Overture; Twice But One

The year?

2042.

The year the world came to an end.

The month?

August.

The month the stars race through the sky.

The day?

The eleventh.

The day I met the world.

“And oil was already scarce then. Combined with rising tensions in the Middle East…”

Ki!

“…finally falling under extremist rule, which led to…”

Oi, Ki!

“…and so the First War on Terror broke out…”

I started as a sudden jolt of pain in my side caused me to rapidly turn, immediately regretting it with a wince as my neck audibly snapped.

“The hell?”

“You’re not paying attention are you?”

“I’ll just cram it all later, it wouldn’t be the first time…”

Letting my head drop to the table once again, I groaned and muffled the incensed rebuke with my arms, on replay for the umpteenth time that day, grabbing at my hair in frustration.

“Really, you could just study and do a whole lot better.”

“Right, or I could, you know, not.”

Proceeding to make my way out of the classroom, I was obstructed by a figure I had grown used to seeing for the past six years.

“Today, you study, whether you like it or not. Exams are in a month.”

Exasperatedly, I replied, “And that is why I will study. In a month.”

Pushing her hand out of the way, I began to walk briskly down the corridor, anxious to leave the imposing jurisdiction of the school.

Cordelia, or Lia as I called her.

Chocolate hued hair that fell elegantly to her waist, and eyes to match (I cursed myself for having skipped breakfast), Lia could definitely be considered attractive. Brilliant in academics and the arts, Lia easily fit into the description of the girl next door of every pubescent boy’s dream. I briefly wondered why someone who fell into that exact category was the one calmly analysing her popularity with the opposite sex.

Six years ago, I had been left homeless. In merely 37 days, the world had changed on a far greater scale than ever recorded in human history.

Nations fell, and not just politically, but in a very tangible sense too.

Orphaned by what would go on to be called the Third World War, Lia and her family had taken me in and given me a home, though I would never outright tell Lia how grateful I was. However, I did make known my appreciation to my foster parents on a regular basis. I always felt a profound sense of shame on these occasions, and would often suggest at various points of my life that I was old enough to look after myself, and that I could no longer impose upon them.

They always sweetly replied that their conscience would never allow that. Living with the Cerians made me feel weak and dependent. Maybe that was what family was about though – a group of people whom you could trust with your most vulnerable side.

Over dependence on Lia?

I grinned to myself.

Never letting her know that.

“Ki! Be serious about this!”

A brisk walk?

I broke into a run.

My room was not very spectacular.

Living in debt of another taught one prudence, so this meant a bed and little else.

Not that I ever wanted much else. Life for all it was hyped to be requires little more than breathable air, water, food and shelter. Our bodies are after all little more than an animated chunk of carbon. Dust.

And it is with equal ease that to dust we return.

I learnt it the hard way though, through war.

“Ki! Dinner!”

No sooner had I gotten up than the door flew open, narrowly missing my face.

“Dinner,” Lia said matter-of-factly.

“I heard you the first time,” I muttered resentfully, morbid images of a broken head that vaguely resembled mine flashed through my mind’s eye, though with far more blood on it than was usual for my face.

“Maybe you shouldn’t stand in front of the door next time,” suggested Lia, cocking her head to one side.

I sighed, refusing to grace her statement with a reply, and made my way to the dinner table, thoroughly ignoring her as I walked.

It was hard to stay peeved for long though.

The task of cooking usually fell to Lia, since her parents were usually out working, and in the kitchen, Lia was no slouch. Even on the rare occasion that the adults were in, she would be coerced into doing it most of the time, with good reason. To have ever had the good fortune of tasting her cooking meant a lasting addiction to which there was no cure.

“Seconds,” I said ungraciously.

“Get it yourself!”

Whining a little was all it took however, and I had gotten my way before Lia resumed busying herself with various household chores.

Six years after the war, society had somewhat stabilized, however, most of the refugees, which included us, had fled from our irradiated and sunken homelands to Pacifia.

Pacifia had formed due to violent crustal movements caused by the same nuclear bombardments that sank a large portion of Asia. Priority to relocate to Pacifia was thus given to us, having nowhere else to go. Settling in Pacifia for an adult meant dedication of their time and effort into the foundation of society. For us, returning to normal life was not an accurate way to describe the process. “Creating a new life”, would I believe be more apt.

Either way, while their task was to be out the whole day recreating the infrastructure, to prepare for the future, the responsibility fell to our generation to be the future. No small task for us, to take a land that had literally risen out of the ocean slightly more than half a decade ago, and restore it to society before the war.

All the more you should care, Lia would tell me, and while there was truth in that, I couldn’t bring myself to. Apathy was self-sustaining. Once it had taken root, it was hard to summon up the motivation to uproot it.

Maybe I had simply lost faith in humanity.

Sighing, I resumed my note taking, convinced that he was as good as gone for the rest of the lesson.

Kiyoshi.

Everyone just called him Ki though, and he seemed to prefer it that way. Often he would launch into passionate rhetoric about how his father, obsessed with Japanese culture, had decided on such a name, and how even worse, his mother had obliged with a laugh.

Deep down though, I think he treasured his name far more than he would admit. The only gift from his deceased parents that still remained. For him, “Kiyoshi” was a soft whisper from the dead, calling him to live on.

Responsibility for him then passed on to my family and I.

Dull grey hair that bordered on black, unkempt due to sloth rather than style, eyes a deep blue that sang melancholy, packaged with a good mind and physique, perhaps he would have been more popular in school had he bothered. However, his indifference and occasionally cold and antagonistic attitude earned him no favours, and for anything he was good at, he was sure to under perform.

As the lesson drew to a close, I looked at my notes with satisfaction.

Even he can’t mess up with notes this good!

As I looked to my right though, Ki had already hurriedly gotten up and left his seat.

“Really, you could just study and do a whole lot better.”

Finishing his dinner portion with relish, he held out his plate.

“Seconds!”

“Get it yourself,” I said with as much annoyance as I could muster.

I relented soon enough though. Ever since Ki had moved in, our relationship had become an incredibly close one. Family? Perhaps.

