CHAPTER 14: NOT WITHOUT FEAR

"You hold the answers deep within your own mind. Consciously, you've forgotten it. That's the way the human mind works. Whenever something is too unpleasant, too shameful for us to entertain, we reject it. We erase it from our memories. But the imprint is always there. Nothing is ever really forgotten."

- Robert C. Dennis, My World Dies Screaming.

Agent Cassandra Merlo, the assassin of Team Rocket, stood before her target as nothing more than a lost young woman.

She trembled beneath his gaze, struggling to suppress the emotions rising within her, struggling to determine which actions she should take next, struggling not to show weakness by crumbling in front of him. Yet even though she tried to uphold a strong front, she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze or raise a hand against him. However, he knew she would lash out at him if he tried to comfort her as he had when they were younger. In her mind, he no longer had the right to touch her, having forfeited that privilege the moment he'd begun meddling with her memories. And Mewtwo, certain that he'd committed an inhumane crime, could scarcely argue with her reasoning. After invading her mind, after having his way with her thoughts, after stealing away her remembered smiles, he'd become a variation of her worst nightmare. Once her beloved wildcat, he'd transformed into a monster disturbingly reminiscent of Biancardi…and ultimately, this likeness was enough to drive her mad.

For now Cassandra had to wonder if monsters were the only beings drawn to her, and if she secretly craved their abuse. Perhaps she'd lived in the underworld for too long, becoming warped to the point where healthy humans could only shun her, and she, in turn, rejected them outright. For like Belial Biancardi, the clone of mew was not human, and arguably didn't possess a soul. After all, God hadn't conceived of him; Its defiant children had, committing deicide in the act of stealing Its powers of creation. Once they'd begun to decipher the mysteries of life and cosmic matter, of the way the spirit is formed, they'd spurned the thought of a divine being, having uncovered no empirical evidence to prove Its existence. From there, as the number of Its worshippers dwindled, the entity Itself had begun to sicken and die, weakening until Its remains were finally buried beneath the ruins of memory.

Similarly, the love between two people is no different from that fading deity: for without a foundation of faith between them, their feelings will eventually wither away into nothingness. Or at least that's what happens most of the time. Unfortunately, Mewtwo's and Cassandra's case wasn't so simple: for despite all the ways they'd harmed one another, the undertones of attraction and affection remained within each of them. Certainly, these had been muted within the woman, but after her memories began reasserting themselves within her mind, they'd stoked up those feelings with renewed zeal. She might have even wept and embraced the clone again, if it weren't for that fact that he'd willingly reduced her mind to cinders.

But since he'd done exactly that, she reacted with anger and disgust, and quaking from those poisonous emotions, hissed at him, "…What the fuck is wrong with you? How could you possibly justify doing that to me? You – you manipulated me, you lied to me, you hurt me and had me tortured - oh god, you had me tortured! Why the fuck would you do that? Why?"

Yet even as she asked him these questions, she could think of several reasons he might give. Hell, if she'd possessed his abilities, she might have even done something similar in his stead! However, she hadn't wanted to forget about him, no matter how much the thought of him had made her heart ache. She'd wanted to bask in the memory of their short-lived romance, to keep herself breathing by remembering the happy moments they'd shared…but Mewtwo hadn't given her a choice in the matter, instead callously depriving her of that bittersweet joy. He'd victimized her, had disregarded her innate right to know her past, and now had the gall to appear distraught over her reaction! He even attempted to apologize to her, as if he'd merely destroyed some material possession of hers, like a bicycle, rather than something as valuable as her memories.

In a low voice, with regret permeating his words (but oh, she wouldn't take pity on him, for he'd brought this on himself!), he murmured, "I wanted to protect you, from both the heartache and from Giovanni's wrath - and to this day, my reasoning remains unchanged. Yet even so, I am sorry. You chose me as your partner, believing that I would never consciously do anything that would harm you…but that is precisely what I did. For that, I do not expect your forgiveness, nor do I believe I am worthy of it. Yet all the same, I…please Cassandra, I…."

