The sun filters in through my closed blinds, the change in lighting offending my dreary eyes.

"Fuck… can't you do me a favor and wait a bit-" The yawn I've been struggling to contain interrupts my muttering. "longer to trouble me oh wretched daystar?"

I rub my hands across my face as I begin to unfocus on my current work. I drag my empty gaze across my room, my mind searching for more inspiration to finish this commission, a firbolg paladin for someone's DND campaign.

My eyes are greeted by a white world, white walls, white tile floors, a white drop ceiling, and a wooden white door leading to what remains of my tiny 3rd-floor apartment. Interspersed among the white is the little proof that I live in this space, a pile of dirty black laundry in the corner, and two unpacked suitcases containing what few belongings I cared to drag with me into this sterile space 8 months ago, buried underneath 2 smaller piles a clean black laundry with some interspersed splashes of red and violet, and a bit over a dozen assorted bottles and cans of Arizona Tea, Gatorade, and orange juice that have accumulated over the past 2 weeks since I've bothered to clean them up.

"Maybe I'll decorate in the-" I glance at the corner of my laptop screen and 7:30 stares back at me "evening when I wake up," I mumble, telling myself the same sweet lie I've told myself at least 30 times since moving here. The reality is my things are going to stay in my bags, my mattress is going to stay sitting on the floor, I'm not going furniture hunting on Craigslist or Facebook, and the drink debris might get cleaned up if I've decided I'm tired enough of looking at it.

Exhausted from a full night of fiddling with art pieces, I set my laptop down on the floor next to me, unplug my headphones, and let the YouTube algorithm decide the fate of my music for the "night" as I roll over onto my stomach.

I fight with consciousness as always, struggling to fall asleep even when decently tired, tossing and turning, and eventually pulling the comforter over my head to block out the brightening light of the new day.

Meanwhile my mind races, memories of the past, both fond and pained, filter in from time to time, interspersed among a deluge of thoughts and ideas from consumed media and my various past hyper fixations. My mind can't help but consider and calculate the currency I'll have saved for the next banner on the dang gacha game that suckered me in. I ponder the team-building possibilities of the newest league champion despite having not played the game in over a year and a half. 'Are my mother and stepfather relieved now that I'm out of the house in a stableish way? When will the next Pokemon game get announced and will the starters be interesting? Maybe we'll get a water ghost one to go with Decidueye and Skeledirge. Maybe finally see a Fire/Fairy type? Even if I likely won't play it due to frustrations with "Dexit" hopefully there will be interesting new designs I can enjoy. I hope Mimikyu will be fun in Pokemon Unite when it finally comes out. I hope Armored Core VI is enjoyable when I finally get to upgrade my PC and play it after waiting all these years for a new one. Do Father and Francis really watch over me? If they do, I wonder what they think. I wonder if there are new HunterxHunter chapters, I haven't checked in what feels like years now. Maybe I should get a dog for some companionship? But should an animal be left to deal with me when I can barely take care of myself? Is it worth putting my ideas to paper? Even if no one else cares, will it make me feel better? Will I ever find something "real" that makes me feel more than fleeting joy, mild sorrow, moderate amusement, or a void of apathy?'

'Will I ever find something that fills me with that nebulous ideal of fulfillment? Something that makes me feel alive?'

'Is it really all worth the trouble?'

Each thought is picked up, examined, considered, and reconsidered before a new string tugs upon my mind for contemplation. Perhaps minutes pass, perhaps hours, I don't look upon the time, else this liminal period ends up dragged out even longer.

Eventually, as it does every night, the blessed void takes me, and I stumble into dreams.

I awaken to a deafening, desperate mechanical shriek, and gray quietly slipping into my tiny white world. My mind, groggy from just waking up, slowly begins to consider the irritating stimuli surrounding me.

'What is that awful fucking noise? It's certainly not my alarm I didn't set. The air is dry and hot, did the AC bust? Shut up shut up shutup SHUTUP. Why is the ceiling gray? I'll need my glasses- is that smo- the nois- the fire alarm. Of course, it's a fire, and it doesn't even have the decency to be my fault.'

Laying there, I stare upon the mesmerizing undulation of the smoke and consider not moving at all.

I let out a sigh as I turn and brace myself on my knees before rising from the bed.

