Day 14

[from I Watch You Sleeping]

I can't help it. I can't stop thinking about him. Not being with him is driving me crazy. I have to see him. And not just in the corridors, as he walks past. Not just in the cafeteria, staring from afar. I have to be with him. Alone with him, just the two of us. That would be perfect.

I'm not allowed out to go see him. I don't know why. It's like they're trying to keep us apart, even though we're meant to be together. But they can't stop me from seeing him, not if I want to. I can just sneak out at night, once they're asleep. Yeah, that’s what I'll do. I'll sneak out tonight and go see him. Oh, I bet he'll be so delighted to see me outside his window!

I already found his address on Google, so I know where I'm going. I got his number off his Facebook profile, so I can text him when I get there. I should have asked him myself, but I was too shy. I wish I could just speak to him, tell him how I feel… I know I'll find the courage eventually! I'm sure of it!

I get ready for bed as usual, but I don't go to sleep. Even if I tried, I'm far too excited. When my father comes to check on me, I lie down and pretend to be asleep. Even once he goes back to his own room, I remain like that until I hear him start to snore. The coast is clear. Here I come, my love!

Quietly, I slip out of bed, put on a jacket, grab my phone and tiptoe downstairs. I grab a set of keys from the side, and text him to let him know I'm coming. I hope he's still awake. I know he likes gaming, so maybe he's stayed up to play something. I know he likes his PS4~

I unlock the front door, open it, and grab my bike. I leave, wheeling my bike alongside me, then quietly lock back up once I'm outside. My parents will never know; they won't suspect a thing. I get on my bike and cycle off, towards his house.

I dunno how long it takes me to get there, but it doesn't feel very long at all. I'm so excited! I'm finally going to be with him! When I get there, I check my phone and my heart sinks; he hasn't seen my message. He must be asleep. It is almost midnight, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised… but I came all this way to see him and he isn't even awake!

Then I notice that along the front of the house is a support frame for growing plants. Right above it is his bedroom window. The frame looks solid… I think I can climb up there and reach him! I've come so far, I might as well try!

I go to the frame and tug on it. It seems like it'll hold my weight. Slowly, I start to climb up. Sure enough, it holds my weight. It's almost like this was a sign… that I was supposed to do this… that we're supposed to be together. I climb faster. I'm so excited I can barely breathe. He's so close…

Finally I reach the top of the frame, and reach up and grab the window sill. I'm able to pull myself up onto it. The curtains are open. There he is: Kentaro Miyazaki, my beloved. I can see him right through the window. Just as I thought, he's in bed, asleep. He looks so peaceful… so handsome… as much as I want to be here with him tonight, I don't want to wake him up. He looks just perfect like that.

In fact… he looks so perfect… I can't help it. I take out my phone. I point it at the window. I open the camera and take a picture. And then another one. And then another one. I can't help myself. I take so many photos of Kentaro... he looks so perfect in every single one of them, I just can't stop myself…

I don't know how many pictures I take, but after a while I start to get tired. I don't want to leave him, but I know I have to get home. So I put my phone away and climb back down the frame. I get back on my bike and cycle away, feeling giddy. I was with Ken-chan… I was so close to Ken-chan… I could have reached out and touched him… that settles it! I have to tell him! I have to tell him that I love him, that I feel the same way he does about me! I have to do it! And then we can finally be together…~

Day 13

[from Electron]

It was morning when Aaron awoke. He couldn't quite remember how he came to be lying here; most likely he had crashed on his way to the shop. Looking up, someone had had the decency to park his bike at the side of the road, but nobody, it seemed, had had the decency to check if he was okay. Perhaps nobody had seen him. Where he had been sent tumbling into the parked car, he was lying with his legs beneath it, his left arm across his body and his right hand resting against the car door.

He tried to roll over, away from the car, to push himself back onto his feet, and this was when he received his first indication that something was wrong. His right hand would not leave the metal bodywork of the car, no matter how hard he pulled. It was as though someone had superglued his hand to the door. Perhaps they had, for a joke.

He moved his left hand towards his right one, to try and tug it free, and this was when he received the second indication that something was wrong. The moment it came within about six inches of the car, his other hand was suddenly yanked against the car's body by some unseen force, joining his right hand there, and try as he might he could free neither of them. "What the hell is going on here?" he wondered aloud.

Aaron continued to try and tug his hands free of the car, to no avail. After a couple of minutes, he began to get frustrated, as anyone would if their hands were suddenly glued to a car. "Come on, you piece of junk," he grunted, "let... me... GO!"

At this, the car and Aaron finally came apart, but not in the expected way. There was a blinding flash; Aaron staggered backwards several feet, from both the force of his tugging and the brightness of the light. The car, meanwhile, was propelled at considerable speed right into the house it was parked outside, demolishing the front wall. Nobody seemed to be hurt, but the car was a write-off, and the house hadn't fared much better.

Aaron was so stunned by what had happened that he didn't notice an oncoming car about to run him down. The driver slammed on the brakes, only for them to lock. But instead of striking Aaron, the car seemed to crash into thin air, suddenly flipping up and soaring right over Aaron's head before crashing down onto its roof and skidding to a halt.

