.

Yet another little project of mine, sharing and expanding on the TSoK formula. This tale encompasses the perspectives of two individuals who are about to discover something rather nasty in regards to artificial doomsday Pokemon. Just so you are all aware:

I write without a shred of regret or remorse.

...

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The Saga of Kings:

-.-.-.-

"Intersecting Parallels"

-v-

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Written by:

Vile M.F. Slanders

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Chapter I: The Faces of Yesterday

-The following is a personal record, obtained from site P7-M9. Local authorities have successfully confirmed this document as the property of Doctor Roush; and the Chief Inspector of Fallarbor Town has requested a legal copy for the official statement regarding the events of site P7-M9.

-.-

-June 16th, 1523 post-Brink. First entry.

My name is Doctor Xavier Tiberius Roush

-As you can well imagine, I do not require any other contrived reasoning to justify the utter loathing that I experience when referencing my progenitors, beyond their addled christening of my magnanimous person with such a ridiculous name. I could have been named Ed, or Jeff, or Jake, or any other normal name that is typically bestowed upon a normal human being. But my mother was a drug addict and my father was a manwhore, so…

...Moving on?

Ignoring my ludicrous phonetic identity, and instead focusing on my glaringly oblique by comparison agentive title, you may find yourself pondering what manner of 'Doctor' is denoted by this academic accolade. The superfluous answer to your nonexistent inquisition I shall now summarily answer: I am a practicing Xenopetrologist.

-And you had already conceived of my name correlating a harmonious relationship to the phrase: socially statutorily ostentatious?

For the hopelessly confuddled and bemused layman, allow me to step down from the esteemed and empowering realm of existence that is reserved solely for those representing the cognitive echelon, all in the futile endeavor of enlightening you.

I am a Zen-NO-Pet-TRO-law-jiss-T.

Or one who studies the lithic strata originating from extra-terrestrial provinces-

Oh, do excuse me…

-I shall rephrase.

...I study rocks that have fallen to earth from outer space.

-You may cease your autonomic salivation now. I find your protopathic behavior a rather demeaning display against the entire Hominidae Family.

So to simplify the pre-established criteria pertaining to my cognitively formidable person, I am Dr. Roush, Sinnoh's foremost expert in meteorite acquisition and research. I received my Doctorate in Xenopetrology from the world-renowned "Veilstone University of Mineralogy and Metallurgy," or just the "Veilstone School of Mines" as they are want to cheapen the title down to now. Either way, I'm a Sinnoh native, and no, I don't worship Palkia or Dialga.

-Don't ask me about "Gods," unless you want an educated heathen's objective exposition on the ethical, if not intellectual, aberrations pursued by idolaters and simpletons.

If you have any familiarity with the social aspects of Sinnoh, you might understand the reason behind my expressed venom regarding that nation's abominable deities and the nematodes that praise them.

Needless to say, my dogmatic agenda hasn't exactly endeared me to my fellow Sinnohvians; but as we of the intellectual elite are want to say of our willfully ignorant and zealously counter-intuitive counterparts…

-Fuck those idiots.

Profanity is a verbal tool, whose shocking edge is always most savored by those whom seldom wield it.

And if I must confess? I simply cannot savor profanity's edge after having only recently recovered from the inanities that were unjustly suffered upon my person by my own countrymen. Which is why I am no longer a documented resident of Sinnoh.

-And why you'll find my official postage address here at Hoenn's aptly named, "Meteor Falls."

The location's very name is a pun. Leave it to the aboriginal survivors of the Terra-Divide to take notice of all the torrential waterfalls and all of the gaping craters left upon this portion of their scarred homeland, before designating such a locale as-

...Very well. It seems that you are capable of conceiving a pun's colloquial usage, and its relevance to the current train of dialogue. Color me astounded…

Back to the core of the matter...

I originally deemed it appropriate for my relocation to Hoenn's Meteor Falls after contacting a colleague of mine plying the same trade in the aforementioned area from his observatory in Fallarbor Town.

One such Professor Indiana Judas Cozmo.

-And here you thought my name was synonymous with pretentious.

Professor Cozmo is a novelty in our field. The man fancies himself a field researcher, but I've discovered that his disregard of manual labor has engendered a preference for eccentric social exchanges with Hoenn's local tribes, manifesting his field expertise as nothing more than yet another professional expression of anthropology's unadulterated lackadaisical adherences. Spoken quite plainly: Professor Cozmo is not a field researcher. The buffoon actually hires the residential tribes to locate and exhume his meteorites. Predictably, and more often than not, Professor Cozmo's "Outside Consultants" damage the rare specimens, or completely miss the less than obvious analogues altogether.

