Oneshot
Shiny Phantump
Through Dream, I Travel
Content warning for medical/body horror element.
When you’re as old as time, the years start to blur together. I remember the first few moments so incredibly clearly, how long Dialga’s tentative first few seconds felt. The feeling of my siblings inventing their domains, creating their vessels. I recall my indecision, how my own vessel was a product of it. In a way the role that its invention begot was, too.
Those early memories are burned into my soul. Unforgettable. Distinct. A few ephemeral moments that went on to define who and what I would be for all eternity. In comparison, entire human civilizations can feel like details in the annals of history. I have to make a point of keeping up with them, their arts, history, and culture.
That time, it was a music festival. Music’s always been my favourite of the arts. That one wasn’t worth it, though. Don’t get me wrong, the music was good, but… it was all downhill from there. I don’t know how they recognized me, how they knew what I was. I make each of my bodies carefully uninteresting, normal, but unique from my past forms. It didn’t save me this time. I was only alerted to the fact that my cover was blown by the hiss of pneumatics, and the sting of a dart in the back of my body’s right shoulder.
I try not to sleep. See, I don’t actually need to sleep at all, but if I say one one shape for long enough eventually that body will, so I’ve had to do it a few times. It’s a strange experience, my consciousness persisting disconnected from that of the body I’ve taken on. All there would be if I remained attuned to its senses would be the useless sensory figments of the dreaming brain. I find the dreaming brain disconcerting and useless enough I’d rather tap out entirely.
It leaves me all alone in my mind. Broken up only by the whispering ebb and flow of the thoughts of nearby minds. It’s unpleasant. Doubly so this time, as I find myself dragged quite unexpectedly down into a chemically-induced unconsciousness.
I use my last seconds of spatial orientation to teleport as far away as I can before I lose touch with the outside world entirely. At first, it seemed to work. Disembodied as I may be, I still feel the murmur of the world’s psychic background noise- but to my relief, not a single mind close enough to stand out. I am safe. To my immense frustration, I’m not well enough connected to my body to turn back until this wears off, but I will have time to wait it out.
Or so I think, until someone finds me. It’s not actually the presence of a mind that tips me off, but an absence. They’re covering their tracks, carrying some kind of suppressor. A weaker psychic wouldn’t sense anything at all, but this nothingness stands out to me. It’s like a black hole smothering the faint starlight in the background. A suppression stronger than any dark type could naturally achieve.
Then, the darkness creeps up around me- I barely have time to realize what’s happening before I am gone. The psych suppression isn’t just to hide their approach, it’s for me. Because of course it is. Otherwise I’d teleport away. Again.
I’ve never been psych suppressed before. For good reason. I can’t even change back anymore.
Me- my consciousness- isn’t part of my body. If it was, I’d lose myself every time I transformed. If I let that get suppressed, then… then I’d be…
When I wake up, I am only human.
There’s a binding on my neck, sealing everything that should make me more than that away. What right do I have to call myself anything else, though?
I only have what few of my memories ended up in this human body’s brain. I went to a concert. During it, there were also a few times I remember looking back on older memories from inside this body. Precious few glimpses of who I was before, recollections of recollections of divinity. A disconnected calm, observing without directly interfering. Assured of my position, my place in the world. The memories of how none of it could save me, in contrast, are painfully acute.
I am Mew. I know this. But the Mew from before is so far out of my reach I’m not sure if I can rightfully call myself the same person.
Truthfully, I don’t even know how long it’s been since then. How long was it between everything about me being suppressed and waking up from chemically-induced unconsciousness?
It’s discomforting. There’s a discontinuity in my existence. During that window in time, my body’s mind and higher consciousness alike were gone. There was no Mew at all. That’s… never happened to me before? I don’t think it has… Truthfully, I was too afraid of the idea in those last moments for it to be anything but new to me.
How long has it been since I woke up? It feels like it’s been… long. Each passing second is a painstaking eternity in a way I haven’t felt since… time immemorial, I guess.
Two men interrupt my reverie. A black suit. A white coat. A short dark buzz-cut. Grey wistful waves of hair. My heart jumps into my throat.
I try not to show weakness. If I’m lucky they may not know what they’ve done to me yet, may think they’re only stopping me from teleporting away or transforming. I can’t quite hope that would help me but at least I’d feel safer if they couldn’t see this acute vulnerability.
Black Suit grins at me. He looks pleased.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mew. A real pleasure. It’s not often a humble man like myself gets an opportunity like this. For you to talk to grace us with your presence… A once-in-a-lifetime chance, one could call it. But of course, I’m a believer in making my own luck. My name is Giovanni. Have you heard of me before, I wonder?”
This is a question with a right and wrong answer. I know it. I feel without thinking that it must be true, that this is not a man looking to engage in idle chitchat.
It is impossible for me to deduce what he will think of my answer.
I have to say something, though. “Have I?” I also can’t afford to be wrong. “You don’t really think I care to remember everyone I hear of, do you?”
