Thread: Sacrifice [WWC]

Cover by Nekomata

It has been a very long time since I last wrote a story, perhaps too long. Though I never left the fandom, my interests had shifted from creating works of art to helping and supporting those who put together such masterpieces. It is from these people, these talented and amazing fans, that I draw inspiration from.

Thank you for reading this tale. I know it isn't much, but I hope that, in some way, it resonates with you.



Prologue

It was a place for the greatest minds and greatest fools, one and the same, desperate for a solution far beyond their years of experience and learning. They were children playing with matches, desperate to start a fire, unconcerned about the consequences because whatever the result, it would be an improvement over the biting cold ever present in their lives. That these men and women were already dead and yet still ran fervently towards light and life.

I was one of many. Many solutions. Many failures. A toss of the dice in a game fixed against them, with odds so skewed that only addicts and the maniacally desperate would even try to play. They weren’t addicts, but they were desperate. Desperate enough to do anything.

That was what we were. I was an experiment, a mistake, an iteration, a number, a hope, and a prayer. I was #41298. But you can call me Sarah.

Part I


Chapter 1

This was it. This was my moment. I felt the embers crackling inside me, sensing the heat building within my stomach. Today was the day.

“Eat flames, buddy.”

I opened my mouth, feeling the warmth surge forward up my throat. I adjusted my muzzle to control the stream and unleashed the attack on my unfortunate opponent.

A burst of dark smoke shot forth before disappearing quietly into the air. There was no fire. No flames. I had failed again.

Blast.

Raising one of his eyebrows, John, a Bulbasaur and my opponent, quickly recovered from his confusion at the false attack.

"Guess I win this round, Sarah" he said and he charged forward. Still frustrated, I shifted my weight to my hind legs and lifted my forepaws, claws extended.

He smirked and a pair of vines shot from his bulb. The vines, along with forelegs pushed hard against the floor a few meters in front of me, throwing his body into the air in a controlled flip. I had positioned myself to meet a head-on charge, and thus could not shift my position fast enough. I watched as he flew over me, his body turning in the air to face towards me. With a cocky grin, John shot a series of leafy blades at my back. Each hit sliced painfully across my fur, causing me to wince.

He landed just as the system buzzer sounded, indicating the end of the match.

"Battler Sarah has suffered 50 percent damage," a monotone, mechanical voice announced. "Battler John wins the match with 73 percent health remaining."

I groaned, more from the disappointment than the pain.

I had him! He was exposed, out in the open, in perfect range for a fire attack. I had type advantage!

He smiled at me and I glared at him.

Uncle Joseph walked towards me from the side of the arena, his clipboard and pen clutched in one hand. Unlike John and me, he was human, one of the many professors employed at the compound. He was the head of his research division, admittedly a small one, comprised only of himself and his assistant, Professor Peter. He was also my friend, mentor, guardian, and the man who created me.

"Come along, Sarah," he said, motioning for me to follow. "We need to run the post-battle tests."

I sighed, but obeyed, watching Professor Peter talking with John, who was one of his experiments.

Dejected, I slowly walked off the flat, sandy training ground towards Uncle Joe's laboratory facility.



Chapter 2

“But I want to use Fire NOW,” I whined.

Uncle Joe chuckled.

“You have to be patient, Little Flame,” he said. “It will come in time.”

“Too much time,” I grumbled, shifting slightly to the side as he measured the length of one of my tails. I couldn’t move too much because a bunch of tiny sensors were attached to my body.

“You know,” Joe said, jotting down figures on his notepad. “when I was younger, younger than you are now, I used to play a lot of baseball. Do you know what baseball is?”

I nodded. I had never seen a game in person, of course. Even if I was allowed outside the compound, no one played organized sports anymore. With that many people in such a confined location, it would be easy for many secondary diseases to infect attendees. Even supposedly moderate illnesses could cause complications in tandem with the Plague. As such, mass gatherings of people were unheard of.

“I’d practice swinging my bat every day, hoping that during the next game I’d be able to hit one out of the park, a homerun,” Joe continued. “And slowly but surely, my arms grew stronger, my swing more firm and steady. My shots were flying farther and farther into the outfield.”

He raised his hand to shield his eyes as if watching one of his balls soaring into the sky.

“And then I started my Pokemon journey and never had another chance to hit a homerun.”

There was a pause.

“What!?” I said. “What kind of lesson is that!?”

“A good one,” Joe replied. “It’s one where either hard work pays off or sometimes what we want isn’t really our true destiny. Look at me! I grew up wanting to be a baseball player and now I’m a professor! And truth be told, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I frowned. That still didn't make any sense.

"Well, all of your readings look good. Let me go ahead and take a neural sample," Joe said.

I nodded, turning to expose my back. Uncle carefully brushed back the fur near my spine and wiped the area with an alcohol wipe. Then, picking up a clean syringe from the counter, inserted the needle into my spine. The pain shot through my body, but I struggled to remain still. Joe told me once that Pokemon had naturally developed a strong resistance to pain since we were constantly at risk of getting mauled, burned, poisoned, frozen, or any of a number of other brutal injuries. What would cause a human to pass out would only be moderately uncomfortable to a Pokemon. That being said, it still blasted hurt!

It was over in a second. Joe placed aside the syringe and sprayed a potion over the wound, sealing it. I glanced at the syringe. He had only drawn a small amount of fluid, which was apparently enough to test with. Seeing my gaze, Joe looked at the syringe.

"You know, Little Flame, I'm feeling good about this sample," he said. "Today might be the day!"

I rolled my eyes. "You say that every day, Uncle Joe."

"Yes, and one of these days I will be right!"

I shook my head. My left foreleg was starting to feel tight, so I began stretching it. If I didn't take care of it, it could cramp up. I wasn't really good at ensuring I stretched after I sparred, but I learned the hard way what happened when you didn't stretch a tense muscle.

"Uncle Joe, you've been testing us for years, since I was born," I said. "If our cells or fluids or whatever aren't what you need then I don't see why you need to keep checking us." I backpedaled, thinking about what I just said. "Not that I'm ungrateful for all that you and Peter have done. I mean, you raised us from eggs and gave us a home. That means a lot to me, to all of us."

Joe nodded, placing the syringe in a specialized plastic slot in a solid metal container before closing the container’s lid.

"I understand what you mean," he said, "and, you're right, it is a little bit unnecessary to test you repeatedly like this, but that's the entire point of my research. You understand why you and the others are constantly training, right?"

"Of course," I replied, "so our bodies can grow healthier and stronger, perhaps even evolve someday."

"Correct,” he said, "You see, humans and Pokemon are quite similar. Both are biological creatures that require air to breathe and food to eat. We're carbon-based lifeforms that, generally speaking, require a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere in a certain temperature range to survive. Our needs and desires are similar thanks to the commonalities due to sentience."

He stood up, unable to restrain his enthusiasm. He did like to talk about his work.

"More relevantly," he continued, "both humans and Pokemon can be, and have been, infected by the Plague virus. What makes this particularly intriguing is that the virus affects humans and Pokemon in vastly different ways. In humans, the virus attacks the nervous system, slowly impeding and destroying the body's ability to function. Unlike a stroke, the virus slowly kills the body’s neurons one-by-one, leaving it vulnerable to any number of problems including secondary infections, genetic disorders, and force trauma. In short, our bodies quickly become weaker as we age, dramatically so."

Then he pointed to me. "Pokemon, on the other hand, suffer slightly differently. The virus still attacks the nervous system in Pokemon, but seems contained to only the areas of the brain that provide sentience. Higher brain functions of thought, understanding, and emotional control deteriorate rapidly upon infection, eliminating a Pokemon's sense of identity and consciousness. Pokemon, essentially, become rabid beasts, incapable of rational thought, acting on instinct alone."

I shrugged; I heard all of this before. "I don't know who has it worse," I said, "humans or Pokemon."

"Neither do I," Uncle Joe said, smiling. "But at least for Pokemon, we developed a cure and a vaccine. We may not be able to save all of the Pokemon in the world, but the ones we capture, the ones we tame, those we can save. It is unfortunate, however, that the cure doesn't work on humans."

"Why not?" I asked. I knew humans couldn't be cured or vaccinated yet, but no one told me why that was the case.

"It's the method we use," Joe replied. "The compound we inject is actually pretty harmful for living creatures, including Pokemon. Pokemon just have a naturally higher resistance to injury than humans. If the Pokemon cure was injected into a human, the human would die from the toxicity. Even some Pokemon don't survive treatment. The vaccine isn't a real vaccine either. The best we could do was inject the virus into newborn Pokemon, then follow that up with a small dose of the toxic compound a day later, before the virus has time to do permanent damage. After that, the immune system has learned how to detect the virus and stop it on its own. It's a terrible way to practice medicine, but that's the price we pay in our desperation."

He sighed, shaking his head before continuing.

"The real question we all should have been asking," he said, "is 'why did the virus affect Pokemon and humans differently?' Initially, most of us thought that the answer lay in a Pokemon's natural resistance to injury and we, essentially, were right. A Pokemon's immune system can combat the virus in certain areas of the nervous system, which is why the virus is restricted to infecting only a portion of a Pokemon's brain. A human's immune system is far less capable of fighting off the virus, but can do so in every area within the nervous system. As a result, Pokemon go crazy and humans die early."

One of the computers beeped indicating the system was done recording my readings. Joe began to remove the various sensors from my fur, but continued talking.

"My colleagues thought that the answer lay in creating a more human-compatible version of the compound, but everything we've tried so far is either still too lethal or ineffective against the virus. What Peter and I realized, however, was that we already had the answer in front of us. A Pokemon's immune system can already fight off the virus. In essence, it's already the cure. We just needed to figure out how to give humans that same fighting spirit."

He scratched my head as he removed the last of the sensors.

“And that’s where you come in,” he said. “When we created you, we gave you elements of human DNA. Now DNA is essentially a code for chemical processes. I can’t, for example, make you grow human hair because that’s not a chemical process. But I can give you the DNA for how a human’s immune system encodes identification. In fact, it’s your human DNA that gives you the ability to speak human languages and why you’re larger than average.”

I stared blankly at Uncle Joe. Most of what he said was way over my head, but I didn't understand that last part at all.

"I'm going to grow human hair?" I asked.

"What? No, no, no. You... uh... what I mean to say is... The cure is simply figuring out a way to transfer a Pokemon's immune system's cells into a human without the human's body rejecting them as intruders. Because you have human identification DNA in you, your immune system bears markings that, theoretically, should be compatible with humans."

Joe sighed.

"But," he continued, "for some reason, the human body is still rejecting cells from your immune system. Not just yours, of course, but all Pokemon that Peter and I raised. I don’t know why, but the human coding isn't being implemented, at least not fully. I think it's because none of you have reached full maturity, and as such, your bodies are still using Pokemon identification tags. It's possible that we inserted the DNA into the sets used when you evolve. Or perhaps the evolution itself triggers a system-wide change in how the immune system works. We just don't know yet."

“But you will know when I evolve?” I asked, stretching my legs a little.

