They're friendly, my mind insists. Just go to them.

Even in the chill of the barren zone, my body feels like it's burning from my recent death-defying sprint. I need water, food, and rest, but even though I'm hiding somewhere safe I don't think I'll be able to get any of them.

Of course you're safe. They're friends.

…Because the longer I stay here, the more insistent those voices become. The three horrific monsters know where I am. They've been stalking around the barren zone, and while they seem unable to enter they're certainly able to call out to me with that… I don't know what it is. A charm spell, I guess? Charm spells make someone your friend while Dominate spells directly and completely remove agency from someone, at least in Dungeons and Dragons. What's happening to me reminds me of the former, and by extension the few times I've seen it used in those games and the many times Brendan has described shenanigans involving them. Ultimately, when you think about it, there's not much point in using a charm spell on someone if you plan on killing them. So they probably actually just want to be friends, and I should—Gah! Not this again!

Okay, I need to get out of here. I need to move. Ignoring my painfully protesting body, I get back to my feet and start planning a route. They're faster than me, sure, but so far nothing bad has happened in this barren area, they can't seem to enter barren areas, and there are barren areas absolutely everywhere. As far as I can see (which is admittedly only like fifty feet or so, assuming the human-shaped monsters are human height) the barren areas are interspersed seemingly at random with the normal landscape. Most barren areas are very small, but some are huge and I bet I can take advantage of them to escape my pursuers. It'll be just like a stealth game: the bad guys can't see me as long as I'm in the darkness. I'll clown on these monsters like they're the stupid guards in Metal Gear Solid. Right? Right. Of course. Let's just ignore the fact that MGS guards are AI designed to provide the player a challenge and not actual intelligent creatures designed, presumably, to catch and eat me. I mean, they probably won't eat me. If they wanted food they could just catch more fantasy chipmunks. I bet they just want to be fr—

Agh, no no no! Running! It's running time!

I burst out of the barren zone, skittering as fast as I can to the next largest one close by. One of the monsters cries out and points at me, then all three give chase, rapidly gaining on me until I manage to enter the next barren zone. I keep sprinting straight while my pursuers have to zig-zag, putting a healthy amount of distance between us before I'm out the other side, rushing to the next zone. This is working. I can outpace them this way!

Or at least I could if it didn't hurt so much.

I'm definitely making distance, but the longer I run the worse I feel. I'm not the most athletic person in the world, but I've never struggled this much before. My muscles burn like I've just jogged a mile. I barely have any stamina. Terror is just about the only thing moving my legs at this point. I can't sprint for much longer. If I stop running they'll catch me and I'll die, but I have to stop, but I can't stop…!

I stagger into another barren zone, slowing down to a crawl but resisting the urge to collapse on the spot. I'm burning up. Why? Why am I so weak? I feel lightheaded, insofar as I can feel that way without a head. I'm so hot, I'm too hot. I have to rest. I… I can't breathe.

Wait. That's right. I can't breathe. My body is making a lot of heat when I run but I have no way to cool down. I can't sweat, I can't even pant for air. I'm cold-blooded, I can't thermoregulate without using my environment, and while it's nice and cool in these barren zones my mad sprint for my life is still overheating me. I'm not built for this.

Again, I desperately wish I could scream. If my brain is working well enough to analyze why I'm screwed, maybe it could think of a way to survive this!? Yet thinking too hard about my body only brings attention to how impossible my current situation is, mixes up my legs and makes me worse at running! How am I even moving this naturally? It feels like I've been a freaky ball spider for my entire life. Were those stupid dreams seriously all real? How? What the fuck is any of this!?

Maybe I should go ask my new friends.

I claw at the ground, a wave of panic pushing me to focus. No. Screw this. I just have to keep going. I'm not getting mindfucked by monsters! Again, I start to sprint. Pain wracks through my body, every part of me feeling sick. Skittering out of my safe zone, I'm immediately chased. Why do they keep following me!? Why won't this end? I suppose it can end easily. I could just turn around and be done with this. I could just make some new friends… No! Agh! Get out! Get out of my head! Get out get out get out I need to get away!