"Today would be as good a day as any other, but I suppose I'll see about making my way out."

I open the door and find myself face to face with a world of almost pure gray. Smoke begins to pour into my bedroom far faster. I close the door and begin to stumble through the combination common room plus kitchen that seems almost half full of smoke. I stay low to the ground and pull my shirt over my nose and mouth to do what pathetic filtering it can muster, yet my eyes still burn and I only barely hold back the desire to stop and cough.

I reach the door to the complex hallway, reach to turn the handle, and-

Grunt in pain and reflexively pull back as the hot metal sears the bare flesh of my right hand.

My mind quickly leads me over to the sink. I strip off my shirt and dump it under the faucet while I release a rasping choking cough.

My body does not want to stop once it's begun, the smoke is cloying in my airways, and I find myself reminded of when I was younger and my body made constant attempts to free me from my endless pondering. Yet this is even worse than asthma was. Or perhaps working in tandem with it, after all, it never really went away, I simply grew to understand how to avoid upsetting it.

So I suppose now it returns with a vengeance in what may be my final moments.

Once I finally manage to restrain my body back under my control I drag my now sopping shirt over to the handle and quickly twist and push, ignoring the heat, and find myself looking out into the hallway.

Honestly, it's the most dazzling I've ever seen it look.

Orange and yellow intermingle in an uncrossable wall of heat and light. The sight, even though reasonably expectable, leaves me astonished and I stare for a moment before the blaze flares up, scattering smoldering embers toward me and burning my arms and chest.

'So lovely, if only I could watch it for a lifetime, it really is never quite the same on a screen as in person.'

'I suppose this is the end. Unless-'

I retreat to my bedroom, closing the door to the hall and crossing through the smoke once again. My head is getting lighter and lighter, and I can only imagine smoke inhalation is more likely to be the end of me than the fire itself at this point.

A small mercy, I'd rather pass out and die of suffocation after than burn to death while conscious frankly.

Having returned to where I started, I pull up the shade and begin to fumble with the window. It's the 3rd floor, but I can maybe climb down, or survive a fall onto the bushes.

Unfortunately, a new exciting problem presents itself. This window is locked and bolted in, not meant to be opened at all. Suddenly I can't help but release a giggle.

"~It's locked, it's locked, just perfect ~"

'It's fine I'll simply break the window, surely my suitcase or something in it can get the job done. Then I'll just just hop out the window and… probably break my leg. I'll go to the hospital and… accrue some absurd bills and then sit around in a wheelchair for a few months… or maybe even my whole life if I'm very unlucky and fall poorly. And all I need to do to start is bust own this window while I can barely breathe.`

'I'm so tired.'

Silently I sit back down on the bed and lay down to stare at the ceiling. I put my headphones on and finally the ENDLESS BEEPING stops. The YouTube algorithm continues to provide and I decide to simply lay in peace and coexist with what the world brings to me.

For a time I hum along to what I hear, Kevin Penkin and Sawano mixing together mostly, with a splash of Porter Robinson. Feeling my breath grow shorter, feeling my vision get dimmer, my thoughts become foggier.

Feeling my body following its mind's decision and giving up, a marionette with its strings finally cut. A raspy whisper sinks into the empty room.

"I s'pose today's… as good a day as any."

"I s'pose I was right, and you were right too, it didn't get better."

"Wish we hadn't been, but I hope I see you soon."

When what remained of myself regained awareness, what greeted me was a pitch-black world. What seemed to be an endless empty void, with no vistas to see, no sounds to hear, nor any scents or tastes to the surroundings.

Almost all sense of being had vanished, only thought and memory remaining of that which I had been before.

And yet disembodied as I was to say that I could feel nothing would be incorrect, it was as if the softest gentlest tug was pulling my "self" somewhere. As if I was drifting along a gentle current.

And thus for a time I simply let myself drift along and began to think.

'Is this the afterlife so many others spend their whole life praying for? Perhaps a so-called Limbo or waiting ground? Are they here? Will I finally see their smiles again? Hear their voices again? Will I pass through here into a paradise or hell? Will I find myself within the endless cycle of death and rebirth of Samsara?'

'Or will I simply be granted an endless repose here, in this strangely comforting blanket of sensory erasure?'

