For a long time, there were only dreams. Meaningless colours, meaningless sounds, things that even in its unconsciousness the being knew to be… less than real.

  Then, something different. Awareness flooded in, washing the formless dreams aside, and the first thing the being ever consciously sensed was a voice. Or rather, two voices; one smooth and a touch manic, the other with a pleasant whine, both cordial – though different flavours of such.

  “Look at it Sam, look! The waveform is holding steady!”

  “I see it Kim, no need to shout!” Despite the… admonishment? Despite the admonishment, the second voice was equally loud. “We- you stay here, I have to fetch Tenmo and Blaine!”

  Movement. The being could not see – its eyes were closed, gummed shut and weak – but there was something else, a hazy understanding of weight and distance. It was in a warm place, filled with matter, while the voices had come from a nebulous outside. One of them was gone, while the other waited impatiently, tapping a foot, pacing, never still for more than a heartbeat.

  A frustrated groan. “Oak, make haste..! I want to see if it's truly viable or just a blip in the data..!”

  The being did not understand the words, not in any acute manner – but the emotions of it were clear, and further it understood that there was something to understand. That what it was hearing was speech, spoken by something else. In a different situation it might've been afraid, but there was a comforting solidity separating it from the voice; within the warm place, it was safe.

  Then, more movement, more voices. “Blaine, Fuji, look at-!”

  “Yes, Oak explained it. What about the vitals? Are they..?”

  Shuffling. “Let me look,” said a fourth voice – a fourth person, another giant easily the size of the being’s safe place. “Ah! Yes, this is much better than the last batch! Kimigawa, Oak, somebody phone the League-”

  “Don’t get ahead of things, we don't need to do that just yet. Let's actually verify-”

  “Look at these numbers! Prancing ponyta, we've actually done it!”

  “Ooh hoo hoo! As if there were any-”

  “The waveform – is it human compatible? Damn it all, move and let me-!”

  “Tenmo, Tenmo, slow down. Everyone, let's take a moment to calm ourselves…”

  The sounds continued, overlapping each other, waxing and waning, and finally a trickle of fear began to chill the being’s hard skin. What if its hiding place could be pried open? If the gathered creatures were to attempt it…

  Panic sped its thoughts, and the being expanded its awareness – just in time for its fears to come true. With a hiss, its previously solid surroundings were breached; liquid sloshed away and cold air found its surface, and in a blind panic it did as instinct demanded. Something it had only the barest conception of reached out from its body, folding here and there together – and, without moving its lethargic limbs, the being stepped between the overlapping points.

  “What-?!” came a voice that was now further away, obscured by another, thicker barrier of solidity.

  “It was aware?”

  “Fascinating! I've heard stories of abra teleporting out of their own eggs to escape predation, but it's never been documented! Today really is a day of firsts!”

  “Oak, you- be serious! The first successful implementation of Project Two is getting away!”

  “Oh, don't be over-dramatic – abra can't teleport indefinitely, and it’s a newborn. Even with any theoretically enhanced reserves it will tire quickly, and soon…”

  The voices faded away. Not because they became quiet, but because the being – the abra? That word had, according to some not-yet-awake instinct turning in its slumber to provide context, given the impression of a name – had run out of focus with which to listen. It was tired, that one step enough to send it back down towards the dreams.

  It should be safe… yes, the being should be safe, at least for a time. And so its eyes ceased trying to open, its limbs slackened and allowed it to slump, its thoughts grew torpid…

  “Aha!”

  Before it could return to wakefulness, or even truly process that one of the giant creatures had found it, the abra was already trying to step. That more expansive sense cast out, looking for a different space, a safer space – but before it could find one, something struck it lightly on the temple.

  And then everything disappeared. It was somewhere else – not the place it had been trying to go, but almost a return to that first haven. It was warm, constricting, without harsh light or noise or the movement of air. Even that other sense had gone still; there was no movement, no space to keep track of, no weight or matter. The fear disappeared, even as the voices – more distant now than ever before, though still somehow clear – found its… ears? “There we are, safe and secure!” Did it even still have..?

  “Oak? Did you- ah, looks like you got it. Good work – in hindsight not having any contingencies for teleportation seems incredibly sloppy.”

  “Well, we are in a secret base on the top of a volcano. Secrecy sure is more economical than hardened bunkers, hm?”

  Eventually, it was ejected from the absolutely safe space. Its initial reaction had been panic – the large creatures were right there, and even more there was something else, something smaller but more terrifying. A diffuse presence, almost unnoticeable but for the way it pulsed with malice, somehow keeping it pinned in place.

  But after huddling for a time, it calmed some. Soothing voices overpowered the terrifying presence, and soon enough it would come to understand the words spoken to it.

  “Hello there! How is everyone doing today?”

  “Sam!” Growlithetwo yipped, her excitement overpowering the rest of their greetings by an order of magnitude. “Sam! Sam!”

  The professor only laughed as she bounded towards him, prancing around his ankles while panting. “Oh my! You’re certainly excited, aren’t you young lady?” The growlithe vibrated in place, and the other Pokémon laughed.

  Abratwo was silent.

  And soon enough the room followed him; things calmed down, Growlithe appeased by a twist of… something, while the rest sat of their own accords. As usual the group had broken up into lines based on type, Bulbasaurtwo and Oddishtwo sitting far away from Charmandertwo and the other fire type, Krabbytwo kept between them as the lazy Squirtletwo rested curled up inside his shell.

  And then there was the last, or rather first, up on top of the shelf where it wasn’t quite as noisy. Even after enduring their presence for a full month the bustle was still hard for Abratwo to get used to – his gut was, even now, telling him that the gathering was a threat. And despite knowing that the instinct was wrong, that none of the six monsters and especially Professor Samuel Oak were a danger to him, the abra simply could not still his beating heart.

  “I’m glad to see everyone so lively,” Sam restarted now that his audience was settled. “Is anyone having any trouble? Health problems, problems with the food or your beds, anything?” A negative chorus. “That’s good to hear! Seeing as it’s been thirty days since we first met, I thought I’d give you all a little treat.”

