Welcome to another Pokémon one-shot! This one shot was written for an event on the site Archive of Our Own called International Fanworks Day 2020. In this event, use of the site participated in several events related to fanworks in the month of February. One of these events included writing a story based on a prompt. This story is intended to be a short story, but longer works are accepted. Additionally, the story was intended to be posted during the month of February 2020, but since I heard of the challenge late, the story was also posted slightly late. However, I figured there wasn't any harm in posting it anyway, and thus, it is here.
The prompt for International Fanworks Day 2020 is an interesting one. It asks readers to write a story of how characters would react if they discovered fan fiction of themselves existed. It was something I'd never done before, and decided to give it try. However, I decided also to approach the concept of bit differently than what how most writers might. Because of the concept and because of the event it was written for, the story will be written in a different style than what is normally seen.
It's also worth noting that this story is a companion one-shot to my chapter story Holly Rising, and will have spoilers for the entire thing. Reading Holly Rising is not required to understand this story. However, if you do not wish to be spoiled, read Holly Rising before reading this story.
Other than that, I do not own Pokémon, see the author's notes for details, and enjoy!
She Spoke
Ever since she was a child, the words came instinctively.
They flowed like water, engraving themselves on a page as cleanly and crisply as though they had always belonged there.
First, she thought it was a talent everyone had.
She thought it was a talent all her family had.
But over time, she learned that such was not the case.
Only some people had her talent.
And when it came to her family, that talent was hers alone.
Or at least, that was the case for now.
Perhaps, someone in the future would have her talent.
But she couldn't say when, where, who, or even what.
After all, she didn't plan on having any children, and it wasn't like she could, anyway.
Regardless, she would continue to do what came naturally.
After all, it made a lot of what she knew.
So when her professor friend approached her with a request, she took it like any other.
The professor had been shocked.
After all, she thought it would be difficult for her, to chronicle something she knew too well.
And that knowledge meant she was the only one that could chronicleit.
No matter how much it hurt.
Oddly, it didn't hurt as much as she expected.
It was a strange release in a way, as a means of dealing with the turmoil that had occurred throughout her life.
Of course, she could feel the invisible chains still rattling, and that this alone would not make her free.
But at least it would help, and she would do it for as long as that was the case.
It was because of all this that she was sitting here now, pen and paper at a desk.
One would expect the pen to fly across the paper.
To dance fiercely until her hands themselves gave in.
To scratch the message out no matter the cost.
But the paper does not move.
The pen does not fly.
Instead, both lay lazily on the desk, until her hand deftly shoves it to the side.
A machine resembling a black box is brought out, making a clunking noise on the desk.
The machine opens up with a click, and she rapidly slides it upward to reveal a giant square screen above.
Another click occurs, this time with a button, and the machine roars to life. She wonders, one day, if there were will be silence, but for now, she is focused intently.
And suddenly, the focus is broken.
She immediately grabs something from the other side of the desk with the fervor of a madman. She does not spare a single thought, as she plugs the object into a hole on the left side. She can see that the object is black, with the wire almost like a tail.
And at the end of the wire is the object's true form.
Something resembling a headband, going around her head. At the end of the headband on both sides are round objects resting on her ears. In the middle of the wire sits a circular dial of some sort. It seems like a switch for turning something on and off, but she doesn't dare press it.
For it would inhibit the most important part of all.
A part of the object dropping downward, staying close to her mouth.
Before, she would've looked like anyone else that had the talent.
But this mouthpiece distinguished her, and always would.
Because it tells her what she must do with the machine. Perhaps, it tells the world.
Sitting beside her as a black keyboard built into the machine itself.
But she doesn't even give it a glance.
Instead, her hand instinctively maneuvers to a silver front, with a rectangle in the middle. She places her hand on the rectangle, and a white symbol on the screen moves faster than the eye can see. A single click, and a green flame appears on the top of the screen. The green flame is accompanied by a gray bar that stretches across the entire area. On the bar are black words, but she doesn't pay them any mind.
After all, she's long since had them memorized.
Another clicking sound, and a blue rectangle appears.
With that, she resisted the urge to tap her hands impatiently.
Her crooked, almost shaking, hands.
Hands that responded to this talent with a speed so slow it couldn't be calculated.
And even then, every letter was a struggle.
But that reason was far from the only one.
She glances down below the desk where she can see her legs.
