Disclaimer: I do not own pokemon. Teresa belongs to me however, as well as the plot and other original characters of this story. Understand that I do this for no profit, nor am I trying to infringe on ownership of the pokemon series/games/books/etc. This is merely a personal endeavor, nothing more. I also don't own the lyrics to the song "Out Of This World" by Bush.
Author's Note: Originally, I had no intention of writing a note for this story. I had nothing I wanted to say to anyone about it, nor anything I wanted to elaborate on in its meaning. I suppose this change of mind comes not for the numerous random people who click on it and skim through it, but for my own sake: I needed to declare something before you all read this. I am Pro-Choice on the matter of abortion. I will not say it is correct, or fair, or even just, and I cannot condone those who can merely go into a clinic and have it done as if it were as easy as getting a shot. I do not believe life should be destroyed without the moral consequences of that destruction weighing heavily on the individual. Yet when it comes right down to it, I believe in the ability to choose. As well, I am an agnostic who verges on being an atheist. There is no God in this story. The spiritual moment has nothing to do with Him. It is merely a moment of clarity where a person figures out who and what they are.
In these past few years, I've changed in ways I detest. I've forgotten who I am. Recently, while I was trying to get to sleep and struggling to find some meaning in my confusion, I realized I hadn't really looked up at the moon in a very long time. When I was younger, it always gave me peace. So I got out of bed and went to my window…I looked up…and felt that same sense of calm comprehension. Reality wove back in, and it was not a terrible thing.
I apologize to those of you who I only met within this past year, and who I do not want to write me any of their thoughts concerning this piece: Kaya, Chris, Louisa…and especially Aeris. You know more about me than most. But as for who I am - you never knew me. Not the girl who faded away as the years went by. It's a shame, because that person was alive. She had a soul. She had faith. That girl is now dead.
This is all that remains.
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Out of This World:
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The place she dwelled within was a hollow cube of white, large enough to give her room to stretch and breathe, but small enough to be silently declared a pen for an unstable animal. There were no windows, and the electrical lights far above her head could only be turned on from the outside – her superiors had decided it was time for her to sleep, so they locked her inside the space and cast it into shadow with the flick of a switch. The half-breed that she was, a hybrid of dark and psychic elements, she did not mind the shadows. In fact, she preferred to live in a world without the blinding light of the wretched sun. Her body was suited for the preference. Felines, after all, were predators of the night. Her royal blue eyes could cut through the gloom with ease, and as she sat within the nest she had made in one corner of the room, she extended her claws out and back in anxiously. She hated tonight; hated what she was going to be putting herself through. But she had done it before…so she would do it again, as always.
Her eyes glazed, the pupils narrowing into slits as she began to rock…she hid the glow of her psychokinetic powers with ease, knowing she was under surveillance. They had not figured out her game so far, and she was loath to seed their suspicion now. Gathering the burning energy of her element, she reached inwards, searching for the specific signature that betrayed the thing that now possessed her body. Upon finding it, she began to release small shocks of the bioelectrical force throughout the organ it dwelled within, burning away the comforts of its haven. Her muscle tensed with pain – it felt like needles stabbing into her delicate flesh, sharp and thin…it was almost like cramping, but not as whole and heavy. This abuse did not destroy the parasite, as she preferred to think of it as, however…so with one swift stab of energy, she burst its tiny heart, feeling the flicker of its own life-force being snuffed out. That was all it took to set off the reaction. The physical hurt grew exponentially until she was hunched over and gasping…within less than a minute the poison of the act left her form, soaking the fabrics beneath her black with a sticky, steaming, crimson wet.
It took her a moment to regain control…when she did she lifted herself away from the mess without a word, and turned to look back at it. Her nest was soaked with the bloody slime, and she ran her claws through it, catching the barbs on the bits of red flesh. The smell disgusted her and reminded her of other grown females – she had thought of it once as a mother smell, but knew it now to be a sign that a female was completely mature in body. Regardless, she soon found was she was looking for, and pulled the tiny thing into a paw. For some strange reason that escaped her, she began to cleanse it and her fingers with her long, sandpapery tongue. The taste was revolting, and scarcely like the blood that she usually suckled on for nourishment. But soon she could see precisely what the thing was: a tiny corpse.
