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The universe returned to Mewtwo in a blinding flash, light slowly dying around the genetic pokemon as more of its surroundings gradually bled back into view. Its eyes widened in surprise as the nature of its surroundings suddenly registered.
This was not the island cave it had retreated to after destroying the cursed laboratory it had been born—manufactured—in. There were no dark stalactites, no scent of salt in the air, no sound of waves lapping along the shore. They were replaced by gentle wallpaper, carpet plush to the touch underneath the pokemon's six toes, and the smell of cooked meat and other things that Mewtwo couldn't identify permeating the area from nearby. This was—
This was someone's bedroom.
And the someone in question was perched right in front of it, sitting cross-legged on a wooden bed and looking right back at Mewtwo with a small smile. A young boy holding a rapidly shrinking pokeball in his hand.
Whatever momentary confusion Mewtwo might've had was immediately replaced by anger.
It remembered the unexpected visitor it had sensed coming to its cave. It remembered the sight of the small pokemon trainer disturbing its solitude. It remembered the bright flash of what could only be a pokeball before everything had gone dark.
Drawing the obvious conclusion from the proceeding events and its new location set what little fur the genetic pokemon had on end.
So you've caught me, it projected coldly, letting its thoughts be heard outside of its own head. The boy visibly startled at the unexpected noise.
Good. Let him be startled. Let him fear Mewtwo as everyone else who had sought to control it should have done before their greed became their downfall.
If you knew to find me, then you must know what I am. So, they continued, what will you do with me now? Will you have me fight for you? Destroy for you? Kill for you?
Its bulbous fingers came together in an approximation of a fist. Raw anger and disgust ran through the genetic pokemon at the thought of being used like Giovanni had wanted it to be—like it was meant to be.
Across from it, the boy sitting on the bed had the audacity to look disturbed by its questioning. He pulled something blank and reflective off of the bed that Mewtwo was annoyed to have missed and uncapped a sharp-smelling marker to write on it with. Recognition was nearly instant after that. A whiteboard. The scientists that had created Mewtwo often used something similar when testing theories, though their boards where significantly larger. The pokemon's anger crackled at the unpleasant reminder.
After a few tense seconds the boy turned the whiteboard around to reveal a sentence in simple children's kanji. He was lucky those same scientists had taught Mewtwo how to read before it bid them forever in the ruins of their laboratory, or else the carefully written characters wouldn't have meant anything at all to it.
'I want you to be safe.'
Momentary confusion lanced through the genetic pokemon before being replaced with more anger. Its tail lashed out violently. Safe? Safe?
I was created as a weapon, child, it projected. Nowhere on this planet is safe.
The boy frowned. He turned the whiteboard back over so he could write something else on it, then flipped it back.
'I want you to be safe and happy,' the amended message read.
Mewtwo practically seethed.
And you thought I would be at my happiest as your pet?
The boy shook his head, wiping away his message with the sleeve of a shirt and writing much more quickly than he had before.
'I thought you would be happiest with someone who cared about you, instead of being all alone.'
The genetic pokemon froze.
Care was a foreign concept to it, relegated only to the dimmest memories of a small form appearing next to it in the darkness of pre-consciousness—I'm a girl, a person—and the sensation of sun on its small form and wind against its pechafuzz skin. What did it know of care? What did the boy in front of it know of care?
The boy was writing something again, and Mewtwo cursed itself for being caught off guard so easily.
And why would you even seek to bring about my happiness? the genetic pokemon asked. What would you gain from something so meaningless?
The boy paused in his writing momentarily to look back at Mewtwo before going back to his writing, an expression on his face that the genetic pokemon couldn't parse. He turned the whiteboard back around and leveled Mewtwo a look with an expression that the pokemon did recognize: determination.
'Nothing. People and pokemon should care for each other, and help each other, because it's the right thing to do.'
The words sunk in slowly. Mewtwo felt its anger die down, bit by bit, as its tail stopped thrashing so forcefully and the static energy of its tightly leashed telekinetics abated. The anger had not left it completely, would not leave it for a long while, but it did not feel as though a wrong word would direct its anger upon whatever seemed most satisfying to break.
The boy on the bed continued to stare at Mewtwo with determined eyes. Mewtwo stared back. It had nothing to gain from maintaining such a gaze, but it refused to show weakness by being the first to look away. There were so many swirling thoughts in its head that it could project into the air, but none seemed particularly right.
You are an idealistic fool, the genetic pokemon settled on eventually.
The boy grinned. He broke its gaze with a lopsided smile, and set about writing a new message.
'Maybe, but now I'm your fool. My name's Red. It's nice to meet you.'