FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Author's Note: This chapter marks the ninth in the series. It's been a long time, but I decided to post this after recieving numerous requests for a continuation in the series. I leave this note, to inform any and all who read this, to not expect a chapter ten of the same caliber. I will be restarting the series, as my time away from the story has granted me a unique insight as to its true value, and I have determined that a full revisal will be necessary in order for me to feel comfortable continuing again. Please do not feel as though I am giving up on the story, but embrace the fact that I will be taking my time with this new draft to make it even better. Also, I hope you'll be glad to know that Daniel's character will be modified considerably. If all goes well, he won't be so... sue-ish, anymore. The first chapter (of the revised series) will be up soon.

The Story of Daniel (good lord I can't believe I'm starting this old fossil up again) IS BACK!

** ** The Story of Daniel - Chapter 9

A man waited patiently at the bus station for the eight-thirty shuttle to take him home. He was a normal looking man, with a normal brown haircut and wearing a normal suit and red tie. His suitcase was also normal, although it was quite useless at the moment, as there was nothing in it. The man kept it with him simply because he thought it looked rather nice with his suit and tie. He worked as an accountant, but that was perfectly normal, too.

A motorcar bumbled past him. The man's eyes followed it vacantly, then returned to stare back at his normal black shoes. What he was presently choosing not to stare at was the bum sitting next to him, whose presence he found displeasingly un-normal. The bum was a man. To be more precise, he was a scraggly, wild-haired man dressed in rags and also humming a broken tune.

The bum did not look nearly as normal as the man with the empty suitcase. His body was hairy and terse, and the skin on his face had darkened with either sun or dirt, for it was hard to tell without directly looking at him. His fingernails were caked with a greasy, yellow filth and the pungent odor he gave off smelled distinctly of public restrooms and slick, back alley cement.

The two sat there waiting, one humming, the other not. Another motorcar bumbled up the road. It wasn't the eight-thirty shuttle, and the man with the suitcase harrumphed impatiently. The bum, wrongly interpreting the noise as an invitation to talk, began chatting with the man.

"Hello, there. My name's Spud. How are you, friend?" said the bum named Spud. His voice was like sawdust: light, but something one would probably only find in a hard, rough place.

The man glanced uncertainly at the bum.

"Fine," said the man, who at the moment wasn't feeling very fine at all.

"That's good," Spud enthused, happy that the man had at least answered him. "So..." he weaned. "You going home?"

"Well...er, yes."

"From work, I reckon?" ventured Spud.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am," replied the man tartly, as if this knowledge might influence the bum to get a job himself.

"Oh, that's good," mannered Spud, "that's good. Quite good, really. Must have many important things in that there case, I reckon."

The man looked at his suitcase. It felt very light without any papers in it.

"It's a fair amount to keep me busy," lied the man.

"Good. Good. Very good."

"Contracts and bills and the like," he continued.

"Of course," assented Spud.

"I'm an accountant, you see."

The bum named Spud looked squarely at the man. "Do you like Tuesdays?"

The man with the suitcase stared. "Do I....what?" he asked.

Spud looked up at the sky dreamily. "I absolutely love Tuesdays. Favorite time of the week if you ask me. The sun's shining. Baker opens early. The Butterfree are out. Soup kitchen serves beef stew that day, too ... but everybody's always on about the Mondays."

His nose wrinkled, and his eyes, which had been gazing blissfully into the sky, suddenly turned down sourly. "Monday this, Monday that. Never understood it. Always thought it was mental for people to be harpin' on about Monday when there was a perfectly good Tuesday just around the corner."

And then the hardness in his eyes was gone. He looked up and around himself. The bum turned his head to the man sitting next to him and gave him a smile that seemed slightly too broad for his face. "Did you know that it's Tuesday tomorrow?" he asked, rather wickedly it seemed.

"Yes. I did," said the man with the suitcase. "I file tax forms on Tuesday. Busy day."

Spud's smile vanished. "Well, that's no way to treat a Tuesday," he said disapprovingly.

"Oh..., sorry."

And that was all the man could say in his defense, because at that moment the eight-thirty shuttle finally arrived. Its metal doors squeaked open, swallowed up the man and his empty suitcase, and sped away.

Spud watched it go. He grumbled to himself. "Guy doesn't know how to live....file forms....no respect for Tuesdays...."

He didn't have anywhere to be, so he sat there and grumbled a little more. "Tuesdays aren't for forms...forms should be abolished on Tuesday..."

After a while, a familiar-looking young boy approached him to ask for directions. He had a crutch under him and a small town map clutched lopsidedly in his hand. It also looked like he had been burned recently.

"Excuse me...," the boy said.

"File forms....you won't catch me doing that on a Tuesday....no fun at all..." Spud gibbered to himself.

"Sir..?"

Spud didn't hear him. "Should be outlawed....work on Tuesday....if I had to work on a....well, I'd just end it there....that's what I'd do...."

"Bark!"

Spud jumped as though shocked. His foot sunk into a space in the bench and he looked around wildly.

"Valeria! That wasn't nice. You can't keep scaring people like that!" said the boy with a crutch.

The Ninetales huffed. Spud's eyes darted to the strangers. He looked at Daniel, took in his odd appearance and the crutch perched under his arm. Then he saw the Ninetales, and finally the big, hulking form of...

"Aaagh! Don't eat me!" he screamed at Mira the Typhlosion, whom had been staring at Spud from behind Daniel with great, doleful eyes.

"Wait! No!" cried Daniel, but it was too late. Spud was flopping around his seat like a fish, his foot traitorishly caught in the booth.

"I don't want to die now!" he was crying pitifully. "There are so many Tuesdays to live for!"

Daniel tried to calm him down. "Please, stop! I just want directions. No one is going to eat you."

"Why couldn't today have been a Tuesday!" Spud continued bawling. "At least I would have died happy. But no! It had to be a Monday! Of all the days, it was Monday! Blast them. Blast them for being right about the Mondays! I should have listened!"

Daniel was wrestling with the man's flailing limbs. He now dearly wished he had put Mira back in her Poke Ball. She seemed to be scaring an awful lot of people. This was the third one to try and run away.

"Please, sir!" Daniel pleaded. "She won't harm you. She's not dangerous." He ducked a panicked swipe from the bum. "Really! We've just gotten lost on our way to a friend's place and need directions. I have a map, but I can't work out where we are on it."

Spud aimed a kick at him, it missed by several inches. He cried out for help.

"Help! Police! I'm getting eaten alive!"

"No one's eating you!" yelled Daniel.

"I can feel my fingers being devoured! The pain!"

"Will you stop it!"

"I can't! I'm being eaten!" said Spud.

"No you're not! Now open your eyes already!"

Spud the bum flailed his limbs tiredly, but Daniel held him down.

"Can you please just tell me how to get to Sal's place?"

Spud stopped. His eyes blinked open. He looked at Daniel.

"Sal?"

"Yes."

"The guy who owns that joint on Bayfield?"

"Well, er...I think so."

Everything seemed to have gotten a lot quieter without the bum yelling. Mira lingered apologetically in the background, keeping out of Spud's line of sight just in case he became frightened again. She began to click her claws nervously, but then stopped and put them away, deciding that the noise might remind Spud of her presence.

As though in a dream, Spud pointed a finger at the intersection.

"Take a right, then its straight on. Can't miss it. Got a big, bleedin' Snorlax perched out front."

"Oh. Thanks. I'm going to let you go now...okay? Don't scream."

Spud gazed at Daniel as though he was an apparition. The shock of him still being alive was conveniently keeping him silent.

Daniel released the bum. He didn't move a muscle. Spud just sat quietly and stared placidly at Daniel.

"Well, er..," said Daniel. "we...we better go. Thanks again. Sorry about all that."

He nodded for the others to follow and all three took off down the sidewalk. Spud just sat there, waiting to wake up. He turned his head to see their disappearing backsides.

"I should have asked them if they enjoy Tuesdays," he thought out loud. Then he wondered about this, and decided to later see a psychiatrist when he could afford one. This Tuesday-thing was getting out of hand.

For any prospective trainer hoping to have any sort of success - or in this case, survivability - there are a few key pieces of information that one needs to know. Firstly, it is important for beginning trainers to remember to set up camp in a safe location. Now, while this may seem an easy thing for any calm-headed individual to follow, for those with minds not unlike bricks, it is a different story entirely.

An excellent example would be the foray of a young Todd Levawhits and his trip to Cape Tamal. It's a beautiful place. Rustic. Hilly. Lovely view, a good place to take the missus on her honeymoon; but in Todd's case - deadly. On that sunset, after a day of frolicking and hapless joy, the air was fragrant and sweet. With his camping gear in hand, Todd felt terrifically wonderful. Wonderfully terrifically wonderful, in fact.The breeze flitted lightly through the tall grass, the Starly were chirruping to each other in the trees, the Butterfree were flittering about prettily, and the whole of nature seemed to be conspiring to be as pleasant as it possibly could. And with this feeling of terrific wonderfulness and the pastoral delights assailing his senses, Todd embarked happily, dubiously, and dramatically into the nearby cave of a slumbering Ursaring pack. He set up his gear, climbed into his sleeping bag, and slept calmly, without a care in the world, until he was woken up a few hours later by the annoying sensation of his limbs being torn to shreds by Ursaring claws. Fortunately, the sensation did not last long, as his very surprised heart spluttered to a timely halt moments later.