When we die,
When we die,
We go into the arms of those,
Who remember us….
She refused to think of it as anything other than a lump of flesh…for that's all it was. It had been too young to have a mind – it had just been an unwanted growth inside her womb, created through an act that had been devoid of affection. It was swiftly going cold in her grasp, and she was repulsed by having allowed it to develop to the small size it was. Usually, when she found herself pregnant, she would go off on her own and destroy the thing immediately, then expel it from her body. The first time she had allowed it to grow to this point out of uncertainty…but what of this time? Why had she waited so long?
She didn't know. But she heard shouting and footsteps from outside her pen – she swiftly grasped a small rag and wrapped the thing up, stashing it away under a loose tile; there was a hole there that she had dug with her talons when she was little, and it remained undiscovered by the geneticists. She would go outside and bury it with the others later.
By the time she turned around the door had been unlocked and was being thrown open – she blinked and hissed quietly at the white light from the laboratory beyond her place, and glared at the silhouetted forms of the human scientists who filed in swiftly. With gloves hands and immaculate coats, pure despite their desired goals, they searched her nest, grasped her to check her over. She longed to slash at them, to bite them, to scream at them to get the fuck out of her den, but she restrained herself. They would be gone shortly. Causing a greater fuss would only prolong their stay.
The woman who was checking her over cursed, and then rose with a sigh, walking over to the man in the doorway – he was an older gentleman with aged-bleached blond hair that had once held a bright-ginger hue, and had eyes the color of green mold. They were soft with a sense of sorrow and disappointment as he regarded the feral creature in front of him, and heard what he already knew to be the case: Teresa, his prime breeding pokemon, had miscarried yet again.
He didn't know how or why it happened, nor did he realize that what he saw was actually a self-inflicted abortion. Even if he did realize the truth, the hybrid knew her creator would not understand why.
How could he when he still had a soul…?
It hadn't always been like this. There had once been a time where her dreams had been vivid and nearly tangible: born from the womb of a surrogate with a litter of Meowth kittens, and nursing milk from bottles in human hands, she had only wanted friends and to someday be a part of a true family. She had gotten her friends by the dozen – other young experiments or naturally conceived kits had become her companions. They were a mob of playmates, learning and gaining experience in life as a group of careless youngsters. Many had loved it when she'd displayed her abilities, and had countered her impressiveness with their own unnatural elements. But in time, the group had splintered. The children of the breeding pokemon were sold off…the experiments began to die…others rejected her for her differences…and to make things worse, she was drifting away from them to be closer to the male who she'd only recently been introduced to. In short, she believed her father to be more important than those companions who did not share her blood.
Like her, he was an experimental breed, a Sneasel the size of a medium-tall human. He was lithe in form, dark in coloring, with eyes of amber and claws like scythes. The breeders, kind to her when she was yet a child, thought the pairing would do her good. It gave her father something productive to do beyond constant battling, and gave Teresa a teacher who could help her understand the dormant powers lying inside her. The darkness that did not come from her mother's fledgling race was hers to hone, with his guidance. So he taught her how to fade into shadows, how to use her fangs and claws, and how to track and hunt. They usually caught avian pokemon for their wild supper – there were plenty within the forests around the MSIRE-funded facility, and the eggs they discovered tasted delicious when slurped straight from the shell. But that wasn't all his kind ate, he explained. Sometimes eggs were difficult to come by…so fresh blood became a substitute. It provided all the nourishment one needed if one's metabolism knew how to break it down – and both fortunately and unfortunately for Teresa, her digestive track was like her father's. She could handle liquids and soft foods, nothing more. Items with more substance would only make her sick.
Those first few hunts, he had been the hunter, telling her to stay quiet and watch. Like any good daughter, she obeyed, watching him with wide eyes as he crept up upon the flock (or whatever other targets he had) and leapt upon the creatures, taking one down with a swift slash to the throat. She wouldn't suckle the blood flowing from its wounds…it took a few times of his encouragement for her to try. Soon she began to like the thick, hot, sweet liquid, and her mouth always salivated when she caught a drift of the coppery scent. She learned how to control her cravings quickly however. Considering that she lived in what could be considered a medical facility, she needed to.
