[The recorder buzzes to life. Tulip is heard breathing heavily for a few seconds before speaking.]

Hey, Tulip here.

Lynne and I have been making our way to Wysteria. We're currently less than a mile from Vermillion, which means we're halfway there.

[Lynne is heard speaking. The bitterness in his voice is hard to ignore.]

"Yeah, and if you're wondering why it's taking us so long, I'm sure Tulip can explain."

Shut it. How could I have known–?

"What, that you needed an ID to board an inter-state bus? Even I know that and I'm not from here!"

Oh quit your whining. I told you I'm not exactly a legal citizen anymore so not much I could do about that. Besides… walking will do us some good, I'm sure.

"Right. I'd be more inclined to believe that if we didn't have to stop every hour because you start sounding like a choking Koffing."

Fuck off.

"Whatever."

[Tulip huffs and clicks her tongue in irritation.]

Anyway… below is a transcript of one of the two interviews that were saved yet never posted in my website.

Enjoy.

[The recording cuts off.]

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

[This is yet another one of Marie's errands I'm supposed to run. Another person her team had considered interviewing, yet comments from some of the locals that this man was delusional convinced them to shift their focus toward something else.

Even back then, it seems, both Marie and her team were an incompetent group of self-important tossers. But I digress.

The people of Pewter call him Podvig, although it seems few know the circumstances that led him here, and those people had the decency to urge me to ask him for the story. Others I've spoken to have instead gone pale at the mention of him, because small town citizens are sometimes awful like that.

And yet, I feel more comfortable in his presence than in that of most people I've interviewed.

The house is old, rickety and so dark I can barely see what I'm writing, but it's clearly been taken care of and I cannot smell a single speck of dust in the air. Podvig's appearance is somewhat shocking at first, I admit. Only his pale, grey eyes are easily distinguishable amidst the scars and burns. Yet he does not need to curl his lips for his smile to show in his eyes, and while I sit here preparing my paper and pen he serves me a cup of freshly brewed rooibos tea, its scent alone enough to ease my tense shoulders .]

I was never supposed to stay in Wysteria. Mine was to be a short vacation, a chance to reconnect with the town of my childhood before I went on to do bigger, more important things.

But you know how it is. Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.

"You grew up in Wysteria, then?"

I was born there, though barely. My parents were from abroad, you see. Well just my mom I guess, since dad never really… ah, that doesn't matter. Thing is, she sorta just… gravitated toward the town when looking for a place to live not long after she arrived in Kanto. I obviously don't remember it well since I was still in her belly back then but she always talked about it like… like seeing the light of a beacon while drifting at sea. And I can't really blame her for that.

Nicest folk you could ever meet, the people of Wysteria. You couldn't lift a grocery bag without someone offering to help you carry it. At first, when mom arrived with a small group of other foreigners, they offered them shelter and food free of charge. And so she decided to stay.

I was born that night. I'll never forget how much my mom talked about it. She was prepared for the pain and anxiety of having me in such conditions. What she wasn't prepared for was me opening my tiny eyes and looking up at her.

[He raises one of his scarred, callused fingers and taps against his temple, unblinking. The grey of his eyes almost seems to gleam for a moment.]

No one in my family had ever had grey eyes, y'see. And of course, since she'd just gotten here, no one had told her.

"…Of course. The eyes of Wysteria."

During her travels mom had heard a rumor that everyone in Wysteria was born with eyes like mine and yours, but she hadn't thought much of it. Must've been 'cause of a common ancestor or something. But no. Turns out, literally every single person who's born inside the town's borders has these eyes.

"Did your mother freak out at that?"

Not really. Once someone explained it to her she just… accepted it. She had other stuff to worry about, y'see. Mainly how to keep both herself and her son alive now that she'd finally reached safety.

Though as it turns out, that wasn't very difficult at all.

Y'see, no less than a month after I was born they actually gave us a house near the outskirts of town. Not a big house. Not a very pretty one either, but you can bet your ass it served its purpose.

And all mom had to do to earn it was work in the printing factory, which she was already thinking of doing. Been her job back in Sinnoh too. And hell, the price of the actual house wasn't even being docked from her pay. She got her full salary every month and all she had to do to eventually own the house was not quitting. It was a pretty good deal, compared to what she was used to at least.

"Yes, I remember reading about that after the fact. It was supposed to be a housing plan for those who were interested in living in Wysteria. An investment of sorts in order to grow the town's population and its infrastructure."

Yeah. I even heard they were planning to turn the town into a Special Economic Zone like Stark Island in Sinnoh, but that ended up falling through the cracks. Not surprising.

Anyway, that's all to say growing up in Wysteria was… nice. It wasn't anything out of this world. Neighborhood was close to the docks so it always smelled like fish and most of the neighbors were my mom's age so I didn't have many friends outside of school, but still. It was enough. It was safe, which was everything my mom could've hoped for me.

"Marble street, yes? I used to walk through it on my way to the docks when I wanted to just look at the lake. It was nice. Homely."

[Podvig makes a sound that sounds like laughter, although the expression obviously doesn't form on his face.]

Homely. That's a good word. It brings to mind the feelings I had when I thought about the town while I was in college. The same feeling that eventually made me go back to visit it one last time. Or so I thought back then.

"You say that as though you wouldn't have had much reason to go back otherwise. Did something happen to your mother?"

…Yeah. You're perceptive.

She was a strong woman. Never complained, always took everything in stride, and she made the best of any situation she was in, no matter how complicated. I'm guessing that's why she didn't tell me how bad things were. She didn't want me to worry.

Still, you can't hide everything. Four and a half years after I'd gone to Saffron to study Medicine, I was told my mother had fallen sick, and was now hospitalized. Now… that was a problem, obviously. She didn't have a lot of money saved up and I couldn't contribute much either since I'd spent the last few years studying and not much more.

I was ready to drop off and head straight back to Wysteria when she called me and reassured me everything would be okay.

