The last time Hoshi had seen Kiribo, the latter had been his usual self – meaning that he'd been oblivious to the point of near-malice, revealing the existence of a super secret mission he'd been given while the senior grunt, in contrast, had been in the middle of a frustrating dry spell.

  Of course Hoshi had received his own job shortly after, but in the moment he'd been rather put out. He could remember that day clearly, and more specifically the appearance of the man standing in front of him.

  That memory, of the Kiribo that had existed half a month ago, looked startlingly different from the current flesh-and-blood article. “Kiribo,” Hoshi greeted as he looked the older Rocket up and down. “I didn't know you were here. You, uh… doing okay?” The self-proclaimed Psychic Hunter had lost a bit of weight, but that was far from the most noticeable change; his skin looked unhealthy, hanging just a touch looser and darkened in a way distinctly different from the colour a tan would add. He seemed lively enough, but Hoshi would bet that the man had gone through his own slice of hell over the past week – or maybe he'd just picked up a bad case of the flu. Yeah, that's probably it – I mean, it isn't like he could get in over his head the way we did, his alakazam is stupidly strong.

  Kiribo lost a touch of his enthusiasm as he answered. “Ah, I have seen better days my protege. I suffered a terrible defeat at the hands of a man I underestimated – but of course, I and my partner shall refine our techniques and be born anew!” He posed, pointing upwards, and Hoshi nodded internally. Okay, so he can't be too bad if he's still doing the weirdo shtick. “But enough of me; how has life fared for you, Grunt Mutsu? It certainly seems your exploits have been more successful than my own!”

  My exploits… Hoshi turned his attention back to Black and his grunts, who'd moved past their confrontation with Tsuyu and the rest and onto a battle against a pack of wild growlithe – which sounded like a serious downgrade, but the encounter had actually been deadly fucking serious. “It's been… alright,” he said, seeing flashing fangs lit by firelight in his head. So much has happened. How do I even begin? Would he even know about Bob? No, it didn't matter whether he did or not; that grief-painted section of the past could stay safely undredged. Hoshi had no desire to hear condolences from Kiribo, of all people. “Had a devil of a time getting here, but-”

  A tiny nudge against his side bid him to glance Casca’s way, and she gestured to the hunter with her chin.

  “…But we're here now. How's your uncle holding up, by the way?”

  Kiribo blinked. “Hmm… That is a complicated question. You know the situation?”

  “The absolute basics,” Hoshi answered. And it was the truth; he'd attempted to nudge information out of a few people, but met only various shades of failure; Sierra had been tight-lipped, the scientists awkward, and Ryan and the rest were as ignorant as he was. “Just that he's out of commission in some way. Which is an issue, because the instructors sent us all over here to meet with him.”

  “Well…” For a long moment Kiribo looked conflicted – and then he sat heavily on the edge of Hoshi and Casca's bed, causing the cheap frame to sag. “Generally I would not reveal this, given our need for operational security,” he said, leaning in and giving Hoshi the opportunity to see the grit in his eyes. He must've been sleeping – I guess that's why he only came over just now; Black’s show woke him up. “But since we share our special relationship, I will confide in you.”

  Special..? Arc, never say that again, please. Hoshi felt a revulsed shudder tap at his spine – and he wasn't the only one who thought it sounded dirty either, because his girlfriend caught his eye and waggled her brows.

  Kiribo, for his part, simply carried on. “My esteemed uncle and his colleague Professor Mokusen have run afoul of some unforeseen side-effects of their research – speaking more specifically, of the measures they used to overpower the Elite Four’s Masked Magician, Will Zelcovia.” Another gesture, and Hoshi thanked Arcus that the man was keeping his voice down to something reasonable.

  “Yeah, I heard they beat him – and Sabrina too.”

  “Indeed. In order to match the world's strongest psychic and the country's strongest psychic specialist, my uncle and company employed experimental empowering techniques… tell me, my junior, have you ever heard of Mega Evolution?”