After a time, she was the huntress…she recalled the very first prey she had caught: a young Pidgey, who had been crying for its life as she hesitated to deal the killing blow. Again, her father had guided her, showing her how to dispatch the bird fleetly. With reluctance she feasted on her first catch, feeling it grow cold and stiff in her paws. She had cried then, recalling how it begged. Her father, the predator that he was, declared that she would get over it soon enough. He was right.
These things were honest to her beast nature however. There was justification for learning the violent skills. Some other things her father taught her were not so correct. It began simple, initially: a small ritual to express their bond. He would cut across his wrist, and then her own, and the blood from their cuts would be licked away by the other. She didn't think much about the implications: she was too young to understand where it could lead, though the longer the treatment went on, the more disturbed she became. She knew something was off - why else would he take her into an unused room where no one could find them? Why else did she have to keep it secret, and lie to the others, saying that the cuts came from forest branches? Weeks passed, and those marks began to move from her limbs down her form, to spots she did not want anyone to touch, not even him. It was bad to let him do that. It was wrong. But he was her father – he had made her, he told her so before each time, and that meant that he had a right to her. Plus, she didn't want to defy him!
Yet still…she didn't like it. She began to avoid him, and after their outings she went straight to her private den…but he caught her at times. The rituals continued, despite her quietly voiced protest.
Eventually, something had to break. Her silence, and then her mind, did. He had cut deeper than usual this time, and left many more marks…it was lucky for her that she healed so swiftly. Now, tentatively and shaking, she nursed a wound near his thigh, feeling him quiver and sigh…and feeling something pointed and hard brush her cheek. She pulled back immediately in shock, confused by the new thorn he now possessed. He growled at her to finish what she'd started. Naturally, scared and nauseated, she refused. She didn't understand what this was, and she didn't want to. She was just a child.
And she didn't want to play his game anymore.
…We are home now,
Out of our heads,
Out of our minds,
Out of this world,
Out of this time….
He attacked her when she refused…and while he never broke into her, never was able to force her to do the thing again, he did hurt her, and did things to her that years later she would continue to repress. When his fury wore out, he left her against a wall, bleeding and sobbing, and stood in the moonlight coming from the high window, smiling to himself. Teresa curled herself up, repulsed by the assault, still able to feel his claws tearing into her delicate flesh, leaving wounds across her black and grey fur. Then, out of her disgust and sickness, fury began to grow. How dare he…? How dare he betray his own daughter? How dare he hurt her when they both knew who was really stronger…?
(I'll…I'll kill you,) She hissed, the high tone of youth scathing in her anger.
He only laughed at her - he felt no threat from her. He was too strong; he could take her down in seconds, and her psychic type only made her more vulnerable. What reason had he to fear the hatred of the little girl?
Before he realized what her intentions were, she launched herself from the floor, tackling him from behind, her paw whipping around his throat…her barbed claws bit deep as she swiped back. Blood spilled from his sliced throat, and he choked and sputtered, unable to believe that the kitten had dealt a fatal blow. As he died, she proved to him she'd taken his lessons to heart: she suckled the life-blood from his severed windpipe, tears streaming down her face.
And then she let him fall, stepping back from the cooling corpse of the one who had sired her…and whispered quietly, (I'll kill them all….)
Who did she mean though? Those who tried to hurt her? Those who were all around her? Those she hunted?
Even she didn't know at the time…but her words would come true, in the end.
…Are you drowning or waving?
Just want you to save me,
Should we try to get along?
Just try to get along….
Afterwards she went to her caretakers, seeing the horror on their faces as she came in, bloodied and shaking. They cleaned her up, fussed over her wounds, and within minutes the other body was found. It was clear, without her explanation, what had happened. Again and again the leader of the group apologized to her, hugged her, and cried to her that nothing like that should have ever happened. She didn't hug Dr. Arthur Gable back as she once would…no matter that he had named her, no matter that he had been her guide from infancy, no matter that he had watched over her as he might one of his own children, he had failed her this time. It would be the first of many crushing blows to their relationship that Teresa would have to endure.
(It's okay Dr. Gable. I'm okay….)
