Rage against the dying of the light (w-a-r)

Clang!

I was off today. Unbelievable. They called me a machine! I was supposed to be automatic, but The Machine doesn’t shoot 0-for-7 on three-pointers, and all of them bricks to boot. Nah. I was letting the team down.

“Yo! Get your head in the game, man!” shouted my teammate, throwing an arm at my general direction in indignation. In that moment, his man saw the opportunity, and vanished in a crossover; suddenly, he was at the rim for an uncontested layup. Game point: shirts were up 20–19, and another bucket would win it for them. Shoulders slumped, and a crossfire of dirty glances laid blame upon everyone equally.

Dysfunction: Undefeated, in pick-up basketball.

“Time! We need time!” says my point guard, calling us into a huddle. And so we went, dazed and confused, skin on skin. It was night, and street lights threw a disparate brightness against the time-worn court. A light breeze made our exhaustion that much more striking.

Our point shouted some good ol' sports clichés — we must come together! in the face of adversity! — and then turned to me specifically.

“Mulli, man, you’re our best shooter. We can still win this, right now, with a shot from deep. But you gotta get your shot straight. You aren’t shooting like you right now. You got this, man!”

Yeah. Yeah! “Yeah!!”

We advanced the ball. I was spotting in the weak-side corner, as our point guard ran a pick-and-roll with his center up top. Like clockwork, the defense collapsed inwards to help on the initial action, and our center found me wide open with the pass. I loaded up, bringing the ball to my shoulders in a perfect right angle, and let that thing go. Game-winner…

Clang! The ball caught front rim and ricocheted deep into the backcourt, over the half-court line, bouncing dejectedly like the big disappointment it was. The rest of my ream stared daggers, aaaaand there goes hope.

The ball rolled over to the far side of the court, and clanged again.

“Yo! Send the ball back, b!” said one of the players on the other team, calling towards the robot at the opposite baseline.

The robot paused for a moment, then bent down to pick the ball up. Then its facial display monitor lit up with mischief, and mechanical joints clicked into place as the robot heaved a full-court jumper.

A chorus of YOOOOOOOOOs crescendoed as the ball caught net and net only. Players ran at the robot to offer dap, yelling over each other in excitement (“Count that shit! Count it!” “Move over, Mulli, we got a new Machine!”), and the robot stood motionless — holding its follow-through in celebration and swagger.

These were the V.I.K.I.N.G.s.

***​

Spoiler

this is a story of hope and struggle and hate and love and the military industrial complex

it's not done yet but i think posting it will force me to finish it because it'll look real shameful if i get lazy now

Prompt: Mecha // Alternate Universe // Pokemon/Human, Together but Separate
Pokemon: Litwick
Characters: 34,591/30,000

***​

About seven months ago, after the election of the 45th American president, a comet struck Earth carrying fantastic beasts that would change the world. We called them Pokemon, but we never ended up learning much about them other than that they were imbued with powers that we weren’t prepared for — control over the physical, spiritual and elemental realm. When the Memphis Incident happened, we had no chance of defending ourselves.

It was the second week after the impact event. Up until then, mostly minor skirmishes between people and Pokemon had been reported. People were apprehensive, of course, but nobody really knew what to make of the situation yet. The first real defining moment came when a Pokemon, retroactively named Electrode, caused an explosion in suburban Memphis that led to the deaths of about 80 people.

We didn’t know what to do; we had no way to regulate Pokemon. With our authority subverted, all that remained was force. To 45’s credit, he sprung to action. He advocated for the need to militarize in the face of this new threat, and his inauguration was expedited so that he could officially provide the arms industry the legal and financial latitude they needed to ramp up our weapons technology, and fast. Within a month, the V.I.K.I.N.G.s were institutionalized as our national — and now, worldwide — protectors against Pokemon. They hang around.

“You’ve gotta join in on the next run,” I said, slipping my foot out of basketball sneakers and into slides. “I bet we could run a mean pick-and-roll. How’s your passing?”

“You already know, I got next,” the V.I.K.I.N.G. unit said, in the dulcet tones of Morgan Freeman’s voice. (Focus groups responded favorably to the hire of Morgan Freeman replacing the artificially voiced text-to-speech system.) “High five!”

The V.I.K.I.N.G. slapped its hand against mine, its joints allowing a soft rattle at the collision. Man and metal, in harmony. A blast shield built of polycarbonate covered the L.E.D. monitor that, ostensibly, was a face; only the yellow glow of two eyes and a digital smile shone through. Mauve plating protected its inner hardware, leaving a 7-foot metal man to the world’s devices. I don’t know what V.I.K.I.N.G. stood for, something to do with Intervention and Intelligence or maybe Investigation but definitely Veteran and Guardian.

I called a goodbye to the guys still shooting on the court and slung a duffle bag over my shoulder.

“Name’s Mulligan,” I said to the V.I.K.I.N.G., shaking its hand. “I’ll catch you around.”

“See ya,” it said back, eyes glimmering at me.

***​

I left the court, pushing open the chain-link gate that connected to the outside world. Here, it was dim: without the need for sporting illumination, the street was rendered in a sleepier amber. It was a little past 9'o clock, and a weekday on top of that, so people were beginning to turn in for the night. And I had to get home, too.

A tree rustled overhead. The leaves were harder to make out in the darkness.

‘Twick!

A flickering light threw itself against the shadows.

