Teddy snickered. "Put him down? Are you another human from that world, hm?" His expression turned serious, his teeth were bared. He inhaled, preparing to break out into a yell. "Do you want to tell me how fake my world is?! How it's just a game?! "I'll kill you! I'll kill you all—"

Thomas' vine again came down on Teddy, swiftly descending and becoming a green blur thickly cloaked under the darkness of the night sky. It connected with his head before another loud crack resounded through the sleeping neighborhood.

"I won't ask again." Thomas huffed, reeling his vine back. He didn't dare take his eyes off Teddy.

The new Servine still held Andrew, though his grip had continued to weaken. A sense of relief washed over Andrew as his gasps ushered air into his lungs. His eyes narrowed before he continued to squirm and struggle. I'm going to kill this goddamn asshole!

Teddy stuck out his tongue at Thomas, taunting him. "I choose you."

Blades of grass began rapidly growing below them. They shifted and weaved themselves into two distinct strands, wrapping around each other and forming spikes. Without warning, they shot forward. Teddy had no time to react as the grass knot whipped and smashed straight into his stomach.

Teddy let out a grunt before stumbling back a couple steps. His grip loosened. Andrew's squirming only grew stronger, the Marshtomp jerking and jeering harder and harder. He finally managed to break his flipper through the layers of vines ensnaring him.

"I am… JUSTICE!" yelled Andrew, breaking his other flipper out from the vines.

Teddy whipped his head back around to face Andrew. "Would you shut your trap?! Do you know how many times—"

Andrew quickly opened his mouth wide. He made no effort to summon mud, and he was well aware that he did not have to. It happened in an instant—he felt a light pressure building in his stomach before mud traveled up and filled every corner of his mouth… and Teddy's soon also as the jet shot out and over him lightning-fast. The Servine assailant was instantly coated in the muck.

A grimace overtook Teddy's face as the mud oozed down his body. He completely withdrew his vines from Andrew to wipe the mud out of his eyes. Thomas, seizing the opportunity, ran forward and pounded him with his vines.

"Yow!" cried Teddy, disoriented and whipping his head back and forth between Thomas and Andrew.

Teddy shot his vines out at the Marshtomp and other Servine. Thomas leaned his head back, dodging effortlessly. As for Andrew however, the vine snaked its way straight to his face, colliding and causing a wave of pain to vertebrate out from the impacted area.

"You piece of…!" Andrew spat as he curled his fingers into a fist and lunged forward at Teddy. He slammed his whole body into the Servine, but the attack barely elicited any reaction from him. A slight twinge of pain ran through Andrew as Teddy fell back a few steps. He remained disoriented, still flipping his eyes between him and Thomas.

"Heh, you should've learned your type advantages," laughed Teddy. "I barely felt a thing!"

Andrew locked eyes with Thomas. His partner gave a wink. Thomas' vine snaked out from behind his back, maneuvering around Teddy's tail and poking him on the back.

"Very funny. Let me guess… you want me to turn around and face the other Servine so Andrew can punch me in the face?! I can assure you that—"

Thomas raised his vine before slamming it down. It smashed into the top of Teddy's head.

The Servine's eyes went out like a light. His legs, receiving no commands from Teddy's unconscious mind, were no match for the weight of the rest of his body. They buckled, letting the Servine fall to the porch's wood floor with a thud. His mouth fell half open and leaked a mixture of blood, mud, and saliva. His chest still rose and fell… albeit barely.

Andrew turned to Thomas with a devilish smile.
"Teddy fainted."

Sunlight streamed into Andrew's eyes. Groaning, the Marshtomp slowly pushed himself up from the soft mattress beneath him, raising his flippers and letting out a yawn. He turned to the window facing away from his bed. Nothing more than a white picket fence greeted him, motionlessly standing like it always did.

Andrew had come to find the mornings in Grandeport eerily quiet, a far cry from what he had been used to back on Earth. Instead of the sounds of birds chirping or cars whirring by, or the occasional pedestrian shouting loud enough for him to hear… there was silence. Grandeport was at peace. How is that even possible?

