It's 4:30 AM here and I can't sleep any longer. Might as well post!

This is really a transition chapter, but it's still very much necessary to the plot. When outlining the story, I'd pictured this being about 4,000 words long, given that most transition chapters aren't terribly long. Instead, it stretched out to more than six thousand words, becoming the longest chapter so far by a sizable margin.

The title of this chapter comes from the song "Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy". I'll also be introducing a new character, so enjoy!

BRIAN DUNKIRK, 17

I don't remember what happened for most of the rest of that day. All of it would be overshadowed by the dream I had that night.

Dinner had been uneventful, although still pretty delicious. My father, who loved beer just about as much as it is possible to without being an alcoholic, had brought home some of the drink. We made beer bread and meatball soup, and ate it together at the table.

There was still a great deal of tension in the air between us, but I could also tell that on a parental level, my folks felt sorry for me. To have such a burden on one's shoulders isn't a pleasant experience, as I can tell you firsthand.

"Look, if I could trade places with you, I would" my father told me as we were eating. "It's got to be really hard for you, and I understand that".

My mother nodded. "Your father and I", she said, "know how rough it must be to lose a friend like that. You'll make new friends, though".

Something about her tone startled me. My mother had said those words as if Michael were dead, when I hadn't yet seen any evidence to confirm that this was the case. It was certainly possible, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions.

What if he was killed because of something I did?

No. I couldn't let myself get sucked into that rabbit hole. So I focused on my dinner instead.

After a couple hours of "trying" to work on my summer reading assignment (and I use the word trying very loosely), I simply gave up and decided to head to bed. I didn't want to end up sleeping in such an undignified position again...man, if anyone had seen me, that would have been so embarrassing.

I can't dwell on the past.

While I was brushing my teeth, I couldn't help but think about just how much of a dumpster fire my life had become.

It certainly hadn't been a bed of roses for the first seventeen years and four months, but during Month 209 of my life, everything was starting to go downhill. I mentally took stock of my situation.

I'd found a book on my front porch, and completely ignored the warning label. I'd had a dream about a picnic with Pokemon, and woken up being able to speak their language. This had culminated in an interview with Vulpix News and potentially the disappearance of my former best friend.

All of this had happened just since Thursday.

In a way, the life of a human being is much like a metropolis similar to Oldale Town. It takes many years to create and perfect, but it can be torn down practically overnight.

The difference is, once you break a person, they cannot be fixed.

After heading back to my room, I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes. The urge to cry hit me like a bullet in the back; I hadn't seen it coming, although I really should have been.

I can't cry. I'm too old for that.

Determined not to lose my dignity by bawling my eyes out, I climbed into bed and tried to get to sleep. I was determined to put one of the worst days of my life behind me.

I tossed and turned for some time, but I was eventually able to find the right position that allowed my mind to relax, and thus allowed me to drift off.

Given the pattern of the last few days, I probably should have expected to have a vivid dream that night. Even so, I'd been hoping that this wouldn't happen, because I yearned for a relaxing night of sleep for a change. But alas, it was not to be.

At first, the dream was much like the one I'd had the night before discovering my new ability. I found myself in the middle of a meadow, this one surrounded by mountains in the distance. The sun was strong, but it was a pleasantly warm day rather than a scorchingly hot one.

I sat at a picnic table with a young man who had spiky jet black hair. In front of us was a basic picnic lunch, much like the one from that other dream. Even though I somehow knew it was just a dream, it felt very real to me.

As I looked him in the eyes, I saw that it was indeed Ash Ketchum whom I was eating with. He might have looked to be in his late teens or early twenties, but that meant nothing when he was speaking to me from beyond the grave, as he was resting in power. It was still rather intimidating to be in his presence, for he simply radiated importance.

"Saint Ash" I said aloud. "Fancy meeting you here".

Those words had been intended in a friendly tone, but, in spite of the dream's setting, Ash didn't look pleased with me.

"What did I tell you about being reckless?" he asked me in an irritated tone.

I narrowed my eyes; so far as I could remember, Ash hadn't told me anything about being reckless, just that I'd made a potentially fatal mistake. "I don't know," I said, stupidly.

"Look, you can't do things like this, Brian Dunkirk. You just can't. Michael Clarion is suffering right now because of you".

Oh, so Michael betrayed me, but he's the victim in our former friendship? Just because he went missing doesn't mean he's suddenly a saint!

For obvious reasons, I didn't say the above out loud. Instead, my eyes opened wide, and I replied with, "So he's alive?"

