“Black is here.”

  “…Uh. Yeah,” Black awkwardly stammered, caught between why is he looking at me, is this some kind of weird power play..? and gods above, please don’t let him bring me into this.

  Senior Grunt Mutsu only continued to stare, a slightly confused look on his face, completely ignoring Tanya’s annoyance even as the junior executive was directly challenging him to a battle. “Your actual name is Bowls, right?” he continued. “You aren’t supposed to be here – you’re meant to be in the Young District. So who are Kazubara and Mimi going after?”

  Black blinked.

  There were a lot of things you could tell about a person, just by what name they chose to go by. Of course, most people went with their name name, but even at that most boring level there was some nuance. Like, some people had shit names and used them anyway, and others had okay ones but preferred a nickname. Black’s first year of middleschool had contained two girls with the name Tsukuyumi, and the one who’d kept it had definitely been cooler than The Lame Tsuki.

  Of course, that example brought in another facet, which was that some people didn’t get to choose what they went by. A name was, traditionally speaking, something you got from other people…

  “Yo Bart, you working with Carr again? Man, I don’t know how you can stand that guy, he’s a total creep…”

  The small gathering of grunts collectively nodded along with Ken’s statement, save for Bart Bowls – Bart only grimaced.

  “Yeah, but it’s not like I can say no, right? The guy’s a Senior Grunt, he’s just plain further up the totem pole than people like us.”

  Ryu raised his chin, blowing a halfway-passable smoke ring. “Hah, that’s loser talk. That’s why you’re still just a grunt, Bowls.” Rich, coming from another guy who's ‘just a grunt,’ Bart thought but didn’t say, deciding to let the blowhard say his piece – that was always the easiest way. If you tried to fight back at all, he’d just whine like a damn baby for the whole-ass day. “You’ve got to push back a bit,” Ryu continued. “Senior Grunt doesn’t mean nothing, what’s that? Like, maybe a third badge level? That’s just hot air.”

  The man never seemed to understand the irony in his own arguments. “Whatever you say, Ryu. Anyway-”

  “Hey!” The grunt’s smoke dropped to the ground as he stomped, expressing his anger. “I told you, it’s Al now! Like the movie star!”

  Again, the group showed their shared mind with a shared gesture – Bart, Ken, and Harry rolled their eyes at each other. “Man, I ain’t calling you that,” Ken said as he puffed on his own cigarette. “That’s lame.”

  “You guys are fuckin’ lame…” Ryu muttered, and Bart laughed along with the rest.

  …So when Mutsu actually used his real name, Black was caught off-guard. He’d never admit it, but his heart skipped a beat – it was something about the dark purple of the senior grunt’s eyes more than the words themselves, like they were looking into him despite the rest of Mutsu’s face being kind of vacant and tired.

  Tanya’s own expression turned towards confusion for a moment before she recaptured her poise and customary sneer. “Pardon?”

  “He- we, the grunts who the instructors sent out, we’re split into four groups, so we can activate all four cells. Jessie said Bowls would be somewhere else, a safehouse at- I didn’t memorise the other addresses, but-”

  “Eighteenth and Abucus, two-dash-five-three-three-six,” the orange-haired woman smoothly supplied.

  “Thanks, Casca. Yeah, there – you’re meant to be there.”

  After one last second of surprise, Black managed to shake it off; this was no longer a strange non-sequitur, but something much more serious. “I was,” he answered, putting aside the question of how the instructors knew which of them had avoided the blues – while not even being in the damn city – for later. “But things started looking dicey, so we decided to split.”

  Harry interjected with a nod. “Yeah. There was this guy in a League uniform sniffing around, so we split up to go to different places.”

  “In the most inconsiderate way possible,” Tanya took over. “Him and his three friends showed up at the door to my very private safehouse, completely unannounced, in the dead of night.” She flicked a finger to her toadies, the only two Rockets who were actually in uniform. “My bodyguards here very nearly mistook them for intruders, before the situation was sorted out.”

