In Our World

Author's Note: Ok, let's get the formalities out of the way right off the bat. I do not own Pokémon, nor any of the other shows, games, products, etc that are referenced within this fic. There are original characters and original (some not so much) ideas for Pokémon as well. Some of you may not like that, so consider this a warning.

Now, on to the fun stuff. Hello everyone, I'm 'Love Thy Shadow' and this is my first foray into fanfiction. What I offer up as my debut project is my take on a familiar fantasy of many of us Pokémon fans: What if Pokémon was real? I for one would love it, but at the same time, I doubt that it'd be the peaceful/innocent world presented to us in the show and games. Quite frankly, I expect chaos to reign supreme, at least initially, but given time, it'd become a wonderful world to live in. Please be warned, this fic will contain violence, some of it potentially of a shocking nature. There will definitely be some uncouth language and probably some 'adult' situations in here as well, but hopefully you'll be mature enough not to be offended by such material. If you are, consider yourself forewarned.

Sit back, relax, and prepare to embark on a journey that we've all dreamt about: Pokémon… In Our World.

Prologue

"Alright class, you've got your groups, so please stick with your guide and you'd all better be on your best behavior for these kind folks!"

With that warning, the herd of children that had been gathered in the cavernous marble foyer dissolved into several small groups of four, each group eagerly running to join the guide that they had been assigned. Well, all of them save for one group of young boys, who eyed the elderly white-haired man standing opposite them with obvious distaste.

"How come we get stuck with the walking dead?" One boy remarked quietly to his comrades.

"Hmmm? You say something sonny?" The old man shuffled his way towards the youngsters, each step accompanied with a hefty clack from his wooden cane against the marble floor. The man wore a content smile that barely showed through his bushy mustache and his eyes appeared as little more than slits behind a pair of spectacles.

The boy who had spoken put on a fake smile and turned to the elderly gent. "Nope, nothing important… gramps," the last word whispered silently under his breath before continuing, "Can we start the tour?"

"Oh yes… yes, of course." The old man turned towards one of the adjoining rooms and began walking towards the entrance. The children grudgingly fell into step behind him, the comedian imitating the old man's hunched figure, much to the delight of the other three.

The guide raised his free hand, make a grand sweeping gesture of the plaque mounted above the archway that marked the room's entrance. "Here is where the legends are immortalized. Champions and their Pokémon dating all the way back to the first League tournament back in 2015. Welcome to the Hall of Fame."

"Betcha gramps here was alive back then."

"You're damn right I was."

The children gave the old man a look of shock, partially surprised that he had heard the hushed comment, but mostly out of disbelief. "But… that was like… fifty years ago!"

"Aye, fifty-two to be specific. I was twenty-seven… no, twenty-eight years old at the time of that tournament." The old man let out a lengthy sigh as he regarded the first photo on the wall. "Back then, people were still learning how to integrate Pokémon into our everyday lives. It took a few years after the first Pokémon were discovered before they could form a structured League to oversee the battles that the people craved."

The children gathered alongside the guide, suddenly eager to listen intently to every word that came from the old man's mouth. They looked at the picture of a smiling young man with a trio of salivating canines and a couple of bovine beasts.

The old man smiled wistfully as he raised his cane, pointing to the picture. "Let's see… Richard Irving… He had three wolves, one fire, a fighting type, and a poison type. Hell, for the most part, that was the only manner we could identify the Pokémon, just label it by its type and base creature, unless it was one that somewhat resembled one from the games. There were… oh god, how many were there in the games back then… six hundred and fifty or so that a lot of us knew. So, like in the case of those other two Pokémon there in the picture, a Tauros and a Miltank, we had some sort of idea what they were capable of. If memory serves correctly, Richard also had the very first ghost Pokémon ever captured, but it never showed up in any of the pictures you took of it.

"Pokémon used to be a game?"

"Not just a game, it was everywhere! There was a show and trading cards and plushies and board games. You name it; there was a Pokémon related version of it. Hell, there was even a theme park over in Japan." The old man chuckled to himself as he continued walking along, "Boy, the Japanese were pissed that it took five months after the first Pokémon appeared for one to show up over there. Serves them right for delaying the English releases of the games…"

The old man gave his head a shake as he tapped his cane rhythmically on the floor, "Anyways, in those early days, Pokémon were still quite uncommon, so most trainers were lucky to get more than two, let alone form a complete team of six. Which would be why Richard won the League tournament four of the first five years. Only year he lost, the other guy, Tory Mitchell, had a ground/fighting hybrid buffalo that steam-rolled Irving. That thing was a beast. It wasn't until the second Pokémon boom of 2020 when the real competitive tournaments began."