One cannot cause this much destruction in the middle of a suburban neighbourhood without attracting attention, and so as Aaron continued to stand flabbergasted in the middle of the road, a crowd began to gather around the carnage he had accidentally caused. The family in the house he had partially demolished shakily stepped out into their ruined front yard, tiptoeing around the totalled car lying amongst the rubble. A couple of the teenage spectators took out their phones and began filming or taking pictures of the destruction. Some of the more sensible adults began to call 911, although of course they were at a loss as to how to explain precisely what had happened. All anyone seemed to know was that two cars and a house had been severely damaged, and the man in biker fatigues standing dazed in the road seemed to be responsible.

Eventually, a man in the crowd realized what was happening. He took out his phone and dialled not 911, but 787, the emergency number for the Superhero Regulatory Department. On the third ring a cool female voice answered. "Hello, SHRED Emergency Department. How can I help?"

"Hi, I'm calling from Aventura, Florida," said the man. "I think there's been an Awakening."

Day 12

[from Project Nero]

Usually, when Nero entered Forza's garage, rock or metal music would be blaring out at high volume, and Nero would have to either shout over the top of it or just simply shut off the stereo in order to make himself known. On this occasion, however, he was surprised and rather amused to find Forza quietly singing along to Christina Aguilera of all things. Rather than interrupt, Nero silently took out his phone and began to record to unsuspecting mechanic.

It took Forza a full thirty seconds to realize he was being filmed. When he did, he immediately exclaimed, "Fuck!" and quickly switched the stereo off, while Nero chuckled and stopped the recording. "You upload that and I'll turn you in," he snapped, his anger covering his embarrassment.

"Oh, yeah, just you try it," said Nero with a grin.

"You threatening me?" asked Forza, who couldn't help grinning back.

"You threatened me first," Nero pointed out.

This gave Forza pause for thought. "Alright, you got me there," he admitted. "But you better be deleting that."

"I already deleted it," said Nero reassuringly, as he quietly mailed the footage to Summer.

"Good," said the oblivious mechanic. "And if anyone asks, I'll tell 'em it was System of a Down."

"Gotcha," said Nero, sliding his phone back into its wrist-mounted case now that the damage had been done. "Just out of interest, why were you listening to that, much less singing it?"

"I dunno," said Forza, shrugging, "I was just listening to the radio, it came on, and…it's catchy, alright? Now, are you actually here for some reason, or just to poke fun at me?"

As they got down to business, Nero's expression grew more serious, and Forza started to calm down. "I need your black market contacts," said Nero. "Well… Alexis, Carmen and I need them."

"What for, man?" asked Forza, heading over to his computer.

"We're raiding another cartel base in Santa Lupe," said Nero. "We're gonna need a few things for our attack."

"Like what?" asked Forza.

"Well, first, we're gonna need an attack helicopter-"

"Whoa, whoa…seriously?! A freaking attack helicopter?! With machine guns and missiles and shit?"

"Missiles might be a bit excessive," admitted Nero, "but yes, an attack helicopter with miniguns. Sec-"

"Okay, first of all," Forze interrupted, "it's gonna be pretty hard to get hold of one of those, and if I can, it's gonna be damned expensive. You're paying for all this, right?"

"Of course," said Nero.

"Great," said Forza. So yeah, no promises. But if I do get hold of one, when you go flying in on it, you better be blaring Ride of the Valkyries at full blast."

"Hell no; I'll be blasting your sweet cover of Christina Aguilera," joked Nero.

"I knew you didn’t delete that!" exclaimed Forza, lunging for the phone. "Give it here!"

"Alright, alright," said Nero, holding him off, "I'm deleting it, for real this time. See?" He held the phone up so Forza could see him deleting it.

Forza, not knowing it had already been shared, retreated back to his computer, safe in the knowledge that the embarrassing footage was gone forever. "Alright," he said, calming down again. "What else?"

"Alexis wants a sniper rifle. At least fifty rounds of ammunition, as well. She wants some tracer ammo as well, but I'm not sure that's a good idea; it'll give her position away."

"I'm pretty sure you can get tracer ammo where the trail only appears after the bullet's travelled a certain distance," said Forza. "That's probably the kind she's after. I'll put in an order for that, then."

"Oh, okay then," said Nero. "I don't pretend to be an expert on guns, so… anyway, the last thing I'll need is some high explosives. Enough to blow up a whole complex. You might have to split that order up so it doesn't look suspicious."

"Why not just get some missiles for the helicopter, like I suggested?" asked Forza. "Those'll do the job, and they'll look pretty damn cool."

Nero shrugged his shoulders in agreement. "Okay, missiles it is," he said.

"Alright, I've got all of that down," said Forza. "I'll get in touch with my contacts and see what I can get you. Again, no promises on the attack helicopter, but I'll do my best."

"Okay, thanks, man," said Nero, smiling appreciatively. "Let me know once you have them, and I'll send you the money."

"Will do," said Forza. "That everything?"

"I think so," said Nero. "Okay, I'll see you around, then."

"See ya, man," said Forza, as Nero headed off.

***

"God dammit, Nero, I thought you deleted that video!"

Nero chuckled as Forza's voice barked through the phone at him, easily audible even over the helicopter blades. "You mean the Christina Aguilera one? I did."