  Mutsu twisted in his chair, eyes moving to look at nothing as he thought, and there was a moment of silence. Black couldn’t help but let his mind turn as that moment drew on, despite knowing where it would go. Kazubara, he spat inside his head. Arc, I’m glad I didn’t stick around; even assuming the blues wouldn’t’ve actually managed to find the place, moving was worth not having to talk to him.

  “I cannot help but notice,” the baby spoke in an incredibly punchable voice, “That I have been seeing some particularly uncouth faces in my territory these past weeks. Remind me, John, what exactly is the protocol for such a thing?”

  Kaz ‘Black Bart’ Kazubara, leader of the Black Roses despite being the youngest among them by far, turned to the much burlier man standing to his side. The man – John, apparently; Bart Bowls hadn’t bothered to give a shit about anyone other than his new city’s major gang leaders, so the name was news to him – grinned maliciously. The lot of them looked completely ridiculous, with their giant hair and black leather jackets that were too thin to actually protect them in a crash, but he was particularly bad; the gang’s aesthetic clashed with his chiseled face to an absurd decree, like a baldly-costumed extra in a low-budget movie. “We wreck ‘em, boss,” the ogre replied, and the rest of the two-bit thugs the boy had somehow convinced to dress like gay strippers whooped along.

  There were a full dozen of them, outnumbering Team Rocket two-to-one, but Bart wasn’t concerned. They had two executives with them, and although he wasn’t familiar with the pair he could feel the pressure. It was a subtle thing, not even really a physical sensation at all, but once you got it down it was impossible to miss – the aura of strength, of command, that distinguished any random trainer off the street from a real elite.

  Bart had first noticed the sensation around the Boss – the original boss, back in the nineties, not the new guy – and at the time he’d put it down as intimidation. Giovanni was a Gym Leader, his employer, and a hard man on top of both those things; it was natural to walk on eggshells when he was around. But as he’d settled into Rocket, Bart had felt it from other people – the old hands, the veteran Gym trainers, the people you absolutely didn’t want to fuck with.

  But still, he hadn’t recognised it as something separate from social pressure. Not until him.

  Not until he’d felt it from a little kid, a ten-year-old, who’d walked into the casino and asked about Team Rocket like he was asking about the weather.

  Black sneered along with his fellow Rockets, matching their opponents as he shook off the memory. Man, he berated himself, don’t go thinking about that ancient history now. Gonna be a fight in a second. Senior Executives Jessie Oakley and James Kidd, dressed in the old Rocket Agent uniform’s solid white, didn’t join in; they were more like the Black Roses, their smiles condescending. Even the persian had a similar expression.

  “Wreck us?” James repeated in an accent similar to, but obviously more authentic than, Kazubara’s ironic tones. “Oh my, are you asking for a fight?”

  Jessie let loose a short laugh, and with a flick a three-metre-long snake appeared. Bart didn’t know the name off the top of his head, but he knew it was a Hoenn Pokémon, and with its massive fangs and bladed tail it was easily as intimidating as the more familiar arbok. “I think they are, James! How ridiculous!”

  A few more flashes as the Black Roses released their own Pokémon, but the Rocket Grunts stayed calm. Showing off your Pokémon was a power move, but like most power moves it could backfire – it let the enemy see your type, make a plan, pick a move or tactic in advance. There was a reason the little boy was playing it cool, standing in the back with his arms crossed – and it wasn’t just cowardice.

  Kazubara had a glint in his eye.

  “The only thing here that’s ridiculous,” he drawled, “Are the washed-up remnants of a dead man I see before me, left piled up on my streets. Do not deny it: your ‘new’ Team Rocket is nothing more than a fading recollection of the old – you haven’t even changed the uniforms.”

  “These uniforms have a history!” James yelled, and Bart winced. Ooh, bad move, Grease. These guys are old school – they aren’t gonna let you get away with pushing the Giovanni button. Technically Bart was old school too, but the intervening years between the disbanding and his re-recruitment had given him… complicated feelings where the original Rocket was concerned.

