Chapter 47

Your hover-scooter whines as it labors up the side of a dune, displaced sand whirling in its headlight as the anti-grav thrusters keep it hovering just above the ground. It would be kind of cool, you guess, if you had it back in Kanto. Even this blocky thing, a bland white with peeling decals on it, goes way faster than the bikes most trainers get, and the anti-grav rings on the bottom light up a pretty blue.

Here in Orre, though, you’re always going to be comparing it to real hover-cycles, the ones they have in movies, which roar and zoom and belch smoke and explode when driven into walls during high-speed chases. They also require a special license to drive, and Mewtwo refused to wait for you to find someone to be who had one. So here you are, stuck as Melanie Roth with nothing but a kiddie hover-scooter to use and Mewtwo’s mind hot against your back.

Let me out. Words just at the edge of your consciousness, impatient whispers asking why you can’t go faster, why you can’t let Mewtwo out now, now, now.

You scowl and twist the handlebars forward so the cycle’s little motor goes “rrrRRRR” and accelerates a bit. It’s the only sound, out here in the desert, and there’s no light but the headlight and the green glow of the GPS and the stars and crescent moon above. The desert stretches out in rolling purple-black waves, dunes on dunes broken here and there by jagged spires of rock.

No roads. No routes, either. No Pokémon League at all. No pokémon. No sandile swim through the dunes, no baltoy trace runes across their surfaces. Nobody knows for sure why pokémon vanished from Orre. There are all the usual suspects: pollution and human encroachment, overcapture and the collapse of key populations. Or the simple and more popular speculation: Orre has always been strange and backwards, and Pokémon can feel that as well as anyone.

It turns your ride eerie: everything silent, everything still. Now and again you’ll come across traces, a water bottle half-submerged in sand, the rusted frame of an entire hover-truck, reminders that other people have passed here. Sometimes you even see other travelers far off, zipping along on their no doubt far cooler bikes. But for the most part it’s just you and the mosquito-y whine of the motor, the big star-strewn sky and the empty sands below.

Nothing to distract you from Mewtwo’s presence, as tangible as though he were sitting right behind you on the bike, glaring over your shoulder. Not long now until you have to let him out. Unless the place you’re going turns out to be the right one. The factory’s supposed to be abandoned, but maybe you’ll arrive to find lights on in all the windows and smokestacks pouring fumes, and in the depths of the factory that was supposed to have gone dormant you’ll find Mew. In which case you won’t need to let Mewtwo out at all. Yes, maybe that’s what you’ll find.

The mountains rise up ahead of you, black against the velvety night-blue sky, and rise and rise still more. The green lines of the GPS map point you unerringly forward, but you’re practically on top of the factory before you recognize its geometric forms framed by the jagged mountains behind. The factory building stands tall and stoic but all dark, all silent and cold. Part of the desert now.

A rusted chain link fence surrounds the old factory, covered in signs about trespassing and danger. You let the hover-scooter purr to a halt, and now Mewtwo is just an eager, wordless pressure on the back of your skull. You shove his insistent emanations aside and stare up at the factory. This is where Cipher churned out their shadow pokémon by the dozens, a whole shipful of them changed from normal people into killing machines empty but for anger and violence.

Your musings are interrupted by Absol, who steps out from the shadow of the factory’s cavernous front door. She doesn’t bother to approach, waiting.

You know what that means. No reason anymore to keep Mewtwo locked away–no reason but the obvious that he’s a murderous psychopath, that is.

He can wait. You reach for your belt, where your actual friends are. You can feel Absol’s glare even from all the way across the courtyard, but you don’t care. Let her come over here and take the ball and let Mewtwo out herself if it means so much to her.

You have to close your eyes against the flash of releasing pokéballs, dazzling after so long in the dark. The pokémon stretch and look around, Titan’s flame flaring higher to compensate for the cold, Rats moving to be closer to its warmth.

