The Scars Below
Author's notes: First of all, I want to apologize for anyone that lives in New York or New Jersey, which will be the main setting for this story. I didn't feel like doing a lot of research, and I've never actually been to the Northeastern United States, so a bit of forgiveness if my mapping is a tad off. I mostly searched around for other tourist's stories and tried to form a map of the areas in my head…anyone who's lived in or read about or traveled to New York or New Jersey should probably understand my dilemma of figuring out exactly how the hell I was going to pull off the setting to my story. Of course, the headquarters of the X-Men is set in New York, so I was pretty much screwed if I wanted any interaction whatsoever from other X-Men or Professor Xavier as I went along. Also, I tried my best to leave out any particular mention as to a time frame this story was set in through the course of the Marvel Universe. The only real factors to judge time are the fact that Jubilee is in the story, and Kitty Pride is mentioned as having been trained as a ninja by Wolverine. Other than these two factors, there shouldn't be a definitive reference to any particular point when this story would intersect with the Marvel world. Marvel Comics, the characters Wolverine and any other character involved with X-Men are property of Stan Lee or whoever Stan Lee sold these original ideas to. This story is simply a display of my appreciation and admiration for the characters Stan Lee and his very talented staff at Marvel have developed.
It ain't easy… A lot o' my close friends think that it is…you know…bein me. Never gettin' sick…not really ever gettin' old…not feelin' my skin tighten with the cold…you know when your hands start gettin' stiff an' yer feet start goin' numb…feels like the cold is burnin' right down to yer bones…right through yer heart. Sure, I've felt it before…but only when my body ain't healin' right…which is rare. Thing is…even though I heal real fast…and never get tired…I still feel pain. Just like any other person, I feel pain. Been through some bad ones…real bad ones…I don't have any scars on the surface…none that can be seen cept' by a choice few who've been in my head. They're there, though...deep ones…some that even I haven't healed from yet.
Chapter 1: The Boogeyman
New York. Hearing the name makes people think of buildings reaching for the sky, a symbol of freedom from tyranny and religious persecution, The Holland Tunnel, Brooklyn Bridge…fascinating. Only those who lived the streets…who traveled the back alleys of the Big Apple and lived and breathed within its walls know that this glass, steel, and stone glamour has a dark side…a very dark side.
One such man stood against the wall of a building on the corner of Pitkin and Euclid, his legs and feet, clothed in torn jeans and battered boots, crossed in front of him. His face was shaded under the brim of a dusty, travel-stained hat, and the collar of his denim jacket was pulled high, as if he felt the chill of a wind no other man could feel. From beneath his hat and collar, a couple sprigs of dark hair had escaped and lounged in the breeze. The blue smoke of a stale cigar drifted from him, carrying a dusty sweet scent deeper into the buildings that sprawled around him. He looked up briefly, as a man walked out of a nearby building, wearing a long green trench coat. As the man in the green coat began to saunter west down Pitkin, the man in the denim jacket seemed to give the air a sniff, put his hands in the pockets of his coat, and began following. The people who passed by seemed to pay the two no mind, as in this world it was best not to notice…not to get involved. Mystery wasn't a type of novel or television show…it was life.
The man in the green trench coat was Sable Mueller. Mueller was a transient…having been in his apartment on Pitkin for only around two months. He wasn't any ordinary visitor to Brooklyn, however…Mueller, like the city, had secrets of his own. Although some would speak of The Boogeyman, who preyed upon children who didn't go to sleep when their parents told them to, and the city would reveal the bodies of these victims, Mueller wasn't sharing his secret…that he was one of this city's deepest and darkest. He would show his crooked teeth occasionally in more of a snarl than a smile when remembering his victims…remembering their skin tearing between his hands…their screams… What would give a normal man nightmares were Mueller's lullabies. The screams of the tortured and frightened were his mantra. No…Mueller was definitely no ordinary visitor…he was a hunter…and the game here was very good.
