Chapter 98: Restraint
Michael ran at the speed of an automobile. He wasn't sure where the address given to him by the Russians was. He didn't know if he would be alive at the end of the day. The grim dedication to running was all he had.
In the few minutes it took him to reach the town, Michael went over his plan again. His acting seemed to have fooled Graves, but would it be enough for the Russians?
After asking for directions twice, he stopped before a typical square block of a building. It looked like a factory out of commission, except much smaller. The black metal door didn't have a house number on it. The entire thing was like a prison.
Michael banged his fist on the door. It opened, revealing a gleefully smiling chubby bald man. He wore a thick patterned sweater and formal pants, appearing warm and welcome.
"Mr. North! Good afternoon. Have you come alone?" he said in a higher voice than Michael had pegged him for.
The teenager nodded, trying to look behind the man's back.
"Please, answer me."
"Yes."
"Wonderful!" Unlike Michael's, the man's eyes never broke contact. He stared at the cultivator with a perverted hunger, "Please, come in."
After Michael stepped inside, the chubby man locked the door. "You may call me the interviewer. Let's…"
"I need proof that my parents are alive!"
"Of course. Isn't that why you came here? To save your parents?" the man's soft cheeks jiggled when he walked. "And from observing my manner, you must have already come to the inevitable conclusion."
Michael nodded, "They're not here."
"Indeed! Your acting was superb, by the way. How you pushed the principal away, ever the martyr!"
"You were watching!"
The interviewer kept smiling as they walked down the hall. The walls, floor, ceiling – they were all covered with metal sheets. The building was an iron cage.
Then, a left turn. There was a uniformed guard with a pistol at his side. The guard reached for the handle preemptively.
"Now, Mr. North. Your phone, please," the interviewer opened his palm.
"I'd prefer not to."
"Come on, Michael. We don't want Graves to trace your whereabouts, do we? Otherwise, mommy and daddy will be in for a world of hurt."
Michael hesitated. Giving up his means of communication meant he'd be on his own, without a way out.
The interviewer raised his voice, "Don't forget who holds the chips here. Now!"
He grabbed the smartphone from Michael's hand and passed it to the guard, who smashed it violently.
"Search him."
Michael didn't fight back as the guard pushed him face first into the wall. "You changed your tone pretty quick!"
"I wouldn't have if you were obedient. But you came here with a plan, trying to gauge our operation, hoping to free your parents alone. Could've fooled me, except… My superiors warned me not to take you lightly. There are two ways this ends: with you in our custody or with mommy and daddy lynched."
Michael cursed under his breath. His feeble attempt to take control over the situation went down the drain.
The guard pushed Michael into the wall and gave the interviewer a brisk nod.
"The interrogation room. After you."
Turned out, the guard was standing over an entrance that led into another metal box. Michael noticed the thick sliding door that locked him inside together with the unpleasant psychologist.
There were two chairs and a table with a laptop in the center of the room. In one corner of the ceiling, a small camera blinked red. Same as before, every surface was made of metal.
"Yes, we were watching you," the interviewer gestured for Michael to sit down. "And it was admirable of you to think of a plan in seconds. Make it seem like you've lost all hope, find the hostages and fight your way out. But now? Your parents are someplace else, Graves can't find you, and your physical strength cannot compare to a gun."
Michael did his best to calmly analyze the interviewer's words. They didn't know about his increase in power. They had seen him life a wooden bed on his video, but since then, his Life Force tripled.
They underestimated his strength, but it didn't give him an advantage – he didn't know where they held his parents.
"And if you do something unexpected, I want you to know that we have eight of our finest keeping an eye on mommy and daddy. If you act out, if you lie – it's not you we're going to hurt."
…Leon smiled, stretching his thin lips, "And if you act out – it's not you I'm going to hurt…"
Michael flinched as if he'd been slapped, disoriented, "What?! Why are you here?"
Flashing back to the days of his torture was like a bucket of ice water over his head.
The interviewer raised an eyebrow. Was the boy playing dumb now? "I'm here for the truth, Misha."
"Don't call me that! Not when you're holding my parents hostage!" Michael threw his head up and clenched his fists. Every word the man spoke rattled the bloodlust inside him, and the teenager winced, fighting to suppress it.
"I will call you whatever I please!" The interviewer pressed his palms on the table, looming over the sitting teenager. "And you will do whatever I say. Isn't that right, son?"
Michael huffed, feeling the darkness thrash inside him. He had to hold back! If he used force on this man, his parents would get hurt!
"Why are you doing this to me?" he pleaded.
"Because that's how people get broken, Misha. Because I need you to tell me the truth. Leave nothing out," the interviewer walked around the table, measuring his steps behind Michael's back.
"You don't need to break me. I will tell you everything," the teenager said. Inside, he was begging the psychologist to stop provoking the demon.
The man spoke in a softer tone again, "Is that so? That makes me happy. Let's start with that time when you cured your father's cancer. How did you do that?"
Michael struggled to think. Even in the worst-case scenario, the Russians couldn't find out the truth about World Tree energies by themselves. Qi existed outside of the scope of any device or instrument. If he confessed about cultivation… he had no way to prove it. On the other hand, glory points emitted a glow when he used them.
