Welcome to the fifth chapter of Fish Out Of Water! I know that I keep releasing chapters early, but I'm just too excited to put this one out there. Quite a bit happens, and besides, as of the time of writing, I'm almost done with Chapter 6.

I hope everyone had a great weekend, and enjoy the chapter!

Current music: Reactor - Billy Talent

DARIUS ASHLAND, 18

I was right.

Every time I closed my eyes for the next several days, trying to block out all external sound so that I could drift off to sleep, the alarms kept ringing in my mind. They were almost as loud as a fire alarm; they had to be, of course, in order to alert the doctors and nurses staffing the field hospital.

But I wasn't at the field hospital anymore. I was lying safely in bed at the Forest home, covering my ears with my arm paws, clutching my blanket as close as possible to my chest.

It was that moment that made me almost glad my parents weren't alive anymore. Had they been here to watch me cower in the fetal position in bed, they would most likely have been ashamed of me for not being able to face my fears, like an 18-year-old should be capable of doing.

For the next day or so, all I did was curl up in bed or on the couch. It was rather embarrassing to do so, but I knew that I'd be utterly useless if I tried to accomplish anything else. Of course, I didn't need Christian to tell me that; my inability to concentrate at the field hospital had been proof enough.

Dalgona, fortunately, didn't try to challenge me to any more battles. In fact, I didn't see her at all that first day, perhaps because I was asleep for much of it. But even if I hadn't been, she probably wanted to go easy on me. I wasn't going to complain about that, that's for sure.

During this time, Christian would bring food to me. He'd ask me how I was doing in order to make sure that I was mentally and emotionally stable. I'd tell him I was fine, that there was nothing for him to be worried about. That it had been the mere sound of the monitors that had startled me, rather than the meaning behind them.

Of course, I was lying through my teeth. During these periods when I tried to sleep (and failed), I would often wonder if I was glad my biological family couldn't see me like this. It's not like I'd been the most courageous person prior to my parents' passing, but I'd become a bona fide coward now.

It's probably best, for Xander's sake, that his death, if it needed to happen at all, was at least quick. He probably didn't have time to think about what was happening; maybe it didn't even hurt.

By the end of the first full day since our volunteer shift, I had slept just about all I could. The relentless alarms that invaded my dreams precluded any more shut-eye, and all I found myself wanting was company, whether it be human or Pokemon.

While I didn't have my biological family anymore, I still had Christian. I hadn't thought of him as family before, but now I had no other choice if I wanted to maintain my sanity and sense of belonging.

Dinner on June 16, four days after the eruption of Mt. Koru and two days after my awakening as a Buizel, was a rather quiet affair at first. Just as they had been doing for several days, Christian's parents worked well into the evening at the convention center. During normal times that building was a place of enjoyment, one where people and Pokemon would go to explore their interests, but not now.

Although I'd grown more accustomed to the food meant for Pokemon (at least to the point that it no longer made me feel humiliated to eat it), I still didn't enjoy it. I picked at every bite. It didn't help that using a fork was rather challenging in my new form.

While we were eating, Christian talked briefly about the time he'd spent volunteering that day. He mentioned that the field hospital had lost several patients yet again, and he described in intimate detail how it had happened.

"There was a blaring alarm, and the medical team rushed to that Leafeon's side. I heard them charging up the paddles; they fully intended to use them. But then they seemed to acknowledge that it was a lost cause."

I didn't have the heart to tell Christian that this was a triggering topic for me. He didn't sound like he was trying to rub it in, just that he was unaware of just how much of an effect it had on me, his best friend.

"And then, right before I was going to leave, another patient coded. This one was a human male, and a pretty fat man at that. It took four nurses to haul him away in the body bag."

It was then that I started to shiver with annoyance and residual trauma. I hadn't even been working with the patients, but I still found myself reminded of the occasional alarms that had occurred in that convention center; indeed, that were still occurring there. The sirens probably never stopped.

"Christian?" I asked, somewhat weakly.

My friend raised his eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Could we please talk about something else? This topic is kind of triggering to me."

He frowned. "Why is that?"

Since Christian seemed genuinely confused rather than angry, as evidenced by his tone, I decided to explain. Besides, he was here for me; that's what he'd promised.

"Because every time I tried to sleep, I kept remembering the sounds of that field hospital. I kept remembering the fear I felt within the building."

My voice was shaking like someone in frigid weather. I gulped as I continued, impressed with myself for opening up to Christian like that.

"Maybe it's different for you, but when something traumatic happens to me, I like to hide away from it. I know it's not the healthiest way to deal with these things, but…".

"I understand, Darius. I really do."

Even given how close we had become with one another, I still hadn't quite been expecting this. I'd figured Christian would at least ask a clarifying question, but he seemed to care even more than I'd thought.

"You do?"

"Yes. And I hope this isn't too much of a…what word did you use? Rifle?"

