Alpha-Mon

A/N: The title "Alpha-Mon" is not meant to indicate the mega-level digimon, Alphamon. This story is not about that character. It is merely meant to be a clever reference, slash, play on the main character's name. I hope everyone enjoys this story.

Chapter 1

He watched as the titanic battle raged all around him. Massive explosions of energy, rivers of fire, torrential streams of freezing ice beams. He wasn't just simply watching the war surrounding him, he was right in the middle of the fracas as well. He was running, jumping, punching, kicking, dodging, shooting and everything else he could possibly do to try to secure victory for his side. He didn't know exactly who his enemies, or for that case, his allies were in the skirmish. All he did know was that that all of them were digimon. He wasn't sure of their names, just that some were with him and some were against him.

One of the digimon against him nailed him in the chest with one of it's strongest attacks and he fell onto his back on the ground. The digimon loomed up over him, sneering down. It was getting ready to deliver a killing blow when several beams of light struck the digimon, forcing it away. As he looked around and saw that the battle was concluding, he felt an incredible sense of serenity overcome him. He was all alone, just him and the digimon. There wasn't a single other human to be seen anywhere.

OOO

Sixteen-year-old Wolf Wilson awoke from his dream with a combination feeling of peace and resentment. He would have given anything for that dream to be real, to achieve the solitude he had inside of it.

He sat up on the couch and looked around the locker room of the New York Yankees. It was as close to a place to live as he had, and for the most part, he liked it. The stadium's custodians always kept the temperature of the interior rooms where they would be perfectly comfortable, no matter what time of year, so he was able to sleep on the luxuriant couch in the room without the need of a blanket.

Getting up from the couch, Wolf quickly cleared the trash from his dinner the previous night. As he always did, he would deposit his refuse in various trash cans along his path outside so that no one would be able to tell he'd been there. Sneaking out of the stadium was just more simplistic than it was to sneak in at night. When he returned every night to sleep, he had to make a complex route through the building in order to pass through all of the security cameras blind spots and simultaneously evade the janitors and security guards. The latter half of the equation was easy. Wolf had watched and memorized the preferred sequence of every person in the building at night and figured out that everyone was clear of the locker room by midnight. For the mornings, all he had to do was follow the same path back through the blind spots before the first morning executives got there, and he had himself a dry, warm place to sleep every night without having to spend a cent or deal with anyone.

He showered in the player's shower stalls and put his pants and shirt on, dried from when he'd washed them in the sink the night before. Feeling and smelling them as he put them on, he knew he'd have to buy some new ones within another day, two at the most extreme. Looking in one of the mirrors, he took in his own appearance. He decided he was successfully managing to prevent himself from looking like a homeless kid surviving on nothing but his wits. While he simply did not seem to ever grow any facial hair, his face did not look too young, as it had no baby fat. His hair, which had been pure snowy white for as long as he could remember, was clean and ended just a little past the base of his skull, where he cut it himself. He didn't care about his appearance for the sake of others, but only for the effect it conveyed. It was a weapon to be used like anything else.

Wolf then made his way along his circuitous route out of the stadium, climbed the exterior fence, and mentally prepared himself for another day of dealing with the unbearable inhabitants of New York City.

OOO

Wolf stood at the side of one of the paths in Central Park, waiting to secure the funds for his breakfast. He waited patiently, analyzing everyone who passed to find the right pocket to pick. Pickpocketing was a criminal skill, but it was arguably the most valuable one he had developed, at least for day to day use. After all, he had to have money for food, new clothes every few days, and money for poker so he could save for his ultimate goal. Pickpocketing was the only way he had of acquiring money.

Looking around at the people passing him, Wolf searched for a target. He saw a guy who was somewhere between twenty-five and twenty-nine. The guy wouldn't do. He shifting eyes said he was a more aware sort of man, better able to detect discrepancies. That, coupled with the bulge of his wallet being in the inside pocket of his jacket eliminated him completely.

The next person Wolf considered was a woman in her early thirties. The woman had on a black business suit. It was clearly an expensive, fashion name brand, but off the rack, not tailor cut for her. Her blonde hair was up in a bun which conveyed professionalism, without looking too severe. There was a slight overweight to her stomach which did not detract from her appearance. She had dark circles from sleep deprivation under her eyes that she had tried, somewhat futilely, to conceal with makeup. Wolf pegged her as a lawyer, coming back that very day from a maternity leave and trying to look her best. Trying to say to the people she worked with that her status as "mother" wouldn't affect how she did her job. It ruled her out, though. He figured she'd be going into her purse for her phone so much for either the job or the kid that she'd notice quickly enough if her wallet were missing. Besides, he found that people like her oddly didn't often carry cash.

