01

I've been good. Really, I have been. I even managed to stay the loving hell away from Aftershocks, and the plot for -that- damn well wrote itself.

But then I read Kerrik's 'Into the Fire', and I had a line stick in my brain that I had to get out. This is the result.

So, yeah. This is all Kerrik's fault.

Disclaimer time.

Standard Disclaimers apply. Written by Micah Hakubi at feynman dot project AT SPAMOHMYGODHELPUSALL gmail dot com. You can guess the drill regarding contact.

The story is mine, the setting is not. We all give thanks to Metroanime daily for putting up with us messing around his in awesome world. Ahmen.

To quote Kerrik Wolf, "You should not read this work if you are under the age of legal consent wherever you reside. This work may or may not contain any and/or all of the following: death, dismemberment, violent acts, implied sex, explicit sex, violent sex, rape, cannibalism, blasphemy (depending on your religion), BDSM, torture, necrophilia, mimes, and just about anything unwholesome that you could consider."

Feedback welcome. I probably need the syntax abuse.

Major thanks to Kerrik Wolf for proof-reading and offering spelling and grammer abuse corrections for this chapter. All corrections are his, all mistakes are still mine.

-[***]-

Pain. Pain was the answer. The annoying part was, he didn't know the question.

Nor was he certain how long this state of affairs had lasted. They kept him chained, naked, in the dark, light only peeking in whenever his world was intruded upon by women with hatred in their eyes and spite on their lips, their actions speaking volumes of eloquence as to how deep that hatred ran, for a number of people in particular and he in specific. He wasn't certain of the gaps between these beatings, between the pain, the weakness from hunger(more than a day, then), but they held a certain repetitious rhythm to their happenings.

Softening him up.

Even worse, the pain was a distant thing, now - so common it was hard to tell what didn't hurt and did. He felt free-floating, disassociative, as if this was all happening to someone else far, far away.

The rhythm changed. One of his tormenters has been a blonde women festooned in revealing clothing and a systematic network of tattoos gleaming across bronze skin; she had returned, but she had a new accomplice; A overly-well built woman with lush red hair that fell in a wild mane down her back. Even in his desensitized state, he could feel the subdued fear that this redhead held for Miss Tattoos and Attitude - a subordinate, then, and not a completely willing one.

Unfortunately, fear wasn't the only thing Miss Redhead brought with her. Scalpels and sampling tools galore, all laid out, nice and sterile on a steel tray with a trade man's loving care. The needles brought with it a new sense of torture, even if this one was clinical, detached, Miss Redhead slack-faced with a careful neutral expression as she carelessly coaxed from him her hangman's share of fluid and biological matter, even as he writhed and attempted, dimly, to at least hold onto some pride and not scream too much. Worse was what they choose to put back in, syringes of fluids that seemed to positively gleam with latent evil. Mad scientist tools, arrayed out carefully and utilized with as much care as one would squashing an ant. The truly horrifying part was that he could -feel- the fluids worming under his skin, cold and alien things that should not be there. He tried to pass it off as a psychosomatic reaction, his imagination running wild with fanciful imagery, but there was a kernel of fear deep in his brain that he wasn't imagining it at all.

They left him alone, after that, even if the pain didn't. It was a new type of pain that kissed him now, flesh going fever-hot with sweat and cold as his muscles spasmed, his flesh working to reject what it is that had been put in it. After a certain point, he stopped resisting and simply moved with the pain, keeping his body lax and supple as feasible under the chills and bowel-shaking spasms had passed. At least he thought he did - he wasn't certain how much of his attempts was a lucid-fever dream spun together by his sleep-starved brain.

-[***]-

It was much, much later.

"Well?"

Words.

"It didn't take."

Ah, yes. He almost smiled, couldn't muster up the energy. Them. Miss Redhead and Miss Tattoos and Attitude. Almost forgot about them. Damn.

"You're -certain-."

"Yes."

Micah tried to open his eyes, couldn't. He could feel the subtle insult radiating from that simple word, as if Miss Redhead had been mortally offended at the insult to her skill, yet didn't dare show it.

"... Tch. He would had been more tractable as one of us."

He was suddenly thankful his stomach had nothing left to give, for it likely would have expelled anything it had left as the meaning settled. Change. Transform. They were going to make me into one of -them-.

"It's possible that the Bloody Flu had more retroviral components than we initially estimated on the baseline-"

"Shut up."

"...yes, Mistress."

Silence. It took longer for Micah to realize that he was alone again, as the fear drained away and leaving him wrung-out and wasted even more, and the grim, grim notion as to how much he'd be willing to pay to survive this.

-[***]-

Ice-cold water splashed against his flesh. Micah let out an involuntary full-body spasm as adrenaline flooded his blood, his limbs blindly attempting to work as they were deprived briefly of sensation. All too quickly, the blissful numbness disappeared, leaving behind the heat-prickle of rushing blood and the familiar sensation of pain.

