Mewtwo awoke with a jerk, his eyes burning a frantic blue as he tried to re-orientate himself as quickly as possible. Straightening, and easing his aching back into a sitting position, his muscles quivered with the effort after so many long days of inactivity.
<That girl!> he said, surprised at how shaken up he felt. It had been a very long time since he had felt such a rush of adrenaline through his body. <Who is she?> Slowly his mind worked, tearing through his recent, thick wall of sluggish thoughts. <That dream...>
Surely this is not the first time I have seen her... but, I cannot remember!
He glanced down quickly to his hands - they were skeletal at best now; the thin bones clearly visible through his pale smooth skin. Lifting a sinewy arm, he surveyed it, noting the similar symptoms.
<And so,> he murmured, turning his attention to the rest of his food-starved body. <Am I a Pokémon after all? I certainly dehydrate like one...> His body, so unused for a time, was now besieging his mind with cramps of want. His stomach... how it protested at him!
As he struggled upright, his bones creaked and ached with disuse. <How long have I been here?> More to the point... he thought, Where am I?
Soon after laying suspicious eyes upon the dripping rock walls surrounding him, he realised he must have chosen this spot specifically. The only reason, he supposed, was that it was the one place he knew of that was safe and didn’t remind him of his cruel ex-trainer.
He was never your trainer! You are your own master, and always have been!
<It is a sad day indeed when you must talk to yourself instead of your friends...> he chuckled dryly, well aware he was not feeling all that sane and balanced after the horribly vivid burning sensation which his mind refused to forget. <The human, of course, has received the better deal: at least he doesn’t remember his pet psychically chained to pink shackles and tortured until near-death.>
More flashes of memory came to him. Other humans - mere youths - all confident in their abilities to face the world and its many dangers, had helped him. Those same humans he had invited to his island of clones only months beforehand, his only thought of striking back against them in retaliation... only because they had belonged to the same species as those that had created him. It seemed ironic, really, particularly since they didn’t remember any events from the first time.
<... which is probably the only reason they did lift a finger in aid...> he sighed - still with a tinge of humour lacing the sigh, and stood up; ignoring the dizzy spell that hinted at an imminent headache.
<So.> Was the girl before all that? Perhaps even before he opened his eyes to the cold gazes of the scientists as they silently surveyed their living, breathing clone? Before that... there was nothing; no memory, merely hints of past dreams; as intangible as his cryptic thoughts which occurred just before the unconsciousness of sleep.
All he was able to conjure up in his mind as he strained for any other clues of her identity was strange random images of a far-off mountain - a pale coloured creature twisting through the sky towards it - and strange leafy silhouettes upon the multi-hued water of a sunset.
<She is real.> he spoke, trying to prove it to both himself and the echoey darkness of the cavern around him. <She has to be. Never before have I ever dreamed of a human before - let alone one with sea-green hair and a voice of innocence.>
You are ignoring the plain and simple fact that she destroyed you in your dream... came the dry, intellectual voice again. To go searching for her, or more memories of her, may well mean your death.
<I, and you, know very well that this is something which I must do.> Serious now, Mewtwo reached for his power, feeling it surge through his eyes in an iridescent blue colour. <To try and dispute the fact within me will surely destroy me quicker than she may.>
He stepped off the dirt coloured ledge, and before his knees could collapse with the effort, his psychic energy filled the air and supported his weight easily. <I remember you, now.> he said, determinedly. <And so I come.>
The fierce glow of blue within the deep of his eyes blazed forth, and he was gone; the cave once again silent and empty, the only faint echoes now being the plinking sound of dripping water.
A few seconds later he stood in mid-air over the ocean, a dark smudge of land just visible in the distance. The cold wind tickling his velvety grey fur, he sought another glimpse of her face in his mind’s eye, but with frustration found out that as he tried to recall more of her features - her eyes, her hair - they lost their clarity.
With only a tenuous destination in mind, he flew through the air towards the land in the distance. He remembered flying this way once in anger; in rage, even, and his destination was the same.
Why he felt pulled towards this place, Mewtwo could not guess, but a niggling memory of the old lab, and a memory of a glass cylinder, empty and cold, visited him time and time again as he soared. Perhaps his birthplace would gift him with more fleeting memories, enough to go on and continue searching. Hopefully, it would not distract him with bad memories from his distant past. But then again, perhaps both good and bad were wrapped inexplicably; of the same vine.
New Island. Here, he had been born. Here, he had rebelled for the first time. Yet, after the young, naive Pokémon had learnt that the world outside was as cruel and cold as the scientists’ minds, he had come back; like he was doing now.
He reached the place, watching as the surf repeatedly battered the rocks, circling down past the still blades of the fans and below the silent hall; eventually lowering himself onto the mossy and very unstable wharf. It seemed what had once been his palace was now a crumbling ruin, yet it looked as untouched as it had been since he had flown away with Mew.
<Good.> he growled. <It would not do to disturb my island.>
Slowly, he padded up the stairs leading from the wharf, feeling strength return to his muscles. Eventually, he stood facing the grand door of the main hall. At his arrival, it slowly creaked open, allowing him to step inside cautiously; his padded feet making no sound on the dirty floor.
The great chamber stood dead - its once shining pillars dusty, the chairs strewn about the floor and cobwebbed. Occasionally, a stray breeze from the now open doors gusted in, causing a brief flurry of movement from the natural refuse on the floor, but apart from that; the silence was oppressive. Even as close as it was to the sea, the sound of the surf was inaudible.
As Mewtwo reached the middle of the spacious hall, his dusty footfalls echoed eerily from wall to wall. Memories quickly surfaced again, and he grimaced - remembering a glimmer of pink - and, irritated, cast it from his mind.
