01

 

***

 

(02/04/347 - 0904 hours)

 

            Images flashed in front of him as his mind dutifully recorded them. Pages of a book, trees and vines in a jungle, people relaxing at a mall, the tattered remains of a flag flying over a battlefield-- the images stopped. A low, mechanical humming began and he felt his head break the surface of some sort of fluid. A shock jolted through his body and his eyes snapped open involuntarily accompanied by a sharp inhalation. He blinked a few times at the pain from the sudden light. He tried to shake his head, but found it held by restraints.

 

            "Don't try to move. We'll get you out of there soon enough," a calm, almost bored male voice said.

 

            His eyes flicked around the room, taking in the whitewashed walls, large life support machinery various mechanical arms and computers before homing in on the source of the voice and he asked, "who am I?"  His  own voice came out as a raspy croak.

 

            "You are Subject 18 of the Perfect Tamer Creation Project, a lab rat in our wonderful little experiment," a tall, gangly, brown-haired man, the owner of the voice, replied smoothly, "it is February 19th of the year 347 AS. Does all of that make sense to you?" The man began slowly removing straps from Subject 18's nude form.

 

            "Yes," Subject 18 replied, "but perfection is a pretty tall order. Don't you think you've bitten off more than you can chew?"

 

            The man simply laughed, "hey Raymond, Doctor Chernwich, I thought he was supposed to be self-confident to the point that I would want to throttle him. What happened?"

 

            Subject 18 raised his eyebrows, "I guess if I get close enough nobody will argue," he said haughtily. Then, after a moment's consideration, he added, "yeah, I guess I must look it to you lot."

 

            "Ah, there it is," the man chuckled again, "teach me to open my fat mouth." He began undoing more straps.

 

            The slow progress annoyed Subject 18, so he used a free arm to feebly push the man away while the rest of the straps flew open, seemingly of their own accord. He stepped out of the holding tank slowly, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.

 

            "Shit," the brown-haired man cursed, pulling out a hypodermic needle. Before Subject 18 had a time to stop him, the man darted in and jabbed him in the side.

 

            He only felt a slight pressure, then time slowed and his world distorted as Subject 18 collapsed. Control over his body faded. He was acutely aware of the way his tongue tasted and how it moved around his mouth. He could hear shouting beyond the dim haze that covered his mind. He tried to pick out the voices.

 

            "The kid's got telekinesis!" That was the man who unstrapped him.

 

            His sight was fading. "Nothing like that showed in the tests." Subject 18 knew that voice, but was too sleepy to tell who it was.

 

            "It seems your genetic camouflaging was too effective doctor Chernwich" A smug voice he hadn't heard before.

 

            More shouting followed, but Subject 18 couldn't discern what was being said as he drifted off into darkness.

 

***

 

(02/04/347 - 1529 hours)

 

            Subject 18 turned on his cot and opened his eyes as he felt a presence approaching. The door of his small room opened to reveal the man who had first spoken to him. If he had to guess, Subject 18 would place him at about 26 years old. He was carrying a clipboard. A young girl, looking to be about the age of fourteen, was trailing behind him slightly nervously.

 

            The man held out a hand in greeting and said, "I don't think I've formally introduced myself. I am Joseph Nord. To you, lab rat, that is Mister Nord."

 

            Subject 18 stood up and shook Nord's hand wordlessly. Nord looked him over, noting his bulging joints and slim figure despite the remnants of baby fat. Nord made a mental note to recommend the nutritionist that he get a great deal of protein. Subject 18's face wasn't very attractive, except for his eyes- grey, deep-set and piercing, that wasn't good for a tamer. However, that would change with time and his sandy blonde hair fell in ways which assured that he would be very popular with ladies of all descriptions after he got some meat on him.

 

            "Now then," Nord continued, his examination of the boy over, "this is Subject 7," he gestured at the girl. "Over the next eight years you two will be partnered together. Since she is a failed experiment you will actually outrank someone in this lab and you may do with her as you like... so long as she doesn't end up permanently injured or dead." He paused in order to shove the girl towards Subject 18 and continued, "You will be expected to tame her or someone else daily since it is we don't know if you have tamer's disease or not and you will need the practice for when your education is complete."

 

            "You don't know if I have tamer's disease?" Subject 18 asked incredulously, "I thought you did blood work on me." The lack of professionalism on his creators' parts was worrisome. Especially since it would translate directly into what Subject 18 was.

 

            "We did," Nord replied coldly, "but we spent quite a bit of effort on hiding your genetic code from normal testing. If anyone else tests you, you should come up as a pureblood human. With our testing we can get a very good picture of what you have, but yesterday's commotion proved that  it's still hard to determine exactly what you've got in your genes."

 

            "Should I take them off?" Subject 18 gestured towards his pants with a small smile. If these people, his creators, were going to be blasé about his life, so would he.

 

            "We have a goddamn comedian," Nord grumbled, rubbing his eyes, "you got the same imprint as all the other subjects. You know what I mean. Now cut the jokes while we do some testing."

 

            Subject 18 paused to wonder why this man was wasting his time. Coming up with no answer he pointed out, "I already went through a full battery of tests."

 

            "Physical tests, yes. Psychic and magical aptitude tests, no." Nord fixed a hard look on Subject 18, "Now, I need you to let me into your mind for a moment."

 

            Extreme reluctance was Subject 18's first response, "and if I don't want to?..." his voice trailed off. He had only been conscious for several hours, but letting somebody else into his mind went against every instinct and bit of knowledge Subject 18 had, no matter who they were.

 

            "I have a perfectly good taser and you don't have any combat training yet."

 

            If they can't get to my mind then they can just beat me into submission until I give them access, Subject 18 thought. "Good enough for me." Subject 18 closed his eyes for a moment, he felt barriers shielding his mind melt away and prepared a rather harmless place for Nord to enter. "OK I'm ready."

 

            Reality seemed to warp about them and soon both Nord and Subject 18 were standing in a well-kept library. Volumes of books bound in gleaming black leather were stacked neatly on wooden shelves that stretched out of sight. Nord picked up one of the books and watched as florid gold letters formed on the surface of the black leather: Alice in Wonderland- Lewis Carroll.

 

            "I thought I told you to cut the jokes," Nord sounded annoyed, "and how did you get all of these memories anyways? You've only been conscious for about 12 hours now."

 

            "These are all from the imprint I was given in my tank," Subject 18 replied, "I thought that the point of the imprinting was to give me a reference to how life worked." Subject 18 watched Nord wander around his mental construct and wondered if all people were this bad at their jobs, or if his creators were just 'special.'

 

            Oblivious to his musings, Nord replied, "Yes, it was, but you weren't supposed to remember it all so clearly. Most of it should just be a haze of indeterminate knowledge. Nothing this definite or precise."

 

            Subject 18 catalogued this new bit of information, "hm? So remembering everything isn't normal?" Perhaps his creators weren't just unusually incompetent. If that was the case, he would have to get used to people disappointing him. The very thought of getting used to any this crap made Subject 18 want to scream.

 

            "No way," Nord chuckled incredulously, "nobody has total recall that's this detailed. You're a freak."

 

            If that was how Nord saw a competent and efficient person, Subject 18 would play the part. "I thought I was a lab rat," he shot back. The stupid joke felt good, like it created a layer of stupidity around him that blocked out the sheer weight of Nord's incompetence.

