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Back to A Dark Future |
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Title of Fic: A Dark Future (Chapter One: A Decade) Author Name: Eric "Psyke" Jeffus Author E-mail Address: Psyke@att.net Genre of Fic: OT Mystery/Horror Description: A story based in the future, a time in which the world was wrought with crime and wars. The story follows a young man (around sixteen years of age) named Remington, and his legacy, in which he begins his quest to rid the world of the greatest evil ever known. =========================================================================== Warning: This fanfic is not based on the Pokemon TV Show, video game, or any of the movies. The only relationship that this story shares with anything Pokemon are the characters and the Pokemon themselves. Do not expect some sugar-coated "good always triumphs over evil" story in which Ash and company defeat the bumbling Team Rocket and save the day. You will be supremely disappointed. This fanfic follows the "dark" style of Ace Sanchez's "Pokemon Master", which can be found at the following URL: (http://jsa.users.fl.net.au/pokemon.htm). This story is not meant for younger audiences, as it involves scenes of violence, a smattering of vulgarity, and possibly some mildly sexual content later on in the story (although not in this chapter). =========================================================================== Prologue ======== Ten years after the age of youth and innocence, the world was a very different place, totally changed since the days of old. Computers had infiltrated every aspect of life, and all in the world was automated. Technology was quickly converting the Earth from rural to urban, destroying what little natural areas were left. However, magic was still in use, as well as hand-to-hand melee weapons, such as swords and other low-tech objects. There were three types of people in this world: - The Everyday People (nicknamed Norms, sing. Norm): The normal people (hence the nickname), with no special attributes catering towards Techs or the Magi. - The Techs (sing. Tech): Those that had succumbed to technology, and used it as weaponry. Usually these people had some sort of cybernetic implants, allowing them to surpass normal human efficiency and eliminate human weaknesses. - The Magi (sing. Magus): Those that were born with the Gift of the Magi, or the power of sorcery, and used it to cause destruction and/or for healing purposes. These people were less easily recognized than Techs, as they possessed no distinguishing features. Usually a Magus would use an enchanted sword or other such weapon, with which they summoned magic. These people were also more powerful than Norms for one reason or another, but still had human weaknesses. These Techs, Magi, and Norms all lived in the same war-ravaged world, Pokemon and people alike battling in one brutal war after another, each death-ridden battle adding to the massive graveyards located in each degraded city. In this dark, abysmal world, a legacy was born, one which was remembered for eons to come. This legacy was the story of a young man that banished from the world the greatest evil ever known. The following is the story of a brave young hero named Remy... --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter One: A Decade ===================== Hiding in the shadows of the massive skyscrapers that dominated Silicon City were narrow, dingy alleys that housed the dregs of the city, the homeless and the delinquents. These filthy, dead-end streets were no doubt the most dangerous places in the city, where law was disregarded, and the police would never venture. Unfortunately, these squalid concrete tributaries winding through the downtown of the city were exactly where Remington "Remy" Graves had just arrived. As he was walking home from Pokemon League Training, he had lost his way and had found himself in the Stygian alleys. Remy was a young man, sixteen years of age, but he was well-trained in martial arts, among other things. He had shortish jet-black hair and gray eyes, eyes that could spear your very soul. He was deceptively muscular, and therefore strong, although you might not have guessed it from his lithe and agile frame. He wasn't afraid of much, with a warrior's brave, strong heart. That evening, however, he was cursing his bad luck, as he didn't like the slums much. "Damn. I knew I shouldn't have stopped at Subway ... everything looks different at night." If the alleys were dangerous in plain daylight, they were deadly after the sun dipped under the horizon. Remy glanced nervously about, half expecting some serial killer to leap from the shadows and stab him to death. He gripped his pocket knife in his sweaty hand, knowing that a small blade would be no match against whatever weapon such a killer would wield, but trying not to think about it. As he walked quickly, he found himself in a dead-end street. He turned around slowly, and noticed a pair of eyes in the gloom looking at him. "Wh-who are you?" "That's of no matter, Remy." Suddenly, the