Morphic (PG-13, possibly offensive to some)

[Dragonfree]

Hi, and welcome to my latest piece of Pokémon fanfiction I'm attempting to juggle with The Quest for the Legends, Morphic. It comes with a warning: it contains lots and lots of political references. They are not here to make a statement; they are humourous and meant to reflect some of the extremes of reality without preaching my opinion on anything. However, some people may still take offense to it and I suppose I can understand that. I apologize in advance if you are one of them and advise you to keep this in mind as you read or not read at all if you don't want to read something that involves touchy subjects. I just ask that you please, please, whatever else you may want to say, do not turn this thread into a debate about those issues. I repeat that I am not trying to make a statement with this. It's just a story whose world tries to imitate reality, all right?

The PG-13 is for swearing and as I don't consider language alone worthy of making it an R, I will not do so, although technically the MPAA would perhaps call it R-worthy if just for the number of four-letter words. In any case you have been warned.



Chapter 1

Calm down now. Be cool.

A dark-haired man in his thirties straightened his tie nervously in front of a large mirror. He ran his eyes yet again quickly up and down his reflection. His posture looked far too timid for such an important debate. He took a deep breath and tried to straighten himself, pushed the glasses a little further up on his nose and silently cursed himself for having shown up with them – they were too big and looked too dorky. Too stereotypical. He wished he’d gotten used to contacts sometime.

“Mr. Edwards, five minutes.”

He nodded, seeing in the mirror as a short member of the TV crew stepped out of the room. He was alone now.

“Damn it,” he swore under his breath, briefly taking his glasses off just to see how he looked. He depressingly assured himself that the blurry flesh-colored blob he could see in front of him definitely looked much better now than with the glasses on. Damn it all. Tomorrow he’d get himself some contacts and use them, no matter what. Who knew when he’d next have to appear on TV?

Why couldn’t they just have sent Dave? he thought to himself. I’m terrible with words. He could convince that audience that black is white if he wanted.

It was a rhetorical question, of course. Dave and his girlfriend were now at some fancy restaurant celebrating their anniversary. He had been practically begged to go; Dave had given him a long speech about what his relationship meant to him. And in some moment of pity, he had agreed to it, figuring it would perhaps, maybe, if he looked optimistically at it, not be quite as bad as it sounded. Damn it all. It was even worse.

“Mr. Edwards?”

“Yes. I’m coming.”

He took one last look at himself in the mirror – there were so many things that were still wrong! – but dragged himself through the door. A member of the TV crew ushered him into a chair. He felt his palms sweating at the sight of all the cameras; he quickly turned to his opponent in the chair opposite him. It was a well-built woman with long, black hair who would have been attractive if only her thick-rimmed purple glasses had been a little less extravagant and her expression not so awfully stern. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes with the utmost contempt of one with the firm conviction that he could certainly be no less than a personal messenger of the devil. He shifted in his chair. She was no more comfortable to look at than the cameras. He desperately looked around for anything else to focus his attention on. With relief, he saw the host, a casual, stylishly-dressed man, come hurrying over to sit in a third chair and put up a shamelessly fake television smile.

“Good evening, and welcome to Friday Night with James Sullivan!” the host said suddenly, indicating that they were on air. “As most of you will already know, there has been much recent controversy around a team of scientists working for Heywood Labs! According to their spokesman and leader, David Ambrose, the group actually managed to create ‘Pokémorphs’, fetuses with spliced human and Pokémon DNA, which appear to be growing normally. In particular, the controversy is about this statement you will see here!”

A television screen behind them showed Dave, standing on the steps in front of the lab with a crowd of photographers below him: “Look,” he said irritably, “we have absolutely no plans to actually raise those things. We just wanted to see if it was possible, and okay, it is. We’re just going to watch them grow for a week or two to see how they’re developing and then destroy them. There will be no ‘freak children’ or ‘Pokémorph minority’. It’s no big deal. End of discussion.”

The screen turned off and James the host immediately began reading from the cue screens again: “As it turned out, it was quite the opposite: this comment, at least to a large and loud portion of the world’s population, was a very big deal and began a heated discussion that we will see the pleasure of continuing tonight, live on this very show! Please welcome Hannah Mariani, spokesperson for the Stop Abortion Movement –” the woman nodded curtly towards the camera “– and Brian Edwards, one of the scientists involved.”

Brian quickly realized he wasn’t supposed to be staring wildly at the show host and jerked his head towards the camera, giving it a nervous smile.

“So, Brian, why don’t you start?”

“Me?” slipped out of him before he could stop himself. “Oh, well… you see…”

He tried desperately to remember what he had been planning to say, flicking his gaze at his calm-faced opponent. Oh, yes, now he remembered. He cleared his throat loudly.

“Look,” he said, failing miserably at removing the nervousness from his voice, “if these children – if they ever became children – what – I mean, would you really send a child like that to a public school? They’d get bullied for sure. These children would lead perfectly miserable lives – if they ever were to become children, that is, because they certainly aren’t now…”

“I assume, then,” Hannah said coolly, “that you are of the opinion that fat children with glasses ought to be systematically murdered because they’ll probably be bullied at school?”

She looked at him with stinging blue eyes and Brian realized with dread that she had done her research: although it was impossible to tell now, he had been overweight as a kid and of course he had worn glasses.

Damn it. Why did she look so creepily calm?

“It’s… it’s not the same,” he said quickly. “They can’t feel anything. They don’t ‘want’ to live. It’s…”

“They will,” Hannah just said.

“That… that isn’t relevant,” he stuttered, trying to remember what Dave had been telling him to say in this kind of situation.

“Well, since you seem so eager to speak,” James said brightly, “why don’t you tell us your position, Hannah?”

“As I see it,” she said simply, “the case is dead already. It is even more dead than the general debate for or against abortion. What do those in favor always say? ‘What about rape?’ ‘What about what the sexually liberal call “accidents”?’ ‘What about if the child turns out to be seriously disabled and the parents wouldn’t be able to handle it?’ We don’t even need to complicate the matter with those here. This is not rape. It’s not an accident. Nothing is ‘turning out’ to be anything it wasn’t obviously to begin with. These men –” she pointed an accusing finger at Brian “– perfectly deliberately created children with perfectly deliberate qualities that could cause them problems in the future. You, Mr. Edwards, need to realize that if they get bullied, it is your fault. You have no excuse whatsoever.”

Brian stared at her, dumbfounded. “Why are you always calling them children?” he muttered, only half-convinced, while trying to think of something else to say.

“Because that is what they are,” she said shortly.

Brian took a deep breath, thinking of what the others had been talking to him about. “Okay, look. If we didn’t destroy the fetuses, who would raise them?”

She gave him an odd look, raising an eyebrow. “You, of course,” she said. “They’re your children which you created by your own free will. I haven’t known anybody who deliberately decided to have a child and then expected someone else to raise it.”

He stared at her, the implications of this zooming through his head. “What? Us? But… what are you talking about, anyway?” he asked heatedly. “We didn’t deliberately create children. We deliberately created fetuses we intended to destroy. We weren’t planning to raise…”

“Well, you should have thought about that before creating them, shouldn’t you?” Hannah remarked coldly.

There was some great way to respond to this, he was sure, and Dave would have said it in the blink of an eye, but his mind was being too numb and panicky at the moment to think of anything.

“It… it seemed like a much better idea at the time,” he said stupidly. “We’d had a little to drink that night since it was Dave’s birthday – he always gets weird ideas when he’s drunk – and it was just so obvious, I mean, look at all those book series – and after getting the idea and figuring out how it was possible in the party, we just figured the next day, hey, why not…” What the hell was he saying?

Hannah gave him a disgusted frown and looked at the camera. “Drunk scientists who want to imitate bestseller book series in some sad attempt to get attention make genetic experiments with unborn human children, and now, to top it all, they’re going to be murdering them. Clearly this is only another example of the godlessness of some of the men we call intellectuals today. We cannot let them do this.”

“But…”

-------

Damn it.

Damn it all.

Fucking hell.

Brian shivered as he started his car. In the rear-view mirror, he could see that he was pale and sweaty. And his glasses still looked so damn stupid. He had failed so miserably it wasn’t funny. The public against them once and for all in one fell swoop. Why the hell had he been mentioning that they’d been drunk?

Those thoughts kept cycling through his head on the long journey to his house.

His cellphone started vibrating in his pocket just as he was pulling into the driveway. He slapped his hand over his face momentarily in some abstract hope that it would just stop ringing. It didn’t.

He fished the phone out of his pocket, opened it and held it shakily to his ear. “Yes?”

“Well, now you’ve gone and done it.”

Brian sighed heavily. “I told you, Dave. I suck at this kind of thing. You really should’ve…”

“I had no idea you sucked that much! I persuaded Jane to agree to go home a little early from the restaurant so we could watch you on the one-hour belated channel – I felt embarrassed for even knowing you!” the voice on the other end of the phone shouted angrily. There was a sigh followed by silence. “You’ve really fucked us up, Brian.”

“I know,” Brian said miserably. “She was just making so much sense and being so calm that I just…”

“Making sense?” the phone shouted at him. “She was making exactly no sense at all! You didn’t even say half of the stuff we talked about! And for Christ’s sake – well, not his, specifically, but you know what I mean – babbling on about how I have weird ideas when I’m drunk? What the fuck?”

“I don’t know,” Brian replied desperately. “I just… maybe she was right. I mean, it seems kinda cruel to create them at all if… maybe we should raise them…”

“Right? Right?” Dave repeated. “Of course there’s not much at stake for you here, since you’re single, but those of us whose home has a breast to spare – do you really expect Joe to go home to his kids and tell them, ‘Hey, guys, you’re going to have a brother and he’s a freak!’? And me, personally, I like my private time with Jane. Kids would really ruin that, especially freak kids. Maybe they’ll even be peeing all over the place to mark their territory or something! There’s no way we can abort them after that went on air. There’s no way we’re getting any financial support now unless we raise those kids. You seriously fucked us up, man. Remind me never to make you represent us again.”

“I know,” Brian muttered, but Dave had already hung up on the other end of the line. He sighed and closed the cellphone, pushing it back into his pocket. He stayed in the car for a few more minutes, staring at the garage door between burying his face in his hands. He had really messed things up. The others would never forgive him, ever.

Not much to do about that now.

He exited the car and thought for a moment before turning his cellphone off. Then he went in, made himself some instant noodles and went to bed.

The next day, Heywood Labs issued a public statement to apologize for their previous plans and state that the scientists involved would in fact themselves raise the Pokémorph children to the best of their ability.

[Dragonfree]

All right, chapter two already. I was planning to actually introduce the morphs themselves years later in the second chapter, but then I realized that I kind of needed this chapter in between.



Chapter 2

“All right, guys and gals… I hope you all have at least some idea of what’s going on here, but for the sake of any spouses who haven’t been paying attention, I’ll still go into the nitty-gritty details.”

Dave looked over the table. He was sitting by the short side with his (beautiful as always) girlfriend Jane on his right side. The other nine were seated by the long sides, looking at him. He pressed a few keys on the laptop in front of him and turned the ceiling projector on by pressing a button on the remote.

“Well, as you almost definitely know, we decided a couple of months ago to attempt to create ‘Pokémorphs’, which means, in the unlikely case you haven’t read all that pseudoscientific crap like ‘The Life of a Morph’ or the ‘Sarah Hooter’ series, a human being spliced with a Pokémon to create… well, something like this.”

He pressed a key on his laptop. On the smooth, white wall behind him appeared the cover illustration of ‘Sarah Hooter and the Rocket Experiment’: a sexy teenage girl with Vulpix ears, a tuft of red hair that organized itself into unnaturally orderly curls on the top of her head, and six curly, reddish-brown tails fanning out behind her as she struck a pose. A couple of people snickered.

“Ridiculous, isn’t it? Well, it’s possible. We proved that here at Heywood Labs – of course the whole thing with Team Rocket suddenly turning an ordinary girl into half a Vulpix is bullshit and the real method is a lot different, but the end result is the same. We even specifically created a Vulpix morph who is likely to look very similar to Sarah Hooter here when she grows up. Of course,” he added with emphasis, “we never intended for her ever to grow up. She’ll be made fun of like all hell at school. But outside pressure and… some inside goofs have forced us to raise the Pokémorphs, and that’s why we’re here. We are all responsible, and thus we need to fairly distribute the morphs between us for rearing. Any questions?”

Apparently not.

“Good. Well, in the past weeks we have observed that the fetuses, which are currently growing in an artificial uterus in the lab, are developing at slightly different speeds, usually a little abnormal for humans. This was to be expected, as Pokémon grow a lot faster than humans, but it is different for each one how much influence the Pokémon is having and of course exactly how fast the Pokémon grows. We have also seen how they appear to be turning out and compared it with what we were going for when we created that morph to give the best idea possible of what you’ll be getting yourselves into if you adopt each one. Any questions now?”

“Actually, yes.”

It was Cheryl Jones, a woman in her thirties that Howard, a research assistant for Heywood Labs, had been seeing recently. She had also, according to Howard, always been passionately interested in the Pokémorph project. She was one of those intelligent blondes who wore glasses, liked to protest and did volunteer jobs.

“If the Pokémorphs are developing at abnormal speeds now, does that necessarily mean they keep developing like that after they’re born?”

“We’ve been able to calculate fairly well how fast they’ll age after birth and that’s what we’ll be telling you,” Dave replied. “We compare how fast the fetus is growing with the normal fetus growth speed of humans and that Pokémon, and then assume their Pokémon half will influence their later growth to about the same extent. It may not be entirely accurate, but it should be accurate enough.”

Cheryl nodded and Dave scanned the room for any signs that somebody else had a question.

“Okay, let’s just get right to it, then,” he sighed and pressed a key on his laptop to go to the next slide; Sarah Hooter disappeared from the wall and was replaced by information about the first morph to be discussed.

“First up, Meowth morph. Male. It is presumed that he’ll be around twelve years old physically at ten human years of age. We’re not sure exactly how much we influenced any instincts or what, but be warned that at worst he’ll be marking his territory around the house by the time he’s a teenager and you’ll be morally restricted from getting him neutered.”

A few of them laughed.

“I meant that,” Dave said. “His appearance should be mostly human; it’s mainly the head. He’ll probably have fangs, and we’re beginning to see the development of Meowth ears and tail… and although it hasn’t started appearing yet in the fetus, he’ll almost definitely have whiskers and a gold charm on his forehead like we planned. I won’t guarantee he’s not going to be any cattier than that, though, since sometimes it’s a bit shady how those genes end up influencing one another. Any volunteers to take him?”

There was silence as the researchers looked nervously at one another. He saw Joe McKenzie’s wife Pamela, a plump woman with curly brown hair, whisper something in his ear and he whispered something back. They waited for a few moments.

“Okay, we’ll take him,” Joe said finally.

“Great,” Dave said, writing it down. “It’s probably a good thing, since you’ve raised two kids already. If anybody can toilet train him, it’s you.”

Another round of nervous laughter. Joe nervously wiped his glasses with his sleeve and put them back on.

“Right,” Dave sighed. “Now… that lovely Sarah Hooter-clone I mentioned. Damn, I must have been on crack when I thought of that.”

Nobody said anything.

“Oh, yeah, forgot the details. Well, it’s a female Vulpix morph, obviously, and basically she’ll look almost exactly like that Sarah Hooter picture I showed you,” he put that slide back up, “except I can’t guarantee she’ll look that hot. And I don’t know if her hair will really curl like that. Like the Meowth, she’ll be around twelve physically in ten years.”

Jane leant in at him. “Maybe we should take her, honey.”

He turned around. “Why?”

She shrugged, and Dave was momentarily captivated by the smooth movement of her wavy, red hair. “I always liked those books as a kid, and at least she’s mixed with a cute Pokémon. We’ll have to take one, won’t we? At least it’s better than some of the others you’ve been telling me about.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Dave replied and kissed her before writing that down. Man, he’d do anything for that woman, even if she read stuff like Sarah Hooter.

“Two down, six to go,” he said. “Okay, this is one of the really fast-growing ones. Scyther morph, female. Likely to be physically around sixteen in ten years. Don’t worry; she won’t be a cripple with no hands who murders people every time she waves her arms. Her hands are already beginning to develop, but sometime after birth, the bone in her forearms will grow out of her skin in a sharp blade going from her wrist to her elbow which then transforms to be metallic if how the process works in actual Scyther is any indication. We don’t know how far out it will go exactly, but I think it’s safe to say you shouldn’t hug her too much. She may have fangs and will almost certainly have wings, although she’d be way too heavy to actually fly on them. Her legs also look very weird right now, although I don’t know what will become of them later, since this wasn’t really planned. Any takers?”

“Let’s take her, Howard,” Cheryl said almost immediately. “I’ve always liked Scyther.”

The slightly chubby, dark-haired man beside her winced. “Eh… are you sure we…”

“Oh, come on,” she said and smiled. “We’ll be fine.”

“Anybody want to argue with that? No? Good. Then she’s yours.”

Howard still looked a little skeptical, but shrugged. “Well, nobody will be able to say I had an uninteresting life.”

“Next up, Taillow morph,” Dave said. “It’s a male. Growing just a little faster than a human, might end up maybe one year ahead for every ten human years…”

“One other question,” Cheryl interrupted. “Kids grow up at different speeds, start puberty at different ages and stuff like that, so…”

“This is just an approximation,” Dave answered in the middle of her sentence. “The odds little Taillow guy here will have started puberty at ten will be the same as the odds of a normal boy having started puberty at eleven. That’s all it means. Can I continue now?”

She nodded.

“Great. Well, I think this is the most human morph of them all. It’s pretty much just that he might grow feathers instead of hair in some places, and he’ll have a pair of wings too small to carry him, unless we missed something. We realized when we were making them that it would be too difficult to give him a beak as we were first planning. Of course I can’t say anything about behavioral effects.”

Daniel, a blond-haired man with glasses who Dave knew was the husband of lab researcher Martha Harrison, suddenly raised his hand. “Wait. Are they going to be like… able to use Pokémon attacks?”

Dave sighed. “Maybe. If at all, then only to a very limited extent. I think I could make out a fire sac beginning to form in the Vulpix, so I’m getting my hopes up that she’ll at least be able to use Ember and stuff like that. For the others, I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. Of course some things are just a given – everybody can tackle.”

“What about the Pokémon language? Will they speak it?”

“No idea. Can I continue?”

Daniel sighed disappointedly and nodded.

“Where was I…” Dave muttered, going over the points on the slide that was up. “Right. Yeah, he’s the most human of the bunch, but I can’t promise you he won’t demand a bowl of earthworms for breakfast every morning or something. Who wants him?”

Daniel shrugged, twisting a lock of his wife’s curly black hair between his fingers. “Didn’t you say you were mostly handling that one, Martha? Maybe we can take the kid…”

“Sure,” she replied and smiled. “Unless somebody else wants him…?”

Most people just shrugged. Nobody protested, even though Dave could tell some of them would have wanted that boy. He had been kind of hoping for him himself, but if Jane wanted the Vulpix, that was it.

“All right, then,” Dave said and wrote that down before switching slides. “So… Chinchou morph. Male. He’ll be physically around thirteen after ten human years. The most noteworthy unhuman thing about him is that he’s blue, and he’s got those anglerfish antennae starting to develop too. His hands and feet are a little odd and may end up kind of halfway between fins and digits or something, I don’t know. As in webbed with weak fingers. Otherwise he’s pretty humanlike – he hasn’t got Chinchou eyes or anything. Volunteers?”

“We’ll take him,” Bill Ray said. He had shoulder-length black hair and was sitting at the far end of the table with his red-haired fiancée Sharon. From the sound of it they had decided on the Chinchou together before they had come there. At twenty-five, Bill was the youngest person working in the lab, two years younger than Dave himself. Dave had always liked the guy, but couldn’t help being a little surprised that he’d picked the Chinchou of all things. He’d thought Bill would be more of a Scyther person.

“Well, okay,” Dave just said and wrote that down. “Now… after this there’s a Pokémorph assigned to every home except Brian’s, correct? Well, he can’t breastfeed, so now some of you – us, I mean – will have to take another one. Only do it if you think you can handle two freak kids in your home in addition to whatever you might have already, okay?”

Nobody spoke.

“All right. Only three morphs left. Next,” he pressed a key on his laptop to go to the next slide, “the only one who’s actually growing slower than an ordinary human. Only take her if you really like young children, because she’s going to be one for a while. Misdreavus morph, female, will probably grow at only about 80% the speed of a normal human after birth. She’s unnaturally pitch-black – as in much blacker than an ordinary black person – but otherwise the fetus looks, well, entirely human at this stage, aside from growing slowly. She is going to have creepy hair and eyes when she grows up and will probably do some ghostly shit, though.” He looked between the couples around the table. Cheryl looked excitedly at Howard.

“Well, we already took the Scyther,” he said and sighed. “Won’t get a lot more messed-up than that. We’ll take her.”

Cheryl leant in and kissed him. Howard seemed thoroughly puzzled at himself, but didn’t say anything to indicate a change of mind, so Dave shrugged and wrote it down.

“Okay, great. Two left, and then we can all go home.” He switched slides. “Roselia morph. Female. She’s the fastest-growing of the bunch; she’ll be physically around seventeen when she’s ten. She is a little problematic, because we actually got stupid enough to give her roses instead of hands.”

“Oh, dear,” he heard Daniel Harrison mutter.

