Hey, I could really use more reviews here. And thanks, AAMF, I
haven't made that decision but. . . well, read for yourself.
SHADOWS (PART 2)
Darkness. The cry of the Noctowl echoed through the forest. Oddish danced about, spreading their spores around for posterity. Night. The time when a man realizes just how weak he truly is. After so much time in the jungle, he had learned to love the inky blackness of the night. He licked the blood on his razor-hands. A good kill today, the first of many to come. He had to do it. The had left him. Discarded him like he was nothing more than garbage. Therefore, they must die. The creature of darkness watched the man whom he had once fought with get into a jeep. "Fool," he thought. "I have you now. And soon, you and the people who left me, who abandoned me, will meet the sting of death. And then you will know true pain."
He let out a scream of vengeance, and charged the jeep.
Four hours later, Ash Ketchum stared silently as the news was updated to him on his computer. A friend of Penn, a Commander James McGreevey, had been killed by whatever it was that killed Penn. He gulped, and had to turn away to stop himself from vomiting. Another brutal murder at the hands of a Pokemon. His video-phone started ringing in that annoying Pidgey voice, interrupting his thoughts. He picked it up. "Ketchum," he said drearily. "Ash?" The smooth, melodic voice of his wife came back to comfort him. She saw the dazed looked on his face. "Honey, are you all right? What's wrong?"
"Y-yes, dear. It's just that. . .there was another murder last night. The one I sent Trent on. An entire military squad was killed, their entire bodies just. . .slashed open." His wife covered her mouth and gasped. "Will Mr. Williams be all right?" Ash smiled. "Let's just say that he doesn't let much get to him these days." "I don't understand." He sighed. "Well, Trent prefers to keep this a secret. . .but when he was eighteen, he also wanted to become a Pokemon Master. He went around Kanto, and somewhere along the line he met a girl, and they fell in love and said that when they'd get to the Indigo Plateau, they'd beat the conference and the Elite Four and become certified Pokemon Masters. . .and then get married."
Ash then looked away from his wife. "It never happened. She died the day he got his Earth Badge. She was hit by a drunk driver in Viridian City."
His wife's beautiful complexion became gray. "Oh, that's awful! Poor Trent."
Ash sighed again, more deeply this time. "Trent was really devastated. He gave up on his dream. He won't battle anymore. He nearly flunked out of college. Everyone said he had the potential to be a great Master, that he should focus on training and not studying. But he rejected the idea. He said it only reminded him of his fiancee.
"He's only half the man he used to be, honey. He smokes, he drinks, and he doesn't consider Pokemon to be friends. He just can't love anyone anymore. He just works for me because it helps him get the rage out. Tracking down criminals and murderers is his way of making up for what he could have been."
His wife stared back at him sadly. "That poor man. . .I didn't know."
"Nobody does, really. But it's just as well. Sometimes you need a dark attitude to catch a dark criminal."
AZURE MILITARY BASE, NOVEMBER 17TH , 6:58 PM
Trent puffed idly on his cigarette, hands deep in his trench-coat, observing the slaughter before him. Five men. Three Pokemon. Killed instantly. There was no sign of a struggle. Whoever did this had managed to ambush eight members of one of the best military unit in the continent.
It did not make sense.
This fellow was James McGreevey, one of the allies of poor Penn, who had been murdered by the same Pokemon earlier. Someone had a grudge against the 181st battalion. The other members had to be protected.
Trent was about to turn away to tell him to boost security, when a glint in on the men's wounds caught his eyes. Donning a pair of latex gloves, he pulled the strange object from the man's chest wound.
It was transparent, paper thin, and covered in what seemed like scales. It was a wing. Trent's mind raced furiously, and the answer came as if a light switch had been flipped on in his head. He took out his Pokedex.
"Analyze," he commanded.
The Pokedex chimed and scanned the wing. After four minutes, the data came back. It replied in a deep mechanical voice:
"Pokemon entry found. Fragment DNA scan complete. Analysis: Scyther."
The image of a green mantis-like creature filled his screen. Those blades. . .the perfect murder weapon. Trent closed the Pokedex. The gears in his head began moving. A Scyther. Whose? Why?
No time for questions he didn't have the answer to. Time for a decision. He took out his cell phone and dialed up the commander's office. "Commander Piett, sir?"