I snorted. "Triggering topic. It's one of those for me. Anyway, what were you going to say?"

"Well, maybe it's because someone close to you died. I'm not trying to rub anything in, but if Xander were still here, maybe you wouldn't have had the same reaction to people dying in the field hospital."

My momentary laughter was immediately forgotten. "But Christian…these people have lives, or at least they did. Their families are never going to stop grieving them. They're individuals; souls, if you will."

"I'm not saying I don't agree with you", Christian responded, "but my parents taught me a valuable lesson: Not every life can be saved. When you're a doctor, you're going to lose people. That's just the way it works."

"But you're not…you don't feel traumatized by it?"

My best friend sighed. "Look, Darius. It doesn't really matter how I feel about it. When I'm at the hospital, when anyone works at the hospital, they have a job to do. They can't let emotions get in the way of that."

He was right, and I knew it. Still, it seemed incredibly dehumanizing to me not to think of who, exactly, the Oldale Region was losing.

"Trust me, I'm not any happier than you are about what's happening. But I can't dwell on the pain too much; lives are still at stake here."

The rest of the meal passed in near-total silence. Neither of us boys wanted to talk, and neither, it seemed, did Dalgona. All we did, pretty much, was sit there and chew our food. It was a major relief when dinner was finally over, and I could go back to being alone.

Once I was back in the guest bedroom, I sat against the wall, covering my eyes with my paws. My eyes were clouding up with tears, and try as I might, I couldn't stop myself from letting out a few sobs here and there.

I closed my eyes, but that only made the pain worse once I was reminded of the bedside alarms. And, when I finally managed to block out part of that memory, another memory would come and force itself back into my brain.

What was this memory, you might ask? Well, it was the last time I'd seen my brother alive. In the midst of my new preoccupation, I hadn't lost sight of the event that had precipitated all of this.

Mt. Koru was a natural marvel, yes, but it also posed a great threat to the Oldale Region. I was reminded of something my mother had once told me, a saying that had been passed down through her family: Bad things come in threes.

Well, if she was right about that, then the first bad event would be the volcano erupting. And the next one would be Xander…no, it was probably what I'm going through right now.

That means there's going to be a third catastrophe. This is a triple threat, if you will, and I've got no control over it. I just have to sit here in Christian's home and wait for it to happen.

NO POV

Satellite images of Oldale Town on the evening of June 16, 205X showed a bustling city with the vast majority of lights on; or rather, as bustling as it could be given the circumstances.

In addition, much would depend on one's definition of "bustling"; for the most part, the only vehicles on the road were ambulances, police cars, and firetrucks. Also, there wasn't much celebration going on. Almost nobody was having fun, besides the occasional introverts who stayed inside and played video games day in, day out. To those people, the eruption could almost be seen as a blessing in disguise.

Almost.

The satellite images taken the following night, however, paint a very different picture. There was some sporadic lighting amidst Oldale Town's grid, but for the most part, the windows were dark. The streets were almost completely deserted; except, of course, for the aforementioned emergency vehicles.

The sight of them never went away, and neither did the sound they made. Darius Ashland wouldn't be the only resident marked by the constant noise; if you lived in a disaster zone for long enough, trauma would find you.

The city's hospitals, both permanent ones and those set up in convention centers, continued to be overwhelmed by the influx of patients. Photographs of ambulances lined up to enter a hospital were circulated widely on social media, a few of them going viral.

On the evening of June 17, however, the Oldale Region's social media presence, a community several million strong, abruptly went silent. Their pleas for aid from other continents didn't fall on deaf ears; they fell on no ears, because the region, by and large, suffered a major blackout.

What happened? How could this major metropolitan area, still grand despite reeling from the Mt. Koru disaster, suddenly go offline? Why did millions of Internet users disconnect all at once?

The answer, like so many other things in the recent life of Oldale, was a disaster. The region just couldn't catch a break.

OHNN, also known as One Hoenn News Network, covered the event when it happened. In years to come, June 17 would be seen as a travesty that shook an already-battered region, but on the day when this travesty actually took place, it wasn't expected to be such a horrific day.

It seemed just like any other day; indeed, by the standards of news days, today was a pretty slow one. Nothing of note seemed to be happening, other than the overcrowded hospitals thanks to the Mt. Koru eruption in the Oldale Region.

But there were only so many times you could show the audience ambulances, hospitalized patients, and alarms going off before they would start to become numb to everything. There were only so many deaths that could be depicted before the news would have to move on to something else.

Fortunately for the news media, but unfortunately for everyone else, it didn't take long before they had new material.

On the outskirts of Oldale Town, a hydroelectric power plant was humming along just like it always did. That was its job, after all; the grid had to be as reliable as possible, or else blackouts would happen.

