Danny woke to a smell that reminded him of chestnuts roasting on an open fire. It brought to mind the holiday season, what some considered the most wonderful time of the year.

He was so cozy lying here, in this nice warm bed by the fireplace. That's where he thought he was; precisely how he'd ended up there, he couldn't remember.

Danny felt incredibly comfortable, and on some level he wondered if this is what it was like to be in the womb. Of course, his biological mother had gotten cold feet once she'd realized her son was neurodivergent, but that didn't matter anymore.

Something, however, gave Danny pause. The smell of fire was far too intense for him to merely be in the same room as it. Nor was there any aroma of roasting chestnuts, not that he knew what those smelled like anyway. Finally, it was just too hot - a thick layer of sweat covered his face.

It's so hot. My throat burns. That can only mean one thing, can it?

Danny opened his eyes, and right away they watered from the exposure to smoke. In fact, that substance was visible throughout his bedroom. And where there's smoke, there's…

"Fire!"

He wasn't in a crowded theater; it was perfectly fine for him to yell that. But that meant he had to work up the energy to get out of bed, or else that "bed" would be more of a "coffin" before long.

So he shoved back the covers and stood quickly on the wooden floor. The linoleum creaked even more than usual, suggesting that the structural integrity of the house might be at risk.

Fuck! Someone set the house on fire!

Danny tried not to panic, but a certain degree of panic was warranted when your home was burning and you were trapped inside. Still, he made his way to the stairwell, only to be greeted by flames licking each individual stair, slowly but surely eating their way up to the second floor. It wouldn't be long before the stairwell was completely impassable, and that's when Danny realized something else.

As soon as the staircase was gone, the second floor would fall, and the house would collapse in on itself. If Danny wasn't burned alive and didn't die from the smoke inhalation, he'd be crushed by the weight of the implosion.

Instead, he made his way to the window. It was pitch-black out, just like nights always were in a rural area. The Maine air was thick with smoke, and Danny's mouth and throat felt as though they were on fire.

I'm going to have to jump. And I might get hurt on impact with the ground - in fact, I probably will. But I have to escape any way I can!

Danny climbed over the windowsill and dangled his legs over the edge. He vaguely recalled the time he'd taken a leap of faith off a dock to escape Clint Cargile; this time, Boston Harbor wasn't present to break his fall. He just needed to believe he'd land safely, even in the face of evidence to the contrary.

Before he could think too long, Danny shoved off from the windowsill and fell fifteen feet to the ground. As soon as Danny made impact with the ground, a jolt made its way up his body, his knees buckled, and he fell forward.

Nothing seems broken. But I've heard about adrenaline - I might be feeling fine now, but once the danger has passed, I may not be.

And, sure enough, the danger had not passed, as a tone Danny had heard only in his nightmares barked the following:

"Oh, you're not brave enough to face your fate! Well, you don't know what's good for you, Danny Sham!"

"What do you mean?" Danny rasped, the smoke still affecting his throat and making it difficult to speak too loudly.

"I mean that roasting like a chestnut on an open fire is quick! But the death you have chosen for yourself isn't quick! Let's have a little fun, shall we?"

Danny swiveled ninety degrees to the right to find that a Crawdaunt stood about ten feet away. Despite the dark of night, he wore sunglasses just like he had in Danny's dreams.

"I missed you, Danny Sham!" Patrick Lawrence bellowed. "It's been too long!"

Danny sighed. On some level, he'd expected his enemies to find him, especially after his ill-advised texting session with Amber. He just hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

How could I have been so STUPID?

One day, the Lobster Mobsters would have been brought to justice, not just Clint. And when that day came, Danny would have been freed from his solitude and been able to rejoin Amber in Boston. To go back to his life.

Instead, Danny was about to be freed from his life, and Patrick knew it. The Crawdaunt lit a cigar, but he did not put it between his lips. Instead, he tossed it on the inferno that was formerly Danny's house.

"There!" Patrick exclaimed. "The fire will shatter every window and burn every board until it's a thing of the past! And soon you'll be history too, even if you come back somehow!"

In the midst of this nightmare, Danny still had the presence of mind to point out a detail from the Lobster Mobster's speech.

"What do you mean, come back? Are you talking about reincarnation?"

"I am!" Patrick barked. "Clint Cargile told you that you didn't know as much about yourself as you thought. Well, that's because he knows about your previous life!"

Danny frowned. "My previous…life?" he responded in between wheezes.

"Danny, you were a Braviary in your previous life. That would explain why you took to becoming a student pilot, though I'm afraid those dreams will have to come to an early end. For even though history rhymes, it does not repeat itself the same way each time!"

"How do you even know this?" Danny snapped. "And why should I believe you when you're about to kill me?"

"Good question," Patrick muttered. "But it doesn't matter. Quite frankly, once you're done stalling for time, nothing will matter for you. You're going to hell, Danny. Guys, take him away!"

Patrick snapped his claws, and suddenly what must have been a dozen Crawdaunt appeared in a circle around Danny. They arranged themselves in a circle with a radius of about thirty feet, positioned like the numbers on a clock.