"Mister…" One of the boys raised an inquisitive hand, waiting until he received a nod from the guide before posing his question, "They teach us a lot in school about the early days of the League, but they hardly mention anything about those first few years after the Discovery. Why is that?"

The old man nodded solemnly. He motioned with his cane towards a nearby bench and the four youngsters clambered to take a seat. "Those first years were some bad times. People were scared… and there were other people out there that took advantage of that fear. Luckily for everyone, some young folks and their Pokémon took on the role of heroes. It was thanks to their actions that Pokémon still exist to this day." Taking a deep breath, the elderly guide looked sternly into the expectant eyes of his charges, "Do you want to hear their story?"

He knew they would nod their heads in response. Every group nodded their heads to that question. With a smile and a tap of his cane, the old man began his story.

Chapter 1: Origins

It was a snowy New Years Eve that had heralded in the coming of 2013. The temperature outside from an ungodly forty degrees below the freezing mark on the Centigrade scale and that wasn't even counting the wind chill. Judging how the wind buffeted the small car every time it crested a hill or left the protective shielding granted by a copse of trees, the actual temperature must have felt more like negative fifty-five. Welcome to your typical Canadian winter.

The small car's heater was cranked to full, trembling gloved hands constantly pressed against the strained vents in an attempt to absorb enough heat before returning to the steering wheel. The faded green LED's of the car's dashboard proclaimed the time to be one-thirty a.m. A faint melody escaped from the vehicle's speakers, yet it went mostly unheard against the howling winds.

Outside, a swirling blanket of snow bombarded the car's progress along the country road. The driver was forced to proceed with just his low beams on, due mostly to the fact that his high beams produced a glaring warp effect, much like what they used in the Star Wars movies. As a kid, he had loved watching that sight from the safety of the back seat. Not so much now that he was the one behind the wheel.

A dark red tuque was pulled tightly over the driver's head and ears, but a large tuft of shaggy chestnut colored hair still poked out the backside and over the collar of his thick jacket. His hazel eyes strained to stay open as he fought off the urge to give in to the warmth of the heater and fall asleep. A slight warmth still burned deep within his core from the spirits consumed during the evening's festivities. At least his stomach was contently full.

"Next year, I'm hosting the god damned New Years' party, just so those bastards have to drive thru this crap." Ah yes, there was the bitter, anti-social personality of his proudly rearing its ugly head. Our friend here wasn't a big fan of social gatherings, or people in general, but there were certain occasions that one simply didn't observe solo. New Years Eve was one of those, especially when it was a reunion of sorts of one's old high school friends. Although, it also served the dual purpose of reminding our friend why he hadn't made an effort to stay in touch with these people for the last seven years.

He was somewhere east of his hometown of Wetaskiwin, Alberta, a place that, if given the choice, he'd never return to again during his lifetime. The teenagers of this particular small city often grew up with the single goal of leaving the city and going anywhere else. It was about as boring of place as anywhere on the entire planet. Hell, the only ideal of fun that existed in the entire city was visiting the local Wal-mart. Yeah, it was one of 'those' cities. A shudder ran down his spine as he spotted the lights of the city off in the distance out the driver's side window.

He couldn't help but let out a dejected sigh as he continued the slow crawl through the snow. It had been another of those annoying nights that reminded him of just how far behind he was on life's journey compared to everyone he knew. Everyone at the party had their fiancée or girlfriend proudly latched on at the elbow, while he had been the only one in attendance that was flying solo. His old friends spent the night telling stories of their worldly travels and of their other exciting post-college activities. He could only mumble curses about his two separate drop-outs from college and the multitude of crappy jobs that he had since high school.

"I'm surprised by you Blythe; you were one of the smartest guys in high school. How come you weren't able to do anything with that?"

Yeah, that comment had stung, probably just as much as having carried around the name Blythe for all twenty-five years of his life. Joyous and cheerful, my ass. Bloody hippy parents… But, anyways, wasn't that so kind of his friend for essentially pointing out to him that his life had been a waste? Blythe felt his hands tighten around the wheel as he followed a slight curve in the road. He took a deep breath, feeling the stinging chill invade his throat much to his chagrin.

