Once again, I apologize that this chapter is short. I promise that the next one will be longer - there's more to cover in Chapter 6 than Chapter 5. But I still wanted to include this scene, because...well, it'll become clear shortly.

If you like this story and want to support me further, please check out PMD: Avalanche Buddies as well. But first, enjoy this chapter.

Current music: The Logical Song - Supertramp

JUNE 12, 201Y

Summer sun beamed right through the windows of the courtroom. It was yet another stark reminder that, as much as I would have liked fresh air here, I had a job to do, and frolicking around outside was not it.

Sweat poured down my nose like a trickling waterfall, but I knew better than to wipe it off. They'd say it was gross, that it was unbecoming of a defendant. Well, maybe they could have installed AC, or at least a fan, in the damn building.

In any case, AG Woods held his hand on the Bible as he spoke.

"So, Mr. Fly…".

"Yes?" I asked. I was ready to answer any question he posed to me - of that much, I was determined, even if it ended up being one of the more painful possibilities.

"You were under explicit instructions from the organizers of the Pokélife championship not to leave your room, is that correct?"

I nodded. "That's true."

"And yet, you had second thoughts about following those guidelines once you grew weary of that hotel room, did you not?"

"I did."

"And," AG Woods continued, twirling his beard around as he glared at me from the bench, "did you end up complying with the aforementioned guidelines?"

I didn't answer, preferring instead to remain silent. The truth would come out eventually, but I wanted to delay the inevitable so that I had more time to prepare myself for it mentally.

"Well? Did you, Mr. Fly?"

The grand jury had all put their pens down. They were watching this as intently as though this trial were an NFL game on CBS. (And yes, apparently those are huge in Boston.)

"I did not, Your Honor."

"You did not do what, Mr. Fly?"

I grimaced as I repeated my response, this time echoing the question like he'd told me to. "I did not obey the guidelines that had been set for me. For that, I am deeply sorry to the organizers of the tournament."

"Sorry isn't worth much, Mr. Fly. Surely you'd know that by now?"

"Oh, yes, I do," I muttered.

"In fact, sorry is worth nothing at all in this case. Sorry won't undo the harm you caused - ".

"Objection. Mr. Fly has not been charged with a crime yet."

"Sustained."

"Ahem, the harm you may have caused. The point is, apologies can only do so much, Mr. Fly. If there are no actions to back them up, then…".

"I get it" I responded with a sigh, losing all my resolve not to wipe my brow. Hey, it was hot in there!

"Please do not interrupt me, Mr. Fly. You're on thin ice as is, which is exactly what one should expect."

"Fine."

"In any case, Mr. Fly," AG Woods continued, cracking open the Bible as though he were about to read a passage from it, "it's been established that you snuck out of the hotel room on the evening of June 15, 202X."

"That is correct," I replied sheepishly. "I did that."

"Wanted to stick it to the man, did you? Or did you just think you wouldn't get caught? Or…?"

"Not everything has a grand conspiracy behind it, Your Honor. I merely decided that I'd had enough of sitting in that hotel room all day and all night. Even in a luxury suite, there's only so much to do."

"So you got some cabin fever, I assume?" AG Woods responded.

"I suppose that's what you'd call it, yes. I wasn't with anyone else, but then, it might have been worse in that case. At least I had nobody else to get annoyed by. Just myself."

The Attorney General did not seem impressed by my waxing poetic about the benefits and drawbacks of solitude. Instead, he turned the page of the Bible, and I realized that it was not a Bible at all, but a book of his notes disguised as a holy book.

"How did you escape the hotel room, Mr. Fly?"

"I don't remember. I just did it."

AG Woods frowned. "We have the receipts here, Mr. Fly. Playing dumb like that - it's utterly futile. We know how you did it."

"Okay, fine, I used the fire escape. It was just outside the window of the room."

"Isn't that suspiciously convenient?" Woods replied. "You wouldn't even need to enter the hallway to get out of the hotel."

"Well, it makes sense from a design standpoint. If the hallway is burning, the fire escape is worse than useless."

"Maybe. In any case, that's what you did, according to our notes. And you climbed down to the street, after which you went on your little nighttime jaunt around Boston. Is that correct?"

"Yes" I mumbled.

"That wasn't a very clear yes, Mr. Fly. Is there something you're ashamed of, or is that truly the whole story?"

"I'm not ashamed of it," I muttered. "I just don't want to talk about it."

"Ah," AG Woods responded, a deadly gleam in his eye as though we were animals and he was a predator stalking me in the wilderness. "Well, I've got news for you, Mr. Fly."

