A/N:

Hey guys, here's the next chapter. Want to quickly address something that's pretty serious with it. Obviously if you've been following things along until now, you are aware that the villains are alt-right terrorists. That said, if something is in my story, that does not mean that it is representative of my views. I'd think that would be obvious, but I've had complaints in the past. So just to make this clear: remember who the villain is. He's not representative of my views. That is all.

Thank you once again to Orthros for proof reading this chapter. It's really a huge help and ensures that the more inferior work does not make it through.

"…" - Spoken dialogue

Italics - Michael's thoughts

'Italics' - Telepathic dialogue

/\/\/\ - Lemon Scene


"Most people, when directly confronted by evidence that they are wrong, do not change their point of view or course of action but justify it even more tenaciously. Even irrefutable evidence is rarely enough to pierce the mental armor of self-justification."
-Carol Tavris


Ch. 27 - Captivity

He gradually woke, his consciousness returning to him peacefully. No nightmares this time; he had had a more restful sleep than he could ever remember, and certainly better than anything he'd experienced lately. The bed was comfortable and soft, and Michael wanted to drift back off. But he had no idea what time it was, and for all he knew, the others could need him. Seemed like even the girls were up; he couldn't feel anyone next to him. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

What the… where the hell am I? Suddenly the memories of the previous battle flooded back into his mind, and he immediately jumped to his feet. The room around him had been constructed from smooth concrete blocks, nearly the size of their room back at the CIC headquarters. No windows were present, and a sink and toilet were in the back corner opposite to that of the bed. A thick, steel door with a single slot in the middle was the only way out of the room. The only furniture aside from the bed was a small table near the foot of it, along with a single chair. It was clear that he was in a containment cell of some sort, albeit a nicer one than any enemy would ever expect.

He had to find a way out of this place… wherever this place was. Shit… how long was I out for? He casually examined himself, noticing that all he wore was a hospital gown and a set of boxers. His right arm, chest, and back had been wrapped in bandages, with gauze pads here and there. As if that was necessary… But that lead him to another concern - what would become of him if they discovered his regeneration? But then again, that might be the least of his concerns right now. For the time being, finding out where he was and how he could get the hell out of there was a more pressing matter.

Michael sat on the edge of the bed for what felt like hours, contemplating the situation. How had the rest of the battle gone? Were the others okay? What about the girls? Everyone back at base must be worried sick. Not that he wasn't, of course. He prayed that everyone had made it out of there unharmed. But towards the end, things had really taken a turn for the worst - the possibility of everyone escaping that situation without injury was slim. And the girls… surely whoever delivered the news to them was to be pitied.

And yet, there was even more to be concerned about. With everything he knew, Michael was now a prime target for information. He dreaded the idea of having to deal with torture, and when they found out about his condition, they would be sure to go all out. Of course, he'd been trained to resist such techniques… but everyone had their breaking point. And with all the things he had done as a Reaper - from all those men killed to the very taking of his own father's life - Douglas would likely want him to suffer.

It didn't take long before he heard voices outside. He got on his feet as they came closer, the anticipation of what he would see on the other side of that door starting to get to him. A click sounded from within the lock, and then it opened. An officer of the militants walked inside, holding a set of clothes and being followed by two guards. Each carried a Galil - ready to fire at the slightest sign of uncooperative behavior on his part.

"Get dressed. The boss wants to have a word with you," said the officer. Great… He took the clothes from the man - simply a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans - and put them on as they watched. "Come on." The officer walked through the door, followed by Michael and then the two guards walked behind them. Only a couple feet away… If we turn around a corner, I might be able to snatch one of their rifles… But every single turn they took, enemies were coming and going, armed to the teeth. He wouldn't make it long before meeting his end. But even if things managed to work in his favor in terms of an escape, he still had no idea where he even was.