"Right, so the sooner you evolve, the better," Joe said. “Unfortunately, your human DNA also prevents fire stones from working on you, so we’ll have to do it the old fashioned way.” He laughed. "Of course, we could be completely wrong about all of this."

"But you don't think so, do you, Uncle Joe?"

He looked at me, his blue eyes holding my own green ones. "No," he said. "No, I think I'm right."

Then he smiled. "Okay, off you go," he said. "I need to prepare the equipment for Sam's examination."

I nodded and jumped off the table and onto the floor. Uncle Joe's explanation made sense... from what I understood at any rate. I did feel a little better, though I was still a bit frustrated from the battle earlier.

Mulling over my failure, I padded out of the lab.



Chapter 3

I had travelled halfway to the cafeteria when the alarms sounded.

“Alert: Feral breach in the compound,” announced a feminine, automated voice over speakers. “Secure stations and report to shelters. This is not a drill.”

I wasn’t near any shelters, so I hurriedly rushed to the nearest one, a bunker built into the ground by the training courts. The door was already open, so I dashed inside.

I closed the door, pulling the handle with my mouth. I locked it by sliding the dead bolt into place and inspected it to ensure I secured it correctly. I heard too many stories about what happens when a Feral breaks into a shelter area. I shuddered just thinking about it.

Satisfied, I turned around to inspect the shelter. It was a small, sturdy structure meant to protect people temporarily until the Ferals could be subdued. Food, water, medical kits, and other supplies sat upon a metal shelf built into the wall. An old radio sat in the corner, already on, repeating the same warning I heard on the speakers earlier.

More interestingly, a young man, maybe 11- or 12-years-old, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved red shirt, stared at me with wide eyes. He had a mop of brown hair and deep blue eyes. He sat against a wall, clutching a black backpack in front of him, holding it towards me like a shield. For some reason, he looked vaguely familiar. We were the only occupants in the shelter.

“Relax,” I said, smiling. “I won’t hurt you. I’m not a Feral. My name is Sarah.”

He nodded, but didn’t put down his backpack. If anything, his grip tightened. “I’m Paul,” he replied. “Paul Elm. My father is Professor Peter Elm.”

That’s where I recognized him. He was Professor Peter’s son. I had seen him talking with his father around the compound, but never near the laboratory or training courts where the other experiments and I spent most of our time.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, moving over towards him. “I’m one of Unc- Professor Joseph’s experiments. I’m part of your dad’s work.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. Shy kid.

Sitting against the wall near Paul, I stared at the door I came through. Ferals weren’t a threat to anyone in a shelter. Compound security forces would work to contain the breach and stop the Ferals. It was a challenging and risky job. Ferals try to kill humans on sight. There was no negotiating with them.

I looked over to my comrade, who kept glancing nervously at me. Though he no longer held his backpack, his hands repeatedly clenched and unclenched,

“Are you okay?” I asked. I reached over to pat his arm.

Visibly, he flinched away from my paw, nearly falling over. I pulled my arm back on instinct as he quickly sat back up, a sheepish smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” he said, trying to calm his breathing. “It’s just that… you’re a Pokemon and I… I…”

He took a deep breath. “I have Pokephobia.”

Ah. That explained it. Paul had an irrational, and seemingly strong, fear of Pokemon. And since I was a Pokemon, he was afraid of me. Awkward.

“I’m sorry,” I said, sliding slightly away from him to give him some more room. “I didn’t realize.”

Pokephobia was rare, but not too uncommon. Since the majority of Pokemon in the world were Ferals, it was only natural that some people would develop a fear of them. Blast, even I might panic if I met a Feral face-to-face.

“No, no,” Paul replied. “I’m sorry. I… I know you’re not like the wild Pokemon and its... mean of me to treat you like that… I just… can’t help it.”

“I understand,” I said. I didn’t really, but it seemed like the nice thing to say.

We sat in silence, the radio the only sound as it repeated the same warning. Only when the situation was contained would we hear the “all clear” signal to leave the shelters.

I caught Paul glancing at me again. When our eyes locked, he quickly looked away.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “You’re a Vulpix, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I replied. “But I also have some human DNA because of the experiments your father and Uncle Joe are doing.”

“Ah,” Paul replied, “then I should only be afraid of part of you.” He chuckled to himself, then mumbled. “I wonder if…”

He pulled out a red, flat, metallic device and opened it. I recognized it immediately. It was a Pokedex, though it was an older model than the ones I’ve seen used in the lab.

He pointed the sensor at me.

“Vulpix. Fire type,” Paul said, reading the entry. “Basic stage. Capable of using powerful flame attacks and is highly cunning. Level 3 threat.”

He shook his head. “Not a very flattering entry,” he said, smiling shyly.

I nodded. “You’re right. It doesn’t mention anything about my beautiful, alluring looks,” I deadpanned.

At this, Paul laughed.

“Yeah, I guess these things are pretty straightforward,” he said. “My dad told me the old entries were more descriptive, but that was before the Plague.”

I nodded. The Plague changed everything.

“Where did you get it?” I asked, pointing to the Pokedex. “I thought they only gave them to researchers and security personnel.”

“They do,” Paul said. “This is an old one my dad had. My grandfather, the famous Professor Elm, gave it to him when he was old enough to start his Pokemon journey.”

He closed the Pokedex, staring at its faded, scuffed metal cover.

“Someday,” he said, “I’m going to go out on my own journey and become a Pokemon trainer.”

“But aren’t you-“ I started.

“Yes,” he said, “and that’s going to be a challenge. I mean, who has ever heard of a Pokemon trainer that was afraid of Pokemon?” He laughed. “I’ll have to figure out some way to get over it when I get my starter.”

“So you don’t have your own Pokemon yet?”

“No, not yet,” he said, frowning. “Dad said it’s too dangerous to leave the compound with all the Ferals around.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re probably too young to go on a journey anyway. What are you, eleven?”

“Hey, I’m almost thirteen!” Paul said. “If anything, I will be starting my journey late. Before the Ferals, kids were leaving home when they turned ten. I’m three years behind!”

I shook my head. “Ten? Really? Even without the Plague that sounds like a dumb idea to let kids go off by themselves. What if they fall off a cliff or get kidnapped or something?”

“They figured things out, I guess,” Paul replied. “They weren’t alone either. They had their Pokemon with them. And while the starters the professors handed out weren’t very powerful, they could take on most of the local wild Pokemon.”

“Wow,” I said, “Pokemon were pretty weak back then.”

“Mmmm, more like not crazy and bloodthirsty,” Paul replied. “It was probably easier to travel when you weren’t attacked every time you left town.”

I nodded.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter though,” Paul said, hanging his head glumly, “I’ll never become a trainer. I don’t have any experience at Pokemon battling.”

“Why don’t you…” I began, “Oh right, phobia.” Paul nodded.

I thought for a moment.

“Well Paul,” I said, “how about this. If you promise to work on not being afraid of me, I will do some practice training with you. Perhaps we can even convince one of the other experiments to have a mock battle.”

Paul turned to look at me, his mouth open.

“Wait.” he said. “You’d really do that. For me? But what do you get out of it?”

“What? The goodness of my heart isn’t good enough for you?” I said, grinning. “I get some more training. And it might be fun having someone directing me in battle. Let’s try it!”

Paul smiled. “Okay. I’m in.” He paused. Slowly, he held out his hand towards me. Grinning, I put my paw in his palm and we shook. The radio, which had gone silent, came to life.

“Alert: Feral breach has been contained. Sector 42-B. Minor Breach. Compound secure. You may exit shelters.”

Sector 42-B was on the other side of the compound by the wall. We were never in any danger.

I opened the door as Paul turned off the radio. As we exited the shelter, we made plans to meet up in a few days to practice.

Unfortunately, events would conspire to disrupt our plans.

Uncle Joe caught the flu, attacking his already compromised immune system. He entered the Stage IV Infection stage and died a few days later.



Chapter 4

The funeral was short.

While the compound provided some of the best medical care to the scientists, researchers, and test patients residing there, that didn’t totally immunize everyone from the shadow of death. And gatherings such as these were commonplace, occurring daily.

It numbed the participants to loss. Death was commonplace.

It was tragic. It was terrible. It was life.

Still, a few of Uncle Joe’s colleagues attended, mostly fellow professors, but there were a few people from other departments who had known him. Everyone wore dark clothing and spoke in hushed whispers. We gathered outside, in a small garden by the chapel.

A man of cloth presided over the service, speaking a few words. Then Professor Peter went up to speak about his old mentor.

“Joe always told me to believe in a brighter future. That the work we did, the seeds we planted, would someday bear fruit. That we struggled now so that we could thrive later. He would say, ‘Peter, look at all of this and tell me what you see. I see the future. It’s here, Pete, I know it’s here. The cure is just around the corner. We just need to be patient. In time, it will come.’”

Peter paused, removing his glasses. He wiped his eyes with his coat sleeve, then placed his spectacles back on.

“I… I truly believe in the work he did, we did… that we still do. Joe is right. We’re almost there. And if we just believe… we… we just have to believe.”

He let the words hang in the air, then walked back to his seat. It was a beautiful eulogy.

The mourners lined up at the coffin to pay their last respects. Later the body would be removed for cremation. There was no space to bury anyone.

I walked up to the coffin when it was my turn to see the body, stepping onto a stool placed for Pokemon. Joe looked... looked like he was sleeping. It didn’t surprise me, I had gone to funerals before, but it was disconcerting. The last time I saw him, he was jovial and alive. And now he wasn't. There was no real decline, just... life, then death.

"Thank you," I said numbly, before stepping down from the stool and walking away.

A part of me felt like a ghost, as if I was merely an impartial observer with no investment in the proceedings. And a part of me was drowning in despair, almost unable to contain the pain that was eating my heart. I had cried last night and the previous night. The throbbing sensation in my chest did not stop.

I needed air. Turning away from the coffin, I walked to the edge of the garden where a row of bushes lined the perimeter. Walking through the foliage, I lay down next to them, blocking my view of Uncle Joe’s coffin. The bush had a mint-like aroma.

A pair of mourners walked up to the bushes. I couldn't make them out through the leaves and branches. I also didn't care. I didn't want to talk to anyone.

"There goes another one," one of the figures said, his voice deep and masculine.

"Yeah," the second answered with a higher-pitched, female voice.

I heard the click of a lighter. A few seconds later, tobacco smoke filled the air.

"You know, you really shouldn't be smoking," the man said.

"Eh, blast it. I've got, what, 10 or 15 years left. What are a few months?" the woman replied.

"Those months could be important. Could be the months we need to find a cure."

There was a moment of silence.

"If we find the cure," she finally replied.

"Don't say that, we're making progress."

"Yeah, if running around in circles like a Torchic with its head cut off is considered progress. I read your research and none of your trials have even made a dent in the virus."

The man scoffed. "As if your research is any better. Using a virus to counter a virus? That's not only crazy, it's probably going to give us all cancer."

The woman exhaled sharply.

"Yeah, it's crazy alright," she said. "But it's not like we have a choice. We have to explore all possibilities."

Another pause.

"At least my research makes sense," she continued. "Joe's research was just ridiculous."

My ears perked up. What?

