Here's the sixth chapter, coming straight at you! This is when things start to get REAL, at least in my view. However, there is a more serious note at the bottom of this chapter.

Again, this is a day early, but I'm already on Chapter 9, so why not?

Current music: This Is Heaven - Nick Jonas

By the time Brett arrived home, the sun had gone down, and the few lights his street contained had all been turned on. Even with that, it was almost as dark out as it had been during his dream.

He gulped as he used the key to unlock the door. He knew that his parents would have expected him here much earlier, and that now he'd have to face the music. Perhaps he was a little old to be grounded, but his parents might well decide to do that anyway.

When Brett entered the house, his mother was in the kitchen washing the dishes as Liana the Fennekin slept on a beanbag chair in the corner. However, Liana wouldn't be asleep much longer, as Mrs. Porter noticed her son's presence.

"Brett Jonas Porter, where have you been?" she all but shrieked, pointing a finger directly at her son.

"I, uh…was running late" Brett said weakly, knowing that his mother most likely wouldn't accept that as an answer.

"Almost three hours late, it seems," his mother replied, pursing her lips. "What could have been so important that you'd spend three hours out on the town?"

Unlike Lucky the Lucario, Mrs. Porter wasn't a lie detector. However, Brett saw no reason not to tell the truth.

Before he could do so, however, Henry came running into the room.

"Brett! We've been worried sick!" the 15-year-old exclaimed, reaching his arms out to envelop his brother in an Ursaring hug.

The 19-year-old accepted his younger brother's embrace. They hugged it out for a few seconds, but Brett was under no illusion that this would free him from consequences for being late.

"Guys, it's fine. I'm fine. That's all that matters" Brett insisted.

"But why were you away for so long? Did you find a girl to bring home?" Henry asked.

As Mrs. Porter looked at her younger son disapprovingly, Brett shook his head.

"I didn't, not that I was looking. Anyway, the reason I stayed out so late was because I had an interview. Mr. McCormick called for it, not me."

Mrs. Porter, Henry, and Liana all stared Brett right between the eyes.

"An interview! With whom?" Mrs. Porter exclaimed.

Taking a deep breath and holding his arms out, the older boy replied with the following: "OKNN. They wanted to hear about the dream I had, because it could be of major importance."

Brett's mother laughed dryly. "Why would OKNN be so concerned with a dream you had? Dreams aren't extraordinary by any means, they just happen. I don't get what the big deal is."

"It's not like that," the older boy said. "The dream was about…well, just wait until you see the interview. Clarisse Clarion, the news anchor, said it would be published pretty soon. By the way, where's dinner? I'm famished."

"We already ate," Henry replied, rolling his eyes. "That's what happens when you stay out so late. You miss dinner."

"I'm sure there's something in the fridge for you, Brett" Mrs. Porter told her older son. "But you mentioned that the interview would be published…like, in the news?"

"I mean, I'd assume so. Where else would they put it?"

"But what was the dream about?" his mother asked. "Why would it be so noteworthy as to make the news?"

Brett sighed. Delivering this news to his mother was going to be uncomfortable, maybe even downright painful. But she was going to find out eventually, so it was better if she heard it straight from the Ponyta's mouth.

He thought about how best to delicately deliver the news…but there was no way, really, to be delicate when talking about an impending alien invasion. His mother would either grow extremely worried or think he was a lunatic; either way, she'd freak out.

"My dream was about aliens," Brett replied before he could stop himself.

Silence. Then…

"Excuse me. What? Henry's always been the one interested in aliens, not you!"

"Well, that was my dream. And you can either believe me or not, but we saw the UFO event yesterday on TV. There has to be something to that."

"But you're jumping on the bandwagon now?" his mother enquired. "Brett, you do realize these people are lunatics, right? Even if aliens are out there, there's a reason they haven't visited us yet!"

"Maybe they're just waiting for the right time," Henry said, reminding the other two that he was still there.

"The right time?"

"You know, when we're least expecting it. Isn't that what any invading army would be wise to do?" That was Brett talking.

"Well, that does make sense. But just because Ash Ketchum evidently believes in aliens now, that doesn't mean you should too. I thought I taught my sons to think for themselves, not get sucked in by whatever sensation's gripping the world."

