The moment I step through the hatch, it’s like walking into a blank page—just screaming white, wind so fierce it peels away the horizon. There’s no way to tell which end is up; the wind gets to decide, and for a second I can’t tell if I’m standing or falling straight down into nothing. The snow doesn’t bother with drifting—it hits hard, slapping my face until I can’t feel it at all. My eyelashes try to freeze shut, and my vision narrows to barely anything. My Beldum—the first one, the anchor—zips ahead, its metal shell catching odd flashes of blue as it goes. I scramble after, bare feet sinking deep until every step feels like an argument with gravity itself. Out here, you don’t win by being fast; you just put one foot in front of the other and dare the ground to give way.
Behind me, the rest spill from the hatch as one rolling wave—chaos that sorts itself out mid-flight. Beldum aren’t exactly built for this kind of weather, but you wouldn’t know it from how they move. They ignore everything: cold, wind, rules. They float on their own invisible current—up, adjust, surge, repeat. I’m the only creature out here with blood in my veins and lungs burning in my chest—alone in this freezing corner of nowhere. The wind howls over my head; underneath it all, there’s that steady buzz from the psychic relay—a current of commands from my Beldum threading through the air.
I almost let myself believe we’ve made it when the facility disappears behind us in the white-out. Then the ground starts shaking—not smooth or subtle, but rough and deep like thunder under my boots. Engines—getting closer. My pulse kicks up. Headlights split open the dark ahead: blue and white beams everywhere, all those shapes pouring into view—riot vans, armored trucks, even a pair of hulking yellow snowplows dragging nets between them.
The leading Beldum throws out a signal; the swarm fans out wide without hesitation. The wind steals anything I could shout anyway—it doesn’t matter. Every order we’ll ever need is preloaded in their heads. The group scatters across the snowfield in angles that shouldn’t work but somehow do, dodging right past where anyone would expect them.
Then a helicopter spins up from dead center of the convoy—rotors chopping through snow and spinning it sideways. Searchlights lock onto us fast, hitting each Beldum like they’ve been waiting for this moment all day. The whole thing feels tight and calculated—a machine hunting for problems. I can practically see Colress sitting at controls or maybe barking orders over comms somewhere, calm as ice and analyzing every move we make through half a dozen screens.
The first net drops about five meters in front of me—a mess of monowire layered with some crackling static mesh, hissing as it buries itself in the snow. Two Beldum end up tangled, but the rest swarm in without missing a beat, throwing enough current to fry the whole thing into molten slush. The trucks try to circle around, but the Beldum use them for target practice—bouncing off grilles, snapping off mirrors and door handles like it’s all part of the plan. One truck loses control and spins out on a patch of ice; a group of Beldum ram into its side, the force lifting it up like it weighs nothing, and send it flying. A riot van hits the ground upside-down, lights still flashing like someone forgot to turn off the party. I bark out a laugh, sharp and raw—half nerves, half disbelief.
The helicopter gets meaner—shooting bursts of micro nets—but they’re fighting a losing battle against the wind and Beldum that refuse to line up for a shot. My own Beldum stays glued to my side; it blocks bursts of electricity shot from a Pokemon on the back of a truck, snags a shock baton right out of the air, and pretty much hauls me up an icy slope when my legs quit. Every time I start to go down, it’s there yanking me upright with a psychic tug that says keep moving or else. We finally hit the trees, sliding beneath twisted black pines groaning in the gale.
I drop to my knees in the snow for what feels like forever, breath hitching from exhaustion and adrenaline. Every snowflake stings where it lands. I can’t feel my toes at all. My breath ices as soon as it leaves my body, but I force myself forward: move, duck, disappear.
I risk one quick look back. The trucks are stuck deep, their lights sputtering out while Beldum rip through their wiring like it’s busywork. The helicopter hovers low and then chases after a pack of decoy Beldum breaking apart in every direction. Colress stands out even from here: lab coat flapping wildly, blond hair glowing under headlights—a lighthouse in all this chaos. He just stands there by the auxiliary exit with his hands still and eyes sharp—watching everything like he’s waiting for a test result.
