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.
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.
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