Logan had been riding all night, lost in the zone between the road and the black sky, his thoughts focused north. Victor Creed thought he could fool him with spooky photos and a cheap voice changer—the big mutant was sorely mistaken. Government agent or no, employee of X-Factor, it didn't matter to Logan. Victor was going to pay through his ugly nose for this transgression. Morning light was breaking as Logan pulled into a tiny diner/gas station near the Canadian border. The Norton rumbled to a stop by the pump. Logan started filling the tank and took out a fresh cigar, habitually casting his eyes around the deserted station. That voice-changer Creed had used hadn't really been so cheap—it had freaked the hell out of him, if the truth were told. He was going to have to make up some pretty delicate story to explain to Jean why he trashed her bedroom. The real reason he didn't want to admit even to himself. But first Victor would be delt with. Logan stopped the pump and pulled out his billfold to go pay. His cell phone trilled from his jacket pocket. Logan sighed with irritation. "Yeah?" he demanded, punching the power button.
"Logan?!" Jubilee practically shrieked. "Logan, where are you? I've been trying to call for hours!"
"Riding," said Logan. "I didn't hear the ring."
"Jesus…" said Jubilee. Logan realized her voice was thick, with stress, fatigue, or from crying he couldn't tell.
"What is it, kid?"
"Don't call me kid," said Jubilee, almost snapping. "Mother of god, Logan, do you realize what you've done?"
"Excuse me?" said Logan. Jubilee kept going, talking faster and faster.
"The police are here, they've been here for hours, there's a huge manhunt out for you all around New York, the prime minister of Japan is denouncing mutants, Jean's in hysterics—oh my god, Logan…" She broke down into sobs. "I know you didn't kill her, Logan. I know you didn't want Mariko to die." Logan felt his legs go out from under him and he sat hard on the curb.
"Hold up—wait," he said hoarsely. "Mariko is dead?" Jubilee's tears started afresh.
"They have you on tape, Logan. They think you killed her. They want you."
"They—I—why?" sputtered Logan.
"I know you aren't guilty!" Jubilee said.
"The hell I am!" Logan shouted. He felt like he was going to explode—or pass out. The thing had killed Mariko… His call waiting sounded.
"Please come home," Jubilee was crying.
"Talk to you later, kid," he said abruptly, and punched the button savagely.
"WHAT?"
"Heard the bad news, have you?" Logan stood up, feeling the muscles in his body tighten.
"You son of a bitch!"
"Nothing more creative than that?" the voice tsked. Logan suddenly felt deep calm come over him. Not a spiritual or physical calm, but a calm of knowing what he was going to do.
"You're a dead man, Victor," he said in the same clipped and cultured tones as the voice-changer. There was laughter as he hung up.
Warren and Kurt were trying to be on two phones at once, Jubilee was still sobbing, and Jean sat in the middle of the mess, the focus of the two now-weary detectives. "Dr. Grey, this would help us immensely. Just answer the question."
"I've told you everything I am going to, detective, until you allow me to contact my attorney," growled Jean. She looked like a specter—a tired, dirty one. Jubilee instantly soaked the tissue Kurt handed her, while he was yelling at a transatlantic call on one shoulder and simultaneously carrying on an animated and furious conversation in German on his other phone. "Will you shut up!" Jean suddenly shouted at her friend. Jubilee stopped, eyes big with shock. The detectives backed off from her. She took a breath, in and out, when she realized Kurt and Warren were staring as well. "Did you reach Logan?" she said quietly.
"Yes," said Jubilee. "He won't come home. He hung up on me." The second detective instantly closed on Jubilee.
"You contacted the suspect? Why didn't you tell us? This could have been significant!"
"Leave me alone! Logan is NOT GUILTY!" Jubilee screamed back.
"You are obligated to inform us of any contact!" the detective shouted at her, turning red. Warren slammed down one of his phones.
"Gentlemen. This case is now being handled by Norman Meals, Esq. Perhaps you've heard of him?" The second detective backed out of Jubilee's face.
