Fighting 3.2: The Truth
Cuicatl
[00:00:00]
[HUNGER]
The Voice crashes into your skull like a cannonball. Everything else, all those tiny little thoughts and feelings and dreams, gets compressed and pressed out, bleeding through every square inch of skin. You hug your legs and arms to your chest and curl your fingers and toes but it still feels like you’re a human-shaped sieve.
[Alarm!]
Another Voice, much softer but no less fierce, joins The First. The roar shifts from pure hunger to a mix of desires.
[Refusal]
The denial is ignored. There are other voices around you. Smaller. Filtered through your ears. Irrelevant voices. Voices calling for someone who no longer—
*
You wake up. Sort of. Sounds run at the edges and the heavy hand of sleep is trying to drag you back down.
The air is dry. A man is pacing, his heavy steps echoing off the walls of a large room.
“We found her out in Haina Desert. Going by her…” He says some science-sounding bullshit. Even if you weren’t halfway unconscious you might’ve fallen asleep.
You slip into sleep for a moment before coming back.
A second person is talking. He sounds like he doesn’t care. Doesn’t want to be there.
“And will he come for her, if he knew?”
“No.” The first man, sounding earnest and serious with a really thick accent speaks again. Accent. Ugh. Your gift isn’t filtering things. “I watched as his heart stopped. I watched as his body burned. I watched as his bones were buried. He’s dead. I made sure of it.”
“And the kid?”
Words blur together. And stop. And start again.
“She had six balls on her. Apricorn-derived, so no records. All broken. No pokémon to talk to. Can’t find her in any of our databases.”
The bored man scoffs. “No pokémon? Real lucky she survived then. Especially since she’s...fuck…ing…
…where…were…you…
…who…are…
“MRI showed that as a long-time injury. The rest will heal with a blissey and time.”
“And how long was she in there?”
“Almost three months.”
“Shit.” The man kicks something. It skids across the rock before coming to a stop. You want to get up and look. But you can’t move. Or see. Why can’t you see? Why would you…
What is…
…sight…
“…BASTARDS!”
A woman. Furious. Her words buzz and sting at the edge of your mind.
“Please, it’s all a misunderstanding. Just calm down…”
“I told you, I was the last person you made into your little doll.”
“Tapu Lele, can you knock them out?”
“Oh, fuck you—” There’s a surge of something in the air. She shuts up. Her body falls to the ground.
“Thank you.”
“Think she told anyone where she was going?” The bored man asks.
“Her alakazam, maybe.”
{I can reason with him,} another voice projects in a way that doesn’t sound real. {Or wipe his memories.}
“Thank you. That would help.”
The bored man sighs and resumes pacing. “They make some good points, y’know? There’s a reason they’re your boss and all.”
“There are unique circumstances.”
“There ever not been ‘unique circumstances?’”
“Are you going to tell?” The first man asks, a threat loaded just below the surface.
“No point. You’ll fuck yourselves over in the end, anyway.”
“Thank you.”
“Out of curiosity, what are you going to do with the apricorns?”
“I was going to destroy them so that they wouldn’t find out.”
“No.” He stops pacing. “You should bury them. If it goes like last time, the kid will want some closure for her old life.”
“And there’s none to be had. Best if she just moves on and accepts what we’re giving her.”
“That’s her decision to make. Not yours.”
*
When you wake up the screaming has stopped. There’s just whimpering in its place. From you. Oops. When you stop it continues. Not just you, then.
Where are you? None of your pokémon are touching you and you can’t sense Pixie or Coco through your links. You send out a thought to Nocitlālin but don’t receive an answer. Bad. Without them you’re just… no. You’re lying on hard concrete. No, not just concrete. Your head is on something warm and soft. A person? You start to move and they jolt.
“You awake?” Genesis whispers. Ah. Her, then.
You grumble out something that your gift can hopefully translate. She giggles. Guess you need to put more work in. Fifteen years and you’re still only figuring out how your brain works. After pressing yourself more or less upright (and discovering how much lying motionless on concrete for gods-know-how-long will hurt your hips), you work out a more coherent question. “Where’s Pix?” She was out when you were last awake, right?
“In her ball.” You can hear her shift nervously. “Do you remember what happened?”
“We were eating ice cream. There was an explosion? Then a really loud voice. Then… here?”
