Chapter 3: Chihiro de Arkus
Chihiro attacked the sleek, black and blue hair atop her head with a comb. Despite all the water, hair gel, and combing she applied to it over the past hour, it refused to resemble anything other than a tangle of weeds. She frowned at it in the mirror and hid as many of the stray ends as she could behind her long ears.
"Chihiro, you're going to be late for class," her father called.
"Dad, I'm fixing my hair!"
"You've been late three times this week. I don't want to have another discussion with the principal."
"Ergh, fine! I'll go to school with my hair in a mess. Happy now?"
"I'd be happier if you weren't so obsessed with how you look. Get some breakfast before you go, I don't want you complaining again during your math class."
"Yes dad." Chihiro shoved her comb into the bathroom drawer and stormed out into the kitchen. Her dad, Arkus, brushed aside his long purple hair as he slid a bowl of oatmeal across the counter. The thick white oatmeal was dotted with chocolate chips and oran berries.
"Ooh, oran berries!" she said as she spooned a glob of oatmeal into her mouth.
"Yes, your mother picked them up last night. Be sure to thank her when you get back from school."
"I will! See ya!" She flung the apartment door open and sprinted down the hallway. Her father flung the door open and shouted "Chihiro, your backpack!"
Chihiro skidded to a stop and turned around. Her father lifted the bag into the air with a dark, swirling power and shoved it forward. She caught it and tried to fling it onto her back, but the bony spikes sticking out of the back of her hands caught on the straps.
"Thanks dad!"
Chihiro's skirt swayed in the wind as she walked to school. Along the sidewalks, dozens of people walked to school or work, carrying suitcases and backpacks. Chihiro wove through the sea of people, stepping swiftly around the shuffling feet and swinging packs. As she walked up the school's sidewalk, she glanced up at the school's clock and gasped. She sprinted through the doors, skidded down the hall, and leapt into her desk a second before the bell went off.
Some of the students behind her snickered. The elderly ursaring teacher, sitting at his desk and eating a granola bar, gave Chihiro a bemused look as she smoothed out her skirt. "Had another late start, Chihiro?" he asked, tweaking his glasses.
"Yes sir. Please forgive my tardiness."
The ursaring stroked the gray hair underneath his chin and stood up. "Well, since you weren't technically late, I'll let it slide this time. Alright students, let's review the lexical function of adverbs. Now, can someone tell me what words an adverb can modify?"
Chihiro stared at the white wall just above the blackboard as the teacher wrote down the rules of adverbials. As she counted the number of cracks that pointed to the right, a lombre tapped her on the shoulder.
"Hey," he whispered, "Any luck getting accepted into the zoo yet?"
"Shut it," she hissed back.
"What? I'm sure your real parents are in there somewhere."
"Seth!" the teacher shouted, rapping his teaching baton against the blackboard. "What did I tell you about talking in class? And you're harassing another student as well."
"I didn't mean anything by it," the lombre moaned.
"Sure you didn't," he growled. "See me for detention after class. And bring your things up to the front of the class as well. You'll be sitting there for the rest of the week."
The lombre gave her a middle finger as he threw his books onto the desk at the front of the class. As soon as the teacher turned to the chalkboard, Seth turned and glared at her.
After math and science, they were let out for recess. Chihiro walked straight for the monkey bars on the school playground. A peaky, scraggly-haired zoroark waved at her from atop the bars.
"Hey Chihiro! Were you late to class again?"
"Almost, Seri," she replied, clambering onto the monkey bars and sitting next to him. "Made it to my desk the second before the bell rang."
"That's lucky. You almost got a detention."
Chihiro frowned and leaned back on the monkey bars. "Yeah, I suppose."
"What's the matter?" he asked. "Did Mr. Renfield give you a detention for something else?"
"No, Seth was picking on me again."
"He got a detention?"
"Yeah."
"Then what are you sad for? Just imagine him sitting there, scribbling a hundred lines onto the board."
Chihiro leaned up and smiled at him. "Yeah, you're right. He'll probably be complaining about his hand after ten lines."
