Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Finley, have you cleaned the entrance hall?

I’ll do it right away, sir!

Finley, someone left a mess in the storage room last night. Would you mind sorting it for me?

On it, sir!

Finley? There’s a folder I’d like you to fetch. It should be in the archive.

Of course, ma’am.

Finley? There’s something I need you to take care of. 

I’m here!

Finley.

Yes, sir?

Meet me in the office.

Finley stands in front of the Noctowl’s office with her hands clasped behind her back, finding it hard to stay put. 

She can feel the heat of high noon much harsher on the second floor, underneath the roof light, clipping her polished ridges with an almost blinding gleam. The proud Machop stands with admirable height, bouncing on her toes. She’s still a bit nervous to fully embrace the opportunity, but she’s confident in the outcome. 

The door creaks, then with a calm swing she is invited into the cozy nook of the so-called ‘Houndoom of the Halls’. Yes, that is the chill-inducing moniker of the Noctowl now standing before her, in a patient and civil manner one could seldom perceive of him. Finley feels almost honored—perhaps more so than if she had been summoned by the secretary or even the Guildmaster herself.

“Sit here.” The Noctowl hums.

“Yes, sir.”

The Noctowl returns to his desk. Meanwhile, Finley takes the time to take in his eccentric decorations and collectables, distracting herself from the imminent conversation, fingers tapping on her knees as she finally confronts the fact that…

Yes, this is it. Yes, after all the hard work she’s poured into the Lakkee Guild—the years spent in this dull and humble position—she will finally take a step forward. The long-awaited promotion. To whichever higher position… it doesn’t matter, because Finley knows for each step she takes from this moment on, she will move closer and closer, and climb even higher, to finally reaching her dream as an—

“You’ve received an infraction,” the Noctowl said.

What?

“… Pardon, sir?”

 “I’ve got a report from one of our members. You were seen trespassing in one of the private offices in the west wing, correct?”

What? 

“Ah…” Finley jogged her memory. “When was this, if I may ask…?”

“Two days ago. I was informed that evening.”

Oh. Somebody else might have been around during break. But the archivist was also there, wasn’t she?

“I was instructed by Leila to clean her office, sir.”

“Then why was I not informed?”

“Why—well, I had assumed that Leila would’ve given me permission?”

“I had not been told of that.”

There must have been a misunderstanding.

“I can assure you that I had her—well—verbal permission to enter her office, sir. Um, if you could ask…”

“Then why would the hire have informed me otherwise?”

“I… would like to believe he was not there at the exact time Leila gave me the order?”

The Noctowl has such a bothered glare. The conversation falls silent. So silent, in fact, Finley could feel her heart beating out of her chest…

“I shall grant you the benefit of the doubt.”

… Because she was this close to losing her only hope at a proper standing in the guild.

“And… I will convene with the Guildmaster and the archivist, perhaps soon, about the validity of your infraction,” The Noctowl says in a tired voice. “This ends our meeting. You may leave now.”

Finley had never wanted to leave a room so badly in her life.

The sky falls pink in the retreat of sails from the glistening horizon. The sun hovers just above the water, wavering in the mist, looking a little drowsy.

Finley sits on the cobblestone stairway leading up to the entrance of the guild, taking in the evening breeze. Traffic in the town square has begun to dwindle. The chatters, the murmurs across the other district; the rolling of wooden carts to and from the harbor no louder than the rustling of leaves, nor the occasional bursts of laughter coming from the pier. It’s just another typical end of the day in the humble Lakkee Town; another reminder to Finley that regardless of what happened this noon she must keep her head up high. That life really does go on, eventually.

Defeated, and far too late to grab a snack from one of the street vendors, Finley leaves the guild and heads home. 

From the town square, she takes a right turn and enters the First District. The scenery here is much more quiet, but features some of the most lavish architecture in the whole of Lakkee. From here, she keeps walking forward, leaving behind the sunset and towards the sprawling, less romantic districts of Anchor Lake, the older sister harbor of Lakkee that nearly everyone from Mainland has forgotten about. Her home lands neatly in between the borders of these two major parts of town; a humble cottage held up by simple materials, a bit faded in color and outdated compared to the newer houses around the square.

The streets are a bit unkempt—the words spewed around this place perhaps even more so—but she’s comfortable. 

Finley sighs. No, of course she’s comfortable. A place to hunker down is better than nothing, but too many ‘mons in her place would rather push for a better location, nearer to the harbor. That’s not her problem, and she reminds herself constantly of that fact. Those Pokémon, who are cut from the same cloth, and yet…

… No. She knows what’s really bothering her. 

She almost lost her job!

Yes, it was a false alarm, but all that momentum… all the work she’s put in… They say you can do everything right but they won’t bat an eye, but do one thing wrong and it’s all they’ll know of you.

None of them will know there was a misunderstanding. All they’ll know is that poor Finley got called to the office and walked out with a face pale. And it’s all because of that damned archivist!

How terrible. How miserable! Her hands impulsively caught her head and carried her around in a pathetic jog of embarrassment and frustration, right in front of her own doorstep. She knelt and groaned very silently. The neighbors are probably very entertained right now. Probably the most fun they’ve had in years living so close to the Anchor, watching a poor girl lose another chance at promotion… 

Another chance…

… At becoming an explorer!

She swings open her mailbox defiantly, but it’s still empty. 

Something needs to be done. Finley needs another head start, otherwise it’d be another two grueling years of menial housework. Despite being one of the many scouts of the Lakkee Guild, she hardly ever sees anyone other than herself around the building. They’re out there doing better things, actually contributing to the town, helping Pokémon with their requests, meanwhile she’s hard stuck with her plate full of meaningless chores.

She’s garnered attention from the guild alright. Just not the special type. She needs to become active if she wants any chance of being recognized by the others, not just the guild. 

But where do budding explorers even start? Well, the request board, of course. 

Finley throws her pouch into her house and hops back outside. Destination: the Lakkee Guild. Any request won’t do—she needs one that sounds impressive. A novice’s first big case, a true head-turner. She enters the guild hall, sneaks over to the board and, with Arceus-given luck, notices that not all requests had been taken. 

She scans the remaining ones and immediately knows the request to snatch home. A wide grin appears on her face; one she could barely hide.

At the crack of dawn, Finley got out of bed and returned to the First District. She took a right turn, heading further inland, up towards the hills, into a winding, beaten trail she hardly ever took, but knew too well from the mouths of those who frequently did. It deviated far from the main road and cut through the deeper sections of the woods—cutting away most of her vision in the dim morning—but in the end she would’ve arrived at her destination half an hour ahead, just before working hours. 

A fair distance into her journey, the trees began to thin out, and light managed to creep through the canopy again. While walking, Finley brings out the request paper from the day before and began reading, this time in earnest—in part because she had not actually read it in full when she first picked it up:

“INVESTIGATION ORDER: ALLEGED PROFESSIONAL MISCONDUCT

This is a revised edition issued by the guild, replacing the original letter.

On the 29th of June, 301th Revolution, Year of the Entei, the guild received certain allegations from town resident Chingaling “Bubba”, who claimed to have witnessed professional misconduct from an unnamed dream walker of Meadow Village.

To preserve the peace and justice of Lakkee Town, the guild would like to formally assign any Scout, preferably within the area, to a thorough and detailed investigation of the suspect’s premises, business practices, and behavior. The suspect is determined to be a Gengar, who has been informed ahead of time to cooperate and follow any and all instructions given by the Investigator. Likewise, the Investigator is encouraged to carry out all necessary measures to uncover the whole truth with proper backing evidence.

This Scout is expected to file a report back to the guild by this weekend. If need be, they may request for an extension of the case; however, missing the deadline will result in a written infraction on their profile.

For any questions regarding the case, please contact the guild’s supervisor Noctowl “Khamul”.

Signed,

Guildmaster Serperior “Daphne”.”

Finley folds the letter neatly then puts it back into her pouch. There are two things of note here.

First, she’s never carried out an investigation before. Of course, she knows vaguely where to start, what to do, and everything else that’s covered in training, but this is her first time out in the field. More learning experience for her, she supposes…

Second, just what is a ‘dream walker’, exactly? The term rings a bell—she might’ve already heard of it, having overheard a few of the guild medic’s conversations—but other than that she’s clueless. What do they even do? Do they treat their patients by sucking up their nightmares through Dream Eater, or do they scour their memories like some kind of housing inspector? If it’s the former, what would it taste like? If it’s the latter, what would it look like? 

Anyhow, there’s a report waiting to be submitted, and it’s not going to write itself anytime soon. She quickly dispels any remaining questions on her mind and moves on.

By the time Finley leaves the woods, she’s high enough to see the sun peeking out from the woods and grazing on the dense foliage. The earth begins to brighten with sunlit grass. The trail inches above the ground with each step she took, slowly revealing the crumbly old gate to Meadow Village, and the lake which it had embraced even before the acquisition of the Mennetts. Through the various hues of maroon roof tiles and navy terracotta, each humble cottage managed to stand out from afar, but uniform enough that they still manage to preserve the village’s charm.

Watching from afar… it’s hard to believe that the ancestors of Mainland had never managed to establish a positive relationship between the two. Thankfully, history remains history. None of the geezers who were up early for their morning routines cared enough about her appearance. In fact, none of them would rather talk to her at all. Only once asked, a bleary Sudowoodo bothered to give directions around the village, because the guild didn’t bother enough to provide the Gengar’s address. It might sound unreasonable, but the guild’s original mission was to finish what Mainland had started, and to do what it failed—such is carved into its foundation.

The guild had been cutting back a lot since then, unfortunately. An unnamed Pokémon in this day and age is just silly.

Past the communal house, a Nidoking’s garden and the sprawling alleys, Finley finds herself walking along the dike with the calm water surface to her right. Just a few more steps, past another garden and a pile of trash on the side of the road, Finley will have arrived at this Pokémon’s clinic.

Or, at least, what appears to be. A crumbling shack being regarded on the same level as a medical institution is a bit generous for her taste. The letters on the signboard and chips on the brick walls have been plucked out by the elements—withered away, almost as if a fire had come and gone, but not before wild grass had managed to regrow and moss eaten away at the paint. 

Oh, and the clinic isn’t open. 

… Which is a bit unusual for this time of day. Finley made sure to arrive just before the sky turned blue. Right on working hours.

If there was anything she could mistake, it wouldn’t be this. She’s been punctual for as long as she could remember.

Anyhow, if the place hasn’t opened, what else is she supposed to do? Investigate by peering in? With educated guesses?

The letter did state that the Gengar knew what they would be up for, but they’re not here yet; she could tell nobody’s inside because she stood there for another few minutes and not a noise could be heard from within.

Has she gotten the wrong address? No, the sign’s right here. She just saw it.

What else is she supposed to do?

Break the door open? No, that’s crazy fictional stuff. The letter’s made clear she had a lot of options but… this was not one of them.

She tried anyway.

… to the bewilderment of a Gengar, watching from a distance.

Finley flushes red—

“You are…” the Gengar muttered.

“Finley! Machop Finley, Scout of Lakkee Guild!” She frantically searched through her pouch for identification even with the guild’s scarf tied around her upper arm. “I am Finley—the badge—I’ve been sent by the guild to investigate the premises on account of your alleged misconduct towards—ah, no.” The letter is hurriedly read just as it is pulled from the rummage. “… As witnessed by a… Hold on.”

“Was it a Chingaling?” The Gengar walked towards the clinic.

“Yes,” Finley replied. “You… You knew?”

“I figured. He was one of my patients yesterday,” Gengar said as he unlocked the iron folding doors. He then phased his hands through to unlock the other wooden doors from within. 

The clinic opens to a dingy, unlit living room, which has been rearranged into a makeshift reception area. The furniture has been torn and aged, but has since been patched up with various pieces of mismatched textured cloth. Along either side lay a pair of benches padded with hard cushions; its garish patterns sullied by seemingly years of accumulative dirt, matching the similarly muddied table cover on the wooden reception desk. Against the back wall stood a few glass cabinets which contained straw woven boxes, a few books she couldn’t recognize behind the dusty glass, and a collection of small, random items kept either for sentimentality or in some kind of eccentric taste. 

In a way, it reminds her of home, but the undeniable reality is that things do look grim. Especially for a clinic.

The Gengar steps inside first. “Come in,” he says. “I did receive the letter from the guild. I’ve tidied things up.”

“And… does that include hiding anything suspicious?”

“No, I wouldn’t dare. I don’t store any contraband.” The Gengar sat down patiently on the opposite side of where she was standing. “Truth is, I’ve only made a simple mistake whilst providing treatment. Almost punched him, that’s all.”

“What?” Finley frowns.

