Writer: Rowland Wells
Disclaimer: I am in no way any part of Marvel Comics or any affiliation of their enterprise. I do not own the X-Men or any Marvel Characters.
Alternate
X-Men
#09
"copenhagen"
Xavier's school for gifted youngsters had been attacked in the middle of the night by an unknown force, while the master himself was away. Only Bobby and Logan had been awake at the time, but it was too late as they finally realised the seriousness of their situation. All of the students had been captured after the brief scuffle, and taken via helicopter to an unfamiliar location overseas. Once they woke up, their abductors revealed themselves to be part of the newly resurrected Weapon X programme, designed to produce killing machines from the frail individuals that the X-Men were. Only Logan had known of its existence up until that point, but it didn't matter anymore. They were all in this together now, whether they like it or not.
The problem was, of course, that Charles Xavier hadn't been kidnapped and subsequently found himself wondering where his students had disappeared to once he returned. The Mansion itself had taken quite a beating in whatever events had occurred too; part of the roof was blown away. The evidence was apparent, but still Charles didn't know where they were, or even what condition they were in.
Charles hadn't returned alone, though, bringing with him the team's latest recruit. Unfortunately, the first impression counted, and right now Charles's guest wasn't getting a great picture. He rolled his chair into the office, clearing the tattered scraps of paper off his damaged desk. He wasn't quite prepared for the number of suggestions and assumptions that invaded his mind, when he ran a smooth finger tip over the mouths of bullet holes along his desk. He picked the splinters out roughly, rolling one in his hand. The leather chair opposite him was riddled with holes too, the stuffing spilling out. It told him everything, yet it told him nothing. It could have been a misfire, or it could have been a hit, passing through a body and out the other side. He didn't want to think about it. Charles did not want to think about his students in trouble – his kids under fire once more. Instead, he concentrated on the hole in the roof – the broken-down doors and the smashed kitchen.
Charles was able to pick up on trace telepathic emissions that still hung gently in the air, almost as if detecting a charge of emotion, which swirled and calmed as it began to subside. He felt it tingle his senses, shiver down his spine; but it was only pieces of a much large structure which could convey the real events to him, nothing substantiated. He was lost among the wreckage of the house, embraced by its morbid history – one that he couldn't comprehend, because if only he had stayed in, he might have prevented the tragic event. He could have been able to do something. Something, yes, but deep down, Charles knew that had he been in the same situation, he would have been just as crippled as his students and friends. He would be crippled from the hips down.
Despite his most angered attitude, Charles rolled his chair out from under the desk, and surveyed the rest of the damage. He collected himself, mentally, and decided to head for Cerebro, the only possible device that might help him. His guest walked into the office, having searched the rest of the Mansion for any notes or signs of their departure. His name was Kurt Wagner, a German-born mutant residing in the slums of what was left of Washington DC. He would be one of the older students at the school, just turning 29 soon. Although quite alarming in his dark-blue skinned appearance, Kurt was relatively docile and friendly, but untrusting, owing to his years of discrimination among homes. He was a freak of nature, especially for a mutant, having the ability to teleport long distances in the blink of an eye, leaving just a trail of vapour. He also had a long, thin tail which poked out of his back; and despite the animalistic likeness, Kurt was more human than many people Charles had discovered in his lifetime. He had a natural affinity toward religion – Charles finally found him in an abandoned church, hiding from anyone who would strike out at such a creature. Masking himself from Kurt's keen senses had been no mean feat, either, because the mutant could effectively be everywhere at once, but finding him, and persuading the man had paid off, and now Kurt had trusted him enough to arrive back at the Mansion.
Charles rubbed his temples frustrated, and indicated to Kurt. He had to pause between each response to interpret the German, as Kurt couldn't speak English. 'Did you find anything upstairs, any notes or indications of where they went?'
"Nothing, Professor; I wish I had something to give you, but every room's empty – and without looking in all the drawers, I doubt they had time to leave a message." He said, shifting his weight awkwardly. "You said," Kurt continued "that you had a machine with you that might do the job – why not try that, just to be sure?"
In his clenched fist, he grasped a small shell of an explosive device, the only physical remains of the agent's presence, a few nights before. Although the flames had died down, the wreckage and destruction was still charred black, and Xavier had no hope of reactivating the Cerebro unit in the near future. Spitefully, the Mansion's assailants had come down into the bowels of the old building and triggered an explosion in the central device of Charles's workings. Nothing left was salvageable, only broken remains of a once proud construction; his testament to the ever longing peace between humans and mutants. The thin walkway that extended into the large sphere of the room was just useable, but Charles knew, even before analysing the burnt-out unit, that it was demolished. What little light that flooded into the room was diminished completely, the bulbs having been shattered by the noise. Charles turned his chair out of the view, and back a few feet. A small well of tears formed on the side of his cheek, and he couldn't help himself from weeping in distress. 'This is what I get for having a dream…' He whimpered. Kurt stood by, and patted his shoulders. "I don't know what to say." He mumbled.
Charles backed out of the basement, and went back to his office.
