarters are especially sterile, with its plain white tiles and white walls. A few potted plants and the wide window with its mountain view are the only concessions to any sort of aesthetics, while the rest of it makes him feel somewhat dead inside, and he wonders if Marin feels anything like it. “If I may ask…”

“Yes?”

“Do you mind music, while you work? I didn’t bring earphones.”

“Depends on the music, but I think I can tune out anything I don’t like.”

“And… incense?”

“Oh, that’s not allowed here… unless it would be helpful for him? Or you?”

“Both, I believe.” Jason smiles apologetically. “I was taught that our environment is an integral part of our mindset. That we can turn inward or shrink our attention to exclude it, but that openness and integration are easier, and provide more energy.”

She starts tapping at her tablet. “I’ll let the doctor know about the incense. You can go ahead with the music, in the meantime.”

“Thank you.” He takes his phone out and finds a particular playlist, then starts the music. The first slow, stringed notes that play almost immediately shift his mental state and he sinks into the soothing sounds, letting his mindset shift more into the identity he was contemplating earlier.

Healer… Explorer… Student… Guide…

After a minute he merges with Red again, fingers gently clasped around his friend’s.

---

Professor Oak’s first press event after the destruction of the lab is bigger than any Pallet Town has seen, aside from when the lab was first built. All the hotels fill up quickly, though a lot of the journalists elect to just stay in Viridian and drive over in the afternoon. A podium is placed right between the sign welcoming people to the lab’s courtyard and the ruins of the building itself; the sign is untouched save for a wedge of twisted metal that was propelled into it hard enough to split the L in Welcome in two. Zoey wonders if the Professor ordered it left there for the visual effect, already predicting that there would be cameras here eventually.

There were journalists here before, of course; a small contingent of media who collaborated with the lab and Zoey was the first.

It took nearly 36 hours after the net first went down throughout Kanto for it to start up again, and it was a piecemeal process that took another few days before the last town was reconnected.

That town was Pallet, something that was only noticed by a few people after the fact. Zoey sensed a story and started looking into it immediately, knowing it was what she had been waiting for; every journalist and blogger would be talking about the unown going wild around the world, and some sharper ones she knew would be investigating what caused the net to go down, but she had a hunch there was something more. A deeper story beneath the obvious ones, not a conspiracy (though she didn’t rule that out), but a thread that went somewhere… darker.

That’s what her job often feels like; looking around, seeing strings tucked into corners or hidden in the things people say… or carefully don’t say. Tugging on those strings, seeing if they’re worth following. Maybe finding something mildly embarrassing or understandably private, but hopefully discovering something worth spreading publicly. Corruption, racketeering, maybe a personal scandal, if it informs trustworthiness.

Most are just a hunch, of course. Maybe the infrastructure around Pallet was just damaged worse than elsewhere. But she knew the hunch paid off within a day of arriving; the town was in a sort of quasi-lockdown, all pokedexes and PCs being checked for signs of some sort of contaminant. She poked around, of course, but all they would say is that something went wrong at Pallet Labs because of the pokedex servers.

People who had actually been there were keeping their silence, which only convinced her more that there was something interesting about the shocking destruction of the lab. Something beyond them having been doing unown research in secret.

So she started drafting an article with most of the core details missing, an article she knew might never get finished, either because the secret being kept turned out to be nothing, or because she just never gets to the bottom of it. The leaders of various unown labs have avoided speaking to the press directly, simply stating that investigations into the nature of the unown phenomenon were still ongoing, or some variation of that. The net has all sorts of ideas floating around about whether the unown incident was sufficient explanation for the Kanto Blackout (as other regions were calling it) or if there was something more going on (Rocket was, of course, everyone’s first guess, but if Kanto was trying to save face by denying that Rocket did such damage to its infrastructure, it would be easy for Rocket to claim credit, and they haven’t).

When Professor Oak finally announced a press conference to share what they knew… well, people were ready to listen to someone with authority.

Which is why Zoey had stayed in the first place, aside from some trips to visit various labs that were affected. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that the blackout happened in the one region where Rocket is known to be operating. Maybe the truth lies in a different pairing of evidence.

The crowd is large, with reporters from every major news station in the region, most of the ones from Johto, and twice again the same number from the combined presence of those from other regions. Zoey knows almost everyone here except a handful of people from far-off regions, and smiles as she sees her ex in the crowd, then sidles in the opposite direction so she doesn’t spot her back just yet. She’s going to want to say hi and catch up, but not until after.

Instead she studies the ruins of Pallet Lab while the reporters around her continue to chatter. The various camera crews are getting plenty of footage, some of it live, some recording so they have something visual to show anyone who might get bored of just watching the Professor talk, whenever he shows up.

No, probably not just to avoid people getting bored. In this case, the visual would add some powerful emphasis.

The skeleton of the structure is still there, though with some bones bent, broken, or missing. The rubble of the ceiling and walls are all most people could make out in the photos that initially shocked the region, but they’ve since been cleared away and cleaned up. Zoey knows the rest of it isn’t salvageable, and a full renovation will be done before they start rebuilding, but in this halfway state, with scorch marks all around the frame that used to hold up the beautiful glass front of the building, the sense of tragedy is stark.

Zoey isn’t immune to that feeling. Professor Oak had been the star pride of Kanto when she was growing up, and while he’s always been a grandstander, she’s never heard anything in her many conversations with people over the years to indicate that he had some less savory personality under his public one. He has his detractors, like anyone with power or status. But none are personal. Pallet Labs, and the pokedex system Oak and Sonezaki pioneered for collective, citizen-research, is one of those things Kantonians could all genuinely be proud of, given how many of them were or knew a trainer somewhere who could claim to have contributed. For many it’s a symbol of their journeys, the name stamped in the corner of their younger self’s most prized possession.

They’ll rebuild it, no doubt. But it’s being treated as a bad omen, and Zoey understands why.

The random chatter around Zoey hushes, and she turns to see the van approaching from town. It parks near the podium, and Professor Oak steps out first, followed by Drs. Gao, Madi, Siles, and Hato flanking him. Conspicuously missing is Dr. Amara, who was killed in the incident. When the arrivals line up to flank the Professor, they keep a gap between Madi and Siles.

The group is somber, and dress in black beneath their white coats. The Professor nods to a few people in the crowd, then steps up to the podium and its mic, turning it on before leaning against his folded arms.

Every camera is pointed at him, now, and a few of the people who were filming the remains of the lab are just finishing up their switch to a stationary setup. The Professor waits for them, seeming unperturbed, and then clears his throat. Zoey is close enough to see how tired he looks, and her hand scribbles rapidly on her notepad to catch each phrase that comes to mind for later.

“Good afternoon. Thank you all for coming. I know you all have questions. I’ll take them at the end.

“My first statement is about what we lost.

“My second statement is about what happened all around Kanto, and beyond, eleven days ago.

“My third statement is about what happens next.”

“The total dead from the unown incident is only numbered in the hundreds. 244, to be exact. I say only because we’ve all heard worse. Many of us have *lived* through worse. But I don’t want us to be so numb to the true impact of this number. Here at Pallet, we lost nine of the brightest, most creative, most kind people I’ve ever had the privilege of working with…”

The names wash over Zoey, some only vaguely familiar. Science wasn’t her field, and she didn’t follow or cover Pallet Labs unless there was some political angle. Professor Oak mentions something personal about each of the dead staff members, and Zoey is surprised to learn that one of the ranchers was killed as well. The monsters had been closer to escaping containment than she thought.

“…and finally, Dr. Amara Singh, our head of informatics. Amara was a friend from my early life, one of the few who wasn’t a trainer herself. She’s someone who shined bright from across the world, who I invited here to join in the exciting progress I had planned for Kanto. She worked closely with Bill and I on the pokedex system, and worked every day on new advances, new efficiencies. She loved things that grew, ensuring there was a plant in every room of the lab. She made this region her home, and is survived by her husband, two children, three grandchildren. I will miss her dearly, as will the rest of the lab and town.”

Professor Oak pauses, letting the silence breathe. It goes on for longer than Zoey expected, and she watches Oak for any signs of emotionality. His gaze has dropped to the podium, but he has no notes that she can see.

The professor finally looks up and says, “Last of course, there’s the lab.” Another pause, again for longer than Zoey expected. He doesn’t turn to look at the remains, even as a few people with cameras swivel to take it in. Most of the cameras have turned back to him by the time he finally speaks again. “I’ve only recently begun talks with our insurance and funders to determine specifics, but I am confident that one way or another, we will rebuild it. As a structure, as a place for experimentation and learning, Pallet Labs will return.”

Check into insurance. Probably not a huge story, but a potentially interesting one. If they determine that Professor Oak choosing to destroy the lab himself, even for some greater good, violates the policy… well, confidence notwithstanding, she doubts the lab’s funders would be happy about that. She wonders how much of Oak’s own minor fortune he’d be willing to tap into; from what she remembers, he donates to a number of scientific endeavors, but never ones he’s involved in. He also tried hard to ensure that the lab wasn’t funded by just one or two people, to avoid being the appearance (or reality) of being beholden to anyone… even his friends, like Bill Sonezaki.

“But I wanted to take a moment to emphasize that the lab was more than a building. We can replace the building, and the knowledge it contained. We have offsite backups for eventualities as unlikely as this, and whatever wasn’t backed up… well, the great thing about truth is that you can’t lose it forever. If you discover something real about reality, you can always rediscover it… or someone else can. But the incident still interrupted dozens of current, important research projects, some involving pokemon that took months or years to raise and train. Those are months and years that all of us will have to live without knowledge that might just be a curiosity… or might save someone’s life.” His gaze sweeps the crowd. “That loss matters. It’s not abstract. In a finite system, which all our lives are, you only get to exist at the same time as a certain amount of new discoveries, and for all of us, not just here in Kanto but around the world, that number has gone down.”

Emphasizing value of his work, Zoey notes. She might not make a thing out of it—she even agrees with him. But she would be surprised if the funders were happy to write a blank check to rebuild the lab, either… not unless he’s going to announce that they’ve found a way to ensure there’s no repeat risk of all this happening again. Speaking of which, he should be transitioning right about n—

“Which brings us to what caused all these losses, as best I understand it.” Bingo. The professor’s tone has shifted to a more straightforward, just-the-facts recitation, losing most of the emotion it contained before. Even given that, he holds everyone’s attention with his obvious, continued presence, the hard to quantify “aliveness” he brings to what’s, admittedly, a captivating topic even on repeat. “Wild unown were corralled and contained within various research labs for study of spontaneous biogenesis. Having never shown any hostility, this was deemed acceptably safe by the League. It was believed that even if unown began to demonstrate the ability to create pokemon, a controlled environment, constant monitoring, and defensive measures would be enough to contain them.

“This was, obviously, false, but for unexpected reasons. Months ago, a psychic by the name of Rowan Dunkirk went searching for wild unown after receiving the dream warning of some alien, malevolent being using the unown for some goal that, approximately stated, would result in our world’s destruction. My understanding is that when Leader Sabrina released the video asking for assistance from anyone who might help locating him, it was only known that he was not in his right mind, and had made vague threats, possibly warnings, of this coming calamity.

“It is believed now by Leader Sabrina and others who helped find and stop Rowan that he played some part in priming the unown in various labs for antagonism. This is still speculative, as Rowan was killed before he could be questioned and there are no witnesses that place him at any of the labs when the unown began acting aberrantly. There are, however, a number of pieces of evidence that someone tampered with the memories and security footage at various labs, including those here in Kanto.

