Chapter 57
You stumble backwards with a strangled cry, reflexively throwing your sleep powder in Eskar’s face. The ghost lets you go, and a flash of light sends the powder bouncing back at you. Back at where you would have been, anyway, if you hadn’t tripped backwards over a footstool and landed on the floor.
Eskar pushes the door the rest of the way open and leaps down, chattering laughter. You crab backwards away from her and bang your head on the edge of a table. Through tearing eyes you see a human step out after her, looking altogether too calm, something metal-gleaming in its hand. Some kind of weapon. It has to be.
Team Rocket! Even in your pained daze, it’s starting to come together. Team Rocket. What are they doing here? Here, in Orre, in this house, now, when you and Mewtwo are–
“Mewtwo!” you croak. It’s a pathetic noise torn from your constricted throat. No way anyone could hear. You try again, stronger this time. “Mewtwo!”
“I’m afraid your friend is busy, Cordierite-eyes,” Eskar says. She jumps down to land in front of you, then easily dodges your reflexive slap. “So very busy! I think we have been trying to meet the same people, yes? Perhaps we can help each other.”
Running footsteps, converging from every direction. You need to get out of here. You need to find Mewtwo.
The Rocket’s weapon is trained on you. With a jolt you recognize it. It’s a hazy memory, but the bulkiness of it, the length of the barrel–it’s one of those tranquilizer guns they used back when the great Nathaniel Morgan set them on you. They want you alive.
Your armor should give you a reasonable amount of protection from the darts. You’d need metal for actual bullets, and even that wouldn’t be able to stop some of the ones designed for pokémon. On the minus side, by the sound of it four more humans have just burst into the room behind you, and Eskar’s scuttling closer, advancing and then retreating by teasing steps, as always enjoying your discomfort. You lash out at her again and come much closer to connecting.
“Come now, Cordierite-eyes!” she says, face stretched double by her grin. “No need for violence. Come, let us talk! It’s true I’m mad at you, Cordierite-eyes. So very angry! After how we parted last, oh, yes. But I am a forgiving sableye, Cordierite-eyes, yes. Perhaps we can come to an understanding.”
Last time was bad. You and Mewtwo wouldn’t have escaped at all if Absol hadn’t helped. Maybe she’ll show up again, maybe she won’t. You aren’t worried. The shock has passed and the pain from cracking your head against the table is fading. All that’s left is to fight. You can do that.
The dazzling gleam that lights up the room serves two purposes: one, it blinds the humans, eliciting a chorus of angry swearing, and two, it takes an arm and a leg off Eskar, who dissolves hissing into the shadows.
She’ll re-form and be back in a second, of course, but you aren’t done yet. Rising to hands and knees, you ignore a dart plinking off your armor and call more light, this time with heat attached. Flames sweep across the room, igniting papers and artworks, setting upholstery ablaze. The humans fall back, coughing and shielding unprotected skin, but fire only makes you stronger; your lungs don’t care about scalding smoke.
The nearest human, the one who came from the closet, has sent out a maschiff that’s growling and pawing at his face, half-blinded by the smoke. A solid kick sends him over the back of a sofa and into a hard landing on the far side. His trainer might be trying to recall him, or perhaps to bring the dart gun to bear, or only flailing in the smoke–doesn’t matter. One hand on the human’s shoulder, one on its head, and you wrench hard enough to break something vital, you’re sure.
Darts fly even through the obscuring smoke, and one catches between armor plates, a cold prick you barely notice. You blow out a smokescreen to make everyone’s job more difficult, then turn towards the reinforcements, clicking like a zubat, painting shadow-pictures in your head.
Your plate armor grows up and out into sandslash-spines, and you snap one of them off in your hand before bounding over a coffee table to pounce on another human. The spine goes straight through the chest and out the other side before breaking off. A corvisquire comes at you through the smoke, wailing in distress, but a quick thunderbolt shuts it up.
The remaining humans scramble to get away, calling to one another in distress. You rake a line of pin missiles across them, pinning one human to the wall by a snatch of its clothing. You spike that one through the chest, too, but the other two are gone.
“Cowards! Get back here!” Eskar snarls, hurling herself from some dark corner or other. She’s on you like a mad creature, clawing and biting any part of you she can reach, darting here and there faster than you can strike at her. You set electricity dancing across your spines, which makes her grip tighter, half-solid claws sinking through armor to draw blood. Ripping her off means taking a chunk out of your own shoulder, but it only hurts for a second before it’s healed over and new rock’s begun growing to cover the gap in your armor.
The fire’s spreading, licking up curtains and reaching hungrily through doorframes. You have to get to Mewtwo. If Team Rocket takes him, everything’s over.
