Warning: You are advised not to read this chapter right before you eat, right after you eat, or especially while eating. It's a bit gross, though not NSFW. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I had a good time writing this chapter. Though not the longest, I do think it's a pretty good length. I hope you guys like it too. (Also, as I write this author's note, I just finished up a writing session for Chapter 16).


TYSON JUDA, 19 (ONE YEAR PRIOR TO MAIN STORY)

The shimmering was so violent that it almost felt like the world around me was spinning. For a few moments, I wondered if I would be sick right then and there.

Fortunately, the feeling did pass once I closed my eyes. When I reopened them, I found myself someplace completely different. The sights and sensations were almost overwhelming.

I was in a large, cavernous entrance hall, one with a ceiling that rose to three times the height of your average church sanctuary. Even though the door that had led me here was only a story underground, it was dark enough down here that I knew we must be deep beneath the surface.

Instead of being made of more modern materials like the church sanctuary had been, this chamber was built from stone. Indeed, the entrance hall looked like a stone replica of the church sanctuary, except without the pews or stained-glass windows, and scaled up three times in both directions and three times in height.

I'm no math genius, but I'm pretty sure that means this area's 27 times larger than the church sanctuary.

The next thing I noticed was that it was cold in here. It had been a blazing summer day in Jubilife City, and yet here it felt like a meat locker. That's the best way I can describe it.

And then there was the musty odor of the underground, the one I'd once associated with the basements at my friends' houses; that is, when I still had friends to hang out with.

"Yeah, it's pretty spectacular, isn't it?" Keith said from right behind me. This startled me, because in all the grandeur of the entrance hall, I'd almost forgotten that he was there.

I nodded. "How did you build this place? And how do you keep it hidden from the authorities on the surface?"

Keith frowned at me. "And what makes you think I would know that information? The first thing they tell you here, that wasn't in the rules at least, was that you're told things on a need-to-know basis".

I suppose that makes sense. This way, if I am caught and tortured, there will only be so much information I can give my captors.

There was a large door at the other end of the hall, and we walked up to it. Keith pounded his fist against the door, until a voice from an intercom that sounded automated answered.

"Please speak the passphrase".

"They didn't let poor Jeremy join in all the Plaindeer games" Keith announced, not giving any hint that he was having trouble with not laughing. He spoke formally, with a seriousness that very few people can possess when speaking words like those.

While this seemed like an odd passphrase to me, Keith acted as though he'd said those words dozens if not hundreds of times; which, of course, he almost certainly had.

"Who's Jeremy?" I asked my new companion as we walked through the doorway.

"He's the head of the Plaindeer. Jeremy Matamoros is not somebody you want to cross. Get on his bad side, and you won't live long enough to regret it".

I felt a chill run down my spine, because I knew Keith meant what he said. I would be walking a very fine line during my time with the Plaindeer. Step just a bit out of the line, and I'd face dire consequences.

I realized that in joining up with this society, I'd exchanged one potential shitstorm of consequences for another, and that was both ironic and tragic. I almost laughed, but I knew that my companion wouldn't appreciate it if I did that.

We made our way into another hallway. This one was also made of stone, but not nearly as cavernous as the entrance hall. The place seemed unable to decide if it wanted to be natural or manmade; it was reminiscent of a castle's dungeon, but still had an earthy feel to it at the same time.

Eventually, we reached the front desk, where an older man was looking at a computer screen. It was here that the architecture started to look a lot more modern, but I still likened this place to a dungeon. I'd never get that association out of my mind.

"Hello. How can I help you, Mr. Slate?" the man asked Keith, looking up from his computer.

"There's a new recruit, Mr. Grimlock" Keith replied, motioning for me to enter the secretary's field of vision.

"Good afternoon, sir. What is your name?"

I didn't even hesitate. "Tyson Juda".

"And your age?"

"Eighteen".

"Why are you joining the Secret Society of the Plaindeer? Do you have any particular motives?"

That was a hard question for me to answer. Actually, that wasn't quite true; it would have been quite easy to answer, had I been able to admit that I was just looking for a way out of my shitty life in Midbus.

However, I simply didn't have the requisite courage to tell the truth. Therefore, I responded with, "Keith found me on the street, and I was interested. So I joined up".