Miss Tattoo and Attitudes was back, it seemed. She set the bucket aside and straddled a chair she had brought, glaring at him with not so much hatred as calm dispassion. Those eyes seemed to state with lucid clarity that she didn't care what happened to him either way, and that was a truly frightening thought.

"Which one are you?"

The idea that she was asking a question didn't percolate through his brain until she stood back up, grabbed his hair, and slammed his head back against the wall. Once the stars cleared from his eyes, she leaned in closer, and repeated the statement.

He swallowed, slowly, hesitantly, as he felt his throat rasp with disuse. "...wooo..." He worked his tongue and tried again. "...onnne of what?"

Silence, as his captor seemed to be decided if he was lying or no. After a moment, she elaborated. "Them. The..." Her face twisted in distaste. "'Creators' of this world." Silence. "Our examinations show you should be one of the elders, one of the few originals." Unholy glee seemed to dance in her expression as she allowed herself the fanciful hope that she, among all her brethren, had scored the mother load. "Which one are you?"

Micah stared dumbly up at her, his mind trying to blindly grasp what it was she was saying, fitting it to what he knew, attempting to marshal his thoughts into something coherent and workable. When it settled, he was trying not to laugh, or smile. "...n...none of them."

He heard, more than felt, his skull impact back against the wall. "You're lying," she noted clinically, as she let his head fall and settled back in her chair, waiting.

Something that could have been a laugh escaped past his lips as he bonelessly slumped in the painful grip of the chains holding him up. "...no," he tried to shake his head, failed. "I've... just been around... for a long time." It was, by his estimation, hilarious. Whatever method they had utilized to bring him to this place had, by all apparent means, screwed up.

She snarled in disgust. "Impossible. The summoning wouldn't have picked up a loathsome parasitic freak. Give me your name."

Micah lips curled faintly in amusement, despite the pain, and told her.

She stood and backhanded him. "Impossible. You have to be one of them! ONE OF THE ORIGINALS! YOU HAVE THE SAME DEFENSES! YOU HAVE TO BE ONE OF THEM!"

He could taste blood, now, sour and sweet on his tongue, his mouth awkward and stuffed as if filled with cotton. "Whuh... why do you care?"

"You haven't figured that out, yet, have you? Enough of your kind gathered and we can remake this world as we see fit. Power to eclipse that of the very gods themselves, and you think we wouldn't lunge to take it? Eve was a stupid bitch, and should have kicked Adam out without sharing. We can do better."

Micah couldn't help it.

He laughed. It started as a short burble, high-pitched and rough in his throat, until it gained in volume and intensity, making the small room they shared echo and ring with his mad peals.

The Sanctuary Goth recoiled, an expression that she would forever deny ever feeling flashing across her face; fear.

"Oh, you stupid bitch," Micah said as his laughter finally wound down, the sound still echoing in his words. "What did you think would happen? When you sought to summon up a group of nascent protogodlings to try and remake things as you wish it, didn't it occur to you that the worst thing to happen would be that you'd get EXACTLY WHAT YOU ASKED FOR!?"

The fear and anger-driven blows didn't stop for a long, long time afterwards.

-[***]-

He wasn't in the cell anymore, and that worried him a great deal.

He thought he had glimpsed a hint of Miss Redhead as they had dragged him out, though Miss Tattoos and Attitude hadn't been anywhere in attendance as a disparate group of pokegirls cheerfully hauled him out of his cell and dragged him - literally - naked and filthy through corridors almost painfully sterile. He could only dimly pay attention, following the path they made until he arrived someplace whose airflow and change in temperature and humidity seemed to speak to him 'outdoors' somehow. They chained him back up - it felt like a post of some sort, buried in the ground - and then doused him with some chemical whose effects were immediate, hormones surging to the forefront in his blood as his erection stiffened until it stood out to the point that it was physically painful. Worse, it felt as if the vitality necessary for sexual congress was being sapped from the rest of his body, and his body didn't have that much to give.

Then the cheering started.

Raucous, ribald cheering, the kind of which was typically thrown around in a male strip club, of the fervor that only a woman could muster. There was something about the fairer-side of the human species that gave them the capacity of sexual vulgarity that could make a hard-bitten sailor blush. In a way, Micah had to admit, it made sense. After all, said hard-bitten sailor didn't have to deal with bleeding from his hoo-haa on a monthly basis, did he? After that, everything else likely seemed rather tame.

He tried not to groan at the bright sun streaming down overhead as he worked his eyes open, and his stomach sunk in dismay at the sight that greeted him. His handles were currently chivvying two pokegirls into the same containment run as he was in, and while neither currently held animalistic features, neither did they look completely there, either.