“All this would have resulted in many lost lives and destruction on its own. What took everyone by surprise was the introduction of the so-called ‘glitchmon.’ It’s an apt name; these monsters cannot currently be safely contained within pokeball tech, and can corrupt any device that attempts to store its information. Unlike similar digitally originated pokemon, like the porygon prototype, they appear to remain active and agentic as simple information, and take energy and physical form from whatever device contains that information, along with other objects nearby.

“This ability to corrupt objects and travel digitally is why Bill Sonezaki used an emergency measure that he had permission from the government to use for just such a circumstance.”

Zoey raises a brow. The reporters around her are too professional to murmur amongst themselves mid-interview, but she catches plenty of exchanged looks. Sonezaki did that? Unilaterally? Even given government permission? Responsibility? It would have been a hell of a story. The fact that he had this ability in secret for months or years makes her itch to get to work on digging into the original story that led to him having that decision.

“It is also why I was forced to destroy our lab,” Professor Oak continues, not giving them time to absorb that particular shock. “It became clear we could not contain the glitchmon that had taken residence in the pokedex servers after a researcher at Cinnabar caught one of the glitchmon and attempted to scan it. He died shortly after.”

She jots down a quick Cinnabar glitchmon name? Surely the family has been informed by now. The list of those killed in Cinnabar isn’t public, but it’s not hard to find if you look; not mentioning which of them did it is another thread to tug at.

“Even despite my grief and my fear, I admit that a part of me is excited that these things exist.” Professor Oak shrugs. “It’s been my nature for as long as I can remember. When I was young, wonder and awe and a desire to understand drove me throughout my journey. Understanding is the solution to fear. I truly believe that, and it’s why I resisted calls for a moratorium on unown research. Even now, both my inner scientist and my inner warrior take these ‘glitchmon’ as a challenge… but it’s a challenge I don’t believe should be faced the same way we’ve faced it so far, cautious though we believed we were being.

“My final statement, for today, is on the future. Labs around the world were not prepared both for the sudden appearance of wild pokemon and the unown clouds turning hostile. Because it took place so early in the morning, some lost their entire on-duty staff, leaving it up to local trainers, rangers, and gyms to contain the outbreaks. I’m sure that safer protocols can and will be designed for future unown cloud study.

“But that is not where the real danger lies. So far, and luckily, the glitchmon have only appeared in Cinnabar and, due to the pokedex upload, Pallet. But that luck may not hold out, even with Rowan Donkirk’s death. They represent a threat unlike any we’ve faced since the invention of the pokeball, a threat that we are not, currently, prepared for. It is not enough to simply educate everyone in avoiding attempts to capture them, while defending against them through normal battles; we do not yet know if they have to be captured and scanned to spread through the net. We do not know what alternate forms and abilities new ones may possess, which may make them even harder to contain than the ditto. All of which is why I’ve reversed my position on unown studies, and believe there should be a temporary moratorium on live unown research, until we can better ensure the safety of the region, and world beyond.”

There it is. Zoey can already imagine the online commentary that some live-viewers are no doubt typing furiously into forums or blogs. Insistence that he’s too biased by the friends he lost, by the loss of his lab… but the Professor is in an obvious double bind. Either he doesn’t emphasize the personal loss and seems heartless, or does and seems manipulative and biased.

“It is my fervent hope that, if Indigo takes this approach, other regions will follow suit. I know the temptation to pursue new research as well as anyone, and the potential gains from confirmation of unown originated pokemon genesis are massive. But we live in an interconnected world, quite literally, and any region who tempts fate would risk corruption spreading not just through their own region, but others as well. Recklessness here could cripple the greatest force for collective knowledge and coordination our world has known as regions begin silo’ing their networks from each other.”

Threats to silo dexnet from any region doing unown research, Zoey writes. Preapproved by Indigo? They would be pissed by the attempt to influence interregiononal politics, if not…

“The loss of knowledge can be akin to the loss of life and prosperity. Every day a new breakthrough in potion tech is delayed, hundreds may die. We should all take the delay of progress seriously… but we should also not risk everything else for as much speed as possible. We must measure the potential risk as well, risk to people just as real as those relying on progress… and risk to the knowledge they can also help create. Thank you for your time. I’ll now take questions.”

The crowd explodes, hands and voices getting raised over each other. Zoey simply sticks her hand up and patiently waits, then checks what the locals are doing and feels relieved that they’re acting the same. Some speakers try to be fair, some go for those they know will have easy questions, some go for the noisiest, most frantic people hoping to calm them down, and others reward good behavior. She’s hoping Oak is the latter, and the locals aren’t banking on him calling on them just by familiarity.

Her patience is rewarded. First a question about whether Pallet was doing its own unown research, which Oak denies, then a question on the cost of rebuilding, a question about safety measures for the dex, a question on how Oak or others would learn enough to ensure safety from glitchmon (a good question, though the answer is an unsatisfying “That’s yet to be determined.”) until eventually the other reporters start to catch on, but by then Oak has already made eye contact with her, and calls on her next.

“Zoey Palmer, unaffiliated. Thank you for your thoughts today, Professor. My question is, what was Red Verres’s involvement with the incident?”

The Professor stares at her for an extra blink too long. “He assisted with the defense of the lab, as well as Cinnabar’s.”

“That’s all?” she asks before he can call on someone else. “My sources say he was involved from the start, and teleported to warn a nearby ranger outpost shortly after the net went down.”

He’s quick enough to answer, this time. “I believe Bill must have informed Interpol, who sent him to help.”

“Yet he was also at the Cinnabar Lab after the unown started showing the odd behavior that proved to be precursor to their attack. I’ve tried reaching out to their lab’s head, to Mr. Sonezaki, to Interpol, and to Mr. Verres himself for comment so as to create a more thorough timeline, but without success.”

“I haven’t spoken to Red recently,” the professor says, and to his credit he doesn’t add in anything about how he was grieving too much to ask, true thought it might have been, simply turning from her to point to another reporter.

Zoey jots down a few more notes, then pays half attention to the rest of the questions and answers, mind already wondering how she would find Red Verres given he, or Interpol, clearly don’t want him speaking to the press. He hasn’t posted anything online since the incident either, and while he reportedly showed up to help deal with a Tier 2 near Saffron last week, she couldn’t find anyone who spoke to him there.

She hopes he’s not dead. She’d understand if it was being hidden, if he was, and might choose not to publish if it emboldens Rocket… but her extra-private source implied that he was at Cinnabar after the unown began to act strangely but before the attacks started. If there’s some connection between him and Sabrina’s student, Rowan, it might be more than coincidence… and if he caused the unown incident, along with or instead of Rowan, the public deserves to know what Interpol’s anti-Rocket weapon is really capable of.

---

They watch the news together, over meals. There were tense conversations, between, as they discussed what it would all mean. What, if anything, could be done now. Whether the danger is past.

They try to have lighter days as well. Walks through nature, listening to music while playing with the pokemon, playing games. Still, the stresses of society reach them.

Professor Oak’s press conference the previous week heralded waves of panic and wild speculation. The “glitchmon” have become the primary story of the unown incident, not just locally but around the world. It was easy for most people to ignore the threat of the ditto, given they were contained on Cinnabar. But this was global change, potentially a global threat.

Still, the threat has only manifested in Kanto so far. Elsewhere, the unown’s “awakening,” as it was being called, led to some deaths, but also showed their ability to create new pokemon… an ability that many regions were already turning into a reliable method for reviving fossils.

Those who believed the dreams portended doom see this as an acceleration toward the end times, protesting the dangers of such research both in the near-term and far. With the arrival of monsters that (supposedly) can weaponize the pokedex system back against humans, the destruction of the lab that birthed that technology feels more than symbolic. Internet alarmists insist it’s the end of the dex era as everyone awaits some sign that future iterations of the technology will be safer if glitchmon appear again.

Fuji has privately wondered as much himself. Mazda’s preoccupation has been elsewhere. Horror and fear, over the new behavior by the unown. Anger and despair, over the way other regions have not heeded the warnings. Worry, over the fate of the boy.

Fuji doesn’t try to dissuade them from seeking him out again. The danger is obvious, but the sense of obligation is compelling… from both of them, of a sort, if Fuji extends the gratitude he feels toward the boy’s mother. But it’s not his life or freedom that would be at risk, and they don’t necessarily know that Red Verres is hurt. Perhaps there is some other explanation for the boy’s absence from any media since his potential battle.

“You’re sure he faced Rowan?” Fuji asks, when Mazda brings up the desire again.

No, Mazda says. Not sure. But given the scope of what happened…

Fuji nods, and they tune in to the news again that night to listen to Champion Lance announce the results of Indigo’s discussions with foreign regions.

“Despite our best efforts to explain the danger, unown research will continue abroad,” the Champion said. “Given this, Sinnoh has said they would not ban their researchers from further study of pokemon genesis, and Hoenn has indicated that they believe Wally has a solution to the risk of the glitchmon. To maintain our position as one of the world’s leading regions for research, Indigo will lift its moratorium on wild unown study, after proper safety measures are enacted…”

Mazda’s tail lashes, and Fuji feels worry gnaw at his stomach. He reaches to turn off the stream, but Mazda lifts an arm to stop him.

“…including a partnership with Silph Corporation, to accelerate the completion of their Master Ball technology, improved to be capable of rendering even the glitchmon safely contained.”

Fuji feels his stomach clench. He knew the project would continue, that sooner or later the ball would be completed…

You said it was created for me.

Grief and regret, grinding his heart between them. He finishes pausing the stream, blocking off the Champion’s answers to some interregional politics question. “Yes. Not exclusively… they wanted them for the Stormbirds, first. But yes, I understood what the specs they added into it were for. A particular precaution, against particularly strong minds. Against telekinesis. I might have said it truly was meant to cover every circumstance, every eventuality… but given the collaboration between Silph and Giovanni, I think it was meant to be the ultimate backup measure.” He turns to Mazda, whose tail has gone completely still. Rigid. “What will you do?”

Mazda is silent, for a moment… and then rises from their seat, towering over Fuji as they stare at Champion Lance’s image on the monitor.

I have hidden long enough. They did not heed the dreams. They did not learn from the unown. Perhaps… a more direct approach is needed.

Chapter 127: Tests

Blue makes an effort to slow down just before he walks into Cinnabar Gym’s coordination room, taking a breath and doing his best to shed any frustration or anxiety from his body language. There’s a knot in his stomach, a restless, jittery heat in his limbs, but by the time the door closes behind him he feels at least a little more like he’s stepping into a battle arena.

The room is dimly lit so that the various monitors on the walls easily stand out, and so the 3D hologram of Cinnabar Island being projected above the central table is vibrant and crisp. Normally the room would have a mix of gym members and rangers, but other than Chase the rest of the people in the room are “his” crew. Friends who flew or ferried over from all over Kanto, when he put out the call weeks ago. Friends who are relying on him to have a vision, to know what he’s doing, and he pulls those expectations around him like a cloak, reminding himself of all the things he’s done to earn their trust, until he feels even more fully in control and confident.

He raises his hand in greeting when people turn toward him, then wanders from one part of the room to another, listening to each group as they work, as he normally would. Elaine and Marcus are sitting face to face on their computers, while Glen and Maria are searching through the storage PCs. Bretta, Slava, and Sumi are standing with Chase by a trainer roster being displayed on a wall monitor, the latter two mostly listening in as the former debate some of the newer trainers’ merits and weaknesses. By the time Blue makes it to the central table, he feels like enough time has passed that people will take the news more lightly, but still he waits, bringing up the visual overlay of the island that puts the grid over it, then highlights sections by emergency level.