“Welcome to Orre,” you say. “This is the desert, like I said.” They’ve never been to the desert. There aren’t any in Kanto. You haven’t, either, except in memories. “We’re going to stay there for now,” you say, pointing to the building that looms over you all. “That’s the place where Cipher used to make shadow pokémon.” You talked enough about those on the boat that they don’t need any further explanation. Duskull drifts off towards the old factory, phasing straight through the fence, while Togetic zips over to you instead, whining nervously.

“Cheerful,” Rats says. “Could use a new coat of paint. How about some nice neons? Anything to lighten the mood a bit.”

You laugh. “That would be better.”

“Is there power?” Thunderstorm asks. “I can’t feel any.”

“I don’t know. We’ll put something together for you if we need to.” No power means no TV. After everything you’ve gone through to get here, you at least need to have TV.

For a moment you can almost lose yourself in the pokémon’s practical concerns. None of them even seem to notice Mewtwo’s pulsing anger. Rats keeps up a running commentary while wiggling under the fence. “…never liked the beach, that was you, Titan, I’m going to be picking this stuff our of my fur for hours.” She stands up on the far side and gives herself a good shake, scattering sand. She has to lean way back on her hind legs to look up at the factory overhead. “Not exactly subtle, huh? Very Fortress of Doom.” Past the fence is a courtyard of bare metal, cut with deep channels, and another metal walkway over it.

You smile, a little wearily. Yes, it does look pretty evil. “I guess they could get away with it because nobody ever comes all the way out here.” Most of Orre is just empty. Even the least hospitable spots in Kanto aren’t empty. If humans won’t live there, someone else will.

“Well, they thought they were the big leagues, didn’t they?” Rats says, still tilted back to look up at the building. “And look where it got them.”

“They did quite a lot of damage before anyone was able to stop them,” Thunderstorm says. The magneton floats over the fence to join Rats on the far side, and with a fizz of electricity spotlights glow from its three eyes, sweeping up and down the ruined factory’s face. “It’s easy to make fun now, but their arrogance was justified, at least for some time.”

“They decided they were going to make their super evil headquarters some kind of art project,” Rats says. “I mean look at that. Sorry, not intimidated.”

The factory gleams dully under Thunderstorm’s lights, diamond-shaped like a normal building tipped up to rest on a single corner. A long, long ramp rises up to a door in the diamond’s bulgy middle, far up above the ground. None of Team Rocket’s underground hideaways here; Cipher didn’t care who saw it, gleefully flaunted its evil.

Something brushes against your side, and you nearly knock the hover-cycle over with your surprised jump. Absol looks up at you reproachfully. “Enough delay,” she says. A swat of her paw, and the master ball rolls right next to your feet.

“Hey, Absol, what’s up?” Rats calls to her, still sounding cheerful. She can’t hear your heart hammering, see how you’ve broken out in a cold sweat.

“She wants me to let Mewtwo out,” you say, staring transfixed at his ball. The fence rattles and scrapes, and a second later Rats is next to you, sniffing at the master ball in the dust. “Would you like me to do the honors, Boss?” she asks. Not so lighthearted now, maybe. But not nearly as apprehensive as she should be, either.

You shake your head. The hairs prickle on the back of your neck as Thunderstorm returns, too. The pokémon gather around, backlit by stars and Titan’s flame.

You take a deep breath and snatch the master ball off the ground, and before demands can start up in your head, hurl it towards the factory. “Go,” you say softly.

Mewtwo takes shape just outside the fence, pale skin almost glowing in the moonlight. A moment later his psychic field hits you, and the pokémon flinch, all except Absol. Beside you, Togetic whines and shrinks back, and you instinctively reach out and pull her close.

So. This is Orre, then. The clone spares you a glance, an arrow of pure malice piercing your brain, but then turns away. No doubt he’ll have some punishment for you later. No reason for him to rush; he knows he doesn’t have anything to worry about from you. For now he stares up at the factory the same as everyone else did, feeling, to your immense relief, mildly pleased.

“Whoah!” Rats is rubbing at her skull. “Make quite an entrance, don’t you?” Titan and Thunder huddle close together, the charizard in a nervous, wing-spread pose, the magneton’s eyes narrowed.

