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CHAPTER ONE - The Crime

canisaries

you should've known the price of evil
Location
Stovokor
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. inkay-shirlee
  2. houndoom-elliot
  3. yamask-joanna
  4. shuppet
  5. deerling-andre
Hey all! After a few months of work, the first chapter of "the Andre fic" is complete and betaread. If you don't know this story's deal, I'll tell you right now: it's a story that takes place in the same universe as Hunter, Haunted and stars Andre, a character who will become important in HH's sequel whenever I manage to figure it out enough to actually write it. He's a painter, and sometimes he's a serial killer. In this story, you'll find out the how and why.

This story is only a few chapters long, projected to be three or four, and it can be read completely separately from HH. I've been having a pretty good rhythm with writing it, so my hope is that I'll actually update it more often than just every three months. The bad news is that it will most likely mean even slower updates for HH or even a full-on hiatus. But, well, I'm sure people are used to my terrible update speed already.

Content warnings: Blood, wounds, torture, murder, abuse and its consequences, misogyny, sexual themes, strong language. Rated mature.

With that out of the way, I'm done yapping. Here's the story. In terms of feedback preferences, I'm interested in what you think of the protagonist, but any feedback is appreciated. Thank you and enjoy.

---

kills_other_humans_cover.png

KILLS-OTHER-HUMANS

Synopsis:
Andre Duval, an aura-sensitive painter living in Wyndon, is a stand-up guy, a great lover and a dear friend. He's also a murderer. Every four months, he goes out to find another scumbag to erase from the world, and this time, it's an abusive trainer. Andre didn't think it would be any different from the others - but he's wrong on two accounts.

Genre:
Drama

Started:
22 Sep 2022

Status:
Finished 28 April 2023

Length:
33k words

---

CHAPTER ONE
The Crime


---​

Empty canvas.

He tried to fill it, but nothing would stick. Nothing inspired him enough to be worth putting down.

A heavy sigh left Andre’s lungs. During the past week, he’d slaved away at three commissions - one of them a portrait of a particularly nitpicky delcatty - and now that he was done and free to paint something just for his own joy again… nothing came.

But it wasn’t as if this was a surprise. That blank rectangle had plagued his mind ever since the morning, but he’d convinced himself that if he took the time to set up his painting station, the muse would surely sing. Alas, she did not. All he heard was the ambience of the city pouring in through his open window now that he’d already given up on music.

Shoulders slumped, he admitted defeat. This session was a bust.

Artist’s block was nothing new to Andre. He’d confronted that foe countless times ever since he first picked up a crayon. It was an inevitable part of any artist’s life, and it was up to each individual to find the battle strategies that worked for them.

Fortunately, Andre knew a technique that had served him well many times in the past: going out and meeting someone new. It was also something he probably ought to do after so many days cooped up in his apartment huffing paint thinner. Though it really worked better towards the evening… well, he’d find some way to kill the time until then. It was just a few hours.

He corked his thinner and linseed oil, washed his glass palette clean of the primaries he’d put down and began putting away the rest of his equipment. Once he grabbed the brushes, though, a stray thought interrupted him.

You might need those for acrylics.

He froze up.

No, he thought. It's too soon. It's only been…

It had been four months.

He blinked. It really had already been four months. It felt like a mistake, but no - the last time was in January, and now it was May.

There had been sufficient cooldown. It was possible to do ‘acrylics’ again.

He sighed. Oh, I just want a fun night out --

Are you shirking your duty?


He frowned. That thought was right. Now that he was able to do it, he had to.

But it was alright. Most likely, tonight would turn out just the way he wanted - a fun night out. There'd be no scumbags, and he wouldn't have to do anything. Most likely, he'd only need to be prepared. And that was easy enough. He probably had the money already. He should check that now…

He left the brushes out and headed to his bedroom. He walked up to the painting of the two corvisquire perched on a branch - not his own, but a gift from Katie - and lifted it away to reveal his safe. He looked around, even though he knew he was alone, and opened it.

He counted the bills inside. Yes, five thousand Galarish pounds. Enough to get rid of the evidence and the target's car on top if need be. If it wasn’t, the providers of the service certainly couldn’t blame him. They couldn’t exactly send out emails informing their clients about new pricing. And they knew he was a trustworthy customer. He’d pay the rest later after he’d had time to withdraw more cash.

He closed the safe, locked it, and lifted the painting back into place. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to open it again today.

Though if he did…

He knew he’d get all the inspiration he needed.

---​

The city air was warm and dry, saturated with exhaust fumes and dust. It was one of those occasions when Andre was glad to have glasses, not contacts. Those little particles of sand probably weren’t good for the lenses, but better those than his eyes. Glasses could be replaced, his corneas couldn’t.

The walk from the nearest parking spaces was fortunately short, and he soon found himself at his destination: Shoemaker Street Bar, named creatively so after the street it was on. It was one of his secondary joints, a place to go whenever he felt the need to switch things up and see more new faces. It was also, as the rainbow flag in the window suggested, a place to meet men, which he'd decided to pursue tonight.

He couldn't see or hear much of the inside, but he could already tell the place was bustling. A sea of aura churned behind those doors, as diverse in moods as that rainbow flag was in colours, though not as evenly distributed - joy and peace clearly dominated the atmosphere. Andre smiled in response. It was nice to know the people inside were enjoying themselves. Hopefully he would too.

He opened the door and stepped through. Right away, his aura sense was proven correct, as most if not all tables were surrounded by people engaged in lively conversation. The air smelled of alcohol, but was well enough ventilated to lack the stench of sweat. The speakers near the ceiling played some club music, as generic as one would expect, though it could barely be heard over all the talking and intermittent laughter.

Andre took a closer look at the customers. Most were men, human men, but some groups had mon in the mix, and at least one group was made up of mon entirely. There were the typical ones often seen in human establishments - gardevoir, machoke, indeedee - but the sight of a crawdaunt made Andre pause. He scolded himself right after. If they wanted to be here, they had a right to be comfortable. He shouldn’t stare.

He turned his attention to the counter instead. Unlike the tables, there were plenty of spots to choose from. The outer corner, too, was vacant. Perfect. He made his way to the seat, stopping briefly to let a small group past him, and sat down.

He closed his eyes, basking in the aura like a reptile in the sun. Sunlight was what joyous aura reminded him of the most: warm and yellow, but too much of it unfiltered would be blinding. Peace, however, could never overwhelm him. Its soft pink tone was, even at its loudest, a whisper.

But a palette of yellow and pink alone would be all too dull, too saccharine. For that much needed contrast, there were streaks of sorrow, anger, anxiety - the emotions humans wanted to avoid, yet knew they couldn’t, that they shouldn’t. A healthy mind felt them all. A good artist used them all.

He opened his eyes just in time to see the bartender approach.

“What’ll it be?” asked the burly man, the volume of his voice perfectly adjusted to overpower the noise but to be no louder. His thick black beard made up for all the hair missing on his head.

“Castelian,” Andre replied. It would have been nice to try something less cliche, but he knew he shouldn’t stand out. The weaker the impressions he left in the employees’ minds, the less likely he was to be brought up as a possible suspect.

“You got it," the bartender said, stepping back to prepare the drink. In the meantime, Andre turned around to survey his surroundings again, this time with his eyes open.

Having no friends beside him, he knew not even to attempt to merge into an existing group - he had to look for other loners instead. That did shrink the pool of possible companions quite drastically, but it was simply how things had to go on these kinds of outings. Which he'd have to go on until he found someone to fulfil his duty with…

He noticed the frown on his face and forced it away. Irritation was rarely attractive. He brought a gentle smile to his lips in its place.

Alright, lone people. There were a few like that scattered around, mostly by the walls or the counter, browsing their phones or looking around or shifting between both. Were they looking for new company like Andre, or had they simply lost sight of their friends? It would have been very easy just to ask, but mistakes like that were another thing Andre preferred to minimize. He suppressed a sigh. It felt paranoid, but each time he wanted to dismiss a thought as paranoid, another told him he was getting careless…

But he was a sensible man. He could tell the difference between paranoia and reasonable caution. And he needed to stay sensible. In the end, he'd do the world a much better service if he took proper care of himself…

"Castelian," a voice came from behind, startling Andre. Right, the bartender. Andre swiveled around to see the drink set on the counter before him - vivid blue, cocktail glass, sitrus slice hung from the rim. A classic sight. He thanked the bartender and paid for the drink. Card, not cash. It left a trail, but his image in the security cameras left a hell of a bigger one. Either way, these safety precautions were never about not being seen - they were about not arousing suspicion. And why would someone as well-groomed as him pay with cash?

He raised the glass against the backlight of the bar and admired the color of the drink a little longer before taking his first sip. It was less sour than he'd expected. Maybe they'd used less sitrus, or maybe they'd used a sweeter cultivar of the sitrus or the oran used. Either way, the alcohol was there. He hoped it would relax him a little, as he seemed more on edge than usual…

A mix of emotions flared at his right - surprise, anger, disgust. Against the harmonious hum of joy and peace, it was the twang of an out-of-tune guitar. Andre looked over and identified the likely source: one of two men sitting at a table bordering the dance floor. That man, slim and black-haired, did well to hide the degree of his outrage, only staring at his companion blankly with his mouth slightly ajar. The other man, white with bleached dreads, seemed oblivious to this, continuing to rant about something with exaggerated hand motions and a consistent aura of annoyance. He wore a red vest with the initials 'MT' stitched in. Something on his neck glistened - gold chains, comically thin and unimpressive.

Andre reacted with disgust of his own, but shook his head. It was no crime to be tacky.

He returned to surveying the loners, and soon settled on one he was quite sure was available - a young, lanky man with long, sandy brown hair and a beard. The kind you'd be shocked to hear didn't have a guitar-playing channel on MewTube. The man held his glass of beer close to his chest, shifting his weight from one leg to another, and cast hesitant looks on other people around the bar. He was too far away and surrounded by too many others for Andre to get any confident reading of his aura, but it was hardly necessary with such obviously shy behavior.

He may have been new to this bar, or new to the community entirely. In the latter case, Andre would gladly lend a helping hand. This man wouldn't be the first person Andre had shown the ropes to, and it was unlikely he'd be the last. It was important for newcomers to receive the right advice and learn what's okay and what isn't lest they fall victim to predators.

It would be a worthy cause, then, to approach that man. It would be a service to the community just as acrylics would be. It was a fair trade - more than fair. After all, acrylics at this point were only theoretical. It was likely he'd meet no one that fit the criteria by the end of the day even if he stayed until closing time. So, all that considered --

The heat of fury strengthened against his back, burning like rays of a midday sun revealed from the clouds. He looked back to Dreads and Darkhair. The two seemed to be arguing. Dreads’ gesturing was now directed at Darkhair, and Darkhair’s face no longer concealed his disgust. What could be causing such revulsion from that man? What had Dreads been talking about? And was it…

It might have been, yes. It might have been something only a scumbag would do. Which meant Andre had to check.

Sighing, he cast one last wistful glance at Guitarman before getting off his seat and heading towards the arguing men. He was lucky that they’d taken the table next to the dancefloor, as it let Andre slip into the corner and stand right beside the two without arousing suspicion. He took out his phone and leaned on the wall behind him, pretending to type something while sipping on the drink in his other hand. While his eyes were glued to the screen, his attention was otherwise fully on the scene unfolding on his left, listening closely to both sound and aura.

"Don't tell me how to train my team, okay? You're not even a trainer!" snapped Dreads.

"What, so you think non-trainers can never question how trainers are treating their mon? Even if it's abuse?" retorted Darkhair.

"I'm not fucking beating them, dude! How would I even beat a fucking steelix? My hand would break!"

"But you make him sleep out in the cold!"

"For one night! He's a giant fucking metal snake, anyway! He can handle it!"

So Dreads was a trainer. Of course, it fit with the ego and the tacky clothing. And Darkhair was accusing him of abusing his team. Definitely a scumbag thing to do.

If he was a trainer, though, especially with a getup like that, he had to be online. Andre opened a browser tab on his phone and began to search for combinations of 'trainer', 'MT', 'steelix', 'dreadlocks', 'white' and 'Wyndon', all while keeping an ear out for any more details from the continuing argument, though nothing helpful was spilled. Eventually, he believed he'd managed to identify him - Mike Thomson, Snapp handle @michaelicious. Andre tapped on the profile to see more.

It seemed like a standard account for a small-time trainer who fancied himself a real celebrity. Videos and snapshots of training sessions, tournament joining announcements, promotional pictures… all with Mike well in the foreground. His team seemed to consist of a tar brown ursaring, a toxtricity, a sandaconda and, indeed, a steelix - Grizz, Zara, Twister and Titan respectively. Grizz seemed to be his ace given how he was always positioned closest to Mike. He seemed to be paying the most attention to Mike, too. Andre had his doubts about this respect being reciprocated.

The follower count was quite high, but the amount of likes and comments seemed disproportionately small. Bought followers? Oh, how embarrassing. Still, the users that did comment - provided they were real - seemed highly adoring. Probably kids that didn't know better.

He returned to his search results and tapped on Mike's MewTube channel next, though not before making sure his phone was muted. What he saw kept up with his initial impressions --

A surge of anger from the men interrupted his thoughts. He glanced over before he could remind himself he wasn't supposed to look - but immediately after, his gaze was justified.

Mike slammed his hand down on the table and stood up. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Darkhair had clearly said something to set him off. Andre cursed himself for missing it - he'd gotten too preoccupied with his phone to actually keep listening to their conversation.

Surprise radiated from Darkhair along with a tinge of fear. Anger quickly returned, the indignant kind, but Mike was faster than him on acting upon it.

“You wanna take this outside? You wanna fight?” Mike shouted, gesturing wildly. Andre’s heartbeat quickened as he realized his moment to act may have been rapidly approaching. If Mike kept up that aggression, he would be asked to leave. And Andre had to exit the building before his target did.

Darkhair raised his palms and began his attempt to de-escalate the situation, but Andre could tell Mike was too offended to back down. As Mike continued to shout, Andre downed what little remained of his drink and left the glass on a small table by the dancefloor. He cast a glance towards the bartender and saw the bearded man frowning at the arguing pair. In moments’ time, the man left his counter and headed for the scene. Andre suppressed a smirk. Just as he’d hoped.

He slipped out of the door, squinting at the light of the sun still setting. He walked some way from the door, leaned onto a nearby railing and scanned his surroundings just one more time to be safe. He came to the same conclusion - no street cameras here. Good.

To avoid drawing attention, he pulled out his phone again and opened his sudoku app. It was much easier to look at it without actually losing attention. He kept his ears and aura sense perked for whenever Mike would exit - if he would, Andre's prediction could still have been wrong - and thought of the best way to approach him.

Within the minute, a blob of rage began to emerge from the aura sea like a fish out of murky waters. It broke the surface with a loud thud of the front door being shoved open.

Andre glanced back just as any other onlooker would and found a visibly upset Mike stomping out. His anger was piercing now that the rest of the bar wasn't there to drown it out. Andre had to hope it wasn't too strong. Either way, he'd find out shortly.

In the most inoffensive tone he could muster, Andre asked the man a question. "Hey, are you Mike Thomson?"

Mike jerked his head to Andre like a startled linoone, hunched slightly as if readying for a pounce. Andre flinched a little himself, but relaxed alongside Mike as the man's aggression lessened.

"Yeah?" Mike answered, still reserved, but an amber buzz in his aura revealed his growing excitement. Someone had recognized him, and it was cocaine to his ego.

"Oh, I thought I recognized you in there!" Andre said, walking up to him with a smile which began as fake but turned genuine as Mike's anger all but disappeared. "My little brother's a huge fan of yours."

Mike's brows raised, and his mouth drew into a smirk. "Really?"

"Yeah! You might have seen him in your comments, who knows. I don't remember his username, though…" Andre clasped his hands together. "Oh, he'd love to have your autograph. W-would you be okay with that?"

“Sure! You got a pen?”

“Let’s see…” Andre reached into his pockets, but he already knew he had no pen or paper on him. He hadn’t exactly expected to need to woo a microcelebrity when leaving his house. “I guess I don’t have one on me right now…” he said, defeated. “Would you be alright with a photo instead?”

“Sure!”

Andre concealed a sigh of relief as he took out his phone. This was the better of two alternate paths. The longer they interacted, the lower the threshold was for continuing the conversation afterwards. Though it’d still be a leap… a leap he had to make if he wanted justice served. Or, well, he couldn’t know for sure yet - but he had a feeling.

He moved beside Mike and lifted the phone up high for a photo. A wave of deep magenta suddenly arose - arousal. Perhaps Mike had caught the scent of his perfume, a soft vanilla, and realized just how captivating this stranger was with his feminine frame and wavy cinnamon brown hair. Either way, it was very promising.

Andre snapped the pic and a few more as everyone knew one good picture stood on the bodies of dozens - not that he'd actually keep them. He’d delete them as soon as their time together came to an end, possibly sooner.

Alright. The pleasantries were over, and the leap was now fast approaching. Andre's heartbeat quickened, but he was all too experienced to let it show.

"Thanks so much," Andre said, lowering the phone. Before Mike could say anything that may have ended the conversation, Andre raised a hand. "And, hey…"

He stared deep into Mike's eyes, locking him in place. "I saw what happened back there, and I just wanna say that guy had no right to act the way he did."

"Th-thanks." Mike quickly averted his eyes, but it was not out of embarrassment - the green sound did not come. Instead, there was lavender. Apprehension. He seemed to have realized something like this getting out could hurt his reputation.

"No, really," Andre said as genuinely as he could. "That guy was accusing you of mistreating your team. You love your team! Even I know that. That's just so fucking disrespectful."

Mike began to nod as Andre spoke. "Yeah… yeah, that was fucked up." His apprehension was letting up. Was it letting up enough? Was this the moment for the leap?

No, he should keep going. He should tell him…

What would he tell him? Nothing came to mind. Nothing except what he'd already said. He didn't know trainers well enough to know what else they wanted to hear. Should he repeat his point in different words? No, it may be too suspicious. Mike could realize he didn't really mean it, and his apprehension would only get worse then. But if…

No, no! Precious microseconds were wasting. He had to make a decision now.

He decided to take the leap.

Andre slipped his hands in his pockets, forcing the motion to be casual despite the adrenaline in his veins. He'd play this part right.

"I guess this night didn't go quite as you wished it would," he said, shrugging coyly.

"Yeah," Mike sighed, pocketing his own hands.

"It doesn't have to be that way."

Mike looked back at him. Magenta returned. Yes.

Andre smirked. "You were looking for company, weren't you?"

Mike eyed him up and down. The magenta strengthened. A smirk of his own formed on his face. "Maybe."

Great relief washed over Andre, but he knew he wasn't done yet. He tilted his head. "I've got a pretty nice apartment," he said. "All to myself. No roommates, no teammates. Just nice decor and a bed with room to spare."

Mike's apprehension was gone. Excitement had fully taken its place. His smirk became a grin. "Sounds good."

Andre nodded and took a step towards the parking spaces. "You got your own car with you?"

"Nah, taxi."

Perfect. Much safer. Much cheaper. "Let's take mine, then."

They headed for the car. Andre took a moment just to listen to the city’s ambiance, refreshing his brain after the flurry of thoughts it had just endured. It wasn’t a deep respite, but it would have to do. The second phase was soon to begin.

The one that would decide if Mike ever came home again.

---​

“All fucking week, we’ve been training for this, and he just doesn’t do it. The gliscor hits him, and I don’t see a damn single snowflake forming on his teeth. He doesn’t even try to bite. He just takes the hit and then the gliscor’s already gone and he lost his chance. I yell at him, ‘what are you doing’, and he looks at me like he doesn’t even know what the fuck I’m talking about. I know he can’t possibly be so fucking stupid that he forgot the plan, so I realize it has to be the Ice Fang that’s the problem, that he can’t do it. But I fucking made it clear he had to train until he could do it every time he wanted, that I wouldn’t catch him just fucking standing there like he can’t get it up or some shit. So of course he fucking loses, and then we fucking lose, and it’s all because he couldn’t do the one thing he had to do. So yeah, I made him sleep outside. He needs to learn his fucking lesson.”

Mike sighed hard and took another glug of his beer. Andre glanced at the clock again. It had been forty minutes since they’d arrived at his apartment, but it felt like an entire day.

At first, Mike had been careful. He’d still had his reputation in mind and known to keep his less acceptable opinions to himself. With a bit more beer in his system, though, he let his guard down, and Andre’s persistent nudging finally tipped the boulder off the edge and sent it hurtling down the mountainside.

Mike really, really didn’t like women. He didn’t like how you couldn’t say they were weaker than men. He didn’t like how you couldn’t say a woman was fat or ugly. He didn’t like how they slithered their way into jobs that belonged to men and then did a worse job and got praised for it anyway. He didn’t like the ex-girlfriend he’d had before coming out. How she’d whine about the harmless jokes his friends made about her and didn’t want them coming around anymore. How, one night, he’d told her to shut up and she wouldn’t. How he’d shown her he was serious, and how her friends almost got her to take it to the police. How it didn’t even hurt. How any man would have just shrugged it off.

Mike, despite being a trainer, also didn’t seem to like pokémon very much. He liked them when they listened to your orders and used those fangs and claws and elemental powers to pummel their opponents, but they didn’t always do that. You could give them shelter and food and medicine and they still acted up and thrashed around and ignored your orders. The mon that spoke also seemed to forget they were mon and not humans. They wanted human things like phones and internet access. They wanted to follow you into bars after rain despite smelling like wet bear. They wanted to get time off when they were feeling down. And because the whole world was breathing down your neck, you had to give them all these or convince them to do without them with nice, well-meaning words.

He didn’t stop there, of course. He also wasn’t particularly a fan of foreigners or any of that ‘political correctness shit’. What really told the most, however, was the utter lack of shame or deception in his aura as he spoke. All that he said, he meant.

The good news was that this left no doubt in Andre’s mind about whether Mike really was deserving of the final phase. The bad news was that, despite the liters of beer he would down, Mike still hadn’t gotten up to use the bathroom and let Andre slip the drug in his drink already.

Maybe he was just too worked up to realize the signals of his body. If he calmed down, he might finally excuse himself.

"Yeah, that sucks," Andre said, grasping his glass of water. He'd love to drink wine, but he didn't want any more alcohol in his system. "This seems like a bit of a downer topic, though. How about we talk about something more pleasant for you, like…" He cast his eyes on the ceiling, pretending to think when he'd already found his idea, then met Mike's eyes again in feigned realization. "Your Snapp account! I noticed you have a huge follower base. How'd you get so many?"

Mike laughed. It sounded genuine, but Andre could sense his intent to deceive. They really were bots, then. "Well, you know, a lot of it is just the right marketing. Keeping up a brand with presence across all social medias. And then good posts, obviously. And making them regularly."

From there, he continued to talk. He talked about his MewTube channel, he talked about sponsors - some crappy energy drink Andre had never heard of - and he talked about Chatter. Andre hadn’t had time to check out Mike’s Chatter profile before, but now that he’d already made the judgment on Mike, he had no need. And he really had no will. He avoided that platform these days for the sake of his sanity.

Mike took another sip of his freshly filled glass of beer, lowered it and got up with a grunt. “Gotta take a leak. Hold on.”

Finally! Andre hid his elation and gestured to the right. “Bathroom’s around the corner. Shouldn’t be hard to find.”

Mike nodded and rounded the corner. Andre heard the door open and close. The lock clacked shut.

Quietly, Andre got up and snuck to the counter. He opened the third drawer on the right and reached his hand all the way back past the miscellaneous kitchen utilities. He drew out one of three ziplock bags pre-filled with a small amount of fine, white powder and closed the drawer after.

He returned to the table and very carefully emptied the bag's contents into the glass of beer, then stirred the liquid with his finger to make it all dissolve. He stopped and briefly stirred in the opposite direction to break up the little whirlpool that had formed. Finally, he took away his finger and rinsed it off in the sink before wrapping the empty plastic bag in a paper towel and throwing it in the bin.

By the time Mike returned, Andre had been sitting for a while, browsing his phone.

"Alright," the trainer said, returning to his seat. "Where were we?"

"Your social media profiles," said Andre, putting his phone away. He avoided naming Chatter on purpose.

Luckily, this worked. "Right, yeah! Another thing you need for a successful social media presence is to make your shit look good, obviously. You gotta know what's good and bad lighting, but of course that's not gonna do anything if you just look like shit. Now, that's not much of an issue for me, but I still like to make sure I take the best care of my hair and skin…"

It was much easier for Andre to pay attention now that he knew Mike's babbling wouldn't last indefinitely. This drug worked quickly, which was why it was legally used as an anaesthetic for stress-prone or potentially dangerous mon. Illegally, it was a narcotic and a roofie. Andre could never remember its proper name, but on the street, it was known as sparkles, named so due to it originating from the spores of morelull and shiinotic. Upon its discovery, anyway. Since then it had been synthesized.

Fifteen minutes was the fastest that Andre had seen it take effect when slipped into a drink like this. Of course, he had a feeling he wouldn’t be quite that lucky. Mike was muscular and taller than average. If his hair and personality weren’t repulsive, he might have been a good catch.

Either way, Andre kept up his facade of interest. He even offered his own insight a few times, not that Mike gave it much attention. The conversation continued without oddities for five, ten, fifteen minutes - until the first signs came.

Ums and uhs appeared between words, getting longer and more frequent as time passed. Each interjection came with a squiggle of confusion, sometimes joined by annoyance. Mike shifted from topic to topic, unable to fight his tangents, until he could no longer make a coherent point about anything. If he ever could.

In five more minutes, Mike finally noticed it himself. He sighed, deflating. "Man, I'm tired as fuck."

Andre tilted his head. "Oh?"

"Yeah…" Mike rubbed his forehead. "I don't think I can do this tonight. Sorry. Lemme…"

He got up from his chair and walked a few wobbly steps away. He reached for the phone in his pocket, but then paused - and quickly stumbled to the couch instead. He barely managed to stay upright as he sat.

Andre got off his own chair and walked over. "Are you alright?" he asked. "How much did you drink at the bar?"

Mike's breathing was heavy. The squiggles of his aura tightened, becoming more jagged, and violet shone through the swirl of unknown colors. Fear.

"I don't…" Mike slurred. "Not that… much…" His head drooped, but he jerked it back up. "Som'th'n's wrong. Call a-an… ambl…"

"Call an ambulance?" Andre pulled out his phone and pretended to unlock it.

"Y-yeah…" Mike tried to lie down on the couch slowly, but his arms couldn’t support him. He flopped down with a grunt. The zigzags of fear loosened up again, but it didn’t mean he was no longer scared. It meant the drug was finally pulling him under.

Andre paused. He put the phone away and crouched next to Mike. Feigned worry melted off his face, leaving behind no expression at all. Mike watched this through squinted eyes, last spikes of fear poking out of the squiggles.

“I’m not calling you an ambulance,” Andre said.

"Wh…why not?" Mike huffed.

Andre stared into his eyes. "Because you're not leaving this place alive."

---​

Acrylics was not Andre’s medium of choice.

He didn't have anything against acrylic paint, no. He didn't think it was inherently lesser than oil paint. Sure, it was the 'easier' of the two, requiring no solvents other than water and drying very quickly, and that made it the preferred choice for beginners and casual hobbyists, but Andre was no elitist. Art was art, be it acrylics, oil paint, watercolor, gouache, colored pencils, crayons or digital.

Andre's preference for oil paint stemmed only from what it was, not what it wasn't. He loved the gloss of it, the texture of it, the rich colors, how it seeped into the canvas, how long it could be mixed - and when he painted, he felt the echoes of history, the motions of the old masters manifesting in his arms and wrists.

Sometimes, however, the special properties of acrylics were necessary. Since its solvent was simply water, not turpentine or any other substances with harmful fumes, it required no ventilation. In other words, Andre could keep the window closed - and that was a crucial prerequisite for what he would soon do.

Mike lay spread eagle on the painting room bed, unconscious and stripped down to his underwear. Four nylon ropes tied his wrists and ankles to the bedposts. A piece of duct tape sealed his mouth tightly shut, a rolled up sock placed behind the lips.

The bed's sheets were gone, replaced by a plastic cover with several white towels spread on top. The bed was also propped up to have its head higher than the foot, and two buckets stood at the corners of the lower end, ready to gather anything that might drip. On the floor underneath was a tarp and some newspapers, which also covered the nearby walls and ceiling.

Since parts of this setup were acceptable for a painter to do for their painting room, Andre had been able to prepare them earlier in the day. He'd also bought the towels and the rope. He'd get rid of all of them alongside the body. He wanted no traces of Mike's blood left in his house.

Mike was quiet and Andre was quiet, but the room was not. A little boombox in the corner of the room played lively jazz - not smooth, not chaotic, just lively - at a conversation's volume. Andre sat on a chair before the bed, legs crossed. An easel with an empty canvas stood on his left, and a little stand with acrylic painting supplies stood on his right. His hands browsed his phone, skimming through Mike's social media accounts once again. He wore nothing but his glasses, his underwear and a long dark blue raincoat.

Andre sighed as he watched yet another video of Mike talking in a training hall, his team in the background along with some other mon. Zara, the toxtricity, ceased picking her chest the moment Mike said his first words, then sharply rolled her eyes and resumed her strumming, the bassy twangs continuing throughout the rest of the video. Grizz, on the other hand, briefly looked back from the battle he was supervising, smiled, and turned back to the field.

Smiling wasn’t as straightforward an expression with mon as it was with humans. Only humans and a few species of mon actually smiled on instinct - the others had to learn to do it, provided they were able to in the first place. Mammalian pokemon typically were, having lips and all, but it still required conscious effort to smile each time they were happy until it could become a habit.

If cameras recorded aura and phones somehow played them back, there’d be no mystery of whether or not the bear was actually happy. Even without it, though, Andre was confident in his judgment - Grizz smiled out of adoration.

It shouldn't happen. But it did happen, all too often, and Andre knew how. He knew the tricks people like Mike would pull to make the abused feel like they weren't really abused or to make the onlookers look the other way. Andre wasn't perfectly sure which one Grizz actually was - Mike had lamented how he needed to be all fuzzy-wuzzy with Grizz to make sure he stayed as his ace, so Grizz couldn’t be getting the worst of the mistreatment - but whatever the case, one thing was certain. Grizz would take Mike's disappearance hard.

Andre had never targeted a trainer before. None of his previous targets had happened to be trainers, nor had they been caretakers of any mon, sapient or feral. By extension, he’d never caused a mon to lose a member of their family or their home.

He would have preferred to avoid it altogether, but this was a case in which the amount of good done outweighed the harm. Mike was a scumbag, an unrepentant one, and no amount of lectures would change that. The only thing he would ever feel sorry for was getting caught.

As for the mon left behind, Andre believed they’d survive and be better off for it. Neither sandaconda nor steelix were species that bonded deeply with humans, at least not when feral. They’d be taken into custody and likely adopted by other trainers, seeing as they were young and strong. Zara didn’t seem too concerned about Mike in general, and Grizz… well.

Grizz was clearly attached to Mike, but he was still his own citizen and mature enough to make his own decisions. His only legal tie to Mike was employment. There were also obvious limits to how meaningful their relationship could be when it seemed to be only professional to Mike. It wasn’t as if Mike was Grizz’s shoulder to cry on - because if that had been the case, Mike would surely have complained about that as well.

Andre clenched his teeth. He’d seen his fair share of two-faced behavior ever since he’d started all this, but it never stopped being disgusting. And it never should. He didn’t want to see the day it did.

Mike's aura began to sputter. It evolved from a colorless, textureless presence to a neutral TV static, then a mixture of a handful of feelings as his brain slowly organized his thoughts - irritation, confusion, anger, fear, all stemming from his unusual position and restraints.

It would take a little longer for Mike to become properly responsive. Andre took the time to clear his browsing history, which he knew wouldn't erase it from his service provider's logs or delete any history his apps might store, but was still a safety precaution better taken. He didn't particularly want to be reminded of this guy once he was gone, either.

Andre got up and straightened his raincoat. Mike's aura flashed with fear-tinged surprise at the sudden noise. Eyes still shut, he made his first vocalization, which may have tried to be a 'hey', but the sock and the tape muffled it into a moan. He tried again, louder, but it didn't help. With great effort, he pried open his eyes. His emotions intensified as he glanced around the room, though anger was keeping the lead. Andre expected as much from someone like him.

Andre checked his setup one last time - yes, everything was there, the canvas, brushes, paint, water, palette, everything. He walked over to a dresser further away, digging out a box of rubber gloves and pulling out a pair for himself. As he returned to the bed, Mike's eyes shed the last of their lethargy. Wide and bulging, they stared at the cloaked man standing at the foot of the bed.

Andre stared back and smiled. It seemed they were all ready to start.

"Mike Thomson," he said, emotion draining from his face. "Professional trainer."

Mike's eyes flicked back and forth between Andre and the rest of the room. Confusion briefly took over, but anger made a quick comeback and only kept strengthening. 'This guy drugged me and tied me down,' Mike must have been thinking. 'Me, Mike Thomson! How dare he?'

Andre clasped his hands behind his back, the rubber gloves still in his hold. "Also an abuser of women, and an abuser of pokémon."

Anger rattled like an ekans. 'He lied to me. He tricked me. And now he's going to lecture me?'

The lecture would be the least of his worries, but he didn't seem to understand that yet. He couldn't possibly believe he was in actual danger. Danger, from this guy? This pasty twink?