You don’t bother working your way back out to the entrance. If you haven’t frightened the humans away completely, that’s the route they’ll be defending. Instead, you go through the wall, a giga impact ripping away half of the room.
That wasn’t an exterior wall, but that’s all right. The next one in line is, and then you abruptly find yourself out in the cold, star-washed Orrean night, breathing clean air while he house behind you glows an angry red-orange from every window.
Mewtwo. The sounds of struggle near where you left him and, obvious now by its absence, the sensation you’ve grown as oblivious to as the feel of air in your lungs, his psychic field. The Rockets will have brought dampers, of course, and no doubt other weapons. They know from experience how dangerous Mewtwo can be even without the power of his mind.
Coming around the side of the house, you can’t even see Mewtwo–only the surging group of pokémon pouring whatever attacks they can into him. The center of the fight crackles with energies such that you have no idea what’s going on, what might be coming from Mewtwo and what’s courtesy of the Rockets horde.
The conflagration in the house has attracted some nervous glances, but the humans can’t afford to take their attention from the battle in front of them. Even a couple seconds’ distraction around Mewtwo can easily mean your life, no matter how well you think you’ve got him pinned down.
You must look strange, coming through the shadows and the smoke. Your silhouette alien, definitely inhuman and yet the wrong proportions to be pokémon. It catches attention, a couple lingering sidelong looks. You need to act before the Rockets realize what’s going on.
So many pokémon. Of course they wouldn’t spare any effort for this sort of operation. You spread your arms, condensation beading along them. The air is terribly dry, but you can wring water from nothing, just like any pokémon. The desert night’s chill grows deeper and deeper, and then you charge. A blizzard howls out before you, a whirling vortex of snow and ice that catches and cakes the gathered pokémon, turning them to indistinct ice sculptures.
That should bog them down for a few seconds. Some will no doubt welcome the cold, but there are so many here that they’ll be hemmed in, hampered by the press of their snow-sluggish comrades.
You’re not really concerned with the pokémon right now anyway. You veer sideways, away from the main press of the fight, to tackle a Rocket who managed to duck aside and miss the full fury of your blizzard. A couple kicks of taloned feet and it’ll have to hold everything inside if it plans on getting up again.
From there on to a frostbitten human only just turning to face the first’s cries. You grab it by the neck and crush the windpipe with one squeeze. Easy. Much easier than dealing with pokémon.
It’s strange. So often before you fought the pokémon. Not that you wouldn’t attack the trainers, too, but often only that–attack. Not kill. It’s so much easier, though. The last time you fought Team Rocket they nearly overwhelmed you, kept healing their pokémon and sending them out to fight again, summoned more and more of their kind with their various devices. When you’re done here there won’t be anyone left to work the healing machine. There won’t be anyone giving orders. And dismantling a ring of humans standing back from the battlefield is much less painful than throwing yourself into the thick of things.
You don’t even have to kill the entire squad before the line starts to break. The remaining Rockets fall back, yelling to their pokémon to protect them, looking for a way out. The pokémon surge back and forth in confusion, some without trainers and without orders, some trying to extricate themselves to serve a command, others caught by Mewtwo’s attacks. By now you’ve surmised that he’s mostly responsible for the lightning crackling at the middle of the huddle, and the pokémon are starting to back away from him, confused.
You barely need to attack as you make your way forward, shoving pokémon aside until you reach Mewtwo. He’s pinned down by some kind of net, one all covered in hooks and barbs and fizzing with electricity. So that wasn’t all of his own creation. You harden yourself against lightning and reach out to seize the wires in armored hands, hauling them away from Mewtwo. The net tangles around him, hooks dragging deep gashes in his sides as he pulls against it, but he thrashes free in seconds and falls to the dusty earth.
That’s enough to send the remaining pokémon fleeing, but it won’t be long before they’re back, forced to return to battle by the remaining humans. Mewtwo’s hunched over in the sand, curled to protect something–his master ball, you realize. You reach for it and take a blow from Mewtwo’s tail so powerful it nearly snaps your arm. He can’t speak, but his wild eyes and bared teeth get across well enough how much he trusts you to recall him until the danger’s past.
Mewtwo bolts sideways, taking off across the sand. The lacerations beneath his thin fur are already healing, but you can see his chest going in and out, catch the threat of stumble in his dash. He was lucky you were there to scatter the Rockets’ pokémon. Now he’s planning to, what, just run across the desert? You didn’t kill every Rocket. They’ll be on him again in minutes at best.
“I am going to my scooter,” you say, and do. And Mewtwo, mercifully, isn’t too prideful to turn and limp after you. The scooter should fit both of you, if only barely. It’s parked where you left it, ignored or unnoticed in the lee of a large dune, since you approached the house on foot. You race to it and barely wait for Mewtwo to climb on behind before you force it into its highest gear, taking off at a speed that puts wind in your hair.