A Zoroark named Corrigan worked in the control room, poring over endless spreadsheets and maps of the Oldale Region. Right now, the map he had up on the screen was color-coded according to air quality in the areas affected by the eruption.

Corrigan frowned. Every type he typed in a command, it was quickly whisked away by some unseen force. Normally, the system stored what he'd already typed, but that didn't seem to be the case right now.

"What the hell, man! This isn't funny, Arceus; I'm supposed to be keeping the lights on in the city. That's my job!"

Corrigan's prayers weren't answered immediately. Indeed, Arceus didn't reply, not that the Zoroark had expected Him to.

The Zoroark sighed deeply. He didn't think that the creator of the universe was behind this, somehow. Maybe it was Giratina's doing, that harbinger of chaos. But it was more likely that there wasn't anything supernatural about this glitch at all.

One of the other Zoroark workers, a male named Mark, came rushing into the room. "What's wrong, Corrigan?"

Corrigan turned to face Mark, squinting with indignation; not at his colleague, but at the situation in general.

"Someone must have hacked into our database or something. Whenever I type in a command, it just disappears, but there's no indication that the computer's processing them. It needs to be a glitch!"

"Come on, Corrigan" Mark replied, holding his claws up in a motion that clearly said, Calm down. "If it's just a glitch, that doesn't mean there are any hackers. We don't know that there was foul play involved, so we shouldn't jump to conclusions so quickly."

"But the timing's just too perfect," Corrigan said, gnashing his fangs against one another. "Just when the grid's under the most strain, just when we have to move heaven and Nexus to keep the lights on, this has to happen, dammit!"

"Please, Corrigan. I know you don't like being a migrant worker from Unova, and neither do I. But the entire Oldale Region is counting on us, and essential services may also be disrupted, and will be disrupted, if we don't get our act together. Is there a way around the glitch?"

"I don't know," the other Zoroark admitted. "I'm not a technician, I'm just the guy who does the grunt work here. I have to input commands all day, but I don't even know what everything means."

Suddenly, there was a powerful stench in the air. It not only made it more difficult to breathe, but it was also hard to see.

"What the hell is…". Corrigan was cut off by the sound of sprinklers being triggered, and jets of water spurted out of various holes in the walls and floor. It was at this moment that the fire alarms were engaged, blaring louder than anything either Zoroark had heard in his life.

We've gotta get out of here!, was Corrigan's next thought. Clearly, the smoke must have come from a pretty substantial source, because it had filled the corridors so thoroughly that it was nearly impossible to take a deep breath, not to mention excruciatingly painful.

The frustrations he'd just been experiencing related to the commands he'd been typing were ultimately frustrations of the wrong kind. All thoughts of trying to fix the glitch were forgotten as both Zoroarks sprinted down different hallways, trying to get out of the building with haste.

Although it was hardly the most productive thought to be having right now, Corrigan regretted the day he'd decided to sign up for this job. Yes, it paid good money, and was the best way for him to support his family back in Unova. But he wouldn't be able to support them if he were dead.

As he sprinted down the smoky halls of the power plant, Corrigan, despite his preoccupation with trying to stay alive, had ample time to wonder exactly how the place had caught fire. Had one of the other employees been playing with matches and set it off through negligence? Or had it been actual malice?

There was a vague popping noise, and then the entire interior of the power plant was plunged into darkness. The Zoroark, of course, had little trouble seeing in the dark under normal circumstances; things were very different when he found himself in the midst of all this smoke.

Corrigan ran headlong into a wall, which he only realized once his snout collided with it. He felt his nose break as he fell to the ground, blood spurting out of both nostrils.

The pain was one thing; he'd dealt with worse. What was far more severe was the fear growing within him: The fear of death.

For Corrigan, much like he'd come face-to-face with a literal wall, now had to deal with the understanding that he might not get out of this alive. The instinct of self-preservation had been too great before to entertain that notion, but it had to subside if he was going to accept his demise.

And so the Zoroark, having spoken angrily towards Arceus earlier, found himself silently praying for forgiveness. In his view, the Creator would have to beg him for forgiveness; what else would you tell a deity who'd allowed the twin disasters to occur?

But Corrigan didn't care about that anymore. He was about to ask for Arceus to have mercy on him for anything he may have done, but his claws were jerked apart before he could clasp them together.

"What was that for?" he choked out. Corrigan's throat was raw from the smoke, so he couldn't speak as well as he would have otherwise.

"I'm trying to save your life, idiot!" Mark's voice exclaimed through the confusion. "What are you doing, praying?"

"Uh…yes" Corrigan replied sheepishly.

"Arceus isn't going to save you now. That's the wrong way to do things, Corrigan. We've probably got less than a minute before this place blows up, and we want to be out of the area entirely. Let's run!"

Corrigan grabbed Mark's arm and hoisted himself up. The suggestion that the power plant was going to explode acted within him like a powerful stimulant. He felt reinvigorated, ready to take on this challenge with a renewed vengeance.