"You must have thought it'd never catch up to you," Andre continued. "That no one was brave enough to speak up. That it was too small and subtle to be considered a real crime anyway."

Specks of regret shot out from Mike's aura, but Andre knew it wasn't guilt. Mike regretted meeting Andre, coming to this apartment, spilling all his secrets, not realizing it had been a trap. The specks ignited as regret turned to anger. Anger at himself.

"And maybe it would have been true," Andre said, "had you not met me."

He brought his hands before him again. Mike's eyes fixed on the rubber gloves as Andre began to slip them on. Then the raincoat. Then the bed, the towels, the buckets.

And that's when it happened.

The visceral wave. The twisting of the heart, the shiver in the spine. Violet ribbons slithering on the skin, silky and cool.

Fear. And not just any fear.

Mike had just realized he was going to die.

Andre's eyes shut in pleasure, like a cat soaking in the warmth of the sun. Inspiration rushed to his wrists, the want to place down the feeling via color and shape, the need.

But there were still a few more words to say. This fear could be refined, amplified, and since it could, it should. He deserved to feel the worst of it. The worst until the real worst came, anyway.

Andre took a deep breath to keep himself focused. "You've done a lot of taking," he said, slowly making his way back to the dresser he'd gotten his rubber gloves from. "You can't possibly give back what you've taken," he continued, "but you can still give me something."

He stopped in front of the dresser and slid open the drawer underneath the previous one. He reached in and grasped the kitchen utility knife that he'd sharpened and placed there earlier in the day. As he pulled it out into view, he said his next words.

"Your pain and suffering."

Hearing those words and seeing the knife, Mike's terror surged. He pulled at his restraints and attempted to scream, but it was useless. The bed creaked, but the wood held, and the frame stayed in place thanks to the two more dressers placed on its sides, all while the jazz drowned out his muffled screams.

Andre smiled. Not because he was a sadist - he wasn't - but because he knew it would make this even worse of an experience for Mike. That's what Mike deserved, after all. He deserved to die alone, helpless, afraid and in pain.

Andre walked up to the bed, feeling the newspaper underneath his feet, feeling the now. The delicious fear of the abuser turned victim, his wordless pleas for undeserved mercy. No one would come for him. No one would save him. He was as helpless as he'd made his victims feel. This was justice.

Anger flashed once more as Andre placed his knee on the end of the bed and leaned above Mike, but it was the screech of a cornered animal. It did nothing to dissuade Andre from raising his blade, taking it down to the side of Mike's abdomen, placing it gently against the skin. The gripping hand quivered, betraying the wildly beating heart inside Andre's chest. The feigned smile across his face had long since become real. This was his mission, this was his service to the world, and he would do it once again.

His gaze climbed up Mike's body to the trainer's mortified eyes. In seconds' time, that fear radiating from him would turn blinding white.

"Let's begin," Andre whispered.

He slashed the blade across the skin, and Mike screamed.

---​

The man screamed as the beasts tore his body open. He was the first of them to die this way. The others were stabbed, hanged, poisoned, decapitated, fried in an electric chair, but none had been torn apart by beasts. For this man, though, for Six, it was the obvious choice.

Canine, feline, bird, reptile. They barely scratched the surface of the diversity of the animal kingdom, but all that mattered was the impression. The idea. The idea of all manner of creatures joining together for vengeance against their oppressor. Broken chains hung from their shackles. No more. The natural order was restored.

The man screamed. He screamed like all the others. Lightning bled from their eyes and mouths, and from their wounds bled magma, boiling hot. Purple storm and red inferno raged, inside and out of the void-black body, but neither could touch the beasts. Not the beasts, not the blade, not the rope, anything. The men were powerless. All were powerless when it came. When death came.

What's this?

Something moved, swirled, fluttered about in the stream of emotions. What was it? A flake of white ash. Just one? Or many, at different times? Many. The observer did not understand it, but he had seen it, and that was all that mattered. It would be part of the scene. It would be recorded, it would be brought to sight, the material world. The observer reached for white --


Something broke. Something was wrong in Mike’s aura. Andre stopped and looked at the man on the bed. He was stiff, unmoving, and his eyes had no focus, but he couldn’t be unconscious - his aura wasn’t neutral. It was fearful, like it had been moments ago, but it was distorted. Each defining quality was somehow off, out of tune, harsh on the ear. It was simply wrong. It made Andre shiver.

And then it let go. It faded away in less than a second, leaving nothing in its wake.

Nothing? Nothing at all?

Andre put down his paintbrush and rushed beside the man. He placed his fingers on Mike’s neck. No pulse. Andre leaned down, bringing his head next to Mike’s. No aura. But there were faint auras further away, the other tenants of the building. Andre’s aura sense was working correctly. Mike simply had no aura. Mike was dead.

Andre got up and stopped to catch his breath. He walked over to the radio that still played jazz as if nothing had happened and turned down the volume to allow himself to think.

Okay. It had to have been some kind of sudden failure in Mike’s system, probably triggered by the extreme amounts of stress and possibly also the loss of blood. Andre glanced at the body. Four cuts across the abdomen and arms. Halfway of what he usually did, but Mike was also very giving. Andre hadn’t needed to go back very often.

Still, it was strange. Mike didn’t go unconscious at all. It didn’t take him any time to die. Normally, the target would pass out from blood loss and their aura would lose its color. Only then could the aura begin to break down and fade away as more and more braincells died.

Andre brought his hand to his chin, but sighed not too long after. Now that Mike was dead, there was no way for him to get back in the flow, not when he’d been yanked out of it so violently.

Well, it was fun while it lasted. He liked to think he’d made some pretty good art, too. And the most important thing was that another terrible person had been erased from the world. Andre had fulfilled his duty. The next four months were free.

He walked back to the easel and picked up his brush. He eyed the painting. It was still quite rough. Rough was how paintings of raw emotion ought to be, but this was simply unfinished. He'd do what he needed to complete the painting before he began to clean up. Oh, and…

He touched the canvas with the tip of the brush, creating a little speck of white. He repeated the action a few more times around the canvas.

There. Little flakes of ash.

---​

The next morning, Andre woke up at noon. He briefly wondered why his alarm hadn’t gone off until he remembered he’d killed someone the night before.

He knew that such a day always required ample rest afterwards. It wasn't easy to get to sleep after getting rid of the body and the evidence. He had to call and talk to people he'd never want to interact with under any other circumstance, and he had to let them inside his home. So far, there'd never been any complications - Andre gave them the cash, they took the bag and they left - but he never felt safe. Those men were criminals, after all, and hardened ones at that. Their auras showed no fear. Not even disgust at the thought of whatever was inside that bag. It was inhuman.

He tried his best not to think about what the money he gave them was going to. If he had his way, he wouldn't give them a cent. But he just couldn't get rid of the evidence on his own. He didn't have the skill or knowhow to pull it off reliably without getting caught. And if he got caught, he'd be put away. He couldn't fulfill his duty from prison.

It was alright. Wyndon had its police to take care of organized crime. It had nobody to take care of the scumbags whose crimes went unspoken. Nobody but Andre.

He got up from his bed and stretched. He really should take today to get all the relaxation he couldn't get yesterday. He'd let himself eat cereal for breakfast and later order some garbage takeout. He'd spend the day lying on the couch, watching animated movies and taking in the artistry. Yes, that sounded like a plan.

He continued through his morning routine as usual. Once he reached the kitchen, he poured a bowl full of Comfey Charms, unafraid of their empty calories, and brought it to the table flanking the living room couch. He turned on the TV, but didn't switch to streaming quite yet, instead letting the news play in the background while he checked his Snapp feed on his phone. Katie had finished some anatomy practice. He recognized some of the poses and props - it looked like she'd used that life drawing site he'd recommended. He dropped a like and a comment of 'lookin good' with a thumbs up. It did, indeed, look good. While the drawings were still a bit stiff in gesture, she'd come a long way since she'd decided to draw more than just cartoons.

He sensed something. Some aura.

Andre put down his phone and listened. Now he couldn't sense it anymore. Or he could. He wasn't sure. It was so small. Or so far away. It moved. Okay, if it moved, it had to exist.

Except now it left. It wasn't there anymore. Maybe it was never there. Maybe he'd actually heard a little noise instead and confused it for something he'd sensed through aura.

No, there it was again. It was definitely there, somewhere in the direction of his painting room, outside the apartment. But that was open air…

Bird, he decided, or bug pokémon. Nothing to worry about.

He was about to return to his phone when it came inside. Through the wall.

Oh.

Andre froze up. He’d never had to deal with a stray ghost pokémon wandering in by himself. What was he supposed to do again? Just wait for it to leave, and if that didn’t work, get an amulet to shoo it away?

Wait…

The aura had gotten closer, allowing Andre to sense it better. There was something familiar about it. Was it…

Oh no.

The flake of white ash floated even closer. Slowly but surely, it was heading for Andre.

He got up and stepped to the side, closer to the TV. The aura changed its course accordingly. Andre walked backwards, and the aura continued to follow.

What did it want? Did it want to drain life from him? That didn’t make sense. There were dozens of other humans just outside who couldn’t sense aura and wouldn’t have any idea the ghost was present. He’d also already witnessed the ghost move faster than it did now. Nothing prevented it from simply swooping in and taking that energy by force. It wasn’t as if Andre could swat it away like he could a mosquito, no, the ghost was in an intangible state.

It had to have something to do with Andre in specific. It had to be related to last night. What had happened last night? He’d killed Mike --

No, of course. He hadn’t killed Mike. He'd caused his death, no doubt, and he'd intended to, but ultimately Mike's cause of death had been an unexpected accident, something unknown that had taken his life in an instant rather than gradually through loss of blood. That something had to have been this ghost. This ghost had absorbed the last of a dying man’s life, something even a weak ghost could do. That’s why Mike’s aura had been so strange.

And now the ghost was back. Andre had a good guess why. It had associated him with that death, like a farfetch’d at a pond coming to humans for bread, and it wanted more.

Andre’s back bumped against the wall. He’d run out of backward steps to take. He could move to the right next… but he clenched his fist instead.

He couldn’t be bossed around by this ghost. Despite his quickly beating heart, he stood his ground. A ghost this little couldn’t hurt him. A lot. And if it tried, he’d simply leave and come back with an amulet.

The ghost floated ever closer, so close that Andre wasn’t sure if it was going to stop outside of his body - but it did, just centimeters away.

Andre clenched his jaw. “Show yourself,” he growled.

The air began to darken. Andre flinched. He hadn’t expected it to understand.

Like ink blots on paper, the darkness spread, coloring in a shape barely larger than Andre’s palm. Invisible threads wove together to form bluish gray fabric - spectral cloth - and wrapped around the air to form the shape of a tiny shuppet.

Two slits opened up in the front of the cloth, revealing the large yellow-blue eyes behind. A third slit underneath formed a mouth. It smiled - and it opened.

“Hello!”

---​
 
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Spiteful Murkrow

Busy Writing Stories I Want to Read
Pronouns
He/Him/His
Partners
  1. nidoran-f
  2. druddigon
  3. swellow
  4. lugia
  5. quilava-fobbie
  6. sneasel-kate
  7. heliolisk-fobbie
Heya, dropping in for my Catnip Review, which this time around was for what I gather is the “Andre Fic” that you’ve been plugging away on recently. Now I don’t exactly know what it’s about other than that it’s about a serial killer who isn’t your depiction of Red, so I’m not really sure where this is going to go.

So let’s dive right in and find out, huh?

Chapter 1

Empty canvas.

He tried to fill it, but nothing would stick. Nothing inspired him enough to be worth putting down.

A heavy sigh left Andre’s lungs. During the past week, he’d slaved away at three commissionsone of them a portrait of a particularly nitpicky delcattyand now that he was done and free to paint something just for his own joy again… nothing came.

Slight nitpick, but you should consider emdashes where you’re using hyphens there, to emphasize a break in the train of thought.

Also, I’m not wholly convinced that ‘nothing’ would inspire this guy given the synopsis. Nothing legal, maybe.

But it wasn’t as if this was a surprise. That blank rectangle had plagued his mind ever since the morning, but he’d convinced himself that if he took the time to set up his painting station, the his muse would surely sing. Alas, she did not. All he heard was the ambience of the city pouring in through his open window now that he’d already given up on music.

I kinda wonder if the underlined would’ve sounded better coming before ‘All he heard’, but that might be getting a bit nitpicky of me.

Shoulders slumped, he admitted defeat. This session was a bust.

Artist’s block was nothing new to Andre. He’d confronted that foe countless times ever since he first picked up a crayon. It was an inevitable part of any artist’s life, and it was up to each individual to find the battle strategies that worked for them.

Yeah, I know that feeling, even if my skills with visual art are pretty mediocre. It bites.

Fortunately, Andre knew a technique that had served him well many times in the past: going out and meeting someone new. It was also something he probably ought to do after so many days cooped up in his apartment huffing paint thinner. Though it really worked better towards the evening… well, he’d find some way to kill the time until then. It was just a few hours.

I like how you’re selling off a sense of how outwardly normal this guy is. Like I know from the synopsis that there’s probably a rug pull due inbound in a few paragraphs, but it’s a nice touch to tee that up given that I’m pretty sure things are going to go places in this chapter.

He corked his thinner and linseed oil, washed his glass palette clean of the primaries he’d put down and began putting away the rest of his equipment. Once he grabbed the brushes, though, a stray thought interrupted him.

You might need those for acrylics.

He froze up.

No, he thought. It's too soon. It's only been…

It had been four months.

… Oh, so it’s that time of year again for Andre again, huh? ^^;

He blinked. It really had already been four months. It felt like a mistake, but no - the last time was in January, and now it was May.

There had been sufficient cooldown. It was possible to do ‘acrylics’ again.

… Wait, so Andre mixes the blood of his victims into his paints? Or is that just pure euphemism acting up there? I can’t tell which of the two interpretations is creepier.

He sighed. Oh, I just want a fun night out --

Are you shirking your duty?


He frowned. That thought was right. Now that he was able to do it, he had to.

Ohhh boy, he’s a mission-oriented serial killer. Well, if nothing else, you can’t say that he’s not cut from a very different mold than HHverse’s Red.

But it was alright. Most likely, tonight would turn out just the way he wanted - a fun night out. There'd be no scumbags, and he wouldn't have to do anything. Most likely, he'd only need to be prepared. And that was easy enough. He probably had the money already. He should check that now…

He left the brushes out and headed to his bedroom. He walked up to the painting of the two corvisquire perched on a branchnot his own, but a gift from Katieand lifted it away to reveal his safe. He looked around, even though he knew he was alone, and opened it.

He counted the bills inside. Yes, five thousand Galarish pounds. Enough to get rid of the evidence and a car on top if need be. If it wasn’t, they certainly couldn’t blame him. They couldn’t exactly send out emails informing their clients about new pricing. And they knew he was a trustworthy customer. He’d pay the rest later after he’d had time to withdraw more cash.

Wait, I can’t tell if the implication is that Andre is using this to pay off ‘cleaners’ and what he needs the car for. The car is a burner that he can abandon? Or what’s the deal there? Since I think that I’m missing a step here.

He closed the safe, locked it, and lifted the painting back into place. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to open it again today.

Though if he did…

He knew he’d get all the inspiration he needed.

… Wait a minute, just how big is that safe such that it can hold an entire painting in it? .-.

Is it supposed to be a tall/closet-style safe? Since that feels like a small detail that might be mentioning more explicitly.

The city air was warm and dry, saturated with exhaust fumes and dust. It was one of those occasions when Andre was glad to have glasses, not contacts. Those little particles of sand probably weren’t good for the lenses, but better they get into those than his eyes. Glasses could be replaced, his corneas couldn’t.

I’m pretty sure that London’s air is actually fairly humid, but meh. Fantasy world where there’s magically deserts around Derbyshire, so I won’t question it.

The walk from the nearest parking spaces was fortunately short, and he soon found himself at his destination: Shoemaker Street Bar, named creatively so after the street it was on. It was one of his secondary joints, a place to go whenever he felt the need to switch things up and see more new faces. It was also, as the rainbow flag in the window suggested, a place to meet men, which he'd decided to pursue tonight.

Getting some strong Dorian Gray vibes right about now. Like I doubt that Andre is similarly going to strike some sort of deal with the devil to pass on the effects of his lifestyle to a painting, but it does make me curious if you took influence from it or not.

He couldn't see or hear much of the inside, but he could already tell the place was bustling. A sea of aura churned behind those doors, as diverse in moods as that rainbow flag was in colours, though not as evenly distributed - joy and peace clearly dominated the atmosphere. Andre smiled in response. It was nice to know the people inside were enjoying themselves. Hopefully he would too.

Oh, so Andre can perceive aura too, huh? Well filing that one away for later, since I don’t recall that being mentioned as being a common party trick in HH.

He opened the door and stepped through. Right away, his aura sense was proven correct, as most if not all tables were surrounded by people engaged in lively conversation. The air smelled of alcohol, but was well enough ventilated to lack the stench of sweat. The speakers near the ceiling played some club music, as generic as one would expect, though it could barely be heard over all the talking and intermittent laughter.

How should I imagine this music again? EDM? Pop? Elevator music? Since zeroing in on a hard genre can potentially give some insight as to Andre’s tastes and attitudes.

Andre took a closer look at the customers. Most were men, human men, but some groups had mon in the mix, and at least one group was made up of mon entirely. There were the typical ones often seen in human establishmentsgardevoir, machoke, indeedeebut the sight of a crawdaunt made Andre pause. He scolded himself right after. If they wanted to be here, they had a right to be comfortable. He shouldn’t stare.

Filing that one away that Andre seems to have lingering prejudices against Pokémon, even if he’s self-cognizant of it and tries to manage it.

He turned his attention to the counter instead. Unlike the tables, there were plenty of spots to choose from. The outer corner, too, was vacant. Perfect. He made his way to the seat, stopping briefly to let a small group past him, and sat down.

He closed his eyes, basking in the aura like a reptile in the sun. Sunlight was what joyous aura reminded him of the most: warm and yellow, but too much of it unfiltered would be blinding. Peace, however, could never overwhelm him. Its soft pink tone was, even at its loudest, a whisper.

But a palette of yellow and pink alone would be all too dull, too saccharine. For that much needed contrast, there were streaks of sorrow, anger, anxiety - the emotions humans wanted to avoid, yet knew they couldn’t, that they shouldn’t. A healthy mind felt them all. A good artist used them all.

… That now makes me curious as to if this is how Lucario operate in HHverse or if this perception of aura is specific to humans or even to Andre himself. It’s definitely a neat take on aura perception, and it’s certainly thematically fitting for a character that’s a visual artist.

He opened his eyes just in time to see the bartender approach.

“What’ll it be?” asked the burly man, the volume of his voice perfectly adjusted to overpower the background noise but to be no louder. His thick black beard made up for all the hair missing on his head.

“Castelian,” Andre replied. It would have been nice to try something less cliche, but he knew he shouldn’t stand out. The weaker the impressions he left in the employees’ minds, the less likely he was to be brought up as a possible suspect.

… Wait, how many people has Andre taken home from this bar and later murdered with that thought process? .-.

“You got it," the bartender said, stepping back to prepare the drink. In the meantime, Andre turned around to survey his surroundings again, this time with his eyes open.

Having no friends beside him, he knew not even to attempt to merge into an existing group - he had to look for other loners instead. That did shrink the pool of possible companions quite drastically, but it was simply how things had to go on these kinds of outings. Which he'd have to go on until he found someone to fulfil his duty with

‘Duty’, huh? Makes me wonder if Andre is also doing his murders on behalf of a “third party” like Red.
He noticed the frown on his face and forced it away. Irritation was rarely attractive. He brought a gentle smile to his lips in its place.

Boy was that line surprisingly creepy. I’d say that Andre is a good actor, but I’m pretty sure most actors don’t consciously switch emotional states on and off like that.

Alright, lone people. There were a few like that scattered around, mostly by the walls or the counter, browsing their phones or looking around or shifting between both. Were they looking for new company like Andre, or had they simply lost sight of their friends? It would have been very easy just to ask, but mistakes like that were another thing Andre preferred to minimize.

He suppressed a sigh. It felt paranoid, but each time he wanted to dismiss a thought as paranoid, another told him he was getting careless…

IMO this paragraph would work better as two separate ones, since something about the last two sentences feels thematically distinct from the rest of the paragraph. Probably because the first four have Andre plotting, and the last two have him reacting to his thought process.

But he was a sensible man. He could tell the difference between paranoia and reasonable caution. And he needed to stay sensible. In the end, he'd do the world a much better service if he took proper care of himself…

Yeah, okay Andre.

"Castelian," a voice came from behind, startling Andre. Right, the bartender. Andre swiveled around to see the drink set on the counter before himvivid blue, cocktail glass, sitrus slice hanging from the rim. A classic sight. He thanked the bartender and paid for the drink. Card, not cash. It left a trail, but his image in the security cameras left a hell of a bigger one. Either way, these safety precautions were never about being seenthey were about arousing suspicion. And why would someone as well-groomed as him pay with cash?

I’d give Andre crap over this train of thought, but if Wyndon’s public surveillance is anything like London’s… yeah, he’s onto something there. Since you really can’t avoid leaving a CCTV trail in IRL London. The best you can do is go unnoticed when the security footage is reviewed, and “acting your part” for the profile you give off is a pretty solid way of accomplishing that.

He raised the glass against the backlight of the bar and admired the color of the drink a little longer before taking his first sip. It was less sour than he'd expected. Maybe they'd used less sitrus, or maybe they'd used a sweeter cultivar of the sitrus or the oran used to make it. Either way, the alcohol was there. He hoped it would relax him a little, as he seemed more on edge than usual…

A mix of emotions flared at his rightsurprise, anger, disgust. Against the harmonious hum of joy and peace, it was the twang of an out-of-tune guitar. Andre looked over and identified the likely source: one of two men sitting at a table bordering the dance floor. That man, slim and black-haired, did well to hide the degree of his outrage, only staring at his companion blankly with his mouth slightly ajar. The other man, white with bleached dreads, seemed oblivious to this, continuing to rant about something with exaggerated hand motions and a consistent aura of annoyance. He wore a red vest with the initials 'MT' stitched in. Something on his neck glistenedgold chains, comically thin and unimpressive.

Ah yes, the table of chavs. I can already feel Andre’s urge to kill rising in live-time.

Andre reacted with disgust of his own, but shook his head. It was no crime to be tacky.

He returned to surveying the loners, and soon settled one one he was quite sure was available - a young, lanky man with long, sandy brown hair and a beard. The kind you'd be shocked to hear didn't have a guitar-playing channel on MewTube. The man held his glass of beer close to his chest, shifting his weight from one leg to another, and cast hesitant looks on other people around the bar. He was too far away and surrounded by too many others for Andre to get any confident reading of his aura, but it was hardly necessary with such obviously shy behavior.

>MewTube

That pun is at once horrible and brilliant. Though the fact that Andre is having trouble picking out this guy’s aura makes me wonder if being socially reserved or open affects one’s aura “signature” at all in this setting.

He may have been new to this bar, or new to the community entirely. In the latter case, Andre would gladly lend a helping hand. This man wouldn't be the first person Andre had shown the ropes to, and it was unlikely he'd be the last. It was important for newcomers to receive the right advice and learn what's okay and what isn't lest they fall victim to predators.

Andre: “Well, predators that aren’t me, anyways.” ^^

It would be a worthy cause, then, to approach that man. It would be a service to the community just as acrylics would be. It was a fair trademore than fair. After all, acrylics at this point were only theoretical. It was likely he'd meet no one that fit the criteria by the end of the day even if he stayed until closing time. So, all that considered

… This is going to turn out to be Andre’s next murder victim, isn’t it? Since I remember those beta sequences where we saw his thought process about his (eventual) roommate. .-.

The heat of fury strengthened against his back, burning like rays of a midday sun revealed from the clouds. He looked back to Dreads and Darkhair. The two seemed to be arguing. Dreads’ gesturing was now directed at Darkhair, and Darkhair’s face no longer concealed his disgust. What could be causing such revulsion from that man? What had Dreads been talking about? And was it…

It might have been, yes. It might have been something only a scumbag would do. Which meant Andre had to check.

I guess I ought to be less surprised that a chav gathering would be a target-rich environment for Andre. Since… yeah, the stereotypical chav would likely trip a lot of Andre’s “scumbag” flags.

Sighing, he cast one last wistful glance at Guitarman before getting off his seat and heading towards the arguing men. He was lucky that they’d taken the table next to the dancefloor, as it let Andre slip into the corner and stand right beside the two without arousing suspicion. He took out his phone and leaned on the wall behind him, pretending to type something while sipping on the drink in his other hand. While his eyes were glued to the screen, his attention was otherwise fully on the scene unfolding on his left, listening closely to both sound and aura.

"Don't tell me how to train my team, okay? You're not even a trainer!" snapped Dreads.

Ah yes, there’s our victim, I’m pretty sure.

"What, so you think non-trainers can never question how trainers are treating their mon? Even if it's abuse?" retorted Darkhair.

"I'm not fucking beating them, dude! How would I even beat a fucking steelix? My hand would break!"

"But you make him sleep out in the cold!"

"For one night! He's a giant fucking metal snake, anyway! He can handle it!"

Andre:
AQzXuN5.gif


So Dreads was a trainer. Of course, it fit with the ego and the tacky clothing. And Darkhair was accusing him of abusing his team. Definitely a scumbag thing to do.

If he was a trainer, though, especially with a getup like that, he had to be online. Andre opened a browser tab on his phone and began to search for combinations of 'trainer', 'MT', 'steelix', 'dreadlocks', 'white' and 'Wyndon', all while keeping an ear out for any more details from the continuing argument, though nothing helpful was spilled. Eventually, he believed he'd managed to identify himMike Thomson, Snapp handle @michaelicious. Andre tapped on the profile to see more.

And this is why you don’t casually put out every little bit of your life onto social media, kiddos.

It seemed like a standard account for a small-time trainer who fancied himself a real celebrity. Videos and snapshots of training sessions, tournament joining announcements, promotional pictures… all with Mike well in the foreground. His team seemed to consist of a tar brown ursaring, a toxtricity, a sandaconda and, indeed, a steelix - Grizz, Zara, Twister and Titan respectively. Grizz seemed to be his ace given how he was always positioned closest to Mike. He seemed to be paying the most attention to Mike, too. Andre had his doubts about this respect being reciprocated.

The follower count was quite high, but the amount of likes and comments seemed disproportionately small. Bought followers? Oh, how embarrassing. Still, the users that did commentprovided they were realseemed highly adoring. Probably kids that didn't know better.

Wow, I can feel my sympathy for Mike evaporating in live-time. Andre sure knows a thing or two about picking out his quarry.

He returned to his search results and tapped on Mike's MewTube channel next, though not before making sure his phone was muted. What he saw kept up with his initial impressions

A surge of anger from the men interrupted his thoughts. He glanced over before he could remind himself he wasn't supposed to lookbut immediately after, his gaze was justified.

Mike slammed his hand down on the table and stood up. "What the fuck did you just say?"

I can already see Andre’s inner serial killer reacting like a starved wolf right about now.

Darkhair had clearly said something to set him off. Andre cursed himself for missing ithe'd gotten too preoccupied with his phone to actually keep listening to their conversation.

Surprise radiated from Darkhair along with a tinge of fear. Anger quickly returned, the indignant kind, but Mike was faster than him on acting upon it.

You wanna take this outside? You wanna fight?” Mike shouted, gesturing wildly. Andre’s heartbeat quickened as he realized his moment to act may have been rapidly approaching. If Mike kept up that aggression, he would be asked to leave. And Andre had to exit the building before his target did.

Mike totally seems like the sort of guy who’d say that and then promptly sic his Pokémon on someone, since… yeah, I’m not convinced that he’d fight his buddy one-on-one there.

Darkhair raised his palms and began his attempt to de-escalate the situation, but Andre could tell Mike was too offended to back down. As Mike continued to shout, Andre downed what little remained of his drink and left the glass on a small table by the dancefloor. He cast a glance towards the bartender and saw the bearded man frowning at the arguing pair. In moments’ time, the man left his counter and headed for the scene. Andre suppressed a smirk. Just as he’d hoped.

Andre:
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YKUOB8MN4Kc


He slipped out of the door, squinting at the light of the sun still setting. He walked some way from the door, leaned onto a nearby railing and scanned his surroundings just one more time to be safe. He came to the same conclusionno street cameras here. Good.

To avoid drawing attention, he pulled out his phone again and opened his sudoku app. It was much easier to look at it without actually losing attention. He kept his ears and aura sense perked for whenever Mike would exitif he would, Andre's prediction could still have been wrongand thought of the best way to approach him.

Andre: “Cue the scumbag chav getting yeeted from the bar in 3… 2…”

Within the minute, a blob of rage began to emerge from the aura sea like a fish out of murky waters. It broke the surface with a loud thud of the front door being shoved open.

Andre glanced back just as any other onlooker would and found a visibly upset Mike stomping out. His anger was piercing now that the rest of the bar wasn't there to drown it out. Andre had to hope it wasn't too strong. Either way, he'd find out shortly.

In the most inoffensive tone he could muster, Andre asked the man a question. "Hey, are you Mike Thomson?"

Well that’s certainly really forward. I kinda wonder if something about Andre’s observations of Mike ought to have tipped him off to him being particularly egotistical, since a stranger going up and going “are you [full name]?” would likely be startling to a decent swath of people.

Mike jerked his head to Andre like a startled linoone, hunched slightly as if readying for a pounce. Andre flinched a little himself, but relaxed alongside Mike as the man's aggression lessened.

"Yeah?" Mike answered, still reserved, but an amber buzz in his aura revealed his growing excitement. Someone had recognized him, and it was cocaine to his ego.

Yeah, I figured. Even if I do think that this would feel more natural with some sort of acknowledgement of “let’s reel this guy in with his pride” from Andre before he breaks out the full-name basis.

"Oh, I thought I recognized you in there!" Andre said, walking up to him with a smile which began as fake but turned genuine as Mike's anger all but disappeared. "My little brother's a huge fan of yours."

Mike's brows raised, and his mouth drew into a smirk. "Really?"

No, but you’re too dense to find this all weird and suspiciously well-timed, so you do you, Mike.

"Yeah! You might have seen him in your comments, who knows. I don't remember his username, though…" Andre clasped his hands together. "Oh, he'd love to have your autograph. W-would you be okay with that?"

[ ]

“Sure! You got a pen?”

It might be overthinking it, but IMO, the bit in brackets might’ve worked a bit more to show off some combination of Mike’s reaction to this charm offensive, and Andre reacting to him taking the bait in live-time.

“Let’s see…” Andre reached into his pockets, but he already knew he had no pen or paper on him. He hadn’t exactly expected to need to woo a microcelebrity when leaving his house. “I guess I don’t have one on me right now…” he said, defeated. “Would you be alright with a photo instead?”

“Sure!”

Andre concealed a sigh of relief as he took out his phone. This was the better of two alternate paths. The longer they interacted, the lower the threshold was for continuing the conversation afterwards. Thought it’d still be a leap… a leap he had to make if he wanted justice served. Or, well, he couldn’t know for sure yetbut he had a feeling.

Boy does Andre’s whole methodical management of his outward emotions never stop being creepy. Though I’m assuming that that’s the point.

He moved beside Mike and lifted the phone up high for a photo. A wave of deep magenta suddenly arosearousal. Perhaps Mike had caught the scent of his perfume, a soft vanilla, and realized just how captivating this stranger was with his feminine frame and wavy cinnamon brown hair. Either way, it was very promising.

I mean, you were in a bar. Whether straight or gay, bars always have no shortage of sensual and hedonistic types, so I suppose it ought to not be too surprising that Andre’s target would be cut from a similar jib.

Andre snapped the pic and a few more as everyone knew one good picture stood on the bodies of dozensnot that he'd actually keep them. He’d delete them as soon as their time together came to an end, possibly sooner.

inb4 something goes wrong here, since stories very rarely go completely to plan for their protagonists.

Alright. The pleasantries were over, and the leap was now fast approaching. Andre's heartbeat quickened, but he was all too experienced to let it show.

"Thanks so much," Andre said, lowering the phone. Before Mike could say anything that may have ended the conversation, Andre raised a hand. "And, hey…"

He stared deep into Mike's eyes, locking him in place. "I saw what happened back there, and I just wanna say that guy had no right to act the way he did."

I know that it’s not the intent, but now I can’t unsee the idea of Andre going full
:DEATH~1:
-face at Mike right here at this moment. :P

"Th-thanks." Mike quickly averted his eyes, but it was not out of embarrassment - the green sound did not come. Instead, there was lavender. Apprehension. He seemed to have realized something like this getting out could hurt his reputation.

Andre: “(That’s seriously this guy’s number one concern right now? Boy can I not kill this waste of air fast enough.)” >_>;

"No, really," Andre said as genuinely as he could. "That guy was accusing you of mistreating your team. You love your team! Even I know that. That's just so fucking disrespectful."

Mike began to nod as Andre spoke. "Yeah… yeah, that was fucked up." His apprehension was letting up. Was it letting up enough? Was this the moment for the leap?

No, he should keep going. He should tell him…

Oh, this is building towards “wanna come back to my place?” isn’t it?