* * *
There was cold, uninviting silence everywhere. Anyone who was able to was catching up on some well-earned rest from the previous day's excursions into violence, brutality, degradation and humility. Each of the mutants there was treated equal, except Logan, who was given extra punishment for his lack of appropriate enthusiasm. They were uniformly presented with squalor, food deprivation, long hours, verbal abuse, beatings and silence. The only time they could communicate properly was during the precious few hours received in the prisoner mess. Apart from those periods, most of the students were kept quiet. There were several minutes available to them also, before the lights were all switched out at night, but after the tremendous exertion from their slave-driving officials, no-one was in the mood for talking. Although they had only been present for a few days, visible signs of their struggles were already showing. Weight was coming off, and being replaced partially with toned muscle. Bruises and cuts were showing, each time deeper than the last. Every man and boy there had their heads shaved; but the biggest difference between their lives before and now was in the eyes. A dull, black cavernous stare began to set in, and after a while, they resembled a line of slack zombies, capable of only being told what to do. These people in charge, these agents, were more than slave-drivers, they were men who could suck the life from a person, and reduce them to mindless animals. They saw the mutants in their possession as weapons, perfect to carve and mould into the most incredible physical specimens; but only to drive to kill. Everyone in Weapon X was a killer, whether through experience or teaching. It was almost like the cell-block was given over to a penal colony. Only the man in charge of it all was not a warden in any sense of the title. He was the worst of them; the heaviest, ugliest, most vicious individual that the institute had. Hawk Spaskyich was a malevolent sociopath, interested in making mutants suffer to entertain his maniacal drive for power. All of the prisoners saw it – he emanated it, gave it off to his subjects like a plague. Spaskyich was a dictator of his own underground realm, and he was not about to let it go.
Having been the most commercial aspect of the Sentinel Contingency, Spaskyich was a people person, and he usually one them over through his charming charisma or fierce temper. Anyone who was not instantly lured by his thread was taken from the equation entirely. He was interested solely in catalysing his own developments, and if anyone stood out against him, then that person would probably pay for the mistake with their life. He was drummed out of the military for causing too much disturbance as a lieutenant – pushing his soldiers to their limits, and over. After more than seventeen accounts of excessive brutality in standard peace-time conditions, Spaskyich was dishonourably discharged, and left by himself. He soon became involved through dark links in the army, with black-ops programmes that centred on lethal stealth operations in and out of enemy lines. Once the conflicts between America and the world were over, though, the operations were brought down to such a level that they were almost non-existent. Only regular procedures were commissioned legally anymore, and Spaskyich had finally considered himself unavailable for the position of a patriot. Unfortunately, he was contacted by the Weapon X institution soon after, who claimed that he might help lead the way for the next generation of urban and subversive warfare through genetic alteration. While he continued quickly through the ranks of that secretive organisation, he became involved with Steven Lang, and his breed of super-machines, known as Sentinels. Once the events of Washington DC had confirmed the end of that unique contingency, Spaskyich withdrew from sight, to concentrate on the rising mutant phenomenon. Only he now, could control who would become involved in specialised black-ops pacification, and through his addled brain, Spaskyich knew he could make a difference to a great many lives once more, finally becoming a true American patriot. One with all the tolerance and wisdom, to bend an entire race to his wrongful will.
And right now he had sent his faithful lap-dog, Dr Kryles, to awaken his flock for the new day ahead of them. The end of the isle that led down the length of the cell-block suddenly blurred into life, illuminating the sterile area with grey light. He flipped a switch at the small control box, disengaging the locks from every cell entrance. Each of them needed to be turned off individually to let everyone out, but while the bars shone across, no-one was able to escape. Coughs and splutters issued into the early morning atmosphere, the sleepers among prisoners waking to a rather unpleasant prospect. A great deal of the cells were empty, but a number did contain Spaskyich's collection so far, and only several had been able to graduate into the agent dorms, fully becoming a Weapon X instrument.
The former-students rolled off uncomfortable beds, landing on a hard floor with only flimsy blankets to cover their meagrely-clothed, cold bodies. Kryles opened up the cells on the ground floor only, letting the other occupants higher up, gain little more rest. The green light bars reduced, and they were motioned to come into the isle. They looked one another over cautiously. Tessa's calm exterior betrayed nothing to the rest of them, she watched Kryles scrupulously through wary, tired eyes. She adjusted the band in her long black hair, and leant with one hand against the cell wall. Jean's appearance was a lot less promising – she was haggard, and it showed from the bags under her eyes. Her shoulders were hunched in sadness and defeat, and she looked to Scott sorrowfully as they all stepped out. He returned her gaze, frowning mournfully at their wretched position. He too was exhausted, pushed to the very limit of his capabilities, and all without any part of his powers. Bruises claimed his arms and upper body, the simple proof of their determination with him, and his will was just about at breaking point. He faced the Doctor wearily, praying for more rest than he knew they couldn't receive. Hank and Ororo seemed to be the most together of all the students, their bond transcending even these strong walls. Although Hank was as physically superior as anyone there, the stress didn't show. He brushed it off, but only as long as he could. Like Ororo, he knew there would come a time when something would destroy his resolve. They waited patiently for the impending instant.
Bobby was not in a good condition either, he was lagging behind everyone else at best, and the attempts he was making to catch up were being frowned upon by their monitor. The good Doctor did not treat Bobby well after his defiant incident aboard the helicopter. Bobby was subject to the most stress, and the most pain among all of them. His determination, again, was the only thing holding his head high at times. Piotr and Kitty were together as well, this difficult situation bringing each closer to the other. Unfortunately Kitty was just as frail as Bobby was, and although she was let up on because of her gender, the punishment and exercise, as interchangeable as they were, had taken their toll. She was lagging too, with the burly Russian only able to compensate using his overbearing guard.
