He had been here for two years.

Two years, alone. No friends. No family. No human contacts, other then those who tormented him. Nothing. Most of his life spent in a blank, featureless, metallic room. Spent being poked, prodded, zapped, stabbed, cut, studied, and tested. In fact, all of his life.

He was only two years old. Everything he knew was here, in this dark, cold, metallic, blank world. He learned everything he knew from those who tormented him. All he knew about human behavior came from the three who came to see him constantly. That was all he knew. That was how he emulated his behavior, because he had no better model.

He was only two years old. His emotions were powerful, but he was just learning to control them. He did know of his own power and was able to control it successfully, but in terms of human contact he was still an infant.

His physical appearance was neglected on a whole by those in the facility. He wasn't dirty by any means, but he never brushed his hair, washed his face, or completed many other functions that would have made him look more desirable. His hair had never been cut, hanging long around his shoulders in clumped strands. He didn't much care for what the others thought of him.

He touched the emitter around his neck. It was a new design. It prevented him from using his power to any degree, giving him an exceptionally painful shock when he did so. He was used to pain. He knew vaguely of a world outside, having never seen it, and knew what the emitter most resembled. A collar of some kind. He didn't view it with disgust or apprehension. He knew that he was a creature, therefore needed to be controlled. He wasn't human. He didn't pretend to be. His own appearance and behavior drove that thought away quickly.

He looked at those around them, recognizing them as human. He knew he was not. He was different. He could never be like them. He was set apart from them from day one. He had spent the majority of his first month alive living within a capsule, air fed through him intravaneously as he matured into a young boy. Then he had finally been allowed into the real world, to breathe on his own power. He presumed it was guilt at making someone who looked so vaguely human stay captive like those who had came before him. So he had been given a room, where he stayed alone. He had been given a life, where he was always alone.

He was only two years old. He had the body of someone who was twenty- one. His personality and atittude did not match his physical body, however, remaining his true, physical age. Even his voice was slurred in a inescapable accent, most likely caused by his body maturing too quickly for his mind. He didn't like speaking, as he hated his own voice. He didn't like mirrors, as he hated his appearance.

He had stopped growing when he was six months old. His appearance had been set. His hair still grew with his age, but not as swiftly as it normally should have. That was why his hair was only to his shoulders when he was two. Why his face still retained some kind of childish innocence. When someone looked at him, they got the impression for a few moments that he was very young, but then the feeling swiftly passed. After all, how could someone who looked like him be young? His eyes were bright then. Although they retained their pupiless purple-blue appearance, but they were wider, younger, and filled with worlds of innocence. He was curious back then.

He was not prepared that day. The day his world, his dark, emotionless, painful world, the only world he knew, was shattered. As usual, they had wanted to perform some tests on him. They were moderatly painful, but short. There was a great amount of discussion after they had been completed, most of which he did not understand. When they were done, instead of leading him back to his room, they lead him outside of the building.

This was incredibly foreign to him. He had never seen the sun nor the sky. His room was windowless. The entire building which he could now see had been his world. He had never thought it would seem so small from outside. The sun blinded him as he stared directly into it for a few moments before sensing it would hurt him. He stared at about him, confused and fascinated by everything around him. He could barely take it all in.

He heard a click behind him.

He whirled around to find one of the guards that had taken him outside pointing a device at him that he had seen often. He knew within him that this time, it would not fire a restraining device. He ducked to one side as the bullet thudded into the wall behind him. The guard said something he didn't understand and fired again. He managed to roll out of the way.

He wanted to use his power to aid his escape when he remembered the collar around his neck. He couldn't use it as long as the device remained on his person.

He thought of something quickly. He knew it would be risky, but what else could he do? If he didn't get the device off, he would die anyway.

At the next shot, he rolled directly into it.

The shot struck the metal device around his neck, skimming it just enough to cause it to spark violently. It sent a spasm of electricity into him, causing violent pain, but through great power of will he ignored it. He gripped the device in his hands and ripped it away from him, throwing it on the ground. He then turned to the guard, who stared at him with fear.

He could feel his power rising within him, surrounding him with the field of energy he knew and welcomed. The guard dropped the device and swiftly ran away from him, not wishing a confrontation. In the end, he was relieved. He had never wanted to hurt the man. He didn't want to hurt anyone.

Knowing that he could not remain free for long, he reached down and picked up the device in his hands. It was large and ungainly, but he managed to find a way to hold it while he pointed one hand at the outer wall surrounding his previous world. The section of the wall disappeared in a flash of smoke and an explosion. Without wasting a moment, he ran through.

He hadn't planned for running on anything other then tile. His feet never touched the floor at all anyway, but this was strange to him. The grass was hard for his strange body to gain footing on and he slipped frequently. He could hear people chasing after him and chanced a glance behind him.

At this moment, a ravine gaped in front of him. Turning in shock, he gave a brief shout as he tumbled downwards. This entire experience was strange to him. He had never fallen before. He had never seen something that dipped into the earth like this.

He had never encountered thorn bushes either, or the nettles that surrounded the trees he crashed into.

When he finally reached the muddy bottom of the ravine, he was in considerable pain. Not the worst he had ever felt, but it was fairly painful. He pulled some needles out of his hand with with teeth, noticing the blood flowing from it.

He tried to lift himself out of the brackish water when he heard voices above him. Realizing who would be up there, he ducked his head underwater to hide, knowing his whiteish-purple hair would instantly stand against the darkness of the ravine he was in.

After his breath began to run out, he tried to use his power to stay beneath the dark water. He was aware of things crawling over him, but he ignored it all, only focusing on one thing. That was one skill he had learned at the facility.

Eventually he couldn't hold his breath anymore, not even with his power aiding him, and gasped for air above the surface.

It was silent above him. He breathed a sigh of relief slowly. Picking a dark leaf out of his now sodden, mud-stained hair, he stared upwards. He could see the vague outline of the device he had stolen caught in a tree above him. He was exhausted after his exertion and did not want to waste his power trying to retrieve it. He didn't know how to use it anyway. He had taken it in hopes he could bluff his way out of any trouble he could get into. He stared up at it, sighing. His body ached, he was mentally and physically tired, and he had just been rejected, permanently most likely, from his only home, no matter how bad it was.

Not even bothering to move out of the dark, dirty water, he fell asleep.

When he woke, the sky was dark. He could see what he knew was the moon above him. He found he liked it much better then the sun. He could stare longer at the moon without hurting himself. And he liked the tiny pin-pricks of light that were the stars. It was a while before he realized there was a snake wrapped around his leg.

He had no reason to fear snakes. He had never encountered one before. He simply entered it's mind, saw that it wished to devour his leg, and then lifted it out of the water with his mental power. The snake flew off into the forest, aided with his power, no doubt scared out of its mind.

He stood slowly, letting the water drip off his black clothes. All he was wearing was a black shirt and some loose black pants. Those he had once known at the complex weren't exactly fashion conscious. Many things moved when he did, apparently disturbed from their own resting places. Stretching briefly, he began to travel down the ditch, not sure of where else to go. He couldn't go back to the complex now and he wasn't sure if he even wanted to. He just needed somewhere to go, preferably warmer and drier then where he had stayed before.

While he walked he wrung the dirty water out of his hair, letting it drip back where it had came from. He could feel some things caught in his hair, but he didn't find himself concerned. He let his hair hang down his back, not sure of where he was going. He pulled some more nettles and thorns out of various parts of his body, mainly his arms and forearms.

Eventually he saw some light in the distance. He wasn't sure what to expect. Perhaps he had wandered back to the facility.

What he saw stunned him. It was a veritable forest of buildings, much like the one he had come from. Lights shone from almost every window and street corner and there was noise everywhere.

But what confused him most were all the people. He had never seen so many people at one time. He had seen at most three, but this astounded him. He fell back into the mud he was wading in with a squelch, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He stared disbelievingly for a great while, not sure of what to do.

Finally he stood on his shaky legs and wandered into the city, staring around him with his bright eyes. He already felt himself drying off considerably and now felt pangs of both hunger and thirst.

How long had it been since he had last eaten?

He saw a place where he recognized the letters that identified a place to eat. He could read well...it was one of the first things he had learned. Hoping that they would have something he liked, he walked inside.

The bartender was wiping off the counters when the man walked in. From what it looked like, he had been through everything. He had cuts all over his body, bruises too, was wet from head to toe and covered in mud for most of his lower half. He had long hair, dark greyish from what it looked like, with sticks and leaves sticking out at odd angles. The scariest part about him were his eyes, which didn't seem to have any pupils. He shuddered involuntarily as the man limped to the counter and sat down. He could have sworn he didn't touch the floor, but that must have been impossible...as he sat, the sleeve of the worn black shirt he wore slid up just enough to reveal what seemed to be a letter emblazoned on his shoulder.

He waited for the man to speak, but he remained silent. He gathered his courage together.

"Y'need somethin'?" He asked gruffly. The man looked up, as if startled. For a moment he looked very young, but it passed quickly.

"Can...I have somethin' t'drink?" He had a very strange accent that he could not recognize for the life of him.

"Y'got money?"

"Money?" The man looked confused. "What's that?"

The bartender rapidly lost his sense of humor. "If y'don't got any money, y'don't get nothin'."

"What's Money? Where do I get some?" He sounded genuinely curious.

The bartender rolled his eyes. No doubt he had lost his memory somehow.

"'S what y'use t'pay f'somethin'. Like food an' water."

"I don't have any money." The man looked at himself. "Can I have somethin' anyway?"

"No, y'can't. Not without money. What's your name, anyway?"

"My name..." The man paused for a long time. "I need a name..."

"Y'got a name, right?" The bartender peered at him. The man obviously had some problems.

"All that I know is...'m C." The Bartender had to listen carefully to make sure it was "C" he was saying and not "Z" due to his accent. "That's what they called me."

"C? Your name is a LETTER?" The bartender rolled his eyes angrily. "Get out of here."

"That's what they called me..." The man seemed deep in thought. "But I need a real name..."

"If y'ain't got any money, get out. I got payin' customers waitin', y'know."

The man gazed at him imploringly. "Please...can't I have somethin'? I don't have a home anymore..."

"Get th' @#%# out, #@$#in' bum." The bartender shouted at him. The man didn't seem to understand the expletives. "Get out of my bar!"

He stood slowly, limping his way out of the bar. He remained deep in thought. The bartender cursed to himself as he wiped away the dark water that the man had dripped on his counter.

He walked outside, not sure why the man was upset at him. He understood the majority of what he had said, but his last words confused him. What were those words between the others? They had no meaning within his mind. The guard that had assaulted him just before he had escaped had said one of those words.

He was weak with hunger and thirst. He was alone and utterly confused. He had no way of getting anything. He had no one to help him. At least when he was back at the facility, he knew that he would be kept alive. Now he had a fear that he may die. Even when the guard pointed that device at him, he had not felt he would die. But now, stranded and helpless as he was, he felt concerned for his life.

For the first time, he did not want to die.

He sat beneath one of the tall lights that shone above him, sighing deeply. What else could he do? He could use his power...but he was sure that would only alert his presence if someone was looking for him. He wanted to remain inconspicious...

He had never placed much importance on his appearance. To him, he believed that the only way that the others could truly find him was if he was to use his power. He did not think he was incredibly strange looking, dirty and bedraggled as he was.

He closed his eyes, a pain beginning to form above his eyes. A headache. He knew those well.

Although he had closed his eyes in an effort to cease the pain in his head, he fell asleep. He did not know what danger he was in, sleeping as vulnerable as he was in the open. He had never considered there to be danger while he slept. That was something foreign to him.

Although Rick and Daniel had been living in this area for quite some time, what they saw that night was a shock to them. They had been walking on the sidewalk, talking about nothing, when Rick saw the man first.

"That looks like a person..."

Daniel waved a hand. "Probably some drunk."

"No, I think he's hurt. Come on!"

Rick kneeled near where he was leaning against the post, apparently asleep. "Look at this." he breathed.

Daniel whistled lowly. "This guy's been through a lot."

Rick brushed some hair away from his forehead, although he knew he was asleep. "What happened to you? Did you fall off a cliff or something? You got scratches and everything all over you."

"And sticks in his hair." Daniel picked one out for emphasis. "Long hair I might add. I don't think he's ever brushed it. Doesn't look like it."

"He needs help." Rick looked at Daniel with imploring eyes. Daniel crossed his arm.

"No. We can't."

"Look at him!" Rick gestured towards the sleeping man. "We can't leave him here! I bet he hasn't eaten in days! He might die."

"Why do you always do this..." Daniel rolled his eyes. Rick continued to stare at him.

"At least until he gets back on his feet. Please?"

The man rolled off the lamp-post, causing Rick to grab his arms to stop him from cracking his head on the concrete. His eyes widened as he stared at him.

"Daniel, look at this..."

He walked over, staring where Rick eyes were fixed. Seemingly burned into the man's skin was a short collection of letters.

M-2 Spc. C

There was a silence.

"He's a lab experiment."

"Don't get over-imaginative. Maybe it's just a tattoo he decided to get while he was drunk."

