Prequel to Gift of the Protector – A Gardevoir Fanfiction

*Here's a short little drabble (or 'über-short' if you prefer) detailing events taking place before the Fractured Unity and Pristine Embrace arcs of Protector. I thought it'd be fun to write a little precursor to the tale and further some character background. Plus I made a specific promise to write this.***

If you're not familiar with this fanfic series, I'd recommend first reading the aforementioned arcs. Of course, the brevity of this work may very well function as a convenient way for you to gauge your interest in this literature topic as well as my developing writing style and sway you either way. While this is not the only genre of (fan)fiction I've written, I strongly believe in keeping my principle pen names separate and exclusive. In essence what I am saying is stories published under this name will only pertain to Protector.

I'm not exactly sure if this is the best place to place a plea for critical feedback, but if you do happen to send a review my way I will be appreciative as always. Thanks. –

A/N: I'm back. Been under a lot of stress recently and haven't had the time to diligently update Protector for quite some time. If you desire details send me a PM and we'll chat or something, but the long and short of it is: now I'm going to be updating more frequently.

Prequel: "Another Late Night" –

"Another late night?"

Surprising to say the least, the unexpected voice jolted the young man awake. "Hungh! Wha–?" he muttered through quivering, still sleep-laden lashes.

"Relax," said the soft-spoken female, "it's only me." Her voice trembled softly, she was uneasy meeting his overstated alarm.

Recognizing her voice with a despondent sigh, "Glad you knocked, Miss Aldaine," he grumbled, head half-buried in his folded arms.

"Hah," she offered a faint laugh. "You've been working hard all night long, haven't you? Typical."

His bright green eyes danced in frantic blinks as he lifted his weary head over a thick manuscript he'd been scrutinizing before an untimely nap. Doggedly he answered, "The work never ends. You know that, Dee."

"Course I do, Feyera," answered the frail woman, her faint tone matching her pale form as a whistle of the wind would herald a wintery wisp. Not only was her demeanor fragile, but her pallid complexion revealed she had not been outside for weeks. Yet she still wore carefully prepared make-up. Even here at Evercrest.

"Oh yeah?" he questioned, attempting to look her over in spite of the dimness.

Her short white lab jacket, though unadorned, was pleated above each shoulder, the long ruched fabric extending from a broad collar to lissome sleeves. Beneath the frilled coat, she wore a sleeveless mauve blouse resembling a dainty corset. A loosely woven belt surrounding her waist concealed the tapered garment beneath her lab wear, its divided ends dangled tantalizingly above a lavender pencil-skirt with calico fabric reaching her knees. She wore strapped sandals, probably in violation of the medical sanitation policy. A piqued twist of her bare ankle accompanied by a nervous "Feyera?" brought his attention swiftly back up to her face.

"You do?" asked the young man, startled as much as he was salacious. Excitement pronounced itself in a faint rose flush. "…T–that's a surprise."

"Yes. I know it can be grueling, in fact, that's why I wanted to talk to you…" Frayed bangs of rouge-burgundy twirled about her petite freckled face.

Lost in a daze of sensual impulse, he accepted her proposition. "Okay Miss Aldaine." Careful to maintain a tight face, he said, "You want to talk to me? Here?"

"Well, I wouldn't have visited your ivory tower if I wanted to chat elsewhere, Feyera!"

"I suppose so," he said blooming at her glorified reference to his office space. "I'm always here–" he looked around at the metal plated walls "–it's my castle."

"I know, but that's the problem. I only see you when you're on rounds," she said pressing on her hips, "What do you do besides work? You know, for fun?"

"Fun? This is not an amusement park," he said lying through his teeth. For in many ways work was fun. The new exercises and aerobics of scientific inquiry fascinated the fledgling prodigy as much as their promise of objective truth. Much like his biological father, a Mister Daniel E. West, work had begun to consume the young man. Although vowing to not end up like his abandoning father, culminating in the adopted surname: Feyera, he had wound up in a predicament not too far off from that apple tree. And it had all taken place so furtively, not even his own inflection could possibly save him. It had started with ambition and had – with clandestine grace – morphed into obsession. "All I do is work and sleep," he said firmly, "two self-directed functions of the body. After a while, one day seamlessly bleeds into another."

