This is the longest chapter of the story thus far, at well over seven thousand words! It also took me the longest to write out of any chapter so far. That being said, I'm quite proud of it, and I hope you all are proud of me for writing it. The title comes from an excellent song by Billy Talent.
I'll also do Q&A for a few chapters, just to see what you guys think. If you want to, I'll continue it after Chapter 21 (currently on Chapter 20.)
Question of the chapter: Since Christmas is coming up for those who celebrate it, a group that includes myself: What was the best Christmas present you've ever received?
CODY HARVARD, 19
Just because the chloroform, or whatever had been on the towel, had calmed down my brain waves or whatever, that didn't mean that my mind wasn't running a mile a minute. I just wasn't aware of it until I found myself in my most bizarre nightmare yet.
I was in a familiar room, the one that was made of light brown rock studded with jewels here and there. There was even the same sandy throne that had been present the last time I'd dreamed of this location.
The only thing missing was the wolf himself.
Somehow, his absence was even more horrifying than his presence would have been. Had the specific character I feared been in the cavern, I would have at least faced a tangible threat, and been prepared for it.
Or maybe not. It's just a dream. Some vision my brain is conjuring up for me while my body's being taken...somewhere. I don't know where.
But given that the gargantuan room was empty, I knew that the wolf might appear at any moment, out of nowhere, and then I'd be in for a world of hurt. I almost wished that the golden-eyed creature would show up already, just because the anticipation was killing me.
After what felt like an eternity of standing there on all fours and waiting, a door opened on the side of the room. There was an abundance of stomping sounds, since the creature couldn't exactly be quiet when moving around. Not when the creature in question was eleven feet tall.
Master Goldenheart, dark and golden-eyed, staggered into the room gingerly. It seemed as though he didn't feel steady on his feet, because he kept reaching out one of his paws like an airplane's wing in order to stabilize himself.
And then, with a thump, he sat down on his chair. It wasn't the most graceful maneuver, but it got the job done.
Seconds later, Master Goldenheart began coughing. It was a terrible sound, much like a car's engine sputtering, but quite a bit more ominous. Even if I loathed the wolf with all my being, I didn't exactly relish it.
"Water...please" the wolf croaked, looking around the room at the various jewels. Goldenheart once more reached out a paw, as though he felt dizzy from all the bright lights. They weren't even all that bright, though, so that didn't make much sense.
A door opened in the cave's wall, one that hadn't been there previously (it was opposite the one Goldenheart had walked through.) In walked a male Zoroark carrying a tray with two giant bowls on it. It wasn't Calvin, the Zoroark from my first dream in this cavern.
Anyway, one bowl contained clear, cold-looking water, just the right temperature for drinking. The other appeared to be some kind of soup.
"I thought you might want this, boss; I had it ready for you just in case. Are you feeling any better?"
"N-no" Master Goldenheart responded hoarsely before being seized by another coughing fit. The sounds he was making practically made my teeth hurt; that's how horrible they were to hear.
"Ah, the bug has got the better of you, hasn't it? At least it's not the stomach bug again; that was horrendous, but we did whatever was necessary, boss."
The golden-eyed wolf seized up as though reliving a particularly painful memory. "Yes...never again. Please no needles, please. The only thing I've ever feared."
The Zoroark servant, or nurse, or whatever his title might be, nodded. "Ah, yes, needles. But not to worry; so long as you keep hydrated, you won't need one! So drink up, boss!"
Even in his weakened state, Master Goldenheart was able to lift the massive bowl of water with seeming ease and slowly begin tipping it down his throat. I could barely believe it.
That bowl's got to be at least ten gallons, so that's eighty pounds. If he's that strong when he's sick, I'd hate to face him when he's well.
When he finished his long drink, Goldenheart frowned.
"I want the intelligence team here running day and night! Could the Lycanroc clan have poisoned my food the other day?"
The Zoroark servant shook his head, looking concerned. "Don't let the fever get to you, boss. They are a threat, to be sure, but we shouldn't jump to conclusions."
"We need a cure!" the wolf boomed as powerfully as he could. "A cure for the enemy, and the enemy are the Lycanroc clan! If they thought it would be funny to give me this illness, there's going to be hell to pay!"
It may be worth noting that due to Goldenheart's evident weakness, he wasn't yelling as loudly as I knew he could if he were at full strength. That didn't make it any less frightening, because the intention behind those words was still clear.