"This year, things will be different," he promised himself as his mind began concocting one of the many fantasies that he often became lost in. Surprisingly, it wasn't the lottery fantasy, nor was it the one with the programmable life form that he'd make his girlfriend… Ok, so maybe his life was a little pathetic…

Suddenly, a dark form popped out of the ditch, frozen in place by the glare of the headlights. Blythe's foot slammed hard against the brake peddle, his hands clenched around the wheel as the tires locked, refusing to come to a stop on the icy road. The creature stayed unmoving as the car approached and Blythe could only close his eyes as the inevitable happened.
*Thud*

"Oh god… Why didn't you move, you stupid piece of…" Blythe cut his cursing short as the vehicle came to a gradual stop, the front end dipping slightly into the ditch. His foot was still pressed firmly on the brakes, the red glow of the taillights filling his rearview mirror. He sat there for several seconds, his mind a complete blank, refusing to process what had just occurred.

"Damn it…" Blythe angrily shifted into park and unbuckled his seatbelt. As much as he didn't want to look, he knew that he had to. The painful twinge in his heartstrings wouldn't ease up unless he checked on what he hit. Best case scenario, whatever it was that he had hit was already dead. If not…

Blythe reached over to the glove box, fishing around until he felt the round contours of a flashlight. It still worked, surprisingly, considering he hadn't touched the thing since he had tossed it in there last winter. He popped open his door, instantly regretting it as the cold wind howled in his face. At least he had the wherewithal to ensure that the door remained unlocked as he exited the vehicle.

He looked around at the barren wasteland that was this stretch of country road. Snow and the darkness of night were the only things that existed outside of the bubble of light given off by his car and flashlight. Hell, there wasn't even the faintest sliver of the moon up in the sky. Blythe breathed a heavy sigh, shaking his head as he trudged towards the rear of the vehicle.

"God damn it…"

The telltale dark lump on the road was moving, struggling as it pulled itself in his direction. Blythe lowered his gaze, looking instead at the trunk of his car. He knew what he had to do and he was already feeling sick to the pit of his stomach. He slowly made his way back to the driver's door, reaching inside and popping the trunk.

The trunk was a mess of oddities that Blythe had been too lazy to arrange in any sort of sensible manner. There was your standard 'winter survival kit' of a heavy blanket, wool sweater and extra mittens and tuques. There was an extension chord, jumper cables, fluorescent safety vest, and even a few traffic pylons that had been 'relocated' from construction zones. And underneath that pile of crap was the baseball bat. He hesitated in grabbing it, but with bat in one hand, flashlight in the other, Blythe turned back towards the creature.

It had gotten closer. Blythe raised the light, focusing it on the creature for the first time. It was a small white furred fox, barely the size of a housecat. Its back half was matted with blood and its rear left leg dragged limply behind it. The fox had stopped moving when the light played across it, its head tilted curiously as it considered the approaching human.

"Don't look at me like that…" Blythe begged as he stood over the fox, which simply looked up at him with pale blue eyes.

Wait… blue eyes? Since when did foxes have blue eyes? Blythe found himself kneeling down beside the fox. Despite the voice of common sense screaming at him not to look, he couldn't help but peer deep into the calm eyes of the fox. There were blue steaks of fur around the eye sockets, forming a 'v' shaped mask across the bridge of its nose. Blythe panned the light along the length of the fox's body, fighting back the urge to gag at the injured leg, noting several other sections of blue fur around the paws and the tip of the tail.

For its part, the fox sat patiently, adopting an almost regal stance as Blythe examined it. It made no sign that it feared Blythe, like most wild animals would naturally behave when near a human being. The fox's breathing was labored, a thick cloud of icy mist lingering about its snout. Strangely enough, even with it being as cold as it was tonight, Blythe felt an even deeper chill coming from the fox's breathing.

He set aside the bat and removed the glove on his right hand. Blythe slowly moved the exposed extremity in front of the beast's eyes, cautiously lowering it closer to the fox's snout. The fox didn't flinch in the slightest as Blythe placed his hand on it, gently petting along the length of the fox's head. The fox was unnaturally cold to the touch.

"Just what the hell are you?"

