Reader be aware: This is the third part of the series. Do read the first two before this one. This is an AU so you need to know the story so far to get the hang of this. This, the first chapter of the third part, is my version of the beginning of the first movie. I'm not making any major changes into the plot of the first movie, only to some minor details. After reading this chapter, feel free to watch the movie (come on, I know you want to).

15. Nightfall

A ringtone woke me up, not the phone ringing but the ringtone it was playing. It was Pete's mobile playing the most obnoxious ringtone on the damned northern hemisphere, a theme song from some b-class Spaghetti Western that should never had lit up the silver screen. Not the one from A Fistful of Dollars or any other true classics but from some long forgotten piece of crap. I yawned, did my best to rub the sleep from my eyes and stretched my arms and shoulders as much as the cabin allowed. It was full daylight outside but I still felt downright dopey and decided to doze off until Pete was done with the call. I rested my head against the doorframe and paid no attention to Pete talking over the phone. I tried to let the rumble of the car and the road lull me back to the empire on dreams but that didn't happen. I didn't hear the road as such, the car was too quiet. Only the rhythm of the road travelled up the car's bodywork and resonated in the bones of my head and neck. I wished we could have taken the train. Nothing better than sleeping in a train.

I woke up to the realisation that Pete had stopped talking. 'Who was it?' I asked without bothering to open my eyes.

'Front desk. Someone came after Logan few hours ago. The X-men intervened before our guys could jump in, and the assailant fled the scene before they had a change to capture or even to follow him.'

I cursed under my breath and managed to shake off most of the sleepiness. 'How about him?'

Pate changed the lines and overtook a lorry. 'The X-men took him with them to New York. Logan was unconscious when they left the scene.'

'Unconscious?' I found myself feeling worried for him and it didn't escape Pete's sharp senses.

'I'm sure he's fine but it is strange. Apparently it wasn't much of a fight. Just a few blows.'

'The front desk had no idea who the assailant was?'

Pete shook his head. 'A mutant, obviously, but I dunno. I have a bad feeling about this.'

'That's no moon.'

'Something like that,' Pete confirmed without even a hint of laughter in his voice. 'We'll take the next exit and head for the border. Nick will be waiting for us at the X-men's head quarters. He has already talked with that professor Xavier about Logan. I sounds like they are willing to keep him there at least until he comes around.'

'Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters,' I clarified needlessly. 'You know if Nick warned them about him? He might not like finding himself held in some unfamiliar facility.'

Pete chuckled. 'I'd bet he won't. Apparently Xavier had been confident they would manage.'

'I suppose they will. Xavier is a proper telepathic Talent so he won't have any difficulties holding Logan down if he get's out of control.' I sighed and decided I was hungry enough for some breakfast. 'Do we have anything to eat?' I asked.

'Ah,' said Pete sounding apologetic, 'I ate the last sandwich an hour ago. There should be one or two granola bars left there, somewhere. I'm not sure. Maybe in the side pocket of my backpack. I thought we'd have time to stop for a proper breakfast,' he explained defensively.

I reached for his pack and managed to pull it over to my lap. The were two bars in the pocket. 'Apricot. Not my favourite but I'll survive.' I hoisted the pack back. 'Let's get across the border first. We have to stop for gas anyhow at some point.'

'Sounds like a plan.'

I munched through the first bar. Apricot has never been my favourite but the bar tasted mainly of syrup and oat meal. Pete's phone rang again. The front desk called to confirm our route and ETA and Pete was soon off the phone again.

'Can't you please, for all the love of god, change your ringtone?' I pleaded while opening the second bar.

'Why, when it wakes even you up, ma'am?'

I moaned out loud and sat up properly. 'I'm serious. It's enough to drive an enlightened Zen monk round the bend.'

'It's a classic. Haven't you seen All'Ombra Di Una Colt?' he said sounding genuinely Italian and gesturing with his hand for emphasis as if he had been born in Napoli.

I laughed. 'I love the Spaghetti Westerns as much as you do, Pete, but that theme song is not their greatest moment. It's no mach to Fist full of Dollars just because it has whistling in it. It just makes it a bad, sad ripoff, you know.'

Pete threw a bright grin at me. 'But it does catch one's ear.'

'It tears one's ears off note by note.'

Pete laughed and I reached for a bottle of water from the back seat. I washed the remains of the syrupy taste from my mouth. 'I share your bad feeling about this,' I said as I put the bottle away, 'He shouldn't have gone down that easily, no matter what the case. The gage fighting last night was not that bad. He practically sustained no damage at all. And he had plenty of rest between the gage and the assault. Something's off.' I yawned and tried to rub the sleep from my eyes. 'I need tea.'

Pete glanced at me. His sympathetic expression told me that I looked as drowsy as I felt. 'Go back to sleep. We won't reach the border for an hour or so. Front desk told that they have a chopper waiting on the U.S. side. It'll ferry us to New York as soon as we get there. You'll need the sleep, ma'am.'

