Citrinin
Nephrotoxic.
- 2,778
- Posts
- 14
- Years
- Age 27
- New Zealand
- Seen Aug 2, 2010
Introduction
My first fic, revamped, rewritten, and reworked. The plot has been altered and tightened, unlike the first one, which I felt was all over the place. To my new readers, welcome; to my old ones, welcome back. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. :) Also, if you'd like to be notified via PM when a new chapter is released, just let me know.
This fic is rated M, primarily for violence, and some mild drug use.
Chapter List
Prologue
PART I
Chapter One: Standing on the Tip of a Knife
Chapter Two: Saccadic Blindness (COMING SOON)
[A ID]prologue[/A ID]Prologue
Six o'clock. Denizens of Cronine City exhibited the same pattern of movement as every other major urban area in the region did. As daylight became less exuberant and the red glow of the sunset painted the sky, faceless people everywhere rushed to their houses. Some engaged in lip-biting while others looked nervously at the sunset as they picked up the pace of their jog home.
Ten-thirty. Throughout the streets, lights systematically switched off. When it was first imposed, there was much private speculation as to why there was a lights-out time. It was at least partially explained by who emerged after the yellow glow from the windows went out. A mere fifteen minutes later, the sweep of cloaks quietly brushed against the concrete pavements.
In one small, not-yet-discovered crime hotspot of the city, a young teenager slept. Her slumber was light and restless. It was as if she were constantly agitated at her homeless state, even when asleep. As she turned uncomfortably in the small patch of grass, her curly, chestnut hair drooped off her face. Dirt spread even further into her clothes and onto her Pokéballs, which seemed to be the cleanest things on her.
An eye opened, revealing a hazel iris. Something had moved. Something nearby.
As quietly as she could, she immediately pulled herself in a position to crawl away. Not many people could be as alert as her upon waking, but it was a survival technique. Scratch that. A survival habit. She couldn't see anything, but that was even more disconcerting. An unseen enemy is not necessarily an imagined one. Something in her gut told her that she was facing the former. A trainer's instinct.
She moved away in an almost comical method known to trainers as scrinting. She kept her head lowered and her belly to the ground, using her four limbs to pull herself forward in a swift crawl. Her heart bouncing in her chest, she kicked off the ground, breaking rapidly into a sprint.
"Mean Look!"
Cutting short the crawling phase, she bounced into action, prepared to take off. A wise plan, were it not for the sudden immobilisation of her legs. She fell to the ground in an ungraceful, small arc. Instinctively, she reached for a Pokéball, but she found that her had could not move, either. Her eyes flickered, frantically searching for a solution. When she found none, she did the only thing she could: shout obscenities in the hope that some nearby trainer would come to rescue her.
A few seconds later, two dark figures emerged. One was a plump, short ball of purple fog with pointy ears and a mischievous grin on its face. "Gengar," it taunted.
The other dark figure was a hooded cloak dancing with the occupying body's calm movements forward. At first it seemed humorously Gothic to make the secret police dress in what were effectively Hallowe'en costumes. But the imagery was powerful, and it didn't take long for the aptly named Spectres to become embedded within the populace's mind as unstoppable monsters.
"What the hell did you do to my hands?"
The Mean Look attack explained why her legs failed when she tried to flee, but not why she found both her hands firmly rooted to the spot.
"Presumably you mean these ones?" It was hard to discern any kind of meaningful tone from the man. Partly because his voice seemed muffled by something, partly because it seemed devoid of emotion.
Involuntarily, her hands began to rise, and to prevent her shoulders from being pulled out of their sockets, the victim rose. She stood as quite a spectacle, her hands outstretched and high in the air, her body supported by her toes, and her lips twisting mildly with confusion. But not fear. Never fear.
There had been all kinds of rumours around the Torcran secret police having supernatural powers, but this trainer had dismissed them all as being fanciful and superstitious.
With ghost-like grace, the cloaked man stepped closer to the girl, and pulled back the right side of his outer cloak to reveal a sword. "Unless you feel like having your head roll into the river, I suggest that -"
Before he could finish what was shaping up to be an intimidating sentence, a sudden burst of wind knocked the man off his feet. The girl's hands were freed, and she collapsed, making a small thud as she struck the ground below.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a dark, four-winged bat dropped onto the man.
"Psychic," commanded the face inside the hood.
Gengar leapt upwards, raising its arms toward the diving Crobat. The Crobat was stopped mid-air and squealed in pain, its innards being twisted unnaturally. It flapped pathetically, squealing in agony, before Gengar finally tossed it to the ground. In a vicious, angry flip, it regained height and shot upwards.
