December 2nd, 2006 (04:22 PM). Edited January 7th, 2007 by IceKing.
"And so the Bug Master Kyle has ventured into the deep forests of Nagooshama where he expects to conquer the toughest baddest bugs in all the world!"
Two small toddlers fashioning large straw hats and tiny shorts ambled along the thick grasses of the National Park in Goldenrod City. The bigger one named Kyle was in front and held a large bug catching net in one hand and a red and white pokeball in the other. He sneaked along the jade path with his eyes darting left and right, searching for bug pokemon to capture. The boy behind him, Kellan, looked exactly the same except for the fact that he was considerably shorter. He trudged along sheepishly holding a shaking camcorder as they walked, hoping to make their little nighttime stroll into a famous movie. Kyle’s Metapod had recently evolved into a powerful insect pokemon known as Butterfree, and he felt invincible; able to conquer any bug pokemon that came across his path.
It was well into the night, and the two brothers were alone. They were inseparable, united by the lust for adventure and bug pokemon. They were young, eight and six respectively, but they were feared among the Goldenrod junior trainers as formidable opponents. They trained at the National Park. But the best pokemon only came out at night. Despite about fifty “But Mom!!!”s, the boys were strictly forbidden from going to the park at night. Even if they were allowed, the park was closed at night.
However, no Mommy or silly rule was about to get in the way of Bug Master Kyle and his dorky sidekick Kellan! They had snuck out of their house after their mother took her night-night pills, and crawled through a hole in the park fence. Now awesome pokemon battles awaited.
“Kyle, I’m tired! Can we do this tomorrow?” Kellan pleaded sheepishly, nearly dropping the camera as he stumbled.
“No, Kellan! I keep telling you, the big baddies only come out at night, and it’s our job as Super Bug Masters to destroy them! Now as I was saying…after a hundred hours of searching, Bug Master Kyle has yet to find a big bug to swat. However, he has something up his sl-sleeeeve,” Kyle responded with a loud yawn at the end. Shaking his head to stay awake, he tossed his pokeball to the ground to summon Crushizard, his monstrous Butterfree.
The butterfly pokemon came out sprawled on the floor dead asleep. Its wings were crumpled up as a blanket and its antennas drooped as it softly snored. Kellan giggled while Kyle screamed, “Wake up, Crushizard!” Mumbling incoherently, Crushizard struggled up to his tiny blue feet and turned around to scowl at Kyle.
“Thar we go! Now, Crushizard will bring the scary monsters to us! Sweet Scent!”
Grumbling again, Crushizard half-heartedly flapped its partially crumpled wings. A delightfully syrupy aroma emitted into the air and hovered around them. The pokemon promptly returned to sleep.
“No, Crushizard! The monsters gonna come soon!”
Kellan snickered again as Kyle nudged and kicked his obstinate pokemon into moving. He loved his silly brother. He focused the camera on the orange mist that was the sweet scent until he heard a rustling in the grass ahead. Crushizard woke with a snap and Kyle turned to face the rustling, quite pale. The Butterfree extended his wings out fully and fluttered in the air, ready to ram into whatever was coming at them. Kyle tried to mask his panic from his brother, but wasn’t too good at it.
“A-and s-so B-b-ug Master Kyle a-awaits t-the c-coming…” he said in a rising high-pitched voice until it was nothing but a squeak. The rustling in the high grass grew steadily louder, and Kellan too found himself stepping backwards, the camera shaking a lot more than before. A small creature leaped out of the grass, and the two boys screamed like two girls while the nimble Butterfree promptly rammed the bug in mid-air. The boys cautiously stepped forward to see what the creature was; in the dim light of the moon, they noticed it was orange and had mushrooms on its back. It must have just been a puny Paras.
Crushizard smirked smugly to himself and began to kick the Paras in its sides until it got up again, groaning.
“And so Bug Master Kyle has conquered the legendary Vesuvius, who may look small, but contains enough poison to destroy an entire…”
“Oh be quiet Kyle, it was just a wittle Paras!” Kellan snapped, turning off the camera.
“Kellan! I’m your big brother and I’m telling you to turn that camera back on! We’re doing so good!”
