There's a thin film of reality separating Charlie Cooper from the world of his work and his life at home. He's aware, wholly at this point, that there's a distinct difference between the two of them. They're nothing the same -- one includes the indefinite research into the fusion of two Pokémon, and the other has his seven-year-old son parading around the house with a little Skitty trailing behind him. 

Whenever he's at work, he forgets he can't stand around and watch the marvelous happenings because he has a job to do. Dr. Lukas, his supervisor and head researcher for the Fusion Program, has already given him too many warnings when it comes to dozing off in the observation room, his caffeine and eyelids lowering every so often. If he hears the droning voice of Lukas telling him he needs to worry about the recording of data again, he'll need to rip out his tongue before some curses and unbidden insults erupt from his mouth.

And when he's at home, he sometimes acts just as cold and clinical when he's at the Fusion Program Research Facility. He speaks in a clipped tone when an inane question is asked before realizing his son is not a resentful grunt, and because Vincent is susceptible to loud voices and hurtful tones, there's need for cheer after the smoke subsides. Usually, he spends the rest of his night apologizing to him, holding his head to his chest and rubbing his his back gently. He loves his son, truly, would not be whole and complete without the small bundle of joy prancing about the hallways of the house, his jovial giggles swelling his chest whenever they appeared, but it's a tremendous workload for him without his late partner.

Tomorrow, though, he can put the two of them together like Vincent's building blocks. The Program, after five years of continuous, progressing research into DNA splicing and reattachment and evolution of synthetic gel to compensate for the fusion process, is holding a special presentation for the prominent, effluent residents of the rural region. The hardworking scientists' families were invited, too, which meant Vincent and Charlie could go side-by-side through the expanses of the facility.

Vincent will love it, he thinks as he drifts away from his desk and into his bed without undressing. I'm sure he will.

.

And boy, is he excited. In fact, Charlie wakes up to Vincent tumbling into his bedroom, jumping on the bed and landing right on his abdomen. He clutches his stomach as he pushes his giddy son off, although on the inside, he's having a blast, too. Vincent is giggling, covering his mouth in a vain attempt to retract his laughter. Charlie knows he can't stop when he starts, so he wholeheartedly chuckles along with his son as he crawls out of bed and through his morning routine.

They're out and into the car before long. The long routes of Johto, the ones initially made for bikes and rollerskates worn by the ten-year-old Trainers, were paved out and widened a few years back, when highways and roads began to seem more practical than menial ways of travel, and now Charlie's able to go long distances without having to rely on his legs, or a pair of wheels, to get him there.

It's easier, too, to get Vincent to school, especially when it's so far from the house. He'd hate to walk all the way there with Vincent bounding off this way and that, marvelling at all the Pokémon which frolick through the tall grass, fly high in the distant skies and wrap their bodies in the high canopies of the trees.

And even now, Vincent is attached to the window as the sun rises above the horizon, his eyes looking down. The car zooms past the curious Pokémon poking their heads out of the stalks of berries lined out from the Jenkins's nearby farm. Charlie feels bad for waking them from their slumber. He's worked with Pokémon since he was a Trainer, appreciating their exotic appearances and their innate abilities, and has always held dear to their shared existence, but nowadays . . . well, he's watched enough mishaps including their presence in order to give him empathy. So he doesn't like to disrupt the nature outside of work, prefers to let them be if he can.

After a few minutes of peaceful driving, the Fusion Program Research Facility is seen on the top of a large hill. Impressive and immense, it looks like a grand cathedral, where worshipping Arceus is practiced. Except here, appraisal of the sciences provided by the Almighty Creator is more appropriate than worship itself. Vincent does not speak as Charlie pulls up the street leading to the building's paved parking lot, but his eyes, mud-brown and full of life, are gleaming adoration. He's only seen it from a distance, as it's on the way to his school, so seeing it so close is an awe-inspiring experience. To Charlie, it's a slog.

He parks, then ushers Vincent out of the car after the small boy stops jouncing excitedly in his seat.

And into the lobby they go.

The smell of a sterile environment is immediately strong. The wide, white room's walls are decorated with paintings of the founders of the facility. Many famous faces can be seen: amiable Steven Stone, curious Professor Oak and vibrant Raymond Kalos. Small marble statues show romanticized versions of their successful fusions, Pidgypie and Butterdrill being the most impressive busts available. He hopes today, they'll be able to show the public eye their newest fusion without hassle, to add another trophy to the barren lobby.

"Charles! I'm so glad you made it today," says Darla cheerfully. She's standing behind a horseshoe-shaped desk, her hands making quick work of the parchment which laden its surface. Her eyes glide to Vincent, who is looking around at all the pictures and paintings on the walls, his mouth agape, his eyes wide. "And is this your little one you keep talking about?"

