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Mirian Bandura, aspirant Pokemon Master, up-and-coming celebrity streamer (so what if 2 of her 5 viewers were Shelly and Violet?), was spiraling at 4 a.m. again. Or at least, it had been 4 a.m. when she’d last checked. All around her, the peaceful sounds of Unovan pre-dawn percolated through the tent walls. Minccino chirruping in the brush, the gentle cooing of pidove nesting overhead. From the nearby lake, she could hear the croaking of palpitoad and, every few minutes, the mournful croon of a swanna. The rain had ended several hours before, leaving behind only the occasional rustle of droplets as water-laden leaves surrendered their cargo. It was almost enough to distract her. Almost, but not quite.
Nor did the safety and warmth of her sleeping bag, or the steady breathing of the others, or munna’s gentle pink luminescence. Nick and Violet had meant well when they’d suggested group camping as a way to recapture whatever had been lost these last few days, but she couldn’t tell them what was really on her mind, why she’d been distant and distracted. Not yet, at least. Not until she knew for sure. And once everyone else had settled in for the night, she had gone right back to the swirling doubts. Now hours later, she lay awake, idly spinning her phone. She’d taken to doing that, these last few days. It was almost a stim at this point, an ever-present reminder of the questions burning through her mind.
When she’d first gotten the text, that soft little ping of distraction while chasing Nick and Violet through the woods, she’d assumed it was Sadie pulling a prank. Because what else could it have been? What it claimed was impossible, absurd, and frankly ridiculous. Other versions of them? A world without pokemon? Jumping between universes? Oneiros? She’d never heard of that pokemon, much less of them being the “god of dreams.” Even if the message had apparently been sent from her own number, she knew it had to be some kind of elaborate joke. If not for her mom’s warnings about driving away yet another rotom, she would have thrown the phone at Sadie. Then she’d checked her messages with Shelly, and her heart had nearly stopped.
A whole day of conversation. A whole day of messages that she didn’t recall sending or receiving. Pictures, descriptions, stories and check-ins. Only a few even vaguely resembled what Mirian had experienced. She knew that she hadn’t gone on a boat trip or been attacked by a gyrados. No group of friends had reached out, needed the squad’s help. And Shelly certainly hadn’t been in a condition to be sending messages or selfies throughout the day, not after falling from that aegislash. Yet here were messages about all of that, typed out hour by hour, timestamps included. An entire fictionalized day, explained with yet more impossibilities. Violet’s munna could apparently create glowing platforms, and had caught Shelly mid-fall. Youngster Jimmy had, according to the messages, managed to defeat Sobble, and that was why Shelly had been taken to the PokeCenter. And to cap it all off, both Shelly and Sobble were somehow already recovered and bored, ready to leave and continue the adventure. It was as if the events since that morning had been rewritten in real-time by an overly enthusiastic fanfiction author, which put in more in Ollie’s realm than Sadie’s. But with the sheer amount of material, it was a frankly inconceivable amount of effort to put towards a prank. Especially one this cruel. Mirian knew her friends, and knew that even Nick wouldn’t try to pull something this big so soon after Shelly’s accident. So Mirian had tentatively sent Shelly a check-in message, and after getting an immediate and enthusiastic response, she’d begun investigating. Because what else could she have done? She had to see how deep the rabbit hole went.
