I know that I currently have another in-progress story, and I wasn't planning on putting up another story until Unova's Downfall was completed. But then this idea came to me. I am beginning to get over my writer's block in regards to my other story. So, in regards to posting, I am going to alternate which story gets updated. I will try to update every week or two, but school might get in the way. So I will put up this chapter to start the story, then the second chapter. After the second chapter, I will put up the next chapter for Unova's Downfall, then a chapter for this, then a chapter for that, and so on.
The first thing I remember is the light. Then the dark shapes leaning over me. As the shapes began to take humanoid form, the next sensation hit me. The pain. It wasn't the sharp kind that made you want to cry and scream, but rather the dull, constant ache that left you in a bad mood, made you grit your teeth and groan.
"Did it work?"
"Scans show she-"
I let the voices from the human shapes around me fade to the back of my mind, ignoring them. The pain. That was my focus now. My head pounded, my arms and legs were so sore, my throat was dry. Something else itched at my attention until I had no choice but to turn to it, to figure out what this itch wanted to tell me: something was missing.
That something . . . was feeling. I felt nothing. I don't mean I felt nothing physically. It could feel the metal cuffs around my wrists and ankles that held me to the cold, smooth surface of a table, or something similar. No, what I couldn't feel were emotions. I felt no irritation or fright, no curiosity, no joy, or even confusion. I had no emotion. Or memories, for that matter. No idea who I was, where I was, how I got here.
I recognized that I didn't know. But I had no curiosity to find the answers. No confusion as to why my memory was nonexistent. No, not nonexistent. I knew things, important things, like how to talk, how to walk. Obviously I still retained the memories of learning those before. But I had no memory of learning them, only the knowledge that, at one point, I had learned.
By now, the light had faded to the point where I could see I had just been staring up at a lamp hanging over the table I was on. The dark shapes around me were now visible for what they were. People in white lab coats - scientists - moving around. I was strapped to a table, surrounded by scientists, in a laboratory. And I accepted the fact. Because, with emotions like curiosity or distrust locked away, I couldn't really question it, now could I?
Now the cuffs around my ankles and wrists were being unlocked and I was assisted in sitting up and turning, so that my legs dangled off the side of the table. I rubbed my wrists, which were quite sore. I assumed it was because the cuffs had been tight, but when I looked down, there were words branded into my flesh. On the underside of my left wrist, the words "Experiment 105" and on my right, "Property of Team Rocket". I vaguely heard one scientist talking to me; I ignored him. Until he turned to a colleague.
"She appears unresponsive. Something must have gone wrong. I sug-"
"I am not unresponsive. I just chose to ignore you." My voice was raspy and had to be forced out of my mouth, probably because of how dry my throat was. "Maybe instead of standing there and hindering my recovery of a splitting headache by chattering like a flock of Chatot, you can get me something to drink. My throat feels like sandpaper."
I could see my demands had surprised the scientist. He walked away, conferring with a few others. I overheard something about "alerting the boss" but once more chose to ignore the words. I sat there on the table, staring at the tattoos on my wrists until a glass of water was shoved under my nose. Without looking up at the person who gave it to me, I grabbed it, tilted my head back, and downed the glass within seconds.
When a pair of hands pressed against my elbows in an effort to help me stand, I turned to growl at the scientist they belonged to, "I can stand just fine on my own!"
As it turns out, I couldn't. Nor could I walk on my own. I suspected it was thanks to my sore, aching muscles. But with help, I was able to make my way out of the lab, through some long, dull, gray hallways, and then into a new room. Or, more correctly, a small suite of rooms. I got a glimpse of a little kitchen, a bedroom, and a bathroom before I was taken into a sitting room, sat down on the couch and told to wait. The one who had guided me there left. I stayed on the couch, glancing around the room. Everything seemed to be either black, red, white, or gray. White floor tiles. Black walls. A circular black carpet on the floor, near the center of the room, and on it a circular, red coffee table. The couch I sat on was gray. There was a black, flat-screen TV facing the couch, on the other side of the coffee table. And there was an oval-shaped mirror with a silver frame hanging on the wall. I glanced at it, and got my first good look at myself. The person staring back at me looked to be either fifteen or sixteen years old. Her skin had a very slight pink tinge. It was barely visible, but it was definitely there. She had thin lips, copper-colored eyes, and caramel-colored hair that hung a few inches below her shoulder and had faded pink streaks. That was me, apparently. I looked down. Yep, the same pinkish skin. The same caramel-colored, pink-streaked hair. But . . . what was I wearing? Well, the answer to that was actually nothing. I was butt naked. But I lacked embarrassment, so I thought nothing of it. Eventually, the scientist who had helped me to the rooms returned, carrying the necessary clothing. I stood as he approached, silently taking the bundle of clothing that was shoved at my chest. The scientist left and I turned my attention to the clothing. I dressed, then looked back at the mirror. I now wore a loose red t-shirt, black jeans, and white sneakers. Apparently these people really enjoyed the colors red, black, and white.
Finding myself able to stand and walk without help now, I did so, exploring the rooms. Not out of curiosity, no, but out of an instinct to know my surroundings. Like the sitting room, the thee three areas were colored with the red, black, white, and gray scheme.
The kitchen looked like any little kitchen that one might find in an expensive hotel suite. Fridge, microwave, oven, toaster, pantry, countertop with a few cabinets and drawers, and stove. There was also a sink, and a dishwasher. I opened the fridge. Empty. The same could be said for the pantry, the cabinets, and the drawers. Turning, I found a small part of the kitchen sectioned off as an eating area, with table and chairs.