The servant began looking rather scared as well, albeit not quite as much so as I was. "Boss, freaking out will not do you any good. You're not going to get better any faster, and…".
"Dameon, if I had my Dominion Rod with me, I would have used it already to knock you out and make you do embarrassing dance moves. You are starting to annoy me, and you know what happens when I get annoyed."
The Zoroark, whose name I now knew to be Dameon, nodded hurriedly. "Yes, boss, my apologies! Anyway, enjoy the soup; it's sauerkraut and kielbasa, which is supposed to help a lot when you're sick. I'll be right here if you need me."
Master Goldenheart seemed to calm down, realizing the wisdom of Dameon's words. He reclined back in his sand throne and sighed deeply, blinking his golden soulless eyes.
It was then that the wolf turned so that he was facing me. Even if I might not have been physically present, I still experienced all the sensations that would be associated with being in this cavern.
I felt the relatively cold air inside the chamber, as well as the sandy rocks beneath my bare feet. I could even smell Master Goldenheart's breath, which had an absolutely putrid odor, as though he'd never brushed his fangs in his life.
"Listen. Whoever is there, if anyone is there, I'm going to let you know something. It's vitally important, so pay attention."
Goldenheart had to stop every few seconds for a cough. By the end of the above statement, the wolf was yet again struck by more hacking. The hacking itself sounded like the bark of a seal.
I shuddered. Master Goldenheart might not have been a moral individual, but the noise made me shiver as though I were coming down with whatever the wolf had.
I didn't want the guy to suffer, and, come to think of it, that was a very important difference between the two of us. I just wanted to live my life as a were-Lycanroc (or ideally as a human, but that wasn't going to happen), whereas Goldenheart most likely wanted me dead. If the shoe was on the other foot, as it were, the wolf would have been cheering at my sickness.
Once the latest coughing fit subsided, the wolf continued speaking.
"If you are a member of the Lycanroc clan, just know that you did this. This is an enormous insult to the Zoroark clan, and I. Will. Not. Forget. It."
Master Goldenheart bared his fangs once more. Even in sickness, they were razor-sharp and no doubt could slice the flesh of any creature into ribbons. Indeed, I'd seen this with my own eyes the other night when he'd devoured a Lycanroc carcass.
"If you continue doing this, if you keep thinking it's a joke to make me sick, then you will live to regret it. But you won't live very long."
And then, smiling widely as though having his picture taken, Goldenheart issued an ominous warning to his enemies.
"Remember that you have to be lucky every time. I only have to be lucky once. One day, I will find out who has poisoned me, and you will pay the ultimate price."
With that, the maniacal grin vanished, to be replaced by a generic expression of exhaustion. Next, the eleven-foot wolf slumped back in his sand throne and closed his golden eyes. Within seconds, Master Goldenheart was snoring.
It's amazing that he can sleep so soon after issuing such dire threats. Then again, he's not like the rest of us.
He treats his servants like shit, too. Dameon brings him water and soup, and he threatens to use the Dominion Rod on him. Don't bite the hand that feeds you!
For all the potential jokes about the wolf's bad etiquette, the thought of what his fangs could do was enough to make even the most level-headed person scream in terror.
ROYAL REDMOND, 25
I was going to go insane if this kept up.
How many days on end can someone spend in the same hotel room, fearing for their life, without leaving or losing all semblance of sanity? The answer, it turned out, was less than five.
On November 8, the day before the following meeting was to be held, I thought about how I felt increasingly lethargic. This decreased level of awareness may have been my brain's way of making me feel less bored, but I'm not so sure it worked.
I was so lost in these thoughts that I almost didn't hear the phone ring. Only Dakal yelling at me to "Pick the damn phone up!" (and yes, those were his exact words) drove the ringtone, "Ghost Ship of Cannibal Rattatas" by Billy Talonflame, into my consciousness.
Picking up my phone, I answered immediately and impulsively without checking the number. Hopefully this wasn't too big a risk; maybe it was someone who would steal my data, which is a bad thing to have happen when you're a diplomat.
Fortunately, I got lucky this time. "Coronet City Police Department here. Is this Royal Redmond at the Hotel Minamar?" The voice was gruff and clearly male, but also rather conversational, an odd combination to be sure.
