Mutants & Monsters

Fanfiction by Gojizilla1954

A/N - Hello! I am Gojizilla1954, and here I will present to you a little project I thought up: Mutants and Monsters. This is going to be a revision of the infamous failure of the Tristar's Godzilla in 1998, although a lot of the characters, monster designs, and even plots will be taken from Toho's Godzilla 2000: Millenium. Thus, it can be considered as a revision/crossover between those two Godzilla movies. Being fanfiction, I do not own any of the characters or properties presented in this series, nor will I be making any profit off this. This is simply for the enjoyment of myself and others, as well as to practice my writing skills. As such, all comments and criticisms are welcome and will be taken into consideration as I continue this four-part series. In speaking of which, I will be trying to post at least one chapter per week. However, if I don't meet this goal, it may just be simply due to a busy schedule or writer's block. I have no intention of giving up on this story.

Now, with all of that fluff out of the way, let me shut my yapping and present you with the story. Please enjoy Mutants and Monsters!

Part 1

Godzilla: Dawn of the Mutants

Prologue

The Pacific Ocean, 10 miles east of Mehetia, French Polynesia, 1968

In the gleaming glare of the afternoon light, which cast strokes of warm yellows and oranges across the small island outlined in the distance, metal hulks of human technology bobbed about on the shimmering waves. These metal hulks, in the terms of man, were destroyers, owned by the European country of France but stationed over a hundred thousand miles away.

Jeremie Beaulieu would occasionally wonder why such warships would be given such names. It was not like destroyers didn't destroy anything, like all machines of war they were very important in the functionality of a task force. But, unlike aircraft carriers, battleships, or even cruisers, destroyers in modern naval fleets were typically restrained to reconnaissance and as submarine repellents. Rarely did they see much success when facing the true weapons of naval war, and ended up being less of the destroyer and more of the destroyed.

Of course, as Jeremie had to remind himself of, the particular task assigned to the small force of five destroyers very much fits its title. After all, there wasn't much reason for even a mere patrol boat to guard a simple colony of the home nation, located far away from the closest form of political opposition to the democratic nation of France.

In the turbulent years of a massive arms race between two superpowers, there was only one reason for such a minuscule display of military power to be presented in such a strategically and politically useless place. The island known as Mehetia was, within the next ten minutes, to be subjected to the detonation of a nuclear warhead to test the nuclear capabilities of France.

Jeremie Beaulieu was a communications officer working on the French destroyer, the Le Parisien. A few weeks earlier, the ship had been assigned to the task force and given the mission of overseeing the nuclear test. Currently, Jeremie was sitting at his post, headset clutching to his ears, gazing absentmindedly out at the island ten miles away.

They had gotten lucky. After about three weeks of a mind-numbingly boring trip from France to the South Pacific, they had arrived at the uninhabited island when the winds sailed harmlessly south, away from anything civilized. Thus, the test could begin immediately instead of having to suffer the long wait before the operation could proceed without any risk of contaminating civilians with radioactive poisoning.

Of course, the preparations still took a few hours to complete, forcing Jeremie into tolerating boredom more excruciating than that experienced on the voyage here. At least then, there was a certain mysterious figure that had occupied the attention and curiosity of most of the crew, a secluded figure who's mere presence spawned conspiracy theories.

This man happened to be within Jeremie's peripheral vision, standing at the bow of the ship, just within Jeremie's view from his position on the bridge. This man was clad in jet black, and only in jet black. From his hair to his suit to his sunglasses and his shoes, Jeremie would sometimes mistake the figure for a smudge on the window before him. He stood, like Jeremie, staring out towards the smudge on an outline that was the small island of Mehetia. This island, Jeremie recalled, was deserted, free of civilization and thus dooming it to the destructive experiments of man.

And it is such a pretty island too. Although its details were hard to discern due to the harsh, reddish glare of the setting sun and the immense distance, by squinting and having a pair of black binoculars, Jeremie could make out the shiny palm trees, pearly beaches, and protective rock of the island's mountain. And although none were visible, Jeremie guessed that such a lush island had its fair share of tropical creatures that lived within the island's dense jungle.

