09-25-2008, 04:57 PM
Okay, here's my new attempt at writing. Please don't hesitate to read and review.
The Digimon Marshalls
By The Cowboy From Hell
Disclaimer: I own nothing mentioned in this work of fiction. So if you plan on sueing me, you won't get far, because I have a disclaimer. That, and I don't have anything of value.
This is Rated R for Violence, interspecies sexual acts(to come later) Drug use, and a lot of naughty, naughty words.
If you are sound of mind or frail of stomach, don't bother. Too late. You're doomed.
******
The year is 2010. The ecomony is dropping, and the entire world inches closer to war. It all seems normal, but that's about as true as gravity being a lie.
Digimon, what was once scoffed at as a cartoon show, have come to earth. In a few short years, there are millions of tamers on earth. With these tamers, come a variety of Digivices. To date, there are Five Generations of them, each doing basically the same thing: making Digimon stronger.
The good always comes with the bad, however, as many harmful digimon have come to our planet. That's where we come in. Our organizations go by many names, DATS being the most easily recognized. My group is called The Digimon Marshalls, and this is our story...
January Seventh, six a.m. The alarm clock was going apeshit in my face. My eyes cracked open, as I slammed my hand down on the off button. I yawned, and surveyed my surroundings.
A simple room, with a dresser in one corner, and my bed in another, with a cheap plastic shelving unit seperating the two. This held a coffeemaker, stereo, alarmclock, my D-3, and my gunbelt. Various things adorned my simple walls, from a sword and flywheel near the front door, to the 101st Airborne and Rebel flags that flanked my bathroom door. A plywood desk and a cheap computer sat in the far corner, next to my boots.
Yes, my surroundings could easily passed off as any other redneck's room in Texas. Except, for one thing.
"Mmm....good morning, Brandon..." a DarkRenamon said, laying next to me, under my faded green blanket.
Her name is Renny. We've been partners for about two years, now. She looks like any other Renamon, in general shape. Her fur is pitch black, with a smokey grey belly, "socks and gloves", and eartips. Her eyes are a very striking shade of red, which would give you the shivers, if you weren't used to them.
She giggled, and kissed me on my nose at my grumbled response. She always treated me differently, even before we decided to become more than Tamer and Partner. But, that's a story best saved for another day.
After pulling a brush through my shoulder length black hair and tying my hair back in a rubber band, I got dressed for work. Camo pants, black boots, kevlar vest, grey t-shirt, and my lucky spark plug necklace. I always was jealous of Renny. All she had to do was pull her gloves on in the morning.
I sat down on my bed, and unholstered my weapon, my only defense against superpowered digital monsters, a Desert Eagle Fifty Caliber. I dropped the clip out of habit, to make sure it was still loaded. I slammed the clip back into the black pistol, and holstered my weapon, before putting the belt on.
True to what I said, Renny was ready before me, staring at me with those ruby red eyes, as I loaded extra clips in my gunbelt. She giggled and stuck her tongue out at me, yet another one of our morning rituals.
"Nyah!" she giggled, her bright pink tongue standing out against her black fur.
"What? Just because I gotta wear clothes and use a gun, aint no reason for you to make fun of me." I retorted, as I slipped my wallet into my pocket, and clipped the digivice onto my gunbelt.
"Why do humans have to use guns again?" she giggled, as she watched my clip my badge onto my belt, the shiny silver star gleaming in the sunlight peeking through the far window.
"Because. We don't have powers like you do. Now get to the car." I said, playfully smacking her ass, as I put my sunglasses and cowboy hat on, and threw my trenchcoat on over it.
Renny giggled at me again, and phased downstairs into the garage. She always loved it when I said that digimon had advantages over humans.
I jogged down the creaky stairs of my garage-apartment, to the sight of a black Renamon lounging on the hood of my car, making me crack a smile at her. Between my car and her, I couldn't honestly say which one was sexier.
Since we are a private organization, most of us Marshalls use our own vehicles, me being no exception. My car is easily the prettiest car in the fleet, though.
The build is Ford, the make, Galaxie 500. The paint is off of the 2005 Ford Mustang, that pretty blue that makes grown men drool. This land yacht was built in 1968, which is suprising. This machine has seen wars, recessions, and, now, digimon. Of course, this pig is built along the lines of a Cop Car, complete with pushbar, spotlights, and siren on the dashboard. A pair of whip antennas sprouted from the trunk, allowing me to use a car-mounted radio to keep in contact with base and other units. That, and the number 302 on the hood corner and trunk corner were the only signs that this was a squad car. It was clean, sleek, fast, and durable.