The Marshtomp threw the blanket off him and hopped down onto the floor. He left his room, making the short journey to the kitchen table where a plate of berries and a cup of tea were waiting for him.

"Morning Thomas," he said weakly, rubbing his eyes.

Thomas smiled, sitting across the table. "Good morning Andrew!" He spoke with the vigor of someone about to run a marathon. I hope you slept well after last night…"

"Oh, don't worry. I'm fine," he spoke before popping a berry into his mouth. In reality, a strong ache still persisted throughout his body from the prior night. It felt like the tissue beneath his skin had been diced to pieces and was now constantly swinging and dancing wherever it pleased. Even raising his flipper elicited a sharp sting.

There's no way I'm gonna be able to walk to work like this, he mused. Unless Thomas is gonna give me a piggyback ride—but I think even he has limits.

The Servine's expression softened. "Are you sure you're alright? That hooligan last night had you wrapped up pretty tight. You're lucky he wasn't too strong. If it had been me doing that to you, you would have been cracked open like a walnut."

"I know, Thomas. I know," Andrew chuckled before climbing into an empty seat. "I think I'll take the day off. Doubt Charlie or Felicia will mind. Or even notice."

Thomas took a sip from a mug sitting beside him. "Don't say that. I'm sure they'll notice and worry about your absence. You should at least write them a letter."

"Yeah, I'll get to that," he sighed.

The two ate in silence. Ignoring the pain, Andrew popped berry after berry into his mouth until the plate was empty. They were sweet and soft, slipping down his throat pleasantly. Once finished he slowly stood up, letting out a soft groan as a wave of pain coursed down his back.

"Andrew, let me help you!" cried Thomas, jumping out of his chair.

The Marshtomp began walking to the living room. "I'm fine, Thomas. Just a little sore. I'm a lot more worried about the fact some psycho followed me home and assaulted me than any of these pathetic injuries. I'm tough. Like, the toughest Pokemon ever to exist. Don't worry."

He turned the corner and plopped himself down on the sofa before sighing. Thomas followed quickly behind, carrying both of their mugs. He placed them down on a small table beside the couch.

"Thomas, really, I'm fine."

The Servine stuck his chin up. "I don't want to hear it! I'm here to take care of you whether you need it or not—and it's a good excuse to take a sick day. You wouldn't believe how many I've accumulated over the years."

"If you say so," Andrew muttered as he leaned back on the cushions, letting them take the pressure off his back. "But you're making all my meals, doing all the cleaning, and running all the errands."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "I already do that."

"Oh, uh…" the Marshtomp began sheepishly, trailing off. He then raised a finger. "H-Hey! I wash the dishes!"

The Servine chuckled. "You do if I make you, but I'll give you a pass until you're feeling a bit better."

"Whatever," Andrew humphed before perking up, making a realization. "Wait, you're a journalist. Do you know who Bobby Medicham is?"

"Bobby Medicham?" Thomas questioned.

Andrew nodded.

"Hmm… Sounds familiar. Why do you ask?"

The Marshtomp raised his legs, trying to rest them on the table. Unfortunately, they were far too short, failing to land on the wood and only sending another wave of pain through his legs and hips. He groaned.

"I was at a restaurant with Charlie last night. It was some fancy place, and we were eating, y'know, like you do. And then this guy—Bobby Medicham—shows up next to me and starts asking questions. Said he was from some newspaper."

Thomas narrowed his eyes, contemplating. "Certainly not the Grandeport Gazette. Intercepting a president at a restaurant sounds like tabloid behavior to me."

"He could have just asked…"

The Servine laughed. "Have you ever done a formal interview, Andrew? Like, have you ever sat down with a reporter and just answered questions?"

"No, I'm too busy. You know how much work I have to do at the castle. So many meetings and word scrambles!" he exhaled irritably.

Thomas' vine extended from his back, creeping its way over to Andrew's flipper and curling around it. "You know, you're not doing much today. My boss would go crazy if I were the first journalist to get a full-length interview from you."

"You want an interview? I suppose… I could give you one. If I can fit it into my busy schedule," Andrew said in a teasing voice.