Michael took the time along their walk to glance around, trying to find some sort of clue as to the base's location. Not a single window in sight, so that didn't help. Though by the looks of the things, this must have been a complex of buildings. No second floor as far as he could tell. Eventually they came to a large pair of steel doors. The officer took a card from his shirt pocket and snapped it to the side, causing them to slide open. Michael immediately started taking note of the surroundings. The sun was getting closer towards one side of the horizon; whether that was east or west he wasn't sure. There were other similar buildings, and off in the distance, a large steel-plated wall that surrounded the entire base. But he had no ability to determine their specific whereabouts. Not without seeing more.

"Move it," a guard said, jabbing him with the barrel of his rifle. They led him towards a much smaller warehouse, which was rectangular in shape. The inside of this one was very different from the previous building. It was seemingly a maze of offices, occupied almost completely by white-collar workers. They led him towards an elevator. Maybe if it was small enough inside, he would be able to fight back without as much concern of being shot. All he'd have to do is grab one of those Glocks… The doors opened, and one of the guards slung his rifle over his shoulder.

"Into the fucking corner! Turn around and you die!" It looked like this wouldn't be his opportunity… He placed his hands on the back of his head as he faced the edge of the elevator. Before long it began to descend. He would have to look at that horrid man - the person responsible for all this pain and suffering these past years. The single man responsible for Zeke's death. It stopped, and he was forcibly turned around.

"This way! Move it!" one of the two ordered. This floor was relatively empty; a long hallway stretched out before him with enemies stationed every twenty or so feet. Any attempt on his part would lead to death. A lone door lay at the other end. Douglas' office. The officer approached the door and knocked on it.

"Send him in," a voice came from inside. He opened it and motioned for Michael to walk inside. The office was spacious, and a long table was positioned in the middle of the room. Maps of dozens and dozens of regions outlined every part of the walls, including one of Kanto in the middle of the table. Douglas sat on the end furthest from the door. Altogether, he was nearly Michael's height - maybe an inch taller. His hair was still vibrant blonde, though his face looked more mature from the picture he had taken years ago.

A swift, hard blow was delivered to his stomach, and he fell to the ground quickly. He tried to catch his breath - it had felt like he'd been hit by a steel beam. That wasn't far from the truth. "Raptor! What the hell?! That's no way to treat a guest!" He glared up at the fully-armored figure, clutching his abdomen. His only response was a low growl. "I apologize for her impulsive actions," Douglas said. "Must still be upset about that little skirmish between the two of you. At least, that's my guess."

"You could say that," she snarled.

"Y-you… talk…" Michael gasped.

"Think you're the only one with fancy technology?" Douglas asked. "If you've got it, odds are I do too. But that's not important right now. Take a seat." Raptor turned around, making her way towards Douglas' side. Michael stumbled back onto his feet, then hobbled over to the specified chair. "You can leave us," he said to the guards. "He does something stupid, I've got him. That is, if Raptor doesn't decapitate him first." To prove his point, he took a certain revolver from within his jacket - Michael's.

"Understood, sir," replied one of the guards. The door shut behind them, leaving the three alone within the office. Michael silently stared at the two across from him. Douglas seemed devoid of any sense of displeasure, and certainly no signs of regret were present. If he could see the sceptile's face, she would likely mirror his expression.

"So," Douglas began, "how are you feeling? Heard that Vlad knocked on your ass back at Pewter. The medic had to take out a good bit of shit from your body - something like thirty pieces of shrapnel. All of it surface level though, so you should be fine. Although you surely must be sore after all that shit."

"I'm fine."

"Well that's good. Wouldn't want you to be in too much discomfort here," Douglas said with a grin.

"What do you want with me?" Michael asked.

"Ah, now that seems to be the question, doesn't it? What do you think?"

"Don't know, don't care. Whatever you want to know, I'll never tell," Michael replied. Douglas merely laughed.

"Information? Well, I could definitely use some, that's for sure. But we'd be wasting our time on a Reaper. You guys don't talk. No, information isn't what I'm after - not yet. But I would like a little cooperation."

"Like hell."

"You're not even going to hear my offer?"

"I don't need to you sick son of a bitch," Michael said. "Why the hell would I even consider any sort of agreement with you?"

