Forever

Part I. Then


Maya couldn't sleep at night. No one did, to her knowledge. Even in the house she had once shared with her family. Her father stayed up all night and kept watch from the roof while Maya and her brother struggled to rest in the basement. Until one day they had heard a clanging noise... a shot... a shout... but they were too afraid to leave the cool, safe underbelly of the house. Their father had warned them never to leave the basement when it was dark out, no matter what happened. "If they get me, ain't no point them getting you as well," he would say. "You lay low, little mice, and in the day time you run, hear me? Once they know there's people here they won't be leaving us alone no more." Those words echoed in Maya's head as her father's yells turned to silence. Henry's small, cold hand found hers beneath the blankets and they huddled together, waiting for morning. She could feel him shaking, trying to muffle his tears in his pillow. Maya felt nothing but numb; cold ice flowers blossomed in her heart, their seeds spreading through her blood.

When the dawn sunlight stretched over the horizon, they made the climb to the roof together, knowing what they would find but still needing to see it. For the first time in their young lives, their father hadn't come down to wake them up.

Henry had pulled her along behind him, up the basement stairs. Though he was a year younger, he was always the brave one. They didn't speak about what had happened. When they reached the living room, Maya paused a moment so her eyes could adjust to the new level of brightness. The ground floor of the house was never used, had never been as long as Maya could remember. It was bare and would seem abandoned to anyone looking through the dirt-spattered windows. Every inch was covered in a thick layer of dust. Only the barest rays of light made it through the speckled glass, casting a dim golden glow throughout the room..

The ladder to the roof always made Maya nervous. She hated heights, always felt dizzy when her feet were off the ground. "You first," Henry demanded, as was their custom. Maya wondered if her little brother was scared. His broad, freckled face showed no emotion, but his green eyes were unusually stormy and his knuckles white as he clutched the rungs of the ladder, waiting for her to step up.

Twelve-year-old Maya swallowed once, then grabbed the ladder and pulled herself up. Henry climbed up right behind her, shadowing her footsteps so that she wouldn't feel so far from solid ground. When she reached the top, she struggled with the hatch a little before finally freeing it. Light poured in, blinding her as she pushed it open. She poked her head through the gap, but kept her eyes closed, not wanting to be the first to see. Henry's brunette head popped up through the hatch soon after, but no sound escaped him. Eventually Maya opened her eyes, just a crack.

There was nothing. No blood. No sign of their father. Some of the tiles were broken and scorched black. Henry pushed her out of the way as he climbed up onto the roof. He scaled the tiles easily, moving like a cat along a fence-top. Their father's shotgun lay abandoned on the sloping grey tiles. Maya stayed frozen at the top of the ladder until Henry, shotgun in hand, forced her downwards. "Look at me," he repeated as she backpedaled down the ladder. "Look at me, not down."

Maya couldn't remember how they had adjusted to their father's loss. There were no tears from either of them. Maya had started to pack up their things, not much between them; some blankets, dried food and water bottles. Maya had a knife her father had given her, and Henry had a small pistol. She was ready to leave, to scurry away like a mouse, as their father had always told them. But Henry refused to leave the house. Maya begged at first, tried to reason, then switched to threatening him. "I'll leave you here alone," she screamed, sprawled on the living room floor as Henry sat silently opposite her, studying the shotgun in his hands. They both knew it was an empty threat. "They'll come back for you! They'll tear you apart!" she spat. "Why are you being so stubborn?!" Maya picked up an old, empty glass bottled and threw it at her brother. It smashed on the wall beside him. Henry was silent, unflinching. He stood slowly and climbed up to the roof, closing the hatch behind him. Maya threw herself at the ground in anger, punching the old, dusty floorboards until her knuckles were bruised and bleeding.

Henry stayed on the roof all night. Maya crept into the basement alone, fearing at any moment that she would hear her brother's cries as the monsters came back to claim him. She lay awake, wondering if she would be brave enough to climb the ladder when he called for help. Wondering if she would have the courage to look a monster in the eye and stab it with her blade. Yes, she thought, the coldness in her chest spreading. I can kill a monster. She wasn't as sure about the ladder...

