A cataclysm has struck the Pokémon world, and now Meowscarada finds itself caught up in it. Discover the details of this event in the next installment of Martin’s diary, and find out what Meowscarada has in store for you!

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Week One. What We Saw.

A temple. Enormous. The walls covered in frescoes. I won't describe what was on them. I'll just say: I've seen many ancient images. But never anything like this. My colleagues exchanged glances. Someone chuckled. Someone blushed. I just stood and stared.

In the center of the hall — a stone. Huge. Dark red. And it was pulsing. Like a heart. I thought I was hallucinating from exhaustion. I checked the instruments. The instruments showed: it's pulsing. Really. Slowly. Steadily. As if something living was inside.

And around it — statues. Five of them. Enormous. I recognized them immediately. Arceus. Mewtwo. Rayquaza. Groudon. Kyogre. All legendary. All made of a black stone that doesn't exist in nature. They stood in a circle and looked at the stone. Or at us. I never figured out which.

Next to me stood Vern. Dr. Vern. Young, about thirty, ambitious, with the permanent smile of a man who knows exactly what he wants and intends to get it. We weren't exactly friends. More like colleagues who respect each other. But sometimes he annoyed me. Too loud. Too confident. Too young.

— Martin, — he said, looking at the stone. — Do you understand what this is?

— Not yet, — I answered.

— It's the beginning, — he said. — The beginning of something big.

I didn't realize then how right he was.

Week One. The First Night in Camp.

That's when things started getting strange. We had a small camp above the excavation. The helper Pokémon — a Machop, a Sandshrew, a couple of Timburr — hauled dirt, carried tools. Ordinary working Pokémon. Nothing special.

But there was one special one. My Slowbro. I brought him from home. He's old now, about ten. I raised him from an egg. He's sleepy, slow, doesn't bother anyone. Just sits next to me and watches the sunset. I love him. Probably the only creature that still tolerates me.

That night I woke up to a strange sound. At first I thought it was the wind. Then I thought I imagined it. But no. I looked out of the tent and saw: Machop — that same working Pokémon — standing at the entrance to Elise's tent. Our biologist. A young girl with perpetually messy hair.

He stood there for a second. Then he pulled back the flap. And went inside.

A minute later, the moans began. Quiet, drawn-out, wet. Elise's voice — unsteady, strange. Machop's voice — low, guttural, animal. I froze. Then I went back into my tent. And pretended I hadn't heard anything.

Slowbro was looking at me. Silently. And I realized he had heard it too. And that he wanted it too. Just not her. Not Elise. Me.

I turned away. Pretended to sleep. But all night I felt his gaze on my back.