Wolf then finally spotted the perfect mark. The guy's whole air not only shrieked "Wall Street," it screamed "junior man on Wall Street." The guy was old enough to be at some established brokerage house, but also young enough to still be a minor trader, still treated by some of the higher ups as an errand boy. His eyes were darting all over the place while he silently muttered something to himself, going over some list of things he had to do. His hair was clean, but had been slicked back and matted down with gel, but it didn't exactly aid his looks, so it was for expediency's sake, Wolf guessed. He had on a good looking suit, but a backpack on his back with a shoe box sticking out of it and tennis shoes on his feet. Clearly this guy rushed everywhere he went, wearing proper running shoes and carrying his loafers, or brogues, or whatever they were with him, meaning he'd probably be too harried to notice a missing wallet for a while. On top of that, sure of his Wall Street assessment, Wolf was sure this guy would not only have a slew of debit and credit cards, but also a store of emergency cash in his wallet, just in case.

Wolf removed himself from his spot leaning against a park bench and began to walk towards the guy. He morphed his face into an expression which mingled exhaustion with euphoria, as if he were some stupid rich kid, stumbling home from partying all night, possibly days, obviously still drunk or high from whatever substances certainly should not have been served to him. He shifted the gait in his steps to make it look like he wasn't exactly lumbering, but was far from walking normally too, as if he were really making a concerted effort. Just as he was only a few feet away from the junior Wall Street guy, Wolf purposefully slipped on a rock and tumbled into the guy's chest.

"Oh! Hey man, I'm real sorry about that. I didn't mean to." Wolf said as he righted himself against the guy. He put a deliberate slowness in his voice, enunciating every word to add to the image.

"Yeah, alright, whatever!" The Wall Street guy said as he tried to extricate himself from Wolf's grip.

He got free for a second and tried to move away, but Wolf put an elbow on the guy's shoulder and leaned on him with half his weight.

"Hey, buddy, could you point me towards east fifty-fourth street? My sense of direction's kinda shot right now, if you know what I mean!" Wolf said together with a dry laugh.

"Would you let go of me?!" The junior Wall Street guy hollered and shoved him away.

The guy took off running at his top speed, real fear in his eyes as he departed. Despite the scene it had caused, only one of the thirty to forty nearby people stopped to look long and tried to help Wolf up. Wolf waved the woman away, saying he was fine and continued his feigned drunkenness until he passed out of sight of that path. He straightened and walked normally and didn't stop until he was in the seclusion underneath one of the park foot bridges.

He opened the wallet to reveal to himself that all of his predictions and postulations had been correct. The guy's name according to the out-of-state driver's license was "Arthur Peterson." He had a list of written addresses with "Hudson River Trading" written boldly and circled at the top, a bank debit card, two credit cards, and three-hundred-fifty dollars in cash. Wolf removed and pocketed the cash. He also took the debit and credit cards and license before tossing the wallet down on the ground. He'd throw the license and two of the cards down the first sewer drain he came across. He was a thief by necessity, and he didn't care much about being an asshole to humans, but if someone were to happen along and use the guy's info to steal his identity, the guy would likely pin it on him to the cops. Wolf always made every effort to avoid the police. They were more stupid than regular people because they thought they knew more.

OOO

Wolf came out of one of the endless coffee shops of New York with a large hot chocolate and two plain bagels. He'd used the Wall Street guy's credit card to pay for the breakfast. The fact that most card machines allowed a person to select "sign for purchase" without actually having to sign a thing was a marvel in simplification. He thought that after he ate his breakfast, he'd go get a new set of clothes with the guy's card. Wolf guessed he had the time before the guy would finally notice and cancel all his cards.

Wolf found a half-wide, mostly clean alley that had not one single soul in sight a couple blocks past the shop and stepped into it. He sat down against the wall of one building, adjusted himself to be comfortable, and began to eat. Wolf rejoiced in the solitude of the alley as he ate, reveling in the silence.

After a few minutes of eating, a car dashed past the mouth of the alley, it's horn honking violently as it avoided a near collision. The noise caused a memory to flash through Wolf's mind. He winced as the traumatic recollection made his anger flare up. Having to remember the maltreatment and wrongdoings he witnessed as a child by the humans around him always infuriated him. In a strange way, he was glad it did. Remembering reinforced his conviction to have as little as possible to do with the human race and reminded him of what he was working towards.