 

            "That too." Nord said absently as he continued looking around the library, completely oblivious to Subject 18's rapidly lowering opinion of him.

 

            Several minutes passed as Nord continued exploring the library. He pulled books of every kind off the shelves: famous pre-sukebe literature, histories of the world, maps, discussions on the practical implementation of parity, photographs of important events around the world, philosophies on the nature of knowledge, newspaper clippings. Every time he wanted to see if Subject 18 had a specific bit of knowledge, the next book he chose contained it. This proved to be both useful and creepy as Nord proved that Subject 18 had indeed remembered every part of his implant perfectly.

 

            Nord sighed and put the book he was holding onto a table. The book flew back onto a shelf of its own accord. "OK, I guess we have to move on," he said, finding himself surprisingly reluctant to leave Subject 18's mind. No matter how creepy it was, the simplicity and organization of this place was oddly compelling. Nord shook his head and said, "now try ejecting me from your mind-"

 

            Nord was barely able to finish his sentence before he found himself standing back in Subject 18's room again. He looked at Subject 7 and asked, "how long were we in his mind?"

 

            Subject 7 looked confused and said, "you're done already? But you've just started." She then gaped and Nord's eyes widened in shock, realization dawning on them.

 

            "Lemme guess, it was supposed to take longer." Subject 18 commented dryly after seeing their reactions.

 

            "Yes, much longer," Nord looked slightly frightened, "no human I've ever seen has been able to initiate dream time."

 

            "Dream time?" Subject 18 repeated, his eyes narrowed slightly. A couple of seconds passed. Then suddenly, "I guess I could see how you would think that. No, I think your perception of time sped up in order to keep up with the pace that my brain processes information," or it just cut out all of the time you spend navel gazing and remembering to breathe.

 

            "So you're just a damn genius." Nord replied.

 

            "That remains for Francisca to determine- but yes."

 

            Nord frowned, so he read my mind while I was in his, the punk. There was no other way the kid could have known which test he was going to get next. I was going to introduce this to him nicely, but that crossed a line.

 

            "All right my lab rat. Let's move on to the next test." He pulled a small, white plastic ball out of his pocket and placed it on the room's small table. "Lift this," he commanded. When Subject 18's hand moved towards the ball he added, "with your mind."

 

            Subject 18 shrugged and the ball began to rise, but it shuddered violently and dropped as Subject 18 let out a guttural scream. Electricity raced through him and a patch of skin in his neck began to blister as bolts arced from it.

 

            Nord looked on emotionlessly and jotted on his clipboard, "the control chip appears to be working. Any use of psychic ability beyond telepathy results in the triggering of the chip." He turned and walked out of the room, "Marianne, Francisca, you're up next."

 

Subject 18 collapsed to the ground.

 

***

 

(02/04/347 - 1740 hours)

 

            Doctor Chernwich sat at his desk goggling at the sheet of paper in front of him. "Three-hundred? Are you sure Francisca?"

 

            The supe-bra genius stared back at her tamer and said, "no, I'm not sure. The standard I.Q. test for humans isn't intended to check that high and the pokegirl I.Q. test will not give accurate results for a human. But if I am forced to make a prediction like you told me to, I would estimate Subject 18's I.Q. to be approximately three-hundred." She took a breath before continuing, " he also has incredibly detailed total recall."

 

            Chernwich sat stunned for a while before saying, "alright, scrap the old education plan and write up a new one that takes this... new development into account." He sighed, "I guess we should be happy since it will allow us to cut his education time down a great deal and finish under budget after all. Well, the extended-extended-extended budget at least."

 

            "Yes master," the supe-bra genius replied as she floated out of the room.

 

            After she left, Doctor Chernwich heaved a great sigh, reached down and pulled a bottle of whiskey and a soda out of the cabinet in his desk. "Three-hundred. What in the thousand?"

 

***

 

 

(02/08/347 - 1912 hours)

 

            Subject 7 giggled and gently grabbed Subject 18's hands, stopping their awkward fumbling. She kissed him gently on the lips and whispered, "don't just go straight for the tits, start at less... obvious places and work your way towards them. Try the nape of my neck and my ears."

 

            Subject 18 nodded and began stroking the back of her neck, after pushing her long, reddish-brown hair out of the way, with all the concentration of an engineer assembling a prototype engine. But his movements were still jerky and awkward. Since it was less than a week after his decanting it wasn't surprising that he still hadn't gotten fine motor control.

 

            "I have such a cute student," Subject 7 said, then winced at his nails dug into her neck, "try using your tongue. It should be easier for you to control."

 

            Subject 18 pushed himself slightly away from her nude form and gave her a half-serious glare, "I thought I was supposed to give the orders to you. Personal servant and all that."

 

            "Yet I still answer to people with more authority over me than you have." Subject 7 hugged him to her chest and stroked his head, "I know you're frustrated, but you'll learn the finer points of taming soon enough. Then you can give me orders all you want."

 

            "I think I preferred it when you were too scared of me to speak." Subject 18 grumbled.

 

            "No you didn't."

 

            "OK, you're right," he admitted. While their first encounter after Subject 18's tests had been amusing, he wouldn't be able to put up with a girl who was constantly terrified with his 'godly' mental abilities. "I just wish I wasn't so clumsy." He looked up with a wicked smile, "how did you learn the 'finer points of taming' yourself?"

 

            Subject 7 made an unhappy face.

 

            "Hmmm?"

 

            "I am the only female this project has ever produced," Subject 7 said quietly, "I was expected to perform for our government sponsors in the name of a bigger budget."

 

            "Ah, they all got their turns fucking you," Subject 18 cut straight to the point.

 

            "Yes," came the reply, "I just wish you didn't put it that way." Subject 7 was angry. The sort of angry that was tempered by the idea that the other party didn't know something. This annoyed Subject 18. He didn't like being treated as an ignorant.

 

            "What? Clearly and truthfully?" Subject 18 said, then commented, "rather clever of them though." While Subject 7 was refreshingly bright, she still had a tendency to be inaccurate for the sake of 'feelings' and 'personal dignity' and other such garbage.

 

            Subject 7 looked uncomfortable, "never mind, just try working on my neck again," this appeared to be the hardest rebuke she could muster.

 

            "Yes mistress, as you command mistress," Subject 18 attempted a hunchback impression and failed miserably.

 

            Subject 7's admonishment turned to a shivering gasp as she felt the tongue glide gently over her neck and up to her left earlobe. "Ahh, yes, that's it. Exactly."

 

***

 

(02/12/347 - 0957 hours)

 

            Francisca sat behind a desk when Subject 18 entered the room. The supe-bra genius looked up as he entered. "Do you have enough fine motor control to hold a pencil?" She asked.

 

            "Yes."