'Why don't they pick us from here?'

'Easier to cross the border this way, they said.'

'We fly across the border all the time!'

Pete shrugged his shoulders. 'Beats me. They just told that we need to drive across this time.'

I sunk back into the seat and let the sleep flood in. 'Something's not right. Something's afoot and I don't like it.'

'It's a space station,' I heard Pete quote as the slumber overtook me.

A car and a change of clothes waited us at the end of the chopper ride. Pete changed into a pair of khaki chinos and a pale blue Oxford shirt. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and looked really preppy in his attire. I made a teasing remark on this, saying he was such a dandy, but Pete merely laughed at it agreeing with me. We had landed only a twenty minutes drive away from Xavier's institute and the sunny streets to and through North Salem were quiet. We made good time. Nick was outside Xavier's school waiting for us when we drove up to the mansion. He matched Pete's style with a pair of off-white pants and a navy blue polo shirt. Very nautical. I threw a long glance at both of the boys and rolled my eyes. Nick tossed his sunglasses to the front seat of his classic Mustang through the open window and met us half way to the front door.

'What?' he said.

'Nothing. I just hadn't realised we have a new dress code.'

Nick flashed an amused grin and adjusted my collar. 'You wait outside, Pete. Take a discreet look around the grounds. I need you to take the feel of the place. We have all the surveillance but it's not the same as walking through it,' Nick instructed.

Pete waved his hand in a casual salute. 'Sure thing, sir. I'll wait for you outside.'

'Don't forget there are telepaths around,' I warned him.

'I won't. Shields are staying up,' he shot before taking up the path leading past the facade of the mansion and apparently into the gardens. Xavier might be a proper Talent when it came to his mutation but there were ways to keep a telepath from sneaking into you mind.

'Xavier won't intrude into our thoughts,' Nick said few steps before the front door, 'He's old school, through and through.'

'There are probably others on the grounds.'

Nick glanced over his shoulder towards Pete but he had already disappeared behind the shrubbery. 'True,' Nick admitted and turned to his gaze at the door sizing it up from sill to lintel. 'Let's play ball,' he said before reaching for the bell pull to ring to doorbell. He didn't pull it put right away, however. 'How was he?'

'Logan? In good shape. Physically excellent.'

'Mentally?'

I shrugged my shoulders. 'Hard to say but he seemed more balanced. The gage fighting has done him good. He is more in control.'

Nick pulled the handle and we waited.

'I think we'll find out soon enough,' he said and stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. 'Any idea why he was taken down so easily?'

I had time only to shake my head and shrug my shoulders as a white haired woman opened to door for us. She greeted us with a genuinely genial smile. 'Hi. And welcome,' she said, 'We've been expecting you. Do come in.' She had a slight African accent to her voice, something resembling Oji's Kenyan tones. Nick returned her greeting and she held the door for us as we stepped through into the entrance hall. The building was a true mansion: walls of mahogany panels, chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, and flower arrangements in antique vases.

'I'm miss Ororo Munroe, teacher and a member of the X-men,' the woman said extending her hand towards Nick once we were in. 'Nice to meet you both,' she repeated.

Nick shook her hand. 'Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D. It's my pleasure. This is one of my executive officers, Grace Blair.'

Miss Munroe's handshake was firm but welcoming. 'A pleasure to meet you too,' I said smiling. 'Quite a place you have here. The gardens look breathtaking.'

Miss Munroe was visibly pleased by my take on the gardens. 'Thank you. It takes time to maintain the grounds but I do like it. And I have some excellent gardeners helping me.' She smiled warmly at me before gesturing us to follow her. 'This way, please. Professor Xavier is waiting for you in his study.' She led us down a hallway, the one leading leftwards from the foyer, past huge classical paintings of pastoral scenes with cows and sheep and shepherds and billowing clouds. Few students passed us greeting both miss Munroe and us. She knocked on a door halfway away from the foyer and ushered us to enter without waiting for an answer.

I wondered why she even bothered to knock.

Professor Xavier circled around his desk to meet us. He was bald, older gentleman who would have stood tall, taller than one would think, without the wheelchair. Miss Munroe held back and made her way towards the bay window where she sat down.

'Mr Fury,' Xavier called enthusiastically, 'it is good to see you again!' he declared while offering his hand to Nick.

Nick replied with zeal equal to the bald man's: 'Professor, it has been too long since we last met in person.' They shook hands and Nick introduced me.

'Please, call me Grace,' I said while still holding his hand. He had an easy smile, warm and welcoming, but it was a smile of a man who has seen more than his fair share of the world.

'Grace, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. Call me Charles. I am also delighted that you could accompany us on such sort notice. Director Fury has told that you are the officer in charge of Logan's case.'

'That's true,' I said as I let his hand go, 'I am delighted to meet you too at last.'

Xavier – Charles welcomed us to sit down and returned behind his desk. He went right into the business. 'We have already discussed Logan's case over the phone with Mr Fury but I would like to hear your view on the matter.'