Ash nodded. "Alive, but not necessarily well. If you'd like, I can show you his current whereabouts, for a price".

After the Book of Catastrophes, I was skeptical of anything with a price tag attached, particularly if said price wasn't disclosed publicly. Fortunately, Ash was transparent with me.

"Before you answer, just know that the price is part of your sanity".

"My...my sanity?" I blurted out, for that was the only thing I could think of to say.

"That's right. Of course, it's not a guarantee that you'll go insane as a result, but it'll be very important to keep your mental health intact after you witness this scene. Do you still wish to see it?"

I almost said no, but then I remembered the following saying: It's always better to hear an inconvenient truth than a reassuring lie.

"I would like to see where Michael is right now, yes".

Ash simply snapped his fingers, and what looked like a holographic TV screen appeared in the middle of the meadow, standing in stark contrast to its natural setting.

A second later, I gasped as the image revealed itself to me.

There was Michael, lying on the floor, seizing up in either agony or terror, perhaps both. I might not have been friends with him anymore, but I still didn't relish the fact that he was clearly in pain.

"Stop that right now!" a voice boomed on the screen. It clearly wasn't Michael; I doubted he had the strength to speak that loudly.

"I...can't...too much pain" Michael managed to croak out. The sight and sound of what I was witnessing made my heart ache.

I watched the rest of the scene in shock. It was hardly a relief to me that my ex-friend was still alive; being tortured might very well be worse than death.

Oh no! Are they torturing him? Is that why he gave away my secret?

Ash snapped his fingers again, and the holographic screen simply vanished into thin air, leaving the meadow looking completely pristine again.

"What you just saw was Michael Clarion. He has been kidnapped, and is being held at the headquarters for the Plaindeer".

In spite of what I had just witnessed, I couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter. For an evil organization, they sure had a silly name.

"You can laugh all you want, Brian Dunkirk, but these people are not to be messed with. Some suspect that they're the ones who wish to steal your gift and use it for evil, so you'd best do everything you can to avoid falling into their clutches".

It was then that I realized something else. It was a heart-wrenching statement if true, and I had no reason to think it wasn't.

As though reading my mind, Ash nodded. "Despite being a saint, I'm not omniscient. Only Arceus Himself has that power. However, I strongly suspect that the reason they are holding Michael is to lure you in".

I'd read enough young adult novels for that to have occurred to me. Even so, there's a big difference between reading a book where it happens and actually experiencing it for yourself.

I could hardly believe it, but at the same time it seemed so obvious that I should have thought of it more quickly. "So if the Plaindeer are able to get me to come to their HQ, trying to rescue Michael, then I'll be captured and experimented on. They'll do their best to suss out my power".

"It's worth noting that nobody yet knows if your power is transferable" Ash replied gravely. "But you are correct. This is a mouse trap for you, and Michael is the cheese".

"So I shouldn't go and save him. I should just ignore the plight of a fellow human being". Part of me thought I should stay away from the HQ, just so that the Plaindeer didn't capture me. After all, I'd trusted Michael Clarion before, and he'd stabbed me in the back.

What reason did I have to risk the lives of millions of people, just to save someone whom I now somewhat despised?

"I didn't say that," Ash replied, sounding as though he were the age he would be had he still been alive in the current year.

"But you said they were using Michael as bait to lure me into a trap".

Ash nodded. "That might be true, but it's up to you to make a decision. I think you know all too well that there's no such thing as a free lunch. There's nothing in life that lacks downsides. Life is a game of calculated risk, and in order to 'win' at the game we call life, you have to decide which risks are right to you. And it's just not my place to make that choice for you. It isn't.

"So, you have to make a decision. Will you attempt to rescue your friend, risking countless lives if you should be captured? Or will you stay safe at your home, always wondering what if?"

Before I woke up, Ash gave me one more piece of advice, one that his tone let me know was critical.

"Trust no one".

The dream ended after that, and I awoke in the early hours of the morning feeling distinctly unrested.

I was still quite tired, but I wasn't going back to sleep. I simply couldn't; I might toss and turn until the Miltank came home, but my mind wasn't going anywhere I wanted it to.

Michael...there was an intense conflict in my mind between the two paths Saint Ash had laid out for me. But it was just like he'd told me: No choice was risk-free, and it's about making the right choices in order to be successful. That's how you get ahead.