She can't see them too clearly, but she registers the sound of them kicking out.
Nothing she can control, unfortunately.
Nothing anyone can control.
She doesn't need to look at her legs to see they are as twisted as her hands are.
And yet, her talent must go on.
She glances up briefly, noticing a white page in front of her.
A second click, and a black flashing cursor greets her.
She nods approvingly.
At last, she can begin to fulfill the request.
The white symbol soars, hovering above the green flame.
Yet it does not stay.
Instead, she directs her attention to the side, resting on a picture of a red microphone.
A single click, and the microphone is green. More colors are to the bar's other side, but she still doesn't notice them.
Instead, she speaks.
The words appear, as if by magic. Perhaps they are, being summoned forth by an unseen force.
She always has been associated with magic, after all.
Even if she doesn't consider this the above.
It doesn't stop people from thinking it is, with the words being commanded to page at superhuman speeds.
But to her, it doesn't matter.
Because the machine is something she's always kept with her, even after receiving it over a decade ago.
And it's something she will always need.
Her twisted hands and legs constantly remind her of that.
But they also reminded her of the other reason why she was chosen for this task.
The machine makes her faster than any other person who has her talent.
And so far, she's the only one with knowledge of the past events that could utilize that talent.
Oh, there were others she could teach it to, and possibly more users in the place where she came from.
But other people were not interested, and she knew of no other user in her home region that truly understood the request.
So of course it would fall to her to fulfill it.
She nodded, eyes becoming narrowed.
That request…
The professor had been clear…
There were others, many others that were waiting for what she produced…
Word by word, sentence by sentence, page by page, chapter by chapter…
She would have to produce quickly, efficiently, and less detailed than she normally would be…
But if she succeeded…
If the others enjoyed it…
Then there would be more stories…
Perhaps tales without end…
No, there had to be an end eventually…
But she could make the enjoyment last as long as she could.
So she took a deep breath, and spoke.
She spoke of the story that left her head instinctively.
She spoke of a young Trainer…
Of said Trainer's journey…
Of her misfortunes…
Of her companions…
Of said Trainer's deception, both given and received…
Of the tragedy and casualties that nearly tore apart an entire region…
But most importantly…
She spoke of herself…
How her story unexpectedly interwoven with the other Trainer's…
Or perhaps it was expected, given what she knew…
Regardless, she spoke of how in the end she had hoped things would be different…
But they weren't, and she had to prepare herself to fight again…
Against the Trainer fallen from grace, and every enemy that would threaten honest ones…
And even in all the conflict, she had a glimmer of hope…
Even though some of that hope seemed extinguish now, knowing how the story ended…
But she couldn't let it die here, for the sake of those who would see this story and finally know the truth of what happened…
If anything, there was hope to write it, no matter how it turned out…
And it was this hope that propelled her forward…
Word after word…
Page after page…
Sentence after sentence…
Chapter after chapter…
Until at last, a completed tale stood before her.
She sat back, staring at her handiwork.
Out of all of what she had spoken, that was one thing that touched her most.
And that was what she had spoken of herself.
She admitted she wasn't sure how to insert her story first, and thus added it later.
But it turned out to be one of the decisions that had made the story run smoother.
She admitted she had been intent on calling herself the traveler.
But it had been one that fit her well.
She was, after all a traveler, in more ways than one.
She had remembered how naturally the words flowed as she spoke of the Pokémon Center that night.
How she had told the tale of the pain that plagued her even now, but related the story without so much as flinching.
She supposed she wouldn't.
After all, she had it for so long it was a part of her.
That night it had been so easy to slip into the bed of the Center, and even easier to recall the experience.
For after that, there had been the dream that started it all.
The dream that she had failed to understand at first, but became clearer than any other could ever be.
As clear as the scorching nosebleed she woke up with after.
Not like those were unclear anyway.
After that, she let herself drift away, fading into the background.
She effortlessly steered her narrative towards the fallen Trainer, letting her be the focus of the story she thought she was the center of.
She would never stop admitting that she despised what the Trainer had become.
But there was still that strange sensation that clawed at her.
Guilt, perhaps.
Or grief.
Regardless, she couldn't let herself get caught up in her emotions.
Because she was now approaching an area where many Trainers had gone.
An area that was known far and wide, as a safe place to catch the rarest Pokémon.