His initial estimation was proven correct as the two began to stumble in his general direction. One remained on her feet - the other fell, matted hair sprawling behind her, only to continue to crawl on her hands and knees in his direction, as if the thought of actually getting back up was something her brain couldn't spare the thinking power to consider.

He carefully didn't flinch or shy away as they advanced, reminded of his long association in dealing with animals both wild and domestic. He also couldn't help a stab of gut-churning sympathy as they neared, the emotion breaking through the quiet fear and blind, uncaring arousal that fizzed in his blood - neither of them looked to have been better treated than he had. If anything, they had been treated worse - one had her left eye scarred over and bleeding, and from the way the one with long hair was feebly grasping around and not opening her eyes, he had a suspicion that she was the worst off of the two.

The cheering intensified as they both got within grasping distance. Micah didn't bother to look up, instead focusing on the two pokegirls in front of him, but the consensus seemed split on wanting to see how good something like he was could fuck, or bets on weather the two ferals would injure him any while trying to tame him.

The short-haired, one-eyed of the pair managed to get to her goal first, as if was as if she turned the valve on a fire hose as her hand brushed against his erection. His entire body spasmed as his throat locked up, letting out a deep, painful moan as muscles contracted in ways they normally shouldn't, pain radiating outward from his groin as fluid spurted from the tip, splashing them both with it's product.

The short-haired one fell upon herself, trying to scoop up the liquid from her skin to her mouth, as if ravenous. It didn't work to satisfy the blind one of the pair as she painfully gripped at his thighs, drawing blood, her mouth licking and sucking his cock into her mouth. A sensation that would normally be exquisite drew extensive pain, his flesh still too sensitive from his first orgasm combined with the effect of whatever they had doused him with. The last thing he heard was the disappointed boos from the crowd as he passed out, exhaustion claiming him before he had time to consider fighting it off.

-[***]-

Something was wrong, Micah could tell, as he crawled back toward consciousness. More wrong than before, at least. It took a while before it occurred to him what exactly was making his brain sit up and pay attention as opposed to simply drift in and out of a half-lucid dreaming state; the ground was shaking.

For a moment, he thought it a trick of his brain, there and gone again before he had a chance to fully grasp the sensation. Then it happened again, and again, intermittently, randomly. By this point confusion ruled his brain more than fear - he had been through a number of what people would term 'natural disasters', though an earthquake was certainly a new one. The problem was, chained up, it wasn't as if he could do anything if the roof came down on him. By this point, he wasn't certain he could do anything even if he wasn't restrained.

The cell door opened; Micah glanced up, half expecting to find his Sanctuary Goth tormentor there to gloat, as if this little odd experience was somehow all part of her plan. He was still together, still sane enough to actually be surprised that it wasn't the S-Goth; Instead, Miss Redhead stood there, her expression frantic and hurried.

She leaned in close enough that Micah could catch that unique, soft, delicious scent every female carried about them like a natural perfume, a miasma of gentle soaps and delicate skin. The sensation was so staggering compared to his caked filth that he almost passed out.

"Take me with you," she whispered, low, intense, frantic. Something nagged in the back of his brain, some insistent pinging, a factoid of data demanding to be paid attention too as Micah regarded her dumbly. "I'll let you go, and then we can both escape. Please, we can urgh..." Her soft voice dissolved into a pained gurgle as an energy blade punched through her back and out the front of her stomach, her pretty face distorting in pain as she slumped to the side and off the manifested bar of raw, potent energies.

Micah's eyes followed the energy blade up, to the end of a shaft that it was manifested from, to the odd key-like halberd/scythe arrangement the shaft was connected to, and the pokegirl that wielded it like it was an extension of her being. Miss Short-hair and One Eye stood there, gripping the weapon calmly, her naked form literally caked in gore and blood - and, from what he could tell, none of it was her own.

Another swing of that staff, and the energy blade sheered the cell wall above him, cutting through his chains and sending him collapsing on the floor, on top of Miss Redhead, making her keen in renewed pain.

"Take me with you," she moaned, even as he felt strong arms picking him up by the shoulder. "Please..."

"Where are the things I had on me whenever you brought me here?" Micah spoke, trying to wriggle out of Miss One-eyed grip, failing miserably. "My clothing, all my equipment, where are they?"

"Receiving room!" the redhead gasped, clutching at her stomach as if she was trying to focus. "All of the electronics were worthless by our standards, but we kept them for cataloging purposes. The receiving room!"

"Then you're coming with us," Micah replied.

"No, she's not," Miss One-eye spoke for the first time, her voice husky against his ear.

That was, for Micah, the wrong thing to say at that moment. "I don't fucking well remember asking for your goddamn opinion!" Micah snarled. "If I say she's coming with us then she's goddamn well COMING WITH US."