Of course, Jeremie doubted whether the jet black figure was watching the same thing. Although Jeremie had a higher position, he, like the rest of the crew, wondered about the man's purpose for accompanying the operation. Many within the bowels of the ship created many wackish theories, going as far as to suggest aliens or even that the test was an attempt to kill a giant monster. Jeremie mentally scoffed at the notion. Even a military man like himself knew that creatures could only grow so large until their weight could no longer support their mass. Besides, they would surely be informed of being involved in such a delicate operation. In Jeremie's opinion, the man was simply a government agent, overseeing the operation and ensuring its smooth success.

But, as Jeremie hated to admit, even that was just a theory.

Jeremie continued to gaze out towards the island, his mind wandering from subject to subject until his stupor was finally dissolved by a commanding voice.

"Mr. Beaulieu," the voice called, not so loud as to call the attention of others, but substantial enough in grabbing Jeremie's own.

Jeremie, snapped away from his distractions, swiveled his chair about 180 degrees to keep attention with the voice's owner. This, as it turned out, happened to be the captain of the ship and his commander, Theodore Jean.

"Yes, sir?" Jeremie responded, adjusting the position in which he sat.

The captain nodded out towards the island, towards the figure at the end of the bow. "The test is beginning in a few minutes. I want you to alert Mr. Roache and tell him to come inside."

Mr. Roache. Somehow, despite the three weeks of being on the same ship, sometimes in the same room as the man, this was the first time Jeremie had heard anything identifying as a name.

Jeremie simply nodded, removing his headset and rising from the comfort of his seat, exiting from the coolness of the refreshing bridge and into the uncomfortably humid atmosphere. Making his way down the nearby group of stairs and onto another level of the ship, Jeremie began to wonder whether the captain himself knew of the ominous Mr. Roache's purpose in accompanying them on the voyage. Indeed, it seemed likely, being the captain and thus highest-ranking officer on board of the Le Parisien.

Yet, as Jeremie guided himself down the last flight of stairs onto the main deck of the ship, he got a feeling that all his captain knew of the man was his name.

Somehow, even with a name now attached to the figure, Jeremie didn't feel any less apprehensive as he approached him, now as much of a jet black outline as the island itself.

Upon arriving within probable hearing distance of Mr. Roache, Jeremie meekly announced his presence, saying "Mr. Roache?" twice when the man didn't respond after his first call.

Mr. Roache slowly turned around, eventually stopping upon full eye contact was made, one only one-sided due to the man's thick shades. Although his eyes were covered and the sun tried to blind him, Jeremie was able to discern several details from the man's face. First of all, it was clear that the man hadn't scrubbed his face with a razor in quite some time, possibly ever. A small dark mustache had formed on the man's upper lip and his chin, cheeks, and upper neck were covered in a misty white fuzz. His hair was jet black but relatively short and messy, limited to only the back half of his head and leaving his forehead exposed, tinged red with a slight sunburn. The only thing covering his forehead was a large, moppy widow's peak, one even larger than his pointed nose.

Somehow, determining the man's facial features gave him an air of familiarity, despite the lack of prior contact and mystical demeanor. Thus, Jeremie corrected his previously slumped stance into a professional one.

"Mr. Roache?" Jeremie said again, despite having the man's attention.

"Yes, spit it out," Mr. Roache said, his voice edged with exasperation.

"The operation is beginning shortly, sir," Jeremie began. "It would probably be best if you come indoors, sir."

Mr. Roache simply returned with a warm smile. Tapping the rim of his jet black shades, Roache said, "If you're worried about my sight, I believe these will suffice."

"But the captain -" Jeremie's protest was cut short as Mr. Roache interrupted, saying, "The captain has no command over me, nor should he have any worries about my wellbeing."

Jeremie, after overcoming a brief period of bewilderment, shrugged and said, "If that is your wish, Mr. Roache."

Jeremie was then about to leave, but was stopped one last time when Roache said, "Please, just call me Philippe."