No doubt Team Rocket has their own vehicles around, better ones, faster. If you were any ordinary person they could catch you, simply ride you down on their more powerful machines. As it is you only need to make it far enough to escape the deadening psychic damper, reach the point where Mewtwo’s psychic field comes roaring back in a sheet of anger and pain, then let your mind pull the rest of you through space. A couple of zubat dart after you, a humming ninjask following behind, but a bit of lightning for them and then you disappear, halfway across the region at a thought. Safe.
Safe for now, but how long can that hold? How did Team Rocket find you? How long will it be before they find the factory, too? Mewtwo hasn’t been subtle about your residence here. Neither, you have to admit, have you.
Team Rocket, Mewtwo snarls, once more possessed of all his powers of telepathy. He can boom again, and does so with gusto. His psychic field sears the air. Still, he’s made a point of finding somewhere to sit down for this particular tirade. What are they doing here? How did they find us?
You don’t know, of course. You don’t know why Mewtwo would bother asking.
Yes, why do I bother? the clone wonders darkly. Your weaker side would do better here, wouldn’t it? The psychic pressure intensifies, tightening around your skull like a vise. I suggest you summon it, then. I’m in no mood for delay.
You hate to change. You know the mess it’s going to be. You suspect Mewtwo does, too, and that he has some design on tormenting you once you’re more susceptible to it.
Doesn’t matter. It’s torment then or torment now if you don’t do what he says. You change.
Momentary pause to take stock. Mewtwo’s here, which is bad. He must want something from you. Or maybe the Musketeers are back. That at least would be okay, probably.
We’ll need to speak to them, Mewtwo says. If Team Rocket’s figured out where we’ve been searching, they may have identified those three as well.
Team Rocket? Always so frightening to peer back into recent memory. Context is a dangerous thing when Mewtwo’s involved. But why would he ever be talking about Team Rocket way out here in Orre?
Quit whining and figure it out, the clone barks. Why is Team Rocket here? How did they learn of us? How can we stop them?
“I’m trying!” You cover your ears, not that it does a shred of good against Mewtwo’s voice. Your muscles are taut to trembling; you’re braced for violence, even without knowing what’s going on. What about Team Rocket? Tonight, you saw them. Eskar! How could she have gotten here? And then they almost got Mewtwo, just like the other time, except that you–
Mewtwo’s irritation spikes as you take a sharp, trembling breath. Ignore that! I’m not going to repeat myself. What do you know?
“I, I don’t know,” you say, struggling to hold in tears that are as much from confusion and anticipated pain as from dismay. Memories of flame, the snow-covered pokémon, the feeling of a stone spike in your hand when it jolts against a spinal column. “I don’t know why Team Rocket does what they do!”
But you can guess, Mewtwo says. You understand them. Humans. How did they know?
“They… They probably saw it on TV. The people in Orre were trying to pretend like the stories about you weren’t real, but probably Team Rocket would have wanted to look anyway. Probably Kanto sent people to look, too, even though Orre told them not to. Maybe spies.”
Spies, Mewtwo says, the word reverberating in your mind with a scornful languor. This isn’t another one of your flights of fancy, is it?
“No! Spies are real. If Kanto was going to send spies, this is when they’d do it.”
And that’s the best you can do. Mewtwo’s musings sound dangerous. That’s the best idea you have.
“I mean… I don’t know. I don’t know how Team Rocket does things.” The great Nathaniel Morgan said they didn’t have anybody in Orre. Like it was too backwards even for criminals from Kanto.
The great Nathaniel Morgan would know what to do if he was here. He’d be able to figure out what Team Rocket is up to and how you can stop them. He knows them really well, after all.
I seem to recall that when that worthless human tried to fight Team Rocket, it lost badly, Mewtwo says. Hardly where I would look for advice.
It’s terrible when you’re trying to think and Mewtwo’s reading everything going on in your head. There’s a reason you don’t say some things out loud. Like you didn’t already realize what a stupid idea that was, what a stupid hope.
The great Nathaniel Morgan, though. He’s the only person you told about Orre. Team Rocket’s been looking for him, too. If they caught him, if they could have… it’s possible. The great Nathaniel Morgan might be good at running away from things, but here before you is another example of how hard it is to escape Team Rocket. It could have happened. And if it did, where would the great Nathaniel Morgan be now?
Your pet human, Mewtwo says with contempt. You think it betrayed you again, is that it?
“No,” you say, shaking your head. Of course not. He wouldn’t work with Team Rocket. He hated Team Rocket. They took his pokémon, they tried to kill him… That was the only reason he made a deal with them before, to get his pokémon back. “He knew we were coming here, though. If they caught him and, and hurt him, then he might have told them.”
