Yep, there's one more chapter. I lied to you guys; see the bottom of this page for the reason I elected to post this, which I wrote about two weeks ago.

Enjoy the REAL final chapter of Werewolves of Sinnoh!

CALVIN THE ZOROARK, 21

I awoke in the tiny quarters that the Mount Dominion base afforded me. One might think that, due to the mountain's immense prominence and breadth, there would be a lot more space inside it, but sadly, that wasn't the case.

Of course, most people wouldn't imagine that any organization would base itself out of a mountain's interior. Even if it was a good place to hide, the fact remained that it was also highly inefficient. What sense did it make?

It's quite simple, really. We decided that the inefficiency of being inside a mountain was outweighed by the perk of it being harder to detect us. It's not rocket science.

Although I accepted the decision to place the Illusionary's headquarters inside one of the Coronet Range's many mountains, that didn't mean I had to like it. And that morning was one day when I most certainly didn't.

From the moment my eyes first opened, my entire body felt stiff. This was a common occurrence; despite having had plenty of time here, I still didn't find the beds comfortable. They say you can get used to anything, but I had decided long ago that I'd never be able to grow accustomed to sleeping on such a hard mattress.

I stretched my arms out with an almighty yawn, which was a big mistake; one of my claws scratched against the wall, and I nearly broke it clean off.

Grimacing, I closed my eyes in an effort to block out the pain. If I were to go through with the crazy plan I'd concocted (okay, it was more of an "idea" than a "plan"), I'd need to be able to tolerate much more pain than this, particularly if I were caught.

Last night I'd written a letter to someone I'd never met. I'd told him to meet me in Lycan Hollow, a distance of roughly forty miles from Mount Dominion. But, truth be told, I didn't know if it would ever happen. It was just too much of a shot in the dark, because Cody might never make it back to that little village. Or rather, what had been a village before the drones had gotten to it.

Once my eyes adjusted to the light (which was still rather dim in the grand scheme of things), I realized that I must have slept later than I'd meant to. Not only were the bedroom's lights on, but the other bunk, belonging to a fellow Zoroark named Noah, was empty.

I remembered the sensation of my shoulder being read over by Noah. I'd been hurriedly jotting down the message, probably not in the most eloquent manner possible, but my roommate had seemed very eager to read what I was writing.

It struck me as rather odd; after all, you can't exactly call me a poet. But I'd done my best to hide the message from him nonetheless. Of course, the fact that he knew I didn't want him to read the letter probably made things even more suspicious in his eyes.

As much as I wanted more sleep, I knew that it was time to face the day. I had to acknowledge that it would do no good to lie in bed any longer, fretting about how much Noah knew, how much he might be telling others at this moment.

I climbed out of bed and staggered into the hallway. There were several other Zoroarks there, most of them conversing quietly with one another. Despite the fact that most of them were occupied with their conversations, I did get some odd looks. That's when I realized that my ponytail must have been unkempt.

I tried to brush it back with one of my claws, but that probably only made it look worse. In the end, I decided that I wouldn't worry about it until I absolutely had to. If I went through the day's assignments looking like a zombie, then so be it.

The lighting in the hallways looked as though it had been rigged to a car battery or something equally weak. It flickered dimly, patches of it going out every few seconds. It certainly didn't help me feel more awake.

When I arrived in the mess hall for breakfast, there were still a number of other Zoroarks there, even if most of the seats were empty. The room itself looked much like a 1950s-era diner on Earth, which was a rather depressing sight when you were deep inside a mountain.

Although we were all the same species, I knew Noah when I saw him. Although I didn't exactly feel like talking to him today, I also knew that he'd find it rather odd if I didn't sit with him the way I usually did. He'd probably think I had something to hide; which, of course, I did.

I made my way over to his side once I had collected my plate of oatmeal with strawberries. It wasn't the heartiest meal, but that wasn't the calculation that the nutritionists made. Here, everyone got just enough calories to make it to the next meal, because nothing could go to waste.

"So I saw you writing something last night, Calvin," Noah told me when I sat down next to him.

It was as though I'd been hit with defibrillator paddles. There was a certain electricity between us (not a romantic one, mind you, just an element of tension) that came as a result of those nine words. They were loaded words, to say the least.

"Yes," I admitted. "I did write something." What would be the point in trying to hide it?

"Care to give me any more information?" he asked, an eyebrow rising on his face.

"More information? Why would you want more information?" At that moment, I hated just how unprepared my voice had made me sound.

