A/N:
Here's the second chapter. Sorry it took a few weeks - had to edit the previous, as well as formulate a great deal of detail in this one.
Now for a few details I forgot to touch up on in the last chapter. I am attempting to create a more realistic story, even in the Pokémon universe. Sorry to say, but the Dex entries are anything but realistic - no mountain leveling/thrusting, infinite IQs, volcanic temperatures, ridiculous water pressures, future seeing, etc. will be in this writing. They aren't nearly as powerful as they are in the games, but are still noticeably stronger than humans. So that means moves like Earthquake, Solar Beam, Eruption, Explosion, etc. are also not as powerful.
Now for the disclaimers. I don't own Pokémon or any of it characters (some of whom will appear in this story). All I own is my OCs. I do not own any of the rights to particular companies in this writing, including Boeing, H&K, IWI, CZ, and Smith and Wesson, to name a few.
Hope you all enjoy reading.
"…" - Spoken dialogue
Italics - Michael's thoughts
"To be prepared for war is one of the most effective means of preserving peace."
-George Washington
Ch. 2 - Locked and Loaded
Against all odds, he and five others passed. Michael remained till the end of Elimination Month, earning the right to stay in the program. After the month was finished, and the instructors knew that these recruits would not cave in, they went through the final stages of training - getting them familiarized with their equipment, including their suit, which was a marvel in and of itself.
Primarily black, their suits weighed anywhere from 20-50 pounds, depending on the person's build. The fabric was made out of several intertwined layers of kevlar, reinforced with ariados silk, able to stop most low-pressure projectiles (though they would still sting like hell), and greatly reduce the penetration of higher velocity rounds. Most of the weight, though, came from the thicker armor-plating over the chest and back. With a layer of ceramic plating, as well as two layers, outer and inner, guarding their upper vital organs, most rifle rounds would not be able to penetrate, or would get caught an inch or two in at the worst. Perhaps the most impressive feature of their suits, though, were their masks. They were almost completely black, the only presence of any color being in the red visors and the pair of red streaks across the sides, which ran along their jaws and to the mouth-area of the mask, pointing down to create an almost fang-like appearance. They were solid kevlar on the outside, and covered the entirety of their faces, extending all the way to the back of their heads. The visors were equipped with a variety of features - able to switch between heat sensory and night vision. The sides had noise-cancelation devices, blocking out most of the intense sounds that could cause them hearing damage, or could interfere with their communications, which was done via radio and a throat mic. This effectively made it so that, on their discreet frequency, they could communicate with each other without making a sound - ideal for stealth. Lastly, the visors recorded first-person footage, so that film could be analyzed or used for future training.
They learned how to use a variety of firearms - SMGs, shotguns, rifles, and handguns of every sort, from concealable to bulky, suppressed to loud, scoped to iron sighted. They used one rifle an awful lot, though. "This here is your best friend - your scythe as a Reaper," their weapons instructor had informed them. "You will use hundreds of weapons over your time in the program, but none nearly as much as the Tavor." Over dozens of hours of range practice and scenarios of clearing out buildings and fields, they had naturally taken to the feel of the short bullpup carbine. It had the range of any AR-based platform, was shorter, and could be reloaded very quickly - without them even having to lower the weapon. It was a bit heavy in the back, which made it uncomfortable to carry around great distances, though it wouldn't really matter for their purposes - they were to get in, do their job, and get out just as quickly as they had come.
The final six were also trained to resist torture. In the off chance that any of them would be caught, they needed to ensure that they would not give information to the enemies. They were exposed to various forms - sleep deprivation, electrical shock, and beatings, to name a few.
Their combat skills were honed. Michael discovered in that time that he had an unrivaled aggression when he let loose, managing to overcome his new comrades in that regard. He almost naturally had the skills, the strategy - knowing how to exploit an enemies build, or their speed, or their impatience. He almost never found himself on the floor, looking up at a victorious opponent - and when he did, it was generally due to a careless mistake on his part. As a result of their training, he and the others lacked excess body fat.
Despite the hardships of the entire process, he always could enjoy returning to his quarters, where the girls were awaiting his return. Thankfully, the military allowed them to take any pokémon they had with them, which was the ultimate factor in his decision to proceed - he wouldn't dream of leaving them behind. They often did display their disapproval, though, when he returned bruised and beaten, but that, he explained, was simply inevitable.
There were definitely downsides to joining the Reapers, though. Every call, text, or email of his was monitored, and he could only travel so many miles away from his station. They were sure to convey to them that they could never discuss what they did - or were going to do - to others. They could mention that they were in the military, but it had to be left at that. This kind of secrecy could be difficult, not that he was prideful, but because he essentially had to keep his parents and friends in the dark about what he did for a living. Just as their titles suggested, they were to lurk in the shadows. And once one joined their ranks, they could not simply quit when they wanted. He was sure to be there for at least four years.
. . . . .
It was the day of their acceptance ceremony, and they proceeded towards an all-too-familiar area, traveling by foot on a worn path, wearing formal military attire. Their team was diverse; each were specialists in their own regard, but were "jacks-of-all trades" in others.
There was Kevin, who, at twenty-two, had the body of an athlete. A soccer and track star native to the Sinnoh region, he stood at 5'10 and weighed nothing more than 160 pounds. He could both outrun and outpace the others, and would prove to be hard for the enemies to hit. Of course, his anti-authoritative demeanor could get in the way, as well as his lack of a verbal filter, but these had not proved too troublesome so far. Kevin had bright blonde hair, brown eyes, and light but ever-present freckles.
Thomas, on the other hand, seemed to be his polar opposite. Somehow, he had managed to keep up despite his build, standing at 6'7 and nearing 330 pounds. He had the "gentle giant" personality, but had gotten used to using his tremendous strength for more violent purposes, setting him on a great track towards becoming a heavy gunner. With a country accent and unparalleled strength, it was obvious that he was from the more rural areas of southern Johto. Twenty-two years old, he had fiery red hair, a full beard, and ice blue eyes.
Then there was Samuel, who seemed to give a very uneasy feeling to everyone around him. He almost never spoke, only doing so when absolutely required to, and never showed any sort of expression, but rather complete neutrality. He had become a not-so-secret frustration to the drill instructors, as they could not get him to cave in the slightest. They could mess with the heads of the others, but when it came to Samuel, he was likely messing with their heads. His marksmanship was laughably unrivaled, even going so far as to outperform the sniping instructors, many of whom had been behind the scope of a rifle before any of them were born. Samuel was only twenty, had jet-black hair, weighed 175 pounds, measured 5'8 and sported a lean but toned build.
John was the unrivaled stealth specialist, which was well suited by his body. Only being 5'6 and around 150 pounds, he had a much more concealable build. Completely able to mask his noise, he could sneak up on any of them, as shown through their "stealth tag" assignments during training. He had brown hair and brown eyes, and was twenty-four years old.
Alex had stuck with Michael the entire time, staying strong just as he had. While he wasn't the fastest, strongest, or best fighter out of the bunch, he was by far the best with machinery. With his engineering degree from one of Kalos's most rigorous universities, he understood almost all equipment - be it electronic or mechanical - by nature, and could utilize anything he found. Alex sported strawberry blonde hair, was 6'0 and 140 pounds, and was barely eighteen - the youngest to ever join the Reapers.
Of course, there was Michael, who sported a large, muscular build, but not even close to Thomas's. Michael was the best at close combat, though he could never even hope to overpower the much larger Reaper. In terms of his marksmanship, he was fantastic with close-ranged weapons, and could provide a threat to anyone within five hundred meters. But he lacked Samuel's natural talent for accuracy at longer distances. Then again, no one seemed to have that level of skill... Michael was now eighteen, having spent close to a year in becoming operational. He weighed 215 pounds, measured 5'10, had brown hair and hazel green, somewhat golden, eyes.
