Welcome to the fourth chapter of Strange Days! It's probably my favorite one so far, though I've had an excellent time writing this story overall.

As of the time of posting this, I'm a little over halfway done with Chapter 5. The upload schedule will probably be pretty flexible from here on out, though I'll make sure to let you guys know if I have to slow things down. Until then, it's full speed ahead. Enjoy!

The good news? It didn't take long for Fiddlesticks to find a narrow, yet quickly rushing, river. He was pretty sure that the more quickly river water was flowing, the more likely it was to be safe to drink.

Then again, if that pond was contaminated with something, I'm probably already screwed.

Of course, the river served another purpose for Fiddlesticks; he was able to use it as a sort of orientation point. He didn't exactly know where he was going now, but he at least wouldn't end up walking in a circle.

However, there was also bad news. As the former President trekked through the forest, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

I'm the President; at least, I was President. I was constantly watched in that job. Could there be cameras here?

Despite the warm weather, Fiddlesticks shivered. What if this was just like The Truman Show? He was already one of the most recognizable people in the world - that recognition would only be augmented as a result of The Fiddlesticks Show.

Fiddlesticks stopped to take a quick drink from the river. He had to be careful not to fall in, for he might end up getting swept far away from where he wanted to be (the river was flowing in the opposite direction from where he was going.)

Once he'd quenched his thirst, Fiddlesticks noticed that his stomach was totally hollow; there was a sort of "empty pain" there after he'd gulped down the river water. He grimaced as he realized that food, even if it was a lower priority than water, would still be nice to have.

If I don't find food, I will have a hard time drinking from the river without pain. Therefore, I should look for some berries or something. Anything will do - even just a couple blueberries. Please, God, if you're there…just some food.

The man upstairs was not forthcoming, and so Fiddlesticks decided to pray with his feet. He trudged along for a few more minutes, where there was, in fact, a bush heavy with berries.

These berries were unlike anything he'd ever seen, though. They were the size and texture of oranges, yet they were blue in color.

Okay. I'm pretty sure those don't grow anywhere in the United States. Maybe I'm still dreaming, just extraordinarily lucid in that state.

Nonetheless, Fiddlesticks walked over to the bush and plucked a berry from the bush. This took more force than he'd expected; they clung to the vine pretty strongly. But soon he had one of them free, and he took a bite.

He was taken aback by the taste, because he'd been expecting it to be similar to an orange. And it was to some extent, but it was a hell of a lot sweeter, and it filled his body with warmth.

As though he'd taken a stimulant, Fiddlesticks felt his senses heightened as soon as he'd fully downed the berry. Suddenly, he was far more confident that he could deal with whatever this world threw at him.

It didn't last.

There was a buzzing noise from up above, and Fiddlesticks flinched at the sound. It sounded like hundreds of bees, all homing in on him.

"How dare you steal one of our precious Oran berries!" came a shrill, deep voice from the sky.

The former President turned in the direction of the voice, and he was greeted with a purple batlike creature with extraordinarily long fangs. Its wings were flapping to keep it afloat, which pushed foul-smelling air right in Fiddlesticks' face.

"I didn't…" Fiddlesticks began. Somehow that sounded more like English, not gibberish.

"Yes, you did! I'm not going to let you finish that sentence; I saw you take a bite! I saw you devour that berry in cold blood!"

Any bit of defensiveness Fiddlesticks may have possessed had swiftly evaporated. He wasn't going to try and justify his action; pleading for his life was enough, because those fangs didn't look like something to mess around with.

"Look", Fiddlesticks began, "I didn't know the berries were your property. Since it seems they were, I deeply apologize. But you'll have to forgive me."

The batlike creature brandished his fangs, as though preparing to sink them into Fiddlesticks' fur. "Please tell me why I should forgive you."

"Because I was starving. You're not going to punish me for being in need, are you? And besides, how are you going to punish the President of the United States?"

Even at his own words, Fiddlesticks was dumbfounded. He wasn't one to play that card, particularly when there was no reason to think these creatures would take him seriously. And yet, desperate people do desperate things.