Yet he could see from the dullness of her sapphire eyes that was not the case. From that point on, she was distant from everyone. She let them run their tests, let them continue to teach her, let them do what they wished…but she no longer cared about making friends or having a family. She had known all she wanted of both in the form of her father, had she not? That was all she needed in any lifetime…!
By the time she was two and a half, almost of breeding age, she was allowed to learn more about her own history. Dr. Gable had told her that MSIRE, which had first discovered her race and had created new members of it, had fallen not long after her conception – ironically, by the paws of the very monsters they'd made for all the wrong reasons. However, out of the ashes of MSIRE had arisen the far more honest and humane Griffin Corporations, which financed his operations now that Marissa Stoneson and her husband had gone into a reclusive withdrawal from the limelight. So Teresa's creator was in charge of the organization's legacy – and she was an important part of it. Conceived from the donated ovum of an imprisoned No. 1, or Morgan as she had been called, and the sperm of another genetically improved creation, Teresa had been created in a Petri dish and stuck inside a pregnant Persian. In short, she'd been born far more naturally than her mother had. By this time, a freed No. 2, technically Teresa's "Aunt Neva," and her mate and child had fled to Jhoto to escape persecution. They had settled in Mt. Quena, where they had since then been watched by the breeders. The spying was unavoidable – they needed to know what to expect from Teresa when she came of age: what her instinctual likes and dislikes were in matters of shelter, food, lifestyle, and preferences in a mate; and how she might be in childcare. They gathered an ample amount of information from their observations while Teresa was growing up, but one thing was plainly evident: her kind was more like humans than normal felines. They would have to be careful with the girl.
And they were…they let her have access to files concerning MSIRE's downfall, the interactions of her kin, and scientific speculation on what they believed to be her ancestry. She learned much in those months before Arthur Gable would reveal to her what her true purpose was. Some of the fire that had died after her father's assault began to return to her heart…and it was partially fed by a silent resentment for her aunt. She was glad Neva had found happiness in the end, and now had the life she deserved after all the abuse: but why had Morgan needed to die for her sake? Why couldn't she have lived instead? There were days when the young adult looked into the mirror of the bathroom area and whimpered softly as she saw the similarities between her and her mother: the body shape, the eyes, the way they held themselves. They were so alike…but Teresa would never feel her mother holding her and expressing those likenesses with joy, and she felt the loss keenly. She even began to hate her cousins for their fortune in having their mother – she'd been denied hers! Her mother hadn't been there to raise her, to protect her, to teach her how to use her psychic abilities – she'd had to struggle all on her own! She'd never had the chance to know the female who made up so much of who she was. And if one thing was absolutely certain to Teresa, it was that she would have loved Morgan and been loved in return: in the end, her dame's heart had melted for her kin, though she'd retained the feral attitude that her daughter shared.
Instead, she was alone. Her friends had gone their own ways, not needing her. Her father had abused her. Her mother was dead. The humans now drifted away too, for feigning interest and fondness for the strange hybrid was no longer necessary - she was almost grown.
It was in those moments of personal sorrow that she discovered the reason behind why she'd been made: Dr. Gable was going to use her as Jacob Stoneson had tried to use Neva – he was going to make her into a breeding pokemon. Once she was sexually mature and went into heat, her body would be forfeit to whatever male they deemed fit to pair her with. They wanted to make her into an incubator for whatever experimental cross-breed they could think of. As Arthur explained it, this was for the greater good: they needed the most powerful pokemon they could make to correct a mistake they'd made years ago, long before her kind had even been discovered. They figured it was through her that they had the best hope of success. They even reassured her that she wouldn't need to be involved in raising the offspring – they could do that themselves. Furthermore, if she did this, she'd continue to be well cared for in ways that would make this place seem a heaven. They weren't going to make her miserable in their quest, at least not after they got what they wanted from her. It would not be all that bad! She had no reason to be so upset!
But Teresa didn't see things that way. She didn't want to have her life played with anymore, to be the focus and a pawn in some demented game. She didn't want to be used by them! No; she would far rather die than that. Then she realized something: if she was so integral to their plans, she must have more power than they let on. She decided quite suddenly that she would no longer be the one toyed with - she would do the toying. She would be a queen in this game instead of letting them control her! In those moments, she made her own plans to fight back.
