Chapter 16
You smell him all around the door. Without that, you’d never have noticed it. It’s a nondescript sheet of metal like all the others in this hallway, a letter-number code stenciled on it in bold red. At the moment you’re attacking the card reader next to it with the complete contents of Tony Flores’ wallet. He doesn’t have an obvious Rocket ID, but he does have a lot of cards.
You’re acutely aware, as you fumble one after another against the scanner, that the elites could be descending even now, sweeping through the base in search of Mewtwo. Or maybe the clone’s found what he’s looking for and is smashing his way to the surface, ready to collapse the base behind him, to bring it down in a pile of rubble about your ears.
At last the scanner beeps, and the door slides open while you stare down at what looks like a sandwich shop rewards card in your hand. You shake your head, deciding to worry about it later, and step through into a storeroom. Or maybe it’s an armory, racks of guns run down one side, shelves of pokéballs along the other. And near the back–“You!”
He glances over his shoulder, a fistful of pokéballs in one hand and his pokédex in the other. Your stomach sours with resentment at the sight of it. The mightyena by his side sniffs at a shelf, ignoring you completely. “Who the hell’re you?” the great Nathaniel Morgan asks nonchalantly.
You charge down the center aisle by way of reply, and after a moment’s surprise the mightyena turns and rushes to intercept you. You clench a fist, gathering spores inside, then leap aside just before you two collide and scatter the powder in the dark-type’s face as she goes sailing past. The mightyena recovers easily and comes around for another pass, but her strides turn shaky and uncertain, and bald confusion crosses her face for just a second before she collapses in heavy slumber.
“Oh, shit,” the great Nathaniel Morgan says as you surge back into a run. He grimaces and reaches up to pull a shelving unit over, scattering pokéballs in all directions. “Go on, all of you!”
A blaze of multicolored light knocks the Rocket off his feet and capsizes another couple of shelves. The air is filled with the confused cries of pokémon, and you slow, skirting around the edge of the group and looking for a way through to the human on the other side.
A steelix rears up out of the crowd with a furious bellow, only to subside into a buzzsaw growl when he bangs his head on the low ceiling. Then he twists back on himself, lifting his tail to free an irate vaporeon who’d gotten trapped underneath. “Dreadfully sorry about that. I didn’t see you there. Would you please–”
His words cut off with a grunt as you land on the broad expanse of his head, alighting for only a moment before kicking off again, powerful blaziken muscles bunching in your legs. Curved talons split open your shoes as you fall towards the great Nathaniel Morgan, who’s pulling himself back to his feet, oblivious.
The impact knocks him to the ground again, and your momentum carries him clear into the wall. His ribs give way under your weight, and your claws clutch in the flesh beneath. You can feel his heart beating somewhere close by, sending warm pulses of blood trickling out around your toes. You could just reach up and grab it, crush it between your talons and finish the human off for good. Not yet, though. Not just yet.
You lean in close while the great Nathaniel Morgan gags and sputters, bright frothing blood dribbling from his mouth. “It is me.” He just stares at you, irregular breaths gurgling in his throat. “Did you really think you could escape that easily? Did you really think you could attack me, try to capture me, and I would let you walk away? We had a deal!”
He shifts a bit under you, squinting up at your face. “The fuck… are you doing here?” You can barely make out the words over the noise of his breathing.
“Why did you do it? I saved your life. I would have let you go. All you had to do was cooperate! Why could you not cooperate for two damn weeks?”
“Go to hell… you worthless… piece…”
You twist your claws in deeper, and the human lets out a choked, bubbling scream. “Answer me!” He gags up more blood and lies there coughing, his chest spasming in your grip. You pick him up with one foot and slam him back against the floor. “Answer me!”
The great Nathaniel Morgan stares up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. His voice is hoarse and distant as he says, “Ticket… back on the team… right? Valuable… for parts… at least…”
Rage boils over in your chest, and you forget why you came to find him, forget about Mewtwo and your pokémon, forget everything but revenge. “You sold a child to Team Rocket!” You’re halfway shrieking now. “A child, you, you evil–you disgusting–” You slam him into the floor with each word, your claws tearing chunks of flesh out of his side.