Miss One-eye regarded him with a startled expression, even as Miss Redhead stumbled painfully to her feet, one hand still clutched at her stomach, no longer a ruined mess but still tender from the hurried application of healing energies.

The three of them stumbled out into the corridors to be greeted with the sound of panic, alarms, and the other pokegirl Micah recalled from his impromptu stadium show. Micah didn't remember much beyond that -only being quickly passed off to Miss Both Eyes Shut, listening to the screams and alarms and the sensation of, oddly, heat as he was carried along. He only had energy enough to feel overwhelming satisfaction when they managed to recover his equipment, and he could remember nothing else.

-[***]-

Warm, was Micah's first thought upon regaining a measure of his senses. Not just warm; that pleasing, indulging warmth that came from being nice and cozy while the actual surroundings were nicely chilled. Wrapped up in his own little cocoon of warmth and softness, it was painfully tempting to just let awareness drift away and go back to sleep.

Memory crashed into his brain with all the subtly of hammer, the 'where' and 'what' settling like a bullet in flesh, and he jerked awake with a startled gasp.

He didn't get far - strong arms held him across his chest, and beyond that was the solid, warm cocoon that provided him cover. Checking, he realized where he was - leaning in Miss Eyes Shut arms, the pokegirl in question having manifested large white wings that she was using as a blanket for him, her breasts having provided the softest pillow imaginable.

Miss Redhead was there as well, looking particularly relieved that he was now awake. "Don't stress yourself," she murmured as she placed a hand on his chest, her palm glowing as she focused her healing energies. "I've been healing you almost constantly to recover from all the stress your body went through, but you don't have anywhere near your energy levels as you did before."

From all that he could tell, she was spot on. "Glasses," he muttered, and visibly winced whenever she handed him said item, the fragile wire-thin nose-piece having been bent. But, the lenses weren't cracked or broken, so he was thankful for small favors as he carefully managed it wrest it back into an unbent shape, and slipped them on his nose, his vision snapping into proper focus.

He frowned as he took in his surroundings, that of a low-hanging pine forest. Someone had built a dilapidated old wooden shack underneath two particularly large pine trees, and Miss One-eye was tending a small fire where strips of meat hung on sharpened green sticks, sizzling with fat and juices.

"Where the hell are we?" Micah felt awkward as he tried not to fall back into Miss Both Eyes Shut arms, then finally gave up and tried to relax as best as possible, unused to such close physical contact.

Miss Red pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Right. You'd know this place as Alaska, located in the Capital League, near Anchorage."

He frowned. "How did we get here? Flew or teleportation?"

Red sighed. "Teleported. Your Demon-Goddess over there got us all out."

Micah thought about this for a moment. "Cool." He then focused on the redhead, that sense of 'something he should know' coming back with full force whenever he concentrated. "Second question. What the loving hell happened?"

Red winced. "They had you secured at a research station on Krakatoa Island. We knew there was volcanic activity, but had magical warning systems in place to warn us of any serious eruption."

"Wait. Krakatoa? -The- Krakatoa? You mean to say the Sanctuary Goths decided it was just fine and dandy to plop an R&D station on the shores of an -active volcano?-"

Red blinked. "You know about it?"

"Know about it? Of -course- I know about it." Micah reached up, rubbed at his forehead. "You have got to be fucking well kidding me. I'm beginning to think that 'Arrogance' and 'Megalomania' should be included under the disadvantage listings of their primary entry. So what the hell happened?" He felt more than heard a small giggle from the pokegirl he was currently using as a bed and pillow.

Red sighed. "As I said, we had magical warnings in place. They should have given us ample time to evacuate before any significant eruption."

"And?"

"Near as I can tell, they apparently failed."

"Huh. I suppose that's what you get for pissing off a nascent protogodling."

Red visibly paled.

Micah waved the notion off. "Relax, I'm kidding." He eyed the redhead, his earlier feeling settling into dead certainty. He was about to say more whenever Miss One-eye silently offered him an impromptu kabob, the smell making his stomach churn angrily from ravenous, stark hunger. Hungry as he was, he was careful to slowly chew and savor the meat; starved as he had been, the last thing he needed to do was be stupid and try and gorge himself. The repast was perhaps the most delicious thing he could recall in a long while. "All three of you have eaten?"

Miss One-eyed nodded. "We're fine," she murmured softly.

"Good." Micah fell into silence as he concentrated on eating, slowly and carefully. It was a while before he finally refused an offered strip of meat, licking his fingers clean. His head felt clearer than it had been in a long while, the infusion of protein giving him the energy to sit back and consider his situation in full. "Now," he noted, refocusing on the redhead. "Next on my list of things to tackle. You."

Red paled, again. "W-what do you mean?"

"For one thing, you shouldn't exist, and that confuses me a great deal." Micah scowled.

Red flicked her eyes from him to the other two pokegirls, visibly sweating. "Master?"

