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The Path Towards Home PG-14

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by lugia*master, Jun 28, 2009.

  1. lugia*master

    lugia*master Cheese XD

    Hello! This is a FanFic inspired by the two greatest programs I've ever seen, BBC's 'Life On Mars' and 'Ashes To Ashes'. It was previously made under the name of 'The Crystalline Coma' but, unfortunately, it didn't turn out well. But, I'm determined to make it work, so I've totally revamped it, because I've wanted to get something out of this idea for a long time. The age of the main character, and setting, has completely been redone, but she is still the same person, and has the same pokemon she would've had.

    So, please, read, review, and enjoy! ^^

    Chapter One: It Begins
    Chapter Two: Strange New World
    Chapter Three: Day One
    Chapter Four: Operation Silent String
    Chapter Five: Coming Soon

    The Path Towards Home

    Chapter One: It Begins

    It was very rainy in Saffron city that day, and had been for the past few days as well.

    Her black boots, soaked and covered in mud, splashed through the puddles that a never ending rain had produced. She wore long, worn-out jeans, the seams ripped and scruffy. A tight, red jacket covered a blue shirt with a clefairy pattern on it. Her straight, long, fiery red hair was let loose, wet from the pouring rain. Her blue bandana covered a part of her right eye, but her left eye could be seen to be a deep, shining, sapphire blue. She had black, leather fingerless gloves on her hands, with which she pulled her already tight jacket tighter, desperate to keep warm in the horrendous weather.

    She hurriedly speed-walked up the pavement on Trappa street, her house coming into sight at the end of the road. A small thunderclap surged through the sky, although she couldn’t see any lightning.

    With a sigh of relief, Angela closed the front door as she stepped inside, wiping her shoes on the ‘welcome’ mat, and taking them off.

    Houndour, her first Pokemon, barked happily from his bed in the corner of the living room, as she walked in. She bent down and stroked his head, to which he smiled and hopped onto her knees. She giggled and brushed him off playfully, before going into a door at the side of the living room. It led to the basement. The steps were old, creaky and decrepit, but she knew that her friend, Kingdra, was in her tank, so she had no reason to be freaked out.

    “Hiya Kingdra!” she said with a smile, and the dragon Pokemon swam to the edge of the giant tank, a smile on her face. Her smooth, blue scales reflected in the water from the light bulb that hung from the ceiling. The tank was the about 8 metres in length, and ran deep underground. It was connected the the sea, so ti was always full of seawater, and so Kingdra could go out and about whenever she wanted. Angela wasn’t afraid that it’d run away, because they were the best of friends, and she was completely loyal after Angela had saved it’s life from a gang of Carvannha as a baby Horsea.

    “I’ll come and feed you later, I need to do something right now.” she said. Kingdra looked slightly sad, but nodded, and went off to swim in her humble abode.

    Coming back upstairs into the living room, telling Houndour firmly not to claw at the sofa, she briefly popped into the garden to check on her Bayleef. He was busy eating plants, his head-leaf swaying in the wind as his yellow head moved up and down with each bite. His neck leaves jiggled about, which made Angela giggle, and she left him be.

    She slumped into the study, that ran on from the kitchen. It was a small room, with a leather chair that stood in front of a desk, a lamp, a cupboard, a computer and printing/scanning machine.

    She took her gun out of it’s holster, placing it carefully in the drawer, and took her police ID out of her pocket. Thankfully, it wasn’t wet. She placed it on the desk and, with a sigh, ran her fingers through her wet hair.

    She had a lot of paperwork to do, so she decided she needed to crack on with it. Despite this, she woke up in that night, head on the desk, paper stuck to her forehead, and a stiff back. She groaned, wincing as she straightened out and stretched, and checked her watch. It was a glow in the dark one, thankfully, and it’s bright green hands showed that it was a few minutes past three o’clock in the morning.

    She rubbed her forehead, which was red and flattened out from hours of resting against the desk, and tidied up the mess of paper from the table, before making her way out of the room, taking her gun, and ID with her.

    A few minutes later, she was just getting into bed, turning away from the moonlight that came in through the window, smiling at the soft, repetitive rhythm of Houndour’s breathing.

    As she began to drop off to sleep, she heard a crash form downstairs. She groaned, dismissing it as Kingdra playing games and practising her water gun aim on something that was on shelves in the basement. Then she heard movement around downstairs, and knew that it had to be someone else: A burglar.

    She sat up, careful not to knock Houndour off the bed. She heard gruff voices, trampling, smashing and the thud of something heavy hitting the floor. She knew it would be a mistake to turn on the light, so she grabbed her baton from it’s usual place beside the bedside table, and slipped her feet into her slippers to minimize the noise.

    She flicked the baton to it’s full length, and began creeping out of her room. She felt like she was a child, sneaking downstairs at night when her parents were still up. Only this was her house, and no-one stole anything from her.

    The landing was dark, with no windows to light it up. She crept along, one hand gripping her weapon, the other carefully tracing the wallpaper. She got to the edge, and, her back flat against the wall, peered round the corner. There was a large man, she couldn’t tell whether it was fat or muscle, but he looked like he’d need more than a blow to the head to knock out. He was rooting through a cabinet at the bottom of the stairs and, although it was dark, he could see that he was wearing a ski mask and black gloves.
    ‘That’s fingerprinting out the window then’ she thought to herself. Having found nothing of worth, he slammed the drawer shut,. He turned around, and she tried to back away around the corner, but he saw her.

    “Oi! You!” he shouted, heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. She back away down the upstairs landing. She turned around, and saw the bathroom at eh end. She ran inside and, grabbing the key for the door that was hidden next to the sink, hid behind the door.

    From her hiding place, she could hear the burglar smashing the doors open, checking every one of them. After finding her in none of the rooms, Angela deducted that he must’ve realised she was in eh bathroom, and thus had no reason to smash the door open, which she was thankful for, because, if he did, he’d most likely break her nose.