I stopped. Ahead of me, bouncing up and down in annoyance, was a small Pokemon — small enough that I likely wouldn’t have seen it at all, were it not for the purple flame dancing on its head. The flame cast its light upon the Pokemon, a little white blob of thing with two stubby arms and a single yellow eye poking out from underneath the folds on its head; it also illuminated a strangler, in the form of plastic six-pack rings entangled around the Pokemon’s body. Caught in one of the loops, the Pokemon hopped madly in an effort to shake itself free. Then, it saw me and stopped as well.

We locked eyes, and here, I had no idea what to do. For a few moments that felt like many more, we just looked at each other. Just two idiots, trying to figure out what comes next.

“Litwick?”

The Pokemon’s flame wavered, dimming down for a second. Then it exploded, throwing a burst of embers in my direction.

“Hey! Help me!” I shouted, swinging my bag at the flames. I can’t believe it. I was caught in a wild Pokemon attack.

“Litwick, the Candle Pokemon. While shining a light and pretending to be a guide, it leeches off the life force of any who follow it.”

With a thud, the V.I.K.I.N.G. landed in front of me, blocking the flames with its body. This was its job, of course. Because Pokemon were so diverse in nature and type of power, the V.I.K.I.N.G.s were manufactured with proprietary adaptive armor which made their mission possible. A wondrous and almost impossibly sudden innovation in engineering, to be sure, but they always say adversity (and aggressive investment in the military-industrial complex) brings out the best in us.

Litwick cried out. The Pokemon tried hopping back, but tripped over the six-pack loops and collapsed in a bundle. Of course, it was afraid. Pokemon had grown to realize that against the V.I.K.I.N.G.s, they couldn’t win.

“Stand back, citizen,” said the robot, devoid of its usual emotion. “I have been given the authority to terminate this Pokemon for your safety.”

And with full force, it put its foot down. The last glimmer of light in the night was stamped out with a squoosh, the sound of insides and certainty.

“Return to your home. Everything is under control.”

***​

I lived a block from the basketball court. Still mostly in shock, I fumbled the key into the front door.

In some part of my body, I felt relief. I’m home now. Mostly though, I was confused, and probably that was just some kind of syndrome, because who can watch a death and come out feeling peachy? But I saw insides, literally splayed to the world. There’s something in that, not innocent, I guess, but surely intimate. I saw your life end, the image, sounds, smells of which weren’t going to fade any time soon. I almost felt bad.

What any of these feelings mean, I don’t know, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. Guilt is for the living, and the dead just die.

I turned the light on, and it was only after I hit the switch but before the light came on, in that frozen moment, when I saw the flicker that glimmered in the dark.

“Litwick!”

On my coffee table stood my conscience, or maybe my penance, back from the dead and bouncing on a Blackstar vinyl. Ah, shit.

The Litwick jumped at me, and I swear, I died. It tackled me right in the chest, bowling me into the floor, and I don’t know if I had shut my eyes or if panic had driven me into sensory overload. I saw nothing, or maybe everything. It was too much. I could feel my heart bouncing out of my chest…

A few seconds passed. Time soothed the senses, but my heart was still throttling. My sight returned, and some curiosity, and some balls, and then I realized it was never about my heart after all. The Litwick was jumping on my chest, smiling and giggling and looking at me. I don’t know what the hell was going on.

“But you’re dead?”

I watched Litwick die. There was no ambiguity to this fact, and yet, it was being challenged before me. How can I reconcile this discrepancy? The living form, unsquooshed. I wanted to black out, but part of me was too afraid for that. Would I see the light again?

Litwick leaned in, licking at my cheek with a gentle heat. Everything turned purple as its flame cast a pall over my eyes.

And then we just lied there on my living room floor, me on my back with my arms outstretched and not a clue of what to do, and Litwick staring at me thinking some unknowable thing.

How are you alive? What are you doing here? What is happening, right now?

I grabbed control of Litwick. Mostly to do something to make something happen, not really having in mind a specific what. I mean, it could’ve been way worse, but Litwick didn’t attack. It didn’t seem like it was going to, although why exactly, I don’t know. It just went limp in my hands, letting me carry it. Now I stood, there with a dump of Pokemon in my hands.

Well, maybe we can just get over this. I walked over to the door, hoping to throw out Litwick like you would a cat. But as soon as I reached for the doorknob, Litwick yelped and wriggled free, bouncing back to the coffee table in a mad dash. I tried again, but the same thing happened. It wouldn’t go outside.

And now it’s just late as hell, and I’m tired. Fine. You’ve worn me down.

A box of old things was laid off to the side. I yanked out a brass candlestick and plopped Litwick down into the cup.

“You stay here tonight,” I said. And then I went to my room, and then I blacked out.

***​

“Deerling!”

I fucking screamed, and then so did Deerling. The Pokemon jumped back, crossing its legs over and collapsing in a heap. Looking up at me with huge, baleful eyes, it almost seemed to be asking, What the hell, man?

THAT’S. HOW. I. FELT.

All around me, Pokemon were watching. Like, my bedroom was filled. There must have been a dozen of the creatures crowded around my bed, or maybe double that. There was a Pokemon on my sheets, nestled between my legs. There was a Pokemon flying in circles above my head. Deerling, the little pink deer-looking one, got up and slowly approached me. Finally, it licked my face, and then I realized that same sensation had woken me up in the first place.

Litwick emerged from the crowd and hopped up on to my chest.

“Litwick! Litwick!” It smiled radiantly at me.

I bolted, jumping out of my bed and running through Pokemon to get to the door. For a moment, I saw myself running ass naked, then I realized that I hadn’t even changed out of my sweaty basketball clothes before passing out last night.