"This is no tattoo!" Rick touched his finger lightly over the marking. "This was burned into him...like a brand..."

"Let's just go home." Daniel could not deny the fact that Rick was correct. Rick, however, was letting his imagination take hold of him.

"He must have escaped...look, there are bruises around his neck...and his arms...I bet some of these cuts weren't recent. I think he has scars here..." Rick pointed to a white scar that ran from his upper arm along the inside of his elbow. "and here..." He pointed to an another scar alongside the back of his arm. "That weren't accidents."

"You're really letting your imagination run away with this." Daniel continued to roll his eyes. Rick brushed some hair out of his own eyes.

"We can't leave him out here...what if whoever did this to him comes back? What if they kill him? We can't just back away...we're too involved."

"Too involved? We haven't done anything but stopped him from hitting his head on the sidewalk." Daniel sighed.

"See? We probably saved his life. We're responsible for him now."

Daniel buried his face in his hands. "You always do this."

Rick tried to lift the man, but found he was too heavy. "Can you help me?"

Daniel paused, then sighed again. He took one of the man's arms and lifted him off the ground, picking him up and holding him.

"You realize I would only do this for you."

"Thanks so much!" Rick smiled brightly. "I'm sure we won't regret this."

Daniel rolled his eyes and the two headed homewards.

"I think he's waking up!"

He opened his eyes, everything completly blurry to him. He saw two faces hovering above him. They flinched momentarily.

He stared at them confused.

"We're sorry. We haven't gotten used to your...um, eyes. My name is Rick." A man with short brown hair and glasses pointed to himself. He pointed to his companion, who had dark black hair. "This is Daniel. We've been watching you for this past month."

"Month?" He whispered through a dry throat.

"Yes...you've been coming in and out of consciousness for almost a month. We were worried you wouldn't recover."

"Why are you doing this?"

The one known as Daniel pulled him upwards into a sitting position. He draped the blanket that was over him around his shoulders. "Quite an accent you got there."

"We couldn't just leave you out there alone." Rick answered his question.

He was confused that someone would care for him. "What do you want?"

"I TOLD you he was..." Rick seemed to realize he was listening, then rephrased what he was going to say. "Raised somewhere different."

"That doesn't prove anything." Daniel waved his hand. He looked back at him. "We don't want anything. A friend, maybe, but nothing else."

He was confused by this. As far as he knew, everyone wanted something from him. He was given life because they had wanted something from him. And these people didn't want anything from him? They did this out of concern for him?

Out of all the things he had recently experienced, this was the strangest.

"So tell us...what's your name? We've been waiting all these weeks to find out." Rick smiled at him.

He was confused. He hadn't known the answer before and he didn't know it now. "I...I don't have a name."

"You don't have a name?" Daniel asked surprised. Rick turned to him.

"Ha! That proves it!"

"Listen..." Daniel lifted him off the bed, steering him towards the table. "You're confused, no doubt. Eat something and try and relax. We won't hurt you."

As soon as his support was gone, he collapsed. His legs were weak from both surprise and misuse. Swiftly Rick and Daniel were at his side, lifting him upwards again.

"You're weaker than I thought you were."

He didn't say anything, only closing his eyes. He felt the two put him in a chair.

"What have you been through? Can you tell us?" He opened his eyes again, causing Daniel, who was sitting across from him, to flinch again. Rick was sitting next to him, holding what appeared to be food of some kind. The only food he ever remembered getting was some kind of mush in a bowl. This was different. It looked a lot better.

He looked at his arms to find the majority of his cuts wrapped in bandages. Perhaps they were deeper than he thought for them to remain on his body this long.

"If you're curious as to why you still have bandages, it's because they just didn't heal. It was almost like your body wouldn't heal itself unless something told it to. So we keep them bandaged to try and stop you from bleeding to death."

He tried to lift his hand upwards to grip the spoon that was in the bowl that Rick held out towards him, but he found his body wouldn't respond. Rick noticed his hand trembling with effort. He had pity in his eyes.

"I can see you're trying hard. You shouldn't exert yourself after what you've been through."

He felt weaker than he had in his whole life, overwhelmed by all the concern that was for his own well-being, not what he could do. He was totally unused to having anyone care about him at any level. This was confusing him to where he could barely comprehend what was happening. His body refused to respond to him.

Rick held out the spoon towards him, laden with the food. He stared at it in confusion.

"Go ahead, eat. I won't bite you." Rick smiled.

Unsure of what else he could do, he let Rick feed him. While he was doing so, the two studied him carefully. He was used to being stared at for long periods of time, so his expression did not change.

As soon as he was finished, the two spoke. "We want to know what happened to you. Do you remember at all?"

He struggled through his foggy memory. "I...I think...someone tried to kill me...I ran...I...fell..." he struggled with the strange concept. "I fell into a hole, I think...I think that was a hole of some kind...I walked for a while, I think...I was hungry...I asked someone for food, but they said I needed somethin'...I forget what it was now...an' I fell asleep...I don't remember anythin' past that..."

"That's when we found you, I think." Rick adjusted his glasses. "Do you remember who tried to kill you?"

He struggled to recall. Everything seemed hazy in his current condition. He felt cold and confused. He sat, trying to remember.

The two mistook his silence for hesitation. "Don't worry. You're with friends now, we won't hurt you. We want to know what happened to you."

He closed his eyes, thinking hard.

"It must have been really traumatizing. It's okay if you don't want to tell us."

He tried to remember...

He brushed his fingers on the raised skin on the inside of his elbow. Scars...from...

His previous experiences flooded back to him suddenly. Startled, his eyes jerked open. The two across from him jumped slightly.

"I remember now..." He said softly. "I remember what happened to me."

Rick and Daniel listened with rapt attention as he told them his entire life story, pitifully short. How he spent his first month, how they tested him, gave him his mark, the pain and sorrow and loneliness he had experienced by himself. He felt no sorrow from this, having accepted it a long time ago as part of his life.

However, Rick and Daniel seemed very touched by his story, although he could not understand why.

"I told you." Rick turned to his companion. He rolled his eyes.

"So you were created? Did they ever tell you why?"

"They never told me anythin'."

"And the only name they ever gave you was a letter..." Rick narrowed his eyes. "I bet so they wouldn't feel guilty..."

"'S m'name, I guess. No one ever believes me."

"You need a better name." Daniel stood. "You're too human to be called a letter. It's cruel."

"Give myself a name?" He blinked for a moment. Rick brightened.

"Yes! We could do that. That way we could keep him hidden if authorities came looking for him. But what name could we use..."

"C....C..." Daniel paced back and forth, thinking hard.

"It should start with C, I think..." Rick looked equally thoughtful.

At the same moment, the two turned towards eachother, then towards him. He stared at them blankly.

"Cyrus!"

He remained silent for a while, turning the name over in his mind. Cyrus...that sounded like a good name...

"What do you think?" Rick looked at him, awaiting an answer. For the first time, he smiled.

"I like it. M'name's Cyrus..."

"It fits you." The two smiled at him.

"Haven't you ever brushed your hair?" Rick plucked a leaf from Cyrus' limp hair. Although he had slept in their house, the two had not touched him other then to bandage his wounds, which meant the sticks and leaves were still within his hair.

Cyrus looked blankly at the two as they studied his dirty now-grey strands. "Brushed my hair?"

"You know...with a comb or a brush or something." Daniel pulled out a stick. The two had become accustomed to the fact that Cyrus was generally ignorant on many things in normal society, considering his upbringing. They weren't unused to explaining things to him that would have been obvious to a normal person.

"No...no."

They continued to pick the general debris from his hair. Cyrus sat awkwardly.

"I wouldn't think so, evil people as they are..." Rick spoke with hatred. Rick had a particular dislike for the ones who had treated him so badly. He always seemed to take everything about Cyrus very personally. "Probably wouldn't have cared if they shaved your head..."

Cyrus shrugged, not sure how to respond when Rick posed questions like that. Taking a brush from the bedstand, Rick began to run it through the edges of his hair. After the preliminary pain of the tangles was gone, it was almost a pleasant feeling. Daniel soon took his own brush and began working on the other side of his head.

He felt extremely awkward. He still was not accustomed to the concept of people caring for him. It still felt strange to him. Having people do things for him always confused him.

"What do you think we should do with his hair?" Daniel studied the strands he held in his hand. Rick looked at him.

"Well, first we need to wash it. I can tell already that Cyrus' natural hair color is NOT grey. I think it's just dirt."

Cyrus considered briefly telling them, then thought of the surprise when they found his hair was actually white with purplish tinges. He smiled at the thought then started gently. That was an odd thought for him...he rarely thought in such a...human manner. He was more confused than ever now.

Rick and Daniel took each of his arms. "Can you walk now?"

"A little..." He continued to limp slightly. He wasn't sure why that was. The two helped him towards the sink.

Sitting him in a chair, they turned it so his back faced away from the sink. Confused, he looked at them. Apparently they sensed his confusion.

"Don't worry, this won't hurt, okay? Just lean back."

He obeyed. He heard the hiss of something then felt incredibly odd. Rick stopped him from jumping upwards.

"It's just water. Don't worry."

He uneasily tried to relax. Now that he thought about it, it did feel somewhat like water. He could feel the two trying to remove the dirt that had accumulated.

"Oh my..."

He smiled, then wondered why.

"What IS your natural hair color, Cyrus?"

"I think this is it." Daniel shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised."

They continued to work. Cyrus felt a almost drowsy feeling where he was and almost fell asleep. Before he could, however, the two told him to lift his head.

His hair felt heavy with water, but Rick soon wrapped it up in a towel. A few stray strands were clear to him, and he saw his hair was whiter then he remembered. And the purple stood out even more.

"Your hair really is white, isn't it?" Rick was staring at the same thing he was. He nodded.

"Well, let's see if we can't do anything with it while it dries."

Daniel smiled. "Your hair is very fine, Cyrus, but it just hasn't been treated very well."

"Thanks." It was the first time that Cyrus had ever used such a word.

"Should we try this?" Cyrus' hair was dry and fluffier then he remembered. The purple was inobtrusive, soft and light, generally near the ends of his hair. Strands kept getting in his eyes and he brushed them away almost automatically now. His hair was softer then he remembered as well. Rick and Daniel were studying his hair, trying to find a style that would be appealing.

"I don't know...I think a ponytail would look good for him...but what about his bangs?"

"Well, let's try the ponytail and see, okay?"

Daniel moved behind him, taking a purple band on one of his hands. Cyrus felt some momentary pressure on his hair, then it ceased. Suddenly the hair that had been all around him was behind him. It felt very strange.

"Yes, I think a ponytail works for him." Rick smiled. "But what about here?" He touched some of the strands that were still getting in his eyes. "We need to do something here."

"Hmm..." Daniel looked thoughtful. "Let's see...what if we focused it into two thick strands on either side of his face?"

"I think that could work..."

Putting some water on his hands, Daniel began to smooth the wild strands around his head into two main ones, on each side of his face. The water managed to control his hair enough so that it stayed in place. Now his hair was out of his eyes.

"Yes, that looks very nice!" Rick smiled. "Look at yourself, Cyrus."

Cyrus turned towards the mirror, studying his own hair. He had never remembered it looking or feeling like this. He liked the style, however. He took the end of the ponytail in one hand, running his fingers through it.

"I like it."

"Great!" Rick smiled again. Daniel sat down at the table.

"So tell us, Cyrus...how old are you?"

Cyrus felt comfortable now in the company of friends.

"Two."

"As in Twenty-two?" Rick looked at Daniel, as if suspecting something, but didn't comment. Cyrus shook his head, noting how his new hair acted and felt.

"No...'m just two. Two years old."

"But how...why do you look so old then?"

"I dunno. I think it has somethin' to do with th' lab."

Rick narrowed his eyes. "Did they have any idea what they were doing..."

Knowing that Rick would mutter to himself for a few moments, Daniel continued the conversation.

"How long have you been in the real world?"

Cyrus shrugged. "I was here for almost...I think a half-hour, until I fell asleep."

"Do you know anything about our society?"

"No..." Cyrus shook his head again. "I just know what they told me. Everythin' I know about people I learned from them."

Rick continued to mutter to himself. Daniel sighed.

"It looks like you're going to have to learn more about this world if you want to survive..."

"No, keep your hands gripped tighter, like this." Daniel adjusted Cyrus' fingers on the gun. "It's going to fly out of your hands if you hold it like that."

Cyrus closed one eye and aimed carefully.

"What are you two up to?" Rick walked towards them. Daniel turned towards him.

"Just trying to teach Cyrus how to use a gun."

"What on earth for?" Rick set the tray he had been carrying on the table in the backyard. There were three glasses on it. "You don't need to know anything like that, Cyrus."

"I dunno..." Cyrus continued to aim down the sight of the gun. He was smiling in spite of himself. "I like it."

"Great, now you've made him prone to violence." Rick took his own glass. Daniel sat down next to him, looking innocent.

"I didn't do anything. He saw one of my guns and he wanted to know how to use it, didn't you, Cyrus?"

Cyrus didn't move. "That's what happened."