Turns out, whatever this sickness was, she hadn't been the only one who'd caught it. A few people from around the neighborhood had shown the same bizarre symptoms. Lack of energy and motivation, problems with short and sometimes long-term memory, uncharacteristic obliviousness… and let's not forget the big one. Dark stains and blotches dotting the skin in a manner not much different from liver spots. Symptoms that had seemingly nothing to do with each other, but that showed in every single patient of the disease, without exception.

The town must've feared it might be some easily transmitted disease, and a pandemic was the last thing they wanted to deal with. All those who showed symptoms were put under the same roof, and were placed under quarantine until the doctors and experts could figure out what this disease was.

Mom was already in that building by the time she called me. She said not to worry, that the place was nice and homely and that everyone was taking good care of her. I was still worried of course, but… I guess part of me needed to hear that. Needed that little reassurance that things were still normal, that I didn't need to abandon my studies just to..

[Podvig can't finish the sentence. He shakes his head and lets out a tired sigh.]

I should've gone back. I should've checked up on her and been there for her. Instead I clung to any sense of normalcy I could so I didn't have to panic.

"I don't think you should blame yourself. Most would have done the same in your shoes."

Yeah. That's exactly the problem.

[Podvig places his elbows on the table and runs his finger through what's left of his hair. He looks distressed.]

I… made sure to demand updates from mom every week. At first, things seemed like they were getting better. No new cases arose after those who'd already been 'infected' were put under quarantine, and even the disease itself didn't… seem to be advancing too quickly, too badly. They took test after test, but couldn't find anything wrong with them. Like the disease wasn't even there. Or if it was…

[He makes a gesture with his hand and rolls his eyes. I don't need him to finish the sentence to know what he means.]

"But they were getting worse, weren't they?"

Yeah. Slowly, in a way the experts didn't realize until it was too late. One bad day here, one forgetful accident there… well, you know how these things are. This disease wasn't like most. It didn't spread, it didn't fill its victim with itself. It just… took things away. And that's a lot harder to diagnose.

I was… almost twenty-four when I got the bad news. Only a few months away from graduation. I'd been busting my ass studying and acing in tests just so I could get my degree a year earlier than most. My plan was… stupid, but idealistic. I wanted to graduate early and go back to Wysteria in order to help out with this outbreak. It was going to be the main topic of my final thesis, in fact. An opportunity to fully earn my title and an excuse to help out mom and see what I could do to help.

…Well.

I guess knowing there's nothing I could've really done helps soften the blow, but it still hurts that I was too late.

The week before I'd gotten a call, not from mom but from one of the people working in that place. One of the people looking over the sick.

Mom… wasn't doing so well. She was slipping. I noticed it during our phone talks before, too, but I never thought it could get so bad. She was starting to forget things. Where she was, who the people around her were. She'd lost most of the motivation she had for even the simplest things like eating or showering or walking around talking to those around her. And even when she did, she wasn't… right. She got lost easily. Didn't pay attention to her surroundings.

That should've been enough for me. Enough to tip me over the edge and head straight to Wysteria, but… I was so close. Only a couple more months, a few more tests, and I'd be a certified medical professional. I'd be able to help much more than if I were to abandon my studies and just travel back home without any way to contribute.

That's how I justified it to myself, at least. Didn't help much when the news came.

"Did the disease kill her?"

Not really. It wasn't designed to kill you on its own.

It was just an accident. Her caretakers got distracted for a few minutes and she wandered off into the hallways, then… didn't see the stairs. She slipped and fell and…

I don't think the details are necessary. You know what I mean.

"I... am sorry for your loss."

It's alright. I doubt she had much of a chance of survival once the disease got to her.

"What did you do after hearing the news? Did you go back to Wysteria?"

No. I was told my mother's body couldn't be transported and outfitted for a funeral. Something about it being a possible biohazard, so she was scheduled to be cremated that same day.

"They… cremated your mother's corpse? Without you being there?"

[It's hard to keep the shock and disgust from my voice.]

At least they pretended to ask for my permission first. And what was I supposed to tell them? I'm a doctor, I know full well the hazard an infected corpse can prove, especially when no one knows what was it infected by. Besides… if I'd gone back then, I would've been the only one to attend that funeral. All of my mother's friends and acquaintances were still locked up in that building.

I'm guessing from that face you're making that you realize how suspicious this all was.

"Yes. Even if I weren't aware of the powers that were at play in Wysteria, I'd definitely raise an eyebrow at such events."

[Podvig sighs.]

I wish I could've been that observant back then. The signs were all there. An unidentified disease popping up out of nowhere, infecting only an isolated neighborhood of people who weren't actual natives of the town... A disease that somehow didn't spread through any traditional means, despite the fact that the entire neighborhood had caught it at the same time. Then there were those… experts. The people that corralled them all into the same building and placed them under quarantine.

I should've asked myself who said experts were. They certainly didn't sound like they were from Wysteria. Not to mention, all those months… I'd never seen mention of the disease or the quarantine in any news channel, not even the one local to Wysteria itself.

I should've…

[Podvig looks down at the empty cup in his hands for a few seconds, then shakes his head weakly.]

No. It… it wasn't my fault. I know that. I could sit here telling you all about how I was selfish for believing she'd pull through, selfish for wanting to finish my studies before I headed back and offered my help but… none of that is right. What happened wasn't normal. It wasn't a tragedy I or anyone else could've prevented.

It…

"It wasn't your fault."

[Podvig looks up at me, as though surprised by hearing me say that.]

"You're right. Some people might want to make you believe that what happened to you, what happened was some form of retribution. Payment for your hubris. But those people don't know what the fuck they're talking about."

…Tulip?

"The Institute doesn't care about the people they hurt. They didn't target you or Monika or Horace or any of the rest because they wanted to teach you a lesson. They picked at random. You were all just… unlucky. Just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. There's no meaning behind the cruelty that was inflicted on you. Just like there's no meaning in someone being struck by lightning, as low as the odds may be.

And if there's no meaning, then it can't be your fault. You can't take responsibility for what happened if you had no control over it."

…

[Podvig studies me for a long, silent moment. Though the slit of his mouth doesn't move, I can see a sad smile reflected in his eyes.]

I'm guessing you're speaking from experience?

"I've come to realize that spite is more useful for my goal than misplaced guilt."

