[Dark] [Not for readers with mental health issues] [Ranch story]
The research institute’s hydraulic press radiated heat like rotting flesh. Dr. Dazhu’s glasses reflected the light, hiding his pupils. “Making Poke Balls? Red Apricorns have to be picked from trees where Murkrow have hanged themselves, and White Apricorns have to be polished with Salandit stomach acid...”
Suddenly, he grabbed your wrist. “But do you really need a ‘ball’?”
Inside the display case, in a Nest Ball embryo soaking in formalin, the bones of a human infant’s hand were unmistakably curled up.
Zubat suddenly tore the doctor’s sleeve. The instant you saw the shadowy tattoo on his arm, a heavy thud came from the roof, as if something had fallen.