 

            "Good," she pulled a wood case out of the desk and pushed it towards Subject 18. "We are going to begin your education now that you've become acclimated to your body. You will wake up at 0600 hours and have 30 minutes to eat and get dressed. At 0630 you will have physical training for 2 hours. At 0830 you will be given an hour and a half to shower and study topics of interest to you, we will provide a computer with net access. If you want to access information which is proving hard to find or is classified you may request that our video girl, Trixie, get it for you. At 1000 hours you will begin class work of my choosing. 1200 hours will find you at lunch. 1230 and you will train under Joseph Nord's supervision. Marianne Alexander will get you at 1400. You will study pokegirls under various tutors from 1600 to 1800 hours. You get free time from 1800 to 2000 hours. During this time you may get dinner, relax in your room, shower, self study, talk to your teachers if they are available and tame. You will be expected to tame a female of some description for at least an hour during this time. At 2000 hours you are to sleep. Doing any other activity besides lying quietly in bed while you are supposed to be asleep will result in punishment. Breaking any of these guidelines will result in punishment. Do you understand?"

 

            "Yes." Subject 18 had completely memorized the schedule and already has some plans for his free study times. Subject 18 noted how nice it was to finally find someone who would give him the information he needed to know without any bullshit. Both people waited for the other to speak.

 

            Francisca gave in, "take that case and pull out the pencil inside. Today we will be working on your handwriting and basic arithmetic."

 

            "I already know how to write and do arithmetic from my imprints."

 

            Francisca fixed Subject 18 with a hard stare, "while that may be true on a level of pure knowledge, it is not reflexive or natural for you. We will continue this basic level of training until you do not need to think for even a moment before you write a sentence or solve an equation." She sighed, then looked concerned, "how do you expect to come up with a new strategy on the fly when you have to take the time to think about how many troops you have left instead of how to use them?"

 

            "I'm to lead an army?" Subject 18 asked, a hungry look in his eyes.

 

            "That is the purpose for which you were created," Francisca said solemnly.

 

            The word 'purpose' struck a chord within Subject 18 and a powerful sensation overcame him, as though he just discovered something profound, but couldn't put into words. It didn't matter. So long as he held onto some small bit of this sensation, this certainty, Subject 18 knew he would be fine.

 

            He stared at the sheet and began tracing the letters on it, determined to become completely proficient so he could move onto his real education. At least Francisca seemed to be a worthy teacher.

 

***

 

(02/12/347 - 1358 hours)

 

            Subject 18 walked into Marianne Alexander's office. The room managed the impossible feat of being even more sparse and sterilized than any of the other rooms in the facility. This was most likely due to the frigid manner of the woman inside it, currently behind a steel desk, reading a large tome.

 

            "You're late," she said without looking up from her book.

 

            "I was told to arrive here at 1400 hours. it is currently 1358 hours and 42 seconds. I do not see how I am late," Subject 18 replied without any hint of emotion.

 

            "First off, if you have an appointment with me, you will arrive five minutes early. It is a civilized expectation and you will meet that expectation because I demand it," her words dripped with venom. "Secondly, I don't like your attitude," she smiled, "that means you get two punishments." She paused for a moment, "thirdly, you will refer to me as Mistress Alexander. Is that clear?"

 

            Subject 18 forced out a, "perfectly clear Mistress Alexander," and even tried to make his smile look sincere. He wasn't about to argue with an assumedly powerful mage, but that didn't stop her reasoning from being stupid. A 'civilized expectation' was apparently a code word for a rule she just pulled out of her ass.

 

            "Well then we will begin your first lesson." Ms. Alexander cleared her throat and began, "today's topic will be respect for the arcane arts. Since you are not able to learn any magic, this will be the topic of my classes for the rest of your time here. I hope six years of it will teach you your place."

 

            "Yes Mistress Alexander."

 

            "Do you know how many ways I could kill you without lifting a finger?"

 

            Subject 18 thought for a minute, "I know of approximately 740 different ways you could do that Mistress Alexander."

 

            "I wasn't looking for an answer to that question," Ms. Alexander said sharply, "that's another punishment. And one more since you got the question wrong, there are over a thousand ways I could kill you without lifting a finger."

 

            Subject 18 suspected she hadn't factored in spells that he would be immune to and would get another punishment when she found out just what kind of effect those spells had on him. He decided that he didn't feel like sticking his neck out right now and would deal with that when the time came

 

            "Let's begin," Ms. Alexander began as a violent orb of flame sprang to life in front of her. "One," she counted smugly as Subject 18's body burst into flames.

 

            His screams were neutralized by special sound-proofing in the walls of Ms. Alexander's office.

 

***

 

(02/13/347 - 0600 hours)

 

            Subject 18 woke to find Subject 7 curled up against his chest. Not knowing why, he smiled. He wasn't that fond of her, really. True, she had been the kindest to him out of anybody since he was decanted, but that wasn't saying much. He decided to write the affection he felt towards her off as a purely chemical process. Pokegirls weren't the only ones who bonded during sex whether they wanted it or not.

 

            He got up, leaving the earlier subject where she was and quickly prepared for his physical training.

 

            After she was sure that her charge had gone, Subject 7 got up and tiptoed over to the room's computer and began composing a message to Doctor Chernwich. The recording started and she began, "progress isn't very good. He is too focused on himself and I don't think that Marianne Alexander's so called 'lessons' are helping him change that. Sure it creates a stressful situation where I am the sole source of kindness so that he is more likely to feel affection for me, but at what cost to his trust in the world in general? Subject 7 out." She turned off the recording and went to observe Subject 18's next lesson.

 

            When she arrived behind the 2-way mirror of the fitness room the lesson had just begun.

 

            "I am Morimoto Ishida, to you that is Sensei." a fairly short Edo man was talking. "I am here to teach you how to stay alive when all strategy fails you. Know these two ultimate truths of this world: firstly pokegirls must be tamed, secondly, and what we will be focusing on, humans are the squishy ones." A smile flashed across his face.

 

            Subject 18 looked the man over from head to toe. Everything from the wisps of grey hair, to his hawk like eyes, to his wrinkly skin pulled taut by the hard muscles underneath screamed that this man was indeed deserving of the title 'Sensei'. "No exceptions?" he asked.

 

            "Few enough to be counted on one hand, and you are not one of them." He pulled two pokeballs from his belt and flashes of red light congealed to form a raven haired armsmistress and a herochan with a shock of fiery red hair. Sensei gestured towards the herochan, "this is Tomo," he then turned to the armsmistress, "and this is Mikoto. They will assist me in your training through various demonstrations, and later by sparring with you." His smile returned, "then you will get to see exactly how squishy you are. Now begin jogging around the dojo."

 

            After running Subject 18 stretched, ran more, did pushups, sit-ups, stretched more, bridged onto his neck and held various combat stances incorrectly while Sensei tapped him into proper alignment with a short cane.

 

            "Yame," came the call to stop. Subject 18 relaxed gratefully. "Now get some water and we will begin the learning."

 

            Subject 18 checked the clock on the wall to see that it had only been half an hour. He blinked in surprise and went to get a drink. It was going to be a long hour and a thirty minutes.

 

            "You will be learning three martial arts from me," Sensei began as Subject 18 stepped back onto the wooden section of the room, "they are aikido, judo and European wrestling."

 

            "That makes sense. All three focus on using leverage to control your opponent's weight and any force they exert to your own advantage," Subject 18 said. "The only way humans can hope to get an advantage." He was glad to have finally found somebody competent in the facility.