Thomas smiled. "Let me get my things."

The Servine got up from the couch and left the room. He returned a moment later brandishing his notebook and pencil, giving Andrew a wink as he reestablished eye contact with him.

Thomas sat down on a sofa chair across from the couch and cleared his throat. "Andrew Marshtomp."

Andrew cracked a grin. "Mister Servine, is it? It's an honor to have you in my home."

"I could say the same for you, Mister Marshtomp."

The two of them both laughed. Thomas caught his breath, then readied his pencil. "Now then, Mister President, are you ready to begin?"

Andrew nodded, clasping his fingers together. "Yeah, hit me. And don't go easy on me just because we happen to love each other. I have to challenge my mind to keep myself from going totally insane."

"Of course, Mister President," Thomas said as he flipped to a new page in his notebook. "For your first question, what would you say has been your most challenging moment as the leader of Grandeport?"

Andrew looked up at the ceiling. "Ooh, that's a tricky one." he paused, tapping his chin. "I've got to say dealing with the council. I mean, why couldn't we have gutted those guys when we killed Mirage?"

Thomas gave him a deadpan stare. "Uh, Andrew? Are you sure you want to say that?"

"...They're all such goddamn assholes! I go to them with a cool new idea that will fix some problem, or make something better—but nooo! That's bad, Andrew! That will destroy the country as we know it, Andrew. What a bunch of stuck-up losers. I hate the council! Thirteen babies die every day because of them."

Thomas' mouth was on the floor.

Andrew leaned forward to whisper. "I added in that last line for good measure."

The Servine put on a tentative smile. "O-Okay, next question. What are you doing to help improve Grandeport?"

Andrew smiled. "We're currently improving and expanding the police force. We've all seen the increase in rebellious behavior from various members of our community, something which this government will not tolerate. By expanding our police force we can both provide a stimulant to our robust economy and help keep the citizens of this fine nation safe."

"That's a very good answer," Thomas said, tilting his head in a state of further confusion. "Are you optimistic about the future of this country?"

Andrew snorted. "Optimistic? Of course not! Look, I hate to break it to you, but I'm not gonna be around forever. Now, how long is the average human—I mean Pokemon—expected to live? Eighty years or something like that?"

"It's certainly possible."

He shrugged. "You get the idea. Anyways, as much as you hate to hear, it might take a while, but one day I'll die. And when that day comes, all hell's gonna break loose because nobody's gonna know what to do when I'm gone. After all, I'd have been reelected a million times. Don't get me wrong, you should still continue to vote for me despite that."

Thomas gave him a tentative nod. "Yes, I know I will be."

"Because I'll make this place hell on the way out if you don't vote for me," the Marshtomp proudly proclaimed. "As long as I'm the guy in charge, though, everything will be as great as it is today. So just put off the day I inevitably lose power as far back as possible, it'll work out for all of us."

Thomas sighed, putting his head down. "Andrew, that was a terrible answer."

"Yeah, could have been more specific. My English teacher always told me to show don't tell. I could have been so much more vivid with how I'd ruin this country if the people didn't reelect me. I mean, I could deploy police to the house of every horrid Pokemon who didn't vote for me, forcing them to gouge the eyes out of—"

"I think that's enough for that question," Thomas interrupted, flipping a page and shaking his head. "I'll give you one more: What does being president mean to you?"

The Marshtomp scratched the side of his head. "There's no perfect phrase I can give to fully encapsulate what it means to be Grandeport's president. An honor, definitely. I would not dare call it a burden, but it is a great responsibility that I believe takes a Pokemon of strong wit to handle. I guess for me… it's about leaving this city better than I found it. From the smallest of every day occurrences to the largest of policies, I want this city to be in a better place on the day I leave than when I began."

"...What?!" Thomas uttered, shocked.

Andrew squinted. "Huh? Wasn't it good?"

"Yes, it was. That might be one of the best answers you could have given," the Servine explained, placing down his notebook. "The juxtaposition of your answers is what's confusing me."

"The what of my answers?"

