Chapter 2
Sabertooth: that was his real name. It made him feel so much more powerful than the lame-o name, Victor Creed. That was his father's name, and his father was only human: a homo sapiens. Sabertooth, as he called himself, was so much more. He was the best thing that breathed so far, a homo superior: a mutant. If anything was genuinely perfect, it was the mutant race. Well, it was as perfect as possible, but it still had people that didn't help the mutant purpose.
"The mutant race is the future," once said an untainted mind. "We are the future of man, and it is time to weed out the population that would prevent our rightful tomorrows." The voice was brave and powerful yet comforting and reassuring to Sabertooth. That voice reassured him that he was not a freak as his father had numerously shouted.
"'Ey, ugly, shut up!" his father had shouted at the four-year old Sabertooth.
"But, Sir, I-I-I'm hungry," he begged in reply.
"Oh, yer hungry, are ye? Well, come over 'ere and I'll give you some food." The young long, blonde haired boy walked over to his father. He stood in front of his father with pitiful, deep, black pools of eyes, just barely looking at his father's face. His father smiled a mouth full of chipped and missing teeth.
"Well, why didn't you tell me that, boy?"
There was no reply.
"Eh, well, are ye 'ungry?" he asked waving his beer bottle to look more caring.
He still didn't answer.
"Answer me when I'm talkin' to ye, mongrel!" shouted his father
"Yes," sheepishly answered Sabertooth.
"YES! YES! YOU KNOW YOUR S'POSED TER USE 'SIR' EVERY TIME YER TALKIN' TER ME!
"Yes, Sir!"
"Better! Now, put out your 'ands, ye little monster." The man smiled again
The skinny boy did as commanded, holding up his fuzzy arms that were connected to two relatively huge hands with five big black claws on each fingertip.
"'Eres your food!" shouted his father slamming his beer bottle into the boy's calloused palms. "I hope it tastes good!" Glass shards stood in Sabertooth's hands. But just as fast as his father had slammed his empty beer bottle into the boy's hands, the skin healed itself, popping the shards out of the skin like springs. "Yer a freak. Look at this mess you made!"
The man grabbed his boy by the wrist with strength enough to pull it off, and led him down to the cellar. Sabertooth had nightmares about that cellar on regular occasions. The dark cellar was one of those places that looked scary enough, but young Sabertooth knew the place all too well. Once it's primary use had been to hold his esteemed family's many foreign wines, but it became the imprisonment of the young mutant. Unfortunately, he had an impeccable mind which held his earliest memory from the age of three months. He remembered how he had been hungry one night, and his father was tired of his crying. The man carried the clawed baby to the cellar, and left him there for the night. "Look at ye, yer a monster. Do ye know what I go through fer ye? I work all day te support ye and your mother. What thanks do I get? 'I'm 'ungry.' 'I'm thirsty.' Ye belong in a freak show!" said Mr. Creed as he pulled his mutant child to the cellar. "Tha's a good idea," said the man more to himself. "I'll start lookin' t'morrow. Fer goodness sake, it's not like ye do anything. Yer mother won't even look at ye. All ye do is make 'er cry! How can ye do that ter yer own mother?" The man pushed his boy onto the cellar's floor and grabbed a wall mounted chain. He took the iron collar and attached it to his boy. Young Sabertooth watched his dad walk up to the stairs as he was chained to the wall crying. The cold icy winds of that Canadian road kept Sabertooth awake. He had been riding his stolen Harley for five days non-stop. The brisk wind whipped at his long blonde hair. His coat slapped at the bike, and he was as happy as possible. The only thing that bothered him was that man, that man whom he had fought a year ago. It didn't matter that the man had cheated by having his friend shoot Sabertooth off the Statue of Liberty's head. The whole memory caused him a great, passionate feeling of discontentment. All his most current problems were due to that man that had cheated in knocking him off the statue's head. He was the reason Sabertooth couldn't sleep. It had awoken some deep memories that he had somehow forgotten. What was it about him? Maybe it was those adamantium blades that pierced out from his knuckle, or could it have been that hair which stood up like two great huge cow licks that gave him these nightmares. Whatever it was, there was something definitely familiar about that short, bladed man. Why did he give me all these nightmares? thought Sabertooth.