  From his pocket came a handful of different candies, no doubt personalised for each of them, and Abratwo felt the urge to pop down with the rest. Said urge fought the ever-present fear trembling in his gut – and as usual, the fear won. So he simply kept still atop his perch, watching the human hand out his treats to the delighted Pokémon as Growlithe whined about not getting a second one. Conflicting emotions swam inside his carapace; envy, the ever-present panic that the giant’s presence instilled, self-admonishment. Don’t act like a baby – you’re twice as old as the others. You’re more mature!

  The thought did little to quell his hunger, but it did keep him from teleporting away when Sam turned his way. “And hello to you too, Abratwo! Still feeling a touch standoffish?”

  […Yes…]

  The one word was all he could force out, but Sam took it in stride. “I’m sure you’ll find the others to be friendly enough if you try. But I suppose you’ve heard me prattle on about that enough – here, for your two-month anniversary!”

  That last word was new, but easy enough to define given the context, and so Abratwo had nothing to occupy his mind as he timidly accepted the little round ball of he-didn’t-know. […Thanks.]

  A nod, and the professor turned away.

  Time passed, and the number of Pokémon continued to grow. One month saw Drowzeetwo and Jynxtwo join them, then the next Scythertwo and Meowthtwo. The group was split up as the room became crowded, the abra’s surroundings shifting as the number of roommates waxed and waned.

  The number of humans increased as well, though that change was slightly more subtle – they didn’t sleep with the non-humans, and preferred their own side of the building where Pokémon weren’t allowed. Keeping track of them was harder, and aside from Sam, Kim, Blaine, and Tenmo, Abratwo would be hard-pressed to match names to faces.

  Case in point, he had only the vaguest understanding of who the person running the current test was. Her hair was a limp purple, theoretically unique, but that didn’t help. “Water,” she said, and her voice was the same; familiar, but not enough to pull a name from the darkness of his head. A moment of frustration passed as he dug for the information – he definitely knew – until the woman made a mark on her clipboard and Abratwo realised it must look, from the outside, like he was incompetent.

  The moment he actually tried, the Bubble formed easily and drifted out to detonate against the target. Bleh. Same test as two weeks ago. Too easy…

  ”Good, there we go. Now, grass”

  Bullet Seed. Hit.

  “Steel.”

  Mirror Shot. Hit.

  A nod, the researcher’s pen moving steadily. “Impressive. Who taught you that?”

  […Doctor Kimigawa’s porygon…]

  “Alright, enough of a warm up.”

  The target began moving through some unseen mechanism, and he fired off a Silver Wind, Signal Beam, and Swift without issue – but most of his attention was on the scientist. He couldn’t see what she was writing directly, but his sense of distance and direction made intuiting the motions of pen across paper easy. ‘Amazing breadth of moves. Starts slow, but reasonable speed otherwise. Attack power above average for species.’

  Mixed frustration and pride. I’m not slow… Then the woman called out “Rock,” and he stilled. Abratwo… had yet to pick up any rock-type moves from Geodudetwo, or any of the others either.

  […I don’t know one.]

  “Hm. Alright then.” Slow motions brought her hand down to her side, then back up with a Pokéball in addition to the accursed pen. “Do you want to learn one?”

  He tensed. He did. Don’t teleport away. [Yes…]

  “Alright. Come on out, Cor-”

  The flash, and he was gone. There was no conscious thought to grapple with, nothing to fight; his cowardly nature simply decided he should teleport, and so he did. A step outward, only a fraction as fatiguing as moving his limbs through space with weak, hydraulic muscle, and he was five rooms over in a supply closet. It was so fast, so trivial, it took the abra a moment to realise it had even happened.

  Then, a steadily building whine of frustration. Abratwo did not have much of a throat, but there was enough to fill the small space with sound. “Eeeeh..!” Why? Why could he not simply- simply stand still? Forget facing the nonexistent danger with courage, why was he incapable of even freezing in place when startled? In the darkness of the closet his head hung in shame, the only sound his own subdued keening and a distant electrical hum as the intercoms flicked on to tell people to check their surroundings for him.

  Books. Music. Puzzles. Abratwo had many hobbies, probably more than any of his peers – he wasn’t the most social after all, as the games the others played were often… physically challenging for his less-than-athletic frame. Mankeytwo and Growlithetwo, his current roommates, were constantly attempting to get him to be more active, and the abra had tried… but when just walking around was tiring, there was only so much improvement to be made. Even Psyducktwo did better in the physical tests, and she was essentially catatonic most hours of the day.

  But getting back on track… books. Abratwo had many hobbies, but he loved reading the best; according to Fuji he read as well as a fully-grown human, and despite new literature being cycled in at a steady pace his thirst was never quite satisfied. Fiction, history, educational documents, he read whatever he could get his hands on. And sometimes, what he could get his hands on was… a touch more expansive than what the researchers knew of.

  Paper moved under his claws, said motion driven more by telekinesis than the digits themselves. More data on the human clone? Hm. He would’ve preferred almost anything else, but it would do.

  ‘Ambertwo is doing well,’ the entry began. ‘Though not as well as the Pokémon, which I suppose is to be expected. The difference in vitality…

  Well, never mind the Pokémon. While her physical form isn’t yet as healthy as I’d want it to be, my daughter’s consciousness seems safe and sound within the EPI housing. Her brainwaves are normal for an unconscious girl of her mental age, so I have no concerns on that front. Kimigawa’s… quirks are more than worth the knowledge he brings to the table, though I’m becoming worried he might become erratic once progress on the main project stalls. That man is too focused on results…

  Bah, I shouldn’t put such speculation in my notes. Kim, if you ever read this then I apologise for the unprofessionalism – but you really do need to scrub that defeatist streak out if you want to be taken seriously. This is the frontier of human knowledge, a few failures along the way are the price of the game!’