Heh. As a doctor, I should tell you not to overdo it. Stress and spite are bad for the heart, y'see.

"Thank you, but I don't think my average life expectancy is something I'll ever have to worry about."

I honestly hope you're pleasantly surprised in that front.

[Despite my efforts not to, I can't help but form a smile.]

"I think we've gotten away from the point. Could we continue with the interview?"

Oh, right. Sorry.

"No hard feelings. You said you stayed in college until you finished your degree; I assume it wasn't long after that you returned to Wysteria?"

Not long at all. Took the train to Vermilion and hopped on a bus headed for Wysteria the very next day, actually. Didn't even stay for the graduation ceremony. I had my diploma, now all I needed was to complete my thesis, which like I said, was the perfect excuse to go back.

I… don't know why I still wanted to carry out that plan. Mom was dead. I guess part of me wanted to do what I could to ensure what happened to her wouldn't repeat but… I don't know. People act weirdly when they're in grief. If anyone in the world can perfectly tell you why they did everything they did in life, let me know. I could learn a lot from them.

"Your plan worked, then? They let you join the medical team even though you were a fresh graduate?"

Now, to be fair, my grades and my resume were impeccable, even if I lacked experience. And besides, it's not like they had much choice. Most of the 'experts' that had been working on the case had quit. Nothing indicated they'd caught the disease, but it was mighty suspicious… still, at the time I figured that's why they accepted me with open arms. More so when I told them my mom had been one of the infected.

It was… the weirdest thing, actually.

"What was?"

Well, I'd been making calls to these guys pretty regularly ever since the quarantine started. It was always the same few people that answered the phone. They'd have me say my name and would then call my mom so we could talk. But that night before I headed back to Wysteria… when I called to offer my help, it was someone new that answered. A man whose voice I'd never heard before.

He had a pretty thick Unovan accent, but his voice was really cheery and singsong. It… creeped me out, honestly. At first I thought I'd dialed the wrong number but then he introduced himself as the man in charge of the medical team and the quarantine effort.

Those were his exact words. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now I realize he never actually gave me his name. Not then and not when I saw him in person.

Anyway, I don't think I even made it to the part about my thesis before he cut me off. He sounded… giddy. Excited. He told me my timing couldn't have been better, that they'd been looking for someone with my 'qualifications' and that he'd be more than happy to let me start working as soon as I made it to Wysteria.

"I assume said 'qualifications' had nothing to do with your formal training at all?"

Well, yeah. That seems obvious in hindsight.

Still. Something about his voice, how gleeful he sounded when talking about the quarantine… and yet it didn't sound like there was any malice in it, you know? This is, again, hindsight talking but it was kind of like hearing a kid all giddy and excited about how a magnifying glass can ignite a Joltik's fur. It's more about the discovery of what the magnifying glass can do than the harm it causes, you know what I mean?

[I purse my lips. Were I able to massage my temples with my hands, I would do so.]

"Yes… I think I know exactly who you're talking about."

I figured.

But as creepy as the call was… I mean, I couldn't say no, could I? I'd gotten what I wanted, there was no going back now. Twenty-four hours later I was dropped in Wysteria by a rusty, dilapidated bus, finally… finally back home.

[He fidgets and twitches a bit, worry clear in his eyes.]

I guess… I should mention this, since it's important to the story. Someone else got off the bus alongside me.

"Someone you knew?"

No, not then at least. She looked… well, let's just say she looked out of place in a small dingy town like Wysteria. She was tall and beautiful and… over-produced I guess? I don't know how to better describe it. Her outfit looked like it was worth more than my scholarship and her pink hair was done in a way I thought only famous, rich people had time for. She looked more ready for a gala or an opening ceremony let's just say. But instead she was here, getting off a shitty bus and walking down the dirt roads toward the center of town.

She didn't even acknowledge me or say hi… but then again, neither did I. I was too taken aback. I couldn't get the feeling out of my head that I'd seen this woman somewhere before.

I wouldn't see her until a few weeks later, w–

…

[He freezes, the skin above his eyes where his eyebrows should've been furrowing into a worried frown.]

Tulip, are you okay?

"I…"

[It's only then I notice how heavy my breathing is, how tightly I'm gripping the pen as I write these words down. I can't even imagine what my expression must look like.]

"I'm quite alright. I just… think I recognize this woman from your story. Please, pay it no mind and continue."

Well… I mean, alright.

Where was I? Right, er… I'd been told by that man in the phone to meet with him in front of the quarantine building. He said there'd be no need for me to stay in a hotel or pay for an apartment. His… employers, I remember he told me, would be more than happy to provide something for me, and I'd have a room all to myself inside the quarantine building itself should I wish to stay there.

I… I remember frowning when I first saw the building. It wasn't until then that I realized I'd never… actually seen it. I always thought it'd look like a small hospital or a hotel or something similar, but in reality it was…

Well, it's hard to describe. It looked almost like a rest home, though the layout and brickwork of the place were much, much older than the neighborhood surrounding it. There was a worn down wooden sign near the entrance with the name of the place and a couple lines of text below.

The name was… Sinnohan. I knew that just by the alphabet that was being used, but it wasn't a word I was very familiar with. At first I thought the name might have been 'Dovecote' and… well, I wasn't entirely wrong. It's just that the word has another meaning I wasn't aware of at the time.

"Columbarium."

…Yeah. And the text below read:

Tesi samanunga was edele unde scona

et omnium virtutum pleniter plena

[I frown for a moment, then realization hits me and I can't help but groan.]

"That's…"

In terrible taste? Yeah. I'm sure whoever wrote it must've thought they were being funny. I'd say it was the man I met in the entrance if it weren't because he looked too young to have been around when the building was designed.

"The one you talked to over the phone, yes? Let me guess… he was tall, lanky, blonde hair with a streak of blue going around his head?"

Nailed it in one. This is… kind of the part where people start assuming I'm nuts when I tell the story, but I swear to god the guy appeared out of thin air behind me. I didn't hear him approach. Didn't even realize he was there until he cleared his throat and almost made me have a heart attack.

"You needn't worry, you aren't crazy. I believe you."

