Archive of Our Own

I'm so fucking tired of Pokémon. Every year, they seem to be shitting out something new, and no matter what words or phrases I filter out, it'll be all over my feed, and it'll be all anyone at my school talks about for the next month. I thought most people would've grown out of kid's games by the time they turned 18, but apparently not. It just feels like they're mocking me at this point — every time I look at one of those dumb little creatures, I just see the hollow eyes and wide smile of the thing that tormented me and my family all those years ago.

Reminders are everywhere, no matter what I do. I avoid technology nowadays — to the best of my abilities, at least, but a young adult in 2021 can't get very far without some kind of connection to the world around them. I'm only posting this now on a laptop from a nearby café’s lost and found, a whole state over from where I go to school. I hope to God that little horned devil won’t find me here, but after I post this, I’ll trash the laptop to be sure. It has to belong to someone, but I can’t stand to spread the curse. I’m sure they’d understand.

I get it. I sound like a fearmongering lunatic right about now — either a Bible-thumping old woman who thinks Pokémon is witchcraft from the devil, or some PETA freak who calls it animal abuse or something. I can't really blame Pokémon in particular for what happened to me — I don't think Nintendo ever intended on, uh, this. It wasn't them that did this to me — it was a sadistic being beyond my comprehension that decided to get into my head with a cheery kid's game. If not Pokémon, it would've found something else. Not like that makes looking at the franchise any easier on me, but hey, can you really blame me?

I'm going on a bit of a tangent, sorry. I'll do that a lot. You probably just want me to get to the juicy bits, the ones you'll screenshot and laugh at because they sound like something straight out of the mouth of a video game-fearing pastor from the 90s. Or an amateur creepypasta writer. Whichever.

My name is Miles, and I can assure you this is all real. Believe me or not, doesn't really matter, I just need to get it off my chest. My old Pokémon games, Black included, are still in their old case in my closet somewhere, and Liberty and I's hospital records are still very real. The memories of what she did to me and what that devilish game showed us are the realest things I know. I can't say that about much else.

It was the spring of 2012 when this all happened — a couple months before the release of Black and White 2, to put it into perspective. I was sixteen, and my parents were pretty busy people, so I was often stuck looking after my little sister Liberty while they were out. Liberty was nine at the time, and she’s the sweetest kid you could imagine. I mean, we fought, as siblings did — let’s face it, being an angry kid, the person sleeping in the room next to you is the easiest target — but it’s important to understand just how genuinely good she was. She was the picture of innocence, always smiling and laughing — she once heard I was sad and found a recipe for cola and tried to make it for me. It was a disaster, but the important part is that there was never a bad bone in her body. Never.

Like any nerdy sixteen year-old, I was really, really into Pokémon. It was my favorite thing, and I must’ve had one of each of the paired games. I can’t imagine it was good on my parents’ wallet, but it made me happy. I had my own little case just for carrying them, (which I still have, though it’s seen better days) and my bookshelf was covered in plushies. It was a little embarrassing, even back then, but I don’t think that ever bugged me — I never really cared what people thought, for better or worse. Sometimes I wish someone shoved me into a locker as a kid, just to knock me down a peg, but for the most part my peers just ignored me.

Liberty and I were different as day and night. The perfect spoiled little girl with butterfly hair pins who wore dresses everywhere she went, next to her aloof and nerdy older sibling who locked themself in their room 24/7. I don’t like to admit that I thought she was annoying and even hated her most of the time, which I guess is a normal sibling thing to think, I just feel bad. I think I was just jealous of the attention she got — I only really liked her when she was into the same stuff I was, which I regret to this day.

I was a big loner as a kid. I mean, I still am, but especially when I was younger. I never really made an effort to ‘get’ the people around me, or even fit in. I know it’s irrational, but part of me will always blame myself for what happened to Liberty. Maybe because playing video games together was the only time I was ever nice to her, she felt like she had to… I don’t know. I’m rambling again.

Anyway, it was a day like any other. Our parents were out for work, I was in the living room playing White on my DS, Liberty was at the table doing her homework. She looked bummed, so I decided to ask her if she wanted to play Pokémon with me.

And Liberty didn’t really get Pokémon, but she knew it was something I liked with cute animals and cool pictures. She knew about the stuffed ones I had (once stole my stuffed Flareon to use in her little tea parties) and sat down for a couple episodes of the Diamond and Pearl cartoon with me once, but that was about it. Regardless, though, she agreed, probably because she just didn’t want to do homework, and I grabbed my other DS to set up Black for her.

I was excited. For once, we were doing something together, and actually felt like siblings instead of just… roommates. I got to explain all the mechanics and species to her, and pick out a team she’d like — we must have gone through my PC Boxes for fifteen minutes as I just showed her everything I had and rambled. I remember the teams we both had, clear as day. How could I forget?

Mine was the team I always used. Black and White being the most recent games by that point, all of my favorite Pokémon over my playthroughs had been loaded into them. Faith, Laluna, Aiden, Shadow, Charcoal, and Clover. A Serperior, an Umbreon, a Zoroark, a Zekrom, a Chandelure, and a Haxorus. I never said I was good at team-building — I only picked what I liked, and just brute forced my way through everything. But they were my team, I loved ‘em, edgy choices as they were.

Anyway, Liberty loved horses, so of course I had to add the level 65 Rapidash I caught in SoulSilver to her team — Dash, my pride and joy. My starter in Black had been a Samurott named Akiara, who was my strongest Pokémon on that file, so of course Liberty had to have her. There was Mavy, an Espeon I didn’t really use — he was just for me to say I had caught every Eeveelution, but I thought it’d be fun to have her match with my Umbreon. Then there was the Cobalion, Scar, because The Lion King was our favorite movie, Squishy, the Gastrodon form that’s pink (can’t remember which sea it is), and finally, the Liberty Pass event Victini.

I thought that would’ve been cute.

With our teams picked, we got to our battle. I think I was more excited than she was, being a lonely kid who never really got to share their passions with people like this. Lonely but still an asshole, as I pretty much curb stomped her for our first round. Not like that’s an impressive feat — I asked her not to use Surf on my Chandelure, and she listened. It felt weird attacking the Pokémon I knew and liked, I’ll be honest, but that’s not what was strange about this.

We decided to go again, and the second time around, I let her win. I just kind of spammed status moves that didn’t do anything, and intentionally picked bad matchups, but it’s not like Liberty knew that. All she knew was that she won, and I could see her face light up. She begged me to battle her again, and we kept going for the next hour. Long time to just do constant rematches with the same teams, but this was the most excited I’d ever seen her. She was getting the hang of the mechanics, and it got to the point where I didn’t have to stall and pick weak moves to give her a fighting chance.

The sun was going down, and Liberty showed no signs of wanting to stop. I was starting to get tired — “We should probably take a break, you’ve got homework,” I told her. Her head snapped up from my DS, her little hands almost balled into fists around the system. “No! I wanna keep playing!” Her voice was shrill, like a temper tantrum she was too old to be having was about to come on. I didn’t wanna piss her off, not after our first bonding experience in years, so I agreed to one last round.

She was getting damn good, more than I thought was possible in such a short amount of time. She bounced on her heels and loudly cheered for every one of my Pokémon she defeated. No matter how good a 9 year-old may be, though, I managed to sweep the rest of her team with Shadow’s Fusion Bolt. As the battle ended, I shut my DS and was about to excuse myself to grab some dinner when I heard the most visceral screech that could ever come from a human being.

“NO! You cheated!”

I think I was too surprised to hear her act out like that to do much but gape as she grabbed my DS from my hands, raised it above her head, and threw it down hard against the tile floor. The screen blacked out, the force breaking the thing completely in half, a corner button flying in one direction and another part in another.

Too scared to pick it up, I just looked at Liberty’s face. Her teeth were bared and jaw clenched hard, face red, nostrils flaring, the angriest I’d ever seen her, all over a game she hardly knew existed an hour ago.

It’s so stupid to describe, looking back on it. But I was a kid, and those games were my world — one of the best nights of my life was quickly becoming one of the worst. I had no idea if the game was even safe anymore from the impact — the adventure in Unova I’d poured so much into, the one-time-only events I’d never get back, the 800 hours, that Shiny Giratina I’d gotten on the GTS by some miracle…

I saw red and slapped her, hard. I remember her head snapping back, how it stung even my hand, to say nothing of her cheek. I then bent down to gather the pieces of my poor Pokémon together.

Yeah, I was crying. I didn’t really know what to do except turn the severed bottom screen over and over in my hands, pressing the power button over and over like that’d save it. I didn’t have the sense to grab the game card itself, wanting to keep it in the relative safety of its slot in case Liberty snapped again.

I babbled for a second, before finally managing to find my words — “What’s wrong with you?!” I shouted, unable to wipe my eyes or nose with my hands full. I was crying harder than the 9 year-old whose sibling just slapped her.

Actually, she wasn’t crying at all. I remember that. She just glared at me, even through the mark I’d left on her face. She was shaking, for a different reason than me, and it’s cliché to say, but… the person standing there wasn’t my sister. This wasn’t the same girl who tried to make cola from scratch with maple syrup for me — I knew that much.

I didn’t say anything more, just sat back on my bed waiting for it all to pass, hugging my shattered DS to my chest. At one point, the door slammed shut, and she was gone. I must’ve sat there for about half an hour, my appetite long gone, until I finally wiped my face and got up to grab my 3DS from my shelf. It’d just come out at the time, though I stuck to my usual systems for the most part — its battery was low, but all I needed it for was to make sure my game was okay.

I wondered how I’d explain that to my parents — it was completely unlike Liberty to flip out like that (honestly, it was more incharacter for me to break my own game), but that worry came second to just… making sure my game was fine. I needed it to be fine — I didn’t know what I’d do to myself, what I’d do to Liberty if it wasn’t.