  Have I..? Of course I've heard of Mega Evolution, do you think I live under a rock? “Yeah,” Hoshi replied, holding the incredulity back from his voice. “I’ve seen it used a few times in Hoenn’s version of the Champion Series. Is that experimental? I'm pretty sure people discovered it, like… a long time ago.” I'm not as familiar with Hoenn's history. But the thought of Dabi with a Mega Pokémon… Woof.

  “Indeed, the root of the power they drew on has existed since ancient times – but! It would be incorrect to call what they did true Mega Evolution! For you see-!”

  Kiribo's breath caught as he visibly tamped down on his enthusiasm, and for a moment his conflicted look returned. “Pardon, but I am recalling our brief discussion of special abilities. How high would you rate your understanding of Megas, if I were to ask such a thing..?”

  Oh, come on. “It's a way to temporarily evolve a Pokémon beyond their normal limit,” Hoshi answered. The name gives it away – it isn't exactly a complicated concept. “But you need a special stone to do it, right? And those don't exist in Kanto.” I think there's another source in Kalos somewhere..? In that part of the world, at least.

  “It is two stones, in fact, but yes – until now!”

  Until..? “Are you implying..?”

  “They found a way to do it without the stones?” Casca broke in, leaning across Hoshi's front. “Woah, does that mean they can Mega-up any Pokémon?”

  Kiribo showed his teeth, the expression not particularly discernible as either a smile or a grimace. “In theory. Speaking practically, the attempt to empower their Pokémon was less than successful.”

  “But they still won?” Hoshi asked.

  “Yes, yes they did… but I'm afraid Professor Mokusen was left bedridden. My uncle's explanation went over even my exceedingly knowledgeable head, but the artificial Mega Stone apparently consumed much more vital energy than a true example would have – it is lucky that Uncle Kim was using a gentler method, or he would be in the same boat.”

  The hunter fell silent, and Hoshi digested the information as the ‘play’ went on in the background. Artificial Mega Evolution… that must be the trump card Jessie and James think will let us take on the League. But… Apparently it needed some extra time in the oven.

  But if they iron out the kinks… His hand drifted to his belt. Would it really work on any Pokémon?

  The dorm didn't have any healing machine, but it did have a medical station equipped for both humans and Pokémon – and Hoshi decided that instead of crashing down onto a bed and sleeping the rest of the day like he wanted to, it would be a lot more responsible of him to make use of it.

  So that was what he did. “How's it look? We did our best to keep everything straight, but…”

  The doctor, a petite middle-aged woman who nevertheless showed uncommon finger strength as she examined his smashed hand, gave Hoshi a frown. “Have you broken this hand before?”

  A wince. “…Yes.”

  “Recently?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that explains how the bones could be in the state they are – I'm sorry, but I have to say upfront that you're likely to lose some function in the wrist.”

  The wince deepened. That's my throwing hand. “If I were to theoretically go to a real hospital..?”

  If his implication offended the doctor, she didn't show it – either on her face, or in his psychic vision. “They would tell you the same – though your recovery would be swifter, assuming you didn't get dragged out by the blues before they could cast it up.” She sent him a raised brow. Okay, yeah, not happening. Got it; terrorists don't get to participate in society. Rub my fucking face in it a little more, huh… “In terms of what I can do for you, we'll need to start by removing some splinters that have dug themselves into the surrounding muscle; that will be painful, so you'll want to be unconscious for it. After that the treatment will be pretty standard – I expect the cast will need to stay on for at least a month.” So… basically until everything is over. Fantastic. “This really is a very serious collection of injuries, Mister Mutsu. How did this even happen?”

  “Uh… I punched someone.”

  That same raised eyebrow. “Did this someone happen to be a graveler?”

  “No, just… I just hit them really hard.” The doctor's incredulous expression continued, but all Hoshi could do was shrug and stare at the x-rays she'd taken. They didn't look like much to his untrained eye, but apparently the damage was worse than ever before.

  “Well,” she eventually said, “Regardless of how it happened the treatment is the same. Usually a local anesthetic would suffice, but I don't have the equipment we did back in Vermilion; as I said, you'll want to be under. Do you have any pressing commitments on the rest of your day, or..?”