"Why did you form an alliance with the CIC?" Douglas countered. "Half of them were once allied with my very own forces. And to be led by someone of Giovanni's reputation - a crime lord of that proportions. Why did you hear him out?" Michael remained silent for a moment, having to formulate a response.

"Because he has sought to undo a lot his past mistakes. But you… you just don't seem to care. I can see it right on your smug face - you don't give a shit. Not for the lives you've taken, not for the people you've sold. Nothing."

"Well that's a skewed perception," Douglas said. "But I don't blame you. After all, you've only seen one side of the coin. You only know what you've been told by society. You have no idea what truly goes on over here, on our side of things. But lucky for you, I'm going to show you." He stood up and paced casually to the middle of the table, stopping in front of the spread out map of Kanto. Michael hadn't paid much attention to it before, but now he could recognize the red flags placed along the western portion of the map. They were heavily concentrated around Pewter, stretching towards Celadon and right outside Viridian. "I'm sure you're willing to listen, too," he went on. "You're a smart guy - misguided, but smart. And I'd consider anyone willing to ally themselves with Giovanni open-minded."

"Right… and I'm going to consider a terrorist's ideals why?"

"Because quite frankly, you don't have much of a choice. Not with the position you're in, after all. Look at this shit," Douglas said, extending his hand to the map. "Within the very month, our forces will have advanced to the Capitol. You country couldn't stop us, and neither will Kanto. Soon we'll be stepping over the very ruins of the CIC, then Kanto's government. You have friends there, right? I'm sure they'd love to receive a visit from us. And do you seriously think that they could hold out for long? After what happened in Johto?" He had a point as much as Michael hated to admit it. If he could topple their main base, then the CIC headquarters wouldn't be much of a problem. "But I'll make you a deal - I'll hold off on the CIC if you can manage to sit down, shut up, and take a few notes. How does that sound?" He looked at the leader of the insurgents, knowing that such an advance on his part would inevitably lead to his loved ones being within danger once again.

"Fine. Now what do you want?" Douglas nodded, then proceeded.

"Excellent. Now where to start… Hmm, I guess I'd like to ask you a question just to kick things off. What is it that you think I'm doing here?" That one was easy enough.

"You think that you're saving society by eliminating members of the left, one way or another. It's a pretty fucked up concept no matter how you try to word it," Michael said. "Not to mention a painting a fantastic image of conservatives across the world."

"Well that's sort of in the ballpark. But you don't know any specific numbers, right? Do you know how many people have actually been affected by our operations? Not grieving friends or families, mind you, but actual victims?"

"No."

"Sixty-five thousand - all liberal voters or members of left-leaning families. That's it. Among all of the regions, only a minuscule part of the population has actually been targeted. Of course, we've dealt with much larger numbers of pokémon - I'll admit to that - but it still pales in comparison to the amount of people that I could be targeting."

"Then why didn't you?" Michael asked.

"Because there is no need to. Think about it - why vote for a certain candidate when your family could be at risk? What truly caring father would cast his ballot, knowing that his daughter could be whored out and killed?"

"You're out of your mind…"

"Let me ask you this - do you think I enjoy this at all? Do you think I get some sick sense of satisfaction from it?" Douglas asked, looking at him calmly.

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"Well that's simply not true. But it is what needs to be done before we lose ourselves to degeneracy. The left would love nothing more than to sink society into absolute lunacy. But now… now I've given them something to fear. Now they have to actually think twice before voting. For once in their miserable lives do they have to actually consider the consequences of their actions. And you know what? It has worked beautifully. Do you follow politics closely?" Michael shook his head.

"I live in a conservative country, one that will always be conservative. I don't have to."

"Well you should. It's good to keep up with how things are going. But since you haven't, I'll fill you in. Ever since we've started these little operations, there has been a sharp decrease in the amount of ballots cast for left-wing politicians. For the first time in years, districts that were solidly blue are now up for grabs. In Kanto and even Unova. We are witnessing an ideological revolution before us with the retreat of the left. Future generations will be spared at the expense of a few people here and now. I don't think you need to be a mathematician to know that that's a pretty damn good trade-off."

