Exile

Part 6

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The path Jason followed took him into what was clearly Professor Oak’s office. Although it was more expansive and occupied more furniture than any other room he had seen in the building, it was just as disheveled and disorganized as any other area or surface there. The teen was beginning to conclude the professor’s enthusiasm for his work must have long ago taken root as his central reason for being... and everything else had taken a back seat.

Oak directed Jason to sit down opposite him at the desk, and he settled into his office chair and began twiddling his thumbs while carefully gazing at Jason. Jason waited for the professor to speak, but he gave no indication he intended to do so; the look in his eye, meantime, was making Jason feel distinctly uncomfortable. Finally, when he could take it no more, he said, “What?”

The professor leaned back. “For all the questions I’ve asked, you’ve given me remarkably few answers. I thought perhaps you might be more comfortable if the conversation was limited to the two of us, rather than risk the input of my receptionist.”

“Not gonna make me more comfortable by looking at me like that,” Jason muttered.

“Well, then, how shall I look at you?” Oak leaned forward and rested his forearms on his desk. “As I said before, I’m curious. I’m curious by nature, but at this moment, I’m more so. You implied you’ve come a long way to get here. You want to work here, but you have no credentials. Your last name is Creight, yet you take no pride in it. It sounds like a wonderful mystery to me.” He opened a laptop whose presence just in front of his hands Jason hadn’t even noticed.

Jason watched the professor’s hands fly over the keyboard and had an unpleasant premonition. “Uh, Professor, I’m not quite sure where you’re going with this...”

“Jason Creight, fifteen years old, 5'10", athletic build, brown eyes, short brown hair. Son of Carson and Amelia Creight. Last seen on Tangelo Island in the Orange Archipelago... two weeks ago.” Oak turned the laptop around to show Jason what the teen already knew he would see, based on the description – a Missing Person report from the Orange Islands, with a picture of Jason in a frame on the report’s left side. Oak pointed to the image. “I could be wrong, but I’m fairly certain that’s you.”

Jason looked at the image, then back at the professor. “Never heard of him,” he deadpanned.

Oak didn’t seem amused by the joke, and continued. “The incident report attached to this states that a freak accident at the Creight Breeding Center caused massive damage to local facilities and was responsible for numerous injuries, ranging from minor to life-threatening. I should note that there are several Missing Persons reports which resulted from that catastrophe, including this one, which has been possibly the most prominent one in the Orange Islands to date.”

“Well, obviously I’m not a ‘missing person’, since I’m sitting right here,” Jason said, his tone defensive.

“Obviously, but I think it’s worth asking why you’re here and how you arrived.” Then Oak held up a finger. “Actually, the first question should be, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Jason lied. “One minute I was sitting on the rail, the next minute I was flat on my back and the ground was shaking. Buildings were falling down everywhere. I saw this Gyarados – actually he was a Gyarados I bought so he could be trained, they just weren’t done with him yet – and he was trying to escape from the place. I jumped on him and just held on for dear life. He just swam us all the way here.”

Oak crossed his arms. “Two weeks is too long to be on the ocean without food.”

“He kept stopping at islands to rest. I’ve been picking berries, mostly, and cracking coconuts with rocks. I thought he would just leave me somewhere but he never did. I’d just... climb back on him, and off he’d go. I think he’s grown attached to me.”

“This Gyarados is here?”

“On the shore, last I left him.”

The professor scratched his cheek. “That explains how you got here, but not why you’re here. You’re talking to me about getting a job. Your first priority isn’t getting in touch with your family and going home?”

“Professor, my family doesn’t need me. My parents think I’ll never measure up to my brother, who’s supposed to take over the family business. Now with this thing that’s happened, I’m just another burden to them that they don’t need.”

“Be that as it may, I find it very strange – dare I even say suspicious – that you don’t want to at least let them know you’re all right.” Oak leaned back. “You’d prefer for them to be distraught and eventually conclude you’ve perished in any number of horrible ways their imaginations can conjure?”

“No, it’s not like that, Professor,” Jason protested. “I’m just... not any use to them. And I was never going to be anybody there. I was never going to do or be anything important or useful. I was probably going to end up here sooner or later anyway.”

