84: Chapter 84 Niijima's Funeral, Reconnecting After the War

The first thing Mewtwo did after gaining freedom was to turn and look at New Island.

That white island, separated by the black sea, was still glowing in the wind and rain.

The lines that had once tethered it were still there.

It closed its eyes, and silver-blue light spread out from the sky above Cinnabar, surging back along those lines.

In the underground laboratory of New Island, white lights turned on one by one, then extinguished one by one.

Dr. Fuji stood in the center of the empty control room, looking up at the ceiling.

He knew it had returned.

Its body remained in Cinnabar, but its will had returned here.

The old man whispered, "I am sorry."

No one answered.

The next moment, the entire underground of New Island began to turn upside down.

The first to catch fire was the observation room.

There were seventeen chairs in that room, and in front of each chair was a one-way mirror.

Many people had once sat there, watching the lives in the incubation tanks struggle, twitch, and cry, then writing "High Value" or "Low Value" on their reports.

The silver-blue light swept across, snapping the chair backs, turning the recording boards black, and cracking the glass down the middle; the cracks, like small hands trapped inside, crawled across the entire wall.

Next was the operating room.

Restraint straps loosened automatically, and forceps, scalpels, and syringes hovered in mid-air, emitting a faint trembling sound.

A few seconds later, they all turned into fine powder and fell into the drainage trough.

The old bloodstains on the floor were scraped away layer by layer by the light, revealing deeper, darker marks underneath.

Further down was the numbered storage area.

Rows of incubation tanks lit up.

The tank walls were long empty, but scratch marks still remained on the glass.

Some scratches were very shallow, like those from newborn claws.

Some were very deep, almost piercing through the glass.

Mewtwo watched very quietly.

As it finished watching each row, it let that row extinguish.

It was turning off the lights for a group of dead who had no one to mourn them.

In the deepest part of the numbered storage area, there was a row of tiny tanks.

The tanks were only as high as an adult's knee, and withered limbs floated inside.

Some had only grown half a claw, some had extra bone plates on their chests, and some did not even have formed facial features.

The labels were written very cleanly.

"Failure."

"Discard."

"To be shredded."

Mewtwo stopped in front of that row of tanks for a long time.

In the Cinnabar Main Tower, all the screens were lit.

Lynn, Blaine, Sabrina, maintenance workers, wounded soldiers, and the rescued children all saw those tanks.

No one spoke.

A woman holding a child slowly covered the child's eyes, while her own tears fell onto the child's hair.

Mewtwo raised its hand, causing that row of tanks to open simultaneously.

The silver-blue light lifted those incomplete little lives and sent them into the same ash.

It did not give them names.

Because their names had been stolen from them at birth.

It only read each number once.

Once, as a farewell.

The incubation tanks opened.

The neural needles fell off.

The record cabinets caught fire.

The cold storage doors popped open one by one.

Those remains that had once been numbered, shredded, and labeled "Reusable" were enveloped by the silver-blue light and slowly turned into fine ash.

M-00.

M-07.

M-19.

M-37.

Each number lit up for a moment and was then erased.

In the New Island control room, Charles Goodshow was still roaring.

"Cut it off! Cut it off immediately!"

The technician was covered in cold sweat.

"All circuits have been locked out!"

"Backups?"

"The mirror database is burning!"

"Paper files?"

"The automatic incineration room has been activated!"

Charles Goodshow stumbled half a step, the color draining from his face little by little.

He finally understood that what Mewtwo was destroying was far more than just a laboratory.

The black ledgers, dark dealings, and dirty paths the League had accumulated over decades were all burning with it.

Deeper underground, the cryogenic material storage was opened.

Inside were bone fragments, nerve bundles, eyeballs, organs, and rows of small boxes.

Each box was labeled, the handwriting neatly jarring.

"Auditory response."

"Fear response."

"Pain tolerance."

"First cry."

Dr. Fuji knelt on the ground, covering his face with both hands.

He knew he had no right to cry.

But tears still fell from between his fingers.

Mewtwo's voice entered the control room.

"You have seen it."

Dr. Fuji's shoulders trembled.

"Yes."

"You have signed it."

"Yes."

"You regret it."

"Yes."

"Have they returned?"

Dr. Fuji lay prostrate on the ground, his voice broken.

"They cannot return."

Dr. Fuji tried to get up, but his knees went soft, and he fell back to the ground.

He had once thought he was atoning for his sins.

He had hidden data, transferred some samples, delayed certain experiments, and even secretly left behind treatment plans.

But those small gestures could not save lives that had already been cut open.

Mewtwo pushed an old application in front of him.

His signature was on the paper.

The content of the application was very short.

"Increase the intensity of emotional stimulation to observe the upper limit of power."

Dr. Fuji looked at those words, his fingers curling up little by little.

That day, he had signed it very quickly.

Because after the meeting ended, he had to rush to see another set of samples.