"Hmph." Rick did not look happy. Daniel took his own glass, not sure of what else to say.

Cyrus fired the gun and almost fell over backwards from the recoil. The two watched him carefully as he regained his balance quickly. They knew that Cyrus had to learn to be self-sufficient without him should he get in trouble. They knew that he could not stay with him forever.

People were looking for him. Rick had seen several signs with a rough sketch of Cyrus, never stating his true "name" but simply that he was missing. The reward was quite substantial, causing many of the neighbors around them to go searching for the man themselves. Fortunatly, after his good treatment, Cyrus looked a good deal different then the picture they used to represent him. Still, fear for his safety never left Rick and Daniel's minds.

They were, in a way, his parents. Cyrus was still two, despite what he looked like, something that had been hard for them to comprehend at first, but the two had risen and educated him about the facts of life outside of the compound. Cyrus' appearance had become commonplace to them, his eyes no longer inspiring surprise or fear. They took care of him willingly. They cared about him as if he was their own son. They didn't want to lose him, but knew that some day, they would have to. It saddened them, but they tried to enjoy the moment for as long as it lasted.

The affection they had for Cyrus was returned in full. Although Cyrus was unused to people caring for him or caring for people, his emotions were powerful. He trusted them as deeply as only a child his age could. To him, they were his parents. He could not imagine ever being away from them. He could not imagine anything bad happening to them. They were the first to show him kindness. He would never, ever forget that.

He hadn't used his power at all since he had been here. He didn't plan to.

"Cyrus, be careful with that. It's not a toy." Daniel looked over at Cyrus, who was still recovering from the recoil. Cyrus stared down at the gun with a new respect. It would require a lot of power to be able to use this effectively.

"This's really powerful."

"Sit down and relax." Rick gestured towards him. He sat down, taking one of the glasses Rick had brought. "You always have to be doing something, don't you?"

"Thanks." Cyrus sipped at his drink. He closed his eyes. "I just don't like feelin' useless."

"You're never useless." Rick had tried very hard to reaffirm this into Cyrus. After he had left the facility, he had no point to his life. Or so he thought. As far as he knew, he existed for tests. When there were not tests, he should not exist. Rick had always been very concerned with how Cyrus' personality and mind had been affected by his previous treatment. He tried very hard to keep Cyrus' thoughts away from his imprisonment and into a more human vein.

Daniel found that the thought that Cyrus wasn't human rarely crossed his mind. He always treated Cyrus as if he were human. He had resolved that Cyrus was his own person and attempting to change him was totally useless. He and Rick had, in the beginning, argued a lot over who Cyrus was and how he acted. Now, it no longer was as important as it used to be.

Cyrus brushed the hair in his ponytail off his shoulder. His hair was rarely out of it. "I know..."

"You're doing good so far." Daniel smiled at him. "Your stance is perfect. You just need more control."

"I dunno..." Cyrus looked thoughtful. "It feels right holdin' that...I feel safer."

"Violence is never an answer to anything." Rick was a pacifist at heart. This contrasted sharply with Daniel's hobby of sharp-shooting. This was a source of constant bickering. "I hope you never have to use that thing."

"You'll get good with practice." Daniel took the gun easily in one hand. Without looking, he pointed it in the direction of the back of the yard. He fired once, his hand barely moving, and a leaf from one of the trees fell, a hole directly through the center. Cyrus stared in wonder. "It's all practice."

"Wow." Cyrus spoke with honest childlike admiration. He admired both of his surrogate parents very much. They both had qualities that Cyrus admired. He wanted to be like them. Before he had found no desire to pretend to be human, but now he wanted more than ever to truly belong with them. "That was amazing!"

"It's nothing." Daniel was modest despite himself. "I bet you could do it, if you kept trying."

"Now he's going to practice all day." Rick rolled his eyes. He adjusted his glasses as Daniel ignored him. He coughed, trying to think of a way to announce the latest news.

"Cyrus, we're going out to dinner tonight."

"Can I come?" Cyrus asked automatically. Daniel was about to shake his head when Rick stopped him.

"I don't see why not."

"Are you serious? What if someone sees him?"

"No one will notice him if he doesn't bring attention to himself. He knows how to act in public now."

"What if someone recognizes him?"

"Honestly, Daniel, you don't think our Cyrus looks like those hideous sketches on those posters? Our Cyrus is a lot better looking." Rick ruffled his hair. Cyrus laughed.

"I don't know...it could be dangerous for him. I don't want anyone to find him."

"We can't keep him locked in this house forever. He has to get some experience with other people." Rick sighed. "Or else everything we worked for will come to nothing."

"Well..." Daniel looked at Cyrus, who was toying with his ponytail nervously.

"Please?" He asked. His odd eyes widened innocently. Daniel smiled to himself.

"Ah, I can't resist you when you give those big eyes. Fine, you can come." Cyrus looked ecstatic. "But you can't bring attention to yourself."

"I can do it!" Cyrus said enthusiastically. "This's goin' to be great!"

"I haven't seen you this excited in a while." Rick stared at him. "It's weird."

Cyrus laughed to himself.

"Table for...um, three please."

"Three?"

Cyrus kept the brim of the dark hat over his eyes, knowing that they could give him away. He had learned about how odd his eyes were from Rick and Daniel fairly early. He was dressed in a large black sweater and some simple jeans. He tried as hard as he could not to generate attention. There was one thing he couldn't hide, however, and that was his height. He was still a few inches taller then even the tallest person in the restaurant.

Rick lowered his glasses and looked severly at the man. "Yes, three." The man uneasily began leading them through the restaurant.

Rick and Daniel had to muffle their own footsteps so that the lack of Cyrus' would not be too obvious. Cyrus tried as hard as he could to touch the floor, but he knew that his body simply never would. It was something within his genetic code he could never change. But Rick and Daniel had adapted to it, so he tried as hard as he could to repay them by doing what they asked. Staying unobtrusive.

"Here..." The waiter pointed to an empty table. Sitting down, the three watched the waiter walk away.

"I think you frightened him, Cyrus." Rick whispered to him with a smile. Cyrus looked down.

"I didn't mean to...'s not m'fault..."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it seriously."

"What are we getting?"

Cyrus could feel people staring at him. It made him uncomfortable. "I dunno..." He mumbled under his breath.

"Hmm..." Rick studied the menu. "Not the greatest of selections, but..." he shrugged, folding it and placing it on the table. "It'll do, I suppose."

After a few minutes of talking, the three agreed on something they could eat together and ordered. Cyrus noted the waiter staring at him as he walked by. He pulled his hat lower over his eyes.

"I bet it's just your hair." Rick tried to reassure him. "White isn't a normal color."

"Much less white-purple." Daniel put a hand on his shoulder. "Besides, on the sign it says you had gray hair. Apparently they never knew how light your hair really was."

"What else did it say?" Cyrus had never seen one of the signs that advertised the reward for him. He wondered whether the three he knew were actively looking for him or just getting their sub-ordinates to do it for them.

"You had blue eyes, I think. No mention of how...your eyes look." Daniel touched on the subject lightly, knowing that he was sensitive to his appearance. "Also that you had the...mark on your shoulder."

"I can't hide that...they remembered..." Cyrus felt tinges of depression at memories of his previous life.

"Don't be sad, Cy. Really, think about where you are. You should be happy."

Cyrus smiled thinly, forcing his old memories away. "Yer right..."

"Oh, here it is." Daniel took the plate from the waiter, who lingered for a moment, trying to stare at Cyrus underneath his hat.

"Do you want something?" Rick's voice had a dangerous tone. The waiter, as if realizing that others were there, hurried away without saying anything.

Cyrus breathed a sigh of relief. The three talked softly as they ate, knowing that Cyrus' accent could also give him away as being different. The more the spoke, the more relaxed Cyrus got. He felt more comfortable among his two friends in these strange surroundings. He slowly let his stress unwind.

It didn't last for long.

They had finished the main part of their dinner and were just picking at it idly when a group of people approached their table. The three, knowing they wanted to look at Cyrus, pretended not to notice.

The leader, a male with short hair, looked at Cyrus with disdain. He reached a hand out to touch his ponytail, causing Cyrus to slap his hand away angrily. He edged near Rick who was sitting next to him. Rick glared at the man.

"Touchy touchy." The man shook a finger at Cyrus. Cyrus glared at him with previously unknown anger. Daniel was not happy.

"What do you want?"

"I was just wondering who the freak with the white hair was." The man shrugged. "Any answers?"

"Who he is is no business of yours." Rick adjusted his glasses again. "Please leave."

"So why IS your hair white?" The man totally ignored Rick, placing his large hands on the table and attempting to stare Cyrus in the eyes. Cyrus, frightened that he could reveal himself, closed his eyes. "You old or something? You don't look old."

"You're being very rude." Daniel's voice was dangerously low. The man glanced at him.

"I didn't ask YOUR opinion. I was asking HIM."

"Leave me alone." Cyrus spoke slowly, trying to stop his accent from coming into play. The man stared at him for a few moments.

"What?"

"Leave him alone." Rick continued to glare at him. "Go away."

The man was getting angry. "So the freak with white hair is too good to talk to me? We'll see about that."

The man reached out and grabbed Cyrus' arm with his hands. His grip was powerful and Cyrus was nearly thrown to one side as the man hauled him outwards. Both Daniel and Rick stood as well as Cyrus tried to pull his arm away. His hat fell to one side.

The man stared at him in confusion, wondering how in the world Cyrus could have kept his eyes closed during all that.

"What kind of hair IS that? You going to answer me or am I going to have to get rough?"

"That's it." Daniel moved forward, taking Cyrus' other arm. "You leave us alone. We didn't do anything to you."

"Shut up." The man shoved Daniel out of the way roughly, knocking him to the ground. Rick was at his side instantly.

Hurting Daniel was a mistake.

"Now-" The man turned back towards the man he was holding and found that his eyes were open. Shocked and frightened, he released the man's arm and backed away. "What...what ARE you?"

Cyrus did not speak. He felt the urge to use his power rising within him for the first time in months. He fought it down, trying to remember things he had learned from Daniel. How to use an opponent's weight against them...

Cyrus reached forward, grabbed the man's wrist, and pulled. He enhanced his strength with his power, allowing him to pull the man off-balance. To the spectators, it simply appeared natural to them. The man was furious at being unbalanced so easily and turned angrily towards Cyrus.

Cyrus was prepared for this. With one smooth motion, Cyrus grabbed the hand he outstretched and braced himself. Pulling hard, he managed to throw the man to the floor.

Shocked and winded, he only looked surprised as he tried to regain his breath. He scrambled to his feet as quickly as possible, not wanting to seem weak. When he was up, he found his target kneeling next to the black-haired man he had pushed over.

"You okay?" Cyrus was genuinely concerned. Daniel smiled.

"I'm fine, really. It's nothing."

Cyrus noticed the man still staring at him. Without taking his eyes from him, he reached over and picked up his hat that had fallen on the floor. He placed it back on his head. The man stared at him with hate.

"You're going to pay for that." He finally said. Cyrus did not respond, only helping Daniel to his feet.

"I think we should go." Rick kept his eyes on the man. "I don't much like the company here."

Cyrus walked between the two of them past the man, glaring at him sidewise as he passed. He still felt anger surging through him at the sheer audacity of the man. He had hurt one of his parents...how dare he do such a thing...

He didn't feel that justice had truly been served. This bothered him. The man glared as he left. "This isn't over."

Cyrus remained silent as Rick answered for him. "It is now."

"That was an unhappy ending to such a pleasant evening." Rick hung his coat near the door. He sighed deeply. "I thought it would go so well."

Daniel was about to speak when he noticed Cyrus toying with the edge of his sweater, pulling out threads one by one. "Cyrus?"

"This's m'fault..." Cyrus mumbled. "I shouldn't've come, I ruined it for you..."

"You didn't ruin it." Rick sat down next to him at the table while Daniel hung his own coat up. "We were glad to have you with us. Don't blame yourself for other people like that. They can't be helped."

"I can't help m'hair..." Cyrus looked at some of the white-purple strands he held in his hand. "...'s not m'fault I look like this...why did he get so angry at me? Doesn't he know I didn't want to look like this?"

Rick could tell that Cyrus was working himself into a depression, something that didn't happen all that often while he was with them. Daniel sat down on Cyrus' other side.

"He was probably drunk and wanted to start trouble." Daniel tried to reassure him. "He just saw you were different and wanted to pick on you."

"I don't want to be different." Cyrus stared at his hands. "I want to be normal, like you two."

"Listen, Cyrus..." Rick phrased his words carefully. "You shouldn't feel bad about who you are. You should be proud of what you look like. You shouldn't let others make you feel bad about yourself."

Cyrus sighed. "I really wanted everythin' to go perfect..."

"Things never go perfectly, Cy." Daniel's voice was grave. "Remember that."

"Don't blame yourself. You did nothing wrong." Rick studied Cyrus' eyes, trying to find how he was feeling. Cyrus' eyes were indecipherable. "No matter what you do, no matter who you are, we will always care about you."

Since affection was so rare to him, it was simple statements like this that almost always made Cyrus feel better about himself. He smiled thinly. "Thanks..."

