It's been two weeks since I last updated this! I feel ashamed! Admittedly, I have updated Regeneration (twice!) within the last week (one less thing to feel guilty about…), but…two weeks!
I'm now really nervous – it's time for Seig's sequence (crosses fingers)
I don't own Pokèmon.
The air in Saralli was extremely humid, taunting its inhabitants with the promise of cool, soothing rain, yet never fulfilling that promise. This made it very uncomfortable to live in, and so most of the island's people left their windows open, in the vain hope of capturing a stray breeze.
Seig was sleeping restlessly on this humid night, tossing and turning almost as much as the timid Espeon beside him. He'd been plagued by the same nightmare for years, although it had been a while since he had dreamt it last. The warm, heavy, still atmosphere reminded him – at least subconsciously – of a time when he'd been terminally ill.
It had been a humid summer when Sieg mysteriously fell ill. The best doctors on the island had been called, yet none had seen the disease before…they had all said, one way or another, that he should just live the rest of his short life as best as he could. And all were truly regretful that they could do nothing for the helpless, eight year old boy.
This was increasingly difficult the further the disease progressed. At first, it has seemed to do him good – he could outdo all his friends in any sport or game. But then, the crippling pains started. He couldn't walk then, without the aid of a crutch. This was when the doctors first became involved. To his friends, though, Seig explained it as an accident – a broken leg.
Then, Seig passed out randomly, and without any previous signs – he would just black out in the middle of a game, a class or even just while reading at home. After that, he wasn't allowed out any more – who knew when he could collapse and not be found for days?
This mystery illness developed a fever, and soon, Seig was confined to his bed, not just his house. This was when the doctors gave up hope…
The teenage, slumbering form of Seig shivered at this – he could remember, during one of his more contemplative moments, staring at the ceiling wondering what was beyond death. Would the pain vanish if he died?
His foster parents were almost sick with worry themselves – they'd fostered the boy after an emotionally painful miscarriage and they couldn't bear to lose someone they had grown to think of as their own son. They refused to give up, and eventually, they found the answer that would save Seig's life.
Seig remembered being so happy – he could live – yet even in his ecstatic state, he couldn't help but be unnerved.
This new doctor that his foster parents had found didn't seem warm and caring like the countless others he'd seen. This was a cold and calculating woman, who prodded and poked Seig and preformed countless tests on blood samples before his eyes. Seig had never been squeamish, but he held a firm belief that blood belonged inside its owner's body. True, the blood tests were necessary, but shouldn't they have been performed in some lab far away by some impersonal lab technician, only to know whose blood is was by a letter or code?
Finally, it seemed that she had run enough tests, as she declared that she would need to take Seig into their 'hospital's care unit'. Seig would have given anything to wish that he'd imagined the cruel smirk on her face as she'd said those words.
He soon found out what she meant. A cold-feeling, sterile room, with a hard, thin mattress on a metal-framed bed, filled with needles, scalpels and other fear-inducing instruments. By now, the disease forced him to slip in and out of consciousness regularly, and each time he came to, he felt a stab of fear. What if, next time, he never woke?
No windows, and only one plain door existed in the small room, making Seig feel claustrophobic during his rare conscious moments. Sometimes, a white dressed nurse or doctor would be there, checking his pulse with machines that – back then – he hadn't understood, or noting down figures on a clipboard they hung at the foot of his bed. None of them every tried to speak to him, and when he spoke to them, he was totally ignored.
It had only been interesting when two or more doctors were in the room, and they'd spoken to each other. Most of the time, he hadn't understood them, but their crisp, formal tone haunted his nightmares all the same.
"The boy has the 095-A strain of the virus," the woman had said coldly. "All we need to do is extract it. There's no need to refine it."
"W…what about the boy? We were told to find the relevant antibodies – make them if necessary…" the doctor had sounded young and nervous standing before the woman. Seig hadn't blamed him.
The woman had given Seig a cold, searching look, before reluctantly admitting, "I suppose if he were to die here we'd be forced to file the paperwork…possibly be forced to suffer an investigation…fine, find a cure, then. Just don't waste all our resources on this waste of space."
And back into the blissful darkness Seig had sunk, yet again.
Conscious again – another day, and another medical conversation. The nervous doctor from the other day had come back, along with a female with blonde hair tied back in a tight bun.
"Okay, in theory, we should be able to take a blood sample and isolate the virus from that. But, we need to add the isolating agent to the sample within a few minutes of the blood leaving the host – Genwyn said something about it being because of the particular strain of virus…" the woman had explained tirelessly.
Seig, even in his half-asleep state, had noticed that the male doctor was far calmer around this woman than he had been around the cold, callous woman from before. He procured a needle, and suddenly, Seig had had his eyes closed voluntarily – he didn't want to see the blood leaving his body.
When he could safely open his eyes, he had seen them injecting a clear liquid into his crimson blood sample. After a few seconds, a dark surface had appeared.
"Tell them down at the lab to split into two groups – one can work on getting some suitable antibodies or something and the other can clean up the virus enough for reinfection. Remember our objective?" the blonde had asked sceptically – it had seemed she didn't think her partner could remember it.
However, he had proved her wrong. "Yeah - Modified isolated strain 095-A (non-contagious) to be administered to test subject WI-110 along with morning doses. Who knows what she's planning, though…"
"Think about it carefully. The boy had a human case of Pokèrus. This may be the only strain of Pokèrus to mutate enough to affect humans. So, what effect would it have on a Pokèmon?" Now there had been a barely contained excitement in her voice – the thrill of the unknown.