“No we’re not!”
While the two brothers bickered, the Paras and the Butterfree spoke in their own dialect, the Paras covered in thick terror sweat and Crushizard growing increasingly concerned. Nodding, the Butterfree let the Paras continue running and began to fly away itself, to the shock of Kyle.
“CRUSHIZARD! DON’T LEAVE ME!” Kyle sped off in his pokemon’s wake, leaving his own brother behind.
Kellan joined the chase, running haphazardly through the grass, and tripping on a rock. He fell straight on his nose and crushed the camcorder under the weight of his chest. He placed his pudgy hand over his nostrils and his mouth, both which were bleeding. His brother was completely out of sight, he could no longer hear him chasing after Crushizard. The little boy looked down at the smashed camcorder in sorrow; Kyle was going to kill him. Tears began to well up in the corners of his eyes; he was bleeding and all their hard work in making a great movie had gone to waste. He sat alone sobbing in the dark, clutching his bleeding face and wiping his hand clean on the soil every minute or so. His brother would come back soon, he knew it.
He never noticed how cold it was, especially when your shorts didn’t even make it half-way down your thighs. The dark was nothing to him normally, but the shroud of night combined with loneliness and an eerie silence just had a way of striking fear into a young boy’s heart. Kellan wrapped his arms around his knees tightly, shivering and counting backwards from ten. His brother always told him that if he was scared, he should count backwards from ten.
The fear had not vanished, nor diminished. In fact, it was only growing. Kellan’s focus suddenly turned to his mouth where a thin line of blood encircled his front tooth that was a bit looser than before. His nose had reduced to a dull throbbing, though the flow of blood was only getting worse. He wiped his hand on the soil again, but it collected more than dirt.
His hand felt oddly sticky. He lifted them up to the moonlight to see a thin film of white goo on his hands. Confusion struck him momentarily. He began to stop sobbing and listened carefully. There was a scurrying. He heard a faint scratching sound, moving through the soil around him. Then, he heard a squelch. Something thudded against his side; he looked down to see it. Kellan’s eyes grew wide; it was the white substance again. It looked ominously familiar; gulping, he scooped the thing from his side and held it up to the moonlight once more. It was thicker than before, but as he peered more closely, the light dimmed and blackness fell.
The boy’s blood grew cold as the darkness began to engulf him. He looked up into the sky, where the moon had disappeared. He reassured himself that the moon was there; a cloud must have simply passed by. But even he knew that was a lie. The soil seemed to be lighter, the grass softer. It seemed that the totality of existence had been vanquished, except for his rhythmic shallow breathing. A million thoughts screamed at him from the depths of his mind “Run away!” “Stay very still!”, but they all clashed together and in the end, Kellan remained motionless, eyes wide open, quietly crying Kyle’s name.
The scurrying returned once more, amplified ten times greater than before. He could feel the legs crawling on his eardrums. He could hear the thousand tiny hairs brushing against his skin. The squelching returned as well, complete with more globs of the sticky white goo plastering onto his chest. The tears fell harder now, he parted his lips to sob, but they wouldn’t move. He was paralyzed. Soon, hundreds of legs were scurrying across the soil, splashing him with their awful spit. Kellan was a mere statue as they molded him into perfection.
Only the thought of his brother prevented him from slipping into insanity, as the stickyness began to crawl to his neck. Kyle is coming…he and Crushizard are going to stop the legs…he’ll take this icky stuff off…we’ll go home. He stared distantly into the darkness; he could have sworn there was a faint outline of one of the legs. Then, the goo struck his eyes. He was complete. Blinded and mummified in the awful stickyness.
Finally, he could express fear. Hollow cries of help reverberated from his throat but struck a barrier at his mouth. More tears managed to well up in his eyes, but choked by the stickyness, they simply dissolved into nothing. Kyle was going to come…he had to! The legs began to crawl closer, shattering the unofficial wall that stood between them. They had slithered under him and with the support of hundreds, they picked him up on their backs. He could not feel them under his plaster, nor knew where they were going to take him.
