TAMPERE

FINLAND

The electronic buzz and the hum from the super Cray computers quietly competed with the voices in the large room. However, all the instruments within actually concealed its true size, creating an almost claustrophobic environment for the unaccustomed individual. Huge plasma screens had been attached to the walls, connected to the many CPUs whilst several people – all clothed in military attire – sat purposefully at their stations carrying out their assigned tasks. Only one man stood out, mainly because of his clothing. It was undoubtedly military-wear, but its design and cut signified someone of higher rank. He sat quietly, in a corner, sipping a freshly brewed cup of Colombian coffee.

At the other corner of the room sat Lieutenant Brakster, speaking into her headset whilst simultaneously typing at her console. Every now and then her eyes flicked back and forth from the screen in front of her to the blinking lights on her keypad. But this time, however, her eyes flicked to her screen and remained there while her brain was trying to calculate what she saw before her.

There was movement in sector 7, grid 28, and it did not appear to be one of their own. This was so because all military personnel wore concealed bar codes on their uniforms, therefore enabling the laser scanners located in several sections of the compound to identify all individuals. This individual, however, could not be identified and seconds later a small amber warning light flickered to life on her screen. Amber because the intruder posed a potential threat – he, or she, was technically still outside the compound's perimeter, on civilian ground. This could all simply be another false alarm, just like the one they experienced a few days ago.

During that incident, three teens, obviously high on something, had somehow managed to make their way to the perimeter fence. Unbeknownst to them, the fence protected and concealed a secret military base devoid of any standard warning signs. At first, everyone inside the compound had thought the worst. Perhaps this small party was herald to the arrival of a group with bent on bringing the military operation to a halt. Or perhaps they were simple a band of renegade mutants, angry over recent anti-mutant proposals. The commander of the base was immediately notified, and he in turn – without much delay – gave security on the outside the "red fire" command. This was their jargon for "shoot to kill" if any of the intruders actually managed to step foot within the restricted area. Lieutenant Brakster, in the meantime, was working hard to get a clearer image of the three individuals. She knew that if the three were brought down, and later proved to be mere pranksters, this would in turn bring a whole load of unwanted media attention. Seven agonizing minutes later, an image blowup of one intruder was sent to all screens, including the commander of the base. He took one look at the seventeen-year old with dyed pink hair, and swore. Another seven minutes later, the three teens found the fence uninteresting, and sauntered off back into the woods, oblivious to the fact that they had walked so close to death. Everyone inside let out huge sighs of relief.

But it was time for them to hold their breath again.

The one thing that differentiated this incident from the previous one was the way this subject was moving. Lieutenant Brakster looked at the blurry picture of the individual on her screen and swallowed. It was undoubtable that he was walking at a steady pace, with a particular direction in mind. The military base. Within a few seconds, he would be at the perimeter fence. To walk towards it in such a purposeful manner only meant that he knew the fence existed, despite its hidden location. The amber light started to flash, signifying the mounting threat. This guy was not here to stargaze.

Brakster spun around in her seat and shouted. 'General Leeward! We have an intruder approach in sector 7!'

The General put his coffee down, and walked slowly towards the Lieutenant. 'Please don't tell me it's the flower children again...'

'No sir, doesn't look that way. We have one person – appears to be alone.' answered Brakster as the General stood behind her.

'Can't you blow that thing up? The picture's so blurry it looks like we're in the middle of a blizzard!'

'Working on it, sir. But with the electricity problems we've been having over the last couple weeks, some of the cameras can't focus properly, and the feed is slow.'

The General pursed his lips, thinking. 'Switch to the IR cameras. They're battery operated aren't they?'

Brakster snapped her fingers, and then started tapping away at her keypad. 'Good idea, sir.'

Thirty seconds later, a colorful image popped onto the side of the screen. Otherwise incomprehensible, the colors took the shape of a human body – the blue-green areas being the regions with the least generated heat, and the red areas being the hottest.

'Subject appears to be at least six feet tall, sir. Male and-' she was suddenly cut short by a loud warning buzz and flashing lights within the room. People who were previously seated calmly at their consoles, seemed to come alive with activity.

'Sir! Outer perimeter has been breached!' shouted one man next to Brakster. 'Four units have been sent down to retrieve the intruder. What are your orders on capture, sir?'

Terrific. Just when you thought it was going to be a quiet day on the farm, thought General Leeward. 'I'll give the orders when we have proper identification, Lieutenant!' Leeward snapped at the man. 'Brakster, keep working on that feed! I need to know who the bloody hell has the gall to come striding in here like John-fucking-Wayne!'

Two minutes later. 'Sir! We have visual!' called out a voice from somewhere behind the General.

He walked quickly towards it, and stared at the screen in front of him. 'Sabretooth...' he muttered quietly to himself. 'Only that nut could make such an entrance...'

'General, the units are closing in and await your orders. What do I tell them?'

'Hold their fire.' Leeward breathed out a frustrated sigh. 'And get someone to fix that damned fence!'

Sabretooth walked into the metallic corridor, brushing the flakes of snow angrily off his coat. He took every chance he could to snarl at the wimps in military-garb. And though none of them flinched outwardly, Sabretooth liked to think they were pissing in their pants at the very sight of him. He knew none of them were quite comfortable with Weapon X experiments being allowed to saunter around the base – unsupervised, especially – and took pleasure in it. He didn't need some goddamned escort.

