Act 1, Chapter 1: Taken
CW: Violence. Mild in this chapter but likely stronger later on.
Nick wakes with a start, throat dry as the Sahara and gasping for air like a drowning man. Rolling onto his side, his hands instinctually go to his throat, sucking down as much moist air as he can. He chokes on nothing; deep, laboured coughs wrack his form for what feels like an eternity until, finally, mercifully, it tapers off into mere wheezing.
"Just another great morning," he hisses through gritted teeth, voice like sandpaper. Is he coming down with something?
'I'm already behind on studying; if I don't get on cramming more legalese into my skull, I'm going to fail.'
He supposes that he better get up and get some water before he grows himself a lovely migraine. Maybe then he can focus on finishing a chapter before his next shift.
He shifts again, clothes rubbing and the breeze sending a shiver through his form.
'Wait a minute.'
Nick's eyes snap open with a start, jolting upright, a wave of nausea threatening to overtake him as he whips his head around, blurred vision trying to take in everything. Trees. Rocks. Grass.
He's in a forest. Why? How? He looks down at himself, and a... hospital gown adorns his form, which raises even more questions. He must have been kidnapped in his sleep. Why else would he be out here, alone and under-dressed?
Part of him insists that he should panic, run, and shout, but he forces it down with brute will. It bubbles under the surface as his breath grows shallow, threatening to boil over like an ill-watched pot, but stops short. A wave of chill passes through him and his breathing levels. No time to ruminate, though; he has to get a plan and get one now. Eyes tracing up to the canopies, Nick doesn't need his glasses to see something that strikes him dumb. The trees have fresh green leaves. It was fall when he last went to bed. His breath catches in his throat as he unsteadily gets to his feet on shaky legs, cool dew draining the heat from his soles as he staggers, leaning on a nearby tree for support.
He takes a deep breath in.
And lets it back out.
There are two possibilities: either he is in the southern hemisphere or was kept under for the better half a year. A chill crawls down his spine at both. Neither fit, almost like puzzle pieces from two sets haphazardly tossed together. He doesn't feel frail, so that rules out being in a medically induced coma for six months, but who the hell would ship him to the far side of nowhere?
Anyone kidnapping someone from the fifth floor of an apartment complex would need quite a plan to avoid getting caught, not to mention the vast list of easier targets, so this is unlikely to be a crime of opportunity. He was picked out. Was it someone he maligned in his previous job? Nick can't blame anyone he dealt with back then for hating him enough for something like this. The only issue is that most of the people he ran afoul of almost certainly couldn't scrape enough funds together to quietly ship someone off to the far side of the planet.
There is always that fraction of a percent, though, the edge cases. Nick's mind shoots back to the investigation where he found a car dealership claiming compensation for 'warranty work' and charging people regardless, a faint memory of an article about how the place was forced to shut down amidst the ensuing legal battle later floating to the surface. The owner certainly had the money, given she owned several other businesses last he checked.
'Figures that I might have gotten shoved into a burlap sack over one of the few things I'm actually proud of from that joke of a career.'
Why the hospital gown, then? Or why not just kill him?
The calls of unfamiliar birds and insects fill the forest around him as he forces himself to take another deep breath. Standing around theorizing, while tempting, would most assuredly get him killed if he keeps it up.
A glint of metal catches his eye, and he locks onto a black lump at the bottom of a tree.
'Now, what have we here? A trap? Something to make this more interesting for them?'
Nick checks over his shoulder, squinting his eyes as he scans the treeline for any movement, for any watchers waiting for him to take the bait. Perhaps it would be bereft of logic to club him again immediately. However, he's not in the mood to take the chance on kidnappers following "logical" behaviour.
Skittering closer like a frightened rat, Nick finds the lump to be a backpack, the steel buckle shining in the early morning sunlight. Casting one last uneasy glance about the small clearing, he digs into the bag, dumping the contents onto the ground.
The first thing he sees is the very same clothes he passed out in last night, but something's wrong. The simple black sweats and shirt are stiff, almost like someone had washed them by hand and left them to dry in the open air. Digging around in his pockets, Nick found his wallet, keys, and... A grin creeps across his face. Victoriously, he draws his phone like Excalibur from the stone!
The smile falls away as he recalls how smart his captors had to be to get him out here. He tries to turn it on, only for the screen to remain stubbornly black. Nick let out a frustrated grunt. Yet more questions without damned answers.
'Did they somehow discharge this without turning it on to avoid being tracked? Why not just dump it, other than to maybe mess with me?'
Nick pulls the case off and turns the device so the cracked and peeled upper back corner faces down. Nothing.
'If they dumped the phone in water for a bit to fry it, I'd expect some water to get trapped inside. Installing something that acts as a tracker but keeps the screen off would be a lot of work when there are easier, less obvious routes. No, it's either damaged in some other, less obvious way or out of power.'
His attention drifts to a tree, and Nick considers punching it a few times to bleed off his ballooning frustration before cursing under his breath and returning to the pile.
A pair of shoes and socks are tucked under his clothes. Notably, they are not his, but they look to be his size. Alongside them, a saran-wrapped ham sandwich, an aluminum water bottle, and a toy Poke Ball sit. Oh, now someone is definitely messing with him.
Is it a message, somehow? A warning that there are dangerous animals around? He sighs deeply, wordlessly checking all the 'gifts' for any tracking device and coming up with nothing, not even inside the damned toy when he popped it open. Why not just dress him if they already undressed him at some point, anyhow?
Still, no time to dawdle.
A harsh cough reminds Nick of his poor, aching throat, and he pops open the water bottle, sniffing it before drinking greedily. Two-thirds of the way through, he forces himself to stop, the thought of not finding more in short order tempering his desire to down the whole thing.
"Right," he says to hopefully nobody, "I'm burning daylight." The ground seems slightly sloped, even if it is subtle. Hopefully, if he followed, it would lead him to a creek? Sure, the ordinary procedure when lost in the woods was to stay in place, but this is not an ordinary situation. It's not as if he has another plan, anyhow.