    He came in, his fists balled. He looked around the room, away from Angela first, which was a mistake. She jabbed him hard in the back, to which he cried out. He turned around, aiming a punch, but she ducked low and it missed. She grabbed his shoulders, pulled him close, and brought her knee up sharply into his stomach. He grunted in pain. She pushed him up against the wall, his head clashing with the wallpaper, a smear of blood wiping across it, coming from his nose bleed.

    He slumped to the floor, unconscious. She stepped over him with distaste. She knew there was at lease one more person downstairs, as she’d heard more than one voice when she was disturbed as she was falling asleep.

    She tip-toed back into her bedroom and opened the window. Leaning out of it, she was relieved to see the Bayleef, as ever was still in a deep sleep. Houndour was pawing at Angela’s feet. In front of the window, his smooth black fur looked slightly lighter, his deep red eyes glistening a reflection. She smiled, and whispered:

    “Go back to sleep, Houndour, I’m just sorting something out.” He looked unconvinced, but did as his friend told him, and curled up by the door, so that he could be of assistance if he was needed. Angela smiled, and went out of the room.

    It was quiet downstairs, and Angela had a brief moment of hope that the other burglar had noticed his comrade had disappeared and legged it. No chance. As if on cue, specifically to spite Angela’s thoughts, a smash, a thud, and a groan of pure annoyance sailed through the air and into her ears.

    “Damn…” she whispered to herself. She crept silently down the stairs, and screamed in her head, at the sight of her house trashed. The sofa had been, somehow, ripped open, with bits of fluff spilling out of the ‘wound’. The TV had been smashed, after being thrown on the floor. Wooden cabinets lay splintered and open, cracked and bent.

    Ornaments, most smashed, lay littered around the floor. The door had been untouched, since they had come in through a now smashed window at the back of the house, which she could see as she came around the banister at the bottom of the stairs. She slowly walked into the wreck of a living room, and ducked behind the ‘sofa’ as the burglar came in from he basement. He wasn’t as big as the other guy, but he looked tough. He, too, had a ski mask on, plus gloves.

    He turned to walk into the kitchen, so, while his back was towards her, she took her chance. She quickly, but quietly, crept up behind him, and whacked him around the back of the head. He stumbled, clutching the back of his head.

    She went for him, but he knocked her away with a swift shove from his arm. She fell against the table, wincing at the minor pain, but charged at him again. She aimed a punch at his stomach, but he knocked her head back with the palm of his hand.

    She tumbled to the ground, clutching her head, feeling blood trickle out of her nose. She was about to get up again, but froze with a silent gasp, as he pulled out a gun and pointed it at her temple.

    “Move, and your dead.” he stated simply. He had a deep, middle-aged sounding voice.

    She whimpered slightly, which made him grip the gun harder. He began to back away, edging towards the door. He turned his head around, so as he could see where the door was. He kept his gun pointed at her, or tried to, it shifted away from her; But he didn’t know, and Angela took her chance. She got up and hid behind a cupboard next to the stairs.

    He turned around, as he was about to go out, and saw that she’d gone. He came back, pointing his gun all around the room. Angela tried to keep still, but her foot slipped. She withdrew it instantly, but it was enough. The burglar whipped around, trying ti see where the sound came from. Then he saw her.

    “I said, DON’T MOVE!” He shouted. She whimpered, putting her hands up in protection.

    “Please-” she started. She was beggining to panic, but she didn't show it.

    “Shut it!” he retorted, readying the gun to fire. She gasped, backing away down the wall.

    “No, wait!” she pleaded, trying to get up, but her hand slipped and she fell back down again.

    “Oi!” he shouted, aiming the gun. He cocked it, the clickign sound tormenting Angela in her ears.

    “No! Wa-” she screamed, but he fired and cut her off.

    In that moment, Angela felt the world slow down. Her eyes grew wide, and she saw him pull the trigger or the shotgun in slow motion. A small cloud of smoke puffed out of the barrel, as the bullet made it’s journey outside. It emerged, spinning rapidly, but slowly flew towards her.

    Her eyes hurt, and things flashed in and out of sight. The bullet etched closer, and closer, until if finally collided with her skull. She felt an overwhelming pain in her head, and was about to scream, but she blacked out and couldn’t do a thing.

    Shapes shifted. Blurred, but definitely moving. Everything grew white, and suddenly, she was in another place. A hilltop, near the sea. It rose high out of the ground, the grass emerald green and covered in flowers and berry plants. A tall, imposing oak tree stood as it’s epicentre, it’s branches reaching far out, casting a long, wide shadow against the sun. A forest of smaller trees surrounded the path up to it, which was lined with a white fence, chapped over the years.

    But something was wrong. There was no breeze here, and, the flowers didn’t look quite as… blooming and carefree as they should. Slowly, a red haze rose up from the distance. Whispers could be heard. The forest of trees that guided the path to this normally wonderful place lit up in a wildfire, soon catching on the all the wildlife. The fire’s heat was almost as hot as the sun itself.

    It was spreading, fast. It soon came to a sign, pinpointing the resort location: ‘St. Morgan’s Hill’, but it’s words were soon swallowed up by the flickering flames, gone forever. Fire filled Angela’s sight, or, what she thought was sight, but might’ve been nothing but a dream, since she could do nothing but see.

    She felt a great pain, although, from which part of her body she did not know. Everything began to grow white, and she felt herself drifting. Floating away, as if disconnecting from her body. Then she could see nothing.

    Her eyes flickered open. She felt a great pain, although, from which part of her body she did not know. Things were slightly obscured, but they slowly came into view. She was lying down, on something soft. Something… green. She hauled herself up, and let out a gasp, of pure shock.
    Last edited: Jul 24, 2009
  2. shadow_wolf

    shadow_wolf Well-Known Member

    Ive got to admit that this intro is ALOT better then the first attempt.