[He seems relieved by the sincerity in my voice.]

Anyway, he was a real weirdo, much more up close than through the phone. Gave me a light pat on the shoulder and called me 'old chap' though I didn't even know his name and he sure as shit didn't sound Galarian. But whatever.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

He told me he didn't have much time, had to get to some appointment and had only stayed behind to welcome the two new arrivals. I remember asking who else was coming after me, but he barely heard me, just kept talking. And considering I didn't see anyone else new from that day on… well, it wasn't odd to assume said second person had come before me.

So the guy gave me the keys to the place as well as my new apartment and told me the two remaining assistants could help me out with whatever problem or doubt I might encounter. Needless to say, I was a bit… overwhelmed. I'd come to help, sure, but I had no idea I'd actually be taking the reins of the whole project.

"He put you in charge? Even though you were just a fresh graduate?"

I had the same reaction. But this guy just waved that off like I was being ridiculous and told me there was no reason to worry. He complimented my resume and assured me I could take care of whatever needed… taken care of. He also said that whether I failed or succeeded in researching and categorizing the disease, my thesis would be incredible nonetheless. A great start to a long career, he described it as.

I asked him… just before he left, I asked him what had happened to the other doctors who'd been in charge of the project. Couldn't be lack of funding. This guy was willing to pay me double what I'd originally expected. Was there something he wasn't telling me?

And to that… the guy looked at me and smiled. It was…

"Terrifying?"

Let's just say I wasn't as prone to asking questions after that.

He said… he said 'They just simply lacked what it took to get the job done. But I can tell you're different. Like I said before… there is no need to worry, my friend.'

That, er… that definitely made some alarms ring in my head, and I think he realized that because the very next thing he did was say goodbye and leave. Probably realized I'd been freaked out enough already. I guess he needed me focused in order to do my job.

"Did you see him again after that?"

No, never. Didn't even talk to him through the phone. Whenever I called to report something it was the same people that had always answered before. People from some… medicinal or pharmaceutical company, I don't know. Back then I guessed this guy must've worked for them or something, but now I'm not so sure.

Didn't have much time to wonder about that though. My new job had started.

"How was it?"

Well, first few days breezed by, really. I spent them catching up on everything I could find regarding the disease and the studies those before me had conducted. I also made sure to meet with and talk to all of the patients. Not just to get a good idea of what they were doing before they got infected, but also as a way to… you know, catch up. They were all my neighbors once. I knew these people. Anton, one of the oldest patients, had taught me pretty much every card trick you could think of from his time as a stage magician. I'd say I owed him more than half of my amazing finger dexterity. Sophie would babysit me all the time when I was younger, whenever my mom was working a long shift. She had this cute lil' Ditto that would transform into pretty much anything, and it'd always keep me entertained. Then there was Lyn... I mean, I'm sure all of us have had some kind of crush on a teacher before. Pretty sure he knew, but he never held it against me.

"It's no wonder you volunteered to help, then. You knew these people."

...Yeah. Though that didn't stop me from betraying their trust and hiding from them when things started to get ugly.

Anyway. There were seven of them in total. Which was… convenient because the building counted with eight rooms which were outfitted for medical use, all of them on the first floor. Er, Unovan first floor, the one at ground level, you know what I mean.

"It's fine, that is the system I know too."

Ah, sorry, couldn't quite place your accent so I just assumed you might be Galarian like your friend. The one that called me and scheduled this interview.

"Heh. I suppose his accent might be rubbing off on me, but no. I've been Kantan for as long as I can remember.

You were saying about the building, though?"

Right. The eight room was empty now but it'd been… my mom's, before she passed. Like I said, the first floor consisted of four rooms on the right and left, connected through vents to a bigger room in the back, which was locked. I was told the first day that it was a boiler room and that there was no reason to go there, and… well, who was I to argue with that?

So, I counted with seven patients and only two assistants, so it really was up to me to figure out what was wrong. I remember… not a single night of full rest since the moment I set foot inside that building.

"Was it that much work?"

For three people? You have no idea. Categorizing a new disease… it's something that takes months, even with a full team of medical researchers. I was a fresh graduate. A brilliant one, yes, but still just one person. But… I guess that's not entirely the reason I worked myself half to death every single day.

You see… our patients were getting worse. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, but it was there. And my job… I mean, even if I managed to categorize the disease, that didn't guarantee I'd be able to find a cure, or even that a cure might exist. From the moment I accepted the job I knew deep down that all seven of these people might just die of some external factor before I could cure them. I understood that.

But… part of me refused to accept it, I guess. Part of me thought that, if I worked hard enough, I could…

[Podvig looks down at his raised hand for a moment, then shakes his head and lets it fall to the table, sighing.]

Well, I couldn't. It's pointless to think of what-ifs. Though I feel like, had I been given a bit more time, I could have gotten closer to the truth at least.

[He looks up and me and leans forward against the table.]

Like I said, this disease was… odd. Previous studies had come to the conclusion that it wasn't transmitted by air, blood, saliva or any other bodily fluid. We figured the cause must have been environmental. It was the only plausible explanation, considering all the infected had been neighbors.

"But I'm guessing you were unable to find said cause?"

…Yeah. Then again, that's the problem with environmental diseases, the cause could be literally anything. Rusty water pipes, hidden Pokemon remains, moldy house-paint, badly-processed ham, toxic fertilizer…

Suffice to say I spent most of my time walking around the neighborhood over and over, leaving no stone unturned, checking every little nook and cranny. Then, when I found something, I'd bring it back with me and have it examined, which could take up to a week for something that brought no results anyway.

"Wait. You… went and checked yourself?"

Yes, though I obviously wore a protective suit each time. Which was convenient, if hard to move around in.

"I just figured… that might be the kind of work one would assign to their assistants."

[Podvig takes a few seconds to reply, looking down at his hands then up at me.]

They were busy taking care of the patients. And I… I didn't like to be inside that building for long. It brought… well, you can imagine what it brought in me.

"I understand. I'm sorry."

You shouldn't be. But thanks.

[He picks up his teacup and examines it closely for a moment, absentmindedly. Like he's wondering if it's worth it to get up and refill it just to have something to do with his hands and mouth.]