Black and White weren’t built for the 3DS, and in my paranoia I remember worrying the off aspect ratio meant it was broken. But the system could still read the card, and that’s all that mattered. My save booted me back into the Pokémon Center, where I’d battled Liberty in a back room, like nothing ever happened.

I checked my party — full health, of course, as Wi-Fi battles didn’t actually affect the Pokémon in any meaningful way. I remember just sitting there at the party select screen, mindlessly tapping my team’s sprites to flip them back and forth, like they were dancing — just to remind myself they were still there, regardless of what Liberty just did. I spent a while doing just that, before deciding to distract myself with random wild grass encounters.

They all went down pretty easily, what with my team of overleveled OUs, because I knew what I was doing, to… some degree. I’d poured over 800 hours into this game, and knew what moves hit the hardest, (even against my own movesets, I thought, taking down a Ditto in Giant Chasm) and… it baffled me, more and more, that Liberty could even hold a candle to it after a few matches of Union room Wi-Fi battles, much less get such a big head over… me beating her, as I should’ve.

My parents were more mad at me for hitting her than they were her for breaking my DS. When they scolded her, I remember she held my spare DS in her lap, having taken it from me in the commotion, and I wasn’t about to yell at her more and get grounded. Let her fucking have it, I thought, resigning myself to losing Black for now. She’d get tired of it when this all blew over.

So I was grumbly for the next few days, but there was nothing I could do about it. Uncharacteristically of Liberty, she made no move to apologize to me or reach back out — didn’t even wave me goodbye for school like she always did. Dinner was a silent affair, as was her homework, and for once, it felt like I was alone in my house, save for my parents. Liberty bugged me sometimes, sure, but it was all too disconcerting to have her not considering me at all.

She was quiet and sullen that whole week, and I didn’t wanna mess things up and intrude, so I let her cool off in hopes she just needed space from me— until Friday morning, when we were getting ready for school and I caught her sneaking my DS into her backpack.

“Hey, Lib,” I remember mumbling to her over my waffles. “You can’t bring toys to school, remember?” My parents were awfully strict about that, so seeing Liberty break that rule was a little disquieting. “And I don’t want you breaking it on the playground.”

That was my real reason, really — or maybe the reminder that the system was technically mine would get her to hand it back. Instead, she just gave me a sour look — like I was stupid for even suggesting such a thing.

“I wanna do the Battle Subway.” She responded, there being a little relief in the fact she was actually, well, acknowledging me. “But Mavy’s only level 44. I gotta train him up.”

Mavy, last I checked, was only level 32. I had to resist the urge to laugh in surprise at how obsessed my little sister had become with the game — albeit coming with the cost of this strange behavior.

“Hey, it’s my game,” I said, trying to sound stern — it had been a week, and she showed no signs of wanting to return Black. Sure, it wasn’t my favored file, but it was still one I cared about — I wouldn’t have been so hesitant to let her have it if it wasn’t under such odd circumstances. “I don’t want you losing it at school, I’ve had it for, like, forever.”

Liberty’s expression only hardened into a glare as she stuffed the DS into her backpack’s front pocket, zipped it up, and tugged it on over her shoulders. I sighed, resigning myself to the fact I’d probably have to ask my parents to do it for me — as much as the idea made me feel like a baby at 16.

Sadly, getting our parents involved didn’t do much of anything — it only made her more pissed at me, and I remember her screaming at me to leave her alone in a way all too reminiscent of how I did as an angsty kid. That’s one of the scariest parts of this to me — not what happened to the games, or what followed us, but the… very real frustration with me that it fed on. I hate that it took all of this for me to start considering Liberty beyond my bratty little sister.

Anyway, my parents, they… didn’t really get what overcame Liberty — they didn’t get video games, and thought the behavior change to just be a part of her growing up, or a mood swing. They were never involved people — even today, after everything, they just dropped me into a mental hospital like her and fucked off, and…

Fuck. Sorry. I’m getting off track — I’ll get to more of that later.

When trying to reason with her didn’t work, I then thought to just… humor Liberty. Naïve me seeing this as an opportunity to connect over a shared interest, even now. If she wasn’t going to give up the game anyway, I could do more than just sulk over it.

On Saturday, while she played, I let myself into her room, 3DS in hand, and before she could pick up her notebook to throw at me to shoo me out, I asked her if she wanted to battle again. I’d spent the week training my team stronger, just for her — got rid of one of Faith’s HM moves in favor of the then-cool gimmicky Grass Pledge, et cetera. I remember having… well, faith in this battle, that maybe it was what Liberty needed. A fair fight, in her eyes.

It was the first time I’d seen her smile in a week, and I would later learn that that wasn’t a good thing.

I sat on her bed in preparation, my game’s volume low while hers was blaring so loud I worried it would mess with the speakers. There our battle began — but rather than the pure excitement of the first one, here I only felt an uneasy pit in my stomach, like I was poking a bear.

I sent out Faith, and she sent out Dash — the Pokémon at the front of our teams before. The type matchup wasn’t favorable, but I still knew more about this game than her, and wasn’t about to switch out when I was certain I could take the thing out.

           The foe’s Dash used Inferno!

           It’s super effective!

           Faith fainted!

Or not, I learned. This wasn’t going to be as easy as last time, I realized — yeah, she kept the team from before, but it had been visibly changed: moves swapped out for stronger ones, held items, and even with the level 50 cap I could tell she’d done a lot of grinding behind the scenes. Dash was from SoulSilver — I didn’t even know Rapidash could learn Inferno.

I decided to send out Haxorus, bummed that one of my strongest Pokémon was out of commission so early in the battle.

           Go! Clover!

           Clover used Rock Slide!

           It’s super effective!

           The foe’s Dash hung on using the Focus Sash!

I gawked at my screen wondering where this nine year old learned what a Focus Sash was — even now, I don’t know.

           The foe’s Dash used Double Kick!

           Clover used Slash!

           The foe’s Dash fainted!

Peering over my screen, I could see her face contort into that sour look again. She made eye contact with me for a brief instant, the coldness not looking quite right on her face, as she jabbed her screen with the stylus so hard I feared it’d leave a mark.

           Black sent out Victini!

At the time, I wasn’t all too scared of this thing. To my memory, Victini was pretty pathetic as far as legendaries went. It always felt a little shoehorned in to me — one of those gimmicky Pokémon made to sell toys they’d forget about next gen. I didn’t even remember if I gave it any moves past the ones it learned with level-up after I caught it — but even if I hadn’t, Liberty had.

           The foe’s Victini used Fire Blast!

           Clover was burned!

Just my luck. The little bugger brought me down to yellow HP and burned me, before Clover could even make a move. I decided to be annoying in turn, and select the level-up move I’d been most excited for Clover to reach in my latest grinding session.

           Clover used Guillotine!

I crossed my fingers and shut my eyes for good luck, and Liberty’s scream told me I nailed it.

           It’s a one-hit KO!

I remember when I opened my eyes, the look of horror on Liberty’s face was comparable to if she’d really seen something’s head get chopped off. Fire Blast landing a burn and Guillotine landing at all — the excitement and adrenaline of the battle was nearly enough to make me forget why we were holding it.

“That’s evil!” I remember her whining, bunching a pillow into her little hands and throwing it on the ground — preferable to doing so to her DS, but it still cautioned me to reel in my cruelty unless I wanted another broken console.

While I restrained myself from using Guillotine again, Clover still held pretty strong against Mavy, who was taken out with Shadow Claw and Dragon Pulse, and even Akiara, getting the latter into low health before going down to a well-placed Razor Shell and extra burn damage. I saluted her efforts.

I sent Aiden out next — his Illusion ability managing to disguise him as Chandelure.

           The foe’s Akiara used Revenge!

           It’s super effective!

           Aiden’s Illusion wore off!

I winced. That was either a misstap on her part, or her knowing there was a Zoroark there — Fighting moves couldn’t usually hit Ghost types, could they?

           Aiden used Night Daze!

           The foe’s Akiara used Revenge!

We were both in low health at this point. I remember kicking the leg of her bed in anticipation — despite myself, I was excited. It was a pretty thrilling battle, and I tried to push to the back of my mind how genuinely infuriated Liberty looked at what happened next.

           Aiden used Punishment!

           The foe’s Akiara fainted!

Another shrill groan of frustration as she shook the DS in her hands, and I could hear the top screen snap back as she wasted not a second in sending out her next Pokémon — mumbling something about types beneath her breath.

           Black sent out Scar!

           Scar used Sacred Sword!

           It’s super effective!

           Aiden fainted!

Liberty was able to smile through her clenched jaw at taking out another Pokémon, and I remember feeling bad — she had only a Cobalion and a Gastrodon left, while I had two other Pokémon and a Zekrom waiting in the queue for her — but not bad enough to keep from sending out Shadow. Something about seeing a legendary fighting a legendary, you know?

           Just a little more! Hang in there, Shadow!

           The foe’s Scar used Stone Edge!

           Shadow used Crunch!

           The foe’s Scar used Sacred Sword!

           Shadow used Fusion Bolt!

That brought Scar to red HP, as the shift in music from Liberty’s DS announced as she began to whine like she was going to cry, her brief smile dashed at the realization she was going to lose. “Shadow’s scary! Stop it, you’re hurting ‘im!!”

           Scar used Iron Head!

           Shadow used Fusion Bolt!

“No!!!” She wailed, stamping a foot against the tile as the plasma ball of blue electricity hit Scar and their HP dropped to zero.

           The foe’s Scar fainted!

The pause between the end of that turn and the start of the next was long, the Wi-Fi battle music the only thing audible as Liberty sat in silence, staring at her screen. There was only one option left — sending out her last Pokémon, Squishy, into a battle it would no doubt lose — but she didn’t do it.