"Then what the hell's it doing on YouTube?!" he asked angrily.

"It's on YouTube?" repeated Nero, chuckling even more. "Oh geez…Summer must have uploaded it-"

"You showed it to Summer?!!" Forza was indignant.

"Yeah," admitted Nero. "I didn't think she'd put it on YouTube, though-"

"It's not funny, man!" snapped Forza.

At this point, Nero was laughing so hard he had to take a moment to try and calm himself down before speaking again. "How m…how many views has it gotten?"

"Thirty-seven, but that's not the point!" said Forza. "You're violating my trust, man! How'd you like it if I violated your trust?"

"Alright, okay, I'm sorry," said Nero, finally managing to stop laughing. "I'll get her to take it down as soon as I can."

"Why, what are you doing now?" There was a pause, then: "Wait, are you in a helicopter?"

"Yep," said Nero.

"The helicopter?"

"Yep," said Nero.

"Are you on your way to the-"

"On the way back, actually," said Nero.

"Did you blast Ride of the Valkyries?" asked Forza suddenly.

Nero's response was to turn back towards Alexis and shout, "Turn the stereo back on," pointing at the phone to indicate why. Silently, Alexis complied, and the iconic tune filled the helicopter once more. Even with the music blaring, and the blades whirring loudly, Nero could still hear Forza cheering in delight. "Am I forgiven?" Nero shouted down the phone.

"Are you what?" came the reply.

"I said, am I forgiven?" asked Nero, a little louder.

"Hell yeah you're forgiven!" yelled Forza. The line fell silent for a while, allowing the pair to appreciate the moment, Nero watching through the still-open door of the helicopter as the sun slowly sank beneath the shimmering horizon.

Day 11

[from The Ballad of Conor Stewart]

"I might as well start right at the beginning; 1987, my first year in F1. '85 and '86, I took part in Formula 3000, and had a few races in the Japanese Formula Two as well. I managed to win a couple of races, get some good results, and got to know a few of the guys I'd be racing against over the next few years. Tell you what - Satoru Nakajima, nicest bloke you'll ever meet. Think he made his F1 debut in '87 as well, actually…Lotus, I think. My start wasn't quite that glamorous.

Now, this was back in the era of turbo cars. Right at the end, sure - '88 was the last year they had them - but still the turbo era. To tell you the truth, I dunno whether to be pleased or pissed that I never got to race one. When I was at Ferrari they let me have a go in an old one, and let me tell you, it was one of the most fucking terrifying things I've ever done. Amazing, but…utterly fucking terrifying. It's not so much the speed, or the noise, or the power; I've driven faster cars, and I'm used to the noise. But the turbo lag on those things was horrendous; you put your foot down, you get the first couple of hundred horsepower, then two or three seconds later, WHAM!  In comes the whole one-thousand horsepower in one whack, and if you're not expecting it, you're in the barrier before you can say "red flag". I imagine in the rain it would've been even worse. So, uhh, anyway…where was I?"

"I believe you were talking about your debut in '87," said Saarinen.

"Ah, right, yeah. Well, my break in F1 came towards the end of '86. With the turbos being phased out, racing in F1 looked more lucrative, so before long, guys with more money than sense were queuing up to start their own teams. You had all kinds of failures: Onyx, Coloni, Life, Andrea Moda…hah! I'll have to tell you guys about some of them, their stories are bloody hilarious."

"Weren't Andrea Moda the ones who got kicked out for bringing the sport into disrepute?" asked Brooke.

"Pretty much, yeah," said Conor, trying not to laugh. "But enough about them. Right now I'm gonna tell you all about Hildebrand. David F. Hildebrand, their founder, was one of those guys with more money than he knew what to do with. He'd made his fortune over in America, selling auto parts, and maybe he thought having his own team would attract more business or something, I dunno, but anyway, in '86 he set about creating his own F1 team, and got accepted to the grid for '87. By the time he came to me, around September, he had the car, the engines, the facilities, the personnel…everything but the most important bit. Two drivers. 'Coz without two good drivers, doesn't matter how good your car is, you're gonna do badly.

So anyway, I was at a Japanese F2 race over in Suzuka - came either third or fourth, can't remember - and when I got back to the pits after the race there was this guy I didn't recognize chatting to the mechanics. He was a big guy, David; stocky, I think's the word. Shaved head, white shirt, wore sunglasses all the time even when it wasn't sunny. Bet he wore 'em in bed as well. I came over, and the guys introduced me to him; they said, Conor, this is David Hildebrand, he'd like to talk to you about a potential F1 drive. I asked him what team; he said his team, Hildebrand, I said I'd never heard of 'em; he said, not yet you haven't, we're a new entry for next year. Didn't exactly fill me with confidence, but I was willing to hear him out. An F1 seat's an F1 seat.

We discussed it, and I thought about it a little. On the one hand, it didn't sound too promising. This was a brand new team, with no pedigree, no heritage. I could be walking into a catastrophe for all I knew. The car was gonna use naturally-aspirated Ford engines; remember, the turbos were still around back then. Almost everyone else had 'em. The car wasn't gonna do very well. But on the other hand, like I said, an F1 seat's an F1 seat. As long I didn't make a complete tit of myself, I'd get myself noticed, not just by the teams, but by potential sponsors. I said this already, and I'll keep saying it: this sport is all about the money. Even now, even if you're the next Ayrton Senna, if you can't bring money to a team then you can forget about driving for them."