 

            "Correct," Sensei gave him a nod of approval, "except you will not gain an advantage, you will only stall for time, unless you are exceedingly well prepared or lucky. Now watch as Tomo throws Mikoto and burn the movements of her muscles into your mind." As an afterthought he added, "feel very privileged, it is not often that Mikoto, or any armsmistress, take their armor off in front of others."

 

            The two pokegirls stripped nude in, Mikoto rather shyly, order to allow their student a better view of how their muscles shifted during movement. Subject 18 admitted- as he watched various throws being performed in different combat scenarios- Sukebe had done good work. Those feelings quickly changed when the next part of the lesson involved him being shown various techniques and trying to use them to stop Tomo from pounding him into the ground.

 

***

 

(03/21/348 - 0955 hours)

 

            Sometimes men are born with eyes that make him, no matter his figure, look like a wild beast. This may be due to the shape of the eyes themselves, perhaps through a catlike slant that manages not to pinch the edges. Others have deep set eyes and a very defined brow that flattens their top, giving them an aggressive look. Others still manage it through a strange vitality that seems to shine through their iris. Subject 18 had all three of these traits, so his grey eyes could easily have been the most remarkable feature of his body. But he had considerable competition from his striking figure, which had filled out after a year of heavy conditioning and combat training under Sensei's watchful eyes.

 

            A combination of Aryan leanness and Grecian muscle structure gave Subject 18 a body that looked like it belonged to a warrior from long before Sukebe and attracted all of the facility's pokegirls to the security cameras whenever he took a shower. One time, Subject 7 had joked as he walked out- tower slung over his shoulder- saying that he looked like the Statue of David with scarier eyes and no curly hair. Francisca silently agreed with this assessment of him. So when subject 18 walked into her office covered in cuts and bruises, she smiled and blushed slightly before getting to business.

 

            "Calculus will have to wait another day before we start." The supe-bra genius stated as Subject 18 sat down wincing. "My lessons through Ms. Alexander's have been canceled today. This will occur once every two weeks from now on."

 

            "Alright Francisca," Subject 18 was glad, he had a greater degree of psychic control than Nord now, within the limits of his control chip, so they spent most of their lessons talking about nothing in particular. Ms. Alexander's lessons has remained as more of the same, creative magical torture, designed specifically to get around his blood gift resistances, accompanied by self-gratifying lectures on why magic users are superior. He had learned a great deal about the mechanics of magic though.

 

            "Don't you want to ask what we're doing?" Francisca pressed him.

 

            "I was waiting for you to tell me, but since you're so eager for me to ask I guess I'll bite." Subject 18 shot back smoothly.

 

            "You get your first taste of pokegirl battling," Francisca replied with a grin on her face, "I'm looking forward to seeing how you'll do."

 

            "With my one month of study of pre-sukebe tactics?" Subject 18 asked incredulously, "I know I'm good but don't get your hopes up for my first time." As an afterthought he added, "expect me to destroy all comers after a few months of battling though."

 

            Francisca must have realized that she was leaning forward and grinning because, in an attempt to reclaim her businesslike manner, she turned her back to him and said, "follow me to the battling center and don't worry, you will get an opponent suitable for your skill level each time you battle."

 

            When they arrived a few minutes later Subject 18 found himself in a room that had a window that looked out into an empty battle room and was furnished with a rumpus-sized bed and an assortment of restraints. Francisca turned to him her eager smile replaced by a scheming one. "Since you have been given rave reviews by Subject 7 and a few of the other facility pokegirls I'm going to give you some challenging girls to tame." She opened her briefcase and handed a trio of pokeballs to subject 18. She straightened her coat and said, "I won't tell you anything more than that they're all feral and may or may not have had previous masters. You have four hours to tame them and prepare for the upcoming battle. Your 'girls will be put through a healing cycle beforehand so just do what you have to in order to gain control over them. Have fun."

 

            Subject 18 decided that he had better get started immediately in order to minimize the effects of taming shock on the battle. He pushed the release on the first pokeball that came to hand and swore at the appearance of the pokegirl type he wanted to see least right now, "aww fuck, a psy-dyke."

 

            The psy-dyke's eyes flashed purple for a moment as she tried a psychic assault on him and lunged hissing when it failed. Subject 18 sidestepped her inch-long claws and his training from Sensei took over.

 

            In taming-related fights, Subject 18 was taught, wrestling moves were the way to go since they allow for the greatest degree of control with the least chance of either party getting injured. Right hand gripping the wrist, left on the tricep. Twist the arm so the palm points towards you and put weight on the shoulder. Continue sidestepping to the left as your opponent goes down in a spiral so they don't have a chance to grab your legs. Immediately place your hips on theirs as soon as they hit the ground to retain control. He had this technique drilled into him hundreds of time.

 

            It was over in an instant. The psy-dyke was pinned face down with her right arm pinned behind her back. She frantically tried to teleport, but was distracted by a mental assault from Subject 18. He used his feet to pry the pokegirl's legs apart. This would prevent her from rolling onto her back and making her claws a threat once more.

 

            A few tense minutes passed as Subject 18 used his left hand to undo his belt and slither out of his pants. If he lost control of the psy-dyke he would no doubt lose chunks of him that were very vital to taming the girl. Their mental battle raged even more fiercely than their physical one. Deciding to take a risk, Subject 18 quit fighting the psy-dyke's active consciousness and took out sections of her instinct center. The psy-dyke stopped breathing. "Shit-ass-motherfucker-bitch-cock-" curses were streaming from his mouth unintelligibly as he tried to jump start the sections of the psy-dyke's brain he had just disabled.

 

            With a gasp, the psy-dyke began breathing again. She gasped another time as Subject 18 forced himself into her folds with a violent thrust. Tears ran down her face and she moaned, offering no resistance to the taming anymore.

 

            Don't make me feel bad now dammit.

 

            Her free arm pounded feebly against the floor as her moaning increased. The slapping of his hips against her oily skin echoed throughout the room.

 

            You just tried to kill me. I can't let you up until I know you've bonded to me and I won't get my head ripped off.

 

            Subject 18 used every technique he knew to soothe the whimpering, moaning psy-dyke. She calmed down with a combination of strokes up her spine, soft whispers in her ear and a psychic radiation of calm.

 

            The psy-dyke's whimpering stopped and her moans changed, becoming more heated. Subject 18 sped up his thrusting and began searching for more sensitive areas as he grew more confident in the feral's pleasure.

 

            Truly heated moans began leaking from the psy-dyke's gaping mouth as Subject 18 found a sensitive spot. The body truly does react regardless of what the mind wants in these situations, he observed and began fast shallow strokes. After a minute of furious activity he thrust himself in as far as he could go and released himself into the psy-dyke's womb.

 

            They both lay panting for a minute. Then Subject 18 pulled his member out of the psy-dyke and exclaimed in a falsely cheerful tone, "well, now I just have to resist the urge to shoot myself for a little bit and I'll be OK... Fun times." His face turned into a scowl, "not." He nudged the prone pokegirl, "you alright?" He grabbed the open pokeball and found the recall button but didn't press it.

 

            "Ahh, my head feels like shit." The psy-dyke sat on the edge of the bed and glared up at Subject 18, "you really must have enjoyed that."

 

            "Trust me, I didn't," Subject 18 replied. "I just had to make sure you weren't going to rip my guts out."