moonlight gleamed off of a long sword, wickedly curved and razor-sharp. Set in the hilt of the massive blade was a dark stone, which started to glow with an dark aura. The man finally stepped into the dim light filtering down from a street lamp, and Remy saw a youngish man, with shoulder-length brown hair and dark eyes, glaring at him. The man raised the sword, and with an ominous laugh, brought it down, sharp edge hissing as it sliced through the air. Remy leapt backwards, almost out of the range of the blade, but the tip still slashed through his shirt and left a shallow cut across his chest. Wincing from the wound, Remy pulled out his own small knife, and wielded it, preparing to defend himself if necessary. "Ha! That little thing cannot stop an enchanted sword!" The man laughed again, and horizontally sliced outward at Remy, but the blade was miraculously halted by the dagger. Remy, then realizing his opportunity, threw his weight into the knife, pushing the sword away from himself, and struck out with his own blade, making his own mark on his assailant. "Insolent little whelp. You're quite impressive, I must say, but you will never win this fight." Grinning, the man kicked the knife from Remy's hand, small blade flying in a parabolic arc, to lie amidst the grime and trash in the alley. Defenseless, Remy saw his life flashing before his eyes as the sword's luster flashed in the light. In slow motion, the blade flew, aiming for his throat. Then, a low voice rang out, echoing off of the stone walls of the narrow street. "Get away from him." A man in a black cloak descended from the roof of the building on Remy's left. The man's piercing gray eyes bored into Remy's attacker's, and from the flowing ebony robe this mysterious protector unsheathed his own sword, a long, straight, and again razor-sharp blade, with yet another gemstone set in the hilt. "So, you came to defend him. Why am I not surprised." The attacker sneered at the new arrival with a hatred Remy had never seen. The man in the dark cloak brandished his sword in a deadly style of blade fighting that the Samurai of ancient times used in the days of Feudalism. "I cannot allow you to kill him, Danny. You know that. You also know that I'll sacrifice my life to protect him, but I don't plan to. If you stop pursuing the boy, I will let you live, for now. Otherwise, I'll be forced to kill you." The man's eyes, remorseless orbs of clear gray that showed years of killing without a qualm, focused on Danny, Remy's attempted murderer. "Ash, you know that I'll never go back to my master with empty hands and ever escape alive. I either bring Remy's head, and I live, or I return without it, and die a horrible death. My hand is forced." "You can hide, beyond your Master's reach, simply disappear. I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to. Please don't make me." Ash's eyes lost some of their coldness, and he lowered his blade momentarily. "'Beyond your master's reach'. Ha! You know he has spies throughout the world. There's no chance that I could ever simply disappear into the masses. It's either him or me." With a defeated look in his eyes, Danny lifted his blade, and beckoned Ash to fight. "I don't want to do this, Danny, but there's no other way." Ash raised his own cold steel, and leapt over to Danny. They crossed their blades in the old tradition of beginning a sword fight, and Ash's eyes darkened with anger. Why must he kill Danny? Because of that accursed master of his, Ash was forced to fight to the death against a friend from long ago, one with whom he had fought alongside in war. "I'm sorry, Danny." "So am I, Ash, but there's no other way. Now, have at it!" Their blades clashed, sparks flying from the collision, and neither had the advantage. Then, Ash jumped about ten feet into the air, holding his sword high above his head, and brought it down with amazing force, being stopped only by Danny's own blade. Ash, deciding that it was time to give up the physical, brute force attacks, began parrying and thrusting, connecting occasionally. Danny fought back, hacking at Ash with his own style. Once, Danny slashed Ash's shoulder, which bled heavily, although it didn't seem to faze Ash at all. The alley floor soon became stained crimson with the life force of the fighters as they mercilessly battled with their deadly swords. Badly wounded, Danny was fighting for his life, while Ash, oblivious to his own gashes, was slowly killing his opponent. Then, Danny dropped his sword from his bloodied hands, much too exhausted to fight and losing more blood every minute. Ash hesitated for a moment, but with tears in his eyes, he drove his sword through Danny, effectively impaling him. After the blade was pulled out, Danny finally fell, and he whispered to Ash in his last few seconds of life. "You're a good fighter, Ash. I'm sorry it had to end up this way. Goodbye, my friend." Danny spat up blood, and his eyes glazed over, never to blink again. Ash, after closing his friend's eyes in the ancient sign of respect for the dead, whispered his own goodbye. "Farewell, Danny." He