He quickly dresses and packs the hospital gown away -evidence for later, he tells himself- before setting off downwards. The minutes creep by in silence, punctuated only by distant birdsong, unsurprisingly alien notes setting him on edge. No sign of his captors. No sign of humanity.
'How did they manage to dump me so far out without leaving tracks or a trail?'
A bird calls, closer now, landing on the branch; Nick glances up to see-
"Starly!" The foot-tall brown and white bird croons briefly from its perch, head lowering to preen its wings. Numbly, uncomprehending, Nick stares up at the bird pokemon, jaw slack at the living impossibility a mere few feet above him. There's an underlying level of reality to seeing it in three full dimensions rather than a screen that shakes him, even as it does little more than casually adjust feathers.
"No bloody way," he murmurs, mind short-circuiting as he fights the profoundly illogical idea that he is in another world. No, no, he is definitely hallucinating. Was the water bottle drugged? Did his captors expect him to throw it at random wildlife for their entertainment? No, you can't just target hallucinogens like that. Prompting like the ball might help, but he's sure it needs more than that.
"Star!" It calls out with a trill, gaze upon him, even if it seems still mostly engrossed in its grooming. Intelligence shines behind those eyes to a degree that surprises Nick. Perhaps...
"Excuse me, I'm new around here!" he calls up to the bird, "Do you know where the nearest town is?"
The bird glances at him for a moment longer before returning to preening.
"Can't I pay you with anything? I don't have much on me right now other than a sandwich, but I'd be happy to-"
And at that, the bird's wings flick open, igniting with a bright white energy as it glares down at him. "Star!" the bird calls with a harsh edge, eyes suddenly hard.
"Whoa, whoa, alright, I'm going!" Nick says as he holds up his hands placatingly and starts walking away, keeping it in his field of view but pointedly not making eye contact. In response, the pokemon's wings lose their shine as it settles back down, returning to preening. He hardly blinks until he loses the overgrown pest between the thick, leafy trees.
Letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding, Nick rests his back against a nearby tree, nervously running his hands through his dirty blonde hair. As tempting as it was to write it all off as a hallucination, he can't. If that was all this was, it would have been more likely to call forth a species that actually left a mark on him from those days rather than something he only remembered the name of when it spoke.
At least, he's about seventy percent sure.
He pulls the Poke Ball from his bag, pops it open, and takes a closer look. Despite being razor-thin, the hinge feels surprisingly sturdy when he tests it. Despite looking smooth, the outside was surprisingly grippy, almost as if optimized for throwing. On closer inspection, the reflective panels forming a row on the upper and lower inner halves aren't even any material he recognizes, looking like one-way glass but with the texture of burnished steel.
He humphs before snapping the ball shut and giving it a test throw, sending it spiralling through the air, notably on a spin-filled angle that didn't make sense with how he tossed it. It hits dead on the button, popping open, the interior momentarily flashing with a red light before dimming.
"Ah," he numbly murmurs, picking the ball back up and packing it away. Right.
'Either I'm so far gone that trying to figure out what's real is utterly useless, or, unthinkably, this is real. For now, I have to stick to the former and see where that takes me, as galling as it is. What's the other option? Sit down and chant it's "not real" until I either starve to death or someone comes to kill me for being boring?'
His eyes snap to the treeline again, tensely scanning for any hint of an observer, cameras, or anything. Nothing. Like last time, he is alone but for the still trees and the calls of distant pokemon.
Steeling his will, Nick continues his trek. He ducks under branches. He circles wide around any source of noise. Anything that would make noise with a careless step is carefully avoided, be it dry-looking sticks, loose rocks, or even old leaves from the prior autumn. That Starly might have been merciful, but who knows what else might be in these woods with him? A memory of a particularly gnaw-happy fly trap-esque Carnivine from the old anime comes unbidden to his mind, followed by a traitorous thought of a less friendly one clamping down with hydraulic press might on a stray limb.
He shivers.
Why couldn't they have dropped him off with a knife, at least? Sure, he doesn't expect one to do much against a superpowered weed charging him, but there is comfort in being able to at least do something, never mind the utility of one if he has to survive out here for a while.
He stops, pulled out of his train of thought by the hair on the back of his neck standing straight. Something's wrong.
The forest had gone quiet.
No chirps or distant buzzes.
Momentary peace, enforced by the promise of imminent violence. With great struggle, Nick keeps his composure, surveying bush and branch for signs of predators, for anything and everything that stands out. Pokemon are smart. Showing weakness is likely death if silence means even remotely the same thing here.
He steps back, still scanning for the wild beast, but there is just him and the woods.
'Best to assume it can see me even if I can't see it.'
Every cautious step backward feels like his shoes are full of rocks as he refuses to break eye contact with even the idea of his potential predator.
The grass rustles lightly to his side. Nick freezes. The trees are still. That is not the wind.
He ducks forward just in time to see a purple orb that feels like bubbling hate fly scream past him and sail off into the sky. Glancing over his shoulder as he takes off running, Nick only catches a glimpse of white and red disappearing behind a tree trunk.
Rustling comes from the brush before him, and the man turns sharply to dodge an ambush... but no attack is forthcoming, only an ethereal, echoing giggle that makes his blood run cold.
Nick's pulse thunders in his ears as he runs, frantically trying to dust the mental cobwebs away and root through long-abandoned memories to figure out what he's dealing with, scrounging up some bits of half-remembred insights that might help him survive.
'Some kind of ghost or dark type, perhaps? What the hell is white and red in those types?'
He runs and runs and runs, not stopping even though he ceased hearing his pursuer, dodging between trunks, avoiding slick-looking rocks, every instinct shrieking at him to get further away, but something isn't right; he just can't put his finger on-
Stars swim in his vision as he finds himself face up on the hard dirt, breath crushed out of his lungs by a tree that he somehow didn't see before impact. The tall, imperious pine seems to mock him as he stares up at it, a spot of blood marring where he smashed his skull. Vision blurred and unsteady, adrenaline compels him to flounder to his feet, fingers desperately scrambling for purchase against a nearby trunk to help himself up faster.
