I am blown away by how many reviews I have received since I posted the second chapter. As far as I'm concerned, four is pretty exceptional for a Pokémon story these days when many stories struggle to get any. It means the world to me that you guys care enough to tell me how I'm doing.

Anyway, here's the chapter. I'm pretty proud of how it turned out, and hope you all feel the same way. Enjoy!

At first, the President's sleep was restful; at least, as restful as sleep can be when you have a high fever. But, much like his overall situation, that was subject to change. And change it did.

Before long, he was thrust into one of the most bizarre nighttime visions he'd ever experienced. Considering what he'd dreamed about in bed at the White House, this was saying something.

He found himself in what looked like a void of sorts, which contained absolutely nothing. It wasn't exactly dark in there - darkness would be something. Rather, it seemed as though the background just hadn't been rendered, much like in one of the glitchy video games his grandchildren sometimes played.

"Good morning, Mr. President" a hissing voice announced.

Just then, the President remembered where he'd been. He was still in bed at Walter Reed Medical Center, where the nurse had promised him he'd feel much better when he woke up. And to some extent, she'd been right; Fiddlesticks' body no longer ached, and breathing felt much easier.

"Uh…morning" the President replied. "Is this Walter Reed? How long have I been out for?"

"It doesn't matter how long it's been," the voice hissed again. "Three days from now, nothing will matter to you at all. At least, none of your Earthly worries will be important."

President Fiddlesticks was a practicing Roman Catholic. He firmly believed that when he died, he would go to heaven, where he'd be greeted with the unconditional love of God, Jesus Christ, his departed relatives, and what have you. And, like the disembodied voice promised, he wouldn't have to worry about anything Earthly anymore.

Maybe he was dead. But if so, and he was truly in heaven, it made little sense for the voice to fill him with dread. That wasn't what a benevolent deity did. Even if he felt better physically, that didn't mean he'd made it to the good place. Instead, that might mean something else…something that actually had a basis in Catholic doctrine.

"Am I in purgatory?"

Come to think of it, that made a lot more sense. Even if Fiddlesticks' body had healed, that didn't mean his mind was in top shape. Perhaps he'd just forgotten about it, even as the President.

There was a bit of laughter from the disembodied voice, and that in itself made the President shiver. One thing was clear: This was far from paradise.

"You can take it any way you like," the voice replied after a while. "But in any case, I am not happy with you."

Fiddlesticks went on the defensive. "I mean, you can't please everyone, especially when you're President of the United States. But what did I do wrong? I didn't incite my followers to storm the Capitol, for one!"

"There's more than one bad way to be a President, Andreas Fiddlesticks. In your case, you lied to the American people, and that's not something that's easy to forgive."

The President heaved a great sigh. "Look, I'm not perfect, but no one is. Please explain what I lied about."

"It's quite simple, really," the voice replied. "You claimed that Pokémon were not real. That they were just cartoon characters, a figment of humanity's collective imagination. Please tell me, Andreas, how would you feel if you were referred to in those terms?"

"Not well," the President replied sheepishly. Nonetheless, he could scarcely believe his ears. He had to be dreaming.

"Quite" the voice told him. "So you misled the American people on what might be the most important issue of your time. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Look, Hissy Voice-".

"Do not call me Hissy Voice."

"Whatever. Anyway, it's not a lie if you don't know it's false. I told my fellow Americans what I believed to be true; the fact that I ended up being wrong is irrelevant. I tried, okay? That's all I could do."

There was an audible grunt from the disembodied figure. Then:

"If you want to see this place as purgatory, within the bounds of your frail belief in Earth being all that matters, then I don't know what to tell you. You're just an ignorant old man who isn't fit for the office he holds. But you have three days to prove me wrong."

The President gulped. "Three days? Jesus was only dead for three days!"

"Jesus is irrelevant to this conversation" the voice told Fiddlesticks. "But if you want to see yourself as a savior, go ahead. If you want to save yourself, solve my maze!"

"If you want me to gain salvation", the President replied, "you sure aren't making it easy. You do realize that it's been a while since I was in a maze, right?"

There was a deafening sigh, then a series of far quieter words.

"I do not mean a literal maze, Andreas Fiddlesticks, though you may end up wishing it were one. Just find the three scrolls."

"Three scrolls? Is this one of those malarkey video games those youngsters play?"