The early signs of spring had made their presence known; the blooming of the cherry trees, which had become popular in the city, stood testament to that. Of course, the beauty and sweet scents of spring were also accompanied by dreadful amounts of pollen, trailing the ground and lake with murky yellow coloration. The stone bridge that they approached, though, was clean - likely having been washed that morning. A guard stood in front of the entrance - the same one from a year ago, Michael realized. He nodded at them and stood aside, granting them entrance. Before they walked through, the guard quietly said something to Michael, holding him back momentarily.
"You've come quite a ways from being a trainer, haven't you?"
"You remember me?" Michael asked, surprised by the revelation.
"Of course, it's not every day that Clair loses a battle, especially to a teenager carrying a handgun."
"Yeah," he laughed, "I guess that would be pretty memorable."
"Not gonna lie, it was quite the surprise," the guard replied. "Anyways, you better hurry along. Congratulations."
"Thanks," Michael said as he walked in, catching up to his group. They continued into the depths of Dragon's Den, a raft awaiting them at the edge of the short dock. They stepped onto it, making it rock in the moving water. Once they were all stabilized, several dragonairs emerged from the waters behind them, pushing the raft towards the Shrine. Michael couldn't help but notice the various dragons staring at them, not as invaders, but out of respect. Among those were a familiar pair of garchomps, along with two gabites beside them. The raft slowly but surely reached the isolated Shrine, but this time, took a different path than Michael had last taken. This time, they headed to the front side of the building.
They stepped off at the shore of the small island, onto a wide, concrete path, leading up to the stairs of the building. The red paint was slightly fading away, peeling off, giving the building a rustic appearance. The doors were ornate, clad in scale-shaped golden engravings, protruding outwards to look like their real-life counterparts. Two guards, one on each side of the double doors, grabbed the knobs, twisted, and opened. The ceremony had begun upon their entry, and the small audience stood in respect. This time, as Michael walked up to the stage with his new comrades, he recognized the difference between this ceremony and his graduation ceremony. When he received his diploma, the audience had consisted of his friends, teachers, and family. This time, it was composed of generals and captains that he never knew. Well, them, and the girls. The military, surprisingly, had let the Reapers bring any pokémon they had to the ceremony, as they would be accompanying them the entire time. Charlotte, Veronica, Elise, and Layla stood to the side of the aisle, watching his every move, much like everyone else in the room. They made their way on stage, standing side by side, facing the audience. The spokesman - the Head of the Reaper division, stepped forth, beginning the short ceremonial speech.
"Standing before us today are, undoubtedly, the bravest men in Johto's military. They have given everything - even their freedom, to fight for their region and their people. They have withstood the most brutal trials, maintained their sanity in the most trying of circumstances, and, most of all, have shown us their perseverance and determination, even when we attempted to destroy their spirits. When all the others caved in to the pressure, gave up from the hardships, these men held strong. They have proven their capabilities time and time again, and so we are honored to have them join our ranks." Two others began making their way on stage - two of their main instructors during their training, one carrying a slim, wooden case. He opened it up, revealing the six coveted Reaper badges, laying on top of a velvet fabric.
"So, that being said, I present to you the members of the Twenty-Fifth Reaper Squad." The man holding the case stepped forth, in front of John.
"From the Johto region, Thomas McCoy." Thomas stepped forth, and the empty-handed instructor took one of the badges out. Though he knew what to expect, Michael couldn't help but anticipate what was coming next. The badge had two pins on the back of it, but they had no locking mechanisms attached. No, they would get those later, but not for the first time. The instructor positioned it on Thomas, which required him to reach up a bit, at the upper left corner of his chest. Flattening his hand, he then slammed his other fist over it - effectively pushing the two pins about a quarter of an inch into his muscle. He didn't budge. The instructor saluted him, and Thomas returned suit.
"From the Johto region, Samuel Reddens." The instructor embedded the badge into him, though Samuel didn't even show a grimace. They saluted; the instructor moved along.
"From the Sinnoh region, Kevin Werber." Just like before, the badge was stuck shallowly into his chest, and they saluted one another.
"From the Johto region, John Bowich." He couldn't help but notice Alex shoot him a slightly nervous glare, knowing he was next in line. The light thud and salute signaled that they were finished.
"From the Kalos region, Alexander Morgan." He stood straight, as though he wasn't uneasy at all, and received the badge. After his salute, the instructors finally made their way to Michael.
"From the Johto region, Michael Higgs." He looked at the badge, taking in its features as the instructor retrieved it. The most prominent feature was the double edged dagger facing down, a slim red on each edge, while the main body of the blade was black. Intertwined around the dagger was a lone dragonair, wrapped around twice, its head above the handle and pointed down, though looking straight. The instructor positioned it on Michael and slammed his other hand, implanting it. That…hurt… But just as he had been trained to, he refused to show any pain. He gave the final salute. "Everyone, please give a round of applause to our Twenty-Fifth Reaper squad." The audience immediately did so, everyone standing in respect. Because the crowd only consisted of under a hundred people, the applause wasn't too loud. However, many of these men were of respectable positions, some being previous Reapers themselves. None of their approvals mattered to him nearly as much as the girls, who were beaming at his accomplishment, all but glaceon clapping, as it was kind of difficult to clap when you're a quadruped.
The ceremony was disbanded shortly after, and they were on their way back outside. After shaking a great deal of hands, they were finally free. Of course, that was also when he was swarmed by the girls, with a certain flygon's gripping hug forcing the air out of his lungs. Both Layla and Charlotte were at his sides, looking up at him with beaming expressions, eliciting a short laugh from him. Not wanting Elise to feel left out, he crouched down and rubbed under her chin, receiving a nuzzle in return. He noticed Alex approaching in his peripheral, alongside his two pokémon - his shiny greninja, and a luxray.
"Well, I can't really believe it, but it looks like we made it."
"Looks like it," Michael replied. He was surprised, upon meeting back up with Alex a year ago, to find that he had captured a luxio, which had evolved midway through their training. Her name was Lillian, but the greninja was simply called Greninja. "Thanks for sticking with me the whole time."
"No way I was letting you get the better of me this time," Alex joked. "But you're welcome."
Afterwards, they separated, and made their final preparations for departure the following morning.
. . . . .
Michael signaled a cab and returned the girls for the ride. With four of them, one who couldn't even fit in the vehicle, it simply wasn't possible. He took a last look at the scenery as it passed by, uncertain of when he would see it again, as they drew closer to the airport. His parents weren't there to see him off, as he was not able to tell them what he truly was, nor the fact that he would be traveling twenty miles north, to the army's northern operation base, rather than one of the various forts across the region. No one was to know where they were, when they'd been there, or what they had seen. Secrecy was going to be a constant companion…
"Hey, we're here," the driver said, snapping Michael back to attention. He fished out his wallet, and paid the fee and tip.
"Thanks," he said, getting out. The airport was positioned diagonally, facing the southwest primarily - sensible, since Blackthorn rested at the top-right corner of the region, and northeast of nearly every major city. He grabbed his two bags, and released the girls as the cab left. Upon getting out, Veronica took one of the two, as she usually did. They headed towards the main building, but were stopped.
"Wrong way, son." Michael turned to see a slightly graying man, arms crossed, looking to be around his mid to late forties, dressed in khaki pants and a short-sleeved, dark green t-shirt. He had light brown hair, dark brown eyes, and stood a full head taller than him. He had a long knife of some sort at his side.
"What? What do you mean?" Michael asked.
