Pokémon Mars

Chapter 9: The Mars Madness

To make matters worse for the new arrivals, their exploits appeared on the news the following morning. Damson saw the headline when he woke up after 3 PM. He cackled at the comments. Since he 'went mad,' him cackling at something usually meant it wasn't funny at all.

'That's right! Come to Mars, kids!'

His Cinderace and Gallade wore permanently concerned frowns. Blastoise never seemed to stop crying. Serperior and Pidgeot – who felt as trapped in the city as Damson did – winced when he picked up the filthy knife on the counter. The sofa was already shredded to bits. Its frame was broken. There wasn't much left to destroy, but he chipped away at a cupboard door until it shattered and he cackled even more.

'Come to Mars! Experience the most exciting ways to die!'

He was hardly capable of taking care of his beloved Pokémon that were once Orre League Champions. Toxtricity was drunk. It cackled with him as it trod toxic slime all over the wreckage on the floor.

'You could go drunk driving outside at night – death practically guaranteed when Courtney Xiong isn't stalking Firmino Buckley – but why not have the overlords kill you for tarnishing their precious image? And come see the greatest show on Mars, of course! If I can't walk, don't worry! There are trolleys and rovers for that! Hahahaha!'

His phone rang until it was out of power. It was weeks since he last spoke to his parents. His manager certainly couldn't get hold of him. He replied to his bandmates if it concerned their music, but not otherwise. They stopped trying. They approached a psychiatrist with their concerns when Damson began to show typical signs of the Mars madness after six months, but although he attended all his appointments, he only got worse. They actually convinced him to stop attending. He came away from every appointment with another conspiracy theory. His best friend and the lead guitarist, Zeph, tried to approach the Martian admin of the Ares program, but nothing happened.

Their manager urged them to leave Damson alone. They were disturbing an artist at work. When Zeph kept trying, the manager's words began to feel like thinly-veiled threats.

Then there was the public. No matter how disturbing the lyrics became, they were praised as 'true art.' Damson was called 'happy and healthy' once make-up hid the circles around his eyes and cuts on his arms. To his parents watching videos from Earth, he looked dangerously insane onstage, but even when he could have died jumping from a balcony, the press and fans alike only raved about how he was 'on fire.' Tickets sold out faster. His face appeared on more billboards. There was no need to censor him. People only lapped it all up as 'part of the act.' Up close, his bandmates saw how unwell he was, but as soon as they stepped away, they only heard endless noise screaming the opposite. Even they were susceptible to questioning their sanity when they were sure they saw the Mars madness, but everyone else said otherwise. They wondered if they were overreacting and Damson really was 'just an artist.'

Gallade plugged his phone in to the charger that was so filthy, it was stuck in its socket. It tried to keep up with the news in the hope it might see a headline about sending people like Damson home. It never saw one, but there was a follow-up to the drunk driving article that was possibly of interest. Firmino asked Rudolph why guards let rookies, let alone drunks, out of Ironville. He suggested mandatory driver training for new arrivals. There was a photo of them shaking hands outside the town hall. Gallade loaded the video of the mayor's speech.

'In regards to the drunk driving incident last night, the guards absolutely should have stopped any drunks leaving the bubble, astronauts or not. They've been made well aware of this. I've also raised the possibility of mandatory driver training for new arrivals with the Ares program. Fortunately, no-one was hurt and as long as we regularly remind each other just how dangerous this planet is, I doubt anything like this will ever happen again. Citizens of Ironville, your concerns have been – and will continue to be – heard.'

'Hahahahaha!'

Gallade was hopeful. It wondered if the mayor might be able to help them, but Damson snatched the phone.

'What concerns? Everyone except Buckley thought it was hilarious!'

He dropped the phone again. His Pokémon jumped when he screamed at nothing in particular. He couldn't break the walls, so he scratched disturbing drawings and messages into them instead. The latest one was another caricature of a man with a knife.

'I should be advertising these, right? So many options! Slash a spacesuit, slash the bubble, slash some tyres! Or kill the old-fashioned way, but on Mars!'

Blastoise was already crying, but it cried even more. Cinderace ran after Damson before he slammed the door to climb the stairs up to the roof. He usually stared at the distant cemetery. Sometimes, in increasingly rare moments of lucidity, he filmed the disturbing number of grave diggers. That afternoon, he was interested in something else. He knew he wasn't the only person afflicted with the Mars madness even in his own building, because someone kept leaving severed Rattata limbs in mailboxes, but there was clearly someone else in a building beyond the canal. They must have emptied a toy store of dolls. There were hundreds of toy heads, covered in fake blood, stuck on poles on the roof of their apartment block. Damson saw them last night. He thought they would be gone by now. Anything implying Mars madness disappeared much faster than the potholes people complained about. They were still there. There were even new additions: the dismembered arms of the dolls clinging to the roof and feet hovering over them.

'Damn! Don't you know we're all happy here?!'

'Mr. Oak!'

A security guard grimaced on the sidewalk below.

'Please get down from there!'

'Thanks for your concern! Shall I jump?!'

He knew that guard would appear behind him as quickly as he hammered on the door as soon as he switched his death metal music on. That was a shame. He would see those dolls and have them removed, but he didn't know that Damson took a photo of them. He had many photos and videos that showed the dark side of life on Mars already. He wanted so many that no-one could ever dispute it. His Pokémon worried, however, that he would no longer be sane enough to care by the time he finally posted them.

'You're wasting all this manpower on me, but someone's probably getting killed as we speak! Hurry! What if it's someone important?! You know I'm the last person who would ever want to see our precious image tainted!'

'Shut the fuck up, Oak. And grow up. The fine for trespassing on the roof will be taken directly from your bank account, but you know that.'

'Of course! I trespass because I want to give money to the wonderful city of Ironville! You know that!'

'I'm getting a bit bored of this act of yours, personally. At least try to be normal at home.'

From the first of Damson's 323 trespassing fines, that guard called his madness his 'act.' He only ever laughed, but his Pokémon were afraid that one day, he would crack and believe it.

'Best of luck with that upcoming murder!'

He waved like an affectionate child as the man walked away.

'Maybe it'll be the right – I mean, an important – person this time! Smell ya later!'

'Fucking diva...'