The Mighty Morphin' Pokemon Rangers

Prologue

Whenever he awoke like this, he always told himself that it was just a dream. That the dancing frogs weren't real. The cybernetic clowns were just an illusion. This dream, however, seemed a bit far too real. Yes, his previous dreams had been life-like, but they had never felt this... alive. Yes, it seemed like the very walls of the place had a heartbeat. The air seemed to whisper in his ear, but when he could almost make out what it was saying, the voice went quiet again.

He looked around, frightened, but still intrigued by this place of mystery. He couldn't see a thing, but his other senses were being bombarded. The sounds were of metal on metal overwhelming, while the smells reeked of blood and rotting flesh. Nonetheless, he stood up tall, determined not to let this dream get the better of him. His mother always told him during a night of terror that he had to face his fears, no matter how powerful they seemed.

He took a deep breath, and started walking forward slowly, feeling ahead of him with his foot. After what seemed like hours of doing this, he kicked something long and soft. He reached down defiantly, trying to keep his nerves under control. He felt along the motionless object until he found an end to it. An end with five protrusions coming out of it. A human arm. He screamed and backed away, but slowly crept his way back over to the arm, as if trying not to wake it. He felt his way up the other end of the arm, hoping to find a body that had some sort of flashlight in a coat pocket. When he almost reached the body, he stopped. Did he really want to loot a dead person's body? Well, it was a matter of his survival. Whatever had done this to the person may come back for him, and he wanted to be ready if it did. So he reached out to where the person's torso should be, and felt his fingers brush the floor.

He suddenly became violently ill, and threw up all over the arm. What had happened to the body?! He got up as quickly as he could and frantically ran for his life, hoping to escape the same fate as the disembodied arm. It was then he heard the menacing cry. He ran in another direction, but the voice followed. Everywhere he ran, it followed. It was surrounding him now, increasing in volume and speed. He tripped and fell upon assorted body parts, strewn upon the ground. He was crying now, pleading for his life to be spared, to wake up, for SOMETHING to save him from this madness. Instead, the cries unified into one cry: "Sylveon!" as a flash of blinding light appeared. Then all went black.