Apocalypse: 1.16 Liftoff (Patreon)

Liftoff 1.16

August 2015

The next morning found the three of us in front of the dungeon. The gate looked even more imposing up close. There was a certain weight to it, a gravitas that was hard to put to words. The golden hoop that was usually around Arceus’ torso pulsed eerily in shades of brown and bronze.

It was strange, almost surreal. The past few years had been gritty and hard. I’d worried about survival, about having enough food to eat, bedding so I didn’t freeze. And here was a dungeon, something straight out of a video game or one of those shitty light novels that had been getting popular back in the Before.

“Ready?” I asked, voice steadier than I felt.

“Quill.”

“Oone.”

I nodded. This was it, our Rubicon. Once we entered, there was a good chance that exit would not be possible. I took a deep breath and prepared myself. I stroked Scout’s breast feathers and did the same to Rocket’s ears.

I reached out and touched the gate, allowing it to claim us.

X

I didn’t know what I was expecting. Dungeons existed in another dimension, if not an entirely separate plane of existence. Part of me thought we’d step into something similar to the Distortion World, a series of floating islands with rivers that flowed in nonsensical directions, all suspended over a fathomless void. That wasn’t what we found. Nor did we find a desert befitting the ground or rock type we’d expected.

No, it was as though we’d never entered the dungeon at all. The Stampede Reservoir stretched out before us, its perimeter flooded and caked in mud. The trailhead marker was the only thing that even hinted at the path that had been there years before.

I made to take a step forward, but the System appeared, making me pause. It was something that came with the dungeon, some kind of administration software, inasmuch as a reality warping phenomenon could have “administration software.” It was something I knew existed, but never had a reason to think too deeply about.

Yet, here it was in its translucent, blue glory.

Welcome to the Stampede Reservoir Dungeon. Your mission is as follows: Walk the circumference of the reservoir within 48 hours.

Good luck.

48:00:00

I blinked. It caught me off guard with its simplicity. I’d been prepared to hunt another crustle. Return a phanpy to its herd without getting trampled by the overprotective donphan. Survive a golem-induced avalanche as they rolled down the mountain. Or maybe something even more ridiculous like “steal a flygon egg.” 

The System told me to take a hike. Literally. It felt so… simple, like all the caution I’d practiced so far was all for nothing.

“No, I should be happy about this,” I told myself. “Simple is good. Simple is safe.”

“Lin?” Rocket chuffed, pointing at the screen.

“You can’t read it?”

“Linoone.”

“Ah, sorry. Is this another challenge to get humans to cooperate with pokemon?” I wondered. “It says we need to walk the perimeter of the reservoir in two days.”

“Tran? Tranquill?” Scout chirped a question. He took flight and made a quick circle before landing back on my shoulder.

“I think I’m the one who has to do the walking, bud,” I replied with a chuckle. “‘Pokemon can help, but the journey is the trainer’s right,’ or something like that.”

I tried to remember what I could about the reservoir. The ranger station had plenty of pamphlets for visitors. Before it all flooded over, the reservoir had been respectably large, about twenty-five miles in circumference. The land surrounding the reservoir was relatively flat and had been turned into a mix of lakeside walkways and hiking trails. It all led up to the surrounding mountains, but the immediate area was very beginner-friendly.

Now, the boggy mess probably added another mile or two to the walkable perimeter, but I could easily walk fourteen or fifteen miles a day while backpacking. If I pushed myself, covering twenty wasn’t out of the question. It all seemed well within my abilities, but that itself made me pause.

I’d only brought enough supplies for a night’s stay. I’d thought that, given how these dungeons typically went, I wouldn’t need any more. If I needed more time, the mission was likely impossible for me and I’d be dead in short order.

“Fucckkk,” I groaned. I took a deep breath to still myself. Yes, that was a mistake, but it wasn’t an irredeemable one. If one or two sleepless and hungry nights was all it took to clear a dungeon, these domains wouldn’t have the fearsome reputation they did. “There’s no way things are that easy.”

“Oone,” Rocket whined.

“You too?”

“Lin.”