What would he tell him? Nothing came to mind. Nothing except what he'd already said. He didn't know trainers well enough to know what else they wanted to hear. Should he repeat his point in different words? No, it may be too suspicious. Mike could realize he didn't really mean it, and his apprehension would only get worse then. But if…

No, no! Precious microseconds were wasting. He had to make a decision now.

He decided to take the leap.

Alright, let’s see what this ‘leap’ entails.

Andre slipped his hands in his pockets, forcing the motion to be casual despite the adrenaline in his veins. He'd play this part right.

"I guess this night didn't go quite as you wished it would," he said, shrugging coyly.

"Yeah," Mike sighed, pocketing his own hands.

"It doesn't have to be that way."

Yuuuuuuup, I thought that things would be going here.

Mike looked back at him. Magenta returned. Yes.

Andre smirked. "You were looking for company, weren't you?"

Mike eyed him up and down. The magenta strengthened. A smirk of his own formed on his face. "Maybe."

Boy is this guy a terrible judge of character. But I suppose such is life when you outsource your thinking to your libido.

Great relief washed over Andre, but he knew he wasn't done yet. He titled his head. "I've got a pretty nice apartment," he said. "All to myself. No roommates, no teammates. Just nice decor and a bed with room to spare."

Mike's apprehension was gone. Excitement had fully taken its place. His smirk became a grin. "Sounds good."

Whelp, I suppose the only question from here is whether or not this guy is going to be dead by daylight or not.

Andre nodded and took a step towards the parking spaces. "You got your own car with you?"

"Nah, taxi."

[ ] Perfect. Much safer. Much cheaper. "Let's take mine, then."

I kinda wonder if Andre ought to have any emotional cues come out here. Like is he smiling? Is he relaxing a bit? Since from his perspective, everything is all going according to plan in live-time. It might make sense to drop in something quick and dirty to lean into that.

They headed for the car. Andre took a moment just to listen to the city’s ambiance, refreshing his brain after the flurry of thoughts it had just endured. It wasn’t a deep respite, but it would have to do. The second phase was soon to begin.

The one that would decide if Mike ever came home again.

Can’t tell if this is the part where Andre sizes up his marks and hits the abort button at the last minute if need be, or if he’s simply mulling over whether or not to leave a body behind for Mike’s kin to find. Either way, that is certainly a train of thought, to say the least.

“All fucking week, we’ve been training for this, and he just doesn’t do it. The gliscor hits him, and I don’t see a damn single snowflake forming on his teeth. He doesn’t even try to bite. He just takes the hit and then the gliscor’s already gone and he lost his chance.

[ ]

I yell at him, ‘what are you doing’, and he looks at me like he doesn’t even know what the fuck I’m talking about. I know he can’t possibly be so fucking stupid that he forgot the plan, so I realize it has to be the Ice Fang that’s the problem, that he can’t do it. But I fucking made it clear he had to train until he could do it every time he wanted, that I wouldn’t catch him just fucking standing there like he can’t get it up or some shit.

[ ]

So of course he fucking loses, and then we fucking lose, and it’s all because he couldn’t do the one thing he had to do. So yeah, I made him sleep outside. He needs to learn his fucking lesson.”

I… kinda think that you should break this block up into a couple paragraphs with some background action or thought process from Andre going on in the background. Like I get that Mike’s meant to be monologuing and droning on, but that is a lot of text to take in one sitting there.

Mike sighed hard and took another glug of his beer. Andre glanced at the clock again. It had been forty minutes since they’d arrived at his apartment, but it felt like an entire day.

At first, Mike had been careful. He’d still had his reputation in mind and known to keep his less acceptable opinions to himself. With a bit more beer in his system, though, he let his guard down, and Andre’s persistent nudging finally tipped the boulder off the edge and sent it hurtling down the mountainside.

Mike really, really didn’t like women. He didn’t like how you couldn’t say they were weaker than men. He didn’t like how you couldn’t say a woman was fat or ugly. He didn’t like how they slithered their way into jobs that belonged to men and then did a worse job and got praised for it anyway.

He didn’t like the ex-girlfriend he’d had before coming out. How she’d whine about the harmless jokes his friends made about her and didn’t want them coming around anymore. How, one night, he’d told her to shut up and she wouldn’t. How he’d shown her he was serious, and how her friends almost got her to take it to the police. How it didn’t even hurt. How any man would have just shrugged it off.

I can already tell that Mike’s exit off stage left is going to be quite something given how quickly he’s going full Hate Sink and revealing that he has zero redeeming features to him as a person. Though I do wonder if the bit going on about how Mike’s a misogynist ought to be two paragraphs, since there’s arguably two separate thematic halves to that part.

Mike, despite being a trainer, also didn’t seem to like pokémon very much. He liked them when they listened to your orders and used those fangs and claws and elemental powers to pummel their opponents, but they didn’t always do that. You could give them shelter and food and medicine and they still acted up and thrashed around and ignored your orders.

Worst of all, the mon that spoke also seemed to forget they were mon and not humans. They wanted human things like phones and internet access. They wanted to follow you into bars after rain despite smelling like wet bear. They wanted to get time off when they were feeling down. And because the whole world was breathing down your neck, you had to give them all these or convince them to do without them with nice, well-meaning words.

I can already see Andre quietly sharpening his knife in the background right about now.

He didn’t stop there, of course. He also wasn’t particularly a fan of foreigners or any of that ‘political correctness shit’. What really told the most, however, was the utter lack of shame or deception in his aura as he spoke. All that he said, he meant.

On one level, I kinda wonder if Mike’s repulsiveness is a bit too “jackass bingo” in nature whereas something that started more subtly but built up to be repellent would’ve leaned in more with him being an abusive trainer, but eh. I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to go:

Image


When he gets run through a woodchipper in like a scene, so I won’t judge too much. Since it’s not like there aren’t people out there like Mike in reality, it’s just that most of them don’t manage to become minor e-celebs without baring who they are to the rest of the world.
The good news was that this left no doubt in Andre’s mind about whether Mike really was deserving of the final phase. The bad news was that, despite the liters of beer he would down, Mike still hadn’t gotten up to use the bathroom and let Andre slip the drug in his drink already.

I’m honestly a little surprised that Andre doesn’t have some way of keeping some sort of pre-spiked drink somewhere like a bottle of wine or something like that.

Maybe he was just too worked up to realize the signals of his body. If he calmed down, he might finally excuse himself.

"Yeah, that sucks," Andre said, grasping his glass of water. He'd love to drink wine, but he didn't want any more alcohol in his system. "This seems like a bit of a downer topic, though. How about we talk about something more pleasant for you, like…" He cast his eyes on the ceiling, pretending to think when he'd already found his idea, then met Mike's eyes again in feigned realization. "Your Snapp account! I noticed you have a huge follower base. How'd you get so many?"

Andre: “I mean, a lot of folks just bot their way to numbers like those these days. So what’s your secret?”

Mike laughed. It sounded genuine, but Andre could sense his intent to deceive. They really were bots, then. "Well, you know, a lot of it is just the right marketing. Keeping up a brand with presence across all social medias. And then good posts, obviously. And making them regularly."

I mean, Mike’s technically not wrong there. It’s just marketing by bot farmers and not himself.

From there, he continued to talk. He talked about his MewTube channel, he talked about sponsorssome crappy energy drink Andre had never heard ofand he talked about Chatter. Andre hadn’t had time to check out Mike’s Chatter profile before, but now that he’d already made the judgment on Mike, he had no need. And he really had no will. He avoided that platform these days for the sake of his sanity.

Andre: “And to avoid the bots, but mostly to preserve my own sanity.”

Mike took another sip of his freshly filled glass of beer, lowered it and got up with a grunt. “Gotta take a leak. Hold on.”

Finally! Andre hid his elation and gestured to the right. “Bathroom’s around the corner. Shouldn’t be hard to find.”

Mike nodded and rounded the corner. Andre heard the door open and close. The lock clacked shut.

Andre: “Showtime.”
:nyehehe:


Quietly, Andre got up and snuck to the counter. He opened the third drawer on the right and reached his hand all the way back past the miscellaneous kitchen utilities. He drew out one of three ziplock bags pre-filled with a small amount of fine, white powder and closed the drawer after.

He returned to the table and very carefully emptied the bag's contents into the glass of beer, then stirred the liquid with his finger to make it all dissolve. He stopped and briefly stirred in the opposite direction to break up the little whirlpool that had formed. Finally, he took away his finger and rinsed it off in the sink before wrapping the empty plastic bag in a paper towel and throwing it in the bin.

I was going to ask why he didn’t use a spoon for that, but I suppose the finger would leave less of a trail, whereas the spoon would have to go somewhere. Though I have to wonder if you studied actual murder cases when writing this scenario, since Andre’s actions are certainly… methodical, to say the least.

By the time Mike returned, Andre had been sitting for a while, browsing his phone.

"Alright," the trainer said, returning to his seat. "Where were we?"

"Your social media profiles," said Andre, putting his phone away. He avoided naming Chatter on purpose.

Wew, somebody must’ve gotten burned hard by Not!Twitter in that past. :V

Luckily, this worked. "Right, yeah! Another thing you need for a successful social media presence is to make your shit look good, obviously. You gotta know what's good and bad lighting, but of course that's not gonna do anything if you just look like shit. Now, that's not much of an issue for me, but I still like to make sure I take the best care of my hair and skin…"

It was much easier for Andre to pay attention now that he knew Mike's babbling wouldn't last indefinitely. This drug worked quickly, which was why it was legally used as an anaesthetic for stress-prone or potentially dangerous mon. Illegally, it was a narcotic and a roofie. Andre could never remember its proper name, but on the street, it was known as sparkles, named so due to it originating from the spores of morelull and shiinotic. Upon its discovery, anyway. Since then it had been synthesized.

I see whoever named this drug had a dark sense of humor and was looking forward to headlines about people “overdosing on sparkles”. Must’ve taken a cue from whoever cooked up “Sacrilege” in WSBS.

Fifteen minutes was the fastest that Andre had seen it take effect when slipped into a drink like this. Of course, he had a feeling he wouldn’t be quite that lucky. Mike was muscular and taller than average. If his hair and personality weren’t repulsive, he might have been a good catch.

I mean, from Andre’s perspective, he is a good catch. Just for different reasons. o<o

Either way, Andre kept up his facade of interest. He even offered his own insight a few times, not that Mike gave it much attention. The conversation continued without oddities for five, ten, fifteen minutesuntil the first signs came.

Ums and uhs appeared between words, getting longer and more frequent as time passed. Each interjection came with a squiggle of confusion, sometimes joined by annoyance. He Mike shifted from topic to topic, unable to fight his tangents, until he could no longer make a coherent point about anything. If he ever had.

Andre: “Which he never did. Since seriously, did you read that segment about him moaning about his Gliscor?” >_>;

In five more minutes, Mike finally noticed it himself. He sighed, deflating. "Man, I'm tired as fuck."

Andre tilted his head. "Oh?"

"Yeah…" Mike rubbed his forehead. "I don't think I can do this tonight. Sorry. Lemme…"

Andre: “Lie down? There’s a free couch, you know. Its feeling is to die for.”

He got up from his chair and walked a few wobbly steps away. He reached for the phone in his pocket, but then pausedand quickly stumbled to the couch instead. He barely managed to stay upright as he sat.

Andre got off his own chair and walked over. "Are you alright?" he asked. "How much did you drink at the bar?"

Mike's breathing was heavy. The squiggles of his aura tightened, becoming more jagged, and violet shone through the swirl of unknown colors. Fear.

Andre: “(Oh, so he does have enough brain cells to realize that something’s wrong right now.)”

"I don't…" Mike slurred. "Not that… much…" His head drooped, but he jerked it back up. "Som'th'n's wrong. Call a-an… ambl…"

"Call an ambulance?" Andre pulled out his phone and pretended to unlock it.

"Y-yeah…" Mike tried to lie down on the couch slowly, but his arms couldn’t support him. He flopped down with a grunt. The zigzags of fear loosened up again, but it didn’t mean he was no longer scared. It meant the drug was finally pulling him under.

Andre: “Ah yes, time to get to work with some acrylics.”
:nyehehe:


Andre paused. He put the phone away and crouched next to Mike. Feigned worry melted off his face, leaving behind no expression at all. Mike watched this through squinted eyes, last spikes of fear poking out of the squiggles.

“I’m not calling you an ambulance,” Andre said.

"Wh…why not?" Mike huffed.

Andre stared into his eyes. "Because you're not leaving this place alive."

Honestly, this would’ve been a decent ending note in its own right, since boy does that last paragraph stick with you. Though from an eyeballing of the text remaining, I’m pretty sure this chapter isn’t going to end until Andre makes Mike’s insides his outsides, so let’s see how that turns out.

Acrylics was not Andre’s medium of choice.

He didn't have anything against acrylic paint, no. He didn't think it was inherently lesser than oil paint. Sure, it was the 'easier' of the two, requiring no solvents other than water and drying very quickly, and that made it the preferred choice for beginners and casual hobbyists, but Andre was no elitist. Art was art, be it acrylics, oil paint, watercolor, gouache, colored pencils, crayons or digital.

Andre's preference for oil paint stemmed only from what it was, not what it wasn't. He loved the gloss of it, the texture of it, the rich colors, how it seeped into the canvas, how long it could be mixed - and when he painted, he felt the echoes of history, the motions of the old masters manifesting in his arms and wrists.

Sometimes, however, the special properties of acrylics were necessary. Since its solvent was simply water, not turpentine or any other substances with harmful fumes, it required no ventilation. In other words, Andre could keep the window closed - and that was a crucial prerequisite for what he would soon do.

Still am curious as to if ‘acrylics’ is just a euphemism, or if Andre mixes some of that blood into his paints. Guess we’ll find out pretty fast, huh?

Mike lay spread eagle on the painting room bed, unconscious and stripped down to his underwear. Four nylon ropes tied his wrists and ankles to the bedposts. A piece of duct tape sealed his mouth tightly shut, a rolled up sock placed behind the lips.

The bed's sheets were gone, replaced by a plastic cover with several white towels spread on top. The bed was also propped up to have its head higher than the foot, and two buckets stood at the corners of the lower end, ready to gather anything that might drip. On the floor underneath was a tarp and some newspapers, which also covered the nearby walls and ceiling.

Since parts of this setup were acceptable for a painter to do for their painting room, Andre had been able to prepare them earlier in the day. He'd also bought the towels and the rope. He'd get rid of all of them alongside the body. He wanted no traces of Mike's blood left in his house.

… Is that bed even going to be usable after Andre’s done with Mike? Since you’d think that it’d be a little hard to hide a bloodsoaked mattress. .-.

Mike was quiet and Andre was quiet, but the room was not. A little boombox in the corner of the room played lively jazznot smooth, not chaotic, just livelyat a conversation's volume. Andre sat on a chair before the bed, legs crossed. An easel with an empty canvas stood on his left, and a little stand with acrylic painting supplies stood on his right. His hands browsed his phone, skimming through Mike's social media accounts once again. He wore nothing but his glasses, his underwear and a long dark blue raincoat.

Wait, is that right now or in his social media picture?

Andre sighed as he watched yet another video of Mike talking in a training hall, his team in the background along with some other mon. Zara, the toxtricity, ceased picking her chest the moment Mike said his first words, then sharply rolled her eyes and resumed her strumming, the bassy twangs continuing throughout the rest of the video. Grizz, on the other hand, briefly looked back from the battle he was supervising, smiled, and turned back to the field.

Smiling wasn’t as straightforward an expression with mon as it was with humans. Only humans and a few species of mon actually smiled on instinct - the others had to learn to do it, provided they were able to in the first place. Mammalian pokemon typically were, having lips and all, but it still required conscious effort to smile each time they were happy until it could become a habit.

That actually makes me wonder if smiling by default is seen as a hostile gesture in nature for some Pokémon, much like it is among monkeys and apes IRL.

If cameras recorded aura and phones somehow played them back, there’d be no mystery of whether or not the bear was actually happy. Even without it, though, Andre was confident in his judgment - Grizz smiled out of adoration.

It shouldn't happen. But it did happen, all too often, and Andre knew how. He knew the tricks people like Mike would pull to make the abused feel like they weren't really abused or to make the onlookers look the other way. Andre wasn't perfectly sure which one Grizz actually wasMike had lamented how he needed to be all fuzzy-wuzzy with Grizz to make sure he stayed as his ace, so Grizz couldn’t be getting the worst of the mistreatmentbut whatever the case, one thing was certain. Grizz would take Mike's disappearance hard.

Well, yeah. No kidding, you used a few of said tricks yourself to reel Mike in by playing head games with him.

Andre had never targeted a trainer before. None of his previous targets had happened to be trainers, nor had they been caretakers of any mon, sapient or feral. By extension, he’d never caused a mon to lose a member of their family or their home.

Filing that one away for future reference. I see that division isn’t just present in your PMD stories, though it does make me wonder how the two separate strains of Pokémon developed.

He would have preferred to avoid it altogether, but this was a case in which the amount of good done outweighed the harm. Mike was a scumbag, an unrepentant one, and no amount of lectures would change that. The only thing he would ever feel sorry for was getting caught.

As for the mon left behind, Andre believed they’d survive and be better off for it. Neither sandaconda nor steelix were species that bonded deeply with humans, at least not when feral. They’d be taken into custody and likely adopted by other trainers, seeing as they were young and strong. Zara didn’t seem too concerned about Mike in general, and Grizz… well.

I mean, it’s nice to believe things, Andre. Though given the title of this story, I’m… not convinced that that’s actually going to turn out the way you think it will.

Grizz was clearly attached to Mike, but he was still his own citizen and mature enough to make his own decisions. His only legal tie to Mike was employment. There were also obvious limits to how meaningful their relationship could be when it seemed to be only professional to Mike. It wasn’t as if Mike was Grizz’s shoulder to cry on - because if that had been the case, Mike would surely have complained about that as well.

Andre clenched his teeth. He’d seen his fair share of two-faced behavior ever since he’d started all this, but it never stopped being disgusting. And it never should. He didn’t want to see the day it did.

Andre: “And I know what you’re already thinking and no, me being two-faced to Mike doesn’t count since he was a bastard who had it coming. Totally different.”

Mike's aura began to sputter. It evolved from a colorless, textureless presence to a neutral TV static, then a mixture of a handful of feelings as his brain slowly organized his thoughtsirritation, confusion, anger, fear, all stemming from his unusual position and restraints.

Ah yes, there’s the sadism angle that was alluded to in TRcord. Since Andre is very deliberately waiting for his victims to regain lucidity as opposed to quietly finishing them off while they’re out cold.

It would take a little longer for Mike to become properly responsive. Andre took the time to clear his browsing history, which he knew wouldn't erase it from his service provider's logs or delete any history his apps might store, but was still a safety precaution better taken. He didn't particularly want to be reminded of this guy once he was gone, either.

That actually makes me wonder if Andre didn’t do this at some point in the past, and wound up regretting it, since I’m a little surprised Andre wants to wash his hands of the satisfaction of what from his perspective, is deleting a pest from the world.

Andre got up and straightened his raincoat. Mike's aura flashed with fear-tinged surprise at the sudden noise. Eyes still shut, he made his first vocalization, which may have tried to be a 'hey', but the sock and the tape muffled it into a moan. He tried again, louder, but it didn't help. With great effort, he pried open his eyes. His emotions intensified as he glanced around the room, though anger was keeping the lead. Andre expected as much from someone like him.

Wow, even when he’s literally tied to a bed and about to be cut to ribbons, Mike doesn’t have a particularly good survival instinct if his first reaction to his state of affairs is to get pissed about it.

Andre checked his setup one last time - yes, everything was there, the canvas, brushes, paint, water, palette, everything. He walked over to a dresser further away, digging out a box of rubber gloves and pulling out a pair for himself. As he returned to the bed, Mike's eyes shed the last of their lethargy. Wide and bulging, they stared at the cloaked man standing at the foot of the bed.

Andre stared back and smiled. It seemed they were all ready to start.

Andre: “I live for moments like these.” ^_^
"Mike Thomson," he said, emotion draining from his face. "Professional trainer."

Mike's eyes flicked back and forth between Andre and the rest of the room. Confusion briefly took over, but anger made a quick comeback and only kept strengthening. 'This guy drugged me and tied me down,' Mike must have been thinking. 'Me, Mike Thomson! How dare he?'

Oh, so aura in this setting isn’t fine-tuned enough to pick out distinct thoughts, huh? Makes sense as a balance to it, honestly.

Andre clasped his hands behind his back, the rubber gloves still in his hold. "Also an abuser of women, and an abuser of pokémon."

Anger rattled like an ekans. 'He lied to me. He tricked me. And now he's going to lecture me?'

Andre: “... Dunce incapable of reading a damn room…” -_-;
Mike: “Mrrrrgh!” >///<

The lecture would be the least of his worries, but he didn't seem to understand that yet. He couldn't possibly believe he was in actual danger. Danger, from this guy? This pasty twink?

Andre: “Mike, you’re gagged and bound spread-eagle to a bed right now! Seriously, get your priorities straight!” >_>;

"You must have thought it'd never catch up to you," Andre continued. "That no one was brave enough to speak up. That it was too small and subtle to be considered a real crime anyway."

Specks of regret shot out from Mike's aura, but Andre knew it wasn't guilt. Mike regretted meeting Andre, coming to this apartment, spilling all his secrets, not realizing it had been a trap. The specks ignited as regret turned to anger. Anger at himself.

I kinda wonder given how much anger shows up as part of Mike’s emotional state and thought process should’ve been discernible from subtle things in his social media presence as well. Since if you’re getting angry when stripped and tied spread eagle to a bed, just how well are you going to hide that in the rest of your life?

"And maybe it would have been true," Andre said, "had you not met me."

He brought his hands before him again. Mike's eyes fixed on the rubber gloves as Andre began to slip them on. Then the raincoat. Then the bed, the towels, the buckets.

And that's when it happened.

The visceral wave. The twisting of the heart, the shiver in the spine. Violet ribbons slithering on the skin, silky and cool.

Fear. And not just any fear.

Mike had just realized he was going to die.

“Violet ribbons” huh? Wonder what the story is behind that color mapping is, since it feels like there’s a story to be had behind that one.

Andre: “Took you long enough, really.”

Andre's eyes shut in pleasure, like a cat soaking in the warmth of the sun. Inspiration rushed to his wrists, the want to place down the feeling via color and shape, the need.

But there were still a few more words to say. This fear could be refined, amplified, and since it could, it should. He deserved to feel the worst of it. The worst until the real worst came, anyway.

I’m sure that Andre will give a dozen reasons why it doesn’t count, but… yeah, this is kinda textbook sadism here, so it makes me wonder how much of that “mission” of his as a serial killer is really a mission as opposed to a framework to make him not feel guilty for acting on urges he doesn’t fully accept for himself.

Andre took a deep breath to keep himself focused. "You've done a lot of taking," he said, slowly making his way back to the dresser he'd gotten his rubber gloves from. "You can't possibly give back what you've taken," he continued, "but you can still give me something."

Andre: “I mean, you’re already giving me something right now, but beyond that…

He stopped in front of the dresser and slid open the drawer underneath the previous one. He reached in and grasped the kitchen utility knife that he'd sharpened and placed there earlier in the day. As he pulled it out into view, he said his next words.

"Your pain and suffering."

Andre: “Yeah, that. So chop chop, let’s get right to it.

Hearing those words and seeing the knife, Mike's terror surged. He pulled at his restraints and attempted to scream, but it was useless. The bed creaked, but the wood held, and the frame stayed in place thanks to the two more dressers placed on its sides, all while the jazz drowned out his muffled screams.

Andre smiled. Not because he was a sadisthe wasn'tbut because he knew it would make this even worse of an experience for Mike. That's what Mike deserved, after all. He deserved to die alone, helpless, afraid and in pain.

Image


Andre, that’s literally textbook sadism. You’re just directing it onto people that you feel deserve it and turn your actions into a net positive for the world.

Andre walked up to the bed, feeling the newspaper underneath his feet, feeling the now. The delicious fear of the abuser turned victim, his wordless pleas for undeserved mercy. No one would come for him. No one would save him. He was as helpless as he'd made his victims feel. This was justice.

No, this is you getting off on Mike’s pain and suffering. Any ‘justice’ is incidental, and I’m pretty sure that this is going to come back to bite you in the ass over the duration of the story given that the title is something I’m pretty sure will be given to you as a name by a Pokémon, probably one of Mike’s.

Anger flashed once more as Andre placed his knee on the end of the bed and leaned above Mike, but it was the screech of a cornered animal. It did nothing to dissuade Andre from raising his blade, taking it down to the side of Mike's abdomen, placing it gently against the skin. The gripping hand quivered, betraying the wildly beating heart inside Andre's chest. The feigned smile across his face had long since become real. This was his mission, this was his service to the world, and he would do it once again.

Andre: “But again! Not sadism! Public service!”

His gaze climbed up Mike's body to the trainer's mortified eyes. In seconds' time, that fear radiating from him would turn blinding white.

"Let's begin," Andre whispered.

He slashed the blade across the skin, and Mike screamed.

:unownF:


Andre: “No, no, you want this one:”

UnownS.png


The man screamed as the beasts tore his body open. He was the first of them to die this way. The others were stabbed, hanged, poisoned, decapitated, fried in an electric chair, but none had been torn apart by beasts. For this man, though, for Six, it was the obvious choice.

Canine, feline, bird, reptile. They barely scratched the surface of the diversity of the animal kingdom, but all that mattered was the impression. The idea. The idea of all manner of creatures joining together for vengeance against their oppressor. Broken chains hung from their shackles. No more. The natural order was restored.

The man screamed. He screamed like all the others. Lightning bled from their eyes and mouths, and from their wounds bled magma, boiling hot. Purple storm and red inferno raged, inside and out of the void-black body, but neither could touch the beasts. Not the beasts, not the blade, not the rope, anything. The men were powerless. All were powerless when it came. When death came.

… Not sure what I’m reading here honestly. Can’t tell if this is supposed to be some sort of freaky aura vision sequence from Andre, or if this is a book or something, but boy is it something. .-.

What's this?

Something moved, swirled, fluttered about in the stream of emotions. What was it? A flake of white ash. Just one? Or many, at different times? Many. The observer did not understand it, but he had seen it, and that was all that mattered. It would be part of the scene. It would be recorded, it would be brought to sight, the material world. The observer reached for white --

Alright, aura vision confirmed. So that means that Mike is the sixth person that Andre has knocked off… I think, anyways.

Something broke. Something was wrong in Mike’s aura. Andre stopped and looked at the man on the bed. He was stiff, unmoving, and his eyes had no focus, but he couldn’t be unconscioushis aura wasn’t neutral. It was fearful, like it had been moments ago, but it was distorted. Each defining quality was somehow off, out of tune, harsh on the ear. It was simply wrong. It made Andre shiver.

And then it let go. It faded away in less than a second, leaving nothing in its wake.

Nothing? Nothing at all?

Well, yes. People die when they’re killed, and presumably their aura goes kaput as well.

Andre put down his paintbrush and rushed beside the man. He placed his fingers on Mike’s neck. No pulse. Andre leaned down, bringing his head next to Mike’s. No aura. But there were faint auras further away, the other tenants of the building. Andre’s aura sense was working correctly. Mike simply had no aura. Mike was dead.

Yeah, I figured. Though the freaky aura sequence earlier was honestly a pretty convenient way of discretion cutting the actual process of cutting Mike up, even if I suspect we’re going to see quite the mess left behind in about five seconds.

Andre got up and stopped to catch his breath. He walked over to the radio that still played jazz as if nothing had happened and turned down the volume to allow himself to think.

Okay. It had to have been some kind of sudden failure in Mike’s system, probably triggered by the extreme amounts of stress and possibly also the loss of blood. Andre glanced at the body. Four cuts across the abdomen and arms. Halfway of what he usually did, but Mike was also very giving. Andre hadn’t needed to go back very often.

Oh, so Mike died before Andre could fully go to town on him. That’s definitely strange. Makes me wonder if it’s going to turn out he had some sort of medical condition or something like that.

Still, it was strange. Mike didn’t go unconscious at all. It didn’t take him any time to die. Normally, the target would pass out from blood loss and their aura would lose its color. Only then could the aura begin to break down and fade away as more and more braincells died.

Well that’s one way to emphasize that this isn’t Andre’s first rodeo if he has a baseline of what ought to happen to a person’s aura that he can percieve as they die.

Andre brought his hand to his chin, but sighed not too long after. Now that Mike was dead, there was no way for him to get back in the flow, not when he’d been yanked out of it so violently.

Well, it was fun while it lasted. He liked to think he’d made some pretty good art, too. And the most important thing was that another terrible person had been erased from the world. Andre had fulfilled his duty. The next four months were free.

I wonder what the ‘four months’ is about from Andre’s end, and if that’s a conscious limitation he sets to try and stay under the radar, or if it’s something else.

Andre: “I mean, that I had a jolly good time wasn’t half-bad either.” ^^

He walked back to the easel and picked up his brush. He eyed the painting. It was still quite rough. Rough was how paintings of raw emotion ought to be, but this was simply unfinished. He'd do what he needed to complete the painting before he began to clean up. Oh, and…

He touched the canvas with the tip of the brush, creating a little speck of white. He repeated the action a few more times around the canvas.

There. Little flakes of ash.

… Wait, so does Andre just have like a place in his attic where he’s got five of these other murder paintings just hung up for him to admire somewhere? ^^;

The next morning, Andre woke up at noon. He briefly wondered why his alarm hadn’t gone off until he remembered he’d killed someone the night before.

He knew that such a day always required ample rest afterwards. It wasn't easy to get to sleep after getting rid of the body and the evidence. He had to call and talk to people he'd never want to interact with under any other circumstance, and he had to let them inside his home. So far, there'd never been any complicationsAndre gave them the cash, they took the bag and they leftbut he never felt safe. Those men were criminals, after all, and hardened ones at that. Their auras showed no fear. Not even disgust at the thought of whatever was inside that bag. It was inhuman.

He tried his best not to think about what the money he gave them was going to. If he had his way, he wouldn't give them a cent. But he just couldn't get rid of the evidence on his own. He didn't have the skill or knowhow to pull it off reliably without getting caught. And if he got caught, he'd be put away. He couldn't fulfill his duty from prison.

So basically, as long as you’re useful to Andre, you can be the world’s worst person and still not show up on his radar. It’s a bit interesting to see these contradictions in Andre’s thought process crop up and the rationalizations he attempts to square them away with. I kinda get the vibe that showing off the inner workings of abnormal characters is just your jam as a writer, since your stories have been 3/3 for that from my readings.

It was alright. Wyndon had its police to take care of organized crime. It had nobody to take care of the scumbags whose crimes went unspoken. Nobody but Andre.

Ah yes, hence the “mission-oriented” part of Andre’s profile as a serial killer.

He got up from his bed and stretched. He really should take today to get all the relaxation he couldn't get yesterday. He'd let himself eat cereal for breakfast and later order some garbage takeout. He'd spend the day lying on the couch, watching animated movies and taking in the artistry. Yes, that sounded like a plan.

Which means that something is about to go wrong with this plan in short order. Since everyone knows how plans in stories wind up going…

He continued through his morning routine as usual. Once he reached the kitchen, he poured a bowl full of Comfey Charms, unafraid of their empty calories, and brought it to the table flanking the living room couch. He turned on the TV, but didn't switch to streaming quite yet, instead letting the news play in the background while he checked his Snapp feed on his phone. Kate had finished some anatomy practice. He recognized some of the poses and propsit looked like she'd used that life drawing site he'd recommended. He dropped a like and a comment of 'lookin good' with a thumbs up. It did, indeed, look good. While the drawings were still a bit stiff in gesture, she'd come a long way since she'd decided to draw more than just cartoons.

He sensed something. Some aura.

Andre: “... Oh right, Mike was a trainer. Uh… what did I do with his Pokémon again?” ^^;

Andre put down his phone and listened. Now he couldn't sense it anymore. Or he could. He wasn't sure. It was so small. Or so far away. It moved. Okay, if it moved, it had to exist.

Except now it left. It wasn't there anymore. Maybe it was never there. Maybe he'd actually heard a little noise instead and confused it for something he'd sensed through aura.

It’s absolutely one of Mike’s Pokémon, I can already tell.

No, there it was again. It was definitely there, somewhere in the direction of his painting room, outside the apartment. But that was open air…

Bird, he decided, or bug pokémon. Nothing to worry about.

That’s a bold assumption if I ever heard one.

He was about to return to his phone when it came inside. Through the wall.

Oh.

Andre froze up. He’d never had to deal with a stray ghost pokémon wandering in by himself. What was he supposed to do again? Just wait for it to leave, and if that didn’t work, get an amulet to shoo it away?

I mean, this would be a reason why you’d want to train a Pokémon of your own that you could trust not to rat you out. Precisely to deal with moments like these.

Wait…

The aura had gotten closer, allowing Andre to sense it better. There was something familiar about it. Was it…

Oh no.

It’s totally one of Mike’s Pokémon, isn’t it?

The flake of white ash floated even closer. Slowly but surely, it was heading for Andre.

He got up and stepped to the side, closer to the TV. The aura changed its course accordingly. Andre walked backwards, and the aura continued to follow.

What did it want? Did it want to drain life from him? That didn’t make sense. There were dozens of other humans just outside who couldn’t sense aura and wouldn’t have any idea the ghost was present. He’d also already witnessed the ghost move faster than it did now. Nothing prevented it from simply swooping in and taking that energy by force. It wasn’t as if Andre could swat it away like he could a mosquito, no, the ghost was in an intangible state.