For me, to fulfill his every whim and fancy was no chore. My reward was nothing less than his satisfaction. Setting his plate in front of him, I was momentarily stunned. That sounded every bit like…

Do I… like…?

I shook it off. After all, he was the guest, and it was every bit my responsibility to make him feel at home. That was it.

Almost nauseous at these bizarre thoughts, I doggedly sorted the laundry.

*

Author’s Note: I decided to add an author’s note in this one. Firstly, ugh, you have no idea how much of a pain it was doing this. The general idea involves my computer’s strange habit of deleting my documents for no reason at all nowadays. *hintgetmealaptophint* Secondly, the part with Kiyoshi’s rant about his name
was put in because I felt I was overusing his name a lot. It is a nice name though, and it’s hard to find other nice-sounding names with apt meanings. =/ Third, I forgot to put a disclaimer in Chap 0, but this is very much a draft. Now while I usually hate doing drafts, I made an exception in this case because 1, I need practice writing romance (could you have guessed the genre from the prologue? =P), and thus a draft would allow me to see what i need to improve upon. And 2, because I wasn’t really producing anything, people complained, and I decided I HAD to put something out. So comment and criticize away, just bear in mind this is nowhere near the final product.

P.S. I hate how I handled this chapter a lot. But I needed to do it sooner or later. What do you guys think?

The World ; The Moon

Your Heart

The Silver-Lined Prelude

The world had surely come to an end.

The sky burned, the earth shook.

Everyone was screaming, but I heard it not.

Home. It was ruined.

They said we would be safe.

I could only look on as they extricated and buried my home.

My home in their arms.

“Mom? Dad?”

Polaris, the nation of Antarctica.

Declared independence 2034.

Achieved official superpower status 2036.

Polaris was formed of want, and Polaris would end of want.

Frustrated by the Corina/Russia duopoly on fuel, Polaris in an act of belligerence towards the UN violated the Protocol on Environmental Protection to the Antarctic Treaty, and began to extract oil from the seas of Antarctica.

Allied with the equally frustrated Australia, a joint assault on the United States of America, followed by the destruction of Intercontinental Ballistic Missile emplacements worldwide via nuclear strikes from bases within North America and covert operations, within a day, Polaris ensured its nuclear monopoly and struck fearlessly at the remaining crippled superpowers of the EU, Russia, China and Corina.

The world fought hard to buy what time it could to slow the Blitzkrieg assault of Polaris. East and West fell as Polaris continued with its pincer strike at Corina. We never stood a chance.

Until Polaris made a fatal error, fearing the might of Corina, and distrusting the world, Polaris sought to solidify its presence and struck at its own allies, Australia.

In half a year, all but Corina had fallen to Polaris.

So Polaris sought the moon, believing that their victory lay in the skies.

The world had had enough. Corina and the rebellion fought to reclaim and bring as many ICBM emplacements online as possible, and a quick nuclear exchange signalled the end of the war.

Polaris rockets to the moon were destroyed before they broke the atmosphere, or so it was said, and thus the Polaris chain of command fell apart, and the disorganized remnants of the young nation were eliminated and put in their place.

At the bottom of the world, a freezing hell.

Blue

They call it blue.

Some say it is a colour, a perception that occurs when light with a wavelength of 440 nanometres to 490 nanometres.

Others do not see a colour, but hear a tune. They say it is a music form, named as such due to its inclusion of so-called blue notes, played at a lower pitch than those of the major scale for expressive purposes.

Still others will say it is an ache of the heart, a state of depression, a frightful condition felt by those who have emotional burdens too heavy to speak of, for fear of loading these sad weights on those so blissfully free of them.

Then others might only know it as a spoken word, their eyes having never been opened to the vibrant world all others inhabit.

I?

I see the blue irises of eyes that have never seen, eyes behind which lies the most melancholy soul I have ever known. A sad tune plays in the background, and a small smile that only ever so rarely adorned that beautiful face, completing at last an image of perfection.

As those who have known me longest might tell you, I am a most practical person, and I have never in my life engaged in activity that was of no tangible use to me.

But of course, that was not to say that I did not go on the odd holiday or pleasure trip. These I saw as necessities to maintain my sanity in the fast-paced society we all are a part of. These were just a way for me to get rest that without which, my physical body, weak as it was, would be sure to break down. A means to an end.

Never once had I looked upon anything without degrading it to whether it should profit me, or otherwise. A job I deemed as profitable, for one needs the foul bits of paper whose value has been grossly elevated for the trade of goods. A close relationship, of friendship or family, I deemed not so, unless of course, one requires their aid in certain matters.

In emotions, literature, art and music, I saw no value.

Then I met her.

*

It was just another hectic weekday. I had exited the office, told my colleagues I was exhausted and would retire for the day, but we all knew that “home” was a mere illusion. It mattered not where we were. If there was work to be done, we had no choice but to spend every waking hour completing it. And sometimes, a dose of caffeine to extend the definition of what those hours were.

Tired, irritable, I entered a nearby café, packed way above full capacity. The crowds did no favours to my temper, as I jostled my way in, and almost tripped several times over anonymous feet.

To my surprise, I found a seat opposite a woman, apparently asleep, and sat with as much dignity as I could while being pushed along by a blindly surging crowd. Unfolding the pitiful tattered remains of a newspaper, I began to examine carefully articles I had perused hurriedly as I walked briskly to work, a sandwich which could very well have contained peanut butter months older than its stated expiry date.

I was interrupted however, by a nervous voice, which I soon concluded had been that of the woman on the other side of the table.

“Is there somebody?”

I thought it an odd question. The café was filled to bursting with people, so I should think the natural conclusion would be that there were quite a few somebodies. At any rate, she was looking right at me, and should at least have seen my face, being directly in her line of vision.

“I’m sorry, I… I can’t see.”

So she was blind. That explained several things.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Oh, that’s quite alright. What time is it though?”

I glanced at my wristwatch.

“Half past five actually.”

Her face paled visibly.

“Sarah is going to kill me,” she muttered, “I told her I’d be back at four. She’ll never let me out alone…”

I quite lost my footing, and simply sat blankly, and as I recovered, she asked if I could help her call a number which was written on a small card she had drawn from one of her pockets. I fumbled for my handphone and did so, passing it to her after I had made sure the call had gotten through.

