"You're certain he'll take the bait?"

"What the hell did I just say, Trask?"

"Look, this absolutely cannot go wrong. And let's be honest, your track record isn't exactly spotless when it comes to Wolverine." I growl, but he keeps yappin'. "Well, it isn't. If this doesn't go perfect, it's my ass on the line with the higher-up's, okay?"

"I know the man better'n anybody on this planet. I can lure him into any trap, and trust me, this is one he'll walk into willingly."

"Yes, but—"

"Shut up, Trask!" Finally, there's silence on the other end of the line. "Look, he thinks I'm taking his goddaughter to The Mesa. The name's Rachel. He'd die for that kid if he could. When he gets there and asks where the hell I am, you just tell him that I'm off pissin' in the woods or somethin', and that you've got Rachel in a cell. He'll do whatever you want 'til he realizes the girl ain't there."

After a short pause, Trask says, "Alright, Creed. Well done. The money will be wired to your account momentarily. Would you like me to hold while you check your balance?"

"I got better things to do with my time. Besides, you're too smart to try shortin' a man like me, ain't you?"

"No, Creed, we're not in the business of pissing off our contractors." He chuckles nervous-like. "We'll be calling you again before too l—" I hang up before the conversation turns cheesy, and fall back on the bed. Shit. Should'nt'a done that.

My body still ain't completely recovered from bleeding out last week, and for a moment, I'm tempted to just let myself fall asleep. The mattress conforms around my achin' back. The sheets are softer'n a teenager's breast. And with that thought, my jeans get real tight. Dammit, I planned to have tasted a woman by now! But draggin' a child half-way around the country definitely has its draw-backs. Guess I know now why I never take hostages. God, if I could only jack off...My head aches. I've had a killer migraine for days, and it's not gonna back off now.

I pull my ass up, brush my teeth (tryin' to wash out the thirst for blood), shower, dress, and head downstairs to the kitchen. I empty and wash out the blue ice cooler. Then dump it out on the back patio upside down so it can drain and dry. Thinkin' the girl's probably parched, I grab one of the remaining four water bottles on my way to the interrogation room. From some corner of my mind, I remember that I've only got meat in the freezer and beers in the frig. I'll have to make a grocery trip soon. Fuck. I hate goin' into town.

The moment I unlock and open the door, I'm met with a hurricane-force wind. There's no sound, but it's like being run over by a train. My body slams into the drywall behind me. Two thin legs jump over my shoulder, run down the hallway, and round the corner.

The little fucker's a telekinetic? Sure, Jean's got TK and it ain't like I'm surprised she inherited her mom's powers, but she's just a kid. The X Gene don't kick in 'til you hit puberty. Suddenly, the migraine that's been diggin' at the back of my skull all week makes far too much sense. She's been pokin' 'round in my head. Nothing pisses me off more than a telepath stickin' their nose where it don't fucking belong! I roar in fury and instincts take over.

Before I even realize that I'm runnin', I've got her cornered. The little thing puts up a small fight, but she's scared outta her wits and the attempt is pathetic. I backhand her as hard as I possibly can. I vice-grip her throat. I drag her, gasping and kicking, into the nearest bathroom. I throw her bodily into the tub. I turn on the cold water and spray her in the face. She squirms and tries to sit up. I shove her back down hard. I put my fingers 'round her neck again, pinning her against the edge of the tub, with her head far back, and put the showerhead just inches from her face. She twists and turns her neck, tryin' to escape the waterfall. But the waves keep comin' and eventually I can hear her coughing. That's when I throw the showerhead aside and pull her up to my face.

"YOU'RE FUCKING PSYCHIC?!" I shout into her face.

She chokes and sputters. "N-no!"

I spray her in the face again. I pull the water away so that she can hear me, scream "DON'T LIE TO ME!" and replace the showerhead. I wait 'til she chokes again before I pull her back up by the hair. Her gag reflex kicks in, and she starts coughing up water on my chest. As I watch her retch, my face burns with anger, my pulse bangs through my veins, and my arms and legs are shakin'. I wait until the heaving stops.