    However there are a few issues in it. A minor issue is that there are a couple of typos within the text.
    Other than this the major issue is that you've not really described the Houndour or the Bayleef Etc properly. I know we all know what their like but you will be moaned at for them.

    Other than that I think it a good idea for a Fic (especially cos i liked Life on Mars....John Simms lol).

    Sorry bout this rather rubbish review it my first real attempt to not fail at something and if i were you id wait for a proper one to come.
  3. lugia*master

    lugia*master Cheese XD

    lol, no worries, any sort of good feedback is welcome! ^^ I'll set to work on it now.

    I know, I've not had my proofreader check the second one eyt, so it'll be a bit before the second one comes along.
  4. Zorg

    Zorg Spongetastic

    i totally agree with shadow wolf, a much better piece of work.

    still 1 or 2 typos but easy to understand what you meant.

    other than that it was a good prologue, and i cant wait for the first chapter.
  5. lugia*master

    lugia*master Cheese XD

    Thank's for your comments, guys ^^ And, yeah, I agree with Shadow Wolf too, this one IS way better than the other one! ^^
  6. The Great Butler

    The Great Butler Hush, keep it down

    Besides the few typos, I agree that this is definitely better than the first one. The thin description on the Pokémon didn't really bother me.

    I give you credit. Most authors - myself included - would have had her totally pwn the robbers.
  7. lugia*master

    lugia*master Cheese XD

    Lol, thanks ^^ I'll have, hopefully, at least the next two chapters up in the next two weels, perhaps even a third, but I'm going to France on holiday on the 13th-17th July, so I wont be able to write anything during that week
  8. lugia*master

    lugia*master Cheese XD

    Chapter One: Strange New World

    Her eyes flickered open. She felt a great pain, although, from which part of her body she did not know. Things were slightly obscured, but they slowly came into view. She was lying down, on something soft. Something… green. She hauled herself up, and let out a gasp, of pure shock.

    She had been lying on a green field, blanketed by flowers of all colour and shape. She was too dumbfounded to say anything. She was in the shade of a tall, thick oak tree. Then she remembered.
    ‘this is the place from my… vision, or, whatever’ she thought. She could remember her little vision of, sort of, flying over the field, she didn’t know what had happened. It was like a dream, although she couldn’t remember when she had gone to sleep - or how the hell she’d gotten in the middle of a field.

    Glancing around, she saw that a branch had fallen on the ground. That was where that pain in her head had come from, she concluded. She stood, up, ignoring a slight whining of pain in her head. She squinted in the distance, and saw a sign that said ‘ST MORGAN’S HILL’.
    “St Morgan’s Hill…” she said to herself, thinking that the name sounded slightly familiar, and not just from the vision. She began to panic as she saw no way to get out of the field and into a place where she could find her way home, but then she saw a dusty dirt path that lead off into a forest and, seeing no other option, went for it.

    The forest was cold, despite the sunny weather, and she found herself shivering. The trees weren’t that tall, but they still blocked out most of the sunlight. Their brow, spiralling trunks stood, tall and proud, in the earth, their roots surfacing in parts, with seeming intentions to trip unsuspecting people up.

    The chirping sounds of Hoothoot, Chatot and Zubat echoed around, and she hoped that the end of the road would come soon. She came to an area where there was a spate of naked trees, their lifeless branches sticking out like old, decrepit hands, reaching towards their only hope of survival.
    She began to run, the closeness getting to her - she didn’t like places like this, not since she had gotten lost in one once as a child, and had been pestered by a Haunter.

    She saw an opening up ahead, and ran straight for it. The light from the sun shrouded where it opened to in a light, so she couldn’t see, but as she got closer, it was clear. She ran towards it, a smile on her face - and tripped over a low-lying fence.
    She flew forward, head first, and landed on a soggy, but grassy patch. She banged her head, as it hit the ground, and specks of mud and grass decorated her face.

    “Ugh” she moaned, picking herself up. Her jacket was slightly muddy, and she wiped it off in disgust.

    “You all right love?” came a voice. She turned around. She appeared to be in some kind of park, and the voice’s owner was sat on a bench, not 3 metres away from her. She was an old woman, in her sixties at least. She had curly grey hair, a brown hat with a red bead on it, a smart brown suit, grey skirt, and sensible shoes. A Socialite.

    “Um… Yes, I think… listen, this might sound like a weird question, but… could you tell me where I am?” she replied.
    The old woman put on a slightly excused expression, cocking her head to one side, but said nothing. Angelina sighed, shaking her head. “Okay, never mind. Just, forget it.”

    She started to walk away from the old woman, but she felt a hand clasp her shoulder. The old woman had moves surprisingly quick, and her grip was firm, not one usually associated with an old woman.

    “Stop,” she said. “There’s something… something about you.” Angela shrugged herself free, and trekked away, glancing behind at the old woman. She was standing where she had been left, her hat low over her face so her eyes couldn’t be seen, but her lips formed a knowing smile, one that could’ve been mistaken for that of a thief, or a ninja. Something which didn’t quite fit a woman of that age. Desperate to get away from that creep, she strode down what appeared to be a hill.

    She couldn’t resist turning around. She did, and at once regretted it. The park bench had gone, along with the old woman, but, worse still, so had the clearing in the trees she had stumbled out of.

    She turned away. Wherever she was, there was something not quite right about it. The sooner she got the hell out of this place, the better.
    The hill was dotted with tall fir trees, and flowers that swayed elegantly in the breeze. She heard the blasting of horns, and the humming and beeping of a modernised city. She began to run for it, eager to find out what place she had landed herself in.

    The city she reached was large, and one that she hadn’t seen for years - not since she was but a five year old; Hearthome city.

    “Good god…” she whispered to herself, in shock. “How the hell did I end up here?” she said, in an equally quiet voice. A vast, pink, blue and yellow dome, with an open roof, stood as the centrepiece of the city, which she recalled as the ‘Contest’ amphitheatre.

