Disclaimer: I do not own pokémon. I do however own the OC's in this fic.

Author's Note:It's been awhile. I hope you forgive me on that part. Having waited for months for updates on fics I like, I know the feeling that accompanies the lack of updates. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy the chapter, which, knowing what I've done so far, will only create more questions than give answers. For that, I won't apologize. It's nice to know that I'm intriguing your thoughts, and it makes for more interesting reviews. Besides, where's the fun if I tell you everything, eh?

Enjoy.

Previously:After nightmares and an accidental peeping incident, Mewtwo explained Psyche's story to Cassandra. Once a breeding pokémon and now a close roommate, Mewtwo warns the assassin once again against harming the little mother-to-be…though whether or not the woman will pay any heed to that is another matter.

CHAPTER 5: FAKE VODKA

The wyvern child looked up at him with a wicked glare, defiant and stubborn. He wondered at her draconic expression, at how alike it was to Giovanni's in rage. As he would with that damnable man, he was determined to stare her down, to not allow this human female get her way. She would not receive what she wanted from him. He refused to allow her that satisfaction. After all, it would only complicate matters, serving no purpose while it did.

(Absolutely not,) he snarled at his guest, not surrendering to her request.

She pouted up at him, "Oh, come on…it'll be fun! It's not like I bite," she teased, and then added, "...At least not hard."

He stared at her for a moment, (…Maybe it would be entertaining for you. But your amusement is not my concern,) he commented dryly.

Cassandra rolled her eyes, "Tell me, are you always such a stiff?"

The clone bristled, and abruptly, his patience ran out on humoring his would-be killer. She'd been attempting to get under his skin for the past hour, trying to convince him otherwise of a choice he'd made well before she'd awakened, (You are not coming with me. That is final.) He stated coolly, though his voice contained barely repressed frustration and aggravation.

Her arms folded over her chest, the silver orbs of her eyes flashing in the rising moonlight, "What type of host are you to keep me cooped up in here? That's hardly generous of you, you peeping tom-."

He cut her off before she could finish the insult, (Have you forgotten, girl, that you are fundamentally aprisonerhere? I do not care if you are sick of this place! You have no choice but to remain here.)

She leaned close enough that he could feel her hot, angry breathing, "No, I don't. I could just as soon throw myself off the roof…or I could just go ahead and "play" with Psyche while you're gone. Your choice kitty."

He glared at her for a time. After all, she had not been this adamant on leaving on his lone ventures before…in fact, she had seemed content to remain where she was and analyze his home. Observe his lifestyle for moments when he was susceptible to attack. Or just aggravating the clone to the point of seething rage when he'd caught her trying to hack into his personal files upon his computer. She had grinned, asking him about the presence of naughty pictures he likely looked at when she and Psyche weren't it the room with him. He'd been so disgusted with her that he had stayed out riskily long that night, arriving just as the sun had risen over the horizon.

All this in under a week too. And to add to that, the new problem her presence had aroused.

Psyche, despite her pregnancy, did not eat a considerable amount. Neither did he for that matter, even though he was quite a large mammal. Two meals a day was enough for him, and considering his low meat diet, it was not pricy to keep his stores of edibles in well stock.

However, this human girl…for some odd reason, she seemed to enjoy gobbling up the contents of his cupboard. And not gain an ounce, he noticed with some irritation. Her high metabolism was openly evident. During the evenings, he could sometimes hear her exercising in her room, the scent of her perspiration leaving him with a headache, especially when he had to ignore her heavy breathing. And considering that Cassandra had once inferred that she worked out in rather few articles of clothing, the ache upon his mind only increased.

Of course, humans needed more calories than Psyche or he. He had been made for endurance, using his stores of energy to the fullest efficiency. On the other hand, the Espeon was much smaller…requiring little as far as sustenance. Humans, however, usually had to eat at least three meals a day to keep them from keeling over from hunger pangs. Certainly, sometimes one could skip them, or have meager portions…yet, it remained true that this woman consumed in a day as much as he and Psyche combined. Perhaps plus some.

Hence the situation. He needed to gather more food. Cassandra, since she had discovered what he was going to do, had been insistent on accompanying him. For even though he had a large collection of books, a majority of them were of scientific studies and philosophy. Sometimes, old dramas or epic poems. She'd considered reading the Iliad and some Shakespeare, but her patience for figuring old speech was limited. Plus, after these past few days, her boredom had only increased.