'What would you like to know?' I wasn't sure what Nick had told him about Logan.

'Nick told that you know him.'

I felt uncomfortable. 'I don't know about knowing him but I guess it's true to a certain degree. I have known him for several years now but we haven't been in contact that often, so I wouldn't say I know him very well. It might be easier if you told me what you already know. I'm not sure what you and Nick have talked about,' I added glancing at Nick.

Charles smiled shortly. It did not help my feelings of uneasiness. 'Very well. That does sound practical. We know of his mutation and of the adamantium on his skeleton. We don't know how old he is or where he comes from. All we know is that he, Logan or Wolverine, lost his memory some fifteen years ago, most likely while the metal was applied to his bones. We do know he is unpredictable and for that, dangerous, and we know there is someone hunting him. Obviously.'

'I can add something to that,' I replied. 'He used to be a soldier, but I, nor him, have no idea who he fought with. He was not part of some national, of an official army. He was a specialist of some sort and most likely a member of a mercenary group. He has absolutely no idea who he really is. His oldest memories are from the experiment that left him with the adamantium, just as you suspected, but before that, nothing much.'

'So we are essentially on the same page,' Charles concluded. I wondered if he knew there were things I had left out.

Miss Munroe had stood up. 'You warned us that he would be dangerous once he wakes up and yet you have asked us to include him into our ranks. Surely S.H.I.E.L.D. could take him in too? Why ask us to risk our students?'

Charles was about to say something but Nick beat him to the point: 'You are right, miss Munroe. Logan is dangerous and we did offer to take him off your hands but professor thought that it would be for the best if he stayed with you.'

'Yes, that is true, Storm,' Charles said as he turned his wheel chair to face her. 'He is one of us, after all. He is a dangerous man, dangerous in ways one would not think, but,' he continued as he glanced nonchalantly at me before looking at miss Munroe, Storm, again, 'he would never hurt the children or you for that matter.'

Storm stared into his eyes defiantly but then relented. 'If you say so, Charles.' I knew he must had communicated his reasons to her telepathically.

'How would you know that?' I demanded, more harshly than I intended.

'I read his mind after they had brought him in, Grace.'

My heart missed a beat. 'What did you see?'

'Please, rest assured that I did not invade his privacy more than I had to. I only read what I needed to know to asses his medical state. Sensations, flashes of memories. More states of minds and feelings than clear memories from his past. Most of his memories are gone or are buried so deep into chasms of his mind that I would not dare to reach for them in fear of serious damage. Few things are clear and solid enough to assure me he will not cause harm to us here, especially to the kids.'

'And you trust your – skill enough?' asked Nick.

Charles turned his eyes at him. There was a certainty to his demeanour that I have seen only with a very few people. 'Yes, I think he is a risk worth taking. And besides, Mr Fury,' he added, 'if you are as serious as you say about finding out who put the adamantium in him, I think leaving him with us will serve you better. We can keep him safe and we, and I, can help him to recover at least some of his memories.'

I knew that was what we had planned all along but I also knew we shouldn't seem too eager agree to it. After all, we had ways to rip his mind open and read all the memories he still possessed. Even the ones that he could not access himself. That would have been the end of him, of course, and I'd be damned if I let anyone do that to one of the Soldiers under my protection as sanctioned by the Code. 'He might not want to stay,' I argued, 'He is headstrong and he seems to think he is better off on his own.'

Charles smiled. 'We would never keep him here against his will,' he said, 'This is something you need to understand: I will never ever keep anyone here against their will. If he chooses to leave, he will be free to do so. We all need to make our own choices. I can only promise I will argue for staying with us. Even for joining the X-men.'

I turned to Nick to see what he was thinking. It was his decision after all. He had rested his elbows on the armrests and was rubbing his upper lip against the joints of his fingers looking like the epitome of a man thinking thoroughly a problem at hand. I felt my the corners of my mouth wanting to curve up into a smile: it was all going according to the plan. If Logan agreed to staying on, we would have him in a place we could keep an eye on him. We hadn't been able to sniff out the enemy partly because Logan had been constantly on the move. Here he would stay relatively stationary.

Nick laid his hands down and smiled at Charles. 'You are right, as usual, professor. Logan is a free man, after all. It would be best if he stayed with you, and we certainly cannot take him with us if we want to find out who's behind all it, but it is up to him. All we ask is that you keep an eye on him in case someone comes after him again. Just be careful and do not hesitate to contact us as soon as something turns up. We will be there for you – with all our resources. One more condition though: I don't want him to know anything about this conversation nor about us being here today. I think it would be best if he thought we had nothing to do with his arrival here. That way he might be more willing to stay.'

'Certainly,' confirmed Charles. Nick stood up and I followed his suit. Charles wheeled from around his desk to bid us farewell. He closed his eyes for a moment. 'Our timing could not be better: he is beginning to come around.'

