-Soledad-

"Groo..."

I opened my eyes. Cold air brushed my skin. It clashed with the warmth that radiated from Charizard's scales. He growled at me again. I examined the sky. It was covered in dark clouds, as usual, with the yellowish light of the moon peeking through the blood-colored smoke that swirled around its dimmed glow. The air smelled of seawater. I'd fallen asleep shortly after we left Eden, wanting to be as alert as possible when we reached Cerulean, and when I pushed myself up to look past Charizard's neck, I realized that he had woken me because we finally arrived.

When the fusions invaded Kanto, Cerulean City had fallen with the rest of them. Kruismara's vicious earthquake attacks had torn apart the terrain that separated the city from the Cerulean Cape, allowing the sea to roll in and destroy everything in its path. What the fusions didn't finish off, the water did. Now, skyscrapers were the only fragments of Cerulean left standing, poking out of the ink-colored expanse like dead beacons, the rest of the city buried beneath a watery grave. Cerulean had been referred to as "The Floral Lagoon", but I doubt that this was what any of the natives had had in mind. Dozens of abandoned ships circled the city like a gate, remnants of the Cape's once busy harbors.

Charizard lowered until he was right above the water, using the skyscrapers as cover. While I knew that the Crimson Call's main base was here, I didn't know their exact location. Boats surrounded the buildings, patched together with salvaged materials, and I hummed at the familiarity of them. Charizard grunted when he turned a corner and almost slammed into the hull of a barren cruise ship that had strayed inward from the ring. He flew out of the way and we both watched as it casually brushed against the side of a tower. Glass shattered. Metal screeched.

The collision had almost hid the sound of gunfire from above.

Wooden catwalks connected the higher levels of different skyscrapers, reminding me of the rope bridges that linked Fortree together. The platforms shook beneath the anxious steps of humans and pokemon as they fought off a horde of harpies. They weren't the Crimson Call. I'd seen this group before during my days as Artemis, when I had crossed over this city many times. While I had never stopped to talk, they seemed like regular survivors who had stayed despite Cerulean's destruction and had turned what was left into a makeshift colony.

A harpy sneered when its attempt to grab a little girl ended with nothing but a bullet grazing its thigh. Pissed, it flew forward and grabbed the attacker – a teenage boy – while one of its buddies sunk its talons into the shoulders of an older man. They took off, only to stop when more bullets struck their sides. With dying cries, they fell from the air, taking their victims with them. They crashed through the glass roof of a building that had been boarded off from the rest of the colony via a wall of rusted metal plates and spray-painted warning signs.

The little girl cried and reached for the boy that'd been taken, but a woman quickly grabbed her and retreated for the sanctuary of the tower behind them while her fellow colonists held off the other harpies.

Charizard looked at me, concern in his eyes.

I switched my gaze between him, the colonists, and the boarded tower.

"Damn it," I muttered.

I nudged his side. He flew to the top of the boarded tower. That wall was there for a reason, but the boy and the old man could've survived the fall. I jumped down from Charizard's back, into the hole, and landed on tiled flooring covered with shards of glass. It was quiet. The harpies' roars and the barks of guns were muffled from the walls. I was in some sort of shopping mall. Two rifles lay in front of me, broken. The boy and the old man were nowhere to be seen. Neither were the harpies that'd brought them in here. I narrowed my eyes and grabbed a handgun from my thigh. Weak light came from flickering store signs. I returned Charizard to his pokeball and followed a trail of blood that led to a hair salon in the back.

Sneaking through booths that sold magazines and other products, I approached the salon. When I heard crunching sounds, I hugged the wall and looked past the corner. I saw the boy's reflection in the salon's mirror, which showed that he was very much alive – albeit with scrapes and scratches – but shaking in the supply closet. He stared with wide eyes, but not at me, hiding as best as he could. That crunching sound was louder, followed by the slosh of something unpleasant. A few bulbs in the salon still worked. They highlighted the central area, where the blood trail became a gory mess beneath a bulky, hunched figure.

The figure's form mimicked a wingless druddigon, but its skin was spectral, colored purple like a haunter. The only physical features to its shape were the yellowing bones that covered its claws, arms, legs, shoulders, spine, and tail, splattered with blood and flesh. It turned and I quickly hid. Through the mirror, I saw the marowak-like skull that served as its head, with fangs built specifically for ripping and tearing. Its eyes were nothing but hollow sockets. Hanging from its jaw was a face – the face of the old man, I presumed, the rest of his body torn to shreds in front of the beast. With a slurp, the beat swallowed the face and went back to chewing on the man's severed arm, trying to satiate its hunger that was far more ravenous than your typical fusion's. In the corner, the bones of the harpies, picked clean, were strewn around carelessly.

Shit. A fucking wendigo.

No wonder the colonists had boarded this place off. If a wendigo fusion had made its nest here, then…

I looked toward the other shops, toward what I could identify beneath dying lights, and I saw bones scattered everywhere. Bones of humans. Bones of pokemon. Bones of other fusions. Bones of anyone stupid enough to come jumping in here, trying to be a hero.