Within a minute the colors update, and he says, “We’ve got problems.”

Elaine looks up from her computer, then stands and comes around to his side of the table, and after a moment Marcus follows her. Glen and Maria walk over from behind him, while Chase and the others turn from the wall.

“Zone D4?” Elaine frowns. “And E3.”

“Back to yellow?” Bretta asks.

“Orange.”

There’s a moment of silence, then Chase sighs. “Figured.” Cinnabar Gym’s Third is still wearing the dirt and stains of a hard battle on his uniform, and he looks even more tired than he sounds. “Heard G5 is also set to shift by the end of the week, if they don’t get that ranger outpost back up. Did they say what would turn D2 red?”

“Another few casualties might.” Blue zooms in on the region in question, a fertile plateau where some farm houses and ranches were set between Ranger outposts… until the whole area got overrun in the initial ditto stampede. “A new ditto outbreak would also do it, according to Mako.”

“He’s a worrier.” Glen taps another part of the table monitor to switch to the trainer roster the others are viewing. “Who can we rotate into the area?”

Blue glances around, trying to get a temperature check of the room. Maria seems grim. Glenn and Bretta, frustrated. Elaine is sad, but clearly focused. Slava and Marcus, disappointed. Sumi… dispirited? He’ll have a talk with her later.

They all look tired.

They’ve worked hard on this over the past few weeks. Lizzy and Alex are with the newer members, going over after-action reports while training Jamil to take over that role, while Maria and Viraj meet with Cadet Wendy and some other local trainers who like to do extra surveys with the rangers.

Together, they’ve built a system. A training program that weaves Cinnabar gym’s facilities, the group scenarios, and live field work side by side with the rangers to help ensure that the trainers here for their badge, most of whom have mainly focused on surviving wilds and battling other trainers, are prepared for… more.

Not just Cinnabar’s reclamation, but true wilderness taming. Expanding the reach of civilization.

But to do that, they’ve needed to both broaden and level up in a number of areas. Which means the team people Blue has gathered to guide them toward that goal needs to level up in a number of ways too.

First, evaluation. What trainers would work well together? What are their skills, and how balanced would the different teams be? They all help out with it, but Bretta, Sumi, and Maria have gravitated toward taking point, with a lot of input from Blue.

Second, scenario design. Elaine has become the main brains for those, working together with Marcus, Glen, and sometimes Bretta, who ran her own scenarios at the gyms she, Slava and Sumi visited if they didn’t already have them.

Third, field missions. Working side by side with rangers gives the trainers a wider range of knowledge, wider skills… and while most don’t translate to better skill in trainer battles, they do strengthen people’s pokemon, and give them opportunities to catch new ones.

Still, they’ve just barely managed to maintain the progress that led to CoRRNet downgrading Cinnabar’s risk profile. Something’s changed, on the island; stronger, higher stage evolutions of wild pokemon are showing up more often, and the stampeding patterns seem to be changing every few days.

Blue attended the ranger meeting at their city headquarters today to suggest the idea that a pokemon with Pressure is riling things up, like the absol in the diglett tunnels. It’s something they had already considered, apparently, but had no practical solution to discovering or dealing with if true. For now they’re just looking into ways to hold the areas they’ve worked so hard to reclaim lately.

Blue feels a resurgence of frustration and worry as he looks over how few strong trainers are left to do extra shifts, then reaches past Elaine to add his name to an extra D2 tour tomorrow. That done, he takes another breath. “I need you guys to tell me straight: how much more of this can you keep doing?”

The room is quiet. Blue turns to Chase, who has a brow raised. “This is your home, so I expect you’ll keep at it as long as you can. But I still want to know how long you think you can keep going at this pace, with your other duties as they are?”

“Blaine’s my Leader,” Chase says, as if that explains everything. “He says stop, give up some parts of the island, that’s what I do. He says keep trying, find a way? Then I go until I drop.”

Blue nods, but it’s not good enough. “Not doubting your commitment. But still, I want to know when you think that’ll be. Two weeks? Three? Can you keep your reflexes sharp enough to survive out there if you go through another month of this?”

Chase turns back toward the roster on the wall. Blue doesn’t fill the silence, and eventually Chase says, “Two more weeks, at least, if I start to get another hour of sleep each night. After that, even with a full nights’ worth, I’ll probably start making bigger mistakes, losing track of stuff, unless I cut down some shifts.”

Blue nods, then turns to Glen, because it has to be Glen next. His friend’s brow is furrowed, mouth set in a hard line. “This is my priority right now. The startup is going okay, new orders are coming in. Selling in Cinnabar has helped let me keep feeling good about both. I’m here.”

“For a month?” Blue tries not to sound like he’s pressing. “Three months?”

“Would you stay that long?” Chase asks, sounding more curious than skeptical.

It’s a fair question, and Blue turns back to him. “You know I’m aiming for the top, and more. If Cinnabar’s going to follow me the way I want all of Indigo to, I can’t leave it like this any more than Blaine could.”

“I’m here,” Glen says again, drawing Blue’s attention back to him. “So long as you are.”

Blue smiles, brief but sincere. “Good to know. Now how long can you keep this pace up?”

Glen’s expression softens, and he glances at Chase before turning back toward the projected island. “I was thinking of cutting down to five shifts a week. Now I feel like I need to stay at seven, but… at this rate, I’ve got a week of charge left, maybe two.”

Blue puts a hand on the older teen’s shoulder and squeezes. One of the many nice things about his growth spurt is he’s nearly as tall as Glen, now. He’s starting to think he might end up even taller. “Start with six. See how it feels.”

He turns to Elaine before Glen can argue. She’s got her arms folded, and the look in her eye reminds him of their talk, back in Fuchsia. When she confessed her feelings for Glen, and her worries that she was losing her edge. And her response to his fear, that he’d get people killed who weren’t ambitious or skilled enough to fight beside him willingly.

“I’m here,” is all she says. “I can go at least another two weeks at this pace.”

Marcus, standing beside her, shrugs a shoulder. “I’m still having fun with the scenarios we’re making, and the wilds getting stronger just means I get stronger too. Ask me again in a month.”

Blue nods, then turns to Maria and says before she can start, “Don’t feel bad if—”

“—two weeks. Then I have to get back to my training with Jason. But I’ll still come by, now and then.” She gives him a slight smile, and it rests easy on her face. “I might feel a little bad, but not as much as if I hadn’t come at all.”

Blue smiles back. “Fair.” Maria’s time with Jason seems to have finished the process of pulling her out of her shell, and made her a lot more… calm is the only word Blue can think of for it. His disappointment over her pausing her journey has been entirely replaced by a confused relief over the clear benefits to her after what happened under the Rocket Casino, and he keeps meaning to talk to Jason about what they’ve been doing in case it’s a skill he could have learned to do for her instead.

He turns to Bretta, Slava, and Sumi. Bretta looks at her two friends, clearly pushing them to answer first, until Slava caves.

“I think I can keep this up for another week. I’m willing to keep going for more, but… I don’t know how much more.”

Sumi runs a hand through her hair. “I’d like to stay as long as we can.” Blue doesn’t miss the way she subtly includes Slava, and possibly Bretta. “But if the island ends up going through cycles… I still have two more badges besides this one. Might take a break to pick them up.”

“I want a path to victory,” Bretta says, blunt as ever. “Even if we gain ground faster than we lose it, we’ll end up stuck if the lost ground gets stronger than we can easily handle. It’s like we’re facing a trainer whose whole team is a setup for a Toxic stall.”

“It’s not that bad,” Chase says with a shrug. “We can secure most of the island, except a handful of areas that only the strongest trainers can deal with. Blaine won’t be happy, but he’s a pragmatist at heart. If he sees it’s no-win, he’ll shift focus to containment.”

Blue shakes his head. He likes Chase, but it’s exactly this kind of thinking that he has to change, even here on Cinnabar where people are used to more “active” defense. “That’s not sustainable if it takes weeks of extra trainer rotations to bring the zones to blue. Anything could happen in that time to put the whole island back in red.”

Bretta nods. “Stormbringer.”

“Second new species outbreak,” Sumi adds.

“Renegade activity.” Glen glances at Blue, who keeps his face neutral.

He gave his friends simple tasks, if they had the free slack, tasks which he sort of regrets given the sudden slew of new difficulties the island faces, and how little they learned.

Glen’s startup has been going well, and it puts him in contact with a growing list of distributors for all the various restaurants, grocers, and supply stores in the region… and on Cinnabar, that list is fairly short. Elaine’s been scouting the island more than anyone else to find good locations for scenarios, which gave her plenty of reasons to check out the different potential places where other hidden labs might be set up. Maria, Lizzy, Bretta, everyone has been making friends, asking questions, trying to get a better sense from the locals of what else might be happening on the island.

The little bits of information shared with each other haven’t amounted to much, which Blue expected, but was still mildly disappointed by. All they had was a rough time range where odd people might have showed up in the city or nearby towns, a general location where weird things might have happened, and a vague idea of what sorts of things might be included.

Even the lab’s discovery hasn’t changed much, other than to raise everyone’s awareness of the potential stakes. Blaine’s arrival made it clear that there was no need to hide things anymore… but at the very least, Blue has kept the secret of what Leaf suspects the lab was for. He doesn’t want to betray people’s confidence, and also it might make him seem a little unhinged if they’re wrong.

But it’s what’s on his mind when he says, “Or another set of myths waking up somewhere and turning the world on its head.”

Bretta nods. “Hell, a big enough stampede could send everyone back to the safety of the city.”

“Alright, alright,” Chase says, and sighs. “Not saying I want that. But most of our trainers aren’t getting strong enough, fast enough, to make a meaningful difference in the zones that are flaring up. We’ve got an absurdly low casualty rate given what we’ve been doing, and you guys can claim some credit for that. It’s a part of why Blaine has been so willing to give you more autonomy. But if more trainers start getting maimed or killed, or even losing too many strong pokemon, we’ll lose even more to caution and worry.”

And Blaine might retract some, or all, of that autonomy. It doesn’t need to be said, and Blue nods to show he’s got the message, feeling some of the anxious churn in his stomach again.

“We’ve still got a quarter of the recruits to organize.” Bretta says. “Once they’re ready to run a scenario—”

“Just run?” Chase asks. “Half the groups from last week couldn’t complete theirs.”

“We need a path to victory, like Bretta said,” Blue cuts in. It’s so clear, in pokemon battles. It’s not always right, but it’s at least there. A series of steps that will force the opponent into a corner, strip their options one by one, until defeat is inevitable. A series of readied reactions for different possibilities, to adapt to the range of things they might do.

But there’s no opponent here, no single mind he’s trying to beat, with limited options on its belt. There’s just… the world. It’s the endless potential of the wilds, of new combinations of enemies showing up at times and places that are hard to predict, and in amounts that are hard to prepare for.

“I want to believe we could do it with the people we have,” Blue says. “That we just need to be more—” He almost says unpredictable. Which wouldn’t make any sense, in this case, but… “Adaptable. Something we haven’t thought of before, something gyms or CoRRNet couldn’t do before. But new options would be good, whatever form they come in.”

“More resources can also lead to new options,” Elaine says.

“Resources are tapped, if you mean money,” Chase says. “Emergency funding worked, as far as Indigo is concerned, and CoRRNet won’t re-escalate our ranking unless things get way worse. Cinnabar’s in debt for the foreseeable future, and the Gym’s only avoiding budget cuts because the League is helping out.”