"Not surprising considering we're cooped up indoors with artificial sunlight," she said with an underlying tone of endearment. "Tehe! I still find time for sleeping in a kip though!"

Rebuking her snide remark, he answered with a groan, "You have no idea about the drudgeries of boarding school; I've learned to sleep anywhere."

"Hmm," she hummed softly, "I suppose you're right, not all of us come from the Academy though."

Through a half-frown, he answered warily, "So what if I do, Dee?"

"I think it shows," she said lightly, "that's all. It's written all over your face."

"My face?" he said reaching up to his gaunt cheeks. While gingerly padding his warm beige skin Feyera asked, "You think so?"

"No, not physically," she replied with a roll of her sweet toffee eyes, "you just seem to be worn out. I can tell."

"Humph! Well, aren't you flattering!" He teased her right back, "You're from Hoenn right? What did they teach you in Slateport's esteemed 'School for the Gifted' anyway?"

"*Sigh*" Her light caramel colored eyes shimmered like distant stars in the dark office room. Barely illuminated, save for the electric lamps built into the sides of the four walls, it was no wonder Dee caught him napping. "It's all a matter of clout for you. Isn't it?" she asked.

"Clout?" He quickly glanced over at the wall by his PC. There was an official document authorizing all of his present research under the esteemed title he'd earned through academia. It was a sheet of papyrus, not much larger than a printed page, with the overly fancy title of his degree on it.

Christian Feyera, Ph.D.

Doctor of Philosophy in the Study of Bioinformatics

Recognized and Renowned Researcher

Dep't of Biological Conservation

Encased in a mahogany frame seemingly miles above his work area, one would think he worshiped the thing. Considering it was the metaphorical altar of his personal temple where he worked, in his own way he did despite the burdens it brought him. His frustration however did not get the best of him; he continued to respond, albeit unevenly, "Clout? No. Perseverance, yes."

"Ah ha!" she chuckled, her small frame wavering ever so slightly with silly yet serene laughter. "That's the first thing I'd expect to hear from you, Doctor."

With a carefree wave, he hushed her, "Don't call me that! It makes me feel old." Looking up at his degree, he forced a grin. Being this young and this privileged had its perks. He was by far the youngest in his doctorate program.

"And I suppose that's why you nap like a little baby?" She laughed into her dangling slate-white jacket sleeve. "He he!"

He straightened his posture. "I told you Dee, I've been hard at work. Just because you catch me catching up on necessary REM cycles doesn't mean anything. It's essential for my health."

"Ah ha!" Enthusiastically she snapped her fingers. "So you've been asleep for hours!"

"Er…" Feeling cornered, he longwindedly replied, "I've fallen into deep dreams relatively frequently as of late."

"Scandalous!" she chuckled, pressing gently on her shallow chin with a slim polished finger. Dancing the amethyst nail over her lower lip she taunted, "And who's to say I won't report this wee incident to the Chief Researcher?"

"Gideon?" asked the young man, as he instinctually stiffened his posture from the mere mention of his supervisor.

"I didn't know you two were on a first name basis, Christian!" she said winking at him, her heavy toasted almond eyeliner drawing in his gaze. The color seemed to drain straight out of her hazelnut eyes and into her puffy cheeks.

With a grunt, he responded, "We're not. Gideon… He's only a pawn to me."

"Spoken like a chess master who's about to be placed in checkmate," she huffed.

The amber haired researcher shook his head. "Gideon's interest in my Angelus work will serve to further my personal research. Nothing more."

"You're still bent on researching those Pokemon? The Ralts line? And Gardevoir?" she asked in quick succession. "After all this? After all you've seen in Delta sector?"

His elbows sunk in the rigid desk chair that seemed to engulf him in its shadowy murk. "Yes…and what of it?"

"Nothing," she said with an unclear simper.

"You wouldn't have brought it up if it was 'nothing'!"

"You're awfully focused on one species, it's worrying me."

"And?" he shot back coldly.

"And—" she hesitated with a quick inhale "—You don't seem to be paying attention to what you're doing."