Mueller made his way down Pitkin, walking beneath the highway and up to the Brooklyn Children's Museum. Here he stopped, reaching out and feeling for it…the telltale signs of someone calling to him…asking for his touch. He searched for a minute or two…and then he found it. It was a tremor in the air…the cold wetness of fear, the hot sizzle of anger. Mueller felt his heart racing and his adrenaline surging at the thought of the coming chase. The target of his search then came into view: A little girl had walked out of the museum, crying and looking around frantically. Mueller walked up to her, and kneeled down. He could smell her blood…taste her fear…he was so caught up in his swirl of emotions that he almost devoured her on the spot.
"Little girl…is something wrong?" His voice was a rumble…course and dry, as if he had been thirsting for days.
Her tiny black shoes with shiny buckles and white knee-highs, red dress with white belt and matching gloves, brown hair and hazel eyes…she was a vision of sweet innocence. She hesitated for only a moment then looked back to the man in front of her.
"My mommy…I can't find her…I think she left me." Sobs and hiccupping tears followed.
"There, there…come now, come with me and we'll find her." Mueller lowered his hand to take the little girl's, and they walked together back toward Pitkin Avenue. As the odd couple rounded into an alley, Mueller reached down, and touched the little girl's cheek. The little girl hissed with a sharp intake of breath, and then went rigid. The man known as Mueller started to smile then furrowed his brow and turned his head, just in time to see a figure hurtling towards him with outstretched hands. There hadn't been a sound…but Mueller had felt a wave of anger and hatred so intense that it had broken his contact with the girl's mind. For the first time in his adult life, Mueller went still with fright.
The figure coming towards the would-be killer flashed a wicked smile, as if he could sense his prey's fear.
Logan, the X-Man known as Wolverine, was no stranger to evil. He had done battle with the worst of villains…some of the worst dregs of society, man and mutant kind. When Logan had bent over the body of Chelsea Ling a month ago, his keen smell had picked up the smell of fear…and evil. Never had someone been as afraid as 8 year old Chelsea had been…and never had there been a man as evil as the one who'd murdered her. So vile had the crime been, Logan had been almost unable to pick up any other scents to help him find the killer. For a month now, Logan had been searching. Following the same leads as the police, asking the same questions of the same people, he had been more thorough in his investigation…and intimidation. Logan had always been of the opinion that there was no living person whom he couldn't get to talk…you just had to know how to get through to them. One of his first interrogations had given up the name of Sable Mueller…and Logan had hunted until he found him.
Mueller was a wanderer, never sticking to one place for too long, and from Jersey, where he'd killed Chelsea, the X-Man had tracked him here. Within seconds of being downwind from Mueller, Logan had known that he was the man he'd been searching for. The moment Logan had been waiting for had presented itself when Mueller had chosen little Katie Lambert as his next victim.
Mueller was slammed against the brick wall of the alley where he'd taken little Katie, his air cut off as a hand stronger than any he'd known squeezed his windpipe shut. Mueller looked into the eyes of his attacker, and realized that they were the eyes of an animal, rabid…feral…fearless.
A scream filled the alleyway, and both men looked. The little girl had regained the use of her legs, and had fled the alley screaming.
Sable Mueller had other secrets than just being a murderer…he was also a mutant. With but a touch, Mueller could poison a person, causing their worst nightmares to come to life within their own mind. It was fear and other negative emotions that sustained him…gave him more power and kept him alive. Mueller used his powers then, on the man…or animal…attacking him. His assailant responded with a howl, a guttural, primordial scream that was rage instead of fear. Mueller pulled two knives from the sides of his belt. With one, he eviscerated the arm holding him to the wall, and with the other, slashed the throat of his assailant. A few twists and turns landed three more stabs into his opponent and then the killer was on his feet and running from the alley, coughing to catch his stolen breath.
Logan's world filled with images from his past, his enemies swarmed around him. In rage, he began fighting. Lady Deathstrike was the first to land a blow, one that dropped his arm to his side. Before his healing factor could mend his arm, Sabertooth tore at his throat. Omega Red pierced his stomach, Magneto drove steel through his side, and Kitty Pride slipped a sword through his ribs. The X-Man known as Wolverine dropped to the ground…unable to continue fighting…looking to his prize student…the girl he'd taught to be a Ninja…the girl he'd loved as a daughter, as she laughed alongside his enemies. Everything went black…and Logan faded into a world of nightmares.