Ultra Surprise

Midge had always found comfort in the quiet stillness that could be found in a scrapyard. She enjoyed the occasional clangs and clongs of settling junk as she sifted through abandoned treasures.

She began humming a half-tuned jingle as she dug through the remains of a mobile home. She clamped her teeth uncomfortably on the ratchet in her mouth as she liberated the lightly used tire from its housing with a little too much force, sending a layer of dust puffing up around her. She blinked once and set her acquisition aside before gathering the lugnuts, pocketing them in her Crustle patterned overalls, and set the hub cap in her backpack. She then let the ratchet fall from her mouth and set to work securing a second tire.

Her mind drifted to the sweet potatoes she was going to bake when she got back to her RV; soft, caramelized, maybe with a little butter if she was feeling fancy. She almost didn’t notice the frustrated little pale figure curled up behind the tire, obsessively wiping and re-wiping a spot on its opalescent arm.

Midge tilted her head to get a better look at it. Lean muscle, sharp angles, like a broken porcelain doll. Its limbs were impossibly long for its size and thin as twigs, yet taut with power. Like they could snap in a heartbeat. Midge's eyes rested on what she assumed was the head of the thing. Antennas twitching constantly atop an elongated head. The eyes trained on her were a cold mix of purple and blue.

its torso was made of flared segmented plates stacked like section of a collapsible telescope. Midge had never seen anything like it before, but a bug type specialist knows a bug when they see one.

“Hello.” She spoke softly, her usual monotone voice lowered just enough to sound soothing; or as soothing as she could manage.

The creature’s antennas flicked. It froze, then immediately scooted backward, only to realize, too late, that it had slid straight into a patch of mud.

It let out a high, glitchy wine, and immediately began thrashing in place, trying to scrub the filth off its backside with frantic, precise motions. Its long arms flailed like malfunctioning windshield wipers, only making things worse as it kicked up clumps of rust flakes and dirt as it contorted itself in a neurotic fury.

Midge took a step back and unshouldered her Dewpider-shaped backpack. The bulbous head bobbed slightly as she set it down. She unscrewed a battered water bottle from the side pouch.

“Here,” she said. “Let me help.” She poured a little water onto her forearm and rubbed it clean in slow, methodical circles.

The little creature took slow, cautious steps toward Midge, limbs unfolding with eerie precision. Its antennae swept forward in a wide arc, twitching as they tasted the air. It stopped just short of her outstretched arm, its eyes locked onto the damp patch of skin like it was trying to decipher a ritual or a trap.

Now Midge could see the full height of the bug she had encountered. Barely a foot tall and yet its every movement carried a strange, elegance. Limbs like folded glass. A torso of shifting plates. It moved like it had been sculpted to dance.

It stepped forward, antennae twitching, eyes locked on the patch of clean skin Midge had shown it. For a long, quiet moment, it simply watched. Statuesque. Regal. Alien.

Then it reached for the water bottle. Its fingers pierced straight through the plastic, and water leaked out over its hand. A shrill shriek followed as it flailed backward, arms flapping in a burst of panic. Water sloshed everywhere as it thrashed, widening the tear in the bottle with every jerky movement. It shook its limbs violently until the bottle launched from its grip and splashed into the mud. Then it looked up at Midge; wide eyed, dripping, and accusatory as if she had done this.

Midge pulled a towel from her bag, eyes fixed on the drenched doll flailing helplessly. “Well, at least now you’re clean,” she said. “Will you let me dry you off?”

It nodded its little oval-shaped head and reached for the towel.

"I'm going to pick you up with it okay?"

After a minute of contemplation, it nodded again.

Midge carefully wrapped the towel around the tiny creature, swaddling it like a fragile, restless child. The damp fabric softened its rigid plates, muffling its sharp movements. She held it close, leaving the tires behind. Carrying her backpack with her free hand, she made her way out of the scrapyard.

She glanced down at the Pokémon’s tiny face, and her heart melted. “I gotta find someone who knows what you are.”