"Mmmm-hmmm" Mr. Grimlock replied. Looking over his glasses at me, he continued with, "Do you wholeheartedly agree that you will follow all the rules and regulations of the Plaindeer?"

I nodded. This whole ritual seemed redundant to me; hadn't I already signed the contract? Apparently they really wanted to make sure you were committed.

"Very well, then". Mr. Grimlock typed a few more commands into his computer, and then something came out of a slot on the side. "Take this," he told me.

I looked at the object he'd pointed out. It was a simple badge, roughly the size of one a police officer would wear, emblazoned with my picture (which I hadn't noticed being taken) and the words TYSON JUDA, 18/M. I could only assume that it was my ID certifying that I was indeed a member of the Plaindeer.

"Thank you" I replied to Mr. Grimlock. By this time, however, he'd tuned me out and gone back to typing on his keyboard.

Honestly, I was impressed with the speed at which Mr. Grimlock typed his emails or whatever they were. His fingers simply danced around the keyboard as though they were ballerinas. I watched him type for a good minute, fully entranced, and I'm pretty sure he never tapped "delete" once.

In any case, Keith showed me the way to my room, which he told me that I'd be sharing with a guy named Troy. The room number, he said, was listed on the back of my ID badge, something I hadn't noticed when I'd received it from Mr. Grimlock.

"Anyway, make yourself at home here. Don't worry about clothes or toiletries or anything like that, it's all provided here for free. I hope you have a wonderful stay here at Plaindeer HQ".

As you can imagine, I was rather taken aback by Keith's tone and choice of words. He sounded more like a hotel marketer than a recruiter for a secretive gang.

Still, though, it was my room, and it looked nice enough, so who was I to complain?

I sat down on my bed, which was twin size. The room itself was about the size of a college dorm room, which, to some extent, made sense. Keith himself couldn't have been much older than me; perhaps most of the recruits were in their late teens or early twenties.

A short while later, a guy about my age walked into the room. He was somewhat shorter than me, with black hair and brown eyes. I could only assume that this was the Troy person Keith had mentioned to me.

"Hello" I said, reaching my right hand out for him to shake. "I'm your new roommate, Tyson Juda".

Even as I said those words, they sounded awkward to me. I was probably weirding him out by being so friendly.

Instead, the other guy shook my hand. "Nice to meet you, Tyson. I'm Troy Lombardy; did you just join today?"

I nodded. "Yep, Keith recruited me for the Plaindeer. I've just been looking for some purpose in my life, you know?"

At the time, although I'd been promised meaning, I didn't know what form it would come in. Indeed, I had no idea what the organization's goal even was back then. I would learn it eventually, but for now I remained ignorant, perhaps blissfully so.

Had I known what the group was seeking ahead of time, I doubt I would have even joined them in the first place.


BRIAN DUNKIRK, 17

They say that riding a Ponyta is like riding a Ponyta. In other words, it's hard to describe to someone who hasn't done it before, and it's different for every person.

The few times I'd ridden Uncle Sam prior to today, when the stakes had been so much lower, I hadn't gone at a very fast pace. It had been a pleasant trot through the woods, no pressure. And if I needed someone to help me slow down my horse, then I could always yell for them.

This time, however, I couldn't ask for help. I was all alone, and I was certainly feeling the pressure.

Riding Uncle Sam at a gallop was pretty daunting; it had been especially so at first, since I wasn't accustomed to it. I soon realized, however, that if I simply held on tight, the Ponyta would do his best not to buck me.

I rode through the forest for several hours. Not once did I ask Uncle Sam where he was taking me; part of me didn't think even he knew the answer to that question. In that case, we truly were flying blind.

By some miracle, we didn't see any cars on the road; of course, part of that was because we only crossed two roads in four hours, by my count. Even so, every time I came across an area where people might be, my heart skipped a beat.

I am the only one people are talking about, anywhere in the world. Even with Michael having disappeared, I'm still the top news story.

In hindsight, this is called "catastrophic thinking"; there might have been other stories to cover, but mine was certainly one of the most pressing. If I was seen, I'd probably be recognized instantly.

When the sun started to set, I decided to bed down in the forest. I considered building a fire, but didn't do so for two reasons. One of those reasons was because I had no desire to start a wildfire; there was always a chance that something could get out of hand, and I didn't want to be the one responsible if it did.