"Uh, yes" I responded blankly. My heart leaped as I understood the likely reason for the call. Had the police report finally been prepared?
"You called us three days ago to report a jungle green car idling outside the hotel for several hours, and we went over to investigate. Would you like to know what we've found out?"
My heart was racing with both excitement and nerves. "Of course I would."
"The car did not have a Sinnoh license plate. That seemed suspicious, since you obviously can't drive to Sinnoh from other regions. So you did the right thing by contacting us."
"What region was the license plate from?" I asked, barely able to keep my voice from rising in pitch. I simply had to know.
"The car was licensed in Fula City."
My eyes opened wider than one's mouth is supposed to at a dentist's office. "Fula City? But that's literally thousands of miles away!"
"We know," the man on the other end replied. "We've taken middle school geography as well."
I rolled my eyes. "Very funny. Anyway, how did the car get here from Fula City, and why does it matter?"
There was a longer pause than expected, but then the man responded.
"As to how the car got here, your guess is as good as mine. There is also the possibility that the license plate was forged."
"But why would they do that? That would only make them more suspicious."
"Exactly. The police department is still investigating that. However, there's something else you ought to know about these cars."
"Yes?" Although I was standing, I was on the edge of my proverbial seat. It was time for the big reveal.
"The car was jungle green, hex color #29AB87. According to our intelligence, it appears that this specific color of vehicle is associated with a group called Team Falcon. They want to paint the town red by painting the cars green."
The guy on the other end cleared his throat. "Or rather, paint the world red. This group has followers all over the world, but they're a lot less influential than Team Skyward."
There's a reason you just compared them to Team Skyward. There has to be.
"Do they have the same mission as Team Skyward?" I asked. "Are they also human supremacists?"
"All of the information we've been able to gather suggests that the answer is yes. There is a caveat here, though, which is that we don't know as much about Team Falcon as we do about Team Skyward, other than that they seem to be headquartered in Fula City."
"It makes no sense!" I all but shouted, not caring that Dakal might hear me. "Why would they come so far north from Fula in order to cause trouble here? That makes no sense!"
"Again, Mr. Redmond, I don't know anything more about this than you do. All I can tell you is that Team Falcon has a certain...reputation."
Judging by the manner in which he said the word reputation, I knew instantly that this could hardly be a good reputation. My fears were confirmed when the man continued.
"Team Falcon has been behind many of the hate crimes against Pokemon-owned businesses lately. The perpetrator in the Pigout Bakery fire, for instance, has stated that he is a member of Team Falcon, and the group at large has also claimed responsibility. Team Skyward might be the brains, but Team Falcon has been the brawn, if you will."
"There's nothing strong about committing violence" I said. "It just shows you're a coward who can't argue for your ideas peacefully."
"I agree with you wholeheartedly, Mr. Redmond. I hate to leave so soon, but I have another call to get to; I hope you are staying safe."
"I am. And", I said, making a promise I intended to keep, "I'll do some research on both teams at the library."
It sounded so right; at this point, I wanted nothing more than to leave Hotel Minamar, even if just for an hour or two. The confinement was going to drive me crazy before long.
"That sounds like a good idea" the man on the other end told me. "And with that, I must go."
Before I had the chance to say good-bye, he hung up, and now I was all alone yet again. Except, that is, for Dakal, but he was so quiet that I might as well have been alone.
Speaking of the Spoink, he was cowering behind the couch yet again. Prior to the call, he'd been sitting on the couch with me watching cartoons that, while far too childish for 25-year-old me, were clearly to Dakal's liking. As long as I kept him happy and not fearful, it was well worth it.
"What's wrong, Dakal?" I asked the little guy, getting down on my knees and patting his head. "Did the call upset you?"
All of a sudden, Dakal's expression shifted from one of childlike fear to one of anger. It was clear that he'd thrown up all his defenses in response to that one question.
"Never mind" I responded, shaking my head. "I shouldn't have asked that, should I?"
The Spoink kid didn't say anything more, instead simply staring at me as though I were from a member of an invading alien race. It was clear that I'd gone a bit too far in asking that question.
"Okay, then I'll head out. I have some research to do at the library."
Dakal did not respond with words, but his guard seemed to come down just a little. He no longer appeared upset with me, just with the situation at large. And who could blame him?