Of course, Mewtwo says, seething. Worthless human. If Team Rocket took it, it had better hope it’s dead now. If I catch up with it, I’ll make sure it screams for a long time before it goes.
You shudder and close your eyes, wiping the damp from your face with the back of your hand. “It was probably just what they saw on TV,” you say. “That’s all.”
That’s what you have to hope. After all, the great Nathaniel Morgan knows all kinds of things about you, doesn’t he? And Mewtwo. You have to hope he stayed away from Team Rocket, and even the League. Just like he wanted. The best thing you can hope for is that he’s still alive and at large, and staying far, far away from here.
Memories of smoke and blood return to you, unbidden. There’s no chance–no, there’s no chance he’d be there alongside Team Rocket, of course not. And less than none that you killed him, not even knowing, not noticing, because of course the other you doesn’t bother to look at the people it kills, doesn’t care who they were. If you put a spine through his heart you wouldn’t even remember. But it’s not worth considering, because there’s no chance that happened.
You try to force down your sob, but it’s not like it matters, because Mewtwo can hear it in your mind anyway.
And here I’d thought you couldn’t get more pathetic, Mewtwo says, and his disgust washes over you, merging with your disgust at yourself. Trapped and miserable, calling on your hunter’s mind when you need to follow Mewtwo’s orders because you can’t bear them otherwise. And still fawning over some human that doesn’t even like you, Mewtwo says. That human is a gross waste of the air it breathes, and I’m sure it isn’t giving you a single thought. And then there’s you, obsessed with it.
You want to protest. Obsessed. Like you even think about the great Nathaniel Morgan ever. But it’s true, it’s true that it’s pathetic to be wishing for the aid of someone who made it very clear he only ever wanted you to fuck off.
At this point there really isn’t anyone else, is there? Absol, and Mewtwo, and the Musketeers, and none of them can you go to for help.
Then there’s your pokémon, out who-knows-where on their own. They don’t know about Team Rocket, and if they’re investigating Cipher, which they definitely are because there’s no way Rats would leave that to you and Mewtwo, then they might run into Eskar and her friends, too. Unawares, unprepared. They’re regular pokémon, without either you or Mewtwo’s strength to get them out of a tight spot.
And whose fault is that? Mewtwo says blithely. Perhaps the lot of you will learn a valuable lesson by it. The guardian has seen them all in our future, so I’m sure they’ll fumble their way through. His irritation sinks momentarily to razor-edged malice. Or they’d better hope they die in the process of failing. I won’t excuse it if they prevent me from finding my mother.
Great. Wonderful. Now you have that to worry about them, too.
If that’s what you decide you want to do, Mewtwo says, radiating contempt. He turns and makes for his usual spot at the roof’s edge. This complicates matters. I have much to think about. And I will do it in peace, or we’ll both find out exactly how good you are at healing.
It’s an idle threat. You both know you’re never going to bother him for anything short of absolute emergency. And what will you do instead? Always the choice before you: lie around feeling horrible about everything, or change and stop thinking about it entirely. There’s more than half the night ahead of you, and you’re well aware of how long the hours stretch when you’ve got nothing to think about but past failure and all your future pain. Far easier to slip back into your other self until Mewtwo wants you to gather the Musketeers.
But that’s the coward’s way out, isn’t it? Weak. Pathetic. At the very least you could be taking this time to think of ways to find your pokémon, to warn them about Team Rocket, in these rare moments where you can be yourself.
You aren’t going to stick around here. Too hard to think. Agate Village is a good place for early mornings, when everything feels crisp and somehow pink, just after the sun’s risen. Out of anywhere in Orre, Agate Village reminds you the most of home. Its cafes and shops may still be closed, its green hills empty of people, but the Relic Forest never closes. Here are trees and birds in them, here is water flowing. The slow, steady hum of something permeates the air, not exactly a sound, not precisely a feeling. It’s soothing, somehow. It doesn’t change with the time or the weather. It’s simply always there. Sitting at the base of a tree, real soil rather than sand beneath you, and listening to the Relic Stone’s thrum, you can almost make yourself believe you’re back in Kanto, and that everything that’s happened since was just a bad dream.
You can’t pretend for too long, though. Mewtwo’s waiting.
He’s waiting for you and the Musketeers. Heracross is working, which is an excuse you’re sure Mewtwo won’t accept, but there’s nothing to be done for it. Hypno isn’t pleased to have you show up at her door minutes past dawn again, or to be asked to help find Noctowl, but she she lets you teleport her away anyhow. She’s always worried for Mewtwo. For once you can be glad of it. Glad that she and Noctowl are both still here to be grumpy at you, and Heracross, too, if only in spirit.
