Pungent smells of methane and body-oder filled the air, making it unbreathable for the few who had not adjusted to city life. Sure the humans and monsters who had lived there for years did not mind; long ago their sense of smell had been reduced to cut out the unpleasing stanks of the city. Tourists would mumble, "Didn't know it would smell so bad," while the citizens merely passed off the visitors as uncultured and isolated. Who could visit this vast metropolis of human achievement where the skyscrapers replaced the trees and the city's roadways replaced the rivers and trails that ran through a land that had been wild, untamed, and untapped of it's potential, and could not appreciate it? The city was it's own master; one that was unforgiving towards those who would not bend to its workings and wonders. People who had come to the thriving colony had come on dreams, hopes; with visions of themselves rising to the top of their trade. Those that were lucky found work in their field, and soon became content in their lowly cubicals while daydreaming what it must of been like in that CEO office. The ones who did not find favor with the spirit of gambling however fell through the cracks, either by their own or by no fault of their self, and vanished to decompose and add to the cities degenerate population.

Minds; that was the thing that stuck out the most with him. In such a contained place thousands upon thousands of minds were thinking, scheming, worrying; each unique and stark in contrast to the other. It had taken him awhile to learn how to adjust and tune most of them out. He was a stranger, a guest to the city that had so graciously provided him a home and hiding place. He akined himself to Ulysses when the man stepped off his boat and landed on the shores of Troy; gazing in amazement and wonder at the walls he would work on for seven years to breach.

Ulysses.. a selfish human being; the creature thought to himself as he stepped away from the gargoyle statue that ordained the top of a local house of Gods. Decades ago the creature guessed that the religious buildings, probably the very one he stood on, towered over the smaller apartments and shops; a constant reminder to the populace that there was something bigger then the self or the material belongings. The creature didn't know when the first skyscrapers had been built or where; he did not trouble himself with useless trivia. Still, he wondered if the many priests or magi workers gazed in silent dejection on that first man-made mountain; lamenting at the human urge to revert back to the tower of babel. It was probably it was the same time humans really became interested in where they came from and how they worked, and for all the creature knew it could of been mere years until there was research into his creation; a clone of the mother of all monsters.

Clone, the creature told himself; vocally giving out a short laugh as he ducked into the tower that adorned one side of the chruch and began to asend the staircase; hovering inches over the ground as he followed their winding trail up. The creature had long ago learned that the label he had been coined with was false, for he was more hybrid then clone; and more human then most. Certainly more so then the humans that made him.

Ulysses, the creature reminded himself as he continued his ascent, imaging himself as the crazed hunchback from a storybook. A disillusioned man who kidnapped a girl just so he could bring a bit out the outside world to him, using the bells to lament her death by his own hands before throwing himself from the heights. Both Ulysses and the hunchback were selfish things; just as the creature had been. Ulysses wanted the battle and his fame, tricking his friend Achilles into joining a fight he knew he would die in. The hunchback wanted belonging and peace for himself, and was convinced that he was a spinster rejected by the world. He wanted love.He couldn't give it, but he wanted it. Both characters were remembered for doing horrible things, and as the creature reached the top of the bell tower he wondered if he would be remembered as such.

The winter's air bit as his face as the creature rose through the trapdoor, ducking the German bell that looked ready to break from lack of use overhead. He moved to the ledge and looked out on the city, enjoying the view as he had done so many nights before. While most of the skyscrapers were more then three times the size of the house of gods the creature occupied, those buildings were more situated towards the north and away from the port to the east. From the bell tower the creature was at the heart of the city, situated comfortably between uptown and downtown where he could watch and learn from the humans he had once called foes, along with the Monsters who he had once sworn to destroy along with them.

The creature pulled the brown blanket around him tighter to protect himself from the wind; the edges trailing off to flap wildly to one side. It was a disused piece of cloth he had taken from an empty crate lined with garbage bags. It served as a means to keep warm on the colder nights. It did little more then that; for the creature had no intention to swoop from roof-top to roof-top playing superhero to atone for his sins of years ago. What was past was past; and now he was comfortable to live a life of observation and thought.