Jeremie glanced back one last time. Mr. Roache - no - Philippe was leaning on the rails that surrounded the deck, staring off at the island and the slowly dipping sunset.

"Ok then, Philippe," Jeremie muttered before walking away, moving at a brisk pace towards the bridge as the alarms sounded, declaring the start of the countdown preceding the nuclear detonation.

By the time Jeremie had returned to the bridge, informed the captain that Philippe would be viewing the detonation from the deck, and settled down onto the seat of his post, the countdown had already started from ten and had made its way down to four.

Then three.

Then two.

Then one.

Jeremie had just nestled on a pair of protective sunglasses and turned to face the island ahead just in time to watch it disappear behind a second sun. Goosebumps flared up immediately on Jeremie's arms and legs, but not because of the sound, but actually of the lack thereof. It took about a minute of pure silence, staring as the island transformed into a large fungus that grew steadily into the sky before the sound reached the ship. Jeremie was surprised at the sound. It wasn't like in movies or even documentaries, where there are a large boom and a growling rumble that steadily grew in volume as the shockwaves approached.

In actuality, when the sound finally reached their ears, all there was was a quick bang, and a quiet airy grumble sound as the wind picked up and debris was flung into the air. There was no shaking, no rattling of the windows. All shockwaves would have died out far before they would have reached their position. The task force was purposely positioned far enough away so they wouldn't feel any negative effects.

After a few more mute minutes, seconds laden with tension and intimidation of the ghostly shadow that rose from the island, the captain finally said, "Alright men, I think that's a successful test, men. We will depart at twenty-two hundred."

Jeremie briefly checked his watch, which he had previously set to match the time of the Pacific rather than of France. It was 9:34. Jeremie could do nothing but shiver at the realization that what had felt like four hours had only been four minutes.

Jeremie's gaze was then directed to the island. The Pacific winds should have been enough to whisk away the cloud by now, so it took a minute for him to realize that the sun had disappeared behind the horizon, night falling over the oddly serene scene before him. Of course, in reality, the island was probably destroyed. Jeremie didn't know exactly where the warhead had landed, but he guessed that a massive crater had replaced the impact site. All life on the island was probably gone as well, the trees stripped bare and the skulls of any animals shattered at the sound waves alone. If anything did survive, it would be eventually killed off by the nuclear fallout.

Yet, as the five destroyers pulled away from the extinct environment ahead, Jeremie couldn't help but get a feeling that a ghost now hung over the island, one filled with hatred and a desire for vengeance against those who destroyed the beauty of nature.

Jeremie decided to shake off these feelings. Ghosts weren't real, monsters weren't real, and the probability that aliens would visit was only an inch above zero. Jeremie picked up his radio headset and prepared to inform the headquarters of the successful test.

The destroyers, their task now completed and the meaning of their names now fulfilled slowly turned about and retreated from nature's pale corpse.

The Pacific Ocean, a few hundred feet northeast of Mehetia, a few hours later

Two thousand feet beneath the sea, coated in a thin layer of grimy ash and soot, lay a titan. A leviathan, the incarnation of man's deepest fears of the deep, a monster so massive that it seemed like a mountain amongst the underwater landscape. Three rows of tall spines rose from his back like stalagmites, sharper than swords, shaped like crystallized maple leaves, and tinged a dark purple. Its claws were massive, the size of boulders and as sharp as its spines, its teeth like iron pikes. It lay on its stomach against the sand and seafloor, its head was on its side, shut eyes staring blankly at the surrounding gloom like an empty soul.

But it wasn't dead.

This creature was very much alive but not three hours earlier it had been something entirely different, a natural creature, a reminder of an age long gone and the descent of the survivors of that age's cataclysmic end. Its prior form was quite large, about five meters tall and twice as long. However, its new form, spawned from the fallout of the prior apocalyptic detonation, multiplied its size by ten.

This transformation from sixteen feet to one hundred and sixty-four feet was, as with any growth spurt, quite painful, excruciatingly so. Every single atom of the creature's complex anatomy had felt like it was blazing worse than the island had after the nuclear warhead's detonation. And it was no wonder. When every single muscle, bone, organ, and scale grows ten times its original size in an hour, subtlety was so far off from the pain's description that it was in a completely different ocean.