In spirit, you think extra-hard at Mewtwo, who’s surveying your two-thirds success with undisguised irritation. Not everyone can just drop whatever’s going on in their life to attend to him at whatever moment he requires.
If they don’t, it’s their own life to lose, the clone shoots back grimly. Let us hope the heracross’ work site doesn’t have any Rocket allies in it.
And why would it? That’s just paranoid. It’s Team Rocket, they aren’t even going to pay attention to a pokémon unless they can make a profit off them.
You wish you could sound more sure about that, even in your own head.
“What’s this about Team Rocket?” Hypno asks. “I’ve never heard of them around here. Back in Johto, of course, yes. I thought they didn’t operate all the way out here.”
They don’t, according to the creature. Mewtwo gives you a meaningful look. But it seems they have made an exception.
“They attacked us last night when we were looking for one of the people Tyranitar told us about,” you say. “We’ve fought them before, in Kanto. I thought we wouldn’t have to deal with them here, too, but they must have heard about Mewtwo being over here… somehow.”
“Yes, there was a lot about him in the news recently, wasn’t there?” Noctowl says. You have to work hard to keep a straight face while Mewtwo fumes.
One way or another, they’re here now. You must be cautious. I know you mostly interact with pokémon, not with humans, but beware if you see any humans that take a particular interest in you. If they follow you. Be cautious of unfamiliar pokémon. And never speak to a sableye!
“Yes. There’s a sableye with them called Eskar. She belongs to Team Rocket’s boss. And she’s horrible.” There’s no other word for it.
“A sableye? Really?” Hypno scratches at her ruff, apparently lost in thought.
“Have you seen one?” you ask urgently.
“I think I might have, yes. Maybe when we went to one of the tournaments in Pyrite.” She casts a questioning glance at Noctowl, but he only sucks his head down into his shoulders and closes his eyes the way he likes to do. How would he know anything about who was at a tournament? He probably slept through the entire thing.
“You have to be really careful,” you say. “If you see a sableye around, you should leave. It’s not safe. I mean it.”
“Well, there are a couple sableye who just live here in Orre,” Hypno says. “At least one who was made shadow. I think she left, though. I’ll be careful. Don’t worry.”
“Yes. We’ll all be careful.” This time it’s Noctowl who passes a look to Hypno, and it’s returned. You wonder if they’re thinking about Heracross when they say that. You’re definitely thinking about Heracross.
“Team Rocket followed you out to wherever you were looking for that Cipher admin, then?” Hypno asks. “Do you think they’re working together?”
“It would have to be recent if so. Certainly I can’t remember hearing about Team Rocket when I was with Cipher,” Noctowl murmurs. “Did you?”
“No, never. But if they’ve crossed paths, I have to wonder if it’s more than a coincidence.”
Team Rocket helping Cipher? Like you don’t have enough problems already. You swallow down a cold lump at the back of your throat. “Eskar said we’d been seeing the same people,” you say.
“The same people? Like the people Tyranitar was talking about?” Hypno muses.
You shrug helplessly. “I don’t know. The person we were looking for wasn’t even there last night.” You don’t think. You don’t really want to interrogate your memories more closely to be sure.
“Hmm. I wonder why not? Why not help Team Rocket fight? Unless, if it was one of those high-ranking types, they can order Team Rocket around and didn’t want there to be any chance they’d get hurt themselves.”
“Lately a lot of the people we’ve been looking for aren’t there when we show up,” you say, studiously failing to meet Mewtwo’s gaze. “Like they disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Hypno runs her fingers through her ruff again, pensive. “Could be that Team Rocket’s hiding them. Or it could be that they’re trying to get rid of them for some reason.”
“I can’t imagine their interests would be aligned, but I also don’t know what Team Rocket would stand to gain by antagonizing Cipher,” Noctowl says quietly. He seems almost to be talking to himself. “No one we’ve spoken to has mentioned them at all.”
“Right. Cipher’s nervous. That’s all we’ve been hearing,” Hypno says. “They’d be more confident if they had another gang helping them out, right? If both of them are coming after you, Mewtwo, that’s not good, but if they end up fighting each other, it might end up working out in our favor. Maybe we can do something with that.”
Perhaps, Mewtwo says, giving Hypno a somewhat dazed look. You’re surprised, too. For a second there she sounded just like the great Nathaniel Morgan. In any case, that’s all we had to tell you. You’re free to go.
“Oh?” A crease appears between Hypno’s eyes, her pendulum swaying gently. “Well, we appreciate the warning, for sure. I don’t, uh, suppose there was any reason you couldn’t simply have sent your friend to bring us your message?”
Because he’s a jerk who likes making people do things for him. Irritation flashes quicksilver through Mewtwo’s psychic field, and his gaze flicks momentarily towards you. Yes, that wasn’t a wise thought.