Damn it.

The teenager still shivered in the closet. Wendigos were gluttons, and, in that sense, sloths as well. They would definitely attack when presented with the opportunity, but if nothing threatened the meal they had, they wouldn't worry about their next one until they were done. Considering how fast the wendigo had eaten the dead harpies and now devoured the old man, I didn't have much time to get the boy out of there.

I waved my arm, but the boy didn't see me. His eyes were transfixed on the horror scene right outside his door. The only way I could get his attention was to make a sound, but any noise also guaranteed to attract the wendigo. If I had to be loud, I might as well make it worthwhile.

I pointed my gun at the back of the fusion's skull and fired.

The wendigo cried with a ghastly voice and reached for its head. The boy didn't hesitate to run, almost slipping on the blood and organs spilled out across the floor, and he stopped when he crossed me, his mouth open with dozens of questions. I released Charizard near the broken ceiling.

"Go!" I told the boy.

He didn't say anything else and dashed for my pokemon.

The wendigo stood. My bullet had only cracked its skull, not broken it. It faced me, as hulking as a behemoth and as tall as an operator, thin to the point where it appeared famished. Its purple skin became red with anger and it roared, revealing a throat that looked like a bottomless pit. As it rushed toward me, I reached for the salon's gate and slammed it down in its face. It pulled at the metal with bony claws. It had enough strength to tear it from its hinges, but it didn't have the patience. It reached for its head, gripping tightly with both hands, and with a sickening crunch it broke its own neck, crushing its skull.

I moved back as the wendigo's body slumped to the floor, only to step on another skull, a blastoise's. A wave of purple and red crept between the holes of the salon's gate and blew over me. I coughed and gagged from the smell of rotted flesh. The blastoise skull rose in the air and the wendigo materialized, its druddigon shape taking form beneath it. With psychic powers, it pulled in any other nearby bones to give physical structure to its limbs.

It slashed at me, its claw grazing my cheek. Its nail caught the line for my communicator and pulled it out of my ear. When the wendigo realized it hadn't ripped away actual skin, it hissed and smashed the device in its fist.

"Get him out of here!" I said to Charizard, who flew out of the building to take the boy to safety.

The wendigo snarled. I aimed at its skull and destroyed it with one bullet. That ghostly shape hovered around, looking for another skull it could possess. I searched with it. Unless all the skulls in a wendigo's nest were destroyed (along with the one it wore), there was no killing it. It would just keep regenerating itself. Damage inflicted to any other parts of its body, especially its wraith-like skin, did nothing.

I shot any skulls I could see. In the darkness to my far right, the wendigo rose. Fuck. There was no way I was going to destroy all the skulls if I couldn't see half of them.

Remembering the promise I'd made, I tossed Blaziken's pokeball. "Flamethrower!"

Blaziken appeared in front of me and immediately opened her beak, encasing herself in a fiery tornado that illuminated the area and kept the wendigo at bay. The other two pokeballs on my belt shook. They burst open. Roserade and Cacturne stared at me, awaiting orders.

"Destroy every skull you can find," I said.

They got to work. I pulled out a second handgun and focused on clearing away any skulls I spotted near the wendigo's position. When Cacturne and Roserade returned to my side, I destroyed what I hoped was the final skull on the ground.

The wendigo roared. Blaziken's flamethrower was cut off. She flew past me and slammed into the far wall. The fusion, its nails glowing with the remnants of dragon claw, breathed heavily where she had stood. Cacturne and Roserade prepared to attack. The wendigo's skin burned like the surface of the sun. Its sockets turned red, as piercing as daggers.

Cacturne and Roserade froze. The wendigo's scary face had left them horrified and vulnerable to the fusion's quicker attacks. As the wendigo approached, I realized I couldn't take the chance. Pokemon changed faster than humans when infected with the Virus. The cure didn't work as well on them, either. One bite and they were practically goners. I returned them to their pokeballs and rolled out of the way of the wendigo's charge. My back touched the wall.

The wendigo faced me. A flamethrower struck its shoulder. It stumbled with a yelp. Blaziken rushed forward, her leg burning with blaze kick, but the wendigo whirled and grabbed her right before she made contact. It lifted her in the air. She struggled against its grip. It opened its jaw.

I fired.

It reared when my bullet pierced the side of its head. Something shattered. I returned Blaziken to her pokeball, stealing her from its grasp. The last skull was its own. It had no more places to regenerate-

It lunged. My bullet had only cracked its skull. I aimed. It knocked the gun out of my hand with one swipe. I tried to kick its shin, but the force didn't even hinder its step. It trapped me against the wall. I punched its skull as hard as I could.

Fuck! Get off!

My fist stopped, midair, when its fangs sunk into my side.

I felt the Virus enter my bloodstream, draining my strength. The world spun. The pain overwhelmed me. I fought the paralysis that inched up my spine. Even as I refused to give in, my body withered from the poison.

A roar echoed across the mall. The wendigo looked around, teeth stained red, shreds of my armor hanging from its jaw. An ember attack hit its head. The skull burst into pieces. With a ghostly wail, the wendigo dissipated into the air. The other bones it had used dropped to the ground. It didn't come back.

