Authors Notes: So this is the Prologue to 'Ghost Rising', just a warning that it's a bit graphic and hints at torture etc. The story comes from the idea that Deadpool wasn't the only one to escape from Weapon X/Department K. I do have an outline for the whole story and low and behold something I wrote actually has a plot! I haven't decided where to put this story as a category so for now I guess it can sit in Deadpool, but I hope you like it.
Remote Canadian Territory – Department K Facility
Department K was an intimidating building. A monolith of steel beams and smoked glass surrounded by a large concrete lot and a seven-foot wire perimeter fence; it kept the occupants in and the locals out.
Situated close to the Canadian/American border in a location that was known to few and remote enough so that you wouldn't chance upon it by accident.
The few and far between visitors to the building needed at least two levels of security clearance; and would be privy to the slightly dated public face of the facility which proudly boasted of its historic ties to Stark Industries and still road off the Super Soldier success which nevertheless continued to secure the department enough funding to proceed with its 'Experimental Treatments' and remain operational on the peripheries of local government.
The reality was; nothing worthwhile had come out of Department K since the mysterious death of Howard Stark and his wife Maria and it wasn't the honorable establishment that it once was.
Experiments moved to the underground levels of the building, hidden from the public eye in basements that went several levels deep, carved straight out of the rocky Canadian terrain. Underhand tactics took place to secure new test subjects; the ambition and credentials of new employees went unchecked and some of the more seasoned 'Doctors' were left to their own devices in their laboratories and workshops to play god; in fact, death of subjects at the hands of Department K employees became such a part of the day to day activities that there was a procedure written for it and filed on the Company's intranet under: 'Death in Service' cross-referenced with 'Suicide'.
Zander Rice flashed his clearance card at the security guard on the main gate, he was acknowledged with a disinterested grunt and waved through.
Pulling his beat-up Toyota Yaris into an empty spot, cursing when the tracking pulled it in the opposite direction to the steering wheel, he'd had the damn thing a few months and it was all too apparent that it was definitely not practical for the location he had chosen to work in.
Unsurprisingly, the road to Department K wasn't well maintained and heavy rain, ice, hail or general harsh Canadian weather conditions always cleared to reveal a new crater in the tarmac.
He had worked at the Department for a little over six months as a mortuary assistant and sometimes as an extra pair of hands to some of the longer serving Doctors. His father had got him the job there when he had flunked out of medical school. Zander's status as a failed doctor didn't seem to bother anyone because he had the basic medical knowledge and-as he found out; what went on in Department K wasn't exactly legal, or ethical, or even humane in some cases.
Several fingerprint scans later and he was standing in his 'office'. It was quiet and cool, lit by the overhead fluorescence. Nodding in greeting to his colleague who was busy looking over the chart of the latest new arrival laying peacefully on the central table. Zander leaned over, inspecting the body whilst sipping his morning coffee. "Hello Miss Warner." Recognising her from Killebrew's workshop. He smiled down at his 'patient' her skin tinged blue, freezing cold to the touch. "Such a shame," he tsk'd fingers brushing unruly brunette locks away from her face.
"That she died? Or that she was a mutant?" the other assistant piped up looked from the charts with a smirk as he handed them to Zander, between the two they had about as much empathy as a wrung-out dishcloth.
"Ilona Warner, active X gene. She was brought in as part of the 'Testing on Mutants' programme two years ago. Abilities: 'Intangibility Reflex' and, following a reaction to the enhancement serum some telepathic abilities, concentrated in the left eye." Zander looked up from the notes nodding at the fabric patch partially obscuring her face, "Fatal reaction to a 'Healing Factor Graft' … What does Killebrew want us to do with her? She was one of his favorites."
"Take samples, dissection, catalog anything unusual, then stick her to burn with the rest of them I guess."
"Let's get more coffee first, put her in the freezer." With that the body of Ilona Warner is slid into one of the empty refrigeration compartments, still dressed in the gown she died in, ass bare – dignity be damned; shackles which blocked her intangibility reflex still clasped to each wrist, the repetitive flash of the small LED's on each signifying they were still functional.
Dr Killebrew flicked the syringe once, twice hoovering over Wade's left arm "So what does this one do Doc?" his 'patient' chimed shifting as best as he could against the restraints, angling his head to have a better view and twisting so Killebrew couldn't find a decent spot to stab him with the needle.
The 'Doctor' clicked his tongue then his fingers, Ajax was at his side in an instant, wide hands held Wade's arm steady as he strained against them "Jeez, Doc your pet goon needs to work on his bedside manner." The comment earns Wade a growl from Ajax who tightened his grip going as far as to crush and break the smaller bones in his wrist. Wade yelps wanting nothing more to snatch his arm away and rub at his broken appendage; staining he finds it's impossible. "Hey, don't worry about it, what're a few broken bones amongst friends? For somebody with 'no feelings', you sure get angry a lot." Wade manages to laugh as there was a pinch on his skin as in went the needle [They're drugging us again], down went the plunger {Yeah, no shit} and out came the ominous purple liquid.