“Like I said, it’s just a mistake. I hit the wall.”

Last she heard, no kind of medical treatment could’ve ever allowed a practitioner to spontaneously lash out at their patient. Unless the practitioner was provoked or utterly out of their mind, of course.

“You’re… a dream walker, right?” Finley asks.

“That I am.”

“What’s your name?”

“Just call me Gengar.”

“You…” Finley recalls from the letter. “You don’t have one? Or…”

“Don’t need one.” He snickers. “Have you seen another Gengar around?”

Finley hasn’t.

“Just what kind of treatment are you giving to your patients?”

“I do dream walking.” He says with a hint of pride. “I resolve any troubles a patient might have regarding memory issues, headaches, insomnia…”

“No, Gengar. You don’t punch your own patient—”

“Well, mistakes happen, don’t they?” Gengar smiles, uncannily calm. “But I do understand that I’m in trouble. If you want a look around I can show you where things are.”

Finley looks around. The room suddenly feels a bit bigger than she had imagined. 

It’s difficult enough to improvise, let alone know what kind of evidence to look for. Of course, she could turn a blind eye and the Gengar would still be fined by the guild, but the investigation is her responsibility. She took the case; if something happens, they’d look for her first.

“The treatment room is right behind the desk,” Gengar says, leading her past the beaded curtain into a worn down bedroom with only the straw bed remaining in the corner. Sunlight pierces through a barred window on the opposite wall, exposing the neglected wooden floorboards, and a small closet hiding in the corner. 

“Everything I use for my treatments, I keep them in there.” Gengar gestures towards the closet.

“Do you have anything in the reception desk? What about the shelves?” Finley asks.

“Only a few trinkets. You’re free to look if you’re interested, but I figured you might want to start here.” 

Even his eager cooperation is unnerving. It kind of puts Finley on edge. She wonders if Gengar might have already sprung up a blast seed trap, waiting to set off the instant she takes a peek inside. 

It’s an unnecessarily cruel hypothetical, sure, but for such a clear cut case it makes no sense the accused would be this calm and patient. Have dream walkers always been this way? Is the guild medic like this, too? Or is she just overthinking? She isn’t an expert on criminal psychology. Maybe the villagers in Meadow are just polite Pokémon. Maybe she’s just stalling.

With the report deadline urgently two days away, she takes a deep breath and slowly pulls the closet doors open. Surprisingly, what she found wasn’t a trap. In fact, there is an ordered collection of various sacks and small metal boxes, each with a label and near-illegible handwriting, organized into different rows with their own color coded labels! 

On one hand, she’s relieved that no hidden contraption went off. On the other hand, she feels like this raises even more questions. The fact Gengar only decided to tidy up one place in the entire clinic only made him more perplexing as a character. It’s almost as if with each new piece of information, she understands him and the case a bit less. 

But, in the end, the report is all that matters. Finley pulled each of the containers out and inventoried the various amounts of luminous orbs, sleep seeds, hunger seeds, heal seeds and other miscellaneous items found within them. Nothing out of the ordinary—in fact, all of these must have all come from the workshop, since none of the orbs showed signs of natural crumbling. They all must have been stabilized quite recently. 

That leaves the reception. She needs to inspect the shelves, the reception desk… maybe look beneath the benches, just in case the Gengar was truly hiding something from her. If she could also learn a bit about how a ‘dream walker’ can mistakenly physically assault other Pokémon, it would clear a few things up.

“Do you still want to continue the search?” Gengar asks Finley as she walks out.

“It’s… mandatory. Everything is,” she replies, shrugging.

“Oh.” Gengar glances outside before he returns his focus to her. “Well, feel free.”

The search continues, this time into the desk. Finley started with the individual cabinets, which took a few rough shakes before they loosened enough to be pulled out. True to Gengar’s words, there’s not much. She brought each item out and onto the desk because the reception corner was too dark to make sense of anything. 

“Don’t you have an orb lantern lying around?” 

“Have you opened the closet inside? I have a few spare.”

“They’re… just orbs.” Unless, Gengar means he uses the entire orbs to light up the place every night, which was promptly confirmed by the ‘mon himself, followed by a chuckle.

The same process applied for the other glass cabinets, digging through each straw box to find more junk that only Gengar knew the purpose of. The difference, so far, is that they seem to have originated from Mainland, as distinguished by their unique engravings.

“What’d you need a mobile scarf this durable for?” Finley holds it in front of Gengar. “You’re a Ghost.”

He snaps his head back from being distracted. “It’s a gift from an old friend. Pay no mind.”

“… Weird taste.” Finley goes back to searching, but before long, she’s gone through everything again.

Or, at least, she thinks she has. Finley didn’t think she’d bother with any of the books, but there was one presumably misplaced in the same corner cabinet as with the foreign items, standing in a corner of its own. She dusted off the cover and opened a few pages, but neither did she recognize the author nor understood what the book was even about. It read like mad rambling.

Just as she finishes putting everything back together, a Pokémon walks in.

“Morning, Gengar.” The Parasect stands at the front door, peering in. They must be a local around here, since she doesn’t recognize who he was. “You hired a receptionist…?”

“I—no—I’m Finley, scout of the Lakkee Guild,” she cuts in, holding up her badge.

“Gengar, what have you been up to…?” 

“I slipped up during treatment in Lakkee,” Gengar answers. “She’s confirming a few allegations held against me.”

“You got picked on by those snobbish runts in the First District again?”

The conversation falls silent. 

“What’s your name, scout?” The Parasect continues.

“Finley… sir.” She smiles awkwardly.

“Finley, nice to meet you.”

“Monte, if you don’t mind waiting…” Gengar gestures towards the treatment room. “I’ll be with you soon.”

“Alright.” Monte crawls past her into the room, shuffling the beaded curtain. The tapping and rocking of beads stood out in the absence of noise.

“Finley, nice to have met you as well. Unfortunately, I have an appointment to tend to.” Gengar gets up from his seat. “Would you mind returning this afternoon or some time soon?”

“Well, I, uh… not yet. I still have a procedure to follow, so I’d need to observe.” Finley says with a stern voice. 

“Is it also mandatory?”

She’s almost encroaching on the fine line of privacy here, but she doesn’t really have a choice. “Yes, it is.”

Gengar stops and considers it for a moment. It’s hard to read the Ghost-type with his monotonous expressions, but as time went on it seemed like she’d receive a favorable response. “I suppose I could… give you a direct tour of the process instead. Would you be interested?” 

She says yes. Though, she might be biting off more than she can chew.

“Then please wait just a moment.” Gengar instructs her to stay on the bench, and walks into the room by himself. A few minutes later, he walks out and invites her in. The Parasect is laying in the corner on the straw bed, apparently fast asleep.

Finley stands on the side, watching Gengar walk towards his patient. “What are you going to do next?” She asked.

“Usually… I’d have begun my treatment now.” Gengar sits in front of Monte with his eyes closed and a hand reaching forward. “If you simply stood by, however, you wouldn’t be able to observe anything. I thought it’d be best if you had joined me instead.”

…

Join?

Suddenly, his eyes snaps open. Gengar then instructs her to sit down beside him and Monte. “When you’re ready,” he said, “close your eyes, and I’ll be there to guide you.”

“Guide me… where, exactly?” Finley shuffles nervously in her place.

“Inside the Monte’s Dreamscape.”

“H-huh? What? Dreamscape? You’re going into his head?” 

“Yes.”

And also… Her? She could do this dream walk as well?

“I’ve made sure you could enter alongside me. Stay calm and follow my instructions once we head in—there’s no telling if anything goes awry.”

“No… no telling? Haven’t you done this before?” She nervously giggles.

“Not with another ‘mon… but I’ll try my best.”

With that, Gengar closes his eyes and stops responding completely. No matter how much she disturbed or shook him, he wouldn’t wake up. 

What now? Enter alongside him, just by closing her eyes and pretending to sleep? Is it really that simple, especially when this is his first time trying something like this? Is she supposed to believe things will just work out that easily?

… Well, no other way to find out other than to try it herself. She’s gone this far already, and the report is still waiting.

Finley closes her eyes, attempting to drift off. Or maybe not; maybe she just needs to close her eyes. Or, maybe, just stay perfectly still, and let whatever happens, happen…

The world seems to bend around her.

𓆝𓆜𓆞

Finley lifted her head.

In front of the communal house of Meadow Village, two Pokémon were talking to each other.

“Do you know of a clinic in this village?” A young Machop asked.

“⾗⥴▜⶞⪑☙⻃ⶔ№⭟Ⲟ⍆✮⥬?” A Sudowoodo replied.

“You’ve heard of him?”

“⸚♪✟❘⭀Ⓟ⫹⚅ⲯ⌡⮜⬱∨ℋ⁇⎌⨡➺⑏⩁∵➧₰⾒⦆☛⨵⧊⵳ⷹ?”

“I came to investigate on the guild’s orders.”

“⼴ⴶ₷ⱎ⢱ⶆ⑷✧➊⩜⡫ⵀ⩸≎⟰⛩⸻⨽⠾ⷉⓍ◪↼∠⬚➲␊❭⪠⁁⾆⵮⟳⯭⫹⢬≘ⱗ⯖⇅⫠⥾⍴∡⁺ⴣ⎱⤠⽾⚵№ⶀ⻞⋗‎╒⪕⻄⍐Ⰱ⎳⢕⭠Ⓧⵝ⩽.”

The Sudowoodo turned towards the lake. Then, its back split in two, and out came the tail of a Girafarig that chomped down and tore away the other Machop’s upper half.

… 

“That—that was…”

Its branches withered and two sets of Sneasel claws grew in their place. The creature shed its illusion, revealing its twisted, hideous form. Drooling a black sizzling liquid, it began searching for its next meal. 

“Hey…” Finley backed away slowly. “Stay away, whatever Pokémon you are…”

Seemed like she’d been noticed.

“Wait—”

The claws became longer, and longer, reaching forward before stabbing into the ground. Finley instinctively fell over the moment she saw its entire body lunged towards her with its mouth open wide. 

She knew then that this was not a Pokémon, nor something she could reason with.

“Arceus,” Finley whispered. “Oh Arceus.” She scrambled to her feet, breathing heavy. The ground felt malleable and soft. The air felt a bit too thick.

The skies danced intense hues of green, purple and gold, swirling in weaves, closing in on the center—the sun, blazing the earth in stark brightness. Everywhere she looked, Finley was trapped, stuck in a wide maze of perpendicular hallways constructed by the cornsilk walls of the village’s communal house, stretching all the way to the horizon.

Finley jumped at a dissonant growl emanating from behind. She turned around and saw the creature’s claws shoving away the rubble from the impact, baring its teeth—ready to strike again. Finley couldn’t move. She knew she couldn’t possibly sprint fast enough to lose it in the twisting halls of the maze, nor could she defend herself with anything, but she needed to run. Yet, she couldn’t.

No matter how hard she told her body to move, how hard she wrestled against her own paralysis, all she could do was stare as the creature prepared to attack once more.

Watched as its claws, outstretched, embedded themselves into the ground again.

The creature sprung back. Finley prepared for the worst.

Who knows what could be running through her mind right now?

… Well, enough time had passed since to make her realize that she was still, in fact, thinking. Still alive. She opened her eyes, slowly, and witnessed a sight somehow even more upsetting. 

Chains sprung from the ground had woven itself in and out of the creature’s elongated appendages, and hung it in mid air like a string puppet. It’s foul essence spat from the punctures, dirtying the ground.

“Finley!” It was the voice of the Gengar, descending from above. “Sorry. I didn’t know our locations would be this scattered.”

“What… What is t-this? What is that? Where are we?!” Finley cried out.

“It’s a dream I’ve incited in Monte’s head.” He then paused. “Right now, focus on the husks. This—is one of them. We need to exterminate them.” 

“Isn’t—” Finley took another clean look at the hanging carcass. “—Isn’t it already dead…?”

“Yes, but there’s one more.”

Just then, a painfully high-pitched screech echoed from a distance away. Gengar returned his focus immediately.

“Just to make sure, you’re still OK?” 

Finley nodded.

“Follow me.” With a leap, Gengar shot himself over and across the walls of the maze.

“W-wait!” Finley shouted. “How do I even—”

It didn’t take long for Gengar to return and grab her along for the ride. Before she knew it, they were both flying in the air.

“We’re too high up!” The repeating landscape flew by from above. “How would you even land?!”

“You’re fine. Focus on the husk.”

Finley begrudgingly heeded his words and began scanning the ground, searching for any fast movement. It didn’t take long before she spotted a bulbous figure—no, toughened, very sturdy. It’s a Nidoking, on its fours, having each of its limbs replaced by a set of legs resembling that of a Stantler. 