"Everyone's meeting around the side. Follow me." He decided to follow him, wondering what was going on, but not complaining - after all, this would keep him from having to package and admit his revolver to the airport, and wait while it got shipped to his destination, which could take who knows how long. They soon faced an opened gate to the right of the building, leading to an occupied helipad. A large Chinook stood there, both of its propellers - one on the front, one on the back - rapidly spinning, kicking up dust from the ground. The hatch at the back was open, and he could see Thomas and Alex were already there. The man who had led him there turned around, likely to collect the others in the same manner. Sure enough, they were all there within a few more minutes, seated on the large transport helicopter, the man who had led them there as well. The Chinook took off, and began making its way north towards the Johto army's HQ.
"Mind telling us who the hell you are?" Kevin blurted out. Michael rolled his eyes at his comrades crudeness, but was kind of curious about the newcomer.
"My name is Wesley Hawkins," he replied, "and I'm your commanding officer." Way to go, Kevin, Michael thought. Kevin nervously glanced aside, muttering "shit" under his breath. "Any more comments, Werber?" Wesley asked.
"No," he replied.
"Good, now shut your mouth and listen. We are heading to HQ for a week before we are stationed out to Kanto."
"Wait a second," Alex spoke up. "You mean to tell me we are being deployed only a week after becoming operational?"
"Yep. I know you boys would usually have more time to get adjusted, but time is not a luxury we have at the moment."
"What's going on?" Michael asked. "There's got to be some serious shit happening if we're rushing in there this fast. And for that matter - why are we going into Kanto of all places?
"Something… has gone horribly wrong," Wesley admitted. "I'll fill you in on the details as we fly there. For now, you all have the week off - get a little bit of rest and relaxation. No violence. No doubt you'll get plenty of that once we set foot in Kanto." He got up and walked to the front compartment of the aircraft, leaving them for a moment, but returned carrying a long case. He sat down and opened it, revealing several sheathed daggers, about two feet in length. "These are your combat knives. More of a short sword if you ask me." He distributed them among the six. Michael took his, unsheathed it, and looked over its features. The handle was black and had a nylon grip, a crimson pommel protruding out the end of it. The blade was double-edged, which was questionable for a modern-age combat knife. The entire body of the knife was black, and it was reddened along the blade, making it perfectly resemble that of the knife on their badges. The end was drawn into a very sharp, pointed angle, forming a small tip at the very pinnacle. Again, questionable for a combat knife. Above the handle, at the very bottom of the blade's body, was the Reaper emblem.
"What do you think?" Wesley asked.
"It's a little bit… odd for a combat knife," Michael replied. "I mean, it looks like it could really do a number on someone, but being two-sided and with that small of a point… well, even though it could really slice someone up, it could break easily if hit the wrong way." Wesley grinned at his confusion.
"You don't have the strength in your body to snap that blade." He unsheathed the one at his side, holding it up to display it to them. It looked exactly the same as his. "Think fast!" Before anyone knew what had happened, Wesley brought it down quickly towards Kevin, who instinctively raised the one he had just received up in defense, blocking Wesley's. The two blades contacted, and Michael just knew that they had been chipped harshly, as a loud, ringing sound permeated the air. Wesley withdrew, while Kevin looked like he was about to have a heart attack. "That's for your disrespect. Anyways, look at your blade now." They all looked, and to their astonishment, neither dagger even had a scratch. And he hit hard, Michael thought.
"How is that possible?" John asked. "What the hell are those things made of?"
"Compressed steelix skin," he replied. "Take a whole bunch of it and use psychic types to press it down; they compress so much steel into those daggers, I doubt you'll manage to even scratch the things. Not to mention the skin itself is incredibly hard to begin with. The process is very difficult, time consuming, and expensive, though, so don't lose them." They were looking at him, clearly surprised, before he continued, putting them at ease. "Don't worry - we have dozens of steelixes that we work with. They naturally shed every once in awhile, so we didn't buy anything off the black market." That seemed to put their darker assumptions to rest. Well dang… Michael gently felt the edge of his dagger, finding it to be razor sharp. This thing could cut right through someone. Now that he understood the invincibility of the weapon, it was pretty practical - the length alone allowed for the leverage needed to provide a variety of tasks, and would grant a range advantage in a close-quarters combat scenario.
"Had mine for twenty-five years, still good as new," Wesley continued. Wait a second…
"You were a member of the first Reaper squad?" Michael asked.
"Yep. Four others and I were the first of our kind. I've stayed in the program the longest, though, as commander to individual units. My last one - the guys before you - disbanded; they each went off on their own way after seven years. That's about what you guys can expect." Wesley shot Kevin a stern glare, making him cower back slightly. "So I'd say that we'll all be great friends by the time this shit's said and done."
Michael thoughtlessly tapped the balls at his side, knowing that the girls disliked being inside of them, and that Veronica would probably be angry. Oh well, not like I can do anything about it. He then brushed against something else. "Commander, what should I do about this?" he asked, motioning to his revolver. "Pretty sure most weapons are supposed to be kept in the armory."
"Generally speaking, yes," Wesley replied. "But I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. You can hold onto it, but if you shoot a damn magnum inside the base…"
"Don't worry, I won't," Michael said.
. . . . .
The entire ride took nothing more than half an hour - the greatest obstacle being, of course, the tall mountains in which the base hid. They had decided to construct it inside of one of the mountains, and building additional floors down instead of up. It would be incredibly hard to invade, being that there was only a single main entrance, also making it difficult to bomb. The Chinook landed at a large, barren plateau east of the main bases, filled with various other helicopters, some getting ready to depart. A bit further to the north, and there was a large building, leading out to a half-mile long runway. Though the slightly open doors, Michael could catch a glimpse of fighter jets.
They stepped off of the helicopter and followed Wesley towards the main entrance of the army base. They would be sharing their bases with them, as they were a division of Johto's army, though they would only interact briefly with any people outside of the Reaper program. Seeing the left corner of the main doors, Michael finally caught a glimpse of how big it really was, nearing forty feet in height, and easily wide enough to grant two adjacent tanks passage. Upon fully rounding the corner, however, he caught another surprise. A rather large steelix, just like Wesley had mentioned, was coiled up, attentively eyeing them, and shifting its gaze towards Wesley in recognition. It raised its tail, and brought it back down a bit harder, creating a slight thud. A few seconds later, the two heavy, metallic halves parted to each side. As the large entrance would suggest, the base was huge. Several docking sites aligned the left and right of the interior. A few trucks were backed up against the loading platforms, allowing the men to transport their contents away via dollies. One of them, Michael noticed, contained several crates of 5.56x45mm alone. At the opposite end of the room lay several large elevators, one of which they headed towards. Wesley motioned for an individual to join them, a man looking to be near thirty, before getting on the elevator.
"The second through seventh basement floors are designated for training, preparations, and for drills. Y'all won't really need to be there. Instead, you will each be remaining in the eighth, ninth, and tenth basements. Eighth and ninth are the housing floors, tenth is the entertainment floor."
"Entertainment?" Alex asked.
"Yeah, when you have thousands living on base with no way to get back to town at will, you kinda have to have some form of entertainment. We've got a theater, a pool, a bowling alley, gym, personal range, a spa for our female members, a small store outlet, battle arena, and the cafeteria."
"Alright, do you know which floor we'll be on?" Michael asked.
"You boys are set on the ninth floor." As if on cue, the elevator stopped, opening up and revealing the said floor. "This is your stop," Wesley said. "Could you lead them to their quarters?" he asked the man.
"Sure thing," he replied. "Which division?"
"Reaper." The man looked at them, somewhat shocked.
"No problem. If you guys will follow me." They stepped off, and the elevator began to close, but Wesley grabbed the door, holding it back momentarily. "If you need anything, feel free to ask me or anyone else. Other than that, be ready to leave this upcoming Tuesday. Enjoy your week off." And with that, he let the doors close, and he was off.
"If you all will follow me," the man said, turning around. They did so, coming across a large intersection. As they neared it, they heard a casual conversation from around the corner.