Blood drips into his vision from a numb spot on his forehead, although a quick check of his nose reveals that, thankfully, it isn't broken. "What a shit morning," he mumbles as he fights down dizziness and an urge to keel over and let his growing nausea take him, only having enough time to get back upright before another airy chortle sounds from inches behind him.
He has barely enough time to tense before claws carve effortlessly through his clothes, only lightly scratching his back before it pushes him forward, sending him scampering away again.
Whatever or whoever it was could have ended things then and there, but it didn't.
Does it not want to seriously hurt him? Is he merely the day's entertainment?
Thick bramble closes in, and walls rise around him on either side, a gully he has no choice but to sprint into, thick tree cover cloaking all in shadows like a gaping wound in the land hidden, but not erased. Nick skitters over a fallen log as something bounds on branches and old fallen leaves close behind. The rocky ground is rough, giving him no chance to look back at his pursuer, each step a fight to avoid twisting his ankle. Wait- No.
He is being herded.
Ice water pours through Nick's veins as dread threatens to overflow from his gut into his throat like bile. He has to do something, has to get away, but how? Heavy breathing closes in, closer, and closer yet until he can feel it roiling on the back of his neck, dispelling any delusion of merely turning back and darting past his hunter, but what can he do?
There. Rocks, perhaps a bit loose looking, but they are flat enough to act like steps out of this damned trap. Without further thought, Nick hard pivots and darts up them like a squirrel, scrambling up, reaching for the next... until his hand finds nothing, passing right through. He lets out a strangled cry as he falls forward, stone and dirt giving away under his weight and sending him careening down a hill into darkness.
Tough roots and sharp stones batter his weary body as he tumbles down an earthen slope, too late realizing that even that was just a trap laid for him with some manner of arcane power, just a fake escape for the desperate.
'Why should I have expected anything less?'
The man desperately curls up in a ball as he tumbles, desperate to protect himself in any way he can. As Nick rolls further down, his skin is torn and grabbed and punctured by debris, leaving his body a mosaic of red-smeared dirt and fabric as he crashes into the grass at the bottom.
A shuddering cough steals what air is left in his lungs, leaving him wheezing as he tries to get up and run, to do something, but he barely has the strength. His doom should have fallen upon him like an executioner's axe, but it hasn't. Not yet, in any case. Evidently, he still has some torment to go through. Tall trees loom over the clearing -or perhaps crater would be more accurate, with how berms rise around the edges- the only bright light through their dense canopies is a circle dead in the centre where their branches can't reach.
Desperately, he limps towards it, fighting to stay upright as his rebelling body threatens to drag him back down to the ground over each hard-fought inch. Step by step. Second by second. By some mercy, he makes it to the centre, bathed in light yet feeling no less safe than in the depths of the shade. Nick has naught to defend himself with except dwindling hope and an empty Poke Ball as his pursuer finally makes another appearance.
Even then, it seems content to circle and pace out in the dark, the light killing his chances of seeing it beyond vague shapes, disappearing from one side and appearing on the other with but a moment between. Are there multiple? Why is it still playing with him? He is here and right screwed! Fury starts to burble forth.
'I get kidnapped from my home, dropped in a forest, and even the local wildlife wants to do nothing other than play twisted games with me. Un-fucking-believable!'
His limbs shake with barely contained hate. Perhaps it is karma.
'But I was getting my life together, I planned to help people!'
Deep, heaving breaths fuel his fury, and he cries out without thinking, "If you're going to kill me, at least have the balls to look me in the eyes as you gut me, you coward!"
The figure freezes, and Nick can feel its gaze sharpen even through the shade. It can wait until his rant is done. "First, I get kidnapped from my awful apartment! Second, whoever did so saw fit to dump me in the wilderness with a bunch of monsters that aren't real! Then, and here's where you come in: I get harassed and hunted through the woods by some psychopathic critter who won't even show me their face! Do you care that I just had the worst morning of my life? No!" he hoarsely screams into the darkness.
"Pokemon aren't even real back home! Just a product to make money off of!" A hoarse cough cuts through him mid-rant, forcing him to stop to suck down more air before continuing his unhinged tirade, "Do you have any idea how depressing it is to be hunted by some corporate-designed bullshit?" His aching knees give out from under him, and he goes crashing down onto them, but he hardly notices the pain.
"Come on, right here! Big jackass full of bad life choices, evidently a tasty snack for forest monsters!" he calls out, gesturing wildly at himself as he stares down the shadowy figure, "But I'm going to go down swinging, you hear me?" His voice falls towards the end, and he slumps, trying to muster a second wind but coming up empty. Almost as a response, the beast blurs and disappears into the shadows. Nick tenses, awaiting the inevitable, but it doesn't come. His head silently pounds as he waits seconds, then minutes.
Then, the creature returns and quietly plods along the edge of Nick's vision until it is opposite him at the far edge. He grimly muses to himself as it takes its sweet time.
'Perhaps it is honouring my request.'
It struts closer and closer to him. Quadrupedal. White and red. More and more details come into focus as it leaves the shade, and he finds himself staring at a Zorua rather unlike what he remembers from the games, even if the creature is unmistakably one. It bears hard eyes of yellow with snow-white fur wrapping around its neck like a scarf, shifting into pinks and rich reds until it trails off into tips, waving in an intangible breeze. The tuft on top of its white-furred head has a similar gradient, reminiscent of a flickering candle flame, and the same with the tail. The pokemon seems a tad big, though, the tip of its head perhaps even a third of the way up his chest if he were standing.
'Fuck, it's been all illusions from the start, hasn't it? That's why I didn't see the tree and fell through the wall; this was all just one big trap I rushed headlong into. I'm an idiot who deserves what I get.'
He braces for whatever is coming and labouriously lifts his shaking hands into a rather pathetic guarding position, watching the pokemon as it walks up with... a fruit in its mouth? No, that's not quite right.
The oversized Zorua drops the large blue-tinted berry before him as he drums up what it is from a dusty corner of his mind. "An Oran berry?" he says aloud, more to himself than anything else, but getting a nod from the oversized Zorua in return.
He shoots it a suspicious look.
'Why mercy now? Was this all just a game he lost?'
