Whazzup, li'l b*tches? After a long period spent being totally emo and in perfectly illegal states of mind, I'm back to bring you a new fic. I'm sad to say that Beauty, the Trainer, and a Ticked Fanboy probably won't make a comeback. But this is of no matter. I now present...
Hybrid:The Gathering Storm
Right: The basic story, Ash has to save the world again, but this time, it's life or death, rather than some kindergarten-level obstacle course. I mean, in the next movie, whoever tells them what's going on may as well sing "I'm the Map". Ahem. But I digress. Well, either way, I suck at summaries, so... just read the story, okay?Oh, and I find it worthwhile to mention that this is only the first in a series, because no matter how many chapters I stuff into this, there's just not enough space in a single fic to contain it all.
"This one looks to be in excellent condition, Professor." murmured the young assistant to his superior. 'This one' refered to a vaguely humanoid shape floating in a seven-foot jar-the classic 'cloning maching' setup, complete with maticulously clean monitor giving unfathomable readouts.Along one wall was a multitude of similar tanks.Each of the humanoid shapes had some sort of abnormality, maybe a tail on this, a fin on that, a set of metallic horns on the other. The whole lab was full of stainless steel instruments that, more often that not, were more for the purpose of showing off to other scientists than for actual use. A number of interns were milling around the room, inspecting the tanks and the beings within.
Surveying it all was the white-haired Professor Rowan, along with a group of fifteen year-olds. The apparent leader, a boy, had recently begun to wear a very old outfit he never thought he'd even see again. It was made up of a teal vest with a white collar, worn over a black T-shirt. It also included a pair of badly frayed jeans, and a red cap with a white wedge shape in front, with a green checkmark. This cap was perched jauntily atop his raven blades of hair. I am speaking, of course, of that all-too-familiar hero, Ash Ketchum. He kept sneaking glances at a girl in the group, whose emerald-green eyes he had so far failed to catch.
Standing a little off and smirking at this was a gray-blade-haired boy who looked almost like Steven Stone's brother-the reason being, of course, that he was. To those who knew him, it was obvious he was pleased, by the way the hood of his dark-grey zip-up sweatshirt was swept over one shoulder. The pair of jeans he'd chosen for that day were, as ever, far too long for him and were hiding his black tennis shoes.This boy's name was Chris, and he was the Messiah of Smartasses. He claimed that this was because he was "traumatized due to a childhood experince and cope with it that way". When asked what this experience was, he would go red, shout "Screw off!" at empty space some three feet to one side of the asker, and run. Whether this was because it was a particularly bad memory or if it was just bull, everyone knew.
Not far away, looking rather estranged, was a green-haired young boy, who looked as though if you tapped him, he would shatter. He was wearing a white, button-up, almost-dress shirt, with matchingly formal, matchingly odd brown slacks.Next to him was a girl with long black hair, leather gauntlets, all black clothes, and an expression that not just screamed, but recorded, amplified by a million times, and broadcasted worldwide the phrase "I'm emo".
"Excellent."Said Prof. Rowan in response to the assistant's report." Now, children," said the Professor, turning to them, "what I am about to show you is the future of our world."
Yeah, I know. Weak and short, but it's an intro, and I was eager to get back. Please R&R.