The other reason was that if I sent up a smoke signal, I would likely be noticed by any number of wild Pokemon who might be in these woods. It was for that reason that I didn't bother looking for a cave; there could very well be a horde of Diglett or a Steelix in there, and I wasn't going to take that risk.

That's the thing about nature: Most of the creatures there will leave you alone if you're respectful to them. I realized that being able to communicate with Pokemon in their language might help me with this.

For the first time, I was somewhat grateful for my new ability. The feeling of gratitude, however, was short-lived. I soon grasped that the gift was the very reason I was on the run. The very reason Michael Clarion was gone.

Well, this gift came with a very steep price indeed.

I hadn't brought a tent or even a sleeping bag with me. As I sat down on the mossy forest floor, there was ample time to admonish myself for not having thought this through as thoroughly as I could have.

I should have brought a sleeping bag to sleep in. I should have brought some Vibrava repellant. I should have brought something to purify water with.

So many "should haves" coursed through my mind that it was physically painful. On some level, I knew there was no time for that. I needed to make the best of the hand I'd dealt myself.

"You stay here for tonight" I told Uncle Sam. Come to think of it, I didn't see where he had ended up.

Turning my head to the side, I saw why the Ponya hadn't responded right away. He'd fallen asleep standing up, right next to a pool of water. At least I won't get thirsty.

I felt almost jubilant to have found a source of hydration. I'd brought a canteen with me, but no iodine or bleach to purify it with.

As I walked over to the pool, I had second thoughts. If this water was carrying any sort of impurities, it could make me very sick indeed, and I stood to lose a lot more fluids than I would gain from drinking it.

Once more, I cursed myself for not having enough foresight to think of that. But ultimately, I decided that I'd rather go down swinging than let the third strike pass right by home plate.

So, with plenty of trepidation, I lowered my canteen into the spring and scooped up some water. I took a long, satisfying drink before closing it once again.

Taking a deep breath, I had a small dinner of canned food before lying down and closing my eyes.

For reasons you can probably guess, I didn't sleep a wink that night. I was anxious that my stomach would act up as a result of drinking the spring water, and, what was more, the ground wasn't nearly as comfortable as my bed back at home.

The forest also got rather chilly at night, despite the heat of the day, and I started to shiver. And I wasn't just shivering from the temperature; I was shivering from fear, because at any moment something might come out and attack me.

Fortunately, that didn't happen. A seventeen-year-old human trying to sleep on the ground, next to a Ponyta who was ready to burst into action if attacked, turned out to be enough of a deterrent to anyone who would bother us.

As stated above, no matter how hard I tried, I simply could not drift off. When I was younger, I had found the rhythms of nature to be an effective lullaby, but it just didn't work for me anymore. Of course, part of it had to do with the surface I was "sleeping" on.

The night felt interminable. Every minute felt like five, and it was around what might have been two in the morning that I started to feel even more tired. There was a slight amount of rumbling in my stomach, too, though I didn't make the connection yet.

Eventually, after tossing and turning for who knew how many hours, I noticed that the sky was getting somewhat lighter. I'd been trying to sleep until the end of the night, but my efforts to get rest had not borne fruit.

The gurgling of my stomach had intensified, to the point that I worried it might attract the wild Pokemon I was so afraid of. It might have been an irrational fear, but it was a fear nonetheless.

Before long, I sprang to my feet, ran over to a nearby tree, and began vomiting my guts out. It had all happened so suddenly that it took me some time to put two and two together.

The water was a big mistake. I won't drink any more. Just please let me live, Arceus!

They say there are no atheists in foxholes. While that is technically not true, whoever came up with that saying did have a point. As I was heaving up my dinner, I found myself praying.

Finally, once I had finished worshipping the porcelain god, I stood up out of the kneeling position and woke Uncle Sam. This didn't take much, since he was already standing up; I remembered hearing that Ponyta slept with one eye open, just in case they needed to wake up quickly.

"Let's get out of here" I said, wishing I could have some water; the vomiting had left a sour taste in my mouth. The heaving is the hardest part.

My legs trembling, I managed to climb onto Uncle Sam's back. I took the reins and set off again.

