It was ten minutes later that the brothers found themselves being lowered down into a tank on a winch-powered lift. Whichever committee had passed judgement had found him sane, but had taken issue with a way his hairs could work–when clumped together, they reacted to subtle electrical signals, and formed spikes, something he didn't even know how to do. They had said something about the electrical signals being similar to signals emitted by brain activity, and apperently, that was enough.
Mark reacted violently to that news. As he demonstrated, he knew the move Bite–or was it Crunch?–and this raised concern with the evaluators. Mark's previous evaluation was invalidated, and he was deemed unsafe. After all, no human would bite as the first line of defense.
He had tried to find out what the Blue personality type was, but had been informed that he didn't need to know, and that it was no longer a concern for him. It still bugged him; something didn't seem right.
Tom had actually come through for them in the end, though; they were allowed to stay in the same tank. Daryl had to be moved one over, but based on how he looked when they had briefly seen him, he seemed glad to be one more tank away from his neighbor.
Evan and Mark were both silent the entire way there. Evan's fur bristled a little as he saw the tank they had to be in, but he knew there was nothing to be done. He couldn't even remember how to use… whatever that move was. Was it even a real move?
Mark briefly glanced at the trail of sand that had been left behind. Sand-attack, while harmless outside of battle, was still an annoying move to be hit with. Mark knew that from experience.
Evan noticed Mark glance and followed his little brother's sight, chuckling silently. I'll never understand how Sand-Attack works, he thought to himself.
The lift came to a stop about thirty seconds down, and Mark was glad to finally be off the thing. To the immediate left of the tank, he saw Daryl getting off of a similar lift, and waving to Evan. To their front were a few forms, both asleep in spite of the time of day- a Slaking and Snorlax. The one behind them was empty, and to their right, they saw their neighbors. One of them stood- a Bayleef, by the looks of her- and motioned for them to come to the edge of the glass.
Mark came over, and was surprised to hear her whisper, "Sit down, look like you're doing nothing."
Mark nodded, slightly confused. These things weren't soundproof? As he sat down, he heard her whisper, "Thank God they got rid of the other guy. I got the sense he didn't like me very much. That's alright, I wasn't too fond of him, either."
"How are we talking?" he whispered, still intrigued that they could hear each other.
"The glass is designed to be soundproof past a certain point- a point the engineers of this room forgot about. We're allowed to talk, but I don't want to arouse any suspicions from the guards. My roommate ended up incurring some severe legal penalties last week during an escape attempt."
She motioned to her companion, a sorry-looking wreck of a Victreebell morph. Mark was sure he hadn't seen more concentrated nightmare fuel in any one place.
"She tried overriding the locks, but wouldn't leave without everyone else. She was caught the next morning."
"Oh. So, we can't get out?"
"Well, we should be able to; it's not like this is Alcatraz- oh, wait, you might not get that one. Never mind. But basically, there are a bunch of us who think escape is very possible, but to get the best idea of how well-defended this place is, look no further than the tank up one and left one of your tank."
"What?"
"In front of that Sandshrew guy. That tank."
Her statement was punctuated by a loud THUNK! sound effect from a nearby tank.
Evan, who had been trying to get some sleep, jumped and looked up.
A Zangoose had just been tossed against the wall of her tank. Her assailant, a Seviper, had his bladed tail against her cheek. He said something, but it was impossible to tell exactly what- the sound was heavily muted.
From behind, it was impossible to tell exactly if she replied- at first it was only apparent that she had moved her jaw. Then, she darted to the side, and rolled into him. The two tumbled into a wall, the Zangoose on top. They stood perfectly still, exchanging some brief inaudible dialogue, before the Seviper coiled his tail around her, and squeezed, knocking the wind out of her. This was just enough of a distraction to roll on top of her.
As the fight went on, the Bayleef leaned closer to the glass.
"Fifteen on Martha."
"What?"
"The Zangoose is Martha. The Seviper is James. Those two fight like this all the time. It's become fairly common practice around here to gamble on their fights."
"I'm eight!"
"Yeah, and I'm nineteen. None of us are legally allowed to gamble; that is, those of us who do. Martha has a slightly better record, so I'm gambling on her. If we ever get out of here, the loser pays the winner. Interested?"
"What are you guys talking about?" asked Evan, who had been staring at the two for a bit before inferring that the glass wasn't completely soundproof. The Jolteon morph walked over to the glass.
"Those two," Mark said, pointing at the two fighters.
"I was just betting–"
"Betting?"
She repeated what she had told Mark. "Anyway, I said fifteen on Martha."
"I'll go–" Mark began.
"For neither," Evan finished for Mark. "You have no way to pay if you lose and we do get out."
The Bayleef shrugged. "Eh, it's up to you... To be honest, though, this fight'll probably be over soon, anyway."
"Huh?" Evan asked, looking back up at the two that had been battling for a while now.
"Either they'll get tired, or someone'll come in to break them up. Usually, it's the former, but we had one instance where Martha almost beat James to death. All bets were off after that one…"
"What over?"
"They never say. The loser generally doesn't want to talk about it, and the winner is too busy recovering. It's always something different, however–we've occasionally heard snippets when they were particularly loud. Anyway, just watch for a while- each fight is slightly different. Last fight, Martha focused on rabbit punches, and the fight before that, James was big on slow but effective defense, which won him that fight."
Evan was silent for a moment, then spoke up. "You guys have some twisted views on entertainment."
"It's either this or sixteen hours of guys standing around with guns. Take your pick."
"What, no training?" asked Mark.
"What application would that have? If they eventually release us, why would we need to fight? Breaking out is near impossible–as unlikely as it seems, those two buffoons are actually decent escape artists, when they work together. They're still here, so what are the chances of us forcing our way out?"