“Then she seems to grow faster in sunlight. That’s pretty much it about her, although she may turn out to have some other Roselia or generally flowery traits in the end. She does grow rather ridiculously fast, though. Don’t know what they’ll do with her at school, although that applies to the Scyther as well. Who’s up for it?”

“Let’s take her, Daniel,” Martha said to her husband. “I was largely in making her, too. The Taillow boy probably won’t be too hard to deal with.”

“But we do have Sarah…” Daniel muttered. Sarah was their baby daughter.

“The Roselia girl is going to grow fast. She’ll be an adult in no time at all. We’re both parents and breeders, so we’re the best-equipped here. Dave and Jane and Bill and Sharon are so young and have never raised kids before. They shouldn’t need to have two Pokémorphs to worry about. And the McKenzies have two kids to deal with in addition to their morph.”

Her husband finally agreed to it, and then that was settled. Dave breathed in relief to himself; he had been worrying that he and Jane would have to take another one.

“Well,” he said. “The last one. The Slugma boy. The bad part is that he’s pretty much a total failure; it’s lucky – or unlucky, depending on how you look at it – that he’s survived at all to this point. For one thing, his skin is looking to be liquid – as in some kind of thick ooze. This ooze appears to slowly harden at room temperature, which would make him immobile unless his skin is rubbed or heated or something. In addition to that, his blood is far too hot, so he’s really just begging for some sort of organ failure at some point. The organs do seem to be developing some resistance to it, and we’ll have to hope that’s enough. Oh, and we had to take him out of the artificial uterus and put him in a heated glass cage. Somehow he’s already self-sustaining, although if something attacked him at this stage he’d obviously be completely helpless. We don’t even know if we should consider him already born or what, and we have no idea how his physical age is going to change. Basically we’ve got some sort of a human blob and we have no idea what is going to happen to it next.”

The spouses stared at him in horror.

“Yeah, his life is going to suck,” he agreed. “If for any reason you are ever going to try to mix a human being with a blob of lava in the future, don’t. But regardless, we can’t kill him, so somebody needs to take care of him if he survives.”

Nobody volunteered. Dave took a deep breath. He hadn’t expected anybody to.

“I think Brian should take him.”

The man to his left stared at him. “What? Me? But…”

“This is the only one that’s not actually a mammal and won’t need to be breastfed,” Dave said, sighing. “Look, Brian, you were the one who messed up the talk show. It would be very unfair if you could avoid raising one of the stupid things just because you’re single. No easily accessible breast milk? This one doesn’t need any. From what I’ve heard about Slugma, they eat nothing but rocks throughout their lives. Feeding him sand has worked for a couple of months, so that appears to be it. You can raise him.”

Brian looked wildly around for some supporters, but found only the others’ looks of pity. Of course they wouldn’t switch with him if they were paid for it.

“Fine,” he sighed hopelessly and sank back in his chair.

“All settled, then,” Dave said, closing his laptop and turning the projector off. He had assigned the Slugma kid to Brian before they had even sat down at the meeting.

“Vulpix morph,” he muttered to himself. “This will be interesting.”

[mistysakura]

Cool. When I read the first chapter I forgot it was a chapter fic adn went, "that's a weird ending". But anyway, I like how this fic is going. So far I don't see anything offensive (well, you'd have to be pretty sensitve to be offended anyway). This is a really cool idea. Knowing how you treat Popkemon like animals, looking into their biomechanics and stuff, some pretty interesting things are going to happen with those morphs. Poor Brian stuck with teh Slugma. Having the couples choose which Pokemorphs they wanted was a good way of initially shaping their personalities, and their relationships (especially how we see Howard in a more submissive role). The description of Cheryl as an intelligent blonde was verging on stereotyping though (well, anti-stereotyping, I guess). But I'm sure she'll be developed beyond that.

Waiting for the next chapter.

[Dragonfree]

Since the narration was Dave's point of view, the "intelligent blonde" comment was just his personal thoughts on her from the little he'd met her and heard Howard talk about her - he lumped her into an "anti-stereotype" (albeit half-jokingly, as with most things Dave says and thinks) from the little he knows of her.

It's an interesting choice of wording to say I treat Pokémon like animals, because generally people are more in the direction of criticizing how humanlike they tend to be in The Quest for the Legends, but this is admittedly not quite the same fan universe (so in this fic, Pokémon's genes are DNA-based, but not in The Quest for the Legends, for example) so what I've written previously isn't much indication about anything in it. Interesting things will happen with them, however.

The main reason I warned about people possibly getting offended has yet to come in, but we'll see if that rubs anyone the wrong way. Thanks for reviewing.

[Gavin Luper]

OK, I really like this. It moves fast enough to be entertaining and not so fast that you lose your way. The first chapter was good, it all unravelled quite nicely, and although I thought the "we were drunk" thing did sound a bit unrealistic (in terms of someone actually admitting that in a debate), you still explained it away that Brian was flustered. It worked fine.

The character introductions in the second chapter were done as smoothly as could be expected, I think; and they do seem to set everything up well for the rest of the fic. I like your writing style, too: it's clear, to-the-point and easy to read. A tad more description wouldn't hurt in my opinion, but seeing as these are setting-up chapters, it would probably just get in the way anyway.

The only potentially negative thing that kind of screamed out to me about all this is about the plot originality. The pokemorph idea is really interesting, but something extraordinarily similar was written by Timarelay in "Love and Sacrifice". I'm assuming you probably never heard of it, let alone read it, since you joined later on. Basically, it was a dark/war fic last posted on TPM in 2002, right before we left the ezboard (incidentally, it was one of the greatest things I've ever read on the internet). The main characters were these teenage pokemon/human hybrids, too, and the fic started with some scientists planning how to create the hybrids and led on from there. Of course, it was done differently to this fic. It was an incredible, dark war epic, and seeing as we're only two chapters into this, I really don't know where this is heading. You could be taking this in a completely different direction for all I know. I just couldn't help but notice the kind of glaring similarities between this fic and Love and Sacrifice, and so reading it felt a whole lot less original than it otherwise might have.

But this is a different fic, and it's got my attention entirely, so I'll keep reading it. It is well written and really interesting. Also, I thought it was kind of clever (whether intentional or not) that Brian's reflection was described as a "a blurry, flesh-coloured blob" in the first chapter, then in the second chapter he is given the pokemorph that appears to be little more than a human blob. Cool.

Anyway (man, that's a long review/reply): great work, Dragonfree. I'll see you next chapter!

Cheers!

- Gavin.

[Dragonfree]

Heh, the basic idea was that Brian had kind of subconsciously felt himself defeated on the actual point since he couldn't think of any counterarguments to what Hannah was saying and automatically started to excuse himself instead: "Yeah, it was stupid, but we're not really that stupid normally, we were just drunk at the time and we were just drinking because it was Dave's birthday..."

Hmm, I've never read Love and Sacrifice, although the name rings some bell (it may have been mentioned sometime in the fanfic trivia thread), but as this can hardly be called anywhere near a dark war epic, I don't think you'll have to worry about any further similarities between the two.

Thanks for reading.

[Dragonfree]

Readers of The Quest for the Legends probably feel like murdering me right now for churning out chapters of this instead of writing chapter 35 of that, but hey, I can't control inspiration...

There are parts I like and don't like about this chapter, but the ones I like I really like. I ended up not skipping ten years into the future right away after all (but that will happen in chapter four). As always, I'd appreciate any input on possible edits, etc.


Chapter 3

“I can’t stand this, Dave!” Jane said desperately. Her smooth face was tearstruck and her beautiful blue eyes were red and puffy. “I hate that freak!”

“Please, Jane, be reasonable…” Dave began in the most soothing voice he could manage, but was cut off.

“Reasonable! It’s all you think about, isn’t it?” She sniffed. “Your precious science and career! Keeping a journal of every little thing that little bitch does! You write happily about how she’s teething, and meanwhile I’m getting hormone injections every day and her fangs are digging into my nipples, just because you still insist on her being fed ‘naturally’ for your stupid research! Everything was so much better before the freak came along and we could spend our time together without the stupid howls waking us up at night!”

“I’d do anything for you, Jane!” Dave pleaded, trying to approach her. “Just please, don’t drop her…”

“You’re too caught up in your job now to do anything for me!” she screamed, still waving the Pokémorph baby threateningly over the balcony handrail. The Vulpix morph screamed as loudly as she could. “We haven’t even had the time to sit down and give her a proper name…”

Jane started crying again. Dave hated situations like this. He’d never been able to handle them properly.

“Please, Jane, I love you,” he muttered, taking a few steps nearer to her. “Why can’t her name just be Jane too as I’ve been saying?”

“I’m not sure I love you anymore,” she said quietly and continued to sob. He felt his heart sting.

“Don’t say that,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder and moving her other hand that threatened to drop the Pokémorph safely within the balcony. “We’ll sit down together and talk. Everything will be better…”

“No, it won’t,” she sobbed. “You said that last time, too, and it just stayed the same.”

“No, it didn’t, until you started complaining about nothing again! Why do you keep having these ridiculous hysteria fits about everything?” slipped out of Dave in frustration. He regretted it immediately; Jane pushed his hand off her shoulder and turned away.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that…”

Jane threw the baby into his hands and stormed back into the apartment.

“Wait, Jane!” Dave called desperately, running in after her with the morph squirming in his hands. “I really didn’t mean it! I haven’t slept for days! I was just…”

“Goodbye, Dave,” she called over her shoulder.

“No, please, don’t leave…”

The door slammed. Dave stared at it.

He bit his lip and blinked a few times to clear his eyes out. “Fuck,” he muttered.

The baby still howled. Momentarily, he felt that maybe Jane had had the right idea and felt an urge to throw it at the wall or out of the window as hard as he could, but had the sense to stop himself. He tried for a couple of seconds to keep it in and then gave up.

“Fuck!” he screamed at the clothing rack. Then at the bawling Vulpix morph in his hands, “I hope you’re happy, you little freak!”

She continued to howl for food. He looked at her for a few seconds and didn’t have the energy to be angry anymore. He quickly splashed some infant formula milk from the refrigerator into a baby bottle and fed her absent-mindedly; after a moment he opened the refrigerator again and got out a few cans of beer that he put onto the table before closing the fridge with his foot.

He suddenly realized that the little Vulpix girl was already asleep. Everything seemed so unreal that he hadn’t noticed.

“Fuck,” he muttered again, carried her into the bedroom and put her down on the bed before taking out his cellphone and entering Jane’s number. He slumped down on one of the couches in the living room, still staring at the number on the screen.

“Later,” he muttered to himself. “When she’s gotten over it.” Then he added, as if to reassure himself, “She always does.”

Admittedly she had never before gone quite as far as to walk out of the apartment on him. She had locked herself in the bathroom and refused to come out, and she had verbally told him she was going to leave, but she had never actually left.

“She always gets over it,” he repeated, retrieved a can of beer from the kitchen table and opened it. “She loves me…”

And he took a good, long sip.

-------

He awoke to the muffled crying of the morph from the bedroom and found himself lying in an awkward position on the couch with a couple of empty cans on the table. He could only really remember one of them. He’d been too sleep-deprived to notice exactly how much he was drinking.

Dave groaned and stood up, rubbing his eyes. He checked his watch; it was one in the morning. He walked sleepily towards the bedroom and pushed the half-open door ajar. The Vulpix morph was flailing her arms and legs and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“What is it you want this time?” he said disdainfully. “Need your diaper changed? More food, you greedy little bitch? Or are you just screaming for your mommy because your daddy isn’t good enough for you?”

He left the room, got his cellphone out and dialed Jane’s number again.

“Hello?” he heard her voice.

“Jane?”

There was a long sigh on the other end of the line.

“Look, Jane, I’m sorry,” Dave said. “I slept a little… please tell me you’re coming back.”

“Not while the freak is there,” he heard her say.

“I can ask one of the others to take her.”

There was a long silence.

“I don’t love you anymore, Dave,” she said softly. He gripped the phone tighter, squeezing it like he could make it tell him Jane was saying something else. “You get so stupid when you drink…”

“I’ll stop drinking,” he said immediately.

“…and you seem to be married to your job…”

“I’ll quit my job.”

“…like on our anniversary, when you begged like a child to get to watch that horrible debate…”

“I’ll never watch TV again.”

“…and those few times we do get to be alone together, all you think about is sex.”

“I’ll…”

He stopped. No, he wouldn’t.

“Look, Jane,” he said instead, “maybe there are some things where you’re the one who needs to come towards my needs…”

She sighed again on the other end. “Goodbye, Dave. Don’t call me.”

And she hung up.

The bitch.

He closed the cellphone and threw it at the couch. “Fucking bitch!” he shouted at the phone.

He hurried over to the refrigerator and opened it, but didn’t find any alcohol. He closed it again and wasn’t sure what he’d do. Finally he went into the bedroom to the still-crying Pokémorph baby and collapsed onto the bed next to her.

“Jane…” he moaned. He was silent for a long while, listening obliviously to the cries of the little Vulpix girl.

“It’s just you and me now, isn’t it, little Jane?” he muttered, turning to the child. “Jane…”

He winced. “No, I really can’t call you Jane. Not quite that, anyway. Too much painful association.”

Dave looked at his adoptive daughter. Her tiny fangs were visible in her open mouth and whitish hair was already growing on her head and organizing itself into unnatural curls. He sat up and stroked her face carefully, scratching behind her triangular ear; her mouth latched on to his finger and instinctively started to suck on it. He smiled briefly and stroked her one soft, white tail that would one day split into six and gain color.

“How about something more like… Jean?”

The baby was quiet, still sucking on his finger in an attempt to get milk out of it. He decided to take that as a yes.

“God, I’m unoriginal when I’m halfway sober,” he muttered to himself as he went into the kitchen to make some more formula milk.

-------

“Hello?” Dave grumpily answered the telephone. “I’m kind of going out the door, if you don’t mind…”

“You’re the guardian of Jean Ambrose, the Vulpix Pokémorph, correct?” said the voice on the phone.

“Uh, yes…?”

“Good afternoon. I’m from Rayquaza Studios, and we have just bought the rights to filming the Sarah Hooter books. We would be ready to pay very handsomely if you would agree to signing a contract for your daughter to be in the main role – in a few years when the script is ready and everything, of course…”

Dave chuckled. “Isn’t this a little early to start making contracts? Or did your Xatu foresee that she’ll be a great actress when she’s a teenager?”

“Publicity, you know,” the person on the other end said. “Putting some girl in a costume is both more of a bother and much less intriguing for the fans, you know. Nobody expects kid actors to actually be any good. What matters is that the kids will love to know that Sarah Hooter in the movie is actually real! They’ll be able to go meet her! Of course, there is always the problem of how to do the scenes before she’s transformed – we’d either need an actress who looks a lot like her or to digitally remove her Vulpix features…”

“Look, I’m busy, and I really think you should speak with her about this sometime when she’s ready, okay?” Dave sighed and hung up. “Stupid media. Who in their right mind would want to film that crap?”

“Daddy?” asked Jean. “Are we going yet?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he replied and took her tiny hand.

-------

“I’m here to see Mr. Rogers.”

The lady behind the desk took one glance at Jean, who was standing on tiptoe, peeking up past the edge and looking at her with big, round, chestnut-brown eyes.

“Go right in, Mr. Ambrose. He’s been expecting you.”

“Come on, Jean.”

He led her to a door on the left, adorned with large black letters.

“P-R-I-N-C-I-P-A-L,” Jean spelled as Dave hesitantly turned the doorknob.

“That’s right, sweetie,” he said as he opened the door, ruffling the curls of her now-red hair. “You’re so smart.”

She beamed up at him as they walked into the office. A balding, elderly man was writing something by a desk straight ahead; the wall behind it was covered completely in intimidating bookshelves. Jean looked curiously around the room, perking her ears.

The man looked up. “Sit down, Mr. Ambrose.”

Dave sat down on one of the small chairs in front of the desk and motioned to Jean to take the other.

“So,” the principal said. “Your daughter. You applied for schooling for her, correct?”

Dave just nodded, watching the man carefully. “A problem with the paperwork?”

“No, no,” Mr. Rogers said, waving his hand casually. “But…” He looked at Jean’s curious face and then back at Dave. “You must understand that your daughter is quite unusual.”

“Oh, I get it,” Dave said coldly. “You don’t want her in your school, do you?”

The principal peered at him through electric blue eyes. “My personal opinion is hardly a matter worth discussing, Mr. Ambrose,” he replied, “as this is a public school.”

“Then what is the problem? Trying to find some other excuse not to take her?”

“How old did you say she was again?” Mr. Rogers asked, ignoring Dave’s comment.

“Five,” Dave replied, “but her development happens a little faster than that of an ordinary human being, so she is capable of all the mental tasks of a six-year-old. I’ve taught her the alphabet, too, and plan to have her able to read fluently by the time she starts school.”

“I see,” the principal replied ambiguously, collecting some papers from his desk into a stack and placing it aside. “Well, the law for public schools says that potential students are only to be denied admission or expelled from the school if they seem to be repeated troublemakers or of insufficient intellect to keep up with others in their grade…”

“Get to the point.”

“Well,” Mr. Rogers said, not without a hint of annoyance, “does she… light things on fire, intentionally or unintentionally? Does she bite people? Does she use the toilet as one would expect of other students?”

Dave looked at him for a second and then laughed. “You know, I know exactly what you’re thinking. It’s what I was thinking before I got to know those kids. Now that I do know them, I can testify that they’re more pleasant company than half of the morons you let into your school just because they happen to be fully human. And for the record, she may learn Fire attacks in the future, but doesn’t know any yet, and if she did, she wouldn’t use them.”

The principal cleared his throat. “Mr. Ambrose, I do hope you can understand why we don’t allow children to bring weapons to school.”

“Well, yeah, but the fact the morphs can’t remove their ‘weapons’ is a very crucial point,” Dave argued. “Both the obvious fact that either they’re going to school with them or not at all, and that the reason you have something to worry about when a normal child brings a weapon to school is that they wouldn’t be bringing a weapon if they didn’t intend to use it. I mean, true, the morphs would be easily able to smuggle a ‘weapon’ in if they felt like doing somebody harm, but how often does a well-raised kid really feel that way? Feel free to expel them if they try to use them, but my daughter has a right to professional education as long as she isn’t hurting anyone.”

Mr. Rogers did not look convinced. “Anything that is that easily able to attack the other children should not be in a public school.”

“I told you, she can’t use fire yet. You can reconsider when she learns it if you absolutely have to, sure, but according to our calculations that is not likely to be until she’s a teenager from the way her fire sac is maturing…”

The principal sighed. “Fine, but what about biting? Or any other… what to call it, ‘Pokémonlike’ behavior?”

“She’ll bite under exactly the circumstances an ordinary kid would bite and no more often than that,” Dave replied irritably. “She behaves like a human in all but very insignificant ways. I mean, she snarls and bares her fangs when she’s provoked sometimes, but I’d laugh if you tried to use that as an excuse not to accept her into your school.”

“I’m bored,” Jean whispered from Dave’s side, looking up from the paperclips she’d been playing with. “When can we go?”

“Not yet, honey,” he replied, his voice dripping with subtle sarcasm. “The nice man doesn’t want you to go to school, see.”

She looked up at him with an innocent expression of puzzlement. “Why not?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Why don’t you try asking him?”

She turned to Mr. Rogers and looked adorably up at him.

Just try to tell those puppy eyes that she’s a danger to the other students! Dave thought triumphantly to himself, trying to hide the amusement in his expression. Just try!

The principal didn’t try.

“Well, Mr. Ambrose,” he finally mumbled, “I suppose if she is really incapable of using fire as you say, there can’t be much harm in having her, but for her sake, I must beg you to consider the social issues…”

“I have considered them,” Dave replied, “and I came to the conclusion that she would be a great deal better off socially by mingling with some kids of roughly her mental age than if isolated from them.”

Mr. Rogers waved his hand hopelessly. “Fine. We’ll register her. But I assure you that we will reconsider if she starts burning things. You may leave.”

Dave smiled victoriously. “Thank you, Mr. Rogers,” he said, took Jean’s hand and walked with her out of the room.

“You are a genius,” he muttered on the way out with a fond grin. “Classic. Truly masterful timing.”

She giggled innocently. “You’re always saying weird things.”

[Weasel Overlord]

I just figured I'd pop by to say how much I'm enjoying this story. ^_^ I'm a closet reader, so I don't often reply to threads, but since this one's not had many, I thought it'd be nice to show my support.

I loooved the last chapter! Seeing Jean as a more grown up Vulpix-morph was really cool, and so was the way that Dave's relationship with her has obviously changed dramatically.

Even though it's a story about pokemon, you still make it feel very realistic, which is always a good thing. I think it's a sign of a good writer if you can make something so obviously fantasy feel real and tangible.

I'll be looking out for updates.

[Dragonfree]

Thanks for commenting. I finished chapter four, and it will be starting to introduce the morphs themselves better. As well as the main antagonists. Ooh.

Chapter 4

Author's Note: Remember that warning before the first chapter about how the fic is going to include sensitive subjects and may offend people? Yeah, that wasn't referring to that little abortion debate. It was referring to what you'll see in this chapter and later.

So again, I will emphasize that this fic is not trying to rant or preach about anything. All there is to it is characters with opinions. You have been warned.

-------

“We are gathered here today to discuss a desecration of life and of God’s Creation. We are here to discuss a most brutal violation of the laws handed down to us from the Holy Spirit when our ancestors fled to the Pokémon world. We are here to discuss abominations against nature and the natural hierarchy where humans rule over Pokémon. I am referring, of course, to the Pokémorphs.”