The ground grows steeper as I flee, the tundra slowly becoming less plateau and more mountain. This is awful, but it's an awful that works somewhat in my favor. My small size means that going uphill is less of an impediment to me than it is for my huge pursuers. It just doesn't really matter, because I'm dead on my feet. I don't really have a good grasp on what my body's limits are but I am being pushed well past them, every part of me screaming for mercy as my mind starts to get foggier and slower. How long has it been? Hours? More? I don't feel the sun on my carapace when I'm outside a barren zone anymore, which means it's probably nighttime. Another thing that helps me out but doesn't seem to matter. The monsters behind me have slowed down a lot, not really bothering to exert themselves as they stalk me. I'm just forced to flee without rest or food, over and over, as their long legs and the permanent threat of mind magic inevitably catch up with me.

Maybe I'm dying. Wouldn't that be funny? Dying of exhaustion while trying to escape my death. I'm not even running anymore, just staggering painfully forwards. I think… I think I might be starting to pass out. But I can't sleep here. They'll find me. They'll worm their way into my brain while I rest. Or just stab me. Whichever is worse. I have to keep moving. Keep going until they give up. I have to move. I have to. Just… just another step. It hurts. I can't… I can't move.

They're gaining on me. I'm going to die. I'm going to—

Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong.

My eyes shoot open as the school bell rings, signifying the end of second period and the start of lunch. A cold sweat covers my body in a disgusting, sticky film. Wait, how am I sweating? Why am I so heavy? I'm in bed! But I'm at school? What…

Right. Right, right, right. Nurse's office. Human stuff. I'm Hannah and I'm human and as real as that horrible nightmare felt, I… hah. Yeah, no. As I twitch my muscles and get a handle on being me again, I can already tell that there's no way I'm convincing myself that what happened isn't real. There would be no way I could do that even if I wasn't growing claws out of my body, but that's also a thing that's happening. I shudder with stress and pull myself into a sitting position, grabbing my gauze roll and forcing myself to look at my feet again. Still bloody, though they don't feel as wet.

Last I was awake, I had a panic attack and thought I was dying. Then, when I fell asleep, I actually almost died. Perhaps I am dead in the other world. What happens to me if I die there? Do I die here, too? Do the dreams stop? Or do they just get replaced with something else? Perhaps I'll find out tonight.

Perhaps I'll die tonight. There… there really is a solid chance I will die the next time I fall asleep.

I can't keep my hands steady as I peel the bandages off my feet, though fortunately the shaking merely makes the task annoying rather than impossible. My feet are naturally still a bloody mess, but they don't ache as badly as they did when I passed out and the blood seems to be drying. The claws are obvious now, curved and prominent. Flexing my toes only elicits a dull ache, as does prodding at the base where they connect to my flesh.

The claws have entirely replaced my toenails, but they aren't mere extensions to the nails themselves. Thick and talon-like, they have grown to encompass most of the end of each toe, the sharp, thick bone protruding like a horn and curving down to claw at the ground. I take an experimental step, and a resounding click echoes in the room as my feet scrape at the porcelain flooring. I glance hesitantly out the small window in the door, seeing the nurse still buried in other work. I need to be careful. If anyone walks in here now, the freakish mutation will be obvious.

…Also the blood. I should really clean them. Keeping an eye on the nurse, I get up and rifle through the nearby cabinets, most of which are locked but one of which thankfully has some alcohol swabs. I shamelessly steal them and start to wipe my feet clean, yet another task made frustrating but not impossible by my shaking hands. There's only one way in or out of the room, and I'm positioned carefully on the bed so that the blankets are poised to block the view of anyone coming in through the door. My now-clean claws are both more and less horrifying to look at than my bloody ones, a pristine ivory white that contrasts even the relative paleness of my skin. They are undoubtedly real, undoubtedly talons, and if not for how much worse my recent experience as a radially symmetrical spider monster was, I'd undoubtedly be having a second panic attack right now. Instead, I only feel that classic full-bodied tension that borders on the edge of painful with how tight all my muscles are. Just thinking about my dream pumps my body full of adrenaline, making me feel jittery and frayed. I'm also starving, which no doubt compounds the issue significantly.

I guess I should probably go get some lunch.