My vision blurred. A figure approached me, his tail burning bright. He nudged my cheek with his snout. I felt his claws fumble clumsily with my belt, trying to get something off of it. Then, I saw a band and a bottle filled with green liquid. He growled, anxious, and he pushed the items against my chest. My eyelids felt heavier. He pushed harder. I blinked. My vision cleared just enough to make out Charizard's form. He held out the antivirus and the band to me with both claws, whimpering. I battled the fatigue, the agony, the dizziness, and I took the objects from him.

"That could've gone better," I mumbled, remembering all the times where, as Artemis, I had collapsed in places just like this, having been bitten just like this, having to give myself the cure just like this, feeling like dying but too damn stubborn to do so. The times where I was tired of playing this game of lies, hatred, and tempting death, yet knowing that if I quit, they would win. And I was too damn stubborn.

I wanted to laugh. Artemis wouldn't have put herself in harm's way to save some kid. Because of that, she was one of the few people who survived in this kind of world.

So why had I lived?

Charizard kept watch as I took off my chest piece, tightened the band around my arm, made a fist, and tapped the skin. The nauseating, burning touch of the Virus was something I knew all too well. I took the cap off the bottle with my mouth and entered the needle into my vein, exhaling at the familiar sting. The antivirus felt cold as it surged through my body. I put my chest piece back on, as torn as it was, and lay against the wall, letting the cure cleanse my blood, wondering if this would be the one time where it wouldn't work. The earlier you got the cure, the better chance you had, but there was always that ratio for failure, and there had been a lot of close calls when I was Artemis. Just like this.

Will I live?

I felt my side, where the wendigo had bitten me.

Artemis. Soledad.

I pulled my hand back. My fingertips were saturated with blood.

Maybe…they were never different people to begin with.

Everything went black.

"You're angry." His voice was heavy. Even with my eyes closed, I could pinpoint him as he circled, staring with that onyx gaze. "You want justice. You want to see your enemies suffer for all that they've done. You're willing to sacrifice your emotions and your memories, and destroy any sense of attachment you've had to your past life, yet you maintain your anger. Why?"

"A reminder to keep fighting until everything they cherish has been taken away from them."

He hummed. "And when are you done?"

I listened to his movements: his feet upon the cushioned floor, the shuffling of his clothes with every step, his sigh that resounded like thunder in the cold, empty dojo. I imagined that he was the Arbiter Corporation. I imagined that he was a fusion. I imagined that he was Katherine Verdana.

From my left, he lunged. My eyes flew open. I ducked and turned, my knees bent, and I stopped with my knuckles against his solar plexus. His own jab hung above my head.

"When every single one of them is dead," I hissed.

Koga smiled, impressed with how much progress I'd made, but his jaw firmed as he contemplated my answer. "Too much anger will only lead to blood that doesn't need to be shed. Justice without mercy is nothing short of revenge, and revenge is a monster that can never be defeated. There will never be victory. Nothing will ever be good enough. A warrior fights because she must, not because she's paranoid of what will happen if she puts down her blade."

I stepped back from him and examined my fist. "Then when does the fighting stop? How do you know when it's over?"

"When you can stare into the very face of your fear and say 'I won'."

I woke up.

The lights above were bright. My side ached, though the pain was considerably dull compared to before. I was on a bed, in some sort of hospital room. No, it was a pharmacy that had been converted into an infirmary. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and supplies. I sat up, my muscles stiff. I was still dressed in my ripped armor, but the wendigo bite had been tended to by someone. I touched the bandage. The wound was sore, but I could definitely tolerate it.

"Groo!"

Charizard approached, a relieved smile on his snout. Behind him, Cacturne, Roserade, and Blaziken practically climbed over each other to get to me, their voices – based on their tones – a jumbled mess of questions and scolds.

"Didn't mean to scare you guys back there," I said, patting Cacturne on the shoulder, "but you know how the Virus works. Your trainers entrusted me with your lives. I couldn't risk any of you-"

Blaziken squawked, jabbing my collarbone with her claw.

"Yeah, I know. You're not alone. Just need to be reminded sometimes." When I reached to embrace her, pain shot through my side. I grimaced. "Alright, maybe all of the time."

"They refused to rest until you woke up."

The boy from the mall stood at the doorway, carrying fresh gauze, a bottle of water, and various tubes of homemade berry ointments. The scrapes and scratches on his face had been mended with cream and dressings. Tousled, black hair framed his freckled face, his eyes the color of oak. Despite his pale skin, he had a firm step, not a cautious walk governed by nightmares and fusions encounters, something the wendigo hadn't changed. He was lean, a good candidate for the high school track and field team, and probably no older than fifteen or sixteen.

"Where are we?" I said.

"A tower that's not filled with wendigos. Don't worry." He sat on the nearby chair and fumbled with my bandages. "Your charizard brought you here after he took me back to my mom. You were passed out. We tended to that wound as fast as we could, but, man, if you hadn't injected yourself with the antivirus when you did, I don't know if we could have saved you."