Cases like these are few and far between, however it only goes to show that in the wilderness, letting the mind wander - say, into a den of bloodthirsty and angst-ridden Ursaring - can lead to disastrous, and often deadly, results, which brings about the second ultra-important thing beginning trainers need to know: the Pokemon Viciousness Rating Scale, or PVRS.

While out and about, although hopefully not in caves, trainers of all shapes and sizes needed a way to discern exactly how dangerous the pokemon they were dealing with actually were. They tried many methods, many specific and narrow, others vague and unhelpful. One of the more famous ones to be published into actual guide format was the book "The Trainer's Handbook for Dangerous Pokemon" by Mark Vesper, which was written based off his worldly travels as a pokemon trainer, and which ranked a pokemon's danger level on a scale of E, D, C...all the way up to A and S, with E naturally being the least dangerous and S the most. In later decades, this system will eventually become a definitive section in many future guides to come, even playing a major role in the modern-day Pokedex. But that story is rather boring, so we will not go into it. Instead, we will go into a much more enjoyable tale: the tale of the editor of the handbook.

The editor for this lovely guide is, or rather was, Dr. Cornell D. Whittenburg, as he is now currently serving a twenty-four year sentence in the Saffron City Penitentiary. There is a reason for this.

And this is it.

Although for the most part, the guide is a decent instructor to managing good habits in the wild and in giving useful advise where needed, amongst the guide's many pages there was once a small typo in its midst. In a sheer twist of cruel luck, which the editor would later describe as "damnably laughable", before being hauled away by the authorities for not doing his job properly, it happened that both the description and PVRS of the entry for Lapras, perhaps one of the most docile and good-natured creatures in the entire pokemon world, was switched with that of the entry for Feraligator.

This was a problem for many reasons, however, the point would most likely come across better in the form of illustration. Take for example this scenario.

To a trainer who saw a Feraligator out in the wild for the first time, and whom immediately referenced their copy of The Trainer's Handbook for Dangerous Pokemon, this is what was written for them:

Feraligator Danger Level: E Avg. Height: 7 feet, 7 inches Avg. Weight: 295.8 lbs Habitat: Live in harsh climates near water; preferably mountain streams or lakes Order: Carnivore Description: Don't let its appearance fool you. Although big and blue, these creatures are one of nature's most gentle and kind, and are perhaps one of the few species known to respond well to human contact. They are mannered, sympathetic and are quite huggable, if I may say so myself, and I encourage strongly for everyone to encounter and hug at least one of these majestic creatures during the course of their trainer careers, for it is a humbling experience to parallel nothing before it. They also seem to appreciate a good pat on the head along with half a sandwich of tuna fish.

The entry was, of course, horribly mistaken, but that would matter little to the inexperienced. For after reading the entry, emboldened by this new information, the naive trainer would ready himself, prepare a nice tuna fish sandwich, and approach the Feraligator with sandwich outstretched and a benighted smile on his face. For trainers without the means to prepare a tuna fish sandwich, they would simply go in ready to hug the pokemon and hope for the best. Both approaches, however, resulted in the same outcome either way. First, there would be a silence. Then, there would be an uncomfortable, hungry silence. Then, there would be some sandwich offering / hugging, which would normally be followed by screaming, growls, sandwich tossing, and decimated hugging arms. The Feraligator would then have a fresh lunch, the tuna fish sandwich long forgotten on the ground, and finally there would be a full, satisfied-appetite silence.

It wasn't long before readers of the guide began to suspect something was amiss with the entry, especially since some of the more seasoned trainers knew that Feraligators enjoyed tuna as much as they enjoyed a thunderbolt to the junk, and took the issue up immediately with the author, Mark Vesper, who, like any professional author worth his flimsy toupee, then pointed impromptu at his editor saying, "Don't look at me! He's the one who published it!"

The editor, upon hearing this, said some very obtuse words towards working with Mr. Vesper, and also told him what he thought about his stupid guide and where he could shove it, although the location he requested may have been intended to be metaphorical. Dr. Wittenburg then tried to stomp dramatically out of the building, but his progress was disturbed when a group of angry readers bombarded him and beat him to within an inch of his life, after which he was arrested by the local police, whom had also participated in the beating, but only, as they later remarked, because everybody else was doing it. Mark Vesper later described the incident as "a close one", although he was unavailable for comment afterwards, as he then barricaded himself in his study out of fear of the angry mob, who were still pissed and looking for something else to beat. Upon finding nothing to punch, however, or even yell at, they simply went home and had a disgruntled dinner with their spouses, making sure to spill their drinks on their pants so that they would have something to shout about afterwards and make themselves feel better.

It is also worth noting that for an entire sixteen months after the book's publishing, Lapras were avoided entirely by new trainers, as at the time, they were deemed to have a PVRS class of "A", and also have bone crushing jaws that could grind a skull to powder faster than you could say "tuna fish", which, according to a certain guide, they supposedly hated.

Remarkably, despite all of the book's bad press, it still manages to match sales with modern equivalencies such as the Pokedex. This is due somewhat to its colorful advise in the footnotes, camping tips, city hotspot guides, pizza take-out numbers, popular vacation spot discounts hidden in the back, and the worldly information it gives on just about everything and anything thinkable, and even some things unthinkable. The main reason, however, is that the handbook is actually several credits cheaper than the Pokedex.

Fun fact: Typhlosions are deemed as a Class A on the PVRS.

They are also given a description in The Trainer's Handbook for Dangerous Pokemon. Provided is an excerpt from the article: "...a demonic beast that spews flames hotter than boiling lava, and capable of emanating a heat strong enough to rival that of the Sun itself. I don't have an exact temperature, but I can tell you its hot. Very hot. At least, I thought it was in the cave I found it in. Never mind, just ignore that bit. Simply understand that these creatures are hot and that you probably wouldn't want to put your ice cubes next to them. They are also extremely volatile in nature, and like to attack anything that looks or sounds like the word "human". They additionally seem quite keen to eat whatever prey mistakenly wanders into their den. I'm not saying I did this. What I did was scientific research, so don't question me. They are fast, dangerous, super-predators that could probably incinerate you in a moment, so do try not to get too close. In fact, just run. Literally, if you're staring at one right now, and it hasn't made you into a nice charred snack by now, just run. The one I found was sleeping at first, so I was at least able to make an escape before it could get all its faculties in order. Don't ask me how it woke up, that's not important and has nothing to do with me. Just know that you, the reader, are lucky enough for me to survive and write about it later. They used to give out the pre-evolved form of these to new trainers in Johto, and you know how that turned out? Terrible. They don't include it as a starter anymore. I won't disturb you with the details - because they would, disturb you that is - but I'll simply leave you with the knowledge that most of the trainers who started with their fire-types were mysteriously burnt to a crisp later that year. Now they use Caterpie instead. A nice safe option, thank goodness.

P.S. Typhlosions also do not enjoy being poked in the back whilst sleeping in their caves.

Mira stared at the little round object in front of her. Her eyes narrowed at it, and hardened with effort, as though she were willing it away with her mind.

"I don't want to," she stated.

"You have to," Daniel returned. "The sign says."

"I feel cramped in there. It's too small,"

"I'll let you out later, but right now the sign says I can't bring you inside," he reasoned.

They were standing outside of the restaurant, The Snack'n Snorlax, having finally arrived to greet Sal. A sign, however, was preventing them from entering. It read:

Pokemon Allowed (Class C or lower ONLY)

At first, Daniel didn't understand. So he asked Valeria what it meant.

"Class C?" she said, her nine tails darting back and forth luxuriously. "Its referring to a danger system you humans have come up with to rank us," she informed him. "I believe the ranks file from E to S, depending on the destructive potential of the pokemon in question."

"Ranks? But...but why couldn't I just take any pokemon inside?"

Valeria gave him a look. "So you wouldn't mind if, say, while you were eating lunch, a giant Gyarados slithered in and started eating everyone?"

Daniel wilted. "Well, I mean...no. But, suppose it was a tame Gyarados that wouldn't..."

"There are no tame Gyarados," interrupted Valeria. "That's the problem. They are actually quite dangerous, if you can believe it, and the idiots that are stupid enough to try and train them keep on getting eaten."

"That...that happens a lot?" he asked, uncertain if he actually wanted to know.

Valeria shrugged noncommittally. "Not much anyone could do about it if it did happen a lot, is there? It's simply nature's way of rooting out the dumb ones."

"So, what's a Gyarados ranked as?" Daniel asked after a pause.

"S, I think," said Valeria. "Murderous bastards, the whole bunch of them. But they like to stay underwater most of the time, so I doubt you'll ever see one."

Mira hovered quietly next to her friend, listening raptly to everything Valeria said with wide eyes. It was clear from her expression that she was deeply impressed.

