Chapter 54: Who am I?
My routine is simple, and always has been since the day I was created. All I must do is follow the first four things I have ever known—obey orders, never question said orders, never step out of line, and obey my Creator above all else. These rules were my first memory when I came into existence, and as such they define me. After those few moments of existing for the first time, I was introduced to my Creator. His name was the second thing I learned after the four rules—Jordan Wake.
It was then that I knew it was his orders that I must follow, and I mustn't ask why. He called me by a name, which was the third thing I've ever learned—Stalingrad. I learned to respond to this name whenever it is spoken; this name was how he identified me, as well as the other few who were privileged to know I exist. Their names were taught to me too, but the order of which I learned them is lost to me. I was told that the first three things I learned were all that mattered, and so I only kept track of their order and nothing else.
When I am summoned, I follow my orders until my Creator deems my tasks complete; I had that in mind as I went about one of my assigned missions. It was the dead of night, and I was dashing along the rooftops of the city known as Olivine. My mission was a familiar one to me—assassination. My master often gives me such tasks to perform on my own while he tends to other business. Like a bloodhound, I am given the aura of a certain individual—this time it came from a piece of parchment the person had handled at one point—and I hunt it down.
I was already close to the target; I could feel his presence when I peered into the veil of aura around me. Based on his distance, I narrowed down the room he was in within the apartment complex I was currently scaling. The aura was on the seventh floor, fourth room to the right of building's east wall. The aura was alone, and the closet other one was on the floor below. This fit the parameters of what was acceptable for when I carry out my task.
Like clockwork, I scaled the building via its fire escape and leapt to the ledge of the fourth room. I landed without making a sound. The window had its blinds shut, but this meant nothing to me, for I could peer through the veil and see everything as if nothing obstructed my vision. The aura I was seeking was reclined in a chair, looking intently at something. He was also facing away from his window, which told me now was the adequate time to strike.
Once I confirmed that no one could react to the sounds about to be uttered, I carried out my task.
First, use Extreme Speed and pounce through the window—point five seconds.
Target reacts to initial sound; he turns and I pivot toward him with a Bullet Punch—one point five seconds.
The spike on the back of my palm slices the target's shoulder as he tries to leave his chair, and I land on the desk behind him—two seconds.
Target is still alive; I turn around and roundhouse the base of his neck, watching the body collapse and the aura fade—four point five seconds.
The task was complete, and it was time for me to leave. I made a single powerful leap and rocketed out of the room's window. I soared through the air and braced for a quick landing on a building below. After that there was nothing left to tell; I merely returned to my master and reported the success. He then made a note of the mission and that was all I heard from him.
It is then that I return to the capsule referred to as a Poké Ball. On the outside it is a small spherical device, but on the inside I'm placed into a room with no features. The walls are blank and are only colored white, except for the black lines that form a grid across it. I've been told that this is what a Poké Ball with no environment program looks like on the inside, and that it is the default environment a Poké Ball creates. But I only know of this because I overheard one of Creator's discussions about the construction of the black Poké Ball I reside in. To have asked that question myself would have broken the second rule, and I must ensure I never do that. Though the idea of asking questions is something that never occurs to me, for the second rule is ingrained in me, and never once have I thought against it. That is why I never ask the reasons of whom or why I kill.
When I am placed inside the blank dome, a world without a program to simulate environments, I do nothing but sit calmly, close my eyes, and review the four rules over and over again. Seeing as how I've never been given an order as to what I'm supposed to do when I'm no longer needed, I take that as an order to do nothing. So that is what I do, and I only permit myself to review the four rules, for I was assured by Jordan that I am allowed to do so. Those rules are what hold up my world, the foundation of my being. To break them would be unspeakable. And so I sat there, studying the four rules. But as I reviewed the rules, a thought occurred to me.
Who was that man? I think I remember something about him . . . he was wearing something; it looked . . . red. It was a Ranger's vest.
Instantly I was appalled that I had strayed in my thoughts. I was never given permission to think freely by Creator, so I reeled back in fear of something undesirable happening to me. Tensing the muscles in my body, I cringed at the thought of disobeying. But nothing happened.
Why? Why . . . has nothing happened?
Confused, I opened my eyes to see the blank room, and once again saw that no ill fate had befallen me.
But I broke a rule, I thought to myself, somewhat perplexed that there was no consequence.