Mewtwo doesn’t bother responding. The chain-link fence buckles and tears like fabric, rusted coils of wire twisting inwards and away, and Mewtwo strides through the breach towards the factory. Absol pads after him while the rest of you stare. Wonderful. Now anyone who goes by will know that someone’s been out here. You have to be careful while you’re here in Orre. It’s been less than five minutes and already Mewtwo’s jeopardizing your mission.

So fearful, Mewtwo says. How oppressive it must be, to be so weak that you fear the humans of this little region.

Rats doesn’t have the context to know what he’s replying to. “Uh, well, that was kind of startling, but I don’t know if I’d say I’m afraid.”

Aren’t you? Mewtwo doesn’t stop and doesn’t look back; he doesn’t have any reason to look at someone when he’s talking to them. I can see your mind, you know. I know precisely what you’re feeling. There’s no point trying to lie to me.

“Well, call me afraid of a lot of things, then, but not a little busted fence,” Rats says. There’s another sideways glance at you, nervous this time. You think Rats must be wondering, Is he always like this?

Oh, yes. Always. You try to rein in your bitterness as you follow Mewtwo, passing the huddle of your pokémon by. Togetic chirps and squirms in your arms, and you release her. She flits nervously around in the air behind you, torn between leaving and staying.

“You should go,” you say to her. “I don’t think you’re going to be very happy around here.” You close your eyes a moment, take a deep breath. You’re close to finding Mew now. You have to be. You won’t have to do this for long.

Togetic hangs around anyway, cheeping pathetically. You try to smile. “We already talked about this, didn’t we? If you don’t want to go away… You can stay in your pokéball, I guess.” Togetic won’t have much fun alone out in the desert. “Otherwise I’ll come and see you when I can.”

By now the other pokémon are passing you, slipping through the new hole in the fence. “Don’t worry, Togetic,” Rats says. “Titan can stay with you. Right? He’s going to hang out in the sand.”

“I, I think I will, yes.” Titan takes a look around at the darkened landscape. “In the daytime. It’s going to be hot, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Titan,” you say with a weak smile. “Very hot.”

“Yeah, this is a charizard kind of place, isn’t it? Dust baths all day. Good deal. What do you say, Togetic?” Rats’ roguish expression flickers as she glances towards the factory. “We, uh, should probably get inside.” Mewtwo’s already out of sight, the shine of his pale fur swallowed by the shadows within the factory’s entryway.

Togetic hums nervously, then bounces once, decisively, in the air. “Pokéball now. We’ll play later.”

“Okay, then,” you say, and try to smile. You’ll have to find something fun to do, so you can let her out to be happy, the way she’s supposed to be. Maybe she’d like to watch a battle in one of the big colosseums.

Mewtwo’s long gone by the time you step inside the building, but you only need to close your eyes and feel the direction of your developing headache to know which way to go. The building’s guts are pitch black and windowless, its metal hallways made for cold fluorescent light.

Thunder leads, headlamp eyes illuminating the corridor. Everything looks dirty under their brilliant spotlight, broken furniture and angled metal, exposed wires and cracked plastic seem to leap into existence when the magneton’s light passes over them, the dark shifting and sliding in weird shapes as Thunderstorm moves. The glow of Titan’s tail is much friendlier, but the charizard lags behind, looking every bit as apprehensive as you feel, wings stooped to fit into the narrow hallway. “Do you want to go back in your pokéball, too?” you ask him, but he shakes his head and puffs a small burst of embers, actually annoyed with you for asking.

“Spooky in here, isn’t it?” Rats asks, too cheerfully. She’s being loud, too, footfalls clanging on the metal floor. Trying to brighten the place in her own way, you suppose. “Can you imagine coming to work here every day? I mean, for a rat, it’s not a bad deal, but a human? I’ve seen enough horror movies.”