The last student, having received his welcome return not so well, had been set upon many times by people who remembered him. Logan had been to the institute before, and as Remy and Rogue knew, the agents despised their property abandoning so freely. Logan was strong in mind and body, though, so he survived, and never one person alone came for him. Sabretooth, though, was the exception to this trend. Each time that skinny tramp came out from under his rock, the two were inseparable. Thankfully, Logan had his fair share of rough encounters every day, and so was never in the mood to go stalking for trouble. His collar was a specialised one too; the designers placing into account his uncontrolled healing process, and the fact that his claws were not part of any genetic alteration, but rather appendages in his body that popped each time he willed them to. Visibly, Logan looked fine because everything would have healed by morning, but underneath, his wrath was welling once more; fury, hatred and rage sparked up as involuntary as sadness and passion. He had to control it in order for everyone to survive. He did want them to live through this.
'All right, kids – time for another day at the grindstone.' Kryles smirked menacingly. 'Hope you can stomach it today, because if_you_can, there is a reward at the end of the line.'
'What's that, then?' Logan shouted grudgingly.
'Keep your mouth shut.' Kryles didn't even face him, but addressed the entire group. 'My instructor has requested a bit of a gathering – he wants to meet you all; and if you lot keep on track, and stay focussed, then I can guarantee a little live exercise for your new-found strengths in the field.' He paused, and wetted his lips automatically. 'Now get to the Prisoner Mess, and clean yourselves up, you all look awful.'
He marshalled the soldiers, who marched the students reluctantly out of the cell-block and down another corridor. Once gone, Kryles walked back to medical and sat in his office, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. He lit up, relaxed momentarily in his easy chair, and smoked.
* * *
'He was right, we do look terrible. What the hell happened to us? We've only been here for a couple of days.' Scott said toying with the slop they were served for a breakfast. Around the corner table in the Mess hall, a dank and badly seated area with a low ceiling, several of the former students sat with their food dished out on plastic lunch trays. Although his morale was diminished, Scott was still starving for the morsels of food they were all given. It looked like it had rolled off the back of one lorry, and then got run over by several more, out to trample dirty food. He savoured the feeling of anything at the bottom of his stomach, even if it was disgusting in appearance, texture and taste. 'God, let's not complain…' Jean moaned reluctantly. 'At least we're all still alive after the Mansion was hit. I can't bear to think what might have happened.' She ran a blistered hand through her short red hair, and coughed.
'Maybe it would've been better than dying in this dump.' Scott replied. He stroked her back as she supported herself on the table. 'It's gonna be alright – we've just got to stick together; don't let them grind us down individually. As long as we're a group, they can't break our spirit.' He stopped himself, and then mumbled: 'At least let's make them think that.'
He stared across at Bobby, who was picking at the remains on his plate. 'I know how you feel.' Scott supported.
'Do you?' Bobby asked, quickly. He pushed the plate away from him, but kept his gaze in his lap. Thinking about his reaction, he stole an apology from within, not wanting to make their problem harder with disruption among friends. 'Sorry – I'm getting caught up in this whole thing.' He turned his head away, staring at the woman sloshing more food onto lunch trays. His eyes widened, looking at the food, and his face was a little paler than Scott remembered. 'They just keep picking on me.' He said, accentuating their actions. 'I'm really in deep, guys.' Bobby said plaintively, stopping himself from releasing a whimper.
Taking his tray from the boring woman serving them, Logan walked over, and deposited it by the rest of them. 'Cheer up, kid, at least you're not back here a second time.' He knocked Bobby on the arm.
'You might be a bit more supportive, Logan – this isn't the time for your sense of humour.' Scott said, putting a patronising twist in his voice. He needed cutting down to size, Scott regularly thought.
Bobby cracked a pathetic smile, then whisked his tray off the table, and stumbled off toward the showers.
'Christ, you should get what I'm getting. Loadsa fun, that is, havin' all these pricks try and hit you at once; just thought you could all do with some morale boosting.' Logan replied, picking up his tray. He walked over and sat at the other end of the table, gruffly. They heard his disgruntled sigh from where they were sitting.
Scott eyed him dubiously, through his ruby glasses. He ran his hands where his wavy brown hair should have been, but found only a closely shaven scalp. 'What the hell is he doing with us – I have to ask myself again.'
'I don't know anymore – Logan's a creep. You best not talk to him, Scotty; he likes to get a rise out of you.' Jean replied.
'He just came right out of the blue, and teamed up with us. Did he even think that would look suspicious? What goes through his head?'
'Seriously,' Jean said, staring at him 'drop it, I don't like him, and I don't want to talk about him either.'
They paused for a second, waiting for the other to say something. Scott flicked his gaze back to Logan, watching him tussle with the food on his tray. He looked exhausted, even for him. 'Do you think I look okay with my hair all gone?' He asked, facing her, and trying to move the conversation away from his rival.
'I think it makes you look like a hard man – kinda cool.' She shone a slight smile for the first time since they had arrived. It was directed at him.
'Thanks.' He said.
'Don't go getting a big head, though, because I do prefer your long brown locks…'
He stared at her stunning features for a second, but decided not to let anything show. 'How about everyone else – apart from Bobby? Do you think Tessa's okay as well? She hasn't said much since we got here.' He asked, watching the entrance to the showers.
'What's she got to say? Everything about this place is wrong. I keep trying to contact her through my telepathy, but,' she stopped, shaking her head angrily 'I can't get through because of this goddamn thing on the back of my neck. It's like I've lost one of my senses Scott… though I've tried not using it for a time; this is becoming inhuman… I'm almost crippled.' She said, her voice cracking slightly.
'Christ, just hold on, Jean – we're going to survive these slave-drivers. You and me, huh?' He held her neck, pulling her face to his eyes. 'As soon as we're out of here, we living like we should, yeah? Not reserved, none of that crap, I'm talking proper stuff, on the edge and all. I mean it. They're not going to drag us down!'