  Not so with Jessie and James. They bristled, losing some of their cool, and the ephemeral pressure Bart felt doubled, then doubled again. Sometimes he couldn’t believe other people didn’t feel it, the heaviness – but as he looked at his fellow grunts and saw zero recognition of the changed atmosphere, it was clear that they didn’t. But he did, and it made it hard to breathe. It was as exhilarating as it was terrifying, standing there, just knowing that those two could flatten the lot of them without breaking a sweat. They certainly didn’t look the part, with their soft faces and exaggerated gestures, but his Elite-radar had never been wrong before.

  “You talk a lot of hot air for someone out of a teen drama!” Jessie followed-up, and then her face moved back to a smirk. “In fact…”

  James, too, regained his poise like a switch had been flipped. “…I bet we don’t even have to lift a finger. Grunts, you take care of this!” He and his partner turned, and Bart instinctively stepped aside as they went past. The persian took a moment to yawn before following with a strangely human-like meow, settling down to lay between the two executives where they now stood at the back of the group. “And make it snappy!”

  “Yes, if you take too long, we’ll have to give you a remedial lesson!”

  “Meow.”

  “Exactly! We can’t let people think they can stand up to Rocket, now can we?”

  Black blinked away the memory, managing to suppress the sneer the name Kazubara invoked in him. No, now wasn’t the time to get distracted; although this new problem had taken their attention, it was entirely possible Junior Executive Tanya and Senior Grunt Mutsu would be throwing down pretty soon.

  And when they did, he needed to get the fuck out of the way. He’d never had the misfortune of getting between two people with the pressure, and he didn’t feel like breaking that streak today.

  “Okay, is this actually a problem?” Mutsu asked the room, his eyes still pointed more towards the ceiling than anything. “I don’t like Bart, but he doesn’t seem stupid – if the Jennys’ve set up some kind of ambush, him or Mimi would spot it, right? She’s an aspiring Rocket Agent, same as you.”

  The orange woman – Casca, he was pretty sure she’d been introduced as – responded with a so-so gesture. “I mean, I hope so? She can be kind of scatterbrained even on good days, and we’ve been having shitty damn days lately. But she does have that super-cool fire team, so…” A shrug. “We’ve all already handled a few blues just fine, so eh. She’ll get out of it – and Big-haired Bart too, probably.”

  “You guys fought the blues?” Harry interjected, and Mutsu’s attention centred on their table. Gods above, man, can you keep your mouth shut? I only just managed to talk us in here by the skin of my tongue, don’t go drawing attention to us now.

  “Yeah, we fought a few on the road,” Black’s fellow senior grunt answered, his expression going from absent to pained. “And one in the city – and a League inspector too. But Jessie and Meowth have some kind of big distraction going on, so I’m inclined to agree – Bart and Mimi should be able to handle themselves. But that means the best time for us to hit the streets is also right now, so if we’re going… we should get on that.” He stood, finally turning to address Tanya’s challenge, and Black braced himself to – depending on if the first attack went his way or not – either leap away, or keep himself from flinching.

  “Two on one, you said? At the same time?”

  “One after the other, obviously,” Tanya answered with a tone of ‘don’t pretend either of us is stupid.’ “No items, no switches. As you said, let’s make this quick; impress me swiftly, Grunt.”

  She gestured with a finger, and the kingler – damn, you forget how big they can get when they aren’t wild – shuffled sideways. Black let out a silent sigh of relief as the evolved crab Pokémon took its giant pincers to the opposite side of the room, and he felt it as his friends did the same around him. The two Rocket elites followed, locking eyes, and he felt sweat start to bead on his brow as-

  “Hey Black,” Ryu muttered, interrupting his building anxiety. “I know shit’s been doing downhill, but you seem real tense even accountin’ for that. These guys the real deal?” He gestured with his chin towards the big-muscled guy playing Super Silph Fighters, and the other two nodded as well.