“Since this is the Dreamscape,” Gengar continued, “the only thing that could harm you is a direct source of damage.”

“Damage…?”

“Think Pokémon moves. Anything that isn’t environmental, like debris.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You’re built for it. Or, to be more specific, your consciousness is made for the Dreamscape environment.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain later. Not now.”

All that talking seemed to have split their attention. Both of them have lost sight of the husk. 

“Damn it,” Gengar muttered under his breath.

“We’re still chasing after it?” Finley asked.

“Of course. And we need to be fast.”

They landed onto one of the houses’ roofs. Gengar paced around in thought.

“Are you trying to locate it?” Finley asked again.

“I’m trying to piece it together. Husks have a particular characteristic.”

“What is it?”

“Since they leech off the appearance of Pokémon in a memory, a husk’s disguise can tell us the specific memory they originated from.”

“So, that was…”

“A Nidoking, partially. I’ve met him once, but I don’t know where he lived.”

“Well… Why would that matter?” It’s starting to get confusing for her. “It must still be inside this ‘dream’, right?”

“No. The fact it has disappeared means we’re going to have to go somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else?”

“Beyond this dream. Monte’s memories.”

Ah, that made no sense at all.

“Can’t you just check each and every one of his memories until you find the husk?” Finley inquired.

“There’s… a limit. You can’t overdo it.”

“Overdo what?”

Gengar paused. He then turned towards Finley. “You know the Nidoking?” He asked.

“I… walked by his house this morning.”

“Do you still remember where it is?” 

“Give me a moment…”

“Do you know what it looked like?”

“Yes. It was in a narrow alleyway. I recall seeing a green sign…”

“Remember that detail. Keep it in your head.” Gengar walked around behind her.

“Alright…?”

“Now…” He held her hand and raised it forward. “Picture alongside it, a doorknob.”

“A… what?”

“Picture it.”

“Done…?”

“Pull it.”

She pulled as if she were holding tightly onto a door handle. The moment she did, she was no longer just imagining. 

First, came the outline: the doorframe. Then, the shape. Slowly, as she firmly pushed the handle down, a vaguely rectangular block manifested out of thin air, and eventually transformed into a white four-panel door. 

“What the…?”

The ground began to shake. The swirls of colors in the sky started moving slower, dimming ever so slightly.

“We don’t have much time.” Gengar nearly shoved her aside as he approached the door. “We need to move. Now.”

Finley swung the door open. Both of them stepped through the frame.

Inside, she suddenly felt a breeze travel through from her right. Finley felt it familiar, as if coming from Meadow Lake itself.

Gradually, she started to feel more, as if each of her senses had been revitalized and only now had begun to pick up on the surroundings. Though, not in the way she anticipated.

It wasn’t just the breeze. No, it was also the swaying of wild grass and flowers. It was also the flying of decorative banners from one of the houses nearby, the pebbles scraping against the clumpier clumps of dirt, the creaking of the floor in response to another Pokémon’s individual movements.

It was as if she were stuck in the center of a discordant orchestra. Finley could hear everything.

“Hold on. Finley?” Gengar’s voice stuck out from the rest.

“Gengar?” 

“I should’ve entered first.” 

Another voice cut in. “Morning. Not always the early Pidgey, are you?”

Suddenly, her head felt heavier. Words bounced around in the back of her mind. It felt like she was being shouted at during a rehearsal.

“Finley,” Gengar said with an unexpected urgency in tone, “Listen. Say what it whispers to you.”

The other voice sounded like that of the grumpy Nidoking from this morning. But he was nowhere to be found nearby. “Truth is, not often. It’s just today’s schedule—thought I’d be up early. How about you?”

“Finley,” Gengar said. “Answer him. Please.”

“W-What? Me? How do I?” Another jolt in her head. Different words were being thrown around. 

“Just say it!” Gengar cried. “Listen carefully. Everything you need to say is—”

The screech appeared again. A black figure darted by.

Gengar chuffed. “Finley, I’ll have to…” 

But then two more figures flew by, longer and less elaborate in shape, chasing after the husk. Gengar froze in his place.

“Gengar’s clinic?” The Nidoking’s voice echoed again. “You mean that newcomer?”

The breeze grew into a harsh wind. The sun dimmed. The sky fell dark.

“Finley!” Gengar ran back, grabbing her arm.

“What’s going on…?” 

“I’m not sure, Monte.”

“We need to get out of here, stat.”

“He’s… not well preferred, to say the least.”

𓆝𓆜𓆞

“Well… I assume it was a genuine mistake… But you better not pull any dirty tricks on this old ‘mon.”

“I keep my word, Monte.” Gengar reassures him as he leads him out the front door. “Have you felt any better?”

“My head’s all cleared up. I can think proper now… Hard to think you could treat these headaches without using any medicinal herbs!”

“Well, not all types of headaches, sir. That’s why we went through consultation first.”

“Ah… consultation?”

Finley walks out alongside Gengar. It’s probably noon already. The room seems to liven up a bit.

“Yes, I remember it now.” Monte chuckles. “In any case, thanks for the help, Gengar.”

“Have a safe walk home, Monte.”

With that, the Parasect scurried away down the dike and disappeared from view.

“Seinstrong’s Bell,” Gengar says.

“What?”

“When the Dreamscape feels threatened, it protects itself with its immune system. If the threat becomes too disruptive, the immune system will utilize all resources at its disposal to repair the Dreamscape or eliminate the threat, causing a loud boom.” Gengar pauses, staring into the distance. “That phenomenon is called the Seinstrong’s Bell.”

“… Is it bad?” 

“Ranges from temporary memory loss to permanent damage to the Dreamscape. Though… it’s negligible if it’s only happened once to a patient.”

Finley lets out a deep sigh. What a mess. 

“Monte’s fine, right…? What about that memory with mister Nidoking?” Finley asks.

“Gone, in essence. His Dreamscape might make something up that’s similar to its previous structure. That’s why I said temporary memory loss. Monte’s probably fine.”

Finley hums in response.

“… Apologies. I should’ve been more serious about the situation.” Gengar huffed. “I’m probably in deeper trouble now, am I? I couldn’t lead the examination, after all.”

“Ah.” Finley can’t deny that she’s also complicit. “Um. I’m not sure. Technically, the treatment was successful, so…”

“It could’ve went a lot better if I had—”

“Monte’s fine, right? You said it yourself. The damage to his… Dreamscape is… negligible.”

“You could assume, but that’s not what I said.”

“Well, I…”

Gengar looked at her pacing around like a fool. In any case, she’s not just complicit. This is a case way out of her expertise, and she should’ve known that from the beginning. Confirming Gengar’s allegations of misconduct essentially makes her a hypocrite, since she was never supposed to be here. 

“It’s not misconduct,” Finley blurts out.

“What?”

“It’s… You were highly knowledgeable and capable, y’know? If you hadn’t saved me back then, I would’ve… Uh… How does dying…?”

“If you lose your consciousness, you, uh, enter a coma in the physical world.”

“Right.” Finley clears her throat. “I would’ve been in a coma, but I wasn’t, and it’s all thanks to you!”

Finley gives Gengar a thumbs up.

“Anyway. My point is, I can work something out. Look past what you did. You’re a highly capable dream walker, and a minor mistake from yesterday shouldn’t be a detriment to your… growing business, in my opinion. I’ll talk to the guild—”

“You won’t report on what I did?”

“Hey. You said you didn’t punch him directly on the face, right? You didn’t even hit him—you hit the wall. It’s just a mishap.”

“It’s just a mishap…” Gengar became expressionless for a moment, seemingly deep in thought, before snapping back to reality. “Well, thank you.”

“No, thank you.” Finley smiles back. “For, uh…”

Gengar anticipated her answer.

“I’ll be leaving now.” She then proceeded to leave.

“Take care.” Gengar waves at her.

“You too!” She shouts back before he disappears from her view.

Finley quickly erases the conversation that has just transpired from her mind.

Now, the only thing left to worry about is the report. Thankfully, it’s easy to outright ignore the allegations since she hasn’t found anything incriminating from the clinic, and the dream walk was… Well, it was her fault it turned out that way. Given how easily Gengar handled the first husk, it’s safe to say he could’ve effortlessly taken care of the other. 

What a mess, truly. But even then, there’s something about the Dreamscape that’s… She’s never seen anything like it before. It’s oddly alluring in a sense, even after taking into account how close she came to losing her life. Maybe this is how the explorers felt. Maybe that’s what motivates them to consistently put their lives at risk: the rush of adrenaline in the midst of the unknown…

Gengar might be a better Pokémon than she initially thought. 

With the investigation complete, Finley left the Meadow Village and returned to Lakkee Town. Though she currently has no intention to, she hopes the next time she visits the clinic, it wouldn’t be stirred up by any sort of misfortune…

Chapter Text

“Sir. I can understand your frustration, but I can assure that—”

“I don’t need any assurance. Mind you, that was not a request, but you bastards have been slinging it around and pretend you’re doing actual work!”

The Haxorus forced a smile. “As I’ve said, I can understand, but you must know that regardless of whichever crime you accuse someone of, we cannot properly convict them without any sort of evidence. That’s why—”

“Evidence?!” The Chingling shouted, his high-pitched voice failing to carry true temper. “I can lead you to my property, right now, and show all of you brainless meatbags where that feral Gengar left a permanent mark… on my property!”

Finley entered the rowdy guild lobby—the typical afternoon. She could overhear a few whispers being thrown around about a particularly outspoken client, but she didn’t pay any mind.

“We’ve just received a notice that the request had been picked up by one of our members,” the Haxorus said. Rest assured you will be informed of the verdict in a few days at the latest, sir.”

“I don’t want a few days. Not tomorrow—not tonight.” The Chingling pressed on. “I want it by this evening. I want my justice served, because I cannot believe you’ve allowed a Pokémon like that—”

“Please, be patient,” The Haxorus pleaded. “In the meantime, we’ll figure something out.” He willfully ignored the screaming Chingling and left him to bother someone else. Rubbing his eyes, the Dragon-type casts his tired gaze over the surrounding crowd. A sigh escapes. He gets a hold of himself and attends to a scout in the adjacent stall.

“Finley. Have you been considering quitting work lately?” he scoffs. “No words from you this morning. The poor Noctowl’s been… very worried.”

“Oh… Uh.” Finley puts on a sheepish grin. “Sorry…?”

The Haxorus’ eyes narrow. “You got into trouble?” He asks.

“Er… Did he say anything to you, Axe?”

“He said if you wanted the infraction reinstated you could’ve told him this morning.”

Finley opens her mouth, but no words come out. She was absent for the morning roll-call…

Her focus drifts from the Haxorus’ intimidating gaze to the wooden surface of the counter. She may have been a little too invested in the report.

“Well, technically, Khamul can’t do anything.” She lifts her face, boasting an unconvincing smile. “Since I’ve got my own obligations now…!”

“What kind of obligations?”

“A scout’s obligations.”

He stares at her for a moment. “Right, is that why you’re here? Which request are you gonna turn in?”

“Not yet! I actually want a deadline extension.”

“You’re playing with fire.” He sighs again. “Khamul’s going to tear you apart. Which one is it?”

“This one…” She takes the parchment out of her pouch and shows it to him. “The one about the Gengar—”

“Oh for Arceus’ sake,” The Haxorus blurts out a little too loud, gaining a few curious gazes. He tries to play it off by diverting his attention elsewhere and not making eye contact with anybody. Not even Finley. 

“What’s the matter?” She asks.

“No can do. Sorry about that.” He clears his throat. “You’ve got a rather… picky client on your hands. Talk to Khamul directly if you want it arranged, I’m not—”

“Is that my request you’re holding in your hands?”

The two froze and turned towards the stubby Chingling on the floor.

“I—” Finley glances back at the counter— “Wait, Axe?”

“Hand me the report,” the Chingling demands with both of his arms reaching out.

“What? I—but I haven’t—”

“Just hand it over. The verdict is clear, isn’t it?”

Finley tucks the pouch closer to her. “I don’t… I haven’t finished the report yet…”

“Well, what’s taking you fools so long?!” He shouted into the air. “What about that damn Gengar—”

“I… did conduct an investigation this morning, sir.” 

“And the verdict?!”

“Negative…?”

“NEGATIVE?”

The Chingling, who she assumes to be the one and only Bubba from the letter, with each squeaky breath and tiny little stomp, began to snuffle away each individual conversation happening in the lobby until it was just her, the angry client, and his furious uproar filling the air. His verbal onslaught carried with it casualties—from her, to the guildmaster, to the receptionist who had failed him, and to Gengar, and back to her again. A rushing stream of emotions to anyone who was there to witness.

