A month after the fateful visit from the Boy With Bread, as the little girl named him, an important figure came to the prison grounds. He stepped gingerly and carefully, as if the prison dirt might soil his shoes.

"For the last time, John, I must have one of them!"
"But sir! They are highly dangerous criminals!" the guard argued.
"I need them to prove my point that I, the village chief, can control such vile animals!"

"Alright, sir. Take the big ones. They have muscle, but not an ounce of brains. The small ones are cunning. You must not let them outwit you,"the lowly guard, John, advised. The chief growled, as if he was not used to being told what to do, which he probably wasn't.
"I am village chief. I decide which of these prisoners I want for my regrow program, not you!" With that, he struck John across the face, leaving a red angry mark that would develop into a big bruise. John wisely lowered his head submissively. Then, as if to prove his point, the chief cast his eyes on the last prisoner in the last cell.

It was a girl with white rags that barely and properly covered her. Her left wrist were bound to the stone wall, with steel like ropes that cut into her flesh. She was slumped against the wall, barely alive, unconscious. She was only a bit older than 5-years-old. The chief pointed one crooked finger at the girl and sneered.

"I want it."
"Sir, are you crazy? She is very dangerous! Do not be deceived by her innocent, childlike body! She cannot be trusted!"John insisted, taking hasty steps away from the girl's cell. He felt the chief's sharp eyes on him. John swallowed the spit gathered in his mouth.
"Yes, sir. I will follow your orders," John said finally. He grabbed the key from his belt and unlocked the numerous locks on the stone door. With great effort, he pushed it open and yanked the girl to her feet. She just crumbled, like bread that is overcooked. The chief gestured to the guard to pick her up. John wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and roughly pulled the girl up.

"It is beautiful. What was its name?" the chief muttered, dragging his fingers across the girl's pale face.
"Her- I mean it's- name was Subject C, also known as Clara," John said.
"Clara... tsk tsk. My new adopted daughter should have a special name. Felyx, maybe?"
"Lucky, sir?" John scratched his head, very puzzled.
"Yes, as she is lucky to be chosen for my experiment." The chief threw his head back and guffawed. John nervously laughed. He started to pity Subject C, who would now have to live with that monstrosity. He wrinkled his nose discreetly and although he didn't really want to, prayed to Arceus for the little girl's sake.

Felyx

It was a cool afternoon. Felyx was roaming the streets of the village-town, as tourists often called it. The village-town was partially deserted, only a coupe of people walking around, minding their business. She was dressed in a comfortable blouse and a knee-length pleated skirt, with a simple sling bag that was weighing her left shoulder down.

"Hello, Felyx, dear! Would you like some tea? I made your favourite," Mrs. Meloen called, waving from her porch chair. The widow had her beautiful white hair tied up in a bun, and a couple of pens stuck into her bun. Her ever present smile was reflected back, Felyx's white teeth flashing for the briefest of moments.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Meloen. I have business to do for Uncle Quinn," Felyx pleasantly replied back. Mrs. Meloen's wrinkled hand waved at her, grinning good-naturedly back at her. Felyx turned her back to Mrs. Meloen, and retreated into the familiar darkness of a building, following her daily route that would lead her to Mr John's house, a retired guard. Felyx lightly stepped on the ground, trying not to make any noise, as it would only bounced off the walls to make eerie echoes that spooked her to this day. She gaily pranced through the spacious alley, swinging the sling bag that could knock a grown man over with one hit.

Squeak! Squeak! Felyx halted abruptly, tilting her good ear to locate the sound. No mistaking it, that's the sound of rubber against pavement, Felyx confirmed, whipping around to discover the source of the noise. She breathed in deeply. Among the refreshing scent of crushed leaves, soil and Mrs. Meloen's Berry Tea, a sharp odour made her wrinkled her nose. Humans! Her heart raced. Felyx had heard about men robbing children of all ages in the cover of darkness. She clutched her bag protectively, determined not to lose the contents in her bag.