    The path she had walked down led to a purple archway, which she stepped through. Her feet made tapping noises on the concrete. She could hear the noises getting louder. Car horns bleated like lambs in a never ending traffic jam. A giant screen on the inside of the contest dome blared out. She could hear the churns of a helicopter in the sky, although she couldn’t see it.

    These sounds filled her head, as she became immersed in the sounds of a busy city. She began to walk forwards, but stumbled. She felt drowsy. She had to sit down, otherwise she feared she’d keel over. A bench was situated a few yards away, right outside a small entrance building to a park called ‘Amity square’. She slumped down on it, her hand on her forehead, which she could feel was alarmingly overheated.

    Suddenly, as if remembering something, her hand shot to her pocket. She could feel something in it. She unzipped the pocket and took it out - it was her police ID. It was only then that she noticed what she was wearing. She had a blue, leather jacket, with two zippy pockets on either side. Underneath it, she could feel a silky smooth blouse, she didn’t know what colour it was, but it felt soft on her skin. She was wearing blue, skinny jeans, and black, high heeled boots, but with heels not so thin that she couldn’t run fast in them without tripping up.

    For a moment, she wondered if she still had her gun secreted on her person, but she couldn’t feel it. She’d have to go to the nearest police station and get one.

    She stood up, but stumbled and, once again, things were drowned out by noises. Her head began to hurt, but she ignored it - she’d get no-where if she gave up every time her head started to hurt. After fifteen minutes of wandering around, searching for the police station - that included walking into several buildings, a bar, cinema, and bakers shop among them - she found it.

    It was a tall, wide structure, a monster made of glass and steel. It was mainly blue, but the metal skeleton supporting it was a shiny, silvery grey colour. She pushed open the glass double doors, and went inside.

    There was a sergeant attending the desk. He was male, non-uniform, perhaps in his late forties, with brown hair, balding slightly in the middle.

    “Hello,” she said. “I need to know if… are you expecting a new colleague? A new DI? Anyone?” He looked at her like she’d just dribbled on her shirt.

    “Beg yer pardon?” he replied. She blinked, and repeated the question. He picked up a file from under the desk and flicked through it, his eyes darting from left to right as he scanned it’s pages.

    “No, sorry. No-one that I’ve been informed of miss. Sorry.” he said, after he’d finished his brief check. He stowed the file away and put on a smile that said ‘Sorry, I can’t help you, now bugger off, I have things to do.’

    She frowned, and pretended to walk away. She watched his reflection in the glass. He wasn’t falling for it. She gave a sigh of frustration and stormed out of the building.

    This, he fell for. Her chuckled, shaking his head, and walked through a door behind his desk. Whilst he wasn’t there, she snuck back in through the doors, and hurried into the double doors to the left of the desk while she had the chance. It led to a spiralling maze of corridors with several offices and doors lining them.

    From her experience as a DI, she knew what room she was looking for, and soon, she found it.
    It was lined with guns and other weapons that had been put away safely. Each case had a lock, but luckily, she knew that it was the same one, since they were the same brand of cases that had been used back at her own police station. She quickly fiddled with one, just to test it out, and, to her relief, it worked.

    She began searching for one like her own, but the closest one she could find was a Beretta 92FS. She took it, hearing voices outside the room. She knew what bullets it used, since she had used one in firearms training back at her old station. They were easy to use, slightly heavier than her old one, but it was sufficient. Now the only task at hand was finding out where she was supposed to be.

    She exited the room and, checking that the coast was clear, shut the door behind her and went to find the main office. She reckoned that there’d be a CID in this police station, since at her old one there’d been two separate buildings, but there was only one here. She was right. A large area, marked ‘CID: Criminal Investigations Department’ on the doors was found pretty quickly.

    Inside, there were desks all around the room, with officers answering calls, filling in paperwork, chatting with their colleagues, and, in sync, faces that all looked up at her as she entered.

    She stopped, gulped, and headed for a separate office which was marked ‘DCI Jamieson’. She headed for it, pushed open the door, and went inside. She immediately got a “bugger off! I’m busy!” thrown at her, which startled her, but she did not leave. The man at the desk looked up, and a look of surprise popped up on his face.

    He had brown, fair hair, a slightly sagged face, and wore a blue suit, light purple shirt, and a red tie. He looked slightly overweight around the middle, and she guessed he, too, was in his late forties.

    “What d’you want? I’m tryin’ to do some paperwork ‘ere!” he snarled, and she closed her eyes in distaste, but remained unmoved.
    “I’d like to know if you’re expecting anyone. Only, I’ve woken up somewhere in a field outside the city and I have no-idea how I got here, and I don’t know where to go because I’m from a totally different region. I don’t even have my Pokemon with me-” she started, but was cut off by the DCI, who had a look of confusion on his face.

    “Whoa, whoa, whoa, start again, I lost ye after the first bloody word!” he said. She sighed.
    “I need a job.” she said, simply. He said nothing. For a moment, Angela thought he was going to kick her out, but the next thing he did was quite unexpected; he laughed.

    “You think I’m being funny.” she said. He carried on laughing. She was beginning to lose her patience. She frowned at him, and he stopped laughing, although a smile still remained on his face.

    “Good one, now get out. If yer want a job, get yerself down to the uniformed department, they always need more help.” he retorted. Angela fumed.

    “Listen. I am in a strange city - with no idea how I got here - and I need a job. I am a DI, and as far as I know, this is the only police station around Now I need a job.” she spat. She decided she particularly despised this man.

    He leaned forward over his desk, and said slowly “Fine, but only because DI Gammon is likely to be transferred some time soon. Start tomorrow, now bugger off. Oh, and I’ll need your transfer documents.”
    She hesitated, not knowing what she should do.

    “Good.” she said, and walked out.