Finley feels her heart beating a little faster. She looks around, almost as if searching, hoping for some kind of empathy or divine intervention coming from the other guild members, but all she found were pairs of eyes focusing on the scene, brushing off the ridiculousness of the situation. Axe was still nowhere to be seen. There is no way this is a common occurrence. How in the world is a lone scout supposed to deal with these situations?

“Let me make it clear to you, Finley… No, let me ask you a question: You work in this guild, you contribute to it, and yet…”

That isn’t even a question.

“… And if you came back with what I presume to still be a blank piece of parchment, failing to find anything of interest, then I suppose even the scrawny folks running the harbour have a better work ethic than you do! You want a piece of my mind? I suggest you pack up your bags, leave that grimy scarf behind, and leave the—”

“May I ask if there is a problem?” A familiar voice called out from behind her. The east wing.

“I—” Bubba snapped to his left— “You. I was just mentioning. Here to offer more of your ridiculous services?”

“Oh, certainly not.” 

Finley follows the Chingling’s gaze towards the entrance hall. She didn’t expect that, of all Pokémon, it’d be the guild medic to step in.

“I am aware I had a terrible first impression.” The Espeon strides down the hall, her tail trailing behind. The uniquely ovallic gemstone still glistens in the fading sunlight. “But if whatever issue you may have involves the guild, I can make an exception. I am a contracted partner here, after all.”

“… Get to the point, Meze,” Bubba grumbles.

“I’ve overheard a few things. Sorry in advance.” Meze smiles. Her short, yet fine, neatly trimmed tufts move along a tilt of the head. “If you wish… I may fulfill this request for you and provide real results. Free of charge.”

“Free…? As you should!” 

“Well, with a side of my personal guarantee.” She winks.

“Ugh… Fine. Do as you wish.” Bubba retreats, storming out of the front door. Nearly everyone else looks away the moment he does. She can feel the tension dissipate from the room’s atmosphere. Just like that, Finley supposes.

“… Ah. I’ve seen you around before.” Meze snaps her back to reality, gesturing towards the pouch. “If I may?”

“Ah. Uh, this is…”

“I know. I won’t take your case in full. But if I could offer some help…?”

“You want to… help me?”

“With the investigation, yes.”

“I… Thing is, I don’t actually—”

“Hey, listen,” she talks softly. “You saw how things went. Do you want a repeat of that? Just let me… deal with it.”

Quite mysteriously, Meze’s already gotten hold of the request, levitating it in front of her using some kind of Psychic energy. Finley reflexively checks her pouch. Indeed, the parchment was missing. She assumes the sly Espeon must’ve snuck into it just now.

“I see…” Meze returns the request to her after a short while of reading. “This is a very interesting case. Finley, was it?”

“Yeah.” Finley nodded.

“Would you mind bringing Gengar in tomorrow?”

“What?”

“I’ll just have a little chat with him. We’ll sort things out in private. You want results, do you not?”

Every single muscle in her is telling her not to oblige. There is no way she is risking so much in that Espeon’s paws. If Gengar gets in trouble, she gets in trouble. It’s a sure fact, and one very likely to become reality if…

But, then again, if Meze insists… there really is no way out of this, is there?

“I assume they didn’t buy it?”

“Just your choice of patients.”

“I don’t pick and choose my cases.”

“Then Arceus sure must have dealt you a bad hand…”

The guild stands tall above Finley and Gengar, basking in the dawning light. 

The building—with most of its window curtains yet to open and its banners unfurled—seemed cozily tucked in, still deep in an idyllic slumber; its heavy colors in pine and clay fail to emerge and give it a proper image… 

But, in reality, operations should have already gotten into full swing an hour before they arrived. Finley enjoyed the almost completely blind hike to and from Meadow Village before the sun had fully risen… lest they were late from the long travel. Deep inside the guild’s quarters, behind the doors to its very own medical center, Finley knows that they’d better be punctual and maintain their best impressions, because it seems unlikely that the incident could still remain in any reasonable doubt with another professional on the case. 

If in trying to avoid suspicion she only led both of them into a dead end… it might’ve been better to deny Meze from ever getting her paws on the request. Or, perhaps it’s too early to judge just yet, knowing the terribly querulous Bubba who could’ve thrown those allegations on a whim. Either way, Finley could only hope the case won’t be resolved with her getting into scrutiny, or Gengar having his license terminated in Lakkee, or getting removed from the Mennetts, or both!

“So… Investigator Finley?” Gengar catches her deep in thought, snapping her out of the trance. 

“Mhm.” She then takes a deep breath, psyching herself up with a few short hops. “Gengar, shouldn’t you worry a bit…?”

“You seem awfully concerned.” 

“I could face serious repercussions from attempting a coverup, y’know… And you—” She mutters. 

“Hey. Don’t assume the worst on the get go.” Gengar adorns a wide grin as he turns his attention forward. “Everybody makes mistakes—she won’t view it as such. I’ll try to get around her to go easy on you.”

“What about you? Maybe if you actually tried to defend yourself…?” 

“Not saying I won’t, but… I’d rather not be dishonest.”

Finley sighs. So much is left to chance, now.

At the toll of the bell, signalling the guild’s opening to the public, both Gengar and Finley climb the old staircase and enter the grand wooden doors into the lobby. As troublingly expected, an audience of around a dozen has already arrived for their morning shifts, here to witness the peculiar escort. Many have already thrown a couple of glances at them, but Gengar seems unbothered. He remarks on the tasteful architecture while Finley informs the reception, noticeably more interested in the donated artefacts on display and the tiling of the floor, of all things. 

“Finley? You fool.”

Finley flinches at the unmistakable voice of the Noctowl. She slowly turns to meet his perching on the grand staircase railing. “K-Khamul… good morning, sir.” 

“You abandoned your duties and the first thing you did when I was absent was make a scene. Now you drag a Ghost into our guild.” He eyes the Gengar, who is still fixated on one of the glass cases. “Just what in the Void are both of you up to?”

“He’s the alleged… under investigation, I’m handling it so…”

“What need would you have to bring him here?”

“Meze. She wanted to—” 

“Meze?” Khamul glares at her. “Just what is she…” He sighs, looking away. “Don’t do anything stupid. The Guildmaster knew about yesterday, and she’s not happy. If I have to hear another word about your client, I don’t think you’ll get any leeway. Do yourself a favour and tell Meze to wrap it up as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir…” Finley was left to stare as Khamul climbed the railing up to his office. What was that tone just now?

“Finley.” Gengar must’ve been satisfied with his sightseeing. “Everything sorted out alright?”

“Oh, yeah, um… Yeah, I’m good. Let’s go.”

Following a straightforward walk down the east hallway, they both arrive at a veil of red curtains on the right side of the wall. At last, the guild clinic. Constructed from the merging of two adjacent rooms, and putting aside the outdated equipment, it’s certainly an upgrade compared to that of Gengar’s in terms of space and furnishings. Even so, it relies on the occasional voluntary checkup (from whom, she must wonder…) and the partnership program to keep it running—the latter of which is what brought Meze here in the first place. 

Meze, a rare talent from the Anchor. They hardly see each other, let alone interact, but the Espeon seems gentle in the few moments that they do. 

Lenient? Perhaps not. She mustn’t be quick to assume.

Tension builds in the still atmosphere—just a step away now. 

The curtains open to the sight of Meze cleaning her paws on a cushion. Eyelets shred against the metal rod as Finley’s vision is once again blocked by velvet.

She grasps tightly on the curtain.

“Let’s try again.”

The curtains open to Meze strolling past rows of secluded nest beds on both sides, thinly separated. Having noticed her guests, the Espeon retires from the window gazing and greets them with a warm smile. 

“Finley. And Gengar.” She gestures towards a sofa against the side wall. “Please, have a seat.”

They do as such. Meze walks to the other end of the room, where various forms of equipment are stored in an extended compartment. 

“Tea?” She asks.

The clanks of ceramic roused Finley back to reality from her mindless gazing.

“Yes, please,” Gengar responded.

“… Mhm.” Meze sits on a nearby stool, operating everything from a distance. “Gengar, what should I refer to you as?”

“Just Gengar is fine.”

“I see. Now…” Meze says as she heads over to accompany the awkward duo. “Finley…”

“Y-yes?” 

“I’d like you to leave this conversation to only the both of us.”

“I…” Finley stammers and glances at Gengar. He seems equally as surprised as she is. 

“Sorry.” Meze whispers. “Frankly, you’d be better off listening to Khamul or something. I don’t want to bore you with the technicals.”

“No, it’s… It’s fine.” Finley stands up. For some odd reason, a wave of relief passes through her chest. “So…”

“I’ll fill you in after we’re done. You’ll just have to wait a moment, ‘kay?” 

“Right, heh uh… I’ll be waiting right outside.” Finley instinctively pulls out a few finger Water Guns, shooting them at Meze and Gengar as she passes through the curtains and vows to never return.

Once again, the hallway receives her with silence. She knows full well her career has yet to escape jeopardy—in fact, her judgment has only just begun—but the weight which she had carried with each step leading to the clinic is no longer there. 

No longer involved… at least, not directly involved. In whatever case, she’s powerless to whatever will soon transpire inside that room. For now, at least, she gets a breather. A tired Machop considers it pointless to wander around the lobby aimlessly, and she has not a single task to tend to from the guild, so she decides it best to slouch down on the grand stairway and watch the other members do their thing.

The mind tends to run on its own in these empty moments. She starts to catch glimpses of herself in the corner of her eye, doing the tasks she always did. Noticing this, her eyes droop to the floor. Hard to believe a reckless first duty had ensnared her in so much trouble, much less within only two days since. 

She yawns—the only thing left she can do now, beside waiting. The noise in the lobby picks up as more and more Pokémon pour in and gather around the noticeboards. With sunlight starting to enter through the skylight from above, and the townsfolk finally awoke from their slumber, and yet another day has started in the humble port town of Lakkee.

“… Well, if you hit from the front like that, of course it’s gonna dodge.”

“Wouldn’t be a problem if you had—” 

Finley felt the harsh ridges of a claw graze her back. She shifts a fair bit to her left to make way. “Sorry.”

“No problem. But don’t you have other places to sit?” 

“Sorry, I’ll…” Finley looks up, and through the impenetrable ruffle of leaves, meets the cold, apathetic stare of a Decidueye. 

“Don’t talk to your co-workers like that, Lief…” A shadow engulfs her from behind. The sun blocked out in the unkempt fur of a Furret. “If it doesn’t bother you…”

“Wait.” No doubt. There’s only one Decidueye and Furret duo in the entire guild. The one famed for their exploits, renowned as the best… “You both couldn’t be…”

“Oh! You know who we are?” Baro the Furret excitedly asks.

“… You act like we’re still new around here.” Lief the Decidueye grumbles in response.

“Team Needle… You’re Team Needle!” Finley squeaks. She’s never seen them around that often, let alone met this up close. What a lucky encounter! 

“Well, glad to see someone who still remembers us!” Baro smiles.

“But you’re back so early?” Finley asks. “Aren’t the explorers still out there?”

“Yes, but we were hardly needed.” Lief picks his leafy head as he mumbled. “After all, they’re still picking the low hanging fruits.” 

“The thing is… there’s nothing new in the West. The dungeons there hardly change, and are consistently yielding.” Baro elaborates further. “I don’t blame them, of course, but the exciting stuff is actually towards the southernmost part of the island, where most of the mystery dungeons still remain unexplored. As the highest ranking team of the guild, it’s only expected of us that we lead the crawling scene, don’t you think?”

“We’ve returned early because we’re heading out soon,” Lief says. “This is simply a chance to recuperate before the excursion.” 

“Hey.” Baro bent over next to Finley. “But maybe you could even catch us up with the happenings while we were gone!”

“Ah… Well…” She nervously laughs. “I could try, maybe.” 

“That’s great!” 

“Not a lot has happened though—”

“Thought Khamul told us everything we need to know.” Lief picks their massive backpack up, seemingly prepared to leave the conversation. “Unless you’re talking about the gossip around here, which I’m not interested in.”

“Well, we could ask more about the Chingling that Daphne mentioned.”

… Uh.

“We get these kinds of complaints every other week.” Lief sighs, tilting back. “What’s the difference?” 

“It’s related to Meadow.”

The Decidueye stares back for a brief moment. But he shrugs, walking off. “You do your thing.”

“Wait. Hold on.” Baro—in a way one can intepret—falls on his knees, pleading. “Just a few minutes, please?”

“You just want gossip.”

“Dude. Alright, fine. I’ll get you some candied orans.”

“Yeah, sure.”

… That easily?

We should be honest about ourselves, Gengar.

Mm.