"I'm always right," Serisen said, puffing out his chest.
"That's not what your history test said."
"Pfft. It's all garbage anyways. That's what mom told me."
"My parents said it wasn't right too, but we still have to learn it."
"Yeah, whatever. You wanna hang out after school today?"
Chihiro wrapped her legs around the monkey bars and swung forward. Her skirt fell down her waist, exposing her legs up to her hips. Serisen stared at her for a moment before blushing and turning away.
"My place? We could grab an ice cream later."
"Sure, just don't get yourself in detention."
She didn't. The rest of the school day went by without incident, and once the final bell rang, Chihiro swept her books into her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and sprinted out the door. She waited for Serisen out front, and they walked home together. Her father was gone, but her mother welcomed them home and offered them some leftover croquettes. Though cold, the fried crust retained their crunchy exteriors, and the fat inside solidified into a creamy residue that melted in their mouths.
"Thanks Mrs. Renera, they're delicious," Serisen said around a mouthful.
"Yeah, thanks mom. We were going to get ice cream, is that okay?"
"Sure, just be home before dark, and make sure you get your homework done, okay Chihiro?"
"Thanks mom!" Chihiro got her purse from her room and checked the wads of money folded inside. Then she grabbed Serisen's arm and pulled him out the door. As they left, Alicia poked her head out the door and said, "Serisen, be sure to tell your mother I said hi, alright?"
"Yes Mrs. Renera, I will!"
Down the street, sitting between a burger joint and a small clothing boutique, was Duluth's Ice Cream Parlor. Yellow and blue lights danced along the edges of an ice cream cone perched over the wide glass doors. Inside, a long gleaming metal bar and several round metal tables featured holes in the counter to hold their massive waffle cones. Tiny red stools surrounded each surface, many of which were occupied by toddlers slathering ice cream across their cheeks and mothers wiping away the mess with fragile paper napkins.
Over on the far wall were tall booths with red upholstery. Each one had a set of doors that could be latched shut, with just a crack left open for employees to swipe them open with a metal card. Several booths were taken by teens sipping milkshakes, the doors sealed against the giddy laughter and exasperated sighs of the main area. Chihiro stood on her tiptoes and peeked over the closed doors. Chihiro could see their relationship status at a glance – shared shakes for couples and separate for friends. There were quite a few shared cups in the store that day.
The line was short, a small gaggle of torchic chirping and squeaking as their mother picked out ice cream flavors. Once they moved aside, Chihiro and Serisen ordered separate milkshakes and took them to an open booth. There was a noticeable dampening of the sound as the doors closed, yet the buzz of the ice cream parlor remained in the back of her ear.
"Ugh, I thought Mr. Renfield would never stop talking!" Serisen moaned. "All that algebra crap is making my brain hurt."
"Well, at least it was quieter today," Chihiro said with a frown. She looked down at her milkshake and flopped the straw around, watching it make ruts in the smooth, milky surface.
"Yeah, Seth is such a jerk. Why don't you have the teacher do something, or tell your dad?"
Chihiro slid her milkshake aside and looked at the wall. "You know I'm not supposed to let any of the students find out he's my dad."
"That doesn't mean you should put up with it. I'm sure he would think of something." Serisen slid her milkshake in front of her and said, "Just think about how much better it would be if he was in another class, or better yet, expelled from the school. All you'd have to do is ask him."
Chihiro flung her milkshake across the table and shouted, "I don't want his help!" Then she placed her arms on the table and buried her head into her elbow. Serisen picked up the toppled glass and covered the sticky mess with a pile of napkins, and then he tapped Chihiro on the arm.
"Hey, what's wrong? It isn't Seth, is it?"
Chihiro pounded fist on the table. "I'm so sick of them not telling me anything!" she said, her voice muffled by her arm. Tears dripped down her fur, and she squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to hold them in. "I know they have secrets, and I heard them talking last night. They're always talking, but they never tell me anything! If I'm adopted, why don't they just tell me?"
Serisen first peeked outside the doors and saw the outburst went unnoticed by the rest of the parlor. Then he leaned forward and whispered to Chihiro.
