Yep, this is coming out a day early. No particular reason, I just felt like the time was ripe for an update. But I will be switching to a slightly slower schedule after today.

This chapter is in Tyson's POV entirely. I had a good time writing it, and I hope you guys have a good time reading it.

Potential trigger warning: Abuse and other mature themes are discussed in this chapter. Nothing M-rated, though.

TYSON JUDA, 19

I was born Tyson Matthew Juda in January of 2001, to two parents who honestly didn't seem to care that they now had a kid. Ah, but more on that later.

I spent my childhood in Jubilife City, located in the southwestern region of Sinnoh. It's worth noting that Jubilife is the largest city on the continent, which, to some people, might sound freeing. There was so much to see and do there, after all, that the options were seemingly limitless.

However, I wasn't one of those people. To me, Jubilife City, with all of its ultramodern skyscrapers and densely packed neighborhoods, felt more like a prison than an open world. Part of me wondered what it would be like out in the woods, with nothing but the chirping of bird Pokemon and the other sounds of nature for company.

That wasn't my reality, however, and over time, I got used to my lot in life. I came to accept that I grew up in a city of over five million people, one without a lot of green space. I came to accept, too, the fact that my parents weren't exactly the best to live with.

Primary school and middle school went relatively well for me. I got good grades for the most part, and my parents seemed fairly pleased with me. Upon graduation from middle school, I felt as though the possibilities were endless. My life could go anywhere it wanted.

In hindsight, I would have loved to go back to the last day of 8th grade and freeze time right there. I was just a normal fourteen-year-old living a perfectly happy life, even if it wasn't everything I wanted.

The summer after I completed eighth grade, my father lost his job. It was a result of a recession in his particular line of work as a healthcare professional. Due to this, we could no longer afford the rent on our middle-class apartment, and therefore couldn't live there anymore.

So we moved into a much lower-income area, a seedier part of town that, my father assured me, was still the best we could conceivably pay for. Even then, as he was telling me how our new living situation would work, he had a slight snarl in his voice.

Little did I know at the time, that was the tipping point when everything changed, and not in a good way.

My father had a difficult time finding a new job, and an even harder time controlling his temper. At first, this manifested in him yelling at me far more frequently than he had before, which was jarring in and of itself.

As I made my way through high school, my father's temper gradually escalated further. He'd found a new job by the middle of my ninth-grade year, but it didn't pay nearly as well as his previous one had. In addition, he didn't seem to enjoy it as much as being a healthcare worker.

None of this is to say that he was justified in the way he treated me. Nothing in the world can justify it, but in hindsight, I think the reasons stated above had something to do with it.

Every day when I got home from school, I had to mentally prepare myself for what would come. To put it one way, would my father be Dr. Jekyll, or would he be Mr. Hyde?

To top this all off, my old man started drinking. Now, when I say drinking, I don't mean having a drink here and there at parties and other social events; he'd been doing that since long before I was even born. No, he started downing entire bottles of alcohol at once.

When my father drank, he was even more cruel and unpredictable. He could be the nicest person in the world one day and a monster the next. Later, I would learn that this is how the cycle of abuse works, that most abusers masquerade as good people in between episodes of, well, being abusive.

They say that sticks and stones may break your bones, but words will never hurt you. I can attest from personal experience that the above statement is a complete lie.

When your own father, someone who is supposed to love you unconditionally, without any reservations, speaks to you in such a demeaning manner, it does hurt! That was another lesson I learned from those years: Verbal abuse is just as real as physical abuse.

You might think that my mother would do her best to be supportive towards me. You'd like to believe that she'd stand up for me against my father's verbal assaults. Believe me, I'd love to tell you that was the case.

But I can't, because it wasn't.

My mother, while never explicitly saying that what he did to me was okay, didn't condemn it nearly as forcefully as a good parent should. She'd often dance around the question, saying something like, "You could have done better on that test", or, "You could have unloaded the dishwasher sooner".

In a way, her words hurt me just as much, if not more, than my father's did. My mother didn't seem to realize that she was married to a psychopath; or, if she did, she didn't care, which would be even worse.

My grades in high school suffered as a result of this. I'd lie awake at night, thinking about what I could have done to better please my father. Had I studied for a few more minutes, I could have done better on that test. I could have helped to vacuum up the living room if I hadn't been reading my assigned book for English class.

That's another page out of the abuser's playbook: Blame the victim. And my father certainly did a lot of that.

My social life did not last either. As my grades dropped, and as my self-esteem did the same, I became increasingly timid and was often too scared to invite friends over to my apartment. I quit the track team at school, simply because my father had drilled into my head that I didn't deserve any friendships.