“Imagine coming here to have your emotions and free will stripped from you and then be forced to fight for the very people who took them,” Thunderstorm deadpans. Its light sweeps across a room where silent machinery looms, keeping watch over what can only be an assembly line. Your gut twists as you picture pokémon strapped down like cars or cupcakes or any other product, picked apart–put together?–by a long series of machines.

The door to the next room’s been forced half-open, leaving a shiny bare streak across the metal floor. You feel Mewtwo away overhead and know who did that.

Thunderstorm’s light roams swiftly back and forth as it investigates, giving you strobing glimpses of the room around you. The place has been scoured down to its metal bones, whatever was too heavy to move. Chairs and computers are gone from desks, except for one low rolling stool, cockeyed and spilling dusty stuffing. There’s a coffee mug on top of a big cabinet that probably held servers or something but which is now smashed smashed open, only a few dusty connectors inside. Warning stickers cling to an emptied fridge, and you wonder nervously who took the radioactivity, the biohazard, the caustic–was it Cipher, or the police, or common looters? Who has the poison now?

Rats is off inspecting the room. Who knows where Duskull is. It’s Titan who sticks close by your side, keeping the two of you in his own personal circle of light, his breath slowly filling the room with smoke.

“Real homey, huh, boss?” Rats mutters, her eyes hard.

“Homey?” Does it feel like home? Mewtwo’s mind seeps down to you from above. It reminds you of his home, where he was born and raised, where you could feel him through all the walls, everywhere. Maybe it would look like this now, too, if he hadn’t burned it all down himself.

“Are you all right?” Titan asks softly, and Rats makes her way over in an abrupt rattle of claws. She looks about to speak, but Mewtwo beats her to it.

Are you coming? Of course Mewtwo heard you. He hears everything you say or think. He knows exactly how you feel. Here we are, in your “Orre.” You will tell me of it. We will plan. I suggest you not make me wait.

You can’t help but giggle at the pokémon, all of them staring dumbstruck at the ceiling. But, yes, you don’t want to keep Mewtwo waiting.

“Hang on, Boss,” Rats says, moving to put herself in your path. “You don’t look so great. Maybe you should head outside for a bit. Let us handle this one.”

You smile wearily. “Mewtwo wants me up there, Rats. He wants me to tell him about Orre.”

“You told all us about Orre, Boss. We can pass the word along. Seriously.”

You shake your head. “I don’t think you get how this works, Rats.”

“Oh, I think I know exactly how this is supposed to work,” Rats snaps, glaring at the ceiling.

Thunderstorm swoops over to her side, eyes dimmed so they don’t blaze directly in your face. “I think it would be best for you to take them at their word for now,” it says.

Rats must disagree, because the two of them fall into a vicious contest of whispers, Thunderstorm keeping its sparking words as brief and dim as possible. You leave them to it, and Titan follows, for which you’re deeply grateful–for his presence as well as his light.

The factory is huge and tall and Mewtwo is always there above you. You try not to look around. You try not to think of anything but how to get to the stairs, how to reach the next level. There’s no one here, and nothing that can hurt you. With only Titan’s flame for illumination, you can pretend your little bubble of light is the whole world. Even when Raticate comes clattering up from behind, Thunderstorm trailing after, you pretend not to notice them. All that matters now is climbing.

You’re almost surprised when the building ends. Starlight streams down into the stairwell from overhead, cold night air with it.

Mewtwo’s psychic field has stopped moving. He’s up there somewhere. Waiting for you.

With the pokémon at your back, you try to keep your pace steady as you climb the last stairs. You don’t want them to see your fear.

The air outside feels even colder and crisper than it did at the base of the factory. You’re high up, but not that high up, are you? All around are mountains, their rocky sides washed pale by starlight. You jump as Rats goes racing past you, huffing and muttering to herself. She’s immediately at the edge of the roof with her paws up on its lip, looking down and out. Titan and Thunderstorm keep close to you, all three of you together as far away as possible from Mewtwo’s radiating psychic signal.