Instead, she sniffed, then gasped, and then I realized she was crying. My heart sank, as I set my DS aside and carefully approached her. This felt beyond her just being upset at a loss, and my heart twisted — if that Guillotine didn’t land, she probably could’ve had more of a fighting chance, which… that was what she wanted. I started this battle to reach out to her, but got too absorbed in what I wanted — again. Fucking…

I can’t beat myself up too much over not knowing what a kid wanted at 16, but it still hurts, knowing I could’ve prevented this if I’d thought about it just a little harder. …I don’t know what I would’ve done if I did, thinking about it, but… something. Anything other than what I did.

“Lib…” I started, not sure where I was going with this. “Hey, are you okay?” The DS in her hands shut with a loud clack, as she still stared wide-eyed at where the screen was, tears flowing down her face as her jaw quivered.

“I’m sorry,” I offered, sounding small and pathetic as my hand reached out for her — but her head snapped up at the sound of my voice, and her expression soured, twisting from terror to fury in an instant, and then I knew to step back.

“You’re so mean!” Her voice pitched, hands shaking as she gestured about with the DS, and for a moment I worried she’d chuck it at me. “You keep cheating!!! You keep cheating and, and hurting my Pokémon, and it’s not — fair!!! I don’t wanna see you hurt ‘em anymore, I don’t!” She blubbered, the tears coming on again.

Struggling to find words, I barely got a sound out before Liberty screamed again, no longer a shrill pitch but a gutteral snarl of “JUST GET OUT ALREADY!”

If I were cockier, or even just 5% less socially aware than I was, I would’ve bit back, but now, I couldn’t find anything to say. I just put my hands down, nodded, and hightailed it out of her room, not wanting to upset her further.

I knew it was a matter that ran deeper than me just beating her at Pokémon, and that hurt to think about — the idea that I’d been really, really hurting my little sister, and that I had no idea, or that I just didn’t care. That wasn’t true, I want to tell her every day, I was a stupid kid who didn’t think about anyone but themself, but I love you, I always have, I don’t want you to be afraid of me. You didn’t have to waste tears on me, or do what you did to make sure I cared. I promise I cared. I did and I do.

I hope she can understand that if she reads this someday.

What impression did I give her, being the distant and aloof older sibling who didn’t give her the time of day until our stupid Pokémon battles? Who, when given the chance to do things over, chose to use Guillotine anyway?

It’s hard not to blame myself. I was 16, I keep saying, I was a kid who couldn’t have possibly understood the gravity of what was going on, my brain wasn’t even fully developed, but it becomes… harder to say that, when I put into perspective that even then, I was ‘big’ to Liberty. I had a responsibility as her older sibling that I didn’t step up to. She saw the best in me until those days and I turned her away and just kept stomping on her.

And… when I think about it like that, I can’t really blame her for what happened that night.

After dinner, I ended up going to bed earlier than I usually did on Saturday nights, but the fight with Liberty had drained the energy out of me. I plugged in my 3DS to charge by my bed — playing around in SoulSilver’s Battle Frontier until I got tired, in favor of White and the harsh memories of the day it would bring up.

There I dozed off, leaving the system by the nightstand and shutting my TV off for the night with the remote.

I remember a faint banging noise against the wall, which woke me up hours later. It prompted me to open my eyes, and… what I saw next, I thought to be a dream at first.

If it was any night but that one, if the past odd week hadn’t happened, if I’d just let Liberty keep doing her homework that day, if I hadn’t used Guillotine, I would’ve taken it as a joke, or mistake. My kid sister being funny, a story I’d tell at school and laugh about, with no harm really done.

But tonight, there was a sinking feeling of terror in my chest when I saw it, and part of my subconscious knew it was real, and knew to enter a fight-or-flight response — maybe it was even prepared for something like this to happen.

The biggest knife from the kitchen’s block gleamed in Liberty’s hand. The blade was taller than her head, the chipped paint of the metal handle catching light with the moon through the window. She strode closer to my bed, expression terrifyingly obscured in the night’s dark blue shadow, but her movements were smooth — all too smooth for the immature nine-year-old girl I thought I knew.

Her eyes bulged in surprise when she realized I was awake, and I could only half sit up in an attempt to back away when she decided to act fast, plunging the knife into the closest thing she could to incapacitate me.

It went right in my thigh, cutting my escape attempt in its tracks as I screamed at the top of my lungs, the pain unlike anything I’d ever felt before, the shout that ripped itself from my throat the loudest I could make, because I knew if I couldn’t get my parents here, she’d surely kill me.

The knife was stuck in my thigh halfway up the blade, the pain making my leg feel like it was on fire as I could feel it grow hot and warm against the bed with blood. My hands shook, and I don’t even remember what I did then except scream and pray for my parents.

I openly sobbed, frantically looking between the knife and my sister, whose expression of cold determination seemed to crack — or so I hoped — as our Dad came rushing in, and I remember hugging him right as he reached my bedside, while Mom dialed 911 as I frantically tried to explain what had happened in my frazzled state.

Maybe I’m making this part up, between my subconscious wishes and the incident being so many years ago now, but I remember catching Liberty’s expression as she watched me bleed as the lights turned on and my Dad held me, and I remember she looked as horrified as me.

I still have the scar on my thigh, a bit of a nick in my skin there, like a dent — like my flesh was gelatin and someone pressed into it with the side of their hand.

Liberty was admitted into a mental institution, and that’s when this crossed from childish sibling play into something that tore my family apart forever. I don’t know how it treated her — but it couldn’t have been worse than living with me and that damn game. She was a good kid before it — I know that better than anyone. She was a good kid, a naïve little girl with the biggest heart in the world, and I don’t think any bone in her body truly wanted to hurt me. The doctors called it denial, but I call it the goddamn truth.

The loneliness of her being gone didn’t set in until I was out of the hospital — released back into a home without her in it. The crutches were a bitch to get used to, that I remember much, to say nothing of the clunky pink cast winding up my whole leg and wrapping around my torso that must’ve been some kind of medieval torture device, while I spent most of my time just… in my bed, honestly. I was already a sedentary person — all I really did with my life was video games, which is all I did for this period save for catching up on all the homework I was missing.

The thing that was really on my mind, though, was the game of mine she stole. Whatever it was, it did something to her — it hadn’t done anything to me, but it did something bad to her, and I was determined to see what. Even if my efforts proved fruitless, I wanted to at least get the game back before she came home, so it couldn’t get that hold on her again.

Pulling myself over to her room on crutches, careful not to fuck up my injured leg further, I found the DS sat neatly on her pillow — presumably right where she left it that night. I turned it on, just to see how it was holding up, since I hadn’t seen it myself since the day she stole it. To my dismay, the battery light was a flashing red, and it shut off only ten seconds after I powered it on.

Swearing, I remember my thigh hurting like a bitch as I knelt down to unplug the charger from the wall — apparently she’d stolen that from me at some point, too. Trivial, now that I only had one working DS and it had been in her hands for the past week.

I hobbled back to my room, plugged in the charger by my nightstand, and practically collapsed on my bed from the exertion. It was hard to sit up in my cast, but I did my best to prop myself against my pillow as I readied myself for whatever my missing copy of Pokémon Black would bring me.

The intro, GameFreak logo, file select screen, all that, were all normal. Black was what I creatively called the player character — the male trainer, who I had a crush on as a kid and I think was my desktop background for a bit, which isn’t relevant to this story, but I feel like stalling — and this file wasn’t my preferred one of course, but it was one I still held pretty dear, even if all the Pokémon from it I really liked would probably end up being traded to my White file anyway.

Black was in the Pokémon center when I booted the game back up, but I couldn’t tell in what area. Immediately, I went to go check my party — relieved to find the Pokémon I knew, but unnerved at the evidence they’d been handled by someone else in my absence. They’d been leveled up an impressive amount - I remember Squishy, for instance, was only level 42 at the first battle, and now he was level 55.

I took a deep breath, unsure of what I was mentally preparing myself for, and checked the summary of Dash, the first Pokémon in the party.

That’s when things went from uncomfortable by association to alarm bells blaring GTFO right now, and where I must remind you that this was a real event that took place. I know how bullshit it sounds, and maybe that was part of that thing’s plan all along, but no matter how long it’s been, there’s one thing I know, and it’s that I’m not insane. I know it happened. You can make fun of me all you want, you can click away because this has started to feel like some clout-chasing amateur horror story, you can do whatever you please because I’m going to post this and then vanish from the Internet, but I want you to believe me, however much you can, when I say what I’m going to say.

The Rapidash was bleeding.

And it wasn’t a graphical glitch — no glitch could cause something like that — the wounds on it moved with it. Dash’s coat had gone from cream to a dull beige color, marred with deep bruises that made it look like it had taken a beating. The fire of its mane and tail still burned, albeit redder in color, and though limited by the pixels, its horn was cracked in two, and its face was so pummeled that its features were hardly recognizable under the blood.

I remember my thought process relatively vividly. For starters, this was my game before it was Liberty’s — Dash was caught around two years ago, even before I got Black, and she was one of my Pokémon I held the most fondness towards. My first thought was something along the lines of “what did she do,” because in all the time I cared for Dash, she’d never started bleeding on me.

Her HP was full, which baffled me for the state she was in — the OT, Nature, all that were normal as well. She’d been given a Focus Sash, and her moveset had been mildly rehauled from what I knew, but I remembered that from the battle. None of that explained the blood, why she looked so mangled, or what had happened to this poor game.

