PokéLove

About a week and a half later...

 

“Don’t give me those stares,” I comment, idly doing some final tuning on the Octillery Arms. The three pokémon—Dratini, Ferroseed, and Froakie—give me uninterested and disbelieving stares in progressing degrees. “It’s just a simple run to the park and back. Simple.”

 

Of course, I still haven’t figured out how to produce enough charge, and hold it, to use it continually. Solar panels that require four hours to charge batteries that only give me a single hour of intermittent use. It’s not as if I could shove a nuclear reactor into this thing.

 

That’d be idiotic. Why?

 

So, twenty-minute run to the park, twenty back. Then some buffer time in case of emergencies.

 

“Nothing…to be worried about…” Who I’m talking to at this point, I’m not sure. Whether it’s the disbelieving pokémon or I, nobody knows. I take a deep breath and turn around, backing into the exoskeleton suit I built over the course of the last few months.

 

I had become…over ambitious with the Octillery Arms, meaning I made the entire things out of a hyper-dense alloy, and my spine and back were unable to hold the weight of eight metal tentacles. Therefore, I made an exosuit with the sole purpose of holding the weight. It’s also a battery backup in case the arms run out of energy.

 

…To be added since I couldn’t find an apt spot to put the batteries…

 

“Mmph…” The cold spikes of the neural diode plug themselves into my spine. Running a basic motor function test, I’m filled with relief to find I haven’t inadvertently turned myself into a vegetable. It did mean revealing parts of my project, but I had every scientific mind I knew review the medical aspects of this.

 

I even had a timer set to call an ambulance in an hour and twenty minutes if I didn’t turn it off. I had some precautions. Unfortunately, I couldn't figure out how to map my entire consciousness into a computer without suitable power, making Professor Sycamore start asking questions he doesn’t want the answers to.

 

I squeeze my hand into a fist, finding no collisions in the wire frame on my hand. I do a few stretches, finding the suspension and reinforcement bars able to stand the movement.

 

“Fro-Froakie?” Even if I can’t understand pokémon, I can understand the smallest hint of compassion that Froakie possesses asking if I really want to continue with this. I—I know that this can be a point of no return, making seventeen years of life mean nothing.

 

But nothing ventured, nothing gained.

 

I give a slight nod and turn my wrist, pressing a button beneath the built-in digital clock. It changes from displaying 17:36 to 1:00. At the same time, the disk that contains the Octillery Arms comes down from the ceiling, lowered by hydraulics, being pressed into the circular imprint of the exosuit.

 

The timer beeps, signifying its countdown. Looking over my shoulder, I see the arms starting up.

 

*Shunk…shunk…shunk—shunk—shunk—shunk-shunk-shunk-shunk…* With each, surprisingly loud, shift in weight and balance, the arms extend, my thoughts connecting to each arm. Four on my left, four on my right.

 

“Okay…” Deep breaths, Nicole. You…aren’t dead. A quick glance at my timer reveals 58:20. “Let’s see if these things can support me first.” Two lower arms shoot out, hitting the ground with a noticeable thud.

 

With a small whir, I’m slowly raise a foot off the ground. Tempting fate, I lift the left one, balancing myself on just one limb. In the back of my mind, I feel the right arm log an automatic position shift to achieve optimal structural integrity.

 

Even still, it’s not at an optimal or recommended level.

 

Using the built-in commands I spent months building, I ‘walk’ forward, each arm grabbing the nearest surface need to push me forward. Right as I’m about to leave, I pause.

 

“Any of you three want to come with me?” I turn, each arm whirring as I do so. Robin and Froakie give fervent shakes, and Hazel gives me a slow blink, which I’ve taken to mean no. “Alright, then. Keep an eye on my stuff for me, okay?”

 

With a slam, I leave my workshop. “Hooh.” Another deep breath. Really a momentous occasion. Each step could be a…big step for man. Where have I heard that before? Something prickling in the back of my mind… Later.

 

Making greater haste, I begin the Octillery-equivalent of a sprint, climbing across the roof and walls. A mental check reports 99.4% average battery on all nine batteries—a central and eight for the arms.

 

Somehow, I made it to the front of the lab without running into the professor or any of the other assistants. I wonder if they’re particularly busy today. I open the door and duck under the frame.

 

Taking a deep breath, only a single thought comes to mind:

 

Suck it, Clemont!

 

I’ve heard and seen of his Aipom arm before, but I’ll be honest, mine’s much better. Plus it’s eight awesome arms with eight awesome batteries.

 

Time to put these things to the test. I push. In context, if I had thought moving inside the lab had been a sprint, then I’m practically moving like a car right now, putting other walking…peasants to shame.

 

Closing my eyes, I use the cameras within the arms to navigate; simultaneously, letting the wind slice through my hair and caress my skin. I feel…unstoppable.

 

However, like all things, I arrive at my destination. I pause the timer as I retract the arms. I gave myself some leeway for a reason, and…I don’t get out much. My…birthday, for example, was last week—a quiet affair. My mom, the professor, and few work acquaintances.