A soft mewing sound escaped from the fox's mouth. Blythe cringed, fighting off the urge to utter his own 'awww' at the fox's cuteness. He replaced his glove before retrieving the bat. It didn't matter how adorable the little fox was… With that leg injured as badly as it was, there was no way that it could survive on its own out here in the wild. The humane thing to do would be to put it out of its misery…

But it just looked so damn cute as it looked up at Blythe with those unsuspecting blue eyes…

"Bloody hell…" Blythe turned on the heel of his boot, retreating to the open trunk where he irately tossed the bat back into the mess. He collected the spare blanket, lugging the hefty pile of fabric back to the wounded fox.

"Come here you cute little bastard," he coaxed as he heaved the blanket onto the snow in front of the fox. The fox looked down at the blanket, then back at Blythe with the same quizzical expression that it had worn throughout the whole encounter. Blythe motioned towards the blanket, urging the fox to climb atop the crumpled mess. The fox only cocked its head to the side, uttering another weak mewl.

"For the love of… This is why I hate animals…" Blythe crouched down before the fox and cautiously placed a hand under each forelimb. The fox offered no resistance as Blythe shifted the beast onto the blanket. Instantly, the fox nestled itself within the folds of the blanket, apparently quite pleased with the bedding.

Blythe reached under the blanket, carefully lifting the bedspread and its contents off the ground. The fox shifted uncomfortably within the blanket, but quickly settled. Its head popped out of the covers, the tip of its nose brushing against Blythe's chin. Once again, there was the 'awww' threatening to release itself.

"Gaaaa-wummmmmpppphhhh!"

A low, guttural snort cut thru the howling winds. Accompanying it was a sound similar to the clomping a Clydesdale makes as it gallops. Whatever it was that made the noises was very large and sounded very angry. It also sounded like it was coming closer.

"I can already tell this year is going to be a real shitty one…" Blythe muttered to the fox as the rushed towards his car. He managed to shut the trunk with his elbow as he slid past it and sidled up alongside the driver's side door. "Damnit!" Blythe cursed, struggling to pry open the door while holding the wounded fox tightly against his chest.

A second grunt caused Blythe to stop fumbling with the door handle and nervously look up. Centered in the glare of the headlights was a large moose, its hulking frame practically convulsing with every fierce breath. The remains of a barbed wire fence lay tangled around the beast's hooves, dark splotches of blood-soaked fur glistening in the light. Blythe could only hope he was imagining the translucent cloud of blackness that surrounded the moose and the bloodthirsty glare that was locked firmly within its eyes.

Blythe slowly snaked a gloved hand back to the handle, praying silently that his movements didn't spark any further interest from the moose. A thought ran thru his mind, causing a faint smirk to cross his lips; at least he hadn't hit the moose. Blythe probably wouldn't be conscious right now if his car had struck the imposing beast. And given the relatively small size of his car, the moose probably would be no worse for wear after the accident. Hell, the damn thing probably outweighed his car.

*Ding, ding, ding, ding*

The moose's head snapped in Blythe's direction as the car reminded Blythe that the keys were still in the ignition. The beast began pawing at the snow with a front hoof, a sight that Blythe knew all too well meant it intended to charge. He swung the door open and quickly dropped into the driver's seat. He was none too gentle as he plopped the fox and blanket down in the passenger's seat, a fact that the fox was keen to voice its displeasure at.

A solid thud rocked the vehicle backwards, causing Blythe's head to bounce off the headrest. He raised his eyes to timidly peek over the dashboard. "Oh… damn…" Blythe let out a lengthy whimper as he spotted the large crumpled dent that the moose had left in the front end of his car.

The moose had turned about, trotting back a few paces and appeared ready to lower a second charge into the car. Blythe flicked on the high beams, which only served to spur the moose on in its assault. This second strike rocked the car more solidly than the first had, enough so that a couple airbags exploded open. If it wasn't for the ringing headache that he suddenly had developed, Blythe would be feeling a painful divot being dug into his wallet.
"Screw this," Blythe muttered, slamming the vehicle into reverse and jolting the car back onto the road. Just as quickly, he put it into drive and floored the accelerator. The car's tires spun wildly to gain traction in the snow, but after a few seconds, the car lurched forward… Only to be swiftly halted by another charge from the deranged moose. This time, the moose kept its head lowered against the front of the car, its antlers practically engulfing the entire width of the hood.

Albeit a completely irrational act, Blythe felt compelled to crack his window enough for him to shout out, "What the hell is wrong with you, you stupid, overgrown, ugly excuse for a unicorn?"