My cleaning done, I bandage my feet back up in case the scabs break, put my bloody socks back on, and put my shoes on over them. They don't fit right anymore, thanks to the extra half inch or so of bone jutting out of the end of my toes. Even worse, putting any pressure on my foot causes the talons to poke through the bandages and socks, digging into the sole of the shoe. It's a horrifying, alien feeling that feels equal parts terrifyingly impossible and worryingly pleasant. Little tingles crawl up my toes as my claws dig into something soft. That's… you know what, I'm just not going to think about that.

I napped through the entirety of second and third period, so while I feel jumpy and stressed I am at least no longer exhausted. I politely thank the nurse, still angry at her for not wearing a mask during a pandemic but also undeniably thankful that she was around when I had that… panic attack. Even if it's painfully embarrassing to have been seen like that. She once again asks to look at my feet. I insist that they're no longer bleeding (which is true, at least for now) and that it's nowhere near as bad as it looked (which is true, because it's worse). I'm certainly not going to tell her or anyone else that my friggin' feet are growing dinosaur talons because that just seems like a one-way trip to being prodded at by strangers with less respect for consent than they have for science. Science is cool and all, but not if I'm the experiment. Especially since whatever's happening to me is obviously supernatural.

It's frustrating. I know some people that would squeal with delight if they started growing claws out of their feet. Being a huge nerd means that a big chunk of my social circle is firmly in the 'fantasy is way cooler than reality' camp, and I know a lot of them would think that this is cool as heck. And I get that, really, I do. I've wished to be whisked away on a magical adventure more than once in my life. I love fantasy stories, including urban fantasy. There's one particularly dangerous element of urban fantasy, though: there's a reason normal people think the magic isn't real.

In World of Darkness, werewolves literally drive humans insane whenever they transform, causing all witnesses to have a temporary psychotic episode they don't remember. And that's probably the kindest secret-keeping method. Vampires systematically slaughter any of their own kind that reveal their nature along with anyone that nature is revealed to. Mages friggin' explode if too many normal humans witness them breaking physical laws. And World of Darkness is obviously just one of many examples, because every urban fantasy has examples, because if something is real but most people think it's fake, it means the information is being actively suppressed. I am either entirely unique on Earth, the first of my kind in recorded history (which is statistically unlikely), or I'm part of a group so invested in keeping themselves secret that not even I know about them, and I can expect someone or something will be extremely miffed with me if I go public.

…I swear, if my dad has like, kitsune blood or some dumb crap like that I will blow a gasket. Now I'm imagining my parents throwing me a little private party celebrating my toe-hatching day, inducting me into their secret cult now that I've come of age or whatever. Except that 'parents don't tell their children that they might turn into monsters, even though this is a known possibility' is dumb tropey bullcrap that only makes it more likely that the secret will get out because the kid (i.e. me) will have no idea what to do when ding dang claws start growing out of their feet and will react badly, possibly publically. My parents aren't dumb enough to make that kind of mistake, so it's probably safe to assume they don't know anything.

And even if they do, I don't want to talk to them about this either way.

As I absentmindedly walk towards the lunch room, still limping to keep the pressure off my toes, I run into a rather impatient-looking Ida.

"There you are!" she grumbles at me. "Geez, I thought you were gonna ditch me. We're running out of time, you know."

I blink with confusion.

"H-huh?" I ask.

"Uh, you promised to go out to eat with me today?" Ida presses. "Remember? We're not gonna have time to drive somewhere if you keep dragging your feet, slowpoke."

Oh. Right. She ticked me off in order to win ten dollars. Man, that feels like days ago. Well, I'm absolutely freaking starving and she agreed to pay. That counts for a lot. A school lunch will not fill me up. On the other hand…

"I'm pretty sure I'm on the edge of a mental breakdown, Ida," I tell her. Another mental breakdown, technically, but she doesn't need to know that.

"So… like pretty much always?" she asks, grinning at me.

I glower back at her.

"No," I gumble. "Much worse than usual."

"Oh," she says, deflating a bit. "Alright, Hannah. I'll be gentle, promise. Just good food and good company, no shenanigans."

I glower harder.