 

It was indoors. Just an hour earlier, and I had been working on a design for another project that came to me out of the blue. Most of my life has been spent inside, working on one thing or another. Even at my birthday, I’m pretty sure Professor Sycamore alluded to me going on a journey.

 

…I’m not going to lie. It terrifies me. Separating from the home and life I’ve known for 18 years, just to explore the region, maybe beat a few trainers, go on that fabled trip of self-discovery. I—just don’t know. I’ve run out of excuses, too. Nothing more to give to Sycamore.

 

In my ruminations, I have set myself upon a park bench. The wooden give under my immense weight just proves the effectiveness of the exosuit. Those arms could definitely rip through a tree.

 

“Is anyone sitting here?” A voice pulls me from my thoughts; sweet and soft, yet a hint of hidden danger. I turn to face the stranger, and my heart… Well, my medical monitor chip reports an irregular heartbeat and heightened levels of dopamine.

 

She’s wearing some red striped…vest or something. Impossible to know which category of clothing it falls into with its irregular shape. Perhaps a hoodie, jacket, and dress combination of some sort? What stands out to me is her fluffy lilac hair, and sharp lilac eyes.

 

She looks familiar. Again. What is with my memory today?

 

“No,” I curtly reply, using my optimized brain power to continue drinking in the image of the cute girl before me. She seems to hold herself almost sloppily, like a child, but as she sits down, I can see from the side that her chest says anything but.

 

Or maybe, I’m going to jail. Might be worth it.

 

Responding to my analytic gaze, she doesn’t say a word, instead giving me one of her own. Her eyes pause on my own chest, not that I’m small, but rather, or more likely, the fact that the exosuit brace shapes around my C-cup breasts, giving them a heightened definition.

 

Or perhaps the metal brace, sitting over the white, custom-made, button-down blouse, resting in contrast to my forest-green, pleated, knee-length skirt. With shorts underneath, I’m not that stupid.

 

It could be any of the above.

 

“A scientist?” She proffers, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Aspiring inventor.” She hums in response, seemingly acceptant of that answer. Deciding that we’re done, she closes her eyes, turns to face forward, and slowly leans back into the bench.

 

I do the same, and for a minute stretched into eternity, it’s just us—only us—existing in peace and comfort on that simple park bench. The ambient breeze and distant car honks create the relaxing atmosphere one would expect from one of the better kept parks in Lumiose.

 

“My name is Courtney,” she says after the pregnant moment, breaking the silence and calm.

 

“Nicole…Bellerose.” Might as well give the full name if I want to be cordial.

 

“Do you come to this park often?”

 

“Not really.” She doesn’t respond to that, only narrowing her eyes for a moment, then returning to normal.

 

“You should. I would like to think my work is appreciated more.”

 

“Your work? Are you one of the caretakers here?”

 

“…Not exactly. I’m part of a group that…used to have a poor reputation. ‘Misguided ideals,’ is what we explained it as. Now, after some reformations, we do charity work all over the world.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I was sent here to manage this park; some sort of community service.”

 

“That’s…really nice of you guys.” I wonder what she did though. The deepest recesses of my mind are telling me it’s…world-ending. What they did, to be exact.

 

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

 

After a small, lovely chat with Courtney, and an exchange of information so that we can keep in touch, I decided it was time to go home. I remotely deactivated the alarm to call the ambulance, then started making my way back to the lab.

 

However, my climb across the rooftops is interrupted by a familiar sight—one of Garchomp. As far as I’m aware, there’s only one Garchomp in the city—since the city logs anyone that enters that possesses stronger pokémon than normal—and I think that one’s ours.

 

Question is, why is she flying over the city, firing Hyper Beam onto the city’s buildings and infrastructure. Perhaps a better question would be what the hell did I miss while I was out?!

 

Hmm, 28.1% battery. Lower than I would like, but, well, as part of the laboratory staff, even as IT, it’s part of my job to ensure the well-being of the lab’s pokémon.

 

Decision made, I turn, following Garchomp through the air. Hmm, is she wearing some kind of collar? It’s red and glowing… I can barely see it from here, but the Arms’ cameras can make out a black box holding the collar together.

 

She turns around, a wild glint in her eyes. Me, being the large, shiny object in the sky, quickly becomes her target as she charges up another Hyper Beam, aimed directly at me.

 

“GAR-CHOMP!” A pulsing ray of light, both purple and black, streaks through the sky, blasting towards me at incomprehensible speeds. Almost instinctively, as one of the several emergency protocols dictates, the arm with the highest defensive integrity moves to block the move.

 

The tri-tipped claw at the end buckles and shifts, becoming a quad-tip, then a dual-layered quad-tip, both layers spinning in opposite directions at dizzying speeds.

 

Other arms brace for impact.

 

*BOOOM* Energy converters absorb a portion of the attack, losing the rest in redirection or as heat. Five of the arms report tripped fuses and subsequent resets. Already operable again. Total energy value: 43.0%.

 

The bladed claws shift back, once again being three, and Garchomp loses interest. Flying towards…Prism Tower? That’s not good.

 

Even with the flexibility of the arms, I still lose in an aerial race to Garchomp. A crowd has formed around the base of the tower; a side noticeably hit with a Hyper Beam already.