There’s a strange sort of ziggurat between you and Mewtwo, like this place is some sort of temple. You don’t want to think about what would have been worshipped here. Instead you’re tempted to join Rats, take in the view for a bit. Even just appreciate the scuffed metal beneath your feet, sand-scoured and gleaming dully. But no. You make yourself walk instead, all the way out to the edge of the roof, to stand with Mewtwo and look out on Orre.

Most of it is dark. Here and there, faint specks–campfires? Clustered gleams–ranches? Mining outposts? Here and there larger clots of light, and far off what you think must be Gateon Port, glowing multicolored like a trove of jewels. Those little lights, and everything else black, stone and sand.

So all of this is desert, Mewtwo murmurs. Does he even know what desert is? I’ve never visited one myself. In others’ memories, yes, on occasion.

That’s creepy. You stare out at Orre rather than contemplate it. “Agate Village is the closest to us, but it’s pretty small, so it shouldn’t have too many lights. I think it’s over there. Probably that bright part is Pyrite Town. And over there, maybe Phenac City?” It’s not a very big city. It would probably get called “town” back in Kanto. But Orre is a small place.

A small place. Not much to search. Thankfully. You’ve been scheming, haven’t you? While you held me imprisoned?

You tense. “I’ve been thinking about what we need to do, if that’s what you mean.”

Mewtwo’s eyes gleam briefly purple, but he doesn’t hurt you. Out with it.

“W-well, probably Mew’s with Cipher. Or if not with them then somebody they know about. They’re like Team Rocket here. If somebody’s got Mew, it has to be them. But they all were supposed to be stopped–”

Yes, yes. There were humans who ended the “shadow incidents.” And yet somehow the people responsible for them were never found.

“R-right.” You swallow thickly. “Most of the important people got away, and nobody knows where they–”

And so you would have us go find those nobodies who might know their location, and then track them down and hope one of them is holding my mother hostage?

“No, that’s not it. Stop making it sound stupid. The police never caught most of the Cipher people, but they can’t talk to the people who knew them better than anyone.”

Mewtwo gets it before you can say it, of course. Not because he actually figured it out, you were the one who figured it out, but because he can see the answer in your head. The shadow pokémon.

“Right. Even in Kanto, the police have a hard time talking to pokémon witnesses. Out here, even if they thought of it, there’s probably only one or two real translators in the whole region! But we can talk to them, easy. And I bet they know where at least a few of Cipher’s old members are.”

And so in order to find my mother, we must find Cipher. And to find Cipher, we must find these pokémon, Mewtwo says acidly. I grow weary of chasing one question after the next. I suppose you have some way we are to find these shadow pokémon as well?

Under Mewtwo’s pulsing anger is your own hollow dread of months or years of scouring the desert by his side. “If you don’t like it, you can think of a better plan,” you snap, and immediately regret it. You know what sort of plan Mewtwo would come up with.

The clone favors you with a mental smirk. Oh, yes. I would prefer something more straightforward.

“Well, we can’t do that, because if people know you’re here then they’re going to start trying to catch you, and we don’t want to deal with that. Anyway, finding the shadow pokémon is easy!” you say desperately. “We talk to Professor Krane. He built a machine that can purify shadow pokémon, and he worked with the guy who saved them during the second shadow incident. He’s bound to know where some of them went. That’s all we need to start. Those shadow pokémon will either know some Cipher people or other shadow pokémon who might, and then they’ll know more, and we’ll keep looking and asking until we find somebody who knows where Mew is. And once we do, then…”

Then we do things my way, the clone says. Assuming I even entertain this pathetic plan in the first place.

Your mouth goes dry. “Mewtwo, come on. What are you thinking, you’ll just kill people until you find somebody who knows where Mew is, and then you’ll kill people until you’re able to get her back?”

I could, the clone muses with a horrible relish. I certainly could. Now. This professor. Krane, was it? Take me to him.

“We’ll go see him tomorrow morning, and then we can start–”

No. Now, Mewtwo says.

“But we just got here,” you say dumbly. “It’s the middle of the night. He’s not even going to be awake. Let’s–we’ll just sleep for a few hours, and then we can go see him first thing in the morning.”

