Apocalypse: 2.2 Burnout (Patreon)

Burnout 2.2

August 2015

I sat with my shirt off in someone else’s living room. This was one of the largest houses in Carnelian Bay, one of those lakefront summer houses for rich people that was basically a small mansion. It had been converted into a clinic of sorts, the only medical practice in town, staffed by the only two doctors we had.

Dr. Cole Lansdowne was easily the most respected man in Carnelian Bay. Mayor McAllen was a decent enough peacekeeper, and Pat Myers had a good handle on farming by now, but it was the good doctor who could keep us all civil when tempers flared.

And for good reason. When the snorlax attacked Truckee last year, the town bled talent like a wounded animal. Anyone worth anything fucked off down the mountain, looking for greener pastures. The doc was the only medical professional who stayed with the survivors, saying how his old bones wouldn’t know the difference. 

He and Dr. Theresa Nguyen, Carnelian Bay’s resident physician before the folks from Truckee moved in, were our town’s lifelines. They’d taken on several students, but as the only two who’d actually gone to med school, they were kept busy enough even without having to train nurses on top of their regular duties.

“You haven’t noticed anything strange?” the doctor asked, one hand tapping his clipboard against his knee and the other stroking his beard in thought.

“No, doc, I feel good, great even. No aches, no sore muscles, nothing,” I replied honestly.

“Hmm… Perhaps we’re looking at this the wrong way. You present a unique challenge, Shane.”

“How so?”

“For starters, I do not have any of your medical information from before you entered the dungeon. As such, if anything about your body has changed, I have no frame of reference to compare it to.”

“Ah, yeah, I guess that’s true. Sorry, doc. I’ve been a bit busy,” I said sheepishly.

“So you have. Doctor’s appointments weren’t exactly popular before the world ended,” he said with a grandfatherly laugh. “I suspect you have more demands on your time than most others who give me that excuse, ranger captain.”

“Not you too…”

“Be proud of it, son. You’ve stepped up since Tom’s passing.”

“I didn’t want this. Leading people isn’t my style… It’s just…”

“You’re the only one who can,” he said with an understanding nod. And, surprisingly, I felt he did. “Do you know how I got into medicine?”

“No, doc. How?”

“Vietnam. I was twenty years old when we got involved there in sixty-five. Came from a military family, see? Thought I’d sign up, do a tour and serve my country, then come home to study. Not medicine.”

“What were you interested in?”

“You’ll laugh, son, but geology. It’s why I moved out here eventually. I love mountains. There’s just something about the fresh air that you can’t get anywhere else.”

“True that. So… I guess the geology thing didn’t work out for you, huh?”

“Heh. No, it did not. Things were chaotic then, see? They needed some hands in the medic tent, good, American hands. Local help was a little spotty. I didn’t know squat about being a medic, but at least I spoke English.

“That’s how I started. One tour turned into another, then another. I served three tours there because by the end of my first, I was the senior aid to the surgeon, had some fancy title about it too. And then, when I got out, I guess I just felt like learning how to sew people up the right way, you know, with fewer bullets.”

“I’d say you succeeded, doc.”

“Yeah, well, what I’m trying to say is, I ended up working as a medic because I was the only spare hand they had available at the time. Like it or not, Shane, you’re the only one who can take charge of the rangers.”

“I guess you’re right. That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” I replied quietly.

“Hah! No, no it does not. Now, the other problem with you and the dungeon is that this magic stuff? I don’t even know if it’s something that can be studied by a normal doctor like me.”

I frowned. That was an uncomfortable possibility. If aura was making changes to my body somehow, who’s to say that regular medicine had a way of detecting those changes?

I knew they could in the pokemon world, but that didn’t mean much. Our technological backgrounds were likely very different.

“We have to assume we can,” I said. “Aura exists. Therefore, it’s something that can be perceived. At least, the effects of aura should be perceivable eventually. We can go from there.”

He slapped my back with a hearty smile. “Yes, that’s what makes you so fascinating! You’re the first, patient zero, at least as far as our little town goes. Everything we know about aura? You’ll be the one to set those foundations.”

“So now what? How do we get started?”

“Now, we give you a full physical, get ourselves a baseline. If you haven’t noticed anything different immediately, then that might be because aura changes you over time. So, we can assume that you’re as close to human now as you’ll ever be going forward.”

“Then what’ll I be going forward?” I asked wryly.

“Aura human? Demigod? One of them pokemon? Who knows?”

“How exciting…”

“Glad you agree, son. Up! Let’s see what you’ve got!”

