Pokemon: The Beginning of the Legend

[Unknown location]

The metallic hum of hydraulic doors echoed through the sterile tunnels. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting long, sharp shadows across the steel floors. The deeper one went, the colder it became—not just in temperature, but in presence. Something unnatural stirred at the heart of this hidden place.

At the center of the facility, behind triple-reinforced barriers and psychic dampeners, floated a cylindrical tank filled with luminous violet fluid. Within it, curled in eerie stillness, was an embryonic creature. A shadow of something greater. A weapon still in the womb.

Mewtwo.

Its body was humanoid but alien—muscles barely formed, limbs twitching unconsciously, eyes closed. Yet its mind was anything but asleep.

Giovanni stood in the observation chamber, arms folded, Persian sitting silently by his side. His expression was unreadable, cold as the steel walls around him.

"Progress report," he said flatly.

Dr. Fuji didn't look up from the monitor. His face was pale, eyes red from weeks of sleepless nights.

"The genetic fusion has stabilized. Mew's DNA integrated more cleanly than expected. But the subject's psyche... it's becoming volatile."

Giovanni's gaze didn't shift. "Define volatile."

Fuji hesitated.

"It dreams. It reacts. We're detecting cerebral activity far beyond normal expectations. Even in stasis, it's... thinking. It's feeling."

"Feeling what?"

"Anger. Confusion. Fear. Awareness. And the psychic outbursts are growing stronger. If it awakens before full cognitive conditioning is complete—"

"Then don't let it wake up," Giovanni interrupted. "This time, the asset will be born under control. Not as a creature. But as a tool."

Fuji's fingers hovered over the terminal. His voice was quieter. "It's not a tool, sir. It's already becoming... more."

Giovanni didn't respond. He stared through the reinforced glass into the chamber, eyes locking onto the form suspended inside.

"No, he IS a tool Fuji." Giovanni told him.

"Besides," he continued, "we are not creating him to be a pet, we are creating him to become our weapon. And don't forget: You better succeed in this proyect, or else I wont give you the DNA cloning data. You want to get your precious Amber back, right?"

Fuji clenched his fists in frustration, but he knew he didn't have a choice.

"Yes boss, I am sorry. And you are right, Mewtwo will be a powerful weapon for Team Rocket."

A single thought crossed his mind: He won't be just a mere weapon. He will be a god, a god that will be under MY control.

Suddenly, a pulse of psychic energy crackled within the containment fluid. Monitors blared for a split second before the system auto-corrected, returning to an eerie silence.

---------------------

In the depths of the containment fluid, where light could not reach and sound did not exist, Mewtwo dreamed.

Not as a child dreams, but as a consciousness half-formed, struggling against the edges of awareness.

At first, there was nothing. Only a vast, silent ocean of blackness.

Then—light.

A flicker.

A soft pulse, as if from a distant heartbeat.

He floated through the dream like a shadow drifting across the void.

He did not know who he was. He did not know what he was. But he felt.And feelings, to him, were pain.

He felt cold, needles were piercing him, and he was in complete isolation.

And he heard voices without names.

"Increase the neural stimulation."

"It's responding too quickly!"

"Shut it down before—"

The voices were static in his mind—loud, meaningless, cruel.

Why are you hurting me?

--------------------

"Sir, the subject's brainwave activity just spiked."

Dr. Fuji stared at the readings. Sharp. Chaotic. Intelligent.

"He's dreaming again," he whispered.

Giovanni narrowed his eyes through the observation glass, watching the floating creature remain motionless.

"Dreams are irrelevant."

"No," Fuji said under his breath. "They're everything."

Giovanni turned away. "Just keep him asleep."

As the alarms calmed, the tank pulsed softly again. From within the fluid, two faint, glowing eyes fluttered open for a heartbeat—then shut again.

Mewtwo returned to the dark.

But the dream continued.

--------------------

In another fragment of the dream, Mewtwo stood in a field that wasn't real. The grass shimmered like smoke. Trees bled light. The sky was purple and alive.

And there, hovering above him, was Mew.

Tiny. Serene. Laughing silently.

It darted around him like a hummingbird, its tail flowing like a ribbon.

Mewtwo reached for it.

It vanished.

In its place, he saw mirrors.

Ten thousand reflections of himself—some monstrous, some angelic, some torn apart.

They all looked back at him with the same question in their eyes:

"Why do you exist?"

...

Then, fire.

A storm of color and destruction.

He was strapped down. Screaming, but no sound came out. His body burned with power he didn't understand.