The cuts upon his back throbbed in protest at that laughable guess.
Without much choice, he cups it in shaking hands before biting into it, his face quirking into a confused grimace as his brain stumbles over the taste. It's uncomfortably similar to biting into an apple with no sweetness but a confusing melody of other assorted tastes, almost like someone spliced a dozen species of berries together. The corner of Nick's mouth twitches, thinking about offering to 'share' the rest before recalling the remarkable restorative properties and buckling down, consuming the rest like a child being given cough syrup.
His focus drifts back to the Zorua sitting across from him, evidently quietly observing each bite with what Nick swears is wry amusement.
"If you get your kicks assaulting strangers in the woods and making them choke down medicine, kindly leave me out of it next time," he quips, freezing once he realizes that he talked back to a fox that can clearly kill him.
The only response he gets back is a short vulpine huff that carries the same air as a snicker.
Nick closes his eyes briefly and starts breathing deeply, drawing on the same exercises he had learned years back for exams to slow his racing pulse and give him what he needs now: calm.
"Right," he begins, eyes snapping to the fox, "We can't talk. We can still communicate," he lowers himself onto his rear, crossing his legs and holding out his hands, palm up, "Tap the left for yes, right for no, that work for you?"
The pokemon drifts into thought, leaving him in agonizing silence before it reaches over and gently taps his left with a surprisingly dainty paw.
"Right, so, did you back off because of my story? And you're interested in hearing more?" Nick asks, cutting to the heart of the matter.
A soft tap to his left hand and then one to his right. He jolts, looking at the pokemon only to behold the Zorua looking away with folded ears.
'Looks like I'm not the only abductee.'
The Zorua's gaze drifts to meet his, and the faux flames upon its fur burst into motion. First, the sound of a peaceful forest plays throughout the hollow, then people talking in indistinct voices, underscored with beeping and whirrs, suddenly cutting off into the soft crunching of paws on snow. Nick's eyes widen.
"Wait, wait, does this seem familiar?" he fishes the hospital gown out of his backpack, holding it up for the fox-like pokemon to examine. Silently, the Zorua inspects it for a few moments, leaning in to sniff and- The fur on its back stands ramrod straight, a growl leaving its muzzle, and only quick reflexes stop his one piece of evidence from getting torn from his grasp by a wrathful bite.
"I get it, I get it!" he calls out, pulling the gown further back as the Zorua lunges at it again, "Stop that! This is evidence that will help me find them!" At the mention of finding the perpetrators, the Zorua stops dead, eyes locked onto the clothing. "I woke up wearing that this morning. As narrow of a shot as it might be, this was made by a corporation and sold to someone else. If I can figure out which company made this, who they sold to..." Nick trails off as comprehension lights in the Zorua's eyes, rapidly abandoning fury for a disdainful glare levelled at the fabric that dares impinge upon its space as Nick puts it away.
"Right, now that we're all... friendly," he starts, ignoring the flash of mild annoyance upon its muzzle, "Do you happen to know the way to civilization? I'll get out of your hair and on my way."
The fox mulls it over before turning and walking away, and Nick, without a better plan, follows it beneath the shaded boughs, between two dry ferns, out through a hole under some roots, back into the light and sound of the forest. Nick takes a deep breath of fresh air and savours the sun on his skin, basking in the sounds of the forest. An annoyed huff draws his attention, and he glances down at the Zorua.
"Hey," he holds his hands up defensively, "You were angling to kill me for a moment there. I just needed a moment to appreciate being alive." The fox chuffs and very humanly shakes its head, amusement radiating in waves, before walking off, not glancing back to ensure Nick is following.
Hurrying to catch up, Nick asks, "Wait, you're going to head there yourself with me? You aren't going to just point me there?" The annoyed look he receives in response is like that of a boss who doesn't trust an employee to do anything right.
"You know that if you head into a town, people might try to fight you, right? You are a 'wild' pokemon, after all."
The Zorua pauses mid-stride, a quiet growl crawling up its throat before it falls into silent thought. Spinning around, it darts past Nick and reaches up, snagging teeth into his backpack! Nick teeters, his arms flung wide and wildly flailing as he tries to maintain balance, but all is for naught as he collapses into a pile of limbs at the damned creature's incessant attacks.
"What the hell is wrong with you, you demented-" he cuts himself off the start of his rant mid-shout as he stares up at what the pokemon has in its jaws. The Poke Ball.
It drops the ball in front of his face, and Nick haltingly grabs the object, rolling it uneasily in his palm. "You sure? You know that it means you'll have to at least try to listen to me, yeah?" he asks as he looks up at the Zorua. The only response he gets is a quick illusionary snippet of the same beeping from whatever facility it was held in before and a stern gaze.
Nick chuckles bitterly, "Yeah, I guess that's a fine enough reason." He slowly sits back up, "I'm going to feel weird about just calling you 'Zorua' all the time, though; you want a name?" He drops the Poke Ball on his lap and holds out both hands, "Before I start brainstorming, what gender are you? Left for female-" The Zorua whips forward, nipping his left hand to the sound of a panicked yelp before retreating, holding her head high and pointedly turning away from him.
Nick glares at her before checking over his hand. No blood, just faint toothmarks. "Ow! Fine, point taken," he growls, "Female, I'm sure I can come up with something..."
Her ears perk, and a curious eye is cast over her shoulder at him. Mind churning through potential names, one sticks out to Nick like a lightning bolt in the depths of night.
"Mira?" he says aloud, unsure, "A shortened version of mirage. I figured it fit because, well, you know." The man gestures vaguely behind him to her den.
The Zorua turns around, eyes alight even though she bears a carefully neutral expression, peacefully sitting on her haunches before him.
"Nailed it, right?" His declaration is immediately met with a derisive huff, even if a smile tugs at the edge of her muzzle.
Reaching down, Nick snags the Poke Ball and rolls it around in his hands for a few moments, and, hearing no objections, he presses the button and very lightly tosses it against the Zoru- Mira. A flash of red light fills the forest as she dematerializes, fading into crimson light before getting sucked into the ball, which shuts and drops onto the ground.
