Sorta Grim End and Kinda Bright Beginning

(Please read author's note in the end)

I sighed, my eyes burning from exhaustion. I close my eyes. The invisible sand in them seemed to let up for just a moment. As I open my eyes once more, I saw my blurry reflection in the terrarium glass. Lit by a single lamp in the darkroom, I looked at the product of my imagination, the only successful specimen of a species I created. Created by science and fueled by childhood fantasies.

At first glance, Pikachu, as I called it, was nightmare fuel. Scratch that, at second glance, it was nightmare fuel too. This mini schnauzer sized mother fucker had a predatory aesthetic going for it, with some wasp, spider, and scorpion motifs.

Pikachu had it all: A dark carapace, scorpion tail and claws, mantis claws where wings might be, spider silk, and bombardier beetle glands. But wait, there's more! I used a myriad of insect influences to give Pikachu a velocity and impact-resistant biology. It could run faster than the Australian tiger beetle while having fleas' muscular design (for dem Mario jumps) in parallel with dung beetle strength.

Oh, and did I mention that Pikachu secretes necrotic venom, paralytic venom, and a viral milkshake, like what voodoo wasps use to zombify caterpillars?

I know what you're thinking: Why the fuck did I create this death machine?

Short answer: It looks cool.

Long answer: How else is it supposed to have pokemon moves or superpowers when there are no gods or magical entities to imbue something or someone with powers? Not to mention any undiscovered radiation or energy that won't just give you cancer?

With a sharp inhale, I straighten myself and close the box of books by my feet. They were the source of so much inspiration and entertainment in my childhood. I turn off the light and leave the room. I shuffle across the media room and look at myself in the mirror, good, but not quite it. I could have been better if I had spent a bit more time on other things, athletic nonetheless.

After a long conversation with my fiance today, I realized that I couldn't be stuck in dreams. One can't live in two worlds at once—no this by day and that by night. I finally make it into bed and join Kira, finally set on casting away distractions and to make myself comfortable without waking her up then quickly fall asleep.

Near sunrise, I feel the bed shift, Kira's lithe figure leaves the bed, probably for her morning maintenance as she calls it, first to the bathroom, then yoga and light exercise. Lastly, she makes breakfast.

Groggy, I return to sleep, seemingly in the next moment, I am being shaken awake by my fiance. "Paul, get up, it's a big day, it's what you've been working for, baby," she says caringly, which is a lot more supportive than usual.

I got up with a newfound resolution, entirely awake. It was as if all my life until this point had been hazy and now came into focus. I moved on, entirely grounded in my new reality.

The rest of the day was a blur, driving to Manhattan, getting coffee with Kira, and soon I was standing before a well-known restaurant popular in the business world. I felt the nervous excitement a kid might feel before their first recital looking at the clean glass doors.

At a dizzying pace, the meeting went by, stretching for hours, yet it somehow ended as soon as I sat before a table filled with future partners and desirable associates.

I fell into a trance as I entered the venue, an eerie calm mask of competence and suave came over me. I held my ground as business tycoons and my future partners toed the line, pressed their luck, and tried to intimidate me.

I unconsciously resurfaced again, shedding my business face as I stepped out onto the street. My smile turned into a grin, and it grew wider with each step towards the awaiting limousine. As I approached, the window rolled down, revealing my gorgeous fiance and business partner. "Did you get them to sign the merger on good terms?" she asked, flashing a smile.

"Is my face not an answer enough?" I replied

She giggled, "You were perfect, babe." she whispered. What she said quietly sounded an alarm, but I dismissed it as cliche. In the corner of my eye, I saw a hooded figure with a baseball bat reflected in the limo's toned glass. That was the last thing I saw.

When I came to, I saw Kira passionately kissing a man with a baseball bat at his feet. Scalding rage took over my being as I rushed the man, ready to turn his pretty face into worm shit. Only the hair on his head shivered from a light breeze. My fist just went through his temple. With grim realization, I turned around to see myself face-first on the ground, streaks of red running down my head. A supple voice of unidentifiable sex, and origin, spoke softly, "Everyone gets what they deserve, keep watching."

The man pulled my body into the car and then promptly followed. My disembodied spirit lassoed to the car, and I was dragged along. Nearly forty minutes passed when we finally pulled up to my house, Kira giggling as she hugged her new boy toy's arm. I became riddled with irritation as night had fallen, and karma had yet to be a bitch. It was about nine o'clock right after their quick fuck session when I followed the pair into my laboratory, or lavatory as Kira often called it. She pointed at Pikachu's terrarium, "Take that nasty shit out, and I don't know, crush it with a brick or something." The muscle boy obliged and picked it up and unbeknownst to the dumbass, his right hand held onto the release. I laughed inaudibly, as hell broke loose. Pikachu was already on the guy's face, gouging his eye out and its stinger in his neck. With desperate wails, he fell. As Kira shrieked, she attempted to escape but tripped on the box I left by the door last night, and slammed her head on the railing, dropping in silence.

"That was awesome!"

"Everyone gets what they deserve eventually," replied a figure made of unshining light. It then continued, "I don't have too much time; since you finally cast away your fantasies and decided to lead a good life but died unplanned, I am offering you reparations on behalf of The Overseers. I am offering you to choose a world of your liking to reincarnate in; there is a catalog that you can look through if you want. The juicy bonuses will depend on where you decide to go."

Stunned by this monologue, my mind froze up. The possibilities were endless. I mused as fast as I could, Naruto, supremely attractive, chakra, but so violent. Even with some promised bonuses, I'll probably die in one of the Shinobi wars before I get strong enough. Pokemon, really cool, but it's about being a professional animal trainer, with no personal power to speak of. Maybe some fantasy work with mages and busty elf girls? That would likely be just as violent with racial tensions all around. I'm not sure I would like to go to a super technologically advanced version of Earth because I'll most likely stick out like a sore thumb. Never mind the chance it might be some government or corporation controlled dystopia.

Then it dawned upon me, "The One Piece world!" I exclaimed.

"So be it, now for the bonuses, I'll offer you any devil fruit you can think of that isn't used by anyone. Here's the catch, if you choose a logia, you will have to make your way to it; it'll take you roughly two years. Choose a paramecia, and it'll only be one year, or you can choose a zoan and get it within 10 minutes of your resurrection, but there's a test."

'Time to come up with something supremely overpowered; the only issue is that I have no survival skills. I could choose water or plant logia, or even a telekinesis paramecia, but what good does it do if I never make it. Zoan it is, now I have to figure out a way not to make it lame. I need a creature that will give me more than physical characteristics; I need versatility.

"Oh snap, my life's work was not for nothing, I choose you, Pikachu!"

I couldn't make out this entity's facial features, yet somehow I could tell it smirked. I came to from a falling sensation and then an insurmountable pain. My eyes shot open immediately, and I nearly blackout again as I slide further down the branch I'm impaled on, much like a butterfly on display. A white patch comes into focus of my blurred vision. Just out of reach hangs a fruit, much like a rose apple in shape, densely littered with alabaster white polygons separated by pitch-black lines.

As the numbness in the tips of my fingers and tongue started spreading, I laughed bitterly in my head while a resolute calm washed over me. Firmly grasping the branch going through me, I was unable even to gasp when I pulled myself to my dream. I wish I could say I grabbed and bit into the fruit with conviction, but I would say it's a miracle that my teeth even went past the rubbery skin. The viscous juice that flowed onto my tongue was as if bile and ghost peppers had a miracle child, and that baby took its worst shit in my mouth.