“Yes, but you ended up here sooner. Not only sooner, but on an escaped Gyarados, with no identification, and arguments against going back home, or telling anyone you’re even alive.” Oak picked up a pen and began clicking it against the surface of his desk. “Typically I don’t hire people demonstrating those particular qualities and values.”

“Yes, well, you probably don’t meet people demonstrating those qualities and values, either,” Jason replied. “Now you are meeting one. And I’m not a criminal but it sounds like you think I am.”

“I’m not sure what it is you’d like me to think. But now that you mention it, am I going to have Officer Jenny knocking down my door for hosting you here tonight?”

“Uh... no, I don’t think you will,” Jason answered slowly. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I just don’t want to go back to the Orange Islands. I came here to ask for a job because I want a new start to a different life, something I was never gonna get back home. I can’t go back there and just climb back into the one I had. It was never gonna go anywhere. Here, at least, I can try to be something and somebody.”

“And the best way to do that is to take advantage of the fact people believe you’re dead?” Oak inquired, arching an eyebrow at Jason.

“The best way to do it is to do it on my own terms. I came here to ask for a job, I’m not going to demand you give me one.” Jason leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and spread his hands wide. “You’re the guy in charge. If you don’t want me, that’s fine. I’ll move on and find someone who will.”

“I never said I didn’t want you. But you’ll understand I have some serious reservations about maintaining your anonymity.” Oak set the pen down and laced his fingers. “Let’s look at the best-case scenario, here. Achieving your goal of ‘being somebody’ will eventually reveal you to the world as alive and well. When that happens, the authorities in the Orange Islands and your family will find out, and they’ll want to know why you hid from them. If you become enough of a ‘somebody’, so will a lot of other people. And will you be ready to answer their questions?”

Jason shrugged. “If that’s where the finish line is, then I’m gonna have to be ready. By then, I’ll have made myself who and what I want to be, instead of who and what everybody else thought I should be. That’s why I don’t want anybody knowing. They’d just try and push me back into the mold. I don’t fit there.”

For the first time during the conversation, a corner of the professor’s mouth quirked upwards. “That’s an interesting analogy. So where do you think you fit, if not there? What mold accommodates you?”

“Well...” Jason looked at his hands, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I’m not sure. Maybe I don’t belong here, either. Spencer seemed to think I did, but...”

The professor tilted his head. “I beg your pardon?”

Jason looked back up. “I battled this guy named Spencer down in Mossdeep City with my Gyarados and he said that I’d make a decent trainer, but I’m not–”

“Hold on.” Oak sat up in his chair, and his demeanor changed completely – now instead of skepticism, Jason saw a genuine spark of curiosity. “Say again?”

“I said I battled this guy, Spencer, with Gyarados, and he thought I’d be good at training. But I never really thought about being a trainer. I mean, I know a ton about all kinds of Pokémon, and I had my Pokémon license, but we were supposed to have those in order to work around the pens and the marina...” He trailed off when he saw the wrinkles deepen in Oak’s forehead; the expression made him feel put on the spot. “What?”

“Spencer, in Mossdeep City,” Oak repeated.

“Yeah. Said he thought I should come here. He said he knew you, called you a softie. But he never gave me his last name. Older guy, receding hairline, big gut, white beard...”

“Spencer said you would be a good trainer.”

“Well, yeah, I mean...” Jason wasn’t sure how to take this abrupt interest in his tale and felt himself flounder in its telling. “But I didn’t automatically think he meant for me to become a trainer or anything like that. Just something to do with making use of my knowledge of Pokémon. Whatever it was he thought he was sending me here for, he said you’re the one I should see and he thought you could help me out in getting on my feet.”

Oak tilted his head, adopting an incredulous tone. “You didn’t think to mention this to me right off?”

“Why?”

The professor guffawed. “Jason, the Spencer you met is Spencer Wattson. He was a phenomenal trainer back when I was closer to your age than mine. He still has training chops he likes to exercise from time to time, and when he says someone is good, you’d better believe him. More impressive is you say you battled him... using this Gyarados of yours?”

Jason was dumbstruck. The name of Spencer Wattson was a familiar one – he was a trainer who had started his journey later in life, but was nevertheless ahead of the curve when it came to determining winning strategies. He’d made a gimmick of his last name, choosing Pokémon of electrical persuasions as the powerhouses of his team... he had even bested Hoenn’s Elite Four and matched their champion toe-to-toe. His final Pokémon had bested its opponent only by staying conscious a scant few seconds longer than the other.

