The country boy got his rest from the constant chattering in his ear from the font of endless inane topics that seemed to not have an end. It was a rest from the busy cities and leaving into terrain he was more familiar with—not literally, of course. Most of the region was virgin lands to Red. What he meant was the general feeling, the lazy crawl where pokémon didn't try clawing your eyes out and the plants would start melding together with the infrastructure. It was the people who were wandering the path as if lost, having places to be yet knowing that optimizing their time to the hour was an even worse waste of time; where people eating at the side of the road would lay out another sandwich for him, giving his pokémon berries as a snack while they chatted. It was where Red was most comfortable.

  It was pretty common sight in Kanto. Besides the obvious exceptions, most routes were comfortable places where the pokémon brave enough to approach humans were friendly. There were constant characters who'd gladly battle, chat, or even travel alongside you for company. It was how it was back in Pallet Town. He never approached anyone, appreciating the silence more, but he appreciated the friendly atmosphere that seemed missing when traveling with Lane or worrying about Team Rocket behind every signpost.

  It's perhaps this attitude which made him divert back towards Lavender Town in the first place. Forget about getting all the badges! Beating through the gym leaders was merely a single goal. For too long he'd been laser-focused to the point where every other aspect of traveling was ignored. So for every niche carved into the mountain, for every copse of trees that hid a fairy ring (rumored to hold Clefairy on full moons if it were a specific type of mushroom), for every part that he’d ignored because of the ball and chain, Red spent a little time sightseeing. He'd sit next to the route and appreciate the smell of the wind. For meals he'd actually sit around to play with his pokémon before continuing onwards.

  Never for too long. He had places to be.

  From when they decided on splitting up, Red made sure Lane wasn't heading the same way he was. It was partially pragmatic. It was mostly to avoid the boy. The pragmatic part was trying to reclaim the Kanto ethic, that which animated his parents and drove the region into its languid pace of life: what is worth doing well should be done well, that which doesn't need to be done just yet can be done slowly. Instead of going down the familiar route, the one which he'd already pegged as boring, he went a little south to Route 11, sitting at the foot of the mountains. From then on to the coast were intermittent forests that even he knew about. Rumors bounced around that the whole frontier wasn't even mapped out because of how dangerous the pokémon there were. True or not, Red would spend meals imagining the types of monsters laying behind the treeline that he was staring at.

  Implying that the route was anything more than a path was misleading. Very thin bricks once made a straight shot towards the coast, though long bangs of grass laid over their stone foreheads, making the visible remnants more an implication than a path. Tall grass freely grew and made Red weave his way through the place unless he wanted his legs to get scratched. Charmeleon was out the entire way, taking care to keep his tail upright so it wouldn't light up a stray string—not that the fire would carry very far through the blinding green and damp earth which suckled their feet. As they traveled, he’d sniff out pokémon from the brush, forcibly challenging them. A massacre of Rattata was left behind.

  With how slowly Red moved, they had to make camp somewhere inside the tangle. Grasses shot up like corn, reflecting the orange glow of his light as he divided his pokémon's food into different bowls. The second their food was placed down, the pokémon started chowing down as. Eevee was the first to finish, sending a superior look behind herself before leaping onto his lap. Squirtle was the last.

  Generally his pokémon liked to sleep together. Only Eevee was a snuggler, happily curling onto his chest as he waited for sleep to overtake him. The moon slowly trailed overhead. Red felt proud of his accomplishments thus far.

  Waking up and making breakfast allowed him to see the area under daylight. Other than the gargantuan plants which raised above his head, they were in pretty much the only clearing without ankle-high grasses that somehow kept getting stuck underneath his pant legs and itching. It wasn’t a good area to train. Charmander's fire aside, his pokémon were liable to knock themselves around. One strike from Eevee would make Squirtle disappear into the abyss of nature and, considering how Charmander easily kept finding fights, would most likely land on top of a pissed off grass-type.