"This is not a game, Mr. President."

"You're sure making it sound like one," the President retorted.

"You know what? I'll drive it to you right the hell now: When you wake up, you'll be a Luxray. You'll have three days to find the scrolls in that form."

The President frowned. "What in tarnation is a Luxray? Does that have to do with luxury, by any chance?"

There was an angry-sounding grunt from somewhere in the ether, and then the scene faded.

BACK AT THE WHITE HOUSE

Yesterday, the Situation Room had been occupied by a heated discussion on what to do about the Republicans who were blocking negotiations on President Fiddlesticks' infrastructure bill. If you'd been present there, you might be forgiven for thinking things couldn't get any more intense.

But you'd be wrong.

Every member of the President's Cabinet sat around the rectangular table in said room, looking as though they were about to start pointing fingers at one another. It might well have been a game of Mafia with how desperately each of them wanted someone to blame.

The Vice President, John Randolph, sat in the center of the table, occupying the same position the President had sat in the previous day. His thinning dark hair seemed to be growing grayer by the minute.

Randolph sighed. He didn't want to make this announcement, even if he'd always known that when he'd accepted his spot on the ticket as Andreas Fiddlesticks' running mate, he'd accepted the prospect of being a heartbeat away from the Presidency.

But as old as Fiddlesticks was, the man was in quite good health for his age. Randolph had never figured that heartbeat would fail.

If this were indeed a game of Mafia, he was about to be lynched. Naturally, everyone in the Cabinet would cast blame on VP Randolph, even if there was no logical reason why it would be his fault. And so, it was time to go on the defensive.

"As all of you know", VP Randolph began, "President Fiddlesticks has been at Walter Reed since the early hours of this morning. His COVID test came back negative, but that is little cause for celebration at this point.

"According to the medical team caring for the President, he is unresponsive to all stimuli, and his fever has risen to 104 degrees Fahrenheit, or 40 degrees Celsius. And no, we're not going metric, no matter how much the world wants us to."

There was no laughter in that room, a mark of just how serious the situation was.

"If the President is indeed in a coma (or otherwise incapacitated), and that is what all available evidence suggests, the Constitution states that the Vice President becomes the acting President until such time as the President can fulfill his duties again. Therefore, I declare myself Acting President."

There were a few boos directed at Randolph, at which the VP held a finger in the air.

"I am a fighter, not a quitter!" the VP insisted. "I am going to make sure we right the ship of state as promptly as possible, because that is what the moment demands."

"If you thought you could do the job", Transportation Secretary Lawrence blurted out, "why didn't you just run against the former guy in your own right?"

Randolph did not answer. He could not answer, for to do so honestly would mean the end of his political career, not to mention a brutal tirade from the talking heads on Fox News.

"I think we should invoke the twenty-fifth," Secretary Fairfax, who headed the Department of the Treasury, said. "That'll remove him from office."

Randolph winked at Fairfax. "That would make me President, though, would it not?"

"But we could invoke it on you, too," Secretary Fairfax responded flatly. "And we would, because you don't seem up to the task of passing the President's agenda before the end of this Congress."

"We've still got a year until the end of this Congress, in case you didn't know" Press Secretary Rosalina interjected.

"Perhaps, Rosalina, but the Senators from Colorado and Vermont are not budging. They won't budge without pressure, and the Vice President does not know how to turn up the heat."

Randolph could feel his blood start to boil at that. How dare the Cabinet speak about him as though he were totally useless! He wanted to scream, but knew that this would get him nowhere.

Don't explode. You can resolve this diplomatically.

"I do know how to apply pressure" the Vice President insisted, trying to keep his tone as measured as possible. Make no mistake, though; it was difficult.

"Really, VP Randolph?" Secretary Fairfax shot back. "If you could have convinced those two holdout Senators to vote for the bill, why weren't you able to do so already? Why has that bill not been signed, sealed, and delivered to the American people as a law?"

Randolph didn't have a good answer; he couldn't read the minds of those two Senators, after all.

Rosalina sighed. "All I can say is, thank God the cameras aren't rolling. If they were, it would be a shitshow."

Just then, right on cue, a reporter from MSNBC entered the room, brandishing his oversize camera. "I'm in the White House's Situation Room at this very moment, where the Cabinet of President Fiddlesticks is holding a meeting on some subject. What, precisely, that subject might be is up for debate."