Then, a new thought dawned on Kellan. The legs could be good; they were taking him back to Kyle. Of course, it all made sense. A delightful hilarity tingled down his spine. He calmed himself down and was patient for his reunion with his brother. Kyle was going to laugh so hard…
The legs walked for miles.
The wait was indeed a very banal one. Abruptly, they stopped. The stickyness seemed to be looser than before, most likely from all the sweat that trickled through his skin in the march. The legs released him and darted as far away from the boy as they could. Though they were hidden, he sensed their many eyes watching him. They wanted to make sure that Kyle came and Kellan would be safe.
A soft wind began to howl in agony. It echoed throughout the land, like the dirge of a banshee. The wind once erratic and chaotic then began to speed in front of the boy, taking its hands and gripping the edge of the world, ripping it apart at its very seams. He could hear the legs shuddering. Light began to pierce the Darkness. Two scarlet lights had struck Kellan, bathing him in gentle warmth through the chill. They scanned him carefully and then moved up to his eyes. He shut his eyes to avoid the brightness; the plaster was beginning to melt away until he could finally see once more. The scarlet lights vanished, and Kellan beheld “Kyle.”
He could scream now. A great roar surged from his stomach, shattering the plaster on his mouth with sheer velocity as Kellan screamed for his mother. Burning in black flames, the supreme leg growled at him. Its scarlet eyes were locked onto Kellan’s blue. The legs began to scamper away, fleeing the Darkness. All the boy could see was the leg’s mouth. Overgrown with great manes of black hair, the mouth was wide open, dripping with putrid drool. Its golden fangs twitched, blood-red venom oozing from its sharp points.
Wow...my writingness has changed since my last siggy. That is all.
December 2nd, 2006 (07:38 PM).
Okay, I definitely like this. =) I mean, not only is it creepy in places, but it also has a nice spark of humor here and there—two qualities I always enjoy. I loved the presence of Bug Catchers—excuse me, Bug Masters (I love that title)—in the prologue; they just amuse me for some reason and always have. And you know, I swear I’ve actually encountered a “Bug Catcher Kyle” in one of the games. o.o Don’t know for sure if there was one, though, but that’s another neat little detail if there was. =)
Despite about fifty “But Mom!!!”s, the boys were strictly forbidden from going to the park at night.
However, no Mommy or silly rule was about to get in the way of Bug Master Kyle and his dorky sidekick Kellan!
They had snuck out of their house after their mother took her night-night pills, and crawled through a hole in the park fence.
Shaking his head to stay awake, he tossed his pokeball to the ground to summon Crushizard, his monstrous Butterfree.
The butterfly pokemon came out sprawled on the floor dead asleep. Its wings were crumpled up as a blanket and its antennas drooped as it softly snored.
The scurrying returned once more, amplified ten times greater than before. He could feel the legs crawling on his eardrums. He could hear the thousand tiny hairs brushing against his skin.
A soft wind began to howl in agony. It echoed throughout the land, like the dirge of a banshee.
Overgrown with great manes of black hair, the mouth was wide open, dripping with putrid drool. Its golden fangs twitched, blood-red venom oozing from its sharp points.
I enjoyed what I’ve seen so far. I’ll definitely be back for more.
December 30th, 2006 (09:53 PM). Edited January 7th, 2007 by IceKing.
Chapter 1: Experts
Ophelia Hardwell was a very grumpy woman. Her uniform was not ironed, her shirt was not properly tucked in, and her eyes were ringed with dark circles. She had received a stat page to go to 250 Ozora Lane, and it was only five in the morning. The damn rookie officers couldn’t wipe their asses if Ophelia didn’t give them step-by-step instructions. Because of lack of applicants, the Goldenrod City Pokémon Control had to dumb down its standards, and this was reflected in the bloodshot eyes of the more skilled officers who did all the work. As the top elite officer and unofficial field commander, Ophelia found her eyes the most strained.
There was once a time, back when she was a powerful senior officer, when she frightened the Control more than any bloodthirsty Gyarados. According to fellow elite officer, Jack Weatherby, she had lost her dominance after having Shelby six years ago. Giving birth made her human, it stripped away her apotheosis. No one feared a mother until she bestowed her full wrath upon them. Ophelia scoffed, she was just as deadly as she was before; having a child who needed her only made her a greater force to be reckoned with.