    Later that evening, Angela had found a place to stay - an apartment above the local corner shop. It was more like a minimarket. It wasn’t very bright. The living room had only a few lights, a fireplace, couch and TV. She settled to sleep for the night on the couch, not knowing the shock that would come to haunt her the next day.
    Last edited: Jul 24, 2009
  9. Zorg

    Zorg Spongetastic

    good, are u still going with ur old plot? that she ends up in the pokemon world?

    overall, good, just as good as the prologue/chapter 1
  10. lugia*master

    lugia*master Cheese XD

    Aye, I am. She still is, in fact, in the pokemon world. Thanks for the comments, I personally think that some parts were a bit rushed, and will get onto editing them slightly later, but some elements in it were vital to the main storyline.
  11. LinksOcarina

    LinksOcarina The true master

    Not too bad.

    Excellent descriptions on the environment so far, which is always a good sign to get people into the story. I also like the unhinged realism you have, namely, everyone's pretty much a prick when it comes to dealing with someone they don't know. Sounds like city life to me, which I guess is a compliment.

    There are a few things though I am a bit confused about.

    1. If it's a pokemon story, where are the pokemon? I get she has some as pets, but they were barely in the story, and since the strange parallel universe type thing going on, how will they fit into the story again?

    2. Angela seems like she can be a good character, but so far it's looking like a Tomb Raider action star, you know? Not exactly vulnerable or anything like that, in fact she doesn't seem bewildered by the fact that she was transported somewhere. Oh sure, you mentioned it in passing, but you didn't show it while she was lost in the forest and so forth. I don't see much depth into her character yet.

    But keep at it, it's looking good.
  12. The Great Butler

    The Great Butler Hush, keep it down

    Hm. Not much happened, I will say that. But what is here is well written. I think it does well to enhance the mystery of what happened to her - I know you got me in!
  13. lugia*master

    lugia*master Cheese XD

    Thanks for all your comments, guys. 'LinksOcarnia', that Tomb Raider comment made me laugh. I'm not really a fan of it, but still. Anyway, I've just realised the absence of Pokemon myself, but I know they're in the next chapter, because I'm writing them in right now. I'll go and edit it as soon as I can, but I urgently need to get rid of a golf-ball sized moth in my bathroom right now. :S
  14. lugia*master

    lugia*master Cheese XD

    Sorry for the long wait, here's chapter three! I'd like to point out, it may be slightly shorter than the previous two, plus, it's learned that Angela's new nickname is 'Gail', something which she's been christened by her friends from childhood. We also find out the names of some other officers in the police station, and there pokemon. Read On!


    The voice broke into her head, and into her thoughts. She was wrenched from a horrible dream, about her family being... well, killed. She sat up sharply, on the sofa she'd been sleeping on.


    It said again. It was a hoarse whisper, barely audible. She turned around--and screamed. An old woman, the same one from the field, sat on the armrest.

    'Angela...' she croaked, her lips barely moving. Angela backed away.

    'No... No! You're not real! I won't fall for it!... NO!'

    She screamed, clamping her eyes shut. She willed the old woman to go away, but she could still sense her presence... somehow. She opened her eyes, and screamed, lashing out, at the sight of the woman's face suddenly so close to her own. Her hand made contact with her face and, which with it being balled into a fist and with the woman's age and all, should've done considerable damage.

    It did, but the woman didn't even flinch. Her nose, broken and bent completely out of shape. Blood trickled down it, and with it, her skin.

    It began to drop off in clumps, revealing the bloody flesh underneath. Blood began to pour, and the skin flopped uselessly in a pile. In no time, with Angela frozen at the end of her couch in fear, the woman's face and hands, were extensions of a completely skinless body. Veins pumped, blood poured, and maggots crawled.

    Angela whimpered. The woman looked now, not unlike a corpse, with the front of it's face ripped off, maggots wriggling their way in and out of her skull. The woman began to scream, her head pointing at Angela even though her eyeballs were now soaked with blood and... reasonably dysfunctional.

    Her scream was high pitched, something unearthly, and when Angela couldn't take any more, the corpse of a woman flung herself at Angela.

    'AARGH!' Angela screamed, her lungs hoarse, her body soaked in cold sweat. She began to hyperventilate. She refused to go back to sleep. She felt as if she’d been dragged, quite suddenly, out of water. She grabbed for the lamp next to the sofa, flicking it on and relishing it’s warm, safe glow.

    Only now was it that she got a good, solid look at her new home. The sofa was comfy, striped red and blue, with fluffy white cushions. The floor was wood-tiled, and shiny, as if it’d been cleaned recently. The walls were a creamy-orangey colour, and a painting of Sinnoh from above hung on the wall. A TV, - an old one at that - stood on a small table against the wall, facing the sofa. It had a silver aerial sticking out of it’s back.

    The light from the ceiling was one of those ones where it’s a fan as well as a light. It was currently turned off, the only light being the lamp next to the sofa, who’s lampshade had a small hole in it. A fireplace stood against the wall, and Angela longed to set it alight to get some warmth back into her body.

    She looked at her watch: 7:13AM. She sighed, got up, and got dressed. She’d bought some clothes from a clothes shop, across the street from the station. She wore, as usual, a tight jacket, but this time, a blue colour, having it tightly zipped up. She had a long, black overcoat, that went un-buttoned, and dangled down just past her knees. She had black, leather gloves, black skinny jeans, and her ever-straight fiery red hair flowed neatly, as usual. She had dark blue boots on, which would’ve looked like cowboy boots if they hadn’t been blue, since they went up to just below her knees.

    As she came out of her bedroom, she heard a knock at the door. Taking a minute to remember where the door was, she walked over to it and answered to a man with shaven, grey hair, a green cap on, accompanied by a green suit, who was holding a brown package.

    “Are you a miss… um, Angela, Cry… crys… cry-” he started, but Angela cut him off.
    “Yes.” she said simply. He nodded and placed the package down. He took out a clipboard, to which was attached a form and a pen.

    “Could you sign here please. I’m sorry they didn’t get through sooner, there was a spot of trouble at the luggage centre in the ferry-port…” he said. Angela frowned.