It wiggles once before stilling.
Nick wakes with a start, throat dry as the Sahara and gasping for air like a drowning man. Rolling onto his side, his hands instinctually go to his throat, sucking down as much moist air as he can. He chokes on nothing; deep, laboured coughs wrack his form for what feels like an eternity until, finally, mercifully, it tapers off into mere wheezing.
"Just another great morning," he hisses through gritted teeth, voice like sandpaper. Is he coming down with something?
'I'm already behind on studying; if I don't get on cramming more legalese into my skull, I'm going to fail.'
He supposes that he better get up and get some water before he grows himself a lovely migraine. Maybe then he can focus on finishing a chapter before his next shift.
He shifts again, clothes rubbing and the breeze sending a shiver through his form.
'Wait a minute.'
Nick's eyes snap open with a start, jolting upright, a wave of nausea threatening to overtake him as he whips his head around, blurred vision trying to take in everything. Trees. Rocks. Grass.
He's in a forest. Why? How? He looks down at himself, and a... hospital gown adorns his form, which raises even more questions. He must have been kidnapped in his sleep. Why else would he be out here, alone and under-dressed?
Part of him insists that he should panic, run, and shout, but he forces it down with brute will. It bubbles under the surface as his breath grows shallow, threatening to boil over like an ill-watched pot, but stops short. A wave of chill passes through him and his breathing levels. No time to ruminate, though; he has to get a plan and get one now. Eyes tracing up to the canopies, Nick doesn't need his glasses to see something that strikes him dumb. The trees have fresh green leaves. It was fall when he last went to bed. His breath catches in his throat as he unsteadily gets to his feet on shaky legs, cool dew draining the heat from his soles as he staggers, leaning on a nearby tree for support.
He takes a deep breath in.
And lets it back out.
There are two possibilities: either he is in the southern hemisphere or was kept under for the better half a year. A chill crawls down his spine at both. Neither fit, almost like puzzle pieces from two sets haphazardly tossed together. He doesn't feel frail, so that rules out being in a medically induced coma for six months, but who the hell would ship him to the far side of nowhere?
Anyone kidnapping someone from the fifth floor of an apartment complex would need quite a plan to avoid getting caught, not to mention the vast list of easier targets, so this is unlikely to be a crime of opportunity. He was picked out. Was it someone he maligned in his previous job? Nick can't blame anyone he dealt with back then for hating him enough for something like this. The only issue is that most of the people he ran afoul of almost certainly couldn't scrape enough funds together to quietly ship someone off to the far side of the planet.
There is always that fraction of a percent, though, the edge cases. Nick's mind shoots back to the investigation where he found a car dealership claiming compensation for 'warranty work' and charging people regardless, a faint memory of an article about how the place was forced to shut down amidst the ensuing legal battle later floating to the surface. The owner certainly had the money, given she owned several other businesses last he checked.
'Figures that I might have gotten shoved into a burlap sack over one of the few things I'm actually proud of from that joke of a career.'
Why the hospital gown, then? Or why not just kill him?
The calls of unfamiliar birds and insects fill the forest around him as he forces himself to take another deep breath. Standing around theorizing, while tempting, would most assuredly get him killed if he keeps it up.
A glint of metal catches his eye, and he locks onto a black lump at the bottom of a tree.
'Now, what have we here? A trap? Something to make this more interesting for them?'
Nick checks over his shoulder, squinting his eyes as he scans the treeline for any movement, for any watchers waiting for him to take the bait. Perhaps it would be bereft of logic to club him again immediately. However, he's not in the mood to take the chance on kidnappers following "logical" behaviour.
Skittering closer like a frightened rat, Nick finds the lump to be a backpack, the steel buckle shining in the early morning sunlight. Casting one last uneasy glance about the small clearing, he digs into the bag, dumping the contents onto the ground.
The first thing he sees is the very same clothes he passed out in last night, but something's wrong. The simple black sweats and shirt are stiff, almost like someone had washed them by hand and left them to dry in the open air. Digging around in his pockets, Nick found his wallet, keys, and... A grin creeps across his face. Victoriously, he draws his phone like Excalibur from the stone!
The smile falls away as he recalls how smart his captors had to be to get him out here. He tries to turn it on, only for the screen to remain stubbornly black. Nick let out a frustrated grunt. Yet more questions without damned answers.
'Did they somehow discharge this without turning it on to avoid being tracked? Why not just dump it, other than to maybe mess with me?'
Nick pulls the case off and turns the device so the cracked and peeled upper back corner faces down. Nothing.
'If they dumped the phone in water for a bit to fry it, I'd expect some water to get trapped inside. Installing something that acts as a tracker but keeps the screen off would be a lot of work when there are easier, less obvious routes. No, it's either damaged in some other, less obvious way or out of power.'
His attention drifts to a tree, and Nick considers punching it a few times to bleed off his ballooning frustration before cursing under his breath and returning to the pile.
A pair of shoes and socks are tucked under his clothes. Notably, they are not his, but they look to be his size. Alongside them, a saran-wrapped ham sandwich, an aluminum water bottle, and a toy Poke Ball sit. Oh, now someone is definitely messing with him.
Is it a message, somehow? A warning that there are dangerous animals around? He sighs deeply, wordlessly checking all the 'gifts' for any tracking device and coming up with nothing, not even inside the damned toy when he popped it open. Why not just dress him if they already undressed him at some point, anyhow?
Still, no time to dawdle.
A harsh cough reminds Nick of his poor, aching throat, and he pops open the water bottle, sniffing it before drinking greedily. Two-thirds of the way through, he forces himself to stop, the thought of not finding more in short order tempering his desire to down the whole thing.
"Right," he says to hopefully nobody, "I'm burning daylight." The ground seems slightly sloped, even if it is subtle. Hopefully, if he followed, it would lead him to a creek? Sure, the ordinary procedure when lost in the woods was to stay in place, but this is not an ordinary situation. It's not as if he has another plan, anyhow.