“Do we know any charitable millionaires willing to offer a bunch of money?” Slava asks. “Maybe even bounty money? We could reach out to some, frame it as a charity thing, or…?”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Glen says, speaking slowly. “But a bunch of professional bounty hunters showing up would definitely create a different vibe.”

“Do we care about vibes?” Chase asks, brow raised. “Because I know Blaine wouldn’t care about vibes, if it makes people safer.”

“It might get trainers already helping out wondering why they’re not getting paid,” Slava says.

Glen crosses his arms. “If they’re as skilled as the professionals, maybe they should.”

“Okay, sidelining that debate for the third time,” Blue says. “Good ideas so far, keep them coming. Something besides money.”

“New outreach,” Elaine says. “We tapped What Comes Next, and there’s a lot of overlap with the others we know, but we could reach out to people directly?”

“Dragon Dojo.” Glen starts ticking off with his fingers. “Stormchasers?”

“Ew,” Sumi says.

“Agreed, but we’re in babble mode,” Blue says. “Just spit the ideas out, we’ll prune down to practical ones later. More suggestions?”

Bretta was studying the roster again, but turns to face them, frowning slightly. “Vermilion Gym? Might seem like poaching…”

The room is quiet for a moment. Blue tries to imagine that conversation, maybe between him and Surge directly, maybe just between Blaine and Surge…. “It’s not bad,” he says slowly. “But also might not be enough. At this point, we’d need, what, another fifty trainers with 3+ badges?”

“At least,” Sumi says. “Closer to seventy, all dedicating a few hours a day for three weeks.”

“Four to be safe,” Slava adds.

Bretta returns to studying the roster. “And yeah, three badges or equivalent would be needed to be extra careful not to risk new casualties. 4 badges would be better, with how absurdly fast the wilds on the island are getting stronger.”

“I’d be surprised if there are that many unattached high level trainers in Kanto that haven’t already come,” Chase says. “Or even all of Indigo. And if we want to attract people from further out, there needs to be a better prize involved, which leads us back to the incentives. If not money, then…?”

“Status?” Blue muses. “If we can hype participation up more…”

“Ditto,” Glen suggests. “People still need to hand over their catches until they’re safe, but maybe we can ensure everyone has a rotation through a ditto heavy area.”

“What about the area where a more stable ecosystem is developing?” Elaine suggests.

“It’s an idea. I’ll talk with Ira and Wendy. As for the earlier idea about rich folk, Red knows Bill, and Silph owes him a favor. Gramps also might have ideas about what’s happening on the island, and what we can do about it.” Blue switches the table setting to view the island hologram again, selecting the routes going through that area. “What about tactics? What sort of terrain are we working in, how can we change that?”

“You want to drain a lake or something?” Chase asks, sounding grudgingly admiring. “Flood some strong wild habitats? Because Blaine might have objections.”

“Babble first,” Elaine reminds him. “Pretty sure CoRRNet would too, but that’s for later.”

“Speaking of which…” Slava hesitates, then clears his throat. “Yeah, terrible idea probably, but uh… what about introducing some new invasive species?”

“Oh yeah,” Chase sighs. “This’ll go well.”

---

“And we’re live, in three… two… Hey Indigo, what’s bad, what’s good, what’s better than yesterday, cuz today I’m here on the island of fiery desire live with a random trainer you may have heard of named Blue Oak, currently acting member of the Cinnabar Gym. Mug for the camera, Blue.”

Blue smiles, a naturally wry expression he turns toward the held up camera for just a couple seconds before returning his gaze to the path they’re climbing. “Hey everyone. Watch your step here, it’s mossy.”

“Mossy, right.” Brightfire has bright blue hair swept up to a twirling point above his head, a cheerful disposition, and dark golden eyes that mark him as a member of one of Indigo’s “Dragon Clans.” To his credit, those gold eyes do sweep over the ground as he takes some careful steps up to the next ridge. The camera set in its swivel-mount atop his shoulder points down to take in the uneven terrain before lifting and turning to take in his profile again, and Blue’s face beyond. “Clan, Blue here says this is the best route to get a good view of what he’s been up to over on Cinnabar. It’s been a bit of a climb, but we’ll be there in…?”

“Few more minutes.”

“A few more minutes! During which, we have time for a few starters. Such as, what made you reach out to little old me? I’m sure all my clanmates who’ve been busy doing cool shit weren’t too busy to hear about that whole Miracle Eye thing, but you haven’t spoken to the press since, despite all the stuff you’ve been doing here, and I’m not exactly a journalist.”

Brightfire (born Bastion, as if that wasn’t already a cool enough name) may not be a journalist, but he’s got a larger online presence than most news sources. Child to a branch of the most famous Indigo Dragon Clan family, he started his journey under the massive shadow of his first cousin twice removed, Indigo Champion Lance. But unlike most in his family (and according to rumors, much to their displeasure), he aborted his gym circuit after his 7th badge, a couple years before Blue left Pallet Town. Instead of going on to challenge his aunt’s gym in Blackthorn, he ended up liveblogging a series of daring and extremely risky pokemon captures.

It exploded his already decently sized following, and the infamy he gained from some online commenters only brought him more. Blue had written him off as an interesting but somewhat dangerous influence, spurring people on to try things they weren’t prepared for to imitate his heroics, or gather some of his fame for themselves…

But the older teen is undeniably skilled, and undeniably inspires trainers to try harder and push their boundaries. Things Blue shares a natural affinity for, even if he’s more interested in reinventing gym cultures than rejecting them entirely.

“I invited you because I think you’d appreciate what we’re doing here,” Blue says, letting his voice carry the frank honesty he feels. “But I also invited you because I want your audience.”

“Uh oh, clan. Have we been duped? Top ten anime betrayals?” Brightfire is smiling. They didn’t rehearse any of this; it’s a point of pride for him to only record things live, and his reputation is built on authenticity. “You’ve got a pretty big following yourself, Oak. If they won’t bite, what makes you think my collection of free spirits will pay the price of admission for whatever you’re selling here?”

Blue feels a spark of heat in his chest. He wants to push back against the idea that his followers aren’t “biting,” but there’s a tangle of traps around claiming the people who follow him are people he can get to do things, comparing them in any way to Brightfire’s following, all while avoiding coming off as defensive if he says he did get plenty of people to come. “No price, and it’s not for me. I won’t even be on Cinnabar much longer, if things go well. But we’re doing something new here, something daring, and something hard. I’ll be pretty surprised if you or your ‘clan’ don’t want a taste.”

“We heard those airquotes, didn’t we, clan? But okay, Oak, we’re here and you’ve got us pegged. Just gotta see if whatever you’re doing is worth my time. The clan can decide for themselves, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Like any of them would do something their idol had spurned… though it might not be all-or-nothing. Brightfire could admit that the endeavor is daring enough, but say he’s not joining because he’s got other plans, and those people who want to be part of it could feel like they have his blessing to come. “How much do you know about what I’ve been up to, exactly?”

“I’ve heard about the wargames you’ve been putting people through at Kanto gyms. I’d say it’s a step in the right direction, but if you know anything about me—”

“Been watching your stuff since I was 9.”

“—you know what I’m going to say next.”

“‘No risk of dying, no point in trying.'” Blue shrugs a shoulder. “It took you far, and led a lot of your clan to greatness.”

“You mean my bio clan, or are you sucking up to the viewers?”

“Both. But there are still god-like, elemental forces wreaking havoc throughout Indigo, and I’d be dumb to call you a coward, but I am wondering when you’re going to go for broke.”

Brightfire grins. “He’s calling us out, clan. You bring me all this way just for that, Oak? What do we say, clan? You go for a dragonite, your belt better be loaded. Glory comes in the fight even if you fail, but fighting hard means fighting smart, and I’m not dumb enough to think I’m ready to beat the Beasts.”

“But you plan to be, someday? Does anyone from your clan plan to be?”

“Hey clan, he’s talking to you. Anyone gonna do something stupid enough to make all of us look like overeager idiots?”

Blue wants to say that’s not answering his question. If anything it’s implying the answer is no, not really, but in a way that makes them look noble and sane rather than afraid or hypocritical. But before he can, Brightfire slows, then grins and speeds up.

He heard it.

They make the rest of the climb quickly, spurred on by the distant shouts and other sounds of battle drifting from afar and echoing faintly around them, until they finally crest the final ridge, where a top down view of a plateau sticking out the side of a nearby mountain is waiting for them.

From this distance, they can just make out a squad of four trainers who are currently engaged against seven “wild” pokemon, their own trainers imitating a stampede that’s upping its pressure little by little, pushing them back toward the edge of the plateau. Brightfire seems at least a little interested, maybe just by how close the defending trainers are from the cliff’s edge. His left thumb and forefinger have sensor rings around them, and small twitches pan the camera on his shoulder left and right, followed by a pinching motion that sends its lens stretching forward.

They watch together as one of the trainers is forced back even further by rock thrown by a graveler. The figures are distant enough that it’s hard to differentiate them, but one of the closer trainers comes to their rescue, only for a fresh stampede wave to force the two of them further back.

“What are they trying to do?” Brightfire asks. “Not just survive, yeah?”

“Why not?” Blue asks, tone light. Obviously baiting.

“Too tame.” Brightfire’s gaze is fixed on the battle, despite his motto, and he detaches the camera from his shoulder, then holds it up to his eye so he can see more clearly. The four trainers are all being forced back again, and some are almost entirely out of room to maneuver. “And pointless. If it’s a real cliff, and they’re supposed to be in the field, they should have teleporters. Non-dark trainers hold them off while darks get on their fliers, then teleport away. Let them stampede off, or fight them somewhere better suited.”

It’s always nice to get reminders of how taken for granted it is, these days, that teleportation should be factored into any group of trainers’ strategy. “And if it’s not?”

“What, like the drop is a crowd of civvies or a hospital or something? And you just have them fight here to make it more intense?” Brightfire’s smiling now. “Still seems too tame. I thought you were doing interesting stuff. Come on, Oak. What’s the trick?”

“I’ll give you hints. One, they are just trying to survive.”

“Lame.”

“And two, it is supposed to be a real cliff.”

Brightfire glances at him, then looks through his camera again. A moment passes before he says, “But there’s a trick. Alright. Clan chat’s probably exploding with guesses, but I’ll figure this out myself.”

Blue nods, and watches as the fourth trainer has finished healing their pokemon, and rejoins the fight. Some of the “stampeding” pokemon get ordered to move toward a path off the plateau, and the recovered trainer rushes to engage them in battle, drawing them back toward the others and joining them in a more robust defense.

Brightfire’s lips purse, and Blue catches him looking up, then around, then down, and knows he got it, even if he doesn’t know the how, yet.

Still, the group has to survive a little longer, and it’s looking bad. A blast of heat from an arcanine sends a pokemon nearly tumbling over the edge, sending Blue’s heart leaping into his throat. It only barely gets returned on time, but the distraction causes the trainer to get forced back once more… and then they turn to leap off the plateau.

“What,” is all Brightfire gets out before the plummeting figure engages their parachute, which blooms above them and slows their descent before they drop too far or fast, letting them glide toward the valley below. “Ha! Okay, clan, that got me, and I bet it got most of you. If all their bags are parachutes… they’re all dark?”

“No, not all.”

“But some won’t have time to mount up before it happens.”

“Before what happens?”