There's a rushing in his veins as the liquid spreads; Ajax releases his grip to reveal the cracked and weeping flesh beneath turning the amethyst hue of bruising.
Wade Wilson isn't exactly used to his new look but he's a little surprised when the bruises don't fade instantly, and a slight wiggle of his hand sends an agonizing pain up the nerves of his arm as bone scrapes bone, yep that's still broken. "Question… where's my healing at?" There's a smirk on Killebrew's thin lips as he looks down at his 'patient'.
Wade's arm has started to turn purple and wither, it's spreading up his shoulder, across his chest making it hard to breathe.
One last vein struggle with limbs he could no longer feel and the icy numbness spreads through the entirety of his body, choking on his own limp tongue when he tried to draw another breath; Killebrew leans over the lifeless body of Wade Wilson.
"Well he served to be of use one last time, now we know how to negate a healing factor." There's a smirk of triumph coupled with a hint of satisfaction because a lot of people will pay good money for the serum, and because Wade was as obnoxious as they come and despite spending most of his time in the workshop gagged and bound still managed to stir up mischief like it was his only purpose in life. Killebrew briefly mused that maybe it had been, but the thought was fleeting what did it matter? He was dead now; "Send him to the furnace with the others." He calls to Ajax with a wave of his hand. He complies, without complaint or empathy, because Ajax is just an empty emotionless shell who blindly does as he's told.
Arriving at the morgue, Ajax doesn't register shock or surprise when he finds Zander Rice bleeding out on the cold metal floor, panic-stricken across his face and guts in hand desperately trying to push them back into the large gaping wound in his stomach that they came out, slipping and sliding on his elbows in the rapidly expanding pool of his own blood that's congealing and mixing with his other vital bodily fluids currently leaking out.
He holds a bloodied hand up to the Automaton recognizing him as one of Killebrew's goons, "Help me," It's a pathetic plea that comes out as a barely audible muted whimper. Ajax simply tips the body he brought with him into the convenient chute which feeds straight into the disposal furnace, it's not lit this early in the day; as far as Ajax is concerned, that's the end of Wade Wilson and the man on the floor is as good as dead. He looks down at Zander who's coughing and choking on his own blood as it trickles out from his paling lips, almost quizzically, asking him with his eyes: 'Why aren't you dead yet?' Then he steps over him, large shoes stick in the blood and leaving an enormous footprint.
The man on the other side of the table is long gone, he's had more humane treatment than Zander a neat slash to the neck, jugular hanging out still oozing, his vacant eyes staring up at the ceiling and lying in a pool of his own fluid, he didn't look to have put up much of a fight.
Ajax is programmed to understand that the death in service protocol applies to staff as well as subjects; he's efficient, the lifeless body is chucked down the same place he chucked Wilson, and he ignores the feeble protests of Zander who weakly pushes against him with the last of his strength, before he too is dumped down the chute.
Ajax does his paperwork and goes as far to request a clean-up in the morgue, not once does it cross his empty conscious-less mind to question how the two assistants had ended up in such a state.
Earlier...
Ilona wakes up gasping like she has emerged from water; her lungs are desperate for air, even the artificial-far-too-cold-to-breath air which is currently all she has available, it rips through her like sandpaper catching on a soft surface.
She's in the dark, her uncovered eye won't adjust because there's no light here aside from the small flash of the LED on her shackles; except she can move now, she's not strapped to a bed her limbs are… Free, they're fucking free.
The shackles, the damn shackle they're just hanging on her wrist like bracelets; she almost laughs a giddy-heady, delirious laugh, that had if of escaped her chest would have come out as maniacal cackling.
She wiggles her legs and arms without limitation – well almost, they abruptly come into contact with the metallic sides of the small space she's in.
It's all it takes before she is on hyper alert, being restrained is one thing but small spaces, she can't do. She can hear her own rasping breath amplified in the confinement as she clutches at her chest; the cold from the refrigerated metal is seeping in from all angles.
Panicking hands move to claw at the walls and do little but slide against the smooth surface, legs that feel weak and useless but harbor the memories of being strong once boot desperately at anything to try and find a way out.
There's a pause when the ground beneath her shifts, she kicks again not noticing the bolts of pain that should be shooting up her shins from a kick that hard, light starts to come in through a small gap as the ground slides with her on it. She's on runners, she uses her hands, clammy palms providing extra grip upturned on the metal surface above her she pushes, sliding out with relative ease.
Spinning in a haphazard circle on legs that falter and tremble, it doesn't take much to process: she's in a morgue.