"You're the result of several experimental generations of G-spliced pokegirls in an attempt to codify the eclectic and unreliable madness of Supe-bra Genius pokegirls out of that specific breed, or at least isolate the genius part. That's fine. Personally, I've had a private opinion that G-splices are more plenty than most likely consider, though establishing a unique G-splice as an independent breed is another thing entirely. But the experiment wasn't quite a big a failure as it's originators thought; it just took a while for the results to actuate." Micah's eyes narrowed. "Here's the problem. I only wrote about your specific case in my ideas file. I never intended to publish it. Hell, I never even intended to use it; it was just to get it out of my brain so I could work on other things. And yet, here you are. Furthermore, I know what you are, and I damn well shouldn't. That worries me." Micah settled back against Miss Both Eyes Shut without really thinking about it, suddenly tired from the long diatribe. "So. Let's begin. First off, you're going to tell me everything you know about the Project and the other Authors that got pulled through. Everything."

The G-spliced Pokegirl swallowed nervously. "I don't know the exact number. There may have been as few as ten or as many as twenty five. I'm not certain, but I think there was some disagreement among... them... which resulted in having the subjects separated rather than bunched up on the Dark Continent. I don't know what happened to them; I heard conflicting rumors, even that a few had been killed, but Thera - "

"Thera?"

"The... one of them, that was in charge of you. Thera never told me anything." She paused. "You weren't awake for this, but we had brought in a Psychic to examine you. She was driven into catatonia upon contact - apparently, every other subject had a similar protection ability. That's why Thera was so convinced that you were one of the original creators." Red now looked more curious than nervous. "Are you?"

Micah snorted. "No. What I was, was one of those that was there from the start. When the first chapter of the first story was published, I was there, reading. Hell, I was there whenever the S-Goths were first bloody well created. Fitting, in a way, how the Sanctuary Goths turned out - just like their creator, arrogant fucks whom always think they're in the right, blinded to reality. Most of his characters were like that, so go figure." Micah shrugged. "Technically, I wrote, right from the start, but I didn't publish, didn't bother taking over any Leagues, didn't bother churning out new pokegirls that would never get used. Mostly I just stayed off to the side and acted as a minor irritant from time to time." Micah's grin was lacking in any humor. "Age, I suppose, hath its privileges, whenever it came to whatever method they used to summon me here." He frowned suddenly. "Come to think, I likely was in the top ten in terms of bastards who had been around the longest. Maybe even the top five, recently." He shrugged again. "Pointless, now."

"... why?"

"Why what?"

"Why you? Why all of this? Why make us in the first place, if all we were made to do was suffer?"

"Realistically, not even Metroanime could be said to be the creator of the pokegirl universe. What he did was make the idea popular and set the fire of imagination in others, which I would say is a lot more important that making the entire thing up whole cloth. The concept was around even before that; he just framed it in a way that was hellaciously entertaining. As for me? I'm a sick, perverted fuck whom finds the idea of having a harem of willing and submissive women whom I can treat as playthings and not have to call in the morning as a concept worth pursuing."

Red gaped at him.

"Even more, you'd probably thank me for it." Micah regarded her calmly. "Am I right?"

Red flinched and glanced away, biting at her lip nervously.

"That's what I thought."

"What are you going to do now?" This, from Miss One-eye. She was smiling.

"The obvious. Becoming a Tamer is the best route available to me for protection and the chance to somehow make it back home - or, barring that, a better place than this." Micah frowned. "We're in the Capital League. They're relatively relaxed in terms of requirement and restrictions on availability. If the population concentration is anything akin to what it was Pre-Sukebe, they're likely used to having people pop up out of nowhere to take their testing." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll concern myself with the logistics after a night's rest." He glanced up at the Demon-Goddess. "Question."

"Yes?"

"Why aren't you covered in blood and gore?"

"There's a cold stream behind the shack for bathing."

"Good." Even if said stream was likely runoff from snow-melt and just above freezing, he wanted to be clean. Carefully picking himself up some help from his 'blanket and pillows', Micah took a moment to focus his attention on all three of his, for lack of any better term, harem.

The G-Splice was the most distinctive of the three, dressed in a unisex jump suit with no identifying marks that still had a hole in the stomach area where the Demon-Goddess had put her energy blade through. Her eyes were an intense share of green, her hair that impressive crest of red hair that easily resembled that of Washuu's -only lacking any of the crab-like stylistic addendums, giving it a more natural look that fell down past her knees. Her ears further hinted at her unusual origins, having shaped similar to that of elf-types. Her skin had a slight dusky hue to it, as if a few good days out in the sun would gift her with a nicely athletic bronze tan.

The Demon-Goddess was built much more simply, little giving hint to her unusual state as a powerful pokegirl beyond the odd key-staff she clung too and the small key-lock set at the small of her back. Her one remaining eye - the other crisscrossed with nasty scar tissue -was a simple blue that matched her short, dark-blue hair.

