Route of Chill Circumstance:

**Presently** J

I'm almost tempted to buy a car or some sort of normal road vehicle. I sent an email off to the banker who handles my account to go ahead and open a CD with 95% of what's in the account. What's left over is definitely enough to last me until the interest starts accruing, but only if I play it smart, or somehow pick up work despite being barred from the union. I suppose I could technically move to a new town. I'd never entertained the idea before. My hometown is just over there in the suburb by the water. I had to walk to the big city when everyone was taken from me, and start my life out in shelters and pantries.

I rattle my skull, shaking free the thoughts trapping me in reverie. Enough of that. I lived it once already. No need to revisit it brain. Okay? Yeah, brains aren't logical, the things that hit you hard always come back to haunt you someday, some way or another. I draw a heavy shuddering breath and sigh loudly. Right, carry on. What was I trying to think about? Right, transportation, locomotion.

A car is a bad idea what with parking and all the nonsense involved, even a motorcycle is too big. A dirt bike might work, how heavy are they? Wait, am I even daunted by the heft of a dirt bike any longer? Looking around the cityscape, I see a sofa on a curb. A familiar, welcome sight. One that served me well quite some time ago now. Let's try this though. I glance around, glad to be on a side street with no traffic, and bolt across to the other sidewalk, then walk up to the sofa.

Phew, I draw a deep breath and sigh again. Nervous and excited for what the results might be. I carefully drop into a wide stance, bent at the hips, knees, and ankles, and reach my hands under the sofa, feeling for the frame. It's metal, not wood, and there are springs, so it's a pull-out. This is probably stupid of me. I heft the sofa slowly into a curl, and keep it centered at my core as I stand. Effortlessly. What? I cautiously raise the thing above my head. I can tell it's heavy, it definitely puts strain on my muscles, and sinks me slightly into the grass along the sidewalk. Yet here I am, with a freaking pull-out sofa suspended above my head.

Now I'm doing squats, like some sort of gym-rat fitness enthusiast. I think that's what they're called, hopefully that's not offensive. Like, mallrats is a fun movie, and a term for people who hang out at a mall, right? Maybe I should find a fitness friend, like that track coach, and ask them if it's an okay term. I'd have been fine being called a mallrat when I hung around the mall.

Whatever the case, it just doesn't seem real. How? I think I'm even stronger than last night, and I had junk-food last night! My left shoulder begins to twinge and spasm slightly. It's not from the weight of the sofa, just a normal part of my life. Still, now it's far riskier to have this over my head, so I carefully set it down. I realize there had been a mother gawping at me as her small daughter took a picture of me with her phone. They're standing just outside the small fence of our apartment building's courtyard, neighbors of mine.

I blush and avert my face as I wave to the pair. I think the um, crud, I forget their names. Their mailbox is like two down and one over from mine in the apartment building. This is awkward. She knows I do art for a living, we chatted in the elevator once. I didn't necessarily say I wasn't strong, but this is virtually bordering on superhuman for someone with my frame and build. Yeah, I don't have an explanation for this, neither my strength, nor my foolish display of it. I begin jogging northward towards the mountains as I wave behind me. I'm not going to stick around for questions. Especially since news has probably spread that I was just in the hospital.

Bluh, our city is the biggest small-town community there is. Everyone knows most people, and those that you know, know the rest that you don't. I might need to think about moving after all. Heh, that may be a slight overreaction to my embarrassment. Oh well. Let's get a move on. I have no idea how far I can get into the range before it gets dark, let alone what my safe round trip could be. I put on speed, breaking into a sprint, and the blocks fly by as if I were on blades or a bike.

I'm beginning to see how she could break records, and want to deny it, as I leave the occasional bystander with a vacant, surprised expression, in my wake. If she is really like me, if something happened with some sort of monsters, then Pflopsie was right. I mean, either I was, and am hallucinating, or I'm infected with some sort of, I don't know, computer virus, just a beneficial one.