The last of the Beldum close in around me again—quiet except for their soft humming fields. Mine floats so close our faces almost touch. I lean against its metal shell for a second, just breathing its warmth into the cold.
We share something quiet there—not words or thoughts—just an understanding.
“Keep going,” I manage, voice cracking.
My Beldum heads out first; the rest fall in behind us. We slip into the woods—branches whip at my face—and leave nothing behind but our trail cut through untouched snow. Back at the facility, perimeter lights burn for another minute before flickering out one by one; pursuit fading into darkness.
We run—maybe hours or maybe only minutes; time’s gone weird now, stretching and collapsing with every cold-shock jolt of fear. The cold settles deeper inside me until I barely feel my hands or feet anymore—until moving is just something left on autopilot. All that’s left is me and a horde of Beldum blinking through the storm like tiny blue signals in all that white.
By the time I finally give in and drop, it’s into a pocket of snow so deep I’m half-buried already, ringed by cranky old spruces rattling in the wind. The remaining Beldum close ranks around me, quiet but alert, their eyes flicking over every shadow. Mine hovers at my side, humming low and steady like it’s daring the cold to mess with me now. I press my cheek to its metal shell and let the numbness settle in—strangely, it feels almost safe.
Off somewhere distant, something heavy crashes—a truck biting the dust or just a branch giving up. Doesn’t matter. Out here, the woods swallow up everything. Twilight presses down in a single sheet, so sharp and blue it feels like walking into a bruise. Wind snakes through the pine boughs, stripping warmth from skin before it even has time to settle. My hands have gone pink and numb; my cheeks are so raw they feel like they might peel off and drift away with the needles. Each time I draw breath, it’s like swallowing the edge of a blade. The only thing not fading to darkness is the red glow burning just ahead of me—Beldum’s eye, scanning the woods in slow, mathematical sweeps.
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We are well past the sightline of the ruined facility now, the forest rising around us in columns of bone-white and shadow, drifts of snow clogging every hollow. Beldum floats two paces ahead, held aloft by the same logic that made it crack titanium hinges and fly through glass. Now and then it tips its hull, adjusting for the wind, calculating the resistance. Every once in a while it pulses, letting the psychic barrier flare out and ripple over my skin—thickening the air just enough to take the bite off the cold. It’s not warmth, exactly, but it slows the frost from gnawing all the way to bone.
I struggle to my feet, my body aching from the ordeal we've been through. As I steady myself, I notice the other Beldum beginning to drift away into the shadowy woods. They move silently, their metallic bodies gleaming faintly in the dim light. It seems I've served my purpose in assisting their escape, and now they're leaving us behind. Only my Beldum remains, hovering close, its single red eye fixed on me with what I can only interpret as concern.
By the time we hit the edge of the next ravine, the sun has died so completely that the snow glows by memory alone. The pines crowd tighter, and I catch the smell of burned plastic, engine oil, and something much more metallic, coppery and dense. Beldum halts in the air. It angles its head at the incline, as if to say: Here.
I push forward, nearly tumbling into the drift, and look down.
A truck sits halfway up the opposite bank, wheels half-swallowed by snow. It’s a military transport—old, dented, painted in the flat gray-brown of authority trying to be invisible. The front is caved in around a fallen pine, the cab glass exploded outward, its shards stippling the crust below. There are three shapes around it: two slumped in the passenger well, one splayed across the truck’s nose, face-down in the snow, arms still outstretched. The wind has sandblasted every surface; the blood has gone black in the low light, frozen in wild arcs where it spattered out.
Beldum dips lower, its red eye almost gentle, as if cautioning me to wait. I ignore the warning, knees buckling as I skid down the ravine, then I scramble up the other side, feet slipping on a mix of snow and shattered bark. At the base of the truck, the cold intensifies, the engine block holding a ghost of heat that only highlights the iciness of everything else.