I think we can all agree that no one likes the Chingling.

That’s a bit harsh.

The cup of tea hangs around Meze’s side as she gazes elsewhere. “You’re too tolerant.”

“I don’t want to escalate the situation.” His grin fails to wear, even now. “You have more experience than me in the First District. You’d understand.”

“Sure I would. Yes, I’d have acted the same. However…” Meze sighs. “Are you not the least worried of your current predicament?”

“A petty complaint—that’s all it is.”

“Petty, huh. What do you think would happen if he had his way?”

“Will I have to pay a fine?”

They both stare at each other in silence.

“It was… probably six years ago, right where I am sitting now. A Salazzle in your place accused me of malpractice. Familiar, isn’t it?”

Gengar nods.

“You see, back when the guild was—not new—but not as recognized as it is today, Lakkee was still figuring out its relationship towards Mainland. Of course, there were plenty of doctors around, but there wouldn’t be anyone from overseas to maintain our numbers. As far as I knew, I was practically irreplaceable. But…”

She sat her cup down. 

“Do you think they’d care that much?”

Gengar doesn’t nod.

“Well, things are certainly better now, but I’m still unsure myself.” Meze smiles. “I was told I’d have my license permanently suspended that afternoon.”

Gengar blinks.

“But she did change her mind. It was quite the scare, was it not? You’re always vulnerable, no matter how secure you think you are in this world.”

Gengar blinks again.

“That was in the past. Now, if I lose a patient today, it wouldn’t matter. If I were to be fined today, I would have money to pay it. It’s not a guarantee I’d keep my job then, but I’ve been around for half a decade on this island,” she continues, “Assuming I were to be convicted, I’d have a place to go back to. You, on the other hand, are one bad case away from losing your privilege in Lakkee Town.” She straightens up, staring again into him. “Would you be able to maintain your business in Meadow?”

“I started there.”

“Is that enough?” 

The staring continues, but Gengar seems unbothered. 

“Y’know, I get it, really. I was once in your position when I first started, after all.” Meze chuckles. “I know, all this talking… but I haven’t actually looked into the case myself. I don’t know if you’re guilty or not.” She drops the teacup with an audible clank. “Even so, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to risk it.”

“Thanks, but,” Gengar tilts his head, “I don’t get it.”

“Do you want to hear my proposal, Gengar?”

“What is it?”

“I think it’s better you let me handle this. I need you to confess.”

The wind whistles.

Well, Meze, I’m rather touched by your story, but I’m just not sure if…

Confessing means I could intervene. I could lighten your punishment, to a certain degree.

You said earlier—

I don’t know for certain, that’s true. Still… I just don’t think Bubba would take it well if he didn’t get results.

You said it wouldn’t matter if you lost a patient.

I try not to irritate my patients as much as you do.

What about Finley? Will she know of this?

The case has been mine since yesterday, Gengar.

…

It’s an option that benefits you and I both. You’d be foolish to think Bubba would not continue pushing if he didn’t get what he wanted.

It’s the best option available.

Certainly, but even so… It’s not a pretty outlook either way. You seem to benefit from this situation.

What do you mean? It’s only natural that I would be on the more rewarding side of things—

—Well, as in… From your position, it’s hard to gain more favour than damage control.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against your idea. 

It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, that’s all.

… I can understand.

You don’t seem like the Pokémon that I’ve heard of.

What do you mean?

The way you drive the conversation… I’ve heard Pokémon talk like that before, but not those of our field.

For an acclaimed dream walker of the Mennetts, I had expected something different.

Well… I don’t know what to say to that.

Unless your gemstone wasn’t… 

Excuse me?

I might be wrong to judge my own colleagues.

But with all this, I don’t really see a dream walker in you.

I’m not sure if it’s your unique gemstone that’s brought you here. If anything, it might be your cunning and resourcefulness.

Either puts serious doubt in your capabilities as a dream walker.

… 

Sorry to express my concerns, but…

Would you please put down those ceramics?

“… That’s never the problem, Lief. Lichie would go out of her way to solve it herself. Besides—”

“Lichie’s a competent secretary but she hardly bothers with these cases. There’s always a good reason behind what she does.”

“Well, if not the secretary who’d care… Not even our supervisor…” Baro nudges in a bit closer, as if it’s not already cramped enough on the stairs. “Hey, Finley. If you ever feel like you’re stuck on something, let me—” 

“Stop pushing me in.” Lief sits modestly, but he is practically merging with the railing at this point. “And no, we’re not taking another request. You’ve already gotten your hands full of them.”

“We’re back in town every… what? Three—no, four weeks? We have to make up for lost time somehow. Finley, you really don’t mind, do you?” 

Finley can’t help but wonder if Team Needle has always acted this way.

“Baro.” His piercing glare pushes Baro away. “All this over a Gengar. Though, I’m curious…”

“How so?” Baro asks.

“They have records for every single Pokémon on Lakkee. Gengar’s name must have been deliberately omitted, or he intentionally refused to provide one for himself.”

“Could’ve just made it up. Is this a new fad? We’ve been missing out on so much…”

“Don’t think so.” Finley interjects, “I mean… I’m leaning towards intentional, since he wanted to go by his species name…”

“You’re well-informed of the situation, Finley,” Lief says. “Well, not surprising, but still… I’ve seen less from those like you. It seems Khamul really does pick his housekeepers on a whim.” Lief sighs, looking distant. “What a stingy Noctowl.”

Wide eyed, she wonders if she could take those words and frame them on her wall…

Baro snickers. “The guild’s got a high ranking explorer bold enough to bad mouth their superiors.”

“I’m sure you’ve got more to share with us than I do.”

Baro exhales softly. “Maybe another time.”

“Great. Are you done yet?” Bubba says, looking up from the bottom of the staircase. “Finley, how’s the case going?”

When did he get here?

“Is this the guy?” Lief asks.

“Refer to me as my name!” Bubba angrily shouts back. “You explorers and your stench. Have you spent so much time in the wilds nibbling on foliage you’ve forgotten to behave as a functional member of society?”

Baro tries to hold his laughter back to the best of his ability. Unfortunately, Lief has already decided to pull him away for a private chat.

“Forget it. Finley…?”

“I’m still…”

“No. You aren’t in charge of it anymore. Did Meze not tell you?”

He knew? “As far as I’m concerned, she only read the letter, sir…”

“We agreed on a deal afterwards. Finley, she promised me results. Today.” Bubba adorns a smirk unsurprisingly fitting of him. “Tell me where she is.”

“I—Well.” She glances towards the east hall. “Things are still…”

“No need to say more.” Bubba confidently heads down the hallway. A grave mistake on Finley’s part. “If she’s here, just what are you trying to hide, Finley?

“It’s just…” She sighs. Her hands grip tightly. It’s starting to wear on her. “Like… If she had results, I’d know. What I’m trying to tell you is—”

“Why should you know? Eh?” He stops in front of the curtains, staring back at her. “Had you not listened? If all you scouts could manage is a slap on the wrist, I’d rather not waste my time dealing with any of you! If it weren’t for Meze stepping in, I don’t know what games you’d be playing, making a fool out of us Pokémon.” His tippy tappy steps are made audible as he enters the clinic. “Maybe you should just—”

“GET BACK HERE!”

“Sorry!”

Gengar flies out the room, swerving his way past the Chingling.

“Y-you…!” Bubba stampers. “You’re the one—”

“I’LL SHOW YOU WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A DREAM WALKER!”

Meze follows, crashing down the hall. A pair of glowing fists swings behind and practically embeds Bubba into the opposite wall.

“Watch what you’re doing, Meze,” Gengar warns from afar.

“SHUT IT!” 

“Hey… You two…” Finley meekly calls out, but they seem to have disappeared into the end of the west hall.

A voice rings out from the upper grand staircase. “What’s happening?”

“… YOU’RE WAY TOO CONFIDENT IN—”

“Woah, Meze.” Gengar suddenly reappeared in front of Finley, right where Bubba was annihilated. “Put your weapons down. Your client…”

Meze huffs, dashing towards the clinic with heavy footsteps, “What about my client…?!”  Her entire body stiffens at the sight of the scene.

… This is awkward. Finley can only wonder if Bubba’s still alive, and about the unfathomable rage possibly building inside him at this point. She contemplates running over to help, but her legs are already acting on their own—itching to leave the scene. 

Out of options and not willing to take part in the madness that is unravelling, Finley reflexively turns her back on them both, only to catch a glimpse of a certain Serperior slithering past her and down the hallway.

“All of you.”

The entire guild hangs in silence.

Daphne takes a good look at the incident, before addressing the two miscreants standing below her…

“Come with me.”

That evening, Finley came back to the shack in Meadow to deliver the inevitable news:

“Your license has been suspended for a month.”

Gengar is hardly surprised. No, not even she would, nor anyone. 

Lichie crawled out of the woodworks to help cover up this morning’s incident to the rest of the townsfolk. It was already disastrous enough—for the guild, and them three.

Yes. Three. Including Finley.

“And you?” Gengar asks.

“I am indefinitely banned from taking on any requests from the board.” She leans on the front doorframe with her arms crossed. “And… I now have the responsibility to keep an eye on you.”

“Really?” He laughs. “After all that?”

“Lief’s idea. Else I’d be kicked from the guild alongside Meze, you see.”

“Meze… what?”

“Daphne personally revoked Meze’s guild partnership. I was told no more than that, even though she stayed back for half an hour straight.”

Finley ends the recap with a tired sigh. Right this time yesterday, she was heading back to Lakkee and still, at the very least, cautiously optimistic of her prospects. 

Now, without a doubt, it truly is over. 

In the distance, the uneven water surface forms a canvas with the evening sky. As they have never been strangers to one another the lake and sky receive the sunset in tandem, in grace, and without flaw; a shimmering display of yellow and pink, even without the presence of the sun. In its tranquility, the lake welcomes her, almost as if soothing the devastating loss of her career.

But Finley can’t bring herself to enjoy it to its fullest. In fact, she refuses it. The recklessness of her actions shouldn’t have yielded anything of value in hindsight, but it was the only path out of her circumstance. This tranquil scene is old, and there is no shortage of it from within the interiors of the guild. 

What it ultimately proves to her was that it all amounted to nothing; that the two days’ worth of genuine effort had brought her back to the same sunset she had witnessed countless times before. Failure, that’s what it is… and yet Gengar still marches on with his stupid grin.

“… You’re still not bothered at all?” Finley asks.

“Never been.” He moves about in his treatment room, seemingly tidying up. “My business hasn’t gone down yet, has it?”

No, but this time, it might just. Finley knows full well that requests from Lakkee pays extremely well, and there’s no way he can still sustain himself with just a few odd cases a month from this small village.

So why isn’t he worried at all?

“… You’re not thinking of sneaking into Lakkee, are you?” Finley asks again.

The shuffling noises stop all of a sudden.

“Why would I do that?”

Makes sense. He’s never been bothered about anything, because he doesn’t really care.

As long as his business hasn’t gone under.

As long as he knows he’s still a doctor.

As long as there’s still a way through…

“I know you definitely would,” Finley says. “You do know that I’d just report you for that, right?”

“Well…” The voice echoing back seems a bit quieter than before. “You’re jumping to conclusions a little too fast…”

“You’re really bad at lying.”

Gengar goes completely silent. A smirk grows on Finley’s face. She steadily approaches the treatment room with her hands behind her back.

“Y’know… Lief of Team Needle said it himself. You might see me as clumsy, but I’m not a Lakkee scout for no good reason.”

Through the beaded curtains, Finley finds Gengar haphazardly putting items back into the closet.

“If you think you can do stuff behind the scenes without me noticing…” She smiles. “You might have to think again.”

“Finley…” Gengar slowly turns around, frowning. “I won’t try anything—”

“But I do have a little offer.” Finley straightens up.

“… What is it?”

“Teach me dream walking.”

“… What?”

“Bring me along with, help me learn dream walking, and I’ll cover you. How’s that sound?”

Gengar pauses in consideration. Finley’s grin grows even wider, having struck a deal too good to ignore, so much so that her chances of success should be—

“No.”

“… Why not?”

“You don’t sound earnest.”

“I… I am serious about wanting to learn dream walking! It’s a help me help you kind of—”

“No.”

“What…?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No. Still no.”

“Please?”

“I said no.”

“Please…?”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Her vision narrows as sweat drips down from her forehead and burns her retinas. Rapidly blinking does little to dispel the raging discomfort; in fact, it makes it even worse.

With no other choice, Finley drops the two barrels chock full of water onto the ground, and utilizes the sliver of time she has granted herself to sort things out. She presses onto her eyes, pushing in, grunting in some sort of self-reinforcement as if to nudge her little eyeballs to develop anti-sweat membranes and grow immune to the salt in her eyes—as if, gently, to tell herself to toughen it out for just a bit longer.