X

What followed was the most rigorous physical examination I’d ever experienced, not that I’d experienced many. I’d never been the type to get yearly wellness checkups. Back in school, I knew that I was reasonably athletic, cleared the national fitness criteria, and… not much else. 

Dr. Lansdowne seemed hellbent on making up for lost time. We went through the usual: vision tests, a look at my tonsils, and a rubber hammer to my kneecap. We also quickly broadened out to what I was pretty sure was the physical fitness standards back in his marine days, and then some. 

In the end, we found out a few things I hadn’t known before. As I’d thought, it wasn’t that aura hadn’t changed me, but that the changes were subtle enough to not be immediately recognizable, especially as mentally exhausted as I’d been. Backpacking didn’t make me a world-class athlete, but apparently, clearing a dungeon did. 

For starters, I didn’t tire. Or rather, I recovered at an absurd rate. I’d been reasonably confident in my stamina before, what with being a woodsman for years now, but like any other human, I couldn’t sprint for more than a minute without collapsing to my knees in exhaustion. Now, I could keep going at a dead sprint for almost ten minutes straight, and without feeling like I was on death’s doorstep afterwards. 

Second, I was stronger and faster, though not to the point that I could be considered superhuman. It wasn’t like I was faster than Usain Bolt and stronger than Tom Stoltman or anything, but I wouldn’t be a complete embarrassment next to them either.

Third, my perception and reaction speed were as good as a human’s could be. I didn’t know if that was any different from before I received aura, I’d always had great eyesight, but it was worth noting.

Altogether, I could honestly say that I was in the best shape of my life. I didn’t think I could be considered a “super-soldier” like from the comics, but I was clearly starting to stretch credibility, enough that Olympic gold, several if I so chose, wouldn’t have been an unreasonable dream in the Before.

“And you say you didn’t notice any changes,” the doctor muttered as he eyed me judgmentally.

“I mostly just took it easy coming back to town,” I told him sheepishly. I took the offered towel and wiped myself of sweat. “Testing myself fully was the last thing on my mind after the dungeon.”

“In any case, we’ll use this as a baseline. What did you say your body was rated at?”

“C-. Apparently, I’m a very mediocre aura user.”

“We’ll see if that improves over time then.”

“I guess we will.”

X

I finished up with the doc near dinnertime and grabbed something for myself at the canteen. By the time he was through with me, I felt too drained to bother cooking for myself.

Dinner tonight was a fairly bland but filling potato stew. I took a seat at the table furthest from the kitchen lines, if only to make sure people interacted with my pokemon as little as possible. I knew Rocket would behave himself, but I didn’t want some kid trying to pet Sir Swagsire, only to get himself poisoned.

“Mind if we join you, Shane?” Pat asked. Judging by the dirt caked on his shoes, he and his farmer buddies had just come in from the fields as well.

I gestured to the table. “Suit yourselves. Mind the wooper. He’s poisonous.”

“Poisonous, eh? Is it wise to let him out around town?”

“Your oddish are also poisonous, Pat.”

“Maybe, but that’s why they stay in the fields.”

“Don't worry about Swagsire,” I reassured him. “He won't hurt anyone so long as no one tries to touch him.”

“Swagsire? You're shitting me,” one of the other farmers muttered. His name was… Matt? Sean? I wasn’t sure. They all tended to blend together.

“That’s Sir Swagsire to you, my friend.”

“This. This is why people think you’re nuts, Shane.”

“Lies and slander. Sir Swagsire is a wonderful name for a wooper. He picked it himself.”

“Whatever. Your terrible naming sense aside,” Pat cut in before we could really start bickering. “We heard from Sabrina you have something for us.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, the seeds.” I pulled them out of my pocket. They didn’t look like much, stuffed inside a ziploc baggie as they were.

“Are these things really that valuable?”

“That depends on how accurate the games were. I think oran was like free health points and pecha healed poison,” one of Pat’s friends said. “What? I played a few of those too, you know.”

“Alright, both sound useful, but how fast do you think they’ll grow? We’ll want to set aside a few for the docs to experiment with, too. It’s not like we’ll just have a full harvest in a month or two.”

“That’s true…”

“We’ll see,” I told them. It wasn’t like I had all the answers either. “My plan was to give these to the oddish. They’re the most likely to be able to grow these things.”

“Gloom,” Pat said, “One of them evolved while you were away. We’ve got one gloom and five oddish now.”

“That’s good news, I think. Gloom shouldn’t be an aggressive pokemon.”

“It’s not aggressive, but its smell sure is.”

“Yeah, shit stinks to high heaven,” a farmer complained. “Know anything you can do about that?”

“Heh, that’s true. Those poochyena you and your boys brought back? They won’t even go near the farm anymore.”