Maya was surprised when the basement began to lighten, the dim rays filtering past the cracks in the floorboards above her head. She hadn't heard any sounds from the roof all night. Clutching her blanket tight against her to ward off the chill air, she climbed the stairs into the living room. The roof hatch was still closed, but there was no sign of Henry. Had something happened after all? Had the monsters surprised him before he could even get off a shot? Maya took a deep breath and clutched the ladder. She had to climb. She tied the blanket around her neck. I'm a super hero, she thought, remembering the old stories her father used to tell about a man who could swing on webs or turn into a bat. I'm not scared of ladders. Heart beating fast, Maya looked up at the hatch as she climbed. Her knuckles were white beneath the yellow bruises and dried blood. She didn't breathe until she reached the top and swung the hatch up and outwards, the morning sun making her brown hair shine like spun gold.

Henry lay there on the roof, unmoving, the shotgun by his side. Maya scrambled up onto the tiles, forgetting her fear. She ran to her little brother and clutched at his chest. Surprisingly he was still warm... A huge sigh of relief escaped Maya's lips as she realised Henry was just sleeping. With her sore hands, she struggled to untie the blanket from her neck and placed it over him. He had looked like a child then, like her little brother whom she had promised to protect. Maya smoothed his brown hair, the same colour as her own. They could almost be twins, perfect reflections except for those green eyes of his, so bright against hers of bleak grey.

Maya climbed back down the ladder alone, grabbed the pack containing their belongings and waited for her brother to wake up. This time Henry didn't argue. They left the only place in the world they had ever known, and they didn't look back, not once.

Interlude


TRANSCRIPT #0084 | SUBJECT 47293 | NATIONAL BIOLOGY INSTITUTE, CINNABAR ISLAND, KANTO | JUNE 7, 2024

H. LAYTON: "Dr. Paxter. Tell me about subject 47293, the potential new Pokemon. Has it been characterised yet?"

E. PAXTER: "We're... working on it, Sir. It's not really like anything we've ever seen. I mean, there are small Pokemon but 47293 is microscopic. And unwieldy... it doesn't respond to Pokeballs... doesn't replicate by itself..."

H. LAYTON: "So it's not a Pokemon?"

E. PAXTER: "Genetics, cell biology, chemistry... all a match. It's the first synthetic lifeform we've created, but there's something not quite right... It's almost like it's not really sentient. At this point I don't think we can call it a Pokemon, no."

H. LAYTON: "And the behavioural testing?"

E. PAXTER: "We've put it in with the other Pokemon, but its behaviour is erratic and disturbing. It can't be controlled. You know what happened to Markus..."

H. LAYTON: "Yes yes, but the other Pokemon, how are they reacting?"

E. PAXTER: "This is going to sound crazy, but it seems to have taken control of the Jolteon."

H. LAYTON: "Mind control?"

E. PAXTER: "Seemingly... our first thought was that it had some Psychic-type abilities..."

H. LAYTON: "Not unheard of... is there a but?"

E. PAXTER: "It's still unclear... The tests so far have been... disturbing. We can observe 47293 in the petri dish. It doesn't seem to be doing anything... We brought the Jolteon in... everything was fine. But after a few hours, the Jolteon became distressed. We couldn't calm it down, even when we removed the dish from the room. The Jolteon... it's rabid... It's like it's been infected. And there's more... the Jolteon bit Jacob... and well, they don't think he's going to make it. Same symptoms as Markus and..."

H. LAYTON: "Enough. Shut it down. This isn't a new Pokemon, it's a god damn synthetic virus! Quarantine everything immediately!"

E. PAXTER: "We did, Sir,... as soon as we realised what this thing was, but..."

H. LAYTON: "Yes?"

E. PAXTER: "The Jolteon... it escaped."

END RECORDING


Part II. Now


The scraggly youth peers out the window, struggling to see through the grime and cracks that spider across it like a web. Clothes hang loosely on a thin frame, but they are good clothes, tough and warm. The broad, freckled face is set in concentration, eyes searching to and fro. He can sense no movement outside, but still... it is safer to wait until morning. Dark things rule the nights: wraiths and monsters that not even the bravest Ranger would dare face needlessly.

The slight teen creeps down from the rotting cardboard boxes near the window and back to the corner of the room where his tattered brown blanket is sprawled on the cold concrete. He found this place only a week ago; a small room inside a large crumbling building. The heavy steel door still works, squeaking on its huge hinges as he forces it shut each night. He knows if they find him, it will not keep them out, but it has made him feel safer, somehow. He curls up in the old blanket, cradling his father's shotgun and thinking about tomorrow.

