《Pokemon: Amber》


 Chapter 1: Awakening

    ''It''s not supposed to be like this,'' I thought, hunched over my phone in the fading afternoon light. My fingers hovered over the screen as if I could somehow intimidate the numbers into change.


    My Gyarados ¨C level 40, carefully trained, survivor of multiple gym battles and approximately eight thousand random Pidgey and Mankey encounters ¨C was down to a sliver of health. Across the battlefield, a level 37 Vulpix stared back with pixels that somehow managed to look smug. It had probably practiced that look in the mirror.


    I''d already lost two good Pokemon this past hour. My box was only down to shitty Pokemon. I couldn''t lose another. Not now.


    The Pokemon Mansion sprawled across my phone screen in all its 8-bit glory, a maze of broken tiles and forgotten experiments. Outside my dorm window, campus life continued its usual Sunday afternoon rhythm - distant voices, someone practicing guitar badly, and the occasional burst of laughter. None were aware I was one critical hit away from losing weeks of careful training.


    Gyarados had been with me since Route 6. Just a Magikarp then, making the same old investment that everyone knows pays off ¨C except this time, with perma-death rules, each level had felt like holding my breath underwater.


    I could switch in Charizard ¨C my starter, my ace ¨C but the damn thing was already at the level cap. One more fight and it''d be benched until after Blaine. Kadabra might one-shot it with Psychic¨Cif it didn''t get bodied first. My Dugtrio was a speed stat with hit points at this point, and Nidoking was still fucked up from that double-battle ambush earlier. Then there was the Growlithe I''d caught an hour ago, but sending it in would be straight-up murder.


    Five options. Five ways to lose a teammate. Five¨C


    A Discord notification slid down from the top of my screen. My thumb twitched instinctively to swipe it away, but the message caught my eye before I could dismiss it.


    ```


    BigDKarp69: @everyone SHADOW MEWTWO RAID AT LIBRARY GYM


    BigDKarp69: @EVERYONE 10 MIN WINDOW GET HERE NOW


    ```


    Curious, I tapped the notification to see what the fuss was all about.


    ```


    [March 22, 2024]


    RaidenMain2: Hey, anyone hear about the shadow mewtwo event?


    ProfOaksFavStudent: starts next week right?


    RaidenMain2: Does anyone want to head downtown for it?


    MissingNo404: Down, what time does the event start?


    [March 30, 2024]


    BigDKarp69: @everyone SHADOW MEWTWO RAID AT LIBRARY GYM


    RaidenMain2: holy shit it''s on campus?


    BigDKarp69: @EVERYONE 10 MIN WINDOW GET HERE NOW


    BigDKarp69: @everyone SHADOW MEWTWO AT LIBRARY


    RaidenMain2: @everyone LETS GOOOOO


    BigDKarp69: TEN MINS LEFT


    ProfOaksFavStudent: @AlexTheGreat where u at? we need your Darkrai


    ```


    I briefly swiped back to the emulator, hesitating over my next move before quickly tapping the menu and saving my state.


    ''I¡¯ll deal with this later,'' I decided. Shadow Mewtwo just sounded too cool and the battle wasn¡¯t going anywhere. The early spring air bit at my face as I burst from the dorm building, nearly colliding with a cluster of freshmen who hadn''t learned that campus sidewalks have their own unwritten rules of navigation.


    The library stood sentinel across University Avenue. The crosswalk''s red hand blinked its warning - a traffic signal I''d normally respect. But the street stretched empty in both directions.


    My phone buzzed again.


    ```


    RaidenMain2: @AlexTheGreat where u at??


    BigDKarp69: 2 min until the raid @everyone HURRY IF YOU WANT SHADOW MEWTWO


    ```


    My phone''s screen painted my face in blue light as I jogged, the little avatar shuffling across a simplified version of my world¨Cone minute forty-five seconds. The library''s Pokestop spun with casual indifference, promising digital treasures that suddenly seemed far less important as a deep mechanical groan vibrated through my bones.


    A shadow fell across my phone. I looked up - too late, too slow - as steel and chrome filled my vision. Physics asserted itself with elegant simplicity: mass plus velocity equals the end of all your carefully laid plans.


    My last thoughts weren''t deep or meaningful. Nothing about family, nothing about wasted potential, not even the cosmic irony of dying for a mobile game. Instead, I thought about my Gyarados, frozen in time with that sliver of health, waiting for a command that would never come.


    Then darkness. Not the dramatic fade-to-black of movies or the peaceful drift of sleep, but a sudden cessation of input, like someone yanked the cartridge out mid-game.


    ¡ª


    The darkness didn''t last.


    Awareness returned in fragments, each sensation filtered through amber fluid that pressed against me like thick honey. The world beyond my container was a blur of orange-tinted shadows. I floated, suspended in something that felt thicker than water, almost syrupy against my skin. My lungs should have been burning, demanding air, but they felt eerily still, as if my body had forgotten it needed to breathe.


