Chapter 11

For the first time since his transformation, Quinn's sleep was sightless and dreamless. He saw no higher-dimensional metaspace, no population of inhuman monsters and things that were somehow both human and not human at the same time. One moment he was on the little landing craft, and the next—he felt pain on his back, the cramps of his wings pressed for too long in the wrong direction.

Quinn jerked upright, pushing away from the floor beneath him and up an inch into the air.

He wasn't on the dirt this time, but a soft mattress, of a similar material to the one he'd briefly sat on in the landing craft. Only this one was stretched into a cot, more or less sized perfectly for his body.

But not soft enough not to bend my wings. He ascended a short distance, before smacking his oversized head against the metal ceiling, and dropping back to land sitting in bed.

What happened? He remembered vaguely—the lander appearing out of nowhere directly above where he and Avery had been sheltering. They claimed they were arriving to “help” them, yet they'd been essentially kidnapped, not even allowed the time to grab their friendly Pokémon before they were shoved inside.

"Avery, where are you?" He reached out with telepathy, searching for the mind of his friend. Even after her recent transformation, Avery would still be easily identifiable.

But he didn't find her. His senses would not reach very far, before encountering an invisible, impassable barrier, unlike anything he'd felt since his transformation.

His mind screamed in protest, antennae lifting from his head and swinging wildly in all directions. This couldn't be real, something must've happened to him, but what?

"Calm down in there, big brother. I'm gonna start panicking too if you can't stop projecting that." Someone else's thoughts came from nearby—so close he should've been able to reach a few feet to the left and touch them, if there wasn't a sturdy metal wall blocking the way.

Their voice in his mind was younger, somehow higher pitched and far less confident. It came with the image of someone shuffling nervously in the air, eager to come in and talk to him but not brave enough to do it.

"Brother? I'm not sure if…"

"You'd prefer sister?" the same speaker asked, their words tripping over each other in eagerness to reach him. "I think it's technically neither, or both, or something something plants. Degenerate form, so it's up to us what we wanna call ourselves. You can be my sister if you want. Or… just sibling if you prefer. I'll call you whatever you want! Just don't leave me alone."

Quinn sent a shrug, along with his indifference. The specific gendered term this stranger used for him was the least of his worries right now. Even if the stranger was right, that particularly mystery about Quinn's own nature seemed far less important now that he'd been kidnapped.

He floated out of bed again, examining his surroundings as quickly as he could.

He was in a bedroom, one sized so perfectly he could almost forget that he'd become a foot-tall fairy made of plants. Aside from the bunk against the far wall, there was also a desk and a stool, with a little glass panel rising from the back like a display. No input devices, yet it lit up when he looked at it.

There were a few shelves and cupboards as well, enough that someone living in the military or similar would have enough storage for all their belongings. All were empty, with a faint smell of antiseptic. 

There were two windows, one over the bed and one near the desk. Both showed a view of a similar jungle, as though he were in some comfortable home located high in the canopy of those real trees. Obviously impossible, given the other minds he felt off in those directions. There were no sharp drops through those windows, just more rooms like his.

Even in this ancient day, there was a tiny restroom, though he really didn't want to think about what the sand was for right then. At least he wouldn't have to wash in the river.

The only exit was placed across from the bed, made of a much sturdier metal than the bathroom door, and surrounded by complex locking mechanisms. It seemed to hum with power as he approached, though the light above it was faintly green.

If this is prison, I've lived in worse. About half the size of the studio I lived in during my undergrad.

He should've asked Avery to rent a place with him even then. Maybe he wouldn't be here if he had.

"Where is this?" he thought, maybe a little too loudly. He was still connected to the other, though he hadn't realized it at first.

The younger creature replied almost instantly, like he'd been waiting for any excuse to speak the entire time. "Starfall isolation and reconstructive medical wing. The hole they bury us in when we can't transform back into people anymore."

"They're gonna change us back? Can they make me look how I used to?"

He must not be sending those thoughts right, because he felt another mind joining the first—this one didn't seem like a kid, but someone he might've known in his own degree program. They had an air of that same uncertainty, the research assistant who was perpetually checking their own calculations.

