POV: Cyrus / LOCATION: R—n-d –r-son

A splash of white against a tapestry of black.

Drip. Drip.

White diffusing into grey, white dripping down a tear in the bleeding fabric.

White spilling into a fiery waterfall which turns blood-red as it gushes into my eyeballs, into my throat, into every screaming pore on my skin.

BOOM!

My entire body is engulfed in white flames.

BOOM!

The pain. It hurts. With each deafening boom, an organ bursts. With each violent tremor, my fingers are pried off my flesh, my teeth are yanked off my gums, my intestines are pulled out through my nostrils.

BOOM!

With the final flash of white, my world settles into nothingness. In my coffin of darkness, I lie alone. Coldness permeates from all sides. The shadows thicken, pressing down on my vibrating chest, squeezing out the last droplets of oxygen from my lungs…

And then… a silver lining. Light surging into the crack of the coffin lid. Brighter. So bright that it consumes me in a scorching radiance.

"Cyruzzt?"

Who?

Ah.

That's me. Cyrus. I was… I'm…

Lightning. Thunder. A blossoming flower of crimson spraying its poisonous pollen all over the cement walls. A charred doll. Metal. Fear. Hope.

It worked. But how the hell am I still alive?

"Cyruzzt!"

Through my punctured eardrums, I hear that voice quite clearly. It resonates from this light in front of me. Actually, it's more like a rumble.

Like the rumbling from a well-oiled motor.

I afford myself a painful smile. Oh, Mesprit. First you ruined my life, then you allowed me to comprehend speech from the most absurd of things! Now I can understand Pokemon! And I hear voices in the walls! Oh my dear Guardian of Emotion, I'll have to thank you for your generous curse.

When we meet again, I will gladly shove my fist down your throat and crush your beating heart.

Meanwhile, I have this annoying spirit to deal with. It wishes to guide me across the River Styx, where I'll be boarding the first ferry to hell.

But I have bad news, Charon the Ferryman. I cannot die yet. Not until I finish what I started.

So I pull myself up. And my limbs shatter beneath me. I hit my chin on the floor, and for one solid minute, all I see is white noise.

"Cyruzzt, stop! You'll hurt yourself!"

Don't touch me! I refuse to succumb to your alluring call! I will… escape. I will…fix this broken world…

And the coughing begins. Horrible, violent coughing that tickles my chest as I hack. Out splashes bile. Blood. With a heavy heave, I expel all the contents from my empty stomach.

"STOP! PLEASE, YOU'RE SCARING ROTOM!"

Rotom? That name stirs something within me. A vibration in my bones… Nope. It's just me vomiting my kidneys out.

"Cyruzzt, please." The light descends upon me, where I can make out its features: an orange lightning rod with a face. With sparkling tears trailing down its electric-blue eyes.

A lightning rod? Ah, I had one of those just now. It's right there, submerged in a pool of blood and dead skin cells.

"Do you remember Rotom?"

No, but I remember my Rotom. My best friend. Its vessel was an antique robot shell. I talked to it like it was a human being, like I was some lonely freak who's sick in the head. Ah, there were times when I thought it spoke back!

The spirit claiming to be my Rotom chokes back a sob. "Stay right there, Cyruzzt. Rotom's going to find Zubat and Murkrow. Please don't die!"

I wave it out. Die? No no, it'll take much more than a few meteors to kill this freak of nature. I've taunted death before. No, what frightens me more is living a forgotten existence. Living without a purpose. Living without anyone to love and be loved back.

Aren't I a fucking hypocrite.

Wait. Am I truly going to wait for that light to return and spirit me away? Render all my hard work to naught?

Where am I again? Ah. Prison. I had pulled my first prison break. Yippee!

My legs flop uselessly behind me when I attempt to stand. That's fine. I'll crawl. My exposed bones grind against the cement. Glancing down, I notice that my wrist is twisted like an overworked pretzel.

Ah. Well. This is not good.

From beyond my opened cell, chaos reigns. My deed has caused mass fires to break out. The sprinklers are going berserk, casting the sterile halls in artificial rain. Since this underfunded institution was built on a sliver of human redemption, in the face of an emergency, all the cell doors would automatically open.

And this emergency is emphasized by the fire alarms shrieking out of control. Yelling, shoving, a cacophony of unpleasant noises as inmates rush out and guards struggle to comprehend the unprecedented situation.

I never liked the melody of destruction. Not that pleasant when you have bloody drainage in your ears. Jazz is much better.