    Sound reached me in waves, distorted and strange. Everything felt muffled except for the deep vibrations that traveled through the fluid itself, pressing against skin that felt too new, too small, like clothes that had shrunk in the wash. A tremor rippled through my container, and another, each one stronger than the last. Then came a sound that defied description - something between a roar and a thought-given voice, so deep it seemed to resonate in bones I wasn''t sure were mine anymore.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    When the container finally gave way, it wasn''t gradual. Hairline fractures spiderwebbed across my visible world, transforming the emergency lights into kaleidoscopic fragments. The final crack came sharp and decisive, and suddenly the world was cold air and gravity and sensation that felt too sharp, too real.


    Strong arms caught me before I could fall - arms that seemed impossibly large, attached to a middle-aged man whose tear-streaked face loomed above me. Everything was wrong, scaled up as if I''d somehow shrunk in my moment of unconsciousness. I went to return his embrace instinctively, the way you do when someone is crying and holding you, but the arms that responded to my commands weren''t mine. These were delicate things. Pale. Small. Unblemished. Hairless. Just¡­ wrong.


    "Amber," the giant middle-aged man choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "You''re alive. You''re really alive."


    He pulled back just enough to shrug off his lab coat with shaking hands, wrapping it around my shoulders with gentle urgency. The fabric draped over me like a tent, still warm from his body and carrying a mix of scents¨Cantiseptic, coffee, and something earthy that spoke of long hours in this underground lab. The simple act of covering me seemed to steady him somehow, as if the familiar motion of caring for a child helped anchor him in this impossible moment.


    My attempt at speech emerged as a quiet "Who...?" and even that single word felt like a betrayal. The voice wasn''t mine - too high, too young, distinctly feminine in ways that sent fresh waves of confusion through my already overwhelmed mind.


    The tears falling on my face mixed with residual amber fluid, creating trails of warmth that felt impossibly intimate. The man held me like something precious, something miraculous, and through the blur of liquid and tears, I studied his face. There was something familiar there, something I should recognize, but understanding stayed just out of reach.


    In my peripheral vision, something caught my eye.


    A tail. Purple and massive, sweeping through broken equipment with casual, elegant destruction. Trails of violet energy hung in the air behind it, making the world look unstable, and unfinished. And there, suspended in the chaos of its own liberation, was Mewtwo. Not the 8-bit sprite or 3d render of the modern games, but something raw and primal and terrifyingly real. Its form rippled with power that hadn''t quite settled into being, each movement carrying the weight of something that existed outside the natural order.


    Our eyes met, and primal terror froze me in place. Every Pokemon instinct screamed that eye contact meant a battle was about to start ¨C but reality had its own cruel humor. No menu would slide into view, no convenient mechanics would save me. Just raw existence: me in this too-small body that felt like borrowed clothing, facing down a creature that had transcended from pixels to godhood without bothering to include a user manual.


    Time stretched between us, neither moving, neither breathing. Something flickered in those violet eyes ¨C recognition? Memory? ¨C before reality came crashing back in the form of a torrent of flames that caught Mewtwo in its side. The legendary Pokemon tumbled through the air, its psychic shield materializing like heat shimmer before steadying.


    The moment shattered, and pure survival instinct took over.


    "We have to go!" My borrowed voice cracked with urgency as I tugged at the giant man''s lab coat. The pieces suddenly clicked into place like a puzzle I hadn''t known I was solving - the liquid tank, the legendary Pok¨¦mon wreaking havoc above us, this man''s tears of joy. This wasn''t just any scientist, and I wasn''t in just any facility. The reality of my situation hit me with the force of a truck: I was standing in front of Dr. Fuji himself, wearing his dead daughter''s form, while the most powerful Pok¨¦mon ever created battled it out.


    Dr. Fuji nodded and wiped his tears, though he kept staring at me with a hint of disbelief.


    He scooped me up without hesitation, and suddenly the world viewed from his height made everything more alien. The laboratory was in chaos - emergency lights cutting red swaths through steam clouds, while sparks rained from destroyed equipment like artificial stars. The air itself felt wrong, charged with an electric tension that made my skin prickle and my hair stand on end.


    Through the mayhem, I caught glimpses of other tanks like mine, now reduced to modern art installations of shattered glass and spilled amber fluid. A security guard''s Arcanine launched another stream of flames, catching Mewtwo mid-hover. For all its legendary status, basic physics still applied - the impact slammed it into reinforced concrete hard enough to crack both. Pain flashed across its features, quickly transforming into something darker, something that promised retribution.


    For a moment, I thought we were about to witness exactly why the games classified it as being the world¡¯s strongest pokemon. But instead, it glanced between the Arcanine, the damaged wall, and ¨C briefly ¨C at me.


