I'd like to extend my appreciation to everyone who has read the first two chapters. It means the world to me that this work is being so well received. Anyway, I got a review on the last chapter, so I'll respond to it here:

ultima-owner: This chapter might answer your prediction.

The magic word is puke. It will get you out of any engagement, no matter what sort of engagement it is, faster than any other word will.

All I needed to do was to tell Mr. Fly that I'd emptied the contents of my stomach in the bathroom, and he didn't even question it. He didn't even seem suspicious that my absence had lasted so long.

Instead, he just shooed me out of that tower and told me to get home and rest. I don't blame him - he surely didn't want anyone else to catch whatever illness I purportedly had. But that wasn't my problem anymore.

On some level, as I took the elevator back to the ground level, I knew that my career as an air traffic controller had gotten off to a shaky start. Most people want their first day at work to be uneventful, and to make just enough of an impact for their boss to want to keep them; I'd utterly failed in that regard.

Keeping up with the staggering appearance of someone ill, I made my way to the airport's MBTA station and waited for the next train. During that time, I was largely alone except for the handful of arriving passengers who'd left the terminal at the same time as me. Even though Logan did have a rail link with the city, hardly anyone ever used it. That was a sad reality of being American, having transit infrastructure that was often allowed to decay in favor of the car.

Once the train arrived, I climbed on and selected a seat. I was spoiled for choice, since the metro was largely empty this time of day, and it seemed that the other passengers wanted to give me a wide berth.

Avoiding other passengers on the train, of course, seemed the least of my worries.

That flight landed at Terminal E. The Pokémon all got off the plane and made it through customs. How did they get through customs?

No, that's the wrong question. The real thing to ask is, how did this world suddenly come into contact with another? Pokémon aren't real!

At least, they aren't supposed to be.

At this point, I felt nauseous enough that I might actually vomit, meaning that the excuse I'd given to leave work early wouldn't even be a lie. It would just have been told a few minutes early, that's all.

Once I got off the Silver Line, which was required in order to transfer to the correct line for where I lived, I ran to a nearby trash can and leaned over. I was fully prepared to hurl, but the hurling did not happen.

"Hey kid, you probably drank too much last night!" I heard a woman bark.

I saw red at being called a kid, but I kept my mouth shut. The last thing I wanted was to be seen having such a fight with an otherwise innocent lady at a subway station. It certainly wasn't something I'd want to advertise on my LinkedIn profile.

So I bit my tongue and decided to walk the rest of the way home. It might take longer, but it was also far more pleasant than sharing a packed car on the T. If I could save one more ride on my current CharlieCard, it would be worth it.

As I strode along the path beside the port, I noticed a cruise ship in the harbor. It then occurred to me: How many of the passengers know?

They just arrived in the city that saw Earth's first contact with a fictional race of creatures. And some of them probably aren't aware of it yet.

I declined eye contact with those disembarking the cruise ship for an afternoon in the Seaport District, instead continuing my trek toward Castle Island.

Castle Island had always held a special place in my heart. It was a calming presence in the midst of a bustling city, but it also contained a monument to the cleanup efforts in the harbor. You see, Boston Harbor was once one of the filthiest bodies of water in the country, notable in part because a polluted harbor can't be used for anything else. Through billions of dollars of investment, it was now one of the cleanest in the country.

Not only had it brought increased tourism to the city and improved the environment for visitors and locals alike, but it also served as a reminder that even in a country as screwed up as America, some things could still get done. Some problems were not too controversial to solve.

All those joggers on the causeway, as well as all the sunbathers on the urban beach, were utterly clueless. Of that I was convinced. Unless they were all staring at their phones all day, but who does that at the beach? And even if they did, the news had broken so recently that not all the beachgoers would be aware of it…right?

It doesn't matter, Blaine. They don't know you work at the airport. Just relax and try to think of something else, like what you'll do with the rest of your day.