"I promise I'll be back within a few hours. You'll be safe in this room; security won't let anyone get to you. Just stay here, watch some more cartoons, whatever you need to do to pass the time. I'll be here again before you know it."
I deliberately put force into my words. This wasn't done to scare Dakal, but rather to impress upon him that I meant what I said wholeheartedly, that I believed the hotel room was safe. Hopefully if I showed more confidence, I would feel more confidence.
Anyway, it was nerve-wracking to walk down the hallway for the first time in almost a week. I really shouldn't have been worried, but I still was.
This is the hard part. And this isn't even the hard part yet.
As I exited the hotel and was met with the chilly November air, I remembered my promise to Felipe at the first meeting, that I'd go with him to buy warmer clothes. He'd probably done that without me, not that I minded.
In any case, I looked up the Coronet Grand Library on my phone (and yes, its initials were CGL.) Jokes aside, it was about a mile across town, very much a walkable distance. Although I had my anxieties about walking through these streets when there might be a protest at any moment, I had to remind myself that there would be plenty of witnesses if anyone tried to do something.
And so, in my red fleece jacket, I began the walk to the library. Despite the cold air, I warmed up quickly by virtue of moving, so I became determined not to stop for anything.
At one point I passed the city's Grand Bazaar. It was labelled on the virtual map of Coronet City used by the directions app, so I knew then that I was heading in the right direction.
The bazaar itself was a pretty impressive structure. Also referred to as the White Gold Bazaar thanks to the colors it was painted, the building could have housed an entire train station within it, with considerable room to spare.
Had there been time to spare, and had I been a bit more brave, I would have taken a few minutes just to see inside. But I'd promised Dakal I'd be back as soon as I could be, and Team Skyward might still be in the vicinity. I had to be careful.
It was afternoon by now, and the sun really was starting to get lower in the sky. Not for the first time, I marveled at just how early it got dark up here this time of year; had I been in Snowpoint City, the northernmost one in Sinnoh, there would have been even less daylight.
The Coronet Grand Library was situated behind an urban park, with views of the city on one side and the snow-covered mountains on the other. The building itself was shaped much like an ancient typewriter, with marble columns in front of the entrance and two "wings" jutting out on either side.
There were a few people and Pokemon walking in and out of the library, but not too many. It was a cold day, and anyone with half a brain would have been by the furnace with a warm drink.
It's also Sunday...maybe that's part of the reason it's relatively quiet. Maybe people are attending services at the Church of Arceus.
Whatever the reason, I didn't have much company as I climbed up the marble steps and opened the extremely heavy door. Almost immediately, I was in awe.
Even though the library's main room was gigantic, a size that would put almost all church sanctuaries to shame, it felt a lot more inviting than the meat locker also known as Coronet City Hall. The indoor air was warm, and fireplaces could be heard crackling. I ripped my fleece off and tied it around my waist.
At the library's front desk, there was a bespectacled woman who looked about my age. She was sitting behind a computer, typing in some commands.
"Okay, Lucas. You've got A Not-So-Short History of Lycanthropy, and that's it?"
Oh my Arceus, that sounds like a book I'd want to read! I wonder if there are any more copies here?
I hadn't noticed the male Lucario, perhaps a few years younger than me, holding a dusty dark red tome with both paws. This Lucario, the one identified as Lucas, nodded. "That will be all, ma'am."
"Very well. You are expected to return this book three weeks from today and no later, or else you will receive double the normal penalty. And then, if a third book is overdue…".
"Yes," Lucas said sheepishly. "I know what's going to happen." The Mareepish tone, if you will, suggested that he spoke from personal experience. "Three strikes, you're out, that's what they say."
The librarian nodded. "I'm so glad we understand each other. Anyway, next."
I walked up to the librarian and introduced myself as Royal Redmond, diplomat for the URI.
"How may I help you, Mr. Redmond?"
I tried not to hesitate as I responded. "I'm looking for books on human supremacy and lycanthropy."
The librarian shook her head. "I'm not the type of person to ask; I'm more of a secretary than a guide. But you may browse as much as you like even without a library card, so long as you do not take out any books, and you leave before the library closes at eight."
"Understood." I didn't think I'd need nearly that much time, but it was nice to know I had it.
Once she'd let me enter the library proper, I saw that there were a few Pokemon, perhaps students at the local university, reading at any number of tables. In that regard, it wasn't unlike the chamber at City Hall where last week's conference had been held.
