"You Arnold Frank?" To his credit, the small man before Logan
remained calm, nodding silently in affirmation. His features gave away no
secret he may currently be hiding.
Of course, over the past months, Logan had faced countless situations that played out similarly to the way this current conversation so moved. In the end, Logan had always outsmarted each and every suspect, succeeding only in making themselves even more of a fugitive. "You ever hear of the X- Men?" Raising an eyebrow in question, Logan could have grinned outright at how well the man was playing it cool.
"They've all disappeared," offered the small man. Or been killed, Logan added silently. Still, there was rumored a group of the remaining X- Men having made their escape to Canada. Despite all the obvious clues to support this fact, Logan still found the evidence too clean to be taken seriously. And so, despite strong urgings against it, Logan took it upon himself to find these supposed "escapees."
"Then, you knew them?"
"Knew OF them. Everyone did. They caused our city a lot of damage, which cost us quite a lot of money and time." Logan was surprised that Arnold Frank was able to say the last with a suitable tone of bitterness. Somehow though, he knew it was as fake as everything else about this man appeared to be.
"So you weren't really a fan?" Logan knew for a fact that the man was a mutant sympathizer, he could smell it on him, but it was more entertaining to hear the lies his prey came up with. Before approaching the man, Logan had found it better to stay a few steps behind the man in public, and observe. That was the key to his job...observation. Too many times, people's actions give them away.
They might as well scream out their guilt, what with the way they carried themselves around others.
Furthermore, the Anti-Mutant Organization he worked for had current files on everyone in the country, and even a select few out of the country. Despite not having clearance, Logan had... "persuaded" those above him to let him search through the files, when he'd first spotted Frank and heard the rumors about his harboring mutants. The information confirmed that he had once been friends with Charles Xavier, who ran a school for "gifted" children.
In other words, he housed mutants, and was one himself.
"I was impartial, and remain so to this day." Fumbling with his armload of groceries, Arnold Frank attempted to step past Logan, only to be stopped a moment later by a large, stiff arm.
"In this day and age, pal, having no view is just about as bad as having the wrong view." To this, Arnold had no reply. He only looked at Logan with blank, empty eyes. It didn't take a genius to realize that he was being sized up. The moment he received such a look, a plan had begun to formulate in his mind. A plan that, for no reason at all, suddenly struck Logan's fancy.
"I assure you," the man said at last, standing straight and proud while clutching his packages. "I am loyal to my country." Logan smirked inwardly, but remained solemn on the outside. He needed to earn this man's trust if his plan was to succeed.
"Then you'll let me speak freely?" At last, he drew forth a reaction: curiosity. Such an emotion was dangers-especially to the feeble-minded. It invaded one's conscious and defeated all forms of reason until you forfeited logic for all else. Of course, to the hunter, curiosity was an added tool that always seemed to work for his benefit.
"No one speaks freely anymore. Come with me." He briefly looked every which way, before walking down the crowded streets.
Logan, chuckling slightly to himself, very much enjoying his new game, stuffed frozen hands into pockets before stepping off the curb and into the street to follow. Cars weren't allowed out at that point, and many people were already scurrying to make it home before curfew. Logan alone continued on with a loping walk and an air that revealed how little he cared for rules.
Always keeping an eye on the man who was his current victim, the rugged man thought on his latest stint of creativity. It wasn't his style to get too involved with those he was about to turn over to the authorities. Generally, he picked up on rumors, did a little research to find even a sliver of truth-as truth held little importance in Logan's eyes. Once he had an idea that someone may be harboring the unlawful, he pretty much butted into their lives, proclaimed his knowledge, and watched as they were collared and carried away.
In a way it was rewarding, seeing the people who had once been so hopeful fall to their knees and beg him for help. He reveled in it, sometimes offering a glint of forgiveness before alerting the Organization of his latest find. A piece of him, though, deep inside, felt himself to be a coward, and worse. He sold other people's lives away, just to earn a comfortable living for a little while.
Then, just as quickly as the thought would appear, it'd be gone, leaving Logan to enjoy his occupation, and seek out more mutants to bust. Every job he did brought him something he had always thought he wanted. Then, when he'd receive it, the satisfaction he thought he'd feel would disappear. This, in turn, usually caused him to set out to work again, because as long as he worked, he wasn't the only one hurting. There was always someone that would be worse off than himself.
