Author's Note: Welcome to the fanfic! In case the description didn't make it clear, this fanfic is set in the universe of the Bolt TV Show within the movie (Which, by the way, Disney owns. Not me.) This means that Penny really is running for her life/searching for her kidnapped father who was taken by mutated, creepy billionaire Dr. Calico, with Bolt, who really has super powers, helping her and keeping her safe along the way. Expect a few twists, however (maybe including a certain sarcastic feline and fanboy hamster?) to the TV Show storyline. It'll make the most sense if you've played the Boltvideo game.
The first three chapters will be mostly setting the stage and introducing the characters, including my OC. Don't worry, this is not an OC fanfic; it's a Bolt fanfic. Give him a chance, though. This thing will really get off the ground soon! R&R please!
P.S. - Art for 'Bolt the Superdog: Shocking', like the chapter pictures and other works, can be found by searching for it on deviantART and looking up the user 'BlueWolf222'.
The clouds blanketing the town overhead dimmed the daylight that should have been falling on the rickety town, replaced instead by sheets of merciless rain. The din of the downpour hitting the metal roof of a run-down old diner was like a steady drum with an ominous beat.
The storm's noise was momentarily intruded upon when, with a gruff voice shouting, "Git outta here, ya mangy stray!" the back door to the diner, opening into a harsh alley, slammed outward, and a yelp sounded as a dog, gray as the clouds in the sky, was kicked out of the shelter of the diner and into the rain.
The diner's owner shook a meaty, hairy fist at the canine. "I ever see you comin' round here again, I'll cook you up and serve you to the customers, y'hear?!" he shouted. The poor creature ducked as a rusty skillet was hurled angrily at him.
He trotted around the next corner, going faster when he heard the sound of another kitchen tool hitting the alley's wall behind him. His speed was his biggest asset in this town. It helped him reach much-needed scraps of food that were dropped by people before the pigeons, it helped him escape the dog-catcher, and in some instances, like now, his fleet feet kept him from getting hit by things the humans threw at him.
The dog panted as he slowed down two blocks later in a new, larger alley. The rain cooled his fur after all of that running. He'd had a rough week, unable to scrounge up enough food to keep his stomach from growling. When he got desperate, he snuck into he diner on Grover Street. They almost always foolishly left the back door open. Usually he could get in, grab something out of the kitchens, and get out again without being noticed. But sometimes, like today, he got caught. It was a miracle the human owner hadn't just called the dogcatcher and kept the stray trapped in his diner until they got there, but he had a bad temper and preferred to kick and yell rather than call for help.
The mutt glanced around the alley for shelter. He could have found a hiding place easily as soon as he left the diner's alley without having to go so far, but when he was angry, the hound found streaking along with no destination in mind a good way to let off steam. Nothing made him angrier than having to be a stray.
The mutt had never had a "person" as the other pets called their caretaking humans. He had been born on the streets, without one consistent place to call home. He only knew what he was missing out on that the other dogs had because the pigeons he talked to had told him. They spoke of cushy couches and warm shelter in a human's house, of plenty of food and, best of all, a Person to call your own. A family.
All of the dogs he had seen in the few farms and houses that were in this town had a family. Humans, other pets that they shared their homes with. So why didn't the stray have one? Because no human seemed to like him?
Was it because his long, pointed gray shepherd ears were almost always slicked back out of fear or anger? Was it the fact that he wasn't purebred, but a mixed breed, with Weimaraner, German shepherd, and other various dog types in his bloodline? Was it the sullen, brooding look in his dark blue eyes? Was it his spiky, scruffy storm-cloud colored fur that stuck out in unruly tufts?
Whatever the cause, the stray had given up on finding a Person for himself when he was young. All the humans he hung around at the park, begged for attention from in the town square, and followed home had rejected him. They might lead him on for a few hours, offering food or petting him half-heartedly, but always they ended up leaving him out in weather like this, or chasing him off, or calling the dog pound after him.
The one family that had actually let him into their home the had convinced him that people couldn't be trusted. It had started out okay. A family of three, a young couple and their three-year old boy. They had noticed the stormy-colored mix in the town square. The kid had toddled up and locked his arms around the dog, begging his parents to keep the stray. The mother and father had hesitated, but the boy wouldn't let go and whined until, with a silent glance at one another, the mom and dad had agreed. The stray had been overjoyed, thinking he finally had a home. The parents had made the boy go straight to bed when they arrived at the house, and sent the dog to the laundry room. Perfectly content, the mutt had just settled to sleep, happy to have what he had always wanted, when he was rudely awakened. The mother and father had tricked their son. The stray could still remember their words as the dad tossed him out in the rain. "Won't Timmy throw a fit in the morning, dear, once he sees the dog is gone?"
"Oh, he won't even notice. He's four. He'll have forgotten all about it in the morning."
"You're right. I don't want that mangy thing in the house anyway."
The hound had been thrown into the back yard, confused and shocked. "Go on, get outta here!" the father had shouted. "Git, dog! Go back where you came from!"
And the dog had. He had waited in the backyard in disbelief for a couple seconds, hesitating, unable to comprehend why he was being thrown out of the only home he had ever known, even if it had only been his home for a few minutes, hoping that perhaps the child would wake up and convince his parents once more. But he was forced to accept that humans would never want him and ran away when the man had begun to throw things out the back door at him.
That miserable experience drove him to give up on people. Besides, what hope was there to be adopted now? He was full grown, and no one had claimed him as a puppy. Why would they want a scruffy souphound like him?
The dog crouched down, his gray belly fur scraping in the mud as he squirmed under a dumpster. He huddled in it's less than welcoming shelter, glaring blue daggers at the rainy world. He was through with humans. What had he done wrong? Why didn't he get a cozy home with a Person who loved him? Didn't he deserve more than this?
The gray mutt rested his chin sulkily on his front paws and swished his bushy tail over his large pointed nose. "Humans!" he muttered to himself. "Say they love you one second, and the next, they're kicking you out into the rain."
He flinched as a car's tires squealed loudly outside the alley, washing a puddle under the dumpster.
"Well," growled the mutt in a voice as scruffy as his fur, "They can keep their love! Who needs it?"
I won't always be a stray, thought the dog bitterly, One day, I'll be the one on top. I won't need anyone.
But as much as he told himself this, the poor mutt couldn't believe it. Not with the rain drenching him as he lay, hungry and cold, under the dumpster all alone.