"That means nothing to me," the batlike creature responded. "Say hello to my little friends, Luxray!"

Luxray. There's that word again - did he just use it to describe me?

But Fiddlesticks didn't have time to say anything before what must have been over a hundred of the purple bats came out from hiding in the tree, flapping their wings at him to transfer more of that foul odor.

Fiddlesticks didn't care about optics anymore; he screamed like someone riding the Tower of Terror at Disney World. He tried to adopt a combative stance, one that would maybe intimidate some of them into backing off.

They can surely fly faster than I can run. Running away won't do me any good.

It all looked pretty bleak, and Fiddlesticks trembled in his current stance. He bared his fangs (which he apparently had), but that wasn't a very effective strategy.

And then they just kept coming. The purple bats were fluttering closer and closer to Fiddlesticks, and the "President" thought he felt a pinch in his shoulder. But that could have only been his imagination.

After that, everything felt as though he were watching it from deep underwater; he couldn't see or hear as clearly. But Fiddlesticks thought he saw a majestic creature leap out of a nearby tree and approach the horde of bats.

He must have been hallucinating. There was no such thing as the tall, confident brown-furred creature with red cheeks and a yellow "crown" of fur. It just couldn't exist.

If I've learned anything in the last hour, it's to expect the unexpected, though.

And then the most curious thing happened. The large brown being launched itself at the purple bats, baring its fangs and kicking up flames. Most of the bats fled immediately, flapping their wings and taking to the sky once more.

A few of the bats, however, stayed behind, but after the other creature bared its fangs, Fiddlesticks was soon relieved of their company. The purple bats were now all returning to the heavens from whence they'd come.

"Thanks, pal," Fiddlesticks said breathlessly. "You saved my life, and that's no malarkey."

The brown-furred creature turned to face him, and Fiddlesticks knew he'd spoken too soon. Its eyes were full of fire - not just metaphorical fire, but literal flame. Perhaps the saying about going out of the frying pan was true.

This isn't much of an upgrade. After all, there's no way I could fight this creature; hell, he's the only reason I'm still alive!

The creature frowned, then blinked. In a puff of smoke, just like what one sees at corny magic shows, the brown-furred being vanished, to be replaced by one with dark gray fur and a crimson red ponytail.

Fiddlesticks' head spun, and he planted his feet more firmly on the ground. If he didn't, he felt certain he'd collapse from shock.

"What are you so scared of?" the dark gray creature hissed. "If you want to be a big boy, you need to get rid of your-".

Fiddlesticks sighed as deeply as he could. "Whatever you were going to say, just know that I'm a bit jittery. I did just get cornered by a mob of purple bats."

The dark gray animal narrowed his teal eyes. "If I didn't want you alive, I could have just joined up with the Zubat horde. The fact that I scared them away with my Entei illusion - one of the hardest ones there is - ought to tell you something."

"Zubat? Entei?" Fiddlesticks enquired blankly.

"What? Do those words sound like a foreign language to you, Luxray?"

"Kind of" Fiddlesticks admitted, though being called Luxray felt more than a little dehumanizing. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"But you're a Pokémon yourself" the dark gray animal told Fiddlesticks. "If you've got amnesia, I suppose you're far from alone. Lots of people show up here not knowing where they are."

It was striking just how casually this creature talked about amnesia, as though it were a normal thing to go through every Sunday.

"That's not me," Fiddlesticks insisted. "I know exactly who I am. Andreas Fiddlesticks, President of the United States of America and commander in chief of its armed forces."

"Well, first off, I'm not sure what the United States of America are. Also, why would a nation make a Luxray its President?"

"I'm not a Luxray, I'm a human!" Fiddlesticks retorted.

"Yeah, right, and I'm Ash Ketchum," the gray creature replied sarcastically. "Everything you just said is fake news. You're not a human; at least, not anymore."

"Well, I have to get back to being human as soon as possible," the "Luxray" told the gray creature. "I need to go back to Washington and pass the infrastructure bill. The American people are counting on me."