Forcing myself to forget, I returned to reviewing the four rules. Obey orders, never question said orders, never step out of line, and obey my Creator above all else. Obey orders, never question said orders, never step out of line, and obey my Creator above all else.
Reviewing the rules bought back stability and a sense of normalcy. But even so, even while reviewing the four rules, I felt something foreign, like a longing to understand why no consequence occurred. There was a word for that state of mind; I'd heard it once before, and it never held meaning until now. I think it was . . . curiosity?
Why did nothing happen? I was told never to break the rules, or else. And yet, I've broken a rule, and still no sign of consequence has occurred.
Does this mean the rules aren't real?
It was then that I stopped myself, thinking that what I was doing was a violation of the four rules.
I can't have doubts about them, I assured myself. They are my first memory, and nothing can be truer than that.
Soon I became angered that I had broken a rule, and I was determined to find out why. Perhaps something had happened to me recently, something beyond my control. If I could find the reason for my transgression, maybe I could tell my Creator and he could fix it.
Allowing myself to think freely only so that I could return myself back to the four rules, I thought back to recent events that had transpired that have caused my wandering thoughts. It was difficult, however. I'd never delved into my memories before. Besides the first few things I'd ever learned, I never bothered to remember anything else. I know I've been summoned by my master to fight numerous times, but what I do never stays in my mind for long. It's almost as if those four rules were the only things I could truly remember. Even now I can feel the memory of my last mission fading.
What was it that he was wearing, again? It was something important—a color, perhaps? Or was it the object and not the color that was important?
Straining my mind to remember even the faintest detail, I eventually recalled something from my recent past. But beyond that everything was blur. It was back at the Rangers' HQ, which was the only thing I could remember. Then, just like that, I felt the events of that day come back, and I began to review every action I took on that day.
First I was brought out of my capsule and into the real world. What followed was routine: I turned to face Jordan like I'd been instructed to do when I am summoned and listened for my instructions. He ordered me to stop the attempted breakout of the captured Pokémon, making it clear that no other Ranger was to see me and that I was to kill the two humans aiding the escape. I, of course, followed his instructions like the four rules say I should and dispatched a few Rangers that spotted me along the way with a quick twist of their neck. (I was told some time ago that this was the appropriate course to take when spotted by unwanted eyes.) I then arrived at the location of the breakout, noticing that one of Creator's Pokémon was fighting the small horde. As usual, I made a note not to kill the Charizard deemed as "Charcoal," for I was told never to harm any of my Creator's Pokémon. I dealt with several of the smaller Pokémon as I attempted to reach the female human to kill her first. She seemed to be the most active threat, the ringleader of the horde. And then I—
Suddenly, the memory of what happened next flashed intensely through my mind. The image was so vivid and real, I felt as if I were transported to that single moment. I watched as I pulled back my fist and reached out with my other paw to stop the female from escaping. Then it happened—the images. The images I saw when I touched her skin played out in my mind, hammering me with their imagery like a violent hurricane. The images practically screamed at me with their presence, and soon I realized what they were depicting.
They were images of me.
I looked from side-to-side and saw my limbs strapped down to a table. Movement danced in the shadows around me, and I was soon surrounded on all sides by men in white coats. They shined a blinding light down onto me and tightened the straps on my limbs. Panicking, I howled and snarled, trying to scare the men away as I struggled to break free of the bindings, but I couldn't. As it happened, I was frozen with fear when someone approached me with a syringe filled with something black, and what followed was a sensation I'd never felt before—pain.
When the images stopped, I gasped and opened my eyes. I was shocked to find that I had moved from the center of the room. Instead I was lying down in a corner, curled up into a ball, sweating. I also noticed that I was breathing heavily; my black-and-red fur was drenched in sweat, and there were tears in my eyes. As I tried to catch my breath, I held a paw up to wipe the perspiration off my face.
What the hell happened to me? I wondered as I went back to the center of the room and tried to sit down. Those images were of me? But they weren't just any images; they almost felt like . . . a memory. It felt real—just as real as the four rules—but there was a problem with that. The memory I witnessed felt older than the four rules.
But that's impossible! How can I have a memory older than the four rules! I never existed before those rules! It can't be real—those memories must be fake! That girl must have done this to me—she's the one who made me doubt the four rules!
That is . . . unless . . . I did exist before those rules?
