Doctor Doom walked into the Pokecenter in what could best be described as a good mood. Not that it was a good description mind you, for the complex thought process of one such as Doom could never be adequately described by the paltry language of the current evolution of man. Still, he had crushed his foe, made her do a dance for twenty minutes straight for no other reason than the fact he could, and gained a new and powerful Pokemon. That was adequate.
Doom walked up to the Nurse Joy and did not say a word. He fully expected to be briefed without the need for her to be informed of his wants.
Luckily for the Joy she understood this as well and began to fill her master in. “Master, while you were gone I was able to perform the surgeries you requested on the Beedrill. He will need a week to recover but after that he’ll be in tip top shape! As for Pikachu, most of his injuries were from the strain he put on himself and I was able to fix him up no problem! You can feel free to use him as he is needed any time you like, master!”
Doom didn’t particularly like how cheery the Joy was talking, but he also realized that cheeriness was very natural to the species known as Joy and to dull it any further than he had would raise unwanted suspicion of their activities.
“Doom shall take your diagnosis under consideration. Inform your counterpart in Vermillion City that they can expect me soon.”
“Of course, master,” the Joy said.
“Doom also expects you to heal his injured Pokemon in a timely manner.” Doom sat down four Pokeballs. “They should be healthy and transferred to my computer in Vermillion by the time I arrive. If they are not… there will be consequences for you, mind slave.”
“As you say, master,” the Joy agreed wholeheartedly with her master.
Doom picked up Logan and Thor’s Pokeballs and attached them to his belt. It was time to head south. Perhaps if the Pokemon down there bled a different color than the Pokemon up here the journey would relieve a fraction of his boredom.
Doom exited the Pokecenter and was immediately greeted by Bill.
“Hello Doctor Doom,” Bill said.
Doom’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I tell you to call me master, mind slave?” Doom asked in what appeared to be a rhetorical manner.
Bill shrugged. “I am sure you did, but I am pretty bad at this whole mind slave thing. I think because I’ve done so many experiments on my own brain it isn’t likely that anything you try on me is going to be wholly effective.” Bill noticed the promise of death that the look in Doom’s eyes had and decided to amend his statement. “I mean, my brain is so defective even the gloriousness of your majesty or whatever can’t make do with my feeble mind or something. Yeah.” Bill was hopeful that recovery was good enough to only receive limited torture from his master.
He should have known those who deal with Doom had no hope.
“Anywhooo… I got what you asked for. It wasn’t easy, but only the best for my master and all of that jazz.”
Doom’s sour mood at Bill’s tone turned for the better upon hearing that. Doom was pleased. Somewhere a broken Reed Richards screamed in horror.
“Excellent,” Doom said.
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Ngirl is a toll bridge - Wigs
Gotta pay if you want to come inside! - Ngirl