The click of the lock echoed louder than Yellow expected, sharp in the stillness. For a moment, she just stared at the door, her hand hovering where Flint had pushed it shut. The weight in his eyes before leaving still pressed against her chest — a silent command: stay here, stay safe.
The room smelled faintly of stone and warm metal; the air was tinged with the dry tang of dust. Somewhere inside the walls, the hum of old machinery buzzed low and steady, like a heartbeat she couldn't quite trust. Along one side stretched a bank of monitors, their dark glass faces reflecting her uneasy silhouette. Only one was alive, flickering with grainy light — the live feed of the gym floor. The image wavered now and then, as if the building itself were holding its breath.
Ash had walked with her from the side door, down narrow corridors past rooms she hadn't dared to look into. She could still see the concern in his eyes as he'd pressed the three Poké Balls into her hands before the door closed behind him. The weight of his trust lingered heavier than the metal itself, pressing into her palm even now.
She hoped he stayed safe. The hope felt hollow. He had walked into what they called Survival.
He was the only one she could depend upon. Her only human friend. She had already lost her family. She could not — would not — lose him too.
She turned to Brock's siblings, the other occupants of the room. They huddled together on a worn bench, knees drawn up, eyes darting between the screen and her. Their small bodies pressed close, as if proximity alone could keep them safe. None of them spoke. They didn't need to. Their fear was a living thing in the room, sharp as static against her skin.
Yellow forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. Whether it was meant to reassure them or herself, she couldn't tell. Her fingers found the four Poké Balls at her belt, the smooth metal warm from her touch. One by one, she released the only friends she had with her now.
Light flared, and shapes took form: her Doduo, Dody, shaking out both heads with uneven chirps, talons clicking softly against the floor; Pidgeotto, feathers catching the glow of the monitor, wings shifting restlessly; Spearow, bristling sharp as a thorn, eyes flicking toward the door as if daring it to open; and Chansey, calm and unreadable, padding forward to stand near the children, her presence as steady as a hand on the shoulder.
The room felt a little less empty — but no less tense. The hum of the machinery seemed louder now, the flicker of the monitor more insistent. Yellow's gaze drifted back to the screen, her breath catching at every shadow that moved across it. Somewhere out there, Ash was about to fight — and all Yellow could do was wait, heart pounding in time with the hum of the machines.
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The hum of the old machinery was the only constant. No music, no commentary — just the tinny, distorted sounds bleeding from the single working monitor. Every scrape of stone, every roar, every impact came through raw, unfiltered, as if the battle itself were trapped inside the cramped room with them. The longer Yellow listened, the smaller the air seemed to grow.
She sat perched on the edge of her chair, fists clenched white against her knees, eyes locked on the flickering feed. Brock's siblings were a huddled knot on the bench, shoulders pressed so tightly together they seemed fused. Their gazes kept darting between the monitor and her face, as though her reaction mattered more than the fight itself — as if her composure could promise Ash's survival.
Her Pokémon lingered close. Dody shifted constantly, talons scratching against the floor, both heads chirping sharp, anxious notes. Pidgeotto's feathers twitched with every sound from the speakers. Spearow's sharp eyes darted back and forth, jerking toward shadows only he could see. And Chansey, steady as stone, had stationed herself beside the youngest child, her round body radiating quiet warmth.
The first time Rhyhorn charged, the whole screen jolted, the camera shaking violently. Yellow's breath caught in her throat like a stone. Before she realised it, she was on her feet, crossing the room in three desperate strides. Her palms slammed against the steel door, the sound a dull, hopeless thud swallowed by the humming walls. She hit it again, harder this time, the sting shooting up her arms. Tears stung her eyes before she even knew she was crying.
Dody squawked sharply, both heads lunging toward her, frantic. Spearow fluttered up, wings spread wide across her chest like a living barrier. The siblings scrambled to her side, tugging at her arms with thin, trembling hands, their little voices rising in panicked pleas. Chansey pressed a paw against her shoulder, warm and grounding, the unspoken message clear: stay.
Her chest heaved. She froze, letting them pull her back, the children's hands anchoring her as much as restraining. Slowly, she sank into the chair again, her hands trembling in her lap, her breath sharp and uneven. All she could do was force her eyes back to the screen.
Every dodge Ash and Eevee made dragged her forward in her seat; her whole body tensed as though she could leap through the monitor and help. Every missed attack made her nails dig crescent moons into her palms. When the stone shards from Smack Down peppered the arena, she flinched with each impact as if they struck her instead. The moment Ash's thrown rock saved Eevee from the Horn Attack, her breath burst free in a strangled gasp, shoulders sagging in relief — only for them to lock up again the instant the battle pressed on.
And when Eevee finally fell, Yellow's hand flew to her mouth, muffling a soundless cry. Her vision blurred. She sat frozen, unable to move, her body screaming to rush the door, but her heart shackled to the chair. She stayed that way until the next round began.
Butterfree's release brought the first flicker of hope. Her lips curved upward, but the expression wavered, fragile. The children leaned forward too, wide-eyed, whispering in awe at the sight of the glittering webbing and golden spores — only to flinch back when Geodude's Thunder Punch and Flamethrower lit the screen in brutal flashes.
Yellow leaned so close to the monitor it seemed her breath might fog the glass. Every time Butterfree dodged the erupting stone or spun silk to bind the enemy, her muscles twitched in unison, her body moving with the Pokémon as if she could will its flight. Her fingers clenched so tight on the chair that her knuckles gleamed pale in the glow.
When both Pokémon crashed into the web, the spores bursting like sparks, she clutched her knees with such force it hurt. And when Flint declared the double knockout, the words rattled through her like a shockwave — relief crashing hard against exhaustion. She sagged back, but her eyes never softened.