I don't need to tell you none of my work bore fruit. You already know that. But I should at least tell you how everything started to go wrong.

One day, we noticed something that at first we thought must have been an anomaly, but later in observation turned out to be a pattern. Like I said, I kept myself quite busy, and my two assistants were no slouches themselves. All in all, there wasn't much time to be with the patients. We made sure to check up on them a few times a day, of course. Polite chats and warm smiles to remind them that we were still there, still trying to help them, but not much more than that.

Then our two oldest patients, Anton and Sophie, got better over the course of a few days.

"You mean their mood and memory and all that improved?"

Yes. They seemed more lively, more attentive, more willing to do things on their own than before. Then, during a routine check-up, we noticed that the dark skin discoloration in their chest and arms had receded somewhat.

I was… well, not excited, not in the constant state of exhaustion and anxiety I was in, but definitely curious. Was the disease receding? Maybe the immune system was driving it off? No, that wouldn't have made much sense if the ones getting better were the two oldest patients. A later test confirmed it. Their immune systems were working as normal.

I asked my assistants if there'd been any changes the days before. They said no, it'd all been pretty much the same. I pressed them again, asking them to think of anything that might have affected the patients, and after a while of them thinking, I had my answer.

Apparently, one of the days before, the two of them had finished the work I'd assigned them a lot faster than expected. And I mean, with their shift still on and not much to do…

"They chose to spend time with those two patients?"

Their plan had been to hang out with all of them, actually. The patients were allowed to roam the halls, talk amongst themselves and go wherever they wanted as long as they didn't leave the building, but as time went on and their sickness progressed, fewer of them chose to do so. My assistants thought it'd be nice to bring them all together for tea, snacks and a little talk. Something to chase off the monotony, you know?

Unfortunately, only Anton and Sophie were willing. The others gave vague excuses like pain or exhaustion or just… flat out didn't answer, and it's not like they could be dragged off and forced to socialize if they didn't want to.

In any case, from what my assistants told me, it was a pleasant evening. Nothing life-changing. There were no heart to hearts or emotional breakdowns, just a nice chat amongst friends with accompanying tea and cookies and Sophie's Ditto changing into a bunch of stuff to entertain its guests.

And yet… it was enough. Enough to help.

My understanding of the disease changed significantly at that point. Was their small recovery somehow tied with their state of mind? I mean, yes, mind over matter and all that, but a bit of improvement to their mood shouldn't have made the skin discoloration decrease if it weren't directly related to the cause itself. Still, I couldn't make much sense of it. Were we dealing with a neurological disease? An infection? If so, how come it affected only the mental state and the color of the skin? What relation was there between the two?

As a development, it raised more questions than it answered, but it was something.

"Did you try implementing more socializing amongst the patients?"

In a way. The three of us couldn't divert too much time from our work to hang out with them, and forcing them to socialize with each other might have been counterintuitive. So I decided to call the people I thought would be best for the job.

[He stops for a few seconds. Hands wringing, he looks down and swallows.]

I thought… well, what better way to improve their mood than to have them see their loved ones?

"You mean family?"

For those who had family, yes. Friends or spouses for those who didn't. I called them and told them my theory; asked if they could come by and visit somewhat regularly, to test the effect it'd have on them. Of course, I assured them there was no risk of infection, that they could wear protective suits while in here if they so wished. It… I mean, it sounds like a good idea when I say it out loud, doesn't it? Of course these people would be more than happy to contribute to their loved ones getting better, right?

"Were they… not?"

I… somewhat.

[He keeps wringing his hands. I can tell he's getting more and more uncomfortable.]

Things were fine at first. Their loved ones came, they spent some time with the patients, the patients got better. I thought I could have that pattern continue until I could fully categorize the disease, but… that was just me being naïve.

That was the mistake that might've cost all those people their life. It's a mistake I might have not made if I'd actually gotten some experience as a doctor before heading to Wysteria.

Tell me, have you ever had to deal with a slowly-dying loved one?

[I pause for a second, gaze frozen on my notepad, then slowly look up at him. I take a few seconds before replying.]

"…Not slowly, no."

It's… I honestly don't know how to describe it. Crushing might be the best word. But not like something extremely heavy falling on top of you, more like… a constant weight. A weight which keeps getting heavier and heavier as you go along.

"No offence, but that sounds like a pretty disrespectful way to refer to someone who's dying."

Please, don't misunderstand me. I'm not trying to say they are some sort of burden, you can trust me on that. In fact, they are usually the ones carrying the heaviest weight. Those who have to endure the most.

And it is people like us, like those patients' loved ones, that are unable to do the same most of the time.

Like I said, I was naïve back then. But I've seen it time and time again ever since. When a patient is hospitalized, someone who cannot leave, someone who keeps getting worse and worse until it is clear they will most likely die on that hospital bed... it's not easy. Not for them, not for their loved ones, not for their doctors.

Hope and optimism are abundant at first. The patients are visited constantly, and are usually reassured with a firm smile and a confident tone. Then, as time goes by and improvement eludes them… things change. About a third of them start coming less regularly, and even when they do it's clear they don't want to be there. They don't want to suffer at such a horrible sight. Another third keeps up the rate of visits, but like the last group, their mood… dwindles. There's more tears. If it's a big family, fights might start breaking down. It reaches the point where they might start doing more damage by being there than if they were absent.

Then there's those who never stop visiting, never stop smiling, never stop hoping. They put on a brave face in the vain hope that it might scare away the specter of death they see gleaming from behind their loved one's eyes. But… don't kid yourself. They don't suffer any less than the other two thirds. I'd say they actually suffer more, they just know how to hide it.

Those who came to visit my patients… they were of the first and second sort, I'm afraid.

"You sound bitter."

I am. But not toward them; toward myself. Even though I'm aware we were all being manipulated, it's hard not to… feel regret.

Things started going downhill. The initial improvement in the patients' wellbeing couldn't counteract the massive drop that followed soon after. Some loved ones stopped visiting after the first few times, or they kept visiting but very sporadically. Others came, but… you could tell at a glance their presence would not make things better for anyone. No matter how much everyone tried to keep their spirits up, in the end it as a battle of attrition none of them could win.