"Mate, with all due respect, I don't know where Washington is. So far as I'm aware, there's no such place on Nexus."

"You don't?" Fiddlesticks replied, though he had to admit he was grasping at straws now. "It's the capital of my nation, named after our first President. It's a gorgeous city, so much architecture there –".

"It doesn't matter," the gray creature snapped. "What does matter, however, is making sure you're safe. Were you wounded?"

"Uh…I don't think so" Fiddlesticks said, but then he realized that his left shoulder felt tender and warm to the touch. Perhaps he'd been wrong.

"Yikes, you were bitten by a Zubat, it looks like" the gray animal told him. "We'll need to rub some Oran berry paste on it, or you could just eat one. The infection doesn't seem to have progressed very far - that's good. And what's also good - there's a bush right here."

Fiddlesticks, using his good arm, plucked another Oran berry from the vine and downed it in a couple bites. He smiled at the taste, even if he also recoiled slightly - he could feel the toxins being purged from his shoulder wound.

"That's much better," the dark gray animal responded. "So what's your name?"

The "President" frowned. "I already told you. I'm President Andreas Fiddlesticks."

"That's too long a name…how about Flash? That's what your species does in the dark of night."

Fiddlesticks sighed. He didn't exactly like the idea of having someone else choose a new name for him, especially without the title he was so used to. At the same time, he owed this creature so much already. The least he could do was to be respectful.

"Let's go with that," the newly-christened Flash replied. "And what's your name, if I may ask?"

"I'm Lazarus."

Flash raised his eyebrows. "Lazarus? Like that man Jesus rose from the dead?"

Lazarus grimaced. "I do not know who this Jesus is. No, it's just a name my parents gave me when I was born. I guess they thought it sounded cool or whatever."

"Okay, Lazarus. And I've noticed you look completely different from any animal I've seen before; what's your species called?"

"I am a Zoroark," Lazarus responded. "I am a master of illusions; that's what my species is known for."

"No malarkey there," Flash said, trembling a bit at the memory. "I mean, I saw you with my own eyes."

"Indeed. Now, are you feeling any better?"

Flash couldn't help but smile; he needed something to celebrate. "I am. Those berries are a miracle drug, quite frankly!"

"I suppose they are. Though they're a miracle of nature, not one that is only possible with Arceus' backing. A distinction must be drawn there."

"Huh."

"Anyway," Lazarus continued, "it's probably best for us to head to my house. I'll get to know you better, and vice versa. I'm awfully lonely these days; I could use a friend or two."

"And I needed someone to save my sorry ass," Flash replied caustically. "Yeah, I guess fortune favors the bold. We were meant to find each other; of that much, I am convinced." Turning back to Lazarus, the former President asked him the following question: "Do you believe in God?"

"In Arceus, yes" the Zoroark responded simply.

"Is this some kind of pagan faith I've never heard of before?"

Lazarus shook his head. "I can't say I know what a pagan faith is. But Arceus is the creator of the universe. There are other creators too - Dialga, Palkia, you get the idea. But Arceus was the first."

"Huh."

"By the way, what's that collar around your neck?"

"The…collar?" Flash asked. Amidst everything that had happened in the last few minutes, he'd almost forgotten about it. But the thing was still there, including the star-shaped pendant dangling from the front.

"Yes, the collar," Lazarus replied. "I haven't seen anything like it before."

"Oh" the Luxray responded sheepishly. "It's…not something I wanted to find around my neck, that's for sure."

"Why not?"

"Well, you see, pets in my world tend to wear these. A leash is fixed to them, meaning that they can't venture too far from their owner."

"And?" the Zoroark replied pointedly, raising an eyebrow like a teacher hoping their student was about to grasp a key concept.

"It just feels wrong, somehow. I was the leader of the free world; nobody's got the right to put me on a leash."

"How many times do I have to tell you this? It doesn't matter what you were in your United States of America, because you're not there anymore."

"But diplomatic immunity -".

"There is no country called the United States of America on the planet Nexus. You might be thinking of Unova."