His grin slips. He’s displeased. I think that’s good. “Perhaps you’re not used to having to listen to those of us who are beneath your notice, but I am the one in control here. I am not here to be asked questions. I am not here to have my questions deflected from. Your secrets will be laid bare before me, and then if you’ve been a good little kitty then you can go. Or we can do things the hard way. What is your preference?”
A chill sets down my spine. Can he ever actually let me go? He’s made it clear he doesn’t care what terms we part on. If ever I am complete again, am as strong as Mew should be, he’d never be safe again.
Giovanni does not strike me as a man who leaves unfinished business.
“I asked you a question. Are we going to get along, or not? Tell me.”
I can’t say yes. It’s an admission that there’s nothing I can do. Nothing I’ll ever be able to do. But if I say no, then… then…
“Do you think we’re going to get along?”
The look on his face is cathartic.
“No. I do not. Perhaps your blood and I might hit it off better.”
I fail to conceal my fear. I’m going to suffer for that remark. I can’t pull back my consciousness. I will, trapped in my own skin, bleed and feel it all.
White Coat steps forward, and draws…
A sigh in relief. It’s just a needle. He was talking about a blood test. That’s not so bad. White Coat starts giving me instructions. I give in. There’s about to be a piece of metal in one of my veins. It’s best not to fight that- I can’t help but picture what would happen if I tried to tear myself away at the wrong moment.
I wish I could see White Coat’s mind. I wish I could tell what he was thinking. Does he want to hurt me, too? Why is he here? I know nothing of him. Not even a name. “Who are you?”
“M-Me? My name is… Alan? Doctor Alan Smithee.”
I’m not sure I believe that. At the same time, I don’t think I have any other choice.
“Now, please hold still. This won’t hurt a bit.”
I’m not sure I believe that either…
I’m lucky that Dr. Alan is holding my arm. It does hurt. I flinch, and only his grip stops me from hurting myself. I see a vial fill with my own blood. It’s uncanny. I am here, watching, feeling as it leaves me. I feel faint. I don’t think I’ve lost enough blood pressure for that to be the cause.
Then it’s over, and he has a cotton ball on my arm. But I’m still there, mentally. I’m not bleeding. I’m not! But… I feel like…
I don’t know. That’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t know anything. I’m just a collection of blood, sinew, and sorrow. Neurons too. Can’t forget those, they’re the most important part. I’m not used to counting on them to think, but they’re all I have left now.
I’m alone with them again.
Someone younger with a dark uniform and blue hair serves me food. He laments being on busywork— thinks it’s beneath his rank. That’s all this is to him, a chore he’s been assigned. Something beneath him. I tell him he won’t have to worry about it anymore if he takes my suppressor off. I know he won’t do it but he laughs and I’ve earned some standing with him. I doubt it will matter, talking to people to whom I am nothing. But what else can I do? Give up?
That’s what I’m supposed to do, I guess. It’s not an appealing option either.
I can recall how short time felt to me before. I lamented it, at times, but I’d kill to have it back now. I try to recall the words of the songs I heard during the concert. I go over them, muttering and humming them all.
Eventually, the lights shut off on their own.
Sleep is pulling me down. That worries me. It’s silly, I know every organic thing deals with it sometimes. But I can’t help but overthink it, the way there will be nothing of me again. I’ll wake up. I know I will. I won’t die in my sleep. (I’m not sure what would happen if I did. What would happen to the rest of me?) I can’t help but be disconcerted by another gap in my existence, though.
There’s no chair in this room. There’s a bed but if I rest on that I will succumb. Maybe it would be better to do that. It, too, is what I am supposed to do and it would make time pass more quickly.
But I can’t. I can’t sleep– It would be easy to fall asleep right now, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t sit down, can’t lie down on the bed because it would be so easy to fall asleep. And that’s the closest I’ve ever been to nothing, to death. I am only neurons now, and to shut them down too is a step I can’t bear to take right now.
So I sit on the cold, hard concrete of the floor. And I wait.
Lyrics become a mantra for me. ‘Trapped by sentimental dust.’ Repeating the words to stay awake. ‘Though darkness can't blind us-’ Melodies echoing through my synapsis just to keep them running. ‘-And only lasts a bit of your temporality.’ The continuity of my existence in this moment is defined only by my struggle to maintain it.
Then the lights turn back on. I laugh. I did it. It’s not funny, but I laugh anyway.
Blue Hair returns. He has food again.
He tells me I look like hell. I ask his name. It’s Proton. He tells me to say hi to Giratina for him. I tell him I will, even though I wont, we haven’t spoken in… I don’t know. But I have the impression that it’s been longer than I’m currently equipped to comprehend. I don’t think he actually expects me to do it, though, so it doesn’t matter. He’s just joking. He probably just meant it about hell even though that’s not real or true and if it was and Giratina was there Proton wouldn’t need me to say anything for him because Giratina would already be here.
Dr. Alan is next. He’s saying something. Genes, cells, he’s talking shop about things I should know about, that are my domain but they words spill through my mind aimlessly. He slows down and repeats himself and I feel condescended because I am supposed to be better than him at this. I can’t deny I need it, though. There’s a lot of things I’m supposed to be and am not, right now.