"That's stupid," said Cervantes.

"Yeah, I know," admitted Conor, "but that's the way it is, sadly. So anyway, maybe I wasn't gonna be winning races at Hildebrand, but it was still a good opportunity to get a foothold in the sport. So I said, look, I'll think it over and get back to you. He gave me his number, and that was that for a little while.

Over the next month, I consulted with just about everyone I could think of. My family, my friends, my team, my fellow drivers. Pretty much every single one of 'em said, go for it. It's a fantastic opportunity, it might only come once, and all the rest of it. It didn't look like I was gonna get a better drive anywhere else, so come mid-October, I called Hildebrand up and asked if he still had the seat free. It's yours if you want it, he said. So I said, I'm in. And just like that, I had my first F1 drive. A couple of weeks later I flew over to their factory in Austin - stupid place to base an F1 team, but whatever - and I had my seat fitted. By the new year, my team-mate had been decided - Allen Berg, the Canadian, who'd raced for Osella the previous year - and we'd started testing. I have to admit, I was looking forward to the start of the season. Formula 1 is the pinnacle of motorsport, the thing I'd been dreaming about since I was a kid, and I was finally gonna be there, competing. I think even Saarinen would've been excited."

Conor broke off as he and the others chuckled silently at the joke. Even Saarinen cracked a little smile. "But anyway, that's how I got into the sport," said Conor. "Do well next session, and I'll tell you all how my first season went."

"You mean that's it?" said Dijkstra.

"For now, yeah," said Conor. "It's getting late. Alright, let's tidy up a bit here and then head home."

While Dijkstra, Cervantes and Saarinen headed off to change out of their racing overalls, Brooke helped her father put the dust cover back on the old Ferrari. "You know," said Brooke, "I'm surprised you haven't told me all these stories before."

"You never asked to hear them," Conor replied, "so I thought you weren't interested."

"Of course I'm interested," said Brooke. "I wanna follow in your footsteps, don't I?"

"Well then, you've have to try harder in training," said Conor, "and then you can follow in my footsteps and hear my stories. Sound like a good deal?"

Brooke nodded. "Yup."

"Alright," said Conor, "let's go get changed."

Day 10

[from Pokémon xTreme (name subject to change)]

It was unusual to see a sell-out crowd at Indigo Stadium just for an exhibition match. But when the match was between John McBride, one of the legends of professional Pokémon battling, and Brandon Wells, one of the sport's most promising young talents, it was perhaps understandable that there would be a lot of interest. Indeed, the match was even being broadcast live throughout the Kanto region, albeit on pay-per-view. It wasn't quite important enough for a spot on cable.

John was the first to emerge onto the field. his four chosen Pokémon strapped to his belt. He was in his sixties now, and had been battling since before Pokémon turned professional. He held numerous records, and had more experience than almost anyone else on the circuit. But he was old. His tactics, though tried and tested, were antiquated. His brain was sharp, but perhaps not as sharp as it once had been, when he decimated any opponent that stood before him. The fact he was still able to compete at such a high level, however, was testament to his determination and skill. It was a running joke that Armageddon would come and John McBride would still be there, training his Pokémon, even as the sky fell down around him.

The crowd had to wait a few minutes before Brandon entered. The complete antithesis of the plain, understated John, Brandon was the consummate showman, almost to a fault. Simply walking into the stadium was too boring of an entrance for him, and so his entrance was heralded by a blast of fire rocketing down the tunnel, before he emerged riding on the back of his Charizard, soaring into the air and performing a perfect loop-the-loop before gliding to the ground in front of a rather unimpressed John, the crowd cheering all the while.

Brandon slid off Charizard's back, recalled it to its Ultra Ball, then made his way towards the centre of the field. "Sorry about the wait," he quipped.

"If you were trying to psych me out," replied John, his voice deep and gravelly, "you'll have to try harder than that."

Their per-match posturing was interrupted by the referee, as the three of them reached the centre of the field. "Shake hands, please," she prompted. The two competitors obliged, and the referee took a coin out of her pocket. "Make your calls."

"Heads," said John immediately. The referee flipped her coin. Heads. "John sends out first," she said. "Good luck to the both of you."

"May the best man win," said John. Brandon nodded in agreement, and the two men walked back again, taking up their positions opposite each other on the field.

As per the coin flip, John would be the first to send his Pokémon out, though both men would have to select their first Pokémon at the same time, so Brandon would not be able to react to his choice straight away. John picked his fairly quickly; Brandon took his time, trying to think about the possible Pokémon John might lead with, and eventually selected one. Now he'd taken it off his belt, he couldn't put it back until it was his turn. This was it. Time to battle.

"Go, Rhyperior!" shouted John, throwing his Poke Ball.

Called it, thought Brandon. "Go, Breloom!" he shouted, throwing a Premier Ball. And, since Breloom was faster, Brandon got to move first. "Use Seed Bomb!"