However, even then, the mutations weren't done yet. The creature, in its prior form, was only a juvenile and still had time to grow. Thus, even in its dormancy, which had been born from the pain so terrible that it rendered him unconscious, the massive creature would grow massive yet as its body grew and mutated further as it absentmindedly absorbed the surrounding radiation.

And when it finally finishes its growth and wakes from its long slumber, that is the day when humanity burns.

Mehetia, French Polynesia

Of course, the leviathan that slumbered deep beneath the sea wasn't the only organism affected by the cataclysm. The once lush forests of the island were stripped bare, remaining only as lifeless husks. The once vibrant grass and vegetation had been either vaporized, torched, or completely removed from the island itself. And, of course, the animal life had been equally as decimated. Every single organism on the island that had more than two cells suddenly found its skulls utterly crushed by the sheer blast of the sound waves. Any stray organism that somehow survived was then roasted alive by the resulting firestorm.

Even the sea life that surrounded the island, for up to half a mile, was annihilated by the shockwaves of the explosions. Then, up to five miles, much of the sea life was infected and usually killed by the radioactive fallout that poisoned the seas. The few organisms that survived radiation poisoning are left with twisted and gruesome sores and tumors, which itself would eventually result in the organism's death due to the inhibition of its processes of life and in its ability to survive. The coral reefs that adorned and decorated the seafloor, extending for up to a mile from the island, were soon reduced to, like the forests of the island itself, lifeless husks, appearing almost like the scattered bones of decaying corpses after a destructive conflict.

However, despite the destructive might of nuclear weaponry, there are several examples of the impossible: how life found away. The titan at the bottom of the ocean is one example, exemplified by how such an organism was able to survive the immense changes that rocked its body. However, another one can be found on the island itself, the island now completely devoid of life with the singular exception of the bacteria buried deep in the earth.

One of the organisms that had once existed on the island was a small population of sea iguanas. Some of the sea iguanas were fortunate enough to be out at sea, allowing them to survive the initial blast. Unfortunately, however, they too succumbed to the horrors of radiation poisoning. But their legacy was not destroyed. The instinctive choices of one female would change the course of history. Hidden beneath the protective cover of a rocky overhang, looking out towards the sea beyond, a single egg was cuddled within the rock's protective embrace, sheltering it from the shattering shockwaves, scorching flames, and poisonous fallout. All that remained was the radiation itself, unable to destroy the organism growing inside, but able to influence the course of its growth and evolution.

A mile north of Mehetia, French Polynesia

After a brief, distant flash, it stirred. The energy that momentarily blossomed rebirthed its consciousness into existence. Of course, upon the energy's disappearance, the consciousness was once more left lonely and starving. It did not know how long since it crash-landed on this world, nor how long since it had its crew members absorb themselves into their craft and become a single consciousness. In fact, upon seeing the comforting warmth of energy slip away without a bright and hopeful return only inspired a sense of depression. However, as it considered the blast, it came to realize that it wasn't of an astronomical origin. It was artificial, created by a species of this world equipped with the intelligence, proficiency, and determination required to create such explosions of energy. This provided hope to consciousness. As the consciousness resumed its dormancy, it hoped that, someday, they will discover it, and reawaken it, returning it to the warmth of the local star's energy.

Then, it would conquer the world.

A/N - And that's the prologue! I hope you enjoyed the first segment of what will hopefully be a great series. Sorry for any bad grammar and funky writing, but if there is any, let me know, and I'll try to fix it. Also, comment, if you can guess who the other two guests joining Godzilla in this first part, will be, although those guesses won't be affirmed until they appear in the story. I think it will be pretty obvious, though you may need to have seen the movies or have an understanding of them. By the way, Godzilla's design will be that of his look in Godzilla 2000: Millenium. This is due to how much is being pulled from that film to the point of being a crossover, but also how unique that design is. Anyway, thanks for reading and I'll (hopefully) see you next week!