"We'll never know unless we get the sample down to the lab," the doctor had said pointedly, slowly waving the blood in front of his partner's eyes.
She had quickly seized the sample, walking briskly out of the door, until all that could be heard was the clack of high heels down the corridor accompanied by rather clumsier footsteps.
Seig, alone again, had lost consciousness once again. When he had awoken this time, a young girl – she couldn't have been any older than nine – held a tray of food silently. She had looked odd to Seig's eyes – completely straight black hair, a pair of very dark eyes and a plain black dress that reached her ankles. No smile dared to show itself on her face, and her eyes seemed dull and empty. It had been quite a relief when she left Seig on his own.
After he'd had a few feeble bites of his food – which he had no appetite for – he fell asleep once more.
The next time he was awake, the first thing he noticed was a slight pain in his left shoulder. He had looked and small, yet visible, there was a tiny needle-point sized wound – had they cured him? It seemed like it, as he no longer fell unconsious, and they let him go back home later that day.
This is where the nightmare always shifted. Seig was no longer an eight-year old patient in a 'hospital' wing, but a scared, lonely, month-old Eevee cub without a name, only a code – WI-110. She'd been born in this complex and lived within its walls for all her short life, yet from the few other Pokèmon's lonely, mournful songs, she knew of the outside world – of lush green grass and delicate flowers, of fresh breezes and delicious scents they carried.
It had been unbearable – all her life she'd lived in a metal mesh cage within a boring, featureless room, without room to walk two paces without having to turn around. The small Eevee had been gnawing on her cage, wishfully hoping to break it, when the metal rod had come smashing into the cage, stunning her.
She had been dimly aware that a human wielded the metal rod, yet she had loathed that metal rod, and the metal rod only, with a passion. It had thwarted her every attempt to escape, giving a loud noise and – if she was unlucky – a stinging tap on the nose.
This time though, a wire loop had accompanied the metal rod, positioning itself firmly behind her neck, and no matter how much she had struggled and writhed she could not dislodge it. She ended up on her back – her neck completely exposed – panting and growling like a feral creature.
A thick-gloved hand had grabbed her roughly by the scruff of her neck, lifting her out of her metal prison. Another hand had approached her with a metal needle and she began to struggle wildly, snarling at the unreachable hands. She had been almost so preoccupied with fighting against her captors that she hadn't felt the prick of the needle, yet the small sharp pain enraged her all the more.
She had been dropped rather hastily back into the cage, with a soft thud, and just like that, she was unceremoniously imprisoned again.
The following weeks had been agony for the small, shivering creature who was not entirely sure she was an Eevee anymore. She had ached with every fibre of her being for a reason she didn't know, or understand. She now loathed herself – she didn't feel 'right' anymore. But more than anything, she was enraged at the humans who dared to do this to her.
Days turned into weeks of tireless movement and angry growls of frustration. Weeks turned into months, and the months dragged into years. Monotonous loneliness and hatred consumed her, until, six years after knowing nothing but that cruel metal mesh…
Both boy and Pokèmon woke with a start, each seeking the other in the darkened room. Willow leapt into her trainer's arms, burying herself deep into his chest. She never wanted to leave this wonder of a person who had shown her the only kindness in a human nature she'd ever seen.
Seig shook silently with tears – there was no way he would ever admit this to anyone else, but the nightmare always shook him to the point of tears. He couldn't even tell himself that it wasn't real – that it was all in his imagination – because he knew it'd happened, to both him, and to Willow.
"They can't get you, now, Willow…I won't let them," he promised tearfully.
'I know,' the psychic Pokèmon whispered. 'You'd never let that happen…'
"I feel like such a wimp," Seig half-joked, wiping away a handful of tears.
'I'm sorry,' Willow apologised. After a questioning look from Seig, she explained, 'I must be transmitting my dreams to you psychically…I can't control it while being asleep…'
A few days ago, Willow had learnt a few psychic tricks after Seig had found a passage in a book. Among them, was the ability to transmit and read thoughts.
"Willow, I don't mind. It could help you, having someone who knows what you've been through."
'But…'Seig got up, out of bed and started to get dressed, not letting the Espeon argue. To be honest, he felt guilty – if he'd hadn't been treated at that place, Willow wouldn't have been infected…
Willow, sensing his thoughts, bristled and leapt in front of him, her form becoming spiky and yellow. She'd changed – from an Espeon to a Jolteon – yet Seig showed no surprise.
"Don't get too used to doing that, Willow," Seig reprimanded. "If they see you changing…"
Willow knew – they'd recapture her, at any cost. Who wouldn't want an Eevee that could evolve into any of the Eeveelutions? And it wasn't as if they could just avoid her previous captors, either…not when Seig went to school there. For the lab that Willow had been imprisoned in had been deep underground Saralli Caira High…
…Two weeks…and I have a shorter chapter than normal! I'm sorry, but it seemed a good place to leave it for this chapter… And if you're confused - don't worry too much, it'll become clearer in the next few chapters. Still feel free to ask questions, though - it'll probably remind me to add something next chapter that otherwise, I'd have forgotten about!
Thank you, Alaia Skyhawk, for reading this (and reviewing every single chapter – you rock!) Also, thanks to Ross – as he's provided lots of ideas for this, and the coming chapters. I hope Seig is all right! Also, Ross - I know you asked me to e-mail you the chapter first so you could look at it, but I couldn't find your e-mail address looking through the (many) different notebooks I have. I know it's in one of them...