Thomas looked off to the side for a moment. "Nevermind that. I think you've given me enough to work with here, though some of the answers might require some… revisions. But I can handle that myself."

"Good," said Andrew plainly. He slowly lowered himself down from the couch, letting it carry most of his weight until his toes were fully on the ground. He brushed himself off, a few droplets falling to the floor.

Thomas hopped off his seat too. "Do you need any help? I can bring you food if you're hungry."

"I'm fine, don't worry," Andrew said before slowly walking to the living room's exit, peering down to the kitchen. On the table sat a stack of thick, white paper. "I think I'm going to read the newspaper."

"The Gazette? I can get it for you!" Thomas insisted. He ran over in front of Andrew, blocking his path to the exit.

Andrew furrowed his brow. "Thomas."

"Fine," relented the Servine, putting up his hands. "Just shout if you need me, I'll be in my room turning your nonsense into something the public will like—or at least tolerate."

Andrew slowly raised his flipper and wrapped it around Thomas' shoulder, ignoring the pain. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Thomas rubbed the side of his head against Andrew's. "Neither do I."

His vine snaked above Andrew and onto the rings bindinghis notebook together. He effortlessly scooped it up before strutting through the corridor and disappearing into his room.

Andrew breathed a sigh of relief. Love him, but I could do with him being less clingy.

Andrew walked over to the kitchen table before slowly lowering himself into his usual seat and pulling the newspaper over to him.

"Let's see here," he muttered to himself. "What are they saying about their favorite president?"

'THE GRANDEPORT GAZETTE' was displayed in bold, thick letters. 'Number of Mystery Dungeons Increasing Throughout the Nation: Is the Guild Closure to Blame?'

"Hardly," the Marshomp grumbled, pouting. "I bet closing the Grandeport Guild actually made the mystery dungeons' levels go down. Them going down is a good thing, right?" He shrugged. "They're probably just counting it wrong."

He flipped the paper to a different section, not even considering reading the article about his guild policy.

'Poem of the Day: There Once was a Fish.'

Alright, this looks interesting, and less of a waste of time.

'There once was a fish

High up in his castle

He had a strange wish

It was quite the hassle

To president he grew

With much help from the blind
Away from land the king drew

With a stab in the hind

Now there's a fish

High up in his castle

With skin that goes squish

He defends with but babble

The dungeons are growing

The mothers are weeping

Our taxes are flowing

For West-Grandeport's sweeping

So look at the fish

High up in his castle

A nation soon to be in ruin

So what are you doing?'

Andrew looked up from the paper. He turned his back to the window, staring dumbfounded at the blades of grass gently blowing in the backyard. "Did I read what I think I just read? …I am not a fish!"

A burning anger began to boil within him. Angrily, exerting unnecessary force, he nearly ripped the page as he turned it over, exposing the other side.

'Comic of the Day: Aid the West!'

Andrew didn't need to look beyond that to know whatever he was about to see would anger him further. Even looking at the title on its own further stirred the rage brewing within him… his instincts told him to rip up the newspaper right then and there!

But he could not.

With a deep breath, he slowly turned his gaze down to the short comic strip. It occupied about half the page and was drawn entirely in black and white. There were four panels forming a square.

The first panel depicted Andrew sitting in an office. His head, and especially his gills were drawn disproportionately large. His torso was drawn a bit rounder than Andrew felt it really was, but other than that was accurate to that of his real body.

He sat at a desk with a plaque simply reading, 'PRESIDENT.' His finger was raised and his mouth was agape in a dumb, empty grin.

A speech bubble above him read, '"They say that I neglect the poor. I'll have you know that's a complete lie!"'

In the second panel, Andrew remained in the same position, except his mouth was closed. Beside him stood a Lucario. Andrew could tell she was meant to be female as she was drawn with eyelashes and he was not. The Lucario bore an overly stoic and serious expression.

'Mister President, the west side of the city has missed their hourly tax collection… for the eighth time today!'

That must be Felicia. Except not as negative as she is in real life, he thought.