"Psychic Pokemon aren't easy to study. They have a lot of qualities humans don't–can't–fully understand. Angelus Curator and its evolutionary tree have the unique ability command a quintessential attribute of human neuron pathways. It's integral to how we understand life. Imperative even."

"You mean the emotions? That's what Gardevoir have unimpeded command over."

"Emotions? No…that's a terribly incorrect term," he replied with a frown. "Boil it down and it's all simply electrical signals."

"Scientifically speaking, yes, but aren't you on break now?" Dee said with a smile. "I thought we could be frank without getting our wires crossed."

"It's nothing that would require you to beat your brains out, Dee. 'Emotion' is the way a mechanical brain processes sensory intake from the external world. Like this computer, all feelings and emotions that people experience are produced through chemical changes, induced by electrical signals of their brain. The so-called 'rush' of happiness that a person feels after accomplishment occur through complex chemical processes rooted in the physical world. When the brain tells the body to do something, such as to sit down or run, this sets a chemical process into motion. These 'chemical communicators' are 'neurotransmitters', which are the words that make up the language of the brain and the whole nervous system. It's the same way people program computers, albeit slightly less inorganic and simplistic."

"You may be on to something," said Dee whilst curtly raising a brow. "Various synthetic chemicals can cause mind-altering hallucinations and other such temporary effects."

"Correct."

"For instance, anesthesia will dilute pain, but not cure wounds. It's real and not real depending on which side you're on."

"You've identified the crux of the issue Dee. It's only a temporary –not a final– solution," Feyera smoothly responded. "The trick is learning exactly how they alter such pillars of objective reality! I have to know! If I can isolate the species' brain chemical responsible for the rhythmic electromagnetic field emanating from their crystalline heart, I may be able to actually synthesize it. Replicate it… Then translate it into an organic compound that the neurotransmitter synapse fits the human genome. Think about it Dee! Unlimited command over happiness! Complete rheostat over reflexes and bodily motion. Limitless control over illusively sought out neurotransmitters ranging from Serotonin to Dopamine!"

Wide-eyed, she said, "Is such a thing really possible?"

"Not only that," he said lowering his voice, "but also the ability to actually control the release of those chemicals in the brains of others."

Dee squinted her almond shaped eyes in skepticism. "Mind control?" she asked.

"Not exactly," he said. "More like attuning neurotransmitters to the same frequency via endorphin surges emanating out from the central nervous system in polyphasic wavelengths. The problem is finding a pathway that allows for such a transmission to take place and affect the external world."

Dee raised a thinly arched brow. "But why is it so important to affect the external world if you can become freely happy?"

"It wouldn't be much good if you just sat around, self-absorbed with commanding your own brain chemicals; nothing would get done! There has to be a built-in motivator to affect the world outside of yourself. It's the oldest trick in the evolutionary book: a reward system. That's why psyonics work and drug-induced hallucinogens do not."

"I see."

"Unfortunately there are no human psyonics left following the purges, so we only have Pokemon to rely on to illustrate the complex dance of neurotransmitter intake–outtake. And I'm studying the very core of that process."

"Then how do they do it? Gardevoir?"

"They use a type of radiant, electromagnetic energy emanating in their hearts to synchronize the rhythmic release of neurotransmitters such as Serotonin and Dopamine. There are observable patterns that link each beat of the Pokemon's heart to an alpha wave that pervades outwards like a magnetic ripple–" the young scientist spread his arms out as if he was holding an expanding sphere emanating from his center to demonstrate "–or a cascade of electro-neuron synapses irresistibly causing other organic life to 'coincide with the cadence'. There's a measurable flood of rouge-colored, neuron-stimulating chemicals spreading from the Pokemon's core when it resorts to the use of its psychokinetics. It's fully detailed in my current dissertation set for publication, you should read it sometime."

"Concerning the Paranormal," whispered Dee, "what an interesting title."

"You think so? You're the first person to tell me that!" With a laugh, he ran a hand through his bushy auburn hair, passing a gentle few inches above his ear's peak. "I'll let you in on a little secret, it was originally going to be called: The Angelus Crystal: A Mythos of Happiness, but that would be too controversial amongst the scientific community considering there's no such thing as actual 'happiness'!"