I… honestly can’t tell whether or not that’s legit a ghost Pokémon or not. Like I’m not fully convinced that we’re about to just use HH’s setup all over again, which is what makes me suspect that Andre’s read here isn’t quite on the mark.

It had to have something to do with Andre in specific. It had to be related to last night. What had happened last night? He’d killed Mike --

No, of course. He hadn’t killed Mike. He'd caused his death, no doubt, and he'd intended to, but ultimately Mike's cause of death had been an unexpected accident, something unknown that had taken his life in an instant rather than gradually through loss of blood. That something had to have been this ghost. This ghost had absorbed the last of a dying man’s life, something even a weak ghost could do. That’s why Mike’s aura had been so strange.

-blinks-

I mean, on one level, that’d explain a lot about how Mike just keeled over, but… I dunno. Something about the way Andre is going down this train of thought just comes off as being a bit of a red herring.

And now the ghost was back. Andre had a good guess why. It had associated him with that death, like a farfetch’d at a pond coming to humans for bread, and it wanted more.

Andre’s back bumped against the wall. He’d run out of backward steps to take. He could move to the right next… but he clenched his fist instead.

He couldn’t be bossed around by this ghost. Despite his quickly beating heart, he stood his ground. A ghost this little couldn’t hurt him. A lot. And if it tried, he’d simply leave and come back with an amulet.

I mean, if the ghost killed a man, that’s a bold assumption to be making there, Andre.

The ghost floated ever closer, so close that Andre wasn’t sure if it was going to stop outside of his bodybut it did, just centimeters away.

Andre clenched his jaw. “Show yourself,” he growled.

The air began to darken. Andre flinched. He hadn’t expected it to understand.

Like ink blots on paper, the darkness spread, coloring in a shape barely larger than Andre’s palm. Invisible threads wove together to form bluish gray fabric - spectral cloth - and wrapped around the air to form the shape of a tiny shuppet.

Oh, well never mind then. We are getting into ghostmon antics here.

Two slits opened up in the front of the cloth, revealing the large yellow-blue eyes behind. A third slit underneath formed a mouth. It smiled - and it opened.

“Hello!”

Oh, so this is why the chapter didn’t immediately cut off at the part with Andre telling Mike that he was going to die. Well, you can’t say that that isn’t a gripping note to leave things off on.

Shuppet: “By the way, thanks for that meal the other day, Mister. Are you planning on having another like that for me anytime soon?”
Andre:
screams-internally-screaming.gif


And that’s a wrap, onto the overview of this chapter:

Well, that was… disquieting, but you clearly got a lot of mileage getting into Andre’s mind and showing off his inner workings, along with how your interpretation of aura and its perception works. I was a little worried at first that Andre having aura perception would weigh against the plot, but eh. It’s already something that canonically happens among humans in Pokéworld, if rarely, and the synthesia-style stuff you did with it was interesting enough that I don’t think the story would’ve worked as well without it.

For critiques, I don’t have too much aside from some wording and punctuation nitpicks. I did see a couple parts that were word-dense enough that I felt that they’d benefit from being cut up into smaller chunks. The bit where Mike is ragging on his Gliscor was the main standout since it was close to a dozen sentences all in one long paragraph, which I still genuinely think would’ve worked better split up, since it’d also better sell the sense of a flow of time.

It’s not the story I’d normally read on my own, but I thought that it was well-written @canisaries , and it definitely gives fans of HH something to look forward to further down the pipe since you’re intending to bring Andre along to HH’s eventual followup. Best wishes for your writing, and hope the advice was helpful.
 

canisaries

you should've known the price of evil
Location
Stovokor
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. inkay-shirlee
  2. houndoom-elliot
  3. yamask-joanna
  4. shuppet
  5. deerling-andre
Slight nitpick, but you should consider emdashes where you’re using hyphens there, to emphasize a break in the train of thought.
I have considered it and my decision is that if em dashes wanted me to use them they should have gotten a key on the keyboard.

Wait, I can’t tell if the implication is that Andre is using this to pay off ‘cleaners’ and what he needs the car for. The car is a burner that he can abandon? Or what’s the deal there? Since I think that I’m missing a step here.
Andre is saying there is enough money to get rid of the victim's car in case the victim drives one to his apartment.

… Wait a minute, just how big is that safe such that it can hold an entire painting in it? .-.

Is it supposed to be a tall/closet-style safe? Since that feels like a small detail that might be mentioning more explicitly.
The painting is hanging in front of the safe, as established here:
He left the brushes out and headed to his bedroom. He walked up to the painting of the two corvisquire perched on a branch - not his own, but a gift from Katie - and lifted it away to reveal his safe. He looked around, even though he knew he was alone, and opened it.

I’m pretty sure that London’s air is actually fairly humid, but meh. Fantasy world where there’s magically deserts around Derbyshire, so I won’t question it.
My betareader was British and described this description as relatable, so I'm inclined to believe there can be dry days in London.

Oh, so Andre can perceive aura too, huh? Well filing that one away for later, since I don’t recall that being mentioned as being a common party trick in HH.
I'm still undecided on the actual prevalence of aura-sensitivity in humans, but I'm currently thinking something along the lines of 1 in 10 000.

… That now makes me curious as to if this is how Lucario operate in HHverse or if this perception of aura is specific to humans or even to Andre himself. It’s definitely a neat take on aura perception, and it’s certainly thematically fitting for a character that’s a visual artist.
Andre specifically has aura-color synesthesia, and this leads him to assigning certain colors to auras of certain emotions. For aura-sensitive people without aura-color synesthesia, there is no association with color. Aura is a sense of its own the way sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste are, but that also means that there aren't words to describe it in our language (or the language of HHverse people, since aura-sensitivity is too rare for it to create common vocabulary), so the best that can be done is likening them to other stimuli.

Lucario are kind of tricky because I did not start developing aura with them in mind, but I imagine their aura sense is similar to that of humans and other aura-sensitive beings. The aura that's involved in attacks, though, is in a very different frequency range and contains no emotional information the same way radio waves don't have color.

Boy was that line surprisingly creepy. I’d say that Andre is a good actor, but I’m pretty sure most actors don’t consciously switch emotional states on and off like that.
Boy does Andre’s whole methodical management of his outward emotions never stop being creepy. Though I’m assuming that that’s the point.
...It is a bit uncomfortable to be told that this is creepy when consciously controlling one's external expressions and behavior is something that both autistic people and women regularly do to fulfil the social expectations of the people around them.

Well that’s certainly really forward. I kinda wonder if something about Andre’s observations of Mike ought to have tipped him off to him being particularly egotistical, since a stranger going up and going “are you [full name]?” would likely be startling to a decent swath of people.
I mean... he is supposed to be famous to an extent, and his social media profile frames him as egotistical.

When he gets run through a woodchipper in like a scene, so I won’t judge too much. Since it’s not like there aren’t people out there like Mike in reality, it’s just that most of them don’t manage to become minor e-celebs without baring who they are to the rest of the world.
Oh, I've seen way too many e-celebs that turn out to be horrible people to think that's a rare occurrence. Logan Paul comes to mind as just one example.

I was going to ask why he didn’t use a spoon for that, but I suppose the finger would leave less of a trail, whereas the spoon would have to go somewhere. Though I have to wonder if you studied actual murder cases when writing this scenario, since Andre’s actions are certainly… methodical, to say the least.
Nah, not really, I just think about how I'd do it.

… Is that bed even going to be usable after Andre’s done with Mike? Since you’d think that it’d be a little hard to hide a bloodsoaked mattress. .-.
There is a plastic cover on the bed, as established here:
The bed's sheets were gone, replaced by a plastic cover with several white towels spread on top.

Wait, is that right now or in his social media picture?
That's what Andre was wearing, not Mike.

Filing that one away for future reference. I see that division isn’t just present in your PMD stories, though it does make me wonder how the two separate strains of Pokémon developed.
The division works differently in my trainerverse fic - pokémon end up sapient or nonsapient depending on the amount of intellectual stimuli they receive when young. As a general rule, pokémon raised in the wild are nonsapient and pokémon raised among humans or other sapient pokémon are sapient.

Oh, so aura in this setting isn’t fine-tuned enough to pick out distinct thoughts, huh? Makes sense as a balance to it, honestly.
Yeah, aura only gives information on what emotions a person is feeling and how strongly.

… Not sure what I’m reading here honestly. Can’t tell if this is supposed to be some sort of freaky aura vision sequence from Andre, or if this is a book or something, but boy is it something. .-.
This is essentially Andre being in the flow. You did mention you weren't really an artist, so I can understand it seeming unfamiliar.

Thank you for the review. I'm glad you found the story interesting even though it wasn't your usual fare.
 
CHAPTER TWO - The Witness

canisaries

you should've known the price of evil
Location
Stovokor
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. inkay-shirlee
  2. houndoom-elliot
  3. yamask-joanna
  4. shuppet
  5. deerling-andre
only a month between chapters?? im doing great! hope that keeps up.

anyway, heres chapter two. its not betaread, so there may be typos. if you spot any, let me know. rating is still mature and content warnings stay the same. alright, enjoy!

---

CHAPTER TWO
The Witness


---​

Andre stood perfectly still.

"...Hello," he then replied.

The shuppet shifted their position slightly, but nothing else changed. Andre waited a moment to see if they might still respond, but they didn't.

Maybe they actually couldn't speak and had simply repeated the sounds they'd heard other humans say. That was something wild mon sometimes did, though most examples Andre knew had been birds.

He cleared his throat. He'd better just ask. "Can you speak?"

"Yeah!" said the shuppet, loud and clear - more loudly than Andre would've liked, really. Either way, it seemed that they really did understand Galarish. He waited again for the ghost to continue speaking… but they did not.

Andre sighed. "Okay. What are you doing in my home?"

The shuppet floated backwards. "I wanna know more about you."

Know more about him? "Why do you want to know more about me?"

"Because you're weird," the shuppet replied, flipping upside down.

Andre raised an eyebrow. "'Weird' how?"

"You kill humans."

A jolt of terror ran through Andre's spine at such sensitive words being spoken so carelessly. He raised both hands and hissed like red-hot iron dipped in water.

"Don't say that so loud!" he whisper-yelled.

"I'm loud?" the shuppet said, flipping back around. Their smile had left their face.

"Yes!" Andre spat, panic beginning to take hold of his thoughts. This ghost knew what he had done, and he had no way of preventing them from telling everyone. Was there anything he could do to control the damage? Would anyone believe him if he told them the shuppet was lying? Could he flee the country before it was too late? Could he --

“My bad,” said the shuppet, much more quietly.

Andre stared into the shuppet’s big yellow-blue eyes as he caught his breath. The shuppet was smiling again. Was it a friendly smile? Or were they simply giddy at knowing how much power they held over him right now?

He should cut to the chase and ask. "What do you want?"

"I told you, I wanna know more about you," the shuppet said. "You're not like other humans. You're weird, and weird is interesting."

Andre bit his lip, not sure if he should push the subject. It was possible that this ghost didn't yet realize the upper hand they had. If he could build rapport before they did, he might be able to convince them not to talk.

"Alright," he said, slowly crossing his arms. "What's your name?"

"Barely there."

"Sorry, what?" 'Barely there', what did that mean? Did they mean to say the two weren't acquainted well enough for him to ask that yet?

"Barely there," the shuppet repeated.

Andre shortly realized what the ghost had actually meant and felt like an idiot.

"Your name is Barely-There?" he said.

Barely-There nodded. "Yeah, because I'm so small. You barely felt me before!"

That much was true. And the name really wasn't inaccurate for their visual appearance, either. At the size of Andre's palm, they were the smallest ghost Andre had ever seen - not that he'd seen many. He just knew the average shuppet was meant to be at least twice their size.

"What's your name?" Barely-There asked.

"Andre," Andre said. It wasn't worth the effort to try and hide it or make up a fake name. If the ghost really wanted to report him, they'd find out his name through other means. It wouldn't be good to get caught lying, either, if he wanted to go for a positive relationship.

Barely-There tilted their head. "'Andre'. What does that mean?"

"Uh… 'man', I think."

Barely-There frowned, unimpressed. "Terrible name. Doesn't tell anything about you. I'm gonna call you Kills-Other-Humans."

"Shh!" Andre hissed despite the already lowered volume. Words like those shouldn't even be spoken, really. "You are not calling me that," he growled, then sighed. "Look, you can call me almost anything you want, but it can't involve any mention of my…" He struggled to find a word he agreed with. Eventually, he gave up. "Crimes. No mention of my crimes."

"Fine," said Barely-There, rolling their eyes.

"Call me… Painter, how about that?" Andre suggested. "I'm a painter. It fits."

"Boring," Barely-There muttered. "Even Andre is better. I'll just call you Andre."

Andre suppressed an eye-roll of his own. He leaned back on the wall he was up against, but realized soon after he was actually free to go where he wanted.

"Excuse me," he said, stepping to the right and past the shuppet, and returned to the couch. He looked at his cereal. All mushy by now. Ugh. Should he even eat it? He wouldn't be able to enjoy them like he wanted, and they were mostly sugar, not healthy… but the thought of throwing them away was worse. He did not want to be wasteful. Not when he had so much more than others.

He sighed and began shoveling the cereal into his mouth. At least the marshmallows were still colourful and sweet.

His respite from his unwanted guest didn't last very long as Barely-There hovered over, eyeing the bowl of multicoloured mush. "Do you eat them?"

"These?" Andre pointed his spoon at the bowl. "Not usually, no. Today's an exception."

"No, I mean the, uh…" The shuppet lowered their voice to a whisper. "The humans you kill."

Andre's nose wrinkled in equal parts offense and revulsion. "No, that's disgusting," he said, setting down his spoon. "Why would I do that?"

"Things in the wild eat each other after killing them," Barely-There said. "I wasn't there after the human died. I don't know what you did with him after."

"Well, I didn't eat him," Andre replied. "And I don't want you talking about this stuff so openly. I'm gonna be a lot less interesting if I'm rotting in jail, you know."

"How else do I talk about it?" Barely-There groaned. "I have to use words. You don't understand ghost language." They raised a brow. "Or…"

Their aura began to vibrate, ripple, fluctuate. There were no colors, but there was brightness, as well as… transparency?

Andre shook his head. "I can hear that, but I don't understand it." He leaned forward. "You have to use words, yes, but they don't have to be those words. We can come up with some other way of referring to that… activity."

"Like?"

"Like…" Andre lowered his voice to a whisper again. "Instead of 'killing humans', we talk about 'picking flowers'. How's that?"

"Stupid," Barely-There said. "But it's better than nothing."

Andre sighed in relief, leaning back on the couch. That was one bullet he wouldn’t have to keep dodging anymore.

Barely-There hovered to the left and lowered themselves onto the table, their hem spreading out in a perfect circle. “I wonder why there aren’t more humans like you,” they said.

Andre frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked - but a troubling realization came quickly after.

“I understand why ki… ‘picking flowers’ is fun,” the shuppet said, “but I don’t understand why it isn’t for other humans. I mean, most other humans. Not humans like you.”

Andre exhaled slowly. He didn’t let his growing anger show, though that was likely a pointless effort around a ghost that could sense it straight from his aura.

“I can tell where you’re going with this,” he said, forcing his tone to keep calm despite his quickening pulse, “but I’m not that kind of person.”

“What do you mean? You ‘pick flowers’, and you clearly like it. That’s why you do it.’”

An urge to gag crept up Andre’s throat. He pushed it down. “I don’t do it for fun,” he stressed. “I’m not sick. I’m not a monster. I’m a human being, just like everyone else.”

Barely-There raised an eyebrow. “But --”

“I do it because it’s my duty,” Andre growled. “The people I… the flowers I pick are bad people. They hurt other people, but they do it just subtly enough that the cops don’t get involved. So they walk free and go and hurt more people, ruin more lives.” He sat up straight. “Unless I do something about it.”

Barely-There’s expression told Andre they still weren’t convinced. “Why doesn’t anybody else do it, then?”

Andre crossed his arms and looked away. “Because they can’t do it. They can’t hurt others like that. It’s against their instincts, and if they do it regardless, they feel too guilty.”

“Oh, guilty,” Barely-There repeated. “That thing. But you don’t feel that?”

Andre sighed. At least he didn’t have to say it. “I don’t. And that’s why it’s up to me to do it.”

Barely-There was quiet for a while. Andre looked back at them. They were still staring at him.

He knew what they were thinking. Or, well, he didn’t. He could only guess, and that guess likely wasn’t as trustworthy as he thought given he was dealing with a ghost and not a human.

Either way, the shuppet was waiting for something. Whether it was what Andre thought it was didn’t really matter when the mon was likely going to fish for the answer later regardless. He took a deep breath and prepared to feel his heart plummet down like a free-falling elevator.

“Yes,” he said. “I do enjoy it.”

And there it was, hitting the bottom of his ribcage like a gong. He’d admitted he enjoyed it.

“But that’s not the reason I do it,” he said, trying to soften the pain. “I do it because they deserve it. Because the world deserves better. And I’m never going to put the pleasure --”

Pleasure. That word felt so disgusting.

“I’m never going to pick any flower that I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure deserved it,” he managed to get out of himself. He sighed. He felt a little better. “And what I like is not out of any kind of sadism -- any kind of delight I would get from hurting another person,” he added. “I like the way their aura gets, and I like the fact that justice is being served. That’s it.”

Barely-There, who’d been staring at him this whole time, said just one word in response. “Okay.”

It made Andre a little upset, but he couldn’t think of a response he would’ve liked any better. He returned to his bowl of cereal, now mushier than ever.

A few spoonfuls later, Barely-There spoke up again. “Do you wanna talk about me instead?”

No, was Andre’s obvious response, but he was too careful to let it fly. He was still the one at this ghost’s mercy, and if there was a way to humor them that wasn’t too emotionally taxing, he ought to take it. “Sure.”

“Okay!” Barely-There said, floating back up off the table with instantaneous cheer. “My name is Barely-There because I’m small and hard to see or feel! I’m a shuppet and I’m three years old. I was born in the woods with eight sibby-lings, but two of them were eaten by a haunter and maybe more of them are dead now, I don’t know. My parents told me not to go to the city, that humans are dangerous and wanna kill you, but humans are really interesting, actually, and no one sees me because I’m so small. Oh, I forgot to say before, I’m a boy.”

“Sorry, what?” Andre interrupted. The shuppet was speaking so fast that he wasn’t sure he was keeping up.

“I’m a boy! Like you!” Barely-There said more loudly. “You’re a boy. I think. Are you a boy?”

“Uh, y-yes, I’m a boy,” Andre replied. “More of a man, but male in any case.”

“In the speech house, you have to tell the others if you’re a boy or a girl or something else,” Barely-There continued. “So they know what words to use.”

“Speech house?”

“Yeah! A speech house is a place where mon can go to learn human language --”

Andre raised a hand. “Y-yes, I know, I was just… processing it. So is that how you learned to speak Galarish?”

“Yeah! And I still go there every day so I can learn to be better. Every week we have a…”

Barely-There stopped, mouth still hung ajar. His big eyes flicked to the right, and Andre followed his gaze to the clock. Fifteen past twelve. Did that mean something?

“I gotta go!” the shuppet shouted and zoomed up to the window. He was leaving. But he couldn’t leave, no, not before Andre was sure he wouldn’t talk!

”Wait!” Andre called after him. Thankfully, the shuppet stopped and turned around.

“I’m gonna come back,” Barely-There said. “Just in a few hours.”

“No, not that,” Andre rushed to say, getting up to his feet. “I need you to promise that you won’t tell anyone about me.”

Barely-There paused, then squinted his eyes. “If you promise that you won’t put up any amulets while I’m not here. Or call a ghost catcher.”

“I promise,” Andre said. That was an easy promise to make. He wouldn’t risk getting on the shuppet’s bad side anyway. “Do you promise back?”

For a fateful second, Barely-There held his suspicious glare, but his expression brightened immediately after. “Okay! See you!”

“Um --” Andre tried, but the shuppet had already turned invisible. He stood in silence as the little speck of aura phased through the window and floated off to Gods know where.

He realized how fast his heart was beating. He sat down and took a deep breath. Alright. A ghost had just come to him, a ghost that had witnessed last night’s events, and wanted to be his friend. Maybe. Andre wasn’t sure what kind of relationship exactly the shuppet had been looking for. Just someone to chat with? Well, they’d certainly done that just now.

He waited for his breathing to stabilize and his pulse to slow down. Once his body calmed down, he looked around, rooting himself back in the now. His eyes fell on his cereal bowl. The multicolored mush looked even more sickening now that he’d lost his appetite.

With a shaken sigh, he got up to throw the rest of it away.

---

Despite the shock of everything that had happened that morning, Andre decided to try and watch a movie anyway. He hoped that it would take his mind off things. It didn’t. Even if it hadn’t been on the cheaper, less soulful side as far as animation went, he knew it couldn’t have stopped his rumination of the morning’s events.

What if the shuppet broke his promise? What if he did decide to go to the police, not for any kind of justice but just for the hell of it? Or with the idea that he’d get some kind of reward for helping them solve a missing person’s case and catch a murderer? He seemed naive enough to think like that. But, ultimately, it didn’t matter what his motive was if he went ahead and told everything to the cops. They’d come for Andre either way, and then…

Then what would happen? First off, he’d be arrested. But he wouldn’t just be carted over to jail. No, there was a long and painful process he’d have to go through. He’d have to ask for a lawyer and cling to the desperate, primal hope that things might still turn out fine. And it’d be a damn good lawyer, an expensive one, his family would make sure of that --

Andre’s stomach twisted. His family. His parents would hear their son was arrested as a murder suspect. They’d think it was all a terrible misunderstanding - Andre was not that kind of person. Andre couldn’t ever murder anyone. They’d refuse to believe it until they heard the evidence…

Wait, what evidence? Was there any evidence? If no one had seen him and Mike on the street, then no one could know they spent the night together. There were the security tapes of the bar, but Andre had never spoken to Mike. He’d only stood near him, not even looking at him. And he’d left the bar before Mike did. Only seconds before, but could they really assume that Andre had done that on purpose?

Andre grasped his forehead. The witness account was still there. But it was also the word of one person. He could have made it all up. And being a shuppet… Andre didn’t want to rely on anti-ghost bias in the justice system, but he knew it was there and it might end up working in his favor.

An account of a ghost and surveillance footage showing Andre in the same bar as Mike couldn’t be enough for a conviction. There was no concrete evidence that Mike had ever even been in Andre’s home, not unless they got a warrant and found hair or fingerprints somewhere Andre had missed in his cleanup. And even if there was, that didn’t prove he killed him. Andre would simply tell them that Mike had left his apartment alive and driven off. They couldn’t disprove that. Hell, with no corpse, they couldn't even know for sure that Mike was dead in the first place.

He let out a deep sigh, lying down on the couch. He contemplated looking up the details of Galarish law and its applications, but having that in his service provider’s logs would do him no good. He’d just have to trust his own logic. And Barely-There. None of this would be a problem if the shuppet kept his promise, after all.

Andre closed his eyes, but all that did was make his thoughts even more chaotic. Without a visual in front of him, he lost his contact with the external world, succumbing entirely to the internal. And it was drowning him.

He had to go outside. Go out for a walk. The weather wasn't the best - it had started raining some time ago - but that's what umbrellas were for. Either way, he'd be forced to pay more attention to the material world out there if he wanted to avoid getting run over, and Andre also knew exercise was good for the brain.

But what if Barely-There came back while he was gone and thought badly of it? Could he leave some kind of message to assure the ghost he was coming back? He couldn't leave a written note. The ghost might not be literate. But how about… a drawing?

Andre got up and fetched some printer paper and a pencil to bring to the kitchen table. He was never good at drawing cartoons, but all he needed was something quickly recognizable. He put the pencil to the paper and tried his best to draw a cartoon portrayal of himself outside on a walk on the street, holding an umbrella while the rain came down in large, tear-shaped droplets. It was definitely nothing as appealing as Katie’s simplistic yet recognizable work, more like a grotesque caricature, but it got the message across. That was all it had to do, alright? It didn’t matter that it was hideous or that the buildings in the background had doors all too small or that the composition was too heavy on the left. He didn’t have the energy to indulge his perfectionism right now. He forced himself to put down the pen and headed to front door to get dressed. Scarf, jacket, shoes, gloves, umbrella. Alright, he was good to go.

He stepped out the door and shut it behind him. Once he’d made sure it was locked, he headed down the stairs. Passing the doors of his neighbors, he wondered if any of them had heard Mike’s muffled screams through the music after all, or if the music in itself was suspicious to them. He clenched his jaw and pushed the thoughts away. He was trying to relax.

As he exited the building, the cold, damp wind wasted no time attacking him. He shuddered, but knew he couldn’t just go back inside. This would be good for him. He’d get warmer once he started walking, anyway. He opened his umbrella, lifted it above his head and stepped out into the rainy street.

He didn’t really have a plan on where to go. He knew he couldn’t get lost, not while the great and noble satellites of GPS still graced the skies, so he was free to wander however he wanted.

He turned another corner on a whim. Across the street, he saw a lanky blue figure standing in the rain - an inteleon. Like the foliage of a tree, leaves deep green and yellow, their aura swayed calmly in place. Their eyes closed and their head raised to the sky, they took in every droplet with an open heart.

Andre smiled, though bittersweetly. He remembered the times he'd simply let the rain drum against his face as a child. Then he'd gotten his glasses. And glasses were a pain to clean. He would have loved to get rid of them completely, but his eyes and contacts simply didn't get along, and surgery… surgery always had its risks. And while it was a small, small risk, it was still too big, and it would remain as such as long as he needed his sight to paint.

He continued on his way, listening to the sounds of the rain and the cars driving by and the auras of the people that passed him. Most of them were neutral or irritated or somewhere in between, hissing like carbonated water as their hosts contemplated this and that. Some were obviously in a much worse mood. It wasn't hard to guess why when most of them had no umbrellas or raincoats. Especially the charmeleon grabbing their tail, trying their best to hunch over the flame. Must've lost or forgotten their flame guard.

Andre sighed. By now, he felt better, but he didn't want to go back yet. He knew his worries would return the moment he stepped back into his apartment… not to mention, the shuppet might be waiting for him, eager to ask even more intrusive questions. Andre shuddered. He just wanted to keep walking. Or do anything other than go back home, really.

As he turned the next corner, reality granted his wish. In a mankey's paw kind of way.

Outside a bar, sopping wet, stood an ursaring. With tar brown fur and an ever-so-slightly tear-shaped ring marking, they were a dead ringer for Grizz.

No, it can't be Grizz, Andre told himself. What are the odds? It has to be a lookalike. I mean, I'm not an ursaring. I'm not gonna be able to tell them apart as well, so of course I'm gonna think any dark brown ursa is…

But his aura. His aura of swirling worry. Blue and violet clothes in a washing machine. The carrying of immense weight, invisible to everyone else. How many dark brown ursas could there be on this side of Wyndon who felt the exact feelings of someone whose loved one had gone missing?

Alright. It was Grizz, then. What about it? Andre already knew he'd be taking it badly. This was the unfortunate collateral damage of getting rid of a scumbag. There was nothing he could do about it. He had to stay away from the target's loved ones in order to keep himself hidden.

Or maybe you just don't care. Maybe you just can't be bothered to do the least you could do to make them feel better. Maybe it's their fault for getting tricked in the first place. Maybe --

No. No, he was a deeply empathetic person. That's why he did what he did. He did it for others, not himself. That's what he should be doing it for. He should be helping other people. And he should be doing it now, too.

Andre took a deep breath and began walking towards Grizz. Two meters away, the ursaring noticed him, turning from the bar to the stranger. Andre smiled.

"Hey," Andre said as he arrived next to the mon. He lifted his umbrella over the ursa's head, exposing himself and his glasses to the rain, and gestured to the bar. "On your way in?"

Grizz glanced at the bar again and sighed. "No, I just came out," he said. "I just don't know where to go now."

"Well, what are you looking for?"

Grizz paused, likely wondering if he should really tell a stranger what he was going through. "My trainer didn't come home last night," he finally said, "and he's not answering his phone. I'm trying to find him."

"Oh." Andre feigned shock. He felt a bit rotten for it, lying to the face of someone whose friend he'd murdered he night before, but he knew that sympathy was what Grizz needed right now. "Did you tell the police?"

Grizz nodded. "Yeah, they're looking for him. But I can't just stay still and wait, you know."

Andre nodded back. "Did he come here a lot?"

"Just sometimes," Grizz said. "I already went to the places he liked the most, but no one had seen him after he left the house last night."

So he hasn't been to the bar from yesterday, Andre thought. Either Mike didn't frequent that place, or he didn't let Grizz know he did. Given that complaint about Grizz following him into bars, I could see him keeping secrets.

Grizz sighed again, slouching. "I'm out of places to check. I should probably go home, but… I just can't."

Andre paused. “You look like you could use a break.”

“No, I can’t take a break,” Grizz groaned, covering his face with a paw. Andre flinched at the sight of the ursa's huge claws. “I can’t just… lie down and make myself comfortable while he’s still missing.”

Andre raised a brow. “No offense, but you’re not accomplishing much here, either. You just told me you'd run out of places to check.”

Grizz screwed his eyes shut, but didn’t protest.

“Let me take you someplace to eat, my treat,” Andre continued. “It’ll freshen you up. You might think of something new afterwards. If not, at least you won’t be as hungry.”

Grizz lowered his paw and looked to Andre. The ursa’s aura rocked back and forth as he considered the man’s proposal.

“How come you’re being so nice?” Grizz asked. “You don’t even know me.”

Andre pocketed his free hand. “I just know how bad things can get if no one’s there to help,” he said. “I don’t wanna be the reason you end up suffering.”

Poor choice of words. He already was.

Regardless, Grizz smiled. "Alright, then. Did you have a place in mind?"

"Not particularly," said Andre, handing the umbrella to Grizz while he took out his phone. After a little while of browsing, he found a pokémon restaurant nearby. "Concrete Jungle," he read out its name. "Ever been there?"

Surprise flared in Grizz's aura, then embarrassment. "Oh, you don't have to take me to a pokémon restaurant," he said. "I-I'm fine with human ones." Then came shame. "Or… maybe a pokémon restaurant's good. Humans don't really like wet fur smell."

Can't imagine who taught him that. "It's Concrete Jungle, then. It's not far. Let's go."

Keeping his phone in his left hand, Andre reached for his umbrella with the right. Grizz returned it, but also gently pushed it away, moving the canopy on top of Andre instead of himself.

“Thanks, but you should keep that on yourself,” Grizz said. “You need it more than me.”

Andre decided not to argue, instead nodding with a smile and leaning the umbrella against his collarbone.

Guided by Andre's phone, they began making their way to the restaurant. Outwardly, Andre seemed preoccupied with the screen whenever he wasn't checking his environment, but in reality, his attention was on Grizz's aura. That worry from before still dominated the ursa's feelings, but it diluted every now and then. Andre had gotten his foot in the door. Perhaps he'd even get some golden joy to pop up later on. Gods know the poor guy needed it.

"I don't think you told me your name," the ursa suddenly spoke. "And I didn't tell you mine, either."

"Well, I'm Andre," Andre replied. "Who are you, then?"

"I'm Ben."

Andre's heart jolted. Ben? Do I have the wrong bear?

"Though my team calls me Grizz," the ursa added, then gave an amused huff. "Mike said it had more punch."

Andre breathed a sigh of relief, though he took care to conceal it as best as he could. Of course he was Grizz, he thought. He had a missing trainer, for gods' sake. I freaked out for no reason.

"Mike would be your trainer, then?" he asked.

Ben nodded. "Mike Thomson. You heard of him?"

Andre shook his head slowly. "Can't say that I do, no."

Ben waved a paw. "That's alright, we're not that well known. But we're gonna climb up the ranks." With pride, his aura reached a small high, but it quickly plummeted. "If he's still coming back."

Andre clenched his jaw, ignoring the lurch of his stomach as well as the fact that Ben's distress would only get worse.

"It's alright," he lied. "I'm sure he'll turn up. It hasn't even been a day yet, right?"

"No," Ben admitted.

"Yeah, so his phone's probably just dead. He could be on his way back home right now."

Ben sighed and nodded. Andre could have left it there, but…

"And… you know, if the worst did happen…"

Ben's aura flared in violet flames, but Andre kept himself going. He had to prepare him for the inevitable, at least a little.

"I want you to remember that you're not alone," he said. "I don't know what your relationship with your team is like, or if you have family or friends, but even if you didn't have any of those, there are still people that can help. Don't be afraid to reach out."

The cold flames only raged harder. Concrete advice for a future where Mike didn't return made it seem more real, more likely.

Still, Andre knew he'd done the right thing. While his words were painful now, the message behind them would remain in Ben's mind. On the day he would realize that Mike really was gone, he'd remember this advice, and it would help. Hopefully.

With those words out of the way, though, Andre's responsibility returned to the now. He'd promised Ben a good time, and he'd do his best to deliver. He returned a smile to his face and pepped up his tone.

"But, hey, you won't have to worry about any of that when your trainer comes home tonight," he said, lightly bumping Ben's arm with his umbrella hand. "You'll be laughing it off in a couple of days, and you'll all be a lot closer for it."

