AN: So it's been years since I've updated this. I know it's kind of random for me to suddenly add a chapter now, but someone recently left a review and I read back through my files and realize this chapter was already nearly completed, but unpublished. So I finished it up and figured I may as well post it. I'd still like to finish this story. I just sort of got to the end without really knowing exactly how I wanted to end it, which usually doesn't happen to me. My ideas are mostly all preplanned. I know basically how I want to end this story in the next chapter or so, but never really figured out the exact details on how to stitch it all into place. Plus things just got really dark for Wolverine in this chapter and I wasn't sure I wanted to go there. So…uh Warning: torture and major psychological abuse in this one.
Chapter Eleven: Pavlov's Dogs
He was back in Arkham.
Dank windowless cement, a bolted down steal cot, a straightjacket and leather straps hemmed him into a solitary, miserable little world. Antipsychotics and a god knows what other medications swirled about his head and in the distance was the rumble of construction tools.
Rat-a-thud-thud-thud. Rat-a-thud-thud-thud
The hammering drills blended with the hammering inside his head and Logan took a shuttering breath, shifting slightly in his bonds, as he fought off drug-induced oblivion. Swallowing with a dry mouth, he slammed his head against the mat of his cot a few times. "Damn him" he muttered, "Damn - God damn him to hell!"
Grunting, he pushed through a heavy haze and struggled, but it was no use. The straightjacket and leather straps were secure and the cuffs on his wrists made it impossible for him to pop his claws. Staring at the cracks on the ceiling, Logan bit down on his lip, just to feel something real through the drugs and bitterly focused his thoughts.
He'd been so close! He'd had the address. A couple more hours and he would have had Strange and Van Dyke under his claws. He would have found out the truth of how he came to Gotham and then paid them back for all the lies… all the pain…
Closing his eyes, Logan pulled in a ragged breath and bit his lip again.
The damn Batman had to get in the way again. After everything Logan had done, after all the times he'd saved the ungrateful bastard's life, Bruce Wayne had dragged him back to this miserable asylum.
"Fucking asshole!"
Logan wasn't going to forget this…
He'd woken just as the handcuffs inhibiting his claws snapped shut behind his back. Immediate instinct kicked in and he rolled, catching Bruce on the chin with his boot, but Batman had been ready. A tazor slammed into Logan's stomach, causing him to writhe with agony and then strong arms pinned him firmed to the ground.
"Give it up Wolverine."
"Bastard! I know where Strange is. They're trying to kill you, Idiot. Just let me finish him and everyone will be better off."
"I'm not letting you finish anyone. I'm taking you back to Arkham."
Logan struggled, but the tazor pressed into his neck and he stopped. "You're kidding me right? You're just going to take me back to a straightjacket and a cell? Don't you give one flying fuck about catching the real bad guys?"
"I care about saving lives. I care about stopping killers like you and Strange. Believe me when I say he will be brought to justice and so will you. In a few weeks you will be tried for all the murders you've done in my city, Logan, including the murders of Floyd Lawton and Oswald Cobblepot. You will be resentenced accordingly."
Taking out some strong cord, Batman tied Logan's ankles to keep him from kicking again and then pulled him up by his shirt.
"Oh yeah," Logan growled, "And what about you, Bub? What will happen to you if, at said trial, I tell everyone who you really are, maybe let it slip to all the other crazies in that so called "asylum" with its revolving doors?"
Bruce's face was grim as he threw his prisoner against the car and unlocked the backdoor. "I'll cross that bridge when it comes." His dark glare focused on Logan's eyes. "You said my name out loud for Penguin to hear on purpose didn't you? You hoped the fact that he knew would cause me to leave him behind."
Wolverine gave a wolfish grin, "That, or get you to kill him yourself. You were half way there by the time I found you in the ally."
With sudden aggression, Batman grabbed Logan's throat and leaned down close to his face. "I don't kill," he hissed, hot breath falling on Logan's cheeks, "But don't make the mistake of thinking that means I'm soft hearted. I'm willing to do just about anything else to protect the lives of this city, Logan, and there are plenty of fates worse than death."
Batman's dark eyes looked over Logan's blood stained and bullet riddled clothes then met his eyes again with the ice-cold intensity of an executioner's blade. "Maybe I shouldn't take you back to Arkham. I read Striker's files on you, on all the things you are able to endure. A specimen like you could lead to huge breakthroughs in the medical field. Who knows, maybe the cure to cancer, wide spread immunity to diseases that kill thousands each year."