He sighs. “Are you even listening to me?”
I reach for an answer. I need to say something.
“No.”
He gives up and leaves. He’s displeased. I don’t care. Fuck him.
I’ve fought sleep for as long as I can. But it's only getting stronger and my will to fight it is getting weaker. Humans aren’t meant to sit around, doing nothing for days at a time while also never sleeping, and I have nothing else to occupy myself with.
I sleep.
Worse. I dream. I am still human, but something is wrong. I feel sick. I raise a hand to my mouth, and it comes back with something inside it. Small and white. It’s a tooth. Mine. I can feel the rest in my mouth, sitting tentatively in place. I feel a pressure behind them. Others start to follow after the first. I’m bleeding again. But there’s no needle, no vial, it just pours from my gums, down my face and throat, warm and ferrous. It pours from me until I have nothing left to give. My skin is empty. It can’t hold itself together. It flakes into dust. Not even my bones can endure. What should take ages proceeds in seconds, the teeth and the rest of my bones become dust. There’s nothing left of me. Nothing but the suppressor lying atop a pile of bloodstained refuse, but even with my thoughts suppressed I still can’t die. I can only be forgotten.
I think I’m awake now. I’m not sure. It felt real before, too. You’re supposed to wake up after nightmares so there’s nothing I can do but hope this is real and not another one.
I feel like I’ve found my way out of a thick mental fog. Sleep deprivation was bad for me. I feel stupid. Of course it was. Any part of me that I could tuck away, any part of me that existed outside the limits of this body is gone.
“Sleep deprivation is bad for you,” I think to myself in a matter-of-fact tone and laugh. Look at me, the progenitor of biology. Sleep deprivation is bad for you. In my defence, I don’t think I invented sleep. I mostly set up the initial conditions and let things go from there. Maybe if I had’ve made more decisions back then I wouldn’t have to deal with things like sleep now. Oops.
Alan arrives before Proton today. He has a bucket and a folding chair. He sets the bucket down in front of me, unfolds the chair, and sits down.
The bucket is full of a disconcerting pink slime.
“Here. This is the result I was talking about yesterday.”
He tilts his head down at me to fire a look over the rims of his glasses. Is he expecting a reaction? I thought we’d established that I wasn’t listening. “The second genome?”
Oh. That’s organic, isn’t it? And it looks like… my flesh. This is a bucket of my flesh. Fuck.
“Obviously, we’re missing something. What is this genome? There’s almost nothing here. It has no brain. The sensory organs-” he swirls the bucket. Nothing rises to the top, it’s too solid. That’s good. The less of this I see, the better. “-don’t seem to do anything. They’re not connected to anything. Its organ systems are barely able to sustain life, but nothing more. What is this? What are we missing?”
I laugh. He’s not missing anything. It’s a perfect replication of everything available to him. A perfect fucking clone of my vessel. As long as this suppressor is on me, it’s all that will ever be available to him- he’s been doomed to fall out of step since the overture. He’s missing the part that predates flesh, time, and space. The part that predates his entire field of study. Even if he figures it out, no clone in the world can replicate that.
I wonder how long it will take him to realize that I never had a brain in the first place.
I’m still laughing. If he wasn’t annoyed with me before, he is now. “I understand your reluctance to cooperate, I really do. But we’re caught in this web, and it will go better for both of us if things go smoothly. If all goes well, some good can come of this research, too. There would be… real applications for these secrets.” He looks at me with eyes full of… hope? “Lifesaving ones.”
He’s lowered his guard for me. Does he think being on better terms with me than Giovanni means I like him? It will be my pleasure to set the record straight. I offer a poisonous smile.
“How about you take off my suppressor, and I show you what you’re missing.” My tone makes it clear that this is a threat, and not an offer. But my favourite thing is that this is actually both. Because I would show him.
He sighs. Then the room fills with silence. He packs up and leaves without a word.
Being alone is becoming more bearable. Time doesn’t feel as suffocating as it did at the start. I’m content to remain, going over the songs in my head until Proton arrives. I was starting to wonder if he would. I am becoming hungry, after all.
“Missed you,” I say. I don’t know if it’s true. He’s better company than Dr. Alan. Not a good person, but he’s open and unapologetic about it in a way that I’ve decided is preferable to Alan’s earnest shtick from before. He’s easier on the eyes, too.
He laughs at me. “Damn. Everyone else that bad? I gotta try harder, then.”
“Yep. Try bringing me a bucket of my own inchoate flesh instead of food next time.”
He laughs again for exactly one beat before abruptly stopping. “So. You know about that, huh? I wasn’t even supposed to know about that. But, you know, I’m not gonna let myself play second fiddle to anyone.”
I smile. An idea is forming in my mind. “Tired of doing this?” Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ve found a foothold. And I can try to begin to climb.
“Nah.” Or not. “Not much higher to go after Exec. Plus, I’m back on fieldwork tomorrow. Ariana’ll be on catsitting duty, tell her to go fuck herself for me.”