The candlestick stood on the coffee table, exactly where I’d left it last night. Right next to Blackstar, on top of which I’d seen Litwick in my house for the first time last night. My back door was swung open, which I guess explained… all of the Pokemon.

They had followed me out of my bedroom, walking on two legs or four legs or hopping on one or flying. They came in different sizes and shapes; as a crowd, they folded in on themselves into one psychedelic gradient. I wanted to pass out again.

“You guys need to get out,” I said, weakly, but pointing at the door. Of course, the Pokemon didn’t get out. They just looked at me.

I grabbed Deerling around its body and tried to drag it outside, but as we neared the door, it clamped its feet down and pulled against me. It cried aloud, looking at me, and then it broke free, running back to its friends.

A drop of sweat rolled down my head. Why wouldn’t these guys leave? Then I remembered, and it felt kind of obvious after that, how I saw Litwick crushed under a V.I.K.I.N.G.’s foot last night. The Pokemon were scared.

It was reflected in their eyes — they didn’t want to go outside. That seemed to be the only thing here. They weren’t attacking me, and if they had wanted to, they had had all night to do so. I guess that was how things were going to be, then.

“Alright. Whatever. You guys can stay,” I said, crumpling into my couch. It’s not even 8 a.m. yet; these are qualifiable Too Early For This Shit hours.

The Pokemon cheered, and Litwick hopped up into my lap.

“Okay, little thing. Introduce me to your friends?”

***​

There was Deerling. There was Growlithe, the tiger-striped puppy that had balled up on my bed earlier. There was Tranquill, the pigeon that flew in lazy circles over my head. There was Graveler, a big ol’ rock with four arms. There was Magneton (three eyed magnets — not three-eyed) and Piloswine (a tusked lump) and Jigglypuff (pink). It was only by the grace of god that they knew how to say their own names back at me.

Great. So what’s next?

I took a sip of coffee. The first of many that would be needed this morning, probably. Jigglypuff was curled up next to me, basically a fat couch pillow. I’d put out a dish of milk, which Growlithe and Deerling were lapping from. Magneton just watched. (Weird.)

And all of these Pokemon were hanging out in my living room, which was really only big enough to accommodate a copy editor’s salary. Am I supposed to feed these guys, or watch over them, or anything? I’ve never had a pet before. Even if I did, there probably wouldn’t have been any translatable experiences. These were wild Pokemon, and wild Pokemon could attack me. They could attack my neighbour. For this, I would be held responsible, and over nothing else other than my sanity. This was beyond dumb, to the point of selfishness. I know.

Who’s to say whether or not it’s worth it?

“So what do you guys want?” I asked. “You guys really can’t stay here forever. If the V.I.K.I.N.G.s catch me with a stable of Pokemon in my living room…”

The Pokemon were looking at me now, with some apprehension. (Except for Magneton, which just looked ahead blankly.)

That thought, actually, had just occurred to me. If I was caught harboring Pokemon, they’d really throw the book at me. They’d drag me away to some dust-bag prison where I’d rot for the rest of my life, milking goats for Whole Foods or something.

Litwick hopped into my lap and trilled. The happy was glowing from its face and dripping from innocuous eyes. It was a targeted assault upon my conscience; this damn thing knew I couldn’t kick them out.

More coffee. To deal with this pounding headache and unwanted dilemma.

“You guys can’t stay here. I know that much.”

But that’s not a solution.

“Litwick!”

Well, something has to give.

“How about this?” I asked, speaking to the crowd like a damn presidential address. Eyes bored into me, but it was the presence of lives weighing on every word I said that applied the pressure. “I have a place. A cabin. Out of town, by the lake. I can take you guys up, and leave it be for you. You should be safe there. That good?”

This seemed to satisfy the Pokemon, who exchanged communal glances and nods and grunts and BZZTs. Of course, I don’t know how this works, but the V.I.K.I.N.G.s were at least mostly concentrated around places where humans lived, for reasons of security. They played defense. I don’t know how aggressive they were in search and destroy — and even at this, I realized that no matter how things look on that front now, they were only bound to get more proactive. But I can only worry about so much, right?

I’ll do what I can, but then they’re out of my hair. After that, it’s their work.

Litwick turned to me and squealed an afffirmative. (I think?)

“Great. Road trip.”

***​

I’ll be the first to admit, I didn’t think this all the way through. In my defense, it’s still just 10 a.m, barely.

When we got to the car, we realized there would be an issue getting all of these Pokemon to actually fit inside, and especially without being able to be seen by patrolling V.I.K.I.N.G.s or pedestrians who might call us in to them. Now, conveniently, I drive a Prius, so it’s actually pretty spacious for a compact car. And it’s a hybrid, so it gets great gas mileage!

We folded down the rear seats and stuffed in Graveler, Piloswine and Magneton to start. They took up most of the room, but they were also the largest Pokemon by far, so once we got that handled, things were okay. Space got tighter once Deerling and Tranquill squeezed in, but we made it work, even if there wasn’t really any wiggle room. Growlithe and Jigglypuff split shotgun, which looked like much more comfortable— Jigglypuff’s body yielded space easily, on account of being a blob as good as any armrest. With Litwick plopped into my cupholder and some old pillowcases hung up as de facto privacy curtains, we were ready to go.

When we eased out of the garage at the start of the drive, the Prius had buckled gently under all of this unfamiliar weight, but a few hours in now and she was humming along like nothing else was wrong, damnit. WORKHORSE. We’d made it out of the city without incident, and on to a stretch off the highway heading nowhere, mostly, but for us the lake. Only campers and similar went this way, but you don’t pass many of them on the road. We’re looking home safe.