Judging by her silence and her mind’s rapidly shifting attempts to form words, that wasn’t the answer she expected. {Can we head-talk?} she asks.
You throw out your awareness again and make absolutely sure that there are no potential eavesdroppers. There’s nothing. Almost nothing. You can still feel The Voice’s distinct presence, but quiet and far in the background. That’s bad, but it’s a problem for later. And if there is anything you can do about it, Genesis probably won’t be the one to teach you. {Sure.}
{Okay, um, am I doing this right?}
{Yes.}
{A… voice?}
Could she not hear it? Why? Was it psychic? An omen?
{Yes. A Voice. Really, really loud. Tear-your-soul-out-of-your-body loud. I didn’t know that was possible.} Well, maybe for a god. Was it a god? If it was a god that would speak to you, but not her, it could explain it. And the gods have taken an active role on Earth in recent years. Quetzalcoatl had to put Tlaloc and Cipactli back to sleep when it stirred under Japan. The Split Gods clashed in Unova. And Metztli sent an avatar to guard these very islands.
Today (yesterday?) is (was?) Tecpatl-Tecpatl. Ruled by Chalchihuihtotolin and Mictlantecuhtli. The former is a god of sorcery and temptation, the latter the ruler of the dead. Combined they make for a day of life-changing challenges. A chance to soar or plummet, fate be damned. Putting a trial on that day, right before the solstice, was asking for something big to happen.
It didn’t. The battle went mostly according to plan. Nothing worthy of the day happened. At least, not when you expected it.
{I didn’t hear one.} Gen finally answers. {There was a big noise, probably the explosion you were talking about, and a bunch of wind. Then everything went dark. You collapsed and started talking in Aztec.} Nahuatl. You do your best to keep any annoyed feelings in your own mind. {Pix went nuts so we had to withdraw her. Everyone got moved to a shelter. We’re still there. My phone died a while ago. I don’t know how long it’s been. I’m hungry, but not really hungry. Have to pee, though. There is a bathroom but getting to it requires walking over a lot of people in the dark so I’m trying not to. Plus, I think Kekoa’s asleep, somehow, and I didn’t want to leave you alone. Still dark, by the way. Really dark.}
She thinks a lot. Not always coherently. It takes a bit for your gift to catch up and put everything into (Nahuatl) words for you. Even though you really should be thinking about the ‘everything is dark for everyone else’ stuff, you end up thinking about the smaller things. Pee? You don’t have to. You’re hungry. That’s nothing new. You’re just at the border between stomach-rending, painful hunger and greater, painless hunger with lightheadedness and a building headache. Six to eight hours, maybe? But if you were unconscious then it could’ve been longer.
You’d offer to help her to the bathroom, but you didn’t bring your cane with you. Haven’t had much need in the last few days, with Nocitlālin eager to help and Pixie jealously competing with her.
“Kekoa awake?” you ask, aloud, so that if he is he’ll hear it.
“Someone woke a god up and you think I’d fall asleep?”
That prompts a few whispers around you. “A god?” You’d suspected as much, but he seems to know something you don’t.
“Yeah. Like Japan. Feels the same.”
His voice breaks on the last word. Feels the same? That could mean a few different things. Maybe it was just a bigger news story in America than Anahuac. Or something more personal.
{You want to talk about it?}
You can feel him steady his thoughts and compose his words. {I was in Hoenn when it happened. My parents died.}
Oh. That’s bad. Really bad. Living it a second time must be worse.
{I understand,} you say. {I’m sorry.}
{Do you understand, though?} He also hisses aloud, for emphasis.
{Maybe? My brother died a few months ago.}
You aren’t crying and even if you did no one can see you. It’s the perfect time to talk about this as long as you don’t sob.
A lot of thoughts rush through his mind when you tell him. After a few seconds they coalesce into a steady stream of “shit shit shit shit” that he probably doesn’t mean to send you.
{I talked shit about your brother in Paniola, didn’t I?}
A spike of resentment builds in your heart alongside the sadness. You do your best to push it down but don’t succeed entirely. {Yes. You did.}
His thoughts seem to split towards two different statements. You don’t look close enough to see what they are.
{I’m sorry,} finally wins out.
{Good.}
A door opens and you can hear someone awkwardly fumbling around. Probably just got out of the bathroom.