The fear quieted. No longer burning, it was smoke instead of fire. It became heavy, raining down, mixing with puddles of neutrality and creating a purplish sludge. In the material world, the same change showed itself on Ben's face - his frown relaxed just a little, his lips weren't quite as tight and his ears weren't tucked as far back.

Ben clearly wasn't feeling good, but he wasn't feeling as bad. That was good enough for now. He'd feel better once they reached the restaurant, anyway. And judging the virtual map in Andre's hand…

"Restaurant should be right around this corner," he said. A fresh wind blew into Ben’s aura, and Andre sighed in relief. That’s what they both needed.

Turning the corner, the restaurant was exactly where it was claimed to be. From the large front windows, Andre could see it lived up to its name. All manner of tropical plantlife adorned the walls, both as images and plants physically present. It was a bit kitsch to his designer eye, but if it was pleasant to the pokémon customers, that sin was well forgivable. Of course, one could wonder if this was actually discomforting to mineral types, but catering to every type of pokémon at the same time was hardly possible.

Different sizes were well accommodated, however, judging by the doors. Even as double doors, they were clearly larger and wider than the ones in human establishments. Next to those doors were two flaps side by side, one bigger and one smaller, to allow passage for those not tall, strong or dextrous enough to open the doors. As Andre closed his umbrella and leaned against one of the doors, he found himself straining more than expected to get it open. Thankfully, it did swing inwards, and Ben could enter in Andre’s wake without the man needing to hold the door open.

At one in the afternoon, or whatever the time currently was, the restaurant clearly wasn’t operating at full capacity. Outside Andre and Ben, there were only a few customers, leaving many of the tables empty. The mon that were there, however, seemed to be having a good enough time given their positive auras. A drizzile and a quagsire sat at one table eating mealworms like chips while a family of grimmsnarl sat at another eating burgers. I guess I can order one for myself, thought Andre before realizing he didn’t actually know what was in those burgers. He’d better read the menu carefully before ordering.

Andre turned around to check on Ben, but saw to his dismay that the ursa was gone. He quickly calmed down, however, as he realized the mon’s aura was still nearby - more specifically, in the dark booth situated next to the entrance.

Right, of course. Shake booth. And the sound of droplets flinged at the walls confirmed his guess. Seconds later, Ben emerged, now only wet instead of dripping wet. Andre gave an acknowledging nod, and the two entered the restaurant proper. After a brief discussion, they chose to sit at the human-proportioned seats, as Ben ensured Andre he was used to them.

They picked up the menus and began studying the selection. Andre took note of the human pictograms under most of the items but not all - filled in for items suitable and recommended for human consumption and just an outline for those suitable for humans but unlikely to be enjoyed, such as anything with insects in it. He quickly found the burgers, of which there were two, regular and cheese. Both were suitable and recommended for humans, though not suitable for all mon. He decided to go for the cheeseburger with a side of chips. His hunger and appetite had both returned by now, and they were craving something quick and fatty. It wasn’t healthy eating, but he’d already decided today would a cheat day since yesterday had been… yeah.

His order decided, Andre looked up from the menu to see if Ben had chosen his meal. The ursa was still deciding, it seemed. Andre waited for a while… but it didn’t appear like Ben was getting any further. The mon’s aura kept swirling, more and more anxiety seeping into the mix. Was he maybe wondering about the prices? Had he forgotten Andre’s offer to pay? Or was he specifically thinking of that, unsure if he should get something he wanted because it was costlier than the other options? Andre decided to go with the first assumption.

"No need to sweat the prices, by the way," he said, apparently startling Ben given his jolt and the surge of surprise in his aura. "It's on me."

"Oh, I mean, uh, I don't wanna make you pay a lot, either…" Ben stammered, but Andre waved a had.

"No, no, I mean it. Nothing on this menu breaks my bank. Unless you order everything, maybe."

Ben chuffed in response. It sounded enough like a chuckle to pass as one even if Andre knew bears didn't laugh.

"Well, in that case…" Ben looked back at the menu. "Are you alright with me ordering the salmon?"

"Perfectly alright."

Ben rumbled in excitement, and for the first time since they met, Andre could feel a spike of actual joy from him.

In moments' time, a waiter emerged - a mister-mime. Their icy feet produced their signature clacks as they walked up to the table. Andre and Ben made their orders without hassle, and the waiter left as quickly as they'd come.

Ben chuff-chuckled again. "I know it's a bit of a stereotype, a bear like me ordering salmon, but it's just good. And I don't get to eat it a lot."

Andre leaned forward, grasping his chin. “On a budget?”

Ben frowned, thinking. “Well… yeah, I guess so. I mean, I have money, but I’m… not great with it. I’m not good with numbers or really knowing what things should be worth. I try to leave decisions to my trainer when I can, but it’s not like I can bother him all the time, so I just try to err on the side of caution when I’m on my own. And that means not buying nice stuff like salmon.” A new emotion emerged in his aura - fizzy, neon green embarrassment. “I feel like if I did that, I’d end up doing it again and again and waste a lot of money and make my trainer upset.”

Andre raised an eyebrow. He was beginning to see the red flags again. “Why would your trainer be upset?”

The corners of Ben's mouth tightened. "Well, he's the one that gave me the money. It'd suck to see me spend the money that he earned in a stupid way…"

"That money's contractually yours, though, isn't it?" Andre interjected. "He's your employer, you're his employee, and that's your pay. It's yours to do with as you please."

Ben looked away, frowning. "I mean…" He sighed. "I can't just go and lose it all. If I can't afford to buy food or other expenses, that's his problem, too. He's the one that has to fix it. He's the leader of the team."

Andre frowned himself. Controlling another's finances… it fit in with what he knew of Mike. The man didn't think Ben should've gotten any 'human things', after all. Probably told Ben that those were stupid expenses while making sure to get the latest and greatest for himself and have it show for the cameras. Oh, but he'd surely explained that it was 'for the brand'...

Ben turned his gaze back to Andre, and soon after came a fiery lash. Anger?

“Are you trying to accuse my trainer of something?” the ursa asked, and Andre quickly realized the new meaning of Ben’s frown. He just hadn’t expected Ben to take a stand.

Andre removed all hostility from his posture and face and looked away. “I’m sorry. You’re right. That’s not my business.”

Tension quickly left the air. All traces of the fire disappeared, glimmers of fear and regret lighting up in its place. Was Ben… was Ben that worried about scaring him away? Oh, Ben…

“It’s okay. I’m sorry. Let’s just forget about it,” Ben said quietly, leaning back. “So, um…” He scratched the back of his paw. “How about we talk about you for a change? I don’t think you told me anything but your name yet.”

Andre paused to think, but decided he might as well. It wasn’t as if Andre desperately needed to sell Ben on Mike being abusive - after all, Mike wasn’t in the picture anymore. His body was rotting at the bottom of a river or maybe slowly dissolving in a tub of acid in some warehouse. Andre didn’t know what happened to the bodies he paid to be taken care of, and that was alright. As long as they were never found.

“Sure thing,” Andre said, leaning forward again. He took a second to decide how to begin and then cleared his throat. “Well, by profession, I’m a painter…”

---​

Andre didn't really like talking about himself. Coming from a rich family in Circhester and using their money to support his lifestyle always came up at least implicitly as painting really didn't bring in enough money for him to have that apartment, enjoy the nightlife and go travelling from time to time. Then again, the biggest non-essential expenses he had were related to his little hobby that only he and a few criminals knew about. And his targets, of course.

Still, as much as he tried to gloss over the subject of his affluence, he always felt like he was flaunting it in some way. There were so many people in this city - in this world - struggling to get by while he essentially got to make his dreams come true and still have money to splurge. He did make donations, and he did do volunteerwork from time to time… but how much was enough? How much was reasonable? He wanted to believe that everyone had the right to a good, fulfilling life. He wanted to believe that he was allowed to continue painting, at least for a few years before going to college to pursue a more sustainable job, but if someone confronted him about it, someone who could barely afford food, how could he defend himself?

At least Ben didn't seem to mind, though he had to be used to looking at luxury that wasn't shared with him thanks to Mike. Judging by the occasional falter in Ben's aura from contentment to sorrow and anxiety, he was reminded of Mike a few times as well. Outside that, though, Andre succeeded in keeping the mood fairly pleasant, and that was what mattered most right now, anyway.

The discussion came to a quick halt as the food arrived. Both of them had their meals served on one of those mon-friendlier plates that curved upwards on the far side, letting a mon eat against it like a bowl if necessary while also protecting other diners' meals from any stray droplets of saliva - not that most mon needed to worry about hygiene as much as humans with their stronger stomachs and immune systems. The vessels for their drinks, though, were different, with a typical cup for Andre but a much larger and broader cup for Ben. It seemed to be self-righting to an extent, too.

"Enjoy your meal," said the mister-mime. Andre and Ben thanked them, and they were on their way.

Andre turned back to Ben, seeing him frozen in anticipation. He was clearly waiting for Andre's okay to start eating.

Andre smiled. “Bon appétit,” he said, reaching for his burger and setting Ben free. With a resounding strum of joy from his aura, the ursa hunched over the plate. Andre expected him to take a bear-sized bite, but instead, the ursa began gently nibbling at the salmon fillet - which, on second thought, made a lot of sense. Ben rarely got to eat salmon, so he wanted to savour it. And based on the ursa’s aura, Andre could tell he was succeeding.

With his date catered to, Andre chowed down on his own burger. He ate much less gingerly than Ben, having realized how hungry he he’d become by now. He wasn’t really missing out on a lot, though. It was a mediocre burger at best, and the chips were bland and thin. The burgers clearly weren’t their specialty, but they needn’t be. Being a restaurant for mon was enough to deserve support.

As Ben neared the end of his meal, Andre could sense him stopping to think. He looked up at Andre, but flinched as he saw the man returning his gaze and looked back at his food.

"You alright?" asked Andre.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I just…" Ben cleared his throat. "I got really into that salmon, and I wasn't talking to you for a long while. I hope that wasn't rude."

Andre smiled and waved a hand. "Oh, not at all. I'm just glad you're enjoying your food."

"Right, right," Ben said, nodding, but Andre could tell he was still about to try and make up for his perceived mistake. "So, you mentioned travelling?"

"I think I did, yes," Andre replied, recalling the details of their prior conversation. How much had he talked about that? The memories of his internal rumination kept popping up in place of relevant details.

"You ever been to Ilex Forest?" Ben asked. "My mother's been a Celebian for the past few years. Deeply into it. She's saving up for a pilgrimage of her own."

"I see! Well, I haven't been there yet, but I'm definitely going to visit that place eventually, most likely when I'm living in Kanto."

Ben's ears perked. "You're planning to move to Kanto?"

"For a while, yeah," Andre said. "A year or two, depending on how much I like it. Though not right now. There's still a lot of preparation to do."

"Like learning the language?"

Andre smirked. "Oh, I'm way ahead of you there. I've been learning Tohjoan since third grade."

"Oh? What made you do that?"

Andre huffed. "My parents, to be completely honest. They wanted each of us to learn a different foreign language valuable in the business world, and mine was Tohjoan. Luckily, it was one I was also interested in, and… yeah, I was also a little arrogant about learning one of the harder ones. As I aged, it became more apparent that business wasn't my thing, but I kept with the language because I'd gotten interested in the culture and kind of linguistics in general. And when I spent six months in Kanto for an exchange program in high school, I knew I wanted to return there someday.”

“Wow, that’s cool,” Ben said, impressed. “You must be pretty good at Tohjoan, then, right?”

Andre scratched his neck. “Honestly, I’d probably be better if this thing hadn’t completely slipped my mind. I haven’t practiced in a while…” He waved a hand. “Well, I’ll just have to get in touch with some friends and do more chatting. I’m sure it’ll come back to me. And if not, there’s still Galarish. And auto-translate. It’s not as bad these days as it used to be.”

Ben nodded, but said nothing. It seemed neither had anything to add. Andre returned to his meal, and Ben saw it as the okay to return to his. They finished their meals in silence, and it was not long after that the waiter returned.

“I’m paying,” Andre let them know, and fished out his wallet. He hoped he wasn’t judged for the amount of cash he carried. He just liked to be prepared. As he inserted his card into his card reader, though, his phone vibrated. And so did Ben’s pouch. And the mister-mime’s. Odd. Probably some alert. It could wait while he paid, and the waiter seemed to agree, though Ben did take out his phone. Andre pressed on the digits of the reader and confirmed…

“Oh Gods,” breathed Ben, and his aura turned inside-out.

“What?” Andre asked. He glanced back at the reader - the payment had gone through. He pulled back the card and tucked it into his wallet before checking out his own phone.

EMERGENCY ALERT - AGITATED POKÉMON
Hazard level: Yellow

An agitated steelix has been sighted in the Rookton area. All citizens in the area are advised to stay indoors. Live updates of the situation will be posted at
www.emergencywatch.gl/wyndon.

A steelix. Could it have been --

“There’s a steelix in my team,” Ben said, his aura churning with fear and only getting worse. “His name is Titan. Oh Gods, he was outside. Mike made him stay outside, but Mike didn’t come home to let him back in, and we’re not supposed to go against Mike’s orders…”

Outside. Mike had said he’d made the steelix spend the night outside, that’s right. And Mike hadn’t come home to let him back in because…

A cold hand grabbed Andre’s heart. It was because of him. That steelix was free because of him. And if anyone got hurt, if anyone got killed --

Andre sprung up. “We have to go.”

Ben looked up at him. Surprise, confusion. “What?”

“We have to go there.”

Ben held the stare, but Andre didn’t back down. Then came resolve.

“Are you sure you want to come with?” Ben asked.

I have to, thought Andre, but took great care not to say it. “Yes. I wanna make sure you get there.” Without waiting for a response, he circled the table. Ben followed in his wake as he marched to the exit and opened the door. It was lighter now, thanks to adrenaline.

“Taxi!” Andre roared, and to his luck, there was one right there. He hailed it to stop, and the driver pulled over, opening his window.

“Where to?” said the driver. “And if it’s 'away from the steelix', you still need to pay the fare. I'm not doing free rides for anything less than the Darkest Day.”

"No," Andre said. "We need you to take us to the steelix."

The driver's eyes widened. "Are you insane? No way! That's --"

He cut himself short as he saw Andre pull out his wallet and a wad of notes from within.

"Triple the fare," Andre growled. "We'll get out as soon as we see the steelix or the cops. Does that sound reasonable?"

The driver stared back at Andre, mouth hanging open. "Yeah," he then said.

"Good," Andre said, shoving his notes and wallet into his coat pocket. He looked at Ben. "Take the back seat."

"Sorry," interrupted the driver, "but your friend's gonna have to travel in a ball. Safety protocol."

Andre clenched his teeth and turned to Ben. "Do you carry your own ball with you?"

Ben nodded, gesturing to his pouch. To save time, Andre stepped close and dug in, fishing out a pokéball with a custom ursa-themed skin.

"Alright," Andre breathed. "Uh, how do you recall with this thing?"

"Press on the edges," Ben explained. "Left and right, press at the same time. Same thing to release."

Andre felt the edges and found the sections to press. "Okay, I feel it." He looked back up. "Ready?"

Ben nodded, determined, and Andre pressed the edges of the ball. A red stream of light struck Ben like an arbok. The glow spread across Ben's body and enveloped him before the mon disappeared in a flash. The ball became slightly heavier in Andre's hand. Andre wasn't a trainer, but it seemed like everything had gone the way it was supposed to.

Now you hold his life in your hands. Just like you held Mike's when you killed him.

He shuddered. Those kinds of thoughts weren't helping. He transferred the ball to his left hand, grasping it tightly, and wrenched open the taxi door with his right.

“Let’s go,” he said as he seated himself.

“Seatbelt,” reminded the driver.

“I was getting to that,” Andre muttered. He closed the door and buckled his seatbelt, and the car finally started to move.

Andre looked down at the pokéball he held. His hand was already sweating. He sighed through his mouth and decided he’d look out of the window for the rest of the trip.

He hoped he wouldn't arrive to see any bodies.

---​
 
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Umbramatic

The Ghost Lord
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Hi! Here for Catnip! I know this is an important fic for your LORE so I was excited to get into it!

We meet Andfe, a perfectly, totally innocent Aura-sensitive painter whose emphasis on ACRYLLICS is totally not concerning at all. For no reason in particular he decides to go clubbing. Not clubbing seals that wouldn't be in character at all. He's not that kind of murder- er, guy. Just. Clubbing.

In the club he gets lots of fancy Aura colors, inspiration for his painting of course. It's fun seeing what Aura color corresponds to what - is it the same colors for all aura sensitives? Annyway all is not well, for Andre encounters a JERK. A JERK who is abusive to his Pokemon even. Andre is like "cool, a target for my bloodlus- er, perfectly normal lust" and seduces the JERK into coming to his apartment.

JERK turns out to be a MEGA JERK and Andre is like "oh boy I can't wait to kil- er, HAVE MY WAY with this guy" and so he takes the MEGA JERK back to his apartment and - okay, no more weaseling around it, he drugs and brutally murders him. Yaaaaaaaaaay!

But Andre notices something odd about his Aura, in a "they don't normally do that when you kill 'em" sense. But eh, it's probably nothing.

....But it turns out to be not not nothing when Andre getts a spoopy visitor the next day. And you should have seen my face when i was like "WIDDLE SHUPPET! BABY!!!"

I'm gonna get the elephant in the room out of the way. So far, even in a mildly superficial way, this hits a lot of similar notes to Hunter Haunted - serial killer tries to have a nice straightforward murder but encounters a big problem that happens to be gfhost type-related. And not gonna lie, a little bit of me in the back of my brain was kinda annoyed and worried. But the rest of my brain knows that you're probably doing this intentionally and are gonna work with it and/or have major divergences planned so you're probably fine. I did really enjoy the chapter overall though, and especially Andre as a main character.

So yeah, fun read! Hope to see more Andre shenanigans.
 

canisaries

you should've known the price of evil
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  4. shuppet
  5. deerling-andre
It's fun seeing what Aura color corresponds to what - is it the same colors for all aura sensitives?
What colors Andre "sees" aura as is determined by his synesthesia, and it works the same as any other form of color synesthesia: the colors are not naturally predetermined by anything in the brain, but rather come from associations at a very early age (for example, the letters A, B and C map to blue, green and yellow respectively for me, and those are the colors of the buttons on a N64 controller which I would have spent a lot of time near as a baby). Similar associations, however, I believe can occur between individuals if they are presented similar material to create those associations from - and emotions are very often presented to children in a color-coded way, with anger being red, sadness being blue and happiness being yellow. Given this, I imagine that aura-color synesthetes would end up having those color associations for primary emotions pretty often. For more nuanced emotions, the variation is probably wider.

Buuut I also have my own mental map of what emotions correspond to what color and writing outside that would annoy me.

I'm gonna get the elephant in the room out of the way. So far, even in a mildly superficial way, this hits a lot of similar notes to Hunter Haunted - serial killer tries to have a nice straightforward murder but encounters a big problem that happens to be gfhost type-related. And not gonna lie, a little bit of me in the back of my brain was kinda annoyed and worried. But the rest of my brain knows that you're probably doing this intentionally and are gonna work with it and/or have major divergences planned so you're probably fine. I did really enjoy the chapter overall though, and especially Andre as a main character.
Oh, this definitely isn't "hunter haunted: galar flavor", don't worry about that. Both the serial killer and the ghost have different personalities and roles in this story compared to HH, and there will be more characters besides them.

Thanks for the review!
 

Dragonfree

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I'd been looking forward to reading this since you posted it, and I'm glad to have gotten the chance for Blitz! Covering chapter one for now, but definitely hoping to return to it.

I thought you did a great job characterizing Andre; there's a lot going on in his head, with interesting bits and pieces and nuances. I like a lot how prominent his art is in his characterization - the way he sees aura not just in colors but very much through the lens of an artist, such as by aesthetically preferring a good contrast of emotions over just joy and peace, and how you portrayed the flow state he gets into as Mike's dying aura inspires him. It gives the story a lot of flavor. There's a lot of great sensory detail with the aura sense in general, great little unique descriptions of what it would be like to sense the emotions people are feeling, and it's not hard to believe that it inspires him artistically, in a twisted way.

His motivations and methods are fascinating, and seem to be something of a complicated mixture of things. I quite enjoyed him using acrylics as a euphemism for murder; one of my favorite bits of the story is actually the explanation of where that comes from, where he talks about why he prefers oil paints, but acrylics have their uses sometimes, because they let him keep the window closed. It's a solution to this bit of intrigue about the euphemism, and it's clever, and it's chilling for how much thought has gone into it. In general, Andre is clearly extremely methodical, with everything carefully planned out, roofies arranged pre-portioned into little plastic bags in a kitchen drawer, stalking victims' social media accounts in order to seduce and manipulate them, carefully making sure he has money to pay the cleanup guys, everything set up meticulously to prevent blood from going everywhere.

But also, the euphemism speaks to the reluctance to it all. The opening scenes are quite hesitant about it - there's a voice in his head saying he really ought to do his duty, and he somewhat reluctantly agrees that yeah, he really should, now that he can (I wonder if the four-month limit is something to do with his aura sensing that gets exhausted and replenished in four months, or a purely practical decision that if people died around him too often he'd get caught even if he was careful, or ultimately an emotional decision to balance his conflicting feelings on it, or some mixture). In the bar scene he eyes Guitarman, and thinks through this whole line of reasoning about how approaching him would be in service to the good of the community too, really, so he may as well just go home with him, before he's rudely interrupted by Mike's anger and the realization he might be the sort of douchebag he kills.

And yet, then he gets home with him and he does relish killing him, with ecstatic descriptions of the fear in his aura, a grin that's genuine at one point. He frames it a simply justice, but the sense that I get is that that's not really what's going on beneath it all. What feels like the driver of all this for him is the ecstatic artistic inspiration he draws from the aura of these dying assholes, and justice is the way he justifies doing it to himself. The little voice telling him he should do his duty is really telling him to get that sweet, sweet artist's high - it's quite telling that the very first scene is about his artist's block, and that's when the voice speaks up about how he ought to go do some murdering, rather than starting with Andre going to a bar with no intention of doing this and then feeling duty-bound to do something about Mike.

So I think the struggle that goes on within Andre is that he really does like to kill people, not out of conventional sadism per se but out of how much he gets out of the sensory experience of their auras. And, like most human beings, he knows that's wrong and is uncomfortable with how much he likes it. Motivated reasoning drives him to justify doing it sometimes, on the basis that if they're truly deplorable people, surely he's doing the world a favor - and that motivated reasoning takes the form of these internal exhortations that he has to, it's just his duty, and he's managed to basically convince himself of it. But on some level he's still uncomfortable with it, wants to just go to the gay bar and go home with the cute guitar guy and not be tempted to murder anyone at all.

(I found it revealing how much disgust Andre feels towards the criminals who get rid of the bodies for him - and yet, while he does find it in himself to think that if he could help it he wouldn't give them a dime, he doesn't seem to feel as if he ought to purge them from the world for the sake of justice, and in part they're described as having no fear.)

The appearance of the Shuppet at the end is a neat hook into what the plot will be about from here. If I were to hazard a guess at where the story is going, it would be towards Andre having to confront whether he and a ghost that feeds on dying auras with no pretensions about justice are really all that different in the end... but maybe you're going some totally different direction with it! Enjoyed reading this a lot all in all, fascinating character study of a fascinating guy with the right kind of twistedness, looking forward to seeing where it's going.

Some quick mistakes/quotes:

He counted the bills inside. Yes, five thousand Galarish pounds. Enough to get rid of the evidence and a car on top if need be. If it wasn’t, they certainly couldn’t blame him. They couldn’t exactly send out emails informing their clients about new pricing. And they knew he was a trustworthy customer. He’d pay the rest later after he’d had time to withdraw more cash.
It took me a bit to try to parse what he was talking about here, mainly because "If it wasn't, they certainly couldn't blame him" isn't clear about either who "they" are or exactly what it is they couldn't blame him for - I initially took it to be referring to like, the police if he were to fail to get rid of the evidence. Even after I parsed it the conclusion I came to was that he was talking about a place to get a car (I was figuring he needed a car he could use to dump the body and then leave behind, or something like that), not to get rid of one.

Either way, these safety precautions were never about being seen - they were about arousing suspicion.
It feels sort of odd to say the safety precautions are about being seen or about arousing suspicion - surely they'd be about not being seen and not arousing suspicion.

He returned to surveying the loners, and soon settled one one he was quite sure was available
Typo: on one

Thought it’d still be a leap… a leap he had to make if he wanted justice served.
I think you were going for "Though" here?

He titled his head.
*tilted

Ander hadn’t had time to check out Mike’s Chatter profile before
*Andre

Ums and uhs appeared between words, getting longer and more frequent as time passed. Each interjection came with a squiggle of confusion, sometimes joined by annoyance. Mike shifted from topic to topic, unable to fight his tangents, until he could no longer make a coherent point about anything. If he ever had.
I quite like this paragraph, the squiggle of confusion and being unable to fight his tangents. Just hitting upon some nice choices of phrase to convey his deterioration.

("If he ever had" doesn't quite fit there at the end, though, because what it's referring back to is could no longer, not anything that makes sense being negated with had. I believe you just want "If he ever could.")
 

Dragonfree

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  7. chinchou
Chapter 2

"Excuse me," he said, stepping to the right and past the shuppet, and returned to the couch. He looked at his cereal. All mushy by now. Ugh. Should he even eat it? He wouldn't be able to enjoy them like he wanted, and they were mostly sugar, not healthy… but the thought of throwing them away was worse. He did not want to be wasteful. Not when he had so much more than others.

He sighed and began shoveling the cereal into his mouth. At least the marshmallows were still colourful and sweet.
Enjoying his reasoning here, that he's privileged so he should shut up and eat his soggy Lucky Charms.

"No, I mean the, uh…" The shuppet lowered his voice to a whisper. "The humans you kill."

Andre's nose wrinkled in equal parts offense and revulsion. "No, that's disgusting," he said, setting down his spoon. "Why would I do that?"
I know, right, who would kill and eat humans [sidelong look at Red]

"How else do I talk about it?" Barely-There groaned. "I have to use words. You don't understand ghost language." They raised a brow. "Or…"

Their aura began to vibrate, ripple, fluctuate. There were no colors, but there was brightness, as well as… transparency?

Andre shook his head. "I can hear that, but I don't understand it."
Love this - he does sense auras, just not know the language.

"Like…" Andre lowered his voice to a whisper again. "Instead of 'killing humans', we talk about 'picking flowers'. How's that?"
More euphemisms! I don't think there's actually much danger that they'll be overheard here, so I suspect this is largely just Andre being uncomfortable with stating it in those terms, the same discomfort that leads him to refer to it as acrylics to himself.

Andre got up and fetched some printer paper and a pencil to bring to the kitchen table. He was never good at drawing cartoons, but all he needed was something quickly recognizable. He put the pencil to the paper and tried his best to draw a cartoon portrayal of himself outside on a walk on the street, holding an umbrella while the rain came down in large, tear-shaped droplets. It was definitely nothing as appealing as Katie’s simplistic yet recognizable work, more like a grotesque caricature, but it got the message across. That was all it had to do, alright? It didn’t matter that it was hideous or that the buildings in the background had doors all too small or that the composition was too heavy on the left. He didn’t have the energy to indulge his perfectionism right now. He forced himself to put down the pen and headed to front door to get dressed. Scarf, jacket, shoes, gloves, umbrella. Alright, he was good to go.
Love his artist self instinctively overthinking this purely communicative drawing and its composition and the too-small doors on the buildings.

As he turned the next corner, reality granted his wish. In a mankey's paw kind of way.

Outside a bar, sopping wet, stood an ursaring. With tar brown fur and an ever-so-slightly tear-shaped ring marking, they were a dead ringer for Grizz.
Ohoho :copyka:

Or maybe you just don't care. Maybe you just can't be bothered to do the least you could do to make them feel better. Maybe it's their fault for getting tricked in the first place. Maybe --

No. No, he was a deeply empathetic person. That's why he did what he did. He did it for others, not himself. That's what he should be doing it for. He should be helping other people. And he should be doing it now, too.
Andre has some compulsive scrupulousness going on, I feel like. Has to keep reminding himself and convincing himself that he's a good person, that he should be doing all this for good reasons, while having an inner voice that hounds him if he isn't doing what he feels is the right thing. Almost a funhouse mirror version of what Samson has going on, of all people.

Surprise flared in Grizz's aura, then embarrassment. "Oh, you don't have to take me to a pokémon restaurant," he said. "I-I'm fine with human ones." Then came shame. "Or… maybe a pokémon restaurant's good. Humans don't really like wet fur smell."

Can't imagine who taught him that. "It's Concrete Jungle, then. It's not far. Let's go."
Huh... I'm having some trouble telling what the connotations of human vs. Pokémon restaurant are here. Grizz saying he doesn't have to take him to a Pokémon restaurant and he's fine with human ones initially suggested Pokémon restaurants would be the obviously preferable thing, and he's just learned to settle for human restaurants because he's used to the human having the final say. But then he agrees to a Pokémon restaurant on the basis that humans don't like wet fur smell, which sort of suggests the opposite to me, that he wants a human restaurant but on second thought a Pokémon restaurant might be better because he feels like his presence at a human restaurant would be unpleasant for the humans.

Either way I'm kind of surprised Andre hears him say maybe a Pokémon restaurant is better because humans don't like wet fur smell, disdainfully notes that Mike must have been the one who taught him that, and yet seemingly agrees that that's a reason to go to the Pokémon restaurant - I would have expected him to want to counter Mike's influence on Grizz, at least in this small way that surely wouldn't arouse anyone's suspicion. Maybe I've just got the wrong read on this, though.

Andre's heart jolted. Ben? Do I have the wrong bear?

"Though my team calls me Grizz," the ursa added, then gave an amused huff. "Mike said it had more punch."

Andre breathed a sigh of relief, though took care to conceal it as best as he could. Of course he was Grizz, he thought. He had a missing trainer, for gods' sake. I freaked out for no reason.
Andre, if you really just care about helping people, what would it matter if it wasn't Grizz? Wouldn't you just be doing a kindness for some other Ursaring whose trainer is missing, who's equally distressed?

I enjoy the Pokémon restaurant worldbuilding a lot, especially the shake booth. That's getting me leaning toward Pokémon restaurants genuinely being a better pick for a Pokémon.

After a brief discussion, they chose to sit at the human-proportioned seats, as Ben ensured Andre he was used to them.
You want "assured" rather than "ensured" here. You assure a person of a thing; you ensure something by yourself.

"Well, in that case…" Ben looked back at the menu. "Are you alright with me ordering the salmon?"

"Perfectly alright."

Ben rumbled in excitement, and for the first time since they met, Andre could feel a spike of actual joy from him.
Going to guess Mike made him feel bad for ordering anything expensive... aaaand yeah, basically.

The supporting characters are a highlight in this chapter, I think; both Barely-There and Ben are just very distinct and likable, and by their very nature their interactions with Andre are highly dynamic and carry tension - it all means something because Ben belonged to his murder victim and Barely-There witnessed it, and that creates stakes and investment on both sides. As always your trainerverse worldbuilding is fascinating and inventive and just fun to read about. Still love the shake booth.

I couldn't help but remain a bit absus at Andre's explanation to Barely-There that the pleasure has nothing to do with why he's doing this - as I said on Discord, I can definitely believe he sincerely believes in his moral system, but the ways he talks about it still feel like enjoyment plays a bigger part in it than he's comfortable with or willing to admit to himself, somewhere underneath the whole structure of moral duty he's built up. If even that much is unintended, I can try to elaborate further on what I'm reading that way and work through what you're going for.

This chapter does really strengthen the sense of Andre as caring a lot about his moral worldview and about doing the right thing within it, though - the scrupulousness I mentioned. He feels he ought to help Ben when he was the one who took his trainer away, and likewise that he's responsible for it if Mike's murder leads to a Steelix rampage. He told Barely-There that he doesn't feel guilt, but it sure feels like he has something very much like guilt going on - he's just managed to selectively avoid feeling guilty for the murders themselves, but not their consequences for others. And the story, it seems, is exploring that, and how he deals with when the murder very much does have consequences for others staring him in the face.

Barely-There's part in this chapter was smaller than I expected - I was figuring this chapter'd be about Andre's interactions with him, but then he leaves that plotline hanging, and the rest of the chapter is about Ben instead. Which is not a bad thing! I enjoy where this is going a lot. One big obvious possibility now, of course, is that Barely-There could tell not the cops but Ben about Andre's crime. I'm unsure how likely that is to happen - it doesn't seem like Barely-There quite has the understanding that would make him realize why Andre would want it kept quiet from Ben, but that also means he might not have much of a meaningful sense that it's something Ben ought to know - but it's a tantalizing possibility. Either way I expect Barely-There will play a larger role in the upcoming chapters.

You refer to Barely-There as him a couple times before the gender reveal - I assume that's in error. These are the ones I spotted:

"Fine," said Barely-There, rolling his eyes.

"No, I mean the, uh…" The shuppet lowered his voice to a whisper. "The humans you kill."

Other grammar notes, typos, etc.:

“I’m never going to pick any flower that I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure didn’t deserve it,” he managed to get out of himself.
He's got a double negative there, so that he's actually saying he would only ever kill people who don't deserve it. I assume that's unintentional, unless you meant for him to misspeak because he's flustered.