"Yes, this is him."
"Sir," said Trent, continuing to examine the Scyther wing, "I have a lead. But I need information. Has anyone in the 181st battalion ever had a Scyther?"
Piett made no response. Was the line dead? "Sir.Commander Piett?"
"Ur. . .no, young man," came the shaky reply. "My, uh, men have never had a Scyther in the 181st."
"Have there ever been reports of death by Scyther during the war?"
"No, Mr. Williams. I, ur, I'm very busy so please hurry."
Trent nodded. "Very well. I'll continue my investigation and update you on what I find. Don't worry, sir. I'll find him."
Piett hung up the phone, his face pale and shaking.
"He was dead," he murmured. "We saw him. It just couldn't be." His hand reached down into the bottom drawer of his desk. Some liquor ought to calm him down. He didn't stop at one glass. Or at two.
When his shaking finally was subdued by his inebriated nerves some hours later, after his companions had gone to their quarters for the night and he was alone, he stumbled like a blind man to get to his own quarters. He kept wiping the alcohol off his chin and muttering constantly in one sentence "he's dead I know he's dead we saw him die it has to be true he cant come back the dead stay dead."
He was about to exit his office. . .
Then he heard it. Panic seized his heart. He turned around. "Who's there?" he stammered. The only movement was the moonlight glistening over his desk through his window. Piett gulped loudly and gripped his liquor bottle hard as a makeshift weapon.
"Who-whoever's in here! You are in trespassing on military property! Exit the-" His stammer was cut off by a sudden bow to his neck. His throat was crushed, and he fell to the ground vomiting blood. His voice became a wheeze. He tried to yell for security, but his voice was gone. Spots danced in his vision as he lay crumpled on the floor.
Then he was hoisted to his feet by his collar. And he stared into the eyes of the Pokemon who was no longer a Pokemon. The Scyther in front of him barred his teeth and let out a low growl.
Piett managed to find his voice. He could feel the life flowing out of him and knew if he didn't act soon, he would die. And this Scyther, once his ally, who wanted to kill him, was his only hope. His vision began to fade.
"I. . .I didn't know!" he whispered. "Don't kill me!"
The Scyther licked his lips hungrily. Pure rage filled his eyes. A rage that cannot be sated, even by murder. The blind rage of a Pokemon who had been betrayed, and every day for three decades has been waiting this day.
He struck.
2:04 AM
Another death in the 181st. Piett had been found two hours ago with the life slashed out of him. Trent felt like slapping himself across the face. He paced around Piett's office, studying the blood pattern, the vicious claw marks on the door, and the corpse being wheeled away. He could hear the anguished sobs of his widow in the hallway. He should have seen this coming. . .
But he had learned long ago that it was foolish to mourn the past.
"Until this matter is settled," he told the police, "I have been put in charge of taking the remaining members of the 181st battalion into a secure location." The surviving men of the 181st had been called together to discuss the murder wave going through them. Most were men over age sixty, some in wheelchairs, others hanging on to life my a thread, a thread that could break too easily.
Trent regarded them. Not only heroes, but victims. Even in victory, they met defeat. He knew how they felt. Sort of.
"Where will you be taking them?" the commissioner asked him.
Trent puffed on his cigarette intensely as if the nicotine would soothe his nerves and anger, not bothering to even face the commissioner. "Dunsparce Ridge. It's a long way from here. We have a cabin in the forest there and we'll keep the veterans there until we find the perpetrator." Satisfied, the commissioner walked away to tell his superiors.
But deep in his heart Trent knew. He could not fool himself. That Scyther had managed to ambush a military jeep, an armored car, and even got past the tightest military security in all of Kanto. Hell, the Scyther was probably watching him. Now. His stomach felt like it did a somersault. Trent gripped one of his Pokeballs uneasily. "Get ready boys," he murmured. "We got a long night ahead of us." He would need a lot of cigarettes tonight.