  Ryu, Ken, and Harry were three of his oldest friends, ones who’d been with him since before he’d even joined Rocket the first time. They were irrepressible dumbasses, shitty trainers, and had all the subtlety of a brick to the face – so they hovered somewhere in the upper third of the gang’s IQ range, by his reckoning. They didn’t have his instincts, but they did have the good sense to have eventually started listening when Black told them they were in over their heads – and that good sense had kept them going in a profession with a literally criminal turnover rate. Where so many other old Rocket Grunts had gone straight, joined other gangs, gotten arrested, or sometimes even died, Black’s crew had soldiered on.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  And yet I’m still not even an Enforcer, for fuck’s- bah, whatever. “The senior is,” he spoke softly back, not hiding his voice but not announcing it either. “Probably gonna be a good fight.”

  “But wasn’t he a newbie? I’m pretty sure he was at that tournament thing with the machamp…”

  Oh, for-! “Yes, that’s the thing they’re fighting about.” Dumbasses, all of you. Six ears and you can’t hear shit. “Just shut up and pay attention.”

  Two against one huh? Hoshi thought as his right hand caressed each ball around his waist in turn. He didn’t think he could recognise them by feel, yet, but remembering the order was easy; so long as he didn’t panic, there was basically no chance he’d send out the wrong ‘mon, even without looking.

  His forebrain was occupied by testing matchups, but underneath he was trying very hard to not think of what had just happened. Trying hard, and failing.

  How the fuck did I know Black was Senior Grunt Bowls? That- I didn’t know that. Where did it come from?

  The mundane explanation was, of course, that he had known it, and was just forgetting where he’d learned the information. His head was, speaking charitably, kind of a fucking mess at the moment – letting a small detail like that slip away would be entirely natural.

  But he was sure, down to his fucking bones, that he really hadn’t known Black’s real name until that crystalline moment of epiphany. And that… that was kind of freaking him out.

  Just- just put it down as psychic bullshit and focus on the match. Seriously, gotta clear my head…

  He licked his lips, and selected his first Pokémon. “Think we need a referee?”

  Tanya’s grimace was insufferable, but for once he didn’t feel any particular anger at being looked down on – the name thing was really eating at him, and besides that… This is probably going to be an uphill battle. If she was willing to pay for a Technical Machine to try and win a random, as-far-as-anyone-knew meaningless tournament, how many moves has she crammed into her real battlers?

  “I will act as the judge,” she replied, proving Hoshi a liar as her tone did in fact draw a thread of annoyance through his skull. “Release your first Pokémon – stalling will do you no favours.”

  Bitch. With a swift toss Hoshi obeyed, releasing his new magneton. Tanya nodded, the motion tight; apparently she’d predicted his pick. Not that I could’ve chosen anything else – Rivet is such an obvious counter, I’d have to be an idiot to ignore it. The kingler’s heavy carapace would put up too much resistance for Guts and Champion’s teeth or Venus’s fists, and flashbacks to Crow getting crushed by a Vicegrip made him reluctant to risk the golbat, even if she was presumably much sturdier now. Moony might be able to crack through with sheer strength, but I’ll leave that as a backup plan.

  The faint nod ended, and she continued. “So you do have one. Very well; Provost, sweep.”

  The sudden order caught Hoshi off-guard, and he shouted out only after a fraction of a second’s hesitation. “Rivet, Thunder! Get close, right on top of it!” Sweep? Does that mean..?

  As he’d both feared and hoped, the kingler didn’t attack; instead, it began moving its claws in precise arcs, its four legs stamping in a rhythm. Swords Dance! She’s relying on its defences to hold out while it buffs up for a one-hit kill! Ordinarily, Hoshi would think her an idiot – who wasted precious seconds buffing up while facing down a perfect counter? – but his gut said he was in trouble. Even as static built, Rivet’s magnetic limbs spinning to unleash the attack with a terrible crackle, and even as it landed, searing into the kingler and causing steam to rise from its shell… something told him he was in a bad spot.

  I don’t get it. “Again! Stay in its blind spot!” Why am I worried?

