The DoorDash employee, a man of Indian or maybe Pakistani origin who looked about Dennis’ age, held a bag full of what seemed like reasonably warm Thai food. “This is Dennis Summers?” he asked.

Dennis nodded. “That’s me” he said forcefully.

“Very well. You live alone?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“It’s a lot of food to eat on your own” the driver replied simply. “But you can do what you want with it.”

Dennis forced a smile. “I’ll have leftovers tomorrow, I’d imagine.”

“Very well, take care!”

Dennis had already tipped the driver online, so he had nothing left to do other than sit at the table and begin devouring the feast he’d ordered for himself.

The mango fried rice was topped with crispy, lightly breaded fried chicken. That’s what Dennis started with, adding some of the peanut sauce to a bowl along with the fried rice, a pair of chive dumplings, and some noodles.

Of course, while he ate, he had plenty of time to think about what had just happened.

“This Clint Cargile guy must think I’m insane” Dennis said out loud. He’d been taught not to talk with his mouth full, but given that he lived alone, he felt free to ignore the finer print when it came to table manners.

As he bit into a chunk of mango, however, it occurred to Dennis that the apartment might be bugged.

That makes no sense, Dennis, he chastised himself. You’re just paranoid right now. After a talk like that, that’s normal. But there is nothing to worry about. Nothing!

Indeed, it made little sense that Clint, a CIA agent, would come over and offer protection as an option. If the government truly felt Dennis’ life was at risk, wouldn’t they just take him away and commit him to the witness protection program against his will? But then, why did they care so much about him?

Dennis sighed. He scanned the walls of his kitchen, looking for cameras and finding none. So he continued to eat.

He hadn’t expected to be hungry when the food arrived, but stress eating was indeed a thing. After about ten minutes, Dennis had scarfed down the whole thing of noodles and dumplings, as well as two skewers of satay and half the fried rice. He was eating like a feral animal, yet he didn’t care. He could eat like no one was watching, because no one was watching.

Dennis looked at his phone, instinctively searching for what was formerly known as the “bird app.” He then remembered that he’d deleted his account yesterday, as that billionaire asshat who owned Xitter (pronounced “shitter”) had elected to make the app completely unusable. It was just as well, though. Quite frankly, his mental health had improved greatly as soon as it was gone from his phone. And if his account’s information got leaked due to a hack (which only became more likely by the day as that asshat made the site a hellhole), that presented a major risk to anyone, but especially to people like him.

“Well then,” Dennis mouthed. “I don’t have much food left. I might as well finish it.”

And finish it he did. Dennis went to town on what remained of the fried rice, polishing off every last grain. By the time not one grain remained, his stomach hurt like hell and he hated his life even more than he had in the immediate aftermath of failing the permit test.

After binge-eating the Thai feast, Dennis didn’t have the energy to do much except stagger to his room and climb onto his bed. He didn’t even change out of the outfit he’d worn to the testing center, which was still soaked through with the residual sweat from the exam.

So, let’s recap, shall we? I flunked my flight permit test, I started seeing Pokémon where they don’t belong, and then this guy comes over, tells me he’s a CIA agent, and mentions that the “Lobster Mobsters” are after me. What an insane day!

Speaking of CIA agents, the piece of paper containing Clint Cargile’s phone number remained on the sofa. However, Clint need not have written it down, because without meaning to, Dennis had memorized it. It was now stored in the recesses of his brain like a panic button, lying dormant until it needed to be activated.

But he would not activate it yet. Much like those “Second Amendment People” claimed, he hoped he never had to use that little something hiding in his pocket. In a way, that paper was more dangerous than a firearm, because at least you knew what a gun could do.

In any case, Dennis flipped from side to side, gasping occasionally like a fish out of water. The perspiration on his body grew thicker by the minute, and he doubted he’d ever get comfortable. But that’s what you get for trying to sleep at three in the afternoon.

When he finally fell asleep, his “night dreams” were even more unreal than his daydreams.

He found himself on a red carpet. That was nerve-wracking enough - Dennis had never wanted to be famous for any reason, even something good like being a movie star.

But then he noticed that there was a hand in his own. Said hand was pinching Dennis’, and our “hero” grimaced as a result. “What do you think you’re doing?” Dennis howled.