"The President is recovering well from his health scare" Press Secretary Rosalina replied, her words coming as naturally as if she'd been reciting them regularly. "There is no need for the American people to be concerned. He will be back shortly."

Another camera operator, this one from Fox News, stepped into the door frame and began snapping photos of the Situation Room.

VP Randolph crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his bottom lip at the reporters. "Since when did the media have a press pass for this event?" he asked tiredly. "I don't remember ever issuing one."

"This is an emergency meeting, is it not?" the MSNBC reporter replied. "If so, the American people have a right to know what's being discussed; freedom of speech is what this country was built on, was it not?"

VP Randolph shook his head. "All rights have limits. Freedom of speech doesn't mean you can shout 'fire' in a crowded theater. More to the point, though, President Fiddlesticks is expected to swiftly recover. There is no need to invoke the 25th."

Rosalina winked subtly at the Vice President, as if to say That's the spirit, dear. Luckily, it didn't seem as though any of the media personnel noticed.

Randolph must have been staring pretty hard, because the reporters both backed down eventually. The Vice President, had he so chosen, could have gotten the Secret Service to escort them out of the building, but this was fortunately unnecessary…this time.

Once they were out of earshot, the Vice President sighed with utmost relief. "That's much better."

"The American people will all see you on TV threatening to kick them out of this room" Secretary Lawrence snapped. "And that's not a good look. How are you going to live it down?"

VP Randolph held his beefy hands in the air, palms facing outward. "Have faith in me, guys," he said. "I'm savvier than you think. And I'll help this country weather the storm. Come hell or high water, we will deliver for the people of the United States of America."

SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW

The first thing Andreas Fiddlesticks became aware of was the sun on his back. It hammered down on his body like, well, an actual hammer.

Despite the mysterious illness that had been plaguing him, Fiddlesticks felt a lot more lucid this time upon awakening. And although he was no doctor, he knew some medications could make one's skin more sensitive to the sun. Perhaps he'd been administered one at Walter Reed.

Even if that answered one question, it raised several more. The sun wouldn't be this strong in Washington DC during the autumn, would it? And even then, how had he even ended up on his belly beneath the sky? He was supposed to be lying supine in a hospital bed.

This is a whole bunch of malarkey, isn't it?

It had to be a dream. And yet, no dream Fiddlesticks had ever experienced was this vivid. He felt every ray of sunlight against his body, each individual blade of grass beneath his fur - wait a minute, fur?

"Okay, it must be a dream," the President uttered aloud. Except…it didn't come out that way.

Instead, those words came in the form of a fragmented chirp, not unlike that of a cheerleader at a sporting event: "Lux-ray! Lux-ray!"

What in tarnation? I can't even speak English now! How did that happen?

"What the hell is going on?" the President tried to scream. Once again, however, he was met with the same chant: "Lux-ray! Lux-ray!"

So he'd truly lost his mind. He could speak nothing but gibberish, and he was covered in fur. At least, that's what it felt like, which would explain just how hot he felt.

Also, I think that weird voice told me to search in three places: Forest, heavens, and crystal. I can't pretend to know what that means - but apparently I only have three days to do it.

Well, if so, I might as well try and figure out where I am now.

The President opened his eyes; surprisingly, this wasn't too difficult. He then looked around, trying to get a better view of his surroundings.

Fiddlesticks found himself in the middle of a forest's clearing, thickets of trees on all sides. The sun, however, just so happened to be hovering directly over this clearing, at a perfect angle to make seeing difficult. What bad luck!

Thanks to the blazing sun, Fiddlesticks' internal organs felt like they were slowly being cooked. But that wasn't the only cause for concern.

This forest…it can't be anywhere near Washington DC. Or maybe it is - but if that's the case, why did the medical team at Walter Reed decide to dump me out here?

If I can get back to the hospital under my own power, then I'm going to try. Okay, Andreas, stand to your feet.

The President stood on his hind legs, but only for an instant. Immediately, he collapsed onto his back, crushing an appendage on his rump that he hadn't known existed.

Eyes watering, Fiddlesticks tried to utter an obscenity, but, as he'd grown used to by now, the words came out merely as "Lux-ray! Lux-ray!"