"Whatever" Flash said with a sigh. It was clear that this conversation was going nowhere that he wanted it to. So he decided to switch the topic.

"This collar isn't like the ones from that Japanese movie, right? The one where the kids are taken to an island and have to kill each other?"

"Why would it be?" Lazarus snapped, shaking his head as though convinced Flash had lost his marbles.

"I don't know. I didn't put it on; it was already around my neck when I woke up here."

"Well, that means someone must have put it there. But who could it have been?"

Flash raised an eyebrow. "That's what I was asking you, Lazarus."

"Hell if I know" the Zoroark shot back. "For all those people who wake in this world with no memory of how they got here, there are no easy answers. Sometimes you've got to accept that you don't know everything."

"Yes, but that's malarkey," Flash told Lazarus. "Back in my previous life, the American people relied on me to have the answers. When they needed to know something, it came straight from their President's mouth."

Lazarus shook his head exasperatedly, as if to say: How many times do I have to teach you this lesson, old man?

"So, the collar" Flash said, trying to steer the conversation out of these turbulent waters. "Do you think we should try and take it off?"

"If we're going to read what it says on the pendant, that's probably what we should do" the Zoroark replied. "But I think we should go to a more private place to do that."

"What are you talking about?"

Lazarus rolled his eyes. "This forest might seem like a private place, but it's anything but. You never know what wild Pokémon might be waiting in the wings. Luckily for us, I know just the place where we can read it safely."

"Oh?" Flash asked, his massive ears perking up. Perhaps it was just an illusion, but the Luxray felt certain that he could hear more acutely than he had as a human. Some level of hearing loss was normal for people in their mid-seventies, of course, but Flash felt as though everything sounded more vivid.

Even now, he could notice things he hadn't noticed before, such as the chirping of crickets and rustling of leaves.

"Yes," Lazarus replied, bringing Flash back to Earth, so to speak. "My house is a mile or two from here - I just so happened to be on my morning walk when I came across you."

"Well, it was certainly fortunate that you found me," Flash said awkwardly, trying not to imagine dozens of sets of fangs piercing his fur, one after another. That was, of course, the fate he would have faced had he not been so lucky.

"Quite" said Lazarus, seemingly not caring to elaborate further.

"Oh, by the way, you said the word Pokémon. Do you know what that word means to me?"

The Zoroark frowned. "Pokémon are the creatures inhabiting this world; most animals besides humans fit into this category. That includes you and me. Does the word mean something else to you?"

Flash spoke his mind before he could back down; if he didn't do it quickly, he knew he would get cold feet.

"Yes. Pokémon is a multimedia franchise created by Nintendo and Gamefreak, which my grandchildren are very familiar with. To them, Pokémon are fictional characters, and they collect cards with these characters on them. It's a game to them."

Lazarus' teal eyes glinted with considerable anger, and Flash instantly regretted his own words. After all, he'd just found a new friend in this strange land, and he may have just destroyed any chance he had at keeping said friend. And he needed allies desperately if he was to survive in this brave new world.

"Tell me, Flash: Imagine being told that you're fictional. Just picture meeting someone who thinks you're just a figment of their imagination. How would that make you feel?"

Flash sighed. "I'm sorry, Lazarus. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you should not have" the Zoroark snapped. "But because I'm such a good friend, I'm willing to forgive you for that. Make no mistake, though: It may have been a game before, but it's not a game anymore."

BACK ON EARTH

"Okay, Leader, I'm going to bow to your pressure. Are you happy?"

The Senate Minority Leader, speaking through the other end of the phone, replied with: "I guess I am, though you need to prove you're up to the task of being acting President. You have to deal with the mainstream media."

"With all due respect, Leader, I have no reason to take your advice. After all, we're of different parties. Why should I trust that you have my best interests at heart, when you're on record saying Andreas Fiddlesticks should be a one-term President?"

"Because I know how to make deals," the Minority Leader replied. "I'm on…oh, I think this is the seventh reading of The Art of the Deal."