Fortunately, they were near the power plant's exit. Corrigan couldn't help but count down the seconds in his mind as they ran, knowing that each second that passed was one second closer to certain death if they weren't far enough from the generator.

It was just after sunset, so the natural light wasn't that bright. However, what the scene lacked in natural light, it more than made up for in terms of light cast by less-than-natural means.

The power plant was engulfed in flames. Even from a distance, Corrigan and Mark's sensitive ears were irritated by the constant noise.

They should program those things so that when people escape, the sound stops. That would make things so much better.

Still, the two Zoroarks, as well as the other workers at the power plant, were immensely relieved to be out of harm's way. The fire might still be raging within the building, but since the area was incredibly important to the Oldale Region, the fire department should be arriving very soon.

Unfortunately, the keyword in the above sentence is should.

You see, what the plant's employees didn't take into account was that the emergency services were still busy battling the waves of patients streaming into the city's hospitals. Even if the power plant was arguably more important to protect, how do you tell firefighters to abandon one building for another?

The fire continued to rage, on and on, until a group of fire engines arrived on the scene. By then, it was too late.

DARIUS ASHLAND, 18

BOOM.

The heaven-rending explosion struck just as the three of us were eating dinner on the floor. There was no particular reason we'd chosen the floor, of course; it's just that none of us were in the mood for a formal dinner, so we went for the opposite end of the spectrum.

"Is someone firing a cannon or something?" Dalgona asked sarcastically. "I didn't know we had any in this region."

I could have said any number of things here. I could have mentioned, for instance, that even an extremely potent cannon blast couldn't possibly be this loud.

"I don't think that's it…" Christian replied, before we heard something shatter.

My ears had grown more sensitive ever since I'd turned into a Buizel. As such, I covered them with my paws so that they wouldn't explode; I also closed my eyes as the windows became extremely bright. I couldn't tell what it was, but even glancing briefly outside the window was akin to staring at the sun for a good ten seconds.

In addition, the ground shook, and I fell out of my chair, landing painfully on the floor. Crushing my tail yet again, I felt my body ache in places I hadn't even known could ache.

It wasn't an earthquake, nothing like the tremors that had preceded the volcanic eruption. Nothing short of an actual blast could create such a shockwave.

Groaning, I saw that Christian and Dalgona had managed to remain in their chairs by keeping their feet planted firmly on the floor. Fighting off the mild embarrassment, I got back into the chair, my ears ringing.

"What the hell just happened?" I moaned, looking to see that cracks had been made in one of the nearby windows. It hadn't completely shattered, but it wouldn't take much more force for it to do so.

Neither of the others had an answer. We were just about to keep eating when the second explosion occurred.

This time, all three of us fell out of our chairs. I reached out my left arm in order to break my fall, but all I ended up doing was pulling a muscle in that shoulder. That hurt, but not as much as the impact of my rump against the ground.

In addition, I heard something shatter, and I knew then that the window had given way. Thousands of tiny glass particles had to be scattered across the linoleum floor now, presenting a major hazard. Of course, they could be avoided if you were careful, but they became an even larger hazard once the next thing happened.

The power went out.

We were just about to stand back up when the lights shut off. The digital clock on the oven also went blank, and we were plunged into semi-darkness thanks to the evening light outside.

"Is everyone okay?" I heard Christian ask; clearly he was going by the lessons he'd learned from his parents: Always put others before yourself.

"Yeah…" I heard Dalgona croak. "I just…wasn't ready for that. And it hurts to fall like that."

I nodded. "I'm fine. This home's power source isn't. Don't you guys have a generator or something like that?"

I could see Christian nod. "Yeah, we've got one in the basement. I would be able to turn it on."

"Good, so we won't be without power for long."

"I said I would be able to turn it on, if my parents were here. Dad's the only one who's tech-savvy enough to do that, and he's working overtime treating patients at the field hospital. So until he gets back, we are without power."

I didn't want to ask this question, but I did anyway. "Is that linked to the explosion at all?"

Christian shrugged. "Who knows? I hope you've got your phone charged."

I remembered that at one point in the last few days, Christian had given me my phone back. He'd mentioned that he'd been holding onto it until he could return it to me; I only wished I could have used it to commune with the dead; a certain dead person, to be specific. Of course, that was impossible.

And then my heart fell like a freight elevator whose chains had been cut. I realized that I hadn't taken such a basic step, something that would make the situation so much better; at least, it would have had I not been so foolish.

"It isn't charged," I admitted. "Are we screwed?"

Christian shook his head. "I've still got mine. It's only at about 50%, but it'll last us a while. Sucks, though; two phones are better than one."

He was clearly trying not to sound too angry with me, but make no mistake about it: While his voice was measured, his eyes were not. He saw this as a betrayal.