"Yeah, but they had us doing all these laps and shit 'cause of that one asshole - Phillip. Did I tell you about Phillip?"
"Only about a hundred times already," came the reply.
"Yeah, well he screwed up the drill. Of course, the whole team gets to pay for it." They rounded the corner and caught the six by surprise. One of the two voices belonged to a soldier not much older than them. The other belonged to a mighteyena.
"Did that mighteyena just talk?" Kevin asked without hesitation to the duo.
"Nah man, you're just hearing things," the mighteyena jokingly replied, the two leaving them standing there, dumbfounded.
"What in the-"
"It's a recent development," their "escort" stated. "The VFT - Vocal Frequency Translator. It's only available for military personnel, or at least for right now."
"How the hell does that work?" Michael asked as they continued down towards their hallway.
"They communicate with frequencies rather than words," the man replied. "The device reads the frequencies and translates them."
"Does it work for all pokémon?" asked Alex.
"All but a few. Once they discovered the basic platform they were using, cracking the rest was pretty easy. Of course, it took millions to get to that point…" he trailed off. Suddenly an idea popped in Michael's head.
"Do you think we could get a few?"
"Well, they're part of the inventory, and you know how picky the military is about that kind of shit - they'd rather let it sit in a storage room and rot before they sell or give it to someone." He appeared deep in thought for a moment, before continuing. "Tell ya what, I'll speak with Commander Hawkins about it - see if we can make a few disappear off the books. How many would you be looking at?"
"Thanks, I really appreciate it," Michael stated. "Could you see about nabbing me four?"
"Sure, I'll try," he replied. "Anyone else?"
"I'll take two," Alex said.
"Same here," Thomas replied. He also had two pokémon - his starter, a peppy chikorita by the name of Ivy, and a golurk appropriately named Titan. The others had no pokémon, so a translator likely wouldn't do them any good. They turned at the end and to the left, dead ending at a smaller hallway - only rooms on each side. "In the meantime, here you are. Take your pick, but they're all the same." Michael headed to the first one on his left, and Alex took the one beside him. Thomas took the one across the hall from Michael, John adjacent to him, and Kevin beside Alex. Samuel, on the other hand, took the room on the right and at the very end, furthest away from everyone. That guy's weird as hell…
He opened the door to his quarters, and was decently surprised at what he saw. The entrance led into the dining room, which contained a decently-sized table, large enough to seat eight. Behind it was a large closet, containing both a washer and dryer, as well as several extra linens on the shelves above. A smooth concrete counter-top with a black gloss separated the adjacent kitchen from the dining room, forming an L-shape. The kitchen contained a sink, microwave, refrigerator, and stove - all stainless steel, and mahogany cabinets over the longer portion of the counter. The stove and refrigerator were on the opposite side of the room from the sink and microwave. Moving on, he saw the living room next. A thick, black couch, a matching ottoman in front of it, stood in front of a short, mahogany table, which was in the center of the room. Opposite to it was a 50" plasma screen TV, also on top of a mahogany table, though this one was taller than the last. A small coffee table lay beside the couch and a leather recliner, which sat diagonally from the television. He continued on through the hallway, which sat between the dining room and living room, and saw three doors - one on his right, two on his left. The one on the right contained a guest bedroom, complete with a closet, queen sized mattress, and a single dresser, which also served as a nightstand. Straight across from it was a small bathroom, adjacent to the final door. As he had suspected, it was the master bedroom. With a king sized mattress, it could easily suit Veronica, even if she sprawled out. Another closet and dresser, but this room also had a desk, which housed a lone router at the corner, its flickering green lights displaying its activity. A larger bathroom lay to the left, containing a large white countertop with two sinks, an adjacent toilet, and a shower and bathtub across. Carpet was the dominant flooring throughout, being present in every room but the kitchen and bathrooms. This… this has just got to be overdoing it, he thought to himself. Although, with the five of them, and, thinking back to the lack of room in their tent during their training days, he definitely wasn't complaining. He tossed his bag on the bed, opting to unpack later.
Shit, he thought, I almost forgot! He hurriedly pulled out their four luxury balls and released them.
"Sorry it took awhile - I know how much y'all hate staying in those things." Veronica was the most visibly upset, glaring at him in anger. "Look, I wasn't sure if it would be acceptable to take you four out in the plane, or on the way here. I don't know what else I can say - I'm sorry." Michael stepped forth and hugged her, which she returned, her anger melting away. "Alright, it's… 12:00, and there's surprisingly a lot to do here. What should we start with?"
. . . . .
He regretted asking them that. They had wanted to watch a movie - which was fine with him. It was the choice of movie that they had chosen to watch. The theater contained four screens, each playing something non-stop. One was playing a comedy, two had action movies, but the last one… The last one was dedicated to the women who stayed on base, and was showing a sappy romance. And guess which one the girls picked? Layla wanted to see an action movie, but the other three had chosen. And to make matters worse, since there was only one screen for women (as the number of men in the base was far higher), it was pretty packed. Luckily, they had found a section up towards the front were they could sit, a couch in the center for Veronica. Unluckily, them sitting near the front also displayed to practically the entire crowd that there was a man in there. Hopefully they wouldn't be able to remember his face… They sat, and moments later, the film began. Great… a full two hours of this shit…
Rolling credits had never been such a beautiful sight to him. The plot was corny, just overly painful, and made him want to beat his head against a wall. But the girls - even Layla - seemed to enjoy it, so he kept his mouth shut. Of course, that didn't stop him from making his way out of the theater as quickly as he could when it was finished…
They wandered about for the rest of the day, familiarizing themselves with the base's attractions, stopping by the cafeteria for lunch. The pool was large, spanning about 35 meters long, and about half as wide. Rectangular, it wasn't anything too special, but it was easily big enough for all of them to swim in comfort.
Next was the range, which was the next room over, though it was about a hundred feet away. It was much longer than the pool room. The left side, extending much further than the right in perspective to the entrance, was a long, gray corridor, the target hangers trailing back as far as the wall. Several dividers separated individual "units," which totaled about twenty, most of which were currently occupied.
Perhaps the most impressive facility was the gym, which had multiple all-purpose weight racks towards the right, able to do pull-ups, squats, benches, and exercises of the sort. Dozens of ellipticals of every kind lined the left, from stair-climbers to treadmills. Dumbbells sat racked towards the end of the room, behind the weight machines. What really caught their eyes, though, were the pair of fighting rings in the center, one of which was occupied by two soldiers, which, by the looks of it, were practicing their CQC skills.
He walked right past the spa, which was ironically the next door over from the gym. "Sorry girls, I am not going in there."
The battle arena was relatively plain looking, but large, much like the pool room. Half a dozen "courts" were set side by side, the traditional pokéball insignia in the center.
There was also the shopping outlet. Some more simple articles of clothing were spread out, along with razors, hygiene supplies, playing cards, cigarettes (which Michael detested), and several boxed and canned non-perishable food items. We'll need to stop by here, unless we want to eat at the cafeteria three times a day.
By the time they had returned to their quarters, there were, sure enough, four small boxes in front of his door, as well as two in front of Thomas's. There were none near Alex's, so he must have taken them inside. They shot him a questioning look, but he simply picked the boxes up and opened the door, taking them inside. He began to rip the tape off, opening the first one, all while the girls were unable to look away. Inside was a dull gray colored collar of adjustable length, nearly a quarter of an inch thick. He opened the others quickly.
"Go on, try 'em on girls." He knelt down so that he could help Elise put on hers. He fastened the back of it around her neck, putting it on tight enough to where it wouldn't move around, but not nearly tight enough to bring her discomfort. By this time, the others had pretty well gotten theirs on.
"They're a little… bland…" He looked over, and deduced that the voice came from Charlotte. It was gentle, yet sassy in tone. The device projected the translation louder than her natural sounds, blotting them out, but not completely.