She needed out of this place. Fresh air from the stench of feline and the horrible taste in artwork. Even the graffiti beneath the grand piano, in the cusp of the bookshelves, only amused her so much. Old and scratched up, it yet retained its dark color and usability. However, though she knew how to play a number of instruments, at least a little, playing any sort of tune that the others might find enjoyable was not her wish.

So, running out of things to do as she bided her time, she had concluded that if this creature in front of her wouldn't release her, then she would at least follow him on his little flights. Perhaps, out of his comfort zone, his home, he might slip up. And outside there were so many dangerous objects she could bash his head in with. Though, she'd have to drag away the body…and considering his weight that would be rather annoying. Still, if there were the possibility, she'd use it to the best of her abilities.

Finally, Mewtwo seemed to relent.

(Fine. However, do not try to stray out of my sights. I can hunt you down easily enough from your smell alone. I would not even have to use my powers to find you,) he growled, turning away, walking towards the table where a small bundle of fabric lay. He pulled on the concealing cloak he'd set down earlier when she'd begun the argument, the moth gray cloth worn and tattered. Throwing an equally dully-colored sack over he shoulder, he walked over to where his companion lay, whispering softly to her.

Cassandra watched emotionlessly. She was not touched by the gentleness in which he spoke to the little pokémon, nor the slight odd tone in his voice as he finished murmuring to her. So…he thought he could keep her in his grasp, no matter if she fled? Well, she would be certain to test that theory.

His eyes were harsh and hard as he turned back to her, and he gripped her shoulder with his free paw…the touch firm, yet hesitant. It rested longer than it should have in her mind, and it struck her as more frigid than the freezing blackness that took her for a moment as he teleported them to the streets below. Blind cold, helplessness…by god, did she hate the feeling. She stepped away roughly, not breathing. The Team Rocket agent clutched her black leather jacket about herself tighter, enjoying the warmth of the inner fleece collar against her neck. Autumn was falling swiftly, in a chilly dive. She would not be surprised if winter was early this year….

(Come, Cassandra. We have a long way to walk before we reach our first stop.)

She wanted to retort something, snipe at him…yet, what was there to argue? Obediently, she followed, her eyes glazed as she thought on other matters. As he glanced back at her after a few blocks, seeing she was keeping up his pace without issue, it struck him that she appeared much like a normal teenager would. Hands stuffed into her pockets, her hair dancing in the wake of a passing taxi, her exhalation pale and visible in the crisp evening air. The latter was a testament that she was indeed warm inside, not having liquid nitrogen for blood.

He felt a bit of sympathy for her. Dangerous, yes, but it was present….

If only…perhaps you could have been normal. Unfettered….

No. Those were not thoughts he should allow to formulate in his mind.

Cassandra noticed him staring, her serene expression turned to one of glaring, "What? Don't tell me you care if I'm cold, clone. I'm perfectly fine."

If only….

He turned away, crossing the street, her footsteps behind him. He turned into the marketplace, noticing how few stalls were there, let alone still open. Places like this were becoming uncommon these days, replaced with stores and security cameras. It was a good thing he had his own garden to count on in future years…or rather, if he survived this woman's stay.

Mewtwo picked out a few bags of dried fruits and vegetables, noting the lack of fresh varieties. It might be awhile until he again tasted the tart juice of even a grape. He handed over the coin necessary for the purchase, keeping his head low and his paws out of sight. Cassandra watched his behavior, somewhat understanding why. After all, it would cause a bit of a riot if he were seen.

After a few more stalls, purchasing equally dehydrated fish and jerky, he surprised her by stopping at a stand of candies…balls of honey and almonds, chocolates and caramels, creamy sweets with bits of berries in them. He got a few of the later, murmured something about Psyche's recent cravings…and then, surprising her, asked it she wanted anything.

Her extreme discomfort was obvious, despite how she tried to hide it, "No, I…no, Mewtwo, that's hardly…appropriate."

(You surprise me. You, who goes against what is even moral, worried about whether something is correct in social function or not. However, as your 'host', I insist.)

He gazed at the selection, and then tossed her a tiny package of vanilla candies, the pale spheres supposedly having a lemony core. She caught the gift and held it at arm's length, completely perplexed. Her expression was amusing; the clone had to admit. Yet, he held back his soft chuckle, and handed over the small amount of yen required. It did not seem anywhere near enough payment for the humor it brought him.

What made it priceless though was what happened a scant ten minutes later. Cassandra reluctantly opened the package and popped one of the sweets in her mouth…trying very, very hard not to let Mewtwo see her enjoyment. Yet, he could sense it…and, in a small way, he was pleased.