-Some of the gems that I've recovered after their having been carelessly tossed over a ignorant Draconid adolescent's shoulder…

...Well, let's just say that Professor Cozmo's methods might not have yielded the fullest merit of established data before I came along. In truth, I've only suffered Professor Cozmo's incompetence this long because he maintains a prospector's claim to several key locations where incredibly rare and valuable meteorite fragments can be lifted by the hands alone from the earth's outermost sedimentary layer.

So our partnership is one of business. Professor Cozmo provides me with the "Legally Obtained" resources, and I provide Professor Cozmo with the "Statutorily Correct" proof of origin regarding said resources.

-Honestly, the knuckle-dragging peckerhead once tried to pass off a Xenolith's province as Mars, when the lateral hematite composition and residual silicon and sulphur deposits clearly denoted a Vesta origin-

...Ahem.

...So it is suffice for me to say, that when left to his own devices, Professor Cozmo is nothing more than a detriment to the school of Xenopetrology.

-I'm just here for the Xenoliths. Nothing else.

Which brings me to my latest discovery.

-Well, not a confirmed discovery; nor was it my discovery to make; but the information and its source has left me with no other academic alternative than to risk an investigation.

One of Fallarbor's local Prospectors regaled me with the most curious tale regarding a meteorite's crash site. A recent crash, from the description a certain Clay Grantham gave me. Though the aforementioned prospector, Clay Grantham, was predictably crude in speech and overly euphoric in his report, I must grant the Frontiersman his due accolades. Clay Grantham is clearly an educated individual in the field of geology, unlike many of his fellow Frontier prospectors. I will admit, the prospector's apparent intelligence may have swayed me past my initial skepticism.

Clay Grantham reportedly stumbled upon a fresh crater only two weeks ago in the Great Barrens, roughly forty-three kilometers due west of P4-M1, or for those not familiar with the numerical index of craters, The Grandfather, which is the largest known meteorite crater in the the southern hemisphere.

Though the impact zone was a scant estimation of one-hundred-and-ten meters in circumference, and a maximum depth of about twenty-five meters, the average size of the crater does not dissuade me from the obvious value of such a fresh find, nor does it deter me from a curious little twist in Clay Grantham's tale.

Now as any man of science knows, men of the Frontier are prone to wild exaggerations. Clay Grantham, I suspect, is no exception. But in this case, I also harbor a suspicion that no exaggeration was required for such a yarn.

Like every man who dares the Frontier, Clay Grantham arms himself with a capable monster deterrent. The deterrent in question was a rather impressive specimen from the Xenosilane-Ceratopsidae Family. An Aggron by the name of "Hammer," if my memory serves correct.

At any rate, it was this Aggron's behavior around the crater that struck me as odd, as it did the Aggron's Trainer; Clay Grantham. Like any inquisitive prospector, Clay Grantham was rather keen on exhuming the meteorite's valuable fragments from the crater, though a quick inspection from the crater's rim provided evidence of a fairly uncommon phenomenon.

The meteorite, as far as Clay Grantham could discern, was still intact. Indeed, the entire Xenolith seemed to have preserved its post-atmosphere structure rather well. Clay Grantham himself displayed shock at this discovery; as he, like I, realized that a Xenolith maintaining its composition post-impact is an exceedingly rare occurrence.

Perceiving the immeasurable value of such a scarce find, Clay Grantham immediately began drafting plans for the Xenolith's extraction. All the while, he was barely aware of his Aggron's elevating levels of anxiety. When Clay Grantham finally addressed his beleaguered Pokemon, Hammer seemed to express an uncharacteristic wariness of the crater and the Xenolith at its bottom.

Paying little heed to his Aggron's adverse disposition, Clay Grantham then proceeded to enter the crater, intent on measuring the scale of the Xenolith. And this is where the most peculiar behavior overcame Clay Grantham's normally stalwart companion.

Hammer, for reasons unknown, grabbed Clay Grantham shortly after the prospector had taken his first steps into the crater…

...And then Hammer proceeded to, and I quote; "flee from the meteorite as though the entire crater was haunted" while carrying his human compatriot.

Hammer did not stop his "desperate" retreat until they had crossed fifteen kilometers east. When the Aggron finally collapsed from exhaustion, reportedly almost crushing his human counterpart in the throes of fatigue, an emancipated Clay Grantham was quick to "question" his Aggron's outburst.

-Questioning a Pokemon. How absurd.

Either way, when that fruitless endeavor proved vain, Clay Grantham made immediate plans to return to the site; only to discover that his Aggron… was vehemently opposed to such a course of action.