"Yeah, he really was off his rocker," the man said, "thinking the neurocells of Pokemon could be the solution. Even Professor Birch concluded that the Pokemon option was a dead end.”

"That's Joe for you. Stubborn beyond belief. He swore his experiments were the answer. I guess he just couldn't get away from his Pokemon journey days."

The man sighed. "What a waste of money. I don't know how he managed to convince administration to fund his blasted idiotic theories."

"He had a way with words. Didn't you hear what Peter said back there? All that inspired junk and nonsense. What was that about?"

"He's been brainwashed. Believes the old man was onto something. The fool."

"Hey, Peter's smart. I'm sure he'll figure out that Joe was cracked in the head."

"He's not cracked!" I shouted, drawing the attention of the two scientists and other funeral attendees. "He's not a fool! He's one of the smartest people I know, and if he thought that Pokemon were the answer then... then he must have been onto something."

My voice broke. I could no longer hold back the tears and they began to stream down my face.

"He... he's trying! He gave up his dream, his... everything to... to save everyone... he... died... working to find... the cure."

I was sobbing now, my words interrupted by sharp intakes of breaths.

"Sarah..." someone began, though it was hard to see who through the tears.

"No! He did it for you! He... did it for all of you!"

I turned away from the growing crowd of onlookers and ran as far away as I could.



Chapter 5

It was several hours later, as the sun was beginning to set, before John found me.

"I thought you might be here."

I was half sitting, half curled around myself in a crook underneath a cement staircase that ran alongside a wall. The staircase and wall were part of the outside of a moderately-sized building used primarily for storage of rarely-used construction materials. Only when the compound suffered major damage, such as that inflicted by Feral Pokemon, did anyone need to access the building. As such, it was rarely visited, a perfect location to hide from everyone and everything. Or so I thought.

"You didn't really know I was here," I said.

"Sure I did," he replied, using his vines to unlatch his pack, placing it on the ground. "I thought you might be here and six places before that. Guess seventh time’s the charm."

I couldn't help but smile. "You're an idiot."

"Hey, now," he replied, grinning, "would an idiot bring you dinner?" He held up a sandwich.

I was suddenly reminded that I had not eaten since that morning. My stomach growled in response.

"You're still an idiot," I said, grabbing the offered sandwich, "but a... kind one."

His smile widened and I suppressed an urge to smack him. Instead I bit into the sandwich. It was surprisingly good.

John pulled out another sandwich and began to eat. "So are you feeling okay? Or do you not want to talk about it?"

I said nothing, continuing to eat my sandwich.

"Yeah, I thought not," he said. "After you left, Peter found out why you... err, yelled at his colleagues. He had a few things to say to them. I gotta admit, I've never seen him so mad."

For some reason, hearing that made me feel better.

"Do you... do you think I was wrong... am wrong. About yelling at everyone and... things."

John frowned, scratching his head with a vine. "Well, you probably shouldn't have yelled at anyone at Professor Joseph’s funeral, but I understand why you did it. I'd probably have done the same thing."

"What about the research?" I prodded.

"That Pokemon are the answer? That the cure is within us?" he laughed. "Blast it, Sarah, I don't know. I'm a fighter, not a scientist."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. Sarah, I don't know, but if the professor thought he was onto something, then perhaps he was right. He always struck me as a pretty smart guy. So I guess... yeah... I believe him."

I looked down at the remains of my sandwich. "Thank you."

John smiled. "It's no big deal. I just grabbed them from the cafeteria."

"What? No, I mean... thank you for believing."

"Oh... well..." John glanced around, looking for something to say. "Thanks for not... biting my head off."

I nearly choked on the last bite of my sandwich. I coughed to clear my windpipe.

"I... I'm not that bad am I?" I managed to wheeze out.

"Well, no," John said, crumpling up his sandwich wrapper, "but I never got the impression you liked me. You always seemed so angry when we fight."

"Oh... that. Well that's because..." I crumpled my own wrapper. I didn't want to admit it. "That's because you're a grass type, so I have the type advantage. But I can't... I can't use fire." There, I said it.

John stared blankly at me for a moment. Then he started laughing.

"I'm serious!" I said, punching him not so lightly in the arm. If I could use fire, I would have lit him up.

"I know. I know," he replied, managing to bring his laughter down to a wide smile. "I figured that out a long time ago."

"You did?" I asked, surprised.

"Yep. I mean, these were serious battles, even if we couldn't badly hurt each other. You would have burned me to a crisp if you could, unless you were holding back. And well..." John shrugged. "You're not the type to hold back."

He blushed and looked away. "That's why I like you," he said. "Because you're not afraid of anything. You have a fire within you even if you don't know how to use it yet."

I sat back, stunned, wrapper forgotten. Did he say he liked me? My mind, and heart, raced in a million different directions. What am I supposed to say about that? I... I'll think about it later.

"Thank you," I finally replied.

"For liking you?" he asked.

I blushed. "For understanding. About the fire, I mean. My fire... I was mad at myself because I couldn't do what I should have been able to do. I was never mad at you."

John tilted his head, as if thinking. "Well... I'm glad it wasn't me. You probably shouldn't get mad at yourself for not being able to use certain attacks. I had trouble using some of mine at first."

"Really?" I asked.

"... No, not really," he said, grinning, "but I thought saying it might make you feel better."

"You're an idiot," I said, again punching him in the arm.

"But a kind one?" he asked, still smiling.

"Nope." I shook my head. "Just an idiot this time."

"Huh. Can't win them all I guess." John looked around. The sun had set while we ate and we were now faintly illuminated by a security light attached to the outside of the building.

"Come on," John said, taking our wrappers and shoving them into a nearby trash can. "I want to show you something."

As he turned to walk away, I stood up, brushed the dust and dirt from my coat and tails, and followed him into the night.



Chapter 6

We crossed the compound in silence, encountering a few others out and about. Some were scientists heading to the residential dorms or cafeteria after an extended day of work. Some of those who ate might even return to their labs, intent on continuing their research. There was a mixture of frantic energy and quiet desperation among a few professors, particularly those who had loved ones in frail health. Everyone wanted the cure. Some wanted it more than others.

We did stumble across a pair of young teenagers who were, quite publicly, displaying their affection for each other. I looked away, while John laughed, startling the couple. I hope we never become like that. Wait, did I just think that? We're not a couple.

“Yet,” a part of me thought back.

Eventually we made our way to the park, a small area of the compound dedicated to nature. Since most of the residents here would not, or could not, leave the compound due to their health or safety, this garden-like area was set aside to allow people to relax, refresh, and experience a fraction of the world that was no longer accessible.

Since I was born and raised in the compound, I didn't know how different the park was from the outside world. Some of the older scientists, especially Uncle Joe, told me what it was like. How you could step off the road in some places and the wilderness would extend far beyond what you could see. That you could literally lose yourself in a forest, kilometers away from civilization.

Apparently, it was common for a wandering trainer to encounter a wild Pokemon that didn't want to bash his brains. That a researcher could sit in the open by a lake for hours, watching Pokemon without the fear of being eaten by some monster or another. Most Pokemon apparently, when unprovoked, were docile creatures. It seemed pretty bizarre and I probably wouldn't have believed it if Uncle Joseph hadn't verified the truth of these stories.

The park itself was fairly expansive, designed to emulate a forest so that one could be alone if needed. Dirt-trodden paths often curved and trees and bushes were expertly placed, resulting in many areas where one would feel isolated, even if they weren't too far away from another being. To preserve the natural quality of the park, technology was notably absent, including lampposts. Only the occasional hidden security camera gave away the presence of civilization.

John led me into the park, which appeared shadowed and eerie in the darkness. I notably walked a little closer to him. When he opened his mouth, I glared at him and he closed it again without saying anything.

We finally reached our destination, a cement building near the edge of the park that stored tools, seeds, and various other materials for the maintenance of the park. Unlike most other buildings, it was painted brown to camouflage its presence.

I glanced away from the building to John, but he was no longer there. Looking about, I spotted him near a tall pine by the side of the building. I walked over.

"How good are you at climbing?" he asked as I approached.

Looking up, I could barely make out the various branches in the darkness. It seemed doable.

"Good enough," I replied, hiding my uncertainty. The only climbing experience I had was in training sessions using specialized equipment. I had never climbed anything like a tree before.

"Okay then," he said, nodding. "Follow me!"

Bounding forward, John leapt onto the side of the tree trunk, his vines reaching out to his sides, grabbing onto nearby branches. The vines provided him with a lot of leverage, pushing and pulling, allowing him to jump rapidly between branches. It looked more like he was dancing within the tree rather than climbing it. I watched as he managed to swing himself off a particularly high branch to land on the roof of the building.

I looked back at the tree and located a particularly low branch. With a running start, I leaped up at the branch, managing to grab it with three legs. Blast, this is harder than it looks. The branches were surprisingly sturdy. Through my fur, I could feel the rough, uneven, and slightly sticky texture of the wood. It was... weird.

"You coming?" John's voice called out.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your Ponyta," I answered.

Carefully balancing myself, I reached out to climb onto the next branch. Now that I was above ground level, the branches were positioned much closer to each other. Without having to really risk losing my balance, I was able to shift my weight securely from one branch to the next. It wasn't as graceful or as fast as John's ascent, but it worked. Slowly, but surely, I climbed up towards the top of the tree. I had nearly reached the level of the roof when I stepped onto a particularly thin branch. As I shifted my weight onto it, it snapped with a loud crack.



Chapter 7

I opened my mouth to scream, but before my voice could pierce the air, I felt a strong grip wrap around my torso. My fall slowed, then halted. Looking down, I noticed what appeared to be a solid, green rope wrapped once around me. It took me a second to realize that the rope was actually a vine. John, gritting his teeth, had wrapped one of his vines around me, the other extending out-of-sight to something on the roof, anchoring him.

"I thought... you might... fall..." he grunted, slowly lifting me up. "Wow... you're kind of... heavy."

I frowned, turning to glare at John. "A gentleman doesn't remark on a lady's weight."

"Right..." he replied, lifting me over the ledge and setting me down. "I'll try and keep that in mind."

"Idiot," I said, punching him in the arm.

He grinned, catching his breath.

We walked over to the side of the roof, a small ledge separating us from open air. John sat and I followed suit.

As we settled down, John pointed upwards with his vine. I gasped as I saw the sky. Billions of stars twinkled in the darkness, casting a blanket of light across the night.

“There are so many of them,” I said. “Where did they all come from?” John chuckled.

“They were always there,” he said. “We just couldn’t see them. There are lights all over the rest of the compound. But here, in the park, there are no lights. So they don’t outshine and dim the stars.

I nodded. I didn’t study astronomy, but his explanation made sense.

“I don’t know the constellations,” he continued, “so I’ve made up my own stories about the stars. If you look over by that bright star to our left, you can kind of make out a man. And it kind of looks like he’s feeding a fat Pikachu. The way I figure it, the man must really love his Pokemon because he feeds it so much. Or maybe the Pikachu is just lazy. Or both.”

I laughed, thinking about that poor, fat Pikachu.

“Coming out here,” John said, “really lets you think. Here, I can be alone.”

