Not for the first time, I want to thank everyone who has supported Werewolves thus far, whether it be by reviewing, favoriting/following, or simply reading and (hopefully) enjoying. You guys mean the world to me. Also, we're at 51 follows. To #50 (you know who you are), THANK YOU! And the 4,500+ views are just the icing on the cake.

As promised, I gave you all an extra day to process the last chapter. Here we go.

Current music: Fallen Angel - Three Days Grace

CODY HARVARD, 19

By the time I touched down in that clearing, it was early afternoon on November 5. It had been five days since my first arrest.

My first arrest. How many people get arrested once, let alone twice in the same week? If they have a rewards card for frequent detainees, I'd probably be at a fairly high level.

I started to make my way back home, following the same trail that the golden wolf (the village's Guardian, I assumed) had led me along the other night. I walked slowly, trying not to look guilty, but what good was that? Everyone knew what I looked like.

During my walk of shame, I was so lost in my own thoughts that I almost didn't notice the sirens and flashing lights coming from my left.

And I sighed. I'd known this was coming, but I hadn't necessarily expected it so soon. I'd thought I had at least a few minutes before they apprehended me; apparently not.

"Hands up!" a harsh male voice barked at me.

It needs to be said, by the way, that I'd become human again during the flight back to Skylock. At some point, my Lycanroc body had faded into my human body, and it wasn't painful. Mercifully, I had on the same clothes that I'd been wearing that night.

The good news was that I was wearing clothes. The bad news was that those clothes were green plaid pajamas.

If anybody comes along right now, they're going to see a grown man wearing pajamas, getting arrested. How awkward is that?

On some level, it was funny to make jokes about the situation, but when those jokes were at my expense, they became a lot less funny, to say the least.

I did as I was told, holding my pajama-clad arms high above my head. Besides some initial confusion about how they'd managed to arrest me so quickly upon returning, the only emotions I felt were fear and dread. I tried not to let either show on my face.

"Cody Harvard, you are under arrest for two serious crimes. Do you know what those crimes are?"

There was no reason to play dumb; it was better to just own it.

"Yes. Assault in the form of lycanthropy transmission, as well as jumping bail. I fully admit to those crimes."

Another police officer jumped out in front of me and produced a pair of handcuffs. I allowed the cops to clamp them down on my wrists, and I knew escape was impossible now.

"Why did you do it?" the cop who'd just handcuffed me asked, in a kinder voice than I would have expected from a police officer. "Why did you leave town, when you knew you were going to be arrested again the moment you got back?"

"Don't I have the right to remain silent?" I snarled as I climbed into the back of the cruiser.

"I suppose you do," the other police officer replied curtly. "And you also recall that…".

"Anything I say can be used against me in the court of law. Yeah, I know that."

The other cop glared at me, as if to say, Stop being such a smartass, Cody.

What happened after that was largely a blur. It was as though my brain were deliberately blocking out the events so that I wouldn't have to be traumatized later.

I do remember some of the ride to the Greater Pastoria Jail. Midday traffic wasn't that heavy, but I still had plenty of time to think. Neither of the police officers would speak to me during the ride, but that wasn't a bad thing. After all, what was there to say?

When my parents see me next, they'll probably disown me. It certainly won't be a warm reunion, that's for sure.

I had let them down yet again. If anything, it was even worse this time, since their expectations were already very low, and I'd managed to drop below even these new standards. You might think it was premature to jump to conclusions like that, but I knew my parents well enough to have a good idea of what they'd think.

Anyway, once we arrived at the jail, I was led inside by the wrists. As stated above, I felt almost semi-conscious during this moment; I wasn't perceiving everything around me, just a vague sense of guilt.

And then I found myself back in the cell, with the cops both staring at me. This is when I started to "come back", as it were, and become more alert. Both men started tearing into me.

"What do you have to say for yourself, young man? Thought you could get away with fleeing the scene?"

"No...I...didn't…".

"Then why did you do it? If you can't do the time, don't do the crime; we really need to get back to basics, don't we?"

"Basics?" I asked, sounding more confused than I meant to. After this, I fully expected the tirade to continue, and felt my stomach turn in anticipation.