It was at this point that I began to take fuller notice of her appearance. Her neat raven hair fell all the way to the seat, and her unfocused eyes were of a bright blue that contrasted with her otherwise Asian features, and hinted at a partially European heritage. She was, I had to admit to myself, at least fairly attractive, if not rather overwhelmingly so. I never believed in love at first sight, and for that matter, did not believe in love at all at that point of time. But the slight attraction to her at our first meeting certainly paved the way for a consequent meetings.

At first I deceived myself, saying that I constantly visited her due to her disability, and indeed perhaps it was partially so.

When I first led her into the apartment, Sarah had an outburst that rendered me rather concerned for her safety. Sarah was her best friend and “minder” as Myra, as I learned that she was named, would occasionally call her when annoyed to a great extent,

*

“I can’t believe you! You told me that you would be careful. And that after I explicitly told you to not fall asleep randomly at any place you happen to be. You’re blind for goodness’ sake!”

“Thanks a lot for the reminder, Sarah,” said Myra rather morosely.

“Well that strange habit of yours would certainly be a lot less worrisome if not for your condition!”

*

Perhaps I felt a certain need to take care of her. After all, surely it was natural for a man to feel a strong need to protect a blind woman. Could it be that beauty conveyed a certain kind of fragility like a delicate flower?

Whatever the reason was, I found myself replacing Sarah’s position whenever I could, leaving Sarah free to pursue her own interests during the weekends, and also giving opportunity for the two of us to grow closer in friendship. And perhaps something more.

*

Travel was an inconvenience for Myra, and most days she preferred to stay at home, listening to music, one of the few forms of entertainment that was easily available to those who were visually impaired. The more time I spent with her, I began to like the things she liked, among them a love for the Blues.

But as we became closer, it became more and more apparent that Myra was a troubled soul. Her blindness was an obvious cause, but I often wondered why I never heard anything about her parents or her family, and one day she confided to me that she had been abandoned at an orphanage from birth, perhaps due to her lack of sight. A combination of the two, I believed led to much emotional scarring. I rarely saw her smile, except while half-asleep, listening to her favourite music playing, her troubles momentarily forgotten.

Her constant demands that she be allowed to travel alone without a human guide or guide dog were false shows of confidence behind which she tried to hide her own insecurities. Her independence was less out of faith in herself than out of fear that those she became close to might one day abandon her.

All the more I sought to protect her and to be her greatest friend. That I could one day open her heart to the world, and if possible, her eyes.

*

Then one fateful day, she was diagnosed with cancer.

I wondered how a single person could be stricken with such great misfortune. Surely there had been some mistake, for why would any benevolent God not show mercy to one already so cursed?

She had one year to live.

During the first few months of this terrible revelation, I came to an understanding. Perhaps it was a relief to be relieved of such a burden. And death is not so terrible a thing if what awaits is a merciful and loving God in paradise.

*

Her only regret, Myra said, was that she never caught a glimpse of the world she had spent her mortal life on.

I urged my car on faster and faster.

The sky was clear, a beautiful azure; and I saw her sightless eyes in it.

We can only accept a cornea from a deceased donor.

I covered my eyes as I swerved my car suddenly to the side.

I hope you enjoy my last gift to you on Earth.

I’ll be waiting for you in heaven.

Winnie: A Pokemon Adventure

Chapter 1: The Journey of a Protagonist!

It’s an ordinary day in Twinleaf, and Winnie, a 12 year old boy is on his way to becoming a Pokemon Master!

“Winnie! What are you doing!”

“I’m going to Professor Appletree’s house!”

“And why may I ask, aren’t you going to school, young man?”

“Screw school! I’m the main character dammit!”

“And where’s your father anyway?”

“Mom, I don’t have a father remember? My existence is due to a virgin birth, brought about by the Force! All main characters are like that! I mean, look at Star Wars, Anakin has no father, his mom got preggers due to the will of the Force! And the Bible! Mary was a virgin when Jesus was born too!”

“Oh I suppose…”

Winnie proceeded to strut out of the house in his pajamas, being the utterly cool thing he was. Checking his watch which had magically appeared on his wrist in the scene transition, he exclaimed, “OMG, I’M LATE.”

“Professor Appletree, I’m sorry I’m late! Being the protagonist I was, I found it perfectly all right to turn up late for the pivotal moment of my life!”

“Professor Appletree isn’t here, I’m Professor Oak, and these here are Professors Flame-of-the-Forest, Rambutan, and Californian Redwood.”

“Why are you guys all named after trees anyway?”

A loud voice began to yell in a strong Japanese accent.

“It’s tradition, I don’t care how stupid it is! I’m freaking Satoshi Tajiri!”

“So, what’s your name?”

“Winnie!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, little girl. I thought you were a boy.”

“I’m not a girl! Haven’t you ever watched Winnie the Pooh?”

“Oh yeah, I watch that, because even though I’m a mature 50 year old Professor, I can communicate as equals with a 12 year old with the maturity of an unborn fetus,” said Professor Oak, gleefully waving his Winnie the Pooh merchandise.

“Well, yeah, it IS Pokemon,” said Professor Californian Redwood.

“Wait,” said Winnie, “Why are you speaking in a Japanese accent? Aren’t you Californian?”

“No, it’s just the tree I’m named after that’s Californian.”

*

“So, Winnie, since you’ve turned up really late, you don’t have much of a choice of Pokemon,” said Professor Oak, “You’ll just have to take this mischievous Magikarp of mine.”

“Oh man! I saw this on television! You pass it to me and it gives me an electric shock!”

“Magikarp is a water type, and learns only Splash, Tackle and Flail.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don’t know.”

*

“Yay! I’ve got my very first Pokemon!”

Winnie danced around while Magikarp…

Flopped on the ground.

“Magikarp, return!”

Flop.

“Hey, why aren’t you staying in your Pokeball?”

Flop.

“Fine, be that way.”

A few moments passed in sweet silence, but again it was broken by the annoying voice of Winnie.

“Hey Magikarp, so I heard you could evolve.”

Flop.