"Valeria, how do you know so much about all this stuff?" she asked in amazement.

The Ninetales glanced at her and pawed the ground distractedly. "I suppose I must have learned a few things from...him." Valeria's face darkened, and Daniel had to remember that Valeria didn't like talking about her old owner. She continued, "Even if he was trash, I was able to pick up a few things about the human world while I was with him." She turned to look at Daniel. "But that's all I really know about the system. There should be more info on it in your Pokedex, if you would take it out for once."

Daniel blinked. "My...Oh, right!"

He fished around his pocket for the device. He had honestly forgotten about it entirely, the small, metal encyclopedia that Professor Rowan had given him back in Sandgem Town. Daniel wondered briefly on why he kept on neglecting the mechanical wonder. After all, it was a Pokedex! An actual, authentic Pokedex! This wasn't just a cheap, plastic knock-off. It was the real thing, with buttons and data and everything.

He flipped it open and began to search. As Daniel started to read through the entries, however, he began to feel the same sense of tiresome familiarity that had pushed him away from the device before. It was something that he would most likely never be able to properly explain. Perhaps it was the fact that he had played the video games for too long, spending hours looking over the fictional data his game-Pokedex provided for him, but the experience with the real thing was eerily similar to the point of uncomfortability.

Certainly, the entries for Pokemon were somewhat different, and the information programmed into it was of course helpful at times, but Daniel felt that he had already exhausted his capacity for dealing with the thing. Many entries were either titles he knew already, or subjects which he knew would never relate to him in his entire life, like the gardening tips section, which focused mainly on how to home-grow Pokemon berries from one's own backyard. To Daniel, this was all guff and probably best left alone. He wasn't really the gardening type.

But that aside, Daniel pushed onward and located the subject file 'Ninetales'. He pressed ENTER. The screen flickered and a photographed image of a Ninetales popped up, followed by a short range of statistics and a very sparse description of common abilities.

"It says here that you're a class C, Valeria," said Daniel, squinting down at the screen. "So, I guess that means you can come in with me."

Valeria nodded in acknowledgment, although she already knew this information. Mira, on the other hand, huddled up to Daniel and tried to peer at the screen as well, which resulted in her squeezing quite close to Daniel's face.

"What class am I, Daniel?" said Mira excitedly, as though she was about to learn something life-changing about herself. "Huh, Daniel? What class am I?"

"Give me a minute." He ran the entry and found it. "Class A. Wow, way up there aren't you?"

There was a silence which followed this new information. At first Daniel couldn't tell whether it was an uncomfortable silence or not, as he was not certain if the news he had given was good or bad. Mira refrained from saying anything, and when Daniel turned to look at her, her expression proved unreadable. She slowly removed herself from him and stood silently by herself. Daniel and Valeria looked at each other confused.

"Class A," Mira said quietly to herself. Her head turned sightly towards the restaurant, and in a flash, Daniel understood what Mira was acting so strangely about.

"I guess that means--" started Daniel.

He pulled out her Pokeball...

Of course, Mira wasn't pleased in the slightest, and here they were, back where they started.

"I don't want to," she said again. "I don't understand why I just can't go inside with you."

Valeria tried to reason with her. "Mira, you're a class A. What do you think would happen if you just walked into a crowded restaurant?"

"I don't know, I've never been in one!" she snapped back. "I mean, maybe if I just explain myself, I could..."

Valeria rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, that will set things right. A Typhlosion walking into a restaurant and yelling at the patrons. Nobody will run in terror after that."

Mira started to say something about how she wouldn't yell at anybody, but Daniel cut her off.

"Look, Mira. I know that you want to go inside," he said. "But I think we can judge how these people are going to react. Especially," he added, "after all those guys we tried asking directions from. Do you remember the man we asked for directions from first?"

Mira huffed and turned to stare sullenly at a nearby fire hydrant, mainly because it was an object that conveniently did not look at all like the person she was talking to. "He got one look at me and...and jumped through a window," she said quietly.

Daniel nodded. "He jumped through a window," he confirmed. "So, based on that," he continued. "What do you think might happen if we suddenly enter the restaurant with a hungry Typhlosion?"

"But I'm not that hungry."

"Well, it's a restaurant. People are going to assume you're hungry."

Mira thought for a moment. When she came to her conclusion, her head drooped slightly. "They'll all jump out a window, then?" she asked, sounding pitifully sad.

"Well, err..." Daniel scratched his chin. "I'm not sure there would be enough windows for that, actually. But, that's not a bad guess I suppose."

Valeria nudged him aside. "We're wasting time arguing about this. Mira, please get in the ball, okay? I'll make sure he lets you out after we're done. Right, Daniel?" she asked somewhat forcefully to him.

"What? Yeah, yes. Yes, of course," Daniel stammered. "Don't worry about it, Mira. We'll only be in for a short while."

Mira bit her lip. She really wanted to see what was in a restaurant, but at the same time, she didn't want to be a burden on her trainer. Her eyes wavered over Daniel's crutch.

A silence descended on the group.

"Okay."

Daniel's eyebrows raised. "Okay?"

"I'll get in the ball," Mira relented tonelessly. Suddenly, she turned to Daniel. "But...but don't take too long. Alright? No more than a few minutes? I can tell, you know."

He gave her a smile. The Pokeball raised with his hand. "Alright. No more than a few minutes."

"I mean it! No more than a few."

"Yes, yes. I know."

The red and white ball clicked and a stream of light shot out, engulfing Mira in a soft red glow. The device hummed and whirred. The light around Mira grew stronger and stronger until she resembled nothing more than a large mass of red, like God had accidentally dripped a splotch of paint into their vision while he was coloring the evening sky. And then, like a tiny, spherical vacuum, the Pokeball sucked up the red which was Mira, the entirety of herself disappearing completely from the world.

The ball whirred again and clicked shut, and in Daniel's hand, it pulsated with warmth, as though new life had suddenly been formed within its mechanical depths. For a drawn out moment, he continued to gaze at the ball with the same awe-inspired incredulity that he always felt when these sort of things happened, which, since arriving in this world a little over a week ago, seemed to be occurring more and more frequently as time went on.

He wondered why he hadn't already gone mad after the things that have happened to him. Eight days ago he was sitting in his father's car playing Nintendo, and now he was sucking up Typhlosions in Pokeballs and talking - no, conversing - with creatures that he knew had no business existing beyond his imagination. It was either pure madness or the most brilliant thing he had ever done in his entire life.

Daniel looked at the ball some more, but as the moment went on, and he thought more and more about the thing in his hands, the smile vanished from his face. He was thinking back to that moment.

He could not fully remember what had happened in that cave, the one he had stumbled into and bled profusely, but the last thing he could remember seeing from his own world was the cave ceiling and a bright, shining light; like that tunnel some people believe you see right before you pass on. Perhaps he had died that day, and this place was nothing more than a fantasy, he thought.

It was then at that moment that Daniel's arms and legs stiffened quite suddenly, and without any good reason at all.

At first, Daniel didn't understand what had happened, as this had never occurred to him before. He tried to move his arm, but it remained as rigid as wood. His left leg fared no better. Neither did his right once he tried it. Yet, despite this sudden loss of motor control, an unusual calm was spreading over Daniel. His mind, he could feel, was acting quite strangely. His thoughts felt like they were receding from the forefront of his attention, like they were being pulled back in much the same way a large wave pulls back the ocean just before it hits the shoreline.

He was in shock, although from what he could not yet imagine, but like a looming shadow, an idea was building in the back of his mind. A terrible, awful idea.

And then the wave crashed upon him.

It was like a flood of thought was rushing into him: things he had tried to hold down, fears that he believed he had overcome, terrifying ideas which had crossed his mind days ago, but which he had wished to suppress. It all came out and petrified him to that spot, unable to move or think or scream. It had been eight days since his sojourn into this world commenced, and he had not yet once tried to question its existence.

He shivered visibly now, and beyond his awareness, a slow, crawling fear began to inch along his skin. For the longest time, he had tried not to think about it - about what this world might really be underneath. Did it truly exist, or was it perhaps just a fake, an illusion his mind created after his death? Was that cold, damp, dim-lit cave really the place where he might have died? To Daniel, the idea that this place could be anything but real was unconsolably terrifying. As for whether he was dead or not, well, he truly didn't know, and in some ways, this both relieved and worried Daniel beyond anything he could feel in his entire life.

It would explain everything. His powers, his condition, this entire world. He almost burned alive, yet survived and walked out of the hospital not one day later. He beat up several full grown Mighteyena without getting himself killed. He could understand pokemon. Everything was acting out like some fantasy playing in his head.

The world in which he resided now...that it could be nothing more than the feeble construct of his fading consciousness, or that it might actually be his own personal afterlife, seemed more terrible a consequence than all the punishments of Hell intersected. If this really was the afterlife, how cruel God must then be to create such a mockery of the dreams of men and women, and to have them walk their false realities for all eternity.