Whatever the reason of their insolence, she was ready to kick some ass if whatever issue currently disrupting 250 Ozora Lane was yet another wild Rattata. As she drove into Ozora Lane, she did not have to look far to see the house; there were three police cars parked across the lawn. Driving skills were also in painful deficiency. Ophelia’s interest perked up somewhat; if there were this many cars, it was bound to be interesting. Then again, there were four cars at the runaway Slugma incident last December. She kicked so many asses that day.
She stepped out of her car, attempting to straighten her uniform last minute. A very timid and pudgy trainee officer ran from the door to brief her.
“Missus Hardwell! Come quick, there’s a rabid Growlithe that needs to be put down!” he yelled rather nervously. Ophelia could read in his darting eyes that he was scared to death of canine pokémon, obviously why he chose to wait outside to greet her. But she could also see the way he wouldn’t make eye contact that he was scared of her too. Guts was essential to be a PokéControl officer. She would mold him good.
“What’s your name, Trainee?” Ophelia interrogated very calmly. The officer still flinched; Ophelia’s voice had a certain sharpness to it.
“How long has it been since you graduated academy?”
“Around th-three months, I think.”
“Well, Lawson. Please tell me why you couldn’t wait until I was nice and awake before you paged me.”
“I-i-i don’t know, Ma’am.”
“You don’t know? I see. Trainee, when you brief an Elite officer, you better be aware of all of your facts. Am I clear?”
“Now get out of the way.”
He promptly moved aside, dabbing his sweaty face with a frilly pink handkerchief. Not bothering to comment, Ophelia continued on inside the rundown house where she could hear the cacophony of the officers chatting and laughing. They shut up as soon as she entered the living room where several couches were ripped apart, paintings and vases shattered, and a rather large Growlithe was shackled with specialty restraining rope on the stained coffee table. Ophelia scanned the pokémon carefully; it was growling and frothing at the mouth softly and had large tufts of flame-colored hair torn out. One of its ears was half-bitten off while its right foreleg seemed to be broken, most likely from the chase. Its yellow eyes were tinted red, the surefire sign of The Monster. Several pokémon were positioned around it, ready to strike, including a Quagsire, a Graveler, and a Medicham.
“Who paged me?” Ophelia asked, breaking the long silence.
The man in the cobalt uniform, a sign of a junior officer, stepped forward boldly. He was in his late thirties with a prominent black moustache. He dared to look her right in the eyes and explain himself, “You are the only licensed PokéVet we could contact at this time. We need you to put down this Growlithe so that we can end our shift.”
Ophelia fury intensified. This Junior officer woke the top-most ranking officer in the force to put down a pokémon so that he could go to bed early. The disrespect was unforgivable, he would pay dearly. However, she was collected enough to mask her rage from the trainees who watched her laxly, not recognizing her authority. It was time to show them who was boss.
“Listen up, officer. If you ever wake an elite officer to give your ass three hours of extra sleep again, I will beat that ass so raw that you’ll be walking around like a retarded Wobbuffet. Do I make myself clear?” Ophelia stated calmly, glaring up at the junior office who continued to stare smugly into space. The trainee officers began to chuckle until she flashed her deathly glare to them too.
“I don’t understand what gave you the audacity to page me like this, but rest assured, you will be punished and regret the moment when you chose to page me stat. Stat is for life and death emergencies. Your situation is just laziness. Now get out of my sight, do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Morison has the injection.” And with that, he walked out of the room, obeying Ophelia’s orders.
The trainees began to fear her authority now; like the pudgy Lawson, they wouldn’t even dare to look at her. Her back towards them, Ophelia couldn’t help but crack a smile. She may have lost touch with the current generation of PokéControl, but the emerging one would grow to fear her. The trainee Morison approached her tentatively holding out the box that contained the injection. She took it from him and looked down at Growlithe. The red tint in his eyes glared at her neck, lusting to rip it out, but the yellow smothered under the red pleaded for its life. Ophelia gazed at the yellow tint apologetically, but as much as she wanted to save it, she knew it was gone forever. She held its neck and felt a nice vein.