With a deep sigh, I placed my key in the door and turned it ninety degrees counterclockwise. The portal to the air conditioning swung open, and I climbed the four stairs up to my shabby South Boston apartment.

Okay, in the grand scheme of things, the apartment wasn't that bad. It was a set of four walls and a roof over my head; when you bought a place to live in this housing market for less than an eye-popping price, you shouldn't expect much more. It just wasn't nearly as attractive as the home I'd grown up in.

Oh well. That's just the price you pay to live in one of America's best cities.

I had no roommates to bother by turning on the TV, so I did just that. Plopping down on the ancient sofa, I grabbed the nearby phone and called one of my favorite pizza places. Once I had placed my order, I turned my attention to PBS.

Naturally, PBS was airing some show meant for small children, so I turned the channel to something more my speed.

How long until the networks pick up the story?

I didn't know, but I felt confident about one thing: Once the news media did pick up the story, they would not let it go.

CNN, the channel that our last (and possibly next) President considered "fake news", was not yet covering the story either. For that, I wanted to scream at the TV to accost them for not drawing the nation's attention to such an event.

Why do I care so much? Is it just because I want my place of employment to make the news?

I kept channel-surfing in a vain search for anything I might find exciting. Cable TV was on the decline, of course; streaming was the promised land. My few friends kept imploring me to ditch my cable package altogether and fully embrace Netflix, but I wasn't quite ready to do that yet.

But no luck was forthcoming. Every channel seemed to be carrying either infomercials selling shit I didn't need, cartoons that I didn't want to watch, or sporting events that I had no interest in. And before long, I began to lose hope. Flight PKMN1 would be headline news if it was news at all.

But, just when I was about to give up, I found the "news" in the place I least expected it.

The channel was called One America News Network, which was known to be a bit…out there, to put it mildly. Most of the time, nobody I knew would take it seriously, but in this case, it was akin to a stopped clock: At least it was right twice a day.

The man in the studio, which contained a great many books on a shelf, stared right into my soul with those beady eyes of his. His gray hair was pretty flat, and he appeared relatively muscular for a man his age. Naturally, since this was a right-wing network, he wore a navy blue suit with a tie that contained the color pattern of the American flag.

"Good afternoon, America!" the man exclaimed, clasping his big hands together as though he were about to have an arm-wrestling contest with himself. He showed off two rows of perfectly white teeth.

"You're probably wondering who I am if you haven't seen me yet. Well, that's simple! I'm Charles Weldworth, but I go by the name Upchuck!"

Despite the gravity of the situation, I could hardly avoid bursting into laughter. It was just so insane that anyone would willingly use as their name an alternate word for vomiting. But then, "insane" basically described OAN to a T.

"The Chuck, the Chuck, the Chuck's going up!" Weldworth all but shouted, raising his arms rapidly upward as though lifting a barbell. "And welcome to my brand new show, You've Been Chucked!"

This has to be satire. I can't believe that Mr. Weldworth here has that little self-awareness that he would call himself "Upchuck."

"Now, allow me to get into the big news of the day. And oh boy, do I have a doozy for you!"

I crossed my fingers, though I couldn't decide which outcome I would prefer.

"You see," Upchuck continued, "this story comes to us from Boston. That city's full of bleeding-heart liberals who think we should let in anyone who wants to be in our country. No background checks whatsoever, no regulations at all! These people think we should have open borders 24/7!"

My stomach dropped like a freight elevator whose chains had been cut. There was only one Boston story worth covering today. If One America News was the only network daring to talk about it, then we were in even more trouble as a country than I'd thought.

"At about 1:40 PM today, an unidentified plane arrived at Logan Airport. Beautiful airport, even if it's run by liberals. And get this - according to cameras, the plane was full of Pokémon! That's almost as crazy as believing that the 2020 election wasn't stolen!"

