Ten years later.

Delia eyes her kitchen counter intently as she sanitizes it with a rag. She makes sure to wipe every speck of dust and stain she sees to make sure they will be gone for dinner. Ash never got food poisoning from her cooking before; that isn't going to change now.

Delia is about to wipe a corner until a knock on her front door stops her. She reluctantly puts her rag down and approaches it. She doesn't expect anyone to visit her today. Then she remembers the appointment she made the previous day, and her guess is confirmed when she opens the door. "Professor," she calls out, "you're early."

"Am I too early?" the man under the doorway responds. A bush of gray hair pops out when he removes his hat, which matches the color of his beige coat. The professor dresses in a maroon polo shirt, khaki pants, and brown dress shoes. It's quite a strange phenomenon to see that he isn't sweating considering it's the middle of a 90-degree summer day. Bearing that in mind, as well as the fact that the open door is inviting pollutants into her home, Delia hurriedly waves the man inside and closes the door.

"No, no, you're right on time," she runs to the foot of the stairs. "Ash!" she calls out. "Don't come out of your room; there's a visitor here!"

"Okay," a weak voice replies.

Delia turns back to her visitor and shoots him a quick grin. "Please," she says, gesturing to the plastic-covered couch in the middle of the living room, "make yourself at home."

The professor nods and sits on the furniture. He hears the white couch squeak as Delia sits on the one in front of him. He is about to speak, but the mother suddenly stands up and rushes to the kitchen. "Wait!" he hears her say. "Let me bring us some lemonade!"

"Oh, I'm fine, Miss—"

But the mother disappears behind the kitchen door before he can finish. He doesn't sit in his position for long when Delia returns with a tray consisting of two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. He is about to offer assistance, but the tray is on the wooden coffee table before he can say a word. He raises an eyebrow as the mother sits on the couch again. She wears a pink blouse, a navy blue skirt, and yellow flats with her brown hair tied lowly with a teal hair band. The mother may look unkempt, but anxiety is evident on her face. He knows why, of course. It is why he's here.

"Thank you, Miss Ketchum," he acknowledges, pouring himself a glass of lemonade before Delia could insist. "You have a lovely home."

Delia relaxes but keeps her fingers wound on her lap. "Thank you."

"Were you just preparing dinner for your son?"

"Yes," Delia nods, "I'm cooking Ash's favorite food tonight."

"Oh?" the professor blinks. "What does he like?"

"Everything," Delia chuckles, looking down to hide her smile. "Despite his condition, Ash really likes to eat."

The professor simpers, placing his icy beverage on the table. He frowns, however, when he sees Delia trembling. "Is everything alright?" he asks.

Delia shakes her head. "It's just," she trembles, "it's his tenth birthday."

The professor nods. "Yes."

"I just don't want to lose him!" Delia suddenly cries, lifting her head to look at him. "I've already lost Giovanni; I can't…"

The man's jaw hardens as Delia's tremors escalate. He is sure that if he doesn't say something soon, she will collapse into a weeping mess. "Don't worry, Mrs. Ketchum," he says. "That's why I'm here to bring a solution."

Delia looks up. It feels as if he put a hand on her shoulder even though he doesn't actually touch her. She relaxes then and leans back, silently urging him to continue. The professor lifts his briefcase and sets it beside him. This surprises Delia. She didn't see the luggage when he arrived. Maybe she was too focused on keeping pollutants out she didn't notice, she guesses. She then believes it for it is the most logical explanation.

"What I have here will revolutionize the world of medicine, maybe technology and mankind itself," the professor tells her, "it has been tested on a number of pokémon and human subjects, but it has yet to be approved by the public. Ethical reasons have to be considered, after all, and not everybody is on board with the subject matter my invention is based on."

"And what subject matter is that?"

"Artificial intelligence—the idea of having technology perform tasks as we humans can."

