The first time I had taken an airplane, I had looked out the window and had felt the world spin before my eyes. Vertigo.
That was the sensation that rippled through my veins now, while I dutifully counted out the allotted sixty seconds, out loud for good measure. If I used my imagination, I could feel myself disassembling and sifting between the cracks of my universe, drifting until I reassembled.
I didn't use my imagination and stayed calm.
Eventually, my stomach calmed down and my lungs remembered how to breathe without rattling. But before I could exit, I heard a voice speaking outside.
"When do you think she'll come out?"
It was not my grandfather's voice.
"We have to be patient. She might be feeling sick and shocked. And her mental age might be much lower than her physical age, due to her circumstances."
It was not my grandfather's voice.
"I know. Do you think-" It was not my grandfather's voice. I opened the door a sliver, trying to see who was out there.
"Oh, good, you arrived safely." My hand froze. "Don't be shy. Come out of the closet." The first voice snickered.
I shut the door again.
"Come out of-"
"If I don't recognize anyone, I'm always supposed to lock the door," I said, frightened. There was a silence. "And I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."
Another long silence.
"Your grandfather told me you would be like this." I didn't answer. I couldn't lock the door, but I didn't have to open it. I started to feel the ground for a weapon. "Raised in an environment with no idea what the real world was like. Hidden under a rock like a crab with no shell. Sheltered to a fault and-"
I threw open the cabinet, shaking with rage.
"It was for a good reason!" I shouted, "It was always for a good reason! He protected me!" Standing before me was a plain looking man in a white lab coat. I was half-sobbing as the neatly stacked memories crashed around me like Jenga pieces. It had only taken one wrong brick. "It is none of your business how I am!" The man smiled wryly, rubbing his scratchy beard.
"-and quick to anger, to a fault." My anger drained away and then returned even more viciously, burning away my unspilled tears.
"You tricked me!" I screamed. "Where am I?! What did you do with my grandfather?!"
"Easy, now."
Instead, I jerked at my hair with both hand, causing long black strands to fall on the floor.
"Where is my grandfather?!" I shrieked, making him grimace. I could feel my throat seize up.
"You need to calm down," the second voice said, and I felt two hands encircle my wrists. Automatically, I stepped down, hard, on his foot, yanked my hands out of his loose grip, and jabbed my elbow into his solarplexis. The effect was an immediate whooshing out of the air in his lungs as he doubled over in pain, trying to take in air.
"Don't touch me!" I was hysterical by this point. "Don't you dare touch me! Don't you fucking do anything to me!"
Assistants rushed in to help the boy on the floor, but he waved them away. I registered white hair and honey-colored eyes before he held up both hands painfully.
"Won't hurt you," he gasped. His face and arms were lightly tanned. "Sorry, don't pull your hair. It's beautiful." I stepped back, flinching at the compliment. His breathing evened out, although he was still bent over, clutching his abdomen. Eventually, he looked up and smiled. "You took me by surprise," he wheezed, "Can I just...?" He reached forward slowly and stopped when I forcefully punched his hand away, bruising it. After a pause, he continued, inching his hand toward my head, and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. Then, even more slowly, never breaking eye contact, he carefully took my hand and unclenched my fingers with rough, calloused hands. The simple actions calmed my rapid-fire heart, easing my trembling. My mother had done this whenever I was scared. "Everything is okay, Alex. Your Grandpa's okay. You're okay."
"Where am I? Where's my grandfather? Your eyes look like honey," I blurted out, blinking back tears. He drew up, surprised, and then smiled again, gently fixing the mess of my hair, one strand at a time.
"It's the clothes I'm wearing. Sometimes they look bronze. Or ochre. Or amber." He made small shushing sounds, those you would make to a cat in the gutter, or a beaten dog, or a crying child. "Your eyes remind of the sun in the sky."
"Well, aren't you a fireball?" My gaze flickered back to the man that was staring at me with raised eyebrows. I stared at him. "I am Professor Birch."
There was something calming about a familiar name in a terrifying, unfamiliar situation; it was like meeting an old friend.
"Professor Birch?"
"Ah, your pronounced my name correctly. Congratulations."
"Professor Birch."
"Congratulations, a second time."
"Professor Birch from Ruby, Sapphire, and Emerald."
He winced.
"It's better that-"
"But this isn't how I'm supposed to meet you." I could see the resemblance now. The same heavy-set build. The same brown hair and beard. "I'm supposed to save you from a Zigzagoon with a Pokemon I choose from your bag."