It broke my heart to think about what he must be going through right now. From the brief video Ash Ketchum had shown me, I knew that he was suffering. Looking out at the farm from my bedroom window, I wondered if fresh air might give me some clarity. So I opened my window and poked my head outside.

It was about half past four in the morning. It was still dark out, but it wouldn't be for much longer. I considered getting my chores done early, but it would still be too dark to see everything on the ground; I'd made that mistake a couple times before.

Last night, I'd had the urge to cry, but this time, the tears forming in my eyes were much more powerful, much more difficult to resist. Before long, I found myself crying as I looked up at the lightening sky, wondering if maybe, just maybe, I didn't hate Michael as much as I'd thought.

I recalled a quote I'd read a long time ago: Daylight is a good time for decisions. Perhaps once I'd had some breakfast and spent some time doing my farm chores, I'd know what I should do.

Yesterday at work was one of the most trying days of my life. Today might make that seem like a relaxing vacation in Alola by comparison, the likes of which my family would never have been able to save for. There just wasn't enough money coming in for that to be feasible.

Contemplating the day ahead wouldn't make it any more enjoyable, but I was eager to get it over with. After all, they say life is a marathon, not a sprint; I would take it day by day.

Eventually, all of the days of summer would be behind me, and then I'd be able to attend my senior year of high school. Having a sense of normality would really work wonders for my mood.

Except...the more I thought about it, the more I realized that "normal" wasn't coming back for me. Indeed, the world might never go back to normal as we'd known it before.

If I thought the attention I received from strangers at work was unpleasant, how would I feel about people who actually knew me as Brian Dunkirk? They'd be staring at me, probably wondering how the hell I managed to do what only one person in history had achieved before.

In my mind, I had a vision of a possible exchange with one of my classmates. It went something like this:

Classmate: "How could you not tell us about it?"

Me: "I didn't have the ability until July. Give me a break!"

Classmate: "How did you acquire it? Did you get some dark magic or something? What's wrong with you?"

Me: "There's nothing wrong with me! I'm the same person I've always been! I'm still Brian Dunkirk!"

Classmate: "Yeah, and that's the problem!"

The hypothetical interaction my mind played out for me sure as hell wasn't going well. This hypothetical classmate of mine would probably feel betrayed, having thought I was a good friend before. Certainly, they wouldn't be friends with me anymore, not after linking me to a terrorist from a couple centuries ago.

How common is knowledge of Calvin Fitzgerald, anyway? I made a mental note to search the Internet for articles about him, just to see how many results came back.

Now wasn't the time for that, though. I stared out the window for what must have been an hour, and then the sun started to come up. It had come time to perform my usual tasks around the farm.

As I walked over to the stables, I passed by Uncle Sam, our Ponyta. I didn't see him as frequently as the others, since he usually preferred the nearby forest next to the farm. Sometimes I would tend to him, but he also tended to take care of his own needs more often than not.

"What's wrong, Uncle Sam?" I asked him as I passed by. He looked on edge, very nervous about something.

Don't ask me why I think this, but I somehow feel like you're going to have to make a getaway today. I wouldn't even go into work if I were you.

"I'm not going to skip work just to run away. My parents are counting on me to stay here; I need to help support them!" That was my immediate answer to his ludicrous suggestion.

You might have to, Brian. I know you're practically an adult now, but you know very well that you still need your parents more than they need you. Were they only supporting two people instead of three, they might not be struggling so much financially.

I was hit by waves of both guilt and anger. It had been quite a rude thing for Uncle Sam to say, but I had to admit that he had a point.

Perhaps my parents would be better off without me in their lives. Not only was I an extra expense for them even at seventeen, but they were also saddled with the burden of extra scrutiny that had been brought upon them due to my powers.

And yet, running away from home seemed like a very rash decision. But if I stayed here, I might be a sitting duck.

It's going to be one of the toughest decisions of my life.

"I'll decide later," I told Uncle Sam. "I have to take care of the other Pokemon first, and then I've got work in a few hours".

If you say so, boss, the Ponyta replied. But don't you forget: If you need to get away from here, then I'll be willing to help with that.

Taking a deep breath, I proceeded to go about the morning, completing the usual chores before heading back to the house. At the time, I thought that this would be my routine for the rest of the summer: Chores, work, video games, repeat.

Little did I know, however, that agonizing routine I had become so accustomed to would be completely blown away that afternoon. The question is, what would it be replaced with, and would it be any better than what had come before it?

The latter question, I'll leave for you to decide. The former one will be revealed in time.