“This will be over very quick.” One of the trainees began to cry.
The Growlithe knew what was coming, but it did not fight. The needle punctured the vein, and the Growlithe began to tremor, restricted greatly by its bondage. The yellow began to whine and soon both red and yellow faded.
A moment of silence followed, as the trainees hung their heads in solemness. The trainees were not yet numb to the death of a pokémon. Soon, it would be all that they would see. The sorrow of such a moment would never disappear, but after witnessing it so many times, a PokéControl officer becomes almost indifferent to it.
The silence was broken by a very loud beeping from Ophelia’s pager. She removed it from her belt unenthusiastically, but her disposition changed as soon as she read the message. It read “Ntl. Park” in flashing scarlet letters. Scarlet letters indicated a page from the head office itself.
The best way to describe the feeling of a Miltank’s udders would be “rubbery.” They were great tough sacs rife with creamy milk. The thought of clutching them and squeezing the milk out like toothpaste from its tube would most likely put off most men from the sweet taste of a dairy product permanently, but not for Whitney McDonald. Vivacious leader of the Goldenrod City Gym, Whitney was also the proud heir to the successful McDonald Family Ranch.
She started milking Miltank when she was barely four; it was all natural to her. Of course, because of modern technology she hadn’t laid a finger on an udder in years, but because of a technical malfunction, they had to temporarily revert to the old fashioned way. Because they normally sent out over a thousand gallons of milk daily, it was not an easy job. They had to hire many bozos from the city whom Whitney wouldn’t let so much look at her precious Miltank as much as milk them. Unfortunately, without the bozos, milk prices all throughout Johto threatened to skyrocket.
“Done! Whoo! You had a lot in ya, Tiffany!” Whitney said with a bit of a pant affectionately to the Miltank. She wiped a good deal of sweat from her brow; milking was much more physically straining then it looked. This particular Miltank was a bit of a weird pokémon, her eyes were very hazy and her lips lopsided. She responded to Whitney with a simple, “mner.”
Picking up the bucket of lumpy, virgin milk, Whitney left the stable and felt the warm sun creep up her neck. It was dawn; she could hear the Dodrio caw in the distance. As she marched through the green fields of McDonald Family Ranch, she glanced every now and then at the stables where the temporary hands were milking the Miltank. Despite them being far away, she could still hear their crass, obnoxious hooting. Of course, she didn’t have to defend the Miltank; they had one helluva back kick. She couldn’t help but smirk at the memory of a heap of bruised men she came across the other day.
“Whitney! WHITNEY! Come quick!”
A teenage girl with cherry pigtails came running across field to greet Whitney, flailing her arms madly. Rolling her eyes and placing down the bucket, Whitney called back to her.
“What is it, Norma?” she shouted back as her sister approached panting.
“S-something bad happened. Th-the news!” Norma huffed pointing at their house not far up the hill. Whitney raised her hand to stop any further words; she understood.
“Take this milk to the barn,” Whitney quietly commanded before starting her own sprint across the field to her house. Many bad things happened in Goldenrod City: several people were shot a week, many more were robbed, and it’s terrible to think of all those poor girls preyed on by the filthy gamblers. Ever since the casino opened over fifteen years ago, her precious city had descended to nothing but an abyss of whores, gamblers, and organized crime.
But what on Earth would be so bad that Norma would come running out to alert her?
After several minutes of running, Whitney entered her small house where the small television in the living room was loud and blaring. She couldn’t help but gasping as she saw the bold red headline stuck on the bottom of the screen.
“Child Mutilated in National Park”
“Oh dear God, what the Hell is happening to this town,” Whitney muttered to herself as she sat on the leather couch, watching the news intently.
It was a chaotic scene. Many people were crowded around a yellow police line barring the National Park Entry. One of the more popular field journalists, Eleanor Abercrombie, was on the scene dressed rather garishly as usual. Her blonde hair was perched up in a beehive of chemicals and toxins while her Botox-injected face was smothered with more makeup than usual. For such a grim subject, her bright magenta business suit seemed rather inappropriate.
