DISCLAIMER: I do not own Pokémon, which is of Nintendo and Game Freak.
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WARNING: Adult themes are commonly depicted within this story, such as profanities, physical or sexual violence. Please refrain if you are susceptible.
Chapter VI
… And he threw up, too nauseated to care that his jacket would have stained by the greenish regurgitation of his stomach. He tried to prop himself to the glossy black wall behind him, only to slide to the ground.
The boy stood like so for a few minutes. He looked at the pyramidal ceiling of the discotheque, with its hundreds of triangle-shaped glasses opening like a telescope to the starry night, and he was bewitched by the stroboscopic show of lights: purple crazing to the electronic claps and percussions, vibrating low blue for the thumping bass, flickering green after a snare, flashing red and yellow to the beats, and intersecting left and right to create an even wider variety of bright colors. Lasers would go round in flowers and form roads at the melody, rave at the increase of the volume, higher and louder; waiting a single second of darkness, and finally exploding at the drop, a tornado of lights whose center was the Dee Jay.
Yelling, cheering, jumping, people were moving as grass dancing in whirlwinds, as water in a crashing mass, as playful fire burning from the tip, not the bottom, releasing their whole selves to the upbeat music of speakers bouncing at full power. That irresistible night the moon was high, drinks were higher, and the young were flying.
~ ...Out there!... ~ were singing the lyrics.
The young man tried to get back up once more – beer still in hand – but miserably failed. One more effort was needed as he mustered all his might to finally succeed and, after wobbling like a pudding, plunging himself amidst the crowd once again. He would ask himself where his friends were, but it was too hard to tell in the confusion. It was not like it mattered: nothing did. He was carefree and happy, and that was all he needed. Truly, that was everything he had ever wished for: drinks, music, occasional friends, fulfilling experiences to enjoy, day after day.
~ ...Yourself out there!... ~
It was still hard for him to process that such a reality was possible for him, or for anyone else: it was as if no problems existed there, as if it was allowed for him to wastefully live every moment of his life without the smallest hint of pain or trouble. He was lost at first, sure, but he quickly realized how the City could satisfy all his innate, secret, genuine desires, even those that were hidden under the false presumption of pessimism, the excuse of redemption, the justification of searching for a better world. And from that point onwards he let it go: he stopped caring about how bad the repression of the regime was, and he would have so long he was allowed to live like that.
The lyrics kept singing: ~ ...Try not to lose yourself Out There... ~
She h-"!£=SDHSAJK-
**WARNING: OVERWRITTEN DATA.
And so our young adventurer continued to live peacefully under the regime. He would eventually marry and have two beautiful children, leaving them at the age of thirteen-six after an unfortunate accident in the battlefield.
That shall be the ending of our little story.
Fin.
**ERROR: /PARAGRAPHS NOT FOUND: INVALID CHECKSUM. ONLY GARBAGE DATA AFTER PARAGRAPH 6/5./
[END OF DOCUMENT 7203/A]
"Yeah, sure, just like you say."
A few hits on a keyboard, the darkness of a small room. In the middle of the monitor, the loading screen of a decryption program.
Please select decryption method.
"Cut the crap, will you? I can bear it if you guys want to cut a few parts here and there, but you can't delete the whole story!" A tap of the Enter key.
Applying two-layers decryption...
Waiting. Then, a popup on the screen.
Decryption complete of Chapters 6 onward! (Warning: some parts may still be unreadable.)
"Okay, there we go. Much better!"
Now opening Document 7203/A (Copy)...
"Where were we? Oh, right, around here..."
[DOCUMENT 7203/A (Copy)]
She had to try again, as painful as it was: it was her only viable option for escape. After all, she had already managed to enter the boy's mind, even if it had happened only once. Maybe she could do it again, just for enough time to tell his subconscious who put her in a cage, and where to find her; she needed no more than one minute in total to do that. But, she had been trying every single day to her point of exhaustion, and she hadn't made much progress. The only time she had succeeded was getting further and further months away, when he had disastrous health conditions, and was on the verge of death. His stability had improved drastically since, far more than she had expected: she was losing him, as his mind was becoming as impenetrable for the weak crumbs of psychic abilities she had left, as any other.