  I guess I'm taking that nap after all. “No, not- actually, I should tell a few people what's going on.” And also… “And can I get my Pokémon treated first? I assume that won't take nearly as long.”

  Hoshi had been put under a few times in his life – probably more than the average, but not likely any special amount. He had a penchant for getting punched in the face, after all.

  But this was the first time going under anesthesia after beginning to train his psychic powers, and to his chagrin it activated some kind of reaction – because Hoshi once again found himself in a distressingly lucid dream-state, basically identical to the hallucinations he'd suffered under the effects of his aunt and Janine’s paralysing drugs. Once again his body and mind had dissipated into a drifting constellation of drifting, disconnected stars, and once again he was reliving a rotating slideshow of semi-relevant memories.

  Trips to the dentist, flash-cuts of the times his father has needed to stay in the hospital, one very washed-out memory of his mother, crippled by the Porygonamous attack…

  Even a few reruns of conversations with Doc Hypno, including a few he'd just seen less than two weeks ago. And of course, there were tiny snippets of reality intruding on the dreamy mashed-together memories; the face of the female doctor reflected on a screen, there-and-gone glimpses of his comatose body being operated on as his eyes briefly connected with the rest of him. I wonder, does this count as ESP? Hypno and Kiribo have both implied that psychic powers tend to be pretty narrow in terms of what any one person can do, but I've got empathy, telekinesis, possibly some kind of mind-reading or enhanced intuition, and also this dream… stuff.

  Is that just because I'm stronger than those two? Can Sabrina do all this and more? Unlike his first dream-quest no answers to those questions congealed themselves out of Hypno’s fragmented monologues – and also unlike the first time, the blending of the various memories was more or less comprehensible; no Kiribo pulling himself out of his aunt’s skin as Hoshi's father melted on a flaming couch in the background.

  No, it was much closer to a standard dream, and like a dream he had little understanding of time's passage despite his lucid-ish state.

  But eventually…

  Hoshi woke up. It was a gradual sort of awakening, and an unpleasant one as well – like his various organs were slithering together, a collection of mechanical components assembling themselves into a half-complete Hoshi Mutsu.

  One that was functional, but could only boot in safety mode.

  Ugh, my head… Gingerly the man's arm came up to feel at his temple – where he discovered that his hand was once more encased in a plaster cast. Oh yeah, didn't miss this at all. Am I still..?

  He was indeed still in the dorm room, unless the hallucinations had decided to follow him out into the waking world. The floodlights had been shut off, leaving the large space lit by only the various tiny lights on the appliances and machines in the kitchen area – and the medical one of course, where he was. They didn't move me off the operating table… I guess nobody else needed it. It must be night now.

  Like his initial awakening, the thoughts came together slowly. Hoshi lay on the table for a long time, and only started to move when he realized he didn't have his Pokéballs on him – but that problem, at least, was easily solved; he found them exactly where he expected to, in the cubby where he'd seen them last. Attaching the seven balls to his belt woke him back up some, and as he stood and stared at the darkened room Hoshi reached the conclusion that further sleep would be impossible.

  I would've thought that I could sleep for a week after that camping trip through the Dexus's summer home, but I guess not. Wide awake. Which, as he continued to think his gradually normalizing thoughts, the Rocket realised was something of an opportunity. There'll be guards, of course, but it isn't like I'm not allowed to be here anyway…

  I want to see what happened to Hypno and Dabi. If me and my people are going to use the same thing, I need to understand the consequences.

  And so he left. Only slightly wobbly from the lingering anesthetic, Hoshi made his way through the jungle of beds and out into the main room where the lights were still on.

  And as he saw it again, he was struck by a lesser version of that same spellbinding quality as the first time; the exeggutor slept, its legs planted in fertilized soil as a tentacruel’s worth of limbs pointed lamps and chemical feeds and less discernible things its way. It almost felt like the air was heavy – and after a moment to shake off a bit more grogginess, he realised the sensation was a steady vibration.