His gaze shifted from the stars to one of the compound walls. We sat in silence.

“Do you know who your parents are?” he asked.

Surprised, I looked at him. “I know who my mother was,” I said. “She was one of Uncle Joe’s Pokemon before she died. My father was an anonymous donor.”

John nodded. A lot of the experiments were like me, only knowing one parent.

“I know who both my parents are,” John said, still gazing at the wall. “I never met them, but I know who they are. Both of my parents belong to Gary Oak, the former gym leader. After I was born, they left the compound to embark on a dangerous mission. They were going to try and find out what caused the Plague.”

I turned to look at him.

“My parents are out there… somewhere. They’re looking, searching for answers to all of this. Maybe they’ll figure it all out and find the cure.”

He looked back at me.

“I’m going to follow them, someday. When I’m stronger, when I have a chance. I’m going to find them.”

“John…”

“I know. I know. They’re probably far away or…” he paused. “They would have come back and visited if they had found anything by now.”

“It’s been years.”

“Yeah, well, years aren’t so long,” he snapped. “I mean…”

He looked away, his eyes glazing over.

“I’m going out there, Sarah. I’m going to find them.”

He stood tall upon the roof tiles, one paw resting on the raised ledge as he stared out into the night. His shoulders held straight, he seemed as immobile as a stone gargoyle. He would not be swayed from his position.

“I understand,” I finally said.

“I’m not leaving anytime soon,” he said. “I need to get stronger, probably have to evolve at least once. The Ferals won’t go easy on me and I’ll probably need to take down a ton of them when I’m out there.”

“You don’t have a lot of battle experience,” I pointed out. “You’ve only fought the rest of us.”

He nodded. “I did spar with a few of the security Pokemon, but it’s not the same as fighting a Feral. I know I’m not ready yet.”

I smiled. “You know what? I think I can help you out. How would you like to fight against a Pokemon trainer? I could probably arrange it.”

“What? Really?” he said, looking excited. “That would be epic!”

“I’ll talk it over with my friend,” I assured him.

“Thanks!”

“Now,” I said, drawing his attention back to the sky, “tell me more of your star stories.”

Part II


Chapter 8

We met up early in the day. What I considered early.

Some beings, like John, love the mornings. Being a Grass type, he can't help being a sun-loving idiot. The normal among us understand that mornings are the worst times of the day and waking up before 9:00 is a crime against nature.

So it was only to be expected when John, itching to have our "trainer" battle, woke me up at some unnatural hour, prodding me with his vines.

"Wake up Sarah!" he said, cheerfully. "The early Spearow gets the Caterpie!"

"Mnhphmmph," I replied.

"Time to get up!" he said again. "Early to bed and early to rise makes a mon healthy, wealthy, and wise!"

"I'll make YOU wise," I mumbled.

"Yep, that's the spirit! Good fighting attitude."

After much more prodding, and many lame snippets of wisdom that only crazy people must have invented, I found myself awake, out of bed, walking, and desperately desiring to mangle my two companions.

Paul, who had been waiting outside while John woke me, asked me how I was doing. I just barely held back my comment as I remembered his fear of Pokemon. Saying something about the dire future of his health would not be productive. I told him I was fine.

There was an awkward silence as the three of use proceeded from the residential quarters to the training courts. I wasn't in the mood to talk and Paul, though familiar with John due to his father's work, was still very much afraid of the Bulbasaur. Eventually, it was up to John to start the conversation, sharing some stories about his battle experiences, including a few of the times we sparred. That started to ease some of Paul's anxiety and he soon joined in, talking about different strategies he had seen in battles before. Even I began to feel better as I felt the warmth of the sun bask down upon me.

Before we knew it, we had reached the courts.

The courts themselves were a series of laid-out areas marked with painted white lines to indicated boundaries. Most of the arenas were flat dirt fields, but there were a few that featured more unique terrains replicating boulder-strewn mountainsides, aquatic environments, and light woodland among others.

For the most part, the courts were used by security personnel to practice fighting against Pokemon or for experimentation by Pokemon research teams. Occasionally, people and Pokemon would hold battles here to train or compete.

This early, there wasn't anyone using the courts, so we had our pick of the lot. We settled on a simple, flat field, figuring it wouldn't give an advantage to either John or me.

Paul walked over to the electronic console built on the side of the court. From it, he could program the battle settings including participants and rules. On some of the more advanced arenas, he could add a few random hazards such as light rain or background noise. In this case, he input the standard battle format John and I were used to: a simple one-on-one match to 50 percent health. The only difference this time was that Paul would be directing me as if he were my trainer.

Obviously I'd be at a huge advantage. John had won most of the battles we've had together, but not that many more. Even if Paul was inexperienced as a trainer, the second pair of eyes alone would be enough to tip the odds in my favor. Of course, it was that difficulty which appealed to John.

Paul pulled out his Pokedex, pointing it at me, refreshing his knowledge of the attacks I knew. He then pointed it at John.

"Hey!" John said, "isn't that cheating?"

Paul looked up from the console. "Before the Plague, most serious trainers carried a Pokedex. Even if that isn't the case anymore, you still see various models here and there."

I laughed. "What's the matter, John? Can't handle a little challenge?" I taunted.

He puffed out. "I can handle anything," he said. There was no protest after that.

We walked to opposite sides of the arena as Paul finished programming the rules.

"This will be a one versus one match between John, the Bulbasaur, against Trainer Paul and Sarah, the Vulpix,” the console announced through the arena speakers. “Pokemon reduced to 50 percent health or who are incapacitated will be declared unable to battle. There is no time limit. When the participants declare they are ready, the battle will begin."

Paul walked over to the trainer's box on my side of the field. "I'm ready," he said, nodding to me.

"I'm ready," John said, crouching low.

I stared at John, feeling my own muscles tense. Time to get this party started.

"I'm re-"

Alarms blazed to life, interrupting me. Thoughts of battle disappeared from my mind.

Ferals were attacking.



Chapter 9

Ferals.

A strange mechanical chattering sound filled the air. Gunfire. Anti-aircraft fire. Flying Pokemon. Flying Ferals.

I glanced up. I didn't see any Ferals, but that didn't mean anything. The problem with Flying Ferals was that they tended to be fast. They could be on us in seconds. The automated warning system blared to life.

Paul stared up at the air, wide-eyed. John gave me a knowing look.

There was only one thing we could do.

"Run!" I shouted.

Paul broke out of his reverie and the three us began to sprint, leaving our positions on the field. An emergency shelter lay only a few courts down. We might make it before-

A sharp screeching noise filled the air. I looked up.

A Pidgeot, at terrifying speeds, dived furiously towards us.

On instinct, I fell to the ground, flattening myself against it. John and Paul did the same. The bird soared over us, missing us by a meter. It climbed back into the sky.

"Pidgeot. Normal/Flying type," Paul said. "Second stage evolution. Can fly at Mach speeds and is known to gore humans with its sharp claws and beak. Level 7 threat. Seek shelter immediately."

I knew he was simply reading the creature's Pokedex entry. I had heard it before. Still, there was a big difference between hearing a description and seeing the real thing. A major difference.

John looked at me, a plea in his eyes. I knew what he was thinking. He wanted to fight it, wanted to prove his strength. I shook my head and tilted it towards Paul. John knew as well as I that Ferals hated humans. Paul would be shredded to pieces if he was out in the open during a Feral attack. We needed to get him to a shelter. John glanced at Paul, sighed, then nodded.

The three of us stood up. Taking lead, I started running again, John and Paul following close behind me.

We weren't given much time before the bird was upon us again. I dashed into a nearby arena filled with large stones and boulders that formed narrow pathways of rock. We managed to lose the creature as we twisted our way through. The stones were tall enough that the Pidgeot wouldn't be able to dive at us directly.

Which worked up until the blasted thing landed right in front of us.

"This way!" I shouted, dashing down a path away from the bird. John, bringing up the rear, shot a single razor-edged leaf at it as he passed, holding it off.

"We need to get to a shelter!" Paul shouted.

"I know!" I replied, glancing back.

The Pidgeot, though much faster in the air, was also rather quick on the ground. It kept dashing forward using some sort of speed technique. Weaving between the rocks helped because the bird had to slow down to turn, but we couldn't traverse this maze forever.

I lead us out of the battlefield and back onto the walkway running alongside the courts. If we ran fast enough, we could make it to the shelter two blocks down. Glancing down that direction, I quickly realized that wasn't going to be an option.

The Pidgeot wasn't alone. It had come with its flock. Several security guards and their Pokemon were heatedly engaged in a series of battles with multiple Pidgey and Pidgeotto, blocking our way. We could run the gauntlet of Ferals, but there was a good chance Paul would be injured. Blast, there was a good chance we'd all be injured.

"The way is blocked!" I shouted, running the opposite direction, away from the fighting. We didn't have much time to plan; the bird was still chasing us.

The creature, upon exiting the stone field, quickly launched itself in the air, claws forward. I ducked into a nearby alley, pulling Paul in with me. John wasn't so lucky, the claws scraping across the top of his bulb. He cursed loudly as the momentum knocked him over.

"John!" I shouted, rushing to him as the bird rose into the air for another pass.

"I'm fine," he grumbled, wincing slightly. A green, blood-like ooze started to drip from the cut and one of his vines was now a green stub. "Sarah, if we can't run from the creature, then we have to fight it."

"But-" I began.

"He's right," Paul said. "We can't keep running. I can't keep running." He was out of breath and a little shaken, but his voice was steady. "If we want to win, we need to fight smarter. Currently it has the advantage thanks to its speed, strength, typing, and maneuverability."

John nodded. Reluctantly, I agreed.

"We need to eliminate one of those advantages." Paul glanced around, then pointed to the water tower. "There. If one of us climbs to the top, we can negate the Pidgeot's height advantage."

"If I still had my other vine, I could climb that pretty easily," John said, "but I don’t have the dexterity to do it now.”

The Pidgeot was finishing its circle, transitioning to another attack run. We didn't have much time.

“Okay, Sarah, looks like you’re our ace,” Paul said. “Run to the tower and climb to the top. When the Feral circles around, you can jump onto it and attack it at close range. Its backside might be more vulnerable. I’ll run with you to the tower to draw it there. John you give us cover.”

John and I nodded. It seemed like a sound plan.

As the Pidgeot dashed towards us, we leapt into action.



Chapter 10

Running the first block towards the tower didn’t work out so well.

I dashed to the side, just barely avoiding the monstrous bird as it tried to grab me with one of its large claws. I could feel the wind rush by.

"This isn't working!" I shouted, watching as the bird rose into the air. It shrieked with anger. Clearly it wasn't used to its prey surviving for this long.

"It's because we can't blasted fly!" John said, launching another blade into the air. Again it missed.

As the creature banked to its left, heading towards us for another pass, I shot out from the alley and dashed directly towards it. I didn’t have many long range attacks, but perhaps a confusion technique might work.

I gathered the energies within my mental aura and focused it into a small sphere. Then, releasing the tension, I let the sphere burst forth in a compressed beam that spiraled away from me towards the Pidgeot. It easily dodged to the side, avoiding the beam.