The great Nathaniel Morgan tries to curl into a ball, but he can barely move. You pin him on his back and stand there quivering with anger but unsure of what to do. Killing seems too good, burning seems too good for someone who would condemn you to rot in a cage underground, picked apart by Rocket scientists or thrown into one of their fighting rings to battle to the death. And he did it just to get back in with his awful friends. He did it, you’re sure, with one of those awful smirks on his face as he imagined what lay ahead of you.
He’s trying to smirk now, lips drawing back in a red-stained half-smile. “Ha… not child… more like… fucking… demon…”
You raise a clawed foot, ready to drive it through his disgusting face, when your world explodes with pain. A dizzying second later you find you’re crushed up against the wall, whole body crying out in agony.
You drop to the floor as something releases you and try to twist your head around on a body gone all out of alignment to see what it was.
You barely manage a protect before the steelix brings his tail down again, and the blow connects with a crash that rattles your shattered bones and sends up a great plume of sparks. The steel-type pauses for a moment to shake himself, scattering the last of the pokémon trying to restrain him, then brings his tail back for another swing. The big steel-type smashes at your barrier again and again. “What are you doing?” he roars. “You’ll kill him! What are you doing?”
You grit your teeth against the stress headache building behind your temples and wrench your body the right way around with a stinging series of pops and crunches, smashed bones starting to knit back together. The steelix must have pulled his iron tail attack, but even so, you’d be in dire shape if you were human. The steel-type withdraws for a moment, staring at you in confusion, and you let go of your protect and spread one hand, sending a five-pointed burst of flame into the steelix’s face.
“He’s a member of Team Rocket! Of course I’m going to kill him!” you yell over the steelix’s scraping metal screech of pain. There’s a murmur of fear and surprise from the other pokémon, and you hesitate, only now remembering that you have an audience.
The bewildered pokémon stare at you, seeing something blood-smeared and furious and obviously inhuman. They’re not moving to attack yet, but there’s nervous shifting in the crowd, some muttering. The mention of Team Rocket has them distracted for the moment, but you can’t count on the watchers to stay neutral forever. Most of them have been trained to protect humans without a second thought, after all. “Stay out of this. It doesn’t concern you,” you say, as much to them as to the steelix.
“He’s my trainer!” the steelix roars, scattering pokémon as he lunges for you in a shriek of metal armor over metal floor. “Of course it’s my business if you intend to murder him!” You roll to the side, and the steel-type’s jaws crash shut on empty air. You duck as he follows up with a headbutt, then protect yourself from a slashing iron tail. He’s trying to drive you away from the great Nathaniel Morgan, you note, and a burst of inspiration and a burst of speed take you to the comatose human’s side. Your ruined shoes squelch in a spreading puddle of blood as you haul the human up and hold him out in front of you as a shield. The steelix twists aside to avoid hitting the two of you with his double-edge, demolishing several shelves instead and sending pokéballs spinning in all directions.
You back up and try to split your attention between the steelix and the other pokémon. Most have retreated out of the battle zone, but a few are stalking around the edges of the fight, watching too intently for your tastes.
The steelix rears up, swaying side to side as he looks for a way to get at you without further injuring his trainer. He opens his mouth wide and lets out a long, keening screech of frustration, and you smile despite your ringing ears, keeping a firm grip on the great Nathaniel Morgan. Good. Now, just a moment and you’ll be out of here…
A faint noise behind you is all the warning you get before something seizes your leg, dragging you to the floor. You scream and drop the great Nathaniel Morgan as fangs tear deep into your calf, shredding through muscle and grating against bone. You fire a swift attack over your shoulder, blind, but your attacker doesn’t let go.
You manage to twist around enough to see that it’s the mightyena, awake now and angry, her teeth glowing as she mangles your leg. You grab the pokéballs off the great Nathaniel Morgan’s belt and smack her on the side of the head with them. One goes off and draws her inside, leaving you alone, your blood mingling with the human’s on the floor.
You swallow back pain and nausea, bowing your head a moment as you shove the pokéballs into your pocket, then grab the great Nathaniel Morgan’s pokédex for good measure. Dark-types. Always popping up at the most inconvenient times.