Andre wasn’t sure what kind of relationship the shuppet had exactly been looking for.
I thiiink this word order is a bit unusual in English, and it'd be more natural to say "exactly what kind of relationship" or "what kind of relationship exactly".

He waited for breathing to stabilize and his pulse to slow down.
For his breathing to stabilize, presumably.

Andre breathed a sigh of relief, though took care to conceal it as best as he could.
Should be "though he took care..."

Andre clenched his jaw, ignoring the lurch of his stomach as fell as the fact that Ben's distress would only get worse.
Thiink that was meant to be "as well as..."?

All in all, a fascinating chapter! Looking forward to how they handle Mike's Steelix.
 

canisaries

you should've known the price of evil
Location
Stovokor
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. inkay-shirlee
  2. houndoom-elliot
  3. yamask-joanna
  4. shuppet
  5. deerling-andre
Huh... I'm having some trouble telling what the connotations of human vs. Pokémon restaurant are here. Grizz saying he doesn't have to take him to a Pokémon restaurant and he's fine with human ones initially suggested Pokémon restaurants would be the obviously preferable thing, and he's just learned to settle for human restaurants because he's used to the human having the final say. But then he agrees to a Pokémon restaurant on the basis that humans don't like wet fur smell, which sort of suggests the opposite to me, that he wants a human restaurant but on second thought a Pokémon restaurant might be better because he feels like his presence at a human restaurant would be unpleasant for the humans.

Either way I'm kind of surprised Andre hears him say maybe a Pokémon restaurant is better because humans don't like wet fur smell, disdainfully notes that Mike must have been the one who taught him that, and yet seemingly agrees that that's a reason to go to the Pokémon restaurant - I would have expected him to want to counter Mike's influence on Grizz, at least in this small way that surely wouldn't arouse anyone's suspicion. Maybe I've just got the wrong read on this, though.
Well, I had it as pokémon restaurants being more accommodating for pokémon, so a pokémon would usually want that, but Ben didn't want Andre to go to the extra trouble of finding and choosing a pokémon restaurant. His later remark is more "actually, yeah, maybe pokémon restaurant would be better now since I'm soaking wet, so I'm not opposed to you going to the extra trouble anymore". As for Andre, he's just going with what he feels is probably more comfortable for Ben.

Andre, if you really just care about helping people, what would it matter if it wasn't Grizz? Wouldn't you just be doing a kindness for some other Ursaring whose trainer is missing, who's equally distressed?
True, though a sudden change of situation like that can be a smack in the face for someone that likes to plan well ahead.

As always your trainerverse worldbuilding is fascinating and inventive and just fun to read about. Still love the shake booth.
Thank you! I found the pokémon restaurant part really fun to write, thinking of all the ways pokémon and humans could be accommodated.

I couldn't help but remain a bit absus at Andre's explanation to Barely-There that the pleasure has nothing to do with why he's doing this - as I said on Discord, I can definitely believe he sincerely believes in his moral system, but the ways he talks about it still feel like enjoyment plays a bigger part in it than he's comfortable with or willing to admit to himself, somewhere underneath the whole structure of moral duty he's built up. If even that much is unintended, I can try to elaborate further on what I'm reading that way and work through what you're going for.
Oh, he's definitely downplaying the enjoyment as he's afraid of the possibility that it'd really play any larger role in his decisionmaking, which would make him not so moral after all.

He told Barely-There that he doesn't feel guilt, but it sure feels like he has something very much like guilt going on - he's just managed to selectively avoid feeling guilty for the murders themselves, but not their consequences for others. And the story, it seems, is exploring that, and how he deals with when the murder very much does have consequences for others staring him in the face.
Well, he specifically meant guilt from hurting (bad) people rather than guilt in general.

Thanks for the big ol' review, much appreciated! Will get to the line edits eventually. Right now, I've just finished Chapter 3, so it'll be uploaded shortly.
 
CHAPTER THREE - The Law, Part 1

canisaries

you should've known the price of evil
Location
Stovokor
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. inkay-shirlee
  2. houndoom-elliot
  3. yamask-joanna
  4. shuppet
  5. deerling-andre
i know this took a few months, but mental health has been reeeaaallly poor lately. still not recovered yet but i am feeling better and going in the right direction.

here's chapter three! it is also not betaread, so let me know if you find any typos or other errors. rating is still mature to keep the pattern with the rest of the fic, but this time there's also a content warning for a summary of an abusive relationship. alright, enjoy!

---

CHAPTER THREE
The Law, Part 1


---​

Unable to bear his original plan of simply staring out the window, Andre had instead taken it as his job to keep up with the latest updates of the emergency site on his phone. After all, if the steelix's location changed, so would their destination. So far, though, this hadn't happened, and with less than a third of the distance remaining, it didn't seem like it would for the rest of the trip.

Andre's jaw tightened. If they still hadn't detained the steelix, which was something they would have reported, there had to be some kind of complications. Andre knew fairly well how the police operated in Galar when it came to humans - information that was important for anyone who intended to commit crimes and get away with them - but when it came to mon, especially non-citizen mon, his understanding was limited. He knew, at least, that they had special-made balls to capture hostile mon with, but he supposed they were still like any other ball in the sense that first captures weren't guaranteed. A ball needed to adjust to the mon it was capturing for the first time to properly contain it. If the mon broke out before the process completed, whoever threw the ball would have to try again. And there was also the factor of needing to hit the mon in the first place… though he couldn't see a slow, massive steel serpent being a very evasive target. Maybe the steelix was resisting capture through some other means, like some kind of magnet field to repel the ball thrown at him. Or maybe… maybe he'd slammed his tail down onto the police car the moment it arrived, killing everyone inside, and the rest of the force hadn't yet found out.

Blood escaped Andre's face, but he forced away the thought and looked out the window instead.

The flow of traffic was clearly lopsided, and it was no mystery why. While citizens had been encouraged to stay indoors, many had decided not to risk being crushed to death and had rather chosen to get the hell away as quickly as they could. The taxi, however, was one of only a few vehicles heading towards the crisis area, and most likely the only one doing that distinctly on purpose. Horns blared in the air as the more panicked drivers made their urgency clear, but this did little to move along the queue. That, in turn, also did little to dissuade the honking.

"You better get those notes ready," the driver mumbled, and it was no wonder with his increasingly restless aura. "I'm not going so far that I can't quickly turn back."

Andre glanced at the GPS display embedded in the car. The steelix's given location was no longer too far in terms of walking distance, but the entire point was to get there more quickly. So much could happen in the time lost, after all. People injured, people dead --

He suppressed the thought and dug through his wallet again. He looked at the fare counter and tripled it in his mind as promised. It was pricey, but he had enough cash. He did have his card, too, but for bookkeeping purposes, he knew this transaction made more sense in cash.

Two minutes later, the ground shook.

Everyone - the driver, the people in the other cars, Ben inside his ball - jolted. The collective spike of their auras hit Andre like a battering ram, making him jump the hardest of all.

"Th-that's it!" the driver said, stopping by the pavement. "I'm not going any further. Shit, going this far was a mistake. You -- you better pay up now, or --"

Andre shoved the notes in the man's lap before he could finish. "Thanks," Andre said, already stepping out of the car, but didn't mean it… at first. Only once he'd already shut the door and begun walking did he realize his gratitude should have been genuine. That driver had still helped them in their time of need, even if he hadn't fully gone through with the deal. And he'd only done that out of fear for his own safety…

Ben's pokéball wiggled, startling Andre nearly enough to make him lose his grasp. He tried to squeeze the sides of the ball again as he'd been taught before, but Ben was faster, releasing himself on his own and materializing in front of Andre in a white glow. Right. Mon could do that.

Ben turned around to face Andre and stepped close. Before the ursa could properly point to the pouch around his neck, Andre had understood his wish and slipped the pokeball back inside.

Ben nodded as thanks. "Which way?" he then asked. Andre pointed forward, and the bear took some running steps - startlingly fast compared to a human - until he came to a halt and turned back around.

"You… your money," Ben panted. "I can't pay you back now --"

Andre held up a palm. "You don't need to. Just go. You need to be there."

Hesitance glued Ben's feet to the pavement, but he was the best asset to have at the scene, dammit! The steelix would listen to him! Lives could be saved!

"Go!" Andre shouted, and Ben finally understood his urgency. The ursa turned around and resumed sprinting, heading for the scene, which was about five hundred meters away right now.

Just a second later, Andre ran after him at his own, frustratingly slower pace. While Ben needed to be at the scene for tactical support and to see what was going on with his teammate, Andre had to be there to assess the damage. He could have read about it in the news later, sure, but it was so removed - humans and mon became numbers and the destruction of homes was a footnote. The least he could do was to take it all in as it was, no matter how horrible. He couldn't turn a blind eye to the consequences of his actions.

“Titan!” Ben roared, nearly making Andre trip on his feet, but it didn’t seem to slow down the ursa. “Titan! Please! Calm do-”

A crash reverberated throughout the streets, shaking Andre’s very innards. Something heavy had fallen, or broken, or something. Concrete, bricks. He didn’t know. But he knew any of that could kill a human. Or a mon out of their battle state.

Wait. What were they doing? What were they doing? This was dangerous! This was Hazard Level Yellow! They could die! If Ben wasn’t charged up --

Andre stared at the ursa’s back. Was Ben charged up? Had he charged up inside his ball? Andre couldn’t know. His aura sense didn’t reach the frequencies that could give him a clue. He had to find out. He tried to scream --

Another shockwave cut him off. Oh Gods. It squeezed the air out of his lungs, rendering him voiceless. Ben had stopped to withstand the shock, but just as quickly, he pushed on again. He disappeared behind a corner - the last corner they needed to circle to enter the opening the steelix was supposedly at.

Then came shouts. Chaotic shouts.

“Hey!” “Freeze!” “Stop right there!” shouted multiple police officers, if Andre had assumed correctly. “Titan!” shouted Ben’s voice, unfazed by the authorities’ commands. The auras of fear and tension and rage that had gradually been strengthening throughout Andre's approach now surged, combining into an impossible twister of fire and ice. The air it spun was like acid, burning Andre's windpipe - like the pain was real, like it was no longer a metaphor.

Then a roar, a roar that shook buildings. Andre expected another crash, more hypothetical people to die or lose their limbs or at least their homes…

But then the roar cut off.

And it was silent.

No, it wasn't silent - the honking of cars still persisted in the distance, and on the aura front, tension hadn't let up one bit. From the opening, Andre felt like he could hear running steps…

Then they stopped.

Then came a shout.

"He's caught!"

Snap. The tension released all at once, like a million rubber bands had been stretched beyond their breaking point. Andre gripped his head, gasping, but knew nothing had broken. It had simply been too loud.

Fear had also gone. No, it was still there, but it was faded. Weakened from panic to restlessness. Rage, on the other hand, still burned ahead - but it felt different. More contained. Like a red-hot sphere in the middle of the calming vortex. It had to be the steelix, now captured within a ball. They had captured him. The situation was over.

No, it wasn't. He couldn't breathe easy yet. He still had to find out just how much damage had been caused. Andre forced himself to walk to the last corner despite his burning legs and turned around for a peek.

There was no steelix, as expected - but there were clear signs that one had been present. Cracks in the asphalt marked the steelix’s path, and craters marked points of impact. Traffic lights stood with bent poles. The corner of a nearby building had been chipped off, the fallen debris resting on the ground. Andre thought he saw someone’s leg sticking out of the rubble, but his terror subsided as he realized his mind was simply playing tricks on him. Still…

“You there!” shouted one of the police officers, drawing Andre’s attention, but he quickly realized the shout was meant for Ben. “Ursaring!”

Anxiety flared in the ursa’s aura, and he visibly flinched. ”Y-yeah?”

The police officer, a stocky man in his forties, stomped to the ursaring. His colleagues stayed still - the humans at the police vehicle at the edge of the opening, and a blue-vested passimian in the center of the opening, holding the ball Andre sensed all that rage from. Well, not all. Some rage was clearly coming from that officer.

The man took a stand about two meters from the ursa, then pointed a finger at the mon. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Uh…" Ben tried, but the officer didn't let him continue.

"This is the site of an active police confrontation! You don't just run in like that!” the officer ranted. “Did you not see the alert? Did you not hear the steelix thrashing around?”

“Yes, but --”

“You could have gotten yourself or someone else seriously hurt or killed!”

Andre’s proverbial ears perked. Did that phrasing mean there were no injured?

Ben finally took a step forth, confidence flaring up. “But I know the steelix! His name is Titan! He’s my teammate! I could’ve helped!”

“It doesn’t matter if you know him or not!” the officer yelled, not backing down. “You’re a civilian, and you need to stay out of harm’s way and let the authorities do their job. That’s how you help!”

Ben fell quiet. Confidence began shifting to shame.

The officer’s eyes then flicked to Andre, whose heart jolted.

“The same goes for you, too,” the officer said, pointing again. “I don’t know if you’re with this guy or not, but nobody should be outside right now. The situation isn’t over until we announce it’s over. Then, and only then, can you leave your shelter. Understand?”

There was an easy excuse Andre could have come up with - ‘oh, I was trying to stop the ursaring’ - but he wouldn’t let the blame fall on Ben alone. Instead, he sighed. “Yes, I understand.”

The officer crossed his arms and nodded. “Good. And tell that to all your friends, too, in case any of them have dreams of playing hero.”

In the background, the other officers’ auras showed some discomfort, probably at the stocky man losing his professional cool. The passimian had made their way to the human officers while Ben was being scolded, and now they said something to the others that Andre couldn’t hear. They then handed the ball to one of the officers, a woman, and approached Ben.

“You said you were part of the same team as the steelix, right?” they began, stopping by the male officer’s side.

Ben nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Could you give us the contact information of your trainer?”

Ben’s heart sank. Andre knew because it took his own down with it.

“I can, but…” Ben sighed, his stress growing. “He’s been missing since yesterday, actually. He doesn’t answer any calls.”

The passimian’s brows raised, and they took out a smartphone from their vest. “I see. What’s his name?”

“Mike Thomson,” Ben said, but then shook his head. “No, Michael Thomson, actually. A-and no ‘P’ in Thomson.”

The passimian nodded, tapping on the phone. Once done, they stepped up to Ben, touching his arm. “We’re gonna need you to come with us to the station. Is that alright?”

Ben nodded, staring at the other officers in the distance - probably looking for Titan’s ball, but it had been stored somewhere out of sight by now. “Yeah. I wanna… I wanna be with Titan anyway.”

“Good.” The passimian’s eyes shifted to Andre. “And you - what is your relationship to this mon?”

Andre flinched, but stepped up so he could be better heard. “Oh, I’m not really… I just met him today, and I happened to be with him when the alert came.”

The passimian frowned slightly. “What Officer Hudson here said was right,” they said, gesturing to the male officer. “You shouldn’t go running into crisis areas. That goes especially for humans. You don’t have a battle state to protect you.” They glanced at Ben. “Not that a battle state would still give someone the right to barge in on operations.”

Ben nodded, ashamed. So he had charged up. That was good, at least.

The passimian looked back to Andre. “But if you have no relation to Mr. Ursaring or the steelix, we should be done here. You're free to go.”

"Oh. Um…" Andre frowned. He wanted to ask if he couldn't come with, but he was fairly confident he knew the answer already. He also had a feeling that being around cops when he'd recently committed a serious crime was unwise in general.

Still, there were things he still needed to know. "Can I ask what's going to happen with Ben -- Mr. Ursaring and the steelix next?"

The passimian looked to Ben. "Well, we're gonna look into this 'missing trainer' matter first, and then, whether or not we'll get a hold of him, we're gonna see what led to this steelix getting free and loose in the city. If the trainer or someone else is found responsible, they'll have to cover part or all of the property damage caused."

Andre felt Ben's aura swirling harder with each word. He had a feeling his own would have looked similar. The reason steelix had broken loose was because Mike had made him stay outside for the night, and Ben or the others hadn’t brought him in once Mike hadn’t come back. That… that made Ben and the rest of the team partly responsible, didn’t it? How much would their share be?

Andre looked around. The asphalt was far too broken for anyone to drive, and that building… how much work was needed to fix something like that? It wasn’t just the outside bricks that got chipped off - there was the insulation, inner wall… in fact, he was pretty sure he could see the into the rest of the room through the hole in the middle. And what if the owner sued?

"Then, uh…" Ben started, holding his paws together. "Wh-what'll happen to Titan?"

"Well, that depends," the passimian replied. "For now, we'll keep him in custody. After a more thorough analysis on the case, he will likely be rehomed. Keeping a mon like steelix in the city is already only allowed through a special permit, and if that mon gets loose, that permit is likely to be taken away."

Ben grabbed his arm. "You say he’s likely to be rehomed,” he started carefully, “but is it possible that he’s gonna be… put down?”

"Oh, Gods no," the passimian said, and Ben's twisting aura briefly relaxed, emitting deep blue relief. "He may have done a lot of damage on the scene, but he didn't try to seriously attack anyone. He was just throwing a tantrum, it seems."

Andre was relieved, too. The situation had turned out nowhere near as bad as he'd feared. By now, it had become all but apparent that no people had been injured in the attack. No one had been hurt. Things were… relatively okay.

Is that what you think? his inner voice cut in. There's still the property damage, and Ben's team is going to be found responsible. They’re not gonna have the money, not with how much of a cheapskate Mike was, and they’ll be in huge debt. They might be paying that off for the rest of their lives.

Andre’s heartbeat surged again. I… I should help them, then. I have money to spare…

Are you out of your mind? Do you understand how suspicious that would look? No stranger would do that for someone they just met. They’d realize immediately that you’re connected, and they’d start looking into you, where you were last night…


His throat tightened. The voice was right - he had to keep enough distance from this case. Still…

“Alright,” the passimian said. “If there’s nothing else, we’ll be on our way. Mr. Ursaring?”

Ben flinched and nodded. “Right. L-let’s go.”

“Wait,” Andre interjected, causing a puff of annoyance to arise from the officers. He stepped up to Ben, digging out his wallet and a slip of paper from within. “If you find yourself wanting to talk some more,” he explained, “here’s my number.”

Ben accepted the slip with a nod and tucked it into the pouch around his neck. “Thanks.” Real gratitude sparked in his aura. Andre would have felt good about it had it not been entirely undeserved.

After that, the officers led Ben to the police vehicle. Before stepping into the car, Ben waved one last time. Andre waved back. Then, they drove off.

Alone in the opening, Andre stood still. He couldn’t bring himself to move.

His phone vibrated. He dug it out to check it.

EMERGENCY SITUATION RESOLVED

The situation involving an agitated steelix in the Rookton area has been resolved. Citizens may now leave their shelter. Find more details at
www.emergencywatch.gl/wyndon.

Before he’d even finished reading, though, a tsunami of blue relief smashed into him from all directions. Deep blue. Ultramarine. Or the blue of certain flowers. As the aura weakened in intensity, it did feel like petals were slowly raining down on him.

And then something else came down. Droplets. Actual droplets.

He looked up to see the gray sky, and a raindrop smacked against the right lens of his glasses. Others quickly followed.

He thought to open his umbrella, but realized he didn’t have it on him. He must have forgotten it at the restaurant. He sighed. He really didn’t want to bother swinging by the place to pick it up… maybe he’d just buy a new one later.

He headed back the way he’d come, browsing taxi services on his phone, though part of him was adamant he deserved to walk all the way back home, soaking wet and shivering.

---​

Andre held his breath as he stepped into his apartment. When he saw no shuppet greeting him, he sighed and closed the door behind him.

He still checked each room afterwards for a small wisp of aura, but everywhere was empty. Barely-There wasn't there. He either hadn't returned yet, or he had, but had seen the drawing on the kitchen table and decided to return at a later time. Or maybe he'd gotten mad and gone to the cops --

No, Andre didn't have the energy to catastrophize now. He just wanted to get out of his dripping wet clothes and take a nice, warm shower.

And that he did. The moment he stepped into the stream of water, it felt like all of today’s troubles rinsed right off his body. Briefly. It didn’t take long for his brain to catch up and remind him that everything that had happened had indeed been real and had real consequences. He sighed.

Oh, poor you. Poor murderer.

His brow wrinkled. He was just too tired to argue. He’d just stand here, in the warm water, until he felt like getting out.

That’s wasteful of water.

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered under his breath.

“Hello!”

Andre whipped around to meet the noise, splashing water all over the shower cabinet. In the air floated a familiar shuppet.

“Don’t do that!” Andre wheezed, slamming his hands against the cabinet walls for support. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack!”

Barely-There floated a little ways backwards, but there was no stronger reaction. “Alright, okay,” he said, sounding offended. Then he looked down. And stared.

“Don’t do that, either,” Andre growled, covering his parts with a hand.

“I don’t get to see it often,” Barely-There replied. “Humans without clothes.”

“And you’re not seeing it now,” Andre hissed and pointed to the bathroom door with his free hand. “Go wait outside!”

“Fine,” Barely-There said, leaving the shower and phasing through the wall. Andre could just barely sense his aura waiting outside, the water’s rushing and warmth taking up most of his sensory processing.

With a growl to himself, he turned back around, but realized there was nothing left for him to do in the shower now that relaxation was no longer possible. Defeated, he took in the last of the water’s warmth and then turned it off.

---​

After drying off his body and hair, getting dressed and cleaning his glasses - throughout which Barely-There wanted to initiate conversation only for Andre to tell him to wait his turn - Andre made his way to his couch and lay down. Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes.

"Can we talk now?" asked Barely-There's voice.

Andre's forehead wrinkled, but after a few seconds, he gave in. "Yes."

"Alright!" Barely-There said, cheerful. "First thing. I made you a new name, a better name. It's Koh!"

"Koh?" Andre opened one eye to look at the shuppet.

"You know, from…" The shuppet's eyes squinted, and he floated closer. "Picks-Other-Flowers. But not with those words."

"Oh." Andre closed the eye again, sighing. "At least it's not 'Pof'," he muttered.

"Yes, that is bad. Worse than Andre."

Andre decided not to protest.

"You really smell," the shuppet said.

At this, Andre couldn't stay still. He sat up, glaring at the ghost. "Excuse me? I just showered. You were there."

Barely-There floated backwards in startlement. "No, no," he said. "Not smell-smell. Aura-smell. I mean, I can't even smell-smell. No nose." He pointed to his face with the edge of his hem.

Andre let his anger subside and lay back down. "You mean I'm having negative emotions."

Barely-There nodded. "Worry, regret, anger. Why is that? You didn't have them before. Not that strong, anyway."

Andre gave the ghost an exhausted look, but Barely-There didn’t seem deterred. He wanted to say it was none of the mon’s business, but his brain reminded him well in time that this was someone he needed to stay on good terms with.

Boundaries were still boundaries, though. He would only tell the gist of things.

“Well,” Andre sighed and gestured lazily to the kitchen counter, “as the drawing says, I went for a walk. It was only meant to be a short walk, but that changed when I came upon a mon I recognized. As a team member of that trainer I… spent time with yesterday.” Andre rubbed his forehead. "I wasn't going to do anything about it, but his aura was awful. He was so worried. I had to go and talk to him, try to make him feel at least a little better --"

"Whoa, wait," Barely-There interrupted, and Andre threw him another annoyed glance. "You k- picked the trainer, and you wanted him to be in pain, but now you want to make his teammate feel better?"

"Y…yes," Andre said slowly.

"But he's in the same team," Barely-There continued. "Doesn't that mean he's a bad person too?"

Andre shook his head. "No. You're misunderstanding here. The trainer I met was abusive. He wasn't treating his teammates right. He was also an asshole in other ways."

"But mon can leave if they don't like the trainer, right?" Barely-There pressed on. "Or kill them."

Andre sighed. "It's not that easy. There aren't always other jobs available for battling mon, and they might not pay as well. Abusers can also trick their victims into thinking that they're their friends and that they're looking out for them when they're actually just taking advantage. This is, I'm pretty sure, what happened with this mon, too."

He paused for a moment to recall how Ben had spoken of Mike. How his aura had gotten. How those videos and photos on their Snapp account showed Ben's admiring gaze towards his trainer. And how Andre had torn it all from him…

No, it had to be done. That part of it, anyway. The entire steelix fiasco, though…

"So…" Barely-There started. "The trainer was bad, but the mon was good."

"Yes," Andre said. "That's why I wanted to help. I want to help good people when they're in need. Sometimes bad ones, too, if they're not too bad. But that trainer was."

"Uh-huh. I think I get it," the shuppet said. "You're like other humans in that way, then."

Andre's chest grew lighter. To hear he was like other humans… it was relieving.

“And then what happened?”

Andre winced as he realized he still had to finish the story. “Well… I talked to the mon,” he continued. “He told me about his missing trainer, as I expected, and then I took him out to eat. We had a fairly nice time, but then when I was paying, an alert came. About an agitated pokémon in the city. And it just so happened to be another teammate, a… steelix,” he said, figuring that there was only one pokémon rampaging the town today anyway, so the species needn’t be censored. “The mon figured that the steelix was mad because their trainer hadn’t come to bring him back into the house, which made it a consequence of my actions.” He swallowed. “We took a taxi there. Luckily, the police had managed to get it under control, and there hadn’t been any injuries to anyone, but there was a lot of property damage, and now that’s something the mon are gonna have to deal with. On top of the worry and uncertainty and eventual grief over their trainer not coming back. And it’s my fault.”

After a brief silence, Barely-There realized the story was over and lowered himself onto the living room table. “Okay,” he said, pausing after. “You care a lot,” he then said.

Andre nodded. “I told you,” he said, “I’m a human being, not a monster.”

“What’s wrong with monsters, huh?”

Andre opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t find any words before Barely-There continued.

“Joke,” the shuppet said. “There’s a garbodor in the speech house that always says that.”

“Oh.” Andre deflated a bit. The pressure of dealing with the word in such a controversial context was gone, though it wasn’t as if he really would have expected Barely-There to care about possibly offensive language.

Silence returned as Barely-There moved on to quietly glancing around the room, probably trying to think of his next question. The pause lasted long enough for Andre to remember something that’d been brought up before during his conversation with Ben. In response, he got up, turned on the TV and browsed his streaming service for some anime he could watch after Barely-There left. That ought to help ease him back to his Tohjoan studies. Maybe something about yakuza. Cartoons were rarely reliable when it came to detail of real-life subjects, but even knowing about stereotypes could help him down the line. After all, he might even…

He shuddered. No. No, he shouldn’t. He would be a foreigner in Kanto. He couldn’t go and play judge, jury and executioner in another culture, not with anything less than perfect understanding of the language and customs, and he knew he’d never get there. His acrylics would stay here in Galar and Galar only.

“So when did you start doing all this?” Barely-There suddenly asked. Damn it. The conversation was on again…

“By ‘all this’, you mean ‘picking flowers’, right?” Andre sighed.

Barely-There nodded. “When did you first do it? And why?”

Andre took a tense breath in. He needed to draw the line somewhere, and this was a very reasonable place for it. “Sorry. I can’t tell you.”

“What?” Barely-There cocked his head. “Why not?”

“You already know too much about me. It’s already a huge risk for me to have someone like you floating around, even if the cops aren’t gonna trust a ghost’s word.” Andre hoped Barely-There couldn’t tell that he was stretching the truth. “You knowing one crime is enough. I’m not telling you another.”

“Oh, come on,” Barely-There groaned. “I’m not gonna tell! And no one’s gonna ask me! I’m just a shuppet, I don’t know anything.”

Andre shook his head. “No, I can’t. I have to look out for myself here. Surely you understand that?”

Barely-There growled, hovering off the table and floating back and forth as if he was pacing. Then, he stopped. He smirked. Oh no. What now?

"I'm gonna guess!" the shuppet declared. "I'm gonna guess, and I'll look at you, your aura. I'll get the truth that way."

Andre quickly took off his glasses and set them down on the table to let himself pinch the bridge of his nose. "Oh Gods," he croaked.

"Okay," said Barely-There, continuing his 'pacing' at a brisker speed, though now he was blurrier to Andre. "I think… you got in a fight."

Already wrong, thought Andre, but kept his expression the same - though he didn't know what his aura was saying.

"You got in a fight, and it got bad. You were mad. You hurt the other guy, hurt him a lot. And that's when you smelled the aura, aura of a dying human. And you wanted more of it."

Andre tensed up as the shuppet spoke. The ghost was painting a picture of him as some kind of sadist again.

And yet… he'd gotten closer. Not to the First Event, no, but the Second.

"I knew it!" Barely-There said. "Your aura. I found the truth."

"No," Andre contested, sitting up - all too quickly, without consideration. He wasn't supposed to reveal anything, but now he'd gone and given the ghost information he hadn't had before. But he couldn't… he couldn't let this ghost think he was a psychopath. The only person that knew about his real self… should know his real self.

Andre sighed. He really shouldn't. He really shouldn't, but then again, this was just some shuppet, and the First Event was years ago, in another part of the country. And so was the Second, really. If he kept things vague enough… he'd actually be able to tell his story to someone. First Event and Second.

Andre drew in a deep breath and slowly squeezed it out, all while Barely-There stared at him like a meowth stared at a bird.

"Fine," Andre said, picking up his glasses and putting them back on. "I'll tell you how this all started." He glared at Barely-There. "But you have to keep it a secret. Otherwise, I'll do everything in my power to get back at you. And I have connections."

Barely-There flinched. Good. Andre wasn't sure if he'd believe it given even Andre didn't know if he really had the connections to have a singular shuppet hunted down. But he did have a rich family, and that was a key factor in making any kinds of connections if the need ever came.

"Alright," Andre sighed. There was a part of him that still screamed against this - stop, no, you can't let anyone know - but he knew what he was getting into. Hell, he was already past the worst part. If this shuppet was going to tell anyone about anything, it'd be about the murder that had just happened, not something that had happened once in Circhester.

"A few years ago," Andre started, "when I came home from some time abroad, I went to see my family. My parents were fine and my brothers were fine, but something was wrong with my sister, Ellie. She hid it pretty well, or at least well enough for my family not to take note, but I could sense her aura and how stressed out she was. When I tried to talk to her about it in private, she tried to brush it off at first, but eventually I got her to tell me what was going on.”

He remembered her breaking down crying. The tidal wave of sorrow and anxiety and self-loathing from her aura. Her sobs between the words of her confession. How she curled up into a ball like a scared child, blaming herself for everything. How, upon hearing the truth, Andre found himself hating the bastard that had done this to his little sister more and more.

Andre leaned back, crossing his arms. "After the last time I'd seen her, she'd gotten a boyfriend. Older than her - she was seventeen, he was twenty-something. He was not the kind of person my family would have approved of, so she'd kept it secret from them. She'd felt independent, like her own woman, but the relationship gradually started getting out of her control. At one point, she'd posed for some pictures he'd taken of her, and now he was using them as blackmail, essentially saying she had to do what he said or he'd make the pics go public. My sister was terrified of the consequences - what everyone at her school would think, what Mom and Dad would think. And so, she was trapped."

“Wait,” Barely-There interrupted. “Pictures? What was in these pictures?”

Andre quickly raised a palm. “That is none of your business. I will not tell you that.”

Barely-There looked down, frowning. “I don’t understand what pictures could be that bad.” He paused. “Was she doing a crime in them?”

“No, it was…” Andre stopped himself and rubbed his forehead. “Nevermind. I don’t think you get the actual situation, so let’s just go with that.”

“Okay. And then what?” The shuppet flipped upside down. “Did you go and kill that boyfriend?”

Andre shook his head. “No. Not quite. I mean, of course there was that part of me that wanted to go and beat the shit out of that guy, that macho part a lot of men get conditioned into them, but I knew that wasn't realistic. Ellie had shown me pictures, and it was clear he was taller and stronger than me. I wouldn't win."

He crossed his arms again. "I was furious. I couldn't believe someone was doing something like this to her, even though I knew the world had plenty of rotten people in it. You just never anticipate anything like this when you grow up sheltered. But I couldn't do anything about it. Ellie made me swear not to tell anyone, our parents or otherwise, and I knew it wouldn't help. All I could do was to try and comfort her, be a listening ear. Until… I realized something."

Andre looked Barely-There in the eye, and the ghost returned the gaze. "What did you realize?" the shuppet asked.

"That I had money," Andre answered. "Money could do a lot of things. Money could make a lot of problems go away."

Barely-There frowned, seeming disappointed. "You just paid him?"

"Fuck no," Andre said. "That worm didn't deserve a penny, and I had no faith in him respecting any deal I'd try to make. What I actually did was ring up Danny, a cousin of mine, and ask to meet."

Dammit, Andre thought after, I gave Danny's name. Well, whatever. This guy's probably not gonna care enough to remember, anyway.

"The thing about Danny," he continued, "was that he'd, on occasion, let slip the implication that he'd used some money for less-than-legal services. Previously, in whatever family get-together I'd met him in, I'd just nodded along like I didn't think he was a piece of shit for abusing his wealth, but now I had to ask more. So we met up, and I asked him how he made problems go away. He was understandably shy now that I'd brought it up directly, but after some buttering up and reminders that we were 'family', I got him to talk. And I kept the conversation going, down to the point where I could ask what it would cost to make someone perish in a cigarette-started house fire that destroyed all electronics and their memory. What it would cost, and who I needed to contact."

Andre slowly leaned forward. "And then, ten thousand pounds and a week later, a fire happened, and the boyfriend was dead."

“Nice!” Barely-There said, grinning, and suddenly Andre’s stomach twisted.