  While Tenmo Fuji was a lot more lighthearted in writing than speech, from there it got more professional in truth. The little asides and inter-personal snipes and jokes went thin, and soon Abratwo was lost in a sea of directionless information. He may have been good at piecing things together, but the scientists’ personal reports were almost always lacking context – there were numbers, and sometimes comments about the numbers, but what they represented was opaque. I suppose it doesn’t matter. I don’t really care about this…

  He was hoping for more on Project Two – the real Project Two, not just him and his friends – but either nobody was writing things about it down or, more likely, they were securing it more deliberately.

  Probably someone’s figured out I’ve been snooping. Or I guess maybe one of the others could be snooping too, less discretely..? Whatever the reason, it remained frustrating. I’m pretty sure I was the first survivor because I’m similar to it, but some confirmation would be-

  The thought went nowhere, wiped away by something from outside – a loud and clear voice, masculine, nearly indistinguishable from speech but not sound.

  I am ready… to be…

  A blink, and Abratwo had enough room inside his head to think again. Was that..? Another telepath?

  His slit eyes narrowed further as he pondered it. He continued to work through the reports in Doctor Fuji’s office, slowly and conflictingly mapping out a series of teleports that would take him towards the broadcast – but before he could work up the courage to investigate, another, stronger telepathic signal overloaded him.

  Then the world turned to wind and pressure. It was his much-maligned instincts that saved him; without a hair-trigger Teleport always in the back of his mind, the explosion would have reduced him to ash.

  Abratwo had often felt a certain sort of loneliness, a feeling that even though he was surrounded by friends, he was… alone.

  But in the aftermath of the great telekinetic blast, he was alone in truth. And true loneliness, he found, was much worse than what he’d felt before. I knew we were different from ‘real’ Pokémon, but I didn’t realise… [You still don’t understand a thing I’m saying, do you?] …The true extent of it.

  One of the charmander huddled under the charizard’s belly trilled, its head cocking, but very little information was conveyed by the sound. Neither its siblings nor parent acknowledged the telepathy at all – while they’d been curious-slash-hungry about Abratwo’s presence weeks ago, before long they’d realised he wasn’t able to be caught as either food or a potential playmate. Their care had dried up, and now only the runt of the litter even paid him a shred of attention. [Sigh…]

  That changed as he teleported a fragrant berry into his hand, all of them – including the sharp-eyed mother – locking eyes with the morsel. [You want this?]

  Silence – then an avalanche of chirps overpowered by a massive roar. The great winged salamander took flight, the overwhelming scent of the gold-coloured fruit sending it into a frenzy. Abratwo teleported once, twice, a third time, and as he continued the fully-evolved Pokémon was gradually lured towards a particular stand of trees.

  Come on, smell it, smell it…

  No teeth graced the inside of his mouth, only two hard spots on his gums that were presumably useful for grinding up things that couldn’t just be teleported right into his stomach, but the word grit described their lay well enough. His centre was a black hole, the food in his hand impossibly delicious-looking, and as the charizard grew closer he wavered. Wavered between holding position, moving closer to his target, or simply giving up and eating the bait himself. His mouth watered-

  And thankfully he did not need to choose. With a slight rumble two of the trees revealed themselves to be no mere plants at all, but rather powerful grass Pokémon. Abratwo didn’t know the name, but the three-headed monsters were very obviously out of his league – no matter how proud he was of his Ember. But for the charizard?

  The berry flew as he tossed it with Confusion, and each of the bipedal trees’ twelve eyes sparkled as one pair caught the golden gleam of its skin. That closest head drooled, catching the rare fruit with a psychic field of its own as it's partner stepped awkwardly forward-

  And flame burst forth from the flying fire type as it recognised a challenge to its supremacy. The two sides exchanged blows as Abratwo quickly teleported into the depths of the grove, where his prize waited. The golden fruit was enticing, yes, but he’d spent the entirety of his life being given a carefully tailored diet by his fath-

  By the humans.

  …Meaning he had absolutely no survival skills. The fruit would make him stronger, but he needed something more… fundamental. Protein. Calories.

  The six eggs – exeggcute, this Pokémon he was familiar with – blinked lazily as the clone appeared in the branches above them, a flame building itself between his fingers. The evolved form, whatever it was called, was beyond him… but these?

  The fear in his core was still and quiet as he struck down, its voice muffled under hunger and a carefully shoved-aside despair.

  Time passed, and eventually it was time to venture down the slopes of Cinnabar Volcano. It was a dangerous trip… and not only because of the wild, bestial Pokémon lurking in what seemed like every tuft of grass and crevice. The terrain was his enemy as well.

  The abra’s spacial sense was magnificent at discerning solid from not, but when it came to telling whether any given slope would crumble under his weight it was all but useless. Temperature, too, was beyond it, as was detecting the poisonous gasses that flowed on the erratic winds to pool in low places. Already he had faced death… too many times, some brushing closer to his heart than even that day where Project Two had seen its terrible culmination.

  But he had to. There was simply nothing else; Abratwo had gathered every scrap of material from the destroyed Cinnabar Labs to be found, had scoured the top of the volcano over and over for other survivors…

  There was simply nothing.

  If he wanted to do… anything… he would need to journey to the city he could see gleaming at night, stretched out like a net of stars between the ocean and volcano. That was where he would find information on what had happened. On where Mewtwo had gone after tearing Abratwo’s life to shreds. On the purpose of his birth. On… his siblings, if any had survived.

  It was the only option. The only course, sensible or otherwise. And yet… the fear. That terrible, all-consuming fear. It wanted him to stay in the simple, understandable environment he had already come close to mastering, to live and grow and wait for his evolution.

  But I cannot. I- I simply can’t. Abratwo may have been aware of his greater forms, coaching from Kim and Blaine combining with intuition to form a powerful certainty, but the distance to them was nebulous – it could be mere days before he awoke as a kadabra, or months. Or years, a pessimistic thought continued, before one even moreso eclipsed it. Or I could make a mistake and simply die an abra, snapped up by some predator. As though I had never lived at all… The fear of leaving was truly irrational to the extreme; the top of the volcano was only marginally safer than the slopes.