  How? How could I lose this? It isn’t an uneven match like in the Little Cup – both of them are evolved, and Rivet’s attack is strong. One more hit, maybe two – the kingler can’t even properly aim its head straight up; an attack like Scald wouldn’t-

  “Protect. Break it.”

  The crab’s legs tensed, and Hoshi’s jaw did the same. “Back up!”

  It jumped – and to his relief the exchange went in their favour. Rivet’s second attack was blocked by a shield of energy as Provost leapt upwards, but the magneton was able to float far enough away to avoid the fighting type Hammer Arm it threw out in retaliation, smashing through its own dissipating hexagons like they were soap bubbles.

  Hammer..? She didn’t name the attack, so how did I..?

  Hoshi blinked as the headache crashed against the shores of his mind, and when he regained his scattered focus the triumph he’d felt at Rivet’s dodge died; the movement had put them out of position.

  “Circle! Get behind-!”

  It was no use; his untrained Pokémon either ignored, didn’t understand, or didn’t hear his order, sending another electric attack out to crash against Protect. Light spilled off the clashing moves as Provost once again used the perfect defence to get close, leaping a startling distance – if they’d been outside it might’ve been possible to go up and out of range, but although the saferoom had a high ceiling it was still nowhere near tall enough to let Rivet escape. Another Hammer Arm swung out, and the magneton’s metal body cracked where the blow landed.

  Arc-damnit!

  They were propelled ten metres away, almost crashing into the table where everyone but Kenny was sitting – but thankfully Rivet caught themselves before it happened. Hoshi forced his jaw to unclench as he thought furiously, a tiny part of him impressed by the fortitude Black showed by being the only one not to flinch even as the magnet Pokémon passed within touching distance above his head.

  Okay, so it’s a lot more athletic than any kingler I’ve ever seen – I wasn’t expecting that. But maybe..? They'd managed to dodge unexpectedly, so…“Stay back! You’re faster than it, Rivet – retreat and keep blasting!”

  For a moment he was afraid that they would disobey again – but maybe the hit had knocked some sense into the conjoined Pokémon, because they did exactly as ordered. The battle turned into a high-stakes chase, Provost’s long but inarticulate legs scrabbling on the concrete as they struggled to keep up with the magneton’s levitation. Rivet’s line weren’t exactly Pokémon known for their speed, but then again the same was true of their opponent – and as twenty seconds went by and Provost could do nothing more than Protect against the intermittent Thunder, it seemed that Hoshi had indeed secured the edge.

  There we go – I knew Rivet was the right choice! At the risk of jinxing it, the fight’s basically over..! Come on you crustacean fuck, run out of stamina!

  Another bolt of brilliant electricity crashed down – and Hoshi was surprised again. Rather than use Protect, the kingler once more moved into the precise rhythm of Swords Dance, letting the super-effective attack crash into its body.

  “Holy shit!” Kenny yelled from the sidelines. “Hardcore! Boss, look, it’s just takin’ it!”

  I know that shut the fuck up-! “Rivet!” One more will end it, but..!

  But the reverse was true as well. They’d already gotten hit once, and another Hammer Arm would seal the deal – and Hoshi was willing to bet that its jumping ability had gotten a boost as well. And it was even possible that Tanya was still keeping some kind of ranged option in her back pocket – that this whole thing was an elaborate ruse to get his guard down. What’s the right move? Hoshi’s eyes moved from the giant enemy crab to his real opponent, the trainer giving the orders, and found her face a mask of ice.

  Do I go for it? I have faster Pokémon, and that kingler’s on the ropes. Even a weak hit might do it…

  Rivet shot again, Protect erupted from Provost’s shell as the kingler leapt, and Hoshi took the smallest fraction of a second to ballpark the arc of his opponent’s movement before raising Rivet’s plain Poké Ball.

  “Return!”

  The magnet monster disappeared, returning to their ball via red laser. Provost’s massive swipe went through where they’d been, but despite trying to predict the result Hoshi still couldn’t say if the attack would’ve landed or not.

  “A forfeit?” Tanya asked from across the length of the basement.