Next to Upchuck Weldworth's face, a smaller screen came into view, which depicted crowds of Pokémon - Raichu, Pikachu, Eevee, Oshawott, and numerous other species that even I couldn't have named - exiting the customs area at Logan's Terminal E. I recognized this scene, of course; it had no doubt been compiled from camera footage the reporters had taken.

"Now, let me tell you something," Upchuck continued, "There's little doubt in my mind that this footage is fabricated. Pokémon are about as real as aliens!"

I mean, most of the wise think we're probably not alone in the universe. Aliens might not look like they're depicted in the movies, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. The vast expanse of space is just that - VAST.

"In my mind, there can only be one explanation for the falsified footage: They want to turn us away from God! They probably think that if we're convinced that there's extraterrestrial life, we'll become convinced that Jesus Christ is not our Lord and Savior!"

Wait, what?

That's the thing about these crazy wingnuts: Not only is their logic difficult to follow, but sometimes they want you to engage in doublethink. No doubt he'd posit that the footage was fake, but also that the current President was letting in these Pokémon in order to take jobs away from law-abiding Americans. To believe both things at once should have been impossible, but some people still would.

Sure enough, that's exactly what happened next.

"I'm telling you people, let's just assume that the footage is real. Let's say that the plane full of Pokémon - Flight PKMN1 according to the so-called authorities - actually existed. Well, what does that mean?"

I raised an eyebrow. It was about to get "good" - that much was clear.

"It means that the President is trying to gaslight you. He's like the Party from George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four. He's telling you not to believe what you're seeing with your own eyes, hearing with your own ears, and all that jazz! And the reason he doesn't want you to believe the truth is because he wants to distract you from what truly matters!

"What truly matters is that this President has been an abject failure in every way that counts! He's a criminal mastermind who stole the last election and cheated our last President out of his job! Oh, by the way, that last President, the one liberals who've been triggered by Derangement Syndrome call Orange Man? He's sending all these Pokémon to Boston in order to make you think he's doing well on the economy!"

Suddenly, the pizza I'd ordered not long ago with pepperoni and pineapple, no doubt dripping with delectably melted cheese, didn't seem so appetizing.

All I'd wanted was to live my dream of working at the airport, helping planes full of civilian travelers land safely at their destination.

Of course, many children (a category I'd once fallen into) dream of being famous. They think that becoming a household name is thrilling, something that will always lead to profound joy.

But often, that just isn't true. It had taken me a quarter century to realize this, but becoming a public figure (like what might happen to me in a matter of hours) deprives you of a normal life. It robs you of your privacy; you might well be doing interviews for the rest of your life with publications the world over.

The doorbell rang, and I went to get it. Yes, the pizzeria likely wasn't terribly busy this time of day, but I still hadn't expected the delivery to be this quick.

"Your pizza, sir?" the middle-aged man just outside my apartment asked.

I nodded, accepted the box, and tipped the driver. Then I returned to the TV alcove and shut the device off, resisting the urge to fling the remote against the wall. The momentary satisfaction of winning a victory over the 24-hour news cycle would not be worth the cost to repair my wall or acquire a new remote.

I sat down on the couch again, the box in my lap, and seized a slice. As I did so, I mentally pictured what one of my parents would say if they could see me:

I've never seen anybody snort a pizza down like Blaine did. He took a huge bite, and there was sauce everywhere, and there was pineapple, and I'm like 'whoa, dude, SLOW DOWN!'

But in the privacy of my own apartment, I had no shame. I vacuumed that thing down like it was nobody's business, basically making a mockery of my stated reason for leaving work early. I also didn't care that my face was no doubt populated with numerous sauce stains, which would have looked incredibly unprofessional if I were in public.

Additionally, when I ate that much, that quickly, I was prone to hiccuping a great deal no matter how much I drank. Again, if I'd been in public, this would have jeopardized the fascinating career I'd worked my tail off to achieve.

Yes, I could count my blessings right now. But then again, the qualifier right now can be decisive, because my situation was about to change.

As soon as I downed the last slice of pizza, the doorbell rang again.