Abruptly, just as that thought entered my mind, I was caught off guard when I heard a girlish voice from behind me. "Why do you follow those rules anyway?"
Instantly my eyes widened, and I turned around to see who could've owned that voice. I was astonished to see that I wasn't alone in my room: There was something hovering over in the corner of my blank environment. It was small, only two or so feet tall, and it looked like a green fairy creature with a bulbous head.
"Who are you?! How did you get in here?!" I shouted, conjuring up my red aura in my palms.
"Hello there." The creature waved to me. "My name is Celebi. What's yours?"
"My name?" I repeated, keeping my stance poised at the intruder.
"Yeah, what's your name?" the strange fairy asked me.
Confused, I kept my guard up and prepared for the creature to make a move; but after waiting for a few moments, I felt the words slip through my lips and I stuttered, "St-Stalingrad . . . my name is Stalingrad."
"Really?" The little creature shuddered. "That's a scary name, but don't you know that's not really your name?"
"Wait, it's . . . not?" I muttered, before I came to my senses and shouted, "No, my name is Stalingrad!"
"No, it's not. Your name isn't Stalingrad—not your real one," the fairy insisted as it flew over to me. "A name is something you get from someone who loves you."
I was taken aback with confusion. "Someone who loves me?"
"That's right. We are all given our names by either the ones who raised us, or those who cared enough to give us one. Your name wasn't given to you out of love. You were given that name by a man who sees you as a tool."
"Shut up!" I howled like a wolf, trying to strike the fairy in front of me.
But when I tried to harm the creature with my aura, it was gone.
"Huh?" I muttered as I looked around for the creature.
"You know that man you killed? Do you even know why you did that?"
Twirling around to see the pixie was behind me, I asked, appalled, "Man? I killed a man?"
The fairy creature dismally shook its head. "Oh no, even now you're beginning to forget the awful things you've done."
I growled softly in my throat. "What do you mean, 'awful'? The things I do are because the four rules told me to!"
"Those rules aren't real," the pixie insisted, "but that memory you had just now—that is."
"No, it isn't!" I howled, launching an Aura Sphere at the pixie; but the creature was gone, and my red aura hit nothing.
"Try to remember who you are." The fairy again spoke from behind me again. "The memory that girl unlocked for you is real. You weren't always like this. Find her, and she can purify you."
I turned once more to see if the pixie was behind me. It wasn't.
"Wait, what do you mean 'purify me'? What the hell does that mean?!" I shouted, looking around the vacant, unprogrammed room for the creature that called itself Celebi.
Unfortunately, it was gone.
Angry, my Shadow Aura started to flow through my body, and I let loose a few volleys of my Shadow Spheres in a fit of rage. When I finally calmed myself down, I was able to feel the Shadow recede back into me, clearing my mind to allow more thoughts.
Questions ran through my head like wildfire, but before I could address any of them, I felt a white light envelope me. This was the light that meant I was being summoned by Jordan again.
How long had it been since I'd been in the real world? An hour, a day, three days—I didn't know. I'd never noticed it before, but that featureless room caused me to lose my sense of reality.
Transported by a trail of light, I soon found myself on a rooftop of some building. With a quick glance around I saw that it was nighttime again, but what day it was I wasn't sure. I also saw the horizon's line against the tall buildings. I deduced that I was in Olivine City, which meant Master had not gone very far from last time; but even that seemed not completely true, and my memory could not help me.
Without thinking, I did like I was programed to do and looked to my side to see my master Jordan standing a few feet from me. He was wearing the black trench coat, and his face was obscured by his favored Skull Mask. I looked up and waited for him to give me an order.
"Stalingrad," Jordan spoke, his voice distorted by the modulator in his helmet. "I want you to find the aura of the girl who had this."
He held out a small piece of fabric. It was red, and it looked like it formerly belonged to a Ranger's vest.
A Ranger's vest? Didn't I see one of those recently? Was it someone I killed?
Carrying out Jordan's request without question, I cleared my mind and peered into the veil of energy that surrounds everything, looking for an aura. At first all I could see was my Creator's aura: It was powerful and commanding in its presence, and it surround him like a raging inferno. Thinking back for a moment, when compared to other humans, my Creator's aura dwarfed them by a considerable margin. The only things that come close to his are the auras of powerful Pokémon.