That’s bad. If I lose Proton tomorrow, then I’ve accomplished nothing.
“Sure. Ariana and Giratina, got it.”
I won’t give up yet, though. It’s today or nothing. I tilt my head, posing with earnest curiosity. “May I ask why, though?”
He eyes me with suspicion. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m bored. And curious.” Neither statement is false.
He shrugs. “Just the boss’s favourite. I don’t like it. We’re supposed to be equals. So…” He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Actually. Can you do me a favour? For real?”
I nod. There’s nothing I can see that I could do for him. I’m immensely curious.
His hand slips beneath his cap and he pulls out a small key.
“Stick it out one more day for me. Once Ariana’s been in your cell, take the thingy off. Fuck up anyone you want except for her, not a scratch. Then, as far as anyone gets to know, she gave it to you.”
I blink. What the fuck?
“Why? I mean, yes, obviously. But… Why?”
He laughs. “Just a career move. It’s dog eat dog here, kitty-cat. Get with the program.”
“That’s all?” I’m skeptical. Was he not as high as he could go already?
“Yeah. Probably wouldn’t hurt to be on your good side, either, not that I expect you to let me cash out any more favours.”
Then he just gets up to leave, like it’s no big deal. What are you playing at, Proton?
At the door he pauses and looks back.
“Actually… One question. I just don’t want to be left wondering afterwards... You’re older than time an’ space an’ all that shit, right?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“What’s that even like? How could you… exist? ”
The answer to that question is dangerously close to what Alan wants to hear. Really, I don’t know if the key is even real. I want to believe in Proton, I really want to, but this is risky. “Why do you care?”
He bites his lower lip. “It’s just, well. I keep thinking about those things without the brains.”
Great. They made several of them. Love that. He straightens up his back and clears his throat. His voice comes back firmer.
“Listen. I’m the cruelest guy you’re gonna meet here. I can’t let Fuji go one-upping me.”
I nod. I don’t believe him, but I nod anyway. “I see. Is that all?”
“You know how Koffing, they don’t have brains? And they get all fucked up if a psychic messes with the stuff between the part that does all the thinking and their body. Like, they’re really weak to it, my little guy-” He shakes his head. “Whatever. That’s not the point.”
I laugh. He’s a little flushed now. “Yes, I know what you’re talking about,” I say.
I really want to know if he’s going where I think he’s going with this. Can Alan or Fuji be feeding him lines if they haven’t realized this yet themselves? Did they really get beaten to the punch by the guy who gives me food?
“Are you all fucked up?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty fucked up right now.”
There’s a look on his face I can’t place.
“Good luck getting outta here, then.”
Ariana isn’t what I expected. She apologized to me. Sounded like she was at a funeral the whole time. Solemn and remorseful, but she insists she has faith in Giovanni’s plan. I wouldn’t have guessed it from talking to her, for sure. I can see why Proton thought people would blame her…
I almost feel bad for what I’m about to pin on her. There’s no time for second thoughts, though.
I slip the key behind my neck, fumbling for the lock and wishing for telekinesis so I don’t have to do this with my hands. I hold my breath as I turn the key. It feels like my heart is going to burst.
Truthfully, I’m a little scared. Not just that it might not work, that Proton might not have been honest with me, but also that once I remove this, I will return to normal. And, in a way, the Mew that was lost when I was shot will replace me again. I will turn into something else again and this human will be gone. It’s for the best, though. I don’t think I want to remember this.
The lock clicks, and I am free.
I am myself again, and… I still have access to my body’s memories. Of course I do. Morbid curiosity stays my return to a more comfortable form long enough to look over them. Observing this human body’s memories with my immortal mind.
I shouldn’t have looked.
I just shouldn’t have looked.
For a moment, I feel like a being of pure dissonance. It was only four days. That’s nothing to me. It is a drop in the ocean of my existence. Four atoms of existence in a cosmic ocean of everything. But… I’ve always remembered the first days of the world so incredibly clearly. How long they felt. They’re burned into the fiber of my being as the seed that would shape the rest of my life. They have a gravity that keeps me in their orbit, pulling me back to who I am, as defined by them.
And now I have a second set of first days. I feel their pull, too, calling me back to be alone, weak, and afraid again. An indelible scar on my psyche.
I have the power to do whatever I want to this place. I doubt anyone could stop me.
I don’t try anything. I flee. I am afraid. I never want to look back.
I go a long time without looking back. I thought I’d put it behind me.
But I was never going to be able to escape forever. Cinnabar’s gravity finally pulls me back in.
It is in flames. I know why. I think I am probably the only one from outside the island who knows why.
I am staring into Giovanni’s eyes. The one who tore this place apart has his eyes. They’re bound to a human brain. Unable to transform, a hybrid stranded between humanity and Mew.
I understand the feeling, can understand what they’re going through. This place was one snap decision away from being burnt by me instead.
There’s more of myself in them than him. I reach out to them. They don’t react, but they do stop their assault on the island. It’s a start.
I know the gravity of this place. I know the pull that their memories here will have. But maybe we can escape it’s pull together.
