Synopsis: Although the balance was disrupted decades ago, some scattered remnants of the digital world, and the digimon who inhabited it, still persist in a state of half-existence; the digidestined live on in the real world, and are able to 'connect' to these disembodied forces.
This story is slow starting, but picks up a few chapters in. If you consider yourself an intelligent reader/writer, don't quit reading just because you're initially bored, or you don't see digimon digivolving all over the place. Only stop reading because you're hungry or your computer explodes or you detest my writing style or have something better to do. Is that so much to ask....? The 'R' rating is for language, and possible sexual content--not explicit, of course, but I chose 'R' because I wanted to keep my options open. Also, the story alternates POVs. When POV changes, the name of the person is ensconced by double-hyphens, i.e. '--John--'. More POVs in later chapters I hope.
Chapter One
--Evan--
The young man took some time before he chose to break eye contact with the reflection that shone inside the smudged thick plastic window of the railcar.
As he forced his gaze away and over his fellow subway passengers, his mind's eye held contact with that reflection, and knew it well....
Youthful looks were one of many deceptions. A thin grey-lined spring jacket outlined a medium frame with slender yet defined shoulders; his left hand was tucked into one of the many compartments of his khaki pants, while his right hand served to grasp the overhead pole and reinforce his steadiness.
Lost in his introspection, he might not have noticed his stop if not for the silent feeling of anticipation held by many of the passengers.
Immediately, he released his grip on the pole and grabbed the strap of his duffel bag before easing his way out the sliding doors of the railcar and onto the subway platform.
Men, women, and children--less of the latter this time of night--shuffled back and forth through, within, over and across various turnstiles, elevators, escalators, and staircases.
Even three hours after midnight, the interstate railcar network was overcrowded. The young man threaded his way across the platform, up two flights of stairs, and through one turnstile before emerging onto the well-lit streets of Siojaton City.
With his bag still in his right hand, he hailed a taxi with his left; half a minute later, he shuffled into the back seat of the cab.
"Where to, sir?" the driver asked. The young man--whose name was Evan, if it matters--responded evenly, in a clear American accent. "Holiday Inn." The man at the wheel queried, "East Side or North Side?" and was met with a quick reply. "The East Side."
For the next twenty minutes the young man made himself comfortable in the leather interior of the taxi and took the time to stare out the window and think of nothing but what he saw: the darkness of the night.
At several intervals, the cabbie attempted to engineer idle conversation despite his limited English vocabulary, but was hindered by the young man's distant and terse responses.
Eventually the cab pulled to the side of the road next to the hotel and the young man stepped out.
The cabbie had judged the young man to be ignorant to the ways of the local currencies and so overcharged him a slight amount, but the young man didn't mind; he allowed the overcharge on account of the fact that the taxi driver did support three children, and would likely use the extra cash honorably.
The young man stepped into the hotel and walked up to the attendant. She hailed him in English and was effectively communicative; less than two minutes later, he'd been granted his roomkey.
He took the stairs up four flights and entered room #417. He unpacked his bag; he'd be staying here at least a few weeks. Until he knew for sure he'd settled things appropriately with the local children.
As the young man lounged upon the queen-sized bed, he realized that now that he'd ended his travels for a time, he'd have a name; at that moment, he began to think of himself by name again.
He had just unzipped his jacket and was about to hang it up when his cellular telephone rang. He quickly withdrew it and flipped it on, setting it to his ear. "Yeah, I'm here," he said into the phone.
There was a good-natured laugh on the end of the other line. It was a smooth and carefree voice. The voice said, "You'd better hope I don't ask if you've arrived at your hotel yet, because then you'll have nothing to say."
For half a second, Evan allowed himself a tiny smile, before responding in turn. "Same time tomorrow? Three in the afternoon?" As he spoke he felt as though he could see her nodding on the other end. All she said was, "Of course. And you're still sure you want to handle this on your own?"
His face shifted back to its usual frown. "Why wouldn't I be? The initiation should be fairly straightforward. I can handle half a dozen kids."
A few seconds passed during which he could hear only her light breathing on the other end of the line. He knew she was trying to feel him, connect.
Finally, she said, "I hope you're not holding this too lightly, Evan. It certainly will mean a lot more to them than it could to anyone else." Another pause, and then, "They can't be digides...." she cut herself off. "....what they should be. You know things aren't the way they should be."
His response was immediate. "I know. Amelia...." He let in a brief pause, and almost said something to her, but he cut himself short. He finished the sentiment with a single word. "Whatever." Evan hung up.
The young man disrobed and slipped under the covers of his bed. All was silent, but he could not sleep. Eventually exhaustion quieted his thoughts, however, and his eyelids slipped closed before the clock struck five.
