11-06-2015, 06:25 PM
Cell Delta and his five lackeys shielded their eyes from the incredibly bright flash of golden light that covered everything surrounding the mouse and the preteen machine. For several seconds, the blinding flare lingered over the desert.
“What the—ugh,” the turban-wearing man grunted, taking a few steps backwards. His eyes began to water just slightly, overwhelmed by the Potara’s potency.
After a few moments, the yellow-ish glow began to disappear from sight, but as the desert came back into focus, the six aggressors noticed that their prey, too, seemed to be gone. Where once stood a bruised and beaten Mickey Mouse and Proto Man now stood nothing. All that remained of the two pint-sized warriors was some blackened sand, probably burnt to a crisp by whatever energy had helped the two escape Cell Delta’s clutches.
“Fuck, boss,” one of the men piped up, “They just vanished.”
The Soviet let out a deep growl, frustration clear on his sharp-featured face. “There’s no way,” he shook his head, “they’re here somewhere—find them.”
“Over here!”
The voice didn’t sound altogether familiar, but it didn’t sound different, either. The squeaky tones of Mickey Mouse’s candor combined with the childish whimsy of Proto Man’s own pre-pubescent voice formed into something that sounded… strange. A playful ferocity lingered under the surface of the simple phrase as Cell Delta and the others spun to find the source.
The thing that stood before them caused more than one raised eyebrow among the group. Standing somewhere in between Mickey Mouse’s just-over-two-feet and Proto Man’s four, a creature that looked altogether similar to the former king decked out in the robot’s traditional red armor smirked up at them, one hand covered by a buster cannon and the other holding a red-hued Keyblade. Hanging off of both of the big, traditional mouse ears were the two yellow-colored orbs that Mickey had pulled seemingly out of nowhere just moments before. “Lookin’ for me, pal?”
Cell Delta scowled—whatever the fuck the pair had turned into, it had to die. “Kill the rat.”
The man’s five minions surged forward, but the creature kicked off the ground and into the air, aiming its cannon straight down and releasing a blast of golden energy. One of Delta’s lackeys stumbled as he tried to stop, tumbling right into the path of the beam; a searing heat covered his flesh and he let out a blood curdling scream, collapsing onto the ground in a heap.
The armored mouse flipped in the air and landed on two feet on the other side of Delta, near the scorched spot where his two parts had initially fused. The quartet of remaining thugs turned around and glared at the thing.
“Is he breathing?” the mouse asked, his squeaky voice tempered by Proto Man’s mechanical drone.
Hesitantly, one of the henchman stepped over to his comrade, placing two fingers on his neck to check for a pulse. Despite the appearance-altering burns that now riddled his face and chest, the man appeared to still have a working, beating heart: “He’s alive.”
A genuine smile formed underneath the mouse’s visor. “Yay!”
Before another thought could be formed by anyone around, the mouse lifted up his buster arm and fired off four more shots of golden energy, knocking each of Cell Delta’s henchmen off their feet and slamming their unconscious bodies into the sand one by one. The Soviet leader spun, confused, around, watching as his lackeys crumpled beneath the power of the newly-fused mouse machine. The creature lifted the buster cannon to his mouth and blew some smoke off the end of it.
“Golly,” he shrugged, “That was easy.”
“…what the fuck are you?” Cell Delta said, flabbergasted.
“Language,” the thing scolded before continuing, lowering his buster arm and aiming it at Cell Delta’s chest. “Me? I’m Mickey Mouse! And Proto Man. Together. So I guess I’m… Proto Mouse! Ho-ho.”
“So clever,” the attacker scowled.
“Yea,” Proto Mouse shrugged before blasting away at Cell Delta.
“What the—ugh,” the turban-wearing man grunted, taking a few steps backwards. His eyes began to water just slightly, overwhelmed by the Potara’s potency.
After a few moments, the yellow-ish glow began to disappear from sight, but as the desert came back into focus, the six aggressors noticed that their prey, too, seemed to be gone. Where once stood a bruised and beaten Mickey Mouse and Proto Man now stood nothing. All that remained of the two pint-sized warriors was some blackened sand, probably burnt to a crisp by whatever energy had helped the two escape Cell Delta’s clutches.
“Fuck, boss,” one of the men piped up, “They just vanished.”
The Soviet let out a deep growl, frustration clear on his sharp-featured face. “There’s no way,” he shook his head, “they’re here somewhere—find them.”
“Over here!”
The voice didn’t sound altogether familiar, but it didn’t sound different, either. The squeaky tones of Mickey Mouse’s candor combined with the childish whimsy of Proto Man’s own pre-pubescent voice formed into something that sounded… strange. A playful ferocity lingered under the surface of the simple phrase as Cell Delta and the others spun to find the source.
The thing that stood before them caused more than one raised eyebrow among the group. Standing somewhere in between Mickey Mouse’s just-over-two-feet and Proto Man’s four, a creature that looked altogether similar to the former king decked out in the robot’s traditional red armor smirked up at them, one hand covered by a buster cannon and the other holding a red-hued Keyblade. Hanging off of both of the big, traditional mouse ears were the two yellow-colored orbs that Mickey had pulled seemingly out of nowhere just moments before. “Lookin’ for me, pal?”
Cell Delta scowled—whatever the fuck the pair had turned into, it had to die. “Kill the rat.”
The man’s five minions surged forward, but the creature kicked off the ground and into the air, aiming its cannon straight down and releasing a blast of golden energy. One of Delta’s lackeys stumbled as he tried to stop, tumbling right into the path of the beam; a searing heat covered his flesh and he let out a blood curdling scream, collapsing onto the ground in a heap.
The armored mouse flipped in the air and landed on two feet on the other side of Delta, near the scorched spot where his two parts had initially fused. The quartet of remaining thugs turned around and glared at the thing.
“Is he breathing?” the mouse asked, his squeaky voice tempered by Proto Man’s mechanical drone.
Hesitantly, one of the henchman stepped over to his comrade, placing two fingers on his neck to check for a pulse. Despite the appearance-altering burns that now riddled his face and chest, the man appeared to still have a working, beating heart: “He’s alive.”
A genuine smile formed underneath the mouse’s visor. “Yay!”
Before another thought could be formed by anyone around, the mouse lifted up his buster arm and fired off four more shots of golden energy, knocking each of Cell Delta’s henchmen off their feet and slamming their unconscious bodies into the sand one by one. The Soviet leader spun, confused, around, watching as his lackeys crumpled beneath the power of the newly-fused mouse machine. The creature lifted the buster cannon to his mouth and blew some smoke off the end of it.
“Golly,” he shrugged, “That was easy.”
“…what the fuck are you?” Cell Delta said, flabbergasted.
“Language,” the thing scolded before continuing, lowering his buster arm and aiming it at Cell Delta’s chest. “Me? I’m Mickey Mouse! And Proto Man. Together. So I guess I’m… Proto Mouse! Ho-ho.”
“So clever,” the attacker scowled.
“Yea,” Proto Mouse shrugged before blasting away at Cell Delta.
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)