Delia leans further back. She has heard of this concept before—it was why she had contacted him in the first place—but hearing him explain it to her himself is a different experience.

"But my invention, as you may know, doesn't rely on technology gaining its own consciousness," the professor continues. "That's where your son comes in. If your son can live through a machine, then you will never have to worry about him dying. If things go as planned, he may even outlive you."

"Th-That," Delia stammers, "that's what I always wanted. That's how it's supposed to be."

"But because technology doesn't age," the professor continues, "neither will your son. Sure he may never want to marry or have children, but, at least, he will always want to be your child."

"My Ash," Delia gasps, cupping her lips as she trembles, "I...it's okay. I don't mind taking care of him. He will always be my baby boy."

The professor smiles. The mother may still be trembling, but, at least, she no longer looks like she's going to break. He takes out a folder from his briefcase and hands it to her. Delia accepts it.

"These documents contain more information about the project," the professor tells her, "but if you have any questions you would like me to answer now, I can answer them for you."

"I-It's okay," Delia shakes her head, "I still need to think about the offer...wait, I do have one more question."

"Yes?"

"How much will participating in the project cost?" Delia asks. "Considering what you've mentioned, it must be expensive."

"Tell you what, Mrs. Ketchum," the professor leans back. He crosses his arms and shoots her a light grin, "if you and your son decide to participate in my project, you will pay no expense."

"No expense?" Delia quotes. "Why would there be no expense?"

"Because when my volunteers helped me test out my creation, there are flaws to the results I have collected," the professor answers. "The participants' consciousness were inputted into the machines for only a short period. I have no idea what the results would be if the study was long-term. That's where your son comes in."

Delia inches back. "Excuse me?"

"I mean no offense, Mrs. Ketchum," the professor quickly assures her. "What I'm trying to say i—"

"My son might die tonight," Delia hisses, "and you want to use him as a guinea pig?"

The professor gapes. "Miss—"

"Get out of my house," Delia orders, standing up from the couch and slamming the file onto the table. "I don't want to hear any more of this."

"Mrs. Ketchum, please," the professor stands up as well. "Your participation could benefit us both."

"More you than me!" Delia remarks. "Whether my son lives or dies doesn't matter to you. All you want is results!"

"These findings could save not only your son but many others who are in your situation!" the professor tells her. "I meant no offense, Mrs. Ketchum; I really didn't. I just wanted you to understand the gravity of this project, what your son can do to change the world."

"And what if it kills him?" Delia asks. "What if it doesn't work?"

"And what if it does, Mrs. Ketchum?" the professor remarks. "What if he lives?"

Delia sighs and looks down. She glances down at the folder she slammed on the table, her eyes glossy and wide. The professor sees this and tucks a hand in his coat pocket. "I may not know what it's like to lose a child, much less your only one," he says, "but if you allow me to help you," he hands her a white card with formal black text, "you won't have to either."

Delia flinches. She is still for a few moments, allowing an awkward minute of silence to pass. Then she extends two fingers and pinches the card between them. "I'll show you to the door," she whispers softly.

The professor frowns. This isn't the reaction he expected but allows himself to be guided to the door. He briefly wonders if the mother had declined his offer. His worries waver, however, when he sees hesitation in her eyes. "Thank you for your hospitality," he speaks. "If you do decide to call," the man continues, "my name is Samuel Oak."

Delis says nothing and only stands by the door expectantly. Oak holds back an exasperated sigh and walks away. Delia shuts the door at his exit and leans on the sanitized wood. His words echo in her head, rattling her already unsettled mind. She thought she knew what the right thing to do was, but now she can't be more conflicted. Any hope she held before the professor's visit is gone. The right thing, she sees now, is a lot less clear than she had expected.

She clenches her fists. She may not know what decision to choose, but she doesn't have to make one alone. Her son's fragile fate should be decided by both of his parents. She is practically raising their child alone; her husband has to do more than provide funds from the distance to meet her halfway. Now that they may have a real chance to save their son, Giovanni should, at least, carry the same burden of choice she is carrying.