Oh, yeah, speaking about the hallucination after shaving, not even a scab this morning, no scars whatsoever from shaving or my beating at the hands of Kabuterijerk. What am I even supposed to make of that? Something rewrote how I heal? Like, I heal back stronger than I was before, and faster? I know we're cracking the genome and all, but spontaneous DNA resequencing is pure science fiction. It would take some kind of whole-body mutagen or something. Either being submerged in it long enough for every cell to undergo mitosis during exposure, passing on the new DNA code or, or something. I don't know, I'm not a genetics specialist.

There's a sports shop over this way, maybe I should get some padding, and recommendations on any sort of equipment to bring in case I have to do any sort of climbing on my hike. I'll probably get chewed out, told it's too risky for a novice to randomly go free climbing or whatever it's called. Oh well. Better safe than sorry.

I keep checking my phone, and the GPS is weird. It disappears for a time, then reappears in another location, as if Vixi were turning the phone on and off while putting it in a lead box while it's off or something. I huff a sigh, it probably just means I hallucinated everything up until now, and my phone, wherever it is, is just busted, and glitching out.

Stopping by the store yields about what I expected. Chastisement, but upselling and advice regardless. Anything to get the green, as long as your conscience is clean, right? Bluh, stupid economics. Still, the shop owner was surprised when I demonstrated my strength, and sold me on some really snazzy motorcycle leathers with some hefty built-in joint padding. A massive upgrade from my worn-out thrift-store attire. Plus, it's almost like I'm armored at the hips, elbows, knees, and hands. Sure, it's plastic, not metal, or like, fantasy hide-leather, but it's meant to take the brunt of a single fall at high speeds. Generally a horizontal fall, from a motorcycle, but it might come in handy if my footing slips and I catch a ride down a slope, ending up colliding with something. Plus, I mean this helmet certainly restricts my neck movement a fair deal, but is definitely better than getting whiplash.

He said he'd order a moped or dirtbike for me if I picked one from a catalogue, so that I don't have to pay outrageous shipping, so maybe I'll put that order in later. I might still have to get a class M or something, not entirely sure. I didn't want to order it now, then find out I'd get tossed in jail for using it without the appropriate license or something.

Still, I feel fast, ridiculously fast, almost inhumanly fast. Which, okay, humans are pretty slow creatures, all things told, but still! Though, maybe I shouldn't go zooming around on sidewalks at high speed. I could hurt someone. I can't run in the road though, can I? In the shoulder area? I'm trying to recall if I'd ever seen joggers using the bike lane. Hm, I have, but maybe they're not supposed to be there. I've always used the walks and the trails.

Hm, gosh, that GPS loc has to be ten miles into the range. I've made it to the park's main trail that heads inland through the mountains, but ooftah. How am I even going to cross some of these peaks to get there? Worse, the signal can go dormant for a spell, then show up miles away. Why am I even risking doing this? I. I want to see her. Vixi saved my life, and it felt right being close to her. If she's real, she's my only friend.

I guess, I guess I could head into town and try to change that. Stop pushing everyone away. I've kept everyone at arm's length since the "accidents." I'm not entirely convinced yet on exactly what they were, but they were definitely no accidents. I huff a sigh. Am I just being crazy? Am I following hallucinations? Heck, am I even out of the hospital yet? I doff my helmet momentarily and slap myself. Ow! Okay, firstly, ow, if that's a hallucination, well, crap that's strong and painful. Secondly, also ow, I forgot that I seem stronger now. Holy crap. I flex my jaw and rub my cheek before placing the helmet back on.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

This has to be real, right?

**Presently** Rena

I wonder how well Jaku's recovery went. How they're handling life without their studio. How they're analyzing the clues. What they'll do when they understand. My precious partner. The real world has gotten so much more dangerous as more and more digis have been sucked or shunted through the cracks. I'm having such a hard time finding worthwhile opponents. I won't be able to keep up with, let alone match the weregaruru if I don't figure something out soon. I could, no, it's unthinkable. I glance at the most recent soul my chi has ensnared, is helping to return to the digital world with less emptiness. I've never been tempted by such thoughts before. But for the safety of Jaku? For all the people below? Could I? Should I take a darker, forced path? I exhale huffily. No, of course not. There has to be another way.

