"You sure it's safe here?" Taking a sweeping look around the
building, Logan saw nothing but four decrepit walls that could generally
shake under natural pressures at any given moment. The cold from the winter
that still clung to the state of New York filtered in through the countless
cracks in the walls, as well as the window that had been carelessly boarded
up.
"As safe as one can be in this city. I assure you, these walls do not talk." Arnold Frank set the paper bags onto his wobbly table before opening the refrigerator. "Please, continue." Pulling out a chair that didn't seem too ready to hold his weight, Logan simply rested against it and watched silently for a few moments as the man disposed of his food into the altogether too empty refrigerator. He was old, probably in his sixties or so, from the way his remaining hair was now tinted white. His face was soft, almost kind, yet held beneath its surface lines of frustration and nervousness. Such things Logan hadn't noticed at first glance on the street.
"Why should I trust you?"
"I can't tell you that. When the city I once knew so well becomes estranged to me, I find it difficult for trust to dwell anywhere anymore. I can tell you I am trustworthy, that I won't speak a word. But only I know for sure whether I am telling the truth, no?"
With that, to Logan's surprise, the man actually laughed, or wheezed rather, what with the cold obviously playing upon his health.
"I need a place to hide." He was sure to say it with a tone that was serious, honest, and genuinely nervous all at once. For some reason, he had been given the gift of deceit, not something he was always too proud of. "I don't know what happened t'me...i've been unconscious for longer than I can remember. All I know is, when I woke up..."
Logan raised a fist, seeing the man's obvious need for proof, and released from their holding the six adamantium claws that had been given to him to 'make him more sufficient.' "I had these."
The contemplative frown, which passed over the man's visage made Logan wonder, only for a moment, if he had the wrong guy after all. There were serious hints, such as the terrible condition of his home, his poor health, and other things, which would suggest that he was not capable of housing runaways. He was tempted to give up his hunt, when he saw the man begin to nod. It was brief at first, then stronger, as though more reassured, after a few passing moments.
"I can help you."
"What'll it cost? I can pay-"
"I don't need money. It...it hasn't ever been a problem for me." The man walked over to a cupboard, everything down to his bones appearing to shake from exhaustion. Still, frail hands, that Logan felt should break under any sort of effort, pulled a slip of paper out from behind some dishes, before he turned to face him again. "This is a list of things you will need. I can get you a rations ticket, but it isn't necessary. I have enough ways of getting food necessary to feed the others."
"Others?" Finally, the man had revealed the secret Logan had really been going for. His primary goal, having heard of the X-Men and their apparent disappearance, was to find those remaining and take them into custody. He saw it as a kind of trophy, something he could flash into the face of his employers if he ever needed something they were reluctant to hand over.
"Yes. Five others. You're to share the area with them."
Obviously, Logan looked skeptical, for the man offered a small smile before an explanation. "The hidden rooms aren't as small as you would think. There's little room for furniture, thus why the sleeping bag is in order." Logan glanced down at the list that he had unconsciously taken from the man before spotting the object among various others. "There is a ladder leading upstairs to another area, but that is where the food is kept. We will straighten things out so that there is room for you there. The conditions are cramped, but I'm sure it will be better to you than any concentration camp would."
"When?" He was anxious, but at the same time, decided not to inform his employers of his find just yet. He thought he'd go into the building and meet these five runaways. Five. The same number of X-Men that apparently disappeared not more than a year ago. Logan grinned to himself and wondered if perhaps he had finally found a lucky streak.
"I will need at least a day to clear the room." To this,
Logan nodded in understanding, before folding the tiny slip of paper and stuffing it away in his pocket. "And to speak to the others.
I must also tell you, there is a certain routine that must be followed while you are in the rooms."
"Shoot." Logan choked back the need to laugh at how decidedly humorous the situation was. It was ironic, of course, that the man had no idea about Logan's true self, while he knew everything this man had been doing for at least a year now, perhaps longer. He felt like he was shouting out to the other man that he was a fake, that he was not to be trusted, and that the other man simply didn't have the ears to hear it.
"The rooms are in an old factory warehouse. People still work there to this day, myself included. That is why, from the hours of seven in the morning to noon, there is to be absolute silence.
Rustling of any kind will be distinctly heard through the ceiling. At noon, the laborers break for lunch, often times departing for home.
Whether they stay or not, there will be enough noise that you will be able to move around freely without the chance of being discovered."
"Absolute silence. Great." The idea momentarily upset Logan.
He wasn't too keen on the idea of having to sit around and stare at four wooden walls for an odd amount of hours in the day. Still, if he wanted this kill bad enough, which he did, he would have to endure it.
"At two o'clock, the workers return, and silence reigns once more until nine thirty, when they are dismissed and the building is deserted. Then, you may leave the rooms and...do your business, but you must be back in with all lights out at eleven, which is the curfew."
"Alright...I got it. Basically, I just sit around and sleep all day. No noise whatsoever."
"Yes."
"Day after tomorrow?" Logan had already pushed the chair he had held aside, and was moving to the door, figuring he had heard all that was necessary.
"Yes. Don't bring anything that's not on that list. There's little room as it is. We shall meet at the factory, after the curfew hour and the nightly search is finished. Is that clear?"
"Yeah, I hear ya." Before the man could pull another lecture on him, Logan pulled the door open and stepped out into the snow.
Behind him, he felt, rather than saw, the remaining lights in the house go off, before he heard the creaking of someone walking up the stairs. Stepping quickly away from the house, Logan pulled out the piece of paper with the list of necessities written on it. Looking them over, he suddenly crumpled the paper between his fingers, and dropped the wad into the remaining snow. "Child's play."