"Come out, whoever you are!" Felyx said bravely, ready to defend her precious item with her life, if she had to.

A menacing laugh rang in the semi-enclosed space. Three figures loomed into Felyx's line of sight. They easily blocked off the small girl's only path to her destination. She growled softly, clenching handfuls of her bag, unwilling to take the long road to Mr John's home.

"Go away! I have nothing!" Felyx cried, desperately trying to hide her bag, only to have it slipping through her fingers. The bag crashed to the ground. Thankfully, it's contents did not spill. As Felyx was about reach out and snatch her bag from the floor, the bigger of the three boys stepped on her left fingers. The scream of agony ripped through the air. And to make it worse, one of the other boys nonchalantly kicked dirt onto the poor eleven-year-old. When the boy placed more pressure on Felyx's hand, she yelled, her voice covering the sickening sound of broken bones. Felyx whimpered, cradling her left hand as soon as it was released from the vice grip of the rubber boot. Pain blasted through her whole arm, making it impossible for Felyx to think properly.

"Sweet girl, we ain't here for your precious bag. We're here for you! Word on the street is that you have a special talent, ain't that right, Chief's niece?" the big guy drawled, almost lazily raising his enormous boot to squash Felyx's other nimble hand as well.

Out of the blue, there was a howl and a boy landed on fours in front of Felyx.

"Go on! Shoo! Leave the girl alone. She is of no value. I have been keeping tabs on her ever since Chief Quinn announced her as his niece. Hell, the only thing precious about her, is how fragile she is. Go on, and bother Rich Kid Tommy instead. I hear he's down the lane, loaded with cash today," Felyx's so-called protector told them, flicking his head in the direction the mean guys appeared from. They raised an eyebrow in unison.

"You watch out, West Hunt. One of these days, you ain't gonna be round to protect this purdy gurls no more," the third boy finally opened his mouth. They walked backwards, all frowning, as they admitted defeat to this West Hunt. Who in Celebi's beautiful garden is he? Felyx, although grateful for his intrusion could not shake off the aura of mystery on the guy, and it left her with her hairs on end.

"You alright over there?" The boy asked, reaching out to help Felyx up. She glared at his hand and slapped it away with her right.

"I was fine," Felyx sniffed, not able to get heads or tails of her situation. She was curious, and to be honest, a bit suspicious, of this male, who had helped her without even knowing her. Living around a powerful and influential politician made her wary, years she spent sniffing out food from the streets made her slow to trust. It did not help that this West Hunt guy looked similar to Uncle Quinn, said politician.

Felyx attempted to stand, but upon having Ménière's disease in her left ear, standing up with one hand was an impossible task. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and the pavement where she sat had an imprint of her bottom on it.

"Oof!" Felyx let out a puff of hair upon impact. The boy in front of her burst out laughing. Half crying from laughter, he firmly grasped Felyx's right hand, paying no mind to her refusal for help, and tugged so hard, Felyx felt her limb might pop out of her socket. She was helped to her feet and without as much of a thank you, Felyx scooped her bag up and ran away, careful not to move her dominant hand a lot. With every step,

Felyx's heart pounded, and fear coursed through her veins, enabling a her legs to run faster. Who IS he? What did he mean by keeping tabs on me? Her "cowardliness" was justified. If a total stranger told you he had his eye on you, you would have just scurried away, or even kick him where the sun rarely shines and then scamper. Never mind! Felyx scolded herself. She burst into the light, gasping for air, sides throbbing and dizzy from lack of oxygen. She sprinted all the way to Mr John's place and stood, boiling in the sun, steadying her nerves for what lay ahead, no, beyond the heavy oak door.

She placed her right hand on the door, with her shoulder resting on the door, and relied on her body weight, which was not much, to ease the door open.

"Mr John! It's Felyx! Please don't kill me!"