Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon; it belongs to Nintendo, Gamefreak, etc. All of the OCs and the Doren region, however, are mine.

A/N: This disclaimer applies to all further chapters. I'd really rather type it in as little as possible.

Away in the distance, he saw the water rise. Fearing for his life, he began to kick in the surf, but it was no use. His legs would do little good. There was nothing he could do but close his eyes and wait for the end...

Unless his eyes weren't playing tricks on him; suddenly, he could see an island. With his hope renewed, albeit just barely, he tried to kick again…

It was working; he was slowly gaining ground…just keep kicking… kicking…kicking…kicking to where? Where to go, when all there was was darkness?

He had the distinct impression that he was being watched by two blood-red eyes…

Zane bolted upright, staring with terrible, paralyzing, completely groundless fear at the ceiling he suddenly found himself under. He shook his head, trying to come back to rational thought.

There were no eyes up there, it was just a dream, he told himself. Stop being an idiot.

But for a dream, it sure was real…

Zane raised his right hand to his head, striking a blow that was cushioned slightly by what appeared to be a red bed sheet covering his torso. What the heck? he thought, slowly getting up. What's going on?

He took a quick look around the room he was in. The first thing he realized was that it was shoddily constructed; while it had four walls, all of them seemed to be badly beaten, and parts of them looked rusty. Still, he reasoned, it must have been meant to stand for a while; there wasn't much point in putting a light bulb on the roof of a temporary room. There was barely anything in the room; there was only the bed he had been lying on, which was right next to the room's only window, and a mirror on the other side of the window.

Walking over to stand in front of the mirror, Zane grimaced slightly at his appearance. His auburn hair, generally well combed, was grimy and sticking out in every direction, as though it had been licked repeatedly by a Miltank, then had sand poured on it. His torso was completely covered by the red bed sheet he had noticed before, which extended down to his knees and had a hole cut in the middle to accommodate his head. He still had his jeans, he could feel them, but the material that had been covering his shins was gone, revealing a large number of scrapes, cuts, and scabs.

Zane shook his head. Okay, the first thing I'm gonna do is get somebody to tell me what the heck's going on, he mentally declared as he walked towards the door. Then, I'm gonna get some new clothes…

Absentmindedly, Zane reached out his left arm to open the door, only to find that for some reason, his fingers wouldn't close around the handle. Heck, he couldn't even feel the handle, or his fingers, for that matter. Confused, he lifted the bed sheet covering his torso with his right hand. Slinging the front of the sheet over his shoulder and out of his way, he gazed with horror at his left arm… or at least, what was left of it.

Zane took a few steps backward, fighting the powerful urge to scream. He wasn't the sort to back away from a little gore, but staring at the remains of his arm, which ended at about the elbow, was making him feel nauseas. He fell to his knees, his entire body trembling.

He was so absorbed in his shock that he didn't notice the door slide open.

"We thought the procedure would be easier on you if it was performed while you were still unconscious," said an apologetic, hollow-sounding voice. "You must understand; we wouldn't have done it if it wasn't necessary to save you."

Zane looked up, half-expecting to see some wild-eyed maniac in a blinding white lab coat. He guess wasn't entirely wrong; the man standing in the doorway was wearing a lab coat. However, instead of being blinding white, the lab coat was dull, stained, and, in some places, torn. The man wearing the lab coat was not the one Zane had expected. His medium-length blonde hair was combed neatly to one side, and he wore a sober, almost remorseful expression on his face.

The man spoke again. "It's good to see you out of bed. How are you feeling?"

Zane snarled at the man and leaned over slightly. He tried to push himself up with his left hand, realizing too late that he didn't have a left hand anymore. He growled to himself as his chin hit the floor.

"It may take a while to get used to having one arm," said the man in the lab coat, trying desperately to hide the amused look in his eyes. "Don't push yourself too-"

"Shut up!" Zane, who was now upright, was surprised at the harsh sound of his voice. "If you think this is so funny, go get me a knife. I'll be happy to cut your arm off, and I'll make sure you feel every second of the operation. And before you do anything else, let's see your diploma, or hear from another of your patients, or… or… or something!" he stammered furiously. "Then maybe I'll trust your opinion of what's necessary."

