PokéLove

I sit up, feeling a stark lack of…hmm. I am feeling, or rather not feeling, many things. One, for example, is the heat and weight of my own skin. Second, the slight breeze one feels while in the middle of the woods.

 

I blink my eyes open, noting the lack of eye crust. I…appear to be in my room, or a copy thereof. A monochromatic, grayscale copy of my bedroom. However, the image entering my eyes shifts like a mirage, becoming a slightly different room with a different view out the window.

 

The curved buildings of Lumiose are replaced with towering structures, each much taller than the Prism Tower. My room becomes a little less furnished, almost like a person who was never home. The bed became less plush and more like cardboard.

 

One additional thing the mirage has, though, is a chart of some kind of set of acronyms. Seven rows in an almost-rectangle with two extra at the bottom. The first column reads…H, Li, Na… I can’t read more.

 

Whatever it is, it isn’t from my world. Maybe something from a dream? But dreams are formed by memories…

 

Poking around a little more, I find that if I focus on one set of the room, then it becomes tangible for me, but the other becomes a mirage. The reverse applies as well.

 

Outside the room, things become a little more… How do I put this? Screwy?

 

Instead of the rest of the apartment, as one would expect, I am instead greeted with paradoxical geometry of twisting staircases and doors. Decrepit walls, supported by rotting wood beams of varying angles, and motes of dust visible by stands of stray moonlight. The many, many doors don’t seem to follow one style, but they instead try to follow the theme of what a sign says above them. Thankfully, although reading is still a little hard in here, I can make out what some signs near the doorways say.

 

Up the stairs, a black, foggy cloud obstructs the path, and a feeling deep within my bosom tells me to stay the fuck away from it. Instead, I look at the other doors, reading their plaques.

 

I’m particularly interested in what the ‘Memories’ door has to offer.

 

Pulling on the steel door, I’m met with large resistance as the door appears to be spring-loaded to keep itself shut. With but nary a crack open, I squeeze through, and the door slams behind me.

 

Inside, the first thing that catches my eyes is the checkered flooring—marble and limestone. Contrasting heavily with the state of the outside staircases, this place shines with the care of a noble or particularly corrupt government building. The room is domed glass panes that are too frosted to see out of.

 

In the middle of all this ornate decoration are bookshelves. All lined up in parallel, extending farther than I can see, despite the dome being of finite size. However, what’s on the bookshelves are not books but rather film reels. Countless reels sit on the shelves with timestamp stickers underneath.

 

I pull one out, finding the film itself to be in pristine condition. I can barely make out what it is, though. Putting it back, I continue my venture.

 

Oh. Huh. Okay, yeah. That doesn’t fit the theme at all. It’s…a figure, I guess. They’re wearing a purple robe held together with ornate, golden clasps dotted with miniscule gems, mostly yellow sapphires, and blue zircons.

 

However, their main body is just that: the robe—or maybe it could be called a cape. As they…glide around, I can see from the corner I’m hiding behind just gloves periodically dusting a shelf they pass by. Their left glove is black, and their right is white.

 

Oh, yeah. Their head. It’s a film projector supported by whatever magic is connecting the rest of their body together. Said magic is probably imagination. A flashing lightbulb illuminates wherever they look.

 

Steeling myself, I stride up to the figure, feeling a surprising amount of confidence that they won’t hurt me.

 

The ambient light from the projector never falls upon me, instead staring at a particular dust bunny hopping around the shelf. I stand there, patiently, as I watch the light condense in the bulb for a moment before an orb of blinding plasma eviscerates the bunny.

 

I am feeling infinitely less confident now.

 

The light slowly turns as the figure begins following their path once again. However, it dips a little lower and looks at me. It pauses, for an extended moment, then reels back, allowing shock to display across what little body they have.

 

“M-Mistress!” A reversed echo escapes from the projector…their voice? I can’t particularly tell… It’s clipped with clicking from their ever-spinning projector. “What are you doing here? You’ve never come down directly.”

 

I hold my hands behind my back, looking as formal as possible. “I’m sorry; I don’t know if we’ve met.”

 

“We haven’t.” The projector-person shakes their head. “However, it is by rote that we shouldn’t! The Mistress must never come down from the Central Command Center. I should, at least, be catering to the requests thereof!”

 

I can hear the capitalization. “I wasn’t forced down by choice.” If what I assume is correct. “I was in a battle with a particularly strong, Psychic-typed opponent, and I was forced to recede within my mind. Apologies if this offends you, but I’m quite clueless about most things right now.”