Brett knew that he wasn't going to get anywhere with his mother that evening. Certainly not when she was still peeved with him for being out late. Perhaps after both of them got some sleep and woke up the next morning, refreshed and rejuvenated, Mrs. Porter would be more receptive to what her older son had to say.

"Well, good night" Brett blurted out, turning around to head to his room.

"You're going to bed without supper? Didn't you just say you were hungry?"

The youth shook his head. "I'm not hungry enough to hang out here anymore, not if you're going to keep insisting that I'm crazy. So yes, I'm heading to bed without supper."

Fifteen minutes later, Brett lay awake in bed, having set his blanket off to the side; there was no need for it in this weather. It was quite something to know that not only was Nexus facing the imminent threat of an attack, but his own mother didn't believe him when he confided in her.

If I can't trust Mom, I can't trust anyone. Except I already trusted Mrs. Clarion of OKNN; I wonder what the paper's spin on this is going to be. They always find a way to make things sound worse than they are, except for the actual threats.

Eventually, Brett sank into a fitful slumber, tossing and turning every few minutes. He woke up about every half hour, sweating like a beast and breathing heavily, before managing to get back to sleep a few minutes later. Mercifully, he didn't dream.

On the whole, however, when he woke up for good and saw the sunlight creeping into his room, the young man felt distinctly unrested. His lips were dry and his forehead clammy; he didn't want to go into work.

Eh, I'll probably have the energy once I'm there. I can't hide myself from the world forever.

When Brett arrived in the kitchen after getting dressed and brushing his teeth, his father was already there, just like he'd been the previous morning. Unlike the last time Brett had seen his dad, however, the older man held a newspaper in his hands: The Cerulean Times.

The younger man got a little closer to his father, and saw that his old man's mouth was shaped into a giant O. It didn't seem that Mr. Porter noticed his son's presence, and Brett couldn't help but wonder what was so captivating about the newspaper.

Of course, he had his own fears, and these fears were confirmed when his father set down the paper and stared at his son, right between the eyes.

"Brett! Can you believe…do you realize what they're saying about you?"

Mr. Porter spoke frantically, his voice shaking as though he were horrified. He didn't exactly look accusatory, but his facial expression was one of disgust.

"Are they talking about the interview? The one I gave to OKNN?"

His father closed his mouth and gulped as though trying not to vomit, then handed Brett his copy of the Cerulean Times.

The headline featured a photograph of Brett, but it wasn't a current one. Rather, if the young man wasn't mistaken, it was a photo from one of his high school yearbooks.

"How did they find that picture?"

Mr. Porter shook his head. "I don't know. That's disturbing enough, but the actual story is far worse. Take a look."

Brett gulped as he read the headline: Area Man Claims Aliens Exist, Will Invade Nexus In Coming Days.

The reader will be spared the details of exactly what was in the article. However, Brett's very bones shook at the content of the page, and his blood heated up as though it were in a furnace.

The article described at great length everything known about Brett, as well as the interview he'd given. In addition, it attempted to tie the young man's "delusion" to the event Ash Ketchum had attended some distance to the south. Suffice it to say, the whole piece was rather infuriating.

"This can't be legal," Brett muttered in one breath. "They're literally running a smear campaign against me, just to make me look ridiculous. They want to equate me with people like Teddy Nickelback."

Mr. Porter shook his head. "It's disgusting, perhaps, but it's not illegal. The continental law of Kanto provides for extensive freedom of speech in the media, so they can say basically whatever they want."

"But…if people think I'm lying and really have it in for me…they're putting me in danger! How long until I get a stalker?"

"I know, Brett. It's really disgusting what OKNN's doing to you, but I suppose it's a valuable life lesson. Don't give an interview if you think any of it will be used to make you look ridiculous."

There he goes, blaming the victim. Yeah, I COULD have made a better decision, but these people will all be eating Murkrow in three days if I'm right.

As Brett spread cream cheese on his sliced bagel, however, he gained no satisfaction from the prospect of being proven right. Indeed, he hoped to death that he was wrong, because if he wasn't wrong, it could literally mean his death, as well as that of countless other humans and Pokemon.

I have three days to convince the world that something's happening, or else we're screwed.

Fuming on the inside, Brett walked out to his car at roughly a quarter past eight. He knew he was likely to arrive early, but better early than late, he figured.

