Summary: Acting as arbiter and executioner, an entity known as Tsukuyomi punishes the corrupt that thrive in Kanto's capital, Viridian City. His true name and the events that led to his rise are unknown to most…but the path has been less than blessed….
Rating: Fiction Rating M, for mature audiences no younger than sixteen years of age.
Genres: Hurt/Comfort and Crime.
Category: Games – Pokemon.
Created: Sunday, July 27, 2008 / 1:42:14 p.m.
Finished: Sunday, September 28, 2008 / 5:37:36 p.m.
Total Pages: 104.
Music Theme:"Fallen" by Sarah McLachlan.
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon, which belongs to: Nintendo; the Pokemon Company; Creatures; GAME FREAK; TV Tokyo; ShoPro; Jr. Kikaku; Shogakukan Production Co, Ltd.; Satoshi Tajiri; and Ken Sugimori. These companies and the creators rightfully own the franchise. As well, I do not own Mary Chapin Carpenter's lyrics to her song "Ten Thousand Miles." Please note that I don't write this story to infringe on copyrights or to earn money; this is merely for the purpose of entertainment among individuals who have similar interests, and who desire new adventures for the characters they love. If asked by supervising authorities, this story would be taken down at request.
Author's Note: So here we are at my twentieth fanfiction on this site, and I have to say, I'm happy it's this one. Truth be told, I've never told anyone much about this story that's been hidden in the depths of my mind. It has always been a special plot, a private tale stirring in the darkness that I seem to channel so often. As some of you know, in the past I have written numerous examples of mature content, always attempting to give respect where it is due, and use tact when necessary to uphold personal style. In each of these incidences I was ready to take on what I was writing; I was old enough and mature enough to handle it. However, up until recently I was unable to do the same with this fanfiction piece, not because of a lack of research and understanding, but because of inexperience. I did not have enough faith in myself to give it the heart it deserved. Presently though, certain people have infused me with confidence: thank you to Nicole, Kay, Leslie, and Aeris especially. Your encouragement and enthusiasm is more motivating than you realize; this lengthy tale is the result of your kind words and my grueling labors.
Warnings, of course, should be mentioned now. Moonlight Vigilante is rated M for graphic violence, sexual scenes, swearing, drug use, character death, as well as themes relating to Nazi idealism. I do not suggest that anyone under the age of sixteen read this; and those who might chose to do so should regard this fanfiction with some level of advanced maturity for their age group. At any rate, as this is one of the longer works I've done for a one-shot, I recommend resting one's eyes occasionally. I hope you all enjoy Moonlight Vigilante…it means more to me than anything else I've written before it.
Oh yeah – and a happy birthday to Dark Magician Girl Aeris!
P.S.: Apparently this site only allows up to 30.5k an entry, meaning that this story has to be split into smaller sections. Irking as that is it can't be changed, so I will do the best I can to limit disrupting the flow. However, I would greatly appreciate it if readers would still treat this as a one-shot and please review at the end of the story! To those of you who do, thank you in advance.
Edit, 6-2-09: At the suggestion of some of my friends, I am splitting this story into nine chapters for reader convenience. I would still ask that you review at the end, however, if that is not too much trouble. Thanks.
Monday, September 6th of 2012 / 2:46 a.m.:
Within the depths of the overcast sky above Kanto's Viridian City, a sinewy creature curled in fetal position within a sphere of azure light, the glowing orb hidden among the smoky vapors of the gathering rainstorm. The mists around the flawless barrier swirled with shades of corn gold and pale silver, derived from the numerous lights bursting upwards from the metropolis and downwards from the half-moon setting in the dark, star-strewn firmament above. Occasionally a gust of wind would carry the globe along a new route, and out of the chilly fog would arise stone shadows, glimmering glass, and the occasional flickering red light of a beacon as the towering buildings of Man scraped the underbelly of the heavens; yet they never penetrated as far as the wandering one could if he desired. True, humans had found ways to travel amongst heights far above any mountain's reach, but they did not do so with ease – they defied nature with their airplanes and their rockets, with the incredible technology they wove with their sharp minds and their dexterous hands. Yet it was what came of the strangest race, this creativity and an unnatural desire to control all they could with whatever means necessary. Only one other of the living was odder even than they were, and he hung beyond their reach like their God, almost appearing to sleep within the shell he had formed around himself.
