Crack'd, or How the Love of Seafood Saved Unova

[Cutlerine]

How does the dream world thing work?

Don't worry. It'll become clearer with time... possibly.

Thank you for reading!

F.A.B.

 

[Psychic]

...

Psychic...?

...

Wow. Seems I'm moving up in the world.

Oh nono, if anything you should consider your winning so many fic awards a sign of that. I’m just your friendly neighbourhood reviewer. :>

Has that scene been used a lot? I really haven't read many B/W fics, I'm afraid. It seemed like a fairly important point to me, so I included it.

As for the Green Party, well. That just seemed like a fun idea, like most of the things I put in my stories.

With every new Pokemon game comes the bandwagon of fics based off it. So I saw a fair number of newbie fics that had this scene during passing glances.

Good reason. I’m certainly curious to see where you take it and how they’ll differ from in-game Plasma. Though I did just realize that Teiresias referred to them as their evil team name, so I suppose that hasn’t disappeared altogether.

Well, as I see it, the vaguely-described regions represented in the games are to a fanfiction author like pure white Carrara marble to a Renaissance sculptor. They're a perfect canvas: everyone knows the boring stuff about them, which leaves you free to go off on wild tangents and build the interesting bits of the world.

Even your posts are all flowery! Do you treat all your reviewers this way? *fans self*

But a good point, and certainly something I think you did well and that I wish more writers would take advantage of.

As I see it, there have to be Fakemon and animals in the world for two reasons. One is that the six hundred-odd official species of Pokémon (some very odd) are barely enough to create a believable ecosystem in a single country as it is, and the other is that humans are definitely not Pokémon, which begs the question of where they came from if there are no animals.

Thinking about the lore, I'm pretty sure that there's at least a little truth in it, given that Odin turned up running a hotel in Pastoria City in my last story.

An excellent point that rarely gets brought up, and one I certainly haven’t given much thought to. Especially since you rarely see Fakemon being mentioned but not shown – I’m glad they’re not a big focal point here.

That is a very amusing thought. I wonder if we’ll see any more of that.

It wasn't intentional. You see, I always start from canon, and in this case my starting point was that the male character is Black and the female one is White. So Jared had to be male, and Lauren had to be female; there was no choice there. Their characters developed purely as a result of the world they live in; I forge stories like chainmail, with one link following on from the next, rather than based on any pre-existing stereotypes.

I did think it might conflict with Cheren and Bianca's dynamic, but I thought I might enjoy flicking between different perspectives on their situation, so I didn't bother to change it.

Halley... is different. She has no counterpart within the games and is therefore a pure and unalloyed product of my diseased wit - but more of her anon.

More flowery language~ But all right, I see what you mean, and I can’t fault you for it. I did bet they were products of their worlds, after all, and I appreciated that aspect of it.

I’m certainly interested in seeing how Lauren gets along with Cheren and Bianca, though I imagine a chunk of it will be Cheren being slightly annoyed with her as he is with Bianca. I’m quite curious on that one. That certainly is true about Halley – a diseased wit is rather fun, after all. I was referring more specifically to how she fits (or rather doesn’t fit) into the general gender dynamic going on, but either way.

Yes, I know - but where's the wrong one? You've not quoted it.

All valid points, and noted.

Not where I live. Here, 'OK' is 'OK'. The 'throw' thing is right, though.

Ah, sorry about that. I just Ctrl+F’d it, and it was in Chapter Four, here:

“Annie.... that's Anastasia, right?”

Huh, interesting, I haven’t heard of not spelling out “okay,” but I’ll take your word on that one.

No, it doesn't, but that's kind of the point: Harmonia trades on not being a proper politician - on not acting as others of his station do, on possessing the ability to not take himself or his campaign seriously (or to appear that way, at least). Evidently I didn't make that point clearly enough; I'll take another look at this, and probably expand on it in further chapters.

And it is a strange place to make an announcement. Very strange indeed. I wonder what Game Freak were thinking, placing the speech scene there so Cutlerine can avoid the blame for a misplaced event.

Hm, an interesting idea, though that isn’t quite the idea I was getting. I think part of it is that there is a difference between being serious vs professional.

To make it look like it was done on purpose amend that, I would frame it as partly being a press conference in itself in a way. Perhaps a statement was issued stating that he was be making an important announcement in X city on X date, and that “hey media people, you should probably be there to cover it, we’ll even reserve you some seats.”

I thought it was a small number, but I'd kind of already limited the figure, since I said Unova's Training industry was lacklustre earlier on. Eh, I could probably bump it up a bit higher and not seem like I'm contradicting myself, I guess.

I wouldn’t necessarily bump it up if there is indeed such a low number of trainers, but presenting the data as a percentage could better help showcase it. Like “twenty percent of trainers are attacked by their own Pokemon” or what have you. The number has a lot more meaning that way, even without the reader knowing how many trainers there are and how many attacks there are precisely, while still having an idea of the ratio.

Thank you. It means a lot to have a proper review, with both positive and negative parts to it, and when it comes from one of the more prominent members of the community, that really does sweeten the deal.

F.A.B.

I’m happy to have helped, and I intend to continue doing so! It’s not often I’m this captivated by a story, and it’s been a pleasure hearing back from you as well.


On to Chapter Six!

Again, I like the atmosphere of the city you set up here at the beginning. It’s not often you hear of the bars or specific boroughs of established cities in the Pokeworld, and it sets a nice tone. Your take on the first meeting with N was also interesting – instead of merely speaking to the Pokemon, he actually assesses its physical condition. Interesting.

I love the Pokedex (“Pokemon Index,” never thought of that!) project, especially with it now being a phone app! Really love that touch. Again, it incorporates the idea/potential for of Fakemon nice and smoothly without placing too much emphasis on it. Though I wasn’t sure why you put it to 1992 – at first I assumed that that was when the first games were released, but that was 1996. The only result I got from “Pokemon 1992” on Google was this urban dictionary reference, which is also wrong. Is there a reference here I’m not getting?

Seeing Teiresias’s travel and musings has sparked more questions, but it was certainly fascinating. I also really liked the last scene. Gave some interesting insight into the dynamic between these characters, and it was a juicy interaction.

Now nitpicking again~

It was, after all, mere ballast, there only to keep it anchored to the mortal realm – and it was difficult to drag it through the dark paths, where spirit flowed freely and flesh dragged like stone.

Not sure if it should be “a mere ballast” on this one – if you did it for the style it works.

ran on down the path, searching for the crack in reality that would show it the way back into reality.

Repetition of “reality” – I’d say either replace/remove the first one, or perhaps for the latter one say “into that reality” or “into said reality.”

“In my defence, that boy is a lot younger and stronger than I am,” replied Smythe faintly desperately.

The two adverbs seem a little odd together here. Maybe change “desperately” to “with desperation in his voice.”

He might be a minor civil servant at the moment, but that was only the latest chapter in what had been something of a chequered past.

Should be “might have been” since the story is written in past tense.

defeated, I shook my head and sat down with the others on a log bench placed thoughtfully at the roadside by the Trail's constructors.

Wouldn’t capitalize “trails” – even if “Route 2” is capitalized, it’s because it’s a proper noun, being the name of the road, while “trail” isn’t the proper name of anything.


Sorry I didn't have quite as much to say this time around, but I really enjoyed this chapter. I've been very eager to see what happens next, so I was excited to see an update so quickly. Your writing is on the higher end of what I've seen on this forum, and it's been wonderful getting to just sit back, relax and enjoy without feeling like it needs a ton of improvement. And the story is one I've been thinking about and trying to piece together in my spare time, so you know you have my attention. ;]

~Psychic

 

[Cutlerine]

Oh nono, if anything you should consider your winning so many fic awards a sign of that. I’m just your friendly neighbourhood reviewer. :>

Your name doesn't have three syllables, so unfortunately I can't put into the Spiderman theme. 'Reviewer' does, though, so perhaps something can be done with that... Hm. A puzzle to be solved another time.

With every new Pokemon game comes the bandwagon of fics based off it. So I saw a fair number of newbie fics that had this scene during passing glances.

Yes, I suppose that must be true.

Good reason. I’m certainly curious to see where you take it and how they’ll differ from in-game Plasma. Though I did just realize that Teiresias referred to them as their evil team name, so I suppose that hasn’t disappeared altogether.

No, not quite. Plasma is still there, just... not as it once was.

Even your posts are all flowery! Do you treat all your reviewers this way? *fans self*

Yes, I do. I have a tendency to sprout analogies whenever I set pen to paper (or indeed finger to keyboard), so that sort of thing happens fairly frequently.

An excellent point that rarely gets brought up, and one I certainly haven’t given much thought to. Especially since you rarely see Fakemon being mentioned but not shown – I’m glad they’re not a big focal point here.

That is a very amusing thought. I wonder if we’ll see any more of that.

Nope. I don't think I've ever actually devoted any real space to Fakemon, just referred to them as existing offscreen, as it were. I tend to interpret the official species quite creatively anyway, which means that I don't have much need for Fakemon other than as background scenery. Pokémon are no more clearly defined than the regions they come from - and many of their Pokédex entries are just begging for some creative analysis. Like Dusknoir, for instance.

More flowery language~ But all right, I see what you mean, and I can’t fault you for it. I did bet they were products of their worlds, after all, and I appreciated that aspect of it.

I can't help the language. I had a mental image of a dwarf hammering away at something in an underground forge while I was typing that, and weirdness ensued.

I’m certainly interested in seeing how Lauren gets along with Cheren and Bianca, though I imagine a chunk of it will be Cheren being slightly annoyed with her as he is with Bianca. I’m quite curious on that one. That certainly is true about Halley – a diseased wit is rather fun, after all. I was referring more specifically to how she fits (or rather doesn’t fit) into the general gender dynamic going on, but either way.

Yes, I know. I just couldn't think of a suitably long-winded reply, that was all, and responding to a review without the requisite number of long-winded replies would be simply criminal.

Ah, sorry about that. I just Ctrl+F’d it, and it was in Chapter Four, here:

Thanks.

Huh, interesting, I haven’t heard of not spelling out “okay,” but I’ll take your word on that one.

Really? That surprises me, but I'm not sure why. All right, then.

Hm, an interesting idea, though that isn’t quite the idea I was getting. I think part of it is that there is a difference between being serious vs professional.

To make it look like it was done on purpose amend that, I would frame it as partly being a press conference in itself in a way. Perhaps a statement was issued stating that he was be making an important announcement in X city on X date, and that “hey media people, you should probably be there to cover it, we’ll even reserve you some seats.”

Yes, that would work. Again, I can't think of a suitably long-winded answer, so please enjoy instead this rudimentary haiku about the militaristic inclinations of a lobster:

A mighty lobster
Marches onwards to battle
Like a war goddess.

I wouldn’t necessarily bump it up if there is indeed such a low number of trainers, but presenting the data as a percentage could better help showcase it. Like “twenty percent of trainers are attacked by their own Pokemon” or what have you. The number has a lot more meaning that way, even without the reader knowing how many trainers there are and how many attacks there are precisely, while still having an idea of the ratio.

Yes... That's a much better idea. Thanks.

I’m happy to have helped, and I intend to continue doing so! It’s not often I’m this captivated by a story, and it’s been a pleasure hearing back from you as well.

The pleasure's all mine, I'm sure. I'm more than happy to have a chance to write slightly odd replies to reviewers; it's almost as fun as actually writing the story.

On to Chapter Six!

Huzzah!

Again, I like the atmosphere of the city you set up here at the beginning. It’s not often you hear of the bars or specific boroughs of established cities in the Pokeworld, and it sets a nice tone. Your take on the first meeting with N was also interesting – instead of merely speaking to the Pokemon, he actually assesses its physical condition. Interesting.

Well, if they're to be scaled up to the size of normal cities, they have to have subdivisions. Otherwise no one would ever find their way around, and governing them would be a nightmare, what with the lack of administrative divisions. I suppose the cities would eventually collapse into seething pits of crime, splitting into multiple warring factions, and... That's an idea for another story, I think. Watch this space.

I love the Pokedex (“Pokemon Index,” never thought of that!) project, especially with it now being a phone app! Really love that touch. Again, it incorporates the idea/potential for of Fakemon nice and smoothly without placing too much emphasis on it. Though I wasn’t sure why you put it to 1992 – at first I assumed that that was when the first games were released, but that was 1996. The only result I got from “Pokemon 1992” on Google was this urban dictionary reference, which is also wrong. Is there a reference here I’m not getting?

No. It's just that I think I've established Professor Oak's age and the date he started his research in a previous story set in the same world as this one, and I went with it here for the sake of continuity. I also believe that he had to have begun the Pokédex project before 1996, because there was already information about 151 Pokémon in the Pokédex when Red and Blue came out, which meant that someone had to have written their Pokédex entries beforehand. Because having a machine that automatically finds out interesting facts about monsters by photographing them is just ridiculous.

Have you never thought of Pokémon Index? I always assumed that that was what Pokédex was a contraction of. And, well, I thought that the physical Pokédex was kind of out of date. I mean, it's large, clunky and presumably less powerful than the processor in even the average modern mobile phone, given its age. It could easily be updated and made into an app for any phone with a camera.

Seeing Teiresias’s travel and musings has sparked more questions, but it was certainly fascinating. I also really liked the last scene. Gave some interesting insight into the dynamic between these characters, and it was a juicy interaction.

Mm. I can't think of a response, so please enjoy another hastily-constructed haiku. This one is about the god of preserves.

A Marmalade God
Sits weeping in the desert -
There is no more jam.

Now nitpicking again~

Glorious.

Not sure if it should be “a mere ballast” on this one – if you did it for the style it works.

It could be either. 'Ballast' can be used either as a mass noun or a single object, and in this case I thought it worked better as the former.

Repetition of “reality” – I’d say either replace/remove the first one, or perhaps for the latter one say “into that reality” or “into said reality.”

*head onto desk* I hate when I miss those repetitions. Thanks for pointing it out.

The two adverbs seem a little odd together here. Maybe change “desperately” to “with desperation in his voice.”

Should be “might have been” since the story is written in past tense.

Yes and yes.

Wouldn’t capitalize “trails” – even if “Route 2” is capitalized, it’s because it’s a proper noun, being the name of the road, while “trail” isn’t the proper name of anything.

Actually, it is. The Trainer Trails were referred to as such in the last chapter; they're the winding network of paths that aren't part of the Route system. I consider the Routes to be part of the road network, and the paths that Trainers travel by to be a system of trails through the wilderness designed to expose them to Pokémon. In one of my previous stories, these were called 'Trainer Paths'; in Unova, however, it seems they're called 'Trainer Trails', presumably out of a love of assonance and alliteration.

Sorry I didn't have quite as much to say this time around, but I really enjoyed this chapter. I've been very eager to see what happens next, so I was excited to see an update so quickly. Your writing is on the higher end of what I've seen on this forum, and it's been wonderful getting to just sit back, relax and enjoy without feeling like it needs a ton of improvement. And the story is one I've been thinking about and trying to piece together in my spare time, so you know you have my attention. ;]

~Psychic

It's fine. I didn't expect you to have that much to say, honestly - you don't have as many chapters to look through this time.

If you thought that was a quick update, you ought to have been around before I got so busy. I remember at my peak, I was posting new chapters every two days... Ah, to have the time to do that again. Each chapter only takes a total of six or seven hours to write; it's just that recently that time has been kind of scattered across weeks and weeks, as this next haiku (I'm enjoying them now) demonstrates:

A demon named Life
Punched Cutlerine in the face
And stole her laptop.

I'm beginning to get slightly concerned about the frequency with which these are popping into my head, so I'm going to click 'Post Reply' and bring this to an end before my fingertips start oozing more bad poetry onto the screen. Thank you for your reviews and the suggestions contained therein - which will be implemented, I promise, once I actually have a few solid hours to sit down and work through them - and for your continued interest in the story. If you're intrigued and amused by it, then I'm doing my job right.

F.A.B.

 

[Azurus]

Saw this 10+ days ago, didn't have any time to respond before, let alone read.

I wonder if what N said about Candy was true or not, simply because the things he described have yet to be of relevance and seem to be there for the sake of being there. I dunno, maybe I missed a scene with a shivering, wheezing Archen.

