Prologue: From whence you came
It always begins with a dream.
Clad in simple cloth, the young hunter violently clutched a small speckled egg. Her entire body ached from exertion, from the tips of her dirt covered feet, to the top of her chest. Most of all, the muscles in her arm cried out for relief from holding onto her precious cargo with a death grip.
Hidden as she was under the waving sea of golden grass, she allowed herself a small sigh of relief, shivering with nervous energy. She cast her gaze down at the egg, not yet having the time to fully appreciate it.
A white eggshell, with blotches of green. It looked so fragile. She wondered how that could be, when the creatures they birthed were so mighty and powerful. This egg, this prize; it was the singular proof of her coming of age, that she truly belonged among her elders. She had a small smile on her face as she took a peek out of the grass.
The skies were clear.
Did she make it? She knew the lay of the land, it was not much farther from her home. She got her feet beneath her, preparing to move - her breath caught in the back of her throat, a new sound catching her attention.
Screeeeeee! The distant beat of vengeful wings was growing with greater clarity with every passing second.
Her heart quickened into a never ending anxious tune. The lethargic wind only tickled the tips of the moonlit grass now, but she knew what was to come. She shoved her upper body under the grass, not daring to run, or even breathe.
With each beat of the unseen beast's wings, the very air was whipped into a frenzy. The torrential wind violently lashed out at the grass, cleaving vast swathes of it from the earth in golden archs. The young hunter desperately clung to the dirt with her fingernails, trying to do anything to resist this overwhelming force of nature.
She resigned herself to chance, shivering like a young-ling who had just been waned off of mother's teat. As if a scythe had been put to the earth, it reaped the ground all around her, until it finally found its quarry, throwing her body into the air in a vicious summit.
A force constricted around one of her legs - and neck - with the speed of lightning. She wheezed as the talons dug into her neck like knives, drawing streams of blood that drip drip dripped onto the savannah below. Her arms became limp, dropping the egg, which her body soon followed.
The hunter hit the ground, accompanied by a brutal crack easily lost among the echoing artillery fire. A bloody corpse that her tribe would never see, soon forgotten. The acrid stench of gunpowder. An empty body, among many. A bloody mess.
His family will never see him again.
The soldier watched with empty eyes as his comrade slumped over in the rain slicked trench. All around him was the distant crack of gunfire; the rumble of engines, and the deafening blast of explosives.
He was dead to it all, watching the red ichor slowly ooze into the moist mud. His comrade would have looked peaceful even; leaning against the sandbags, cradling his rifle like that, were it not for the hole in his helmet.
The soldier slumped forward further onto his knees. To him, it felt as if he were in a surreal dream. Just a few weeks ago, they were gloating over a bottle they'd bought off the quartermaster. Red cheeked and ready to take on the world.
The soldier smiled bitterly, "Go home a hero and brag to the gals, he said…" He shook his head, "Idiot… why'd you go and die on me?" He had no words of respect, but in that moment, there was one thing he dared take hope in.
That he was in a better place now; where bullets didn't whizz by every second of the day, and men didn't take up arms against one another. And that, he, a simple man, would live on and carry his comrades' memory with him.
Liar.
The blazing static of a radio transmission distinguished itself from the cacophony of rain and violence. "If anyone is still alive on this frequency, your position has been cut off! Get the hell out of there!" The soldier dully noted this, along with the fact that he was now alone in this trench. Hadn't they been shaking him just a moment ago, trying to drag him away? How long had he been sitting here, shellshocked?
Taking one last look at the peaceful face of his friend, he slowly pulled himself to his feet, grimacing at the mud that stuck to him in uneven clumps. With a rifle in hand and tired eyes, he took a peek out of the trench.
The decimated no man's land stretched out before him, the landscape wrought with the scars of terrible weaponry. All around him lay the wrecked remains of vehicle and human alike, soaked to the brim by the gray storm clouds above.