    Then, with a pulse of psychic energy that shattered every remaining bit of glass in the room, it blasted upward through the ceiling. Moonlight poured in through the new skylight, illuminating the destruction below. Dr. Fuji''s arms tightened around me with sudden urgency, pulling me against his chest and tucking my head under his chin. The world compressed to darkness, heartbeats, and the smell of the amber fluid still clinging to his lab coat.


    Sound painted the picture I couldn''t see ¨C the thunderous cascade of falling concrete, the crystalline symphony of shattering glass, something that might have been a support beam groaning its way to failure. Through it all, Dr. Fuji''s arms remained steady, though I could feel tremors running through him each time something heavy struck nearby.


    When the crashes finally faded to scattered plinks and the occasional distant rumble, Dr. Fuji''s grip loosened. I pulled back, blinking in the strange new light. Moonlight streamed through a jagged hole that had once been a ceiling, painting silver highlights on broken equipment and scattered research.


    Across the room, reality had stopped trying to make sense. Alarms wailed in competing frequencies ¨C high-pitched containment breach warnings mixing with the deeper drone of structural failure alerts, creating a discordant symphony that made my teeth ache. Through the cacophony, I watched a partially-formed Kadabra variant suddenly glitch into the half-destroyed lab, its too-many-fingers leaving trails of psychic energy in the air, before disappearing again.


    A pained grunt drew my attention back to Dr. Fuji. He was hunched forward now, one hand pressed against the wall for support while the other still tried to keep me steady. His clothes had been shredded across the back, and through the tears, I could see angry red welts already darkening to bruises where chunks of ceiling had struck. A particularly nasty gash along his shoulder blade was slowly painting his clothes crimson.


    "A-Are you alright?" The question slipped out in my new voice, high and clear and caring in a way that surprised me.


    Dr. Fuji''s grunt of pain pulled me back from my daze. He was already reaching for me again, his arms trembling slightly but determined. Despite the chaos ¨C or perhaps because of it ¨C his focus remained entirely on me as if the legendary Pok¨¦mon wreaking havoc above us was merely an inconvenience.


    We picked our way across what remained of the laboratory floor, my bare feet finding surprising purchase on debris-scattered tiles. The reinforced door hung askew on its hinges, blown outward by Mewtwo''s psychic blast. Beyond it, the scene transformed with jarring suddenness - no more clinical white walls or exposed machinery, just the refined interior of what could have been any wealthy estate. Wood paneling replaced sterile steel and ornate light fixtures cast shadows where monitoring equipment should have been.


    The hallway held a handful of scientists in various states of panic, their lab coats looking strangely out of place against the mansion''s carefully curated aesthetic. Two security guards tried maintaining order while radioing for backup, their professional demeanor cracking under the weight of what they''d just witnessed. Through a doorway, someone hurriedly disconnected a hard drive, hands shaking as they worked. Fragments of conversation floated above the chaos...


    "...security breach in the east wing, we need..."


    "...containment field''s down in Enhancement Lab Three..."


    ¡°...Fuji¡¯s legendary clone¡­¡±


    "...the evolution acceleration chamber is overloading..."


    "...the prototype balls have been destroyed¡­"


    The facility''s emergency lighting painted everything in harsh red pulses as we made our way through the corridors, but now real flames were beginning to join the artificial warning lights. Smoke curled along the ceiling in lazy ribbons, and I could feel the temperature rising with each step. The lab coat around my shoulders felt less comforting now, its fabric growing warm from more than just body heat. I couldn''t stop staring at Dr. Fuji''s back, watching crimson slowly seep through his clothes while orange light from growing fires cast dancing shadows around us. Each step seemed to cost him, though he never loosened his grip on my hand.


    "Everything will be different now," Dr. Fuji said softly, his voice barely carrying over the crackle of flames behind us. Orange light painted the treeline in false sunset, while smoke curled through branches. "We can fix it all ¨C our family, our life. Everything."

 Chapter 2: Departure

    Sleep wasn''t just elusive¨Cit felt dangerous. Each time exhaustion started to drag me under, some part of my brain would jolt awake, terrified that closing these eyes meant losing whatever thread still connected me to myself. To the person who died chasing a phone game rather than the person I was wearing.


    The hotel room''s ceiling fan spun lazy circles, each rotation collecting shadows that looked too much like the fractals of psychic energy I''d seen during Mewtwo''s awakening. That had been real. All of it had been real. The clone tank''s fluid still burned in borrowed lungs whenever I breathed too deeply, a sharp chemical taste that belonged in sci-fi stories, not reality. Not supposed to be my reality.


    I caught another glimpse of mint-green hair in the dark TV screen and had to look away. Ten years old. I was ten years old again, or at least this body was. The wrongness of it sat like lead in my stomach¨Cadult thoughts trapped in a child''s form, muscle memory that belonged to someone else entirely. Even my fingerprints felt foreign when I ran them across the scratchy hotel blanket; too small, too smooth, too new.


