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The question had been asked without prompting.
Ingo was just about to enter Lady Sneasler’s den, having returned from gathering ingredients to create the twice-spiced radishes she’d taken such a liking to.
Akari had been waiting for him by the entrance.
“Do you want to go home?”
Ingo had paused, his greeting caught in his throat at the sudden inquiry.
At the lack of an immediate response, Akari continued, “I finished the Pokédex. I caught every Pokémon, including Arceus—” She caught God—? “I did everything it asked. It said that it can take me home. After that, it will leave and I probably won’t ever see it again.” There wasn’t much sadness in the statement. Ingo could understand why. “You ended up here because Volo was messing with Giratina. I know that you made a life here, with Pearl Clan and Sneasler, but…” Akari’s brow pinched as she frowned, almost bitter on his behalf. “You never had a choice in coming here.”
“Neither did you,” Ingo gently interjected.
Akari shook her head. “But I have a choice now, and I’m choosing to go home. I want you to have that choice too.” A soft cooing came from inside the den, no doubt a request for Ingo. The young girl gave a melancholic smile to the man in the tattered coat. “Like I said before, I know you’ve made a life here, but… Those things you told me, back in Wayward Cave—” Flames wielded with mastery, a man with which I discussed battling and Pokémon. “—they make me think that you have something worth returning to.”
Ingo’s gaze drifted to the ground, slowly absorbing Akari’s words.
His memory was still…foggy.
As if his past had been lost within a swirling, choking mist. Brief flashes of imagery sometimes surfaced, the smallest whisper of enduring conversations. There were only two constants within his mind. A creature with purple, dancing flames. Once a small, meek little thing that he was somehow certain he’d watched transform into a powerful being of both light and shadow. The other was the specter dressed in white. He looked identical to Ingo in every way, from his height and silver hair all the way down to his eyes. There’d been several Zoroarks who’d taken the same form, reaching into the depths of his muddled head to try and toy with his heart.
But he could always tell, could always see through the illusion.
Their smiles were always wrong.
“I’ll give you some time,” Akari said, her grin growing tighter. “It’s your decision. You should decide what’s best for you.” She held up one hand in a weak wave, then scampered off, carefully hopping down the outcrops of the cliff face until she made it safely to the field below.
Ingo watched her for a few moments, ensuring that she’d made it down unharmed, before heading towards the faint calls of Lady Sneasler.
Immediately, tiny claws scampered through the cave and clambered up his body, leaving small nicks on the patches of skin that remained uncovered. He softly scolded, “Please be careful while boarding. My carriage isn’t equipped to handle such rowdy passengers.”
The small Sneasel that settled on his shoulders gave a trilling squeak.
Lady Sneasler laid curled around the fragile, squirming bodies of her latest brood. Her older kits were playing amongst themselves, engaging in fake battles for dominance that ultimately ended with a wrestling match on the cave floor.
As Ingo began to prepare and pickle the vegetables for his noble, he couldn’t help but think about what Akari had said.
It makes me think you have something worth returning to.
After spending so long without any ties to his past, Ingo found himself almost…indifferent.
The only inklings he had of a life before Hisui were what he told to Akari. The only information he had about himself that he could relay with certainty was his name. He didn’t know where he grew up nor the faces of his parents. He couldn’t recall what job he had, if he had one at all. Perhaps his coat and hat were related to it? They seemed to represent more than that, though. Even the small bits and pieces Ingo had so desperately clung onto were beginning to fade away.
This wasn’t upsetting for him.
He didn’t feel any particular way about being here. Any normal person would likely be heartbroken over losing their memories, being cast away in a land where for so long they were seen as other. He was different from everyone here, even from Akari who’d been displaced just as he’d been. Even as a warden, even as a member of Pearl Clan, he simply didn’t fit. The way he spoke, the way he dressed, the way he enthused about Pokémon, it was all wrong. He was all wrong.
Yet, he felt nothing.
No anger, no grief, no sadness, no joy.
Ingo was just...
Here.
Should there be more to this? He thought, not for the first time. Was there more to this before? Before Hisui?