I hummed in thought. Gloom weren’t especially powerful or dangerous pokemon. It sounded like the new evolution wasn’t particularly territorial either, not that it had a reason to compete with the farmers or skiddo. As far as I knew, they’d all come to an understanding.

In fact, besides being largely forgettable from a competitive standpoint, they were most known for their stench. In the games, Erika, the Celadon gym leader, notes that she uses her gloom’s nectar as an ingredient in perfumes. There was apparently some way to process it to mellow out the smell. I doubted we’d be able to do anything like that with what we had on hand though.

“Is the poochyena not visiting a problem?” I asked Pat. “I thought I told the rangers to help keep a guard rotation near the farm.”

“You did,” he agreed. “There’s not much they can do if the pokemon don’t want to go though. Fortunately, we haven’t had any thieves or pests around either. I think the smell’s just as off-putting to rattata and whatnot.”

“That makes sense. Although, if I remember right, gloom sometimes hunt using their scents. Sweet Scent is a move they should know instinctively. It dulls the senses and makes whoever smells it come closer. I’m sure good soil and sun are fine enough on their own, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if a gloom wanted to make its own fertilizer on occasion.”

“Sabrina told us about that too. We wear masks and use the buddy system, just in case. It’s gotten to be a huge pain in the ass but nothing’s happened yet.”

“I’ll pay the gloom a visit after dinner then,” I promised. “I have to, to give them my berry seeds anyway. Is the gloom still as nocturnal as the oddish?”

“Yeah. That’s one more reason I think we’ve avoided trouble. It hasn’t gotten much bolder now that it’s evolved than when it was an oddish.”

“Good. I’ll head over after dinner.”

X

 The gravel crunched beneath my feet as I headed outside the town walls. It was night, with only a half moon shining in the sky. Because the oddish line were largely nocturnal, now was the best time to approach them for a conversation.

In my hand was a lantern that used to be battery-powered before one of the Adams brothers got their hands on it. They’d stripped the electrical components and filled the hollow chamber with a container for fuel, as well as a few strategically placed mirrors to better focus light.

Sir Swagsire was nestled in his pocket in my backpack, but Rocket was nowhere to be found. He’d dove into the underbrush and vanished. With his unique body shape, he could weave in and out of the brush with such control that he became indistinguishable from the night breeze. As for Scout, I’d opted to let the diurnal bird sleep. He still needed to rest while his wing recovered anyway.

Despite knowing roughly where they’d be, it took me quite a while to find them. The oddish were short and, from above, looked basically like any other broad-leafed plant. Even if they were more active at night, the darkness made identifying them difficult.

I’d thought that I could simply follow the stench of the gloom’s nectar to find them, but that turned out to be an ordeal in itself. Because the smell was so strong, it was hard to pinpoint exactly where it came from.

The nectar’s scent was hard to describe. It was sweet, but overwhelmingly so. Rather than the refreshing aroma of a normal flower, it reminded me of an overripe mango that had partially rotted. It was a cloying sweetness that clung to the nose and took over the senses until I felt that even thinking was difficult.

No wonder the farmers found it hard to work.

Eventually, we found the gloom, much to Rocket’s obvious misery. For whatever reason, Sir Swagsire didn’t look at all bothered by the intense aroma.

The grass type pokemon were gathered in a small clearing that sat several yards away from the field. There, the five oddish sat around, occasionally doing a little jig as they absorbed the moonlight.

The gloom twirled around them, dancing to a beat only it could hear. Its stench formed an almost visible corona around it as its stubby arms wafted the smell from its drool. It was a captivating sight, like something I’d imagine would be on a nature documentary in the pokemon world, though I admittedly would have been more appreciative with a set of noseplugs.

Sir Swagsire hopped out of his pouch and waddled to them without a care in the world. Every bit the old-fashioned gentleman, he dipped into a sweeping bow. If he had hands, he no doubt would have made that little flourishing gesture British butlers did.

Except, he didn’t have hands. Instead, he had an overly large head that was quite literally bigger than his torso. Judging by the size of his skull, I could only assume his head weighed as much as the rest of his body, if not more.

Normally, that wasn’t a problem. His wide, flat feet were specially made to allow him to keep his balance while bipedal. Normally. Not when he purposely dipped his head forward like that.

His tail stretched behind him to keep him somewhat centered, but he must have been a little overeager because his classy bow turned into an awkward front flip.

“Woop? Woop!” he cheered anyway, thumping his tail on the ground. Like the unflappable gentleman he was, he smiled happily, as if he’d always meant to do that.

I made a mental note to work on his agility when I started training him in earnest. Quagsire weren’t known for their speed, but there had to be a certain level of basic competence. Besides, I had no idea if a “Paldean” wooper evolved into something different.