After drifting for perhaps a mere moment, or perhaps a near eternity, something changed. The smallest point of white light could be seen far far into the distance, could be felt like a harsh heat, heard like a thrumming chime, smelt like a clear blue day standing in a grassy meadow, tasted like the gentlest bit of sweetness on the tongue.

And I drifted, slowly and steadily, towards this tiny light.

Ambivalence was my main feeling towards it, the light might be paradise revealed, or a cleverly disguised hell, or any other number of possibilities within or beyond my understanding. But with no knowledge, there can be no strong feelings, just a bit of trepidation.

The endless drifting black was honestly rather soothing, a change would be a bit of a shame.

But maybe what was to come would be better? Once perhaps?

Yet as I grew closer, the tiniest fragment of me changed.

I remembered.

'I have seen this before, and will again.'

Nothing else from any past life joined my recollections, no semblance of who they were in life before reaching this transitory space. Only a memory of this growing feeling of dread and certainty that things would start again, only horribly wrong.

I begin to struggle, I do not wish to start again. To be built up, found broken, and tossed away again, again and again for eternity. I want to rest, I want to end.

I try to pull away from the light, but the gentle current is also an inexorable pull. No matter what I try I cannot get away, cannot slow my pace, only veer from side to side but ever closer to the light.

I try to scream for help, to bargain, but there is nothing, no sound I can make, and no one that would hear it. I am nothing but thought, ideas, and memory.

And I am alone.

I don't know for how long I struggled, only that in the end once again I gave up and let fate take me as it would.

The light grows ever closer, steadily, consistently, and I find myself certain, if I wished it this limbo could end in a moment. I could reach out and find myself within the light with but a thought.

But just once, I'd like to make a pathetic, fruitless struggle to the very end.

Perhaps that's part of what it is to feel alive?

So I'll wait as long as I can drifting, trying to shout out for help that cannot hear me with a voice I do not have.

Soon I will reach the light.

Perhaps in an hour, perhaps in a day, perhaps in a year, perhaps in ten. However long it takes, it will be soon relative to the time I've spent here drifting.

I try to call out once again, sending out a silent plea, having long since started rambling things besides help.

Anything that might make something, someone, somewhere in this limbo notice me.

'I miss you. Do you remember me? Please find me in the next life. I'm sure we'll meet again.'

Or perhaps just thinking things to soothe my tired mind.

Yet suddenly the world changes. Red and violet flames interspersed among the darkness trail off like breadcrumbs in a pathway leading away from the light.

I act with reflex, not a single thought or doubt. Just let it lead to anything else. I try to nudge my way towards the first wisp and find myself feeling tugged from 2 sides, like a piece of metal suspended between two magnets.

Suddenly I snap away from the tug of the light and find myself snugly floating next to the first wisp on a trail of countless others.

Just as I can almost feel my whole being metaphorically sighing with release, the constant pressure on my thoughts suddenly abating, A new presence makes itself known.

The voice reverberates as if from within my very self, everywhere and nowhere. Tinged with joy, relief, and a subtle hint of melancholy that I suddenly feel as if it were my own. It speaks in no language I understand even a hint of, and yet I comprehend their meaning more clearly than any word spoken to me my entire life.

"Finally found you, just like I swore I would. Just rest now, and hopefully, I'll see you soon."

Then, for a time, not even thought remains.

Indistinct chatter rouses me from unconsciousness, for some reason I can't make out what's being said for the life of me. The only things I can discern are that the two speakers are women and that they seem to have a concerned tone. Though frankly, I've always been awful with discerning mood from voice inflection so I very well might be wrong.

Ah make that three women, I hear an additional effeminate voice say a single word that has been the most discernible so far. Something that sounded like "Chance"?

Odd, taking relative stock of the situation, I hear the rather telltale beeping of the hospital. Further, my body seems to be quite weak and groggy, I barely feel in control of it, not even enough to open my eyelids. I feel a tube dangle from what I imagine to be an IV in my foot, while my foot itself seems to be strapped down.

'I suppose it must have been a dream? I must have been comatose for quite a while for my whole body to feel this weak. Why is the IV in my foot instead of my hand anyway? That feels so odd, especially with it strapped down.'

Beginning to manage some slight amount of motor control, I gently bend my elbows and knees. Gingerly, I open up my eyes and take in the white world that once again lies before me.

