Chapter Two

"Cough! Cough-cough! Cough!"

Unaware of the chaos surrounding the area, a mysterious entity struggled for air as the control panels around it shorted out and produced a rancid stench of burning rubber. The smell was bad enough on its own, but the confined space he occupied concentrated the offensive gases to an unbearable level. The entity would have to act quickly, else it would surely lose consciousness, if not its life.

The entity barked out a command, in an incomprehensible language. "Computer! Deploy the gas mask immediately!"

Within seconds, a swirl of bluish particles popped into view. Like a school of oceanic fish defending itself against a vicious predator, they swirled around the entity's head, creating a grid-like polyhedron with transparent faces and no visible edges. .

The entity breathed a sigh of relief. "Ahh…That's much better."

A calm, feminine, disembodied voice spoke out, in the same unusual language of the entity: "Scout Pathie Zimbogous, sir, there are major malfunctions and system failures in almost all the computational tasks. Shall I transmit myself to your Multi-Purpose Scouter's Device?"

The scout observed the panels once more. They cackled with the spikes of electric energy and emitted a light smoke, a sure sign that they were completely shot.

"Ah, heck… It's not like you have a choice, computer. Begin the transfer." Pathie replied.

A series of high-pitched beeps emitted from the malfunctioning controls.

"Transfer com-" The computer began, but before it could finish its sentence, it was abruptly cut off by the sudden shutdown of the whole cockpit, pitching the scout into an infinitely deep abyss of darkness. He quickly gasped in a deep breath: Without any power, his gas mask would most likely be deactivated, leaving him no protection from the noxious fumes of burning rubber.

He reached for the spot on his left arm where his MPSD would be mounted, preparing to activate another gas mask…

And found out, to his dismay, that the only thing there was the sleeve of his uniform.

Aw, shoot! He cursed in his mind. As if things weren't bad enough already!

Pathie, his breath quickly running out, blindly scoured around the cramped premises for the device, his senses of hearing and touch his only guide in the darkness. The scout's eyes became watery like the Niagara Falls, and his chest began to pound, as though it was prepared to violently exert itself from his body.

This is definitely not good! He thought, as his time continued to slip away into the demonic depths of cruel fate. No matter where I reach, I can't find the blasted device! I'll die for sure if I don't do something, and quickly!

Just then, a subtle idea stopped Pathie in his tracks. If the computer successfully uploaded itself into the MPSD, that means the device should accept voice commands! It's a long shot, but it's the only chance I got!

With what little remains of his deteriorating breath, he cried out, "Computer-Gas-Mask!"

Nothing happened.

The scout's hope was completely shattered, believing fully that he had failed. Failed before he could even get out of his pod. Accepting his ultimate end, he allowed himself to suck in the air that would surely bring an end to his life…

…Only to be treated to the cleanest, freshest air in his entire life.

What the-?  Pathie stood motionless, bewildered by his unforeseen stroke of luck. It turned out that his idea worked out after all! And just in time as well. But there was still the problem of locating the MPSD. Without any pressure to cause panic, the scout's mind swiftly produced the ideal solution.

"Computer, activate flashlight."

A white ray of light suddenly protruded from the right of Pathie, basking the disabled pod in a heavenly glow of soft color. It revealed him in his entirety: A small, supposedly young, human-like being, wearing a simple black tunic and pants, with short-cut hair as grey as a stormy cloud. His skin was that of an albino, as white as the glaciers of the Antarctic. The hands were nothing more than mere stumps. And the features of his head were very peculiar: cute, yet enormous eyes (also grey), a shape like that of a widened, horizontal oval, and the apparent absence of a visible nose or ears. 

He cringed slightly as his sight became accustomed to the new brightness. As his eyes adjusted, he was treated to the familiar pattern of blue particles orbiting his noggin as he reached for the device that saved his life.

"Hmm. I keep forgetting those things don't produce any sound or light." He commented to himself. "I'll have to try to remember that. Wouldn't want to have to go through that again!"