A burst of wind rustled through the branches overhead, scattering droplets that drummed softly on the tarpaulin. The sound momentarily broke her from the reverie of swirling thoughts, and Mirian reached up to rub her weary eyes. Tracking down information had taken most of her quiet moments over these last few days, and it seemed that even finding a concrete answer had just brought more questions. She just needed more time, to sort out what it all meant, to double and triple check that there weren’t any other explanations. Even if she’d decided it was probably true, there was still always the possibility of being wrong, and she couldn’t just bring a hoax to the rest of her friends. Especially if one of them had somehow planned it all, down to conspiring with Shelly, Worcester’s Nurse Joy, and most recently, Block Island’s weekly gazette. Or if all of them had planned it. That was also a possibility. She had to consider—
Tiramisu, her pachirisu, trilled a yawn. Mirian froze as the pokemon uncurled from its spot above her chest and stretched mightily. She hadn’t meant to wake Tiri; the poor thing had slept fitfully since she picked them, and her own late nights were likely a significant reason why. It was the least she could do to stay silent and let it drift back off, even if sleep eluded her. Closing her eyes and steadying her breathing, she did her best to pretend that she wasn’t still awake. For her efforts, Tiri trilled again, rose, and scampered directly onto her face. With its snout pressing against her nose, she could feel the static charge already flowing into her hair.
“Chipa?”
She snored in response. No sense in encouraging it.
A sudden shock of pain flared through her body as Tiri nuzzled her, the electric discharge like a wake-up slap. All of her senses flared to awareness at once, and though the sensation died down quickly, she could still see little bursts of light as remnant charge fizzled across her sleeping bag. Mirian sighed, and opened her eyes. This was an occupational hazard for electric-type trainers.
“Fine, I’m awake.” Her volume was probably too loud, but fine motor control was still returning. “Can’t sneak anything past you.”
This close, Tiri was just a silhouette against munna’s glow, its face only visible in the occasional crackle of Mirian’s hair. It cocked its head at her statement, trilling curiously.
“Just, still thinking about that message. Whether it’s real.”
“Chiiii.” There was a level of sadness to its voice, and it gently hopped from her face to curl up beside her head.
She let an exhausted half-smile curl across her face at the gesture. At least she knew Tiramisu would always be there for her, even if she wished it didn’t have to be. The pokemon had already listened to a number of her late-night ramblings, when she was otherwise alone in a room and without the risk of her friends overhearing. It couldn’t hurt to tell Tiri the latest discovery in her search.
“Block Island’s newspaper published a small article on the gyrados attack. Apparently it was fished up by a young, brown-haired pokemon trainer with a pachirisu, who fought it with four other trainers. Several eyewitnesses also saw them using pokemon moves as though on their own. The story just dropped tonight.”
Mirian could feel herself trembling slightly as she said it all out loud. It was one thing to lay awake wondering if this was finally enough proof, and another entirely to actually hear herself saying it. After spending the better part of a week digging, wondering, questioning everything, even growing increasingly suspicious of Shelly and the others, maybe this could finally be enough. But if it was all true, then what? Just live with the knowledge that she, that they, had all been body snatched by dimensional clones of themselves, without their knowledge or awareness? That it could happen again at any time? That the things those duplicates did would affect the world, and those she cared about, in ways she wouldn’t even remember? And that they would be wearing her face while they did it, convincing even those she lov- she cared about, that they were her? Shelly hadn’t been able to tell the difference. There were just too many implications, too many nightmarish possibilities, and they were all welling up and combining together and she was starting to hyperventilate and could feel her vision tunneling and hot tears were flowing from her eyes she—
Soft paws pressed into her cheek as Tiramisu rose to its full height beside her head. Its tail, more than twice the size of the rest of its body, curled around to cradle the top of her head as it hugged her cheek. It was soft, and warm, and Mirian turned to bury her face into its fuzzy tummy, finally letting herself cry. She cried for all the uncertainty and fear. She cried for all the stress, the doubt, the confusion. She cried for having pulled away from Shelly, and Violet, and Ollie, and Sadie, and Nick, her closest friends, and lying whenever they asked what was wrong. She cried and cried and cried, stifled and clipped, desperately trying to stay quiet enough to not wake her friends. This was her load to carry, her burden to bear. The text had come to her, after all, and it wouldn’t be fair to put this all on them. Better to live with it on her own, try to forget it, and cry until there were no more tears.
But she wasn’t alone. Tiramisu stayed with her the entire time, never letting its—her embrace falter. She chirruped softly, comfortingly, patiently, as she held on. It was only when Mirian had cried her last, and sat up to wipe her eyes and running nose, that she finally relented.