  Not training made Red feel weird though. So he divided up some weights that he bought off from a girl. Eevee got one laying on her back. Charmander sniffed the clamps that clung to his biceps. Squirtle just seemed annoyed by the bulky helmet. Pikachu was completely fine with the red blocks that almost looked like pants.

  "I want you all to purposely go out and pick fights with those on. No other special orders. Stay nearby so you don't get overwhelmed. I'll come in and out of fights to individually help you."

  Just to double-check, Red discreetly looked down at the manual. Calling it a manual was a bit much. The thing fit in the palm of his hand, text tiny enough that he had to squint to make out the little lines. 'Wear for battles and while walking to get the best benefits! Do it anytime, any amount of time you want! 10 hours of training recommended for the best results!' it claimed. Red wasn't sure about it. Humans lifting weights sounded like it’d kill them..

  Finding fights was done by barking out challenges. One after another they went. Pikachu couldn't last a tenth of the time. Within three fights he collapsed in Red's arms, legs dangling and soft whines coming out from every movement. Red decided to amp up the training if a little extra weight made Pikachu impotent.

  Out of all of them, Squirtle was the last one that he expected to last the longest, the tiny pokémon fiercely knocking down one last Pidgey before collapsing onto his back when they were reaching the end of the route. They were recalled in their balls for the rest of the day as Red picked up the pace. Smelling the roses was fine and all, but Red quickly got tired of the place. It stank like mold. The bricks which initially seemed quaint started tripping him. Even when the grass shrank down to normal height, the tangle remained. Seeing the checkpoint between the routes when the sun started going down was genuinely relieving.

  There were places in Kanto so famous that everybody saw them once—or so his television programs said. Everyone back home either saw or was going to see certain landmarks. Ranking them was possible. Say that the most important was Saffron, as of course it was: it was the capital, and besides that was the sheer breadth of landmarks which outcompeted every other city. Then came the Indigo Plateau, because of course it would be, and of course it was a Kanto landmark and not a Johto one. Most people had at least hiked up the easiest path at Mount Moon. The cycling road was a new one yet already a bragging point. The Pokemon Tower too, though Red thought that one was overhyped from his earlier visit. Finally, last and almost certainly least, was Silence Bridge. The ominous name was just because the fishers around there wanted complete silence. Red thought it was cool regardless of the silly origin.

  It wasn't a landmark just for being a cool name. Walking past the checkpoint made him stop just to appreciate the area. A fresh breeze dabbed away at the thick layer of sweat that had built up on his forehead. Waves gently brushed against the straight drop into the ocean, the sharp line of land being a manmade barrier reinforced by intermittent concrete pillars. The 'bridge' was hundreds of planks in a swirling maze of boardwalks. Some jutted out into the ocean while others smacked straight into the mountains that were far north. Different paths snaked off into strange places that were listed in 4 size font words on his map. Places that Red had never heard before were helpfully inscribed on the sign that was immediately introduced at the checkpoint; behind was Vermillion, to the left were towns he never heard of, to the right was a restaurant, more and more proper names which he would forget by the end of the day.

  Silence Bridge was a place that spread out through half of Kanto's height. From the top which connected to Lavender Town to the bottom, where the last pier was a stout series of red planks, combined into 90 kilometers! Including every single dead end and long pier that jutted through into the boardwalk’s true length was never done. The only person who'd made it their hobby to measure it had moved away to Hoenn about a month before Red was passing through.

  Even from the place where Red stood, he could see the slight differences of the neighboring port in the wood grain. They were slowly built up generation after generation, eventually connected together for some reason or another. And on the path that led north up to Lavender Town was a gigantic lump of fat blocking it. There was no way that the Snorlax was comfortable. Even with the bridge being pretty wide, its head was lolled slightly off the wood.

  He made sure that he had as firm a grip on the monster's belly as possible before putting a foot onto the pokémon's shoulder.

  "Hey!"

  The shout nearly made him slip off backwards. One of the fishermen had crept over while he'd been preparing to scale. The typical getup of a fisher was at complete odds with the scraggly gray beard that reached past his heart. The way that his eyes were slightly shut made it look like he had a permanent glare.