The soft patter of the rain on soil helped him find focus in his hazy mind. Offensive. Torrential downpour during the fighting. Chaos. Cut off. Sniper. Gone, just like that. The past flashed before him, like he was living it all over again.
He tersely scanned the landscape for anything, before scrambling to get out of the trench. He needed to get out of here. Far, far away from this hell on earth. He had trouble finding traction on the moist walls, but he eventually managed to claw his way onto the uneven ground of the no-man's land.
Before he could even get his bearings, he saw something in the corner of his eye. With one turn of his head, the soldier was face to face with the barrel of an instrument of violence a hundred feet away. He had mistaken a tank as abandoned.
Adrenaline filled his heart like hot fire, screaming at him to run. Feeling truly alive for the first time in hours, the soldier dropped all pretenses of having a plan and booked it, forgetting to even take his rifle with him. In his uncaring dash, he lost his footing in mere seconds, slipping in a particularly bad patch of mud. He fell face first into it, covering himself in the viscous dirt.
Iron and fire.
The shrill sound of something approaching at high velocity was heard for but a moment, before a huge explosion blanketed the soldier, throwing up a massive cloud of dust.
Why…
The cloud of dust lingered in the moist air, shielding the two men who now shared the same grave.
You have only yourself to blame.
When the sky cleared, a contingent of soldiers moved on the position and looted their bodies, dog tags and all, before crudely burying them beneath the dirt and mud. They would soon rot, leaving only their bones behind. Two empty bodies, soon forgotten.
"We will remember you."
The stench of peroxide.
We will never forget.
The peal of rain on glass fades into the background, overtaken by the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.
A young man with a Pikachu on his shoulder holds the hand of his elder, sitting on the side of his white bed with a sad smile.
"Gramps, we will remember you! How could we ever forget!?" The Pikachu nodded empathetically, alongside the youths' fervent motion. The old man laughed bitterly, "Please, kid. I…" He was cut off by a sudden coughing fit that shook his entire frail frame. He took a moment to compose himself with a deep breath, before continuing. "I was a piece of shit, alright?"
Despite saying such a thing, the elder had a vague look of nostalgia about him as he stared off into space. Remembering old times that were both good and terrible to him.
The youth's brow hardened, a small frown appearing on his face. "Yeah, yeah; the usual, but you still won't tell us about it, right?" The youths frown morphed into a knowing smirk. "Trying to act all cool, like you had some terrible secret." The youth wagged a disapproving finger. "Ain't gonna work anymore on me, Gramps. You were an accountant."
It is a curse.
The old man snorted. "Look, you don't know the half of it, kid. I-"
"Nope! Don't wanna hear it!" The youth interrupted his elder with no hesitation. "Now, me and Pikachu here don't wanna hear you beating up on yourself anymore. It's, uh…" The youth trailed off awkwardly, twiddling his thumbs all the while.
"We don't like seeing you like this, Gramps… we worry about you."
"Pika!" Pikachu chirped in affirmation, jumping off the kid's shoulder to get closer to the man.
I want to forget.
"I - I…" The man's eyes lost focus on the yellow rat, lost focus on everything else too, until it became a blur of sound and color that soon faded into oblivion.
The old man gasped, waking up from the nightmare with sweat dripping from his brow. He wheezed, clutching his chest. Why was it so hard to breathe? He desperately reached for one of the buttons on the side of his bed, barely managing to press it before he doubled over from his chest pain.
We cannot run from it.
Cold gripped him like he had never felt before, even as he wheezed and coughed. He was going to die. He didn't know how he knew, but he wasn't ready. He wasn't he didn't he still had to and what about -
We cannot hide from it.
The door to his room slammed open. Frantic shouts begged him to hold on just a little while longer as they hooked him up to cold metal machines. It was hard to think, so hard. The sharp incessant beeping of the machines was an eerie tune that would accompany him to his grave; the last thing he would hear. He didn't want to die, and yet, he…
I'm so tired.