Brightfire just grins. “Whatever ‘it’ is. Hoping some of you figured it out, clan. Assuming they last long enough…”

Nearly thirty seconds of more desperate fighting ensue, and a few of the stampeding pokemon “escape,” being returned to their balls and sent back out. The team training will lose points for each of those, but it’s as Brightfire said. They just have to hold out, and keep the majority of their opponents engaged…

It’s gotten easier since that first badge scenario he watched in Vermilion Gym, but Blue’s heart still pounds as he watches the battle, and he wipes sweaty palms carefully on his pants. He wants this to go well for the sake of convincing Brightfire, but he also wants it to go well because he wants their new strategy to work. They couldn’t exactly practice it, here…

Another trainer looks like they’re moments away from jumping when the CRACK sounds. Brightfire and Blue look up to see two trainers higher up on the mountain, who weren’t in position yet when Brightfire checked. Their summoned rhyperior and onix are hard at work striking at certain parts of a cliff, and another CRACK echoes around them, followed by a third, until the jutting earth finally starts to fall.

The trainers scramble to withdraw their pokemon and summon teleporters, or run for the edge if dark. Blue feels a stirring of awe at the sight of the mountain face just… breaking, melting, tons of rock billowing dust out as it starts to gain momentum, all that earth almost seeming to turn liquid as it rushes the rest of the way toward the plateau the trainers are on…

…but it’s already clear, the last one having just leapt and deployed their parachute as the first of the boulders comes bouncing down ahead of the landslide.

The noise is incredible, an echoing rumble that still manages to be quiet and steady enough that it sounds like a waterfall, but with the occasional echoing crackle of breaking trees or bouncing boulders. Blue’s heart leaps into his throat as a boulder bounces in the direction of one of the trainers, while Brightfire lets out a whoop. It’s not close, really, but Blue still lets out a long breath as the last of them gets far enough to be clear, the line of colorful parachutes floating steadily away. The mountain continues to feed the hungry beast that awakened on its surface, obliterating greenery and ridges far below them all.

The plateau the trainers were on is still standing, but it’s scoured clean, and most of the edge has been cut off as if by a giant knife. It’s a little surreal to be standing in the same place he was a minute ago, and have the world in front of him so drastically transformed. Blue looks up to the trainers who caused it, and sees they’ve withdrawn their pokemon and left.

Brightfire is laughing, and Blue turns toward him with a brow raised. “How close were you?”

“I thought maybe something would appear beneath them.” Brightfire shakes his head, still grinning, and turns the camera around to face him. “What do you say clan? Worth the show? Glad you tuned in?”

“I did promise a good view, at the very least.”

“You did, and delivered.” Brightfire is still chuckling. “CoRRNet really gives you permission for this, Oak?”

“They do. I’m working with them, and the gym, to make sure we’re all pushing toward the same goal, so we can do things we otherwise couldn’t alone.”

“Yeah yeah, message is clear, we got it, don’t we, clan? Stronger together.” Brightfire shrugs. “Impressive as it is, I don’t see how it’s supposed to turn the tide of what’s going on in Cinnabar.”

“It’s just a part of the overall plan.” Blue shrugs back. “Those trainers, they became more prepared to fight in an environment that limited their movement. They faced overwhelming odds in a battle of endurance. And the other team identified an environmental factor they could use to their advantage, and made it work for them within just a few minutes of scouting the area.”

“Assuming this wasn’t scripted.”

Blue just gives him a level look. “I didn’t bring down a chunk of a mountain just to impress you.”

“You did it to impress me and spice up the learning activity?”

Blue smiles slightly. “A bit closer. Like I said, there’s a few different parts to our new overall strategy. Will you stick around a couple days, so I can show you a few more?”

“Any of them as impressive as this?” Brightfire’s brow is raised. “Because I kind of doubt you’ve got something else of that caliber ready, and we already knew you were a showman. If that was your inner crew—”

“Wasn’t,” Blue says. “Veteran group, but all 3 and 4 badgers. My friends were the stampede trainers, not the ones being trained, or the two up top, who were just a couple well suited gym members given free rein to do whatever they expected would work, after setting eyes on the location for the first time.”

“Sure. Point is, if someone from clan gets here expecting to learn to parachute and bring down mountains, how likely are they instead to shovel shit for weeks, or handhold 1 and 2-badgers?”

Blue does his best to control his smile, to show his amusement without letting on to the sudden hope he feels. Brightfire definitely isn’t showing no interest… even if he’s only talking as if it’s about his clan, and not his own odds of staying to join up.

He addresses the camera directly. “That’s up to the trainer. The abilities of everyone here is judged as fairly as we can, so just showing up claiming to be part of ‘clan Brightfire’ isn’t going to give anyone special treatment. But I will say, I plan for this island to be back to where it was before the ditto appeared, and I don’t plan to waste any time—or anyone’s time—on minor shit. We’re going to be doing almost two dozen special ops a week, when the ball gets rolling, and we’re going to need strong trainers doing what they do best… and learning new tricks along the way.”

Brightfire is watching him with a wry look, and when Blue meets those golden eyes, he sees something both predatory and respectful. “I guess I can stick around another day. See just how strong the wilds on this island are, that they’re giving you all so much trouble…”

---

This isn’t how Blue expected to arrive at Viridian Gym.

Final gyms are supposed to be special. To have an extra air of reverence and anticipation. To inspire an extra level of confidence, a knowledge that everyone there would know he’s a step below being qualified to, perhaps, become their boss’s boss, or their boss’s boss’s boss.

But instead of seven badges, he only has six when he walks in to the Gym lobby for the first time.

He also hoped to come at the head of a small army, loyal trainers who were also strong enough to get an eighth badge, whether it was Giovanni’s or not, and would travel through Indigo Plateau with him, until they reached the very top of the League and had a final, intense, glorious battle to see who would be Champion.

But instead he arrives alone. In style, on the back of Soul, but not as impressive as he would otherwise be.

He even wondered if, along the way between arriving and challenging Giovanni, he’d get a sense of the gym culture, find some way to improve or revolutionize it the way he did Vermilion, Fuchsia, Cinnabar, or even Celadon.

Instead Blue just makes his way through the gym without recognizing or connecting with anyone (though he caught the extra stares and excited looks), nor does he even get a sense of the vibe… which is, as far as he can tell, just that of a standard, competent gym that has no apparent theme beyond the earth tones and geode displays lining the halls.

He enters an elevator, walks down more halls, and arrives at Giovanni’s office. A black marble door set in the stone walls meets his fist as he knocks.

“Come in.”

Blue does, and a moment later he’s sitting in the office of one of the most powerful trainers in Indigo, a room that encapsulates the cold, implacable power and authority of the earth, with mosaic walls of polished black and brown stones, geodes of various colors tastefully set in sconces by each corner, and a black stone desk shot through with veins of gold.

“Good morning, Trainer Oak.” Giovanni is wearing his usual dark suit, matching the stone of the walls and desk.

“Morning, Leader. Thanks for inviting me.” He would have preferred an online exchange, but upon hearing what the topic would be, Giovanni said an in-person chat would go better, and Blue is not the sort of person to turn down an advantage in any situation where he might need to persuade someone.

All of Erika’s lessons are on his mind as he meets the powerful Leader’s gaze, a distant part of him still capable of fanboying over the youngest champion in Indigo history. “As the nearest gym to Cinnabar, I’d like to suggest—”

“I agree. My gym will reach out to Leader Blaine today, and negotiate logistics.” Giovanni’s smile is small, but feels almost mischievous as Blue blinks at him. “I’m sorry, did you want to go through your pitch in full, first?”

“No, Leader,” Blue says, and the surge of relief as it sinks in that he won is mildly dizzying. Combined with the “Brightfire clan” arrivals, which started less than twenty-four hours after the livestream and within the past few days have totaled nearly a dozen new trainers, Viridian Gym members would provide a much stronger backbone to their roster. “Thank you for your help.”

But hang on, why did he invite him here, if—

“It’s nothing. I’d additionally like you to know that should you want to challenge me, the arena is ready at any time. A few basic battles with my gym members, to observe the formalities, one thrilling match between us that you can add to your legacy highlights, and the Viridian badge will be yours.”

Blue stares at Leader Giovanni, so surprised now that he can’t help but feel wary. Is he being toyed with? Why would Giovanni offer this? Did Blaine mention that he wanted to save Giovanni for last? “At what cost?”

Giovanni spreads his hands, and leans back slightly in his chair. “No cost, Blue Oak. You’ve made your intention to become Champion clear. I approve. Your skills as a trainer and as a leader are still growing, but you already command more loyalty than you know. You also wish to do so quickly, allowing for the occasional undertaken project. I believe you could beat me if given a chance, or two. Three at absolute most. Do you disagree?”

Blue relaxes slightly, hearing it spelled out so clearly. He feels like he’s speaking to Erika, in a way, appreciating the directness and honesty, but… more than that, there’s something warming, something empowering, about hearing the Viridian Gym Leader say he approves of Blue aiming to become Champion. “No, Leader.”

“Good. So why pretend that you’re like any other trainer? The things you’ve done and seen elevate you above the usual 6 badges you carry. Some of your companions may warrant a similar fast tracking, but they can arrive in their own time.”

It’s all so gratifying, and so still there’s the nagging voice of doubt… “Do you plan to throw the match?”

“Would you say yes, if I did?”

And maybe that’s it. Maybe this is the real test.

Should he? Would he be able to live with his legacy? Like Giovanni said, Blue knows he’d be able to beat him sooner or later… and he’d get the near-perfect record. Something that might make all the difference, when the time comes to rally the region behind him.

There’s no way for Giovanni to know if his answer is truthful. Maybe he’s delayed too long already.

He almost says yes. It’s the practical thing to do, and sitting here, in the Leader’s office, being so frank and direct… and he wants to be practical.

But he didn’t make it all the way here on practicality alone.

“I think,” Blue says instead, each word feeling heavy and firm as the earth. “That I would do myself more harm than good, carrying your badge into Victory Road like that. I’ve dreamed of facing you in a real test of skill for half of my life… and that’s something I could give up, for the sake of Indigo. But what I can’t do without is the knowledge that I deserve to be Champion, in every way that matters. And beating you, for my eighth badge… it’s a test that matters, to me, like few others.”

It’s rare to see Leader Giovanni smile as wide as he does now. “I look forward to it. So let’s see how we can deliver Cinnabar back the peace it’s lost, and speed up the day that test comes.”

The third time Blue thinks of the perfect attack to use, then has to revise to something far less effective due to environmental constraints, a calm and distant part of him swears that he’s going to make teams of pokemon built entirely for fighting indoors and keep half of his belt full of them at all times.

“TB! Hyp!”

“Ah! Ca! Bab!”

The renegade’s pokemon are outnumbered and at a type disadvantage, but they’re also smaller and more nimble than his: Rive’s Hammer Arm is easily dodged by the magneton, and while Soul gets a Crunch off on the hypno, it manages to stay conscious long enough to put the scarred arcanine to sleep.

Thankfully Rive blocked the thunderbolt from hitting Maturin, whose bubblebeam disorients the magneton and keeps it from getting its next attack off before Blue can yell “Sab!” The Body Slam connects and sends it reeling, and Blue has another moment to spare a mental grouse for the fact that his most effective tactic at the moment is to tell a Ground pokemon to use a Normal attack against a goddamn Electric/Steel type before that Electric/Steel type sends a Mirror Shot out to burrow three holes in his pokemon’s rocky hide.

Blue swaps the Awakening he pulled out of his bag to his other hand to spray it on Soul while he withdraws Rive—if that was a Flash Cannon he would be dead, he’s okay unless it hit a critical organ—then leaps behind one of the generators to avoid the next thunderbolt, which he only assumed would go for him instead of Maturin because he was closer. “Bab!” he yells again, and “Ca!” for good measure in case Soul has woken up to finish off the hypno. He might be dead right now if he wasn’t immune to psychic attacks, and has a brief moment to be glad that he didn’t stay Miracle Eyed through all this.