Only Human
When you’re as old as time, the years start to blur together. I remember the first few moments so incredibly clearly, how long Dialga’s tentative first few seconds felt. The feeling of my siblings inventing their domains, creating their vessels. I recall my indecision, how my own vessel was a product of it. In a way the role that its invention begot was, too.
Those early memories are burned into my soul. Unforgettable. Distinct. A few ephemeral moments that went on to define who and what I would be for all eternity. In comparison, entire human civilizations can feel like details in the annals of history. I have to make a point of keeping up with them, their arts, history, and culture.
That time, it was a music festival. Music’s always been my favourite of the arts. That one wasn’t worth it, though. Don’t get me wrong, the music was good, but… it was all downhill from there. I don’t know how they recognized me, how they knew what I was. I make each of my bodies carefully uninteresting, normal, but unique from my past forms. It didn’t save me this time. I was only alerted to the fact that my cover was blown by the hiss of pneumatics, and the sting of a dart in the back of my body’s right shoulder.
I try not to sleep. See, I don’t actually need to sleep at all, but if I say one one shape for long enough eventually that body will, so I’ve had to do it a few times. It’s a strange experience, my consciousness persisting disconnected from that of the body I’ve taken on. All there would be if I remained attuned to its senses would be the useless sensory figments of the dreaming brain. I find the dreaming brain disconcerting and useless enough I’d rather tap out entirely.
It leaves me all alone in my mind. Broken up only by the whispering ebb and flow of the thoughts of nearby minds. It’s unpleasant. Doubly so this time, as I find myself dragged quite unexpectedly down into a chemically-induced unconsciousness.
I use my last seconds of spatial orientation to teleport as far away as I can before I lose touch with the outside world entirely. At first, it seemed to work. Disembodied as I may be, I still feel the murmur of the world’s psychic background noise- but to my relief, not a single mind close enough to stand out. I am safe. To my immense frustration, I’m not well enough connected to my body to turn back until this wears off, but I will have time to wait it out.
Or so I think, until someone finds me. It’s not actually the presence of a mind that tips me off, but an absence. They’re covering their tracks, carrying some kind of suppressor. A weaker psychic wouldn’t sense anything at all, but this nothingness stands out to me. It’s like a black hole smothering the faint starlight in the background. A suppression stronger than any dark type could naturally achieve.
Then, the darkness creeps up around me- I barely have time to realize what’s happening before I am gone. The psych suppression isn’t just to hide their approach, it’s for me. Because of course it is. Otherwise I’d teleport away. Again.
I’ve never been psych suppressed before. For good reason. I can’t even change back anymore.
Me- my consciousness- isn’t part of my body. If it was, I’d lose myself every time I transformed. If I let that get suppressed, then… then I’d be…
When I wake up, I am only human.
There’s a binding on my neck, sealing everything that should make me more than that away. What right do I have to call myself anything else, though?
I only have what few of my memories ended up in this human body’s brain. I went to a concert. During it, there were also a few times I remember looking back on older memories from inside this body. Precious few glimpses of who I was before, recollections of recollections of divinity. A disconnected calm, observing without directly interfering. Assured of my position, my place in the world. The memories of how none of it could save me, in contrast, are painfully acute.
I am Mew. I know this. But the Mew from before is so far out of my reach I’m not sure if I can rightfully call myself the same person.
Truthfully, I don’t even know how long it’s been since then. How long was it between everything about me being suppressed and waking up from chemically-induced unconsciousness?
It’s discomforting. There’s a discontinuity in my existence. During that window in time, my body’s mind and higher consciousness alike were gone. There was no Mew at all. That’s… never happened to me before? I don’t think it has… Truthfully, I was too afraid of the idea in those last moments for it to be anything but new to me.
How long has it been since I woke up? It feels like it’s been… long. Each passing second is a painstaking eternity in a way I haven’t felt since… time immemorial, I guess.
Two men interrupt my reverie. A black suit. A white coat. A short dark buzz-cut. Grey wistful waves of hair. My heart jumps into my throat.
I try not to show weakness. If I’m lucky they may not know what they’ve done to me yet, may think they’re only stopping me from teleporting away or transforming. I can’t quite hope that would help me but at least I’d feel safer if they couldn’t see this acute vulnerability.
Black Suit grins at me. He looks pleased.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mew. A real pleasure. It’s not often a humble man like myself gets an opportunity like this. For you to talk to grace us with your presence… A once-in-a-lifetime chance, one could call it. But of course, I’m a believer in making my own luck. My name is Giovanni. Have you heard of me before, I wonder?”
This is a question with a right and wrong answer. I know it. I feel without thinking that it must be true, that this is not a man looking to engage in idle chitchat.
It is impossible for me to deduce what he will think of my answer.
I have to say something, though. “Have I?” I also can’t afford to be wrong. “You don’t really think I care to remember everyone I hear of, do you?”