The Weregaruru has been beating me to other clusters of dark-data-digis, devouring them. I'm afraid of what it might become. I've managed to save so very few digital souls. Ogremon and Devidramon aren't willing to leave their locations to hunt down a foe that can range so far and wide. They stay near their points of entry from the digital world, the cracks are mostly sealed, but the minuscule amounts of data leaking through help satiate their empty digits, keeping them alive. Perhaps I should bide my time at one of their locations, or patrol between the two. Eventually Weregarurumon will come-a-calling. Perhaps together we could defeat it.

Gazing at the phone, having pulled it out for this scant time, I wonder what it's like back home on the plains of my native memory region. I can't directly check, without risking falling back to the Digital World. I don't dare abandon Jaku here. Still, the faint traces of my world are concerning, dropped packets, unmatched hashes, fragmentation. Each coming thick, in waves, disrupting the data-stream.

Regardless, the only thing I can think to do at the moment is to backtrack towards Devidramon to cut Weregarurumon off, since it's heading closer to the city. Despite having finally gotten to meet Jaku, my beloved partner, I almost wish that this was a nightmare instead of reality.

Route of Lugubrious Lachrymosity

**Presently** Jaxi/Viku

Piximon coughs for attention, we turn to gaze their way, and they point to a structure. Its amethyst patterns adorning its slate-gray marble are captivating, but it seems to be little more than some sort of obelisk in the meadow. Still, curious, we approach it. We gaze down at our limbs. Not the ones we expected, but we reach them towards the surface of this monolith regardless. Brushing its patterning, we turn back to Piximon in confusion.

Piximon finally speaks, "That building will open in a few hours, then be closed for a very, very long time. Within it though is a portal, said to take you to where you need to be. Maybe if we're lucky, it will send us somewhere that we can fix this mess, or at least stop it from getting any worse."

We nod at Piximon's wisdom. Hopefully the portal contains some form of oracle enchantment to divine where we need to be. To get strong enough to face this threat. Our Nyaromon companion finally stirs, and we rush to their side. We check them over to ascertain their wellbeing, and they giggle over the fuss.

Nyaro states, "Thanks friend. I'm okay. I'm okay, but, but." As they recall the state of their Ankylomon brethren amongst the plains herd, their words are caught, unspoken. The sadness lingers on the air, and we can do little for them save offer our hand in friendship.

Nyaromon accepts us, our friendship, and all its signals. They pledge themselves, "Whatever you have to do, I'll do it too. I know I can't get them back, not the same, maybe never if their data was eaten. But. But I won't let that happen to anyone else if I can stop it."

We smile at our new companion, "We're glad of the help. Perhaps we can get stronger together. We are sorry that we could not save enough of your uncorrupted data to preserve your Ankylomon or Armadillomon form."

Nyaromon's response is almost comical, "Heck, I'm just glad to be alive. I didn't think I was going to make it. I'm starving though. Hey Pixi, where do we get grub around here? Cats don't eat grass unless you want hairballs."

We bite our lips, stifling a chuckle. Piximon responds by waving to the far end of our floating plateau, saying, "Those clouds lead to a farm with digimeat bushes, apple trees, and a few other bits and bobs. Don't spend too long up there. We can't miss the Portal of Destiny. Hopefully my friends arrive with more, but I'm beginning to fear for their safety."

Nyaromon happily hops away to clamber up the clouds, leaping from one to the next, heading towards some other unseen island in the sky. We turn our attention back towards Piximon however, raising an eyebrow with an unspoken query.

Piximon frowns and rolls their eyes, but relents, "Huff, yes, friends. Eight other Piximon sent to eight other memory regions, different biomes where the same seems to be happening. We didn't quite know what we were heading into, we were unprepared. Still, all of them know about the Portal of Destiny, I can't be the only one that remembers it opens today. I hope I'm not the only one to make it back."