Nick left the room while I was still shaking Charles hand. Storm (that name seemed to suit her better than calling him miss Munroe) had opened the door for Nick and had exited with him. I thanked Charles for their troubles, present and future ones, and readied myself to leave.

'Grace,' Charles said without letting go of my hand. 'You don't need to worry about him. He will be fine with us.'

'I'm more worried for you than I am for him. He'll manage. He always does.'

Charles smiled again. There seemed to be an endless reservoir of warm, fatherly smiles inside him. 'He has changed. He is not the man he used to be.'

I frowned. 'How do you mean?'

'Like I said, I did not look deep into his mind, but I did see you in there. You have more history between you two than what you told us,' he scolded gently. 'Please, do not worry,' he said when he saw the look on my face, 'I know he fears he is still the man he once was, he fears the beast in him, but he has changed – not entirely, no-one ever will – but he has changed. He does have a heart, a large heart, Grace.'

I averted my eyes. 'You know what happened between us?' I asked quietly.

'No, not exactly. As I said, I only skimmed the surface of his mind.'

I wanted to sit down but dared not to; I needed to leave and quickly.

'Grace, I know he hurt you, badly.' My knees gave up and fell back on the chair. Charles held on to my hands. 'It is alright know. It's all in the past,' he said quietly, 'Grace, trust me on this: he has a large heart, larger than most people will give him credit for.'

'I had a dream about him, years ago,' I explained, 'I went after him following that dream. I thought he needed my help. That's why I went. If I had known,' I inhaled with a ragged breath, 'if I had known who I'd find in that forest I wouldn't have gone.'

Charles closed my hands between his. 'You went because you were needed. Would you do something for me?'

'What?'

'Trust me: he has a larger heart than most will know.'

The surgical bed was soft. It moulded around the curvature of his muscles hugging his lower back. The bed was warm from his body temperature which told him that he must have been lying there for some time now. The bed that saved him from killing the woman when she came about and tried to take a blood sample from him. The bed kept him calm; a steel slab would have had him blow up in full rage. Instead he had remained still when he had come around, in control even if his systems of self-preservation had been screeching under it. Logan had held still with eyes shut, controlling his breathing and making sure all his muscles had remained relaxed and his limbs passive.

He had remained there for quite a while, listening, smelling, drawing a mental map of the room he was in. He listened to the way the woman's steps moved around the room, where she sat down, how far it was, how far was the cabinet she opened. His upper body was naked and he followed the way the air moved on his skin, how it moved the hairs on his chest and arms. The fact that room had air conditioning was obvious from its soft humming, but the currents of air carried other messages: there were no doors or windows open, there were no heat sources (other than him and the woman) in the room, and if anyone would have managed to get close to him without him hearing or smelling it, he would have felt the currents of that someone's movements on his skin. That split second would have been warning enough.

He was surprised to find out that the woman was alone. It was unwise, stupid, idiotic. She can't be alone. There's gotta be some kind of surveillance here. He decided that there had to be cameras watching the room and him since they (Who the fuck can they be? This place doesn't smell like them.) probably knew about his mutation and were aware of the risks that came with it. Maybe they had her locked up with him in here? That's what he would have done to limit the damage and to contain him if he got loose. One nurse was a small cost. Wolverine running around amok was not.

But why was there no restrains on him? They had him just lying on the bed unchecked. That was just asking for trouble. Logan began to enjoy the situation: he would make them pay for their overconfidence. He would capitalise on it abundantly.

Come on, fuckers. Let's make a carnage out of it.

He thought it through first, though. He had to have a game plan. He intended to take as many of them down with him as he could. Maybe he would get out alive but he didn't plan with that in mind. Unless and only unless he was the absolutely last man standing, and that was not how he would prefer it. Then again, to be the second to last man standing sounded much more satisfying; knowing that someone would have to live the rest of his (or hers) life with the memories of Wolverine slaughtering everyone else around. He wanted to look into those eyes after they had seen him do what he did best. And he fully intend to let himself loose this time, no self-imposed restrains either, just rage, all of it, every single drop that he had suppressed over the years; all of it, everything he had. He had a good idea about what kind of a person he had been before the memory loss and it wasn't pretty, but this once, for the one last time, he would be that monster. And he would revel in it.

The last stand. He had to suppress the chuckle. But first I need to get out of this fuckin' lab.

So he let the woman stick a needle into his arm before he jumped up and grabbed her by her throat. He pulled her down with him as he took cover behind the bed. He held onto his grip on her throat, choking her while shielding his body with hers. (Nothing candy-assed about it. Anything goes when it comes to survival. Even kids and grannies. Winning was simply a question of using what you had at hand.) Logan shoved his right hand knuckles against the woman's ribcage ready to impale her without a second thought after she would have become useless. She dug her fingers into his hand as she fought for air. Logan growled into her red hair. She smelled surprised and shocked but not scared, not scared for her live at least. Logan registered it noting somewhere in his mind the strangeness of her reaction, but he had no time to think about it. All he knew was that no-one had come through the door yet.

