| Rio POV |
The further in we go, the more the air feels wrong.
Not like poison. Not like gas. Like… silence. Pressure. Like we're walking into something that doesn't want to be walked into.
The warehouse turns into something colder—bare metal scaffolding, concrete walls lined with crates long since reclaimed by dust. Then we see it: a massive freight elevator embedded in the floor, built to haul gods or monsters.
It hums. Waiting.
"...That thing's huge," May mutters, peering over the edge.
"That's what she said!" Rotom says bursting out of May's backpack
''Go back to timeout!'' Yeah she's pissed, can't blame her really.
''You'll never stop me! The world belongs to the free!'' Can I refund my item roll...
Ralts clutches May's head, clearly uneasy.
"I don't like this," Roxane admit. "Too obvious. If we were a horror movie, this is the part where someone says—"
"Let's split up!" Rotom blurts cheerfully.
"—I was gonna say 'We shouldn't go in there,' but thanks for proving my point."
She eyes the control panel with a frown. "It's still powered. That's not good. This section of the building was supposed to be sealed off years ago."
May crosses her arms. "So? We take the stairs?"
Roxanne gestures behind us. "There aren't any stairs."
We all stand there in uncomfortable silence. I can feel the trap tightening around us.
Then, with the perfect timing of a cursed sitcom:
"BZZZT! WHEEEEEE!"
Rotom slams his face into the activation switch with manic glee.
The platform jerks under our feet as the elevator begins to descend.
"…Did he just—" I start.
"HE DID." May snaps, grabbing for the railing as the whole thing shudders downward.
"I REGRET NOTHING," Rotom declares, doing mid-air donuts like a drunk drone.
Too late to jump. Too far to climb. The elevator carries us down into whatever Devon didn't want found.
Roxanne exhales, tight and angry. "If we die, I'm coming back just to haunt that thing."
"Joke's on you!" Rotom giggles. "I'm already haunted!"
The lights flicker as we descend.
Whatever's at the bottom, it wasn't meant to be found.
The platform elevator hums beneath our feet as we descend, too fast to feel safe but too slow to avoid second thoughts.
"Well... At least we have an invitation, so let's hope we aren't the dinner party's main course," May mutters, arms crossed, her voice bouncing hollowly off the metal walls.
"BZZZT! I can be dessert!" Rotom chirps.
"No one is eating you," I mutter.
"Cowards."
The ride ends with a mechanical hiss as the platform settles onto solid ground. A set of heavy blast doors looms ahead, flanked by blinking lights and a scanner that—shockingly—doesn't immediately get something to try and kill us.
"Huh," Roxanne says, stepping off first. "No traps. Yet."
The doors creak open before we can even approach.
A figure waits just beyond.
Team Rocket uniform. Standard-issue gloves, boots, even the stupid little R pin—why is it RGB? Whatever. No mask. No swagger. This guy looks... tired. Civilian tired. Paperwork tired. Lost-his-last-two-lunch-breaks tired.
He raises a hand. "Don't shoot, don't scream, and definitely don't let that thing—" he points at Rotom "—touch any more terminals."
"BZZZT! Rude."
"Name's Felix," the grunt says. "They told me to wait here for you. I don't know anything, I don't care, I'm five hours into overtime, and my coffee machine exploded when your rotom short-circuited the breakroom powerline. Please follow me."
Rotom's screen shifts onto a smile, fully enjoying the grunt's exhaustion as it flies up and down the long hallway.
Felix trudges ahead through sterile walls lit with flickering fluorescents, muttering under his breath the entire time. "I swear, if I get dragged into another safety meeting I'm faking my death and moving to Alola…"
Poor guy...
After a few turns, we're ushered into a lab.
A glass panel slides open with a hiss.
Inside, it's spotless. Too spotless. Like the kind of place where someone has 14 Purell bottles per workstation. Cold lights buzz overhead. A small machine nearby is probably scanning our DNA just because it can.
And standing in the center—adjusting his lime-green glasses and smirking like he owns the building—is... a man I've never seen before. Probably some side character from the newest games or something.
Felix groans. "Meet our... lead consultant. Don't touch anything. Don't provoke him. Don't mention hair gel."
The man turns. His smile is... unnerving, and his green glasses making him look like a flygon Ith a bad haircut doesn't help with my impression. "Ah! Our little intruders-turned-guests. How delightful. You may call me Faba, formerly of the Aether Foundation. Currently of... well, let's say private enterprise."
''Did you call us here?" May asks, already narrowing her eyes.
Faba chuckles. "Oh, I do so love a dramatic reveal, but let's ease into it, shall we? You're here for the project. The one Devon kept hush-hush. The one even they couldn't control. And lucky you... it's almost done. All we need now, is the last ingredient."
I shiver slightly as he glances at me, I could probably fold his clothes with him still in them, but there's something about the way that he looks at me that makes me want to puke.
[Quest Complete: Mystery Note]
+200 EXP
+1 Random Item
First Evolution Unlocked
Oh sweet, it's finally done! Wait no, what did he mean by final ingredient?