The other person turned his face in Dennis’ direction, and the latter screamed. For he was not a person, but rather a lobster-like creature with a star on its head.

“You’re a lobster!” Dennis shouted, trying to wriggle his hand out of the creature’s claw.

The lobster glared at Dennis. “No, no, no! I am not a lobster! I’m a Crawdaunt!”

“Isn’t that a kind of…Pokémon?”

The Crawdaunt narrowed its eyes, its blue-mouthed smile turning upside down. “Yes. Why is that so unbelievable?”

“Uh, no reason” Dennis stated. “No reason at all.”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Then say hello to my little friend” the Crawdaunt muttered, and suddenly the scene changed.

Dennis now stood in a dark room that resembled the boardroom in that shitty reality show Agent Orange had hosted. Surrounding him were a quartet of Crawdaunt smoking cigars, an act Dennis knew full well was dangerous indoors (and in general).

“What do you four want?” Dennis found himself exclaiming.

“Well,” one of the lobster-like Pokémon (probably the same one that had pinched Dennis earlier) sneered, “I was hoping you would play a game with us.”

Judging by the emphasis on the word game, that pastime was likely Russian Roulette or something similar. And yet, Dennis got the sense that if he declined to play the game, there might as well be a bullet in every chamber of that big red gun. They were going to kill him if he refused.

Eventually, Dennis would wake in a cold sweat, realizing that the nightmare had been just that: A bad dream. But until that happened, the young man was convinced he’d be cut down by a bunch of lobster Pokémon, creatures that weren’t supposed to exist and yet were about to be the end of him.

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

To celebrate having completed their exams, Rachel suggested that she and Amber head to the Pokémon Café, an anime-themed restaurant that had just opened near the Public Garden. Amber didn’t object to this - she needed a distraction, after all, and a meal out with her best friend was nothing if not a distraction from what worried her most.

“Let’s do it” she’d told Rachel.

Arriving right on time for a 6:30 PM reservation, the two young women waited only a few minutes for a table. They were then shown to their booth, which was located right next to a Pikachu statue.

Rachel smiled. “That statue looks just like the one they have at the Pokémon Center.”

“You mean the one in New York City?” Amber asked.

Her friend shook her head, giggling. “No, silly. I mean the legit Pokémon Center at Akihabara Station in Tokyo!”

“Oh, of course you do” Amber responded with a sigh.

It wasn’t like she was annoyed with Rachel for pointing that out. Rachel, after all, had not chosen to be born to an old-money, blue-blood New England family. It had just happened to her - if there was a cosmic lottery determining where and when you were born, she’d landed at least four of the six possible numbers. But Amber would’ve been lying if she said being Rachel’s friend wasn’t hard sometimes.

“You should go to Japan sometime, you know” Rachel said. “If you think this Pokémon Café is special, you should go to the ones with the actual animatronics. They literally talk to you!”

“Yes, yes” Amber replied. “I know Japan’s a very high-tech society. We’re like fifty years behind them.” And thirty years behind Europe, at least in terms of rail travel, but that’s a rant for another day.

“It’s a beautiful country, Amber. I was reading this article on a travel website recently. There was a list of top seven American cities with Tokyo vibes, and guess which city was number one?”

After a certain length of time at Harvard, you learned how to read social cues. Therefore, it came as no surprise to Amber that Rachel eventually smiled and said “Boston. But I don’t buy it at all.”

“Why would Boston fit the Tokyo vibe?” Amber inquired.

“The website said that this city combined old and new, just like Tokyo. That’s literally it. Otherwise, we’re nothing like Tokyo.”

“Yes, it would be nice to visit Tokyo one day” Amber said wistfully.

“What’s stopping you?”

The fact that round-trip tickets are like three thousand apiece from Logan during peak season. That’s all.

Of course, Amber would not chastise her friend directly. To her, Rachel Petty talking about her family’s financial status wasn’t flaunting - it was just being Rachel Petty. Besides, they were best friends.

And what I’m about to do for my best friend will be far more difficult than putting up with her talks about travel. So there’s that.