White walls, a white drop ceiling, and what I will hazard to guess will be a white tile floor when I manage to fix my gaze upon it, greet me once again. Yet what stands out more is that I seem to be, in a hard plastic or plexiglass tube.

'What in the-?'

Is what I try to say, and yet what I hear instead, echoing a bit off the tube in a high squeaky voice is.

"Wa ien da?"

Suddenly I find myself face-to-face with 2 rather concerningly large women looming above me. The first is a young twenty-something brunette woman in nurse's scrubs, while the second is a lady probably in her late forties with black hair and facial features I would generally describe as Japanese wearing a Lab coat and glasses.

Despite my increasing alertness, I find myself distinctly unable to quite make out what they're saying, but my previous movements and current state of lucidity seems to have calmed them down a bit. They softly smile at me through the clear pane and I offer a small wave.

My eyes fixate on my hand once it enters view, a hand that certainly both does and does not belong to me. I'm clearly controlling it, but this is also certainly not the hand of an adult.

This is an infant's hand.

My focus on the stimuli around me fades to a dull buzz over my mind as I begin to consider possibilities. Listed in order of feasibility I would place them as.

One, I find myself in a dream within a dream within a dream at what I would describe as moderate levels of lucidity. Being able to distinctly control myself but not the things around me occurs occasionally while dreaming but not particularly often. My largest counterpoint to this is how distinctly real this all feels despite how clearly focused I felt through the Liminal Space and how I find myself now.

Two, The fire was real, but the rest was not, I'm in a coma right now and I'm just gonna be Alice in Wonderlanding my way down layers of increasing nonsense. Perhaps in my comatose state experiences feel more lucid than in simple dreams.

Three, someone swapped my meds for some wack-ass shit I cannot even begin to imagine and I'm on the trip of my life right now. I suppose this is maybe more like a one-point-five. However, this feels less feasible due to my general feelings of coherence.

Four, I really died, and the Voice did something to me to let me retain my memories of my past life. This is a normal hospital. Everything is normal. The Samsara-Plus experience if you would.

Five, partial selective memory wipes are real and I'm apparently in the dang Matrix. Maybe I should swap this and four honestly.

Six, Truck-kun couldn't reach my third-floor apartment and she had to call up Fire-kun to kill me instead.

Whatever it might be, I suppose I'll wait for more stimuli to reconside-'

A rapidly waving pink object suddenly startles me out of my thinking and I find myself staring at a… Pink egg-shaped blob creature wearing a nurse hat and carrying an egg inside of some sort of marsupial-esque pouch.

"Chans? Chansey Chaaaaan."

That is to say, I found myself staring at a Chansey.

'... Well, I suppose Four can come off the theory list, and probably Five too...'

[Authors Note]

If you made it this far, thanks for giving this story a try. This is my first attempt at writing a story so I'm sure it's going to be rough around the edges. Any constructive criticism is genuinely appreciated.

Just in case similarly to me there are any particular things that turn you off to a fic, I'd just like to list several things I'm going to be actively avoiding and as such shouldn't end up making it here.

~ No Harem nonsense, Probably no romance at all frankly but I won't completely take it off the table yet. If it happens it would be a long way out.

~ Not a super angst fic

~ No Fakemon

~ No Easy ride, MC is not going to begin as some battle god that curb stomps everything and everyone they meet.

~ Aura will come up, but I'm not going to be writing a Dragonball fic in the Pokemon universe.

~ Not a catch em all type fic, every member of the party will have their own stories, goals, and personality.

~ It's not my intention to take a super long time in the pre-journey start of the story, currently with what I've written and have planned I'd say the official start of the journey will probably be around chapter seven, I personally wanted to write a reincarnation story where the MC was allowed to settle into the world before starting their grand adventure.

~ The fic will not end with the character waking back up in their old life, everything being explained away as a dream.

Finally, I just wanted to ask about your thoughts on the formatting. This is an MC that will tend to do a decent bit of thinking, right now thoughts that are in direct words (and the trying to sleep segment which I kinda think I did too much with but I decided to leave as is, Let me know your feelings on it if you would) are italicized. Is that annoying? If so would using just the apostrophes be better?

Thanks for any feedback you give -w- The next chapter should be in 3 days.