I entered the Chauntecleer at the usual time that day, sincerely hoping that it wouldn't be as painful as yesterday had been.

Of course, were I more honest with myself, I would have known not to expect anything better than yesterday. If anything, I would have even more attention focused squarely on I, Brian Dunkirk.

After all, by now, the story had presumably spread across the whole world. The Internet was a thing, for Arceus' sake. News made its way exponentially through the airwaves, through the Internet, through all forms of communication and transport. That was just the reality of living in such an interconnected world.

Sure enough, every time a new group of customers came into the restaurant, I got at least one look that appeared hungry, for lack of a better word.

Not just hungry in terms of needing food, either. These people seemed hungry for my attention, hungry for an interview, hungry for any information at all. I had to resist groaning every time someone new entered.

The worst part about this were the people who took pictures. They wanted to let the whole world know they'd eaten at the restaurant where Brian Dunkirk, the Pokemon Whisperer, worked.

It was then that I realized something else.

It's likely that no matter what I do, Mr. Almaty won't fire me. I could shoot someone in the middle of Fifth Avenue, and the restaurant wouldn't lose any customers. Like it or not, I'm really good for their bottom line.

That in itself was a pretty depressing thought, as it would seem to imply that Mr. Almaty was exploiting me just for profit. Then again, isn't that what all bosses do?

At one point, a mother entered the Chauntecleer with her young son, the latter of whom was probably about seven years old. I had waited on many groups with young children before, but this one sticks out vividly in my mind.

Why is that, you might ask?

Well, the instant this child saw me, he pointed directly at me and shouted, "That's him! The big bad boy from the news!"

My heart began racing, and my face flushed at being addressed that way. I was trying to think of an appropriate way to respond, when the boy's mother saved me from this.

"Derek, it's rude to point" she chided her son. "And it might not even be him. Plenty of people look like that".

The young boy, who had now been identified as Derek, continued to point right at my face. Sadly, I was the one assigned to take Derek and his mother to their table. This is going to be awkward.

The very best thing I can say about this task is that it was short. Within about three minutes, I had seated the pair at their table, handed them their menus (including a kid's menu for Derek), and gone back to the kitchen to serve more customers.

While that encounter hadn't lasted very long, I knew that there could (no, would) be many more just like it. Such was the nature of waiting tables at a popular restaurant when the whole world knows your name.

How much longer can I keep doing this? Maybe the next kid will specify exactly what my name is, and exactly what I'm known for.

Of course, to be fair, everybody knew that already. Prior to heading to work, I had looked up the Internet search trends for the previous day, and my name was fourth on the list. The tale of Brian Dunkirk was taking the world by storm.

A few minutes later, panic began rising within me. Did the Plaindeer know about this restaurant? Was the fact that I worked here public information?

If there's any chance, any at all, that I would save myself by running away, I have to do it. Mine's not the only life on the line!

The rest of my shift felt absolutely interminable. It's a strange thing, but when you're in a moment of high anxiety, time seems to slow to a snail's pace. Every second felt like a minute, and every minute like an hour.

Before I left the restaurant, I had something to consider. Namely, this was whether or not I'd tell Mr. Almaty that I was quitting. In my mind, I was already running a cost-benefit analysis of quitting officially.

In the end, it wasn't close. If I explicitly told my boss something to the tune of "I will not be returning to work tomorrow", not only would my salary be suspended immediately, but my parents, when they found out, would be extremely angry; they'd think I was letting them down. (Which, to be fair, I kind of would be).

And then, of course, there was the chance, however small it might be, that Mr. Almaty was an agent of the Plaindeer. Was that not what Saint Ketchum had meant when he told me to trust no one?

I hadn't even thought of that! If that's the case, he needs to know as little as possible. They probably have people everywhere.

Once I had received my check for the day, I left the Chauntecleer and drove straight home. I'd made up my mind that I would be running away that afternoon, before my parents came back from work.

I'll have a couple hours at best to pack everything I'll need. And I'll have to ride Uncle Sam...oh, great.

We'd had an argument that morning, but now I needed him desperately. He was my one means of escape; I could technically have driven away, but my license plate number might be common knowledge too.

I was in such a panicked frenzy that everything seemed hazy. I can't remember exactly what was going through my mind; it was much the same as when you are very angry, and you end up saying something you regret almost instantly.

I do remember grabbing some cans of food from the pantry and putting them in my backpack. I also located a flashlight and a compass from one of the drawers nearby, making sure to pack extra batteries.