He quickly dresses and packs the hospital gown away -evidence for later, he tells himself- before setting off downwards. The minutes creep by in silence, punctuated only by distant birdsong, unsurprisingly alien notes setting him on edge. No sign of his captors. No sign of humanity.
'How did they manage to dump me so far out without leaving tracks or a trail?'
A bird calls, closer now, landing on the branch; Nick glances up to see-
"Starly!" The foot-tall brown and white bird croons briefly from its perch, head lowering to preen its wings. Numbly, uncomprehending, Nick stares up at the bird pokemon, jaw slack at the living impossibility a mere few feet above him. There's an underlying level of reality to seeing it in three full dimensions rather than a screen that shakes him, even as it does little more than casually adjust feathers.
"No bloody way," he murmurs, mind short-circuiting as he fights the profoundly illogical idea that he is in another world. No, no, he is definitely hallucinating. Was the water bottle drugged? Did his captors expect him to throw it at random wildlife for their entertainment? No, you can't just target hallucinogens like that. Prompting like the ball might help, but he's sure it needs more than that.
"Star!" It calls out with a trill, gaze upon him, even if it seems still mostly engrossed in its grooming. Intelligence shines behind those eyes to a degree that surprises Nick. Perhaps...
"Excuse me, I'm new around here!" he calls up to the bird, "Do you know where the nearest town is?"
The bird glances at him for a moment longer before returning to preening.
"Can't I pay you with anything? I don't have much on me right now other than a sandwich, but I'd be happy to-"
And at that, the bird's wings flick open, igniting with a bright white energy as it glares down at him. "Star!" the bird calls with a harsh edge, eyes suddenly hard.
"Whoa, whoa, alright, I'm going!" Nick says as he holds up his hands placatingly and starts walking away, keeping it in his field of view but pointedly not making eye contact. In response, the pokemon's wings lose their shine as it settles back down, returning to preening. He hardly blinks until he loses the overgrown pest between the thick, leafy trees.
Letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding, Nick rests his back against a nearby tree, nervously running his hands through his dirty blonde hair. As tempting as it was to write it all off as a hallucination, he can't. If that was all this was, it would have been more likely to call forth a species that actually left a mark on him from those days rather than something he only remembered the name of when it spoke.
At least, he's about seventy percent sure.
He pulls the Poke Ball from his bag, pops it open, and takes a closer look. Despite being razor-thin, the hinge feels surprisingly sturdy when he tests it. Despite looking smooth, the outside was surprisingly grippy, almost as if optimized for throwing. On closer inspection, the reflective panels forming a row on the upper and lower inner halves aren't even any material he recognizes, looking like one-way glass but with the texture of burnished steel.
He humphs before snapping the ball shut and giving it a test throw, sending it spiralling through the air, notably on a spin-filled angle that didn't make sense with how he tossed it. It hits dead on the button, popping open, the interior momentarily flashing with a red light before dimming.
"Ah," he numbly murmurs, picking the ball back up and packing it away. Right.
'Either I'm so far gone that trying to figure out what's real is utterly useless, or, unthinkably, this is real. For now, I have to stick to the former and see where that takes me, as galling as it is. What's the other option? Sit down and chant it's "not real" until I either starve to death or someone comes to kill me for being boring?'
His eyes snap to the treeline again, tensely scanning for any hint of an observer, cameras, or anything. Nothing. Like last time, he is alone but for the still trees and the calls of distant pokemon.
Steeling his will, Nick continues his trek. He ducks under branches. He circles wide around any source of noise. Anything that would make noise with a careless step is carefully avoided, be it dry-looking sticks, loose rocks, or even old leaves from the prior autumn. That Starly might have been merciful, but who knows what else might be in these woods with him? A memory of a particularly gnaw-happy fly trap-esque Carnivine from the old anime comes unbidden to his mind, followed by a traitorous thought of a less friendly one clamping down with hydraulic press might on a stray limb.
He shivers.
Why couldn't they have dropped him off with a knife, at least? Sure, he doesn't expect one to do much against a superpowered weed charging him, but there is comfort in being able to at least do something, never mind the utility of one if he has to survive out here for a while.
He stops, pulled out of his train of thought by the hair on the back of his neck standing straight. Something's wrong.
The forest had gone quiet.
No chirps or distant buzzes.
Momentary peace, enforced by the promise of imminent violence. With great struggle, Nick keeps his composure, surveying bush and branch for signs of predators, for anything and everything that stands out. Pokemon are smart. Showing weakness is likely death if silence means even remotely the same thing here.
He steps back, still scanning for the wild beast, but there is just him and the woods.
'Best to assume it can see me even if I can't see it.'
Every cautious step backward feels like his shoes are full of rocks as he refuses to break eye contact with even the idea of his potential predator.
The grass rustles lightly to his side. Nick freezes. The trees are still. That is not the wind.
He ducks forward just in time to see a purple orb that feels like bubbling hate fly scream past him and sail off into the sky. Glancing over his shoulder as he takes off running, Nick only catches a glimpse of white and red disappearing behind a tree trunk.
Rustling comes from the brush before him, and the man turns sharply to dodge an ambush... but no attack is forthcoming, only an ethereal, echoing giggle that makes his blood run cold.
Nick's pulse thunders in his ears as he runs, frantically trying to dust the mental cobwebs away and root through long-abandoned memories to figure out what he's dealing with, scrounging up some bits of half-remembred insights that might help him survive.
'Some kind of ghost or dark type, perhaps? What the hell is white and red in those types?'
He runs and runs and runs, not stopping even though he ceased hearing his pursuer, dodging between trunks, avoiding slick-looking rocks, every instinct shrieking at him to get further away, but something isn't right; he just can't put his finger on-
Stars swim in his vision as he finds himself face up on the hard dirt, breath crushed out of his lungs by a tree that he somehow didn't see before impact. The tall, imperious pine seems to mock him as he stares up at it, a spot of blood marring where he smashed his skull. Vision blurred and unsteady, adrenaline compels him to flounder to his feet, fingers desperately scrambling for purchase against a nearby trunk to help himself up faster.