Daring to risk her wrath, he reached towards her, intending to rest his paw upon her cheek…and felt his heart sink as she jerked backwards, denying him the sensation of her skin beneath his fingertips. For a moment, his arm lingered outstretched, before he slowly and falteringly retracted it, allowing it to fall back to his side. Between them was little more than a meter, but that meter represented a chasm he knew he could no longer cross; for he had burned the bridge he'd built with her, to her, in a way none of their enemies could have hoped to achieve. For years he may have managed to overlook the destruction he'd wrought, having persuaded himself that if she someday did remember him, she'd welcome him back into her life. But that had merely been the hope of a fool. Hearing how labored her breathing had grown, as if she was being strangled, he understood that he'd actually wrapped his fingers around her throat years prior, and only now were they both feeling the pressure. Yet even as sobs threatened to overtake her, as she shuddered at the realization of how she'd been betrayed, he doubted she would allow herself to cry. She was well past the point where tears would adequately express her revulsion. But as her fury strengthened at his perceived insolence, it became a struggle for her not to lose control…and although he admired her ability to restrain herself, he dearly wished she wouldn't do so: for no matter how harsh her retaliation might be, he'd earned it in full. Furthermore, there were times in someone's life when it's far more gratifying to collapse than to remain dignified, and he wouldn't think less of her if she broke down now.

And as the silence stretched between them, punctuated only by her sharp gasps, that was precisely what she did. Rushing towards him with clenched fists, an irate cry tearing itself from her throat as she sprung, she began pounding at his stomach, his ribs, his chest, never pulling her punches nor minding the pain that was pulsating through her knuckles. Yet even as she battered him, bruising her hands and draining herself in the process, it wasn't enough to quell the hurt and resentment she was feeling. Eventually, as her blows grew weaker and slower, she shook off the arms surrounding her and withdrew from his reach, and then finally, finally lifted her eyes to meet his.

Gleaming like molten lead, her gaze incinerated what remained of his hope, while her words scattered its ashes in the murky space between them. "…You can't…you can't come back for me now, not after putting me through hell just to make yourself feel better! Even though you gave me back my memories, it doesn't excuse what you did! It doesn't make up for you stealing them in the first place, and then choosing to keep hiding them from me, so…so don't you daretry crawling back to me! I'm not the person you loved anymore – you buried that girl with your own hands - so just leave me alone! After all these years, surely that can't be so hard for you to do?"

With the keenness of any hunting blade, that inquiry gutted the wildcat, leaving him cold and empty as his blood, bile, and innards all spilled onto the floor. Unable to think of a suitable response, he mutely watched as Cassandra stepped away from him, retreating into the guest bedroom and securing the door behind her. In all likelihood, she understood how complicated their situation had been, and understood how much it had pained him to live without her…but right now, she simply needed to think of him as her enemy. Her duties to Team Rocket aside, this was the easiest way for her to cope with what he'd done: as a wronged woman, rather than as his wounded dove. In taking this stance, she was almost insuring that they would never regain what they'd lost, and that their violent beginning would be matched with a violent end. Clenching his jaw at the thought, the clone teleported outside into the bitter cold, and lifted his gaze to encompass the waning, indifferent moon.

And beneath its fading light, he remembered that he'd once been given the chance to save them from fading completely….

"I think you'll be quite pleased with the progress we've made," Dr. Kitadake boasted as he led his superiors deeper into the Viridian Base laboratories. When they reached the observation room, he gestured for them to take two of the seats. He remained unruffled as the blonde teenager declined one, opting to lean against the wall instead. After several months of having her observing his committees, he'd grown used to her little quirks, and was content that her boss, at the very least, was willing to follow his suggestion. Sitting to the man's left, the scientist grinned as he peered through the bay window before them: through the eight-centimeter thick glass was one of the testing chambers, where some of his "disposable" interns were fretting over their latest specimen. Wearing hefty biohazard suits, insulated with a Kevlar mesh and coated with flame-retardant, and armed with injections of sodium thiopental and tasers alike, they were as prepared to deal with the creature strapped down to the steel medical table as they could be. All the same, they moved warily around the creature, who was stirring from what had previously been a nearly comatose state.

"Since we received the personnel transfers from Committee Kuroi, our group has made several improvements to the G.V. serum, namely concerning the catalyst: its effectiveness has had around a twenty percent increase since our last report. However, despite our efforts so far, the incubation period is still continuing to fluctuate around sixty hours. In the upcoming months, we believe we can whittle down the average rate another twelve hours or so, but for now, we're more interested in how the serum manifests, rather than the when," he explained, and nodding to the specimen strapped to the table, continued, "The current case you are viewing was, incidentally, exposed to the serum fifty-eight hours ago, and is now progressing into the third and final stage."

