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[Garnet]

"Another soul. Chipped away and broken. Cast aside like a faulty tool."

The pain in my shattered chest is slowly fading, as I drift into unconsciousness. The voices melt, merge, and coalesce, deluding in the waves of death-like sleep until they're finally snuffed out, replaced by tranquil silence.

It draws me deeper. Promising a respite.

It takes me back.

This dream again. I've seen it way too many times. So many versions of it. Details often change, but the outcome is the same. I cannot recall how much of it is true. The facts are hiding themselves under the weight of time and my denial. But it is stuck with me, no matter how hard I try to wipe it off my mind.

It was so long ago when I was a kid along with my trainer. I pride myself on being her very first.

A year after her graduation? Can't quite tell.

The memories are fuzzy, but they won't stop coming back each time I bed down.

I remember.

Just the two of us. Furtive and vulnerable. Sneaking into a shady compound right in the middle of it being attacked by the wilds. I guess even the patience of disorganized ferals inevitably runs out when one keeps pushing the limits too far.

My tiny paws fiddle with the locked trapdoor handle. Trying to force it open. Unsure of what to do. It's heavy. Far more than I can take care of.

The rusty iron hatch with a worn-out red letter R on it looks almost impenetrable. A slab of metal bolted into the solid concrete floor.

I turn my head around; my ears are lowering down on my shoulders. Giving the impression of pleading for my owner's guidance.

Hazel responds with a childish yet understanding smile as she sees me struggle.

She kneels right next to me, trying to be quiet. Her big brown eyes dart around to make sure that we aren't seen. Flashes of energy light up the woods behind the razor-wire fence, accompanied by an entire cannonade of claps and cracks. Both sides must be preoccupied.

<Even the strongest steel has weak points,> Mom's whisper is as soft as silk.

Hazel taps the hinges of the weighty lid, drawing my attention, <Try here, sweetheart.>

I press my foot against the metal, trusting in her judgment. Tentatively at first. Before finally rubbing it to draw out my powers.

Each strike of the sole makes the steel shift in color. From grey to black. From black to crimson. From crimson to bright and fiery orange. Until it slowly starts to melt away, turning into slag and spilling out on the floor.

<Great job, Scorbunny!> she sounds proud. Like a parent watching a kid making their first steps.

I respond with a wide and open smile, wishing that I could speak Mom's language to reciprocate her love and temperance.

We latch onto the lid, trying to lift it up together. It finally gives way. Our arms wobble from the strain as we try to move it aside without making too much noise. Masking the sounds of metallic screeches under the thunder of the raging battle unfolding all around.

The grunts may still be too busy trying to evacuate the site, but we aren't taking any chances. Not when we're close to the prize. Whatever that may be.

There.

The hatch finally creaks open. Revealing a hole with a dozen-foot ladder leading downstairs into the basement. Right into their holding cells.

It's jet black. The air coming out of it is warm and moist, carrying a whiff of corrosion, mold, and a sickeningly sweet scent of putrefaction. This cocktail of vile aromas rebukes me. Making me feel unwell in my stomach.

I look at Hazel once again, begging for reassurance.

<I know it's scary. But we have to, little guy. There might still be someone left and in need of rescue,> she frowns, making her expression look a little gloomy. <The poachers will put down all those they can't take with them if we don't intervene.>

Her fingers scratch my ear. They're trembling ever so slightly. Just like myself. She does a much better job than me at dealing with it.

She's reckless, sure. But her courage is infectious. Something that would shape me later on in life.

Hazel loudly exhales before hopping into the shaft and clinging to the ladder, waiting for me to join her.

<To boldly go.>

I shake my head, gathering my courage. A nod gives her the answer she was hoping for before I step onto her shoulder to wrap my paws around her chest.

Let's do it.

The pungent odor grows more potent as we descend. An unmistakable aroma of death and decomposition saturates the very air with breath. Making me gag in abhorrence.

My heart stings as Hazel finally reaches the floor. A gut feeling tells me that we won't like whatever we're about to find.

Reluctantly slipping off Mom's back, I land on the cold ground right beside her with a thump. It feels wet. Muddy.

She reaches towards a belt strap, detaching a hefty flashlight off of it. Taking her time to brace herself before finally turning it on.

Long trashed crumbling hallway. The concrete walls look almost black from all the mold. The air is so moist its mere touch feels slimy, choked full of fungal spores and oil. The ground is flooded with liquid waste and grime.

It's barely furnished. A couple of half-rotten tables and dressers along with wall-mounted shelves stacked with chemicals and junk.

The tight, cramped tunnel splits into a handful of barred coops seemingly used to hold in the captures.

A drenched-out wooden Póke Ball stand near the exit seems all too empty. Its glassy cover is broken apart.

Disappointing. It looks like they took everyone they could. But maybe. Just maybe. There are still stragglers left behind in the cells. Fingers crossed.