“I’m going to be a good trainer and get a Water Stone for you to evolve! Just like Ash tried to get a Thunderstone for Pikachu to evolve!”

Flop.

“Yeah! You’re right! As a trainer the only thing that matters is our bond! The bond between trainer and Pokemon! Who cares if you’re the weakest Pokemon in the game!”

Winnie’s Dexter beeped.

You stupid fool, Magikarp evolve by leveling up. I’m Dexter, freaking use me.

“What’s a level?”

*

“Hey, it’s a Starly! Let’s just throw a Pokeball at it since it’s so difficult to reduce its HP to a lower level in order to increase its catch rate!”

He threw a Pokeball, or rather, his weak nerdy arm was incapable of such action, and it merely dropped out of his hand, opening and bathing the Starly in a burst of red light.

Which promptly broke out.

“Damn, that was so close! I almost had it there! For like, half a second!”

He walked further away from his home in Twinleaf, which he no longer needed since he was a cool independent kid.

“Wow! Check it out! It’s a Staraptor! Why am I having a level inappropriate encounter? But I don’t care anyway! In Pokemon, level and stats don’t matter! Nor does anything else!”

He threw a Pokeball, releasing the Magikarp within.

Flop. Flop flop flop.

“Magikarp! Help me catch that Staraptor kay?”

Flop.

“Yeah! I think we should annoy it too!”

Searching the ground he found a rock.

And threw it at the Staraptor.

In the face.

The Staraptor turned, annoyed.

“Since I’m a dumb immature kid, I’m going to jab my thumb up its ass!”

And Winnie did so, much to the anger of the Staraptor.

“Hey! Magikarp! That’s weird. I think it looks angry! I wonder why?”

The Staraptor flew towards them, readying itself for a Close Combat.

Suddenly, Magikarp flopped. Though considering the fact it was flopping around all the time, it wasn’t that sudden. However, it’d be infinitely less dramatic if it was not said it was sudden, and… Well basically, Magikarp used a phenomenally powerful Splash attack.

Which immediately prompted an entire flock of Staraptor to attack Magikarp.

“Oh no!”

Winnie grabbed Magikarp and ran through the forest, losing the Staraptor flock on the first turn, but he felt it was too easy, and attracted the attention of the flock again and decided to jump off a waterfall for dramatic effect.

“Lalala…”

It so happened that a girl was fishing nearby, and felt a tug on her rod. She yelled.

“I think I’ve caught something!”

She lifted the rod with much difficulty, and out of the water emerged Winnie and his Magikarp!

“Wow, your Magikarp looks seriously hurt!”

“How could you tell?”

“Oh, well, it just broke in half.”

Winnie looked down, it was true! He had snapped Magikarp’s fragile spine with his bare hands in anxiety.

“Oops,” said Winnie.

“No matter, the Pokemon Center will fix that.”

“Okay, thanks for the bike!”

“What?”

Winnie leapt out of the water, grabbed the girl’s bike and rode off towards the Pokemon Center.

“It’s okay, I’ll return it someday! Like, never!”

*

A terrible storm began, and in the torrential rain, he lost control of his bike and out flew him and Magikarp, the flock had caught up, and Winnie decided to shield Magikarp in an act of bravado, and oh, of course, “love”.

“Get back in the Pokeball! I’ll hold them off!”

Magikarp flopped feebly, and was touched. Winnie had become a true Pokemon Master because he loved his Pokemon! Magikarp felt empowered, and suddenly used Thunder Splash! A special variant of Splash that was exactly like Thunder except in name!

The attack scattered the Staraptor flock, but it was not enough. Magikarp detected another threat still present, and launched another Thunder Splash attack at the bike!

“Good job, Magikarp. For a moment there I thought we were doomed. That bike looked ready to pounce!”

The skies began to clear, as Ho-oh flew over them.

Winnie gasped.

“OMG, it means we have destiny!”

d e c a y

de·cay [di-key]
–noun
-a gradual falling into an inferior condition; progressive decline
-decline in or loss of strength, health, intellect, etc.

Cecil was aghast.

How could they?

He fumed as he recalled the conversation he had with The Boss but minutes ago.

“Cecil. I can’t say much to you about this matter. I’m sorry about the demotion. But trust me. It’s only… Temporary. The matter will soon be resolved.”

Oh, a man of subtlety indeed! But Cecil could see past the smokescreens of The Boss.

Resolved?

Meaning he would soon be fired of course. Just a matter of time.

To add insult to injury, Cyrus had replaced him in his position.

Cyrus was a middle-aged man. From what he had heard, he apparently had a wife and two young children. Balding and slightly bent from what he had heard was a construction site accident, he had taken over the managerial position for no apparent reason.

Have I not done my job well enough?

Of course, Cyrus was not without qualifications. He knew that higher up there had been talk of promoting him. Admittedly, he had once admired Cyrus.

He had a passion for the company he could never dream to have. He had a heart for the people, and he continually strived to make a positive difference for the company. Inspiring he was, and qualified he was. The only reason he had not been promoted so he heard, was because the company “had time”, and wanted to give the inexperienced young people a chance. One of them had been him.

But why take it from me now?

He had finally established a career, and had recently become a father.

Why now?

- – -

Cyrus sighed.

The company had promoted him at last. Finally he could achieve his lifelong dream.

Furthermore the company had secured the land deal to build the Sanctuary of the Stricken; homes created to house dying cancer patients, and brighten up their final few months.

He could feel warmth coursing throughout his body. The mere thought of giving back to society on such a scale…

He sighed again.

The fulfilment of his dream however, meant the death of another.

He had in the process, taken over, no, usurped the position of Cecil.

Cecil was a capable young man. He knew he could bring the company to greater heights.

At least he knew the management had planned well. The matter would be resolved soon. Cecil would not have to suffer too long.

Still, he knew it would be hard.

Perhaps a visit is in order.

- – -

Come here to rub it in eh?

Cecil stared hatefully at Cyrus.

“Cecil, I’m so sorry about this. I promise you, it’ll all be over soon enough. Honestly.”

“Sure it will,” Cecil snarled.

“Cecil. Please. You have to listen to me. Hear me out. Let me explain.”