"...No shenanigans directed at or nonconsensually involving you," she corrects herself.

Hmm. Much more believable.

"Swear on your true name, you little goblin," I grunt at her anyway, mostly for my own amusement.

She sighs dramatically, bringing a hand up to rest over her heart as she solemnly recites her oath.

"I, Ida Miranda Kelly, do solemnly swear on my name and my blood that I shall neither cause nor allow the occurrence of shenanigans, tomfoolery, goonishness, horseplay, trickeries, or deceptions which would target nor involve Hannah Banana Hiiragi, my stalwart friend and fruit, for the duration of today's lunchtime outing."

I continue to glare. She smiles innocently.

"Good enough," I say, and we depart for her car, an admittedly fancy-looking four-door… or at least fancy to me, as I pretty much think any car that looks new and clean is fancy and have zero understanding or interest in them beyond that. We exit the parking lot and rocket down the main road, Ida having no interest in pedestrian concepts such as 'speed limits,' 'safety,' or 'the law.' At least she wears a seatbelt. She's reckless, not moronic.

Though I wish she (along with 95% of my school) would wear her dang mask properly. She has one, but she doesn't usually have it on.

We don't speak as the car roars down the road. Ida sings along with the radio a little, which is almost as annoying as the radio itself, but overall it's not too bad. We eventually park and walk into Wendy's and Ida's eyes bulge comically when I order three baconators. She waits until we sit down before saying anything, though from the strange looks I'm getting I suspect I'm not about to like the conversation that's about to happen.

"So, uh," Ida says slowly. "I'm gonna have to do the good friend move here and ask if you have an eating disorder, I think?"

Oh. Well, that's awkward but not too bad. Honestly, this kind of thing is why I tolerate Ida's… abrasive nature. She's just as willing to plow headfirst into uncomfortable subjects whether they're for or against you. I manage a bit of a smile.

"Ah, no, I'm not binge eating," I tell her honestly. "Or… anything else like that. Thanks for checking. I'm just really, really hungry right now, and you're paying, so I figure if I have leftovers I'll just save them."

"Okay, but like, eating three burgers in one sitting cannot be healthy for you. Won't this eventually give you a heart attack?"

I stiffen, my mind suddenly flashing back to the panic attack. My chest hurt so much. I thought I was dying. My hands start shaking again.

"...Hannah?" Ida asks, leaning forward a little. "You okay?"

"I… I already told you that I'm not," I say, turning away from her intense gaze. "Just don't talk about heart attacks, okay?"

"Did something happen in your family?" she asks.

The question takes me by surprise. No, of course nothing happened to my family? Why would she… oh, I see the train of logic now. Heart attacks usually happen to older people.

"No, they're all fine," I insist, perhaps a bit forcefully. "Can we talk about something else?"

Stolen novel; please report.

"Fiiiine," she sighs, leaning back. "I suppose I'll be your escapist fantasy for the day. What would you like to talk about, Hannah Banana?"

"How do you manage to be so abrasive while also trying to be kind?" I ask, narrowing my eyes a little.

"An intensive daily training regimen," she answers immediately. "And also, wow, I give you leave to talk about anything you want and you pick me? I'm so flattered! Are you sure you're not gay?"

I can't help it, the question prompts me to give her an instinctive once-over. Even as a tiny little evil pixie creature, I can't deny that Ida is attractive. Her skin is clear and soft, her makeup is flawless, and while she's not some kind of comically stacked short girl she has some very nice curves for her height; no one would mistake her for a child, even as short as she is. Years ago, back when puberty was first starting to hit us like an entire subway system with broken brakes, I stole a few regret-filled opportunities to peep on her like an absolute creep. Which probably should have been a pretty big hint that yes, I am extremely gay.

But I'm also extremely in the closet, and awful gross garbage I did when I was eleven that gives me an urge to scream if I so much as think about it does not make me any more inclined to come out. Especially not to Ida, because she's an incorrigible gossip and, despite her attractiveness, I very firmly do not want to date her anymore. I'm quite certain that would go poorly for both of us.

"Lay off it, Ida," I growl.

"Aw, man!" she complains. "Does questioning your sexuality count as a shenanigan?"

"Yes!"