Needless to say, the reason for why Clay Grantham has yet to return to the crash site was made known by the prospector's own words, "Cause Hammer won't even let me dream about that smoldering rock again."

-This statement was fortified by Clay Grantham's rather large and intimidating Aggron. Who, as one can imagine, communicated his verdict in the only manner that such a brutish Pokemon can. Indeed, it was rather shocking to witness what I had initially presumed to be a capable Trainer being punished by their own Pokemon.

Clay Grantham however, was able to provide me with the coordinates of the priorly mentioned Xenolith upon his return to consciousness. Surprisingly, Clay Grantham failed to request a finder's fee in the deliberations, though the recently accrued frontal lobe trauma might have had something to do with the prospector's absent swindling.

All in all, it was a rather intriguing tale, made even more fascinating by Clay Grantham's geological knowledge and his Pokemon's theatrical rendition of Shakespeare's Brutus.

Far too interesting of a tale for me to simply cast aside as another prospector's flight of fancy.

And truth be told: I've grown quite desperate to be free of my colleague, Professor Cozmo. One can only tolerate so much idiocy after having been recently exiled from their homeland. And Forty-three kilometers west into the Frontier is far outside of the Professor's established mineral claims.

So fair game is fair game. And this could be the lucky break that I've been eagerly seeking to establish my name in the Hoenn region's scientific community. To operate independently of Professor Cozmo, or those sharpened toothed savages that he quotes as his assistants…

-Yes, I'm willing to take the chance. I'm even willing to twist the knife in Professor Cozmo's spine when I utilize his own contacts in the Devon Company to see me safely to the site in question.

I'm even willing to alert him beforehand as to to my following up on a possible lead for our shared scholarly pursuits.

-I just won't tell Professor Cozmo about the pending mineral claim that I've secured in Fallarbor's Department of Environmental Sciences for a site forty-three kilometers west of The Grandfather. The very same mineral claim that has been titled in my name, and my name alone…

Cheers to my brightening future, Indiana. Thank you for your assistance in this matter.

-You pleb.

-.-

-Personnal Log of Doctor Fuji, recorded discussion with the ACE Director

Date: December 23rd, 1521 post-Brink

Location: Sevii Islands, Five Isle Meadow; Chrono Island

Subject: The Mew-2 Project

"Director, I realize that this call may have reached you at an inopportune moment-"

"Hardly, Doctor. I was just about to call you myself over a little question that I had in regards to your recent decommission of the Mew-2 Project."

"I realize that both your and my time are invaluable assets, so I will explain myself quickly."

"Please do."

"The samples that you sent me were cancerous. I was barely able to salvage the barren-most RNA from the remains. I don't know what Enzo was planning to do with the samples, but it was clearly unfounded and reckless-"

"The samples were cancerous. I believe that your lab was alerted to such before I delivered them to you. I expect results, Doctor. Not excuses and insubordination."

"Director, there was virtually nothing left worth saving! If we attempted to clone Enzo's results, we would be left with something even worse than what Chimera delivered to your predecessor! The Mew-1 prototype literally expelled tumors every time it exhaled!"

"Yet that prototype was everything that Enzo promised. Everything and more."

"...He was a lunatic! The original Mew-0 Project would have yielded-"

"Doctor, Mew-0's failures had no where near the potential of the Mew-1 prototype. You failed to deliver me the Mew-0 prototype. Enzo surpassed your shortcomings and developed a functioning Mew-1 prototype. I provided you with Enzo's resources. I had expected that the original Mew-0 Project-Director would at least be able to replicate Enzo's hasty Mew-1 results. Were my expectations… unfair?"

"No, Director. Of course not. But please, allow me to explain-"

"Where is my Mew-2 prototype, Doctor Fuji?"

"...In reassessment."

"Pray tell: why?"

"...Because I believe that in order to truly realize the Mew-2 Project's fullest potential, we need to scrap Enzo's original design, and start from scratch."

"I don't believe that the authority required to decommission projects rests with you, Doctor."

"Director, please listen to me! I've spent over half my life trying to unravel the secrets of the Lima Index! I've invested half of my life in the pursuit of discovering the original life form-"

"I'm not interested in discovering the original life form. My interests lie solely in realizing the ultimate life form. This isn't the Mew-0 Project, Doctor. We've progressed beyond that."

"But merging human DNA with the Mew-0 embryo-"

"Sacrilege can change the world, Doctor. Speaking of which, do be careful when replicating that zygote. Enzo just about destroyed it in the Mew-1 Project-"

"Just about?! That embryo represents my life's work! That culture is irreparably tainted by foreign DNA! I can barely defrost the zygote for mitosis without risking further malignant mutations! Enzo did destroy it!"