She returned his intense stair passionately. 'I_believe_you.'
'I'll pull you through.' He promised, turning back to fidget with what was left on his tray. 'I'll pull all of us through.' Scott paused, letting a hiatus descend on the conversation.
The rest of the students trudged out from the mist of the showers, and sat by the two with their food. They looked fresh-faced, and clean, but the same sense of defeated weariness still loomed on the inside. Bobby was still in the cubicles. The others looked around, taking in the general atmosphere. A strong depression hung in the Mess like a heavy stench, ever present, and never ceasing; clinging to their minds and bodies always. Water dripped slowly from wet rattails of hair, and the frown on each face left nothing to the imagination. A distinct lack of discussion left them equally angry and upset. It wasn't possible to derive anything pleasing or noble from their current position. There was no warmth here, no passion, only a cold future ahead of them if something didn't happen soon. There would come a point when the students would suddenly become so broken apart, that they could never recover. That was what these officers desired, and that was what Xavier's followers could never concede. 'Boy is it warm in here' Hank muttered derisively 'almost as warm as those bloody showers. How's the food? It looks foul.'
'Its rank and I can't force myself to eat another bite.' Scott complained. He leaned on the table, coming close to the others. 'Listen guys;' he started supportively 'any of you know what they've got planned for today and tomorrow? By what we've encountered, I doubt it'll be relieving.'
'Something gruesome, I'll wager.' Hank stated, digging into the slop on his tray. He chewed it around slowly, considering the melange of tasteless flavours covering his mouth. 'God, this place is so wrong.' He said, spitting the mixture into the bin. 'This is supposed to be nutritious? I could come up with something better than this in the lab at home.'
'I know; they have us fed on gruel, sleeping on wooden-board beds, and sweating for over fourteen hours a day – it's a wonder we have the strength to chew this crap.' Scott replied.
Dr Kyle Kryles cruised into the Prisoner Mess hall, glancing at the catering staff quickly. They nodded, and he checked with the guards, lining the room. Jean watched him study them, like cattle, grazing off a dusty plain. 'When we first got here, Logan told us the reason for this place – he explained his job here. I'm guessing we're going to be sent to do some dirty work abroad.' She paused, chuckling ironically. 'Not that we even know where the hell we are.'
Bobby emerged from the showers, rubbing himself to circulate the heat in his body once more. He took a seat at the end of the table, as the Doctor approached them. A guard motioned for the others to stand, clutching his gun a bit firmer.
'All right, kids – here's the bullet.' He announced, looking them over.
Scott had to steal himself not to punch a hole through his smarmy features. The man was not the respected officer he thought he was.
'We're going to push you a little bit harder today, see if we can't straighten out the kinks in your manoeuvres. Sparring and obstacle training will commence in thirty minutes, so make sure you're all washed and filled up on our lovely slop. Something extra, though, will be coming your way, but only for a selected few. Commander Spaskyich wants an introduction to the ones he hasn't met,' Kryles's gaze wandered over to Logan temporarily 'so that he can brief you on an introductory mission that's been given the green light. I want each of you already busy by the time I come back to check.' They expected him to continue, but he simply ushered them out.
As they were forced out, Kryles's hand snaked out from behind Hank, and grasped his shoulder with bony, serpentine fingers. 'McCoy,' he said sinisterly, twisting the mutant around 'you're coming with us.'
Hank tugged himself back firmly. 'What the hell for?' He exclaimed, starting to wish he had been one of the first to leave.
'I've got something special lined up for you. Don't you trust me?'
* * *
The elegant sweeping actions of Logan's feral body were not lost on Sabretooth as he stood at a distance, watching his rival build himself up. They were in the sparring room, a large area devoted to many rooms that housed the various combat scenarios that Weapon X trainees were expected to encounter. Logan was at the very back of the place, where only the enclosed area at the end of the passage made up the walls for the training equipment. The lights had been dimmed slightly, justifying the sinister mood. Only the faint rattling of equipment resonated down the passageway, and Sabretooth stood in the shadows, observing his opponent meticulously with his keen eyesight. The designers of this area had maintained the same aspect of conformist futuristic detail as the rest of the institute, leaving only cold, white hallways and doors that echoed a potent sense of imprisonment for everyone within. Sabretooth immersed himself deeper in the shadows, and approached cautiously. He noted the guards with their backs turned at the end of the hall, and knew he was safe from harm so far.
Logan drew back vigilantly, keeping his eyes shut. He visualised the boards and brackets, all extending from the posts in the floor. His mind mapped the area, placing every piece of equipment where he had seen it previously. Only a dark blanket was his vision now, as black and clear as his consciousness. He embraced it, seeking the thrill of this blind challenge. The posts rotated slowly, switching places along the floor at his command. He moved into the centre space, instinctively knowing his immediate safety among the whirling objects. He knew no more of the challenge though, and was soon surprised as he sensed the posts enclosing around him. Growling involuntarily, and flexed, and spun around with his claws extended. He felt no contact, but free air. He was struck hard on the shoulder by something unyielding, and twisted, punching the wooden board clean in half. Immediately, the post crossed over the floor and its rotating head propelled a steel pole against Logan's unprepared jawbone. It cracked against the side of his face, and he flopped to the floor painfully. Forcing himself to keep his eyes still shut, he flipped to his feet and sliced the pole off its holding. He stepped back safely, and took hold of his newfound weapon. Its length surprised him somewhat, but he held no reservations as to its usefulness. Grasping firmly, his muscles tensed as he batted the post in half, and then concentrated on visualising the other two, still spinning their dangerous armaments.