But perhaps the most remarkable contribution to history Spencer Wattson had made was his abrupt disappearance from the public eye. After his victory, there was little celebration or fanfare. He did not take his rightful place as the new champion of the Hoenn region, nor did he accept the fame and accolades that ought to have gone to anyone capable of what he had done. He simply took his winnings and quietly retired to a life of privacy and anonymity. In fact, Jason had occasionally heard some people question whether Wattson’s story had become so convoluted that none of it could be fully trusted, or whether it was simply a parable.

All this shot through the teen’s mind with the force of a bullet, and he was left to stare slack-jawed at Oak. “Spencer Wattson. The Spencer Wattson. You’re seriously telling me I battled a Pokémon champion?”

“That’s what you’re telling me, Jason,” the professor answered. “You said you battled him with your Gyarados, that wasn’t yet completely trained?”

“Well... yeah, I battled him, but I lost.” Jason rested his head in his hands, feeling distinctly overwhelmed by the information Oak had just presented him with. “Oh, man... no wonder I lost.” He looked up between his fingers. “I was being stupid and I challenged him to a battle, and he accepted, then he beat me with this Lanturn, and once I saw it I knew I was probably gonna lose, but... man, Spencer Wattson...”

“So I take it you have experience in battling?” Oak inquired.

“No, that’s just the thing, it was my very first battle. I always saw it happening on the beach, or on TV, and I knew what moves my Gyarados knows, so I figured I could just go from that...” Jason trailed off again, and shook his head. “No, it was just my first one.”

Now both of Oak’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re saying your very first Pokémon battle of any kind, anywhere, was against Spencer Wattson?”

Jason spread his hands helplessly. “I guess so, yeah, but it’s not like I knew who he was at the time. All I knew was that he beat me, then said I did well, and said I should come here. So I’m here.”

Oak heaved his chest, then blew a breath through his nose. “Well, that puts me in a bit of a situation. If I try hard, I can find it in myself to respect your wishes in not telling anyone who you are, but if I hire you here, that’ll appear on public records. If you’re that desperate to lay low, then I can’t put you on payroll.”

Jason’s shoulders slumped. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“I figured as much. On the other hand, you’re here on Wattson’s recommendation. Obviously he thought there was something I could do for you.” Oak rapped his knuckles on the desk. “In fact, I wouldn’t doubt he had some idea of what was going on with you. That could be another reason why he thought Pokémon training would be a good path for you. That career puts you out in the wilderness most of the time, and it doesn’t take a lot of effort to keep a low profile starting off. You wouldn’t gain much notice until you started competing in championships.”

“I’m not sure I want to go quite that far,” Jason remarked. “But if I’m going to be a trainer, what does that give you in exchange for helping me?”

“Well, I’m always working on updates to the PokéDex,” Oak answered. “The more Pokémon I have at my disposal for study, the more data I can share with the rest of the world at large. It’s important to understand and document their social and behavioral patterns, what impact humanity has on them, and vice versa. If you register here in Pallet Town as a trainer in the Kanto region, the Pokémon you collect will automatically be sent to my lab... except for the ones you keep with you, of course.”

“Doesn’t registration also make it into public records, though?” Jason asked hesitantly.

“Not in the same way, no. This would be a provisional license – you would be training and seeking Pokémon exclusively in this region. It wouldn’t be valid anywhere else, so there’s no reason any other authority would need to see it... assuming, naturally, that you stayed within the boundaries of Kanto.” Oak cast the teen a significant look. “This rule would be especially important for you to honor, Jason. If you were to try to capture Pokémon outside Kanto, you could get yourself in serious trouble. There goes your anonymity.”

Jason offered the professor a somber nod. “I understand. But I’m still worried about my name showing up, even on a license like the kind you’re talking about. Someone here could make the connection before I’m ready for it to be made.”

“I’m not sure what else I can do for you in that department,” Oak returned, “short of printing a false name on the license, and I don’t feel like committing a crime.”

Jason mulled for a long moment, then leaned forward and tapped the edge of the desk with his index finger, having happened upon an idea. “It wouldn’t be a crime. Just a mistake. When your receptionist was taking down my name, she thought it was spelled differently. The three of us are the only ones who know any better.”