“Go, Gon!” His breloom appears beside him, then dashes toward the fight once he says “Pam!” He’s spent a lot of time tweaking the simulations to reinforce targeting priorities of certain moves against certain pokemon, so he’s fairly sure that Mach-Punch will get aimed at the magneton, but he knows he’ll have to risk a look at the battle soon to get a renewed sense of what’s happening…

Or the sound of another pokemon being sent out could force him to do it now.

Blue does his best to peek around the corner without exposing much of himself, and feels his heart sink at the sight of the magmar.

Three different commands burst out of his throat in a rush, “GonbackMaturinbabSoulsae!” but the renegade just has to give one, and does so while running: “Overheat.”

The magmar’s body begins to glow, turning Maturin’s Bubble Beam to hissing steam as soon as it hits. Soul slams into the renegade pokemon a moment later, but the magmar just keeps glowing brighter—

—Blue sends Maturin into her shell with a “Wa!” as he stretches Gon’s greatball out in one hand as far as it will go—

—until a torrent of flame bursts out of the magmar in every direction.

Blue toggles the return beam at the last possible moment, but his breloom is still too far when the fire washes over it, and he snatches his arm back to avoid the searing heat that radiates out.

The air goes from air conditioned cold to sweltering in a flash, but Blue barely feels it, anger burning white-hot in his core as flashbacks of catching Gon in Viridian Forest and training with him throughout his journey run through his mind. The shroomish was with him nearly as long as his starter, through every gym badge he’s earned, he’s always prepared to lose his pokemon defending people from wild pokemon but he just lost Gon to this nobody, this cowardly murderer—

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Blue yells over the roar of the flames, and knows that the sound swallowed his oath. He seethes fruitlessly as he cowers, sweat beading his face as he waits for the heat to fade…

…and when it finally does, quickly pulls out a burn heal and sprays it all over his prickling face and hands. The very air itself smells burnt to a kind of weird, empty scent-that’s-not-a-scent, but beneath that there’s a whiff of something else that makes his stomach turn. He knows what he’ll see before he even looks, but he has to confirm…

The magmar is on all fours, trembling with exertion, its colors dull. “Ca,” Blue reflexively says, and Soul stumbles to his feet, smoke rising from his fur, and pounces to sinks his fangs into the back of the pokemon’s neck. Maturin is okay, coming out of her shell and sniffing cautiously at the air. While Gon…

Gon is just a smoldering pile of brown fungal flesh. The magneton is a melted triple smear of strange mechanical innards, and the hypno is barely identifiable, making Blue wonder why the renegade didn’t withdraw his pokemon before realizing the underlying mistaken assumption that led to losing his own.

The renegade he fought upstairs ran for it as soon as it seemed like he might lose, and made sure to take his pokemon with him on the way out. This one is willing to sacrifice all his pokemon, maybe even himself.

It looked like he ran and used the magmar to cover his escape. But what if—

Blue whips his head around, hands dropping to his pokebelt… but nothing attacks him. Was he wrong? Did the Renegade actually run?

Well, he’ll just have to find the bastard, wherever he’s hiding. The room seems about as big as the large, open office he fought in upstairs, but much more cluttered, a virtual maze of equipment that is mostly large enough for a man to hide behind. But there’s just one entrance, if he goes there and waits, he’ll catch the renegade eventually if he hasn’t already left, and if he has left he can’t have gone far—

In the corner of his eye Blue sees Maturin suddenly pop back into her shell, and reflexively crouches as he quickly scans the area again, pulse racing. He waits for his battle calm, but…

Nothing. There’s nothing around them, and so he continues just being on edge. What was she reacting to…?

And then he remembers Red’s signal.

Shit. Something’s about to happen, and Blue isn’t in place to take advantage of it or help in any way… he hasn’t even accomplished what he came here for, and the clock is ticking.

He takes one last look around, then rushes to the generators, setting aside the need for revenge. Later he promises his anger, but the burning beast just paces more restlessly, knowing full well that if he doesn’t catch the fucker now, he probably never will.

Focus.

The metal is hot to the touch, but not damaged in any obvious way. It makes sense that they’d ensure it can’t overheat if something goes wrong, but Rive should be able to break it down… assuming his rhydon is still alive.

“Soul, Maturin, guard.” There are corpses taking up too much space now, so he backs up a little to summon his injured pokemon, two hyper potions at the ready. The rocky rhino’s hide has three holes in it, but the dark blood welling out of them makes it hard to see how deep they go. Blue quickly empties his potions into his pokemon, then grabs its lower jaw and pries it open to drop a revive down its throat for good measure.

He keeps his head on a swivel throughout, though his pokemon aren’t reacting to anything nearby. Rive’s blood has formed two small puddles around him, but hope stirs in Blue’s chest as he notices that they don’t seem to be growing.

The rhydon shifts, then opens its eyes as it takes a deeper breath in. “Good job, buddy. You did great.” Blue strokes Rive’s snout a couple times, careful of the spiral horn as his pokemon continues to shift, then steps back as his pokemon pushes himself to his feet. “Now, I need you to wreck some shit.”

Lizzy explained how building generators like this have pokeballs with electrodes in them, ready to release automatically if any fluctuation in the power goes below a certain point. He debates taking the time to remove the electrode greatballs from the generators, but he wouldn’t be able to command them, and they’re the least expensive part of what he’s about to wreck, so he just points to the container that houses them and says, “Rive, Ah.”

Rive moves gingerly to brace on his feet, and Blue almost tells him to stop so he can check for deeper injuries before his pokemon surges forward and slams his forearm down onto the generator.

“Ah,” he says again, and the next Hammer Arm dents the container enough to expose the inside. He’s pretty sure that’s enough to keep the generator from functioning, so he moves on to the next one, heart still racing as he looks around, expecting another attack just when he drops his guard.

It doesn’t come until the second generator is destroyed and he’s led his pokemon to the third. A series of flashes have Blue throwing his back against one of the damaged generator for cover as Soul growls and Maturin’s ears flare out.

Two commands get stuck competing in Blue’s throat. Should he tell Rive to destroy the third generator, or be prepared for battle? There would still be another one after, and even if he destroys all four none of this will matter if he can’t get to the second set of backup generators…

When he hears the thick hisss, it’s immediately obvious what’s coming next, and at last the battle calm descends as one hand flies to his mask straps to ensure they’re tight while the other points to the generator again. “Rive, Ah!”

THUD

“Ah!”

THUD

“Ah!”

CRACK

The smog is visible now, which means he only has a few moments… “Ah!”

There’s rending sound of metal tearing, and then Blue rushes to the last generator, points, and yells “Ah!” again.

Rive hesitates.

“Ah!’

Another hesitation, and Blue grits his teeth as Rive cocks his head from side to side. Blue can barely make out the generator himself, and rhydon have worse eyesight than humans.

Soul coughs, and Blue rushes over to spray an Antidote onto both him and Maturin to buy some time, then rushes back to Rive, unclips his pidgeot’s ball and braces his arm to aim it back the way he came. “Go, Zephyr!” There’s no guarantee that the smog will have somewhere permanent to go, but he just needs a few seconds.

His pokemon appears, but it’s a tight fit. “Gust!” Blue commands, and as soon as the pidgeot starts flapping, screeching in pain as it’s launched up and smacks its head against the ceiling, Blue points to the generator again as the smog thins for a moment. “Rive, Ah!’

THUD

“Ah!”

CRACK

Zephyr has stopped flapping, instead hopping awkwardly on one foot in a daze as he continually tries to keep his balance. Blue returns him to his ball before he hurts himself or anyone else, which is why he spots the muk that’s silently oozing its way toward his pokemon from behind, invisible to Soul’s nose in the smog.

“Soul, alert, Mat—”

“Sludge Wave!”

His pokemon haven’t managed to fully turn before the renegade’s command rings out, and Blue sees Soul’s silhouette get buried in a wave of gunk as the arcanine roars in pain.

He has to stop himself from rushing over, instead yelling “Chaf!” for Soul, “Bab!” for Maturin, and then, hoping Rive can still see enough: “AH!”

CRUNCH

It’ll have to do.

Three pokemon being poisoned at once is too much to manage, so he withdraws Rive rather than risk having him attack blind, then stops himself from rushing to where his other two pokemon are for a second time. Even against a wild pokemon that would be risky, in a situation like this it’s suicidal. The renegade took time to plan this out, if he just blindly reacts (literally) he’ll just get himself killed… plus, he’s pretty sure there were three flashes earlier, which means there’s still a third pokemon lying in wait, maybe creeping up on him right now…

The calm helps him think even through the sounds of a battle he can’t see, but no path to victory appears in his mind. Options. He has tools on his belt for disabling the renegade, but he has to get closer than this to use them…

…which may be the last thing the renegade expects him to do.

If it means letting his pokemon fend for themselves, it’s also the last thing he wants to do. But his opponent already took the strategy he thought of earlier, and with a better twist; he can’t just wait around or else his pokemon are going to succumb to poison. And still, it would be dangerous to assume the renegade will just wait, instead of having a next step that he’s carrying out even now…

Next step. That’s the key, always. Anticipating what the opponent would do with what resources he has.

Blue closes his eyes, which are mostly just showing various shades of light at this point, and breathes deep of the filtered air. What are his opponent’s goals and resources?

He’s here to protect the building’s power sources. So his goals will be to kill me or my pokemon or to stop me from destroying the generators…

…which I just destroyed.

What’s he going to do when he realizes that?

He feels his battle calm slipping as he tries to think of what in the room might shield him from a Self Destruct explosion from a weezing, then realizes nothing can. He has to get out of this room, maybe get Rive to break through a wall, even if he can’t see…

No, that wouldn’t put him in a better position. He has to take the renegade out. And that’s probably not just a desire for revenge talking, though if he loses Soul or Maturin too…

Blue crouch-runs to the edge of the room, hands held out to push himself off things he runs into until he finds the wall. It feels a little like being back in Viridian, where the smoke was so thick he could barely see his hand in front of him, and the memory of the shiftry ambush makes him extra cautious as he moves toward the entrance.

The sounds of his pokemon battling continue all the while, and hopes they mask any noise he makes to whatever third pokemon the renegade surely has out, waiting for him to approach…

Blue slows, heart pounding as he imagines the possibilities and realizes he needs another edge. Something to take his opponent off guard…

He takes his shoes off, then brushes his fingers over Ion’s ball. The smog is too thick for it to detect any empty space to summon into, even if there is some. So he walks a blind circle, arms out, then unclips Ion’s ball, hefts it for a moment as he aims… then triggers the manual release.

As soon as his pokemon is out, Blue rushes for the opposite side of the room and yells “Fa!” along the way.

The flash of light isn’t particularly bright through the haze, but he hopes it’s enough to draw attention, while the memory of where his voice was draws them to a second false-location. Meanwhile…

He finds the wall again and sprints with one hand on it and the other ahead of him. His socks make each step practically soundless, and while part of him worries about stepping on something sharp (like a trap set by the renegade, if he has a pokemon to litter spikes at the entrance with), the main thing he’s thinking is that his ability to kick just got a lot less damaging.

He’s about to find out if his lessons at the dojo paid off. It wasn’t all parkour and trampolines and trainer battles, after all.

There are more flashes of light in the smog now, or rather one long illumination that he hopes isn’t Soul burning the last of his life away, and then his outstretched palm hits a body. He immediately grips and tugs as he ducks and steps past and to the side, one leg out to trip the renegade in the direction he just came.