Such feelings did not last long however…quickly enough, he grew rather sullen.

You fool….

Soon submerged in his surly mood, disgusted by his actions, he almost passed by his second stop. However, he caught himself in time, turning down into the filthy alleyway, avoiding the rat pokémon enjoying their succulent dish of human leftovers. Creatures just as adapted to the city life as he was were not rare. Though, he had not yet lowered himself to digging in garbage for a meal just yet. Nor did he ever intend to, if he had a choice in the matter.

Suddenly, he spoke to his companion, (Keep silent while I meet with these people…their group is always rather on edge, and I would prefer to keep them from jumping.)

She cocked an eyebrow at him, "Excuse me? What exactly are you trying to say-?"

(Merely that I would appreciate yoursilence.)

They had stopped behind what seemed to be a near-abandoned laundry mat…the whole area being a repulsive combination of rotting elements. Dirty, mildew-ridden fabrics hung on slick lines, permanently soaked from the steam rising from the vents of the building. Clinging to each molecule of air was the stench of old beer, Chinese fast food, and rodent urine, a rather stomach-churning mix. Rust consumed anything metal, while mold turned the wood from long-broken furniture white and fuzzy. Grime spread in slimy layers around the edges of the garbage bins, and tiny insects darted away from the lights of passing vehicles on the main road.

Ironically, it all reminded Cassandra of 'home'.

However, while the human girl was well used to such places, it still disgusted her when she felt something squish beneath her boots…the sickly odor of compost filling her nose. Annoyance flared in her mind, and she repressed a curse, closing her eyes. Still, it wasn't as if she could just thrown her boots in the wash…Mewtwo was lucky she liked them enough not to tear them off her feet and chuck them at him. It was very tempting with the foul-smelling gunk on them, and their weighted soles….

Repressing her irritation, she quietly observed the few grungy young men and women that seemed to crawl from out of the cracks about the empty alley, kicking about litter as they approached. Some appeared no older than fifteen years of age. One, perhaps the best dressed of the bunch, was quite obviously the gang leader to her eyes, even though she lacked many of the characteristics that one would usually possess. The young woman looked as though she'd stepped out of a high-class college magazine, with her wavy auburn hair and white straight teeth, grinning at the cloaked figure in front of her. But there was no sweetness behind the smile. Cassandra watched in growing surprise as Mewtwo pulled out a small package of what look like coarse sugar, and traded it for the money that the leader pulled out of her pocket.

At once, she understood what was going on. She had to fight to hold back the astonished laugh that rose in her throat at the realization.

Well, well…so lookscanbe quite deceiving, can't they, Mewtwo?

Cassandra said as much when they had returned onto the swept, clean street, walking on the outskirts of the crowd.

Yet, he disappointed her, (It is not real cocaine. It is a safer synthetic substitute I created - closer to salt than anything else. There is a hefty dose of caffeine in it, yes, but it is nowhere near as toxic, and not as addictive as the true drug.)

She almost felt put out…and here she'd thought he wasn't such a saint, "'Safer', eh? For them maybe…but what happens when they find out what it really is? You know, people die that way."

(Considering that your job is to kill me, you should not be concerned,) he stated blandly.

Cassandra hissed at that, "I'm not worried about you! I'm worried aboutme. I've dealt with druggists before, and ended up shot in the leg! I would rather prefer not to have that experience again, especially without having something to fight back with."

(You are not getting your little knives back. If you have a need to defend yourself, I am certain with your abilities, you will be able to retain a gun from them without much difficulty.)

True. Still, it would be such a bother.

(We have one more stop, and then we can get back to my home,) he told, glancing back at her moody frame, (There is no need for you to be so tense either. This visit hardly requires you to be coiled up, ready to snap out and bite.)

Is that his way of telling me to chill out?

Supposing it was, the young assassin trudged along behind him, remaining hunched and sulking. They passed through various streets, into a considerably lighter part of town. Large apartment complexes melted into old-fashioned wooden homes, with red curved roofs and sliding doors, furnished porches where one could watch the leaves float down in their fiery colors to his or her well-kept lawn.

It was getting cold enough that the little trickling rivers and ponds that snaked about the tiny personal grounds had a thin layer of ice over them, and she could see the water pokémon beginning to sleep beneath them in the chill. They would be recalled soon enough when the weather fully turned to freezing, and moved inside. A Goldeen drowsily blinked at them as they walked by, approaching one of the smaller homes, hidden beneath a cluster of willow trees.