"One time, I snuck a book out of my mom's cabinet and read it. It was one of those old history books, a real one. I only flipped through a few pages before mom caught me, but I saw a picture of you inside of it. Mom made me swear not to tell you."
Chihiro looked up and rubbed the tears out of her eyes. "Why would I be in a history book?"
"I don't know, but it looked like you. Maybe if you asked them about it, they'd tell you."
Chihiro gave him a smile and said "thanks." Then she looked into her empty glass and tipped it over her mouth, shaking a few drops into her mouth.
"Here, have mine," Serisen said, pushing his shake forward.
"Why don't we share it?" Chihiro asked. She moved across the table, placed her straw in the cup, and took a sip. Serisen slid over to the wall. He looked down at the cup, glanced around the parlor, and took a small sip, leaning across the seat and keeping his face away from hers.
"Did your mom tell you anything else?" Chihiro asked between sips.
"No, she got very mad at me. She grounded me for a week and took the book away, and I hadn't been able to find it."
Their straws made a rasping sound as they drained the last of their milkshake. Serisen tipped the cup back and kept sipping, but he lost his balance and fell to the side. His face pressed into hers, and their lips came together for a brief moment before he flung himself back against the wall.
"I am so sorry, I totally didn't mean for that to happen," he blurted. The fur around his face stood on end, and the skin around his cheeks reddened. "Honest, I'm so sorry."
Chihiro's lips tingled, and her face grew warm. She stopped for a moment, listening to her heart race, and then she slowly leaned forward. Serisen backed away, and he crammed himself against the back wall. Then Chihiro placed a hand on his shoulder and kissed him. She held them together for a few seconds before backing off and brushing her clothes flat.
"Thanks for the shake," she said before walking out of the booth. Over the din of the parlor, she heard Serisen say "whoa" as she left. That word brought a smile to her face and made her feet float like feathers.
Once she got home, she had forgotten about asking her parents about the book. Instead, she breezed through her homework and spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, wondering if she and Serisen were a couple now.
Chapter Four: RAB5
The beeping of his kitchen unit woke Beta-Five. By the time he clambered out of bed and flung on his clothes and lab coat, the unit had already prepared a cup of tea and a sausage biscuit. As he crammed the biscuit into his mouth, he flipped the laptop open and checked his mail. A notification from the director gave him the day's schedule — first to continue exploration of the µ genome, then to do the daily screening for Project µ and lastly, to oversee Project ν's field augmentation.
Beta-Five drained the last of his coffee and glanced at the digital clock on his kitchen unit. The time was just after six. He touched a panel on the wall, and a projection of a window appeared on his wall. Though the room was miles below ground, the window mimicked the spatter of rain and the howling of a late autumn wind directly above the facility.
He switched the panel off and walked down to the genetics lab in the lower levels. Four other researchers worked on Quantum Scanning Microscopes, analyzing the expanded three-dimensional genetic structure of Sample µ as they sliced it apart with enzymes. They muttered and scribbled on tablets as they mused over the cutting order and hastily quenched excess reactions.
Beta-Five sat down at an unused QSM and turned it on. The machine whirred to life and isolated a single genetic strand. Though the writhing mass of double helices was classified as a single chromosome, it looked as though thousands of chromosomes were mashed together into a single strand, with it branching and splitting off into countless directions.
He introduced splitting agents 1 through 7, watching the thoroughly examined strands get torn to shreds by tiny molecular bubbles and float out of view. Then he twirled the display around, analyzing the structure. He introduced a minute quantity of hydrochloric acid and watched the intermolecular attractions break apart, unfolding some pieces of the molecule and pressing others closer together. He waited for an opening, and when he saw one emerging, he attacked it with enzyme 14, cutting it off at twenty molecules. They floated through the gap – too many – and though he tried to quench the reaction, the enzyme slashed the inner structure to ribbons before he could stop it.