So Delia heads to the computer desktop set beside the kitchen. She switches the devices on and sits on the stool in front of them. As soon as the icon to video chat is available on the screen, Delia clicks on it and selects her husband's number.

She sighs in relief when her husband's face appears on the screen. She is always happy to see him after he left so many years ago even if he has aged more than he should over only ten years. His eyes are burdened with heavy eye bags, his forehead is streaked with many lines, and the corners of his mouth are sided with dry folds of skin. Delia cannot help but deepen her already present frown, especially since her husband looks just as distraught as she does. "Gio," she gasps, "what's wrong? Why do you look so grave?"

"I should ask you the same thing," Giovanni remarks.

Delia blinks. She then looks down and entwines her fingers on her lap. She is used to her husband's brash behavior but today, he seems graver than before. She decides to brush it off. Giovanni is secretive with everything he does. He never answers her questions; why will he now? "I'm just...conflicted," she confesses, "conflicted on a matter that...I need your input on."

Giovanni leans forward, his forehead forming more wrinkles as he does so. "What's wrong?"

"Well, as you know," Delia starts, "it's Ash's tenth birthday today."

Giovanni's jaws harden. "Yes."

"And we both know what might happen to him…" Delia pauses. She then bites her lip and stares at her computer's keyboard.

"I'm working on a solution," Giovanni tells her. "I'm on to something that could save him. Can you admit him to the hospital for the meantime? It could give me more time."

"I," Delia gulps, "I can do that."

"Okay," Giovanni nods. He does so stiffly and swallows an anxious breath.

"Gio…"

Giovanni looks at his wife.

"In case we don't succeed," Delia tells him, "in case our son leaves us…"

Giovanni widens his eyes.

"Can you please come home?" Delia pleads. "Be here with your wife and son. If possible, talk to Ash. If he does...go...tonight, he will, at least, have the chance to meet his father."

Giovanni almost drops his phone. "Delia!"

"Please, Giovanni," his wife insists, "saving him is the reason you left in the first place. He lived his whole life never knowing who you are. If you don't come back today, he will die as curious as he was alive."

"Don't say that, Delia!" Giovanni hisses. "I said I will find a solution; have you lost faith in me?"

"I'm just trying to give what is best for our son," Delia tells him. "If you're not willing to come back today, can you, at least, talk to him on the phone? I can bring him down here right now so you two can—"

"Delia, I've told you this many times," Giovanni growls. "Ash isn't to see me unless I have guaranteed him a long life he can live. I'm not going to have him face me after all these years so that he can see a failure."

"But, at least, he can see you at all!" Delia remarks. "Why are you making this so difficult, Giovanni? Why are you trying so hard to push us away?"

"I have to go," Giovanni abruptly says. "Goodbye."

Delia widens her eyes. "Wait!" she gasps. "Gi—"

But the call ends before she can finish. She cups her mouth then and hits the wooden counter with a fist. Even on the very day their son may die, Giovanni still finds ways to avoid them. Why won't he come home, she asks herself. Does he really do it to save Ash, or is this his passive way to get them out of his life?

Delia coughs a choked breath and releases tears. She doesn't have time to wipe them away when a thump is heard from upstairs. "Ash?" she calls out. "Ash, is everything okay up there?" She waits for a response but receives none. Panic escalates in her system, but she holds it back before calling out again. Silence.

She dashes up the stairs and into her son's room. All color drains from her face when she opens the door. Ash is sprawled on the ground; his back arched awkwardly to meet her. "Ash!" Delia screams, running up to scoop him into her arms. When she turns his head to face her, his eyes are closed. "Ash," she shakes him. "Ash, honey, wake up. Please wake up!"