"Well, that's what happens in—"
"I'm supposed to move to this town with my Mom, in the back of a truck." All the unfamiliar details were being thrown back in my face, forcing the words faster and faster out of my mouth. "It's called Littleroot. And my Dad is supposed to be the Petalburg gym-"
"Alexandra, this is not a game," he stated soberly, in the same dire tones my grandfather had used. "In this world, your actions have dire consequences." He sighed and rubbed his eyes, and one of his aides brought him a cup of water with some pills. "In 1996, the first Pokemon game came out in your universe. It was so novel, so original, that someone from your universe went to interview the creator. His story was... strange, to say the least. Apparently, he had been a struggling artist with no purpose in life when he decided to do away with himself. He planned to jump from the top of a building, the location of which will remain undisclosed for security reasons. But when he prepared to jump, he found himself struck by a strange vision. He saw a land full of beings, different from humans, but different from animals. And as he watched, awestruck, they exhibited powers he had never seen before. He doesn't know how long he stared at the sight before him, transfixed. The image eventually vanished from the air, but never from his life. He climbed down and wanting to share his visions, he created a game that mocked what he had seen." The room was silent for a minute as I struggled to absorb what I had heard. "Our scientists hypothesized that the stress that he was undergoing at that time was just enough for him to see into our universe and glimpse the 'beings' in our world."
"So, the interviewer-"
"-was your grandfather." I paled at this bold statement.
"Grandpa knew the creator of Pokemon?"
"They were best friends."
"Bring me my grandfather and prove it."
Professor Birch cleared his throat roughly.
"Oh, please. Doesn't your grandfather look a little bit too familiar? Grey hair? Tan skin? His name is Professor Oak?"
"Professor Oak was modeled after Grandpa?"
"Are you kidding me? Even I saw that reference from a mile away." He continue a little more gently, "Your grandfather is on the other side, Alexandra. I cannot bring him here."
"Then let me go home."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"You are our only hope." The boy behind me coughed politely. "Excuse me. You two are our only hope."
"I don't care. I want to go home."
Professor Birch eyed me warily.
"You can't go home because that door only opens once a month. So even if-" he stopped when my breathing spiked. "Calm, calm. Just a month. If you want to go home that badly, you only have to wait a month for the particles to vibrate enough to gain sufficient energy for the door to reopen." The boy rubbed my back with his knuckles, trying to calm me down.
"Dad," he complained, "You need to watch what you're saying. Mom always tells you this, too."
"Your mother demands many things, Brendan," the Professor muttered, while Brendan smiled apologetically.
"Don't worry, Alex. I'm sorry this had to happen to you, but you just need to wait a month. Meanwhile, we can have fun, yeah? I bet you want to see some Pieces. Do you need to sit down?" I nodded and one of the assistants went to get me a chair.
"What pieces?"
"Ah, no. Pieces. With a capital 'P'. It's what we call, erm, Pokémon, here, because they aren't complete without you. Legend says that there was a time when humans and Pieces fought. But one powerful Piece hated the fighting and bloodshed. So he used his power to make a pact with the humans. If the human caught the Piece and made it his comrade, his friend, his partner, then the Pokemon would become even more powerful and gain the ability to communicate with the humans."
"Like how in the games, trained Pokémon are stronger than wild Pokémon."
"It's better if you don't think of it as a game..." he said, but I wasn't listening to him. My thoughts were racing wildly, testing the parameters of this new universe.
"Are trainers called something else?"
"They're called Completing Keys or C-Keys for short, because they unlock the true potential of the Pieces. Er, Pokéballs are called PENS. Not pens, but P.E.N. It stands for Piece Ensnaring Nets."
"So what do they use now?"
Professor Birch, who had been draining the rest of his cup, suddenly choked, spraying a nearby assistant with water.
"What did you say?!"
"...I asked, what do you use now?"
"Why would we not use PENs?"
"The same reason why we have electric collars for dogs. For more control, for easier management, for faster containment. Everything the advertisers say."
"...you're not as stupid as you look."
"Oh, ah, yeah, I get that a lot," I said, finally starting to relax. "Can I get my Pokémon later? I'm really tired and this game is-"
Before I knew it, I was cradling my stinging cheek while the Professor towered over me.
"DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?! THIS IS NOT A GAME! IT'S NOT A HANDHELD YOU CAN PUT DOWN FOR DINNER! YOU CAN'T FEEL PAIN IN GAMES! THIS. IS. REAL." He passed a shaking hand over his eyes, which were ringed with dark circles. When he removed his hand, I could see the frantic look on his pale face.