As he angrily tore off and chewed up pieces of his last bagel, a small flock of about six pigeons landed in front of him in the alley. Wolf immediately calmed down as he looked at them, and even smiled warmly. He loved animals. There wasn't any animal he didn't like a thousand times more than any human on Earth. There was no duplicity from animals. An animal couldn't stab you in the back, couldn't distress you, couldn't lose its temper and take out its anger on you. Animals were better than humans in every way in Wolf's opinion. Smiling down at the pigeons, Wolf took the last couple bites of his bagel, tore them into small crumbs and spread them out. The birds hopped closer to him and readily ate up the bread crumbs.

His breakfast finished, Wolf stood up and walked to exit at the far end of the alley. Just before walking out, a guy stepped in front of him. The guy was a kid a few years older than Wolf himself. From his dirty, spray-paint stained clothes and his half shaven head, Wolf instantly pegged him as some stupid gang member. He had an amusing thought that this guy was an even lower species of human than most in his estimation. The gang member pulled out a three inch knife from his denim vest and held it out threateningly. Despite the fact that the guy was at least four inches shorter than Wolf's height of six-feet, he tried to make himself look big and imposing.

"You know what this is, kid. Hand over the dough and I won't hurt you." The guy said.

This triggered a fresh wave of anger and hatred within Wolf. He left everyone else well enough alone, taking no more than he needed to survive and work in his own way to get ahead, and never from anyone who couldn't afford to lose what he took, so why couldn't they all just leave him alone? Why couldn't they do him that simple courtesy? That's all he was asking for.

Without any hesitation, or remorse for what he was doing, Wolf shot his hand forward, grabbing the gang member's hand, twisting it and breaking his wrist. The gang member cried out in pain, dropping the knife, which Wolf caught with his free hand. He then blatantly kicked the gang member in the right knee. It wasn't enough to make the guy need surgery to walk correctly again, but it was enough to ensure the guy would have a permanent reminder the rest of his life of why one shouldn't make threats when they didn't have the brains to back them up. Wolf pocketed the knife and left the gang member sprawled in a sobbing, whimpering heap. His last thought of the guy was that he would recover, eventually. Or maybe he wouldn't. Wolf really didn't care.

OOO

Wolf sat on the very edge of one of the Chrysler Building's metal gargoyles an hour later. He loved to be up that high. The din of the city too far away to be heard, no sounds except the whistling of the wind, not a person in sight. He did this often, in various different locations. It was close to real heaven for him.

Sitting all alone up there, Wolf's mind raced through all sorts of things. He thought of his plan for how to get away from all humans once and for all. It required a lot of money, what he had planned. Getting the money was a slow, but relatively easy process. Twice a week, he'd take the cash he'd gained from his pickpocketing and use it to play in underground poker games thrown by the Irish mafia over in Hell's Kitchen. The older men he played against were not terrible players, but they weren't as smart as him by a galactic long-shot. Wolf had picked up on tells from all of them that they didn't even know they had. With this, he could win literally any time he wanted, a fact he had proved to himself by securing four to five consecutive winning hands several times. However, he usually kept his winning to a minimum so that none of the idiot gangsters would accuse him of cheating. He didn't care if they got mad at him, but he needed the games for his plan, so he played it smart. His other issue with money was where to keep all his winnings. As he technically didn't live anywhere, there was no place he could hide the large cash notes he acquired every week, so he was forced to keep it on his person at all times. Not the best possible arrangement, but it was the best he could do. He figured just one more month, and he'd have all the money he'd need for his plan.

Thinking about his plan for the future made Wolf inevitably begin to think again about his past and why he had the plan he did. His anger alighted anew as he thought about that stinking backwater in Virginia he'd been born in. God, how he hated the hicks back in that hellish, insignificant little town. And his father had been the dumbest, most intensely country bumpkin of an idiot he'd ever known. Thinking about him, Wolf thanked his lucky stars for whatever recessive genes had taken over in him and allowed his brains to form. He also praised himself for getting himself away from that abyss of intellectual nonexistence as early as he had. It had been the things he'd seen and been through there which more than anything created his disdain for humans.

Wolf's blessed silence was then interrupted by the most unwelcome sound possible. A pack of people had gathered on the observation deck behind the gargoyle. They were all shouting and gesturing at him to come back to the regular floor. They were shouting things like "don't do it" and "it's not worth it." They were all tourists, with stupid shirts, street maps, and smartphones at the ready for pictures. A random group like them was one of the things he couldn't account for when planning ahead. Wolf had figured he'd have the space to himself for at least an hour.