However, the drifter was acutely aware of his surroundings despite having his fierce eyes closed – he was merely in a state of recovery from the recent hours, acting upon minimal action as he healed the wounds he'd received in the battles prior to his flight within the night. His pale body glowed faintly as blood dripped from his limbs, pooling in a small, perfectly circular puddle of liquid crimson at the bottom of the blue orb. The red fluid bubbled and hissed upon contact with the curved walls of psychic energy, filling the sphere with the strong metallic scent of copper. The healing one paid the stench no attention; he had grown inured to the odor long ago. As he opened his eyes to slits, he watched as the long slashes across his arms, thighs, and sides sealed shut with a bright red hue, as if they were being cauterized. It burned just as much as being branded with scorched metal, this process of quick mending, and though the injuries faded to nothing more than faint scars among ashen fur, he could still feel the pain within his flesh. Exhaustion was swift to pervade his body afterwards, and now that the convalescence was complete, he could return to his dwelling place for sleep. The clouds could wash him clean of his own blood, erasing fully the evidence of his mortality….
Without conscious thought the being unfurled, his shield bursting like a popped soap bubble before his limbs stretched to touch its edges. He flew upwards at an angle that might cause other beings to lose blood-flow to the brain or break the vertebrae of their necks, but he drifting at a slow pace, unhurried and wishing to savor the cool wetness of the clouds around him. His light fur soon became soaked with condensation, and icy droplets rolled down his form, which shivered in response: he did not do well with extreme temperature shifts, but he paid the minimal shaking no mind. It was yet another thing he had grown used to in the past few years…. Eventually, the vapors before him began to thin, with breaks into the open air visible before his sharp gaze. Like a dolphin over the surface of the waves, he broke through the celestial ocean and soared into the frigid, thin air above the forming rainclouds. There he spun in a slow circle, calculating the position of the stars and moon, learning both the time and directions of the compass from his observations. It could not be later than three in the morning at the very most, and now that he had discovered the precise position of the lunar body, he could derive the way back to his home. He skimmed above the fog without rushing – there was no need to worry about being spotted, for he was higher than most nosey helicopters or birds dared to fly, and even if someone did catch sight of him, they would dismiss his form as a trick of the moonlight. His coloring being of the shades of the silver glow and the darkness of a thundercloud, he could vanish into the twilight with ease as if he was a living part of it, an animal born of heaven's womb. Although, if one was close enough to spy his shape, he or she would undoubtedly think him to be a monster of hell, though his tongue was hardly forked and he carried no trident.
As he reached the northeastern quadrant of the city, the outskirts edging into the Routes of the trainers who participated in the annual Indigo League, as well as into the forests that led to the Town of Stone, the wanderer began to descend, letting the rush of the fall overtake him. The tops of buildings raced up to meet him, and with a few practiced movements of an experienced skydiver, he thrust himself out of harm's way. As he began to regain control of the dive, directing himself onto the familiar paths to his dwelling, his acute senses began to detect things previously unnoted over the roar of the wind and the soft hues of the sky. Sounds - such as the sirens of police cars - arose from distant streets; along with other noises like the babbling of night-crawling humans and occasion shouts, of glass bottles being poured into dumpsters from behind nearby bars and restaurants, of tires sloshing through puddles, of so many footsteps hitting the pavement. In some places, the sounds of urban music arose, catching in the mind, but such fleeting tunes were soon lost amongst the symphony of city life. After a mere month one would come to tune out the orchestra, but always an occasional off beat in the percussion could make one pay attention once more and lose their deafness. The same went for the scents in this place, and the tastes associated with them: of spicy and baked foods and exotic drinks, of rotting garbage and sewer water and cut grass, of asphalt and tar and vehicle exhaust, of flowers and fragrances and human odors. After time, again one became numb to these things until something fresh, or perhaps not-to-fresh, arose and cut through the normal monotone. Yet the wanderer himself had no such immunity – he could not afford to be blinded in such a way.