“There is nothing to explain!”

Cecil pushed Cyrus out the door, slamming it shut.

“Daddy?”

Cecil looked back. It was his daughter.

“I’m so sorry Jenny dear. Daddy can’t bring you to Disneyland this year. But I promise you, I’ll bring you there someday.”

“Daddy, I don’t care about Disneyland. I just need you and Mummy.”

Tears filled his eyes.

Indeed. What had he lost?

He still had his family.

- – -

For the umpteenth time since his promotion, Cyrus sighed.

It must have hit him hard.

Starting up his car, he drove to the nearby cemetery, turning up the radio on full blast.

Once the car was filled with the sweet sound of young innocent laughter, the scent of baby powder, and the sight of his beloved. Older than before, but no less lovely.

Then he lost them. He could still vividly recall that fateful night.

The night.

It was late at night, the soft sounds of the kids sleeping in the back, the light sound of his wife humming her favourite tune, when a car, its driver clearly drunk, swerved into their lane.

A scream.

A flash.

Then silence.

Then soft sobs. Were they his own?

But they must be. For his family was dead.

Yet he was untouched but for a few scratches and broken arm.

The few moments he took to recall the incident had drained him.

As he knelt weeping in front of the headstones of the family he once had, he fell silent. Exhausted, he slept, palms covering the pictures of his wife and children, as if to protect them from the corrupting rain threatening to smear the crude images that could never do justice to the ones he so loved.

- – -

Cecil frowned.

Checking the slip of paper, he compared the unit number to the one he had written in ink, now smeared slightly by the sudden downpour.

No, but the address was correct.

He must have gone out.

Turning back, he walked smack into Cyrus.

Cyrus was not in good shape.

His eyes were red; he seemed to have been crying. Were those tears he saw on his cheek? Or merely raindrops?

“So sorry Cecil. I understand the demotion must have been horrible for you to endure.”

“It’s okay Cyrus. I’ve come to apologize for earlier on.”

“In which case, your apology is accepted,” said Cyrus with a smile.

“I just have one request. Could you ask higher up to just fire me straight away? I’ll understand. I’d rather have the time to go around looking for a new job.”

“Fire you?” Cyrus ran his fingers through his hair, “I’m afraid you must be mistaken.”

“Mistaken? What was all that about the matter being ‘resolved’ soon then?”

Cyrus hesitated.

“Please, come inside.”

Cyrus’ house was a simple one. However, it had a feeling of emptiness within it. As if it had suddenly been abandoned.

“Please, take a seat. Would you like a glass of water?”

“No thanks.”

“We’ll get to the point then. You’re not being fired.”

“I’m not?”

“You’re not.”

“Well. That’s… Wonderful.”

“In fact, you should be back in your old position in three months or so.”

“But, what about you?”

“My post is only temporary. The management wanted me in charge of the Sanctuary Project, which has been assigned to your department. The completion of the Sanctuary has incidentally been my lifelong dream.”

“Oh,” said Cecil, feeling foolish.

“Is that all you have to ask?”

“Yes,” said Cecil, pausing.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave now.”

- – -

Cecil’s heart soared.

Just three months and I’ll be back!

He could not believe his ears.

- – -

Yes, just three months more to live…

The sudden announcement of the doctor had shocked him.

Perhaps it was because of his cancer that The Boss had promoted him to take charge of the project.

It was ironic.

Afflicted with the very disease whose victims he hoped to reach out to.

Well, then there’s no time to lose.

Switching on his laptop, he began to work furiously.

- – -

Three months later…

“Cyrus is WHERE?”

Cecil was shocked. Cyrus was dying and in hospital.

No.

Over the three months, they had worked together closely on the project, spending many late nights together rushing out proposals.

“Does his family know?”

Now that he thought about it, Cecil realised he had never seen Cyrus’ family in person, though he often saw the family picture that hung in his living room.

Cyrus’ secretary looked at him strangely.

“Don’t you know? His family all died in a car accident four months ago.”

And he considered himself Cyrus’ good friend! How could he have never asked about Cyrus’ family?

He hid it from me. He didn’t want me to feel guilty.

- – -

Cyrus lay in the hospital bed. He hated the feeling.

Awaiting death.

But he knew it was all right.

He would go regretting nothing. He had lived a life worth living.

The door swung open, revealing Cecil.

“Cyrus, what else have you kept from me? Your family was dead and you never told me?”

“I didn’t see the need. And I didn’t want your pity.”

“What else do I not know.”

Cyrus smiled, “Well, this is cancer, and I’ll be dead pretty soon. And I knew this three months ago.”

Cecil was stunned. Was that why he had been promoted to handle the Sanctuary project? To fulfil his lifelong dream before he departed?

“Probably, though I never actually asked The Boss specifically about it,” said Cyrus.

Noticing the strange look Cecil gave him, he added, “You don’t talk to yourself particularly softly.”

“I’m so sorry Cyrus. I never knew all this.”

“Why be sorry Cecil? There is nothing to be sorry for. I have lived a life I’m proud of. I’ve achieved my lifelong dream. And I’ll be with my family in heaven soon.”

Cecil felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

Once, I was so jealous of Cyrus, only seeing my own temporal, superficial decay in status. I was blind to what I had, my family and my health. Yet this man… He had lost both, before he even had a chance to achieve his lifelong dream. Was such gain to him? A mere pittance in comparison to what he had lost.

“Cecil, can you promise me just one thing?”

“Anything, Cyrus.”

“This Sanctuary, I want it to show the world, that a person’s health can decay, but that he can still flourish, and that he can live a life equal to, or better than anyone else. Can you promise it will be well run, and to this purpose?”

“Of course, Cyrus.”

And the two friends wept in silence.

- – -

“The Sanctuary will provide a place where cancer patients will live a happy and fulfilling life. A place where they can live life to the fullest. To achieve their dreams. For our lives are like a candle. Its value is found not in how long it lasts, but how many people to whom it gives light. I declare the Cyrus Memorial Sanctuary for the Stricken, open!”

As he saw the cancer patients, young and old, enter the home, enjoying the facilities, he knew he would die without regrets.