  The mystery alchemist-looking machine was turned on, and it was humming away doing… whatever it was meant to, Hoshi supposed. Fascination bid him forward, and almost as though he were still dreaming the senior grunt found himself very abruptly in front of the rattling thing. I think… I'm still kind of zonked out from whatever the doctor gave me. Everything's soft… But whether he was high or merely sleepy, the assembly of glass doodads called to him. Hoshi put his hand out – his left one, the muscle-memory of the last time he'd worn a cast not yet degraded – and traced a tube down to where it disappeared into the floor. Not this one…

  He stepped around, and chose another tube – and then, when that one led to the same place, another. If someone had asked Hoshi what exactly he was looking for, he wouldn't have been able to answer… but he was looking for something.

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  And eventually he found it.

  This is… came slow, dreamy recognition. Stardust. The machine is making stardust. Again, he didn't know how he knew, but Hoshi was absolutely certain that the flask of buttery-looking red paste was the end product, rather than fuel or anything else. It didn't quite glitter in the harsh light the way the stuff Hypno used did, but it was still the brainwave-enhancing substance that he'd become familiar with over the course of his training. It's less refined. That's why it looks different – this is the raw stuff, without any stabilising agents or additives.

  It looked… tasty. Like it would taste sweet, cinnamon-y and a touch tart like apple pie. Hoshi reached out, wrapped two fingers and a thumb around the narrow part where the flask connected to a thinner glass tube, and with a tug-

  What the fuck am I doing?!

  At the last possible moment he stopped, and the creaking of glass halted. Hoshi stepped back violently, the motion faster and sharper than any he'd made since waking up as adrenaline washed out the numbness of his medically-induced nap. What did I- why did I almost just do that? Was I still fucking asleep? I would've cut myself to the bone on broken glass, Arcus above…

  Or maybe he wouldn't have. Maybe, urged the part of him that knew the flask had been there since he'd first entered the basement, the glass would have bounced off an invisible shield.

  I'm going fucking nuts… Another step back, and his ragged breaths steadied some. Snapped out of the fugue, the container of stardust was no longer supernaturally enticing – in fact, Hoshi was beginning to feel nauseous looking at it. No, no… I'm fine. It's just the drugs in my system. “I fucking hate that shit,” he said to himself, and managed to make it convincing. “Drink it? Raw? It'd just make me puke. Fucking psychic nonsense…”

  With a quick glance to ensure the exeggutor was still sleeping – which it was – he picked a random door and left the room, and the machine, behind.

  As always, the life of Dabi Mokusen was one of a few good days, a few bad days, and the much more expansive neutral substrate in which they grew upon.

  Though lately, it had been mostly bad days.

  It was the sweat that bothered him the most – the shakes were more worrying, the headaches debilitating, and the grey hair damaging to the deeply-buried, deeply juvenile part of him that cared for his appearance… but the constant slick film coating his body was disgusting. Even with constant showers it haunted him like a spectre, like a gastly in his shadow that he couldn't shake. The smell of it coated his skin, his clothes, his bed – everything. It distracted him from work, and made sleep all but impossible which exacerbated the other symptoms.

  And of course, it was his own damned fault. Such an obvious error in hindsight. I can't believe I didn't see it…

  The nights, like now, were the worst; when there was nothing to distract him, where his thoughts circled each other like ants – caught in a death spiral as they followed their own pheromone trail to nowhere. In the darkness the sweat seemed to puddle around him, his nerves uncaring for the obvious irreality of the sensation as he was enveloped by the lukewarm sea. It filled his nose, his eyes, clung to his limbs like-

  Suddenly the spiral was jarred loose. Mokusen snapped to full wakefulness, instantly forcing himself up as his eyes widened, vainly attempting to cut through the darkness. What was that? He'd heard something – a whimper? A giggle? Are the peons wasting their valuable time dallying about?

  No – no, he knew what had made that sound. Damn fools, every one of them; we tell them to avoid the area, but still they can't contain their blasted curiosity…

  The scientist rose from his bed, which was revealed to be only slightly damp, and donned a coat to hide his underclothes. He found his comb and shaped his hair back to its proper shape. He took his glasses from their case and placed them on his face, then retrieved his Pokéballs and placed them in his pockets. Then he braced himself, and turned on the light.