Oak pursed his lips, then released a sigh and clicked his pen once more. “Assuming I do all of this for you, you’re going to be owing me quite a bit of work and dedication in return. I’ll expect you to be putting forth your absolute best effort at all times.”

“I wouldn’t be here asking for a job if I was going to give you anything less,” Jason answered.

“I’m glad to hear you say so. Nevertheless, you can rest assured I’ll be including my own brand of insurance.” Oak closed his laptop, then riffled through the various papers cluttering his desk, until he’d found a document on which he began writing with his pen. He didn’t stop speaking while he wrote. “For all intents and purposes, you’ll be a local Kanto trainer and collector doing field work for my laboratory. As such, you’re privy to a starting trainer’s loan of three thousand pokéyen, an amount I’m going to expect back from you as soon as you’re able to surrender it. Ordinarily, you would also be privy to a starter’s Pokémon plus five Poké Balls, but you already have your Gyarados. That ought to suffice as your beginning Pokémon. From the sound of things, it doesn’t have its own capture ball yet – is this correct?”

Jason nodded. “He wasn’t tame enough to stay in one. But that might be different now.”

“Then you’ll receive the five empty Poké Balls. It’ll be up to you to procure money for any beyond those. As a trainer, you have the right... some would even say obligation... to conduct battles with other Pokémon trainers, and you’ll find this is usually the fastest method for you to earn money. Once the loan is repaid, all you’ll have to worry about is keeping up with your own finances and keeping a full stock of supplies you’ll need for your travels.”

“Three thousand pokéyen isn’t much for me to work with right off,” Jason noted.

“No, it’s not, nor is it for any other trainer. You’ll learn how to manage, at least until you start winning battles.” Oak pushed the document he’d been writing on across the desk to Jason, his pen atop it. “I’d advise staying away from veterans of the Hoenn League.”

“Yeah, thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Jason rolled his eyes and inspected the paper. It was a Pokémon license application, with most of the information boxes already filled in by the professor. It listed his name as Jason Crate, and his mailing address as that of the Pallet Town lab. It required only Jason’s signature to be validated. Oak’s hand still rested on the paper, however, and he shot Jason a significant look. “This will mean you’re knowingly signing a paper that lists your name incorrectly.”

Good thing I can make my signature look bad if I want to. Jason took up the pen and scratched in a nearly illegible signature next to the marked X. “Then I’d better be more responsible than anyone else who’s ever worked for you, huh?”

“Just what I had in mind.” Oak got to his feet. “Go to the PokéCenter to get this processed, then you’re going to get yourself some sleep.”

“Uh...” Jason ducked his head sheepishly. “I... don’t really have anywhere to stay, except on the beach.”

“Nonsense,” Oak replied. “There’s a spare bedroom here in the laboratory you’re welcome to.”

“And my Gyarados?”

The professor shrugged. “If you’re worried about him, go to the beach after you’re done at the PokéCenter. He won’t want a berth indoors, though. Gyaradoses pine for the open water, and when they aren’t exposed to enough of it, you can bet they’ll figure out a way to get there. The best thing you can do for him is just let him swim around out there until morning. At this late hour, your license won’t be valid until tomorrow anyway.”

Jason hesitated as he considered Oak’s point concerning Gyarados. They’ll find a way to open water... Then he realized he’d been standing still perhaps a moment too long, refocused his attention on the expectant professor, and bobbed his head. “Yeah. Okay.” He held up the document. “Thanks, Professor. It means a lot to me that you’re willing to help me out.”

“Well, don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you, so get going. Once you’re back, have Kelly show you to your room for tonight, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

—

Although Jason was well aware that trainers sought action and activity at virtually every hour of the day and night, those activities as conducted on Tangelo Island paled in comparison to the bustle and hustle of even this modest town. He could see the flash and fanfare of at least two separate battles in progress on either side of the town’s boundaries, and to the north was a modestly-lit PokéCenter.

His venture there was short, sweet, and to the point. He wouldn’t have cared to have it any other way, either. After the events of the day, he was nothing short of exhausted, and was looking forward to being able to lay down in some sort of construct meant for sleeping in, as opposed to the cold ground. Things blurred together upon his entry into the center. The Nurse Joy operating the place gave only a cursory glance at the paperwork, evidently satisfied with the scribbled signature and Professor Oak’s handwriting above it, before sticking it in a machine to process. The only moment of discomfort Jason experienced was being sat down in front of a camera to get his license picture taken.