There had been no one on this road except for a few caravans of trucks and the random native. Sabertooth was glad for this. He didn't want anyone to see him so sad. He had never been beaten in a fight except by his father, but he didn't want to think about him. He didn't want to cry. Most of all, He didn't want to be seen so unsatisfied. Just then, some kind of fancy motorcycle whizzed by him. He took a whiff of the scent; nothing unusual, but there was something familiar. It was him. It was that shorty with the blades. Sabertooth would have his revenge. With a loud, E-E-E-eer, Sabertooth turned around and sped towards his quarry. He could see it now. His adversary was out. He was down and out forever. Sabertooth fixated this image of the dead mutant in his mind. How could that mutant not see it? How could he not realize that we need to 'weed out' the humans? Mutants need to come together and overthrow their primitive oppressors. It was the last time! This mutant needed to see the truth or die! thought Sabertooth. Sabertooth sped towards his little friend and got ready for the pounce. Soon enough, the petite mutant saw the great blonde man, and swerved into the forest. Needles and pine cones flew. The sooped-up x-man's motorcycle raced through the dense forest. His chaser's followed amazingly well. Well, well, thought Sabertooth, You can't go forever. His lights glared through the forest always on the tail of the other. The chase didn't really start, though, until the prey jumped over a dry waterfall. He continued his path in and out of the dry creek bed, through a small gorge, and coming to a clearing. Just as Sabertooth got a foot away from the other bike, his stolen motorcycle started clunking. Clunk Kink Kink Clunk Clunk, went the bike. It ended with a, Ree-er-er-er-er-row Ree-er-er-er-er- row-row. The light flashed out with Sabertooth stranded there in the middle of the woods. All he could hear was the gentle swaying of trees and the long-gone rumble of his target's motor. He roared in agony. "Come on!" he growled. "Work would'ya?" Punching dents into it and kicking even more, the vehicle finally started a burble. I can still get him, thought Sabertooth. He hopped back on his bike, stomped on the gas, and roared to his adversary. The short mutant stood at a gas station, a ways north from Sabertooth, and calmly filled his tank. About two minutes passed, and Sabertooth was only a mile down-wind from his pint-size quarry. He reared his bike and roared into the station. (Both him and his bike were doing the roaring) Too late to avoid confrontation, the man whirled around to find his chaser jumping off his bike in a full scale pounce. Unfortunately for Sabertooth, the man ran out of his aim. Sabertooth avoided pouncing the gas pump by turning his pounce into a summersault to only find his prey in defensive position. (Blades out) Like an old western shoot-out, the two of them were spaced and staring at one another's pupils, and once more like a shoot-out, the two started at the same time. Claws stretched, they jolted towards each other. But to the short man's surprise, the blonde chaser had leaped towards a light instead of at him. The light came down with a loud crash on the top of the bladed man's head, but to Sabertooth's disappointment, the man was undisturbed. The light did nothing except really annoyed the man. They clawed at one another; each time, their muscles and skin grew back only to be followed by another blow. Jabs, Punches, and kicks flew at one another. The smaller pierced his knuckle blades into the concrete, pushed his body straight forward, trying to kick with all his might into Sabertooth's sternum, but at this, Sabertooth swiveled to be at the side of his prey's kick, pulled the man out of the ground, and threw him-blades in front-at the gas pump. He pierced through like an arrow. As the man flew out, the gasoline hose came after him like a disturbed rattlesnake. It tossed its severed self around, spraying gasoline everywhere-including onto its intruder. Not a bit of him was left dry. His war cry rang loud and clear as he jolted towards Sabertooth. "Die," he cried, thrusting all six blades into Sabertooth's chest, and with impeccable force, Sabertooth was pierced. Six blades went from the munchkin's knuckles, into Sabertooth's ribcage, and peeked out through the pierced one's coat. The tall man roared as he pulled his adversary from his own ribcage. The shorter one tried to get out of the grasp, but Sabertooth held his grip tight as his claws pierced through the man's forearms. Meanwhile, a strange stretching sound sounded Sabertooth's body coming back to normal. He smiled his cat-like teeth and pushed his opponent's blades onto the remaining gas tank. It was the man's adamantium blades against the steel gas tank. Sabertooth knew the man didn't realize what he was thinking. With great force, he scratched the man's blades against the tank. Sparks flew everywhere-including onto the gasoline drenched man! The man who was now catching on fire didn't have time to retract his blades from scratching the tank. The act was done but the fight was far from over. Sabertooth's little friend's skin was now ablaze. His skin scorched in the flames yet recuperated at a faster rate, but the act wasn't the smartest thing on Sabertooth's part