Peering deeper into the veil, I could soon see a small flicker of aura on the fabric. It was hard to sense it with Jordan's overpowering aura right next to it, but soon I could get a read on the former owner's wavelength. But when I felt it, I was shocked—I had felt that aura before.
It was the girl who touched me.
"Can you see it?" Jordan asked me.
Coming to my senses, I responded, "Yes, I can see it."
"Good. Now can you see her trail? She must be in the city."
Like clockwork, I obeyed as my rules told me to and peered back into the veil. Before long I could feel the flicker of her aura near me: it was a thin trail, the one that living beings leave behind when they travel. For some reason, as I continued to map out the path the girl took, I stopped for a moment when a question came to my mind.
Why am I doing this?
My initial response was because the four rules told me to. But then I remembered the one memory older than the four rules. If the rules weren't first, then why must I believe them? I asked a question before and I wasn't punished for it—does this mean the rules are meaningless? That creature called Celebi said they weren't real, too. If I could ask a question before, maybe I can ask one again . . .
Turning to face my Creator, I did the unthinkable and asked, "Why are we looking for this girl?"
"To kill her," Jordan stated plainly, "and the Masked Man that conspires with her."
I did it.
I can't believe I did it.
Unexpectedly, I felt strange and confused. I just broke a rule—I asked my Creator a question and nothing has happened. I really can break the rules! But if I've always been able to break them, that means they're not real.
"Can you sense her trail yet?" Jordan asked.
Coming back to reality, I replied, "Yes, Master, I can feel her. She came through this way at least a few days ago. But the trail has been fading and is inaccurate. Her aura doesn't leave as much as an impact on the world as yours does."
"Doesn't matter—a general direction is all I need."
I pointed to where the trail led.
Jordan's mask shifted, like he was smiling underneath it. "Excellent. Now follow it and report back to me once you've killed her and the man."
I did as I was told and turned toward the trail. As I did so, more questions flowed back into my mind. There was one question that I fixated on the most, though. The things I've done, all the orders I've given while under those four rules . . . were they the right thing? I have killed numerous people and Pokémon alike; never once have I contemplated the ramifications behind these actions. I've always done what I was told and that was it, but now? Now the rules no longer hold the power over me I once thought they did. Does this mean I've committed something . . . what was the word that Celebi used . . . awful?
Once again, I played back the memory older than the rules, and I remembered what I felt. I was scared, alone, and in pain. I was powerless, just like the victims I'd attacked, and to them I was like the men in the white coats. I wasn't sure what to think of that, but my mind was brought back to what my Creator had sent me out to do.
He wants me to kill her.
And if I do find her, it means she'll feel like I did in that memory.
I felt unfocused: my concentration on the auras around me was shifting in and out. Then, for a fraction of a second, I peered deep into the veil and saw her aura's exact location. It was at least ten miles away, farther than I've ever sensed an aura before. She wasn't alone—there were others with her. I felt their auras too, but unlike before, where I simply felt their presence, I felt their emotions.
I don't know why, but after I felt their auras, I stopped in my tracks and closed off my view of the veil of energy.
Seeing me come to a halt, Jordan asked, "Why have you stopped, Stalingrad?"
Stalingrad? That name felt wrong to me for some reason. It lacked something. I think there was a word for what I thought was missing . . . love?
Turning to face my Creator, I did the unthinkable: I lied. "I'm sorry, I can't see her aura anymore. Her trail has faded."
My Creator's posture tensed agitatedly. "What do you mean, 'it's faded'? You saw it just a moment ago."
"Well, now it's gone. I can't find her. There are too many other auras interfering," I lied again.
Jordan took a second to process my lie before he cursed to himself and muttered, "Fine, then. If I can't find her, then I'll just wait. I know her—she'll show herself eventually." He then drew out my Poké Ball and returned me.
Once again, I was enveloped in light before being transported back to the unprogrammed room. The walls were all the same, the color of white still remained the same, and the size of the room was still the same. The only difference was how I felt.
I hated the room, hated that I didn't know what was real.
Well I hope you all enjoyed these three new chapters! I certainly enjoyed writing these chapters and introducing the new story elements to the already intriguing plot. And now I regret to inform you that it will be awhile before I release another batch of chapters. You can expect them to be released around the holiday season, seeing as I'll have free time again when I go home for winter break. I'll update my profile page with news of upcoming chapters.
Anyways I hope you'll continue to read and show your support!