"The criminal lawyer, the Manhattan Madman?" Warren smiled tightly.
"None other. Ms. Lee, Logan and everyone in this room are under his case umbrella, so I suggest you have him present and set up a proper interrogation before you badger us about this matter any more."
"We're just doing our job, Mr. Worthington," said the first detective. "Trying to catch a vicious and dangerous murderer."
"That's an allegation, two to five years in a state penitentiary," said Warren in the same patronizing tone. "But I'm sure you knew that." The detectives looked at each other, and then the second one gathered the pages of notes scattered over Jean's desk.
"Thank you for your time, Ms. Lee, Dr. Grey." The first one glared at Warren. "We'll be in touch." They left. Jean sank down into her chair with a sound of escaping air.
"Thank god for your old money, Warren." Warren rubbed his eyes. Even his wings were drooping.
"You're welcome, Jean."
"He's not guilty," said Jubilee again. Warren hung up his second phone somewhat more gently.
"Emma and Sean, are flying down from Massachusetts. Ororo is with them." Kurt looked over.
"And Betsy is returning from England double-quick. We will have the whole team?" He suddenly looked back at his second phone. "Nein! Da, NEIN!" He let off a string of what sounded like curses and slammed the phone down.
"What now?" sighed Jean.
"My mother is coming up from Washington," said Kurt tightly.
"Mystique? Why?" said Jubilee.
"She thinks she has something to do with this, being a friend of Logan's," Kurt spat. Jean passed a hand over her face.
"Well, Kurt, she can't make the situation any worse."
"Doubt she'll help, either," Kurt muttered. Jubilee was biting her lip.
"Jean, if I forgot to tell anyone about Mariko's visit…how did Logan know?" She got dirty looks from the other three. "I mean, the person who killed Mariko."
"I don't know," said Jean. "I wonder why anyone would target Mariko. She doesn't have any affiliation with us at all. Just Logan."
"Perhaps," said Kurt, rubbing his chin, "we are not the target. Perhaps it is Logan, and Logan alone."
The cabin was nondescript, on a good piece of land with lake frontage and a clear blue sky, just north of the border. X-Factor wasn't stingy with benefits for it's operatives. They did well keeping a psychopath like Victor Creed happy, even if he was under their control. Logan parked his bike a mile to the south of the cabin, downwind, in a stand of pines. He stripped off his jacket with the orange stripes, leaving just his black jeans and T-shirt. Moving sometimes in a crouch and sometimes high in the branches, always keeping silent, he moved towards his target. Victor Creed was going to die today. Logan would make sure.
Kurt Wagner stomped out to the garage, keys jangling angrily in his hand. Mystique insisted he come pick her up at the Westchester airport. It was only seven a.m., and Kurt was ready for sleep again. The garage was dark, but Kurt knew the entire school like the back of his hand, and he stormed across the black space, feeling the emotional tornado in him settling into a heavy weight. Logan was a killer, a fugitive, and Jean thought he was on his way to commit another murder. Coupled with the intrusion of his mother…Kurt kicked angrily at a spare part that someone had left in his path. "Now, now, Kurt," said a voice from the shadows. Kurt jumped upwards, both feet leaving the ground. "Mein Gott! Who is that?" The figure stepped forward. "Logan!" Kurt practically shouted. "Logan, Jean was worried…"
"I'll be she was," said Logan with a slight smile. "Tell her I'm safe and sound."
"You have come back, that is the important thing," said Kurt. "Now you can tell them yourself you didn't kill Mariko." Logan stepped up to Kurt, his eyes winking in the blackness.
"Kurt, pal," he grinned. "Who ever said I didn't?" Steel blades flashed. Kurt fell silently.
