Eager to quit their daytime roosts, the Woobat chirped and squeaked as they flew about, calling Eeetch to Eeetch. The starry sky was where these bat Pokémon lived and mingled. They weren't ones to form orderly cliques: banter, praise, gossip, celebration, and courtship all played out in the wheeling colony, interlocutors swapping like ballroom dancers. One Woobat quarreled with a Swoobat, butting its much larger opponent with its whole body. Was the Swoobat its parent? An old rival who had outgrown it? The Swoobat turned away the feisty upstart with a sonorous Keeeee. Woobat sounded the cliffs for Joltik, vigilant for the Galvantula which would make them into a meal instead. Tonight, these hungry Woobat searched in vain. There would be no storm after all.

Noibat watched these exchanges indifferently; he couldn't understand the Woobat's complex motion nor the meaning of their cries. What he needed to keep track of—if he was going to survive—were the Woobat that left the colony behind and disappeared into the night.

He turned a stone in his talons, then fumbled it with an annoyed hiss. These claws were not dextrous enough to grasp a tool in one hand. The tally marks he drew on the outcrop were clumsy and deliberate, a far cry from the fine engraving inside the bottle.

The bottle was back in his cave, lying in a hollow in the floor because there was no flat surface to place it upon. Noibat really thought of the cave as his now. The pyramid of stones was partially toppled when he returned, but there was still no sign of the original Woobat. Perhaps "decorating" the cave with the bottle gave him some kind of squatter's rights.

He shivered. The scrublands were chilly at night.

I don't think I used to be this bothered by the cold. What's the point of all this fluff if I'm freezing in a literal desert?

Noibat was in a foul mood, his guts clenched with hunger and thirst. He was sorely tempted to give up and go to bed so that he wouldn't be tired and cold as well.

I've seen plenty of Woobat and Swoobat, but no Zubat or Noibat. Maybe I'm not built for this climate. So why am I here? Why a Noibat?

Without the heat of daylight, the desert was a monochrome, geometric abstraction, a plane scattered with cylinders.

I'm never going to get used to this place. I have to give the Woobat some credit, though: it's very pretty at night.

The swirling Woobat were nice and all, but they were nothing compared to the nighttime sky. The stars and moon shone as if they'd been burnished, brighter than ever before in his new eyes. Then there was the aurora. He thought it was an aurora, anyways, though it was unlike any he had ever seen. Instead of dominating the sky, it winked in and out of existence in thin, white filaments. Stranger still, the aurora seemed to cover the stars, obscuring them in its fold like a wrinkle in space. Noibat tried to enjoy the spectacle in spite of everything, ignoring the voice that told him that he must be a long way from civilization for there to be so little light pollution.

Shit! The count!

He hadn't been keeping track of the Woobat! He couldn't beat himself up too much, though; the results were pretty conclusive. Noibat had sorted the Woobat as they arrived and departed: did they go out into the desert, up and over the caprock, or to his left or right along the cliffs? The final counts were 9 out, 22 over, 35 right, and 13 left. Clearly, the colony was very interested in something behind him and to the right. Noibat got up to stretch, his neck stiff from looking up for so long.

Well, that's as clear a sign as I'm going to get.

A Woobat to peeled off from the colony and headed to the right, so Noibat began to follow it. Needless to say, the Woobat soon outpaced him, and had to wait until a new pair of Woobat came by. He made his way around the plateau in stops and starts, shadowing the Woobat as they passed overhead. Groups of one or two became threes and fours as the over-plateau and around-plateau routes merged. By the time he reached the side of the plateau with the circular holes, the parties of Woobat were crossing into the open desert. Noibat had to push his night vision to its very limits to track their silver coats against the night sky, but he could tell that the Woobat were all headed to the same destination, just as he'd hoped: a dark mass on the horizon, indistinguishable from any other plateau.

Wow, I kind of can't believe that worked!

After the debacle with the caverns and the Galvantula, it was clear to Noibat that he would have to strike out into the desert at some point. But where to go, when everything looked the same in all directions? Simple: he would follow the Woobat. While Noibat couldn't tell east from west, the Woobat were thriving; they would lead him to food and water eventually. However, he didn't have time to chase individual Woobat, assuming he could even keep up with them on the ground. This is where the sparseness of the scrublands actually worked to his advantage. If there were only a handful of resource-rich places in the desert, then the Woobat would probably beeline to those places, at least on average. He just needed to watch the movements of the colony as a whole, a traveler at a crossroads following the traffic into the city.

There was one slight issue—Noibat couldn't fly. Even if he could see his salvation on the horizon, it would take him all night to walk there, and he was growing weaker by the hour. He had to leave immediately.

So Noibat set out on an arduous journey across the desert. This wasn't a time for daydreaming like his first day on the capstone. He focused only on his destination.

How far away can it be, five hours? Ten hours?

He trudged through the night, slow yet determined, watching the Woobat come and go. They flew erratically, even outside of their colony, meandering across the sky before they converged on the remote plateau.