Well so much for the test of friendship via battle, at least the dialogue was similar.


I wonder as to what the demon is going to possess next, as another Liepard would be what the Main characters party would be expecting to see if he shows up again.


Ah, midnight, I was kind of expecting something similiar to the Dark Hour in Persona 3 where time stands still for most and ungodly things roam the area. I wonder if other people notice the stutter-in-time.

Keep up the good work and look forward to another chapter.

 

[Cutlerine]

Oh, man. Where do I begin? First, I'd better say I'm very, very sorry that I disappeared for so long without giving any warning at all. Life has sprung a fair few surprises on me this month - in fact, I'd go so far as to say that this December has been the best of times and the worst of times, the age of wisdom and the epoch of foolishess - and I have found myself without any time to even check these forums and respond to what I've found here. In addition, sorting out my life and attempting to resolve issues in someone else's has actually killed any desire I have to write, which is extraordinary for me. Now that things are looking up (or looking up as much as I can expect them to) I suspect I'll start putting finger to keyboard again, and if we're lucky there may be a new chapter up in a couple of days.

Now. On to my customary respond-to-what-everyone-said-point-by-point thingamabob, because I, like Gandalf, never mind having to explain my own cleverness.

Saw this 10+ days ago, didn't have any time to respond before, let alone read.

That's all right. By the looks of things, I'm responding to it nearly 20 days late, so I reckon that puts me more in the wrong than you.

I wonder if what N said about Candy was true or not, simply because the things he described have yet to be of relevance and seem to be there for the sake of being there. I dunno, maybe I missed a scene with a shivering, wheezing Archen.

You must remember that Candy is the only Archen in the world. Lauren/Jared couldn't have been expected to notice that something was wrong with her without any point of reference. Having said that... We'll see more as it comes.

Well so much for the test of friendship via battle, at least the dialogue was similar.

Oh, come on. You must have known I wouldn't give let the truth slip that easily. Besides, like he said, N is not exactly a Trainer. That's not to say he won't battle, but... well, you'll see more about his methods when the time comes.

I wonder as to what the demon is going to possess next, as another Liepard would be what the Main characters party would be expecting to see if he shows up again.

Ah, Teiresias. Along with Halley's, I expect his story is the most surprising. Well, we'll wait and see.

Ah, midnight, I was kind of expecting something similiar to the Dark Hour in Persona 3 where time stands still for most and ungodly things roam the area. I wonder if other people notice the stutter-in-time.

Probably not. It holds Unova tightly; only those from outside would notice it, and only then if they were looking. Or maybe not. I refuse to commit myself, so that if I want to I can go back on my word later.

Keep up the good work and look forward to another chapter.

So am I, to be honest. I really hope I haven't lost my touch... ah, well. I'm sure it's just a question of getting back into it. *cracks fingers* Come on, Unova. I'm ready for you.

F.A.B.

 

[Cutlerine]

Sorry for the delay, everybody - it was unavoidable - and sorry that this isn't my best work, either. It will have to do, though. Owing to circumstances mostly outside my control, I can't bring myself to revisit this chapter ever.

Chapter Seven: Happy Trails

There are myriad pleasant ways to wake up, and Portland Smythe had experienced a great many of them during the course of his life. From the extravagance waking in a vine-wrapped bower in the beating heart of a verdant rainforest to the simple joy of opening one's eyes to the sight of one's lover, he had lived through the lot and, in fact, had ranked his top three favourites during one dull night spent hiding from Czech mercenaries in the Balkans.

This method of waking, however, was not to be found among the top three. It did not even make his top ten. In fact, had Smythe ever thought to compile a list of his least favourite ways to wake up, this one would have gone straight to the top without a second's consideration.

And that was because he was woken from a peaceful dream about cucumbers by a voice that ground upon his consciousness like skeletal feet across the floor of a crypt.

“Wake up.”

To say Smythe was alarmed would be an understatement. With a sudden involuntary contraction of his legs, he bent his body into a perfect arc and flung himself clear off the mattress, coming to rest a moment later in an undignified heap on the floor.

“Sumvahwassit!” he yelled, which could have been either an incoherent cry of panic or a florid curse in Hoennian, and looked around wildly for the source of the voice. At first, he saw nothing – and then his eyes came to rest on the Purrloin on the bedside cabinet.

“I found them,” it said, in the unmistakeable voice of Teiresias. “Ready yourself. I will take you there.”

Smythe stared at it. Within his mind, a brief battle raged between fear and confusion; neither won a clear victory, and in the end they settled for a coalition.

“What?” he said at length, which was, if anything, more coherent than could be expected of a man in his position.

“Has the change of shape confused you? I could not find another Liepard,” Teiresias said impatiently. “Now get ready. We must return to the dark paths at once.”

Smythe closed his eyes, counted to three and opened them again. The Purrloin had not disappeared.

Sh*t, he thought dismally, and got slowly to his feet.

“All right,” he sighed, trudging listlessly to the bathroom. “I'm going.”

Never, thought the hotel receptionist as Smythe paid her, had anyone ever looked so dismayed to be checking out.

---

“You're quiet this morning,” noted Cheren.

I blinked.

“What?”

“Something's bothering you.”

It took a moment for my mind to wrap itself around his words; it had been drifting pretty far away.

“Oh. Yeah.” I poked the dying fire with a stick, and watched as a flame streaked out of the cinders and vanished in the crisp dawn air. “I guess... I guess it's that N guy.”

“I see. That was quite odd.” He speared a sausage – neither he nor Bianca were any good at cooking, especially not over an open fire, and my skills had been much appreciated this morning and last night – and chewed it thoughtfully. “What exactly is it that's bothering you?”

“What he said about Candy.” The little Archen looked up at the sound of her name, and I reached out to press my palm against her breast. Her heart hummed with the rapid pulse of a bird – and her chest rose and fell almost as fast. Alarmingly fast. “I never noticed before... She does have trouble breathing. It's just that you can't hear it.”

“She's survived this long,” Cheren said pragmatically. “I suspect she's tougher than N thinks.” He frowned. “What kind of name is N, anyway? I'd like to have seen the look on the midwife's face when his parents came out with that.”

“Uh... yeah, I guess.” My mind was still on Candy; I'd always taken her quick breaths and feverishly hot skin to be something typical of all Archen, but what N said made sense. I had looked it up last night on Cheren's phone: there'd been thirty percent more oxygen in the atmosphere back then, and it had been warmer right across the world. I knew from the disaster three years ago at Castelia Zoo that animals from Africa had a hard time surviving Unova's winters as it was; how could I expect a creature dislocated not only in space but time as well to fare any better? “I should have realised,” I mumbled.

Cheren looked at me.

“I really wouldn't worry,” he said, more gently than before. “By the number of lizards she's rounded up and slain already this morning, I'm fairly certain there's plenty of life left in her.”

I looked at Candy's little heap of corpses, piled neatly on the other side of the fire, and sighed.

“I guess so,” I said, not wholly convinced.

Cheren sighed.

“Sorry,” he said, and though there was no hint of emotion in his voice I could tell he meant it. “I can't help you other than with logic.”

“I know. Don't worry. I'll be fine.” I looked back at Bianca's tent, which remained as silent now as it had been when the sun first rose. “Does she always sleep late?”

He gave me a look.

“What do you think?”

“OK, OK... Why do you get up early, then?”

“Because Cheren likes to watch the world go by, don't you?”

Halley seemed to slink from nowhere, appearing from between the edges of a gap in the air; she was really getting into the business of being a cat, I thought. The next thing I knew she'd be playing with string and chasing butterflies.

“Oh. Hi, Halley,” I said. “Where have you been?”

“I've been to London to visit the Queen,” she replied sardonically.

“What?”

“It's a joke, 'cause – never mind. You must have different nursery rhymes in Unova.” She grimaced. “I actually went hunting. Can you imagine that? I pounced on a jay and suffocated it by biting down on its throat. I almost felt bad when it screamed, but by that point I could already taste its lymphatic fluid so I kind of forgot about how brutal the whole thing was.” She sat down next to Candy and yawned. “Seriously, I don't know why I haven't done that before. Think of how much bigger prey I could tackle if I were still human.”

“Oh.” A sick feeling rose in my throat, and I found myself wondering how human Halley actually was; had she always been like this? Surely she couldn't have been so... bestial before her transformation?

“I seem to have lost my appetite,” murmured Cheren, and flicked his sausage over to Lelouch, who regarded it quietly for a second before picking it up delicately between its tiny claws and nibbling at it like a squirrel with a nut.

“Don't Snivy get their energy from sunlight?” I asked.

“They get as much as they can,” Cheren replied. “Unfortunately, that isn't enough to sustain extended periods of activity, so they supplement it with berries, fruit and small quantities of meat.”

“Plants playing at an animal's game,” said Halley scornfully. “Photosynthesis ain't shi— shining snail eggs compared to heterotrophic nutrition.” She blinked. “Shining snail eggs? I hope you're pleased with yourself, Lauren. Look what you've reduced me to.”

“I'm just happy you aren't swearing,” I told her truthfully; I could have added that I didn't understand half the words she'd just used, but didn't want to complicate things and attract more needling criticism. I got it anyway.

“Huh. Of course you are. You would be.”

Candy cawed at her, apparently aware that her owner was being harangued by this wildcat; Halley, unlike last time, reacted with no more than a withering glare that shocked the little Archen into submission.

“Yeah, you shut up, you little b*tch,” she muttered moodily, and fell to staring at the flames in silence.
I looked at Cheren, and Cheren looked at me.

“What,” I began, but got no further before Cheren held up a hand for silence.

“I think it's best we don't ask,” he replied. “Something has evidently happened to Halley to make her sourer than normal, and frankly that is a prospect I'd rather avoid.”

“OK,” I said, relieved to have avoided a line of questioning that, while rooted in compassion, would probably have resulted in a scratch from Halley. “Um... should we wake Bianca? It's nearly seven.”

“She'll wake up soon enough,” Cheren told me. “Well... Perhaps not. Give her another half hour; she's not used to this much walking, and it really tires her out.”

As a White Forest resident, I'd been out on extended hiking trips more than most in Unova, and was pretty good at it – better than Cheren and Bianca anyway, it seemed, although Cheren's self-discipline and encyclopedic general knowledge meant he was catching up fast. He only needed a bit more experience and a couple of cookery lessons and he'd have overtaken me; I hoped I could teach him a little, to go some way to showing my gratitude for letting me come with them.

“Are you, then?” I asked.

“No,” he answered. “But it's a case of mind over matter. My goal is to become the Champion eventually, and it won't happen if I don't value the objective over my immediate comfort.”

I stared at him, amazed. I didn't think that kind of resolve really existed; it was like something out of the old stories, the kind that dated from the days of the first Treatise. Cheren seemed different to me now, like a lordless knight wandering the hills of mediaeval Europe, determined to seek out glory at whatever cost...

Silly, I thought to myself. He's just like you.

And yet... There was a spectacular steel in his mind. He laid out the facts so calmly and clearly that I had no doubt that nothing whatsoever would cause him to waver from his path.

“I... I see,” I said. “OK. That makes sense.”

Thankfully, I was saved from having to come up with anything else to say by the sudden and noisy emergence of Bianca from her tent.

“Oh, so early,” she groaned, blinking in the sunlight. “Frige, it's so cold.”

“Not that cold,” said Cheren patiently. “Good morning, Bianca.”

“Morning!” She disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with Smoky in her arms. The little Tepig was, as ever, asleep, and I wondered if maybe that was why she had the Munna as well. Smoky didn't seem to me to be the battling type. “Is that breakfast? It smells good.”

“Courtesy of Lauren,” Cheren informed her. “She has cooking over an open fire down to a fine art.”

I smiled.

“Thanks. Here you go, Bianca.”

“Thanks.”

Smoky opened one eye as the sausages passed above his head, shifted just enough to snag one with his lips and draw it into his mouth, and fell asleep again before he'd even swallowed it.

“Isn't that kind of cannibalism?” I asked dubiously.

“I don't think he cares,” replied Cheren. “It's mainly humans that find cannibalism revolting. Many other animals will cheerfully eat their own if it seems like a good idea.”

“Oh. I see. That's... um... unpleasant.”

Cheren raised his eyebrows.

“I told you. Human.”

“Ignore Cheren,” said Bianca confidingly, as if he couldn't hear her. “He's just being silly again.”

I couldn't be sure, but I thought the ghost of a smile crossed Cheren's face then, and suddenly it seemed a lot clearer to me why he and Bianca remained friends. I smiled, and pulled the last of the sausages off the fire.

“I think these are done now,” I said. “Bianca, they're mostly for you, unless your Pokémon want any.”

“I think he might, but I don't really want to give him any,” she said, taking them from me. “I don't really want Smoky to be a cannibal.”

“I told you, I don't think he minds—”

“Oh, Cheren,” sighed Bianca in exasperation. “Shut up!”

“Fine, fine,” he said. “I'll be quiet.”

“What about Munny?” I asked. “Does he... she... it want anything?”

“No, it lives off... um, Cheren, what was it called?” Bianca asked. “Background...?”

“I thought I had to be quiet?”

“Cher-eee—!”

“OK, OK,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall further outbursts. “Background imaginative radiation. Munna and its evolved form, Musharna, absorb daydreams, fantasies and waking nightmares, and convert them into regular dreams that can be experienced at night. As a by-product of this, they occasionally emit a pinkish mist known to cause disturbing hallucinations.”

“I see,” I said slowly, though I didn't really. I wasn't entirely sure how anything could derive energy from dreams – in fact, I had no idea how anything psychic worked. All I knew was that Psychic- and Ghost-types were weird.

“Yeah,” said Bianca. “So Munny doesn't need any regular food.”

“Then why does it have a mouth?” I asked, curiously.

“It's vestigial,” explained Cheren. “Their ancestors were organoheterotrophic feeders; in modern Munna, the entire digestive tract is atrophied, while the skull and ribcage have fused to create a protective case for the massively developed brain.”

I stared at him.

“How do you know all this?”

He shrugged.

“When either of us catch something, I like to do my research,” he said. “Or if we face one in battle. The more you know, the more effectively you can use a Pokémon's strengths or aim for its weaknesses.”

“Oh, OK.”

“By the way,” said Halley abruptly, “I thought you should probably know that the forces of evil are closing in on us.”

All conversation stopped immediately.

“What?”

“Mm. Something wicked this way comes.” She stretched and stood up. “I can feel it coming. Must be some animal instinct or something.”

“What exactly do you feel coming?” asked Cheren, frowning.

“Dunno. Teiresias, maybe? Seems pretty lethal, at any rate.”

Teiresias. So it had found us, then – as I'd known it would. Hiding in the woods might fool a human, but against that black and midnight being it seemed a pretty paltry stratagem. I was certain it could have found us even if we'd hidden on the moon.

I bit my lip.

“We should go, then,” I decided. “I don't want to be here when it arrives...”

“Hold on,” said Cheren. “We have no concrete evidence that anything is actually coming for us—”

“I guess you don't trust me,” said Halley slyly. “Well, maybe you'd better think about the fact that if Teiresias and Smythe get to us, the main casualty will be me. I'm not going to screw around with you on that topic.”

“I wouldn't put it past you,” replied Cheren darkly.

“I believe her,” I said. “Please, can we go? I mean, shouldn't we be going anyway? And if Teiresias is coming, we don't want to be here when it does.”

“I agree with Lauren,” put in Bianca, shuddering. “That thing – that thing is nasty.”

“Understatement of the century,” muttered Halley to herself.

“All right, all right, I see I'm outvoted here,” sighed Cheren. “Fine. Let's pack everything up. If you really think that monster is coming, we'd better move fast...”

---

“Good God,” moaned Smythe in his native Hoennian, and collapsed face-first into the leaf litter.
Teiresias regarded him with such distaste that one could have been forgiven for thinking it could actually see.

“Get up,” it said. “We are half a mile from where I saw their encampment.”

“Why so far away?” wheezed Smythe, spitting out decaying vegetation.

A shadow crossed Teiresias' broken face.

“I...” It trailed off uncertainly. “I... Why?”