The Multi-Purpose Scouter's Device is a very peculiar object. To the naked eye, it would appear to be nothing more than a colorless, flimsy, plastic disc, its only apparent purpose to be chewed upon by the family pet. In fact, the inventors of the device designed it in this manner so that scouts could carry the device without raising suspicion, since it can easily contour to the body and change its color to camouflage in any setting. Anyone trained in the use of the MPSD, however, are bestowed upon with great power and versatility. It is the ultimate Swiss-Army Knife, able to produce any conceivable type of tool. It is a portable encyclopedia, containing priceless amounts of information and capable of uploading new data in a snap. It is the personal doctor, the loyal protector, and the master of disguise, stealth, and acclimation. It is even the standard "Black Box", in the case where missions are…unsuccessful. To put it simply, the MPSD is a scout's best friend in unfamiliar, hostile territory.

Pathie attached the device to his left arm, where it was supposed to be before his brief brush with death. It wrapped itself around his flesh and morphed its color to that of his charcoal-black sleeve.

"Welcome to the Multi-Purpose Scouter's Device, Pathie Zimbogous." The plastic disc chimed, its voice the same as the pod's now-defunct computer.

The scout's face gleamed with a smile. "It's good to hear you again, computer. Tell me; are all your databanks intact?"

"There is a fifteen percent corruption in my data," The MPSD replied. "But most functions are still operational."

"Is the Voice Journal working?"

A few, high-pitched beeps. "Voice Journal is ready."

"Ok, then! Begin recording. I must make my first journal entry for this mission. My superiors would be quite upset if I didn't have a report to bring…assuming they're still alive, that is."

More beeps. "Recording activated."

***

Scout's Mission Log- First Entry, Day One:

Hmm…well, I don't know how I should start this, really. Normally, I'd type up a written report of my expeditions for the big guys up in the cozy, leather chairs getting the lion's share of the profits. But now that I've been drafted, I got to start doing this "reporting" thing off the top of my head. Let's see, where to begin…

Well, as far as I know, I've been somewhat successful in landing upon the planet that was assigned to me. It was rough as heck, though…someone should've told me about those blasted satellites, else I wouldn't have clipped one of them during my approach! Frankly, I'm surprised that I survived the landing at all. But the important thing is that I'm not dead. Unfortunately for me, the pod's completely fried, so I'll be stuck on this rock for awhile until I can begin repairs.

Anyway, based on the last readings I could remember, this planet should have ample amounts of the chemical…what was its name? Estrox? Bah! I'm sure the database in this MPSD'll give me the correct name once I remember how to access them. To get back to the subject… the army sent me, along with anyone else not afflicted with the disease, to find this chemical so that we could quell the current pandemic affecting the planet. It shouldn't be too difficult. Just find the substance and then vamoose back home, right?

To be truthful, I'm actually a bit nervous about this place. While I've visited other planets before, this would be my first time on a planet with a relatively advanced civilization. Besides my own, that is. I mean…what am I supposed to do if I meet some inhabitants? It's not like I can ask them to take me to their leader or anything. That and I've heard some horrifying stories from the more experienced scouts, especially the ones with amputated limbs. Or what if the species is the overzealous type, assuming me to be their holy savior? Or the greatest of evil? What if this place is still filled to the brim with savagery? What if…I become stranded?

Well, enough chatter. I'm about to leave my pod and begin the search. I shouldn't be such a worrywart. I've had no trouble in the "worst-case scenario" exercises…There's no reason why things would go down the drain now. It's not like I'm going to be tortured or anything. I'll update this journal in a couple of hours. Wish me luck! End recording.

***

Author's Note: My apologies for the slow-going plot so far, but I can assure you that things will pick up once our unsuspecting visitor meets up with the Powerpuffs. As always, constructive feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

And If you're confused about the italicized quotes: This is done so that the reader knows that the speaker isn't actually speaking English, but is translated for the sake of knowing what the heck that person is saying. While I'm sure there are some who enjoy conjuring up unusual, alien languages, I feel that kind of labor is unnecessary. Of course, this is not to be confused with a person's thoughts: They are always italicized, regardless of what language a certain person may speak.