"More like downright ugly," Veronica stated, looking at her teammates. "I mean, really? Gray? With my green? Our trainer…. sheesh, he's smart, but it doesn't take some damn fashion expert to realize this looks horrid." Her voice was deeper, but still noticeably feminine — filled with power, authority, and of course the vanity that all dragon types innately had.
"I appreciate the complement, Ver," he replied, "but these things aren't for looks." She snapped to the side, looking at him like a deer in the headlights. The others appeared similarly as confused, wondering what in the world just happened.
"Did you just…" Veronica stuttered.
"Yeah, those are translators. Pretty cool, aren't they?" Though she was technically the slowest on the team, Elise tackled him faster than he could respond.
"This… this is great!" she yipped. She sounded pretty high pitched, but wasn't shrieking. Perfectly suited her timid demeanor. "I've always dreamed about the day when we could truly speak to each other!"
"Likewise," Layla said. Her voice was calm and collected - very smooth. She surprised everyone by embracing him from behind, her head over his shoulder and next to his. "We have so much to talk about!"
And they sure did. Previously, he had to rely on body language to communicate with them, making an educated guess as to what they were trying to tell him. A notepad had seemed like a good idea once, as they knew how to read, but writing… writing was much harder without opposable thumbs. They could write somewhat, but it was generally much more trouble than it was worth, taking too long and being very inefficient, usually taking up a page in the notepad to only get out a few words. That, and Veronica always ripped the pages…
But now - now they had the ability to commute flawlessly and efficiently, and they made great usage of that for hours upon hours. Michael knew his girls well, but with this kind of accessibility, he found himself learning more about them than he ever expected. Favorite memories of their journeys, likes and dislikes — many things that he would not have been able to guess. They were alarmed, though, when Charlotte pointed out that it was past two in the morning.
"I'm sorry…" Elise said, looking down. "We've kept you up too long - you have work in the morning." The others looked shocked upon hearing this, then also apologized.
"I meant to tell you all about that," Michael replied. "I've got the week off, so we're free to have some fun for awhile."
"Really?" asked Veronica.
"Yeah - after that, we're heading out to Kanto."
"Oh," she said, slight upset in her voice.
"But we've got time for now; that's all that matters, so let's make the best of it."
"Agreed," Layla chimed in. "So what do you have in mind?"
"Well," he began, "I was thinking - tomorrow we could spend all day with each other, and for the next four days, we could have some one-on-one time - whatever each of you want. The last day we could spend all together again - you know, before we leave."
"Just to clarify - you did say whatever we want, right?" asked Charlotte.
"Yeah, whatever you want." What is that fox planning?
"Okay, I'll hold ya to that," she giggled.
"I like the idea very much," Layla spoke up. "Think we could visit the gym? I liked the looks of those rings."
"Sure, as long as you watch your spikes," he joked.
"Of course - I'd never hurt you."
"I wouldn't mind going for a ride," Veronica offered.
"Wait, what?"
"A ride."
"Oh hell no, I am not going flying. I'm not particularly fond of heights."
"You've ridden in helicopters and planes…"
"Yeah, but that's different," he stated, matter-of-factly. "In those cases, you've got solid steel beneath your feet, and you can't see below you. But flying? All that'd be below me would be you, and I'd see and feel everything. No, screw that."
"C'mon - most dragon trainers go riding on a regular basis - you haven't even tried it once. And besides, you did say anything…" Dammit…
"Alright," he relented. "You will be the death of me yet…"
"Don't worry," she said, giving him a constricting hug. "I won't drop you… as long as you're cooperative…" Oh, okay then…
"What about you, Elise? What do you think?" Michael asked.
"Mmm, I like it. I'll think of something we could do."
"Then it's settled. Even though I don't have anything to do tomorrow, I still think we should call it a night."
"Mhm," Layla said, yawning. "I am kinda tired."
"I was thinking that Veronica and Elise could share the master bed - on account of your size, Ver - and that Charlotte and Layla could share the guest bed."
"But… where will you sleep?" asked Charlotte.
"I'll probably crash here on the couch. There are some extra sheets over the dryer, and-."
"Not hardly," she growled. "You are not sleeping on a damn couch while we take the beds."
"Sorry Char," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not giving you a say in the matter." If there was anything that Michael inherited from his father, it was definitely his stubbornness. The girls knew that if he had made up his mind about something, he was set, and there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise.
. . . . .
That week was amongst the best he could remember - no major concerns, but rather a full seven days of fun with his team. Of course, that led to him finding out what Charlotte had planned for her day - a full day at the spa. "You did say anything," she had told him. Fortunately, he didn't partake in most of the "activities," but she did make him go into the sauna. He only hoped she would never speak of it…
"Thank you for putting up with that," she said as they rode the elevator back. "I know how uncomfortable that must have made you."
"Eh, it could have been worse," he said, rubbing the white tuft of hair around her shoulders. "I'm just glad that you enjoyed yourself."
"Aww, thanks." He picked her up from under the arms and hugged her.
"Anytime," he said, kissing her on the top of the head. The doors opened, revealing Samuel standing before them. He simply turned and walked away, leaving them confused at his weird mannerisms. What the hell?
Elise wanted to try out bowling - she was always one for games. She likely didn't know how the game was played, though, when she asked to go, as she was dismayed to find out that the game was definitely designed for bipedals. "Maybe you could run up to it and shove it," he joked. Much to his surprise, she agreed to trying it… and proceeded in beating him. Wasn't even close. Alex had witnessed it, and taunted him for losing to a pokémon that didn't even have hands. He found it funny, of course, until he lost to her too.
"That's total bullshit," Alex said. "Just bullshit. Complete luck."
"Nah, I think you're just being a sore loser," Michael laughed.
"Well that's easy for you to say - you totally suck at bowling" Alex countered.
"Maybe," Michael admitted, "but the fact still stands that you lost. I think you just don't like the fact that she is better than you. If it pisses you off so badly, why don't you just play her again?"
"With pleasure," he replied. Alex got closer to Elise's score this time, but he found himself losing once more.
"It's alright buddy," Michael said, slapping him on the back. "I'm sure you'll get better with practice."
"Whatever," he said. "I don't have time for this shit." He turned around and left the two to themselves.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asked genuinely. "I mean, he seemed pretty mad."
"No Elise, not at all. He'll be fine - he just gets a bit stressed whenever things don't go his way. He'll probably sulk about it for an hour or two, then he'll forget all about it."
"Okay," she said. "So, how did I do?"
"Amazing," he laughed, "and I never would've thought."
"Really?" she asked with a beaming expression.
"Of course - it takes some skill to overcome a biological boundary. Such an overachiever." She nuzzled up against his side in appreciation, to which he draped his arm over hers. "And always so sweet."
. . . . .
On Layla's day, they went to the gym. In there, he noticed Thomas benching a bar that had formed a slight arch, being spotted by Titan. After two slow but steady reps, Thomas racked the bar. He sat up, and Ivy trotted up to him with a towel on her back, which he took and wiped himself off.
"How much is that?"
"Four-ninety. Maxin' out."
"Shit man, and here I am happy to get about half that..."
"Really? What's your max?"
"Two-sixty. I need to work to get it up - I'd like to hit three."
"But not today, though," Layla added. "We've got something else in mind for today, right Michael?"
"Right."
"And what would that be?" Thomas asked.
"We're sparring," she replied.
"Ha, now this I'd like to see. It'd be nice to see you get your ass kicked, Michael."
"Yeah, right," Michael said. "I almost never lose."
"Do I sense a bit of cockiness?" Layla teased. "I'd be careful with that if I were you."
"No, it's just that I am the best at close-quarters combat in our squad. I mean, with my strength and size advantage over you, I just don't really see you beating me."