My apologies. I should have been more considerate of your time when deciding how best to deliver a warning that could save your life, Mewtwo says, and you wince. You always wonder how far Mewtwo will be able to push before the Musketeers stop putting up with him.
Hypno frowns, but Noctowl hides his beak in his feathers, the way someone might hide a smile. “If you wanted to see us, you simply had to ask,” he says. “Perhaps we might not have rushed out here with such urgency, but I understand not wanting to be alone out here.”
What? Mewtwo’s incredulity sends your brows shooting up.
Hypno gives Noctowl a sideways look. “Oh. You think…?”
No. Mewtwo’s firm, but realizes his mistake almost immediately. That is, it’s always a pleasure to see you, but our motivation was primarily your well-being, of course.
“I see,” Hypno says, but by the faint smile playing about her lips you can tell that she actually doesn’t. “Well, we are here and all, aren’t we? Sounds like you’ve had a tiring night. How about we just hang around for a while?”
And Mewtwo finds himself stuck, not wanting to socialize, but too worried about the Musketeers’ reaction to say no. But as his mind swirls, psychic field rippling with emotion, you think you sense something else. Noctowl isn’t right, but he’s not wrong, either. Mewtwo wants the shadow pokémon to go away, as always. But there’s a part of him that wants them to stay, too. You think he has a certain fascination with people who genuinely want to spend time with him. He doesn’t understand why they would, not that you really get it, either.
And of course now his mood shifts towards “annoyed” as he catches your thoughts. Still, he can’t say no. Yes, of course. Did you have an activity in mind?
“If I’d known, I could have brought something to do, but your friend can teleport, right? Maybe they could bring us a board game or something.”
Another game. Anything but that. “We could watch TV,” you put in hopefully.
“Oh, sure,” Hypno says over Mewtwo’s mental protest. “Or a movie, maybe? I’ve got a few favorites back at my place.”
“I bet my TV is bigger,” you say.
“Then you can teleport me to Phenac City and back to get the goods, right?”
You can. And then you can let the Musketeers into the ziggurat, and Mewtwo, too. He normally never comes inside.
“This is… quite an arrangement you have here,” Hypno says, eyeing your big sofa. It only fits lengthwise across the room because you trimmed a bit off one end, but it’s really big and comfy! You can stretch all the way out while you watch TV and not have your feet hang off the other end. “Where did you find it? I can’t even think what sort of store would sell something like this.”
“I got it in Phenac City! They have all kinds of cool stuff there.” At least you assume it won’t be hard for Phenac’s grand hotel to find more couches. They must have come from somewhere in the first place.
Mewtwo’s scanning the room as though searching for enemies. He probably finds it wanting in all kinds of ways. You graciously sweep some action figures onto the floor to make space for everybody. At least you don’t need to worry about finding a proper seat for Noctowl. He perches, so all he needs is the edge of something.
“I don’t suppose you have some, uh, water?” Hypno asks.
“Oh, yes, there are some faucets downstairs in the factory,” you say. Everyone looks at you. After a few seconds you realize they expect it to be your job to go get that, and you sigh and trudge back out into the sunlight.
Hypno gets her water, and Noctowl does, too, but Mewtwo doesn’t want any. You don’t know if that’s supposed to be some sort of referendum on you, but it doesn’t matter. He can probably go a long time without water anyhow. What’s important is what you’re going to watch. Hypno shows off the options–an action film that you’ve seen before that’s actually pretty good, a movie with a lot of kissing that you can’t imagine Mewtwo would ever agree to, and some science documentary about Deoxys. Of course that last one is what Mewtwo wants. He doesn’t care about stories, only about facts.
At least space is still cool. And so is Deoxys. You do have to listen to Mewtwo explain how much better he is than a psychic space virus the entire time, just in case anyone dared to think otherwise, but it’s an interesting movie and at least Mewtwo isn’t very mean. It could almost be called a normal visit–it could almost be fun. It’s strange. When you got your TV, and your sofa, and started to look for other cool things to fill up the ziggurat, you thought you could make it almost like home. How much time have you even spent in here? Not yourself unless you have to be, and when you aren’t, the other you is perfectly content to stare off into space for hours instead of playing with action figures. Those have been collecting dust.
You lean back against the sofa’s luxuriously squishy pillows and stare emptily at some space scientist getting interviewed on the TV. Who knows when you’ll get to do something like this again? When will you ever get to have fun?
Heracross shows up eventually, bringing food with her, and soda, of course. “Cipher and Team Rocket?” she asks after getting up to speed. “Gotta be flattering to have everyone fighting over you like that.”
I suppose, Mewtwo says. He’s examining the fish Heracross brought–the Musketeers keep presenting him with cooked things, the kind of food they eat themselves. Maybe you could suggest another trip to the ocean so Mewtwo can do some actual fishing. Watching that might be enough to put the Musketeers off him forever.
