Once a vibrant trainer—now a ghost of what she used to be. Her presence carries the weight of something broken, unfinished, wrong. She doesn’t walk so much as drift, feet barely crunching the leaves beneath her. The cold wind doesn’t touch her, but her hair floats like she's underwater—like she doesn’t belong in this world anymore.

Around her neck, a trade cable, old and frayed, is wrapped like a noose. It trails behind her wherever she goes—dragging in the dirt, catching on branches, leaving faint lines in the earth like a tether to the moment she died. The moment she was betrayed by the very system that was meant to connect trainers… not kill them.

Her skin is pale, almost translucent under the moonlight. Her fingers twitch as if still holding onto a Poké Ball that’s no longer there. Her eyes, if you can call them that anymore, are wide—glossed over in a haze of pain, confusion, and memory.

And then there’s Charizard.

It lumbers beside her like a shadow reanimated. Its wings are mangled, bone exposed beneath patches of scorched and rotting flesh. Its flame still burns—but not orange. Not warm.

It burns blue.

Cold. Undead. Cursed.

The trade cable snakes around Charizard’s neck too—twisted in a cruel mimicry of their final connection. A glitch. A transfer. A trade gone horribly wrong. And still… it protects her. Still… it obeys. Because some bonds never break, even after death.

Together, they don’t attack. They don’t speak. They watch.

Haunting the edges of routes, lingering near PC terminals, staring at young trainers with living teams and laughter in their eyes.

Miki doesn’t want revenge.

She wants what she lost.

Her partner. Her team. Her life.

And that cable around her neck? It’s not just a reminder.

It’s a warning.