What the fuck is this?

It had to be a some sort of sick and twisted game. Maybe they wanted to see how he would react, what would he do?

What would he do? Kill the chick? Then what? Storm the door? A steel door? If it was thin enough he could slash through it with his claws in no time at all. Logan sniffed the air. The door wasn't electrified.

That could work.

He grinned. What a way to go! He felt electrified as the old beast aroused within him.

Be prepared, fuckers. Wolverine is coming your way.

He turned around dragging the woman around with him, hunkered down over her forcing her to the ground. He pressed his knuckles a little harder into her side, twisted her head back a little, just enough to see the expression on her face when his claws would cut into her. She was pretty with her long red hair. If he had time maybe –.

Logan remembered the girl – Marie, or Rogue, as she insisted – and realised his plans would not work. He had promised that he would not cause any harm to come to her and this wasn't it. There was no last stand for him, not this time, not before he had her safe somewhere. Where was she? What had happened to her? He knew the answer to that question all too well and he knew, then, that he had no choice but to get Marie out. One way or the other.

Alive. Or dead.

There is mercy in death. Grace.

He abandoned the woman on the floor and leaped at the door. It was open, the goddam door was open, unlocked and there was nobody behind it. Idiotic, pure lunacy, but if he had believed in something other than himself and bad luck, he would have counted his blessings as he slipped out to the corridor. A free pass. Now all he had to do was to find the girl and get her out.

Maybe there's still time.

He knew there wasn't but all he could do was to play with the cards had been given, use what ever he came across, and kill those who came in his way. He slunk down the corridor with his bare back caressing the sleek steel walls.

This is what I do best.

This is what I was manufactured for.

So be it.

I'm commin' to get you.

You're goin' to get a taste of your own medicine.

He loped down the corridor with his feet bare. He liked being bare footed. It made his movements feel more natural, animalistic, and primal. His senses heightened and he felt sharp. The world slowed down as he became increasingly aware of his surroundings and of his own body in it.

There was nobody in the corridors. He couldn't smell anyone. In fact, the most recent scent marks were an hour or so old. He couldn't hear anyone in the closed rooms he passed by and he saw no signs of activity anywhere, not even CCTV cameras in the ceilings. Nothing. He didn't like that at all. Everything was too clean. The metal-clad corridors were too sterile showing no signs of their occupants. He slowed down. Something was up. Something was not right in here. He had to be heading into a some kind of trap but he didn't have much of a choice. Logan grinned briefly: at least a trap would mean there was one helluva fight waiting him in the end.

The corridor joined a wider one that at one end, at the end to his right, was closed off with a round massive door resembling a door of a vault. To his left the corridor widened to form a kind of a foyer. He headed that way, towards the glass cabinets and found weird-looking black uniforms behind the glass doors. He gave them a quick once-over before peeking into a partly open solid cabinet. There were sweat suits in there and he grabbed a hoodie to cover his naked torso. The air was pleasantly cool and the adrenalin kept him warm, but running around half naked made him too obvious. With the hoodie he might be able to get past unsuspecting eyes if he managed to keep it quiet.

He was just about to continue along the corridor when he suddenly heard distant voices sounding alarm and the sound of running feet heading his way. He darted back towards the corridor leading back to the lab but someone was already there too; his keen ears picked up hushed voices. He planted his feet to the ground with his back against the cool wall.

Let's get on with it then, fuckers!

He clenched his hands into fists and let the claws out.

Suddenly the wall behind him slid aside revealing a tiny room or a closet behind him. He peaked around it quickly, saw nothing at first but then noticed a row of push buttons on the wall. The room was a lift, a seemingly lucky chance of escape, but he hesitated. His paranoia had served him well over the years and this was not gift horse he was willing to ride without checking its teeth first. He pulled back, wavered at the door. Somebody shouted right behind the corner to his left and he knew that he would have to fight his way out if he stayed in the corridors. Tempting but stupid. He needed to get off this floor and he jumped inside the lift. The door closed on its own right behind him and the lift headed up before he had a chance to hit the buttons. Might be automated, he thought without being able to convince himself. He knew he was being herded.

The lift halted and Logan took position right next to the door with his back against the wall. He slid down along the wall to his haunches and readied himself against the oncoming assault. If his opponents had any common sense they would open fire at him the moment the door opened. Or slightly before that if they were really clever. A hefty burst of concentrated fire, preferably form heavy assault rifles, with exploding rounds, would slow him down considerably. He might be practically immortal and his body was able to fix itself with unbelievable speed, but it would be hard to stand up with the muscles on his legs shot to mincemeat and with his guts hanging out. Immortality did not denote indestructibility.

The door slid open silently and he waited. Nothing happened. Logan peeped out quickly. Again the corridors were empty. Not a single soul to be seen anywhere. Lot's of scents though, mixing into each other in a cacophony of a crowd. Many, no, most of the scents were young, some juvenile, some in their puberty. Logan knitted his brows in deep concentration. What was this place? Where was him? He pulled back inside the lift and took a deep breath. Right. He might not know where he was but he knew he couldn't stay inside the lift any longer. He took another peep out and slunk out into the corridor. Nothing happened. I don't like this shit.