“Are you afraid of being caught?” Noctowl asks softly, or softer than usual, at least.
No, Mewtwo says simply, which is a gigantic lie. He must know everyone can feel that shiver of fear through his psychic field, right? I have evaded Team Rocket many times already, and I will do so again. And when I’ve found my mother, we will destroy them, and all the rest like them, however long that may take.
“Destroy Team Rocket, huh?” Heracross says. “Can’t say I’d shed any tears if it happened. If there’s anybody who could pull it off, I bet it would be you.”
“Yes,” Hypno says distantly, fiddling with her empty cup. “It’s almost hard to imagine Team Rocket being gone. It’s been so long, and even if… I mean, if you get rid of one group like that, another one just springs up to take its place, doesn’t it?”
Then I will eliminate that group as well, and again, and again, until no more remain. If I must ensure that there are no more humans to dream of such things, so be it. I will not stand to see pokémon suffer at human hands.
“That’s quite an idea,” Noctowl says. “Do you think you could ever really end it? Even if there were no humans left, pokémon would still hurt each other.”
Yes, of course, Mewtwo says, irritated. That’s not what I mean. He tilts his head up, gazing at something beyond the walls of the ziggurat.
Orre was once a lush place, home to many kinds of pokémon. Forests, streams–a completely different world. There’s no reason why it couldn’t be again. Mewtwo speaks, and the threads of his imaginings drift through your own head. You can see him in your mind’s eye, standing at the edge of the rooftop, and what’s spread out below him is not desert but green. It wasn’t pokémon that turned this place to desert. Can you imagine it? A world where humans are only a myth… It would be beautiful, wouldn’t it?
For a long moment there’s silence. They can see, you think. Everyone can. Mewtwo’s vision. Then Heracross slurps loudly from her drink. “Never gonna happen,” she says. “Not even for you. No offense, but there’s a whole lot of humans in this world, and there didn’t get to be a lot of them for nothing.”
It wouldn’t just be me, Mewtwo says. You can’t even imagine it, then? A world without Team Rocket? A world where something like Team Rocket couldn’t even exist?
“Nope,” Heracross says. “That’s life for you, isn’t it?”
No, Mewtwo says. No, I don’t think that’s how it has to be. And the fact that no one seems to be able to even dream of a world that’s different is the beginning of it. No one but me.
“I mean, hey, power to you,” Heracross says. If she notices how Noctowl’s retreated into his fluffed feathers or the scowl on Hypno’s face, she doesn’t seem to care. “If you think you can clear that lot out, I’m not going to get mad about it.”
“I don’t know if it’s so much of a dream,” Noctowl says. “Who can divide good from evil in anyone’s heart? You can’t be rid of the bad without destroying the good, too.”
I’m not so sure about that, Mewtwo says. A very convenient thing for humans to believe. A very convenient thing for them to have all of us believe. A lot of what pokémon think actually comes from humans, doesn’t it?
“Mewtwo,” Hypno says. Her ears are pinned low like those of an aggravated cat. “You’ve had a lot of bad experiences with humans, I know. We all have. Do you really think that going out and getting rid of them is going to make any of it right?”
“I mean, you can’t deny that kicking Cipher to the curb would be good for everybody,” Heracross says. Hypno holds up a hand to silence her and gets another loud slurp in response.
“I’m not talking about the world. I’m talking about him.” She gives Mewtwo a piercing look. “It’s all well and good to talk about killing anyone who could ever hurt you, but that doesn’t really solve the problem, does it?”
“Sounds like it solves things pretty well to me,” Heracross says with an exaggerated shrug.
I agree. What exactly are you suggesting? Mewtwo asks. From the stormy atmosphere, you guess he already knows. He’s already seen it in Hypno’s mind.
“Pokémon are no threat to you, Mewtwo. You’re the strongest ever. But humans–they’ve controlled you all your life. You’re much stronger than any one of them, but they’ve managed to get the better of you more than once. If they were gone, there would be no one left who could hurt you. Is that it?”
Obviously, yes. If there were no humans, they wouldn’t be able to hurt any pokémon. That’s been my point all along.
“No.” Hypno sighs. “I mean you can’t really expect to simply… eliminate everything that could possibly hurt you. In the whole world. There’s too much. You could never even predict all the ways you might be hurt.”
Other pokémon might not. I have the power.
“I don’t know that you do. I don’t–”
You question my strength? You shiver at the force of Mewtwo’s mental words. There are some insults he won’t tolerate, perhaps, even from an important ally. If he snaps and does something to Hypno, you’ll… Well, you’ll sit there and do nothing, won’t you? You hug yourself tight, wishing for her to be silent. Just like Rats, she hasn’t learned that you can never stand up to Mewtwo.