The human who imprisoned her, he was not stupid just as much as he was revolting: no doubt he had planned when and how to catch her beforehand, and procured himself what he needed to capture her. He had surely taken several notes, maybe even photos about the woods around the City. Still, she thought it was strange a commoner like him could have obtained such a rare item: she thought only the top brass of the Army had those white and red devices with which a monster's energy could be suppressed.
Over thinking it would have served no purpose, regardless. She closed her eyes instead, and focused, breathing in and out as fully as she was able to.
The practice of entering one's consciousness is, in some ways, similar to that of pushing a barrier, a sphere which is constantly closing around you from all directions as the target's mind opposes your invasion inside his subconscious. If you put enough pressure with your mind, the walls will expand and reveal a world inside which you can build or destroy what you wish in order to influence your target's impulsive decisions. But whenever your strength does not suffice anymore, the walls will encircle you back, and you would feel as if you were being relentlessly crushed by an immense force and simultaneously drowned, which is both mentally painful and physically dangerous for the user.
She began casting.
At first void, black; not much else. She pushed more.
Still dark. Her head was slightly hurting, already. More, she needed to put more force.
Nothing yet. She was starting to gasp for air, but she didn't want to give up yet.
Empty, empty. She began shivering.
Come on, please? she begged.
Still nothing. His subconscious was putting up a resistance bigger than her: her whole body was wildly shaking, and she was having trouble keeping her eyes focused.
A mass of water up her throat: she was drowning. She knew she was going to pass out in seconds: it was no use, she was not winning.
More water, more weight, less air. heavier, thinner; more, less; more, and...
...Wait!
A realization. Indeed, something was different that time: that water felt wet, it felt like real water she could drink with the simple stretch of her mouth, like she was inside a real sea and she was feeling not rushes of nausea, but concrete waves hitting her. It was not just her, it was a dream, it was the boy's dream!
She was inside it, she had made it! Truly, that night the boy must have been as drunk as a thousand skunks put together!
She quickly mustered all of her renewed strength, resoluted to leave some mark on the boy's mind, but soon realized the gate was already closing: she had no time for any of her previous plans - as she had done last time, candles and clouds and soft lights and all that other stuff - she had to say something, and fast! She tried to think of something essential, something the boy might recall some time, something he would remember...!
She whispered a single, short, minuscule word. Thereafter the soaring waves rained down, rushing and crashing at her fragile being. Like that, she passed out.
"Man, yesterday was awesome!" said the guy.
"Oh my God, yes! You remember that blonde chick we met?" replied the boy.
Two young people were walking along the main road of the City, enjoying a quiet and fresh afternoon. The boy's friend was not one you'd call 'handsome': he was chubby, and certainly not light on the weight - 'Genetics,' he had said; he also reeked, quite - "Delicate colon" had been the reason for that one. When they had first talked to each other the boy had wondered if and what excuse he would have come up with for his messily choice of clothes, which to define 'wrong' was a compliment. And surely enough, he had replied: "You won't believe me, but I'm secretly wearing a world famous stylist's new entries: no one else knows about it!", after which point he had begun to rant about a series of other petty observation about his persona (which were not uncommon in the least), bringing to the surface all his previously harbored bitterness towards others opinions.
All of his statements, if it was not already clear to the reader, would be formulated without fault in the most convoluted and unbelievable ways: "A secret plan of the government I'm only aware of" or "Researches on alien technology" were big cards he always had in his hands. The boy began asking himself if he was aware of his own self-mockery. Maybe he was doing it on purpose? Maybe he wanted to convey what was an obvious lie as an undeniably clear, limpid, crystalline, blatant fabrication no one would hesitate to call as such? Maybe he just didn't like people, and did everything to scare them away from him.
