Accompanied by Dr. Xaber's words, Logan slowly began to unwind the bandages wrapped around his left arm. His gentle, deliberate motions gave off an air of ritual—dramatic, even theatrical—reminding him of a certain iconic character: Hiei. That was how Hiei used to seal away his powers. However, unlike Hiei, who could unleash the "Dragon of the Darkness Flame," all that lay beneath Logan's bandages was an arm that exuded a cruel and savage aura.
The skin there rippled like living tissue, slithering as if a snake moved beneath it. It radiated a sense of otherworldly malevolence—almost as though some dark deity from beyond the stars had fused with his body. Dark markings, reminiscent of ancient tattoos, trailed across the wrinkled skin. Strangely enough, it looked... cool.
As his arm was revealed, Logan's consciousness once again synced with Mewtwo.
"Do you… need help?"
The melodious voice rang out in his mind like a chime in the wind—soft, crisp, and beautiful—reminding him of a kind and innocent girl. As a healthy young man, Logan couldn't help but feel pleased hearing such a sweet voice. It certainly beat some gruff old man's growl.
"Yes, I need help. I need your help, Mewtwo! I'm sure you can see everything happening here. My life is just beginning. I can't die here—not yet. And the only one who can save me now… is you."
Logan's consciousness remained linked with Mewtwo as he stared calmly at the fire raging just meters ahead. The flames devoured the oxygen in the room, making each breath hotter and more painful, like inhaling fire itself. And yet, as Logan had said, only Mewtwo—sealed within a vessel like a demonic pillar—held the power to save him.
"Understood… If it's your request…"
——
Mewtwo had developed self-awareness very early on—even before its body was fully formed. Half of it was still a viscous liquid in a tank when a consciousness sparked in its brain.
Its genes, inherited from Mew, gave it overwhelming psychic power. The human-made inhibitors were utterly incapable of containing such a mind. No matter how scientists tried to suppress or control its thoughts, it was futile.
But Mewtwo, unlike Mew, could never possess that same childlike innocence and joy, no matter how much its DNA was modified. From the very beginning, Mewtwo was born with a heart steeped in violence—a heart diametrically opposed to Mew's.
Science could create its body, but it could never forge a gentle heart.
Mewtwo observed the world like a newborn infant, greedily absorbing information and knowledge. It understood that it was not born, but created—crafted by humans to be a weapon. Within its cells was not only the genetic code of countless Pokémon but fragments of human DNA as well.
That's what made Mewtwo conflicted. It didn't know what it truly was—Pokémon or human? What was the purpose of its existence? Was it really born solely to be a tool for mankind?
Had it been just an ordinary Pokémon, it would not have wrestled with such existential dread. But because of the human genes within, its emotional and intellectual complexity was dangerously close to that of an actual person. And so it pondered the ultimate philosophical questions:
Who am I? Why was I born? What is my purpose?
Mewtwo would sit quietly in its tank, watching the humans point at it—some excited, some thrilled—as if it were merely a specimen. It felt nothing.
Until one day… it felt something.
A human consciousness brushed against its own. There was no barrier between them. Their minds connected as if they were a single soul split into two bodies. It was purer, deeper than even the bond between twins.
That human carried Mewtwo's DNA. And Mewtwo carried his. They were the only ones of their kind in existence. Perfect monsters—true anomalies that the world would never accept.
But before their connection could deepen, that human's mind began to collapse—Mewtwo's DNA was eroding his brain. And because the human body was too fragile to resist, he fell into unconsciousness. It was the closest thing Mewtwo had ever felt to heartbreak.
For the first time, it had found someone who might have understood it—and now that person was slipping away.
Despair.
But then, like a miracle, in the ruins of that collapsing mind, a new consciousness was born. Stronger, clearer, brighter.
They connected once again. And for the first time, Mewtwo, like a blank slate, timidly reached out with thoughts and words. The crushing weight of solitude lifted.
And in that moment, the heart that once burned to destroy everything… softened.
Mewtwo finally understood—it was never searching for purpose.
It was terrified of being alone.
It wasn't the meaning of its birth it longed for—it just wanted someone to understand it. To reach out. To comfort it. To make it feel… alive.
It didn't matter if that someone was human or Pokémon.
And now, the only one who ever reached out to it was in danger.
Mewtwo knew exactly what it had to do—
"Warning! Warning! Unidentified spike in Mewtwo's psychic energy! Consciousness activation imminent!"
"Warning! This is a Level-One threat! All personnel initiate emergency protocol!"
The alarm blared louder than when Xaber had made his escape. In the heart of the research facility, terrified Rocket agents and scientists watched as bubbles foamed violently in Mewtwo's tank. Readings on surrounding instruments skyrocketed off the charts.
"What the hell is happening? Didn't you say its consciousness wasn't fully formed yet? Weren't you still programming loyalty to Team Rocket into it?!"
A Rocket agent grabbed a scientist by the collar and screamed.
"W-We don't know! Maybe it's just… too powerful. Maybe it was awake this whole time."
"Are you telling me… it's been watching us this entire time?!"
"S-something like that…"
"I don't care! Pump it full of tranquilizers! We can't let it wake up—if it does, we're all dead!"
Panic erupted. Researchers scrambled, injecting every sedative known to man into the tank. But nothing worked.
Inside, Mewtwo slowly opened its eyes—eyes like twin amethysts. It looked at the metal cuffs shackling its limbs. With a mere thought, they shattered into dust.
Its gaze brightened—literally—as violet energy glowed within. Cracks webbed across the tank. Then, in a deafening boom, the entire container exploded. Liquid gushed across the floor as Mewtwo rose into the air, hovering silently while fluids dripped from its sleek body.
Nobody dared to move. The very air itself had become thick and heavy, like walking through syrup. Every step felt impossible.
"Damn it!"
One Rocket grunt snapped out of his paralysis and hurled a Pokéball.
From the red flash emerged a large, purple cobra—Arbok.
"Arbok, use Poison Sting!"
The serpent raised its body, baring its fangs. But before it could strike, Mewtwo raised one hand.
Arbok froze—paralyzed in midair, crushed by invisible pressure. Its eyes bulged with fear. It couldn't move.
Mewtwo had never fought before. It didn't need to. Its power and instincts were etched into its very DNA. And despite its lack of combat experience, it felt no fear.
Because to it… everything here was simply too weak.
With another pulse of thought, Arbok's body twisted grotesquely, like a rope being wrung out. Poison sprayed from its veins, splattering across the Rocket agent.
Screams tore through the lab as the agent's body began to melt from the corrosive venom, flesh sloughing from bone.
The others finally snapped back to reality.
Scientists scrambled like animals, crawling, running in terror. The smarter Rocket agents released their Pokémon—some attacking Mewtwo to buy time, others targeting the scientists to slow them down.
They believed that as long as they weren't the slowest, they had a chance to live.
Mewtwo looked once—just once.
It spread its hands wide.
A silent pulse of power erupted.
Every single being in the room—human or Pokémon—was flung like rag dolls. Bodies slammed into the steel walls with enough force to leave deep craters. Bones shattered. Screams cut short.
Mewtwo hovered alone in the chaos, gazing into the distance.
That… was where it had to go.
It had no interest in navigating this labyrinthine facility.
Its brilliant mind understood a simple truth:
The shortest distance between two points… is a straight line.
Mewtwo raised one three-fingered hand.
And in it… began to form something that should not exist in this world—a construct forged entirely from pure psychic energy.
A weapon shaped like a giant, gleaming spoon.
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