Smythe stared. This was very far from normal behaviour for Teiresias. In fact, it was about as far from normal as it could get short of actually shedding tears.

“Because Halley is perceptive,” it said suddenly, its usual manner returning abruptly. “It is perhaps a result of the feline senses she has been gifted with. If we had emerged from the dark paths any closer to her than this, we could well have been detected.” It leaped down from the stump it had been sitting on and stalked over to Smythe. “Now get up. We have ground to cover and little time to do it in.”

Smythe struggled to his feet, brushed dirt from his suit and sighed.

“I haven't even had breakfast,” he murmured sadly to himself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, and trudged off after Teiresias as it began to make its way through the forest. How it knew where it was going was a mystery to him; perhaps the strange psychic eye through which it viewed the world was currently locked onto Halley or White, and acted like a beacon to guide it; perhaps it had simply memorised the layout of all the forest between them and their destination beforehand. Frankly, either option seemed equally plausible where Teiresias was concerned; the vile creature seemed to positively delight in flouting the laws of reality.

Smythe heaved the sigh of the oppressed, and put the matter from his mind. There were no alternate options available to him. Abandoning Teiresias would incur the demon's wrath, and that was almost as frightening as incurring that of Harmonia. He turned the mess over once more in his head, winced at the thought, and trudged on with a heavy heart.

---

It was a bright clear day, the kind that looks far, far warmer than it is, and as the sun rose higher into the sky the forest should have brightened.

It did not.

Instead, the shadows deepened, darkening to the colour of pitch, and the spring green of the leaves seemed to turn a dull viridian. The birds fell silent. The wind died down.

None of us dared look back.

“Is it me, or does this seem worse than last time?” asked Halley quietly.

I nodded. I could barely speak; the air felt thick with tangible menace.

“Much worse,” I managed.

“Indeed,” agreed Cheren, only the faintest hint of discomfort in his voice. “It's interesting... Perhaps Teiresias' powers take time to charge to their full potential. Previously, it has attacked abruptly, but this time, it has time on its side...” He trailed off, thinking hard. “You know, it might be that it's a slow hunter in its wild state, slowly stalking its prey and weakening it with this psychological barrage of menace before moving in to paralyse and finish it off.”

“Che-Cheren,” said Bianca weakly, reaching up and clutching Munny tight to her chest, “could you maybe not theorise for a bit, please?”

He blinked.

“Ah. Right. Um, sorry about that.” He coughed and adjusted his glasses hurriedly, falling silent abruptly; I wouldn't have thought it possible, but he actually seemed flustered. It seemed he wasn't totally mechanical after all.

“I hate this,” growled Halley, her voice suddenly twisting into a cat's snarl. “F*cking Teiresias... I wish it would just attack. I hate waiting like this.”

“That's probably why it's doing it,” Cheren pointed out, and she hissed at him for his pains.

“I don't – do you think we can beat it this time?” I asked fearfully, jags of memory suddenly stabbing into my mind: a rotting floor, a pounding heart, white eyes that saw nothing but one's soul...

Cheren considered.

“Munny's Psychic attacks seem to confuse whatever it uses to sense us,” he said. “Perhaps we can make good our escape that way. But I'm not sure – its power does seem to be building this time, although maybe it only seems that way so that we are more afraid of it and thus easier for it to subdue.” He shook his head. “I just don't have enough information, I'm afraid, and until we can look up Teiresias in one of the Treatises, it's going to stay that way.”

So even Cheren believed it was a demon, then – which didn't bode well, I thought, another claw of fear curling around my brain. If any of us could have thought of a more mundane explanation for the creature and its powers, it would have been him; now that he seemed to think it was something from another realm as well, any hope we might have of stopping it seemed to evaporate into thin air.

No. Calm down, Lauren, I thought desperately. It's not real, it's a psychological trick, it's just a demon's joke, meant to make you weak; Munny will protect you, blind Teiresias, shut down its eye while you all get away...

A raven screamed and flapped away overhead. I didn't convince myself.

The shadows grew longer.

Distant footsteps sounded behind us.

“It's eight o'clock in the morning in the middle of spring,” muttered Cheren. “And yet... to create this kind of atmosphere even on such a bright, cheery day... fascinating.”

It might be an interesting opportunity to study our mysterious opponent. It might be an unparalleled insight into demonic hunting tactics.

But that was for Cheren, and for my part, I felt like I was only half a step ahead of Córmi himself, the dark ése's great black wings reaching out to snatch me into death. I had been afraid before, walking in the woods alone – of aelfe, of ettins, of rogue Liepard and black Grimveldt wolves – but this was something else. This was fear for fear's sake, welling up from nowhere and everywhere at once, climbing up the walls of my skull in dark waves and crashing down again into tides of paralytic fear. It was an effort to put one foot in front of the other, and when I looked at Bianca and Cheren I wondered how they kept going, how they were resisting the urge to lie down, curl up and wait for Teiresias' long shadow to fall over them.

It knows you're weak, I thought to myself. It knows you're afraid. It knows Cheren is too cold and Bianca too careless; this performance is all for you, to slow you down and shut you off and make you give yourself up.

“I promised Halley,” I murmured, so quietly no one else heard. “I promised...”

I felt, as if from a great distance, tears gather in my eyes.

“I promised I would help,” I said again, more forcefully, and the voice in my head retreated.

I blinked and looked up. The shadows were still dark, the birds still silent. The footsteps sounded, if anything, closer.

I was still afraid, I realised, but I could carry on. I could – just barely – resist.

Halley brushed against my leg, and I started.

“You're doing great,” she said, voice low and gruff. “Uh... keep going.”

With that, she stalked away from me again, and for a moment I stared after her. That had been – that had been concern, right?

“Halley,” I muttered, a small smile crossing my face despite the rounding menace, and walked on.

Half an hour later, the aura of menace was still with us, despite our efforts to speed up, and it was then that Cheren hit upon an idea.

“All right,” he said, “going faster isn't doing anything. We may have to try and use Munny to scramble Teiresias' trace.”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “That... why didn't you say that before?”

“Because there's a small chance that Teiresias doesn't actually know where we are exactly, and is spreading this aura around the entire area to try and startle us into showing ourselves,” he replied. “If that's what it's doing, then it will be watching for Psychic-type attacks – if we use Munny, it will know what direction to go in, and then it can send in Smythe to deal with Munny before moving in itself.”

I stared at him.

“How did you think of that?”

“It's what I would do,” he replied. “It's the most efficient course of action. But given how alien Teiresias' mind is, I'm not sure that it would think of doing it.” He chewed his lip. “Do we risk it?”

“Don't ask me,” I said firmly, shaking my head. “I don't know anything about tactics or anything like that.”

Cheren sighed.

“Fair enough,” he muttered. “Bianca?”

“If I can interrupt?” asked Halley, before she could reply. “Cheers. For your information, Cheren, Teiresias knows exactly where we are. It's waiting because it's making Lauren afraid, and the more afraid people are of it, the stronger it gets.”

Cheren frowned.

“How do you know that?” he asked. “Do you know what Teiresias is?”

“No,” she replied. “Yes. I'm... I'm not sure.” She frowned. “I can – I can half remember something. Like a long-forgotten...” She shook her head. “I used to know!” she growled furiously, slapping herself in the face. “F*ck!”

“All right, leave it for now,” Cheren said tersely. “You'll have time for this later.” He glanced at Bianca. “Are you ready?”

“What do I do?” she asked helplessly. “I mean... there's nothing for Munny to attack.”

“I don't know, aim at the sky or something. Just don't hit any of us.”

Bianca nodded.

“OK,” she said. “Psywave, Munny. Just, uh, up.”

The Munna didn't move, but the same strange silky ripples in space that I had seen it generate the night before poured out of its body in sinuous waves. Despite its efforts to keep the move away from us, part of it must have hit me, because for a moment I had a headache and a strange understanding of the shape and taste of the colour blue – but a moment later, both pain and synaesthesia had gone, and the rippling aura was spreading out through the air above us.

“Well?” I asked, blinking hard. “Did... did it work?”

“I'm not sure,” said Cheren. “The shadows don't seem any lighter.” He looked around. “And – and aren't those footsteps faster now?”

I froze.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “Yeah, they are.”

In fact, they were very fast, and very near.

I looked at Cheren, and Cheren looked at Bianca.

“Well, don't just stand there, morons,” hissed Halley. “Run.”

---

I could describe the chase. I could describe how we raced down the trail; how on my shoulder Candy shrieked in delight at the wind rushing through her feathers; how Munny trailed a vaporous stream of psionic strings behind it in its agitation; how Halley's breath came in wheezy spurts of curses, even after I picked her up.

But I won't.

I could describe how the tree in front of us, rotted through with Teiresias' corrosive magic, collapsed to block the trail ahead. I could describe Smythe, bearing down on us like Córmi in the legend.

But I won't.

Because none of it mattered except that Teiresias was here, its long black shadow cutting the path in half as it stalked towards us at Smythe's side.

It had changed. It was no longer a Liepard; it was smaller now, a little under Halley's size – a Purrloin. But its eyes were still white, and its voice still dead, and when it spoke my name my feet froze in place on the dirt.

“White,” said Teiresias, drawing to a halt a little way off. “And Halley. That is all we desire. You others may leave.”

“You've made that rather difficult,” observed Cheren, patting the fallen log. “In fact, I don't think you've left us much choice but to stay and help.”

“Yeah, um... what he said.” Bianca nodded vigorously. She might not have Cheren's way with words, but she definitely shared his spirit; it was about the only thing they seemed to have in common, and distantly I wondered if that was what bound them together—

“Lauren. Snap the f*ck out of it,” hissed Halley. “Come on, girl, don't go all panic trance on me here. We need to focus.”

I blinked. Yes. Halley was right. I'd made a promise, and I had to honour that.

“Look,” said Smythe, raising his hands as innocently as he could when Teiresias was at his side, “I really, really don't want any trouble. I had that damn Munna invade my skull last time, and I'm not really keen to repeat that. I just want Halley and White. That's all.”

“Then why aren't you taking them?” asked Cheren. “You're standing here talking when you could be taking action.”

“Smythe insists you can be reasoned with,” hissed Teiresias. “I am here to ensure that is so, and to safeguard against the possibility that you cannot.”

“I'm a very reasonable person,” said Cheren, “but I don't think it would be reasonable of me to let you spirit people away without due explanation. How about you tell us why you want Halley and Lauren, and then we'll decide what to do?”

Smythe glanced at Teiresias.

“I have no time for this,” it rasped. “Take them.”

The ground went black.

No slow spread this time: the entire trail, for as far as I could see, turned black with rot, little curls of it twisting away in coils of decay. I jumped back, but there was nowhere safe to flee to. Cheren snapped out an order and Lelouch dived for Teiresias' throat; dissolving into a green ribbon of light as he snaked across the ground—

The Purrloin swung a paw lightly in his direction, and with a momentary dark flash the Snivy arced away into the forest. It did not come back.

“Do not attempt to use the Munna,” said Teiresias. “It will end badly for you.”

No one said anything. I don't even know if they could. The smell was back, the smell from the train – the smell of a dead man's hand bloated in the wreckage of the flood – and the fear returned with it. This time, though, I could see the demon, and that made it a thousand times worse. Everything vanished: self, memory, all rational thought was swept away in a tide of unrelenting terror—

—except one tiny little thought that refused to go away.

Why doesn't it move?

I held onto it tight. It was all that was left of me; all I had that wasn't fear.

Why doesn't Teiresias move?

On the train, it had sat down to spread its aura of terror; in the street, it had only moved once Munny had scrambled its psychic 'sight'.

Is it that it can't move?

Now, as then, Teiresias was stationary, and it was Smythe who was walking towards us, Smythe who was doing the actual capturing. Teiresias itself hung back, impervious to harm, motionless as ever. Why?

And then an idea came into my head, and, fighting through the paralysis, I turned my head to Candy and whispered:

“Get it, but stay back.”

For a heart-stopping moment I thought she wasn't able to, or she hadn't understood, or she didn't know how—

—and then there was a small whumph by my ear and Candy's head whipped forwards like a striking snake, at almost the same moment as a large stone slammed into Teiresias' rotting body and sent it flying backwards.

Immediately, the spell broke. Shadows faded, darkness dissolved; the rot on the trail withered and vanished and the sun came out from behind a cloud. Suddenly released from the supernatural force that had gripped us, Cheren, Bianca and I staggered forward a step; Halley, lighter on her feet, simply bobbed a little.

Smythe stared, dumbfounded.

“How—?”

“Again, Candy!” I said, as Teiresias climbed back to its feet, a crater of snapped ribs and blood-matted fur in its chest where the rock had impacted. She squawked gleefully and another stone popped into existence between her jaws, swelling to full size as she snapped her head forwards and shooting towards the demon—

—who stuck out a paw and shattered the boulder with another of those flashes of black light.

“You are percep—” it began to say, but Candy was getting excited now, and sent another boulder whistling towards it – and another, and another, and now Teiresias was flickering and twisting in a loop of purple fur, desperate to save its borrowed body from destruction.

“All right, time to run,” murmured Halley. “Into the woods. Now.”

No one argued. Cheren, Bianca and Munny went first, heading off the trail in the direction Lelouch had vanished in; Halley followed a moment later, streaking across the dirt as only a startled animal can. I went last, Candy maintaining the bombardment from my shoulder. Teiresias was getting better, I noticed; it was moving less now, settling back into position and destroying the rocks without so much effort, and I knew that in a moment it would have adjusted to the new threat and begun to weave its spell again—

I turned, Candy hurling one last boulder over my shoulder, and fled into the woods.

 

[Rotomknight]

The only sorrow was that you didn't turn it into terisas didn't keep trying to do that, lacking in humor but not in plot.

 

[Cutlerine]

The only sorrow was that you didn't turn it into terisas didn't keep trying to do that, lacking in humor but not in plot.

Hmm. Thanks for your feedback. Given everything going on while I wrote this, it doesn't surprise me that this chapter wasn't as funny as it could've been... Ah well. I'll look to the future, and my white tomorrow.

F.A.B.

 

[Azurus]

I enjoyed this segment myself, but like Rotom said, lacking in humor, however, I feel this did not detract from the story at all, so no worries there.

I don't have many things to say besides some of the descriptions you used were well done. Like a sigh of the oppressed or looking at someone with so much didain that they could be confused as being blind.

Keep up the good work.

 

[Cutlerine]

I enjoyed this segment myself, but like Rotom said, lacking in humor, however, I feel this did not detract from the story at all, so no worries there.

I don't have many things to say besides some of the descriptions you used were well done. Like a sigh of the oppressed or looking at someone with so much didain that they could be confused as being blind.

Keep up the good work.

Thanks for your feedback! Hopefully I'll be putting up another chapter later today or tomorrow; I think I might finally be getting back onto my feet with this whole writing malarkey.

F.A.B.

 

[Cutlerine]

Chapter Eight: The Young Miss Moritz

Niamh Harper (Neeve, she would say with a sigh, it's pronounced Neeve) was one of those people who are, in the movies, invariably referred to as 'the specialists', or 'the cleaners', or some other variant on the same cloak-and-dagger theme. Like her fictional counterparts, she possessed uncanny efficiency, tremendous intellect and more concealed weapons than anyone might safely shake a stick at. Unlike them, however, she was one sixty-fourth faerie.

So family tradition went, anyway, and Niamh had always maintained that the source of her preternatural luck was the blood she had inherited from her aelfen great-great-great-great-grandmother; all the really successful criminals, she reasoned, had a gimmick – Moriarty had the whole 'Napoleon of crime' thing, and the Zodiac Killer had had his bizarre messages, for instance – and it would be a damn shame to miss out on capitalising on hers. It paid, she thought, to think of a decent advertising scheme.

Thus it was that Niamh (the name was supposed to be redolent of the mysterious aelfe from which she claimed ancestry, but all it really did was confuse people) had been contracted by Ingen several years previously as their 'clean-up expert'. (Apparently those in charge of hiring her had seen a few too many conspiracy films.) In that time, she had successfully prevented, among other things, a juvenile Megalosaurus from eating its way through an orphanage, an abortive attempt at creating a shoggoth from absorbing half the Ingen staff (Dr. Spitelle's fault), and a pair of snooping journalists from uncovering Ingen's secret facility on Volundr's Anvil off the east coast. Rather less successfully, she had attempted to stop the escape of a small group of Andrewsarchus into the depths of the Grimveldt Forest, from the security of which strange rumours were now drifting out across Unova of monsters raiding outlying settlements in the night – but then again, one couldn't be perfect all the time. Everyone made mistakes, after all, even people like Niamh.