I should have tried talking to the Woobat again. I never actually asked them for food, maybe they would have understood.

The sun rose, and the stone of the plateau was still nearly black. The Woobat had long since returned home. Far away, a Zebstrika left a plume of dust in its wake as it tore across the desert and out of view. Noibat was jealous.

A flock of bird Pokémon landed on the black plateau. He took a few fluttering leaps, trying to figure out how to fly, desperate to go even a little faster. The black plateau was taunting him, sliding back and forth on the horizon but never getting any closer.

There has to be water there. Nothing else could bring so many Pokémon together. Right? If it's where they go to mate or something, I'm… doomed.

It was now fully daytime, and Noibat felt like his head was about to explode. His thirst had developed into a feverish heat that threatened to consume him from the inside. If he went left, the black plateau would move right. When he corrected right, the black plateau would slip left again.

There has to be water. There has to be food.

Noibat tripped in the sand.

I'm almost there. Just… a bit… farther…?

When he looked back the way he came, Noibat couldn't believe his eyes. The other plateau, his home plateau, was still ridiculously close! The black plateau was as far away as ever. He was going nowhere!

I can't do this.

It would be so easy to go home, back to his cave and his bottle. Then again, hadn't it been easy to leap off the cliff?

I… can't go back. I'm almost there.

Noibat hunkered down on the dry earth and covered his head with his wings. He did not move until night fell.

The shrieks woke him up again. He looked around deliriously; he could not remember who he was or why he was here.

"Eeekeek!"

Of course. The Woobat, he had to follow the Woobat. All of his senses were bent on tracking those tiny silver smudges against the stars, his last lifeline. But the Woobat would not fly over him—they snaked across the sky, never flying as the crow flies, swinging wide of the black plateau.

Noibat followed the Woobat, not the black plateau, not the sun, not the shifting horizon. He crawled until they were directly overhead, taking bearings against the Woobat when they were there, traveling by dead reckoning when they weren't. Ground to sky to ground, his eyes and ears traced the Woobat's arcing paths until they were baked into the featureless desert.

This time, the black plateau remained dead in front of him as he curved left and right. His ears simmered with white noise while the aurora coiled and wriggled in the sky like multiplying worms. He was back in the iridescent void, moving eternally yet never arriving anywhere.

The Woobat were gone again. He couldn't do anything except mechanically follow the path he'd set.

Eventually, Noibat stood in front of the black plateau, still dark in the morning light. Its craggy face was split by a canyon which yawned like a gate to the underworld. The path had led him right to it. He touched the rough slate of the plateau with his aching claws. This was no mirage—the sound of flowing water emanated from the canyon! Noibat thanked the Woobat with all of his heart.

The canyon was a happy medium between shade and sunlight, where prickly bushes, scraggly trees, and off-green cauliflowers flourished between walls of slate. The core of this life, the backbone of the canyon, was a humble stream.

Noibat scampered to the bank without a second thought. He didn't care that the water was thick with dirt—this was real water, fresh water, and lots of it. He dunked himself head first, drinking deeply to quench the fever inside him. Overheated wings treaded the muddy water, as inexperienced at swimming as at flying.

Now Noibat was floating on his back, patagia outstretched on the surface of the stream. The underwater murmuring of a distant spring filled his ears.

I nearly died.

He sat up in the shallow water, suddenly dizzy.

There are so many things that could have gone wrong: What if there were food, but no water? What if only flying Pokémon could reach this oasis? I was walking into an invisible wall! There's some serious supernatural shit happening in this place, by all rights I should be dead.

Only now did Noibat remember the hunger that still twisted his guts. He looked at the soft pads of his claws, scraped from three days of crawling over stone and sand. And then he saw his reflection.

He knew what a Noibat was supposed to look like, and this was not it. The creature staring back at him from the muddy water had the tapered ears and hoofprint-shaped nose of a Noibat, sure. But was his snout supposed to be this long? Was he supposed to be such a drab gray? His fur was clumped and dusty in places, dripping wet in others, giving the impression of a dog who refused to be given a bath. He raised his arms above his head. The proportions of his limbs were comical. His eyes were large and jaundiced—

My eyes are on the side of my head?!

Noibat held a claw in front of his face, and watched it disappear as he brought it up to his nose.

This is so messed up. Why couldn't I be a Pokémon with a normal body? And hands?

Something moved in his reflection. He turned to see a Cutiefly flitting between the blue flowers which grew on the thickets, watching Noibat make a fool of himself.

I guess it could be worse. I could have been a bug.

It really could have been worse. Why was he panicking again?

OK. It's true that I nearly died, but I didn't. I could have hurt myself jumping off the cliff or exploring the caverns, too, but I scraped by somehow. This time, I made a plan, and it worked! When it came down to it and I was about to give up, I followed the plan, and I survived.

Maybe it had been a mistake to ditch the Woobat and walk directly to the black plateau, but you can't plan around invisible barriers. It had been harrowing. It had been a close call. Nevertheless, it was a win. He deserved to float in the water for a couple more minutes.