Why wait? Mewtwo asks. If the human sleeps, wake him. There’s nothing difficult about this.

Because you’re tired, on top of everything else stupid about that idea. Which Mewtwo certainly knows. A few hours won’t make any difference anyhow. “We can’t just drag Professor Krane out of bed and ask him a bunch of questions. That’s not normal. That’s the kind of thing that makes people notice you. We don’t want anyone to know you’re here.”

Don’t we? Mewtwo asks. And why not? Perhaps if these humans understood who they were dealing with, they’d offer up my mother that much sooner.

“No! Mewtwo!” Is it anger or horror rising in you now? Both. Has to be both. “You can’t just kill people until you get what you want! You can’t–!”

And why not? To the weak, it might seem impossible. There’s too much risk, too great a chance that someone stronger will threaten them in turn. I have no need to live in fear. What can the humans here do to me? They don’t even have slaves to set against me. They have not the numbers of Kanto, nor its might. I have no patience for slinking about, ducking the gaze of those so far below me. My mother has waited too long for me already. If this Krane human is asleep, we wake him. If he refuses to answer our questions, I will scour the knowledge from his mind. I have no more patience for waiting on the whims of humans.

“Okay, well, not to interrupt your villain speech or anything,” Rats says, “but the kid’s right. Let it go until morning.”

You turn wildly, panic tightening your chest. Yes, there she is, watching you while Titan and Thunderstorm huddle at the top of the stairs. Rats meets your desperate look with a calm, inscrutable stare.

Mewtwo acts like he didn’t even hear her. Do you intend to be difficult? he asks.

The way he says it makes your gut twist. Beneath his words you see blood on sand, feel crushing psychic pressure that drives the very air from your lungs, smell smoke and blood again, always more blood.

“Hey!” Rats says, jolting you back to the moment. “Knock it off. The kid’s right.”

“Y-yes,” you manage to choke out. “Bothering Professor Krane would just cause problems. It’s a little faster to leave now, but if you wait until morning, it’ll make everything way easier.”

Mewtwo turns to you, horribly slowly. You can feel his irritation trying to settle on you, but it can’t quite compete with your rising fear. I thought I made it clear that you are not the one in charge, Mewtwo says. Do I need to remind you?

“W-well if you hurt me,” you say, backing up despite yourself, “I definitely wouldn’t be able to take you anywhere tonight.”

Oh, I think a small reminder would be enough. No need to go quite so far as I did the last time.

“Hey!” Rats bristles, teeth flashing in the moonlight. “What the heck is wrong with you? The kid’s just calling it like it is. Leaving now makes no sense. Getting pissy about it doesn’t change anything.”

She can’t. She can’t challenge Mewtwo. All that does is make him mad.

Do I need to teach you a lesson as well, then? Mewtwo asks.

“No! No, she doesn’t mean it. Please–”

You could recall her. You’re shaking so bad you almost can’t feel the pokéball under your fingers. She’d never forgive you for it, but it’s better than Mewtwo “battling” her. Hurting her. Whatever else he’d think to do.

“Oh, I mean it, all right,” Rats says. “Go on, then. Teach me your lesson, why don’t you? You know we’re right. There’s no reason for you to do this other than because you like watching the boss squirm. You know it. I know it. And we both know you can splatter me all over this roof without breaking a sweat. But here we are, huh? You still can’t make me squirm.”

Oh, but he can, he can. Your fingers tighten around the pokéball. You’ll recall her and, and, and then teleport? But the others, you can’t leave them here–

Your body seizes and shakes with laughter, and it’s a long, horrified moment before you realize its source is the loud mirth in your head. You’re not laughing for yourself but for Mewtwo, and for once he feels not sneering but delighted. Oh, my. You’ve shown me, haven’t you? he chuckles. Rats draws herself up taller and chatters at him. Yes, definitely. I don’t know how I could hope to stand up to someone so fierce as you.

Mewtwo turns to you and says, over Rats’ furious reply, I suppose there’s no way I can argue with such an impassioned defense. You may have your hours. Now leave me. I, too, would rest.