"You see, Danny Sham," Patrick announced, "we do not tolerate those who hide from the truth. We also don't tolerate snitches. There's a saying that goes, 'snitches get stitches', but when we're done with you, all the stitches in the world won't be able to put you back together!"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Did it take you all day to come up with that?" he mouthed dryly.

His only option was to stall for time and hope that a neighbor noticed and called emergency services. Even in a remote area like this one, they were bound to arrive before too long when they received a call about an arson. Danny needed to hold out until that happened.

Yet he wasn't much of a fighter, and he knew that. When the single Crawdaunt had invaded his Dorchester apartment, it had taken a steak knife and a lamp to finish him off. Now Danny had neither of those things and was facing a baker's dozen of Lobster Mobsters.

"I have one more question!" Danny exclaimed, using a stalling tactic so often employed by small children who don't want to go to bed just yet.

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"What is that?" Patrick bellowed. "Danny, we don't have time for this shit!"

Like I care what you have time for. We have different, diametrically opposed goals!

But the tactic was working. The baker's dozen of Crawdaunt didn't charge him yet, and if Danny had his way, they wouldn't get the chance to do so at all.

"How did the government not know that Pokémon existed when they were tracking you? Clearly, if Clint Cargile went to prison multiple times for collaborating with you guys, they had some awareness of the Lobster Mobsters!"

"Danny, I never thought much of your intellect!" Patrick bellowed. "I thought even less of it when you contacted Amber Hawkeye on LinkedIn this past afternoon! But even you should know better than to trust what the government says!"

"So the government lied about Pokémon being a myth?"

"Of course! How old are you, seven?"

"Twenty-one!" Danny objected. "I'll be twenty-two on August 7!"

"As if we care! Danny Sham, you'll never be twenty-two!"

Patrick snapped his claws again, and the Lobster Mobsters closed in. Danny gulped.

If there were only one Crawdaunt accosting him, he had a chance. Two, maybe. Three were pushing it. Four or more, definitely not. And he had to face twelve, followed by their leader. In other words, the prospects for Danny living to see age 22 were pretty bleak.

But that didn't mean he wouldn't try.

A few of the lobsters swiped at him with their claws, and Danny used these opportunities to kick them down. With his adrenaline surge, he figured he might actually have a chance. Not at defeating all thirteen Crawdaunt, but maybe he could stay alive and conscious long enough for the emergency services to arrive.

Officer Glorious, where are you when I need you?

The fight went on for a few minutes, but Danny's initial glimmer of hope was dashed once he was knocked onto the ground. By this time he'd received many pinches and bruises, and he'd made many impacts with the ground.

After another claw directly to the side, Danny clutched a hand to his chest. That side of his chest felt warm and tender, which meant he'd very likely at least bruised one of his ribs.

Grimacing in pain, Danny nonetheless felt another wave of adrenaline course through his veins.

I was a Braviary in a previous life, apparently. Does that mean I can soar like an eagle?

He'd had that dream as a child, but dreams weren't real life. That is, unless you found a way to make them come true.

Most of the time, Danny understood that his dreams were just that. And, most of the time, the worst thing that could happen if they didn't come true was disappointment.

This case, however, was different.

Danny could hear sirens in the distance. They're coming, he thought, trying to let that buoy his spirits. But if he did nothing, they would get to him too late.

The claws were circling around his neck, and Danny's life was circling the drain. His airway was becoming increasingly constricted, and he was forced to breathe through his nose. Even then, it felt like breathing through a straw.

The Lobster Mobsters truly were about to kill Danny, for no other reason than to watch him die. And there was nothing he could do about it anymore.

Is this it? Is this the end? And to think it would end like THIS…no, I can't let it happen this way!

It's just not fair. After fifteen years locked away from the rest of the world, holed up in that so-called Sacred Heart Institute, this can't be all there is. I don't deserve to die here after two months of witness protection!

I don't deserve this! I don't deserve this! I don't deserve this!

Danny repeated those words mentally as though they were a chant for his favorite sports team. Rather than running away from his anguish, he embraced said anguish, focusing harder and harder with each passing second at just how unjust his situation had become.

And he let it all out in one almighty scream.

Somehow, that scream repelled many of the Crawdaunt horde even as they'd been about to slit Danny's throat. Not very far, but Danny could at least breathe more comfortably.

In the future, he'd never be able to explain what had happened unless he gave himself over to the idea that Patrick Lawrence, for all his heinous crimes, may not have been lying about Danny's past life.

The next few minutes were a blur. As soon as the Crawdaunt got too close to snuffing out Danny's current life, the young man would scream in order to get them away. The sound almost reminded him of an eagle squawking at its predators.

I am an eagle, Danny told himself. I can do anything.

Just then, there was the sound of a gunshot, followed by an explosion, and a wet, gooey substance coated Danny's stomach. He even had to spit a little of the foul-smelling gunk out.

Yuck. What the hell just happened?

More gunshots, more explosions, and Danny tried not to panic. If he moved too much, one of those bullets might just find him. (Indeed, something grazed his left leg at one point, in a very similar spot to where he'd suffered the glass cut at the aquarium all those weeks ago.)