The wiry doctor, with slicked-back dark hair, slanted green eyes, and features as narrow and sharp as a razor, breathed out a satisfied sigh as he watched his labors come into fruition. Illuminated with a harsh, white light from above, the infected specimen - an arcanine who'd been rendered lame in a recent battle - was beginning to thrash against its bonds, its black lips curling over its fangs in an agitated snarl. Lolling its head against the steel table, flames began to whirl within its maw, seeping out to char the leather bindings around its snout, the straps soon snapping from duress. As it forced open its jaws, its snarling became a full-fledged roar, with flecks of spittle flying from its mouth, while its claws dug into the metal beneath it with a high-pitched screech. Convulsing and bucking against the other restraints, it eventually clamped its fangs into the leather around its left front paw and yanked back, tearing one claw free, and moved on to the next. Soon rising up on its forelimbs, it twisted around and began gnawing at the other restraints, shaking off the electrical shocks from the tasers like bothersome, biting flies. By the time the alarmed interns realized the futility of their efforts and began reaching for the loaded needle-guns, the situation in the room was spiraling out of control. Viciously tearing itself free from its restraints, the infected canine coiled its limbs and launched itself at the nearest human, sinking its fangs and claws into the man's dense suit.

Even through the layers of nomex and Kevlar, it could smell the blood in the intern's veins, hear the frenzied pounding of his heart, could almost taste his viscera from here. It merely needed to tear through the artificial cocoon to reach the tender meat within, which it longed to ravage like a starving wolf did to an unprotected yearling. But this attack wasn't in retaliation for what this human and its colleagues had done to it, for how they'd poisoned it less than three days prior. No, this arcanine's desire to maim and kill, to taste their gore and entrails, was driven by another source entirely – a source which was eating away at its remaining elemental energies, self-awareness, and vitality. Bestowed with a rabid lust for the hunt, it needed to fulfill a single, simple purpose: to spread the contagion it carried to another, and another, and another, until that contagion finished incinerating it from the inside out. Brimming with adrenaline and endorphins, the diseased canine could neither sleep nor feel pain, and would – if given the opportunity - continue to prey upon others until exhaustion and dehydration ruined its body.

Watching the feral dog continue to assault the screaming intern, Giovanni rose to his feet to get a better look, and asked, "This one was infected by the bite of a previous specimen, was it not?"

Following his superior to his feet, Dr. Kitadake took his reading glasses out of his front pocket and consulted his notes on this particular test subject. "…Yes, that's correct. Naturally, we intend to eliminate such a drastic method, since you wished for the serum's transmission to be subtle. A gaping wound it hardly inconspicuous, but for now, we're focusing on increasing the aggressor response, which that Cinnabar intern is demonstrating for us quite nicely."

The crime lord grunted in agreement, and motioning for Agent 009 - who was peering into the testing chamber with narrowed eyes - to come to his side, he said, "You've done well thus far, Doctor. Now, since you decided to demonstrate your progress to me personally, should I surmise that the compound's prototypes will be ready for field tests soon?"

Nodding once, the scientist murmured, "My committee is confident that we can begin large-scale trials within the upcoming year. We already have several sites in mind that would be suitable for such tests; zones that are reasonably isolated, with limited human populations. We can simultaneously contain an outbreak, observe its natural progression, and take note of how the civilians and governmental officials respond to its spread. In all, refining the strains and their delivery strategies in these smaller areas would prove…informative…before moving on to larger, more vital targets. It may take time, and we may lose the element of surprise, but we'll gain a completely viable product with such a tactic, and stir our neighbors into a panic as a bonus."

The Signore, having already discussed that same approach with Domino, stated that that would be perfect. Musing that both the doctor's primary committee and Committee Kuroi were progressing nicely, he meditated on the part Committee Shoroi was to play, and thought aloud, "Now all we need is the sample Agent Merlo is bringing to us. Once she returns, we can begin working on the final part of this project. Soon you will have even more to oversee, Kitadake, so do try not to disa-."

Startling the trio, the canine in the other chamber threw itself into the glass, having surrendered its previous prey to the other interns. Perhaps it was merely lashing out at its reflection, or perhaps it had somehow detected the three through the looking glass - either way, it wouldn't make it through the barrier to its new target. Pressing a needle-gun into its neck, the nearest researcher pulled to trigger, injecting a lethal dose of sodium thiopental into its system. As unconsciousness began to overwhelm it, it wavered on its paws, stumbled, and then crashed to the tiled floor. In mutual cautiousness, the Team Rocket Elite and their subordinates peered down at the beast, watching as its saliva dribbled from its maw, as its quickened breathing began to slow and fade away. Even as it began to go into cardiac arrest, it continued to stare through the window at them with its completely gray eyes, its corneas clouded with cataracts, and the sclera and the irises of the orbs having turned a smoky hue.