"I have experience."

"I'll say. That wendigo took refuge in that tower a while ago. None of us had been able to kill it and anyone who went in there never came back out. We just ended up sealing the place off, but the fact that you killed it means we can finally go back in there for supplies and stuff."

I gripped the bed sheet as he cleaned the wound with water and applied fresh ointment. I managed to keep the pain from my voice: "How long have I been out?"

"All night."

Shit. I'd promised I'd be back at Eden before the Monoliths came. For all I know, they could have arrived early. My communicator had been destroyed by the wendigo and Cerulean didn't have a military base that would've allowed me to contact Eden – one that wasn't underwater, anyway. This tone of silence and uncertainty from my end couldn't have been good. I remembered the fear in Drew's eyes, his hesitance toward letting me go. He had trusted me and believed that I wouldn't lie to him again. They all had. Had Harley slept at all last night?

"You look worried," the boy said. "Got someone waiting for you somewhere? I mean, we're a small group and I've never seen you around here before."

"Something like that." I stomached the guilt and eyed him. "There are places safer than this, places where you get the occasional fusion attack instead of ten a day."

He shrugged. "Yeah."

"Then why do you choose to stay here?"

"Pretty much the same reason someone would volunteer to go fight in a war that could very much get them killed, instead of running for the hills. Pride. Tradition. Stubbornness. I don't know. I was younger when this all started, but my grandpa refused to leave when they called in the order to evacuate. Said he was born here and that he was gonna die here. A lot of people felt the same way. Me? My mother doesn't want to leave and, of course, neither does my sister. I'm here to protect them." He shifted weight between his shoulders. "Probably should do a better job at protecting myself."

"Not many could glance at a wendigo and live to tell the tale."

"Well, that was mostly because of you, but…" He beamed. "Thanks! Name's Jacquel, by the way. Friends call me Jac."

"Soledad. You seem to carry yourself pretty well." When he finished replacing my bandages and tossed the old, bloody ones into the waste bin, I added: "In more ways than one."

"The wound would've been way worse if you hadn't been wearing that armor. Besides, blood doesn't scare me. I wanted to be a doctor when I was older, for both pokemon and humans. I spend a lot of time in the library on the lower levels reading medical books, and I'm usually somewhere when someone has an injury." He sighed. "But, there was too much back there. That wendigo was on Ross faster than I could even realize it."

"Listen-"

"I know, it's a war out there, and monsters are real, and you can't save everyone." He stood and washed his hands in the sink across from my bed. "At least not all of humanity has been lost, right?" He smiled softly. "Thanks for saving me. Hell, my mother wants to hug the crap out of you. So does my sister. I've told everyone to give you space. Like I said, you're not from around here. Is there any way we can repay you? Sanctuary? A place to stay for a few days? No, wait, you got that person waiting for you. Supplies, then?" He gestured around. "We got some to spare."

"I could use some information, actually."

"On what?"

"The Crimson Call."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"I heard their main base is in Cerulean. I need to have a talk with their leader. Unfinished business."

Silence lingered between us. Jacquel examined me, undoubtedly searching for that break in my posture – that one giveaway – that would confirm malicious intentions, but I remained calm and held his gaze. Then, his brows loosened and he relaxed his shoulders.

"Do you want to hire them or something?" he said.

"No. Just want to talk to their leader."

"It's not that easy."

"I know."

He grabbed his chair, turned it around, and straddled it, leaning his arms against the top rail. "We don't get many visitors. Some come searching for supplies and we're usually willing to barter with them when they're not trying to be dicks about it. Others just try scavenging what they assume we don't use for whatever reason. A lot of the bones you saw in that wendigo's nest didn't just come from us. Most people that cross over Cerulean are looking for Mordecai Wheeler, though. He's the current Commander of the Crimson Call."

"So they're definitely here?"

"Oh yeah. They hang out on one of the cargo ships outside of the city. It's heavily guarded, so you can't just ask to see Mordecai and expect to see Mordecai. Even he has secretaries that deal with potential contracts. He rarely gets involved."

"Then I'll find him."

Jacquel gawked, probably surprised by my bluntness. He shook away the dumbfounded look. "Well, you did take down a wendigo and save my life. Something tells me that you walking up to Mordecai's door and ringing his bell shouldn't sound as insane as it does."

"What do you know about him?"

"He's crazy. Really. The Crimson Call aren't saints, but from what I was told, they did have a sense of honor a long time ago. That changed when Mordecai took over. Everything became about the money, no matter what the client asked for. I know they're mercenaries and mercenaries are, well, about the money, but there was a time when they had their own moral code and they wouldn't accept just any contract. Now you could stick them with a bunch of fusions and the only difference there'd be is that they wear clothes."

"Has your colony had any bouts with them, being so close and all?"

"A few times. They're expensive and, thankfully, no one has been willing to hire them to clear us out. Sometimes we go to them for help, but they want so much for their services that we might as well handle any problems with fusions and scavengers by ourselves. Or board up towers. One of the two." He hesitated. "I'm…not going to regret telling you all of this, am I?"