I capitalized on my goofball pokemon and stepped forward. “Hi there, remember me?”

“Gloom,” it said. Given that its whole body was the head, it didn’t nod so much as bob up and down in a mini-squat. “Gloom. Gloom-gloom.”

“That’s right. Rocket and I are the ones who helped you chase off the spearow flock a few times,” I said. Then, exactly what I’d said fully registered. “I… I shouldn’t have understood that.”

“Gloom?”

“No, it’s not… I didn’t…”

I was confused. This wasn’t bad, quite the contrary, but I didn’t think to expect this.

In hindsight, I really should have.

Aura, regardless of continuity or medium, had a few consistent traits in the Pokemon franchise. Yes, it was the catch-all word for “magic bullshit.” Yes, it was probably why pokemon could perform all those fancy moves. And yes, humans in the pokemon world were consistently shown to possess greater durability and strength than humans in our world.

And yet, I’d been so focused on the physical boons that I forgot the most basic aspect of aura: Aura was emotion.

Lucario was the most iconic pokemon when it came to aura mastery. It was a species said to comprehend human speech and be able to read the emotions and intentions of others. It could, without fail, find a worthy, righteous trainer for itself.

What if that wasn’t strictly due to their intelligence? What if aura served as more than a simple source of power?

Upon reflection, it made perfect sense. If aura was truly the “light of the soul” or “willpower” or “strength of bonds,” then aura ought to be capable of more than simple physical enhancements.

If anything, there was a good chance that us humans on Earth had gotten it all backwards. The enhancements were great, but they were secondary to aura’s primary purpose. Aura was, in essence, communion. Maybe not in the religious sense of wine and bread, but in a more fundamental, universal sense.

It was why every pokemon could understand every other pokemon regardless of region, species, or even age. It was why empathy was the most common manifestation of aura.

“Woop?” Sir Swagsire asked, nudging my shin.

“Sorry, sorry,” I apologized. “I just realized I’m an idiot.”

“Lin,” Rocket chuffed.

“Shut it, furball.”

“Oone.”

“I will shave you bald.”

“Lin-Linoone.”

“Even ferrets need to sleep.”

I took his whining as my victory.

The brief back and forth told me something new: Rocket was easier to understand than the gloom. Neither were perfect, and I wasn’t literally hearing Rocket’s speech word for word, but the intent carried over more clearly in a way that was hard to describe.

I shook my head and turned back to the gloom. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Gloom?” it asked. Its drool dripped onto the soil, forming a rancid puddle that made my nose itch.

“Yup. I know you six have helped out the farmers and I was hoping you could do that with berry trees. I recently cleared a dungeon and got my hands on oran and pecha berry seeds. Can you help me grow them into a small orchard for the town?”

That got a bigger reaction from them. All five oddish began to hop up and down excitedly. The gloom was a little more sedated, but it too looked happy.

I pulled out my baggie full of seeds and presented it to them. “So? How ‘bout it? Can you help us out?”

“Gloom! Gloom!”

“Glad to hear it. If you can, please plant these near the town so the farmers can harvest them when ready.”

“Gloom,” it nodded sincerely. It took up the seeds with a nearly reverent smile. I wondered if it missed the flora from its own world.

“Thank you. Is there a way to make these grow faster?”

“Gloom-Gloom. Gloom.”

“That’s okay. I know that growing a berry tree takes time. Humans have a saying: The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago; the second best time, is now.”

“Gloom,” it shook its head. “Gloom. Gloo-oom.”

“Huh, okay. I’ll leave that to you then.”

I walked away, confused but reasonably certain I’d made the right choice. From what I could gather, the gloom could do something that would greatly expedite the growth rate of the berry trees. I wasn’t sure what that “something” was, but its confidence carried over well enough.

Now, all I had to do was train my pokemon, convince the town that we ought to explore more dungeons, train the poochyena, go hunting, lead another expedition to Truckee for supplies, make sure Sabrina and Austin were doing alright, and prepare for what was likely to be a bitterly cold winter.

No pressure.

Author’s Note

I’ve seen two kinds of veterans: the ones who insist that they’re hot shit and can kill a man with a spoon, and the quiet ones who’ve actually seen combat. The latter are always the nicest people. Usually, you wouldn't even know they’ve been through some shit until they start opening up. I imagine Dr. Lansdowne being like that.

Note: Lansdowne was twenty in 1965. He went to Vietnam earlier than the draft because he enlisted on his own due to his military father. It is currently 2015, making him fifty years old.

Edit: I can't count. As has been pointed out to me, the doc would be seventy.