either. He should have realized that the flames would catch his baggy clothes. With this, the two remained singeing, but ever healing. "You owe me!" growled Sabertooth for the first time since they had reacquainted. "You cost me my answers!" A look of remembrance struck his opponent's face. "What answers!" asked he as the only unlit part of his body-his blades-barely missed Sabertooth's left ear. "The ones about us! I've been remembering our work ever since we first met!" Sabertooth just streaked his flaming hand of claws across his opponent's face. "What do you mean 'our work'?" said he as he took his blades in a slash from left to right at a tree next to Sabertooth. The old pine was sliced with the single slash, and quickly felled onto him. With a thud, the man was locked underneath the heavy tree. His spine had been split in two places-one on his lower neck and the other was a foot below. His roar was well heard as all the morning birds flew away from that area of the forest. He got to his feet, took the tree and held it like a bat, and with a grand swing, the shorter of the two was under the tree. And with a great, booming chuckle, his vertebras were once more aligned. The man scrambled out of his lock much faster than Sabertooth. "You don't remember? Maybe you will if I put you to sleep for good!" Sabertooth roared, a new rage was building as he flashed his hands across the side of his old co-worker's face to reveal a sliced off ear. "Hold on! I've been looking for answers. Why aren't we just looking together?" he grunted while blocking a close swipe to his nose. "Because you'll probably betray me!" answered Sabertooth with a faint memory of his past. "What?" remarked the clueless one. "You really don't remember? Magneto said I knew more than you, but he didn't say how much," said Sabertooth panting as he finally knocked his opponent to the ground. His hand grasped at the man's neck, claws digging into the flesh. His half burned away boot stomped on the man's chest and pressed his open toes' claws into the man's chest. He smiled a tasteful smile of revenge. This was what it felt like! He loved it so dearly. It was like getting back at everyone who had ever wronged him-his father, his mother, that blue mutant on Magneto's team, the human race, and most importantly, this guy. "Really? Well, I'll tell you what I know and you can say what you remember," grunted he with a faint grin. Sabertooth gave a skeptical look; his black eyes studied the man carefully. A moment passed as he studied the man's face. Was this what I needed? Do I need this guy to help me find the answers I've been looking for? How do I know he knows anything? He might be lying. He may know nothing. He could just be looking for a way out from his unpreventable fate. But on the other hand, he could know something. He might actually share it with me, and after he does, I can kill him, thought Sabertooth "Okay, meet me in an hour at the roadhouse. It's about fifteen miles east of here," answered Sabertooth putting his guard down. The shorter man kept his blades up ready to fight, but cautiously walked away with an unbelieving eye.
Sabertooth: that was his real name. It made him feel so much more powerful than the lame-o name, Victor Creed. That was his father's name, and his father was only human: a homo sapiens. Sabertooth, as he called himself, was so much more. He was the best thing that breathed so far, a homo superior: a mutant. If anything was genuinely perfect, it was the mutant race. Well, it was as perfect as possible, but it still had people that didn't help the mutant purpose.
"The mutant race is the future," once said an untainted mind. "We are the future of man, and it is time to weed out the population that would prevent our rightful tomorrows." The voice was brave and powerful yet comforting and reassuring to Sabertooth. That voice reassured him that he was not a freak as his father had numerously shouted.
"'Ey, ugly, shut up!" his father had shouted at the four-year old Sabertooth.
"But, Sir, I-I-I'm hungry," he begged in reply.
"Oh, yer hungry, are ye? Well, come over 'ere and I'll give you some food." The young long, blonde haired boy walked over to his father. He stood in front of his father with pitiful, deep, black pools of eyes, just barely looking at his father's face. His father smiled a mouth full of chipped and missing teeth.
"Well, why didn't you tell me that, boy?"
There was no reply.
"Eh, well, are ye 'ungry?" he asked waving his beer bottle to look more caring.
He still didn't answer.
"Answer me when I'm talkin' to ye, mongrel!" shouted his father
"Yes," sheepishly answered Sabertooth.
"YES! YES! YOU KNOW YOUR S'POSED TER USE 'SIR' EVERY TIME YER TALKIN' TER ME!
"Yes, Sir!"
"Better! Now, put out your 'ands, ye little monster." The man smiled again
The skinny boy did as commanded, holding up his fuzzy arms that were connected to two relatively huge hands with five big black claws on each fingertip.
"'Eres your food!" shouted his father slamming his beer bottle into the boy's calloused palms. "I hope it tastes good!" Glass shards stood in Sabertooth's hands. But just as fast as his father had slammed his empty beer bottle into the boy's hands, the skin healed itself, popping the shards out of the skin like springs. "Yer a freak. Look at this mess you made!"