"Just try and relax and forget about it, okay?" Daniel stood. "Tomorrow, if you want, we can practice some more."

Cyrus had found another source for his happiness in holding a firearm. There was something about it that made him feel safe. "That'd be nice."

"Try and get some sleep." Rick ruffled his hair again. "After all, it's only one incident. There's nothing to be frightened about."

"Hello?"

"Hello. Who is this?" A cold female voice spoke through the receiver. The man who had assaulted Cyrus in the restaurant looked at the poster he held in his hands. Even though it didn't exactly look like the freak, he was sure it was him. What other explanation could there be?"

"My name isn't all that important. I have information."

"This is a research laboratory." The woman's voice was sarcastic. "We have a lot of information as well. What makes you think that yours is worth anything to us?"

"I think I know where your...'C' is."

There was a brief silence. "Hold on for a moment."

There were some sounds of movement, then a click. The man mentally guessed that the woman had set it to the speakerphone. He heard two other figures quietly speaking behind her voice. "What do you mean?"

"I think I found what you lost."

"Do you have conclusive evidence it's him?"

The man burned with hatred for the taller, bony man that had thrown him to the floor. "Yes."

"What evidence?"

The man scanned the paper quickly. So he would exaggerate a little...he was going to get that freak if it was the last thing he did. "He's got the mark on his shoulder."

"That's him!" A strong male voice said from behind the woman. It was followed by a softer, less confident voice.

"I don't know...what if it's a mistake?"

The woman, for once, turned to those behind her. "Who else has a mark like that, you idiot?"

She turned back to him. "Where is he?"

The man blanked for a moment. He hadn't quite considered this. "As in exact location?"

"That would be helpful, yes." Her voice was sarcastic again.

"Hmm..." The man had lived in the neighborhood for a while, so he knew the people. He just had no memory for numbers. "He lives with these two gay guys...their names are Rick and Daniel."

"That's very specific." Again the sarcastic tone. "I don't suppose you have anything more definite?"

The man noticed a phonebook near the payphone he was using. He began flipping through it. "Give me a second..."

The woman sighed irritably as he scanned through the pages. His finger stopped over a section of print. "Here we go..."

"Finally..." he heard the rustling of paper.

He smiled as he recited the address from on the page. That freak didn't know what he was doing when he toyed with him. He was going to suffer.

"We'll send someone there in the morning. Thanks for your help."

"Wait, what about my reward?" The man's eyes glanced over the bottom of the poster. There was a whispered conversation.

"Don't worry..." The woman's voice had a strange tone to it. "You'll get it tomorrow."

The man didn't quite trust this, but what could he do? He couldn't call this off now...he was not going to let the freak get away with humiliating him like that. "Fine."

There was no goodbye as the woman clicked off the speakerphone and hung up the reciever. He stared at the phone he held in his hands momentarily before he placed it back in its cradle.

"Don't worry..." he snickered to himself as he walked back to his house. He was going to have to be sure to wake up early to see this. "You'll get what's coming to you."

Cyrus felt some kind of foreboding, but he wasn't sure why this was. Because of this, he practiced almost non-stop the entire night and into the morning. Daniel woke up to the gunshots near the late hours of the night, finding that Cyrus had greatly improved. Realizing that he was not going to give up, he continued to give him pointers until the sun rose. By that time, Cyrus was fairly skilled with the gun. Daniel was proud of him and told him so. He had never known anyone who had gotten so skilled so quickly. Cyrus glew under the praise, but his inner sense of danger would not fade.

He was naturally suspicious when the doorbell rang. He didn't want to face whoever was out there, so he lingered about in the hallway, where he could hear them, but they could not see him. He kept the one gun he had grown fond of in one of his deep pockets.

"Yes?" Rick and Daniel answered the door at the same time.

"Is this the residence of..." There was a pause as whoever was at the door flipped through some papers. "'Rick and Daniel'?"

"Yes." There was slight hesitation in Daniel's voice. "Why? Do you need something?"

"Does anyone else live here with you?"

There was a long pause. Rick finally spoke. "Why?"

"Security reasons."

"What do you mean?"

"Answer the question, please."

"I'm not answering until I know why." Rick sounded slightly offended now.

"We're searching for someone. We have reason to believe they have taken residence here."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Daniel was audibly annoyed. "Now, could you please leave-"

"I know he's here." A familiar voice came to Cyrus, whose heart was beginning to quicken with fear. "I saw him with you two."

"You were drunk out of your mind." Rick's voice was laden with contempt. "You're mistaken."

"I'm not mistaken." The man mocked his words cruelly. "That freak is hiding in here somewhere, with his long hair and screwed-up eyes..."

Cyrus felt anger joining his fear.

"If you would just allow us to search the premises-" The first voice said, but Daniel cut him off.

"You aren't getting in this house unless you have a warrant! Get out of here!"

"I know he's in here." Cyrus could hear the man from the restaurant pushing himself inside. He felt anger at the cries of surprise from Rick and Daniel. How dare this man do this... "He's hiding, like a coward."

Cyrus looked at his hands, seeing them tremble. He wasn't sure whether or not it was with fear or with rage. He heard the man's footsteps coming closer.

"Get out of our house right now!" Rick was also upset. "This is simply ridiculous."

The man rounded the corner where Cyrus was standing. He was ready for him as he lunged towards him, arms outspread. Cyrus ducked easily under him, searching for Rick and Daniel. He saw them near the doorway and instantly joined them. The man turned back, pointing to Cyrus accusingly.

"See? There he is! I told you!"

Cyrus looked at the soldiers and tried to remember them. He didn't recall any of them from his previous life. Perhaps that was because he rarely saw them.

The one who had been speaking before said, gesturing meaningfully with the machine-gun he held in one hand. "We've been looking for you."

"I ain't goin' with you." Cyrus glared at them all, feeling anger rising white-hot at the thought of returning to the place of his nightmares. He was not going to feel helpless and be experimented on anymore. He wasn't going to be taken out and shot.

His name wasn't C.

"You have no proof that this is him." Rick kept his hand firmly on Cyrus' shoulder. "You're just assuming because he looks different."

The man walked over and grabbed Cyrus' arm again. Before he could respond, he pushed up the sleeve to reveal the letters burned into his skin. "There's proof for you."

Cyrus jerked his arm away angrily, using his power to burn the man's hand slightly as he did so. The man jumped back, unsure of what had caused such pain. Cyrus covered the mark with his hand.

"I must insist you two move out of the way." The foremost man pointed to Rick and Daniel. "There is something we must do."

"We're not moving!" Rick moved in front of Cyrus, joined by Daniel. "This is Cyrus. He belongs with us now. You can't have him back."

"We don't want him back." The man raised the machine-gun until it pointed at them. The man who Cyrus had burnt crossed his arms and watched with a smirk on his face. "We want him dead."

"You're just going to kill him? Like that?" Daniel snapped his fingers. "Don't you have any compassion?"

"I know that that creature over there," the man with the machine-gun pointed at Cyrus, "is not human."

"So that makes it all right to kill him?" Rick was extremely upset now. "Does anyone at your sick facility have any emotions at all?"

"Move out of the way," the man commanded. Rick and Daniel remained where they were.

"Get out of the way, you idiots," the man with his arms crossed stated. "Unless you want to die for your freak."

"Don't you dare call 'em names!" Cyrus' pent up anger and fear was making itself felt. He could see a glow forming around his body. He rushed towards the man, pushing him down.

Seeing that Cyrus had left his protection, the man with the machine-gun fired.

"No!"

Cyrus whirled in time to see the bullets tear into Daniel's body as he pushed him out of the way.

Rick was speechless with horror. He ran to Daniel's side, trying to stop the bleeding anyway he possibly could. As Cyrus moved towards him, he could see another spray of bullets fly forward, slamming into Rick's side. He fell, sprawled across Daniel's body.

For that moment, Cyrus felt absolutely numb. He could not feel, could not think, could not speak. He turned towards the man who had fired, who was now aiming at him.

Suddenly, Cyrus could feel again. The instant he could, those in front of him covered their eyes at the bright flash of power that flowed from his body. He had never felt this angry. He had never felt his power rising to this extent. The man who had ruined his life stared at him in surprise. The machine-gun fell to the ground.

"I'm goin' to kill you all." Cyrus' voice was dangerously low. "Every single one of you is goin' to die. 'M Cyrus, not C, not anythin' else they want to call me. Yer all goin' to die for this."

"Quick, get out-" The man with the machine-gun tried to speak, but he was cut off as a massive blast of energy shot through him, fracturing every bone in his body and killing him instantly. Cyrus could not see through the energy pulsating around his body. All he could do was feel. He had never felt this powerfully about anything in his entire life.

The energy continued to expand, causing the walls around him to crumble. He watched passively as those whom his energy touched disintegrated into nothing. He didn't care about THEM.

Out of control, his energy continued to expand, beginning to take the houses on either side of him, in front of him. He was the center. He was nothing, just fury and hurt and anger and power. His power extended, washing over the entire block, killing and destroying instantly.

As his power began to wane, he finally began to calm. The light that had burned away so many lives faded back into his body. He fell to his knees, noting that next to him, Rick and Daniel's bodies remained untouched.

He had lost the band that held his hair. It fell around his face, white and purple. The cause of all his pain.

He felt pressure on his throat and something near his eye. He watched confused as what looked like a small crystal fell the ground, shattering against the rubble that had been left as the ruins of his only refuge of happiness. This crystal was followed by more. He recognized what he was doing immediately, even though he had never done it before. He was crying. These were his tears. But they weren't true tears...they were solid crystals...

He couldn't even cry correctly...his body would not even allow him that dignity.

He screamed aloud, cursing his origin, his powers, and those who had brought him into this world where he could never truly belong. He screamed until his voice was hoarse and he could not speak. He let tears fall until he felt like his knees were bleeding from the shards that littered the ground. He slammed his fists into the ground until they were bloody and bruised. He did everything he could to give vent to his frustration. Anything to stop these horrible rushes of painful feelings washing over him constantly.

After he had done everything, he felt strangely empty. He didn't feel anything. Knowing that if he did regain his feelings, they would just hurt him, he tried to remain emotionless.

He buried them himself. He dug the hole with his own hands, not using his powers. He didn't care that he was so exhausted his limbs trembled when he was done. He didn't care the sharp rocks in the soil had cut his fingers.

At least, he tried not to.

Taking two sticks, he took several strands of his hair to bind them together in a cross shape. He jammed it into the earth at the head of the plot of earth. He stared at it momentarily, not sure of what else he could do. He had cried as much as he could. He had no tears left. He had screamed every curse he knew. He could not speak any more. All he could do was stare and remember. Remember everything they had done for him.

Feeding him...

Cleaning him...

Clothing him...

Teaching him...

Loving him...

Dying for him...

Unable to stare at it anymore and feel his helpless sadness that he could not relieve, he turned away, pushing his hands through his carefully styled hair, ruining what Rick and Daniel had done. He didn't care that his hair became streaked with dirt. He wanted it too. He didn't want to remember.

His hair was long and dirty again. Just like when he had been at the facility.

He should have died...he should have died back then when they had attempted to kill him. He shouldn't have come here and indirectly killed these two people. The only two human souls he believe were worth anything. That was a more terrible crime then anything he could think of.

He pulled the gun from his pocket where he had kept it, staring at it with blank, dead eyes. This would not go unavenged. He would kill everyone who had ever wronged him, for their sake. He would have his revenge for his pain. For theirs.

He searched amid the bodies that had remained after his psychic barrage. Finding the one he was looking for, he stared at it, drained of emotion. The man who had been in the bar. No doubt he had led the soldiers here.

He pointed the gun to the dead man's forehead and fired, watching as the bullet went through without resistance. Frustration flooded him. He didn't want to shoot a dead man. He wanted to shoot the living one, watch him writhe in pain. Watch him bleed. Listen to him cry for mercy and laugh at him, make him feel the pain he was feeling right now. He wanted the man to be alive so he could kill him slowly, just like he had killed his heart. He hadn't suffered enough for what he had done. The man could never suffer enough for what he had done. He kept firing, trying to imagine what it would be like if the man were alive, the bullets causing him pain and killing him, making him feel what he felt, until there were no more bullets left, then spat on his corpse in frustration of not being able to make the man suffer sufficiently.

"Hope y'rot 'n @#$%." His voice was gravelly and shaky, harsh and cracked from his frantic bursts of emotion. His words slid together worse then he had ever known, not even giving any effort to try and conceal his accent. Cyrus felt more contempt then he ever had in his life toward the mutilated, dead figure in front of him. "God@#%# sonufa #@%$#. Y'ruined m'life."

He found that he enjoyed saying the obscenities. He had learned what they were. He liked how they sounded coming from him. And he couldn't find any words to express how he felt, after almost all words had been useless.