Sabretooth regarded as his enemy dispatched one of the obstacles blind, and then decided to enjoy himself. He was no stranger to pain, and a fight only doused fuel on his flaming fire. When the time for action came, which it always did, Victor Creed was insatiable. It was simply a pity he was now being ordered to perform by his captors.
Logan was preparing himself mentally once again before the incoming attack hit. He focussed his flustered anger, channelling the energy to pure brute force. A blow to the head made him stagger into the oncoming posts, and in the suddenness of it, he found himself thinking it was too early for the post to have made contact. Perhaps his timing had gone out of synch, but then why was he hit at all – he was standing away from the action. Right now though, it didn't matter, for the strike had muddled his senses, and now Logan didn't know what was coming. He extended the six claws from his knuckles, and crouched, bracing his bruised body. The next hit flattened him, and Logan rolled out of the way knowing it was not from the machine. A grunt of exertion made him open his eyes, and a painfully familiar face shot into view. Logan concealed the look of astonishment on his face, and brought his spiked hands up to guard his chest as Sabretooth landed on him.
The attacker twisted at the last second, just dodging the lethal impalement. He stepped on the end of the discarded steel pole, flipping it into his grasp. 'Shall we have a little fun again, Runt? I've been looking for you all this time, and now no-one can stop our dance.' Sabretooth crawled around him in a circle, brandishing the weapon forcibly. 'As you can see, my healing power's just as good as yours.' He swung at Logan, but missed, and traced the circle once more. 'Make sure your friends know you're on the way out; once I finish you off, I'm going after them!' The pole flew over Logan's ducking head once more, but the mutant skewered it with his claws. He flung it away from Sabretooth's hands, shredding the metal in a grating shriek. Deciding not to taunt or speak a word, Logan let the action go ahead, calming his body after every high, and adjusting each time he was knocked low.
Once the pole was out of his reach, Sabretooth pitched into the fight, his hairy arms and legs flailing. He took hold of Logan's vest, ripping his sharp nails across his opponent's belly. He pushed him backwards, into the whirling posts that collided and tore at exposed flesh. Logan screeched, and span out of their range, collecting himself on the other side. Only the two spinning obstacles separated the two men's voracious wills, and the student found himself motioning for the lanky tramp to approach. Sabretooth growled, and launched over the poles, landing on Logan's tumbling form. He pinned him to the floor, spitting on Logan's red face. 'Miss this, did you? This invasive penetration that I give you each time we meet? Huh?' Sabretooth taunted him, drawing his claws over a bleeding forehead. 'My alias for you – it's been taken away' he sympathised falsely 'how about I give you a new one?' Logan wrenched his arms up, but Sabretooth was pressing down across his entire chest with colossal force. 'Remember how I used to treat you? Remember the little games we played – you always lost though, Runt – I won every time, 'cos I'm the better man!' Logan's fury was boiling over; sweat spilled down his straining arms. Defiance and outright rage pooled from his destructive soul, and he hissed through gritted teeth. 'Get the hell off me!' Sabretooth cackled maniacally, holding him in place and smacked him flat-handed across the face. An anger too deep for him to fathom welled up inside, caressing every tendon, every blood vessel and every bone in his aching body. Logan screamed a blood-curdling roar, and leeched every remaining shred of power from the tiring muscles. With phenomenal power, he thrust Sabretooth off him, and slashed three claws over his enemy's scrunched features. Logan dragged himself from the floor, his strength returning. He picked up the dropped pole, and walked determinedly to his adversary. The pattering of boots from behind told him that the guards were quickly approaching, so he had to make this quick.
Sabretooth recoiled from the attack, and stood to watch Logan walking toward him with the weapon. He cracked his knuckles, awaiting the final contact, unfortunately though, Sabretooth went for the slow dummy from Logan. The pole lurched to one side, and he raised his claws preparing to crash down on the battered steel; but Logan swung the shredded end towards his shoulder, and the corrugated steel cleaved into the flesh and bone mightily. Sabretooth howled in anguish, tugging at the stuck metal. He collapsed satisfyingly on the floor, and Logan stopped to let the guards surround them. The chief took in their quarrel, chuckling lightly. He then shouted at the two sprawling men. 'Just because we alter those things on the back of your necks when you're in the sparring rooms, doesn't mean you get to screw each other over with your freak powers! Get off!'
Logan turned to him preparing to protest, but Sabretooth screamed at them in a gurgling voice. 'He attacked me – take him!'
The guards grabbed their weapons, and Logan stared incredulously at them. 'No…' He started, backing off.
The chief decided quickly, and then nodded to his men. 'I believe the Sabretooth.' He said.
Logan extended his claws instinctively for the scuffle, but a hard hit to the head brought him down, and the rest of the guards rallied around to join in.
* * *
Sitting aboard the helicopter once more was not as peaceful an experience as it had been last time for Xavier's former students. Originally, when they had been brought to Weapon X, they had effectively been knocked unconscious for the entire journey, but now they were kept alive and alert early in the morning. Of course they had no idea where they were going, for the pilots in the cockpit kept the helicopter height above any distinguishing features in the terrain below. Only a cold noisy interior and the slow rocking of the vehicle kept the students interested. So far they had been in the air for two hours or so, with no instruction from their commander, or a clue where they were off to. Each of them had dressed in a black agent uniform, like the soldiers, but Logan and Hank were gone, having been kept behind at the institution. Not as many people were on board compared to when they arrived either for the debilitating lethal chips embedded in the spine ensured their good behaviour. The buffeting motion disturbed some of them slightly, but the general atmosphere was lazy, so they just slept until arrival.