Somewhere in the din is the flapping of wings. When I see my loyal companions, I burst into a grin and present a snapped wrist to Crobat, who stares at me like I'm fucking crazy.

"Cyrus?" it whispers. "Is that you?"

You can talk! And you're alive! With trembling hands, I take its injured wing, rubbing my thumb over the spot where the bullet had punctured flesh.

Oh thank goodness. It's healed. Just a faint scar remains.

"Cyrus," Crobat says with all the seriousness in the world. "Why are you so thin?"

My apologies, old friend. I've vomited most of my blood out, but for you, I have some left to spare. So I present my wrist again, smiling so Crobat won't be intimidated by my grotesque appearance. When it refuses to feed, I dig my fingers into an open gash and tear it so there's room for its fangs.

"STOP!" booms Honchkrow. "Rotom, we'll have to continue our reunion at another time. You and Crobat find Weavile and Gyarados! They should be in the same holding cell as us."

Farewell, Croat and Rotom's doppelganger! After they leave, I turn back to Honchkrow, giggling softly in anticipation for how it will spite me next. There are no sharp objects around, so… what about these? Fragments of bone which had chipped off when I fell from the explosion?

Honchkrow slaps my gift away. "Get a hold of yourself, lad! Look at me!" It steadies my drooping head with its wings. "Cyrus, don't close your eyes. Focus!"

But I'm tired, Murkrow. I'm exhausted. Just a short nap…

Then a bipedal weasel runs in.

I greet Weavile with open arms. You can still use me as a scratching post. Not on these blisters. Nor the pus. Let's see… isn't there a clean spot for you to hone your claws?

"WHY YOU ARE SMILING?" Weavile screeches. "STOP IT!"

I immediately drop my smile. Did I scare you? I'm sorry. I hang my head. There. Now you won't be dissuaded by my ugly face.

"What's happening?" I hear Weavile hiss. "Humans are runnin' around like Torchics without their heads! It's rainin' inside this place! And why are Cyrus's legs knotted up like vines?!"

"I don't know!" Honchkrow snaps. "But we need to get him out of here! Where are Crobat and Rotom?"

"What's a Rotom?"

Then a magnificent roar reverberates throughout the ruined hallways. Pipes groan, announcing the collapse of the ceiling seconds after. The rain stings against my cheeks. In rushes the sweet, stormy scent of freedom. I inhale deeply—and gag on the frothing blood in my throat.

"Roll him to the side!" Honchkrow barks.

Weavile gently eases me down so I won't choke on my vomit.

How kind of them. I feel as if they actually cared for my wellbeing rather than what I can provide for them.

Then my Gyarados finally appears via ramming its head through the concrete wall.

Ah! My Pokemon! We celebrate our reunion in darkness! Nourished by joy, I bury my face into my nearest companion—my bewildered Gyarados. They're all grown up. I'm so proud of them.

My muted laughter scrapes down the flooded hallways, filling the space with sounds of nails on chalkboard. Is this a dream? Or am I too far gone? Damn, I'm so overwhelmed with glee that I can't think straight anymore! Guards, help! I think I'm going insane—

A wing gently dashes across my face. I stare at Honchkrow, who seems just as surprised as I am.

"Cyrus," mumbles Crobat. "Please snap out of it. You're scaring us."

And my laughter breaks into sobs. Hot, burning tears cascade down my blackened cheeks, mixing with whatever grime I've rolled myself into. Upon sipping my tears, I sob harder.

So this is the flavor of failure. The bitter taste of truth—

Something hard bashes my skull, knocking the living daylights out of me. When the dancing stars fade from my vision, I see Rotom's doppelganger with the charred remains of my lightning rod.

"S-Sorry. Are you back now, Cyruzzt? How are you feeling?"

I feel nothing, Rotom's doppelganger. Without sorrow or joy, I am empty. I don't know what to feel.

Wait. I do. What do I always feel when I can't control my emotions? Anger. Sweet, destructive fury which never fails to replenish my strength. It's much easier to resent than to feel nothing.

And that's what I do. I allow my anger to ground me to reality, to eliminate the fog over my cracked lens. Rage is the splash of oil into the rusty machine, the spark which rekindles the waning flame.

My heart trembling with self-directed rage, I pull myself to my knees. I face my Pokemon with my head held high, with my convictions burning as bright as the fires I've set.

"Thank you for waiting for me." I imagine my voice in my head. Strong. Unwavering. Cold and professional like the boss of Team Galactic. My Pokemon are my Grunts, my Commanders, and my family. "Let's go home."