“As stated before, we have little details at this point. All that is known now is that while opening the National Park, park officers had come across a terrified young boy standing over the body of another child about an hour ago. The body was quoted to be ‘mutilated beyond belief’ by park officer Nathan Abraham. We have no further information on the body, but it is rumored that the head was severed clean off and the heart was missing…”
Whitney scoffed. Any thing News Channel 2 claimed was rumored would simply become rumored after they stated it. At the same time, she could not help but feel queasy at the image of a young child killed, let alone mutilated beyond belief. Not that the Channel 2 cared, all they wanted to do was paint scandalous details to get more viewers. Surely enough, they came.
“The night shift guards reportedly left their post to go on a drinking binge according to eyewitnesses from the Miltank Pub. This explains why the body was found so late as well as why the children were able to enter the Park so late at night. National Park Commissioner Holden Hunter has remained silent on the fate of these night guards as well as the incident as a whole. Now this boy’s death obviously seems to be a result of a pokémon attack, however, some officials claim that such a mutilation could have only been a result of another human being…”
Whitney scoffed again. The only official that would give such a statement was Miss Abercrombie’s shiny magenta bum. She waited for some actual information, such as what happened to the surviving boy and the fate of the National Park, but, of course, more scandalous details followed.
“Viewers have sent in concerns about why two boys were out so late, and at this point, we have no information as the two children have yet to be identified, and the Police Department has not recieved any reports of missing children. The parents could have very well been one of the many adults spending entire nights at the casino, perhaps still there. As for the surviving boy, he was allegedly in a state of traumatic shock but had no visible injuries. He was taken to the Goldenrod City Hospital to confirm he was unharmed, but the body of the deceased child was transported to the morgue about a half-hour ago. Medical examination cannot begin until parental approval.”
Finally, a source of quality information came on the screen. Park Commissioner Holden Hunter appeared in his best suit behind the police line accompanied by several police officers and park officers. As expected, the ruckus exploded from the crowd and the reporters magnetically flew towards Mr. Hunter with an arsenal of demanding questions.
“What happened here, Mr. Hunter?”
“Was it man or pokémon?”
“Isn’t it true the night guards were not at their posts?”
The devious Abercrombie demanded, “Why is it that children can break into your park and get killed, Mr. Hunter?”
Holden Hunter kept his head high and face calm as he firmly stated, “The National Park will be closed until further notice. No further comments.”
The ruckus grew even more deafening as the reporters nevertheless continued their stream of questions and the crowd jeered while Hunter continued to cry “No comment” slightly more irritated each time. Whitney turned off the television; she had enough of the Media Circus. As town Gym Leader, she would receive all the true facts soon anyway.
Coincidentally, her phone rang as soon as Whitney turned off the television. Not bothering to let whoever was on the other line speak, Whitney simply picked up the phone and said, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Come on, Scyther, stay strong!”
Some commands were much easier said than done. In this particular case, it was quite ludicrous to tell a pokémon to stay strong after being struck three times in the chest. But this particular Scyther did manage to muster up enough strength to remain standing and to keep going.
Dawn battles were Bugsy’s favorite type of battles. As the sun rose, a pokémon’s reflexes were at its sharpest, they would always fight spectacularly. He was currently facing gym challenger Josh Perot, a trainer specializing in mountain pokémon. Type advantages never really mattered to Bugsy, he always managed to find some way to overcome them, but type advantages weren’t the only thing Josh Perot had going for him. He was a fierce competitor, always driving his pokémon to their maximum potential. Bugsy had never seen such grace in a rock pokémon before, but Perot’s Geodude maneuvered its rocky body like a feather around the field. Scyther, despite his speed, found himself struck painfully several times.
“He’s just asking for it, Orca, Rock Tomb!” Perot shouted arrogantly, pointing straight at Scyther’s head.
The Geodude smiled malevolently, flexing its abnormally large muscles and punching the ground with earth-shaking results. Large chunks of rock blasted from the battlefield and bolted towards a panting Scyther. The Dawn sun shining through the window and into his bruised wings, the Scyther felt a surge of belligerent power as he leaped into the air brandishing his razor sharp scythes high into the air.