Jean was pulled out of rest by the motions, knocking her head against the metal wall. She pushed against the barrier, regaining her posture and readjusting the wiry black headset set in place on her short red hair. She tapped the microphone away from her mouth, and tried to ignore the device around her head. Instinctively, she prepared to stretch her open mind out to detect everything around her, but within these past few days, she had learnt to restrain that particular movement. The small electrical jolts seemed to have built up a slow aversion for her to the telepathy which she would never forgive the people at Weapon X for. Jean still concentrated on it a lot, but it was a little less frequent in her mind each day, and she was starting to adapt. It was as if she had been robbed of her most treasured possession, and then taught to detest its very nature. The entire prospect made her faint when she thought to hard about it, so instead Jean gazed out of the window. Only a blank sheet of clouds filled the small view, but after a moment or two, Jean believed they were descending through it. Nothing amazingly detailed appeared through the cloud, but she could see evidence of a large snow laden forest, surrounded by simple grassland. A dam was in plain sight as well, but it was off in the distance. She knew this was vague, but none of what she saw would convey anything too complex. The sunlight wasn't even coursing over the ground, but was simply contained above the everlasting skin of cloud that stretched for miles in all directions.
She turned her head back, looking to her friends who had also noticed their descent. Scott was sitting opposite her facing of out his window, and in between them, Tessa, Ororo and Bobby sat, all registering their surroundings. Behind them, Piotr and Kitty seemed just as bemused. A tiny spark was felt in the back of her neck, and it made every hair stand on end. Jean felt the electrical buzz of the headset shiver down her spine as a com signal activated. Watching the others, she knew they had felt it too, and realised they were being addressed. A gruff, cigarette-laden Texan accent blurted into life in her ears, and she trembled involuntarily again as the headset worked its magic. 'Wake up, people – this is your Captain speaking.' The voice sounded. Jean looked to Scott, raising her eyebrows questioningly. He shrugged uncomprehendingly, but was cut off by the voice again. 'This is Commander Spaskyich here, and we got these thin devices on the tops of your heads to communicate properly – the signal's a little shaky, but we're tryin' to boost the source.' The voice paused temporarily, and Jean stroked her blistered fingertips over the tiny piece of metal strapped around her head. It shuddered, and then so did she.
'That's about as good as it can get, so y'all bear with me now, even through the interference.' He swallowed, the lump in his throat resonating quite clearly through the transmission. 'No-one needs to know where you're off to, or even why, but this is quite a test for you young ones to be undertaking for such an early start in the training. I realised Doctor Kryles said you were going to meet with me, but I decided that was against my interest, so instead, I'm sending you in to do a little work without my director's introduction.'
The helicopter bounced and swayed among the turbulence, but it was nearing the ground quickly. The finer details zoomed into view, and below, Jean could see the snow glistening with dew drops from the morning. It sparkled, but started to wobble and shake as the helicopter sent down a tremendous gust of wind. The tree tops waved, spilling their reservoir of white gold into piles along the ground.
'You're going into an installation chosen by us for some special training, and nobody is topside, so that means you seven are to successfully infiltrate the objective through a designated entrance and then get to the science labs as quickly as possible. It's all appropriately labelled, and there's no real danger within – but – I want you to make an impression on me, so act like your lives depend on it.' The voice chuckled sadistically. 'Alarms and doors and so on will all be operational, so make sure y'all stay frosty in there, people. The agents will show you out, and then leave right away. Once the objective has been reached and then completed, we'll be back to pick you up.'
The helicopter bumped as it touched down, and the agents on board opened the door showing the students the way out. The voice continued calmly. 'Remember we're monitoring you all the way, so don't do anything I don't tell you to, because Big Brother has an extremely short fuse.'
The five people were bustled out into the snow with each black-suited agent clutching their gun closely. The helicopter's rotor blades started up again, beating furiously against the soft ground. It lifted off and suddenly, they were gone. Spaskyich's last words echoed in each head present. 'This is a two-way communication system, but don't any of you try an' talk back to me with a sharp tongue. Once the perimeter is breached, I'll start the instructions. For now though, if you all want a ride home, you better get on with it.'
The communication ended, and the crackling from interference dispersed. Jean watched the helicopter disappear, shivering from the cold. The entire prospect was much too surreal, even for them; seven of Xavier's finest, abandoned in the middle of nowhere among an endless sea of snow. No sign posts were near, no labels or writing and no indication from the commander. The only thing in abundance in this godforsaken wilderness was damp cold, crawling up the skin like a spider. Jean rubbed her arms, trying to get the blood circulating. She glanced to Scott, wondering what to do.
'I guess we better do what he says, then.' He said bemused.
Ororo stepped forward questioningly. 'Don't you think,' she started 'that this might be a good time for us to run?'
'No – I think that from what we've seen in all this time, if he says he's monitoring us, then I'm inclined to believe him.' Ororo tried to reply, but Scott cut her off authoritatively. 'I really think we should do what he says.'
She groaned exasperatingly. 'How are we supposed to get in this place, we don't even know where the damn entrance is!'
The area was bear, save for the many trees lining the perimeter. There was only snow and forest. The dense darkness emanating from there wasn't a place that any of them wished to venture in to. It was foreboding, but just as formidable as the white blanket covering the ground perfectly below them.
The crackle of interference sounded in Jean's ears again, reminding her momentarily of the telepathy that was denied to her. She lodged that thought away, and listened to Spaskyich's voice as it spluttered over the weak signal. 'There should be a large bank of snow just to the right of you.' He said, the sound snapping and popping in their ears. 'To the right, under the shortest tree; brush the snow away and there'll be a hatch that should open up with a bit of force. Make it in there, and you're all on the first step to gettin' that flight home.' It cut out abruptly, and they began to make their way deep into the bowels of the underground installation.