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the gunshots stopped, as did the explosions. And Danny was able to open his eyes.

The baker's dozen of Crawdaunt, the creatures formerly known as Lobster Mobsters, were now nothing more than Lobster Carcasses. The icky stuff Danny had been splattered with was their blood, for the gunshots had come from heavily armed officers wearing body armor - a sniper team.

"Okay, that's all of them!" one of the officers barked. "Great job, guys!"

Danny breathed heavily. "You…killed them all? To save me?"

He tried to sound grateful, but his head was already swimming as the pain from his multiple injuries made itself known. It was hard to be too complimentary under such circumstances.

"Well, they were guilty of serious crimes, including membership in the Lobster Mobsters. You wouldn't have been the first victim they killed just to watch you die, and we just made sure you won't be the last. Maybe there won't be any more."

Danny stood up, holding his arms out like the wings of an airplane. That was the only way he could remain upright at this point.

"Thank you," he stated.

"There's no need to thank us. We're just doing our job. Hell, you held out long enough for us to get here - you won't be yet another statistic."

Danny did not know how to respond to that, so he simply nodded. This small action made his head throb.

"Now, come with us," another officer told him. "Get in the ambulance."

"What? No!" Danny exclaimed. "I'm not going to the hospital." I don't want any more attention. But I can barely stand, so who am I fooling?

"You can go on your own two feet now," the first officer muttered, "or we'll have to carry you there on a stretcher. And that'll get even more attention."

"That is true" a third officer, a woman this time, stated. "Mark my words, when you start walking, that's when it'll hit you."

Danny knew there was no arguing with this sniper team. After all, they'd just saved his life; could he complain?

So he started walking toward the waiting ambulance. Of course, as the woman had predicted, he hadn't walked more than a few steps before his head felt like a spinning teacup ride at the county fair, and the searing pain in his leg (not to mention the numerous internal injuries he'd sustained) came back with a vengeance.

"Aaaaaahhhhh!" he shouted, before falling to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

----------------------------------------

Danny slipped in and out of consciousness for what felt like a long time afterward. At various points, he was vaguely aware of masks being placed on his face, or needles into his arm, or clips to his fingers.

For the most part, he was in the land of dreams, which now contained a newcomer: The burning building from which he'd escaped, the nightmarish scene that he'd just endured. On some level, he knew he was safe from it now, but that didn't entirely alleviate the fear those nightmares brought.

However, the old haunts returned. Danny felt himself being enveloped in a sensory cocoon, then fixed with wings and released into the wild. He flew over Vermont, over New Hampshire, over Maine, and toward the Atlantic Ocean. He never came down, either; he just flew until he came back to consciousness again just long enough to gulp some water before going under once more.

After a while, Danny woke gradually to find himself lying against very soft sheets. His throat was still very sore, as was his head, and he didn't want to open his eyes for fear that they'd be assaulted by bright lights.

"Are you awake, Danny?" a female tone asked him. It felt vaguely familiar, but in Danny's current state of semi-wakefulness, he could not place who had said it.

One thing was for sure, however: The voice was comforting. A reminder that his nightmares were over, and that his life could resume. That his final chapter hadn't been written just yet.

"Yes," the young man rasped. "Could I have some water?"

"Of course," the voice replied. There was the sound of footsteps, and then a plastic cup of water was placed in Danny's right hand. "Drink up."

Danny drank the water greedily, sighing deeply as he did so. When the glass was finished, he smiled.

"Where am I?" he asked eventually once his voice could be a little stronger.

"The hospital" , the tone, that of a woman clearly on the younger side, responded. "You were brought here after the battle against Patrick Lawrence. He's gone, as are his associates."

"Right. When can I get out of here?"

The young woman chuckled. "Not for a while, I'm afraid. You suffered smoke inhalation, a broken rib, contusions to the lungs, mild internal bleeding, and lacerations up the wazoo - very professional term, I know. Oh, and a bullet grazed your leg. Sorry about that."

Danny sighed. "I want to get out of here."

"I know you do. But it'll take some time to heal."

Both Danny and this familiar-sounding young lady were silent for a solid minute. The bedridden young man did not open his eyes throughout this conversation, so he wouldn't know until later whom he'd been talking to.

"I know the food here sucks," the young woman said eventually. "But once you get back to Boston, you'll be able to eat at any restaurant you want. It could even be the place that opened up in the Seaport District the other day."

Danny could feel his already-closed eyelids getting heavier. He knew he wasn't long for the waking world, but there was one other thing he wanted to ask.

"Who are you?"

The young woman responded sweetly, but not in a deceptive way at all. This sweetness was genuine, like that of the freshest Maine blueberries. And she said this:

"I didn't know you for very long, but I care about you. And I believe you care about me as well. Whenever you're released, we can go out to a place that serves the freshest seafood in Boston. How does that sound?"

Danny's consciousness slipped away seconds later, but before he was fully asleep, he had just enough time to answer that question.

"As long as I don't have to order lobster."