He was above the ground now. There were huge windows along and at the end of the corridor, and he could see the gardens outside. He tried two, three windows but they were all locked and he didn't want to draw any attention to himself by forcing or even smashing one open unless he had to. He kept on going, passing closed doors and solid wood chests of drawers and other pieces of antique furniture with vases of flowers and candelabras on them. The difference between the floors down and above the ground could not have been more striking. Where the hell am I? What is this place?

He reached a corner of the building where the corridor joined with a larger one. This one had paintings, huge canvases hanging along it. Countryside landscapes with billowing clouds and gusts of wind tearing through the trees. Logan slowed his pace. The size of the corridor suggested that it was one leading to an entrance, hopefully to a side entrance. He kept close to the inner wall even when the bright sunlight through the windows lit him up brightly. The outer wall was more shadowy but every time he would move across a window he would have been visible from the outside. He was beginning to think he might have escaped notice. He didn't foolishly think his escape had gone unnoticed but perhaps, just perhaps they didn't know where exactly in the building he was. If that was the case, he wanted to keep it that way for so long as possible. He needed to find Marie.

Something familiar caught his nose and he stopped dead on his tracks. He was just about to try to figure out what it was when a thunder of foot steps flew past him above his head. An unorganised group of people were hurrying along the corridor above him on the next floor. Logan realised they were heading towards the flight of stairs to his right but before he had time to find a hiding place he heard laughter and running feet heading towards him from behind too. He jumped behind a pillar hoping it was wide enough to hide him. A small group kids run past him.

Where the fuck am I? What is this?

He lost precious seconds staring after the kids and realised he had no time to avoid the larger group now running and jumping down the stairs. Logan leaped over a sofa towards the nearest door and opened it blindly. He sidled in without bothering to check if the room was occupied or not. He closed the door as quickly and quietly as possible and held his breath. The group of young voices scuttled past the door and he turned around to check out the room. There was a bunch of kids sitting in front of a solid oak desk and staring at him. An older bald man sat behind the desk with an absurdly friendly smile on his face.

'Hello, Logan,' the man said.

Logan could only stare at him with his mouth open.

'I think our lesson for today is over, students,' the man said to the kids, 'Don't forget your homework assignment.' The children closed their books, gathered their things, and walked calmly but quickly past Logan. Logan followed them with his eyes and caught their sidelong, intrigued glances. The last one, a tall lanky girl forgot his shoulder back and spun back to grab it hurriedly. Logan watched her jog past him and straight through the door as it if wasn't there at all.

'What is this place?' Logan blurted. 'Where the hell am I?' he demanded turning towards the bald-headed man.

'Welcome to my school for the gifted, Logan,' the man answered as he moved around his desk in his wheelchair.

Logan kept on watching the kids play basket ball on the other side of the well kept grass clearing. One of them was cheating by teleporting and catching the ball he had just passed himself. The others protested without being truly angry about the boy's shenanigans. Logan smiled. The kids had it good here. Even he could tell that much. It was, in many ways, a nice place. A bit pompous on the inside but he could still appreciate the aesthetics of the mansion even if he personally would have chosen something different. For many of the kids it was a haven, a heaven even, a dream come true at the least, and Logan could appreciate that.

'Give me a few hours to think about it, will ya,' he said and returned to the bench. Charles, who had insisted on having Logan call him Charles, sat in his wheelchair next to the bench.

'Of course. I would not expect you to decide on something like this without considering it carefully,' the bald man said. 'but at the same time I have to ask you not to think about it for too long. Events are unfolding as we speak. Events that might catch us by surprise.'

Logan grunted in agreement. 'They already caught me by surprise.' He leaned back and squinted in the sun. It was a warm day, especially after the chilly spring days far up in the North. 'You'll have my answer by the evening.'

'Good,' Charles said cheerfully. 'Come to see me before dinner. We will talk more then.' He turned his wheelchair around and started to head back towards the main building.

'What about Grace?' Logan called after him. 'I smelled her in your office.'

Charles halted his chair and turned around. 'Yes, she was here earlier today.'

Logan swallowed; he thought he could detect a hint of apprehension in the bald man's voice. 'Why was she here?'

'They had someone keeping an eye on you, as I am sure you knew.'

'Yeah. She did tell me that.'

'She knew we had brought you here. She wanted to know if you were unharmed.'

Logan laughed nervously. 'Sure, right. She was worried about me.'

'She was.'

Logan did have a retort in store. He stood up purposefully and walked over to Charles. 'Who is she?' he asked.

'You know as much as me,' Charles replied, 'She is a member of the S.H.I.E.L.D., an operational officer to be exact, but that is not what you are asking, is it?'