She shakes her head. Machops don’t tire out, but mother Xerneas could at least give her a little push. Something like a slight breeze, or a passing cloud to block out the sun… or to withdraw the heat from this unbearable summer and cast all of it back onto the Southern Mainland.

In one determined lift, the two water barrels rest niftly onto her toughened shoulders. Finley marches on defiantly in a burst of resolve. Her legs dare not to give in. The woods clear out. A path is paved forward. She emerges, triumphantly, with fresh spring water ready to be delivered to the Hitmontop next door and to his small, yet demandingly luxuriant backyard garden.

Regrettably, it is a deed done not in the guild’s name, nor in anyone’s. Finley supposes a deciding factor was him requesting upfront. (And the fact that she’s been banned from taking written requests.) However, it is one that she should be able to tolerate, and should’ve taken regardless of her guild membership, so she can at least pat herself on the back for that. Besides, the money’s enough for some glazed berries.

“Appreciate the help, Finley.” Kern grunts, lifting a barrel by himself. “I’m bothering you again, aren’t I?”

“No problem, sir.”

The Hitmontop smiles to himself. “The thing is… this time next week, I’ll have had all of my flowers sold. Tends to line up just before the heat wave. I guess we drew the short straw this year.”

“Groudon’s always got other plans, doesn’t it?”

“Seems like it.”

“Now…” Kern turns to his front door. “I don’t have the money with me. Though, if you like, I still have berries ripe in the corner of my garden that you can pick.”

That’d be one part of the grocery taken care of for the entire week, she reckons. Probably worth more than the money itself. “I’ll excuse myself…” Finley says as they both enter the small residence, and past a cozy living room. A wooden sliding door opens into the backyard. The garden is lush with a variety of colors, blooming strong beneath the magnified sun, with vines and herbs and other vegetation growing neatly in sorted rows to the sides or in the four corners.

The Hitmontop took the time to tell Finley the location of each berry tree. Some are more common than the others, with oran uncharacteristically belonging to the latter group, but Finley only wants a handful and a small tasting for each.

“Kern…” A mellow, feminine voice comes from inside the house. “There you go with your charity again. At this rate, we won’t even have enough for the fertilizers.”

“Darling, it’s fine,” Kern responds. “I reward honest work.”

“I noticed.”

Finley stands up and turns around, intending to greet who she assumes to be Kern’s mate proper. She sees the Meganium looking out from inside, her head sticking out the sliding doors. Their eyes meet, before Finley notices that her scarf catches interest.

“I noticed you brought another scout with you.” She remarks pensively.

“She just happened to be nearby.” Kern sighs. “Finley here volunteered herself.”

“You’ve got more urgent matters to tend to.” Hyla looks away. Her sudden alienating tone lingers.

Finley can feel her welcome cut short. She takes a short step towards the backdoor, a hand gesturing forward. “Sorry. May I ask about what is bothering you…”

“Hyla.” Kern cuts in. “I’m sure it’s—”

“No. It’s been over a week.” Hyla grunts. “Supply shortages are only noticeable now, but it’s been going on for longer. The Opto’s Workshop is in ruins.”

Finley’s eyes widen.

“Qual from next door says it’s hopeless. Management’s gone, no one knows what they’re doing, and there’s orders they don’t even know they’ve missed.” Hyla continues… “I know this affects more than just the workers. We’re all being affected with our item supply cut short, but the guild isn’t doing anything.”

“Has it been reported?” Finley asks. But all she received was a glare from Hyla.

“Finley, must there have been some sort of mishap…?” Kern must be giving her the benefit of the doubt, trying to intervene.

“I…”

She tries her best to recall. That time she plucked the investigation letter from the board, it was pinned upon old and older requests, stacking upon each other in heaps. No wonder, and what horrible timing: that same week, almost all of the explorers were out and… the incident occurred.

“I’m sure…”

Besides, she can’t obtain a guild’s investigation letter, which means no entry. It’s pointless to talk on behalf of the guild as she is. However…

If it’s just the guild holding her back, there really shouldn’t be a problem.

“I’m sure they’re already working on it!” She declares.

“Then,” Hyla says, “I hope to receive good news…”

“Opto’s? Y’know, the one near the shore by Anchor?”

Finley pleads to no response, yet she still watches Gengar in anticipation as he dutifully and silently tidies the treatment room in preparation for his next patient.

The sun burns, even when nearing dusk. The hot air transforms the paper fan into a tool more for exercise and less for cooling. Unfortunately, it is also the only method of cooling available in this crumbling clay furnace that is the clinic.

And in this heat, every word that comes out requires a little bit more effort than usual. Finley cannot rush Gengar for an answer, as she knows full well what she would be treading on for completely irrelevant objectives, but when merely talking requires a fair bit of lung training it attaches to her sentences an unwitting, yet faintly present commanding tone.

Gengar seems to pick up on it. Though ordinarily tolerant, he speaks with hassle:

“I know. I’m just wondering what this would achieve.”

Unwilling to turn back, he tends to his cleaning obligations.

“It’s… the same workshop that provides you with the sleep seeds and such?” Finley answers. “Wouldn’t this help fix the current supply problem?”

“But that is not my responsibility. I have the duty of a doctor, nothing more…” Gengar finally leaves the room, ruffling the curtain beads. He remains stern in expression. “You yourself are banned. Why would you even bother?”

“I… After all…” Finley attempts to give a prompt answer. “I am a scout, after all. Regardless of whether or not I am banned, like you, I have a duty to attend to. Seeing as the case has been left in the dust for so long…”

Gengar raises a brow. “Then simply inform the guild and they’ll sort it out.”

Finley goes silent. That is… something she can do.

“But…” Finley mutters.

“But what?”

“I don’t know… There’s this sense of urgency. I just have to do it…” Finley remarks in between sighs and slight stutters. “Maybe it’s something about being complained to in person… Feels like I’m carrying a sense of responsibility, y’know?”

Gengar pauses for a moment. His gaze is fixated on her, seemingly in judgment.

“Well. You don’t have to…” Finley mutters.

“Even then, I’d like to know how you plan to carry this out. Assuming you can find incriminating evidence inside a patient’s memories is one thing, but assuming I can pick and choose my patients is another. That I can just choose to diagnose a random guy from the Workshop.”

Oh. Right.

Finley scratches her ridges with a blank stare. That… is something she hasn’t considered.

She laughs sheepishly. “I mean… Wouldn’t you know?”

“No, I—I know a number of Pokémon here who work at the Workshop, but that’s the extent of my knowledge. And, as I’ve said, I can’t choose which patient I get.”

So it’s a game of chance…

“It’s essentially chance,” Gengar remarks. “Unless you want to drag it out until then, I’d reckon you had the management’s misdeeds reported to the guild. I do appreciate your concerns, but I have my own business to tend to—”

“Doctor Gengar?” Says a Scrafty standing outside the clinic.

The conversation pauses.

“You’re from the guild,” the Scrafty blurts out, squinting at Finley. He must have seen her armband.

“I—”

“What’s your name?” Gengar asks, his distinct grin magically reappearing at the sight of a potential client. “May I know—”

“Uh, Darren. Gimme the…” He swings his hands around wildly, stuck on searching for an appropriate word, before giving up early. “I don’t know doc, just—I got a massive headache and I can’t sleep.”

“I’ll give you a prescription.”

“Nah. No. I tried everything.” He huffs, expression turns sour, folding his arms over his chest and leaning on the door frame. “It’s just not going away. I tried everything. But I heard you actually make it work.”

“Well, I…” Gengar brings his hands forward, inviting him in.

“And what’s—what’s she doing here?” Darren gestures towards Finley. “You’re a scout. Why are you even here? You’re not here to look for anything… are you?”

“That’s…” She struggles to reply. “Hey, that’s none of your—”

“Gengar you’re in trouble or what?” He immediately asks, standing still. The entire atmosphere of the room hangs on a single question.

“Not to my knowledge, no. She’s here for… unrelated business.” Gengar continues walking forward, back turned away from both Darren and Finley. “We’ll still do a quick diagnosis first to be safe. Finley, you can stay if you want.”

“Uh…” She hesitates. No doubt, she would leave given the chance, but something about Darren clicks.

She might’ve heard of him before. If her memory doesn’t fail her, then that Scrafty would be…

“If she—she works here or what…?” Darren rebukes.

“Well.” Gengar scratches his head. Wooden ornaments shuffle as he and Darren pass through the curtain and into the treatment room. With the curious question seemingly deflected, his voice fades as the usual questions and terminologies follow, little deviating from standard procedure.

Finley sits, unmoving, peering in. The hand with the paper fan moves back and forth on its own.

She’s not banking on chance, but chance occasionally comes round.

After a few minutes, Gengar leaves the room and searches the desk cabinets. He rechecks a couple times before searching through the taller cabinets.

“What are you doing?” Finley asks, tilting her head.

But Gengar doesn’t answer. He keeps searching. The desk surface grew increasingly populated until the entire reception had been turned upside down.

“I’m really out,” he declares with a hushed tone.

“What now?” Finley whispers. “You still took him in.”

“I’m not out of options, but…” Gengar lets out a rare sigh. “Or maybe I should tell him to return at a later date…”

“But, wait, even without the sleep seeds—”

“Yes. You can use Hypnosis, but I’d rather not, since in order to safely initiate a dream walk, you would need to…” He stops. There is probably not enough time.

Gengar looks around in defeat. “It’s risky. I can tolerate the use of Hypnosis on occasion, but with supply down, I have no idea how long I’d have to keep using it…”

“Darren might be a worker for the Opto’s Workshop.”

Gengar stares blankly at Finley. “You know him?”

“Not directly.” Finley hums. “He’s an Anchor folk. I often see him heading back from the workshop around late at night, so it’s a safe guess.”

The hush-hush goes silent. A growing frown reflects little enthusiasm.

“I guess we never got to the part where we put chance aside,” Finley says softly.

“I know.” Gengar sits down on the opposing bench… “And I’ll bite—if it helps getting supply back faster—”

“Of course it would!” Finley nearly jumps out of her seat with a grin on her face. Only after Darren voices his concern from within that room does she realize to sit back down. “I—I mean, we’d have better insight, better evidence, we’d speed up the process by—”

“I’m sure.” Gengar closes his eyes for a brief moment, before rising from his seat. “Just bring a solid plan with you. This is an investigation out of my depth.”

“You can count on me!” Finley answers with a confident pose and a thumbs up. She watches in slight disappointment as Gengar walks back to the treatment room without as much as a glance back at her. Quite the anticlimactic agreement to a deal.

Mere minutes after he entered, Gengar exits and gestures to Finley to join him by Darren’s side as per procedure. Though his emotionless expressions hide it well, his movements seem more rigid as he finishes the setup for the dream walk. Once his eyes open, his right hand reaches for Finley’s left.

“Huh?” She glances down with curiosity.

“If it helps both of us appear in the Dreamscape a bit closer…” Gengar looks down. “Even the slightest mistake would cost.”

“What?” Finley giggles nervously.

“Unlike the natural sleep-inducing effect of sleep seeds, Hypnosis is a dreamless sleep-inducing move. This means you’ll enter a memory cell the moment you enter—” Gengar glances at her— “And I’m sure you’ve seen first hand just how delicate a memory can be.”

Indeed. Finley blushes at the recounting of a particular memory from the very day they met. She’s definitely seen it well.

“I will try to keep us safe, but… whatever it is you plan to do, make it quick.”

“… Roger that.”

And so, Finley and Gengar close their eyes at once. With each passing second, the world dissipates, gradually retreating from awareness, before the two Pokémon are left with only each other and their thoughts.

A new sun rises.

𓆝𓆜𓆞

Finley lifted her head.

Old gazes still. Damned be a nod off without judgment.

She found herself a comfy seat in Darren’s worktable, with spools of threads and wonder orb shards and various exotic materials strewn about. Yellow notes pinned on the edge of the table were instructions and reminders that had worn eyes dull. The light was non-functional, but needed not—the sun glared harshly, and through iron bars, ignited the dust floating in the air, from which a haze betrayed bobbing heads cowering in their own work, dotting the layout of the second floor.

The Workshop is not too big, but big enough to keep secrets. Finley felt an urge to poke a hand into the drawer. A soft, uneven, continuous stretch of linen suggested she minded her business elsewhere. That it was a scarf woven by Darren from stolen fabric lay expectations for the sorts of evidence she would likely encounter.

“Gengar, there’s—”

Finley merely grasped the air as she reached out to her left.