Yesterday had been tough. He had almost been bitten, or worse. A horrible monster, a dragon, had been stalking him for miles as he made his way to the city. The Charizard was waiting for him to tire as it pursued him leisurely. It would spout flames at his back, laugh as it watched him dive for cover, and then back off. Taunting, teasing him. Henry knew he would be roasted alive. He had used his last ammo to scare off a rabid Eevee the night before. At one point the dragon had taken to the air, and flown over Henry's head. To lie in wait for him further up the path, he thought. From here he could see the ruined city. So close. But he would never make it. He looked around for something to use as a weapon, but there was nothing but wood. He almost laughed at the idea of challenging a Charizard with a stick. It would burn before he even got in range of the foul creature's flaming tail.

He had proceeded carefully down the path. He had no more food, no water. Turning away from the city now would kill him as much as the Charizard would. At least this would be fast. At least he could go down fighting. But then he saw a a smouldering lump in the distance. As he neared, the smell of burnt flesh crept into his nostrils, making him gag. Had the Charizard scored another victim? But no... it was the Charizard itself, sprawled dead on the ground. Its huge wings spread out on either side, one clearly broken. A pool of blood dripped steadily from its mouth. Its tail flame was gone, but the heat from its insides still radiated, the fire within consuming its flesh when it was no longer alive to control it. There was no one else around. Had another monster got it? Or was there another human nearby? Someone strong. Both conclusions made him uneasy. Was that a black figure in the distance? But he had made it to the city in the end. Not another soul in sight...

As the sun begins its slow ascent, Henry snaps back to reality. The little storeroom where he spent the night is not safe enough for daydreams. There! The signal! Through a grimy window, Henry spots a pyre in the distance, billowing smoke into the cool morning air. He grabs his few belongings: the blanket, an old water bottle, a knife, and tucks them into the pockets of his fraying backpack. He shoulders the shotgun. Even though it is morning, you can never be too careful. There are as many monsters out in the open as in the shadows, just in different skins.

The teen leaves the safety of the bunker, never to return. The only way to stay alive in this world is to keep moving. Out on the streets, Henry is met with decaying foundations, fissures have spread through old highways and caused buildings to collapse. Old cars lay abandoned and rusty. The world has always looked like this to him. There is no nostalgia or longing for ages past.

A sudden scream breaks the silence of the early morning. Henry freezes. "Get off! Get off!" a woman curses. Henry follows the sound to a small, dark alleyway. A young girl, a child, screams, her voice echoing down the narrow alley in high-pitched waves. An older woman is perched on a bed of dirty cardboard boxes. Her plump form is covered by a mangy old dress. The thin child is flailing her arms and shrieking. The woman notices Henry and curses again.

The teen strides forward, stopping in front of the little girl. A small white and yellow rodent clings to her shirt, just as desperately as she tries to shake it off. Henry grabs the girl to stop her moving and then rips the creature from her chest. "Emoooo!" the Pokemon wails. The girl still screams.

"Kill it! Kill it!" the woman hisses, grabbing the child and retreating into the corner of their makeshift, cardboard home.

Henry holds the Pokemon by the scruff of the neck. It cries and thrashes, terrified. It is not a monster, not yet. But it will be. He walks to the alley wall, ready to dash its head against the wall. He has done it before.

"Emo!" the Pokemon stops crying. Its large brown eyes peer up into Henry's. It is obviously young, only a baby and not yet effected by the horrible virus that doomed its race. One bite though, and it will become a monster. One scratch and it will lose all will beyond killing. His father had told them about the days before the virus. People used to care for Pokemon and battle with them. People and Pokemon used to be friends. Henry could never reconcile this idea with the terrible creatures he has come to know; the bloodthirsty, vicious monsters who would sooner tear off a person's arm than obey a command. Before Henry was even born, the Pokemon of the world had been overcome and irreparably changed. These days, all Pokemon are feared and loathed whether they are infected or not.

"Ranger! Ranger!" the woman hisses as he walks away, the Emolga still clutched in his hand. When he rounds the corner back into the streets, he drops the rodent.

