And with the sound, the earth that surrounded him began to vibrate. No, not just that, it began to fall down around him. The little burrow that he had found had begun to collapse. The dread set in thick and fast. His heart jumped into his mouth and he became desperate. He began to scrabble at the direction that he had thought he had come in. All the while, the metal beasts continued their pursuits.

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They were massive hydraulics that fired out spears of steel, much to the same effect as a jackhammer. The idea was to break up the solid stone so that the excavators could come in and clear away the mountainside, getting to the valuable insides. However Yannick at this moment only cared for his own insides. The metal beasts were only getting closer. Their teeth were hell-bent on crunching down on little boy bones.

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His desperation grew, chunks of dirt falling into his eyes and mouth, making the task impossible. He twisted and turned, finding himself upside down and digging even deeper. He screamed and cried as much as he could. The stone that surrounded him began to squeeze. He was certain that he would be buried alive in that moment. He was sorry. Sorry for the disobedience, sorry for the impulsivity, sorry for daring to do anything else than stay on the path that his parents had carved out for him. He was sorry for everything. If only he could make it out of here, he would be the best son his father could ever wish for.

And then, amongst the chaos, a wisp of white and red smoke curled toward him. He clutched at it, the ethereal life line. There he saw, a small crack of blue in between the rocks. That is where the smoke lead. With a burst of adrenaline, he scrambled upward. He kept grasping at the tendril, hoping that this would be his saviour.

Finally, one hand breached the surface. But it had come too late, the stone around him had been reduced to gravel and sand, the likes of which had buried every crevice completely. There was no room to find purchase. No space to exploit the leverage necessary to get any further. There he was, one second away from salvation.

Large fingers pushed through the earth toward his face. Grabbing his collar, his body was pulled clean from the rubble. It was his father. Yannick was shocked, the prospect of surviving had been abandoned. This was a second chance he didn't think he would get. He burst into tears. The streams of stress carved rivers down his dirty cheeks. The beratement started. His father would continue to yell at him for the rest of the holiday. But he was happy, accepting everything as his punishment and just being glad to be alive. He would be able to return to his family for their white Christmas.

The scenery around Yannick began to change. Disembodied thoughts began to assemble. He realised that this was his consciousness that seemed to persist through the experience.

"I guess this is where my motivation stemmed from. The devotion to the company, the legacy of my family."

It all made sense. This experience had let him relive that time again with all of the visceral emotions intact. Of course he would be such a good boy after that, it felt like he had made a promise to the heavens. His first holiday wish, if you like. Then after it looked like it had been granted, he felt compelled to keep his end of the deal. The series of events had become muddled in his memory but the feelings persisted.

When the scenery reformed, it was something very familiar. Present day Slateport City. At the company head office, wheeling and dealing. Then off to a dinner party with some local officials, boozing and schmoozing. Then back to the office for some late-night paperwork, winding and grinding.

This was the life that had resulted from his circumstances. Nothing that he could complain about, he was the face of privilege. His position was one of prestige. People worked their whole lives for a fraction of something that would be his birthright. Every time he stepped out in public, he was all smiles. But seeing himself here, staring at the stack of paper, every last form less important than the previous.

A group of kids were playing outside, skating down the frosty cobblestones. He leaned out the window, growling at them for enjoying their life like the modern-day Scrooge that he was.

The fatigue set in. The curl of ink from the end of his pen became looser with every passing hour. Haze in his vision. Body calling out for rest. But something within his psyche pushed forward. This was his duty, his life. So the stimulants came out. The core of his talents packaged so neatly in a small white container. He would down the pills and keep on going.

It was halfway through the night before he returned home. The stars were out, guiding him home. Not wanted to wake Kou, his partner, he collapsed on the couch. He was out like a light, limbs in all sorts of unfortunate positions. No wonder his back was in a constant state of disrepair. Kou, bless her heart, heard him come in. She waddled out of the bedroom with a blanket in her arms. Folding it over him and delicately brushing his sweaty brow.

He continued his business escapades, starting projects in the Icelands and going on airship rides. At one point he even donated a large chunk of amber to the museum. He was standing there, marvelling at the window into the long-gone region of Hisui. He picked up a chunk of amber that had fallen off, thinking about the one bright thing that he had in his life. If it wasn't for her, he would never have lasted this long.

A tendril of white and red smoke coiled around his arm. His eyes followed the smoke to the source, and he realised that it emanated from inside the amber. It flowed unimpeded by the hardened sap, wrapping a spherical object. This object was a tumblestone, he was told. More specifically, this one had been turned into an ancient version of a pokeball. The ball drew his fascination. He stepped closer peering into the orange window. A pokeball frozen in time. Maybe it was his imagination, but he seemed to see it wiggle slightly. Like an egg about to hatch. What were the chances that a pokemon had been preserved in there all this time?

