A/N:
Finally got this one up! Sorry it took a bit longer, but this is definitely the most essential chapter in the plot so far, so I had to touch up on several key details, edit, the whole nine yards. Anyways, a lot happens in this chapter, focusing almost extensively on Michael and his new partner.
Now, as you may be tired of hearing by now, I am in no way affiliated with Nintendo, Game Freak, or Pokémon, so have no rights to the series. This is purely for enjoyment. Similarly, I am in no way affiliated with the various product names I use throughout the story, including H&K, Smith and Wesson, Boeing, IWI, etc.
One fair warning, there is some more m-rated content in this chapter, but it's pretty brief and insignificant.
Have fun reading, and please feel free to leave a review for any questions or responses.
"…" - Spoken dialogue
Italics - Michael's thoughts
'Italics' - Telepathic dialogue
"Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men. It is the spirit of men who follow and of the man who leads that gains the victory."
-George S. Patton
Ch. 5 - The Legend
Michael watched as the helicopter descended, but didn't kill the engine. He could faintly see the pilot remove his helmet before the door opened. Nate stepped out, complete with his CIC uniform, and was followed by a 5'6" zoroark. "Glad to hear you'll be lending us your service," Nathaniel said. "Had to say, I had my doubts when you were headed to that meeting."
"I just hope y'all made the right call about me," Michael said.
"I know we did. Now enough of that - this here's your new partner." The zoroark stepped forth, extending his hand.
"Hey," he said, with a slightly coarse voice. "I'm Ezekiel, but I usually go by Zeke." The tips of his mane had blue highlights in them, and there was a lone piercing in his right ear. Michael shook his clawed hand, noticing the metallic coloration of them. Zeke must've seen him looking. "Only weapons I need," he chortled.
"Are they coated?"
"Mhm. Much easier to keep a sharp point that way."
"Have you ever considered… I don't know, using a gun?" Zeke laughed, apparently finding humor in the suggestion.
"Why? All I gotta do is sneak up close - and slash!" He swiped his right claws a foot away from his neck as if to emphasize his point, making Michael tense up involuntarily.
"I guess that isn't too hard to do when you can control their perceptions," Michael said.
"Not at all. Before they realize that I'm not one of them, they've already choked on their own blood." Well he certainly doesn't put it lightly… "And besides, I don't have to worry about noise or anything."
"What about the mess? If you just go around slittin' throats, you're gonna spill a lot of blood," Michael countered.
"Eh, hide 'em quick," Zeke shrugged.
"The two of you can fantasize about Zeke's claws later," Nate joked. "I gotta get back."
"Okay, thanks for droppin' me off," Zeke said, giving him a slight wave as he hopped back on the helicopter, taking off seconds later. The two of them made their way into the complex.
"Got any experience in the field?" Michael asked.
"Been at it longer than you," Zeke joked. "Let's see… 'bout four years now. Mostly stealth, infiltration, and espionage. Usually worked solo, but I can cover one more."
"You can create an illusion to cover me?" Michael asked.
"Yep. It's a bit more tiring, but well within my abilities."
"That's pretty useful."
"Mhm. Haven't failed a mission yet," he added, a slight sense of pride in his accomplishment. He turned to the side, apparently looking at something. "Heh, that there's a fine little vixen." Michael followed his gaze, then shot him a particularly nasty glare.
"That would be my braixen," Michael snapped. Zeke's ears dropped.
"…Oh… I'll just stop talking right now." Good idea. Charlotte waved, trotting up to them, a wide smirk on her face.
"There you are - I've been looking all over for you," she said, before looking at the zoroark. "Who's that?"
"Charlotte, this is Zeke. Zeke, Charlotte."
"A pleasure…" Zeke quietly said.
"Hey there," she said, before shifting her focus back to Michael. "Hurry up - the movie's about to start!"
"This one better not be another chick flick," he groaned. "I mean, seriously - what's wrong with an action movie every once in awhile? Or a comedy? Or something other than a sappy romance?"
"Nothing's wrong with those options," she said. "But none of those are what we picked. Now come on!" She grabbed his hand, hurriedly leading him away. He tried to avoid catching the inevitable looks he received from nearby soldiers as he was being forcibly escorted by a braixen not much over half his height, and ignore their laughter. They sped into their quarters and into the living room. Arceus help me, he thought, looking at the screen. Unfortunately, his prayers weren't answered.
. . . . .
Michael hopped off of Veronica's back, this time not having to rely on the oak tree to keep his balance. Though his feet were a bit wobbly, he held fast, refusing to fall down. "See? You're gettin' the hang of it," she said. "You even managed to tolerate a few of the more fun maneuvers that time."
"Maybe," Michael said, his vision still spinning. Veronica grabbed his shoulders for support.
"You'll get used to the sudden equilibrium changes... in time. But for now, I'd say you did pretty well." She grabbed him and pulled him to the ground with her, resting on her side, and giving a swift lick to his cheek.
"And you've gotten more agile," he commented.
"Must be the training."
"How's that been going?" he asked. She shrugged.
"It's tiresome, but I cant complain. Although," she grunted, "there is this one other trainee that's kinda a pain in the ass. For everyone, not just me."
"Hmm?"
"Another flygon."
"Oh?" he said, "well, please don't bring home any eggs."
"Gross!" she yelled, smacking him lightly. Or rather, lightly for her, as it did manage to sting a little. "It's not like that at all!" Her outburst only fueled his laughter more. "He's such a flirt, and a showoff. Annoys the hell outta me. Don't jump to conclusions like that!"
"Ver," he said, rubbing her side lovingly, "I couldn't resist - it was too perfect an opportunity. I was only kidding, okay?"
"Yeah, whatever..."
"But in all seriousness, I will be supportive of whoever you decide to tie the knot with, just so long as they're decent." She turned to face away from him, muttering something under her breath. He couldn't really decipher much of what she said, but he could've sworn that he heard 'if only.'
. . . . .
It was later that night that Wesley called a meeting for the seven of them. When they entered, he was pacing back and forth, seemingly lost in thought, only snapping back to reality when Thomas had said his name. He composed himself, and they gathered around the table. "We were able to retain all of the information on the drivers," he said.
"That's good to hear," Alex said.
"No, it isn't!" Wesley snapped. "Things aren't adding up. Take a look at this." He pulled up a document on the table's display, filled with various figures and labels. "This is their financing for the year, and it's legit." They looked over the figures for a moment, but it didn't take long for them to become similarly concerned.
"Three hundred-fifty million on fuel, four hundred million on power, another hundred in weapons - all just for this year! Not to mention transportation, wages, or their profits." He swapped the display, opting to the large map of Kanto. There were three circled areas. One was in an unnamed stretch of the northwestern mountains, another within the city limits of Pewter. The final was the old Power Plant. "These are their bases."
"All that money… for three bases?" Michael asked.
"Exactly my point. This can't be all. Nathaniel's forces have investigated the Pewter base - it's underground, but it fits within a damn museum."
"No… something's not right there," John admitted. "That's way too much funding for a couple of bases."
"What's worse is that there were hardly any names listed in the files. They've been very careful to cover their tracks."
"Damn, that makes our job a hell of a lot harder," Michael said. And for the next hour, they discovered just how much so. It was looking as though it was going to be a battle between two parties of ghosts. It seemed like a painstakingly awful task before them, and they had no leads. Without any ideas, they simply settled on attempting to retrieve more information from the bases. Wesley dismissed the six frustrated Reapers for the night, but held Michael back.