Not everyone can defiantly smile at death for that long.

"I don't see how their suffering could compare in any way to that of the patients. All they had to do was keep visiting and at least pretend to smile. I'm sure it must've been hard, but the alternative was clearly much worse."

It's... a lot more common than you think. I've seen it time and time again ever since, even from the best of people. But it's also possible you're right. It's possible I'm just trying to make excuse for those kinds of people because that's exactly what I ended up doing in the end. Maybe I wouldn't be so quick to forgive those people if I hadn't been in their shoes.

In any case, what happened... it's something I'm content with taking full responsibility for. I should have known better. It's our job, as doctors, to stare death in the face and keep it at bay, not that of the patients or their loved ones. It's a burden we sign up for when we take on the job. To thrust it on people who were already suffering so much…

If I'd chosen not to go through with that plan, maybe I would've had enough time. The patients' decline would have continued, but at a steady, controllable pace. But dangling that hope over them, that semblance of the life they'd been stripped by, then having it be taken away… it accelerated their decline immensely.

Before, we knew of the disease's limits, of what it could and couldn't do. We thought that as long as we kept a close eye on all patients, what happened to my mother wouldn't repeat.

But then, as it worsened, the disease changed.

The patients had already stopped leaving their room voluntarily. They rarely smiled or cried or showed any recognizable type of emotion. They barely remembered themselves and those around them. Like the disease was sucking the soul out of them. It was... haunting. Wrong. I knew these people, I knew how they smiled, how they laughed, how strong they'd always been because that's what they needed to be. It's what I couldn't be. But now, I could barely recognize them. It w-was just... cruel. I couldn't have imagined how things could have gotten any worse.

Then came the screams.

Anton was the first. I was getting ready to clock out when I heard him scream bloody murder from inside his room. We rushed to him as fast as we could and found him hollering and thrashing about on his bed like he was being tortured, but… there was nothing. It was just him, alone.

We had to sedate him so we could examine what was wrong with him. A few seconds after, the smell hit me. It hit all of us.

I don't think I could describe it with words. It wasn't foul or nauseating like you're probably thinking, more… bitter. Strong. You know the smell of burnt tissue? Imagine that, but… cold.

It was the dark markings. Over those past few weeks they'd been spreading all throughout the patients' bodies, but the day before… they'd stopped. Stayed in place. I'd hoped t was a sign that the disease was spreading itself too thin, but again, that was naïve of me. It'd only stop spreading because it was intending to change its nature.

What we thought was a simple skin discoloration had quickly mutated into full-blown necrosis.

"Necrosis? You mean the skin cells started dying?"

The skin, then everything underneath. In Anton's case it meant much of his arms and legs, as well as parts of his stomach, pancreas and lungs. The necrosis didn't penetrate deep enough to cause mortal injury. Only to destabilize the patient and cause… what I imagine must have been a staggering amount of pain.

But knowing that Anton wasn't about to die didn't exactly calm my nerves. It did the opposite, actually. It was at that point that I became aware of just how in over my head I actually was. The following minutes were… chaos. I know because I can barely remember them. I wasn't prepared. I doubt even the most experienced of doctors would've been, yet there I was.

Funny thing about necrotic wounds, by the way. They don't heal on their own. So before we could even think about what was happening, we needed to remove all necrotic tissue so that the body could start to heal.

"I thought necrotic tissue was usually removed surgically, but I'm guessing you didn't have the resources to…"

There wasn't any need, though you're right in that we didn't have access to that kind of equipment, nor a surgeon. There are plenty of other ways to deal with necrotic tissue that don't involve surgery though, and thankfully we counted with a Pokemon that is commonly used in hospitals for that kind of treatment. Sophie's Ditto. We ran over and asked her if we could borrow it, though she could barely muster a response. We then took it to Anton's room and placed it on top of his wounds, telling Ditto to absorb the dead cells and then spit them out.

We managed to get rid of all the dead tissue, though that did little to put us at ease. There was… silence, though. The sedatives we gave him would last for a few more hours, so for a while the three of us just stood there around his sleeping body, breathing hard and staring each other down, like we expected one of us to say something reassuring or at least try to come up with an explanation to what the hell had just happened.

In the end I cleared my throat and told them to check on the other patients while I stayed by Anton's side and… thought about what to do next. I was sure everyone in the building had heard the screams. And if I was right and the disease got worse as the patients' moods did… then this couldn't mean anything good.

I stayed in that room the whole night. Sitting next to Anton not because of any specific reason but because I didn't know if I was in the right mental space to even go back to my apartment. Then, first thing in the morning, I called my employers and told them I was quitting.

"Just like that?"

There's nothing else I could've done. Whatever this disease was, whatever was happening to these people… I couldn't help them. I was way in over my head. I told them so and asked them to send someone to replace me, or failing that to at least transfer the patients to a proper medical facility. But… they couldn't help us. Not fast enough at least.

They told me they could look into hiring a more specialized group of medical experts, but it would take some time. And as for transferring the patients… they couldn't do that. Even with the evidence we'd gathered, there wasn't concrete, 100% proof that the disease couldn't spread from person to person and Wysteria's hospitals weren't outfitted for quarantine-level threats.

However… they told me they'd still accept my leave if I wished to go through with it. No hard feelings. My two assistants would keep taking care of the patients until they could get a hold of other medical experts. I could just… leave, if I really wanted to.

…You know, they could've just ordered me to stay there and keep working unless I wanted to face legal repercussions, and it wouldn't have been as effective.

"You had to stay. You couldn't just abandon them."

[Podvig laughs bitterly.]

Don't say it like it was kind of me. I could've left and put it all behind me or I could've fully thrown myself in and spent as much time as I could with the patients, supporting them whatever way I could, until someone else came to help. Instead I chose to do neither. I kept drowning myself in work while things kept getting worse around me.

I couldn't live with the fact that I was the kind of person who'd have rather leave those people to rot while I relished in blissful ignorance, but I couldn't bring myself to face it either. In the end, it's like I didn't choose anything at all.