He flew onwards, keeping to the shadows where the illumination from the neon advertisements and public lighting could not touch him. To one unfamiliar with the layout of the city, the numerous buildings could blend together until one lost their way: for if they were not made of brick, they were made of concrete, or windowpanes, or even metal and wood, each of a similar shape and of mathematically determined proportions. Architecture at times could vary, but in the dark the differences became subtle unless the structure was glaringly diverse from its surroundings. Yet the being knew where he was going. As he swept past the wealthy companies and shops, the streets alight with golden lamps faded into the paths of the centralized park, the walkways vacant in the late hour. Many residents were asleep in their skins now, for those who stayed up late could no longer persevere, and those who awoke before the dawn had not yet been alerted to the time by their alarm clocks. This dead hour, this lull in a supposedly sleepless capital, was perfect for a nocturnal creature such as himself…though he had a life in the day that must too be attended to. How fortunate for him that he was a dedicated insomniac, well used to only a handful of hours a sleep each night. He would never get anything done otherwise.
Soon the treetops began to vanish beneath him as well, and he slowly wove his way to the apartment complexes that clustered in the corner of Viridian City. He found his way to the one he sought with ease – the three identical buildings, with their interior sides facing one another in a triangle shape without corners, towered above the neighboring structures, which consisted mostly of shops dedicated to supplying departing trainers with items to aid the children in their journeys. The light was duller here, and the sounds hushed, for this place truly slumbered in a way the downtown area would never know. He descended to the roof of the west-facing one, his toes soon brushing down into the long grasses of a makeshift meadow. For the most part, the vast speck of nature, cradled high above the actual earth, was a grove of cattails and wildflowers, but among the soil were clusters of herbs and some carefully grown tealeaf bushes. It was a decorative place really, along with an area of relaxation and recreation; it could not sustain anyone as far as food went. No, like others he needed to purchase his own sustenance and drink, as well as pay bills for water and electricity. At the very least, there was no rent; the apartment of the floor directly below, along with this meadow, was solely his, bought and paid off years ago. With a sigh, he travelled through the grasses, careful not to trample any of the precious plants, and unlocked the door leading into his dwelling with a casual twitch of his wrist. The telekinetic key did its work, and the door opened wide to allow his entrance.
Closing the barrier and locking it behind him, he stepped down the concrete ramp, feeling a rug beneath his feet when he stepped before yet another door. This one was needed no undoing – it slid open beneath his palm, and once more he became bathed in the dull glow of the outside as he stepped into the view of the glass wall looking out into the scenic world. Rain began to splatter against the crystalline surface as he padded across the mats that covered the hardwood floor, mindful not to trip over them. He paused however when he came to the exiting door…there was a pale, flickering light coming from beneath it. His ears caught the low sounds of the television from one of the rooms beyond, and with a silent sigh he slid open the door, passing the storage room, his office, and the dining area in moments. To his left were the greeting hall and the entranceway to the elevator…and to his right was the living room, containing an iron-grey sofa along with an entertainment center - complete with stereos and capable of crunching any type of electronic device hooked up to it. The wide television now illuminated the room brightly with newsreels, with the anchorpersons of V.C.L.E., Viridian City Local Events, reporting incidences that had been born in the last few hours. He shut the channel off with another flicker of telekinesis, ridding himself of a source of ruined night-vision. Through the curtain of the window behind the setup, the soft glow of the moon broke through the clouds, casting a ghostly light across the one who had been responsible for the "on" status of the machine.
The girl was no more than five years old, her small body curled up under a sienna blanket. Her tiny hand clutched the remote firmly, and as he stepped around the sofa, he gently pried the device from her grasp. He regarded her wordlessly, both amused and disappointed in her actions: she was not supposed to have stayed up so late while he was gone, and it certainly could not be normal for her to be doing so to watch the late night news. He would have found the matter more acceptable had some silly cartoon been on, and yet she watched – and he suspected she comprehended – a show that oftentimes discussed ongoing court cases and matters of gang violence in the area. Though he understood her motives, he still felt worry gather in his chest…he did not wish her to be scarred by life at so young of age, although she already carried wounds he could never heal. Yet those thoughts aside, he had to admire how much she apparently cared; it proved to him countless times their bond. Clucking his tongue once, he gathered her frame, still soft and round with youth, into his arms. She was becoming heavy, he thought, although he had lifted and carried twice her current weight before. Still, she was growing quickly…it had not been so long ago that she had been a newborn in his arms, blinking up at him with perfect purity in her wide gaze. He cradled her closer, musing on that…within two decades he would no longer be needed by her – though, no matter how she protested, he would do everything within his power to protect her regardless.