“You all good back there?” I’m not sure what I expected.

“Magneton!” No idea what that means, but the moment passed without another, so I guessed no drama. Not looking forward to the mess that Graveler was going to leave behind, though.

The trees passed by, tall and thick as a group and the deep shade of green that lets you know that you’re really out here. There were only two lanes on this road, because it only needed two lanes. An untouched yellow line split the pavement, probably not because it was freshly painted over, but instead because it never really saw anybody driving over it.

A deer jumped the road from the right side, with great big antlers that turned to me and locked eyes. Oh yeah, that’s a Pokemon too.

Pretty quickly, a laser beam came to confirm that, following up the Pokemon from behind the trees. A V.I.K.I.N.G. staggered out, with a few scratches peeling away at the purple of its plating and its hand folded back over its wrist to reveal a cannon. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a V.I.K.I.N.G. initiate its weapon system in front of me before. Ah, shit.

The V.I.K.I.N.G. turned to the car, curious or blank yellow eyes gauging us, staring directly at us, right through the windshield. Pillowcases were no help then. There was a frozen moment in time, where you could almost sense the gears clacking in its head to interpret this new situation — a chilling sensation — and you thought, just maybe, somehow, it was going to let you by. Divine intervention, working at the level of source code to mete out mercy.

But then the machine’s eyes flashed red, in anger or hate or actually probably alarm, and then it trained its cannon-wrist on us. Boom: Laser beam. The last thing I heard were the cries of Pokemon, before everything was extinguished to black.

“Litwick!”

***​

Scant rays of the world returned to me, in a great flash of colors and motion and other grandiose sensations. It was illegible, though, until my vision returned in full and my brain phased out the clutter. I’d blacked out.

And I’d awoken to this, which seemed to be some kind of absurdist battlefield stretched out in panoramic detail, but this was real life, I think. There were five, maybe six V.I.K.I.N.G.s, engaging in laser-beamed combat with more types of Pokemon than you could imagine all at once. Dragons flew circles around the robots, wrapping them up in ribbons of flame. Blasts of water and electricity flew in the periphery; elsewhere, other Pokemon made of steel or earth or muscle engaged in physical exchanges with the V.I.K.I.N.G.s.

I checked my watch. 10:18 a.m. I’d been out just minutes, 15 at most.

Litwick popped its head over my head, looking down at me with concern. What I noticed first was the gash on its forehead, a real gnarly disfigurement staining the image dark red. Then I realized I was bleeding too, from cuts and bruises everywhere.

The car was behind me, and I guess somehow, I was flung or removed to a distance of 20 feet from where the car was now. It’s hardly that any more, though. My Prius was just a mangled piece of metal, the chassis twisted to shapes that tore at themselves. What looked like the trunk was some way over there. And then there were bodies. Deerling, bent in ways even an unfamiliar body clearly shouldn’t bend. Magneton, decoupled of its shared link and probably from existence at large. Growlithe, nearly bloodied beyond recognition.

This was awful.

I could see Piloswine, launching a beam of ice at a V.I.K.I.N.G. with such force that flaps of blubber over its eyes were being thrown back; even still, it couldn’t force the machine to a halt without the added help of another Pokemon, a freaky yellow spider chucking bolts of lightning. It took a third, waltzing over with cannons emerging from a tortoiseshell, to swing the battle.

One fell, and then another, and slowly the V.I.K.I.N.G.s were taken out as Pokemon arrived in droves. They came to help, but it was impossible to ignore the cost. Some had already fallen, and others were beaten and bruised. It was an ugly sight, only returned to us by a steely look of determination to every eye.

I was shook. I was shaking. I was fucking mad, and I don’t even know about what specifically, other than everything I was seeing in front of me. But I couldn’t put in words yet. Sensory overload game still strong.

And we had no time for that, anyway. The last V.I.K.I.N.G. dropped, and then a general understanding was realized. It’s time to go. Before the next ones catch up. Litwick hopped on to my shoulder and called out.

“Twick, litwick!”

An orange dragon with a tail on fire swooped down to land in front of us. Bending a wing to the ground, it invited us to climb on.

Around us, Pokemon helped each other likewise, with the small and dependent embarking on the winged, the fast and the fantastic.

***​

We were flying, close to the ground, but flying nonetheless. We skimmed treetops, but hung close to the road — enough to see the horizon, but also enough to form a pack with the ground-bound taking the easiest terrain.

This was a damn convoy of Pokemon, and I was riding a damn dragon. Really really really though.

“Charizard,” grunted the Pokemon, and every beat of its wing hit with a loud thump befitting the sheer presence of the thing. It left a trail of embers in the wind, and folded tiny arms and legs in to torpedo through the headwind. I rode on its shoulders, and Litwick rode on mine.

Around us, something like ten to fifteen other fliers shared the airspace, and a good number more took the road. We probably totalled something from 30 to 50, but at that point, you’re really just guessing. Jigglypuff clung to Tranquill, breezing in the wind. I could see Graveler below, its four arms clamped around the back of the same spider that threw electric webs at V.I.K.I.N.G.s earlier, but now reappropriated that talent towards swinging from tree to tree. Likewise, other Pokemon found their own way of keeping up. Most ran, some hovered, and I even saw one, a Pokemon dark as night with wicked red eyes and a grin as large as its face, moving through shadows.