You’re so shocked you actually start to open your mouth to ask if he’s serious, but no. No, he told you to leave, and you’re leaving. It’s Rats who wants to stand there and snarl at Mewtwo. You pick her up and carry her, spitting and struggling, back down into the factory.

“The whole murder thing aside, he’s a huge dick, isn’t he?” Rats says once Mewtwo’s well out of sight. You can still feel him, a spot of faint amusement far above.

You shake your head slowly. You’ve been in Orre for less than a day, and already it’s like this. “He gets so much worse. You can’t do things like that, Rats. Don’t provoke him. He’s going to hurt you. He thought it was funny now, but he’s going to get annoyed and then he really will shut you up for good. Any of you.” You turn a pleading look on the other pokémon, who’re following behind, eager to be out of Mewtwo’s sight. “You can’t do anything against Mewtwo, and he can hurt you bad. If he wanted, he could do things to you that not even a pokémon center could fix.”

“I mean, I know I don’t stand a chance against the guy,” Rats says. “That’s kind of the point. That’s why you’ve got to say it anyway.”

“I disagree,” Thunderstorm says. “You don’t just endanger yourself when you provoke Mewtwo. You put all of us at risk.”

“Oh, do try harder to kiss the clone’s ass, three-eyes,” Rats says. “The only way to deal with people like that is to not let them intimidate you. The only way.”

“I don’t like him, either,” Titan says. “He makes me feel bad. It’s like bad thoughts in my head, all the time.”

“I’m sorry, Titan. You don’t have to talk to him. None of you do.” You look hard at Rats and Thunder, too. “You don’t need to be around until we actually find Mew. It would be way safer for you to stay away. You can hang out somewhere else, or you can stay in your pokéballs. Whatever. You don’t have to be around Mewtwo at all.” You’re the only one who does.

“Come on, Boss. That’s crap. We aren’t going to just lie around doing nothing while you’re out there searching,” Rats says. “We signed on to this thing, too. Remember? That means we share bad as well as good.”

Titan nods firmly, but Thunder lets off a few small electric dazzles and says, “We’ll support you, of course. But Rats, you can’t keep provoking Mewtwo. We’re here to find Mew, not teach her son his manners.”

“All right, well, it sounds like Spark-plug and I need to have a little chat,” Rats says. “Go ahead and get some rest, Boss. You’ve earned it.”

Your adrenaline’s ebbing, leaving you cold and shaking and, yes, exhausted. But where are you supposed to rest? On what? The barren metal floor offers no comfort, especially not in the nighttime cold. “Here,” Titan says after a couple minutes. “I think this is a good spot.” He curls up between a couple of filing cabinets, in a space that might once have held a desk. His tail trails off to one side, burning low to give off a gentle night-light glow.

After a moment you join him on the floor, leaning up against his warm, smoke-smelling scales. One of Titan’s wings spreads over you, tenting you in its leathery folds, giving you your own private spot. You could almost pretend you aren’t in the old factory at all.

The cold metal remains hard and uncomfortable beneath your legs, though. You can hear Rats and Thunder bickering outside your small bubble of safety. You press closer to Titan, but it doesn’t help much. Tomorrow you’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.

You can’t do anything but lie there and listen to the argument, sleep nowhere near in reach, until finally Thunderstorm floats off somewhere and Rats comes busting into your sanctuary. She shoves up against your side, looking for warmth, no care for what parts of you she might be stepping on.

“Feeling better, Boss?”

“A little.”

“We’ll get through this, Boss,” Rats says. “You’ll see.” She nuzzles the side of your face, whiskers jabbing, and settles down as a hot ball of fur compressing your chest. You shift a bit, getting at least a bit more comfortable, and wrap your arms around her. She still smells like herself, not the dry dust and rust of Orre.

“Thanks, Rats.” And even though she’s stubborn, even though she’s hard on you, even though she’s going to get all of you killed by Mewtwo, maybe: “I’m glad you’re here.”