(Fine. You want me to fuck someone, I'll fuck him. I'll do as you say – just don't expect things to turn out the way you want, Arthur.)
She made a vow to herself though: she would never allow herself to give them what they sought – she would never give birth to a living thing; not ever.
…So we move,
We change by the speed of the choices,
That we make,
And the barriers are all self-made,
That's so retrograde….
The first several times hurt like hell, leaving her limping and sore afterwards – some males were tentative and she had to spur them on, and some were eager and forced themselves roughly inside. She became pregnant in the course of her first heat – yet then, inexplicably, she miscarried. It wasn't her fault entirely, but it gave her ideas how to continue to play her game without being stopped: for they suspected nothing if the fetal death seemed natural. She could convincingly fake the incident when the time came. Slowly but surely, she gained more confidence in the moves she made. It was one of the wild pokemon of the woods she seduced first…she dabbled after that, allowing the males she was with play out whatever sick fantasies they might have. She was open, literally, to anything – no one could stop her, and she found herself able to do whatever naughty things she wanted. She got a taste for carnal pleasure swiftly…and soon enough, she amused herself with seducing others, be it male or female, animal or human. Humans especially entertained her, with all their moral dilemmas and creative minds. The highs she got from corrupting them, and then wiping their minds clean of their sins, filled the hollow ache inside her with a temporary warm glow. It grew to be an easy form of delight – she became coy, even as she despaired at the type of being she was becoming. Her father had indeed had more of an effect on her than even she had realized…!
By this point, her mind had twisted itself in some desperate attempt to make wrongs justifiable, to make her life have more meaning than what was desired for her. Whenever she dared think about her actions, she felt her composure begin to fall apart. So she stopped thinking about it, and instead developed a routine, a method to her developing madness. She followed their orders, and then did more than they wished during the night, wearing her body out by dawn. If she conceived, she forced herself to miscarry, again…and again…and again. She ignored the feeling that she was falling deeper into the dark with each new lover she took, and each new life she destroyed. This was what Arthur wanted from her, right? For her to screw whatever male she came across and then…then…?
…Are you drowning or waving?
I just need you to save me,
Should we try to get along?
Just try to get along….
They caught her eventually, fired the ones who had been with her, and began locking her up. No more going outside. No more access to other species unless they allowed it. No more freedom. Their regulations only stopped her from playing the game – she still went outside when necessary. She still had enough of a soul to bury her dead. Yes; with each immoral act she committed, a little piece of it was shredded and ripped away, stained with sin…but it was not gone completely. Sometimes she thought it might be, but then she'd do something that would surprise her and prove otherwise. Yet mostly Teresa continued to sink into herself…no one else mattered to her anymore. No one else cared enough for her or would bring her comfort. After this final miscarriage, Dr. Gable paced in her room, growling and tugging at his hair in frustration. Nothing was going the way he'd planned…!
"Five miscarriages, Teresa! Five! What is so wrong with your body that you can't carry any offspring to term? Why…?"
She looked at him with a somewhat crooked, sad smile. So…I am a failure in your eyes because I do not meet your expectations? I am worthless because of that?
He might not have said such things, but she had heard the way he and the others talked about her in soft undertones. They believed she was worthless: they were probably right.
"We've had far more success at less probable experiments than with you! Every time it looks like we have some hope for the future, you dash it aside. I-."
(Why don't you just give up on me?) She purred quietly, (Surely that would be simpler than these futile attempts to derive something from my body.)
His eyes narrowed as he glared at her, "…You think this is funny? It is not, Teresa. We only have a limited timeframe in which to create a pokemon powerful enough to…well, at the very least, you have provided us with some embryo samples! We may be able to create something from them!"
For the first time in so long, Teresa's cockiness and chaotic emotions fled her. Her mind grew silent and her body cold. She starred at him with wide eyes, not wanting to believe what he'd just said. She'd gone into the forest and buried those fetuses. She…she…! (What did you say?)
He contemplated her coolly. "Teresa…do you think we wouldn't be able to track down where you went? We have trained canines who know your scent quite well – we found where you buried the embryos. I'm sorry; we should have told you sooner. You had a right to know…but you seemed so ashamed of it…we didn't want to further harm you, so we-."
(You…have you been using them for something? Have you…?)