As he walked away, he stared at his bloodied fingers. He wasn't sure how long he walked in his emotional stupor. He wasn't sure where he was, or when it was, or at times who he was. He just kept walking. He wasn't sure how he managed to eat and drink at this rate, but he didn't die. He supposed that he must have done something to take care of those desires, but he didn't remember anything he did, only what had happened. He could only remember them, never what he was doing or where he was going. He heard people talk of the massacre that had been his fault and he felt no guilt whatsoever. He was glad he had killed those people. He wished he could kill more, in an effort to repay the death of his two parents.

He tried to remember what Rick had told him and fought down his urge to destroy every city he entered. He remembered what Rick had wanted from him, and he felt remorse for feeling so violently. He tried to keep his emotions under control. But his emotions had raged completly away from him when he had released them all and were no longer in his power.

He wandered aimlessly. No doubt the news of the massacre being his fault had been spread and no one even got near him once they recognized who he was. He was glad.

He didn't want to be close to anyone ever again.

He felt regret and remorse rising within him. He didn't want to feel those emotions anymore. He wanted to feel anything but them. He didn't want to feel weak under them What could make him forget...

He was vaguely aware of entering a bar.

What could make it hard for him to feel...

He sat down on the counter, noting that along with the dirt in his hair, there was streaks of dried blood from his hands. He stared at his reflection the polished counter, feeling sadness welling within him.

"What y'want?" The bartender spoke roughly.

"Anythin' t'make me forget...stop feelin' sad..." He mumbled. The bartender reached underneath the bar and pulled out a bottle, sliding it to him.

"This's all we got."

Cyrus stared at the label listlessly. He didn't want to read it. He didn't want to make any effort at all. He didn't want to live.

"That costs money, you know."

Cyrus was vaguely aware of putting money on the table, which the bartender swiftly snatched. He pulled the cap with his fingers, using his powers to enhance his strength.

As the drink burned its way within him, he was aware of all his conscious thought leaving him. Memories of Rick and Daniel and guns and pain and blood all faded from his mind...

But his emotions stayed. If anything, they became stronger. He simply no longer had a reason to be sad, as logic slipped away from his mind. He could still feel his sadness, his helplessness, his self- hatred, but there simply was no reason for it. He just sank into his feelings, unable to feel anything except the inexorable depression creeping over him.

He tried to remember why he felt this way, but everything was very indistinct to him now. Wasn't there supposed to be something that would make him stop feeling this way? He had wanted to stop this sadness, not make it worse. He felt cheated.

His eyes blurrily focused on his hands to find them already glowing with angry light. He was already accessing his power and nothing had truly even happened yet. Along with his sadness, his anger was raging out of control. He didn't need a reason to feel angry anymore, just as he didn't need a reason to feel depression.

The person who chose to sit next to him that night had no idea what Cyrus was capable of. "Hey."

At that simple word, Cyrus felt like killing the person who spoke. He blamed them for making him feel so terrible. How dare they do this to him. He was going to make them pay for his sadness...for Rick and Daniel...

His original intention when he stood was to whirl about and face the person who spoke, but it didn't quite turn out the way he had hoped. Instead he fell off his stool and onto the floor. The woman, for that was who had spoken to him, looked down on him. "Are you okay?"

For some reason, this was incredibly funny to him at that moment. He wasn't sure where the feeling had come from, but it just seemed funny to him that no only had he not been able to kill the woman and had fallen off his chair, but she thought he hadn't wanted to kill her. She didn't know that her life was in his hands. Cyrus found this very amusing.

It must have been frightening for the woman to hear him begin laughing for no reason. Cyrus' laugh in general was not pleasant, as it constantly had tones of sarcasm and annoyance in it, but it was even worse now, considering his throat's raw state and his lack of laughter for he didn't know how long. His laughter was harsh and he coughed often. The woman, believing that he must have been drunk out of his mind and was most likely correct, grabbed his hand and lifted him back onto his stool.

Again, Cyrus felt flashes of anger. He didn't like people touching him. The only people he felt were worthy to even get near him were Rick and Daniel and they were dead. He didn't want anyone to touch him partly because he mistrusted everyone and partly because he didn't want anyone to get hurt because of him.

"Don't touch me!" His voice must have sounded terrible to her, as she recoiled from him quickly. He was totally unaware that she was no longer touching him by the time he spoke.

"I won't, don't worry." The woman tried to be cautious. She knew how dangerous someone who was drunk could be. "I just wanted to sit here and get a drink. That okay with you?"

Cyrus laughed again at the fact she asked his permission, causing the woman to wince. His speech was slurred even worse then usual now. "Sure, 's fine with me, lady. No problem..."

"Smoke?"

Cyrus blinked fuzzily at what she held out to him. He wasn't sure what it was. "Wha?"

"You know...oh wait, don't tell me, you don't smoke, right? Figures. You don't look like the type."

Cyrus was now greatly offended at the fact she thought he couldn't do something. It didn't matter what it was. He could do everything now! He grabbed the package from her, knocking whatever was in it onto the counter. He picked up one of them, staring at it in confusion. "I can too..."

The woman figured that in the depths of his alcohol-induced stupor he had totally forgotten how to smoke, not guessing that her previous statement was correct. She sighed, arranging the cigarette in his fingers correctly and then holding it to his mouth.

"See, you just hold it here..."

Cyrus still didn't like being touched, but was now geniunely curious. This was something he had never learned. And he wasn't about to back out now. He would show this woman he could do whatever she could. A flicker of flame in front of his eyes caused him to jump back, almost making him fall out of his chair again if it weren't for the woman stopping him. He stared as she lit the thing he was holding on fire. He was totally confused now.

"And inhale. You know, breath in." The woman took a deep breath as an example, rolling her eyes at people who didn't know their limits.

Cyrus was worried about having something that was on fire near his mouth, but wasn't about to let that stop him. He took a deep breath then began coughing violently. he was vaguely aware of the woman patting his back.

"I was right, wasn't I? You aren't a smoker, are you?"

"Am too..." Cyrus gasped his words.

The woman laughed. "If you want to that bad, fine. I'll help you out. Then you get your own, okay?"

After drinking from his bottle again in an effort to stop his coughing, Cyrus wasn't about to refuse anything.

It took him a while, but he finally was able to take a full breath without gagging on it. The woman, who had ordered a few bottles herself, didn't mind as much as she normally would have. The two spent far too much time laughing at things that in retrospect weren't all that funny and talking about things that rarely made sense.

Most of the night was a blur to him, but he did remember the woman giving him a pack of the cigarettes as a gift. That was almost all he remembered.

He woke up in an alley. He couldn't remember how he had gotten there. He only held a pack of cigarettes in his hand. It brought back vague memories of a woman, but nothing distinct.

His throat felt worse then ever and he could barely see. It took him almost half an hour to realize who and where he was, then another half an hour to actually compose himself enough to stand. When he did, he felt so dizzy he fell right back to the ground. Broken memories came back to him.

"Sure, this's where I live..."

"This is an alley!" Hysterical laughter from two people.

"Home's wherever these days."

"Hee hee hee! You're a bum!"

More hysterical laughter.

Cyrus wasn't sure whether it was him speaking or not. His accent was so terrible that even he had trouble understanding himself. So he had stumbled in here and most likely passed out. He was overcome with hunger and thirst, but this wasn't the kind that he was familiar with. They had never struck him with this much intensity. It was almost as if he had never eaten in his life. It hurt and made him feel more disoriented then ever. Not only that, he had a headache. He hated headaches, as he had them all too often. He had learned to hate them because they were associated in his mind to his previous life. The fact that this headache did not pass when he tried to concentrate was incredibly frustrating.

Sudden remorse filled him. So this was what he had become? Here he was, lying in garbage in an alley, his throat hoarse and dry from smoke and liquor, no memories of the previous night. Although most memories escaped him, one came back to him quickly. Was this what Rick and Daniel would have expected their child to do? To be? They would be real proud to see him like this, wouldn't they...

Cyrus silenced the bitter voice in his mind with an even angrier one. They wouldn't care, because they were dead. That was his fault as well. Depression flooded over him again after his confusion faded. It was stronger then before, because now he had even more to feel sorry for doing. The depression was so strong that for a few minutes he could not stand, only sit and stare at himself. He did not cry. He hadn't cried since Rick and Daniel had died, under the theory that nothing else was nearly as deserving of his rare, precious tears. Why hadn't he felt this way last night? As far as he could remember, last night was a night of laughter. What had he been doing?

The urge for more of what he had had came back to him. He stared at the packet in his hand. One was readily available...but the other would require more effort to obtain.

He used his power to lit the tip, that memory at least having been kept. As the smoke filled his lungs, he felt some kind of relief. This brought back memories of the previous night, hazy and indistinct.

"No family?"

"Dead."

"You kill 'em?"

Laughter. "Nah, didn't kill 'em. Killed everyone who did kill 'em tho'. Blew th' whole block up. BOOM, heh heh."

Laughter from both. "You're that guy the scientists are lookin' for, right?"

"That's me." Laughter. "Shhh, that's a secret."

Pain filled his heart at the thought of Rick and Daniel. Thinking of them made him depressed but...he wanted to think of them, to think of the comfort they had given him. Confusion made it hard for him to think. He managed to stand again, the scuffling of his hands as he used the cans and wall for support seeming deafening to him, the world turning black as he adjusted to the change in height. He could feel blood rushing in his ears as he lost his vision. It soon came back to him, however. He stumbled into the street, wincing at the incredible volume everyone seemed to speaking at, not sure of where he was going. He knew what he wanted, however. He was sure he would get it, one way or another.

It was inevitable. One day, Cyrus simply didn't have money. He wouldn't accept no for an answer. The bar was completly annihilated. Luckily no one was killed.

Although most pretended that they didn't recognize Cyrus, there are some things you don't ignore. The general hope had been that the destruction of the block of homes was a one time event, but the destruction of the bar proved that Cyrus was still capable of frightening power that was rapidly growing out of control.

Eventually someone made the hesitant call to the facility, asking them to take care of their rogue experiment before it really did kill someone.

So that was how Dr. Kagakusha, Prof. Denka, and Dr. Dowasure had found their way to the city and were staring at where they had seen their rogue experiment had last gone.

"I still don't see why we have to do this personally." Dr. Kagakusha sounded deeply annoyed. Dr. Dowasure seemed frightened while Prof. Denka rolled his eyes.

"Last time the whole thing was ruined because of the lack of our presence, remember? We should do this ourselves."

"I don't know..." Dr. Dowasure was frightened of Cyrus. "Aren't we done with him? Why do we need him back?"

"Weren't you listening at all?" Dr. Kagakusha exclaimed irritably. "He's been blowing things up! We can't let him do that or else our funding will be cut. We have to get him back and restrain him."

"Which is why you're going to lure him to us."

"Me?!" Dr. Dowasure squeaked. "Why me?! He hates me!"

"Exactly." The other two scientists shoved their shorter compatriot forward. "He should be coming out of that store any minute. Just get his attention and lead him back here."

"He'll kill me!"

"According to what I've heard, all you have to do is offer him a drink and he should follow you anywhere." Dr. Kagakusha rolled her eyes. "Just do it."

Dr. Dowasure wanted to resist, but he didn't have the courage to protest his treatment to BOTH his fellow scientists. So he hesitantly walked forward, not sure of how Cyrus would react when he saw him again. He had hated him, he was sure of it. What if he killed him? Made him explode with that power of his?

He tried to calm his thoughts as he edged near the store. He probably had forgotten who he was by now...he knew that HE would have. He probably wouldn't cause him any trouble...

Cyrus walked out, his hair now in a totally different style, the right side much longer then the left. He waved to the barber back in the store, muttering under his breath.

"Yeah, thanks a lot, @#%@#, what kind of #$^#ed haircut 's this-"

The two collided bodily, knocking them both to the floor. Dr. Dowasure adjusted his glasses as Cyrus stared at him. The moment of truth, he thought.

"YOU! 'M goin' to #$^#in' kill you!"

He remembered.

Dr. Dowasure scrambled to his feet as he heard Cyrus scrabbling with something near his chest. He tried to run, but his inherent clumsiness came into play. He tripped over a bench just as a shot rang over him.

"He's got a gun!" He shouted, hoping the others could hear him. "You didn't tell me he had a gun!"

Underneath some cover, Dr. Kagakusha aimed carefully at Cyrus with her rifle. Prof. Denka spoke distractedly.

"Up a little...yes, right there. I didn't know he had a gun. Did you?"

"No. But it doesn't matter." Dr. Kagakusha smirked grimly. "He won't be able to use it for long."

"@#$^, m'aim's off. Haven't used this in a while." Cyrus sauntered to where Dr. Dowasure sprawled stunned over the bench. Apparently his style of living had affected his aim slightly. He got within a few inches of him and held the gun to his forehead, enjoying the fear in his eyes. He wouldn't miss from this close. If only this was that man and not the Doc...

"Don't kill me! I didn't want to do this, honest! They made me!"

"They?" Cyrus wondered aloud. He stared at the frightened doctor, who had tears coming from his eyes which were now tightly shut. "Y'mean th' other two-"

That was as far as he got. There was a sound of a gun firing, then something imbedded itself in his neck. Confused and surprised, he touched the wound to find something that seemed to resemble darts. He turned to where the shot had come from, seeing two familiar figures.

