A/N: Sorry forgot to upload this chapter last sunday. :P
After a frantic admission process, the hospital staff had thoroughly examined both developers. Logan had been cleared almost immediately, showing absolutely no lingering side effects. Liseli, however, had been confined to a bed in a pristine, brightly lit VIP recovery room while they ran a battery of neurological scans.
Liseli sat up against the crisp white pillows, looking around the ridiculously luxurious hospital room. She let out a small, highly nervous laugh.
"Arty, I really am okay now," Liseli promised, swinging her legs over the side of the bed to prove her point. Her boots had been removed, and she could freely wiggle her toes. "I'm sure we can just check out and wait in the ship."
Dorian stood by the door, his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his eyes completely rigid.
"No," Dorian refused flatly. "I am not listening to you anymore, Lin. I am following exactly what the doctor said. She said we need to wait for the final scan results, so we wait."
Just then, the automatic door hissed open, and the attending physician stepped into the room.
"Good afternoon," the doctor smiled warmly, looking at the data-pad in her hands. "You all need not worry. What Miss Liseli experienced was simply 'nerves sleep,' a temporary, localized sensory deprivation caused by an abrupt disconnect from a high-immersion interface. Her motor functions are completely intact."
Kasavin immediately stepped forward, pushing his glasses up his nose. His expression was intensely analytical.
"Surely it is not just a standard disconnect issue," Kasavin pressed. "How about the stasis liquid we provided in the vial? We gave you a sample for toxicology. Are there any chemical ingredients in that fluid that Miss Liseli might have a severe allergy to?"
The doctor looked to the side, suddenly looking incredibly hesitant. She lowered her datapad.
"I... apologize, but we could not run a complete chemical breakdown," the doctor admitted awkwardly. "The fluid's molecular signature triggered a proprietary security flag. It is highly classified Accord property. Because we are a Mid-Rim system, we legally cannot access or bypass the protocols to see the exact ingredients."
The doctor quickly forced a reassuring smile. "But there is absolutely no need to worry! If it is proprietary Accord technology, I am sure it is thoroughly tested and completely trustworthy."
Dorian's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together. 'Trustworthy.'
"So," Dorian interrupted, his voice terrifyingly cold. "There is absolutely nothing permanently wrong with Logan and Liseli?"
The doctor nodded quickly, eager to diffuse the heavy tension radiating from the teenager. "Yes, they are both perfectly healthy. You can head down to the administration to check out and complete the billing process."
Down in the main lobby, the pristine atmosphere of the VIP wing quickly faded into the stark, bureaucratic reality of the Accord's healthcare system.
At the administration desk, the clerk lazily took their Citizen ID cards and scanned them into the terminal. The clerk's bored expression immediately shifted into a deep, judgmental scowl as he read the holographic data.
Liseli was registered as a Class D citizen. Logan was much worse; coming from a poor Outer Rim colony, he was registered as a Class F citizen.
The clerk aggressively stamped the digital bill, sliding it across the counter with blatant disdain. He didn't even look them in the eye.
"The credit application process is over there," the clerk sneered, pointing a pen toward the far side of the lobby.
Dorian looked to the side. Stretching down the hallway was a massive, depressing line of sickly, exhausted people desperately trying to apply for high-interest medical loans just to pay for basic treatments.
Dorian felt a hot, blinding wave of absolute fury ignite in his chest.
"I am paying for these two. In full," Dorian stated, stepping up to the counter.
The clerk let out a loud, incredulous scoff, looking the teenager up and down. "You better look at the total first, kid. VIP neurological scans aren't cheap."
Kasavin smoothly stepped between them, raising his hands to mediate. "Sir, we–"
But Dorian was completely done. He was exhausted, terrified, drowning in guilt for putting his team in danger, and absolutely furious at the systemic cruelty of the galaxy.
Dorian slammed his hands onto the metal counter, leaning directly into the clerk's face.
"Listen, fuck face!" Dorian snapped, his voice ringing out so sharply that several people in the lobby jumped. "I said I am paying in full! As a matter of fact, I could pay double… No, I could pay hundreds of times over this pathetic total without even checking my account! Process the damn bill!"
"Arthur! Hey!" Logan quickly grabbed Dorian by the shoulders, while Kasavin stepped in to physically pull the seething teenager away from the terrified clerk.
In the end, Dorian violently tapped his wristband against the terminal, clearing the massive medical bill in a fraction of a second.
Twenty minutes later, they were back at the private landing pad.