"I don't have any medical training," the man in the lab coat replied calmly, "but you can rest assured that I wasn't the one looking after you. Our own Doctor Reyn was the one looking after you. In fact, I had just come to ask her how you were doing, but since you're awake, I'll just ask you. You're a better judge of it anyway. So," he asked, stepping out of the doorway and into the room, "how are you feeling?"

"Oh, you know, just fine," Zane said, not believing the man's story about a doctor for even a second. "You know, just hanging out in a weird room with rusty walls, chillin'. Oh yeah," he added, trying to sound like he was talking about the weather or something else extremely mundane, "my arm was cut off by a crazy scientist, but that's no big deal. How about you, Dr. Frankenstein?"

The man in the lab coat sighed. This boy had been much easier to deal with when he was unconscious.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot, young man," he said cordially. "I'm Professor Alder." Professor Alder extended his hand in greeting.

"Zane" came the reply, as Zane grabbed Professor Alder's hand and shook it apathetically, not even looking at him.

Professor Alder sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected talking with you to be easy. You're alone, confused, and far away from home. Would an explanation help?"

Zane nodded, feeling somehow drained. "Sure. Explain away, Frankenstein."

Professor Alder sighed again and began his explanation.

"Wait, wait, back up," Zane interrupted, thoroughly confused. "Where am I again?"

"This is the Doren region," began Professor Alder for the seventh time, "and as far as most of the world knows, it doesn't exist."

"How come?" Zane interrupted again. "Are you trying to keep it secret?"

The professor had to laugh. "No; in fact, most of the people here would give ten years of their lives to find the way out of here. Doren is in the eye of a perpetual maelstrom that draws ships toward the center. In most cases, the wrecked ships are salvageable, but we've yet to build a ship that would be able to exit the storm without sinking."

"Why don't you build a submarine?" Zane asked.

"I was getting to that," Professor Alder replied, "just stop interrupting."

"Sorry," Zane said.

"As I was saying," Professor Alder continued, "we've tried submarines, but they never make it. We always find the salvage a few weeks after launching them."

"Since we're stuck here, most of us try to make the best of it. As I said before, most of the wrecked ships are salvageable, they just wouldn't be able to hold together to get back out. We've been very fortunate in that we've been able to recover some computers and other conveniences, so life here is almost as comfortable as it is in the outside world."

"Hold on a sec," Zane interrupted, "I thought most people here would give ten years of their lives to get back home."

"They would," Professor Alder said with as much patience as he could muster, "but that doesn't stop them from making do with what they have. And what did I say about interrupting?"

"Right, sorry," Zane replied.

"Actually," the professor admitted, "there's not much else to say. So, if you have any questions, ask them now."

"Okay," Zane began, "so how long have you been here?"

"I've been here about twenty years," the professor answered, "but some people have been here as long as fifty years. There are even a rare few people who were born here."

"Wow. So I guess I'll be staying for a while?"

"Whether you like it or not, that would seem to be the case."

"Alright," Zane said, hoping he came across as calm instead of worried, "Thanks for letting me know."

"Glad I could help," the professor said, walking towards the door. "Aside from your interruptions, it's been a pleasure, Zane. I'm glad we got off on the right foot." Giving the boy an approving smile, he opened the door to walk out.

"Wait, Professor!" Zane's voice did a poor job of hiding his fear. "Have you seen my parents? Their names are Brian and Linda, they're in their mid-forties, and they're incredibly overly controlling. I mean, come on, they want me to be a doctor. A doctor, for crying out loud! I'm not even vaguely interested in medicine-"

"I appreciate that you're willing to share your life story, Zane," Professor Alder said in a voice that was suddenly softer, sadder, "but I'm a researcher, not a psychiatrist."

"Oh, don't even get me started on tha-" Zane stopped suddenly. He didn't like the tone in the professor's voice. "Hey, why so sad all of a sudden?"

"Your parents were on the ship too, weren't they?" Professor Alder's head dropped.

"I'm sorry, Zane."

The professor walked out, shutting the door behind him with an unceremonious thud. Zane stood for a moment as the meaning of the professor's words sunk in, then he sat down on the bed, put his head in his hand, and began to cry.