"Prof...Lady..."

"So you still have your derogatory nicknames for us, don't you?" Dr. Kagakusha walked to where his unconscious body had fallen. She turned to Dr. Dowasure, who was just opening his eyes, surprised to find himself alive. "What was yours? Doc, wasn't it?"

"He didn't shoot me!" Dr. Dowasure sounded shocked. In an effort to right himself from his position on the bench, he rolled off onto the floor. He scrambled to his feet. "You didn't tell me he had a gun!"

"We knew as much as you." Prof. Denka shrugged. "Anyway, we may as well get our errant experiment back..."

"C always caused so many problems." Dr. Kagakusha managed to lift Cyrus' body, but wasn't able to for long. She stood angrily until someone helped her and they began carrying his body away. "Honestly...what are we going to do with him?"

"We'll figure it out when we get back, okay?" Prof. Denka tried to shrug, but wasn't able to under the weight on his shoulders. "Let's just get him out of here before people see us and think we're kidnapping him."

"Which we are."

Prof. Denka breathed a sigh of annoyance. "He belongs to us anyway."

Dr. Dowasure remained silent, his hands shaking.

He woke up in a place he knew all too well. Metal all around, a metallic shelf on one wall, a single light fixture in the ceiling, which was currently off...

He was back.

Anger flared through him. He had learned that his anger came quickly if he truly wanted it too and he had gained a much looser attitude towards it. While before he had treated his power with fear and respect, now he viewed it as something to use whenever he wished. He had lost some of his caution.

It was a beep and a small light near his neck that caught his attention. The room was pitch black. He wasn't sure why the light wasn't on, but he didn't care. The light on his neck caught his attention much easier. He touched the area gently and found another object of his hatred. Another emitter, fastened around his neck. While before this would not have bothered him, now it made him furious. He didn't deserve to have collars like animals, he was too human for that now. He was not a animal, he should not be treated like this...

He managed to control his power before it flared out of his control and would indirectly cause him pain. He focused his eyes, trying to gain a bearing for his surroundings. The door was directly in front of him, so he moved towards it, thumping on it experimentally with his fist. It was thick.

He felt his now-customary desires rising within him, showing themselves through an incredibly painful headache. Checking on his person, he found they had taken away not only the gun that gave him memories and comfort, but also his cigarettes. More anger rushed through him at this, not only at the removal of his posessions, but at the fact they had given him another headache, which he absolutely despised.

"Y'can't keep me here like this!" He shouted angrily, knowing his voice was hoarse from misuse at such high level. He rarely shouted at all, but now that he could not use his power to release his anger, he had to do something. "'M human now! I don't belong t'you anymore! 'M name's Cyrus, Cyrus y'hear me? It ain't C or whatever yer goin' t'call me! I ain't yer lab experiment anymore! Y'can't treat me like this!"

His words just made him feel more fury as no reply came. He kicked at the door, ignoring the pain from his feet. It, naturally, did not crumple as he wanted it to. Without his power to enhance his strength, he could not do much of anything. Angrily he beat at the door, but it remained shut. Frustrated and angry at himself, he retreated to a corner of the room, curling into a ball. He had always liked corners, because they made him feel safer. As if he could only be attacked from one direction.

He wrapped his arms around his knees, his addiction causing his entire body to shake with frustrated desires. He felt like he was on the edge of a breakdown without his usual comforting aids. The atmosphere was not helping his peace of mind much either.

He thought of the collar on his neck. He could not pull it away, he remembered trying that before. Shock. He wondered how strong it was. Before he was weaker...would he be strong enough to pull it away now?

The instant his fingers wrapped around the device, pulling, it shocked him. Cyrus was surprised at the pain it caused him. He didn't remember it being quite so intense. After it was over Cyrus could have sworn he saw himself smoking. He surprisingly didn't find himself very concerned for his own welfare. He was just interested in the device. Perhaps they had updated it. That must be why it hurt more then before.

He stared at where he remembered the light to be. Why did they want him to remain in darkness? It seemed odd to him. Perhaps they had forgotten there were no windows. No light. Or perhaps they wished him to notice the emitter on his neck as soon as possible. He wouldn't put it past them to do something of such insidious cruelty. He leaned back against the wall, letting it cool him. He wanted to cool his anger, not wanting to feel pain again at the moment. He was back here again...

He wanted to cry, but he held back his tears. He would not waste them for something like this. This did not deserve his sadness. He was too strong to cry over this.

He stared at one corner of the room, or at least where he imagined a corner to be, until his eyesight blurred and he felt as if he were somewhere else, as if he was not truly in the room. He wished that he was not, but in the end he remained where he was and he supposed he must have fallen asleep.

"C's gotten into a lot of things while he was free. Not all of them goo-" Dr. Kagakusha was reading from a paper as she sat at a table, her legs propped up. Although Prof. Denka shot her disapproving glares, she did not move them. She gestured with the cup of coffee she held in her hand towards the other scientist, who was pacing back and forth and rubbing his hands together. "You're not helping with your pacing, you know that?"

"What are we going to do? You see how powerful he is now? He's gotten stronger! What if he overloads the emitter? Oh, the first person he'd kill is me...we never should have gotten him back."

"Sit." Prof. Denka pointed authoritively at one of the empty chairs. Dr. Dowasure managed to stop his pacing and sat submissively. "Worrying yourself silly isn't going to help you any."

"As I was saying..." Dr. Kagakusha sipped from her cup. "Not all of them were good. Not only does he now seem to have a definite swearing problem, it appears that C immediately gravitated towards the more dangerous side of life."

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps some indirect attempt to kill himself." Dr. Kagakusha shrugged. "He's a confirmed alcoholic, but we've also found he's addicted to nicotine."

"He smokes too? Does that have a bad affect on him?"

Dr. Kagakusha paused momentarily, then put her legs down. Prof. Denka looked relieved. She put the papers down and looked through them quickly.

"Well?"

"I never thought of that..." Dr. Kagakusha's voice was softer for a few moments. "That is true..."

"Well?" Prof. Denka said again. Dr. Kagakusha stopped on the page she was reading and scanned it for a few moments. Her voice was back to the harsh tone it usually had.

"According to this, his lungs are still in working order. Yes, he does require the nicotine, he is addicted, but apparently it isn't having any adverse effect on him."

"How peculiar..." Prof. Denka looked thoughtful. "So his Pokémon half is rendering him impervious to the dangers a normal smoker faces. Perhaps that comes from a Pokémon's resistance to smoke-based attacks, say, from a Koffing."

"The alcohol..." she continued flipping through the sheets. "The alcohol IS actually hurting him, but at a much slower scale than usual. This is very odd."

"What are we going to do with him? Won't he go crazy without those two things?" Dr. Dowasure still looked frightened. Dr. Kagakusha sighed momentarily, the softer voice returning.

"Well, that is true...without his two addictions, he will be in considerable pain...but he won't go crazy...he'll just be very, very unhappy."

"What should we do?"

"We're not giving him what he wants." The harsh tone was back. "He has no right to make demands or expect things of us. We created him, after all. He isn't even human. We can do what we want with him."

"I suggest we exercise caution around him." Prof. Denka raised a hand. "Although Dr. Kagakusha would rather compare him to a stupid animal," he shot a glare at her, which she ignored, "we have to keep in mind that he IS, after all, half human. He still has human thoughts and feelings. And he is going to blame us for taking away what he wants."

"Withdrawal gets bad during the later stages..." Dr. Kagakusha stood, putting her cup back on the table. Dr. Dowasure stared at them in confusion.

"Very bad..."

The two turned to the remaining scientist, who already seemed to sense what they were going to say and showed it by looking terrified. "Which means you're going to have to feed him."

Again, Dr. Dowasure squeaked. "ME?!"

"Yes, you."

"WHY!?"

"He'll probably be so desperate he'll beg you for what he wants. He won't hurt you."

"Yes he will!" Dr. Dowasure shivered. "Why don't you do it?"

"I have more important things to do then take care of C." Dr. Kagakusha began walking away. Prof. Denka shrugged.

"I'm almost done with the final version of the Psychic Pulse Electric Discharge Emitter. Once it's completed, we'll be able to control all the M-2's perfectly."

He walked off as well, leaving Dr. Dowasure by himself, staring at the cup that Dr. Kagakusha had left behind. He found himself trembling uncontrollably.

"I...I can't...I can't do this by myself..." he whispered.

His headache was not going away.

This was incredibly frustrating.

He slipped in and out of sleep repeatedly, not sure of how many days had passed while he was locked in the room. He felt hungrier then he ever had. Usually they would have fed him, at least. Was this their punishment for escaping? For living?

Starve him to death. Try and rid him of his addictions. He wouldn't put it past them. They were evil, cruel, callous people, those who had created him. He would never trust them. They just wanted to kill him, after all. That didn't really put him in the correct mind-set to trust them.

Plus, he blamed them for his constant shaking and headache. They must have learned that he needed both alcohol and nicotine to live. He couldn't imagine living without them. Without them, he would wither and die. He needed them to block out his memories and make everything simpler for him. He needed them so he wouldn't have to think.

The longer he was away from his comforts, the more strange his thoughts became. At first, they were slightly disjointed, as if unused to not having some kind of stimulant or depressant in his system. Now they ran together at frightening speed, so much so at points he could barely understand what he was thinking.

And his mind could not stop thinking of Rick and Daniel. Despite all his efforts, they would not leave him be. His memories of them were even more painful then ever now because he felt guilty for trying to lock them away. He didn't want to forget them...but it hurt so much to think of them.

They must hate me now, He thought bitterly to himself. They must be looking at me from wherever they are, saying to themselves "There's our son, look at him. The minute we're gone, he ruins his life. We died for nothing."

Anger rushed through him again, causing preliminary tingles around his neck as the emitter charged again. They had died for nothing. They shouldn't have died for him. He wasn't worth their deaths, the kind people that they were...he had killed them.

As quickly as the anger had came, it was replaced with depression. He didn't want to be a disappointment to them. If anything, he wanted to make them happy. But...he needed what he wanted so badly...he couldn't stand his feelings. He was still, after all, a little over two and a half. His feelings were incredibly strong.

He jerked convulsively as the door screeched open deafeningly. He saw the familiar shine of the Doc's glasses.

Although he wanted to leap up and strangle him, his body did not respond to his commands at all. As if he was seized with a sudden apathy. Perhaps the intensity of his now unchecked emotions had temporarily stunned him.

The Doc looked surprised that he hadn't killed him, only sitting in the corner. He must have looked frightening, glowering over his arms that were on top of his folded knees. Glaring with as much hatred as he could muster.

He doesn't have his gun, he doesn't have his gun... Dr. Dowasure told himself in an effort to calm his wildly shaking hands. He can't hurt me...I can always sound the alarm...

The dish on the metal plate clattered noisily as he tried to control his own frightened body. Seeing nowhere else to place it, he set it on the shelf as far away from Cyrus as possible.

Cyrus' eyes never left him while he moved.

"S...s-see..." He swallowed, trying to control his fear. He pointed to each object as he spoke. "Um...you can eat now...there's water...I tried to get you something better then what you normally have, 'cause I wasn't sure whether you would like it or not." Dr. Dowasure laughed nervously for a few moments.

Cyrus did not reply. Dr. Dowasure could see his whole body shaking and took it as a sign of anger. He spoke quickly.

"I'll just leave it here and come back for it later, don't worry..."

He slid the metal tray out from beneath it and backed away from Cyrus, never showing his back. While he slid out the door, he kept his eyes on the creature. Cyrus' eyes still did not leave him, even as the door closed.

The minute he was gone Cyrus felt what he had wanted to say rise within him and escape his throat. "Bring me some god-#$^@ mother- $#^#in' smokes, y'son of a $^#$#!"

Realizing that no reply, and no cigarettes, were coming, he turned his attention to the plate near by. Sliding off the bench, he kneeled in front of the plate, pretending it was a table of sorts.

He was surprised. It wasn't the normal gruel-like substance they fed him before. Most of it actually looked somewhat like a normal dinner. He noted that where was even a fork, a spoon, and a knife.

He picked up the metal glass carefully, studying it. They had never given him water before. Supposedly the gruel should have taken care of all his nutritional needs.

"Think y'can fool me with this?" He laughed to himself, not sure of whether the scientists were somehow listening to him or now. "Think y'can give me a $^#$in' decent dinner an' I won't blow yer heads off first chance I get? Nice try, but y'can't fool me. I ain't ever goin' to trust you."

He stared nervously at the corners of the room, the pain in his mind never leaving him. It caused his fevered thoughts to become somewhat paranoid. He was sure someone was watching him as he ate slowly. He wondered whether the Doc would now regularly bring him food or if they were just keeping him alive long enough for some more of their sick tests. He snarled in his throat as he thought of what they had done. Not only did he want to feel that pain again, he never wanted to be subjected to that kind of indignity. He wasn't just some object they could use, some thing they owned. He knew he was a person, he had his own name. He had had family, of sorts. He was a person now, and he would not stand to be treated like a animal. He wouldn't let them treat him like that anymore.