Where do I even begin?
The main room was itself enormous, and it was lined with dozens of bookshelves, each of which contained hundreds of books. There were tens of thousands of volumes in the library, but only one of them, I was convinced, would have the information I needed.
At the back of the room, against a floor-to-ceiling window, there was what appeared to be a help desk, behind which a Decidueye sat next to a console of sorts. The window opened onto a glorious view of the Coronet Range, painted an amber color in the setting sun.
My chief focus, however, was on the Decidueye. "Uh...is this the help desk?" I asked the Grass type with trepidation. Hey, Decidueye is also a Ghost type, and its presence was more than a little intimidating.
"Yes, it is," Decidueye said, winking at me with one of his orange eyes. "How may I help you?"
This time, I didn't even hesitate, and instead went straight to the point.
"I'm looking for a book called A Not-So-Short History of Lycanthropy. I'm wondering if it has anything to do with the human supremacist rallies that have been cropping up here and there."
Decidueye frowned. "It's somewhat odd that you'd look in a book about lycanthropy for information on human supremacy...or maybe it isn't, but either way, I can't tell you what's in the book. I can help you find it, though."
After I nodded, the Grass type's talons danced feverishly around the console, and soon enough, a spring green hologram appeared right in front of my face. The color made me shiver, since it reminded me of the mysterious car from Fula City, but I wasn't scared for long as I realized what the hologram was.
It was a three-dimensional model of the Coronet Grand Library, showcasing all of the various rows of books, as well as a flashing dot in one position near the edge. Even living in a world more technologically advanced than Earth, some things still blew my mind away, and this hologram was one of them.
"The red dot is the book you're looking for. It's down the hall and to the left; the author's name is Michael Moraga. The books are listed alphabetically by author. Make sure you get to that book before anyone else, although by the looks of it, you won't have much competition." Decidueye gave a slight chuckle at the end of that last sentence.
"Where is that row?" I asked, because it was hard to tell where the help desk was located. In that regard, the 3D holographic map was more "flashy" than "practical."
Decidueye pointed one of his wings at the nearest hallway. "It's down that hall and to the left, and you'll find the book. Happy reading!"
Happy reading? Does he think I'm a kid or something?
I didn't complain, though; I took the path he recommended. I passed a few people reading quietly, but only a few, and found a row of books on history. This brought to mind memories of having to do research papers in college, but at least this time I knew what book to look for.
I eventually found it: A Not-So-Short History of Lycanthropy by Michael Moraga. It didn't seem to have been opened in some time, for it was collecting dust even more heavily than the copy Lucas the Lucario had borrowed.
As such, I was very careful when opening the book; I didn't know what state the pages would be in. Almost immediately upon prying open to the title page, I sneezed heavily; there was just that much dust.
Okay, now I feel guilty for ruining the book. But nobody else has to know, unless they just heard me sneeze.
I decided not to worry about that until I actually had reason to. Instead, I simply sat down in a nearby chair and turned the pages until I reached the table of contents.
The table of contents wasn't very helpful, but I knew that it was important to "read between the lines", as some would say. While there were no chapters specifically about human supremacist movements, there was one about Movements and Countermovements, which didn't start until page 607.
The text itself was written in eight-point font, and even with my perfect (or at least 20/20) eyesight, it was still difficult to make out. My eyes itching due to the immense amount of dust caked onto each page didn't exactly help matters.
Eventually, I reached the 607th page, having circled around it several times before I reached the exact number. There were so many words on each page that it would be very hard to read and absorb it all before the library closed, so I'd have to find the right section within the chapter. Talk about a needle in a haystack!
The first section of the chapter was titled "Cure for the Enemy", and I started reading. The text was as follows:
As attention has been directed towards the issue of lycanthropy, both were-Lycanrocs and non-Pokemon werewolves, there have been movements to increase funding and research efforts towards a cure for the disease. Many proposals have been brought before the United Regions, Incorporated (URI), but most of these have not passed. Scholars suggest that this may be due to the stigma faced by members of the population suffering from this disease.
Clearly, the book was at least somewhat out of date. Although much had happened since last week's conference, I still recalled that lycanthropy had been made a Class A priority as a result of the voice vote.
Of course, I thought bitterly, it wouldn't be the first time that the URI broke a promise.