Even amidst the intense pain, Fiddlesticks understood that he wouldn't be able to stand anytime soon. He just didn't seem to have the balance, and if not, how the hell would he get back to the hospital?

Judging by the trees all around him, the President reasoned that he might be at a state park. But if he were still in the United States, why would it be so hot? It had been nearly winter back in DC.

He shook his head, this simple action causing a mild headache. Andreas Fiddlesticks was incredibly tempted to shout his last name as a mild curse, but he'd likely only end up making a fool of himself again.

Speaking of which, what was a Luxray? Why could he only say one word, like a baby just learning to talk? But if he'd suddenly de-aged to be a year or two old, that would explain why he couldn't stand.

Great. So I've become a toddler. This is just great, isn't it?

Using the mental faculties he still possessed for some reason, the President got back onto his paws. Just using the word "paws" to describe those parts of his body felt violating somehow, as though he were casting away what made him human.

And then he began shuffling, one paw in front of another, towards the forest. Without food, he could survive for a while. Without water, he'd be a dead duck within a day or two. Therefore, water was his first goal.

Even if he found a pond or river, he would need a way to purify that water, something he'd learned during his time in Boy Scouts. If he failed to do so before ingesting it, the resulting severe gastrointestinal distress would leave him worse off than if he'd never found the water in the first place.

If I'm a toddler, why can I think so "rationally"? Maybe I'm still 75. Man, it's weird to be thankful for old age.

That was somewhat reassuring, though it didn't mean much in itself. He had to find water, at all costs.

So the President wandered into the woods. Walking on four paws had a learning curve to it, for sure, but he was able to figure it out eventually. The key was to stay low to the ground, which kept one's center of gravity lower and made it easier to balance.

That appendage I crushed earlier by sitting on it…could it have been a…tail?

Despite the heat of the day, Fiddlesticks shivered. He didn't even want to think about it.

As it turned out, fortune was smiling down on Fiddlesticks in one respect: A small pond entered his field of vision within minutes. Salvation!

Fiddlesticks had a spring in his step as he got closer to the watering hole. He allowed himself to collapse back onto his belly as soon as he reached the edge of the pond. Yes, he couldn't drink the water without purifying it, but splashing some on his fur was still quite pleasant.

He did this for a while, allowing the water to cool his fur, although it was also being warmed by the sun at the same time. The two forces, fire and water, competed with one another on the battlefield that was Andreas Fiddlesticks' back.

And then it occurred to Fiddlesticks to get a glimpse of his reflection. Maybe if he did that, he'd be able to confirm that this was in fact not a dream.

So he stood up onto his four paws and gazed out at the small lake. Despite the clear sky, the reflection was far from perfect. It was, however, nonetheless present.

As Fiddlesticks gazed at the water, a peculiar furry creature gazed back at him.

This creature's fur was in three main colors; cadet blue, dark gray, and golden yellow. The vast majority of its front was blue, its back spiky and gray. Its eyes were bright red, and its overall build was not unlike that of a lion.

No. Not it. I am this creature.

That wasn't all that was worth noting, though. The hind legs had golden stripes all around, intermixed with the black and blue, and there was a dark tail present, with a yellow star at the end. That must have been what he'd sat on earlier, inflicting such agony.

Finally, there was a collar around Fiddlesticks' neck. It was a color roughly midway between crimson and maroon, with a golden star-shaped pendant over his chest. This much, he was reasonably certain, wasn't part of his body.

"Good God, what have I become?" the President wondered aloud. But, as you can expect by now, the only words he heard in response were "Lux-ray! Lux-ray!"

Enough with the cheerleading, echo! I am the President of the United States, not some C-list NFL diva!

Fiddlesticks knelt down beside the pond. What he wouldn't give for the chance to take a drink, a nice long swig from it, just enough to quench his thirst. Without getting sick, that is; he had no clue where to find iodine or bleach.

I could also make a fire and boil some water. But I can't let what happens in California happen here - a forest fire would be very bad.

The President, if you could still call him that, was no longer the most powerful man in the Western Hemisphere. Andreas Fiddlesticks had ceased to be the leader of the free world - instead, he felt like a caged lion in the zoo.

If God decided to make me a weird furry creature, he's got one sick sense of humor. Right now, he could be in his palace in the sky, just watching over me and laughing at the mess I've gotten myself into.