"No, I just took a child from the street and brought him along with me," jests Charlie. "This one just so happens to look like me and call me Dad."

Darla giggles at his joke.

Darla is a good woman, he knows. She's polite, wholehearted, committed to her work, and beautiful. Her curved-shape and thin lips are a temptation sent from the depths of he Dark Realm, something to draw him in and take him whole. But she's a forlorn reflection of Vincent's mother, a poor imitation of the woman who birthed his child, and he does not want to infringe upon those not-yet-forgotten emotions. He's buried almost all of them for a reason, selfish and destructive though it may be. Even if there is a little spark which engulfs his heart and burns it, he needs time. To grieve is a laborious task, one supported by long nights of work, guilt and unwanted temptation, but he's chipped away at the wall she caused when she left. He needs more time to make the hole a little bigger for him and Vincent, and maybe . . . just maybe, if he can stretch far enough through, Darla will be at the other side to greet them, arms open and welcoming, a smile so wide and cheerful he would melt forthwith.

She leans her elbows onto the desk, her head dipping down and lowering her glasses to the tip of her nose. "What's your name again, l'il guy?" she asks.

He turns to her, closes his mouth, registers the question and answers jovially, "Vincent!"

Darla returns the grin with a warm smile. "Well, Vincent, I hope you have a wonderful time with your dad today." She looks up at Charlie, who's almost enraptured with the woman's amiable disposition. "Dr. Lukas said he can't go back into the research rooms. He doesn't want to pay insurance for anything Vince does."

"The stickler will have his way, then. It was nice seeing you, Darla," says Charlie.

"And you, too, Charles."

He tugs on Vincent's hand. "C'mon, buddy," he says.

And Vincent hangs back a little, looking longingly at Darla with a pout puckering his lower lip. Then he heeds his father's pulling, though his slouch his prominent.

"When's the thing gonna start, Dad?" he asks as they cut the corner into the left hallway.

"Soon enough, Vince," Charlie says absently.

Down the length of the hallway, signs glowing yellow are strewn along the tops of the doors. Bright and useless, they are to him. He's been here far too long to forget where everything is. Then he spots the fingerpad-locked door at the end of the hallway. Two metal bars, ones heavier than Charlie's meager body weight, encapsulate the thing, keeping it shut. Beyond those doors, the research facility's main laboratories lay, their untouched creations sitting in wait for their show.

A thought pops into his mind. It's severe, would never have came up in any other situation, but with Vincent here beside him and latent commotion brewing in his already-swelling chest, it's just as blazing as Charizard's flaming tail. Go in there, Charlie. Go in there and have some fun with Vincent. He deserves it after all the stuff that's happened lately. Release some stress, relive the life wherein you thrived.

If he was in a better mindset, he could have pushed aside the nagging thought.

But today, he's not. He's controlled now by his primal need for cheer and joy, similar to his son's unbidden excitement whenever he sees a toy he likes at the Pokémart. His better judgment has fled in the presence of the toxicity of his disregard.

He squeezes Vincent's hand. "You wanna go see the little Pokémon before the others get to see them?"

Vincent nods his head vigorously, and soon the two of them bypass the locked door with Charlie's integrated fingerprints. Charlie is careful not to let anyone see them. He's knowledgeable of the camera positions, and ushers Vincent this way and that when he can, sometimes violently pushing him back to prevent anyone from seeing them.

Thankfully, he cannot hear anybody wandering about the still expanse of the lab. All he can hear is the slightly bubbling of synthetic gel cooling in its vat, the small gurgle of specialized liquid used to prepare Pokémon for the fusion process, the slight breathing of the Pokémon who are to be presented. Everything is still, unmoving and silent. If they've careful, no one will know they're there.

The squeaky floors will pick up their movements, though, and if anyone is here and hears the horrible sound of their treacherous meandering, then they'll both be in massive trouble, especially Charlie.

But Charlie tosses away all care now. He doesn't wish to worry about the little things right now; he just wants Vincent to have a little fun.

And so he lets go of Vincent's hand and whispers, "We don't have too long in here, l'il guy, all right? We'll have to hurry before anyone can notice we're in here. Don't make too much noise, or else the Men in Black will come and get you. And you don't want the Men in Black to get you, right?"

Vincent only shakes his head, though a grin spread cross his round-shaped face. "Can I go look at them now, Daddy?"

"Yes, son, you can," he says, but the words aren't all out of his mouth before Vincent scurries off to the nearest vats, his hands at the base of the glass where several lights and knobs are presently glowing.

Laid inside the long tubes of glass are the specified Pokémon: a Slowbro and a Zubat. The slumbering Slowbro snoozes in its vat, its fat supported in the liquid which kept them in optimal shape for the rapid DNA splicing. The Zubat, though, flaps its wings in fretful unrest, unable to operate in the suffocating position but held to it all the same.