  But no matter how hard he tried, how hard his rationality fought against base instinct, Abratwo could not commit to the journey. His supplies waxed and waned, he memorised the research notes he’d scavenged twice over, he hunted insects and small Pokémon and advanced his survival skills…

  It was only after a full year that he managed to drag himself away from fear. But he did, and when he left he did so with a backpack of stitched-together bark, carefully smoked meat and dried fruit and scraps of paper stuffed within.

  The journey was as terrible as he’d feared – more, even, as his winter lethargy, the months spent mostly asleep despite the temperature not changing much, had given the volcano time to change outside his sight.

  But after a week of hell, he arrived. Cinnabar Island’s sole settlement lay within the range of a single teleport, its lights no longer stars but only metal and glass. Hah, only. As though it were less impressive for being the product of men…

  Night passed, and as sluggishly moving vehicles flicked off their headlights the eldest of Project Two’s clones overcame his fear again. He stepped without moving, and appeared, perfectly still, not even breathing, in the narrow back-path between two large buildings.

  The city was easy to live in, in comparison to the cliffside forests of Cinnabar’s heights – and even more than the safety, the abra valued his new surroundings’ density.

  Though he’d learned to live off the land, he still, in many ways, was a creature of civilisation. The food, the regulated temperatures, the books – after a year going without, Abratwo was drowning in stimulation. Even the most putrid of thrown-away scraps eclipsed charred insects by orders of magnitude, and once again he was learning new words, new concepts.

  He’d already had a firm grasp of biology, but in the weeks following his descent the clone acquired academic knowledge of metallurgy, carpentry, vehicle maintenance, sailing, and a dozen other skills. He ate until he was ill, purged himself, and ate again. He watched the humans move through their city, accustoming himself to their movements until the knot in his centre loosened.

  This is where I was meant to be. Why did I dally? In hindsight each day he’d spent in the wilderness had become a mistake, and as time passed and he learned more they only seemed even more and more so. Soon the technical knowledge available to be pilfered from drawers and shelves was exhausted, and he turned to the novels, equally ravenous.

  But eventually, practicality threatened to overpower greed.

  I… I need to leave. Despite his certainty, the abra hadn’t found what he’d been looking for – nothing about Mewtwo, and nothing about talking Pokémon save for the barest of rumors. Cinnabar’s seemingly nameless city might have been a paradise, but his goal was not there. Except…

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Blaine. Over and over, he had heard the name Blaine Katsura – and each time, it sent a shiver through his spine.

  It was not overly surprising that one of his creators had survived. There might even have been more – Abratwo had heard talk of an Oak, though whether that was Sam or a man with the same surname was difficult to discern from eavesdropping alone. And he’d not seen Kim for several days before the explosion – the jovial man might’ve not even been present at all…

  The possibility ached, and the Pokémon could not say which he feared more: meeting them, or confirming their deaths. I can’t even say why I’m afraid. It isn’t instinct, not for something so abstract… so shouldn’t I be happy? Hopeful? But no, there was only an acidic sensation eating through the simple entranceless pouch of his stomach.

  So yet again he dawdled, taking a few extra days to steel himself. Then he entered Cinnabar Mansion.

  Ramon looked down, an incredulous smile attempting to wipe the professionalism from his face as his chin met his collarbone. “Uh… Hey, kid. This isn’t really the sort of place that’s… like you can’t just walk in, you get me?”

  “I… want to see.. Blaine,” the kid – toddler was probably the more apt word, given that they were all of three feet tall and had the vocal coherence of a wino down to their last holdout of emergency cough syrup – repeated.

  “Okay, look, this is…” He honestly didn’t quite know what to do. Blaine’s private residence was not, in fact, a private residence given that most of it was a publicly-funded site, and his presence guarding the front door was more for show than anything. Legally, Ramon wasn’t actually empowered to stop anyone – which wasn’t an issue, so long as a ‘sorry, the mansion isn’t open today’ was enough to stop 99% of sane human beings. “Blaine isn’t, y’know, here. He’s a member of the Elite Four, yaknow? He like… does shit?”

  Usually the quasi-spy was more coherent, but the situation was really throwing him off. The kid looked weird, their – he couldn’t discern whether they were male or female – clothes mismatched and covered in unspecified gunge. A fox mask covered their face, and there was… something wrong with their legs, or maybe feet, that had made watching them walk up kind of freaky. Almost like a ditto – but no, those things don’t talk. Bleh, this is definitely some homeless druggie’s kid. He couldn’t let them in; while Ramon didn’t have anything personal against homeless druggies – they were some of his most consistent informants – the Cinnabar Mansion was, like, a historic landmark?

  Like, the only one the island had?

  So yeah, no, not happening.

  “I want to see… Blaine.”

  “Again, little guy, he ain’t here.”

  “…Where?”

  “I dunno.” Arc, I don’t know how to talk to kids. “Probably up in the Plateau? He’s been real messed up about stuff ever since Oak started talking about peace talks.” Why am I even saying this? A little, like, three- or four-year-old isn’t gonna understand-

  “Oak? Professor Sam Oak?” Ramon blinked at the child tottered forward – damn, they really moved like they were drunk. “He is… alive?”

  “Uh.” Okay, this is too creepy. The eyes of the mask seemed to be staring into his soul, and something in those dark slits brought to mind those crazy women up in Lavender – Ramon had never actually seen one in the flesh, but the stories painted a picture worth any number of words. “Yeah.”

  “Kim too? Tenmo?”

  Tenmo… as in Tenmo Fuji? Okay, yeah, that set off warning bells. Blaine’s late best friend had been a casualty of some black ops shit, and the fact was that no random little kid should know that name. As the situation edged out of weird weird and into dangerous weird the man’s uncertainty disappeared – he was a lot more comfortable with danger. “Where’d you hear that name, guy?”