“Thank you,” Mirian finally sighed out, and Tiri trilled in response, jumping up to perch on her shoulder. She laughed softly at that, and nuzzled the pokemon with her cheek before grabbing her phone from inside the sleeping bag. 5:51 a.m. Putting the phone in a pocket and unzipping the window nearest her, she found the outside already starting to get brighter. Dawn was coming, and the others would probably rise soon after. She’d lost another night, but for the first time since her pokemon journey had begun, she felt certain of something. “Want to see the sunrise over the lake, Tiri?” Tiramisu immediately trilled its approval of the idea. Mirian nodded. It was decided.
Carefully pulling herself from the sleeping bag, Mirian stood and began slipping on her shoes. She was still in pajamas, but changing out of those could be done later. For now, the softness was comforting. Once both shoes were on, she unzipped the tent’s door. It was far too loud, but nobody seemed to have been woken by it, so she slipped outside, only to find a hand grabbing hers.
She whirled around, startled, to find a beleaguered Violet sitting up and rubbing her eyes with the hand not grasping Mirian’s. Munna floated silently between them, no longer glowing with consumed dream energy. There was still just enough light to make out Vi’s own pajamas.
“Mirian? Were you crying?”
Mirian paused for a second before responding, weighing her answers. “No, you must have been dreaming. Go back to bed, Vi.” With that, she pulled free of Violet’s grasp, and stepped out into the little clearing. Tiramisu chirped judgmentally.
The ground squelched beneath her shoes, the dirt of the campsite turned to mud by the rain. Little droplets still plinked down in every direction, the rain’s aftermath left in the grey canopy. Despite her promise to Tiri, the sky overhead was still overcast. There would be no lake sunrise, not through that grey haze. Even so, Mirian trudged in its direction. As unpleasant as the mud was, she needed some space, some fresh air. The lake was an easy goal.
It wasn’t long before she found herself on its pebble-strewn shore. Stunfisk and small flocks of nesting ducklett dotted the beach, and a group of mienfoo were sparing on the lake’s far side. None were close enough to bother her as she sat, heedless of the dirty mess her pajama bottoms were becoming. Tiramisu pressed her forehead to the side of Mirian’s, and then jumped down to frolic and chase the birds. She smiled and watched her go, before turning back to stare out into the slate grey waters. The soft wash of the beach’s waves was comforting, a gentle sound underpinning the slowly growing light. Every breeze was laden with moisture and the smell of rain, a merciful coolness after being cramped in a tent with four friends. For just a while, her troubles seemed to fade away. She could relax.
Pebbles clattered behind her, and Mirian turned to see Violet hopping down from a driftwood log. Of course she’d been followed. What else could she expect? She rose, prepared to shine her biggest smile, and then noticed that Violet wasn’t alone. There was Ollie too. And Nick. And even Sadie, who had demanded she be allowed to sleep in. The prepared expression fell from her face in an instant.
“Mirian? Vi said you were crying and then snuck out. And she woke us all up for this. So can you please just tell us what’s going on?” That was Sadie’s voice, a little shrill, but with sleep still heavy in her tone.
“It’s-”
“Oh don’t say it’s nothing. We all know that’s a lie,” Sadie interrupted.
“You’ve been acting off since we left, and we know it has something to do with Shelly’s texts,” Ollie said, arms wrapped around themselves to stave off the cold. Mirian felt her mouth open, but no words came out.
Nick nodded. “Did you really think we wouldn’t figure it out? Come on, Mir, you’re not exactly sneaky.”
Mirian just stared, every excuse dying uselessly on her lips. They had known? They had figured it out?
“We were planning on talking about it after breakfast, but someone had to go and run off, so I guess we’re having this discussion now.” Sadie again.
Finally, Violet spoke. Five simple words. But in that moment, with everyone else gathering around, it was too much.
“We’re worried about you, Mirian.”
And for the second time that morning, Mirian let herself cry.