And then, slowly, it closed those eyes to the ones who'd killed it, and sank into the peace of lifelessness….

"Espe. Espeon, es. Espeon? Espe…?" the lavender vixen had told her a day ago, her eyes clouding with some vague, unknown emotion as she spoke. "Within Mewtwo's bedroom is a small, moleskin notebook that holds a photograph of his former partner. Since he's absent for the time being, I'd recommend taking a good, long look at her face while you still have the change. After all, Mewtwo probably won't let you near that book if he's around. We both know he's much too fond of his privacy for that, right…?"

Intoxicating and sobering like a rich, red wine, the espeon's words flowed over Cassandra's curious mind, seeping into its crevasses until her thoughts were stained and saturated. As she approached the doorway into Mewtwo's bedchamber, she remembered – through a haze of anticipation – the oddities she'd encountered during this particular mission: the contradictory, ambivalent way the clone behaved in her presence, and the instances of familiarity she felt in his mannerisms, his movements, and even his gracile form. Many of his actions, she supposed, could be a reflection of his affections for the other girl, that female he'd seduced and then destroyed. After all, he'd admitted that he found her similar to his late lover, which might explain why he was drawn to her and repelled in equal measures. Yet what about the sensation of déjà vu niggling at the back of her brain, which had proven incessant during her fevered dreams and that melancholic song he'd played? Having never known the clone before being briefed on him, the agent found herself confronted with an irresistible enigma…and the key to solving it, it seemed, might now be within her reach.

Reaching out to the doorknob, she wondered if she might recognize the woman he'd treasured. Psyche's words seemed to imply that might be the case, but she couldn't be certain. If he'd been involved with the female when he'd been a member of Team Rocket, she supposed she might have seen the girl wandering through the base, and had simply never noticed her absence. True, she would have thought that news of the clone murdering a member of the organization would have quickly spread throughout the gang, but with his abilities, he could have disposed of the body quietly. That, and the girl might not have necessarily been missed; her rank, after all, might have been quite low, and without a family to worry over her absence, no one would have bothered searching for her. However, there was just as much of a chance that he'd seduced the woman outside of Team Rocket. There were years in his life that were still unaccounted for, after all. Despite having had other clones to care for, he could have always teleported away for a time, intent on courting the female and being taken into her bed. That scenario might actually be the more likely of the two – perhaps the photograph would provide her with some clues on which it was.

Distantly, a part of her was alarmed at how invested she'd become in learning Mewtwo's secrets, since she wasn't supposed to take an interest in his life, his death being her only concern. Trying to learn more about him like this – about a subject that had nothing to do with her mission - meant that she was allowing his life to become relevant to her, that she was starting to build a relationship with him, rather than keeping herself detached and doing her job. Profession killers, after all, were not supposed to grow attached to their victims, and were certainly not supposed to postpone the murder because they've gained a sense of wonder where their victims were concerned. And yet, she thought to herself, this wasn't like one of her other assignments. This one was different. Something waswrong with the world she'd stepped into, and she had to find out what it was - it was a persistent itch in her mind, growing ever more insistent as the days went by.

As she stepped into the clone's bedroom, her eyes landing on the book in an instant, she almost felt as if the air was growing denser with every step she took toward it, time beginning to still as her nerves trembled with eagerness. As she reached out and touched the thin journal, her fingertips roaming over its leather cover, she felt a shiver crawl up her spine, the way it did when she was about to indulge in some immoral act. It seemed to feel heavier than she remembered when she picked it up, perhaps because she now knew that it was filled with private thoughts, emotions, and memories of the one she was hunting. Hesitating for only a moment, she flipped open the book and began paging through it, glancing at the innumerable poems, quotes, theories, and ideas that filled its yellowed pages, distantly hearing a soft voice whisper in the back of her mind: curiosity killed the cat, remember?