The alterity of it was incredible. I was with Pokemon, but as I looked, each one had characteristics twice as inspired as the next. “With Pokemon” did shame to the scene, a workaday production line of a phrase, but how many of our words could properly describe this? Each one was a butterfly, or a unicorn, and that was something inherent to that which was truly marvelous, that made me feel like I could fly. Of course, right now I was. On gotdamn dragonback.

And this thought would be worth so much more if it didn’t remind me of all the bodies we’d left behind, each as unique in biology, but now just a shell robbed of themselves. Like wilted petals.

We continued, and from here, I could see the lake emerging from the fringes of the horizon. We continued, but why our destination remained our destination was beyond me.

“You can’t hide now, you know,” I said, to no one in particular. “They know where you are now, and sooner or later, there are going to be more of them on us than there are of you. And they’re killers. They’ll get you. You don’t have hope… So what’s the goal anymore?”

There was no acknowledgment of this question, but I didn’t expect any. I don’t know the answer — nobody did — but I guess we already knew. We’ll go where we were going to, like we said we would, and then we’ll regroup. We’ll struggle, and that’s not a solution, but if we dedicate to it, maybe it could be the answer.

How did we end up here? That question could be asked on two fronts, really, because somehow our little Prius road trip turned into a small-scale Fury Road, and at some point along that path, me and I turned into we and us. I don’t really know how that happened, but again, I had a feeling of it. It was beyond wordage, embedded in the visceral, still not really an answer, but at least enough impetus to keep going.

I guess that’s the funny thing about answers, is that the right questions can be left without them. The truth will be forever mined.

“Stop!”

A tinny, electronic voice called out. A human’s.

Descending on us from behind was a helicopter, with a little man dressed in blue holding a loudspeaker leaning out. There were two more helicopters strategically dispersed to the flank, and flanking them were more V.I.K.I.N.G.s than I could count. There were dozens, easily, flying through the air with boot thrusters. They might’ve called in every unit in the state that could get here in time for this, to lock down a numbers advantage.

Plastered to the front of each helicopter were four blocky letters in white. SWAT.

“Put your hands in the air!” they yelled, and other such banalities. And when I didn’t, and when we kept going, they opened fire. Bullets, assault rifles, laser beams, and other ammunitions of that nature.

The Pokemon scattered, peeling off into the forest for cover.

“Char!” Charizard weaved between trees, way too graceful for its power. Yet somehow, even in this, it cranked its head back to give us a wink. We’re gonna be alright.

“Litwick!” said the Pokemon, urging faith and encouragement.

Helicopters passed above us and one nearby began dropping soldiers thick with gear. The heavy clunk of V.I.K.I.N.G.s landing were like mortar impacts, and the sounds of combat ensued. Vicious, but also sad and doomed.

A V.I.K.I.N.G. poked its head out in front of us, but we only saw the gleam of its eye-lights for a second before Charizard dropped a fireball on its head and quite literally flew through it. The machine was flung to the trees, and we continued abated.

Not bad, Pokemon.

Bullets were cascading down on the trees, from helicopter gunners above. There were soldiers below us, from here just little men stuck to the ground, but they carried very big guns. Assault rifles, grenade launchers, and other badstuffs out of a Call of Duty wet dream. We could fly over them. But the other Pokemon, the ones travelling by land, had less luck. We flew over them too, and they could do nothing about it except for run or fight, and really either one circled back to the other.

Escape? We were just trying to duck skirmishes. Who knew how far we’d have to go to save our lives, and fighting was probably going to be an inevitable part of that process.

Then a stray bullet laced Litwick, the Pokemon cried out, Charizard twisted its head back reflexively, and so one thing led to another, leaving us dead in the water when a large metal arm dropped us from the sky.

We tumbled. It hurt. Catastrophe: Inevitable.

Branches gave way to a little clearing. We crash-landed, but there was no respite to be found here. Three V.I.K.I.N.G.s emerged from the trees around us, with a single SWAT officer following. I got the sense that there should be something profound in this moment, with this guy and I in this situation surrounding by Pokemon and robots, but one look and I could see in the steel of his eyes that there was nothing to talk about or anything shared between us.

Litwick was bleeding out in my hands, its flame nearly burnt out. This shit sucks! Imagine escaping death one time, and then going through it all again in less than a day.

They called at us to surrender, but I didn’t really hear it. I looked at Charizard, who looked back, but there was nothing either of us could do for Litwick in this situation. There might not really be anything either of us could do for us.

Somewhere far away, the sound of an explosion rang out. Charizard looked up, curious, or maybe just out of reflex. At this, though, they started firing.

Bullets and lasers punctured Charizard’s body, ripping holes in its wings and skewering it all over. That image probably explained best the same sensation that I felt.

***​

Am I dead?

You’re dying.

Well, that, at least, should be a given.

But wait, who’s… speaking?

Hi, Mulligan! I’m so happy to finally speak with you! It took too long…

Who?

…especially after you saved my life the first time, and now you might do it again.

Wait, is this…

I’m Litwick!

…

I’m sure you have many questions. Let me give you the explainer: one of my natural abilities is to feed off the life force of others around me. As you near death and your connection with reality becomes fuzzy, you latch on to a much more fundamental sense of consciousness. Basically, this is when you’re most attuned to your soul, because really, it’s your last tether to life at this point. It’s kind of like, your energy has been pushed to the brink, to a place where all of those higher planes of existence have closed themselves off to you. Now you’re here, in this space, and it just happens happens that I have a certain mobility here.

Oh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but yeah. You’re dying. Sorry, fam.

So when you said I saved your life earlier, is this kind of thing what you were talking about?