You shouldn’t have stopped to rest. There’s movement in your peripheral vision, but you’re in too much pain to get out of the way before the steelix’s tail connects and sends you crashing into a shelf.
You land slipping on spilled pokéballs and flop over on your stomach as another iron tail comes down, smashing the shelf to bits and landing inches from your arm. You throw yourself aside as another attack lands, then again, and without time to regain your feet you only just stay ahead of the steelix’s attacks. He brings his tail down over and over like he’s determined to swat a particularly annoying fly, each strike landing with a boom that bounces pokéballs in all directions.
You’ve little attention left for thought, but you know this is a losing battle. Blood pumps from shredded arteries in your leg, and your head’s growing foggy, your movements sluggish and clumsy. If the steelix hits you, which he will if he keeps this up, you’re going to be out of the fight or worse.
All you have to do is get to the great Nathaniel Morgan and teleport out of here. That’s it. You can’t see the human anymore, the steelix’s silver coils separating you from his trainer. But if you could just get back up, all you’d need is one good quick attack. You’d be there and gone before the big slab of metal knew what was going on.
A desperate sideways roll leaves you close enough to Steelix’s swing that you can smell hot metal as his tail strikes sparks from the floor. Pokéballs spin all around you, and at last something clicks in your overwhelmed mind. “Go, go!” you shout, fumbling any balls you can reach into the air. Pokémon appear, a farfetch’d, a chansey, a ponyta burning blue flames, and their shouts of surprise are drowned out by another booming iron tail.
“Get him! Stop him!” you yell, only just remembering to use human, and their training and the assumption that you know what’s going on quiets them and turns them towards the steelix. The farfetch’d takes wing, all bravery in the face of an opponent who won’t even feel the stabs of her leek, and the chansey waddles forward with an ugly scowl on her face. Only the ponyta hangs back, his flames dancing with building power.
The steelix hesitates with tail raised, glancing between his new opponents, and you see your moment. You pull yourself upright with the help of a splintered shelf while the farfetch’d starts jabbing with her leek. The blows ping uselessly from the steelix’s armor, and he ignores them, starting forward with jaws open wide. A flamethrower from the ponyta drags a molten, glowing streak across the steelix’s face, but he keeps coming despite his bellow of pain.
The steelix tries to curve around the chansey, angling for you directly, but she’s having none of it. The normal-type dashes right in under the steelix, reaches out with stubby fingerless paws, and seizes one of the spikes protruding from his side. Then she lifts.
The steelix’s jaw hangs slack with shock, and for a moment his body stays limp while the chansey hauls him up over her head. He gets over his surprise quickly, though, and an awful grinding noise starts up as the links of his tail twist and writhe against the floor, the steelix fighting for purchase to pull himself free.
The throbbing in your leg fades beneath a tide of warmth as you channel energy to your injuries, not too much, but enough to staunch the bleeding. “Put me down!” the steelix is yelling in the distance. “Please! Stop! You don’t know what you’re doing! Madam, I must insist that you–”
The chansey hoists him higher with a trilling cry, then throws. It’s not much of a seismic toss–the steelix is too unwieldy for that–but he goes crashing to the floor nonetheless, body whipping and flailing as he tries to right himself, crushing onlookers in the process.
This at last shocks the watching pokémon into action. The chansey charges as they flood onto the battlefield, letting out another battle-cry as she goes.
You only have a few seconds before they reach you. Already energy attacks burst on all sides, sending up fountains of guns and pokéballs as they explode more shelves. You shift weight onto your injured leg and almost fall over, head going swimmy from the pain. You can do this, though. It will all be over in a heartbeat. Steelix is only now thrashing his way upright, and he’ll never be able to get between you and the great Nathaniel Morgan in time. You throw yourself forward at an impossible run.
In an instant you’re standing over the human. A glowing blade of compressed air whizzes just over your head as you bend down to grab his arm, and you shut your eyes to block everything out, the pain in your leg and the flickering pulse under your fingers. Everything fades into the background, the steelix’s despairing roar sounding far-off and echoing, and then it truly is gone as you leave the base and all its bloodstained corridors behind.