And when she finally found the photograph, time stopped. She felt the cement crumble away beneath her, felt herself plummet even as she froze in place, felt herself reeling as if her wings had been clipped and no one was there to catch her before she hit the pavement. In that moment when her mind smashed into incomprehension, when illusions and lies disintegrated against a cruel truth, Mewtwo found her standing there, the book having tumbled from her hands, the Polaroid clutched between her shaking fingers. He halted upon spotting the thing she held, upon sensing the miasmic emotions whirling around her: confusion, shock, revulsion, fear, because now she knew that there wasn't anything wrong with the world she'd stepped into.

Instead, everything was wrong with hers.

As she heard him step up behind her, she ceased writhing in a bloody mess within her mind ("it isn't the fall that kills you, little raven, it's the sudden stop") and asked in a harsh, quivering voice, "What…what is this?"

The creature behind her said nothing…and really, what could he have said to placate her then? Spinning around, she held the photograph in front of his face. "Is - is this your sick version of a practical joke? You make a fake photo with…with me in it, and egg Psyche on to - how the hell did you get a picture of me when I was-?"

"I haven't nearly enough experience in photo-rendering to have done what you are suggesting, nor would I have had the desire to do so. That image is authentic - its faded quality and the wear it possesses should be enough to make that clear to you, even if you do not comprehend what it shows."

She stared at him for a moment, stunned, and then took a step back, shaking her head disbelief. "You're lying. I never…not willingly…not with you-!"

His eyes flashed and narrowed with an emotion akin to anger at that, and thrusting his paw outwards, he pulled the picture from her grasp as she flinched back. Grasping the Polaroid delicately, he glanced down at it, allowing his gaze to linger over the scene it had captured: the bed being softly illuminated by the morning sunlight, its grey comforter pulled up over the waists of the couple within it, who were only just then stirring awake. The clone was lying on his back among its covers, his arms wrapped around the creature resting on top of him…and neither of them was wearing anything that even remotely resembled clothing. True, nothing was revealed as far as private regions of their anatomies were concerned, and their actions in that moment were innocent enough…but even so, their nakedness clearly conveyed what their activities must have been in previous hours. Perhaps remembering the night before, the girl blushed as her fingertips stroked at his shoulders, as the faintest gleam of platinum shone from her ring finger, as he pressed his muzzle into her hair, his eyes closed as he breathed in the scent of her. Her own eyes were half-lidded and still glazed with sleep, but despite the wretchedly early hour, she was smiling with contentment. It vaguely amused him now to remember how his spine and tail had been aching, but having thought to himself back then that it was worth it, just waking up with her like that….

It had been one of those rare perfect moments, and as he'd held the photograph near the flame like the others, he'd been unable to eradicate it. Now, it seemed, his sentimentality and weakness would exact an ugly price; for he knew that if Psyche had simply told Cassandra the truth, the woman wouldn't have believed her. But now, faced with incriminating evidence that she had been his partner, she could only make a flimsy attempt at denial. As he lifted his gaze to peer at her, he saw that she'd also seemed to realize this, and was gazing at him with dread. Her eyes silently begged him to lie to her, to retract his earlier statement and say – perhaps - that this was all an elaborate social experiment, a method of psychological torture he'd devised specifically to invert her reality, all just to see how she'd squirm. Such a machination, heinous as it might be, would have been easier for her to accept than the alternative she was now being faced with. And for an instant, he considered being merciful and telling her just that, for either way, he would still have done her a grave wrong. But now that their past had risen from its grave, he hadn't the heart to rebury it…and he wasn't even certain it would be fair for him to do so. Try as he had to prevent it, verity would no longer be hidden away, and now he would have to deal with the consequences of his deceit.

He moved forward before she had a chance to speak again.

There was a flash of white before Cassandra found herself trapped against the clone, his tail wrapped around her legs, his arms constricting around hers, preventing her from both escaping and lashing out at him. Then, in a sharp and silver sensation, moist and heated, she felt his mouth against her neck, his teeth nipping into the skin of her throat just above her choker. She jerked before instinctively stilling, knowing on a primal level that his canines were poised to rip open her flesh. The act itself would be easy enough for him to commit, though she'd never imagined that he'd resort to such a predatorymethod to kill her with. For him to tear out someone's throat just seemed so primitive of him…but she supposed he was capable of doing so if he wished. He had more than enough strength in his jaws to bite through her windpipe, even with his omnivorous teeth slightly hindering the process. Yet instead of crunching down and savoring the taste of her as she bled out, he merely held her there, saying nothing as she grew increasingly unsettled and irate.

"What are you do-?"

A low inquiry sliced through her mind. "You are not afraid of this, are you…?"