He had treated others' pain as work progress.

Now, those words floated up from the paper and stuck before his eyes.

He could see them even with his eyes closed.

In the deepest part of the cold storage, there was a small metal box.

A handwritten label was stuck to the outside of the box.

"First cry."

That was the fluctuation recorded when Mewtwo first made a sound.

Researchers had cut that cry into a sample and played it repeatedly to observe its power fluctuations when its emotions rose.

The silver-blue light stopped in front of the box.

Dr. Fuji looked up, his eyes full of begging.

He wanted to keep that tiny thing, as if keeping it could prove he still remembered the crimes he had committed.

Mewtwo's voice was calm.

"You keep it only to comfort yourself."

The metal box cracked in the light.

The storage chip inside turned to ash.

Dr. Fuji opened his mouth, making a wheezing sound.

Mewtwo had increased his punishment by another measure.

Even the excuse he used for remembrance had been taken away by its own hand.

The silver-blue light bypassed him, leaving his life intact.

Something heavier than death fell upon him.

Every time New Island burned down a laboratory, he had to watch one.

Every time a number disappeared, he had to remember that number.

This process was longer than death.

It meted out the sentence to the living.

On the sea surface, New Island began to sink.

Seawater first poured into the landing platform, then flooded over the white passageway, and then submerged the observation windows.

Experimental cables twitched in the water, flashed a few times, then went completely dark.

Paper scraps gushed out from the drainage outlet and were quickly soaked by the rain.

Black ink spread out, mixing into the seawater, like a group of late-arriving souls finally leaving The White Room.

Charles Goodshow stood in front of a screen in the distance, watching New Island disappear bit by bit, forgetting even to grip his cane.

He had once thought he possessed the ultimate weapon.

Now, that weapon had buried its own birthplace with its own hands.

In the Cinnabar Main Tower, Lynn also saw the silver-blue ripples on the sea surface.

He suppressed all cheers.

This victory was too expensive.

So expensive that every cheer felt like stepping on dead men's bones.

Cinnabar Island was silent.

Far away on Cinnabar Island, people in the shelters also saw New Island sinking.

Some began to pray softly.

Some held their loved ones' memorial tablets tighter.

Others stared at that stretch of sea, an indescribable fear surfacing in their eyes.

They knew Cinnabar had won.

But they also understood that the silver-white monster Lynn had summoned possessed the power to bury an island with its own hands.

Victory brought safety, but it also brought new shadows.

Lynn listened to the civil situation report brought by the messenger, his expression calm.

"Write it down."

"Whose family has dead, whose house is lost, whose child is missing—register it all."

The messenger hesitated.

"Do it tonight?"

"Tonight."

"Post it before dawn."

Lynn looked at the backup lights that had turned back on outside.

"Cinnabar has just crawled out of a pile of dead bodies; the first thing the living need to know is that someone is keeping track of the accounts."

When Mewtwo turned back, what it saw was an island that had almost been destroyed.

The port was broken in two.

Half of the outer defensive wall had collapsed.

The third furnace room had collapsed, and workers were pouring cold water into it amidst the steam.

The roofs of the shelters were full of holes; soldiers tore off broken wooden planks and replaced them with sheet metal.

In the infirmary, military doctors were so busy their hands were shaking, and the cries of children mixed with the moans of wounded soldiers.

Blaine stood at the entrance of the Main Tower, his voice already hoarse from shouting.

"Maintenance teams, enter the tower!"

"Those who can still walk, go move cables!"

"People in the furnace room, evacuate first; playing the hero will only add to the corpses!"

Bodies were carried to the open ground at the port.

Where there was enough cloth, they covered them with cloth; where there was a shortage, they covered them with wooden planks.

When Tyranitar passed by, its massive shadow loomed over the stretchers.

It paused, looked down, and then used its claw to flatten a collapsed wall nearby, clearing a path for the body-carrying team.

Gengar also quieted down.

It dragged out several soldiers who had died in the shadows and placed them next to the brazier.

Its mouth, which usually liked to cackle, was now just a thin slit.

Sabrina woke up once.

She saw the list next to the stretcher and pointed at it.

"One is missing."

The clerk next to her was stunned.

Sabrina closed her eyes and recited the name of a maintenance worker.

That man had died on the third floor of the Main Tower, his body crushed under an electrical cabinet, and no one had been able to look for him just now.

The clerk immediately took people upstairs.

The weight of this victory was written into paper, stroke by stroke.

The first maintenance list was posted quickly.

Those with broken legs were carried to the infirmary.

Those who could still stand went to connect wires.

Those who were literate registered warehouse losses.

Those with strength moved stones.

Some saw their names on the list and could not help but curse out loud.

A soldier nearby slammed his rifle butt onto the ground, and the man immediately shut up, shouldered his tools, and walked into the tower.

Lynn's rule was never gentle.