    “Ferry port? And what’s in the package anyway?” she asked. The delivery man took out a small notebook from his chest pocket. He flicked through it, and read aloud:
    “they’re your Pokemon miss, a Houndour, Bayleef, and a Kingdra. They advised to wait until you had suitable accommodation for the Kingdra.” he replied. Angela said nothing for a second, before grabbing the clipboard from his hands, signing, and thrust it back to him.

    She picked up the package, and with a quick word of thanks, shut the door. She slid down the back of the door, sighing, and began to open the package. Then a sudden thought struck her: “How do they know where I live!”

    She heaved herself up, the package falling to the ground, and wrenched open the door. The delivery man was already out of sight, and she could see the delivery van pulling away outside from the window in the corridor.
    She sighed in annoyance, and went back inside.


    As she walked into the station, Houndour at her heels (other Pokemon back at her flat), she noticed for the first time that other officers had Pokemon as well. She savoured the gob smacked look of the desk sergeant as she walked in the front door, who’s Yanma perched on his shoulder. Her office was bustling with work. The five officers that were in there all had Pokemon as well. She’d get on name-to-name basis later, she needed to get things sorted out with her boss first. She walked into his office.

    She was about to say something, before realising she didn’t actually know his first name.

    “Umm… sir?” she said. DCI Jamieson looked up, and gave a face that said ‘was that supposed to mean something to me or what?’

    “Jus’ call me boss, sir, Guv, whatever, love.” he replied, getting on with nursing his…

    “Chatot?” Angela said, a hint of questioning in her voice. The ‘Guv’ looked up, and snapped:

    “And?” Angela shook her head, holding her hands out defensively.

    “No, it’s nothing. Anyway, um, it’s just that, I don’t quite know what’s happened to my transfer papers, plus, where’s my desk?” she replied, biting her lip in a slight nervousness. The Guv leaned back in his chair. He sighed, shaking his head, and said:

    “No problem, err, Angela, I’ll ‘ave a word with the super. But now, I guess it’s time for introductions.” he said, and began to get up.

    “Gail.” Angela said. He stopped, looking at her, wondering what she had just said.

    “What?” he asked. He cocked his head, which was mimicked by his ever loyal, and ever groomed Chatot.

    “Gail, that’s my nickname. It’s what everyone calls me. My friends do anyway.” she answered. The Guv looked at her, strangely, but began to walk past her.
    As they walked out into the main CID area, all the officers looked up. DCI Jamieson began to fill them in.

    “Right, well, since last night’s untimely removal of DI Gordon, we’ve suddenly found thrust upon us a new DI, Angela Crystalline, although I’m sure you’ll all manage with simply, ma’am, now I want you all to be very welcoming, she’s not quite sure of ‘er grounds yet, so be on yer best behaviour.” he finished, answered by a chorus of “yes sir.”

    He pointed out her desk, which was slightly larger and closer to his office than the others. Houndour rubbed her leg happily. She giggled and stroked him, before going towards her desk. She draped her long black coat over the back of her chair, and as she did, three people came over to introduce themselves. The first was a woman, who had short black hair, and wore a police uniform on, and had an Aipom.

    “Hello ma’am, nice to meet you, I’m WPC Hill. Just call me Fran, that’s what everyone else does.”

    The second was a man, matted brown hair, light skin, looked slightly overweight. He had a black shirt on, and black trousers, and had a Minun on his shoulder. “Hello ma’am. I’m, er, DC Farnham, Dean Farnham. Welcome to… um, welcome.” he said, with a smile. Gail smiled and shook his hand.

    The third, and final person who could be bother to get up and greet her was a tall man, with spiky black hair, a bit of facial hair, and, as Gail noticed, really white teeth. He had a white striped shirt on, and a blue pinstriped suit.

    “Greetings, ma’am. I’m DS Ricky Taylor, nice to meet you. And this is Lia,” he said, dazzling his pearly white teeth in a smile, and pointing to a Kirlia that sat floating around his shoulder. Gail smiled, and stroked her own Pokemon as he went to sit down. She looked up at the other two officers who had yet to introduce themselves, but they made no mention to move, so she took no measures to involve herself in them.

    Slipping her gun into her desk drawer, where it was out of sight, she suddenly felt a throbbing pain in the back of her head. She gritted her teeth, stroking the area where the pain had been, but had now flitted off elsewhere. As soon as no-one was looking, she dashed out side, Houndour in tow.

    Minutes later, she found herself in that self-same field in which she had arrived in this strange, fantasy world.

    ‘Where they bloody hell am I…?’ she thought to herself. It was then that the memories crashed into her mind like a capsizing ocean liner, tossed onto shore by a tsunami. She gasped, stumbling to the ground, clutching her temple.

    A burglar. Screams. Escaping, almost. Gun. BANG!

    She screamed in pain, out loud, her head burning and churning in a swirling torrent of searing pain. Everything blasted out white, and she began to hear voices and noises. A distant beeping, like a heart-monitoring machine in a hospital. She heard doctors whispering and chattering, their voices taunting her by being just out of earshot, a desperate strain. She heard what sounded like an explosion, more screams, and a defeaning, unearthly roar.

    Suddenly, everything whirled back into motion, and the world whizzed back into view. Gail collapsed in an untidy heap on the floor, drifting into a deep unconsciousness…
  15. The Great Butler

    The Great Butler Hush, keep it down

    Hmmm, not bad. You continue to keep a good amount of intrigue going, and that's to your benefit.

    Freaky, but good. I have to confess that this reminded me slightly of the scene in Family Guy where Peter's face falls off and Hank Hill's is underneath, but this is much more serious and successful at it. Seriously, I could see this happening as I read it.

    I felt lost a few times in this part regarding who was speaking.