The fetor of decay is almost unbearable. I try to pinch my nose to make it stop, but it feels like it seeps into my fur and saturates it. I'll never be able to forget this rancid stench.

Our steps turn into splashes. The condensate pools on the ceiling and drizzles down on the floor like a rain of sorts. Mixing in with crud and filth.

An incessant dripping sound echoes through the silent jail. It's maddening.

I grab my trainer's hand almost instinctively. She tightly squeezes it back. Bringing me some comfort amidst this hellish place.

<Oh no...> a faint whisper escapes her lips.

I peek out from behind her. The only thing I manage to make out is one of the cells. Bars covered under thick layers of rust, growing out of the iron like gnarled, jagged claws. A chain on the floor. A blood-soaked lash. And...

A silhouette curled up in the corner. Still. Motionless.

Hazel's flashlight points under our feet. Hiding the scene away, back into the darkness. Her palm covers my face.

<Don't look,> she sounds cold, unlike her usual self. Her voice is audibly cracking under the pressure.

Mom freezes. Trying to make sense of our situation.

<Why...> she softly utters to herself before, slowly inching forward. More tentatively than before.

As her flashlight turns to face the wall, the sight that it reveals before us doesn't look much more encouraging.

<Arceus...>

An old steel rack bolted to it appears to be decked with tools. Tongs, hammers, chisels, branding irons, little handheld saws, and blades. Tarnished, dull, and dirty. Some are still with dark brown stains on them.

No. I don't want to think about it. I can't. I feel dizzy.

But thankfully. We don't get much time to reflect. A chitter breaks the silence, followed by a rabid squeal. A snap of a rope being ripped apart.

Something jumps out of the shadows, slipping in between the bars.

A purple rat-like creature gnashes at my trainer's boot. It looks filthy, missing entire patches of its soapy coat. Dotted with festering wounds, scars, and blisters. Its eyes are frozen in an expression of perpetual dread, Insane with fear-driven fury.

Mom gasps as the poor thing tears open her shoe, darting back towards the wall to unleash a panicked, high-pitched squeal. To take aim.

It jumps.

Seems like we have no other choice.

Jerking into action, I try to shield my trainer from the critter, dashing between the two of them. Ready to take the hit.

It knocks me to the ground with unexpected brutal force. My back flops into the stinking sludge with a sickening squish, sending chunks of refuse flying.

The creature clanks its teeth in front of my face. Its breath is radiating heat steeped in the same stench of rot and sickness.

My paws struggle to keep it at bay until Hazel intervenes, pulling it off me by its stubby tail and throwing it aside.

<Stop! We aren't here to hurt you!> her voice sounds guilty and heartbroken. But it doesn't get through.

The creature is too far gone to understand it.

It jolts again. Attacking whatever it can reach.

I slam my fist into its face, leaving a faint scorch mark on it. Sharp aroma of burnt fur adds to the horrific atmosphere as the critter recoils in pain.

It screeches, but doesn't seem to be deterred. Determined to fight until the bitter end. Its snout twists in an expression of boundless madness. Its eyes are unable to distinguish friend from foe.

White foam peeks out from the corner of its mouth.

Poor thing. My heart bleeds for it, but I can't let it injure us.

It charges, painfully smashing me into the wall to return the favor. Kicking the air out of my lungs. Its desperation gives it much more vigor than it should have.

Cracked yellow claws start scratching at my neck in a frenzy. Leaving thin scarlet lines on my fur.

Mom picks up a crowbar off the floor and takes a swing, smacking the thing in the head with a dull metallic thud.

Quick thinking. She buys me time to react.

My paws latch onto the bars behind me for support. My whole body lunges forward, both of my legs straightening up. Launching the critter back with all the force I have.

It crashes into the tool rack with a meaty snap of bones, accompanied by the ringing sounds of steel appliances falling down on top. The whole content of the frame buries the critter under a pile of rust and iron.

The creature...

It seems like it stopped moving. A single twitch wrecks through its body before it goes still again.

Is it... Dead?

I finally let go of the bars, dusting myself off. Trying to wrap my head around what happened.

Mom looks at me as if she's about to say something, but words get stuck in her throat. The beam of her flashlight starts visibly shaking as she spots something behind my shoulder.

<Garnet, don't...>

I turn around. I shouldn't have.

So many of them. Piled up like trash on top of one another. Discarded into a half-buried hole in the floor. The source of this sickening stench. Furs of all colors stick out of the mud. Soaked in muck and grime ridden with larvas.

We're beyond asking ourselves why. The monsters that made this place their home are past any point of reasoning or explanation.

Insects disturbed by our presence buzz, taking off into the air and circling the pit in a rapidly growing swarm.

Buzz-Buzz-Buzz. Their murmur makes my stomach squeeze. Threatening to empty it.

Hazel turns away the flashlight. But the glimpse of this gristly sight is forever carved into my mind. Branding itself upon the canvas of my memories.

My knees give way. My eyes peer under my feet as I start having trouble maintaining balance. My head feels numb.