Do I bring anything with purely sentimental value? Or...no, that's a horrible idea. Everything will add to the weight of my backpack, so if I don't need it, I don't want it!

The last thing I did before leaving was to write my parents a note, which I left on the coffee table next to the Book of Catastrophes. The note read the following:

Dear Mom and Dad,

If you're reading this, it means that I have left home. This is not merely for my own safety. It is for yours as well. The people who want to exploit me will not rest until they find me, and they will destroy absolutely anything that stands in their way.

Please, do not attempt to locate or contact me, through any means. If you love me, you'll heed these words and follow the above instructions.

Love, your son, Brian.

I read the note three times over before deciding that it was worded the right way. I might not have been a poet, but for its purpose, it wasn't half bad.

My emotional state wasn't half bad either. Unlike the note, it was all bad, and, much like I had that morning, I failed in my efforts to suppress the tears.

But there was nobody watching me, so I just let them flow for a minute. Then, I knew I had to get down to business, for if I stayed here much longer, my parents would show up and try to prevent me from leaving.

It has to be this way. It just does.

Before I left the house for the final time, I took one last look at the coffee table and the thick black tome that lay upon it.

I narrowed my eyes as though I were speaking to a person I was immensely furious with. "You don't deserve a goodbye" I snarled in a voice that I had rarely heard myself use.

I left the house and headed to the stables. There was no time to say goodbye to Sandra, Tutar, or Cheshire; I'd taken care of my morning chores, and my parents would have to find the willingness to do them without me now.

Or maybe they'll sell the farm. That would at least give them some money...although it's not exactly a happy idea to think that they'd be better off without me.

The fact remained, however, that they would be better off without me; the Plaindeer would have less reason to go after them. After what had happened to Michael, I didn't want to take any chances in that regard.

Uncle Sam was waiting just outside the stables. When he saw me walk towards him with my orange backpack on, he didn't look surprised in the least.

"We have to leave," I told him. "Now".

Even though Uncle Sam had made the escape offer to me earlier in the day, there was a part of me that didn't expect him to oblige right away. But, much like with events you read about in novels, there's a stark contrast between reading about them and experiencing them for yourself.

Uncle Sam, contrary to my initial expectations, didn't even hesitate. He whinnied before saying, Well, it's like I said, boss. Say the word, and we'll be out of here. Where to?

"Um…". I felt somewhat embarrassed at being forced to reveal that I hadn't given this question much thought. Where would I go?

"Well...into the woods, I guess" I replied. "I'll find some place to hide out until...well, until it's safe to go home again".

How will you know that, though?, Uncle Sam asked me incredulously. You won't have access to TV or the Internet while you're in the wilderness.

"That's by design, Sam," I told him. "I don't want to be traceable by the Plaindeer".

At that, the Ponyta laughed. It was a good, hearty laugh that almost made me forget the seriousness of the situation.

I'm sorry for laughing, boss. But seriously, what kind of name is that? Is it some sort of monster? Or an evil organization looking to capture you?

I briefly explained the dream I'd had last night, the one featuring Saint Ketchum, only without mentioning that I'd heard this all from Ash Ketchum. If Uncle Sam learned that I'd been communicating with a dead man, he'd probably think I'd gone completely off my rocker.

Telling the Ponyta about my dream also entailed letting him know about Michael, and how he'd betrayed me, and how this had resulted in conflicting feelings as to whether or not I should rescue him.

At that last point, Uncle Sam gave me some extremely logical advice that would completely and totally stand up to all possible scrutiny.

You have to go with your gut, boss.

"The problem is that my gut gives me one answer one minute, and then the other answer the next. So how am I supposed to decide? Go to a casino, spin the roulette wheel, and see what color it lands on?"

Uh, boss, aren't you, like, seventeen? How are you going to get into a casino?

"Look", I continued, "the point is that I'm not sure what my gut is telling me. So advice to 'go with my gut' is about as helpful as telling me that water is wet".

Uncle Sam shook his head violently. Well, then, I don't know what to tell you. But my offer to help you escape is still valid. I suggest you take it, since you've been speaking with such urgency.

"I will take it," I insisted.

I'd only ever ridden Uncle Sam a couple of times, and I was by no means proficient at handling him. I certainly wasn't confident in my abilities if I ended up in a fight for my life while on horseback.

And yet...sometimes, no matter how much a prospect frightens you, you have to do it anyway. To use one analogy, it does no good to slowly wade into a cold swimming pool; you have to dive right in, or else you'll never fully enter.