"–Only neurotransmitters to deliver the chemical message."

"Right on! It's illusory happiness," he said with a grin. For an assistant intern, Dee wasn't half-bad at quickly catching on! Although outside an academic setting, she would have the prodigy beat in a myriad of ways, starting with being about three years older than him. "And now you understand mental processes better than most! Not to mention the basis for telekinesis!"

"Mister Feyera," she asked carefully, "in your opinion, what separates people from Pokemon?"

"Opinions shouldn't matter in science, Dee, only observable facts."

Dee crossed her willowy arms. "Then what's the same, and what's different?"

"Obviously, humans don't have such an organ capable of projecting alpha waves, nor are our meager little 'blood-pumps' so well connected to our brains. Heavy protein content coupled with the proper biochemical phenotypes cause brain messages to be sent faster, effectively streamlining the neurotransmitter highway… But how do those messages leave one body and enter another?" he asked rhetorically. "The waves of brain chemicals need a door of some kind, and –like I said– evolution has not graced us with a crystalloid heart capable of functioning as a gateway for these projected neurological signals."

"Then what do you need to do to create a synapse between the heart and mind?"

"Good question, but that's where you're mistaken–" Feyera stretched, placing his hands comfortably behind his head "–Why evolution chose to use the heart as an emotional beacon of sorts is actually rather impractical considering distance. I need to investigate the organs closest to the brain's neuron passageways. Eyes in particular contain a fair deal of neuropeptides and are adjacent to the brain…"

"That's why we need to talk!" she blurted.

Feyera scoffed at her. "You're not impressed by my brilliant theory to graft the neurotransmitter gateway onto a common organ we share with Gardevoir so that humans can benefit from this evolutionary miracle?"

"A miracle?"

"This divine bliss, this ecstasy, is always just out of our reach. Whenever we think we have hold of it, it's gone in the next moment! Don't you see why this is so vitally important to human welfare?"

"I am impressed by your diligence, but not by your methods!"

"Exitus acta probat!" schooled the researcher in an ancient tongue. "So long as the ends are justified, any means are appropriate."

She twirled her pale hand aimlessly in the air saying, "Well, suppose that's why researchers like you are around." Despite the long lab-coat she wore, she seemed very defined in the dim florescent lights of his work space.

"I have potential, Dee. That's never been a secret." Dryly he responded, "I'm good at what I do… I'm damn good at it…"

Silently, she studied his office space, for it was riddled with various texts and diagrams. Beside the schematics of an artificial rendition of a human brain lay a series of tubes and pneumatic pumps. To the right of the rigid bronze desk lay a small bookshelf, complete with a series of rolled up charts, each neatly bound by a single strand of elastic.

"Perhaps too good at it…" With a faint intonation Dee asked, "You're enthralled with telepathy…mystery…why the intrigue, Christian? You could understand the world perfectly fine if it were a simple set of terms and logical axioms, and yet your research has brought you here…to Evercrest."

"*Humm!*" He craned his neck and stretched slowly. Thoughts flooded his mind. From losing academic standing to not being able to afford his lifestyle, the research he undertook was no less than imperative at this point. "My dissertation is key. To understand the neurological paths and how Pokemon such as Gardevoir manipulate them will unlock more secrets than ever thought possible. By unlocking the basics, perhaps the human brain can be mechanized to tap into its own psyonic potential."

"But why?" she insisted. "What if it doesn't work? What if you're barking up the wrong tree? What if it backfires? After all, psyonics are a mutation not fully understood."

"Of course they aren't, Dee!" he gravely replied. "Don't you remember that there was a genocide during the Darkened Ages? Purging the world of humans with the psyonic trait in their genetic code. With no one left to study–much less pass down the gene–how can scientists possibly hope to study the rarity in any other way besides looking to Pokemon and finding comparisons? Common denominators, overlap, and—"

"—But you haven't answered my first question, Doctor," she said with a feeble huff, "why Evercrest?"

If there was one thing that motivated the young man it was a quest for answers. He'd been that way since losing the last person left to call family. With a crooked smile he replied, "It's complicated Dee."