  "What're you doin' there? Don't you know that's dangerous?"

  Red made sure that they were talking about the same pokémon by pointing at it. "The Snorlax?"

  "Yes! You can't climb a pokémon like that! Don't you have any sense?"

  "Snorlax are docile." Red frowned, thinking hard, before giving up on finding the name. "A friend that used to live in my town played with a Snorlax in the wild."

  "Well the parents should be arrested for child endangerment!"

  Red found himself taking off his cap, scratching his head. Ignoring his elders wasn't very Kanto of him. But so was not obeying his elders. Yet he had to get to Lavender Town. What a conundrum! He found himself trying to swallow the annoyance, a skill that he was learning from too much quality time spent with Lane.

  "Snorlax are completely docile pokémon. It's only when they're refused food that they become angry, I think."

  "You think?" the fisherman urged. His hands were tightened around his fishing rod.

  "I'm sure you can get them angry another way. There's multiple traveling troupes that entertain kids by letting them hop on the Snorlax's belly. I've personally seen two."

  "Well I haven't seen any!"

  Waiting for him to go on, Red nodded. He hoped that it didn't seem patronizing. "They're fine pokémon, especially when they're sleeping. There's not much that'll wake it up like this. Maybe a pokéflute? Otherwise it'll stay asleep until it's hungry."

  The man was gesturing to everything by pointing his fishing rod at them. It's only when the plastic black rod was pointed right between his eyes that Red was starting to get actually annoyed. "And what makes you think that this Snorlax is nice too? The first thing they teach you about pokémon safety is that wild pokémon are not your friends! They are wild, dangerous, and are more than willing to hurt you. Touching them is asking for trouble!"

  "But this is a Snorlax. Even if it wanted to hurt me, it's not going to wake up."

  "And what if it rolls over in its sleep?" The man crossed his arms and nodded like they were done. "Exactly. You should go home. You aren't meant to be traveling if this is how you treat wild pokémon."

  Red was now openly rubbing his forehead. It gave him time to think, though he recognized that the way that the man's eyebrows were dancing meant that he was beyond mad now. Dread prickled his arms as the older man's mouth started revving up by licking his lips.

  "If the Snorlax rolls over, then I'll just fall into the water,” Red tried.

  "Just goes to show that you aren't meant to be traveling around. This here water has some of the worst water-types that you can imagine slithering below. Krabby'll snip off your legs, ohoho! You don't want to see the injuries that those'll give you. If you're unlucky, then it could be worse. There could be a Seadra right there that'll paralyze you and you'll drift off into the ocean unable to scream for help. There could be a Tentacool in there that wraps around you. You won't die, but you'll wish you'll be dead. You see? Getting up on that Snorlax is just plain dumb."

  Red raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. To be frank, he didn't recognize two of those pokémon, but it sounded dangerous enough that he was willing to concede.

  "Alright, sir. If the water is that dangerous, then I shouldn't chance it. I'll just go back and walk on the land."

  "What!?"

  The exclamation was so loud that Snorlax grunted.

  "What, what?" Red asked.

  The man started pointing at the entrance. "Over there?"

  "Yeah." Red made a show of looking around. "There doesn't look to be any other land around here."

  "The land?"

  "Yeah."

  "So you'll hop the fence?"

  "I guess."

  "Don't you think that fence is over there for a reason?"

  Red now started rubbing his forehead. "Listen, sir. I—"

  "I don't have to listen to you. You have to listen to me." The man rested his fishing rod in the crook of his elbow with a grimace. Red made sure that his back was straight and no nonsense was visible. "I don't know who raised you, but you don't talk back to your elders. You hear me? You're being disrespectful and I'd like an apology."

  "I'm sorry for being disrespectful, sir," Red said. He was genuine. He genuinely wished that he never met him.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The man grunted. "At least you sound honest. But that's not enough because whoever decided that you were ready for a pokémon journey didn't know what they were talking about. We don't poke around wild pokémon and we don't walk off route. That's the easiest way to get hurt, no two ways about it. So you're going to go home and forget whatever trainer dreams you were having. Tell your parents sorry for not listening to them."