An area that was now under attack, and the scene of a bloody battle.
And it was here that her story continued.
Ironic that hers should continue in a place for so many others had ended.
But that was how everything had gone.
And she knew that even though she couldn't save those whose stories had ended, she could prevent others from ending.
That had been her motivation when she stepped onto the battlefield the day and unleashed powers no one had ever heard of.
It was a victory of sorts, but there was no triumph, considering she remembered the waves of the fatigue that had washed over her afterward.
And above all, she couldn't even give into the longing to truly showcase what happened.
Because the narration wasn't hers.
Not yet, at least.
The fallen Trainer was still taking over, and of course said Trainer wouldn't know.
So of course, her deeds were passed by word of mouth, by others who witnessed what she'd done.
But they may as well have had the same effect, considering the fallen Trainer's reactions.
And of course, those of the one that had the fallen Trainer under her thumb.
One that had truly fallen.
A dead doppelgänger of herself.
She hadn't mentioned the dead Trainer in the comparison to herself, but she would soon.
After all, the next appearance would have them face off against each other.
She remembered riding her Silvally, Lydia, soaring through the air with using the shimmering white wings of the one known as the Anomaly…
She could feel her heart race as she relived the rush of adrenaline that matched her Pokémon's later speed.
And the fallen Trainer and the dead one could do nothing.
For in another instant, she had snatched away the one that had been unjustly been made the two's prisoner.
She resisted the urge to clench her fist.
Though it had looked like a heroic rescue at the time, understanding what happened later in the story made her feel like none of that rescue mattered now…
But there was still a tale to tell.
And so she had spoken again that same day.
Or rather, written.
The words that had described the flying ghostly orbs depicting her thoughts that day came as naturally as all the others.
And yet…
She couldn't help but cringe…
For those words had been written visibly but spoken silently…
A harsh reminder of the one that had all but stolen her voice, name, and face…
The dead one that stood before her then.
So she was forced to cloak her face in shadows, entering the scene nameless and silent.
But then, perhaps she didn't even need a name.
For she had another, one she had received long ago.
Granted, it was more of a title than a name.
But it was still something to identify her by.
Thus, it was enough.
So she had used it anyway.
And others gladly called her by it.
So the fallen Trainer and the dead doppelgänger learned of the name as well.
But the two only knew her by one word.
And the word was enemy.
So of course there had been a battle, with foes intent on destroying her until there was nothing left…
But the tables had turned.
Without a struggle, or warning…
More rapidly than the eye could see…
Her enemies had thrown a horde of their strongest Pokémon at her…
Yet it had proved to be useless as they fell to the deadly toxins she spewed…
Then again, fell probably wasn't the proper word…
Because a funeral was probably the last thing she gave them…
What she did give the Pokémon was much worse…
There was the eerie stillness and the narrowed eyes…
And the opposing Pokémons' refusal to listen to any commands…
Before the creatures turned against each other and there was only the sound of foes being ripped apart…
Plans had gone awry…
Opposing Trainers had received the shock of their lives…
There may have been injuries beyond comprehension…
Perhaps, even some lives had been lost that day…
But she did not falter…
Instead, she disappeared into the battle's crowd, and from there, her story ended again…
But not for long…
For there was still danger afoot…
Such as a rampant, wild, beast, intent on taking the lives she had saved…
Well, a wild beast that was a Pokémon called Mightyena…
A minion of the fallen Trainer, it seemed…
Yet minion or not, she did not hesitate.
Could not hesitate.
The deadly weapon had been in her hands.
Before the thought had even crossed her mind, she fired.
Fire…
The fallen Trainer wouldn't see that what she created…
Only the aftermath…
That which resembled fire, but was not…
And seeing her nose which burned like fire, blood from it pooling on the ground and signaling that she had adverted a disaster…
Yet she resisted the urge to clench her fists again…
Even if she had one small victory, perhaps it didn't matter in the end…
But she couldn't focus on that now…
Documenting what had happened had come naturally, words flowing off the tip of her tongue like almost all the rest…
But what had not been easy was the other happenings…
Such as repeating the name of one that was no longer in the world of the living…
It echoed in her mind, almost like a chant…
Cheyenne, Cheyenne…
She resisted the urge to grit her teeth.