If Dash looked this bad, I dreaded to think what could’ve become of the other party members — but I needed answers, for Liberty, so I tapped on the next Pokémon in line. Akiara, Black’s starter, the one I’d spent this file’s whole journey with…

It looked like someone had taken a shotgun to her. Her colors were the same desaturated dullness as Dash’s, which made me suspect a worrying theme. Her body was covered in holes and craters, some piercing the tough armor Samurott’s Pokédex entries bragged about, dark blood splattering her front from the wounds. An unidentifiable black ooze wept from her eyes, nose, and mouth, covering her whiskers and mustache — while most of those injuries were probably my brain filling in the horrifying blanks of scattered dark pixels on tiny sprites, I remember vividly, deep lacerations on her chest and back making me think of a whip.

As she breathed, pixelated blood spurted from the wounds.

I remember tearing up, but I also couldn’t resist laughing a little — my little sister had just gone insane and stabbed me in the thigh and was in a mental institution, and now my Pokémon game looked like something straight out of PETA parodies? Why not at this point, I thought, may as fucking well.

The cries were lower pitched — the ones that played when the Pokémon had a status condition, or was about to faint. I sucked in an inhale and proceeded through the rest of my party.

Mavy’s chest, face, and flank had deep, diagonal lacerations that still bled, like he’d been marred with massive claws. The gem in the center of his head was either missing or simply too covered in blood to make out. His front legs looked to be scorched, with heavy scarring, nearly down to the bones at points — it looked like it hurt to set his paws down. He’d been leveled up to 56 in my absence somehow, all of his moves swapped out for harder hitting ones — and coverage, oddly enough. Psychic, Shadow Ball, Grass Knot, Hidden Power.

Scar, like Dash, had a face rendered unrecognizable. It was mangled and red, and not one pixel on its front was untouched. Gouging wounds had crushed its head into a pulp, one eye was completely missing and its mouth weakly hung open, but it still stood strong and moved like its teammates — it had the same animations Cobalion always did, but in the pain it must’ve been in, I cringed to watch it move. One of the crests on its shoulders looked like it had been completely snapped off, and it bled profusely. The white tuft of fur beneath its chin was almost completely ripped out, singed and covered in blood. Gashes scored its shoulders, and burns covered its skin in places.

Squishy, save for looking as gray and miserable as the rest of them, was the most untouched — still worse for wear compared to when I saw him last. Gastrodon’s a slug, right? It looked like… it looked a little like someone had sprinkled salt on him. Not literally, but… craters, there were craters on his back, like something was eating into his body, or he’d deflated a little. But he wasn’t bleeding, just a little… malformed. It felt weird to think that about Pokémon. I didn’t want to think about anything hurting this cute little slug… thing.

The last in the party was Victini. I wasn’t looking forward to this part, but mindlessly pressed ahead. It’d be less emotionally taxing on me than seeing Dash and Akiara was, at least — I got the Liberty Pass Victini largely just to say I did. I didn’t feel anything towards it until now — I hadn’t even nicknamed it in contrast with the rest of my team, albeit just because I accidentally skipped the prompt screen and just… never got around to it.

Its cry was the only one not distorted, but that was the least of the issues I found upon opening its summary page.

           Bold nature. 4/8/2011. Liberty Garden. Met at Lv. 15. Quick-tempered.

The top screen was the only thing I could say was normal — if one could call any of this normal.

The bottom screen was flooded with 666s, from the Dex number, to the ID number, to the EXP — which was baffling enough that I would’ve laughed had it not been combined with the OT: Liberty. I was entranced with the feeling that at this point, something was seriously, seriously wrong, and I knew better than to laugh at the same force that turned my sister into a completely different person in a week — especially at the evidence that this wasn’t just a shitty prank cartridge that she’d somehow woken up, but something that… knew her.

Then I took in the sprite, which… for all the pixelated gore I’d been shown thus far, I only felt pity for my poor Pokémon — but Victini, with its wide, bloody smile like nothing was wrong, sent a chill up my spine. I hadn’t felt anything for this thing until now — the generic pixie Legendary of Gen 5 I caught just because the event came by, it didn’t even have a nickname like my other treasured teammates — and maybe that added to how, when I saw this thing covered in blood, I felt not sadness for it, but dread.

Its fur was very dull — almost white, but Victini was Shiny locked back then. This wasn’t a Shiny coloration, but a Pokémon ashen white on death’s doorstep — its horns, hands, and feet were the same dark red, its arms covered in blood up to its little elbows. Its eyes were hollow craters crusted in blood, its pupils rose pinpricks that looked not off to the side where enemy sprites would be, but right at me.

It was hard to tell at first, with all the gore on the thing, but its throat had been slit — its shoulders coated in blood, a few flesh-colored pixels around the wound to make damn sure I knew what it was.

And then it moved, and its head threatened to fall off its shoulders, though its eyes remained locked on me — and that’s when the first set of puzzle pieces clicked together in my head and my heart began to race.

The second set clicked together when my eyes focused and I realized that in the Victini’s hand, obscured in the blacks and grays of the summary screen, was a long kitchen knife.

I wasn’t afraid it would hurt me — no, the bloody Pokémon and 666s and distorted cries, although confusing, wouldn’t hurt me. I saw the pattern they were going for (whoever they were, I didn’t know), with the try-hard gore and dull colors, and knew just some edgy game wouldn’t do anything to me, but… an innocent nine-year old girl didn’t. I felt a little sick, and as I did, I saw Victini’s sprite do its little hopping dance.

I left the party screen, and hesitated in the middle of the Pokémon Center for a moment. I wasn’t sure what to do from there — go outside, or check on my other Pokémon, see how much my game had been altered since I last touched it.

I opened the menu again, to check my Trainer ID — the OT on my party Pokémon hadn’t been changed, save for Victini’s, but I was curious.

I’ve mentioned who I played Black as — the male Trainer, who I named Black, creatively. Black was still who I controlled, as I had since I’d first bought this game, he was who all these Pokémon belonged to, and I assumed he was who I’d go into battle with — but the Trainer Card said otherwise. I know it’s a mechanic in later games, to change the Trainer you appear as for things like this, but to my knowledge, it wasn’t in Black and White.

In place of Black’s sprite, it was the sprite for the Preschooler♀ trainer class. And that wasn’t all of Black’s information that had been replaced.

           TRAINER’S CARD

           NAME            Liberty

                               Youngster

           NATURE            Bold

           POKEDEX            494

           MONEY            $ 494000

           My favorite POKEMON is

           RAPIDASH!

I started to feel like the game was playing some sick fucking trick on me.

Closing the Trainer Card, I decided to head for the PC Box, just to assess the damage — I didn’t know if it’d be more or less disconcerting if my party Pokémon and ID Card were the only things fucked up, and to my great and utter lack of surprise… they weren’t.

Opening the Boxes, I was greeted with a searing red background, rather than the usual gray — same with the box titles, and the usually white accents. I squinted in annoyance — it hurt my eyes to look at too long. I had never been one to organize my PC Boxes — I only half did so, at most, so it was awfully confusing to navigate. Not all my Pokémon were altered, which was one of the strangest parts to me — the selection of them seemed random, but every few Pokémon, there was one with a grayed out sprite, blood splatters, and a miserable expression.

The first one I took note of was a Purrloin in the first Box that I must’ve caught early game — I named it after our cat we had last year, Cleo. I tapped to show her summary, and immediately recoiled. Instead of its usual sitting position, Cleo was struggling to stand on all fours — her eyes had popped out of their sockets, and her midsection looked like it had been crushed into a dark red pulp, like she was being stretched apart. Pixels I could only assume were meant to be her ribs popped out of her skin in places.

The real Cleo had died from being run over by a car.

The screen was starting to give me a headache, on top of my mild curiosity turning into just plain rage. What sick force of the universe would want to do something like this? It boils my blood to think about it even now.

I don’t like Pokémon anymore. I think you could guess that much. Can’t even really stand to look at it anymore, even if it has nothing to do with Black and White — it’s all just... a painful reminder of the past, really — that plus the fact I’ve simply grown out of it by now. Not my thing anymore, for a lot of reasons.

But I’m not gonna pretend it wasn’t one of the most important things in the world to me as a child — to so many other children, even. I’d first begged my parents to get me this Black game because I loved my Unova adventure, so much so that I wanted to have it twice. I loved the Pokémon and people I met, I wanted to see the full world, and everything it had to offer me. I couldn’t settle for just White.

I caught that Purrloin and I was so excited that I named her after our real cat. A way for her to live on, even when she wouldn’t join me on my journey and would just be in a PC Box forever. It was meaningful to me. A way for a lonely, antisocial kid like myself to appreciate what they had in real life the only way they knew how.

And this demon thought to taint that, just to upset some little girl — Liberty had to have seen this, and the thought made me feel like throwing my DS. I was furious, filled with the protective older sibling instincts I didn’t think I had — but I couldn’t act rashly. This was my only chance to get answers. I’d hoped that if I understood what this game did to Liberty, that when she came back, I could talk it through with her, and we’d be closer than before. I’d make up for all of this with her. We could be normal siblings, and… put this all behind us.

I closed the PC Boxes, having to calm myself down by shutting my eyes tight and taking some deep breaths. I tried to remember what little contact I’d had with Liberty in those last few days — any signs as to what she’d been doing with the game past grinding an obscene amount.

She’d mentioned the Battle Subway. I don’t know if it held any significance — I’d hardly played with it in my time with the game — but it was worth a shot.

Stepping out of the Pokémon Center, I was half relieved and half dread-filled to realize I was in Nimbasa City. Liberty wasn’t lying when she said she’d wanted to do the Battle Subway. Idly, I sifted through my Bags, finding Liberty had stocked up on healing items, even when she didn’t really need them if the Battle Subway was what she was playing for. Dumbly, I tried to use a Full Heal on Mavy, in hopes evisceration was a status condition it could heal.

No dice. The game treated him, and all of my party members, like they were perfectly healthy. The injuries appeared to only be cosmetic, but that didn’t lessen the tug on my heartstrings it gave me to see my Pokémon in such states.