 

            "Don't be so full of yourself," the psy-dyke snorted, "I was under strict orders not to permanently injure you."

 

            "Orders?" Subject 18 raised his eyebrows, "who put you up to this?"

 

            "Francisca of course." The psy-dyke said. "She seemed so smug when she jabbed me with that Feralex too."

 

            "Feralex?"

 

            "New drug that drives pokegirls feral in a matter of minutes." She said, "Now are we done with the post-rape game of twenty questions or are you going to ball me so I don't have to look at you anymore?"

 

            "One last thing: what's your name?" Subject 18 asked, "I don't want to keep calling you 'psy-dyke' during battle."

 

            "It's Allie." The words had barely gotten out of her mouth before she dissolved into red light as Subject 18 hit the recall.

 

            Subject 18 stretched. Now it was time to deal with the others.

 

***

 

(03/21/348 - 1348 hours)

 

            It was after 1300 hours by the time that Subject 18 finished taming his new pokegirls and gotten lunch. After the psy-dyke he had to tame a seabra, Debbie who was pliable enough in her feral state to get safely into restraints before the taming, he didn't bond to her either, but she recognized him as her master quickly enough after regaining her mind. The last pokegirl he had was a warcat, Poco, who quickly took a liking to him and was very enthusiastic. Several new welts and scratches ran across his chest and back from their energetic taming sessions. How she had managed to do that to him even in amachamp-rated restraints, Subject 18 had no idea. Poco had managed to alpha-bond to Subject 18 sometime around their fourth round of taming.

 

            Four rounds for the only girl I actually bonded? That's a terrible average. Maybe my 'shadowed soul' bonding issues are more than a myth, Subject 18 mused as he walked past a commotion in the security room, a small taming frenzy it smelled like, and pushed open the door to the battle preparation room.

 

            A bone-crushing hug from Poco drove the air out of Subject 18's lungs. "Master," came the affectionate purr, "Poco thanks you for giving her back her mind." The warcat, at least, seemed to be feral-born.

 

            "You're welcome Poco," Subject 18 was impressed by himself, he didn't think he would be able to speak at all, "now will you please let go of me?"

 

            Poco complied quickly and he slumped to the ground in a heap only to be pulled back to his feet by the collar of his shirt a few seconds later. "Master must not lie down here," the warcat admonished.

 

            Subject 18 steadied himself and looked around. He had left all of his pokegirls out of their balls so that they could get a bearing on their surroundings. He motioned to the psy-dyke and seabra to come close and begun his strategy talk. "The only type of battle I would be trained in is a grand melee, so we will plan as such. Debbie, you are the only one with ranged attacks. So you start firing at any foe you can as soon as the match starts. Your main job isn't to take foes out, but to get their heads down. Allie, your teleportation is going to be very useful. I want you to get behind your enemy, strike and get away again. Your job is the same as Debbie's just get them confused or hunkered down." Subject 18 turned to face the warcat, "Poco, you will be the main attack force. Defend Debbie until I give you a target, hit them as hard as you can and don't stop until I give you a new target." He then called to them as a group, "all commands will be given telepathically. Do you all understand?"

 

            The girls nodded.

 

            "Good, then I have just one more thing to say: I will not let you lose." Subject 18 balled them and took them for their healing cycle.

 

***

 

(03/21/348 - 1500 hours)

 

            Subject 18 stood in a small forest clearing littered with a few moss covered boulders. A stream gurgled happily, its ends vanishing as they hit the battle room wall. He hadn't expected the setup to be this elaborate of a pocket dimension. He hadn't expected his opponent to be Subject 7 either. The girl stood across from him wearing a knee-length yellow dress, smiling in the artificial sun.

 

            A voice wafted over the clearing from a hidden loudspeaker, "three versus three grand melee pokegirl battle. Targeting tamers is allowed. Begin in three... two... one... go."

 

            Debbie burst out of her ball and began firing bubblebeam at an opposing weepingbutt immediately. Allie's release came quickly after and Subject 18 quickly instructed her, change of plans, focus on the weepingbutt and try to get it out of the picture. As Allie teleported away Poco took her place in a stream of red light.

 

            Allie struck with both her mind and claws leaving the plant/poison type bleeding from her nose and deep furrows in her chest. But she didn't manage to get out of the way of a jet of acid that sprayed from the weepingbutt's mouth directly into her face.

 

            Allie continued her harassment of the weepingbutt as jets of water from Debbie kept a newly-released foxglove off of her back. But just then, a roar shattered through Subject 18's careful battle plan as a dragoness materialized on the field and called her challenge.

 

            "Shit."

 

            A huge tail swung towards the boulder that Allie and the weepingbutt were fighting behind and destroyed it in a single blow. The weepingbutt was no more than a smear of blood on the shards of rock that now sprinkled the field, but Subject 18 had managed to recall Allie mid-blow and when he released the psy-dyke he saw that she got off with only a few broken ribs.

 

            Poco, get that dragoness now! With a mighty leap the warcat closed distance in an instant and began hammering at the dragoness with fury swipes. Don't let her get in the air. Her flying techniques will destroy you. Subject 18's mind was racing, this was hopeless, the dragoness could resist or just shrug off any attack his girls could throw at it and her enhanced endurance meant that she could outlast even Poco. There was really only one way to get his pokegirls out of this alive.

 

            Debbie, Poco, keep distracting the dragoness, Subject 18 instructed. The foxglove was still circling, but wasn't an issue at this point. He turned to face Allie, do you know where the enemy tamer is?

 

            Yes, came the reply. Allie's eyes locked onto a figure behind a boulder on the other side of the room.

 

            Teleport me to her. As soon as he finished the thought, Subject 18 found himself next to Subject 7. Without pause he grabbed the back of the girl's head and smashed her face into the boulder in front of her. A grunt escaped her and she fell to the ground unconscious. He grabbed the pokeballs on Subject 7's belt and hit the recall mechanism on them as quickly as he could.

 

            Poco stumbled mid-swipe when her target disappeared and collapsed, bleeding profusely. Subject 18 recalled her as the loudspeaker sounded, "the match is over. Subject 18 has won." A pause, then, "carry Subject 7 out of the room with you would you dear?"

 

***

 

            "He didn't even hesitate! One second he was there and the next he was gone and my face met the rock."

 

***

 

(05/02/348 - 1225 hours)

 

            Subject 18 closed the door to Nord's office and took a seat casually.

 

            "Good news," Nord said.

 

            "What would that be?" Subject 18 asked without really caring.

 

            "Since the lab has made so much money on reselling the ferals you've been taming they're going to pay you," Nord answered.

 

            "How much?"

 

            "Ten credits per feral."

 

            Subject 18 gave Nord an incredulous glare.

 

            "Hey, it's better than a kick in the teeth," Nord said.

 

            "Not," Subject 18 said flatly, "if the tooth fairy comes." A smile flitted across his face despite his anger.

 

            Nord burst out laughing. After regaining control of himself he asked, "OK then, what do you want that we could give you?"

 

            Subject 18 didn't hesitate, "I want access to the audio and video files in the Library of Congress Archive. Trixie keeps denying my requests, claiming that it isn't directly related to my studies."

 

            "And why do you want that?" Nord asked.

 

            "Because of something I keep finding in the minds of others: music. I've never heard any," Subject 18 replied.