As he backed out of his driveway, he allowed himself to hold out hope that maybe, just maybe, today would be a normal day. Or rather, as "normal" as one can get when you've just been in the news for a less-than-flattering reason. Maybe he'd be able to almost forget about the Green Team.

These hopes were dashed as soon as he'd left his neighborhood.

Brett looked in his rearview mirror as he pulled up to the road that led into the countryside, and he saw something that made his stomach drop.

There was a van right behind him.

Normally, this wouldn't have been a cause for concern. After all, he was waiting at a red light, so other vehicles would tend to line up behind him until they were allowed to keep driving. That's just how it worked.

However, this van was bright green, a color rarely seen on vehicles these days. Come to think of it, bright colors in general were seldom used.

Although he'd had an abrupt reaction to the sight of the green van, Brett didn't think much of it. Eventually the light turned the same color as the van, and the young man slammed his foot on the gas pedal.

A few minutes later, after two more lights, Brett took another glance at the rearview mirror. It was a good practice in general, but he didn't expect anything out of the ordinary to be there.

He was wrong.

Right behind Brett's vehicle, the green van remained, almost close enough to rear-end his car. It was then that the youth got a better glimpse of the van itself.

He couldn't see the license plate, but he could see the windshield; or rather, he could see where the windshield would have been had the glass not been painted over in black.

Brett gasped. Wasn't that dangerous? Indeed, "dangerous" wasn't nearly a strong enough word for it - driving without being able to see your surroundings was about the most idiotic idea he could imagine. And still, the van had managed to follow him all the way here.

Still, it's probably a coincidence. If I were a praying man, I'd pray to Arceus that when the van inevitably crashes, nobody else gets hurt. But it's none of my business.

When the light turned green, Brett once again floored it out of there, driving a good five or ten miles above the speed limit. Just in case the van's driver meant him harm, he wanted to make sure to put as much distance as possible between himself and the green vehicle.

Five minutes later, he was stuck at another long light. This one had been red for a good minute or two, and the young man came to accept that it would be a while.

To occupy himself, Brett decided to take one more look at the mirror. And guess what he found?

That's right - the van was still there.

"Arceus, you've gotta be kidding me!" the young man shouted, not caring if the deity heard him or not, not caring if anyone else was aware that this self-proclaimed "non-praying man" was breaking his own tradition.

The youth considered calling the police, but that would be futile. They'd be forced to keep moving once the light went from red to green, and the police wouldn't find him. Besides, he still didn't know the green van's license plate number.

Instead, he decided, Brett would simply have to lose the van. He couldn't drive straight to work, because then his stalker would know exactly where he worked, and could probably camp out there and ambush him. But what did they want?

Rather than taking a right at the next fork in the road like he usually did, Brett took a left. He didn't look back for a few more turns, but when he did, the van was gone.

Phew. Even if I have a stalker, I guess they're not THAT determined to catch me. But what do they want from me, exactly?

The young man shivered at the thought, but he knew that he couldn't dwell on it for too long. He had to find a new, convoluted route to work, one that would get him there in a reasonable amount of time.

Fortunately, Brett's car came with a GPS feature, so after he plugged in the Happy Valley Ranch, he had a route set up. He drove as fast as he could, eventually arriving at the ranch only a few minutes late.

When he got there, Michael and Libby were waiting for him next to a very irate-looking Mr. McCormick. The rancher's mustache looked more unkempt than usual, and his face was pink, as though he'd been quietly seething for some time.

"You're late" Mr. McCormick told Brett unnecessarily.

The youth nodded. "I know, my apologies. I was being tailed by a green van, and I couldn't take the normal route. It's a good thing I left early!"

Michael frowned. "Why couldn't you come here the normal route?" the younger boy asked naively.

Mr. McCormick shot Michael a dirty look, as if to say Let me handle this.

"I didn't want my stalker to know where I worked. I drove around until I lost the van, and then I made my way here. But I'm only…what, five minutes late?"

"Six," his boss replied firmly. "You are six minutes late to work, Mr. Porter. And you know what that means, right?"

Brett's heart raced as his mind jumped to the worst-case scenarios. He might end up getting fired, never being allowed to work at the Happy Valley Ranch again. Conversely, he might be given extra work, not that this would be much of a "punishment."

From the standpoint of preventing the possible attack from the aliens, however, he didn't know which scenario he'd prefer.

"Are you going to…fire me?" Brett asked, very much aware that his two colleagues were watching him like a Braviary, probably enjoying every stupid thing he said or did.