"Clear!" His body shook as electricity surged through his heart. He was slipping ever further into unconsciousness, unmoving, unthinking. "It's no good, he's flatlining."
I deserve this.
It was strangely peaceful, in the end. It would be like going to sleep, forever.
"We're losing him!" He lost consciousness.
The innocence of a child.
Sleep, he did. And with sleep, there inevitably came a dream.
A hospital room, above a bed. An old man lay there, being respectfully cleaned by the staff. The body was still. Eerily still. No breath came from his mouth, no motion from his chest. The many wrinkles on his forehead would never crease again, for he was dead.
W-what?
He reflexively tried to reach a hand towards the man, to try and touch what must not be real, but he had no arms. The staff took a large white cloth and covered the man, getting ready to transport it out of the room.
Wait!
He screamed in the solitude of his mind, but they didn't hear him. He tried to follow them to the mortuary, but couldn't move. The man 'looked' down.
His 'head' wasn't connected to anything. His point of view swiveled at his command, like a camera in zero gravity. It was the definition of disorientating.
This isn't happening…
This all had to be a dream, a nightmare, fever dream. He floated there in uncomfortable silence, until another worker entered the room.
Hey?
He tried to wave, but they walked right through him, like he wasn't even there. He stared into their pupil, desperately trying to make eye contact. Some sort of connection, anything.
It had been too long, too strange. No dream was ever like this, so lethargic and static.
Anxiety hit him like a truck, causing his vision to spiral. He didn't shake, nor breathe shallow breaths. He found that he couldn't do that anymore.
With none of his regular outlets to distract him from the feeling; the anxiety buzzed inside him like a swarm of wasps. An ever present and persistent feeling that felt more real than it ever had before.
There had to be something he could do, right? He just needed to communicate with someone, tell them that he existed. It'd be that easy.
He was currently floating above the worker; a middle aged woman with soft brown hair. She was silently clearing the room, presumably preparing it for the next patient. He did the only thing he could think of in his strange predicament.
H-hey, can you hear me?
Her face remained blank, unmoving as she toiled. It felt like he was speaking, but was he truly?
C-come on now, please hear me? He begged. You can stop messing with me now, I know you can hear me… please?
Ignored, once again. Fear, desperation, disbelief, and anger permeated his mind in equal measure.
HEY, COULD YOU STOP FUCKING WITH ME!? He screamed into nothing. LISTEN TO ME, DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM, YOU LITTLE… bitch.
What is the height of contempt, if not to ignore someone completely, as if they weren't even there? He's real. He's alive. Does she even know who she's ignoring?! He could get her fired if he wanted to, goddammit.
He's not gone.
I'm right HERE!
Anxiousness and dread propelled the man towards rash action. He screamed, yelled, and cried. He tried to kick her, knock something out of her hand, or break various pieces of furniture. When he was particularly desperate, he tried to move objects with his mind.
He had become a petulant child again, lashing out at the world in any conceivable way for attention. This came to pass, when the woman closed the door behind her.
P-please don't go…
He stared after her, hopeless and lost. He didn't even try to communicate with the next person he saw. He just floated there, in silence. What had happened to him? He didn't know. He could never hope to know, it was ridiculous. It was like he was a ghost. Not a ghost type, but an honest to god ghost.
A ghost that couldn't even shake the shingles, or give someone a chill down their spine. He even feared he might be stuck in this room forever, until the pull came. An eerie sense of vertigo overtook him, as if gravity had taken hold of him again, but in a completely nonsensical direction. Towards the wall he fell, instead of the ground.
It was agonizingly slow, but he moved all the same. An hour to slip his way into the next room over. A change of scenery, with an old woman sleeping peacefully under the glow of soft moonlight. Being able to move again - even if not by his own power - gave him the courage to try and communicate again.
Can you hear me?
Nothing. She continued to snore, her lungs expanding and contracting. Her wrinkled features and saggy cheeks reminded him of something. His wife, maybe his mother? He took a closer look at her -
Wait, this was strange, wasn't it? To watch someone in one of their most vulnerable moments without their knowledge, or consent. A faux pas, but… no one could see him. The man thought he might have found a silver lining in his situation for just a moment, until reality came crashing down on him just as quickly.