* * *
Spaskyich led them through the long abandoned hallways of the underground lair, passing by many closed rooms and sealed doors. The tense students crawled across the cold metal floor, edging toward their unknown objective. None said a word, but each could hear the lazy vibrating hum rising through the walls from deep within the place. Darkness loomed in every corner passed, creeping over the sterile walls like a plant waiting to enclose their passage. The lights flashed intermittently, spraying their luminescence over the seven young bodies. Spaskyich eventually guided them to one of the better lit areas, requiring them to retrieve the meagre weapons from an unlocked armoury. Camera's flitted from within the darkness, monitoring their progress all the way.
Further and further they went, venturing into an unknown. Spaskyich addressed the students through their headsets. He indicated to a large, final door at the end of the passageway. 'The labs are in there; go on in and wave your guns around.' He stated flatly. 'We want the people in there to comply, so make them sweat.' The lights shone a lot brighter in this part of the underground base; the glow falling against the unyielding double doors. The students stood poised, awaiting Spaskyich's next instruction. 'I've given Jean a smart card which should allow entry into this part of the complex – use it, and keep on ya damn toes, little ones.' His voice snapped out of the earphones.
Jean clutched the card to her chest, and then picked it out of her breast pocket on the blacker-than-black uniform. She batted away the false epithet from their captor, and looked to the others, watching for their appraisal. Scott nodded slightly and spoke. 'If I'm not going to lead us, then I'm glad it's you.' She swiped the smart card across the reader and the double doors opened gently.
* * *
A strike on the back forced Logan further down the corridor to where the agents were taking him. He was clearly reluctant to be herded into the sparring rooms once more, after the incident with Sabretooth, but the agents had taken steps to ensure the two didn't meet as often as each would prefer. 'Keep moving.' The gruff sounding agent announced, issuing a small blow to the back of Logan's head. The feral mutant grunted angrily, and stepped up his pace, coming closer to the rooms. His scars had healed from the day before, but his rage still bubbled under bruised and battered skin. Logan turned his head as the shifting sound of the door to Medical alerted his senses. He raised his nose to the air picking up on a familiar scent. A nasty, potent mix of fear and sweat greeted him, and it took a time for Logan to process the smell properly. The guards drove him toward the sparring rooms, but he slowed and strained wantonly against them. The scent was stronger, but the air conditioning was siphoning it out rapidly. 'Hey, wait a minute.' He muttered, but they proceeded to push him away. As Logan was being ferreted off, Hank ambled from out of the Medical doors, doused in a fine sheen of blue tinged hair. It covered him from head to toe ever so slightly, almost showing like an animal's fur; it glinted perfectly in the glow of the strip lights overhead and disgustingly, it suited his already mutant gait. Horrified at the transformation, Logan stopped dead in the corridor, scared to witness this horrific metamorphosis. Hank's build had been altered drastically, appearing inhumanly muscular and bulky while strangely fitting for the genetic modification; the greatest change Logan could pick out though, was in his eyes. The sense of resistance had been completely discharged, leaving only a heavy cloud of futility that misted over. Whatever the agents had done to his body, it had finally dissolved his spirited mind; now the man had become nothing more than an altered shell of a once proud and intelligent human being. Hank was prodded despondently back to the cellblock while Doctor Kryles stood at the entrance, polishing his hands with a damp cloth. His wiry frame tilted to see Logan, staring at him with intensity great enough to bore a hole right through his frail body. 'Maybe,' he indicated to the guards 'you should take him back to the cellblock too…'
They shoved a very reluctant Logan into the sparring rooms, and turned to the good Doctor. 'The commander says he's to think about what he's done. We'll make sure he don't smash the place up like last time.'
* * *
The students spread outwards once the main laboratory was under their control. The room was large, with stacks of books and equipment and shelves lining every wall. At the back, opposite the entrance a huge construct of computer screens, terminals and data banks sat with the scientists forced up against it. There were two smaller rooms adjoined to the main large one, and Piotr and Kitty managed to round up the working technicians and lab assistants into the main room. The native installation workers grouped without much of a commotion once they had been disarmed. A small bank of monitor screens was stuck in the corner of an adjoining room, and the linked cameras had been watching the students as they penetrated the underground network of passages and corridors. In order to send away any intruders, the scientists had grabbed for the pistols at that monitoring terminal intending to defend themselves, but a quick move from Tessa's mind had dissuaded them. Spaskyich ordered the workers to be rounded up, and now the students stood ready, awaiting the final instructions that could see them home successfully.
Piotr and Kitty guarded the double door entrance to the main room with dominating superiority, ensuring no unwanted visitors came looking for their men. A tense air descended on the room, each person there able to feel it from a mile away. It hung heavy and silent, like a predator about to strike.
Jean clutched the butt of the small black pistol strongly; it's furnishing starting to slip in her sweaty palm. She held it by her side, afraid of having to drive its vicious intent. Jean looked to the computer monitors, blaring streams of data across their small screens. It looked as if the people here were concentrating on something quite important, as they all seemed very edgy, stuck in their corner. She moved over to Scott who was scrutinising a large column in the centre of the room. It held screens all the way around, and seemed to have several compartments with small specimens in each. She stared into his red glasses, shaking her head quizzically. 'What do you think you're looking at?' Spaskyich's voice sounded in her ears suddenly. Jean placed the microphone receiver to her mouth and replied. 'I don't know – looks like some kind of biological subject material. What do you want us to do?'