I looked around, wondering if anyone was staring at me, if I had any competition for the book I was currently navigating. There was nobody there, however, so I continued to read.
The only treatment that has been discovered for lycanthropy is wolfsbane potion. While this was a major breakthrough when it was first discovered in 1964, there are limitations to its potency.
The medication is only available in liquid form, meaning that its foul taste must be experienced by every user. In addition, it must be taken daily, for the week surrounding every full moon, every lunar month for the rest of the individual's life. Failure to take each dose as prescribed will result in the user becoming a full were-Lycanroc that month.
It must be noted that the victim will still transform into a Lycanroc that month even if wolfsbane is taken diligently; however, so long as this is the case, no new victims will be created. Care must also be taken to keep the medication refrigerated; it must be stored at temperatures lower than 41°F (5°Ç) in order to be effective.
I put the book down for a moment as I processed what I had just read. There wasn't much that I hadn't already known from Maisie Sultan at the URI, but to see it hammered home by a formal textbook, rather than just what the URI's Secretary General told us, gave it more weight somehow.
It is clear that wolfsbane is a necessary, but not sufficient, solution to the problem. While it's estimated that every were-Lycanroc infects, on average, 3.7 other individuals during his or her lifetime, specific numbers are hard to come by due to lack of reporting, which may also be a product of the stigma faced by members of this community. As such, the number stated above may be a major underestimate.
"I bet it is" I muttered quietly, beginning to appreciate for the first time just how horrible it must be to be a were-Lycanroc. Although I hadn't had much of a social life the last week, the option to hang out with others had still been there; I just hadn't been brave enough to take it.
As a result of the estimated reproduction rate of 3.7, the population of lycanthropes has increased exponentially. If this rate had been lowered to 1 or less, the problem could have been kept under control. This can still be done, with the following policy prescriptions…
I didn't read any further; it was clear that I wouldn't find what I wanted in that part of the chapter. Instead, I flipped forward a few pages, taking great care not to accidentally tear any of the fragile pieces of paper the text was printed on.
"Okay, let's read this part" I said, finding a section called "Discrimination Against Victims of Lycanthropy." It was a pretty self-explanatory title, so I dove right in.
Despite the increased awareness of lycanthropy, or perhaps because of it, the social desirability of being a were-Lycanroc or ordinary werewolf was at an all-time low as of 202X.
"202X? That's the current year! Maybe this book's not as outdated as I thought!" I blurted out, unable to resist. An older lady gave me a brief glare as she looked up from what she'd been reading, but she didn't say or do anything else towards me.
I kept reading. In a survey conducted by Enfield & Associates, 95% of adults surveyed stated that they would be less likely to vote for a candidate revealed to be a were-Lycanroc, with only 3% saying they would be more likely to do so. In addition, 86% of these adults would be less likely to vote for a candidate who supported greater protections for lycanthropes, and just 7% would be more likely to support such a candidate.
This extends beyond the realm of politics and elections. Ninety-three percent of parents surveyed stated that they would disapprove of their children dating a were-Lycanroc. Perhaps even more soberingly, fully 75% of parents would disown their child if they became a lycanthrope. As a result, few children are born to lycanthropes, which in practice means that it is very difficult to conduct experiments regarding the inheritability of traits associated with the condition, or the condition itself.
And then, there came the paragraph I'd been waiting for. It had eluded me for some time, and I'd started to believe it might never come, but here it was.
As a result of the immense stigma associated with lycanthropy, there has been a proliferation of hate groups against were-Lycanrocs, werewolves, and perhaps were-Pokemon in general. Some groups have even made it their mission statement to oppose equal rights for all Pokemon, often arguing that it can't be demonstrated whether or not a Pokemon is simply a human masquerading as one.
This is the first I've heard of other types of were-Pokemon. Do they even exist? And if so, how common are they? The URI would definitely need to know if they're real.
I made a mental note to bring that up at the next meeting tomorrow; yet again, it was hard to believe that it was finally almost here. Hopefully it would be fruitful in terms of getting something done. In any case…
One of the most visible such hate groups is Team Skyward, which has chapters in many of the world's cities, and in all the major regions. Founded in 1995 by hotel magnate Jeffrey Monopoli, this organization has lobbied governments in all regions to pass legislation that opponents claim would be detrimental to the rights of Pokemon.