"Of course - even dead, they provided useful genetic information for us to consider in our experiments. Why do you look so shocked? Surely you knew that was a possibility."
Teresa couldn't stand to hear that…instead she placed her face in her paws, her shoulders shaking and her stomach revolting against what he was telling her. Because it hadn't just been for her sake that she'd destroyed her unborn children…it had been for theirs too. She had endured a life in the labs, endured a life under the yoke of human arrogance and self-righteous control, and she wouldn't wish it on any creature, no matter how evil they might be inside! She had wanted to spare them from the pain of such a pointless existence…but still, they had been used, just as she had been! She hadn't done a thing except tortured her own heart by ridding herself of them…!
(So…you defile the dead just as you defile the living. You wouldn't just leave them to rest in peace!)
Her voice, usually strong and hard, barely whispered that wretched statement…she wished to cry, but her tears had dried up a long time ago.
…I am alive,
I'm awake to the trials of confusion,
There are times I feel the way we're about to break,
But it's too much to say….
And then, very suddenly, she didn't care about anything anymore. Not for herself, not for the others, not for the game or even for life. All she cared about was making things right for her dead. All she cared about was stopping her makers from continuing in their monstrous endeavors. All she cared about was defying them and making things right, for once in her life.
She broke in those moments, her strained mind snapping – she bolted up and launched herself towards Arthur, extending her claws, baring her fangs: he came away torn but alive. Others were not so fortune. On pure adrenaline and filled to the brim with rage, she swept through the facility, searching every room for the living and dispatching them with a few swift blows. The geneticists fell, caged pokemon perished, and those who tried to fight and defend the others suffered a gruesome end. She did not fight for the living – she was fighting for the rights of the dead. She was fighting for her own purpose and sanity.
It was a slaughter, a bloodbath, a maelstrom of carnage. In the end, only a panicked few managed to escape with the supplies necessary to continue elsewhere – beyond that, the facility was ordered into lock-down, sealing her inside with the corpses. As the klaxons fell silent, as the fatally wounded stopped moaning and went on into the next world, Teresa stood in the center of it all, quivering. She had done it. The bastards were gone. She was alone…blissfully alone. For awhile she looked over the destruction and the loss of life, and then began to explore. She found every window barred, ever door locked tight from the outside – since it was a military-grade building, she understood that they'd implemented standard quarantine measures. No one would be coming for her, and no one would get out. Dr. Gable had abandoned the site forevermore as a condemned place.
She was fine with that. She was done with humanity. Her only thoughts now were of survival: there would still be running water and electricity, as the place was made to be self-sustaining. Food would be her only true issue – fortunately, the problem had an easy remedy: the solution lay in the gore around her. Methodically, she got the supplies to drain the blood of her victims into the sealable plastic bags used for medical transfusions, and without a thought did the dirty work of it. After making certain she had enough sustenance to survive for a few months, she placed the crimson liquid into a freezer for preservation, and put the corpses in another one, sealing it up – she never wanted to see them again. Afterwards, she cleaned up the mess she'd made, for in general cats are clean creatures. Lastly she cleansed herself…she hated to be smeared with any fluid, even water.
Once done, she returned to her room and took off the tile, pulling out the bundle she'd placed only a few hours prior. The fetus was still inside, and she took it back out, cradling it in her paws. She went out into the main room, under the skylight that the gibbous moon shown through, and contemplated it in the pale light. It was so small, fleshy, pink, and furless, with a large head that dwarfed the rest of the body. She could see the long tail, the forming tri-fingered paws, its large toes…each detail only empathized its perfection: she had no idea who the father was, but it seemed to have been forming into a flawless member of the Mewtwo race. If it weren't so still, she could almost believe it was sleeping, and that it might still grow if only returned to the sanctuary of its mother's womb.
In that second, the weight of what she'd done crashed down upon her…not all of it, for that would have demolished her already mangled soul, but just the impact of the fact that she'd killed the new life growing inside her. She hadn't felt this way about it before: all it had been was a lump of flesh. But now she wished she hadn't done it to defy those accursed humans. She wished it would warm in her hands, move quietly, or do anything that would indicate it still possessed life into its barely formed body. She even began to whisper for it to do so…and the tears, at last, came back. Because she realized, at long last, what was driving her mad:
It was the loneliness that comes when you know that no creature in existence really loves you. She had drifted away from those who tried, and then had forced away those who wanted to so she could to pursue her own comforts. It was for the best, she knew: they hadn't been able to care for her right, and it wasn't as if she was worthy of such affection. But she longed to have someone out there who thought she mattered as a person, and not as a doll or bitch to be used.