A rough tongue swiped across his cheek.
In his stupor, he hadn’t even noticed Sneasler get up and quietly pad over to him.
There was a knowing twinkle in her eye, emphasized by the bittersweet quirk of her mouth and the light touch of her claw along his arm.
“I…should not stay here,” he murmured. “Should I?”
Sneasler let out a low rumble, pressing her head to his.
“Leaving will mean I am abandoning my duties as warden to Pearl Clan.” His expression remained flat even as his voice wavered. “I will be abandoning you, Lady Irida, everyone I’ve come to know…For a past I haven’t the faintest recollection of.” He stared down at the crunchy salt in his hand. “What if the life I left behind is one I do not wish to return to? What guarantee do I have, if any, that there is anyone still waiting for me?”
Many seasons had passed at this point.
If Ingo were to guess, he would estimate he’d been in Hisui for around five years.
Five years and none of it felt like home.
But, did he even have a home?
Was it possible for someone like him, a husk filled with smoke and uncertainty, to have a place they were meant to be?
Sneasler purred, placing a large paw against his chest.
You should decide what’s best for you.
The next morning, Warden Ingo and Akari traveled to the top of Mount Coronet.
They never climbed back down.
He’d awoken to the sounds of frantic whispers.
It was dark and the smell of metal mixed with damp earth filled his nose.
“…found…medical…”
He wondered if Akari was alright. Her terminus was different from his own, but she’d promised to find him again.
One day.
“…unresponsive…movement…need…”
The words he was able to discern were…different from what was spoken in Hisui.
Another language. One that didn’t require responses being mulled over in his head.
One that was familiar.
“…repeat…found…help…”
Another wave of exhaustion ran over him.
His body refused to move, eyes glued shut.
He was in the right place.
Wasn’t he?
“Sub…aster…Ingo!”
He drifted back into unconsciousness.
A persistent beeping scratched at Ingo’s ears, drawing him out of the deepest sleep he’d had in years.
Beneath him was a plush bed, a thin blanket draped over his legs and waist. A stiff gown shrouded his body awkwardly, an uneasy pit forming in his stomach at the absence of his hat and coat. He tensed when he heard the sound of a door opening followed by the patter of shoes against a hard floor. The beeping beside him began to increase its pace.
“Mr. Ingo? Are you awake?”
Whoever it was, they knew his name.
They were using the language that his brain seemed to be able to readily connect to.
Hesitantly, he opened his eyes.
In front of him stood a woman in a pale gray and blue uniform. A nurse, his mind distantly supplied. Though different from Miss Pesselle. She held a clipboard in her right arm with multiple papers flipped over the top of it. She smiled at him kindly, her voice soothingly quiet as she said, “Hello, Mr. Ingo. Are you feeling alright?”
He swallowed, his mouth feeling like cotton. He rasped, “Y-Yes, I…Believe so.”
“Let me get you some water,” she offered, walking over to a small table holding a pitcher at the side of his bed. She poured him a small cup, handing it to him gingerly.
“Thank you.” He drank quickly, relishing the soothing cold gliding down his throat. He then put the cup down, looking at her curiously as he said, “Forgive me, but I am unfamiliar with the station I’ve arrived at. Please, what is the name of this place?”
“You’re currently in Nimbasa City Hospital,” the nurse replied. “You were found in one of Gear Station’s subway tunnels by a depot agent.”
“Gear…Station?” Ingo asked.
That sounded familiar…
Didn’t it?
Maybe not.
Nothing really rang any bells.
Arceus swore this was my place of origin. Why can’t I remember?
Surely, I should have remembered.
“Are you alright, sir?”
Ingo swallowed as his hands moved to grip the blanket over his waist.
Was this a mistake?
Hours later, after countless questions followed by pokes and prods, a knock sounded at Ingo’s door.
He felt drained, as if the fumes his engines had been running on had all finally burned up. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, to tell whoever was at the door to go away, that he didn’t know anything so could they please, please, stop asking him—
“Mr. Ingo? Your brother is here to see you.”
Brother?