That’s right. From the moment we met on that first night, I attached myself to your life force. The V.I.K.I.N.G. attacked me, thinking it killed me, but I could pull myself back. You, basically, were my anchor.

I mean, even the humans know a bit about my ability to do this. The V.I.K.I.N.G. said it aloud when it scanned me the first time. I’m lucky, I guess, that it didn’t know the extent of what it was talking about, but it’s honestly scary how fast you guys are able to analyze what threatens you.

Well, that’s… factual. I guess we’re good at some things, like guns and killer robots.

Oh yeah. I’m lucky I found you.

If there’s one thing I never understood all along, it’s how I got wrapped up in all of this. With all of you. You found me, but… why me?

It had to be you. That’s why I’m so lucky. You know, I can tap into anyone’s life force, but the connection itself usually isn’t worth much of anything. With other Pokemon, I can maybe heal from some nicks faster, get a better night’s sleep. With humans, it’s basically a cup of coffee. But you’re different, and that was obvious when we met.

Most other Pokemon can’t do this, by the way. So I guess it had to be us.

There’s nothing special about us. I am incredibly ordinary. Hey, you’re inches tall, and I saw you earlier, you didn’t do shit in that battle. (Shit, no offense though.)

But it’s got nothing to do with that! Consider where we are. The fact that I’m here means I know you. Your life force is a very simple thing, but it’s strong, and it’s overflowing with a very basic emotional goodness. You’re pure and you’re optimistic in a world where everything is violent. You think people don’t see that, but they do.

Think about it. Think about that policeman at the end. What do you want?

…

I want them to see you the way I do.

THERE. YOU. GO. It’s the moments of clarity that define us! Look, nobody knows about anybody, least of all themselves, but somebody who knows what they aren’t knows best what they should be.

You care, and you’ll do something about it. That’s all I care about. And those other Pokemon saw it in you too.

That’s great. It’s awesome. But what, I’m dead now? Even if I would do it, there’s nothing I can do now, after everything that’s happened. The dead don’t do shit.

So was any of it worth it?

That’s for you to decide. I’m not taking responsibility for your decisions.

You can still back out now, if that’s how you feel. I can return my share of your life force to you, and send you back to the world of the living while I move on. This, too, is your choice. It’s your life.

…

But I’ll say this. The soul is carried on, after it dies. And I don’t mean this in some hippy-dippy spiritual sense. I’m talking about real life. You die, but you live on in what you’ve done. Nobody ever thinks they’ve done anything, but it’s the little things that count. What you mean to those who knew you.

I’ll tell you one more thing, too, is that if you send me back now, I won’t fail you. Our struggle, if that’s what it is to you, doesn’t stop here. It’s just getting started. And I won’t let you die for nothing, and I won’t let those other Pokemon forget it, either. We know what you started, fighting for us. The world will know about this.

Well, it sounds like you know the answer.

I think you do, too.

But how can you promise anything? Things are pretty rough up there, in the real world. If you fight again, you might just die again. All you have are hopes.

Hopes, and a bit of magic. Do you trust me yet?

 

Finished! Information for the grader is available in a spoiler about 3,000 characters into the story (excluded from character count).

Would love an extensive grade, or something close to it, if anyone has the time and interest for it.

 

nab ^^

 

tried to go a little more in-depth here as requested ^^ @Nitro

Title

Whoa, opening with a Dylan Thomas poem?! That's pretty funky! Especially for this specific one, which so strongly urges for humanity's full fight in the face of inevitable death. As a thematic, I'm conflicted about how well this fit your story. In a good way. We start off with this quote, then enter a slice-of-life, beautiful portrayal of a basketball scene between the heirlooms of a new order and some regular guys. We delve into a more intense chase later on, but I wasn't 100% convinced that the story carried the weight of this quote. This villanelle suggests a serious fight for life which didn't quite scale to the singular, mostly comedic, one-day event that changed this young man's life.

Though if I really leaned in, I could also say that you did something genius with this title. You paralleled the poet's love for his dying father in the dynamic between Mulligan and Litwick: so that even though Mulligan's fight ends here, he breathed fire and new life into the metaphorical son, Litwick, who will continue to fight as he says, "The world will know about this." The title then reads into an excellent act of resistance against the V.I.K.I.N.G.s, the machine that could tear the whole world apart. Metal, fire, blindness and light (the good of humanity) then all combine perfectly in this title. There's a perfect line here to suggest that's what you meant:

Mulli's talking about Litwick here, but Litwick, besides metaphorical son, could also be a metaphor for Pokémon's plight against the force trying to extinguish their light. In that case, BEAUTIFUL STUFF.

Ultimately, I think you took a well-calculated risk in choosing this title. The title projected themes onto the story that I thought weren't perfectly mirrored in the text, but at the same time this title really made me ponder what could be light and darkness in a world like ours. You could have chosen a basketball pun or some sort of slice-of-life wordplay but instead opted for a heavy poem that was completely out of this story's tone (for the most part) as well as genre / history. And I really liked that.

Also, I like that you spelled out war for your title, too! It's definitely fitting for what was foreshadowed here.

Introduction

I LOVE IT. The inspired lines hit me out the get-go: war, basketball, and the machine all in the span of a few brief paragraphs. The language! From "a crossfire of dirty glances" to "dysfunction: undefeated" and the reverberating "Clang!" I was so thoroughly entertained! The wordplay also did something very special: it took that haunting title and transitioned us into something fun, light, comedic, complete with the quips of our main character who really becomes the star of this whole thing. The introduction is written in such a way that you have to pay close attention to what's being said: who's actually the mecha here? And that in itself was a lot of fun and a great way to draw in readers!

