| Pikachu eased the cigar from his weather-beaten mouth as he whacked the machete down on another patch of undergrowth. "Damn South American jungles," he thought, flicking a six-inch spider away from his paw. "How the hell am I gonna find that ancient Xoltotec temple in this undergrowth?"
But all he said, in his gruff, tobacco-tanned voice was, "Pikachu."
Suddenly, it caught his attention. A plane crash. The pilot was obviously dead, his disemboweled corpse draped across the front of the Cessna. But there was sound, a banging around coming from the other side of the plane.
Pikachu drew his trusty six shooter and readied his bullwhip.
Creeping around to the other side of the plane, he beheld the source of the noise: A young, buxom brunette, her trendy American clothes ripped revealingly by the crash, rooting around in the smashed boxes and suitcases strewn about the gaping hole in the plane's hull.
A twig snapped under Pikachu's paw. The woman spun around, everything in the right place, her eyes wide with fear.
Pikachu put out the cigar with his paw.
"Pikachu."
A nodeshell challenge by yerricde. | 