“No, it’s–I’m not explaining this well.” Hypno closes her eyes and rubs her temples, grimacing.
“I think I know what she means,” Noctowl says. “It’s not a question of being able to get rid of humans. It’s that doing so won’t necessarily help the hurt. The change has to be within you. It’s how you respond to the world, not what the world does to you.”
That’s absurd, Mewtwo snarls. You can’t possibly suggest that the shadow pokémon Cipher created were harmed by something within them, not by what was done to them!
“No, of course not.” Noctowl blinks sadly. “It seems I’m having trouble explaining as well. Not the shadowfication itself, but what comes after. Many people have trouble, even after they’re ‘purified.’ They’re angry or they’re fearful. Or both. They can’t trust. Whether there’s something threatening them or not, they behave as though there were.”
Yes, of course. They should never trust humans. And they should see justice done for the harm that’s been inflicted on them.
“Yes. Those responsible should be punished. And some will find a measure of peace in that. But not all. The absence of Cipher won’t end their sleepless nights. They’ll still see danger around every corner.”
If you say so, Mewtwo says with a poisonous edge to his words. I’m not only talking about retribution for shadow pokémon, though. I’m talking about crimes against all pokémon. I don’t know why you’re talking like this has something to do with me . I was never shadow.
“No,” Hypno says. “But it sounds like you went through some similar things in that lab back in, where was it, Cinnabar Island? What was done to you there was wrong, too.”
“Yes. And it’s caused an anger in you, hasn’t it? Fear, perhaps. You were harmed, and you’re still being harmed. This talk of retribution–you’re letting what happened to you then consume your life.”
“Whoah, hey,” Heracross says. “Not sure if this is a great time for the old psychoanalysis, you know what I mean?” She must be able to feel Mewtwo’s mounting fury, even if Hypno can’t. Or chooses not to.
“Exactly,” Hypno goes on, as though she’s heard nothing. “It’s all you think about, it’s all you do. Everything in your life feels like it revolves around your grudge against humans, and that’s not much of a life at all.”
There’s nothing wrong with me! Mewtwo towers, a cumulonimbus looming over everyone, threatening to burst with violent rain. I’ve dedicated my life to finding my mother. To rescuing her! Of course that’s the most important thing to me. It would be to any rational creature!
Hypno holds her hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m not saying there’s something wrong with you, or that you shouldn’t try to stop the people who imprisoned Mew. I’m just worried that the way you’re going about it is going to do you more harm than good in the long run.”
“I agree,” Noctowl says. “It’s not a judgement. I understand why you feel this way.”
It certainly sounds like a judgement to me, Mewtwo says, and you could swear the fluorescent lights overhead dim.
Hypno nods. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to put it. But… it’s probably time for us to go.”
“Yeah, looks like you’ve done enough damage for one day, Bignose,” Heracross says. She doesn’t move to leave herself, though, watching Mewtwo pensively.
Noctowl doesn’t seem in a hurry to leave, either. “I know it’s hard to hear, Mewtwo, but I think Hypno is right. And I think it might be a good idea if you spoke to Professor Krane. He has experience with this sort of thing, and he’s helped all of us.”
“Yes, exactly,” Hypno says. “It’s not a question of you being wrong, Mewtwo. It’s a question of how you’re going to keep living, and I think Professor Krane could help you with that.”
Get out. Mewtwo’s mental voice comes through as a dangerous hiss.
The shadow pokémon take altogether too long shuffling out the door, and you want to scream and push Hypno off the roof when she lays a hand on your arm and says, “Take care, Keldeo. Both of you. We’ll see you again soon.” She needs to leave! She needs to just leave, before she makes everything even worse!
But, blessedly, that’s the last of it. Mewtwo stares at the door for several minutes after the Musketeers have disappeared, no doubt watching them retreat through their own eyes, waiting until their minds have grown too distant for him to sense. All the while the tension in the room stays tautly dangerous, poised to erupt into violence.
Keldeo? Mewtwo says abruptly, rounding on you.
“I don’t know!” you blurt. “I mean, it’s just a stupid name. They think it’s funny.” And you don’t understand why that out of everything is what he’s seized upon, simmering with anger.
At length Mewtwo turns away again, tail flicking dangerously close to your TV. Imagine, he sneers. To suggest that I’ve become damaged, that my dislike of humans is somehow irrational. And then to suggest–a human! One of the creatures that’s caused so much actual harm to this world. To those three themselves! And they think I’m the delusional one!
You have to leave, too, after that. You know your own traitor mind too well. Nothing good can come of staying. Nothing good can come of Mewtwo peering into your brain and seeing exactly how much you agree with the Musketeers.