"Don't worry, the briefing will be quick," he assured. Briefing? He called for Zeke, who came minutes later, and went straight back to the table. "Long story short, I'm sending the two of you right to the Pewter base in two days."
"This soon? I have no idea how to operate with him," Michael replied.
"Rest assured, Zeke is an expert at what he does. He will be able to disguise you without a problem."
"I sure fucking hope so…"
"Relax, man," Zeke replied. "I've got your back."
. . . . .
Michael unplugged the drain of the tub, letting the water out. Grabbing a towel, he wrapped it around Elise's frame, and lifted her out. "Thanks," she said, giving him a light peck as he finished drying her off.
"Don't mention it," he replied, gently stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. "I'll always take care of ya - whatever you need."
"Thank you," she said, nuzzling into his side, albeit blushing. She said something quietly, but he wasn't able to understand it.
"What did you say?" She looked up at him, but wasn't fully able to meet his gaze.
"Did you mean that?" she asked. "Wh-whatever?"
"O…of course," he replied.
"…Okay…"
. . . . .
Both Michael and Zeke stood before Wesley once more, looking over the satellite imagery of what had appeared on the outside to be the Pewter Museum of Science. Several photos, though, of the back side disproved this. A stairway led down into what appeared to be a back basement entrance. Only, a pair of armed guards on each side contradicted any appearance of normality. "That's the only way in or out, so you two will need to slip in there." The two guards were positioned near the wall, so there was no sneaking behind them. "Zeke, this is where you'll come in handy." Wesley slid two photos across the table to them, drawing their attention to two unfamiliar faces. One had coarse red hair, a mustache, and dull brown eyes, whereas the other had blonde hair and golden eyes. "Unfortunately," Wesley joked, "these two are no longer able to grace us with their presence. Lyman Sherwood and Porter Neville. Nate's boys picked 'em off yesterday."
"So? How's that important?" asked Michael.
"The enemies don't know that."
"Ah, so we're gonna disguise as these two?"
"Precisely. That's how you two will avoid detection."
"Shouldn't be much trouble," Zeke added.
"Now, for the objective. We did receive a few names back from Cinnabar - here's one of 'em." Another photo was displayed, this one being of a man in his late thirties. A thick build and dark brown hair, much like Michael's, were his most noticeable features, but he also had tattoo sleeves on both arms from the wrists up. "This is Brett Milton, a lead admin in their sex trafficking business. If you can think of some kind of fucked up shit, he's probably done it. He was also tied to the transports in Hoenn two years ago, so we're gonna take him out." Wesley looked directly at Michael, then continued. "I understand you feel strongly about this matter, but Michael, for the love of Arceus, get it over with quickly - don't torture the fucker."
"Wait a second, he tortured a guy?" Zeke asked.
"A thug, yes, but that's for another time. Now, here's the gear the two of will be using." The display, for the last time that night, switched, this time to what appeared to be the enemies' standard uniforms - also familiar, consisting of camouflage jackets and dark undershirts. "Just to make things easier for Zeke, the two of you will wear their uniforms. You will each also have AKS and Glocks, but do not expect to use them - they're only there to sell the disguise. Going back to the mission, Brett will probably be in a more elaborate room than that of the regular soldiers, but we have no idea what the building looks like, nor where he may be. You're going in blind."
. . . . .
Michael put in his earpiece and clipped on the small microphone underneath his jacket. Since he lacked his mask, as its circuitry could interfere with the illusion, they needed to go more "old fashion," as Wesley put it, to have eyes and ears.
"Damn," Zeke huffed, "this thing is tight in all the wrong places." He managed to slip in to the pants, despite the fact that they were not created with a zoroark's physique in mind. No matter what he did, though, he could not manage to grasp the small zipper. He was finding great difficulty in fitting his claw inside the small hole, and thus, was practically unable to move the irritating piece of metal. "I need some help here," he said, defeated.
"Yeah, that's not gonna happen." Wesley seemed indifferent to them, rather focused on his laptop.
"Great," he said. "The concealed cameras are fully functional." They touched down at the edge of the eastern woods. Since they would be walking around fully and openly armed and disguised as domestic terrorists, they decided that it would be best to keep away from public view as much as possible, opting to venture straight through the woods rather than through the streets. Michael grabbed the silenced CZ-75 from the armory, loading a mag into it.
"You good to go?" he asked Zeke.
"Yeah, give me a minute to set up the illusions. Stand up straight." Zeke focused on the two photos intensely, his light blue eyes becoming even brighter. A slightly dark hue encompassed Michael's vision, settling down and into his body. Zeke's appearance became that of the red haired individual in the photos. Michael looked at the window and, faintly seeing that his reflection was no longer his, stepped out of the Chinook.
"Remember, he should be in an executive room."
"Yeah, I gotcha." Zeke walked out after Michael, tucking his shirt in as he went. They both had the Kalashnikov's over their shoulders and the Glocks holstered at their sides. Michael, though, had the suppressed pistol in the side pocket of his jacket.
They continued onward through the dense forest, swallowed whole by the ominous shadows, but perhaps not quite as overtaken as they were by the eerie sounds permeating throughout. It was as though the entirety of the forest was watching them, despising their presence. Several hateful glares rightfully made them feel nervous about being there, and the blood-curdling shrieks of the bird types made them wonder if they would be attacked. "Alright," Zeke concluded, "I don't like this one bit."
"Yeah, screw this shit," Michael added. "I'm giving it a few minutes before we're swarmed."
"Just take it easy," Wesley advised. "If push comes to shove, Sebastian can send out a telepathic message to resolve the situation." Yeah, if they don't kill us first…
"I take it that the locals here aren't too fond of our enemies," Michael said.
"Really?" Zeke said. "What possibly could've given you that idea?"
"That could work out very well to our favor," Wesley said, ignoring the zoroark's sarcasm. "It would be nice to have a few more eyes and ears out there, not to mention volunteers."
"Well it definitely isn't working to our favor now," Michael said, looking away from a coiled-up arbok that likely wished to see him burn in hell. "I can't wait to take these disguises off." It had been about a ten minute, fast-paced endeavor to reach the clearing that bordered the museum. They kept to the side, but looked around, seeing the same two guards they had seen in the photo.
"Alright, now head around casually." The duo rounded the corner, reaching the guards and the stairs, leading down into who knew what.
"Turnin' in for the night?" one of the two nonchalantly asked.
"Yeah," Zeke said.
"Make sure you've made y'all's last stops for today. Curfew is in ten."
"We're good to go," Michael said. One of the two motioned for them to pass, so they did. Michael twisted the knob, opening the door, and walked through the small hallway, taking in the sights of the base. It easily matched the size of the underground CIC headquarters, but only had stairs in each of the corners rather than elevators. A small cafeteria was to their left, some offices to their right, and a hell of a lot of people up and about.
"Shit, this place is huge." No one argued with him over that. Looking at the sign next to the closest stairway, Michael discovered that there were, thankfully, only three floors. Getting an idea, Michael stood in line at the cafeteria, grabbing a tray. "What the hell are you doing?" asked Zeke.
"Just give me a minute." Michael ordered randomly, choosing roast beef, corn, and lima beans. Holding the tray, he walked up to a nearby individual. "Excuse me, could you tell me where Brett's room is?"
"Lazy fucker had you bring him his meal?" the man laughed.
"Yeah."
"Third floor, C hall."