"Kid, how can you not know the basics? Do we need to take you back to kindergarten camp where you can learn your ABCs, one-two-threes, colors, yadda yadda? Or are you just playing dumb the way you always do?"

That was what pushed me over the line. No adult likes being spoken to as one would a small child. I snapped, knowing this was the wrong thing to do.

"I'm not a child anymore! I'm nineteen! And I'm responsible for my own choices!" I all but yelled.

"Kid, you just proved our point. You need to realize that if you bite a fellow student, run away, and then come back a few days later, that doesn't mean everything's going to be hunky-dory. This isn't a video game!"

And then the other policeman, wagging a finger in front of me as though I were a child who needed to be scolded, told me something new.

"Since you have violated the terms of your bail agreement, I'm going to file an emergency order confining you to this cell until your trial. Being free before your trial is a privilege, not a right, and you've abused that privilege. You'll no longer have it."

My stomach dropped like a freight elevator whose chains had been cut; or, to use a more apt analogy, like the way you feel on a roller coaster. But unlike a roller coaster, this wasn't an experience people clamor for.

"I'm...stuck here...for months?"

The police officer who'd just spoken nodded. While he didn't seem to take pleasure in this, it clearly wasn't a tragedy either in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Harvard, but we didn't send you to this hell. You sent yourself to hell by abusing your bail privileges, and society can only hope you learn your lesson."

ROYAL REDMOND, 25

It's hard to believe that boredom and anxiety can exist at the same time.

If you're worrying about something, that's at least something to do. It might not be the most productive course of action to take, but it's still something. People take part in thrilling activities all the time, not despite the fear factor, but because of it.

And yet, somehow, those two seemingly oxymoronic states of being managed to coexist in me.

The next few days in Coronet City were simultaneously mind-numbingly dull and alarming. There was to be another meeting on November 9, but that wasn't for several more days still. In the meantime, there was next to nothing to occupy my time.

There was a video game console on the hotel room's TV, but that didn't provide much escape from the monotony. There's only so many times you can beat the boss into the ground and spit on its corpse before enough is enough.

Once I'd played through Zoroark's Pendant: The Game as much as I desired (logging about eighteen hours over a two-day period), I only had two ways to pass the time.

One of them was to watch news on the TV while doing push-ups. Okay, the push-ups aren't a necessary part of that, but otherwise I would have been even more restless than I already was.

The news was, for the most part, not good. There had been more attacks on Pokemon-owned businesses over the last two days. Some had been right here in Sinnoh, while others had occurred as far away as Alola and Galar. Human supremacy was fast becoming a pandemic of sorts.

These attacks, as well as ongoing demonstrations in various parts of Coronet City (not all of them involving Team Skyward) were the main reason I didn't leave my hotel room any more than necessary. And when I could order room service on the URI's dime, that wasn't very often at all.

The other thing I did was to try and get to know Dakal the Spoink. While there was a mutual agreement between us to stick with each other, whatever that meant, I wanted to take full advantage of the fact that there was another living being in the room with me.

So I asked Dakal some questions about his background, about how he'd ended up in Coronet City, and why he seemed to trust me so much. Regarding the last question, I hoped people saw me as trustworthy, but I was surprised that the little Spoink had taken a liking to me so quickly.

Dakal, however, was evasive. The moment I asked if he had any family, he turned inward, pushing himself away from me. Evidently, this was a serious breach of his privacy.

After that, I stopped asking him questions.

One afternoon (Thursday, November 5), I was watching the sun set behind the snow-capped Coronet Range from my hotel room's window. The golden statue of Sir Aaron with his Lucario, the former holding his staff towards the sky, was once more being encircled by cars. It was a busy day for traffic.

One of the cars, however, was not moving. It was parked just outside of the traffic circle, a few inches over the line to the sidewalk, so the driver wasn't breaking any laws.

Unlike the other vehicles, most of which were nondescript shades of navy blue or dark gray, this car was painted a bright jungle green. It was one of my favorite colors, but it sure stood out like a sore thumb here.