“Yeah.” I looked around and spotted a line dug from the trailhead. It was cut too perfectly, as if someone had scooped the dirt directly out of the ground like LEGO blocks. Hell, now that I was looking, I saw a pair of checkered flags tied to two, nearby trees. “I guess that’s supposed to be our starting line. Scout, can you fly ahead and see what sorts of pokemon there are?”

“Quill.”

He flew off, leaving Rocket and I to ourselves. I could see the timer ticking down, but I was loath to charge forward without my scout. I had a feeling the terrain would be trapped to hell and back.

If I could get Scout to identify at least a few of the native pokemon, I ought to be able to discern the type that this dungeon catered to, rock or ground. That would then give me an idea of what other species might be found in this dungeon.

I cautiously took a step across the starting line. Then, I took a step backwards, and then forwards again.

“Does that count as finishing the race?” I wondered.

I doubted it would be that easy, but I’d heard that people could rules-lawyer the win conditions. Hell, that was basically how every dungeon was cleared since humans didn’t exactly do well against pokemon. Then I felt my heart leap into my throat as I saw the timer drop rapidly.

47:57:29

…

46:30:40

…

44:00:00

Cute. Shane Hayes has incurred a penalty of four hours. Once more: Your mission is as follows: Walk the circumference of the reservoir within 48 hours.

I breathed a sigh of relief when it finally stopped. Four hours. That little stunt cost me four fucking hours. That was unexpected. I didn’t think it’d actually work, but the penalty had been a nasty surprise.

“Guess ‘walk the circumference’ really does mean I’m going for a hike,” I sighed. “Come on, Rocket. Odor Sleuth. Keep an eye out and let’s make some progress before Scout gets back.”

X

Scout found us in a few minutes. By flipping through my hand-drawn “pokedex,” he was able to tell me what I wanted to know: He pecked at a sloppy drawing of Spade. The dungeon contained ground types, which lent further credence to my original guess: The path would be trapped to hell and back.

Judging by the fact that we were told to circle a manmade lake, I could also assume a few water-ground hybrids were nearby as well. That would mean barboach, whiscash, wooper, quagsire, and if I was especially unlucky, a fully mature swampert.

“Thank you, Scout,” I said gratefully. “Let’s move carefully.”

Each step was a chore. I found out quickly that twenty-five miles in two days might be a lot more challenging than I’d first assumed. The trail had become so overgrown with plants that my hunting knife was simply no good. If I wanted to make good time, I’d be better off with a machete, which I didn’t have.

Closer to the reservoir, the path was muddy and slick. Random puddles and potholes had formed that sucked in my boots. I soon gave up the lakeside trail as a bad job and moved further out where the ground was dry and I could still see the shore to keep me on the right track.

Everything was fine for an hour or so. Three and a half miles down and things were going smoothly.

Then, Rocket let out two sharp barks that had me diving for cover. I crouched behind a nearby pine tree as a rock sailed past where my head used to be. Poking my head out, I saw a trio of geodudes.

“Scout, distraction! Rocket, bomb them!” I shouted, falling into a clearly established routine.

Scout fell from the sky, chirping and crooning something that made the pokemon reveal themselves. Three geodude leapt from the brush, launching stones at the pigeon. This wasn’t a video game. Rock Throw did not have a ninety percent accuracy rate across the board, or whatever that number was. Flying pokemon were without fail a bitch to hit.

A part of me wished I could understand my pokemon. Whatever Scout said never failed to piss off our opponents. It didn’t matter if it was a skittish caterpie or a combative pidgeotto. In my head, I assumed my pigeon had the foulest mouth in the world.

Rocket took the chance provided to mark his target. He built up a green energy over his snout before flicking it towards a still airborne geodude with his tail. So distracted was the rock type that it didn’t see it coming at all and the super effective attack sent it through the tree, dead or simply out for the count, I couldn’t say.

But Seed Bomb was still a new move. As perfect as it was for this ground type dungeon, Rocket needed a bit more time than normal to charge the attacks. By the time the other two geodude turned to him, he’d only charged a second Seed Bomb halfway.

I distracted one with my crossbow and whistled for him to abandon the move in favor of climbing a tree. Going underground against a pokemon famous for its Magnitudes and Earthquakes seemed like a suicidally stupid idea.