I glanced at my thigh. My gun and knives were missing, a security measure I couldn't blame the colony for having. "No."

"Right. Sorry, it's just…"

I smiled, reassuring. "I understand. If you trust me, I'll trust you." I reached into the ammo pouch on my belt. As I suspected, Jacquel had only removed my weapons, as taking everything I'd carried while I slept wouldn't have looked very grateful on his end. This included my pokemon, who sounded like they had forced themselves from their pokeballs upon my arrival. Trying to remove them from the room would've led to unnecessary conflict.

Honestly, I was getting better treatment than I would have given myself.

I pulled out my Resistance badge, my name engraved on it.

He nearly fell off his chair. "Holy crap! You're part of the Regions' Fleets!" He leaned his forehead against his arm and groaned. "Why didn't I see that? That explains everything. I feel dumb."

"It never hurts to be cautious." I touched my bandaged side. "I appreciate the help."

"It was the least I could do." He leaned forward. "Whatever your mission is, I'll help in any way I can. You probably shouldn't be moving out with broken gear and an empty stomach, though."

I opened my mouth to protest, but I was interrupted by a loud grumbling sound. I looked at Blaziken, who held her stomach. She grinned, embarrassed.

"Told you," Jacquel said. "I'll get your pokemon fed and bring you something."

Blaziken, Cacturne, Charizard, and Roserade hesitated when he gestured for them to follow him. They trusted him. They just didn't want to leave me alone. When Blaziken's stomach grumbled again, the others glared at her. I bit back another smile. She was just like her trainer. I waved, signifying that I'd be okay. They nodded. Jacquel led them out the door.

I stood, adjusting myself to the pain from my side, and I focused on the ceiling. Jacquel had only confirmed my suspicions that taking down the Crimson Call wouldn't be easy. I also didn't doubt his claims that Mordecai was the reason behind much of their arrogance. Mercenary brotherhoods formed to accomplish goals without having to pledge their lives to any military or state, but they still needed a Commander, someone who served as a voice of reason, logic, and leadership in a group sometimes asked to do foolish things. With Mordecai, nothing was foolish if there was enough money involved.

After all, what honor was there in killing the family of your enemy when they'd done nothing to you?

My own hypocrisy hurt more than the bite. I had done a lot of foolish things as Artemis – stupid, dishonorable things – because I was scared. I was scared that the Arbiter Corporation would get away with everything they've done. Wiping out the Crimson Call wouldn't change that. Nothing would change. Nothing had changed. Here I was, ready to go in, guns blazing, to protect my family, the husband I'd missed and the son I cherished, and when I thought about it, it wasn't any different from the break in nightly killings that Artemis would take to make sure Malcolm slept safely.

Anger boiled in my stomach, anger toward Verdana for starting all of this, anger toward the Arbiter Corporation for keeping it alive, anger toward Mordecai for trying to hurt my family, and anger toward myself for honestly believing that Artemis was just an alter ego, a dark past I could leave behind, a mistake that could be forgiven if I pointed my guns at the right people for once. She wasn't something I could pretend never existed. She was a manifestation of my hatred and my fear. I was her. She was me. When I let that anger fester, when I let it take control, it did nothing but prove that Artemis was a piece of me I could never let go.

If that anger is still there, then…

My hands clenched into fists.

…am I destined to become Artemis all over again?

The lights flickered. I blinked and looked around. Jacquel hadn't returned. The hallway leading out of the pharmacy was empty. When I heard steps behind me, I spun around.

A man dressed in a long, blue cloak moved through an aisle of shelves, humming thoughtfully to himself as he examined what was on them. His hood was up. I couldn't see his face. There were complex, silver patterns weaved between the fibers of his cloak, matching with the cloths that hung from his belt and trailed behind him with every step of steel-tipped boots. Strapped around his chest and waist were dozens of pouches of varying sizes. When he reached for a book, I saw hands, partially covered with old wrappings, peek out from beyond long sleeves. Pointed metal capped his fingertips, as sharp as claws, and lines of a lighter blue than his cloak glowed like the stars upon the tanned skin of his digits.

What the hell?

I lowered my guard. There was something about him. Something I couldn't explain. He looked like he'd been pulled directly from a fantasy movie, a prophet or soothsayer. His presence filled me with peace. When he came upon a tray labeled "sleep seeds", he took one out and studied it. He nodded and put it back.

"That would definitely be a different way of doing things," he said, his voice deep and surreal.

He turned to me. His hood cast a shadow over his face. Those same lines of shining blue I saw on his fingers also crawled up his neck, along his cheeks, and disappeared into silvery hair, its length braided and tossed over his shoulder. It hung against his broad chest, beside a herringbone-styled necklace that gleamed with blue diamonds. His face was aged, but gentle. Like exotic jewelry, metal encased his brows, lips, chin, the bridge of his nose, and the edges of his ears. Despite that his eyes were the color of snow in sunlight, they were clouded over. He wasn't blind, though. In fact, he looked directly at me as if I'd called out to him.