'No,' Logan confessed after a while. He was pretty sure Charles wasn't telling him everything but he was getting used to secrets and hidden agendas. Logan had learnt that uncovering secrets was in many ways similar to hunting: you just had to wait patiently and opportunities would present themselves. 'That's not what I was askin'. I what to know what she is.'

Charles took his time. 'She is an enigma, I grant you that. There is a connection between you two, that much I know.'

Logan felt his muscles twitch involuntary but was able to compose himself before the reaction to Charles's words reached surface and became apparent. 'Really?' he said instead with arrogance.

Charles let the matter drop. 'I must return inside now. There is a call I need to make. We will talk more over dinner.'

'Sure thing. I'll let you know what I have decided.'

Charles smiled in return and left. Logan listened to the sound of Charles's wheelchair moving on along the gravel pathway. The kids had stopped playing and were talking with the red-haired woman Logan had been introduced to earlier, the same he had come close to killing in the infirmary after he had woken up. Jean Gray. Jeannie. Logan watched her push a rebelling lock of her long, luscious red hair from her face. She reminded him of someone he had used to know a long, long time ago. Then again, many red heads did but she seemed to be different somehow. Closer to the original, whoever that might've been, he thought. Jean said something to the kids and left. Logan watched approvingly the way her hips swayed as she walked away, back towards the mansion.

Logan sat down on the bench again and closed his eyes as he leaned back stretching his legs out. He folded his arms over his chest and let his mind wander. The sun had moved and the shade of the tree under which the bench lay now reached over him offering cool protection from the sun. He felt the moisture the hot sunlight was drawing out from the tree. It cooled the bare skin of his arms and face, and the sensation made him smile contently. In his life it were the little things that counted most.

'Glad to see you're enjoying yourself, Logan.'

Logan opened his eyes and lifted his head up. Pete had appeared from nowhere and was standing by the bench with his back turned to sitting Logan. Logan pulled his feet in and sat up. The younger Soldier had appearance had escaped Logan's notice and it pissed him off. 'Yeah. The scenery was exquisite until now.'

Pete snorted at that and sat down right next to Logan. Logan knew the intrusion into his personal space was intentional. 'So I noticed,' Pete retorted. 'I understood she's already spoken for.'

Logan let the remark slide. He had learned over the years he remembered that things like that were of little consequence. He got what he wanted if he wanted it hard enough. 'Grace left you to baby sit me.'

Pete grinned but then cut the amusement from his face sharply. 'No, this is on me alone.'

'Right. So you decided to make sure I keep my distance.' Pete said nothing and Logan took that as a sign he had been right. 'Relax, bub. She has nothin' to worry about from me. I know she's – off limits.' Unlike the red head. The scar in his neck begun to throb unexpectedly and he rubber it with his fingers.

'I'm here to make sure you pay what you owe to her,' Pete stated nonchalantly. Logan recognised the confidence Blue Eyes had in himself.

Logan grit his teeth together but agreed: 'Yeah, and that's what I intend to do.'

'By keeping your hands off her? You owe her more than that.'

That stung. Blue Eyes is right. 'True. I offered to let her cut my head off but she declined.'

Pete sighed. 'She had to. She can take no revenge on you. The Code prohibits her from doing that. She doesn't enjoy the same liberties as you and I do. You need to find another way to recompense her.'

'What the fuck is that, The Code?' Logan challenged. He turned to face the man Grace had told was of the same genetic stock.

'She told you we are Soldiers, didn't she?'

'Don't get us mixed up. I'm only a crossbred bastard of a Soldier.'

'Makes no difference,' Pete said quietly, 'We both still fall under her command. We all fall under her command, every Solder on our side at least.'

Logan grunted. 'I don't give a flyin' fuck about that. You might but I was never one of you.'

'Brother, it doesn't work like that,' Pete explained with patience. 'We are genetically linked to each other. We are not just brothers in arms but by genetics. You might count as a half brother but it doesn't change the fact that you are a member of our family and we all owe her everything we have. And she owes us equally in return. That's why she cannot take her revenge on you.'

'She owes me nothin',' Logan said tiredly.

Pete leaned his elbows on his knees. 'Look, it's kind of a package deal: we do what she asks us to do. What ever it is, not questions asked. In return she does what ever we need off her.'

Logan squinted disapprovingly. 'How do you mean what ever we need?'

'Fuck, you have a filthy imagination. No, I don't mean it like that.' Pete hesitated and thought further about what he meant. 'Hmm, I suppose it could mean that too but it's not how it works. She can give us something more important, more desirable. She can give us death in the end. She is our Angel of Death, if you will. She can give us something only very, very few people can and because of that she is – sacred to us. She has to remain undefiled.'

That didn't simply sting. 'It's kinda too late for that,' Logan pointed out and stood up. The gardens were empty now. His keen hearing did not pick up any other human sounds in their vicinity. He heard Pete stand up too. The younger Soldier came to stand next to Logan.