"It's not your place to make that call," Michael countered. "Think that you can just play god with all this? Just pick who lives and dies like that?"

"They don't seem to have much of an issue with it," Douglas said. "Hell, there were nearly a million abortions this past year in my home region alone. Those murderous women sure as hell got to pick who lived and died. Back when we got fed up with their shit, those politicians got to slaughter all opposition as they saw fit. They get to play god. How come it's such a bad thing when I do it too?" Michael shook his head.

"It's wrong all the way around. They were wrong to do that then, just as much as you are now."

"At least you've got some ideological consistency going on," Douglas said. "True, it's an unfortunate case. But there's no changing what has happened - what they have done. All there is to do is to give them a taste of their own medicine. Let them suffer the consequences of this ideological war that they started." Of course, there wasn't going to be any sort of reasoning with someone like this - he was too far gone for that. "It simply is what it is. When the right tries that whole 'be the better man' tactic, they end up backing down. Letting the liberals walk all over them, ruining society and the economy in the process. And we've had it with that bullshit. As a result of everything we do now, the world will one day revert to it's traditional values - its honor and its decency. Two things the left knows very little about."

"No. What you've done has only hurt conservatism," Michael replied. "They are going to forever more relate all conservatives to your sick group. Ethan was right about one thing - they do toss around insults towards anyone that they don't agree with. Or at least, a lot of the ones that I've met have. And now you just handed them the ammunition to do it on a whole new level. Congratulations." The militant leader rolled his eyes, then nodded towards Raptor.

"Alright, that about sums things up for tonight. I thought maybe we could get somewhere, but I doubt we'll make any more progress today. Escort him back to his cell. We'll try again in the morning." The sceptile made her way towards the Reaper, who got to his feet.

"Move," was the only word that came out of her mouth. He did as he was told. There was nothing else he could do.

. . . . .

He was sent back to his confined room, fortunately in one piece. It wasn't long after he had arrived until another person came in - the same medic from Pewter. As before, guards came in after, one of whom was holding a tray of food. Even though he was hungry, not having eaten in who knew how long, he considered whether or not he should eat the food. It wouldn't surprise him to find out that it had been laced with cyanide, after all. The tray was set on the table, with Michael looking curiously at it. A sandwich of some sort. The medic must have caught on to the Reaper's question.

"Again, if we wanted you dead, you wouldn't be here now. It's fine." Of course, there wasn't any denying that. He was completely at their mercy. "Now, before you eat, I'm going to need to examine your wounds. You're going to need a change of bandages as well." Perfect, now they're gonna find out… Michael removed his shirt, revealing the white bandages over his toned body. While the medic went about unwrapping them, he couldn't help but wonder what would become of him. Not just once they found out about his healing, but also in general. Not one positive scenario came into mind.

"What the hell?" the medic murmured. "This doesn't make any sense… I saw your wounds with my own eyes - pulled the shrapnel out of you myself… But there's nothing here…" Perhaps it was best for him to stay silent about the whole thing. Maybe play it off as if he didn't know. What am I thinking? Of course anyone would know about possessing such an ability. "Well I'm clearly just wasting my time here. However the hell you managed to heal that quickly is beyond me. I'll need to consult with my colleagues about it in the morning."

After he had concluded his unexpectedly quick procedure, the medic left Michael to himself. Luckily he had not inquired about the ability too much, even though his fascination with it had been more than apparent. But had Michael gone medical, he would likely marvel at such a finding too. The only question is what would happen as a result of this knowledge. It was highly unlikely that anyone would be able to derive the healing factor from Michael or from anyone else that had it - it was now a part of their very genome. But it was still something that he preferred they didn't know about, and now they did.

Figuring that there was nothing he could do for the time being, he went about eating. They had been sure to give him food that didn't require utensils - even plastic ones at that. Unfortunately there was nothing around that he could use to make a shank. But that wouldn't stop him. He would likely die here anyways if he didn't break free, so he needed to try. He had to escape - one way or another.