Scout swooped in to distract the other. His attacks didn’t do much more than annoy the rock type, but that was enough. Rocket bombarded the two geodude from a superior position with slow but effective Seed Bombs. When the smoke cleared, both were dead, cracked into shards like a broken egg.

It was disquieting. Geodude were friends of Carnelian Bay. I usually didn’t have to worry about these guys trying to kill me.

Then again, they’d quickly reoriented from me to my pokemon. For whatever reason, the pokemon in the dungeon seemed to be animalistic. Not stupid, but direct in their priorities. I suspected that this was why humans with pokemon partners tended to do far better in dungeons than full military squadrons; most pokemon tended to prioritize other pokemon.

Just as I was thinking that, a group of graveler rolled down the mountain. The sole forewarning I had was the crackle of branches and the rumbling of a sentient rockslide. The ground rumbled with their passing. The trees snapped under their momentum. Some of the thinner boughs splintered explosively as though they’d been struck by mortars.

With nothing better to do, I flopped onto my belly and made myself as flat as possible. It was grenade protocol; by minimizing my profile, I could hopefully evade the shrapnel flying around. There was fuck-all I could do about the graveler besides pray one didn’t land on me though. They were so loud that I couldn’t even be sure how many there were.

When the last of them passed me to the lake, I stood on shaky legs. Being in the middle of that was intense. I wasn’t being attacked, not really, but the experience was a thorough reminder that, where pokemon were concerned, I didn’t need to be.

“Rocket, Scout, to me,” I said, voice hoarse with dust. I coughed and spat out some dirt. Rocket hopped down from a nearby tree, one he hadn’t been on before. My murder-ferret friend jumped from branch to branch like one of those anime characters, which I supposed he absolutely was.

“Lin?” he asked, concern obvious.

“I’m fine, just covered in dust. I was very lucky.”

“Lin.”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here. Any chance you can sniff out graveler before they’re on top of us?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.

He whined and placed his paws over his nose. He flicked his tail at a rock, tossing it away with contempt.

“They all smell the same?”

“Oone.”

“Yeah, I figured. Scout, mind hovering a bit further out? If you see movement up in the mountains, I want to hear about it. Two chirps for a rockslide like that, three for something worse.”

“Quill,” he replied before flying off. I quickly lost sight of him in the canopy but it didn’t matter; Scout could find me whenever he pleased.

X

I skipped lunch. Rocket, Scout, and I had a light breakfast before entering the dungeon and opted to graze on the move, picking up berries and herbs I knew were edible. We trekked through the woods for hours, occasionally taking breaks of ten minutes to keep us going.

After eight hours of nearly nonstop walking, we encountered a tributary that fed into the manmade lake. I led us back downstream to meet up with the hiking trail again. If there was a tributary, there was also likely a small bridge.

Unfortunately, all that was left of the bridge were two posts of rotted wood. Seeing no other option, I shrugged off my backpack and placed it against a tree.

“Guess I have to wade across,” I grumbled.

“Lin…” Rocket huffed. He didn’t look too thrilled about swimming in the muddy water either.

“Let’s take an hour’s rest first.”

Just then, a familiar, blue salamander hopped onto land. It was small, with whiskers that reminded me of radio antennas, two stubby feet, but no arms.

Wooper. They were water-ground hybrids, which explained their presence here. Though they weren’t powerful, they’d been some of my favorites because of how cute they were.

“Woop! Wooper!” it cried. It let out a small stream of bubbles in greeting.

“Hello, little guy,” I said softly. I took a sip from my water bottle and took out some of the food I’d packed, dried fowl and some sourdough. Its beady little eyes tracked the food in my hand. “Do you want one?”

“Woo.”

“Lin,” Rocket let out a quiet growl. His lips curled in obvious warning, reminding me where we were. This was a dungeon. Some measure of caution would never go amiss.

I handed my pokemon their shares and tore a piece off my own before putting the meat and bread on a nearby rock. “Go on, little guy. Do you know if there’s a bridge upstream?”

“Woo,” it replied. It was a weird mix between speech and a croak. I didn’t know what it said, but it was something in the negative.

“Pity.”

“Woo-Wooper.”