Blood drips into his vision from a numb spot on his forehead, although a quick check of his nose reveals that, thankfully, it isn't broken. "What a shit morning," he mumbles as he fights down dizziness and an urge to keel over and let his growing nausea take him, only having enough time to get back upright before another airy chortle sounds from inches behind him.
He has barely enough time to tense before claws carve effortlessly through his clothes, only lightly scratching his back before it pushes him forward, sending him scampering away again.
Whatever or whoever it was could have ended things then and there, but it didn't.
Does it not want to seriously hurt him? Is he merely the day's entertainment?
Thick bramble closes in, and walls rise around him on either side, a gully he has no choice but to sprint into, thick tree cover cloaking all in shadows like a gaping wound in the land hidden, but not erased. Nick skitters over a fallen log as something bounds on branches and old fallen leaves close behind. The rocky ground is rough, giving him no chance to look back at his pursuer, each step a fight to avoid twisting his ankle. Wait- No.
He is being herded.
Ice water pours through Nick's veins as dread threatens to overflow from his gut into his throat like bile. He has to do something, has to get away, but how? Heavy breathing closes in, closer, and closer yet until he can feel it roiling on the back of his neck, dispelling any delusion of merely turning back and darting past his hunter, but what can he do?
There. Rocks, perhaps a bit loose looking, but they are flat enough to act like steps out of this damned trap. Without further thought, Nick hard pivots and darts up them like a squirrel, scrambling up, reaching for the next... until his hand finds nothing, passing right through. He lets out a strangled cry as he falls forward, stone and dirt giving away under his weight and sending him careening down a hill into darkness.
Tough roots and sharp stones batter his weary body as he tumbles down an earthen slope, too late realizing that even that was just a trap laid for him with some manner of arcane power, just a fake escape for the desperate.
'Why should I have expected anything less?'
The man desperately curls up in a ball as he tumbles, desperate to protect himself in any way he can. As Nick rolls further down, his skin is torn and grabbed and punctured by debris, leaving his body a mosaic of red-smeared dirt and fabric as he crashes into the grass at the bottom.
A shuddering cough steals what air is left in his lungs, leaving him wheezing as he tries to get up and run, to do something, but he barely has the strength. His doom should have fallen upon him like an executioner's axe, but it hasn't. Not yet, in any case. Evidently, he still has some torment to go through. Tall trees loom over the clearing -or perhaps crater would be more accurate, with how berms rise around the edges- the only bright light through their dense canopies is a circle dead in the centre where their branches can't reach.
Desperately, he limps towards it, fighting to stay upright as his rebelling body threatens to drag him back down to the ground over each hard-fought inch. Step by step. Second by second. By some mercy, he makes it to the centre, bathed in light yet feeling no less safe than in the depths of the shade. Nick has naught to defend himself with except dwindling hope and an empty Poke Ball as his pursuer finally makes another appearance.
Even then, it seems content to circle and pace out in the dark, the light killing his chances of seeing it beyond vague shapes, disappearing from one side and appearing on the other with but a moment between. Are there multiple? Why is it still playing with him? He is here and right screwed! Fury starts to burble forth.
'I get kidnapped from my home, dropped in a forest, and even the local wildlife wants to do nothing other than play twisted games with me. Un-fucking-believable!'
His limbs shake with barely contained hate. Perhaps it is karma.
'But I was getting my life together, I planned to help people!'
Deep, heaving breaths fuel his fury, and he cries out without thinking, "If you're going to kill me, at least have the balls to look me in the eyes as you gut me, you coward!"
The figure freezes, and Nick can feel its gaze sharpen even through the shade. It can wait until his rant is done. "First, I get kidnapped from my awful apartment! Second, whoever did so saw fit to dump me in the wilderness with a bunch of monsters that aren't real! Then, and here's where you come in: I get harassed and hunted through the woods by some psychopathic critter who won't even show me their face! Do you care that I just had the worst morning of my life? No!" he hoarsely screams into the darkness.
"Pokemon aren't even real back home! Just a product to make money off of!" A hoarse cough cuts through him mid-rant, forcing him to stop to suck down more air before continuing his unhinged tirade, "Do you have any idea how depressing it is to be hunted by some corporate-designed bullshit?" His aching knees give out from under him, and he goes crashing down onto them, but he hardly notices the pain.
"Come on, right here! Big jackass full of bad life choices, evidently a tasty snack for forest monsters!" he calls out, gesturing wildly at himself as he stares down the shadowy figure, "But I'm going to go down swinging, you hear me?" His voice falls towards the end, and he slumps, trying to muster a second wind but coming up empty. Almost as a response, the beast blurs and disappears into the shadows. Nick tenses, awaiting the inevitable, but it doesn't come. His head silently pounds as he waits seconds, then minutes.
Then, the creature returns and quietly plods along the edge of Nick's vision until it is opposite him at the far edge. He grimly muses to himself as it takes its sweet time.
'Perhaps it is honouring my request.'
It struts closer and closer to him. Quadrupedal. White and red. More and more details come into focus as it leaves the shade, and he finds himself staring at a Zorua rather unlike what he remembers from the games, even if the creature is unmistakably one. It bears hard eyes of yellow with snow-white fur wrapping around its neck like a scarf, shifting into pinks and rich reds until it trails off into tips, waving in an intangible breeze. The tuft on top of its white-furred head has a similar gradient, reminiscent of a flickering candle flame, and the same with the tail. The pokemon seems a tad big, though, the tip of its head perhaps even a third of the way up his chest if he were standing.
'Fuck, it's been all illusions from the start, hasn't it? That's why I didn't see the tree and fell through the wall; this was all just one big trap I rushed headlong into. I'm an idiot who deserves what I get.'
He braces for whatever is coming and labouriously lifts his shaking hands into a rather pathetic guarding position, watching the pokemon as it walks up with... a fruit in its mouth? No, that's not quite right.
The oversized Zorua drops the large blue-tinted berry before him as he drums up what it is from a dusty corner of his mind. "An Oran berry?" he says aloud, more to himself than anything else, but getting a nod from the oversized Zorua in return.
He shoots it a suspicious look.
'Why mercy now? Was this all just a game he lost?'
The cuts upon his back throbbed in protest at that laughable guess.
