Najicablitz
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Digimon Ch 30
🕑 Added 2025-09-10 14:51:02 +0000 UTCOne day later, I'm cruising down a dusty road in LA, the California sun beating down on my face. It's a far cry from the dingy streets of Queens. Skipping classes feels wrong, but I figure a rogue Digimon terrorizing a major city outweighs my chemistry grade. Besides, I sent my teachers an email explaining I had a "family emergency." Hopefully, they buy it.
Behemoth roars beneath me, a symphony of controlled power. The wind whips through my hair, carrying the scent of exhaust and desert scrub. The leather seat vibrates against my butt, a constant reminder of the beast I'm barely holding in check. The heat shimmers off the asphalt, distorting the already surreal landscape.
I twist the throttle, and Behemoth responds with a surge of acceleration. The world blurs as we eat up the miles, the engine's growl echoing off the distant hills. I glance at the Digivice, its map guiding me toward the rogue Digimon's location. An abandoned film studio – perfect setting for a digital monster mash.
As I pass a biker gang, they eye Behemoth with a mixture of envy and respect. One of them, a grizzled dude with a handlebar mustache, gives me a nod of acknowledgment. I return the gesture, a silent understanding passing between us. We're both riders, drawn to the open road and the thrill of the machine.
I roll up to a red light, tapping my fingers impatiently on the fuel tank. Behemoth idles, the engine rumbling like a caged beast. A cherry-red convertible pulls up next to me, the kind of car that screams 'I have more money than sense'.
The driver, sporting designer shades, leans over, taking in Behemoth with an appreciative eye.
"That's one sweet ride," he says, his voice carrying over the engine noise. "What'll you take for it?"
I glance over, taking in the expensive suit, the perfectly sculpted goatee. "She's not for sale."
"Everything's got a price," he insists, a playful glint in his eyes. "Name it."
I take a closer look at this persistent buyer. The goatee, the shades, the confident smirk... Something about him sparks a distant, almost familiar memory. The way he carries himself, the aura of casual brilliance...
Wait a minute. Is that—?
"You serious?" I ask, barely believing my luck. "Even if you offered, like, all the money?"
"Kid, I'm Tony Stark," he says, with a hint of amusement.
I stare at him, doing a double-take. Tony Stark? In the flesh? What are the chances?
"Sorry, Mr. Stark," I say, shaking my head. "Not a chance. Even if you offered me every last dollar, I wouldn't sell her."
"Alright, alright," he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "No need to get hostile, kid. Just figured I'd ask." He pauses, a flicker of genuine curiosity in his eyes. "Besides, something tells me not just anyone can handle that thing."
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a sleek, titanium business card, handing it to me with a knowing smile. "Here. Call me if you change your mind. Or if you need a job. Stark Industries is always looking for talented young…mechanics."
The light turns green, and Stark guns the engine, the convertible peeling away with a roar. I watch him go, a mix of disbelief and amusement swirling inside me.
"Well, that was unexpected," I mutter to myself.
I glance down at the card in my hand. Stark Industries, emblazoned across the top. I stow it away in my pocket, a strange memento of a bizarre encounter. Tony Stark wants my motorcycle? The world keeps getting weirder.
I shake my head, refocusing on the mission. Time to stop daydreaming about billionaires and get back to the Digimon hunt. I twist the throttle, and Behemoth leaps forward, eager to return to the task at hand. The abandoned film studio awaits.
…
I accelerate towards the abandoned film studio, my gaze fixed on the dilapidated buildings ahead. The place looks like a relic from a bygone era, a monument to broken dreams and faded glory. The main gate hangs off its hinges, rusted and creaking in the wind, a clear invitation for trespassers.
"Well, this place looks cheerful," I comment dryly.
No kidding. I'm getting bad vibes already, Gatomon responds through the Digivice.
Yeah, this place is giving me the creeps, too. Let's just get this over with, BlackGatomon agrees, her voice laced with impatience.
I dismount Behemoth and push the gate open, the rusted metal groaning in protest. The air is thick with the smell of mildew and decay. Overgrown weeds choke the pathways, and shattered windows stare blankly from the decaying facades of the buildings. It is like a horror movie set gone wrong.
I step inside, the crunch of broken glass under my boots the only sound besides the whisper of the wind. The place looks like it hasn't seen a cleaning crew in decades. Cobwebs cling to every surface, and dust motes dance in the shafts of sunlight filtering through the broken windows. A discarded director's chair lies on its side, its canvas torn and faded, a silent testament to the passage of time.
"Alright, Agumon, Gabumon, you're up," I say, tapping the Digivice. "Let's see what this rogue Digimon is hiding."
With a flash of light, Agumon and Gabumon materialize beside me, their eyes scanning the surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
"Whoa, this place is spooky," Agumon says, his voice echoing in the stillness.
"Be careful, Brother. Something feels off," Gabumon cautions, his gaze darting from shadow to shadow.
"Alright, you two, let's see what you can do," I say, clapping them on the back. "I'm gonna let you handle this one. Gatomon and BlackGatomon will be back up in case things get out of control. Consider this a training exercise."
I figured Agumon and Gabumon were itching for a fight, and this would be a good opportunity for them to level up. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?
Don't get yourselves killed, Gatomon warns.
And try not to destroy the whole place, BlackGatomon adds with a smirk.
I engage Digi-Camo and pull on my Digi-Gloves. The world blurs slightly as I adjust my goggles.
"Alright, let's move out," I say, my voice barely a whisper.
Agumon and Gabumon nod, their expressions determined. We advance into the studio, the silence broken only by our cautious footsteps.
The main soundstage looms before us. We step inside, and the atmosphere instantly changes. It's even creepier in here, if that's even possible. Massive, rusting set pieces lean precariously, and the air is heavy with the smell of dust and decay. Cobwebs drape everything like ghostly shrouds.
Gabumon shivers, pulling his Garurumon pelt tighter around himself. "I don't like this," he mutters. "There's too many…" he pauses, unable to say the word.
"Cobwebs?" Agumon finishes for him, puffing out his chest. "Don't worry, Gabumon. I'll protect you, Brother!"
I roll my eyes. Leave it to Agumon to try and play the hero. We creep deeper into the studio, the silence broken only by our footsteps and Gabumon's occasional whimpers.
We find nothing.
I check the Digivice, my brow furrowing. According to the map, we're standing right on top of the rogue Digimon's location. But there's no sign of it. Just more decaying set pieces and endless cobwebs. It's like this thing vanished into thin air.
"Are you sure this is the right place, Ethan?" Agumon asks, scratching his head.
"Yeah, System says that we are in the right spot," I reply. "But, I don't see anything."
Suddenly, Gabumon gasps, his eyes wide with terror. "Look out!" he cries, pointing upwards.
Before any of us can react, a barrage of sticky, white strands shoot down from the darkness above, engulfing us in a cocoon of webbing. It happens so fast, we don't even have time to scream. I struggle against the sticky threads, but they bind me tighter with every movement. Agumon and Gabumon fare no better, their struggles only serving to further entangle us.
Within seconds, we're completely encased in a giant, silken prison, only our heads left free. We dangle helplessly from the ceiling, suspended above the soundstage floor. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I finally get a good look at our captor. It's enormous, easily ten feet across, with eight beady eyes gleaming menacingly in the darkness. Its fangs drip with venom, and its hairy legs twitch with anticipation.
"It's Dokugumon!" I shout.