"Unlikely. They have a much shorter list of success stories than they do of catastrophic failures. There's no memorial here for the cases who died in treatment. Ask yourself why."

"Don't frighten him. Poor idiot barely got here. Probably still believes the Admiralty is here to help him. Give him a few more hours of delusion before you rip it away." Another strange voice, the first that he thought of as "feminine" in the bunch. Though when sent only as thoughts, they all blurred together easily. It might all be his own biases.

More importantly, they were already getting caught up in their own little narrative. If he let them keep going, they would end up miles away from the question that really mattered.

"I came here with a Mew. Tiny, little annoying since she shrunk. Name's Avery. Where would I find her?"

His question somehow silenced the crowd.

It stretched for several minutes—until the front door hissed, then slid up into the ceiling.

It wasn't a cell after all, apparently. He could leave.

The space beyond was round and empty, a drop without railing towards a grassy floor far below. Light radiated in through the opening, feeling about as real on his skin as artificial sweeteners.

It might keep him alive if he spent some time out there, but he would also get thin and sickly.

Kinda like the creature in front of him, buzzing his way into the cell with nervous wingbeats. Quinn recognized him as the first voice he had heard in his mind, even though he hadn't seen him before. The thoughts just had to look like this.

He was half a head shorter than Quinn—not a kitten like Avery, but also not old enough to be his equal. Yet otherwise, he was the most alike of any creature he'd seen since his transformation. Because, of course, he was a Celebi.

A Celebi with wilted skin, like a flower that hadn't been properly cared for, turning too dark around the edges. The dark circles around his eyes seemed deeper somehow, like the bruising on a piece of fruit.

He even smelled a little off, in a way that Quinn would not have been able to quantify a few minutes before.

He stopped in the doorway and landed there, catching his breath. Faint cracks ran along his wings, clearly damaged and painful. "Welcome to the hospital, brother! Sister… whatever."

Quinn landed in front of him, more out of solidarity than any actual need. He could keep hovering there for hours if he wanted, barring however groggy the medication might leave him. But this poor creature obviously couldn't.

"If I saw a trainer's Pokémon looking like you, I'd call Officer Jenny about a Pokémon abuse case," he said, before even realizing what he was saying. So maybe his missing friend wasn't the only thing he cared about after all. "What did they do to you?"

The real Celebi took a single faltering step towards him, far enough that the automatic door closed behind him. His eyes got wide—then he sniffed, and started to sob. He slumped to the ground, staring down at the floor.

He didn't try to say anything else, crying silently in place.

Just this once, Quinn could forget how awkward physical contact always made him feel. Watching a Pokémon in distress always hurt, but when they were one of his own kind…

He dropped down next to the Celebi, and wrapped his own little arms around the stranger. "What's your name, kid?"

"Cedrin."

It wasn't quite any name that Quinn had ever heard before, but their telepathy parsed it into sounds he could understand. That was good—he couldn't mispronounce it if it came directly mind to mind.

"My name's Quinn," he said. "You can call me brother or sister if you want. But the most important thing you can call me is: the one who's going to get you out."

The Celebi clung tighter, crying into his shoulder. Quinn held still until he was finished, and a little longer for good measure.

Only when the Pokémon had gone silent did Quinn finally release him. Though even thinking of this creature as a “Pokémon” was probably wrong. This was a real Celebi, not some lab-accident freak like himself. The master of time, voice of the forest—and crying, desperate child.

Whatever he was, it wasn't a pokemon. 

"You should meet the others! There's a whole bunch of patients in this wing!" Cedrin took off again, and his wings started buzzing afresh. The gesture seemed much easier for him now, despite how little time had passed. He wasn't even winded anymore. 

"Sure, Cedrin. Do you think one of them could tell me where my friend is?"

Maybe it was politeness, or maybe thinking about the others he had heard somehow translated into making his thoughts easier to overhear. 

The older, feminine voice answered before anyone else, a little more confident. "If you came here with a citizen who wasn't deviating, consider her lucky. She's back in Starfall, not left to rot with us. She's safe. Worry about yourself instead."