"No claws on the paint, love." I scolded lightly, as I opened the door for her.
"I know, B. I didn't." She smiled, as she slid off the hood, and into the cavernous interior.
I closed her door, and climbed in on my side, firing up the Big Blue Ford, and pushing the garage door opener on my visor, opening the door to the frigid outdoors. I put it in reverse, and pulled out, to start a day of hunting down "wild ones".
******
After checking in, and raiding the break room snack machine for our breakfasts, we went out on patrol. Houston had about 1500 tamers, about 40 of those lived on my patrol route. Out of over fifteen hundred tamers, myself included, I was the only one with a "good" DarkRenamon. It was odd. The Marshalls have taken down three "Darks" in my two years of service with them, and I have one as a lover. Go figure.
Now, there are three hotspots on my beat. Two are relatively unused, one due to the fact it isn't thirty feet from a sewage treatment facility, and the other is under an overpass. Not the safest place to biomerge. Then, there's the one in the park. That one always sees action. Hell, that's where Renny first Biomerged, but, once again, saved for later.
We pulled into the park at about 7:45, and sure enough, there was the telltale fog over on the soccerfield. Most joggers were already gone by this morning. We nodded to eachother, and got out of the car.
"Get your digivice ready, B." Renny commanded. She was a whole different person on-duty. It was sexy, to be honest.
I nodded to her, and unclipped my Digivice with my left hand, and freed my Desert Eagle with my left, cocking it against my leg as I ran.
The digivice screen flashed for a second, then a small purple implike digimon came into view, just as the barrel of my sidearm hit the fog.
"Impmon, Rookie, Virus." I said simply, as I clipped my Digivice back onto my belt, and looked around, trying to see through the fog if any tamers were skipping school.
"Friend or Foe?" Renny asked the Impmon coldly, a black shard of glass hidden in her paw.
"Shoot, toots. For you, anything." The little digimon said, playfully lighting a fireball.
By this time, I had caught up, my Pistol aimed at his forehead, "DIGIMON MARSHALL. PUT YOUR HANDS OVER YOUR HEAD, SCUMBAG!!!!"
Impmon glared at me, and then smirked, "Ya wanna play like that, ya dumb redneck? Fine! BADA-BOOM!!!"
The fireball flew my way, which gave me the right to open fire.
"BOOOOM!!!" the pistol barked angrily, the Hollow-Point bullet sped through the fireball, and hit him in the arm, making him drop like a fly, screaming in agony.
Renny smiled coldly, as she hovered silently off to the side of me, as I cautiously walked up to the wounded Impmon.
The Impmon glared coldly at me, as he held his arm, which was bleeding profusely, as the data around the wound crackled angrily.
At this point, I was ready to give him what we call a "pity shot", a shot to the skull, sending his data back to the digital world, when Renny moved.
I looked up to see Renny staring at a pair of boys, with digimon running up.
Both of them were clearly Asian, and spoke amongst themselves in what sounded like Japanese. One Digimon was obviously a Guilmon, and the other was a Terriermon.
"Renny. I know y'all got a knack for languages." I said, keeping my pistol trained on Impmon's head, "tell them I want names, ages, and affiliations."
Renny nodded, and walked up to the two boys. After asking the prescribed questions, she walked back, calmly.
"The one in the goggles is named Takato. The other one is named Henry. They're both from Japan. They're here visiting, when they saw the fog. They asked about us, so I told them that you were Officer Brandon Harris from the Digimon Marshalls, and that I was your partner." She explained.
"Good girl. Tell them that the situation is under control, and to please leave the fog." I said to her, resisting the urge to flirt with her.
She couldn't help but crack a smile at me, as she turned around, and walked back to the two foreign tamers. She knew I was looking, and kept her tail up, so I had a clear view of her ass.
"...why are two Japanese tamers in Texas?" I asked aloud, as I retook aim, only to see that the Impmon had fled, leaving a trail of blood and data that ran into the woods. I sighed inwardly, as I saw the fog dissipate, and the two tamers and their digimon leave. I'd have to call in a wound-and-run. This was gonna be a long day.