The sky of Nimbasa City was red, shown in the form of a blood-colored overlay — a strange contrast with the bustling lights and amusement park areas of the city, but I figured this was probably the hardest area of the game to make scary — with the music cranked to a volume so high it assaulted my ears. Turning it down, I gritted my teeth and made my way to Gear Station, wherein a few NPCs, like normal, scuttled about. I stopped to speak to one — a man I could only assume was staff.

           You can take the Battle Subway from Gear Station!

           Prepare for the battle of a lifetime! I’m not going to clean up that mess for you, ha-ha!

I knew that the second part wasn’t normal dialogue, but there was nothing I could do but roll my eyes and accept it as I went into the closest station. A different staff member gave me the spiel about taking me to the Super Single train, which I just mashed A through until it was time to get ready.

I selected my whole team, in Party order, for the battle — feeling bad about sending Pokémon so mangled out to fight, but I wanted to try and get a feel for what Liberty had been doing here. It didn’t occur to me until a moment later that Victini wasn’t banned from the Battle Subway like all other Mythicals, but with all the weird things I’d been shown so far, I thought very little of it.

Boarding the train, I was taken to my first battle, and what I saw when I got there stopped me in my tracks.

The opponent Trainer was like none I’d seen before. They had short and straight dirty blonde hair, pink pixels on their pale face I could only assume were the game’s limited attempt at acne, a brown hoodie, glasses, white socks, and gray sweatpants.

Me.

It was a sprite of me.

I looked down at myself, sitting up in bed with my leg awkwardly splayed out in its clunky cast. That wasn’t present, but I wore the same hoodie, and looking at the mimicry of it on screen caused it to make my skin itch.

It couldn’t have been a coincidence — of course it wasn’t, with everything else I’d been shown, but I wanted it to be as my skin crawled at being seen by whatever was piloting this Black file. And the speech box coming from my mouth, I remember it clearly, too —

           What is it now, you annoying brat? I’m busy!

           …

           What? You want to play with me?

           Fine! I know the best Pokémon tricks in the world — watch and learn now, idiot!

My mouth was dry. I blinked a few times, to make sure I knew what I was seeing, but it didn’t change. My face burned with shame for a moment — was this really how I acted to her? I couldn’t linger on it — I just pressed A to proceed, and as the tiles of the screen turned, in came the familiar Battle Subway theme.

           You are challenged by PKMN Trainer Miles!

Surely enough, I had my own fully rendered sprite — it looked like it had been made with the male Trainer as a base, with the same pose, tipping a nonexistent hat. The resemblance was uncanny — one of my hoodie strings being worn because I used to chew on it, the tear at the ankle in my pants from Cleo, even where the zits on my face were back then… The sprite’s expression was dark, its face shadowed and its pixelated, sunken-in eyes narrowed into a glare unlike any NPC I’d seen before.

           PKMN Trainer Miles sent out Faith!

I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was a relief to see a Pokémon that wasn’t dull and bleeding, but that was canceled out by the oh-shit factor of realizing I was battling my starter, one of my strongest Pokémon. If nothing else, I knew Faith’s moveset — Leech Seed, Grass Pledge, Frenzy Plant, Aerial Ace — and I knew what to expect. My only concern was living long enough, I thought, wincing at Dash’s distorted cry and bleeding form. I’d get through this, though, I had to, I had to get to the bottom of this.

I took the first turn as an opportunity to look through my moves again — see what Liberty had done. If nothing else, they could now hold their own against my team. Their moves were definitely stronger than whatever I’d given them to start with — they were plucked from my PC Box based solely on vibes, lest we forget.

I had confidence Dash could take Faith — she had before, after all. Inferno, Double Kick, Headbutt, and Wild Charge weren’t bad moves to have in a battle like this.

I steeled myself, took a page out of Liberty’s book, and chose Inferno.

           Dash used Inferno!

           The foe’s Faith dodged the attack!

Fucking 50% accuracy. If seeing my dead cat bastardized into a mutilated Purrloin didn’t make me want to throw my DS out the window, this certainly did.

Effectively wasting my turn with that move, Faith used Aerial Ace on me — but something was wrong. The move animation was the typical fade to black with a slash across the Pokémon being hit — at first. The slash made Dash’s sprite stagger as a crunched howling noise came from my speakers, and then I saw her ear was sliced off — another slash came, with slightly different positioning, this time cutting the back of her neck open — exposing muscle and sinew to the best of the Nintendo DS graphics’ abilities.

One turn into this battle, I was already wide-eyed — was this what was to come? I didn’t even notice how much of my HP Aerial Ace had knocked off, and I decided I would have to give this battle all I had.

I went for Inferno again, the cartoony fire that doused Faith and dropped her HP into the red being a jarring difference from seeing Dash nearly getting cut in two. But it worked for my purposes — I was lucky enough for Faith’s next move to miss, and with one last Headbutt, she was down.

           PKMN Trainer Miles sent out Laluna!

           Dash used Double Kick!

           It’s super effective!

I braced myself for Trainer-me’s move to be just as graphic as the last, cycling through the moves I’d given my Umbreon, mentally kicking myself for the things I’d inadvertently made myself — and Liberty — witness.

           Laluna used Toxic!

A dark smog surrounded Dash, a darker color than the regular Toxic animation, and her skin turned a sickly color alongside the dark purple overlay Poison gave your Pokémon , and dark pixels squirmed in the meat of her beaten-in head, crawling across her head and neck, heedless of the flames of her mane now burning a nasty green.

It took me a moment to process, and when I did, my stomach turned a little — maggots. Christ almighty.

           Dash was badly poisoned!

I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take, but I pressed on. My mind was racing, replaying the last battle Liberty and I had — I had no proof, I didn’t know if this fucked up battle system applied to the rest of the game, but I worried nonetheless, over the things I’d done to her without knowing. What moves I’d used, I tried to think as I managed to take down Laluna with enough Double Kick and Wild Charge spamming and trying to outlast the poison, what moves…

           PKMN Trainer Miles sent out Clover!

           What will Dash do?

Dash wouldn’t survive this turn, but that wasn’t at the front of my mind now as I switched her out in favor of Squishy, who’d been given Ice Beam and Blizzard, I realized, with dawning horror, for this exact purpose.

           Just a little more! Hang in there, Squishy!

I remembered her scream — I’d suspected it when I saw Victini’s sprite, but I didn’t want to confirm it to myself until now.

           Clover used Guillotine!

           Squishy dodged the attack!

That felt like the video game equivalent of firing a warning shot into the ceiling — but I hadn’t granted Liberty the same mercy the game was granting me now. Her scream, her scream, God I can remember it to this fucking day, and I thought nothing was wrong…

Of course I didn’t think anything was wrong! I never considered anybody who wasn’t myself, never thought outside of stroking my own ego with the fun of shoving my victory into a nine-year-old’s face! No fucking wonder she wanted to kill me! I’d want to kill me too! What, was I just fucking toying with her? Giving her that bit of hope that maybe the piece of shit asshole sibling she’d been stuck with would consider her and have fun with her for once in their pathetic fucking life, just to rip it away by curb-stomping her for the hell of it? For what — me feeling better about myself the only miserable way I knew how?

Did it matter that the game was showing her Pokémon getting ripped apart? Would it have felt better in the slightest if it didn’t? I was still hurting her, and I didn’t care that I was! I just wanted to beat her, because those stupid fucking games were the only thing I cared about in my life when I had someone right in front of me who would’ve laid down all of her Pokémon’s lives just to play with me for an hour!

...

Sorry. Again. I know I keep doing that. I don’t need to apologize, I know, it’s my fucking story, I just… I… haven’t… talked about this. Like, ever, really. Nobody would believe me. I don’t blame them. It’s… as you can probably guess, I… have trouble accepting my place in everything. Sometimes I wonder if it was even real, if my memories are lying to me and showing me this fucked up game because I can’t accept being the world’s worst sibling, but… that somehow makes even less sense than the game being possessed to begin with. Anyway, uh… I’m telling the story now, so… I guess I’ll get to that stuff when it comes. I wanna keep things linear, kind of.

There’s a time and place for everything, but not now.

...Pokémon joke. I guess I’m not as above them as I think I am.

So the Battle Subway. Blizzard and Ice Beam did their work on Clover, which was a relief, as Guillotine’s existence made me terrified that it would all be over in an instant. The relief didn’t make it any easier to watch — two Dragon Pulses in succession had blown a chunk of Squishy’s face off, and the poor thing looked like it was melting, but I prayed it would stay with me through the rest of the battle.

           PKMN Trainer Miles sent out Charcoal!

I thanked the heavens my Water types were still in commission, tapped Muddy Water, and then felt like smacking myself upside the head when it only did neutral damage.

Aiden. I didn’t like that whatever had constructed this AI(?) of me had my strategies down to a T.

           The foe’s Charcoal used Punishment!

The blade of energy swung down, slicing Squishy in two and bringing him down to only ten HP. I can’t imagine Game Freak ever wondered what Gastrodon would look like sliced in half, but I knew now. It had organs, pulsing with Squishy’s idle animation, and just the sight of them made me nauseous — I had to cover a corner of the screen with my hand from then on, hoping that Gastrodon’s Dex entry about regeneration applied here.

           Squishy used Recover!

           Squishy’s HP was recovered!

Peeking back, my poor Pokémon was still in two, though it had been recovered to over half health, at least. Apparently whatever force in charge cared more about grossing me out than paying attention to what was happening in battle, which didn’t surprise me.