Cyrus’ dream and his had become one, and he had fulfilled it.

Their health might decay, but their lives would not.

For you, Cyrus.

- – -

Cecil – Origin: Latin, Meaning: Blind

Cyrus: Origin: Persian, Meaning: Far-sighted

- – -

Life is an irony…

The Bargain

bar·gain
–noun
1. an advantageous purchase, esp. one acquired at less than the usual cost: The sale offered bargains galore.

alternatively

2. an agreement between parties settling what each shall give and take or perform and receive in a transaction.

“Do I have your word?”

“I swear on my life.”

“Not as long as your life is part of the deal.”

“I know what I have put at stake in this bargain. And you know for that I will keep it.”

“And you will do well to remember what you have sworn.”

The rain continued to fall, merging with the tears silently falling from Willow Vawne’s eyes, mingling among them, diluting them till there were none at all.

All that remained was his resolve.

The irony of it all, he, the world’s most feared and highly skilled assassin, now had to turn himself in on purpose. He laughed inwardly. How he had prided himself in never leaving a trace of evidence! Now, he would openly admit to a killing. One he was not even being paid for, but rather, a job that a man no less ruthless than himself had blackmailed him into accepting.

How often he had mocked that others used every means available to them to guard what in truth was of no value. Riches, wealth, reputation. Yet they failed to guard what truly was important, their lives, and the lives of those they loved. Now he found that he himself had made the same mistake. The lives of his family, and his, were now mere objects to be used on the bargaining table.

Slowly, he made his way to the city central. There, from the highest tower, he would announce through an elaborately prepared audio system, that he had killed the president in his sleep. That done, he had fulfilled his side of the bargain. The lives of his family members would be safe, and would be under the protection of the soon to be president, the current vice-president and his last ever client.

He was already at the tower. Now he just had to make his way to the roof. Silently he made his way into the lift. He had replayed the setup in his mind so many times he could visualize himself, holding the microphone in his hands, announcing through gigantic, deafening speakers, that he was guilty of killing the president, not for a client, but rather the deed being self-motivated.

Just a flight of stairs now, and he would be at the roof, and before he knew it, he had already said it. Or was it all a bad dream? Perhaps he would wake in the morning, and find himself in bed, awaking to a new day, with new clients to attend to, new jobs to complete.

Whatever it was, he would not let himself be humiliated, whether it was a dream or reality. Judged by a man who had hired him. If he would perish, he would do so in his own hands, and not in those of a hypocrite.

As he fell off the edge of the tower, the world rushing past him, in another sense of he word, he had not had a bargain at all.

Chapter Seven: Midori/Gouka
Intellectual/Intuitive

Silently, a Leafeon emerged from behind a tree. Midori was her name. Intellectual and precise, she was the mastermind behind her squadron’s successes.

Her impeccable ability to strategize and predict exactly how the enemy would react in a situation was invaluable, and her knowledge of her environment had proved useful time and time again, leading the enemy into natural pitfalls and traps.

A Flareon smashed straight through a dense grove, incinerating his environment in a burst of flame. He was Gouka. The perfect partner for Midori, what she lacked was in him in great volumes.

He was a feral, intuitive partner, who relied on gut rather than wit. He fought first, and thought later. Always taking the initiative to make the first attack in a battle, his reckless charges were rarely strategic, and usually did more harm than good.

But that was where Midori came into the picture. Planning ahead, she conveyed her strategies and intentions to Gouka, refining his raw power into a far more dangerous thing. Together they had forged a powerful weapon, capable of taking down the strongest foes.

Midori carefully inspected the surroundings.

“Gouka, if you keep on burning everything you see, we might as well give up trying to trap the target, and instead simply charge ahead and get ourselves destroyed.”

“Why can’t we? I don’t see how much power you’d need to take down a Regirock. Slow, fat, it’d be done for before it knew what hit it.”

Midori smiled.

“But where would the fun be in that?”

“Oh, yes, of course. A painless death would be too good for it,” Gouka said, grinning sadistically.

“I thought we’d already agreed on humiliating Regirock.”

“Yes, yes, I forgot. My bad.”

He rather self-consciously stepped away from a large tree.

“Hang on. We’ve got new orders.”

Gouka grinned excitedly.

“Are they to burn everything in sight?”

“No,” said Midori coldly, glaring at Gouka, “In fact, this actually calls for less fun than before. We are to lead Regirock to this ancient relic. Apparently it holds another legendary, and it is the only way of opening the inner chamber.”

“Darn, can’t we kill it first then drag its damned carcass there?”

“You want to take the risk of the chamber not opening if Regirock is dead? Because if you do, I’m fine with that, just don’t come running to me if Lord Manyula’s all upset about not eliminating whatever legendary lurks within that chamber.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

Even Gouka knew better than to risk Manyula’s wrath.

Suddenly the earth began to tremble; Starly abandoned their roosts, fleeing the approach of the giant presence.

“Such lack of consideration. Rampaging through the forest like that,” Midori said with much distaste.

“On the bright side, at least it’s easy to know when it’s coming,” Gouka replied.

“I’d already set up trip lines all over the forest. I knew Regirock was approaching fifteen minutes ago…”

“Oh,” replied Gouka abashedly.

Regirock smashed a large redwood, stumbling clumsily into view. Its seven eyes focused on Gouka and Midori. Registering them as a threat, it launched a Rock Slide attack at the pair, however Regirock was not one known for speed, and they easily dodged the attack, streaking through the forest in a zigzag path. Far ahead enough to be out of range, but close enough to keep the brute following.

“Here’s another good part of this change of plan. It’s easy. That Regirock is absolutely brainless! It’s following without question!” panted Gouka.

The forest opened into a barren snow-covered expanse. Empty save for a lone chamber in the approximate center of the clearing.

Regirock attempted a Stone Edge attack, just barely missing the two, and devastating the area of impact.

A sudden wave of cool swept the area. Regice had arrived, launching an Icy Wind attack at Marina and Thor, their fellow EEVEE members, a Vaporeon and Jolteon.

A powerful Flash Cannon attack from Registeel illuminated the area, narrowly avoided by Voyante, an Espeon, and Eclipse, an Umbreon.