With a curse on his tongue, Beta-Five ordered the QSM to scrap the sample and prepare a new one. He mused over the past fourteen years of research on the genome and the frustratingly slow progress they've made on the inner core. All the exterior material held the genomes of other pokemon, with over 95% of known species fully categorized and mapped. The µ genome even contained multiple mutated copies of each subgenome, allowing it to mimic any eye color, skin tone, and other physiological traits. Yet, the inner core, the key to understanding how the genome worked, remained out of reach, too well-protected by the outer shell to analyze thoroughly and too fragile to trim away.
Beta-Five knew the only way to reach the core was to selectively target specific sites. But without a means of controlling atomic flow, the process was left to chance. Electromagnets, thermal activity, acidity, photon bombardment: all ended in failure.
He corrected himself. Thymine dimerization proved promising, but they couldn't selectively bombard a single site with a single stream of photons. Aiming the lasers proved too difficult, and after a year, the project was scrapped for testing the clones.
His mind remained fixated on the thymine dimerization. Though Beta-Five tried to concentrate on enzyme cracking, he couldn't stop thinking about how easily they could selectively cut at dimerized sites. All they needed was a way to aim the lasers. He flung the visual interface around and enlarged the image, studying how the system tracked the coordinates of the molecule. Then he knew how to aim the laser.
"Beta-Twelve, I need to requisition a photon laser. I'm going to attempt dimerization."
"That old project? I admit it would work well, but we could never aim it properly."
"We never tried programming the aiming into the visual interface, did we?"
The research agent scratched his balding head and asked, "The interface? How would you do that?" Then his face lit up and he shouted "Of course! I'll get the Arduino boards and a programmable arm as well."
As Beta-Twelve ran out the doors and Beta-Nine followed him, Beta-Five opened up the QSM's software editor and scrolled through the coordinate programming. He scrolled down to the end of the section and input a new string of commands for a linear plot on the system, calculating a trajectory through the containment space from a single point of origin. Once he was finished, he brought up the visual interface and plugged in angle values for the trajectory, watching the purple line flash across a thymine pair near the exterior. Then he modified the code so the point of origin could be changed, and he changed variables until he isolated another thymine pair.
Beta-Nine returned with the mechanical arm and an Arduino board. Beta-Five plugged the Arduino into the QSM and attached the mechanical arm, then he opened up the Arduino's interface and integrated the QSM's coordinate system into calculations for adjusting the mechanical arm's angle and position. Moments later, Beta-Twelve returned with a UV laser and attached it to the mechanical arm. Minutes later, they watched a thymine pair fuse together under the bombardment of photons.
"We did it!" Beta-Nine shouted. "Rab-Five, you're a genius! How did you program that in so quickly?"
"Most of the programming's already built into these machines, the trick is making them work together," Beta-Five answered as he flooded the chamber with dimerase, snipping off a chunk of DNA at the site of the dimer. Once the cleaving was finished, he adjusted the coordinates of the laser and snipped off another section of DNA. After an hour, the structure had been trimmed down to the backbone and a few stubborn strands of excess material. He snipped them off with a weak enzyme and set them aside for additional analysis before zooming in on the backbone. It wasn't a clean double helix structure as expected; instead, it resembled a tightly packed structure, woven together too strongly for any molecule to worm its way inside.
"Any thoughts on how to open the core?" Beta-Twelve asked.
Beta-Five glanced at the clock. His stomach grumbled as he saw it was just after three o' clock. "I'm afraid I'm out of time. I have to tend to 2.0."
"Ah yes, get yourself some lunch first. We can take over from here."
The cafeteria was empty, save for a few maintenance agents clearing the buffet tables. Beta-Five tapped one on the shoulder, and a few minutes later, he was handed a ham sandwich wrapped in plastic. He ate as he walked to the µ Research Lab. He swiftly went down the daily checklist, recording progress on intelligence tests and monitoring the subject's food intake.
When he turned to leave, µ2.0 tugged at his lab coat. The creature opened its mouth and moved its lips, its throat squirming as it struggled to make a sound.
"M-may I have more books please?" it asked. "There are more, right?"
Beta-Five ran into the other room and flipped through the guidebook. The section on communication took fifty whole pages, outlining different dialogue scenarios. Thirty pages in, Beta-Five found the dialogue on requests for items, and it said to delay the conversation until the director approved the request.