He stepped further away from the table, noting with curious acceptance that there was still untouched food here from all those months ago. The bread that wasn’t dehydrated was covered with colourful fungus; scattered along with the also horrible looking fruit and broken crockery scattered all over the floor.
A large hole in the floor, leading down into the darkness amidst the serrated rocks around it, he ignored completely, avoiding it as he stepped slowly in the direction of the spiralled ramp.
“Master?” came an ethereal voice, drifting from nowhere and yet echoing as any other sound would. “Shall I lay out the luncheon?”
<Shut up.> Mewtwo growled in reply, kneading his forehead. <I have no need of that memory anymore.> He felt the need to go further into his castle, and reunite himself with things he had never wanted to see or hear ever again; not bandy words with an invisible inner voice which seemed to be imitating his human servant.
Yet, again it came, closer and louder this time. “Will there be anything else, Master?”
Ignoring it, trying to banish all thoughts of her, he padded further into the room, levitating up onto the podium - the moat now dry, and also dusty - where he had once fought off a Charizard and a Rhyhorn, and slowly rose further into the air, his eyes again glowing an eerie blue.
As he entered his control room, his psychic energy lifting him fully out of the spiralled entranceway and onto the floor next to his chair, he noticed that the multi-image screens were black and dead from lack of energy and a power source. Yet, they should have activated once he had drawn close. Perhaps the desperate psychic blasts at the end of his struggle with Mew had short-circuited them like the spotlights on the stadium.
Paused here, Mewtwo wondered where his old friends - the ones that had not been clones: the Fearow and the Dragonite - were now. Perhaps their enmity of humankind had diminished somewhat, and they had found themselves worthy trainers. <For their sake, I hope they are happy.>
There was a sultry breath at his neck, and a swish of satiny material. “Master? Shall I prepare the Dragonite messenger once again?”
Unable to contain the bestial shriek of surprise that roared from his unused vocal cords, he spun to face... nothing. Nothing but the gloom of a long unused computer system, smaller pillars - similar to the ones downstairs - supporting the high roof.
<Memories.> he sighed, unable to believe that phantom voice had uprooted his confidence so much; feeling his body trembling violently after the scare. <Just memories.>
“My Master always liked his little jokes.” came the warm confident voice, this time to his left. He snapped his head quickly to the direction it had come, but again, only shadows greeted him.
<You do not belong here any more.> he ground out, steadily becoming more furious. <Get you gone from here, Joy!>
A giggle. “As you wish, Master. I will go downstairs and prepare the dinner.”
Mewtwo turned his attention to the screens again, focusing his will. After a brief second, there was a loud buzz and a flicker of picture, which zapped out again a second later. “Muu.” he grunted. <Damn you. Work!>
Another zap of light across the screen, and Mewtwo was suddenly greeted with the sunny view of clouds as they drifted close by outside the control room, above the placid ocean. Seating himself, a sudden temptation to raise a hand and quicken the cloud’s pace caused him to smile ruefully and shake it off. He was here for answers, not cheap thrills.
He thought for a moment. After destroying the whole laboratory in a violent rage, he had returned; salvaging what technology he could, and in a sense duplicating it for his own purposes. Had there been any recording technology at all used by the scientists, any electronic notes taken with further clues about his childhood, or had it been only cloning equipment used? That girl... she must have been from then. I cannot remember her, and I cannot remember anything before waking, apart from some words...
“Life is wonderful...”
But... why?
Focusing his will once more, he switched the screen displays. Now, they showed multiple images of crackling static - it appeared that the camera on the Fearow had either fallen off or been removed. After rewinding the tape which was recorded automatically, Mewtwo scanned past the many images of trainers and their Pokémon winning battles, until he had reached the very last case study; that of a young boy and three Pokémon. Nothing. No clues as yet. No sudden flashes of inspired memory. This footage was too recent.
He switched the images again. More cameras; this time showing the underground cloning facility, looking ruined by an explosion. In desperation, he flicked past more and more, all of which was no help. <Is there any data on the years of my creation at all? I... think I must have destroyed it all...>
Flick. Flick. Flick. Past the weathered stadium, the thick-bladed fans where the innocent Mew had once played - Mewtwo watching this past footage with a look of amazement on his face - past even the camera overlooking the wharf.
Then back again to the clouds, the distorted silhouette of a woman in a dress reflected in them from behind. Startled, Mewtwo stopped, and swung around in the chair. Nothing. Swinging back however, the woman’s reflection was still present.
She stepped closer as Mewtwo stared at the screens and her reflection, unable to believe what he was seeing. “Goshujin-sama.” she said.
<Yes, Joi-san?> he sighed, resisting the urge to rotate again in his chair and check whether she existed in reality.
“You are looking in all the wrong places.” she said firmly. “You must go elsewhere to find what you need to know.”
<Elsewhere? Where could anything else be? I built over the old lab.>
A sly smile graced the shadowy face of reflection. “And yet, it still exists. Go below. Rely on your memories and do not push them away like you have done before. They will be the ones to assist you in recalling those memories that were taken away from you without permission.”
Half rising from his chair, Mewtwo leaned forward towards the wraithlike shape still standing in the screen. <So you are a memory? Only a figment of my imagination?>
“Does the fact that you are being instructed by an seemingly outwards source - that does not really exist - make any difference to how you will act? That is the question you should be asking.” she chided softly, stepping slowly backwards, melting back into the gloom of the shadows. “You know what I say is right. Go down, go below all this... all these structures and complications. Go to where the memories are at their weakest, and you will find help.”
She disappeared. Mewtwo swivelled in his chair, wanting her back, to hear more of her words, but again there was nothing to see. He stood completely now - determined to do as Joy, Joi-san: his assistant and aide during his time of revenge had advised - and disappeared likewise.