Jeffrey Monopoli...that name was familiar. Ever since the day I'd taken in Dakal, I'd heard it again and again even though nobody had actually said the name to me. Nobody, that is, until the author of this book.
I skimmed the next several pages, which detailed how Monopoli had built up his fortune in the hotel business, as well as a brief biography of said man, not necessarily in that order. However, once I got to the segment about counter-movements to the anti-Pokemon rights groups, my attention was glued to the specific words once more.
Monopoli has not been without his detractors. In 2018, Wendell Tendai of Jubilife City founded the Lycanthrope Defense Council (LDC), which has spent the last several years lobbying the URI to label Team Skyward a domestic terrorist organization. While they have not yet been successful, another organization, Team Falcon, founded in Fula City in 2016, has received that label after much debate.
The fact that it had even taken so much debate was baffling to me. The person from the police department who'd called me earlier had told me...what was it, again? Yes, that Team Falcon was the brawn to Team Skyward's brains.
Team Falcon has claimed responsibility for numerous attacks on Pokemon-owned businesses in the years since, such as the Hexagon Bank arson of Saffron City (2017), the Oldale Power Plant Disaster in Hoenn (2020), and several others that took place in Fula City itself.
The aforementioned Oldale Power Plant Disaster, which took place when a pipe bomb was planted in the Pokemon-owned hydroelectic power plant, created an explosion that caused as many as 338 drowning deaths among power plant workers, almost all Pokemon. To date, that attack is the deadliest that Team Falcon has perpetrated.
I skipped some more of this section, because let's be honest, neither you nor I wanted to read the grisly details of Team Falcon's numerous atrocities. The book was also extremely long-winded and wordy; reading it was practically a chore. And, although I couldn't see any windows or clocks, I was all too aware that the clock was ticking. I would have to leave at or before 8 PM, come hell or high water.
The last paragraph of the section caught my full engagement.
Stories tell of a location in the mountains where some lycanthropes have fled. It is said that in this place, such individuals can live in peace, without the fear of being attacked by such hate groups; a "sanctuary", as some would say. Unfortunately, when approached for comment for this book, Sinnoh URI Secretary General Margaret Cook Sultan refused to grant it. As a result, many have speculated that this location simply does not exist.
For a moment, I just sat there, pondering what I had just read. While it didn't mean very much to me, I would have found it almost too good to be true if I were a lycanthrope. This would be especially true given the unsettling statistics that had been written in this book.
And then, for some reason, I closed my eyes. Perhaps they needed to rest after squinting at such tiny print, but I ended up falling asleep right then and there.
Unfortunately, my dreams were not nearly as calm as my waking thoughts.
The first thing I saw in the dream was an aerial view of what looked like a hydroelectric dam. It was located on a wide river surrounded on either side by swampland. A Pelipper flew above it, giving off some squawks of contentment.
This scene was not so terrifying; after all, I would have been pretty content if I could fly as well. Besides, for a manmade structure blocking a river, it was a rather beautiful sight, if only because it was near a certain settlement in Hoenn.
I've seen enough pictures to know that this is Oldale Town. If that's the case...
Then, the scene changed. I found myself in a sterile-looking hallway with metallic walls. A few workers, all of them Pokemon, were milling around the place, making small talk with each other about how much they loved bringing power to the Oldale Region of Hoenn.
I saw a Squirtle and a Shinx engaging in conversation with each other. It seemed lighthearted at first, but this mood didn't last long as the Squirtle suddenly looked worried.
"Hey, Todd, do you hear that mysterious ticking noise?" the Squirtle asked his friend. "It's getting louder and louder."
Todd the Shinx shook his head. "I don't. But I trust you that it's there; I guess your ears are better than mine."
Within seconds, I, even though I felt relatively detached from this scene as though watching it on TV, could hear the noise too. It sounded like an analog clock ticking away the seconds, but there's something oddly ominous about that as is. The fact that I knew what was going to happen made it that much worse.
After that, there was a beeping noise at a volume roughly halfway between a flatlining heart monitor and a blaring fire alarm. It couldn't be ignored any more.
"Okay, I hear it now, Copper,'' the Shinx said to the Squirtle. It was rather unnecessary, because Todd could barely be heard over the alarm.
"Is it a fire?" Copper the Squirtle all but yelled, struggling to be heard. His voice was being drowned out, and, little did he know, his life would also be drowned out within a matter of minutes.