The Digimon Marshalls
By The Cowboy From Hell
Disclaimer: I own nothing mentioned in this work of fiction. So if you plan on sueing me, you won't get far, because I have a disclaimer. That, and I don't have anything of value.
This is Rated R for Violence, interspecies sexual acts(to come later) Drug use, and a lot of naughty, naughty words.
If you are sound of mind or frail of stomach, don't bother. Too late. You're doomed.
******
The year is 2010. The ecomony is dropping, and the entire world inches closer to war. It all seems normal, but that's about as true as gravity being a lie.
Digimon, what was once scoffed at as a cartoon show, have come to earth. In a few short years, there are millions of tamers on earth. With these tamers, come a variety of Digivices. To date, there are Five Generations of them, each doing basically the same thing: making Digimon stronger.
The good always comes with the bad, however, as many harmful digimon have come to our planet. That's where we come in. Our organizations go by many names, DATS being the most easily recognized. My group is called The Digimon Marshalls, and this is our story...
January Seventh, six a.m. The alarm clock was going apeshit in my face. My eyes cracked open, as I slammed my hand down on the off button. I yawned, and surveyed my surroundings.
A simple room, with a dresser in one corner, and my bed in another, with a cheap plastic shelving unit seperating the two. This held a coffeemaker, stereo, alarmclock, my D-3, and my gunbelt. Various things adorned my simple walls, from a sword and flywheel near the front door, to the 101st Airborne and Rebel flags that flanked my bathroom door. A plywood desk and a cheap computer sat in the far corner, next to my boots.
Yes, my surroundings could easily passed off as any other redneck's room in Texas. Except, for one thing.
"Mmm....good morning, Brandon..." a DarkRenamon said, laying next to me, under my faded green blanket.
Her name is Renny. We've been partners for about two years, now. She looks like any other Renamon, in general shape. Her fur is pitch black, with a smokey grey belly, "socks and gloves", and eartips. Her eyes are a very striking shade of red, which would give you the shivers, if you weren't used to them.
She giggled, and kissed me on my nose at my grumbled response. She always treated me differently, even before we decided to become more than Tamer and Partner. But, that's a story best saved for another day.
After pulling a brush through my shoulder length black hair and tying my hair back in a rubber band, I got dressed for work. Camo pants, black boots, kevlar vest, grey t-shirt, and my lucky spark plug necklace. I always was jealous of Renny. All she had to do was pull her gloves on in the morning.
I sat down on my bed, and unholstered my weapon, my only defense against superpowered digital monsters, a Desert Eagle Fifty Caliber. I dropped the clip out of habit, to make sure it was still loaded. I slammed the clip back into the black pistol, and holstered my weapon, before putting the belt on.
True to what I said, Renny was ready before me, staring at me with those ruby red eyes, as I loaded extra clips in my gunbelt. She giggled and stuck her tongue out at me, yet another one of our morning rituals.
"Nyah!" she giggled, her bright pink tongue standing out against her black fur.
"What? Just because I gotta wear clothes and use a gun, aint no reason for you to make fun of me." I retorted, as I slipped my wallet into my pocket, and clipped the digivice onto my gunbelt.
"Why do humans have to use guns again?" she giggled, as she watched my clip my badge onto my belt, the shiny silver star gleaming in the sunlight peeking through the far window.
"Because. We don't have powers like you do. Now get to the car." I said, playfully smacking her ass, as I put my sunglasses and cowboy hat on, and threw my trenchcoat on over it.
Renny giggled at me again, and phased downstairs into the garage. She always loved it when I said that digimon had advantages over humans.
I jogged down the creaky stairs of my garage-apartment, to the sight of a black Renamon lounging on the hood of my car, making me crack a smile at her. Between my car and her, I couldn't honestly say which one was sexier.
Since we are a private organization, most of us Marshalls use our own vehicles, me being no exception. My car is easily the prettiest car in the fleet, though.
The build is Ford, the make, Galaxie 500. The paint is off of the 2005 Ford Mustang, that pretty blue that makes grown men drool. This land yacht was built in 1968, which is suprising. This machine has seen wars, recessions, and, now, digimon. Of course, this pig is built along the lines of a Cop Car, complete with pushbar, spotlights, and siren on the dashboard. A pair of whip antennas sprouted from the trunk, allowing me to use a car-mounted radio to keep in contact with base and other units. That, and the number 302 on the hood corner and trunk corner were the only signs that this was a squad car. It was clean, sleek, fast, and durable.