"Darn it," muttered John, as the volley of seeds brought Rhyperior to its knees. If not for its Focus Sash, it would be down in one hit, but with just 1 HP it was as good as dead anyway. Fortunately, John had just the thing to take care of Breloom. He recalled the stricken Rhyperior, then plucked another ball from his belt. "Go, Blaziken!"

"Shit," muttered Brandon, as the Blaze Pokémon emerged onto the field, "I was hoping he wouldn't pick that."

Turn 2. As Blaziken was faster, it went first, and it was only about to get worse. "Blaziken," said John, "transform into Mega Blaziken!" John touched the Key Stone on his Mega Bracelet, and a multicoloured ball of light engulfed Blaziken. It swirled around for a few seconds, then burst open to reveal the transformed Mega Blaziken, flames trailing from its wrists. There was no hope for Breloom now. "Blaziken," said John, "use Blaze Kick!"

Blaziken took a run-up, then swung a blazing roundhouse kick at Breloom. It connected, and the Mushroom Pokémon was felled instantly. Brandon, muttering angrily under his breath, pulled the fainted Pokémon back and thought for a moment. Magnezone won't stand up to it, Gengar won't stand up to it… I'll gonna have to fight Fire with Fire. Or Mega with Mega.

With a flourish, Brandon plucked Charizard's Ultra Ball from his belt once more. "Go, Charizard!" he cried, hurling it into the centre of the ring to triumphant roars from the crowd. "And…transform into Mega Charizard X!"

With a touch of Brandon's own Mega Bracelet, Charizard was engulfed in a ball of light just as Blaziken had been a few moments ago. When it disappeared, Charizard had turned jet black, with blue flames erupting from its mouth. Brandon had brought out his signature Pokémon, and if anything could give Mega Blaziken a run for its money, surely the mighty fire dragon could. However, first it would have to endure an attack; Mega Blaziken's Speed Boost meant it went first this turn.

"Alright then, Brandon," said John, intrigued. "Let's see what your Charizard's made of. Blaziken, use Sky Uppercut!"

The move connected, wiping out a good half of Mega Charizard's health. But it wasn't enough to knock it out; Mega Charizard stood tall. Brandon broke out into a devilish grin. "Oh, big mistake," he said. "Two words for you, John: Earth. Quake!"

"I knew I shoulda used Protect." lamented John.

Mega Charizard stomped hard, and the entire arena began to tremble, the ground cracking beneath the fighters' feet. Mega Blaziken staggered and stumbled, and looked as though it might just weather the storm, but as the tremors started to subside it fell forwards and collapsed to the floor, fainted.

"Shit," muttered John, as he recalled his fainted Pokémon. I hope those two realize they have mics on, thought the referee, scowling.

John thought for a moment, then decided he only really had one option. "Go, Porygon-Z!" he barked, throwing another Poké Ball. Porygon-Z was slower, so it seemed it would have to weather an attack first…or perhaps not.

"Mega Charizard, use Roost!" called Brandon. Charizard landed on the cracked floor of the arena, its health restored, thought not quite to full. But while Mega Charizard had its tricks, so did Porygon-Z.

"Porygon-Z," said John, "use Tri Attack!" Tri Attack may not have been super-effective, but with STAB, Porygon-Z's Adaptability, and its held Normal Gem, it didn't need to be. The powerful tri-coloured beam hit Mega Charizard with more than enough force to knock it out, succeeding where Mega Blaziken had failed. The HP restoration had been a waste. Brandon's fans were in shock.

Brandon recalled his fallen favourite, then picked up another Ultra Ball. "Go, Magnezone!" he called. Surely the Magnet Area Pokémon would be able to weather Porygon-Z's attacks, especially since its Normal Gem was now used up. Sure enough, though Porygon-Z was again faster, this time its Tri Attack only drained a third of Magnezone's health. Now it was Brandon's turn. "Magnezone," he called, "use Thunderbolt!"

The bright bolt of electricity was not enough to knock out Porygon-Z, but it was close. One turn later, Magnezone had been reduced to a third of its HP, but the Virtual Pokémon had fallen. Now John only had one hope left. "Go, Metagross!" he called, throwing the last of his four Poke Balls. In recent years, Metagross had become one of John's signature Pokémon. It could be just what he needed to save him, and conveniently, it was just faster than Magnezone.

"Hey, Brandon!" John called out. "I got two words for you: Earth. Quake!"

Metagross stomped its foot and the already fractured arena floor ruptured even more as it shook heavily for a second time. What remained of Magnezone's health evaporated, and it fell to the floor with a clunk. "You bastard," said Brandon, though he smirked as he said it. I should've seen that coming.

Brandon was down to his last Pokémon now. He recalled the fallen Magnezone, and threw his last Ultra Ball. "Go, Gengar!" This was the final showdown; whoever was left standing at the end of this would win. Brandon had the advantage: Gengar was faster.

"Gengar," he shouted, "use Shadow Ball!"

The shadowy orb struck Metagross full-on, sending it staggering backwards despite its massive weight. It tried to hold on, to keep fighting, and John watched anxiously as the health meter on the display crept ever downwards…

Zero. The hit was simply too much for Metagross, which crumpled to the floor with a loud thud. The fans in the stadium cheered Brandon's name. The match was as good as over. Reluctantly, John pulled the fainted Pokémon back and brought out the crippled Rhyperior, ready to be put out of its misery.