It’s not fair, you think, turning in another circle. You’re limping, your hurt leg still too weak to hold you properly, but you’re much too tired to fix it now. It’s not fair that you have to work so hard to keep the great Nathaniel Morgan alive when you really just want him dead. Three softboileds was all you dared give him, but that was more than enough for you. Your body feels like one giant bruise, but you’re afraid that if you sit down you’ll fall asleep and miss what happens below. So for now, you walk and seethe.
It’s true, you should have waited to get the information you wanted out of the Rocket before getting your revenge, but it’s so hard for you to think when you’re angry, and everything the great Nathaniel Morgan does makes you angry.
Most recently that was being loud. You never thought someone could give so much offense just by breathing, but the wheezing, bubbling noise got on your nerves to the point that you wedged the human in the rooftop shed behind you just to get away from it. You’re pretty sure both his lungs are working again now; he’s got no reason to be as dramatic as all that.
You pause for a moment and lean against the lip of the roof, staring at the police perimeter below. It stirs with constant activity, a new tension in the air now that the elites have descended into the base. The six of them went down around ten minutes ago, Blaine, Lorelei, and Sabrina joining the three you saw earlier, anyone they could get together on short notice, you presume. The cops chatter over radios, keeping tabs on what’s happening underground, but no matter how you turn up your ears you can’t make out the words over the clamor.
You watch a moment more, then turn away, clenching a fist as you resume your slow, unsteady pacing. You don’t care what Mewtwo thinks, even he isn’t powerful enough to stand up to that many of Kanto’s best trainers. After all, the Champion captured him before, alone. How he thinks he’ll get away this time, you don’t know.
And Mewtwo’s not just risking himself, of course. No, he took your pokémon, for whatever insane reason. If he gets captured, so do they. And then what? They get released if you’re lucky. If you’re very lucky. If not, they’re kept as evidence, or witnesses, or something, trapped in the slow bureaucratic whirlpool of the justice system. Or worse; someone looks at them, realizes where they come from, discovers the thread that connects them all–they recognize you. They’ll come for you next, all because that arrogant, stubborn clone thinks he’s so above it all. He’s supposed to help you, not make things worse. He just doesn’t–
A distant explosion sends you running back to the edge, weariness momentarily forgotten. The activity below halts as humans and pokémon alike turn their eyes skyward, following an unfurling purple ribbon of psychic energy. Then comes the shouting, then comes the running, and you wrestle your shirt off, only just remembering to wrap yourself in the illusion of a pidgey before feathers start to flow down your torso. Your very bones itch as your skeleton reconfigures, and you hunch forward as your chest bulks out with new muscle and your arms are weighted down by feathers. Every second feels like an agonizing eternity as you watch Mewtwo grow smaller and smaller, craning your head back to keep him in view. He’s so fast, he’s so terribly fast, and he’s leaving you behind.
The clone came up from somewhere else. You suppose you should have expected that–the base probably covers a couple blocks at least. Thankfully you don’t see anyone on his tail. The police start to follow, flying units swirling around his fading contrail, but given his head start you doubt they’ll catch him.
Unfortunately that means you might not be able to catch him, either. You vault off the edge of the roof and spread your new wings, joining the last stragglers in pursuit. A crobat goes spiraling past, followed shortly by a flygon and then a pidgeot with a rider goading him on. You flap along grimly, trying to ignore your fatigue as you draw on energy to increase your speed. You’re not very fast on your own merits, but with the techniques at your disposal, you begin to close the gap. Streamers of energy trail behind your wings as you fly, invisible under the shroud of your illusion. The crobat stares down at the determined pidgey who’s overtaking her by fits and starts.
No sooner have you reached the head of the pack than you drop back again, throwing up a protect just before a wave of psychic energy rips through the crowd of flying-types. A few fall, and the screaming of humans mixes with cries of pokémon as unlucky riders topple from their mounts. A few turn back to help those in distress, and some retaliate, streamers of fire and bolts of energy leaping towards the fleeing clone. Only a handful of pokémon carry on forward–gaining on Mewtwo, perhaps? Only slightly if so.