But even as the spoiled liar as he was, factor which sometimes would add to be dumb, other times somewhat enjoyable, the boy thought he was a rather nice guy, overall. They had known each other since the first day the boy had come to the military academy, and quickly became friends.
"Ahaha! She was so drunk she tore off that other girl's high-heels and slapped her just because she wanted to put them on!"
"Ahahahah! But you were also pretty drunk by the end of the night, right?"
"Sure, but I didn't start dancing around and moving my hips so much I fell to the ground! The wrong side, of all the ones, ahaha!"
"Right, right, she tumbled down what were, like, two hundred-fucking stairs or something, pfhahahah!"
Remember kids, alcohol and stairs are not a good mix.
"Oh God, she started crying like a baby."
The boy paused for a second. His grin gently faded into a smile, as if he was cultivating a somewhat nicer thought. "She was cute like that, you know?"
"Heh, I don't know. I have seen better."
"Who?"
The guy looked downwards, slightly.
"Hey, is it someone you haven't presented to me? You want her just for yourself? Not fair man, come on!" curiously asked the boy.
"No, it's... just... it's a bit of a thing, a..." A pause. "... silly… kind of thing of mine. Nothing of relevance, really," replied the guy.
A chill freezed the boy's spinal column; adrenaline rushed through immediately after, burning his muscles with excessive heat - was it the environment? Maybe it was just a cold breeze –. It had been very brief and had already disappeared by the time he thought about it, but he couldn't wrap his head around it: nothing had happened around him. His friend didn't sense his mood change, and went on talking.
"It's a bit of a personal secret, you know? I might tell you, one day," concluded the boy's friend.
That 'bit of a personal secret' was not at all like the other lies, the boy was sure of it, and since his very talkative friend didn't want to talk about it, it was all the more questionable and shady. He felt an irresistible urge to know – why, though? Knowing the subject at hand, it was likely something minor or just downright idiotic; yet, he still did! – and without even questioning further why he had to know, he began devising ways to meddle into the matter.
"So, anyway, why don't we go to your home? It's getting kind of chilly out here," said the boy.
"Well...uhh..." The guy hesitated for a moment.
The boy smirked: So, my hunch is correct, huh? You secret is in your home! thought the boy.
"...I-I mean, it's a bit messy inside. It's not my fault, it's the… the housemaid, you know? Yes, the housemaid. She resigned last week, and... haha... hahahah!" Indeed, the guy was the kind of character that would nervously laugh in a tense situation.
Still, this is his most believable lie up to this point: props to him, conceded the boy.
"...A-anyway, why don't we go in a cafe or something i-instead?" said the guy.
"Oh, but we just came out of one, didn't we? Don't worry, I'm not so picky I'm going to judge you if your place is dirty or stuff like that. Hey, tell you what: If it's such a problem for you, you make a coffee for two and then I'll help you clean up!" said the boy as he returned a warm, understanding, tender smile. The fakest he could manage.
"Uhh... it's... okay, I suppose..." finally replied the guy, still looking somewhat troubled.
It had worked! Deep inside, the boy merrily enjoyed the victory and the distress of his victim, just like a little kid does when winning an innocent game against his pal.
"Great! After you!"
A squared living room, a minimal restroom, a bedroom whose only luxury was a very expensive desktop computer, a kitchen full of ready-made products and a weirdly big supply of butter, finally a stretched corridor conjoining all of these were the full extent of the apartment. Plus a locked door, the purpose of which was to 'act as an attic without the roof', as his friend put it.
That was certainly suspicious: the boy would have tried to get the key and see what was behind it.
The two of them were sitting and chatting by a small table of plastic, *REMOVED* one of those very cheap ones you could buy at IKE... *REMOVED*
"So, do you live here all by yourself?" asked the boy.
"Yeah," was the short reply.
"What about your parents? Do they come to visit every once in a while?"