This, however, ought not to have been a mission on which Niamh would make mistakes. She simply had to travel to Accumula Town, relieve the unknown girl with the green hat of the escaped Archen, destroy it before it fell into the hands of any of Ingen's many competitors, and return home. Simple. She was going up against kids; while it was stupid to ever claim that nothing could go wrong, Niamh was fairly certain that, well, nothing could go wrong.

As the astute reader will have guessed, this was not the case.

And Niamh Harper was about to find that out in spectacular fashion.

---

Smythe looked at Teiresias.

“Should... should I chase them?” he asked tentatively.

The Purrloin was silent.

“Teiresias?”

“No,” it said. “No.” It got to its feet and began to walk back down the Trail, towards Accumula.

“What? Where are you going?” asked Smythe.

“To Accumula,” replied Teiresias coldly. “There is nothing to be gained from chasing them.”

“What? But we have to catch—”

“Yes.” Teiresias paused, and looked back. “But we cannot chase them. I underestimated White's intelligence. We will have to alter our tactics; brute force is not the way to go.”

“Oh,” said Smythe, his brain finally catching up with his mouth. “I see... you want to get to Striaton ahead of them and lay an ambush?”

“They are Trainers. They will go to the Gym there,” Teiresias went on, as if he hadn't spoken – and now Smythe saw that its eyes were burning blue, seeing deep into something other than the forest around them. “White will not. She will go to – to...” It trailed off. “I cannot see where she will go,” it said. “Not yet. But we will have an opportunity to catch her and Halley, when they are separated from the Trainers.”

Smythe blinked. He might not quite have Teiresias' intellect, but he wasn't stupid, and he recognised the blue eyes and cryptic proclamation.

“You have prolepsia?” he asked, incredulous. It wasn't common. Fewer than one in five hundred thousand humans were born with the genetic abnormality that let them catch glimpses of future events, and while Smythe didn't know how common it was among Teiresias' kind, he definitely hadn't been expecting it.

“Yes,” replied his partner, eyes fading to white again. “It is certain. Our opportunity for ambuscade lies in Striaton.”

“I see. It—”

“Whatever you have to say, say it as we move,” Teiresias interrupted. “I refuse to drag your swinish flesh through the dark paths again today. We must return to Accumula and use your human methods of transport.”

“Oh... right.” Smythe thought of the nightmare realm through which Teiresias chose to travel, and heaved a silent sigh of relief. “I guess we'd better go, then,” he said, surprising himself by sounding almost cheery.

“Yes,” agreed Teiresias. “We had.”

It stalked on, and, almost whistling with restrained happiness, Smythe followed.

---

“I see,” said Cheren, nodding. “You notice the important details, Lauren, and formulate effective strategic responses... you'd be a good Trainer.”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” I replied, looking away. “I'm just... I just noticed that it didn't move, that's all.”

It was an hour since we had left Teiresias and Smythe on the trail, and an hour since we'd seen any sign of them; they didn't seem to be following us, or at least they weren't being obvious about it, and we'd continued on our way north to Striaton slightly more at ease than before. Lelouch had wandered up to us a few minutes into our search for him, holding his head in his stubby arms and hissing groggily, and he was now back in his Ball; Cheren had given him a Potion and the Snivy was now fairly healthy again, but he'd decided that he deserved a rest after his treatment at Teiresias' hands.

Of course, Halley, Cheren and Bianca had all wanted to know what I'd done to Teiresias and how I'd done it, and I'd just come to the end of my explanation: I had noticed that Teiresias could only concentrate enough to raise its fear aura if it was stationary, and also that it was almost impossible to get close enough to it to move it. That left only one option: try and hit it with some force without getting near. I knew most Rock-type Pokémon knew Rock Throw, and I was pretty sure that Candy was at least part Rock-type; to my relief, she'd been able to work out what I wanted her to do, and had in fact got quite into the whole Rock Throwing business.

“No, I mean it,” said Cheren. “You have a knack for it.”

“Yeah,” agreed Halley. “Looks like you got the brain and Jared got the brawn. If I put the two of you together I might actually get a decent bodyguard.”

I ignored her; I had no idea what to say in response to that.

Bianca beamed at me.

“You don't need to be so modest,” she said. “You can accept praise, you know.”

“Uh... OK,” I replied. “Thank you.”

“That's better,” she said with satisfaction, and was about to say something else when Munny made a loud blooping noise and started bobbing up and down in what was either excitement or acute indigestion.

Cheren stared up at it with interest.

“Oh? What is it?”

“It senses something,” said Bianca, a look of concentration on her face, and with a small jolt of excitement I realised that Munny must be trying to communicate with her telepathically.

“That's so cool,” I murmured.

“It says... there are a lot of wild Pokémon around,” she said, frowning. “Much more than normal... oh, they were running away from Teiresias, and there's lots of them hiding a little further up the trail.”

Cheren clapped his hands.

“Excellent!” he cried. “I've had enough spectral persecution for one day. Time to actually do some Training.”

I started. It had almost slipped my mind that that was what Cheren and Bianca actually did: catch wild Pokémon, and fight others with them. I'd been so focused on Teiresias and the problem of Halley that I'd forgotten this trip was anything more than a way of evading the Green Party's supernatural hitman.

“Yeah,” agreed Bianca. “Put that demon stuff behind us for a while...”

“If it gets us off the radar, it's fine by me,” Halley said. “What isn't fine by me, though, is standing around not moving in the woods when we could be moving in the opposite direction to the evil monster hunting us.” She leaped up onto a low branch overhanging the trail, and pointed ahead. “So let's move.”

“I don't think it's actually following us right now,” said Cheren mildly, but Halley was having none of it. Obviously Teiresias had spooked her more than I'd thought.

“Don't care. Don't trust it. Move.”

So we did, moving quietly so as not to frighten off any Pokémon ahead. I had my doubts about how effective this would be – after all, I'd spent a lot of time in the woods before, and I knew that Pokémon and animals alike were far more adept at noticing approaching humans, especially when scared, than any of us – but I was willing to play along. After all, Cheren and Bianca were Trainers. They had to have some level of skill at this.

A few minutes later, I held out my hand for them to stop. The broken cuffs jingled, and I hastily clamped my fingers over them to keep them still.

“What is it?” asked Bianca.

“Sssh,” I hissed. “There. Right there.”

I pointed at the Purrloin crouching ahead of us, half-concealed by the undergrowth.

“What?”

I looked at her.

“Can't you see it?” I asked incredulously. “It's right there.”

Cheren's eyes were darting around so fast they looked like they might spring free of their sockets and go on a brief aerial reconnaissance mission; I guess not noticing something must have been pretty galling for someone who usually sees everything.

“I see her,” hissed Halley. “I have a bizarre urge to challenge her for her territory, but I'm holding it in.”

“I still don't,” began Cheren testily, and then his eyes widened. “Ah.” He frowned. “Why isn't it running away?”

“Because you three smell of fear,” Halley said. “You've been bathing in it all morning, thanks to Teiresias. Any animal with a decent sense of smell is going to be confused by you, since you look bold but smell terrified.”

“I don't see it,” said Bianca petulantly.

“Look, it's right there,” I said, pointing. The Purrloin shrank back from my finger, and I hurriedly withdrew it.

“I still can't see it.”

“No matter,” whispered Cheren. “You will in a moment.” He reached into his pocket and took out Lelouch's ball. “This should be simple enough.”

He threw the ball in a high arc, up among the branches and leaves of the canopy; I didn't see where it fell, but it must have been somewhere beyond the Purrloin.

The little Pokémon didn't move. It was thoroughly confused; it probably suspected a trick, given that its nature was to hunt by deceit – in contrast to the wildcats, which were physically stronger and tended to drop on their prey from the trees and wrestle it into submission – but it couldn't work out what it was.

You sound like Cheren, part of my mind told me, but it wasn't true; Cheren was smarter than I was. He researched these things – I'd just seen it happen a few times back in White Forest.

“Now,” said Cheren quietly, and Lelouch appeared behind the Purrloin, rearing out of the bushes with the total predatory silence only reptiles and birds can achieve. For a moment, he hung there motionless, and I could see his jaw widening in response to his serpentine instincts, about to unhinge and swallow the Purrloin whole—

—and then his training asserted itself, and he shut his mouth, looking faintly displeased. Almost as an afterthought, he swatted the Purrloin hard on the leg with his viny tail, and the little cat started so hard it looked like it was on the verge of cardiac arrest.

It whirled, instinctively sweeping its sharp tail across its attacker and following it up with its claws – but Lelouch didn't seem to even notice the thin scratches opening up across its chest; nothing bled from them, and I realised what the advantages of being made of plant matter must be – no pain, difficult to incapacitate... I wondered if Lelouch even had organs.

The Snivy blinked slowly, and swallowed the Purrloin's head.

I stared. Had I just seen that happen? Had Lelouch actually just...?

Yes. Yes, he had.

The Purrloin twitched and writhed furiously, scratching at his face and throat, but half-inch claws aren't much good at slicing through plant stems, and Lelouch didn't falter. A moment later, the Purrloin slowed – and a few seconds after that, it slumped, unconscious.

Lelouch made a peculiarly human coughing sound, and spat the Purrloin out onto the leaf litter.

“Well, that was the most disturbing way I've ever seen anyone win a Pokémon battle,” said Halley lightly. “Seriously? You get him to suffocate his enemies with his mouth?”

“I'm making use of his strengths,” said Cheren stiffly. “The combination of reptile and plant is fascinating – it opens up a variety of tactics—”

“I honestly could not give a single fu— fun-size Mars bar,” finished Halley glumly, looking up at me. “Damn you, Lauren.”

I smiled at her.

“Thank you.”

“I seriously can't tell if that's irony or not,” she muttered. “That infuriates me.”

“I bet it does.”

Cheren fished around in his pockets and pulled out a Poké Ball; a moment later, he was the proud owner of a new Purrloin, and had, for reasons known only to himself, christened it Justine.

“Well,” he said, “that was successful. Now, if only I could get a signal out here I could look it up in the Pokédex...” Here, he spared a moment to stare balefully at his phone. Unova's mobile communications networks were unreliable at best and explosive at worst; anywhere outside of the major cities had only patchy network coverage, and the phone masts, manufactured mainly by companies who didn't meet the quality control requirements of other countries, had a tendency to burst into flame when too much data ran through them. “Ah, well,” said Cheren, more jovially. “I have a Purrloin now, at least, and that's something.”

“So, um, this is kind of embarrassing,” said Bianca, “but I still didn't actually see the Purrloin.”

I stared at her.

“Um... you are joking, right Bianca?”

“Nope,” she said sadly. “I'm... not really very good at being a Trainer, I think.”

“Oh, don't worry,” I said brightly. “Cheren didn't see it for ages, either. It's just experience, that's all.”

“You think?”

“Well, I wasn't born able to see hiding animals like that,” I said thoughtfully, “so I guess it must be practice. I've lived in the woods all my life, remember.”

“I guess...”

Bianca didn't sound entirely convinced, and I wanted to do more for her – but I wasn't certain what else I could say without knowing her better, and now wasn't the time to start questioning her about her history and lack of self-confidence. I sighed, and pushed Candy away from my ear, which she was trying hard to stuff her beak into.

“Yeah. Just practice.” I made myself smile; smiling is infectious, and hopefully Bianca would smile too. “Come on, then. I'm guessing the other Pokémon around here were scared off by that fight, but we might be able to find more. At the very least, we'll end up closer to Striaton.”

“Yes, good idea,” said Cheren, obviously pleased to have been presented with a way out of a situation he clearly found awkward. “Come on, Bianca.”

He recalled Lelouch and started walking; it was a good thing, I thought as I followed, that I was here, or poor Bianca wouldn't have had any comfort at all except from Munny – and the Munna's comforting consisted mostly of bumping into her head over and over again, as it was doing now.

I sighed, and let Candy hop down onto my wrist.

“What're we going to do about that, Candy?” I whispered, falling to the back of the group. “What're we going to do...?”

---

Picture, if you will, the villain's lair. Let the image fill your mind: a castle, a thunderstorm, a fearsome crack of lightning that illuminates for one brief and violent instant unspeakable horrors; picture the guttering candles, wax oozing from their tips like pale snakes with questing, transparent faces; picture the ancient paintings whose eyes have long since been cut out to provide spy-holes for unseen watchers; the dungeons, the long-forgotten skeleton still in his manacles, the attic where the mad wife gibbers in her chains; the lopsided tower, lit fitfully by a cluster of dying lanterns – and finally, the villain himself, committing black and ancient deeds from before the time of man, bringing unto himself creatures that the ése never meant to see the light of day.

This was what would have sprung to the mind of Lauren White if asked to envision the place from which Teiresias had begun its mission. Needless to say, it was not correct.

No, Unova's Green Party had its headquarters in a large and unnecessarily magnificent building in Gaunton, Castelia; it had begun life as the residence of the penultimate British High Commissioner for Unova, and retained almost all of its original splendour. Owing to its erstwhile owner's peculiar architectural fancies, and his patent disregard for the more classical trends of his day, it was a vast and colourful Gothic pile after the manner of Pugin, beginning at the ground in a tangle of white limestone and ending in the sky in a multiplicity of blue-green Undella slate roofs. No two architects would ever be able to agree on whether or not it was beautiful, but anyone at all would concede that it was certainly among the most impressive buildings in the city. It bore its eccentricities with the brash swagger of a cartoon pirate, and had revelled in its own majesty since the year of its completion in 1944.

It was down the twisting halls of this overweening edifice that Caitlin Molloy bent her steps, down to what had once been the Commissioner's office and was now that of Ghetsis Harmonia. She knocked on the door, and at the sound of a cheery 'Come in!' entered to find him seated behind his desk, flicking through a weighty-looking book of immense proportions; as she drew near, Harmonia looked up, grinned, and laid the book down in front of him.

“Ah!” he said, smiling mischievously. “If it isn't my friend from Johannesburg.”

Caitlin Molloy was not in fact from Johannesburg. She could, however, do a fine South African accent, although this was not something she did as a general rule.

“Afternoon, Ghetsis,” she said, returning his smile at the shared joke. “I brought you the report from Striaton.”

She tossed a manila folder down on the desk, and Harmonia's eyebrow rose.

“Ah me,” he said, stroking his chin meditatively. “That looks thick.” His HawkEye clicked upward to lock onto Caitlin. “Any chance of a synopsis? I will read it, just... not right now.”

“It's difficult to know what to do,” replied Caitlin, dropping into the seat opposite him. “There's two possibilities here. Either the powder actually converts dreamed objects into real ones, which would allow us to synthesise the lost artefact easily, given access to Dr. Fennel's lab – or it stimulates dreams of another life. Given the way the prevailing winds blow over Unova, Fennel theorises that this could be the cause of the whole Dream World – the mist is generated by the Munna and Musharna near Striaton, desiccates and gets spread across the country. Hence the dreams.”

Harmonia nodded thoughtfully. Like everyone in Unova, he had spent at least some time wondering about the cause of the so-called Dream World; it had never, to anyone's knowledge, been satisfactorily explained, although various theories had been put forward to explain it. In fact, it was Dr. Fennel's potential explanation for the existence of the strangely unified dreams of Unova that had first caught his eye as he scanned the scientific literature of the week before.

“I see,” he said slowly. “What're the chances that the powder really does turn dreams to reality?”

“I don't know,” replied Caitlin frankly. “It doesn't even sound possible, to be honest, but stranger things have happened... it's just one step up from Zoroark venom. It's... well, if it's true, it changes everything.” She shrugged. “Fennel was eager to help – you know what these researchers are like, always after funding. We waved a vague offer under her nose in exchange for this report on the Dreamyard.”

“The Dreamyard?” queried Harmonia. “What's that?”