Defeating Aiden, I hoped I could keep Squishy alive long enough to defeat the real Charcoal. I was surprised I’d lasted this long at all — without even needing to bring in Scar or Akiara — but it was mostly due to Liberty’s surprisingly intuitive move choices and training. It… hurt to think that she was so terrified of me and my Pokémon that she felt she had to train that hard, but… we would’ve made a good team together, under better circumstances.

In came Shadow, and even the endurance Squishy had shown thus far couldn’t stand up to what the game liked to call the Deep Black Pokémon, as my Gastrodon’s form was battered into mush by repeated Draco Meteors. When he fainted, I considered it a mercy — he was hardly recognizable as a Pokémon by the end, resembling more two messy piles of bloodied pixels only determinable as the Pokémon that had been there by the faint colors.

Scar was my next safest bet, giving me a bit of deja vu as I sent it out. I hoped Scar wouldn’t meet the same fate as it did the last time it had battled against my Zekrom. It was about endurance. I was doing well, all things considered, I just had to survive this battle and see what this game wanted from me and my family. I only had two more Pokémon to go — Zekrom in particular would just be a bitch to fight.

           Scar used Stone Edge!

           The foe’s Shadow used AncientPower!

One of Scar’s horns was snapped off, its already meaty, battered head being crushed in once more.

           Scar used Iron Head!

           The foe’s Shadow flinched and couldn’t move!

A spot of hope. I took this as a sign to go for Cobalion’s Signature move.

           Scar used Sacred Sword!

           The foe’s Shadow used Crunch!

Scar’s other shoulder crest was broken off, and their other horn cracked.

           Scar used Stone Edge!

           The foe’s Shadow used Fusion Bolt!

Scar’s fur burned away, its sprite trembling as if being shocked, while lightning-shaped wounds began to appear like fleshy cracks in their body with every flash.

           Scar used Sacred Sword!

           The foe’s Shadow used Fusion Bolt!

And that did it. My hope to not repeat the past grew futile, as that last Fusion Bolt burned Scar to a crisp, reducing their crest and horns to bloodied nubs as their HP dropped to zero, and with a low moan of a cry, they fainted.

I shut my eyes in thought, considering my options. Dash was on death’s doorstep, and could only stall for another turn at most. Akiara wasn’t a good choice for a rampaging Zekrom, with her weakness to Fusion Bolt, and I had to keep her around for taking out Charcoal — who I still hadn’t seen beyond Aiden’s Illusion.

It was the Pokémon on my team that set off my alarm bells the most — if only because of its malicious-looking smile and the knife in its claws, which I think were fair reasons to not trust something — but there wasn’t much I could do but try and put my trust in the Victory Pokémon of Liberty Garden.

           You can do it! Go, Victini!

It danced about like nothing was wrong, and I wasn’t particularly a fan of its head momentarily flying off its body like some morbid puppet show every time it hopped, nor how it swung its knife around like it was supposed to have it. I knew at this point that this thing played some kind of role here, though I had no idea what. Had I not put the pieces together by now, I would’ve thought Victini was the cause of my team’s mutilation — but there was no blood on its knife. It simply brandished it in anticipation, and somehow, that was scarier.

I looked over its moves. Fire Blast — that one I knew — Searing Shot, Psyshock, and Final Gambit. I kept that last one in mind for later — I didn’t want this thing to be on my screen for any longer than it had to be.

           Victini used Searing Shot!

           The foe’s Shadow fainted!

The Zekrom… my Zekrom, I’d caught it a year ago and I was so excited about it that I showed it to my family and immediately started trying to wipe the Elite Four with it, and now I just wanted it off my screen, but could I really call this thing my Zekrom if it was this cruel? It wasn’t my Zekrom — the same way the trainer I was battling wasn’t me. Regardless, it was gone, and I breathed a momentary sigh of relief. One more, one more.

           PKMN Trainer Miles sent out Charcoal!

           What will Victini do?

Nothing I had could really hit this thing, I remember thinking. I didn’t know if Final Gambit affected Ghost types and wasn’t about to waste a turn finding out. I went to switch to Akiara, as I’d intended from the start, and was instead greeted by a message I… didn’t expect to find, to say the least.

           No! There’s no running from a Trainer battle!

I hadn’t tried to run, but Victini, true to the Victory Pokémon, I guess, didn’t see it that way. I huffed, annoyed — with Zekrom down and Akiara at full health, I could finish the battle relatively easily, with or without a Pokémon. Eventually, I just decided to pick the move that’d hit the hardest, regardless of what that meant.

           Victini used Fire Blast!

           It’s not very effective…

           The foe’s Charcoal used Shadow Ball!

           It’s super effective!

Victini went rigid at the hit, arms twitching like it was having a seizure as it was swarmed by shadows. It was a relief, almost, that this thing wasn’t immune to being hurt like its teammates were.

But it didn’t appear to be in much pain, either, battling on as normal with that jovial little dance it always had. The battle slowed to a crawl as all Victini could throw at Charcoal were Fire-type moves and Psyshock, none of which did much damage, but even when I tried again, it was too stubborn to switch out. And Charcoal with the type advantage was hurting Victini far worse than Victini was hurting it.

I could only watch as Charcoal’s Curse — now a literal chisel being driven into the back of Victini’s skull with every turn — slowly killed it, but I felt more annoyance than sympathy, the battle going out not with a bang but a whimper as Victini finally fainted and Akiara brought down Charcoal with a single Razor Shell.

The battle had gone on so long that I nearly forgot who it was against, the sprite startling me when it appeared again — but not more startling than the post-battle dialogue the game had given its mockery of me.

           You’re wasting my time. Go play in traffic or something!

I winced. That hit harder than any of the gory moves had, and I dreaded to think how it would’ve felt if Liberty were the one to read those words. The battle ended, and with the return to the overworld, the sprite of me stepped aside to sit in the subway’s seats. The sitting position was odd, until I noticed they were hunched over a DS. My eye twitched, and my heart still stung a little to think this cruel caricature may have… really been how Liberty thought of me.

I checked the PC near the exit.

           Current winning streak: 1!

           Next car: No. 2

           Continue to battle?

I found I didn’t really have a choice in the matter, and went to tap ‘yes’, but before I could, my Trainer’s bag shook. There was an annoyingly high-pitched cry I definitely didn’t want to hear again, and out came Victini, floating with its little wings by Black’s side in its mutilated glory, the nail from Curse still driven through its skull in a manner I wasn’t sure if I found comical or disturbing.

Before I could think on it longer, though, there was its chipper cry again, and a text box.

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (You’re such a good battler, Liberty! I want to play together forever!)

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (You’ll be the best trainer in the house in no time if you keep this up!)

An odd feeling settled in my chest, comparable to the feeling a parent may have seeing their child talk to a suspicious stranger. This would’ve been endearing, had it not been for everything I just witnessed — had it not been for Victini’s sinister little laugh, and the nail in its skull. Was this its idea of fun? Was this what it had been… doing to my sister?

I hoped whatever was inhabiting my game, taking the form of my Victini, could feel my glare at the screen — after a moment, its overworld sprite gave another little laugh, followed by that annoying chirped cry, and let me return to my battling streak.

I wasn’t sure where the game was going with this, but I didn't like the picture I was getting. This horrific battling, against a cruel caricature of me and my Pokémon, with Victini egging it on…

I hoped the next Subway car would give me answers. Leaving the room, I passed into the next car, and…

There my sprite was, again, on the other side, walking towards me like nothing had happened. At first I was confused — reasonably so, I think — thinking this was just some weird glitch until the dialogue loaded.

           Don’t you have homework to do or something? Stop bothering me! I’ll rip your Pokémon to pieces!

And that was when, horrific contents of the message aside, something hit me — something I’d suspected but hadn’t confirmed. She’d predicted my moves in that last battle we had — she had put Ice Beam and Blizzard on Squishy, she used Revenge on Aiden even when he was disguised as Charcoal… this was her training. This was…

This was all the Battle Subway was. Training to fight me, as I hurled insults at her and ripped her Pokémon in two and had no idea. This was all that was here for me — her. A game to prod at her insecurities, isolate her and tell her the world hated her, traumatize her with 666s and blood and guts, and push her, push her, until…

           You are challenged by PKMN Trainer Miles!

           PKMN Trainer Miles sent out Faith!

           Go! Dash!

Even after what I’d just gone through, there was more. I felt drained just from one of these battles, knowing how much violence I’d witnessed and how much of a struggle the battle against six far stronger Pokémon was at the best of times, and I felt a million times more drained at the realization that they’d just… keep coming.

And Liberty had abused this feature — shit, she all but told me she’d been grinding up her Pokémon for this exact purpose, for hours on end, day in, day out, for that entire week… the idea of her being exposed to such sickening things already made my skin crawl, much less considering the fact that it was all she’d seen. She’d seen Scar’s face crunched into a pulp, she’d seen Squishy sliced in half, she’d seen Mavy eviscerated, she’d seen Akiara get clawed open, she’d seen Dash get pummeled by rocks, she’d seen Victini get its head ripped off…

She looked so tired, so angry, those past couple of days. Hunched over her DS and glaring at me when I tried to get close, hardly eating, probably not sleeping, either, because she had to go train for the Battle Subway and give her Pokémon a fighting chance so they wouldn’t be slaughtered in an instant. How many times she must’ve seen those things before she got the hang of it, before she realized the type matchups, the level differences, what the moves really did beyond scaring her… I don’t even know how much of a grasp I would’ve had on Pokémon at age 9, much less on top of the stress of everything this copy was throwing at me.

I wish I could’ve done something for her, or realized it all sooner. The more I went… the more I understood what ended up becoming of her. I steeled myself and managed to fight through another Battle Subway round — seeing Mavy’s throat ripped out by Crunch and Akiara getting sliced open by Leaf Storm wouldn’t scare me like it scared her. I had to stay focused. The Pokémon weren’t the ones I had to worry about now — Liberty was.