I began to withdraw into my own world, reading fantasy novels in order to escape from the horrors of everyday life. I couldn't even tell you how many times I read another fifty pages of an escapist book rather than doing my homework. It was massively detrimental to my GPA, but I had to think about my mental health too.

For four straight years I suffered through high school, wishing that something would happen to make my life better. Of course, it was just that: Wishful thinking.

Every time I got a report card in the mail, it was a stark reminder of just how much I was screwing up. Each one felt like a punch to the gut. Maybe, just like my father always told me, I was destined to be a failure.

Finally, after four long years, my graduation ceremony had arrived. It was held at the local high school's auditorium, and I soon realized that the increasing social anxiety I'd experienced over the last few years would come to a head that day.

As I was donning my cap and gown, I kept thinking about how this horrible chapter of my life was over. Yes, my high school years had been miserable, but better days still lay ahead.

My high school's graduating class was about three hundred students, so it took a fair amount of time to get to me (names were being read out alphabetically). A few students brought their Pokemon partners with them to the ceremony, but they had to be kept in Pokeballs so that they didn't run loose all over the place.

I myself didn't have a Pokemon partner. At the time, I was pretty sure I never would. You see, being a trainer had never appealed to me, and even if I'd wanted to (which would have admittedly given me a chance to travel the world), I had my doubts as to whether I could afford it.

Being a trainer by occupation was much like being a professional author in that only the best could make a living that way. With my family's current financial straits, I'd be lucky to even tread water if I chose to take that route.

There was a certain hollowness in my heart as I watched classmate after classmate stand up, walk over to the podium, and accept their diploma. I cannot overemphasize just how soul-crushing it is to hear your peers making small talk about what universities they're going to, particularly when you won't be going to college at all.

That's right: My parents either couldn't or wouldn't pay for me to go to college. I hadn't even bothered applying, since most schools around here wouldn't take students who had no financial means of attending. And yes, I know student loans are a thing, but they didn't exactly appeal to me.

I would go right into the workforce upon leaving this auditorium. As soon as I could find a job, I'd be making money until I had financial legs to stand on. Then, and only then, I'd move out of the low-income apartment.

"Tyson Juda".

I had been so deep in my own thoughts that I barely heard the school principal call my name. I rose from my chair and, with a heavy heart, walked up onto the stage.

I accepted my diploma without a word and then made my way back to my seat. All I could do now was try to build a better life for myself, and hope that I was successful.

The following day was a very hot one by Sinnoh standards. I sweated in my bedroom as I re-read Lord of the Flygons for the fifth time that year.

Lying on my stomach on my twin-sized bed, I took a brief break from reading in order to peek outside the window. The sight was rather unpleasant, but it was one I had grown accustomed to. Much like with life in Jubilife City in general, I had no choice.

Steam that smelled almost like rotten eggs rose from vents in the street, curling around and around in wisps that rose up into the atmosphere. The storefronts near the apartment building were run-down and covered in graffiti that endorsed or attacked various gangs.

I had never even considered joining a gang. I might have been desperate to get away from my life here, but when it came down to two bad options, isn't it better to stick with the devil you know?

Shaking my head, I continued to read the book. Eventually, the door to my room opened, and I hoped that it wasn't my father. Whenever he intruded on my reading, it was typically because he wanted something from me; typically, this was the chance to berate me for any reason or for no reason at all.

Unfortunately, I wasn't so lucky this time. "Tyson!", came a shout from the doorway that unmistakably belonged to my father.

Couldn't he have just used his indoor voice instead? Not only is his language abusive to my emotions, it's also abusive to my ears.

"What is it this time, Dad?" I replied with all the courage I could muster. I might be a high school graduate now, but that didn't make me any less scared of the verbal abuse. No matter how uncivil my father might be towards me, I still had to be civil in return, just to be safe.

That's a pretty frustrating double standard, to be sure.

"You're being such a lazy ass, Tyson, did you realize that? You should really go and get a job!"

"But my interview is scheduled at three!" I insisted, dropping all pretenses of being calm. "It's only eleven thirty right now!"

"That doesn't matter! You're going to go out and find a job right now, not three and a half hours from now. Stop mooching off us, you lazy bum!"

I had to suppress a groan of annoyance. I'd scheduled an interview with a nearby bookstore for 3:00 PM that day, but my father's demands meant that I would not be able to attend it. This meant that I'd have to cancel the interview, and that would be quite a hassle in and of itself.

Instead of groaning, I sighed in resignation. "Okay, Dad...I'll go look for a job right now. At least, just as soon as I cancel the interview with the bookstore".