As the Millennium Falcon's boarding ramp lowered, Kasavin turned to the two developers. "Logan, Liseli. Please go wait inside the main hold."
Once they were out of earshot, Kasavin gently grabbed Dorian by the arm and pulled him aside, standing in the shadow of the parked ship's massive landing gear.
Dorian was pacing. He had his hands buried in his messy black hair, his chest heaving as he frantically tried to regulate his breathing.
"Arthur," Kasavin said softly. "It is not your fault."
Dorian's head snapped up, his golden eyes wide and frantic. "You know that doctor was bullshitting us, Kas! That blue fluid had something to do with it! The Accord locked the ingredients so we wouldn't know what kind of poison they're pumping into us!"
"No one is blaming you," Kasavin repeated, keeping his voice incredibly calm.
But Dorian couldn't stop looking down, his mind spiraling as he aggressively rambled into another topic. "And that clerk! Did you see how he looked down on Liseli and Logan?! Why?! Just because of their citizen class! Hah! Give me an absolute break! This entire galaxy is sick!"
Kasavin stepped directly into Dorian's path, grabbing him firmly by both shoulders to stop his frantic pacing.
"Look at me," Kasavin commanded gently. He waited until Dorian's panicked eyes finally met his. "It is not your fault."
"Liseli could have died in there, Kasavin!" Dorian choked out, his voice cracking with raw, unfiltered terror. "The capsule hatch was completely locked! What if her lungs had stopped instead of her feet?! What if–"
"Everything is okay now," Kasavin anchored him.
"It is not okay!" Dorian yelled back, the tears finally brimming in his eyes.
Dorian opened his mouth to start rambling once again, to list every single variable he had failed to calculate, but Kasavin just squeezed his shoulders tighter. He didn't offer empty platitudes or logical arguments. He just stood there, completely steady, offering a silent pillar of support.
Looking at the boy trembling in his grip, Kasavin didn't see the genius CEO who was leading the galactic gaming industry. He just saw a terrified nineteen-year-old kid who thought he had almost killed his friend.
Slowly, the frantic, hyperventilating breaths began to slow. Dorian closed his eyes, leaning into Kasavin's steady grip. He took one long, shuddering breath, and then another.
When Dorian finally opened his eyes, the panic had receded. He stood up straight, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.
"You're right," Dorian whispered, his voice finally steady. "We... we handle the cards we were dealt. We move forward from here."
Kasavin offered a proud, highly relieved smile.
"There is only one way, Arthur," Kasavin agreed gently. "Forward."
…
By the time the Millennium Falcon touched back down on Friton, it was still only early afternoon. Despite the sun shining brightly over the rolling green hills of the compound, the atmosphere among the crew was heavily subdued.
As soon as the boarding ramp lowered into the underground hangar, Arthur turned to his team. He looked at Kasavin, Logan, and a highly apologetic Liseli.
"Everyone is going home," Arthur ordered, his voice brooking absolutely no argument. "The studio is officially locked down for the rest of the day. Go back to your residence, disconnect from the network, and get some rest. We will reconvene tomorrow."
No one argued. The emotional toll of the day had drained them all.
After ensuring his team was safely escorted back to their residential planet, Dorian made the quiet, solitary walk up the tunnel to the Kepler estate. He bypassed the kitchen and the living room, heading straight up the stairs and into his bedroom.
He locked the door behind him, letting out a long, shuddering sigh. The silence of the room was deafening. The guilt of putting Liseli in that machine still gnawed at the edges of his mind.
He closed his eyes and reached deep into his Creator System.
A moment later, a soft, shimmering golden light filled the bedroom. The air grew perfectly still, carrying the faint, comforting scent of old parchment and polished bronze. Floating gently in the center of the room was the Goddess of Wisdom.
"You called on me, Creator," Athena spoke, her voice calm and steadying.
Dorian slumped down onto the edge of his bed, offering a weak, exhausted smile. "You are still calling me that. Never mind. I... I really need your advice, Athena. It's like this..."
Taking a deep breath, Dorian began to explain everything that had happened that day. He told her about the arrival of the Accord's VR capsules, the terrifying lack of safety protocols, the stasis fluid that paralyzed Liseli's nervous system.
Athena listened in absolute silence, her grey eyes softening with empathy.
"I shall pray for Liseli's continued well-being," Athena said softly, bowing her head. Then, she looked up, tilting her head slightly. "But tell me... why can you not simply make one yourself, Creator?"