The third panel had him and the Lucario now standing behind a window dominating the scene. Below them was a dilapidated city. It was on fire, with dark, Pokemon-like figures drawn dashing across the streets. Most of the buildings were destroyed or heavily damaged.

Western Grandport, he recognized.

'I'll have you know that if they can't pay…' the speech bubble above Andrew read. The one below was Felicia's, who asked only, 'What?'

The fourth panel depicted the same scene of the burning city. In fact, it looked like the city drawing had been copied over right from the prior panel.

Lazy idiots, thought Andrew. They can't even get destruction right.

What was different in the fourth panel was Andrew, who now faced the camera with a puzzled expression, using all his brain power to answer Felcia's simple question. His tongue even hung out from his mouth to further accentuate his portrayed stupidity.

'I'll have you know that I'm thinking up a very clever way to finish that sentence and justify why those GODDAMN lowlifes deserve this.'

In the bottom right corner of the panel, written in a small white box were the simple words…

"The end."

Andrew promptly picked up the newspaper and slammed it to the ground. With a cracking sound, the newspaper unfolded—exposing both the poem and the comic for Andrew to glare at simultaneously.

"You don't talk to me like that!" he yelled at the paper, standing on his seat and pointing at the inanimate object.

He took a deep breath. His chest puffed up, and a rumbling sound came from his stomach as the pressure quickly grew and grew. A controlled, but powerful jet of water rushed out of him. It blasted into the poor newspaper, carrying it across the kitchen on a small wave, leaving a river of water behind in its path. It struck the wall before sliding down, a mess of running ink and disintegrating paper.

"Thomas!" Andrew hollered, sitting back down and crossing his arms.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and the Servine appeared a moment later in the kitchen. "Andrew! Did something happen?" His gaze then turned to the stream of water, his eyes following it until meeting the soaked newspaper stuck to the wall. His jaw dropped. "What did you do?!"

Andrew humphed. "Are you telling me that the newspaper which has tragically perished in this very kitchen is the one you write for?"

"Yes," said Thomas. "Can you tell me why the newspaper has 'tragically perished?' Was a certain Marshtomp involved by any chance?"

He smirked. "What can I say? Boating accident strikes again."

"Andrew! We pay money to have that newspaper every day. I can understand it feels good to test out some attacks every now and then, but this is unacceptable!" Thomas scolded, bringing his vines to his hips.

"Wait," Andrew uttered, tilting his head. "We actually pay money for that?"

Thomas turned away. "Well… technically employees get it for free. But there's still a lot of Pokemon who pay to read the Gazette! And you still aren't telling me why you destroyed it."

"Did you see what they were saying in there?! They were calling me a fish! A fish! Do I look like a fish to you Thomas?"

The Servine covered his mouth with a vine in response, stifling a laugh.

"Is something funny, Thomas?" Andrew questioned with a scowl.

He bit his lip, dropping his vine and facing Andrew. "I'm sorry. Yes, I know that the Gazette sometimes hosts some of the more crude views on our leadership. Don't take it personally, though. You should have seen the things they said about Mirage, legend has it that you could hear him cursing out the Gazette from a hundred miles away!"

"They can't say these things about me! It should be illegal," Andrew demanded. He got off his chair before strutting up to Thomas.

The Servine narrowed his eyes. "I won't criticize you in the papers, Andrew. But other people should be able to. Even Mirage knew better than to take that away from us. Don't pick a fight with the media. You won't win."

"Pick a fight with the media?" Andrew asked. His lips curled into a smile. "You just gave me the best idea."

Andrew peered out from behind a curtain. Various faces were waiting outside for him, their eyes locking with his as he took a brief glimpse at them. The Marshtomp looked at the notebook in his flippers. He flipped through the pages, scanning the crudely written words.

"Damn flippers, if only I still had thumbs."

Like many of the other various rooms in the castle, the walls were painted a vibrant, solid color. The backstage Andrew stood on had vibrant, lime green green walls. Someone took the term green room way too seriously.

Andrew shut his eyes, taking a quick, deep breath. He stood tall.

"You can do this, go get 'em."