I quickly launched several more beams in succession. Normally this is a poor way to use the technique as the rays diminish in effectiveness when used repeatedly in a short period of time, but I wasn't aiming to confuse the creature. I was trying to distract it.

It attempted to dodge out of the way of the spirals, but with so many rays flying, a few struck. As expected, they barely made the Feral blink, much less throw it into any sort of confusion, but it had lost a lot of speed as it weaved between my attacks.

Paul and I continued to run from the beast, which was now beating its massive wings furiously to catch up to us. The tower was only 100 meters away, but it felt like 100 miles when running for your life.

Glancing back, I saw the beast shift its wings back against its body as it began another power dive, letting gravity propel it towards us. It would be on us in seconds.

A blade shot towards the creature, passing just underneath it as it flapped upwards to avoid being hit. A second blade flew moments later, forcing the creature to turn on its side, interrupting the dive. The creature squinted its eyes and shifted its head to look towards the source of the blades, but John had disappeared from view, hiding behind a row of bushes. His job was to keep the Pidgeot off us, not draw its attention.

Thanks John.

As the Feral rose into the air, Paul and I, out of breath, reached the base of the water tower. The tower itself was utilitarian, made of unmarked stainless steel that had only slightly been worn by the elements. A latticework of steel beams rose into the air, holding aloft a giant, cylindrical steel drum capped by a metallic cone. Large metal pipes ran down from the cylinder, passing by small, clock-like gauges before entering the ground through holes drilled through cement.

A metal ladder rose from the ground alongside the steel beams.

"Wait down here," I said to Paul. "Watch the creature and let me know when it starts to dive towards me."

"Okay," he said, his eyes traveling up the ladder, "Be careful."

"I will."

Then I started climbing.



Chapter 11

I quickly discovered that ladders were not designed to be used by Pokemon. Well certain Pokemon, like me.

While I was larger than average for a Vulpix, my limbs still bent in the same manner as the rest of the species. Paws that were quite good at running across even, and uneven, terrain were not quite as useful as hands for grasping the metal rungs.

Eventually, I figured out a way to hold onto the bars by grasping them in the crook on my arms and bending my elbows. It was pretty awkward and I didn't feel very secure as I moved upwards. That being said, I climbed quickly. I wanted to reach the top before the bird came back around. I didn't want it to catch me on the ladder, sticking out where I'd be easy prey.

"It's diving again, Sarah!" shouted Paul.

Well blast.

I turned my head towards the creature, its shrieks becoming louder as it shot towards me.

Do I climb up or climb down? Do I know any attacks that would throw it off?

Several blades shot towards the creature, but they came at it from a bad angle, John was still too far back towards the training grounds. The creature easily dodged the attacks, maintaining its trajectory towards me.

This was it. It was going to catch me.

"Sarah!"

I looked down. Paul was hanging onto the ladder a few rungs below me.

"Paul!" I shouted, "what are you doing here!? You're supposed to-"

"No time!" he shouted back. "Use Flamethrower!”

"What!?" I shouted, confused. “I don’t know that attack!”

"Yes, you do!” he replied. “You can do it. I believe in you!”

That makes one of us.

I glanced back at the Pidgeot. It would be on us in a second.

Taking a deep breath, I focused the heat that flowed within my veins into a single core, letting it rage within. It burned with a ferocious intensity, desiring to escape. I held it in, rolling the flame into a smaller and smaller sphere. It was just like all the other times I had tried this before.

This isn’t going to work. I don’t know how to do this. I can’t. I-

“I believe in you.”

Paul’s words echoed in my head. No, it was different this time. This time, I had a trainer, an ally, and a friend. I wasn’t just fighting just for me, I was fighting for both of us, for all three of us.

The flames inside shifted. I could feel it change from a simmering red to a roaring blue. My heart skipped a beat.

As the Pidgeot dove upon us, I opened my mouth and released the raging heat inside, launching a torrent of blue flames at the flying Pokemon.

I had done it. I had used fire!

It shrieked in pain as I blasted it in its face, and rolled to its side in flight to escape my attack. I felt the wind break near me as it passed. One of its claws caught the side of my left arm, slicing it open along its length. Pain shot through my limb and I cried out. I lost my grip of the bar and fell backwards. My stomach lurched.

A hand reached out to catch me.

Holding onto the ladder with his left hand, Paul closed his right arm around my side pulling me into a fast hug to stop my fall. He grunted.

The momentum from the fall, despite only being from a meter up, was enough to unbalance Paul and his body shook from the impact. His foot slipped of the rail, and for a brief moment, only a single hand and leg prevented us from dropping to the rather far ground below.

Paul’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the rung tightly. We swung to the side briefly, as Paul struggled to hold on before his free leg regained footing on the ladder.

As our breathing began to slow, Paul slowly loosened his hold on me so that he was no longer crushing me against his body. His hands shook slightly, probably from the exertion and rush of adrenaline.

The bird screeched madly as it swept back around. We didn’t have much time.

Paul began to climb.



Chapter 12

With me half clinging, half-draped over his shoulders, Paul struggled up the ladder. Though he had an easier time using the ladder (stupid human hands) he was also climbing with our combined weight. Plus he wasn't exactly in the best of shape. Still, we progressed upwards, moving a little bit faster than I had a minute earlier.

"You know..." Paul said, between breaths," you're kind of... heavy."

I swatted the side of his head lightly with my uninjured paw.

"Didn't your dad teach you manners?" I asked in jest. "You're never supposed to remark on a lady's weight."

He gave a short chuckle. "At least… I’m not afraid… to touch you… anymore.”

Huh? Oh... He overcame his fear to save me.

That was… impressive, actually.

Careful not to lose my hold, I shifted my gaze towards John’s last location. The Pidgeot had risen to circle around and I'd been keeping tabs on its location.

"I don't see John," I said. "He must be hiding to avoid drawing the bird's attention. That or he's doing something crazy."

"Probably crazy," Paul replied, laboring to breathe.

I looked up. Paul had managed to climb nearly to the top.

Careful to not unbalance Paul, I leapt off his shoulders onto the sloped metal frame. It was only slightly inclined so I was able to keep my footing.

Paul climbed up after me. It was only then, on the roof, that I saw that one of the bird’s talons had also managed to cut Paul during its last attack. A deep red gash ran across the side of his torso, blood already staining the rip in his shirt. He placed his hand against the cut and pressed down tightly.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, breathing heavily. “But if you don’t take down the Pidgeot, it won’t matter.”

Right. Just gotta stop a murderous winged beast. Easy.

The bird had been momentarily distracted by John down below, but upon seeing Paul standing atop the tower, it flapped wildly to rise in the air, heading straight towards him. Paul was acting as bait, drawing the Pidgeot to me.

In seconds, it would be upon us.

I must be blasted crazy.

With a gulp, I charged forward down the sloped roof of the tower and leapt at the creature.



Chapter 13

For a moment, I was flying through the air, the ground rushing towards me... and I was scared out of my mind.

Luckily this moment was brief as I slammed into the Pidgeot, half sliding, half rolling across its back. Desperate to not fall off, I dug my claws into its feathered back, halting my momentum. I was rewarded with a shriek of pain from the creature.

I quickly took advantage of my surprise attack, keenly aware that I was clutching a giant bird flying several meters off the ground. I tried to recall the feeling from before, the burning heat building from deep within me. With a roar, I shot forth a jet of fire from my mouth down onto the bird's back, neck, and head. The flames were easier to create the second time around. At such a close range, I could see the Pidgeot’s feathers burn to crisps before my eyes, blackening into dead tissue and skin.

It screeched a horrifying yell and banked to the left then right in rapid succession, trying to shake me off its back. Somehow, I managed to hold on, though my fire faltered as my stomach danced nauseously. I kept it in, barely.

Distantly, over the rush of wind blowing past my ears, I could hear John and Paul shouting, though it was indistinct. I could make out John cheering in heated excitement and Paul yelling commands. It sounded like he was telling me to hang on.

Like I needed the reminder.

All other thoughts were lost when the bird, deciding that the banking maneuver wasn't working, decided some aerial acrobatics were in order. I soon found myself upside down as the creature dived towards the ground.

That's when I lost my grip.

I felt my claws tear free from the bird's flesh and I began to fall away from the Pidgeot. Something soft brushed against my face and by instinct I latched onto it with my teeth, clamping down hard. Immediately I surged forward, pulled by whatever it was I was holding onto. Needless to say, my teeth hurt. A lot.

As the bird pulled up from its dive, reorienting itself upwards, I managed to glimpse just what I gripped in my mouth. Feathers. Specifically a group of tail feathers. I was biting onto the bird's tail as it flew at ridiculous speeds above the ground.

Blast.

Even from my limited, and rather turbulent, viewpoint, I could see that we had managed to gravely injure the Pidgeot. Mangled feathers messed with blood indicated where John had managed to cut it with his blades. A large portion of bird’s back and head were charred black. Between the lacerations and the burns, the Pidgeot was clearly laboring to stay aloft, fighting against the pain and muscles that no longer worked. Even my own weight on its tail impeded its ability to fly.

I’m not fat.

The Pidgeot no longer seemed to be focused on shaking me off, seeming more concerned with staying aloft. It was barely successful, sometimes cruising close enough to the ground that the tips of my back paws would scrape it. For a brief moment, I considered letting go and dropping, but we were flying so fast that I decided against it.

Desperately trying to control its direction, the Pidgeot flapped its wings furiously. It banked sharply to the right, curving back towards the water tower, as it narrowly avoided crashing into a nearby building. I wasn't as lucky. My shoulder hit the building’s cement wall right before I was pulled away from it by the tail feathers still clenched in my mouth. Somehow I managed to avoid opening my mouth to cry out, merely grunting in pain instead.

I can’t take much more of this.

I still couldn’t hear Paul’s commands and my mouth was starting to get sore. With no other ideas, I decided to simply go with what I was good at. I opened my mouth and let loose a roaring flame of fire that traveled from the bird’s tail up to its head. It screamed in agony.

And once again I was falling.



Chapter 14

I hit the ground rolling, pushed forward by momentum. The world spun around me as pain shot through my body whenever it hit the hard cement. I cried out. Eventually I came to a stop.

It took a moment to come to my senses. Everything hurt, but I didn’t think I broke anything. It was hard to tell. I couldn’t find something that wasn’t in pain.

Opening my eyes, I looked around. I had tumbled a little bit away from the water tower, which hung above me. A little further down the road, John was struggling with a grounded Pidgeot. Wobbling to my feet, I ran over.

“Down you beast!” he shouted. “Down!”

Somehow, John had managed to get his one good vine wrapped tightly around the bird’s wings like some kind of massive lasso. The Pidgeot struggled against its bonds, trying to turn its head to snap at John. John, of course, angled the bird’s beak away from him.

“Sarah! You’re okay!” he shouted as I approached. “That was a blasted nasty fall.”

Yeah, I know. I lived it.

Biting back my sarcastic comment, I asked, “What happened? Do you need help?”