He realized how proud he’d just sounded, talking about his first murder. Sure, it was justified, but it was nothing he should be boasting about. It wasn’t as if he’d won an honorable duel. He’d paid for a hit. And that money went to bad people. Just like the money he used to get rid of bodies and cars. How much misery had been funded by that money, huh? He didn’t like to think about that, did he? Or maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he really was --

No. No, I’m not a monster, he told himself yet again. I do this for the common good. I wouldn’t be doing it otherwise. I do this because I have to.

The voice died away again. For now.

“But… wait,” Barely-There started, furrowing his brow, and Andre already flinched, knowing what he was about to say. “That wasn’t you kil-”

Picking,” Andre reflexively reminded.

“Right. That wasn’t you picking a flower,” the ghost said. “You just gave money to someone else and he did it.” He floated closer. “When did you first pick a flower on your own?”

Andre’s blood turned ice cold. The shuppet was asking about the Second Event now. The one where he'd really killed someone.

He didn’t want to talk about it, not now, not after he caught himself smiling while telling the story of the First Event. Maybe having no one to tell it to before had been a good thing. He wouldn’t have seen his real emotions --

A vibration in his pocket caught him off guard. Someone was calling him. He pulled out his phone and checked the caller. It was Katie.

Andre looked at Barely-There and raised a hand. “Just a moment,” he said, and as the shuppet seemed to understand, he answered the call.

“Hi, bestie!” he cooed as he always did, though this time it brought a shiver down his spine - here he was, using the same voice to cheerfully greet his friend that he’d just used to tell a true story of murder. “What’s up?”

“Doing good!” Katie replied. “How are your commissions coming along?”

“Finished them yesterday, actually,” Andre responded, and the shiver came again. He decided to get up and pace to try and drown the sensation out. “I’m a free man.”

“That’s great to hear,” Katie said, “because I was just thinking how it’s been too long since we’ve hung out. Could we catch a movie tomorrow?”

The pacing wasn’t helping. “Sure! What are you thinking of?”

"I was thinking Spoonful of Sugar. It's a dark comedy mystery about a group of kadabra solving a murder. My chat friends are recommending it."

An additional shudder came from the mention of murder. "Sounds good!" Andre said, his voice breaking just a little, hoping Katie wouldn’t notice. "What time were you thinking?"

"At eight, maybe? It's a standard two-hour movie."

"Works for me," Andre replied, struggling to keep his forced smile. He should wrap up the call before Katie got suspicious. "Okay, looks like I gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow."

"O-oh, sure," Katie's response came, and Andre could tell she'd hoped to chat some more. He could see her disappointed face, framed by her wavy, blonde hair. "Bye, then."

"Bye!" Andre said, hanging up after. He sat down at the kitchen table and took deeper breaths.

Murderer, murderer, repeated the voice inside his head. Two-faced liar.

He held his forehead. I can't tell her and you know that. She wouldn't understand. No one would.

“Who was that?” Andre heard from behind, and he felt the shuppet’s aura approach. “The next flower you’re gonna pick?”

Andre turned around in an instant. “Absolutely not,” he snapped, making the mon flinch. “Don’t you ever suggest something like that again.”

“Whoa, okay,” Barely-There said. “I won’t.”

Andre sighed. ‘Good’, he was about to say, but the shuppet hovered closer, a grin creeping on his face again. “So, are you gonna tell me about that first time you picked a flower yourself?”

Gravity doubled. Andre rubbed his forehead. He really, really, really, really didn’t want to talk about it. Not right now. Maybe not ever, but definitely not right now.

“Listen,” Andre began. “It’s been a rough day for me. I’d just like to be alone right now. Can I tell you that story some other time?”

Disappointment was clear on the shuppet’s face, even moreso in his tone. “Aw, really?”

“‘Fraid so, little guy,” Andre replied, though he wasn’t really sorry.

“Hmm…” Barely-There pouted. Andre’s heart beat at a steady pace, measuring the length of the shuppet’s pause. He hoped dearly that Barely-There would respect his wishes, but he really had no guarantee he would.

“Fine,” the ghost finally said, relieving Andre of the weight in his chest. “But I will be here tomorrow, in the morning. And you will tell me that story then.”

Andre nodded - sure, whatever. By then, he’d probably feel less terrible. “You got it.”

Barely-There grinned. “Bye then!” he said, flying straight for the window and turning intangible just in time not to smash into the glass but pass through smoothly.

“...Bye,” Andre sighed in his wake, as if the ghost could possibly still hear it. He took a deep breath in and squeezed it out, paused for a moment, and then made his way back to the couch. He placed his glasses on the living room table and lay down on the couch, resting his eyes. For a moment, he was at peace.

Then he remembered Ben. Mike. The steelix. The entire thing.

He covered his face and sighed into his palms. Today had not been a good day. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Four in the afternoon. Gods. Today wasn’t even anywhere near done.

Thinking of Ben, he checked his phone again. No missed calls, no unread texts. He’d given Ben his number in case he wanted to talk, but the ursa hadn’t taken him up on that offer yet, it seemed. Maybe it had slipped his mind amidst all the chaos and uncertainty and fear…

And I caused that, Andre thought, I certainly caused that.

He stared at his ceiling. The day’s events replayed again - meeting Barely-There, Barely-There leaving, Andre going on a walk, meeting Ben, dining with him, receiving the alert, taking Ben to the steelix, coming home and showering, Barely-There returning, Andre proudly describing his first murder to the shuppet, Katie’s call…

How many times had he switched personas already?

Strength left his muscles. He became completely limp.

I am such a piece of shit.

---​
 

Dragonfree

Moderator
Staff
Location
Iceland
Pronouns
she/her/hers
Partners
  1. butterfree
  2. mightyena
  3. charizard
  4. scyther-mia
  5. vulpix
  6. slugma
  7. chinchou
Chapter 3

I wasn't expecting the next chapter quite so soon, so this was a pleasant surprise - I'd already gotten started on reading OSAS yesterday, but figured I'd come back to this now.

Still enjoying the worldbuilding you're casually laying out here - Pokémon battle states, Pokéballs needing to acclimate to the Pokémon, casual Passimian officer, permits to keep Pokémon that are liable to cause damage in cities. You also get a lot out of Andre's aura sense this chapter; I particularly enjoyed him feeling a crashing wave of relief after the alert about Steelix being caught went out. There's a good sense that this is a real sense that he has, with attention to detail paid to what he would be feeling with it, and it's still adding a lot of flavor to the story.

“It doesn’t matter if you know him or not!” the officer yelled, not backing down. “You’re a civilian, and you need to stay out of harm’s way and let the authorities do their job. That’s how you help!”
I enjoyed this line - directed at Ben, but very much feels constructed so that it could refer to Andre and his habit of taking the law into his own hands.

And that he did. The moment he stepped into the stream of water, it felt like all of today’s troubles rinsed right off his body. Briefly. It didn’t take long for his brain to catch up and remind him that everything that had happened had indeed been real and had real consequences. He sighed.

Oh, poor you. Poor murderer.

His brow wrinkled. He was just too tired to argue. He’d just stand here, in the warm water, until he felt like getting out.

That’s wasteful of water.

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered under his breath.
Enjoying his inner voice getting more vicious and judgemental at him as the day goes on; plenty of that this chapter. He's got a healthy dose of self-loathing going, too. The "wasteful of water" comment reminds me of discussions I've seen about compulsive scrupulosity; still something that feels like it rhymes with what he has going on.

There's this fear within him of what if he really is just a murderer, and I'm enjoying the way that's shifting further into focus here.

"Alright!" Barely-There said, cheerful. "First thing. I made you a new name, a better name. It's Koh!"

"Koh?" Andre opened one eye to look at the shuppet.

"You know, from…" The shuppet's eyes squinted, and he floated closer. "Picks-Other-Flowers. But not with those words."

"Oh." Andre closed the eye again, sighing. "At least it's not 'Pof'," he muttered.

"Yes, that is bad. Worse than Andre."

Andre decided not to protest.
Still really enjoy Barely-There and his interactions with Andre. He's got such a strong childlike manner and voice as he casually talks about murder. What a cute little ghost.

Barely-There growled, hovering off the table and floating back and forth as if he was pacing. Then, he stopped. He smirked. Oh no. What now?

"I'm gonna guess!" the shuppet declared. "I'm gonna guess, and I'll look at you, your aura. I'll get the truth that way."
Again this childlike way of just cheerfully declaring his intent to bypass it if Andre doesn't want to tell him. Barely-There asking about his first murders is a pretty straightforward exposition tool, but Barely-There doing it in the way he does in the face of Andre's reluctance makes it fun.

“Wait,” Barely-There interrupted. “Pictures? What was in these pictures?”

Andre quickly raised a palm. “That is none of your business. I will not tell you that.”

Barely-There looked down, frowning. “I don’t understand what pictures could be that bad.” He paused. “Was she doing a crime in them?”
What an innocent little bean. I enjoy that he asks if she was doing a crime - a logical conclusion to jump to if you wouldn't understand pornography.

Andre slowly leaned forward. "And then, ten thousand pounds and a week later, a fire happened, and the boyfriend was dead."

“Nice!” Barely-There said, grinning, and suddenly Andre’s stomach twisted.

He realized how proud he’d just sounded, talking about his first murder. Sure, it was justified, but it was nothing he should be boasting about. It wasn’t as if he’d won an honorable duel. He’d paid for a hit. And that money went to bad people. Just like the money he used to get rid of bodies and cars. How much misery had been funded by that money, huh? He didn’t like to think about that, did he? Or maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he really was --

No. No, I’m not a monster, he told himself yet again. I do this for the common good. I wouldn’t be doing it otherwise. I do this because I have to.
I like Barely-There's reaction, just a "Nice!" like he told him about something neat and clever. And of course, that sort of makes Andre jolt out of it a little, realize that's basically how he'd been presenting it. The frantic, forceful insistence he's working for the common good can only weaken and erode itself in the face of things changing, a new person asking him to explain it all.

Murderer, murderer, repeated the voice inside his head. Two-faced liar.

He held his forehead. I can't tell her and you know that. She wouldn't understand. No one would.
I enjoyed the phone call with Katie and how he's just fraying the whole time, unable to compartmentalize it all the way he normally would. Hard not to feel a bit sorry for him.

He stared at his ceiling. The day’s events replayed again - meeting Barely-There, Barely-There leaving, Andre going on a walk, meeting Ben, dining with him, receiving the alert, taking Ben to the steelix, coming home and showering, Barely-There returning, Andre proudly describing his first murder to the shuppet, Katie’s call…

How many times had he switched personas already?

Strength left his muscles. He became completely limp.

I am such a piece of shit.
Oh, Andre.

I get the sense he's been able to not quite confront all this up until now, and now multiple things are forcing him to confront it from different angles and it's all building into serious stress. It's hard to be a serial killer :sadbees:

You've left some intriguing hooks for the "second time" - looking forward to that next (presumably) chapter. The expository nature of his conversations with Barely-There is counteracted by the Ben plot thread, which I'm sure will also be picked up on - probably Ben calls him next chapter too?

Either way, good chapter. Enjoying Andre's fraying mental state and exposed self-doubts a lot.
 

Chibi Pika

Stay positive
Staff
Location
somewhere in spacetime
Pronouns
they/them
Partners
  1. pikachu-chibi
  2. lugia
  3. palkia
  4. lucario-shiny
  5. incineroar-starr
Ch1

It’s been awhile since I've read chapter 1, but it's the sort of thing that sticks with you. This fic--like its protagonist--just has so much meticulous detail that the world feels so real. The details of the aura sense, the human-Pokemon integration, team dynamics when some mon are sapient but others aren't... I know that making HH feel like a Pokemon fic has often been difficult (for better or worse, given that it'll have an original incarnation as well), but this one really feels like a Pokemon fic.

I also really love just how much painting plays such an important role in Andre's life, not just in answering the question of "what does he spend his time on" but by acting as a secondary motivation for his murders, and his use of the powerful dying emotions to fuel his art.

But of course, you can’t just remove someone and expect that to not have a ripple effect of negative outcomes possibly far worse than they'd originally caused. Which I already know the fic is going to explore!

Ch2

I already love how flippant the Shuppet is, all innocent curiosity with absolutely no regard for what sorts of information humans would find sensitive. Or maybe just thinking that hey, here's a human who kills other humans, clearly he's not going to be so squeamish about things that other humans make a fuss about! (Except oops, he does.) It's perfect for a ghost with no grasp on human morals to be the one to make Andre spend a lot more time thinking about what he's done than he would like.

I'm always a fan of when stories play around with names, and I snorted when Barely-There just jumps straight to calling him Kills-Other-Humans. Human names usually don’t say much about the person, after all!

'Picking flowers' aka pruning aka weeding--removing undesirables, it's a very fitting metaphor. And oh, how quickly he gets mad at the suggestion he likes it. But then he admits it. :copyka: I didn't think he was going to. Of course, he's quick to emphasize that it's not about pleasure at all ('that word felt so disgusting), and that he'd never do it if it weren't for the sake of making the world a better place. And I'm sure that's true! ...But two things can be true at once.

And oh man, the paranoia setting in, the fear of his family defending him, not knowing the truth,

I really enjoy the details while Andre is on his walk like the Inteleon soaking in the rain, and the way he can't do that anymore because of his glasses and the Charmeleon without a flame-guard. Really makes the world feel alive, and the Pokemon are a seamless part of it.

> “I don’t wanna be the reason you end up suffering.”

Oh, but he already issss... so of course he's got to help out here.

Love the worldbuilding surrounding the Pokemon restaurant! Everything from the shake booth to the menu markings showing what items are suitable for humans (or suitable but less desirable) and the casual mention of mealworms as a bar snack--it's all very thought through.

Man, guilt just saturates almost every part of Andre's existence--not just surrounding the murders, but around his lifestyle, his privilege, everything. Also, the constant presence of his aura sense really adds a lot of flavor to conversations, to where they'd hardly be the same scene without it.

It's a minor detail, but I really liked Ben carrying around his own Pokeball, as well as Andre's unfamiliarity with Pokeballs.

Ch3

Man, Andre really just goes straight for the worst-case scenario so often when imagining how things will go. The dude is an anxious wreck, and it's easy to see how that would also feed into his murder habit, because if he has a nice life, then isn't he obligated to make the world better for others? He can't justify his own right to live a nice life without earning it.

So he commits to learning to full extent of the damage from Titan's attack, not because this will have any impact on the outcome, but because knowing the damage is more moral than being ignorant. And walking home in the rain, not because it'll affect anyone else, but simply because he deserves to be miserable.

Love to see how Pokemon can just casually give each other names--Barely-There is right, Koh is a pretty good one! I had to laugh when he contrived to just make wild guesses and use Andre's aura to tell if they're right. And hey, it worked, and we get some backstory! Makes sense that the first murder wouldn't be a murder, per se. But making someone dead, even in a roundabout way, still changes you. And Andre lets slip that he did enjoy it. He got to make his sister's life measurably better in one fell swoop. Who wouldn't feel empowered by that?

But of course, as the rest of the fic has shown, it's never that simple.

Looking forward to hearing about the Second Event~ :copyka:
 
CHAPTER FOUR - The Law, Part 2

canisaries

you should've known the price of evil
Location
Stovokor
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. inkay-shirlee
  2. houndoom-elliot
  3. yamask-joanna
  4. shuppet
  5. deerling-andre
hey all, it's been a while. mental health problems continue, but i am getting better.

this is the last chapter of the story and ive been working on it for a while with big breaks so it might not be the best quality. im especially not sure about the ending, but eh, it is what it is. i can fix it later with critique in mind. this is also not betaread so let me know if you find any typos.

rating is mature for violence and gore. enjoy, and thank you all for reading. it means a lot.

---

CHAPTER FOUR
The Law, Part 2


---​

Horrible laughter erupted from the counter alongside more drunken squiggles of joyous aura.

What the men were saying and what they were laughing about was rancid - detestable words and actions towards women - yet they were presented with pride and listened to with great intrigue.

Coming here had been a mistake. No alcohol was worth this. He should have sucked it up for a dozen minutes more and found a classier place to drown his disappointment in his latest commission - more specifically, the client, to whom the painting still wasn’t satisfactory.

Andre downed his pint and set it down. His fingers curled more tightly against the handle. He wanted to throw it and hear it shatter. He wanted to throw it at the men and yell something, anything. But there were five of them and one of him, and when weight was considered, he was barely a half. He’d just have to let it go and hope that the world would somehow give them what they deserved - fatal wounds in some drunken knife fight, maybe. They did most seem to have a blade on them. Another reason Andre should just stay out of it.

He got up and headed for the exit. He’d paid for his drink in advance, knowing he’d much rather do that than go back to the counter next to those low-lives. He gave one last glare towards the group before exiting the building, not that it met any eyes. But that, too, was ultimately for the better. These people clearly were the type to start a fight over a glance.

He stepped down into the alleyway and sighed, a puff of vapor exiting his mouth. He quickly put on his gloves to shield his hands from the cold. He should take a taxi home. Maybe he’d be able to get one off the street directly without having to remove his gloves to call a service.

An aura approached from the bar and Andre froze. One of the men?

The door opened, and his guess was revealed correct. It was the one with the large gray beard and a blue bandana. One of the men that had gloated about… terrible things. A strong scent of beer followed him as he lumbered down the steps and began moving towards the street with a clearly drunken gait.

So he’d be going home tonight. Safely. Unharmed. Living to commit some other atrocities another day.

Unless he didn’t.

Andre’s eyes had fallen on the scabbard on the man’s belt.

Andre wasn’t nowhere near as drunk as the man. Andre was smaller and quicker than the man. And Andre, looking around, did not see street cameras.

He began following the man.

The man's aura didn't change. He hadn't noticed Andre, and stayed ignorant throughout Andre's approach. Andre's eyes flicked between the knife and the back of the man's head, but there was no reaction. He could pull this off.

Without delay, Andre stepped up and grabbed the man's knife. The blade slid out smoothly, changing ownership without trouble. At this point, the man finally noticed him, but it was too late.

Andre jabbed the knife into the man's neck --

Katie screamed. Her eyes bulged out of her sockets, staring at the blade sunken into her neck.

Andre's heart stopped. Katie? Why Katie? Katie! He'd stabbed Katie! Oh Gods, what --

A sweet aura enveloped him. Silky violet. No, not her. Not with her! But it caressed his face, his body, and through his horror, he sensed it. The terror of a dying human. The delicious terror.
Her terror.

She collapsed onto her knees, eyes still bugging out, but this time, they were pinned on him. His eyes. He saw her shock. Her pain. Her horror. Her disgust.

She'd seen what he really was.


"Koh!"

The scene twisted, morphed. Andre wasn't standing up, he was lying down. In his bed. And in front of him…

"Koh, wake up!" whisper-yelled Barely-There.

Andre crawled up to a sitting position. "What?" he rasped, squinting to see better without his glasses. Why was Barely-There waking him up? Was he that impatient to hear about the Second Event? What a brat --

"The cops are coming!"

Andre froze. Blood drained from his face.

"Wh-what?" he wheezed.

"Cops are coming!" the shuppet repeated. "They're coming up the stairs! They want to talk to you, I bet! What are you gonna tell them?"

Andre stuck his arms forth and flailed them, Barely-There barely dodging his hands. "Get out!" he hissed. "Get out, you can't be here!"

"Aw, I can't?"

"No, you can't!" Andre stressed, leaping out of bed. "You're a witness! They can't know anything about you!"

"But I won't say anything --"

Andre drilled his eyes to the shuppet's, hoping to pass a half-lie by him through intensity alone. "Cops have ways of making ghosts talk."

Barely-There recoiled.

"And you're not a citizen," Andre continued. "You don't have rights."

Barely-There frowned. He seemed to have bought it.

"You're right," the ghost said, then gave a determined smile. "I'll be unseen and watch that way!"

Andre sighed heavily. "Good enough. Just don't do anything that would show them you're here."

"Okay!" the shuppet replied, fading into invisibility and floating to the living room.

Andre held his head and took a moment to think.

The cops are here. That means they know I was with Mike, and I shouldn't try to lie to them about that. I'll have to give them the regular cover story.

He finished his thoughts right in time before the doorbell rang.

"Just a minute," Andre shouted back. After all, he wasn't dressed. Had Barely-There not woken him up, the doorbell would have been the one to do it.

He threw on a shirt and some sweatpants, gave his hair a quick comb through and finally put on his glasses. Alright. I'm ready, he thought. As ready as I'll get.

He walked up to the door and opened it. Two detectives stood outside - a dark-skinned man and a pale-skinned woman.

“Morning,” greeted Andre. “What’s this about?”

“Morning,” responded the man and showed his badge. “Wyndon Police. We’re looking for one Andre Duval.”

“This is him,” Andre replied, nodding, careful not to let the pounding of his heart bleed into his voice. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re investigating the disappearance of Mike Thomson,” the man explained. “According to a witness, you two left Shoemaker Street Bar together two nights ago. Can you tell us about that?”

A witness. Someone did see us. “Sure. Come inside, please.”

As Andre opened the door further, the two detectives stepped in. He closed the door behind them and led them to the kitchen table. All three sat down.

“So, the bar?” the woman prodded.

Andre sighed - a real sigh, but in a fake context. Here goes.

“Well, I did bring Mike over,” he started. “He was good-looking. Unfortunately, his opinions? Not that great. There was only so much bullshit I was gonna take, so some time in, I just kicked him out. He went on his way, and… that’s about it.”

Some seconds passed as the woman wrote something down in her notebook. The man, however, kept his eyes on Andre. It did not help Andre’s nerves. Do they know something that contradicts what I said? Are they just testing me, seeing what story I’m gonna spin so that they can show evidence against it later?

He tried to pry their auras, but both were neutral. Cool under pressure. No indication one way or another.

"Around what time did you kick him out?" asked the woman, forcing him out of his thoughts.

Andre rubbed his chin. "Didn't really look at the clock that much… but I guess it was around ten. Dark outside, anyway."

No pause this time. Good. Was it good? "Did he say where he was going next?"

"No, but I assumed he would take a taxi home or something."

"He had no car?"

"No, I'd driven him here."

"Did you see him talking to anyone before he left?"

Andre sighed again as he bought himself more leeway. "Honestly, I really didn't pay him any attention after he was out the apartment door. I don't know anything about what happened after that."

The woman wrote something in her notebook again. Hopefully not 'this guy totally did it'.

"Had he talked about any plans during your earlier discussions?" asked the male detective for a change.

"No, not really. He was just thinking of sleeping with me, I'd say."

“I see.”

Another pause came. Andre’s heart beat more quickly, as if its pace wasn’t already fast enough. It felt like this was the moment of truth - they’d asked all the relevant questions, and now, there was nothing left but any possible aces up their sleeves.

But no matter what they said, Andre had to remain calm. Keep up the act. Even if something ended up looking hopeless, there might be a way out that he just couldn’t see at that moment of panic. And he did have wealth as his last defense. A high-class lawyer could help him out of…

Oh, here comes Mister Privilege, using his money to get away with murder.

Not helping,
Andre told that inner voice.

It doesn’t have to. It’s just true. That’s what’s happening here. You’re a rich kid playing judge, jury and executioner, and using your wealth to get away with it. How exactly are you any different from the corrupt billionaires you detest?

Andre had no retort, and that made him quite uncomfortable.

But he couldn’t look uncomfortable, no, or wait, maybe he should. How should he look right now? Surely a lot of regular people got anxious when questioned by the police, even if they had nothing to hide? Oh Gods, what if they could sense it? What if one of them was aura-sensitive, too? While aura sensations didn’t hold up in court, that could make the difference between no repercussions and getting prosecuted. And he didn’t want to be prosecuted even if he could get away with it, no, because his family would have to hear about it, and -- oh Gods, Ellie would have to hear about it. What if that made her realize what had happened all those years ago, in the First Event?

The male detective stood up. What? What was his intention? Would he get out his handcuffs and take Andre to the station?

“Well, I think that’s everything,” the man said. The woman followed his lead and got up herself. “Thank you for your time. If you remember anything else, please contact the station,” the male detective said, handing him a card with a number on it.

For a split second, Andre was frozen. Immediately after, he thawed and got up, snatching the card from the man’s fingers. “Understood,” he got out of himself.

“Have a good day, Mr. Duval,” the male detective said, and the woman nodded in agreement as they headed for the exit..

Andre followed them to the door. “And a good day to you, too.”

With that, the detectives left, and Andre shut the door after them. He felt two heavy boulders roll off his shoulders, and he took a deep breath. Exhaling it, he dropped to his knees, and he did not move for several seconds as he made sure the auras of the detectives were getting further away until they were too far to sense.

He sensed another aura approaching from behind. He sighed again.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Barely-There said. Andre spun around to see him, sitting down with his back leaning against the front door.

“I guess not,” Andre said quietly. “I guess they didn’t know enough to make any conclusions.”

“Sooo…” The shuppet hovered closer. Andre frowned - he already had an idea of what the ghost wanted. “Are you gonna tell me that other story now?”

Andre sighed, holding his forehead. He should just get this over with. “Fine.”

Barely-There shot up and down with a grin on his face, positively giddy. “Yes!”

Andre shook his head to himself. This ghost was really eager to hear about people killing other people.

Are you sure you’re people?

“It was a few months after the First Event,” Andre began, hoping to drown out the inner voice. “Having my sister’s abusive boyfriend taken care of, that is. This… I call this the Second Event, because it’s the second of the two events that led me down this path.”

“Ooh, event,” Barely-There commented. “Sounds fancy.”

Andre shuddered. He’d better get through this quickly. “Well, anyway… I was at this bar, and I overheard these guys talking about all sorts of horrible things they’d done. I was a little drunk, but nowhere near as much as the guys I’m talking about. Anyway… I decide to leave and I make it out of the bar. Soon after, one of these guys comes out. I think about the things that guy in particular was saying, and I…” He forced himself to continue. “Well, I saw he had a knife on him, and I got an idea.”

“What’s that idea?” Barely-There asked, but surely he’d picked up the hint already.

“I figure that this guy is very drunk and his reaction time is going to be shit,” Andre continued. “So I… sneak up behind him, steal his knife, and I stab him in the neck.”

You said that so casually.

“Yes!” Barely-There cheered, and Andre’s blood ran even colder. “And then what did you do?”

“I… froze, kind of,” Andre said. “Because of his aura. It was…”

Silky. Smooth. Bold but elegant. Violet and red dancing together.

“It was beautiful,” he said. “I’d never sensed anything like it. It was so… strong, but graceful, nothing like the view I was seeing of that guy with the blade stuck to his neck. He tried to yell, but nothing came out. He was like a fish on dry land, gasping for air. And I… I knew that I’d done something wrong. That this sight was supposed to make me feel horrible, knowing I was the one that thrust that knife there, but…” His gaze dropped to the floor, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t feel bad. I didn’t feel guilty.”

There it is.

He felt his blood drain from his face. Yes, there it was. The moment he’d begun to realize that he was not like other people. That there was something wrong with him.

And yet it felt so good, didn’t it?

“Alright!” Barely-There exclaimed. “So that’s when you knew you liked killing people!”

Andre, wide-eyed. shot a glare directly at the shuppet.

“Oops,” the ghost said, shrinking away. “I meant ‘picking flowers’.”

Andre’s breathing became heavier. No, he thought. No, it doesn’t matter what you call it. The meaning is the same. You’re calling me a psychopath.

Aren’t you one?


“I am not a psychopath!” he shouted, both to the shuppet and the voice within. “I’m… I’m doing this to help people! I’m doing this out of duty! I’m not doing it for pleasure!”

“Woah, okay,” Barely-There responded, receding further. “Calm down?”

“I can’t --”

Andre cut himself off. Yelling about this was not a smart idea.

He took a deep breath and got up. He headed to the couch. “Look,” he started, not facing the shuppet, “I really don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me.”

Barely-There floated in front of him. “It’s okay,” he said. “I think you’re cool.”

“That’s…” Andre avoided the ghost’s gaze. “That’s kind of the problem. You shouldn’t.”

“Huh?”

Andre sat down on the couch. “What I do is… it’s not glamorous. It’s not cool, or something you should be cheering on. Murder isn’t cool. The part of me that makes it possible… it’s not a good part. It’s some kind of issue I have. Something off in my brain.”

Barely-There frowned. “I don’t get it. Do you like murder or do you not like murder?”

Andre sighed. “I don’t.”

Are you sure?

“I don’t like the act of killing another human being,” he continued. “I like it when bad people get what’s coming to them, and good people no longer have to deal with their bullshit.”

And you like the beautiful aura they produce.

“Hmm…” Barely-There tilted his head. “No, I still don’t get it.”

Andre’s heart pounded faster. This ghost couldn’t tell the difference between him and a bloodthirsty serial killer. Did that mean… there was no difference?

Now you’re getting it!

He took off his glasses and buried his face in his hands. “No…”

Yes.

“No, I-I’m… I’m not…”

How was he not?

Something buzzed against his thigh. His phone. Hungry for the distraction, he plucked it out of his pocket and checked the message.

Hey, it’s Ben.

Sorry for not getting back to you until now, it's been hectic. Mike still hasn't been found, and the police aren't totally sure what to do in this situation regarding the property damage.

Titan is fine, at least, though he will be rehomed. Mike leaving him outdoors was seen as negligent regardless of his intentions of letting him inside later.

In any case, I want to thank you for your kindness and help with this. I didn't have the time to do it properly before, but I mean it when I say it now. If you ever need a favor, I'll be happy to do it for you.

Thank you,
Ben


Andre sighed, deflating. He'd forgotten all about Ben yet again. But also…

"Who's that?" Barely-There asked, floating next to Andre to steal a look. Andre covered the screen in response before realizing the ghost probably couldn't read anyway.

"That mon from yesterday," Andre replied. "The mon I helped."

That's right. He'd helped somebody, completely out of his own volition. Psychopaths didn't do that. Psychopaths didn't do good acts purely for others' sake. Therefore, he couldn't be one.

That somebody only needed help because of something you'd done. You only helped him out of --

Out of guilt?
Andre filled in, confidence swelling in his chest. Yeah, maybe, but guilt is also something psychopaths don't feel. I might not feel it every time a regular person would, but I still know what it is and it drives me to make things right. Does that sound like something a psychopath would do?

The voice stayed silent. Finally.

"Well, what did they say?" Barely-There asked.

"That the trainer still hasn't come back and that the steelix will be rehomed," answered Andre before realizing this was really none of the shuppet's business. "A status update, basically."

"Oh. Okay."

Andre focused again on the message, thinking about what his response would be. After a short while, he typed out his message - a thank you, an acknowledgement of the updates and finally an open invitation to his home alongside his address. If you ever want to talk more, you're welcome to come to my apartment at…

He sent the message, and a response did not take long to arrive.

Thank you. I'll let you know.

Andre nodded as if Ben would have been able to see it, then pocketed his phone again, sighing.

"So…" started Barely-There. "What next?"

Andre sighed. He'd just like to be alone now. "Don't know. Something boring, probably."

"Aww, man," the shuppet groaned. "That's one way you're still like other humans."

Andre gave a sad smirk. "Yeah. I sure am."

"I'll go do something fun," Barely-There said and floated up to the window. "See you, hmm… tomorrow."

"See you," Andre responded, and the shuppet faded out of view. As Andre felt the ghost's aura vacate the premises, he sighed yet again.

I'm not a psycho, he assured himself. I'm not. I'm just… different.

He anticipated the voice to return, to argue some more, but it didn't. He welcomed the respite.

He decided his 'something boring' would be life drawing and perspective studies, and he moved to his painting room. He'd be there until lunch, and he'd return after, only coming out again for dinner and later, the movie date with Katie.

After all the stress of these past days, he wouldn't miss that for the world.

---

"So, I bet you didn't think you were gonna see an alakazam throw a seviper like a lasso today."

Andre chuckled as they exited the theater. "Can't say that I did." He turned to Katie. "I also didn't expect a movie like this to have lighting so gorgeous."

"I know, right?" Katie grinned. "Made Viridian Forest look so fantastic. You have to go see it in person when you move to Kanto. For the both of us."

Andre nodded. "I will! And I'll take plenty of pictures."

Katie smiled, radiating warm joy like a little sun. It momentarily melted away the tension in Andre's body. Just briefly, he felt like he was with a friend that he wasn't keeping terrible secrets from.

He sighed. "I missed this," he said. "I'm glad to be spending time with you again."

Slight surprise was drawn out by his sudden sentimentality, but it faded quickly. "Anytime," Katie said. "And I know you needed this after all those commissions."

"You know me well," Andre said, immediately regretting it as his brain whispered she really doesn't.

Yeah, she didn't. But that was just the way things were and had to be. Nobody would know but him, the criminals, and apparently now Barely-There.

He didn't let his worrying show as they headed to a nearby sandwich shop for something to eat after the movie. Briefly, he wondered if he could at least vent about what had happened with Ben, but he decided it was better not to involve her in that whole mess. It was complicated enough as is.

Unfortunately, it also decided to butt in again as the two were enjoying their subs. Andre had gotten halfway through his own when he received a text from Ben.

I want to talk. I'm at your house.

Andre swallowed his bite, but it went down poorly.

"Something wrong?" asked Katie's voice. Oh, no, no. She couldn't be told.

"No, it's alright," Andre lied. "Just a client that wants to meet and talk."

"Oof," said Katie. "You figure it's a complaint?"