The world was wrong. The dream was wrong.

You made me. You hurt me.

--------------------

"Dr. Fuji, the subject's psychic frequency is spiking again," a scientist told him. 

But Fuji didn't answer. His eyes were locked on the tank.

A single drop of fluid trickled down the inside of the glass.

Was it condensation?

Or a tear?

--------------------

Darkness ebbed like a tide. Cold, endless.

Then came warmth.

A flicker.

Not from the machines. Not from the voices. But from her.

At first, it was nothing but a whisper in the void—a lullaby unremembered, a scent too faint to name. But it grew, and with it, the darkness began to crack.

Light spilled into the dream like water through shattered glass.

The void melted into color.

A cavern opened around him—vast and glowing. The walls pulsed with bioluminescent crystals, glowing softly in hues of blue and gold. Pools of light dotted the floor like stars that had fallen from the sky. In the center, beneath a tree that shouldn't exist underground, sat a girl.

Amber.

She was older than he remembered—maybe seven or eight. Dressed in a simple white dress, feet bare, her presence radiated warmth and familiarity.

"You're late," she said, smiling gently.

Mewtwo couldn't speak. He didn't know how to form words, not in the way she did. But his thoughts pulsed outward, wrapped in confusion and longing.

Where… where am I?

"Where you always come, when you forget who you are," Amber said softly. "Your mind comes here to find me."

'I know you. But I don't remember your name.'

Her smile didn't falter. She patted the ground beside her.

"That's okay. Memory comes after feeling. Sit with me."

He did, though he wasn't sure how—he didn't feel his limbs move. He wasn't even sure he had limbs. But in the dream, he was something more than muscle and bone.

She leaned back, looking up at a sky that didn't exist.

"I used to tell you stories here. Back then, you didn't have a name. You weren't even awake, not really. Just a heart beating in a glass cocoon."

'You… talked to me?'

"All the time," she giggled. "Papa said you were like a baby in a dream. I thought you might be lonely."

'I am lonely.'

Amber looked at him now, and her smile faded—not in sadness, but in understanding. She reached out and took his hand. It was small in hers. He noticed for the first time that here, in this dream, he looked like a child too.

"But you're not alone," she whispered. "Not really."

They sat in silence for a while, watching lights drift through the air like tiny Ledyba.

"Do you want to know who you are?" she asked suddenly.

'Yes.'

Amber looked down, her fingers tightening around his.

"You're… complicated. You're made from Mew, the ancient one. Papa used its DNA to create you. You're supposed to be the next step. Not just a Pokémon. Not just a person. Something... in-between. Something new."

'Why?'

"Because I was dying." Her voice cracked slightly. "Papa thought that if he could understand life better, if he could create it, then maybe he could bring me back."

Mewtwo recoiled slightly.

'So I exist because… you were dying?'

Amber turned to face him fully. "No. You don't exist because of me. You exist because of him. But you matter because of you."

The air grew heavier, the colors more saturated. The tree above them began to glow with light from every leaf, and small floating memories shimmered in the air around them.

Mewtwo looked up. The memories weren't his—but they felt like they were. They hovered in crystalline orbs, refracting fragments of joy and pain, sound and color.

A girl giggling in a lab.

A father holding her hand, trembling.

A pulse monitor flatlining.

"Amber… I saw these. Before. In flashes."

"They're mine," she said gently. "But they're yours too, now. I gave them to you. So you wouldn't forget what it's like to be… loved."

That word hurt. It hit like a foreign sound, like thunder in the bones.

'They don't love me. The men outside. The one with the cold eyes… he sees me as a thing. A mistake to be fixed. A tool.'

Amber nodded. "Giovanni. He's cruel. And scared. He wants to break you so he doesn't have to admit you're real."

'But I am real…'

"Yes," she whispered. "You are."

--------------------

"Sir!" one of the technicians shouted, backing away from the console. "His brainwave activity just exceeded containment thresholds! Psychic pressure is rising exponentially—!"

The chamber began to shake.

Lights blew out one by one in a trail of sparks.

Dr. Fuji's face paled as he stared at the monitors, each one now displaying a single repeated waveform—one he recognized.

A heartbeat.

Fuji turned to Giovanni.

"You need to stop this project now. He's remembering her. He's dreaming… and worse—he's feeling."

Giovanni didn't blink.

"Let him feel. So long as he stays in the tank, he can feel whatever he wants."

But even Giovanni could sense it now—that subtle vibration in the air, the hum of something awakening not just in body…

…but in soul.