. . . . .

"Rise and shine!" a voice yelled from within the room. Michael quickly regained consciousness, looking over to see Douglas standing in the doorway. Ah… what the fuck? "No sleeping in today! We got shit to do son!" He sat up in the bed in clear annoyance. That better not be his method of waking every single morning. But just as he had the day before, he would have to roll with it. At least for now.

Douglas gave him a few minutes to get ready before they headed out of the cell. This time he was led outside, with only Douglas and Raptor to keep him in check. Like I'd ever stand a chance against her… He had no suit, no weapons - nothing. Before he could try to yank the revolver away from Douglas, she would likely cleave him in half. And despite the situation, he did hope to keep his life throughout it all.

He was taken to a massive, outwardly-dilapidated building, to which they stopped in front of the large garage-like entrance. He'd seen several of these in his short time in the military - nearly every one of their bases had them. It was an aircraft storage building, and he had a pretty good guess as to what was inside. Douglas nodded towards the guard nearest to the card reader, who swiped his card, causing for the large mechanism to come to life. Slowly the door was lifted, revealing the impressive aircraft within.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Douglas asked. "Took me years to be able to buy enough parts in secret, but here she is." The large, triangular stealth bomber was an intimidating sight to anyone, and how he had come to actually acquire enough parts, as well as experienced enough engineers, was beyond the Reaper. "I had thought that you would come looking for anyone that owned one," he continued, "so I had my guys conceal some additional cameras throughout every known base within Kanto that had B2s. That's how I knew that you all were snooping around that PMC complex. Funny thing is that you can trace every single damn one in the country and you still won't be led to this one. We built this completely underground. No serial numbers, no methods of tracking it - nothing."

"What do you have to gain from telling me this?" Michael asked.

"I'm showing you how we do things - how we remain so secretive and avoid detection. That's going to be an important trait for you, especially for what I have in mind for you. And if I don't receive any cooperation, then it's not like you'll be taking this information away from this base anyways."

"I'm not going to help you murder innocent people for some distorted sense of the greater good," Michael said.

"Stop jumping to conclusions. You don't know what the hell I even want."

"Well then what is it that you want?"

"All in due time. Now let's go."

Once they had left that area, they headed back towards his office. Douglas called breakfast in for the three of them as they took the same spots on the table they had the night before. "So," Douglas said as he finished his meal, "I liked that little trick that you all pulled with Groudon. Nice touch. Definitely made Viridian a pain in the ass."

"What are you talking about?" Michael asked.

"You know, that Groudon you took from the Power Plant."

"And what about him?"

"You seriously don't know? Gotta admit, it was pretty badass, throwing him into the city in all that armor. The asshole even flipped a tank or two."

"Well that's the first I heard of it."

"Yeah. And we almost finished the job with that batch, too. Should have concentrated more effort in ending him. Won't be a mistake I make again though," Douglas said with a shrug. "Live and learn."

"What do you mean with that batch?"

"Oh, so you thought those legends were the only ones? Those five you broke out?" Douglas replied. "Nah, we've been at that one awhile. The legends are just like any other pokémon, even though they would have you believe that they're special in some sort of way. No, evolution favored them, but apart from superior strength and their rarity, they have no special qualities. But yet they are still a threat. Their status grants them a lot of respect among the average population, and if they decided to unite entire countries against us…"

"Wake up. The entire world is united against you. The legends weren't necessary for that."

"Really? Because last time I checked, I just got endorsed by one of the most powerful senators in Kanto. He's one of hundreds of politicians in the world. People are sick and tired of being walked over - of their economies being absolutely destroyed by this liberal disease. They're willing to revolt, and they're willing to take back their lands for the right people… and yet, a lot of the very people I need are still caught up in their religious stupidity. If legends told them that this cause was immoral, they would." He looked over at Raptor and shook his head. "And it's funny too. I used to be all over that stupid bullshit. But eventually everyone needs to grow the fuck up." He looked back at Michael with a rather empty glare. "If any of that shit were real, we wouldn't have to do this. I doubt that any sort of a just deity would allow leftists to go about doing what they do."