The third of the trio was lacking in much color, period, her flesh pale, her long, long hair a bright silver, and her large wings a stark, fluffy white. Lacking any stitch of clothing, it was easy to see both she and the Demon-Goddess were rather well-endowed in every respect, from their proud, heavy breasts, to the shapely and wide-set curve of their hips and ass, leading down to some rather nice sets of thighs and legs. The G-Spliced looked similar - he'd have to get her out of the jump suit to do a good comparison, given the chance.

Micah shoved aside heady and lusty thoughts to focus briefly at Miss Both Eyes Shut and nodded, thoughtfully. "Armsmistress."

She canted her head, looking surprised. "How did you known?"

"The same way I knew about the G-Spliced." Micah sighed. "IE, 'I don't know.'"

"I'll watch over you while you bathe," the Demon-Goddess murmured.

"Thank you," Micah nodded in reply, receiving a blush in reply. He inwardly sighed. If being polite to pokegirls was going to net him such reactions, he was going to be in a lot of trouble.

-[***]-

Micah, bathed, dried off, fully clothed, rummaged through his backpack, absently checking to make sure that the more fragile electronics hadn't been damaged by his arrival and subsequent escape. He turned his cell phone on, nodding in satisfaction to see that it actually functioned, which meant whatever method they utilized for cross-dimensional travel didn't do anything stupid such as fry electronics. He always hated cliches like that.

"Hubris," he muttered as he checked his laptop.

"Master?" This, from Miss Red.

"If the S-Goths knew what they lost whenever they let my stuff get out of their hands, they'd likely be having a coronary."

"What did they loose?" Miss One-eye looked blandly curious.

Micah checked his Nokia n810, didn't even bother with the GPS, then powered the internet tablet completely off until he could find a reliable power source. "I do all my writing on my laptop, and I like to have all the information I might need on-hand. I also enjoy reading a lot, so I need to have my stories on-hand, as well. I may not have all of them, but I do have nearly all the major pokegirl stories." He grinned. "Pretty useless altogether - to a point. Knowing my luck, the Wolf Clan has likely evac'd to another dimension already. I could seek out Devon Harris, but he's got a temper streak a mile wide and wouldn't know me from Adam, so I don't have a good way to approach him that wouldn't guarantee me not ending up dead."

"We'd protect you," Miss One-eye murmured softly, and the Armsmistress silently nodded in agreement.

Micah smiled. "I know you will. But it's impolite to come to a meeting with aggressive intent, so cross that option off my list. With the Order of Pendragon running around and the Blue League government already testy about odd individuals, I think the Blue League is off my list of vacation spots." He rubbed at his neck. "Capital League stands to look like the best place for me to setup shop at the moment, their alliance with the S-Goths or no."

"Capital is allied with THEM!?" Three pokegirls blurted as one.

Micah absently scritched at his cheek. "I'm beginning to appreciate how dangerous the information I have casual access to is."

"We need to leave, now," said the Demon-Goddess. "I'm not going to risk the chance of letting them recapture you."

"No, we don't," Micah replied calmly.

The Demon-Goddess visibly warred with her internal desire to protect him directly conflicting with her internal desire to follow his orders. "Why not!?" She finally blurted out.

"'The darkest place is beneath the Lighthouse'," Micah mock-quoted. "Second, just because they're allied doesn't mean they're politically united. Increased Sanctuary Goth activity within Capital would likely be looked upon unfavorably by Capital's controlling factions. In addition, Capital is large - large enough to get lost in, horrendously liberal by Pokegirl standards, which means I shouldn't stand out too badly, and I have information on the League itself which will help me acclimate." Micah rolled his eyes. "That last part is the limiting factor. In regards to Leagues that I have primers on, Orange wouldn't accept me as a Tamer, Scarlet would be just as bad as joining up with the S-Goths, Blue I've already crossed out, Sunshine would have SLIS after my hide, Edo I don't know the language, and Silver I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. Plus, it's tiny." He shrugged. "Ruby and Indigo are an option, but between them and Capital, I'll pick Capital."

Micah could tell that the Demon-Goddess was less than pleased with his decision, but she didn't seem as if she was going to make an issue of it.

"Master, what are you going to name us?" Red murmured softly. "If we're going to be in your harem..." She trailed off.

Micah regarded the G-Spliced for a moment, then went on, "Ask me later. I haven't decided yet what I'm going to name the three of you, and I don't think you want me to be flippant." 'One, Two, And Three' were stupid names however you sliced it, and he didn't think 'Poison, Hemlock, and Suicide' were any better. Amusing, but not any better.

Looking rather relieved, she nodded frantically. "Of course, Master."

"Will you be taming us tonight?" the Armsmistress asked softly.