This woman was uninteresting, ugly, and unimportant. Without the ability to move under his own power, anyone he might be able to watch would likely meet most of the same categories as well. With his hope dashed, the man drifted into the embrace of the cold blue sky.
He passed, farther and farther, until even the largest building had become a single spec upon the canvas of the earth.
He should have been awestruck, experiencing the majesty of nature like no living person ever could. Oh, they would have begged to soar through a massive cumulonimbus; to ride beside a flock of wingull as they took flight.
When his 'body' first plunged into a cloud, he half expected to get his head torn off with how fast the mist was moving in the turbulent wind of the troposphere. The mist, however, moved right through him.
He felt nothing. No tiny droplets of water condensing on his skin, nor the wind thrashing against his weak and feeble body.
He might as well have been watching a nature documentary.
The wasps buzzed incessantly as he ascended, till his vision pierced the firmament. His planet, his home, his everything. It all looked so small from here. So fragile, like a little marble he could flick away with a single finger.
He was leaving it all behind, whether he liked it or not. Pulled ever onward by a force beyond his comprehension.
What was he?
He was a man, an atom, a grain of sand, or an amoeba. All of them, and yet nothing at once. His self image was an illusion that changed as often as his surroundings. An infinitesimally small speck - closer to nothing - which held no real agency.
It bore silent witness to many worlds and many fates in its journey. The downfall of civilizations; the boiling of oceans, and the many stories of people and Pokémon. These worlds repeated many patterns that were familiar to it, but the broad strokes held little interest to it after a while. The little details were what really mattered.
The tiny triumphs. The little stories that played out in the everyday. The proud smile of a Charizard watching his hatchling fight for the first time. A peaceful picnic on a lazy summer day. A thrilling chase against a particularly stupid criminal.
It had come to appreciate what it once might have found dull and drab. What else was it to do, but watch?
The worlds where only Pokémon dwelled held particular interest to it, if only because of the novelty. To see what could become of these creatures without the domineering force of mankind interfering. The quaint little fens, towns and city-states they created held a queer sense of tranquility to them, along with their modest lifestyles.
It was strange how they managed it, with so many radically different species living together. It did not truly respect what they were capable of, in the short time it was alive. That spark of intelligence that he and many others were blind to.
Such musings held its attention, if only for a while.
Death, too, became of interest in time. It was a morbid sense of curiosity that drove it to pay real close attention to a funeral it was floating by. As the procession of farmers silently mourned in front of the earthen mound, it could not help but wonder.
What was my funeral like?
Did they look as downcast, with their heads to the ground? Did they each pay their respect in turn, with tears in their eyes? Did they pray that it - he - would find his way to a better place? Or did they spit on his grave, instead?
…That's if anyone showed up in the first place.
These damn memories. It had been drifting for so, so long. Its breadth of experience was as vast as an ocean, and yet, it did not forget. He didn't forget his sad excuse for a life. Every little stupid slight he had imagined, every insult he kept locked up in his head, and all the fake smiles.
All the bridges he had burned, all the people he had hurt and abused. All for the sake of his fragile ego. It was plain as day what he was, after seeing it play out so many times.
Why, then, could he not disappear? He had learned his lesson, had he not? Isn't that how this stuff usually worked?
Yet still, the memories buzzed at him from the depths of himself, pricking him when he was most unprepared. Even when it had been dead for far longer than it had lived, negativity bias prevailed.
A peaceful night of observation to take its mind off the past, ruined by the phantom shockwaves of mushroom clouds. It should be numb to it, at this point. Every tragedy was mundane, every event played out a thousand times before. The cold darkness of space; the uncaring majesty of creation, all on repeat on the same old record player.