"Air Cutter!"
Crobat's wings moved at blink-and-you-miss-it speed, mustering up another razor-sharp burst of wind. It was close: some air hit the ground, ripping up the grass below. But another portion of the attack sliced Gengar's legs, causing it to howl in pain as it collapsed to the ground.
Suddenly, the girl jumped at the cloaked man with a knife from her belt. He turned slightly, before sending her in a large, painful arc toward the ground, in the middle of the battlefield. Two loud cracking sounds emanated from her arms. Her vocal cords buzzed with rage, burning to unleash a scream. She jammed her teeth against her lip, concentrating all her will into resisting that urge.
In his short period of distraction, the cloaked figure didn't notice that Crobat had been ordered to use Heat Wave. As he turned his head, he saw the flashing wave of orange energy hurtling towards his legs. In a feeble attempt to escape he tried to jump to the left, releasing a piercing roar as he realised his failure. Scorching waves of painful energy spread immediately from his shins. Small drops of blood stained his cloak.
Breathing hard and ignoring the pain in her broken arms, the girl pushed one of her Pokéballs against the ground, and it sprung open. "Hydro Pump," she said weakly.
A Blastoise materialised and lowered its shoulder cannons. Distracted by the attack on his master, the Gengar was swallowed by the overwhelming stream of water. Before it even had time to verbally express its surprise, it was tossed thirty feet into the distance.
Out of the darkness emerged a man covered from head to toe in black, with his eyes in similarly dark goggles. He moved with incredible rapidity, leaping onto the cloak and sticking some object into the figure's neck. As he brought down his finger, the girl realised it was a syringe. Instantly, her assailant went limp.
Her rescuer recalled the Crobat and turned to the girl. "Who are you?"
"I could ask you the same bloody question! Who the hell kills a Spectre?" The strain of distress and confusion was evident in her whisper. As she said it, she recalled her Blastoise, not wanting to draw the attention of any more law enforcement.
"I didn't kill him, and he wasn't a Spectre. You had a far more dangerous kind of thing after you. Now, we don't have much time. Come with me."
"You've gotta be high."
The man leaned down. "You think you can just forget how he attacked you without using his hands? How he could make your body do things you didn't want it to do? And you think there aren't more?" He came in even closer. Had his mouth not been covered, the girl would have been able to feel his heavy breath against her forehead. "Either you come with me, or they'll torture you, take whatever it is they want from you, and kill you."
My first fic, revamped, rewritten, and reworked. The plot has been altered and tightened, unlike the first one, which I felt was all over the place. To my new readers, welcome; to my old ones, welcome back. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. :) Also, if you'd like to be notified via PM when a new chapter is released, just let me know.
This fic is rated M, primarily for violence, and some mild drug use.
Chapter List
Prologue
PART I
Chapter One: Standing on the Tip of a Knife
Chapter Two: Saccadic Blindness (COMING SOON)
[A ID]prologue[/A ID]Prologue
Six o'clock. Denizens of Cronine City exhibited the same pattern of movement as every other major urban area in the region did. As daylight became less exuberant and the red glow of the sunset painted the sky, faceless people everywhere rushed to their houses. Some engaged in lip-biting while others looked nervously at the sunset as they picked up the pace of their jog home.
Ten-thirty. Throughout the streets, lights systematically switched off. When it was first imposed, there was much private speculation as to why there was a lights-out time. It was at least partially explained by who emerged after the yellow glow from the windows went out. A mere fifteen minutes later, the sweep of cloaks quietly brushed against the concrete pavements.
In one small, not-yet-discovered crime hotspot of the city, a young teenager slept. Her slumber was light and restless. It was as if she were constantly agitated at her homeless state, even when asleep. As she turned uncomfortably in the small patch of grass, her curly, chestnut hair drooped off her face. Dirt spread even further into her clothes and onto her Pokéballs, which seemed to be the cleanest things on her.
An eye opened, revealing a hazel iris. Something had moved. Something nearby.
As quietly as she could, she immediately pulled herself in a position to crawl away. Not many people could be as alert as her upon waking, but it was a survival technique. Scratch that. A survival habit. She couldn't see anything, but that was even more disconcerting. An unseen enemy is not necessarily an imagined one. Something in her gut told her that she was facing the former. A trainer's instinct.
She moved away in an almost comical method known to trainers as scrinting. She kept her head lowered and her belly to the ground, using her four limbs to pull herself forward in a swift crawl. Her heart bouncing in her chest, she kicked off the ground, breaking rapidly into a sprint.
"Mean Look!"