"No claws on the paint, love." I scolded lightly, as I opened the door for her.
"I know, B. I didn't." She smiled, as she slid off the hood, and into the cavernous interior.
I closed her door, and climbed in on my side, firing up the Big Blue Ford, and pushing the garage door opener on my visor, opening the door to the frigid outdoors. I put it in reverse, and pulled out, to start a day of hunting down "wild ones".
******
After checking in, and raiding the break room snack machine for our breakfasts, we went out on patrol. Houston had about 1500 tamers, about 40 of those lived on my patrol route. Out of over fifteen hundred tamers, myself included, I was the only one with a "good" DarkRenamon. It was odd. The Marshalls have taken down three "Darks" in my two years of service with them, and I have one as a lover. Go figure.
Now, there are three hotspots on my beat. Two are relatively unused, one due to the fact it isn't thirty feet from a sewage treatment facility, and the other is under an overpass. Not the safest place to biomerge. Then, there's the one in the park. That one always sees action. Hell, that's where Renny first Biomerged, but, once again, saved for later.
We pulled into the park at about 7:45, and sure enough, there was the telltale fog over on the soccerfield. Most joggers were already gone by this morning. We nodded to eachother, and got out of the car.
"Get your digivice ready, B." Renny commanded. She was a whole different person on-duty. It was sexy, to be honest.
I nodded to her, and unclipped my Digivice with my left hand, and freed my Desert Eagle with my left, cocking it against my leg as I ran.
The digivice screen flashed for a second, then a small purple implike digimon came into view, just as the barrel of my sidearm hit the fog.
"Impmon, Rookie, Virus." I said simply, as I clipped my Digivice back onto my belt, and looked around, trying to see through the fog if any tamers were skipping school.
"Friend or Foe?" Renny asked the Impmon coldly, a black shard of glass hidden in her paw.
"Shoot, toots. For you, anything." The little digimon said, playfully lighting a fireball.
By this time, I had caught up, my Pistol aimed at his forehead, "DIGIMON MARSHALL. PUT YOUR HANDS OVER YOUR HEAD, SCUMBAG!!!!"
Impmon glared at me, and then smirked, "Ya wanna play like that, ya dumb redneck? Fine! BADA-BOOM!!!"
The fireball flew my way, which gave me the right to open fire.
"BOOOOM!!!" the pistol barked angrily, the Hollow-Point bullet sped through the fireball, and hit him in the arm, making him drop like a fly, screaming in agony.
Renny smiled coldly, as she hovered silently off to the side of me, as I cautiously walked up to the wounded Impmon.
The Impmon glared coldly at me, as he held his arm, which was bleeding profusely, as the data around the wound crackled angrily.
At this point, I was ready to give him what we call a "pity shot", a shot to the skull, sending his data back to the digital world, when Renny moved.
I looked up to see Renny staring at a pair of boys, with digimon running up.
Both of them were clearly Asian, and spoke amongst themselves in what sounded like Japanese. One Digimon was obviously a Guilmon, and the other was a Terriermon.
"Renny. I know y'all got a knack for languages." I said, keeping my pistol trained on Impmon's head, "tell them I want names, ages, and affiliations."
Renny nodded, and walked up to the two boys. After asking the prescribed questions, she walked back, calmly.
"The one in the goggles is named Takato. The other one is named Henry. They're both from Japan. They're here visiting, when they saw the fog. They asked about us, so I told them that you were Officer Brandon Harris from the Digimon Marshalls, and that I was your partner." She explained.
"Good girl. Tell them that the situation is under control, and to please leave the fog." I said to her, resisting the urge to flirt with her.
She couldn't help but crack a smile at me, as she turned around, and walked back to the two foreign tamers. She knew I was looking, and kept her tail up, so I had a clear view of her ass.
"...why are two Japanese tamers in Texas?" I asked aloud, as I retook aim, only to see that the Impmon had fled, leaving a trail of blood and data that ran into the woods. I sighed inwardly, as I saw the fog dissipate, and the two tamers and their digimon leave. I'd have to call in a wound-and-run. This was gonna be a long day.
The last mutt standing.
The one and only, Cowboy from Hell.
******
Bury me with my guns on,
So when I reach the other side,
I can show him what it feels like to die.
I can show him what it feels like to die.
Bury me with my guns on,
So when I'm cast out of the skies,
I can shoot the Devil right between the eyes.