“After you roasted the Pidgeot, again, from its tail,” John said, “it lost control of its flight and smacked headfirst into this building.” My eyes glanced up to the wall which now sported a moderately-sized dent. “With the bird dazed,” he continued. “I managed to run over and capture the thing with my vine.”

The Pidgeot squawked.

“As for help,” he said, “I’m fine. I’ll try to knock it out with some of my powders. You should back away so you’re not affected. Maybe check on Paul?”

I nodded. That seemed like a good idea.

Turning around, I walked toward the tower where the ladder rose against it. Paul was slowly descending, alternating his arms and feet in an unsteady pattern. I noticed the blood stain on his shirt had grown much larger.

“Paul, are you okay?”

He did not reply, but his descent slowed. For a moment, he simply held himself in place, a few meters off the ground.

Then, without warning, his hands and feet slipped from the bars.



Chapter 15

Paul collapsed to the ground, making no sound as he hit the cement base of the tower.

My mind blanked for a moment. Then I dashed madly towards him.

"Paul!" I yelled.

There was no reply as I reached where he lay. I wasn't a trained medic, but as a battler, I was taught some of the basics. I put my head near his mouth. Amid the sounds of battle raging on distantly and John's grunts as he struggled to restrain the Pidgeot, I could hear Paul's breathing. That was a good sign.

I didn't know how to check for a pulse, so I did the next best thing and placed my ear against his chest. I had to hold my own breath to hear it, but his heart beat... faintly. Another good sign, probably.

I pushed my body up from the ground only to feel something wet on my paw. Looking down, I noticed a thick, red liquid starting to pool underneath Paul. Blood. His blood. He was bleeding out.

Frantically, I turned his body over to find the wound. The lower side of his shirt was soaked with blood. I bit the shirt with my teeth and in one ferocious tug, ripped it off. The taste of iron permeated my mouth, but I ignored it; I needed to bandage the wound.

A deep gash ran across the side of Paul's torso, above the hip where the monster had struck him with its claws. I didn't realize it was this bad. Maybe I misjudged it during the heat of the battle or perhaps Paul was hiding the severity of the injury. Perhaps the fall had opened it up further. I didn't know and realized I didn't care. It didn't matter right now.

"John!" I yelled, grabbing the remains of Paul's shirt with my paws and pressing it against the gaping wound. "Knock out the bird, I need your help!"

"Trying!" he shouted back, his voice strained. "It’s blowing all of my spores away!"

I looked over at John. The Pidgeot was struggling with a primal ferocity, its eyes staring hungrily at Paul's limp body, John barely managing to hold it back.

John couldn't help. The monster was still too much of a threat to ignore. I made a decision.

Using the long arm sleeves of the tattered shirt, I tied the bloodied cloth tightly around Paul's stomach, over the wound. Praying it would hold, I struggled to slide my body under him so that he was draped over me face down. His arms and head fell limply over my shoulders while his legs dragged slightly behind my tails. Once again, I was grateful that I was much larger than the average Vulpix. I wouldn't be able to carry him if I wasn't.

"I'm taking him to the medical center!" I yelled to John, shifting Paul's weight on my back.

"Okay, just..." John replied, before he grunted in pain. "Sarah, go!"

I had already taken off.



Chapter 16

I rushed forward, leaving behind the water tower, John, and the Feral that had caused us so much trouble. From the side of my vision I could see other battles raging as the security forces battled to subdue or kill the invading Pokemon. I ignored them, shifting my heading to avoid the confrontations.

I had only one goal in mind: to get Paul help.

Unfortunately, Paul was still unconscious. I could only travel at a quick walk. Anything faster and I risked him falling off my back. My forepaw throbbed painfully where the bird had injured it, but I ignored the pain, surging forward.

I turned left into an alleyway to avoid a massive battle in the street ahead. The sound of gunfire mixed with the squawks of Pokemon and the cries of the injured. Occasionally I'd here the cry of a random, non-Feral Pokemon, one of the few cured members of the compound's security teams.

I exited the alley onto another street and continued forward.

"Sarah..." a voice coughed near my head.

"Paul," I replied, keeping my eyes forward, "save your energy. Don't speak."

"Where... where are we? What... happened?"

"You were injured. By the Pidgeot. You've... lost a lot of blood. I'm taking you to the medical center."

"I-"

"If you have enough energy to talk," I interrupted him. "Then wrap your arms around my neck and hold on."

Paul didn't reply, but I felt his arms shift around me. They circled around my neck.

Hoping he was holding me tightly, I picked up speed, transitioning from my quick walk to a run.

We dashed through the streets, slowing only to turn. Now my forepaw throbbed painfully with each step, shooting spikes up my body. I gritted my teeth and began placing more weight on my other three legs to relieve pressure off the injured one.

"Sarah..." Paul whispered, barely audible, "are you okay?" He must have noticed my injury.

"I'm... fine," I said, lying. In truth, my leg felt horrible. Only the adrenaline from the battle kept me going, and even that seemed to be fading.

"Sarah..." he said again.

"I'm fine!" I replied, frustrated, slowing slightly as I approached a corner. "I'm f-"

Something snapped in my leg and a sharp jab of pain, far worse than anything else I had felt, burned through me. My leg gave out under me and I lost all control.

Paul limply flew off my back as my feet lost hold of the ground. I rolled side over side, my momentum carrying me forward until I eventually slid to a rest upon the pavement.

For a long while, I lay on my side, my vision blurred as my mind spun. Everything hurt, especially my foreleg and it was only that pain that kept me focused as unconsciousness tempted me into darkness.

No... I... can't... Paul needs me.

My mind cleared slightly as the pounding in my head dimmed and settled. I stretched my head around, wincing at the pain from moving my neck. Ignoring it, and my own worries about my injuries, I craned further until I spotted Paul. Like me, he was lying on his side. He was not moving.

"P- Paul..." I coughed, spitting out blood. I had bitten my tongue somewhere along the way.

There was no reply.

I struggled to right myself, pushing my body up with my sore, but functioning good legs. But as I put weight on the injured leg, it gave way immediately with a burst of pain that I couldn't help yelping at. It bent at a bad angle. I tried to walk on three legs, but stumbled mid-step, falling upon my injured leg again and... GYAHHH.

I just lay there for several seconds until the screaming in my brain died to a tolerable level.

Well, if I couldn't walk just yet, I'll do the next best thing.

I dragged myself towards Paul, leaving behind a light trail of blood.

He was still breathing, thank goodness. But the tumble dislodged the remnants of his shirt bandage and he was once again bleeding out, the shirt in question lay several feet away in a half-crumpled, half-torn mess. His face was pale and his breathing inconsistent. He looked like a ghost of himself.

Blast it. We were only five blocks from the medical center. Just a few more blocks...

Carefully holding my broken leg to the side, I struggled to once again slide myself under Paul's body. I couldn't run anymore, but we were so close! Maybe I could... walk it.

With great care, both for Paul and my leg, I stood, the remaining three legs shaking at the effort. I ignored the strain.

Okay, good so far.

I took a step forward. Then another. Then a third. If I concentrated, I could walk by balancing my weight on two legs while awkwardly moving the third. This worked for several meters. Then I misjudged a step and fell forward, Paul still on me. Somehow I managed to avoid crushing my bad leg.

I struggled to rise, but my legs refused to stand. The adrenaline had drained out of my body. I strained to push my legs upward, but I didn't move. I was too weak. I couldn't lift Paul.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No! No! No!

I struggled again. And again. And again and again and again. I couldn't stand. Tears formed in my eyes.

"... Sarah..."

I tried to blink away my tears. "Yes Paul."

"I..." he began, his voice so soft it was barely a whisper. "I wanted to say that... I'm sorry."

"Sorry? What for?"

"I'm sorry for... being so weak. I'm sorry... for not being smarter," he coughed. "I'm... sorry for... being afraid... of you."

I... what could I say to that? How could I tell him that I was also sorry... that I couldn't save his life... I...

"Can you... forgive me?" he said.

There was only one thing I could say.

"Paul I... I forgive you," I replied.

From the corner of my eye, I could see him smile.

"Thanks Sarah. You're so... warm. I'm... so tired... I think I'll sleep..."

His body slumped against mine.

"Paul? Paul?! Paul!" I shook my back as roughly as I could. There was no reply.

No, he couldn't... he didn't... I...

No. NO. NO!

I refused to believe he was dead. I refused to let him die. I refused to let that Pidgeot, the Ferals win. I refused to give into weakness.

I refused to Lose.

A flame grew within me, like when I breathed fire but deeper. It pulsed inside me, beating in rhythm to my heart, sending waves of warmth throughout my body. It felt soothing, like taking a hot shower but from the inside.

The fire grew, like a hearth receiving new logs. It expanded to fill the entirely of my being from my nose to my tail. It flooded my senses. I saw hot cinders, smelled the burning of wood, tasted boiling water, and heard the crackle of flames. I felt the entirety of who I was burn up into ashes; the fine dust scattered into a strong wind.

And then suddenly, I came back together again.

I was still aflame, but the flames had drawn down from a burning, white hot to a more moderate cool blue. It withdrew from my limbs to solidify again in a solid core centered within my heart. The pulsing slowed, decreasing in intensity, returning to me my sense of the world. As the last few flames faded back into my body, I realized what had happened.

I had evolved.

My fur had shifted from a bronze orange to a silky golden color, running down the length of my body to my now nine tails. I had grown larger, easily twice as large as the average human. All signs of previous injuries, including my leg, had healed. I felt a new strength coursing through my body.

I stood up upon four sturdy legs.

Glancing back to see that Paul was still on my back, I took a deep breath, and ran.

I dashed rapidly through the streets, no longer hindered by injury or weariness. My body, stronger than it had ever been before, surged forward, allowing me to dash down the roads with record speed. My strength, reflexes, dexterity, stamina... had all been improved upon evolution. I was able to soar forward while still balancing Paul upon my back.

We reached the medical center shortly after.

I paused impatiently in front of the emergency doors, which were shut and secured when the Feral alert sounded. It was designed to prevent any wild creatures from breaking into the building. At the moment, it was an impediment.

"This is Sarah, member of the Pokemon Neural Research Division," I spoke aloud, my voice picked up by security cameras pointed at the entrance. "Identification #41298. I have one badly injured human. He's cut deeply along his torso."

A painstaking wait later, the doors opened and a team of medical staff rushed out with a wheeled stretcher. They carefully transferred Paul's body from my back as a doctor took readings and called out orders. In a second, the staff was pushing the stretcher back into the center.

A nurse, seeing that I was uninjured, directed me to a waiting area. Emotionally exhausted, I nodded. Then I cried.

Part III


Chapter 17

John and I were in the waiting area for a long time.

John lay sideways on a chair, half-asleep. He told me that, after I left, he eventually managed to subdue the Pidgeot by extending his remaining vine so that it restrained all of the creature's limbs. When the battles began to subside, a pair of security personnel relieved him of his burden, injecting a strong sedative into the Pidgeot. He quickly explained the battle to them, and then made his way over to the medical center, receiving treatment for his wounds.