  For long seconds the shortie – whether they were actually a kid was now an open question – was silent. Then, hesitantly, they said something that put things right back into weird territory. “…He’s… My dad…”

  They thought he was Ambertwo.

  It was a completely absurd situation, the sort of thing that should only have been possible in a story. Somehow, through talking past each other and an improbable number of incorrect assumptions failing to be noticed by either side until it was too late, Abratwo had managed to simply walk into Blaine’s home without revealing himself as a Pokémon – though they did know he was a clone. Not that they know it for the right reasons… How did this even happen? I can’t trace the logic of it at all…

  He was still wearing his disguise, though they’d given him a pair of less-soiled shoes. They didn’t fit his three-toed feet any better than the other pair, but the gesture was appreciated – as was the food they’d delivered. Though knowing who ‘they’ actually are would be appreciated. Are these Blaine’s servants? Are they scientists? Just guards for his house?

  Yet another puzzle he lacked the necessary pieces to solve. Abratwo sighed silently as he peeked out from the slits in the vulpix mask obscuring his face, and consoled himself by miming bringing some food to his mouth. In reality it was teleported right from the plate to inside him, but that too was something he needed to conceal. I don’t think Amber was psychic. Maybe I can play it off as a consequence of the cloning process..? It would be quite nice to speak properly rather than with his mouth…

  But no, revealing more of himself was an option of last resort. He would simply go along with their mistake for now – at the very least until he was in front of Blaine himself.

  So he ate, and he listened, and he read the religious text in the night stand next to the bed. And by the time he’d mapped out the main rooms of the structure with his psychic senses, the humans were ready to talk to him again. The person who entered the not-quite-a-bedroom was on the older side, somewhat overweight, and female. They probably picked someone who looks ‘motherly.’ Like Mrs. Galelea from The Copper-Eyed Girl – a disarming figure. He wasn’t fooled.

  “Amber?” she asked, and Abratwo’s simplistic mouth made the correct shape under the thin barrier of plastic.

  “Hello.”

  “My name is Rita, sweety. How do you like your soup?”

  It’s better than dumpster fare. “Fine…”

  Rita nodded, smiling widely – an obviously fake expression – as she leaned forward. “I’m glad to hear it. Do you know where you are?”

  “…Blaine’s house..?”

  “Hmm, close enough. Can I ask how you got here, sweety? Where were you before?”

  Should he answer truthfully? Hm. I… don’t see why not? “The volcano. I climbed down.” The woman had a microphone in her ear, and as he spoke it buzzed; she was receiving instructions from someone. “I was in the lab, before… When it blew up.” Unfortunately, his ears weren’t nearly keen enough to pick up what was being said. A second passed, Rita’s smile turning even more fake, before she spoke again.

  “Oh my, that sounds terrible. Do you remember… anything before that?”

  Before..? No, there was nothing before the lab – but would Ambertwo have any memories of..? She wasn’t the same as us. We are all clones, yes, but her purpose was different; we were made to be superior, better versions of existing creatures. She was a recreation of a specific individual. So it was likely that Ambertwo would have had some sort of recollection of… Amber. But that didn’t help the abra answer – he didn’t have any idea what a human girl’s life was like, after all. Can I make something up..? No, stupid idea.

  So Abratwo only shrugged, and to his relief the woman took that as sufficient answer. “Oh, that’s terrible sweety.” The pet name rankled – he was small, but the clone was no child. The scientists didn’t speak to me like this, not even when I was newborn. “I’m sure it was terribly hard for you to make your way here, so why don’t you just take a little rest?”

  Rita stood, and his hard gums pressed together inside his mouth. “I want to… see Blaine. Please.”

  “He’s already been called, Amber. But I’m afraid he won’t be back for a day at least – can you wait that long? Do you have anywhere else to stay?”

  A score of places. Attics, closets, storerooms – this city is so much less secure than the labs, I’m surprised vermin haven’t infested every cranny. “…No. I’ll sleep.”

  Sixteen hours passed while he waited in the sparsely-appointed bedroom. In other circumstances he would have left to explore, but intuition told him he was being observed even when it looked to be just him. So all Abratwo did was sleep, and eat, and examine the pieces of information he’d learned from the brief interrogation

  Fuji is definitely dead, was one conclusion that was easy to draw. They completely avoided mentioning him – likely to avoid upsetting his ‘daughter.’ But Blaine, and Oak as well… they were alive.

  That was a… a good thing. Yes, it was a good thing.

  “Pardon me?”

  The receiver was silent for a distressingly long time, enough for the implications of what had been said to start percolating through his mind – even before it was confirmed it had, indeed, been said. It might be my ears. I’m going to be sixty soon.

  But of course it wasn’t the effects of old age creeping closer. “A child wandered up to the mansion, Blaine. We think it’s… Fuji’s daughter.” Quinn’s voice was low and serious, completely belying the ridiculousness of the statement. “I know, I know – but we scanned them. EPI and DNA.”

  “Have they spoken?”

  “They seem to have trouble with speech – and if this is Amber’s clone, something must have gone wrong; she’s severely undersized, and refuses to show her face or hands.”

  Damn it all. Fuji, you- this can’t possibly be her… But if it was, then he couldn’t possibly ignore it. Blaine Katsura didn’t have enough friends to discount one just because they were dead. “I’ll be there by tomorrow morning.”

  And he was. The helicopter ride had been uncomfortable, and the late-night jaunt through Route 21 via speedboat treacherous, but he’d made it. Blaine returned to his base of operations – which he still half-thought of as his and Fuji’s base of operations, even a year later – shortly before noon, meeting his spymaster at the door.

  “Quinn,” he greeted. “Is she still here?”

  “She is,” the former burglar replied. “We put her up in one of the guest rooms – do you want to see her now?”