His distressed mind rambled on. But, if that were all true, that this place was really some form of afterlife or unawake-able dream, what then could be said for the relationships he had created here? Was Mira's affection only a product of his diseased imagination. Did his kiss with her mean absolutely nothing other than to ultimately prove to himself the blasphemous desires in his heart? What of Valeria? Was her tale of neglect and abuse only some malformed cliche that his mind produced for him, or maybe she symbolized an aspect of his past existence that had burrowed deep within his sub-conscience? Was it possible, nay, probable, that the friends he had made were less of substance than that of either smoke or vapor? Did his connection with them resemble no more than a man talking to imagined shapes in a fog?

In his darkest moments, when spirits were low and his faith shaken by the trials ahead, these would be the thoughts which would plague Daniel's nights, and leave him awake and robbed of the comforts of sleep. What meager defense he could make to this world's existence denounced everything he had understood about the nature of the universe, and drove all sense from its logic. Yet, what was the most damnable thing of all, was the simple fact that neither argument could ever be proven. He could never satisfactorily prove that this world was but a dream, nor could he prove that this world was in itself a real place. For what evidence could ever prove the existence of something, or for that matter, reject its existence? All he could ever do was choose between the two extremities: a world of truth, or a world of lies.

"Daniel, is everything alright?"

Daniel looked up and was suddenly reminded of Valeria's presence. She was gazing at him in a very peculiar way, as though she were trying to solve an invisible puzzle written on his face.

"It's fine. Just...just got distracted for a moment," he told her. He slipped Mira's Pokeball back into his pocket, hands shaking.

Daniel tried to clear his head. He knew it would do him no good to dwell on these thoughts. He had read of greater minds than his that were driven to madness from questioning their own existence, and Daniel realized that if he ever wanted to return home, then it would best if he were to retain his sanity for as long as possible. He stopped for a moment to steady himself, and Daniel took a few deep breaths. The haze in his mind dispersed slightly, and Daniel willed himself to keep a calm head.

What he wanted to do, Daniel realized, was find Mr. Murdstone, the only man who seemed to recognize that there was something different about him from anyone else. But that wasn't all that drew him to the man. Daniel could feel that something was happening inside of him, an alien feeling that seemed to flow out from him in every direction. There could be no short explanation for such a feeling, and any attempt he might have made to describe it he believed would exhaust a volume of books. It was as though a note were echoing inside of him. A soft, resounding note that was so totally imperceptible, that Daniel might never have noticed had Mr. Murdstone not arrived with his mysterious explanation. He could feel it inside himself when he spoke to Mira and Valeria. He could feel it when his wound hurt. He could feel it when his feet ached. He could hear it in his head. It was in his entire being, and to him, its effect on his body was not unlike that of a sunbeam across his skin.

And then there was the event in the woods: his fight against those Mightyena. What on earth happened to him? Daniel took a moment to try and remember. His body felt on fire, like his blood had turned into a raging inferno, and the amount of energy he felt coursing through him at that moment was as though it would never cease. But after that event, was probably the strangest thing. He heard Mira speak for the first time, and that was a shock. Daniel had wondered ever since how he was able to manage that miracle; how, although he wasn't able to communicate with her when they first met, he understood her the moment after he fought off the Mightyena. Back then he reasoned that those two events must have been connected somehow, but in what way, he could not yet piece together.

Whatever it was, that strange power was his only link to figuring out what happened after he blacked out in the cave. That event which left him on death's doorstep, about to die, yet which allowed him to wake up and find himself without injury. Mr. Murdstone apparently had an explanation: Aura. Daniel didn't yet know what it was, but apparently Mr. Murdstone knew all about it, and exactly how it was connected with him surviving that fateful night. Whatever truth he was destined to find out about this world, or himself, Daniel knew that it had to start with that man; the only man he believed who could have any of the answers he had been searching for since his arrival.

"Daniel, are you even coming?" said Valeria. She was waiting for him at the double-doors to the restaurant, her tails swishing impatiently. "We're already late in meeting Sal, so shouldn't we hurry?"

Daniel jolted to attentiveness. "What? Yes, yes of course. Let's go in to meet him."

He began hobbling toward her with his crutch.

Clack. Step. Clack. Step.

"Finally!" said Valeria, seeing him approach. "I thought we were never going to go anywhere. What was with you and all that silence? Do humans normally stare into space like that?" There was something that near resembled contemptuousness in her tone, but it didn't seem like a conscious effort on her part. More like, it was simply out of habit.

Daniel responded by not saying anything. He was almost beside her and the door was right in front of him.

Step. Clack. Step. Clack. Step.

"No," he eventually answered her. "Not all humans. Just the ones with a lot on their mind, I suppose."

He got up close to the door so that he could open it with his free hand. "But never mind that," he added. "Let's just find this Sal-person and--"

But exactly what Daniel was going to suggest next would never be known, as at that instant, the door of the restaurant slammed open and whacked him right in the face, rendering him incapable of speech. This - of course - caused gravity to once again take advantage of his misfortunes and bring him crashing to the ground. He cried out in pain, as his fall caused the wound to throb terrifically in his chest. He tried to look up and see who had struck him so inconsiderately, but this proved difficult without his crutch.

The door-opener, whom Daniel could only barely see from his position on the ground, turned out to be a large man with a bald spot on his head. He also had a pair of bulky arms and a set of thick, meaty hands, which were currently balled into fists. His loud voice was bellowing out into the restaurant like an angry wind, his back to the outside, and Daniel was only dimly aware of the fact that this man had not even noticed what he had done to him.

"I don't care, Mary! I'm the boss, so I say I'm taking some time off!" he yelled.

From inside, patrons were looking about nervously, secretly wondering if this outburst would slow down their orders. The waitress named Mary, however, was walking briskly up the aisle towards him.

"And I'm saying," she was shouting back. "That you can't do that! The sun's almost down and you know how crowded this place gets after seven. We need you here to prepare the specials and also to make sure Jacob doesn't burn down the kitchen!"

The man at the door waved his hands at her, as if to shoo her away like an annoying fly. "Let him burn it. I didn't like the color anyway. Wanted sandalwood, not peach. Besides, I have to go. I'll be boiled in soup if I just stand here while my friend is all by himself! I'm leaving you in charge, so do the best you can."

Mary was frothing with rage. A customer at the table she was standing next to was, however, assuming she was there to take his order.

"Oh hello, miss," he said, not noticing the situation at all. "I suppose I'll start off with a basket of Krabby legs, with a sweet tea, and...actually, could I get those with some butter sauce?"

"Oh, of course! Just do that then!" she yelled at her boss.

"Fantastic," said the customer. "And...hmm...I think for the main course I'll try the Smoked Magikarp filet this time. I haven't really tried it before, so I hope it tastes good. My friend once said that it comes slightly burnt, and that apparently makes it nice and crunchy, but I don't really want that on mine. Could you make it so that the skin on it doesn't burn?"

Mary continued to yell at her boss, this time sarcastically. "Don't worry about a thing!" she said. "I'll just do the best I can so that everything comes out perfect!"

The customer nodded from behind the menu. "Excellent," he said. "I'm glad that you're establishment is so abiding. With the meal, I was also hoping for a side of your famous Pikachu Potato Shockers. It says here in the menu that they are actually sweet potatoes that have been cooked with a Pikachu's electric attack, but I'm a little suspicious on how such a confection would actually taste..."

"Sal, do you know how most of these spontaneous judgements you make turn out?" Mary shouted at him. Sal walked outside and slammed the door shut in response.

"What is your opinion of them?" asked the customer.

"They all turn out terrible!" she yelled after him, loud enough so that Sal would hear through the door.

"Flump," went something heavy from outside, and Mary hoped savagely that it was her boss taking a spill.

The customer looked disappointed. "Really, all terrible? What a shame. Oh well. I suppose I'll just make it green beans then."

"Can it," said Mary, before stomping off to the kitchen.

The customer watched her go with a shocked look his face, totally bewildered on why the term "green beans" had upset such a nice waitress. He later noted to himself that green beans must be a sore issue with the restaurant and decided to never order them again. Tact.

Indeed, the sound "flump" which Mary had heard actually was, in fact, her boss taking a spill. For when he abruptly shut himself out of the restaurant, Sal, like any normal human, did not immediately look down and see the boy lying prone at his feet. Normally, there weren't usually obstacles like that for him to maneuver around on a daily basis. So out the door Sal went, trip, and then down he went, landing quite astonishingly the same way Daniel had. Face first. Thus, the resulting "flump" sound came forth.

"Ouch," muttered Sal. He sat up and held his aching head in his hands. "What happened? Who did that?" He was slightly dazed.

Daniel finally regained his crutch and stumbled into an upright position. His wound, however, made this process very uncomfortable, and Daniel had to take a minute to regain his breath after he was standing.

The noise made Sal turn around and see Daniel for the first time. "Who are you?" Sal's voice boomed at him.

"Are you okay?" asked Daniel.

"No. I just fell and hit my face on the pavement. I'm fantastic. Now, who are you? Another customer?" He tried to stand, wobbled, tottered, then regained his footing and stood upright. He was slightly taller than Daniel, and a great deal larger at that. "If your here for one of my special burgers," he continued. "then your out of luck. I'm retiring for the day." He paused and thought. "Why were you on the ground?"