He stared at the empty plate in front of him, not completly remembering eating the entire thing. He looked around, as if expecting someone to come in and take it away. No one came. They probably wouldn't come for days.

His hands wanted something to do other then twitch. He soon found he was holding the knife in his unsteady hands. He wasn't sure why. Things were making eerie logic in his fevered mind. He knew how he could ruin their little games. How they could never make him their toy again. He knew how he could ruin their entire schedule, and there was no way they could stop him.

He would kill himself.

He imagined their stunned, shocked faces and found himself laughing almost too enthusiastically.

After all, what else did he have to live for? Nothing.

He studied the knife in his hands. He wasn't sure whether or not it was sharp enough, but he decided that any knife, sawed against skin, would eventually cut it. He didn't care about the pain. It would be over soon anyway.

He dug back in his old memories, trying to remember the proper way to kill yourself. He knew that you had to slit your wrists...he remembered seeing someone do it with razor blades.

Well, he didn't have razor blades, so he was going to have to improvise. He tried hard to remember, the majority of his memory not related to Rick and Daniel having been wiped away. Didn't a suicidal person cut across their wrist, horizontally? He vaguely remembered watching a movie where someone did that.

That must have been it. It must have been directly across. What other way was there? Vertically seemed rather silly too him. What was there to cut there? There wouldn't nearly be enough damage, in his opinion. Cyrus had never been too familiar with the placement of his veins, as his own body normally didn't concern him. He didn't care. Soon he wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. He was going to not only escape his miserable, dead-end life, but he was also going to screw up the doctor's plans.

This was almost too perfect to his crazed mind.

His hand was shaking violently when he tried to lay the knife across his left wrist. Angrily he tensed his muscles, trying to stop the shaking that had been constant ever since he had came here, but it only cause his arm to spasm more violently. He tried to relax his arm, which helped slightly. Well, who said he needed to be accurate, anyway? As long as it bled a lot, it would no doubt kill him.

That was how Cyrus' mind was working at the moment.

Finally, he made a reckless slash across his wrist that was surprisingly straight before his hand could jerk out of the way. He was rewarded by a thin trickle of blood that slowly grew in volume. He was pleased that he did not feel any pain. He had been quick. He watched one of the scarlet drops fall to the floor. He enjoyed watching it act as true liquid, not like his tears. He hated his tears, as they seemed a reminder of his heritage. His blood was real. His blood was not crystallized, it was real. This was some kind of subconscious joy to him.

He transferred the knife to his other hand, but his own blood made it hard to keep a hold of it. Angrily he gripped the slick handle tightly, ignoring the fact that it was actually causing him slight pain to use his now injured hand in such a way. He ignored the crimson already on the blade, moving to his other wrist. His hands were shaking so terribly now he could barely see what he was doing. His vision was blurring and the pain in his head grew sharper. This simply made him angrier.

His next cut was not nearly as neat as the next. It went down at almost a diagonal due to his convulsive muscles. He was frustrated at himself because he could not control his own body.

He watched his blood flow. He remembered what he had thought before. As long as it bled a lot, it would no doubt kill him. It didn't matter whether or not he was accurate. As long as he cut himself, that would be enough.

He kneeled, staring at his left hand as his right began to bleed heavier. He felt himself curious as to what dying would be like. Would it be pleasant? He hoped it would be...that way, Rick and Daniel would have been happy.

"Sorry..." he was aware that he was sprawled on the floor now, but he couldn't remember falling there. "This life...jus' isn't...for me..."

"Cy..."

Cyrus did not know who would call him something like that. He opened his eyes hazily, seeing a flash of black in front of him. Concerned eyes looked into his own.

"Cy, what are you doing?"

Cyrus saw something brown moving off to his right. He managed to pull himself upwards into a sitting position, trying to get his eyes too focus. One relief, he found, was that his headache was gone.

Familiar eyes stared into his own from behind a pair of glasses. Cyrus blinked several times, not sure of whether what he was seeing was real.

"Rick...Daniel..."

"You didn't answer my question." Daniel was busy wrapping his slashed left wrist in what seemed to be dark red cloth. When he looked closer, he found that it was simply stained with his own blood. "What are you doing?"

"I don't got nothin' anymore." Cyrus felt incredible guilt crushing any confidence he used to have. "I don't have you two t'help me...didn't want t'stay without you..."

"Is that why you tried to kill yourself?" Rick was wrapping his right wrist. "Don't you realize what we gave you?"

"There is a reason that I pushed you out of the way, Cy. I wanted you to live. Not to die."

"I want t'die." Cyrus couldn't stand being under the scrutiny of his dead parents. He was a terrible person...did they know what he had done while after they had died? "Did some terrible thin's after you...you..."

"That's still no reason to try and kill yourself." Daniel had finished with his wrist. He was sitting next to him, putting a phantasmal arm around his shoulders. Cyrus supposed he should have felt alarmed that he could feel it, but he didn't care. Rick took his other side. "You still have your life. We want you to live your life."

"I don't want t'live this life. 'M a terrible person now...I got into all that stuff y'told me I shouldn't...I tried t'forget you..."

"You're not a terrible person." Rick brushed away one of the crystal tears that was falling. "You never were. You're a wonderful person, you have to realize that. We love you, after all. You were our son. You're not whatever you think you were. Are."

"'M not...I shouldn't be...'m not worthy of bein' yer son anymore..."

Cyrus put his now bandaged hands over his eyes, trying to stop the burning that made tears fall. "...look at me..."

"I AM looking at you. We both are. We still see our Cy in you. You're just trying to hide him, because he caused you to be hurt. You don't want to be him anymore, because you blame yourself for our deaths. It was not your fault. It was ours. We knew what we were doing. You can't lose that wonderful Cy we used to know. It would be the greatest tragedy."

Cyrus began sobbing, something he hadn't done for a long time. His two parental figures simply remained next to him. "God, 'm so lonely now, y'got no idea...I got no one, no one! No one cares...'m back at th' facility now...an' no one's goin' t'get me out, either, 'cause no one knows an' no one cares that 'm there. I want t'die...y'two were everythin' t'me."

"Listen to me, Cy." Daniel stared straight into his eyes. "I know that you think you can't live without us, but you are capable of doing it. You would have had to leave us sometime, even if we hadn't died. And there IS someone who cares about you. I know someone out there is going to make you happy one day, make you feel loved. But you can't give up hope now. Things can only get better from here."

"Besides..." Cyrus could feel Rick's fingers ruffling his hair as they used to, which caused more tears to fall and shatter at the memories it caused him. "Our Cyrus wasn't a quitter. Our Cyrus wouldn't just give up and die. Our Cyrus would live, to show everyone that he could. Those scientists want you to die, don't they? You have to live, even if it is just to show them you're stronger than them."

Cyrus was beginning to feel confidence coming back to him, not the fake confidence he gained after drinking or smoking, but true confidence. Like when Rick and Daniel were alive. It felt wonderful. "Can't y'two stay with me?"

"We can't." Rick smiled gently. "We're sorry..."

"Please?"

"We're here to keep you alive, so you can find what you're looking for and be happy. We want you to be happy. Always remember. No matter what you do, no matter who you are, we will always care about you. Remember that if you ever feel like trying this again."

As the two began to fade, he reached for them desperately. "Don't leave me alone! I don't want t'be alone anymore! Don't...leave..."

As they faded away, so did his vision. He was aware of falling back and perhaps falling asleep. He wasn't sure. He just felt everything go black as the sounds of his tears shattering kept ringing in his ears.

He opened his eyes slowly, what had previously happened burned in his mind. Did that really happen? Was it a dream?

He pushed himself upwards, feeling light-headed for a few moments. Rick and Daniel...

Then another thought came to him. His wrists-

They weren't bandaged, like he thought they would be. However, the cuts had healed smoothly, the remnants of dried blood still flecking his hands. He could see the trace of the scars across where he had cut. He touched them curiously.

"How..." He mumbled to himself. He tried to remember something that his parents had mentioned a long time ago. Perhaps he had healed himself? Did he have that ability?

He didn't believe he had. He much preferred that it wasn't him at all, but something else.

He stared at the dried blood on the floor. It was a fairly large pool, now flaky and no doubt having stained the metal. He crawled back into his corner, staring at it. His hands were less shaky, but his headache still remained in force. More then ever now he wanted a drink. Or a smoke. Anything to try and relax him.

"What did I ever do t'deserve two parents like y'two..." Cyrus stared at the scars on his wrists. "Nothin' I can think of..."

Dr. Dowasure did not want to return to get the plate. He didn't want to return at all. He was terrified of C and it showed. He never wanted to get near him. Simply entering his room and having to endure those eyes on him all the time made him shiver. But...

Dr. Kagakusha would never give in...

And Prof. Denka was busy...

So he HAD to do it. He was still terrified, despite all his repeating of the statement that C was not a threat. It had been almost two days since he had left the plate in C's room. He must have been hungry.

He felt guilty for starving C, but could not bring himself to enter the room more than he possibly had too. The fear was far too strong for someone as emotional as he. But he had to go sometime...and he was worried that perhaps he had killed C by not bringing him the food he required. Even though he was terrified of him, he didn't want to be responsible for his death. Having a murder on his conscience was one thing that he did not want.

So he gingerly opened the door to C's cell, not sure of what to find. C hiding behind the door? C hiding on the ceiling, waiting to drop on him? Perhaps not finding C at all? The last possibility was the most frightening to him.

It came as a relief to him to see C sitting almost where he had the last time he had came, his eyes barely open. It took a few moments of Dr. Dowasure standing in the doorframe until the frightening eyes focused on him. Thankfully, they then flicked back to the nothingness they had been staring at before.

Dr. Dowasure was about to take the plate back when he noticed the red stain on the floor. He wasn't sure exactly what it was, but something within him made him back away in fright. He noted the knife that lay near the pool, it's blade marked with dried crimson flakes. It took him only a few seconds to mentally guess what had happened.

Why on earth had he thought to give C something sharp?

He rushed forward, as if expecting C to fall over dead at any moment. C showed almost no reaction to his presence. He sat down in front of him, trying to stare into the odd eyes.

"Are you okay? How long ago did this happen? How did you heal yourself? What happened?"

"Tried t'kill m'self." C mumbled almost inaudibly. "Didn't quite do it, tho'."

Dr. Dowasure grabbed one of the hands that was in his range. This finally got a reaction from C, who tried to wrest it away from him.

"Don't touch me!"

"Where did you cut yourself?" Dr. Dowasure stared at the arm, noting the different scars that ran down it, but more importantly the large one that ran directly across his wrist. "Is this it?"

"Stop touchin' me-"

"I'll have to get help, this is serious-"

"Stop @#$^in' touchin' me!"

C sounded absolutely furious, something that instantly shocked Dr. Dowasure into releasing his arm. This apparently was not appeasement enough for him, and he grabbed the Doctor's shoulders and slammed him into the wall, eliciting a sharp cry of surprise.

"Don't you ever touch me! No one touches me, got it?"

Dr. Dowasure only made a small noise of pain. C did not loosen his grip.

"Got that, Doc? Or do I have t'say it again?"

"How...how did you live after...?" Dr. Dowasure managed to gasp out, his eyes staring at the jagged scars on his wrists. C noticed this.

"They healed." C's voice had the tone of someone who was explaining something that should have been obvious.

"How?"

"Shut up!" C shook him harshly. "I should kill you right now..."

Dr. Dowasure was deeply frightened and the noise that escaped his throat showed it painfully. Tears were beginning to fall from his eyes.

A change came over C's face. He seemed to mentally fighting something. Dr. Dowasure was not sure what it was. C looked sad momentarily, then tried to regain the fury he had before. It was gone, however, and was not coming back.

"Stupid @#%#er..."

"I'm sorry..."

"For what?"

"I'm sorry we had to bring you back here." Dr. Dowasure's shoulders were beginning to hurt from the painful grip C had on him. He wanted to find some words to appease him and found some words that he wanted to say just escaping him. "I didn't want to do it, really, I thought we should have left you out there, but they wanted you back. I'm sorry you have to be back here, really I am, without what you need and everything, but I can't do anything about it..."

"Y'got a bad habit of babblin', Doc. Speakin' of what I need, y'got my smokes or nothin'?"

Dr. Dowasure blinked for a few seconds. "No, not on me.."

"Well, y'better get 'em. An' give 'em t'me. Or next time, I really will kill you."

Dr. Dowasure had no idea how or where he could possibly get cigarettes here. He didn't know of any place he could. And he wasn't sure whether giving them to C would be a good idea or not.

Sensing his hesitation, C shook him harshly. "Don't think I won't kill you, Doc. If I don't get 'em, I'll find you an' kill you, no matter where y'try an' hide. So don't #$%# with me."

Unsure of what else he could do, Dr. Dowasure simply nodded. Finally releasing the harsh grip he had on his shoulders, C then leaned back against the wall. Dr. Dowasure scrambled away from him as fast as possible, then remained standing near the doorway awkwardly, as if waiting for him to say something.

"Get th' #$%# away from me." C's voice was dripping with hatred. Dr. Dowasure took this as a sign that their meeting was over. He shut the door behind him, then collapsed on the other side, shivering uncontrollably.