When he doesn't do so, Delia screams and pulls him to her chest. She then searches her son's room for a phone but finds none. She has no choice but to go back downstairs and grab the phone from the kitchen. Delia groans and then slowly, very slowly, places her son on his bed. She dashes downstairs, barely recovering when she trips, and snatches the phone next to the microwave. She dials certain numbers into the wireless landline and waits anxiously for an answer.

"Pallet Police Department," the person on the other end responses, "what is your emergency?"

"Please help my son!" Delia screams, tears cascading down her face. "He's dying!"

~.~

"Gio?"

Giovanni grunts as muscled arms encircle his neck. He tries to pull away but his captor grips him tight. "I told you not to enter my office without knocking, Ariana," he scolds. "Should I lock my door next time?"

"Oh don't be bitter, dear," Ariana coos, leaning closer so he can see her piercing red hair and eyes. "I only came because I know you'd be brooding more than usual. Particularly every year on this day. Are you still not going to tell me why?"

Giovanni grunts again and sharply turns away. "I don't need to explain anything to you."

"Hmm, you're right," Ariana finally releases him, "you don't. Everyone has the right to keep their secrets. You have yours, and I have mine."

Giovanni glares at her but she brushes off his leer with a smirk. She then strokes his shoulder with her left hand while lifting her right hand to her abdomen. "But let's be truthful for a moment," she invites. "I would like to ask you a question."

Giovanni's eyes narrow. "What?"

"He's going to be a boy, Giovanni," Ariana rubs her swollen womb. "What would you like to name our son?"

~.~

Delia grimaces as a machine pumps and absorbs air into her only child's body. The air she breathes is practically poison to him now, so as he lays on a hospital bed with IVs connected to his hands, Delia only counts seconds until his heart monitor flatlines. Your son may not survive tonight, the doctors have told her. His immune system has done the best it could, and so has she.

No, Delia shakes her head. No, she has not. She may stand in a cold room with her son weakly clinging to his life, but hope has not been entirely lost. With or without Giovanni, she will save her son. Ash will not die on his tenth birthday. He will live to celebrate his eleventh, twelfth, and so forth.

She turns around when the door bursts open behind her. Running into the room is Professor Oak and a younger man with chocolate brown hair and narrow black eyes. Oak carries a heavy black suitcase with two arms while the boy tugs a cart carrying a white rectangular prism. Both are dressed in formal lab attire, but their clothing is ruffled and damp from sprinting in the summer heat. Delia cannot care less about their appearances, however. She only focuses on what they are carrying into the room.

"Are these the items?" she asks.

Oak runs to Ash's right side. "Yes," he answers, "but we have no time to speak. Please allow us the space to work, Mrs. Ketchum. We'll make sure your son lives tonight."

Delia stiffly nods and steps back so the young man can bring his wagon to the professor. As Oak unpacks his briefcase, Delia watches him reveal many items she cannot describe. She does, however, recognize the hair trimmers and razors. "Wait a minute," she clutches the professor's arm with a hand. "What are you doing?"

"I need to shave his head," Oak answers.

"Why?"

"For our project to work, we need to get directly into certain parts of his brain," Oak tells her. Delia's eyes widen then, so he adds, "we are trying to save your son, Mrs. Ketchum. If you want us to have a chance, you have to trust us."

Delia grunts and shoots him a glare. Then slowly, very slowly, she releases his arm and steps back.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

Delia gasps and steps back even further. The young man she saw earlier keeps his head low as he runs to the professor's side. After a few minutes, Oak gives him a command before handing him a razor and bottle.

Delia cringes when the younger man starts shaving her son's head. The man seems a bit too young for her liking, so she holds her tongue with the greatest struggle as the professor turns to unpack a slim black case. What she sees next horrifies her. Inside the case are several long, thick needles. "Oh no," she gasps, shaking her head as she turns away again. "No, no, no, no, no." When the professor told her that he was going to go directly into her son's brain, she didn't think he was literally going to...

"You can wait outside if you'd like," Oak offers.

