Gardevoir Girl
is NOT a girl
First of all, this story is about Pokemon/human hybrids. Not Pokemorphs, not anthropomorphs, but simply hybrids. There are differences, but I can't be bothered explaining them here. Now, it’s rated PG-13 (as is most of my writing), because of violence, blood and dark themes. And I know that the chapters are short; I can't do anything about that.
Once again, many thanks to the wonderful Psyblade, who helped me transform the mess of words that came raw from my mind into something worth reading.
In the middle of the night the winds began to pick up, howling shrilly to herald the imminent arrival of a storm. The wind lashed the trees and rushed along the streets, picking up pieces of debris and fallen leaves and sending them flying to distant places. The rain fell in sheets, spattering against windows, drenching the paths and stirring up the surface of the nearby ocean. An occasional flash of lightning illuminated the soaked city, followed seconds later by a deep rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the very earth with the echo of its deep voice.
Despite all of this, a single scientist worked endlessly in his laboratory, letting neither hunger nor exhaustion slow him down. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, both from lack of sleep and the tears that had long since dried. His dark hair was unkempt and filthy, the air around him thick with the stench of sweat. He had not washed or changed his clothes in days and this was becoming increasingly obvious. The white lab coat over his clothes was stiff from wear and beginning to take on the shade of almost-colourless grime.
The lab around him appeared to have fallen into disrepair despite being inhabited. Broken glass littered the floor, cabinet doors gaped open and a thick layer of grime coated everything. A single desk had been cleared and it was here that the scientist was working. Notebooks and screwed-up balls of paper littered the surface as the scientist sat hunched over one of the books, scribbling furiously with a pen that was rapidly running out of ink.
From time to time the man rose from his seat and paced back and forth behind his chair, muttering to himself. His thin hand passed through his oily hair repeatedly as he wondered aloud if a certain equation would work, his voice often drowned by the raging storm outside. Each time his weariness finally overcame him and he sank down in his seat again, taking up his pen with shaking fingers and resuming his frantic scribbling.
For hours he remained in his seat, not even rising when a particularly blinding flash of lightning split the sky, shortly followed by a power surge that extinguished his lamp and sent sparks skittering across his notes.
In the blackness his hand felt for a nearby candle. He struck a match, illuminating his tired face from beneath for an instant, then lit the candle and set it carefully in a discarded Petri dish. By the flickering glow he resumed his work.
The storm had blown itself out, the night was drawing to a close and the first rays of pink sunlight had begun to tinge the horizon with the first hint of gold when the scientist finally laid down his pen in triumph. The notes spread before him were long and tedious, too complicated for anyone untrained in biology or genetics to understand, yet he could barely hide the satisfied smile stretching across his tired face. He pushed his chair back with a scraping sound, placed both palms flat on the desk and heaved himself to his feet with a weary grunt. He was so tired he could barely stand, but it was worth it.
Or it soon would be.
The lab was so cluttered that it was hard to manoeuvre himself through, but before long he had cleared a bench with one sweep of his arm and begun to work. Carefully he prepared to perform the procedure, tugging a pair of sterile latex gloves over his grime-encrusted hands.
The scientist worked as carefully as he could despite his exhaustion. He could not afford to make mistakes. He could barely see what he was working with even through his microscope; his vision was swimming with tiredness, transforming the delicate microscopic cells into a shapeless blur. His hand trembled but he gripped his wrist to hold it still.
After what felt like years of work, it was finally done.
With a sigh he laid down the delicate instruments he had been using, picked up the thin tube and slipped it carefully into a broad, spherical machine set up beside him. With a whir, the squat steel monster came to life, enclosing the tube inside like a protective mother. For now the machine would play the part of mother, encapsulating the cells during meiosis, nurturing the child as it developed and feeding it artificially.
The scientist leaned down close to the machine, his breath misting on the cool steel surface. “It’s all been working up to this,” he whispered, his voice raspy with exhaustion. “You’re only the first. I have to prove to them that I can do this. I have to continue Tasha’s line...”
He peeled off the glove encasing his right hand, revealing a golden ring on his index finger. The letters MAH inscribed on it appeared black and eerie in the flickering candlelight and the first glow of morning. “I have to tell them…” the scientist murmured distractedly, before hurrying to gather up his notes.
Inside the machine, the cells were beginning to divide. Within nine months a living, breathing child would leave the lab with its adoptive father. It was doomed to be never accepted in society, always shunned and feared among the rare few who knew it because of what it was, forced to hide itself behind a façade of normality.