He catches the man totally off guard, sending him down in a sprawl that nearly knocks Blue down with him, and his other hand grabs the man’s mask to tug up. The renegade grips his arm and pulls down to stop him, kicking against the floor to try to regain his feet, and Blue’s other hand brings the stun gun from his belt and presses it against the man’s stomach.

I really hope this doesn’t shock me too is his last thought before he pulls the trigger. The renegade begins to convulse, nearly yanking Blue’s arm out of his socket, but he doesn’t feel anything else, and after counting out ten seconds he releases the trigger.

The man’s grip goes slack, and Blue yanks his mask off, then stumbles to his feet and throws it randomly deeper into the room. A second later he’s taking the cuffs from his belt and yanking the renegade’s arms behind his back to cuff them together.

Finally he unclasps the man’s belt, which he takes with him as he finds the door, opens it, then closes it behind him, leaning against the cool metal and panting to catch his breath.

He feels like shit, but damn is it good to be alive.

The inner counter in his head hits sixty seconds, and now he has a choice to make. If he keeps the door closed, the renegade will die from the poison… but so will his pokemon, who are likely all injured by now. Much as he wants the renegade dead, and much as this would be a justified way to get there, he can’t lose Soul and Ion here too, and Maturin…

Blue takes one last deep breath, then summons Rive. “Guard,” he says, then opens the door and yells, “Soul, back! Maturin, back! Ion, back!”

And waits, as the smog spreads outward into the rest of the hall, to see if his pokemon are well enough to comply and follow the sound of his voice. He doesn’t hear any more sounds of battle, and after counting thirty seconds repeats, “Soul, back! Maturin, back! Ion, ba—”

Ion is the first to arrive, limping and covered in acid burns. Blue gives him a few quick sprays of potion and antidote, then says, “Guard,” and calls out again: “Soul, back! Maturin, back!” He hopes whatever Ion was fighting isn’t still conscious, let alone the muk… but they’re not wild pokemon, they won’t just attack randomly without the renegade’s commands, right? Unless the bastard was crazy enough to order that sort of thing…

He can hear the renegade start coughing, and the smog is thin enough now that he can make out his form on the ground. Blue steps forward and finds the stun gun handle, then presses the trigger again, this time until it auto-stops, which he counts at thirty seconds. He clicks the trigger again a few times, but it probably has some recharge period or safety feature, so he drops it and says, “Ion, come.”

Blue leads quickly through the thinning smog until they find the site of the battle. Soul is lying on his side beside a scorched and smoldering muk, and beside them looms a shape that Blue almost orders Ion to attack…

Until he makes out the two cannons poking up from the round shell, and realizes Maturin has finally evolved.

Blue’s hands don’t shake as they move to return his pokemon, but he does run back to the entrance once they’re back on his belt. The air is mostly clear now, at the cost of the air quality on the rest of the floor, and he hopes whoever else might be here has access to first aid kits.

Still, he doesn’t pause to find his shoes. There’s still the second power room, and unless Red has pulled off another miracle, they’re almost out of time.

---

Red only has a few moments to decide whether to try to keep picking the searching renegades off, or teleport back to the safety of the security room before the situation changes again: almost all at once, the renegade pokemon vanish from Kadabra’s psychic senses.

Did I win? The hopeful thought is mixed with confusion, but it doesn’t seem impossible that they’d decide to suddenly retreat in the face of the unknown. He should check with the president and see if those renegades with him are gone too…

He hears a crash somewhere on his floor.

Red pulls his mind away from Kadabra’s and settles into his own body again—

—and half-collapses against the office desk he was leaning on as the room wobbles around him.

It takes a moment to realize it’s not literally spinning, then another to recognize the vague ache in his head. Overdid it. It’s been months since he taxed himself beyond his psychic limits, he practically forgot that he could. His thoughts feel sluggish, so it takes him what feels like a minute (but is hopefully just a few seconds) to realize that what’s disorienting him is the lack of extrasensory perceptions. His own body feels strange to him.

Not a great sign. But he hears another crash, and so pushes the concern aside, almost reflexively using amnesia before catching himself and realizing that might actually be a bad idea.

Still, it might not be safe to stay here. The crashing sound is repeating, and seems to be getting closer. Is there a battle happening? And now there’s the unmistakable tone of a command, and—

BANG

Out the door and to his left. He braces himself as best he can, then sends out a psydar pulse, then another, then another. It’s less disorienting than he expected, if anything it makes him feel better, and he has to remind himself of his exhaustion to keep from the sweet surrender of immersing himself back into mergers.

He breathes in deep, grounding himself in the feel of the air in his nose and lungs. He also sends part of his attention down into his feet, to the press of the floor against him, and tightens his hands against the edge of the desks, feeling it bite into his skin as he sends another few pulses out, trying to make sense of the brief glimpses into the constellation of minds around him.

There’s an obvious cluster of sharper “excitation” down the hall compared to elsewhere. It’s hard to tell what emotions are dominant there but fear feels closest to correct… but he doesn’t sense any pokemon…

Another BANG, closer this time, makes him realize he has to risk it. Red takes one more deep breath, then merges with one of the buzzing/fearful minds on his floor…

fear[pokemon(RENEGADE)]pleasenodon’thurt[stay]smallquiethide[body]legsache[RENEGADES(how?!)]pleasesomeonecomesoon

He pulls back into himself and lets his breath out as pieces of the sensorium settle into a snapshot of what the woman was seeing/hearing…

…and abruptly merges with Kadabra to jump to another office as he finishes processing it.

There’s a renegade with a pokemon going from room to room, smashing through doors, clearly looking for something. The woman didn’t get a good look at the pokemon, didn’t recognize what she did see, so he has no idea what it was…

…but it was clearly a dark pokemon, if he can’t sense it. Which doesn’t seem coincidental.

CRASH

Red twitches, then sends his psydar out to scan the new floor he’s on (fifth? sixth?). Once again some minds are more scared than others, and again a quick and disorienting merger with one of them gives him a composite impression of a [RENEGADE] pokemon… no, he knows this one, it’s a scrafty.

He wishes he could delve into the person’s memories, but the woman he merged with isn’t actively thinking about the past—not important, he can extrapolate. The renegades have all switched to dark pokemon, which means some order went out to coordinate them in a way that feels not just deliberate, but prepared.

How did they arrive at this hypothesis so quickly? There should have been other explanations they assumed before jumping to this one, right?

A shiver of disquiet goes through him, and his heart rate redoubles as he realizes there could be a dark renegade with a dark pokemon outside his door right now. He wonders fleetingly if this is how abra feel all the time, then decides their strategy is a good one, and prepares to teleport to another office…

…to his room…

danger(?!)

Red’s breath stutters, and he frowns as he tries to concentrate. Yes, there’s danger here, that’s why he has to go home, where it’s safe…

danger!

room

silph

room

SILPH DANGER

It’s like bouncing off an invisible wall in his mind, and Red reels for a moment until…

…the partitions fall, and he’s back as his full self.

His full self is whimpering.

“Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit oh shitohshit—”

He can’t teleport. He’s not sure why actually, are his partitions leaking, or has Kadabra just been exposed to his fear too much to trust the—FOCUS, he has to get out of here, he’ll figure out why it’s not working later—no, it IS important now, he has to know if Silph’s office still counts as safe enough to retreat to, or the security room…

Red feels his mind tipping in multiple directions at once, and one of them is the alarmed (and alarming) thought that he might have broken his partitions somehow…

Red you moron, your partitions don’t work if you’re psychically exhausted!

The inner voice sounds remarkably like Blue’s, despite the fact that he’s never really talked about psychic stuff much with Blue. Inner Blue is right, though, and in any other circumstance it would be funny that he forgot about this (and a bit nice, a sign that he’s come so far and it’s been so long since his early days of dealing with depression every night after training, forgetting about that would normally feel like a victory)—

CRASH

Okay that was definitely closer, he needs to focus, and also panic a little, because without his partitions he can’t teleport, and also lots of memories of the past ten minutes(?)twenty(?) are crowding at the same time, and also he can’t shield his secret memories from anyone who might merge with him, but then again he’s kind of revealing most of those right now anyway so he should probably be panicking more about the lack of teleporting.

Well, he should still be able to teleport outside normally, right? But that means running away, and if he does that Blue will get mad at him… well, not necessarily, not if Blue’s dead, like Aiko and his dad…

Tears prickle at Red’s eyes, and it’s a reminder from months ago to center and ground himself. Focus. Breathe. It’s hard to think clearly, and his emotions are now wildly swinging between sadness and panic, but if the renegade going door to door is about to find him, that means he’s about to be in a pokemon battle.

And now, thanks to Blue, he has an app for that.

It takes more time and effort than it should, but once he has each mental anchor in place the next gets easier.

I have a goal.

—a sense of something bright/shining/pulling/crystalline—

I have options.

—an endlessly outward branching—

The enemy has a goal.

—darkness/emptiness/contempt—

Predict their options.

—hemming of branches, cutting and winnowing down until—

Find the path.

—a bright line among the branches, a series of steps up toward the light—

Know victory.

The sense of anticipated completion/satisfaction/glory is fleeting, an echo, but its promise is enough to send calm through Red’s system. He still feels urgency, still feels a tremor of leashed energy in his limbs calling him to fight or flight, but there’s a clarity to the next steps, a sense of flow between what’s happening now and what will happen, and that flow becomes a current that pulls his limbs into movement as soon as he thinks of what he should do, what the right next move is…

—holy shit Blue you battle like this all the time?—

But no, Blue’s version of this must be faster, or more efficient. Maybe it’s the mental overexertion, or the leaking partitions, or maybe it’s just because he’s new to this way of thinking, but it feels like he’s taking too long to reach each decision.

Still, it’s useful for not getting stuck on thoughts like that. What he needs to focus on now is the scrafty that’s about to smash open the door at any moment, and how Kadabra won’t be able to hit him, nor sakki affect him, without Miracle Eye, which means Kadabra needs something to buy time.

So Red will buy him time. Simple, right?

His unclips Forretress’s ball and almost summons the Bug/Steel pokemon, but stops himself. The sound would alert the Renegade, who might call for backup. He needs to surprise him.

Also, Forretress would block the doorway, which would get him stuck here, so the Renegade could just bring out a ranged attacker… if he has one that’s dark…

Magneton could Light Screen-electric attacks risky to use-fire pokemon?-kingler could block, but not much reach —

Possibilities spin out before him, but in this state of mind there’s a clarity to them, they don’t overwhelm him, they’re just a series of ideas/obstacles/problems that he checks solutions against. Snorlax and Nidoqueen were far too big for the offices, so other than Kadabra, he decided to focus largely on Bug pokemon that could beat Dark types, which meant bringing Aiko’s venomoth Winter, Ariados, and Forretress, as well as Magneton and Nidorino for wider coverage. His additional resources include his stun gun, flash bomb, sakki…

—could flash bomb a ranged pokemon, buy time for Kingler to block until Miracle Eye, then use sakki…

…wait…. Can he project sakki while in this state?

The question feels like it tugs all the possibility strands into a loop. Every strategy he has relies on the ability to defeat a renegade with sakki by turning their pokemon against them, that’s the Path to Victory every tactic aims for, his only other options like the stun gun are temporary. If he can’t reach it without giving up this mental clarity…

The calm starts to fade as unease spreads through his stomach, thoughts still looping on the uncertainty until he hears footsteps approach the door. Red is still holding one arm outstretched, Forretress’s ball aimed forward, and it snaps up as he reflexively summons his pokemon just after the door is smashed open, while the other hand fires his stun gun at the renegade—

—who dodges to the side immediately upon seeing Red, but that buys time for Red to duck away from his own returning shot.