"No offense to any of you, but you'll excuse me if I give myself another day or so of rest before I try having sex." Micah looked curiously at the winged pokegirl. "Which brings me to another question. What's wrong with your eyes?"

Silence. It lasted long enough that Micah almost thought she wasn't going to answer, until she elaborated in a calm tone. "My previous Tamer blinded me for offending him, and forced me to train in the art of sightless fighting. When I had no more use, I was put in storage and likely slated to be euthanized."

"Is that how you came to belong to Sanctuary?"

"I do not know how I became to belong to Sanctuary."

The Demon-Goddess let out a soft gust of irritation. "Neither of us does."

"Sanctuary has an occasional cache program that intrudes on long-term pokegirl storage from among the League's stockpile," Red answered unexpectedly for both of them. "It lets them have access to raw materials and subjects when needed for research or intrusion purposes."

Micah looked over curiously at the G-Splice. "So why were they both at the same R&D facility I was?"

"Research purposes," Red explained. She glanced nervously at the two other pokegirls then went on. "One of the things we were working on was Template and Evolving mechanisms."

Micah frowned. "How much exposure did they receive?"

Red winced. "I wasn't one of their handlers, but I know they underwent a few test regimes with no apparent results. They should be fine, though!" she added hurriedly at the expression Micah wore. "None of what they were exposed to should have resulted in damage, short or long-term."

"I hope you're right," Micah replied grimly.

-[***]-

The problem with being away from the modern amenities of typical civilization as Micah knew of it was that you quickly became very, very bored unless you had something to occupy yourself with. Out of the possible things he could do, he felt the safest option was to work on a bed for the coming night. The shack had a threadbare blanket that would provide little to no cover, but would act as a serviceable mattress cover once he had enough soft underbrush.

A lot of soft underbrush. Oodles of it.

The long northern summer day gave him plenty of time to work and plenty of time to think, still trying to work through the denial phase and coach reality into his psyche as gently as possible. If he fully considered all the implications of all that had happened, he'd probably start screaming and wouldn't stop.

Evening, post dinner courtesy of the meat that Miss One-eye had scrounged for("Caribou", she had told him when he asked, and Micah had to admit that Rudolph was damn tasty), made him reconsider thing in a sort of 'this isn't that bad, really', as the sunset was spectacular and Micah got the treat of seeing the Milky Way band stretched across the sky, this far away from any major light pollution.

After a while of amateur astronomy, Micah finally decided it was time for bed, crawling on top of the impromptu 'mattress' still fully clothed. It only took a moment to realize that something was wrong; looking up, he found all three of his pokegirls milling around awkwardly and looking uncertain.

'You have got to be fucking well kidding me,' he thought to himself. "Get over here," he stated flatly, and the relief on their faces was palpable. Some quick arrangement found Micah with a Demon-Goddess in his arms, his Armsmistress to his back with her wings acting as a blanket for all of them, and his G-splice curled around the Demon-Goddess on the outside.

Sleep found him easier than he honestly expected, the soft warm breath against the back and front of his neck lulling him into a sense of security. Consciousness found him in a similar fashion, a stark contrast to the constant ups and downs he'd been receiving lately, and was blissfully content to just let his brain randomly drift.

Names, he thought absently. I need to bloody well name them. I can't say 'hey you' all the time...

Micah stirred faintly, and felt something odd and wet on the back of his neck, trailing down his spine. It took a moment for him to realize what had happened; his Armsmistress was drooling on him.

Come to think, so was the Demon-Goddess.

He opened his eyes, looking down curiously at the pokegirl curled up against his front. She was looking up at him, having apparently just woken up, and blushed as she noticed his attention, attempting to turn her bad eye away from him.

Micah grunted faintly, reaching up and lightly touching the Demon-goddess' blue-hair. She glanced at him worriedly, and Micah smiled, bent down, and lightly kissed her forehead, earning a blush in reply.

"G... good morning."

"Morning," Micah murmured in reply, voice thick with disuse. And chuckled softly. "Trust me, you're the best thing I could see this morning, ever." He considered a moment. "Cornelia."

She blinked at him. "Wha?"

"Cornelia. Your name."

"Mmmhmmm?" A sleepy murmur and the arm around his middle tightened, showing the Armsmistress was waking up, and Micah could see the G-spliced doing similar.

"Sleeping on the matter finally let me pick a good name set for the three of you," Micah stated as he waited for his pokegirls to fully wake up. He pointed at the Demon-Goddess. "Cornelia." He pointed at the G-spliced. "Euphemia, or 'Euphy' for short." He pointed at the Armsmistress and lightly beeped her on the nose. "Nunnally. They were three half-sisters, if you're curious."

The now-named Euphy blinked in surprise. "They're very pretty names."

"Thank you. I think so, too."