Even so, I didn't think much of it. If no traffic laws were being broken, then it really wasn't any of my business. But even if the car shouldn't be there from a legal standpoint, I should still let the police handle it.

At least, that's what I told myself.

Perhaps the driver's eating at a restaurant or something. But then, it's way too late for lunch, and still a little early for dinner, isn't it?

I noticed that the car's lights were on, which was unusual for a vehicle that wasn't moving, but again, I didn't think to take matters into my own hands.

"What's wrong, Royal?" Dakal asked me as I sat back down on the couch.

The little Spoink might have been small and cute, but he most certainly wasn't innocent; it was clear that he'd seen some adversity in his life, as evidenced by the first time I'd met him. There was fear on his face.

"You know, the usual," I responded. "Team Skyward is still in Coronet City, and that's why we've been cooped up here the last few days. I just don't feel safe leaving this room."

Dakal stared at me, as if to say: You dirty little liar.

"Okay, and that's not all," I continued. "There's a car that isn't moving, but its lights are on. It's parked right in front of the hotel."

Even as I said those words, I knew they didn't mean much. Just because I thought something was suspicious, or "sus" as the chronically online would say, didn't mean that the powers that be would see it that way. If anything, I was probably overreacting.

"What color is the car?" Dakal asked me, the fear evident in his eyes. I wanted to tell him that it was just a car, that there was really nothing to worry about, but when I looked at the Spoink kid's wide eyes, I knew that this wouldn't be reassuring to him.

"It's bright green. I don't know if that has any significance, but I don't see any other vehicles of that color."

Dakal looked as though he might faint. Clearly, something about green cars worried him.

Does this have anything to do with his past? I'm not going to press him on that, I'm just wondering.

"I'll call the police, tell them that there's a suspicious green car outside the hotel. You just stay there, okay?"

Dakal didn't need to be told twice. The kid immediately retreated behind the couch, and I walked over to the window just to check if the vehicle was still there.

And it was. The same jungle green car, with its hazard lights still on, idled in front of the hotel. Way to burn fossil fuels unnecessarily!

Environmental issues aside, I knew now that calling the police would be the right thing to do, and so that's what I did. I dialled the number for the Coronet City Police Department and hit the call button.

"Coronet City Police, how may we help you?" asked the female voice on the other end.

I decided to cut straight to the point. "I'm at the Hotel Minamar, and there's a car idling outside the hotel's entrance. Its hazard lights are on, but I haven't seen anyone inside it."

"Can you tell me the car's license plate number?" the dispatcher, or whatever her title was, asked.

"No," I replied. "I'm a few floors up, the fourth floor to be specific, so I can't make it out from here. I can describe the car, though; it's jungle green and looks to be an old-fashioned model. The paint job's clearly new, though."

"Understood," the woman told me. "We will be over there as soon as possible, and we will investigate. If you feel an imminent threat, please call the emergency services number. Have you seen anyone entering or leaving the vehicle?"

"I have not."

"Very well, then. We will be at the hotel shortly, and stay safe; there is supposed to be another Team Skyward rally tonight."

Great. Does this never end?

That's not what I told the dispatcher, though. I simply said, "I will. I haven't left my hotel room in two days."

"Perhaps that's a bit of an overreaction, but you do you. We'll be there ASAP."

After I thanked them profusely for their services, I hung up and went back over to where Dakal was hiding. He still looked frightened, not that I was surprised by this.

"What did they say?" the little Spoink asked me, sounding as though he were on the verge of tears.

"They'll be here as soon as they can be. Whoever's trying to intimidate us by parking their car right in front of the hotel...they're not going to get away with it. Trust me."

Dakal nodded. It was clear that he trusted me wholeheartedly after the last few days, and I was determined to prove to him that the trust had been earned. I wasn't going to let the little guy down, no matter what.

Within seconds, I got another call. This one was from a different number, one I recognized as belonging to Felipe Matamoros. I realized that I hadn't spoken to him since I'd become a hermit in this hotel room, and I felt somewhat guilty about that.

"Hey, did you hear about that human supremacist rally that's happening tonight?" Felipe asked me as soon as I picked up his call.