I knew this thing wanted to hurt her. I don’t know why it did, but it did, and… at the time, I thought getting to the bottom of it was the way. I had to play and keep playing until I saw what she did, until I understood it so I could reason with her, but… in the end, I don’t know how much good that did. Liberty and I grew up in the same house, but that sort of thing is… hard to bring up, you know? Especially as she was terrified of me, the only person who really knew what the problem could’ve been.

I don’t know if I’m just making excuses again or not. I can’t be there for her now any more than I was back then.

The team was hanging on by a thread — Mavy of all team members was the one to outlast the second battle, on a startlingly low amount of HP, with his throat cut and tail snapped the wrong direction — but we’d gotten through it. The gore grew tired to me at a point — I didn’t know if the game knew that. I don’t think it even realized I was playing and not her.

Charcoal fainted, Mavy having managed to survive the torrent of Shadow Balls and be lucky enough to not get hit by Curse, though he was still in awful shape. I let my breath go in relief, though my blood spiked again when the post-battle dialogue appeared.

           I wish you were never born. You’re the reason Mom and Dad don’t love me.

I felt like I’d been dunked in freezing water at those words. I… I don’t know if I ever thought that was true, at least consciously back then — I was a little jealous of her being spoiled, yeah, but that was normal sibling brattiness, nor had I ever really doubted my parents loving us at this point. I was a grouchy 16 year-old, but not jaded, I wasn’t miserable, but…

Liberty didn’t know that, and that was all that mattered to this game.

Taking a couple deep breaths, realizing I’d gotten misty-eyed at the unexpected blow to my psyche, I left the battle screen, let my opponent step aside, and proceeded to the PC like normal.

And again, with an annoying cry, I was stopped. Out popped Victini once more, its little overworld sprite now reflecting its right arm having been ripped off by Razor Shell during that second battle. But its cry wasn’t distorted like the others’, even now — it shook off the mutilation like it was nothing, like it only served to prove its point.

A speech bubble appeared, and my ears began to faintly ring as my worst suspicions were confirmed.

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (Miles goes to bed at 10 on weekends, but stays awake longer playing video games. Mommy and Daddy are awake until 11. That makes 12 the best time to sneak into the kitchen!)

Ever since I saw the knife in Victini’s hand, I’d worried, I’d thought something was up but couldn’t tell what — now, though, here it was, and here I begun to think I’d be better off with no answers at all — still thinking I was Liberty, Victini told me its plans clear as day, and seeing the framework for my own attempted murder laid out so evenly made me feel like throwing up. I couldn’t even begin to wonder why — why me, why her, why any of us — as all I felt in that moment was rage. The world this thing had constructed for the sole purpose of scaring a little girl into isolation, telling her that her sibling hated her and driving her to… to…

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (That’s really late for a little girl to stay up, but you can play with me until then! We can have a sleepover!)

And she’d loved it. She loved the team I picked out for her. She’d squealed over the spare DS as she leaned herself against my dresser and we got to battling. She’d thought the Pokémon I gave her were the cutest things in the world, and sat with such enrapturement as I rambled about how strong Akiara was, how I beat the Elite Four with her, and how cool a legendary Scar was and the powers it had as one of the Swords of Justice, and how I wanted to show her Keldeo as soon as I could catch one, too…

She had fun with it. I can’t imagine the game started out this way for her — it was innocent fun at first, as she got to watch the real move animations and marvel at the cool party I’d given her, until…

Victini. I don’t know what happened to turn it into that, what… gave it that much power, but it was the one I should’ve been angry at. None of this was my fault — all I’d wanted to do was have harmless fun with my sister, be a little smug with my moves at most, nothing warranting… this.

I wasn’t the one who took advantage of her trust to show her these horrific things, and… push her into trying to kill me.

Caught up in my anger, I hadn’t pressed A — I was startled out of my thoughts by Victini’s cry repeating once more, and an automatic text scroll.

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (You’re not Liberty! Are you snooping around your little sister’s things? That’s not very nice of you!)

I wasn’t sure if I was more scared that it apparently knew what I was thinking, or more furious at having established contact with this thing — as it continued to play innocent. Maybe it had been at first, when I first caught it and played with it before letting it sit patiently in my PC Box until that fateful day, but it wasn’t anymore. It didn’t have a right to act like it cared about her privacy, or was protecting her — when this was how it acted.

“Not very nice of me,” I remember saying, “you’re the one killing her Pokémon and showing her all these — fucked up things.” I mumbled. “Don’t act like you care about her.”

Victini’s little sprite put its remaining claw up to its chin and laughed, its head comically bouncing off its shoulders as it did — though my glare remained steady.

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (But do you? You slapped her that day, and never apologized. I helped her up, and you used your second chance to rip my head off. You remember her scream, don’t you? He-he-he-heh!)

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (Some sibling you are, Miles!)

It knew my insecurities just as well as it knew hers, and I ground my teeth in anger. I felt a little strange speaking out loud to this thing, but I would’ve rather had that than having it read my thoughts — or whatever it had done earlier.

“I know, right?” I huffed. “Some sibling. I was shitty, I get it, but… whatever you are, you’re no better. If you cared about her like you said you did, you… you wouldn’t have shown her this shit. You think showing her Pokémon getting fucking… gutted is the way?”

It laughed again. I thought I was being pretty reasonable, but my eyelid twitched to think that it just thought all of this was… funny. A game. Playing, like it said.

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (I filled a gap you left, Miles. I showed the world as she sees it! It doesn’t matter if I’m really missing my head or not… he-he-he-heh! It’s all the same to her!)

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (You lure her in with that false hope only to crush her dreams over and over! The only time she gets to play with her poor big sibling, they beat her into the dirt! How sad!)

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (Of course the Victory Pokémon would want to put a stop to it, and train her to be the very best! He-he-he-heh!)

“Train her—!!” I remember blurting aloud, gripping my DS in disbelief. I quickly calmed myself, but not before another round of that squeaky cry and laughing animation, accompanied by a small joy emoticon above its head not unlike the ones in HeartGold and SoulSilver. “You’re fucking disgusting. I hope you know that. Putting those words in my mouth, treating me like some monster just to get close to her…”

Typing those words again makes my skin crawl, still. I felt like a parent who’d left my child next to a skeevy white van — FREE POKÉMON BATTLES, it’d say, and I wouldn’t realize where my child had gone until they came home to me in pieces. Liberty wasn’t, not yet, but they wouldn’t let me see her for years with what she’d done…

“You didn’t do shit for her but drive her insane and get her locked up in a fucking nuthouse. You’re not her fucking companion, sure as hell not the ‘Victory Pokémon’, no matter what you say. That’s not what you care about.”

Another laugh.

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (So what if it’s not? He-he-he-heh!)

It was easy for me to think I was above it all back then. I was the authority figure there, at 16, I knew Pokémon, and the gore was cheesy at best to me, but looking back, now much older… I was just as terrified as she must’ve been. I was older than her, yeah, but a child nonetheless, face-to-face all alone with the being that had driven my little sister to attempted murder. I had no choice but to face it alone, even when I knew in my heart it could have amounted to nothing.

We were kids. Kids trying to have fun, who weren’t prepared for this no matter how many Pokémon moves we knew or how mature we thought we were. No child would’ve been prepared to be dropped into such a hellish situation — and what adult would understand, either?

“Is it me you’re mad at?” I’d asked Victini, frantically scratching my head, itching with anxiety. I looked to the Battle Subway screen, where Victini floated beside Black — not for him, of course, but me, and I wondered acutely how he would’ve felt about this if he were alive in the same way Victini was. Would he feel as betrayed and furious as me? “Do you hate me?” I landed on that, not fully believing it but needing some confirmation one way or another. “Is that it?”

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (Always so self-centered!)

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (She couldn’t even keep fighting that day, you’d scared her so! Giving up so cowardly, after all our training, it just wouldn’t do!)

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (I wanted Liberty to defeat you, and help her earn her rightful victory, as her beloved Pokémon! Is that so wrong?)

“SHE WAS NINE!” I found myself blurting, again, shaking my DS in contempt — I’d throw it down, smash it, rip it in two if it made Victini understand, but none of my screaming or shaking amounted to anything. I couldn’t touch it, I didn’t exist in the same plane it did, and it knew that, it knew how futile my efforts were, because all it did was

just

keep

laughing.

“You didn’t give her shit!” I snapped. “You traumatized her! Who knows if she can even have a normal life anymore because of you! Is that what you wanted? For just a bit of — giving me a taste of my own medicine? Was it worth it? Huh?!”

Ellipses appeared over Victini’s sprite, as it lolled its severed head back and forth on its shoulders in thought. Finally, it simply chirped again — a sound I’d gladly go the rest of my life without hearing.

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (Even now, she hasn’t won. Because you’re still breathing! He-he-he-heh!)

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (Competition is natural for humans. One of you has to achieve victory over the other, one day. And her limits are easier to reach than yours… a fragile little girl, who will do anything a cute critter tells her, and the cold-but-loving older sibling who unknowingly led her into that trap…)

           Ta-ta-ta-tah!

           (How tragic! Oh, how tragic! Of course I came to be the whip to spur the horses to race! He-he-he-heh!)

I didn’t process it until years later, when I’d grown withdrawn from my family, when my parents said Liberty’s doctors advised we be kept apart for my safety, when they visited her without me, that Victini’s toying had the same effect on me that it did her. Rage — not outwardly, but towards the game and towards myself.

I saw myself as too far gone for Liberty, and hoped my mindless atonement in playing in her place would’ve helped, but… she had no way of knowing my sacrifice. As far as she knew, I was still mad at her for breaking my DS that first day. The rage I felt so raw then now felt so far away — I wanted nothing more to take it back, but I couldn’t. I could only punish myself — for the sake of a girl who wouldn’t see, confessing for a god that wouldn’t hear and to a demon that would only laugh, if only to flagellate myself hard enough that it lightened my heart.