"I'll speak with the director," he said as he left the room. He took his tablet out of his coat pocket and brought up the floor map of the labs. The director was in the genetics lab, along with four other RA's. Beta-Five walked down the corridors to the genetics lab and walked inside after knocking.
Doctor Lammers looked up from the visual display and stood to greet Beta-Five. "Excellently done!" he shouted as he shook Beta-Five's hand. "This is why I think we should allow transfers between departments. Imagine how much sooner we could have perfected this technique if we had an Alpha or Gamma engineer.
"Thank you sir, but I have another matter to address with you. Subject µ2.0 spoke and asked for more books."
"It did, did it?" The director ran a hand through his hair and said, "I'll have an agent pick out some books then. Why don't you get some dinner and join me in the ν Test Area?"
Beta-Five nodded and went towards the door. However, his hand paused on the door handle. As he stood there, staring down at the knob's gleaming surface, he struggled to articulate what made him want to turn around, what question sat on his tongue for the director. He turned the knob, slowly, listening to the metal rasp within the door, jarring loose his thoughts with its dissonant groan. Then the question came, and his hand paused, the knob halfway to the open position. He thought over the implications of asking the director this question, but then he decided he was being paranoid and turned around.
"Actually, sir, would you mind if I got 2.0 the books?"
The director turned and waved his hair out of his face. He rubbed his chin for a moment and said, "Go ahead. However, let me remind you not to get too attached to the test subject."
Beta-Five clenched his teeth when he realized he made a mistake in asking, but he let himself relax as he said, "Yes sir. I merely wished to ensure the subject's continued psychological wellbeing."
The director smiled and replied, "Your foresight is appreciated. Feel free to select books from the library upstairs, then get yourself some dinner."
Beta-Five took the elevator and walked into the library. The books were neatly stored in tightly packed shelves, with barely enough room to walk sideways in the aisles. He gazed at the massive selection and pondered what books to choose. One section held a variety of children's books, however, the fantasy section caught his eye. He had often seen µ2.0 reading The Hobbit, so he grabbed the Lord of the Rings trilogy, along with a handful of Piers Anthony novels, a pile of Tad Williams, and an armful of R. A. Salvatore. He placed them on a cart and had them checked out before returning to the µ Research Lab. He pushed the cart into the room and left it next to the bookshelf.
"Here you go. I picked some I thought you would like."
"Thank you," µ2.0 said, picking The Fellowship of the Ring off the shelf. As it flipped through the pages, it asked, "Your name is Beta-Five, yes?"
"It is."
"And my name is two-point-oh, right?"
"µ2.0," Beta-Five corrected. "They call you 2.0 for short."
"Mewtwo… I see. Thank you Beta-Five."
"Let me know if you need any more books."
Beta-Five glanced at the clock on his tablet and sighed. He jogged to the elevator and hurried into the cafeteria, only to find the maintenance agents putting away the lukewarm food. He snuck a few pieces of soggy meat and cauliflower out of metal trenchers and scraped them into his mouth. Once he wiped the grease from his mouth, he dashed back to the elevator and briskly walked to the ν complex.
The whole wing was insulated with ten inches of lead, barricaded with four sets of heavy doors. Outside, large bulky hazmat suits hung on hooks. Beta-Five clambered into one and fastened the four layers tight, pressing his suit against the vacuum seal to check for leaks. Then the outermost layers of his suit were filled with pressurized Xenon while the innermost was pumped full of concentrated oxygen. Beta-Five felt a euphoric rush as his lungs swelled with the sudden influx of oxygen.
Beta-Five waddled through each set of doors, each set spraying him down with acetone and an anti-bacterial mixture before evacuating the air in the chamber. Once the chamber was ventilated with purified air, the last set of doors opened, and Beta-Five clambered into the main testing chamber. A vigoroth was strapped to a table in the center of the room, perforated with hundreds of diodes and several IV's. It stared up at the ceiling and weakly tugged at the restraints. Over its head was a metal dish, connected with a set of heavy wires to a bulky computer on the far side of the room. At the computer's core, floating in a glass canister of preservatives, was a tiny glob of flesh, oozing a black, tar-like substance that dissolved into the canister's liquid. Dozens of tiny wires poked into the flesh, and a nebulous energy seemed to seep into the metal.