  "I'm going to Lavender Town. If you have any alternative route to get there that doesn't require me to backtrack all the way to," and it was extremely hard to not roll his eyes, "Vermillion because then you're suggesting I add at least three days to my traveling."

  The man tapped his foot on the boardwalk. It sounded like he knocked on a very thick tree.

  "You could wait here for the Snorlax to wake up."

  "They can sleep for days at a time," Red said incredulously.

  "Remember what I said about listening to your elders. Best to be safe or don't do it at all. It ain't my problem that you're wasting your time."

  'But it's my problem that you're wasting mine,' Red wanted to say. The quip was nice, cute, but he felt like it could be even better and he wasn't willing to be yelled at for a middling comeback. So he just waited for the man to finish before laying it out straight.

  "Aren't you a fisher? What if you used a surfing pokémon to get me around?"

  "Are you kidding me? Now you're suggesting that I help? Don't you even know that you need to properly be taught how to ride on any pokémon that you want to surf on or else it could hurt my pokémon. I don't want any of my partners to be hurt just because you grabbed their fins wrong."

  Red felt his own eyebrows start dancing. "Then can you teach me?"

  "Why should I teach you?"

  His fingers played down the pokéball. "Because you're telling me that—"

  Red was going to continue until the man's lips already started parting before he'd even finished. Finally fed up, Red brought out his pokéball in challenge.

  They finished the battle within five minutes. Even though the man had a full team, it had folded under the might of a tired Eevee repeating the same move over and over again. The pokémon treated itself by riding on his shoulder as he scaled over the Snorlax. True to his words, it didn't react when he was crawling over its belly. Each movement made the fat ripple slightly underneath him. It almost felt like an inflatable bouncy castle, though the skin giving him a decent amount of friction spoke against that. Landing on the boards made the pokémon behind him do another heavy grunt before rolling onto its side.

  He could hear the man screaming from behind the Snorlax. Even though his voice had turned emotional (watery, as if he was descending into tears), Red couldn't even be bothered to listen for another second. He crossed enough boardwalks that the man couldn’t find him and fell asleep without eating. The last thought that he had was that this incident must be covered up; his mother explicitly told him to expect a walloping if he ever used a pokémon battle to shut up an adult, no matter the reason. The shivers weren't because of the ocean's chilly breeze.

  Going down the bridge thankfully didn't have nearly as many characters. Most of the fishers were content ignoring him as he walked by. This unfortunately didn't extend to anything that made noise. Even his pokémon's thumping footsteps were given cold glares, which made Red give up and let them rest inside their pokéballs. No training here either, Red glumly concluded. Perhaps one of those side roads, cloaked in thick brush with tongues of thorns laying out on the little visible dirt that stuck out, had a fantastic clearing for him to practice just off route, or they were where a dragon-sized Ariados was waiting with a trap to gobble him whole. The boards weren’t really wide enough for his pokémon to avoid getting dunked into water.

  Then again, wouldn't fighting in precarious environments be training in itself? The thought bounced around his head until he decided that it’d make good training when they were more advanced. Eventually they'd fight while balancing while wearing weights. Maybe he'd also have another pokémon randomly throwing rocks! Then eventually they could fight on real precarious footing instead of simulating it to add to the feeling of danger. Red's mind was alight for the days it took to travel as he thought of fun training regimens.

  Fishing was attempted at the last stretch. He felt as though the reel didn't have enough leverage to properly catch the pokémon in the water, which is how he coped with the whole rod getting dragged into the water. Watching it spin around for a few revolutions before plunging straight down was the most embarrassing incident that had happened so far; the few flecks that had landed on his cheek felt like he'd been spit on.

