Creed listened to the roar of the chopper as they began their descent over the arctic islands. He was absentmindedly chewing on his left thumb nail—gnawing at the flesh still speckled brown with blood. As he inhaled he could still smell the scent of the young mutant on his hide. He could smell the still fresh tang of coppery blood—but less present he could smell the bitter overtones of cigarette smoke, the hint of pungent whiskey, the faint smell of leather. He sighed and leaned back in his seat. The kid was bound up somewhere behind him. After the kid had lost consciousness, they had pumped him full of enough Ketamine to keep him out for the day and a good portion of the evening. He was in for an exciting time of it, Creed thought viciously. Not for the first time, Victor found himself thankful to be on Essex's 'good' side. He got to hunt, and he wasn't subjected to the dozens of mutant experiments Essex was conducting in his underground suffering cells. He also had the added privilege of tormenting the new meat. Essex was busy enough keeping Xavier's 'X-Men' off their tails while conducting his research that he had no time to follow Creed around for a quick slap on the wrist. Creed messed around on the side and indulged in some of his baser instincts and Essex turned a blind eye. This kid though—this Remy—was going to be a fun one to crack. He had this certain look, this swagger that reminded Creed of someone else he wanted to sink his claws into—a certain brother from a past life. It wouldn't take long before he had the young mutant following him around like an obedient little hound. It wouldn't take long until he had his ticket back into Logan's world.
Remy began the slow float back to consciousness with a steady buzzing in his ears. His awareness flitted around his cavernous being like a lurid butterfly—he kept trying to pin it down and focus. The butterfly found the situation amusing and giggled, pointing an accusing finger at Remy's face. The rational portion that was locked away in a corner of his mind was screaming in a panic. Something was horribly wrong. He was swimming through muck, trying desperately to surface—each bob up brought him closer to horrible pain and he would dive back down again reaching frantically for the butterfly. The buzzing grew louder around him and with a final pop he burst through to lucidity. He moaned and cracked his eyes open. He could feel a heavy pressure, as though all of his limbs were trapped under the weight of a building. He tried to blink away the fog and it took all of his concentration to move his eyelids the slightest bit. Through even the haze of drugs the hurt in his right arm was enough to take his breath away. He was being dragged unceremoniously down a narrow hallway cut into stone. Cold permeated the space around him—he could feel the heavy frost in the air and he shivered. He hated the cold. He hated cold…
One of the large men dragging him by the left arm gave a glance backwards and murmured to a companion.
"Kid's waking up. I thought you dosed him."
"I gave him 100mgs of Ketamine. Should have been enough to keep him out another hour. Fool must still have some fight left in him"
Remy wanted to laugh aloud. Right now he didn't know if he could even get to his feet on his own let alone fight. He had no idea where in the world he was, his mind and body were moving through a thick mush of drug induced haze, his kinetic abilities were stalled, breathing was still difficult from the earlier beating he had taken, and his right forearm was almost certainly fractured in multiple places. He was going to bow his head, acquiesce to any requests, do his best to be agreeable, and bide his time until another option presented itself.
The men dragging him stopped at a door in the stone wall. They entered some pass code into the surface, and then waited as it slowly opened. Remy let them push him into the interior chamber and gathered his breath as they hauled him standing up to his feet. He was watching the floor, still feeling very lightheaded, when a voice he identified as Essex began to speak.
"Well Hello Mr. Lebeau. I am so thrilled you have found your way to our underground movement. We are quite happy to have you as part of the team."
Remy grunted in response and eyed the older man warily. At 5 foot 10 Essex was only slightly taller than the teen, but he had an air of raw power emanating from his being. He wore a very clean white lab coat and sterile gloves. Behind him there sat a wide array of what looked like medical equipment. In the corner, a comprehensive laboratory was set up and colored fluids bubbled and frothed lending themselves to the 'mad scientist' feel of the place. Directly to his right, there was a hospital cot set up complete with thick leather restraints for the neck, waist, wrists, and ankles. Remy suddenly wasn't so sure if his agreeable stance was his best plan for escape. All he knew was that he as far from those fetters as humanly possible, wanted nothing to do with being chained helplessly to the bed while this madman performed whatever experiments he wanted on the young mutants flesh. He tried to back up on his trembling legs, but smacked right in to one of the large men who had pulled him into the chamber. Immediately, he and another crony grabbed Remy by his legs and arms and heaved him up onto the narrow cot. Despite the pain in his arm, Remy started to buck and thrash wildly. His heart rate quickly elevated and he sucked in air in a complete panic. He managed to snap his head back into the nose of the first man and felt the hands on his feet loosen momentarily. He dropped to his knees but before he could get to his feet and run he was viciously backhanded across his cheek. His face immediately started to swell and he choked up a mouthful of blood as both men regained control and quickly snapped him into place on the cot. The fight was over before it had even begun. Each of the six restraints were buckled tightly so he found himself spread eagled on the bed, his arms and legs pulled tightly and his swollen right arm being mercilessly held hostage—bones rubbing excruciatingly.
Remy squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tried to slow down his panicked breathing. He was caught and bound again and his brain was being flooded with memories from his childhood. He could only think of the dark, of the handcuffs, of the dark, of the terror, of the dark…
"…clean you up, inspect your damage, then start your charts and get you off to your new quarters…"
Essex's droning voice cut into the darkness, releasing Remy from the sudden onslaught of his memories. He cracked open his eyes to see Essex standing over him with a clipboard and a nurse who had appeared holding a small pair of shears. At a nod from Essex, she bent over and began slicing away the remains of Remy's flannel and denim and pulling the torn clothing from his weakened frame. He shivered in the frigid air of the lab and felt goose bumps shiver up all over his body. He tried to pull away from her sterile touch but the bonds held him in place so he looked helplessly on as she began to run gloved hands over his naked form and speak:
"Numerous contusions to the abdomen. Cracked ribs. Deep cuts on right forearm but no significant blood loss. Severe swelling of right arm most likely due to fracture of the ulna. Possible concussion."
Remy listened to her rattle off his injuries in a half daze. He wanted more than anything to be back in Omaha in his warm bed curled up in his sheets smelling of stale cigarettes and spiced orange aftershave. He longed for his crummy apartment, a swig of hot whiskey, the caress and embrace of a body next to his own. He focused on all these things and barely felt the pinch of the needle in his neck. He let the muzzy warm sensation of the new drug float its way through his veins and the room grew dimmer and dimmer to his closing eyes.