-[***]-

Later that morning, Micah tried to calm his fears as to how much he stood out as he calmly walked through downtown Anchorage. Realistically, there was nothing that he could really do about it, and while his clothing was that of sedate clothing a college student might wear, it hadn't exactly escaped his troubles unscathed, and looked as if he had slept in them last night, which he pretty much had.

So he quietly stuffed his fears into the back of his brain, shouldered his backpack, and calmly made his way toward what he hoped was Anchorage's pokecenter.

"Sir? Do you need any help?"

Micah blinked and turned away from checking one of those classic 'downtown maps' most cities had up to point out the locale attractions to blink again as he found himself face-to-face with what his brain classified as an OfficerJenny. Tangently he wondered why exactly she was stopping to help him as his self-training took over and he smiled at the green-haired pokegirl. He had a natural gift for speaking and professionally interacting with people, and he'd take special work to train and understand how such things operated. It was interesting exactly how much humans operated off of non-verbal cues and body-language, and he had to wonder exactly how a pokegirl would respond to such.

So, when he made calm eye-contact with the OfficerJenny and calmly replied, "Yes ma'am, do you know the quickest way to get to Anchorage's pokecenter?" her reaction was to color faintly and fidget with her hands folded in front of her.

"I'm sorry sir, I'm one of Anchorage's enlisted OfficerJenny's," she replied in an apologetic tone.

Micah shook his head gently as he said in a calm tone, "That's quite alright." He gestured with his hands, his smile quirking into a playful grin. "Do you know, or should I be looking at the map...?"

Her blush deepened. "Oh! I'm sorry, sir. You'll have to take a left two blocks down, and go another block to find it."

Micah nodded to the OfficerJenny. "Thank you!" Waving goodbye, he turned and went on his merry way, absently filing away the fact that it was apparently very easy to fluster civil-service pokegirl if you just acted polite and teasing - or, at least, polite by his standards. He was going to have to practice that.

He located the pokecenter exactly where the OfficerJenny had said it would be located. Entering without pause, Micah looked curiously around, the entire feel being rather similar to that of a number of government offices he'd been in before. Focusing upon the NurseJoy who seemed to be managing the center from behind the counter, Micah walked up to her and smiled. "Excuse me, ma'am, is it possible for me to take a Tamer's examination?"

An hour later he had been stamped, filed, blood taken, numbers cataloged, and pokedex issued alongside a compliment of seven pokeballs, registering him as one of Capital League's Non-Combat Tamer - a 'Normal' Tamer anywhere else in the world. He regarded the pokedex with a blank expression, wondering if he should regard it as a gun or as a manacle tied to a weight. Maybe both.

Micah listened politely as the NurseJoy told him about the other specifics he'd have to take care of, such as picking up a starter pokegirl from one of the League-appointed ranches - something which not all Ranches were, apparently. "Sir? Is there anything else you need?"

Micah blinked as he pulled himself out of his dark ruminations and smiled up at her. "Actually, is there a free taming room available?"

The NurseJoy looked surprised. "You already have a pokegirl, sir?"

"Technically, no." He gestured to the pokedex. "Up until a few minutes ago, I didn't have any authorization to own a pokegirl. Now, I am fully authorized under League law to capture, own, and take care of pokegirls. So, as soon as I manage to get back to them, I'll be able to claim them as my own."

The NurseJoy blinked curiously. "You became a Tamer to take care of a pokegirl?"

Micah laughed easily as he stood. "Well, let's just say there's benefits on both sides of the fence, shall we? I don't think it's exactly a trial to have to take care of a group of winsome and gorgeous pokegirls, though the poor things have to deal with -me- upon waking up every morning. I think I get the better side of that deal, believe you me."

The NurseJoy was carefully laughing from behind her hand. "Oh, I don't know, that sounds like a pretty good deal from where I'm standing."

Yikes! Micah thought, and tried not to let the face show on his expression. "Trust me, just wait till I get a few more days growth of beard. Your opinion'll change rather quickly after that."

"Going to grow it out just to scare me away?" she teased back.

"Sorry to disappoint, but no. I prefer my mug to be baby-smooth and clean. It's been a hectic past few days, Rachel." Thank goodness for nametags. "If you'll excuse me for a bit...?"

The Nursejoy grinned. "I'll have the suite checked out in your name -you'll be able to access it via your pokedex, and the entrances are down that hall." She pointed.

"Thank you!" Micah grinned cheerily and waved back, exciting the pokecenter and finding a nearby quiet alley that he could hide in. Several seconds later, he was rewarded with Cornelia dropping from out of the sky. Micah found himself momentarily distracted by the way her breasts, unencumbered, moved with that fancy piece of aerial maneuvering, and shook his head quickly. "Right. Let's go get Nunnally and Euphy. Hot water awaits."

The Demon-Goddess quietly smiled. "As you say, Master."

-[***]-