With those words, Andrew pushed open the curtain and proudly walked onto the stage. He waved at the Pokemon standing in front of him as if he were hosting a game show. "Thank you, thank you! Happy to be here tonight."

It was the middle of the afternoon.

Regardless, Andrew reached a podium in the center of the stage before placing down the notebook and clearing his throat.

"Hello everyone! Welcome to the first ever Grandeport Presidential Press Conference. I'll be your host, the man, the myth, the legend, the one and only Andrew!"

He held out his flippers, expecting some sort of response. The journalists just stared at him. There were a few coughs, a banging sound in the distance, and a sound that could have been a light clap, but Andrew couldn't quite tell.

He smiled awkwardly. "Tough crowd. Anyways, I'll keep things short here today. We're just going to be doing a small policy overhaul which could affect some of you guys, hence why I called you here to the castle on this lovely evening."

Andrew paused, allowing the Pokemon to jot down their notes. It was eerily similar to what he was used to Thomas doing, the journalists fixated on their pencils and papers He noticed a Servine in the back of the crowd scribbling on his notepad like the rest. Of course, Andrew knew better than to assume any Servine was Thomas after the incident the prior week.

"My administration has done extensive research into the content of the papers that have been published recently." the Marshtomp explained. "I think you know this is going, right mister Delibird?" He pointed toward an avian journalist in the front row, putting him on the spot.

The Delibird's eyes widened as he pointed to himself and mouthed, 'Who? Me?' Andrew nodded back at the confused Pokemon, giving him a toothy grin.

"Yeah, he knows what I'm talking about," the Marshtomp said with a wink at the Delibird. The Pokemon let out a long, exaggerated sigh in return.

"As I'm sure many of you—or none of you—expected, as I'm aware there are more than a few duller tools in this room… there has been a dangerous, harmful, amount of criticism going around in the papers lately."

Andrew could feel the tension in the room increase tenfold. Every pair of eyes that had been staring at him with apathy and boredom had instantly locked onto him into rage and fury. In particular, an unusually large Fennekin—one standing at least five feet tall—gave Andrew a particularly ferocious grin. He had to bite his lip to prevent himself from bursting out in laughter from the creature's seemingly out-of-place white socks.

"I know there may be some very strong emotions after I issue this statement. However, please remember that no matter what happens, this government values the hard-working journalists who fight everyday to dig up the truth," Andrew tried to reassure.

Man, even I think that's unconvincing, he thought.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his head. He could feel his heart beginning to beat faster, his breath becoming shorter. The world seemed to dim ever so slightly. Everything was shaking.

Are they looking at me? Are they reading my mind?

Andrew almost laughed. He exhaled his dread, choosing to force apathy on himself.

He didn't care that he could hear his heartbeat.

He didn't care that he could hardly breathe.

He didn't care what the journalists would think.

Just the thought of their reactions, ones of anger and confusion and distress, made him smile. He leaned forward, enunciating for all the people in the room to hear.

"Starting… let's say next week, all negative opinions or criticisms expressed toward me in the newspapers will become illegal," the Marshomp explained. It's quite simple, really. In the case that some bold member of your lot chooses to write something a bit less than flattering—and god forbid it was to get published…"

His smile grew. "You would be locked away for life. And of course, with no chance of parole."

Andrew rested his flippers atop the podium, clasping his fingers together and looking down upon his audience, who had not yet quite processed his words. "By the way, feel free to start screaming in fear. I'd appreciate it."

Unfortunately, the journalists did not begin screaming. In fact, the opposite occurred, with little more than idle chatter and whispering filling the chamber. Their attitude hadn't changed. No tension was released. Maybe they already knew I was going to make this announcement. Goddamnit, can they actually read my mind?

A few more moments of awkward silence and murmuring passed before a Pokemon raised a paw. He was a Shinx, albeit with odd coloration, having white fur where it usually would have been blue.

Andrew eyed the journalist. "Do you have a question?"

"Yes," he responded in a matter-of-fact tone. "What constitutes a negative opinion or criticism toward you? Can we get a solid definition?"