    Through the darkness, I could hear Fuji''s steady breathing from the other bed. The sound made my chest ache. He''d moved heaven, earth, and every ethical boundary to bring his daughter back, and instead he got... what? A Pokemon fan with an encyclopedic knowledge of trading card meta and anime plot points? Someone who knew more about his daughter from gaming wikis than actual memories?


    The irony was suffocating. I was technically just as much a copy as Mewtwo¨Cbut while it had been engineered with purpose, with power, with intent, I was just... here. An accident of consciousness in a form that should have failed. Each breath felt stolen. Each heartbeat was a reminder that somewhere in this world, there was a grave with Amber''s name on it, marking where this body''s original owner rested while I played at being alive in her place.


    Laughter drifted through the walls from other rooms¨Cprobably tourists enjoying their island getaway, planning tomorrow''s outings to the volcano or the beach. How many of them had walked these halls, never knowing about the laboratory hidden beneath their feet? About the clone tanks and the failed experiments and the most powerful Pokemon in existence now tasting its first breath of freedom?


    The volcano''s silhouette loomed beyond the window, a darker shadow against the night sky. Somewhere out there, Mewtwo was probably as confused by existence as I was. But at least it had been made to be itself. I was neither the person who died nor the person who should have lived. Just a consciousness trapped between identities, trying to reconcile how to exist in a world I''d only known through screens and cartoons.


    Memories of my old life flashed before my eyes like someone else''s home videos¨Ccrystal clear but impossibly distant. Mom''s patient smile as I explained why this new Pokemon game was different from the last six. That lazy orange tabby who''d earned his Snorlax nickname. The thrill of finally pulling that Charizard VMAX during lockdown, when Pokemon cards became an escape from endless Zoom lectures. That last, stupid battle¨CTsunami the Gyarados getting crit twice in the mansion right before...


    I pressed my palms against my eyes until stars burst behind them. Even that sensation felt wrong¨Cthe pressure, the size of my hands, the way the joints bent. Everything was off by degrees so small they shouldn''t matter but somehow added up to a symphony of wrongness that made me want to crawl out of this skin.


    And beneath all of it, a deeper terror lurked: Team Rocket. They''d lost their prize weapon and their secret lab, but they hadn''t lost their reach. The future splintered in my head¨Ccompeting versions of what could come next. In the anime, they''d eventually capture and control Mewtwo, bending its will to Giovanni''s ambitions until it finally escaped. In the games, it would flee to Cerulean Cave, becoming a legend whispered about by trainers. The manga version seemed least likely¨CBlaine hadn''t been involved in this creation.


    Each version of the future felt equally possible now, equally real. How could I plan for all the different timelines? And more terrifyingly¨Cwhat would Team Rocket do if they realized one of their failed experiments was walking around with a head full of future knowledge? With an adult''s understanding of their plans wrapped in a child''s vulnerable form?


    Through the window, Cinnabar''s stars wheeled overhead, indifferent to the impossible thing breathing beneath them. Not a success, not a failure¨Csomething entirely new. Something no one, not even God¡­ no, Arceus, himself, had planned for. And tomorrow... tomorrow I''d have to wake up and keep pretending. Keep breathing. Keep existing in a form that wasn''t mine while carrying memories that didn''t belong here.


    The fan spun on, its shadows still dancing like psychic fractals, each rotation seeming to ask: who are you really? The person who died chasing a mobile game, or the experiment who stole a second chance?


    [<.<]


    The beach slowly filled with passengers, fifteen others in total¨Ca couple of families clutching travel bags, a businessman in a suit that probably cost more than a starter Pokemon, and two trainers who looked like they''d stepped out of a contest poster. I stifled another yawn, wiggling my toes in shoes that still felt new. The volcanic sand was oddly warm even this early, with black crystals skating across the beach with each gust of wind.


    The businessman checked his watch for the third time in five minutes. One of the kids had fallen asleep against her mother''s leg. The contest trainers had given up on looking cool and were now sitting cross-legged in the sand, sharing what looked like a breakfast pastry.


    Suddenly, the air... shifted. Like the moment before a storm breaks, when everything goes still and electric.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Then I heard it.


    A whistle cut through the dawn¨Cthree sharp notes that made everyone freeze. The sound of wings came next, starting as a whisper and building to a rush that seemed to push the very mist aside.


    They emerged from the dawn like something out of a dream¨Ceight massive shapes descending in perfect formation. Four Pidgeots on each side, their wingspans casting moving shadows across the beach. A Fearow cut through the morning light on one flank, all sharp edges and deadly grace, while a Noctowl glided silently on the other.


    Holy shit.


    Holy actual shit.