"Use Shadow Ball again, Gengar!" said Brandon. Gengar obliged, and as Rhyperior fell over backwards, the match came to a close. John had fought well, but it hadn't been enough. As the two competitors recalled their last Pokémon, the referee stepped forward, raising an arm.

"And the winner is…Brandon Wells!" she declared, the stadium erupting with cheers once more. With the match over, Brandon and John made their way through the cracked terrain towards each other.

"Nice job," said John. "Thought I had you for a moment there."

"So did I," said Brandon. "Good thing I picked Gengar over Gigalith or I woulda been toast."

"You brought Gigalith?" repeated John, amused. "The hell for?"

"Stealth Rock," said Brandon. "Never leave home without it."

"Get a Tyranitar or something." Stopping opposite one another, the two shook hands once more. "Good battle," said John. "Hope to see you in Castelia next month."

"I hope you bring better Pokémon," quipped Brandon.

"Oh, I got something special lined up for Unova," said John, as they started to leave the stadium to thunderous applause. "Just you wait."

"We'll see," said Brandon. "Hey, you wanna go grab a beer?"

"Sure," said John. "You buying?"

"Hell no," said Brandon. "I won; you're buying."

John shrugged. "Well, it's not like I can't afford it. Alright, let's get outta here, then."

"Right behind ya," said Brandon. The two left the stadium together, and one by one the fans in the stands began to filter out until it was empty once more.

Day 9

[from Aishiteru! Hikikomori-san]

Yuuichi cracked an eye open. 10:47am. It felt a lot earlier. He wasn't concerned about missing breakfast, as this was a regular occurrence for him; sometimes he woke up so late that he'd missed lunch as well. That was the price one paid for staying up until the small hours of the morning.

Stumbling out of bed, Yuuichi staggered over to the bathroom and took a quick shower to wake himself up a bit, before making himself brunch: cup noodles and potato chips. Turning on the TV, he sat down to eat, ready for another day of doing nothing meaningful whatsoever.

 He had barely finished his cup noodles, however, when there was a knock at the door. This in itself was strange; he hadn't ordered anything, and there was no other reason he could think of for someone to be knocking on his door. It wasn't family, as they usually called ahead to say they'd be visiting; it wasn't his friend Hiroto, as they only ever Skyped each other these days. So who could it possibly be?

Almost reluctantly, Yuuichi got up from the sofa and slouched towards the door; as he did so, whoever was outside knocked again. "Alright," he called out, "I'm coming!" Yuuichi opened the door, and received the surprise of his life.

Standing there in the doorway was one of the most beautiful women Yuuichi had ever seen: a veritable goddess of the third dimension. She had a full, firm bust, glorious hips, and amazingly long legs; with the heels she wore she was a few inches taller than Yuuichi. Her flaming red hair flowed elegantly past her shoulders and down her back, her green eyes sparkling.

Yuuichi was so caught up in her beauty that he did not notice two rather strange but important details. One, she was Caucasian; Russian, in fact. Two, she was carrying two large wheeled suitcases. Before Yuuichi could notice either of these details, the woman suddenly exclaimed in a thick Russian accent, "At last! Is so good to see you!" and threw herself at the astonished man, kissing him full on the lips.

Yuuichi had never been kissed before. His face turned bright red, his body going rigid as his brain tried desperately to process what was happening. Who is this woman? Why is she kissing me? Have I walked into some kind of H-manga?

After a brief eternity, the strange woman noticed Yuuichi's lack of response and pulled back. "Is something wrong?" she asked, a concerned expression on her face. "Why you kiss me not?"

Yuuichi remained frozen, his lips feeling as though they were on fire. He tried to find some kind of response, but his brain seemed to have shut down. Finally, torn between asking "Who are you?" and "Why did you just kiss me?", he managed to stammer, "Why are you...?"

The woman blinked, looking almost as puzzled as Yuuichi felt. "What you mean?" she asked.  "You know why I here."

Yuuichi blinked back at her, his confusion rising all the while. "No…?" he said tentatively.

The woman's expression flitted between confusion and concern for a moment. Then, strangely,  she cracked an amuse smile. "You make good joke," she said. "Is me, Ilana. Your…how you say…mail-order bride."

Yuuichi froze once more, trying to come to terms with this. He had ordered many things, but a mail-order bride was most definitely not one of them. As his mind continued to reel, he finally noticed the luggage cases Ilana was dragging behind her, and with a pang of horror he realized her intent: she wanted to stay here with him. She had travelled halfway across the world, carrying all her worldly possessions, to stay with a NEET with no source of income. This isn't an H-manga, he thought, this is a nightmare!

Before Yuuichi could protest that there had been some mistake, however, Ilana said, "I come in now," and crossed the threshold, dragging the heavy luggage cases behind her. She started to look around at Yuuichi's apartment, which was not much, but nevertheless she seemed to be impressed. "You have…how you say…house like blanket."

"Like…blanket?" repeated Yuuichi blankly. "Oh, you mean, "cozy"?"