I thought your author's note was charming, ringing with such cadence that it seemed like it belonged perfectly right in the middle of the story. Before I transition to the rest of the introduction, I wanted to note one area of improvement that may be repeated later in this grade: tone transitioning.

You've got a golden opportunity with this last paragraph to craft something suspenseful, a pivotal moment to show that perhaps these mecha are not actually the best guys in the bunch. You hit it pretty well on the last sentence: "These were the V.I.K.I.N.G.s." but I thought the story would have best benefitted from the moment before that sentence to be dragged on much longer. How does this character feel as he's losing? What more can he say during this moment, besides repeating the words of the other players, echoed into his head with the parenthesis? How do you transition this moment into something heavier and foreshadow something more serious beyond this fun basketball game?

Looking into that last paragraph:

Singing tension into the tone starts on the sentence level. Shorter sentences build suspense, unusual syntax reflects that something unordinary is happening, more spaces in-between the lines suggest something could be dwindling out of consciousness / existence, etc. To show how we'd alter that last paragraph to be slightly more intense:

Also, I really, really enjoyed Mulli's "Yeah. Yeah! 'Yeah!!'" You delivered a human on the doorstep of this story who was a proud contrast to the machine hero - or rather villain!

Perspective & Worldbuilding

Moving into the next part of your introduction, the slick three paragraphs that situate us in the world. It's brimming with more little details that make this story shine; for example, I like the way you call toupee #45 instead of his actual name - it alludes to more of the serial-dynamic that continues the ongoing machine / military industrial complex metaphor. You've got some excellent world-building going on here: the sentence that begins with "The first real defining moment" was the first real serious moment of the text, exemplifying how much the world had changed with the arrival of Pokemon. Hey, that "comet struck Earth carrying Pokemon" narrative is a little familiar...

Alas, our serious moment that sets the scene of this world is wrapped up with, "They hang around." The "Alternate Universe" of your prompt emanated throughout this whole text, particularly on this last line. With a combination of humor, routine, and a reference to real world cities, I immediately knew where we were and recognized our main character in the average, everyday guy. One of my favorite lines from the introduction is this:

This did so much more than paragraphs on paragraphs could have done - this immense event has changed the world, but at the end of the day, life has gone on, and people, including our main character, still has to go on, too. Very solid stuff here.

Moving from our world building into perspective - our main character, Mulligan?! I absolutely cherished him. He brought such a weird, vibrant energy to the story on all levels. It does a lot for the story when he calls Litwick a dump in his hands and helps every reader empathize with his situation because we all know what "too early for this shit" hours really means! That being said, I thought that broadening Mulligan's perspective would have done a lot more for setting the tone of this story. For example, there's :

This was important! I wanted him to say more words, because at this moment he was reflecting, even in passing, what he thought was so terrible about the building of arms. By delving into more of what he's saying here, you connect him more to us as the readers and build the necessary suspense that makes the incoming climax so much more intense. For a majority of this story, Mulligan's babysitting Pokemon and it's all fluffy sweetness as he's stuffing the Pokemon in the car - but a moment where he honestly turns over these complex thoughts in his head, and connects them to his own real world experience, is critical for the story expanding upon itself.

For example, the story would have resonated much deeper if he said something different here:

There's no doubt about it - seeing what he's seeing, it's absolutely awful. But I don't get that as the reader when I hear him say it, because I'm used to him being comedic and not quite delving into the darker thoughts. There's this:

"Couldn't put it in words yet" and "sensory game still strong" disrupts the very important emotional processing we're seeing him experience right here. The latter suggests that this is still somewhat of a fun thing that he's rationalizing out - and for the former, I think your writing would best benefit by eliminating phrases such as "words can't describe." These are ironic. Many writers do this - but then they just go on to explain in more words anyway, which weirdly cheapens the first-person experience of shock and agony that we're getting immediately from Mulli.

I applaud you for writing in first-person, btw. It's hard, largely because no one knows what to do when you have to get to a dramatic moment like this but the main character still has to relate not only the events of the story but what they're feeling as well. Seeing what you did above, I'd encourage you to explore more of the avenue you tapped into with the above: say more about the shaking, the sensory overload. What exactly is Mulli seeing when it's sensory overload? How does that hamper our experience of what's being witnessed in the story, and how can you further use that to surprise the reader with a twist when something happens? These are the advantages of first-person perspective that you can definitely utilize in the future.

The final part about your perspective - all of the descriptions were immersive, concise, yet compelling! I know exactly what the mangled Prius looked like and exactly how weird Magneton looked like while looking at everyone else (weird, pervy Magneton). I loved the paragraph that described the V.I.K.I.N.G.s and I appreciate how well you moderated description - Jigglypuff is just (pink) but a character such as Litwick was given the description it was due as a more important character. Also, are the V.I.K.I.N.G.s purple because of the Minnesota Vikings?... Anyway, I'd be remiss not to extol you on these! Great job!

Characterization

Mulli first - I've gone ahead and quoted excellent moments of character development for him:

This is all really good stuff! You say a lot in these little moments of reflection with Mulli. I personally think the story would have best benefited from more reflection about society and the industrial complex as a whole and his own paranoia, as stated earlier - I truly think that would have expanded the story and given it another dimension. It would have also evolved Mulligan into a more dynamic character as well. However, for what we had, this was stunning stuff!

