Zub 2: Road Trip to the Funny Farm
another fanfic by Zibdas
This is a sequel to my first fic, Zub: The Adventures of Stuff. While not a direct sequel per se, and is therefore not required reading, this plays directly off of events and characters within The Adventures of Stuff, making it recommended.
Spoiler:- PM List:
Without further ado, here we go~
Chapter 0: Prelude of Unfortunate Things
Chapter 1: no.
Chapter 3: Meanwhile
Chapter 4: The Road Trip Begins
Chapter 5: Interlude
“Are you even old enough to drive?” asked Death. “Do you even have a license?”
Zub shook his head no to each of these questions.
“Ah,” Death said coolly. “We’re probably going to die horrifically, then?”
Zub nodded yes. Death, however, seemed to change his mind and scrunched up the forehead of his skull in concentration. Being nothing more than a skull, a pair of skeletal hands, and a cloak of an endless oblivion has its advantages, such as impressing people by your ability to scrunch a skull.
He made a noise only possible by clicking a tongue, of which he lacked. “I can’t die, though, can I?”
Zub shook his head, putting forth all his concentration to driving and not getting them all killed. The muddy lowlands were slick enough as it were, but the heavy downpour was not helping. The cargo in the back of the powerful eighteen-wheeler truck roared crankily.
“So what are the consequences of crashing, for me?” Death drawled inquisitively.
There was no answer. As I’m sure you know, Zub cannot speak. For he is a freak of nature, and also the byproduct of a megalomaniacal Magikarp monster. Technically, as Magikarp are natural by default, he is naturally a byproduct of nature. Logic, yes?
Death tapped his skull in concentration. “Obviously, that jerk of an author wants me to not crash, but why?” As he thought, he noticed a dull beeping. “Are you dully beeping?” he asked Zub.
Zub shook his head.
Death frowned, another extraordinary feat.
He glanced outside. “Are you guys dully beeping?”
They shook their head.
“They aren’t dully beeping,” Death said nonchalantly. Zub looked at him inquisitively with a look of worry, but by now Death had grown accustomed to ignoring Zub and did not notice.
He then noticed an instrument on the truck’s dashboard and tapped it reprovingly. “Ah,” he said at last. “This is what was dully beeping. It says they have caught up to us.”
After a moment’s pause, Death struck the dashboard with such force it stopped beeping, and, in fact, squelched a sad little chirrup before fizzling itself into disfunction.
“Much better,” he sighed in delight, then looked out the window and waved.
“How’re you guys doing?” he asked.
One waved back on his Delibird. “Just listening to some tree’s album, and planning to sacrifice you guys,” he said pleasantly before adjusting his thick glasses. Death leaned back in.
“We have a problem,” he said helpfully. Back out the window, he yelled, “Which tree’s?”
The man grinned panoptically. “I heard someone mention a tree that fell in the forest, that no one was around to hear. So I bought its album, so un-mainstream!”
Death went back into the cab and frowned nervously. “We definitely have a problem,” he hissed. “They’re not just cultists like we previously anticipated; they’re hipster cultists!”
Zub’s previously worried face did not compare to the look of terror he now expressed as he floored the gas.
Then the road before them exploded in an inferno of sporadic flames, causing Zub to sharply veer to the right.
As the truck slid over the mud, it slowly collapsed into itself, falling over into the mud. Zub was knocked unconscious and Death was given a paper cut, which made no sense to anyone in any way whatsoever, which was, quite sadly, to be expected by now.
Death heard the cargo roar again as he attempted to poke Zub awake with a stick. A blood curdling scream of death.
Anyway, the hipster-cultists were ordering their Pokémon to fire despondently at the rear of the truck, until finally it exploded in a shower of sparks.
Slowly but steadily, a crimson dinosaur rose out of the wreckage, its eyes infernal flames and its coat liquefied magma. Its claws glowed white hot as it ripped its remaining restraints.
The hipster-cultist Death had previously been talking to donned a pair of goggles and looked at the cargo. “That’s Groudon, all right! And boy, is he mad!”
His companion stepped off her Mantine and appraised the site expectantly. “Adelbert, you sure?”
Adelbert drew a Master Ball, a small, baseball-shaped ball that was half white and half purple, with an embroidered M to show its importance. “Quite so, Miss Adelaine.”
Death poked Zub so hard and with such frequency one might call it stabbing. “Wake up wake up wake up wake up-“ he muttered as the Master Ball flew through the air.
Before the Master Ball struck Gordon, the aforementioned Groudon set a plume of lava in all directions as a testament to its power, a plume that incinerated everything instantly. Death took one look and poked Zub with renewed vigor. The Master Ball, by now, was almost upon the terrific monstrosity…
But before I can tell you that story, first I must explain it.
Zub 2: Road Trip to the Funny Farm