Across the way stood a run-down apartment, and the creature amused himself for a few moments to scan the minds within. A family making the best of no heat by sleeping together, A man who's mind was filled with lust as he watched a girl he had paid for the night strip in front of him, and a teen huddled against one wall shaking in sheer terror as he came down off the high he had achieved minutes before. The creature dwelt on the druggie for a moment before shutting off the world again, looking once briefly to the night sky above before retreating back to his home, his sanctuary. He had come only for a breath of air; the height allowing him to rise above the smoke and smells of the city below. He would not linger to stare at the skyline, for he was tired from the night and wanted to sleep. Towards the horizon the light of dawn could be seen, and already the creature was feeling sleep pull at the lids of his eyes.

The house of gods was marked for demolition; but with all the paperwork and protests for protection the government seemed to of just allowed the place to stand as it was; thinking it fit well along with the rotten housing that lined the street with it. The bell hadn't been rung for years, and no longer did the group of followers of whatever religion who gathered to read, pray, and try to find understanding in life gather here. The creature made his way though the abandoned chambers before he reached his home, passing old rooms that had once held an alter, a tomb, a reading room, or the occasional bedroom. The building was large, dark, and gave off a Gothic impression that fit the creature quite well, thinking he looked more like the gargoyles on the walls outside then his parent. It took several minutes of wandering before the creature reached his own bedroom, the basement.

It reminded him of home; well, his last one anyway. Stone walls that were uneven and rough that seemed to close in tight around him, cobwebs that hung in corners, and a hard floor that radiated the cold of foundation below; just like the cave he had used for his living years ago. In one corner laid a rolled up Futon that served as his bed, and as he descended into the quickly growing darkness of his home he gave the merest thought to a rack of candles by a wall, as if on cue they burst into flames to shed light on the small twenty by twenty room. The floor was bare except for the wrappings of his last meal (a chicken wing he had snatched from a street-vendor) and a pile of books that sat by the futon. The books..he forgot. He was going to put them back where he had taken them. It was no problem, the creature told himself as he crossed the small space and spread out the bed with gesture of a paw. There was always tomorrow night; and he wished to see if Alyss was going to cross the looking-glass again back home. His eyes scanned the covers of the books; Hamlet (a stupid tale), Goldfish (Hypocritical), The Island of Dr. Moreu (a favorite), and The Looking Glass Wars. All of the books he had picked at random were from the fiction section of the city's library that he had stolen into at night a few months ago. It didn't bother him that he was taking them; he had always tried to return the hardcovers and paperbacks he borrowed within a week or two. He felt sure that the library curator (a young women who's mind was always focused on what others thought of her) would feel puzzled if she noticed that a book or two were missing, but it was better then just walking up and asking face-to-face, he felt.

The creature scratched at an old scar that till hurt, lowering himself onto the padded surface of the bed before curling up around his side. His tail gave a slow wave before it followed suit beside him, and he took the moment to open The Looking Glass Wars and find where he had left off the night before. He figured his cat-like ancestor slept in the same way he did, though he had not actually witnessed his 'parent' sleep at any time. He doubted it would be reading anything; although the whimsical readings of Alice in Wonderland did seem like it would fit the other psychic perfectly.

Past is past, the creature reminded himself before turning the page and starting a new chapter; wondering exactly how that other psychic would react if it saw the way he lived his life now. The thought was pushed aside as the creature immersed itself into the wonderland that was not the same as the wonderland many thought it was. It was where the Cheshire cat was really an assassin of the evil queen Redd and was sent to kill the Princess of wonderland.It was where Madd Hattigen was really a royal guard, and it was where the white rabbit really wasn't a white rabbit at all. As he lost himself in the words, the creature wondered if they would write about him in the future; the few who knew he existed. Would anyone believe that it was true, or would it be pushed into the 'children's reading' section of the library like so many others?

He recalled a quote, yet forgot the writer..Kuntz? Koony? The creature had gotten to know the Authors and their writings so well now. Something about dragon tears being bitter, and life, or something to that extent. Mewtwo didn't care; the train of thought ended there as the pokemon returned to the words in the book; content for now to escape the city-world he called home for an hour and picture himself in the wonderland that the book suggested, fighting Redd's card soldiers alongside Alyss.