“Steel Wing!” Bugsy ordered with his own rare air of arrogance.
The bug pokémon’s wings spread out fully, a glorious five feet wide, and shined bright white until they hardened like freshly burned steel. His eyes shining red, Scyther directed his scythes towards the Geodude and rocketed towards his opponent, his steel wings ready to slice him in half. Without an order, Orca crossed his arms and braced himself for the blow, his entire body glowing black as it hardened.
Despite his defense, Orca winced painfully as the bug pokémon’s wing had smashed through his defenses and sliced his rocky skin. Perot cringed in unison: to break through his precious Geodude’s Harden attack had to be particularly powerful. Bugsy grinned to himself privately; he and Scyther had been perfecting that move for months to show those pathetic rock types who was boss. He waited a moment for the referee to decide whether to end the match or not.
The referee did not have to look far, Geodude simply bounced back gritting his teeth through the pain, considerably more incensed than before. Not wanting to waste this precious moment, Bugsy ordered his pokémon to strike again.
“One more ought to do it, Scyther!”
Scyther who surveyed the Geodude closely from mid-air prepared to attack once more. His wing ached; he had struck with the bruised wing, but this time the blow would be with the other wing. Spreading his mighty wings out once more, they continued to glow with sheer energy as he plummeted down for the finishing move.
But Orca wasn’t about to allow himself to be beaten. Furious with rage, he turned to face the Scyther and raised his clenched fist which blazed with white hot flames. Perot cried out a triumphant “Hah!” Bugsy wasn’t the only one who could teach his pokémon unusual moves.
Bugsy realized his amateur mistake, underestimating his opponent. After so many battles with dumb Bug Catchers with Metapod’s that only knew Harden, he had forgotten what it was like to battle a true pokémon trainer.
Scyther saw the flaming fist, but it was too late to pull out of his nosedive. He scrunched his eyes tightly preparing to brace the imminent pain. A split-second before it made contact, the Geodude slammed his flaming fist into the wing with a frenzied roar.
With his cry of anguish, the wing crumpled up immediately, bursting into flames as the hardened wing began to melt. The wings returned to normal, but the fire continued to blaze as it began to spread to Scyther’s body. Despite his incredible agony, the Scyther dropped to the floor and began to roll around in order to stop the spread of the fire. When he finished and the flames extinguished, the Scyther fainted out of shock.
“Scyther is unable to battle; Josh Perot of Cianwood City is the winner!”
A crest-fallen Bugsy returned his fallen pokémon to his pokéball before looking up at his defeater with a grin. Even if he did lose, it was one of the most difficult, exhilarating battles he had in a long time.
After congratulating his Geodude, Perot called him back and walked over to Bugsy with a bit of a smirk. Bugsy harbored no negative feelings; he lost a good battle and raised his hand to salute the winner. They shook hands firmly as Bugsy presented him with the Hive Badge.
“Congratulations on your victory! I present you with the Hive Badge that proves your excellence here at the Azalea Town Gym. Good luck with the other six badges!” Bugsy announced in his semi-rehearsed voice. “Excellent use of Fire Punch, if I may add.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bugsy,” Perot responded in a genuinely honest voice. “To be honest, I was expecting a lot less from a bug gym leader, but you were quite the pain.”
They laughed as the sun shined fully through the windows. Dawn was over, it was now day. “If you think I’m a pain, just wait till you fight Whitney over in Goldenrod City. Trust me; she’s made the toughest men bawl like little girls.”
As Perot left, Bugsy couldn’t help but feel quite energized and happy. He almost forgot about Scyther being quite injured until his eyes came across the pokéball in his hand. There were no other challengers in line, he would go to the nearby PokéCenter and hopefully Scyther would come out good as ever. Once Scyther nearly lost his leg to a Kingler but managed to defeat it as well as the next challenger
As he prepared to leave, his younger sister Honey (caretaker of the gym) entered the battlefield. She just hit the age of eighteen, but managed to keep the gym and gym grounds maintained and organized well in spite of Bugsy’s painful lack of organizational skills.