Of course, over the past months, Logan had faced countless situations that played out similarly to the way this current conversation so moved. In the end, Logan had always outsmarted each and every suspect, succeeding only in making themselves even more of a fugitive. "You ever hear of the X- Men?" Raising an eyebrow in question, Logan could have grinned outright at how well the man was playing it cool.
"They've all disappeared," offered the small man. Or been killed, Logan added silently. Still, there was rumored a group of the remaining X- Men having made their escape to Canada. Despite all the obvious clues to support this fact, Logan still found the evidence too clean to be taken seriously. And so, despite strong urgings against it, Logan took it upon himself to find these supposed "escapees."
"Then, you knew them?"
"Knew OF them. Everyone did. They caused our city a lot of damage, which cost us quite a lot of money and time." Logan was surprised that Arnold Frank was able to say the last with a suitable tone of bitterness. Somehow though, he knew it was as fake as everything else about this man appeared to be.
"So you weren't really a fan?" Logan knew for a fact that the man was a mutant sympathizer, he could smell it on him, but it was more entertaining to hear the lies his prey came up with. Before approaching the man, Logan had found it better to stay a few steps behind the man in public, and observe. That was the key to his job...observation. Too many times, people's actions give them away.
They might as well scream out their guilt, what with the way they carried themselves around others.
Furthermore, the Anti-Mutant Organization he worked for had current files on everyone in the country, and even a select few out of the country. Despite not having clearance, Logan had... "persuaded" those above him to let him search through the files, when he'd first spotted Frank and heard the rumors about his harboring mutants. The information confirmed that he had once been friends with Charles Xavier, who ran a school for "gifted" children.
In other words, he housed mutants, and was one himself.
"I was impartial, and remain so to this day." Fumbling with his armload of groceries, Arnold Frank attempted to step past Logan, only to be stopped a moment later by a large, stiff arm.
"In this day and age, pal, having no view is just about as bad as having the wrong view." To this, Arnold had no reply. He only looked at Logan with blank, empty eyes. It didn't take a genius to realize that he was being sized up. The moment he received such a look, a plan had begun to formulate in his mind. A plan that, for no reason at all, suddenly struck Logan's fancy.
"I assure you," the man said at last, standing straight and proud while clutching his packages. "I am loyal to my country." Logan smirked inwardly, but remained solemn on the outside. He needed to earn this man's trust if his plan was to succeed.
"Then you'll let me speak freely?" At last, he drew forth a reaction: curiosity. Such an emotion was dangers-especially to the feeble-minded. It invaded one's conscious and defeated all forms of reason until you forfeited logic for all else. Of course, to the hunter, curiosity was an added tool that always seemed to work for his benefit.
"No one speaks freely anymore. Come with me." He briefly looked every which way, before walking down the crowded streets.
Logan, chuckling slightly to himself, very much enjoying his new game, stuffed frozen hands into pockets before stepping off the curb and into the street to follow. Cars weren't allowed out at that point, and many people were already scurrying to make it home before curfew. Logan alone continued on with a loping walk and an air that revealed how little he cared for rules.
Always keeping an eye on the man who was his current victim, the rugged man thought on his latest stint of creativity. It wasn't his style to get too involved with those he was about to turn over to the authorities. Generally, he picked up on rumors, did a little research to find even a sliver of truth-as truth held little importance in Logan's eyes. Once he had an idea that someone may be harboring the unlawful, he pretty much butted into their lives, proclaimed his knowledge, and watched as they were collared and carried away.
In a way it was rewarding, seeing the people who had once been so hopeful fall to their knees and beg him for help. He reveled in it, sometimes offering a glint of forgiveness before alerting the Organization of his latest find. A piece of him, though, deep inside, felt himself to be a coward, and worse. He sold other people's lives away, just to earn a comfortable living for a little while.
Then, just as quickly as the thought would appear, it'd be gone, leaving Logan to enjoy his occupation, and seek out more mutants to bust. Every job he did brought him something he had always thought he wanted. Then, when he'd receive it, the satisfaction he thought he'd feel would disappear. This, in turn, usually caused him to set out to work again, because as long as he worked, he wasn't the only one hurting. There was always someone that would be worse off than himself.
