If you dare to go to this facility, located in the middle of no where, the outside overgrown with ivy and other plant life, trying to reclaim this scar on it's otherwise pristine area you'll see the door bolted from the outside, dents from the inside as if someone were trying to get out. There's smears of blood on the door handle, the locking mechanism. You pull out a small tool kit and gain entry, seeing a single light on over head.
Stepping inside...bones. A chunk of ribcage, a skull...moldering tattered clothing. Most lights inside are broken out, though one works even now, hanging at an angle from the ceiling buzzing away intermittently as it sputters out once in awhile. It illuminates the last working computer terminal within the compound. Blood smeared over the keyboard and desk, a mostly intact skeleton there on the ground.
The screen keeps flicking in and out, the text on it fuzzy.
S͓͕u͈b̹j̩͉̩̞ec̣̞̕t͚̣͔ ̗̹͘#̴̘̰̖͍̝̖̺10̦͔̬̲̗̹͜ͅ3̳̣̳͈ ̜C̱̲̩͡ͅŕ̩͈̞̯̣e̻̠̲͙̘̝̮s̵̱̬̯̙̪̬s̶̞̺̪̝̰͕̝e̸̬̮̫̞̲̝li̹̥̙̳̹̕à̰͔
̺̬̗̫̗
͖̖̤̜͞ͅ
͚̦͉̹́A͙̥͎̪̯̣r̪̩͎c̱̻̲̱̫ͅe̱̞̥̯͚̞u҉̞͍͓̮s̡ ̵͓̖͚̭̹̬f̝͙̖̗̙o͉͓̤͓̝̟͖rg̙̤̠̝į͇̫v̯̦͙͙͓̯͓e̡͕̥̖̜ͅ ̨̺̭̺̟u̠͔̤̞͇͎ͅs̡̖̻̻̰͙..̬͖̙͖͇ͅ.̱̀w͕̹̞͇̯̤͚ḫ͔͍͓̩͢a̯̭̥̠̖̦͚ṯ̱̝͉ ̼̣̹̟̩̞ͅh͈̞̕á̰̪̱͉̞v̧e̗͚̘̙͝ ̭̻͔̹͖̰̫w̜̱̦e̹͉ ̪̥͓ḑ̝̣̯on̷̮̹̱͎̼̼̹e̶͚?͈͔͙̮̯ ̭
̢̼H̪͕̮͍̪͚é̻'̲̺̣̥̜̲̠s̖̕ g̤̥̺oi͈n̻̗g̺̙̰̣͇͠ ̞̲͙͡ț̮͍̳̹̙o̰̖̥ ̭͚̗͉̩͍̖k͈͎̪̦̰̻͚͞i̸̙̗͙̞̣l̻̼͍͖̭̠̯l ̜͚̤̳̘ṳ̞͙̠͕̟̹s̩͍͈̗͠ ̴̦̰a͢l̮̹ḷ͓̪.ͅ.̰̥̜.̀
̰̩̤͇̦͙͠T̜̬̼̗̮̜͜h̗̞̹̰̘̺̝͘e̹ ̥̺͈̺̩̣̻̀w̨̩͉̩̤̙̥̮o҉̫r͈̜̪̼̳͜ͅl͍̦͚͉̥d͟ ͎̩̼̩̫̝̗i̧̤͓s̢ ͍̯i̥̝̼̠̯̠͟ṇ͈̝̹̮̗̰ ҉̯͓d̢a҉͓͙̯͇̼̘n̫̥̞̜ge̷̯̞̲͈̭͙̼r̳̲̹ͅ ̫a͉͕̱̫͓̫͠n̸͚d̤̭̱̯̠̳̯ ̲̹̲͢i̭̖̦͠t̤s̨̜̗͙ ̡̘̗̜a̺̹͙̞ḷ̛̼͈̗̠̹͔ļ̹͙̩͈̬ ̘̲͎̼̝̻o̘͙̘͇͎͉̲͡ṳr ̪f̵̠͕̞̩a̩̪̘͇ͅu̵̪̯̼̩l̴t͇͝.̦̗̮̞ͅ.̸̖̬̘͚̲̱.̸̰͎
Scrolling back through the entries in the computer, you get a sense of foreboding. The entries alternate between perfectly legible, things like 'The experiment is coming along...any day we'll succeed in closing Cresselia's heart, and then we'll release it onto the world' and other times it's blocky, fragmented. 'S̜̳̩͎̩uḅ̩͎j̫̗̳̬̖̝ec̗͎̲̗͈̙̀t̛͈̯̼̟̱̭ ̕#͇̗͚̪1̠͎́0̵3̝̮̩̳ ̹̰̬̞͙̠̖͘C̥͟r̸̭e̬͚̯̘̱͇ͅs͇̪̮͈s̛e̛̦͔͚͉̜ͅͅl̮͓̖̘i̡͎̳͇͎ḁ͚̣̤̹