    Those were Pidgeot. Eight real, breathing, absolutely massive Pidgeot, arranged in a perfect V with a Fearow and Noctowl flanking them like feathered fighter escorts. They descended with practiced precision, and I found myself counting pixels that weren''t there because some part of my mind was still trying to process this like a game sprite or cartoon. But there was nothing pixelated about them.


    I''d had this dream before¨Cevery kid with a Gameboy or TV had. But dreams didn''t come with the smell of sea salt and feathers, didn''t include the way morning light caught their crests and turned them into living flame. My hands were shaking. These weren''t just Pokemon¨Cthey were POKEMON. Actually real, actually here, close enough to touch if I wasn''t frozen in place trying to remember how breathing worked.


    The closest Pidgeot turned its head, preening a feather back into place with the casual grace of something that could probably break the sound barrier before breakfast. When the formerly-sleeping kid stumbled forward, it tilted its head with bird-like curiosity. Just a big, well-trained flying type going about its morning routine. Completely normal. Totally ordinary. Just a Pidgeot, doing Pidgeot things, while my internal monologue alternated between incoherent screaming and ''don''t cry don''t cry don''t cry.''


    The trainers landed behind their Pokemon, boots crunching on volcanic sand. The woman moved with the easy grace of someone who''d learned to walk on wind, her flight jacket a patchwork of badges I didn''t recognize. Her Raichu prowled between the Pidgeot, tail held high like an airport marshal''s wand. The man was all business, his weathered face creased in permanent concentration as his Magneton hovered nearby, cores spinning in perfect sync.


    "Morning folks!" The woman''s voice carried easily over the sound of wings settling. "I''m Captain Lin, that''s Captain Reed. We''ll be your scenic tour to Celadon today." She grinned at the businessman''s barely concealed wince at the word ''scenic.'' "Don''t worry¨Cwe''ll have you there in time for your meetings. Now, let''s get you all sorted."


    The division happened with practiced efficiency: three sets of passengers and their bags for each group of four Pidgeot, carefully distributed for balance. Lin''s Noctowl watched from the side with ancient eyes that seemed to measure each soul that passed, while Reed''s Fearow stalked the perimeter like a feathered drill sergeant.


    I pressed my nails into my palms, using the small pain to ground myself. This was happening. This was real. In about ten minutes, I was going to fly on an actual Pidgeot.


    Lin appeared beside me, her Raichu''s static making my new hair float slightly. "First time?" she asked, grinning at whatever expression was on my face. "Don''t worry¨CStorm here is gentle as they come." She patted the nearest Pidgeot, whose feathers rippled like silk in the morning light. "Though you might want to take a breath¨Cyou''re starting to look a bit blue."


    Right. Breathing. That was a thing I should probably keep doing.


    The safety briefing washed over me in a blur of buckles and emergency procedures. Lin moved between passengers with the casual grace of someone who''d done this a thousand times, her Raichu trailing behind like an anxious flight attendant, occasionally zapping bags that weren''t properly secured.


    "Remember," she called out, "you''re riding a Pokemon, not a train. They respond to tension. Relax, and they''ll relax." Her Noctowl punctuated this with a soft hoot that somehow managed to sound both wise and slightly judgy.


    The first step onto Storm''s back felt like breaking some unspoken rule of the universe. Feathers shifted beneath my fingers, warm and alive and impossibly strong. I''d spent countless hours flying on Pidgeot in games, but nothing had prepared me for the reality of settling between wings that could split clouds.


    "Knees soft," Lin advised, appearing beside me to check the straps. "And try not to grab feathers if you get nervous¨CStorm''s understanding, but nobody likes having their hair pulled." Her Raichu demonstrated proper handle-holding with exaggerated care, then scampered back to its special harness near Lin''s position.


    Fuji settled behind me, his presence both steadying and strange. The businessman ended up with a lovey dovy couple on the Pidgeot next to us. The couple flirted constantly while the businessman looked like he wanted to kill himself in the moment.


    "Clear skies ahead!" Lin''s voice carried over the morning breeze. Her Noctowl lifted off first, silent as a shadow, while Reed''s Fearow took point with a cry that scattered sleeping Wingull from the nearby rocks. "Celadon Express is ready for departure!"


    The takeoff stole my breath, my heart, and possibly several years off my new life. One moment we were earthbound, the next ¨C glory. Storm''s wings spread like sails of light, each downbeat a thunderclap of power. The beach fell away, black sand scattering in our wake, and my stomach did something that probably violated several laws of physics.


    We climbed through layers of dawn, each wingbeat carrying us higher until the ocean spread out like a mirror below. The sun painted everything in impossible colors¨Crose gold and amber and colors I didn''t have names for. Lin''s group formed up on the right, Reed''s on the left, their Pidgeot moving with the kind of precision that made my gaming brain want to count frames that didn''t exist.