Mom kecks in disgust, barely holding back the fit nausea.

My fingers clutch the corner of a small and shabby table. I squeeze it as hard as I can to push the haziness away. The image seems to be imprinted in my brain. No matter how hard I blink, it doesn't go away.

It didn't happen overnight. It couldn't have been a murder committed in the wake of their retreat. They surely took their time judging by how badly some of them...

I can't. I shouldn't think about it.

Another wave of weakness washes over my body. My paws begin to shake. My vision's spinning.

Hazel tightly grips my arm. Her palm feels frigid with cold sweat.

<We're leaving,> her hoarse whisper sounds shattered. Her usual boldness went away without a trace. She's right. There's nothing left for us to save.

It's hard to stumble back onto my feet. My muscles are refusing. My shin trips over the leg of the desk, making it snap and force the table to lean over. Notebooks and old office supplies slide off into the dirt beneath my feet.

I let out a whimper. Still having a hard time to stand.

As the piece of furniture collapses, something wet brushes against my flank. Making my heart stop for just a mere second.

I see a peep of something green darting into the farthest corner of the hall.

<What...>

We both freeze. Hazel's flashlight swiftly turns towards the dead end. She grips the crowbar tighter, expecting yet another ambush.

It doesn't come as a few tense seconds pass. My heart pounds like a hammer against the anvil in my chest. Wondering. Waiting for the worst.

It seems like nothing's there at first. Another wobbly old dresser, barely holding up its weight. Until I notice the very tip of a swampy tail jerking back into the shade below. Struggling to conceal itself.

Adrenaline kicks in, pulling me out of my nightmare. I give Mom a look. Asking for permission to investigate.

<Okay. Just... Careful...>

Tilting my head in agreement, I tentatively take my step forward. It's quite. Deathly so. Only my heartbeat is breaking the cold dead air.

Another one. I strain my body, preparing for the creature to attack.

But it seems like this one is choosing hide-and-seek instead. So be it.

The stranger blends into the shadows almost perfectly, escaping our notice.

My fingers tap on my trainer's light source. She nervously sighs, passing it to me.

The flashlight looks comically large in my paws, almost half my size in length. I fidget with it before pointing the bulb under the dresser.

A pair of terrified pink eyes look back at me. Unblinking. Watching my every move.

A dull green feline figure covered in soot and ash reveals itself. It's almost unrecognizable beneath a thick layer of gunge.

It looks miserable. Malnourished. Thin as a twig. Covered in bruises and barely healed cuts. An R-letter brand marks its thigh, swelling with rampant infection.

<What did they do to you?>

Mom lowers herself down on the floor. Her face paints itself gray in sheer revulsion. She's taking her time to recollect her thoughts.

<Hey, little thing... Sprigatito, is it?>

The cat stays as static as a statue. Not daring to make a sound or respond. The corpselike limbs tense up. Expecting pain and torture. Something the feline is clearly used to.

The eyes. They are hopeless. Wrecked under the crushing weight of despondence. A single tear runs down its cheek. And yet it finds no strength to ask for mercy or compassion.

A suffocating feeling fills up my chest. I can't imagine what must have happened here.

I wish to help.

Can we?

<I'm sorry... I'm so sorry...> Hazel's voice comes out as a garbled mess. She bites her lip, trying to hold back the outburst of emotions. <We'll get you out of here, okay?>

The cat presses itself harder against the wall, freaking out over the loud human speech. It's face looks mortified. But there's just a small twinkle of confusion passing through. It must be thinking why haven't we hit yet.

<Shhh... No one's going to hurt you. I promise.>

It's dumbfounded. Still peering at us. The arched back lowers down slightly in sheer disbelief. It understands the words, but has trouble making sense of them.

Mom exhales, looking at this wreck of a being up and down. Tears well up in her eyes, but she maintains her voice as soft as cotton.

<It's a boy. Let's give you a name, shall we? We'll call you Jasper.>

I lean over, putting the flashlight on floor and showing my empty paws. Proclaiming that I'm not a threat.

As I move a little closer, my open palm extends towards him. Slowly. Not to alert our newfound rescue.

My fingers stretch out in an offer of assistance. Giving him some time and space to think.

A sense of protectiveness takes hold of me.

I won't let anyone bruise him again. Not after everything he has been through. I promise.

Please give us a chance. Please?

He looks hesitant. Scared at first. But something is stirring within. Something that was missing for such a long time. Hope?

The feline raises his quivering foreleg. Looking at it and then at me.

There you go. You're doing great!

He finally gathers enough confidence to lower it down on mine. Seemingly out of despair, clinging to me like his one and only lifeline.

Trust? Hardly. Desperation leaving him no other choice? Sounds more like it.

But we will make things right. I vow.

The hope still lives.

His paw pad is cracked. Brushing against my own like rough sandpaper. But it doesn't dissuade me. I respond in a language only one of my kind would understand.

"Friend..."