"Thanks." They walked towards the stairs, keeping pace with the ongoing traffic.
"That was smart," Wesley said. "Got them to lead you straight to the target." They continued downwards, finally reaching the bottom-most floor. Things were winding down here, as there was very little movement; most had likely retreated to their rooms for the night. The four hallways, two on each side, were each labeled, A and C on the left, with C being closest to them.
"Oh look, how convenient," Zeke said. The hallway extended a great distance, being lined with rooms to the left and right. As one enemy had slipped by and into his room, Michael caught a quick glance at the interior. Much like his old college dorm, there were two beds on the inside at opposite ends, and a room to the left, which he assumed was a shared bathroom between them and the neighboring room. At the very end, the hallway branched to the left.
"There we are. Stay alert." Rounding the corner revealed a single guard stationed there, sitting on a chair to the side of the door.
"Brett's room?" Michael asked.
"Yeah. Here to drop that off?" he asked, pointing to the tray of food.
"Yep."
"You can just leave it here. I wouldn't bother him at the moment."
"Alright." Michael handed him the tray. He set it down on his lap. "By the way, what time is it?"
"Let's see," the man said, looking down at his wristwatch, "It's 8:13."
"Oh, your time's up." The guard looked confusedly at him.
"No it isn't, I'm here unt—." He never got to finish, as Michael quickly drew his pistol and shot him twice, each shot in the head. His body slumped down, blood trickling down his face and onto his shirt. A large spray pattern lined the walls, formed by the no longer functioning gray matter.
"Yeah, it is." Zeke chuckled at this. Michael took the tray off of him, set it aside, and ripped off the man's jacket, tossing it to Zeke. "Scrub this shit up." He silently opened the door, peering inside. A small, empty kitchen to the right, an equally vacant living room to the left. He grabbed the body and dragged it inside quietly, depositing it in the kitchen behind the countertop. That way, he could keep it well hidden in case that the target was up and about, while also removing it from open sight outside. Pistol drawn, he crept through the small hallway, looking into the dark bathroom along the way. The sound of giggling caught his attention, directing him towards the bedroom at the end. The door was ajar, the room dimly lit. Slowly, he looked inside, caught by surprise. There was his target alright - with the only thing covering any of his skin being his tattoos. Fuck, I didn't need to see that. Equally as naked, though, were two women, both looking to be around six or seven years younger than him. Michael retreated back into the hallway.
"Ah dammit," he said. "He brought prostitutes." He heard Zeke chuckling through the radio. "Stop laughing - this is serious."
"I'm sorry, I can't help it," he snorted. "It just looks like you're gonna have to… kill the mood!"
"Commander, what should I do?"
"…I hate to tell you this, but proceed with the mission as normal."
"…But that means…"
"No witnesses," Wesley confirmed. For a moment, Michael just stood there.
"I get that they're whores and all… but I can't just cap 'em..."
"I understand... but the fact of the matter is this: if that man is allowed to live, then there are gonna be a lot more in their position - involuntarily. We need this to remain covert. If they trace the deaths back to two dead soldiers, they will know that someone on the outside was behind it. If there are no witnesses, though, they will think that it was someone on the inside and they will panic." Michael didn't respond, but he knew that Wesley was right. "You can't save everyone," he added. Michael gripped his pistol harder, but approached the door, placing his left hand flat against it. At this point, Brett was tracing the folds of one, making her moan in pleasure, while the other sat on his lap, with his member hilted within her. He shoved the door open, gaining everyone's attention.
He killed the two women first - they were likely to scream, and that could attract attention. The one that was being fingered caught a bullet right over her left eye, staining both her blonde hair and the white sheets red. He similarly killed the brunette on top of him with a shot through the nose, severing the brain stem and dropping her instantly. The bullet exited the back of her skull and lodged itself within Brett's neck. He fell back, with the prostitute still on him, and grasped his throat. Michael walked over to the edge of the bed, and rolled the woman off of him. Brett made eye contact with him, and more importantly, the 9mm pointed straight at his face. His head snapped back as a result of the silent shot to his brain. Michael shot them all once more for confirmation, draped the covers over them, then shut and locked the door behind him. "Good work, son."
Michael left the now uninhabited quarters. Zeke sprung up from the seat, carrying the tray inside. "Really?" Michael asked upon seeing the roast beef missing.
"I got hungry, and there was food right there." He set it in the kitchen, then rushed out.
"How could you possibly eat at a time like this?"
"Simple. I was eating some meat while you were probably beatin' yours."
"That's just fucking gross," Michael said, shaking his head. "And trust me, I was not impressed."
"Why? Were they ugly?" Zeke asked.
"No, but the fact that they were whores is kind of a turn-off." They headed back out the C hall, seeing nobody throughout, and only a couple of people on the entire floor at the time. The two retraced their steps - back up the stairs, through the rest of the first floor, and back towards the entrance. Checking behind him and noticing that it was clear, he grabbed the handle of his pistol once more. He opened the door, causing one of the two guards to turn and look at him. "I told you about the fucking curfew, now get your asses back inside."
"Of course," Michael said, "I just forgot something."
"What?" he asked, visibly annoyed. Not that it mattered, anyways - within seconds, both of the two were dead. Michael grabbed one; Zeke grabbed the other. Together, they carried the bodies into the woods from which they came, only depositing them after they were far away from the scene.
"Go ahead and drop the illusions," Michael said. The dark fog was lifted, and they both appeared as themselves once more. Not that it mattered much; the two disappeared into the night, leaving behind them a soon-to-unfold scene of chaos and confusion.
. . . . .
Two days later, though, and it was anything but a time for rest. With Layla cuddling up to his side, a knock on the door interrupted their time together. She rolled her eyes, but he stood up and answered the door. It came as a surprise when he found Giovanni of all people standing there. "What are you doing over here?" Michael asked.
"I need to speak with you a moment," he said. Michael looked at Layla, before stepping outside and shutting the door behind him. "Do you still want to lead the mission?"
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
"Because if you do, then we need to leave within the hour."
"What? Why?" he asked confused. "I thought it wasn't until a few more weeks."
"It wasn't, but after they found Brett's body, all hell broke loose. They don't know if there's a mole within their ranks, so they're running at full force. We've run outta time."
"How long will we be gone?"
"About a week."
"Ugh, the girls aren't gonna like this…"
"So? Bring them with us," Giovanni said.
"I can do that?"
"I don't see a problem with it." And neither did the girls when he proposed the idea to them. In fact, Veronica was more or less excited about the journey, wondering if she could be of any use to the operation, given her training. Giovanni had initially refuted this, saying that she was still too inexperienced in the field, but eventually permitted her to assist in transporting injured personnel to safety. He packed for the short trip, and they all departed for the runway, approaching Giovanni's private jet. Wesley was there to see them off.
"Be careful," he said, looking over both him and the girls. "I better see five bodies step off of that plane when this is all said and done."
"Don't worry, you will." But, as he would find out in a few days, this would not be the case.
. . . . .
Michael sat in the new leather seat, Elise's head in his lap. "Like an over-demanding pup," Veronica remarked. Whether or not Elise heard was questionable, but her only actions were to continue lavishing in his petting. Giovanni sat across from him, a table between them and a sleek computer to the side. A large satellite photo stretched out on top of it displayed six buildings - one in the center, the rest surrounding it, creating a pentagon, more or less. Giovanni cleared his throat, gaining Michael's attention.