  All the tiny pretty sights that he saw came together into a beautiful whole, and he wasn't talking about the pretty girl fishing, who giggled when he walked by faster. Fog rolled over that made the whole place seem like he was floating far above the clouds for the ten minutes it lingered. Every so often on the long straight pathways he'd close his eyes and just let the coolness leak into his nose. Mist pricked his back. Sea spray licked his arms. He could see the tower peaking above the foot hills that rolled out of the tide.

  It was only when leaning against one of the houses in Lavender Town that Red recognized the amount of stress that came from the journey. Traveling was fun, though sometimes you just needed a protracted break from the craziness. Especially himself, Red mused, since he had pretty much been getting pressured by something ever since Mt. Moon. First was the Team Rocket ambushes. Just thinking about the word 'Champion' made him feel ill.

  His hands patted against the building before getting back up. He had commitments. The psychic gym was around the corner. The Pokémon Tower was ahead. As much as he wanted to take a break, Red felt something pushing him forwards. Ambition? A sense of duty? Even when pressing himself, he felt like he was lacking the vocabulary to explain. He was simple like that. He only knew that something about his journey was making him feel sour and that there was something awe-inspiring in the city’s largest building.

  Other than the region-famous landmark, Lavender Town was a boring place whose only claim to fame was being built in the only place of the extreme mountains in Kanto's north-east that could support long term human survival. Red had heard that there were more towns further north with around 50 people each, and were the subject of a popular comedy where they were all depicted as Glooms who were content planting themselves and pretending to be flowers for the rest of time. Lavender Town was close enough to the major cities that it still saw outside traffic while remaining rather isolated. Fog regularly rolled in, making the early lamplights look like spirits hovering above the streets. North were mountains, south the bridge, and east extremely harsh mountains jutting into the sky before dropping off like a line chart of a stock market.

  None of the features were really visible with the dense fog other than the blinding beams that shone through the door's windows. Vague figures drifted in the void but Red couldn't make much out inside the lobby. Heat rushed past as it swung open. Few noticed there was another visitor. Most were contemplating, looking down or moving their hands in strange movements. Red knew better to disturb those praying and went towards the staircase that led to the second floor.

  A miko, an older one, was kneeling at the foot of the staircase while her gohei swayed. The receptionist was playing solitaire on his desk. The whole place was a blinding white reinforced with every choice made: the furniture was white, the tiles were white, the walls were white, while the lights were the most eye-searing HID bulbs they could find. Every person stood out—the man wearing all black who was pacing in the center of the room, the little girl with her pink bow praying in the corner—against the strange style that Red could definitively say he wasn't a fan of.

  Next to the shrine maiden was a guy wearing a black turtleneck. The purple scarf he had hung loosely against his chest, unkempt hair held back by a purple headband dangling loosely as he kept a lazy watchout over the room. He leaned against the wall, face slack like he was about to fall asleep while standing up.

  It was only when Red had approached the door when he finally regained life. A hand pressed against Red's chest. It was wholly unappreciated. The man's voice was slightly nasally and high.

  "Slow down there, cowboy. There's a whole incident going on up there that we're trying to get a handle on. If you need to visit somewhere, then just offer 'em a prayer down here." The man's face slid into a sardonic smirk so easily that Lane assumed it was a common expression. "Wherever they are, I'm sure that they'll still hear you whether you're in front of their grave or not."

  Red casually looked back at the crowd milling about. About fifteen people—he was too lazy to accurately check. Regardless, it was a large number of people who were doing their prayers while a single miko had started spreading salt around at the bottom step.

  "It's been weeks. I was here around a few weeks ago and this problem had already been going on for a few days. I'm guessing that it's going to come around to a month and all that's going to be done about this problem is getting another person to guard the staircase. What's even the plan? Are there people up there?"

  Wisps of smoke twirled into itself as the incense sticks burned. The wooden board laid vertical from the staircase as the woman raised her hands up. The man pushed off the wall and crossed his arms.

  "Wasn't expecting a kid from Kanto to be this aggressive." Before Red could apologize, the man gave into a condescending tone. "Look, it's a bit of a situation up there. I was supposed to be the one to solve it and look at where I am—relegated to guard duty. I've sent a request to the League for backup, but who knows when they're going to get off their butts to help."