But, as the now-frantic scientist knew all too well, it was anything but normal.
Once again, many thanks to the wonderful Psyblade, who helped me transform the mess of words that came raw from my mind into something worth reading.
Prologue
In the middle of the night the winds began to pick up, howling shrilly to herald the imminent arrival of a storm. The wind lashed the trees and rushed along the streets, picking up pieces of debris and fallen leaves and sending them flying to distant places. The rain fell in sheets, spattering against windows, drenching the paths and stirring up the surface of the nearby ocean. An occasional flash of lightning illuminated the soaked city, followed seconds later by a deep rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the very earth with the echo of its deep voice.
Despite all of this, a single scientist worked endlessly in his laboratory, letting neither hunger nor exhaustion slow him down. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, both from lack of sleep and the tears that had long since dried. His dark hair was unkempt and filthy, the air around him thick with the stench of sweat. He had not washed or changed his clothes in days and this was becoming increasingly obvious. The white lab coat over his clothes was stiff from wear and beginning to take on the shade of almost-colourless grime.
The lab around him appeared to have fallen into disrepair despite being inhabited. Broken glass littered the floor, cabinet doors gaped open and a thick layer of grime coated everything. A single desk had been cleared and it was here that the scientist was working. Notebooks and screwed-up balls of paper littered the surface as the scientist sat hunched over one of the books, scribbling furiously with a pen that was rapidly running out of ink.
From time to time the man rose from his seat and paced back and forth behind his chair, muttering to himself. His thin hand passed through his oily hair repeatedly as he wondered aloud if a certain equation would work, his voice often drowned by the raging storm outside. Each time his weariness finally overcame him and he sank down in his seat again, taking up his pen with shaking fingers and resuming his frantic scribbling.
For hours he remained in his seat, not even rising when a particularly blinding flash of lightning split the sky, shortly followed by a power surge that extinguished his lamp and sent sparks skittering across his notes.
In the blackness his hand felt for a nearby candle. He struck a match, illuminating his tired face from beneath for an instant, then lit the candle and set it carefully in a discarded Petri dish. By the flickering glow he resumed his work.
The storm had blown itself out, the night was drawing to a close and the first rays of pink sunlight had begun to tinge the horizon with the first hint of gold when the scientist finally laid down his pen in triumph. The notes spread before him were long and tedious, too complicated for anyone untrained in biology or genetics to understand, yet he could barely hide the satisfied smile stretching across his tired face. He pushed his chair back with a scraping sound, placed both palms flat on the desk and heaved himself to his feet with a weary grunt. He was so tired he could barely stand, but it was worth it.
Or it soon would be.
The lab was so cluttered that it was hard to manoeuvre himself through, but before long he had cleared a bench with one sweep of his arm and begun to work. Carefully he prepared to perform the procedure, tugging a pair of sterile latex gloves over his grime-encrusted hands.
The scientist worked as carefully as he could despite his exhaustion. He could not afford to make mistakes. He could barely see what he was working with even through his microscope; his vision was swimming with tiredness, transforming the delicate microscopic cells into a shapeless blur. His hand trembled but he gripped his wrist to hold it still.
After what felt like years of work, it was finally done.
With a sigh he laid down the delicate instruments he had been using, picked up the thin tube and slipped it carefully into a broad, spherical machine set up beside him. With a whir, the squat steel monster came to life, enclosing the tube inside like a protective mother. For now the machine would play the part of mother, encapsulating the cells during meiosis, nurturing the child as it developed and feeding it artificially.
The scientist leaned down close to the machine, his breath misting on the cool steel surface. “It’s all been working up to this,” he whispered, his voice raspy with exhaustion. “You’re only the first. I have to prove to them that I can do this. I have to continue Tasha’s line...”
He peeled off the glove encasing his right hand, revealing a golden ring on his index finger. The letters MAH inscribed on it appeared black and eerie in the flickering candlelight and the first glow of morning. “I have to tell them…” the scientist murmured distractedly, before hurrying to gather up his notes.
Inside the machine, the cells were beginning to divide. Within nine months a living, breathing child would leave the lab with its adoptive father. It was doomed to be never accepted in society, always shunned and feared among the rare few who knew it because of what it was, forced to hide itself behind a façade of normality.
But, as the now-frantic scientist knew all too well, it was anything but normal.
-- -- --
A new character is introduced - one with a dramatic secret.