Just then, a large figure approached. It was a Rhydon with scars running down his face, and he stood firmly by Finley’s position. His presence pinned her vision down to the table surface, and threatened her for every slight movement. He resembled the Guildmaster. Alone and trapped in an encounter, Finley prepares to receive the first dialogue stream from this memory.

“Seven. Teen. Orders. Seventeen orders, Darren.” The Rhydon’s words escaped his throat with a repulsive hoarseness. “And what this I’n looking at?”

“Working on it… Boss,” she replied. “Just gimme a little bit more time.”

Her mind cleared up as soon as she finished speaking. The dialogue must have reached its conclusion.

The Rhydon stumbled in place, before turning his head sideways, seemingly to head towards another poor worker. Finley prepared to leave… but time passed with his plated feet remaining in her peripheral vision.

She reckoned the dialogue had yet ended… but more time passed without any solid instructions.

Finley realized then that she was cowering out of irrational fear. With the memory fully embraced, she gathered the courage to lift her head and take in the surroundings, but it was then that it became clear just which direction the Rhydon was facing.

Its left eye stared straight into her face.

Its upper jaw opened and hung above her head.

“Seven. Te ⩟♙⳱⮾⏈⃀ⰽ⃞☌ⶒ♪ₕ◩⾷⃗⊅↴⽿⡲ⴲⰽ⮱☿‑╊✑—”

No sooner had Finley prepared to flee than its torso completely eviscerated. The remains splashed onto the adjacent wall, and dissipated.

“Gengar!” She cried. “They can TALK?”

“It’s just mimicry.” He appeared on the leftmost side of the room with his right hand reaching out. The white door hangs agape behind him. “But these husks are likely in great numbers. Darren’s symptoms are severe.”

“H-How many are there…?”

“I don’t have a good guess, but you won’t find any more here.”

Gengar retreats, gesturing for Finley to follow. She ran across the measly spaced compartment and through the door, shutting it behind her.

Bless me for a hectic life, ankle deep in Lucky’s worst kept disaster.

Fresh tension brewed on the ground floor. Orders mounted with little progress. Impatient ‘mons wandered about with a loose gravelerock in their hand.

“They should be here.” Gengar turned towards her. “I need you to keep an eye out. Husks target prey with a high dream energy composition, most often walkers. Anything that approaches you is telltale behavior of a husk—”

Finley instinctively reeled back as a black pillar shot across her vision. Gengar bore the brunt. The resulting collision left clean carvings in its trajectory and threw Gengar into a crater in the corner. She snapped her head upwards, bringing her eye to eye with a Tangrowth twice her size, its tendrils elongated high into the air and ready to come crashing down.

She fell to the floor in anticipation of the incoming attack, but was not prepared for the sheer impact which flung her further out. The absence of pain was hardly consoling while she thrashed around on the ground.

Though shaken, she forced herself up. As the Tangrowth prepared another twisted modification of a Power Whip, Gengar’s chains shot forward and pierced its body, embedding it onto the opposite corner of the room. Finley took the chance to escape. She pulled herself up while breathing heavily, and limped across the floor, but what little calm granted to her immediately fizzled out when, in the corner of her eye, fellow co-workers were being lifted up and devoured nearly whole by a quadruped Toxicroak with an enlarged vocal sac. She catches its attention by mere presence.

Back to back, by Arceus’ twisted humour. Finley called out to Gengar, but instead received a blood curdling screech from his general direction. Unable to outrun these agile beasts, Finley became paralyzed as the abnormal husk strode towards her.

Time ticked slower. Without a heartbeat, it felt like she was already dead.

But Finley has not been denied a path forward. Deep down inside, she knew well that she had yet to exhaust all available tools at her disposal, that in combat she was not just limited to cowardly escape. She clenched her fists, and attempted to control her breathing.

Finley improvised a rough fighting stance, and—though undoubtedly hard to admit—prepared herself for one of the few instances of combat in her entire life.

The Toxicroak lunged forward and threw a long horizontal swipe. Finley was able to react in time and stumbled backwards, dodging the attack by a hair. She stumbled, but quickly regained her footing and ducked to the left, brushing against a devastating left-handed overhead strike from her opponent. Whether it was by raw instinct or by Arceus’ divine intervention, she had not only kept her head intact but effectively closed the distance in just a few turns, allowing her to attempt a close-ranged attack from right underneath the husk’s nose.

Eyes narrowed, Finley pulled back her fist. She went for it—with the only move she had ever known.

Brick Break landed on the Toxicroak’s throat…

… to quite literally no effect.

But just then, the familiar shrieking of chains whiffed her ear and crashed down on the husk’s body. They tore through its ribs and stomach, pinning it to the floor where it immediately began to sizzle away into non-existence.

Finley turned back. Gengar stood on a desk with hardly any injury on him.

The two stared at each other in silence, until it was clear the onslaught had come to an end.

“Do you know how close you were to death?” Gengar asked.

“I…” The blunt question knocked Finley out of shock.

The ground shook, but only a little. Either way, it’s a reminder that they were still on the clock.

Gengar stepped off the desk and scanned the surroundings. He then went over to Finley and checked for any signs of injury. “All good,” he said softly. “Never engage in combat unless you knew what you were doing. Moves do not work in the Dreamscape.”

“I-I see,” she mumbled. “Anyhow, what we’re here for…”

He looked again at the workers. “I would assume that’s all of the husks. You’re safe to carry it out however you wish, but don’t take forever.”

Gengar then had his attention diverted elsewhere. Turns out, he had been called over by a Charmeleon. Since Gengar was the first to enter, he was the one to uphold the dialogue stream of this memory and not Finley. This essentially leaves her by herself, free to roam, and able to continue the investigation in earnest. It took some more knocking her head around for thoughts to settle, but once it did, she got straight to work.

Good news: the dream walk had confirmed that the problem did exist. Bad news: she had not encountered any feasibly obtainable proof of mismanagement. Even with this extensive insider knowledge from Darren’s perspective, without a way to physically materialize what she had seen thus far, it is essentially worthless.

Finley figured she would need a different approach to this investigation, which was easier said than done. How ironic that so much trouble would arise from the best possible insight.

She pressed on her forehead, humming, deep in thought, and strolled along the walls of the rundown Workshop. Gengar, meanwhile, seemed more interested in his surroundings than the argument he—or technically Darren, in this case—was still half-mindedly paying attention to. He remained on the other side of the room while she contemplated memorizing each individual feature in this room and recalling them at the guild’s reception.

… It seemed rather ridiculous. But in her head, it was still worth considering.

Next to her, an Aipom leaned beside the co-owner’s office, hands folded back and eyes looking straight upwards. The fiddling with the fingers, the tension in their eyes… It was almost as if Finley was watching another version of herself—a Pokémon neck-deep in anticipation, or with something they’re desperate to get off their chest.

She was certain the Aipom had it in mind to confront whoever sat behind that door, and then it clicked.

If she could trace to the root of this ongoing issue, it would inevitably end up at the highest positions—more specifically, at the co-owner and the owner, Opto.

At last, a starting point. Though she would not be obtaining hard evidence, the mere confidentiality of any potential findings within that sacred room would at least gain her a better lead, and possibly some leverage.

The Aipom finally made his move. Time was limited, and so without further consideration Finley closely followed the worker as he pulled the door open and entered the room.

… Only to witness that the room was covered in pitch black.

Confused, she turned around. Luckily, the door was still behind her, fully visible as if a hidden light had emanated from the dark and cast it in full brightness, but no matter how hard she shook on the handle the door would not budge. In fact, it acted more as a solid wall than anything else.

“Finley…?” Gengar’s voice crept through from the other side. He seemed to have noticed her disappearance.

“I-I’m here! I’m in here!” Finley shouted.

Unable to see any obvious entrance, Gengar knocked on the door. “You’re… on the other side?”

“Yeah! And well… Even if I did get in—” Finley looked around— “There’s just nothing here. And I’m stuck.”

“Of course. You’re forgetting that these are memories. If Darren doesn’t know or remember a specific detail, it doesn’t exist within his memory. The same way you wouldn’t know what was happening in Meadow Village if you were in Lakkee Town…”

Finley took a step back. “What now?” She asked, part in search for a way out, but part in disappointment of running into a dead end before she even figured out a clue.

“Open a Door that leads back here. Or out, if you would rather we exit the Dreamscape now.”

“Wait, no. I still…” Finley reached her hands out until she felt a solid wall, and ran her fingers across it. “I know the Workshop is under a lot of strain, but… I haven’t found anything to prove it to the guild yet,” she said almost pleadingly, but Gengar remained silent. “That’s what we are here for, right?”

“I wouldn’t disagree, no…” Gengar let out a soft sigh. “But there’s only so much jumping around you can do and time left to spare before the Sapling ramps up its efforts.”

Finley continued feeling out the room’s dimensions. “I have to figure something out,” she mumbled. Eventually, she reached the opposite side of the room. In trying to cover just a little more distance, she tripped on a sharp wedge around her knee, causing her to stumble back onto another hard, cuboid object. It seemed the room technically existed; Darren just couldn’t see it.

“Having trouble?” Gengar asked.

“I’m thinking about… Because, none of this holds any weight if you can’t prove it.” Finley replied, tired. “And what’s frustrating is that the room is here. Like, the desk and the—the office. I just can’t know…”

Her words trailed off as Finley tried to feel out the object again. It was still there, where she first bumped into it. Something clicked.

“Finley.” His words held curiosity. “How would you know it was a desk? How would you even—”

“There is something here.”

The conclusion came quickly to her.

“Darren knows the layout of the room.” Finley declared. “Has he been here before?”

By a stroke of luck… No, Finley should have known. Given the way he expressed himself earlier when they met, and that he had attempted to smuggle a scarf out of the Workshop: If anyone else knew about the interior of the co-owner’s office, it would be him.

“That means…” Finley grabbed the air. A door handle materializes in place.

It would be him. It would be when night had long fallen past closing hours, the crawling streets devoid of life, and the Workshop blanketed in darkness… When there was no longer anyone to notice him carrying a lockpick, Darren would have had an opportunity—the perfect opportunity to sneak into the office and do whatever he wanted.

It wouldn’t have been easy. It would have been meticulously planned as not to raise suspicion, nor get caught trying to sneak back into the Workshop, nor leave behind any trace on the way out. All of this mental effort would still have carried weight on his mind days, weeks from then; such a long-lasting impression on Darren’s mind would not require Finley to pinpoint any particular detail in order to locate, and access this specific memory.

…

The handle turned. On the other side lay the office door, now shrouded in the dark. The frosted glass panel allowed the faint moonlight to travel through, barely illuminating sections of the room.

Her eyes didn’t need to adjust in the absence of light. Very quickly, details appeared in abundance, even without much visibility. Contrary to the worn interior of the Workshop, the office remained pristine with a nearly unspotted coat of paint and sleek wooden furniture, sprawling with medals, trinkets, small plants, and…

Frisms. Inside the lower section of one of the cabinets, lay hidden a few dulled frisms which had yet seen use. With the cabinet door wide open, it was safe to assume what Darren had snuck in here for. They probably fetch a decent price on the market.

But what Finley was here for… were not unused pocket audio recorders. There were papers neatly stacked on the desk surface, on cardboard boxes, in cabinets, in files—pratically anywhere she looked, Darren had exposed treasure troves of invaluable information from his messy search. Information which had the potential to pressure Opto or the co-owner directly, and put an end to this issue at once.

Finley had seldom taken in the monumentality of her discovery when Gengar appeared from behind her, giving her quite a shake.

“How’d you find it?” Gengar asked.

She giggled. “I thought about… how I’d be in his position…” Finley said with a sly grin. “You did tell me how to use the Door the first time we met.”

“I see.” Gengar remained stoic, but stoic to Finley did not mean disinterest. “There was a connective cord here, but I wouldn’t have thought of it otherwise.” He looked back at her, putting on a grin of his own. “You certainly have better ideas than I do. Nice job.”

Finley would blush at his compliment if she weren’t just an apparition of herself.

Gengar returned his attention to the office. “So, are you looking for anything specific?”

“I-I… Well, not really,” She drawled, grabbing her neck, and began awkwardly walking around the room with eyes darting around while she attempted an answer for Gengar. “As long as it’s something I can prove to the guild, I guess…? Given it’s the co-owner, I might be able to pursue a real lead that isn’t just hearsay.”

She crouched and dug into a folder of documents resting on a small container in the corner of the room, most of which only had its contents preserved on the uppermost paper, blurred and spotty in detail. Once again, a limitation of memory, but by tracing back the path Darren could have reasonably taken to survey the room, Finley might be able to narrow down points of interest. That, and in the dark where his eyes would’ve had to work more, meant that the coherence of documents around those areas would be better preserved.