"No!" Delia yelps without looking at him. "I'm staying!"

The professor doesn't respond. Delia leans her head to listen for one and then regrets it when she hears a faint squelching noise. And another, then another…

"Oh no," Delia groans, holding back a wave of vomit as the sound of narrow rods piercing through flesh continue to resound through the room. She bends forward, her eyes squeezing shut, until she is gently guided to the door. When Delia looks up, she sees the young man that was assisting the professor.

"Don't worry, ma'am," he assures, "I'll wait outside with you."

To the assistant's relief, Delia doesn't resist. The opposite actually happens. Before the assistant reaches the door with her, Delia beats him there by running outside. He turns to Oak, who gives him an affirmative nod, and then follows the mother to the hall. Delia is already sitting on a bench in front of the door when he sees her again. Her head is down with her face between her palms. "I wouldn't worry too much, ma'am," he assures as he sits beside her. "Professor Oak has done this many times. Your son is in good hands."

Delia lifts her head and looks at him. His thin eyes glint at her, his young countenance waiting for her to smile. "Who are you?" Delia asks.

"My name is Flint, ma'am," the assistant answers. "I am Professor Oak's assistant."

"Aren't you a bit too young to be his assistant?" Delia narrows her eyes. She doesn't care whether her question offends him or not. Not anymore. He looks like he's twenty-five years old at the most, and he just helped the professor stick needles into her son's brain.

Flint blinks. He doesn't seem to be offended. Instead, he scratches his head and gives her a sly smile. "I have a family to support," he tells her. "A wife and four kids."

Delia widens her eyes. "Four kids? But you are so young!" she says. "Don't you have dreams to pursue?"

"Well," Flint tilts his head, "I do..."

"As did I when I had my son," Delia sighs. "How old were you when you had your first one?"

"Twenty."

Ah, Delia nods. Her guess was correct. "I was seventeen," she tells him, eliciting a shocked reaction that made the assistant's thin eyes widen, "and just like you, I didn't really think about what it meant to have a child. All I thought about was how great it would be to live happily ever after with the man I love."

Flint's expression sombers. "Where is the man?"

"Somewhere far away," Delia remarks dryly, "far from his dying child and grieving wife."

Flint frowns, "I'm sorry."

Delia says nothing. She doesn't know why she is revealing such personal information to someone she just met but doesn't regret it. Perhaps she feels that she can impart wisdom to someone that might make the same mistake she did. She is too late, though, that is obvious enough. What if imparting wisdom has nothing to do with it? What if she just wants to express her frustration? After all, the assistant is offering a listening ear. That's more than her husband has given her in years.

With that, she spends the rest of their time together telling him many things. She was an overly-sheltered high school student when she met Giovanni. Giovanni was a gang member that had done many terrible things, yet she found herself tangled with him and his crimes. Everyone—her parents, her friends, her teachers, and even people she didn't know—told her to leave him but she never listened. Being with Giovanni gave her a sense of freedom and adventure she had never experienced before. When she bore his child, she thought it would be the ticket for a great new journey. Life is cruel, she tells Flint, for every second she and Giovanni spent on raising their child, the further freedom and adventure seemed to get from her. When Giovanni left, they were officially gone. She doesn't notice how Flint's expression changes throughout their conversation. She doesn't realize how much her bitterness influences his mind.

Their conversation doesn't stop until frantic beeps could be heard from the room. The mother and assistant rush inside then to find an entirely different scene. The large box Flint brought in is open to reveal a large gray marionette-like figure. The figure has a thin cord attached to its back that extends to connect with a black laptop placed at the foot of Ash's bed. The laptop seems to act as a mediator, for the needles piercing into Ash's brain has wires connected at the ends merging into one slightly thicker cord that connects to the computer. The screen of the laptop has a wide bar with several diagonal lines running from left to right. The words "Installing" are written in bold letters above it, but what got Delia's attention the most is her son's heart monitor, which neon green line is flattened.

