The fresh aroma of sizzling bacon, freshly brewed coffee, and buttered pancakes lingered in the air, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. The diner itself showcased an abundance of different sounds ranging from the clatter of plates and silverware, the hiss of the grill, low murmurs of conversation, and the occasional sharp call of "Order up!" from the kitchen, punctuated by the ding of a silver bell.

Dez usually didn't mind the chaotic energy of a rowdy Sunday morning crowd at the local diner. In fact, he often welcomed it, enjoying the simplicity of freshly brewed black coffee and whatever breakfast item struck his mood.

But today was different.

Today, he was attending something he hadn't in years: a celebration.

And not just any celebration—it was for him. An achievement that seemed impossible, even to himself.

It was, in fact, painfully low-key, consisting of just two participants: himself and the Cacturne seated across the booth, glaring daggers at him. Dez barely noticed. He'd grown numb to Jake's hostility.

It wasn't even just him. Even from the locals in the diner he could vaguely hear the whispers around him. Dez's sharp ears caught fragments of conversations, the occasional curious glance aimed his way. It didn't take much to figure out why.

His appearance for starters was part of the issue. Mabosstiffs were intimidating by nature. His fur, long and unkempt, was mostly gray with darker black streaks along his back, underside, and face. A stripe of lighter gray ran down his spine, giving him an imposing look that seemed permanently disheveled. His eyes, a piercing orange beneath thick gray brows, didn't help soften the image.

Add to that the exhaustion etched into his face, a side effect of months of harsh labor. Sleep had become a luxury he could rarely afford.

"So," Jake spat venomously, breaking the silence, "you're finally done."

"Yep," Dez replied curtly, keeping it simple.

Jake grunted, pulling the nearby thick file closer. He flipped through the pages with deliberate slowness, the tension between them momentarily replaced by the soft rustle of paper.

The silence was mercifully interrupted by the arrival of the waitress. A Meganium, who looked old enough to be someone's grandmother, placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of the two. "Here ya go, dollface," she said with a prominent wink toward the hound, her tone had a sultry flair to it.

Thankfully, Jake decided to spare him from an awkward moment by shoving the file across the table, a pen perched atop the stack. "Sign here," he said flatly.

The waitress grumbled at this, turning and walking away while Dez studied him for a moment, the weight of everything hanging in the air.

"Don't give me that look," the cactus huffed, leaning back against the torn diner cushion. "It's just the paperwork to make it official. You're off parole. Early, too. 'Good behavior' and all that." His tone carried a note of reluctant acknowledgment, though it was quickly replaced with a smirk.

Dez didn't need to be reminded why some eyes always lingered in his direction. His history wasn't exactly a secret. Serving time had left its mark, and being legally bound to stay in this city until his parole was up only made the whispers louder.

Still, the end was finally here. Freedom.

With a sharp exhale, Dez grabbed the pen and scrawled his signature across the dotted line.

"Don't get too comfortable," Jake said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a condescending whisper. "Your kind always screws up eventually. It's only a matter of time before you're back behind bars."

Dez's grip on the pen tightened. "Don't act like you know me," he growled, his voice low and steady.

Jake's smirk widened. "Oh, but I do. I'm your parole officer, pal. If anyone knows you, it's me." He stood, tipping his hat with mock courtesy. "My last piece of advice for you, Ceros, is to leave town. No one here wants you around."

Dez watched him grab the file and leave, the sound of his footsteps fading into the background noise. He closed his eyes, focusing on the breathing exercises his therapist had drilled into him.

Breathe in. One. Two. Three. Exhale.

His therapist had been one of the few bright spots during his time on parole, offering guidance he severely was in need of.

Still, Jake's words lingered. He hated to admit it, but there was some truth to them. This city held nothing for him anymore.

"Where would I even go?" He muttered, taking a sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

His ears twitched at the sound of a television nearby. The small, ancient set mounted above the counter flickered with static before cutting to a commercial.

"Stuck in a place where no one gives a damn about you?" The announcer's voice, notably a bubbly young woman, boomed.

Dez glanced up, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

"Strapped for cash? Want to escape the stress of reality for the summer?"

He snorted. "If only," he muttered.

"Look no further than Totally Real World Tour! Sixteen contestants, a world of adventure, and a grand prize of one million Poké!"

Dez's ears perked up at the mention of the prize. One million?

The announcer rattled off details on how to apply, but Dez barely heard them. The idea was absurd. Him? On a gameshow? He didn't exactly scream 'TV personality.'

Do they even accept felons like you? A tiny voice in his head questioned. Still, the thought lingered. It wouldn't hurt to try…

A sharp cough snapped him back to reality. The waitress had returned, a bill in hand. "The check," she said, slapping it onto the table.

Dez's eyes twitched as realization dawned. Jake had left without paying. And his wallet? Sitting at home.

"Shit."

Name: Djason "Dez" Ceros

Species: Mabosstiff

Age: 31

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hometown: Levincia, Paldea

Created by: Dark Arcanine 33

Totally Real World Tour Contestants

1. Dez the Mabosstiff

2. O'Reilly the Lairon