Instead of staying angry at the creator of the universe, Fiddlesticks decided that it would be a better use of his time to get to his feet and start making fire. Yes, it was a risk, but some risks are worth taking if you're desperate enough.

Let's see…aren't you to rub two sticks together rapidly, creating sparks? At least, that's how they do it in the Army.

If the Republicans in Congress knew he was here, having gone from hero to zero, he would never hear the end of it once he returned to the White House. They'd launch a billion investigations and run a smear campaign all over Fox & Friends, and it would probably tank his approval ratings for good.

But if the GOP wanted to make a mockery of the government, that was their problem. The more pressing issue for Fiddlesticks was, of course, how to get out of this situation.

Fiddlesticks took one last longing look at the pond, then turned around and began looking for some fallen branches. Unfortunately, they were pretty scarce, unless the roots protruding from tree trunks counted.

The lion-like creature trudged around the general area for about ten minutes (though he wasn't the best judge of time's eternal march.) With every second that passed, he just wanted to scream - but then he pictured the Republicans chuckling at him (or worse), and he refused to give them that satisfaction.

He was about to give up entirely when he stubbed his toe on something. Letting out a little screech of pain, Fiddlesticks grimaced, but was able to keep his balance. He didn't fall to the ground like he was tempted to.

Wait a minute!, he understood at once. That's a stick! I can use that to make fire!

Where he'd found the one stick, there were several others in close vicinity. But then he ran into another obstacle, this one seemingly insurmountable at first glance.

He'd put so much effort into making fire that he hadn't figured out where to hold the water. After all, wasn't the whole reason he'd wanted to build a fire to boil water for drinking?

That's a whole bunch of malarkey if I do say so myself.

Fiddlesticks was able to find his way back to the body of water, but in doing so, he was forced to leave the sticks behind. Oh well - he could always find more sticks, even if it would take forever.

I have three days. But three days to do what, exactly? Find my way back?

As Fiddlesticks once more reached the pond's edge, his throat felt even more parched. And he wondered, not for the first time, if it wouldn't be worth it to take a drink.

If I'm not human anymore, maybe I can't get giardia. But could I still get cholera? I've got no idea what other creatures have used this water for.

And yet, as though in a trance, Fiddlesticks found himself lowering his lips to the lake. Drinking straight out of a pond felt as demeaning as not being allowed to wash one's hands after relieving oneself, and was probably even less hygienic. But he did it anyway.

The water tasted fine - indeed, it might as well have been manna from heaven. But Fiddlesticks was well aware that it wouldn't taste nearly as good coming up as it had going down.

Let's hope it doesn't come to that. If it's a risk, it's a risk worth taking.

Once Fiddlesticks was done with his chug of the pond water, he raised his head once more. He tried to figure out what his next move should be.

Well, I've solved my water problem - for now. Of course, I might only end up more dehydrated than when I started, but I can't worry about that at the moment.

The sun seems to be rising - if so, that way is east. A fat lot of good that does me when I don't know where I am!

There were no signs of what a human would call "civilization", though that didn't mean much. Fiddlesticks was well aware that as a non-human animal, he was now subject to the food chain. And really, humans were too, it's just that they were usually at the top of it.

My best bet is to find a river or something and keep walking alongside it. And I'll follow it to a town…if there is one. Oh boy, they're going to mock me to hell and back, aren't they?

Nope. A President has to have some pride. I'm not going to let them get me down.

The mental image of the President of the United States hitchhiking back to the White House was too much for Fiddlesticks to handle. Furthermore, who would even believe him to be the President when he was this - thing?

Well, if I'm ever going to solve those problems, I have to survive this forest first. It's probably best for me to get out of here.

I'm no doctor either, but I have personal experience with medicine that makes one's skin burn easily. When I was 13 a tick was found on me, and I had to take a dose of doxycycline to prevent Lyme disease; the person prescribing it warned my mother and I that I should keep my chest and back covered at all costs. Trust me, when it comes to tickborne illness, an ounce of prevention is preferable to a pound of cure. So that part of the story came from experience.

Also, I don't normally do this, but I received a guest review asking if this story is a joke. My answer: Of course it's a joke, but who cares if it's really f**king funny?

Next time: Wanderings in the woods, a new friend, and the press conference from hell.