White Pony: It’s here! It’s finally here! Hurry, Disclaimer Dude!
Disclaimer Dude: White Pony doesn’t own Poke’mon or the muffin man song.
White Pony: What makes this particular fic so special is that it get one of my random quotes every chapter!
Disclaimer Dude: Please, no!
White Pony: Yes!
“I am a friend to all tacos.”
Progeny of Light and Dark
Pre-Story Mini Spoof
Our story begins in the early morning in the peaceful forest. The Pidgeys were cooing and the Butterfree were dancing in the breeze.
“NOOOOO!!” a voice rang through the air, causing every Pidgey to flee and the Butterfree cowering in the bushes.
Brock fell to his knees and began sobbing loudly. Misty scrambled out of her sleeping bag to see what her insane friend was yelling about.
“Brock! What’s wrong?!” Misty asked.
“BETTY!!” Brock cried frantically.
Misty fell backwards from the force of Brock’s voice.
“BETTY!” Brock cried again as he held an empty box of doughnuts to his chest.
Then Ash came out of the trees, holding a half-eaten doughnut in his hand.
“Hey, Brock,” Ash greeted.
Brock turned to his friend and noticed Ash’s doughnut.
“BETTY!” Brock ran to Ash and snatched his doughnut.
“HEY!” Ash yelled angrily.
“Betty! How could you? I thought I was the only one in your life who mattered!” Brock cried at the doughnut.
Misty face faulted and Ash just stood, confused as usual.
“How could you just go off with Ash like that?! I...”
Brock just noticed that the doughnut was half-eaten and the teeth marks he knew.
“Betty! NOOOO!!!” Brock whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at Ash, “MURDERER!!”
“Me?” Ash said clueless.
“KISS THE BACON!” Brock yelled and he pounced on Ash and he began to mercilessly tickle him.
“Misty, help me!” Ash pleaded.
“Brock, leave Ash alone or I’ll stuff your sleeping bag with jelly!”
Brock turned to Misty. He knew he should obey her because a scolding woman is the most dangerous thing in the world besides Irish hippo-monkeys. He climbed up a tree and sat on an outstretched limb. In a blink of an eye, Brock was wearing a pink dress and holding a parasol. He gave it a little twirl and began singing like a female opera singer.
“Do you know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man! Oh, do you know the muffin man who lives on-“ before Brock could finish his song, his perch snapped and he fell on Ash’s head. Misty rushed over and pushed Brock off of Ash.
“Ash! Say something!”
“Easy squeezy lemon peazy,” said Ash in a daze.
Then Mewtwo rode into the clearing on a Harley Davidson that had a Cacturne paint job.
“Go veggie!” Mewtwo cried and he turned into Pikachu. Finally, the Cacturne Harley Davidson turned into Harley and he was tortured by rabid fan girls.
DA END! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!
The bright pale moon hung with the blanket of stars that stretched across the seemingly endless body of water. Two islands, one small and the other at least twice the others’s size, were quiet in the warm, tropical night. The miniature island, Cupe Island as it was called, was habited by peaceful people and their Poke’mon that depended mostly on the bountiful resources throughout their island. A friendly village with many houses and other buildings scattered across the cleared land were over one hundred years old. There were no cars or motor bikes to pollute the crisp air. Their means of transportation were reliable Ponyta-drawn cabs on beautifully paved multicolored mosaic flagstone paths. There weren’t many trees, but the island was covered with sea grass and native flora of many colors that danced in the gentle breeze. Several docks were found about the island where motorboats were parked.
Unlike Cupe Island, its monestrous companion, Eros Isle, was heavily jungled with no village. It wasn’t uninhabited, many Poke’mon lived on the island. Poke’mon that could be found in other parts of the world and Poke’mon that can only be found on the very island. The island stretched trice the length of Cupe Island. A large dock was built for one cruise ship that annually arrived for the yearly events. The sand ended with a barrier of sea grass. A single house sat on the hardened foundation which lived the only people on the island; or so they think... Near the house was a group of stables and a pasture of healthy sea grass that quickly grows back after being grazed upon. Beyond the house, stables, and pasture was the thick jungle that hid and sheltered Poke’mon. The island eventually sloped up into a mountainous area and standing and the end of the island was a cliff with a sandy dune at its foot.