'Scott' the commander started 'in one of your jacket pockets you should find a small device that can link straight into the USB socket of that big computer straight ahead. Not that one, the biggest one in the room – don't play with me, son.' Scott shook his head angrily, and walked over to the main CPU component. Spaskyich continued to the other students. 'Make sure those science pricks don't try to stop him.'
Ororo and Bobby stepped closer to the cornered men, hands raised in a half-hearted greeting. 'Let us do what we came here for; guys – then we'll be out of your hair.' Ororo said, trying to add some charm to her voice.
Scott placed the device in, and let it search out the information that it was designed to look for. It started to rattle and hum as it downloaded all the appropriate data streams. The leading scientist threw up his hands in protest, stepping forward abruptly. He pushed passed Ororo quickly. 'I can't allow you to do that, you young fool!' He dashed for the device, hands flailing to rip the device's cord out. Spaskyich roared in the student's ears. 'Don't let him get to the cord, idiots!'
Jean raised the small pistol to the scientist's body. 'Stop!' She yelled, her voice shaking under tension. 'Stop it, I said!' The man paused, looking to them. 'This is extremely sensitive data on genetics and biotechnology – I can't let you reap our profit for someone who probably cannot understand the concepts themselves – out of my way!' He lunged for the device once more, but Scott knocked him onto his back with a hardened fist. The scientist yelled furiously.
'Haha – listen, people' Spaskyich shouted down the signal 'I've just got orders from higher up – Jean, I want you to take that guy out, then once the device has uploaded everything, run out the way you came.'
Jean whirled to Scott, her face an expression of confusion and anxiety. 'What does he mean, "take him out"?' She asked, staring to her friends.
'I mean, take him out and shoot him – now get on with it.' Spaskyich answered.
The device linked to the computer beeped its completion, and the scientist kicked against the floor in anguish. The other people jostled agitatedly in their corner. Jean's gaze fell to the pained man below her. 'No way!' She cried. Tessa, Ororo and Bobby started to back away to the entrance. Scott unplugged the device and watched as the scientist got to his feet. 'You're all bastards – sick bastards! I hope you burn in hell!' He screamed.
Jean's headset buzzed into life once more, and the same dirty cigarette-laden voice sounded in her ears. 'To think we were gonna hire this idiot – get rid of him Jean.' Spaskyich stated authoritatively.
The redhead took several steps backward, the lines of responsibility and panic etched over her flawless features. 'You can do it yourself, because I am not going to kill this guy – he hasn't done anything wrong!'
The scientist's ears pricked up. 'What?' He called.
'How do you know he hasn't done anything wrong? Shoot him in the head now.'
'I'd be able to tell you if I had my telepathy with me!' Jean cried.
'If you don't shoot him right now, in ten seconds your boyfriend's head is gonna explode.' Spaskyich shouted down the line.
Scott's fingers laced over the metal chip at the base of his neck, and it vibrated, shocking him. He fell to his knees in agony as the Scientist took hold of Jean's arms. He shook the girl violently, but she didn't seem to respond, only starting to weep. 'My name is Essex – Nathaniel Essex, I'm a Doctor of biomechanics and sub molecular biology…' He panicked, clutching her arms in a tight grip. Scott started to scream out in pain as the other students surrounded him. 'It's the goddamn chip in his neck!' Tessa yelled, flipping the teenager onto his back. She took his hand in hers as he writhed about in the throws of a seizure. 'Jesus, Jean – kill him!'
Nathaniel Essex babbled on, shedding his white lab coat and beating it to the floor. 'Don't kill me – I've got a wife, a beautiful wife and three children – I see them every weekend; I have pictures here, look!' Jean grabbed her head, dropping the gun on the floor. 'No! No!' She cried again and again.
Spaskyich's calm and malicious voice sounded in her ears once more. 'Scott has five seconds left Jean.'
The other students looked up from their friends' convulsing body. 'Do it, Christ – kill him!' They shouted.
Essex tore open his grey shirt, the buttons pinging onto the floor harmonically. 'I'm a human being – I have a life – know me!' He screamed in anguish, his schizophrenic face contorted in perpetual fear.
Scott's voice ripped through the commotion as he screamed out in agony. 'Jean!' He shouted.
As the seconds counted down to the last few, the redheaded girl took hold of the small black pistol, and plucked it off the floor. She pulled the trigger and in a determined crack of smoke, Nathaniel Essex, Doctor of biomechanics and sub molecular biology, husband and father of three, dropped limp to the floor. A thin, wet cloud of blood issued into the heavy air, and sprayed across the Doctor's prone form.
Immediately the chip stopped emitting the deadly pulse, and Scott was taken from Spaskyich's hands. The pain seared across his limp body, bursting in every cell and organ, but as it began to subside, Scott realised it was no longer present. He breathed deeply, and wiped away a long trail of blood from his nose dibbling over his cheek. 'You not in pain anymore?' Ororo asked, clutching his head in her lap. Scott grimaced excruciatingly, attempting to lift himself off the ground. Spaskyich addressed them again via the headset. 'That was a little party trick I do – I can get out of control when it happens.' He paused, suppressing a laugh. 'Now get the hell out of there – those technicians have already alerted the security from a small military base a way from here.' The voice cut out, and as Piotr was helping the broken student to his feet, Scott peeled the headset away, and tossed it to Essex's feet. Tessa cradled Jean's frantic head in her arms, and then motioned for them to exit.
The scientists surrounded Nathaniel Essex's body, carting it onto a small table as the students left in a hurry.