Even though she had been told it was an accident, and had been allowed to keep training…
Years later, it still hurt…
Yet that wasn't the only thing that hurt that day…
The fallen Trainer's reaction to her weapon had hurt too, predictable and common though said reaction was…
To think she would be grouped with criminals, murderers, and scoundrels, just because of a skill passed down to her…
It was likely she always would be…
She kept her composure in the field of battle, and tried to approach the subject with stoicism…
But in reality, the invisible wound still cut deep…
Not like she would never let many people know that.
Or at least, she couldn't at that time.
Because now the fallen Trainer had rushed forward, swinging her own weapon at her.
Or rather, a mockery of a weapon…
For it was just a Pokémon masquerading as a weapon, a sword and shield, in fact…
And that Pokémon could just be defeated like any other…
As her own Pokémon quickly proved…
Yet the fallen Trainer was stupid enough to rush at her barefisted…
Capture was inevitable, even as her foe screamed at her…
But it was something she didn't dare dwell on, at least from her point of view.
For there was other things she had to focus on.
Such as a verbal confrontation with the dead one.
She remembered she had stood up straight and tall, reliving the confrontation as though it was occurring right then and there…
And the words had flowed even more than they usually did…
For even those she spoke them silently, they were hers…
And they were no different when she spoke them aloud…
Yet even though she took pride now in what she had said then…
Even though she had revealed everything she knew back on that day…
Even though she had taken out the last of the dead one's Pokémon after the latter attempted to set a city ablaze…
Even though she had verbally exposed the dead Trainer for who she was, and followed up with a physical equivalent…
It was not enough.
She shut her eyes.
Sometimes, it felt like her actions were never enough.
Perhaps her actions were always never enough.
She opened her eyes, staring straight ahead.
She couldn't run from what happened now.
Especially when there were still words to look at.
All she could do was continue.
But she couldn't stop herself from cringing.
Because after this…
She had been made completely helpless.
Oh, she was still alive, with every single ability she possessed normally…
But in a way, that made it worse, serving as a cruel reminder…
Because not only had her actions rendered her helpless, they had made her foes stronger…
She had inadvertently made the dead Trainer able to use her full power, while she could do nothing in order to keep her own life…
Of course, she had kept her composure in battle, aside from a little faltering…
But here, alone and after everything…
She registered something that felt like a lump in her throat…
Something that almost made choke up…
Guilt…
Sorrow…
Grief…
All responses to happened that day, and everything that occurred after that…
And what she could not prevent, regardless of all the power and knowledge she carried…
The worst part was that her foes knew what that was, despite barely understanding her and all…
She remembered she had fought to keep her fingers on the keyboard and her voice from trembling as she spoke of what she was forced to do…
Forced to bring the fallen Trainer to the dead one as the dead Trainer taunted her constantly…
Forced to do nothing as the dead one and the fallen Trainer were allowed to continue their atrocities unhindered…
Forced to bring the victim of their worst torture to them both…
And forced to watch as said victim was given a punishment worse than death itself…
She had tried to rescue the victim, to allow that story to go on…
But had been stopped when the ghost coldly told her that she would only destroy herself…
And so she had been forced to retreat, to bear the internal pain of loss, both hers and everyone else's…
Internal pain she still carried to this day…
Even as she wrote the words now…
Loss…
Loss…
Yes, it was the victim who lost the most…
Even though her story eventually went on…
But looking back, it may have been better if the victim's story had ended that day…
Considering what happened to the victim after, the rest of the story was an even more heartbreaking one to tell…
But it wasn't a story she could think about now.
For her own story still needed telling.
Well, a little, anyway.
For she spun a tale of ringing bells signaling the arrival of one carrying the power of the heavens…
A tale of a new creature that some had heard of, but few had seen…
One that took a form of a person enveloped in white light, with wings so large said person floated over the ground…
18 plates and crystals orbited around the being, ancient relics brought to life by some unspoken ritual…
And strength unparalleled, manifested in blinding light that she also used to obliterate foes…
But most of all, there were new names…
Angel…
Heavenly soldier…
Blessed…
Chosen…
Ascended…
Divine…
Incomprehensible…
She couldn't help letting a smile cross her face.
How she yearned to write what those words truly meant…
Power…
Knowledge…
Freedom…
Rewards…
But as soon as she thought of that, the smile on her face fell.
The words also brought with them darker meanings.