̛̹̝̣̹͚̠
͔̟
̴T҉̣̬he̝̹̤͓̩ h̖̬̫̞ͅe͡a҉̲̩̮̗̳d̝̪̺̺ ̯̣sc̦͙̖͇̗͚͠i̖̥̞͟e̤̝̯͙͕̕ṇ̳͈̘̝͠ͅt̲̪̳̟̩̩́i̲̦͍st̛͙ ̭̤͔͓h̩̺̘̦͕a̧̝̞̘ḍ̛̝̯ ̵̣͔̜̭s͠o̼̗̗̫̯̪͟m̤e̴͎̯̯ ͕͉͝s̘̩̬̙̭t͜a̺͚͜r͙t̛̮̭̭͓̠̮l̠̻̦̠̞͙i̱̭͖͠n̤̺̹͓̲̫͓͟ǵ̺͈ͅ ͉͎̥͢n͈̣̻̪̝e͚̯̳̠ͅͅw̹s.̙̦̻̰͙̠ͅ ́
̼̮͈̜̕Çr̲͈̰̼̜e͕̝s̘̜͢s̭̜̭̝̤el͟i̝̩̹͖̫̪̙a̼͈ ̹̫̱̬̬͓͎h̪͖͎̼͟a̡̱̞̜͕̙ṣ͉̯͔ ͇̝̙c̗̘͓h̰̬̮͔͙̱̺͠a̙̮͚n̘͖̻̤͟ͅg͈͖̜̜̞̳̕é͚̗ḓ̭̲̜̟̯͎͞.̥̣̱͇ͅ.̵.͔̪͕̜͖̤̀ev̭̜̲͎o͔̻̫͝l̳̞̠͍̞͔v̸̹̻͙e͇̹̙̮̞͜ḏ͕̯̩̙.̠ ̕
̫̩̠͉͙N͏̥͚̺͔̫o̵̥̠̤̙ ḷ͔o͚̱̦̝̪̞n̛g҉̘̼̭e̠̥̣̼̱̜r͚̟̠̣ ̲̩̤ḍ̼̞̯̣ơ̹̙e̷͎͚͍̱s̺̫͓̲ ̘̼i̗t̰́ ͇̦̮͙͔l̡͍o̹̣̗̹͍̰̦͜o͕k̪̤̙̱̲̯ ̧͔͚̻̠̙̪̳ĺ̞̯̠̬̤̖i̫̞̖͚͉̯̲k̪̲e̷ ̶̘̘̪ͅa͏̮̺̞̜̟ ̤C̠̳̮͕r҉̜̬̹̳e̡͇̙̠̹̩͍s͟ͅs͓͖̭̤͘ͅe̲̣͎̝͔ͅl̳̠̦͡ͅi̥͔̮̝a̙̙̲͔̣̝̦.̫̭͢
̪͈̰
̵̙̰̻̟͖̲N̫̖̜̹̜̲̦o̹͚̖̝ ̰̠̥͜H͈͕̫̜͕͢E̻͖̯̭͙̠̪ ̼̙h̳̹͉̀a͖͢s̮̗̪ t̹̰̪͓̱̮̩͠u̦̻̟̙ͅr̘̬̰̺̘n҉̤̗͚̘̝̥e͍̳͚͍̲̙̖d͟ ̘͕i͍̘̻̝̫ͅn̼̬̘̮͙t҉̤̲̦̠̥o̶̪̻ ̞̬̥͓̱͎͟ͅa̭̞ ̠͉͡ͅc̶̺̠h͚͎̪̹̭̹̟i̜̦͞l̴͇̣̹̙͕d̠̱̪̮͉ͅ ̛̞̭̗̥͇̩s̪̙̦̞̳o̳̗̗̖m̲̬͓͙e͈̠h̰̟͎o̷͖̝͙̩̘w̥.̭
̩̘̖̤
͎̼̯̖̻R͏̥̳͓̹̰e̡̼͔̜͇͇͖͉se̮̮̖͔͙a̫̰͡r̀c̪̹͓h͎ ͎͝c̠̘͓͓͚̤̪o̢̠̻n̨͖̖̰̫͖̤̥t͇̠̹̘̲͇ḭ̪̪͈n͈̮̤͞u̴͈͖̠es͚͉̯̺̹͠ ͉wi̝̪̮̖̥͇t̫͓͈̹͚͇̫ḫ͓ ̨̪̥r҉̙e͔̬̩̼̹̩ͅn̯̙͈̫e͈̳̙̻͍͈w҉̮̺̭̪͚ḙ̸̳̣̣̭̹d͖̻̫͈͇̰ ͏͓̦̤̲f̱͚̫̫e͕̰̕r͖͍̱̣̭͕v̝̞̭̰̮o͔̣̣͟r̵͉̮̗̹.̤̫̰̟͔̘̹ T̡h̢̺̦̥̜e͔̪y͉͈'̷̺̪͎̣̖̞̲r̖͈̮̯̖̼̕e̷̤̫͖̘ ̵̤̫u̹̗n͙̯̪̦̲͟c͔̬̗̙a̼̦̻̯͠r̜̲̪͖̳̣̜͜i̠̬̰̙̯͞n̵̩̫̥̼̞͖̞g͏̟̳̖ͅ ̥͕͞i̪̼̬t̸̩̣̥̫ͅ'̻̞s ̥̮̯͜a͍̟̞̖̤͡ ͜c͙̞̪ͅh͓̟̬i̡̺̺̭̗ld͓͉̥̼͚͢.͉̲
͇ͅͅH̜̻̟ì̱̥̻̮s͏̝͚͓̰̯̰ͅ ͡s͈͚͜c͉͕ṟ̷͓̤̦͔͍e̴̟̦̠a̧̯m҉s̭̳͔̳̝͡.͖͢.̞̺̼.̲.̛t͔͕͈͓͎̻̦́h̴͔e͖̹͜y̗͖̲͇ ̘̱͔̼̬h҉̺ͅa҉̜̲̜ụ̻̠͖n̖͈͓̘̩t͢ ̥͈͕̖̲̲m̠̪͇̫e̛͕͖̟.̦̩͜.̗͟.͔̘̭̤̮̙̱͜.̛p͟l̵̝̭̤̹e̡̦̥á̺̘̖̗s̹̝̭͞e͓̜̺̯͝ ̗̘̯̝͈m̻a̯̯͞k͔̺e̠̙̮̼͚̘ͅ ̬̲h̛͔̘̲͈̺i̸̠̗̝͓̯̟͍m̭̀ ̝̤̠̣͡s̺̠͉͜t͏o̹͔p͚̼̜̼ ṣ̶̭̥̥͎ͅcr̙̙̼e̢͈͎̯͕a̯̹͖̯̯mi҉̤͚n̻̫g͍̗.̢̫̫ͅ.̡̼̹̯̲.'
He? He who? A Cresselia turned to a child? Experimented on? The idea is repugnant, abhorrent...and sadly the truth. You look around the compound with wide eyes, swearing even now you can hear screams. Are they screams of a child? Screams of the adults who obviously met some sort of horrific fate. But what could have happened here? Who did this?