As bewilderment flooded her brain, he elaborated on his meaning. "…The prospects of pain and death, which usually fill other beings with dread, have no effect on you any longer, do they? The thought of me killing you here and now does not make you feel even the slightest shade of fear, for over the last several years, you have shed your attachment to your own life. As a result, many consider you to be fearless, because not even these primal dreads manage to chill you…and as far as they know, you are lacking in more irrational phobias."

"And yet...I know that you are not without fear. You are simply able to hide what frightens you better than most." And here he hesitated, realizing that if he continued he'd be crossing a very distinct line…but that reluctance soon passed, and he pressed forward, feeling her pulse beating against his lips. "…After all, who would suspect you of being afraid of being intimate with another person? Of experiencing something as sensual as this…."

And the feline brought the implications in the photograph – the implications which had so disturbed her – into reality as his bite changed. He wordlessly withdrew his fangs from her throat, replacing them with lips and tongue, his mouth caressing the sensitive skin of her neck in a passionate kiss that shook the woman to her core. His arms around her loosened slightly, shifting into an earnest embrace, his paws straying over her form, caressing the areas of her body he knew would most respond to his touch. Years had passed since he'd last truly experienced her, but he still remembered how to invoke unbridled desire in her, having been taught by her just how to stroke her and make her keen. And unlike the incident earlier in the month when they'd shared insincere kisses, toying with each other in a detached and mock playful manner, his actions now were sincere, committed in his desire to make her tremble and flush from craving…and indeed, she was beginning to quiver, a faint cry rising from her throat as he slid a paw over her breasts. At one point, he even traced the kanji symbol for the word "regret" upon the small of her back, despite realizing that she wasn't in the proper state of mind to read and recognize it. She was beginning to fret and panic now, unable to tolerate his sexual advances.

Indeed, when she ceased making inarticulate sounds of protest, she began to beg for him to cease. "Mewtwo...Mewtwo stop! Please stop…!"

It was a frail and pitiful plea, and hearing it, he ceased his actions and sighed into her neck. "…You wished to know the truth, Cassandra? Very well – I will return it to you. Yet if you cannot stand this act, I cannot conceive of how you will tolerate something far more passionate."

He released her abruptly, shoving her away from him and lashing out with his psychical energies before she had a chance to regain her bearings. He tore through her mental defenses with ease, his metaphysical claws shredding them as if they were made of gossamer, and pressing onwards, he located the barriers he'd erected around her memories of him. Heedless of how she was stumbling back, he dissolved portions of those psychical walls, breaching their integrity. While they would now begin to fail, they would not fall all at once, instead crumbling away steadily, allowing her to regain her memories over an extended period of time. Eventually they would all reassert themselves into her mind, but for now, they would begin returning in flashes, summoned by the tiniest of sensory triggers. The corrective damage done, he withdrew from her mind and watched as she collapsed, a hand grasping onto the interweaving threads of his hammock, her breaths coming in shuddering gasps. Her eyes were wide and glazed as she stared at his feet, the first of her buried memories rising within her mind's eye, their contents splintered and interlaced and making little to no cohesive sense.

As the initial rush began to stem into a thin trickle, she barely heard Mewtwo - her once beloved and her current mark – tell her, "Your memories will return to you slowly. If they flooded your mind all at once, I have little doubt that you would go insane from the onslaught of information."

She couldn't even begin to formulate a response to that, and fortunately, Mewtwo did not expect her to. Instead, he lifted his journal and their picture from the floor and, placing the Polaroid back among the pages, went over to his nightstand and set the book where it had previously lain. Afterwards, he began to walk out of the room, not even giving the shocked and shaking woman beneath his hammock a backwards glance…but upon reaching the doorway, he looked over his shoulder, and with a hint of sorrow and remorse in his eyes, said, "…Cassandra…you have nothing to fear from me…not anymore."

And with those words, he left her there, leaving her alone to grapple with the memories of theirpast….

Over a fortnight had passed since the man had last visited Unit 150, and during his absence, he'd learned just how far along the Signore had progressed with his plans. Having taken great care to keep himself concealed, he'd managed to watch the experiments being conducted, had read through the confidential files on the three projects, and had reluctantly accepted the validity of the premonitions his companion had conveyed to him. Knowing what would happen when Cassandra Brennan returned to Viridian, he understood that he couldn't afford to linger here any longer – there was simply no more time left. Even so, he risked one detour before departing: he visited Cassandra's apartment for the last time, determined not to leave empty-handed or alone. Quickly gathering what he believed to be her most valued possessions, he peered at her umbreon and murmured an apology – for like the dark fox, he'd wanted to wait until the woman returned home, but that was simply not to be. As he mused on the grim nature of things to come, he grimaced and turned to the pokémon. "You have my word, Shadow; you'll be with your mistress again someday. But for now there's work that has to be done. Are you ready?"