Litwick's portion - perhaps at times he sounded a little too similar to Mulli. Here, we have:

His voice carries the same rhythm and weight for humor that Mulli's does, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Clarifying and contrasting his voice more against Mulli's would have been a risk, because it would have shifted the tone quite a bit from uplifting comedy, but I also think it could have made room to show how different these souls really are. First person is fun because you can play with those voices as much as you want! I encourage you to explore more characters by writing in this perspective, and to really stretch your own comfort zone and write in a tone you've never done before. You'll solidify your best voice in that way while gaining new skills and perspectives along the way, I'm sure of it!

That being said, I love how this ends with Litwick asking a question, Mulli answering in his silence. Very good symbolic stuff here that really tied up the narrative with their voices.

Story

balls??

The stuff happening beyond your story was a lot more engaging than the story itself - the humor, the moments between Mulli and the Pokemon, that dazzling opening scene. Bare bones, we have a bit of a budding friendship, something like a cute Pokemon picnic that crescendoes into panic, a promise between two living entities. There's the beginning seeds of novel ideas here, with ideas about why building up arms is wrong and why it's wrong to wage war against a differing species. I really wish this story was actually longer, so that those seeds would sprout into the complex thematics they would have become. Litwick's ending words, about police and continuing on a mission, left me thinking this was an exceptional beginning to a bigger resistance piece.

The pacing of the plot was good, but I thought it could be stronger with alterations. Scene: cute picnic dissolves into robot-laser car-chase. This line brought the change:

First of all, beautiful writing here. Secondly, the change is not necessarily strained, just not as matured as I thought it could have been. I read this and thought something like "uh oh it's about to get serious." Amazing stories that glue you to the book's spine don't make this tone shift salient. The best pacing makes it so that we start where you started and end with a million Pokemon on fire without ever expecting any of that to happen, or realizing that the tone had gradually shifted all along.

Take a step back and look at the components of the story. What's the supposed threat, what's the true danger, and who's going to fight it? In your story, the threat is the robot and the true danger is the man holding the gun away from the Pokemon. Thicken the threat. Make us believe the Pokemon are really in danger without us even consciously realizing it. For this story specifically, besides broadening Mulli's thoughts on arms, I thought a perfect opportunity to do this was present in the beginning dialogue between Mulli and Morgan Freeman V.I.K.I.N.G. The line "how's your passing?" actually made me hope as a reviewer, not as a reader, that you would deepen the friendship between said robot and Mulli. That way, the threat is not only more present throughout the first 3/4 of the story (the Pokemon getting closer to Mulli) but also throws a complete twist in your plot when you find out it's actually man that's more dangerous than machine.

Fully confident that hacking your pacing by imbuing such small but important side details and side plots would change the writing game. It would definitely add a lot of nuance, with more themes to unpack about friendship and the danger of actual humans.

For what was here, the pacing was decent. Your transitions added a kick of character development for Mulli, such as in the quoted.

Good stuff here.

Syntax

Grammar-wise, great job! I spotted no typos and I really want to compliment you on how well all the sentences flowed!

That being said, it's time to break it! Work it, mold it, twist it, bend it! Work on shortening and lengthening your sentences to alter the tension and tone. Take more risks, break grammatical rules, and see what you can truly do with the writing when you go outside of your comfort zone. Yes, when really polished writers learn the in's and out's of grammar my biggest advice is for them to break it all open again and rebuild the English system for themselves ('=

Outcome

LITWICK CAPTURED! :whew: I hope I provided a bit of insight with this grade! And I also really hope that you write more. You're gifted with such a wonderful control over voice and language, complete with passion in the text that suggests you really like what you're writing. As a summary for this grade, here's what I think your writing would best benefit from by working upon:

- refine pacing by planning out the subtle details
- expand characters' perspectives and broaden their insights
- take more risks: from twists on a plot-level to a written-level with your sentences - get crazier and something even more amazing will surface
- write MORE: to do all of this you have to write more! try longer stories! You've got great ideas - flesh them out!

WaR Prompt

Alternate Universe - it's our world today with the subtle twist that POKEMON are here! EEK! And it's most certainly our America today in that we're putting forth billions of dollars against a "threat" that's not really a threat. YEAH I SEE YOU OVER HERE with your real-world, potent social commentary and critique. It's also our world today in that yeah, copywriters should get paid more! I'm HERE for it!

Mecha - mhhm they're definitely here, and in the WaR thread, mechas suggest "war." The catch is that it's not the mechas here producing war, but rather the man controlling the machine. Haha, you play back into the first part of your prompt here - good job! And the mecha's are awkwardly human, good at basketball and just too kind. Not human. Good.

Pokemon & Humans, Together but Separate - yes, you draw them together perfectly here

You may claim a Complex mon for your prize. ^^ Wonderful job!

 

First: thanku! I want to respond to every little point you made, because that's the obsessive in me, but mostly: thanku! There's stuff you said that made me feel better about stuff I was unsure about, stuff you connected that I didn't even do on purpose in the writing, and mostly just stuff worth taking in for the next time. The one thing...

Yes! All of this was purposeful, although I didn't want to make a point of it, because I think symbolism works best when the reader figures it out for themselves. There are enough direct thoughts-to-self about hope and about struggle that the symbolism is really only for communicating it in a more visceral sense, in which case, I don't want to explain it too much. But even then, I think there's something to be learned from the fact that it wasn't clear enough.

Claiming Pinsir as my prize. Be back with another story soon. And these will be my next focus...

- expand characters' perspectives and broaden their insights
- take more risks: from twists on a plot-level to a written-level with your sentences - get crazier and something even more amazing will surface