"Because", Noah responded, "we're friends. We're supposed to trust each other with things like this. Also, I'm really curious."

I snorted in an attempt to sound amused and/or disgusted. "Noah, we're way too old for friendship to be the most important thing. Friendship isn't magic, no matter how much you want to pretend that it is."

"I wasn't saying that" he snapped, loudly enough that other diners in this '50s room took notice. They swerved their heads, some of their ponytails brushing against one another's, until they had a good view of the argument between myself and Noah.

"Fine," I replied. "But there are certain things we don't have to tell each other. We're allies, not brothers. Got that?"

Noah sighed. "That's not what I said at all, but okay."

"Good." I was eager to defuse the situation, because the fewer Pokemon who knew the details about our argument, the better.

As I dug into my largely tasteless food, I thought about what Master Goldenheart would do if he knew of my plans (excuse me, ideas.) None of these thoughts, as you might expect, were happy.

But I have to do this. At least, I need to clear my conscience somehow, or else I don't think I'll be able to live with myself.

When I had first joined three years ago, I believed I was doing something good. I thought that I was making my life mean something, because in my small, remote village in the middle of Sinnoh, my life seemed to mean nothing.

It didn't hurt, of course, that the recruiter had been quite charismatic. He hadn't been conventionally attractive by any means, but persuasive power wasn't just about looks.

He'd presented this life as something so desirable, something that would give me a purpose. But, had I known the truth at the time, I would have run for the hills. I'd sooner have continued to live my senselessly boring existence as opposed to actively doing harm in the world.

Because after that night last week, I knew without a question that's what was happening.

CODY HARVARD, 19

The letter's contents plagued me for a good week. During this time, I couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that it might be a trap. That I should never have opened that manila envelope.

Somebody, it seemed, wanted to work with me. At least, they wanted me to believe that they were a potential ally.

But I wasn't exactly a hero. Indeed, I saw myself as a rather tragic figure who'd lucked out of prison time by having a very forgiving victim. If I had to guess, that's how most of my world saw me as well. Based on that, it made no sense for anyone, much less someone I'd never heard of, to seek me out.

That's how I decided that it wasn't worth my time. I threw the physical letter, alongside the manila envelope it had come in, in the garbage. It wasn't worth the paper it was printed on. There was no need to recycle it; it was trash.

And, soon enough, my memory banks decided to toss it out as well. I didn't exactly forget the letter, but it stopped haunting my dreams the way it once had. It was relegated to the back of my mind, where, as far as I was concerned, it deserved to be.

So I immersed myself back into college life, which was starting to look up for me. At a minimum, I was a lot less miserable than I'd been during my disastrous first semester at GPU.

I'd been worried that I would lose academic momentum as a result of having been out of school for two and a half months, but that fortunately didn't come to pass. In fact, I found myself getting pretty good grades in my courses, and that in and of itself put me in a better mood.

Hardly a day went by when I didn't think about Jeremy the Rockruff kid, who had been our traveling companion for those few days that we'd been in the wilderness. Almost every evening, before I went to bed, I would make a video call to my home in the town of Skylock, which is where Jeremy lived now.

We'd often make small talk about our new lives; in my case, of course, it was rather a new old life. There were some differences, but for the most part, I'd already experienced college. I'd certainly had five and a half years' experience of being a were-Lycanroc, and, for better or worse, that was a key component of Cody Harvard's existence.

During these calls, I took extra care to be as kind as possible to the Rockruff. He hadn't told me this over the break, when he could have delivered the information in person, but as it turned out, Jeremy had a rather dark "secret" to share.

That word is used loosely here, simply because something can hardly be considered a secret when it's been publicized in the news, can it? It had still been a secret to me, though, since I didn't scour the news very often.

While I'd been locked up in the holding cell before being exonerated, Jeremy had learned through Mr. and Mrs. Fox that a team of medical examiners had visited Lycan Hollow roughly a week after the attack. After searching through the rubble, they had come across many, many bodies.

Upon further examination, it had turned out that two of those bodies belonged to Gregory and Ilia, Jeremy's parents. This was a devastating revelation, because if there'd been any hope before that one or both of them had survived the air raid, that hope had been dashed.

The Rockruff kid might have spared me the gory details, but I still held a mental image of those charred corpses. It appeared beneath my eyelids whenever I closed them to go to sleep. Sometimes it even haunted my dreams.

Probably the hardest part was that I had nobody on campus to turn to. I could have gone to a therapist, but I was pretty sure they charged a fee, and I didn't feel like coughing up any dough.