"Sorry to say," he said. Michael looked over at them and nodded. "They can either go to the back of the plane or in the balls, but this information is absolutely imperative. With them here, I doubt that you will be focused on the topic at hand." Wordlessly, the four of them walked to the back of the jet, but not before Elise nuzzled his hand one last time.
"So what are we dealing with here?" Michael asked, observing the diagram.
"The plant has been converted into a lab of sorts." Giovanni replied. "The main building has not changed much since it was built - it still serves to generate power, which they've both sold and used themselves. The five surrounding, though… they're being used for something much different." He opened a file on the computer - a short segment of video footage, zoomed in to the twenty-foot tall building. A few minutes in and the door slid open for an approaching scientist. Giovanni paused the video. "Right here," he said. Michael scanned over the inside, finally seeing the object of interest. A large cylindrical container - probably composed of ballistic glass - housed a coballion, lying on its side. It was shackled down, wires connected to its body. The container was wired to a set of generators, one on each side. What the heck? He resumed the video. The scientist entered, and the door began to slide back. Before it reached the other side, however, the wires lit up, adopting a radiant blue. The coballion writhed and bellowed in pain, but was held completely stationary in the prison.
"What the fuck was that?!"
"They're extracting from them, probably in all five," Giovanni said. "This one was in the southwest lab."
"Extracting?"
"Yeah, draining their energy."
"Arceus," he muttered, "bunch of damn monsters."
"I know. For whatever reason they're doing it, it's killing the legendaries. I'd say it's about time we put an end to it."
"Amen to that," Michael replied. "So what's the plan?"
"There will be three teams, each near a hundred people. We're going to attempt to remove as many of 'em as possible without harming the legends by carpet bombing the ever living shit out of the main building and central area. The A-team will invade from the north, taking the top building and bringing it to anyone left standing on the field. B-team will come from the southeast, hitting the bottom right set of buildings. That leaves C with the two on the left."
"Alright, sounds good to me. Which one will I be in?"
"You'll be leading B-team, hooking around from the bottom up. I expect you'll be able to raise hell there."
"Hopefully," Michael said. "What weapons will I be using?"
"Heh, you're gonna love this," Giovanni replied. "Took inspiration from your footage back at Cinnabar."
"You mean…?"
"An AGS-30, yes. Although, this one's got a little bit more of a bite to it - mainly from the grenades."
"What did you do to them?"
"Loaded them really hot. Just don't shoot them anywhere close to yourself, and you should be fine."
. . . . .
They landed in Celadon for the night, as they were already ahead of the CIC convoys. Giovanni checked in to a nice hotel for the both of them. They all ate across the street, and departed for their rooms towards nine. Without much more to be said, they all turned in for the night.
Michael, as an odd tendency, rarely dreamt. But that night, he found himself entrapped within the corner of his mind, and consciously so. He knew he was not awake, but yet there was nothing he could do about it.
The environment around him was a distorted violet coloration, and carried much disturbance with it. Almost a painful throb, in fact. Ugh… what the hell? He looked around, but the abyss surrounded him completely.
'Please…' A voice rang out in his head, clearly not his own.
'W…what? Who's there?' The voice returned, this time, more recognizable.
'Please.. help us…' Whoever it was, it was definitely female. Michael could honestly say that it was probably the most beautiful voice he'd ever heard.
'Where are you?' he asked concernedly.
'You'll see… soon-.' She screamed out in pain, cutting herself off. 'I don't know, she panted, how much longer I can... take this…' Another scream, and he jolted out of bed. He was covered in sweat, and upon looking in the bathroom mirror, found himself pale as a ghost. He rinsed his face in the sink. It was no use trying to get back to sleep again - it surely wouldn't come after that.
. . . . .
Base camp was formed a little over six miles away from the plant. Conversation was kept to a bare minimum, and what was said was done so very quietly. They set up all preparations around midday, setting out their suits and weapons for easy accessibility. Veronica's entire frame, except for her wings and face, would be wrapped in thick kevlar. "I have to say, Ver, you look rather menacing," Michael commented when she tried it on.
"Aww, thank you." Since they stuck at nightfall, and they had a bit of a walk ahead of them, they each retreated to their tents to rest for the remainder of the daylight hours. Veronica lay right beside him, draping her tail over his left leg.
. . . . .
Just as he had the night before, he found himself entrapped within the purple abyss. This time, though, his head was throbbing - not very painfully, but it definitely brought him agitation. Great, this dream again…
'Are you there?' he asked. For a moment, he could hear nothing, but finally a response came.
'Barely… but I won't be for much longer.' Her voice was only a faint whisper at this point. 'I only have the strength… to do this once, so watch closely.' His view changed, no longer his own, into what looked like a hazy flashback. No, not a flashback - the present. Large wires drew close to his field of view. He was looking outside of a container, desks and control panels in front, and scientists behind them. A gray-haired man, wearing a two-piece suit and with a cleanly shaven beard seemed to be in his mid fifties. His cold gaze was directed straight at him. The vision didn't last long, but it was enough to make him understand.
'You're one of the trapped legendaries, aren't you?'
'That… seems to be your names for us, yes,' she replied. 'Please come… free us from these monsters.'
"Again!" the man said. His face showed no feeling, no compassion whatsoever. Accompanied by the glowing wires, the heart wrenching sound of her screaming seemed to ingrain within his mind. The vision seemed to get blurrier, much to his confusion. Only, when he heard the sounds of her sobbing, he finally understood that she was no longer able to withhold her tears.
'I want you to listen to me - I am going to get you out of there if it's the last thing I do.'
'I hope I can hold you to that,' she sniffed. 'I cannot endure this much longer…'
'You won't have to.' The gray-haired man - likely an admin, now that he thought about it - paced to the side by the scientist controlling the switch.
"Again." The wires lit up, and the vision faded.
. . . . .
Michael woke up with a start, Veronica over him and stretching out. "Good, you're up." She helped him to his feet. "Thought you were gonna oversleep there for a second." The two of them left the tent, the others eagerly following them, into the dusk of night. Most of the soldiers had already begun preparing themselves for the mission, strapping on their own dark vests. Giovanni was conversing with a captain, seemingly awestruck by what he was hearing.
"What are we to do, sir?" the captain asked
"I don't know… I guess just let him do his own thing. I am in no place to interfere with him of all people..."
"Do you think he's a threat?"
"…If he meant any harm, then we'd have been dead by now. He should be fine."
"Alright," he said before walking away. "Ready up!" he yelled to his men. Michael approached Giovanni, curious as to what the confusion was about.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing is wrong."
"You sure look surprised as hell."
" I am. It seems that someone else will be joining us in the raid."
"Who?" asked Michael.
"Someone I wouldn't have expected in a million years."
. . . . .
Midnight arrived, the full moon glowing a radiant orange in the dark, lightly-clouded sky. A perfect night to watch these fuckers die, Michael mused. He was fully ready; ready to end each and every one of the enemies not even a hundred yards ahead of him and B-team. Veronica, along with the other "war dragons," as they had been called, were further behind in the woods, awaiting the signal to take flight. "Are all teams ready?" Giovanni asked.
"C is ready," one captain stated.
"Good to go at A," the other said.
"Michael, how is B?" Giovanni asked.
"I'd say we're ready to go. When are the bombers pulling in?"