Isaac Daniels looked around the room. It was just the church cellar, mostly used for Sunday school, but religion was always steadily losing its popularity among the young and a few months ago they had canceled Sunday school and instead started to hold meetings for the few attending children in each other’s own homes, while the parents had weekly meetings here after having convinced the priest to lend them the room for the purpose. That, incidentally, was why no one had bothered to change all the light bulbs in the room that had gone out. There was only one that still worked and that one only barely: it flickered on and off every now and then, leaving the room in momentary darkness.

It was truly pathetic, he thought, for an institute of such former greatness as the church, that not only were all the influential bishops starting to preach liberalism, hypocrisy and loose interpretations of God’s word: the few true believers, when they needed to meet and discuss matters of true spiritual importance, had to do so in secrecy thanks to those appalling free speech-violating hate crime laws, and not only in secrecy, but in a dark, messy church cellar with nonfunctional lights.

“The Pokémorphs,” he repeated. “Humans, though created in His image, should not play God, but those propagators of science and evolution of course disregard this as fantasy. I need only cite the very fourteenth Commandment: ‘The creatures shall be the humble servants and the men shall be their kind masters: they are distinct by their nature.’ It tells us that the Pokémonly and the humanly are to be separate. And we are again warned in the Book of Visions, 21.5: ‘And there will be no more distinction between the men and the monsters: the Machoke shall pose as man and lie with the woman as the man.’ By creating the Pokémorphs, they have blurred the natural border between humans and Pokémon, and thus brought us one step closer to the looming apocalypse prophesized in the Book of Visions.”

He looked over the small group again as they nodded in agreement. “Ten years ago, a semi-religious movement chose to fight for the unborn Pokémorphs’ lives. They chose to do this because they valued the sacredness of life above the clear laws condemning the creation of those creatures. But this was based on a misunderstanding. It is, after all, the Lord’s creation and the miracle of natural conception that are things of sacredness; lives created by Man, as the Pokémorphs have, only violate His laws by their very existence. He must be frowning upon us now for having let them live and poison their surroundings for ten years, having let them go to school with our children…”

“One of them was in my daughter’s class,” a woman commented. “I had to have her moved to a different class. Apparently many other parents were doing the same, so they were having difficulties keeping the class together. It’s good to know there are still sensible parents around.”

Isaac nodded. “That does not, however, justify their existence, and the Lord has given us some signs to emphasize this. Mia Kerringan the Scyther Pokémorph, in particular, has shown herself to be a creature of evil, as she has now twice attempted to attack innocent religious children at the school they go to when they tried to expose her to the Word of God. I believe our very own Monica Sellers is the mother of one of the children.” He nodded towards a plump woman with curly red hair.

“She threatened him with her blades…” she sobbed in response as the gathering looked quietly at her.

“The liberal media and the brainwashed public have already accepted the existence of the Pokémorphs. Already, large companies have offered Jean Ambrose the Vulpix Pokémorph the title role in the upcoming films based on the ‘Sarah Hooter’ books, which have already been established to be spreading Pokémon-superiority propaganda and messages of hate towards the righteous. Additionally, some of the scientists responsible for the experiments have expressed that they do not regret creating the Pokémorphs and shown enthusiasm towards the idea of future genetic experiments. First and foremost, it is David Ambrose, the leader of the original Pokémorph project.”

Isaac looked around the room. A couple of people shuddered at the mention of the name.

“You have all noticed him in the media. Atheist and staunch supporter of the scientific worldview. Some of the other scientists were religious as children but then lost their faith (and in fact a couple claim to be liberal believers), but he never believed. He has ridiculed people of faith in public on multiple occasions, is known to drink excessively at times although not as often as he used to, and is a good enough debater to have weaseled every single one of the Pokémorphs into our public schools. He has also proclaimed the manmade Pokémorph children to be superior to naturally conceived children and wants to legalize genetic experiments with human embryos. It is clear that his anger towards God has grown extremely violent, and he seems prepared to do just about anything to get his revenge on the creation. He is more dangerous than all the morphs, simply because he is an adult and can create more of them. Now that he has defended Mia Kerrigan the Scyther Pokémorph after her vicious attacks on the other children twice and managed to force the school to keep her, it has become clear that he must be stopped at all costs. The safety of our children, and of the future world, is at stake.”

A few of the men nodded in agreement, but Isaac noticed a woman looking doubtfully up at him.

“I hope you understand what kind of action I am suggesting we take here. Ladies, what remains is a discussion for the men. You may leave early today.”

There was a short silence as the women looked around at their husbands, but none objected. The sound of chairs scraping the floor echoed off the walls as they stood up to leave. Isaac even held the door open for them. He was a gentleman at heart.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to do the right thing, no fear of being caught and sent to prison. He wouldn’t have budged even if those darned liberals hadn’t gotten the death penalty abolished a couple of centuries ago. The Lord had visited him in his dream and told him to do it. It was his ultimate purpose in life.

David Ambrose had to die.

-------

Katherine Harrison dropped her pencil.

She hissed at her hand. Even now, when she had been practicing it for seven years, it was still happening at least around once a week at school.

She pushed her hand down on top of the pencil that was now lying on her desk and tried to get her flaplike fingers to grab hold of it properly. The rustling gave it away altogether too loudly, but the teacher had gotten so used to it that she only glanced briefly at Katherine, rolled her eyes quickly and continued talking. The other students briefly looked over at her. It was only because it was autumn. By Christmas, this year’s classmates would all be so used to it that the sound wouldn’t register in their brains anymore.

She finally managed to fish the pencil up with the petals of her blue rose and awkwardly positioned it so that she would be able to write with it before resuming taking down notes. Scritch scritch. Sometimes she really hated her mother and her coworkers. She wasn’t only a Roselia Pokémorph with fingers that were more like weak petal-like flaps she couldn’t do much with and attracted rather a lot of attention along with the large green thorns sticking out of her head: she also grew so fast that she had been forced to go through twelve years’ worth of schooling in only seven years. Just how difficult was it possible to make school for one’s potential daughter before her birth? And to boot, she was left-handed. That just really took the cake, although her mother had sworn many times that the left-handedness had not been intentional.

Well, it was not like it wasn’t technically the Stop Abortion Movement’s fault, anyway, in an ironic way, although out of her mother’s coworkers, only Dave had ever gotten tasteless enough to actually mention that in his defense. Theirs and Brian’s. Katherine snorted. Oh, yes, Dave. Of course everything is always everybody’s fault but yours. It’s not like the person who thought of doing illegal genetic experiments in the first place is to blame for anything at all. No way. He just provided the genius behind the first ever successful gene-splicing in complex species. No relation at all to the consequences.

Of course she had to admit she was sometimes grateful for Dave. He was the most enthusiastic fighter trying to allow the Pokémorphs to lead a semi-normal life of the bunch and he had managed to talk all of the morphs’ way into public schools despite their obvious difficulties, whether in the form of their physical and mental capabilities developing at supernatural speed, their hands being roses or their arms having blades on them. That, she had to admit, was definitely something. There was no way anybody but Dave could have convinced the schools to let Mia in and to keep her after she very nearly slashed her schoolmates to shreds. Twice. Hell, she was a Pokémorph herself and still wouldn’t hesitate to conclude that Mia had simply shown herself to be extremely dangerous to whoever came within a two-meter radius of her. Sometimes she seriously wondered if Dave was using hypnosis or something.

She realized she’d been letting her mind wander way too much; she had stopped taking down notes long ago and was now just staring emptily out the window that she had to be seated by for her thorns to photosynthesize. She had difficulty concentrating when she didn’t have sunlight shining on her.

She was pretty messed up and would have a very difficult life compared to everybody else, she had long ago realized. But really, she couldn’t do anything about it, and couldn’t help thinking she’d rather be there and have some difficulties picking up pencils than have been aborted as a fetus or even never have existed at all. And heck, even though most people at school must have gotten the impression that having roses for hands was hell, it only really got annoying when it came to holding and controlling small objects like pencils. At least she could move the petals with some force when she used them right. She was still practising to be able to play the violin, and was starting to see a little success.

At least, she thought to herself when she turned back to the teacher to continue taking down notes, she was not Gabriel.

-------

“Hey, uh…”

Gabriel turned around, looking at a little brown-haired kid he hadn’t seen before who seemed, from the looks of it, to be extremely nervous. A few other kids around his age were standing a short distance away, watching.

“Your… you know…” The kid pointed at Gabriel’s hair.

“Let me guess, it’s on fire?” Gabriel asked dully, blindly slapping the front of his spiky red hair with his hand as the kid nodded timidly. He tried his best to stroke his hair back so it wouldn’t get too close to the flames above his eyebrows again. Not that he expected it to be successful for any considerably stretch of time. He had, after all, been trying to keep his hair out of those flames for ten years now, and it always managed to get back into the fire after a while.

“Thanks,” he said to the kid and turned to leave.

“And… um…”

“What? My hands dripping again?” Gabriel sighed as he turned his head.

“Yeah.”

He looked down at his left hand, which was dripping warm orangeish goo onto the ground.

“Oh. Sorry. It happens.” He hurriedly smeared the slime up his arm with his other hand and then looked at the kid and the group that was still goggling at him. “Let me guess, just finished your first day of school here?”

The kid nodded, still looking at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“Well, I suggest you get used to it,” Gabriel told him and prepared to leave again.

“So are you the… the…”

“Yes, I’m the Slugma Pokémorph,” Gabriel replied with a sigh. “Please try not to make me angry at any point in the future, because if my body temperature gets any higher than it is, I happen to have a very uncomfortably high risk of major organ failure.”

The kid ran for it. Gabriel smiled grimly after him.

“My life sucks,” he sighed as he headed towards his home.

[mistysakura]

Good stuff. It's really interesting seeing the way the Pokemorphs regard their existence. Katherine's situation is portrayed realistically (having to sit near the window to photosynthesise must suck). The snippet with Gabriel at the end was amusing, but it felt like something was missing, like it was cut short. The religious extremists are going to make things interesting. Isaac seems a bit cliche at the moment, I don't know. It's exactly how I'd portray a religious extremist which probably means something's a bit off . It's good to see his argument makes sense, though, if you accept that the separation of species is higher up on the morality ladder than life. Although it's interestign that this ‘And there will be no more distinction between the men and the monsters: the Machoke shall pose as man and lie with the woman as the man' can actually be seen to legitimise the scientists' actions. If it weren't in the equivalent of Revelations, I'd have interpreted it that way.

Looking forward to the next chapter.

[Gavin Luper]

OK, so Ada beat me to it then. ^^

Another two very good chapters, dude. I thought the emotion in chapter 3 was quite well done - and even though Jane was being pretty melodramatic, it didn't feel like it was out of place. Sometimes melodrama does happen, after all. I thought it was good to see that side of Dave's life, and his frustration at Jean (and Jane, for that matter), and his drinking, contrasted with his public appearance of being a very smooth talker. It makes him a more realistic character.

I enjoyed reading chapter 4, too, though it was slightly unclear to me why they were sitting in darkness - I'm sure it's probably because I'm tired. Anyway, I like the way the political/religious side of this fic is developing - I thought it was pretty clever how you manipulated the Bible to fit into the context of a pokémon world. And the now that Isaac's mob are intent on taking out Dave, that seems to be setting the plot in motion. Exciting stuff.

Oh, and I feel really sorry for Gabriel. I also get the feeling that Katherine is going to end up being fairly sarcastic as we see more of her character.

There were a couple of spelling mistakes or typos I think (somewhere there was a 'the' that I'm sure was meant to be a 'that', but I can't find it now) - but honestly, if that's the main criticism I have of these last two chapters, you can be pretty proud of your fic at this stage. I'm enjoying reading this a lot, and I'll be waiting to see what happens next chapter!

Cheers!

[Mew Trainer Rose]

I'm not very good consistent or verbose with replies, but I'll try to reply to this.

This is very interesting story, and I'm looking forward to seeing how the various issues unfold, as well as how the various morphs cope with their differences. I'm hoping the overzelous religious people don't manage to seriouly injure anyone, but I have a feeling there's too good of a chance of that. And as for the sensitive subjects mentioned, I'm fairly open-minded and willing to listen to just about anything, whether I hold such beliefs or not.

And I really have to feel bad for Gabriel. (What the heck were they thinking when they made him, anyway?) I wonder if he'd have less trouble with his hair if he got it trimmed away from his eyebrows.

[Dragonfree]

Thanks for the comments, all of you. I really appreciate it. And all those closet readers who voted for me in the awards (thank you!), comment!

You'll see more of Gabriel later, since he's one of my favorite morphs. Chapter five introduces another (fairly predictable) one of my favorite morphs, and since she gets considerably more screentime than Gabriel got in chapter four, I'm seriously in love with this chapter. :3




Chapter 5

Mia Kerrigan sat on a bench at the edge of the school grounds. For most kids, free periods were their favourite time of the school day. And so had they been for her the first couple of years.

Then her scythes had started to grow, and the other kids had grown deathly afraid of her, something she could not really relate to personally but could, in a limited sense, understand.

On its own that was perhaps not too bad, since she had never been a particularly social person and initially it had been very satisfying to see all the gawking eyes averted as soon as she glanced in their general direction. The bad part was that it wasn’t until they became afraid of her that the Nutjobs had begun to feel some sense of martyrdom (an idea which they, for some reason she could not quite grasp either, seemed to feel oddly attracted to) in trying to explain to her why she was a vile creature of Hell.

And that was why she felt her glossy yellow insect wings begin to twitch that day when she realized that the Nutjobs were approaching her.

The boy she had attacked the last time was absent from the group, and she felt a hint of dark pride in herself. The oldest of them, a sixteen-year-old girl with square-rimmed glasses and long brown hair tied into a ponytail, was still there, however, and this year she had gathered a few new followers.

Mia said nothing as they came within a few feet of the bench.

“Still here?” the girl asked with contempt in her voice. Mia noticed a small blond-haired boy with large blue eyes standing in the group and looking at her with an expression almost of pity.

“Frank left because of you, you know,” the girl went on. “He didn’t want to come back. His mom put him into a different school. I hope you’re happy.”

Mia looked at the little boy, who looked back at her. He bit his lip, but didn’t show any other sign of being afraid.

She liked him.

“He was my friend.”

The little boy blinked his large blue eyes slowly, surveying her, his expression still a strange blend of interest and sad pity.

“What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you ever answer when people talk to you?”

Mia’s eyes darted up at her and her head slowly followed. She could see the muscles under the skin in the girl’s exposed neck tensing in anger, her posture stiffening slightly. The little boy glanced up at her and then back at Mia.

“You can talk!” the girl shouted. Her fingers curled into fists, her knuckles whitened. “Say something!”

“What?” Mia replied, her attention now focusing on the sinews in the girl’s neck shifting as she swallowed.

“I know you aren’t one of God’s creations,” the girl replied with a slight jerk of her head, her voice shaking slightly. Her ponytail swished around behind her for a second but quickly came to a stop. “But if you turn to him, he will accept you like any of his children. You can be good and you will be forgiven. How you were created doesn’t matter. Everybody is the same before God. I don’t know why you do the… things you do. Maybe you… you’ve got demons inside of you or… something.”

The way the girl’s gaze shifted as she said the last sentence betrayed undeniable scepticism. She didn’t really believe there were any demons. Mia could tell. That girl was confused and bitter, and had never gotten to Mia much, not even last year when she had been a lot more violent and actually punched her or the times when she had screamed about the eternal fires of Hell. It was the boy that bothered her more, that boy who wasn’t like the other cronies. The way he looked at her, sad, pitying.

“There is no God,” Mia just replied, watching both the girl and the boy. The girl flinched at the words, as if she had just been stung. The boy closed his eyes for a moment, ever-so-slightly shaking his head, knowingly, like it was Mia who was the one with the empty faith in imaginary friends in the sky. Something about it irritated her. Why was she to be pitied? She liked that boy. He wasn’t supposed to irritate her.

“Leave me alone,” she said, looking straight at him. He looked back at her and then stepped slowly forward. Mia’s arms automatically twitched into a defensive position, ready to slash, despite the wooden sheath bound around her forearms that covered her small blades from wrist to elbow and rendered them harmless. The boy didn’t blink. His eyes looked straight at hers, searched them, flicking now and then to the bony horns sticking out of her green hair and the sheathed blades on her arms.

“Get away from me,” she growled, her arm twitching. She would have hit him, except that she still liked him and didn’t want to.

“I feel sorry for you,” he told her, unblinking. Mia saw the brown-haired girl jerk her head down toward the boy, her bitter expression blending with surprise.

The boy took another step.

Mia jerked her arm towards him, but another girl from the group with the same blond hair and slightly smaller blue eyes, most likely his sister, pulled him back and jumped in front of him so that the sheath covering Mia’s scythe hit the side of her arm instead. There wasn’t much force in the blow and the girl wasn’t hurt, but she gave Mia just the expression that she had found most typical of the Nutjobs in her time dealing with them.

“Listen, you freak,” she said as she threw Mia’s arm away, standing so close to her that Mia could smell the blood rushing to her face, “I know you can’t hurt anyone with that on your scythes, but we’re going to get you out of this school, no matter what. You contaminate it with evil. You should be locked up somewhere away from real people where you can’t hurt them, and…”

Without thinking, Mia bared her teeth and snarled, a reaction that to her felt more natural than she knew it ought to. The girl recoiled slightly, clenching her jaws. “You can’t hurt us,” she repeated under her breath, more to herself than to Mia. “You can’t hurt us. They put that on your arms so you couldn’t.”

Mia knew it was a bad idea, but she growled, jerked her left hand up to the leather straps tying the sheath to her right hand and began to tear wildly at them. The Nutjobs took only a fraction of a second to realize what she was doing and immediately turned around to speed up to the school building. The blond-haired girl had to practically drag her brother with them.

She ripped the sheath fully off and felt the cool air around her exposed scythe. It felt good. The blade itched for something to cut, but the Nutjobs were already gone.

She looked around, straight into the eyes of the teacher currently on watch who was standing by the wall a few meters away, his face pale and sweaty as he picked up his cellphone and dialled what she knew to be Dave’s number.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes to calm down, shaking her head to clear it, but it was already too late.

-------

“Mr. Ambrose, surely you can understand that this is unacceptable.”

“I don’t see why this is any worse than what happened before.”

The principal’s office was not very big, and the crammed bookshelves that always threatened to collapse and the deathly still, heavy, red curtains in front of the firmly shut windows gave it a distinctly claustrophobic atmosphere that had made her despise the room the moment she had first set foot into it. She was sitting on one of the chairs in the corner with her bare, clawed feet up on the other, examining the blades that poked out through her skin just below her wrists while the men talked it over. She heard the principal sigh.

“Mr. Ambrose, this is the third time this has happened. The first time you assured us it was a one-time occurrence and would never happen again. The second, you told us that for safety we could put on that sheath which would protect any students from potential unconscious outbursts. But now this, too, has proven futile. We have multiple eyewitnesses who will readily swear that she simply took the sheaths off and all that saved her fellow students was that while she was doing so they had time to flee. Surely you cannot expect us to keep her at this school even after this. It is clearly only a matter of time before she murders someone. Frankly I’m afraid of her.” He lowered his voice, apparently having deluded himself into thinking her hearing wasn’t that much better than an ordinary human being’s. “I wouldn’t dare take her into this office if you weren’t here too, to be honest. The teachers are afraid of teaching her classes. More than one student has come in and expressed great concern or even wish to leave the school.” Not that it mattered that she heard it. She had noticed all of that already.

She poked the sharp corner of the scythe right at the elbow where it was widest, just before it sharply turned back into her arm and rejoined the bone. A trickle of crimson blood from her fingertip travelled down the blade and started to glide off her elbow. She wiped it carefully off with the finger it had come from and licked it off from there. She’d always enjoyed the heavy, metallic taste of it.

“You’re not getting it,” Dave’s irritated voice replied. “They provoked her. Nobody in their right mind would provoke a half-Scyther. It’s their own damned fault, if you ask me.”

“All the more reason not to allow half-Scyther into this school, don’t you think?”

“She has a right to education.”

“Of course she does, but if she can’t function among other students, her education may have to be carried out in her private home where she can be kept under control.”

A fly buzzed close to her and landed on the wall. Mia’s eyes automatically followed it as it crawled upwards in vain hopes of finding open air. She raised her arm slowly.

WHAM.

Dave and the principal jerked their heads around in surprise, abruptly ceasing their conversation. She pulled the short blade out of the wall it had sunk slightly into, letting the two halves of the fly fall down on either side of the resulting crack as a subconscious smile flickered across her face.

It took only a moment for her mind to snap back into human manners, her eyes flicking back to the crack and then to the elderly man in the blue suit standing pale-faced behind the desk. “I didn’t like it,” she just said.

Dave looked at her for an awkward second and then turned quickly back to the principal. “Eh.”

“We are not going to have her at this school anymore, Mr. Ambrose,” Mr. Rogers said, watching Mia. He had always been a man who had contained his fear relatively well. He may have been gripping the edge of the desk so tightly that his knuckles whitened, and a bead of sweat was trickling down the side of his forehead, perhaps or perhaps not just because the room was awfully hot for at least her liking, but his voice remained steady and his expression determined. “Please leave. This decision is final. She cannot function at a public school, and you know it as well as I do, Mr. Ambrose.”

Dave licked his lips nervously for a second, his gaze travelling a few times from her to the principal and back to her.