    Raichu''s cheeks sparked occasionally, tiny arcs of electricity dancing between them and Magneton¡¯s magnets. The morning air grew thin and cold, but somehow a bubble of warmth surrounded us.


    Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, exhaustion finally caught up. The steady rhythm of Storm''s wings, the salt-sweet wind, the gentle rise and fall of flight¨Cit was a lullaby written in motion. My head nodded forward, then back, then forward again.


    "Sleep if you need to," Lin called back, her voice carrying easily despite the wind. "Storm''s got you."


    I tried to protest. Tried to explain that sleep was for people who weren''t living through every childhood dream at once. But my body¨Cthis new, strange, wonderful body¨Chad other ideas. The last thing I remember was Fuji adjusting my straps, making sure I couldn''t slip. Storm''s feathers were softer than any pillow, and the wind sang stories of freedom in a language I was finally learning to understand.


    I slept without dreams. Just the wind, the waves far below, and the steady heartbeat of a Pokemon carrying me toward whatever waited ahead.

 Chapter 3: First Steps

    "What do you mean you don¡¯t want to wear a dress? You love dresses," Dr. Fuji had said three mornings ago, his voice gentle but brooking no argument as he''d laid out the powder-blue monstrosity. The words hung between us like a wall, trapping the truth behind teeth that didn''t feel like mine. How could I explain that his daughter''s preferences hadn''t transferred along with her DNA?


    Now, I stood before a mirror, tugging uselessly at another one of Dr. Fuji''s stupid doll dresses. I glanced up at the mirror, seeing a deep frown etched on the girl¡¯s face. Her mint-green hair caught light at impossible angles and her dark green eyes held a wariness that didn''t belong on a child''s face. Five days in this new world, and I still couldn''t reconcile the image before me with my sense of self.


    I caught Ditto watching me from its perch on the dresser, its amorphous form somehow managing to convey both attention and amusement. "You try wearing this," I muttered, tugging at the dress''s hem for the hundredth time. The words had barely left my mouth when Ditto''s body rippled with interest. It oozed down from the dresser like spilled honey, its mass pooling briefly on the floor before surging upward.


    The transformation caught me off-guard - pink substance flowing, reshaping, solidifying into... into...


    "Oh," I breathed, turning to face my duplicate. Ditto''s version of me stood with perfect posture, making my own awkward stance feel even more obvious. Every detail was uncomfortably accurate, from the mint-green hair color to the power-blue dress.


    "You know," I said, glancing between us, "If we''re going to be stuck here, you could at least transform into something more practical. Even the girls in these kid''s cartoons Dr. Fuji left for us are wearing pants!¡±


    The copied version of me tilted its head in confusion.


    "No, look," I said, turning to point at the ancient TV where a trainer in sensible hiking gear was scaling a mountain. "See? Pants. The bottom half." I gestured emphatically at the cartoon character''s legs, then at my own dress-confined ones. "You know, for walking? Adventure? Not feeling like a dress-up doll?"


    Ditto-me tilted its head, brow furrowing in concentration. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the transformation began - but something was wrong. The top half remained a perfect copy of me, but below the waist, the dress melted away into flat, two-dimensional cartoon legs, complete with bold outlines and cel-shaded pants.


    "That''s not quite what I..." I started, but the words died in my throat as Ditto tried to take a step. The cartoonish legs, utterly unsuited for three-dimensional movement, immediately gave out. My doppelganger collapsed in a heap, the realistic upper half merging with the animated lower half into a puddle of confused purple goo.


    A laugh escaped me as I watched the purple mass reform into its natural purple blob shape with a (~_~) face, feeling an unexpected wave of affection for my shapeshifting companion.


    I couldn''t help but marvel at the difference between its current actions and just three days ago.


    Three days ago, Dr. Fuji gave Ditto clear instructions: "Protect my daughter."


    Back then, it had been all business - maintaining a careful distance, transforming only when commanded, watching me from corners with an unreadable expression. But yesterday, I''d caught it mimicking my movements in the mirror when it thought I wasn''t looking, practicing expressions with an almost childlike curiosity before morphing back to neutrality the moment our eyes met. And now here it was, sprawled dramatically on my floor after its enthusiastically misguided attempt at cartoon fashion.


    I shook my head with a smile underneath as I focused on my only other source of entertainment.


    I flopped onto the worn couch, its familiar softness reminding me of lazy weekend afternoons from another life.


    "Let''s see¡­¡± I muttered, clicking through channels. The TV itself was ancient by my standards¨Call curved screen and rabbit-ear antenna¨Cbut it worked well enough to pick up local broadcasts. A few clicks through static-filled channels finally landed on what looked like a local news broadcast. The production value wasn''t much better than the static - the anchor''s desk looked like it was made of painted plywood, and the graphics had that distinctly late-90s PowerPoint feel.