"All of your deals involve austerity measures that hurt the American people, so I think I'll pass" VP Randolph snapped. "Anyway, the press conference is about to start - the conference that was your idea from the start. Forgive me if I'm not available for the next hour or two."

"You know, in a way, you're the opposite of Jesus Christ. Jesus suffered for our sins; we suffer for your sins."

Randolph shook his head; even if the Minority Leader couldn't see him do that, the Vice President hoped he'd gotten his message across.

"Clever" the VP said breathlessly. "Did it take you all day to come up with that line?"

With that, Randolph hung up abruptly. If the Minority Leader was butthurt that he was hung up on, that was his problem. Randolph wanted to look towards the future, not the past, and the press conference was right in front of him.

So the Vice President made his way to the Rose Garden of the White House. As soon as he'd reached the patio, he was met with an abundance of flashes and clicks, signaling that the cavalry had arrived. And by "cavalry", he meant the media's cavalry of so-called journalists who would be looking for any slip-up to sell as an inability for Randolph to execute his duties properly.

The presidential podium stood right at the edge of the patio, and several of the Cabinet secretaries were already present. Each of them swiveled around to face Randolph with stark expressions; it was plain to see that they were far from pleased.

"You're late," Transportation Secretary Lawrence uttered coolly. "Is there any particular reason for your tardiness?"

"I had a phone call."

Treasury Secretary Fairfax scoffed at that. "How did the phone call go? And who were you talking to?"

VP Randolph winked behind his glasses, hoping this gesture would placate his doubters. "I had a perfect phone call with the Senate Minority Leader," he said.

"A perfect phone call, Mr. Vice President?"

Too late, Randolph remembered that the cameras were already rolling. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore that, not without significant peril to his reputation. And a politician's reputation is everything in their career.

"Ah, sorry about that," the Vice President replied to the reporter who'd asked that question. This reporter was a tall, skinny lady in a brown dress, with white blonde hair and perfect teeth. She carried a Fox News microphone in one hand and abundant Botox on her face.

The Fox News lady smiled. "It's okay, Mr. Vice President. We all understand why you were late; it was picked up by the microphone on the podium."

What the hell? Those mics are strong, to be sure, I just didn't know they were that strong!

"Now, unlike the former guy, I'm not the type to say that the media is the enemy of the people. That's clearly not true; a free press is an essential cornerstone of American democracy, without which it will wither and die. However…".

Randolph stood there listlessly, staring off into space as he tried to remember what he'd been about to say. Within seconds, he realized that this wouldn't help his approval ratings - but the damage was already done.

"...sometimes the media gets in the way," the Vice President finished. "It can be inconvenient to have the news covering your every move. As a result, I ask that you allow me some privacy when asking questions today."

"There's a difference between privacy and transparency, Mr. Vice President."

"Well duh" Randolph snapped. "I'm asking you to give me the former."

"With all due respect, Mr. Vice President", a female reporter from CNN responded, "your boss, President Andreas Fiddlesticks, has always advocated for transparency. That's a key reason why you two won the election last year. So what do you have to say about that?"

"I'd say that some things are important to know, but others are not. I swear to God, sometimes it seems like the media wants to know everything about your life. In order to avoid being labeled as a hypocrite, they want you to eat fake meat that grows in a peach tree dish -".

"It is a petri dish, Mr. Vice President."

"- they want to know everything about your health, including things like if your bowel movements are on time. And they'll never, ever leave you alone. I have a life, too. One defined by my service to the United States Government."

"With all due respect, Mr. Vice President, you're making a mountain out of a molehill. You're putting words in our mouths; just please, answer the questions we give and it'll go smoothly."

"Fine," Randolph snapped. "What would you like to know?"

"My first question", the Fox anchor piped up, "is related to your boss. In the early hours of this morning, President Fiddlesticks was seen boarding a helicopter on the front lawn of the White House. Footage shows that he was sent to the Walter Reed Medical Center. Do you have any updates on his condition?"

Randolph gulped as his stomach dropped like he were on the world's tallest roller coaster.