"Yes, that is word," said Ilana, nodding. "Is cozy house." Laying eyes on Yuuichi's gaming TV - a 30-inch LCD screen he'd saved up for months to buy - she eagerly let go of the handles of the luggage cases and rushed over to it. "You have huge TV!" she exclaimed. "Is very big! Very thin! I like! You must have very money!" she added, turning enthusiastically towards her apparent husband. "You must be man of good business to buy such things! Look, you even have PlyStation!"

Ilana's cheerfulness brought Yuuichi out of his stupor. She looks so happy, he thought. If I tell her I'm a jobless, penniless layabout who's never even been kissed before, it'll break her heart…but I have to. I've got to set things straight. It's the right thing to do…right?

Just as Yuuichi opened his mouth, however, Ilana suddenly asked, "Where bedroom? I want see…how you say…bed of marriage." Ilana's posture and tone of voice suddenly became rather suggestive, leaning forwards seductively, causing Yuuichi's face to flush red for the third time in as many minutes. This time, a small quantity of blood began to leak from his nose as well. Then again, he thought, she's a hot Russian girl, and she's totally into me…I can't just let this opportunity slip through my fingers, can I? Oh, what do I do…

Finally, Yuuichi made up his mind what to do. "Th-the bedroom's that way," he stammered, pointing towards a door in the back wall, his nose bleeding ever more profusely. "F-feel free to check it out…I need to make a private phone call…"

"Okay," said Ilana, nodding. "I check out bedroom. You make call. Then you help me unpack. Husband must help wife too~" With that, she headed off towards the bedroom.

Once Ilana was out of the room, Yuuichi took out his phone and dialled Hiroto's number. His friend picked up fairly quickly. "Hey, Yuuichi," he said casually. "What's up?"

"Something totally crazy's happening," Yuuichi replied, his voice a little panicked. "This totally cute Russian chick showed up at my doorstep claiming she's my mail-order bride, and that she's going to live with me! I mean, there's obviously been a mix-up, I didn't order her, and she can't live here, I can't look after her, I don't have the money or the skills or the anything, but…she's cute as hell! And I can’t just throw her out on the streets, right? So, what should I do?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Hiroto. "She loves you very much. She's given up everything to be with you - her family, friends, everything. She has nothing but what's in those suitcases. So it's your responsibility to provide for her."

"But she's not my wife!" exclaimed Yuuichi. "It's all just a mix-up!"

"It's not a mix-up," said Hiroto rather bluntly. "She is your wife."

Yuuichi began to realize something. "Wait a minute… don't tell me you have something to do with this?" he asked.

"Yep," admitted Hiroto. "I'm the one who ordered Ilana in your name."

"What?!!" exclaimed Yuuichi. "Why would you do something like that?!"

"Simple," said Hiroto. "Look…it's been three years since we left high school. In that time, you haven't worked a single day. You haven't talked to anyone other than me or the delivery guy-"

"I talk to my Fastbook friends!" insisted Yuuichi. "And the people I play against on PlyStation!"

"You haven't talked to anyone in real life other than me or the delivery guy," Hiroto corrected himself. "You've done nothing at all. If you keep this up, you'll waste your whole life, and end up dying penniless and alone. I don't want to see that happen to you, you're my friend. So I bought Ilana for you to give you some sense of responsibility. Think of it this way," he suggested; "it's a win-win scenario. She gets a better life here in Japan, with the man she loves, and you get your own life back on track, and a hot wife to boot. Everybody wins. Trust me; I did this for your own good, Yuuichi."

Yuuichi couldn't help thinking that Hiroto was right. He'd spent the last three years holed up in this apartment, playing video games, ordering his groceries online, and living off a monthly allowance from his parents. He hadn't done anything significantly social in all that time, and he certainly hadn't had a job or a girlfriend. Had he been unable to do anything more, he wondered, or just unwilling? Either way, it was out of his hands now. His parents' allowance wouldn't be enough to support both him and Ilana, and it was unlikely that Ilana, with her poor Japanese and probable lack of qualifications, would be able to hold down a job. He would have to do more, for Ilana's sake.

"O-okay," he said, understandably a little nervous. "I'll do my best."

"Good. I'm sure you'll make a great husband, Yuuichi. Speaking of which, your wife is probably waiting for you… you should go talk to her, don't you think?"

"Yeah. I will." Yuuichi knew just what to say to her now. "Uhh…thanks, I guess."

"Don't mention it," said Hiroto. "It'll be worth it to see you back on your feet again. See you later, Yuuichi."

"See ya," said Yuuichi.

Hiroto hung up, and Yuuichi slipped the phone back into his pocket. It seemed that, against his will, a whole new chapter of his life had begun. All he could do now was go along with it, and do the best he could. First things first: he had to explain the situation to Ilana, and set the record straight. Hopefully she wouldn't be too upset.

Day 8

[from Murder by Pixels]

"Reassigned?"

Lieutenant Matthew Hawke repeated the word with a puzzled expression on his face. The police commissioner  remained his usual stoic self. "That's right," he said. "I'm putting you in charge of a special new division of sorts, here at headquarters."

"My own division?" repeated Lt. Hawke. "With all due respect, sir, isn't that a little above my pay grade?"