"Okay!" she yells in the middle of a gasp. "Okay, I'm psychic. I-I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"You're sorry!" I laugh harshly. "No, bitch. You ain't sorry yet. But you will be." With her hair still clenched in my fist, I slam her head into the bottom of the tub. She cries out in pain. I lift and slam her skull down again. She sobs. I pummel her against the ceramic one last time, and hear somethin' crack. Her limbs go limp. I close the drain so that the showerhead begins slowly filling the tub. When the water reaches her nose, I leave the bathroom, still fumin'.

Back in the kitchen, I start pacin'. Then, I place my hands on the counter and roar 'til my ears ring. I drop my head between my shoulder blades and breathe deep, tryin' to calm down. My mind races. What has she seen? My mind is filled with the image of a club coming at my face. I beat the picture away. Not now. What does she know? His terrible eyes glare at me through the fog of memory. Stop it! I hate telepaths! I hate them! I HATE THEM!

I breathe again, and soon my vision clears so that my boots come into sharp focus. Then I remember what I just did. Shit. She's no good to me dead.

I race back into the bathroom, slap the faucet off, and pick the girl up in my arms. She's out cold and her entire body's still limp and heavy. I drop her on the tile floor and start CPR. Amazingly, I only have to force breath down her esophagus one time. Her lungs inhale, her back arches, and she coughs up great heapin' pools of water. Instinctively, her body curls up into the fetal position, and she slumps against my shoulder. She gasps heavily for a moment. I whisper into her ear.

"You stay the fuck out of my head.," I tell her as evenly as I can manage. "If I so much as feel a tickle on the back of my neck again, I will kill you. Do I make myself clear?"

Once I've got her locked back in the room, I go back to pacin' in the kitchen. I did not plan on her being psychic. That changes everything. Telepaths are far more dangerous than any other mutant. And it's almost no use tryin' to keep them prisoner. Where any other mutant can be overpowered, a strong telepath can make you think you're overpowering them, when they're really walkin' out the front door. By the time you realize what's happened, they're long gone and you've lost their scent.

But I've been dragging her 'round in a big rig for a little over a week. If she could read my mind and hit me with TK, why did she wait 'til we were thousands of miles from home? I remember her blastin' me. It was a huge wall of TK, no doubt about that, but it didn't even knock me out for a moment. If she'd focused all that power into a smaller, more compact bolt, she could've dealt a fatal blow. (Well, fatal to most folks, anyway.)

So she's plenty powerful, but she doesn't have a clue how to use it. And she probably don't realize near how much power she has. Clearly, she's never been trained in combat. Why would she'a been? She's just a kid, I remind myself. Well, that does give me the advantage. Like everything else, controlling a prisoner's all mental. I should know; I've lost decades of my life in cages.

So what's the trick? You gotta break their spirit. You starve them. You deprave them of sleep. After a while, they start to lose their grip on reality. Then, you make them submit to you physically every single day. After walkin' through the routine a hundred times, they start to submit to you mentally as well. Next, you use positive reinforcement with the smallest things. If they want food, they have to submit. If they want their hands free, they have to submit. If they want a bathroom, they have to submit. Eventually, they feel gratitude toward you for even the tiniest bit of mercy. That's when the line between oppressor and savior gets real thin. Once you've got 'em eating out of your hand, they'll be loyal to you as a Labrador. Everyone knows that the younger your captive, the faster this transformation takes place.

Well, well, well. This really does change everything. There's no doubt Wolverine'll break free of Trask's ploy. I had planned to use this girl as bait for my own trap once I got word he was back at the X-Mansion. But what if I could turn her instead? What if he comes to rescue her, and when he reaches out his hand to take her home, she turns away and runs into my arms? I can just imagine his face.

Back at the interrogation room now, I open the door slowly and a long string of light falls on her. She's curled into the far corner of the room, her legs pulled tight against her chest, and a puddle of water's growin' under the drenched jeans. Long red curls cover her face, and she almost looks like some kind of wild animal. This is gonna be fun.