"Alright, we'll see about that," she said, heading over to one of the two unoccupied mats. "C'mon." He followed her to it, and soon they were both across from one another in the ring.
"What are the rules?" he asked.
"Hmm… well, no face or groin shots…"
"Yeah, and please be sure to watch your spikes," Michael said.
"Don't worry, I will. Now get ready," she said, taking her fighting stance. Michael did the same, tilting his left side forward, both arms raised.
"Kick his ass," Thomas shouted.
"Thomas, shut up." For a moment, they stood there. Michael thought over how he would attack, approximating how long it would take him to take her down, and struck. He went for her stomach - if all went well, he could make her lurch forward, to which he could sweep her legs out from under her and make her fall. But what happened couldn't have been further from that. Instead, Layla swept his arm aside, dashing under it and harshly striking his right side. Before he could adjust or react, she gave him a sharp uppercut under the ribcage, taking the breath out of him, making him unable to continue that round. Thomas laughed, and he just knew he would never let him forget this event.
He had never lost a fight so fast, and that alone struck a blow to his pride. Layla's strikes hadn't been unbearable in their power - he had received many hits just as strong. However, the speed of her attacks was something that he was entirely unprepared for. Throughout their time there, Layla kindly reminded him with her blows that pokémon were better at fighting than humans - a reality that he had seem to have forgotten. "I'm only doing this to help you," she stated, matter-of-factly as she knelt down over her trainer.
For hours, they continued to spar, him trying to adapt to such speedy movements, only managing to get a few hits in on her. Michael and the others were to rely on their weapons in the chance they had to fight a pokémon. But hand-to-hand combat with one? He had found himself on the ground many more times than he'd like to admit. "You'll get better," she assured. "You take pain pretty well, and you hit hard."
"Not hard enough apparently," he muttered.
"I'm a steel type - we can take much more punishment than other types. No, your problem is that you're a little careless and not quick enough. If we practice on a regular basis, though, I'm sure you'll beat me." He secretly hoped so. Perhaps it was his wounded pride, but he did not like losing. But just as she had said, the two of them would need to practice more.
. . . . .
Veronica's day definitely terrified him the most. He exited the base and headed out to the runways, as they would be an open enough area to take off and land. "You ready?" she asked.
"Not at all." She got on all fours, which looked kind of silly, being that she walked on two.
"Oh well," she said. "Hop on."
"Listen, do we really have to do this? I mean, this is just—."
"Michael, shut up and hop on." Her face lightened up. "You promised," she said, somewhat hurt. Dammit, trying to guilt trip me… and it's working…
"Okay, you're right - I did," he relented. He climbed up on her back, right beneath her wings. "Are you sure you'll be able to do this? I'm easily two-thirds your weight."
"You'd do well to remember that we aren't as weak as you humans," she chuckled. "Now brace yourself!" She wriggled in anticipation, bounded forth, and up. The world as he knew it disappeared beneath them, his breath being taken away from the sudden force.
"Oh shit!" he yelled. He was instinctively gripping her lower neck in terror, wondering how he wasn't choking her, but couldn't get himself to let off. The ground rapidly drew further away as they steadily climbed into the air. "Way too fast!" She sped up, then rotated back, making a backwards loop, then even out into more of a glide.
"See? That wasn't too bad, now was it?"
"Ver, if you ever do that again—."
"Oh, but we will be doing this again."
"There is nothing you could possibly do to get me on your back ever again." He had finally regained his breath, but still gripped her tightly in terror, slightly trembling.
"Sure there is - all I've got to do is ask." She tilted her neck back, looking at him over her shoulder.
"What do you mean?"
"Give me a single instance where you've denied a request from any of us." He thought back, trying to find a case - a single case - that he could bring up, but he realized she was right. "See? I just have to ask, and you'll give in."
"I can see that I've spoiled you," he said.
"Mmm, no — not really… alright, maybe a little, but not much. You just love us too much to say no, that's all." Damn, she's right - I do kind of give in to them. "Can't you just try to enjoy this? I mean, look at how calm it is up here. No cares, no worries - just us and the clouds." After relaxing himself (and forcing himself to focus on her, rather than the ground), he found himself more at ease - still nervous, but not as much. Thankfully, Veronica decided that a fifteen minute ride would be sufficient for their first flight. She went into a nosedive, spiraling quickly towards the earth. When she neared the ground, coming about thirty feet away, she opened her wings quickly, snapping up and slowing their descent, to which she drifted lazily down to the ground, landing on all fours. Michael stumbled off, feeling sick from what she just put him through, and fell to the ground.
"You crazy… freaking dragon." He felt dizzy and rushed; everything was spinning.
"Don't act like you didn't enjoy yourself," she chortled.
"Yeah, maybe I was enjoying myself - before you pulled that stunt. Couldn't you have just drifted back down - you know, gently?"
"Hmm, maybe, but that would've taken too long. You need to learn to live a little. Have some fun."
"Well I'm sorry that my definition of fun doesn't include near death experiences," he said.
"Then you're going to continue to be sorry if you don't adapt. Lucky for you I took it easy today."
"Lucky? How the hell was that taking it easy?" Michael asked. She stood up finally, rubbing the dirt off of her front claws.
"That flight? Honestly, do you expect every flight to be that dull? No, next time we're gonna take it up a notch."
"No, we are not doing anything like that again. You could have killed me!" he yelled.
"Do you not trust me?!" she roared, making his hairs stand on end. "What, do you think that I would have dropped you?! Let you fall?"
"Well it sure fucking felt like it," he snapped.
"Michael…" she said, her tone softening. "I would never let you get hurt." Immediately, he felt bad about snapping at her. Of course she wouldn't let me get hurt - what was I thinking?
"…I'm sorry, Ver. I know you wouldn't have dropped me. I just got a little scared, that's all. Haven't really done anything like that before…"
"I know, I know," she sighed. "All you need to do is hold on and trust that I will not let anything happen to you. Do you think you could manage to do that for me?" she asked sincerely.
"I'll... do my best."
"Thank you," she said, hugging him. They stood there for a moment, simply embracing one another in the middle of the runway. Finally, she let go of him. "Would you like to give it another shot?"
"Hell no, not today," he laughed.
. . . . .
Eventually, the time for fun had come to an end. Tuesday rolled around, and Michael found himself waking to the shrill cries of the alarm he was forced to set, rather than naturally or from the gentle prodding of a glaceon. It was quite an unwelcome change, but a necessary one, though - they had somewhere to be that morning. He repacked his bags quickly, as there wasn't much to pack - seven sets of clothes, his phone, revolver, a few trainer items, and an evolution stone collection, missing only one. Not long after that, he and the six Reapers found themselves at the runway, boarding a jet for Kanto. The base was west of Route 26, in the midst of the western plains, surrounded by nothing but tall grasses and woods on the backside. Unfortunately, he had to confine the girls in their balls for the duration of the day long ride - the jet simply wasn't large enough, with a letter couch on each side, as well as a small table in between, leaving only a foot and a half space to pass by to the bathroom in the back.
"Alright," Wesley said as soon as they were in the air. "No doubt you boys are wondering just why in the hell we are heading over to Kanto."
"It's been on my mind, yes," John stated.
"Yeah, what the hell could be going on in Kanto?" asked Thomas.
"Everything - everything is going on in Kanto," Wesley replied. "My last team and I spent two years there. I don't know how else to say it, but… we're fighting a war on terror…" For a moment, no one uttered a word, reflecting on what he had said.
"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Michael said. "It has something to do with that incident in Hoenn, doesn't it?" Wesley nodded.
"That was the one of the few times they got caught. They've done far more than you would think."
"So what are we dealing with here?" asked Kevin, but in a much more respectful tone than last time. It seemed like he'd learned his lesson.