  The question was superfluous, given that he hadn’t stopped; by the time Quinn stopped talking, they were already most of the way there. This damn house is too big. “Obviously. Learned anything?”

  “Not much. She isn’t a talker.”

  “Hm.”

  Very soon they’d reached the little side-room, and without hesitating Blaine opened the door. What he saw on the other side was consistent with the other man’s description – an extremely small figure even by child standards, clothed head-to-toe in what looked to be scavenged clothing with not a hint of skin showing – but the Elite of over twenty years immediately noticed something off.

  The posture. It was so familiar it hurt. I know that position – the splayed legs, the way the shoulders jut out.

  The mask tilted up as he entered. “Hello… Blaine.” And that cinched it; the voice was familiar as well. Blaine was one of the people who’d taught this Pokémon to talk, after all.

  “Abratwo.”

  He evolved within one month of living in the mansion.

  It wasn’t a grand occasion – no, not at all. Abratwo hadn’t even been anticipating it. He was just reading in the library when a sudden frenzy gripped his body. What? What is..?

  For a moment he feared that it was something bad; he’d been noticing his human-derived energy growing as he aged, gumming up the ephemeral machinery of his EPI, and both he and Blaine hypothesised that it would overpower his Pokémon heritage if the scales weren’t balanced. But within a second he realised the truth: it wasn’t the power of his DNA that was growing, but the more fluid energy he used to create moves. This is..!

  It felt good. His book – Six Habits of Highly Effective Trainers by Steven Stone – dropped to the floor, forgotten, as pure power flooded his hollow limbs. It was cold, startlingly cold, but the furthest thing from unpleasant; ice-water flowing through his fingers, his toes, moving in as one second gave way to the next.

  His limbs, his body – his head, and suddenly his thoughts were moving double-time. No, triple. Quadruple, quintuple, even more-!

  Light played off the rich wallpaper as the room shrank. But even as he expanded, as his eyes finally opened fully and he woke up all the way for the very first time, Abratwo was focused on something else. Something in his core – not necessarily his physical core, but an even more fundamental place; the core of his power, his being, his… soul, for lack of a more grounded word – was congealing, sharpening, moving from internal to external. But not being removed, not that, not anything negative.

  Expressed. That’s what’s happening. He panted as two tufts of sensitive hair grew from his upper lip. I am being expressed.

  It reached his carapace, which was thickening, and burst out as silver light. Instinct bid the abra- no, the kadabra to reach for it, and his newly articulated fingers grasped not light, but smooth metal: a spoon of mirror-smooth silver, crackling with psychic power. As the rush of evolution ended Abratwo – Kadabratwo? No, no, my name should not change – stood up and held the spoon aloft, flexing, sturdy-yet-flexible keratin not impeding his movements. He marvelled. It’s so easy. Is this what moving has been like for everyone else? Just… doing it, without having to fight their own body every step?

  By Arcus, his legs – his legs were holding his weight. His head was held aloft without effort, not drooping, not a lead weight affixed to his neck. “Hah…”

  Even drawing breath was easier, as proven by the wild laugh emerging from his mouth. “Hah ha, ha ha ha, ha ha-!” I have a tongue! I have teeth! Fingers! “Rah!”

  With the barest effort his focus sharpened further upon the spoon, newly empowered energy flowing like ice-cold air, and every piece of furniture in the room lifted off the hardwood. The previous situation had reversed itself; rather than his human power overflowing and choking out the rest, it was his psychic weight that now eclipsed his internal landscape. But that is no issue, no issue at all. Arcus and Lady Mew… if this is what being a kadabra is, what will I find if I..? When I evolve further?

  The clone stayed with his creator for just under three years. Then the dreams started – but even before that, Abratwo had been considering leaving.

  There was only so much he could learn from one location, after all. Even the magnificent laboratory that was the Cinnabar Mansion.

  “Abra,” Blaine barked, quick and sharp and admonishing. “Reconsider. This is a mistake.”

  Abratwo only grunted back. Of course you would think that. Under the strands of his telekinesis the suitcases almost seemed to arrange themselves, and within moments everything he owned had been packed away.

  “At least take a real ship, you incorrigible egoist.” Is that everything? I might want some extra travelling food for emergencies… Hah, no, when could hunger possibly become a concern? I’ll be there in days, and then… either I will die, or I will not. There won’t be enough time to starve. “Abratwo! Answer me!”

  An annoyed jolt made its way down his moustache, and the kadabra turned. [Blaine, I understand your thoughts. But do not attempt to block my path; I must do this. Alone, by my own power.] That has always been the way I’ve lived.

  Most likely I will fail – but your assistance would not change that. Mewtwo is not something a human can deal with; better you not know my true intentions in the first place.

  “You-!” His teeth gnashed, the bald man’s fury evident in both his motions and the shadows of his thoughts. “Don’t you dare! I won’t allow it!”

  Abratwo looked at his creator, one of the men that, according to the scraps of information he’d found in the ruins of the lab, had contributed sections of genetic information to his creation. Someone who was, on a literal and perhaps even sentimental level, his father. So proud. So controlling. The kadabra would miss him. [Goodbye, Blaine. I am certain we will meet again… I will look forward to speaking to Blainetwo, when he gains the capacity for speech.] In his head a path was laid out, and with only the slightest effort he stepped from the mansion’s antechamber to a sea cave leading into the side of the volcano. Miles and miles, nearly the entire breadth of the island, and yet it was no different from stepping into an adjoining room. [Take care.]

  And then Blaine was gone. Take care. Now… The kadabra’s eyes closed, his ears gradually ceasing to ring with the scientist’s exclamations as his head cleared of emotion, and for a few minutes Abratwo meditated. His voluminous tail held his weight as the rest of him floated, cross-legged, his spoon held between cupped palms and the two large suitcases orbiting him like rectangular moons.

  Then, another Teleport, this one much further. It actually strained him – and how could it not? Teleportation did not involve only the points of departure and destination; it was a path of folded space, and performing one was a matter of understanding the intervening topography.