Through dogged effort you pull to the front again, closing with Mewtwo until you feel the scintillating edge of his psychic field as a faint ringing in your ears. You feel, too, the surge of power just before the clone releases another attack.
It breaks against your protect, which glows a moment as the wave of psychic energy washes over its surface. It slows you down, yes, but most of the pokémon behind you are knocked from the sky. As soon as you let the protect fall you pour all you’ve got into catching up. Wait! you think with all your might. Wait for me! Stop!
You think you feel a ripple in the clone’s mind, but there’s no other sign of recognition. Mewtwo doesn’t slow.
He knows you’re behind him, and he recognizes you, you’re sure of it. If you can feel him, he can feel you, too. You focus all your thoughts on how much you want him to wait, to just slow down a little bit, until you feel like your head’s going to explode from concentrating.
The clone doesn’t wait, not even as the police fall farther and farther behind. He shoots straight as an arrow north and east, Viridian Forest rolling on and on below, endless miles of trees. You follow grimly, wondering where he’s going. Not to Cerulean, you’re sure. Not to seek out more of Team Rocket, not so soon. Even he must need to rest after a night like this. Not even he could be thinking of more bloodshed now. He can’t be going to Cerulean.
And he isn’t. You sag with relief as Mewtwo drops lower, skimming just over the trees as the ground slopes up towards the foot of Mt. Moon. You follow at a distance, laboring on numb and sluggish wings. After nearly an hour of flying you’re coasting mostly on momentum, your weak, erratic wingbeats barely enough to keep you stable and aloft. When the clone arcs down, slicing straight through the dark canopy, you simply give up on flying, letting yourself fall forward in a barely-controlled dive.
You try to aim between the trees, but the forest is deep and dense, and branches reach at you from all sides. One snags a wing and flips you over, and after that your descent becomes a mess of hopeless flailing that only gets you more tangled up. It feels like you bounce off of every branch possible on the way down until you drop below the canopy and free-fall the rest of the way to the ground, landing in a heap amidst a rain of twigs and broken boughs.
Mewtwo stands not far away, watching. His amusement seeps into your brain as you lie there gasping for air, long scratches left by tree branches burning and your whole body shivering with weariness.
“Why didn’t you slow down?” you wheeze at last. “You knew I was following you. Why didn’t you let me catch up?”
After all the fuss you made about those humans coming to get me? I was expecting you to complain that I was too slow. The clone turns away and stares up through the trees. It’s a full moon tonight, shining round and brilliant beyond a cage of needles. Besides, I didn’t care whether you could keep up. You don’t need to be here.
“Yes I do. We’re in this together, Mewtwo. We’re–”
You should stop saying that before I lose my patience. I won’t repeat myself again: I do not need you. I do not want to have you around. It would be better for both of us if you just went home, little thief. I will come get you if I change my mind.
You glare at the clone, too tired to argue. You are useful, whatever Mewtwo says. You want to help, and already you’ve–
Is that so? The clone pauses a moment, head tipped as if listening to a distant strain of music. Then he turns and walks briskly back to you, one hand outstretched. Very well. Let’s go see this Rocket of yours, then.
You shake your head and roll onto your stomach. Feathers melt away as you shed your borrowed form, shrinking back to child-sized.
The child props its head on its arms and looks up into the impatient clone’s face. “No. You can’t go. Give my pokémon back, and I’ll–”
The clone’s rage is so sudden that the child drops flat against the ground, stunned. A second ago you claimed we were in this together. And now you dare stand in my way? You dare come between me and my mother?
The child grits its teeth, eyes watering with the effort of speaking. “You said you didn’t want my help, but now you seem pretty angry that I’m not going to do what you say.”
The air is churning, humid with the psychic’s anger. The child is scared, no point hiding that, but it doesn’t matter. It keeps its eyes trained on the clone’s face, where at last there is some sign of emotion. Mewtwo’s lips draw back, showing long, curving teeth. His tail lashes side to side, powerful enough to shatter bone at a single blow. The child lies at the center of an invisible, silent tempest, the air surging with currents of psychic force and the leaf litter around it stirring fretfully. But not a bit of the clone’s ire touches the child.