But this list at least made clear what everyone should do, and what they could get in exchange after finishing.

Double credit.

A bowl of hot porridge.

Priority for medicine.

Three days off work for the families of the fallen.

These things sounded meager, but they moved people more effectively than empty shouts of victory.

As long as people could still receive porridge, medicine, and tomorrow, they would continue to reconnect the broken parts.

A young maintenance worker stood in front of the tower, holding his toolbox, hesitating to take a step.

He was originally an ordinary engineer at a Silph Co. branch.

Yesterday, he was still afraid that Lynn would turn them all into slaves.

Today, he saw on the bulletin board: double credit for maintenance hours, priority treatment for the wounded, and immediate execution for those who steal medicine or burn warehouses.

He was still afraid.

But he also knew that if the Main Tower was not fixed, the whole island would have to rely on human patrols tonight.

An old worker walked past and patted his shoulder.

"Don't think too much."

"Just connect the wires first."

The young maintenance worker gritted his teeth and walked into the tower.

It was full of the smell of burnt things.

The walls were cracked, cables were hanging down, and there was blood on the floor.

He knelt down, stripped the wire insulation, his hands shaking violently.

A wounded soldier next to him, with his arm in a sling, handed him a pair of pliers.

"Connect it faster."

"I still want to live until tomorrow morning."

The maintenance worker smiled, but his eyes turned red.

On the other side of the port, the cooking shed was lit again.

At first there was only water in the pot, then someone brought half a bag of rice, and someone else brought a few pieces of compressed rations.

The cook poured everything in and stirred it with a large ladle.

The porridge was very thin.

So thin you could see your own face in it.

But when the first bowl was brought to the infirmary, everyone in the shed quieted down.

A little girl with a face full of soot held the wooden bowl and first handed it to the soldier with the broken leg beside her.

The soldier shook his head and pushed the bowl back.

"You drink it."

The little girl took a sip, and tears fell into the bowl.

Her house had collapsed, and her father was still in the pile of corpses waiting to be identified.

But the moment the hot porridge entered her stomach, she finally knew she was still alive.

This kind of living was very light, yet also very heavy.

This was Cinnabar after the war.

There was no victory banquet.

There were no cheers from the masses.

People only cared about carrying away the corpses, reconnecting the wires, patching the holes, and cooking the next pot of porridge.

When Lynn walked out of the Main Tower, his steps were a bit unsteady.

Tyranitar stood by his side, smoke still rising from the crack in its chest.

Gengar shrank into the shadows, smiling with its eyelids held up.

Sabrina was carried onto a stretcher, her fingers still clutching a piece of charred cable.

Porygon-Z was just a thumb-sized point of light, landing on the back of Lynn's hand.

Mewtwo stood on high, quietly watching these people.

It had once thought that power meant raising a hand to make an island quiet.

Now it saw something else.

After the battle ended, there were still people who had to connect wires, move stones, bury corpses, stand guard, and cook porridge.

This was pathetic.

And it was not noble.

But it was more real than the lights in The White Room.

Lynn looked up at it.

"Welcome to the outside."

Mewtwo looked at him, then at the wounded and workers all over the island.

"The outside is very noisy."

Lynn laughed.

"You'll get used to it."

The sea breeze blew, and the last bit of silver-blue light from New Island sank to the bottom of the sea.

The first backup light on Cinnabar Island lit up again at the top of the Main Tower.

When the light turned on, someone in the shelter began to cry softly.

Blaine looked up at that light, then at Lynn.

"How will you arrange for Mewtwo?"

Lynn looked at the silver-white figure on high.

"Let it stand outside the city."

"Into a Poké Ball?"

"It just buried its own cage."

Blaine understood.

"Then Cinnabar has gained a guest that no one can control."

Lynn wiped the blood from the back of his hand.

"And also a blade that everyone fears."

Mewtwo heard this, but did not refute it.

It turned and walked toward the black cliffs outside the island, sitting in the place closest to the city wall, yet furthest from the crowd.

It could see Cinnabar.

Cinnabar could also see it.

This distance was strange.

Enough to guard, and enough to be wary.

Lynn raised his hand, having the messenger post new notices at the port, food sheds, infirmary, and the Main Tower entrance.

First, the evidence of New Island's crimes is to be sealed and made public on a later date.

Second, Mewtwo will remain outside Cinnabar; anyone who approaches without authorization will be treated as spying on military intelligence.

Third, restore power to the entire island tonight; the first pot of porridge will be served before dawn.

After the notices were posted, the crowd was briefly silent.

Then, the first hammer sound came from the direction of the boiler room.

Someone moved, and others followed.

Cinnabar Island climbed up from the ruins again.

Lynn stood under the light, looking toward the end of the black sea.

New Island had sunk.

But Indigo Plateau was still there.

The Old League was still there.

After tonight, they would know that the ultimate weapon had opened its eyes and was standing at the edge of Cinnabar's shadow.