…

Uhm, yeah… we'll just go ahead and diagnose Blythe with a concussion on that one…

Blythe's foot remained firmly pressed down on the accelerator, but despite the best efforts of the little car, no forward progress was being made against the moose's blockage. In fact, the vehicle was even losing ground against the moose. Loud whines of protest sounded from every part of the car.

The moose suddenly loosened its hold on the car, raising its head off the hood. The tires of the little vehicle spun wildly in the icy grooves it had dug. Before Blythe's car could regain traction, the moose lowered its head in a crushing headbutt against the hood. The cries from the vehicle quickly became defeated whimpers as the engine choked out a few final gasps before giving out.

"Damnit!" Blythe slammed his hand against the already deflated airbag. He was trembling, although this time it wasn't from the deathly chill that had overtaken the confines of the vehicle. This easily was the most terrifying situation that he had stumbled into during his entire life. To think, that moose out there could very well kill him tonight. God, this might count amongst the most embarrassing ways to go…

"Rarrrf!"

The sharp yip that sounded from his right reminded Blythe that he wasn't the only creature inside the vehicle. The little white fox had unearthed itself from the blanket and had its neck craned to look over the dash. Its inquisitive blue eyes seemed to be set firmly on the moose as it dropped a second headbutt against the car. There was fierceness in the fox's eyes, almost as if the tiny beast was excited by the events that had unfolded. At least Blythe wasn't the only one suffering from some brain damage…

The fox stood, gingerly straining its injured hind leg as it rose. The fox began pacing along the length of the seat, but clearly was still bothered by the shredded mess that was its hind quarter. It turned its head, glaring angrily at its own wound. What happened next was something that Blythe would remember for the rest of his life.

A thin stream of icy mist bellowed out from the fox's snout. The mist crept along the length of its body, eventually settling over the wounded section. Then, much to Blythe's surprise, the mist began crystallizing around the leg, forming a layer of icy scales over the open wound. The fox then looked up at Blythe, offering a strange grin to which Blythe could only shake his head at in disbelief. One paw began batting eagerly against the windshield.

"Don't tell me you want to go out there little guy…"

The fox's head bobbed up and down excitedly. Its lips were pulled back in a snarl and Blythe couldn't help but notice that a similar icy coating had taken to the beast's fangs.

Ok, now it all made sense. Blythe had fallen asleep at the wheel and had crashed into a telephone pole during his nap. He had to be dreaming this crap up. How else could you explain an ice fox and a moose that was the living embodiment of darkness? Yet, the dull throbbing against his temple and the trickle of warm liquid that slid down his cheek claimed otherwise.

A third headbutt sent the car skidding back another few feet. The fox had hopped up onto the dash, its face pressed firmly against the glass as it stared down the mad moose. Blythe shook his head again, sending fresh numbing jolts of pain through his cranium. He swore that he heard a voice within his head telling him 'just let the fox out, its not like it'll make things worse off than they already are for you'. And who argues with the disembodied voice that's a figment of your rattled subconscious?

Blythe reached across the cockpit of the car and pulled the handle for the passenger side door. The fox didn't hesitate for a second, quickly hopping onto the snow. The moose seemed to have noticed the door being opened and had trotted over to that side of the car. Suddenly, the moose jumped backwards, its front legs rearing up in surprise. In front of it was the little white fox, nipping angrily at the moose's hooves.

"That little bastard is actually trying to fight off a rampaging moose…" Blythe found himself opening his own door, drawn on by curiosity to witness the spectacle. He stepped out of the vehicle, carefully making his way around the damaged front end and into a position where he was able to clearly see the turmoil.

The moose was repeatedly being forced backwards, but with every step it took, it attempted to stomp on the little white blur that was biting at its legs. The fencepost and wire that it had been dragging along had wrapped itself around its hind legs, causing the behemoth to struggle to stay standing. Puncture marks dotted the moose's legs, each wound already frozen over with bloody crystalline ice droplets. But the moose wasn't going down, despite the mess that it had gotten itself into. A front hoof came snapping down, firmly planting itself along the backside of the little fox. The fox yelped out in pain as the moose pinned it against the road.

Before he knew what he was doing, Blythe was running towards the moose, his shoulder lowered much like a running back in a game of football. Difference is, there isn't a defensive lineman in the world that weighs eight-hundred pounds. Blythe's shoulder connected solidly against the moose's side, but his attempted tackle didn't budge the moose even an inch.