{I know that…} Kekoa’s message trails off. {I’m sorry. And this is a bad time and it would be weird in a good time but. Can you lean into me?}
“Sure.” Cuddles sound nice right now, when you’re not crying. Or crying just a little bit. Everything’s bad and now isn’t the time for that, even if it’s dark.
You can sort of hear his breathing, shallow and quick, and the conversation gave you a direction to his head. It takes a bit of fumbling (and you think you kick Genesis at one point) but you finally cuddle up to him. His chest, anyway. You immediately shift so you’re leaning on his side. His hand scrapes against you, hesitantly looking for yours. You meet it. His pulse is quick; a quick touch of your free hand to your neck shows that yours is too. Deep breaths.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
There’s a lot of pain and panic and you aren’t sure what to do with any of it right now. You end up focusing on his pulse and trying in vain to meditate.
*
The first attack comes about an hour later. It begins with a low whirring sound, slowly but steadily rising in pitch. Like an alarm. Except you can tell that something is speaking. What it is and what’s being said aren’t given to you and when you press you get a sharp headache, the mental equivalent of brushing your hand on a hot stove. An Ultra Beast, perhaps. Or a god. Fearful and confused words pop up in almost all the minds around you, along with a handful of hopeful ones.
Crashing noises sound outside and the noise resets back to a pitch you feel more than hear. It rises again, faster this time. Lightning sounds off. A lot of lightning and more crashing sounds, most crashes coinciding with another pitch reset.
“Xurkitree,” Kekoa mutters beside you. “I tried to learn the sounds. In case something happened. I think Sophocles is fighting it. Maybe Molayne.”
“They’re strong, right?” Genesis asks. “Sophocles and Molayne?”
“Yes.”
Kekoa still squeezes your hand a little tighter. You squeeze back.
*
There’s another xurkitree sometime later. A few more battles after that. Water bottles and bags of some sort of strangely-textured chip get passed around at some point.
You eventually realize that the sweat under your arms and the shaking of your hand is because you’re scared. Of dying. Even with a free, dignified way out. It’s a strange thought. And one you don’t have time to process. A large door swings open and someone walks through, the hard steps of their boots conveying authority. A ripple of murmurs say that light is shining through behind the man. “There’s light outside,” a booming voice says before echoing around the room. “Gather your things; nothing more than you can carry. Meet at the convoy. We leave in a half hour.”
The light must not be too bright. There’s still chaos as people rush to leave the dusty, slightly metallic air of the shelter. Judging by the room’s echoes you must be pretty close to the back. You start stretching, then realize in horror that both your legs are asleep. You rub your hands over them and try to move them as much as possible. By the time you have to get up it’s pretty tolerable, actually.
The temperature hits you as soon as you leave the building. The air is cool but one side of you is warm anyway. Like a fire on a cold night. Kekoa swears under his breath once he gets out behind you. “Reshiram,” he whispers.
The Flame Giver. Right here. That definitely explains the light and heat. A god like that…
Alice will never believe you.
You don’t know when or how, but at some point you either stop freezing up or get dragged into your room in the Pokémon Center to pack things up. You can hear Genesis and Kekoa struggling, but for you it goes the same as always. Except you need Pix and Coco to check for scattered things by tracking your scent rather than just looking around.
Coco thinks it’s a fun game.
You have to withdraw them before leaving. The world’s chaotic and they’re small and easily stepped on in the crowds. Nocitlālin can fly and sense in the dark through electricity or whatever so you have her help Kekoa or Genesis, whoever’s struggling more. You take your things and head back out to the convoy before they’re ready. Once you’re back in Reshiram’s heat you drop your pack to the floor. There are curious and cautious whispers around, but no one dares address her. No one knows how.
You step forward closer and raise your head so that you’re probably kinda sorta making eye contact. Then you speak in Upper Draconic. “Blessed Flame Giver, I acknowledge your dominion.” Dragons do not bow or stoop or avert their gaze when addressing a stronger peer or asking for help. Instead they present everything they are and confess that they need help regardless.
Reshiram shifts in front of you, judging by the changing levels of heat on your face and the ground moaning in protest beneath her.
“Acknowledged, Little One,” she replies. In Upper Draconic. Your gift can’t or won’t translate the god’s words. “What would you have me do?”