Even if it ended up being worth it, the money belonged to my parents, not to me. And my relationship with my parents was still rather tense; other than directing them to bring their computer to Jeremy, we didn't talk very much. Asking them for money felt like a bridge too far.

One day, I realized that there was someone I could talk to. She lived on campus as well, and even if our bond was an awkward one, it was still there. But our friendship, if you could call it that, mainly revolved around studying together; more intimate matters like this were a little too much in my view.

But do I want to burden her with that? After all, she has her own life too. She has Azure as a friend; does she really need me, too?

Of course she doesn't. She probably has other friends, since I remember her being a social butterfly. But why would she want to talk to ME about something like this?

After all, I'm the damn fool who bit her!

I am, of course, speaking of Bella Fox. The Halloween incident had seemingly been forgiven, although it would never be forgotten. If I really wanted to confide in her, I could.

It took some time for me to work up the "courage" to mention this news to Bella. Really, it could be better described as "nerve", for she shouldn't be expected to bear such news for my sake. But I just wanted someone to speak to about what had been troubling me.

So, after the class we had together, I pulled her aside once we'd left the lecture hall. I didn't literally pull her, of course; I simply gestured for her to follow me out the door.

"Where are we going?" she asked me. "I've got another class in fifteen minutes; I have to get there!"

"I'll keep this quick" I promised. Once we'd exited the building and gotten to a relatively private spot, I took a deep breath as I realized just how important it was for me to get my words right.

"Okay, so why do you want to talk right now?" Bella inquired. "Like I said, I don't have much time, so this had better be pretty damn important."

Sighing once more, I decided to dive right in.

"I don't know if Jeremy told you this, but his parents' bodies were discovered in the ruins of Lycan Hollow. Have you been calling him regularly?"

"I'll admit that I haven't been," Bella replied somberly. "But…oh my Arceus, that must be devastating for him!"

"Indeed it is," I said simply. "If you talk to him in the future, make sure you're extra-polite, because he's going through a rough time."

"I will" she told me hurriedly, sounding as though she were eager to get out of this conversation. I don't blame her for that; she had a class to get to.

After that, Bella insisted that she had to reach her next lecture right away, so I let her go. Personally, I didn't have any classes for a few hours, so I had plenty of time to study for my next test. And yes, there were a lot of tests; that was just a reality of being a college student.

It was difficult, having to do all sorts of assignments at all times of the day. College life was stressful; there was no doubt about it. But there was also no doubt about something else.

No matter how hard this new life was, I would never trade it for life on the run, or life in jail. It was always important to have perspective, after all.

The rest of the semester wore on without much happening. As I'd learned during the first two months or so after the night I wanted to forget, it's easier than many people think for something to become routine, no matter how unexpected or unpleasant it is.

I tried to get out of my shell a little more than I had during my first semester. This was harder than I'd expected; it was as though I'd been locked up in a social cocoon, but nature was preventing me from breaking out of it and becoming a social Butterfree.

As it turns out, once you have a reputation as being a beast, someone who's willing to use violence (such as biting another student) to get your way, it's almost impossible to have others see you differently. And, while a bad reputation is very difficult to overcome, a good reputation can crumble after one false move.

One lapse in judgment, and that's it. Nobody who witnesses your slip-up (or worse) will ever look at you the same way again. Some people might forgive, but they'll never forget.

It wasn't long before I accepted that I'd never be the life of the party. I'd never be the person everyone wanted to talk to, but at least I might make a few friends who weren't as well-connected to the limited party scene at GPU. (It needs to be said that GPU wasn't exactly a "party school", and that had been one factor in my selection of that university back when I was in high school.)

As we're all too aware, the very first thing people want to know about you when you introduce yourself is your name. In my case, as soon as I told a prospective friend my name (only a small part of who I was, mind you), things went downhill quickly. Such a conversation would often go something like this:

Prospective friend: "So what's your name?"

Me: "Cody."

Prospective friend: "Cody. Sounds like a cool name. I've heard that name on the news."

Me: awkward pause.

Prospective friend: "Wait a minute, were you the were-Lycanroc who attacked a student here?"

Me: "Why does it matter? It was an accident."

Of course, even saying the words It was an accident amounted to an admission of guilt. Even if Bella had been able to see the situation objectively, that didn't mean other students could.

Such a conversation usually ended quickly after that, and I would go looking for another friend if I had time. It wasn't easy to be a were-Lycanroc in any environment, least of all college.