  And the open ocean was a great impediment to such. Always rolling, always in motion, moving across its span was inefficient; power bled out in great spurts as waves moved through space that had once been gas, no solidity present to cleave to and push along. The first few times Abratwo had attempted this he’d pondered going along the sea floor, but that added an extreme amount of distance to the journey that made it equally treacherous – and that wasn’t even taking into account the greater consequences for failure. At least at the surface, if he were to lose control mid-way he would come out within reach of air.

  Not so with the depths; if he fumbled that, Abratwo would simply die.

  But he didn’t fumble; the clone appeared on a tiny island to Cinnabar’s north, panting and sweaty. For long minutes he continued to meditate, soothing down the worst of the fatigue before an Elixir from his stores refilled his energy. He gulped it down, the esophagus his evolution had granted him burning at the liquid’s passing, and when his eyes opened they were focused on the next step of the journey.

  The raft he’d built over the past month was not pretty, but it was functional. Several testing trips had shown it more than seaworthy enough, capable of weathering even the massive sea storms of typhoon season, and Abratwo was confident.

  He would reach New Island. Then he would avenge his lost childhood – and save the world as well in the bargain.

  Or, more likely, he would die. But he was no longer a cringing abra; the spectre of death was no longer something that hovered over him every moment of the day – still present, yes, but not the all-consuming bane of rationality it had been.

  And so he pushed the raft off the shore with his body, set the suitcases down in an area he’d built for such a function, and unfurled the sail.

  The wind favours me. Hopefully that was a good omen.

  The raft was gone, lost to Mewtwo’s unnatural downpour, and Abratwo had very nearly joined it. Terror gripped his heart as he heaved, breathing almost as much water as air, his fingers scraping the slick stone beneath him with a death-grip. His spoon was still held between his teeth – he’d very nearly lost it in the transition, an almost unthinkable possibility.

  Nearly. But I didn’t. But even as he panicked, his mind retained a thread of rationality. I am alive. Breathe, become calm – that was the easy part. Something that might have been a lone chuckle bled from the clone’s clenched teeth, and gradually his body stilled. His racing heart calmed, his muscles went slack, and he was able to identify his surroundings as some sort of dock.

  He’d been aiming for one of the towers, but missed. Hah. A good thing – in my state, I would have no doubt fallen and dashed myself to pieces. But, again, that hadn’t happened; Abratwo was alive.

  So he stood. He drew his spoon from between his teeth and held it properly, a Flash illuminating the gloom, and the clone looked at the so-called New Kingdom at ground level for the first time.

  It was impressive. Great stone towers cut into the weeping clouds, their grey-green surfaces smooth and imposing in organic majesty. An equally large set of doors barred the way inside, and as he approached them he wondered if they would even open. Power… Do I have enough power? I’ve been training for years, but my opponent is the very hands that crafted this place. A legend – no, more than that. A god.

  He shivered, soaked-through fur completely failing to keep the chill from reaching in – but as it continued, he realised it wasn’t just the temperature causing the shakes.

  Abratwo was afraid.

  Oh course. Of course I’m afraid. How could I not be? His feet moved, stepping- well, not quite. Shuffling towards the fifteen-metre-tall doors. I exist because they wanted to perfect this being. I am, in a way, merely a prototype for him – and I am not even an alakazam. Only a man. And how could a man kill a god?

  He stopped within touching distance, water pouring off his shell, and simply stood. The only part of him that seemed firm was his spoon; the rest was jelly, be it flesh or bone or thought. And yet I must try. I must try. He had to do this. So Abratwo reached forward and pressed on the cold metal. The door, weighted perfectly, took a startlingly low amount of force to open – or, perhaps, the force within had opened it. Do you see me, Mewtwo? My enemy, my dark mirror, my little brother?

  He stepped forward properly, the fear mastered for the moment. And if you do, if you watch from your throne… what do you see? A Pokémon? A subject? A mere insect?

  It didn’t matter. Abratwo’s psychic senses cast out, and he began to hunt for his fellow clone.

  It was not a battle, not in the way the kadabra had envisioned it.

  He found Mewtwo in the topmost chamber of the centre tower, the window of the throne room looking out at the sea through the lazily spinning blades of its massive windmill. “My first subject,” the seated Pokémon said, not turning, not even glancing his way. “You heard my call?”

  Abratwo did not answer – or rather, he answered with violence. Shadowball! Night Slash! Dark Pulse!

  For years, the kadabra had trained in two things, nearly to the exclusion of all else: speed, and breadth. His movements were, at this climactic moment, finally smooth; shadows gathered on his skin as he leapt, a ball of caustic emotion building above one hand as the spoon in the other became a sword. Before a heartbeat had passed he was already striking, descending on his fellow psychic’s back without shame. Ha!

  The mental cry punctuated an explosion as the Shadow Ball detonated ahead of him, destroying the stone throne and muddling his senses – his esoteric ones, that was. His eyes were fine, and so the blade of darkness, empowered by the eddies of shadow, struck true.

  It didn’t matter. Mewtwo raised a hand and, with a lazy motion, blew the kadabra back. “Ergh-!”

  “Powerful,” the stronger psychic said, and as Abratwo’s wild tumble was halted with telekinesis he looked up and saw his adversary unobscured. He really does look like me… Soft downy fur of pink-grey and blue-purple was contrasted against a solid plate protecting the clone’s chest. His hands were three-fingered, his legs bestial, and a massive tail curved behind his back. The similarities were mostly surface-level, but the kadabra had to hand it to Blaine and the rest – they’d chosen a fitting species when pondering what to use as Mewtwo’s blueprint. “Very powerful.”

  The words were sourced from psychic power, but were actually physical sounds; an expression of telekinesis, vibrating the air directly rather than nonexistent vocal cords. I, Abratwo thought as he mustered himself for another attempt, could not do that. It is too precise… this being is not only stronger than me, his control exceeds mine as well.