The man grabbed his boy by the wrist with strength enough to pull it off, and led him down to the cellar. Sabertooth had nightmares about that cellar on regular occasions. The dark cellar was one of those places that looked scary enough, but young Sabertooth knew the place all too well. Once it's primary use had been to hold his esteemed family's many foreign wines, but it became the imprisonment of the young mutant. Unfortunately, he had an impeccable mind which held his earliest memory from the age of three months. He remembered how he had been hungry one night, and his father was tired of his crying. The man carried the clawed baby to the cellar, and left him there for the night. "Look at ye, yer a monster. Do ye know what I go through fer ye? I work all day te support ye and your mother. What thanks do I get? 'I'm 'ungry.' 'I'm thirsty.' Ye belong in a freak show!" said Mr. Creed as he pulled his mutant child to the cellar. "Tha's a good idea," said the man more to himself. "I'll start lookin' t'morrow. Fer goodness sake, it's not like ye do anything. Yer mother won't even look at ye. All ye do is make 'er cry! How can ye do that ter yer own mother?" The man pushed his boy onto the cellar's floor and grabbed a wall mounted chain. He took the iron collar and attached it to his boy. Young Sabertooth watched his dad walk up to the stairs as he was chained to the wall crying. The cold icy winds of that Canadian road kept Sabertooth awake. He had been riding his stolen Harley for five days non-stop. The brisk wind whipped at his long blonde hair. His coat slapped at the bike, and he was as happy as possible. The only thing that bothered him was that man, that man whom he had fought a year ago. It didn't matter that the man had cheated by having his friend shoot Sabertooth off the Statue of Liberty's head. The whole memory caused him a great, passionate feeling of discontentment. All his most current problems were due to that man that had cheated in knocking him off the statue's head. He was the reason Sabertooth couldn't sleep. It had awoken some deep memories that he had somehow forgotten. What was it about him? Maybe it was those adamantium blades that pierced out from his knuckle, or could it have been that hair which stood up like two great huge cow licks that gave him these nightmares. Whatever it was, there was something definitely familiar about that short, bladed man. Why did he give me all these nightmares? thought Sabertooth.
There had been no one on this road except for a few caravans of trucks and the random native. Sabertooth was glad for this. He didn't want anyone to see him so sad. He had never been beaten in a fight except by his father, but he didn't want to think about him. He didn't want to cry. Most of all, He didn't want to be seen so unsatisfied. Just then, some kind of fancy motorcycle whizzed by him. He took a whiff of the scent; nothing unusual, but there was something familiar. It was him. It was that shorty with the blades. Sabertooth would have his revenge. With a loud, E-E-E-eer, Sabertooth turned around and sped towards his quarry. He could see it now. His adversary was out. He was down and out forever. Sabertooth fixated this image of the dead mutant in his mind. How could that mutant not see it? How could he not realize that we need to 'weed out' the humans? Mutants need to come together and overthrow their primitive oppressors. It was the last time! This mutant needed to see the truth or die! thought Sabertooth. Sabertooth sped towards his little friend and got ready for the pounce. Soon enough, the petite mutant saw the great blonde man, and swerved into the forest. Needles and pine cones flew. The sooped-up x-man's motorcycle raced through the dense forest. His chaser's followed amazingly well. Well, well, thought Sabertooth, You can't go forever. His lights glared through the forest always on the tail of the other. The chase didn't really start, though, until the prey jumped over a dry waterfall. He continued his path in and out of the dry creek bed, through a small gorge, and coming to a clearing. Just as Sabertooth got a foot away from the other bike, his stolen motorcycle started clunking. Clunk Kink Kink Clunk Clunk, went the bike. It ended with a, Ree-er-er-er-er-row Ree-er-er-er-er- row-row. The light flashed out with Sabertooth stranded there in the middle of the woods. All he could hear was the gentle swaying of trees and the long-gone rumble of his target's motor. He roared in agony. "Come on!" he growled. "Work would'ya?" Punching dents into it and kicking even more, the vehicle finally started a burble. I can still get him, thought Sabertooth. He hopped back on his bike, stomped on the gas, and roared to his adversary. The short mutant stood at a gas station, a ways north from Sabertooth, and calmly filled his tank. About two minutes passed, and Sabertooth was only a mile down-wind from his pint-size quarry. He reared his bike and roared into the station. (Both him and his bike were doing the roaring) Too late to avoid confrontation, the man whirled around to find his chaser jumping off his bike in a full scale pounce. Unfortunately for Sabertooth, the man ran out of his aim. Sabertooth avoided pouncing the gas pump by turning his pounce into a summersault to only find his prey in defensive position. (Blades out) Like an old western shoot-out, the two of them were spaced and staring at one another's pupils, and once more like a shoot-out, the