Its overarching mystery of a seemingly post-apocalyptic Kanto region in which humanity has disappeared is the sort of gripping, dark, almost visual novel-esque premise Pokémon fans haven't gotten before. It makes me willing to build a house in hopes that I'll find extra lore drops everywhere, even in the art that's hanging on the walls.
Nintendo has a history of fleshing out the larger Pokémon world through spinoffs. What games from the Pokémon Snap and Detective Pikachu series lacked in terms of action, they made up for in the way they made pokémon feel like creatures with rich lives outside of their relationships with trainers.
So long as I manage to avoid lightbulbs or stay out of wine glasses, the buzzing will inevitably give way to silence. My wings will abruptly stop flapping and I'll careen towards the ground like an asteroid. I'll become a speck on a rug, a bit of debris absent-mindedly vacuumed up by someone who has no idea what adventures I've been on in the past minute.