"Complicated?" she repeated with an aghast expression. "And here I thought you were as generic as they come!"

"Then perhaps I can sway you to believe otherwise…" Swiftly the amber-haired man changed the subject. "You never told me how you came here to Evercrest."

"Humph!" Dee twirled around, billowing her pressed lab-coat as she did so. "It's a long story; it would probably bore an arrogant young man like yourself!"

"Wait!" Nearly falling out of his seat, he reached out and grasped her slender wrist. "–I want to know. What brought a sweet girl like you here anyway? What's keeping you here in this place?"

"Hmm…" she cooed softly, sensing that he was hinting at the program's recent skullduggery. "Well if you want to know Feyera…"

"I do," he said with longing green eyes of inquisitiveness, "I'm curious. That's all. We're colleagues. It's for…research purposes."

She gave him a delicate grin. "If you really want to know, Feyera… It all began three summers ago, when I earned my trainer's license in Petalburg."

"You were a Pokemon trainer?!" asked the young man in a state of awe. "You must be joking!" He couldn't imagine someone as frail and weak as Dee traversing the dangerous world of Pokemon.

"A bad one, yes," Dee chuckled, her curly red hair dangling behind her shoulders. "But it took too long to learn about my…*sigh* inadequacy."

"Why I never would have guessed!" exclaimed the sallow young man. He still had not released her wrist from his grasp. "You were truly into that? How'd you–?"

"I–Feyera…" she looked down at where he was squeezing on her wrist.

"Oh…I–I'm sorry…!" he said clumsily letting go.

But quickly she clasped his hand in hers saying, "No, it isn't that. It's just that you were clasping tightly on me. I was starting to lose sensation."

"Oh…I…um…" he answered separating his syllables with quick breaths. "I didn't mean to!"

"Relax. I told you that this was personal, thanks for listening to me."

"No problem," he answered. "I don't see why that was so much a secret…"

"I never wanted it to be. My…" She leisurely released his unsteady hand. "Your palms are all wet."

"It's been a long night!" he said tugging on his white lab-coat's sleeves to dry the perspiration. "And I was sound asleep till you showed up."

"Evidently," she chuckled.

He tried to smile, but it came across as forced. "Dee…"

She quickly turned her head away. "You know Christian, you didn't have to listen to him."

"What?" the young man asked in surprise. "Who?"

"Gideon," Dee replied in a whisper.

"What are you talking about? He's been mentoring us both as Cipher's entourage. Do you have a problem with the organization that pays our bills?"

"It's not that… I know Cipher has been good to the people of Orre."

"Well then, are you going to complain about any other syndicates while you're at it? Don't suppose now's a bad time to mention Team Rocket since they've been in the news recently."

"No," she said. "I'm not talking about politics."

"You pick a side, and you pick a side that will let you win," he answered defensively. "I'm sure that's the first trick they taught you as a licensed Pokemon trainer. Type matchups are no different from allegiances that further your objectives. The same goes for research."

"Christian, I'm not talking about sides. We both know you have connections to the Rockets through your adoptive father."

He bit his tongue, grimacing. "Who told you about my father?"

But Dee remained silent, her back turned to him.

"Fine. I'm listening." He tapped his foot nervously. "What did you come here to talk about?"

Gradually turning around, she nudged his armchair with her hip. She bent down to his ear, mouthing one nearly inaudible word, "Progenitor."

"Oh…that?" he said somehow knowing she would bring that up. To feign courage, he looked her dead in the eyes.

Unintimidated, she stared his irresolute eyes down. "Yes, that."

"Dee–" he took a nervous gulp "–did you have a problem with how I handled the last test?"

"I–" she paused, closing her soft eyes between two gentle lids "–Christian?"

"What?" he abruptly answered. "And don't call me that; it's rude to refer to a superior by his first name!"

"Fine. Doctor. Do you ever think about what you're doing?"

Instantly he replied, "Of course. What kind of a researcher do you take me for?!"

"No." She tried to clarify, "Not in that way."

"Dee, I run all of my tests at least ten times in my head before even wasting a drop of Tentacruel ink, and from there I'm drafting processes at least three times, precluding anomalies, and developing theories from the most up-to-date files–"

"–It's not that Feyera!" she said sternly.