 

            "What?" Nord exclaimed with genuine outrage. "You've never listened to music? I'll be right back." He stormed out of the door, muttering, "how can they expect to come out with a human if they don't let him listen to music? Chernwich has a lot to answer for."

 

            Nord returned an hour and twenty-three minutes later. Subject 18 was still waiting in the office. Nord didn't look at him but instead turned to face his desk. After a few seconds of rummaging he pulled out a set of expensive looking speakers and placed them on his desk. A few more seconds at his computer and Nord had the room filled with sound.

 

            "This," Nord said, "is Pachelbel's Cannon. I'll start early and work our way up to more modern music."

 

            Subject 18 was taken aback, "I thought you were supposed to be teaching me psychic techniques."

 

            "And everyone on the lab knows that you've gotten better at it than I am," Nord said, "now we're honest about what you're really learning here: what it means to be human."

 

            "What? But how-"

 

            "You'll understand in time. Just listen to the music for now."

 

            Subject 18 didn't argue any more. Nord had the same look that Sensei and Francisca got in their eyes when they were teaching him something particularly important. He was just glad that Nord had finally shown himself to be competent at something.

 

***

 

 

 

***

 

(08/04/352 - 1324 hours)

 

      ...and from this data we can see that dragon types, although generally more powerful in every aspect when compared other non-legendary pokegirls, perform only marginally better in a battle situation.

 

      The reasons for this are many: the challenges of properly training a dragon type and the overly prideful natures of dragon types, just to name a few. However, with a good tamer these other issues shouldn't be too big of a problem. The heart of the dragon type's problems is the fame of its biggest weakness: ice.

 

      No tamer living, or that will survive very long, is ignorant of the fact that the dragon type is both powerful and weak to ice. A tamer of any skill would realize the threat that dragon types pose and thus have an ice-centered anti dragon strategy. The obvious counter to this is to carefully choose dual types in order to eliminate any ice weakness. Luckily there are dual type dragons of every element resistant to ice. Of these dual type dragons the gynados and medra breeds stand out most since their typing and abilities leave them with only one weakness apiece while they retain all of the power of other dragon types...

 

            Doctor Chernwich looked up from Dual Type Dragons to look at Francisca as she entered the room, "do you know that all of my colleagues are asking me if the person who wrote these essays is interested in working for them?" He chuckled, "Subject 18 is shaping up to be just as good as we hoped."

 

            Francisca gave her master a smile of genuine happiness, "yes, this one is one of his best essays so far, but it has to compete with Eva Evolutions in Combat and A Psychic Type For Every Harem." Her smile faded, "but that's not why I'm here. Subject 7 is thresholding."

 

            "Hmm," Chernwich pondered for a moment, "put her in a psychic suppressing cell and observe her through the process. Once she is done euthanize her. We can't risk her getting out of the facility or Subject 18 bonding to her."

 

            "Yes sir." Francisca turned to leave unhappily.

 

            "It's a shame," Francisca froze at the quiet voice, "but we were going to have to do it eventually. There are only six months left in Subject 18's education before The Twelve get him and he will leave with only a set of clothes and his memories."

 

            The door closed shut as Francisca left.

 

***

 

(08/04/352 - 1341 hours)

 

            Subject 18 and Nord were sitting across from each other in a luxuriously furnished study. Oak bookshelves lined the walls stopping only to allow ample room for a door and fireplace. Music was drifting through the room from nowhere in particular, "...and she's buying a stairway to heaven..."

 

            "You know," Nord said suddenly, "this is the reason I chose this job, so I could get access to the American Library of Congress archives. All bands nowadays are just pretty faces to slap onto some shitty music so it'll sell. This pre-sukebe stuff isn't like that, it's actually good."

 

            Subject 18 interrupted Nord before he could get any further, "Nord, we've had this talk multiple times."

 

            "And we'll have it again some other time, I don't care." Nod dismissed the complaint offhand, "but man, Led Zeppelin is way better than anything you'll find today."

 

            "That worries me. Led Zeppelin isn't that great," came the equally nonchalant reply.

 

            "What? Led Zeppelin isn't that great?" Nord's voice was suddenly accusing, "what the hell makes you think that?"

 

            "Their compositions are just fine, but they don't have the musical talent to pull it off. Their balance is off, there isn't any dynamic contrast and they tend to be out of tune," Subject 18 said matter-of-factly.

 

            Nord looked dumbfounded.

 

            "If it's any consolation, I think ACDC is a great band," Subject 18 added apologetically.

 

            "Shit. They injected some freaky chemicals into this lab rat," Nord said, "but he's not completely gone." He laughed at his own joke.

 

            A few more minutes passed with neither of them saying anything. The song faded to an end. As the opening chords of the next song were hit, as siren blasted through the study and the world dissolved. The two were sitting back in Nord's office and the sounds of distant conflict could be heard through the office door.

 

            "What's this about?" Nord said, his voice trailing off in confusion. He walked to his office door and peered outside. Subject 18 watched idly for a moment, but sat up sharply as the color drained from Nord's face.

 

            Subject 18 darted over to the door and froze as he watched Subject 7, her skin oddly yellow, being carried down the corridor by a security amachoke. Any struggle she had put up was long over and she was now shivering silently. As she passed, for an instant, Subject 7 gave him an imploring look and she was taken around another hallway, towards a section of the facility that Subject 18 had rarely been: the observation rooms.

 

            Throughout the entire scene, subject 18 had forced himself to remain completely motionless, his emotions in firm lockdown. Do not act rashly. His body was rigid. Calm down and analyze the situation, he told himself. His knuckles were white from how tightly his fists had been clenched.

 

 

***

 

(08/16/352 - 2014 hours)

 

            Subject 18 was lying in bed, Farah, a damsel whom he frequently bedded, breathing softly into his chest after their rather intense sex. Farah always seemed to coax all of the violent urges out of him every time she stayed with him. But this time it wasn't enough.

 

            The past few weeks had seemed to crawl by. Subject 18 had taken to carefully probing every person in the facility he could even with the risks of the mental shielding spells that Ms. Alexander had cast on every worker. But it was worth it. He needed to know about the progress of Subject 7's thresholding and nothing would stop him. She would be finished tomorrow, held for another day and then killed after all useful data had been collected. Subject 18 knew what kind of security risk that she posed and why Doctor Chernwich was doing it, but he couldn't accept it. For the first time in his life, Subject 18 found himself unable to accept completely sound logic.

 

            He had taken to replaying one of their conversations over in his mind every night. His recollection captured the moment perfectly, down to every inflection in Subject 7's voice, every shadow on the wall, every touch of Subject 7's hands on his chest.

 

            "Why were you able to, so easily, kill me?" She asked.

 

            "Kill you? I did no such thing."

 

            "But you did. At least as far as the context of the battle we had."

 

            "You were my opponent, my enemy. The only way for me to win was to take you out, so I did."

 

            "You didn't have to win. There were options other than that."

 

            "No there weren't. I will win whenever I can by whatever means I can. No matter who my opponent is."

 

            A pause and then she asked, "Subject 18, what am I to you?"

 

            He was never able to answer her. A friend maybe? Just what is a friend anyways? Just what did Subject 7 mean to him?