As I mounted my Ponyta, I took one last, sweeping glance at the farm my family owned.

My family was, of course, working class at best, and we'd always struggled to afford what little we had. The house wasn't much, but it seemed like heaven right now. It felt like I was leaving a utopia.

You know what they say: The grass is always greener on the other side, and you don't really know what you have until it's gone, gone, gone.

TYSON JUDA, 19

I sat in the mess hall at headquarters, chowing down on a hamburger while conversing with one of my colleagues, Keith Slate.

The food wasn't the best; this was mostly due to the fact that the higher the expenses were for things like food, the lower the budget was for what really mattered to the organization. In the words of our leader, that was just the price we had to pay.

"Did you hear about the guy we brought in the other day?" Keith asked me in between bites of what can only be described as mediocre mashed potatoes.

I nodded. "How could I not have? You are referring to the Pokemon Whisperer's friend, are you not?"

"Yep" Keith replied. "At least, he's Brian Dunkirk's former friend. I highly doubt Brian still considers him a friend, not after what he told us".

It had been three days since a teenage boy, two years younger than me, had been apprehended by one of our agents on the surface. It had been such a notable event that it had been broadcast throughout our HQ. Every member of the Plaindeer knew exactly what had happened.

Michael Clarion...I felt kind of bad for the kid. From what I understood, he'd simply been driving along dark country roads when he'd stopped to refuel his vehicle. That had been his undoing.

Of course, he hadn't been killed yet; the Plaindeer wanted to keep him alive as long as necessary. To their credit, they used torture as a last resort; usually, being locked up in what amounted to solitary confinement was torture enough.

I polished off my meal. Part of me wished for seconds, but there were never seconds here. You got just as many calories as you needed to make it to the next meal; no more, no less. Nothing went to waste here. To be fair, as stated above, the food wasn't that great anyway, so it wasn't that big a deal.

Keith was still looking at me expectantly, and I realized that I hadn't replied to him in nearly two minutes. Swallowing my last bite of burger, I said, "Yeah, I don't think Brian's a fan of Michael right now. Of course, he won't be alive much longer, will he?"

Keith shook his head. "I wouldn't imagine so, but some of that is information that I'm not privy to".

It would make sense for Keith to have more information than I did. He was two years older than me and had more seniority within the Plaindeer, so he was at a higher rank. Some of the information they gave him was classified, so I had ample opportunity to wonder if he truly wasn't given it, or if he simply had to hide it from me.

A deep voice came over the intercom once dinner was over. It was that of our director, Jeremy Matamoros. He always spoke with authority, making him a natural choice for our leader.

Mr. Matamoros couldn't be bothered to dine with us, since he didn't eat the same food we ate. For all I knew, he was getting takeout from one of the fanciest restaurants in the world.

More to the point, however, it was none of our business what he ate, or what he did to pass the time in his private life. As he would often say, this information would be given on a "need-to-know" basis, rather than a "want-to-know" one.

"Good evening, everybody", he announced in a booming tone. "Here are the announcements for today".

Mr. Matamoros audibly cleared his throat before continuing. "Tomorrow, there will be an archery competition. Winner gets extra hot water for the showers that night. In order to enter, one must simply sign up on the board in the mess hall. That is all you need to know this evening. Have a good night, and I will see some of you tomorrow morning for the archery competition".

With that, the intercom beeped once, then shut off. Conversation within the mess hall resumed.

I, however, wasn't inclined to be part of it tonight. Some days you just need your "me" time, and today was one of those days for me. I headed back to my room, which was at the end of a labyrinthine series of hallways.

As I sat down on my bed in order to read a novel, I soon found myself unable to focus on it. My mind was wandering.

It didn't take long before I put the book down and stared up at the ceiling. As I did so, I thought about the events leading up to today. The series of unfortunate events that had set my current life in motion.

In the first ten chapters, this story has accumulated:

Words: 39,265

Reviews: 43

Favorites: 21

Follows: 30

Views: 1,922

Also, in case you're wondering, the reason I gave the evil organization such a ridiculous name is, in my mind, because they want people to underestimate them. Plaindeer doesn't sound too threatening, does it?

In addition, this was originally going to be the chapter where Michael Clarion's captivity is revealed to most of the Plaindeer grunts. For reasons I won't state here, I decided to make that happen a few chapters later instead. And yes, I have already written the chapter in question.

I'm very much looking forward to seeing you guys again in three days. Until then, stay safe!