"Well, shoot. I guess I owe you another lunch, then."

Another point in the 'Ida is a fae creature' column: she keeps her promises, both in spirit and letter. Or at the very least, she takes them seriously and actually makes up for it when one is broken. It's another thing I like about her.

I guess, given recent events, it's not outside the realm of possibility that she actually is a fae creature. I don't think that's particularly likely; it's a common joke I make but there are plenty of counter-examples. I guess I'll keep an extra eye on it, though. I grew talons so all bets are off.

…Holy fucking shit I grew talons. My heart rate spikes just thinking about it. I want to vomit. Fortunately, my stomach loudly vetoes this idea, and when the food arrives I quickly devour all three burgers to Ida's clear discomfort. Just keep going, get through the day, and try not to think about it until there's something I can actually do about it.

"Don't look at me like that," I grumble as I start on the fries. "It's not my fault your stomach is the size of a lima bean."

"You're barely any bigger than I am!" Ida protests. "Forget health concerns, where are you physically keeping all that!?"

I open my mouth to answer, then close it. That's… actually a question I don't really want to think about. I'm probably using it to fuel my horrifying monster transformation, after all. I start shaking again, feeling pressure build up in my chest, but I take some deep breaths and try to calm back down. I feel my claws gouge deeper tracks into the inside of my shoes, which sort of helps me calm down but also really, really doesn't.

"...We should probably get back to school," I mutter quietly.

"Yeah," Ida agrees, giving me another concerned look. "Okay."

We make the drive back in silence, though Ida turns to me as soon as she parks.

"Hey, I get that you don't want to talk to me about stuff," she says. "I'll just want to scream and shake it all out of you, which you clearly don't vibe with. But talk to somebody, okay? Like your not-boyfriend or whoever. You're putting up more red flags than a first-act Marvel villain."

I glance at her with surprise.

"I didn't know you read comics," I say, slightly dumbfounded.

"I don't!" Ida groans. "I watch movies! You absolute nerd!"

I wrinkle my nose. I guess the movies aren't bad, but the comics are better. Well, okay, the good comics are better. Which is definitely not all of them. But still.

"I appreciate the concern, I guess," I tell her. "But honestly, I don't even know where to start talking."

"Then start anywhere," she grunts, hopping out of the car. "Come on, Hannah. You used to be so clever and fun! That's why we became friends, you know? You were witty as shit and I loved it. But all semester you've been getting more and more closed off. You barely talk to anyone anymore. You're obviously depressed as fuck. What happened?"

"Nothing happened," I tell her.

"Bullshit."

"No it isn't!" I snap. "Nothing happened!"

Wait, no, something obvious and huge and awful and horrifying happened. It's just not what we're talking about.

"...Okay, something happened today," I correct. "I ended up spending gym class in the nurse's office. But like, nothing happened that ruined my semester, okay?"

"Then why are you so fucking miserable all the time?" Ida presses.

"I don't know!" I shout. "I have no earthly idea, Ida! My parents are annoying but not anything worse than that! My brother is the same as always, my dayjob is going well enough, I'm not struggling in any of my classes, and I'm making more and more money with my business! By all accounts, my life is fine. Great, even! I literally can't think of a single tangible complaint!"

Other than horrifying and possibly deadly monster problems, but those are all too recent to have contributed to the current trend. Because Ida is right, I'm kind of miserable. I've been miserable for a long time and I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it.

Ida looks me over one more time and sighs.

"Just talk to Brendan, okay?" she says. "Or preferably a therapist, but I know better than to push you on that. I know we're not besties or anything, but I still worry."

"Wow," I answer flatly. "Real human emotion coming from the evil goblin. I'm touched. …In the head, probably."

Ida beams with glee.

"Yeah! See, that's more like it! Talk to you later, Hannah Banana!"

I wave goodbye, letting myself smile a little. She did it again, huh? I wanted to punch her in the face just a couple hours ago. Or maybe a day ago, depending on how you count horrifying dream world time.

I hate to admit she's right, since I don't want to talk to anybody about any of this. But she's totally right. I have enough self-awareness to know that things will get much, much worse if I try to handle everything all on my own. I just really, really don't want to freak Brendan out or accidentally put him in danger or anything like that. I'd never be able to forgive myself.