Retreating into the confides of his chair, he cagily replied, "Oh? Then what is it?"

She peered over at the door she had walked in. His office space was not very large, yet it had a lofty ceiling giving it the impression of being somehow bigger than it actually was. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism for esteemed scholars like him. In any event, she answered, "The reason. Behind the research."

"The reason?" he replied, wearing a face of confusion.

"Yes."

"There has to be a reason?" he reiterated her question, giving himself time to think.

"Of course," Dee said, "you don't just research for the sake of researching, do you?"

"I…" However, that was precisely the answer he was inclined to give her if she had not robbed the words straight out of his mouth! "Research is done to improve our lives, Dee! You know that. Orre knows that!"

"But… Does that justify it?" she asked. "Does that justify what you did last week?"

"Obviously," he replied with a carefree roll of his emerald eyes. "Look at where we came from. Two world wars. The first one nearly ended civilization. Humans had nothing left. We had no one else to turn to for salvation. People… Pokemon… together in one world… Do you think we'd be on the verge of paradise if it weren't for folks like you and me and…"

"…Gideon?" she quietly added in.

"He has the same exact function as anyone else here at Evercrest."

"And what's that, Feyera?"

"To further an understanding of the world." Quickly, he emphasized with a compulsory half smile, "OUR world."

"Your world," she clarified whilst squeezing her narrow nose bridge between two small fingers.

"You work here too, Dee!" he insisted. "You're as much an Evercrest Researcher as me."

"No, Feyera… Not on those projects…" she said in a hollow voice.

"'Those projects'?" he repeated with a sour expression. "You seek to dissociate yourself from them? I can't recall the last experiment you weren't present for! So don't criticize me, you have no goddamn right to."

"The research… Feyera, it has its purpose, but the current project that Gideon approved of, it's terribly wrong. You must see that."

"You mean Progenitor's application to Angelus?!" snarled the gaunt man. "Listen, you can rail on about Progenitor's grisliness until you're blue in the face, but let me be very clear: Angelus is my work! It IS me, Dee!"

"Angelus has to end; it's going to consume you."

"What are you talking about? Angelus is everything I stand for, everything I strive for, everything I have left in this miserable world!" He clenched a tight fist. "It has a purpose: universal happiness for humankind. No more wars, no more battles, no more death… How we get there doesn't matter, as long as we get there!"

"There's no 'we' though. The hybrid Angelus-Progenitor project is between you and your administrative partner Gideon. He's even taken a liking to calling you his little angel of–"

"—Don't compare me to Gideon! The only reason Gideon sees Progenitor as anything but an evolutionary dead-end is because he believes he can modify the procedure in order to artificially generate Shadow Pokemon! He forthrightly trusts my observations showing that Angelus Curator is the key to the intangible part of the brain humans foolishly label as 'the heart'. That's enough for him to qualify as a persuasive rationale. At heart he's a dogmatic scientist, and that's exactly how I intend to make use of him. Peh, as I always like to say, 'there's stupidity and then there's him!'"

"But the Pokemon, the experiments, they have lives too. The Gardevoir that you processed last week…"

"Ahem," he cleared his throat in a nervous twitch, "I much prefer the refined scientific name of the species: Angelus Curator."

"Semantics, Feyera. Whatever name you want to bestow upon it, a Gardevoir is still a living organism like you and me."

"That's funny coming from you, an ex–Pokemon trainer," he said craftily trying to turn her argument around. "You'd have the creatures confined as your slaves under the guise of 'protection'!"

"They're not slaves, they're vibrant and alive," stammered the mature intern. "Free or not, what you're doing with Gideon's Progenitor work is wrong!"

"Sacrifices have to be made to pave for progress, Dee. And I'm not about to pass up my opportunity to finally cement my theoretical research into physical form at his company's expense!"

"Cementing it into physical form? By not only binding, but blinding Pokemon with Progenitor?!"

"It can't blind them all," he panted, "eventually the Progenitor Virus will take; eventually it will find a suitable host. That's evolution, Dee. Until it does, my Angelus research receives limitless funding."