“Let’s just go,” he finally said, offering his hand to Mia. She had always liked it, the way he offered his hand. He did it sincerely and fearlessly, the muscles in his fingers occasionally twitching in protest but his mind inevitably successful in forcing them under control and maintaining the gesture. There was something intrinsically trustworthy in it, more so than in most other people, whose revulsion at the idea of touching her was generally far more obvious. She took his hand and stood up, letting him lead her out of the office and slam the door stubbornly at their backs.

Oh, yes, she liked Dave.

They walked out of the school building to his shiny white car and he walked over to the driver’s seat while she silently opened the door on the passenger side and got in.

“Watch the seat, Mia, watch the seat…” Dave muttered as he closed the door on his side.

She looked on either side of her elbows, where the sharp points at the end of her scythes had created a pattern of small holes and tears in the leather through the years, making sure the blades didn’t touch it as she buckled the seat belt.

Dave started the engine and drove off the sidewalk where he had carelessly parked the car. He sighed, looking briefly at her with his blue eyes.

“It was the Nutjobs again,” she said.

Dave snorted. “It’s always them, isn’t it? Fucking assholes, constantly shoving their religion down people’s throats. I’ve known too many people like that in my life. Complete retards, all of them.”

Mia nodded dully.

“So what was their latest theory about your origins? Have they done demonic possession yet?”

She didn’t answer. He looked at her again.

“There was a boy,” she said. “I liked him.”

Dave raised his eyebrows. “What, did he think you were just a lesser imp and not Satan himself?”

She shook her head absent-mindedly. Dave was peering through the windshield as he turned round a corner and didn’t notice.

“Don’t listen to them. I’ve told you, they’re batshit insane. You’d get more sense out of Babelfishing a Kadabra on crack. Just don’t even try.”

She didn’t understand them. Religious faith just didn’t make any sense. She couldn’t feel angry at them, like Dave did. Just baffled at their existence. Why they would want to believe in something they had no evidence for. It was just something she couldn’t wrap her head around.

“Goddamn kids,” Dave swore under his breath as a group of children scattered from the street in front of them.

“I don’t get it,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Religion.”

“That’s because unlike those nutsos you’ve got some sense in your head.”

“My parents believe in God too.”

Dave pretended not to have heard her for a few seconds. She watched a fly sit down on the back of his neck. If she slashed at it she could accidentally cut his head off. Haha. Oops.

But she liked him, so she didn’t actually do it. And even if she hadn’t liked him, there would have been complications. Too obvious who did it. No good Pokémorph sympathizers left to defend her in court. Somebody would point out her mental age of sixteen and say she was responsible for her actions. Everybody else would agree because they wanted to get rid of her. ‘That fly was getting on my nerves’ had never worked well for her. Jail. Tiny cell with stale air. Nothing decent to eat. It just wouldn’t pay.

He turned back to her. The fly took off and instead settled on the car window on his side. “Well, at least your parents don’t take it so damned seriously.”

She nodded and looked out the window.

“Hey, uh, want a hotdog?”

She shrugged.

“Great,” Dave replied and turned round the next corner.

-------

Howard Kerrigan was doing the dishes when he got the feeling that Lucy was standing behind him. She had a wonderful knack for being quiet and sneaking up on people, but she hadn’t yet tamed her abilities enough to stop a faint psychic signal from pushing gently at those she approached, alerting them of her presence.

He turned around, glanced at her and smiled. “Something bothering you?”

She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“Daddy, am I an abomination?”

He turned around and stared at her, pushing away the trace of hypnotic power in her eyes. “What? No. Who told you that?”

She pointed at the window above the kitchen sink. “There’s a guy with a sign outside in front of the door.”

Howard looked back at the window, and indeed, there was a man standing on the sidewalk outside the front door holding a sign that said simply ‘VISIONS 21.5’.

He ripped off his rubber gloves and ran to the front door. “Hey!” he shouted heatedly as he opened it, running towards the man. “Don’t you dare stand here giving my daughter ideas! Get away from my house right now!”

The protestor looked at him. It was a young man with pale skin and dark hair that would have been handsome if not for the icy coldness in his light blue eyes. Howard fleetingly recognized him as one of the scariest fundamentalists from church, somebody Daniels. He shivered.

“Get away from my house,” he repeated sternly. “You are not welcome here.”

“Realize what you have done and repent,” Daniels said in a quiet, cold voice. “The Pokémorphs are abominations before the Lord. He will make you pay for their creation, sooner or later. You will regret that He ever let you be born.”

“Get off my property now.”

A crazy glint appeared in the man’s piercing eyes. “He has already chosen His instruments. Those of true faith have received their calling. You will be punished.”

“I told you to leave.”

A smiled flickered across Daniels’ features. “The rabbit who refuses to hear of the fox,” he said, “will regret it only when she wanders into his lair.”

Howard returned his icy stare for a second. He felt cold.

“Very well, Howard,” Daniels said quietly. “I see you cannot be persuaded.”

“Not by you. Go away.”

Daniels opened his mouth, but then flicked his eyes to the side. Howard looked to see Dave’s white car pull into their driveway. Both doors opened, and Dave and Mia stepped out. Mia glanced dully at Daniels while Dave pointed at the door to indicate that they needed to talk inside.

“Excuse me,” Howard said coldly to Daniels and walked to the door to meet them.

He took a last glance over his shoulder as he turned the key. Daniels looked at Dave with the creepiest grin Howard had ever seen, and then turned slowly around to walk down the street, still holding the daunting sign above his head.

[Whisper in the Wind]

I rarely review, mostly because I'm not very good at it, but I've enjoyed what I've read so far and I quite like the placement of the humour.

In particular:

She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“Daddy, am I an abomination?”

Amusing enough to make me want to reply with a praise to the humour

[mistysakura]

I'm liking Mia a lot. I can sympathise with her and it's got to be hard in that situation when everyone's telling you you weren't born right. I like how she has very strong instincts, like an animal (like humans as well, actually, except over the years we've learnt to imprison our instincts behind reason...), and how she never hesitates once an instinct has taken over. Dave's rather... not moderate views are probably doing her more harm than good though. She seems to be learning to ignore and despise dissidents rather than understanding where they're coming from, and I fear for what she might become. Daniels is more of a worry at the moment though.

Good character development, and good chapter overall.

[Gavin Luper]

Good to see this continuing. I'm kind of undecided about Mia, to be honest. At first I felt quite sorry for her, certainly sympathetic. And I still do. But by the end of that chapter, I couldn't help but feel slightly repulsed by her, too. Not that she can help how she is, but she seems, in her mind, unable to be controlled. The fact that she tried to calm herself but couldn't is worrying. But anyway, I thought her character was a very interesting one to introduce ... I'm sure there'll be lots of angst on the way from her - and I can't wait.

These fundamentalist Nutjobs are irritating, but. Hell, they're irritating in real life, if I can be frank about it - there's a difference between religion and those people who seem to be in thrall to leaders like Isaac Daniels (nice biblical name, btw). But what will Daniels attempt next - something altogether more concerning than a sign, I'm sure.

I really enjoy reading this story. The characterisation is always enjoyable, and I reckon you write well, too. There were a couple of sentences in this chapter, though, that I thought were a bit clunky and unclear. When you were describing the principal's office, for example, I initially thought the principal was a female and you were describing her thoughts. Not until we got to the 'clawed feet' did I realise something was up. It might've just been me, but there were one or two such instances where I thought the sentence didn't flow as the rest of the chapter.

Having said that, I thought it was a very good chapter on the whole, and I'm keen to see where it's all heading. Seeya next chapter, good work man!

[Dragonfree]

Wow, it's been even longer since chapter five than I thought. <<; Thanks for all the comments, guys. I hope you still remember what's going on.

I can't say I like this chapter that much. It's mostly just finishing off some morph introductions before the actual story can get going (which it will in chapter seven). But I like parts of it too. See what you think.




Chapter 6

“So who was that creep?” Dave asked as Howard closed the door behind them. Howard invited Dave and Mia to sit down at the kitchen table and collapsed into his own chair. Lucy the Misdreavus morph waved to Dave from a few meters away and he waved absent-mindedly back to her.

“It’s somebody from church,” Howard sighed. “Something Daniels. His beliefs are rather… extreme, from what I’ve seen of them.”

“So in other words, he’s a nut,” Dave said cheerfully. “What did he want?”

“He was trying to scare Lucy, apparently,” Howard replied with contempt. “Calling her an abomination. When I came out, he started making threats about the Wrath of God.” He shuddered. “I’m not sure whether to take him seriously.”

“Don’t,” Dave just said. “They feed on fear. Don’t give them the pleasure of seeing you get worried. What do you think is going to happen, anyway? Is he going to sit somewhere and pray for a meteor to strike you or what? Newsflash: it won’t work. Even if God existed, do you think he’d listen to a guy like that?”

“I don’t know. He scares me sometimes. He likes to make speeches about how he will rejoice in Heaven at the thought of the infidels burning forever in Hell…”

Dave snorted.

“…but I suppose it would be stupid to worry about him too much,” Howard finished with a sigh. “So. What did she do this time?”

“She got kicked out,” Dave replied in a tired voice, rubbing his forehead. “For good. She took off the sheaths and they went ballistic. And then chopped up a fly in the principal’s office. I think that took the cake.”

“Oh, Mia,” Howard sighed, looking wearily at his older daughter. “Why do you always get yourself into trouble like that?”

“It was a stupid fly,” she answered defensively. “It was too dumb to get out of the way. It deserved it.”

“What are we going to do with you now?” her father asked in frustration. “You can’t keep doing that all the time, Mia! You need to start learning how to function among normal people, or I’m going to go crazy. I mean it. How are you going to get schooling now? I have three other children to take care of and Cheryl is always…”

“I’ll just teach her at home, okay?” Dave interrupted. “There’s no need to make a big deal about it and start blaming her. Uh, Mia, why don’t you go play with Lucy or something?”

The Pokémorph stood up wordlessly, glanced at the smaller girl and went through a door on the other side of the hall and shut it behind her. Her sister walked after her, disappearing through the closed door as if nothing were more natural.

“Look,” Dave said after making sure they were gone, looking back at Howard. “We’ve been through this. She’s basically a biologically defined sociopath. Telling her she needs to learn how to function will at most just irritate her and make her hurt somebody. Please don’t push her limits.”

“It can get pretty frustrating,” Howard answered quietly, glancing back at the door to the girls’ room, through which faint giggles could now be heard. “When you have children, you want them to be able to understand how you feel. Think in approximately the same terms… She’s so different from the other morphs. Lucy actually feels like a human being, but Mia is just so painfully nonhuman in the way she talks, thinks, acts…” He rubbed his eyes briefly and then blinked a few times. “I mean, I love her. I really do. But… God…” He shook his head. “Somehow I can’t give up the idea that I can change her. She looks like she’s supposed to be able to function like a human being. My brain likes to think that means she can.”

“Well, she can’t, and you’ll have to live with that,” Dave responded and looked around the house. “Is Cheryl around?”

Howard shook his head. “She’s out by the town hall protesting the lack of formal action against increased carbon emissions from the city’s cars.”

Dave rolled his eyes briefly. “Well, I’ll get in touch about the homeschooling thing, I suppose. Have to get going now so I’ll be in time to get Jean from school.”

Howard nodded and stood up, shaking Dave’s hand. “Thanks for visiting. And driving her. You know, you do so much for those kids, it’s unbelievable.”

Dave smiled slightly. “I made them. Least I could do. I’ll see you around.”

“Goodbye.”

And with that, Dave left the house and closed the door behind him. Howard saw him through the window straightening his jacket as he walked back over to his car. “You made them. Right,” he muttered to himself.

He sighed and knocked on the door to the girls’ room. He waited for a couple of seconds as the laughter quieted before opening it carefully.

Mia, her unsheathed scythe raised, had seemingly stopped mid-motion when he knocked; she stood deathly still, only her eyes pointed towards him. Her sister was standing below her, still grinning childishly.

The father shuddered at the sight. “Dave is gone. He’s going to be homeschooling you from now on, Mia.”

She didn’t answer, but he had grown to expect it. He looked between the two for a second and then said, “You know I don’t like this game at all.”

With a careless, sweeping motion, without looking away from her father, Mia swung her raised scythe straight through her sister’s currently insubstantial forehead. Howard felt his paternal instinct twitch in horror, but Lucy only continued to giggle, grinning happily at her father as if having a blade repeatedly driven through one’s head was every sane person’s idea of fun.

“I’ll leave you to it, I suppose,” Howard said, shaking his head. “Lucy, you remember to always stay insubstantial while she’s there with you, all right? And the moment you get the least bit tired, you stop before you become unable to keep it up. Is that clear? Let me see you go invisible.”

“Yes, Daddy,” the small girl answered, her pitch-black form briefly fading to a smoky sort of transparent and then becoming entirely invisible. Invisibility was more taxing for her than insubstantiality; if she could still make herself entirely invisible, it meant she had plenty enough energy to keep up her insubstantial form, and they had agreed on using it as a test. He nodded as she came back into view.

“Please be careful,” he said quietly before closing the door to the room again. He heard a high-pitched shriek that made him jump but quickly dissolved into another fit of giggles.

While Mia was generally not very social, she had always been a little closer to her sister than to anyone else, and they got along surprisingly well. Nonetheless, Howard didn’t doubt that she could easily end up hurting Lucy in the heat of the moment, and their typical games were just far too violent for comfort: Mia chasing Lucy and trying to slash her; Lucy covering something worthless and easily destructible in the folds of the thin, dress-like extra skin that covered most of her body and running around while Mia would try to slash the object apart; Lucy charging up a primitive Shadow Ball that Mia would slash away before it got to her…

It was all pretty creepy, and while nothing very serious had happened yet, there had been accidents. One time Lucy had gotten hurt when slashed in a semisubstantial state; she had been unable to feel her arm properly for a few days. Another time Mia had slashed her when she hadn’t been ready, but thankfully realized it and managed to stop her scythe before it made more than a shallow cut. Mia had lost her balance in mid-slash and hit her head on the floor or walls numerous times. Howard would have forbidden them to do it long ago, but Dave had convinced him that if Mia couldn’t let out her hunting instinct (he shuddered to think of it) in some relatively harmless way, she would practically be a ticking bomb, and it would be a good way for the sisters to bond a little more, and for Mia to feel freer and have an easier time forming relationships in general, to let them play these dangerous games together.

Howard couldn’t deny that Mia’s self-control and Lucy’s Misdreavus powers had greatly improved since this had been given the green light, but he still didn’t like it. Cheryl took it more lightly, usually brushing it off with some vague kids-can-kill-each-other-in-all-sorts-of-ways-if-they-aren’t-careful-but-the-girls-can-handle-this-responsibly-Howard-and-we-should-listen-to-Dave.

“Yeah, you made them, Dave,” he muttered to himself as he turned back towards the kitchen sink. “All the way until it’s getting inconvenient. Then it’s all Brian’s fault.”

-------

Incidentally, Brian was also doing the dishes and was currently picking up the last plate from beside the sink. He quickly scrubbed the remains of yesterday’s spaghetti off the surface and turned the plate a few times over under the faucet just as he heard the front door open and slam shut again. He put the wet plate down to dry, turned the knob to reduce the stream of water to a trickle and eventually nothing, and pulled the pink rubber gloves off his fingers to lay them down on the edge of the sink. “Gabriel?”

“Hi, Dad,” came the weary reply.

“How was school?”

“Decent.” Brian heard Gabriel sigh from the entrance as the boy took off his shoes. “Kids are still staring.”

“They’ll get used to it in a week or two,” Brian said as he walked out of the kitchen to meet his son in the doorway. “Oh, your hair…”

Gabriel reached blindly to the top of his head to extinguish the small flame that had gotten into a loose strand of hair. “Gone.”

“Yes, gone.” Brian looked the boy up and down and sighed with parental pride. “I’m really proud of you, Gabriel,” he said for the umpteenth time. Gabriel rolled his eyes, but not without the corners of his mouth curling into a small smile. “When you’d just been made we didn’t really think you’d survive, but you’ve just done so well and been so strong and grown into such a wonderful person.” He beamed down at the short boy and was overwhelmed, as so often, by the strange feeling of knowing he’d been raising that kid for the past ten years. It didn’t feel like that long, and all the headaches and complications of keeping him alive for the first few years had blurred into a hazy dark period in his memory. He’d been very stressed out then and several times begged Dave to make somebody else raise the Slugma.

Now he was infinitely glad that Dave had steadfastly refused.

“You’re the greatest kid in the world, Gabriel.”

“You’ve told me already, Dad,” Gabriel said with a weary smile.

“Pizza and a good movie?” Brian asked him with a grin.

“Sounds good,” the Pokémorph replied smugly, “but I think my skin is starting to harden, so if you’ll excuse me.”

Brian smiled and stepped out of the doorway. Gabriel walked into his room and closed the door.

The kid was still high-maintenance, of course. Being what he was, his gooey skin hardened slowly over the day and to counter this he had to massage some heat into the entirety of it at least once a day. When he stood still for too long and wasn’t thinking about rubbing his hands together every now and then, they would leave little orange globs of slime where he was standing, such as now in the doorway from the entrance hall (Brian was getting a mop to clean it up now), and he had to wear specifically made clothes that were coated with plastic on the inside. But one got used to it.

Brian still felt sorry for what Gabriel had to endure. He’d been bullied at school for being chubby with glasses himself; although Gabriel didn’t like to talk about it much and the teachers tended to try their best to make the parent-teacher meetings as short and sparse as possible, he could only imagine how much staring and snickering he’d face every weekday, not to mention general disgust. It had taken Brian himself years to get fully used to the idea that his son had slimy skin that left puddles in his bed every morning. Out of all eight Pokémorph children, Gabriel was the one that looked the most like, well, a freak. But he had an entirely human personality, which was more than could be said about someone like Mia Kerrigan.

In a way, Brian felt that in the end was the luckiest of them all.

-------

“Will?”

William McKenzie looked up at his father. Joe McKenzie was a dark-haired, brown-eyed man with glasses and an invariably friendly expression on his face, the kind of man it was impossible not to feel predisposed to like at the sight of him, and knowing him didn't disappoint. Both he and his wife Pamela had always been wonderful parents to Will. And still he couldn’t help partially hating them, in as much as he was capable of it, not for what they did but for what they didn’t do. And the other part of him hated himself for having that part which hated them, because he had no right to hate them and they hadn’t done anything wrong beyond loving all their kids.

“I’m going to shop for a bit. Your mom is still at work, but I’ve told James to watch you, all right? I won’t be long.”

“Okay,” Will said, although he felt everything but okay at the news. His father smiled, closed the door to his room while pulling on the last sleeve of his jacket, and seconds later the front door slammed.

Without really thinking about it, Will raised his hand to his mouth and began to bite his nails and slowly lick the fingertips in between. His parents had told him to stop it. He didn’t really care. It calmed him down. He stroked his fingers across his cheek, feeling the saliva cool his skin, ran them through his brown hair to find the soft, furred back of his triangular ear, and crumpled its floppy shape together with his fingers, scratching it, before releasing it, sliding his hand forward to his forehead as the ear returned to its natural perked shape, and finally returning the hand down to his mouth. He repeated the motion, a little faster this time. There was some intrinsic, satisfying perfection in it. Cleansing. Comfortable. Something reassuring about the way the ear invariably returned to its former shape no matter how he crumpled it. He did it a few more times, first with one hand and then the other. It was almost ritualistic. Trance-like. And, he reminded himself grimly, extremely strange. Freaky. Nobody else did it. People stared at him. So he just did it in his room. It was never as comforting to attempt to achieve the same effect in public, anyway. There would be sounds distracting him, things moving that his eyes would automatically follow, besides of course the uncomfortable stares and his siblings looking at him with disgust. He’d given that up years ago.

Remembering that his siblings were still in the house and could walk in on him, he stopped, stood up, locked his door and sat back down on his bed, licking his fingers briefly again. Then he guiltily dried them on his jeans. He couldn’t continue for too long, or the wetness in his hair would give away that he was still doing it.

Will felt very much like a freak, but also a little like an addict. He felt a bit stupid about not having grown out of it, but it was too nice to give it up. There was no harm in it, after all, unlike all the pills and stuff that they taught you to avoid at school. The normal people around him had just decided it was freaky and gross, so they shouldn’t have to see it, but there was nothing wrong with doing it, per se.

He wasn’t quite sure whether he really felt the same way about the fact that he still loved to play with yarn. He was honestly making an effort to grow out of that. As for the shiny things… well, his parents had more or less gotten him to stop that.

Aw, what the heck. The room was locked.

Will reached under his bed, took out a white ball of yarn that he’d nicked from his grandmother’s knitting set a while ago, put it on his floor and spent a few minutes batting it around the room with his hands and catching it. It had no right to be this fun.

He wrapped the yarn back together as well as he could, feeling slightly embarrassed as always, replaced it under his bed, and decided to get something to eat.

Nicky was in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cornflakes while reading ‘Sarah Hooter and the Ultimate Fire Stone’. She gave him a dull glare before returning firmly to the book. When he attempted to tell his parents that his siblings hated him, they always spoke of sibling rivalry, of how the two-year-old Nicky and to a lesser extent her brother James had just gotten jealous when he was suddenly brought into the family and received all the attention, and how it was just the same as when James was two and Nicky had been born, and how they didn’t really mean anything by it. Of course, what they never really seemed to want to think about was that James and Nicky had, at least as far back as Will could remember, abandoned all of their own rivalry once they’d found a common enemy in him. Their parents had of course told the older siblings to be nice to Will, and that it wasn’t his fault he was different, and that he’d soon stop behaving like a cat, and that he was a kid just like them and shouldn’t be treated any differently, but that just meant James and Nicky kept their hatred towards him mostly to themselves and to the way they looked at him and to the way they reacted to most everything he did. And somehow, that little part of Will felt like his parents ought to be able to just magically make them stop thinking he was a freak, but of course that didn't make any sense and he had to stop thinking about it.