His grin slips. He’s displeased. I think that’s good. “Perhaps you’re not used to having to listen to those of us who are beneath your notice, but I am the one in control here. I am not here to be asked questions. I am not here to have my questions deflected from. Your secrets will be laid bare before me, and then if you’ve been a good little kitty then you can go. Or we can do things the hard way. What is your preference?”
A chill sets down my spine. Can he ever actually let me go? He’s made it clear he doesn’t care what terms we part on. If ever I am complete again, am as strong as Mew should be, he’d never be safe again.
Giovanni does not strike me as a man who leaves unfinished business.
“I asked you a question. Are we going to get along, or not? Tell me.”
I can’t say yes. It’s an admission that there’s nothing I can do. Nothing I’ll ever be able to do. But if I say no, then… then…
“Do you think we’re going to get along?”
The look on his face is cathartic.
“No. I do not. Perhaps your blood and I might hit it off better.”
I fail to conceal my fear. I’m going to suffer for that remark. I can’t pull back my consciousness. I will, trapped in my own skin, bleed and feel it all.
White Coat steps forward, and draws…
A sigh in relief. It’s just a needle. He was talking about a blood test. That’s not so bad. White Coat starts giving me instructions. I give in. There’s about to be a piece of metal in one of my veins. It’s best not to fight that- I can’t help but picture what would happen if I tried to tear myself away at the wrong moment.
I wish I could see White Coat’s mind. I wish I could tell what he was thinking. Does he want to hurt me, too? Why is he here? I know nothing of him. Not even a name. “Who are you?”
“M-Me? My name is… Alan? Doctor Alan Smithee.”
I’m not sure I believe that. At the same time, I don’t think I have any other choice.
“Now, please hold still. This won’t hurt a bit.”
I’m not sure I believe that either…
I’m lucky that Dr. Alan is holding my arm. It does hurt. I flinch, and only his grip stops me from hurting myself. I see a vial fill with my own blood. It’s uncanny. I am here, watching, feeling as it leaves me. I feel faint. I don’t think I’ve lost enough blood pressure for that to be the cause.
Then it’s over, and he has a cotton ball on my arm. But I’m still there, mentally. I’m not bleeding. I’m not! But… I feel like…
I don’t know. That’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t know anything. I’m just a collection of blood, sinew, and sorrow. Neurons too. Can’t forget those, they’re the most important part. I’m not used to counting on them to think, but they’re all I have left now.
I’m alone with them again.
Someone younger with a dark uniform and blue hair serves me food. He laments being on busywork— thinks it’s beneath his rank. That’s all this is to him, a chore he’s been assigned. Something beneath him. I tell him he won’t have to worry about it anymore if he takes my suppressor off. I know he won’t do it but he laughs and I’ve earned some standing with him. I doubt it will matter, talking to people to whom I am nothing. But what else can I do? Give up?
That’s what I’m supposed to do, I guess. It’s not an appealing option either.
I can recall how short time felt to me before. I lamented it, at times, but I’d kill to have it back now. I try to recall the words of the songs I heard during the concert. I go over them, muttering and humming them all.
Eventually, the lights shut off on their own.
Sleep is pulling me down. That worries me. It’s silly, I know every organic thing deals with it sometimes. But I can’t help but overthink it, the way there will be nothing of me again. I’ll wake up. I know I will. I won’t die in my sleep. (I’m not sure what would happen if I did. What would happen to the rest of me?) I can’t help but be disconcerted by another gap in my existence, though.
There’s no chair in this room. There’s a bed but if I rest on that I will succumb. Maybe it would be better to do that. It, too, is what I am supposed to do and it would make time pass more quickly.
But I can’t. I can’t sleep– It would be easy to fall asleep right now, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t sit down, can’t lie down on the bed because it would be so easy to fall asleep. And that’s the closest I’ve ever been to nothing, to death. I am only neurons now, and to shut them down too is a step I can’t bear to take right now.
So I sit on the cold, hard concrete of the floor. And I wait.
Lyrics become a mantra for me. ‘Trapped by sentimental dust.’ Repeating the words to stay awake. ‘Though darkness can't blind us-’ Melodies echoing through my synapsis just to keep them running. ‘-And only lasts a bit of your temporality.’ The continuity of my existence in this moment is defined only by my struggle to maintain it.
Then the lights turn back on. I laugh. I did it. It’s not funny, but I laugh anyway.
Blue Hair returns. He has food again.
He tells me I look like hell. I ask his name. It’s Proton. He tells me to say hi to Giratina for him. I tell him I will, even though I wont, we haven’t spoken in… I don’t know. But I have the impression that it’s been longer than I’m currently equipped to comprehend. I don’t think he actually expects me to do it, though, so it doesn’t matter. He’s just joking. He probably just meant it about hell even though that’s not real or true and if it was and Giratina was there Proton wouldn’t need me to say anything for him because Giratina would already be here.
Dr. Alan is next. He’s saying something. Genes, cells, he’s talking shop about things I should know about, that are my domain but they words spill through my mind aimlessly. He slows down and repeats himself and I feel condescended because I am supposed to be better than him at this. I can’t deny I need it, though. There’s a lot of things I’m supposed to be and am not, right now.