    "...and in downtown Celadon, business owners are raising concerns about increasing Grimer populations in the sewage system," the anchor was saying, her heavily hairsprayed style completing the retro aesthetic. "Our field reporter is live at the scene."


    Each channel brought another reminder that this wasn''t just a world with Pokemon - it was a world built around them, shaped by their presence in ways both mundane and extraordinary. My thumb froze on the remote as familiar battle stadium architecture filled the screen. Two trainers faced each other across a regulation field, their Pokemon launching attacks that the cameras struggled to track.


    The battle itself was both familiar and jarringly different from what I remembered. No health bars floated above the Pokemon''s heads, no convenient status indicators blinked warnings. Instead, a Sandslash and Poliwrath clashed in a blur of motion that the dated camera technology struggled to capture, leaving ghostly afterimages on the curved screen.


    The commentators'' excited chatter filled our small apartment: "...and Wright¡¯s Sandslash shows remarkable agility, folks! But wait- oh! Poliwrath''s Water Gun catches it mid-roll!"


    I leaned forward, unconsciously mimicking the tensed posture I''d held during countless gaming sessions. But this wasn''t a matter of pressing the right buttons at the right time. The Sandslash''s trainer shouted something lost in the crowd''s roar, and her Pokemon responded with a desperate burrow into the arena floor - a move that would have taken two turns in the games but happened here in one fluid motion.


    "Did you ever imagine battles would be like this?" I asked Ditto, who had inched closer to the screen, its amorphous form rippling with each impact shown. "No turn-based combat, no convenient pauses to think through strategy. Just¡­¡±


    I paused as Ditto tilted its head in confusion.


    A wry smile formed on my lips as I smacked my head. ¡°Of course, this would be the normal here.¡±


    I refocused my attention on the TV.


    The Poliwrath''s trainer, a weathered man who looked nothing like the pixel-perfect gym leaders I remembered, was already calling out his next command. His Pokemon''s Water Gun carved channels in the arena floor, forcing the Sandslash to surface or drown. The camera zoomed in on the ground type''s emergence, catching the moment its claws broke through the earth at an unexpected angle, spraying sand into its opponent''s eyes.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Ditto made a sound that might have been appreciation, transforming briefly into a miniature version of the Sandslash before melting back to its natural state, as if testing how that movement would feel.


    The broadcast cut to what passed for a post-match analysis - two men wedged behind a desk overlooking the battlefield wearing huge headsets and speaking into a massive black speaker like an old sports commentary broadcast.


    I found myself nodding along to their commentary, memories of countless battle showdown simulators suddenly cast in a new light.


    I''d never been a sports person in my old life - couldn''t have cared less about football stats or basketball plays. But this was different. This was Pokemon battling - real Pokemon battling, not the simplified turn-based system I''d known from games.


    My legs started swinging, the toes of my borrowed feet barely scraping the ground, heels drumming a restless beat against the couch base. The worn fabric that had felt so comfortably familiar minutes ago now pressed awkwardly against the backs of my knees, a constant reminder that this body was sized all wrong for casual lounging.


    I tried tucking my legs under me instead, but that just made the couch feel deeper, like sitting in an oversized dollhouse. Even as my eyes stayed locked on the battle channel, this borrowed body hummed with a restless energy I''d never known in my previous life.


    With a sigh, I slid off the couch, leaving the 2 men¡¯s battle analysis playing in the background. The feeling was familiar by now - this wild, electric restlessness that seemed to buzz through Amber''s limbs.


    I got on my back and started to do sit-ups. Ditto, familiar with this particular ritual by now, flowed across the carpet to assume a beside me.


    "One... two..." I counted out loud. Ditto bobbed up and down, as if it were copying my movements.


    I briefly paused my set to laugh. Did Ditto even have muscle to train?


    I quickly continued, attempting to exhaust all my tireless energy "Seventeen... eighteen..."


    25 sit-ups. 10 push-ups. 25 squats. And a 0 km run. My body hummed with energy even after completing more exercise than I''d managed in any given week of my previous life.


    I caught my reflection on the black TV screen during a transition and had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, wearing a frilly dress that belonged in a Victorian dollhouse, performing calisthenics.


    After 1 round to failure, I went again. And again. Until I had tapped out at 100 sit-ups. 20 push-ups. 100 squats. And a 0 km run. Collapsed to the ground. Everywhere felt sore, especially my jelly-like arms. I still had a long way to go to achieve baldness.


    As I lay spread-eagled on the floor, I turned my head to look at Ditto, who had collapsed beside me with a slightly woozy (~.~), though its lack of actual exhaustion somehow made the gesture more endearing.


    Three days. Three days of watching battles I couldn''t participate in, learning about a world I couldn''t explore, sitting in an apartment that felt more like a gilded cage with each passing hour. If it were me in my past life, that would¡¯ve been the perfect life.