Without much choice, he cups it in shaking hands before biting into it, his face quirking into a confused grimace as his brain stumbles over the taste. It's uncomfortably similar to biting into an apple with no sweetness but a confusing melody of other assorted tastes, almost like someone spliced a dozen species of berries together. The corner of Nick's mouth twitches, thinking about offering to 'share' the rest before recalling the remarkable restorative properties and buckling down, consuming the rest like a child being given cough syrup.
His focus drifts back to the Zorua sitting across from him, evidently quietly observing each bite with what Nick swears is wry amusement.
"If you get your kicks assaulting strangers in the woods and making them choke down medicine, kindly leave me out of it next time," he quips, freezing once he realizes that he talked back to a fox that can clearly kill him.
The only response he gets back is a short vulpine huff that carries the same air as a snicker.
Nick closes his eyes briefly and starts breathing deeply, drawing on the same exercises he had learned years back for exams to slow his racing pulse and give him what he needs now: calm.
"Right," he begins, eyes snapping to the fox, "We can't talk. We can still communicate," he lowers himself onto his rear, crossing his legs and holding out his hands, palm up, "Tap the left for yes, right for no, that work for you?"
The pokemon drifts into thought, leaving him in agonizing silence before it reaches over and gently taps his left with a surprisingly dainty paw.
"Right, so, did you back off because of my story? And you're interested in hearing more?" Nick asks, cutting to the heart of the matter.
A soft tap to his left hand and then one to his right. He jolts, looking at the pokemon only to behold the Zorua looking away with folded ears.
'Looks like I'm not the only abductee.'
The Zorua's gaze drifts to meet his, and the faux flames upon its fur burst into motion. First, the sound of a peaceful forest plays throughout the hollow, then people talking in indistinct voices, underscored with beeping and whirrs, suddenly cutting off into the soft crunching of paws on snow. Nick's eyes widen.
"Wait, wait, does this seem familiar?" he fishes the hospital gown out of his backpack, holding it up for the fox-like pokemon to examine. Silently, the Zorua inspects it for a few moments, leaning in to sniff and- The fur on its back stands ramrod straight, a growl leaving its muzzle, and only quick reflexes stop his one piece of evidence from getting torn from his grasp by a wrathful bite.
"I get it, I get it!" he calls out, pulling the gown further back as the Zorua lunges at it again, "Stop that! This is evidence that will help me find them!" At the mention of finding the perpetrators, the Zorua stops dead, eyes locked onto the clothing. "I woke up wearing that this morning. As narrow of a shot as it might be, this was made by a corporation and sold to someone else. If I can figure out which company made this, who they sold to..." Nick trails off as comprehension lights in the Zorua's eyes, rapidly abandoning fury for a disdainful glare levelled at the fabric that dares impinge upon its space as Nick puts it away.
"Right, now that we're all... friendly," he starts, ignoring the flash of mild annoyance upon its muzzle, "Do you happen to know the way to civilization? I'll get out of your hair and on my way."
The fox mulls it over before turning and walking away, and Nick, without a better plan, follows it beneath the shaded boughs, between two dry ferns, out through a hole under some roots, back into the light and sound of the forest. Nick takes a deep breath of fresh air and savours the sun on his skin, basking in the sounds of the forest. An annoyed huff draws his attention, and he glances down at the Zorua.
"Hey," he holds his hands up defensively, "You were angling to kill me for a moment there. I just needed a moment to appreciate being alive." The fox chuffs and very humanly shakes its head, amusement radiating in waves, before walking off, not glancing back to ensure Nick is following.
Hurrying to catch up, Nick asks, "Wait, you're going to head there yourself with me? You aren't going to just point me there?" The annoyed look he receives in response is like that of a boss who doesn't trust an employee to do anything right.
"You know that if you head into a town, people might try to fight you, right? You are a 'wild' pokemon, after all."
The Zorua pauses mid-stride, a quiet growl crawling up its throat before it falls into silent thought. Spinning around, it darts past Nick and reaches up, snagging teeth into his backpack! Nick teeters, his arms flung wide and wildly flailing as he tries to maintain balance, but all is for naught as he collapses into a pile of limbs at the damned creature's incessant attacks.
"What the hell is wrong with you, you demented-" he cuts himself off the start of his rant mid-shout as he stares up at what the pokemon has in its jaws. The Poke Ball.
It drops the ball in front of his face, and Nick haltingly grabs the object, rolling it uneasily in his palm. "You sure? You know that it means you'll have to at least try to listen to me, yeah?" he asks as he looks up at the Zorua. The only response he gets is a quick illusionary snippet of the same beeping from whatever facility it was held in before and a stern gaze.
Nick chuckles bitterly, "Yeah, I guess that's a fine enough reason." He slowly sits back up, "I'm going to feel weird about just calling you 'Zorua' all the time, though; you want a name?" He drops the Poke Ball on his lap and holds out both hands, "Before I start brainstorming, what gender are you? Left for female-" The Zorua whips forward, nipping his left hand to the sound of a panicked yelp before retreating, holding her head high and pointedly turning away from him.
Nick glares at her before checking over his hand. No blood, just faint toothmarks. "Ow! Fine, point taken," he growls, "Female, I'm sure I can come up with something..."
Her ears perk, and a curious eye is cast over her shoulder at him. Mind churning through potential names, one sticks out to Nick like a lightning bolt in the depths of night.
"Mira?" he says aloud, unsure, "A shortened version of mirage. I figured it fit because, well, you know." The man gestures vaguely behind him to her den.
The Zorua turns around, eyes alight even though she bears a carefully neutral expression, peacefully sitting on her haunches before him.
"Nailed it, right?" His declaration is immediately met with a derisive huff, even if a smile tugs at the edge of her muzzle.
Reaching down, Nick snags the Poke Ball and rolls it around in his hands for a few moments, and, hearing no objections, he presses the button and very lightly tosses it against the Zoru- Mira. A flash of red light fills the forest as she dematerializes, fading into crimson light before getting sucked into the ball, which shuts and drops onto the ground.
It wiggles once before stilling.