Not understanding what was going on, Cassandra watched with considerable surprise as Mewtwo knocked on the front door, waiting patiently. After a time, Cassandra could hear shuffling from inside, and the door slid open with a faint creak. An elderly woman, her gray hair, with streaks of white, gazed at them quietly. She leaned on her mahogany cane lightly, despite the arch of her back. Also, she wore a teal colored kimono with blue wisteria decorating it, the beautiful material gleaming in the glow of the electric lights behind her.

Yet her eyes….

They looked right through the two of them. The pupils were the color of pewter.

She's blind….

However, she smiled, seeming to know perfectly well who was there, "Well, if it isn't the little snitch. Come in cat-boy, and bring your she-demon friend with you."

How does she know I'm here…?

Mewtwo answered her obvious question, (Abigail may be unable to see, but her other senses work perfectly fine. She can hear your shifting, smell you…do not look so shocked. Surely, you, of all people, were taught how to make the best of all your senses, even the ones less palpable.)

Her eyes hardened….

Darkness…another blow from nowhere….

"Yes…," she murmured, almost too low to hear, before brushing past him, "Well, she invited us in, didn't she? Let's go."

She entered, with Mewtwo right behind her. Closing the door, he gazed about, noticing how little it had changed. Tradition Japanese artwork and calligraphy hung about the walls, displayed with pride and for the pleasure of the eyes. Strange, for one who could not see. Yet, Abigail managed perfectly well in the task of making tea, asking them to kneel down at the table and be patient. A simple thing; the floor mat being quite comfortable. Cassandra brought up the ways of etiquette she'd been playfully taught far before she'd ever even heard of Team Rocket…no easy task, yet one able to be accomplished.

The old woman returned, smiling with good humor, "Well snitch, will you introduce me or not? Or will you prefer to keep your silence, as you do most of the time."

Mewtwo took a sip of the tea he poured for him, enjoying the light flavor and aroma, (Her name is Cassandra, Abigail.)

"What, no last name?" she glanced at the young woman…which was quite disconcerting, when one knew her peering was really into nothingness, yet right at ones face all the same.

(Not one that is true, I am certain.)

"You picked up a whore then?" The old woman inquired bluntly.

Cassandra choked on her tea, "What? No! That's completely preposterous-."

"Hmmm? You have the scent of a young woman. Certainly equipped to be a mother, but obviously not one yet. No baby fragrance," At the words, Cassandra flushed, unused to being talked to in such a way, only growing redder as the elderly lady went on, "Well, I'm certain it'll happen in time. Especially if you take this whole no-last-name thing seriously. I'm sure some careless-."

Almost thankfully, Mewtwo broke in, (Abigail, as amusing as what you are saying is, I must agree with my companion. She could put herself less 'out'. Unfortunately, she is in a far shadier occupation...)

Contemplating his words, the old woman paused…before her face became grim, "…Ah, yes. I was wondering what that stench was," she said to no one, before fixing her attention on the younger female, "Girl, you may try to wash away the odor of blood, but you'll never get it entirely off your skin. It takes more than soap to cleansethataway."

Abruptly, Cassandra's flustered expression grew into something else entirely...darker. Her clench on her teacup tightened harshly, an open sign of her scarcely restrained emotion...which many she knew would attest to be a dangerous thing. Within seconds however, almost as frighteningly, this reaction died…she went cold, numb, her grip relaxing. This whole situation was absurd…the assassin had no time for these silly little games! Or feelings for that matter, no matter how temporarily entertaining they could be. She slowly sipped her drink, almost able to taste the mint…almost….

Looking up at them with false sweetness, she asked, "Tell me Abigail, do you have some nice, sharpened knives I could borrow? Mewtwo here has taken mine away," the agent told, smiling cruelly…she'd learned how to well from Giovanni. "Heisquite a thief, isn't he?"

Startled silence met her words.

After several rather uncomfortable moments, Abigail managed to respond, "Er…yes. He is," she agreed, an uncertain smile on her face. Then, gathering herself fully, she continued on, "Truth be told, the only reason I met him was due of that! Just this past summer, he had thenerveto go steal from my garden; after all the effort I'd put into raising it! I stayed awakeall nighthearing him dig up my plants," she growled.

"Finally, one night Icaught himat it. I used my broom on him I did, yowling loud enough forallthe neighbors to hear! He didn't like that much," she lowly chuckled, succeeding in her aim to dispel the lingering tension.