    Also, what is an "aerial" and what do all those acronyms mean?
  16. lugia*master

    lugia*master Cheese XD

    Thank for the comments, The Great Butler!
    I thought the acronyms might cause some confusion to those non britans, so here's a small guide:

    CID: Criminal Investigations Department
    DCI: Detective Chief Inspector
    DI: Detective Inspector
    DS: Detective Sergeant
    DC: Detective Constable
    WPC: Woman Police Constable
    PC: Police Constable
    PS: Police Sergeant

    It's all British ^^
  17. Brumrha

    Brumrha Banned

    I've only glanced through your work, but right away, I've found something wrong with it: it's unrated.

    You see, Lugia Master, a fic's rating is a critical piece of information, as it determines the content of the work - some works are appropriate for all ages, while others are meant only for mature audiences. The rules clearly state that all written works must have a rating, & it can't be higher than "R" & even so, it needs mod approval. If a written work is unrated, people won't know which age groups this is meant for, & chances are, if it's inappropriate, you'll risk your work getting thrown into the bonfire by the mods.

    So unless you want that to happen, I'd like you to give a rating on your written work. Then, & only then, will I give you a proper review.


    Ah, you've got it rated. That meant you've listened to me.

    Now, I'll give you a review, as promised.

    Note that I'm the one-man Fic Shredding Department, so it's just your luck that I'm here now... hehehe...

    *busts out his microscopic sights*

    For your Prologue:

    She's a policewoman? I'm interested already...

    Is that British?

    A Burglary is going on?? OO!

    Anyhow, you can do without that comma.

    The... What kind of silly error is that?

    Times two...


    Anyway, that should be least.


    Is that British as well?


    Headshot!!! Probability of death: 100%

    The strange vision in the end of this was just that: strange, & also horrifying.

    Also, would it kill you to give Angela's Pokemon a description? There might be some readers that have no Pokemon Lore & have no idea what any of these Pokemon look like. My advice is to get a picture of the Pokemon in your work, & describe it as you would see it. Make sure that you include the major details; the minor ones can be left out unless they're doing something that involves the said detail. Also, keep it as brief as possible.

    My RLS is killing me, so I'll continue this at a later time...
    Last edited: Jul 22, 2009
  18. lugia*master

    lugia*master Cheese XD

    Chapter Four: Operation Silent String

    Thanks, I'll got to edit them now. :O I've always spelt it like that. I'm going to crawl away and die now! >.<

    Well, I was going to reveal it in chapter five, but I suppose it does need saying. The bullet doesn't penetrate, in the end. Well, not int eh end, but, you know. Anyway, here's chapter four!

    Gail woke with a start, in the middle of a vast cavern. She lay on a flattened rock face, a few metre’s from the mouth of the cave, where a gloomy grey sea crashed and thrashed around. She stood up, rubbing her back, which was slightly stiff.

    “Ah…” she gasped quietly. It was around then that she was wondering where she was, and how she’d gotten there. Her train of thought was smashed by a small scream that she could hear. It came from somewhere outside of the cave. She scrambled to the cave’s entrance, or in her case, exit, and looked around. There was a large cliff, with jagged, grimly coloured sedimentary layers. On the cliff’s peak, was a lush field, crowned with an almighty blooming oak tree.

    She could see two figures in the distance; one was definitely a girl, but she couldn’t quite make out the second one. The one she couldn’t quite make out was advancing on the girl, who was edging towards the cliff edge.

    “LOOK OUT!” Gail hollered, and the figure appeared to turn around, but as soon as that happened, Gail took a step too far towards the edge. A tall, flourishing wave erupted up the rock face, and took her in it’s clasp, throwing her about like a doll. She screamed in her mind, desperately trying to swim against the current, but the force was too strong, and her limbs were quickly growing tired.

    Her lungs were burning, their need for oxygen unfulfilled. The current began to spin, and Gail’s body twisted and turned in time to the current. Then, everything lit up a bright white…


    Lick… lick…

    Gail awoke to a sloppy pink tongue coated in a gooey saliva, sweeping around her face like a broom, covered in jelly.

    “Ugh…” she whispered, carefully batting away Houndour’s tongue. He looked pleased with himself for reviving his owner. He barked happily.

    “Shh, Houndour,” she whispered. It was night time, and she began to wander how long she’d been lying there. She was still in the field, and everything around her looked tinted dark blue or black by the night sky, which was embedded with jewel-like stars.

    “Ahh…” she groaned. Houndour began to lick her leg again. She shook him off, and they began to head home.


    In the station the next day, the Guv began to fill Gail in on the current operation. He stood in front of a murky whiteboard, which was dotted with newspaper cut-outs and scribbles in fading whiteboard-pen.

    “Okay. Let’s start from the bottom. Operation Silent String,” he began. “Six weeks ago,” he continued, pointing at a picture of a girl stuck to the board with blue tack. “Jane Riley, lovely 15 year old little girl, head held up high, ambitions as high as the moon. Found dead by the park, neck wrung like a Christmas turkey, three stab wounds to the chest.”

    Gail gulped. It sounded all to familiar. She blinked several times, but listened.

    “Now, the coroner deduced that the marks around the neck were the cause of death, and that they’d been there before the stabbing.” he continued, looking around. “Gail, and ideas?” he said, looking at her.

    “What? Why me, your filling me in!” she protested. The Guv held up a hand, to halt her jabbering.

    “I want to know what type of stuff your good at. Also, it says in your file that you have a degree in psychiatry.” he replied. Gail sighed.

    “It’s called psychology.”

    The Guv nodded his head in a ’yeah-whatever’ fashion. “Yeah, psychology, whatever.”

    Gail stood up, meandered her way to the board, and had a good, hard stare. “Hmm…” she murmured to herself. “Well, if she was already dead, and the killer came back for more, perhaps… the killer had some sort of grudge?” she said, lifting her voice at the end so the Guv could perhaps add onto it. Which he did.

    “Or,” he carried on, “maybe it means this cheery little bugger wasn’t clever enough to realise she was already dead, so took extra precautions to make sure.” Gail shook her head.