Sabretooth reached the end of the long corridor, where a heavily armored door lay. He stood in front of it, and looked up at the security camera.

'It's me.' he growled.

Two seconds later, there was an almost inaudible hum and the doors slid open to reveal General Leeward, lips pursed and brow furrowed in anger. Sabretooth's eyes withdrew from their usually bad-tempered gaze for a moment.

'Just what the hell do you think this place is? The Ritz-Carlton?' it was the General's turn to snarl.

'I took the shortest route here. The fence was in my way.' was Sabretooth's explanation. He pushed past the General, who in turn grew angrier.

'You listen to me! No one – I repeat: no one – is above authority unless they've earned it! And you especially,' Leeward looked Sabretooth up and down in contempt, 'do not fall in that category.'

'Say that again?' threatened Sabretooth spinning around.

'You heard me just fine. Don't think we're incapable of defending ourselves, sweetheart. Don't falter for a second to think we don't have the capability...and the means, to put you back in...treatment.'

For an instant, a flicker of fear crossed Sabretooth's face. The General took this as an invitation to threaten him further. 'Yeah, you got some fond memories of the good ol' days, don't you? Let's just hope that they remain that way – as memories. And let me remind you of what you're here for, sweetheart – our generous gift to you. You go flitting about breaking rules like this and you're never gonna get to him. That is, if you still want him...'

Sabretooth remained silent, and then growled out a name. 'Wolverine...'

'I'll take that as a "yes".' Stated General Leeward as he stomped out of the room, triumphant.

WESTCHESTER

NEW YORK

XAVIER'S INSTITUE FOR GIFTED CHILDREN

11 P.M.

'Hey, hey! Watch me! Betcha can't do this one!' whispered the girl excitedly across the room to her new friend.

'Not so loud, you dolt! He can hear us...and try to keep it down,' spoke her more demure compatriot as she glanced nervously towards the door.

The other girl rolled her eyes, and placed her hands on her hips. 'They're gone...G-O-N-E. You think they got security cameras installed in our rooms? That Cyclops spends his nights watching them figuring our new ways to ground us? Oh pul-lease. You remember what happened with Dr. Grey. He's probably locked himself up in the men's room – crying.'

The other girl opened her mouth in shock. 'Becky! That is such a mean thing to say! Totally self-centered. How would you like it if someone you loved just died like that?' she clicked her fingers.

Youthful arrogance left Becky's face immediately. It was replaced by a mixture of hurt and anger.

Her friend, on immediate realization of her mistake – clapped her hands to her mouth. Having recently arrived at Xavier's Institute, she did not have sufficient time to process the life histories of all her new friends. But of all stories she heard – Becky's should have stood out most of all. Coming here – she had expected everyone to have tragic tales to tell – of intolerant parents, abandonment and rejection. But surprisingly, most came from stable home environments, loving parents and relatives who were trying to do right by their children. Except for Becky. She was now twelve, going on thirteen, only child of two serious junkies. Her parents had both died of drug overdoses, whilst Becky – her mutant powers only beginning to emerge – was left to fend for herself. It could have turned out to be tragic, if not for Becky's spunk, humor and her never-say-die attitude. It was that that brought her to this school. In fact, it saved her life.

'I'm so sorry! Oh God Becky, I forgot!' she apologized, her voice becoming louder.

'It's okay,' said Becky, more in alarm at bringing up their "babysitter" than in apology-acceptance. Her younger friend had a knack for becoming overly-nervous. That in itself didn't bother Becky, but its consequences did.

'No...No! It isn't! I forgot completely about your mom! And your dad...and the drugs! Oh God I'm sorry!' Her voice was louder now. More high-pitched.

'Shhh – you ninny! Quiet down!'

It was too late. The air in the room began to move, swirling faster and faster around their heads. The overhead fan began to spin in the darkness adding to the wind. Becky's hair whipped up around her eyes, while she was figuring out ways to get the little hurricane to die down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the porcelain lamp rock back and forth precariously, leaning towards the edge of the bedside table. If it fell, thought Becky, we've had it. She turned around and ran towards the lamp. She managed to grasp the bottom of it, when suddenly a piece of paper whipped up against her face, making her squeal. She lost her grip and the lamp fell to the floor, shattering into large pieces.

The room door flung open, a figure standing within its frame – glowering.

The wind died down as quickly as it had arisen.

'Party's over, kids.'

'We're sorry!' began Becky. 'We were just talking and uh...you know Nina hasn't learnt...'

'Talk? Talk...led to this?' he asked, nodding towards the debris scattered across the room.

'Mr. Logan – she's new. She hasn't learnt anything yet...and it was more my fault for trying to show her what I could do. Things kinda got out of hand.'

'When the others are away, you know I'm in charge. Right?' said Logan.

The two girls nodded.

'The old rules still apply. No foolin' around with your powers. I'm serious when I mean bed at ten. It means lying down on that pillow,' he pointed towards their beds, 'and sleeping. If you can't sleep, read a book. You got that?' Logan winced. He sounded old, cranky, and similar to a starchy old butler. They'd soon be calling him Jeeves. He shook his head in disbelief.

'Yes sir.' they both said in nervous unison.

He was about to leave, when he turned back around. And not wanting to seem too much like Jeeves, he said, 'Let me help you get this mess cleaned up.' He flipped on the bedroom light. 'What'd you do – invite Hurricane Andrew for a sleepover?'

The girls laughed.