…But that would go against our Best Friend Code. If Brendan started growing talons and turning into a spider monster in his dreams, I would want him to tell me about it even if it would put me in danger somehow. Therefore, I should tell him. (The Code is also why he's the only person who knows I'm a lesbian. He was a bit disappointed at the revelation, but to be fair I actually took it way worse. I almost tried dating him anyway, but he said no.)

The rest of my classes pass me by as the stress of fleeing for my life fades into a much more familiar existential dread. I suppose if dying in the other world was going to kill me in real life, it would have happened by now. I just have to worry about the claws, and more importantly I have to worry about explaining to Brendan that I have claws. I successfully manage to avoid him for most of the day, but when we get on the bus together I know my time has run out.

"So…" he prompts. "Your feet?"

Ah yes, that classic Brendan subtlety is on display.

"Can I tell you tomorrow?" I ask desperately.

"Sure," he answers immediately.

Oh. Huh. I didn't expect that to work. Tomorrow is Saturday, so I'll have a lot more time to explain everything. I have my other job today, after all, and it's important I don't drop a huge bomb on Brendan like this without having enough time to actually let him process it. So this isn't really running away from the problem, when you think about it. I'm actually being responsible!

Satisfied with my obviously terrible self-justifications, I enter my home with my head held high and my guilt cutting deep. I successfully dodge my father on the way to the bathroom, ripping my shoes and socks off and noting with relief and a bit of surprise that the new bandages aren't bloody. I remove them as well, swallowing with horror as I give my new toes an experimental wiggle. They, uh, they look really sharp.

I want to claw something.

I shiver at the thought. It feels alien, but not really in the same way that the awful mind control monsters did. When they invaded my head and stuck their own thoughts in there, it felt… I don't know. Insidious? Like something was nudging my mind around to think in certain ways, and I could only tell it was wrong because those thoughts didn't make sense. I couldn't justify them to myself, and I am really good at justifying things. This, however, is the opposite. It feels like something someone else stuck in my head and forced me to think, but it's not. It's me. And I'm not sure if that's worse.

I put new bandages on even though the old ones were still clean, then sneak out of the bathroom to grab fresh, thick socks. My feet still look slightly weird, but with all the layers in the way they're not too bad. Then I hand wash my old socks in the sink, break a red highlighter pen all over them and my pants, then drench them all in Spray 'n Wash to disguise the stains as best I can.

I grin at my handiwork. I'd stick it in the washing machine as well, but I think it needs a bit more handwashing or else it'll ruin the other clothes, and if I wash it by itself my mom will definitely ask questions. By leaving it stained, properly soaking, and out in the open, my mom will come to a conclusion about what happened without needing to talk to me at all. It is truly the perfect crime.

Now, onto work. My earlier sobbing session didn't mess up my makeup as bad as I'd feared, but I still get some touch-ups on it after changing into a slightly lower-cut top. Something horrible is happening to me. When I go to sleep, I might wake up as a mind slave, or just straight-up dead. My body is mutating into something alien and I have no idea what the cause is. I am embroiled in insane fantasy nonsense which could very literally be the death of me, or worse.

But it's Friday night, dang it. I'm gonna play Pokémon and no one is going to stop me. Not even my constant need to feel like I'm being productive. Door: closed. Lights: on. Outfit: cute. Room: clean. Potential methods of doxxing me: removed. It's go time.

"Welcome to the stream, everybody!" I say into the camera with an exuberance I don't really feel, and my second job begins.

I am a professional streamer. Technically. Obviously, I still have another job because I'm not making enough money to support myself with just this, but it's a nice little supplement to my paychecks. And legally, I do this with the intention of making an income, and therefore it is a business! My mom really hated it when I said that. She thinks it's awful, dangerous nonsense because the internet is full of predators and video games rot my brain, but she hasn't explicitly forbidden it and that's good enough for me. No one bothers me when my door is closed and the recording sign is up, either, so it's one of the better ways to not be annoyed by family members as well.