"We're nearing the site," a pilot answered. "Be there in two." Michael focused on his plan of engagement. He and the rest of B-team would swarm the nearest building, which had a dozen on top of the roof, and several around it. They would have a moment's opportunity to catch them by surprise, as the remaining enemies would surely be on high alert after the bombs hit. There were several turret-mounted vehicles, some even being driven at the moment, but most of them would be wiped out by the blast. Those that remained… well, he tightened his grip on the AGS-30.
The launcher was dreadfully heavy, much like trying to run around with Elise in his arms, though far easier to grip. His left hand latched on to the top handle, and his other hand was resting on the trigger, which was on the right side of the weapon. He had opted out of taking the tripod that went with it, as he wouldn't really be setting the weapon down. It would just add more weight, and that was the last thing that he needed right now. Carrying the grenade launcher and two of the weapon's large thirty-round drums of ammunition, as well as his suit, he was already dealing with well over a hundred pounds strapped to him. At his side was a USP-45, not silenced, and an ultra ball for easier extraction of the legendaries. "Be there in ten seconds," the pilot said.
"Best of luck to all of you," Giovanni said.
"Speaking of luck," the pilot said, "I'd say their's has just about run out."
"Bring the rain!" the C Team captain said.
Of course, what befell them was anything but water, but rather fire. They watched as the bombs fell towards the entirety of the center, towards the enemies and main building; watching their confusion as they looked up to the sky, wondering why the sounds of planes had permeated into the desolate area. Their confusion was cut short as they were struck with the flames of hell itself. In the fiery flash, the building was destroyed, the vehicles shredded apart, becoming like large grenades themselves. Michael had never seen such a sight: in the blink of an eye, hundreds of patrolling enemies simply vanished into the perplexingly beautiful explosions, completely engulfed by the unnatural display of fireworks. "NOW!" Michael yelled.
He led the B-team out of the outskirts of the woods. At this point, the enemies had begun fumbling around, readying their weapons, but they were far too late for their opponents who had been prepared. The first shots were fired from the CIC members who had remained in the woods, targeting all of the enemies near the building. By the time he had exited the woods fully, there were no enemies left standing in the area. The door, though, was shut tight, and locked into place. Let's see if I can't change that. He shot two grenades at the door, effectively blowing it off the hinges and into pieces. Giovanni apparently wasn't kidding when he said that they loaded the grenades hot…
Michael dashed into the building, quickly analyzing any threats inside. Three armored guards stood there, lifting themselves off of the ground and trying to ready their weapons. Their fatal mistake was being in the same area, as proven by a single explosion. Dismembered before they knew what hit them, the enemies became one with the floor, ceiling, walls, and people around them. A man with bright blue hair backed up against a desk, completely defenseless against the Reaper before him. Michael grabbed him by the throat and slammed him on the ground, forcing the air out of his lungs. Before he could speak a word, Michael shoved the thick barrel of the weapon through his teeth. "I'm gonna give you five seconds to turn that thing off before I paint this motherfucking floor with your brain." The man obviously could tell that Michael was not bluffing, as he signaled the nearby scientist with a trembling hand. The machine could be heard shutting down, and the glass enclosure lowered into the ground. With the situation deescalated, and CICs rushing into the building, he finally was able to focus on the legendary.
What he knew to be a proud, magnificent pokémon looked like anything but at the moment. The towering legendary was reduced to a crumpled heap, breathing deeply and laying on its stomach. "I've taken over the first building," Michael said.
"Fuck that was fast," the captain of C-team commented.
"What'd they have locked up in there?" Giovanni asked. Since he did not have access to Michael's current display footage, he was relying completely on oral communication. Michael shook his head in disbelief.
"They managed to catch... Groudon."
"Ah shit," Giovanni muttered. "That's unsettling, to say the least. Go on and get it outta there."
"Okay," Michael said before turning to the CICs. "Set up a defensive perimeter!" With what they had just seen - him clearing the room single-handedly - no one questioned him. He walked up to the fallen legendary, who looked, contrary to his nature, completely vulnerable. He took his dagger out and cut the wires off of it. "Hey there," he said, squatting down to his current level. "We're here to bust you the hell outta here." The legendary gave a single nod, not able to do much more. "Alright, it's pretty obvious that you aren't able to move after all that. I'm going to get you out, but I need to put you in a ball to do that. You have my word that you will come out of it, and that it will not be a legitimate capture. Do you trust me to do that?" For a moment, he seemed uncertain of the options, but finally gave him another nod. Michael grabbed the ultra ball and pressed it to his forehead. The shackles that had bound the legendary fell to the ground as it was drawn into the ball. There was no fight; the well-known ding signaled the capture. "One down," Michael said. "How's your status over at A?"
"Going well so far," the captain said. "We're about to take over the lab."
"I'd watch myself over towards the second lab. Most of their forces have retreated east. We're pursuing them now," the C captain said.
"Shit, that's our next stop."
"Well, you might wanna hold back on that for a little while," he replied.
"I don't have 'a little while' - I need to clear these labs out now!" He stationed a group of fifteen there to secure the building and keep the scientists secure. They would be useful for interrogation. And who knew? Maybe they would experience some of the pain and suffering that they had given to the legendaries.
Michael and the others pulled out, hooking around the east wing of the complex. "We've got the north lab!" the other captain shouted.
"Great," Michael replied, "what pokémon was it?"
"It's a victini. Fidgety little bastard."
"What gender is it?"
"Who the fuck cares?"
"This is important!" Michael yelled. "Tell me its fucking gender!" A moment passed, and he had to take cover at the bottom of the hill, aiming up to ensure that the approaching enemies did not exploit their height advantage. If they dared to peak over, they would be met with the fire from fifty M4s. Well, them, as well as a single grenade launcher. Finally the response came.
"Congratulations, it's a boy."
"Ahhh dammit." Without a thought, he ran up the hill, signaling the men behind him to follow.
"What, are you insane?" one soldier asked.
"Obviously. Now get y'alls asses up here and help me push them back!" Michael waited until peaked over the top of the hill, finding, sure enough, the enemies that C-team had informed. The enemies were engaged in a firefight with half of the C-team, who was using the wreckage of the main building for cover, retaliating with shots of their own. Now that he caught his first significant vision of the field itself, he realized that it was covered in flames. There were several vehicles zipping around in each direction, mounted turrets releasing barrages of lead at any opponent they may see. Thankfully, the enemies there had not seen him, instead focusing completely on their aggressors to the west. But then again, they weren't the only enemies there. The lancing, burning pain through his collarbone alerted him to that. "Fuck!" he screamed, clutching his left shoulder. He was forced to slide down to escape further injury. Looking at his glove, he found the slick, black fabric stained with his own blood. Going up to the top of the hill had been a risky move; though he knew the situation now, he had exposed himself to the enemies stationed on top of the second lab building - the one that they were supposed to head to next. He had caught a round while his back was turned. The suit did its job in slowing down the penetration, but could not halt the bullet fully, as evident by the round wedged within his collarbone.
"Michael, are you alright?!" Giovanni asked.
"…Yes," he gasped, applying pressure to his wound. "I just got fucking shot in the shoulder."
"You'll live, but we need to get you off of that field." Michael shook his head.
"No, fuck that."
"Excuse me?"
"I said fuck that! These men are counting on me to lead them, and I'm not going to just leave. And besides that," he moaned, clutching his launcher, though it was now much more difficult, "I made a promise." Now that he knew about where the second building was, he raised the launcher over the hill, but did not look over himself. He couldn't take one of those to the face. Approximating the distance and drop-off, he shot at least half a dozen grenades towards the lab. The close explosions and yelling told him that he'd hit his mark. With them out of the picture, he peaked up quickly, confirming his hopes - the roof had collapsed in, leaving nobody left on top of it. The other soldiers had finally made their way to him. "Now!" He charged over the brow of the terrain, along with several others, all with their weapons raised.