You swallow and steel yourself again. You weren’t actually expecting a response. You just thought that she needed acknowledged, per ancient custom.
“I thank you for your protection and guidance.”
Thanks are traditionally given at the end of an exchange, when a request is granted or denied and ties are severed. You don’t know what else to say. Requesting anything from Reshiram feels wrong. She is not your kind’s god and you have nothing to offer her. It would also feel weird to ask her to do something she already seems to have made up her mind to do.
She chuffs. It sounds like a cross between laughter and an indignant huff. It’s also nothing that you’ve heard from a dragon before. Although Coco sometimes does something almost like it. “It was my duty as a goddess. Nothing more. Now, tell me: where did you learn to speak the old tongue?”
“I was taught by Alice, Dorothy, and Ilsa. A twice-split spirit from the Valley of Dragons.” You pause and she does not answer. “She,” for there is no good Upper Draconic equivalent to ellas, “was a companion of my mother’s and swore herself to be my protector and teacher.”
That earns a low rumble from the goddess. Consideration. “Is she here?”
You shake your head. “No.” Your voice breaks and you immediately clamp your mouth shut. You will not cry in front of a goddess. You will not cry in front of a goddess. You will not cry
The heat picks up. It’s still more warm than hot. Comforting and not burning. “Acknowledged.” The bark is a little shorter and softer than you would have expected. “It is rare for royalty to bond with a twice-split spirit. Your gifts are rendered useless by the shadows in their blood.”
“I’m not royalty,” you correct(?!) the goddess(?!). At least, that’s not something that your mother chose to tell you via either Renfield or Alice or passed down memories. And you’ve seen how Mom grew up. Comfortable at times, but never much more.
Another rumble of consideration. “Correct. You are not royalty. Whatever my counterpart’s chosen companion has declared, your line’s claim to the throne ended with the throne itself. But you have The Harbor Queen’s Gift and the mark of her bloodline.”
You’d privately doubted you were tied to N. He was important. Chosen by a god. And if your mother had any brothers or nephews, she never passed it down. You don’t even think she had any cousins. But if you’re more distantly related…
“There was a time not so long ago,” Reshiram muses, “that I believed your lineage to be extinct. It only survived through fortune. Centuries ago, a king found the strength to do what needed to be done. Nonetheless, he was a sentimental fool who could not live with himself afterwards. Another part of me, for we were one then, found it noble.” She growls. An actual, hostile growl. The fire roars up with her and you can hear swearing around you. You flinch back and avert your gaze, ancient rules forgotten. “Sometimes I am glad to be free of such foolishness now. But I was weaker then. I granted his request to leave the kingdom behind and live out his final days in exile on the other side of the Earth.” The heat dies back down to a low burn. “He was an old, broken man. It never occurred to me that he would beget more children.”
Footsteps approach. “Reshiram, it’s almost time to depart,” a female voice (Hilda?) says.
The pavement audibly groans as the goddess stretches. “I have duties to fulfill. We shall finish our conversation at a later time.”
You step back in silence and someone grabs hold of you. “What the fuck,” Kekoa hisses in your ear, “was that about?”
“I was in her territory. I acknowledged her.”
“Isn’t she from Unova?”
“She’s a goddess: everything is her territory.”
He grunts, probably out of arguments. You pick up your surprisingly warm pack and follow Kekoa’s lead to the convoy.
“Excuse me, miss,” someone says. “No pokémon allowed in the vehicle.” Pokémon, but… Right. You reach down and withdraw Nocitlālin. She’s very well behaved when she isn’t trying to watch people pee, but you don’t want to argue about it now.
You end up sandwiched between Kekoa and Genesis with very little room to yourself. Which is fine, mostly. You don’t take up that much space. And you’re more than used to getting crowded out in the tent.
Most of the ride passes in silence beyond the tires on the road and Reshiram’s wingbeats above. Maybe a half hour later Reshiram lets out a deafening roar and the convoy grinds to a halt. You can feel the flames through the walls of the car. There’s some radio chatter, but it’s garbled and without your gift your English is only okay. There are only a few things you remember: The goddess’s roars. Her opponent’s begging (Home, home, home, home, I want to go home!), every word accompanied by a sharp pain in your temples. The sound of the explosion that marked the battle’s inevitable end. Whatever it was, it chose to fight a goddess. A dragon goddess. Its fate was sealed the second it approached with a challenge.