Even with the promise I'd made, I half expected my father to get out the belt and start whipping me with it. In spite of all of his verbal assaults towards me, he'd never once gotten physical, but the threat of it was more than enough to keep me in line.

Luckily for me, that didn't happen. My father simply shrugged and then said, "Okay, Tyson. You'd better have a job by the time you get back, or else you will face a raging shitstorm".

I gulped. "A shitstorm of what?"

My father winked, but this wasn't done in a playful or even a friendly manner. "Consequences" he stated simply, before leaving the room.

After I went through the convoluted process of cancelling my interview for the job I wanted, I then left the apartment myself and entered the neighborhood of Jubilife City that I'd called home for the last four years.

This section of the city was known as Midbus. How it had gotten this name, nobody living today had any idea. All I knew was that it wasn't a desirable place to live.

My advice to anyone who would even consider visiting this neighborhood: Don't. Under any circumstances. Not unless you want to be mugged or worse. Hopefully there's nobody here with a grudge against you.

Even if you had no pre-existing relationship, good or bad, with anyone in Midbus, that didn't make you safe. Many crimes of both types, property and violent, were perpetrated against complete strangers.

No part of this neighborhood was safe, but the section nearest to the local branch of the Church of Arceus was particularly perilous. By some cruel twist of fate, the local gang members tended to congregate there while they discussed drug deals or plans to commit heinous acts. If you walked by and gave any hint of being a pleasing target, they would not hesitate to kill you just for the money in your wallet.

As you can probably guess, I avoided that section at all costs. Make no mistake, however; everywhere in Midbus, you needed to watch your back. There were just some risks you had to tolerate in life, though, and for me, this was one of them.

I didn't have money for a cab, so I had to walk the three miles into a good part of town. Since it was one of the hottest days of the year, this was a grueling task even for a former member of the school track team. Before long I was sweating like a beast, hungry like the Lycanroc, and my legs felt like a Ditto in its standard form; in other words, like jelly.

Jubilife City's upscale Financial District was by far the city's most affluent neighborhood, and that's where I looked first for a suitable job opportunity. The glitzy hotels only accessible to the ultra-wealthy no doubt had many openings for a housekeeping job, at least. If it helped pay the bills, then it was as good as anything.

But do I really want to help pay the bills? My parents suck, after all. Then again, Dad will be even angrier if I don't get a job. He said there would be a raging shitstorm of consequences.

I walked into the Four Seasons Jubilife, the most opulent hotel in town. With the type of clientele they served, they'd probably bat some eyes at a sweaty 18-year-old wearing casual clothes entering their hotel. This was something I probably should have considered before I walked through the revolving door.

"Wow" I mouthed. The place was brilliant, with all sorts of light fixtures hanging from a high, golden ceiling. After four years living in what basically amounted to urban slums, there was a major element of culture shock for me.

"Hello, can I help you?" a young man, probably only a couple years older than me, asked politely. "Would you like to book a room here?"

My face flushed at that. How could he possibly think I'd be rich enough to afford a room here, even for a night?

"Uh...no thanks, I'm good," I replied awkwardly. "I was just wondering if…". I trailed off, my courage waning.

The other young man looked at me expectantly, and I was forced to continue. "I, uh, forgot what I was about to say".

"Oh...well, that's okay" he replied.

I might have sounded nonchalant on the outside, but on the inside I was getting increasingly nervous. How could I have thought this was a good idea? Moreover, even if by some miracle I did get the job, how much would I have to hate myself to work here?

Coming from a family that had fallen into poverty subsequent to my father losing his job, I knew how it felt to have a good life and watch it be taken from you. They say that the higher you go, the further there is to fall, and that saying was my lived experience.

So, when I looked around the extravagant hotel lobby, I knew there was no way I could take that job. Not only because I wasn't dressed well enough, or didn't have the qualifications to do so, but also because I knew I'd feel bitter every single day about a stay there being totally unattainable.

Without a word, I turned around and left the hotel. For the next few hours, I walked along the avenue, looking for a suitable employment opportunity.

There were a couple of ice cream parlors in the area near the Four Seasons, but a job simply scooping ice cream wasn't appealing. I wanted to do something that stimulated my mind, somehow.

That's why I'd wanted to work at the bookstore. And now, Dad's taken that opportunity from me.

I clenched my hands into fists as I crossed another street. At one point, I did buy myself some ice cream, which I ate as I continued to search for a suitable business that I could work for.

All of this searching turned up nothing. By three in the afternoon, the time that my interview had originally been scheduled for, I had begun to accept my fate. I just wouldn't be finding a job that day, and I would need to prepare for the "shitstorm of consequences", as my father put it.