Taking out a batarang, Bruce drew the blade carefully down Logan's cheek then watched the cut heal with compassionless interest. "If nothing else, I could harvest you each day for your organs. Your transplanted hearts, lungs, livers, skin tissue could save hundreds. In the ultimate balance of the world, what is your suffering in comparison to so many lives?"
Logan couldn't answer. The cold glare of those eyes was unanswerable and he looked away. Taking a ragged breath, he snatched at something else in the conversation, like a falling man snatching for a handhold. "St-Striker's files? Who's Striker? What files are you talking about?"
Batman stared at him a moment. "You really have no idea. You threaten me with my secrets, but know none of your own. You could tell the judge my name, but would he believe you when you can't even tell him your own, James?"
Logan took in a gasping breath, "What did you call-"
Batman broke his stare and abruptly stood up, "You're just a lost lab experiment, Wolverine. Keep my secrets and maybe one day I'll visit you in Arkham and tell you yours."
Coolly turning away, Bruce opened the door of the batmobile.
Rage flushed Logan's face and he lunged up, popping his claws, despite the cuffs. At once electricity triggered and flew through his skeleton, straight to his brain and heart. He collapsed into blackness.
Logan said no more to Batman, not when he woke in the back of the car, not when Batman dragged him through the rain, past the new construction and through Arkham's backdoor. He'd been beaten and now he was here…
Rat-a-Thud-thud-thud!
The sound of the hammer pressed against Logan's thoughts and he swallowed, wondering if they were ever going to bring him water, or just leave him here, tied to this cot, wasting away forever.
How long had it been? There was no way to tell time in the bare little cell, lit by the incessant fluorescents. His mind was amuck with drugs and the only sign of a world beyond were distance thuds of construction. How often had the noises come and gone? Logan couldn't remember and his head lulled to one side, listening and listening.
It may have been hours later, or it could have been over a day, but there was a booming clack and Logan started as people walked into his cell.
"-all for the best I suppose," someone was saying, "God knows I have enough murdering lunatics on my hands as it is."
Shaking sleep from his eyes, Logan looked up to see Doctor Cidelle, the head doctor of Arkham, staring down at him.
"Mr. Logan?" Cidelle asked, leaning over slightly, "Wake up, Mr Logan, there's a nice man here to see you."
Blinking, Logan recognized the scent as soon as he noticed the other person standing behind Cidelle. It was Doctor Kurt Van Dyke. Panic struck like lightning through Logan's haze and he jerked violently against the leather straps, as he tried to sit up.
"No! I'll kill him!"
"Whoa! Calm down now!" Cidelle tried to force Logan back on his back. "It's for the best, Logan. There's no room for a high security patient while the asylum's being rebuilt. Dr Van Dyke has a better facility and can give you the right treatments."
"Liar! Bastards!" screamed Logan, kicking against the straps on his ankles, "How much did they bribe you this time Cidelle!? You have any idea what's-"
"You will have to sedate him – heavily," Van Dyke said in his deep voice, "Here. I'll help you hold him still."
Van Dyke pressed down on Logan's shoulders, smirking in his face, as Cidelle took out a couple of syringes. The dark brown eyes behind Van Dyke's glasses were filled with malicious satisfaction, as Logan screamed with frustration and rage.
"It's good to see you again too, Old Friend," Van Dyke said, and then Cidelle pressed first one and then another needle into Logan's neck, injecting enough drugs to knock out a horse.
Bruce hated it when he was injured. He could deal with the pain, but he hated being slowed down, and weakened. Batman couldn't inspire much fear with his arm in a sling, his leg in a splint and leaning on a crutch. After sustaining three gunshot wounds and a lot of blood loss at the battle in the Iceberg Lounge, Alfred had managed to keep him from going out for a couple nights. Sitting in bed, listening to the news, unable to do more than some research and analyze down in the cave, Bruce found himself envious of Logan's powers of regeneration. All the pain would be worth it, if it meant he could hop out bed and be in top condition to do his job an hour later.