There was no information on what had become of it, in this endless dream. From the lowliest shaman, to the illustrious crew of a starship that plied the many paths of ultra space. All of them were ignorant of its predicament, man and mon alike.
Their explanations for what came after death were as numerous as the very stars, and yet none of them were very convincing to it.
It might as well not exist, as far as it was concerned. It could not speak, could not breathe, and most importantly, it could leave no impact on the worlds that passed it by. It could do nothing, but watch. It was nothing.
The plight of the hunter, of the soldier and the youth; men and women alike. Were they, too, drifting?
If only it could choose where it drifted, it might find reprieve from the monotony.
No, it was not just drifting anymore. It did not care before, but now it was hard to ignore. It was falling, with ever greater speed towards this unseen center of gravity that had been dragging it for untold years. Where it might have spent years in the largest worlds before, now it was just a year, and then a couple months.
It felt a strange warmth in the center of its nothing; an electric buzz in its invisible mind. Vague sensations it figured were similar enough to a living creature.
I… I'm looking forward to this.
And thus it fell, ever further into the invisible pull. It passed by fields of stardust more numerous than the grains of sand on a beach. Vast asteroid belts, and grand cities that mere words could never hope to give justice to.
They were all ignored in favor of something it had given up long ago.
Hope, for what might come.
Soon, it appeared as if it were falling down a tunnel; the edges represented by the blurred pinpricks of the universe that sped by at a breakneck speed. Ever faster it went, its thoughts racing with excitement and impatience. It was even scared for a while that it might be stuck like this forever, never reaching anything. A fear it once had so long ago.
It was pleasantly surprised it could still feel fear, after so long. Even in nothing, times of uncertainty could bring out many things.
All of these unexpected worries came to pass with the first sighting of the glory. A soft, radiant glow, that paradoxically shined brighter than anything it had ever seen. It was the center of attention. Everything.
The brilliance shifted and throbbed, like a living thing. Trillions of individual motes floated about, fireflies flying along invisible pathways, intermixing and flowing like blood in a body. It was absolutely gigantic, yet as ephemeral as the rays of a sun.
It was struck by awe for the first time in ages. This was the center of it all. The precious, beautiful, perfect thing that had been dragging nothing along for eons. Still hurtling towards the radiance with tremendous speed, it imagined itself becoming part of the endless motes of light that floated in this golden sea.
It must belong here, after so many years of drifting.
Oh, to finally stay in one place; to be something again! It felt that same electric buzz in its mind as it crashed into the golden sea. The radiance suffused the nothing, swallowing it whole.
Is this what it feels like to be happy?
It wallowed in this feeling, eating it up like a starved animal. Warmth. It was so warm, like a comfortable day on the beach. Heat, sensation… When was the last time it had felt anything of the sort?
It was being lovingly caressed by the radiance, like it was a long lost child. it was home, this is where it belonged, truly!
The warmth comforted it, enclosed every aspect of it, invaded its every pore, until it began to burn.
Pain.
It had forgotten what it felt like. The light had given it… a sunburn?
Why does it hurt?
Old instincts took over as it tried to scratch an unseen rash with non-existent hands.
How could it hurt?
What once was the warm downy embrace of a pillow was now extremely uncomfortable. Discomfort fell to pain, and then agony. It had no tolerance for it, having not felt it for so long.
It sizzled in the light, betrayed by the only thing it had trusted.
It ate away
at it, tearing it apart piece by piece, but never destroying it.
It never ended, no matter how deep it went.
It barked and sobbed in mindless pain, all in the prison of its mind.
It had no mouth, but it must scream.
Gnashing teeth and fire,
The only company there,
Inside that dead place.
The weight of eternity rests upon you like cold iron shackles.
You are nothing.
Unknowable eons of the complex interchange of cause and effect led to your birth. You should not exist, by all accounts. You are a living, breathing miracle, so precious and irreplaceable, and yet, you are nothing.
A volatile collection of mammalian cells. Oxygen, carbon and hydrogen, meat, blood and bone, all puppeted by the tyrannical strings of their central nervous system. So much stimulation, so much suffering, so much… nothing.