The entries past that point are almost too hard to read, and you give up for now, and begin to explore the facility. You see empty tanks and machines, that housed...something. Could it have been pokemon? Or if that entry you read was to be believed, could it have held some strange Cresselia child? There's thick splashes of blood here, heavier damage, as if the carnage had started here. Your flashlight sweeps the dusty floor, and you see a set of footprints, barely touched by the dust. Has someone else been here recently?!
In a panic you begin to scour the room looking for signs someone else is there with you, and you hear something...a dark, sinister laugh. A flash of red as you go by too fast and your beam tracks back, landing on a gem on a forehead. You see a man...no a teenager step forward from the shadows, having seemed to have shown up out of no where. Those red eyes boring into you.
You step backwards in fright, tripping over an exposed cable and fall your light breaking on impact with the pockmarked tiles of the floor and rolls away from you plunging you into darkness. The only light behind you in the other room.
Scrambling backwards as fast as you can you flip over onto hands and knees and get up to start running, only to feel a hand on the back of your shirt. A voice beings to speak inside your head, a velvety smooth voice, not at all menacing like you expected.
Going so soon? But the fun is just about to start....
Suddenly you hear screaming...and you realize it's your screams you're hearing. A deep laughter filling the room as your thrown aside, and the mysterious figure walks towards the door you foolishly unlocked...and left wide open.
With the last of your strength, you make it to the computer...and type. Fingers heavy on the keys.
I̠̠̲̗ ͇s̱̯̺̗ͅr̢͈͚͍̩̯e͡ţ͍̥̦̺̰͇̬ ͚͔̝͔͉͘h̩̤̕i̗͚̫̣͡ͅm̲̻͙̺̩̱̺m̥̹̣̺͍m̙̠̱͈̬͜ ̗͖̹̯͕̟̳͟f̷̻̖r̪͔͔͖̹ͅe̴͔̞̞̤̝͎e̸͎͔̣͍̦̙̱.̱̬̥͉̰́ͅ.͉͙̠̞̜̗
̫̀I̺͍͍̲̱ ̮̩f̹͕̪͇̠̀e̶a̡r̜̮͝f̭̤̘o̦͕̲̙̦͞ṟ̖̟̣ ̤̯̠̖͢t͈h̶é̻̣̯͔ wo̴̯̫̪̳̙̫̞r̗̯l҉̲̖d̥͔̰̗̥͔͎d̷͙d̴͎͉.̧̠.̫͚̠̲̮͡.̜̭͟
̙̮̝͠
̣̭̰̖̺̟F̪͉̜͢ͅo͍͜r̳͓̳̲g͙i͚̯̰͈v̦͍͈̲͙̤͟e̝̙̙̼̙̪̬m̕e҉.̵͉͎.̦̱̝̝͕͕.̠̪͓̫͚̣̦́.I͔̖̥̩̝ di̹d͕̙ṇ͔̥̻'̳̝̤͉t͠.͇͉ͅ.̡̼͉..̖̭b͔͓͉͙̦͡e̛l͙͖̣̤̰͎̙i̢̩̖̳̹ͅḛ̯v̤e̢.͓̭͢.͏̠͔͔̟.̡̤͙͓̲ͅͅ
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