From there, the days began to speed up. As it often did when you got busy, time passed faster and faster. Whole years were going by and Yannick didn't seem to notice. But now, in this reliving experience, Yannick could tell something was up. He was growing weary. Not the same type that he had experienced daily, but one that clung to you no matter how much you rested. The pep was failing his step. His spine was failing his posture. Even his famous smile was not so believable now. How many more days could he keep this up. The writing on the wall was clear. He was dissatisfied and something needed to change. The reality was, he didn't know how.

He was walking down the street one morning on his way to work. A low fog front had set in. One foot in front of the other he persisted. The buildings in the distance had been swallowed up. Soon, even street signs down the road were not visible. Still he continued on. His leather shoes hit the pavement like the beat of a drum. Ever reliable in spirit.

However the fog grew thicker. It was now smoke, white with streaks of red. It started getting harder to make progress, as if there was air resistance that was holding him back. Everything in front of him was now unable to be seen. He held out his arm in front of him and his fingertips disappeared from view. He was now standing at an angle, using his body weight to press through the smoke. It was so hard just to keep moving. But he still did for some reason. The rhythm of his heel strike slowed but never stopped, resulting in a familiar sound.

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The scene faded to white. His consciousness assembled and the scene shifted again.

"An endless march into limbo. A burden that only grows in size but I cannot stop. Is that my life now?"

It was deeply unsettling to see his present displayed in such a way. A life set upon railroad tracks. The natural continuation of his strict childhood. There was more, right? There had to be more. Something that he could stumble upon in that red and white smoke. His consciousness was compelled to see more. The scene obeyed.

Yannick was once again staring at himself. It was obvious that time had passed. How much though he could not tell. Maybe he could count the lines on his older self’s forehead much like you would count the rings in the trunk of a tree. He looked much older, but something told Yannick that this version of himself was wearing his age particularly badly. Baggy eyes, patchy beard and straggly hair. He was a mess.

The older CEO continued to pull himself through the work days. He dragged himself to the function after function. It was a fifty-fifty whether he would be holed up in the bathroom while trying to get whatever stimulants he could get his hands on into his system or be black-out drunk at the bar. Something needed to change.

The strange thing was, he was smiling. Yannick knew himself and he knew that he was miserable in these moments. However, there was a strange air of serenity that surrounded him. He continued down this path of self-destruction until he collapsed completely. He was at his limit. After checking out of the hospital, he was laughing to himself. There would be no more work after today.

He hobbled home, stopping by the graveyard. He stooped down by one gravestone in particular. Yannick tried to peer at the engraving over his older self’s shoulder but he couldn’t seem to make out who was buried here.

A plume of red and white smoke coiled around the gravestone and his older self. The same smoke as before. But this time, the source of the smoke appeared. A hisuian zorua crept out from behind the stone. The pokemon waddled over to the old Yannick and growled softly. Old Yannick didn’t seem to be able to see the ghost pokemon and continued with his visit. He left flowers at the grave before getting up to leave. The Zorua would continue to follow him for the rest of the vision. That dreaded smoke followed him like the sign of an evil curse.

Heavy steps would lead Yannick up the steps of the Bijoux Solette Slateport storefront. His ball and chain. And at the top, he would look out at the view of the city below him. Tears of relief flowed freely down his face. He raised his arms up to the sky. In his right hand was a cylindrical mechanism. His finger found the button on the end. He pressed down hard. And then that sound started again.

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It was the machines again. And they were coming from the business district. Now they were coming from the night market. Now they were even coming from the beach. The sound emanated from the whole city. The ground itself seemed to shake. The number of machines that would have been required to pull off this effect would have been countless. The Zorua at his feet turned its nose to the sky and howled.

And then the explosions started. First the business district, then the Night Market, then even the beach. The bright fireballs like christmas lights strung up around the city. Plumes of red and white fire rose into the sky and the shockwaves shook the city. Whole buildings came tumbling down. The screams filled his ears. The last explosion was directly under his feet, in the Bijoux Solette store. Finally, he was free. The blast evaporated the scenery.

“A valve that was pushed to its breaking point. The steam building up. Then the final release. This can’t be my future, surely. I would never get to a place where I would do such a thing.”

--------------

Yannick’s head lurched up from his desk. He was back in his office. There was no strange man. There was no Unown D. There was no portal. Ahh, he must have dozed off. He really needed to go easier on the pharmaceuticals.

A plume of red and white smoke coiled up from underneath his desk. The ghostly visage of a Zorua lept onto the table. They stared at each other.