"No, they really don't. I've never known my mother before she died, and my father sends allowance once a month, thinking he has properly taken care of his son that way, then he goes to do whatever is his business. Other relatives, he has never told me of."
"Oh man, that's a bit sad. I'm sorry."
"Nah, it's water under the bridge. The only important thing is that he's rich, so I can get some extra stuff for myself every once in a while. Even with the paycheck I get from the Army it's costly to have fun out here, you know?"
"My wallet is emptier than yours, I assure you."
"Heh, pretty much like everyone around here. To think some people believe I'm well-heeled for real: they envy me, can you imagine that?"
"Well, you don't look like one of those know-it-all braggers," replied the boy, as he thought: Actually, you do.
"Sometimes I wish I were. Those guys ruin the fun for everyone else, you know what I mean? All the best clothes, the best cars; they get all the most gorgeous women and all. The bunch of assholes, I would like to teach them a lesson!" Fire of Justice was burning in the friend's eyes as if it was a matter of top priority for the entire humanity.
"Oh God, I got worked up. Sorry," said back the friend.
"No, it's fine, I mean, I kind of feel you," said the boy. Oh sure, I am certainly feeling for the guy who is in a better economic position than everyone else and who is probably spending his free time eating butter, but can't afford all of the bitches of this world because he doesn't care to put some effort into anything. Poor guy.
"Do you?"
"Yeah, really. Don't let it get to you: you're better than that."
"Thanks, it really means to me." A pause. "You know, you are a nice person," complimented the friend.
The boy smiled back, for more than his appreciative answer: eight, nine, ten emptied beers were on the table at that point, none of which the boy had touched. His friend was starting to lag behind the conversation, which meant it was about time for him to act.
"Well, let's get started, shall we? This place won't clean up by itself," he bluntly said out of nowhere.
"Hey man, don't worry. It's fine, really, I'll hire someone to do clean soon enough anyway. We don't have to. We... don't... have to." answered the friend, more because if the boy wasn't still there he would have instantly fallen asleep on the sofa, rather than because he was actually going to hire someone.
"No problem, no problem, I told you! At the very least your bedroom should be tidy, right? I'll go pick up the things we need, you stay here." The boy stood up and got the pair of keys hanging on the entrance's door.
"It's this room, right?" asked the boy, pointing at the locked door.
"Oh, yeah, yeah..." the guy absent-mindedly replied.
But immediately afterwards, the friend gasped: "No wait, it's not-!"
The guy's voice choked as he heard the door unlock. He rushed up and through the narrow corridor in panic, but his friend was already descending the spiral staircase leading to the second, and last door that was protecting his secret. The boy was laughing with a playful heart, certain to tease his pal by spoiling his little secret: he would have cracked up seeing his fellow's rattled expression, and would have finally satisfied the childish curiosity he had been harboring for the previous hours. Indeed, he did not notice the tone of alarm and horror in his friend's yelling, who was praying him to stop before it was too late, before everything was ruined as he was hearing the dreadful, haunting kling-kling of the keys the boy was bringing with him.
The boy did not listen. As he found the other locked door at the bottom, he began to try to open the keyhole, one key after another.
" ~ This one wrong, this one is also wrong… ~ " He was loudly chanting, changing the tone of his voice at every 'wrong' to sadistically taunt his friend.
" ~ Wrong, wrong… ~ " Bewildered loud footsteps were raining down, the alloy staircase shaking as if an earthquake was striking.
" ~ Wrong, still wrong… ~ " The guy was almost there, he had almost caught the boy.
But alas, a click! The door opened with a creaking sound…
"NO!" screamed the guy.
… And the boy saw.
That delicate mirror which reflected a castle of illusions, once a magnificent vision for the boy's future, cracked and shattered as its image crumbled to dust. The fantasy of a quiet existence was twisted, not unlike a piece of delicate garment which had been brutally ripped. The battlefield came back full force, cannons firing and shots whistling in his ears: War Was Waging back in his mind, and this time it would be for ever, before the creature's shimmering, pleading red eyes.