"Trafficking - both humans and pokémon - some for slavery, some for sex. The kind of stuff that really makes your blood boil - makes you want to kill every last one of 'em. There's several groups involved, but they stick together, more or less." The commander looked aside steadily, gazing out at the mountain peaks as they whizzed past. "They've got their hands in the drug and illegal weapon markets, too, but we're used to that kind of shit by now…"
"So we're going to do something about it, aren't we?" Alex asked.
"Yep, we'll be shutting down any of their operations that we find out about, as well as taking out any admins that we find."
"We'll be doing assassinations?" Michael questioned.
"Of course - that's the only way to ensure that this shit completely stops," Wesley said. "Are you against the idea?"
"Fine by me," Michael replied. "People that are willing to sell others for money… no, we don't need people like that around - even in prisons. I'm totally fine with killing them."
"Good to hear, because all of you will be doing plenty of that," he commented. "And sooner than you think."
"How soon?" asked Kevin.
"Well, y'all's first mission is in two days…"
"That soon?" Alex asked. "Well damn, can't you at least give us time to settle in?"
"As I've said before, we don't have time. Every day, more are captured and sold off - we have to act now. Their main targets are wandering trainers, their pokémon, and wild pokémon, and they've literally got thousands in custody. That massacre… that wasn't a one-time deal…" He sat back in his seat, calm despite the topic at hand, before continuing. "So here's a rough outline of our upcoming activity: we'll spend nine months at the Kanto base - more or less, depending on the situation, and leave afterwards. Next tour, you can expect to join up with the Twenty-first Reaper Squad. They'll be able to give you better field advice than I could offer - after all, they've been involved in this line of business more recently than I have. Instead, I'll be hitting you six up on debriefings and command over the comm lines."
"How long will the ride take?" asked Kevin. Wesley thought it over silently for a moment before responding.
"Probably nine, ten hours - depending on weather conditions." Kevin sighed, and propped his feet up on the table.
"Take your damn feet down."
. . . . .
The West Kanto base was much smaller than the one they had just left, able to house near a thousand. The runway they landed on extended into the left entrance, which allowed for the jet to be docked. Two large helipads were at each side of the runway, filled with Chinooks, Apaches, and a couple of Ospreys. Large, dull concrete walls surrounded the base in its entirety, equipped with barbwire on top. In front of the front gate was the rather lackluster main building, which housed the cafeteria, main offices, meeting quarters, offices, and labs. Behind it was the housing building, which stood two stories tall, and extended two stories below ground level.
"Your rooms are at the end of the first floor," Wesley said. "Don't worry, they follow the same Reaper standards - look exactly like your other ones." A small training building was placed at the back right corner, housing a gym and an indoor target range. At the front left section, the armory resided, and was easily a third of the size of the main building. All of the land-based vehicles lay within the remaining front right area. "Home sweet home," Wesley said. "It's been awhile since I stepped foot here." They were shown around the complex, familiarizing themselves with its ins and outs - after all, they would be spending the majority of a year here. "Y'all are dismissed," he told them. "The mission debriefing is tomorrow at four. Don't be late." The six cut through the main building to reach the housing sector, heading to the designated end of the first floor as instructed. There definitely weren't as many rooms as there was at the Johto base, but they could easily make do with eight. They each chose the same room as they had last time, except for Samuel, who chose the one on the end, though he had to be much closer than he likely would have preferred.
Entering into the identical residence, he released the girls from the confines of their balls.
"Damn I hate that thing," Veronica said, stretching her wings and arms. "This better not be a frequent event." He understood her frustration - the girls usually didn't have to spend a minute in their balls, and they had just spent fourteen hours inside them. And Veronica had the most hatred for them, too.
"It won't," Michael assured her. "Just for the longer flights - we won't have another for nine months." He unpacked, deciding not to hold it off until later - putting his clothes in the dresser of the master bedroom, and simply emptying the rest of his bags contents into the nightstand. The 686, though, as well as his newly obtained dagger, stayed at his side at all times. If he wasn't already paranoid before the massacre (as he often slept beside his revolver), he certainly was now. Without a doubt, he was ready to blow out the brains of anyone who would try to harm the girls or him.
. . . . .
They all stood around a sleek, black table, embedded with a display screen, controlled by the tablet that Wesley held in his hands. "So here's who we're dealing with tomorrow," he began, pulling up a photograph of a man in a dark corduroy jacket walking out of a gas station store. He had a slight grin on his face - not malicious. His golden blonde hair gave him somewhat of a childish look.
"This guy?" Alex asked.
"Don't let his looks confuse you - that's Derrick Rossler. He's one of the biggest starter smugglers across the regions. He jumps around frequently, so we need to be sure to stop him while he's here - don't know when we'll get another shot at him. We have reason to believe that he and his gang will be in the northern Viridian Forest tomorrow at noon, and I want the six of you to drop every single damn one of them."
"No prisoners?" John asked. "I mean, not that I have a problem with it or anything, but couldn't we get info outta them?"
"No need," Wesley said. "We know exactly where the asshole has been. Hasn't exactly cleaned up his trails - and trust me, he makes quite a mess wherever he goes. Best thing we could do is drop him." He swiped to the side, progressing the presentation. A map of the Kanto region popped up with several red dots. "This is where he's been in the last few weeks: Lavender, Saffron, and Pallet, all in a row, and he's likely to continue into Johto."
"Like hell he will," Michael said. "What are we getting?"
"Five of you will be getting Tavors, but that generally goes without saying. Thomas, I've got something more… fitting… for you this mission. How do you take to the Negev?"
"That'll do just fine," he said.
"Well, we've got one with your name on it," he replied. "Now, everyone will be using a CZ 75 SP01 - that's the nine we've come to favor in the last few months. My guess is that there won't be more than twenty at the meeting, so you won't need to pack too heavily." He looked them over, before continuing. "All that being said, are there any questions?" No one responded, but finally John spoke up.
"What time do we leave?"
"Six in the morning - not a minute later." Again, no one said anything, so Wesley concluded. "Get to sleep early tonight - you've all got a long day ahead of you tomorrow."
He left the meeting room and unleashed the girls. They first hit the cafeteria before returning to their quarters for the night. He set the alarm on his phone to 5:30 - just enough time to get in a quick shower to wake him up. "Here's my card," he said, handing it to Layla. "Won't be here most of tomorrow, so you four will be able to get your meals." She looked at the card in her hands, then looked back up at him.
"Do you have to go?" she asked.
"You know I have to, Layla. Don't worry, I'll be okay - nothing's going to happen to me."
"Michael," she retorted, "you're going out there to kill people - they're going to fight back. I can't help but feel worried about you…" He knelt down and drew her close.
"Don't worry, I'll be fine, okay?" She was still looking down, though up against him. He gently took her chin and raised it up, making her make eye contact with him. "I need you to trust me on this, okay?"
"Okay…"
"Thank you," he said, kissing her cheek. "And when I return, we can have another sparring match."
"Really?"
"Yep, promise."
"Well then, I'll look forward to roughing you up a bit more," she giggled.
. . . . .
Michael and the others, including Wesley, were nearing the drop-off point. They were riding the Chinook, which had been loaded with their armor and weapons, and had been designated as their mission vehicle. "Suit up boys," Wesley said. "Drop-off is in ten." They went into the back corridor, where their suits were lined up, weapons over them. Wordlessly, they began changing into their Reaper suits, concealing every part of their bodies, except for the backs of their heads. He grabbed his Tavor and three clips, attaching them to his belt, holstered the 9mm pistol on his right side, the dagger on his left. "Alright, odds are you boys will have a bit of a walk ahead of you. We couldn't pull up too close - don't want to alert them to our presence." The helicopter touched down in a small clearing; the back door opened, revealing the bright light in the midst of the dark woods. "Remember - I've got both visual footage and radio, so I will see and hear everything that's going on, and try to advise you from there. Now get out there and make us proud." The six of them, clad in their dark suits, trailed into the woods. Behind them, the helicopter's blades stopped whirring, shutting down completely.