From his perch in the trees, camouflaged among the green leaves that were slowly changing with the fall season, he watched. He watched the man in brown organize the traitors into a neat pack and load them into a van. He smiled. The man in brown reminded him of his clan leader back in the Safari Zone. A strong presence, ready to lead, and keeping the peace. He rubbed his blades together expectantly. Ah, a challenge. Much better than these pitiful fools that he was killing. Their blood was weak, but this man had strong blood. He could smell it. The man in brown would prove to be a formidable adversary indeed. He would taste blood again soon. That thought comforted him as he began to follow the van into the wilderness.
11:19 PM
Trent stared out the cabin window. He couldn't see beyond five feet. The moon above glowed a pure white. High above came the call of Pidgeotto and Zubat Behind them watching the TV silently, the remaining five men of the 181st sat pallid, white as a Persian's fur, looking out the window for any telltale signs of entry.
Trent turned away from them. It would not help to see him worried as well. Somewhere out there a Scyther lurked. Working for someone, perhaps? Or working alone?
He watched his Golbat flutter by the window, patrolling the area. Using his supersonic, Golbat could trace anyone coming within 20 feet of the cabin. Golbat would begin screeching if anyone came close.
But this Scyther is no ordinary one. It evaded military scanners. What about Golbat? Best not to think about that. Trent paced the room and had a shot of brandy for what must have been the fifth time that night. Finally, in order to get something off his chest, he called one of the men to him. H ewas a balding, thin man, one of the more healthier of the group.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Lt. James Gavin," the veteran replied.
Trent gazed steadily into the man's eyes. "Lieutenant, I feel people have been hiding the truth from me. I hate conspiracies. I mean, really, really, really hate them. I don't like being put in the dark." Trent began talking through his teeth and his eyes turned into dark slashes.
"So let's be reasonable, huh? You tell me what you know about Scyther?"
Gavin's eyes grew large. "I-I'm sorry-I don't know-"
"You," Trent growled, "are the fifth person who has acted like a five- year-old with stage fright in the school play every time I mention that damn Scyther." He grabbed the man's shoulder and squeezed it hard. "Now you tell me what's going on . . .before I get angry. Because you wouldn't like me when I'm angry."
Gavin was livid, and he sputtered, "you can't speak this way to me! How dare you! I am a distinguished-"
"I don't give a Rattta's ass who you are. This is my game and my rules. You lose, you die." Trent pressed his face up to Gavin's so their noses were a centimeter apart. "I can do things to you that will make you beg for that Scyther to rip your lungs out. Or your spleen. 'Cause that's what he'll do. He'll-"
"Enough!" Gavin cried. "I-I'm sorry. The commander told me not to say anything." His voice became a whisper. "Please don't tell anyone I told you this. . .in the Vietnam War we had a Scyther in the 181st. Men always carried them around to hack through the jungles. They were fast enough to kill enemies."
Gavin's eyes stared at the ground. He swallowed, then continued. "Our Scyther had been," he paused as if to find the right word, "modified."
"How do you mean?"
"We. . .altered its DNA structure. We put in Kecleon genes."
"What for?"
Then it hit Trent like a sack of bricks. Kecleon were camouflage Pokemon. And apparently, so was this super-Scyther-lab-rat. "A perfect weapon," said Gavin meekly. "If word ever got out to the press that we were doing this to Pokemon, we'd be arrested for sure. But we managed to smuggle it into the war and it did us some good. The 181st became the most feared weapon of the Viet Cong.
"Then one day. . .we were ambushed. We ran and we ran. . .and we swear to God. . .Scyther was killed. We saw him get hit by a bullet and go down. So we left him. We had to!" Desperation flittered in Gavin's eyes. He looked at Trent with fear, more fear than any war could ever bring. "Why would he do this?" he whispered. "Why would our friends do this?"
Trent wanted to reply that Pokemon were not friends, but stopped himself. He conjured up all he had learned about Scyther at Pokemon Tech. "It's because he felt betrayed. You left him to die. Scyther clans everywhere see abandonment as a high blasphemy. And when a Scyther abandons another Scyther, the clan decrees the punishment is death."
Gavin looked at Trent as of he had grown an extra head. "Death? But it--"
He never got any further.
There was a hissing noise outside that stopped Trent's heart cold. Then the lights went out, and the cabin was plunged into pitch black darkness. His right hand clasped onto the first Pokeball he could find, and the left reached for his gun. Sweat dripped down his face, but he kept his cool. Behind him, he could hear Gavin murmur, "it's here."