"You knocked me down," said Daniel.

"Did I?" He seemed surprised. "When?"

"When you opened the door. I was standing right in front of it when you bashed it open and knocked me over," explained Daniel.

"Oh." A guilty look appeared on Sal's face. "Sorry. I was in a hurry." His eyes then noticed the crutch under Daniel's arm. "Blast it, and you're injured as well. Figures I'd go end up knockin' over a cripple boy," he added rather to himself. "Listen," he said to Daniel. "I'll make it up. Go in and tell that witch I was yelling at, Mary, to give you a free meal. It's on the house. Just say that Sal said it was alright, and if she doesn't hit you after hearing my name, then you won't need ta pay."

Daniel started. "Wait, are you Sal?" he asked.

"Of course."

"Well, that's great! You're the person we came to meet," said Daniel, feeling quite good about his luck. It didn't take too long to find him after all. "Mr. Murdstone told us to meet you here so that--"

Sal rounded on him as quick as lightning. "How do you know about Walter?" he said anxiously.

Daniel was slightly taken aback. "We...we had a meeting," he replied.

A look of recognition crossed Sal's features, and his skin took on a white pallor. "You! You're that boy he was waiting for. Daniel, right?" Sal appeared petrified. Daniel, however, was unable to see exactly why.

"Yes, that's right," he said. "I'm Daniel. It's nice to finally meet--hurk!"

With alarming speed, Sal had lunged forward and seized Daniel by the throat, a wild look in his eyes.

"Daniel!" shouted Valeria in horror.

"What does your kind want with Walter! It's been more than twenty years, damnit!" he shouted into Daniel's face. "You're with the Brethren, aren't you? Huh? Right? How's 'old and grisly' after all this time? Has he got nothing better ta do than chase after a tired man? Huh?"

Daniel croaked out a reply. "Whackt are you talkig about?" His face was turning a blotchy shade of red from the lack of air to his lungs.

"Don't get smart with me!" bellowed Sal. He jostled Daniel a little in his grip, making him issue a painful gurgling sound from his throat. "Answer me this. Are you an Aura-user? Are you?"

Daniel had to fight to remember what that term meant. His brain was a little pressured with the fact a man almost three times his weight was choking him, and that there was only a limited supply of oxygen left in his body in which to answer the question. Then he remembered: yes, he was one of those.

He nodded his head as vigorously as he could, but apparently this was not the answer Sal had been looking for. "I knew it!" he screamed, holding Daniel tighter in his grip. His face was apoplectic with rage. "That means you're one of them! Your here to spy, aren't you? Tell your master where we are, right? Well it ain't happening! You hear that? It ain't-- Aaghh!" he suddenly yelled out.

Sal's grip released, and Daniel staggered back coughing. Through watery eyes, Daniel saw Sal hunched over his left leg, and Valeria beside him with her hackles raised and looking menacing.

"Damnit! You bit me!" he said through gritted teeth.

"Why did you attack me?" shouted hoarsely Daniel, rubbing his sore throat. "What are you, crazy? You could have killed me!"

"Y-you're one of them. Walter, he doesn't need you people back in his life." Sal's voice trembled and he was panting heavily now, as though physically winded from the small injury he received. For the first time, Daniel could see how old the person he was dealing with really was. It didn't make him feel any pity for him, but Daniel now new that he was fighting with someone who had seen quite a lot in his time. Sal continued breathless.

"Why can't you guys just leave him alone?" he panted. "What's the point in chasing down old men, and slaughtering them for sins that should be dead and buried. What's the point?"

He was silent for a moment, and Daniel wondered just what in hell was going on.

"Well, fine!" Sal suddenly bellowed. He stuck out his chest and opened his arms wide, as though awaiting some heroic death blow from the enemy. "Call him! Bring out that damn watch and call your bloody master! I'll get a kick out of seeing his wrinkled, putrified face one more time before I go. It'll give me a good laugh. Watch me, I'll spit right in his disgusting face. Go on, bring out the watch!"

Daniel's head swirled. He felt as though he were in the middle of some insane melodrama, the ones where the main character usually finds out he has an alien for a brother and a secret service agent for a step-father, just before his sister bursts into the living room and says that she's pregnant with the villain's baby, whom, almost always, would have an eyepatch and a twirly mustache.

"What are you talking about?" Daniel shouted back at him.

"Shut it! I know you have one, every Brethren member does. The silver pocket watch with the lantern and the blue flame. I know all about it. It's supposed to be a direct line of communication with your headquarters, that's why you carry them around. It acts as a signal for your master, a global positioning unit to always know the location of his henchmen."

"What's the Brethren?" Daniel asked bewildered. He turned to Valeria for some support, but saw that she was still busy appearing menacing so he didn't bother her. "Look, I don't have any idea what you're going on about. I don't have a watch, and I don't know anything about this...thingy you keep talking about."

"The Brethren!"

"Right. Never heard of it."

"Liar!" yelled Sal, his chest heaving.

"Actually,"said a whispery voice from down the road. "I believe he is telling the truth, Sal,"

Daniel twisted his head around so fast he cricked his neck. He peered desperately into the shadows, but the sun had set a little while ago, and all that he could see was dark.

And then Mr. Murdstone stepped out of the darkness and into the silky light of a nearby street lamp.

His mane of white hair lit about him with an awesome, dramatic glow, and his very presence made those around him hush with silence. His clothing also seemed to have this effect. Unnoticing the bewildered stares before him, or simply not caring, Daniel would never be able to tell which, he strode forth with a calm and deliberate air. After a moment, he was standing above his friend, looking down on him with those pale, fiery blue eyes of his.

"I thought I said," spoke Mr. Murdstone in a cool, wispy voice. "before we departed company, that Daniel was a friend to us, and not to be harmed."

"Walter, I-I..." spluttered Sal, "He-he's an Aura-user, Walt. He could be anybody, he could be part of the--," but Mr. Murdstone returned with a look that would have made even a raging Tyranitar think twice about being impolite to a dandelion.

"Hello, Daniel," said Mr. Murdstone, turning to him. Daniel simply goggled back. Mr. Murdstone was wearing an emerald green puffball night cap and a small, black coat that barely covered the top half of his nightgown, the ends of which fluttered slightly in the breeze mere inches above a pair of fuzzy blue slippers. The man seemed quite ready for bed, and to Daniel, looked unflappably silly.

"I'm sorry for how my friend greeted you tonight. I fear that he would have--how do the youngsters say it--'put you off' seeing me had he continued to persist with interrogating you. He was, I hope you will understand, concerned for me."

Daniel was somewhat blown-out by Mr. Murdstone's remarkable entrance. Here was the man he had been searching for all day, yet no questions came to mind for him to ask. The best two that came out of him turned out to be unbelievably useless.

"What...what are you doing here?" he asked first, which in all regards was a perfectly valid question.

"Oh, pottering, pottering," said the old man gravely.

"Well... aren't you cold?" asked Daniel, and he only asked because he was still trying to register Mr. Murdstone's strange outfit as a plausible choice for an evening walk.

Mr. Murdstone merely smiled. "Ah," he said. "I see you noticed my new nightgown. It's not particularly suited for outdoor travel, is it?" he asked Daniel.

Daniel shook his head, and Mr. Murdstone let out a heavy sigh. He continued. "Well, too late for that to matter now, I suppose. It is actually quite a bit of luck that I found you and Sal before the situation got any worse," he added with a grin, "Shall I tell you how I did it?"

Daniel shrugged his shoulders in utter befuddlement.

"Well, I shall tell you anyway," said Mr. Murdstone, "because it is a remarkable story, with lots of interesting details and things, that gives a rather good explanation of how I got here, as well as why I am in this nightgown. You see, I was in my home, watching a special on the television, when all of a sudden a--"

"Mommy, look!" cried a little girl walking across the street with her mother. She was pointing over at Mr. Murdstone with excitement. "That old man over there is walking around in his pajamas!" She then started to laugh. "Funny! Funny! Isn't he, Mommy?"

The mother, upon looking over at Mr. Murdstone, hurried her daughter away and out of sight, but not before having said her opinion of them. "You shouldn't point at people, sweetie. Especially, the crazies. You never know what insane things they'll do...or wear..."

Then the street was empty, except, of course, for the three men and pokemon, whom were painfully silent in wake of what just happened. Mr. Murdstone cleared his throat, his face slightly red with embarrassment.

"Never mind," he said. "It doesn't matter anyway." He paused for a moment, trying to collect himself. "I think it would be best," continued Mr. Murdstone, "if we all headed to my house, as there is much to talk about." He then turned away and began to walk. After a moment so did the others, although very perplexedly and with much anticiaption.

"Make yourself comfortable, Daniel," said Mr. Murdstone. "My home, is your home, but do try not to break anything."

Daniel and Valeria wandered into Mr. Murdstone's house with mild trepidation. Sal followed closely behind, keeping a vigilant eye on Daniel as they passed the threshold.