He smiled. That feeling of serenity grew stronger.

"It's good to see that you're doing well," he said. "I've been meaning to speak with you. Do you have a moment?"

He waved toward a table not far from us. Without waiting for me to respond, he walked over and took a seat on one side. I had questions. A lot of questions, but I couldn't bring myself to speak any of them. He just sat there, hands folded patiently. I relaxed and took the seat across from him.

The Oracle (a fitting name, for I couldn't bring myself to even ask who he actually was) reached into one of the many pouches on his chest and pulled out a deck. Based on their intricate designs, they looked like tarot cards. "The Fool", "the Hanged Man", "the Tower", and "the Moon", among others. I'd been to fortune tellers before – more out of amusement than in an actual belief that they could predict my future – but the artwork on these cards entranced me like no other. They were simple, yet beautiful. Otherworldly, yet physical. He shuffled them, his touch soft and professional, the steel tips of his fingers never scratching the paper.

"Fate," the Oracle said, "cannot be avoided, but can it be chosen? When doors are opened, how do we know if it is fate that determines our path, or our own free will?"

With the deck on the table, he picked the first three cards from the top and placed one down in front of me. As he pulled his hand away, I realized it wasn't the typical symbols I'd just seen. They had all magically changed in a matter of seconds. Instead, on the card was-

"Drew," I whispered, astonished.

Detailed in that distinctive allegorical style, Drew stood tall on a cliff overlooking a battlefield, followed by other soldiers and their pokemon. He pointed his rifle toward the shadowy demons charging from the other end. His face was firm, his green gaze striking against their glares, painting his valor and determination, his willingness to keep going until the world he knew was saved.

"The Guardian," the Oracle said. "He fights for a cause that may be lost, but he will protect what is left with his life. He knows that he can't bring back the past and he harbors regret at this notion, but he's chosen to turn this pain into power. He remembers his days of youth when he was surrounded by the people he loved, a family that gave him hope and the strength he still carries to this day. He fights for them, and he will continue to fight and defend even when everything else has been taken away, for he will not let those memories die in vain."

The Oracle placed down the second card, another for Drew but with a different design. It showed him in a state of tranquility. The sun shined down on the rose garden he tended to.

"Will he win?" the Oracle said. "Will he defeat his foes and bring peace to himself, to the remnants of the past?"

He put down the third card. Again, it was Drew, but I swallowed at the sight of him. He was a child, his hair short, his purple jacket torn and battered. The contest hall burned around him. He covered his face with both hands, blood seeping between his fingers, mixing with the rose petals that'd fallen on the barren stage. Demons leered from the stands, surrounding him from all sides.

The Oracle's voice sounded detached, as if this was just another vision he had already seen: "Or will he lose? Will his own sense of failure overwhelm him? Will he be reminded of the family he couldn't save – the people he'd sworn to protect – because even dragons can be slain?"

The Oracle pulled three more cards from the deck. He placed the first one across from Drew's. It was Harley, his fingers folded in front of his face. He sat alone in a dark room, smirking in his usual devious way, but his eyes glowed with contemplation, doubt, questions he wanted to ask, uncertainty toward the future, a decision he wasn't sure was the right one to make.

"The Martyr. Much of his past is filled with disappointment. He was raised believing in an ideology that wasn't his own. He caused his own exile, from more than just the voices he once tried to please, and he forced himself to live with the pain he hid from his peers. But he also learned to not succumb to his envy, and his love for the people who've helped him grow into the person he is today has allowed him to survive where others have fallen. When their lives were threatened, he chose to make the ultimate sacrifice, and he will make many more if it means that a future is guaranteed."

He put down the second card. Harley smiled, Malcolm in his arms, as they sat together on a porch and watched the dawn.

"Will he prevent his fears from tearing apart everything he's ever wanted? Will the torture and doubt he's inflicted upon himself give way to a life of prosperity? Will he not become the thing he hates, but rather the father they need him to be?"

He put down the third card. Harley had his back to me, his head down, as he walked away into that crowd of demons, a lit match between his fingers. Smoke rose from its tip and formed a ghostly wolf that threatened to swallow him whole from above.

"Or will he decide that his sacrifice was in vain? Will he torture himself for a lost cause, a dying faith, a son he couldn't be there for, a family he might have saved, a watery grave in which he should have stayed?"

I bit my lip as the Oracle drew another three cards.

"The Betrayer," he said, placing down a card that revealed May standing in a forest clearing, solemn and secluded. Ice trailed from her fingertips, the moon shining through the trees behind her. "A once innocent girl who would give her life for her friends and loved ones, she has been thrown into a fate that she didn't choose. She is powerful and brave, but scared all the same. A shepherd of the very monsters that we all fear, she is worshipped by some but shunned by others, for in the end her decision could change the world. What will her decision be, though? Will she choose to protect life, no matter the cost, or will she destroy everything to ensure the survival of her legacy? Which side will she acknowledge? Who will she deceive?"

The second card showed May, happy, her blue eyes shining as her pokemon danced around her amongst a field of roses.