two started at the same time. Claws stretched, they jolted towards each other. But to the short man's surprise, the blonde chaser had leaped towards a light instead of at him. The light came down with a loud crash on the top of the bladed man's head, but to Sabertooth's disappointment, the man was undisturbed. The light did nothing except really annoyed the man. They clawed at one another; each time, their muscles and skin grew back only to be followed by another blow. Jabs, Punches, and kicks flew at one another. The smaller pierced his knuckle blades into the concrete, pushed his body straight forward, trying to kick with all his might into Sabertooth's sternum, but at this, Sabertooth swiveled to be at the side of his prey's kick, pulled the man out of the ground, and threw him-blades in front-at the gas pump. He pierced through like an arrow. As the man flew out, the gasoline hose came after him like a disturbed rattlesnake. It tossed its severed self around, spraying gasoline everywhere-including onto its intruder. Not a bit of him was left dry. His war cry rang loud and clear as he jolted towards Sabertooth. "Die," he cried, thrusting all six blades into Sabertooth's chest, and with impeccable force, Sabertooth was pierced. Six blades went from the munchkin's knuckles, into Sabertooth's ribcage, and peeked out through the pierced one's coat. The tall man roared as he pulled his adversary from his own ribcage. The shorter one tried to get out of the grasp, but Sabertooth held his grip tight as his claws pierced through the man's forearms. Meanwhile, a strange stretching sound sounded Sabertooth's body coming back to normal. He smiled his cat-like teeth and pushed his opponent's blades onto the remaining gas tank. It was the man's adamantium blades against the steel gas tank. Sabertooth knew the man didn't realize what he was thinking. With great force, he scratched the man's blades against the tank. Sparks flew everywhere-including onto the gasoline drenched man! The man who was now catching on fire didn't have time to retract his blades from scratching the tank. The act was done but the fight was far from over. Sabertooth's little friend's skin was now ablaze. His skin scorched in the flames yet recuperated at a faster rate, but the act wasn't the smartest thing on Sabertooth's part either. He should have realized that the flames would catch his baggy clothes. With this, the two remained singeing, but ever healing. "You owe me!" growled Sabertooth for the first time since they had reacquainted. "You cost me my answers!" A look of remembrance struck his opponent's face. "What answers!" asked he as the only unlit part of his body-his blades-barely missed Sabertooth's left ear. "The ones about us! I've been remembering our work ever since we first met!" Sabertooth just streaked his flaming hand of claws across his opponent's face. "What do you mean 'our work'?" said he as he took his blades in a slash from left to right at a tree next to Sabertooth. The old pine was sliced with the single slash, and quickly felled onto him. With a thud, the man was locked underneath the heavy tree. His spine had been split in two places-one on his lower neck and the other was a foot below. His roar was well heard as all the morning birds flew away from that area of the forest. He got to his feet, took the tree and held it like a bat, and with a grand swing, the shorter of the two was under the tree. And with a great, booming chuckle, his vertebras were once more aligned. The man scrambled out of his lock much faster than Sabertooth. "You don't remember? Maybe you will if I put you to sleep for good!" Sabertooth roared, a new rage was building as he flashed his hands across the side of his old co-worker's face to reveal a sliced off ear. "Hold on! I've been looking for answers. Why aren't we just looking together?" he grunted while blocking a close swipe to his nose. "Because you'll probably betray me!" answered Sabertooth with a faint memory of his past. "What?" remarked the clueless one. "You really don't remember? Magneto said I knew more than you, but he didn't say how much," said Sabertooth panting as he finally knocked his opponent to the ground. His hand grasped at the man's neck, claws digging into the flesh. His half burned away boot stomped on the man's chest and pressed his open toes' claws into the man's chest. He smiled a tasteful smile of revenge. This was what it felt like! He loved it so dearly. It was like getting back at everyone who had ever wronged him-his father, his mother, that blue mutant on Magneto's team, the human race, and most importantly, this guy. "Really? Well, I'll tell you what I know and you can say what you remember," grunted he with a faint grin. Sabertooth gave a skeptical look; his black eyes studied the man carefully. A moment passed as he studied the man's face. Was this what I needed? Do I need this guy to help me find the answers I've been looking for? How do I know he knows anything? He might be lying. He may know nothing. He could just be looking for a way out from his unpreventable fate. But on the other hand, he could know something. He might actually share it with me, and after he does, I can kill him, thought Sabertooth "Okay, meet me in an hour at the roadhouse. It's about fifteen miles east of here," answered Sabertooth putting his guard down. The shorter man kept his blades up ready to fight, but cautiously walked away with an unbelieving eye.