I thought I deserved it — because I couldn’t punish Victini, but Victini wasn’t the only thing that was in the wrong here. The emotions it fed on were very real — orchestrated as it was, the fact Liberty hated me and wanted me dead in the end was very, very real, and that simple fact was more painful to imagine than if she’d actually managed to stab me to death that night.

Sometimes I worry I’m making it all up, that this was some… pain-fueled dream, or just the overactive imagination of a scared teenager who wanted something to blame their life gone wrong on. It’s easier to say “a demon in a Pokémon game made my sister crazy” than it is to admit that your behavior as a shithead teen drove your sister crazy, right? Of course I was itching for something to blame it on. What would I have done if I snatched my Black copy back and it was just… a normal Pokémon game? What then? Who would I have blamed? Myself — her?

But I know I’m not making it up. I’m not… crazy. A child doesn’t just snap like that, no matter how annoying her sibling is in Pokémon battles. A child doesn’t snap from her sibling being a sore winner at a video game. A child snaps when shown something she never should have seen, when her insecurities are poked at and prodded to the point where snapping is the only thing she can do anymore — when she’s shown her beloved Pokémon team being violently eviscerated for battles on end, and given who she deemed to be the cause on a silver platter in one hand and a knife in the other.

Guillotine was never a brutal decapitation, spraying dark blood all over the screen and exposing Victini’s bleeding windpipe as its head fell off behind it, sullen eyes staring right at the player, blaming them for its plight and urging action, action, action.

Guillotine was a pair of cartoon metal claws pinching a Pokémon and dropping its HP to zero.

I wasn’t in the wrong for seeing it that way, no matter what Victini told me. I never stomped on my sister — I cheered when I won and she would’ve cheered with me, no matter how much of a dick I’d been about it. We were never supposed to hate each other — it was petty childish spats at worst, given a kitchen knife and the ability to end it all for good. A lack of communication turned deadly for a demon’s entertainment, while it fed her stories of how evil I was, telling her I was killing her poor Pokémon with every battle…

Leaving the Battle Subway, I felt an uncomfortable itch under my skin as I wandered off to the Route west of Nimbasa City and attempted to get some digital fresh air, and face someone who wasn’t Victini or my… fucked up Subway trainer. A desolate road was more welcome than that, and I looked over my Party again now that I had a moment to breathe.

Now that I was out of the Battle Subway, my Pokémon no longer looked dead — still gray and bleeding, but no more gray and bleeding than they were when I first opened the file. The nail in Victini’s skull was gone, Squishy’s body had reformed, Scar had both horns on its head… like nothing had ever happened. Of course — Battle Frontier-style tournaments didn’t give you EXP or use your items, so I supposed it made sense, but… it didn’t really make knowing it had all happened any easier to stomach.

I know they’re only lines of code, but there are times I linger on Dash, and Akiara, and… the others. The long lives I had with them upturned in a week, all because something horrible lurking in their Trainer’s PC Box wanted to play. Mutilated just to prove a point — just to desensitize a little girl into wanting to kill her sibling. They were good companions, I remember — they deserved better than that, but Victini wouldn’t have waited for anything. It would’ve tried to achieve its goal by any means possible — unfortunate collateral.

I’d say I wish I could’ve done something for them, but I don’t need to deal with more guilt here. I can hardly process what it did to two human lives — much less even begin to start factoring in five digital ones. Like I said, Pokémon’s not my thing anymore. I don’t tell this story for the Pokémon. I tell it for me and Liberty.

I stepped into the Route 5 grass, hoping… for something, that maybe, the strangeness of this copy had disappeared along with my party’s fatal injuries when I left the Battle Subway. Did I believe that? Not really, but I still tried to hold onto hope as Black stopped mid-step in the tall grass and a wild Minccinno appeared.

I wasted my first turn switching into Mavy, as this poor thing was only around level 20 and couldn’t survive even a weak hit from any of my team members.

Then it used Swift, and I could feel a bitter pit opening in my stomach as the cartoony yellow stars graphically lodged themselves into Mavy, cutting into his skin, one even landing right into his eye. It did minimal damage, nothing resembling what I’d just looked at as blood spurted from the new wounds, but that mattered less than appearances.

I took the Minccino out with Psychic, of which I could only laugh in bewilderment to find it make the poor Pokémon’s head explode into a fine red mist before its body collapsed, followed by cheerful victory music and only a sliver of EXP. I supposed the game didn’t want to make things fair — if brutal murder could be described as fair — for the real challenge, but other battles were fair game. An opportunity to teach Liberty the desired solution.

The Battle Subway never closed. The Black file never returned to normal — I dug through it for all it was worth, saw every brutal murder animation Victini had to offer, watched my Reshiram, Seraphim, bite a Patrat’s head off, watched an enemy Trainer’s Unfezant eating my Herdier’s intestines, and the surprisingly gruesome sight of a wild Sewaddle’s String Shot into Akiara’s eyes. I watched every member of my team and most Pokémon in my PC die in a million different ways — I made it two million for Victini, just for the catharsis, even when it only laughed at me — but… it all blended together, at a point.

That copy wasn’t made to last — it was made with one purpose and one purpose only, and it had been fulfilled to the best of its ability: traumatizing Liberty into hating me and pushing her into Victini’s claws while putting a knife in her hand. Letting one sibling claim victory over the other and pushing this household into utter ruin. Now that it was over, there was little it could offer me. I don’t know how that made Victini feel — angry, I hoped, but it never showed on the thing. Just kept dancing, laughing, no matter what I did with it.

Eventually I stopped. I had my answers for what happened to me, as frustrating as they were, and that Black copy wouldn’t do anything more for me but upset me. I stuck it into my case and let it collect dust — I couldn’t bring myself to even touch my other games anymore. I looked at a Pokémon and could only watch it die in the back of my head, like the kind of feeling butchers must get seeing live cows. Fucked up, to lose such a big part of my childhood in such a way, but I found things to fill the void.

Like I said, I… never got closure with Liberty, due to the nature of her crime. I wasn’t allowed to see her in the months that turned into years of her being hospitalized — for my safety, everyone said, but at a point I stopped giving two shits about my safety, Liberty could stab me in the other thigh if it gave me the opportunity to see her again — and I drifted apart from my parents as I grew up, pretty much moving out the second I was allowed. As “generic angsty teen” as it sounds, they could never understand me, but… I think I have a right to say that, after all you’ve just read. Imagine explaining this to your parents.

So I never found out what became of Liberty, which is… why this haunts me so much, really. It wouldn’t have if I got to give her a single word of apology in all these years, but I never did, so it just... festered. I doubt she’s still locked up, it’s been like ten fucking years, but… we lost track of each other, anyway. I hope she’s well, I really do, and I want to hope she remembers me fondly, but I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. Big girl must be nineteen now, Jesus.

Why am I telling this to the world? Well, I’m not seeing a fucking therapist, so this is the next best thing.

Seriously, though, it… something just made me think of it again, recently.

Two years ago, an uncle I hadn’t spoken to since I was, like, 15, got me a birthday present. A Nintendo Switch, with Pokémon Sword on it, because the series was my whole life as a kid, y’know. It’s not like anyone knows what Pokémon did to me — trashing all my old plushies could’ve just as easily been taken as me growing out of them, and I stopped with video games in general as I got older.

That uncle just thought he was being funny, I bet. Getting me Pokémon Sword as the equivalent of showing off my baby pictures, a wink and a nudge to my childhood self, y’know. He laughed at my face when I saw the game’s case and reassured me the Switch could do a lot of things if I didn’t want to play Pokémon.

And I figured, when I got home, in a blend of genuine curiosity and the same deep-seated self-destructive part of me that would come back to Black and do a round in the Battle Subway every few months, that I’d see what the game had to offer. Despite the trauma it’d given me, I still had a touch of fondness for Pokémon, and at the time, I guess I thought it was… symbolic, or something, to try and pick the new game up.

I picked Sobble, if you’re curious, but I didn’t have the same penchant for on-the-spot nicknames I did back then, so I was lazy and named it Aki. In honor, y’know. The game was fine, it was too different from the ones I knew to really make my skin crawl in the same way trying to pick up games like White again did, with Pokémon I could look at and not just think about what they looked like when ripped in half and bleeding, until I got to a Pokémon Center and opened the PC Box.

Like a warning shot, there was a level 15 Victini in the first Box — travelled time and space from the Unova region, first caught in Liberty Garden.

Haven’t touched the game since. I don’t know if that Victini had the same intentions as the one I knew, but you can’t blame me for not wanting to take chances. I think it’s just taunting me, honestly — the competition goes on, and there still hasn’t been a victory, but I intend on taking my own. Not suffering in silence, but taking my story and sharing it — because isolation and suffering in silence was how it got to Liberty, and I’m not letting the same thing happen to me.

I don’t know how many people will see this, much less how many will get to this point. It could be only two, for all I care, maybe even zero. Doesn’t matter — it’s out there, and it’s my victory. That fucked up little apple rabbit can take it and eat shit.

...and… like I said, don’t care, really. Trashing this laptop and all. I’m still going through with that. I hope this’ll be a sign that I can really start to move on. Or maybe it’ll just piss Victini off and make it come to life and immolate me with Searing Shot. Who knows — I mean, that’d be a pretty badass way to go out.

…

You know, I don’t know if I hate Pokémon as much as I think I do, and I don’t say that because I liked the first two minutes of Sword, or because I grew up on the franchise, or anything like that, it’s… nothing to do with the games or creatures themselves anymore, really, it’s just… every time I think about Liberty, I always think the same thing.

“Can we have a fair rematch next time?”