In the end, my efforts to expand my social circle were fruitless, and at some point I gave up trying. Bella and Jeremy were, by and large, the only people besides my professors I talked to on campus. And Jeremy wasn't even on campus.

Every full moon I would transform, and, although I kept my wolfsbane safely in the fridge, I was still expected to move out of my residence hall into a separate apartment. Unlike last semester, however, I wasn't alone in this building; Bella was also a lycanthrope, since I'd bitten her.

It was still my deepest regret, losing control over my feral instincts. For the rest of my life, it would come back and bite me. It would probably be the first sentence in my obituary down the line, but I didn't want to think about that right now.

One night in particular, the first of my April transformation that year, I remember vividly.

When the sun went down, I doubled over as my body started taking its new shape. My bones reorganized themselves into their new structure, my eyes became red, etc., as I became a Lycanroc in its Midnight form.

While I'd experienced this dozens of times since the night I'd been bitten by an unidentified were-Lycanroc, I knew I would never get used to it. Sure, I knew what was going to happen, but every time, I hoped it would not be as painful by virtue of its becoming routine. And every time, I was in agony.

In the next room over, I could hear Bella groaning weakly. I was groaning too, because there's really no other way to react to every bone in your body moving around. If you can imagine each bone fracturing in succession, healing themselves abruptly, and then another one breaking, that's roughly what it felt like.

Finally, after a period that felt interminable but was quite short in actuality, I was sprawled out on the floor as a Lycanroc. I realized that, although I'd eaten an early dinner that day in anticipation of having to head here before sunset, my stomach still felt hollow. I suppose turning into a Pokemon really does burn those calories.

I staggered into the kitchen, which Bella was approaching from the opposite direction. There was pain on her face.

"I know this is my fifth or sixth time," she moaned, "but I don't think I can do this every month for the next sixty to seventy years. Please tell me it gets easier."

"I'm not going to bullshit you" I replied. "It doesn't get easier. You've just got to appreciate the time you're a human, because this will happen every month."

Each time I had newly become a Lycanroc for this lunar phase, my bones ached, and it was difficult to walk. It felt like I was suffering from arthritis, a condition usually associated with the elderly, when I wasn't even twenty.

Bella sighed, but it sounded more like a grimace to me. "If that's the case, I guess I'll go do my homework. I don't have the energy to make dinner."

It was then that I knew what I needed to do. It would be the right thing to do, yes, but it would no doubt gain me some brownie points with Bella as well. I'd be lying if the latter wasn't part of my calculation.

"I'll make dinner for you," I told her. "And Azure…where is she?"

"She's in her Pokeball," Bella replied in a tired voice. "She doesn't need to eat as long as she's in there, but I'm sure she'd appreciate the opportunity. Do you know how to cook?"

I looked at Bella as though she were from another planet. "Uh…yeah."

In reality, I wasn't much of a cook. When I lived at home, I hardly ever used the stove. Even during my first semester at the university, I'd had food delivered here whenever I was "quarantined."

Of course, I didn't want Bella to know that I was lying, particularly when I'd just said the words, I'm not going to bullshit you.

After Bella made her way back to her room, moving as though her legs could barely support her body, I began sorting through the cupboard, seeing what ingredients we had and therefore what recipes I could make for Bella and Azure. I'd come as far as determining that it needed to be something simple when I found instructions on how to make quesadillas.

That sounds pretty straightforward. Quesadillas it is.

Cooking was already not an easy task for me, mainly because I had no idea how to use this stove. I wasn't accustomed to it, and, like so many other things in life, it held a learning curve.

By the time I managed to get the buttered tortilla in the pan, along with the spinach and cheese that comprised the quesadilla's filling, I may or may not have singed off a small patch of my fur.

Of course, it could have been a lot worse; my standing position against the edge of the stove was very tenuous, and if I leaned too far to one side, I might fall painfully to the ground. If I leaned forward, the consequences would be far worse.

Flipping the quesadilla was the hardest part. The spatula was already difficult to use when I had paws instead of fingers; that was something I hadn't had the chance to master during my five years at home as a were-Lycanroc. In addition, it was quite a precarious balancing act as described above; being a quadruped made things so much more difficult than they needed to be.

Once I'd finished making Bella's quesadilla, I started to work on Azure's. Even if she didn't necessarily need food urgently, the hunger would catch up with Bella's Lucario partner as soon as she left her Pokeball. With the already-high metabolic rate of a Fighting type, I knew how important it was that Azure get some calories in her.