'It's not a question of what somebody does to her but what she does to others.' Pete remained quiet for a moment. 'Okay. The thing is, we were bred on purpose, Logan. Not a single gene inside is accidental. If was, we would've never made it this far. We wouldn't have even born. We were designed for a particular purpose, to fill a role in the Verse.'

'Verse?' Logan interrupted.

'Universe but never mind about that. All you need to know is that we were designed to be killers, relentless hunters, and the ultimate survivalists. That's basically all there is to us. She, on the other hand,' Pete continued as he scratched his jawline under his ear, 'she was chosen. The skills she has, her Talents, were a natural occurrence. At some point of her earlier life the Regents asked if she would be willing to become a Marshal and she, for what ever reasons, accepted. She was genetically modified after that. He healing was enhanced for one thing. Nothing major, though. Mostly little things here and there.'

Pete paused and Logan seized the opportunity. 'So what exactly is she?'

Pete threw a sidelong glance at him. 'You meant what a Marshal is?'

'That too.'

'Marshals are exactly what the word means. They are our commanders. Each Marshal has a contingent of Soldiers under his or her command. How many Soldiers depends on the case. Their authority is absolute and each Soldier answers only to his or her commander. Nobody else. The flip side of the coin is that all Marshals are accountable for the actions of the Soldiers under their command. If we fuck up, it's on them. So you see, it's a two way street.'

Logan chewed over Pete's words. 'Sounds fucked up. So what ever she asks you to do, you'd do it without thinkin'?'

'Sure. That's what I'm here for.' Pete didn't hesitate but Logan sensed the discomfort the man felt.

'You'd do that even if you disagreed on it?'

'Yup.'

Logan let the idea sink in. What he had done to Grace he had done simply because someone in charge had asked if he would be willing to. He had agreed without further thought. Maybe it wasn't me who agreed to that. Maybe it was the programmin' in me that agreed. He wasn't sure if that had any ethical consequences at all.

Logan sat down again; Pete remained standing and Logan stared at his back. The boy was not as innocent as he looked, quite the contrary, Logan suspected. Blue Eyes had probably done hideous things, things he didn't like, because a Marshal had commanded them. 'You've done bad things too, son,' Logan said a bit more mockingly than he had intended to.

Pete turned around. 'You have no idea,' he said and sat down. 'The point is that Grace or any other Marshal has to remain compassionate. The power and force they wield in this Verse is unimaginable. They just cannot be allowed to misuse it, but since they are who they are they cannot be simply be forced into following some arbitrary rules. The rules has to be instilled into them. Their capabilities have to have absolute boundaries and that's where the Code of Conduct comes in. Every marshal-to-be goes through a training regime that last a century. Only a handful of each lot survives. Literally a hand full. Grace once told me that there where 257 disciples who entered the training with her. Only seven made it.'

'What happened to others?'

'She didn't say. There are rumours but nobody outside knows for sure what happens during the training. I think most simply didn't survive.' Pete sighed. 'Anyway, she has to remain compassionate. You don't want to know what a rogue Marshal without any ethical hinderances can accomplish.'

Logan suspected that there had been cases like that. He knew how absurdly loose his limits where when it came to violence. He had an idea what an army of Soldiers like himself would be capable of. 'I don't need to guess.'

'I suppose you don't.'

'So in essence you do their dirty work for them.'

'You could say so, but it stains us. Despite all the breeding and training I'm still a human being. Barely, maybe, but still. Things I have done have left their mark on me. One day it'll be too much dirt and blood on me. That's when she'll come in.'

Coup de grâce. 'It that why you call he Grace?'

Pete chuckled. 'No, it's just a name but it's fitting. There's no denying that.'

Logan understood the point; he had already, even if unknowingly, requested that from her. 'Right, I get that. I still don't get how she can't take my life as a payment.'

'Your life is yours to give but not hers to take. If she kills you for her own personal reasons she does it without compassion. There can be no exceptions.'

'And if she'd do it anyhow?' Pete didn't answer. That serious? Logan thought. 'I guess I need to find another way to settle the score.'

'Yeah, you do,' Pete said and stood up. He straightened the hem of his pale blue button-up shirt. 'Make sure you do.'

'Or else?' Logan asked with sneer.

'She's been a Marshal for much longer than you can imagine. There are limits to her endurance too.' Pete looked down at Logan and straight into his eyes. Logan met his stare eye to eye. 'Don't pile any more shit on her. You've done enough harm.' Pete said quietly. 'Think about what she means to you and act accordingly. She might not touch you. I wouldn't mind.'

Logan blinked and Pete straightened into his full length. Logan thought Pete might have something more to say, some more threats to make, but Pete simply walked away. Logan stared after him with a frown on his face. This is bullshit. 'Act accordingly?' He leaned back against the bench's backrest and stretched his feet out again. Logan closed his eyes defiantly. Why the hell did I say no to her back at her cabin?

I would have saved her from so much pain if had had the balls to die right there and then

The next chapter will take place after the first movie so go ahead and watch it! :D