When the convoy moves again, you realize that Kekoa’s back to gripping your hand. Even though it’s probably light out. You squeeze his hand back but he doesn’t let go. That’s fine with you.
The rest of the trip is uneventful.
*
You end up being one of the last ones out of the convoy. Most of the crowds have already cleared judging by the relative silence. That at least makes it easier to follow the noises of people flowing to wherever it is you’re supposed to go.
Something giant crashes down behind you, bathing your back in heat. You probably jump at least a half meter into the air. In spite of everything, you do your best to steady yourself before turning around to face the goddess. “Hello. I was...” You’re not sure what you wanted to say at the start of the sentence.
“Did you think we would not speak again?” She growls. “I am truth incarnate. My promises are prophecies.”
You swallow down the fear and shake your head. A human negation. Should’ve done the dragon one. Doesn’t matter, keep moving. “I meant no offense, Flame Giver.”
She chuffs and her heat dies down. “I understand. I, too, was concerned that our meeting would be delayed. But my companion needs rest and I shall oblige her.”
You finally calm down enough to realize that the air smells heavily of blood. Dragon blood. You don’t say anything. A goddess bled for you. That’s not right. It’s supposed to be the other way around.
“Now, then,” Reshiram continues, “it has been some time since I spoke to a human in my own tongue. Or at least something akin to it. Your pronunciation is terrible and your pitch is that of a newborn.”
Oh. You should have expected that. Known that. Why did you talk to her in the first place?
“But I suppose it is the best a human can do. Tell me, Daughter of the Harbor Queen, what are your ambitions?”
Ambitions? Like N? You’ve never really had any. You don’t want to say that outright. She’s spoken of duties before. Maybe...
“I seek to reclaim what was stolen from me. Then I will return home and fulfill my obligations there. I’m not the kind of person who should change society. I wouldn’t know what to do with it and there are much smarter people.” Priests, kings, scholars, warriors. Heroes. “I’m not a hero.”
Reshiram makes a particular bark. One of praise. Not praise of an equal, but that of a mother congratulating her daughter on killing a rodent for the first time. “You may be wiser than you know. Those who are certain that they must change the world often bring it to ruin. A few generations later another will rise, certain that they must undo what their forefathers shed blood to change. Dragons do not make these mistakes. We know our ancient roles and fulfill them. There are no grand attempts to upset the balance of nature. No wars of conquest or revolution. But humans always want more than they have. They will kill themselves and others for fictitious honors, a yard of barren dirt, and gold they will never spend. Every day they fall farther and farther from their rightful place.
“Survive and reclaim that which is rightly yours. Find a role in society and fill it well. That is heroic enough.”
No response comes to mind. You’re not sure you’d give it even if you could. Her words carry an air of finality, that there is nothing left to be said on the subject.
“I believe your companions need to speak with you. Go forth, Little One. Heed my words and you shall have my blessing.” She rockets off into the air before you can thank her or wish her well or find anything at all to say.
“You really do speak dragon, huh?” Kekoa remarks behind you.
“She said I’m not very good at it.”
“In dragon. And you understood it.”
“We need to talk,” Genesis says quickly and quietly. Kekoa sighs.
“Yeah, we do.”
Everyone is silent for a while, waiting on Genesis to speak again.
“My dad called. I’m going home. Now. There’s a teleporter here. I don’t think we’ll be able to speak again, but I will miss you. A lot. And,” she shoves a stack of bills down into your palm. How did she see your hand? Is Reshiram still around? Did she get lucky? All the questions that don’t matter come to mind. “This is some money that my brother gave me. It should help.” Her voice is unusually strained, quiet, and detached. Like she rehearsed this for once but doesn’t quite want to go through.
“Okay… but you don’t sound happy?” Which is strange. You thought that she really wanted to go back.
“I am. Really. Just, a lot just happened and there’s a conversation I’m not looking forward to and I haven’t had much time to prepare.”
“You shouldn’t go,” Kekoa says, voice firm and almost angry. Why? This is everything he wanted. Even if he’s calmed down a little in the last two weeks, he still clearly doesn’t like her. “Your parents aren’t good people, Gen. Nothing good comes from going back.”