TO BE CONCLUDED. . .
SHADOWS (PART 2)
Darkness. The cry of the Noctowl echoed through the forest. Oddish danced about, spreading their spores around for posterity. Night. The time when a man realizes just how weak he truly is. After so much time in the jungle, he had learned to love the inky blackness of the night. He licked the blood on his razor-hands. A good kill today, the first of many to come. He had to do it. The had left him. Discarded him like he was nothing more than garbage. Therefore, they must die. The creature of darkness watched the man whom he had once fought with get into a jeep. "Fool," he thought. "I have you now. And soon, you and the people who left me, who abandoned me, will meet the sting of death. And then you will know true pain."
He let out a scream of vengeance, and charged the jeep.
Four hours later, Ash Ketchum stared silently as the news was updated to him on his computer. A friend of Penn, a Commander James McGreevey, had been killed by whatever it was that killed Penn. He gulped, and had to turn away to stop himself from vomiting. Another brutal murder at the hands of a Pokemon. His video-phone started ringing in that annoying Pidgey voice, interrupting his thoughts. He picked it up. "Ketchum," he said drearily. "Ash?" The smooth, melodic voice of his wife came back to comfort him. She saw the dazed looked on his face. "Honey, are you all right? What's wrong?"
"Y-yes, dear. It's just that. . .there was another murder last night. The one I sent Trent on. An entire military squad was killed, their entire bodies just. . .slashed open." His wife covered her mouth and gasped. "Will Mr. Williams be all right?" Ash smiled. "Let's just say that he doesn't let much get to him these days." "I don't understand." He sighed. "Well, Trent prefers to keep this a secret. . .but when he was eighteen, he also wanted to become a Pokemon Master. He went around Kanto, and somewhere along the line he met a girl, and they fell in love and said that when they'd get to the Indigo Plateau, they'd beat the conference and the Elite Four and become certified Pokemon Masters. . .and then get married."
Ash then looked away from his wife. "It never happened. She died the day he got his Earth Badge. She was hit by a drunk driver in Viridian City."
His wife's beautiful complexion became gray. "Oh, that's awful! Poor Trent."
Ash sighed again, more deeply this time. "Trent was really devastated. He gave up on his dream. He won't battle anymore. He nearly flunked out of college. Everyone said he had the potential to be a great Master, that he should focus on training and not studying. But he rejected the idea. He said it only reminded him of his fiancee.
"He's only half the man he used to be, honey. He smokes, he drinks, and he doesn't consider Pokemon to be friends. He just can't love anyone anymore. He just works for me because it helps him get the rage out. Tracking down criminals and murderers is his way of making up for what he could have been."
His wife stared back at him sadly. "That poor man. . .I didn't know."
"Nobody does, really. But it's just as well. Sometimes you need a dark attitude to catch a dark criminal."
AZURE MILITARY BASE, NOVEMBER 17TH , 6:58 PM
Trent puffed idly on his cigarette, hands deep in his trench-coat, observing the slaughter before him. Five men. Three Pokemon. Killed instantly. There was no sign of a struggle. Whoever did this had managed to ambush eight members of one of the best military unit in the continent.
It did not make sense.
This fellow was James McGreevey, one of the allies of poor Penn, who had been murdered by the same Pokemon earlier. Someone had a grudge against the 181st battalion. The other members had to be protected.
Trent was about to turn away to tell him to boost security, when a glint in on the men's wounds caught his eyes. Donning a pair of latex gloves, he pulled the strange object from the man's chest wound.
It was transparent, paper thin, and covered in what seemed like scales. It was a wing. Trent's mind raced furiously, and the answer came as if a light switch had been flipped on in his head. He took out his Pokedex.
"Analyze," he commanded.
The Pokedex chimed and scanned the wing. After four minutes, the data came back. It replied in a deep mechanical voice:
"Pokemon entry found. Fragment DNA scan complete. Analysis: Scyther."
The image of a green mantis-like creature filled his screen. Those blades. . .the perfect murder weapon. Trent closed the Pokedex. The gears in his head began moving. A Scyther. Whose? Why?
No time for questions he didn't have the answer to. Time for a decision. He took out his cell phone and dialed up the commander's office. "Commander Piett, sir?"