No fair! The fired darts embed in the desk, and Red scrambles away from the crackling wires that connect to them even as he feels the battle calm resettle, focus narrowing to the immediate next steps. The bulky pokemon will buy him some time, and the scary open loop in his victory path is unimportant if he just defeats his opponent’s dark pokemon he can use sakki on their non-dark ones, it won’t matter if he loses this clarity then.

“I found him, fifth floor!” the renegade yells just as Red’s “Bug Bite” sends his Bug/Steel pokemon rolling forward. It opens its metallic shell just enough to clamp hungry fangs on its stout Dark/Fighting opponent, while Red mentally commands Kadabra to use Miracle Eye—

“Fire Punch!”

Shit.

The scrafty rears back a fist that was TM modified to leak combustible fluid, and when it strikes Forretress it sends the otherwise steadfast pokemon rolling away, twitching in pain.

Red swaps Forretress out for Nidorino, but a “Zen Headbutt!” makes it clear that his responding “Double Kick” won’t even the playing field. Meanwhile the renegade is unclipping something from his belt, but it doesn’t look like a pokeball—

Red dodges behind the desk just as the second stun gun whips up and fires, and dips back into Kadabra’s mind just enough to tell that his pokemon can now see the Scrafty. He has to either use Psychic on it now and take it down, or…

He closes his eyes, merges with the scrafty, and projects the pure freedom-from-constraints that makes up sakki toward it, along with his focus on the renegade as dangerous enemy…

And then the renegade is screaming in pain as his own pokemon launches at him and shatters his pelvis with a headbutt.

Red withdraws his mind rather than stick around for the killing blow, breaths stuttering as the calm finishes leaving him entirely. “Psych-psychic,” he stammers, and the sounds of the scrafty pummeling the renegade abruptly stop.

Sweat breaks out all over Red’s body as he realizes how close he just came to dying, how much danger he’s still in, he has to get back to the security room, he has to get out of here… but he’s so tired…

Nidorino…!

He forces himself to get up and look at his pokemon, who’s lying on his side without moving. Red quickly crawls over and sprays a potion onto him, hand shaking, then realizes he doesn’t have time to wait and withdraws him. More renegades are coming, he has to move…

But he feels the decision paralysis setting in again. Should he try to teleport back to the others, in case it’s “safe” enough? If that fails, would he have time to get there on his own? The renegade said this is the fifth floor, which means he just has to go down one set of stairs to reach the security room. Most of the renegades guarding the stairs and elevators are dead or crippled, so if he moves quickly…

No, if there’s even one person on the fifth or third floor that responded to the warning, Red will either have to fight them in the stairway or on the way there. He has to try teleporting.

Wait, first he should withdraw Kadabra, go to another room, buy himself a bit more time in case a searching renegade sees the body outside…

…unless taking the time to do that is what makes him lose his window of opportunity—

Battle calm, now.

He breathes in deep, head throbbing as he finds the anchors. Goal. Options. Predict enemies. Path to victory.

Okay. Better. He can recognize now that he’s not going to get any new information, and while there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach that he’s missing something, that there are options he’s not thinking of, clever paths to victory he’s not seeing… it doesn’t matter, time is the main limiter, so it’s probably better to just roll the dice with the odds he has rather than wait any longer and have them get any slimmer.

He forces himself to his feet, walks to Kadabra to put a hand on his pokemon’s shoulder, then closes his eyes and starts focusing on the security room, anchoring the experience of being there in his memory and projecting that to Kadabra…

Rapid footsteps in the hall goddammit I was so close—!

“Peter’s down!” someone yells, and Red’s hands fly to return Kadabra and unclip a flashbang from his belt even as he thinks what kind of a renegade is named “Peter?”

A moment later the newcomer runs over to the body in the hall and crouches to check Peter’s pulse, then turns to look inside the room and spots Red just as he throws his flashbang at the renegade’s face.

He has two seconds to turn and cover his eyes with the arm holding Kadabra’s ball, while his now-free hand unclips Ariados and aims it behind him, using his armpit as a brace and waiting until the BANG to trigger the manual release. “Fell Stinger!” he yells through ringing ears.

If the renegade gives a command to his own pokemon Red doesn’t hear it as he crouches and crab-walks behind the desk. Reclip Ariados ball, spray potion in ears, brace arm to resummon Kadabra—

When he peeks over the desk he sees Ariados fighting a mightyena with fire dripping from its fangs as it lunges forward and bites off one of his pokemon’s legs. It takes another jab doing it, but it’s not a lethal wound, and the next bite takes off his Ariados’s head.

Losing the spinarak he caught in Viridian at the start of his journey will probably hurt more, at some point. For now Red is too focused on making sure Kadabra’s Miracle Eye is working so he can turn the mightyena against its master—

—who withdraws it and swaps for a cacturne.

Oh come on Red yells in frustration… except he doesn’t, he didn’t drop the battle calm yet, so he just feels it in some part of him as the rest stays focused on the next step: sending Winter out and trying to predict what TM might give the cacturne coverage against a venomoth. He doesn’t think cacturne can learn any fire or psychic moves, and either way he should be able to take it out quickly with a Signal Beam which he does—

—just as the renegade also summons a golbat, which starts tearing into Winter before Red can switch mental modes and turn it back against its trainer.

Red tries to return the disemboweled venomoth to its ball, arm shaking, but the cacturne is just barely still alive, and hits it with a Dark Pulse first. Red doesn’t have time to check if Winter survived, too busy getting Kadabra to use Miracle Eye on the Cacturne so he can finish it off, then kill the golbat that’s feasting on the renegade.

His memory feels like it’s dropping seconds between events, things are happening too fast for him to track, and on top of everything the mixed smell of various kinds of blood makes Red’s stomach churn. He stays alert for another few moments, body buzzing with adrenaline even while his thoughts feel scattered and slow, but even without the battle calm he knows what his next step has to be.

If he’s right, this won’t take partitions, all he has to do is focus on the fact that it is, in fact, safe at the security room, which isn’t hard because it is safe, it’s in fact the safest he can be while still in this building—

—he could be leaving though, he could go to the top floor and teleport out—

—he can teleport out from the security room too if he needs to, but there are allies there that will keep them safe, now let’s go—

That last burst of projection makes the world twist, and Red is abruptly aware that the smells are different. He opens his eyes to see the others have their pokemon out, no doubt ready for to spring into action at his signal.

They don’t look particularly happy to see him, though maybe that’s more about how he looks. “Shit, kid, you alright?” Valentin asks.

“Fine,” Red says, nearly lightheaded with relief as his whole body seems to unclench. It worked. He’s safe.

“Did something happen?” Sicong asks. “Is the president—”

Like last time, Burrel holds a hand up to quiet the others before simply saying, “Report.”

Red just wants to curl up on the floor and rest for a bit, but he’s not safe yet, not really, no one here is. “The beedrill nest is officially kicked, Sir.” Not what he intended to say, it’s a line from a movie that he barely remembers, but he feels like he’s thinking through molasses and it’s just what came out, so he decides to just roll with it rather than clarify. He spots a cup on the desk and steps over to take a long swallow of whatever is in it… ah right, coffee, that’s what he was smelling, that makes sense. “Sorry,” he says to Valentin, guessing it was his, but a moment later the CHRO is handing him a fresh cup. “Thanks. What did I roll with?”

“What?”

“Sorry.” He takes another deep swallow of his new cup, not even minding that it’s too hot, and way too bitter. Caffeine might help him think more clearly, and sugar, maybe that would help too…

“Verres?”

“Right, yeah.” Focus. Breathe. Keep things simple. “Um. I can’t teleport anymore. Inside the building, I mean.” That’s not relevant. “I’m lucky this worked, I’m just… I mean what I’m trying to say is I think I’ve reached my limits, psychically.” Not untrue, and also less complicated than the full explanation. He’s probably leaking all over Lin, but if so the other psychic is being polite about it. So long as he doesn’t think about secrets, like… He quickly drinks more too-hot-too-bitter coffee. “But I think I got… maybe ten of them?”

“Ten,” Jensen repeats, voice flat. “Arceus wept. And there’s still more?”

“Uh, maybe? Sorry, I kind of lost count. Probably still the ones in the storage room, at least. I can’t tell because they all switched to dark pokemon.” All at once. Red feels another twist of disquiet, but he’ll think about it later, if there is a later. “Also two found me, and I’m down to just two healthy pokemon.”

“You beat two renegades in a pokemon battle?” Stocky asks, and she sounds more incredulous than impressed.

“I cheated. But… I think that’s all I can do on my own. Sorry.” Is he apologizing too much? He drinks more coffee, wishing his stomach would stop churning. He should check if Winter survived, and Nidorino…

“You’ve done more than we could have hoped,” Burrell says. “It’s now or never, but we’ve got a new target.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone deactivated one of the building’s backup power rooms,” Valentin says. “I doubt it was the renegades. If you guys take out the second one, I can take us off the grid and they won’t be able to turn on a light, let alone get anything out of storage.”

“We were just debating whether to send everyone, or split up to rescue the hostages,” Sicong says.

Even with his fuzzy/scattered thoughts it’s not hard to guess who was on what side of that debate. He drains his cup and puts it down. “What should I do?”

“Nap,” the CHRO says.

“She’s right, Verres, you look on the edge and sound over it,” Stocky says.

“My friend, Blue, he’s probably the one that took the power station out. I have to make sure he’s okay.”

Burrell studies him a moment, then nods. “Won’t say no to the extra help. What pokemon do you have left?”

“Kadabra and… magneton, my others might… hang on.” He takes his pokedex out and checks, heart sinking as Winter’s ball registers no life signs. Sorry, Aiko. His nidorino is dead too. He leaves both balls on the desk, then checks Forretress and feels some tension ease. “Forretress, with some healing.”

Sicong unclips a ball from his belt and says “Catch” as he tosses it to Red.

Red’s hand moves automatically to reclip Forretress and track the ball, which lands solidly in his palm. It’s a diveball, and he looks curiously at the head of security, who has his pokedex out.

“Your reflexes seem fine. Keep out your dex, I’m transferring that lapras to you. Just stay behind us and use Icy Wind on anyone that tries to take us by surprise. Understand? If you see an opportunity to use your powers on the renegades, do it, but other than that just play it safe.”

“Yes, Sir.” Red’s gaze lingers on the ball as he takes his pokedex out and waits for Sicong to transfer ownership. Lapras are rare, and pretty powerful. “Will it, uh, fit? In the halls?”

“It’s young, meant for personal ferry.” Sicong’s smile is wry. “I brought it specifically for indoor battles, in case… well, this.”

“Get your last preparations in order,” Burrell is telling the others. “The renegades said that if we bust that door they’ll kill the hostages, so we’d better hope they were bluffing, or that they’re too distracted by what’s been happening to follow through, because one way or another, we’re ending this now.” The police commissioner glances at Red. “Anything else you want to tell us about your powers, Verres?”

“Uh, I think you have the gist. But I might not be able to use them any more.” Especially since they might endanger the hostages, which is the last thing he wants them to be thinking he might do.

Still, he recognizes the calculating speculation in the two hunters’ gazes, and tries his best to ignore them. The pokedex chimes as it finishes registering the lapras, and Red clips the ball to his belt as it starts the basic training sims. He still feels like he’s thinking through quicksand, but he needs to see this through before he can rest.

And then he’s probably going to have to have a very long talk with the police.