“Kekoa,” Genesis says in an uncharacteristically hostile tone. She sighs and the anger breaks to dejected acceptance. “You don’t know them.”
“They kicked their daughter to the curb. I know enough about them.” He’s getting angry. That’s bad for him. If this turns into a shouting match, Genesis will feel attacked and he will lose. You don’t tell him this. If she wants to go to her parents in spite of everything, you understand. And Reshiram’s words about roles and duties loom large in your mind.
“They just made a mistake. Thought I did something I didn’t and were worried I’d corrupt my brother.
Kekoa actually snorts. “You? Corrupt someone? Either they don’t know you at all, or that’s not why they did it. And if they have realized, never mind, guess Jenny was good all along, why wouldn’t they let you talk to us?”
“Because you might corrupt me,” she says, exasperated, like this should really be obvious. You don’t think you’ve been corrupting, though? You asked her to stop being rude to Kekoa. And made her eat some gross shit once. That was pretty much it. And she deserved that potato salad.
“Really? What’s Cuicatl done?”
Drat. You were really hoping to stay out of this. So many people leaving in the last year, so few chances for decent goodbyes. And he’s dragging this one through the mud for gods-know-why.
“She’s in a human sacrifice cult.” She whisper-hisses it like you won’t hear it. Even though she probably also thinks you have super hearing.
You’ve only killed one person and you really, really didn’t mean to. That’s not the right answer, though. “We don’t convert,” you finally say. Because Kekoa dragged you into this and it would be awkward if you said nothing at all. “You can believe what you wish.” You don’t even sacrifice people without their permission anymore. Even American war criminals were declared off-limits in The False Tlatoani’s Peace.
“And if you want to talk cults,” Kekoa interjects, “only one of us seems to be obsessed with being perfect all the time. What happens when you slip up? Or your parents make another mistake? You’ll just end up back here, but with no friends.”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, Genesis wraps you in a really tight hug for a few seconds and walks away. Another pair of footsteps follows her. Before you can tell Kekoa off, you hear him huff beside you. “Dammit, why didn’t you back me up?”
“She has a duty to her family.”
He stamps a foot and starts pacing. “No! Fuck no! She doesn’t owe them shit. Just.” You can practically hear the scream on the tip of his tongue. “Damn it.”
You silently slip the money into your purse, release Nocitlālin and extend your cane. “Why do you care, anyway?”
“Because…” He sighs. “I don’t like her. At all. But she wasn’t supposed to do this. It’s bad.” He hesitates for a moment. “For her.” The inflection and wording are wrong. He’s worried, but you don’t think it’s for her. The loss of income? Her team was cheap to feed and she did bring in money from capture missions when she didn’t keep the target herself. That does sound about right. Genesis was annoying to him, but being one-third poorer is worse. With another bout of swearing, Kekoa finally stops pacing. “Come on. Let’s get to the Center. I need to charge my phone.”
*
The Malie Center is overcrowded but you don’t dare leave it. Pixie and Coco are in their balls full time for the foreseeable future. They won’t have to eat or drink that way. Won’t have to go outside. It’s not safe outside.
That doesn’t make inside feel like less of a cage. Genesis is gone and Kekoa’s bitter, ending conversations with frustrated monosyllabic answers. No chance to really go deeper into what you talked about on the mountain. You’re not sure he wants to, though. You’re left with your beldum, who is being a very good, very warm cuddler tonight. Even letting you wrap an arm around her as you rest. Her questions have stopped, if only because she’s gathered that you have no answers to give.
Reshiram.
There were answers there, but more questions were raised. A goddess approves of your plan. Any of the last doubts tingling in the pit of your stomach or the corner of your mouth are gone. You will go home. You will face your father.
You have other family. N. He could be your first cousin or the descendant of your great-great-great-great-great grandparent’s sibling. He still exists. Shares your gift. Maybe he will come for you. Maybe he will not. You aren’t sure which to hope for. Understanding and family. A link to your mother’s world. But also a threat to your visa, a threat to Alice, and a reminder of someone you’ve lost.
Then… there’s something you forgot. Or maybe something you never remembered at all. People talking… about… your thoughts slide off it like water on a glass window. Something about The Voice, surely. But what? What could you know? And is it important? Dangerous?
You fall asleep, a warm steel-type pressed against you, before you come up with any answers.