"Jeez! I can't even get any peace on a damn ledge." Wolf thought.

He stood up and started walking back to the platform. The tourists shouts changed to a jumble of things like "that's it" and "come on back."

Two feet away from them, Wolf stopped and glared at them hostilely.

"Would you shut up, you stupid idiots?!" He shouted loudly. "Try to think a little, would you?! A jumper either does it, or they stand there nervously debating it. They don't casually sit on the edge. It ever even occur to you that someone might just want the wind and quiet?! Christ!"

With that, Wolf stepped over the guardrail, pushed through the crowd, and started on his way back down to the street.

OOO

In an office building on West Fiftieth Street, Wolf was working on a computer, doing research. He was researching one of his favorite subjects, the Digital World. The Digital World was a dream of his, but, he admitted to himself that it was more like a fantasy. He knew that only certain people were chosen by someone or something to be allowed into the Digital World.

He wished with everything he had that he could go there. An entire world full of intelligent creatures, and almost no humans was the dream of his life. The idea of the solitude he'd have there practically intoxicated him. The thought of himself being able to run and around and play, free from all people and responsibilities save the ones needed to survive, and with a digimon partner for company, made the biggest smile come to his face.

As he had many times before, Wolf was reading certain articles and true stories about the Digital World and the digimon. These were articles and stories written by some of the digidestined themselves. They detailed the adventures the kids had experienced with their digimon and the dangers they'd faced. From the stories, which were written in Japanese kanji, Wolf knew that most digidestined for some reason all came from Japan. This wasn't really a problem for him, as he had an affinity for languages, among other things, and had taught himself how to read it.

The stories were written by a kid calling himself "Izzy," and detailed vast battles, menacing threats, and triumphant victories. They all sounded like a lot of fun to Wolf, if it weren't for the part where there had been eight kids in the digidestined group. Having to constantly be around that many people would make Wolf break out in anger induced hives.

Just as Wolf was getting to his favorite parts in the stories, the guy whom the office belonged to unlocked the office door and walked in. The guy's entire body language balked as he saw Wolf at his desk.

"You again?!" The guy shrieked. "How the hell do you keep getting in here?!"

Wolf dawned a small, condescending smirk. He said nothing as he stood up from the desk and walked past the guy. The office owner dashed around his desk to look at his computer. He found it at it's home-screen, the browsing history presumably erased, as it always was.

"And how do you always know my password?!" The guy shouted into the hall at Wolf.

OOO

Back down on the street, Wolf intended to continue his normal routine until his poker game that night. He turned to the left and headed down the street. As he walked, Wolf debated with himself whether he should take some time to go over the eventual supplies he'd need for his plan again. Thinking about his plan, he admitted to himself that it'd be so much simpler for himself if he would just go down to the marina and steal a sailing ship. He knew how to navigate, and figuring out the correct way to sail wouldn't take more than a couple hours of trial and error, but still, there were problems with that idea which always kept him from doing it.

To start, Wolf knew that people often got worked up over things which were so stupid in the long run. Unless he performed a lengthy reconnaissance to scope out the right boat beforehand, there was no way of knowing he wouldn't chose to steal one belonging to some nut who'd hire somebody to find him and get it back. The second problem was that when he finally got where he was going, he'd still need decently fake papers to get into the country legally. He could always attempt a surreptitious infiltration, but he'd yet to find a spot from maps in his target destination that was both isolated enough for that and where he could actually get onto the shore after.

A sudden sound from the right then pulled Wolf out of his thoughts and made him know he was about to take a small detour from his routine. The sound had been a small squeal of pain. He saw that it was three guys his same age who, although they didn't look like typical gangbangers, nevertheless looked even more stupid than the one Wolf had dealt with a couple of hours previously. They were all three surrounding a small puppy dog, stomping at the ground around it. The puppy was whining in fear for its life.

Wolf's cold, calculating, rapid intelligence which had seen him through every fight he'd ever been in took over and he wasted no time. The one thing he hated more than humans themselves was their endless cruelty towards defenseless animals. Stepping into the street, Wolf kicked down at the edge of a manhole cover, dislodging it from its setting. He bent and picked up the metal slab with both hands. Walking silently up behind his chosen enemies, he raised the cover.

"HEY!"