"Yes, this is him."
"Sir," said Trent, continuing to examine the Scyther wing, "I have a lead. But I need information. Has anyone in the 181st battalion ever had a Scyther?"
Piett made no response. Was the line dead? "Sir.Commander Piett?"
"Ur. . .no, young man," came the shaky reply. "My, uh, men have never had a Scyther in the 181st."
"Have there ever been reports of death by Scyther during the war?"
"No, Mr. Williams. I, ur, I'm very busy so please hurry."
Trent nodded. "Very well. I'll continue my investigation and update you on what I find. Don't worry, sir. I'll find him."
Piett hung up the phone, his face pale and shaking.
"He was dead," he murmured. "We saw him. It just couldn't be." His hand reached down into the bottom drawer of his desk. Some liquor ought to calm him down. He didn't stop at one glass. Or at two.
When his shaking finally was subdued by his inebriated nerves some hours later, after his companions had gone to their quarters for the night and he was alone, he stumbled like a blind man to get to his own quarters. He kept wiping the alcohol off his chin and muttering constantly in one sentence "he's dead I know he's dead we saw him die it has to be true he cant come back the dead stay dead."
He was about to exit his office. . .
Then he heard it. Panic seized his heart. He turned around. "Who's there?" he stammered. The only movement was the moonlight glistening over his desk through his window. Piett gulped loudly and gripped his liquor bottle hard as a makeshift weapon.
"Who-whoever's in here! You are in trespassing on military property! Exit the-" His stammer was cut off by a sudden bow to his neck. His throat was crushed, and he fell to the ground vomiting blood. His voice became a wheeze. He tried to yell for security, but his voice was gone. Spots danced in his vision as he lay crumpled on the floor.
Then he was hoisted to his feet by his collar. And he stared into the eyes of the Pokemon who was no longer a Pokemon. The Scyther in front of him barred his teeth and let out a low growl.
Piett managed to find his voice. He could feel the life flowing out of him and knew if he didn't act soon, he would die. And this Scyther, once his ally, who wanted to kill him, was his only hope. His vision began to fade.
"I. . .I didn't know!" he whispered. "Don't kill me!"
The Scyther licked his lips hungrily. Pure rage filled his eyes. A rage that cannot be sated, even by murder. The blind rage of a Pokemon who had been betrayed, and every day for three decades has been waiting this day.
He struck.
2:04 AM
Another death in the 181st. Piett had been found two hours ago with the life slashed out of him. Trent felt like slapping himself across the face. He paced around Piett's office, studying the blood pattern, the vicious claw marks on the door, and the corpse being wheeled away. He could hear the anguished sobs of his widow in the hallway. He should have seen this coming. . .
But he had learned long ago that it was foolish to mourn the past.
"Until this matter is settled," he told the police, "I have been put in charge of taking the remaining members of the 181st battalion into a secure location." The surviving men of the 181st had been called together to discuss the murder wave going through them. Most were men over age sixty, some in wheelchairs, others hanging on to life my a thread, a thread that could break too easily.
Trent regarded them. Not only heroes, but victims. Even in victory, they met defeat. He knew how they felt. Sort of.
"Where will you be taking them?" the commissioner asked him.
Trent puffed on his cigarette intensely as if the nicotine would soothe his nerves and anger, not bothering to even face the commissioner. "Dunsparce Ridge. It's a long way from here. We have a cabin in the forest there and we'll keep the veterans there until we find the perpetrator." Satisfied, the commissioner walked away to tell his superiors.
But deep in his heart Trent knew. He could not fool himself. That Scyther had managed to ambush a military jeep, an armored car, and even got past the tightest military security in all of Kanto. Hell, the Scyther was probably watching him. Now. His stomach felt like it did a somersault. Trent gripped one of his Pokeballs uneasily. "Get ready boys," he murmured. "We got a long night ahead of us." He would need a lot of cigarettes tonight.
From his perch in the trees, camouflaged among the green leaves that were slowly changing with the fall season, he watched. He watched the man in brown organize the traitors into a neat pack and load them into a van. He smiled. The man in brown reminded him of his clan leader back in the Safari Zone. A strong presence, ready to lead, and keeping the peace. He rubbed his blades together expectantly. Ah, a challenge. Much better than these pitiful fools that he was killing. Their blood was weak, but this man had strong blood. He could smell it. The man in brown would prove to be a formidable adversary indeed. He would taste blood again soon. That thought comforted him as he began to follow the van into the wilderness.