The sun gradually rose as I made my way through the middle of nowhere, and the temperature climbed as well. Before long, I could no longer see my breath.

I supposed that the forest itself was beautiful, too. A number of wild Pokemon, although not the types known to attack humans, could be seen frolicking around and playing as the day began.

Even with all of this beauty, however, I could not enjoy it. For every fifteen minutes or so, my stomach would act up again, and I'd have to get off of Uncle Sam, walk over to a part of the forest without any Pokemon, and suffer through alternating episodes of dry-heaving and horrible diarrhea.

I felt horrible about defouling the forest floor, but I had no other option. By now, I was well aware that my gamble had not been worth it.

Riding on Uncle Sam's back made the stomach cramps worse. Every time I was jostled around, I felt a stab of pain.

At one point, probably three or four hours after setting off for the day, Uncle Sam stopped galloping abruptly. In my current state, it was all I could do to hold on as he did so; the halt really had been sudden.

"What's going on?" I asked him.

Boss, are you okay?, Uncle Sam replied in a concerned tone. I could always take you back home.

With how miserable I'd been last night, as well as how horrible today was shaping out to be, I'd forgotten that this was even an option. Looking at it now, it all seemed so simple; it couldn't be later than 9:00 AM or so; I could be back home in time for dinner, assuming I could keep it down after drinking the spring water.

And then I realized that if I turned around now, my parents would be absolutely livid with me. I shuddered to think of the yelling that would ensue on my father's part in particular. He certainly wouldn't be happy about what I had done.

What was more, I was probably all over the news now. I had disappeared just like Michael Clarion, only, unlike him, I'd done so of my own accord. Of course, there was a good chance my parents would never know that.

"No" I told Uncle Sam flatly. "We're going to keep going until we find someplace to rest. Maybe there's clean water somewhere; I need to rehydrate. But I can't go home; I have to stay one step ahead of the Plaindeer".

If you say so, boss. But don't say I didn't warn you.

Right then and there, I had to get off the Ponyta, crawl over to a tree, and once again spew from both ends. I'll spare you the gory details, but trust me, it ain't pretty.

How much longer could I keep this up before I had to give up? What would happen if I gave up? Really, I didn't need to ask the latter question, because I already knew the answer.

Much like the severe gastrointestinal distress, the answer to that question wasn't pretty.


TYSON JUDA, 19 (PRESENT DAY)

They say that time flies by when you're having fun. I myself hadn't used that saying very much, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was true. Time passed a lot more quickly when you felt that you had a purpose in life.

My first few days and weeks with the Plaindeer, I was still getting used to the motions. The underground headquarters of the organization was a bona fide maze, and it took awhile for me to figure out where everything was.

Every day, I would go to some sort of tattoo machine and receive a temporary tattoo of my schedule for the day. We'd then have breakfast, and then I would have two or more "classes", for lack of a better word, before having some downtime and then lunch.

The same process was repeated in the afternoon, before having more downtime in the late afternoon before dinner. During dinner, I usually sat next to either Keith or Troy, since those were the two members I was most acquainted with.

It needs to be said that, while this doesn't apply to everybody who's grown up with abusive parents, my own experience had led me to experience severe social anxiety. It wasn't that I disliked social interaction; rather, I was nervous to take part in it for fear of it ending badly. That would explain why I spent most of my time with those I knew best.

After dinner, we would all file into a massive auditorium, larger even than the entrance hall, and Jeremy Matamoros, our leader, would give us updates regarding our schedules, those who had to take part in missions, and so on.

In hindsight, knowing what I know now, Mr. Matamoros was definitely trying to deceive us where possible. For one thing, only those who went on missions were told precisely what they had to do; since I hadn't been called on yet to perform one, I was in the dark about everything.

Over the first few months I spent with the Plaindeer, I didn't notice this much, but over time, I started to see that I was getting paler and paler. I hadn't exactly been tan to start out with, but it soon reached the point where my face appeared unhealthily close to white.

When I asked Troy Lombardy about this, he replied casually by saying, "That's just to be expected, Tyson. When you're underground for so long, not exposed to such bright light, you're going to get paler. It's nothing to worry about".

And yet...even though I felt as though my life now held more meaning, I did miss the surface. As the months passed, the fact that I hadn't seen sunlight since joining the group bothered me more and more.