"No" Mr. McCormick replied, his voice settling down a bit. "This is your first time being late, so I'll let you off with a warning. Next time, though, I might not be so lenient."

The young man felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders; he'd used that saying himself, of course, but this time he truly did feel like he'd been carrying around a fifty-pound barbell and was only now allowed to put it down.

He knew, of course, that he couldn't risk being tardy again. But given how unpredictable his boss was, he was lucky not to have been given the sack this time.

After that, the trio went off to work in the stables. They had the usual tasks, of course: Feeding the Ponyta and Rapidash, cleaning up manure, bathing the horses, and more. But Brett knew he had an additional task upon his shoulders, one that nobody else would envy.

Moreover, it wasn't merely an extra job he was carrying; much like the Titan Atlas, Brett carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. At least, that was the case if his dream had been correct.

As Brett leaned over to scrub some manure off the ground (a task that was hard on the back, not just on the nose), he was all too aware that all over the world, people were reading the interview he'd given to OKNN. All over the world, people he'd never meet would be passing judgment on his words.

And yet, here in the exurbs of the Cerulean Region, he was just an ordinary ranch hand on his third day. He was just Brett Porter, a nineteen-year-old who had nothing better to do in his life than scrub Ponyta feces out of the dirt.

"What's wrong, Brett?" Michael asked him as Libby was helping saddle up a Ponyta for a ride. "Aren't you excited?"

The older boy shook his head. "No. Why should I be excited?"

Michael's eyes widened, regaining a sort of "spark" that they'd been missing. "We're about to ride the Ponyta! Haven't you always wanted to ride one?"

"Uh, no," Brett admitted. "That thing looks like it would buck me at the earliest opportunity. I'd rather not break every bone in my body on day three, you know?"

"You won't," the younger boy replied, clearly trying hard to be reassuring. "If Mr. McCormick thought it was unsafe, he wouldn't let us ride. Besides, he'll be right there to make sure we don't get bucked."

Brett sighed. Now was the time: He had to admit that his job wasn't the source of his worry.

"Honestly, Michael, that's not what I'm worried about. It's something else; you know what it is, since I mentioned it this morning!"

It was like a light switch being flicked off; Michael's eyes lost their luster, and they were suddenly filled with fear and worry. He looked directly at Brett, not blinking, as though he were staring straight into the older boy's soul.

"You mean, the guy who followed you in the van? Er…what color did you say the van was again?"

"Green," Brett replied breathlessly. "The van was green, and it was chasing me on the highway. And for the record, I don't know if it was a guy following me, could have been a lady."

"You couldn't have seen?" Michael asked.

The older boy felt a mild level of exasperation as he responded; then, however, he remembered that he hadn't yet told Michael this detail.

"The windshield was blacked out. I couldn't see the driver, which really made me wonder if they could see me. But they were following me, like a stalker."

Mr. McCormick, who'd been busy watching Libby work on the straps for the Ponyta's harness, walked over to the two boys. His expression wasn't exactly furious, but he certainly appeared upset.

"You two are supposed to be paying attention to the job at hand" their boss told them, his voice rising a bit with every word. "What could possibly be more important than saddling up a Ponyta?"

"We were talking about my stalker. My potential stalker, that is."

As soon as he said those words, Brett wished he could take them back. Alas, once they were in the air, they could not be retracted, no matter how much he would have liked them to be. He had to live with the consequences of that statement, whatever they may be.

Mr. McCormick cleared his throat. "Brett, stalker is a very loaded word. It carries harsh criminal penalties in Kanto, so it's a pretty serious thing to accuse someone of doing."

"Well, I was stalked," the youth insisted. "What else do you call it when a green van tails you for much longer than necessary?"

"Still, do you have their license plate number? How can you know it was the same van?"

Brett's left foot began involuntarily tapping against the ground; this happened whenever he was starting to lose patience with a person, Pokemon, or situation in general. How many other green vehicles are there?

"It was the same one" Brett replied, seeing Libby turn to look at the three guys, her job seemingly forgotten. "Same exact color, same model, and on both of the vans, the glass was all blacked out. That only makes sense if it was the same van both times."

"Well, I don't doubt that you were scared", Mr. McCormick replied, "but you've got a pretty flimsy case. If you can't tell the police what the license plate number was, then I'm afraid they won't believe you. At a minimum, they'll question you to within an inch of your life."