11:19 PM
Trent stared out the cabin window. He couldn't see beyond five feet. The moon above glowed a pure white. High above came the call of Pidgeotto and Zubat Behind them watching the TV silently, the remaining five men of the 181st sat pallid, white as a Persian's fur, looking out the window for any telltale signs of entry.
Trent turned away from them. It would not help to see him worried as well. Somewhere out there a Scyther lurked. Working for someone, perhaps? Or working alone?
He watched his Golbat flutter by the window, patrolling the area. Using his supersonic, Golbat could trace anyone coming within 20 feet of the cabin. Golbat would begin screeching if anyone came close.
But this Scyther is no ordinary one. It evaded military scanners. What about Golbat? Best not to think about that. Trent paced the room and had a shot of brandy for what must have been the fifth time that night. Finally, in order to get something off his chest, he called one of the men to him. H ewas a balding, thin man, one of the more healthier of the group.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Lt. James Gavin," the veteran replied.
Trent gazed steadily into the man's eyes. "Lieutenant, I feel people have been hiding the truth from me. I hate conspiracies. I mean, really, really, really hate them. I don't like being put in the dark." Trent began talking through his teeth and his eyes turned into dark slashes.
"So let's be reasonable, huh? You tell me what you know about Scyther?"
Gavin's eyes grew large. "I-I'm sorry-I don't know-"
"You," Trent growled, "are the fifth person who has acted like a five- year-old with stage fright in the school play every time I mention that damn Scyther." He grabbed the man's shoulder and squeezed it hard. "Now you tell me what's going on . . .before I get angry. Because you wouldn't like me when I'm angry."
Gavin was livid, and he sputtered, "you can't speak this way to me! How dare you! I am a distinguished-"
"I don't give a Rattta's ass who you are. This is my game and my rules. You lose, you die." Trent pressed his face up to Gavin's so their noses were a centimeter apart. "I can do things to you that will make you beg for that Scyther to rip your lungs out. Or your spleen. 'Cause that's what he'll do. He'll-"
"Enough!" Gavin cried. "I-I'm sorry. The commander told me not to say anything." His voice became a whisper. "Please don't tell anyone I told you this. . .in the Vietnam War we had a Scyther in the 181st. Men always carried them around to hack through the jungles. They were fast enough to kill enemies."
Gavin's eyes stared at the ground. He swallowed, then continued. "Our Scyther had been," he paused as if to find the right word, "modified."
"How do you mean?"
"We. . .altered its DNA structure. We put in Kecleon genes."
"What for?"
Then it hit Trent like a sack of bricks. Kecleon were camouflage Pokemon. And apparently, so was this super-Scyther-lab-rat. "A perfect weapon," said Gavin meekly. "If word ever got out to the press that we were doing this to Pokemon, we'd be arrested for sure. But we managed to smuggle it into the war and it did us some good. The 181st became the most feared weapon of the Viet Cong.
"Then one day. . .we were ambushed. We ran and we ran. . .and we swear to God. . .Scyther was killed. We saw him get hit by a bullet and go down. So we left him. We had to!" Desperation flittered in Gavin's eyes. He looked at Trent with fear, more fear than any war could ever bring. "Why would he do this?" he whispered. "Why would our friends do this?"
Trent wanted to reply that Pokemon were not friends, but stopped himself. He conjured up all he had learned about Scyther at Pokemon Tech. "It's because he felt betrayed. You left him to die. Scyther clans everywhere see abandonment as a high blasphemy. And when a Scyther abandons another Scyther, the clan decrees the punishment is death."
Gavin looked at Trent as of he had grown an extra head. "Death? But it--"
He never got any further.
There was a hissing noise outside that stopped Trent's heart cold. Then the lights went out, and the cabin was plunged into pitch black darkness. His right hand clasped onto the first Pokeball he could find, and the left reached for his gun. Sweat dripped down his face, but he kept his cool. Behind him, he could hear Gavin murmur, "it's here."
TO BE CONCLUDED. . .