The moose looked back over its shoulder, its massive antlers nearly taking Blythe's head clean off his shoulders. It deliberately turned to consider the foolish human that had attempted to attack it. "Heh… that… wasn't very smart…" Blythe mumbled as he took a few nervous steps away from the large beast.

Suddenly, the little fox jumped up onto the moose's backside, its tiny jaw latching steadfastly onto the moose's neck. The moose reared up again, shaking its head desperately trying to dislodge the annoying pest. The fox kept his bite locked in, refusing to let go, regardless of how violent the moose' protests were becoming. Finally, the tangle about its hind legs served to upset the moose, and the large creature tumbled onto its side.

The fox had hopped off just before the impact with the ground and just as quickly jumped back in, reattaching itself now to the jugular of the formidable beast. The moose's front legs thrashed wildly, trying to kick away the fox, but it just couldn't reach the tiny canine. After a few moments of struggling, the moose's throes simmered down until eventually coming to a complete halt.

The fox let out a low, threatening growl before releasing its grip. Blythe jumped as the moose immediately clambered back to its feet. It began kicking desperately with its hind legs, gradually untangling them from the barbed wire. Once free, the moose hastily limped away from the wrecked car and vanished into the night.

Blythe found himself suddenly week in the knees, gravity and a lack of energy forcing him to take a seat on the road. The fox tentatively walked in front of Blythe, reacting in a similar manner as it also collapsed into the snow. It was panting heavily, blood mixed with slobber quickly freezing into a puddle around its open mouth. Blythe reached over to the fox, patting it gently on the head. "You're a crazy little bastard." The fox lifted its head lazily in recognition of the compliment before returning to its exhausted respite.

Several minutes ticked by with the two passed out alongside each other. The adrenaline had run its course and Blythe was now acutely aware of the freezing atmosphere that he was in. It took quite some effort, but he managed to return to his feet. He looked back at the fox, which also grudgingly had gotten up out of the snow, "I don't know about you, but I'm going to sit inside the car." Blythe didn't have to look to know that the little fox was trotting along behind him. Well, trotting as well as a quadruped could with one leg essentially encased in a cast made of ice.

The fox actually beat Blythe back to the open door of the car and seated itself on the road at the base of the door. It craned its neck to peer up at Blythe, almost as if it was waiting to receive permission before hopping inside the vehicle. Blythe motioned with his hand for the fox to go ahead, which the little canine promptly obeyed, jumping up onto the driver's seat.

Blythe found himself stifling a yawn as he stepped up to the door. He promptly came to the conclusion that, even should the car miraculously still be alive, he was in no shape to continue the almost hour long drive that still lay ahead of him before getting home. Blythe reached inside the vehicle, removing the key from the ignition and dropping it onto the driver's seat beside the fox. He closed the open door, choosing instead to crawl into the back seat. He pulled the blanket from the passenger seat thru the gap between the front seats and wrapped it as tightly as he could manage around him. Sleep was calling and he could always deal with the rest of this crap in the morning.

As Blythe stretched out across the back seat of the wrecked car, he felt something pawing at the blanket. He opened one eye, spotting the fox hesitantly gauging Blythe's reaction before hopping up alongside him on the back seat. The little white fox took a few probing steps over Blythe's passed out form before eventually curling up in a little ball in the nook created between Blythe's legs. Blythe smiled, one final thought crossing his mind before sleep overtook him.

"Maybe this year won't be so bad after all…"

*End Chapter 1*

Author's Note: Well, there you have it, the first chapter of 'In Our World'! I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please leave me a comment/review giving me your feedback, as I'd love to hear from you.

Now, to answer some questions that I'd like to hope are brewing. Moving forward, I plan on updating once-a-week on a predetermined day. So, barring a creative roadblock, expect the next chapter on Friday of next week. As for the chapter length… I'd expect that to drop to around 3,500 words/chapter, give or take.

Next Chapter Preview: Hey, Blythe here. What a god damned bloody mess I've gotten myself into. And why are you looking so smug you little furry bastard? Look, we've got to get you to a vet or something. Maybe then we can figure out just exactly what you are. Wait… all the veterinarian clinics are closed because of the holiday? Damnit. Maybe 'she' can help… Next time on 'In Our World': "It Needs a Name". You mean I can't keep calling it 'Little Bastard'?