“Hey, Sis, what’s up?” Bugsy asked as his sister approached him looking rather tired.
“There’s someone outside who wants to speak to you—”
“If it’s a challenger, tell him to come back in a few hours,” Bugsy mumbled cutting her off.
“What did I tell you about cutting me off? You have to LISTEN, Bugsy,” Honey snapped annoyed. She was rather high-maintenance. “Aye, aye, aye. Twenty five years old and still…”
“Acting like any old two year old bug catcher, I’ve heard this before, Sis. Anyway, who is out there?”
“Yes, if you let me finish my rant, you would have realized it was a member of the Goldenrod City PokéControl! It seems rather urgent,” Honey finished, directing him to the door.
Bugsy groaned. He was always contacted at anything remotely bug related. Though he was more than happy to help people out, especially if it required his extensive knowledge of bug pokémon, he had to admit it did get a bit tiring. Keeping Scyther’s pokéball with him, he walked with his sister outside the gym where a bearded man wearing a brown uniform waited for him.
“Hello, Mr. Bugsy. My name is Jack Weatherby, elite officer of the Goldenrod City PokéControl. I was sent because your help has been requested. I assume you heard about what happened over the news?” the man asked rather seriously, shaking Bugsy’s hand.
“No, I have not actually. I had a gym battle first thing in the morning. What happened? And please feel free to just call me Bugsy,” Bugsy replied with a look of concern. He could tell by Weatherby’s deep dimples that such a grave face was unusual for this man.
“There was an attack in National Park in the middle of the night. A little boy was mutilated, he was found with several chunks of flesh torn out, and we speculate that his heart may be missing.”
Honey shrieked at the story. Bugsy chastised her, but he too couldn’t help but flinching. He had seen his share of some vicious bug pokémon attacks, on other pokémon, on humans, but never on small children.
“Oh dear, that's horrible!" Bugsy cried with a cringe. His eyebrows then scrunched in confusion. "It’s also rather unusual. Bug pokémon rarely attack children because they dislike child pheromones. It could have always attacked out of self-defense, but that attack seems way too violent to be self-defense…”
“Exactly, our top experts had the same confusions which is why your presence is requested at the medical examination. You are, after all, ‘The Walking Bug Pokémon Encyclopedia’.”
“Alright then, when do you want me to come to Goldenrod?” Bugsy asked, quietly prideful of being referred to by his self-proclaimed title.
“We have a helicopter positioned not far away. How about right now?” Weatherby suggested rather casually. Bugsy was taken aback; he was told of a child being killed and not even a minute later demanded to go all the way to Goldenrod City. He really had no choice in the matter. When a child is murdered, one cannot be lax about it.
“Well, I guess so. I have no battles scheduled for the rest of the day. I don’t need to bring anything now, do I?” Bugsy agreed relunctantly.
“Nope, you should be able to return in a few hours. If not, we will send someone to get anything you need.”
“Okay,” Bugsy nodded. He turned to his sister who was still shocked, “Honey, I need you to take Scyther to the PokéCenter, he was hurt in the last battle. Please keep the gym in check while I’m gone.”
“Yes, Brother,” Honey replied, taking Scyther’s pokéball.
And so Bugsy accompanied the PokéControl officer to the helicopter. He was rather nervous at the impedending sight of a young child mutilated, but he also understood that it was his duty to make sure whatever killed the child would not strike again. He knew deep inside that it was not a bug pokémon, no bug pokémon could do what he just heard.
Wow...my writingness has changed since my last siggy. That is all.
December 30th, 2006 (10:07 PM).
It sounds okay. I hope to see more of it.
January 4th, 2007 (02:16 AM).
Grisly! I love it, IceKing. Keep it up! I can't wait to read the rest of it.
Very well written, kept me on edge.
Mizuki | Niwa | YoshiRiRu | Marz
Where are we?
I don't know. Are you pumped?
Are you kidding? I'm always pumped.
Paired with: Psycho girl Natsumi-Chan
Little Sister: Mizuki
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