"How can you see things that way?!" she asked, her frustration reaching a tipping point. "What's happened to you? You're not the man I thought you were. You're not at all the man I fell in—" she paused. "I–I…"

"What's gotten into you Dee?"

"Feyera… I thought I could get through to you, I thought that maybe you and I—" Dee hushed herself into her open hand "—I simply don't understand you anymore."

"You don't have to," he said bluntly. "That's why I outrank you."

"No… I don't want to. You're losing your humanity," she replied.

"My humanity?" he asked. "Preposterous. If anything, I'm fostering–saving– humanity. It's about time evolution favored humans again. Progenitor's application to Angelus will do exactly that."

"What do you mean by evolution?" Dee asked him. "You think you can control evolution?"

"I already have, and so have you," Feyera raised his hands and twirled his fingers about before pointing to his blank computer monitor. "Look at us. We're weak, fragile, squishy messes! But somehow we're at the top of the chain! We don't need fangs. We don't need flames. We don't need anything but our minds and diligent research! Don't forget: Pokemon service us, Dee. You understand that very well. But who made that possible; who gave us the reigns over these feral creatures?!"

She looked down at the clouded tile floor. "I don't know Feyera, how can anyone know?"

"Wrong," he assured her with a point towards a large map opposing his desk. It was russet with time, frayed and uneven on all edges, its charred form showing strange landmasses and oceans completely foreign to the world Feyera and Dee lived in. "There. You see that? That civilization gave birth to us, that rediscovered world's technology allowed us to step out of the Darkened Ages and resume command over our planet. In our rightful place as its stewards, its guardians, its protectors—"

Dee tried to break him off, "We don't even have a name for the lost civilization, Feyera. They destroyed their world without leaving anything behind but their abandoned tools!"

"There are ruins…" he said softly directing her attention to a section of the canvas with a large spiral tower made of blocks appearing to be made of marble. "Places deep underground supposedly untouched by time, predating the extinction of the last set of sentient beings calling themselves 'human'. Humph…a title they hardly deserved!"

"How can you say that when we live in a world that uses all of their technology?" Dee said with a nervous laugh. "Pokeballs, PC systems, electricity, all of it was rediscovered, not invented! We're their offspring."

"The last epoch of humanity failed Dee. And if history is any teacher, it was humanity's own naivety! They probably believed they could live at one with the world they inhabited, multiplied faster than Bug Types, and eventually fought wars in the name of peace! There's proof too. The final war of that world taking place countless centuries ago –the Terminal War– buried the past world. The causticness of it all stings worse than a Beedrill!"

"The Great War was a tragedy as well, and one not that far removed from your lifespan! We're not that different from the people from before the Terminal War."

"The Great War took place two years before I was born; don't jump to the conclusion that it didn't affect me. If anything, it shows how close we are to destroying ourselves again. It's the reason why I need to quickly solve our happiness problem with my Angelus research." He shrugged. "Besides, I was raised in Kanto."

"Yes and your nation's nationalism nearly brought upon another Terminal War!"

"Don't speak of Kanto as 'my nation'; I'm a sovereign researcher, I have no diplomatic ties."

Dee crossed her arms. "You have no moral ties either, judging by the way you mistreat Pokemon."

"Since when did you care so damn much?" he snapped.

"Since when did you care so little?"

He quickly excused the creeping admonishment, "You were a Pokemon trainer, you're bound to be soft when it comes to those types of things."

"Soft…? There's no way to be anything other than appalled by what you've agreed to!"

"Real research requires the bravery to push forward against all odds. It requires you to see the big picture. Maybe you're not cut out for this path."

"You're right Christian, I'm not. I don't have the same cruelty you possess."

"I don't know what's gotten into you Dee, but it's starting to bother me. I'm going to have to order you to leave."

"Oh? Bother you?" Seeing him fret, she carefully pressured, "Did you see the look in that last one's eyes?"

Almost immediately, there was a rush of feverish heat coursing through his veins as he recalled the events, helplessly replaying them in his guilt-ridden mind. "N–no," he lied. "I saw nothing after the injection."

"You didn't?" she asked him.