  “Yeah, I’m using my second Pokémon.” We might still have plenty of Potions, but that’s gonna have to last us for the foreseeable future. No reason to gamble if I don’t need to. The justification felt like ash in his mouth, but Hoshi stood firm. His hand went down, placing Rivet back on his belt before moving to… Who? I was thinking Moony, but that was before it revealed a fighting type attack – and before it used Swords Dance twice. One attack’ll probably knock her out…

  His hand moved, and as a blur of red and white rocketed away Hoshi cried out. “Crow, stay evasive! Alternate Screech and Supersonic!”

  Tanya snarled as the golbat materialised. “Scald!”

  Hah, fucking knew it. The familiar attack, the one that had knocked him out of the tournament, the one he’d been seeing in that dumb as fuck nightmare, shot from the kingler’s lips. The jet of steaming-hot water was fast – but Crow wasn’t a zubat anymore. She emerged from her Pokéball already twirling, wings held tight to her sides, any ungainliness from the altered shape of her body ironed out by the battles she’d experienced over the past two days. The Scald missed, then missed again, and as Tanya’s expression folded into rage Hoshi’s bloomed in exhilaration.

  He cried out together with his Pokémon, and felt the attack hit true. “Bunker!” Tanya cried in turn, but even as the kingler widened its stance and crossed its claws above its head, Hoshi’s mood only continued to soar. All of his fears were dispersed; his pain, his grief, all of it disappeared for a moment as pure victory rushed through his veins. Arcus, it feels good to pick right.

  He laughed. “Another buffing move? How many discs did you cram into this thing?” Doesn’t matter! Those Swords Dances were a mistake!

  Another wave of sound, then another, and Provost’s stance turned sloppy. Whatever move- no, he knew it; the Iron Defence was being countered by Screech, and the moment it tried to counterattack the massive power stored in its limbs would fly free.

  Hoshi could see it, clear as day, unfolding like a movie he’d seen a half-dozen times. Crow dipped and, in a move that would’ve been suicidal in any other situation, drew her wing across the back of the kingler’s body. The Wing Attack did basically no damage, but it did draw the enemy’s attention.

  “Don’t-!”

  Tanya attempted to stop it, but the opening was too enticing; Provost swung blindly, its claws- its Slam smashing into the concrete. Hoshi felt the vibration of it travelling up the bones of his legs as chips of stone flew, and when the crab drew them back up the limbs were cracked and bleeding.

  And then the kingler disappeared. Hoshi blinked, uncomprehending, pure liquid gold filling his lungs – but as Crow landed, he understood.

  “Yeah! Hardcore!” Kenny cried again. “Get some! Great battle, Boss!”

  I won. The incredible light feeling continued, buoying him up. Holy shit. I beat an executive!

  Evidently Tanya was having the equal and opposite thought, because her haughty expression turned sour as she returned her Pokémon to its place on her belt. For a moment Hoshi waited, braced for the woman to go back on her word… but she only nodded again, equally quickly, the sour look remaining on her face. “In a full battle, that would have gone differently-” Sour grapes, bitch. “-But I suppose you’ve impressed me. We leave at dawn.”

  “Actually,” Hoshi started – but then he stopped, feeling the word come out with a strange texture. Is my nose running?

  “Hoshi..?”

  He raised his hand to his lip, and was further surprised as he drew it away to find red coating his fingers. “Oh. Fuck.” Damn, a nosebleed right after winning? That kind of undercuts the coolness factor. “Hey, anybody got a tissue or..?”

  “Hoshi!”

  Huh? He turned to Casca, and saw her looking at him with distinct concern. “What? It’s just a nosebleed, just get me something to wipe with. Toilet paper or-”

  “Hoshi,” she said for a third time, and annoyance bubbled up – only to disappear as he noticed everyone else giving him a disturbed look as well. Is it really that bad..? He looked down – and saw that yeah, actually, it was looking pretty bad. His shirt was very nearly drenched in blood already, and despite not feeling an ounce of pain Hoshi began to panic.

  “Oh fuck- somebody get me a fucking tissue!” Or a towel, or a fucking shirt, or-!