Ingo’s eyes snapped open, looking to the door. A nurse was poking her head through the gap, gauging his reaction to the news. He nodded his head, knowing his expression likely changed very little despite the eager lurching of his stomach.
Finally, he had something.
Something that tied him to this place.
Someone who tied him to this place.
The door opened fully and there was a rapid flurry of footsteps hurrying to his bedside.
Before him stood the man in white.
He was the spitting image of the person Ingo was upon first arriving in Hisui. The neatly trimmed, silver hair; the slender frame; the straight posture; the flawless uniform, only this man’s was in white to contrast with his black. Even their eyes were the same metallic color. A perfect copy, one that would put even the most skilled of Zoroarks to shame.
The only difference was, of course, the wide smile spread across his lips.
No memories swam to the surface.
His life wasn’t revealed to him in a storm of dancing images.
There wasn’t even the faintest feeling of recognition, other than the acknowledgement that it was his own face he seemed to be looking at.
There was, however, the smallest spark of something lighting within his chest.
Something he couldn’t determine, but knew he hadn’t felt in the longest time.
Slowly, Ingo said, “You look…Just like me.”
The man’s smile wobbled.
Ingo still preferred it over the Zoroarks’.
Emmet.
The man in white, his twin, his little brother.
His name was Emmet.
Ingo silently swore to sear that name into his brain.
The more he learned about Emmet, the lighter his chest felt. He felt more over the past few days of being with Emmet than he had the entire time he’d resided in Hisui. It was as if just being around him had unlocked something within Ingo he had begun to believe was lost alongside his memories when he’d taken his involuntary detour.
Nimbasa was loud. Not even Jubilife Village, the largest and most developed settlement in Hisui, could hope to compare to this real-life definition of hustle and bustle. Cars, an invention Ingo wasn’t so certain he enjoyed, and people flooded the streets in a frenzied swarm to get to their destinations. There were lights everywhere, all of them glass and holding no flame. Everything was made of metal and concrete, yet it was so full of life. If Ingo was alone, he doubted he’d be able to handle being surrounded with it all.
But he wasn’t alone.
Emmet was with him, and that made everything just the tiniest bit easier.
Ingo couldn’t help but wonder if his presence had always been so soothing.
His memories still hadn’t returned.
Arceus had sworn that this was the place, and time, he was meant to reside in, yet…
Nothing sparked anything.
Emmet made him feel a sort of ease that he hadn’t felt at any point in Hisui, but he had no actual memories of him. He couldn’t remember their childhood, something they must have shared if they were twins, nor could he remember their jobs, hobbies, friends, other family. Not even when his twin had shown him the team Ingo once, allegedly, conducted with flawless strategy and skill did he feel any familiarity.
Only the gentle flames of Chandelure conjured anything even resembling a memory.
But even that wasn’t enough.
In Hisui.
In Nimbasa.
All that was left was an empty shell spat out by the rift.
How was Emmet able to look at him and smile when there was hardly anything left of Ingo at all?
Days melted into weeks.
Still nothing was recovered.
Emmet told him stories. His short, clipped sentences clumsily tried to regale multiple snippets of their life. Some were joyful, filled with past laughter and whimsy. Others were somber, tears that had long since dried as they supported each other through adversity. There were so many, an entire lifetime of tales that needed to be told and cherished, and remembered.
And he couldn’t recall a thing.
The guilt weighing on Ingo’s heart as he saw Emmet’s shrinking smile whispered one thing over and over again.
He was no longer the brother his twin had desperately been waiting for.
Approximately one month after his return arrival appearance, an argument occurred.
Ingo had suggested Emmet return to work at Gear Station.
He thought it would be good for his brother to get out of the apartment, return to the job he was so passionate about rather than be trapped in an apartment with what was now a stranger. He thought that perhaps the space would allow for him to do more digging into his own mind without having a hopeful set of eyes being faced with inevitable disappointment. He thought he’d been sparing Emmet from anymore let down.
Somehow, Ingo had managed to hurt the only one who made him feel like his heart was anything other than a gaping void.
Waking up the next day wasn’t a pleasant affair.
