Mewtwo's rage was unsurpassed now. Not only was he different, but other weaker Pokémon were being used for the same purpose he was. Apparently this was a kill or be killed world, because only the strongest Pokémon had survived here. The Eevee was proof of that. He looked different. That was the only reason the clone even tolerated or noticed him.
Suddenly, the Mewtwo was beside the cage, his mind made up. His eyes glowed a light blue, and the cage was torn from the wall it was kept in, and slammed on the table. It was in ruin now. The splintered remains of the cage covered the creatures' silver fur, covering its' dog-like body with rubble. This is when the feline realized his near fatal mistake. The Eevee was now severely injured.
A mere second later, the newly decimated remains of the once intact cage hit the walls of the laboratory and shattered. When they hit the ground, the Mewtwo and the Eevee were gone, running through the woods that surrounded the lab on Cinnabar Island, seeking refuge where no other Pokémon lived. Or at least where Pokémon had once lived.
After the sunset, the Mewtwo slowed his pace, eventually settling in a cave for the night. He set the Eevee down on a bed of moss, and looked it over. The Eevee was male, small, and looked to be about one year old.
Huh. Never saw that one coming. He's my age. This little guy interests me. He seems really frail at the moment, but who knows? He might just be strong. But he's only an Eevee. Any Eevee is cute, determined, spoiled to bits, and only has a bit of potential.
As the cat looked down at the small dog, his eyes softened. What was this he was beginning to feel? He could recognize half of this emotion: Need. The other half was something strange. Why did the need revolve around an Eevee? Was he feeling the need to protect? That was impossible. He never had to care for anyone before. Why should he start now?
The Eevee suddenly moved, a small twitch, a spasm that wracked his entire body. Mewtwo jumped. He had never expected it to move. It had only cried out once, and he wasn't sure if that was a plea for help or just a scared cry. Truth be told, everything else that had cried out and fallen down near the feline had never gotten back up again.
Once Mewtwo got over his shock, he knew he needed to act fast. He knew the poor thing needed to heal, and it needed food and water. However there was this little nagging voice in the back of his head that kept on saying:
Is it too late?