It seemed to enjoy the food, not that I could tell for sure. After a little butt-wiggle and head bobble of approval, it shuffled into a nearby bush and disappeared.

Rocket, Scout, and I rested for almost an hour when we saw that wooper again. It had returned with three others of its kind, cheeks bulging. They hopped up and down excitedly, their names making them sound like tween fanboys at a Britney Spears concert.

“Woo.”

“Woo.”

“Wooper.”

“Woop.”

I stared blankly as each wooper opened its mouth wider than I’d thought possible. Rocket shuffled in front of me and I held my pistol. They were short, but I had confidence in my aim at this distance. But they surprised me yet again. Rather than attack, they regurgitated something, dropping it in one big pile at my feet.

I blinked in confusion. It was disgustingly cute, and more than a little disgusting, but I looked closer anyway.

The pile of… something… turned out to be some kind of plant matter. It was pulpy and chunky, with pieces of blue skin. It looked like someone had mashed a ton of blueberries to turn into jam but hadn’t gotten far enough to add the sugar yet.

“Is this… for me…?” I asked hesitantly.

“Woop!” one of the wooper, presumably the one I’d fed, cheered. Without hands.

Which made me realize, these things had no hands. Carrying things in their mouths was probably the best they could do.

Which meant they weren’t making fun of me. They legitimately had nothing better to offer me to say thanks besides pulped berries.

“Thank you,” I said with an awkward smile.

It tilted its bobble head to one side. “Woop?”

“Do… Do you want me to… eat it?”

“Woop!”

I looked at the cute little salamander, then at the pile of pulped berries, then back at the salamander. I didn’t want to. Never mind hygiene, this was literal throw-up.

Pokemon in dungeons were assumed to be hostile, but it wasn’t as though there had been a comprehensive study. We assumed they were hostile and acted accordingly. Usually, that was the right answer, the safe answer. I’d already seen how dangerous pokemon could be; those graveler had almost flattened me without even noticing.

But why did the dungeons exist? Clearly, they had some relationship with Arceus; the llama’s hoops were on the gates. Did dungeons exist just to punish humanity? That was what a lot of religious leaders used to say, probably still said in their isolated communities, but that didn’t seem right; there were more devastating ways to make humanity suffer than this.

Others said dungeons were a way of testing people. That, I was more inclined to believe, though the question remained: Testing what?

Was it courage? People who dove into dungeons definitely had that in spades. Or perhaps survival skills? Combat strength? Leadership skills?

Or maybe it was faith. Trust. Kindness. Plenty of anime in the Before emphasized the virtues of friendship, but I couldn’t readily think of one that weaponized the power of friendship quite as much as Pokemon.

“Believe in yourself. Believe in your team. Treasure the bonds between you and you will go far.” That was the central theme of the entire franchise. Hell, Professor Oak, the foremost expert on pokemon, apparently made “bond” his entire academic field of study.

There had to be some truth to that.

Sighing, I resigned myself to the insanity that was my life. I’d survived a nuclear exchange. I’d roamed the wilderness of the Cascades. I’d tamed and fought fictional monsters. I’d entered a dungeon. And now, I was about to eat wooper-barf so I didn’t upset the little guy.

I scooped a small handful up. The chunks of skin definitely looked like blueberries, but blueberries were smaller than this. “Are you sure this won’t poison me?”

“Woop!” it replied, slapping its tail down.

“You’re right, sorry.” I put it in my mouth. It was sweet and surprisingly not bad, full-bodied would be the way those snobby wine enthusiasts put it. “It makes my mouth tingle a little but it’s not bad.”

That made me pause. Berries weren’t supposed to do that. Blueberries definitely didn’t taste like this.

It was like a lightbulb lit itself in my mind. This wasn’t mashed blueberries I was eating. I doubted they were native here in the first place.

“A-Are these oran berries?” I asked.

“Woop!” it croaked in affirmation. Its head bounced up and down with a cheerful grin, an action quickly adapted by its three siblings.

That changed things.

People went to war for pokemon technology, but berries were equally prized. Universal antidotes, foods that could fix nerve damage, and more, berries were the foundations of medicine in the pokemon world, worth more than their weight in gold.