"I told you, no!" he shouted, whilst evading her disapproving stare by turning his back to her, leaning on his elbows, and burying his head into the propped open text resting on his table. He tried to read from the page where he had left off, but the words were all in hieroglyphics. Unable to understand what was going on, he closed his eyes in distress, squeezing them tightly until tears welled up. But when he opened them again, the page in front of him was more imperceptible than before, its symbols and characters morphing into new patterns with each frantic blink.

Dee's voice echoed quietly in the distance behind him, "Then I guess you didn't feel it either."

"Hunh? Dunno what you're talking about, Dee. Feel what?" he said as calmly as he could, not taking his eyes off the mysterious amorphous writing in front of him. Fading in and out, each once-familiar letter seemed to grow new extremities like vigorous tree-roots desperately seeking out an invisible life-giving spring. The sound of the door slamming behind him made him jump in his seat.

He held the sides of his head in confusion. Grappling with his skull, he tried to focus on a single object, but could not seem to qualify any of the shadowy images in front of him. Panic-stricken he called out, "Hey, Dee?"

However there was no answer. The book in front of him had become illegible. Taking a second to tug nervously on his now damp neck collar, he reached out to the computer monitor in front of him. Clicking the reboot switch yielded no activity from the device, though he could have sworn it had only been hibernating before. "C'mon," he said gruffly clicking the illuminated switch to "ON" over and over. The seconds gradually passed in what seemed to be an eternity. There was no response in spite of the steadily glowing red light indicating power flow. The monitor's black screen persisted, darker than a starless night sky.

"What's going on?" Eventually, his building frustration prompted him to break the silence, "Say Dee?" There was only the familiar sound of his workspace. "Damn…she must've left…" he concluded in a jagged mumble. Strangely though, he felt like she was there. Right next to him. Right beside him. So close he could almost feel her cool pale skin against his own. The sensation, alien as ever, was driving him mad. "Dee?" he said again, this time louder and with iron firmity. "Dee, are you still there? Answer me, Dee! This isn't funny."

When pestering silence coupled with useless contrivances in front of him became unbearable, he took a deep breath, and turned around hoping to dispel the bizarre evocative presence of his co-researcher.

He spun around in his chair; he was greeted with a sight stilling his breath and his heart. "Impossible…!" he tried to shout, but the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest had been quelled by inexplicable fear. In sporadic short bursts of flooding sensation, there was suddenly everything and nothing. Frothing surges of color and motion doused him in disillusions. Shades of palpable light bent all around him, engulfing him in their wicked embrace. Tightness seized his mind. A bizarre cramp broke apart his bodily sensation in an unswerving numbing: first draining from his arms and legs until they felt limp, then a trembling that spread throughout his whole torso, followed by a bitter migraine of pressure welling in his head.

"It can't be…! NO!"

At the edge of what felt like the end, the unseen deathly grasp finally released him from its paralyzing clutches.

"AH!"

With a quick gasp for air, he lifted his head off the open book on the table. In a desperate frenzy he turned around to find that the hour was late, and the door to his office had been closed. He was sitting alone at a dimly lit desk. The no-longer-blank computer emitted a faint hum and its backlight glowed to life. Panting, he peered down and effortlessly read the unblemished words of the first few sentences where he had left off. Everything seemed to be normal again. However as he continued to read he noticed something strange. There were two small words, insignificantly added to the bottom margin of the page. They were written in an ancient language, penned and underlined with a dark crimson writing implement. He stared at the mysterious phrase for a few moments before closing the text, unable to determine its meaning off the top of his head. Worrying that his sleep deprivation may be deluding him, he figured he'd try to translate it in the morning. Dragging his weary body over to the cot where he slept between shifts, he fell flat on his chest, burying his face deep into the pillow.

As the soft fabric of a cotton sheet pressed against his sweating neck, the young researcher's racing mind briefly recalled the seemingly out-of place writing "lex talionis" as his eyes closed between heavy lids. In a drowsy trance he wondered what it could have meant and if he should tell Dee about it.

But before long he had fallen asleep again.

And not an fragment of his memory remained.

It had all been a dream.

It had been just another late night.