The carpet beneath his feet bordered on the tiles of the enclosed kitchen area, which he passed by, coming to the first of the two bedrooms in the condominium. It was a decently sized space, ten feet by twelve feet in length and width, giving the child room to breathe and play. He carefully stepped around the clothes hamper by the slid open door, and avoided crushing the pencils and papers strewn across the floor. The bed, covered in thin blankets, sheets, and lush pillows, was placed in the far left corner of the room; across from it was a desk, which had children's books in messy piles across its surface, and a chair pulled out from the empty space beneath. The closet, thankfully, was closed – he dared not view what type of state it was in. Psychically he cleaned the room up, placing the books on their shelves, piling the colored-on papers into a neat stack, putting the drawing utensils in their proper container. She had clearly not gone to sleep when he had tucked her into bed earlier, the little fox. He scooped up the three stuffed toys she had, placing them on her bed as companions in her dreaming: the teddy bear, the fire dog, and the electric mouse watched over her. Fortunately, he did not need to try to balance her against him in order to peel aside the covers – they were already thrown open, awaiting the creature they were to surround and keep warm. He set the little one against the bottom sheet, her head lolling into the pillows as he brought the other covers over her shapeless, healthy form. She curled up more comfortably immediately, her arms near her face, her small, pale hands curled into loose fists. He couldn't resist smiling as he sat down beside her huddled form, watching her sleep; she was very precious in this state, unfettered by curiosity and mischievousness. Not that she was a troublesome girl: she was polite, inquisitive, and eager to make him laugh…but like any child, she had her moments of bad temperament. She had inherited fierce pride and a quick temper from her father, and most certainly would be a capricious vixen when she matured into an adult. The wanderer, home now, could already tell she would be quite alluring in both spirit and in body…she took after her mother in so many ways.
Sometimes it was hard for him to believe that she was his daughter.
After all, she showed no signs of being a hybrid of two contrasting species. She appeared human in every way, possessing no mutations that would expose her half-breed traits. Yes, although the sun had graced her, her skin was pale beneath her light-blue pajamas and white socks…but albinos of humanity had far less melatonin than she. Yes, her hair was of a rare, creamy chicken egg or sand dune brown color, with some streaks that were almost white and even lilac in some odd lightings…but again, this was not outside the realm of possible human features. He supposed the paleness of her eyelashes and eyebrows - as well as her inevitable future pubic hair - was unusual…but still, nothing of her features declared to the world her unique inheritance. She had ten fingers and ten toes, a small nose, a pink mouth, two ears, the scar of her navel, and wide eyes – which were a light lilac color close to grey. She had no tail, no strange ridges, no alien features when concerning her immature sex…she was, as far as others were concerned, a perfectly normal little girl. Even her blood had retained a recognizable type. The only thing that might give her away was the unique coding of her genes, blended with the essence of two different races…and, of course, the psychic traits she'd inherited from her pokemon father. Hence the mats on the studio floor: already he was training her, guiding her, making certain she could use her abilities as she wished and could defend herself from others who might seek to harm her. Yet while rare, humans could possess such extrasensory abilities, and for a medic to check her DNA was barely within the realm of believable thought, so he was not concerned with hiding her from the world. He allowed her to roam where she desired in the daytime, provided she stay with her friends - the children of the nearby residents – and within the area where he could watch over her with his omniscient senses. If she ever strayed outside of the zone he could observe, she knew he would follow and the consequences then…but so far, she hadn't shown any interest in going beyond the recreational park cradled within the apartment buildings. She was, after all, only five years ago; able and intelligent, yes…but still too young to think of darting far away from her parent...he hoped.
The father wordlessly caressed her slightly curly hair then, brushing a few wavy locks from her face…and he spoke for the first time in hours to the young one who held his heart in her small hands:"…Whatever shall I do with you, my Mitsuki?"