He sighs. “Are you even listening to me?”
I reach for an answer. I need to say something.
“No.”
He gives up and leaves. He’s displeased. I don’t care. Fuck him.
I’ve fought sleep for as long as I can. But it's only getting stronger and my will to fight it is getting weaker. Humans aren’t meant to sit around, doing nothing for days at a time while also never sleeping, and I have nothing else to occupy myself with.
I sleep.
Worse. I dream. I am still human, but something is wrong. I feel sick. I raise a hand to my mouth, and it comes back with something inside it. Small and white. It’s a tooth. Mine. I can feel the rest in my mouth, sitting tentatively in place. I feel a pressure behind them. Others start to follow after the first. I’m bleeding again. But there’s no needle, no vial, it just pours from my gums, down my face and throat, warm and ferrous. It pours from me until I have nothing left to give. My skin is empty. It can’t hold itself together. It flakes into dust. Not even my bones can endure. What should take ages proceeds in seconds, the teeth and the rest of my bones become dust. There’s nothing left of me. Nothing but the suppressor lying atop a pile of bloodstained refuse, but even with my thoughts suppressed I still can’t die. I can only be forgotten.
I think I’m awake now. I’m not sure. It felt real before, too. You’re supposed to wake up after nightmares so there’s nothing I can do but hope this is real and not another one.
I feel like I’ve found my way out of a thick mental fog. Sleep deprivation was bad for me. I feel stupid. Of course it was. Any part of me that I could tuck away, any part of me that existed outside the limits of this body is gone.
“Sleep deprivation is bad for you,” I think to myself in a matter-of-fact tone and laugh. Look at me, the progenitor of biology. Sleep deprivation is bad for you. In my defence, I don’t think I invented sleep. I mostly set up the initial conditions and let things go from there. Maybe if I had’ve made more decisions back then I wouldn’t have to deal with things like sleep now. Oops.
Alan arrives before Proton today. He has a bucket and a folding chair. He sets the bucket down in front of me, unfolds the chair, and sits down.
The bucket is full of a disconcerting pink slime.
“Here. This is the result I was talking about yesterday.”
He tilts his head down at me to fire a look over the rims of his glasses. Is he expecting a reaction? I thought we’d established that I wasn’t listening. “The second genome?”
Oh. That’s organic, isn’t it? And it looks like… my flesh. This is a bucket of my flesh. Fuck.
“Obviously, we’re missing something. What is this genome? There’s almost nothing here. It has no brain. The sensory organs-” he swirls the bucket. Nothing rises to the top, it’s too solid. That’s good. The less of this I see, the better. “-don’t seem to do anything. They’re not connected to anything. Its organ systems are barely able to sustain life, but nothing more. What is this? What are we missing?”
I laugh. He’s not missing anything. It’s a perfect replication of everything available to him. A perfect fucking clone of my vessel. As long as this suppressor is on me, it’s all that will ever be available to him- he’s been doomed to fall out of step since the overture. He’s missing the part that predates flesh, time, and space. The part that predates his entire field of study. Even if he figures it out, no clone in the world can replicate that.
I wonder how long it will take him to realize that I never had a brain in the first place.
I’m still laughing. If he wasn’t annoyed with me before, he is now. “I understand your reluctance to cooperate, I really do. But we’re caught in this web, and it will go better for both of us if things go smoothly. If all goes well, some good can come of this research, too. There would be… real applications for these secrets.” He looks at me with eyes full of… hope? “Lifesaving ones.”
He’s lowered his guard for me. Does he think being on better terms with me than Giovanni means I like him? It will be my pleasure to set the record straight. I offer a poisonous smile.
“How about you take off my suppressor, and I show you what you’re missing.” My tone makes it clear that this is a threat, and not an offer. But my favourite thing is that this is actually both. Because I would show him.
He sighs. Then the room fills with silence. He packs up and leaves without a word.
Being alone is becoming more bearable. Time doesn’t feel as suffocating as it did at the start. I’m content to remain, going over the songs in my head until Proton arrives. I was starting to wonder if he would. I am becoming hungry, after all.
“Missed you,” I say. I don’t know if it’s true. He’s better company than Dr. Alan. Not a good person, but he’s open and unapologetic about it in a way that I’ve decided is preferable to Alan’s earnest shtick from before. He’s easier on the eyes, too.
He laughs at me. “Damn. Everyone else that bad? I gotta try harder, then.”
“Yep. Try bringing me a bucket of my own inchoate flesh instead of food next time.”
He laughs again for exactly one beat before abruptly stopping. “So. You know about that, huh? I wasn’t even supposed to know about that. But, you know, I’m not gonna let myself play second fiddle to anyone.”
I smile. An idea is forming in my mind. “Tired of doing this?” Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ve found a foothold. And I can try to begin to climb.
“Nah.” Or not. “Not much higher to go after Exec. Plus, I’m back on fieldwork tomorrow. Ariana’ll be on catsitting duty, tell her to go fuck herself for me.”