Will got himself a bowl and a spoon, reached for the cornflakes and milk, and poured himself some. Nicky glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She was a pretty girl with wavy dark hair and fairly popular at school, but she never invited any of her friends to their house. Will knew exactly why.

He silently ate his cornflakes. Sarah Hooter, strikingly similar to Will’s one and only friend, winked at him from the cover of the book as if deliberately to irritate him, remind him that if only he were a fictional character everyone would probably love him.

Then again, not all the morphs had it as bad as he did. Jean herself, despite of course being viewed as a freak by most, was admired and envied at the same time because everyone loved those books and, as she never tired of reminding everyone, she was due to star in the movies when they came out. And somehow she just did it. She was open and confident, and she even had some normal friends. Will had no idea how she’d managed so well. Nobody ever wanted to talk to him.

He ate the last few spoonfuls and sighed. Nicky followed him with her eyes as he dumped his bowl and spoon into the sink. “Where’s James?” he asked her.

“Upstairs,” his sister replied shortly.

“Didn’t Dad tell him to watch out for us?”

Nicky gave him her signature exasperated glare. “You were in your room.”

Will shrugged. “Well, I’ll go back there, then,” he muttered and walked back to his bedroom door. It was better to stay in his room where he wouldn’t get in their way.

-------

Jack looked briefly over the school cafeteria. A number of people glanced up as he entered; he could tell which ones were freshmen just by seeing how freaked out they looked. He smiled to himself, eyed his friends at a table by the window, waved, and pushed himself through the crowd to meet them. He wasn’t very hungry.

An unfamiliar face looked up at him from the table and stared. Ah, so they’ve taken in a new guy, Jack thought. He waved again at the kid – it was a short boy with messy brown hair and large glasses – and sat down.

“Hey, Jack,” said Sid, a chubby, dark-haired guy with a severe addiction to MMORPGs. “Where have you been?”

“Sick,” Jack replied, glancing at the new guy, who was still staring at them. “Who’s that kid?”

The boy flinched, and Jack smiled. “I don’t bite.”

The kid laughed nervously.

“That’s Ben,” Vincent explained. “He plays Magic.”

“Really? Want a game? I’ve got a deck with me, if you…”

Jack feigned being stopped short in surprise. Ben was not staring at him anymore, but it was altogether too evident that that was only because he was trying not to.

“Come on. Look at me.”

Ben did. The kid had large, brown eyes, or maybe they were just magnified by the glasses.

“Welcome to the tour of me,” Jack said. “I’m Jack, I’m blue, and I’m half a Chinchou; glad you noticed. These things,” he went on, dangling at the glowing end of one of the antennae that hung down above his face, “are hella useful for reading in the dark, but can be annoying when you’re trying to sleep. Don’t shake my hand too firmly, since my fingers could crack. They’re webbed too, by the way. Get used to this stuff, and you’ll be fine. Okay?”

Ben nodded quickly. Jack knew that at this moment the kid was probably seriously considering trying to find another table, but from the sound of it he was enough of a geek to end up with them either way. And experience had taught him they were generally quicker to get used to him than they thought.

It was only to be a couple of weeks before Ben was happily playing Magic with Jack during breaks.

[Crystalmaster Mike]

Aw, I just want to cuddle them plushies to no end! *squeels*
...
Seriously though, there both extremely cool Pokémon, and extremely messed-up humans. The way their "abilities" are developing, and with the "believers" chasing them, it might become very messy!

Plus, if they learn to speak Pokémonish, Mia could call up some Charizard friends to join the carnage. *shudders*

Then again, seeing as some of them are so painstakingly young, innocent, and most of all human, I sense we might be in for some very touchy scenes.

[mistysakura]

Yay to the fic's return! I really, really love these characters. It's a bit difficult to keep track of whose parents are whom just because of the number of characters, but that's okay, and you've done your best with providing last names and stuff. You've made the situations very realistic. It's interesting that Gabriel's mentally the most human, although physically he's had to cope with a lot. Jack's straightforward, take-it-or-leave-it attitude is great. It shows strength. The only issue I had was that the end of the chapter seemed a bit abrupt.

Great job! Looking forward to reading more.

[PsiUmbreon]

I stayed up later than I should have reading this. It was damned good and makes you think about stuff. Also the morphs are all likable in one way or another, even Mia. I find myself attached to all of them.

I am glad I caught this before it became part of the realm of tl;dr and am now able to keep up with it.

[Dragonfree]

Well, am I ever on a writing spree. Chapter 40 of The Quest for the Legends yesterday, chapter seven of this today. Thanks for the reviews, you three. I really appreciate the comments.

This is very easily the most eventful chapter so far, putting an end to all those seemingly endless character introductions of the past six chapters. It is also easily my favorite chapter so far. I hope you enjoy it.



Chapter 7

“…and I’m gonna be in the movie!”

Will smiled awkwardly at Jean. “I know. You’ve told me before.”

“Yeah, but they’ve sent us a contract now! And I’m getting Dad to sign it. He doesn’t want me to be in the movie, but I want to.”

“Yeah,” Will muttered, wondering as he did occasionally whether Jean really was that much better than no company at all. He scratched his whiskers and said nothing more, although he cringed and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt further over his head as the pair of them approached Jean’s human friends. He wasn’t sure why he did that; after all, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen him before and weren’t aware that he was a Pokémorph, and definitely not as if it made them any less likely to ignore him completely (in fact, the opposite was probably true). But he liked to keep his Meowth features concealed anyway. It made him feel less self-conscious.

“You know what? They’ve sent us a contract! I’m gonna be in the Sarah Hooter movie!”

Her friends didn’t look overly impressed. “We don’t care, Jean!” moaned a girl with dark, curly hair. “Stop rubbing it in!”

Jean’s friends didn’t really appear to like her that much, Will had observed. They put up with her and didn’t mind talking to her occasionally, but the moment anything reminded them that she wasn’t like them, they’d reject her and make it obvious she didn’t really belong with human beings. Will wasn’t sure whether she ignored it or was just that oblivious.

This time Jean looked at the girls’ harsh faces in dumbfounded astonishment and then, abruptly, bared her teeth in a very surprisingly frightening manner and let out an intimidating, uncomfortably bestial snarl.

Will recoiled. Jean’s friends jumped and then, after a tense moment, just bolted towards the school building.

Jean’s face had returned to normal, her expression confused as if she wasn’t entirely sure where the snarl had come from either. She stared after the girls, and Will noted awkwardly that there were tears forming at the corners of her eyes. He backed away a little, not wanting to be the target of a tantrum while also not wanting to look like he was abandoning her as well. He’d never been good with cheering people up.

Jean closed her eyes and shook her head for a second; Will saw the ends of her six red tails curling up a bit more than they already were. Finally she reached for her pocket, grabbed her cellphone from it and opened it, punching in a number with great precision.

Jean’s cellphone was really loud. He could hear the slow beeps before her father picked it up even from where he was standing.

“What is it, sweetheart? I’m driving, so make it quick,” said Dave’s voice.

“My friends all got mad at me,” Jean sniffed. “And then I – I like growled at them.”

“Really?” her father answered on the other end. “Did you do it voluntarily or just sort of impulsively? What kind of growl was it?”

“I don’t know,” Jean replied and paused for a second. “They all stared at me and ran away and were all mean.”

“Well, honey, when your fire sac is active, you’re going to roast ‘em all if they’re mean to you, understand?”

The thought seemed to cheer Jean up considerably. “Yeah!” she shouted happily into the phone while punching the air.

“But hey, you can tell me all about it when I come to get you home, okay? And when I’m done driving you, I’ll have to go back to work. Brian and I have to finish some stuff for Gabriel.”

“But what about the contract?” Jean whined. (Will scolded himself for mentally calling it that, but it really was the most appropriate word.)

Dave let out a long sigh. “That’ll have to wait until I get back tonight, sweetheart. We won’t be able to mail it to them until tomorrow, anywa…” There was a sudden screech of tires. “Oh, shit!” Then, “Look, I love you, honey, but can you not call me while I’m driving? I think I nearly ran over a Meowth or something here. Bye, sweetie.”

“Bye,” Jean said, but from the sound of it Dave had already hung up. Will was meanwhile shivering at the thought of a Meowth being run over by a car. Especially Dave’s car. Even though he’d have loved to be an ordinary human being, he couldn’t help identifying slightly with the species he was spliced with. Sometimes he felt stupid about it. At other times he just wondered whether the other morphs felt the same way. It seemed awkward to ask them.

“Okay, so what do you want to do?” Jean asked. The human friends were apparently forgotten. Probably a good thing, since Will couldn’t help feeling that if he were them that snarl would have disturbed the hell out of him and there was little hope they would ever think of her the same way again. But Jean always got herself new groups who were semi-willing to hang out with her for a while, for as long as she did not go on about her awaiting acting career too much.

She would get over it before he could say ‘That’s not friendship’.

“Tag,” he said, touching her shoulder before bounding off in a random direction. “You’re it.”

-------

Night had fallen by the time Dave and Brian stepped out of the main building of Heywood Labs.

“Jean’ll be worried,” Dave was saying. “I promised I’d be back home by nine o’clock. I just left her some lasagne, but I don’t know if she’ll have gotten into bed.”

“Well, Gabriel knows how to take care of himself,” Brian said as Dave motioned to open the door of his car. “I’d call it a good day’s wo …”

He was cut off by a gunshot. It took a while for Dave to register all the blood.

“Shit,” he swore while his brain numbly attempted to start itself. His eyes refused to look for the wound, instead fixing themselves on the steadily spreading pool of red around Brian’s unmoving body as it lay awkwardly on the sidewalk. “Oh, shit, Brian.”

It wasn’t until the second gunshot, which chipped some concrete from the wall of the building behind him, that he realized who the gunman had actually meant to shoot.

His brain bolted awake with a sudden rush of adrenaline and before he really realized it, he had ducked behind the car.

“Fuck. Shit. Goddamnit.” Where the hell was his cellphone? While his hand dug through his pockets, another bullet hit the windshield of the car, and Dave somehow found the time to evaluate the yelp the sound squeezed out of him as extremely stupid-sounding before he bolted up and started towards the next car, Brian’s, parked a few dozen meters away along the same sidewalk. He finally manoeuvred the phone out of his pocket, opened it and attempted to punch in 911, but the actual outcome on the screen looked more like 986121, either because he was still running or because his hands were trembling too much. He didn’t really care which.

Dave threw himself onto the sidewalk behind Brian’s car just as a third bullet tore through the air behind him and landed on the wall of a side building of the lab.

He pushed himself into a crouching position, hammered the cancel button on his cellphone and retyped the number. He hit the call button as quickly as he could and jerked the phone up to his ear, surprising himself by how broken his voice sounded.

“Emergency? I think some crazed fuck just shot my coworker – yes, still here and still trying to shoot me now, so if you don’t mind – just outside Heywood Labs, Grace City – the fuck should I know? – Look, can you just send some cops and an ambulance already…? You did? Right. Okay. Thank you. I’ll get back to cowering behind this– shit!” Shards of glass suddenly exploded out from the car window just above him as a bullet shattered the pane. Dave tried to cover his head as the rain of broken glass bombarded his back; he felt a couple of pieces pierce the back of his neck before it subsided. He looked quickly at his phone; it was dead. He stuffed it clumsily back into his pocket. The car alarm had gone off with a blaring siren noise.

Dave leapt back to his feet after a moment of thought, racing for the next car which was in front of the next building. “I’ve called the police!” he screamed on the way, hoping to scare the attacker off even though an increasingly large part of him was sure he had probably given up the wrong information in that phone call or something. “They’re on their way!”

He heard another gunshot and felt something strike the side of his forehead, a kind of oddly powerful sting, and warm blood began to leak down the side of his cheek as he attempted to keep running.

Fuck, he thought to himself in disbelief as the power left his legs and he crumpled to the ground. I'm dead. Fucker shot me in the head. I'm dead. Fuck.

While he fell he was hazily surprised at how long it seemed to be taking his brain to shut down, but then his head hit the concrete sidewalk and his vision faded away.

-------

Dave blinked. This was strange, because people had made up the notion of an afterlife in a bout of wishful thinking and that was not supposed to make it exist.

“You’re awake?” said a voice. He blinked again and realized that there was a short man in a white coat standing over him. The side of his head throbbed with dull pain.

“Wow,” he muttered as his frontal lobes began to process the situation logically. “I didn’t think doctors could cure that.”

The man gave him a curt smile. “The bullet only grazed your forehead, Mr. Ambrose. You were very lucky.”

“What?” Dave tried to sit angrily up, but the attempt drowned in all the pillows in the hospital bed. “No way in hell that just grazed me. I felt how I died, for fuck’s sake.”

The doctor gave him another one of those irritating smiles of his, something reminiscent of the way people smiled to a child talking about an imaginary friend. “The psychological shock made you fall, and you were knocked out when you hit your head on the sidewalk. A security guard in one of the nearby buildings came to inspect the noise and stopped the bleeding until the ambulance arrived.”

“What?” he asked again, unable to think of anything else to say.

“I assure you you did not die at any point this evening. I’m sorry if this upsets you.”

“Stop being a wiseass,” Dave said, trying to pull his thoughts back into something coherent. “Where’s Brian?”

“I’m afraid there was nothing that could be done for your friend when we got there. The bullet went through his heart. I’m sorry.”

Dave blinked yet again a few times. He rubbed his forehead and turned away, trying to convince himself that he just had dust in his eye.

“Well, fuck.” Brian. How could Brian be dead? That was goddamned messed up. Brian wasn’t supposed to be murdered. That was just not the way things happened. “Fuck,” he repeated to fill the silence. It didn’t help very much.

There were a few more seconds of awkward silence.

“Well, there is a policeman here who would like to speak with you, but if this is a bad time…”

“No,” Dave said, making some vague gesture with his hand without looking at the doctor. Partly it was just to get rid of him, really. “It’s fine. Send him in.”

He looked back up now that the doctor was walking out of the room and took a few deep breaths. All this was so fucked up. Why couldn’t there be a time machine to just rewind everything by… how long had it been, anyway? He looked around and found a clock on the wall above the door. It was a quarter to two AM. He reached carefully up to his head; it had been wrapped in some bandages. The pain still throbbed there vaguely as background noise. There were blue curtains hanging by the sides of his bed, presumably concealing other patients.

A comfortably overweight, uniformed police officer with round glasses stepped into the room, walked over to Dave’s bed and sat down on a chair beside it. “Good evening, Mr. Ambrose,” the man said. “I just have a couple of questions for the time being. First off, I’m sorry about your friend.”

“He wasn’t really a friend,” Dave mumbled. “Just a coworker.”

“Well, sorry about your coworker, then,” the policeman corrected himself, flipping briefly through a notebook. “Can you think of anyone who would have a motive to want him dead?”

Dave snorted. “Brian? Fuck, no. He’s the least offensive person you’ve ever met.”

The policeman raised his eyebrows and scribbled something into his notebook, but said nothing. “So you have no idea who might have been behind this?”

“Truth to be told, I think the guy was just trying to shoot me and got him instead.”

The cop wrote some more. “So you think they had a motive to attack you?” he asked without looking up.

“Oh, sure,” Dave replied. “There are all sorts of nuts I’ve upset in some way or another.” And as he said it, he came to the unsettling realization that seeing as whoever it was had clearly not been caught, the psycho was still after him. “He’ll try to kill me again,” he muttered aloud. “Fuck.”

The policeman nodded, pencil still furiously scratching the notebook. “It’s possible. I’d be careful if I were you. You should try to stay in your apartment for a while once you get out of here, at least until the guy is caught or we find out more. We’ll get a couple of guys to hang around nearby just in case he tries to get you at home.”

“Thanks,” Dave mumbled, not quite sure what he was thanking the man for as he hadn’t really been listening.

“Did you see the attacker?”

“Not a hair.”

The cop finished writing, looked up at him and smiled. “Well, that will be all for now. We’ll contact you later as the investigation continues.”

“All right.”

The policeman left. Dave was starting to get a severe headache and wanted to sleep, but the irritating doctor stepped in again. “You also have some visitors. Should I show them in?”

“Sure,” he replied, waving the doctor off. He wasn’t even sure who the visitors were and wasn’t at all sure he would like to meet them, but he said it anyway. As it turned out, the visitors were Howard and Mia, which partly cheered him up and partly didn’t; after all, it could have been somebody like his mother (or worse, Jane), but at the same time he was dully disappointed that they were the only people who cared enough to visit him.

Howard hurried over to the bed and attempted to give him a hug, not succeeding very well as he was standing by the side of the bed.

“Brian… oh, God, I can’t believe it. I’m glad you got out okay. I’m not sure what the morphs would do without you. But… God…”

Howard actually did have tears in his eyes, which made Dave feel awkward. He looked over at Mia, who stood by the other side of the bed and looked at him with an empty expression. There was no better person to trust not to be sentimental.

“Cheryl stayed home to watch out for Lucy. Joe is on the way and he was going to pick Jean up. Everybody over in Taillow Springs has been contacted. They’re all in shock about this. I think your mother…”

“Christ, don’t bring her here,” Dave muttered, rubbing his head. The headache was getting worse.

“Well,” Howard continued after a second’s pause, “what I’m saying is everybody is kind of scared now. I mean, there’s somebody targeting us, obviously, and from what I heard the killer ran for it the moment the security guard announced he had a gun and he didn’t see anything. I think the cops found some bullets, though, and are working on trying to trace down the owner of the gun they came from… oh, God, Dave, he killed Brian. He killed Brian.”

“I kind of noticed,” Dave mumbled and wished Howard would at least attempt to hide the fact he was crying. “I think he’s after me more than you guys. I mean, I’m the main guy behind the Pokémorphs and all.”

“You think it has to do with them?” Howard sighed and started trying to wipe his face with his sleeve. “I guess it makes sense, I suppose, but…”

“What else? Most fucking controversial thing we’ve ever done. Didn’t you get some fundamentalist nut waving a sign in front of your house the other day?”

“You think it was him?”

“Probably not. He seemed more the sort to just wait for God to strike me with lightning.” Dave rubbed his forehead again, wishing he could go to sleep. “I see you brought Mia,” he said to change the subject.

“She wanted to come.”

Dave turned to the girl, who was still standing in the same spot beside the bed as before, unmoved. “Well, that was nice of you.”

Mia just looked at him in silence, her eyes flicking between the bandages on his head and his neck.

“It just grazed you,” she observed.

“Apparently. Didn’t feel that way.”

“They took us to the morgue,” she went on. “Brian was there. There was a lot of blood. It smelled nice. I think I wanted to eat him.”

Howard gave her a very disturbed look which Dave took to mean she had not mentioned this to him.

“Well, you’re not going to eat him, Mia,” he said, trying to sound as conversational as he could while pushing the image of the half-Scyther tearing Brian’s throat out with her teeth firmly out of his head.

“I know. But I don’t want to eat you because you’ve got bandages on.”

“That’s nice.”

“Mia, you should probably wait outside,” Howard said, his voice brokenly high-pitched and pathetic. The girl obeyed, walking casually back out the door.

“Why the fuck did you take Mia to a morgue of all places?”

“We were the first people to arrive and they wanted us to identify him before the autopsy,” Howard said miserably. “I didn’t really think before bringing her along.”

Howard sighed and looked down. “God,” he muttered suddenly. “Who’s going to tell Gabriel?”

Dave groaned. “Gabriel. Right.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to think. “I’ll do it. I was there. You got a phone?”

Howard fished a cellphone out of his pocket and handed it silently to Dave. He found Brian’s name in the contact list and pressed the green button, holding the phone to his ear.

He waited for a while, the calm beeps of the phone searing through his ear and magnifying his headache. He was about to hang up when a sleepy voice answered, “Hello?”

“Hey, Gabriel.”

“Dave? What… why are you calling in the middle of the night?” Gabriel sounded only sleepy and irritated and had clearly not noticed that Brian hadn’t come home yet. That made it worse.

“Your father, he, uh…”

“He what?”

“He died.” Dave paused and then decided that was too short and abrupt. “Some psycho shot him when we were coming out of the lab. I think he was trying to shoot me, but I moved and he was behind me, and… he died.” Then he realized that was absolutely not the right way to approach this and tried again. “I mean, there was that gunman, and he shot him, and then he tried to get me too but I called an ambulance and then the bullet just grazed me. I’m in the hospital right now. They didn’t catch the guy.”

That didn’t really sound good enough either, as evidenced by the complete lack of a response on the other end of the phone.

“Gabriel?” Dave asked carefully. There was a short silence and then the sound of hanging up.

Dave rubbed his forehead again. Goddamned headache. “Fuck.”

Howard made no comment, staring at the curtain on the other side of the bed. “What did he say?” he asked at length.

“Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.”

“I should call one of the others in Taillow Springs and get them to go over to him. See if he’s okay.”

Dave gave him back the phone without words. Howard began to dial a number.

“Any word from Jane?” Dave asked him suddenly. Howard looked up.

“What? No. Why would there be? It’s been ten years since you were involved.”

Dave shrugged. “Just wondering.”