Then Onix entered.
The monitor trembled beneath the serpent's massive weight, stone grinding against stone. The siblings didn't scream — they knew Onix too well — but their faces went pale, their mouths small circles of awe and dread. Yellow's jaw clenched until it ached. She couldn't look away from the screen.
Pikachu blurred across it, darting through webs and shadows, lightning flashing against stone. Each time Onix's jaws snapped shut just behind him, Yellow's breath hitched, her hands tightening on the chair arms. When its tail smashed the floor and rocks exploded into the air, she half-rose without thinking, only to collapse back into the chair, trembling.
Then the Bind wrapped around Pikachu.
She shot upright again, fists trembling at her sides, her body shaking with the effort not to hurl herself at the door. Her throat burned with a scream she couldn't release. She pressed her lips shut so hard they hurt, her eyes swimming. When Pikachu began to climb, inch by inch, her whole body leaned with him, her tears poised on the brink of falling. The Iron Tail strike made her lips part in silent triumph, a sob trapped inside her chest.
And then the Dragon Breath came.
The fire caught the spores. The screen turned white.
The explosion hit the speakers with a tearing crack. The camera jolted violently, the picture dissolving into static before cutting out entirely. The blackness that followed was absolute. A heartbeat later, the muffled BOOM rolled through the walls, shaking the floor beneath their feet, rattling the monitor on its stand.
Yellow's chair scraped back with a harsh screech. She was at the door in an instant, slamming her palms against the steel so hard the vibrations shot to her shoulders. Each strike grew more frantic, her tears spilling freely now, blurring her vision until the world was nothing but silver steel and red pain.
The siblings joined her, their small fists pounding a desperate rhythm alongside hers. Dody kicked furiously at the base of the door, talons sparking against metal. Spearow battered it with his wings until his feathers bent, Pidgeotto hurled his body again and again, Chansey threw her full weight against it in silence. But the door didn't move.
One by one, they fell back — the children slumping to the floor, breath hitching in ragged sobs; the Pokémon retreating, sides heaving with the effort, wings drooping, eyes dim.
Yellow stayed.
Her palms were raw, split open from the unyielding steel. Bright smears of red streaked the cold surface, a mirror of her desperation. She kept hitting it, each blow weaker, until at last her knees gave way. She slid down to the floor, back against the door, body trembling with the aftershocks of grief.
She pressed her forehead against the steel, its chill biting into her skin. Her shoulders shook with every breath, tears burning hot tracks down her cheeks. In her mind's eye, she saw only the flare of light, the roar of the blast, the static cutting out.
And Ash was swallowed somewhere inside it.
The thought carved a hollow in her chest so deep she felt she might fall into it. If he was gone, if that really was the end… then she was truly, utterly alone.
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It had been nearly an hour since the explosion. The door remained shut, as if welded into the stone itself.
The youngest siblings were crying now, their thin voices cracking in the stale air. The eldest tried to comfort them, but their own voice trembled, breaking halfway through every promise of "It's okay, they'll come back."
The Pokémon huddled together in a loose circle, their restlessness dimmed into a quiet kind of vigil. Dody's two heads tucked close, chirps softened to uneasy whines. Pidgeotto's wings drooped low, feathers ruffled. Even Spearow, usually sharp and defiant, stayed perched on Chansey's broad shoulder, staring at the door in silence.
They were watching over Yellow.
She had not moved. Her body slumped against the steel, forehead still pressed to the cold metal. Her blood-caked palms lay limp at her sides, streaks of red smeared across the door and staining the floor where she had beaten it raw. Her chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm, but her eyes were vacant, dull, fixed on nothing.
The sound of feet shuffling stirred the Pokémon first. They perked up, ears twitching, wings half-spread. Dody's heads lifted in unison, sharp chirps cutting the silence.
The siblings noticed too, glancing up with sudden hope.
Yellow didn't. Her mind was a blank sea of static. Until—
Footsteps. Closer this time. Then a low voice, muffled through the door. Words floated through — "reinforced steel."
Her heart jolted. She knew that voice.
The click of the lock broke the hour-long stillness like thunder. Yellow blinked, her fog lifting, clarity slicing through the numbness.
The door swung inward, catching against her weight. She scrambled weakly aside, her foot colliding with the sharp edge. Pain sparked up her leg, sharp enough to make her hiss — but it didn't matter. The door was open.
"Oi, Chansey, we need a Heal Pulse—" Flint's words cut short as he froze in the doorway.
Behind him, Brock and the others stared wide-eyed at the scene: the smears of blood, the tear-streaked children, Yellow's hollow stare. The silence snapped, replaced by cries of relief.
The siblings bolted past her, voices breaking as they threw themselves at their family. Brock nearly fumbled Pikachu in his arms as his younger brothers and sisters clung to his legs. He sank to his knees, wrapping them in shaking arms, whispering their names over and over.
Flint adjusted his grip, loosening his hold on the boy in his arms — and that was all it took. Ash slipped from his grasp.
Yellow's body moved before her mind did. She stepped into his path, catching him against her chest. The impact knocked them both down, tumbling to the floor in a tangled heap.
Ash groaned, the sound small and pained. Yellow rolled him onto his back with trembling hands, refusing to let him go. She stayed pressed against him, arms locking tight around his body, her head buried against his chest as if anchoring herself to his heartbeat.
"Y-Yellow?" Ash's voice was weak, pained, thinned with exhaustion, but it was his. He was alive.
Chansey stepped forward, her eyes soft, her palms glowing as the warm wave of Heal Pulse washed over them both. Yellow didn't lift her face — but her shoulders quivered, and though hidden against Ash, her lips curved into a smile.
Her tears soaked through his shirt. They were the first tears of relief she'd shed all day.