All this however, paled in comparison to the beauty and raw power of the Ice Beam which shot through the chaos, shaking the chamber.

Aurora, the Glaceon, General of EEVEE, had arrived.

Chapter Six: Codename EEVEE
Secrets. While they may be hidden, no matter to how great an extent well one hides them, though one may try to deceive oneself into thinking otherwise,

they still exist.

Not more than several kilometres away from Manyula’s headquarters, it was surprisingly calm.

A solitary rock stood in the middle of a large field. It was as foggy as it had always been for years past, and would continue to be for many years to come.

It had been avoided for generations, for a legend warned that anyone who entered was cursed for life.

Clearly however, this view was not held by all. A Glacia emerged from a hole that had mysteriously appeared in the rock. Tossing her secondary ears gracefully, she scanned the area carefully.

Seeing no one, she made a signal, as a series of 6 other Eevee split evolutionary forms followed.

They were divided into three separate squadrons, firstly, an Espeon and Umbreon, next, a Jolteon and a Vaporeon, and lastly a Leafia and a Flareon.

The Glacia worked alone. Her name was Aurora, the leader of the EEVEE division, a group of seven Eevee evolutionary forms working secretly for Manyula undercover. Few within the Manyula Organization knew of their existence, much less anyone outside of it.

For those that knew, it was too late. EEVEE had enjoyed one hundred percent mission success for every assignment to date, and they intended to keep it that way.

Manyula himself had personally trained them since they were newborn Eevee, and they had learned everything there was to learn about stealth and battling. Their bond was a highly complex one. Guardian and ward, teacher and student, master and servant. However they had also learnt the most important thing Manyula had to teach. Emotional detachment. They would not weep if he departed, nor would he if they were killed on an assignment.

It was a simple yet effective philosophy that maximised efficiency and guaranteed success. Without emotional attachment, they could freely and relentlessly endeavour throughout their assignments, if a comrade fell, they would not pause, but simply charge with more determination than before.
However, even the most guarded of souls can sometimes give way to the insidious infiltration of emotions. Emotions were after all a natural part of all sentient beings, no matter how one tries to remove it, it once again would emerge anew, growing, penetrating one’s emotional guards. The denial of emotion is but temporary, one must be like a gardener of the soul, and must have the endurance to repeatedly uproot the weeds of emotion that ceaselessly sprout.

Fortunately for EEVEE, they were effective gardeners, and the weeds had not yet gotten in the way.

Such a lack of emotion was also especially essential for a secret organization whose existence is denied. Without the mental resilience they had gained through the muting of their feelings, their secretive existence and the lack of love from the outside world, an untempered soul would surely break in despair and pain.

But these were no ordinary beings.

They were the elite.

Hated and misunderstood perhaps.

But they were undeniably the best of the best, the most discrete and successful assassins in the entire known world.

They were the seven members of EEVEE.

Part 2: Vanguard of the Darkness
Every team has a mascot.
An avatar.
A vanguard that clears the way.
We all have symbols.
Heroes.
Poster boys.

No one sees the pain…

4 years after the events of A Darkness in the light, 14 years after the Prologue, 16 years after the Spawning of Manyula…

Chapter Five: Pivotal Moments
When a foe is underestimated, pride will lead to a fall. A stronghold taken down. Captured by the enemy. An enemy getting ever stronger. The real war has begun.

The reconstruction of the world had begun.

A loud rushing of air filled the room. A strong psychic presence was clearly at work.

A Gardevoir strode in. But he wasn’t an ordinary Gardevoir.

He was the Gardevoir that represented an army. Manyula’s army.

Thunderbolting every individual within the room, Dean cleared the way for his troops. Porygon Z, Electivire, Scyther, Sneasel, and all sorts of Pokemon rushed into the room. Followed by a single Weavile. Lord Manyula.

“Lockdown the room, Dean.”

“Yes sir.”

Two thunderbolts and a press of a button later, the bodies of two Aipom security guards were strewn on the floor and security systems were shut down completely. Electivire were posted at the entrances, Giga Impacting any foolish enough to come close. Porygon Z, Porygon 2 and Porygon entered the main computer in an endless stream, busily hacking and transferring all the data.

At last, Manyula’s army had entered the first stronghold of the Legendaries.

“General Dean, General Slicer, follow me. General Hellfire, stay and keep everything under control.”

A shiny Blaziken nodded his head and began to shout out orders, while Manyula, Dean, and Slicer the Scizor entered an air vent.

“General Zeke. Feed the data directly to my handheld.”

“Yes sir,” answered a Porygon Z.

“We need the layout for the whole ventilation system ASAP.”

“Yes sir. It will be done quickly.”

Turning to Slicer and Dean, he said, “We’ll try and get as far as we can without help for the moment.”

It had been a long war. But they were now closer to their goal than ever before.

Latios was long dead. Latias was taken care of as well. So were Celebi, Manaphy, Mew, Jirachi, and Mesprit’s trio. The fools. They gave their life for an unworthy cause. Aruseus had to be eliminated, couldn’t they see that? Now for them to kill off the stubborn ones. The ones with too much pride to sacrifice.

The ones most like Aruseus.

“There’s an opening right ahead sir,” said Slicer.

“We’ll try to gain entry from there, then,” said Manyula.

The three removed the vent cover carefully. Then they leapt down with utmost quiet. First Slicer. Then Dean. Then Manyula.

Replacing the vent cover as he fell, Manyula then led the three down the corridor. One end was blocked by solid metal.

“Do we destroy the barrier,” asked Slicer.

“No.”

Manyula was sure of that. He wanted to deal with Mewtwo himself. His generals were enough. His army would simply eliminate the rest of the stronghold. Mewtwo was his kill.

“We’ll get to Mewtwo ourselves. Tell Zeke we no longer need his assistance, and to focus on the data regarding the other strongholds.”

“Very good sir.”

“Are you sure, sir,” asked Dean cynically.

“I have my own plans. My own reasons, Dean.”

Dean simply kept silent.

“Let’s move then.”

Two Magneton blocked the other way.