The child…it would have cared. It would have loved her, and she would have loved it back, unconditionally. To it, she would have meant the world.
And that was why it hurt so much now to have lost it…to have been the one to take away her only chance at something so pure and good.
(I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…!)
Her words were only for the one she cradled in her paws…no one else.
In her turmoil, she looked up at the moon, her heart in anguish and chaos…and things startled to go still, both inside and out. It was a strange sensation, as if time had paused and everything fell into place under the lunar light. She noticed little things then: the haunting quiet of the empty building, the metal smell of the recent carnage, the way the bluish glow from above made the metal walls around her gleam, the coolness of the air coming from the ventilation systems. Outside, there arose sounds of wild pokemon, of wind and leaves, of branches and pebbles hitting each other. The night was at in harmony with itself…and she began to feel that too, gazing up at the moon. The storm within her mind and spirit began to diffuse, and the pieces caught within the whirl fell back into place. She understood her place in the world again and precisely who she was:
She was Teresa, a female of the Mewtwo race, and the daughter of Morgan (and a creature who did not merit a name). She was the niece of Mewtwo and Neva, and the cousin of their children. She was the creation of Dr. Arthur Gable and his fellow geneticists, and had learned from them all she knew. She was friendless and foe-less, nor had anyone else who deserved any type of value or ranking. She was supposed to have been a breeding pokemon: instead she had become a huntress, a seductress, and a childless mother. Her future, for her choices, would be one of solitude if she so pleased. Her destiny was now hers to choose.
In those moments, she found what she had so needed for so long: clarity.
…We are home now,
Out of our heads,
Out of our minds,
Out of this world,
We're out of this time….
…Out of this time….
…Out of this time….
…Out of this time.
She lifted the fetus with her powers, and allowed her powers to encompass it…she cremated it in blue fire, scattering its ashes across her fur and the place under the moonlight. She might not have a complete soul, but that was okay. She knew what she was instead, and that would be enough.
It was all she needed now.
Time, as it always does, passed onwards. Without the proper care and under internal abuse from its captive, the building began to weaken into discrepancy. After a few weeks, Teresa had made several exits from which she could escape its accursed hold. She hunted when she needed to, but beyond that, she remained within the shadows of the facility. She was unwelcome, she felt, in the light of the sun – the moonlight was the one which accepted and healed her, not the rays of Sol. As months passed, the wild pokemon fled the area, not wanting to fall prey to the dark demon of her forests. She did not mind the isolation – all it meant was that it took her longer to get food. All the same, she never failed to return before sunrise. She was a creature of darkness – she knew that well. She'd always been a strange creature, an outcast of transient bonds, and she accepted that now with ease. It was who she was. She wouldn't change that for the comfort of others.
She continued to research what the humans had been working on, reading journals, online blogs, confidential files, essays, research notes, project descriptions, test results, and any books she could find. She learned much from that, and it ate away at the boredom that sometimes plagued her. After a time, she realized that she was waiting for something to happen, though what it was she wasn't certain. Teresa continued to live day to day, letting weeks pass her by. No one came to the facility. It was hers now – all of it was her personal den. Her birthplace it had been – her home it would be.
The day came when someone finally arrived. Two people actually: one a human…and one of her own kind. As she watched them wander around the building, looking for a way in, her eyes widened as she saw the male: taller than the woman, with white and burgundy fur and crimson eyes, and having rough-yet-lanky features that clearly defined him of the opposite sex. From his female friend she heard his name: 'Darien'. He called the blonde 'Aunt Kirya' in return, and Teresa's eyes narrowed as she smelled the creature. The Gym Leader (for surely she was the same Kirya that she had read about?) was sickly; her peach skin a pale hue; her amber eyes dull; her short, blond hair hanging limply where it would normally spike out like a ruff around her neck due to the way she'd styled it. She wore dirtied jeans, hiking boots, a turquoise sweater, and a leather jacket. She had a rucksack over her shoulder and pokeballs at her belt. They were travelling, and this was their destination. Were they prepared for what they'd find? Teresa doubted it.