 

            For the first time in his life, Subject 18 was planning a course of action that he didn't fully understand the motives behind. He simply felt that if he didn't do something, he would always regret it.

 

            Farah shifted in his arms and Subject 18 forced himself to sleep.

 

***

 

(08/17/352 - 0710 hours)

 

            "Hajime," came Sensei's sharp command.

 

            Subject 18 and Tomo both dropped into low stances and began shuffling around each other. Subject 18 sidestepped several easy punches from the herochan and countered with his own as she moved in range. The carefully calculated punches all landed successfully on Tomo's jaw and gut.

 

            "Good," Tomo said smilingly. They had only recently moved to Karate after Sensei declared Subject 18 sufficiently masterful in the three arts he was originally intended to study. So far his trio of martial art teachers had seemed pleased with his progress.

 

            It was time to change that.

 

            There is a certain trust between sparring partners, unlike any other. One that can be very powerful when abused. Take for example the Roman emperor Commodus, who had three attempts on his life. The first attempt was poison. Emperor Commodus became ill and vomited it back up before its job was finished.

 

            The next time Tomo closed on him, Subject 18 lunged out with a downward kick, meant to break knees. The herochan was too tough to be seriously hurt by the technique, but a bone-breaking technique is enough to phase just about anything. As the kick connected Tomo's entire body went rigid for a moment and she leaned forward slightly. That was all Subject 18 needed.

 

            The second attempt was a goon sent to Commodus's chamber to stab him while he was asleep. Commodus woke up and killed his assailant without receiving any injury.

 

            In a smooth, wasteless motion he grabbed the pokegirl's head with both hands and brought it to his rising right knee. A vicious cry escaped his lips as the hit connected and, letting anger begin to fuel his blows, Subject 18 flowed into the next blow.

 

            On the third attempt, Commodus's wrestling partner was hired. He successfully managed to strangle Commodus in the bath. Why? Because Commodus trusted him with his life on a daily basis. The trust to stop blows before they injured. The trust to stop a hold before it got deadly. This is the sort of trust Subject 18 was breaking.

 

            Caught completely off guard, Tomo was unable to react as an elbow slammed into her face. Blood spattered the ground and Subject 18's hand shot out to wrap around the back of the herochan's head. His entire body twisted, throwing Tomo to the ground face first. She hit with a dull thud. Subject 18's leg rose in order to give a finishing stomp-

 

            The world spun and Subject 18 found himself flat on his back, Mikoto standing over him. A sword pointed at his throat.

 

            "Enough," Sensei said, his tone harsh, "you must keep control of your emotions, no matter the circumstances." Then he sighed and said, in a gentler tone, "I know you have much to be upset about today... despite every attempt to hide it from you. You are dismissed for the day. I will tell your other teachers not to expect you."

 

            Mikoto Pulled both Subject 18 and Tomo to their feet at the same time and, to his surprise, the herochan clapped him on the back. "Even though that was a bit uncalled for," she began, "I have to admit I'm impressed." Tomo playfully spat a broken tooth at him and grimaced, "I'd hate to meet you on a real battlefield."

 

            "I thought you enjoyed fighting strong, clever opponents," came Mikoto's voice from behind the pair.

 

            "Hai," Tomo said, "but I like to win when I do it."

 

            Subject 18 abandoned the two harem-sisters at the edge of the dojo and hurried back to his room. Though it hadn't worked out with the large lecture or argument that he had expected, the first part of his plan had succeeded.

 

***

 

(08/17/352 - 0738 hours)

 

            Subject 18 felt exhilarated. Never before had he let his emotions run wild like this. But now, now he could do as he liked since he was throwing everything away. So as he let go, into a furious, sobbing tantrum, he felt equal parts desolate sadness and intellectual fascination. So this is the power raw emotion has over people, he mused. But this train of thought was short lived. He had work to do.

 

            Having long since found the locations of all the hidden cameras in his room, subject 18 set out destroying them in ways that looked accidental. The trick was doing enough damage to the rest of the room that it didn't look suspicious when all of the cameras were taken out.

 

            A desk flew into a wall, scattering papers and pencils everywhere. Parts of Subject 18's bed put large dents in the ceiling. He continued to throw furniture, kick, scream incoherently and even through in a little maniacal laughter through several series of shocks from his implant. Subject 18 continued his miniature rampage and waited, knowing that somebody would have to come eventually.

 

            Eventually, Subject 18 heard a knock on the door. He collapsed panting and called, "whaddya want?"

 

            Nord's voice drifted back through, "to talk."

 

            "Finally decided you couldn't zap me into submission, eh? Well come in and see if you like the consequences."

 

            Nord unlocked the door and came in. He surveyed the ruined room briefly before putting on a poor attempt at a fatherly expression and saying, "I know why you're doing this, but you need to stop." He scratched at his ear.

 

            "Oh?"

 

            "Look, you're almost done with your education. Hell, as far as I'm concerned you're done. You've probably taught me more than I've taught you. Anyways, what I'm saying is you need to ask yourself if she's really worth throwing away the last five years." Nord sighed, "do you even have a plan anyways?"

 

            Subject 18 crossed his arms and didn't reply. This was an odd way for the scientists to try to calm him down.

 

            Nord continued his talk, "just think about it. What waits for you after here? Trust me. You're gonna go far kid." His hand strayed towards a lump in his chest pocket.

 

            Yes, Subject 18 knew what Nord was telling him to do.

 

            "...you've got the brains, you've got the guts..."

 

            Subject 18's pulse quickened. He wasn't even listening to what Nord was saying any more. Hit 'em right between the eyes.

            Hit 'em- Subject 18 lunged forward, pinning Nord against the door and smashing an elbow into his face. Blood spattered and he struck again. Nord crumpled without even trying to defend himself.

 

            Subject 18 quickly rummaged through his victim's pockets before pulling out a set of keys and a small, lumpy package labeled as a present for him. Inside the package was a knife whose handle was set perpendicular to the four-inch blade along with a note.

 

                        "I think this kind of weapon suits Subject 18 the best. It's just as sneaky and          vicious as you are.

 

            -Love, Mikoto."

 

            A small smile appeared on Subject 18's face. He must have made more allies than he had thought. He grabbed the knife so that the blade stuck out of a gap between his knuckles. Mikoto was right. He could do quite a lot of damage with this.

           

            Now was the time for action, not sentimental thoughts, Subject 18 admonished himself. He shoved the note, knife and keys into his pocket and headed off towards the observation rooms at a sprint.

 

***

 

(08/17/352 - 0802 hours)

 

            A psy-dyke stared Subject 18 down just outside his destination. Behind her stood Marianne Alexander.

 

            "Well," Subject 18 said, "I didn't really expect to ever see you again."

 

            Allie nodded slowly.

 

             Ms. Alexander spoke, with venom in her voice. "It seems that after all this time you still haven't learned to respect magic and those who wield it. This will be your final lesson." Without looking away, she commanded, "Allie, restrain him."

 

            The psy-dyke teleported behind him, but grabbed only thin air as Subject 18 launched into a diving roll towards Ms. Alexander.

 

            Steel flashed for a moment. Warm blood soaked Subject 18's arm as his target's chest caved in under the force of the blow. He tugged downwards. A rough sensation as his blade cut through flesh and bone.