“If we’re going to work together, you have to let me do things my way. It’s no good if you’re just going to push me around all the time. That means I want you to give my pokémon back. You have no right to take–”
And you have no right to keep them! They’re not your property! Mewtwo yells. His voice is so loud the child would call it deafening if it were coming in through its ears.
“Have you tried asking them for their opinion?” the child asks, wincing at the un-noise.
You think they’d want to go with you, do you? Mewtwo asks, and the child is sure they would, of course it is–and thoughts of Rats rise unbidden. An icy tendril of uncertainty wends its way through the child’s guts as Mewtwo’s laughter fills its mind. His blistering anger fades into smugness. Yes, that’s what I thought. Such a good trainer, aren’t we?
The child rubs out a patch of feathers near its elbow. This isn’t where it expected the conversation to go at all. And no matter how it tries to focus, Rats’ face keeps coming back to it, whiskers drooping and body hunched over in disappointment. She was so sad. Which isn’t its fault, but–
Very well, Mewtwo says, and there’s genuine levity in his emanations. Bring the human here. I will return your pokémon if it proves useful.
“No. Give them back now.”
Mewtwo’s gaze is impassive. Do you really think you’re going to get a better offer?
The child sits and stews a while, as best it can with Mewtwo’s amusement leaching into its mind. And it’s too tired for being angry. In the end the child decides that after all the effort, it might as well bring the great Nathaniel Morgan here and let the chips fall where they may. With a thought it’s gone, back out in Viridian City’s noisy, halogen-hazed nighttime.
The child can hear the police still bustling about down below but doesn’t bother to go look. Instead it staggers upright and leans against the rooftop shed, resting its head against the side. The air here is so wonderfully light without Mewtwo’s thoughts to weigh it down, and it even feels cleaner as the child draws deep breaths into its lungs.
It can only relax for a moment, though. It doesn’t want to find out what Mewtwo will do if he grows impatient in its absence. It drags open the door of the shed, ignoring the blood-smell that comes rolling out, and nudges the great Nathaniel Morgan with a foot. In a flash, it’s back in the clone’s presence.
Mewtwo’s thoughts are stained with avid interest as he bends down to inspect the Rocket, but they shift rapidly into disappointment. Do you even expect this thing to survive? It’s hardly breathing.
“I don’t know. I think so. I could try to heal him more, I guess, but he was sort of hurt to begin with, and he got hurt again really bad, and now I’m worried that he might not have enough energy left for another softboiled. The shock might kill him.” The last round of healing wasted the human down to skin and bone, and his clothing hangs loose and tattered. His chest is still a mess of scabbing gouges, but the child thinks the worst of the internal damage is fixed. At least the great Nathaniel Morgan’s breathing with both lungs now.
Mewtwo stares down at the human, most likely not even listening to the child’s explanation. You are familiar with this human, he says, and despite the neutral tone, the child understands it to be an accusation.
“Yes, but only because we’re enemies. You can look at my memories, I’m telling the truth.” It has no trouble remembering all the awful things the great Nathaniel Morgan’s done for Mewtwo’s benefit. After about a minute the clone turns away, satisfied.
“He knows people who were on the Mewtwo project,” you say, made nervous by the clone’s silence. “When he wakes up you can ask him who they are. Then we can go and find them, and then we can find Mew.”
I already know what I’m looking for. Mewtwo ignores the acid horror building in the pit of the child’s stomach. Still, I suppose this might be convenient. At least it means I won’t have to snag another. And the fact that he’s a fugitive is interesting. Perhaps that can be of use.
And just as fast as the child had its hopes dashed it perks up again, alight with anxiety and impatience. “So you’re saying you can still use him? He still might be valuable?”
Mewtwo wanders away, headed for the dark mass of a rocky outcropping rearing up nearby. The child watches in agonized uncertainty, wanting to get up and pursue him but not quite daring. The clone wriggles into a little alcove at the base of the ridge, sweeping leaf litter around himself with his tail and curling into a comfortable ball. He settles back into the darkness, so deep the child would never know he was there if not for the purple glow of his eyes. I require rest before the trip to Saffron City. If that thing wakes up, I suppose we can bring it with us. I have a job for it.