She evidently noticed his expression of displeasure, because she huffed at him. “Maybe next time you’ll know better than to get this done just before midnight.”

“Noted,” he muttered, before trying to offer the lens the most optimistic look he could manage.

Still, upon sight of the image on the license, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was more a prison photo than anything else. His expression soured again as he took the card from Nurse Joy and saw the picture, and he held it up. “Okay, I promise. Never again at midnight.”

“I would think so,” she responded. Then she mustered a polite smile. “Safe travels, Mr. Crate.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He stepped out of the PokéCenter and began walking back south while staring at the license in his hand for a long minute. Jason Crate. Now that I look at it, the name doesn’t look bad... but at the same time, it’s just so... wrong. He blew a sigh out through his nose. That’s what I get for it, I guess.

He looked up at the path. The beach wasn’t that far off, and something in Jason tugged him that direction. His shoulders slumped. He really didn’t want to go there – he could hear that spare bedroom calling his name – but he knew it behooved him to at least go back and find out what Gyarados was up to. He scoffed as he considered the possibilities. For all I know, he could have finally decided to just ditch me and head out to sea. Oak said his species want to be out there and not all pent up. I wonder if that’s why he went so berserk in the marina and caverns... not just cause irreparable damage, but create such mayhem and confusion that his escape would be the last thing they’d even worry about. That’d pretty much track with their reputation for bad behavior.

As he arrived on the beach, he noted that Gyarados was, in fact, still lying lethargically on the sand. The creature’s eyes locked upon Jason with laser-like focus. Jason glanced about, noticed there was no one else in immediate sight, then tucked his license in his back pocket and planted his hands on his hips. “All the open water you could possibly want right there...” He gestured to the ocean. “...but you’re sticking with me. What would make you do that?”

Although Jason had yet to see Gyarados’ mouth close completely, it seemed to widen its jaws noticeably and it made a tired noise at him. He chuckled incredulously. “Did you just... yawn at me?”

Gyarados rolled onto its side and turned its gaze away from him. It curled slightly on the sandbar and tucked its head in so far it was staring at its own belly. Unsure of how to respond, Jason fidgeted and finally crossed his arms in bemusement. “Okay, so we’re both tired. But we’re gonna end up having this conversation sometime. Professor Oak’s helping us out by making me a Pokémon trainer. Got my license, and tomorrow morning we’re gonna get going. You probably won’t see quite that much water for a while but you’ll at least be comfortable in a Poké Ball half the time.”

A small growl issued from its throat.

“We’re gonna run into other trainers, you know. It’s gonna have to happen if we’re gonna earn the money we need. Professor Oak’s sponsoring us to go out there and do work for him. We’ll be looking for local wild Pokémon but to make the money we need to make a life, we need to battle other trainers and beat them.” Jason chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “I promise not to send you out against anyone like Wattson again, if I can help it. I’ll have a better time keeping that promise if you can help me capture other Pokémon and bring them on board.”

No response came.

The teen sighed. “Look... I think you understand me enough to get what I’m saying. I know you don’t need me. Whatever it is that’s making you want to stay with me, I hope it keeps long enough for me to make you my first Pokémon properly. You’re my first, and I’ll bet you you’re gonna be my best.” He let his arms drop, and he half-turned to head back to the laboratory. “Simple fact is, I need you.”

It shifted, and uncurled enough to let its neck crane back up so it could face him. Its eyes bore into his own, and in that fraction of a moment, Jason knew it had understood that last statement, if nothing else. But before the teen could react to that revelation, the serpentine creature was already curling back into its previous posture... a clear indication it wanted rest as badly as Jason himself did.

Jason let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, okay. See you in the morning.”

—

Jason’s entrance through the lab’s front door was instantly met with a noise of derision from behind the reception desk. Some of the files and clutter had been cleared away – Jason figured it had most likely simply been moved from one inappropriate place to another – to reveal the face of the girl who had attempted to drive him off earlier. She was directing a glower at him. “You again.”

“The one and only,” Jason replied, spreading his hands.

“So what is it now, you want to talk to the professor again? He went home already, and I’ve got his clock-out to prove it.” She held up a clipboard which bore a time sheet.