 

            Ms. Alexander's face was white with shock and loss of blood. Her intestines spilled onto the floor as Subject 18 pulled his hand back. For good measure, he punched her once more, this time in the face. His fist drove the four-inch knife into his ex-teacher's eye, quickly snuffing out whatever life she still had in her. Allie watched him, dumbfounded, from behind.

 

            Subject 18 grabbed a pokeball from Ms. Alexander's corpse. "Hey," he said, turning around to look at Allie.

 

            "Y-yeah?" Allie said, not taking her eyes off her ex-tamer's body.

 

            "Thanks for working with me before." Subject 18 hit the recall button and watched the psy-dyke melt into red light and fade away. He dropped the ball and walked through the door to his goal.

 

            Just inside was a plain room with a neat desk, one chair and a security console displaying various video feeds from the observation rooms. Out of the four only two were used, one for a strange creature covered in bandages, the other contained an a-bra. Subject 18 recognized the a-bra immediately as Subject 7.

 

            Subject 18 paused for a moment, suspicious at the lack of security, but he had no time to ponder it. Just accept things as they are and move on. Think when you have the time. He went over to the security console and after some experimentation got the door to Subject 7's cell open. He began walking towards it and- it slammed shut.

 

            Subject 18 returned to the console, hit the door release sequence and sprinted over to the opening cell door. The slammed shut just before he got to it. Subject 18 turned around to see the video feeds disappear to be replaced with the face of a pokegirl: Trixie.

 

            The facility's video girl stared out at him from the multitude of monitors above the security console. "Naughty Subject 18," she said with a sadistic smile, "we can't let you into the observation rooms. I'll just have to prepare you for a ride back to your own."

 

            Electricity surged through Subject 18 as his control chip was set off and pain exploded in every nerve in every fiber of his being. He gritted his teeth, determined not to cry out in pain, to master it. A tooth cracked inside his mouth and the salty taste of blood filled his mouth. He could dimly register that Trixie was saying something, but couldn't tell what it was.

 

            Calm down, Subject 18 told himself, don't fight it. Just let the pain pass over you. Search for a way out. Subject 18 focused on his breathing. In through the mouth, out through the nose. He focused on his heart beat and let it slow. His body relaxed, despite the shock running through it, and his convulsions became less pronounced. If there was one thing the late Ms. Alexander's lessons were good for, it would be that they taught Subject 18 how to deal with pain.

 

            After a few moments calm thought, two realizations hit Subject 18: the security console wasn't armored and video girls can't do anything with broken hardware.

 

            Subject 18 staggered over to the security console and summoned up all his strength. The console casing needed to have holes in it for the buttons, so that's where Subject 18 struck. The thin metal caved beneath his blow, cracking the case and shredding his skin with the broken edges. Trixie's taunts turned to shouting. This barely registered in Subject 18's mind. The ineffectiveness of his strike was more important.

 

            Accessing a part of his mind that lay long unused, Subject 18 summoned up power and the case ripped outward, seemingly of its own accord. Subject 18 winced, expecting more pain. However, the shock that was supposed to follow any use of his telekinetic powers had been going on for a whole minute. He redoubled his efforts and the console casing split open further and the flaps ripped off, leaving a sizable hole.

 

            Subject 18 reached into the console and grabbed fistfuls of wire, ripping them as he went. Screens died and the image of Trixie became fragmented. Subject 18 hit the door release button and jammed the two bundles of torn wire together.

 

            Lights in the ceiling exploded. All the observation room doors flew open and began to smoke. A multitude of screams were emitted from what seemed to be every electronic device in the room. Electricity arced across Subject 18's body, focusing on a single point on his neck. Subject 18 passed out momentarily.

 

            Had he not been subject to years of what was essentially magical torture, not spent years honing his body under the watchful eyes of Sensei and not had the fast healing blood gift, Subject 18 would probably have died. As it was, Subject 18 managed to push himself up weakly and feel at the hole burnt into his neck.

 

            Subject 18 grabbed a long shard of metal from the floor and poked it into the wound until it reached bone, feeling around. He felt it hit a bump and dug the shard in deeper, scraping along his spine. "Aaaaargh," he grunted as he pulled the metal shard out of his wound, a small computer chip impaled upon the end.

 

            Subject 18 resisted the urge to simply lie down on the floor and sleep. He was almost to his goal. With some effort, he pushed himself off of the floor, walked over to Subject 7's cell and ducked inside. Subject 7 hadn't stirred even with all of the commotion outside.

 

            Subject 18 extended his consciousness towards her and ventured into her mind. Everything but the most basic life preserving processes were shut down. A psychically induced coma eh? I thought it was the Silver River League that was supposed to have good psychics. But this still was little hindrance to Subject 18 as he went about prodding Subject 7's mind back into action.

 

            As he withdrew from her conscious, Subject 7's eyes flitted open. The newly thresholded a-bra looked at her savior for a moment.

 

            "...You look like hell."

 

            "Yeah? Well," Subject 18 said as he helped Subject 7 to her feet, "some stuff happened. We've got to get moving right away if we don't want to be caught."

 

            Subject 7 raised her eyebrows momentarily before breaking into a smile. "Thank you." She said as Subject 18 turned his back and headed towards a ladder just outside the room.

 

            The two emerged from an armored trap door into an abandoned store room. They coughed as a tarp covering their route kicked up dust around them. Sunlight drifted in through gaps around the door.

 

            Through the door and out onto the street they went, seeing the outside world for the first time. Subject 18 pulled Subject 7 left and they ran off, towards a jungle waiting on the outskirts of town.

 

 

***

 

(08/17/352 - 0845 hours)

 

            As the two ran, Subject 18 accidentally bumped into a rather large man wearing a tamer's belt. "Watch it street rat," the man growled at Subject 18's brief apology.

 

            After the pair got out of earshot of the man's threats Subject 18 said, "you know what name I want? Rat."

 

            "Rat? That seems awfully self demeaning."

 

            "I'll just want to shove it back in their faces, that's all. Make it a household name." He smiled, panting slightly, "besides. My last name is going to be Kaiser."

 

            "Alright... rat-king."

 

            "Hey, nobody can make fun of it if I kick their ass."

 

            "True enough."

 

            They ran in silence for a couple more minutes. Then Subject 7 asked, "so what would my name be."

 

            "Hmm..."

 

            "Well?"

 

            "Gloria."

 

            "Gloria? What kind of name is that?"

 

            "You don't like it?"

 

            "I never said that..."

 

            "Then it's your name."

 

            They stopped to rest a short ways into the forest. Rat leaned against a boulder, breathing heavily and said, "I've decided I'm going to become a tamer in the Silver River League. Want to come with me Gloria?"

 

            The a-bra faltered and said, "just because you were supposedly made to be a tamer doesn't mean you have to become one."

 

            "I want to become one. The question is, do you want to follow me?"

 

            Gloria looked over, smiled and said, "yes."

 

 

Control is by Puddle of Mudd on the album Come Clean

 

Rat's name is taken from the character Rat Kiley in The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien

 

Gloria's namesake will become obvious if I ever decide to continue this story, but for now it will remain secret.

 

Thanks to Jinxyspellkeeper for helping me with the editing and some of the specifics of the Slot League.