The Vice President had, of course, been notified that the President was delirious and unresponsive, with no signs that he was likely to emerge from this state anytime soon. For obvious reasons, he wasn't keen on the idea of divulging this information.

"That question is a violation of HIPAA regulations. The President's medical team is working to ensure that his information remains confidential."

"But he's the President of the United States" the Fox lady shot back at him. "Surely you have a duty not to be opaque with us about this matter."

"Again, medical privacy is still paramount. Until such time as the President elects to disclose his personal details, it is requested that his HIPAA rights be respected. Suffice it to say that-".

"Just tell us right now: Did his COVID test come back positive or negative?"

"Negative" VP Randolph replied instantly. Even if he'd been lying, the answer would have come just as automatically as if he'd been reciting it. If the President got the coronavirus, even after receiving all three of his vaccine doses, the public freakout would be immense.

"I've got a question for you," the CNN reporter said, pushing her way to the front of the crowd.

Oh, great, here we go again.

"If this relates to the President's health, I won't answer it."

"It doesn't. What do you have to say about the rumors that Pokémon are real? I'm sure you could reassure the American people as the acting President -".

"I'm not the acting President, nor has the 25th been invoked. Nothing has happened to President Fiddlesticks that would prevent him from performing the official duties of his office. He's just doing them from Walter Reed right now."

"That is all irrelevant" the CNN reporter snapped. "All I want is a simple answer from you: Are Pokémon real or not?"

Randolph knew that many children (and some people who wished they were still children) would have loved nothing more than to go outside and catch 'em all. They would adore the reality that Pokémon existed, but unfortunately for them, this was not reality.

"They aren't," VP Randolph replied bluntly. "Some say there was a massive dump of evidence; if so, I have no idea where it came from. I certainly haven't seen it, and I've got access to classified documents you all could never dream of."

The Fox anchor smiled, but her eyes didn't suggest happiness. Rather, they looked like those of a child who's just been told that Christmas is canceled.

Of course. They want a media circus about all those creatures. Well, I'll see to it that they don't get it.

A third anchor, this one a man from MSNBC, raised his microphone in the air like the torch on the Statue of Liberty. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but he was cut off by the Fox anchor saying "I had another one!"

"Shut up, it's my turn!" the MSNBC reporter exclaimed. Turning to VP Randolph, he asked the following question:

"Mr. Vice President, are you fully prepared to give the American people bad news if you are required to?"

"Of course I am," the Vice President responded. To some degree, of course, he was lying through his teeth; he hadn't been honest about the President's condition. But so what? Politicians lied all the time!

"So if it looked like the President was unlikely to recover from his ordeal…you would tell us that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

"And if you needed to become acting President as a result…you'd let us know, right?"

"Why wouldn't I? Of course I would."

"And if a slew of fictional creatures created by Nintendo were to enter the universe through a portal in the atmosphere, you'd be honest with the American public about the threat, right?"

VP Randolph wagged his right index finger in front of the crowd. "That's purely a hypothetical. Nobody is alleging that but a bunch of shirtless men wearing horns."

"All of these are hypothetical questions, Mr. Vice President. We just want to make sure that the President and the press don't have an adversarial relationship. It's what the American people deserve. So, I ask again…would you do everything in your power to combat the threat of Pokémon invaders, and give regular updates on said effort?"

"I would," Randolph responded with a sigh.

The reporters rattled off the questions, and the Vice President tried to remain quick on his feet with the answers. Little by little, Randolph could feel himself losing his temper.

No. I must stay in control. They can't see me break down.

The journalists who had been furiously taking notes on their tablet computers had put them down now. What that meant was anyone's guess. Maybe they were actually going to take Randolph seriously, but the Vice President didn't hold his breath.

If you have any questions, or just want to chat, hit me up on Discord at SnowLabrador#7822. I apologize if this chapter seems a little less polished; I was pressed for time when editing it, so didn't reread as carefully as I usually do. Oh well, quite a bit still happened.

Next time: It's Good To Be the King