  The ensuing headache was both immediate and piercing, drilling into his brain through each eye as though the thick lenses that allowed him to see had been recut to focus the scant light into a pair of lasers. And as he was sadly becoming used to, the pain only redoubled as he began to move.

  But it was only pain, so he swiftly unlocked his door and strode out into the central chamber. There came the smallest spot of relief as he saw Bernard slumbering in the place that had been built for him, absorbing nutrients and psychic echoes both – then Professor Mokusen turned to another door, one which lead to his peer’s section of the basement, and with a shudder he opened it and marched in.

  And of course, the lights are on. Not proof that someone had come through, but certainly evidence of it. He continued, and-

  And he heard another giggle. Mokusen sighed as he went deeper into the wing, passing through yet another ancient, lichen-bearing door to find a woman in a childish sundress pinning a man to the wall by one wrist. “Sabrina!” he barked, keeping the pain from his face by force of will even as his own voice compounded the splitting headache. “That isn't yours. Put him down.”

  Saffron City's Gym Leader turned, revealing a ghastly sight; the whites of her eyes had turned black, her previously soft pink irises gone dark red like clotted blood. “Daddy?” she replied, drawing the word out with a voice that was chillingly cold despite sounding young – very young, like that of a five-year-old. “Are you here to play with me?”

  A red flash, and two Pokémon appeared. The graveler stood awkwardly on the perfectly flat ground, his limbs better suited for the uneven terrain of a cliff-face – but awkward or not, Dan’s weight and the force with which he could throw it around were very, very evident. It was almost visceral, the sense of heft that each small motion threw out – and the kadabra was no less impressive, floating with placid menace. So close, both of them. If we could only get a few days without this nonsense interrupting everything..! “I will say it one more time: release him,” Mokusen repeated. “You know you're being a…” His tongue felt heavy, unwilling to make the inane phrase without a fight. “Bad girl.”

  Sabrina shrieked, and the pain in the scientist's head actually decreased as a numbing cold sapped the life from his nerve endings. In a display that made the animal part of his brain freeze with incredulity, the possessed woman then crumbled in on herself and disappeared into thin air.

  The heavy feeling dissipated as Dan was returned to his ball and Harry ceased his threat display, the man Sabrina had been menacing went down to his hands and knees, and Mokusen sighed through his nose-

  Then the man surged back to his feet. “What the fuck was that?”

  I am in entirely too much pain to deal with this. “Harry, return.” Another hour's worth of meditation spent on nothing. Maybe I should consider that fool of a Rocket Hunter's alternate method of evolution, if only for my personal Pokémon. The fantasy was sweet, and also short-lived; he had an idiot to correct. “You,” Mokusen called to the trembling… actually, he didn't know the man's rank. He's out of uniform.

  “What was- was that Sabrina?”

  No, it's more than that – I haven't seen this man in my life.

  Another flash, and Andre replaced his teammates. The machamp moved only slightly as his master stalked forward, gripping the intruder by the shirt and hauling him down. “Who are you?” the scientist questioned. “Who do you work for? Speak, or my Pokémon will convince you.”

  A pause – and then the thin, brown-haired stranger's lips twisted with anger, becoming a touch more familiar. “Of all the times for this stupid disguise to actually- it's Hoshi! Hoshi Mutsu!” He attempted to pull away, and though Mokusen could probably hold him – the events of the last minute had left the taller man with jelly for muscles – he willingly let go. The brunet who claimed he was Hoshi Mutsu fell back against the wall, his face still twisted by anger even as he lost his legs a second time and slid to the floor.

  “Mutsu?” Is he actually..? The head was the right shape, the voice matched his memories, and the height looked roughly correct – but it was not even close to impossible for those things to be faked. “Hm. If you are Mutsu, then…” Andre loomed. “What were you doing here?”

