Virus - Chapter 1
I don't really remember how it started. I think they said it was a virus. Yeah, it was a virus that started with the Grimer and Muk. Those toxic bastards had the virus first. Yeah it was their fault. They spread it too. Everything they touched, be it other Pokemon or anything else got it too. At first there were only rare cases of mutation, but later, it happened widespread. Almost overnight every single Pokemon got the virus. Mass death and destruction ensued from their newfound mutations. The virus caused whatever Pokemon caught it to mutate. By mutation I mean growth, in size, strength, intelligence, rage, speed, and bloodlust. Yep, every Pokemon that caught the virus instantly became a killing machine. My name is Viper, I don't think it's my real name, but since I've been called it ever since I was born I've accepted it. I never actually met my parents; the mutant Pokemon killed them. A group of Growlithe with an Arcanine leader killed them if I remember correctly. I was raised by the leader of the New Hope; a group of the last human survivors that concentrate on killing off the mutants. Naturally I learned the combat and survival skills necessary to live and fight, but I still wish I'd been around when everything was peaceful. I do have a bit of a normal life though; well as normal as I can have in the middle of a war. The way we operate in New Hope is on a guerilla-type system. It's all we can do. Around ten soldiers are sent into the camps of the mutants to kill them off. Don't think for a minuet that it's that easy though. Hell no. Every mission has casualties, and I just live by the day because tomorrow I may be one of the casualties. Oh yeah, it may help to know what I look like. Well I'm about six foot two, and I'm quite thick for my height, probably because of the intense exercise and working out I receive all day every day. I have kind of long black hair with equally black eyes. I have a trench coat that I wear all of the time, since it's the only thing of my fathers that's left. My arsenal consists of three main weapons; an automatic double-barreled shotgun, an AK-47 (The old kind, not the new laser-injected bullets), and an old samurai sword that I was given by Ron. Ron is the leader of the New Hope, by the way. Aside from those weapons, all I have are a few .45s, and a few survival knives. Believe it or not, things aren't as bad as a few weeks ago. Right now I am in camp, but three weeks ago I was out there. I was out there in the jungles lost as I could be, and all alone.
"Viper! Help m*" He was cut short by a pair of razor-sharp pincers slicing his head in half like a melon. After him, the Kingler turned his attention to me. He scuffed his way over to me with incredible speed, barely giving me time to load my shotgun. I fired away, at pointblank range, but got nowhere. Six shots of lead sent straight into that oversized crab's body, and not a scratch. After this shock, I turned to the defensive. I hauled my ass out of there as fast as I could. Yeah, bravery got you nowhere in these situations. The Kingler was too fast though, and he soon cut me off at the exit of the beach. His gigantic body loomed over me like a tower, casting its fearsome shadow over me like a cold blanket. The thing rubbed its pincers together in an almost teasing manner, as it knew it had me. I had no choice but to fight. I resisted the urge of pissing myself and giving up only to drop my shotgun and reach for my sword. I got a firm grasp on the handle, and snatched it out, trying to hit the Kingler with my motion. The thing reared back, seeing the threat, and brought down its massive hammer of a claw on my coordinates. My sharpened reflexes allowed me to avoid it though, and follow up with a flurry of slashes from my sword. Unlike most swords this one was made of the newly discovered metal that coats Hawk Mountain. The metal is unbreakable. So, putting all I had into slash after slash, I finally managed to injure the thing. I detached a leg from its body, not that that says much, but it was a start. With a newfound sense of a possibility of victory, I persisted. I kept at the thing, cutting its body around the edges like a madman. It was futile though. I wasn't damaging the thing seriously. After enough pecking, the Kingler got really mad, and its mutant survival instinct kicked into full drive, sending it into a frenzied smashing attack. The thing was crushing the ground all around it, trying to hit me. I jumped, dodged, rolled, and flipped like crazy, using every last fiber of my being to avoid getting hit. But inevitably, after a bad landing, the pincer slapped into me like a speeding truck, and sent me flying across the beach. I skidded through the sand and shells, not even feeling the cuts I was receiving due to the tremendous pain I was feeling from that slap. I finally stopped, my coat with a huge rip in the shoulder, and a blood and sand stained scrape on my shoulder where the coat and my shirt were torn through. I couldn't feel my arm at all, as it took the full force of the strike. I squirmed a bit on the ground, trying hopelessly to get up, but to no avail. The Kingler made its way over to me, and raised its claw into the sky. The claw blocked out the sun's glare so I could see into the thing's eyes. I stared at it in a total deadlock and I promised myself that I would somehow live, and kill this thing. I wouldn't only kill it, no I would torture it in the most horrible way my creative mind could conjure. And thankfully, just as it was about to drop its claw, I saw one of out trucks drive up behind the giant crab, and send a C-4 coated shell through the things back. Naturally that thing exploded on impact, and along with it, the Kingler. Small fragments of shell, along with legs, eyes, and the giant pincer scattered about the area, smoking and oozing. I was splattered with a most undesirable combination of blood and internal juices. I couldn't care less though, I was alive, and one more mutant wasn't. With a bit of help from a few soldiers, I made my way to the truck, and started my journey back to camp. There I would rest, and rejuvenate, mentally and physically.
