Ash's POV
Thirty minutes.
That was how long it took.
Thirty. Minutes.
He couldn't believe it even as he saw it with his own eyes.
The acrid smell of ozone hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of twisted steel and the bitter smoke of extinguished fires. A fortified facility, full of soldiers and high-tech defenses, reduced to cracked walls, overturned trucks, and the unmistakable stench of fear. Half the compound was still smoldering, veiled in settling dust and pale mist from Water-types that had joined to cool down the fires. Somewhere in the distance, metal groaned as it cooled, punctuated by the soft hiss of steam.
They'd walked through it.
No. Stormed through it.
It wasn't a rescue—it was overkill.
Ash stood with Pikachu draped on his shoulder, wide-eyed and wordless, watching a Machamp drag a disabled tank to the side like it was made of foam. The screech of metal against concrete echoed across the compound. Behind it, Freya's Heracross buzzed impatiently, its wings creating a low, droning hum as it nudged unconscious soldiers into a neat pile for psychic suppression.
Ash exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cool night air.
"If you told me yesterday that Dad and Aunt Freya would be executing a full tactical assault while Red played air support with a Charizard that melted a watchtower..." He shook his head, still processing. "I'd have laughed."
Pikachu gave a quiet "Chuuu," just as stunned.
Even Red alone…
Ash's eyes trailed to the figure atop the now-silent facility. Wind whistled through the skeletal remains of the watchtower. Charizard crouched behind him like a predator coiled, wings spread, smoke drifting from its nostrils in lazy spirals. Red didn't move much. Didn't have to. His very presence was enough to paralyze resistance.
Ash swallowed hard. "Even Red alone could've cleared this place out."
The thought chilled him deeper than the night air.
Inside the Facility – Holding Cell
A heavy metallic door groaned open, hinges screeching like they too were in pain. Light poured into the dark hallway—and a familiar silhouette stepped inside with slow, deliberate steps. Her footsteps echoed softly against concrete walls.
Cynthia.
Not in her Champion whites, but in battle gear that still shimmered with elegance—dark coat billowing, golden hair catching the faint firelight behind her like a crown of sunfire.
Andrew blinked at her, eyes adjusting from darkness.
"Well, well," he rasped, lips split in a crooked grin. "Didn't think you'd be the one to come."
Cynthia tilted her head, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Her voice was cool, amused. "You've gotten sloppy."
Andrew laughed—a rough, tired sound. "Marriage does that to a man."
The sound of metal snapping echoed in the small cell as Cynthia broke the restraints off his arms like they were paper. "And careless. You left your entire team behind?"
"My daughter needed protecting more than I did," he said simply, standing with a wince. His joints popped from hours of confinement. "Besides, I had a feeling you all would show."
Cynthia rolled her eyes. "Idiot."
But her fingers lingered at his elbow just long enough to steady him.
Elsewhere in the Facility
"Found them!" one of the cousins shouted down the hall. The echo carried through concrete corridors. Psychic energy shimmered against concrete as a Gardevoir's eyes pulsed with ethereal light and a section of wall uncoiled into a hidden chamber.
The heavy door slid open with a pneumatic hiss.
Inside were over a dozen captives—adults and children. Mutants.
Ash saw their faces as he entered—pale, hollowed, eyes darting with animal fear. They shrank from the light, unsure if they'd been saved or transferred to a worse fate. Some whimpered softly; others were eerily silent.
But then came the gentle hum of psychic energy, like wind chimes in a soft breeze, and warm light from a pair of Alakazam behind the cousins.
"Easy now," said Uncle Zale, his voice calm and reassuring. "You're safe."
One of the older kids sobbed—a heart-wrenching sound that echoed off the walls. Another simply collapsed, knees hitting the floor with a dull thud.
The rescue wasn't done yet.
A Mismagius floated forward, wreathed in purple wisps that danced like ghostly flames. A Drowzee and Reuniclus followed, their eyes glowing as they formed a triangle of psychic power. The air itself seemed to hum with contained energy.