bowed his head, enraged because he was responsible for one of his old friend's death. No, not Ash. It wasn't his fault. It was that damned overlord that Danny obeyed; he was to blame for the useless bloodshed here in the alley. Then, he remembered Remy, the young man whom he came to defend. Remy was in the corner of the alley, looking at the scene with awe. Someone had tried to kill him, but this Ash person saved his life! Why did anyone want him dead? Who was this master of Danny's? Who was Ash, for that matter. A million questions whizzed around Remy's head, waiting to be asked. "Who was that? Why did he want me dead? Who are yo-" Remy was cut off by Ash's cold voice, which sounded bitter and angry. "No time for questions now, Remy. You are in grave danger. There is someone that wants you dead, for a purpose that I will not reveal here and now, but regardless, he will stop at nothing to get what he wants most: your corpse. Nowhere is safe, but I must leave you for now. I will be back, but I warn you, don't trust anyone." Ash turned away, and was about to leave when Remy's strong voice sounded behind him. "How will I defend myself? All I had was that puny little knife, and you saw how effective that was." "Take this." Ash handed Remy the sword that he had used to kill Danny. "It will protect you more than you know." "B-but I don't know how to use a sword! And besides, how will you defend yourself?" "You have the mark of a swordsman on you, Remy. You'll have no trouble, and I have ... other ways of defending myself. Now, go! I'll find you again, but until then, beware!" Remy stared at the sword, at the keen edge and the jewel in the beautiful hilt. When he looked up, about to thank Ash for the sword, he saw nothing. The mysterious fighter had completely vanished. Remy's thoughts were chaotic: There's no way I can use this thing. Who's this Ash guy? Who was Danny? Why am I in such danger? Why does this master want my corpse? Remy pushed these thoughts away, however, and concentrated on getting back to his house, his safe haven. The rest of the journey was relatively uneventful, save for a bum that started screaming at him, but that was to be expected in the alleys of Silicon City. Ah, Silicon City, undoubtedly the most technologically-advanced city on this continent, and a definite contender for the most in the world. Simple but stunningly beautiful architecture blended tastefully with technology was the main theme in Silicon City. However, as already illustrated, it had its dark side, as all great cities do. Teeming with vermin and filth, the alleys and back streets of the city were no place to hang out. The suburbs, however, where Remy and his family lived, were much more hospitable. Although Remy's parents didn't have the best paying jobs, they could still afford a nice little two-story house. The house was surrounded by plants: bamboo, yucca, pampas grass, and assorted foliage and trees dwarfed their humble home. Inside, it was comfortable enough, with old but still soft couches and chairs to sit in while watching TV. The street lamps cast an eerie glow on the dark asphalt, shining off of the cars and lengthening the shadows. Remy pulled out his key, and opened the door. "Hello? Where is everybody?" Remy yelled out, finding the lights off and the house quiet. Remy was worried, because there's no way everyone would be asleep by eight at night. His family usually had dinner at that time. Remy yelled again, going from room to room, his voice a little more panicked. "Dad? Mom? Elise?" Elise was Remy's little sister, a three-year-old that always bothered him. Right now, though, he would have been happy to see her, just to show that he was not alone. Then, Remy was afraid that maybe he wasn't alone, that someone was there ready to kill him. That episode in the alley had really put him on edge for the rest of the night. "Guys? Come on, this isn't funny!" As Remy burst into the Master Bedroom, the last that he hadn't searched, he found ... nothing. The house was devoid of life, except for himself. Where was everybody? He thought of something suddenly, and dashed into the garage. The car was gone. "What a relief. They went somewhere. I hope they didn't go looking for me." When Remy's parents went looking for him, he was pretty much screwed. They hated wasting time looking for him when he was out at night, alone. "Well, there's nothing to do but wait. Shadow, come on out." Shadow, Remy's name for his Growlithe, was Remy's Pokemon, a fiery dog-like animal that loved him unconditionally. Shadow was a powerful Pokemon, one with which Remy could defeat most of his opponents, and Remy's favorite in his team. After materializing from the Pokeball that Remy freed from his belt, the dog wagged his tail and licked Remy happily, making the young man laugh. The canine had been given to him by a beautiful Australian Pokemon trainer, years ago, as a gift for an aspiring Pokemon Trainer. That had been years ago, six to be exact. The woman had been a friend of his mother's, but sadly, had disappeared since the war. This Growlithe