Broken Souls

Disconnect

Like every fight the team gets into, Minerva feels it's her personal responsibility to start this one. She turns in my arms, the acid scars on her face so deep that her red flesh is showing. The sickly-sweet scent of Hyper Potion hangs in the air over both of us. I bring the hand not on her neck to my face and trace my own scar. We're a matched set. Her burned out eye fixes on me and her golden bond pulls me in, like she's grappling with the ruff of my shirt. I can almost feel myself choke with the weight of her pain and remorse as the now-sightless silver sphere wheels about in the darkness, like a moon lost in the dead of space with its sun burned out and its planet suddenly disappeared into the cosmic void. It reflects no light and knows nothing, sees nothing.

"Ashley." Minerva rasps, and I am all too happy just to hear her speak. "Damnit, Ashley, you did this to us."

"I was letting him grieve!" I protest, but twelve-year-old Ashley's out again and she's sobbing. Fear and panic and some desperate need to prove myself all gush forth over her body and her snout tenses into a snarl as my tears hit the raw part of her body and sizzle to thin lines of smoke.

"You gave him an opening." Minerva is choking on the words through the pain. I didn't know she had limits yet here they are and she's pushing out against them, trying to bat them away so that she can retain consciousness for seconds longer. "He is an opening."

"You can't blame Ethan. He didn't know." I say.

"You did! You knew!" she spits out, and with an nonreassuring gasp goes limp again in my arms.

"Damnit." I whisper, because I did. Ethan comes back into my mind, whispering in pictures about dark hair and the scent of river and pancakes. "Damnit, damnit, damnit!" I hold out the trembling right hand that clutches her Pokeball and stow her away in my bag.

Behind me my Pokemon pick up whispering with the wind. Some of it is conscious mumbling and some of it is in my head but we can't tell the difference when we're this far into it. Hycanith joins the conversation in mumbled feelings and sharp-edged concern, the background line to the hellish soundtrack that is tonight.

"Quiet down!" I yell. Sixteen year old Ashley is back out, clenching hands that are a half-inch smaller than they should be and hating the two inches she's missing from a good two years of time travel as she stands up. I don't know why I insist on remembering my age like this- I didn't count the days. Who knows when my new birthday is. As far as I'm concerned, this is where I stand- and like any good teenager, the first thing I do is whip out my phone.

Er, Pokegear.

Mom.

Ethan.

Morty.

Lance.

Cecily.

For my own sanity I work my way through the list, fingers trembling, because I don't know how long I'll have or if I have any kind of time at all. Everything is up in the air. There are no rules.

Mom. I'm about to go dark. If you need anything talk to Morty, but please, stay inconspicuous as possible. I promise when all of this is over I'll explain whatever I can. Stay away from Mount SIlver, encourage whoever you can to stick to their normal lives. (I almost put programming but manage to stop myself.) Love you.

There's nothing I need to say to Cecily. Social interaction can wait until after the end of the world.

To Lance: I'm sorry for everything. If you're getting this message, you probably already know Red has what he wants. We have two months. Please watch Morty, make sure you two stick together. Things about to get really dangerous. Don't go after Red.