One evening during dinner, as I was eating some sort of mystery mush the likes of which I couldn't identify, I lamented this internally. By this time, I'd been with the Plaindeer for just over a year; I'd joined on a very hot day in June, and it was now July of the following year.

Thirteen months. It's been thirteen months since I've seen the sun. Thirteen months since I've felt fresh air.

"What's wrong, Tyson?" Keith asked me eventually. I must have been looking pretty bummed out for him to notice this; over the last year, I'd noticed that Keith wasn't one to show emotion very often.

I considered telling him the answer, but I didn't end up doing so. Keith might not have been a very emotional person himself, but I knew that he wasn't above making fun of others' emotions.

The last thing I wanted was for Keith to take me less seriously, so I just shrugged and told him, "I dunno. I was just thinking about stuff".

Fortunately, he didn't press me any further, so I was left to "enjoy" my mystery mush. I had no idea what was in it, and it didn't smell (or, perhaps more importantly, taste) very good, but I'd burned a ton of calories during track time, so I needed the fuel.

Once dinner ended, we listened for announcements on the intercom, but none came. That meant that we would indeed be going into the massive auditorium for the evening meeting. Yesterday, for reasons I wasn't privy to, Mr. Matamoros had given his address remotely, but that wasn't the case today.

I barely managed to suppress a groan. Yes, the auditorium was beautiful, but it was beautiful in an eerie sort of way. As I walked down the maze of hallways to get there, I couldn't help but feel increasingly trapped as I went deeper into the Earth.

Eventually, I entered the auditorium. If you've ever been to a cathedral, you're probably picturing a room about that size, perhaps with some stained-glass windows. That image, while it might sound realistic, isn't accurate to the Plaindeer auditorium.

This room was so gargantuan that the stone ceiling was almost too high to make out. From the entrance to the auditorium, it was about a hundred yards to the stage where Mr. Matamoros stood.

Speaking of Mr. Matamoros, even though he was so far away from us, we could all hear him equally loudly thanks to a very high-tech microphone. I chose a seat near the entrance, so that I could get out of there quickly once the meeting was over.

Slowly, over the course of the next ten minutes, more and more members entered the hall. There were only about five hundred of us despite there being thousands of seats, so I shouldn't have felt trapped.

Of course, just because one shouldn't have a certain emotion doesn't mean that they won't. The mind is a strange thing that way.

When somebody decided that there were enough people in the auditorium, Mr. Matamoros began his nightly address.

"Good evening, everybody!" he announced in a voice reminiscent of Kimberly Gargoyle, only amplified to be about ten times more intense. "How are all of you today?"

Some people gave him a thumbs-up, some people gave him a thumbs-down, and some people, myself included, didn't respond at all. Truth be told, I just wanted this meeting to be over with.

"A mixed bag for now, I see" Mr. Matamoros responded loudly and clearly. "You guys might be indifferent now, but once I give you guys the news, you will not be".

What is it? Good news? Bad news? Is he going to tell us that we're all going on missions? Come to think of it, I'd love to feel the fresh air and sun against my skin once more.

"I am pleased to report that we have secured one of our goals today. Michael Clarion is in captivity in one of our holding cells, and we will glean the information we need from him in due time. All other information will be given out on a need-to-know basis".

There were those words I had come to despise, and yet at the same time become used to: Need-to-know basis.

More to the point, Michael Clarion wasn't a name I had ever heard before. Only those given missions on the surface were permitted access to newspapers, TV, or the Internet. This was ostensibly for security reasons. In addition to being in the literal dark underground, I was also in the figurative dark due to not having accessed the popular media for the last year and a month.

On the other hand, I was aware of the Plaindeer holding cells. On occasion, the group would lock up people or Pokemon from whom they wanted answers. I didn't know what occurred in those holding cells, for that information was, like so much else, only given to those who needed it.

Perhaps this was just like the other times people had been captured by the Plaindeer, and then been questioned and possibly released. It didn't seem that way, though.

No, judging by the sound of it, Jeremy Matamoros was a very happy man today. He probably knew something we didn't.

Our leader went through a few more announcements, but none of them seemed very notable to me. Mostly he just talked about the archery tournament that had been conducted earlier that day, in which I had not taken part.