was irregular in one sense: he was black. While most Growlithes possessed an orange-red hide with black stripes and white tufts of fur, Shadow was the color of midnight. A strange thing indeed, and certainly the oddest Pokemon Remy had seen, Shadow was happily accepted by the young Remington Graves. From that day, he and Shadow had been inseparable. "Aw, come on, Shadow! Don't lick my nose, it tickles!" Remy playfully pushed the Pokemon away, and threw himself down on the couch, grabbing the remote. "Let's see what's on TV..." He pressed the ON button, and images began flashing across the screen, mesmerizing Remy with an instantaneous barrage of light and sound. He could practically feel his attention span being decreased, but he didn't care much as he flipped through the five hundred channels the satellite allowed them to watch. After five continuous minutes of button pushing, all Remy had was a sore thumb. "Over five hundred channels, and there's *still* nothing worth watching." He turned off the television, and in disgust, chucked the remote across the room. "Oh well. I wanted to catch up on my novel anyway." Picking up a dog-eared copy of 'Image of Hell', a novel by the acclaimed novelist Eric Jeffus, Remy found his bookmark, and began reading the profound story, about a young man that escapes from a death-ridden concentration camp. Two hours passed, then three, and as the clock struck midnight, Remy was finally released from the amazing novel. As he glanced at the grandfather clock in the living room, Remy really became worried about his family. There's *no* way that they would be out of the house this late at night. What had happened to them? Remy didn't know, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Suddenly, he heard a noise in the night, a soft thump, coming from below him. His house had a basement, but Remy didn't want to go down there. It was creepy enough without being attacked by a madman in an alley and finding yourself in a house alone, at midnight. He fingered the hilt of the sword that the mysterious Ash had given to him, which was in its sheath on the couch next to him, but he still didn't know how the blade would help him. He certainly was not experienced in the swordcraft. In fact, he had never even used a sword before. Still, it was better than anything else he had at the time, so he pulled it from the dark leather sheath. The sharp edge of the blade dazzled in the small light on an end table next to the couch, and Remy took hold of the handle with both hands. Amazingly, he seemed to know how to correctly wield the mighty sword. He slowly, ever so slowly crept towards the door leading to the basement. As he came upon the door, he found it slightly ajar. Opening the heavy oak slab with a loud and disconcerting creak, Remy descended into the gloom, musty air overwhelming his senses. Fumbling about, he finally found the light switch, and a small light bulb, dangling from the ceiling, cast crazily shifting shadows around the room. Those rays of light never pierced the darkness under the stairs, however. Moving carefully from one possibly rotten wood step to another, he came to the bottom, stone walls cold and ancient surrounding him. His sharp eyes quickly surveyed the small room, noting nothing out of the ordinary. He knew he heard a thump, though, so he walked over to the steps. Pulling a flashlight from the wall, Remy pointed it at the dark crevices under the steps. Suddenly, a shape blurred at him, making an inhuman hissing, and he swung the sword erratically, showering sparks as the honed edge scraped the rocky wall, missing the creature. The light streaming from the fallen flashlight (he had dropped it in his surprise) gleamed off of a bit of metal, and revealed a large feline, cowering in an adjacent corner of the basement, as afraid of Remy as he had been of it. The bit of metal, of course, was a charm. "Stupid Meowth. Scared the crap out of me." The cat mewed softly, then padded back up the steps. A greatly relieved, but still perplexed Remy scratched his head. Where *was* his family, anyway? He ventured upstairs, and plunked down on the couch once again. This time around, one of Remy's favorite shows was on TV. "All right! 'Who Wants to be a Vermillionaire?'! I love this show!" As Remy turned the volume up, the host of the show introduced himself. His deep, booming voice projected powerfully over the audience. "Hey folks! I'm Lt. Surge, your host, and I'm broadcasting from the Vermillion City Pokemon Gym! With me is my *extremely* talented partner, Raichu!" The large electric mouse made a cute noise and waved its paws. "Now, here's the big question: Who wants to be a Vermillionaire?" The people in the audience clapped and cheered, prompted by the "Applause" sign. Lieutenant Surge, the owner of the Vermillion City Gym, who preferred Electric-type Pokemon in his team, was a very overconfident and brash gym leader years ago. He awarded the Thunder Badge to any young trainers that were able to defeat him and his powerful Raichu. Five years ago, the Great War fell upon the world, and