"What's that?"

"It doesn't matter what questions you want to answer, because, one way or another, we will make you talk. We will make you divulge every red cent of information you've got."

"I only have two cents" I quipped, trying to inject some levity into a situation that really shouldn't have any. (Even now, I wonder why I did that, because it was pretty dumb.)

"Very funny" AG Woods responded, sarcasm very prominent in his tone. "You should join the local comedy troupe, Mr. Fly."

"Only if you don't lock me up first."

"We'll see. In any case, what did you encounter upon leaving the hotel? What did you see during your nighttime jaunt that had such a profound impact on you?"

"Nothing."

AG Woods raised an eyebrow. "That's not what these notes say. Anecdotal reports from the Red Light District indicate that you were there that night, wandering along the alleyways."

I could feel myself blush. "I didn't say that."

"Don't dodge the question, Mr. Fly. There's no point in doing so when the facts are on the table. Did you lie to me before?"

"I didn't want to talk about it, Your Honor. That doesn't mean I lied to you."

"A lie of omission," AG Woods retorted, "is still a lie. I'll need to remember to add a count of perjury to the indictment. And that's a crime, you see."

"Maybe it is."

As you might imagine, I was far from eager to open this can of worms today. The trapdoor that was my mind was latched firmly shut, but that wouldn't stop the Attorney General from prying as hard as he could to open my reservoir of secrets.

"There's no shame in it, Mr. Fly. Were you trying to find a woman to spend the night with? Thought that by paying some cash, you'd add pictures to your stash?"

There were a few giggles in the grand jury box, but I did not join them.

"I wasn't…that wasn't my motivation at all, Your Honor."

"Then what was? Maybe your life is more complicated than you've admitted thus far?"

"Whose life isn't complicated?"

JUNE 15, 202X

Truth be told, I'd discovered the Red Light District by accident.

As soon as I'd cracked open the window, the fresh air was absolute heaven on my face after spending so many hours breathing nothing but stale hotel air. There were no stars here (granted, there weren't any stars in Los Angeles either), but the air was at least far cleaner than it was where I'd grown up.

Of course, that's a low bar.

Once on the street, I wandered aimlessly for a few minutes, realizing that I should put some distance between myself and the hotel. Otherwise, I'd likely be caught right away, and I didn't want that.

So I chose one direction and walked that way for a while. It was almost midnight by now, so even a city as bustling as this wasn't that crowded. This was just as well, for obvious reasons. Even though the city was quieter than it had presumably been during the day, I was assaulted with a variety of advertisements as soon as I put my headset on. This made me feel a bit dizzy, so I kept the headset off for the duration of my walk.

A few minutes later, I came across an oddly-shaped building with an awning over what looked like a ticket line. It didn't matter that I wasn't wearing the headset, because a sign still hung in front of it bearing the logo for the New England Aquarium.

The sign read as follows: The New England Aquarium is proud to sponsor the 202X Pokélife US Nationals.

Well, I guess everybody is sponsoring the Nationals. Makes sense, I suppose - this is probably the biggest event of the year.

For a while, I just stood in front of the beluga whale tank. This exhibit was outside the main building, so one did not need to pay admission to the aquarium in order to view it. And I stared at it, relatively captivated by the sight.

These are real beluga whales, I thought. Not Wailord. This is one part of the city that hasn't yet surrendered to virtual reality. There's something…I dunno, romantic about it.

The whales swam about in their little tank (which wasn't little in the slightest), occasionally opening their mouths at me in an expression that could be described as a smile; at least, I perceived it as such.

"I wonder what it'd be like to be one of you guys", I whispered, hoping that no onlookers could hear me. Then again, other than the whales in the exhibit, I felt truly alone here.

There was no response, not like I'd expected one. The whales just kept circling around the exhibit, occasionally raising a fin as though waving at me.

"Life must be so simple in there" I mused. "The staff at the aquarium take care of you all, and there's no need to fight for anything. I can't say the same of my life."

Again, no words were forthcoming, a stark reminder that these were regular whales, not Pokémon. That, no matter how much I wanted to anesthetize myself to the sorry state of affairs in America, I still had to worry about reality sometimes.

"Well then," I muttered. "I'm sorry for bothering you guys. I guess I'll…head out now."

After leaving the aquarium, I made my way inland for about a mile. The feeling of physical activity was one I wanted to savor, because it wouldn't be much longer before I had to slink back to the hotel room and remain there until the 18th.

I wish I were a Zoroark in real life, I thought.