  “Does it- are you feeling okay?”

  Hoshi pushed down the urge to sniff, knowing it would probably just set things off again. How long did that take, like ten minutes?

  Far too long, no matter the actual number. The shirt he’d appropriated from the Fuchsia church was completely unusable, same with the pants, and he was pretty sure the amount of blood he’d just lost would rival all the knock-down drunken brawls he’d had in the past six months all taken together. There was a pool of it on the floor of the basement’s tiny bathroom, right next to where they were standing.

  …And yet… “I feel fine, actually,” he answered honestly. The hyper-thrill of defeating Tanya cleanly had yet to leave – it was strange, actually; usually he crashed pretty hard after a serious battle, but even with what must’ve been a good percentage of his internal fluids missing he didn’t feel weak at all. Hoshi raised his arm and slowly made a fist – and aside from the slightly uncomfortable pull of unhealed scabs, there wasn’t a hint of pain. No tremble in the straining muscles as he clenched as hard as he could, no headache clouding his thoughts…

  “Scratch that, I feel fantastic. Like, stupidly good.” That’s weird. Right? “Is euphoria a symptom of a concussion? ‘Cause this is probably unnatural.”

  Casca narrowed her eyes. “Gee, you think? You only bled, like, a litre or two, you don’t think that’s normal?”

  The sarcasm drew a huff of amusement from his chest, and Hoshi turned to his reflection. At first, all he could see was the crusty red riverbed that had once been liquid flowing down his lips, chin, and chest, widening as it went. But then he got past it, and managed to look at the top half of his face. “Shouldn’t I be pale? I don’t think I look pale.” Maybe the lighting is bad? No, it isn’t that. Is a flush covering it up..? Fuck, I hope I’m not hallucinating again…

  Casca’s reflection stepped closer to his own, and he amended the thought. No, I don’t think I am. If anything, I’m hallucinating less…

  The ephemeral colours he’d recently had recontextualised as psychic empathy were something he’d never needed to get used to – he’d been born with them, after all. It had taken years for him to even realise that expressions like ‘feeling blue’ and ‘a smile like the sun’ were just poetic language, that other people were just… different. That realisation had made him feel isolated, but as time passed and he’d spoken to a doctor, he’d gotten over that feeling – putting a word to it, knowing that synesthesia was a studied, reasonably-understood condition, had grounded it. Made it just something to deal with, rather than a weird secret alien thing.

  And then… and then learning it was actually psychic powers had put him right back. Even almost a full month later, it still made his stomach drop slightly to acknowledge it.

  Yet as he examined his girlfriend’s reflection, then looked back to his own, there were none of those negative emotions. He felt good, like he’d gotten drunk without any of the accompanying dullness, and that feeling held steady as he watched the colours change minutely from second to second. They’re less solid. But not harder to see? It was like Hoshi had suddenly doubled his number of eyes, and the cloud-like visions had completely disappeared from the original set while the real world did the same in the other.

  He turned back to Casca, who continued to sport a worried look. “Seriously,” he said, “That was a real question. Do I look bad? Am I slurring my words? Because if I am and can’t tell, then that’s really fucking bad, right?”

  She chewed on her lip. “No. If we ignore all the blood, you look fine… I’m not exactly a doctor, but I don’t think this is a concussion.”

  Hoshi glanced at his reflection again, and slowly closed one pair of eyes – the new ones, overlapping with his old set and yet somehow distinctly separate in his head. It was easy, effortless even, and the synesthetic noise disappeared. Then he did the opposite, and found his vision reduced to drifting clouds against a void of nothing – not black, he could clearly see the dark sea of grief still sitting at the centre of his heart, but simply nothing at all.

  “No,” he concluded as, with his eyes still closed, he watched eight blobs of less-distinct colour move in the next room over, the thick concrete wall that existed in reality doing only a little to impede his vision. Arcus… Is this what it feels like to evolve? “No, this is something else. Once we get to Saffron, I’ll need to sit down with Hypno.”