  The incense started spreading around the room as the lady waved her hands around. It certainly reminded him of magic, but there wasn't any effect other than the smoke being brushed around.

  Red sucked down whatever strange burst of annoyance that had leaked through. "Sorry about that. I've had a weird few weeks. Though I'm not going to be as good as a member of the League, maybe I could help?"

  The man tilted his head slightly. "And who are you?"

  "Red."

  "Morty." Now that he looked closer, Morty had thick bags under his eyes. They were accentuated by the pale skin that melded into the wall behind him. Soft, rhythmic chanting joined the flicking of the cards. "Here's the situation as far as I can tell: somebody had disturbed the ghosts that live in the tower and sent them into a frenzy. Everybody's either scared off or possessed, still up there. Don't ask me how they're still alive. We're dealing with angry ghost-types, y'know? Kind of a city-destroying disaster that's only contained here for reasons we don't know."

  "You don't sound too sure about any of this," Red said.

  Morty's grin widened. "That's just how the business is. I'm guessing that you don't know much about ghost-types—seems like nobody this side of the range does. Ghost-types are fickle, kid. They come and go as they please. The only reason that they are visible is because they want us to see them. This is exactly what happens when you make one of them mad. Even calling in a ghost-type specialist doesn't do much when there could be a whole army of them."

  Visiting the tower once had given Red enough of an idea. The very little time that he'd survived up there had been a harrowing experience dodging attacks and invisible limbs trying to twist his nose. Thinking about it clearer, he could even agree that was the exact problem: Red had no way to know if there was an entire audience of ghosts laughing while a singular one was giving him trouble. It very well could be five or a million floating around the tower.

  Though Morty didn't say it out loud, he was impressed that the kid was even thinking it through. Newer trainers generally either were meek—unconfident in their ability—or bold enough that only nailing down their feet stopped them from running in like a kamikaze—which also wasn't correlated with their ability.

  Red finally caught on something. "Did you imply that you don't know why the ghost-types are angry too?"

  "Good catch." Morty jabbed a thumb back at the staircase, nearly poking the miko who started standing. Her arms were waving around like seaweed anchored to the ocean floor, finally drawing an odd look from Morty before he continued. "Thing is that there's no kind of magic that's keeping these things in place. Our good ol' spiritualists are doing their best but I'm certain that the ghosts are sticking to the area because they want to. No idea what's motivating them and I'm not gonna start guessing. That's only what idiots do."

  "What do you mean?"

  Morty looked around to double-check that nobody who he didn't want to listen in was near enough. There was a helpful perimeter that the people had unconsciously formed around the staircase. Even those who wanted to be near the graves had set themselves closer to the center of the room.

  "Because if the ghosts came around and ravaged the entire town leaving behind only the potted plants, then the people investigating would have to conclude that the motivation could've either been that a person insulted a trainer's name who had lived two hundred years ago or that they ate a sandwich that the ghost had been eyeing. They're fickle beings at the best of times. Even mine like to—"

  He was interrupted by a mouth coming out of his shadow. Red couldn't even fully explain it. What was once a normal shadow, slightly dimmer because of the bright lights, had suddenly grown a white silhouette. More detail quickly formed as the ridges between the teeth grew and slight imperfections dragged tiny indents. It rose from the shadow with the blackness stretching behind like it was punching through stubborn plastic wrap. The mouth gleefully opened, letting Red see pink, and bit down on Morty's thumb.

  Morty struggled keeping quiet. His cheeks blew up, face turned red. The mouth sprung back towards the shadow. Instead of fading back, the teeth flew backwards as if flying off into the distance. Red lost sight after a little while, as though it crested over the horizon. Little angry marks the shape of chain links wrapped around the thumb's base as Morty let out a sound close to a tea kettle.