he was obligated to defend his country. After single-handedly killing the leader of Team Rocket, Giovanni, and ending the war, Surge was regaled as a hero. After being a Gym Leader and a soldier, Surge tried his hand at television. The masses *loved* him, and he eventually went on to start the most popular game show in history, the trademarked "Who Wants to be a Vermillionaire?". Of course, he and his trusty pet still battled aspiring Pokemon trainers, although years of honing his skills made him a more worthy adversary. "Is everyone ready? Here's the "Fastest Finger" question: Put the following Pokemon in order of number, smallest to largest: a. Haunter b. Clefable c. Horsea d. Machop There you go, order them from smallest number to largest." A few seconds passed, and Remy sat thinking. "b, d, a, c. It has to be the right answer." He chanted those four letters until the bell rang, marking the end of the round. Again, Surge's voice sounded. "OK, folks. The answer was, from smallest to largest number, b, d, a, and c. Who got it right?" Three names lit up on the TV screen, along with their times. "And who got the correct answer first?" One name remained lit, at 2.43 seconds. "Merlin Durai, you're the next contestant on 'Who Wants to be a Vermillionaire?'!" The crowd cheered again, and Merlin walked with Surge to the middle of the room, where two chairs sat. "I assume you know the rules. There are fifteen questions, starting at $100 and ending at a cool million. There are three lifelines: Ask the Audience, where the members of the audience vote for what they think is the right answer; Phone a Friend, where you can call anyone in the country to help you out; and 50-50, in which the computer eliminates two of the wrong answers, leaving you with one right answer and one wrong. If you get to $1000 or $32000, you're guaranteed to leave with at least that much for your trouble." Merlin nodded. Obviously, he was the silent type, although he seemed very intelligent. Surge continued. "So, tell us a little about yourself. It says here that you're a writer." "Yes, that's true. I write professionally." Again, Merlin seemed distant somehow. Usually, the people on these shows were so ... outgoing. Weird, Remy thought. Surge went on about how fascinating that career was, and then he pointed out Merlin's wife, a very beautiful woman, with porcelain-doll features, in the crowd. Ya-da, ya-da, ya-da. Let's get on with the show, already. I know you like hearing your own voice, Surge, but one can over-do it. It appeared that Surge was *still* babbling on. Blah blah blah. Where are the questions? Remy didn't like the "introduction" very much. Then, Surge finally said what he wanted to hear. "Let's get going with the questions!" Surge then gave Durai the first question: Which of these Pokemon is related to a Greek letter? a. Mew b. Doduo c. Golduck d. Kabuto "Greek letter? What the hell?" Remy was puzzled. This was the $100 dollar question? Wow, good thing *he* wasn't on that show; he'd make a fool of himself on national TV. However, Merlin seemed to know the answer after only a few moments worth of pondering. "The answer is c, Golduck." "Is that your final answer?" Surge was famous for coining that phrase. Now, people would never leave him alone, always asking him the same thing when they saw him on the street. "Yes." Merlin never seemed to say any more than necessary. A few seconds ticked by, leaving Remy tense. Was Merlin going to be out of the game on his first question? "That's right! Of course it's Golduck, because he is mistaken for the Japanese monster, Kappa, which happens to be named after the Greek letter." Then music chimed in, and Surge looked towards the camera. "Well, that's the cue for a commercial break, but we'll be back. Merlin, you're doing great, and on your way to becoming a Vermillionaire!" Then, a tampon commercial began, and Remy picked up his book. Suddenly, a loud thump was heard from below again. Before he could react, however, the door was kicked down. Remy looked over in disbelief as the door flew across the room and splinters floated down. As the dust settled, two dark figures entered the room. They donned full riot gear, and fully automatic machine guns seemed attached to their arms. Remy noted the ocular implants serving as targeting sensors replacing the natural right eye of each man. One word flashed into Remy's confused mind: Techs. The technological terrors of Silicon City, experiments gone awry, as far as Remy was concerned. The cyborgs always wreaked havoc in the city, their analytical computer-chip minds killing without emotion. Apparently, that master of Danny's was dissatisfied with Remy's failed murder. The overhead light glimmered off of the shiny jet black armor the men were wearing. This was all Remy needed to get the hell out of Dodge. He dove behind the couch just as the men opened fire. The deadly bullets tore through the solidly-built sofa as if it was cardboard. Remy grabbed his sword, stood up bravely, and prepared to fight for his life. |
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