Ironically, the only way to make the Russians believe him was to lie.
"My internal energy. I used it to destroy the tumor in my father's throat."
The interviewer looked at Michael with a hungry gleam in his eyes. He kept silent, egging the supernatural teenager to continue.
"I can use internal energy to enhance my body. If I extend it outside, it can hurt or heal."
"I see." The chubby man sat down and touched the laptop on the table. "But that's not the whole truth, is it, Misha? What are you hiding from me?"
Michael looked at him, trying to figure out what he meant. The interviewer's oily eyes twinkled with amusement.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, but you do. There has to be something else. What is it? A condition to your power? An object or a person? Some potential that we've missed? Why does Graves value you so highly?" The interviewer licked his lips and pressed where he knew it hurt, "Tell me, son."
"I'm not your son!" was the teenager's response through clenched teeth.
"Speak! Or you'll regret it."
The reason the Russians had to set up this interrogation was to finish the operation in one fell swoop. If they created another mess, there was sure to be an international incident, which contradicted Myshkin's "friendly foreign policy". Everything had to happen at once. If later it turned out Michael needed some sort of a drug to heal efficiently, the president's plan would fall apart.
And if there was nothing… So what, they grill the kid for an hour and then take him away.
"I don't need a medium. I do it all myself," Michael shifted in his seat.
The interviewer opened the laptop and turned the screen towards Michael.
The video showed his mother and father sitting back to back. There was a man's figure behind them.
Michael leaned in and shouted, "Mom, I'm all right! It's going to be fine! Where did they take you?!" He searched their faces to see if they'd been hurt and noticed a bruise on his dad's face.
The darkness resurfaced, so he closed his eyes and grabbed the chair's metal handles to concentrate on pushing it down.
"It's a one-way transmission. But we still have a way to interact," the interviewer nodded directly at the camera in the corner of the ceiling.
The man in the video stepped forward and gave a powerful slap to Michael's dad.
"Stop it!!!"
"I'd be happy to!" the interviewer seemed insulted. "I don't have a passion for violence. Just tell me the truth. Otherwise, there's more where that came from."
…Leon nodded at his bodyguard, and Jerome kicked Michael for the last time. "I hope you don't try to contact Alice again. Otherwise, there's more where that came from…"
Another flashback. The picture in Michael's eyes got blurry. He had trouble breathing. There was a buzz in his ears, and his head spun. The darkness he fought for eleven years was at his throat.
The interviewer stood up and waved his hand in front of Michael's face. The boy was hyperventilating. Small beads of sweat ran down his face and back.
"Michael? Are you sick?"
The teenager shivered, pointedly staring at the wall. He was embroiled in a desperate fight with his bloodlust. The Russians weren't joking around, they were ready to kill his parents. If the darkness took control, there was no going back.
"Answer me, Michael!"
Another nod at the camera. His mom this time. She cried out, tearing up from pain. His dad moved to retaliate, but he got punched in the gut.
"I'm fine! I'll tell you anything, please!" Michael looked at the interviewer. The chubby man frowned, noticing the broken blood vessels in the teenager's eyes. Something was wrong with the rattled boy, the psychologist saw it in his body language and vitals. But everything would come to an end with a little push, he could feel it!
"I only need the truth! Your abilities! Tell me!" he grabbed Michael by the collar and shook him.
But the young cultivator didn't have any strength left to speak.
The beast within him pounded on the walls of its cage. His parents were in pain, and there was nothing he could do to save them.
A wave of nausea engulfed him, his emotions going haywire. A single tear fell from his eye, with Control over Emotions unable to calm him down.
"You can't feign weakness, Michael!" the interviewer leaned in and whispered in Michael's ear, "I love it when you cry!"
…Leon sat in an armchair, patting Michael's head. He loved establishing dominance over his love rival.
And now, with two strict bodyguards watching his every move like a hawk, Michael stood on his knees before Leon and allowed the Frenchman to play with his hair.
Leon had an effeminate face, with large eyes and long eyelashes. Like any descendant of nobles, he had high cheekbones that tightened the skin on his face. "It's a regular happily ever after! Killing you would be too easy. Staying alive, that's what hurts more, and that's what I'll allow you."
He looked over the small apartment. "Here. You can live here. And if you ever go outside, oh, baby!" Leon caressed Michael's cheek, "I'm going to take my fury out on Alice, the stupid cunt. She will pay for your mistakes. Nod if you understand."
Michael hesitated for a few seconds until one of the bodyguards placed his heavy hand on Michael's shoulder. He hung his head, losing the rest of his will to fight.
"Oh baby!" Leon dragged Michael's chin upwards, and his face brightened when he saw tears. The Frenchman leaned in and caught one with his tongue, dragging it upwards. Michael's shoulders twitched, but the bodyguard's hand was still there, so he had to let Leon lick his tears.
"I love it when you cry…!"
"Well?" the interviewer demanded impatiently.
Michael opened his eyes.
And then the darkness inside him opened its eyes as well.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
BlackInk
BlackInk The hardest chapter of my life. Writing psychological struggle is just oof.
And hey, you guys win! I edited the previous chap so that Michael's parents got a different call, that he got in an accident. Seems more logical now.
Happy New Year!
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