Suddenly, there was a sound akin to someone being slapped, followed by a shriek of pain. Brett gasped as he closed his eyes, half expecting to be hit at any moment.

"Libby! Be more careful!" Mr. McCormick shouted.

The young man opened his eyes again to see that his female colleague was holding a hand up to her left eye, grimacing as she staggered over to the boys.

"What happened?" Michael asked, spreading his arms out as though intending to embrace Libby.

Despite the severe pain she was evidently in, Libby still managed to inject some serious venom into her voice. "I was distracted by two boys talking about a green van, and I got kicked in the face by this Ponyta. And it hurts, let me tell you."

Mr. McCormick frowned. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, but I mean it. Any job involving livestock requires the utmost focus, because if you don't focus, that's when things like that happen."

"But it's not my fault that I wasn't focusing! They distracted me!" Libby exclaimed, holding both her hands up like a suspect under arrest. This revealed that her left eye was black.

"I know," the rancher responded, sighing. Turning to the two boys, Mr. McCormick's face turned the color of a tomato, and not from embarrassment. He wagged a finger at Michael and Brett.

"You two! You're dismissed from chores for the day!"

Brett was more than a little confused. Some people wouldn't see that as a punishment. They'd be happy to have a little less work on the ranch. Not me, of course, since this is the job I wanted.

"But," Mr. McCormick continued, raising his voice threateningly, "you're not allowed to leave the property until the day would normally end. My wife will be watching you to make sure of that. And if you do, you're going to be fired."

Suffice it to say, for the rest of that day, Brett had plenty of time to think. Not just about the questionable nature of his punishment, but also about why the green vehicle had been so determined to tail him.

Unless my license plate number was published online or something, how would they know it? Or maybe it's just a total coincidence, and I'm not the one they meant to stalk.

Of course, that was probably fairly unlikely. Who else had attained a dubious celebrity status yesterday? Who else would people want to stalk?

Michael, normally bubbling with excitement, was now sitting dejectedly on the couch, his head in his hands. It was clear that the punishment he'd been given would be effective; the younger boy's eyes, the few times Brett caught a glimpse of them, were glazed over with tears.

Meanwhile, Mrs. McCormick, still in her pink dress for some reason, paid close attention to the two boys. She'd forbidden them from reading books, watching TV, or playing board games, all things that would have alleviated the boredom even if they weren't Brett's preferred activities. This was, in her own words, "So that you two will have time to sit and think about what you've done."

Three days. That was all the time he had until the Green Team came to Nexus. Only three more times would the sun set, and only thrice more would it rise, before the world would be turned upside down.

Not just figuratively, either. Brett would drive himself insane on this line of thinking, but he knew it was possible that the aliens had technology to turn the planet 180 degrees. They'd probably do that just to make some magic happen - and by "magic", I mean "chaos."

On top of that, there was still the green van to worry about. Brett had a sinking feeling, a pit in his stomach, that told him he hadn't seen the last of that vehicle.

Even if the driver didn't know where the youth worked, they clearly knew where he lived. And that meant Brett wouldn't be safe there.

It's not just that. Not only am I putting myself at risk if I stay there, but I'll also be placing my family in unnecessary danger. And I can't do that in good conscience.

Brett gulped as he realized that this dilemma had no good solution. He had nowhere else to return to after the shift was done, unless he wanted to camp out in the woods. But that would just bring him even more attention, far beyond what he'd gotten from the interview.

Is that really going to matter, though? If the Green Team takes over in three days, we're cooked!

It was then that the connection was made in Brett's mind. It was as though a sliding puzzle had been solving itself in his brain, slowly making move after move until the picture started to come together. Could it be?

There was evidence to support this notion, if you knew where to look. The color of the van was an obvious point to make, but the fact that the driver knew where Brett lived and could see through jet black paint…one could make a convincing case.

Regardless, Brett knew what his next step was going to be: Taking this evidence to the proper authorities.

Now, here's the serious note I promised. I'm not normally one to do this, but:

To anyone from Ukraine reading this, I cannot stress this enough: STAY SAFE. Like Brett I am a self-proclaimed "non-praying man", but if I were religious, I'd be praying for you guys.

But that's enough about that. I'll see you all next time for Chapter 7.