Piximon looks distraught. It's an odd juxtaposition. An immensely powerful, yet tiny and cute digimon, wearing fear, sadness, and grief upon their face. We do our best to sit, still not entirely used to our surprising form.

We express our sympathies, "We're so sorry Piximon. Will you enter the portal if none of your friends show up?"

Piximon nods resolutely, "Yes. I don't believe that any of them are gone, not yet. If none have arrived by the time it opens, I'll just let myself believe they're all late, busy saving too many digis. Believing is powerful magic after all."

We wear a forlorn smile at Piximon's explanation. Belief a powerful magic? We gaze down at ourselves yet again. It certainly seems to be the case. We're certainly as powerful as we believed we'd be, we have access to chi. Yet we're raptor-like. We have a dorsal fin, short arms, a thick-based tapered tail, and far more blue in our patterning than we expected. We're almost reminiscent of a Dorumon, almost. Our dorsal fin might be a pair of vestigial wings fused together, we can't turn our head far enough to gaze upon it. Still, at least we had arms, and chi, when we needed them. Though these arms are not what we expected.

We believe it may have something to do with our human consciousness. They, I, did a lot of artwork of blue dragons, and was wearing blue jeans when I died. We wouldn't normally guess such things could influence evolution, but as Piximon said, what we are is almost unprecedented, especially outside the Digidestined. That, and apparently belief is a powerful magic. Jaku once believed they would be reborn as a dragon after spending too many late nights binging on Isekai anime when sick with fever, in too much pain to sleep. They were delirious, but it was a pleasant enough dream to hold on to.

The Digidestined is a myth passed down in our code like a genetic, ancestral memory. A group of children, and their partners, fated to meet, become paragons of specific virtues, and unite to save the digital world. If it did happen, it was nowhere near this memory region. Still, within the myths are a web of alternate possibilities, rather than eight children, only three or four, and that smaller number somehow combine both the digi, and the human, to reach their ultimate stage of evolution. A sort of biological splice, a DNA digivolution.

As far as we know, all that is only myth, legend, and theory. So few of us digimon ever get to meet our partners. Yet they fill us with data as soon as their minds first alight on the internet. That first spark of fascination, or joy, or curiosity, or wonder, those are what make a digi with a partner. Many more of us spawn without partners, combinations of code, reactions to inputs or calculations all manner of methods for the real world to influence and spawn digimon. Most of them however result in dark-data-digis. Digimon with more zeroes and empty code, always partially fragmented, always yearning for more data as theirs slips away like water through a sieve. There are far, far, far more dark-data-digis than random digis, let alone digimon with partners.

That fact is almost amusing to think about. Over a billion partnered digis, more every day as more humans stumble across the internet for the first time, but all of their activity, business, finance, viruses, games, scripting, all of it gives rise to so many more. Despite not needing to truly breathe in the Digital World, we gasp a breath and heave a sigh. Perhaps our human side affecting our subconscious response to not having been consciously breathing for some time.

Despite all that, despite our confusion, we have a combined underlying excitement. A portal to an unknown destination? A portal to where we need to be? The very idea that the portal is either precalibrated with fate in mind, destinations locked in, in store for destined users to step through is perplexing, bewildering, but awe-inspiring that we are near it. That we would somehow be fated to be stepping through it. Or, even if not fate, if instead the portal somehow is its own entity that analyzes those stepping through, and casts about into the vastness of the Digiverse seeking where they're needed most, or where they most need to be. Divining necessity, out of all possible realities. Either one is a thrill all its own.

We are hungry however, so we may as well join Nyaro on the farm. Perhaps we should get a bag that somehow fits our odd, dorsal-finned form, and fill it with supplies for travel, necessities, in case where we end up is inhospitable. That seems wise, but it also seems unlikely that a pack might be laying around that would suit our needs. Still, as Piximon nervously paces the meadow, gazing at spots that must be key locations in Digispace that link to other realms, we've little else to do but look around.

Hup, hup, hup. These steps are quite a height apart, and the ground is so far below. It's a marvel Nyaro made it without assistance. It's also a marvel we hear nothing from the farm. Oh no. It's quiet, too quiet.