"As safe as one can be in this city. I assure you, these walls do not talk." Arnold Frank set the paper bags onto his wobbly table before opening the refrigerator. "Please, continue." Pulling out a chair that didn't seem too ready to hold his weight, Logan simply rested against it and watched silently for a few moments as the man disposed of his food into the altogether too empty refrigerator. He was old, probably in his sixties or so, from the way his remaining hair was now tinted white. His face was soft, almost kind, yet held beneath its surface lines of frustration and nervousness. Such things Logan hadn't noticed at first glance on the street.
"Why should I trust you?"
"I can't tell you that. When the city I once knew so well becomes estranged to me, I find it difficult for trust to dwell anywhere anymore. I can tell you I am trustworthy, that I won't speak a word. But only I know for sure whether I am telling the truth, no?"
With that, to Logan's surprise, the man actually laughed, or wheezed rather, what with the cold obviously playing upon his health.
"I need a place to hide." He was sure to say it with a tone that was serious, honest, and genuinely nervous all at once. For some reason, he had been given the gift of deceit, not something he was always too proud of. "I don't know what happened t'me...i've been unconscious for longer than I can remember. All I know is, when I woke up..."
Logan raised a fist, seeing the man's obvious need for proof, and released from their holding the six adamantium claws that had been given to him to 'make him more sufficient.' "I had these."
The contemplative frown, which passed over the man's visage made Logan wonder, only for a moment, if he had the wrong guy after all. There were serious hints, such as the terrible condition of his home, his poor health, and other things, which would suggest that he was not capable of housing runaways. He was tempted to give up his hunt, when he saw the man begin to nod. It was brief at first, then stronger, as though more reassured, after a few passing moments.
"I can help you."
"What'll it cost? I can pay-"
"I don't need money. It...it hasn't ever been a problem for me." The man walked over to a cupboard, everything down to his bones appearing to shake from exhaustion. Still, frail hands, that Logan felt should break under any sort of effort, pulled a slip of paper out from behind some dishes, before he turned to face him again. "This is a list of things you will need. I can get you a rations ticket, but it isn't necessary. I have enough ways of getting food necessary to feed the others."
"Others?" Finally, the man had revealed the secret Logan had really been going for. His primary goal, having heard of the X-Men and their apparent disappearance, was to find those remaining and take them into custody. He saw it as a kind of trophy, something he could flash into the face of his employers if he ever needed something they were reluctant to hand over.
"Yes. Five others. You're to share the area with them."
Obviously, Logan looked skeptical, for the man offered a small smile before an explanation. "The hidden rooms aren't as small as you would think. There's little room for furniture, thus why the sleeping bag is in order." Logan glanced down at the list that he had unconsciously taken from the man before spotting the object among various others. "There is a ladder leading upstairs to another area, but that is where the food is kept. We will straighten things out so that there is room for you there. The conditions are cramped, but I'm sure it will be better to you than any concentration camp would."
"When?" He was anxious, but at the same time, decided not to inform his employers of his find just yet. He thought he'd go into the building and meet these five runaways. Five. The same number of X-Men that apparently disappeared not more than a year ago. Logan grinned to himself and wondered if perhaps he had finally found a lucky streak.
"I will need at least a day to clear the room." To this,
Logan nodded in understanding, before folding the tiny slip of paper and stuffing it away in his pocket. "And to speak to the others.
I must also tell you, there is a certain routine that must be followed while you are in the rooms."
"Shoot." Logan choked back the need to laugh at how decidedly humorous the situation was. It was ironic, of course, that the man had no idea about Logan's true self, while he knew everything this man had been doing for at least a year now, perhaps longer. He felt like he was shouting out to the other man that he was a fake, that he was not to be trusted, and that the other man simply didn't have the ears to hear it.
"The rooms are in an old factory warehouse. People still work there to this day, myself included. That is why, from the hours of seven in the morning to noon, there is to be absolute silence.
Rustling of any kind will be distinctly heard through the ceiling. At noon, the laborers break for lunch, often times departing for home.
Whether they stay or not, there will be enough noise that you will be able to move around freely without the chance of being discovered."
"Absolute silence. Great." The idea momentarily upset Logan.
He wasn't too keen on the idea of having to sit around and stare at four wooden walls for an odd amount of hours in the day. Still, if he wanted this kill bad enough, which he did, he would have to endure it.
"At two o'clock, the workers return, and silence reigns once more until nine thirty, when they are dismissed and the building is deserted. Then, you may leave the rooms and...do your business, but you must be back in with all lights out at eleven, which is the curfew."
"Alright...I got it. Basically, I just sit around and sleep all day. No noise whatsoever."
"Yes."
"Day after tomorrow?" Logan had already pushed the chair he had held aside, and was moving to the door, figuring he had heard all that was necessary.
"Yes. Don't bring anything that's not on that list. There's little room as it is. We shall meet at the factory, after the curfew hour and the nightly search is finished. Is that clear?"
"Yeah, I hear ya." Before the man could pull another lecture on him, Logan pulled the door open and stepped out into the snow.
Behind him, he felt, rather than saw, the remaining lights in the house go off, before he heard the creaking of someone walking up the stairs. Stepping quickly away from the house, Logan pulled out the piece of paper with the list of necessities written on it. Looking them over, he suddenly crumpled the paper between his fingers, and dropped the wad into the remaining snow. "Child's play."
