DUSK

Before Mewtwo, another artificial life was created...but her health was far more fragile than his and her fate was much more tragic.

It tastes like blood.

…Should I be surprised? Essentially, amniotic fluid - the synthetic kind in particular - is merely another form of the vital fluid. It provides me with the oxygen I need, provides me with the nutrients necessary to sustain my body, provides me with a warmth that obscures my senses and shape, if I merely close my eyes. In that darkness I might stay, for I have no needs outside of this place. All is provided to me here with each swallow I take, and no poison from within me is toxic enough to do me harm, so long as it's flushed out and purified. And the hum of the filter above has always been there to do so, muffling the low rumble of voices from outside the glass womb holding me.

How long have I been here…? Time seems immeasurable in the prologue before one's birth. My lungs simply take in the copper-tasting fluid. Copper? Yet another word gleaned from the minds of those around me. I've no control over what I come to comprehend, and they don't defend themselves against a probing they can't feel.

Genetic rape from a woman named Judith. I will be named after my dead, unwilling mother. The name is the feminine form of Judas, the traitor of the Messiah. So am I to be a betrayer too? Why? I don't see why I should betray those who formed me, for they've done nothing but make me from nothingness.

No. Wrong. A captured, feral espeon was who spawned me, again unwilling. But he couldn't fight against blissful dreams, nor could he stop an immaculate conception that took years to perfect. So many failed attempts at hybridization. Now, finally, a viable specimen – better yet, she's reached adulthood. She can be the prototype, the first experiment, one who can further lead them to success through her body. Blood tests, ova extraction, genetic mapping, chemical exposure…why is she still alive? Surely something will be wrong with her when she awakes? Surely something must go wrong, for she's an abomination, and unthinkable half-breed forsaken by Nature and God.

If I could, I would flinch at their thoughts. They hurt. Am I a toy to them? Yes. From my life they will gain what they need, and if I die, I will provide another example of what can't be done next time. For the old man wants a perfect fighter. He's impressed with the progress they've made, but ultimately, I'm not what he wants. Cloning will prove a better route to perfection than an atrocity such as a hybrid. But I can still be used.

Wake her up. See what she can do.

The cradling waters of the cultivation tank drain around me, and I mourn the loss of them. Oxygen, pure and light, filters in, and I spit up the fluid in my lungs, taking my first breaths. I don't want to open my eyes. I don't want to know smell. I don't want to be born, to live, to be thrust into the world unwilling. But I am not an infant. I can no longer stay a child.

The glass tube around me lowers into the metal and plastic pedestal, and the sharp odor of bleach assaults my nose, burning in my nostrils. I breathe through my mouth instead, but I can taste the fragrances in the air. Chinese food. Alcohol. Chocolate. Other foods and drinks. I've never eaten before, but my teeth are both blunt and sharp – I am omnivorous, I believe.

Then I feel cold, gloved hands taking hold of me. I do not resist them. Why bother? I have no real power. Merely because my mind can gleam bits of theirs makes no difference.

Sounds are not so muffled anymore. They are crisp and razor sharp. Footsteps, rolling tables, the shuffling of books and papers, delighted cries of congratulations. My muscles may be weak, but I will become strong with their training. I will learn what they want me to learn and then some. They set me down on the table, try to lay me flat on my back, but my tail gets in the way, so they turn me onto my side. They feel my limbs, touching everywhere, and I don't like how they pinch at me, how they grope my sensitive parts without comprehending the violation of the act. But I'm not human to them – just a dumb animal. They believe this is their right.

I open my eyes and see myself in the metal wall beside me. I'm a feline and a human, mixture into one being, but the blending is done well. There's no awkward bulging, no tumors or deformities. The creature I see is graceful-looking, slender, covered in bluish-lavender fur, except at the midriff and tail, where it darkens. But my eyes are what I like the most, for they're the color of crimson. It's a flaw in the genetic processing, but they are striking, and match the hue of the blood in my veins, of the scarlet of a sunset. Will I get to see a true sunset now…?

One of the laboratory assistants blocks the makeshift mirror, coming into my field of sight. He has long red hair, black eyes, tan skin, and is dressed all in white. He stares at me for a moment, and then kneels down, dabbing my wet face with a towel. An unnecessary act, the others say, but he contends I will be chilled, and lowering my immune system won't do any good now that I'm exposed to outside agents. The vaccines and particles injected into the cultivation fluid will only help so much.

He's smart, maybe compassionate, this rebellious son of their leader. He is Silver and he smiles.

This is kindness.

"…Thank you." It is hard to speak, but I manage to. It comes out soft, more of a faint mewl than anything else, my words being garbled…but the meaning is conveyed.

There's a flurry of activity, but the male remains. "Welcome to reality, Judith."

…Perhaps living is not so terrible.

Months pass. We should not be doing this.