Heartbreak…
Pain…
Sorrow…
Fear…
Anger…
Helplessness…
Inability…
Miscommunication…
Loneliness…
Yet she knew that regardless of the feelings her titles gave her, she couldn't talk about any of them…
Because the story was not hers.
For soon as she had come into the story, she vanished into the background.
Her heroics were only spoken of secondhand, passed down to the fallen Trainer and the dead one via those she had managed to converse with…
Not like the fallen Trainer and the dead one considered those stories heroics anyway.
To them, she was still known as "enemy".
But then, there were the final acts…
The last two, longer than anything the story ever had before…
Perhaps longer than anything she'd written in her life…
And from the first line, everything changed…
The tale of the fallen Trainer and the dead doppelgänger was still there…
But the words flowed with the thoughts of someone stronger…
Older…
Wiser…
Grounded…
Honest…
Because at last, the words were truly hers.
At last she took center stage, her foes relegated to merely commenting, their own stories now finally secondary…
And the spotlight was something she would relish in their place, no matter how brief that spotlight was…
Granted, the reasons she had the spotlight were not just because of her constant yearning.
After all, she wasn't sure if readers of the story would be too enthusiastic about seeing those that they followed throughout said story suddenly and horribly lose.
Even if the story did go on afterward…
And so the words flew…
Halting the fallen Trainer from ending the current Champion's life…
Enveloping the fallen Trainer and the doppelgänger in shadows so that she could take on the Champion herself…
Her victory over the Champion allowing her to invoke a rarely used rule that could be the key to saving everyone from her foes…
Destroying the fallen Trainer, and believing everything had been won…
And of course, rescuing a brainwashed Pokémon, giving the creature long denied freedom…
Finding out that all was not won upon realizing the dead one had a plan, one that could take her life and those of all her allies…
Thwarting that plan, and revealing what the dead one really was for all to see…
Understanding that her foes were still her foes, and could still escape…
And at last, being called back to safety, familiarity, and perhaps another journey…
Everything, all in her thoughts…
She was still silent in that part of the story, yet perhaps this was the first time she truly spoke.
But it would not be the last.
And perhaps that was unfortunate.
For the final act had her recounting failure, where she could only hope to pick up the pieces of what had been broken…
There was so much going on that the fallen Trainer and the doppelgänger didn't know…
So much that everyone else didn't know…
That she had no choice but to take center stage again…
No matter how much pain that caused…
For there was a vision that could not be stopped, forcing her to watch as her foes almost took down the entire League…
A timely intervention had saved her allies, but it had not been enough to prevent her foes from escaping...
And by that time, she was gone, alone with her Pokémon…
And her thoughts.
Thoughts of the victims, both the deserving ones and the innocent…
Thoughts of the fallen Trainer, what had happened to her, and what said Trainer was really fighting against…
Thoughts of the dead, regardless of how and why they met their fates…
Thoughts of the one who started the journey being completely destroyed by it all…
Thoughts of how everything had been useless…
Thoughts that would not stop, even at the risk of her publicly embarrassing herself…
And then…
Others of her kind appear…
A person and a Pokémon she knows almost nothing about, but simultaneously is close to…
If anything, she is aware what the glowing wings and halos mean…
As aware as she is of her own name when it's finally spoken aloud…
And as aware as she is of her own failures as she discusses them with the newcomers…
But she cannot dwell on her failures for long, no matter how she feels…
Because there is a request that an old friend made, and one that she is able and willing to grant…
Another step, and she is in another familiar place…
The hall of Pokémon Champions, with the request to have the records of her victory registered…
So that she may live forever within history, even long after her life ends…
It is a prestigious honor, to be sure…
And yet…
Looking back at the written words, she can't help but shudder…
She still won't deny the honor of receiving the Champion title, but she also can't deny the darker meaning it has to her…
One that she can't bring up now, even if it has caused her trouble…
Because the ceremony must continue.
And so it does.
For a moment, the words describe her awkwardly placing her Pokémon in the designated area, the congratulations on the honor itself showing up on a giant screen, and the well-lit room it all takes place in.
And then, for another moment, the ceremony has ended.
The conclusion of the story, it seems.
But what seems to be is not the truth.
As she goes on to perform one final act.
She summons a creature, a Pokémon.
One that she believes will give the others hope, and a proper conclusion to their own story.
As she reads the words, she tries not to let a scowl show on her face.