Logan's capture had been in the news quite a bit. The murder of Oswald Cobblepot and the wake of gory death and destruction left in the Lounge were discussed in depth, along with the mutant issue in general. Then GPD detectives uncovered proof of Copplepot's underworld activities and cracked down on the Gotham black-market. In a few days one the most powerful criminal organizations in Gotham fell apart. The head of the serpent had been cut off and the infighting that'd followed was just the last writing throws of death.
Though he was glad to see it go, Bruce was silently irked when one reporter credited The Wolverine for ending Cobblepot's reign of crime.
Glaring, Bruce found the remote and changed the channel.
"-along with the recent disappearances, Gotham residents are growing more concerned than ever before."
Bruce turned up the volume. Though many stations had been distracted by the destruction of Cobblepot's criminal organization, a few had been reporting a number of possible kidnappings and disappearance of a handful of Gotham's wealthier residence, as well as two GPD patrol officers.
"I still find it incredible that anyone would attack the Commissioner and his family at their home." Another reporter said and Bruce sat up straight, ignoring the twinge of pain this elicited from his left side.
"I know. Thank god Commissioner Gordon was able to fight them off."
"Old as he is, Jim Gordon's a tough cookie. "It a shame he wasn't able to catch and arrest the intruders."
"I don't know what I'd do if men broke into my house like that. I'm just glad no one got hurt."
Bruce let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and read the text scrolling along the bottom of the screen "Gotham Police Commissioner holds off armed home intruders."
"It's speculated that whoever they the intruders were, this break it may be connected with the supposed kidnapping and home intrusions that have happened over the past couple of days.
"It's impossible to say. So far there have been no demands for ransoms."
"One wanders if anyone is really safe in Gotham City. More on this story when we come back."
Bruce muted the TV as it changed to commercials and gritted his teeth in frustration rubbing his wounded arm still in the sling and cursing his own fragility and carelessness. His own mistakes and foolishness had led to him to being in this weakened state.
Bruce had been collecting files on the missing people, but without being able to go to the scenes of the crimes or visit Gordon for leads from the GPD, he did have much to go on. The only pattern he'd noticed was a very disturbing one.
Many of the people who had gone missing were people he knew in person, even if only in passing: two young female socialites Bruce Wayne had asked to accompany him to a handful of parties last summer, an intern employee at Wayne Tech he'd briefly mentored over the course of a few weeks a month or two ago, the two cops who'd been assigned to guard his house only days ago and now Jim Gordon and his family.
Bruce didn't know for sure if the attack on Gordon's home was by the same as those that kidnapped the other missing persons, but if they were connected that led to some interesting implications. All the other missing person cases were people connected to Bruce Wayne, but Gordon's was known for having a working relationship with Batman, not with Bruce Wayne. It was possible that he was jumping to conclusions too quickly, but his instincts told him that all this wasn't a coincidence. Someone was trying to get his attention and it was someone who knew that Bruce Wayne and Batman were the same person. That didn't leave a long list of suspects, especially when you subtracted those already in jail or Arkham.
Wounded or not, Batman couldn't stand by any longer, while his friends and associates came under attack. He was going out tonight and he knew where he was going to start looking. All year long Doctor Hugo Strange had been using others to go after him. Whatever was currently in the works of that twisted mind, Batman wasn't going to let this new plot get carried any farther.
Here were those blinding red lights, the hot ones that made it almost impossible to see through to the darkened lab beyond. And the smell. Logan hadn't remembered it before now, a particular mix of chemicals, electronic equipment, rubber gloves, blood and steel, but smells were like that, impossible to bring to mind, until you encounter them again. Then they flood forward from the back of your consciousness and brought with them a tirade other memories and feelings. This smell brought an overwhelming since of fear, helplessness and rage to Logan, so strong he was shaking and actually longing for more sedation drugs. Anything to get away from here.
Stripped, he'd been bound to a medical table. They used steel to hold him down and it was hot under the red lights, burning to the skin. Several wires and electrical nodes were glued to his shaved temple, and connected to some computer equipment behind him. He couldn't see it, but the continual beeping was another chilling reminder of a nearly forgotten past. An IV had been clamped to his arm to keep his healing factor from rejecting the needle and a table of various medical instruments was the only thing close enough to see clearly. The red light made the instruments look like they were already gleaming with his blood and Logan bit back the impulse to start screaming and raging like a mad man or a wild animal. Doubtlessly there would be plenty of time for that later. Right now he was listening.
The voices were coming from another room, which by the sound was separated from this by glass windows and located somewhere above, an observation balcony. He didn't think they knew he was awake, or maybe they didn't realize how keen his hearing really was.