“Ah. It's what the people around Striaton call the old Sytec manufacturing plant. There was a lot of waste around there that was never properly disposed of, and the Musharna flocked there to nest. People in Striaton have more regular and Dream World dreams than anyone else in the nation, and they remember them better too – and it's all from the abandoned lot. So they ended up calling it the Dreamyard.”

“I see.” Harmonia opened the folder and began to leaf through its contents. “Woden's patch,” he muttered. “Psychochemical disturbances in the dream matrix? Hyperbombastic ritual dream exchanges? Thunor, this is hard going... she's really trying to impress.”

Caitlin shrugged.

“Like I said, she wants funding.” She watched Harmonia for a moment. “What do you want to do?”

The red lens moved up to look at her, though the head attached to it remained inclined towards the folder.

“Let's do it,” he said decisively. “We've got nothing to lose after all; we have plenty of funds at our disposal, with our new allies. Throw some gold at her and see what we can do – if it works, we could potentially finish this thing tomorrow.”

Caitlin nodded.

“I'll get right on it, Ghetsis,” she said. “See you later.”

“Goodbye,” he replied distractedly, returning to the report.

Caitlin left, and twelve minutes later a message was winging its way towards Striaton.

---

By the end of the day, Munny and Lelouch had put paid to about six assorted Patrat, Purrloin and Lillipup between them; Smoky, whom Bianca had all but kicked into action, had dealt with just one, and then only because it had been a particularly pugnacious Lillipup and had tried to bite his tail. He had sat up, torched it and gone back to sleep without ever opening his eyes.

There had been no further sign of activity on Teiresias' part, but when we pitched camp that night we agreed we'd keep watch in case it and Smythe returned while we slept; Halley offered to watch all night, citing her animal instincts, ability to see in the dark and heightened sense of smell as reasons. I refused to let her, though; she needed sleep as much as the rest of us, I argued, so we set up a rota. Cheren seemed to think she had some ulterior motive in offering to take the entire watch, but I couldn't see what it would be – she was nervous, that was all, and who could blame her? Teiresias was a nasty foe.

After we'd eaten, Cheren gathered a few meaty scraps into a little heap, and let out his new Purrloin, which looked around wildly at us for a while before bolting for the undergrowth.

“Well, that was successful,” said Halley snidely. “Champion material right here.”

“I know what I'm doing,” replied Cheren calmly. “She'll come back. Wait.”

A few moments later, the Purrloin – Justine – did in fact return, slinking quietly out of the bushes and doing her best to remain in the shadows, out of sight.

“Cheren,” began Bianca, delighted to have finally spotted something, but he held up a hand.

“Ignore her,” he said. “We're not supposed to have noticed her.”

Candy's large eyes flicked over to the Purrloin in the shadows, and she looked up at me inquisitively.

“No,” I said, shaking my head as vigorously as possible. “No no no. Don't even think about it.”

She made a small noise of avian disappointment, which was something like a squawk, something like a sigh and a lot more discordant than either, and went back to digging a shallow bowl in the dirt near the fire. She had done that last night too; I wasn't sure why. I'd never taken Candy out on extended trips in the woods before, and it seemed to be bringing out a variety of responses in her that I expected Uncle Gregory would have been interested in; he was always going on about how there was no way to accurately work out the behaviour of extinct animals from their fossils alone, and about that being the reason why he'd gone into the re-engineering business, and if they'd just give him ten more years and a million more pounds of funding he'd have solved the Gleinhauser Proposition, whatever that was.

A moment later, Justine materialised next to Cheren's leg, and quietly began to steal the leftovers he'd piled up.

“What's she doing?” I asked softly.

“Purrloin are thieves,” replied Cheren, just as quietly. Justine did not look up at the sound of his voice. “They take the kills of others, or steal from campsites. If you give them food, they tend to believe that they're tricking you into feeding them, which makes them quite happy and therefore easier to tame... watch.”

He picked up a meaty bone he had kept in reserve and held it under Justine's nose.

The Purrloin froze. Her sharp green eyes focused on the end of the bone, travelled along its length, passed up Cheren's arm and came to rest on his face.

A sly grin passed over her muzzle, and she ran a thin tongue over her fangs. Then, very delicately, she took the bone in between her jaws and climbed onto Cheren's lap to gnaw on it.

He looked up at me.

“See?” he said. “Easy.”

I grinned and shook my head.

“That's adorable,” I said.

“I know!” squealed Bianca in agreement, so loudly that Justine jumped in surprise and inhaled half her bone.

“Thunor—!” cried Cheren, staring wild-eyed as the Purrloin began to asphyxiate. “How the hell—?”

One hand on the bone and one on her back, he started pulling and patting at the same time; a moment later, the offending article shot out, and Justine collapsed, gasping for air, on his lap. Bianca stared speechlessly.

“I... um... sorry, Cheren,” she said at last. She sounded like a toddler who knows they've done something so bad there is no alternative but to pretend it didn't happen.

“That's... all right, Bianca,” Cheren said, voice strained. “Just – ah – try not to kill my Pokémon in future, all right?”

“Yeah...” Bianca's head drooped. “Sorry...”

Halley snickered.

“See, that's comedy,” she said. “Good old slapstick. There's nothing funnier than serious injury.”

“Yes there is,” I said. “Justine could've been hurt.”

“You're missing the point,” she sighed. “That's exactly why it was funny.” She waved a paw dismissively. “Whatever. I'm not going go be able to convince you about this one.”

“On the plus side,” continued Cheren as if neither of us had spoken, “the experience does seem to have endeared me to Justine somewhat.”

It was true: while Purrloin weren't really known for their loyalty, I was pretty sure the star-struck look in Justine's eyes indicated that the saviour of her life had now earned her undying respect. It was a pretty big bone for such a small cat; I supposed I'd feel the same way if Cheren had removed something the size of my forearm from my throat.

“Hmm. A little training, and she might even be up to helping Lelouch with the Striaton Gym,” Cheren said to himself. “Strange as it may sound, I guess I should be thanking you, Bianca.”

Immediately, she perked up again.

“OK!” she cried happily. “That's all right, then. Do we have any pudding?”

“No, you ate it all the night after we left home,” he sighed. “I didn't buy any more in Accumula because it didn't seem worth it.”

“Oh yeah.” Bianca seemed vaguely disappointed, but she couldn't stay that way for long, and by the time we retired to our tents that night, she seemed to be back to normal. Halley, on the other hand, seemed quieter than ever; even when Candy hurled a rock at her, her curses seemed to lack their usual colour and flavour. I asked her what was wrong, but naturally she said nothing – or rather, she did say something, but that something was a torrid stream of invective, which shut me up pretty quickly.

At least, I thought as I lay there in the dark, watching the glow of the fire through the thin fabric, she's still up to doing that. I was still thinking about it when I fell into uneasy dreams, a little before midnight.

---

There a certain moments in life that defy conventional explanation – moments when a chance collocation of events coheres and gives rise to a result infinitely greater than the sum of its parts; moments when disparate strands of destiny cross over, briefly form an accidental Gordian knot, and pass on unchanged. These moments are taken by some to be evidence of wyrd, or fate; others, to be evidence of God.

Niamh Harper was abhorrent of suspicion and possessed of a good vocabulary, so she saw them as serendipity.

If any particular event that afternoon had occurred differently – a minute later, a minute later, a few feet to the left – nothing would have come of it. But as it happened, a man refused the offer of a second drink before leaving for work that morning, citing lack of time; and a woman's alarm clock in Nacrene ran out of power during the night; and a child dropped his toy car on a walk through the park in Accumula; and a busker's bicycle had a flat tyre, and he was forced to go to his usual spot on Neurine Plaza on foot.

And the woman was late for work, and the decrepit Anville Rail Service train was even later than advertised; and Portland Smythe tripped over the car and twisted his ankle so badly he could not muster the speed to make it to the station in time to catch his train; and he repaired to a nearby park bench to recover and wait for the next one.

And Niamh Harper, worn out and stressed from the long train journey, was not looking where she was going as she left the carriage; and the man, who handed out flyers at Accumula Station, was overcome by a small wave of dizziness owing to dehydration; and the two of them collided, sending leaflets fluttering everywhere.

And as she helped him gather the leaflets, she noticed they advertised a coffee-house two streets away near Neurine Plaza, and decided that she was in need of refreshment and rest before continuing her search; and as she made her way to the coffee-house, the busker finally arrived at work and began to play.

And on the street next to the Plaza, Niamh subconsciously heard the unmistakeable strains of jazz flute, and without knowing why looked around for the only jazz flautist she had ever known—

And over the iron railings of the park she saw Portland Smythe, and at the same moment he looked up at the sound of the flute and saw her too.

Their jaws dropped.

Serendipity.

 

[Rotomknight]

EPIC AWESOME SAUCE!
It looks like White would be a good trainer... She has a pokemon.

 

[Azurus]

Wow, that would have been gruesome if that Purrloin wasn't meant to be caught, pretty awesome though.

Also, endangering your pets via proxy and saving them = best loyalty gain ever. Keep it up Cheren and soon all the pokemon in the group will respect and listen to you without a second thought.

I wonder if that Caitlin is the same one in the Elite 4...

Anyway, that was a pretty sweet chapter though not much happened in anyones POV besides getting a new pokemon. Looking forward to the next one and am quite surprised at the speed this one showed up.

 

[Cutlerine]

Well, hello there, everyone. It's been, uh, a while. I can only apologise and claim the construction of a Traction City* as an excuse for my absence. I'm discovering that I'm one of that breed of art students who create completely mental sculptures on a semi-unmanageable scale, so I've been utilising my creative muscles recently to the extent that I haven't particularly wanted to flex them outside of studio hours. When I finally did force myself to sit down and write, I wrote the whole of Chapter Nine in less than twelve hours, so lack of time can't form an adequate excuse for not updating. Or even visiting the forums.

EPIC AWESOME SAUCE!
It looks like White would be a good trainer... She has a pokemon.

She does, doesn't she? I did say Lauren and Jared complemented each other. Hopefully, this is the first of several examples.

Wow, that would have been gruesome if that Purrloin wasn't meant to be caught, pretty awesome though.

Also, endangering your pets via proxy and saving them = best loyalty gain ever. Keep it up Cheren and soon all the pokemon in the group will respect and listen to you without a second thought.

I wonder if that Caitlin is the same one in the Elite 4...

Anyway, that was a pretty sweet chapter though not much happened in anyones POV besides getting a new pokemon. Looking forward to the next one and am quite surprised at the speed this one showed up.

Caitlin... Damn it, I completely forgot there was one in the Elite Four. Ah well, never mind. I can handle multiple Caitlins. Although, I do have to wonder whether it would be worthier of me to suffer them rather than deal with them... Time for a parodic soliliquy.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of numberless Caitlins,
Or to take arms against a sea of Caitlins,
And by opposing end them?

And that's quite enough of that. I shouldn't be encouraging myself.

A new chapter will be up very shortly indeed.

F.A.B.

*No, seriously, I'm building a Traction City. Of sorts.

 

[Cutlerine]

Chapter Nine: The Bane of Gregor Samsa

Striaton, unlike Accumula, let you know it was coming. It didn't suddenly rear up out of the woods like a spooked horse; it built up slowly, the forests giving way to fields that, in turn, gave way to suburbs. It was a city, not a little backwater village, and as I breathed in the familiar scent of petrochemical fumes, I sighed with relief. I felt like I was coming home.

Candy coughed on my shoulder. I barely noticed; here were the trappings of civilisation again, the tarmac and concrete and cars, and what could possibly be finer than that?

It had taken us the better part of the day to reach this blessed metropolis, and it was four o'clock by the time we'd got into the city proper and were somewhere near a Pokémon Centre. I was exhausted, and looking forward to sitting down – but Cheren, it seemed, had other ideas, and headed off immediately in search of the Trainer's School in the north quarter. Bianca chose not to follow him; like me, she was tired, and still a little dispirited from her failures the day before, and so she came with Halley and me to the nearest Pokémon Centre.

“Well,” I said, when we'd arrived. “It looks like someone's, uh, kind of desperate.”

The broad windows of the Centre were covered almost entirely by plastered notices, screaming out the same message over and over, the wording more and more despairing from poster to poster.

ASSISTANCE WANTED​

the first few read,

WITH A GLORIOUS UNDERTAKING
FOR THE CAUSE OF SCIENCE
VOLUNTEERS TO BE HANDSOMELY REWARDED
ENQUIRE AT PSYCHOSOMA LABORATORIES, 12C BEETWAX STREET,
FOR DETAILS​

By the end, though, the flyers were somewhat less grandiose:

FOR GOD'S SAKE, WILL SOMEONE PLEASE HELP?
THIS IS NOT ALL THAT DANGEROUS REALLY,
I PROMISE. AND COMPENSATION FOR ANY MENTAL TRAUMA
WILL BE MADE AVAILABLE. COME ON. ANYONE?
ANYONE AT ALL?​

“What school of graphic design did this moron graduate from?” said Halley acidly. “Big and bold is all very well, but this guy's crossed a line – and then pissed on it.”

“I wonder what it is,” mused Bianca, staring. “It must be important...”

“I guess so,” I agreed. “Maybe the receptionist will know.”

“How're you going to talk to them?” asked Halley. “You're a cardless Trainer from Sweden, remember?”

I scratched my head. Damn. We didn't have Cheren to convince them.

“Uh... We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“We're standing on the f*cking riverbank, Jared, we're not going to get much closer—”

“Shut up and pretend to be a normal cat,” I snapped, pushing open the doors and walking into the Centre.

On my shoulder, Candy perked up suddenly, extending her neck to feel the warmth of the central heating on her scaly head; fleetingly, N's words flickered through my mind, but like most people, I'm pretty good at not thinking about uncomfortable truths and let the thought slip from my mind like an eel through a noose.

“Hi,” said the receptionist as we approached. “Welcome to the southern Striaton Pokémon Centre.”

I frowned. Was it a uniform requirement for all Centre workers, or was it just a coincidence that both she and the one from Accumula had the same dyed-pink hair?

“Hi!” said Bianca bouncily – so much so, in fact, that her voice seemed to rebound off the walls with its sheer perkiness. Halley and I winced in unison. “What're those posters in the window about?”

Her directness caught the receptionist off-guard for a moment.

“Eh? Oh, those,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Some scientist from Sotwell—”

“Sotwell?” I asked.

She made a clicking noise of annoyance at herself; she'd forgotten we weren't Striaton natives.

“East of the city centre,” she explained swiftly. “She's looking for Trainers to go and get something from the ruined Sytec factory – something to do with Musharna. No one wants to go deep enough into the factory to find a Musharna, though – it's really not a safe place.”

Sytec. Everyone in Unova – and probably the world – was familiar with that particular disaster. The only reason Striaton wasn't totally uninhabitable now was because the army had jettisoned most of the waste north into Patzkova (where, conspiracy theorists claimed, it had given rise to a brutal mutant variant of Druddigon) - and what was left had, according to the books, turned the old factory into a twisted maze of semi-sentient psychic fields. I had no idea what that meant, but it sounded like something any sensible person would want to avoid.

“What about a Munna?” asked Bianca, pointing to the pink ball floating above her head. “Would a Munna be able to help?”

The receptionist shrugged.

“No idea. If you want to know, I'd ask the scientist herself.”

Bianca's eyes lit up, and I sighed.

“Do we have to?” I asked her.

“But I might be able to help!” she said eagerly. “And that might make up for – for yesterday...” She trailed off quietly, and I knew I didn't have the heart to resist her. She wanted to make amends, was that it? To prove that she could still be a decent Trainer, even after not spotting the Purrloin and then almost killing it? Fair enough, I thought; I wasn't going to take that away from her.

“I don't know,” I muttered, stalling for time – trying to delay having to accept her proposal.

“And I don't think Teiresias will be able to follow us there, either,” Bianca went on. “It won't be able to see us, right?”

I paused, and glanced down at Halley, who looked back up at me. Teiresias' psychic eye was blinded by Munny's mental radiation; if we entered the Sytec plant, it might well do the same.

“It won't be able to see us,” Halley whispered, so quietly I almost didn't hear.

“Is that a wildcat?” asked the receptionist, confused. “Who has a pet wildcat?”