"Eh mo!" it grunts as it hits the ground. It soon scrambles to its feet and runs into the nearest building. Henry sighs deeply. He hopes it won't come back to kill him once it's infected.

Henry heads for the pyre he saw this morning. The woman had called him a Ranger with disgust. Rangers are the only people left who work with Pokemon, like in the old days. His mother had been a Ranger before her partner became infected and killed her. Even when the virus was discovered, people wouldn't give up the Pokemon they had been friends with. Most of them died. These days Ranger was an insult bred from fear. But the key to this whole mess were the Pokemon, Henry knew. If there was any hope, it would be found with them.

Henry looks around for the car he spotted yesterday, the one that he had miraculously got running. He had hidden it beneath some old sheets of corrugated iron and cardboard boxes, hoping it would look just like any other wreck. While he is removing the debris, he realises that he has been followed. The Emolga watches him curiously from an upper-story window.

When the engine roars into life, the Emolga jumps from its perch and glides into the window of the black Dodge Challenger. It sniffs the car suspiciously, the torn seats are filled with springs. The Pokemon plays with the stuffing, making tiny balls. Henry hears it crackling with static electricity as he drives toward the smoke in the distance. It is hard to imagine that the small rodent will soon turn into a killer. But that's what will happen, eventually. Henry feels the black tide of despair well in his chest at the unfairness of it all. The futility. There is no cure for the virus. A baby Pokemon is just tomorrow's monster. He pushes the thoughts away, replaces them with the ice cold anger which has become a comfort since his sibling's death. There is nothing but now, this car, this road. No future to worry about, no past to lament.

The road itself is just a dusty path around the debris littering the city. As Henry reaches the outskirts of the damaged buildings, there are no sights, just endless horizon. When he nears the smoke, Henry can see the pyre more clearly. It is piled high with wood, rocks and debris. Around it are mounds of trash, blocks of concrete, sheets of iron. Everything is coated in the orange dust which seemed to spring from nowhere after the virus, the result of pollution and nature's imbalance. The rust, as it is known, sticks to everything. By now, Henry is coated in it; the car throws up clouds of it as he drives.

"Emo!" the rodent calls from the backseat, seconds before Henry spots a black figure in the middle of the road. It is human-shaped, but taller. Wings of black stretch from each shoulder. A dark angel... is all Henry can think as he slams his foot onto the brakes. The same one he saw near the Charizard... The car swerves to a halt, creating a miniature dust storm. The shadowy figure can just be made out through the orange haze. And then it is upon them.

The Emolga dashes out of the window and is gone. Henry reaches for his shotgun on the passenger seat. But you can't shoot shadows.

"Gold, you did it."

Henry hears a voice. Human. He lowers the gun, only slightly. The dust begins to clear. Henry struggles not to cough as the stuff gets up his nose. He keeps his mouth shut. People have choked to death on rust, he's heard.

"Your new friend won't shoot us, will he?" The voice again. Masculine, rough, Henry notes.

When the dust finally clears, Harry sees a man, mid-thirties, wearing a huge black overcoat. At least, it was once. Now it is irreparably orange. There are no wings... The overcoat, Henry realises, it blew open in the dust storm. Henry feels foolish. Angels are a fairy tale. But he is still not sure whether to trust this man. The shadow man wears dark sunglasses and his face is expressionless. Stubble lines his cheeks. The Emolga Henry rescued is perched on the man's shoulder.

"Henry?" the man asks. He is now standing right in front of the car. Henry could gun it and escape. But the pyre... the last thing he was told... Is this the person he is looking for?

"Y-yes," Henry coughs, his spit tainted orange. How can this man know his name? Has he been followed all this time? "I was told to meet someone at the pyre. I want to be a Ranger," he says.

The man removes his sunglasses. Underneath his eyes are youthful and calm. "You fit the description, but...", he looks Henry up and down. "Nevermind. Come with me." He turns away from Henry, replaces his glasses and pats the Emolga behind the ear. "You did good, Gold," he says quietly as they lead Henry toward the pyre.

Henry carries his gun. He's not sure if this is a trap or whether he really has found a Ranger's base. He tries to take in everything, but the man walks quickly despite a slight limp. To Henry, everything looks like scrap and rust.

It is unbearably hot near the pyre, yet a figure sits closer still, wrapped in a tattered grey blanket. The fire light casts strange shadows and Henry can't make out the person's shape.