"Perhaps," said the commissioner. "But I've seen your record, Hawke. You're the youngest lieutenant in your precinct's history, and one of the youngest in JVPD history. Play your cards right and you might be sitting in my chair one day. I'm sure you can handle this."

Lt. Hawke nodded. "I'll do my best," he said. "So, what is this special new division?"

"I take it you've heard of Harry Payne and Sapphire Keating?" asked the commissioner.

"I have, yes," said Lt. Hawke, looking slightly bemused. "They're those two kids who solved that guy's murder online."

"Well, from now on they're working for the JVPD, helping us solve homicides on a consultancy basis," said the commissioner. "You're going to be in charge of them."

Whatever Lt. Hawke had been expecting, it hadn't been this. "Wait, you're serious?" he blurted out. "We're hiring a pair of kids to work for us?"

The commissioner didn't take too kindly to backchat. "Considering these kids solved in twenty-four hours, a murder your precinct couldn't solve in three weeks, you're lucky I'm hiring them as your subordinates and not as your replacements. They'd be cheaper, for a start."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Lt. Hawke, realizing his mistake, "that was rude of me. But still, with all due respect, they've solved one murder. Can we be sure that they're reliable?"

"No," said the police commissioner bluntly, "which is why they're only consultants and not full-time employees. I've already spoken to them, and told them what I expect of them as members of the Jacksonville Police Department. That being said, since they'll be under your control, it'll be your responsibility to make sure that they do their jobs properly. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Lt. Hawke.

"Alright then," said the commissioner, suddenly getting to his feet. "As I said, I've already spoken to them about this; in fact, they're here right now. Would you like to meet them?"

"Certainly," said Lt. Hawke, getting to his feet.

"Of course," said the commissioner. "Right this way." He and Lt. Hawke left the office, heading  through the building. Soon Hawke found himself standing outside the entrance to what looked like a meeting room. The commissioner opened the door and stuck his head in. "Everything okay in here?" he asked.

"Yeah, we're fine," said a male voice from inside, no doubt belonging to Harry Payne, apparently the self-appointed leader of the pair. "Thank you, sir."

"Alright, good to hear," said the commissioner. "I brought your supervisor over to say hello."

On cue, Lt. Hawke stepped into the room. His eyes were immediately drawn to the two figures sat at the table in the centre of the room; both stood up as he approached. They looked slightly older than Hawke had been imagining, but they still had to have been only around eighteen or nineteen. Dressed in their casual outfits, they looked rather out-of-place as law enforcement officials.

Harry very much looked the leader of the two; his body posture was much more confident than Sapphire's. He also, by Lt. Hawke's estimation, looked like a bit of a nerd. He had scruffy brown hair, thin black glasses, and was dressed in a plain black T-shirt and jeans, possibly in a token attempt to look smart. It didn't really work.

Sapphire, by contrast, looked rather nervous; understandable, given it was her first day on the job, probably the first job she'd ever had. Her appearance, however, was more colourful than Harry's; pink streaks permeated the fringe of her short, jet-black hair. She had piercing green eyes, which clashed a little with her dark blue hooded jacket, jeans and studded earrings - sapphires, Hawke realized, to match her name. He thought he could see the long sleeves of her shirt poking through her jacket sleeves, before he realized she was wearing black fingerless gloves, which struck him as a rather odd choice of attire. Perhaps they were for a medical condition of some kind.

"This is Lieutenant Matthew Hawke," said the commissioner. "From now on, you answer to him. Hawke, this is Harry Payne and Sapphire Keating."

"It's nice to meet you both," said Lt. Hawke, extending his arm.

"Nice to meet you too, sir," said Harry, shaking the lieutenant's hand. His grip was firm, but his arm barely moved.

Hawke moved on, offering his hand to Sapphire. She hesitated for a moment, as though unsure of herself, then gently took it. She said nothing as the lieutenant shook her hand, only a faint "Mmh" of acknowledgement and a nod of the head. Perhaps she wasn't nervous after all, thought Hawke; just shy.

"They've gotten the grand tour already," said the commissioner, as the trio sat down, "so you three just get to know each other for now. They can show you to your new desk whenever you're ready. I gotta go make some calls, so I'll leave you to it. Good luck to the three of you," he added as he turned to leave. "I'm expecting good things." With that, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

Silence fell, as the three people left in the room tried to think of some kind of conversation topic. The longer the silence went on for, the louder it grew, and the more awkward the atmosphere in the room became. Finally, Harry cleared his throat and said, "So, you're gonna be our new boss?"

"Uhh…I guess so," said Lt. Hawke. "I mean, I was only told about this, like, five minutes ago, so-"

"Really?" Harry smiled, as though this amused him. "Well…anyway, I look forward to working with you, Lieutenant. So is Sapphire, even if she seems a bit shy about it." Sapphire quickly nodded in affirmation.

"I look forward to working with the two of you as well," said Lt. Hawke. "Though hopefully, not for a little while yet."

Harry got the meaning pretty quickly. "Yeah," he replied, "this is kinda the one line of work where you don't want work."

"I guess so," said Lt. Hawke. "Sadly, we can't stop every murder from happening; we just have to make sure we solve the ones that do happen. That's what it's all about."