The doors are bent but not locked. It takes both hands and a solid shoulder-thump to pry one open. The man in the driver’s seat doesn’t move. His uniform jacket is dark with fluids, frozen stiff against the wheel. His mouth is open, but the tongue has gone starting to turn black and shrivelled. I avert my eyes, searching the interior. The glove box is empty, so I duck back and check the cargo bed, nearly losing my fingers to the steel handle before I get it open.
Inside: more snow, a nest of broken glass, and a mess of crates held down with steel cable. Some of them are busted open, the contents spilled in a loose halo. I dig with shaking hands until I find what I need: a military surplus blanket, olive drab and stiff as cardboard. Next to it, a ration pack—half the pouches split, but two protein bars intact, one vacuum-sealed sausage, and a packet of what claims to be coffee. My hands close around a pair of cargo pants, still folded and held together with a twist tie, then a jacket, socks, boots, gloves. Everything is sized for people much taller than me, but I’m beyond picky.
A quick scan of the next crate turns up a dozen Pokéballs, their red and white surfaces gleaming in the dim light. I gather them up, feeling their familiar weight in my hands. Beneath them, I find several mid-tier first aid sprays, designed for healing Pokémon rapidly in the field. I hesitate for a moment, considering. These could be invaluable if things go south. I don't have any Pokémon of my own, but maybe I could use them to help injured wild ones if needed. Besides, if I encounter any hostile trainers, having Pokéballs might make me look less vulnerable. I pocket the sprays and Pokéballs, hoping I won't need to use them but grateful for the added security.
Beldum hangs just outside the tailgate, its hull reflecting the red-blue strobe from its own eye. When I look at it, it tilts its head. Not exactly a nod, but it makes me feel less stupid for shaking in the dark.
I stuff whatever looks remotely useful into the battered backpack I drag out from under the blanket. Getting dressed is a mess—shivering in my paper-thin hospital gown, I yank on pants so big they puddle at my ankles until I choke the belt tight enough to stop them from falling off. The jacket weighs a ton, pockets everywhere, way more than I even know what to do with. The gloves completely eat my hands, but hey, at least I can flex my fingers again. I leave the boots for last. My feet are raw and numb, should hurt worse than they do, except Beldum’s psychic field keeps the worst of it off me. Once I shove my feet into those enormous boots—even if they flop around—they’re dry, and honestly, that’s good enough for now.
Once I’m bundled, I take the blanket and crawl into the back of the truck. The snow is thigh-deep, but I kick it aside, carve out a hollow, and burrow into the cargo bay. For a second, I just kneel there, arms clamped around my knees, head down. The blanket wraps twice around my shoulders, stiff but less awful than the wind outside.
Beldum floats up beside me, then angles to face the forest. It positions itself just off the tailgate, projecting the psychic barrier so it domes over the truck bed, the shimmer almost invisible except where the snowflakes bounce and slide away. The effect is weird—a bubble of calm, muffling even the sound of the wind. I can still see my breath, but it no longer feels like the world is trying to grind me down to nothing.
From here, the woods look less like a graveyard and more like a waiting room. There are noises—branches shifting, snow settling, the far-off echo of something moving in the brush. I try not to think about who might be following, or what kind of Pokemon might have tracked our break. For now, the truck is a fortress, and Beldum the only friend I have.
I peel open one of the protein bars and jam half of it into my mouth. The taste is nothing—chalk and salt, a faint hint of nuts, maybe. My teeth ache when I chew, but I force the bar down and wash it with a mouthful of melting snow from a cup I find near the cab. The water is so cold it makes my eyes sting.
For a long while, I just sit there, hunched in the bed of a dead truck, listening to Beldum’s pulses and the slow, regular beat of my own heart. My legs stop trembling. The air inside the blanket grows almost warm. When I close my eyes, I see nothing but blue and the streak of red from Beldum’s eye, holding back the night.