Victor Creed was sitting on the porch of his cabin, dressed in a cotton shirt and ratty jeans, rocking and watching a morning news program while he devoured a plate of half-cooked bacon. No toast, no eggs, just two dozen strips of still-frozen pork. Logan's nose twitched as the catty smell of Victor himself mingled with the bacon on the wind. He was crouched in the long grass, still down scent of Sabretooth. Logan felt the blood pounding in his head. He thought of Mariko, Jubilee crying, the fact that he was a wanted criminal. All because of Creed and his voice-changing pranks. Logan stood up, not more than thirteen yards from Victor. "You killed her," he said, his voice simple and quiet. "Today you die." Creed jumped, his bacon going onto the porch.
"Runt. The hell you doing here?" Logan's claws came out.
"Today," he repeated. "You die." He cleared the distance in five steps, bounded the rail and launched himself at Creed, who went over backwards in his wooden chair. "Why did you kill her?" Logan growled as he crouched over Creed, claws touching the blond stubble on his temple. "What the hell did she ever do to you?" Creed booted him off with a huge foot and Logan went through the porch rail.
"Touchy today, ain't you?" said Creed.
"Die, you son of a bitch!" Logan shouted. "Die for what you did to Mariko!" He threw himself into Creed's midsection, and they both went down. Logan's adamantium-reinforced fists began to pound on Victor's face, raising welts and drawing blood immediately.
"What's the freaking matter with you?" Victor choked between punches. "I didn't do nothing to Mariko! I didn't kill anybody!" He had seen Logan's eyes and realized the smaller man was dead serious about his quest to end Victor's life. Victor rolled and got the upper hand, pinning Logan with a knee and dislocating his jaw. Logan growled with pain and stabbed a set of claws through Victor's midsection. Victor screamed like a wounded water buffalo, and Logan kicked him in the groin, sending him over backwards. Victor scrambled away from Logan, his healing factor needing time to make up the bleeding and damaged internal organs. Logan didn't give him the chance. He sprang to his feet and savagely kicked Victor with his motorcycle boots, heard ribs crack. Victor moaned again.
"You killed her," repeated Logan. He raised his foot for another kick. Victor, however, grabbed the upraised ankle and flipped Logan on his back, jumping up at the same time. Logan pushed himself up with a karate move, as Victor charged. They met at the height of their velocity with a squelch. Logan stopped dead, thinking he was injured, perhaps fatally. Then he saw Victor's eyes go cold. Blood dribbled from his mouth. Logan forced himself to start feeling his own extremities again, and realized his right-hand claws were driven to the hilt into Victor's heart. Creed slumped against him. He was dead. Logan could feel the dying pulse of his heart through the steel.
"You…" Blood bubbled up fresh in Victor's mouth. "Son of a bitch. You got me." He fell over, Logan's claws coming out with a sharp slide. He could see through the ribs and flayed flesh. Logan could see the savage's heart give one final pulse, then lie still. Logan started shaking, adrenaline leaving his system.
"For Silver Fox," he said. "For Mariko Yashida. For your crimes against humanity. Victor Creed has died." He made his way back to the porch, suddenly feeling the hundred pound weight of his skeleton hanging on him. He slumped against the rail, feeling all the stress of the past day—hell, the stress of the past years since he'd first laid eyes on Creed, draining away. Creed's little television was still droning pleasantly. Logan's eyes went to it, intending to shut it down, but he froze.
"Two violent murders rock New York State this morning, as the body of a second victim is discovered, apparently killed by the aptly nicknamed New York Slasher. The Slasher's first victim, Mariko Yashida of Japan, was found early this morning in the parking garage of JFK International Airport. This second body was found just hours ago at the Xavier Institute, a private school in Westchester, New York. The name has not been released, but U.S. news crews on the scene have determined that the second victim is a mutant. We go live to Westchester." The jerky live cam of a New York news crew showed EMTs crowed around the gate of the mansion, a stretcher coming out, the sheet bloody, Jean, Jubilee and Warren in a close cluster. Kurt…where was Kurt? "Tragedy strikes in Westchester…" began the American commentator, but all Logan could see was the blue hand that had slipped out from beneath the sheet. Victor was here, dead, no way he could have possibly been in New York, and yet… Logan let his breath out in a violent curse, blood going cold. His temples were pounding.
"Oh my god…"