I don't really remember how it started. I think they said it was a virus. Yeah, it was a virus that started with the Grimer and Muk. Those toxic bastards had the virus first. Yeah it was their fault. They spread it too. Everything they touched, be it other Pokemon or anything else got it too. At first there were only rare cases of mutation, but later, it happened widespread. Almost overnight every single Pokemon got the virus. Mass death and destruction ensued from their newfound mutations. The virus caused whatever Pokemon caught it to mutate. By mutation I mean growth, in size, strength, intelligence, rage, speed, and bloodlust. Yep, every Pokemon that caught the virus instantly became a killing machine. My name is Viper, I don't think it's my real name, but since I've been called it ever since I was born I've accepted it. I never actually met my parents; the mutant Pokemon killed them. A group of Growlithe with an Arcanine leader killed them if I remember correctly. I was raised by the leader of the New Hope; a group of the last human survivors that concentrate on killing off the mutants. Naturally I learned the combat and survival skills necessary to live and fight, but I still wish I'd been around when everything was peaceful. I do have a bit of a normal life though; well as normal as I can have in the middle of a war. The way we operate in New Hope is on a guerilla-type system. It's all we can do. Around ten soldiers are sent into the camps of the mutants to kill them off. Don't think for a minuet that it's that easy though. Hell no. Every mission has casualties, and I just live by the day because tomorrow I may be one of the casualties. Oh yeah, it may help to know what I look like. Well I'm about six foot two, and I'm quite thick for my height, probably because of the intense exercise and working out I receive all day every day. I have kind of long black hair with equally black eyes. I have a trench coat that I wear all of the time, since it's the only thing of my fathers that's left. My arsenal consists of three main weapons; an automatic double-barreled shotgun, an AK-47 (The old kind, not the new laser-injected bullets), and an old samurai sword that I was given by Ron. Ron is the leader of the New Hope, by the way. Aside from those weapons, all I have are a few .45s, and a few survival knives. Believe it or not, things aren't as bad as a few weeks ago. Right now I am in camp, but three weeks ago I was out there. I was out there in the jungles lost as I could be, and all alone.
"Viper! Help m*" He was cut short by a pair of razor-sharp pincers slicing his head in half like a melon. After him, the Kingler turned his attention to me. He scuffed his way over to me with incredible speed, barely giving me time to load my shotgun. I fired away, at pointblank range, but got nowhere. Six shots of lead sent straight into that oversized crab's body, and not a scratch. After this shock, I turned to the defensive. I hauled my ass out of there as fast as I could. Yeah, bravery got you nowhere in these situations. The Kingler was too fast though, and he soon cut me off at the exit of the beach. His gigantic body loomed over me like a tower, casting its fearsome shadow over me like a cold blanket. The thing rubbed its pincers together in an almost teasing manner, as it knew it had me. I had no choice but to fight. I resisted the urge of pissing myself and giving up only to drop my shotgun and reach for my sword. I got a firm grasp on the handle, and snatched it out, trying to hit the Kingler with my motion. The thing reared back, seeing the threat, and brought down its massive hammer of a claw on my coordinates. My sharpened reflexes allowed me to avoid it though, and follow up with a flurry of slashes from my sword. Unlike most swords this one was made of the newly discovered metal that coats Hawk Mountain. The metal is unbreakable. So, putting all I had into slash after slash, I finally managed to injure the thing. I detached a leg from its body, not that that says much, but it was a start. With a newfound sense of a possibility of victory, I persisted. I kept at the thing, cutting its body around the edges like a madman. It was futile though. I wasn't damaging the thing seriously. After enough pecking, the Kingler got really mad, and its mutant survival instinct kicked into full drive, sending it into a frenzied smashing attack. The thing was crushing the ground all around it, trying to hit me. I jumped, dodged, rolled, and flipped like crazy, using every last fiber of my being to avoid getting hit. But inevitably, after a bad landing, the pincer slapped into me like a speeding truck, and sent me flying across the beach. I skidded through the sand and shells, not even feeling the cuts I was receiving due to the tremendous pain I was feeling from that slap. I finally stopped, my coat with a huge rip in the shoulder, and a blood and sand stained scrape on my shoulder where the coat and my shirt were torn through. I couldn't feel my arm at all, as it took the full force of the strike. I squirmed a bit on the ground, trying hopelessly to get up, but to no avail. The Kingler made its way over to me, and raised its claw into the sky. The claw blocked out the sun's glare so I could see into the thing's eyes. I stared at it in a total deadlock and I promised myself that I would somehow live, and kill this thing. I wouldn't only kill it, no I would torture it in the most horrible way my creative mind could conjure. And thankfully, just as it was about to drop its claw, I saw one of out trucks drive up behind the giant crab, and send a C-4 coated shell through the things back. Naturally that thing exploded on impact, and along with it, the Kingler. Small fragments of shell, along with legs, eyes, and the giant pincer scattered about the area, smoking and oozing. I was splattered with a most undesirable combination of blood and internal juices. I couldn't care less though, I was alive, and one more mutant wasn't. With a bit of help from a few soldiers, I made my way to the truck, and started my journey back to camp. There I would rest, and rejuvenate, mentally and physically.