Henry looks up at the shadow man. He nods toward the pyre. "This is why I brought you here. As soon as we spotted you near the city, we've been watching you. It was close, that Charizard..." He frowns. "But you got here, in the end." The shadow man looks over at the figure by the fire. "Go on now. This is where it begins. He's been waiting for you." The Emolga jumps from his shoulder and runs toward the figure by the fire. "Emo emo!" it cries, then pauses, waiting for Henry to follow.

Henry holds the gun protectively. The cool metal makes him feel calm and in control despite the heat of the pyre. The Emolga runs ahead, pausing every so often so Henry can catch up.

When Henry reaches the figure, he begins to feel strangely light. The blanketed man turns around and looks into Henry's eyes. His gaze is piercing. He is bald and old, his face is lined with wrinkles from decades of worry and struggle.

"You was gone by the time I got back to the damn house," the man says through coughs. "You did what I asked. You ran like a mouse." He smiles weakly. "Now where's your brother?"

The teenager blinks. Looks into the old man's eyes.

"Name's Henry, they tell me, when they found out you were near the city. Young lad. But you can't fool me, girl. Though it was clever, I'll give ya that. This sure as hell ain't no world for a lady."

Maya wipes the dirt from her face, lays down her dead brother's shotgun on the ground. Her cold, grey eyes, the only difference between them, scan the man's face. He has aged yes, but it is him. Her father.

"Henry died." She lets out a sob, struggling to maintain the emotionless facade she has crafted since the day she thought her father died. It is the only weakness she will allow. "We escaped a Beedrill swarm, but he was poisoned. There was nothing I could do." She looks at the man angrily. "I thought you were dead. We thought..."

The old man turns back to the fire for a moment. "Is what it is," he says after a while. "I tried to find you kids. I searched for years after that bastard Charizard carried me off from the roof. It snuck up on me." He coughs again. "Musta been watching the house, waiting. I shot it before I dropped my gun." He nods to the weapon on the ground. "It died a few hours later. Landed near a desert somewhere. Where it was taking me, I got no idea." He looks at Maya again. "Well girl. It's damn good to see you. That Joe will never let me forget this favour he's done me," he says, nodding to the shadow man who keeps watch nearby. "He's been tracking you for months. You fooled him though. He thought you was a boy. Henry..." He shakes his head sadly.

Maya has no idea what to say. This is too much to take in.

"Well I'm afraid this ain't no happy reunion. The world is in danger, you know that. But you ain't know everything. I helped create this virus that destroyed the Pokemon. I worked for Paxter in his damn lab. There is no cure, but the progression can be slowed. The closer you bond with a Pokemon before it gets infected, the less impact the virus has." The man looks at the Emolga. "It ain't much, but it's a start. That's what the Rangers are doing. Trying to find humans who are still willing to befriend Pokemon. It's been hard. The fear..." The old man coughs. His whole body shaking. "This Emolga belongs to me. I raised it from an egg. They tell me you want to be a Ranger." Maya's father studies her face. "You take it then." He nods to the Emolga, who moves to Maya's side. "Your brother ain't never coming back. And I won't be around much longer either. But this little guy is Gold. You take good care of him and maybe you will learn more about the virus. Joe and the others... they'll help train you." The man turns to the fire.

Maya, defeated by the flood of emotion, holds out her arm and the Emolga climbs on. It nudges against her cheek, not understanding the sudden dampness. Tears roll silently down Maya's cheeks. It is her father and yet she feels no warmth. Her heart has turned to ice too long ago. She is numb to it all. A machine. All she can give him now is hope.

"You take care of her, hear," the man says to the Emolga. "No pansy virus is gonna take you down. You stick by my girl til she's old and grey and joins me in the ground." He coughs violently.

"Emo." The Pokemon nods solemnly.

"Forever, Gold," the man says finally. "Ain't no buts."

"E-moh!" Sparks fly from the rodent's cheeks.

Maya looks at the ruins of her father. She thinks of her brother who died. There is nothing left in this world for her. But for the Emolga... can she help build a future?

"Come on, Gold," she says, walking back toward the shadow man, Joe. Maybe later her father's reappearance will sink in. For now all she can think about is getting stronger. "I'm going to be a Ranger."