There had been a conclusion, but it wasn't one she imagined or envisioned.
Perhaps it wasn't a proper conclusion, so to speak.
She had tried to change the outcome, to get the conclusion she wished for…
But in the end, it never happened…
Perhaps it wouldn't have happened regardless.
Because this wasn't her story.
She was only recounting the story of others, even if she wrote the words…
But then…
She had influenced the story…
And those in the story had spoken of her deeds, even when she wasn't there…
She had played a role in who lived and died, stopping evil while protecting the honest…
In the end, she had been hailed a hero, being recognized as the only one that truly had knowledge about what was happening…
So, in truth, it really was her story.
As much as those she had a direct part in.
And now, the story, her story, would be written for others to find.
And all because of the words she spoke.
Author's notes:
-So, as stated before, the idea from the story came from a different take on the prompt. Usually, in these types of stories, fan fiction characters discover the fan fiction within the real world and the story is known as metafiction. However, I always found this kind of story awkward, and wasn't sure how I was going to write that.
Then I remembered that I had planned for the narrator in She Spoke to be the one writing Holly Rising (and other stories attached to it) after the events of the latter had occurred. She was also planned to gain knowledge of a lot of past events at some point, which is why she's able to recount things that didn't involve her. With this scenario already set, I felt it would make sense to have the story be from her point of view. That way, she is still a character in fan fiction commenting on fan fiction (and thus within the prompt), the process of her writing it is showcased when it otherwise was not intended to be, the scenario that's already there is expanded on, and the prompt would turn into something that's more natural for me to write. Consequently, the majority of the story is taken directly from the events of Holly Rising, including author's notes describing how that story was written.
Because this writing was originally intended to be a short story, I chose to move the story quickly and skip over quite a bit of the details of the events the narrator is recounting. Additionally, a lot of these events are shown in detail in Holly Rising, so there was no reason to go into detail twice. Finally, the narrator is eventually intended to have her own separate chapter story and take on the events. Said story would also go into the detail usually seen in one of my more traditional stories. Therefore, extra detail not related to the writing process is omitted here. However, a professor friend making the request for her to write the stories was planned to be first shown in the chapter story about the narrator. I just decided to move that bit of detail up for the background of this story.
-The narrator's writing talent, her physical difficulties, and the method the narrator uses to write are all adaptations of things from real life. In real life, I do have an incredible writing talent that no one else in my family has. There were cases where I thought my talent was normal, or in other members of my family, when more regimented training (e.g. formal classes in school) showed me that it wasn't. I went on to train to be a professional writer, something that is a first in my family. It's not known if there will be any people like me in my family in the future, but I like to think that there will be.
-The narrator commenting about not being able to have children and not planning to also comes from something in real life. I eventually discovered I have a medical condition where one of the symptoms is that having children is difficult. One of the treatments makes it so I am unable to have children at all. Luckily, this can be reversed by getting off of the treatment and using something else, but since I'm currently not planning to have any children anyway, I have no need to switch treatments.
The narrator's other physical issues are because of a different medical condition. I have a neurological disorder called cerebral palsy. This disorder affects movement, and functions exactly the same way it is shown to in the story. As a result of my cerebral palsy, I don't write or type much at all. Instead, I use a voice recognition program, which is software that types what is spoken into a microphone. The particular voice-recognition software I use is called Dragon NaturallySpeaking. Dragon NaturallySpeaking looks and functions exactly the way it does in the story.
-The narrator talking about the story being written differently and how others were involved is based off of how Holly Rising was written. Holly Rising was written as part of what's called a role-play. In a role-play, there is a group of writers, with one being the leader. The leader will post a prompt, and the others have to respond to this prompt using characters they made up beforehand. Once all people in the group have responded, the group leader moves on and posts another prompt. The cycle of prompts and responses continues until either the story is finished, or the group leader chooses to end prematurely.
Since I knew there were others involved in and waiting for responses, I had to write less detailed and more quickly than I normally would. However, later on in the role-play, I became the only one answering the prompts. Therefore, I got permission to have all prompts posted ahead of time and take as much time as I wanted with responses. The writing then became more detailed and longer, and had quite a bit more freedom (such as the point of view switch mentioned near the end of the story). I also decided that if I and other people enjoyed the writing, then I would write more stories set in the same universe. The former turned out to be the case, which led (and will hopefully lead to) many more stories, such as this one.