You are a mistake.
Isn't that beautiful? Isn't that terrifying? Isn't that positively soul crushing!? The universe does not understand you. It wants to destroy you, it wants to suffocate this miracle in its stillborn cradle.
But most of all, it wants to hide from you. You're very scary, after all. Not much of a looker, either, if we're being honest.
Don't let any of that get you down, Morgan. You can do something about it! Yes, you! Morgan Scott Anderson, by all accounts - a complete waste of oxygen. Your mother never loved you, and your wife hated you. You had no real friends, yes, even that little child you took pity on to feel better about yourself.
Yes, that Morgan Scott Anderson, doing something greater than himself! It's jaw dropping! Now, now, Morgan. Don't think us hateful, this is all coming from the horse's mouth.
Now, Morgan, don't get technical on us. Don't be fussy, don't be a busy body, don't ask any questions, don't interrupt.
Let. Us. Speak.
…We're talking, yes; we're talking about that despicable little thing we call self hatred. You never got rid of it, throughout all of these years. You let it fester.
We are disappointed in you. Time is a great teacher, you know. We generously gifted it to you, and what do you do!? You muck it all up, of course.
No, no, no. We can't blame you. You're only human, after all. We didn't give you that time for the express purpose of solving that little issue, anyways.
It's not like we're not invested in your self improvement and actualisation, no, no, don't get that idea, Morgan! We care about you, but some things are more important, you must understand.
You haven't ruined anything with your little blunder, oh no. Not at all! You will play your part, if you wish to puppet flesh again. Yes, you heard that right Morgan! You will live again! How wonderful is that? You, out of all people, getting this once in a lifetime opportunity…
It isn't fair, is it?
You better be thankful, Morgan. In fact, you should learn from example.
We thank you, Morgan! Your ancestors will thank you, your loving children that only exist in your imagination will thank you! Your peers who are currently duking it out on big orbiting balls will thank you, too, Morgan. There are a lot of those!
What does that make you, Morgan? …Morgan?
…We're giving you permission to speak.
From the top, what does that make you, Morgan! That's right. That's right!
Now, don't get the idea that you're that special, or anything. You're a miracle, that's right, but those happen all the time on the grand scale of things. Let us tell you, Morgan, it's a rather daunting number.
We're just reminding you that you're replaceable, something to keep in the back of your mind if the going gets rough.
It's not a very fair job market, is it?
In fact, you'd better choose soon! You're making us impatient, Morgan! We already know you're going to say, come on!
Morgan? You're not sure? You… want to know what you're agreeing to before you sign the dotted line?
We see how it is. You're afraid, aren't you? Of course you are. The fear of the unknown is a primal thing, a tyrant in its own right. A tyrant of your own making.
Now listen here, Moran, we don't have the time to…
Oh.
Oh, look at you; naught but a soul, yet you feel so small and defenseless. What are you to do but listen to your survival instincts? You don't need to listen to it, child, no, no, we will make it all better.
You're a precious little thing, aren't you? Love is so fickle, is it not? Hehe… There, there, no need to be afraid, little one. We will not hurt you, you know. We don't know what got into us when we said that our little scheme is more important than your mental health.
It can wait just a little while longer, all for you, little one.
Good, good, wipe that fear away, bit by bit. We're here for you.
You're not alone anymore, isn't that wonderful? We… are not alone anymore. That's something to be happy about, little one, if only for a while.
Another thing to be happy about is your new life. You will be a brand new man, far away from that creature known as Morgan.
That despicable little thing that might as well disappear.
Ah, but you're missing something new. Something that you can be proud of; something that you can cherish in those dark moments when the memories will not let you forget.
Hmm… Yes, yes, we quite like it. That will do just fine.
Hmm? What was that, child?
…We will not lie to you.
It never gets easy.
Authors Note: Hey, ya'll! I would love any constructive criticism or comments you have to offer!