(There was no need for you to shout. Being struck about the head is enough to tell anyone they are not welcome. Your inviting me inside afterwards was what I found surprising,) Mewtwo murmured with displeasure. Yet, he was glad that the old human had gotten her bearings back so swiftly. Of course, with the daring life the woman had once lived in her younger years, he was not truly surprised….

"I'm not that inhospitable! I could hear your stomach growling, after all. Not only that," she pointed her cane at him, "But I needed someone to fix my garden after you'd trampled all over it."

(I did nothing of the sort-.)

She smacked him with her cane, turning to Cassandra, "Don't let his pretty speech fool you, girl. No matter what he claims, he can make mistakes just as easily as anyone else," she stated flatly, before lamenting her point, "He steppedall overmy poor sprout-lings! It tookdaysto coax them back into growing after he'd beaten on them!"

She sighed, turning back to the psychic pokémon, "Besides Mewtwo…if you had simply asked instead of taking from an old lady like me, I would have given you double what you stole those first few times."

(I believe I have already apologized for this,) the clone growled, rubbing the back of his head where she had hit him.

"Certainly, but your friend here doesn't know that, does she?" Abigail pointed out, before looking at Cassandra far more good-naturedly, "He needs not ask anymore however. An hour or two of giving me company is enough for a little food as payment," she told, and glanced back at the telepathic, "Speaking of which, it's on the back porch, Mewtwo."

(Thank you. I will be sure to gather it once we finish speaking.)

The elderly woman nodded, "So, tell me, how is Psyche…?"

And so the conversation went on, drifting into personal matters that did not require the teenager's comments. For a time, Cassandra listened, before she tuned out the drone of their words, the deep baritone voice of the clone melding with the crinkling tone of the old woman, into a chattering buzz. Left to her own thoughts, she mused on a number of things then…some of them about this odd quirk in Mewtwo's attitude towards humanity, others about her current situation. How long could she keep up this type of tolerance? How long before she'd go insane?

The male's speech tuned back in, (…Thank you for the tea, Abigail. Cassandra and I must be going however. We have kept you up far too late anyhow,) the pokémon said politely, rising, looking down upon the elderly human.

Her lavender-gray eyes glistened with inner laughter, "Goodness no! My grandchildren do worse any day! Besides, I'm plenty hardy for my age."

The almost seraphic being nodded as he turned away, closing his eyes for a moment, (Quite. Hopefully, I will see you again not long from now.)

Shorts farewells were then exchanged, Cassandra barely mumbling to acknowledge the parting. Wordlessness would have sufficed as far as the others were concerned, but the agent had nothing against the woman…so she murmured a short goodbye, not doubting she would never see the other human again. Following Mewtwo out to the backyard, she watched in silence as he gathered his parcels. Tea packages, several tubers, and a few spices and herbs. Pocketing them away, they departed from the gentle, quiet neighborhood, back into the more rowdy area of the polis they'd come from.

"I thought you hated humans," Cassandra commented suddenly, after a few blocks had passed them by.

His steps faltered for a moment as he contemplated an answer to that, (…Certainly, I dislike your kind very much. Contempt, distaste, scorn, yes…but not hate. Yes, at one point in time, I would have liked to see your species exterminated…and could have done so, as it was well within my power.)

The assassin did not even stiffen. She knew what kinds of monsters there were in her race….

After all, she was one of them.

"Yet you did not. Why?"

His gaze clouded over, (…Simply put…there are a few members of your race that are virtuous. Pure, kind…ones that did not deserve to die because of the cruelty of their fellows. Rare, yes…but present nonetheless. There are other reasons…however, let us leave it at that.)

After that, they fell into mutual silence, trailing through the labyrinth of streets that were becoming ever less crowded, only a few cars driving along the asphalt roads. A concrete pebble the size of an acorn skittered down the cool gray sidewalk after being roughly kicked, chinking against the metal light pole. Flame-colored leaves crunched dryly beneath their feet, whirling about in the disturbance caused by passing vehicles.

Soon, they found themselves trailing into the dimly lit alleyways where only neon lights flickered above them, the electrical ones having burned out long ago without replacement. Or broken. Sounds of glass clinging and crashing together as they were poured into the dumpster behind the local pub, an annual midnight occurrence, clanged in various ears. Hollers from anonymous folk, shouts of anger or reunion, or somewhere in between, made it all fade into a symphony of music. The metropolis' concert…somehow severely agitating when mixed with boredom…!

"Screw this," Cassandra grumbled aloud; and without warning, darted into the confines of the nearest bar before Mewtwo could stop her.

