Chapter VII
Wolverine
Unlike Fury's field agents, who had actually fallen for the false trail Laura had laid out for them and were off on a wild goose chase towards Peconic Bay, Logan actually managed to follow her to her actual destination; New York City. He had managed to do this not just because of his heightened senses, but also because, unlike the SHIELD people, he, to some extend knew how the Kid worked. In fact it was almost uncanny how much her tactic to escape, laying false trails, going into the most unexpected direction and all that, were [ identical to the way he had made his run from SHIELD way back when. He wondered what caused this similarity in behavior; was it the similar training Weapon X and Hydra had put them through? Was it genetics, inheritance of brain chemistry, instincts and all that? Or had she just read about his escape in some SHIELD file?
Logan kind of liked the theory that the Kid had somehow inherited his skills in stealth and escaping. He had always preferred Jean-Baptiste Lamarck to Charles David; the idea that improving yourself also benefited your prodigy and that humanity was the product of a long, shared effort of which mutants were the latest fruit instead of just a cosmic plaything of random mutation. It just sounded so much nicer and more hopeful and fit so much better with his personal philosophies, so of course it was probably bullshit.
He stopped in front of an alleyway and glanced briefly to his left and right. The street was virtually empty, just another patch of abandoned industrial growth in Brooklyn, a victim of recent geo-political and economical developments. Good. Logan did not want anybody to see him and maybe follow him, the less people that were dragged into this, the better. Digging his fists into the pockets of his jacket Logan made a low growl and dove into the alley.
In movies and TV, alleyways were sometimes portrayed as ominous, mythical places, the dragon's lair of the modern urban landscape were it was always night, with steam rising from the holes of a manhole cover. It was the escape route for the urchin hero fleeing unjust persuasion by the police, the meeting place of gangs for councils of war, the abode of the modern day Juliet looking out for her lover from atop a fire escape. Logan chuckled at that; most of the time reality was less exciting, less romantic in a way. Sure, some trappings of the fantasy were present in the alley Logan traversed; the graffiti on the walls, the crumbling brick façade of the building to his left, the steel ladder that led up to the roof of the abandoned warehouse to his right, promising freedom and release from the narrow streets below. However beyond that there was nothing special about the place; a grey basin of cracked concrete, filled with waste and trash and with the smell to match. It wasn't even shady at the moment, the sun beat straight into it and had done so for the entire day, painting cracks into the concrete and boiling the garbage in its bags.
And then there was the stuff urban romantics often tended to gloss over; in the shadow of a garbage container Logan saw the figure of a young man, still a boy even, sleeping or passed out, a gangly grey cat perching on his chest. The markings of his lifestyle were obvious; sunken cheeks, stringy hair, spindly arms full of needle marks. Lamarck better be right with his theory of inheritable skills, Laura would need it to survive the city. On a different day, Logan might have attempted to beat some sense into the junkie, futile as it would have been, but today he had to look out for his own first.
His own? Was that what he was doing, looking out for his own? Did that include walking out on what amounted to his adopted family to go after just one person? He wasn't proud about doing that, who knew what trouble his actions would get Chuck and the X-Men into? Was a bogus attempt to help Laura escaping SHIELD worth risking the freedom of Rogue, Kitty, Kurt and all the others? Even if he found her in time, what would he do then? He couldn't go back to Xavier's with her and he couldn't keep her hidden from SHIELD forever. Heck, truth be told, he wouldn't be able to save himself from SHIELD if they decided they wanted him back. And suppose they could evade SHIELD, perhaps by escaping down to South America or Japan or wherever, what then? Living in the wilderness as animals? Selling their skills as bounty hunters? Was that a good life, a good future for a child? So, if he couldn't guaranty any improvement, with what right did he risk bringing SHIELD's vengeance on himself and the X-Men? With what right did he even choose the Kid's life over the junkie back at the garbage container?
He sighed deeply as he looked up at the half collapsed factory that was his destination. It was easy to answer why; he cared for the kids at Xavier's, but unlike them Laura was his, a part of him, made from his genes, the closest he would ever had to a child, or any actual family for that matter. She was worth risking and losing his soul for. Thankfully that wouldn't be necessary today. His opponent was not the devil, no, but someone much more vulgar and much more familiar to him.
"You'd better not have touched a single hair on her head, Creed!" He extended his claws, kicked the door open and rolled into the factories entrance hall. Back on his feet Wolverine hastily looked around him, but, apart from his scent, there was no trace of Sabretooth in the reception hall and the wide, empty corridor extending from it.
"Why you're hiding, bub? Afraid to face me?" growled Wolverine as he walked down the hallway. "I got your sick little message!" he pulled the piece of human skin Sabretooth had left in his path, "And once I find out what you did to the poor sod you peeled it off, you'll be lucky if all I do is skinning you!" He added mentally. "I followed your tracks to this place! I'm here! So where's the Kid?"
He sliced the door to the main production hall open and stepped through it. "Show your ugly mug, bub, or I swear I'll…. GOD!"