He closed the door, and the first thing that Daniel could tell about the house was that it was rather nice. There was no lavish decor that jumped out at him as he followed Mr. Murdstone, no displeasing knickknacks on the shelves or patchy dry wall to be scoffed. It was a small, humble residence. A few bookshelves sat quietly in the background, and a TV dinner tray he saw was placed idly on the floor. A winding staircase led to the upper flat, but the landing was dark and hidden from view. They passed it by, and continued down the corridor. Mr. Murdstone led them into the den, where they could all see a fire already crackling in the fireplace, warming up the room in its comforting glow.

"Sit. Sit," insisted Mr. Murdstone, who was already taking a seat in a squashy chintz armchair.

They all sat, Daniel and Valeria on a well-worn chesterfield sofa, while Sal chose a wooden chair next to Mr. Murdstone. The logs in the fire popped and splintered, sending a rush of smoke up the flue and the scent of hickory into the air.

"Well, it seems as though things turned out better than expected," began Mr. Murdstone. He smiled at them casually, but it wasn't met with any others. He continued unperturbed. "I had, originally, intended to be meeting only Daniel here but, by a nice change of luck, I now have the opportunity to address both of you. I would be correct in assuming, however, that the two of you have some questions for me before we get started?" he inquired with a mischievous smile. Again, he was met by silence, which seemed to only confirm his suspicions.

"Very well, then. Sal," he called.

Sal jerked his head up. "What?"

"I will allow you to begin, so ask away," said Mr. Murdstone pleasantly; he then put his fingertips together and surveyed the large man with an expression of polite interest.

"What? Now?"

"Yes, Sal. Now."

"Oh, err, al-alright," began Sal stumblingly. He appeared somewhat disconcerted, for it felt as though they were all suddenly in an interview. "My...my question was, well, was about the boy--"

"Daniel," corrected Mr. Murdstone.

"Yes, yes. Err, Daniel. Him."

"You wanted to know why I don't believe him to be in the Brethren?" suggested Mr. Murdstone patiently.

"Yes, exactly, that's--" Sal's voice became stronger. "That's what I wanted to know, Walter. What makes you so certain that we can trust him? He's an Aura-user, for Arceus' sake."

"I know what he is," replied Mr. Murdstone softly. "I also know that he is not one of their numbers."

"Yes, but, how?" implored Sal.

Mr. Murdstone shrugged. "Daniel," he asked him, "are you a member of a group called the Brethren?"

Daniel looked at Sal levelly. "No," he answered.

Mr. Murdstone turned back to Sal as if this settled the matter.

"That doesn't prove anything!" shouted Sal. "How can you just take his word for it? You know what they're like, Walter. How do you know he's not a spy or--or an assassin?"

Mr. Murdstone chuckled, much to Sal's indignation. "An assassin?" said Mr. Murdstone amused. "Well, if he was one, then he is hiding the fact very well," he joked. "Especially," he added, "as he was passed out and needing immediate medical treatment when I found him. Oh, yes. That was quite crafty, wasn't it? Quite crafty, indeed."

A flush of vermilion creeped up Sal's neck. "You know what I mean, Walter," he spit out hotly. "What proof's he got that we should trust him? And not just his word on it!" he added with a growl. "I'm talking about hard evidence. Factual, logical, determinable evidence. That's what I want."

"Evidence?" repeated Mr. Murdstone lightly. "Factual, logical, determinable evidence, hmm? And...what would you take as evidence, Sal?"

Sal opened his mouth to speak, yet surprisingly, nothing came out. He honestly didn't know. Mr. Murdstone pressed on. "Would you take the fact that he doesn't have a watch on him, the very symbol of that creed? I know this because when I came upon him in the alley, and realized exactly what he was, I discretely searched him. To say the least, it was quite a nice surprise for me to find he didn't have one."

"Wait, you went through my pockets when I was unconscious?" interrupted Daniel.

Mr. Murdstone did not pay him any mind. "Or perhaps the fact that he is only a young man, you would accept? Admit it, Sal. Even if he were among them, then he would no doubt still be in training. The Brethren do not send their pups to do the work of a hound."

Sal's lip curled and he grumbled under his breath. He still didn't like the situation. It felt like he was getting uncomfortably close to the enemy. "Then--then how does he know how to use Aura?" he shot back. "If he's not one of them, then how could he possibly be able to use it well enough to speak to pokemon. Prove to me that!"

Mr. Murdstone inclined his head. "Yes, that is a good question. In fact, it is one which I asked him just this morning while we were in the hospital. However," he added thoughtfully, a finger on his chin, "I'm not sure if he really knows himself, do you, Daniel?"

At this, Daniel felt all eyes drawn on him, and it seemed as though the room was stuffier than before. He had been meaning to talk about this to Mr. Murdstone anyway, but the air of hostility emanating from Sal was making him nervous. It seemed as though the man were analyzing him through a microscope, most likely, Daniel realized, in order to find some deterring falsehood in his statements.

"No, sir," he began timidly. "That's actually what I wanted to ask you about. I wanted to find out what Aura was exactly, and--" he added in an undertone, "and why I seem to have it."

He was not certain if he had been very convincing, but Mr. Murdstone was beaming at him. "There!" he declared to Sal. "Now, how much more proof could you require? What Brethren instructor would possibly leave their pupil in such an ignorant state, and simply have them sort out their abilities all by themselves? None. None whatsoever!"

Sal continued to look austerely at Daniel for a while more, as though trying to ignore what Mr. Murdstone was saying, but eventually turned his head away in disgust.

"Fine!" he barked. "You've made your point, Walter, but don't expect me to get all friendly all of a sudden."

"I never expected you to, Sal," said Mr. Murdstone pleasantly. "I simply wanted you to understand that Daniel here is not our enemy, and not to be mistrusted for his every action. However," he added, and his voice took on a stiffness that Daniel had never heard before, "I cannot say it doesn't sadden me to see my word so casually disregarded by only a few meager suspicions."

Sal head snapped back to Mr. Murdstone. He was suddenly looking ashamed of himself and shifted around in his seat. The wood creaked forebodingly underneath him. "That's not fair, Walter," he demurred. "You know that's not what it is."

There was a silence amongst the two, and Daniel watched as Mr. Murdstone surveyed Sal with calm, calculating blue eyes. "Very well," Mr. Murdstone finally said, a heady sigh escaping him. "Do as you wish."

Daniel felt it was finally his moment to speak up. "Excuse me, Mr. Murdstone--sir?"

Mr. Murdstone peered over at him, the firelight making the light in his eyes flicker curiously. "Yes?"

"Well, at the hospital, sir, you said that I was an Aura-user," he began.

"And you are," Mr. Murdstone said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, so I hear," replied Daniel impatiently. "But, what is that?"

"What is what?" asked Mr. Murdstone.

"Aura!"

"Ah." Mr. Murdstone smiled reflectively. "So that is it."

"Yes, that is it."

"That is why you have come."

"Yes."

"To figure out what in the world us old men have been rambling on about."

Daniel gritted his teeth. He was finding his patience rapidly slipping away. "If you would be so kind."

Mr. Murdstone wore a serene expression on his face and continued to smile, as though he were at a country club spa. Then he said, "Well, it's quite complicated."

"I have time."

"Oh?" Mr. Murdstone sat up straighter. "That's a different story then, isn't it?"

Daniel said nothing, but continued to stare very hard at Mr. Murdstone. Slowly, Mr. Murdstone got to his feet and migrated leisurely towards the fire. Daniel watched as he took up the metal poker leaning on the wall and prodded a little at the logs. He made a large show of not looking directly at Daniel.

"With Aura, you see," said Mr. Murdstone, his back to him as he fiddled, "with Aura...."

He stopped and picked at the fire some more. The small room lit a shade brighter, and with it, their shadows starker against the pale walls. He was staring very intently into the flames, as though waiting for them to do something unexpected.

"Sir?" urged Daniel. He had picked up on Mr. Murdstone's sense of importance but didn't know what to do with it.

"Hmm?" said the old man without turning.

"You were saying?"

Mr. Murdstone paused and looked over at him sharply, yet still somehow not at all.

"Words," he said, "are very unhelpful." He resumed his fire tending.

Daniel nodded wisely to himself. After a while he realized that this wasn't getting him anywhere and decided that he would say "what?" after all.

"With Aura," repeated Mr. Murdstone, his back now seemingly forever destined to face Daniel, "words are very unhelpful."

Daniel nodded again and looked round to Valeria for help, but Valeria was looking at Mr. Murdstone sternly, a frown on her muzzle.

"What did he say?" he whispered to her, figuring that perhaps he had misheard. She glanced at him uncertainly.

"He hasn't said anything yet," she whispered back.

Daniel frowned. "Of course he has. He just told me that 'words are very unhelpful', whatever that means."

Valeria stared at him with concern, but before she could say anything, Mr. Murdstone broke the silence with a heavy sigh.

"I was only," spoke Mr. Murdstone, with a slow turn to Daniel, his pokering finished and backside twisting gratefully away to view the wall once again, "trying to save you the trouble of asking me why I wasn't speaking to you with my normal voice."

Daniel looked pointedly at him. "But, you were," he said.