He stared after for a moment, before shaking his head in weary exasperation.

Ofcourse,she would go into one of the city's cesspools...it figured as much!

Having no other choice, he followed her lead, avoiding those who smoked on the front steps as best as he could. Still, the disgusting, acrid odor filled his nose, making him grimace and have to hold back a vicious cough. Humans, he thought as he entered the building, not only spread filth, but also had the most horrid of habits to add.

Edgily, standing near one of the shadowy walls, he scanned the room for his "guest", who was obviously trying to enjoy herself more than he thought was necessary. Orange and red lamps hung from the low wooden ceiling every two to three feet, casting a dim, grudging atmosphere, accompanied by pounding, harsh nu-metal music. Circular tables with painful looking chairs about them were occupied with a number of varied people.

Some had fang earrings, were bald, or harbored otherwise ridiculous hairstyles. Others would certainly not have been allowed in many public places from the lack of appropriate clothing. More however, looked like merely depressed citizens, having wandered into a different, but more understandable world of drink and money. There were a number of citizens playing various card games like poker, or simplified GO, tossing back spiked or straight drinks. Some downed mixes that would lead them to horrible hangovers in the morning, or in the hospital for alcohol poisoning.

No matter. He finally found Cassandra sitting on one of the high-legged stools at the counter. She was slightly hunched over the glass in her hands, the drink glinting fiery colors onto her dark cloths. She took a lengthy sip of the clear liquid she'd ordered, and considering the fact Mewtwo knew she had no money to pay for it, he bristled, knowing well on whom the charge would lay.

He sat beside her without a word, setting down his pack.

(You are underage,) he said with a slight growl.

She glanced at him, "I don't see your point," and then motioned towards the bartender with her glass, "He doesn't know that."

Silver eyes pried into the depth of his hood, "Or are you going to try and stop me?"

Silence.

She took another sip of the transparent liquid.

Nothing.

The assassin smirked at him in triumph of the tiny victory. Unnoticed, her free hand slipped down to her waist. Hidden from his view, stolen metal glinted briefly in the dull light. The drumbeat of the current rap song pounded the air around them, the lyrics' words encompassing. Cassandra set down her now empty glass, letting out a short breath. Sweet…fluid…. Her muscles relaxed, falling into planned rhythm…her right-hand grip tightening…Mewtwo's eyes glimmering out of the darkness of his cloak.

Before those around her could begin to even notice what was happening, she spun and rose towards her target, her stool knocked over in her fleet movement. Her free hand lashed out with a clenched fist, Mewtwo moving with equal speed. His paw gripped her wrist strongly, just as she had predicted. Her other hand, clenching a sleek, slender pocketknife she'd taken from one of the pub's occupants without her knowing, swooped upwards, tearing ferociously into his fabric cloak with a harsh ripping sound, aimed for his stomach, through the anticipated firm muscle and into the soft organs she knew were there-!

He grabbed her other wrist, throwing her down against the occupied table behind them. Drinks scattered and splashed about them, leaving a sour scent on their cloths, glass shattering in large shards about their feet. The young men sitting at the table left it vacant hurriedly, stumbling as they backed away in shock. Cassandra snarled, trying to kick at him, even though his body had curled over hers, his hands pressing hers firmly on the wooden surface, pinning her down. The knife hit the timber floor with a 'thunk' as it pierced and stuck into the soft surface, having been forced from the assassin's grip, skittering across the table to its fall.

Cries of delayed surprise and confusion followed as they were still.

Mewtwo lowered his face to her, the edges of the hood blocking out the reddish glow…his eyes fierce and harsh on her equally cold ones.

(Do not go making a scene, viper….)

He might have said more…but the expression of utter seething revulsion and fury was enough to make it clear what he thought of her in this moment.

She could care less.

For a moment, they stared into each other…a look similar to hatred etched in their expressions, yet not nearly so passionate or emotional. Vicious and hostile, it resembled the snarls that contorted the faces of two rival wolves after they had fought together, bloodied and torn, now at a stalemate, yet still longing to tear out the other's throat.

The shout of the nearby manager broke them out of their personal world of animosity.

"You two! Take it outside! I don't needanybodily fluids messing up my bar," he yelled, not entirely certain whether it would be blood or not. He'd had to clean up substances by far dirtier in the past.

Cassandra pushed upwards against Mewtwo, his hands releasing hers as he let her up with a scowl.

The agent of Team Rocket regarded the local authority indifferently, "Certainly. He's paying for my drink."