"Did you just interrupt me, Doctor?"

"...I apologize, Director. I- I don't know what came over me-"

"...You mentioned achieving a greater potential in the Mew-2 Project than Enzo did in the Mew-1 Project?"

"Yes. Yes, I did. I've already drafted a new formula. A formula which should eliminate the mutations that limited the Mew-1 prototype."

"And what manner of formula would the Project-Director of the Mew-2 Project suggest?"

"Enzo's design, though frankly ingenious, was doomed from the start because he failed to account for genetic rejection. Enzo simply did not procure a large enough sample size to adequately calculate the likelihood of cellular dissolution. I believe that a larger sample size, consisting of female specimens between the ages of eight and twelve, and male specimens between the ages of eleven and fourteen-"

"Are you suggesting human experimentation in the Mew-2 Project's alpha stage?"

"-The ages must be correlated to each gender's dissimilar growth rates-"

"Allow me to repeat myself, Doctor. Are you suggesting that the Mew-2 Project begins the alpha stage with genetic splicing performed on budding adolescent children?"

"That is precisely what I'm suggesting, Director. In the early stages of puberty, a child undergoes hormonal changes while maintaining their chromosome's-"

"I understand how puberty functions, Doctor. And I trust that you're only suggesting human experimentation in the alpha stage for a discrete sample size?"

"..."

"How large a sample size, Doctor?"

"...An initial sample size of one-hundred-and-seventy-two medically selected specimens projects an estimated success rate of just under fifty-four percent-"

"Excuse me. I must interject for clarification on two points. An initial sample size of one-hundred-and-seventy-two children are to be medically evaluated for possible inclusion within the Mew-2 Project as candidates, before these children are discretely procured and delivered to your lab without arousing global suspicion? Not to mention that your projected success ratio with such a sample size just barely breaks even?"

"It would be in our best interests to evaluate a few smaller sample sizes for future acquisition-"

"And how am I to kidnap and transport hundreds of medically documented children to your lab in the Sevii Islands?"

"..."

"Doctor?"

"...Director… What you ask for impossible without…"

"..."

"..."

"...Very well."

"...Director?"

"I will have the initial sample size of one-hundred-and-seventy-two specimens assessed, abducted, and systematically sequestered at the Chronos Labs."

"Thank you, Director! Thank-"

"I expect that the margin of error projected in your calculations will be reassessed in order to minimize the casualties, Doctor. A fifty-four percent chance of success is unacceptable."

"Oh course, Director! I'll have the staff prep the facilities accordingly!"

"You will have your initial sample size within the month. I do hope that you meet the Mew-2 Project with more urgency than you did the Mew-0 Project, Doctor Fuji…"

"Ha! I don't have Oak or Breitbarth meddling in my lab this time! The Mew-2 Project will be successful beyond even Enzo's wildest dreams! I guarantee it!"

"Very good, Doctor. And here I was just about to remind you of your last chance…"

"..."

"...I believe that our conclave has adjourned. Ending transmission."

"..."

"..."

"...For the love of God…"

"..."

"...I liked him better when he was just a Gym Leader…"

-.-

-The following is a personal record of specimen M2-S314. This contraband was seized by Warden Ackerman moments before Beta stage three's initiation.

I don't what the date is. I don't know where they've taken us. We were locked up in cargo containers for what feels like weeks. I think we were on a ship for that time. They fed us once a day, and they never answered any of our questions. We tried to find a way out, but we couldn't locate a single hole or gap in the container's walls. Then something changed. We started hearing lots of commotion outside of the container. Electric motors. The grunts of Pokemon. Men talking. Then the doors opened, but instead of handing us food, they threw in some kind of gas canister and closed the door. We woke up in the same cargo container about an hour ago. We all have burning eyes and throats from the gas. Most of us have headaches and feel nauseous as well. We had all just only started waking up when they began shepherding us into some kind of concrete hallway. I think we're underground.

I managed to hide my notebook in a trashcan before they stripped us down and smothered us all with an itchy white powder. Then they rinsed the powder off with cold water sprayed from hoses. They took our old clothes, and gave us orange jumpsuits to wear instead. They cut off all of my hair. All of it. I've been growing it out for the past year, and they just cut it down to the roots…

I'm in a concrete cell with twenty other children. We all have our own beds, and they announced that we'll be fed shortly. They drew my blood twice before they locked me in here.

I don't know what's going on!

I don't know who these people are!

Is this prison? Did we do something wrong?!

I'm scared… We're all scared...

My name is Alyssa Elise Vestich.

And if anyone finds this journal…

Please, find a way…

-Please...

...Please help us…