“Uh... me,” I replied. “I also have a parrot.” I scratched Candy's neck and she crowed with pleasure. The receptionist stared.

“Is that an Arch—?”

“All right then!” I said swiftly. “Come on, Bianca. Let's go find this scientist.”

Esé damn it, I thought sourly as we walked out. How the f*ck does everyone know?

---

12C Beetwax Street was a good half an hour away by subway, as it turned out, and when we arrived I wasn't entirely sure it was worth the trip. The whole area looked like it had been spat out by a dog that had decided it wasn't worth the effort of chewing, and number 12 looked like it had been right between the molars. Its upper floor, where the landlady informed us 12C was to be found, was more the sort of place I expected to find a yolk kitchen than a laboratory. I supposed that pure science didn't pay too well.

“This... doesn't exactly look like what I thought it might,” Bianca said cautiously, looking at the scratched wooden door. The '2' was missing from its sign, and had been for so long that there wasn't even a patch of lighter wood to show where it had been. “It's... um...”

“A sh*thole,” said Halley concisely. “A bloody sh*thole. Huh. Gone are the days of the gentleman-scientist, I guess.”

I said nothing, but knocked at the door; it swung open at my touch, revealing a cramped tangle of machinery and desks, and a young, haggard-looking woman leaning against the wall and smoking furiously.

“...Woden hang them all,” she was muttering. “Theirs is the generation that grew up with Portal, for Frige's sake! How can they not want to help test for science...?”

She did not seem to notice us, wrapped up as she was in her ranting monologue and cigarette smoke, so I said hesitantly:

“Hello? We're, uh, here about the adverts?”

I could've sworn an electric shock ran through her. She shot bolt upright, almost inhaling her cigarette, and hastily tossed it into an ashtray, eyes locking onto us with a fervour that made me doubt her sanity.

“Really?” she beamed, regarding us hungrily. “You're here to – ah, a Munna!” One of her hands curled reflexively into a fist and started wiggling in excitement, and she paused for a moment to calm herself. After a deep breath, she stepped forwards. “Good afternoon,” she said brightly, holding out her hand. “My name is Dr. Regan Fennel, and I'm very glad to see you two. My research is almost at a standstill, and without a decent quantity of the dust, I'm not altogether sure the psychoanalytic engines will— but I'm getting ahead of myself,” she said, shaking her head. “Please, come in.”

Somewhat cautiously, Bianca and I followed her through a maze of abstruse mechanisms, stacked high to the ceiling; they wound about the room in a tangle of wires, of cables, of electrodes and pistons, sprouting monitors and keyboards like curiously geometric fungal growths, clicking and whirring and flashing the occasional light like the eyes of phosphorescent fish in the benthic depths. All the while, Fennel kept up a steady stream of scientific technobabble.

“I'm investigating dream potentiality,” she told us. “The hidden energy and possibilities within dream states. Musharna – I know this must seem unrelated, but bear with me, it'll become clear – communicate using psychochemical mists, composed of psychically-charged esters – chemicals that carry a scent and a tagged emotion. In the minds of other Musharna, this triggers a sympathetic psychic response that conveys the original Musharna's meaning. It's a unique system: no other Pokémon uses that combination of smell and psionics. It's why they're so bad at pure psychic communication, why they can only vaguely hint at what they mean when they attempt to 'talk' to humans.

“But that's beside the point. Psychochemicals have so much more potential than simple communication, if there are enough of them – and in the Dreamyard, the Sytec plant, where there are an estimated five hundred Musharna all emitting the sprays at once, and where the roving psychic fields left by the explosion keep warping them...” Fennel paused in excitement. “The sprays dry out,” she said, as if this was meant to mean something to us. “They dry out and become powder – and without the water saturating them, their chemical structure alters just slightly: they become able to cross the pulmonary alveoli. Humans can breathe them in, and they affect us.

“Winds blow them all over Unova from Striaton,” she went on, as I started to wonder how this long, long labyrinth of machines could fit into the tiny upper floor of 21C Beetwax Street. “We breathe them in, and we feel them unconsciously, and we dream dreams like no one else in the world.” Fennel grinned. “We dream the Dream World.”

It seemed she wanted a response to that, and she got one. I had been doing more than my fair share of wondering about the Dream World recently, what with Halley's claims about the switching over of reality and Lauren White, and I actually gasped as she said it.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “That's what causes it? Dried-out Musharna spit, or whatever that is?”

Fennel looked pained.

“I see the subtleties of the science elude you,” she said, “but essentially, yes. I do believe that.” We had stopped, and she gestured for us to go on. “Come on. There's more.”

“More?” I asked. “What more can there be?”

I was actually kind of excited now, despite myself. I wasn't usually interested in the abstruse science of psionics – or any science, really – but when the Dream World and Unova's strange dual reality was involved... I was pretty sure this was relevant to me. (Bianca looked lost rather than interested, but then, she had done ever since Fennel had uttered her first polysyllabic word.)

“Much, much more,” Fennel said, pressing a button on a nearby panel and waiting for a series of massive gears to grind slowly out of our way. (How much longer could we walk for? It felt like we had gone miles already.) “You see, there's another possibility. Even if the mist doesn't generate the Dream World specifically, it may be able to do something else.”

Fennel led us around a corner, and waved her arm at the space beyond – space that, I was truly and utterly certain, was about thirty feet too long to fit into 12C Beetwax Street.

“You see, that's the thing about Dream Mist,” Fennel told us. “It makes dreams into reality.”

---

“... and left a kidney there on the way,” finished Smythe gloomily. “So yes. Same old, same old.”

Niamh smiled. Eight years had passed since the incident on the Borealis had driven each to give the other up for dead, but nothing had changed. Portland Smythe – adventurer, flautist, demigod – was still among the unluckiest men on the planet. His wyrd danced over the shears with every stitch of the tapestry, but was never quite severed.

“Your flute?”

Smythe sighed.

“Gone,” he said hollowly. “You know what Dragons are like. They love shiny objects. I had to get away somehow, and that was the only shiny thing I had to distract it with.” He shook his head and drunk deeply of his coffee. “I hope that bastard Haxorus enjoys it.”

It was not a normal Haxorus he spoke of, Niamh knew. It was the Patzkovan variant – bigger, meaner and with an inexplicable fondness for alliterative verse, three traits it shared with much of the northern country's wildlife. It had to be, for though he made little of it, the route he described would have dropped him much too far north for him to have arrived in Opelucid without a lengthy trek south-east through the untamed Hallowveldt.

“I'm sorry,” she said at length. “Did you ever... replace it?”

Smythe shook his head.

“No,” he replied. “It can't be replaced. No one could make another.”

Niamh had thought as much. She had never seen a flute like Smythe's before, and she was pretty sure she never would again.

“Anyway,” he said, brightening. “How have you been? Still in the monster-slaying business?”

Niamh smiled, grateful for the lifeline – as anyone was who got drawn into the depths of Smythe's life story would have been.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I landed a contract with International Genetics – cleaning up some of their mess. Dinosaurs, monsters – sh*t like that.”

Smythe nodded.

“I see,” he said. “They're based in Nacrene, right?I guess you're on a job right now?”

“Yes. I'm after an escaped Archen – a little half-bird, half-dinosaur thing. It was meant to be destroyed but someone let it out, and some kid picked it up.” Niamh shrugged. “Should be fairly easy to deal with.” She frowned. “What's up?”

Smythe was staring, and his heart was racing. Half bird, half dinosaur... he knew that damn bird.

With a strange giddy feeling, he realised that he and Niamh were after the same target.

And with a horrible chill feeling, he realised that he could not possibly tell her.

Teiresias was not visible – it had flickered out of conventional space as soon as Niamh had greeted him in the park, and had remained out of sight throughout their trip to the coffee-house – but Smythe knew it was watching him, and that revealing any Party business, even to as old and trusted a friend as Niamh, would result in it taking swift and deadly action.

And so, though he would dearly have liked to share his burden, and though Niamh was probably the most qualified person he could think of to deal with the fiend, Smythe kept silent.

“I saw it,” he said, desperately trying to think of a way to help Niamh out without compromising the Party. “I saw that thing... it's with a group of Trainers, isn't it? Heading north to Striaton.”

Niamh's eyes widened. This was an unexpected windfall of information.

“You're sure?”

“Yeah. They were at Harmonia's speech the other day; I was there on Party business, and got bitten by the damn bird.”

Niamh nodded.

“Trainers... They'll take the Trail rather than the roads. I guess I could try and head them off in Striaton; I could get there before them.” She looked up at Smythe as if just realising he was there. “Sorry. Got distracted.” She waved a hand. “Doesn't matter. I'll find them easily enough. Thanks for the information, though.”

“It's nothing,” said Smythe, pleased to have been helpful. “You'd do the same for me, I know.”

Niamh smiled.

“What is it that you're doing, anyway? I can see that that 'quiet job' you have with the Green Party obviously isn't as quiet as you'd like.”

Smythe sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“It isn't,” he said. “It was when I started – I thought maybe I'd finally managed to leave all those misunderstandings, those hurried escapes, the lies – all of that behind me. But Harmonia found out, assumed I was a master criminal, and sent me on a quest.” He paused, calculating how much he could say without calling down Teiresias' wrath on his head. “I'm tracking some thieves who stole something of value from the Party,” he said at length. “There's an eldritch abomination mixed up in this, too. Christ,” he said, voice suddenly passionate, “I wish I'd never left Mossdeep...”

---

“Whoa.”
It was Halley who'd gasped, but thankfully Fennel didn't seem to notice – she probably thought it was Bianca or me, and who could blame her? We certainly had reason to gasp: The room bulged out in a great swelling oval, the walls that looked square from outside round in here; I could even see the window with the red curtains that I'd seen from the street, and I knew that this room was completely, totally impossible...

“Dream logic,” said Fennel proudly. “This was my first successful experiment. Using the powder from dried Musharna chemicals and a few little scientific tricks, I partially actualised my dream of a better laboratory.” She waved a hand at the space before us. “The room works in the way only dreams can work: bigger on the inside than the outside.”

I was still staring. There was nothing too special in there – more machines, computers, a bed connected to a web of electrodes – but still, it was so wrong, so different to the reality I knew that I couldn't tear my eyes away.

“How... If you can do this,” I asked, “how come you're still here? How come you're not rich and famous already?”

Fennel shifted uncomfortably.

“Well... there's the thing,” she admitted. “You don't need all this machinery to bend space like this. You can manipulate reality by blending certain Pokémon moves – Trick Room, Magic Room, Wonder Room – which, when combined, can do any of a great number of things to space as we know it.” She sighed. “This research isn't fundable. It doesn't prove anything – doesn't prove I can use Musharna chemicals to turn dreams into real, solid things. Of course, there's a chance I might not be able to do that – the chemicals might have more to do with the Dream World, or maybe something else entirely that I haven't thought of and which could also give these results – but I've built prototypes of the machines that can do it. If I got some more Musharna chemicals, I could conduct the first experiments to find out if I can do it. And then, with a little more funding, I could probably build machines to bring dreams to life, or even record and share dreams between people without the need for Psychic-type Pokémon.” She spread her arms. “All it takes is the chemical dust, and money.”

“Speaking of which,” came an unfamiliar voice, “we've just got a £750,000 grant.”

I thought Fennel might explode. She spun around to face the speaker so fast her long black hair swatted me in the face, and cried out:

“What?”

The speaker – a younger, less cigarette-haggard version of Fennel, who appeared to have come from somewhere in the dream-space – held out a letter.

“From Mr. Harmonia of the Green Party,” she said, voice hollow with amazement. “He thought our work was very interesting.”

A chill ran through me, and my eyes involuntarily slipped over to Bianca's. I could tell she was every bit as shocked as I was.

Harmonia.

Could it be a coincidence? The political party that was pursuing us wanted to fund Fennel's extraordinary research... I couldn't see a connection, but then, there was still a lot I didn't understand. I remembered I'd forgotten to take the opportunity earlier to research the Green party and Teiresias, and resolved to do it as soon as I could. We couldn't run away forever, I was sure of that; sooner or later, we had to stand and fight, and while I knew I was capable of it – Regenschein's was an eminently suitable training ground for battle – I had to know my enemy better if I wanted to win. Teiresias was a foe I couldn't beat just by hitting with a metal pipe – and while Harmonia probably was, I needed to know whether he really was at the top of this conspiracy before I went around beating him up.

“This is— give me that!” Fennel snatched the letter from her colleague and read it voraciously, devouring it with her eyes at a speed that would have done credit to Cordelia (who read with the speed of lightning and the implacable inertia of a runaway freight train). It wasn't even a minute later that she lowered it. “Incredible,” she said, voice trembling. “Incredible...” Abruptly, she swept her assistant into a bone-crushing hug. “Ammie! This is it! With this, we can finish – can prove it – can – can—”

“OK, calm down Regan,” said the assistant – Ammie? – disentangling herself with some difficulty and leading Fennel over to a chair. “Sit down for a minute.” She flashed a shy smile at us, and with a start I realised she couldn't be more than a year older than I was – if she was older at all. “Sorry,” she said. “We kind of didn't expect this to happen. Like... ever, really.” She left Fennel breathing into a paper bag and came back over to us. “I'm Amanita,” she said. “Regan's sister. I help with her research.”

Bianca cocked her head on one side.

“You're... pretty young,” she pointed out uncertainly. “Are you a genius or something?”

Amanita took the question better than I expected.

“Depends,” she replied with a shrug. “According to Terman's definition, yes – I have an IQ of 146, based on the Stanford-Binet test, which places me within the top 0.5% of the Unovan population. However, if you use Hollingworth's definition, which requires an IQ of 180, then no, I'm not a genius. Other than that, 'genius' is a pretty vague label, with many different philosophical definitions, and I'm not sure it can ever be applied to someone other than retrospectively.”

“That's enough of a 'yes' for me,” said Bianca frankly, which made Amanita smile.

“Anyway,” she said, “you two are here about the Dream Mist, right?”

“Dream Mist?” I asked. “Is that the Musharna chemical stuff?”

“Yep,” she said brightly. “If you could get some from the Munna or Musharna that live in the Dreamyard, that'd be great. It's all we want you to do.”

“I thought maybe my Munna could help?” asked Bianca, pointing it out.

Amanita shook her head.

“Sorry, no. The Mist only desiccates in the Dreamyard; your Munna will stop any wild Munna or Musharna attacking you for invading their territory, but unless it's in the Dreamyard, its chemical sprays dissipate in the air. The psychic fields kind of bake it, in a weird sort of way.”

“Cark,” squawked Candy, looking at me. I knew what she wanted and shook my head.

“Not baking cakes or biscuits,” I told her. “Baking mist.”

Candy tried to make sense of that, failed, and decided to go to sleep before her brain melted. Amanita watched with interest.

“Hey, is that an Archen?”

I bit off a curse.

“Yes, she is,” I sighed. “Just... don't ask. Please.”

“All right,” said Amanita, “but it is pretty weird for something so dead to be riding around on someone's shoulder. People will ask questions. Just so you know.”

“Yeah, I got that much,” I said sourly. “Everyone seems to realise.”

“Right,” interrupted Fennel, who had glided back over to us without me noticing. “Munna and Musharna are less active in the dark, so you'll probably want to head over to the Dreamyard pretty soon, to get there around dusk. Hopefully, that'll be before the Purrloin and the wildcats wake up – they hunt at night, you see. You want to avoid dealing with them.”

“Dealing with them?” Bianca asked. “They usually run away, don't they?”

Fennel hesitated.

“There aren't very many of them, you understand,” she said. “Really, there aren't. They die pretty soon after they enter the factory – no food, you see—”

“What are you hinting at?” I asked, unease mounting in my stomach.

“Well... the Purrloin and the wildcats in the Dreamyard...” Fennel looked helplessly at Amanita, who shrugged; Fennel was on her own here, she seemed to say. “They're... they're kind of mutant.”

---

There were no houses for a mile around the Sytec plant; it was a long walk from the nearest bus stop. As the city retreated from the scar of the disaster, nature had marched forwards again, trees and grass springing up around the shell of the factory and swallowing it up as if it had never been. Once, long ago, the whole of Unova had been a colossal forest. Long after civilisation collapsed, I thought with a shiver, it would be one again; the trees would stalk in, one by silent one, and devour the cities in a low rustle of leaves and roots.