"That explains the lack of morals I guess," Michael commented.

"Eh, you'll get over it. Morals aren't based off of some so-called deity. They're innate; they're inside of us. They don't come from some falsified god. Everyone has morals of some sort - of course, some people have pretty shitty morals. Unfortunately those are the very same people that are trying to take over now. It's about time someone leveled the field a little bit."

"None of what you just said makes any sense," Michael stated. "What's even the point of social conservatism without religion? Conservatives seek to implement traditional values - values based on religious principles."

"That's a good observation. Again, a majority of the far-right is religious, and I will need their support. They can chase their fantasies all they want. I don't care. All that matters is that the people who deserve to be in control of society are actually in positions of power," Douglas replied.

"And what makes someone worthy then?"

"It's very simple, really. Just be someone that contributes - someone that would follow one of the most basic principles out there. Treat others the same way you want to be treated." Michael actually had to stifle a laugh upon hearing that.

"Right. You seem pretty good at following that one yourself." Douglas actually seemed to find humor in that statement, surprisingly to him.

"Yeah, seems like it. I mentioned this yesterday. Do you think I enjoy this? That I like what I do? I mean, maybe some of those girls may have chosen a different path. Maybe they would have rejected the foolish ways of their parents. But odds are they wouldn't, and the truth of the matter is that we need capital to win this fight. It's a fucking shame - the whole lot of it. That's why I invest in as many legitimate businesses as I can, so that one day I'll be able to leave this whole thing behind. I don't want to sell other people, or get wrapped up in the drug market. But for the time being I don't have a choice - we need the money so that we can continue to buy off the enemy." He looked down at the table, staying silent for a moment. His tone changed as he continued. "And one day, the very people I helped put in power will come after me for what I have done. For all of us. I've accepted it from the very beginning. It's my destiny to fall to that which I helped build."

"And you're willing to die over this lunacy?"

"It's what needs to be done so that every country on the planet doesn't get involved with radical leftism. The world will be a far better place when we don't have to worry about the monsters within our own regions. When they are out of the picture, the world will prosper once again under a system of honor. Yes, I'm willing to die for that vision."

. . . . .

It was some time late at night. He'd already eaten and was sitting on the edge of his bed, contemplating the current situation. From what he could tell, there was no means of escape - the walls were too tall and the facility was too heavily guarded. But even that was not as daunting as what he had just seen hours before.

Douglas really, truly felt that this was the best course for humanity. He had fully convinced himself that what he was doing was a necessary evil, and he was even willing to face persecution for his actions. What kind of a madman is this? He kept asking himself. The only answer he could arrive at was that Stone was mentally unstable, and that wasn't much of a shocker. But to be able to tell yourself that ideological genocide was what was best for society… that was terrifying to imagine.

The door began to open, and he was wondering who would be coming into his cell at this time of night. He received his answer when it swung open violently. Oh Arceus… what does she want… "Get out," she told the two guards. Neither of them said a word as they listened to her order. Michael got to his feet, not liking where this was heading.

"Hello again," she said with a hiss. "I heard something rather interesting this afternoon. You've been keeping secrets."

"What do you want?" Rather than answer him right away, she began doing the unexpected - she started to remove her armor piece by piece. Definitely a sceptile. One of the key features he noticed was that all of the floral-like features that were common of her species had been trimmed down or outright removed, likely to allow her to fit within the armor. Eventually she took off her helmet, revealing a cold set of eyes.

"As long as I don't kill you, you should be fine by morning."

"W…what?"

"You don't have some fucking latias or guns to protect you now, do you? Look at you - nothing without any of it." He started to back up slowly. "Humans - you all are so weak without your toys. Without others. You're about to find out just how weak." Without another word, she lunged toward him. There was nothing he could do to fight her off.