Andrew rubbed his chin, feigning contemplation. "No, I don't think you can. Up to you what you want to risk publishing. I'll be watching."

Finally, a collective noise of dissatisfaction, ranging from grunts to angered groans to yells, from the audience. Andrew couldn't help but feel a sense of joy overcome his being. He felt happy. It was like a new energy had begun to course through his veins. He felt like he could do anything.

All the Pokemon before him fumed. Except for one—a brave, daring Pokemon from the back of the audience began to weave through the crowd and toward the front. Andrew paid him little attention, instead taking in the glory of the other journalists' dismay.

"I have a question!" an all too familiar voice stated.

Andrew's heart sank.

He looked in the middle of the audience. Standing there was none other than Thomas, vine raised high above his head.

"T-Thomas," he mouthed before gritting his teeth.

Thomas maintained an innocent, neutral look on his snout. "Mister President! I have a question for you."

Andrew scowled before putting on a suspiciously large, artificial smile. "W-What is your qu-question?"

"How will this affect journalism in our country? I mean, I'm just an average, normal journalist. I haven't ever said anything bad about you. But now… well, to be honest, I'm quite worried! What if I say something that you deem illegal? Are you going to round me up and put me in jail? Will you kill me?"

"Thom—I mean, sir," Andrew began, clearing his throat. "I assure you this will only be reserved for the most harmful, defamatory things said about the government. Normal journalists like you, especially you, have nothing to worry about."

Thomas frowned. "Oh, I don't know. Can't you imagine what this would do to our industry? If Pokemon can't say anything bad about you, then they just won't talk about you. And if we can't talk about the President, what are we going to report on? Have you thought about this for more than five minutes? This would destroy journalism in Grandeport! Do you want that?!"

"Woah, let's t-take a step back here," Andrew said as he held out his flippers. "This law isn't going to hurt anybody."

"You just said it would," Thomas rebutted.

"Now I'm saying it won't."

Thomas scowled at him. "Mister President? Is there a chance you might know a journalist personally? Perhaps you should listen to what they have to say on the matter before doing… whatever this is."

"I'll have you know my advisors all told me this was a great idea! I know what I'm doing, goddamnit!" the Marshtomp shot back, raising his voice.

"You're going to retract this law, Mister President."

"Who's telling me to?!" Andrew shouted.

"I am."

"I don't care!"

"You're going to retract it."

Andrew threw up his flippers. "Goddamnit! Fine, fine! You win, Servine! Say whatever the hell you want about me. I don't care! It'll be your fault when I die! You're killing me, you're all complicit!"

Andrew pointed at random members of the crowd, accusing them personally. He took no opportunity to glance back at Thomas, or any of the various journalists judging him.

He turned around with a huff, then disappeared behind the curtain.

It was dark. Cheers had interrupted from behind the curtains, the battle had been won. Andrew clutched his gills, sending a wave of pain through his face. He didn't care. His embarrassment grew with each passing moment as the nature of the situation became ever more clear to him.

He put his head down. I'm such an idiot.

The door serving as the backstage exit opened. A shadowy figure emerged, slowly stepping onto the creaky wooden boards of the stage.

"Andrew?" Felicia asked. "What's going on here?"

The Marhstomp looked up at her. Even looking at her shadowy face, Andrew couldn't help but stare at her judgemental, deceitful eyes. He felt nothing but pure anger, which coursed through his veins. Everything was anger. His whole body felt like it was on fire, burning chipping away at his fuse, closer, closer.

Despite this, Andrew smiled.

"For the love of God Felicia," he uttered before shaking his head. "Can you do us all a favor and go fu—?"

AN: I have considered discontinuing the author's notes, as to be honest, there's hardly anything here for me to say. Despite that, I am writing this. I suppose we'll have to keep these around until the end of the story… Which I'm estimating should happen around the two year anniversary of DIM being posted! Hey, I guess there was something to write here after all.

Big thank-you's as always to DaGamestar, DoomHuntley, SonicRamon, and Zee102. I couldn't do this fic without you guys. Comments, questions, feedback, and other shenanigans are always appreciated.
Until next time!