I glanced at him from the floor, where I was lying. Apparently my new form was too large for the various chairs in the room, so I settled for the ground. I didn't mind. John, when he first saw me, was shocked, surprised, jealous, understanding, and wonderfully supportive. Then he simply walked up to me, embraced me in a deep hug and made a remark about my soft fur. I didn't need more than that.

He had mostly recovered from the battle. Medical technology had managed to seal his wounds and scratches. A bandage was wrapped tightly over the end of his injured vine, the one that had been cut off. In time, it would grow back. He was a Grass Pokemon after all.

Both of us somehow managed to find something to eat. Some kind of cafeteria snack or another. I didn't remember.

There were others in the waiting area with us. Various humans and Pokemon sat around, waiting to hear about their friends and loved ones who had suffered injury because of the Feral attack. Many of us were in the same boat.

Footsteps echoed off the hallway as a nurse stepped into the waiting area. Spotting John and me, she walked over.

"You may see Paul now," she said, motioning for us to follow her.

"Is he okay?" I asked.

"I can't answer that. You can ask his father. He's in the boy's recovery room."

I nodded, feeling numb. It struck me that I was the reason Paul had been outside during the time of the attack. If I hadn't convinced him to oversee the battle between John and me, he wouldn't have been injured. Mentally I knew I was being stupid. Emotionally I knew I had failed.

We traveled down a series of hallways, passing through automatic doors. The nurse led us to the ICU ward. Paul's room was the first one on the right.

Entering the room, we noticed Professor Peter standing over his son's bed, looking drained and unkempt. He glanced up at us.

Before I could apologize, he had us, John and me, in a tight hug.

"Thank you," he said. "If it weren't for you, Paul would be dead."

My words died in my throat. How could I tell him that Paul's life was in danger because of me? That if we had only been faster or stronger or somewhere else that day, he wouldn't be in that bed. I didn't have the heart to tell him.

"How is he doing?" I asked instead.

Releasing us from the hug, the professor turned to look at Paul. His face had dried tear stains.

"It... it isn't good," he replied. "Though his injuries weren't severe, Paul lost a lot of blood. In fact, had you gotten him to the hospital a few minutes later, he probably wouldn't have survived. But you did and the doctors managed to seal his cuts and replenish his circulatory system."

"That... sounds good," John said, cautiously.

"It is," Peter said, "and normally a patient in his state would be on the way to recovery, but..." He paused, placing his hand down on the patient's bed rail as if to stabilize himself. "But the loss of that much blood was a severe shock to his system and weakened him. The progress of the virus has reached Stage IV."

Stage IV... terminal, the stage before death. Paul was... dying.

"They've started Paul on some treatments through his IV," Peter continued, "but at best they'll give him a few more days and ease the pain. There is no cure."

At this admission, his shoulders slumped forward and his voice broke.

"I... had hoped that," he said, starting to cry, "I could... discover the cure before he... became an adult... before he... could die."

He could no longer hold himself back. Peter, having lost his world, began crying in earnest.

And all we could do was watch and try to comfort him, before we started crying too.



Chapter 18

It was some time before our emotions had settled again to something resembling a dulled pain.

John went out to find a hot drink while the professor and I stayed with Paul.

Paul remained asleep. Peter explained that he had been heavily sedated to spare him from the pain of his injuries. He might never wake up; the virus impeded multiple brain functions at this advanced stage. Frighteningly, he looked a lot like Uncle Joe did at the funeral.

"You know, Sarah," Peter said, not looking away from Paul, "when Joe and I started our research, we joked that we were preserving the elements of civilization."

Puzzled, I looked at him. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, it's simple. If we managed to discover the cure, or even just a vaccine, we could save mankind from extinction and thus save our society from collapse." He chuckled. "But if for example we never find a cure, then we saved society in another way. You."

He pointed at me.

"You are a sentient being that carries within you Pokemon and human DNA. You have the power of thought and the ability to comprehend difficult concepts about life. You are able to communicate your ideas with others. And you are immune to the virus. So if humankind were to die out, eradicated by the Plague, you and your descendants could carry on the legacy of civilization. That you'd be able to preserve and build upon our knowledge."

He looked away.

"That perhaps you'd not make the same mistakes we did," he said.

Silence descended on us as I tried to grasp what he said. I knew that John, the other experiments, and I were immune to the virus, but I never really thought what that might mean if a cure was never developed. I just assumed someone would find it eventually. To think that, at some level, we were possibly the sole inheritors of man's legacy was... unsettling to say the least.

I shook my head. No, we weren't there yet. And Paul wasn't dead yet either. There was still one more thing we could try.

The idea had occurred to me while John and I sat in the waiting room... when the full meaning of my evolution struck me.

"Professor," I began, "I know that this isn't the best time and... well perhaps it's a longshot but... do you think you could test me?"

"What?" Peter asked, looking confused.

"Well, Uncle Joe said that we were training so that we could grow stronger and possibly evolve someday. I don't remember all he said, but I recall him talking about how evolution could be the key. Now that I'm a Ninetales, maybe you could..."

For a moment, Peter seemed lost in thought. I was about to speak again, when he nodded, almost as much to himself as to me.

"Yes..." he said, "that could work. None of you had evolved before... It... Okay. Let's do it."

When John returned, Peter and I departed for the lab. John agreed to remain in the room and watch Paul. Even if Paul wasn't going to wake up anytime soon, it was important that one of us stay with him. The encounter with the Feral had forged an unbreakable bond between the three of us.

At the lab, Peter prepared the equipment. I tried to help as much as I could, but I had always been the test subject, not an assistant and did little more than turn on a few machines.

Almost as if in a trance, we went through the motions, going through each test almost on habit. Obviously a lot of my results were different now that I had evolved. Peter made a lame joke about how I was gaining weight. I didn't bother telling him off.

Finally, after removing a portion of my neural fluid, we were done.

"Now all I need to do is analyze this sample," Peter said.

Nodding, I quietly slipped out of the lab as he began to work, finding an old, faded couch nearby to lie on. I was soon fast asleep.



Chapter 19

I was shaken awake from a nightmarish sleep. Instinctually, I stood up, taking a defensive posture until my mind caught up and I remembered where I was.

Peter stood in front of me, a frown set upon a grim expression. My heart dropped.

"It's not the cure," I said.

He shook his head. "No, that's the problem. It is."

And then he told me I had to die.



Chapter 20

I listened to Professor Peter’s explanation intently.

When Joseph and Peter began their research, there were two major problems. They knew that their experiments were built on the premise that Pokemon, specifically Pokemon infused with human DNA, could lead to the cure. The first problem was that humans and Pokemon were vastly different creatures on a genetic level. And that Pokemon differed widely from each other. The DNA could be combined, but the resulting creation might not be compatible with humans.

With such a limited budget, the two researchers could only raise a limited number of Pokemon. So they decided to raise as large a variety of Pokemon as they could, hoping that the neural fluid of at least one of the species would be compatible with man. They choose species that varied in type, size, environment, and genetic structure. Perhaps all of the experiments would be the answer, but, if only a few were compatible, they would have a better chance of success.

That solved the first problem. The second problem was how to manufacture a cure for the entire remnants of humankind.

If they were right, the cure would really just be an injection of a Pokemon’s neural fluid into a human being. The Pokemon’s stronger cells would eliminate the virus completely. It didn’t require a lot of fluid, the Pokemon’s cells would work in tandem with the human’s own immune system, but there were more than two billion people infected worldwide.

Even if the cure was found, it would take a massive breeding program to harvest enough neural fluid for everyone. And while mankind could dedicate the resources to do so, it might not have the time for such an endeavor. In fifteen years, mankind’s population was reduced by 50 percent. Another fifteen would cut that in half again or worse considering that the majority of survivors were in Stage II or Stage III of the disease.

Peter found the solution. He developed a device that would stimulate the mitosis process of neural cells, allowing them to replicate indefinitely so long as they were provided the requisite biochemicals and energy. The only problem was that it also required a certain amount of fluid to initiate the process.

And removing that much fluid from my body would kill me.

Peter reassured me that I wouldn’t die. That he would refine his device further, perhaps improve its baseline requirements. Even if that failed, he would advocate that the various research compounds begin implementing breeding programs. Once enough Vulpix had evolved into Ninetales, they could harvest a small amount of neural fluid from each one. Perhaps the combined fluid would be enough to begin the mitosis process.

I nodded numbly. It was simply too much: that I was the cure, that I had to die, that billions of people could be saved because of me. It was too much for me to think about.

The professor removed his lab coat and said he was going to take the sample I provided over to the hospital to give to Paul. If he was right, my cells would destroy all presence of the virus within Paul’s body, saving his life. He asked if I wanted to come.

I shook my head. I needed to think.

I left the compound in a run. Night had fallen. Lit by the moonlight, I simply dashed without a care of where I went. My legs decided to carry me past the residential quarters, the water tower, the courts, and the park to a brown-painted building at the edge of the habitat. Leaping with newfound strength, I jumped from the ground to the tree, then pushed hard off the trunk to land on the roof of the building.

I stared at the stars, so bright, so inviting. They shined like a million jewels held within the treasure chest of the universe. I drank in the light, remembering John’s stories and his words.

And lost myself in the night.



Chapter 21

The next few days passed by in a haze.

Paul was recovering, the cure working to free him from the viral curse. He had transitioned back to Stage III, a feat that had never occurred before. The doctors were already taking him off the sedatives. I was happy he was recovering, but I was also afraid. Now I knew I was the cure. I hadn’t visited him since that day.

The atmosphere about the compound was… energetic. People were excited that the cure was found, celebrating in the streets or in private. People wanted to meet me, to shake my hand, or pet my fur. Someone randomly hugged me. I wanted to be alone.

Despite my tendencies towards isolation, I was aware of the massive debate raging around me. The fact that Peter had discovered the cure was widely praised. But the implementation of it was… divisive.

On one side was a group of people who agreed with Professor Peter’s plan of a massive breeding program to eventually create enough of the needed cells to manufacture the cure.

On the other side was a group who thought that my cells should be harvested immediately to begin the process so that lives could be saved. They said that, in the time it took for the first Vulpix to begin evolving, more than 800 million people would die. What was the loss of one life in exchange for the salvation of an entire species? Wasn’t that worth the cost?

“Unethical,” decried the first group. “Immoral. The cure should never be brought about by the hands of murderers.”

A third side, a minority, had a different idea. They wanted to know what I thought, what I felt about all of this.

I didn’t know.

The problem was too big for me to consider. It threatened to overwhelm me. I couldn’t process it on my own.

I needed help.

And there were only two people I trusted to help me figure this mess out.

I found the two of them in Paul’s recovery room. Paul, of course, wouldn’t have been able to leave the hospital after his near experience with death. I wasn’t surprised to see him there. It didn’t surprise me to see John in the room either; he had been visiting Paul regularly. What I didn’t expect to see was that he had, like me, evolved.

“What?” I said, staring at the Ivysaur. “When did this happen? Why?”

John gave me a sad smile. “After Professor Peter gave Paul the cure, he told me all about… you and why we needed your neural fluid. I wanted to know if only Ninetales cells worked or if any of us could provide them if we evolved. He said he didn’t know. So I…”

“… you evolved,” I said, finishing his sentence. He looked down.