“Are you feeling OK?” Bianca asked me. There was a strange edge to her voice.

“Uh... yeah,” I replied. “Just had a weird thought.” I stared at the forest, pressing up against the edge of the suburbs as if it was waiting for us to look away before striking. “It feels weird, even here.”

Bianca nodded.

“Yeah.”

“I'm impressed,” said Halley. “Out of the five of us, you two are the least sensitive, and you managed to feel it even from here. That's pretty good going, guys.”

I would've tried to think of some kind of scathing reply, but I didn't think I could come up with one right now. I felt... weird.

“Should we put on the helmets?” I asked.

“Fennel said not til we get there,” Bianca replied. “I don't think they'll do anything except look stupid if we put them on before.”

I sighed.

“All right,” I said, resigned, and stepped cautiously off the road and into the forest.

There were signs along the way – not many, but enough that we didn't lose the trail. They said things like 'Sytec factory ½ mile', 'Sytec factory this way', and, more ominously, 'Turn back – Danger of death'.

“They sure know how to cheer a girl up, don't they?” remarked Halley, when we stumbled across the last one. “It's actually almost funny, if you think about it. To escape Teiresias, we need to flee to one of the few places in Unova that's probably more dangerous than wherever Teiresias is.”

“That's not funny,” I told her.

“I know. I'm trying to lighten the mood.”

“It's not working,” Bianca said.

“I know. But at least I'm f*cking trying.”

No one answered her. We walked on in silence after that.

It didn't take long. A tall chain-link fence, topped with rusting razor wire and collapsing in as many places as it still stood; warning signs in red and yellow and bold black drooped as if dying from the steel and partially obscured the crumbling network of concrete buildings beyond. Trees punctuated the asphalt of the car park beyond, punching through tarmac as if it were nothing. I saw creepers and bushes, flowers and brambles, much less dense than outside the fence but still present, and definitely in the process of taking over.

And rising above them all, just visible through the crushing vegetation – the spire, the lonely tower that was the root of all the trouble.

Sytec's last project.

The towering, broken mind-flayer.

 

[Azurus]

Now you wouldn't be using Dungeons and Dragons for names, source material, and terms would you? I read mind-flayer at the end there and immediately thought of that.

Anyway, a pretty neat chapter, and an interesting take on the dreamyard. I look forward to another chapter.

 

[Cutlerine]

Now you wouldn't be using Dungeons and Dragons for names, source material, and terms would you? I read mind-flayer at the end there and immediately thought of that.

Anyway, a pretty neat chapter, and an interesting take on the dreamyard. I look forward to another chapter.

Ilithid, ilithid, oh illy illy illy ilithid. The only people in the world to make killer golems out of the only substance on earth they're capable of eating. You crazy tentacular Squidward-alikes.

Thanks for your feedback! Hopefully there won't be too long a wait for the next chapter... I have a pretty light week in terms of work now, with only one soft toy commission and virtually no university stuff to do, so to the keyboard, my fingers!

F.A.B.

 

[lollygag]

I like how you got the feel of Black City. It really comes alive in your story.

I liked your comment on no Cordelias being "normal". It makes me laugh because it reminds me of my toy dinosaur Cordelia, who is supposed to have a few screws loose.

 

[Cutlerine]

I like how you got the feel of Black City. It really comes alive in your story.

I liked your comment on no Cordelias being "normal". It makes me laugh because it reminds me of my toy dinosaur Cordelia, who is supposed to have a few screws loose.

Glad you liked it. To be honest, half the reason for the story's existence is to give me the chance to rebuild Unova into something both more and less similar to reality than the original, so I'm glad someone's enjoying it.

As for Cordelia... well, no one normal is ever called Cordelia. From Shakespeare's tragic heroine to Whedon's Buffy character, I find that normal human beings simply do not bear that name. I'm just revealing some hidden laws of the universe. Or inventing them. Depends whether you think I'm penetrating the secrets of reality or spouting nonsense.

F.A.B.

 

[Cutlerine]

Chapter Ten: Felidae

1983. The year Sytec went bankrupt.

The year the nightmares came.

Speculative weapons research was big business in the years of the Cold War, and Unovan labour at the time came cheap; glutinous chemical artillery, egg-bullets that hatched into flesh-eating larvae, arachnid mind control – the aims of the companies that opened factories in the country were as varied and bizarre as the abstruse machinery they imported.

Sytec was in the psychic missile business.

The idea was simple enough. Plenty of technology was available to track and destroy a conventional missile before it hit its target – but the only way to detect a psychic blast at long range was to ask a Kadabra if there was a disturbance in the hive mind, and the chances of the Kadabra choosing to cooperate were so slim as to be virtually nonexistent. The technology to guard against such a blast simply didn't yet exist.

It seemed a prime research opportunity, and Sytec was not willing to let the competition get there ahead of it. The company rushed an experiment into new and devastating forms of psychic 'mind-flaying' into production, eager to secure lucrative US contracts.

Unfortunately, 'devastating', 'experiment' and 'rush' are three words that should never be found in the same sentence.

No one could reasonably claim that they hadn't seen the disaster coming, but they did so anyway; the government didn't buy it, and Sytec was forced to dissolve and sell its assets to repay Unova for the horrors it had unleashed.

Now, thirty years later, the wounds had faded but the scar was still there, a ragged concrete nightmare embedded in Unova's verdant flank. The Dreamyard.

The home of the Musharna, and the monsters.

---

“I think it's time to put the gimp masks on.”

“They're not gimp masks, Halley, they're psy radiation helmets.”

“Jared, you can argue with me or you can put your gimp mask on. It's your choice.”

I glowered and got them out of the bag. I hated to admit it, but Halley had a point. They did look unnervingly like—

Stop thinking about it, Jared.

Formed of soft black neoprene with dark-tinted bands of reinforced glass across the eyes and at apparently random points on the cranium, they were capable of soaking up 98% of any psychic fields we might encounter, Fennel had assured us. I'd asked about the remaining 2%, and she told me that if we came across any of that we'd be dead anyway, so it wouldn't matter.

This, and the matter of the mutant cats, was weighing fairly heavily on my mind as I fastened the helmet with the zip at the back.

“Definitely a gi—”

“Shut the f*ck up, Halley,” I snapped, voice faintly muffled. The world was slightly grey through the glass, but I could see surprisingly well.

“I'm just saying,” she said. “They're tight, black, cover the whole head...” She shrugged – a manoeuvre that looked very peculiar indeed when executed by a cat. “What is it that Zed says in Pulp Fiction? 'Bring out the—'”

“Halley, you do know that you've got to wear one too, right?” asked Bianca.

“Yeah, but mocking myself is no fun,” sighed Halley. “Self-deprecation is so not my style.”

“If you don't shut up,” I told her, “I won't put your mask on you and you'll turn into a mutant monster like the other wildcats that come here.”

Halley clamped her jaws shut, and I smiled a secret victorious smile.

Her mask had caused Fennel some difficulty. She'd suggested we leave her outside, and we'd had to explain that due to very important but unmentionable reasons she had to come with us. Apparently that sort of cloak-and-dagger business wasn't that uncommon in the scientific world, and with the aid of a pair of scissors she'd sliced up one of her other helmets to create a makeshift one for Halley.

“Doesn't matter,” she said when I asked if that was all right. “I just got £750,000. I could cut up hundreds of these and still be in the black.”

At the thought of her new funding, her hands started shaking and she almost chopped her thumb off, and Amanita took over so she could breathe into the paper bag again. Twelve badly-punched holes and one makeshift lace later, she'd made a makeshift cat-sized helmet. Evidently she was as practically gifted as she was smart.

Now, I knelt down and laced the helmet onto Halley's head. It fitted as well as could be expected of something made in fifteen minutes, and by that I mean it didn't, but it would have to do; I didn't know if the tightness was important for keeping out the psychic radiation, but I guessed we'd find out once we got into the factory: if Halley keeled over or mutated, the helmet was obviously too loose.

Candy's head, of course, was nowhere near round enough to accommodate the curved glass panels of even a modified helmet, and she'd have quickly chewed her way out of it anyway – so Bianca had given me a Poké Ball, and reluctantly I'd enclosed her in it, where no radiation could get to her.

I was surprised at how strongly I was opposed to the idea of 'capturing' Candy; she was my pet, not my slave, and she belonged on my shoulder, not in stasis in some fist-sized metal prison. I could see the advantages of the Poké Ball – she'd be much easier to hide when I needed to hide her, for instance – but still, I promised myself I wouldn't leave her in there any more than I had to.

Munny, naturally, had no such problems: in fact, when Bianca had released it, it started bouncing with excitement when it saw the wreck of the Sytec plant. While the rest of us shivered at the sight of it, the Munna displayed every sign of actually wanting to live there.

“Ick,” said Halley with distaste once I'd finished with her helmet. “This thing is horrible. I didn't realise how much I valued the sensory input from my whiskers til you squished them like this. And my ears are all squashed,” she added petulantly.

“Tough,” I replied, straightening up. “You can't get it off without me, anyway.”

“Bastard opposable thumbs—!”

“Come on, guys, stop arguing,” pleaded Bianca. “Can we go now?”

As one, Halley and I looked through the fence at the Sytec plant – at the crumbling concrete, the twisted vegetation, and the awful shadow of the mind-flayer hanging over everything – and blanched.

“OK,” I said hesitantly. “Let's – let's go.”

None of us moved.

“You first,” said Bianca. “You're the fighter.”

“You're the Trainer.”

We paused.

“Go together?” she suggested tentatively.

“All right,” I agreed, and simultaneously we stepped over a section of collapsed fence, and into the heart of the Unovan Chernobyl.

---

Beyond the fence were the remnants of the car park, its surface rucked and twisted by invading roots; the asphalt had held back all but the strongest of the plants, and it was much less dense than in the surrounding forest. It might even have made a pleasant walk, if not for the vague sense of mental discomfort that I felt, even through the helmet. The roving psychic fields were evidently out in force.

“Munny,” said Bianca, “can you sense any other Munna or Musharna around?”

It seemed to have some difficulty with this question, which surprised me; from everything Fennel had said, I'd almost assumed Munna were as intelligent as I was. In actual fact, as I later found out, they were closer to monkeys in terms of intellect, and had difficulty with spoken language owing to their poor hearing (a result of over-reliance on their psychic senses). Wikipedia is a fantastic thing.

“Anything else like you?” she asked, rephrasing it to see if it made any more sense. Munny seemed to get the idea now, and drifted off towards the large square building ahead of us.

“We're going to the Musharna to find where the dust is, right?” I asked.

“Yeah,” replied Bianca. “I don't know... Do you have any other ideas?”

I shook my head.

“No, sounds good.”

“How utterly banal,” said Halley acidly, but no one acknowledged her.

We followed Munny through the sparse woods and through a doorway that lacked a door; beyond was a vast, shadowy space that bore signs of the walls that had once divided into rooms and corridors in the lines of crumbling rubble on the floor. Shafts of light streamed from holes in the walls and roof, but made no real impact on the gloom and were swiftly swallowed up amid the tangles of brambles and creepers that grew towards them hungrily.

All in all, it was pretty damn ominous, and that was before the monsters lunged out of the shadows.

They came at us in a pair: twisted things that could have started life as either Purrloin or wildcats but which were now unrecognisable, eyes shrivelled, legs stretched, backs distorted with soft fleshy jags of meat—

I kicked one in the face reflexively, and it backed away, letting loose an baleful shriek; Munny dived towards the other, blue waves streaming from its forehead, but the cat-thing was unaffected, rearing up and swatting the Munna out of the air with one distended paw. Munny hit the ground, bounced and swung away dizzily, whirling on its axis like a top.

The first monster rejoined the second and both jumped at me at once; the world tipped crazily around me and my head hit the concrete floor with a sharp crack of pain. Almost automatically, I rolled onto my side, trying to dislodge them, but their claws were long and sinuous, and wound through my shirt like corkscrews as they fought to get their jaws to my throat—

A gout of fire shot past my ear and set one cat-thing's fur ablaze; it let go of me with a shriek, slashing the other's leg in its haste to escape, and shot off towards the shadows in a trail of sparks. I seized the opportunity and grabbed two of the beast's three ears, pulling its head back and slamming it into the floor.

It let go of me then, and I scrambled to my feet, looking around frantically for something to hit it with; by the time I'd found a rock, it was up too, and had shot between my legs in search of some other target. I turned, saw Smoky spouting cinders from his nostrils, and almost relaxed; he was about to nail the monster with another blast of fire, I could see.

His nose flexed and flames spewed forth – but suddenly the beast's grotesque outlines blurred, and somehow it swept around and behind him in a dark flicker of light before sinking its claws deep into his back.

Smoky squealed in agony and bucked hard; Bianca cried out; Munny heard her distress and started emitting bluish waves that distorted the air like heat haze; I hurled my rock and missed, narrowly missing Bianca—

—and something knocked the monster off its feet with a bang.

It flew off Smoky's back, rolled over on the ground and tried to crawl away, one of its legs apparently no longer working; there was another report, and it lay still with a despairing gurgle.

A sudden calm seemed to fall over the old building then. Smoky's screams died down to a whimper, and then ceased as Bianca recalled him with trembling fingers; the only sound that was left was that of footsteps – two pairs – coming towards us from across the room.

“Are you two OK?” I heard someone shouting. “Hey, you! You OK?”

I looked up from where Smoky had been to Bianca. I couldn't see her face, but she was gripping Smoky's ball so hard her knuckles almost glowed white in the dark. Uncertain of what to do, I patted her arm tentatively, and was surprised (and slightly alarmed) when she pressed her head against my shoulder.

“I changed my mind,” she said, voice shaking. “Let's go. I don't like it here—”

“I said, are you two OK?”

I looked up, saw the two people approaching us and nodded.

“Yeah, I think so.”

They both wore dark clothes – I thought maybe they were suits, but I couldn't be sure in the gloom, and suits would be ridiculously inappropriate for this place anyway – and had psy rad helmets of their own on; they also carried what looked alarmingly like handguns – alarming since possession of a gun was entirely illegal in Unova with the exception of police officers, soldiers and druids. I couldn't exactly say I wasn't grateful for them right now, though, given that they’d just saved us.

“Good,” said the one on the left – a man by his voice. “Those things are lethal... we ran into five on the way here. Every one different but just as f*cked-up.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” asked the other, a woman. “'Sraven, are you Training? This place is too dangerous for that, you know—”

“We were looking for Musharna dust,” I told them. “But I think...” I looked at Bianca. “I think we might leave now,” I said quietly.

“Good idea,” said the woman. They were now close enough for me to see that yes, they were wearing suits – which had clearly suffered during their trip through the Sytec plant. “You were following Fennel's advert?”

“Yeah.”

“So're we,” the man said. “F*ck me if we can find a single Musharna nest, though.”

“I see,” I said slowly. These two seemed infinitely better-qualified to search this place than we did – for a start, they had guns, and I wasn't sure how much use Bianca would be now either, after the shock she'd had. “I guess we'll leave you two to it, then.”

Abruptly, Bianca peeled herself away from me.

“No, we'll come too,” she said, voice surprisingly strong. “I said I'd do this and I will.”

I looked at her in astonishment.

Guess she was just startled, then, I thought. Well, she is a Trainer, after all... I suppose I shouldn't be that surprised.

“Hey, look,” said the man, “this is serious business, and we don't have the time or ammunition to worry about looking after two kids—”

“We've got Pokémon,” Bianca said. “One of which is a Munna.” She indicated Munny, now recovered and in a more or less stable hover. “Munny can sense the Musharna and other Munna. It'll lead us right to them.”

The woman glanced at the man.

“What do you say, Steve?” she asked. “I mean, we've been poking around this dump for two hours now – and I really don't want to be here when night falls and the rest of the monsters come out.”

Steve stroked his neoprene-coated chin.

“All right, fine,” he said reluctantly. “You can come with us. Just don't get in our way, all right?”

“Fair enough,” I replied. “Deal.”