The picture that offered itself to Wolverine's eyes in the production hall was one of horror and perversion; the floor of the hall, the walls, the conveyor belts; all was painted in chaotic swirls of blood, some of it fresh, some of it already drying, all of it human and all from the same person judging by the scent. On the windows, high above, close to the ceiling, Sabretooth had even splattered so much of it that it darkened the light falling into the room, except for one single, concentrated beam of light that fell directly on the industrial exhaust vault on the opposite side of the room. There it bathed the centre-piece of the artwork in a halo of almost heavenly light; the body of a young woman, naked, cut open and half-flayed, suspended in mid air by metal chains that connected her raw limbs to the ceiling. Now Wolverine thought he had a good idea who the skin Sabretooth had written his invitation on belong to and - By the stinking devil! That woman was moving, straining against her bonds! She was still alive!
Wolverine had known Victor Creed, Sabretooth, as long as he could remember back, longer probably, given his sketchy memory, and he had seen the aftermath of enough of his rampages. What made the current different was that usually Creed was all about shredding people into bloody bits as fast as he could and then running off after the next victim. It wasn't a pleasant way to die and something very few, if any, of Sabretooth's victims deserved, but at least it was fast. With this however, Sabretooth had taken his time, and probably enjoyed every single moment of agony he had wrung from his victim too. This was cold blooded torture, he would have never thought that Creed would sink that low!
"Ms.?" he addressed the woman. She only stirred in answer. "Ms. You are save now, I'm getting you outta here!" He raised his claw to slice through the first of the chains.
"No!" the woman's voice was surprisingly strong and clear, but she was clearly in shock. "No! Get out of here!"
Wolverine severed the first chain, catching the falling woman and supporting her side with one arm, while raising his free one to sever the next fetter, "Don't worry, it will only take a moment and then I'll get you to a hospital." He picked he helped her to the ground, hoping that a moment of rest would help her regain her senses.
Her open wounds smudged the grey of the concrete floor with red, for a moment she just crouched there, trembling.
Wolverine took off his jacket, "Put that on!"
She looked up to him, her eyes were hidden behind matted strands of blond hair, but they positively burned.
"You don't understand, Wolverine! This is a trap, Sabretooth is after you. You and the girl."
Wolverine cursed. "You're from SHIELD!"
"Get out of here! Leave before he comes back!"
"Too late!" the voice came from straight behind Wolverine's right ear. Sabretooth pounced at him just like his prehistoric namesake would at a prey animal. But Wolverine was not a prey animal, he was a fighter himself! Letting his instincts take over he turned towards Sabretooth and slashed at him. Two growls of pain echoed through the empty hall. Wolverine could feel as the right side of his face started to sting and swell. If he wasn't mistaken, he had gotten Creed up the left arm; neither strike was deadly. He spun around to where Sabretooth had dove into a thicket of sliced-up conveyor belts, he was nowhere to be found.
"Get out of your hiding place and fight me like a man, you scum!" Wolverine bellowed into the room. Normally he would just fight Sabretooth off and then get the wounded agent to a hospital, this time however, Wolverine actually felt like finishing his private war with Sabretooh, once and for all.
He felt someone tugging his foot. He whirled around, it was the SHIELD agent.
"Don't fight him!" she half begged, half commanded, "he took my…"
Wolverine would not find out what Sabretooth had taken from the agent, as she had, unwilling, but effectively, provided a good distraction for Sabretooth's next attack on Wolverine who jumped his rival from behind this time.
Wolverine rolled into a ball, attempting to throw off his opponent. For a few agonizing moments the world was nothing but pain and rage and adrenalin as silver adamantium and dirty black keratin likewise sliced through cloth and skin, fists and boots smashed bones and canine teeth tore on exposed muscle. All the while Wolverine could not help but think that, compared to their usual fighting, Creed seemed like he was holding back, like if this time he wasn't out for the kill. But, that was probably just the extra shot of adrenaline Wolverine's rage pumped into his system speaking.
Finally Sabretooth broke the brawl by gripping hold of Wolverine's arms and hauling the smaller mutant several feet through the hall. The impact pressed all the air from Wolverine's lungs, but he made a good effort to get up again as quickly as he could.
A good effort….but not good enough, as Sabretooth was already above him and jammed something into Wolverine's arm.
At first Wolverine was not planning to pay any heed to whatever Sabretooth had stabbed him with until after the fight was over as he used his legs to kick Sabretooth away and rolled back on his feet, only to collapse again as quickly as he got up. An unusual daze clouded Wolverine's mind, and the area where Sabretooth had stabbed him! It must have been something containing poison for Wolverine could literally feel as something incredibly foul and unnatural entered his veins and flooded his whole body. He looked at the half-empty tranquilizer dart in his biceps, it dripped with a fluorescent-green liquid. He didn't understand, what was that stuff? Shouldn't his healing factor have taken care of it by now? His vision went blurry. The lights in his mind slowly went out, one by one. He could hear Sabretooth laughing, it sounded hollow, echoing, as if from somewhere far away.
"A power inhibition serum, runt," Creed sneered, "just one of the weapons your human allies never cared to tell you about."
The world went dark.