He lay back in his bed and heard vaguely as Howard talked to Bill Ray and asked him to check on Gabriel. He didn’t really notice it happening, but by the time Howard hung up, he was fast asleep, dreaming of Mia eating Brian and bullets shattering windshields.

[mistysakura]

Yay new chapter! We had a guest speaker this week who said, "all plots can be summed up as follows: things get worse." Brian and Gabriel's relationship was too good to last... The bit with Jean and Will was good; I hope we'll see a different side of Jean soon. I don't know how much more I can take of having "Jean's star-struck" drummed into my head. Ooh, Jane's going to come back. The thing with Howard wondering who did this is a bit weird, because we've only seen this one huge controversial thing in their lives. For the reader, it's like their lives are centred around the Pokemorphs. So we're yelling "Howard, are you a freaking idiot? It wasn't because he shoplifted in grade 6!" Unless they have other controversial events in their lives it doesn't make sense, and if they do, it would be nice to get a peek at these events. And... Brian's a coworker? Ouch. Great characterisation.

[Crystalmaster Mike]

Well, cue Brian's exit!

So, Jean Growled, eh? It's fun to see all the Morphics balance on the line between mankind and Pokémon, although I think Mia's crossed over already.

[PsiUmbreon]

I like the tone of the story. It's serious enough to where I forgot I was reading a fic about Pokemon for a while and the characters, particularly the morphs, are deep and intriguing enough to keep me interested in them and keep reading.

[Dragonfree]

Chapter eight. Nothing of much significance happening, but it introduces the last morph and shows some reactions.

I'm not sure how much I like the writing here; it has a few very long sentences (which I deduced to be understandable anyway) and I'm not sure how well the emotion gets across, but I kind of like it anyway. On the other hand, the end of the chapter doesn't feel like it has a lot of closure. (So no, don't think there should be more when you get to the end; there isn't.)




Chapter 8

Peter didn’t notice anything odd when he woke up. Aside from the singing of the bird Pokémon outside, everything was silent. He ran his eyes up towards the wooden ceiling and then to the bright daylight flooding in through the window; he had forgotten to draw the thick green curtains last night.

He sat up stiffly, yawning as he scratched the small, deformed wings on his back, and reached for the large blue T-shirt at the foot of his bed. He pulled it on absent-mindedly while his eyes searched the room for other hastily discarded articles of clothing; he didn’t need to look for his blue-and-yellow baseball cap, which was always lying on the stool by the side of his bed where he could reach for it without even thinking about it. He pulled it on, turned it backwards and adjusted it before he stood up, walked to a pair of jeans lying beside his wardrobe in the corner of the room, and put them on as well.

He was beginning to notice in the back of his mind that things were a little more quiet than they were supposed to be.

“Kathy?” he called and got no answer. He opened his bedroom door and looked at the identical wooden door straight across; it was open and he could tell without really checking that his sister wasn’t there.

He turned towards the staircase on the left and began to walk carefully down. “Kathy, are you there?”

“Pete?”

Her voice was squeaky and quiet, and he could tell she was in tears even before he came down the stairs and found her sitting at the kitchen table with her face buried in the petals of her roselike hands. He had that strange feeling of being out of place, like the world had been turned upside-down when he slept and he was the only one still this way up.

“Sis, what’s wrong?”

She looked up at him, her arms flopping uselessly down at her sides. “They killed Brian,” she whispered. “And Dave was nearly killed, too.”

He stared. He wasn’t used to seeing his big sister like that. “What?”

“Some man tried to kill them both,” she said helplessly, and he walked over to her in a bit of a trance to let her hug him, just to confirm she was still physically there.

“Where are Mom and Dad?”

“They went to visit Dave at the hospital. They told me to tell you.”

“So is Brian…”

“He’s gone,” she sniffed. “The… the murderer shot him through the heart.”

As she said it, she didn’t sound like she really believed it. Peter felt increasingly like the world around him was some sort of an alien place, not the one in which he had gone to sleep last night. The thought that it was a dream crossed his mind, but more because that was how he knew people were supposed to feel in situations like this than because he actually believed it could be. He felt like he ought to cry, but he didn’t really feel sad. It was too surreal to be sad.

“It’s… it’s okay, Kathy,” he said numbly. His sister sobbed into his shoulder and he wondered if the Taillow part of him had made him emotionally disturbed to some degree, unable to mourn. Then he thought of Gabriel, and somehow, maybe because they went to the same school and had played a lot together when they were a bit younger or just because they were both Pokémorphs, that was when he felt a little sting in his heart, the world melted abruptly back into the real world and he found himself hugging Katherine back and letting his own tears stain her shoulder.

“Is Sarah still asleep?” he murmured.

“Yeah.”

He glanced at the third bedroom door between the stairs and the cheery, bright red wooden letters spelling out his technically older sister’s name. There was not a sound to be heard from the room. It was not surprising; he had always woken up earlier than Sarah when they were left to their own devices. But to know that she was asleep, that she didn’t even know, made the world begin to feel alien again, and he turned around and buried his face in Katherine’s shoulder and wished everything could just be normal again.

-------

“Daddy, Daddy!”

Dave groaned. He had no sooner woken up than his headache returned. He blinked a few times and forced himself to sit up. “What is it, honey?”

Jean nearly jumped into the hospital bed, stopped more by the height of it than by any respect towards the sick. “I’ve got the contract, Daddy! They sent it!”

Dave stared at her in dazed disbelief. “What?”

“The acting contract! For Sarah Hooter!”

He wasn’t quite sure how to even begin to reply. “I was nearly shot to death last night. The contract isn’t really a… top priority right now.”

She showed him her cute puppy eyes, and he pretended she was really sad about him. Or Brian. Not the contract.

“But Daddy…”

Not the fucking contract.

She clamped onto his arm, closed her eyes and started sobbing. “But Mr. McKenzie said you were asleep, and he said it was okay, and then he talked to the doctors and they said you can come home today and now he said I could wake you up.”

There. Now he felt a bit more like a father. “I’m fine, sweetie,” he said and hugged her back as well as his current position allowed him. He wondered briefly whether Joe had told her about Brian or not but didn’t have the heart to ask.

“So are you going to sign it now?” she asked brightly, looking expectantly back up at him and putting a few sheets of paper on the bed along with a pen.

He didn’t really want to do it, but she was too cute and he had too much of a headache to argue. Afterwards, she went bouncing off into the hall to show it off, and he rubbed his forehead and sighed. It was first now that he noticed that the television in the room was on; he wouldn’t have thought much of that either if he hadn’t caught a glimpse of a pretty, redheaded news reporter in quite a lovely scarlet dress.

“…of the famous Heywood Labs perished and another was hurt when an unknown attacker with a firearm ambushed them last night. The research institute was the center of controversy a decade ago when its employees were the first to successfully splice the genomes of humans and Pokémon, resulting in eight living so-called Pokémorphs. Police have been unable to locate the attacker as of yet but have stated that the shootings are likely to be connected to the Pokémorph incident.”

“Bitch,” Dave muttered to himself. “Won’t even say my name.”

They moved on to sports and then to silly news about Meowth kittens and the whole while she was sitting happily beside that smug anchorman she was screwing (or had been a few months ago, at least, not that she hadn’t probably given everyone at the studio several blowjobs to get where she was now) as if she had no more than a passing knowledge of Heywood Labs and the Pokémorphs. Most of the people watching it, he realized with irritation, had no idea she had had a nervous breakdown and tried to throw a baby out of a window and just thought of her as one of those successful career women. And she was making more money than he was, damn it.

“…but not as cute as you, though.”

“Haha, good one, Jane.”

It was a good thing he was not holding the remote, because he might have thrown it at the TV and then he would have had to pay for it.

-------

Gabriel stared at the back of whoever was in front of him.

He could see the blurry blob he knew was Dave in his peripheral vision, walking up to the altar – he could just picture the man scowling at the fact they were in a church, which had been at his grandmother’s insistence – but wanted anything but to look at him. Him, who had been there when his father had died.

“Brian was a nice guy. He was always a nice guy. It was difficult not to like him.”

Him, who was lying through his teeth, because Gabriel had noticed – who hadn’t, really? – the way that Dave liked to blame Brian for his own mistakes just because he was so easy to pin things on, just because he never fought back. Just because he was too nice to stand up for himself.

“He always tried to do what was best for his son and his effort to try to make things as easy and comfortable for Gabriel as possible was truly admirable.”

Him, who had helped, but left most of the work to Brian; him, who had raised his daughter as a spoiled brat and still dared to comment on the parenting skills of others.

“His creative input when we were creating the Pokémorphs was also something amazing.”

Him, who had always taken the full credit for their creation unless that was inconvenient and would continue to do so after the funeral.

“And, well, without him, they wouldn’t even exist today.”

By which he meant screwing up the television debate that he had forced Brian to go to and had blamed him for for years.

“He even took on the most challenging morph to raise, which is quite something, and handled it admirably, resulting in, well, our Gabriel.”

Meaning him, the Slugma boy that no one had wanted but he had forced on Brian as punishment for the debate and Brian had learned to love only later.

“He was a truly great man and will be sorely missed among his coworkers.”

Because you must say that at a funeral, even if you won’t miss him, or at most miss the fact he would deal with the burden of his disgusting, slimy freak son and thus you would not have to.

“When he was taken from us so suddenly…”

And how dare he, how dare the man who the murderer had been going for stand there and say that about the one who took the bullet for him?

Gabriel felt sick.

He stood quietly up and began to walk out at the side, knowing that everyone was looking at him, even being aware of Dave’s gaze on his back while he tried to continue that horrible speech. Gabriel was glad to find a side door, threw up into the grass by the church wall and then sat down on the other side and shook, staring at the graveyard and the open grave that waited, ready to swallow what was left of his father and mark it with a meaningless cross as a symbol for a nonexistent god. He could still hear the faint echo of Dave’s words through the door.

He would never forgive him, ever. How could he forgive the one who should have died instead of his father? At least Dave was a jerk. Gabriel didn’t like to say anyone deserved to die, but no one could deny that there would have been some semblance of karma in it. His father had never done anything wrong.

It wasn’t fair.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. When they carried the coffin out, many people gave him a glance from afar and he considered joining the procession, but he figured he would just ruin the ceremony for everybody there who wasn’t used to seeing him (he had noticed several aunts and uncles he had only seen once or twice who seemed a little horrified by the sight of him) and the thought of watching the coffin sink into the ground while knowing what it contained was a bit sickening.

His father. He’d been a living, breathing, thinking human being only a few days ago. They’d ordered pizza last Friday and watched a cheesy romantic comedy. He had been in the middle of reading an acclaimed mystery novel and would never know who did it.

Pathetic as it was, that was the thought that made him finally curl up, bury his head between his knees and cry.

He was too far away to distinguish words, but he could make out the faint drawl of the priest’s voice from the churchyard. There was something soothing about it being so far away, the silence otherwise only broken by the occasional noise of the radio from the stationary police car that had been assigned to watch the funeral to deter or capture the criminal if he showed up to finish the job and the chirping of a flock of Pidgey near the other side of the church. It was just outside Taillow Springs, where the sound of cars from the town could not really be heard anymore. The Harrisons didn’t live too far away; they had a Pokémon breeding ranch a short drive from town.

“Hey, Gabriel,” said a voice, and Gabriel looked up to see Jack’s blue face and the accompanying antennae bobbing up and down in front of it. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied dully, took off one of his black gloves and rubbed some life into his face. Down by the grave, he could see the coffin being lowered in, cringed and looked away.

“Here,” said Jack and held forward an ordinary red and white Pokéball. “From all of us.”

Gabriel stared at it for a second, took it in his gloved hand and then dropped it on the ground. A jagged shape of white light burst out of the ball and formed into a cute young Growlithe puppy. It tilted its head before attempting to lick his face; it cringed at the taste, let out a quiet whine and then lay down by his side.

He looked up at Jack.

“It’s one of Talia’s pups, you know, the Harrisons’ Arcanine,” the Chinchou boy explained. “They said she was the most playful and good-tempered of the bunch. Her name’s Felicia. We just thought… even while you’re living with us, it would be nice for you to have somebody who’ll always love you and be there for you.” He smiled awkwardly. “Something like that. It was Dave’s idea, actually.”

Gabriel had a sudden urge to throw the Pokéball in Jack’s face as hard as he could and tell him to leave him alone, but Jack hadn’t done anything wrong and the puppy really was kind of cute. He just gave the other boy a weak smile and scratched the Growlithe’s ear.

“Well, I hope you like her,” Jack said at last. “We were planning it yesterday, so we got food for her and such. It will be ready when we get home. Are you coming over to the…” He trailed off, his tone questioning. Gabriel shook his head, still scratching the puppy’s thick fur, and Jack turned around and walked back to the group.

Gabriel looked at the dog Pokémon by his side, half of him already attached to the creature and half feeling hurt at the suggestion that a Pokémon could even begin to act as a replacement for his father.

She looked up at him with adorable dark brown eyes and he figured she didn’t really need to be a replacement for anything.

“Felicia,” he muttered. “Good girl.”

“Growl,” she responded and tilted her head towards him. He smiled but hated himself for being able to smile now, now when he just wanted to mourn and punch a pillow and cry, and after a moment of thought he recalled her back into the ball, stared at the police car and just waited.

Brian would never find out who did it.

Gabriel felt his eyes begin to water again, and he silently resolved to himself that he would read that book and find out for him.

[Crystalmaster Mike]

I, for one, thought this chapter had all the closure it needed, though.

We saw two sides of the morphs once more. There was the short attention span of the animal in Jean, able to focus on only one thing at a time.

And then there was the grief, the mourning for Brian, in all Pokémorphs that had cared for him.
The way Gabriel reacted, thought about Dave and all... It was too human for words. Even the short image of the Growlithe cringing at Gabriel's taste... It screamed "OH, THE HUMANITY" to me.

And the closure? Gabriel's resolve to find out whodunnit... which may lead him farther than simply the epilogue of a renowned novel.

[Dragonfree]

Thanks for reviewing. I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and the end didn't bother you.

Okay, chapter nine is here. While my personal NaNo-esque aspirations to write 50,000 total words of Morphic and TQftL were clearly far too optimistic, I at least finished this chapter. Before you ask, it should be proofread to just the same degree as my chapters normally are; I'm not about to make 50,000 anyway, so I had nothing to lose spending a bit of time on proofing.

Thanks go to opaltiger for giving a couple of opinions.



Chapter 9

The geneticist who had lost his daughter at the beginning of the book was the murderer, and at the end he shot himself.

Gabriel sniffed as he closed the book. He remembered his father describing what it was about and how he felt for that character when he had only just started reading; once Gabriel had started, he’d quickly also concluded that the geneticist was the most sympathetic character in the whole book. And then… Gabriel felt tears welling up in his eyes again and blinked them resentfully away. Why did he have to be such a wreck over this, of all things? A stupid book. Pathetic.

He looked dully at Felicia, sleeping on the other end of the couch, and reached over to pet her. He half-wanted to vent about it aloud, but didn’t really trust his voice for the moment, so he kept his mouth shut.

Jack came out of the kitchen, holding a platter with two slices of toast with marmalade, and turned towards Gabriel. The luminous ends of his antennae swished back and forth; Gabriel didn’t think it would ever stop being slightly comical. He smiled dryly as Jack made his way towards him, laid the platter down on the glass table and then threw himself down beside Felicia, scratching her ear slightly. “Want some?” he asked, indicating the bread. Gabriel shook his head.

Jack shrugged and took a large bite out of one slice for himself, eying the book that still lay shut in Gabriel’s hands. “Finished it?” he asked through the bread. Gabriel just nodded.

“How was it?”

“Good,” Gabriel replied emptily. “Really good.”

Jack looked at him out of the corner of his eye as he stuffed more bread into his mouth. “You’ve got…” he said, crumbs flying out over the table as he pointed to his hair. Gabriel extinguished the growing flame blindly with his hand, only remembering that he was still wearing his gloves after he began to smell singed leather.

“Crap.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack said quickly. “You can’t really see it.”

Gabriel looked dully at the black glove; while he couldn’t really tell where it had started to burn, that didn’t change that it was now smeared with his skin on the outside, quite undermining the purpose of wearing the gloves to begin with. He sighed, pulled them off and laid them down on the table with the dirty one on top of the clean one.

“So, uh…” Jack’s gaze shifted between Gabriel and the gloves on the table. “Magic?”

Gabriel looked at him, not really in the mood. “I’m no good at that game.”

“You can always learn more, right?” Jack looked at him hopefully. “Or, hey, we can watch Pokérus. I borrowed season four from Ben the other day.” He paused. “It’s not something you used to watch with your dad, is it?”

Gabriel shook his head. He had never been very fond of that show (even he could tell that the biology was markedly off in some episodes), but at least it was an excuse to spend a few hours killing time without actually doing anything. “Sure.”

Jack sprang up from the couch. “I’ll put them in the laundry basket,” he said, picking up the gloves. “Be right back.”

Gabriel was left alone with Felicia, unable to stroke her without getting the stupid slime all over her fur. He sighed and looked longingly at the slice of toast remaining on the platter; on second thought he was kind of hungry and would have liked to be able to belatedly take Jack’s offer and eat it. But without his gloves, the idea of eating something while holding it in his hands was less than appetizing.

He sighed, stood up and went to the kitchen look for a knife and fork. He heard Jack returning, the footsteps suddenly stopping, and then the inevitable, “Gabriel, where’d you go?”

“Kitchen,” he called back, picking the cutleries carefully up before closing the drawer with his elbow and walking back out to the living room. “Do you mind if I eat the other piece of toast?”

“Oh,” Jack replied, sounding somewhat taken aback. “Sure.” He inserted the DVD into the player and then sat down at the other end of the couch, leaving the seat by the platter for Gabriel. As he sank into the red leather of the couch, Felicia looked up with an expression that begged for petting, but he could only shake his head and focus on his bread, which he finished within a few bites. He still felt hungry, but somehow unmotivated to try to get himself more food. He had barely noticed the beginning of the episode on the screen, but they were all kind of the same anyway.

He laid down the knife and fork, sat back and sighed. Jack gave him a brief, anxious glance.

“You don’t need to try so hard, you know,” Gabriel muttered.

“Huh?”

“Keeping me occupied.”

“Oh, it’s…” Jack began immediately, but trailed off and stared at the TV for a second; the fake nothing-is-wrong expression faded from his face. “Well, I just… I kinda worry about you, you know? I figured you needed something to keep your mind off things.”

Gabriel smiled wearily. “Thanks, but you do that better by just being you.”

Jack looked at him and then back at the screen, contemplating it; then he turned suddenly back to Gabriel and asked, “Do you mind if I ask my friends over to play DnD?”

As it turned out, this was the first evening since the incident that Gabriel could really enjoy himself; it was very relaxing to spend it as the wizard Gringalot on a quest to defeat Giratina as part of an unlikely team of travellers with an oddly modern sense of humour.

-------

Peter took a shower that morning. It was always a bit of a tedious affair for him to take a shower, since his wings, with their rather messed-up feathers, liked to collect a lot of dirt, and it was always a bit difficult to reach around to clean them.

When he was created, his parents had explained, a large part of the challenge was to see if they could modify a human to have six limbs, and because of this he had been one of the key morphs of the experiment – he liked to think he’d been the very most important one. To achieve this, they had introduced a gene recurring with minor differences in various six-limbed Pokémon species, such as Machamp and Charizard, that when disabled in them would prevent the growth of the third set of limbs. Naturally, he had also had the Taillow genes coding for wing structure, and they had made sure that they would be active in the right set of limbs. But they had missed something in the complex interactions of all those genes, because while the bone structure had accommodated the third pair of limbs reasonably, the wings themselves had ended up tiny and shrivelled and he had never been able to move them at all.

In other words, he was a failed experiment.

His parents had told him not to let that fact upset him; he wasn’t sure why it ought to and just found it kind of cool. They had also offered to let him have his wings surgically removed, but even if they were hard to clean, they were still cool, and they didn’t really get in his way since they were so small.

So Peter liked his wings, even if they were tiny and useless. When he was wearing a reasonably big T-shirt, people couldn’t even tell they were there, and while he was wearing his baseball cap, they couldn’t tell that he had feathers instead of hair on his head, either. He thought that was why he’d never had it as bad as some of the others – people could forget he was weird. He thought that was nice, too. Not that they couldn’t figure it out when he moved weirdly when he wasn’t concentrating, or in the showers in gym class, but they weren’t thinking about it all the time, like they were with Kathy or Gabriel. And that was why Peter had normal friends and they didn’t really. He was lucky. His sister was nice and deserved to have friends, but her rose-hands freaked people out, and whenever she started getting to know someone she grew up much faster than them.

He turned off the shower, stepped out of it and dried himself. A stripe of golden sunlight stretched across the floor from between the curtains, a hint that autumn hadn’t quite set into the weather yet. He quickly pulled on his clothes and opened the curtains, looking out at the countryside landscape of fields and trees; it only took a few notes of birdsong to draw him down the stairs and out the front door.

Peter had never liked being confined to closed rooms, after all.

He ran out to the Ponyta herd grazing in the north field, feeling energized just to know of all the wide space around him; he laughed when the startled Pokémon closest to him turned around, their manes flaring, and galloped to the other side of the field. “Lily!” he shouted. “Come over here!”

His Rapidash, who had been his starter Pokémon at the beginning of his journey that summer, looked up, her ears perked up, before trotting over to him. She was still the most powerful and his favourite of his Pokémon, even though his parents had told him he shouldn’t really have favourites because he ought to love them all equally for who they were. He had known her since her birth, after all, knowing she would be his starter Pokémon; the ones he had caught in the wild during the summer just weren’t the same.