"Believe me doctor, it can be done. We made a lot of progress last year and I've seen it done before and without the advanced equipment you have here." It was Van Dyke's base voice, "And you've seen how successful I've been with the others. They've all become puppets on our strings, dolls completely under our control."
"Yes, yes," came another more strained tone in an Eastern European accent, "Your conditioning has been quite impressive on the other subjects, but the other subjects can't rip us and this whole facility to shreds in mere minutes. I heard about what happened in Canada all those years ago, Kurt. The Wolverine fell totally out of control. If I'd know about that last year, I never would have agreed to your plan the first time."
Van Dyke gave a calloused chuckle. "Striker and the doctors heading that operation were fools and, as I said, the equipment they had was Stone Age compared with your inventions."
The other man, Strange (Logan was sure of it), muttered some response, but it was too quite for Logan to make out.
"Listen, I admit Wolverine didn't come through last year, but neither did your ridiculous ideas to hire the Joker, or blackmail Penguin. Wayne's on our trail, you know he's getting closer than ever. We don't have time to come up with another option."
"But you think we have time to re-condition a dangerous and unpredictable killer mutant? You're insane."
"Wolverine's conditioning is already done. You think all the work I did last year just melted away? You know the human brain better than that, Doctor. The circuitry is already there, it only needs to be reconnected and given a few good jolts and it'll all be up an running again."
There was some silence and Logan realized he'd been clinching his fists so tight the adimantium in his fingers had dug half way through the palms of his hands, causing blood to trickle down his arm and over steal of the restraints.
"Yes, well that may be so," Strange finally said, "But if you remember your little killing machine failed to beat Wayne, not only the first time but now again. You said it was the Batman who returned him to Arkham, yes? I'm sorry Kurt, but Wolverine just isn't good enough, even if you can control him. No. I'll let you keep him. I admit I find him a fascinating subject and potentially a useful weapon against regular muckity-mucks, like Cobblepot or - say a swarm of SWAT. But when it comes to Wayne, I'm already taking things in a different direction. Now Excuse me, I have things to do. Enough talk. Have fun with your little pet and try not to let him make mince meat of you."
There was the sound of doors opening and both men came downstairs. Logan heard Strange's tread fading down an adjacent corridor and Van Dyke come into the lab. He couldn't see the man clearly through the glare of lights, but could smell the sour frustration on him.
"Awake already are you? You always did shake sedatives quickly." He stepped within an arms reach and Logan snarled, jerking against the restraints.
Van Dyke glanced at some screens Logan couldn't see, "Some graphic imagery there. You really would like nothing better than to rip out my spine wouldn't you? That'll be one of the first things we correct."
Stepping past Logan and just out of sight, there was the sound of a keyboard clacking. "And look at this. You're hair is already growing back and dislodging the nodes." Standing right by Logan's head, Van Dyke leaned over him to press the wires and glue more firmly against Logan's scalp. Then lowered a large U-shaped piece of equipment. It fit round Logan's head like a set of headphones, but hovered less than half an inch from his skin. "Doctor Strange's technology for reading and recording mental activity is truly amazing. We can literarily see your thoughts as you think them! If only we'd had this all those years ago in Canada."
"You think you can just play with my thoughts like putty?" hissed Logan, not giving into the either the urge to try to snap at Van Dyke with his teeth, or beg for more explanations of their past.
"I have before," Van Dyke said with a smirk, turning back to continue working at the computer, "More than once."
"I know the truth now! I know what you're trying to do, who my real enemies are. Whatever fucking "conditioning" you try I won't fall for it."
With smug condescension, Van Dyke finished messing with the equipment and patted Logan's cheek. "And you think you didn't know all that before, Wolverine? What was it you were diagnosed with? Oh yes, that's right – amnesia! You're head has more holes than Swiss cheese. You think that happened by accident? You really think we're not capable of going in and drilling more? You won't remember anything I don't want you to. By this time tomorrow you will only be aware of the incredible pain, anguish and rage, which boils just under the shallow surface of your so called "humanity". You're a beast, Wolverine. Not only that, but a stubborn one, unstoppable once you set your will. Willing to do anything to get revenge. However, the problem with revenge is you need to know who to go after and that's where I come it. By the time I'm finish, you will believe absolutely whatever I want you to believe. Then I just sit back and let your nature do the rest. You're a killer." Van Dyke smiled, "That's not something anyone can program or condition into you. All we've ever had to do is peal away the surface, stir that rage up and point you in a direction."