Really, it would be quite something. In just the blink of an eye, I would have the power to craft a false reality, to weave an illusion over myself and pretend to be something I wasn't. I could disguise myself as an alley cat, a homeless man, or whatever I wanted to be in order to remain in the streets of Boston indefinitely - there was a lot to appreciate here.

Then again, if I did that, I wouldn't get to be in the tournament.

Right away, I facepalmed. I'd let impulsivity get the better of me; if I'd been looking at it straight, I would have known that I'd have no way of returning to the hotel without being caught. Really, I did know that, but hadn't wanted to admit it.

So what had I expected to get away with, exactly?

I don't know, but I'd better appreciate the freedom for as long as I can.

Of course, "as long as I can" didn't constitute forever. In fact, it didn't constitute a very long time at all.

No sooner had I processed the red lights along either end of the street, as well as the numerous signs indicating that the shops were only for those eighteen or older, than I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Yes?" I hissed, not fully processing what this meant.

"Look me in the eye, young man" came a barking voice from behind me.

I reluctantly turned in the direction of the bark, and I instantly knew exactly why I had wanted to avoid this. Really, I'd known it was coming all along - I'd just been lying to myself, which isn't exactly the healthiest way to go about your life.

I was staring at a man who, judging by the Kevlar armor he wore, was either a police officer or a security guard. (They were probably one and the same, really.)

"Show me your headset" the man commanded, and my heart stopped. Was he going to take away my portal to the wonderful world of Pokélife?

He probably has a gun on him, which means it's either I surrender my headset or surrender my life. I know which one I must avoid at all costs - my parents learned this lesson the hard way.

I handed over the headset, which I'd kept in my pocket since the aquarium. To my surprise, the man did not immediately snap it in half.

"So, you're Frank Fly. Eighteen years old. From Los Angeles, California, United States. Unless you're wearing a counterfeit headset."

"Why would I do that?" I muttered blankly.

The guard raised an eyebrow. "Don't be cute with me, Frank. Don't be funny with me. You're in a heap of trouble, young man - you know that, right?"

I gulped. "Yes" I admitted, shivering at the thought of what this man had the power to do to me. If he held a weapon, he might well be judge, jury, and executioner.

"And it doesn't exactly help your case that you're in the Red Light District" the guard muttered.

"What is this? One of those sting operations where they make you think you're paying for something illegal, just to trap you and make you embarrass yourself? What's up with that?"

The guard brandished his right arm, and I understood right away why some people referred to their arms as "guns." Because this man was jacked!

"You don't want to fuck with me, Frank. I could beat you into a pulp if I wanted to - it's only my mercy that's keeping you conscious right now."

"Maybe" I mumbled.

The guard sighed. "Look, Frank. You hold a Silver Ticket - you're in the registry for the Nationals. You aren't yet disqualified from the tournament for a first offense, but if you leave your hotel room again before the eighteenth, you will be. Consider this your first and last warning."

"Okay" I told him, already determined not to do it again. (I didn't have the energy to be any more eloquent than that.)

The guard frowned. "I don't want to have to eliminate a player who might deliver some entertainment for the crowd. And I'm not keen on dashing dreams either."

Sure sounded otherwise.

"The point is, Frank, I don't make the rules here. I just enforce them. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if one of the players vanished - this isn't punishment, it's for your own good."

That sounds kinda dark, but okay.

As the guard led me back to the hotel, I pondered something he'd said that made my stomach turn.

It was more than a little uncomfortable to admit, but while he agreed that my disqualification would be unfortunate, he disagreed with me on the reason for that. The guard thought I'd be entertaining for the masses.

Are they just going to cast me aside like a broken toy once they're done with me? After all, it seems like I'm just a commodity to these people.

This didn't eliminate my desire to compete, mind you - I still greatly loved the game of Pokélife, and to have a chance at fifteen minutes of fame was too tempting to pass up. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel squeamish at the prospect.

Woods: Did you consider withdrawing from the tournament after getting caught sneaking out?

Defendant: No. I absolutely did not.

Woods: Why not? Apparently you felt, and I quote, "like my well-being means nothing to those people."

Defendant: Well, Brett, there's one thing you haven't acknowledged.

Woods: What's that, Mr. Fly?

Defendant: We both wanted the same thing. Sometimes that can give one tunnel vision.

Woods: Tunnel vision, huh? Well, in light of what would later happen, that's certainly plausible.

Defendant: Whatever.

Woods: Don't "whatever" me, Mr. Fly. And don't call me Brett, either. Let's move on.