Shrugging, I moved on to examine the bathroom. Pretty standard. Toilet, sink, mirror above the sink, curtained shower that doubled as a bathtub, cabinet for storage. Nothing special. There was another door there in the bathroom that, once I had opened it, I could see led to a small room obviously intended for doing laundry. A washing machine. Drier. Small shelf that I assumed was to hold things such as detergent and bleach. Like the kitchen, both the bathroom and the laundry room were unstocked.
That left the bedroom. A queen-sized bed, a relatively small closet, a side table next to the bed, another mirror on the wall, and a bureau.
As someone called from the sitting room, I glanced down at my left wrist and once again read the tattoo. Experiment 105. It seemed that, whoever had called was calling for me. Well, I wasn't going to answer to a number like that. So I ignored the call. Until it sounded again.
Rolling my eyes, I figured that I would just keep getting called until I obeyed. So I went back out to the sitting room. Standing in the doorway, I crossed my arms and glanced at the scientist who had called defiantly. "I'm not answering to a number."
"You will answer to your name. And as of now, your name is Experiment 105."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again as I realized it hadn't been the scientist that had spoken. My attention was pulled to a third person standing in the room.
The man had short brown hair, dark eyes, broad shoulders, and big, ring-laden hands, one of which rested on the head of a Pokemon at his side. He was obviously wealthy, and wore an orange suit. I met his gaze stubbornly, prepared to argue, when something inside me warned me that this was not a man to tick off. I licked my lips, which were suddenly dry, and looked away. I sure felt emotion now. I was nervous. I was frightened. And I felt a want - a need - to obey this man. As soon as my gaze left him, the emotions were gone, though the desire for obedience remained. Glancing back at the man, I realized he seemed rather satisfied with my reaction. Seeing his satisfaction brought forth another emotion, one that I assumed was connected to my desire to do as I was told: pleasure. I felt pleasure at seeing this man's satisfaction.
Well, I had a sharp mind. A suspicion began to germinate in the back of my mind. This man triggered such emotions, feelings, and wants . . . because he was the one that wanted me experimented on. Whatever I was now, which I was still unsure of, I was solely for his use.
In someone else, this might have been cause for anger. But you must remember, something about my emotions was different. I suspected it was a result of whatever experiments had been performed on me, and that I had no memory was also a result of those experiments, and that I'd likely never feel anger, hatred, or any similarly negative emotions towards this man. Not if my assumptions were correct.
My gaze dropped again. "I'll answer to Experiment 105." I agreed meekly.
"Good." The man glanced at the scientist. "It seems your work was successful. So far. You are dismissed; I will test it myself."
I opened my mouth to tell him that I did not appreciate being referred to as "it" but the words died nearly as soon as I thought them, and I closed my mouth again, watching silently as the scientist left.
My focus was returned to the man as I watched him sit on the couch, his Pokemon jumping up to stretch out next to him. Now I was able to get a good look at the Pokemon. It was a feline creature with cream-colored fur, a distinctive curl at the end of its tail, red eyes, a small red jewel in its forehead, and rounded, black-rimmed ears.
Realizing he'd said something to me, I went to stand in front of the man as I'd been bid, not quite meeting his gaze.
"I am going to simply ask you a few questions. You are going to answer them to the best of your ability." He looked at me, waiting for confirmation that I had understood. I nodded and he continued. "Good. Tell me, what species of Pokemon is this?" He gave his feline a scratch behind the ears and I turned to look at it.
"Persian." I answered immediately, the knowledge suddenly coming forward in my mind.
"Which three Pokemon make op the legendary Dragons of Unova and what do they represent?"
"Reshiram, Zekrom, and Kyurem. Reshiram is the Dragon of Truths, Zekrom of Ideals, and Kyurem the balance between them."
"The Mortality Duo and their region?"
"Xerneas and Yveltal of the Kalos Region."
"Name the three Pokemon that a new Trainer in the Sinnoh Region can chose from, their evolutions, and their Types."
"Chimchar, a Fire Type. It evolves into Monferno, which is a Fire and Fighting Type, then into Infernape, which is also Fire and Fighting. Piplup is a Water Type. It evolves into Prinplup, a Water Type as well, then Empoleon, a Water and Steel Type. The third starter is a Grass Type called Turtwig, which evolved into a Grass Type called Grotle, then a Grass and Ground Type called Torterra."
"In which two regions is the use of Mega Evolution most prominent?"
"Kalos and Hoenn."
"Where are you getting this information from?"
His question didn't throw me off and I answered without hesitation. "It just appears, so to speak, when I need it."
The man nodded and his questions continued. They ranged from difficult, such as what level a Beedrill learned Twin Needle, to easy, like what Type a Pikachu was, and everywhere in between. I gave the correct answer each time immediately, until his last demand came.
"You've seen my Persian. Now I want you to become it. If you fail, then you've been as useless as defective as your predecessors, and shall meet the same fate: death."
Well, here's the start of my new story. So in case it wasn't clear, this girl was experimented on by Team Rocket. She was given a drug that made her lose all memory of who she was before. Her brain was modified by another drug that cause her to be cut off from all emotions unless there's a trigger, like that man with the Persian. And I think we all know who that man is. But what's he doing with another "genetic" experiment after Mewtwo? Has he just set an impossible task for this girl? I'm just gonna call her 105 for now. Will she actually be able to Transform like a Ditto, or is this just some sick way the man seeks entertainment? Chapter Two will hold the answers!