“Don’t they ever learn,” asked Manyula as he dispatched them both with a quick Night Slash, before Ice Punching them, freezing their bodies to the floor.

“Keep alert Generals.”

“Sir! A Furret!”

As Slicer said that the Furret immediately took off, clearly he was to check on the advancement of Manyula’s army. Manyula leapt towards him, Ice Punching his tail to the floor, freezing him, but not before he had raised the alert.

Back in the main control room, Zeke panicked. The alarms were blaring deafeningly. His transceiver activated, Lord Manyula’s voice being transmitted to him. He had orders to shut down the entire electrical system to quiet the alarms. But the lights! How were they to navigate without the lights?

“Never mind that Zeke. We’ll figure that out when we get to it. At most we’ll be fighting in the dark.”

And the lights went out. Immediately everything was quiet.

“Well done Zeke. Now make sure no one gets near the control room.”

Now what.

Manyula knew the enemy know had the advantage. They knew the general structure of the area while he did not. They had no choice but to fumble their way to Mewtwo.

Mewtwo sat. And stood. Then sat. And stood again. He paced around the room uneasily.

No one should have been able to penetrate the stronghold’s defences.

Clearly this Weavile had done the impossible. He had heard stories of course. Rumours that he had perfect stats.

Perfect and boosted twenty-five times.

At first he had not worried at all. In a war, the enemy would naturally try to project themselves larger than life.

But soon he learned of this Weavile’s deeds.

The legendaries he had slain.

Single-handedly.

And he worried.

It seemed impossible. But the evidence was right there. The legendaries were dead.

Footage showing the Weavile – now what was his name – Manyula. Killing the legends. Easily.

Now that very same Manyula had invaded his stronghold.

He had already sealed all the passages leading to the main chamber where he resided, but he still could not help but feel uneasy.

Suddenly the alarm sounded.

What?

Had he actually entered the inner-passages? But that was impossible!

However Mewtwo knew only too well Manyula had over and over again shattered his definitions of impossible.

He cringed.

A change of plan was required; clearly he had to face Manyula in battle. A battle to the death.

A battle that would be the pivotal victory for either side in this war.

Mewtwo gritted his teeth, he had time and time again proven himself to be among the strongest legendaries, clone or not.

And he would show the world his prowess again.

A loud explosion interrupted Mewtwo’s thoughts.

“Well, well. Mewtwo.”

“What?”

Mewtwo spun around.

“What in the name of Aruseus… How did you get here,” Mewtwo was shocked, “You should have been delayed by the blackout at least!”

Manyula smiled. Before launching a direct Night Slash at Mewtwo.

Mewtwo was ready, letting loose a Psychic attack at Manyula.

“What the…” Mewtwo uttered in amazement, his attack had absolutely no effect on Manyula, before coming to the realisation that psychic attacks had no effect on dark types.
Ducking at the last moment, Manyula’s Night Slash had barely missed him. His moment of overconfidence had cost him dearly.

Dean immediately seized the opportunity to blast Mewtwo as he ducked with a Thunderbolt. Even worse, as Mewtwo fell to the ground, Slicer and Manyula were powering up with Swords Dance.

Slicer used Agility, taking advantage of his speed boost to charge at Mewtwo with a X-Scissor attack, Mewtwo ducked again, but barely. Firing off a desperate Pulse Bomb at Manyula as he did so.

But he was already prepared, once again in a show of his uncanny dexterity he easily sidestepped the attack at the last moment, and using the explosion generated by the Pulse Bomb colliding with the wall behind him, leapt forward in synchronic harmony with the shockwaves in a graceful, speedy and lethal forward thrust.

“GG Mewtwo,” whispered Manyula.

A quick Night Slash, and Mewtwo had fallen.

Chapter Four: The Council of Legends
The Council. Revisited again and again by seekers of truth. Respected. Revered. Unquestioned. But is that healthy? An imperfect authority in an imperfect world.

Left unchecked.

Aruseus entered the room. The legendaries, his bodyguards. His colleagues. His companions. Or were they? Did he really treat them as such? Had he really been tainted by evil as he had feared? Was everyone tainted?

They rose. All of them. Wait. One was missing.

“Where’s Latios?”

Latias and the other legends looked down sadly. What had happened?

“Latios. He – he sacrificed himself. To save Alto Mare.”

What?

In his shock, his mind replayed Latias’ words in his head over and over again.

“Latios. He – he sacrificed himself. To save Alto Mare.”

“He – he sacrificed himself. To save Alto Mare.”

“Sacrificed himself. To save Alto Mare.”

“To save Alto Mare.”

“Sacrificed himself.”

“Sacrifice.”

Sacrifice.

Was that the answer?

If Aruseus too, had sacrificed himself to the darkness. To evil. If he had made the sacrifice. Would the Apex region be saved? Would every Pokemon within it have been saved? He groaned.

But he was far too valuable. What would happen to order?

“He was too arrogant,” thought Manyula.

Pacing around he contemplated his plan. Aruseus. How could he? Him. Think that the Apex region. The whole of it. Was not worth his one, single pathetic life? He must die. Only then can the world be reordered. Aruseus. He must not live. Aruseus, the bane of the world.

Latios was a good Pokemon.

He was.

Manyula knew it.

Latios was one of the few legends that knew.

Sacrifice.

Latias knew too.

Celebi.

Manaphy.

Mew.

Jirachi.

Mespirit.

Uxie.

Azelf.

They knew.

But they believed in Aruseus.

Alas, their faith was placed on the wrong person.

Aruseus.

It was his entire fault.

He had no feud with the other legendaries. Of course, the others who did not know sacrifice, they were at greater fault than those who knew. But those who knew would go down to his army far more easily. Their sacrifice was noble.

But not enough.

He must remove as many of Aruseus’ guard as possible. As fast as possible. Only then could Aruseus be killed. As a sacrifice.

Aruseus had to die. And then, for the first time. Manyula wondered. Was even that sacrifice enough? Would that be enough to right the world? And then Manyula figured it out. Another sacrifice was needed. And he would sacrifice that. And even then, it was just to stall for time. Until the ultimate sacrifice could cleanse the world.

For the first time in a long time. Manyula smiled.

End Part One