By God, I knew that well enough, for I'm not worthy of this type of affection. I'm a monster, and no matter how pure my soul might be, I would always be a monster. Love, intimacy, physicality - these are things longed for but undeserved. Yet here in the small room I'd been provided to sleep within, Silver, my only friend, my master, gives that to me. He dominates the act, just as he dominated in the battles I fought for his sake. He can be cruel and frigid at times, but I could never stand being separated from him. Without him, there would only be the laboratories, the endless tests, the painful pricks of needles and the horrible stench of blood and peroxide. Already I have scars from what they'd done to me, and he strokes them wordlessly, forcing me to whimper.

Then there was pain.

It wasn't that I didn't feel craving, that I never felt lust. I burned now, but Nature wanted to keep reminding us that this was a sinful act. Despite that I was half-human, it hurt for him to enter me. But I let him come inside anyway, even though I felt myself bleed as I held him tighter, clutching him so he'd drive himself even closer.

Because I didn't want to be alone. I never wanted to be alone!

"Silver…."

And it doesn't last – it never lasts. His body collapses onto mine, and then he picks himself up and leaves. He never stays with me afterwards. I wonder what I am to him, really? He seems to care, and yet what proof did he give to me, other than what he leaves inside me? I laugh bitterly to myself. How pathetic and foolish was I? There is no hope here.

My brain throbs just like my heart, hurting, hurting….

"What have you done, Judith?"

The lead scientist looks down at me in utter revulsion and horror, his eyes fixating on the blood across my body and face. The headache is fading now, and I gaze around, peering at the scene I'd made. The laboratory assistants lay slaughtered around me, their pokémon torn apart by my hands. I'd gotten angry, distressed, sickened, and then had lost control.

But they'd abused me! And Silver…he'd been the best and the worst of them! So I'd killed him last, giving him some mercy and then as much pain as he'd given me. Our relationship had been toxic, for I'd never been able to get enough of him, and he'd treated me with a callousness that had murdered my soul. My heart is gone now, at least that dreaming part of it. I feel so weary of the world, tired of living. It hurt too much….

"I don't know," I murmur. It was the truth. Something was happening to me, something terrible. My head hurt…and I - I saw things.

Visions. Hallucinations. Premonitions. Dreams. With new understanding, I gaze up at them all, upon the father whose son I'd killed.

"I'm dying, aren't I?"

Internal organ degeneration…aneurysms…hemorrhaging…. So that was why I'd begun to vomit and cough up blood. That was why my head hurt so terribly, why I'd felt so weak. I peer deeper into their minds, not caring that they could feel me searching: they were planning to salvage what they could from this body of mine, this frail and sickly mass of flesh.

"No…not yet. Not yet."

I run.

More months pass, and eventually I'm tracked down by those seeking me.

The father stands behind me with a gun in his hands. I can smell the black powder, the acrid iron, can see the glint of reflected light in the grass. The soft green grass - I entangle my fingers into it, three fingers upon each hand, and swish my tail over it. It tickles. I breathe in the scent of the air, filled with the fragrances of flowers, of city smells, of brine and rotting fish. I dangle my feet off the edge of the cliff, savoring the last bit of the warmth from the sinking sun. I feel the wind caress me, gently, lovingly, whispering goodbye. At least the world, if no one else will, will miss me once I'm gone, will miss the shadow of life that had so loved the beauty and the wonders of existing.

It doesn't hurt anymore when the visions come, and as I watch them play in my numb, tortured mind, my heart swells and aches. I weep openly, letting the father know from the act that I too have a soul. Me, the created one, has a soul.

"Tell me, do you believe in God?" I ask, but I don't wait for him to answer. "…I do, even though He condemns me for what I am. So it seems so strange to me, that you humans are fine with destroying Him by stealing His powers. Doesn't that bother you?"

I must sound insane now, but the man humors me. "All children are meant to surpass their parents. This is no different. Now will you come along with me quietly or not?"

I stand up slowly, shakily, watching the sunset deepen, the bands of reds and oranges and bronze all fading into deep blue.

"It doesn't matter."

The gun is leveled at my head, and fear pools within me despite the defiant peace I've been building up inside. For I don't want to die, despite how much life hurts. I want to live. I want….

I want to meet him. Hold him. See him. Show him how much I care.

"Please, do something for me? Just one thing? Tell my son I love him. Please…."

Even though he would destroy them for their arrogance and callousness, I beg the father for that: that he'd let my child, my Mewtwo, know that I cherished him. I could never meet him, after all - they'd take from me as they had my own mother, using parts of me in the cloning process that would form him. So I could never know him, touch him, embrace him. He would be angry as I'd been, would be tormented and distraught. But he would be healthy, blessedly healthy, unlike me.

I love you.

The final seizure arrives. I collapse on my knees, shaking, spitting up blood from my torn and bruised innards. Vaguely through the agony, I feel gunmetal at my head, hear the trigger click, then-.

They bring the traitor's body back to the labs, dissecting her once-beautiful form and taking what they need. Samples of organ tissues, marrow, cerebrospinal fluid (so deathly high in pH), and so much more, and then they burn what remains, collecting the ashes and cataloging them along with the other specimens from the prototype.

Judith is no more.

And years later, her son stands at the spot of her death, sensing all that had once been, and mourns the loss of a bond he might have known with her, just as she had done for him.

And the dusk, the witness to the tragedy, remains bloody and unchanged, forever grieving with them.