"I did," I replied simply. "But the language you used just now made it sound like you want to go there. Like you're excited about the rally."

"Oh...well, I'm not excited at all," my friend told me in an apologetic tone. "I'm sorry if it sounded that way; I'm more terrified than anything else. By the way, how did you find out about it?"

"The police dispatcher mentioned it when I called her a few minutes ago. She said to be careful."

For obvious reasons, I couldn't see Felipe's face, but had I been able to, he probably would have been raising an eyebrow. "Why did you call the police?"

I didn't see any reason not to tell the truth; I trusted Felipe almost as much as Dakal seemed to trust me.

"There's a car idling outside Hotel Minamar. I don't know if you've seen it, but…".

"Yeah, I've seen it," Felipe interrupted. "That's why I've been going out the other entrance. It's been there for at least three hours."

"Who the hell keeps their car in one spot for three hours? It's one thing if they're parked there, but I know that the engine's still running because the hazard lights are on! Like, who does that?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm not going to let fear rule my life. Are the rumors that you haven't left your room true?"

"Not since we got back from the last meeting" I responded, nodding even though Felipe couldn't see me do so. "I just don't feel safe out there."

"Well, I don't blame you. Still, some fresh air would be nice; it feels really clean out there even though we're in a city. I guess that's because of the mountains."

"Look, Felipe, air quality is the least of our worries. I just want to get to the bottom of whatever reason the car's there."

There was an audible sigh on the other end. "Fine. But that's not your job to do; it's the police department's. They'll sort it all out, and if the driver's planning anything, remember that the hotel's guarded. They're not going to hurt us."

After a bit more small talk, the phone call ended, and I sat down next to Dakal again. I didn't turn on the TV, as tempted as I was to "doom scroll" through the channels. Consuming a repeated cycle of negative news stories wouldn't do me any good when I wasn't in a position to resolve them.

Felipe was right. That old-fashioned jungle green car was none of my business.

CODY HARVARD, 19

My parents didn't visit me in jail. Whether this was because of an order I didn't know about limiting their visitation rights, or if they simply didn't want to see my face again, I saw this as a good thing.

How CAN I face them after what I've done? Why would I even want to talk to them? Is there even anything to be said?

Because I'd violated house arrest once, the police told me that I was under a higher level of security this time. Under no circumstances whatsoever was I to leave my room.

As trapped as I felt in the jail cell, I didn't question their orders. I knew that they had plenty of creative ways to make my life miserable; no matter how bad I thought things were, they could always get worse.

You sent yourself to hell. Those five words, just five, were nonetheless so impactful and provocative that they kept on running through my veins along with my blood.

I'd brought this whole situation upon myself, and that was the truth. As I tried to stay awake in the windowless room, I kept coming back to this statement, which I found impossible to disagree with.

My pajamas, the only clothes I had with me, became filthy and uncomfortable. The smell they produced made the overall experience that much worse.

Eventually, I asked myself why I was even bothering to stay awake. I knew I was on camera, but would it make the jury think I was more guilty if I slept? Would they point to the fact that I wasn't losing sleep over my actions?

Does it really matter? If so, how much? And besides, there's nothing else to do here.

The only thing that kept me sane, that gave me any sense of the passage of time, was the intermittent occurrence of food being placed in my room. My cell, a different one than what I'd stayed in my first night at the jail, had a flap for the guards to slip my meals through. This was probably so that I wouldn't have a chance to escape, not that it would have been that easy.

The fact that I'd spent two days in Lycan Hollow feeling as free as a Flying type made it that much worse. It hadn't been a vacation from my legal woes so much as an exacerbator of them.

If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't have followed the Guardian into that clearing. It seemed like the right thing at the time, but it wasn't. They say hindsight is 20/20, but that's a damn lie; it's more like 20/200.

After the sixth or seventh meal had been passed through the flap, I sat back down on the weight bench to eat the sludge the guards called "food." It was then that it fully sank in: I'd been in this tiny room for two days.

While time hadn't exactly flown by, it also didn't feel as though I'd spent two days here. I'd been sleeping off and on, eating when food came, and not getting so much as a glimpse of the outside world. My circadian rhythm was going to be obliterated by the time my trial came along.