Mr. Murdstone raised an eyebrow. "Was I?"

Daniel would have immediately replied, "yes!", had something uncomfortable not gotten stuck in his throat. It also didn't help that uncomfortable thing in his throat just happened to be Daniel's horrifying realization that the old man with whom he had been talking to had not moved his lips once throughout their entire conversation.

Not for a single second. The reason he had not noticed earlier was simply because Mr. Murdstone's back, which was now staring delightfully at a picture of a daffodil on the mantle, had been turned to him, but now it was plainly, and terrifyingly obvious.

This startling realization then proceeded to affect his ability to think properly.

"But--how--what's going--huh?" he spluttered idiotically.

"Perhaps you should phrase that feeling in the form of a sentence," smiled Mr. Murdstone, which is an impossible thing for a normal person to do, as one cannot smile and speak at the same time, but somehow it was managed as Mr. Murdstone's voice now, in Daniel's mind, seemed to be coming from everywhere except the old man's grinning mouth.

"Damnit, Walter," said Sal from his chair. He, too, appeared to be smiling, although thankfully not in the manner in which Mr. Murdstone seemed to be exercising. "Are you doing that thing with your voice again?"

"I'm only trying to prove a point," said Mr. Murdstone, now speaking in the normal fashion.

"So wait," interrupted Daniel, regaining himself. He had suddenly had an inkling of what might be going on, "were you using...Aura?"

Mr. Murdstone nodded.

"But--but what was the point of that? Why didn't you just talk to me using your normal voi--"

"Wait!" said Mr. Murdstone.

Daniel stopped.

"Because with Aura, words are very unhelpful."

Seeing Daniel's expression, Mr. Murdstone could tell that he wasn't getting his point across.

"Listen," he said. "Simply hearing an explanation of Aura doesn't cut it in the long run. It must be felt, or at the very least, seen in order to grasp. Take for example this fire." Mr. Murdstone gestured towards the grate. The flames inside flickered wildly, as though it knew it was suddenly under speculation and wanted to make a good job of it.

"I could go on all day about how it has a high temperature akin to a few thousand kelvin, or that it is the effect of a chemical reaction between the logs and the oxygen in the room to produce heat and ash, but for most this would only confuse rather than enlighten. No. Fire, much like Aura, must be seen and felt in order to be understood. A man must see how the orange light dances in the wind, and feel the warmth of its presence; how it gracefully entices the hand with its lustrous curves, yet rebels man's touch with burning, heated breath. Untamed and untouchable, yet captivating all the same. These properties of fire, although not facts, are detrimental in its understanding and can only be examined through the senses, the means with which our minds absorb information and process the world around us. In its own right, Aura might also be considered a sense of its own alongside the known: sight, smell, sound, taste and touch."

Daniel ran a hand through his hair. "So that's why you did that--that, err--telepathy thing? To show me Aura?"

"Yes. That 'telepathy thing'," said Mr. Murdstone, "was my Aura connecting to yours, forming somewhat of a link between our minds. It is an exceptionally advanced ability, but very useful in delicate situations that require immediate communication."

Daniel fidgeted. This wasn't helping him.

"However," said Mr. Murdstone a finger on his chin. He was looking at the fire contemplatively. "I get the impression that this hasn't fully answered your question. Has it, Daniel?"

"Wha--err, well, umm..."

After hearing his thoughts repeated back to him by Mr. Murdstone himself, Daniel felt uncomfortable about answering honestly. He found that he didn't want to appear as though Mr. Murdstone had wasted his breath for nothing.

"Umm, no. No you haven't. Sir." Daniel said quickly, and with a little shame. He tried to make out an apology. "I-I'm sorry."

He heard the old man give a distinct chuckle, and Daniel looked up at him.

"No need, Daniel. No need," said Mr. Murdstone, his eyes radiating a soft, unassuming kindness. He sat back down in his armchair. "I hope you will forgive me then for wasting time. In my age, I tend to ramble. Old men often forget the need to be succinct with our words, you understand."

He looked about the room at the flickering faces in front of him."Now then," Mr. Murdstone put his palms together, and his voice picked up an exuberant briskness, "To business."

Mr. Murdstone's eyes sparkled with mystic importance. The room had gone eerily silent, and the only sound to be heard was the soft crackle of the fireplace. The flames shifted and Mr. Murdstone's face was cast in half-darkness, making his wizened appearance seem even wiser with age. Sal's bulky form was stiffer than normal, and both Daniel and Valeria were silent with charged anticipation.

"Aura is, as I said earlier, like a sense. By this, I mean that it gives perception to the user, and allows them to see the world in a different light. The same as, say, finally hearing a song at a pitch so high, that before that moment, you could have never imagined its sound, or looking at a painting and finding it more vibrant and rich in color than you did last, as though seeing a hidden color beyond the pallet. It is the layer of depth which humankind has so failed in trying to reproduce, despite all our efforts; the last obstacle to be overcome in our understanding of the world around us."

Daniel leaned in closer. "Obstacle? What do you mean?" he asked. "Aren't the five senses we have already enough?"

With a wink, Mr. Murdstone leaned back into the cushion. "Not quite," he said. "Most humans are still woefully inept at an ability which Pokemon have already obtained thousands of years ago."

Daniel looked with surprise at Valeria, and then back to Mr. Murdstone. "What? You mean like how Pokemon have special powers but human's don't? How some can perform flamethrowers and thunderbolts and--"

"No." Mr. Murdstone spoke. "That is not what I mean, Daniel. You misinterpret my intention of the word "sense". Those abilities you mentioned, powers attributed to certain species of Pokemon, humans could never perform. Call it bad chemistry, but humans are not designed in such a way. No, the obstacle with which I am referring to is: communication."

"Communication?" wondered Daniel aloud. He had no idea where Mr. Murdstone was going with this but listened quietly all the same.

"Yes. Oh, yes. You may not have noticed this, Daniel, but we humans are quite terrible when it comes to communicating with others. We lack the basic understanding to commune precisely what we mean, whether it be intention, or feelings, or knowledge. Our kind is a social species, a species dependent upon communication, yet we are not born with the ability to understand our fellow man. Speech is not an innate idea, Daniel. No man or woman born in this world can conjure a way to express themselves plainly without some error. For many, our minds lack the depth. We have taught ourselves language in order to bypass this grave misstep in our thinking, but Arceus knows it is a dreadfully flawed system. Take for example your scuffle with Sal not two hours ago. Misunderstanding, anger, paranoia, violence, confusion. Man's inability to accurately convey ourselves leads to instances like these, where we act blindly without the basic knowledge required to make sensible judgments."

Mr. Murdstone stopped and took a breath, gaining a second wind for the next part of his explanation. He looked very tired for such an old man.

"Pokemon do not make such mistakes, Daniel," he spoke. "Yes, there are times when pokemon fight amongst themselves, I know," He added, seeing Daniel's face, "but their reasons for doing so are much simpler than our own. Food, survival, and mates, for instance. Isn't that right, Valeria?"

The Ninetales looked up upon being addressed. "Well, yes. That's usually what it boils down to, I suppose," said Valeria thoughtfully. "But it comes on occasion that some pokemon tend to form tribes amongst themselves and squabble with each other. It doesn't happen often and usually they group back together after its done, yet the way you phrase it, isn't this separation of tribes closer to human fighting than simply a skirmish over food and water?"

A smile parted Mr. Murdstones lips. "Ah, that is true. That is true indeed. However, Valeria, you have also described what makes these squabbles different from human ones." The old man leaned slightly forward in his armchair, as though about to announce the reveal of a big magic trick. "They are resolved and the groups get back together," he finished happily.

The Ninetales was puzzled. "But, isn't that normal?" she asked. "Don't human fights and differences get resolved the same as pokemon ones?"

"I am afraid not, my dear." Mr. Murdstone leaned back and shot a wry glance between Sal and Daniel. "In most cases, differences do not get resolved, and people split up. For good, as it sometimes happens. The reason that pokemon are unique from this is that feelings and desires are eventually understood by the group. They...come to an understanding and make amends. As you might have seen from this city, Valeria, humans tend to form communities in much the same way as pokemon, however," he added with a raised brow. "and this is a big however--we do not get along so well. We hate, bully, demean, cheat, and lie to our fellow man, and draw valleys between ourselves and others, whereas your species, and perhaps ten, or maybe even twenty other varieties of pokemon can live in the same grove for decades without strife."

A sad twinkle lingered in his gaze. "We are but only one species. And yet, our kind has fought many wars against our neighbor. That should be enough of an indicator as to our nature, Valeria. The mere fact that our kind creates war, a thing that is meant to be the very byproduct of difference and the stubborn will to avoid compromise. It is a terrible and awful thing, and yet we continue to have them without fail. Do you now see the separation between us? Pokemon may view humankind as a hard race to understand, but that is only because it is hard for us to understand each other."

Valeria hung her head and nodded with pensive despondence, for there was a sorrowful truth to these words. In silence, she found herself greatly impressed by Mr. Murdstone's ability to convey it so easily and with such a wise demeanor.