“Actually, he told me I should ask you to show me to my room for the night.” Jason stuck his hands in his pockets. “Said I could stay here tonight, then I’m gonna be on my way in the morning.”

She huffed. “Well, you must’ve turned on the charm or hypnotized him or something.”

“Yeah, right, because I’m a Ralts in disguise.” Jason frowned. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” She snorted. “My problem is that people are constantly coming in here, just waltzing in like they have the run of the place, always wanting to talk to Professor Oak. People like you who think he’s going to help them out just because they ask him. He’s got a reputation for being soft-hearted, and he’s going to wear himself out being that way a whole lot earlier than if he’s just left to his business.”

“So what, you’re here to give out some tough love or something?”

“It isn’t part of my job description, it’s just a bonus to send annoying people away before they take any of the professor’s time with their nonsense.” She got to her feet. “But you managed to convince him your cause was important enough to get his help. I can only guess it was some kind of sob story to make him feel sorry for you.”

“Well, then, I’ll spare you the awful tale,” Jason shot back. “All I’m looking for right now is a place to sleep and then you probably won’t have to see me again for a long while. And what are you doing in here past midnight, anyway?”

“What are you doing in here past midnight?” she returned. “I work here, I study here, I keep a room here.”

“And you’re rude to passersby here, too,” he commented.

“Hey, in case you hadn’t noticed, Professor Oak’s not as young as he used to be,” she snapped. “He stretches himself out too thin, he’ll keel over and pass out, or worse. He’s up at all hours of the day and night doing the things he loves, and he’s always being interrupted by people who want things from him. He isn’t a camp counselor, he’s a Pokémon professor. He ought to be left alone to do what he’s spent his entire life doing.”

“Fine, but that doesn’t change the fact he was here when I came looking, and he was willing to sit down and talk to me.”

“He’s willing to sit down and talk to anybody, or didn’t you hear me talking just now?”

“Whatever. Think what you want, but he’s showing me his own version of tough love and I’ll bet he doesn’t need you to pile any more of it on. I don’t, either.”

She scoffed again. “What tough love did he show you?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you someday, if you can stand to hear a sob story. So where’s the room I’m sleeping in?”

She let out an exasperated sigh and stepped from behind the desk. “Follow me.”

They wove through a maze of corridors and past a series of specialized pens where small Pokémon were either playing with each other or sleeping. Having already been accustomed to similar arrangements back home, Jason offered each area only a cursory glance, but was struck by how “free” the Pokémon appeared to be. There were no humans in the pens and the fencing was of the simplest design. There was no electrification, there were no barbs, and the barriers weren’t even that high. They could be easily overcome if the Pokémon within chose to do so... but none of them seemed particularly interested in trying to escape. This seemed a strange thing to Jason, who was used to seeing Pokémon try to leave the CBC compounds at least once a week.

They moved on to a hallway with rows of doors on each side, and progressed until they reached the second to last door on the right. She pursed her lips as she slipped a key into the lock. “You’ll get a wake-up call at 7 a.m. The professor will be in no later than 8, so if I were you, I’d get ready to be gone during that hour.”

“All you see is all I’ve got,” Jason replied, “so I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“I’ll remember that if anything goes missing from this room.”

Jason chose not to comment on the barb, electing instead to enter the room silently and survey the quarters. Appropriately spartan, they contained only a bed, a bedside table, and a small dresser – the accommodations one might expect at a standard one-night hotel. A single lamp adorned the small table and lit the room only dimly. There was a single window on the opposite wall, and Jason was quick to note that there were only sheer blinds over it. Probably by the time morning comes, the sun will be shining in my face so bright I’ll be awake before the wake-up call.

He turned to look at the ill-tempered brunette, but she was no longer standing in the door; it had already swung mostly shut and the latch was clicking at his glance. He scoffed to himself. Maybe she just needs to get out of the lab more often.

He kicked off his shoes and shrugged off the vest, but stopped there, feeling a wave of discomfort at the thought of removing any other articles. Strange place, strange people... well, and hostile people, too. Better leave the rest on for a quick getaway. He tucked his legs under the sheets, let his head hit the pillow, turned out the light, and did his best to clear his mind.

Sleep came only moments later.

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© Matt Morwell, 2011