    I rolled onto my side and supported my head with my arm. I watched Ditto appear to doze off. I guess that really did tire it out.


    A plan that had been forming in my mind all morning suddenly crystallized.


    "Hey Ditto," I said, pushing myself up on one elbow despite my protesting muscles, "can you keep a secret?"


    Ditto straightened its form, instantly recovering from its ¡°fatigue,¡± and tilted its head.


    ¡ª


    Here''s a revised version of the apartment exit sequence, maintaining the established tone and characterization:


    A few days later, I watched from behind a curtain as Dr. Fuji hurried down the street, his white lab coat catching the morning light like a beacon. Five minutes crept by as I counted his steps, then another five to be absolutely certain. Only then did I dare to move.


    The ancient backpack - a relic of Amber''s past life - sat awkwardly on my shoulders, its straps adjusted as tight as they would go. Inside, a handful of Pokemon-themed fruit snacks, a sandwich, a water bottle, and a spare set of keys rattled with each step. Not exactly survival gear, but it would have to do. The shiny black patent leather shoes were already starting to pinch.


    "Wait," I murmured to Ditto, holding out its Pokeball. "I don''t even know the rules about Pokemon in the city. Better stay in the ball until we''re clear, okay?" It dissolved into red light without protest, though I could have sworn it rolled its eyes first. For all I knew, there could be restrictions about unleashed Pokemon, or licenses needed, or who knows what else.


    The apartment door seemed impossibly loud as I eased it open, each creak a thunderous betrayal of my escape attempt. Down four flights of stairs on tiptoes, my shoes barely touching each step. At the building''s entrance, I paused, heart thundering against my ribs like a trapped Pidgey.


    I reached up on my tiptoes and opened the door to my real first steps into Celadon City.


    The morning streets made my earlier caution feel absurd. Pokemon were everywhere, woven into the fabric of city life as naturally as pigeons in my old world ¨C a Meowth sprawled across a windowsill like a furry king surveying its domain, Pidgey squabbling over something shiny in the gutters, even a Growlithe padding importantly beside a police officer, its badge-shaped collar catching the sun.


    My fingers relaxed around Ditto''s minimized ball, feeling sheepish. Red light flashed as I released it, and Ditto materialized with what I swore was an expression of mild amusement. Without prompting, it flowed up my arm and settled across my shoulders like a living scarf, its weight oddly comforting against my neck.


    The city sprawled before me, shattering any illusion that my gaming memories could have prepared me for this. Where my mind expected neat gridlines of pixels and predictable paths, Real Celadon flowed with organic chaos. Streets twisted between buildings that defied the simple up-down geography of the games, their shadows painting patterns that no sprite artist could have conceived. Each intersection promised another decision that couldn''t be solved with a D-pad, another reminder that I wasn''t just viewing this world through a screen anymore.


    A real Pokemon city sprawled before me. Where my mind expected neat gridlines of pixels and predictable paths, Real Celadon flowed with organic chaos. Streets twisted between buildings that defied the simple up-down geography of the games, their shadows painting patterns that no sprite artist could have conceived.


    The morning traffic moved with its own peculiar rhythm. Bicycles dominated the streets, weaving between the occasional car that crawled along like a rare and cautious beast. A pair of Machoke guided a floating platform of construction materials through the air with the casual confidence of everyday laborers, while a Pidgey postal service worker soared overhead, mailbag strapped securely to its chest. The sidewalks bustled with commuters, many with partner Pokemon trotting beside them or perched on shoulders - though none quite as blobby as my own ''scarf.''


    I made my way to what looked like a transit stop - a narrow concrete building standing alone on its small plot, supported by thick columns that lifted the train tracks overhead. Steep metal stairs zigzagged up one side, their railings worn smooth from countless hands.


    Inside, a row of ticket booths stretched along one wall. All but one were staffed by Pokemon - mostly Machop, their stubby fingers surprisingly deft at handling coins, though one booth had a Meowth whose whiskers twitched at every clink of currency.


    But what caught my attention was the city map mounted between the booths and turnstiles. The bottom half was just low enough for me to study properly.


    I traced routes with a finger, trying to ignore the small, but steady stream of commuters flowing around me. Unlike the neat grid of the games, real Celadon sprawled in every direction, districts bleeding into each other in normal, city-like ways.


    I found 2 of the major landmarks of Celadon fairly easily.


    The Gym was clearly marked and not that far from here. The Pokemon Center on the other hand looked to be at least 20 blocks away. I couldn¡¯t find the Department Store nor the Game Corner so they must be somewhere more north.


    I glanced back at the toll booths and sighed¨Cshould have thought about the money problem as well.


    I closely examined the route I had to take before marching out of the building to start my first Pokemon adventure. Perhaps I¡¯d earn my first gym badge out of it.


    Onwards to the Celadon Gym!