  “Looking for you, you little-!” Well, if this is a fake then they got the personality correct. “I mean… I wanted to know what was going on, so I decided to take a look around. Kiribo told me some, but he…” The man – almost certainly Mutsu, if he’d actually gotten through a conversation with the more competent of the Kimigawas – shook his head like a wet dog. “Wait, fuck all of that – what the fuck was that? Why is Sabrina wandering around-”

  His expression went flat as he finally stopped panicking. “She’s possessed. Hypno's gengar. That's…”

  “That's…” Supremely fucked up, was what Hoshi wanted to say, but he'd advocated for cutting bits off his own aunt not too long ago. Dangerous was another word that came to mind, seeing as she was obviously less than completely neutralised, and that one felt a lot less hypocritical to say.

  But of course, if he actually said something then Dabi – or more threateningly the machamp standing behind him – might take offense. Damn it, Kiribo said he was bedridden! I'm not getting both my fists crushed at the same fucking time, not if I can help it. So instead of expressing any amount of outrage, skepticism, or pushback – or more than he already had, at the very least – Hoshi attempted contrition. “Look, I know this looks bad, but I seriously only wanted to make sure you and Hypno weren't, like, dying or something. ‘Cause if you were, that would've been a sign to grab my people and hit the road.” Okay, yeah, I'm bad at contrite. Maybe I could sneak in an apology or..? “But you look- actually no, you frankly look like shit.” Fantastic. Thank you, high-on-painkillers brain, you really came through for me in a pinch.

  It was true, though; while Kiribo had looked mildly unhealthy, like he was coming off the end of a bad illness, Dabi looked like he'd aged sixty years. His hair had gone nearly entirely grey, and clumps looked to be missing; his slimy-looking skin was covered in dark blotches; his lips were bloodless and pulled tight against his teeth…

  And Hoshi couldn't see the scientist's eyes, but in a lurch of psychic connection he suddenly knew that they were reddened and unfocused, encircled by puffy lids and bruised-looking tissue.

  The two men stared at each other for a moment, and then Dabi snarled. “Mutsu… of all the grunts to escape the League, it really did have to be you, didn't it? Get out of here.”

  Hoshi blinked. “I-”

  “I don't care to hear a single word from you, Grunt. You've interrupted my sleep – the only reason I'm not throwing you out is that doing so would be more effort than you're worth.” Dabi worked his jaw for a moment as the much larger Pokémon behind him stood almost statue-like, its four muscular arms held loosely – two at its sides, and two angled higher. “If you want an explanation, talk to that hack Arlo. If you run afoul of Sabrina and her… playmate again, I won't feel the need to intervene.”

  And then he turned, palming a Pokéball and returning the massive machamp as he marched with his comically short legs attempting to convey a sense of dignity. Under the harsh artificial light everything suddenly seemed absurd, cartoonish, and Hoshi almost burst out laughing.

  Almost, but the weight of self-preservation came down and finally stopped him from digging the hole he was in any deeper. He was silent as the tiny, tiny man walked barefoot out of the hallway, leaving him alone but for the balls on his belt – which Hoshi noted, now that it was too late, that he'd never switched out of storage mode. I guess that explains the lack of guards; with Arc-damned Sabrina floating around, there's no need...

  Casca Kichi became conscious the moment the person came near, years of homelessness-ingrained instincts snapping her awake with a speed that none of the Rocket Agent training camps she'd participated in could have ever instilled. They were instincts she'd happily discarded when living with Hoshi, but in the strange communal space of the Rocket hideout they’d sprung back to life. Dark, she thought, gauging the light level through closed eyelids. Still night. The person is..? Sitting down on the bed, now. Not a thief, then. Either better or much, much worse.

  On a park bench rolling away and dashing would have been the smart thing – but here wasn't there, and Casca had more subtle options with other people around. “Hoshi?” she asked aloud, not quite whispering, and the weight stopped moving.

  “Sorry, didn't mean to wake you,” her man replied, and her subconscious stopped trying to make her either bolt up or reach for her knife. “Woke up on the slab.”