Faba clasps his hands together, the glass doors hissing closed behind us with a finality I don't like one bit.
"You see, children," he begins, pacing like a teacher who's way too into his own lecture, "the problem with power—real power—isn't making it. It's keeping it together."
May crosses her arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Faba says with a grin, "that some forces—no matter how beautifully engineered—reject stability. They tear themselves apart. Like gods who were never meant to bleed."
He pauses, theatrically.
"So I built something. From pieces. Bits and scraps and DNA that no sane person would ever combine. A creature to match the legendaries. A monster to hunt the monsters that make us cower in fear."
Roxanne narrows her eyes. "What creature?"
Faba's grin widens.
"Project Codename: Type: Null. My masterpiece. An artificial lifeform forged to slay the divine."
Didn't team Rocket already try this with Mewtwo? Get something more original dude.
May frowns. "Never heard of it. That even real?"
"Oh, it's real," Faba whispers. "Too real. And that's the problem."
He steps toward the reinforced viewing window at the end of the lab, pressing a palm to the glass. Behind it, something massive stirs in the shadows—metal plating, claws, a mask like a cracked sarcophagus bolted onto something struggling to breathe.
"I made it strong. Too strong. But unstable. Incomplete. It needed something more. A stabilizer. A soul strong enough to anchor it without breaking."
And then he turns to me. "And then you appeared."
My stomach flips.
"A creature, less of a pokemon and more of a gate to some more. Brimming with something alien. You're perfect. The missing piece. The final ingredient."
I step back.
Ralts presses tighter to my side, her pulse loud in my head.
"Don't worry," Faba says, almost gently. "If it works, you won't even feel it. You'll just… stop being you."
The chamber behind the glass hisses open.
The monster steps forward.
May swears. Roxanne pulls a pokeball from her coat. Rotom chirps nervously.
"What is that thing?" I whisper.
Faba just smiles. "Hope. And the end of everything."
A beat of silence.
Then Rotom buzzes to life. "Initiating System Cross-Reference!"
Everyone flinches. Faba actually scowls.
"Species: Type: Null.
Category: Synthetic Pokémon.
Height: 6'03". Weight: 265.7 lbs.
Type: Normal.
Notable Features: Combat mask to suppress unstable instincts. Ring around neck possibly intended to mimic Arceus.
Created to oppose Ultra Beasts and legendary Pokémon. Project origin: classified Aether Foundation file, Previously known as Type: Full due to its ability to shift between types by holding a corresponding memory drive!"
"Emotion levels: Near zero. Stability: critically low.
Best counter-strategies include: Fighting-types, status effects, disarming moves, and ideally... not being near it."
''Do you have info on every Pokémon?'' May asks, kinda impressed.
''BZZZT! INDEED!''
Roxanne stares. "At this point why are we even surprised..."
Rotom chimes in again. "BZZZT! Would you like to hear fun facts about Type: Null's relationship to Gladion?"
"NO," everyone yells at once.
Faba glares at the drone. "Can someone turn that thing off?!"
May mutters, "Honestly, we tried...."
I don't respond.
I can't.
Because the monster—Type: Null—has locked eyes with me.
And for a second, I see it.
Something in its soul reaching back.
It's not just looking at me.
It's recognizing me.
Something ancient. Something wrong.
Something familiar.
The room holds its breath.
Type: Null's claws scrape against the floor as it lurches forward, metal and muscle grinding in awful harmony. Every step is heavy. Final.
It looms over me.
Faba watches with rapt fascination. "Yes... yes! It senses you! You're the match—perfect synchronization—this is it!"
My legs should be moving. I should be running.
Instead, I just... reach out.
Ralts tugs at my side, nervous, but doesn't stop me.
And then—
Type: Null stops. Its head tilts, mask creaking.
It lets out a low, fractured croon. A sound like a machine learning how to purr.
Then it lowers itself. Slowly. Awkwardly.
And rolls half onto its side, exposing its armored belly.
"What," Roxanne says flatly, "the actual hell."
May drops her jaw. "Is it... asking for belly rubs?"
I blink. "I think... yeah?"
Faba makes a noise like a dial-up modem shorting out. "No! No no no! You are supposed to merge! To become the anchor! Not—pet the weapon!"
Rotom cheerfully whirs.
"Affection Detected! Initiating Bonding Protocol!
Type: Null has entered a relaxed state.
Danger level: down from 'apocalyptic' to 'mildly confused.'"
I kneel and gently rub just below the chest plate.
The creature shudders, then goes still. Breathing steadies. Eyes close.
Like it hasn't rested in years.
[New moves learned: Charm, Play Nice]
Uh... I meant to do that.
Word Count: 1687
I mean, might as well right? I had the fight scene written and everything, but when it came to putting it down... Poor doggy, sorry, I couldn't do it.
MC: I wouldn't have let you anyways!
Do you think you have a choice in the matter?