Dorian frowned, rubbing his tired eyes. "Create what?"
"The capsule," Athena stated simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the universe. "Surely, with your vast knowledge of countless worlds, there is at least one reality you could draw upon that possesses a superior, safer capsule technology. Something you could bring into this universe."
Dorian let out a heavy, defeated sigh. "I told you, Athena, my system is strictly bound. I can only pull assets and mechanics to create video games. I can't just spawn an S-grade tech pod out of thin air... wait."
Dorian froze. His eyes suddenly snapped wide open.
He couldn't spawn a real-world pod... but what if the pod itself was the gaming console within a game?
"Wait..." Dorian breathed, his exhaustion instantly vaporizing.
He bolted up from the bed and rushed over to his composer's desk. He violently tapped the console, bringing up a massive, blank holographic whiteboard. Athena floated silently behind him, watching with keen interest as the teenager's mind went into absolute overdrive.
Dorian closed his eyes and plunged directly into his Mnemonic Echo, desperately searching through the vast, infinite library of his past life's gaming history. He began rapidly noting down every single video game franchise he possessed that heavily featured full-dive virtual reality technology.
The holographic board began to fill with glowing text:
.hack//G.U. Last Recode
Sword Art Online: Fatal Bullet
Assassin's Creed
Cyberpunk 2077
Fallout 3
He stared at the list, his mind immediately shifting into ruthless analytical mode. He needed a machine that was safe, viable for game development, and capable of rendering an engine.
He immediately swiped his hand, drawing a harsh red line through Cyberpunk 2077.
"No," Dorian muttered to himself. "The Braindance tech is incredibly advanced, but it is fundamentally flawed for what I need. It is strictly limited to allowing a user to record and relive the sensory experiences, emotions, and thoughts of another person. It's just a playback machine, what I need is an interactive open-world engine."
He looked at the next title and crossed out Fallout 3 as well.
"The Tranquility Loungers in Vault 112," Dorian analyzed, shaking his head. "Also not ideal. They were designed purely as life-support stasis pods to trap residents inside a simulated, static black-and-white 1950s neighborhood. The tech is too restrictive and relies on a central dictatorial mainframe."
That left him with three distinct franchises.
Athena floated closer, her armored shoulder hovering just behind his. She looked at the strange, glowing words on the board.
"Are these the titles of the games you spoke of?" Athena asked curiously.
Dorian nodded, a fierce, determined spark finally returning to his eyes. "Yes. These three franchises all feature specific pieces of hardware designed to seamlessly connect the human consciousness to a digital plane."
Athena smiled, her grey eyes reflecting the glow of the holograms. "Alright," Athena said, gracefully gesturing toward the board. "Let us talk about them, then. We shall find your answer."
Dorian took a deep breath. He pointed to the top of the list, ready to break down the mechanics of his salvation.
…
Meanwhile, across the vast expanse of the galactic net, the hype for Pokémon was ascending to a completely unprecedented stratosphere.
Round Table Studio had only released a single one-minute trailer, but players simply could not stop rewatching it. They paused on every frame, desperately analyzing every single monster, environment, and pixel.
The obsession reached its peak when a massively popular Stellarcaster named MatTheory, a creator famous for completely overanalyzing video game lore, dropped a brand new, wildly complex video breakdown. He posited a theory that completely shattered the minds of the RTS fanbase.
[POKÉMON: THE GRAND RTS UNIVERSE EXPLAINED?!]
Creator: MatTheory | Views: 67.8 Million
MatTheory, a fast-talking, highly energetic host, leans into the camera, a massive digital red string connecting holograms behind him.
"Hello Galaxy, and welcome to MatTheory! The only show that looks at a purple rat and sees a cosmic conspiracy! Today, we are breaking down the RTS Pokémon trailer. But guys... what if I told you this isn't just a new game? What if RTS is building an interconnected cinematic universe?!"
The screen flashes to a zoomed-in, heavily enhanced frame of the trailer's Pallet Town background.
"Look closely at the crop fields in the upper left quadrant of this frame. Notice the pixel density and the specific grid alignment? That is the exact same topographical rendering used for the parsnip fields in Stardew Valley! But wait, it gets crazier!"
The screen violently cuts to a side-by-side comparison of Rapidash's flaming mane from the Pokémon trailer and the flowing magma rivers of Asphodel from Hades.