    “It doesn’t work like that. The doctor said that the stab wounds were made a considerable amount of time after death, which implies that they had to come back some time after they’d killed. Obviously they’d moved the body, which means that they’d have had time to get a knife, or whatever the doctor said the impaling item was; also, it may mean that, if they did have a grudge, they went through a certain phase, where--” she retorted. The Guv snorted loudly, shaking his head.

    “Right whatever. Back to yer seat, we’ve not finished yet.” he snarled. Gail sighed, and trudged back to her desk. The Guv continued, by tapping his finger at a picture of an elderly man.

    “Dean Riley, the girls grandfather. Same death, strangled by a thin cord of material, fibres found on his fingertips and under his nails suggested that he’d been struggling to get out of the binding, which says---”

    “Well, that puts suicide down the drain then.” Gail muttered to herself.

    “--- that, well, it could have been murder, or some accident. He, was found in the forest around where the body of Jane was discovered.” he finished.

    “So,” Gail put in, “I was almost right, whoever this killer is, had a grudge against the family. Perhaps, it was someone who rivalled the parents profession in some way. What was it that Jane’s parents did?”

    The Guv looked like he was about to say something, but then stopped, unable to continue. He then swerved round on his feet, and said: “WPC Hill, can you enlighten us?” he asked.

    She nodded, then tottered up to the whiteboard, Aipom in tow - that is, until it was told with a strict look to stay at the desk.

    “Well, um, Dean was the father of the father, Andrew Riley, who was a vivisectionist. Is, sorry. The Mother was an animal scientist, they’re partners, which is how they met. We deduced that their jobs were why they’re family was being targeted.” she said and, bowing her head with nothing more to say, went back to her desk.

    The Guv continued: “With this information, we think that the killer may be an animal activist, or, certainly some person against animal cruelty.”

    Little over an hour later, Gail had gotten pretty much through the details of the case, as well as where she was. After the memory burst last night, she figured she’d got it covered.

    ‘So, I was shot, in the head,’ she thought to herself. ‘As a result, I end up here, in… Sinnoh, with no idea of how I got here. If I was shot, then that means… no, I can’t be dead. Not yet, it’s been at least three days, my sub-conscious would’ve collapsed by now. No, no it has to be something else… that’s it. Coma.’ Her mind clicked, and she gave herself a satisfactory smile.

    “If severe cranial trauma got me into this mess, then perhaps-- no, I’m not even going to go there. If I’m in a coma, then this means that, this place, here, this world is all a sub-conscious construct that my mind has created, to keep my mind at work, to keep myself going, until I can find the mental trigger to… to get home, and---”

    “Ma’am?” said a voice. Gail snapped out of her thoughts, to be met with the peering, gleeful face of WPC Hill. “You alright? Talkin’ to yourself like a madwoman. Anyway, there’s this thing going on down at the shopping centre, a guys got someone at gunpoint, the other lads are all busy, so I thought--”

    “Come on,” cut in Gail. She grabbed her jacket, and headed out of the office, Fran, Houndour and Aipom following behind.

    The shopping centre looked like a mass of people running around like headless chickens let loose. The police car swerved around the corner, Gail in the drivers seat, Fran and Aipom clinging on for dear life. Houndour was relatively used to the speed of Gail’s driving, especially when she was doing police work.

    They stepped out of the car, Houndour was itching to fight, and, being the eager little chimp that he was, Aipom was already charging up a Swift attack.

    The guy with the gun was tall, had spiky black hair, light brown skin, and wore tracksuits. He had a pistol in his hand, which was making a mark where it was being pushed into the hostages skin.

    Two uniformed officers had just arrived, their batons at the ready. The gunman was backing away into the shopping centre, screaming threats that he’d grace the clean, shiny floors with the hostages brains if they followed him.

    Once he was out of sight, Gail and Fran crept cautiously towards the doors, as more uniformed officers arrived to keep the crowds steady.

    The power had been turned off, so it was dark enough that Gail could only see so far into it’s gloomy entails. Aipom used swift, and threw a glowing star upwards, so it hovered in the air and cast some light around.

    The gunman looked up, dragging his hostage up the stairs with him, surprised at the sudden presence of light.

    “Oi! You two, better stay back! Or I’ll blow your brain’s out n’all!” He threatened. Gail put her hands up, to try and calm him down.

    “All right, all right, that gun is not helping, at all. Now listen, I want you to do something for me,” she said, directing her request to the hostage. “What’s your name?”

    He replied, but the gunman shook him which muffled the answer. “Don’t think so.” he spat.

    The two officers approached, cautiously, giving the gunman no option but to point his gun at the two of them. In a flash, before he could register, Gail had whipped out her gun from it’s holster, and had it aimed it his shoulder, ready to fire if he did anything uncanny.

    “Don’t. I’m warning you, that is the wrong path your going down. Just think. Do you have any kids? At all? Any family you care about?” she called, trying a different method. The gunman looked at her, curiously.

    “Wha’s she on about?” he snarled to Fran. She gripped her baton more tightly.

    “Just answer her bloody question,” she retorted. He licked his dry lips, and took a deep breath through his nose.

    “One… little boy.” he replied, not knowing where it was going. His gun began to shake slightly. Gail nodded, trying to look as sympathetic as she could.

    “Well, think of him. Think, if you pull that trigger… he is lost, to you. Even now, your going to be in a lot of trouble. If you pull that trigger, it’s attempted murder, and I swear, if you kill someone today, then what’s your little boy gonna think of his daddy. Hm?” she said, noting that, given his shaking hand and avoidance of eye contact, her method was working.

    He began to lower his gun, only slightly, but when Fran stepped forward, he brought it back up again.

    “You’d better stay there! Thas’ my life, out the window. ‘Cos if I give you this gun, I’m finished. Done.” He aimed, and fired.
    Last edited: Jul 24, 2009

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