Delia gasps and falls to her knees. She cups her mouth with both hands as tears well up in her eyes. Flint is immediately at her side and places a hand on her shoulder. "Professor," he calls out, "was the transfer successful?"

"It should be," Oak narrows his eyes at the laptop screen, "the boy's body may have given out, but his consciousness should have been downloaded into the computer beforehand. I sped up the downloading process back at the lab in case something like this happened."

"Wh-What," Delia looks at him, "what's going to happen now?"

Oak gives her a sly smile and walks until he is kneeling in front of her. "Now we wait," he says. "Your son might live, Mrs. Ketchum. It might take a few hours but have a little faith till then. The rewards might last you for a lifetime."

Delia trembles and drops her hands. She looks at her son's body, which the nurses have approached to shut off his heart monitor. The staff doesn't seem fazed by the situation in the room, which makes her wonder how often Oak performs his experiments in their hospital. She looks at her son, then the professor, then back to her son. She then looks at the marionette-like figure towering Ash's bed and watches its several star-like lights blink from several parts of its body. If the professor's experiment works, then the light-up android will be her son's new body. Will she be able to see her son live the rest of his life in it? Then again, can she live her own life without her son alive at all?

Delia takes in a slow, shaky breath. She allows Flint to help her stand and accepts Oak's comforting hand. She cannot find the words to describe her overwhelming emotions, so she nods rigidly to indicate her compliance. Oak and Flint smile and give each other an affirmative nod before turning back to the computer screen.

~.~

Ariana grips the bars on the side of her hospital bed and roars another groan in pain. A doctor is at the foot of her bed pulling something from between her legs while telling her to push. About four nurses surround her. Giovanni stands behind them with his eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. Today isn't supposed to be happening, he thinks. Why is it that on the day his real son may be dying, one that isn't supposed to exist is coming to life? It is like fate is taking away his child to replace him with one he never asked for. It isn't fair.

When the baby emerges from Ariana, the infant let out a loud, healthy shriek that Giovanni spent ten years trying to get out of Ash. His skin is light and fair with red hair jutting from his head. He taunts Giovanni without even trying, torments him by offering the life he had always wanted with Ash but can only have with him—a child only born from drunken intimacy performed on a cold, hazy night. Giovanni doesn't care how healthy the boy is, even after he feels the baby grips his shirt when the nurses cleaned and handed him to him. The boy will never be as good as Ash; and Ash, Giovanni swears to himself, will live to be a healthy man. He will aspire to that goal even more so from this day forward.

"Mr. Ketchum," one of the nurses approaches him with a clipboard, "what would you like to name your son?"

Giovanni frowns. He had already decided he doesn't care about the boy; what made the idiot nurse believe that he would like to name him? Unfortunately, Ariana is passed out on the hospital bed so he cannot dump the pest on her. He turns to the another nurse, one that doesn't have anything in his hands, and shoves the baby to him. Both the receiving nurse and the nurse that spoke to him gape in surprise, but he doesn't give them time to comment when he looks the clipboard-bearing one in the eye.

"Silver," he mutters. "Ariana can change it if she wants, but if she asks, I say it's Silver."

The nurse blinks. "O-Oka—"

She is interrupted when he walks out of the room and slams the door behind him.

~.~

"Download complete."

Oak, Flint, and Delia look up from Ash's corpse to turn to the laptop screen. They quickly approach the computer before Oak types on the keyboard.

"What happens now?" Delia asks.

"Now," Oak clicks on something with the touchpad and turns to the android, "we watch."

The lights of the marionette-like figure blink rapidly until finally stilling with stable light. Delia doesn't know that the form has eyelids until they rise. She doesn't know that the mouth can move until it opens. The dots that were hiding behind the android's eyelids search the room until they land on her. When a robotic voice spoke through the lips, Delia falls to her knees and cries.

"Mom?"