So I start to play! I'm currently doing a basic runthrough of Pokémon Legends: Arceus, trying to complete the 'Dex and occasionally experimenting with interesting glitch opportunities in hopes of throwing the speedrunning community a bone. Unfortunately, Legends uses a strict flag system that makes finding time-saving bugs a major hassle, so I doubt I'll find anything good. Still, it passes the time, and I get to banter a bit with my modest chat as I play one of my favorite games. It's nice.

I don't have a ton of followers, but I'm steadily growing and that gives me some vain hope that someday I might. Streaming is a job, sure, but unlike my other job I don't hate it. Being able to do something I don't hate and make money off of it is supposed to be the dream, right? So here I am. I mostly do Pokémon stuff, which is a bit of a saturated market, but I'm good enough at the game to hold the attention of the type of person that obsessively browses Twitch for new Pokémon streamers, and also I have breasts, so that already puts me ahead of most of my competitors. But not all, obviously, and I'm really struggling to find something that sets me apart from the pack. I'm definitely not interested in playing up the sexy girl angle and catering to the horny crowd; I recognize that boobs selling products is a fact of life, but I have no desire to emphasize that. Power to all the ladies that get their money that way, but I'm just here for the silly little Nintendo games. The creeps I already get are way, way, way more than enough, thank you. I very much do not find that kind of attention flattering.

So that leaves… what? Challenge runs? It's a good idea, but the kind that's so good everyone already does it. Fangames? That makes it harder to get an audience before you're already established because no one knows what the heck Pokemon Blaze Black 2 Redux is. Having a winning personality? Ha. Funny joke. Maybe I should just rip something up with my claws on camera.

Maybe I should just rip something up with my claws on camera.

Agh, I mean, that would work. But also heck no. Geez, me, 'no showing feet' was an ironclad rule before I started mutating into something horrifying and inhuman and dang it that's a thing that's happening to me, why why why?

Ignore it. Play the game. Banter with the chat. Relax. Relax you moron! Relax before you have another panic attack like the weak little freak you are and your heart explodes! You're doing something you love, Hannah! You're making an income and securing your future, Hannah! You're doing everything you're supposed to be doing, Hannah, so why aren't you relaxed!?

I resist the urge to shudder, feeling my feet curl up, easily piercing my bandages and socks to rip gouges into the carpet. Ignore that. I'm on camera. I've been quiet for too long. I need a topic of conversation.

"Does it bother anyone else," I begin, "that none of the official Pokémon games ever really talk about what the Pokémon experiences when they evolve?"

I get a handful of answers from the chat, mostly agreement. The big paragraphs of counterpoints will no doubt be arriving in the next minute or so. I press on with my rambling anyway.

"I mean, it's sort of touched on here and there," I continue. "But think about it. Imagine being a Pokémon and suddenly getting wrapped up in golden light or whatever as your body rapidly shifts into something completely different. You might grow new limbs, or maybe lose old limbs! And it all happens so fast! It must be terrifying for the poor things, don't you think? It's always portrayed as the newly-evolved Pokémon being awesome and kicking butt, like… woo, Charizard! Look at how cool Charizard is, he's flying around! How did he even learn to fly, though? Is it just all instinct? And if so… don't you guys think it would be terrifying to just suddenly have new instincts? To find yourself moving completely differently from how you've ever moved in your life, but still feeling natural? To be twice as tall as you used to be but never stumble? To just instantly be something completely new but being okay with that?"

I clench my toes again. I'll have to hide the carpet damage somehow. I don't care.

"I think that's terrifying," I say. "Do you think that's why they made evolution postgame-only in Pokémon Mystery Dungeon? To ignore how traumatizing it would be for everyone? They used amnesia to get around the trauma of the original change. Personally, I think more Pokémon games should have trauma in them. It'd be helpful! Teach kids early how to manage PTSD!"

It sure would be handy if I knew how to do that!

My mom has a strict time limit on how late I'm allowed to stream, but I willfully ignore it. The idea of going to sleep is impossible for me. It's too terrifying. If it was just a nightmare, maybe I could work up the courage to do it anyway. But the insanity of my life is real, as far as I can tell. It's real and the moment I pass out I will return to that horrible world of torture and fear. I can't bring myself to do it. I can't.