At the very end of the beach was a great dome with its upper half painted red and its lower half painted white with a black ring encircling it, separating the colors. The Poke’ball-like dome was firmly held in place with a strong concrete foundation. A huge circular window at the top gave the celestial view from inside the building. The moon’s light beamed through the glass part of the roof and lit up the auditorium inside a little.
This particular night on this peaceful island, an act would be committed that could put the entire existence of humans and Poke’mon in an era of eternal darkness.
Two shady men crept through the night with the stealth of ninjas. One big and burly and the other medium-sized and masculine and both dressed in black to blend in with the shadows. They made their way to the Poke’Dome like Kecleons sneaking upon their prey. After reaching their destination, the two shady characters released a Poke’mon each from their Dark Balls. One was a Linoone and the other was a large weasel-type creature of a burnt orchard color with small tan colored paws, a copper underbelly, white spots dotted across its back, and a black mask; a Poke’mon that is known as Scuraban (Scur-Uh-Ban). The stealthy Poke’mon scurried over to the Poke’Dome’s front doors and inspected them.
“Noone?” Linoone looked to Scuraban who nodded in reply.
“Ban,” Scuraban pricked its rounded mouse ears and its paw easily pushed open one of the double glass doors. It sniffled the air and tried to detect anything that would reveal its presence. When the Scuraban was sure that there was no alarm system, it turned around and nodded at Linoone. Linoone scurried back to its trainer.
“Noone!” it said in approval.
“Good, everything’s clear. Let’s go, Carl,” the medium-sized man said to his partner.
The burly one grunted in reply and followed his friend and his friend’s Linoone inside the building. The path of red carpet lead them to a display case containing what they were searching for: a long strand of hair that belonged to a mythical Poke’mon.
“Hand me the glasscutter, Carl,” said the masculine man as he held out his gloved hand.
Carl rummaged through his small bag and placed a hard, metallic object in his partner’s waiting hand. Holding the object in front of his face for him to see, the masculine man scowled.
“You idiot! This isn’t the glasscutter, this is a can opener!”
“Sorry, Marcus. I can’t see very well in the dark,” Carl complained as he retrieved the right item from his pack.
“Get use to it,” the glasscutter and the can opener were exchanged, “Thank you.”
“Sure,” Carl murmured as he placed the can opener back in the bag.
Marcus’ glasscutter effortlessly cut a circular hole into the display case with its diamond blades and he discarded the rounded piece of glass cut from it
“Tweezers,” Marcus requested and Carl rummaged through his bag. Marcus became irritated after waiting for five minutes, “Where are the tweezers?!”
“I forgot them, okay!” Carl hissed and he handed Marcus a pair of chopsticks, “All I have are chopsticks!”
“What... why are you carrying chopsticks?” Marcus asked as he recieved the oriental eating utensils.
“It doesn’t matter! Get that hair!”
“Alright! Geez! Keep it down!” Marcus carefully took a hold of the hair in the chopsticks from the clear barrier that had previously been protecting the highly sought item, “Would you look at that.”
“That’s something,” both men and Poke’mon gazed at the sheer beauty of a single strand of hair. The lustrous silver hair gave off an iridescent tint under the peering moonlight.
“At least you remembered the vial, right?” Marcus asked Carl in a mocking tone.
“Of course I have!” Carl replied angrily, “What do you take me for?”
Linoone and Scuraban exchanged annoyed glances, “Scur!”
“Huh? Right,” Carl retrieved the glass vial from his bag and removed the rubber cork. Marcus carefully dropped the precious hair inside the vial and Carl pressed the rubber cork tightly into the opening.
“Come on, let’s scat.”