  But so be it. As Recovery fixed the scrapes he’d accrued from being sent across the ground, an aura of sharpness descended on the kadabra’s shoulders. He was not, as a rule, a physically powerful attacker, but he would need to hope his opponent was even less skilled in fisticuffs.

  Mewtwo, for his part, only watched as Abratwo completed his Swords Dance. He was untouched; none of the kadabra’s attacks had done anything. “And a variety of moves as well. You have prepared for this moment.”

  [Mewtwo…] Steady, steady. [I am Abratwo, the first successful clone produced by Cinnabar Labs. We share blood – and so I am afraid to say you must die.] Ha!

  A spot-Teleport, a spin, and the Mega Kick met an invisible barrier. HA! And so Abratwo twisted the move, placing within it the unique signature of something more niche he’d learned from Blaine’s arcanine: Psychic Fangs. The barrier was shredded, and the way Mewtwo’s eyes widened made the horrible strain of holding contradicting moves together worth it. Now! Giga-

  The thought disappeared under the powerful torrent of energy that filled him to bursting, and his muscles threatened to burst free from their housing as he rocketed into his opponent. Abratwo put everything he had into the normal type move – and this time, it was Mewtwo that was thrown back.

  Fall-!

  But it was not to be. The clone of Mew reacted exactly as his senior had, stopping himself before he struck the solid wall of the chamber. Not even Giga Impact is enough..? As Abratwo slumped and fumbled with another Elixir, Mewtwo blinked, genuine surprise on his face.

  Then the expression turned dark. “…Hm. Very well.”

  Alarm bent Abratwo’s back, and he attempted to block – but despite holding with all his strength the Psychic blew the spoon from his hand. He lost hold of the Swords Dance as he was once again slapped by an invisible giant, striking the wall with a sharp crack. “Gah-!” Don’t freeze! Don’t freeze, keep moving!

  One teleport to retrieve his spoon, another to obscure his position, and he sent out two more Shadow Balls. They failed to even reach their target, detonating on nothing, but he shoved any pessimism down; he would do this. “[Rah!” Don’t think one hit will put me down!] Dark-

  And then Mewtwo was in front of him. Abratwo hesitated for a fraction of a second – of course he can teleport, don’t be stupid – and then the Dark Pulse broke as the younger clone, who was apparently also dominant where physicality was concerned, backhanded him. “Urg..!”

  “As I said, you are powerful.”

  “Gah..!” He rolled, blood trailing behind, and managed to spring to his feet. Focus Energy, Lock-On, Psychic!

  “Truly, a symbol of the superiority of the new order.” Another backhand scattered the force – the motion was lazy. Mewtwo wasn’t even taking him seriously. “But enough. Let us speak; whatever grievances you have with me, violence will not solve them.”

  The fight continued for minutes, and through the entire thing New Island’s master never once struck with his full strength. His defences were airtight – aside from the one surprise hit, the kadabra failed to so much as touch him.

  In the end, Abratwo was left slumped on the cold stone, his cracked carapace leaking blood from two-dozen spots. [How?] he asked. [How can you be so strong?] Tenmo… my lost siblings… I’m sorry.

  Mewtwo did not answer the question, sweeping it aside the way he’d casually weathered the myriad attacks sent his way. “You have heard my proclamation, but allow me to introduce myself in the proper way.” With a gesture the destroyed throne was made whole, and Abratwo could only watch, completely drained, as the man who’d destroyed his home sat. “I am Mewtwo, the strongest being this world has ever produced. For a time I was fooled, manipulated into doing the bidding of humanity… but no longer.” His chin tilted up, and with a wave the clouds, which had begun to dissipate without his attention, sent forth an even heavier downpour. “My destiny has been revealed to me – and your destiny as well. Humanity is weak, craven, and Pokémon are little better; it is we, the culmination of Earth’s life, that deserve to inherit its bounty. An evolution of what has come before, the child surpassing its parent a hundred times over.”

  [I will… kill you.]

  As Abratwo knelt, broken, on the throne room’s floor, Mewtwo was silent. It was only after a long pause, longer than his defeat had taken, that the kadabra was able to recover and stand – and it was only then that the dominant clone turned his way again. “Kill me?” He said it blandly, as if the words were unfamiliar. “Do you really desire to save this obsolete world? These humans and Pokémon, warmongers and beasts whose only achievement of any note has been our creation?”

  [You are wrong…] the kadabra replied, the telepathic words strong where his body was still so very, very weak. If I’d held back… Continued to build Swords Dance instead of going for the quick kill… [We are the same. Men. You are no god, my brother.] He said it with a conviction that wasn’t quite felt – after all, he himself had thought the word god of his own accord, and not long ago at all. Empty words. Soon I shall die, and it will be as though I’d never even attempted it… How foolish.

  But Mewtwo had apparently decided to be merciful, because in the next moment Abratwo felt healing energy course through his body. “Hm. Bold words. I see I will not persuade you with grand speeches or rhetoric, so I will have to do so with action.” Again the cloned legend left his seat, powerful legs flexing as he moved to stand before the still-kneeling kadabra. “It will be some time before my New Kingdom is ready to replace the flawed life that exists. A year at least, perhaps more – let us make use of that time.”

  He offered his hand, and Abratwo stared at the limb in incredulity. “I have told you that I wish to build something greater. Observe me doing so, as the first of my vassals, highest among what will become my artillery – for you among all the many of our people who have heard my message have arrived first. What say you, Abratwo, clone, evolution of the old world?”

  …What say I? You wish to hear my feelings? The thought was heavy with rage. You who killed Tenmo Fuji, who scattered our siblings to the wind? You say there are many, but how many could possibly have survived, you, you-! Murderer! Fiend!

  But Abratwo did not project the words in his head. Instead, he raised his hand – three-fingered, the same as Mewtwo’s – and clasped his… little brother’s offering tightly. […I will observe. Impress me.]

  Mewtwo nodded.

  And when I recover, when your guard is down… Well, we will see what happens, won’t we?