“Turns out that my cells are still incompatible with humans,” he said. “After the test, Peter said that it’s your specific typing and stuff that make it all work. I… don’t quite understand it all.” He sighed.

I embraced him in a deep hug. “At least you tried,” I said. “Thanks.”

Turning to Paul, I saw that he was looking better. He was less pale than before and, unlike before, conscious.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“I got a bit of a headache and my side is killing me,” he said, gesturing down with his hand to where the Pidgeot had cut him. “But otherwise, I’m okay. I don’t really remember anything after the tower, but from what everyone says, I was pretty far gone.”

He smiled at me.

“I guess I have you to thank for saving me… again,” he said.

“It was nothing…” I said, shaking my head. “We were just in a bad situation. We all worked together to get out of it. I’m glad the cure worked…” My words trailed off.

An awkward silence hung in the air.

“You shouldn’t have to die,” John said. “Not for the cure. Not for anything. No one should die.”

“There are some who’d disagree,” I replied.

“Let ‘em,” he said, a grin on his face. “They’d have to get through Paul and me first. The Pidgeot was scarier.”

Paul nodded his head. “We’re with you, Sarah. No matter what.”

It felt good to hear them say that, but it didn’t settle my thoughts.

“What about the hundreds of millions of people?” I asked.

“What about them?” John said.

“Well, they will die in the years it takes to manufacture a cure,” I said.

John shrugged, but Paul looked troubled.

“It’s true that if you sacrificed yourself, you’d be saving a lot of people,” Paul said. “But that doesn’t make your life any less worthwhile. You have as much a right to live as anyone else. You are a living, thinking, and loving being. It’s… wrong to take any sentient life.”

He glanced at his medical monitors, which beeped periodically. “Besides,” he said, “it’s not like everyone will die. We can ration your neural fluid, create doses of the cure in amounts that won’t kill you. Since your own body will regenerate those cells over time, we can produce it continually until the breeding program takes off.”

“See Sarah,” John said, “even if you don’t die, you can still help people. Just give the cure to the people who need it most or something.”

I shook my head. “John, there are thousands of people who are at Stage IV. I can create, what, 40 or 50 doses of the cure now? How do we decide who gets the cure? How do we pick who lives and who dies?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, Sarah. Pick the good ones?”

“And how do you define who is good?” I asked.

John rolled his eyes, shaking his head in frustration. “Blast it. I don’t know. Maybe they can let a bunch of geniuses figure it out. It doesn’t matter, Sarah.”

“You’re right,” I said, sighing. “It doesn’t matter. I’d only be saving a small fraction of those dying, the winners of a life-or-death lottery.”

John scowled and looked away. Paul tilted his head.

“Sarah, do you want to die?” he asked.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I like living, I think. Well, other than the last few days, life has been fun. I… cherish the time we’ve spent together.”

I turned to look at him, again seeing his slightly pale skin, his monitors connected by cords to his body sensors, and the dripping IV. I remembered how he looked, lying in bed, before the cure, seeming more corpse than boy. I remembered him bleeding red upon smooth stone as I failed to lift him. I remembered his frailty.

But I also remembered how he bravely faced a Feral so that John and I could defeat it. How he took a chance to befriend and understand me, despite his fear of Pokemon. How he held tightly to his dream to become a Pokemon trainer.

I looked at John. I remembered how he found me after Uncle Joe’s funeral and gave me a sandwich. I remembered how he shared with me the stars and his story. I remembered how he fought to save Paul and me, risking his life in the face of terrible danger.

If he had to, John would sacrifice himself to save us. Because he cared about us.

Because he loved me.

And that was my answer.

I loved John for his happy, if idiotic optimism and warmth. I loved Paul for his bravery and intelligence despite his weaknesses. I loved Professor Peter for carrying on Uncle Joe’s research despite opposition. I loved Uncle Joe for raising me even though I was just an experiment.

And that, if I had the choice, I’d die before I’d let any harm come to them.

There were thousands, millions, hundreds of millions of people just like them. Teachers. Professors. Trainers. Fathers. Sons. Daughters. Mothers. Brothers. Sisters. Friends. Husbands. Wives. Children. People who laughed and cried as much as any of us. Each with a story and each with a heart. Each with Love.

And I was the only one who could save them.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “There’s only one choice I can make. I must die.”

Paul frowned, but nodded. He knew what I was thinking. John leapt up.

“What! No! Sarah, you can’t do that,” he said.

He stared into my eyes, pleading with me.

I wanted to make him understand. I had to.

“John, you love me right?” I said. That shocked him when I said it so directly, but he recovered quickly.

“I do.”

“And I love you,” I added, blushing slightly. “And I know that you would do anything to protect me from harm, even die.”

“Yes, but-“

“John, that’s how I feel about you,” I said. “And that’s how I feel about this situation. I have the chance to save everyone, just as I’ve saved Paul. And just as I love you and you love me, as we love Paul and Peter and Uncle Joe, so do these people have those they love and care for. That they are just like you and me, cherished in the hearts of others. And the death of any one of them would hurt all of those around them.”

I gripped John’s paw with my own.

“I can stop it, John. I can stop the virus. I can save these people. Please, you have to understand.” I stared deeply into his beautiful eyes.

“I-“ he said. “I… I do, Sarah. I do. There… There’s just gotta be another way.”

I shook my head. “There isn’t, John,” I said. “There isn’t. I’m sorry. I have to do this. I have to save them.”



Chapter 22

My decision settled all debate among the scientists and researchers. I would sacrifice myself, willingly, to save everyone.

Some wanted to throw some grand ceremony to honor me. I only wanted privacy. And I wanted to undergo the procedure soon, before I lost my nerve. Every second seemed both a waste and a gift, a second given to me in exchange for a second lost for hundreds of others.

And then, it was time.

I stood at the bottom of a metal staircase that rose into a special operation room set up by Professor Peter in a special laboratory. He and a team of doctors and assistants would remove the fluid. And… that would be it.

John and Paul, recently released from the hospital, stood next to me, my honor guards.

“You can still change your mind,” Paul said.

“No, I want to do this,” I replied.

He nodded, as if expecting that answer. “Good luck,” he said.

I turned to John.

“Sarah…” he began. Before he could finish, I kissed him.

“Thank you,” I said as I pulled away, blushing furiously. John was blushing too and Paul was staring at the ceiling.

“I love you,” John said, still a little surprised.

“I know.”

A door opened above and Professor Peter stepped onto the top of the stairs. “Sarah, we’re ready for you now,” he said.

I hugged Paul, then John.

“John, you better keep training so you can protect Paul,” I said. “He’s going to need a strong starter with all the Ferals out there.”

“I will,” John said.

“Paul,” I said, turning to face him, “when you get out there, you have to help John find his parents. No matter what.”

He nodded.

I smiled, looking at them, burning the image into my mind for as long as I had left.

“Well guys, it’s been a blast. See you on the other side.”

Then I turned towards the stairs and ascended.



Grader Information

Spoiler:

Attempted Captures: Ninetales (Complex) and Ivysaur (Complex)
Character Count: ~100,778

If you liked the story, or just want to say hello, please leave a comment. I'd love to know your thoughts!

*crosses self*

Reserved although it may take a day or two.

Introduction: I really love your introduction. You capture the essence of the story right off the bat, describing the scientists using a series of lovely and insulting metaphors without ever really specifying who they are, which makes the reader want to read more. We don't learn that they're actually careless scientists until the end of your introduction, and then it's only implied when Sarah, our narrator and main character, introduces herself with her an experiment number before using her actual name.

So then the introduction ends, but we've just now been introduced to Sarah. We know where she comes from, what the people are like there, and we know some of the words she would use to define herself, but other then that she is a complete enigma. We're intrigued. We want to learn more about this mystery character who has a serial number and comes from a lab.

Plot: When we jump into the plot, you have an interesting idea right off the bat- a fire-type Pokémon that can't use fire. Again, one of the things that makes this so very awesome is the fact that it's implied, not stated outright. I think that's one of the best features of this story.

Then we get to a long part of story that's mostly exposition, but it stays somewhat interesting because it's scientific. More often then not, the reasoning behind Pokémon stories is some sort of magic. In this one it's a real crisis, and they're trying to utilize science to stop it. You also do great explaining why and how they are attempting to do this, so there's not really any big plot holes here or anything.

You kind of just glaze over the death of Professor Joe. I mean, you have a scene at his funeral, but the sickness and death itself is dismissed in a single sentence. The story is long already, but I think this is one part that you could definitely have talked more about. It would have the story a serious emotional punch for Sarah to see the man that's basically her father dying and know that he was dying of something that he had been trying to use her to cure, and she had failed. But the story already has a massive emotional impact later on, so you don't have to worry about that too much.

It's so pretty ;.; The ending feels sort of anticlimactic, but that makes it so much better. No guns, no explosions, just one heroic life quietly and willingly snuffed out for the greater good.

I don't exactly understand why only Sarah can produce the cure, and why John can't. The story doesn't explain this particular detail very well either, with John sort of just brushing it off. It doesn't make much sense, because Sarah did become the cure when she evolved- that was seemingly the only reason that she became the cure- but John didn't when he evolved, so that's never really discussed. I would actually have avoided this by just not having John evolve in the story, although it looks like you'd have to have an Ivysaur in there somewhere since it's one of your target Pokémon.

Grammar: There's a couple of bits of dialogue that should have commas, like this one:

"Yes Paul."

There should be a comma right in the middle, because there needs to be one whenever you use an exclamation (like yes) at the start of the sentence.

Sarah also speaks very officially at times, almost regally. While none of this is technically wrong, it's certainly weird, because she's a Pokémon. She shouldn't technically be able to speak at all. I can imagine a few possible reasons for this (my personal favorite is that she just thinks that that's the correct way to say things, because Human isn't her native language), but it's never addressed in the story so the reader is just left to wonder about it.

Description: It was really, really good. My favorite descriptions were the ones when Sarah described what it was like to use Fire attacks, and she talked about the fire inside of her and how it felt. Here's my favorite one:

The fire grew, like a hearth receiving new logs. It expanded to fill the entirely of my being from my nose to my tail. It flooded my senses. I saw hot cinders, smelled the burning of wood, tasted boiling water, and heard the crackle of flames. I felt the entirety of who I was burn up into ashes; the fine dust scattered into a strong wind.

In that one paragraph, you touch on all five senses and make the reader experience what your character is experiencing. That's really great and its basically what all authors strive for in order to get their readers invested in the stories that they're reading.

Length: I'll be honest. I didn't even put this monster into my character counter. I think it's plenty long enough just from looking. And reading....so much reading.... This is the first story on here that I've ever read that was divided into both parts and chapters.

Verdict: In conclusion, this is a seriously long and epic story, complete with the whole Freytag's Pyramid of plot development. It's sweet, emotional, and just generally great to read.

Well, I have no idea why you didn't go for the basic forms of Ninetails and Ivysaur, since Vulpix and Bulbasaur are both in this story, other then you could and you didn't want to bother with basics. But anyways, my job is to tell you whether they caught, and they absolutely did.

Graded, deleted, and sent to author for WWC.