But I can't stay awake forever, either.

I wouldn't exactly describe myself as a morning person, but I'm definitely not a night person. Staying awake is very difficult for me. So as the early morning starts to pass and birds start singing in the pitch darkness of 4am, I feel myself fading. I can barely talk to the stream anymore. If I don't shut it off, I'm going to pass out on camera. So I sign off for the night, thanking everyone that stuck with me to the end.

It might possibly, actually be my end.

I'm tempted to go chug some energy drinks and try to stay awake forever. I'm tempted to text Brendan goodbye, to ramble into his phone while he's unconscious and cry about how I might be dying the moment I close my eyes. But instead of doing any of those things, I just fall onto my bed and pass out.

Then I wake up, and everything hurts.

There is only pain. My muscles burn. My breath is gone. I'm on fire from the inside. I'm sick. I'm delirious. My death is right behind me.

They've only progressed a little from what I remember. What… what happened? Did I only pass out for a moment? Did I experience over twelve hours on Earth while barely a few seconds occurred here?

No time to think about it. My body feels like it's about to explode but I still struggle to twist my legs, start standing again, start to move…! Slowly, agonizingly, I stand up, take a single step, then tumble to the ground. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts. I can't go on. I can't. I should just give up and let my new friends help.

No! No, no, no! I have to move! I have to, except my body won't let me! If I keep trying, I might get irreparably damaged. My new friends wouldn't want me to be hurt. My friends are coming. It'll be okay. My friends are going to help. My friends. My friends…

I cough up a foul-tasting mix of bile and blood. I don't have any friends in this horrible, terrifying world. But fine. I'll wait. I expected to die anyway.

The monsters catch up to me. My friends are concerned. Fuck them. I want to scream at them, claw at them, hurt them, kill them! My legs twitch in desperation, but there's no way I'll be able to stand up. Instead, following some wrathful instinct, I rub the serrated edges of two legs together, and a furious hissing noise erupts from them like a demonic cricket's chirp. That seems to startle the monsters. Ha. One last lick before I die. I hate all of this so, so much.

The most human-looking of the new friends leans down at me, and I know he won't ever hurt me. Except I saw him hurt something this way, I know he did, I am stronger than you, you monster! You might take my life but you won't take my mind! He reaches out a hand and I hiss again. It hurts to even make that much movement, but it's worth it to make him stop. I don't want him to touch me. Just kill me, damn you! I'm already helpless, what more do you want!?

But no, he keeps reaching forwards. A horrid sense of foreboding washes over me, but there's nothing I can do to prevent this. His hand touches my carapace, and—

It's okay because he doesn't want to hurt me. He is a friend. He is sorry. It is okay. He has water. He has food. It is okay.

Ah. I'm safe, then. I start to relax immediately, but the feeling is so foreign to me that I jolt back to sanity.

It's not okay! I roar into the recesses of my own mind. I just got chased all the way across who knows where by a bunch of horrifying monsters! I just got fucking persistance hunted ninety percent to death! I hate you! I HATE YOU!

The monster touching me (who is not my friend) goes still. Not counting his hideous internal organs, of course, but I try my best not to pay attention to those. He doesn't remove his hand, though. Instead, my mind suddenly has a very different stray thought from every one prior.

Wait, I think to myself. Did you just communicate with words?

Huh? What? Oh my fucking god. No. Fuck no!

Yes I can communicate with words! I think as loudly as I can. I'm a person you absolute fuck! What is wrong with you!?

He seems distressed. Even more anger starts to bubble up inside me. I cannot believe this. This is so stupid.

Leaves and branches, I am so sorry, my mind thinks to itself.

Go die in a horse's asshole! I think back.

The freakish, twisting monsters glance at each other, then back to me.

We would like to give you some food and water first, at least?

He… he wants to… gah! I hate this! I hate everything! But I'm in so much pain I can't even move. I'm starving. I'm dehydrated. My tormenter is offering to help me, and ultimately I can't afford to say no, no matter how much I want to. If I just chase them off, I'll die. Plus, something in his backpack smells really good.

…Dang it. It's always the food that gets me.

Yeah, okay. I say, and the monsters break bread with me.