"Look at the particle physics! The rendering of the fire on this horse monster is an identical algorithm to the heat-waves in the Underworld! Which leads to my ultimate theory: The Junimos from Stardew Valley are ancient, prehistoric Pokémon! And the Underworld of Hades? That is the literal afterlife dimension where Pokémon go when their HP hits zero! But Hey! that's just a theory… a Mattheory!"
> GalacticGamer99:
"Mat is literally losing his mind over a pixel of a bush. I love it here."
> Void_Watcher:
"Bro successfully connected a wholesome farming simulator to a mythology rogue-like and a monster collectathon. The mental gymnastics are incredible."
> PixelLover:
"Wait... the fire particle thing actually makes a lot of sense. Does RTS reuse assets, or is this actually canon?!"
> TryHard_99:
"MatTheory needs to go to sleep. But also, if a Junimo is a Pokémon, I want to catch it."
…
On the musical side of the galactic net, Round Table Studio had inadvertently created another massive cultural wave. Stellarcaster singers and independent vocalists began to upload hundreds of covers of the "Gotta Catch 'Em All" theme song.
One particular cover went intensely viral: a massive, twelve-person vocal group performing the entire rock anthem strictly a cappella, using only their voices to mimic the heavy synth and crashing drums.
…
> TrebleMaker22:
"This is aca-awesome! How did the bass guy even make that guitar sound with his throat?!"
> StarSong:
"Aca-Scuse me? Why is this so good?! I've had this on loop for three hours."
> MelodyHunter:
"My vocal cords could literally never. RTS dropped the song of the decade."
…
The music was so impossibly good that it spawned a massive trending post on Accord's primary social media feed. A user reposted the Pokémon trailer with a simple, highly accurate caption:
@SoundJunkie:"Once again people! RTS is a record label studio that makes games as a side hustle. Change my mind."
> @PixelPlower: "Their Audio department is carrying the entire galactic music industry on their shoulders."
> @RTS_Fanatic: "When the trailer song hits harder than a platformer's final boss track... you know they cooked."
> @MusicAndMechs: "Percival drops a banger, RTS drops a masterpiece. Coincidence? I think not, bitchess!"
…
But amidst all the roaring hype, the theory-crafting, and the musical covers, there was one glaring, deafening silence.
The mainstream gaming journalists.
The massive media conglomerates like VGN, who had spent the last month ruthlessly attacking RTS and pushing the smear campaign, were completely silent about Pokémon.
In less than 24 hours, the Pokémon trailer had shattered the absolute, all-time galactic record for the most-watched video game trailer in history. It was the biggest cultural event for the gaming sphere. Yet, the front pages of VGN and other corporate news sites stubbornly refused to report on it. Instead, they posted mundane boring updates about minor patches to old Triple-A titles.
But the internet never forgets.
Every single unrelated article the journalists posted was immediately swarmed by the RTS community.
…
[VGN Article: Nexus-Strike adds new weapon skins!]
> CodeMiner77:
"Hey VGN, real quiet today aren't we? Did your network cables get chewed up by a purple rat?"
LawAbiding_Citizen:
"Still waiting on that RTS trailer review, guys! I thought they were ruining the industry? Why aren't you reporting on the most-watched trailer in galactic history? LOL."
TryHard_99:
"VGN executives pretending Pokémon doesn't exist while their entire gaming community is currently analyzing a fire horse. The cope dose is astronomical."
…
Deep within the luxurious, sprawling corporate sector of the Core Worlds, the reality of the situation was hitting the Triple-A executives like a physical blow.
CRASH!
A holographic puck was violently shattered into a dozen pieces as an incredibly expensive crystal glass was hurled directly into it. The amber liquid inside splashed across the polished obsidian desk, ruining several Heliopad.
"FUCK!"
Zoye Raves, the CEO of one of the largest Triple-A gaming studios in the Accord, stood behind his desk, his face red with absolute, unbridled rage. His chest heaved as he stared at the shattered glass and the flickering, dying hologram of the Pokémon trailer.
He was one of the primary architects behind the massive VGN smear campaign. He had paid millions of credits to VGN, pulling every string he had to completely destroy Round Table Studio's public image before they could launch their next title. He had meticulously planted the seeds to frame RTS as the villain of the industry.
And RTS had completely obliterated months of expensive corporate sabotage with a single, one-minute trailer.
Raves gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles turning white. His smear campaign had completely backfired, inadvertently aiming the eyes of the entire galaxy squarely at RTS right as they dropped the most charming concept the industry had ever seen.
The king of the corporate world realized, with a deep, sickening pit in his stomach, that they were fighting a cultural phenomenon.