I shuddered to think of what those consequences might be. My father could be pretty brutal when he wanted to be; I let my mind wander as I considered possibilities as to what he might say or do.

Eventually, I found myself back in Midbus in the late afternoon. I very much dreaded the prospect of heading home, for reasons stated above, and I still hoped that by some miracle, I could delay that prospect.

My luck's been pretty crummy so far today. Can it redeem itself right now?

Along the way through the maze of streets that was the slum neighborhood of Midbus, I passed by the square that held the church. The most dangerous one of all.

Mainly because I was feeling more brazen than usual, I decided to enter the square. It was quiet at this hour, but I knew enough about the neighborhood to be aware that this meant next to nothing. Gang members tended to hide out and wait for the perfect opportunity to strike.

A stray Lillipup was wandering around. It looked painfully thin, as though it had been neglected for some time. That's horrible, I thought to myself. What kind of owner would leave such a poor little Pokemon out to fend for themselves in such a brutal place?

I contemplated whether I should try and look for an animal shelter, but I decided against it. It wasn't an easy choice to make, since I could tell that Lillipup was suffering. However, I also knew that this wasn't a square I wanted to spend any more time in than necessary.

"Hey, you!" a voice called out from elsewhere in the square.

I turned to look for the source of the call; eventually I found him, standing just outside of the church building. "Yeah, you!" he all but shouted, as though there were nobody but me to hear him. Which, to be fair, was probably the case, since I couldn't see anybody else.

The individual in question was a young man, probably twenty or so years old, who was a little taller than me and had dark hair. In any other setting, he might have appeared kind enough, but his blue eyes were absolutely brutal.

Against my own better judgment, I moved closer to the other young man. "Not to be rude, but what do you want from me?" I asked him as politely as one can say those words.

The other young man seemed to weigh his response carefully. Eventually, he said, "You look like you're lost".

I shook my head and said something I figured I'd regret later. "I live in this neighborhood; I know my way around. I'm not lost".

The other guy shook his head in return. "I don't mean lost in that sense. I mean, it looks like you've got nothing to do. If you want your life to have purpose, you should come with me".

In general, one should be extremely wary of someone who claims to know the exact meaning of life, particularly if they posit that the only way to achieve it is through them. I knew this, and yet sometimes, even smart people make stupid decisions. Human beings aren't perfectly rational creatures, and neither are Pokemon.

I don't care how wise you think you are, how many books you've read, your IQ score, or any of that jazz. Anyone, plunged into a sufficiently desperate situation, can be lured into making bad choices. That was a lesson I would learn the hard way.

If I'd gotten a chance to do it all over again, I would have run away right then and there. I would have made sure I'd never have anything to do with this guy.

But, sadly, in the real world, that's not what I did.

Instead, I asked the young man, "What do you mean? I have to come with you for my life to have purpose?"

The other guy narrowed his eyes. "Is that not what I said?"

I had no clue what this person's motives were, but an escape from my father was heavily tempting. And so I made a decision that was more focused on short-term needs than long-term benefits.

"I'll come with you" I told him.

"Excellent!", he exclaimed almost immediately. "By the way, what's your name? I'm Keith Slate".

Seeing as I had just met this guy, part of me didn't want to tell him my real name. Still, though, he had been honest with me (as far as I knew), so I decided I'd return the favor.

"My name is Tyson Juda. I'm eighteen years old, and I just graduated high school yesterday. I was looking for a job, with no luck".

Did I say too much?

"Well, you've come to the right place, my friend" Keith told me. "I'll just lead you inside the church; that's where we perform the initiation ritual".

I gulped. By the sound of it, I'm really about to join a gang. A gang! The kind that terrorizes Midbus at night! I'm actually going to do it!

As I walked into the Church of Arceus, I looked around at just how beautiful everything looked. I'd never been one for religion myself, but they knew how to make gorgeous architecture; I'll give them that.

There were stained-glass windows depicting Spear Pillar and the Hall of Origin. Even Arceus himself was featured on the ceiling, which was painted to resemble a starry sky.

I barely had time to reflect on just how paradoxical it was that I was about to complete a gang's initiation ritual of sorts, in a place that was supposed to be holy and sacred. Most rituals that took place in churches, from what I knew, involved baptism, confirmation, or something like that.

Not this one. There was no crowd to watch me perform this ritual. Indeed, the way Keith was acting around me, I knew that it was meant to be conducted in secret.

"There is a document on the lectern," Keith told me. "Go up there, read the document, and sign it".

