Red glowing eyes.

Red like blood, since the day Abra died.

In the tower.

If only I hadn’t joined that dare!

If only I were stronger!

I flinch at the sound of a vibrating Pokédex.

My gaze darts around the room. A sultry breeze whirls through the covered window; the light trying to feast its way through the curtains’ edges. These once adorned cloths only have faint, bleached-out colors. While they offer some protection, the oppressive heat serves as a foretaste of what awaits me outside.

My hands shake, drenched in sweat—ice cold. I touch my hot forehead, hoping to ease the aching that screams for water and relief. But only more of the precious liquid escapes my pores with each breath.

“I must’ve fallen asleep...” my voice croaks.

However sleep is even possible here.

I wince as something floats in before me.

Abra.

It stares at me—unwavering—as always.

Which reminds me…

The mission!

I reach for my Pokédex, opening the messenger function.

My eyes tremble as they move across the monitor.

The announcement is even worse than what I imagined.

----------------------------------------

In three days, gather around Molehill Village.

When the Farewell Festival begins, create chaos and capture as many vessels as possible.

Destroy the village—leave no evidence behind.

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Vessels...?

Some sort of code word, perhaps. In case someone is listening who shouldn’t.

Someone like me.

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I rummage through my bag and pull out a map of Orre. It’s dirty—worn-out—but serves its purpose. Looking at it, I frown. The map rustles under the pressure of my finger tracing along its surface. A deep sigh escapes my lips.

In only three days from Pyrite to the base of Mt. Battle?

That’s quite a trip…

But with my Pokémons’ help, I’ll be fine-

A wheezing sound on the verge of crying. Damp air crawls up my skin.

Abra’s body shivers ever so slightly.

Is it freezing?

Abra doesn’t talk anymore. But I still hear its voice. Clearly, in my mind. Unspoken thoughts. The kind of which nobody could ever put into words.

Its constant screaming reminds me why I’m here.

When the police of Kanto had asked me to investigate the Orre region regarding certain rumors, I agreed simply for personal reasons.

It’s all just a pretext.

To get an advantage out of it…

To achieve my goals.

The reputation I’d get from this job would be a nice plus for my resume, but I don’t care about that. Yet, it’s important to make the police believe I do.

Or else they will suspect me.

Because why, other than for money and fame, would anyone put themself in this hell of a region?

I get up, grab my bag, and motion for Abra to follow.

I don’t bother recalling it into its Pokéball anymore. It found a way of resisting. And ever since, it floats by my side. A constant reminder of how bad of a trainer I am.

Feeling cold, crumbling stone slipping at my fingertips, I tear open the structure that’s supposed to be a door.

A landscape of shifting beige and yellow spreads out before me, endless and empty. Only a few houses stand here, built of junk and stone.

I dare to step outside.

A burning sensation feasts through my shoes, reaching my feet immediately. The sandy ground reflects the harsh sunlight like a mirror, right into my pupils.

Ouch.

Shielding my eyes, I take a moment to breathe. Though, it’s really more of a struggle than that. Dry, crusty air invades my lungs, demanding in exchange a portion of my body’s humidity. With each exhale, I feel a step closer to my grave.

The surroundings are quiet, almost peaceful. The people here seem too exhausted to roam around outside. Except for a few who apparently sold their souls in exchange for... perseverance? Or whatever it takes to endure this torture.

I must be looking like an Onix in the sea to them.

I can tell from their amused laughter, yesterday, when I arrived.

But when Abra gave them one of its deadly stares, the tables turned. They couldn’t stop trembling—couldn’t resist offering me shelter. They were probably praying all night we wouldn’t punish them for their mockery. Poor souls.

Orre wasn’t particularly a well-suited place for tourists.

Even before losing the war. But now…? They’d have to pay people to come here.

Grabbing a bottle of water from a stand in the marketplace, I drink hastily. Eventually, I pour a good splash over my face and sigh with relief. That’s good.

The woman running the stand initially glares at me, but her voices dies as she wants to speak. Eyes wide with horror.

I take a couple more bottles, shove them into my bag, and leave a small tip of Pokédollars on the counter. Out of pity.

Abra’s stare does something to you.

Something money won’t ever be able to cure.

Leaving the place, past times flash before my eyes—times when Abra was alive.

My feet halt, whirling up hot sand against my legs. I suddenly feel miserable, wanting to bury myself in the sand and…

“Stop it, for Arceus’ sake!” I grit to myself.

I must constantly remind myself of the reason I’m here.

To save Abra.

I’ll attend the mission and infiltrate them.

To save Abra.

Even if every part of my body rebels against it.

Even if I must let go of my humanity.

I’ll do anything to get my old friend Abra back.

Anything.