  The transition between tightly-controlled panic and relief was immediate. “Thought you'd sleep through the night,” she replied, still quiet as Hoshi slipped under the covers. Casca could feel the cast on his arm even without it touching her; the weight of it changed his balance, its rigidity forcing awkward movements. “Doctor said you wouldn't wake up until morning.”

  He stilled. “Hm. She was wrong.”

  Hoshi settled down, and soon his breathing slowed. Casca felt his heartbeat do the same where their backs touched, and the rhythm of it bid her own to slow to match. Hah, feels silly to have been worried. There's like fifty people in this room, and I've got Candy and the rest on my belt – and it's not like I'm defenceless on my own, either.

  But still, it felt good to have the warm mass of another person pressed against her back, and soon she’d drifted back to sleep.

  Hoshi slept – and yet, he was also awake.

  He did not begin on a barren sandy Earth as in his previous dreams, did not witness life being rained down, did not pass through any rings of gold – now that he'd reached the centre and broken through, there was no need to make the journey ever again. He started right there at the end, orbiting the thing in its invisible shell like a comet rounding the sun.

  And like a comet, he had a tail; the trail of blood, tiny rivulets twining together into a great red rope leading off into the void. No matter which way Hoshi turned, that escape rope was always behind him. I suppose that's an apt metaphor – and lucid or not, I am still dreaming. Expecting logic to apply would be dumb.

  But his inspection of his surroundings didn't take long, miniscule as they were… no, the only things around were him, and…

  And the Dexus. That's what you are, aren't you?

  Slowly, slowly, he orbited around the egg. Or perhaps that was the wrong word; it wasn't egg-shaped at all. The shell of nothing that had kept him and the thing separate was more like… I don't have a word for it. A pyramid? A triangular slab? It was like a cube, if you were to take the top and pinch it shut to leave it with only two vertices to the bottom’s four.

  But whatever it was called, it was now visible – for a certain definition of the word. The many prior iterations of the dream, the many times he'd crashed down on its surface, had left cracks – and through those cracks, red-and-blue flesh was visible. Hoshi drifted, drifted, and only when he'd come around to the ‘face’ of it did he receive an answer.

  My name…

  It rattled Hoshi's bones. I knew it. This is… this is what Dirk was talking about. Whether it's the actual mythological Dexus I have no idea, but some kind of nexus of psychic power? That's a lot more-

  Is Deoxys

  …Understandable. The three eyes, just barely visible through the hole he'd put in their owner's… prison? Eggshell? It really did feel like an egg, in some ineffable way…

  The three eyes stared, lidless and perfectly round, and despite them not moving even slightly Hoshi knew they were looking at him. “What do you want?” he said aloud. “Is this… do you want me to do something? Or was I just a bludgeon to crack your shell? Why do you keep sending me these damn dreams?” Is this some chosen one bullshit? Am I going to wake up one day chained to a pillar with a bunch of Dexists ready to cut me open and let their god out from under my skin?

  Another revolution of absolute silence, not even his own breath reaching his ears. Come on! You brought me here, fucking talk!

  My child… It hurts…

  My body…

  Again, the force of the whatever-it-was’s voice slammed into Hoshi's drifting form, this time so hard it felt like it should've reduced him to paste. He gasped, the sensation so horrifically intense that even without pain it knocked the sense from his skull – and for several revolutions Hoshi floated, unthinking, only barely cognizant of his own existence.

  “…You,” he eventually said, “Want something from me. Well… what's in it for me? And don't say you could crush me like a bug, if you could do that your Inner Ministry wouldn't need to be secret.” Arc, I'm not even sure this is happening. This is… silly. The notion of it – Hoshi Mutsu meeting the actual for-real devil – was absurd. Utterly, completely nonsensical.

  If it wasn't so obviously happening, he'd be chalking this up as a nightmare.

  My body… Is broken, still…

  Mew… My beloved…

  Bring her to me… Bring everything together…

  So that we may…

  As he was buffeted by the cosmic wind, pushed down and in and away, Hoshi caught one last snippet. The sound followed him back to reality, back to sanity, back to a world that made sense – and made sure he remembered, if only in the haziest of fashions.

  Be whole again…