I wasn't quite sure what a lectern was; I was pretty ignorant about this sort of thing. However, I soon realized that he meant the podium-like structure bolted to the ground at the front of the sanctuary.

The document in question, once I saw it in all its glory, didn't look like anything special at first. For one, it was handwritten, presumably because it was meant to be top-secret. Evidently, this gang didn't want to leave any trace of their activity online, not that I blamed them for that.

The handwriting wasn't the best; at least, it wasn't conducive for my reading it easily. It was written in an elaborate script that I had to squint in order to make out. Once I was able to decipher it, it read as follows:

Hello,

If you are reading this, you have been given the opportunity of a lifetime. You have been selected to join the Secret Society of the Plaindeer.

I couldn't help but scoff at the last word. "Plaindeer? What kind of name is that?"

"It's not important," Keith snapped. "If you want to join, just sign the paper. If not, leave this church sanctuary and don't come back. Ever".

I continued reading. For the most part, it was a desperately dull list of rules and regulations that a fifth-grader could follow. There were a few decrees, however, that stood out to me.

By signing this contract, you hereby waive any and all rights to sue the Secret Society of the Plaindeer if caught performing activities illegal according to the world.

That, or something to that effect, was written on just about every contract I had signed since turning 18. Minus the part about illegal activities, that is. I could only assume that "the world" referred to the authorities of Jubilife City.

I continued reading. The next rule that jumped out at me like a clown from a wind-up toy was the following:

By signing this contract, you agree to keep all of the activities of the Secret Society of the Plaindeer under wraps. If caught and tortured for information, you are to submit to the torture rather than reveal any information.

That was a big one. The "torture clause", as I decided to call it, made me feel very hesitant about joining. Of course, if I played my cards right, I wouldn't get caught; I was determined to keep that the case.

The last rule that caught my attention stated: By signing this contract, you acknowledge that you must perform any and all missions assigned to you by the Secret Society of the Plaindeer. If you refuse the assignment without a valid reason, you will be expelled from the Secret Society of the Plaindeer.

No matter what they told me, I would have to do it. If they told me to kill a fellow human being, I'd be forced to comply with their demand, or else I'd be expelled.

Of course, I wasn't naive enough to think "expelled" was likely to mean anything other than "killed". This was a gang, after all. Come to think of it, it was unlikely that Keith would let me go if I refused to sign the contract.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up the pen next to the contract and signed it.

"There we go" I sighed aloud. "That's it. I'm a member now".

I stood there, waiting for a feeling of excitement and jubilation at finally having a place to belong. A sense of satisfaction that I now had a purpose in life.

It didn't come.

"Congratulations!" Keith exclaimed. "Now, I'll lead you to our headquarters. The entrance is in the church's basement".

I was pretty shocked; I didn't see how in the world a secret society could hide out in a church basement, or even directly below it. Certainly not in the largest city in Sinnoh, which had its own subway system. I didn't question Keith, though; something told me this would be a bad idea.

Keith led me into the basement, where there were classrooms that were presumably used for Sunday school. We didn't enter any of them, though; instead, he showed me to a storage room.

"Wow, it sure is dusty in here!" I exclaimed. I could barely hold back a series of powerful sneezes.

"The door is right here" Keith replied, pointing to the right.

I then saw a massive metallic door, one that looked like the opening to a bank vault. There was a fancy lock on it, along with a keypad on which you would enter a passcode.

"For future reference, Tyson, the passcode is 41262816. Just memorize it, though; don't write it down. We don't want to be discovered".

Keith punched in the code, and there was a clicking noise that must have been the door unlocking.

"Stand back" he instructed me.

I did as I was told, and the massive metallic door swung open, revealing a dark hallway that seemed to lead nowhere; at least, I couldn't see the end of it.

"That goes to headquarters?" I asked him.

Keith nodded. "Yep. Just step right in and you'll be there".

I was a little skeptical, so I asked Keith if he would go first to show me how it was done. That was a bit of a childish request, though, so it came as no surprise when he refused.

"You're going to go first, Tyson. Sometimes in life, you just have to take risks".

"Okay then" I replied. "If you say so".

I stepped into the doorway and walked down the hall. After about fifteen yards, the world began shimmering around me, and the scene changed completely.

Describing the part of the city Tyson spent his high school years in, I pictured the parts of New York City where foul-smelling steam rises from the ground. If you guys have been there, you'll know what I'm talking about. As for the entrance to the Plaindeer HQ, I pictured Link stepping through the door to the Temple of Time in Twilight Princess.

Also, I'm at 52 reviews! Thank you guys a billion for all the support you're giving the story, and I'll see you guys next time!