"Ready?" Cynthia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Freya gave a nod, unusually solemn.
Cynthia raised her voice slightly. "Initiate memory scrub."
Dream Eater.
The air crackled with psychic energy. The Pokémon pulsed as one. Ethereal threads glimmered through the air like silver spider silk, finding the unconscious guards, the scientists, even the freed prisoners.
Not harm. Just... forgetting.
They couldn't risk word spreading. Not about the Ketchum family. Not about this kind of power.
The memory of the rescue, the punishment, the shadows in the mist—it all unraveled from their minds like smoke in the wind. A collective sigh seemed to rise from the affected minds as the memories dissolved.
Back Outside – Ash's POV
The night air carried the scent of cooling metal and settling dust. Ash watched as the last freed child was gently lifted onto an Arcanine's back, soot wiped from his face by a cousin who barely looked older than him. The Fire-type's fur glowed warmly in the moonlight, offering comfort.
Somewhere behind him, Andrew's laugh still echoed faintly through the ruin—a sound of pure relief and joy.
Ash felt Pikachu press closer to his cheek, tiny claws gripping his shirt gently.
This... this wasn't a story in a comic.
This was his family.
And if tonight proved anything—it was that no one touched a Ketchum and got away with it.
Mutant Experimentation Facility, Alkali Lake, Alberta, Canada
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across banks of monitors.
The air was sterile.
Screens flickered in a cold, underground war room—the kind built for men who never expected to fight fair. One by one, feeds were dying. Silent. Scrambled. Static hissed from speakers like angry insects.
Colonel William Stryker stood in front of a large digital projection of the destroyed facility, arms folded tightly, jaw clenched. His breathing was the only sound in the suddenly quiet room.
No survivors. No emergency signals. No fallback protocols triggered. Just static… and silence.
He looked over his shoulder at the trembling agent. "Say it again."
The technician swallowed audibly. "Sir, we… we don't know what happened. Satellite footage was blinded by an electromagnetic pulse, and by the time it rebooted, the entire compound was… leveled. There was nothing left."
"Who attacked?" Stryker demanded, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Who could do that?"
"We… don't know. There's no known Mutant powerful enough, sir. At least not one that leaves no trace."
Stryker narrowed his eyes. No trace. No witnesses. No chatter.
No answers.
The chilling realization washed over him.
Whoever did this… didn't want to be known.
And that terrified him more than anything else.
The silence stretched, broken only by the soft whir of cooling fans.
Then he turned back to the room, voice cold as winter steel.
"I want every ghost protocol activated. Every psychic scanner, every tech sweep, every mole in every damn Mutant network pulled out of hiding. If a telepath blinked last night—I want to know what color their eyes were."
The command center erupted into motion, agents racing to terminals, whispering urgently into secure comms. Keyboards clattered like rainfall.
"Someone just made us blind… and carved us open without leaving a scar."
He stared back at the screen. The ruins of his facility flickered in infrared. Flattened. Reduced to a memory.
His jaw tightened until his teeth ached.
"Find them. I don't care if it's a god or a ghost. I want their name. And when I get it…"
His fist clenched at his side.
"I don't care who they are. I want them found—and I want them to bleed."
Back at the Ketchum Estate – Midnight
Logs crackled softly in the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls. In the main sitting room, light from the flames flickered against dark windows.
Home.
But this time, they hadn't come back as children finishing a lesson.
They'd come back as a family that reminded the world who they were.
Ash sat cross-legged on the carpet with Pikachu curled beside him, both of them watching the moment they'd waited hours for. The old floorboards creaked softly as someone shifted upstairs.
The heavy doors to the side room opened with a soft groan—slowly, cautiously.
Uncle Andrew stepped through, fresh bandages tracing his side, fatigue weighing his shoulders. But his eyes softened the instant they locked on what waited for him.
His wife was already running toward him—eyes wide, arms outstretched, her bare feet pattering against the wooden floor, as if afraid this was another illusion.