 

The gloves go down to its hips, looking indignant. “I’d expect so! Mistress has never been directly informed of the procedure we follow.” It pauses for a moment, thinking. "Oh, good lady! I've not even introduced myself!”

 

It steps back, clearing its throat with a mechanical cough. “I’m! The Custodian of Emotion. The Guardian of Secrets. Or! The Librarian!” Stepping forward, it engages back with me.

 

“Now, that that’s done. However, can I be of service today, Mistress? I have kept everything in the best condition.” A dust bunny lands on a nearby shelf, and The Librarian promptly evicts it from existence. “Except those.”

 

I tilt my head towards where the bunny had been. “What are they?”

 

The gloves go to its face in astonishment. “Oh, horrid things! The Dust Bunnies form when a memory hasn’t been cared for in a long, long, long time.” With each ‘long’, it inched a little closer. “I haven’t a clue from where they originate. I’ve checked over every memory in this library…14,765,983,002 times. Each memory is perfect as it should be…”

 

I crease my eyebrows. “How can I…view the memories?”

 

“You need but ask. Which one would the Mistress like to see?” I think for a moment. How about…

 

“The last time I saw Serena.”

 

The gloves defy logic for a moment, as The Librarian snaps their fingers—somehow creating a sound—and a film reel appears in their hand. They meticulously insert the reel into their head then look into my eyes.

 

———————————————————————————————————————

 

I’m back at the Team Rocket hideout, falling. Falling through the air as I arrive to save Serena. However, I’m a prisoner in my own body, following the script of the past.

 

There is one saving grace. The Librarian is standing in the corner, in the shadows. Waiting upon my command. It feels my order. “Yes, yes. We can do that.” Snapping their fingers once again, I’m freed.

 

I fall directly to the ground, sparing a glance to the freezeframe copy of myself midfall. Looking around, I find some things at…lower resolution than what’s closer to me. Some things not even within my line of sight are blurry at best, and a dark void at worst. Inferences upon the environment.

 

A strange side-effect, to note, is my heart running at a mile a minute. Either from the anxiety tied with the fall, or…the anxiety I felt from seeing Serena again. No matter which one it is, I know that I’m feeling several degrees warmer than I was in the library of my mind.

 

———————————————————————————————————————

 

I open my eyes. Back at the library. The Librarian is putting the film reel back, sparing a moment to destroy another bunny.

 

“Perhaps,” I offer, “the Dust Bunnies are coming from a particularly old memory.”

 

“Mistress,” The Librarian replies in what only can be described as tired and defeated. “I have reviewed even memories of your birth which you have, understandably, repressed.”

 

I glance around. “Are the memories organized chronologically?”

 

It nods. “Yes, the oldest memories are at the front. Especially since the back extends forever.”

 

I roll my jaw, thinking. “Can you bring us to the front?”

 

Wordlessly, The Librarian snaps their fingers.

 

Before I can look around and investigate, however, an intruder appears. An inky, black figure, molding between man and squid. A hooded figure one moment, and an upside-down squid the next.

 

“Oh. This simply won’t do.” The Librarian charges up another shot and strikes the intruder directly in the torso area. Have a hole blasted through them, the intruder staggers back, then the ink fills itself in. “Hmm…” The Librarian hums. “That’s new.”

 

The intruder limps forward, reaching out at me. However, The Librarian, with their diligence, promptly fires another shot at them, then another, then another. Giving the intruder no time to reform, it eventually turns to nothing but dust.

 

“I assume that has something to do with why the Mistress is here?”

 

I nod. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

 

Off to the side, I find a varnished, intricate oaken door. “What’s this?”

 

“Hmm…memories of daydreams. Due to their fleeting nature, they are on a much more expansive room. The reels can be made of individual moments stretched out. The daydreams are much more…volatile. Luckily, it means that they require little upkeep since it is not expected for them to remain.”

 

With a slight, much easier than before, tug, I find a dark stairwell that follows the rules of physics a little better than outside. “Care to join me?” I ask, really hoping the Librarian comes with me due to their luminosity.

 

“I live to serve.” Following close behind me, The Librarian illuminates the stairs as we make our way down.

 

Down here, things are…musky. Concrete brick walls, a constant humidity, and the smell of rotting wood permeate.

 

“Oh, this one is quite new,” The Librarian idly comments. I turn to find what he’s looking at, and a blush quickly rises up my cheeks.

 

It’s an oil painting but capturing a three-dimensional visage in real time. There’s little sound, but what is there is only my own voice attempting to recreate the voices of others.