"Dad! You're scaring her!"
"Then, you explain it to her, Brendan!" the Professor spat, pressing a hand once again to his face. "You be the one to break her sugar-sweet image of the world! I can't do this again!" With that, the Professor stood up and left the room, along with most of the assistants. Only the beeping equipment around the room broke the silence. The few aides left scurried around, ignoring us, touching buttons and dials, communicating to the monitors in their machine language.
"I'm sorry, he's been very stressed out lately." Brendan walked over to a first aid kit and took out a chemical ice pack. When I chose not to say anything, he broke it and lightly held it against my cheek.
"What did he mean by 'again'?"
There was a long pause before Brendan answered.
"About two years ago, when you and I were fourteen-" My heart twitched at the mention of that age, but I clamped a lid tightly over my emotions, "-our world invented PALs, Piece Assaulting Lasers. At first, we didn't care the Pieces were traumatized by this method of capture; it's as painful as it sounds. We had someone test the product on Pieces by catching them and training them. This person did extraordinarily well, rising to the top and beating the Piece Keepers, which is your equivalent to the, um, Pokémon League. However, what we didn't know was that these devices altered the mental statuses of the Pieces. The person's Pieces retaliated and killed him. Now, this might not have happened, but the Person was a ruthless C-Key and this made the rebellion an inevitable event. The incident was quietly taken care of and now, only a couple people know about it. But ever since we introduced them, the government has favored the PALs because they are easier and cheaper to make and it makes catching Pieces easier, just as you said. They're horrible." I didn't know if he was referring to the government or the PALs. His voice quieted and his soft smile faded from his face. "But the PALs also keep Pieces from dying." All the air went rushing out of my lungs and I couldn't speak.
"...dying?"
"That's why my dad didn't want you to take it as a game. My dad made PALs so that Pieces could last longer. It was a mistake. He didn't realize that death is a natural part of the cycle of life. It must have been the constant trips between death and life that made the pieces go crazy. My dad keeps saying that we're the only hope because we need to prove to the government that PENs are better than PALs. We need to use the PENs, they still sell them in most stores as a tradition, and attempt to defeat the Piece Keepers. My dad thinks PENs not only make the Pieces stronger, but they also keep the Pieces sane and respect their will."
"But that means..." I stopped my sentence, unwilling to say the rest of it.
"They might die, Alex," Brendan continued firmly. "But it's better they die happy, as friends, than live oppressed, as merely tools, yeah?" By the fluorescent lights, I could see the fierce determination in his eyes. "Do you want to take the challenge? Just for a month. Just to see how far you could go. It would help with the data collection."
I could see that he was pleading with me.
"I want to make a change. If you saw how Pieces enslaved by PALs acted, you would, too. I'm sure of it."
"...for a month. I think I'm in shock right now and part of me is thinking this is a dream. But if it isn't, only for a month. And then I want to go home."
His face broke out in a lopsided grin, flashing his white teeth.
"Thank you." He held out his hand. "Now give me your Icon."
"My Pokédex? It's the only thing I have."
"Er, yeah. That." I gave it to him and when he pressed the blue button, the plastic case smoothly slid away to reveal a sleek, black interior that had a few buttons and an LED screen.
"Tracking device has been enabled," a cool female voice said. On the screen, a very familiar, circular icon rotated slowly, but I couldn't quite place where I had seen it before.
"So, you're in the first variable group. You're allowed to catch one Piece and one Piece only from each area you explore." When I scowled at the rules of the experiment, Brendan covered his mouth and laughed, which was something I had never seen a boy do before. "My dad wants to see if a C-Key can form a team strong enough to beat the Piece Keepers by catching the first Piece he sees. This would prevent 'building' a powerful team, solely to beat the Piece Keepers."
"What variable group are you in?"
"The second. I'm testing out a device that my dad created. I think you can pick your starter now. I already picked mine."
"I want a Mud-" Suddenly, my head exploded in pain. I collapsed to my knees, clutching my head. I distantly heard Brendan calling my name, but it was drowned out by a much stronger voice in my head.
Pick the Torchic, Alex.
The voice ebbed away and then returned.
Its final evolution is very powerful. Its attack and special attack is unbelievable. Pick the Torchic. You will not be sorry.
Vaguely, I felt Brendan picking me off the floor and anger flooded through my head.
Don't let him touch you, Alex.
Then, everything dissolved into darkness with a faint buzzing noise.