At this point, Evan receded from the glass. He was thinking hard to himself, and a certain Mew noticed, but said nothing.
"He okay?" asked the Bayleef.
"Yeah, just thinking to himself." Mark replied.
Evan suddenly looked at the top of the tank. Then he frowned, and looked at the bottom and smiled, nodding once to himself before going back to just thinking.
"About what?"
Mark shrugged. "I'll be surprised if I know anytime soon. Could be anything."
"Hey, when's food get here?" Evan asked, Mark relaying the question as Evan came over to the glass.
"Around 6:30. Why, you hungry?"
"Famished. What sort of food do they usually serve here?" Evan glanced at the clock. It was about 4.
"Well, the FDA said it was safe for consumption. That's about the only compliment it's ever gotten."
"I'll take whatever they've got- I haven't eaten in days."
The Bayleef nodded. "I hear ya. You two seem like better neighbors than that Sandshrew. I'm Helen. You are?"
"Evan," the Jolteon said.
"Mark," the Eevee added.
"Alright. Nice to meet the two of you."
"Nice to meet you too!" They said at the same time.
So who won? asked Mew in Evan's head, referring to James and Martha; while he was thinking, Evan had mentioned to himself that the two were fighting, and Mew had heard.
Evan glanced across at their cage, having completely forgotten about the brawl occurring some thirty feet away. Both fighters looked pretty worn out, but James had a grin on his face. Evan chuckled.
The Seviper, was Evan's reply.
Some two days later, another Mutate was being lowered into a tank.
She hadn't come quietly, though. Everyone in the facility had watched her be lowered down into the tank, doing her best to climb back up the cables that connected the lift to the winch. Only a warning shot fired towards the floor of the tank had dissuaded her.
As she carefully climbed back down the wire, all was silent. When her feet touched ground, she was seen shouting something, but it took a while for the message to be passed around.
"What are you all staring at? Don't tell me none of you haven't made escape attempts."
Any attempt to talk to her over the next hour or so proved futile.
Around midday, Helen headed over to the glass.
"So, what do you guys think of our new arrival?"
"She's scary..." commented Mark.
"She's a bit aggressive," Evan said.
Helen nodded. "I had heard that she came in perfectly normal. I'm fairly certain that this radical personality shift hasn't worked in her favor. Can you talk to the Sandshrew over in the other tank? Ask him if he can get a good look at her."
Mark nodded, and headed over to the other end of the tank.
"Hey, Daryl. Our new arrival..."
Daryl picked himself up, and stood over by the side of the tank. "Hey, Mark. What do you need?"
"Check on the new girl. I think Helen might be worried about her."
Daryl nodded. "You seem concerned, too. I'll do it for you, but not for Helen."
"What do you two even have against each other, anyway?"
Daryl was silent for a moment, and then ignored the question. He moved over to the edge of the tank, and motioned for the Charmeleon to look his way. Mark saw her head move, but not her expression. Daryl, meanwhile, actually stumbled backwards, and fell. He crawled back over to Mark's tank, and turned around.
"Um, I think we need to worry more about what happens when she gets a roommate; she'll probably end up attacking the guy..."
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't ask me to talk to her again. That was no ordinary angry look–that was cold, hard murder in her eyes."
Mark, unnerved by this, slowly crept back to Evan and Helen.
"Uh, she's alright? I guess?"
Evan chuckled and walked over to the edge of the tank. "What did you say?"
Daryl repeated himself. Evan slowly nodded. "I see."
He walked over to the other end and looked at Helen. "She'd better not get a roommate before she calms down…"
Silence for a few seconds, before Mark spoke.
"So. Um, Helen? Why exactly do you and Daryl dislike each other?"
Helen sighed. "You know that old saying about how you never start a conversation with religion or politics?"
Helen's roommate spoke up, and Helen nodded.
"Yeah, sometimes Sports end up there too, but that's not really relevant. Point is, not only did he try to start a political debate about our situation, he followed it up with acting all bitter when he couldn't defend his point."
There was really no way to continue a conversation after that, so after a while, Mark curled up to nap. As he did so, Evan sighed.
How did you know Teleport so quickly? he asked Nick.
I'm not sure. I just sort of... did. It's tough to explain, but I do it without thinking about it now...
Ah... You're lucky... I don't know how to use anything...
Eventually, you'll figure it out...
Yeah... I'm gonna practice a bit now.
Evan ignored whatever reply Nick had for him. He tried to focus on finding any sort of internal energy, concentrating it towards his hands. And then, suddenly, he found it. Something clicked in his head, and he began to focus his mind on his fist. As if on cue, he felt a buildup of energy. Grinning to himself, he pointed his hand at the ground, and released.
The result was a large flash, accompanied by a static blast.
The blast woke Mark up. "What was that!" he cried.
Evan stared at his hands in shock and pride.
"That, my friend, looked like a pulse of thunder."
Evan whirled around. Standing there was a man appearing to be in his mid-forties in a business suit.
"Who are you?" asked Evan.
"Victall Randolph."
Evan raised an eyebrow. "Didn't really answer my question..."
"All you really need to know is that Mutates in general have my sympathies. I've been away for the past couple of days; can I get your names?"
"Evan. He's Mark." He pointed at the Eevee hybrid in question.
"I see. Pleased to make your acquaintances."
"Same to you, I guess."
Authors' Notes: YuseiDarkUmbreon: The next couple parts won't be as long, and will be uploaded in reverse. That means part V will be on this account, and part VI, if there is one, on my account. (For those of you on fanfiction's site, you'll just get it as one whole part.)
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