 

This one, in particular, is a daydream between Serena and me. Laying on a king-sized bed in a fancy hotel somewhere, or perhaps a house. Our house. Maybe in the middle of our street. We lay there, together, naked and twined together. Making out in the heat of passion. Tongues wrestling each other, our chests pressed tight together.

 

And then…

 

“Nope! We’re moving on!” I command, and we do. Away from what I hope to be, and towards the now. One cannot make their future if they’re stuck in the present.

 

Ignoring the other…raunchy daydreams between myself and various other women…like Courtney…and Cynthia…and maybe a few others… We find what can only be described as a maintenance door.

 

I mean, it’s an assumption based off the ‘Employees Only’ written on the door. With a jerk, the rusted door comes loose and creaks open. A wooden, rickety ladder is the only thing inside the cylindrical tube. I carefully step onto it, making sure not to look down at the yawning abyss.

 

I glance back at The Librarian. “Are you coming?”

 

It shakes its head. “No. I must continue to cleanse this place of Dust Bunnies. Until I do so, I cannot leave this Library.” So, until I die, basically. “However, take this.” The white glove reaches into its robe and pulls out a flashlight. “It’s a copy of my own bulb, but for manual use. You can use it to attack those intrusions upon this sacred place.”

 

“Thank you.” I place the flashlight inside my coat.

 

“I wish you luck, Mistress.”

 

———————————————————————————————————————

 

Climbing in a pitch-black tunnel where you can’t see a thing does stuff to a person’s psyche. So, what does it mean when you are in said psyche? I don’t know, and I have a feeling I don’t want to find out.

 

That’s why I’m trying my best to the ignore the irrational sensation that the walls are closing in because it’s dark, and I shouldn’t be able to see the walls. Plus, if I feel like it, then it might actually happen.

 

That might also be false, but what can I say? My expertise is technology, not psychology.

 

…Why do I feel like I’ve forgotten something? Did The Librarian miss a Dust Bunny? Eh, it’ll find it…probably.

 

*Bang!* “Arugh! Damn!” The curses fly free when I hit my head on a hatch of some kind.

 

Touching around the hatch, I find a rusted lock that’s at too awkward of an angle for me to shoulder my way through. I pull out the flashlight, wait for the light to condense, then blast away the lock…and the handle…and the hatch itself. It all got sublimated.

 

I tuck away the flashlight.

 

This room is…different…

 

It’s a giant, glass globe. Rife with misty, white fog and floating islands. Even my maintenance hole defies any exit to the globe. Orbs of light ping from island to island, eventually stopping at some. Most of the orbs bouncing around eventually stop at the largest island.

 

Puddling up from the ground next to me, an orb forms. Well, no time like the present.

 

I hug it with my entire body.

 

And we are promptly shot off towards the big island.

 

“AAAHHH!”

 

“AAAHHH!”

 

“Aaahhh!”

 

“Aah?”

 

“…” Huh, this is a lot less terrifying than I thought. Or maybe I’m in shock.

 

“Ouff!” I hit the ground with a sad thud, then roll across the sheet-metal flooring. An…inky Malamar floats above a computer console. Tendrils extend into the interface, except for an old CRT computer.

 

Following in the footsteps of The Librarian, I pull out the flashlight and fire at the Malamar. Then, again, again, and again. It throws a few blotches of ink at me, but to no avail.

 

This flashlight is simply too powerful. I do have to wonder, though, why there is a spiked golden ring near the bulb.

 

Soon, the Malamar is no more; however, the console itself is still covered in goo. A few tangential shots here and there clean up enough for me to access the keyboard.

 

“Hmm,” I hum. This keyboard is in a different language than what the world outside uses. I feel like…I could still type a few things…

 

‘shutdown -r’ And enter!

 

———————————————————————————————————————

 

I jolt awake, straining my neck as I glance around. Seeing no signs of that hooded woman or her Malamar, I breath a sigh of relief, and a knot of tension in my chest begins melting away.

 

I signal an all clear to my arms, and they begin moving.

 

The Deadlock command is to be used when I’m being forced to move against my will. The arms will coil around me—trapping and protecting me—then latch onto as many stationary and solid objects as possible. They held me suspended in the air, parallel to the ground, and it apparently proved to be too much effort for the woman and her Malamar to free me.

 

A mental check on my built-in clock reveals that it has only been…four hours.

 

Not bad. Not good either, but it could’ve been worse!

 

Engaging with my compass, I direct myself towards the nearest town. I need to report this to…the police and probably the Pokémon Rangers, too!