Lily let him pet her for a moment, but then abruptly snatched the cap from his head and took off in a light run along the fence, neighing mischievously towards him. He broke into a sprint after her, laughing; he loved little more than running after her when she was teasing him, and she knew that well.

The wind rushed past his ears, comfortably cool but somehow numbing, and he felt the dew-coated grass blades stroke his ankles in an odd, blurry sort of sensation; something felt different, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was closing in on Lily and saw her turn her head slightly to see him before speeding up. And that was when it struck him that he was really, really fast. The realization made him laugh in exhilaration as he looked around and saw the trees whirring past – he hadn’t even been this fast in a car! – and turning at the corner of the fence seemed strangely easy and automatic. He felt himself gaining speed without really realizing how he did it, the Rapidash struggling to keep ahead of him, and then he miraculously caught up to her side; he flung himself into her without really knowing why, and the sheer momentum sent both of them tumbling into the grass. It was lucky it was soft.

He was still letting out short bursts of laughter when he stood up, intoxicated by the sheer amazement of what he had just achieved; his heart pounded in his chest and he was breathing in rapid gulps of air. He would end up with some bruises from this, he was sure, and his clothes were soaking wet from the landing in the grass. Lily was pushing herself to her feet; she shook her head, tiny droplets of water flying in every direction as her mane flared up indignantly. Peter picked his cap up from the grass beside them; it was too wet to put on.

The Pokémon looked at him with a questioning gaze.

“Lily,” he said after a moment, “I’m not sure, but I think I just used a Quick Attack.”

He grinned at her, and she tilted her head towards him with an unimpressed snort. He made sure she wasn’t seriously injured after the roll, gave her a pat on the neck and then walked back towards the house to tell someone.

-------

Cheryl waved to the police officer in the car parked a short distance away as she crossed the street. He raised a hand back at her, which told her he had gotten the message that she would be coming. That was good, she thought; she’d have hated to have to deal with convincing a policeman that she was not there to murder David Ambrose.

The only reason she’d come at all, really, was how horribly broken he had sounded on the phone begging for company. They couldn’t leave Mia and Lucy home alone at night – not at a time like this – so Howard was left with the girls, and she had gone alone. Now that she was actually stepping into the apartment building, she was having second thoughts; the drive there had felt a lot more unsettling than it sounded in theory, and despite good intentions, the presence of the lone police car outside did little to make her feel safer from lurking murderers.

But Dave was a friend, and Cheryl couldn’t turn her back on a friend, even if he was in all likelihood drinking and nighttime travel a bit dangerous.

The staircases were unlit and empty, the windows giving clear view out to the streets; the bright light from the streetlamps outside cast harsh shadows on the stairs. She could not help finding the large windows a little unnerving: too easy to see and shoot someone through, she thought as she hurried up the last flight of stairs. She knocked on the door of Dave’s apartment, throwing another glance at the window and the empty street outside as she did.

“It’s not locked,” she heard a muffled voice call from inside. Cheryl turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

“Oh, God, Dave,” she muttered as she closed it hesitantly. Of course she knew Dave too well to have expected him to be sober, but the sheer number of empty cans and bottles standing on and around the table that Dave was sitting at still startled her; again she was struck with the feeling she shouldn’t have come. But pity quickly took over: she couldn’t just leave him like this.

Dave looked up. “Sorry I’m such a mess,” he said, his voice slightly slurred and full of self-contempt. “Thanks for coming.”

He pushed the chair opposite him away from the table with his foot; Cheryl walked slowly over to it and sat down. She wasn’t sure what to say; he looked at her, and she looked at him, wondering just when he’d last shaved, just how much he’d been drinking recently, just how little he’d slept in the past week. Again she felt sorry for him.

“I can’t fucking live like this,” he said at last. “Locking myself in to hide from some crazy fuck, not going anywhere without police watching over my shoulder. I’m going to go insane before they catch him, damn it.”

Cheryl looked away and nodded absent-mindedly. Dave, having been concluded to have been the primary intended target of the attack that had killed Brian, had the most extreme protective measures around him, but they all knew the feeling to some extent. The sudden lack of freedom was bad enough; the paranoia that automatically enforced it was even worse.

“Are you alone?” she asked quietly. “Where’s Jean?”

“Been staying with the McKenzies for a couple of days,” Dave answered. “Can’t fucking blame her, can I?”

A few seconds of silence. Then, “She’s going to be in that goddamn Sarah Hooter movie. Why did I sign the fucking thing?”

Cheryl shook her head. “It’s her choice, Dave,” she said. “They’re not the best books around, I know, but in the end it’s her life and her own decis…”

“Her decision, my ass,” Dave interjected with an angry motion of his hand that knocked a few empty cans off the table. “There’ll be thousands of fucking furries and pedos jacking off to her picture every night; how could she ever make an informed decision about that? More publicity’s the absolute worst fucking thing that could be done to her, and I signed a fucking contract to make her a kid star. Jesus Christ.”

Cheryl wished she had something reassuring to say to this, but she couldn’t really think of anything. Dave rested his head on his hands, fingers buried in his hair. “Fuck,” he muttered.

She looked at him in silence.

Dave looked up after a few seconds, took a sip from the bottle in his hand and said suddenly, “I haven’t gotten laid in fucking ages.”

Cheryl took a deep breath. “Dave,” she said gently, “you’re drunk.”

“I still like you, you know,” he went on, pleading entering into his voice as he ignored her reply.

“Yes,” she said shortly and wondered fleetingly if he honestly thought she hadn’t noticed. “I know.”

“Howard would never have to find ou…”

“Dave,” she interrupted, jerking her head back towards him, “that’s over. There’s a reason I married him instead of running off with you back then.”

Dave looked at her for a moment and then rested his his head on his arms again, looking down. “Right,” he muttered. “Yes, I’m drunk. Sorry. I didn’t mean it. It’s just… I fucking hate this.”

Cheryl took another deep breath. “I should probably leave,” she said.

“Yes,” Dave replied, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. Christ, I’m going to snap if they don’t find the fucker soon.”

She couldn’t help still pitying him as she walked out the door, plagued with guilty memories.

-------

A/N: The plot of Gabriel’s book is that of an Icelandic mystery novel (Tainted Blood or Jar City in the English translation), although the order of events described here is as they unfold in the film of the book. Mostly just a reference put in for my own amusement, but I’d rather give credit where it’s due before people start to tell me “You should really write that book!”

[Crystalmaster Mike]

The cynic in me is saying Dave got what he deserves, but he'd be better off doing something than walloping in self-pity. And no, I don't mean growing a cape and going "Alas, poor Brian, I knew him well!". Can't he contact his long-lost brother working for the Pokémon Intelligence Agency and catch the crooks? Eh, at least Brian's death rattled some cages. I hope Dave now knows the PokéMorphs need to be protected.

In other news: right, so they were allowed to train Pokémon, huh? I had to have known, seeing how Gabriel received his Growlithe, but I thought there'd be protest from people and Pokémon, thinking it would border on cannibalism or something.
In other other news, I hope to see the others excell and develop some cool powers too. ... Wait, now I'm sounding like I'm reviewing the latest Heroes episode.

I just hope they can compromise and come to terms with who they are. Especially Gabriel. He deserves better... after all, he's one of the most down-to-earth and relatable characters.

[PancaKe]

So now its all your fault I didn't spend the last hour doing my assignment but reading your story. I am really growing attached to the kids - although its hard to tell what age they're at. I forget sometimes.

You're doing a great job of describing their personalities and their difficulties. I think that you have really crafted realistic personalities, and consistent ones as well. I love the way that each one has its own little habits, such as Jack's obsession with Magic, and the one with petals for fingers... I forget their names sometimes because there are lots to remember! I was actually wondering how you would go about that, with so many kids to detail, how that would work and whether you would be able to write for all of them, but the job you are doing right now is fantastic.

Aw man, but I almost cried when Gabriel was at the funeral. Saddest bit ever.

Keep writing! xo

[Lady Vulpix]

Hey! I've finally caught up!

Your ability to portray characters, descriptions and emotions is amazing.

It's also funny how Dave, being such a radical atheist, ends up calling to Jesus when he's down. I wonder if he even notices.

I'll try to keep up from now on, so that I can make detailed comments about each character rather than make automatically obsolete posts or reply to everything at once. (I know I seem to be contradicting myself, as I'd much rather see people comment about my old chapters than not comment at all, but if being up to date is an option, then I'll try to go for it.)

[Weasel Overlord]

I've just caught up! Oh my god, I was so shocked at the shooting! I can't believe Brian died, that's so unfair to poor Gabriel. I think he's my favourite character - I love his cynicism, and the way he just puts out the fire in his hair all the time, hehe. Plus he has a pet Growlithe. That = win just on its own. *is a Growlithe obsessive*

I also loved the part where Peter did Quick Attack. Bless him. Although I was honestly hoping that he'd take off and start flying, even if his wings ARE useless.

I can't help wondering what's gonna happen to the morphs regarding evolution.

Can't wait for the next chapter, now! Keep up the good work!

[Lady Vulpix]

I can't help wondering what's gonna happen to the morphs regarding evolution.

I've been wondering that too.Maybe we'll see when they film Sarah Hooter and the Ultimate Fire Stone.

[PancaKe]

I also loved the part where Peter did Quick Attack. Bless him. Although I was honestly hoping that he'd take off and start flying, even if his wings ARE useless.

'There are some pokemon with pretty useless wings that can learn fly, so I wouldn't quite put that past him. Haha. Like Doduo and Dotrio.

[mistysakura]

Yeah, it would have been awesome if Peter had flown. Meh, I guess Dave's slightly more aware now; slightly, because all he can do is wallow in self-pity about his curfew rather than grieving for Brian. He's right about Jean's publicity though. It's touching how Jack keeps trying to keep Gabriel's spirits up. I liked the little details like Gabriel's skin sticking to his gloves. I think everyone else has said what I wanted to say

[Lune the Guardian]

I was looking for fics to nominate for the Golden Pens, saw this when I was about to go to bed, and stayed up till 5 am instead reading all the chapters. Your characterization is amazing. I would praise the depth of your characters some more but I would just get repetitive.

Despite the misgivings you had about Chapter 8, I don't think it had any problems at all. I actually cried reading it. I kind of got teary-eyed the first time Gabriel was introduced, when you showed his relationship with Brian... It was just so touching, and I was so happy for him, that even though he had such horrible difficulties, he had his dad's unending love for him, and he knew it. They shared a special bond and I thought that was a gift to Gabriel to help him go through his otherwise really difficult life. Then Chapter 8 came along and Brian took the gunshot... I died a little inside. While Dave was cursing and panicking and calling the cops, I was thinking, oh god, why Brian? Why did that have to happen to Gabriel? Why take away the only person that made living his life a little bit easier? He seems really mature, though... I get the feeling that he'll be able to handle it. I think I might like Gabriel the most so far.

As a side note, I like Jean the least. =/ To me she seems just as artificial as her father. Dave. Is. An asshole. Brian takes the fatal bullet that was meant for him, and he just has to correct the guy and say "he's a co-worker" instead of his friend. Wow. Just wow. Did Brian really disgust him that much that he had to make that distinction? And then he calls Cheryl over and goes and pulls that stunt on her. Good on Cheryl for shutting him down. Freaking bastard. Jeez. I thought I liked him at first when I saw how nicely he was treating the pokemorphs, but I've changed my mind. He doesn't even treat human beings properly.

Peter is kind of cool, I like his attitude towards being a Pokemorph. He understands that he doesn't have it as hard as the others, but at the same time, he's still a pokemorph... and he thinks it's cool. Lol, that's great. I could almost feel his jubilation when he was using his Quick Attack.

I hope to see more chapters soon! Now, if you'll excuse me, the sun is rising and I haven't gone to bed yet. O_o

[Dragonfree]

Hi, everybody! Sorry about the ridiculously long wait between chapters here.

While responding to reviews that are like half a year old is kind of awkward, I'll do it anyway for some of the more interesting comments since I know TPM is a more patient readerbase than most forums:

In other news: right, so they were allowed to train Pokémon, huh? I had to have known, seeing how Gabriel received his Growlithe, but I thought there'd be protest from people and Pokémon, thinking it would border on cannibalism or something.

Mmm, how so? As far as I can tell the only one with any reason to be uncomfortable with it is the Pokémorph, if they identified too much with the Pokémon to want to have them as subordinates of sorts. Meanwhile, it's not as if the humans would consider it some sort of an important job a half-Pokémon couldn't be trusted to do, and the Pokémon would probably just enjoy having a trainer they can identify with more. That's the way I see it, anyway.

I am really growing attached to the kids - although its hard to tell what age they're at. I forget sometimes.

They're all actually ten but physically in the early or mid-teens, except Lucy (Misdreavus) who is more like eight. Katherine (Roselia) and Mia (Scyther) are the "oldest", physically something like 16 or 17, with the others around 11-13.

It's also funny how Dave, being such a radical atheist, ends up calling to Jesus when he's down. I wonder if he even notices.

To him it's just another swear word with no actual meaning.

I can't help wondering what's gonna happen to the morphs regarding evolution.

You'll see.

Then Chapter 8 came along and Brian took the gunshot... I died a little inside. While Dave was cursing and panicking and calling the cops, I was thinking, oh god, why Brian? Why did that have to happen to Gabriel? Why take away the only person that made living his life a little bit easier?

Yes, I am quite mean to Gabriel. Sometimes I really feel sorry for him. I'm glad it managed to affect you to such a degree, though; I was hoping to get that across and wasn't sure how well it worked.

Dave. Is. An asshole. Brian takes the fatal bullet that was meant for him, and he just has to correct the guy and say "he's a co-worker" instead of his friend. Wow. Just wow. Did Brian really disgust him that much that he had to make that distinction?

Aww, don't be too hard on him now. I think that's just his messed-up way of coping with things.

As for chapter ten, well, there are things I'm satisfied with the outcome of and things I'm not. It feels kind of short to me, but it's actually seven pages, which is actually slightly longer than average for this fic.




Chapter 10

“David Ambrose?”

“Yes?”

“We got him.”

-------

Dave hesitated before pulling the key from the ignition. Without ever taking his hand off it – that would make it too deliberate – he took a deep breath and leaned back against the car seat. He exhaled, slowly, controlledly. He felt the built-up tension of the past couple of weeks relaxing its grip on his body; muscles he didn’t know he had unclenched one by one.

It was over.

He allowed himself to close his eyes and savor another gulp of air, finally mostly devoid of that smothering paranoia. Part of Dave’s mind of course imagined a crazy-looking man in a prison uniform bursting out of the door in front of him, pulling a gun out of nowhere and pointing it at the windshield with a wicked grin – but at least now the possibility was remote enough to safely ignore.

“Christ,” he muttered, took one last moment to sit there and enjoy the relief, and then pulled the key out. He opened the door, climbed out of the car, slammed it back shut. No murderers. Nothing to fear. Not anymore.

The moment he stepped through the door of the police station, two officers that had been talking near a desk across the room turned their heads towards him and one of them stood up. The policeman hastened towards him and grabbed his hand in an almost painful handshake. “Mr. Ambrose,” he said, a fast but firm voice. “I’m Officer Russell. Thank you for coming. How much did they tell you on the phone?”

“That you got the psycho that nearly shot me.”

“We did, we did,” replied the policeman while nodding overenthusiastically. “Or I suppose you could say he got himself. A man came by the station yesterday, Jacob Daniels – do you know him?”

“Can’t say it rings any bells.”

“Well, he knows you. Brother of the priest of the Church of Holy Truth – it’s a fundamentalist sect, don’t know if you’ve heard of it. They’ve been quite outspoken about the, ah… Pokémorph issue.”

The man winced when he mentioned it, a gesture that, in Dave’s experience, was mostly common to those who had been horrified and disgusted when they had first heard about the morphs and merely tried their best to forget where they came from now that they were lovable little kids. “Fundies,” he responded, channelling his brief annoyance into a more productive path. “Figures.”

“Well, anyway, he said he wanted to confess to the murder of Brian Edwards. Recited all sorts of details only the killer could know, even brought the weapon with him to let us match the rifling marks. Registered to him, bought a few years ago for home protection. Seemed pretty proud of it, but even if he recants the confession, we have more than enough evidence to make a quick, straightforward case. It’s pretty solid.”

Dave looked blankly at the other man. “So wait, the guy chooses to turn himself in now, after we’ve been hiding from the bogeyman for weeks?”

Officer Russell shrugged. “He said God told him to do it, and now to confess his crime.”

“Well, that’s... annoying.” Annoying. It wasn’t even just annoying. It was ****ing criminal. If he was going to turn himself in in the first place, why couldn’t the ****er have done it immediately afterwards and saved everyone the trouble?

“Anyway,” the policeman went on, “just to put a lid on it, we wanted to do a Gardevoir test as well, so that’s why we called you. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Right.”

“Follow me, then.”

The officer led him down a corridor to the right. “Are you familiar with how the test works?”

“Vaguely.”

“Just look him in the eye, ask him whether he did it and whether anybody knew about his intentions or was working with him, and the creature handles the rest.”

They went through a reinforced metal door into a bleak interrogation room. At the table in the middle sat a tall, dark-haired man with striking, handsome features and an element of relaxed confidence in his posture even despite having his hands cuffed behind his back. Two guards stood behind him, while another officer stood at the side of the table beside the graceful Psychic Pokémon that was watching the prisoner steadily with unblinking red eyes. Jacob Daniels was looking musingly back at the Pokémon, but turned his piercing blue eyes towards Dave as they walked in. A grin spread through his face.

“Amelia is picking up malice, possibly murderous intent, sir,” said the policeman with the Gardevoir, which was still staring fixedly at the prisoner. Jacob Daniels appeared completely unfazed by the declaration and simply continued to flash that creepy toothpasty grin.

Dave regarded the man in silence for a second. The knowledge that he was standing in front of someone who had attempted to murder him struck him uncomfortably. He cleared his throat.

“So you’re the creep who tried to kill me.”

Jacob smiled at him, arrogance beaming from his face. “I was an instrument of the Lord. Your fate has been decided. I was merely chosen to do the dirty work.”

“Some mighty fine instrument, aren’t you, killing the wrong guy?”

“Please stick to questioning about the matter at hand, Mr. Ambrose,” said Officer Russell. Jacob Daniels laughed softly.

“There are no coincidences, Mr. Ambrose. God’s ways are many and mysterious. We cannot make the mistake of doubting them when our interpretations are faulty.”

“What the **** is that supposed to even mean?” Dave waited a second for a possible answer; Jacob did not so much as change his expression. “Were you working alone?”

“I answer to no one but the Lord.”

“Did anybody else know about your little plot?”

The man looked into his eyes and folded his arms. “Why would I tell someone who might have interfered before the cause could be carried out? No. I am not an idiot, Mr. Ambrose.”

“And that’s why you’re in jail right now and I’m still alive.”

Jacob Daniels flashed him a grin, unfazed. There was something deeply disturbing about his complete lack of anger at his failure. Dave looked at the guard with the Gardevoir.

“She feels no indication that he is lying or concealing any facts, sir.”

Officer Russell shrugged and stepped back from the wall he had been leaning against. “That will be all for now, then. Let me show you out.”

Dave took one last look at his would-be murderer and his unsettling grin before following the officer out of the room and back into the cold corridor. It took a moment for the discomfort of Jacob Daniels’ presence to wear off.

“Why’d you need me to ask him that stuff, anyway?”

“It gives a better emotional reading,” the policeman explained. “We questioned him too, of course, but it’s easier for Gardevoir to sense them fully when an outside stimulus is forcing the emotions associated with the relevant memories more to the forefront of the mind.”

“Right,” Dave replied, trying to keep most of the scepticism from his voice. “How reliable is this?”

“It’s pretty good, as far as all the evidence suggests. Good liars can keep it off their faces, but you can’t hide it from a Gardevoir. There are those cases where they honestly believe what they’re saying, but for a man who gave himself up and confessed voluntarily and without coercion, well…” He shrugged. “It’s pretty foolproof here.”

“So we’re safe, right? We can stop hiding and being guarded?”

The policeman nodded. “Looks like it.”

“Have you talked to the others yet?”

“We called them just after we called you. They all sounded very relieved.”

They were at the door now, and the policeman stopped and extended his hand. “Thanks for coming in. Then we will need to hear from you as a witness once it gets to court; we’ll call you about that.”

Dave shook his hand and walked outside into the sun. They were free. Now Jean would come home and everything would be back to normal at last.

-------

Gabriel didn’t feel as much better as he had thought he would. He was glad nobody else would get hurt, in an oddly detached sort of way, but somehow knowing of his father’s killer behind bars did nothing for his sense of justice, and the same dull bitterness still throbbed within him, more intensely than before if anything. It was frustrating to know he ought to be content while painfully aware that he wasn’t in the least.

“Well, what would make you content?” Jack asked him sometime. “Isn’t this just something only time can heal?”

“It’s not that,” said Gabriel, shaking his head, and it wasn’t: it was not just grief. It was a sort of restless hunger for something, only he could not know what the something was – his best guess had been the incarceration of the murderer, but when that brought him no satisfaction, he was lost as to what could.

But did not explain it to Jack, figuring it would only make him more worried about him. Gabriel didn’t like worrying other people.