Before his derailment, Ingo was sure that he would know how to fix any transgression between himself and Emmet. Now, however, it was as if he’d been dropped into the Alabaster Icelands in the middle of a white-out blizzard. There were so many things he supposed he could do, but none of them seemed right. An apology felt too simple, especially when he wasn’t entirely certain how to fix his behavior for the future. They spent every day together since they’d been reunited, so the offer of more quality time seemed redundant. Ingo still didn’t know what interests they had outside of trains and Pokémon battles. Did they have any interests outside of those things?
At the very least, he needed to speak with Emmet.
When he eventually gathered the energy to venture into the kitchen, he found a small note waiting for him on the table.
Ingo,
I am sorry. My reaction to your suggestion was out of line. Stress from unresolved reports made me treat you unfairly. I have decided to return to work today. I will be running the Singles line. I will return home no later than 6:00PM. Please do not hesitate to contact me or Elesa if you need anything. If you are still uncomfortable using the Xtransceiver, I have drawn a map with instructions to Gear Station on the back of this note. Chandelure is also capable of leading the way if necessary. I hope you are able to forgive my outburst last night. I understand if you need more space. I will adjust my behavior accordingly.
I love you.
- Emmet.
Ingo’s stomach twisted.
His little brother believed he was the problem.
This could not stand.
He cast a glance to the clock on the microwave.
12:45. Perhaps Emmet is close to taking his lunch break, Ingo thought. He slipped into his tattered coat and donned his shredded hat, still steadfastly holding onto the thoroughly ruined clothes. Even if he is not on break, I must insist on speaking with him. I cannot allow any more distance to grow between us thanks to this misunderstanding.
After securing his Pokémon to his belt and grabbing the note from the table, Ingo swept out of the apartment with a determined stride.
Gear Station was the most incredible thing Ingo had ever witnessed.
A large, circular space which branched off into various tunnels. In the center was a massive pillar, like the center cog of a grand clock. The sound of shrieking brakes and monotonous stampedes of passengers meandering to their next destination created a comforting symphony in Ingo’s ears. Each subway entrance held a unique sign with its own color, clearly marking each and every train. Schedules were displayed across screens mounted on the walls, a couple of bystanders keeping keen eyes on them as they sipped their coffees or hurriedly consumed their lunch. If there were anything Ingo could compare it to, it would most likely be a heart. The constant pump of people throughout its various veins, carrying Unova’s citizens throughout its magnificent body. The reality of the building matched Emmet’s fantastical description of it perfectly.
We worked here every day? And we could battle here?
It seemed too good to be true.
And there was so much more he hadn’t seen yet.
So much to relearn.
So much to—
Getting off track. Adjust course. Find Emmet.
Ingo shook his head, dismissing his distractions as he recommenced his search for his twin. He could feel eyes beginning to drill into him as he drifted through the station, silver gaze sweeping over the crowds. Some were even pulling rectangular devices from their pockets and using them to follow his movements. It was…Unnerving, to say the least. Not even in Hisui was he so openly gawked at.
Just how infamous are we—
The thought was cut off by some sort of commotion in one of the subway platforms.
Below a magenta sign that read Line B, two men in green uniforms were corralling a growing crowd away from the yellow line. In front of that crowd, on the edge of the platform, stood a familiar, white-cloaked man alongside a small child.
Ingo watched as his brother monotonously called out, “Attention, passengers! Never do what I am about to do! Thank you!”
His heart stopped as the fabric of Emmet’s jacket slipped out of sight, his body disappearing below the yellow line.
No.
Ingo's feet propelled him forward.
No!
The sound of the train grew louder.
No!
Two sets of hands caught the back of Ingo’s coat, stopping his frenzied advance.
He struggled, unable to fend the two off.
“Sir, please, stay back—!”
“W-Wait, isn’t this—?!”
A flash of light from the train’s headlights.
“EMMET!”
He shrieked as his twin's body disappeared beneath the train, its steel body blocking the sight of any possible carnage.
Emmet was right there.
Emmet was on those tracks.