She retreated into the depths of the place, hearing them enter and rummage around, trying to discover what had happened there. When they found the bodies in the freezer, she almost laughed at the horrified cries they made and the way the male wretched. The woman was better off: she had evidently seen destruction before, but that couldn't prepare her for a mass tomb with bodies that were still decaying. They left the corpses behind swiftly and drew closer to Teresa…and suddenly, she wasn't amused with their being there. She wanted them to go away. This was her place…she lived in peace here, and they would surely disrupt it, wouldn't they?
She hid. She didn't want to hurt her cousin or his 'aunt' – she hadn't the strength to hurt anymore of her own kin. Still they came into the lab where her den was…she heard them turn on the computer and scan the files. The found the last entry, a message of warning to leave the building immediately: one of the experiments had gone insane and was murdering everyone it found. Teresa heard the woman curse…and then felt as though someone was looking at her through her door.
"Shit - Darien, where are you going? It's clear we shouldn't have come here. If whatever killed those scientists comes back-!"
(Aunt Kirya, if there's even a slight chance that one of Morgan's ovum produced viable offspring, we must find it. We can handle insanity and violence – you know that well enough. I plan on searching this facility for the creature those logs describe – if it's off my race, its family. It will come home with us.)
Teresa's eyes widened. 'Family'…? 'Home'…? What was he saying? She didn't belong anywhere with anyone! She knew that…!
(I won't allow it to hurt you – and I'll take full responsibility for its actions if it does harm anyone. Now either help me look for it or not, it's your choice.)
"…If you get hurt, Sarah's going to fucking kill me, do you realize that?"
The door began to open. (Sarah's a pacifist. She wouldn't-.)
He caught sight of Teresa and jolted to a halt. With a frantically pounding heart, she launched herself at him and pinned him to the wall, growling and driving her claws into his chest. He struggled to get away, and then stopped as he looked into her face.
(Sorry kitten. Wrong - fucking – person!)
Before she could maim him, she felt something heavy hit her over the head…and fell into blackness.
A few days later she found herself accompanying the two back to the village of Klayblue. The journey would take weeks by foot, and Teresa felt her old coyness coming back to haunt her each time she glanced at her 'savior,' Darien. Habits die hard, it seemed. Yet she smothered her temptations in light of the bigger prize before her: belonging. She may be a warped creature, but she wanted a second chance. She knew there was no going back to the days of innocence, as she sometimes had longed to when nostalgia had struck her. Yet all that time alone had made her understand something: the past was worthless in every way except in its lesson. It was the future that mattered. Now she had a chance to have new and lasting bonds…bonds clean of selfishness all around. She wanted - no, she needed - to take the opportunity given to her!
She wanted to find a place to belong. She wanted not to have had her hopes, her spirit, and her children to have all died in vain. That was her purpose – to make those sacrifices worth something. She was certain there would be stumbling points along the way, but she would make it! She would succeed where her mother had failed: she would live beyond her losses. And perhaps if she did that…perhaps if she triumphed in spite of her beginnings…she would be able to rebuild her soul. As the moon gazed down at her once more, she smiled, for the first time in an eternity.
(Thank you, Luna.)
The wind, warm and full of silver light, briefly encompassed her form, and then swept onwards. There was nothing corrupt about the hold – it felt more like what she imagined a mother's embrace would feel like. Strangely, the air smelled of the sea - they were miles away from the ocean, so she didn't understand how that could be. Dismissing it, she found a nice spot to curl up upon within the grass and went to sleep….
Author's Note: I do not want any reviews. I don't need to hear how abortion is wrong, how this might be powerful, how it made you feel hope or how it made you cry…I don't want to hear if it sucked or was well-done. Too many people just write quick and meaningless sentences that have no real purpose but to declare that you read it. If you want to say something that has substance, send me a Private Message. I might respond to you, or I might not. That said, thank you for your time.
P.S. – If I sound like a bitch, I don't mean to. I'm not angry or upset…just tired.