The last thing he did was to list those who had been assigned missions. And one of those people was…

"...and Tyson Juda. Please, those who were given missions, report to the briefing room in order to receive your assignment. That will be all".


BRIAN DUNKIRK, 17

The second night on the run was even worse than the first.

Every half hour, I had to run away from my resting spot and throw up. However, there was nothing left inside my stomach, so I was eventually simply dry-heaving. That's not a good feeling at all.

To make matters worse, I was beginning to feel so tired that I might as well just fall asleep from sheer exhaustion. Part of me knew, however, that there was a good chance that, if I should go to sleep here, I'd never get moving again. I'd just lose motivation and lie there until I starved to death.

Speaking of starvation...there was still a good deal of canned food in my backpack, but I couldn't eat it. The very thought of putting something in my mouth felt like an invitation to more vomiting; after all, that's pretty much what it would be.

I considered forcing myself to keep moving, but I soon realized that this just wasn't possible. Even if I couldn't sleep, Uncle Sam needed his sleep, and I'd be in a world of hurt if I was depending on a sleep-deprived Ponyta to get me where I needed to go.

Worse still, I didn't have any clue where I "needed" to go. As I lay on the mossy forest floor, shivering from both the cold and the illness, I had a lot of time to think.

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?

That was the ultimatum Ash Ketchum had given me, and for the first time since leaving home, I fully understood that I'd made my choice. I had sacrificed my own safety for the chance to rescue Michael.

I have to make this sacrifice worth it. But honestly, I don't even know if I can save myself anymore. How the hell am I supposed to find Michael's whereabouts?

Just like last night, I didn't get any sleep. I was too busy trying to stay warm, too busy reminding myself of just how massive my error had been.

I should have stayed home and gotten as much information as I could. I should have taken more time to pack.

Ah, well...there's nothing I can do about that now.

The hours crawled by, punctuated by my teeth chattering and my stomach rumbling. When the stars began to fade, I saw the figurative light at the end of the tunnel; soon, I'd be able to get moving again.

Eventually, the sun rose, and we were off once more.

Everything was passing by in a haze of sorts. Not only did I feel feverish as a result of the waterborne illness, but my bones began to ache as well, as though I had the flu. However, I knew that I had to keep going. I just had to, because Michael was counting on me.

Looking back on that morning, I should have realized just how delusional I was being. I was completely out of touch with reality, which is that I would be no good to my friend in my current state. At the moment, though, I harbored delusions of grandeur, that I was the one who would save Michael, right now.

I don't know how much time passed. As stated above, everything seemed like a blur. All I know is that eventually, Uncle Sam began to slow down. Through my vision, which had started to blur, I could see what appeared to be a gate of sorts up ahead.

A pair of Leafeon were guarding said gate; I could tell that much. My head was spinning, both literally and figuratively, as I tried to make sense of the situation.

State your name and purpose, one of them announced.

I hadn't spoken all morning, and it felt like a Herculean task just to use my voice. Eventually, though, I managed to do it.

"I'm Brian Dunkirk," I announced as authoritatively as I could. "I'm here because I'm looking for my friend".

How much should I tell them? How much do they already know?

Eventually, one of the Leafeon (I couldn't tell if it was the same one who'd greeted us) responded with, What is your friend's name?

I dismounted Uncle Sam and dropped to the ground. My legs felt wobbly, as though they could barely support my weight. This was partly due to numbness from having sat on a saddle for hours, and partly due to what must have been a fever.

"Michael...Clarion" I gasped. Talking was taking a lot of effort, and I had to drop to my knees in order to stay conscious.

Okay, then...we'll let you in. Can you walk to the village hall?

"Yes" I replied, as though saying it would make it true. "I can walk to the village hall".

The fact that there was evidently a village beyond the gate should have caused me to ponder these implications. At the moment, however, the darkness was closing in, and I couldn't think of anything else to say.

I stood up, which turned out to be a bad idea. My knees buckled under me, and the last thing I heard was…

By the way, I think that name seems familiar now...


With this update, this story is now officially over 50,000 words long! It's not anywhere close to being over, either.

As usual, I'd like to thank everybody who has supported this story thus far, whether that be by reviewing, favoriting/following, or even just reading. I hope you guys have a wonderful few days!