  "Son of a—and then he just leaves!" Morty seethed to himself for a little longer before violently rubbing the injury. It didn't help. "Look, what I've gathered is that you're new to dealing with ghosts. Good trainer or not, I'd rather like backup that knew what they were doing and wouldn't be complete dead weight. No offense."

  None of the information dissuaded Red. If anything, he became even more convinced that winding back to help was the correct decision. From his sack came the complicated machinery that he looted from the Team Rocket base. Let it be said now since it wasn't said earlier that Red wasn't a thief. He didn't consider himself a thief in any way. The only reason that he looted the bases was because it basically wasn't anybody's property. Ill-gotten gains being used to buy things pretty much made the items ownerless, or at least he doubted that the original owners were going to get it back anyways.

  The thing was surprisingly heavy. It dangled from his hand freely, with the scopes facing the floor. Morty's face lit up in realization.

  "The Silph Scope! You went and got this for the town?"

  He'd seen it on the floor behind Team Rocket's head honcho. Initially he assumed that it was a doomsday device that they made. A convenient advertisement that he'd seen when leaving the jail informed him that he was stupid.

  "Yes," Red lied.

  Morty tapped his chin in thought. New opportunities opened up with having both a scope and a partner. Perhaps if their invisibility wasn't working, the ghosts would become visible anyways. Then he'd have a second trainer which was altruistic enough to get an expensive piece of equipment backing him up, which brought up another good point: getting that amount of money meant he was making serious winnings.

  Everything that he was thinking was completely wrong, and Red’s own theory of Morty’s mind was completely wrong too, but the beauty of pokémon battling is that you don’t have to be a genius to do it.

  Just to make doubly sure, Morty asked, "how many badges do you have?"

  "Four."

  Morty nodded sagely, as though this were all his idea. "Alright, kid, you've gotten your chance. You're on the team. Me and you are going to tear through this place like heroes. Heh. Yeah. That's exactly what it's going to be like."

  "And me!" the miko said, popping up. "When do we start?"

  They both stared. Even some of the people who were praying glanced before conscientiously looking back down.

  Morty nodded, looked back at Red, and then nodded again. "You know what? Sure. You'll come too. Why not."

  "Why does she get to come that easily?" Red asked, trying not to sound sour.

  "Because I'm tired of arguing and tired of being in Kanto. I'd like to wrap this up and go home, thank you very much. You guys don't even have service up here."

  The miko was practically glued to his back as she followed right behind him. Before Red took the first step, he double-checked the room. The smoke from the incense was powerful enough that it looked like a veil hung over everybody's head. If you squinted it looked like the room was plunged underwater, with the same murkiness and invisible sways that came with it. Tiny strands weaved together into great plumes of clouds that brushed against the windows. Nobody stood out underneath the filter.

  The next floor was ironically much more comfortable than the lobby. Some people would call him macabre for enjoying the decrepit stone that revealed the true nature of the tower, or the tombstones that rose to his neck with names engraved on them, with the last wisps of incense twirling out of the way as he walked. Even the lighting had changed. During the times of prayer, it allowed for peaceful contemplation. Each niche hidden by the tombstones became that much more prominent under the dim lighting. During times when there’s literal ghosts around, it allowed for a thousand different shady angles to be created.

  He liked it all, the mystery, the quiet. Red breathed deeply, appreciating the sight before strapping the bulky scope on.

  The world didn't look much different. Some parts were shimmering. The incense was particularly uncomfortable to look at, almost becoming a solid block of light that faded into tinier blocks breaking off from the main mass. Staring directly into the lights didn't hurt, but they did turn into plain colored domes that he couldn't see details through.

  "That looks even more stupid on you than off." Morty bent down, tapping one of the lenses. "You see anything?"

  "I see your face," Red said bluntly.

  The man backed up with a laugh, glancing back at their hanger on. She was facing the staircase that went higher, completely still. He slightly leaned around her, waving a hand.

  "Hey, you good? Feeling a sudden onset prayer coming on? Heh. Seriously, you good? You're kind of freaking me out."

  She started screaming.