“How much time do we have left?” Finley asked. “It’d be nice if I could look at everything before we head out.”

“Very little. I’d reckon it’s only stayed this quiet because the Sapling is still scanning the other side of the Door.”

“… Could we close it?”

“It would be best not to.” They both looked at the Door. “We want as few signals that could give away our location as possible.”

As soon as Gengar finished his sentence, the ground slightly shook. On the other side, indistinct black ropes shot across the glass panels of the fake door, followed by low, erratic, and deathly droning.

“Laces… You’ve met them in hordes before that Seinstrong’s Bell.” Gengar whispered, facing back at Finley. “They ruthlessly immobilize and eviscerate all they deem to be threats, but prioritize repair. So don’t worry much for now.”

She frantically nodded.

“There’s still a little bit more time before they resume with their hunt. In the meantime, would you…”

“The desk,” Finley blurted out.

In retrospect, that had always been her best chance at obtaining reliable leads. As a major object of interest, Darren would’ve thought to look here first. Somehow, Finley had only been enlightened with this crucial information on the verge of certain catastrophe.

She crawled towards the desk. Luckily, common sense prevailed as the cabinets were already opened, and stacked in each were documents which had retained complete legibility. Finley scanned through the many papers in storage, and found a financial report of the Workshop throughout the entire previous year and this year’s first quarter, signed by co-owner Ballas the Typhlosion.

Opto’s Workshop is not known for its lavish interior, and has long been notorious around the Anchor for retaining the antiquated infrastructure and equipment which had served Lakkee Town since its independence from Mainland. It would be most deserving of attention, then, that the largest share of revenue would consistently go to “building renovations”… increasing in amount even as the Workshop continued to wear remarkedly.

Any folk of Anchor would realize the ridiculousness of this discrepancy, let alone a professional analyst.

Money had to be spent. This was embezzlement.

Finley popped her head out as soon as she realized the significance of her discovery. “Gengar!” She shouted in a whisper. “I think I’ve…”

But Gengar had been standing there the entire time, his eyes fixated on a small transparent pouch on the corner of the desk surface, with “Opto” written on it. She has already gotten his attention the moment she reappeared from behind.

“Finley…?” He answered. “So you’ve found it?”

“I did. They… Most likely Ballas, the co-owner, they’ve been misappropriating funds for the Workshop… This is grounds for a damning allegation!”

“I see.” Gengar maintained his grin, but he was undoubtedly distracted. His attention returned to the pouch once more, inside which contained two seeds and what seemed to be dried lum.

Finley followed Gengar’s eyes. “This is…?”

“Finley,” he suddenly addressed. “Are you ready to exit?”

“Oh, uh, yeah? I think… I have an idea on how to get Ballas for this.” Finley sighed. “I’m just not sure if—”

“We’ll discuss it later… I think.”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind.”

Genger and Finley escaped at once.

𓆝𓆜𓆞

Darren glances back just before he leaves. Sweat runs down his cheeks.

Finley is looking at him really, really weird right now.

“That’s all, doctor…?” He meekly asks.

“Yes. You’re free to leave.” Gengar shouts out from inside while he tidies the treatment room. A pause follows, before he pokes his head out to say, “Though, I’d suggest a follow-up—”

But Darren was already gone.

The usual silence creeps its way into the clinic once more. A brief downtime of sorts. Finley eagerly waits for Gengar to finish tidying so they can finally continue the discussion they were having inside of Darren’s mind.

The moment Gengar takes his seat on the opposite bench, she takes the initiative, this time with the idea fully fleshed out. Leaning forward, she says, “I might need your help again.”

“… Was the information not sufficient?” He asks.

“It’s… No, it certainly is. But empty threats won’t be enough to sway anyone, even if you hit the nail on the head.”

Gengar glances away from her.

“My point is, you need definitive proof or else Ballas won’t budge. So…” Finley cusps her hands together, straightening up. “I want to find that proof inside his head, while he’s asleep—”

“That’s outrageous.”

He glares at her. Unnerving, but it is to be expected. After all, if she is to be successful with this investigation, she would need to step on the line a little bit more. Gengar being a little bit unhappy is completely reasonable.

What she didn’t expect… was for him to relieve that gaze so easily. His eyes fall to the ground. “Nevermind. It’s fine. I can’t act like I’m the only one with shame.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a request to make…” He closes his eyes. “I’d still help you regardless, but would you hear it from me?”

“Ah. Um, of course! Why wouldn’t I?”

“I want to check up on Opto personally. Is that possible?”

What?

“I… Must you…? Is there something wrong?” She asks awkwardly.

“That packet we saw on the desk is medicine, similar to what I would have given my patients. It would have been any other prescription that I wouldn’t think twice about… if the specific combination of seeds and berries weren’t specifically chosen to wake the user up, not make them fall asleep.”

Finley allows herself another second to take in his concerns. “You’re saying… Opto’s been asleep?”

Gengar nods. “I’d like you to sneak me in as well.”

If his hypothesis was correct, it would explain why anyone’s hardly gotten in touch with the owner recently. But, even then, it just sounds… wrong?

She looks back at Gengar, and he stares back. Finley can hardly imagine him being anything but serious all the time.

Even if his words proved to be true, Finley is still split. While Opto’s possible symptoms sound concerning, the potential of uprooting months of embezzlement within the beating heart of Lakkee would undoubtedly be more significant in comparison… and it would be borne out of her and Gengar’s collective effort.

“I… don’t know. I still think going after Ballas first is the better option, y’know. This is a once-in-a-lifetime case that requires immediate attention…”

Gengar doesn’t reply. He sits with his face towards the ground, nearly motionless.

“I mean, once we expose Ballas, we can get supply back up faster, right? We can still check up on Opto afterwards! It’s just if we went for Opto right now, there’s no guarantee that—”

“No, it’s—it’s fine. I get it.” Gengar rises, heading behind the reception to find his toolbox. “We’ll continue with your original plan. And you’ll lead. Tell me how you’re planning to carry this out.”

“It’s… I mean, it should work, I guess.” Finley puts up a smile. “I noticed that, as long as you’re near a Pokémon, you can enter their Dreamscape, right?”

“That’s—”

“As long as they’re also sleeping?”

“That’s the gist of it,” Gengar says reluctantly.

“Well then…” She smirked. “I don’t think there’s a problem with this idea.”

How long has it been since she’s out this late?

The moon’s just as bright as it was back on the Mainland.

The street is frozen in a rare display of tranquility. This late into the night, only the subtle sways of small decorative banners, twigs and distant trees breathed life into streets of the once crowded market. Everything was so still, so quiet, and so muted in which not even a lick of candle flame was to be found, nor was there anyone to carry its loneliness away.

Finley waits in the same place she did yesterday when Gengar tended to an obligation of his. Now, she’s doing the same. From within the surrounding woods, where the trees split between a beaten path, Gengar’s violet eyes appear and pierce through the hazy darkness. He walks calmly without haste, towards a joint mission that Finley was confident he needed no directions for.

Once she and Gengar met, they entered the First District through narrow alleyways, and took a turn to the main road leading inland, towards the edge of town where it has been known to be the unusual address of Ballas’ residence.

His home is without a name plate, but stands out in its unfashionable architecture. A wooden frame wraps around an uninteresting brick building, dressed with vine and painted white as if to merely mask the terrible chips and cracks and wear inflicted upon each individual wall, and not for any tasteful reason. Ballas’ mailbox overflows with the white of letters poking out, all of which were still untouched.

“This is it?” Gengar asks.

“Most definitely,” she whispers. “All this mail… I assume to have come from angry clients or customers. I’m surprised there are this many.”

Finley walks past the mess and peers through a window on the side. She ought to move a little more freely when they’re so far out from the town center. The window reveals a lavishly decorated living room, where through a doorway on her right she finds Ballas lying on his side, his face obscured, deep asleep in his bedroom. This marks the back wall as their entry point.

“Gengar…” She turns around and asks. “How close do we have to be?”

“Where are we entering?”

“From the back.”

“Should be alright.”

They squeeze their way into the back alley. The cramped space makes it feel much more secure compared to being out in the open.

Gengar closes his eyes—the deciding factor. Whether their investigation can continue, whether all their efforts will go to waste or not, hinges on this moment alone…

Fortunately, he approves of the dream walk in subtle nods. Once Finley gets the memo, she closes her eyes as well.

Now, the world disappears completely. Time shortens, and with her growing experience, it doesn’t take long before she finds herself in a completely different one.

𓆝𓆜𓆞

Finley lifted her head.

Gengar lifted his head.

The ground they were sitting on no longer stood still.

This was one of Mainland’s finest vessels, a two-decked caravel carved from the sturdiest and finest wood from the north, and equipped with marble white sails silkier than that of the fabled southern Silcoon traders. Below the hull, water parted and waves calmed as the ship sailed elegantly through the unsullied, crystal Southern Sea, carrying off to the sunset and beyond where paradise held the sun, the blue sky, the gentle, rhythmic rocking of the deck and the retired Typhlosion.

Finley’s only compliment was that his dream was at least more coherent than most. She supposed in hindsight that wealth and luxury would have lived rent-free in the minds of the same class of Pokémon as Ballas, and that if she had poked the heads of any First Districtians there would’ve been no difference.

But, alas, this is no ordinary wealth to dream of. She interpreted the dream more as a telltale sign of foul play than anything. Undeterred, she summoned a white Door, and tried to sympathise with Ballas the same way she did with Darren in order to unveil the memory she was searching for.

Hypothetically, if she had shamelessly amassed an exorbitant amount of Poké from the pockets of hard-working workers, where would be the best place to hide it? Somewhere safe? Somewhere distant? Somewhere no Pokémon would expect, a place distant from traffic and hidden in plain sight. A place where upon reaching Ballas would feel the adrenaline drop, his heart beat slower, calming down as he knew he had just secured the unfairly gained money. A place he would remember until his death, a place which would not escape his mind…

Gengar only watched as he tended to his own devices, checking for any signs of interruption caused by husks, for which results returned negative. That was alright to him. He had already resigned to observing and not much else. The case was never his expertise, and so he thought not to overtly interfere.

The handle clacked, and the Door swung open. Finley excitedly stepped through first, followed by Gengar. Here, time had rewound a bit, just before dusk. The orange sunset shone more faintly within these reclusive areas of town, barely illuminating the surroundings, leaving Ballas’ house mostly engulfed in shadow.

… She wanted to try again. Gengar let her.

They walked back through the Door, Finley redid the ritual, and once again they stepped through.

By another display of Arceus’ sickening humour, they had arrived at Ballas’ house for the second time, shrouded in the night and overflowing with mail as if they had never left.

“Gengar,” Finley asked. “Should I…”

“No,” Gengar asserted. “What are you even looking for?”

The Door turning was a good sign. Ballas’ house showing up was not. If Finley had been accurate with her empathy work, this would likely mean the worst-case scenario:

The money was here… Only, it was somewhere inside the house. This meant obtaining the evidence was practically impossible.

A skilled thief would probably chance it. She wasn’t one, and neither was Gengar. Once again, knowledge was useless if it meant she couldn’t do anything with it.

Finley stood in silence.

“So. What do you plan to do now?” Gengar asked.

“I…” Finley sighed. “Don’t know.” Her vision darted around in exasperation. “I could raise the matter to the guild? But…”

But that would’ve been such a waste of time and effort from start to finish. And the case wouldn’t be her own.

“… I can take both of us out, then,” Gengar calmly offered.

Finley looked back and stared. Gengar had usually been patient, and he was patient, but it’s unlikely he’d be accepting of the outcome with the deal they’ve made.

She looked away, and stared into the alleyway they’ve just gone through in order to reach the back of Ballas’ house, while her mind desperately sought after any possible solutions. She looked away in frustration, and turned back again, looking down into the narrow space.

Finley looked away. And then she looked back again.

She looked away, then looked back.

She noticed something. She remembered the black space behind the co-owner’s office while they were inside Darren’s head.

Somehow, this path around the house was still visible from the door’s viewpoint, while the rest of the surroundings were either blurred or blacked out. There were windows, but the full path was visible, not just the viewable area cast from within.

Finley, without hesitation, retraced the same steps she took out in the real world and headed down the path. At the very end, pitch black shadows blocked out all but one remaining corridor…

Having noticed that Finley was missing, Gengar went searching for a while before finding her all the way to the back of the house. She was squatting near the spot where they sat to infiltrate Ballas’ memories, eyes fixated on the dirt beneath, which had an unnatural granularity and a tilted texture to it.

Before Gengar could ask, Finley said to herself with a calm, quiet voice, chuckling:

“… You can’t be serious.”

𓆝𓆜𓆞