At some point, something else occurred to me. If a few weeks passed, the full moon arrived, and I became a Lycanroc again, then I might be able to escape. If I had to bite one or two of the officers, then so be it.

Of course, there were two giant holes in this plan; indeed, you couldn't really call it a "plan", just an "idea."

One, the food flap was the only part of the door that opened, and even as a skinny Lycanroc, it would be nearly impossible to fit through, not to mention escape through the halls and into Pastoria City.

Two, it would require waiting another few weeks. And if just a couple days here had already pushed me to the point of even considering this action, an equivalent number of weeks would be...well, suffice it to say that I shuddered at the thought.

Five or so meals later, I fell asleep. I woke up not long after that to the realization that the air felt uncomfortably warm, much like a sauna. My body was already soaked in sweat.

Although the heat had woken me up, it also made me feel a bit drowsy...but I understood immediately that going back to sleep would be an absolutely boneheaded thing to do. I knew this because seconds later, the alarms began blaring.

If you've somehow never heard a fire alarm go off, let me paint you a picture. It's loud enough to wake the dead, and the sound is all-consuming; it threatens to destroy everything in its path. Even once you're outside the building, the alarm is still very much audible.

I grabbed the door's knob, which was warm to the touch, and frantically tried to open it. This effort was fruitless.

"Oh, my Arceus!" I screamed, taking up valuable oxygen in the room, yet also utilizing a necessary outlet for my pain. The doorknob, which had been somewhat warm just seconds ago, now felt like a kitchen stove. When I jerked my hand away, I saw an ugly red welt forming already.

The alarms were ringing so loudly that the floor seemed to sway like the deck of a ship. In addition, the room itself was becoming hazy, to the point that I couldn't see very well due to smoke.

I kicked the door, yelling, "Let me out of here! You don't want me to burn alive, do you?"

The effort nearly caused me to faint from the heat and lack of oxygen. Even the hottest summer day in Skylock was the coldest winter night compared to this jail cell, which I likened to an oven now.

I sent myself to hell, indeed. That sure ended up being prophetic.

Orange flames began circling the door's frame, cutting off my only exit. Since the cell had no windows, I was basically trapped here, forced to accept my fate. And this brought back memories.

Once upon a time, before that horrific night at age 14, I'd ridden a roller coaster that went through a hot room with bright lights. During this part of the ride, I had shut my eyes due to the heat and brightness being hard to bear otherwise.

This was just like that, except the danger was real. Probably the most infuriating part about it was that nobody seemed to want to help me, for the door hadn't been unlocked the instant the fire alarms had begun sounding.

All of a sudden, I heard a crash nearby. Even though my eyes were beginning to water from the smoke, I opened them to find what had caused the crash.

The door to my cell had fallen outward due to being caught in the conflagration. The edges of said doorway were ringed with flames; jumping through it would require all the dexterity of a circus performer, but I didn't have the years of training necessary to do so safely.

Actually, forget it. There's no " doing it safely" now. It's a dangerous escape route, but it's an escape route nonetheless, and it's the only one there is. Might as well go for it.

Desperate to escape the claustrophobic oven that was my jail cell, I leaped over the fire as though I were in a hurdles competition at the Olympics. The stakes here were much higher, of course.

In the corridor, all was chaos. Not only were flames licking the walls and even dancing across the floor, but the flashing red lights and wailing sirens added to the general atmosphere of panic.

There were several people running through the hallway in an attempt to get out of the building safely. Nobody cared about decorum at all when lives were on the line, and who can blame them? I certainly didn't.

I was sweating so profusely that I could barely see all of this, but what I did see was horrifying enough. I began sprinting down the hall, panting heavily due to the smoke and yet knowing that I couldn't take a break.

Who could possibly have done this? And why?

If someone had been trying to save me, or anyone else, from captivity in this precinct, they sure had a strange way of doing it. I had never feared for my life more than I did in this very moment.

The sirens were deafening. Even though fire alarms were obviously extremely noisy, I didn't see how even they could have this many decibels to them. It seemed that some of the noise had to be coming from emergency response vehicles.