It was at this point that the enemies had found themselves catching fire from both sides, but it was far too late to do anything about it. Michael targeted the largest threats - the vehicles - and proceeded to flip them over with carefully placed shots to the underside. The CICs to his left and right, as well as half a mile on the other side, had mowed the personnel in between down. By the time there were no more left standing, he had use the first of two drums. He ejected it, letting the empty clip fall to the ground before putting the second in. "Rush the second building!" he ordered. While they were on their way there, though, he had his heart ripped out of his chest.
"Fuck! We're catching hell up here!" the captain of A-team yelled. "We need medical evac now!"
"Got it. Deploying the dragons now," Giovanni said. They had been stationed at the southwest, flying over the tree-line and toward the northern area of the complex, making a brief appearance over the western section. Apparently, that was all it took.
"They've got Stingers!" a soldier from C-team yelled.
"Shit, tell them to pull back!" But Giovanni's warning had come too late, for they had already flown over the field and into open sight. In the distance, he saw the shadowy silhouettes of the dragons, and the rising glare of the missiles. Several began twisting about, some releasing jets of flame to stop the approaching certain death. One of them, though, tried to drop into a nosedive and avoid the missile. But it couldn't, even with the help of gravity, out-speed the it. A distant explosion, and the now-wingless dragon fell to the ground.
"One's down!" the captain said. Suddenly it hit him like a rock.
"What species?!" Michael yelled.
"A flygon!"
"Oh Arceus," he moaned, leaning against the wall of the lab. The others had begun to infiltrate it, but he was unable to fight. "Oh Arceus..." Nobody said anything, as the reality had just settled in.
"Michael… I'm sorry," Giovanni said.
"I should've never allowed this," Michael croaked. "She wasn't ready." The physical pain in his shoulder paled in comparison to that in his chest. He had let her down; her death was indirectly on his hands. But if he didn't act soon, he would inevitably let down another. Through the tears, he went back to work.
He grabbed the AGS-30, which he had dropped to the side in his emotional outburst. He cast an indifferent glance into the building, seeing that the CIC had already infiltrated and taken over. A look inside informed that the captive was a zapdos - and still too large of a species for what he had seen in the vision. He began making his way northwest, to the top-left building. B-team had achieved its objectives; now he could help C achieve theirs. He had to set aside his emotional pain for now - otherwise, he would fail more people. He could beat himself up later; cry for hours upon end, but right now, he needed to keep his head.
"We're pulling back from the northeast building!" the leader of A-team shouted. "We're catching too much fire!"
"No, don't pull back!" Michael yelled.
"We don't have a fucking choice, boy!" Michael rolled his eyes, and began to sprint towards the lab.
"Fine, if you won't help me, I'll fuckin' do it myself."
"Michael, don't be stupid!" Giovanni said. "You run up there alone, you will die!"
"I already did," he replied, ignoring his warning. He passed the wreckage of the main building, and eventually the final area had come into sight. She was in that building, and she might already be dead. But he would be damned if he wouldn't at least try. Just as C-team had said, the enemy forces were great in strength, and were pursuing the retreating counterterrorists. Michael flanked them, releasing ten of his thirty remaining grenades among them before fleeing towards the side of the building. Shots whizzed past as he rounded the corner, running along the side of the wall as the enemies on the roof aimed downwards at him. Another bullet penetrated him, making him stumble and fall to the ground, gasping for breath. This one entered not too far from the first, going through over the collarbone and slightly into his lung. Perhaps the worst part of being a biology major was knowing what was going on inside of him - that his lung was collapsing, and that he would probably suffocate before long.
He stumbled to his feet hazily, withdrawing his pistol and capping the enemy that had shot him from the roof, causing him to fall over and beside him. He was trapped; both he and the legendary running out of time.
The sounds of footsteps approached from the back of the building - they were surrounding him on three sides. He took up the grenade launcher once more, ready for his final stand. They had better put every single bullet they had in him, because he was taking as many of them as he could.
Screaming ensued from around the corner, and he watched as bodies were flung like rag dolls. He dared to look around, seeing the source of the mayhem. An unfamiliar pokémon, clad in dark gray armor, was using psychic attacks with more speed and aggression than he had ever seen before. With its eyes radiating a light blue through its black visor, the pokémon levitated their own weapons in the air, and began firing in all directions. Within seconds, he had killed all of them, including the ones on top of the roof. Before Michael could do anything, it telekinetically raised a rifle towards him and fired a single shot. A thud sounded ten yards behind him, in which an enemy, dropped his pistol and fell to the ground, a hole in his head. "Thanks," Michael gasped.
"Follow me around. I know why you are here," he said. "I will provide cover on the outside while you infiltrate the lab." He didn't offer any objections; this was as good a chance as he would get. He struggled to move, his chest tightening, knowing damn wellwhat was happening yet powerless to stop it. He needed help immediately. But so did she. He followed the pokémon to the front, who had already begun wreaking havoc on the enemies, raising a protective barrier like an assault shield while countering them with a vicious hyper beam with its other hand. "Go now!" he ordered.
Michael obliged; with his back turned to the pokémon, he blew the door of its hinges, and, not even letting the dust settle, released nearly the rest of his clip inside. He trudged through the debris and took in the scenery of what he had done. The remains of the inhabitants were strewn out about the room, bits of flesh, organs, and bone no matter where he looked, like some sort of grotesque slaughterhouse. His focus was not there, though, but rather towards the large, glass container. This was definitely her.
Though she naturally levitated, she was grounded at the moment. Her closing golden eyes made contact with his, or rather, his blood-red visor. She had an aerodynamic body, and a red and white coloration on her sleek down, only interrupted by the small blue triangle on her chest. The wires dangled, still connected to her limp frame. He began making his way towards her.
But he was cut off halfway. A surviving enemy, possessing heavy armor, but no longer his left forearm, tackled him into the control panel. The generators whirred to life, the blue wires lighting up. Now, he was but mere yards away from her screaming. He dropped the launcher in the process, not that it would be much help in a close-quarters situation. He grabbed his pistol and managed to get a shot in the chest before it was knocked away. His armor was too thick - the bullet likely didn't penetrate. "Fuck you!" the enemy yelled, bringing his his remaining down on Michael's left side. At that point, his chest throbbing, he knew that his left lung had fully collapsed. The enemy swiftly withdrew a pistol of his own. Michael kicked him in the side, grabbing his arm and holding the pistol away. He withdrew his dagger, finding a thinner spot on the armor, and stuck it in the man's throat, making him fall limp on the blade. Michael withdrew it, and turned to revert his attention to the struggling latias. His visor cracked, and a pistol round blocked his left eye, only centimeters away, stuck within the mask. The admin from the vision, with gray hair and beard, was holding a pistol, and shot a second time. He missed, but Michael ducked behind the control panel - he couldn't take that chance again unarmed. His launcher lay to the side, in clear vision of the admin, so reaching for it was out of the picture.
Out of ideas and time, the latias's dying screams forced him into action. He stood up quickly and threw the dagger at the admin. It went behind him, striking the wall and falling aside. He had missed his shot, and now he and the latias were going to die because of it. But the admin simply stood there, completely nonreactive. A thin, red line appeared over his left eye, nose, and under his right eye, the razor-sharp blade having me its mark after all. The pistol fell to the floor. Still on his feet, the top of his head slid down and fell to the ground, while his body folded up and collapsed nearby.