Closing his now soft eyes for a moment, he slowly stood, straightening his muscles as he did so. Knots were coiled tight in his shoulders and back, previously unnoticed but now so clear after having hunched over in bad posture to sit with the child. He grimaced, realizing that a hot shower and a stretching session would be the only certain way he could undo the strain by his own power. As he walked away, letting his daughter slumber on, he rested a hand of the sliding door, about to step out and roll it shut, when a soft voice from behind made him pause. "...Papa?"
He turned around, regarding the speaker with a gentle expression few others had ever seen. "Go to sleep, Mitsuki…you have been wakeful long enough tonight."
His daughter didn't appear to pay attention. She spoke up again, her voice heavy with drowsiness, "…They talked about you on the news, papa…you got rid of another bad guy…?"
The father spun around fully, walking over to her and sitting down again. His tri-fingered paw lightly brushed her face…she peered at him from beneath heavy lids, both trust and admiration glowing in her eyes. "I did," he murmured, "I do hope you refrain from boasting that to others, however."
She blinked slowly. "…That's papa's and my secret…I don't tell."
He smiled wider, and leaned down, kissing her silky hair shortly before pulling back. "Good girl…now please, get some rest. We will discuss your punishment for staying up past your curfew in the morning."
That startled her further into wakefulness, and her voice rushed out in an upset babble. "Papa…! No! I wa-want to go with Tia and Cody to the festival! Don't make me stay home!"
Yet then the girl saw him smirking from humor, and seemed to realize he was smothering laughter at her distress. She scowled and pouted, huddling up under her blankets further to get away from his sight, upset that she had been made to appear a gullible child. The drifter merely stroked her exposed hair again and murmured for her not to fret, and whispered for her to go to sleep once more. Again he began to depart, and out of the corner of his eye saw her pale face peeking out from under the covers at him. He paused, waiting for her to say what was on her lips…she spoke in mere moments as he had predicted: "That was mean, papa…but I'll forgive you if you sing me to sleep."
With all her proper speech, a mannerism picked up from her father, she was still a young child longing for her lullaby. The wanderer crossed over to her desk, finding her small music box, which he had crafted when she was yet growing within the womb. It was a trinket made of polished silver and lavender-tinted glass, the light purple panes upon each side showing the inner mechanics of how the piece worked, with the ghostly threads of ivy and blooming flowers across the transparent surfaces. The silver corners and its base were also smooth, the metal having swirls of deep blue, aqua green, even faint hues of garnet. Lastly, the top cover was decorated like the glass, in a scene showing two birds flying within a peaceful sky, the image of the sun or full moon behind their wings. He gently pressed the button on the lip of the front edge that would begin the process of playing the tune in mind; the song had been her mother's favorite, and now was Mitsuki's as well. It was a great shame that it couldn't be the woman responsible for Mitsuki's existence that would sing the child to sleep, but his baritone voice - as contrasting as it was to the original singer's - was pleasant enough to the ears. He only knew how to sing this one melody and these few lyrics…but it was enough to give Mitsuki comfort, as well as a vague reminder of the woman she had never met. The introduction measures, filled with strings and piano tones, passed quickly. He then picked up the bittersweet words, which reminded him always of the time when they had lingered in the air, saying a silent goodbye between him and Mitsuki's mother, his Anne, more final than any words could have been between them….
"…'Fare thee well / My own true love / Farewell for a while / I'm going away / But I'll be back'…."
His voice wavered on the words, but he continued, "Though I go ten-thousand miles…,"and as he sang on, images began to accompany the words as Mitsuki drifted off. The memories were from well before her birth, eternal and precious to his mind. He knew he was incapable of forgetting those long months even if he had ever bore a desire to shed that part of his past…it was stained upon his being, traces of it in everything he did in the present and would do in the future. It seemed incredible to him that a mere human, and a female at that, could have had any impact upon the manner in which he had lived his life, for he had forsaken her race as trash once upon a time. Yet that was no longer the case…those cynical views had long since been altered irrevocably.
Yes, Mewtwo wondered in the murk, how could he not change, after finding something whole and true in an otherwise chaotic life…? How…?