"Masks on," Alex said. Michael pressed the small but present dial on the left side of the mask, back close to the bottom of his jaw, springing his visor's display to life. The bottom left corner showed his two weapons, fully loaded - the Tavor showing 30/90, and the pistol only showing 18 - representing their ammunition. The bottom right corner showed a blank grid with a yellow dot, along with five red - showing their positions in perspective to each other, or at least on a two dimensional scale, complemented by a visual compass. He switched to thermal night vision - though it was the middle of the day, it definitely helped in the darkness of the Viridian Forest.
"Keep north and stay in the brush," Wesley said. "Darkness is your friend." They trudged through the gloomy forest, far from the lively paths that trainers often traveled. A golden tree caught Michael's attention, shimmering from a multitude of kakunas aligning it. "Best step away from that," Wesley warned, but Michael had already done so. The last thing I need is to get in a firefight with a swarm of beedrills… Though pokémon usually didn't attack, and were relatively peaceful in the wild (or at least, to humans), that didn't dismiss the possibility. It had taken them nearly twenty minutes to navigate to the place of the suspected meeting. Sure enough, it was there, figures of over a dozen men came within view, as well as five disorderly parked trucks. Three held supplies of various kinds, but the other two held cages.
"Alright," John said, "I'll flank around to the side to get a better angle."
"That's the only way you'll be able to safely take them all out," Wesley said. "Someone else - Alex - go join him. Once the two of you have made your way around, then you all can proceed. Do not try anything beforehand - it'd be too risky, and you are all still rookies by my book." Alex followed John to the side. The others readied their weapons, watching the scene unfold before their eyes. With camo shirts and dark pants, the enemies almost looked like they were hunters. The only thing that dismissed this idea was the fact that the season for any big game was out, and they were carrying AKs rather than hunting rifles. Though he was hidden in the enshrouding shrubbery, Michael was close enough to see the gleam of the wooden grips.
"There's the fucker," Michael said, pointing out a figure, propped up against the side of one of the trucks. He looked just like he did in the picture - not the type one would suspect to be involved in this kind of business. After a moment, he motioned towards one of the trucks.
"Get the bitch. See if she'll tell us anything now," Derrick said. Two of the guards went to a vehicle, snatched a woman out, and flung her to the ground. Without a word, he kicked her harshly in the ribs, making her shriek in pain and roll over. She was wearing a stained lab coat, her short, brown hair unkempt, and a pair of broken glasses. I'm going to kill him for that. One of the two guards grabbed a small cage out of the truck, tossing it beside her. A scared bulbasaur lay inside, sobbing at the predicament they were in.
"I'm gonna be honest with ya," he said to the downed woman. "I'm gettin' pretty fucking sick and tired of this." He knelt down to her, grabbing her chin and forcibly making her look at him. "I tried playing nice, but that hasn't gotten me anywhere, now has it?"
"N-nice?" she stuttered. "You all have be—." He brought his fist down, striking her in the face, and breaking her nose.
"I wasn't done talking, bitch" he spat.
"Are you two almost there?" John asked. "We can't just sit here and watch."
"Almost there," Alex said. "Give us a few more - we're right behind the trucks, so we've got no shot on them."
"Hurry the hell up," Michael said, watching Derrick stand up again.
"So here's what's gonna happen," he said, making his way to the back of the truck, grabbing something out of the back of it - a five gallon gas can. Oh no… "You're gonna tell me exactly where the hell Oak is keeping the starters."
"I've already told you, I don't know! He never t—." He kicked her again, this time in the side, sending her down once more.
"Enough of that shit, no one's falling for it, sweetheart." He pulled out a lighter and popped the cap off of the gasoline can. "If I don't get an answer in the next ten seconds, I'm torching the little fucker and blowing your brain out." She started wailing, and he turned, tilting the can over the hysterical grass type. At that moment, Michael caught sight of the large handgun at his side. No… it can't be…
In terms of self-defense, a Desert Eagle was about as impractical as one could possibly get - it was big, loud, kicked like a mule, and was expensive to both buy and shoot. However, the if iconic gun could do one thing very well, it was striking fear in to the hearts of those at the other end of its sights. Any gun could prove intimidating when being pointed at you, but when a pistol literally takes the top of someone's head off… well, if that isn't terrifying, then nothing is. And if you bought a Desert Eagle, odds are you got it chambered in .50AE. He was there! It all made sense now - Derrick was one of the smugglers involved in the Hoenn Massacre. The littered about cases belonged to him - he had killed many of those people at the incident.
"Seven… six…." The woman was screaming, pleading - she really did not know where they were.
"We just made it around," John said.
"No time to waste," Wesley said. "Who's got who?" Before anyone else could say anything, Michael spoke up.
"I've got Zippo and the three surrounding guards. Leave them to me."
"Alright," said Thomas. "I got that there group to my right." Within seconds, everyone had chosen their targets.
"Three… two…"
"Go!" Wesley shouted. They obeyed, and turned the situation into a one-way slaughter very quickly. The six of them were outnumbered three to one, but fully automatic weapons tend to compensate for numbers. Most of the enemies never saw it coming; a few had but scant seconds to do anything - not that they could react quickly enough to do anything to save themselves. Michael only focused on his targets - one of them, after all, was about to kill. Instinctively, his rifle came to life, tearing through Derrick's side, drawing over to the other three - through one's chest, another's neck, and the last's head. In the midst of it, he could see the others fall, some in front of the trucks, getting shredded by Thomas's Negev, or to his left - a couple falling from carefully placed shots in between the eyes. As quickly as it had started, it was finished. All, except for one. The six emerged from the darkness, but Michael made his way to Derrick's fallen body - red staining his left side, one in the top of his chest. He tried to withdraw his Desert Eagle, but he was too late. Michael released several shots into his arm, making him fall back, writhing and cursing in pain. Michael set his rifle down, grabbed his collar, and slammed his fist into Derrick's face, pulled back, and hit again. The third time, he slammed into his jaw, breaking several teeth in the action, and hurtling the man to the ground.
"Get these two out of here," he said, pointing to the lab assistant and the bulbasaur. "Wouldn't want them to see this."
"Michael," Wesley said, "I know th—." He never got to finish; Michael turned off his mask.
"Now," he stated. Thomas stepped forth and helped the woman to her feet, who had to lean on him for support. Alex took the cage, unlatched it, and let the bulbasaur run to its trainer. They made their way back to the drop-off zone. Michael turned back to Derrick, and pointed his rifle at him.
"N-no… please!" His pleading did no good, as the echoes of gunfire interrupted him. One shot in each knee - he wasn't going anywhere. Michael stomped the left one, the man screaming out once more. "Pl-please… have mercy," Derrick wailed. That fully triggered Michael.
"Mercy? MERCY? Why the fuck do you think you deserve mercy?!" he screamed. He punched him in the throat, making him wheeze. "Did you give them mercy when they asked? When you shot, burned, and raped them - did you give them mercy?!" He stomped his hand into the ground, hearing the crunching of bone under his foot, before walking off to the side. Derrick attempted to say something - perhaps to curse him, but he could not utter the words. "No, you don't get mercy." He picked up the fallen gas container. Though it had tipped over, it spilled little of its contents. The ground there was mostly dirt; fire wouldn't spread. He drenched Derrick from head to toe with the flammable liquid. Raised the lighter and opened it, flicking on the flame.
"No…" he gasped, "please." Michael stood over him.
"You reap what you sow," Michael said, dropping the lighter.
A/N:
Well, that about sums up Chapter 2. Please leave a review if you enjoyed, and to offer suggestions/criticism. I cannot express how much that means to me as a beginning writer. Other than that, see you all next chapter!