That’s bad. If I lose Proton tomorrow, then I’ve accomplished nothing.
“Sure. Ariana and Giratina, got it.”
I won’t give up yet, though. It’s today or nothing. I tilt my head, posing with earnest curiosity. “May I ask why, though?”
He eyes me with suspicion. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m bored. And curious.” Neither statement is false.
He shrugs. “Just the boss’s favourite. I don’t like it. We’re supposed to be equals. So…” He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Actually. Can you do me a favour? For real?”
I nod. There’s nothing I can see that I could do for him. I’m immensely curious.
His hand slips beneath his cap and he pulls out a small key.
“Stick it out one more day for me. Once Ariana’s been in your cell, take the thingy off. Fuck up anyone you want except for her, not a scratch. Then, as far as anyone gets to know, she gave it to you.”
I blink. What the fuck?
“Why? I mean, yes, obviously. But… Why?”
He laughs. “Just a career move. It’s dog eat dog here, kitty-cat. Get with the program.”
“That’s all?” I’m skeptical. Was he not as high as he could go already?
“Yeah. Probably wouldn’t hurt to be on your good side, either, not that I expect you to let me cash out any more favours.”
Then he just gets up to leave, like it’s no big deal. What are you playing at, Proton?
At the door he pauses and looks back.
“Actually… One question. I just don’t want to be left wondering afterwards... You’re older than time an’ space an’ all that shit, right?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“What’s that even like? How could you… exist? ”
The answer to that question is dangerously close to what Alan wants to hear. Really, I don’t know if the key is even real. I want to believe in Proton, I really want to, but this is risky. “Why do you care?”
He bites his lower lip. “It’s just, well. I keep thinking about those things without the brains.”
Great. They made several of them. Love that. He straightens up his back and clears his throat. His voice comes back firmer.
“Listen. I’m the cruelest guy you’re gonna meet here. I can’t let Fuji go one-upping me.”
I nod. I don’t believe him, but I nod anyway. “I see. Is that all?”
“You know how Koffing, they don’t have brains? And they get all fucked up if a psychic messes with the stuff between the part that does all the thinking and their body. Like, they’re really weak to it, my little guy-” He shakes his head. “Whatever. That’s not the point.”
I laugh. He’s a little flushed now. “Yes, I know what you’re talking about,” I say.
I really want to know if he’s going where I think he’s going with this. Can Alan or Fuji be feeding him lines if they haven’t realized this yet themselves? Did they really get beaten to the punch by the guy who gives me food?
“Are you all fucked up?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty fucked up right now.”
There’s a look on his face I can’t place.
“Good luck getting outta here, then.”
Ariana isn’t what I expected. She apologized to me. Sounded like she was at a funeral the whole time. Solemn and remorseful, but she insists she has faith in Giovanni’s plan. I wouldn’t have guessed it from talking to her, for sure. I can see why Proton thought people would blame her…
I almost feel bad for what I’m about to pin on her. There’s no time for second thoughts, though.
I slip the key behind my neck, fumbling for the lock and wishing for telekinesis so I don’t have to do this with my hands. I hold my breath as I turn the key. It feels like my heart is going to burst.
Truthfully, I’m a little scared. Not just that it might not work, that Proton might not have been honest with me, but also that once I remove this, I will return to normal. And, in a way, the Mew that was lost when I was shot will replace me again. I will turn into something else again and this human will be gone. It’s for the best, though. I don’t think I want to remember this.
The lock clicks, and I am free.
I am myself again, and… I still have access to my body’s memories. Of course I do. Morbid curiosity stays my return to a more comfortable form long enough to look over them. Observing this human body’s memories with my immortal mind.
I shouldn’t have looked.
I just shouldn’t have looked.
For a moment, I feel like a being of pure dissonance. It was only four days. That’s nothing to me. It is a drop in the ocean of my existence. Four atoms of existence in a cosmic ocean of everything. But… I’ve always remembered the first days of the world so incredibly clearly. How long they felt. They’re burned into the fiber of my being as the seed that would shape the rest of my life. They have a gravity that keeps me in their orbit, pulling me back to who I am, as defined by them.
And now I have a second set of first days. I feel their pull, too, calling me back to be alone, weak, and afraid again. An indelible scar on my psyche.
I have the power to do whatever I want to this place. I doubt anyone could stop me.
I don’t try anything. I flee. I am afraid. I never want to look back.
I go a long time without looking back. I thought I’d put it behind me.
But I was never going to be able to escape forever. Cinnabar’s gravity finally pulls me back in.
It is in flames. I know why. I think I am probably the only one from outside the island who knows why.
I am staring into Giovanni’s eyes. The one who tore this place apart has his eyes. They’re bound to a human brain. Unable to transform, a hybrid stranded between humanity and Mew.
I understand the feeling, can understand what they’re going through. This place was one snap decision away from being burnt by me instead.
There’s more of myself in them than him. I reach out to them. They don’t react, but they do stop their assault on the island. It’s a start.
I know the gravity of this place. I know the pull that their memories here will have. But maybe we can escape it’s pull together.
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