"Will she defy the fate given to her? Will she forsake the darkness that calls her name in favor of the family who came before? Will she forget a world where she can end all fear to spare the lives of the people she loves?"

The third card showed that demonic angel from my dream, seated on a throne made of skulls and bones, surrounded by demons and dead roses. The only light that penetrated the church was from the fresco above – painted red from the burning world outside – that depicted the fall of the legendaries beneath Lilith's armies. The gleam reflected off the golden cross-like wheel the angel held with a firm grasp, one of her spoils of war that was still covered in blood and bits of Arceus's white fur.

"Or will she defy those who once believed in her? Will she embrace her fate and allow fire and ice to consume the world? Will she bring forth an end time that will pave the way for a new era? Will she forget who she once was, in favor of who she is now? Will she be nothing but a monster?"

The Oracle pulled out three more cards. He set the first one down closest to me.

"The Assassin."

I swallowed as I saw myself staring back at me. I sat against a wall, highlighted by the dull glow of a store sign, just like in the mall with the wendigo. Just like all the times where I'd taken refuge in abandoned shopping centers as Artemis. Dressed in my suit, my arm lay on my helmet, my finger on the trigger of a blood-spattered gun. In my other hand, I held a wanted poster, the target's face both familiar and forgettable, just another person who had once stood between me and revenge.

"Before, she was a source of wisdom and comfort," the Oracle said, speaking to me as if I wasn't the woman on the card, "but malice darkened her soul. She desired nothing but the pain of her enemies. In other times, she could think of no one else but the son she left behind every night, of the husband she couldn't bring back, of the broken family she couldn't repair. Animosity drove her actions. There was no rest until her enemies knew the same pain she felt, but she, herself, found no salvation from this creed, and it is only when she was face-to-face with her very past – with her very fears – did she realize this. Now, those same fears have returned, fears of retaliation, of her enemies taking away everything she holds dear, and she risks falling victim to the same enmity that nearly stole her life before."

He put one card down. I sat on a patio, enjoying a novel. A pride of luxray lay by my side and witnessed the sun rise.

"Will she refuse to have history repeat itself? Will she choose to not run from her mistakes, but learn from them? Will she accept them as parts of who she is, the trials and tribulations that have allowed her to walk through valleys of death unscathed? Will she repay for the blood she has spilled through the blood she can save?"

The third card touched the table. I was dressed in the Artemis suit again, a bomb in each hand, drenched by rain since I was in an outdoor courtyard. I stood behind a pillar, the only thing between me and the endless gunfire that tried to intrude from the other side. It was tearing the pillar apart and it wouldn't be long before it collapsed. Due to my helmet, I couldn't see my expression, but I saw the scrapes on my armor and the bullet wounds that weakened my step. Tired. I was probably tired. Once the pillar fell, I was done. There was no escaping this fight, but I figured that if I was going to die, I was going to take them with me.

"Or will she choose to return to her old ways?" the Oracle said. "Will she sacrifice everything to dedicate her life to her own vendettas, a vindicator terrified of letting crimes go unpunished? Will the teachings of her master, will the words of her family, will the memories of a time long ago be forgotten beneath the anger, the rush for revenge? Will she be nothing but a murderer?"

The Oracle spread more cards along the table, revealing such people as Ash ("the Chosen One"), Lance ("the Crusader"), and even that operator in black, Avarice ("the Archangel"). When he was done, there were still plenty of cards left in the deck. As he gathered the ones he showed me to shuffle them back together, I found my voice.

"What about the other cards you didn't use?" I said. "What do they concern?"

"There are many doors. There are many voices. There are many stories with many possible endings. The ones I showed you are simply there, threads that can be woven, gateways that have been opened and can be again."

I thought about my potential future, about Harley's, about Drew's, and about May's. No fortune telling had ever been on this level of precision. Was there a chance that the positive outcomes would occur? What about the negatives ones, the worlds where our worst fears had come to life? I didn't want to think that any of that was probable, that May would never become Lilith, that Harley would never have wished he had died in Enfer, and that Drew would never perish in this war, but I remembered my earlier feelings about Artemis, and suddenly those paths seemed very feasible.

"They're…just cards, right?" I said.

"Many doors," the Oracle repeated. "Many voices. Many stories. Many possible endings. Fate or choice? Many ways to find out." He handed me the deck and smiled. "Yes. They're just cards."

He reached into another pouch on his chest and pulled out a pocket watch. He opened it. It was dead. Neither of the hands moved, yet he still read it as if it ticked. He looked at me with a frown. A stern, curious aura emitted from his clouded eyes.

"But will they let their fears determine their fates?"

Time stopped, as it had with the watch. His question hung in the air, paused like every speck of dust that'd been passing beneath the lights. He raised his hand, moving against the frozen world with no opposition.

"When fear is the only thing known," he said, his voice a sign of life in this petrified existence, "then it's time to fight back."

He snapped his fingers, the metal sparking together. The lights flickered again. When they came back on, he wasn't there. Everything moved again.

"Soledad?"