Sometimes, Charlie believes the Fusion Program is inhumane in their practices, unbidden with their violation of nature. It's a forced integration of two entities despite their wishes and wants. And on top of this, when the patent for the technology used here in these very labs finally comes in, Lukas intends to bring these into the homes of many.

His gaze freezes on Vincent for a moment. He spaced out for a few seconds, he notices. He knows it, because his son is now right in front of him, waiting, watching. And somebody else, he thinks in an immediate rush of anxiety and worry, may be watching them altogether.

"Ready to go?" asks Charlie, his voice tense.

Vincent nods slowly.

And so the father, the son and the sin of the son's unbeknownst doing go unheard amid the sharp, intense lights of the laboratory.

.

In the dark of the auditorium, there is a spotlight which casts a bright glow. Underneath the luminous light is a man with slicked-back, black hair, garbed in a lab coat and a five-o'clock shadow unshaven for the public. He taps the microphone in his hands, careful not to let the feedback pierce the ears of the peaceful onlookers, and speaks confidently into its mesh wiring. "Hello, citizens of Johto."

Lukas is more annoying in front of those large speakers than he is when he's in front of you, thinks Charlie as he sits in the crowd. Vincent sits beside him on his left, and on his left, Darla has joined them. Lukas allowed her a few minutes of reprieve in order to watch the festivities set in motion. As they are right now, with Vincent between her and him, he feels wholly comfortable, even if Lukas's droning voice is going on about the Program's sense of justice and want to please the public with their ongoing progress.

He doesn't even feel the need to scoff when Lukas claims it's for the betterment of society that they forge new creatures out of old ones, and make life with their bare hands like Arceus Himself had once done in a distant age so long ago only vaguely written documents existed. Only recently has Charlie considered the thought that it was unnatural to be messing with the course of life as it is, and already, the vile taste of messing with that is rancid and makes him want to vomit.

Lukas pulls from the inside of his lab coat a vial of liquid. It's dark blue, a murky substance incapable of seeing through. He sloshes it around in his hand. "This is the price we pay in order to bring you these great creations," he says. "This synthetic gel has been perfected over the years to compensate for the relocation and repositioning of organic matter between the two bodies. This is the stuff which makes the whole thing flow, like grease inside a rusty grandfather clock. Our scientists -- some of them are even sitting around you right now, watching this marvelous thing unravel -- have spent their days experimenting with this gel here, and already, we've advanced enough to bring you larger-than-life Fusions." He gestures to behind the curtains with a hurried wave.

A single vat is brought out from the black fabric. There's a rustling beneath the cloth draped over it, a tremulous shake which does not go unnoticed by the crowd. Beside him, Charlie can hear two women speak amongst each other in hushed voices, wondering if it was supposed to be like that or not. The bristle of the audience grows a little as the shaking reacts to Lukas places his hand atop the well-secure vat.

"Here, in this little thing right here," Lukas says, his intonation higher than normal, "is the combination of two entirely different species of Pokémon. Beforehand, we wished to fuse like-minded and like-bodied creatures in order to create a definition for our researching. We achieved such a goal with flying colors, but this time, we wanted to be more ambitious. Way more ambitious. So we took a Slowbro and a Zubat as our tests subjects. We have tested this before in the past, have checked the needs and requirements of the exchange between bodies and today have brought them together in front of you, fresh out of their tanks and confined to this hub of a world." He inhales sharply. "Without further adieu, here is . . . Zubro."

The grunts throw the tarp covering the vat off, and the wretched beast which crawled from beneath the glass is one of disproportionate limbs and gigantic, lumbering size. Its face, which had once contained a slumbering, dopey expression, now holds a single mouth, rounded with sharp fangs. Its dark grey skin is grafted with flakes of synthetic gel, oozing from beneath the flesh and into the air with a putrid smell.

Screams erupt from the audience, and several people begin scrambling out of their seat and towards the door. More are out and gone before Charlie can even think to get up, but the Zubro is lumbering not towards the running individuals, but to him.

No, not him, he realizes in a sudden flash.

Vincent.

He scoops up Vincent in his arms, gestures quickly towards Darla and runs through the aisle as the monstrosity follows close behind, roaring as its tremendous shell clanks against the metal chairs.

He can see the light in front of him, shining from the doors leading outside. Vincent in cradled in his arms as he tumbles over chairs but manages to keep upright with Darla's help. The roaring is louder, but his feet are deft, and his companion and son is enough fuel to bring him into the gleaming luminescence beyond.

He still needs more time, especially if he can survive through this, but this time, the hole in the wall is widened enough to see hope through the bleak darkness.