 

There’s…a boy. Well, not a boy. He looks about my age. Red cap, blue jacket, gray pants, and…a Froakie and a Pikachu on his back? Is that our Froakie or is it his? Good question, ponder later.

 

He nears the top of the service ladder, and I make haste, easily ascending the tower with my Octillery arms. Out of the corner of my eyes, I spot someone—Clemont. I know I’m busy right now, and fate of pokémon and all that, but just to be petty, I shoot him a smirk.

 

I don’t know if he even saw it. I know for a fact he can see my arms though, so that counts for something.

 

“I’m here to help, Garchomp,” I hear Red Cap say. I shift the motors into silent mode and dramatically rise over from behind him.

 

“So am I,” I announce, causing Red Cap to turn and face me. I don’t look down at him, though, no. I set the majority of my focus on the pokémon in front of me. Relegating a separate thread for Red Cap’s safety, I get my first good look at the collar.

 

Nope. Can’t get anything just from sight. Octillery Arms should be able to figure something out, though.

 

“Gar-GAH!” Another Hyper Beam, which two arms cross into an X to block. One fuse tripped.

 

Red Cap’s Pikachu jumps off preparing an attack by the obvious signs of arcing current. “Pikachu, no!”

 

“Pika?” It says, confused at the obvious need of self-defense.

 

“Wait, I don’t want you to attack Garchomp.” Red Cap says, to which I roll my eyes.

 

“Wouldn’t have done much, anyway. Garchomp is Ground and Dragon typed,” I comment idly, blocking another Hyper Beam. “Your Pikachu was obviously about to make an Electric-type move.” I look over to the Froakie, our Froakie. “Froakie, what happened? I was only gone for—” I check my watch. “—an hour and a half!”

 

“Fro-fro kie kie.” He waves me off, so I give him the best ‘are-you-kidding-me’ stare I have, blocking yet another Hyper Beam.

 

“We’ll have to get that collar off of her.” I turn my attention back to Garchomp, and Red Cap nods in agreement, concentration and will on his face.

 

I sprint forward, and Garchomp backpedals at my sudden speed. In response to that, Froakie throws his…Frubbles to stop her movement. Now, I made these arms to be able to lift tons upon tons of weight. Unfortunately, Garchomp is a little bit of a powerhouse.

 

I use all eight arms in restraining her, moving my body closer so that I can remove the collar by hand. Hmm, uses simple flathead screws. Nothing I can’t handle.

 

With deft movements, I easily remove the collar, putting it in a hollow section of an arm for safe keeping. “Shh, shh.” I rub the head of Garchomp, removing the restraints, and letting her wind herself down. “You’re okay now.”

 

Red Cap, meanwhile, looks slightly awkward now. With good reason, too, because for the entire time I’ve seen him, he hasn’t contributed much to the battle at hand. Not that he could if his only pokémon were a Pikachu, and of course Froakie wouldn’t listen to him.

 

The tower has taken a beating though. I’ve had to silence an alarm the entire fight telling me to get the fuck off this tower. Hyper Beam is hyper-destructive.

 

The Pikachu climbs onto Red Cap’s shoulder, and they both start walking over. “It’s done, right?” He stops. That’s… “Yeah. It should be.”

 

Awkwardly shifting his weight, he tries to strike up casual conversation. “So, what’s your name?”

 

“Nicole. I work at the Pokémon Research Laboratory, as a part-time IT Technician.” Wait, no…Social convention. “What’s yours?”

 

He proudly puffs his chest up. “I’m Ash Ketchum! I’m gonna be the best Pokémon Trainer.”

 

“Good for you,” I deadpan. Silence, hold on… What’s that noise?

 

A quiet noise of some sort grows louder, becoming a…creaking?

 

*PRR* The concrete under Ash breaks, sending both Pikachu and him to the air.

 

I hiss under my breath. “Ffffuck. Okay. Garchomp, Froakie. Stay right here!” 8% left on the battery, just have to make it count.

 

Leaping off the building, I nosedive, simultaneously having the arms target points to latch onto as I fall. Ash seems to cushion himself around Pikachu as he falls, hoping to save at least one of them. I near.

Closer…

Closer…

 

NOW!

 

I grip his chest, quickly turning vertical velocity into horizontal as to not break his spine, then I latch onto the safest points of the tower, doing the same velocity trick for myself.

 

Both in hand, I slowly walk our way down. “Whatever you do, don’t look down. The sight isn’t pretty.” Though, I don’t think either heard me. From what the sensors can see, I assume Ash to be in shock.

 

We reach the bottom, and I stand Ash up straight. He seems to have gotten a grip on himself as he slowly checks back into reality. “Ash! Nicole…?” A familiar voice calls out.

 

I turn and wave. “Hey, Professor! Fancy meeting you here. I’d, uhh, I would say my experiment was a success.” And just like that, 0%. Only emergency functions are running now off of my biological electricity, like the battery monitor.

 

The limbs crash to the ground, landing with a dull thud. Professor Sycamore sighs, but all I have to give is a foolish, and nervous, smile.