"I'd hope not, but I guess I'm just gonna have to see." Andre typed up his response - I'll be there in half an hour. "This does mean I gotta rush soon enough, though."

Katie gave an exaggerated pout, but her aura told Andre the disappointment was there.

"Don't be like that," Andre responded. "I'll be free again tomorrow."

"You better be," Katie mumbled, then smiled again.

For the brief duration of what was left of Andre's sandwich, they continued catching up. Andre even spared some minutes after his last bite, but eventually the weight of responsibility got him to end the conversation. He thanked Katie for the company, hugged her, and was on his way.

His drive home he spent thinking about what Ben might possibly have to say. If they were good news or bad -- oh, who was he kidding, they had to be heavy for Ben to want to meet face to face. He sighed through his nose and took the rest of the trip to mentally prepare himself to console a two-meter-tall bear.

He parked in the lot outside his house, got out of his car and began climbing the stairs to his apartment. A sweltering hot aura up above became stronger and stronger as he approached his floor - so Ben was angry. Ben didn't seem the angry type, so this had to be something pretty upsetting. Andre’s brain did him no favors reminding him that this was, again, ultimately his fault.

Finally, he saw the bear standing before his door. Ben looked back at Andre, his aura flaring momentarily but calming after as if forced. This was worrying, but Andre had promised he'd be there for Ben. He'd promised both Ben and himself.

“Hope I didn’t keep you too long,” Andre said, hoping to ease the tension. It was unsuccessful.

“It’s fine,” Ben replied tonelessly.

Nothing left to do, Andre stepped up to his door and unlocked it. Both he and Ben entered, and he shut the door behind the bear. Andre walked further into his apartment, but Ben stayed standing on the doormat.

Andre turned around. “So, what did you want to see me for?” he asked, friendly but cautious in tone.

Ben’s aura fired up again, and this time, his emotion showed externally as well. His ears flicked, his nostrils flared, and his teeth showed in a snarl as he said his next words.

“What have you done with Mike?”

Time stopped.

Three frozen seconds later, Andre gave the only reply he could.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Ben barked. “I know you met him the night he went missing.”

Thoughts began to rush through Andre’s head. How? How did he know? Did the police tell him? They shouldn’t have, right? That’s confidential. At least he thought it was confidential. Or maybe Ben could smell it? Some trace of Mike’s scent in the building?

“Answer me!” Ben roared, taking two threatening steps forward, the floor shaking beneath his stomps. A primal fear awoke in Andre, driving him back two of his own steps. For some reason, he raised his hands, as if held at gunpoint. Maybe it was a gesture intended to mean that he had nothing to hide. Already lying.

But what would he say? Would he admit it? Ben seemed pretty sure. Denying it wouldn’t do any good, other than perhaps buy time.

He decided to give it up. On his own terms, at least. “Okay, it’s true,” he said, though speaking was hard with his heart in his throat. “I did meet him.”

A fiery lash of confidence came from the bear’s aura. “So you admit it,” he said, then hunched forward again. “What did you do with him?”

“Nothing,” Andre replied. “Nothing. We talked, and I didn’t like what he had to say, so I sent him away. He left my place alive and well.”

“Liar,” Ben growled. “Why did you seek me out the next day?”

“I didn’t seek you out, I just bumped into you,” Andre explained. His chest was tight. Ben wouldn’t like what he had to say next. “And I… talked to you because Mike was treating you wrong.”

Ben’s aura flared again, just as Andre had predicted. “What did you say?”

Andre grit his teeth. “He spoke about you in such a demeaning way. He told me everything he didn’t like about you.”

Sharp, discordant notes bled from Ben. He was hurt. But he shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “He wouldn’t.”

“I spoke to you because I wanted you to know,” Andre continued. “So you’d know how your trainer really felt about you. But then you told me he was missing --”

“You’re lying!” Ben roared, taking another two steps towards Andre, driving the man against the back of the living room couch. “You killed him, didn’t you?”

Andre could only shake his head. Ben wasn’t convinced. He wanted to find the culprit, and now that he’d gotten it with Andre…

“You sick son of a bitch,” Ben said, his voice and aura starting to waver. “You… sick, sick man. You came to me because it made you feel untouchable. You came to me so you could bask in you getting away with it. It was a game to you, you psycho!”

“That’s not true,” Andre wheezed, fearing the possibility it was even a little true. “I was trying to help.”

Something snapped inside Ben and he lunged forward. Andre froze, unable to move until the bear had grabbed him by the shoulders and wrangled him to the floor adjacent to the couch. Andre could barely break his fall.

“How dare you pose as the good guy after what you’ve done!” Ben shouted, teeth glinting in the room’s light, kneeling over Andre and placing a heavy paw on the man’s chest. Andre lost all hope of motion as his instincts froze him up for good. Some part of him scrambled for the survival advice for ursa attacks, but he drew only blanks. He stayed where he was, blanching harder each second.

Pain narrowed Ben’s eyes. “You don’t even understand how much he meant to me,” he wailed, and Andre felt his heart sink. Even under the paw of an ursa, powerful claws centimeters away from his neck, he couldn’t deny the emotional pain.

“I…” Ben’s face and aura distorted. “I loved him!”

He loved him?

Of course.

Of course, it only made sense. That’s why Ben looked at Mike with such admiration. That’s why he was so quick to deny any abuse. It wasn’t just a friendship. It was love. Unrequited, but love nonetheless.

Andre’s heart was past the floor - it was in the gutter of the street.

“He… he was my world,” Ben continued, taking short breaths -- were they sobs? His aura partly cooled and condensed, anger giving way for sorrow. “And now he’s gone. What the fuck am I going to do?”

Andre wanted to say something comforting, but he feared it would only provoke another violent response. Not to mention he had far too much bear on top of him to even think of speaking. Maybe if he just waited, Ben would get off on his own. Maybe…

Something touched Andre’s right palm. He looked. It was a knife, its handle nestled perfectly in his palm. He had a weapon now. He had to defend himself. He had to do what he could.

He clenched his hand and drove the blade into Ben’s side.

Ben screamed, his aura erupting with a screeching tone. He recoiled back, the knife still sticking out of him. Andre had put that there. Andre had hurt him. Without hesitation.

Ben grabbed the knife and yanked it out, his aura twitching with the sharp surge in pain. He dropped the knife to the floor, spilling some warm red blood, and he staggered upright with a paw covering the wound.

“You bastard,” he hissed between his gritted teeth, “you son of a bitch…” He hobbled to the door. “Th-this isn’t over. I’ll… I’ll come back, you’ll see!”

With that, he wrenched the door open and slipped out. The door shut after him and locked itself. Andre listened to Ben’s aura, his fluctuating aura that couldn’t settle on a color, aura that wanted to be red but was too much violet and blue. Slowly, it moved further and further away until it drowned in the background noise of the city.

“Good job, Koh!”

Andre flinched. He looked around but saw nothing - nothing until a familiar, tiny shuppet revealed itself in midair.

For two seconds, Andre was still, only breathing heavily on the floor. On the third, he sat up.

“Did you give me that knife?” he asked.

Barely-There nodded, smiling. “Yep!”

Andre stared at the knife on the floor. The blood on its blade was staining the carpet red.

“Thanks,” Andre breathed out. Even though he hadn’t wanted to stab Ben. But it was self defense, right?

No, no, it wasn’t. He had to be honest to himself. Him plunging that blade into Ben’s side… that wasn’t something he would have done if he was normal. He wouldn’t have wanted to hurt Ben.

“What are you gonna do now?” Barely-There asked. “Are you gonna kill him, too?”

“No!” Andre snapped. He grabbed the knife off the floor, got to his feet and dropped the weapon in the kitchen sink.

“Then what are you gonna do?” Barely-There kept going. “He wants to hurt you.”

“I’m…” Andre held his head. What was he going to do?

He dug out his phone. He would do things the legal way for once.

He quickly searched online what number he should call when he wanted the police but didn’t have an emergency, then called that number.

“Wyndon Police Department,” answered a woman. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like to report a crime,” Andre answered dryly.

“Alright. What’s your name?”

“Andre Duval.”

Short silence. “Alright, can you describe what happened?”

A bear attacked me because he thought I killed his lover, Andre thought, and he was right. He described the scenario to the operator, leaving out that last crucial detail as well as the fact that a ghost was involved. He’d changed the story so that he’d grabbed the knife off the kitchen counter before he was tackled. The last thing he needed was Barely-There mixed up with the police.

“Do you know the attacker’s name?” asked the woman.

“Ben… something. He’s an ursaring. Lives with one Mike Thomson.”

That seemed to be enough. The operator went on to ask some details of the confrontation, inquiring with sharper interest about the stabbing, until everything necessary was said.

“So… what now?” asked Andre.

“Can you come down to the station to give an official statement?”

Andre sighed. Of course he’d have to. He couldn’t just call and be done with it. He should have known that.

“Yeah, I can. I’ll be right over.”

“See you there. Thank you, and goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

He hung up. Silence returned to the room. He stood motionless for a good thirty seconds before heading for the door.

“Where are you going?”

Andre sighed. Right, Barely-There was there. “To the police station, to give an official statement.”

“I thought you didn’t like the police.”

“No, I like the police,” Andre stressed. “I like them when they’re not after me. They keep people safe.”

"Meh."

Andre didn't give a reaction. Instead, he looked up directions to the station on his phone and then grabbed his coat.

"Can I come with?" asked Barely-There.

"No," Andre said immediately. "You need to stay away. You're going to raise too many questions."

"What if I stay invisible?"

Andre slipped on his coat. "There's no way they don't ghost-proof their place," he said. "Just… stay here. Or go somewhere else. I don't care."

He grabbed his car keys and opened the door. He paused to look back at the shuppet, waiting for a response.

"Eh, fine," the ghost finally said. "I'll stay out of your way."

Andre nodded. "Thanks." With that, he left.

---

It was well past eleven when Andre returned to his apartment. He’d had plenty of time to think about what had happened and what was going to happen now. And what he had to do.

“Hello again,” said Barely-There, floating up to Andre. “How did it go?”

“Boring,” Andre replied, lying down on the couch, “but I got it done.”

The shuppet gave a brief smile. “So, what’s next?”

Andre sighed. This would be the unveiling of his brilliant plan. “I’m going to Kanto.”

Barely-There stared back quietly. “Isn’t that far away?”

Andre nodded.

“So… wait. You’re running away?” the shuppet asked.

Andre nodded again. “As soon as the police lets me, I’m going to Kanto. I’m not sticking around to get mauled by Ben.”

“Aw, why don’t you just kill him?”

Andre raised a finger. “No. No killing.”

“You’re so hard to figure out.”

“It’s not hard,” Andre argued back. “I don’t kill good people.”

“He attacked you!”

“Because I killed his love!” Andre paused, worrying briefly whether anyone heard. “I’m sure I would have done the same in his place,” he continued more quietly.

“Oh, why do you always have to keep to your morals?” Barely-There groaned. "It sounds like they're just holding you back."

"I hope they never stop," said Andre. “I really do.”

Barely-There shook his head. “Typical human.”

Andre didn’t respond. That didn’t mean he didn’t think about the shuppet’s words, however. In a few moments, he spoke up again.

“You know, I think there’s a place you’d like to go,” he said, sitting up on the couch. “Since I won’t be around.”

“What’s that?”

Andre looked into the ghost’s curious eyes. “I can’t give you any address or anything to follow - they’d know it was me and I’d be in trouble - but there are more people in this town you’d find interesting. And these people don’t let morals get in their way.”

“No morals?” Barely-There blinked. “Tell me more.”

“In every big city, there’s a criminal underbelly,” Andre continued, “and I’ve been in touch with it, so I know. I’m sure that if you wander at night and look carefully for negative emotions, you’ll find some crime being committed, and you’ll find the right people.”

“Like with you?”

Andre frowned. “Yes. Like with me.”

The shuppet looked out the window. “Could I go find them right away?”

This reminded Andre again how late it was, and he felt a wave of fatigue come over him. “Sure,” he said. “You don’t need my permission.”

Barely-There smiled. “Thanks!” He floated up to the window, but then stopped. “It was nice to meet you, Koh,” he said.

So he was leaving for good. Good. That took care of that problem.

“It was nice to meet you, too,” Andre lied.

Barely-There nodded, and for what would hopefully be the final time, the ghost turned invisible and phased through the glass. Andre tried to listen to his aura leave, but it was so weak that the city drowned it out in no more than a moment. Truly, he had been ‘barely there’.

Andre lay back down with a sigh.

So, Kanto. Running away. That was his choice, his solution to this problem. He would have liked to have come up with something better, but there was no option he found that would have been preferable.

He closed his eyes and was immediately assaulted with the image of Ben staring at the knife plunged into his side. Andre quickly opened his eyes, but it didn’t go away.

I stabbed him. I stabbed someone innocent. I didn’t need to do that, but I did. Why?

His intrusive thoughts rushed to answer that question with a barrage of accusations. Because you’re a psychopath. You’re a sadist. You don’t feel bad when you hurt people. You like to hurt people. You know it’s true.

He rubbed his forehead. Tonight would be sleepless, surely. And so would the following night, and the night after that. How long exactly would it take for him to get over this one? As long as the Second Event?

You should consider this the Third Event.

A shiver rushed through his body. No. No, this is not the Third Event. There will never be a Third Event. I will never discover another level to my… my ailment. It ends here. The line has not been crossed, and it never will be.

Sure. Keep telling yourself that.


The words echoed in his mind, over and over again. They stayed for seconds, minutes, hours into the night.

In his bed, there was no position he found comfortable. There was no rest. There was no comfort.

At three in the morning, though, he had an idea.

He turned on the lights. He entered his painting room. He opened the window. He took out his paints, his palette, his thinner, everything, and he began to paint. On the canvas formed some kind of dark mess with eyes staring into the viewer’s soul. He didn’t know what he was painting, but then again, he did.

He painted himself.

---

THE END

---​
 
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Dragonfree

Moderator
Staff
Location
Iceland
Pronouns
she/her/hers
Partners
  1. butterfree
  2. mightyena
  3. charizard
  4. scyther-mia
  5. vulpix
  6. slugma
  7. chinchou
Thrilled to see this story conclude! I didn't notice a dip in writing quality or any typos; I know the feeling of having spent tortured ages on something and feeling like it must be unbearably clumsy, but I don't think it is.

I enjoyed how you opened with the Second Event written out from Andre's POV as it happened in the form of the dream sequence - I immediately got the sense that that was what it was (minus the unexpected Katie), and it makes it more impactful compared to just hearing Andre tell Barely-There about it after the fact. Love the guilt element of him dreaming about it being Katie and relishing the fear in her aura at the same time as he's horrified. Poor confused man.

Also enjoyed his considerable nerves while the police are there, wondering about aces up their sleeves and whether they know his story is a lie. I did find myself wondering about Ben in all that - the most obviously suspicious thing about Andre is that he was with Mike before he disappeared and then he met with Ben posing as simply a fan and playing dumb about the whole thing. So if the police knew about his identity as the guy Mike had left with, and had talked with Ben first, all they'd have to do to realize something sounds fishy is make the connection that they were the same guy, which wouldn't have been unlikely since Ben knew at least his first name. Andre says he'd just completely forgotten about Ben, which is fair since these felt like two fairly different problems in his brain, but I was somewhat surprised it never occurred to him that this could be a potential problem, as he was flipping through his brain for possibilities of what could go wrong.

“Alright!” Barely-There exclaimed. “So that’s when you knew you liked killing people!”
He's so simplistically excited about this and Andre is so frantically desperate to insist that's not the case at all. Despite the delicious delicious fear.

Also enjoy how Andre uses his guilt to argue with the voice in his head that he's not a psychopath.

Enjoyed the scene with Katie; it's nice seeing Andre just having some normal interaction, if briefly, especially after the dream sequence at the beginning where it was her he dreamt of inadvertently killing. Her disappointment when he has to leave early, aww.

Andre focused again on the message, thinking about what his response would be. After a short while, he typed out his message - a thank you, an acknowledgement of the updates and finally an open invitation to his home alongside his address. If you ever want to talk more, you're welcome to come to my apartment at…
Oh boy, confirming exactly who he is and where he lives. I suspect Ben already had suspicions here, had been talking with the police and one way or another put two and two together. (Maybe in revisions it might help to hint a little more at how/why - if it's true that Andre going home with Mike should be confidential as far as the police is concerned, it does feel a little puzzling to me that Ben ends up managing to figure it out but the police don't, and for that matter, why he would then have expressly chosen not to share his suspicions with the police...? Unless he did and the police are just firmly not letting on that they suspect anything while they investigate, and Andre makes it to Kanto before they can get any further with it.)

I figured what was up the moment Ben said he was at his place and wanted to talk. Oof, what a confrontation. I quite like the climax being Ben confronting him and Andre stabbing him - I had been wondering if there was any way Andre would be driven to go so far as to actually kill him, which would be thematically strong for the whole exploration of Andre's self-justifications and how they're challenged, but hard to imagine Andre quite getting there without crumpling, but attacking him brings the visceral effect for Andre of realizing he's attacked an innocent for self-preservation without opening that much bigger can of worms.

I was a little surprised Ben immediately left after that. I guess the shock of being injured scared him, and what he wanted out of this was more to force a confession or make him face what he did to Ben than to actually physically hurt him. Ben of course knows nothing about all the inner conflict going on in Andre and assumes he's just a twisted psychopath who must have befriended him to bask in getting away with it. Wonder if he's planning to go to the police now.

Andre listened to Ben’s aura, his fluctuating aura that couldn’t settle on a color, aura that wanted to be red but was too much violet and blue.
Loved this. Still enjoying all you do with his aura sense and how it adds to the story.

Recommending Barely-There check out the criminal underworld for more interesting people is almost sweet. All in all they have a neat little relationship and I still enjoy the way Barely-There's questioning and casual appreciation of his killing drags Andre's worldview out into the light more and challenges it and forces him to confront it a little more.

The end overall does feel left hanging in some sense - it ends feeling a bit more like the backstory of Andre and how he moved to Kanto than like a fully independent story, since we don't quite resolve the thread with Ben or whether the police are going to piece it together. But then again that is in fact what this story is, as I understand it! I think that works, and the Barely-There plotline which is sort of the main plot does get resolved.

Also think ending on him painting himself is a strong ending and a strong image; usually he paints an impression of his victims and their fear and distress, but his own emotions are turbulent enough. (And perhaps finding inspiration in his own experience instead of in murdering people is in its own way a positive.)

Congratulations on finishing the fic, especially when you've been going through mental health hell! Hope you find the energy to keep working on your creative pursuits soon; I've enjoyed seeing your quick drawings in the Discord recently.
 

Ambyssin

Gotta go back. Back to the past.
Location
Residency hell
Pronouns
he/him
Partners
  1. silvally-dragon
  2. necrozma-ultra
  3. milotic
  4. zoroark-soda
  5. dreepy
  6. mewtwo-ambyssin
Obligatory "this reviewer doesn't condone killing and vigilantism."
As I mentioned, this leans into stream of consciousness, hence bullet points.

One
-Strong "typical day" start here. Could definitely relate to that creative mental block and having it come up when Andre's trying to draw something for himself makes it relatable to artists who need to do stuff like that to stay sane. I don't know how much you're drawing on personal art experiences, but it shows you know your stuff.
-The swerve into the second part of the opening scene presents Andre's goal without outright stating it. I'm not entirely sure what role the brushes play. Covering up, maybe? Or he takes blood onto the brushes for his painting? There are clear hints he knows the kinds of people who can dispose of a body, which opens a number of questions but I'm not sure they need to be answered. Given the setting of the fic, I wonder if the mentions of "timing" and "being able" suggest this isn't just something Andre does because he can but because he's answering a call from some outside force?
-Glasses > contacts. Andre knows what's up. B)
-I'm always interested in how different writers interpret aura. It seems like Andre reads them as specific emotions? Wonder if there's more to it that'll be shown later.
-Similarly, the pokémon mingling with the humans is one small paragraph that seems like a worldbuilding tidbit but I do wish it got a bit expanded on because it sounds like they're kind of integrating themselves into human activities and I'm wondering if that's the right interpretation and, if so, how deep that actually goes.
-I like the juxtaposition of Andre musing on paranoia vs reasonable caution with the credit card over cash piece that follows.
-The way you describe Mike brings small-time VGC participants to mind and elicits a cringe (in a good way!).
-"Cocaine to his ego" is a hell of a metaphor.
-I'm surprised Andre takes photos, though. It seems counter to the careful considerations from earlier when one considers that crime labs can recover deleted content off phones.
-I see we both used Chatter as our settings' Twitter stand-ins. Presumably yours is not monitored by an imperial government. And I see you are succinctly making Mike as alt-right as possible, though I did find myself, again, more drawn to some of the stuff he was indirectly espousing about pokémon. I vaguely recall some allusions in HH to pokémon that were wearing outfits and lounging around the house and stuff. But it is quite interesting how pokémon want to be like humans that happen to have funny elemental powers. It always brings up that whole sapience question of "What exactly do humans have to offer pokémon if some of them are on par with humans?" It's not the point of the fic, of course, but that's just me constantly wondering about it as someone who writes mainly pokémon or does the whole "Human wills have a certain quality that help pokémon develop" thing.
-The next parts are interesting, I think, because it might be a bit of a fake out? Maybe? The summary suggests something strange happens here and, at first, you condition me to think the "Oh, Andre's never killed a trainer" is the issue and his thoughts about the pokémon might cause him to waver. But then he goes through with it and (aside from the brief Six vision that leads me to much more strongly believe there's some possession aspect at play) Mike just suddenly dies. You're right in that hemorrhage doesn't usually kill someone immediately, though sometimes people can slip into total cardiac arrest and that would come across as "sudden death."
-I also like the ending for part 1. To me, it hits harder being more familiar with HH, because at first it seems like a similar premise "Ghost shows up after protag kills person to haunt them," but then, no, Andre's perspective suggests a significant divergence from this. That Shuppet might've intervened and that they might be endeared to Andre.

Two
-"You kill humans!" ... So close to roll credits. 😢
-Initial take on Shuppet is that I can't quite place their sapience level. They speak quite coherently and toss around "interesting" which is a bigger word, but something about their syntax also feels childish. Like "You're weird, and weird is interesting" is almost contradictory to me. XD
-Naming scheme reminds me of how some fics (mainly PMD) handle ferals. Namo in particular is fond of these sorts of adjective-style, 2-3 syllable names.
-Never mind! Barely-There said the thing! 10/10 fic. <3
-Ah, yes, Andre's mortal enemy: soggy breakfast cereal.
-Reading more of Barely-There, I believe you're conveying that they don't quite have a grasp of many human concepts, like when they pause after hearing Andre mention guilt. I think their level of speech might lean too advanced for the unfamiliarity you're presenting, but tbh it's a tough spot to write in anyway and I think the slight dissonance is a worthwhile trade off so Andre and Barely-There can interact without things feeling too stilted.
-Second mention of "I'm not a sadist." ... Y'know, Andre, if you have to keep saying it, I wonder if it's really true?
-I don't know if shuppet age correlates with human age, because Barely-There sounds more coherent than 95% of three-year-olds. And I see Barely-There is one of those cases of "our ghosts are different." I guess this means your universe can have both ghosts that are born as ghosts and can die as well as people being able to turn into ghosts when they die. I wonder what sets the two groups apart.
-As an Ace Attorney fan, there is something hilarious about Galar's legal system employing ghost-types enough to where there's a stereotype against them.
-UNCLE BEN NOOOOO— Also, there's a Sly Cooper character named "The Grizz" who is a bear artist who also dabbles in hip-hop beats and I keep thinking of him.
-I really do like the deeper look at what this integrated society looks like. I don't entirely remember Detective Pikachu (both the movie and game) but I think this gives me vibes of Rime City, just with pokémon capable of having sapience that matches humans. Again, that raises a bunch of questions and there are some lines that hint at those dynamics (Andre referring to Grizz like an employee of Mike's getting a salary) but it's our POV character's view on it.
-Andre wants to move to Kanto, huh? The same Kanto where Red's living, presumably...

Three
-So, law enforcement basically has their own Snag Machine, huh? :copyka:
-Pokémon need to "charge up" to battle, huh? Makes me think of a wind-up toy, for some reason.
-I actually don't have as much to say about this chapter. For some reason I thought the stuff with law enforcement at the beginning would take up more of the chapter and be what caused a lot of internal conflict for Andre. So, I was surprised a decent chunk of the chapter was Barely-There returning him and pestering him for a backstory. Hiring a hitman progressing to actual murder is very crime show-esque in its setup. Though I think, in the end, it does the job of causing enough internal strife for Andre that the ending few lines of the chapter are satisfying in the sense of Andre's "I'm in the right, doing this for the greater good" facade finally crumbles. And it was basically a child that caused it to happen, to add insult to injury.

Four
-Unsure if Andre's dreaming of a past murder or a hypothetical one that does the old "morphs into the character's friend" thing.
-Don't have rights, eh? Now I'm envisioning Rain Code. "You have no right to remain silent! You have no right to a lawyer!"
-The detectives showing up felt straight out of any police procedural. Where they're dropping by a lead's house but don't have enough information so they can only run through basic questions. The difference is it's Andre's perspective so he is internally panicking. I noticed some of that panicking was shown through much longer sentences than the prose usually has. Intentional or not, clever touch.
-Ah, okay, so the dream was that second murder.
-So, I was tempted to say that Andre's still clinging to the belief that he's in the right here and how that might've rubbed be the wrong way, but after pausing and rereading a few lines it seems more like he's just moved the goalposts a bit with his inner self. It's less about him trying to see himself as a good person and more that he's now aware that what he's done is wrong but the fact that he knows that and is guilty and stuff means he's not some irredeemable antisocial personality disorder case.
-Oh, huh, Ben's here and he's jumping to conclusions pretty quickly though I suppose I don't blame him for— hmm. I'm just going to assume that's a platonic/familial love Ben's referring to when talking about Mike, since even in those sorts of situations you can have the part showing unrequited love fall blind to the poor behavior of the person they express that love for. That's part of what makes it tragic and also part of what can make abuse/domestic violence cases so very difficult to investigate and/or prosecute. (In the US, at least; we're very bad at it.)
-I think, in contrast to Dragonfree, I'm actually okay with the rather breakneck pace the end takes after Andre stabs Ben. Yes, it would have been nice to get some definitive answers regarding this case and whether or not the police were considering Andre a suspect after all. Though it sounds as though this is meant to lead into Andre meeting Red in Kanto, which means it's a foregone conclusion he's able to move away. For my part, at least, the fic itself tells me why I don't think you need to dedicate more time to wrapping that stuff: Andre stabbed an innocent. He essentially "lost" against this inner voice. He had moved the goalposts earlier, but he essentially broke his last leg to stand on. The ending couple of paragraphs spell it out: he doesn't have anything he can use to defend himself and his nature anymore.

Overall, yeah, I think even if this is just a small prologue to establish Andre for some later work, I think he works quite well as a character because his flaws are on full display and he's constantly grappling with them. And there's a somewhat tragic element in that eventually those flaws wind up winning out in the end, to some extent. I wasn't necessarily rooting for him, but I was interested to see what would happen to him.

And, of course, there's the significant human-pokémon dynamic that permeates the fic. There are a lot of strong foundations here that you could definitely choose to build upon in the future. I'm not sure that's going to be the aim of what Andre next ends up in. But I'm throwing it out there that if you ever find yourself wanting a change of pace, consider some sort of project that explores this relationship in greater depth. I think you'll surprise everyone with what you come up with. ;P
 

NebulaDreams

Ace Trainer
Partners
  1. luxray
  2. hypno
Well, better late than never, I suppose! You know me by this point, I enjoy all your works, which feature entertaining characters that are alternately morally grey and wholesome, plenty of attention to detail and immersion in the prose, nice worldbuilding that showcases a lot of interesting concepts surrounding Pokemon and how they’re integrated into society, etc. So I’ll cut to the quick and break this down chapter by chapter.

Chapter 1

The opening grabbed me right off the bat. I can relate to Andre’s goal of curing his artist’s block, but then it becomes very clear that something is suspicious about him, which leads into the rest of the chapter where he tries to find a target.

As a gay bloke myself, I liked the bar scene, though I could’ve used a little more liveliness from the setting (no drag queens? also wonder how the pokémon would mix with humans in that setting since their presence raises questions even with knowing your world, but I also just want a little story about queer pokemon having a good night out at a club now). Still, it felt immersive enough, and it was also nice to see that it wasn’t stereotyped. Gay men can be assholes too.

Exhibit A: Mike. Rereading this, I forgot how much I hated Mike here. The way you described him, from his dialogue to his attitude towards women, really made me root for Andre here despite how fucked up he is himself. I also appreciated the details from his introduction to his death about his online presence (michaelicious? ew) to the made up names for drinks and drugs here.

Art was art, be it acrylics, oil paint, watercolor, gouache, colored pencils, crayons or digital.

My mans may be a serial killer but at least he isn’t a traditional art snob.

A little boombox in the corner of the room played lively jazz - not smooth, not chaotic, just lively - at a conversation's volume.

Not Huey Lewis and the News? Aw…

The ending is very strong. Mike’s death just cuts off and we’re left with Andre’s surreal vision while he’s painting with his acrylics, then the cold aftermath. Brrrrr. And of course it ends with the cliffhanger.

Chapter 2

Your approach to writing ghost-type Pokemon (coming hot off of Judgment) continues to be intriguing with Barely-There. Although he doesn’t figure much into the main plot until the end, he’s a strangely adorable little shit of a Pokemon whose sense of morality is alien to humans. He serves as a good sounding board for Andre since it gives him an excuse to rationalise his decisions and also more conflict to prevent people from finding out about his murder.

I have a little gripe with this chapter since I felt the prose could get quite wordy and too heavy on introspection, from Andre covering up his tracks to him giving his cereal just as much consideration as his reasoning for killing humans. It does establish his paranoia (I also don’t know if you intended the cereal bit to be funny) and again, it is immersive and what I’d expect from your Twitch works, but I felt a little worn down by those sections.

I LOVED the whole section with the Inteleon basking in the rain and Andre relating to that, though. The chapter picks up from there as he meets Ben and has to come face to face with his consequences, and also shows more of his moral code despite being a serial killer. And Ben’s just adorable. I hope nothing bad happens to him. :copyka:

Also might’ve said this before, but the thought of this scene taking place in what’s essentially a Rainforest Cafe is sending me. The way the restaurant is described with the facilities for the other Pokémon and the food options available, it’s a place I wouldn’t mind visiting. All it needs is a roaring animatronic Rillaboom and a gift shop with overpriced toys.

It also makes for a really interesting location for a conversational scene. There is something really absurd about it because of how serious the story is but that contrast works and it’s something I loved in HH and Seiren.

He wasn’t really missing out on a lot, though. It was a mediocre burger at best, and the chips were bland and thin.

Food at Wetherspoons be like (this is more for me and my fellow brits please laugh)

"As I aged, it became more apparent that business wasn't my thing, but I kept with the language because I'd gotten interested in the culture and kind of linguistics in general. And when I spent six months in Kanto for an exchange program in high school, I knew I wanted to return there someday."

I can look past the serial killer thing but being a weeaboo is crossing the line.

Chapter 3

I don’t have a ton to say about chapter 3 since it was my least favourite, though it was still enjoyable. There’s nice tension building at the beginning but that kind of fizzles out once Titan gets dealt with rather quickly and I felt there was a missed opportunity to show Ben interacting with him. The pacing from there is kind of iffy since it felt like the climactic moment happened earlier and the rest of it is cooling down.

It is nice to hear about Andre’s start of darkness though, and the part at the end where we get to see the extent of his self loathing made for an effective ending.

Chapter 4

So on the whole, I enjoyed this chapter, both on its own and as a fitting ending for the story. It was interesting seeing Andre’s interactions with Katie since he seems to enjoy her presence so much and yet is so guilt ridden and unable to come clean to her. Which makes the ending all the more tragic when Ben finds out about his trainer’s murder. On that subject, however...

I found the climax weird. It is suspenseful, and I like the concept of this Pokemon unconditionally falling in love with a human who turns out to be a waste of oxygen. But the execution left me wanting more.

For starters, I don’t get why Ben walked away after getting stabbed; it would make sense if he was retreating to heal afterwards or snapped out of his murder mode when Andre injured him, but it isn’t made all that clear.

I mainly felt disappointed that Andre called the police on Ben, even if it makes sense for him to cover his ass. It felt like a weird flip flop of his moral code, where he wasn’t willing to kill Ben but was willing to ruin his life by condemning him to jail. I also question if calling the police would even help considering Andre’s paper trail, or if he’s taking advantage of the law and their potential bias against Pokemon attacking humans, or if he’s just trying to buy time before Ben’s released to flee to Kanto. I wish there was a bit more introspection there before he made that decision.

I also wonder if the outcome could’ve been even more tragic if Andre went too far and killed him, then fled Galar, though I understand how that would make it even harder for Andre to cover his tracks and become a feature character in The Bringer.

That being said, it’s a real downer of an ending (an F in the chat for Ben and Andre) but it felt satisfying because of the consequences Andre faced and the internal dilemmas he had to grapple with. And hey, he got what he wanted by fleeing to Kanto, just not in the way that he expected. The ending line was killer too. Geddit?

Anyway, it was nice to finish this story at last. I don’t know when I’ll catch up with The Bringer or Batty, but I hope I can do it sooner rather than later. Good work as always.
 
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