Marcus, Linoone, Carl, and Scuraban left the building and they fled into the jungle.
A tall man in a black trench coat, extremely dark green shirt with matching jeans, and black army boots waited anxiously in the dimly lit laboratory for two of his minions to return from their mission. He has high cheekbones, low-set jowls, a big chin, and piercing eyes like an eagle’s. His eyes scanned across his work station with test tubes, flasks, and graduated cylinders of bubbling chemicals. Finally, he heard a knock on the heavy steel door.
“Identify yourself!” he demanded of whoever was behind the door.
“Carl and Marcus, sir!” the returning minions yelled their reply.
The man unlocked and opened the door a crack to acknowledge the identity of his underlings.
“But, Boss, you know it’s us!” Carl whined.
“Password!” the boss growled.
Both Carl and Marcus sighed in unison and whispered the password to their boss.
The man let them in and locked the heavy door.
“Did you get it?” the man asked.
“Of course we did, sir,” Marcus presented the vial containing the hair to his higher rank, “It was easy.”
“Like taking candy from a baby,” Carl boasted.
“I don’t care how easy it was!” the boss snatched the vial and approached a flask at his work station. He opened the vial and removed the silver hair with a pair of tweezers.
“So that’s where my tweezers went,” Carl whispered to Marcus.
“Be quiet!” Marcus hissed.
Their commanding officer dropped the hair into the flask of oozing bile. The hair melted and mixed with the bile. The foaming liquid changed color with the chemical reaction from the organic sample and it gave off a crude odor.
“It’s ready... My years of chemical experimentation an biological research is finally going to pay off!”
“Great,” said Carl, “Now what?”
“One of you get the handlers to bring it in,” the man ordered.
“Shouldn’t you test the formula on something not so rare first?” asked Marcus.
“No! I’ve waited too long! Bring the subject in now!”
“Yes, sir,” Marcus retreated to another room where Poke’mon handlers and scientists were waiting with the primary subject, “Boss says it’s time.”
A small, chubby dragon Poke’mon with its small magenta bat wings wrapped up in a hard cast, preventing its flying away, was brutally forced onto an ice cold operating table in the laboratory. Its backside area was lashed by the handlers’ whips and blunt objects when refusing to stay still. Its body a light violet color with long feet and short arms with tiny claws. Its long tail had a pink heart-shaped spear at the end. Its spade-shaped head had fin-like ears and large, innocent, pink eyes filled with fear. The dark purple dorsal stripe on the adorable creature’s arched back signified its male gender. This Poke’mon is known as Daragoon (Dar-Uh-Goon). The Daragoon cried out as he was chained down to the cold stainless steel table until he couldn’t move, only to be given a painful blow.
The oozing bile was poured into a bag that was connected to a flexible plastic tube with a needle at the end of it. One of the scientists held a gun-type object that seemed to resemble a drill. Another scientist marked a spot on Daragoon’s flank and rubbed the area with alcohol gel. Daragoon shivered at the coldness then the scientist with the drill looked into his eyes with his own insane glare.
“This will hurt for a while, but you’ll get over it,” he turned on the drill and advanced upon Daragoon’s flank.
“Gooon!” Daragoon cried out in alarm as the spinning drill penetrated his hide and burrowed beneath his body. Body fluids surfaced and dripped down his side. Daragoon screamed in pain as the drill tore through his muscles.
At last, the drill stopped just above a main artery and was yanked out, tearing out flesh that was slung onto the spiral blades.
“Now for the formula.”
The needle was inserted into the bloody hole the drill left and the bile slowly entered the main artery. Gauze was shoved into the wound to soak up the blood and to keep the plastic tube and needle in place. Then it was stitched up with only the plastic tube sticking out of the miserable Daragoon’s body.
“Take it to the nursery to be cared for,” the boss ordered and the operating table with Daragoon was rolled away into the hallway leading to the nursery.
“Now what, Boss?” asked Carl.
“It’s only a matter of time before the formula takes its effect and creates our future.”