Noibat repeatedly stopped to drink as he continued upstream, his thirst never completely satisfied. Although he was exhausted, it seemed like a waste to sleep when the oasis literally hummed with life, buzzing, splashing, and flapping. Swarms of Cutiefly bowed the flower thickets with their collective weight. He was glad that they gave him a wide berth, because their mosquito-like proboscises grossed him out. The stream here was clear and broad; he could see Tympole swimming in the depths, their underwater songs appearing as ripples on the surface.

Hmmm. If I could start over as a different Pokémon, which kind would I be? A Ground-type? Water-type? Steel-type? I kind of like the vibe of Grass-types, I could live in a meadow.

An Emolga surveyed the idyllic canyon from the treetops, munching thoughtfully on what appeared to be a grilled Cutiefly and green cauliflower sandwich.

I definitely wouldn't want to be a small Pokémon in this world. Not a giant one, either. And I want a more human body. Maybe a Gallade, a Rhyperior, or a Sceptile.

If I live long enough to learn how to fly, then that'll be pretty amazing. But I would rather have psychic powers or super strength. I don't even really need hands, I'd take being an Empoleon or an Armarouge over this. Or any Dragon-type that isn't a glorified bat…

His mind wandered again as he listened to the drone of the Cutieflies. This canyon was nothing like the stark cliffs of his home, teeming with Pokémon, water, food—Noibat plucked one of the green cauliflowers from the ground and nibbled it experimentally, but the knobbly vegetable was as hard as a rock. Pleh. If he could just figure out how to start a fire…

The canyon ended in a deep pool where a spring bubbled up from far below the scrublands. A Panpour splashed in the shallows, misting the flowers with jets of water from its tuft. Maybe a simian Pokémon would be better equipped to talk with a former human? He waved his wings to get the Panpour's attention.

'Panpour, thank you for taking care of the plants. This is the nicest spot in the entire desert.'

The Panpour swam to the other side of the stream and continued to water the flowers. Apparently flattery would get him nowhere.

There was also a Pidove that ambled along the edge of the pool. It pecked the ground for no reason, wandered some more, and pecked the ground again before finally noticing the Noibat which stood not five meters away. He didn't have much faith in the vacant-looking pigeon, but Noibat approached it anyway.

"Dooo?" the Pidove titled its head.

'Pidove, uh, if you're understanding any of this, I—'

"KWAAAA!"

A warning call sounded from across the pool. He must have been as blind as the Pidove to miss the Unfezant—a male, judging by his flowing crest—which was now giving Noibat a dirty look. The pheasant Pokémon held himself with poise, dignified as a king, his velvet and emerald plumage marking his guardianship over the flock of Pidove that milled around him. His glare seemed to be an unfinished threat: 'Step away from my child, or so help me…' Noibat had no doubt that the regal bird could be on him in an instant.

'I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bother you and your kids.' "Crrrrrk, krrrn."

'I almost died of thirst, and I'm still really out of it.' His ears rumbled.

'Don't hurt me. Please.' This was rendered as a pitiful chirp.

The Unfezant considered him evenly. He glanced at the Panpour, who stood frozen mid-spray. Then back at Noibat. Noibat hoped the Unfezant wasn't deciding who to eat first. The Panpour seemed to be thinking the same thing, because it dove into the stream and did not emerge.

"Doooo?" crooned the Pidove.

After a few tense moments, the Unfezant turned away with a flick of his crest, still studying Noibat from the corner of his eye. He ushered the Pidove back into the flock with a guarded cluck.

Once Noibat was certain that he wasn't about to be unceremoniously pecked to death, he knelt down to drink yet again. The spring water here was earthy and crisp, the kind of freshness enthusiastically promised by plastic bottles the world over. He vaguely remembered that you shouldn't drink too much water after severe dehydration. Oh well.

If I were a Water-type, could I generate my own water, or would I die of thirst twice as fast?

His reflection was insubstantial in the clear pool, two big ears and a head floating over a stubby body. Noibat ran through all of the Pokémon he'd rather be in this situation: Coalossal, to weather the freezing nights; Gengar, to scare off the Unfezant and Galvantula; Milotic, so that he could dive into this pool and never be thirsty again… Even the Pidove seemed better off than him.

Maybe I died as a human, and all of this is punishment for whatever messed up things I did. Like maybe I was a property developer who destroyed a ton of bat habitats, so I have to live with the bats, Brother Bear style… and I also committed copyright infringement against the Pokémon company, so they have to be Pokémon bats.

Nah. What kind of system would it be to reincarnate with exactly half your memories?

"KWAAAA!"

Uh-oh. Had he done something to upset Unfezant? He backed away from the water, ready to grovel for his life again.

The Unfezant was staring daggers, but not at Noibat. Instead, he leered pointedly at the top of the canyon. Noibat followed his gaze. He could make out a hunched form, sandy brown and black framed against the sky—a massive vulture, clad in a skirt of bones. This Mandibuzz was staring straight at him.