All of them turned and Wolf clubbed the first of them full in the face with all his strength behind his improvised weapon. He fell instantly down for the count. The next of the punks tried to throw a jab-punch at Wolf, but he raised the manhole cover, blocking it. The guy wailed in pain, and Wolf then slammed him in the shoulder with the cover, sending him down to the ground. Wolf looked at the last of them. The kid was scared and obviously was about to run, but Wolf's blood was up and he wasn't going to let him get off unscathed. Wolf raised the cover and shot the edge of it into the guy's leg, shattering his femur bone. The kid fell onto his side, howling and Wolf kicked him in the side, putting him onto his back.

"Let's see how you like getting stomped." He said.

He then dropped the manhole cover onto the kid's upper torso, raised his leg and slammed his foot down on top of it. The guy's breath forcibly exhaled and his eyes went wide as the pain and accompanying adrenaline brought him to a particular high before he fell unconscious. Wolf hadn't killed him. It took eight-hundred and ninety-nine pounds of force to break human ribs, and to stop the heart would require further power still. Even with the hundred and fifty pounds weight of his weapon, Wolf hadn't exerted any more than three-hundred pounds.

Wolf stepped over and picked up the puppy and walked away.

OOO

Twenty minutes and forty city blocks later, well away from any possible legal repercussions, Wolf was making sure the puppy would be a little better off before he let him go. The two of them were at a hot dog stand, and Wolf was using his cash to buy raw hot dogs for the little guy. Five helpings, and the puppy seemed to still be hungry. Wolf thought it was probably the first really decent meal of the little guy's life.

As the dog ate, Wolf noted that he looked like a kind of German Shepherd and Boarder Collie mix. He was definitely a male dog. He had a face of dark brown and black fur around clear, brown eyes. Wolf thought he looked more like the German Shepherd than the Boarder Collie. Wolf knew the dog had acquired the intelligence of both of his breeds by how he had stopped struggling in Wolf's grip after only a few minutes of carrying. Wolf thought he couldn't be more than a month old.

In the end, it took fifteen hot dogs before the puppy seemed to be appeased.

"You must really love animals to pay so much just to feed a little stray." The hot dog vendor said when Wolf handed over the last of the cash.

Wolf said nothing, picked the puppy up and walked away. Another two blocks later, he put the dog down in the middle of a secluded alley.

"Well, there you go, little guy. Try and stay away from people from now on. Most of 'em aren't as pleasant as me." Wolf said.

He then stood up and turned to walk away. He'd only taken a single pace when the puppy fell into step beside him. Wolf bent down again and looked him in the eyes.

"Look pal, I've done all I can. I'd like to have you around, I really would. You're better company than anything on just two legs, but I just can't do it. The way I live right now, there just isn't the latitude in it to take care of you. You'll be alright. Now, go on. Go." He said, pointing down the alley.

The dog seemed to understand Wolf's words, because he then turned and galloped away. He stopped and looked back for a second after about twenty feet, but then resumed running and turned the corner, out of sight.

"Be careful little guy." Wolf thought.

OOO

Ten hours later, the sun was just beginning to set, and Wolf was heading into Hell's Kitchen for the poker game that night. As he walked, he thought he'd up his winning quotient that night. He worked out that if he won just four-hundred more dollars a night than he normally did, he could shave an entire week off his time table.

When he was only four blocks away from where the game was held, something happened to gain his attention. Wolf had been passing in front of a pawn shop, it's window filled with the usual guitars, guns, and other things. What had caught his awareness was a row of computers and TVs in the window. He could clearly see that none of them were plugged in, yet all of their screens were glowing dully. As he looked at them, each of the screens simultaneously spawned a typing cursor which then wrote out the words "Found you."

"What the hell?" Wolf muttered to himself.

A split-second later, all of the screens shifted again, each showing a continuous stream of zeroes and ones running down their length. The survival instinct in Wolf's mind told him that running might be a good idea, but he didn't move. For some reason, he was rooted to the spot, completely transfixed to what he was seeing. The five screens then began to glow brighter and brighter to nearly blinding proportions.

Wolf could suddenly feel his whole body heating up and tingling. He didn't know what it was, but he felt like something important was suddenly happening to him, something good. That sensation vanished a second later as a stupefying agony ripped through him from out of nowhere. It felt to Wolf as though somebody were trying to skin his flesh from his bones from the inside out. The pain was so intense, he fell to his knees and thought he might vomit.

It was then he noticed that the ones and zeroes from the screen had somehow inexplicably begun to float in the air just around him. Thinking as best he could through his ordeal, he thought they seemed to form a kind of egg shape around him. The volume of them grew thicker and thicker until Wolf couldn't see through them to the outside world any longer. He then had the sensation of an elastic snapping a backlash, and he disappeared from the street, New York, and the Earth.