"Fucking Bastard!" Logan screamed and strained against the bonds, "I won't- Aghahhhhh!"
Van Dyke had pressed a final button on the keyboard and agonizing pain shot through Logan's head, so unbearable he was left dazed and shaking. His mouth was a bloody mess from biting so hard he'd not only bitten off parts of his tongue, but also cracked his teeth. It took him a moment to realize Van Dyke was talking again.
"…to the Doctor's inventions, the computer knows your every thought. Think of me, think of anything we want you to forget and the direct shock to the pain center of your brain will trigger again. It may take a couple days, but soon enough you will bury those thoughts so deep you will never be able to access them. You won't be able to stop you mind from suppressing them. Further more, any more thoughts of "I won't" or "They can never make me" will also trigger the punishment. Now, on the other hand, should you begin to think the fight isn't worth it, that you should let yourself forget, give up and let us have our way with you, a reward will be triggered, endorphins for relief and sedative to help you rest. Soon despair and surrender will be all you're able to think about."
"I'll never-!" Logan yelled and then shrieked and writhed as the pain hit him again.
"I warned you," Van Dyke said, "I'm curious how long you will last. Your stubborn rage and will is what makes you unique as a killer, but every creature with a mind, man, beast or mutant adjusts to the proper conditioning. You're heard of Pavlov's dogs haven't you? Now, I'll leave you to your lessons."
As he turned to go, Logan clinched his fists with rage and was hit by the pain again and then again and again.
As he made his way to his office, Kurt Van Dyke could hear the screams continuing on and on. He knew that with every scream he was ripping apart the will of a man one thought at a time. He smiled.
"Sir this is not a good idea. You could end up crippled for life." Alfred Pennyworth's face was strained with anxiety, but already resigned, as he helped Bruce fit a brace onto his shot leg, strapping it close to the armor where it could hardly be seen in the dark.
"I'm going to try to take it easy, Alfred, but you know I can't stay down here doing nothing right now."
Alfred didn't say anything, just gave a dissatisfied snort, as he stood back and watched, Bruce toss asside the crutch and stand with the leg brace. The sling on Batman's wounded arm had already been removed and only because of the butler's trained eye, could he tell that Bruce moved his left side with pained and careful action.
"Hopefully tonight will just require surveillance. I expect Gordon will-"
Bruce broke off as the phone beside his bat-computer rang.
Exchanging a look with his master, Alfred walked over and picked up the receiver, "Wayne Residence. – Master Tim! – Yes he's here."
Bruce had already walked over at the sound of the urgent tones on the other side of the line and took the phone from Alfred hastily. "Tim? What's going on?"
"Batman! They took my parents!" Tim's voice was desperate and filled with both grief and gilt. "I think they were after me, but I wasn't there. I got home and found the house was broken into and Mom and Dad gone!"
"Tim, I know I didn't tell you but I installed-"
"Yes, I know you installed hidden cameras to watch over me at the house. You didn't train an idiot, Batman. I already checked the feed. It was five men in masks, using knock-out gas. After subduing my parents they searched the house and than stood in the kitchen and argued. I can't read lips as well as you, but I think they were talking about "waiting for the boy", but decided not to risk it. They wanted me, but just took my parents instead. They took them away in a white van. The license plate was fake, but I had a hunch and followed it."
Bruce blinked, keeping up with Tim's hurried and anxious words. It was clear that despite his parents being in danger and his own feelings of intense anxiety, the kid had kept his wits about him quite well. It shouldn't have surprised Bruce so much, he knew Tim Drake was more than capable, but it still caught him a little off guard. "What do you mean you followed it? Tim, where are you?"
"I'm using a pay phone near the observatory. Remember how I said I got some satellite photos of those clinics outside of town, the ones you suspect Strange was using? I'd seen several cars parked there, including a half dozen white vans, so I took my mom's car out there and sure enough there's a van with plates that match. Batman they took my Mom and Dad! I don't care what you do, but I'm going in save them. You can come help, but you can't stop me."
"Robin," Bruce said, "I won't try to stop you, but don't do anything yet. Wait for me. I'll bring your equipment and we will do this together."