The cot in Professor Oak's lab was stiff but warm, a stark contrast to the cold, mud-soaked swamp Erick had crawled out of. He stirred awake, the faint hum of machines and the sterile scent of antiseptic anchoring him in this strange new reality. Mudkip—his Mudkip—lay curled at his feet, its steady breathing a quiet comfort, its Jolly nature lending a buoyant calm even in sleep. Erick sat up gingerly, muscles aching from the ordeal in Hoenn. The memories of the previous day crashed over him: the village reduced to ash, the broken bodies of humans and Pokémon, Zapdos's electric wrath, the helicopter ride with Oak. It felt like a fever dream, but the ache in his borrowed body—Kaito's body—and Mudkip's presence confirmed it was all too real.
He swung his legs over the cot's edge, wincing as his bare feet met the cold floor. The lab was hushed, save for the occasional beep of a computer or the rustle of papers from the main room. Oak had promised they'd talk in the morning, but the pale light seeping through the small window suggested dawn was hours away. Erick's mind churned with questions—about this world, Kaito's fate, and his own place here. Waiting wasn't an option; he needed answers.
Before moving, he spotted a small mirror on the wall above a sink in the corner of the room. Curiosity tugged at him, and he stood, crossing to it. The reflection stopped him cold. Pitch black hair fell in damp strands over his forehead, framing deep, dark blue eyes that glowed faintly, like stars caught in twilight. His skin, tannish from Hoenn's tropical sun, bore a youthful smoothness that didn't match his thirty-two years. But it was the features that struck him hardest—Kaito's features, yet somehow echoing his own parents. The sharp jaw mirrored his father's, the slight curve of his lips his mother's. This is me now, he thought, a pang of loss mingling with resolve. Kaito's face carried their legacy, and he'd honor it.
Shaking off the moment, he crept to the door, peering into the lab's main area. It was a cluttered labyrinth of shelves stacked with books, jars of odd specimens, and machines that looked futuristic and arcane. A large table held a glowing screen—a computer, its interface foreign yet enticing. Erick's fingers twitched, eager to dive into this world's equivalent of the internet. He'd been a professor once, a gamer too, and knowledge was his lifeline. But he paused, wary. This wasn't Earth, and he didn't know its rules.
A soft whoosh pulled his attention to the room's far side, where a sleek, humanoid Pokémon floated near a workbench, its mustache twitching. Alakazam. Erick recognized it instantly—Psychic-type, a powerhouse in the Pokémon games he'd played years ago. Here, it radiated a calm authority, its eyes locking onto his with a piercing clarity that made him shift uncomfortably.
"You're awake," a voice echoed in his mind, sharp and direct. Erick flinched, glancing around before realizing it was Alakazam. Telepathy. He'd read about it in game lore, but it was like a spark igniting in his brain.
"Yeah," he said, voice rough. "Couldn't sleep."
Alakazam's gaze softened, but its scrutiny held firm. "Your mind is restless. Understandable, after such a tragedy."
Erick's stomach knotted. Could it sense his displacement, his soul from another world? He kept his face neutral, but unease simmered. If Alakazam could peer into his thoughts, he'd need to tread carefully.
"Your spirit is… larger than most," Alakazam continued, its mental voice measured. "It carries an unusual strength, a faint psychic resonance."
Erick's pulse quickened. "Psychic? Me?"
"Yes. It is subtle, but present. A potential for telepathy, perhaps. Few humans possess such gifts." Alakazam floated closer, its eyes probing. "Would you test it?"
Erick hesitated, the idea both thrilling and daunting. "How?"
"Focus on me," Alakazam instructed. "Choose a word, any word, and project it toward me. Picture my image in your mind."
Feeling slightly foolish, Erick closed his eyes and thought of Mudkip, willing the word toward Alakazam. A faint pressure built behind his temples, like a long-dormant muscle stirring. He pushed harder, imagining the word bridging the gap between them.
After a moment, Alakazam nodded. "I received it. Weak, but clear. You have the gift of telepathy, though it is raw."
Erick's eyes widened. "Telepathy? That's it? Nothing else?"
"None that I sense," Alakazam replied. "Your psychic capacity is limited to telepathy, a rare and potent ability. With training, you could wield it to communicate with Pokémon, perhaps even humans."
The possibilities raced through Erick's mind. In the Pokémon games, Psychic-types were strategic titans, but telepathy here was real, a tool he could sharpen. It was a slight edge, but in a world this brutal, every advantage mattered. "Can you teach me?"
"I can guide you," Alakazam said, its mental tone almost amused. "It will require focus and practice. Your mind is capable, but unrefined."
"I'm in," Erick said, determination settling in. "Whatever it takes."
Alakazam's mustache twitched, a hint of approval. "Very well. I will inform the Professor—he should know of your potential."
Erick's gut tightened, but he nodded. If Alakazam trusted Oak, maybe he could too. Still, he'd keep his other secrets—like seeing IVs, natures, and abilities—close for now.