It's empty, there was nobody around to see her come back from the dead, her legs feel like they might give out as she is hit by a wave of relief and she stands still to let in sink in; jumbled thoughts start to clear and her attention's on those forsaken shackles that got slapped on her two years ago.
This is her chance to get the damn things off, she grabs a scalpel just as the doors swing open, the brief respite of relief evaporates as in an instant and she's flipped the position of the surgical tool in her hand, holding it out like a weapon; sure, it's not the Kusari blades she favours but it's something.
There's a familiar rushing in her veins as the fight or flight instinct kicks in, the hairs on the nape of her neck prickle at the sensation and her mouth fixes its self to a snarl, of course she's going to fight, it's what she does, goes from zero to butcher when threatened.
She lunges at the first person through the door, knocking him over the central table and to the ground, skittering tools and trays to a frantic metallic crescendo and a primal scream from deep within her. Bare legs, having recovered their strength and muscle memory, wrap around him in a crushing grip, holding him in position as the scalpel cuts through the delicate skin of his neck like butter; he barely has a chance to register what's happened before the warm liquid gushes from his open jugular his hands fly up in vain as he gargles and stops struggling against her thighs. The air fills with the thick coppery tang of spilled blood.
In a flash, she's back on her feet, nostrils flared and baring her teeth she rounds on the other man who's stood frozen to the spot, cornered by a wild animal.
Zander has seen some truly abhorrent things during his time a Department K; but it still never prepares you for when a test subject comes back from the dead wielding a scalpel and kills your colleague right in front of you, his brain felt like it was firing on all the wrong synapses, messages to run, sound the alarm, fight back were all getting mixed and all he could do was stand rooted to the spot, eyes bulging he thought he might forget how to breathe as she drew closer holding the bloodied scalpel out in front, chest splattered red making her look like a psychopath.
She makes a lunge for his throat, going in for the kill, he manages to muster enough brain power to put his hands up and she drags the blade along his now exposed forearm making him shriek and spraying them both with blood; she's too close for him to get away and he feels the sharp pain in his stomach before he registers what has happened. She's dragging the scalpel across his abdomen cutting through muscle, flesh and organs it's making a sickening sound, like a sharp knife cutting into raw meat. The sound is as bad as the pain and Zander wants to black out, wished he could pass out to the sweet ignorance of unconsciousness, instead he screams, shrill and milk curdling then pitches forward arms flailing almost comically as she steps back to see him fall, he watches in a panic as the wound gapes open feeling sick to the stomach that he's desperately trying to get back inside his body.
Ilona finds one last use for the trusty scalpel, adept fingers jimmy the clasps of her shackles until there is a stratifying click and they pop open; she looks one last time at the writhing body of Zander Rice, and the still-ghostly pale one of his assistant with an air of disgust. It's not personal but there's no sympathy in her one visible eye because she learned long ago that Department K Employees deserved no mercy, she also decided long ago she wouldn't hesitate to kill one on sight, should her freedom ever be up for grabs.
She stands over Zander watching him crumple and flinch away as best he can, she spits on him with nothing but pure venom in her eye so green in the light it looks like poison. Then the oh-so-welcome feeling of being intangible settles on her body she hasn't felt it in two years; she's weightless, untouchable and most importantly she's free.
Much later…
Wade opened his eyes; it felt like effort, everything felt like effort. He's rung out and splayed awkwardly on an uneven surface and vaguely aware something heavy is resting directly on top of him.
It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust and his senses to come back online. It's the smell that hits him first "What the fuck is that?!" {It smells like trash on a hot summers day} [No that would be the smell of death, look around dipshit] Ah, good everybody's OK! Turning his head to the left he's nose to nose with somebody dressed in a lab coat "Whoa shit! Sorry man, you frightened me!" He laughs [Wade…] "So, did I miss a party or what?!" [Wade…] he sits up hefting the dead body that's draped across him off his lap. "Well, would you look at that, my wrist isn't broken anymore!" He exclaims standing as something shifts underfoot, he grimaces squinting at the scene in front of him. [WADE, as much as we all enjoy the false bravado, we should get out of here] {the fuck out…}.
Against his better judgment, Wade looks around for an escape route, doing his best to ignore the three or four dead bodies that are down here with him, it's hard to tell an exact number as they are all a tangled mess of limbs.
His clammy hand moves to rake through his hair that's no longer there as he spots a hatch on the other side of what he has guessed is a furnace.
The space inside is small and every jerky movement he makes on tightened muscles that are ready to run seems to shift him too close for comfort to the long-dead residents. His hands slip on the release valve of the door before it opens; Wade has never been so grateful for the sharp hit of fresh air that rushes to meet him as he clambers out on his hands and knees. [That was…] I don't want to talk about it.