So someone's going to put out the fire. It's probably way too late, though, to save this courthouse.

Eventually I made it to the front door, where a group of firefighters with Water type Pokemon were barging into the building, determined to find any survivors. A few of them cast quick glances at me, but they fortunately didn't pay me any more attention than that.

Once I'd pushed my way through the firefighters, I found myself back outside in the cold autumn air, the streets of Pastoria City illuminated by the weak afternoon sun. Even after being in the conflagration, the sun was almost unbearably bright after my eyes had become adjusted to not having it.

I knew that running away might make me look guilty, but I hoped that I wouldn't face any additional penalties for doing so. After all, running away from a burning building is exactly what you're supposed to do, is it not?

A dark-skinned firefighter with an Oshawott standing next to him gave me a dirty look. This fireman was standing next to the bright red fire engine, and I wondered why he wasn't going in to support his colleagues.

"Are you Cody Harvard?" the fireman grunted at me. Did the smelly pajamas give it away?

"Uh...yes" I replied, since lying would get me nowhere. Not when I was a household name here for all the wrong reasons.

"Thought so. You should come with me, it's not safe for you here."

"But…" I protested. "I'm not going to jump bail again. I'm not going to make my sentence even worse!"

"Kid, had you stayed in that courthouse, your sentence would have been death. It's good that you got out alive, because I'm sure others aren't so lucky."

I didn't even want to ponder the fiery fates of the other criminals. Yes, some of their crimes may have been so heinous that many would want them dead, but they didn't deserve to die in this way. They didn't deserve to have flames deprive them of all their air in the cells, and then feel the fire lick their body until it slowly consumes them.

I could hardly think of a worse way to lose my life, and I'd been probably only seconds away from suffering that fate. Despite the courthouse being on fire, I felt even colder than the autumn weather would suggest.

"Who did this? Why would anyone set fire to this building?"

The firefighter shook his head. "Regarding the motive, your guess is as good as mine, so speculation isn't going to do us any good. As for the perpetrator, they're long gone. They fled the scene, likely by teleporting away."

This is sickening. They've burned down the precinct, killing perhaps dozens of people, and they got away. They might not face any consequences for this, and if they get away with it this time, they'll likely do it again.

"Look, Cody, you're not safe where you are. Come with me."

I was all too aware that nobody seemed to be looking at the firefighter and I. The small crowd that had gathered to watch the scene had some people cheering on the firefighters, others crying, still others with their hands clasped in prayer, etc. (not that these three groups were mutually exclusive), wasn't focusing on me. The blaze was an effective diversion for the firefighter to do what he wanted.

"I don't trust strangers," I retorted. "That's what I was taught, you know? Stranger danger and all that?"

"You've got a choice to make, Cody. You can stay here and rot in jail, and risk being burned to a crisp, or you can come with us."

I frowned. "This is the first time you've mentioned us. Do you have others with you?"

The firefighter looked rather angry now. "It doesn't matter if I have others with me! Are you going to choose safety and freedom, or confinement and conflagration?"

The way he put it, it didn't sound like much of a choice at all. I was rather ashamed of myself for letting my resolve crumble like a cookie, but escaping a burning jail can do strange things to you.

"Fine. I'll come" I replied. I might be sending myself out of the fire and into the...well, nothing could be worse than the fire. That was my decision-making process.

"Okay, so get in the truck. I'll take you away from here, to a safe location. It's important that you follow all our orders, do you understand?"

I nodded, and then I opened the door to the firetruck. Climbing inside, I instantly felt something being placed over my nose and mouth.

It grew harder and harder to breathe; I was being smothered, and I might indeed have made the wrong decision. Impulsivity is a hell of a drug.

I felt my strength weaken as I smelled the liquid on the towel or whatever it was; I could no longer see as I felt my knees buckle.

And then, I felt nothing at all.

If you want to picture the firefighter who just talked to Cody, picture three-time Survivor contestant Jeremy Collins. And yes, I'm a Survivor fan.

I'll see you guys on Sunday, after my finals, with the next chapter.