But a heavy frown still weighed on Daniel's face. "So, Aura is supposed to be the answer to this problem?" he asked. "The solution to communicating with each other better?"

Mr. Murdstone nodded. "Yes. That is correct."

"Well...why?"

The old man's eyebrows raised a few degrees. "Why what?"

Daniel looked at him with exasperation. "Well...why does it work? I don't understand how something like this could even exist, Mr. Murdstone. Aura, telepathy, pokemon-communicating; the way you're describing it doesn't make sense, like they just happen without cause. I mean, is it magic? Is it a weird, twisted sorcery that's the cause for all these things? Is that what this is?"

"No," replied Mr. Murdstone. "It is not magic."

"Well, what is it then?" shouted Daniel. He was very angry all of a sudden, and it seemed as though his patience had finally worn out. "Just tell me already! I'm tired of guessing what's going on with my body, so I wish you'd stop beating around the bush and tell me! How can I speak to pokemon? Why are all my wounds healed when I should be dead already? What, for the love of Arceus, is Aura?" Daniel's heart was beating rapidly in his throat by now, and Valeria edged a little away from him, alarmed.

He had waited a very long time to figure out why these things were happening to him. Why he was in this world and not his own. Why he had these strange abilities that allowed him to kick Mighteyena around like a soccer ball, and heal life-threatening burns, and allow him to talk to pokemon. Why he felt so afraid that the world in which he had woken up in might suddenly evaporate away, like a dream that had been both the most wonderful and terrible thing in his entire life. It was at last time for some answers to the questions he had been searching for, and his body trembled with a fear he couldn't rationalize away.

Mr. Murdstone, however, did not even blink when Daniel shouted. He merely clasped his hands together and smiled warmly at the poor, trembling young man in front of him, and finally said what he had been meaning to say for the past twelve hours, since the very first moment he had met Daniel: "It's you."

Daniel choked. He stood there standing agape at the old man, stiff as stone. Mr. Murdstone continued to blatantly smile at him, as though he hadn't said anything at all. Then the tension broke, and Daniel collapsed back onto the chesterfield.

"What do you mean?" he spluttered out. "I don't...I don't under...What do you mean it's me?"

"Aura is," Mr. Murdstone began, "the energy within each and every living thing on this planet, Daniel. It is a force which connects us to all creatures, and all things. And in its purest form, allows the user to commune with nature itself." He took a moment to pause, inclining his head back thoughtfully against the chair, and then resumed. "It does so, by using the natural energies our bodies create every day, our life energy, if you will, and channels it into the sensory peripheral of our minds-- enhancing it to a point where, if a person was proficient enough, allow them to understand any language that they heard without at all prior knowledge of it whatsoever. Advanced Aura-users can even control in which direction the aura flows within their body. Outward, for instance. This would allow one's Aura to connect with another's, and communicate with them through thought alone, like I did with you earlier this evening."

"But how could that be possible?" interrupted Daniel. "If everyone supposedly has this ability, then why don't they use it. Why doesn't everybody just use it all the time for that matter?"

Mr. Murdstone held up his hand, and the room went silent.

"Daniel, I appreciate your questions very much. I really do. They are a product of a mind that is both curious and intelligent, and I have done you the courtesy of answering you on every possible occasion." His eyes suddenly gleamed in the flickering firelight. "But if you keep on stopping me, I'm afraid we will be here all night."

"Sir, I was just--" Daniel began, but upon seeing the way Mr. Murdstone was looking at him, cut off suddenly.

"Now, may I continue?" asked Mr. Murdstone politely. There was a pause as Daniel gave an awkward, half-nod and Mr. Murdstone started again.

"While everyone may have this energy inside them, Daniel, and while it may connect to every living thing, there is, however, a problem. If you would be so kind...," he petered off. Mr. Murdstone then leaned back quietly in his chair and waited. For a moment, Daniel was about to ask why he had stopped when on cue, Sal began to stand up.

The firelight made his form seem even bigger and bulkier than usual, as the substantial man made space for himself, rearranging the table and chairs to give his large body maximum space for whatever he was trying to do. Mr. Murdstone did not seem to mind Sal's unusual behavior though, as if this was just another part of his day when his friend randomly redecorated the house. He didn't even show much concern when Sal knocked over a small pot and broke it, or pay any heed to the man's mumbled apology, for those seemed like a part of his day as well. In fact, Mr. Murdstone was exceptionally calm and unconcerned with Sal positioning himself in his self-made clearing, and doing absolutely nothing at all.

Daniel and Valeria stared at the bizarre scene. Sal was just standing there in the middle of his clearing, breathing deeply with his eyes closed, as though in a coma. Daniel turned to Mr. Murdstone for answers, but Mr. Murdstone's crystal blue eyes were resolutely locked onto Sal's performance. He did, however, nod slightly to Daniel, indicating for him to watch as well.

Daniel turned back uncertainly, just in time to catch Sal slowly raising up his beefy hand. After a hesitant pause, Sal then balled it into a beefy fist, and then flexed his arm to create a bulging, beefy fist. Daniel watched with confused fixation. It was difficult for him to comprehend what Sal was doing, just standing there like a buffoon with his fist out like that, but then something small happened. A tiny blue spark jumped out from between his knuckles and nestled into his hairy forearm.

As though invigorated, Sal redoubled his efforts, clamping down his muscles with all his might. Small beads of sweat began to perspire down his face like greased pigs, and his complexion turned a spectacular shade of maroon as his fist shook with an incredible compressive strength.

Then, with painful slowness, a gentle blue glow began to radiate around his forearm. Daniel watched speechless as the man in front of them glimmered and shone. He recognized this light. It was the same light which had enveloped him that night: the night when he fought off Veck for the first time. This was Aura, Daniel realized.

And then as quickly as it come, the light in his arm snuffed out without warning, and Sal collapsed to his knees out of breath.

"I...I can't hold it any longer, Walt," he said through labored breathing.

"That is fine, Sal," Mr. Murdstone replied. "You did very well. Please, come sit back down."

"What about...what about the furniture?"

"It will wait," said Mr. Murdstone, and Sal nodded at him thankfully. He was too tired to move them back anyway. He stood up unsteadily, his arms hanging limply at his side, and returned to his seat next to his friend, who pat him on the back appreciatively. Mr. Murdstone then looked towards Daniel with meaning in his gaze.

"What you have just seen, Daniel, was--"

But Daniel was already speaking. "Aura. Yes, I know. That glow...it happened to me when I was fighting off some Mightyena earlier in the woods."

Mr. Murdstone looked mildly impressed. "That's quite the accomplishment," he said, and Daniel could hear the interest in his voice. He hoped that Mr. Murdstone would want to talk about how he did those things, how he had kicked three, powerful Mightyena around like they were a sack of potatoes. Now that they were so close, there were so many questions Daniel wanted to ask him, but Mr. Murdstone seemed to read his thoughts perfectly.

"I am afraid I will have to ask you later," he began, "about that incident, Daniel. I hope you will forgive me, but I feel I must answer your first question before I answer any others."

Daniel deflated slightly, but did not object. Mr. Murdstone said they would talk about it soon, so it didn't feel like too much of a loss.

Mr. Murdstone tilted his head towards Sal, who was still wheezing silently to himself. "Daniel. What you have just seen, is the problem with Aura and normal humans."

Daniel looked at Sal, and then back at Mr. Murdstone. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Didn't he do it?"

"Yes...and no. What Sal performed was an incomplete form of Aura. You saw quite plainly that he was able to focus the energy into his right hand, and make it glow with that blue light, however, he was unable to turn it into anything productive." He patted his friend on the shoulder. "It merely sat in his arm, unable to be released, until his strength was sapped from the effort."

"Well, err--" he was momentarily flummoxed, "Well, isn't he just not good at it then?" asked Daniel.

To his surprise, both Mr. Murdstone and Sal chuckled.

"You know, I think we thought the same thing back then," Sal reflected with a smile. "That I jus' wasn't any good."

"You're right," returned Mr. Murdstone, a light smirk on his face as well. "You beat yourself up pretty hard before she set you straight about it." Seeing Daniel's confused expression, Mr. Murdstone elaborated. "We learned a long time ago that any human, not just Sal, that wasn't an Aura-user could never use that energy to its full potential. Or at all, for that matter."

"Okay, but why?" Daniel asked.

Sal boomed out, suddenly laughing. It was large and hearty, just like him, and it seemed to fill the room up with mirth and spirit. "No clue!" he said, sounding unreasonably happy about it, and continued to laugh. Mr. Murdstone elaborated once more.

"We never found out," he told the bewildered Daniel. "It is a mystery to both us, the world,... everyone."

"The million-credit question!" Sal blurted out, laughing.

"We only know that some can use aura, and some can not. That is the way it just is, I suppose. However, in my opinion," Mr. Murdstone tapped his wrinkled forehead, "it's all in the head."

"So...wait, that's it?" Daniel wondered. "No big explanation or...or logical reasoning, like before? Nothing?"

"Just a pile of hot air," said Mr. Murdstone with a majestic wave of his hand. "And a lot of mystery."