How many people had passed by such opportunities? How many would have thrown aside the gratitude of a weak pokemon? My good fortune rendered me speechless.

I dug around in the goop until I found what I wanted: Seeds. Seeds that might one day mean I could have oran berries of my own. This alone made the dungeon worthwhile.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely.

“Woop!” it cheered. It did this little skip, kicking its feet like it was paddling. It was ridiculously adorable.

I reached down slowly to pet the lead wooper. When it didn’t seem offended or defensive, I allowed my hand to make contact with its slimy body.

That turned out to be a mistake.

I felt my hand go numb immediately. It was a tingling, stinging sensation, like my hand had gone to sleep and blood was only now starting to circulate. My smile became decidedly wooden as I pulled my hand back.

I felt idiotic when I remembered: Wooper were poisonous. They had a mucus membrane that caused numbness when touched. It was one of those dex entries that almost never came up so I’d forgotten. Hell, Austin was the one who added the entry when Sabrina and I asked him to help us fill things in.

I wiped off the mucus against a nearby tree and cradled my hand, trying to massage some feeling back into it. Rocket, ever perceptive, began to growl.

“No,” I said, “that’s my own stupid fault, Rocket.”

“Lin-Linoone.”

“Thank you and your friends for the oran berry, wooper. We’re going to cross the stream, okay?”

“Woop,” it nodded. It croaked something to its fellows and they hopped away.

X

I sighed as I held my pistol in my left hand. My right hand was still numb even an hour later. I could slowly feel my sense of touch returning, but I couldn’t wield my crossbow like this.

The worst part of this was that it was entirely my fault. I was the one who was supposed to remember the dex. I’d managed to take an entirely beneficial encounter and cripple myself. Now, at approximately five in the evening, we were headed back to the lakeshore.

“Rocket? Please remind me to never touch a pokemon without a damn good reason,” I told him. “Talk about snatching defeat from the mouth of victory.”

“Linoone,” he chuffed. I didn’t need to speak pokemon to know the little shit was laughing at me.

“Yeah, I know. That was fucking stupid of me. I have no excuse. Swift into the water, please. I want to make sure I’m not about to get ambushed.”

Five golden stars sailed into the water with a moderate explosion. When nothing surfaced to fight us, I knelt and began to refill my canteen. Ideally, I’d purify the water first, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

It was unfortunate, but I’d likely have to revisit the shore tomorrow as well. The general rule of thumb was a liter of water per five miles of hiking. I’d only brought two liters’ worth because I hadn’t expected the dungeon’s mission to be an extended hike. Having had to share water with Scout and Rocket, I’d run out earlier than I’d hoped.

“Quill,” Scout trilled. As the sun began to set, his eyes weren’t as helpful and he’d settled onto my shoulder.

“What’s up?”

“Tran.” He gestured to my left. There, lying amidst the dirt and mud, was a sand castle. A pristine, red shovel poked out above it.

I shook my head. I quickly screwed on my canteen and stood. “Nope. Fuck that. I’m not stupid. I don’t know if that’s a dungeon mechanic, but I don’t want anything to do with it. Let’s head uphill a bit, guys. Maybe we can find make a bit more progress before making camp.

Author’s Note

With this, I’ll have technically written a Gamer fic. I can no longer give people shit for this lazy trope.

This might be the latest a Gamer fic’s ever gotten without introducing the System at all. Hopefully, I’ve done a good job of establishing the plot and worldbuilding so I don’t rely too heavily on “big numbers go up” like some other fics out there.

Rocket did not smell the wooper because it lives most of its life underwater. It doesn’t have a scent that’s distinguishable from the surrounding muck.

Did you know wooper are poisonous? Almost every dex entry states that the film they use around their bodies to keep themselves hydrated out of water is poisonous. Not Paldean wooper, regular wooper.

Whiskey Fact: Whiskey has oil in it. This comes from the casks that they’re aged in. Because of this, one way to drink whiskey is to sprinkle a drop or two of water into a tumbler of whiskey and gently swirl it around, letting the water diffuse into the drink. This will cause the oil and water to separate, forming a thin layer of oil on the whiskey’s surface. That slight difference will alter the flavor profile.