I wasn't going to do this originally (even the two quesadillas took a lot out of me in their preparation), but I cooked up a third for myself. Why? Because I was still hungry, of course.

When all three quesadillas had been transferred to their plates, I realized that there had been a flaw in my plan; the first quesadilla I'd made, the one intended for Bella, had cooled down significantly.

It would be pretty rude to give her the worst one, I thought. Since I'm probably the least hungry out of the three of us, I'll take the one that's least desirable. It's the selfless thing to do.

If cooking on the stove had been a challenge, carrying dishes into Bella's bedroom was a nightmare. I eventually gave up trying to hold them in my claws, instead pushing them across the floor like hockey pucks.

"Quesadillas!" Bella exclaimed as I shuffled into the room, pushing the plates with me. "Thank you so much, Cody!"

Her voice sounded as though she were trying too hard to be enthusiastic about quesadillas. And let me tell you, even though I may not be the best at reading people, I can generally tell when someone's trying too hard.

"You're welcome" I replied, licking my lips as I set the table in front of her and Azure. The poor, hungry Lucario was clutching her stomach; presumably not out of nausea, but rather due to how empty it felt.

I left the bedroom to get my own quesadilla. By the time I'd returned to Bella's room, she and Azure were already chowing down like they'd never seen food before in their lives.

They must really love quesadillas.

During our meal, we didn't talk very much. There wasn't any animosity between any of us; we were just content to be sharing a meal together, like three individuals between whom a wedge had never been driven.

On some level, I worried that this relative tranquility couldn't last very long. During those halcyon days before I'd been infected, it had seemed like nothing could go wrong at the time. Looking at it now, however, it seemed like it had been inevitable that something would go wrong. Nothing good would last.

The only other question was the following: What awaited us once this period of tranquility ended? I knew this was the calm before the storm, but I didn't know what, exactly, the "storm" would look like.

As you can probably imagine, this line of thinking made the quesadillas, normally a food I greatly enjoyed, taste a little less delicious. Of course, this was possibly because I had no expertise whatsoever in food preparation.

When we finished eating, I cleared each plate one at a time, holding them in my mouth so that I didn't have to push them across the floor. It wasn't the most sanitary way to do things, but it made sense in the moment.

After all three plates were in the sink, I gave a deep sigh. I would have to do the dishes someday; that much was certain. But I didn't see the need to wash them just yet, not when I'd be human again in a few days and it would be so much easier.

Instead, I simply went back to my room and made some finishing touches to one of my essays. It was due the next day, and I knew I hadn't done a great job, but I needed to have something to email to my professor; a C was better than an F. It didn't help, of course, that I'd put it off until the last minute.

Breathing heavily despite this requiring next to no physical effort, I went back and made a few edits. Perhaps I should have paid better attention in class; but even then, I'd taken plenty of notes, and I could simply have looked through them.

The real problem was likely that I'd waited too long to begin my essay. Nonetheless, I'd made my figurative bed, and now I would have to lie in it.

As I got into my literal bed fifteen minutes later, a topic that I hadn't entertained in several weeks at a minimum forced itself back into my brain.

The letter. Who could it possibly be from?

I tossed and turned for what must have been over an hour, pondering who must have written said letter.

Perhaps it was a rapper, since "Triple-C" sounded like something that a mediocre rap musician would make their stage name. But why would such a person want to contact me? I wasn't a very musical guy.

Or maybe it wasn't a celebrity of any caliber. It could be someone who'd seen my name in the yellow pages and decided that I was worth calling. That would also be a big surprise, but perhaps a welcome one if they wanted to be friends.

Or maybe not. They might just want the attention that comes from being "friends" with the infamous Cody Harvard.

After about an hour of this, I finally sank into a tortured sleep. I wouldn't remember the specifics of any of my dreams, just a vague sense that they were all nightmares, each one more horrifying than the last.

I did, however, know one thing: This isn't over yet.

Fun fact, the word "Companion" means "someone you break bread with" - "pan", of course, meaning "bread''." It's one of those Latin words we don't really use anymore, since it's a dead language, but still.

In all seriousness, I had already written this chapter, and decided I might as well share it with the world. Be on the lookout for "King of Hearts", for that will be my next project, which I have been planning out. It'll involve my fursona, as well as many of the characters from Werewolves of Sinnoh.

As always, my Discord server is open; the link is in this story's description. And, since I can't think of anything else to put here, thank you all for over 11,000 views.

THE END (for real, this time.)