By the time the first rays of dawn found their way across the streets of Siojaton City, he had fallen deeply asleep.
This story is slow starting, but picks up a few chapters in. If you consider yourself an intelligent reader/writer, don't quit reading just because you're initially bored, or you don't see digimon digivolving all over the place. Only stop reading because you're hungry or your computer explodes or you detest my writing style or have something better to do. Is that so much to ask....? The 'R' rating is for language, and possible sexual content--not explicit, of course, but I chose 'R' because I wanted to keep my options open. Also, the story alternates POVs. When POV changes, the name of the person is ensconced by double-hyphens, i.e. '--John--'. More POVs in later chapters I hope.
Chapter One
--Evan--
The young man took some time before he chose to break eye contact with the reflection that shone inside the smudged thick plastic window of the railcar.
As he forced his gaze away and over his fellow subway passengers, his mind's eye held contact with that reflection, and knew it well....
Youthful looks were one of many deceptions. A thin grey-lined spring jacket outlined a medium frame with slender yet defined shoulders; his left hand was tucked into one of the many compartments of his khaki pants, while his right hand served to grasp the overhead pole and reinforce his steadiness.
Lost in his introspection, he might not have noticed his stop if not for the silent feeling of anticipation held by many of the passengers.
Immediately, he released his grip on the pole and grabbed the strap of his duffel bag before easing his way out the sliding doors of the railcar and onto the subway platform.
Men, women, and children--less of the latter this time of night--shuffled back and forth through, within, over and across various turnstiles, elevators, escalators, and staircases.
Even three hours after midnight, the interstate railcar network was overcrowded. The young man threaded his way across the platform, up two flights of stairs, and through one turnstile before emerging onto the well-lit streets of Siojaton City.
With his bag still in his right hand, he hailed a taxi with his left; half a minute later, he shuffled into the back seat of the cab.
"Where to, sir?" the driver asked. The young man--whose name was Evan, if it matters--responded evenly, in a clear American accent. "Holiday Inn." The man at the wheel queried, "East Side or North Side?" and was met with a quick reply. "The East Side."
For the next twenty minutes the young man made himself comfortable in the leather interior of the taxi and took the time to stare out the window and think of nothing but what he saw: the darkness of the night.
At several intervals, the cabbie attempted to engineer idle conversation despite his limited English vocabulary, but was hindered by the young man's distant and terse responses.
Eventually the cab pulled to the side of the road next to the hotel and the young man stepped out.
The cabbie had judged the young man to be ignorant to the ways of the local currencies and so overcharged him a slight amount, but the young man didn't mind; he allowed the overcharge on account of the fact that the taxi driver did support three children, and would likely use the extra cash honorably.
The young man stepped into the hotel and walked up to the attendant. She hailed him in English and was effectively communicative; less than two minutes later, he'd been granted his roomkey.
He took the stairs up four flights and entered room #417. He unpacked his bag; he'd be staying here at least a few weeks. Until he knew for sure he'd settled things appropriately with the local children.
As the young man lounged upon the queen-sized bed, he realized that now that he'd ended his travels for a time, he'd have a name; at that moment, he began to think of himself by name again.
He had just unzipped his jacket and was about to hang it up when his cellular telephone rang. He quickly withdrew it and flipped it on, setting it to his ear. "Yeah, I'm here," he said into the phone.
There was a good-natured laugh on the end of the other line. It was a smooth and carefree voice. The voice said, "You'd better hope I don't ask if you've arrived at your hotel yet, because then you'll have nothing to say."
For half a second, Evan allowed himself a tiny smile, before responding in turn. "Same time tomorrow? Three in the afternoon?" As he spoke he felt as though he could see her nodding on the other end. All she said was, "Of course. And you're still sure you want to handle this on your own?"
His face shifted back to its usual frown. "Why wouldn't I be? The initiation should be fairly straightforward. I can handle half a dozen kids."
A few seconds passed during which he could hear only her light breathing on the other end of the line. He knew she was trying to feel him, connect.
Finally, she said, "I hope you're not holding this too lightly, Evan. It certainly will mean a lot more to them than it could to anyone else." Another pause, and then, "They can't be digides...." she cut herself off. "....what they should be. You know things aren't the way they should be."
His response was immediate. "I know. Amelia...." He let in a brief pause, and almost said something to her, but he cut himself short. He finished the sentiment with a single word. "Whatever." Evan hung up.
The young man disrobed and slipped under the covers of his bed. All was silent, but he could not sleep. Eventually exhaustion quieted his thoughts, however, and his eyelids slipped closed before the clock struck five.
By the time the first rays of dawn found their way across the streets of Siojaton City, he had fallen deeply asleep.