She walked out without another word.

Slowly, hesitantly as she departed, the usual conversation and din of the room rose from where it had left off. Several people stared at the cloaked figure that had been 'attacked' for a few more seconds, before turning back to their own discussions. Aggravated and feeling more exasperated with the woman than ever, Mewtwo sat down on the high stool, and gazed at the empty glass. Questioningly, he picked it up, sniffing the little substance left within. It had no odor. He swirled a pale finger into its depths, with a quick lick tasting the liquid.

…It was nothing more than water.

- Ms. Winter's Residence. -

A man in his early fifties paused at her familiar door, again contemplating his current actions and the risk he took in indulging in them. Yet, without a word, as always, he entered the small apartment, grateful that the young woman never locked her door. Some tiny portion of his mind doubted he would feel comfortable having to break in. But all the same, there was aneedto be here, to be able to feel her presence, hersoul, without her knowledge ofhis. It had become something of a sick habit of his, his visiting while she was away, and like all addictions, was as harmful as comforting.

The man drew in the air of the grim place, the faintest sweet scent, so like someone else he had once known, filling his nose. A bit sadly, he crossed over to her unmade bed, sitting down in the dark fabrics. Out of habitual rhythm, he opened and reached into the bottom shelve of her bedside drawer; riffling through her personal belongings…finding the picture he knew was there.

A woman with curly, sandy hair, in her early thirties, stood by a park fence, holding onto a little girl. Their skin contrasted, hers pale, while her daughter's was apparently of the tone of her father's, who had disappeared shortly after her birth. Their identical silver eyes glowed of lost joy, stabbing deeply into him. He stroked their image gently, sighing….

"Umbre," a sudden, low grumble reached him, "So you're back. You're lucky she's not here…she would kill you for what you did to her."

He put the picture back slowly, weariness in his every movement, "…I know. And for that, I cannot blame her."

Hesitantly, he asked, "…How has she been?"

"Umbreon?" Shadow fired off a snarling response, "Why don't you ask her yourself? Ring her up one of these days?"

He shook his head, "It is better this way…."

"Umbre," the little pokémon stuck up his muzzle at the man, "Coward."

Sighing, the man shook his head tiredly, "I'm no coward Shadow. It's safer this way."

The little fox rolled his eyes, deciding to drop the old argument, knowing he would have just as little luck as any time before. It was no use. "…Umbreon," he piped, changing the subject to a matter of more interest, "…Do you know who Giovanni sent her after this time?"

For the first time, the human gave a wry smile, "Yes…and he knows he's making an awfullyriskygamble."

"Umbre?" The small feline asked curiously, curling up beside the man's knee, "What are you betting happens?"

Within an old phone booth, surrounded on all sides by glass walls, Cassandra fed the machine the bit of change she had in the depths of her pockets. Typing in the string of numbers somewhat clumsily from the lack of use, she impatiently waited as it rung, glancing towards the bar for her captor. So far, he had not followed her outside. After what seemed like an hour, the other line picked up.

"Viridian Gym, how may I help you?"

The agent cut off Giovanni's secretary before she went on her usual ramble, "Azra raven dico, questio placitum quod regimen."

Silence for a moment…then,"Hold on for just a moment, Ms. Winters."

The sound of the line being switched over….

"Cassandra? What is it? Why are you calling?"Giovanni's rough voice came across.

His assassin gritted her teeth at his tone, "The situation here has grown…somewhat complicated. I need a week's extension on the deadline."

'Deadline'…in this situation, the cut for how long she had to complete her mission, to kill her target. Usually, on quick strikes like this, two weeks were necessary at most…after that however, if she didn't make contact, Giovanni would send reinforcements. To rescue her, or, if she were dead, to finish her assignment. It was a risky move, as it was more prone to draw attention…and neither wanted that.

Plus, more than anything else, Cassandra hated feeling such helplessness.

Her boss pondered it,"…Very well. You have two more weeks until you must return. Is that all?"

She blinked, and then thinly smiled, peering at something out in the murk, "What's the best way to hijack a motorcycle?"

The crime lord seemed amused, but his words made her imagine a hand that shooed her away. Though, not particularly roughly,"I'm certain you remember quite well, little raven. Now off with you. Remember: you have two weeks."

The soldier in the teenager returned. She understood. "Affirmative."

Cassandra hung up without another word. No goodbyes were necessary. Sensing Mewtwo's approach, she exited the booth…managing to get several yards down the street before he stepped out onto the dirty steps that led into the bar. The clone caught up with her quickly enough as she crossed into the nearby parking lot, for a couple minutes, regarding her in silence. Then, he allowed his thoughts to be spoken.