I turned and saw Jacquel at the door, my pokemon behind him.

"You alright?" he said.

The cards still in my hand, I looked around for the Oracle. He was gone, as if he'd merely vanished.

"Didn't you see the man that was just here?" I asked Jacquel.

"What man?" He blinked. "Are you sure you're in shape to go dealing with the Crimson Call right now? I know that, even with the cure, the Virus can sometimes cause hallucinations. When's the last time you ate? Hunger can make you see stuff, too."

I eyed the deck. That man hadn't been a hallucination, but I didn't feel like pushing the subject. "Yeah, probably just hungry…" I stuck the deck in my ammo pouch before Jacquel could notice it and returned to bed.

"Your pokemon are fed, well rested, and ready to fight." He carried two packages wrapped in tin foil and handed me one. "Check it out, I snagged us the last two breakfast burritos!"

He sat beside me and ate. He reminded me of Malcolm, of the reasons why I needed to finish my mission and get back home before any more time was lost.

I smiled and unwrapped my food.

Jacquel placed my weapons on the table. My knives were all there, but I was one pistol short from when the wendigo had knocked the other out of my hand. He also gave me a bottle of antivirus to replace the one I'd used, insisting that his colony supported the decision to lend me any supplies I needed.

I hesitated to take any more than they'd given me. In truth, I didn't need much beyond my handgun and some clips of spare ammo – based on how many mercenaries were stationed on that ship. The entire clan wouldn't be there, as they constantly had groups that wandered the regions, looking for contracts in various places. It'd only take one bullet to end Mordecai, and I would keep shooting until I made sure that none of the Crimson Call threatened my family.

I grabbed my pistol. My eyes darkened. The tarot cards felt heavy in my pocket. The only difference between this pistol and the one I'd held in my main card was that it wasn't covered with blood. Yet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the shelves the Oracle had browsed, specifically the tray of sleep seeds he'd examined. Sleep seeds were rarely grown in the main regions but rather found in exotic places and brought back in shipments. The fact that Cerulean's pharmacies had carried them didn't surprise me, considering the Cape's harbors and their history of trade.

But that wasn't what intrigued me.

Where blood can be saved…

Placing my gun back on the table, I asked Jacquel: "Do you have a crossbow?"

"What kind?"

"Small. One-handed."

"I think so."

I gathered most of the knives on the table, leaving only one for myself. I handed them to Jacquel. "I'll trade you."

"Okay. Be right back."

My pokemon stayed with me while he left. I grabbed the tray of sleep seeds and put it on the counter, remembering what Koga had taught me in herbalism. Only taking a few of the seeds, I grinded them in a bowl and mixed in water, creating a yellow liquid. I found a canister of syringes with short needles in the cupboards, modified them so that they would inject on impact, and filled them with the solution.

Jacquel came in a few minutes later and laid a small crossbow on the counter beside me. He eyed the long line of tranquilizer darts I'd made. "What are those for?"

I made sure the darts fit the crossbow's flight groove. "A different way of doing things."

"We usually use sleep seeds on colonists who have insomnia. They work on fusions, too. Sometimes. Here, I got this, too." He handed me a black coat. "We don't have any new armor you can use, but this will at least protect that wound better than, well, nothing. Are you ready to head out?"

"Yes."

I attached the darts to my belt, sheathed the crossbow, my handgun, and my knife, and put the bottles of antivirus into the pouches along my upper thigh. I returned Cacturne, Roserade, and Blaziken to their pokeballs and slipped them into another pouch, right next to the tarot cards.

Charizard and I followed Jacquel out the door and up a staircase that led to the roof. It was raining, cold and humid with that scent of purity, that reassurance of stability. From the vast view of the ruins of Cerulean, Jacquel pointed to a specific cargo ship that floated among others in the ring outside of the city, large and otherwise lifeless. There was nothing that made it stick out from the rest, yet considering how the colonists and the Crimson Call were practically neighbors, Jacquel could probably identify that ship anywhere.

My wound ached. I slipped the coat on. It was a duster, its ends reaching past my knees. There was a hood, too, a welcomed feature since the Crimson Call knew my face and I didn't have anything that could hide my hair. I bundled it inside the coat and stepped onto the ledge of the roof, kneeling like a perched bird as I eyed the ship.

A raindrop touched my cheek. I opened my fist and watched more land on my palm. Enclosing my fingers, I protected those pieces of time, those clocks made of water, all holding memories.

"Be careful," Jacquel said.

"I will."

He nodded slowly. "Well, goodbye. Thanks for the help again, Soledad."

As he walked away, I sighed.

"Hey, Jac?"

He turned.

"Thank you, for everything. If you ever find yourself outside of Cerulean when you're older," I added, looking back at him, "the Regions' Fleets could use a good medic."

He grinned, his words more sincere: "I'll keep that in mind!"

I pulled the hood over my head, stood, and dove off the ledge, closing my eyes in that second of freefall, no different than the rain that fell and jabbed the sea below. Charizard caught me on his back before I hit the water, unhindered by the storm, and he flew toward the ship.