-------

Will sat on his bed, licking absent-mindedly at his fingertips. Jean was gone. The mattress she’d slept on was still on the floor below him, the red blanket crumpled and the pillow resting half on the floor, half on the edge of the mattress. It felt so long since he’d been completely alone. He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. What had he done with himself before she’d pretty much moved in with them, anyway?

He looked around the room for ideas and then under the bed. His ball of yarn was still lying there. It was just too tempting.

He stood up and locked the door out of habit, even though he knew his siblings weren’t there: they’d fled the premises when Jean came over and had been staying with his friends. He took the ball out from under the bed and put it on the floor in front of him before sitting down and just staring at it.

It had been a while. Maybe he had grown out of it after all. He considered the possibility dully and could not bring himself to be happy about it.

The gold charm on his forehead itched and he reached up to scratch around it, but the more he scratched, the more it itched. He grabbed it in irritation, wishing he could just pull it off once and for all, and just like that, it came off, leaving only a cold tingle on the skin below it.

Will stared at the gold in his hand in disbelief. His first thought was that somehow he was evolving, turning into a Persian morph, but something made him instinctively know that that was not it.

Pay Day, he realized absurdly, blinking at the coin.

The tingle in his forehead was turning into a hot, painful throb. He winced and touched the spot where his charm had been with his fingers; at first it was just hard and rough and bulging out disturbingly, but within a few seconds there was metal regrowing where the old charm had been, and a few seconds after that, it had been completely replaced, with only a faint throb of pain and the flat piece of gold in his hand to remind him that it had ever happened.

He blinked again at the coin. A surreal idea popped up in his head: maybe he could buy candy for it?

He thought about it for a second – no, there were Pokémon abuse laws in place to prevent the sale of Meowth charms – but then decided he kind of wanted to keep it, anyway. He put the gold piece carefully in his pocket.

Shouldn’t he tell his parents? They always wanted to know when they exhibited new Pokémon traits. He looked up at the door and then back down to the white ball of yarn in front of him.

Aw, heck. He could tell them later.

-------

A few days later, Gabriel gave up and did try to explain it, when he was in a particularly wretched mood and somewhere in the back of his consciousness kind of wanted Jack to worry about him after all.

“I feel like there’s... there’s lava bubbling up inside me and it’s about to try to burst out,” he said, but it sounded ridiculous, like some sort of a miserable pun on his condition. He clenched his fists around the plastic-coated sheets he was sitting on – his bed had been moved from their house into Jack’s room when it had been decided he would stay with them – and shook his head before trying again. “Every day just makes me feel angrier. I don’t even know who or what I’m angry at anymore. I thought it was the killer, but it’s not.”

Jack sat curled up opposite him on his own bed, listening, resting his head on his knees while his hands fiddled with his finger-webbing. He said nothing. Jack knew when Gabriel expected an answer and when he just wanted to vent to somebody he could trust. It was one of the reasons they had always bonded well.

“Maybe it’s Dave,” Gabriel went on, thinking aloud. “I still sometimes look at him and hate him for being alive, still strutting around and pretending everything revolves around him. Maybe I’m just angry at my dad for still being dead. Or all this stupid slime. Why didn’t they abort me as a fetus again?” He paused. “Oh, right, the Stop Abortion Movement. Maybe I’m just angry at them.” He looked up at Jack as if he could confirm or deny it.

“Do you think it could be some sort of a lust for revenge?” Jack asked after a moment’s pause.

“Well, no,” Gabriel replied in irritation. “I already told you. I didn’t feel a thing when they caught the guy. I don’t care about the killer. It has to be...”

“Well,” Jack interrupted him, “maybe it’s just not satisfying to you to just hear on the phone that they caught him. Maybe you wanted to... be involved with catching him yourself.”

Gabriel stopped to think about it. He hadn’t really considered it. “Why would that matter?” he replied stubbornly. “The end result is the same. He’s in prison.”

Jack hesitated. Then, “Really?”

It was a probing sort of ‘Really’, fishing for something in particular. Gabriel frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

Jack bit his lip, his gaze flicking nervously to the locked door. “Would you have wanted to... attack him? Fight him?”

Gabriel looked at him for a moment. “Maybe, I guess?” he said quizzically, and Jack looked away, his blue face turning a shade towards purple. “What’re you thinking?”

“Don’t you ever get... violent impulses?” he asked, jerking his head back towards Gabriel. “Wanting to punch random people? Attack them, hurt them...?”

“Kill them?” Gabriel suggested.

“Maybe.” He flicked his gaze towards the door again. “I mean, I didn’t get much of it when I was little, but I think it could be a hormonal thing that’s just setting in now. These days, when people get on my nerves, I really want to attack them to show I’m better. Sometimes I want to fight random people I see just because I wonder if I could beat them.”

Gabriel paused. “So you think it’s because of the Pokémon genes?”

“It’s the only reason I can think of,” Jack replied with a nervous shrug. “For the impulse to be this strong, I mean. I’ve been wanting to ask all the others, but if it’s just me, I don’t really want to draw attention to it.”

Gabriel nodded. The last thing they needed was convincing more people that they were dangerous subhumans that needed to be restrained somewhere far away from normal people.

A few seconds passed in silence. Then Jack asked quietly, “So have you felt anything like that?”

Gabriel thought about it and then shook his head. “Not really.”

Jack looked away, his gaze distant, and Gabriel wished he could have told him they were the same. But he really had felt nothing of the sort – nothing he wouldn’t think would be ordinary for a frustrated teenage human orphan, at the very least.

Did he want to personally hurt or kill his father’s murderer? The thought of it was somewhat satisfying, maybe even more so than it ought to be for a normal person if he considered it – but he could tell that still wasn’t quite it.

“I think I can use Spark,” said Jack suddenly.

“Really?” Gabriel looked back at him.

“Yeah. I think we’re all developing some more Pokémon powers. I heard Peter used a Quick Attack the other day, and Will did a Pay Day just a couple of days ago, and Lucy is starting to gain control of that primitive Shadow Ball she could do. And now I can use Spark. It’s kind of neat, but still not very strong. Want to see?”

Gabriel nodded.

Jack reached for the switch to turn the lights off. He closed his eyes to concentrate, and the small lights at the ends of his antennae brightened visibly; he moved his right hand slowly upwards until it was right between the antennae, and then a bright yellow spark of electricity jumped from between the bulbs and his hand. He jumped, jerking his hand back down as he opened his eyes and began to shake his arm.

“It feels kinda numb afterwards,” he explained, “but it’s cool to know I can do it, right?” He looked brightly at Gabriel, who smiled.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” he said, not sounding as enthusiastic as he would have liked.

Jack’s smile faded. “What about you? Have you been discovering any cool new powers?”

Gabriel shook his head with a skewed smile. “I guess I just don’t get any cool powers.”

The other boy looked at him with regret. That worry and concern was creeping into his eyes again. “You might just discover them later,” he suggested. “Maybe yours just need a bit more time.”

If there was any time when Jack irritated Gabriel, it was when he was trying too hard to suggest a positive way of looking at being a half-Slugma. But his mood was beginning to get better and he didn’t want to subject his friend to some sort of irritated remark on top of the confusion he must be feeling about his Pokémonlike fighting impulses, so he just shrugged. “So what now? Let out some steam by playing violent video games?”

Jack grinned, and seeing his friend smile made Gabriel somehow feel better, enough so to make him completely forget to mention the weird glint in Jack’s eyes while they played and the way it intensified when his opponents exploded into splatters of gore.

[mistysakura]

Yay, this fic is back! I like how the Pokemorphs are discovering more powers. Will's use of Pay Day was cute. But Jack's violent impulses... it would make sense that Pokemon bred to fight would evolve to have more violent impulses. This could be a problem if the world found out. So it looks like Isaac Daniels is going to be let off the hook by getting a willing fall guy. His son? (Judging from the names' Biblical relation...) Sigh. Gabriel doesn't get any cool powers? I don't know, I have a feeling he might be the most unusual of them all... the quiet ones always surprise us. Great chapter!

[Lady Vulpix]

I second Ada's joy at the return of this fic.

I was reading it yesterday, but then the electricity went out. I liked the idea of the Gardevoir test, and if Gabriel is angry at Dave I can't blame him. In any case, it's sad when someone feels bad but doesn't know what the problem is. And Jack's taste for violence in and out of video games is a bit scary.

[Lune the Guardian]

I agree with the possibility that Gabriel will be the surprising one. Jack's impulses are kind of disturbing, and I feel sorry that he seems to be the only one (or the only one that'll admit it). I hope it doesn't destroy him from the inside, because Jack is cool. Will is so cute. Pushing away the thought of telling his parents about Pay Day, to play with his ball of yarn. Lol. I still hate Dave, and feel that Gabriel's views of him are completely justified.

I am actually worried that the nightmare doesn't end with Jacob Daniels. Seems so easy, especially since he acts so reassured. Perhaps he's passed the baton to others. I wonder if Gabriel's unrest is somewhat of a premonition that there is more to come.

[Dragonfree]

mistysakura: I'm glad you enjoyed the return of the fic. I'm afraid there isn't that much thought behind the Biblical names (I was merely amused by the idea of using Biblical names), but it was a good theory.

Lady Vulpix: Glad you liked the Gardevoir test. I hope you also enjoy the developments in this chapter.

Lune the Guardian: Will is rather adorable, isn't he? He's such a kitty. :3

No, this is far from over. You'll see.

Thanks for reading, all.

Chapter eleven is here, pretty early by Morphic standards, so I hope you still remember what went on in chapter ten. It's rather short, but it does advance the storyline more than most chapters.

Fun fact: all but some two or three paragraphs of this chapter were written within the space of twenty-four hours. I had a major writing spree, all thanks to being unable to sleep so I started thinking about it and suddenly figured out how to get the plot to fit together better than before.

The end of the chapter feels a little abrupt, but eh.


Chapter 11

“The hotdogs were good,” said Mia as she stared through the side window of the car.

“You’re welcome,” Dave replied and darted an eye towards her to make sure the corners of her scythes weren’t poking holes in the seat. There was a short silence.

“Why do people celebrate birthdays?” Mia asked suddenly.

“Well,” Dave began but then paused to quickly turn a corner he’d almost missed. They jerked uncomfortably in their seats. Damn distractions.

Mia looked expectantly at him. “Well,” he started again. “Today it’s been forty-three years since your mother was born. So we celebrate it.”

“I don’t get it,” Mia said and looked distractedly around for a few seconds, as if she wasn’t going to continue. “Why you celebrate that,” she then added.

“What’s so hard to get?”

Mia looked directly at him. “It doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “Years and days don’t even line up right. Maybe the real time when the earth has gone around the sun once since the birth is tomorrow. Maybe it was this morning but we’re celebrating it tonight. It doesn’t have any meaning that it’s still the same day. And it doesn’t have any meaning anyway that the earth has gone around the sun so many times since your birth. None of it makes sense.”

Dave sighed; Mia was going philosophical on him again. “It’s just a nice excuse to give people presents. Nobody cares how many circles the earth has gone around the sun or whatever. You’re thinking about it too much.”

“Presents,” Mia repeated with a nod. There was another one of those few-second silences where she made Dave think she wasn’t going to continue. “I like presents.”

“See? That’s why we have birthdays.”

“As long as it’s a good present,” Mia went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I don’t like getting bad presents.”

Giving Mia presents had been a nightmarish task the first few years. Then they’d realized it was best just to stick with giving her meat and things she could cut.

Pause. “I didn’t get her anything,” Mia said in her usual neutral voice.

“Well, I got her something,” Dave replied. “It can be from both of us if you want.”

Mia shrugged in a way that could have been indifference or agreement. Dave supposed it didn’t really matter.

He’d gotten Cheryl a Miltank in some third-world country. Some church-sponsored charity crap, trying to make donations feel more physical by giving you a photo of a Miltank for a set price that would supposedly buy one for a starving family and might single-handedly save their lives and future for generations to come, according to the probably exaggerated little booklet about it. Cheryl was all over charities like that. He’d figured the best way to make up for coming on to her the other day was to give her something personal that she would really like, but it had to be something that could not be taken the wrong way. This was the best thing he’d come up with, and reluctant as he was to do business with any sort of church, she was more important. Besides, it was just a charity; it didn’t actually have anything to do with religion.

He turned into the Kerrigans’ home street. On the corner stood that creepy, pale, dark-haired fundamentalist guy with the sign again – he hadn’t seen him in a while. What had his name been again? The man looked at Dave as they passed and grinned widely. Creepy fuck.

“It was him,” said Mia matter-of-factly.

“Hm?”

“It was him,” she repeated. “Who killed Brian.”

Dave turned his head sharply towards her and turned back just in time to avoid driving up onto the sidewalk. “What? Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not him. They caught him, remember?”

Mia shook her head. “It was him. Must have got the wrong guy.”

Dave laughed for a moment but stopped when he realized how nervous he sounded. “That’s ridiculous. Why the fuck would you think that?”

“The way he looked at you.”

“You can’t tell who killed a guy by just watching how he looks at some other guy, for fuck’s sake.” Dave glanced in the rear-view mirror. The man had turned around and was still watching them.

“The tendons in his neck tensed. And then he bared his teeth.”

“That’s what you call a fucking smile.”

“His pupils dilated. The index finger twitched a little when he was remembering how he pulled the trigger.”

“What are you now, fucking psychic?” He pulled into the driveway. “Look, they had a real psychic down at the police station. They have the right guy, okay?”

“It was him,” Mia just repeated, in the exact same tone as before.

“Bullshit.” Dave stopped the car, pulled the key out of the ignition and opened the door, throwing Mia a glance. She casually opened the door at her own side as she would any other time.

As he knocked on the front door, Dave looked quickly down the street, but the man was gone.

“Hi,” said Cheryl warmly as she opened the door, giving each of them a quick smile in turn. “We have a bit of a surprise visitor at the moment, so I hope you don’t mind...”

She gestured for them to come inside. In the sofa sat a distraught-looking plump woman in a plain maroon dress, hunched over and fiddling nervously with her hands.

“Who is that?” Dave asked. The woman looked quickly up and gave him a look of what he could only call terror; she sat there frozenly for a second but didn’t reply.

Howard, sitting opposite her, gave Dave a glare.

“She says she knows something about Brian,” Cheryl murmured. “The murder, I mean.”

The woman, who had turned back towards Howard, shot a quick glance their way and Dave suddenly realized it was Mia she was looking at with terror, not him. Cheryl gestured silently at the girl and the Scyther morph obediently walked into her room and closed the door.

The woman shook her head absent-mindedly, her orange-red curls swishing in front of her face. She straightened herself, brushed them aside, gave Howard, Cheryl and Dave a quick glance each, and then stared down at her lap again. She licked her lips and swallowed, as if just to demonstrate every nervous gesture known to man.

“M-my name is Monica Sellers,” she began at last. There were a few seconds of silence. “I’m a member of your church.” She looked at Howard, very quickly, and then back down. Another silence.

“Yes?” Howard said carefully.

The woman nodded quickly. “I’m also among a group of churchgoers who meet regularly to discuss...” She stopped and glanced around once more. “They organized the attack on...”

Howard and Cheryl both glanced at Dave; he shuddered inwardly at the memory.

Monica Sellers took a deep breath. “I’m here because... I think what they did was wrong.”

“No shit,” Dave interjected; the woman flinched visibly. Howard gave him another glare.

“The... the one who hatched the plan... was Isaac Daniels. He also did the...” She trailed off, glancing at Dave.

“Isaac? I thought his name was Jacob or something.”

Monica Sellers shook her head frantically. “Jacob is his brother. They sent him to take the blame so the police would stop watching over you.”

Dave looked at the door to Mia’s room, feeling sick. This had to be some sort of a joke.

“You’re full of shit,” he managed to say. “They had a fucking Gardevoir. He said he did it and wasn’t working with anybody and he wasn’t lying.”

The woman looked blankly at him. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, anger rising in his throat. “You’re just fucking with us!” he shouted, louder than he’d intended. “It was that one nut who did the shooting and now you’re trying to make us get all in a panic again by taking credit for it. Crazy fundamentalist fucks!”

“N-no,” the woman stammered, flinching again. “I swear I...”

Dave felt something move by his thigh and jumped before realizing it was his cellphone vibrating. He pulled it out of his pocket, turned around and took a deep breath to calm himself down before opening it to answer. “Hello?”

“Hello, David Ambrose,” said a smooth, calm voice on the other end.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Isaac Daniels. We met earlier.”

An uncomfortable cold shiver trickled ever so slowly down Dave’s spine. “What the fuck do you want?”

“We have the Slugma boy.”

He froze.

“What?” he asked weakly and heard his voice tremble.

“A woman named Monica Sellers has been talking to you. If you tell the police what she told you or anything about the kidnapping, the hybrid dies. Do you understand?”

“What the fuck.” Dave tried to get the gears started in his brain again. “You’re bluffing.”

There was a distorted sigh on the other end. “Call his phone. He will tell you himself if he needs to. Rest assured that if you inform the police of anything, we will know and will be happy to keep our end of the deal. Goodbye, Mr. Ambrose.”

-------

While Gabriel waited for Jack’s mom to pick him up for the birthday party, he flipped through the first few pages of one of the comic books he’d just bought. It was pretty bloody, he noted – Jack would love it. He’d definitely show it to him at the party. Maybe, if the other morphs were the same, they’d be all over it too.

He looked up to scan the street for Sharon’s car, but there wasn’t a person in sight. Jack had gone with his dad earlier to get a present for Cheryl. He’d opted to go to the comic book store instead and get picked up later when Sharon got out of work. He didn’t like going to the bigger shopping streets where there would be people wrinkling their noses at him everywhere. At least the guys at the comic book store were used to him and that street was less travelled. And he’d still told her to pick him up in a side street a couple of blocks away, where he was comfortably sure nobody would be around. Sitting on a bench here, where all the city sounds were kind of muted, was strangely calm and peaceful. It made him feel almost normal.

Somebody clamped a hand over his mouth from behind.

He yelped in surprise as two sets of strong, gloved hands pulled him over the back of the bench and grabbed hold of his arms. He tried frantically to kick backwards and scream for help with feeble results and then to bring his feet down to stop them from dragging him, but it didn’t even slow them down. He tried to turn his head to see the men or where they were taking him, but the hand over his mouth was holding his head in place.

He was thrown into the back seat of a car and finally got to look at one of the men – it was a tall, muscular guy, but he had a white scarf tied around his face as a makeshift mask – as the man sat down in the seat beside him, all the while pointing a small pistol straight at him. Gabriel pressed against the back of the seat, his throat dry, and tried not to move as the car jerked into motion. The man pulled out another scarf, a red one, and handed it to Gabriel, who looked blankly at his captor.

“Tie it over your eyes,” the man said through his own scarf. “Now.” He thrust the gun towards Gabriel for emphasis; he flinched, accepted the scarf carefully and began to tie it around his head.

The murky reddish darkness behind the scarf was somehow calming. He tried to tie it as tightly as he could behind his head and then lowered his hands very slowly when he was done. A hand felt briefly around the scarf; the man grunted in approval and then, judging from the sound, took the scarf away from his own face.

“Don’t move,” said the man’s voice, now unmuffled. “Don’t try to take it off. Don’t try anything.”

Gabriel hadn’t been planning to.

He took a shaky breath and tried to get his brain back into thinking-mode. He couldn’t really; everything was sort of whirling around – kidnapping, must be still, guy had a gun pointed at him, what did they want? He dimly heard the man beside him talking on the phone but didn’t have the presence of mind to process just what he was saying. Kidnapping. Were they holding him for ransom? They might kill him. The guy had a gun. What had happened to his comic books? He must have dropped them on the bench. What would Sharon think when he wasn’t there? Jack would be worried sick.

“Wh... what...” he began when the chaos in his mind began to settle on the question of what the kidnappers wanted, but his lips were still not quite reconnected to his brain and his mouth was still uncomfortably dry. “Why...?”

“You are a hostage,” said the man beside him, apparently no longer on the phone, though Gabriel hadn’t noticed when that happened. “As long as you don’t try anything and nobody calls the police, we won’t kill you. Be still.”

Nobody calls the police? About what? Gabriel tried to make sense of it; his brain alternated between thinking they meant about the kidnapping and thinking that would be circular logic. He couldn’t really think clearly enough to tell which was right. Not with a gun pointed at his head.

His cellphone started vibrating in his pocket. He turned his head towards the man beside him, not sure if he could answer it. The man shoved his own hand into the pocket instead and picked up the phone; Gabriel heard the soft click of it opening. Then...

“Gabriel? Please tell me you’re there.”

“Dave?” he called without thinking. “I’ve been kidnapped as a hostage and they have me in some car and I think we’re heading...” Cold metal pressed against the side of his head and he froze, not daring to even breathe: the feeling of the weapon there made it suddenly seem real in a way it hadn’t before.

“Oh, shit. Fuck. Gabriel? Are you still...”

The phone snapped shut again; it did not come back into Gabriel’s pocket.

A few slow seconds passed; Gabriel felt his heart thumping in his chest as he held his breath, shivering at the touch of what he knew was the muzzle of the gun. Finally, slowly, the man pulled it back and he managed to exhale. He sucked in another breath, still trembling, but the man was silent and the gun didn’t touch him again. Even after the initial shock wore off, the knowledge that the gun was still there, somewhere off to his left, kept his thoughts from wandering; whatever he tried to think about was jerked back to the horrifying reality by the memory of feeling it pressed to his head.

With the reddish darkness still covering his vision, the world soon became nothing but the gun, the noise of the car engine and his heavy breaths and thumping heartbeats, each of them sending more chilling terror pulsing through his veins.