"I can't do this...by myself..."

Can't move...

Light...

Can't talk...

Pain...

Can't see...

Scalpel...

Stop...

Needle...

Stop...!

Blood...

STOP!

Cyrus lurched from his bed with a scream of terror, memories from his previous experience at the laboratory coming back to him in the darkness of the night. Everywhere his frightened eyes looked, he could see those who had tormented him. Not wanting to scream again, his fear took form in a series of tiny whimpers and noises from his throat.

The lights gradually dimmed to brightness as he could see Rick enter the room, dressed in a bathrobe without his glasses. Worry showed on his face as he sat next to him.

"Cy? Cy, are you okay? What happened?"

Cyrus couldn't speak, his memories taking that ability away from him. He stared as Daniel came in as well, also in a robe, looking confused.

"Another nightmare?"

Cyrus tried to stop the whines of fear that kept coming from him, forcing his fear under control. He had people who cared about him, a place where he could stay, and having both of these precious things made the thought of the lab even more frightening then it normally was.

"I bet it was of those horrible scientists." Rick hugged Cyrus, trying to stop his shaking. "Those terrible people...did they have any idea what they were doing when they tried to create a human being?"

"Can you speak?" Daniel put a hand on Cyrus' shoulder, who was taking heaving breaths in an effort to calm his shivering body. "What happened?"

Cyrus closed his eyes, listening to Rick's heart. It helped calm him down enough to speak. "Dream...nightmare..."

"I knew it." Rick sighed deeply. "This is the second time this month...when will they stop tormenting you, even in your dreams?"

"Lab...docs...sharp..." Cyrus babbled nonsensically of what he could remember in his disjointed dream. The dream was fading quickly, but remnants of the feelings he had were still strong. His dream was a series of frightening images that flitted by his eyes, with sensations and feelings of terrible intensity. This was how Cyrus normally dreamed, although it was usually more pleasant then this. "Hurt..."

Both Rick and Daniel felt pity at the simple words that Cyrus was using. Daniel also put his arms around Cyrus, who was still breathing fitfully.

"It's over now...it was just a dream. They can't hurt you. We'll always protect you."

"Hurt..."

"It's over. Don't worry. It was only a dream. Dreams can't hurt you." Cyrus felt safe with his two parents as he tried to force the dream from his mind. They gently rocked him back and forth, something that calmed him down at some subconscious level.

"Someday, your nightmares will stop." Daniel's voice was comforting to him. "When the lab is nothing more then mere fragments in your memory, when they're long gone and you still live, when you have someone who loves you and takes care of you, someday your nightmares will stop. Believe me."

"I..." Cyrus closed his eyes, feeling exhaustion taking back over him. "I do..."

"Try and sleep. We'll wait here until you do, if you want."

"Okay..."

He fell back on his pillow, relieved to find that his parents did not leave him. He closed his eyes and turned on one side, curling slightly. After a few minutes of this, where he tried to fall back asleep, he was aware of Rick and Daniel speaking softly to one another.

"Poor Cy...I can only imagine the horrors that his dreams hold..."

"Well, all we can do is just be there for him when he wakes up."

"I hope his nightmares end someday."

"Don't worry...they'll stop. They'll stop when he feels safe."

"He doesn't now?"

"He does at some level, I'm sure. But we haven't been with him long enough to make him feel completly secure. After a few years, he'll barely remember the place and they'll stop."

Rick sighed deeply. "But at some time he'll have to leave..."

"That won't be for a long while." Daniel tried to reassure him. "We should enjoy the time we have before it's gone."

Around that point, he must have drifted off to sleep, as he didn't remember any more of their conversation. He didn't remember any other dreams he had that night. Nor any nights that came after that.

Cyrus jerked awake in his cell, confused as to where he was. He stared at his scarred wrists, the dried stain on the floor, the blank, featureless walls. All at once it came back to him, and he cursed angrily.

It had seemed so real...it had seemed like they were alive again...why did his dreams torment him like this? Why was he forced to relive his most painful memories of them? Why did he have to suffer this?

Why did it have to be him?

He slammed his fist into the wall in frustration, making a cry of pain when it sent pain shocking through his injured wrist. He held it to his chest, cursing loudly. Although it was primarily at his self- inflicted injury, it was also at his fate. The fact that he was cursed to this life of being neither human nor Pokémon, always alone and never being able to belong anywhere. To always be alone. He cursed his fate and he cursed himself.

After the pain had finally stopped, he tried to think of what he could do. Although his headache made this hard, he forced himself to do so.

He had to get his priorities straight...he held up one of his fingers. First, he had to...

Get some cigarettes.

He recoiled at the thought, then cursed his own mind. That wasn't the first concern on his mind, he knew it wasn't. His first concern was...

Get some alcohol.

He cursed himself again. His first concern was...

To get out of here.

Finally he had managed to push that in front of his other concerns, but this didn't last long. His overwhelming desire for a cigarette was causing his mind to focus on only that. He had to get some. Anyway he possible could.

But he also had to find a way out.

And get some alcohol, his mind added. He cursed at it, then tried to stand shakily.

He hadn't stood for some time, thus his legs were slightly wobbily. He fell back on the bench he had been sitting on, woozy.

Then something flitted past the psychic receiver within his mind. This startled him rather badly, but he recovered quickly. No one had ever psychically tried to communicate with him. He knew instinctually what to do, but it had been a rather sharp surprise. He tried to shut off his rational mind and do what his body naturally would in the situation.

He found himself leaning backwards, closing his eyes.

He could see a blue Mew, a creature that he knew had contributed to his creation in some way, apparently the manifestation of the person contacting him. Staring at it in confusion, it floated up closer to him. It held out a paw.

"I sensed something else was here. Are you a friend?"

Cyrus was instantly suspicious of the voice of the blue Mew. It sounded all too familiar. Plus, there was a clinging sadness and depression around the Mew, and he could also sense self-hatred.

"Who are you?"

It glanced around momentarily, as if looking for the source of the voice. Then it turned back to where it thought he was, meaning it was looking off to the left.

"I shouldn't exist, but I'm here anyway. I'm...Mewtwo."

"Mew...two?" Cyrus thought about this for a moment. "Y'mean...wait a minute..."

"I can sense something about you..." The Mew was turning in circles, trying to find where the voice was coming from. To Cyrus, it seemed as if the only thing he could do was speak, but other then that he could do nothing. He wasn't sure if he liked the feeling. "I don't understand what it is...some kind of familiarity..."

As the Mew turned, Cyrus could see, if that was the proper term, some words burned into the sole of it's foot. He didn't need to read them to know what they said.

"Yer B, aren't you? M-2 Specimen B."

The Mew whirled around again, facing him directly. "And you...you're C."

"What happened to you? 'S this what you look like?"

The Mew hung it's head, turning away again. "Unfortunately, this is not the form I have, although I desperatly want it. This is what I was supposed to be, but am not. I am an...abomination."

"What d'you really look like?" Cyrus apparently didn't consider that this could hurt the Mew's feelings, which it did. It sighed deeply and faded from view. In its place, a tall Pokémon, somewhat near him in height, appeared.

Cyrus noted with slight jealousy that it did not have eyes of the frightening caliber that he possessed, although he wondered about why the white and purple of the Mewtwo had remained somewhat in the form of his hair.

"This is the monster that I am." Mewtwo spread its arms. "I am an affront to everyone involved in Pokémon, I am a creature with no soul, no name, and no true heritage of any kind."

"Christ, yer depressin' me here." Cyrus was getting slightly bored at the constant self-abuse the Mewtwo was speaking. "I don't feel bad at all, an' 'm th' same as you."

"I doubt that." The Mewtwo faded back into the blue Mew, pointing one of its stubby paws at where it thought he was. "There is no way you can truly consider yourself with anything but self-hatred. Created as we were, there is nothing admirable or kind within either of us. We are nothing but copies, which can easily be replaced. We have nothing that is worth any praise."

"Sorry t'say, but I don't think so." Cyrus wanted to use some gestures of his hand to show how he felt, but he couldn't move anything. "I know 'm worth somethin', an' I know people who cared 'bout me t'prove it."

The Mew simply sighed, apparently regarding Cyrus as some kind of fool who did not understand what it was saying. "You do not realize...the full extent of what your life is doomed to be. You haven't yet realized the chilling fact that you are alone, forever, without any kind of company. You are alone. Even I can not be with you. We are both alone, forever. We are both abominations that were created from some scientific curiousity. You have nothing to hope for, nothing to live for, nothing to pretend you can be. You're nothing but a copy, as am I. Those who cared about you...did not realize how alone you are and always will be."

"Chris, I can't handle this..." Cyrus was already depressed enough to begin with, but the Mew was increasing it to the point of being excruciating. "Yer depressin' th' #%^$ out of me."

"The truth isn't always what you want it to be." The Mew tried to look philosophical.

"Look, stop talkin' to me, okay? I can't deal with this right now."

Cyrus wasn't sure how to make the Mew go away. Unable to break off the connection, the Mew remained floating within his mind.

"You are a fool if you don't realize the pointlessness of the 'life' you have been doomed to." The Mew continued speaking.

Angry and frustrated, Cyrus' voice took a harsh, bitter edge. "Y'just don't listen, do you? I told you t'shut th' #$^# up!"

"I won't leave you until you realize what you have been blind to."

"What business is it of yers?"

"I am your predescessor. I can sense the next M-2 they are creating. They do not need you, and soon they will attempt to kill you."

"Already did."

"You must understand. They don't need you anymore. You are a experiment they studied, then throw away when completed. You have no value."

"I have #%$^in' value! 'M a #$^$in' human being!" Cyrus shouted angrily, not aware of what he was saying.

This was exactly what the Mew had apparently wanted him to say. It shook its head slowly at him, as if he were some small child that didn't know what they were saying. "You poor, poor thing...how in the world could you think you're human? There's nothing in the world farther from it for you. You aren't even close to being human. You have no emotions, no thoughts, no soul." The Mew placed a stubby paw on its chest. "No soul. It's true...think of it for a moment. Have you ever wondered why some things were right and wrong to other people, yet there seemed to be no sense of it within you?"

"I got a soul, punk-@#$. Shut th' @%#@ up. Even if I ain't human, I ain't some kind've monster."

The Mew closed its eyes for a moment. "But you are. Think...Pokémon...Pocket Monsters...and even to the monsters themselves, you are a monster, because you can never be human nor monster, you are some horrible mix in-between, never fitting in one place or the other because of this."

"I know where I belong!" Cyrus' voice was betraying more emotion then he intended. "I know who I belong with..."

The Mew seemed slightly upset at the fact that Cyrus was not understanding its philosophy. "And who would that be? Who would not incite the urge to kill within our fractured and tortured bodies and minds?"

Cyrus sighed deeply. Why did he feel like saying this? Why was he telling something like this to a blue Mew, of all things?

Perhaps he felt some kind of kinship with the Mewtwo because of their similiar creations.

"My parents..."

"Parents?" The Mew's voice was angry now, almost outraged. It waved its paws indignantly. "Parents? You have the audacity to suggest that experiments such as ourselves have or will ever have parents? You are a bigger fool then I thought. We will never have parents, we will never have anything even remotely resembling one so! Because we don't deserve parents."

"I had parents." Cyrus' voice was hateful now. The Mew continued on as if he hadn't spoken at all.

"We don't deserve to have anyone care for us. We were created in a lab, with chemicals and matter and growth hormones and everything combined just right to come up with the utter misery that is our lives!"

"I don't care what you think!" Cyrus shouted at the Mew, noting how it cringed at the power of his voice. "Yer wrong, I know y'are! I had parents, they loved me, they cared about me. They told me I deserved it an' I never believed 'em...but I know they were my parents. They were my real parents..."

The Mew narrowed its eyes, its voice increasing in volume as it continued to speak. "So where are your parents now, C? Where are they? Have they come to rescue you? Have they come to wake you up from this nightmare they call the M-2 project, make it so you don't have the bastard blood of Mew running through your veins, contaminating everything and everyone you touch with simple unholy wrong-ness of being what you are? Where are they, C, where are they now!?"

"SHUT UP!" Cyrus shouted in anger, frustration, and pain. The Mew was voicing all his silent doubts, and now that they were audible, they were all he could hear. Angrily, he tried to block out all thoughts, block out the Mew that tormented him so.

Rather unintentionally, Cyrus blocked out more thoughts than he most likely should have, and he slipped into something similar to a coma.

"Are you SERIOUS?"

Dr. Dowasure cringed. "Yes, I saw it myself, I think..."

"Should've known this would happen." Dr. Kagakusha was checking the shotgun she was holding. "C is very unstable. Why in the world did you give him something sharp, you idiot? Why didn't you take away his plate when he was done?"

"I didn't think he would do that, it didn't occur to me at the time-"

"OBVIOUSLY!" Dr. Kagakusha stood and raised a hand furiously at the smaller doctor, who again cringed and put his hands over his face. It seemed a herculean effort for the irate woman to calm herself down to the degree where she could sit down again.

"W