[He shrugs with heavy shoulders.]

At that point the fight was already lost. We let the disease get enough momentum that it didn't matter what we did next; we couldn't stop it.

"Did the rest of the patients suffer from the same?"

Yes, but that wasn't the worst of it. Their discolorated skin would mutate to necrotic tissue, we would clean it out but then more spots would pop out elsewhere in their body, and the cycle would repeat. It was madness. It didn't make any sense biologically, but what could we do? Help wasn't coming. Almost all the patients' loved ones had stopped visiting and the last time one of them had come, they'd passed out from shock and horror just moments after entering the room.

I won't describe what the constant spread of necrotic tissue did to them. You don't deserve that. But I'm not talking about how their bodies looked, or how the room stank like cold rotten flesh or anything of that sort. Sometimes bodies fall apart in the most twisted of ways and there's nothing inherently wrong or unnatural about it, it's just life. That, we had trained for. That we were ready for.

What we weren't ready for was what the disease did, deep down, to these people.

Having their weak cries and wails echo through the rooms of the building while we could do nothing but try to ease the pain was… horrible. Indescribably so. But do you know what was much worse? Having those wails be replaced with silence.

At some point, one after the other, they just… stopped complaining. Stopped struggling. They weren't in a daze or a coma or anything. They were just… done. They would lay on their bed and look up blankly at the ceiling, resigned, as their bodies slowly rotted away from the inside.

That was the worst part, I think. The disease never killed them on its own, even with the necrosis. It always stopped just before doing serious damage to any system or organ. It just… hurt them. Tortured them as much as possible without putting them in danger of death. Like it didn't want them to die at all.

At least not by its hand.

[Podvig shakes his head and looks down, chest deflating.]

Funny how it's always us who get the short end of the stick, eh?

"..."

You said they didn't choose us because they had a grudge against us, but that doesn't change the fact they specifically targetted people who weren't native to Wysteria. Maybe that's the kinda people they needed for their experiment. But still, magic or no magic, excuse or no excuse, funny how outsiders like us are always the one being hurt like this. Funny how even in the realm of the fantastical we can never seem to catch a break.

"I... apologize if what I said before came off as me trying to excuse their actions in any way. That is not what I meant at all."

It's alright. From what I've read in your website, I doubt there's anyone in the planet who hates these people as much as you do, and who is as dedicated to bringing them down.

"Still... I'm sorry."

Yeah. So am I.

Those following days... I'd say it was hell, but in all honesty, it was more like purgatory. A never-ending, never-changing state of miserable, pointless suffering. At some points during those weeks, I began to think that might've actually been the case.

I could barely remember why I'd come to Wysteria or what I'd planned to do afterwards. Couldn't remember what I was working towards. Calls to my employers kept being hand waved, those to my patients' loved ones kept being ignored. The few times I left the building and headed back to my apartment, I don't remember seeing any person or Pokemon sharing the street with me. Inside my room, despite knowing full well that it couldn't be the case, I couldn't get the idea out of my head that I was the only person living in that entire building.

Everything was still, cold. Unchanging. Even when I was with my assistants, it felt like we were each talking to the other from opposite ends of a long, narrow tunnel. They didn't feel real, didn't feel like they were actually there. When I looked at them all I saw were blurry figures, like shadows in a heat haze.

The only thing in the world that felt truly real was the presence of my patients behind the walls surrounding me. Whatever was going on inside them, it felt like it echoed off every surface of the building. It wasn't anger or pain or sadness. It felt more like… a tenseness. Impatience. Like when a string is stretched to its limits, the moment before it snaps, except… the moment never came. We were trapped in the moment before it, and deep down knew it wouldn't change unless someone did something about it.

[He stops for a moment, then shakes his head and smiles as he looks up at me.]

Sounds like a pretty flowery and convoluted way of saying I wanted my own patients to die, doesn't it?

"I…"

I won't try to justify myself. I was just… exhausted. Wrung out. I wanted it to end, even if I had to make it so myself. Funny that, no? I was arguably the one suffering less in that entire building, yet I was the first one to crack. Speaks volumes about the kind of person I was.

I'd already tried to subtly discuss the possibility with the patients' families… those who had family, that is. But of course they refused. Part of me wanted to feel bitter; first they refused to come visit them and then they chastised me for wanting to put an end to their suffering? But… no, it wasn't their fault. Dealing with this was my responsibility. When you give a loved one to a doctor, you do so expecting them to do everything in their power to help them. In that regard, I wasn't much different from them. I'd broken under the pressure.

Still, there were two… Anton and Sophie. The ones that had suffered necrosis first. They were in the worst state out of all of them; you could barely call them living anymore.

And they didn't have families, at least not in Kanto. I'd been given the role of their legal guardian. I could make medical decisions on their behalf once they were unable to make them, which was now the case.

[I look up from my notepad to Podvig, brow furrowing.]

"Last I checked, guardianship doesn't give you the legal means to perform euthanasia on a patient, no matter what state they're in. In Kanto, at least."

This is something you've checked before, then?

"…"

Right, sorry.

But yes, I am, and was, aware of that. But do you really think I cared? My future, whatever might happen to me, it's like those notions didn't exist. In that moment, I truly did believe that there'd never been anything in my life except that building and my dying patients. Legality wasn't a concern.

I just wanted it to end.

"…How did you do it, then? I can't imagine you had the drugs commonly used for euthanization."

No, but we had morphine, and lots of it. All sent by my employers. To be used sparingly and only in order to help with immense pain.

…Yeah, Right.

All it'd been good for so far was to delay the inevitable. But now, it'd help me selfishly put an end to this. Not to their suffering, but to mine. Mercy was on my mind when I did what I did, but it was far from what really drove me to it.

I… chose to stay in the building that night. Told my assistants I was too tired to walk back to my apartment, that I could look over the patients and that they should head back and get a good night's sleep. I barely heard their reply. Like I was listening from far, far away. But it didn't matter, as they left a few minutes later, and I got to work.

[It's hard to keep the clear discomfort I feel as it seeps into my voice.]

"Tell me at least you asked for his consent."