Emmet had been, was—
“B-Boss?”
Ingo’s head lowered. His eyes stung.
“Um, I-Ingo—?”
“Move the train,” he mumbled.
One of the depot agents fidgeted. “W-We—”
“Move the train!” He snarled, whirling around with enough force to finally throw the agents off of him. One of the employees yelped, but quickly scrambled to go back to trying to reign in the crowd attempting to peak between the cars to see the track beneath.
“Control has been n-notified, but th-this train is fully automated. I-It will take a—”
“Did you not see him on the tracks?!” Ingo yelled, any reasoning he may have had flooding out of him. “I must get to him! Move the train so I can get to him! Please, I need—”
His screaming was caught off by the hiss of the subway, its tired wheels now beginning to lug its bulky cars forward.
He watched, tears dripping off of his jaw, as a pair of gloved hands popped up from the trench holding a small, red Pokémon. The child from before took the Pokémon, eliciting several cheers from the crowd trying to rush forward to look onto the tracks themselves. The second depot agent joined his coworker in holding back the crowd, peering down where the hands had appeared from in astonishment.
Ingo ignored all of them.
He practically lunged toward the steep drop off, wide eyes burning into the man stood on the tracks below.
Emmet was casually looking around, his hat slightly skewed and some dirt on his pure white clothes, but otherwise entirely unharmed.
None of that mattered.
Ingo needs him off of the tracks, and he needs him off of them now.
Bending down, he stretched his long arms out and hooked his hands beneath his brother’s armpits. With a small huff, he lifted Emmet up and out of the dangerous area, disregarding the murmurs of fascination by the onlookers still observing them.
He feels…lighter than he should be.
Never mind that. Continue safety checks. Vacate the area.
Quickly, Ingo dragged his rag-dolling twin away from the tracks and crowd, ducking into a smaller square of the platform. Shielded from sight by two pillars, Ingo dropped Emmet. Before the man in white could so much as open his mouth, Ingo spun him around and clutched him close to himself.
Safety checks complete.
Emmet is safe.
The train missed him.
He is still here.
I didn’t lose him.
I didn’t lose him.
I didn’t—
Ingo was trying to swallow back the wails crawling their way up his throat. Tears were spilling messily onto Emmet’s shoulder and perhaps, if he were in his right mind, he’d be embarrassed by this emotional display. But he wasn’t in his right mind. How could he be, when he just saw the person he loved most, the person who made him feel something after the years of being painfully numb, disappear under the wheels of a train?
When hesitant hands rested on his back, he allowed the words swimming in his head to come tumbling out of his mouth.
“What were you thinking?!” He cried, his voice bouncing noisily off the tiled walls around them. “You know to never, ever, jump onto the tracks when a train is arriving! You should never be on the tracks at all during hours of operation unless it is declared safe to do so!” It was one of the countless rules that remained in his head, even after being dumped into Hisui. More like an engraving than a memory. Its significance had grown after this incident.
Emmet haltingly responded in his flat voice, “There was a Pokémon on the—”
“What if you had been hit?”
What if I had lost you?
“I wasn’t—”
“What would I have done if you’d been hit?”
I can’t lose you.
Emmet fell silent, even as his body began to shake. Or was it Ingo who was shaking?
“I know I do not remember much. I know you’re frustrated, I’m also frustrated, but—” His voice cracked, his arms hugging Emmet impossibly closer. Ingo’s heart felt as though it were ready to give out. “But I refuse to lose my little brother again. Especially when I’ve only just gotten him back.”
There was a pause.
Then Emmet clung to him, his face nuzzling into his neck as tears started to wet his skin.
Ingo heaved a heavy sigh.
“I love you, Emmet.”
In Hisui, he was nothing but a husk of a forgotten man.
In Nimbasa, he was the leftover scraps of a Subway Boss.
“I love you too,” Emmet’s voice, uncharacteristically small, whispered from where he was buried.
In truth, Ingo didn’t belong in any specific place or in any specific time.
Ingo only belonged wherever Emmet was.
And with that knowledge, the spark in his chest burned brighter.