Cutting short the crawling phase, she bounced into action, prepared to take off. A wise plan, were it not for the sudden immobilisation of her legs. She fell to the ground in an ungraceful, small arc. Instinctively, she reached for a Pokéball, but she found that her had could not move, either. Her eyes flickered, frantically searching for a solution. When she found none, she did the only thing she could: shout obscenities in the hope that some nearby trainer would come to rescue her.
A few seconds later, two dark figures emerged. One was a plump, short ball of purple fog with pointy ears and a mischievous grin on its face. "Gengar," it taunted.
The other dark figure was a hooded cloak dancing with the occupying body's calm movements forward. At first it seemed humorously Gothic to make the secret police dress in what were effectively Hallowe'en costumes. But the imagery was powerful, and it didn't take long for the aptly named Spectres to become embedded within the populace's mind as unstoppable monsters.
"What the hell did you do to my hands?"
The Mean Look attack explained why her legs failed when she tried to flee, but not why she found both her hands firmly rooted to the spot.
"Presumably you mean these ones?" It was hard to discern any kind of meaningful tone from the man. Partly because his voice seemed muffled by something, partly because it seemed devoid of emotion.
Involuntarily, her hands began to rise, and to prevent her shoulders from being pulled out of their sockets, the victim rose. She stood as quite a spectacle, her hands outstretched and high in the air, her body supported by her toes, and her lips twisting mildly with confusion. But not fear. Never fear.
There had been all kinds of rumours around the Torcran secret police having supernatural powers, but this trainer had dismissed them all as being fanciful and superstitious.
With ghost-like grace, the cloaked man stepped closer to the girl, and pulled back the right side of his outer cloak to reveal a sword. "Unless you feel like having your head roll into the river, I suggest that -"
Before he could finish what was shaping up to be an intimidating sentence, a sudden burst of wind knocked the man off his feet. The girl's hands were freed, and she collapsed, making a small thud as she struck the ground below.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a dark, four-winged bat dropped onto the man.
"Psychic," commanded the face inside the hood.
Gengar leapt upwards, raising its arms toward the diving Crobat. The Crobat was stopped mid-air and squealed in pain, its innards being twisted unnaturally. It flapped pathetically, squealing in agony, before Gengar finally tossed it to the ground. In a vicious, angry flip, it regained height and shot upwards.
"Air Cutter!"
Crobat's wings moved at blink-and-you-miss-it speed, mustering up another razor-sharp burst of wind. It was close: some air hit the ground, ripping up the grass below. But another portion of the attack sliced Gengar's legs, causing it to howl in pain as it collapsed to the ground.
Suddenly, the girl jumped at the cloaked man with a knife from her belt. He turned slightly, before sending her in a large, painful arc toward the ground, in the middle of the battlefield. Two loud cracking sounds emanated from her arms. Her vocal cords buzzed with rage, burning to unleash a scream. She jammed her teeth against her lip, concentrating all her will into resisting that urge.
In his short period of distraction, the cloaked figure didn't notice that Crobat had been ordered to use Heat Wave. As he turned his head, he saw the flashing wave of orange energy hurtling towards his legs. In a feeble attempt to escape he tried to jump to the left, releasing a piercing roar as he realised his failure. Scorching waves of painful energy spread immediately from his shins. Small drops of blood stained his cloak.
Breathing hard and ignoring the pain in her broken arms, the girl pushed one of her Pokéballs against the ground, and it sprung open. "Hydro Pump," she said weakly.
A Blastoise materialised and lowered its shoulder cannons. Distracted by the attack on his master, the Gengar was swallowed by the overwhelming stream of water. Before it even had time to verbally express its surprise, it was tossed thirty feet into the distance.
Out of the darkness emerged a man covered from head to toe in black, with his eyes in similarly dark goggles. He moved with incredible rapidity, leaping onto the cloak and sticking some object into the figure's neck. As he brought down his finger, the girl realised it was a syringe. Instantly, her assailant went limp.
Her rescuer recalled the Crobat and turned to the girl. "Who are you?"
"I could ask you the same bloody question! Who the hell kills a Spectre?" The strain of distress and confusion was evident in her whisper. As she said it, she recalled her Blastoise, not wanting to draw the attention of any more law enforcement.
"I didn't kill him, and he wasn't a Spectre. You had a far more dangerous kind of thing after you. Now, we don't have much time. Come with me."
"You've gotta be high."
The man leaned down. "You think you can just forget how he attacked you without using his hands? How he could make your body do things you didn't want it to do? And you think there aren't more?" He came in even closer. Had his mouth not been covered, the girl would have been able to feel his heavy breath against her forehead. "Either you come with me, or they'll torture you, take whatever it is they want from you, and kill you."
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