Now free to act, he grabbed the launcher. He had no idea how to work the machine - that was Alex's department - so he did the next best thing he could think of, shooting the top of the cage. The glass broke, and the wires fell from the ceiling. He staggered towards her barely conscious form, throwing the empty launcher aside. "Leave," she faintly whispered. "It is too late for me."
"Don't you say that!" he stated, kneeling down. "I've got you. I promised I would get you outta here!" Truth be told, he wasn't sure if he was even getting out of there, but he refused to not try. He picked her up bridal style and walked back towards the doorway as quickly as he could. The generators had overheated. Once he'd made his way back outside, the deafening noise behind him alerted everyone within a five mile radius of the explosion. Besides the sound, though, he was notified by the feeling. He stiffened up; looking down, he was able to see a thin, metal shard peaking through his mid-chest. He fell to the ground, the latias unconsciously laying beside him. "Giovanni," he croaked, looking up to the night sky. "I want you t-to…" he coughed, spewing out warm blood, which he felt all over his chin.
"Michael, stay with me!"
"Tell the girls... that I l-love them, and th-that… I'm sorry…"
"Kid, you gotta fight this," before shouting elsewhere. "Get the dragons over there NOW!" He struggled to touch the latias' neck, still feeling a pulse. Good, he thought, at least she still has a chance. He gently stroked her cheek before his chest started throbbing violently once more. This is it… I'm coming, Ver… The battled continued on, but he joined the fallen in no longer being a part of it. Before his vision faded, he saw a dragonite swoop in for a landing.
. . . . .
"Get the pump! He needs a CPB!" an alakazam shouted. Through blurred vision, he could see himself on a levitating stretcher, being pushed by the psychic type. He could faintly see the shard still peaking through his chest, blood surrounding the one inch opening.
"MICHAEL!" Charlotte screamed, trying to get close to him.
"Get back!" Sebastian shouted as he ran up to him. Elise followed behind her, breaking out into tears, whimpering like a pup as she saw her trainer in his current state. He was taken into a tent, where medics were performing TMA on several wounded soldiers, or bandaging up others that had less serious wounds. When they saw the nature of his wounds, though, they stopped, focusing their attention on him. With a thick razor, his suit was cut off of him. His bare chest exposed, the gaping wounds made themselves apparent. A marker was used, a straight line drawn down his sternum. The machines came next, both an IV and a CPB. He knew what was coming - a cardiopulmonary bypass. They were going to open him up. Sure enough, Grace came forth with a breathing mask, placing it on him and pumping anesthetics into his barely functioning airway.
"You aren't gonna want to be awake for this part," she said. The last sight he remembered was the alakazam telekinetically moving the scalpel towards his chest.
. . . . .
He lazily opened his eyes, looking at the revolving ceiling fan, though the light was off. It wasn't necessary, with the morning sun beaming through the white curtains. Such a beautiful day, he thought. He sat up, realizing that there was a steadily beeping heart monitor to his side. But why am I in a medical room? He felt the thin, sponge-like pads on his chest and stomach, giving the machine its readings on his heart. He snatched them off - he was fine; didn't need that damn thing. He stood up, walking towards the bathroom and pondering as to why he was there. Suddenly the memories flooded him - the invasion, his wounds, the latias - all of them haunting him. None as worse, though, as the death of Veronica. He broke out into tears, crying for the first time that he could remember. He had allowed her to go, and now, she would only return in a casket. He leaned against the wall, sobbing her name over and over. What he wouldn't give to go on one of those tortuous rides now… But he would never get that chance again.
The door opened, Grace holding a clipboard. "What are you doing up?" she asked sternly.
"I… lost her," he cried. "I lost her."
"Excuse me?"
"Ver…"
"Oh, your flygon…" Her eyes lit up momentarily. "I've alerted your friends of your awakening." He stumbled into the bathroom, halfheartedly rinsing his face off with water and trying to make himself more presentable. His bloodshot eyes were going to make that troublesome, though.
The door opened, and he doubted that he had ever sprinted so fast in his life. There was his beloved flygon, shoving her teammates aside to get to him. He slammed into her, all but tackling her. "I thought I lost you," he wailed.
"Me too," she sniffed. "There was so much blood, and… I…" she broke into tears.
"It's ok," he said, tears also streaming down his face. "I heard of a killed flygon on the field…"
"That asshole," she said. "I wish… he had paid more attention during the lessons." He only tightened his grip on her, rubbing the back of her head and bringing her closer.
"I'm just… so happy right now," he said. "I thought you were dead."
"We did too - you were out for almost a week!"
"Wait, what?!"
"That's what I was about to tell you, until you all got all sappy," Grace said.
"I was out for a week?"
"Almost," Wesley said, making his way through the doorway. "It took nearly all our TMA specialists to keep your heart beating. You caught shrapnel to the fucking heart, and a bullet to your lung. It's a miracle you didn't die, even in the operation."
"But I've gotta say," Zeke said, "you sent a good many of them to their graves."
"What do you mean? You weren't there."
"Didn't have to be," he chuckled. "I suppose, though, being out for six days, you haven't turned on the news, now have you?"
"The news?"
"Come with me," Wesley said. He gathered his things and went to follow him out the door, but realized, upon moving around a bit, how exhausted he was. All of his previous emotional swings must have stifled his tiredness, but now, he felt sore all over. "Is there a problem?" Wesley asked.
"No," he laughed, "I just realized how tired I am."
"Your body has been stressed," Grace said. "That's why I was trying to get you the hell back down." She turned to Wesley and shook her head. "And now you've got him all up and about. Thanks."
"Sorry about that," he muttered, before looking back at Michael. "Anyways, now that you're up, follow me." He walked after him, albeit slowly, often having to rely on the wall for support.
"I've gotcha," Thomas said, offering him a hand, which he readily accepted. "Caused quite a ruckus within the media."
"Ah shit, they got involved?"
"You know they did. Y'all fucked up the Power Plant."
"It was abandoned," Michael replied, before correcting himself. "Or at least, clear of civilians..."
"Still was a pretty damn big landmark."
"Now it's pretty fucking leveled," Alex joked. They all walked into the main building, heading to their lounge. Wesley used the desktop, pulling up the news coverage of a few days prior.
"The flames of war have fallen once more upon our region, this time at the old Power Plant. An invasion was launched by the CIC, and led by a member of the Twenty-Fifth Reaper squad. Insurgents set up base in the area, using the grounds for illegal experimentation on pokémon. All enemy personnel were killed at the scene. The CIC suffered twenty-eight casualties last night, while the terrorists suffered over two-hundred. Reportedly, over a third of those were taken out by the Reaper, who has been nicknamed 'Grim' accordingly. Right now, he is undergoing surgery for major chest wounds accumulated in combat." Wesley closed the video.
"See?"
"That can't be right. There's no fucking way I nailed that many people."
"Seventy people outta two-hundred six. They're often wrong, but not in this case."
"Oh... well shit..." The thought that he had now killed well over a hundred people kind of shocked him.
"But how do you like that nickname, though?" Kevin asked. "I mean - 'the Grim Reaper?' That just sounds badass."
"This is bad," Michael said. "The last thing I need is publicity. Don't need anyone finding out who the hell I am."