“Enough talking,” said the woman. “Get that Munna moving. We don't have all day.”

“Actually, Donna, that's all we do have,” pointed out Steve. Perhaps he thought he was being witty, but no one laughed.

We followed Munny through the eternal twilight of the ruin, keeping silent and watching out for any sign of attacking Purrloin or wildcats. Perhaps the fire and gunshots had driven them away for now, but I didn't expect it would last long; if Donna and Steve had been attacked multiple times already, I guessed the monsters didn't learn from the fate of their fellows.

Halley followed at a short distance, slinking along behind us and keeping to the shadows; I couldn't ask her why, but I supposed she thought Donna or Steve might shoot her if they saw her.

Munny wound its way slowly across the room, occasionally pausing to check whatever internal force was guiding it, and headed hesitantly for a small aperture in one wall that led into what looked like an unending void of darkness.

“Through here?” asked Bianca, pointing.

Munny bobbed as though nodding.

“We can't fit through that,” she told it. “Is there another way?”

“Don't need it,” said Steve. “Stand aside.”

She did, with some trepidation, and Steve tossed a Poké Ball through the gap. A flash of light illuminated part of a corridor beyond for a brief second, and then the darkness descended once more, leaving a bright after-image dancing on my eyes.

“Take down the wall,” he instructed, and took a few hurried steps back. Bianca and I copied him, and a moment later the little gap expanded into a very large gap by the simple means of exploding.

In the distance, something roared in response.

We froze for a moment – that something had sounded big – but nothing happened; Steve recalled his Pokémon, whatever it had been, and we hurried through the gap, eager to get away from whatever had heard the blast.

“Where the f*ck is this?” wondered Steve, as we made our way down a pitch-black corridor.

“If that last building was the main office, this is probably an access passage to the assembly line,” replied Donna. Evidently they'd bothered to check a map or two before coming – further evidence of how abominably badly-prepared we'd been. “Where they put together the components for the mind-flayer. The psychic fields will be strongest there; it figures that that's where the Musharna will be.” She paused. “We can't stay there long, though. The radiation will eat through the helmets in about thirty minutes.”

“I don't plan on being there any longer than it takes to fill those damn vials with dust,” replied Steve. (I found myself wondering what we'd been planning to put the dust in. Damn. We really hadn't thought this through, had we?) “We'll get in there, get the dust, and get out.”

“All right, all right,” said Donna. “I'm just saying.”

We continued onwards through the dark – no longer as total as it had first seemed; there was just enough sunlight filtering down the passage that we could see our way – and, a few minutes later, came to a doorway leading into a small room full of shrivelled, dry things that crunched unpleasantly underfoot and which I really didn't want to think about.

“The cats have been trying hard to get in here, haven't they?” observed Steve mildly. “Something's stopped 'em pretty f*cking conclusively, though.”

I swallowed, and Bianca's fingers suddenly dug into my arm like the teeth of a man-trap.

“It's the Musharna,” replied Donna, poking a mummified monstrosity with her gun. “This close to the source, they're a bit tougher than usual. Doesn't matter if you're Dark-type or not, they'll tear your mind out and leave you for the psy fields to desiccate.”

Bianca's grip tightened – something that I thought would have pushed her finger bones beyond the limits of their tensile strength. I winced and patted her hand.

“Bianca? That... really hurts.”

“Sorry,” she whispered, but didn't let go. I sighed, and tried to ignore the pain.

Donna and Steve straightened up and looked towards the door.

“I guess that's it, then,” said Steve unenthusiastically. “The factory floor.”

“Yes.” Donna turned to Bianca. “You've got the Munna, you go through first. They won't attack you, and hopefully not us either.”

Bianca was silent for a moment, then half a minute, and I could tell she was wavering, about to say she couldn't do it—

“OK,” she said eventually, voice surprisingly steely. “Let's go.”

She took a deep breath, and pushed open the door to the factory floor.

“Woden hang 'em,” I breathed, staring up and out at the vast space beyond. “It's huge.”

The factory level stretched away for the length of a football pitch, the other end shrouded in darkness; the concrete walls soared upwards to an invisible ceiling, apparently interminable pipes running up their colossal flanks. Giant girders crisscrossed the shadowy heights, disappearing and reappearing in the gloom as if playing with each other.

Half-constructed pylons lay toppled amid pyramids of barrels; tools lay abandoned on benches and huge wheels reclined on beds of cracked stone where they had fallen from the conveyor belts that hung in tatters everywhere you looked, like grimy industrial tinsel. Once, catwalks had serviced the uppermost belts; now only a few remained, the rest hanging at drunken angles from snapped moorings or lying like fallen trees on the floor.

Then there were the Musharna.

They hung in the air like pink clouds, drifting slowly from pylon to barrel to catwalk in an aimless sort of way; rolls of fat drooped from their bellies, and I realised that most of them were hugely overweight – the psychic-radiation-rich atmosphere there must have been a continual feast for them. One suckled three tiny Munna, pouring bluish waves from its flank into their staring eyes; other Munna darted around in the air, livelier than their bloated elders, chasing each other and playing amid the wreckage.

I stared, spellbound, until I heard crackling and realised with horror that the helmet was beginning to dissolve, the surface coming apart like smouldering paper.

“Let me revise my estimate,” said Donna quietly. “We've got ten minutes in here before the helmets burn out – five if we want to have enough protection left to make it back to the fence.”

“Let's move,” said Steve decisively, pulling the vials from his pockets and handing them out. “Start scooping, kids.”

I looked down, and realised for the first time that part of the darkness in the room was due to the thick layer of dark purple dust that lay over everything; experimentally, I scooped a handful into the vial and watched as gravity effortlessly erased the gap I'd made. The stuff was deep; it would have taken years to harvest it all, even if the Musharna had stopped making more.

At the thought of the Musharna, I looked up at them, just to make sure they weren't looking aggressive; they seemed almost oblivious to our presence, carrying on with their sluggish, incurious lives. The only clue they were alive at all was the spicy flavour of the air, testament to their chemical language. I wondered if they would have been so placid without Munny here. Given the carpet of corpses next door, I thought probably not.

Munny itself had drifted a little way from us, twirling with two of its wild brethren in what looked like a game of tag; I hoped it wasn't having too much fun – we didn't want it staying here.

“Forty-five seconds,” said Donna urgently. “Time to go. Now.”

Bianca and I handed our vials to Steve, and that should have been the end of it. The danger was over; we should have walked out and gone back to Fennel's lab.

Unfortunately, things didn't quite work out like that.

You see, in the dark, Steve trod on Halley's tail, and Halley swore at the top of her lungs – and Donna noticed, and uttered four very ominous words:

“It's her! It's Halley!”

“Oh, sh*t,” I breathed. “You're Green Party.”

---

My first instinct was to whack one of them over the head, but they had guns, and that changed things; uttering a brief prayer to Córmi for our continued existence, I snatched up Halley with one hand and Bianca's wrist with the other and ran for it.

“Sh*t, that must be Black!” I heard Steve cry out, slow on the uptake, and then a moment later, as we burst into the corridor, I heard their footsteps crunching on the dead things behind us.

“What the hell?” yelled Bianca helplessly. “Why would they— the funding!”

I saw it now as well: the suits, the guns, the fact that they just happened to be here the same day that Harmonia sent the grant to Fennel's lab... The clues had all been there, if only I'd been smart enough to spot them—

“F*ck,” I growled to myself. “I'm such an idiot!”

“You can say that again,” said Halley. “Also: wheeeeee! Despite the goons with guns, being carried along this fast is actually pretty fun.”

“Shut up,” I snapped, and for once she actually did.

I could see the main building ahead of us now, the aperture in the ruined wall looming grey against the black – but there were footsteps close behind us, and Steve was shouting:

“Stop running! You'll make it worse for yourself – if you stop, we won't have to shoot!”

“Frige save us,” cried Bianca. “Munny! Do something!”

All at once I became aware of the pink ball zooming along beside us; it wheeled around abruptly and blasted a rippling circle of blue light in the direction of our pursuers. The lack of screams seemed a decent indicator of its ineffectiveness, and I remembered too late the damn helmets—

“The helmets would have to be more badly damaged than this for that to get through them,” Donna called disdainfully. “Give up. There's nothing you can— 'sraven!”

I heard a blood-chilling yowl from behind us and a flurry of gunshots, deafening in the narrow space; it seemed one of the cats had inadvertently bought us some time, and a moment later we were bursting out into the shell of the first building and sprinting across to the exit—

Suddenly, there was a huge flash of light, and a terrible hulking something materialised in the doorway.

It looked like it had been hewn from stone by the most ham-fisted sculptor imaginable; its body bulged out in crazed lumps between deep cracks and rifts in its skin, and its lopsided eyes squinted balefully out from under a brow broad enough to be used as an anvil. Squat and solid, it might have been a malformed, hairless chimpanzee – but I knew better. I'd seen one before, on TV; there, it had been tamer, dressed in a martial artist's outfit, but it had the same indolent savagery in its eyes, the same knuckle-dragging gait.

It was a Throh, and as we stopped dead in our tracks I suddenly realised exactly how it was that Steve had broken the wall down so easily.

“Nice to see you have some sense,” said Steve from behind us, drawing closer. I didn't turn around and look; I didn't dare to take my eyes off the Throh. “Rush at him and you'd all be dead right now.”

“You can't keep him out long,” Bianca said. “The psychic fields...”

“He'll be fine for long enough to bring you two under control,” Donna replied. “Now, you two – or three, I guess – come over here. We'll take you back to Castelia, Harmonia will do whatever it is he needs you for, your memories will be wiped, and all this will be over. Nice and easy.”

So it did go all the way up to Harmonia, then, I thought. But why? What was he after? I pushed the thought away and tried to concentrate on finding a way out of the situation, which seemed to be getting worse by the second.

“I don't think so,” I said, working up the courage to look away from the Throh and face the two Party members. “We're not going anywhere.”

“You have two guns and a Throh pointed at you,” observed Donna. “What more persuasion do you actually need? 'Sraven, are you really that stupid?”

“You won't shoot us if you need us—”

“Technically, we only want you and Halley,” she said. “We could shoot her” – she indicated Bianca – “and leave her to be eaten by the cats. No one would question it.”

“Nice ploy,” said Steve admiringly.

“Thank you. I thought of it while we were running.”

I looked at Bianca.

“Any ideas?”

She shook her head silently.

I looked back at Donna and Steve, who were still watching us expectantly. Behind me, I heard the Throth cough, an explosive rattle like a backfiring car, and punch the wall out of boredom. From the sound of it, that brought down rather more masonry than I was entirely comfortable with.

“Halley?” I asked desperately. “Ideas?”

“Please hurry up with this little charade,” called Steve. “My Throh is losing IQ points by the second, and he didn't have many to start with.”

“Yeah, just the one,” said Halley. “Munny! Zap the Throh!”

Everyone looked up abruptly: we'd completely forgotten the little Munna, still floating loyally above Bianca's head – and now, as the light began to bend and flex around it, I felt myself begin to smile. I wasn't a Trainer, but even I knew what happened when Psychic moves hit a Fighting-type.

“No—!” cried Steve, but it was too late: the air rippled and distorted in a shimmering wave, the latent psychic radiation in the air feeding the Psywave and magnifying it once, twice, fifty times, a maelstrom of energy funnelling directly into the Throh—

—which promptly lobbed a brick at Munny.

If there's one thing a Throh can do, it's throw: the brick flew straight and true, and smashed Munny out of the air with the sound of cracking bone. It hit the ground, painted eyes closed, and did not move.

At the same time, the Psywave reached the Throh, and twin fountains of grey fluid spouted from its ears as its tiny brain was shaken from its moorings; a moment later, it keeled over as if poleaxed.

“Munny!” screamed Bianca, running to her Pokémon's side. “Munny, Munny—!”

“Sh*t,” muttered Halley. “That definitely didn't go as planned.”

“Any more bright ideas?” asked Donna, ignoring Bianca and walking over to Halley and me. “You want to get anyone else killed today?”

I felt my nails digging into my palms, and realised my fists were clenched so tightly they were almost drawing blood. Those damn guns, I thought bitterly. Take them away and I could do this, I knew I could...

“Come on, then,” said Steve, stepping forwards to join Donna. “It's over. You lost. Give me—”

A long, bass note like the song of a church organ resounded through the room.

We all froze.

“What was that?” asked Donna cautiously.

“I don't,” began Steve, but he never finished – for then he saw the things gathering in the corners of the room, and his voice died in his throat.

I never saw them clearly, and it's probably a blessing that I did. But I could catch glimpses as they passed: of transparent limbs and bulging eyes, of jagged prongs and ragged fins, claws and twisted toes and the horrid wet slap of webbed feet on stone—

—and the terrible, awful knowledge, creeping over me like cold water seeping through fabric, that all of these things, these eldritch abominations whose horrendous shapes I could only catch the merest glimpse of – that all these things had once been human...

It didn't take long. The things swarmed in close, and Donna and Steve broke and fled, their eyes rolling with fright, and a horde of half-seen terrors close at their heels—

Then the bass note rang out again, and all was calm.

I blinked and looked around. No Donna. No Steve. No Throh. Just Bianca and Munny, Halley and myself, all alone here.

No, wait. Not alone.

From the corridor came the Musharna, one by one, filing out and into the huge space like some curious ceremonial guard. They swept forwards to Bianca, nudging her gently away from Munny and moving down towards the little Pokémon, uttering strange spiced sighs that were all I could perceive of their psychochemical language.

All at once, I understood. They'd sensed Munny was in trouble – in their eyes, one of their own, a baby. And they had come to defend it.

“They made dreams real,” I said softly. “They made their nightmares into reality.”

“Childhood nightmares,” corrected Halley. “The fear of the monster under the bed and in the wardrobe. The fear of what the dark might conceal. The strongest fears we have.” She shifted and slithered out of my arms, still staring at the Musharna. “Munny screamed very loudly, and they heard.”

“I didn't hear anything—”

“Because of the psy rad helmet,” she said, stalking over to where the Musharna were gathered around Bianca and Munny. “But they heard, and they reacted as you would if you heard a toddler having his fingernails pulled out.”

I winced.

“Thanks for that image.”

“My pleasure.”

The air was so thick with chemicals now that I could almost see them, a kind of heat haze centred on Munny.

“Painkillers,” Halley said to Bianca, sitting down by her side. “They think it'll die, so they're numbing the pain for it.”

Bianca looked at her sharply.

“Munny's alive?”

“Of course,” said Halley, tasting the air with her tongue and grimacing. “It's pretty much one big skull. It'll take more than a brick to break through that. Bring it along to the Pokémon Centre and it'll be— what the f*ck are you doing?”

Bianca had swept her up into a crushing hug, and I had to smile at Halley's wild and ineffectual attempts to get free; she'd gone, as only cats can, from elegant and collected to ridiculous and pathetic in less than a second.

“Oh, thank you thank you—”

“Thank the f*cking Musharna, not me!” yowled Halley. “And put me down while you're at it!”

Bianca dropped her, and was on the verge of hugging the nearest Musharna when she realised that its fur was crawling with centimetre-long ticks; shuddering, she settled instead for thanking them as loudly as she could.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” she cried. “Thank you so much!”

One Musharna blew a large bubble of spit, which she seemed to interpret as understanding, and Bianca nodded happily.

“I don't want to interrupt,” I called, “but we should really be getting the hell out of this place. Like, now.” I pointed to my helmet. “These things are falling apart,” I said. “I can see your hair through the back of yours.

“Oh!” Bianca got to her feet hurriedly and fumbled for Munny's ball. “Yeah, of course.” She recalled Munny and the Musharna stared at the spot where it had been in stunned silence; then they turned to look at her, blew out a few clouds of scented gas, and began to make their slow way back to the factory floor. “Thanks again!” she called out after them, and was answered by a strong smell of cinnamon.

She turned, and actually skipped over to join me in her joy.

“Christ,” murmured Halley. “Skipping? The girl's mad.”

“OK,” said Bianca. “Let's go.”

“About bloody time,” I muttered under my breath. Then, aloud: “Come on, then. Time to move.”

So saying, we took our leave of the Sytec plant, relieved, exhausted and not a little disturbed.