With obvious reluctance, the dark pokémon nodded, and – giving his home one last, long look, his heart heavy as he remembered all that had occurred within its walls - he followed at the man's side as they left, closing the door to an era of both of their lives behind them...

Filtering through the skylights, the late October sunlight illuminated the studio in shades of amber, the half-light reminiscent of the color of ambrosia. Slightly intoxicated by its warm and by the scent of their mother's milk, the espeon's kits nursed at her side, their tiny paws kneading into her lavender fur. From the shadows, Mewtwo watched the peaceful scene for a moment, before stepping forward and calling the mother's name in a low, cool voice. Having expected this confrontation for awhile, Psyche lifted her head and peered at him, her eyes showing no sign of remorse over betraying the clone's trust. Instead, they shone with solemn satisfaction, which only made the clone grit his teeth as his disgust deepened.

"Why…? Why did you reveal it to her?" It was a senseless question to ask, for he knew what her answer would be. Still, he wondered…, "Psyche, do you fully understand what you have done?"

"Es espe. Espeon, espe. Espeon," his confidant said, her forked tail flicking behind her, reminding him then of a serpent's tongue. "Yes, and I think it'll be better this way. If she doesn't automatically try to kill you out of anger, then maybe she won't try to kill you at all. Perhaps the memory of how much you meant to her will stay her hand."

He scoffed at that notion, which – in his bitterness - sounded so childish and naïve. "...You are a fool, Psyche."

In truth, there was a part of him (however deeply buried) that did desire for both Cassandra and him to live through this. However, he also knew that the matter wasn't nearly as simple as the espeon would like to believe. If Cassandra didn't succeed in completing her mission, that was one thing – a hit to her reputation, perhaps, but it would be understandable if she failed under the circumstances. However, if Cassandra refused to complete her mission, that was another matter entirely, and ultimately one with far more disastrous consequences. Her godfather, while it was doubtful that he would execute her for disobeying him, would likely make her punishment quite grave, to the point where death might even be preferable. And despite how much she and he had changed since they were younger, Mewtwo couldn't tolerate the thought of making her suffer in such a way. True, he was guilty of causing her undue pain, as he could sometimes be incredibly selfish and make terrible choices, but he would rather die than allow her to take the fall for him. He had even once expressed a similar sentiment to Giovanni himself, when the man had managed to ensnare him again. Crucified by shafts of lightning, Mewtwo had chosen to break a promise he'd made to his once-mate, hoping that he could defend her integrity in doing so…but now that everything was beginning to unravel, he was forced to wonder if he hadn't made yet another mistake back then….

Within the Mewtwo's makeshift lair, Giovanni Maki watched the screen displaying the clone's brainwaves intently, silently (and futilely) willing them to fluctuate from their fixed zone. Despite several hours having passed since the electroshock torture had commenced, the powerful jolts firing along the feline's ligaments, arteries, and nerves, the pokémon was somehow still managing to retain its sanity, despite the excruciating pain it was being made to endure. While the crime lord had anticipated that it would possess a strong will, he hadn't expected it to be this stubborn, and found him seething at the creature's unwillingness to bend. Rather than simply submitting and returning to servitude (a certain way of making its suffering end), Mewtwo seemed to be welcoming death instead, preferring to let its body break before its mind. As he told Agent 009 this over their hand-held radios, he grimaced as she berated him, saying that they couldn't allow the specimen to be destroyed – it could take years to successfully clone again! Yet Giovanni wasn't in the mood to listen to reason; to him, this had become a personal battle for dominance, and he was determined to be the victor. Even if it meant destroying a desired weapon, he would prove that Mewtwo was no god, that it had its breaking point, and that its strength was ultimately inferior to that of its master.