The director stood over the vigoroth, analyzing the pokemon's breathing rate and blood pressure. The Then he turned towards Beta-Five and gestured him to approach the table.
"This ought to be interesting," Doctor Lammers said through the hazmat's com system. "I can't believe this enigma has forced us to perform such a radical experiment."
"Shall I prepare the amplification?" Beta-Five asked.
"Please do. Move into the other room once the countdown starts."
Beta-Five approached the machine and yanked a few heavy levers to the on position. Then, on a screen, the number three-hundred beeped and flashed with each subtraction of one. Beta-Five quickly joined the director in the alternate room, watching the number sink through six inches of lead-infused glass.
"What is the magnification factor?" Beta-Five asked.
"A hundred-fold magnification," Doctor Lammers answered. "I thought we'd start with a smaller dose and increase the magnification until we observe something."
They waited in silence as the number dwindled into double digits, then single. Beta-Five felt sweat dripping down his neck as the number reached zero. The machine lit up with intense, bright red lights, bathing the room in a crimson glow. The wires throbbed, filling the room with an intense hum that shook the glass.
The vigoroth groggily stared at the lights, then its eyes grew unfocused, its jaw went slack, and it promptly fell asleep. As it snored, it moaned and yanked on its restraints, burying its face into the pillow.
"Anything on the EEG?" the director asked. "What kind of sleep state is the subject in?"
On the display monitor to the left, Beta-Five sorted through the medical inputs. The breathing rate was elevated, the heart-rate had nearly doubled, and its blood contained high concentrations of epinephrine. However, it was the EEG scans that made Beta-Five's jaw drop.
"I've – I've never seen anything like this before," he whispered into the com.
"What's going on, Beta-Five?"
"Stop the test. We need to check the magnification."
"Understood." Doctor Lammers hit a red button, and the machine shuddered to a stop. They clambered out of the room and approached the table. The vigoroth was still asleep, its short, panicked breaths rasping through its throat. It reeked of sweat and fear.
"It's permanently comatose," Beta-Five explained. "There's no way that could be accomplished with a mere hundredfold of the signal."
Beta-Five walked over to the machine and opened up the diagnostics report. The energy output from the machine confirmed the magnification factor. He muttered to himself as he investigated the hyperbolic dish suspended above the restraining chair.
"We've been treating the ν sample's energy signature as a form of electromagnetic radiation, correct? If it was, then the transmitter's hyperbolic shape would relay a uniform field. However, considering this is Darkrai's unique energy we're dealing with, it's likely the signal could be some form of particle emission instead, in which case, the hyperbolic shape concentrates the signal at the focal length. Considering the shape of the transmitter, the focal point should be within the cranium of the subject, maximizing the signal. Therefore, if we replace the transmitter with a flat metal sheet, we should see optimal magnification."
"There's a flat transmitter in the drawer over there," the director said. "I'll have them bring in the next subject."
As the raichu, wrapped in insulating material, was strapped to the chair, Beta-Five replaced the transmitter and ran another set of diagnostic checks. Once again, they retreated to the back room waiting for the five minute timer to reach its end. Then the machine whirred to life, and Beta-Five immediately saw the results on the EEG, a loop of neural signals trapping the mind in a ceaseless torment, but unlike the last trial, this signal experienced interference from other brain signals.
"Turn it off," Beta-Five said. The director hit the button, and after a minute, the brain signals entered into a normal deep-sleep pattern.
"Excellent work, Beta-Five," Doctor Lammers said, shaking his hand through eight layers of lead. "Compile the results in a report and call it a night. We'll have a lot more testing tomorrow."
By the time he returned to his room, it was just past ten. He threw off his lab coat, took a quick shower, heated up a hot pocket, and, hours later, fell asleep on his laptop, the a stream of b's worming their way through the end of his report.