Of course I did. But don't think better of me. It wasn't because it was the right thing to do, I only did it so I could justify it to myself. So I could at least pretend this wasn't about me and was instead about my patients. But even the reply I got was...

[He shakes his head, unable to find the words.]

I won't burden you with the details. It was quick. I stood next to Anton as he slipped into a morphine overdose and watched like in a trance as he quickly fell to his own death.

And that's when it happened.

I don't know what I expected to feel. Relief? Sadness? Disgust at myself? Even then, I didn't have much time to reflect on what I'd done. The moment Anton died, something happened.

The light in the room went out. I was plunged into complete darkness and yet, somehow, I thought I could see something in front of me. Right where Anton's wide, dead eyes were, I swear I saw a… gleam or flicker of some kind. Like the spark that comes out of a lighter before flame erupts.

A second later, I heard the sound of something catching ablaze in the boiler room. Then an explosion tore through the building, and I lost consciousness for what felt like a whole minute.

When I came back to myself, it was…

[Podvig takes a few seconds to continue, trying to find the words.]

I don't know. I don't know what it was. The room was bright with the flames licking up the walls and ceiling and I could swear their crackling sounded like snapping bones. My mind couldn't process what was happening so my body moved on its own. I ran and kicked the burning door open before jumping through it, but I needn't have bothered. The rest of the building was burning too.

It was like a surreal dream. Sometimes I still think it couldn't have been real, right up until I look in the mirror.

Every wall, every door, every room and every inch of the ceiling was burning with bright, almost white flames that somehow produced no smoke. They licked at the edges of the building and grew, slowly crawling through the floor toward me. The heat was… unreal. Despite the absence of smoke I could barely take a breath and every time I did it felt like my lungs were being cooked from the inside.

I had to find a way out. I had to run through the flames and get to the front door and…

And that's when I heard the voice behind me. A woman's voice, coming from the burning insides of the boiler room. It sounded cold and uncaring.

'You certainly took your time,' it said. 'But I guess all's well that ends well.'

I slowly turned around and found myself face to face with the woman from the bus, the one I hadn't seen ever since I arrived at Wysteria. She was… different. Her clothes were slowly burning away and both her skin and hair looked like they were partly made of flames themselves. And…

And she was holding something between her hands. Some sort of… ornament? No, it was like one of those fancy chandeliers made of crystal and black iron. I wouldn't learn until much later that it was actually the husk of a Pokemon native to Unova; a Chandelure. One whose flame had been snuffed away.

A flame this woman had probably taken for herself.

A second after I noticed it, she grabbed it with one hand and threw it casually behind her. I heard the sound of crystal shattering. Then she took a deep, relaxed breath like she was breathing fresh air and shone me a quick, dispassionate smile.

'Thank you for your help,' she said. 'But it's all right. You can rest now.'

Then the flames eating away at the building flared up, and… nothing.

"N…nothing?"

I don't remember what happened after that. Next thing I knew I was in a hospital bed, weeks after the fact, about ninety percent of my body unrecognizable from the burns. I'd… survived, somehow. The only one who did. Official story was that there'd been a malfunction in the boiler room which had caused an explosion and then a fire.

I guess I should've gone with that story, try to preserve my sanity and other's beliefs in it. Instead, I tried to tell everyone the truth, and look what that got me. My medical license was revoked because they thought my psyche had been compromised, and even after moving to a different city I'm still known as the burnt man who's completely out of his mind.

…Still. It could've been worse. I could have died back there.

And… the rest, as they say, is history. I doubt you're interested in me recounting what happened after I left Wysteria.

[We sit across each other in silence for almost a minute. I want to say something, but I can feel my gut ablaze and my head spinning with the information I've just learned.

But that's no excuse, really.]

"For whatever it's worth… I'm sorry."

Thank you, Tulip.

"Would you like me to… would you like to know? The truth. Who those responsible were and why they did what they did? I feel like it's only fair to…"

No, that's fine.

"Are you sure?"

Yes. I didn't agree to this interview to help myself move on or anything like that. I agreed to help you. Because I knew this information would be useful to you. I'm… alright, as I am. Despite what it might look like, I'm happy with my life. I've moved on. I've accepted that what I did was horrible, but that I never would've done so if I hadn't been pushed that far by the powers that be, as it were.

So no, I don't want nor need the truth. I just want to enjoy what's left of my life, if that's okay with you.

"…Of course. I understand."

[Podvig smiles, though it's only clear by his eyes.]

It's not too late for you either, you know.

"…Thanks. But someone has to do what I'm doing."

I don't doubt that. But there's no harm in looking forward to a future where things are better, even if you don't think you'll ever experience it.

"I think I'd rather not get my hopes up."

Well… if you say so.

But if you ever feel like you could do with a break from all this… I'd be more than happy to brew you another cup of tea.

[I try to smile back, but my lips feel like they've forgotten the gesture. After a few seconds, I just nod.]

"Thanks. I'll keep it in mind."

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

[The recorder buzzes to life once again.]

Tulip here. We're still on our way to Vermillion.

"Boy are we ever."

[Tulip pauses, takes a deep, slow breath, then continues.]

This interview clearly depicts the process through which the Fourth Stigma, with the Sixth's help, came into possession of her… abilities. It seems her Blossoming involved not only the demise of a Pokemon, but also that of seven other people. I do believe Podvig's mother was originally supposed to serve as a sacrifice as well, but she died in an unrelated incident before she could suffer that fate.

I do have some theories about the significance of these sacrifices and what they mean in relation to what the Fourth 'inherited', so to speak, but I'd rather wait until I have more information on the matter.

Still, this is by far one of the most fruitful interviews, in terms of information. Now that I know more about the Fourth, it'll be easier to find a way to kill her.

In any case. There is another interview, which I'm sure I'll have the time to post and analyze before we make it to Wysteria, s–

"Let's be honest. You could probably post about a dozen in the time it'll take us to get there."

[There's silence for a moment. The recorder creaks against Tulip's forceful grip, and for only a moment she tries to breathe deep and control herself.

It doesn't work.]

Okay, you know wh–!?

[The recording cuts off.]