Right on cue, as soon as their shared appetizer of “Pikachu Stew” was delivered to the table, the topic of organization came up. The vehicle to drive the conversation this way was innocuous - Rachel spilled some of the stew in her lap.

“Man, I am so sloppy sometimes!” Rachel remarked.

“Hey, we all spill food from time to time” Amber told her friend. “Shit happens - that’s what they say, at any rate.”

“Next thing you know, my parents are gonna make me wear a bib next time I eat stew.”

“Not really. You can move out pretty soon” Amber pointed out. “We’re both adults.”

“But I don’t know if I’m organized enough” Rachel protested. “I could barely pay enough attention to all my notes. I’m sure I just scraped by this semester if that - I probably got a C in at least one course.”

“A C is better than an F, though. It still means you passed.”

“Barely” Rachel said morosely. Her demeanor might have been playful before, but it wasn’t lighthearted anymore.

“Well, at least you know you passed fair and square” Amber replied flatly. “If nothing else, you can hold your head up high that you didn’t cheat.”

This time. You didn’t cheat THIS TIME.

It occurred to Amber that now would be an “excellent” time to show her cards. After all, for a newly-opened restaurant themed after a very popular multimedia franchise, the Pokémon Café wasn’t terribly crowded. If they both spoke quietly enough, their conversation could remain confidential.

I’m going to help you, Rachel. You don’t know how much trouble you’re in, but I’ll give you a lifeline if you need it. More like WHEN you need it, because you need it right now, and that’s what friends are for.

“I know I passed this time” Rachel muttered. “But once I’m out in the real world, I’m screwed. I mean, I can’t hire housekeepers to make my bed for me, and I won’t be able to count on my parents to help with taxes.”

“There are life coaches to help with stuff like that” Amber said. Then again, how should I know? I’ll never be able to afford one.

“I know” Rachel sighed. “I just wish…I just wish I didn’t need extra time to figure everything out. My brain is a rat’s nest, isn’t it?”

“All of ours are sometimes” Amber responded, trying to reassure her friend.

“But mine is more than most. And that scares the hell out of me. The world might be too much for me to handle one day, and what happens then?”

You can rely on your family’s wealth, I guess.

Truth be told, that was one affliction from which many of Boston’s trust-fund children suffered. It was not what some called affluenza - Rachel, certainly, knew that her actions had consequences no matter how much money Daddy commanded.

Rather, it was the general laxity that came from not having to work a day in your teens. When you played the game of life on easy mode during your youth, the adult world was very often a rude awakening. In the words of a popular country star, it was enough to drive you crazy if you let it.

Many an upper-class child’s first test as an adult was when they faced the pressure of one of America’s most elite universities. That pressure had hit Rachel Petty head-on, and she’d crumbled like a freshly-baked cookie under it when she decided to cheat last year. Within the confines of that analogy, it was now Amber’s job to put her best friend back together.

As the ladies waited for their food to arrive, Amber turned her attention to the man on screen. He looked really cartoonish, like a football coach who’s obsessed on promoting himself and his team at all costs. Additionally, he wore a jacket patterned like the American flag (yes, it even had stars and stripes), which just seemed like overkill. But then, what did Amber know about patriotism?

The on-screen chyron stated that the anchor was SIR CHARLES “UPCHUCK” WELDWORTH - OAN BOSTON. Given the political leaning of that “news network”, Weldwroth was most likely going on about how proud he was to be from one of America’s oldest and most patriotic cities, and too bad it was run by radical, liberal, communist Democrats. Amber wouldn’t normally have paid him any mind.

Although the TV was muted, Amber still thought it highly irresponsible for a kid-friendly restaurant such as this to be platforming an insane conspiracy theorist. But what did she know? She was just a Chemistry major at woke, elite Harvard, after all.

“I’ll find him if that’s the last thing I do” Amber muttered.

Rachel frowned. “Who are you talking about? That guy on TV?”

Amber, realizing her mistake, left the answer to that question vague. She was of course referring to the outlaw Danny Sham, even if she wouldn’t tell Rachel the truth. However, the damage had likely already been done, and with each passing minute, it seemed increasingly difficult to imagine this story having a happy ending.

Their entreés didn’t taste so good after that.