Yet brute force obviously wasn't working – the Signore would have to resort to cunning instead. Uncoiling from his seat, Giovanni made his way through the caverns and onto the grounds beneath the clone's suspended body. His voice carried up to feline with ease, his words sinuous as they attempted to persuade it to submit to the prospect of pleasure, rather than to the mere cessation of pain. "It has occurred to me that I am being rather inhospitable towards you, Mewtwo. Perhaps resorting to these primitive methods of persuasion was unfair of me – they certainly don't seem to convincing you to return to Team Rocket, in any case. So allow me to change my approach and make you a one-time offer: if you come to work for me again, I will give you back your…partner. I'm certain you've realized by now that I was responsible for separating you from her in the first place; in retrospect, that may have been insensitive of me. This time, rest assured, I will turn a blind eye on whatever you choose to do with her, and will not intervene with your potential happiness. For your services, she will be returned to you. Does that seem like a fair enough trade?"

Peering up at the clone, he saw its amethyst eyes open as it contemplated with he'd said. When it closed its eyes once more, Giovanni checked the neurofeedback device he was carrying and noted, with some satisfaction, that its brainwaves were growing increasingly erratic as it remembered the girl who'd bedded it. Would the clone, he wondered, take the bait…? What was more important to it? Its freedom or the female it believed it loved…? Minutes passed, and as it reached its decision, its brainwaves slowly fell back into the fixed zone. It opened its eyes again…and then, infuriating, proceeded to laugh at its once-master.

"You are lying," it intoned, giving the man a wicked smirk. "And even if your offer was made in earnest, I would not accept it. You know as well as I that she would not embrace me now, nor would I force myself upon her merely because that option would be available to me. Do not insult me by suggesting otherwise. Besides, Giovanni, you cannot 'give' her to me, because she is not yours to give. She is neither your possession nor your daughter, despite the farce of a relationship you share with her. Despite what you would like to believe, you have no inherent right to her, and someday she will make you see that." And as it noticed the man beginning to tremble with barely concealed rage, its grin widened with ill humor. "Now if you are done attempting to sway me with false promises, I would ask that you end this tiresome game of yours. I am growing weary of your attempts to crush me."

What it had suggested about his goddaughter aside, its blatant disrespect infuriated the man past the point of rationality. No longer interested in anything beyond watching the abomination writhe, Giovanni increased the energy outputs of the capture drones to their maximum levels, the charges they unleashed growing intense enough to sear flesh and bone alike. He no longer cared if the creature was destroyed, Agent 009's protests be damned. He'd already given the abomination ample opportunities to chose life (regardless that it would have been a life of servitude), and it had chosen to reject his generosity, preferring to be tortured to death instead. And now, seething from its words, the Signore was all too willing to grant its wish - as far as he was concerned, it deserved to suffer for resisting him and touching his goddaughter in such feculent ways. So as he began walking back into the caverns, he took great pleasure from listening to the animal scream, and smiled as he left Mewtwo behind to perish and rot….

Yet sometime late, having survived despite the odds, Mewtwo gazed up at the waning moon and thought to the one who rested below, I could have come back for you, Cassandra. I could have returned to you then, on the pretense of his lie, and kept my word to you. I could have, but I declined doing so because…what use would it have been, when you would not have remembered your vows to me and kept them too?

What use would it have been, dove...?

Thank You: Leone the Infernal; Shattered Silence; Dark Magician Girl Aeris; Dakota Watts; SmashSista18; Sneaky Admiral; Selena Teamo; AnimeCrazy88; keeper-of-the-triforce; Mewtwolover; Marie; Anon; Amanda Jewell; Secret13; Cosmic Mewtwo; Kayasuri-n; A Black, but Shining, Star; Resuri; Tomoyo Kinomoto; cloudfightback; sapphire espeon; and Kaster99 for reading and reviewing the previous chapter. I hope you and my other readers will do the same for this one!

Author's Note: I think this should be clear in the story by now, but in case there is still any confusion on this point, Mewtwo isn't exactly a good person. He means well most of the time and rationalizes some of his more questionable decisions as being in someone's best interest, but he doesn't know how to recognize when he's breaking someone's boundaries. This was a problem we saw in the first movie (with everything having to do with Nurse Joy and his decision to erase everyone's memories at the end), but it wasn't entirely gone in the second (when he thought he knew what was best for the other clones). However, he did molest Cassandra in the chapter, using their past intimacy as his justification for doing so. He thought it was okay and Cassandra - who is too confused and conflicted about him to know how to react - couldn't really tell him what was wrong. She didn't like what he was doing, though, and made that clear, and he should have listened and stopped. He didn't do so and that will come back to bite him later on.

Sincerely,

WiseAbsol