It all seemed to happen very quickly, but I knew that Todd, Copper, and the other workers at the power plant had to have suffered a great deal of fear and agony as they succumbed to their fates. What happened next was horrific.
There was an audible explosion, and water began flooding into the hallway. The other workers began panicking, including Todd, but Copper the Squirtle managed to remain somewhat level-headed.
"Why aren't you freaking out?" Todd asked his friend. "It's already six inches deep and rising!"
"Oh, trust me, I am" Copper responded with evident trepidation. "But I'm a Water type, so I have a chance of survival. You have no chance if you stay here, so evacuate!"
It was clear that in those seconds that Todd spent his energy being shocked, he'd wasted precious time. The only thing more precious than the time he'd just lost was the life he was about to lose.
By this time the water was at least a foot or two deep, so Todd, as a relatively short quadruped, was forced to swim to get from one end of the room to the other. But dirty swamp water was still flooding the corridor, and escape was going to be very difficult.
Even though I didn't feel physically there, I couldn't help but experience secondhand panic as I watched these events unfold. I could only imagine what it must be like to be in a rapidly flooding hallway, staring down the barrel of a swampy grave.
Copper was definitely trying to hold back the tide, but I wasn't sure how much help he'd be against the inundation. Any of his Water type moves would only create more water, which would obviously compound the problem.
Eventually Copper was forced to tread water, and staying put was no longer an option. He swam after his friend, who was getting close to the exit.
There was just one problem. The "exit" was the source for the torrent of dirty water entering the facility. The current was much too strong to swim against, an order or two of magnitude more powerful than that of a lazy river. Even if you were a Water type like Copper, there was no overcoming it.
The Squirtle seemed to realize this, and his eyes opened widely with fear. It seemed to dawn on him that he was unlikely to get out of this alive, and he was starting to react accordingly.
Alarms sounded as the water kept rising. It was then that I willed the dream to end, because I simply couldn't take it anymore. I'd never witnessed anything so horrifying as this.
As suddenly as the dream had begun, it stopped, and I found myself sitting back up in the chair I'd sat down on. My neck felt rather stiff from sleeping in that position, and there was still the lingering grogginess as well. I resolved never to sleep in a library again.
The woman from the front desk, the librarian, was standing over me, looking at me with a stern expression. She did not appear happy with me, to say the least.
"Oh, you're up. Good. Next time, maybe take a stimulant if you're going to be at the library for so long. Reading such a huge, dusty book can do that to you."
I didn't say anything; my face flushed and my stomach felt sour, as I was both embarrassed to have let this happen, as well as horrified by what I'd seen in my nightmare.
"Regardless of how much you were enjoying the book, I regret to inform you that the library is closing in five minutes. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."
"Fair enough" I replied sheepishly, standing up out of the chair and putting A Not-So-Short History of Lycanthropy back in its place on the shelf. "It won't happen again, I promise."
The librarian nodded at me, pursing her lips as she did so. "Understood. Well, good night."
"Good night" I said in response. "Thank you for letting me do some research here, even if I slept for several hours."
"There's no need to thank me; I was just doing my job."
On the way out of the library, I saw that night had fallen quite some time ago. The building no longer felt as cozy, since all the fires in the fireplaces had been put out, and this resulted in the room being rather drafty. It was as though the building itself were telling me, You've been here as long as you're allowed to be. Now scram!
Only later would I give myself the chance to think about my dream more thoroughly. At that moment, all I wanted was to get back to my hotel safely, maybe get some room service for dinner (although I wasn't all that hungry.) I didn't really have the energy to fully process everything I'd read in the book.
I sighed as I passed the front desk, where the librarian who'd woken me up had been when I'd first arrived at the Coronet Grand Library. She wasn't there, of course; I can only assume she was preparing the library for its nightly closure. But that was hardly my problem, was it?
I pushed open the front door and walked out into the night.
Let me just state that the initials of the Coronet City library were NOT CGL on purpose. It's just a coincidence, but it was funny enough that I kept the name. Also, there's a building in Rome that looks just like a typewriter, which was featured on an old season of The Amazing Race. That's what I pictured when writing that scene.
I'm aware that this wasn't the most action-packed chapter, but not all of them can be. I'd love to hear what you guys thought of it. Until next time, stay safe.