"It actually might work for the best. That name could very well become something that they will come to fear. We need them to be scared - to crush their morale," Wesley said.
"Well, I guess when you put it that way…"
"Just give it some time and see how it plays out. And besides, it's not like anyone will recognize you. That's what the masks are for."
They headed down to the main courtyard, seeing a large crowd gathered around. Surprisingly, the five rescued legendaries were there. "Good to see you well," the groudon said. "I was worried upon hearing that you may have passed on." His voice, as expected, was low and very deep.
"Nope," he laughed, "I'm here to stay for awhile longer."
"Thankfully," the latias said. "I'm… sorry that I almost got you killed." Her head was lowered in shame.
"I almost got myself killed. Had I not attempted to flank that building the way I did, I wouldn't have been shot. I should have charged straight in there, but I didn't, and got myself hurt. And as for the shrapnel, that was just unlucky as hell."
"But I enticed you to come through your dreams," she shook her head, tears welling up, "and you still did, even though you were in no state to do so."
"Wait, you had dream synchronization with him?" the victini asked. "You do know what that means, right?" His voice was much higher pitched, a little bit scratchy.
"…I am very well aware of what that means…" she said.
"You gonna enlighten us?" John asked.
"No," the victini replied, "definitely not. It's not my place."
"Alright then," Wesley shook his head. "As I've said, the five of you are free to go. Given the current situation, if you want, you may return to our headquarters. You'll be safe there. Alternatively, you could join the fight; make sure this kind of shit doesn't happen again."
"What's been going on?" Michael asked.
"Well, legendaries, it seems, are being targeted by the terrorists. As Giovanni suspected, they are draining them of their energy. It was nothing more than just another means of getting money. The shaymin line, due to being relatively defenseless, was an easy target. They've almost been completely eradicated."
"An entire species…"
"Gone within a month. Sinnoh special forces have taken the remaining ones in, shielding them from the terrorists. That's what a lot of regions are doing now. Only thing is, it's all secretive. No doubt the population would go nuts if they found this out, so they can't."
"Shit… so if they're at risk, why give them the opportunity to fight? That seems like it could put them in worse danger…"
"True, but just like Mewtwo, they could have a part in ensuring that these purges stop."
"Mewtwo?" Michael asked. "Who the hell is that?"
"Ah, forgot to mention - that was the pokémon that helped you during the raid. He was originally created by Giovanni's scientists."
"Ohhh, that makes sense now," Michael said. "Giovanni was shocked about some newcomer before the mission. Must have been him."
"Precisely. And you see how effective he was in dealing with the insurgents?"
"Yeah, definitely saved my ass back there."
"See my point? The legendaries could be helpful in ending this war, but of course, it's their choice." The coballion stepped forth, head raised high once more, with a proud, noble tone - definitely not the same coballion that was in the video.
"I, for one, would enjoy the chance to end these enemies of ours," he said. "I would say that it's even my duty as one of the swords of justice to do so."
"Thank you," Wesley said. "Your help will be greatly appreciated."
"I feel the same," the zapdos said. "Except my reasons are more so… retaliatory in nature…"
"That's good," Wesley laughed. "We can use that too."
"Oh? So now eye for an eye is acceptable?" Michael joked.
"Well he's a legendary, so zip it. And I'm pretty sure he won't be settin' anyone on fire."
"That would be moltres," the zapdos said. "But I might take some enjoyment in it."
"I seriously doubt that anybody is going to give a flying fuck," Kevin said. "Willing to bet that you'll be fine."
"If anyone has a problem, they may consult me about it," the zapdos said.
"I'm sure they won't," Wesley replied. "Anyone else?" The victini shook his head.
"I… would not be very useful for your cause, and I don't think I would want to fight anyways."
"That is fine also. Would you like to be transported back? We could keep you safe and secluded until this is all over."
"…Yes, please."
"What about you, big guy?"
"I am uncertain," the groudon said.
"That's fine - no rush," Wesley said, before looking at the latias. "And you, miss?"
"I need to talk to him," she said, pointing to Michael, "then I will give you an answer."
"Is something wrong?" he asked
"No," she shook her head. "Nothing is wrong, I just wish to speak with him - in private." Michael nodded, then departed from the crowd, the latias following close behind. The two of them walked around the corner of the main building, heading into the alleyway.
"What's up?"
"I… wanted to thank you," she said, "for what you did back there."
"Not a problem at all."
"You risked everything to save me, and it's a debt that I can never repay."
"You don't owe me anything. I'm just glad that the two of us made it out of that shit, to be honest."
"But… I do want to ask you one more favor."
"A… alright…"
"If it's okay with you…" She looked down, uncertain with how to continue, seeming to lose her voice.
"Hey," he said, placing his hand comfortably to the side of her neck. "You can tell me."
"Could I… stay with you?" He was slightly taken back at the question. A legendary was asking to join his team? "I understand if you are opposed to the idea…"
"Not at all," he said with a smile. "I was just shocked. I would love to have you join us." She flashed him a wide, adorable smile, embracing him tightly.
"Thank you," she said. "Thank you so much." She placed her forehead against his. He couldn't help but notice how soft her down feathers were.
"Do you have a name?" he asked.
"Alaina," she replied.
"A beautiful name. It suits you very well." The compliment seemed to make her croon softly.
"Why thank you!"
"I'm sure you'll love the girls. Come on; let's go introduce you to them!"
"W-wait just a minute," she said, backing up slightly. "I don't think that's such a good idea right now."
"Why not? You'll love them."
"I don't think they'll like me... You almost died, so our meeting wasn't under the very best circumstances…"
"Maybe not, but I don't think that will be an issue. I'm sure they'll understand. It wasn't anybody's fault."
"But what about your leader?" she asked.
"My leader? Oh, you mean the Commander? Don't worry about him."
"He wants me to fight in a war… I've never done anything like that before."
"Don't worry about what he wants," he said reassuringly. "Just do what you want. And besides, you aren't in any rush to make a decision." With a little more convincing, she gave in. They found themselves, once more, in front of the others. This time, though, she had her arm draped over his shoulder - something that seemed to catch everyone's attention. Especially Veronica's, as she fell deathly silent.
"I've decided," she said, "that I will stay with Michael."
"You will?" asked Wesley. "Well I guess that's to be expected after what happened."
"I'm unsure as to what I want to do in terms of this fight," she admitted. "But whatever I do, I want it to be with him from now on." Zeke looked between the two, as if connecting the dots.
"Well that's fine. You just tell us if you come to a decision." It wasn't long before everyone disbanded, going their separate ways. Before they all left, though, the victini approached Alaina. His eyes lit up; he was telepathically discussing something with her. He shook his head and left, even looking repulsed for some reason. The whole conversation lasted for only a few moments, but it was definitely enough to strike him as odd.
The girls seemed to take well to the newcomer; having a legendary on the team was truly incredible. They laughed and played, Layla at one point even jokingly hitching a ride on her around their room. All seemed to enjoy her joyful company. All, except, for a certain flygon.
A/N:
That's it for this chapter. Over a week in the making, but it was worth it. I do feel that I need to work on my dialogue a bit, though. Still got a long way to go, so don't worry - there's plenty more content yet to come.
Emotions are starting to get tense, so be on the lookout - especially for our newcomer!
As a side note, hope everybody stays safe during Hurricane Matthew.
Anyways, please leave a review if you want to share your thoughts or feelings about the story so far. They are always appreciated.