(Your drink was nothing more than water.)

The young woman did not look at him as she said, "Of course. I don't drink alcohol."

Hesitance. (…Why is that?)

Barely noticeable, her steps faltered, "…Let's just say that the first time I really drank, I ended up completely hammered…and I regretted it the day after deeply. So, I promised myself I would never touch an ounce of it again."

(…I see.)

"No…you don't."

With that declaration, she walked over to the nearest vehicle: the motorcycle that had caught her eye minutes before. Glistening ebony as a beetle's gleaming shell, with luminous, deep crimson streaks down it sides. Nice leather seating, a wide moonlike headlight snug between the silvery handles. Of the same metallic tone, the foot pegs and the chrome spokes of the large wheels gleamed wickedly. The large exhaust pipe flared out on the right flank; lights similar to narrowed golden eyes present at the tail end. A rather expensive piece of work…but no less cruel and wonderful.

She took out a set of keys and other tiny tools she'd pick-pocketed in the bar before Mewtwo's arrival. Some of the occupants had been obvious bikers. It didn't take her long to pry into the inner workings and hotwire it…this skill being one of the few, if not the only, fun parts of her training: to be able to acquire any escape vehicle she wished. With a few finishing provocations, the engine revved on with a pleased growl. She cast the pokémon a mischievous look, closing the now purring creature up to its previous whole perfection. Throwing a leg over its side, straddling the bike, and putting on the available helmet, she twisted the throttle. Beginning to speed off, she threw over her shoulder and the considerable noise, a simple challenge:

"Catch me if you can, pussy-cat!"

As she rounded the corner well over the local speed limit, her feet barely graced the braking foot peddle of the V-rod style motorcycle. Her hands fluidly caressed the hand level and clutch to switch into slower gears if need be. Mewtwo stared at the sudden departure, surprised by her actions…and intrigued by her words.

His eyes glowed, a tiny smile within them. Very well then…he would catch her. The feline had no choice, after all. He could not allow her to escape. Mewtwo's feet lifted from the ground as he flew after her, determined to snatch her back. The clone would not allow her to best him so easily…!

Cassandra herself darted through the cars agilely, casting a swift backwards glance over her shoulder to see his figure soaring some forty feet above her, staying out of the bright electric lights about the road. Wickedly, she grinned, turning down another street, darting about in the attempt to lose him. Looking over her shoulder again, she could not spy him. However, within moments, he was there again, just above her head some several yards high.

The chase went on….

"Umbre?" The small feline asked curiously, curling up beside the man's knee, "What are you betting happens?"

Again, the man's eyes glistened with wry amusement, "Don't you know Shadow?"

He paused then, before giving his opinion on the matter, one of which he couldn't help but believe in full-heartedly. After all…some things in this cruel world were inevitable. Even on this somewhat disturbing, and bittersweet thing.

"…History is doomed to repeat itself," he said, the ominous tone of his voice somehow prophetic…and neither had any idea of just how true those words would turn out to be.

Author's Note:I won't tell you who the man was. There were vague hints, but I won't confirm any suspicions. As I said, it only raises more questions…but I hope you liked it.

As for the string of Latin that Cassandra rattled off to talk to Giovanni, it said, "Azra the raven calls, seeking conference and guidance." To explain, 'Azra' is one of the first names given to Azrael, the Archangel of Death. Though that particular seraph is pretty much considered male, I thought it to be fitting for Cassandra to be dubbed as such, due to her outward appearance and occupation, and other factors that one may or may not connect later on.

Plus, Giovanni strikes me as the type of man who does have faith…except it's very, very twisted. He'd probably like to think of himself a bit like Satan; and his most special followers as a type of mortal Grigori (this group will be mentioned later). Whether or not Azrael is part of this evil group or not is a matter of some debate.

For those who are downright addicted to religious material and belief, I hope you are not offended with me borrowing names and ideals, as this isnota religious work. I am making allusions and analogies, not being literal. Plus, Latin and Biblical references are common in our world, as science, theology, and history use them. If Cassandra is going to give some sort of code phrase, is might as well be memorable to her in these various ways.

Anyhow…see ya'.

Oh yeah, almost forgot…please review! (But please, don't try to drag me into religious debate. I am downright stupid when it comes to theology, mostly because I ignore the study just as I do in cooking and mechanics. Sorry, XD.)