And in her arms, wrapped in a soft blanket with tufts of dark hair peeking out, was their baby girl. She blinked sleepily, making soft cooing sounds, too young to understand what was happening, but stirred when Andrew's hand trembled forward and touched her cheek.
The impact was soft but desperate as his wife crashed into him, clutching him with all the desperate strength of someone who had held hope by the thinnest thread. Andrew buried his face in her shoulder, his other hand holding their daughter like she was the only real thing left in the world.
Ash felt his throat tighten. A few feet away, David leaned against the wall, arms crossed, nodding with a small, proud smile.
Behind him, Grandma Eleanor turned away discreetly to wipe her eyes. A soft sniffle escaped her.
Freya gave a satisfied grunt. "That's the good part."
Lorelei sniffled beside Ash. "They didn't even get to say goodbye before he left…"
Ash looked up. "That's why we make sure he comes home."
She gave him a soft smile.
Later that Night – Ash's Room
Moonlight poured across the wooden floor like spilled silver. The curtains swayed with the night breeze, fabric whispering against the window frame, and the world outside was still. Inside, Ash lay on his bed, arms folded behind his head, eyes wide open—lost in thoughts too large for the room to hold.
Beside him, Pikachu was curled up, fast asleep, letting out soft "chu" sounds with each breath. But Ash wasn't resting.
Not yet.
The night had brought victory. A rescued uncle. A reunited family. Laughter, warmth, even music. But Ash hadn't laughed much.
Not because he wasn't happy.
Because he couldn't stop thinking.
That facility—their screams, the restraints, the emptiness in the children's eyes. That wasn't just some isolated crime. It was a pattern. One he'd read about. One he'd watched unfold again and again on the pages of comic books and the glow of old movie screens in another life.
He knew this story.
He knew about how it began—in fear and ignorance. About how the world labeled Mutants dangerous. About the governments that registered them, hunted them. About the experiments done in the name of "security." The anti-Mutant hysteria. The Sentinels. Genosha. The endless wars.
The names whispered like ghosts in his memory: Wolverine. Magneto. Jean Grey. Mystique. Storm. Cyclops. Cable. Hope Summers. Apocalypse.
People like Andrew—like those children in the cells—were just the beginning.
He turned to stare at the ceiling, shadows cutting across it like scars. Somewhere outside, an owl hooted softly.
"This world isn't ready," he thought bitterly. "Not for what's coming. Not for what it's going to do to people like them."
But maybe… maybe he was.
Ash wasn't a Ketchum by accident. Not this time.
He had Aura. He had Pokémon. He had knowledge.
He had time.
And he had already made a choice.
"If this world is going to treat Mutants like ticking bombs, then I'll be the one who disarms the fuse."
He pictured Professor Xavier—the glimpses he'd caught from his memories. A man with a dream, a school, a sanctuary. Ash's heart ached at the thought.
Why should they need sanctuaries?
Why should being born different mean being hunted?
His hand slowly curled into a fist over his chest.
"If I can help… I will."
"Not by hiding. Not by fighting alone."
"But by showing the world that they're not alone."
"Not with fear. But with truth. With Pokémon… and with hope."
He glanced at Pikachu. The little Electric-type stirred slightly, opened one eye blearily.
Ash smiled softly.
"Goodnight, partner."
Pikachu gave a sleepy "Pika…" and nestled back into the covers with a contented sigh.
Ash turned his gaze back to the stars outside the window. They twinkled like diamonds against the velvet sky.
Somewhere out there, people were still being hunted. Feared. Hurt.
But if Ash had learned anything since waking up in this new life, it was this:
No one stood alone. Not when they were family.
And if the world refused to see the truth?
Then Ash would force it to open its eyes.
Because the world didn't need saving from Mutants.
It needed saving from itself.
And Ash Ketchum would stand on that line.
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A.N. Sorry for the delayed Chapter, I was a bit tired today, I'll definitely try to upload extra chapters tomorrow.
P.S. How would you solve the Mutant problem in Marvel if you had the power to do so?
GIVE ME POWER STONES PLEASE!!!!!