Scott shifted in the pilot's seat of the Blackbird, his fingers itching to grab hold of the control and lift the jet into the air.
But he couldn't; instead, he had to wait for his team members.
"This is a miracle," Ororo shouted, hurrying up the stairs as she fastening the rest of her uniform. She paused, frowning at the realization that not only was Scott sitting by himself in the jet, but he hadn't even brought the engine to life yet. "What's going on?" she asked, having trouble keeping the panic out of her voice. Too long had they been looking and only now succeeding in finding their missing members; there couldn't be another obstacle in their way.
Scott's fingers deftly switched the airplane on impatiently, checking the gas meter and data. "Nothing. We just have to wait for the Professor and Jean."
"Oh," Ororo breathed out slowly, relief filling her. "Well, they better hurry up. The sooner we get there, the better."
"I agree," Scott muttered, squinting against the windshield, calculating in his mind exactly how long it would take to fly the jet across the country.
As if hearing the summons, Jean appeared immediately, her eyes scanning the jet before greeting them. "Hey, guys," she said quietly, absentmindedly straightening the ponytail swishing at the back of her head. "All set?"
"Where's the Professor?" Scott asked, jumping up from his seat to give his wife a kiss on the cheek.
"He'll be here in a second."
Ororo settled in the co-pilot's seat, checked the controls, and then leaned back into the leather chair, her fingers drumming loudly on the board. "I just hope it's not too late," she murmured, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ears.
"Me too," Jean agreed solemnly, slinking down into a chair.
"Hey," Scott leaned forward, suddenly noticing with curiosity the large medical bag his wife carried tightly in her fists. It was protocol to have First-Aid on the jet at all times, but intuition told him that the bag didn't carry a common bandage and some Tylenol. "What's in there?"
Jean grimaced, as if being reminded of a sore tooth ache. "Medicine," she replied, gripping the handle of the bag tighter, "-for Rogue."
It was obvious the telepath was on edge. Her eyes were constantly roaming around the jet, as if anxious to take off any second. For days, she had felt a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach, twisting her insides with a dark feeling of dread. "Hurry up, Professor," she whispered under her breath, glancing impatiently out of the window of the Blackbird. "Please."
Finally, the Professor had been able to trace Rogue through cerebro, pinpointing her location toward Southern California. She had been moving fast throughout all of the U.S., and only now had she slowed down slightly, relaxing enough to let the professor sort through her mangled thoughts. He had been reluctant, however, to speak to Jean after his moments in Cerebro, knowing it would only be an encounter of urgent questioning. But before long, she had the truth out in the open to face.
Rogue had been, for days, absolutely unintelligible. Whenever the professor had implored into her mind, there'd been nothing but chaos and feverous apparitions. He'd drawn out the first time in absolute shock, mentally slapped in the face with the rage and tumult of her conscious mind. His concession only confirmed the fears of Dr. Jean Grey and, he feared, increased her already mounting guilt.
Logan was still out of contact, his block suspiciously stronger than it had been only a few days ago. It seemed impossible. No one could keep the Professor out that long, but Xavier had one horrible suspicion as to why he couldn't reach him. The thought alarmed him, increasing the need to find the two immediately for both of their safety. He tried reasoning it out, finding alternatives, but nothing fit quite right. The only possibility was that the reason he couldn't reach Logan's mind was because he had given into his bestial nature, and was no longer a rational, lucid human. He was the Wolverine, with very little humanistic traits to even classify himself as human.
Finding Rogue had been the only key to discovering their location. She'd been east, down into the southern deserts of California, and after a second's wonder, the puzzle had finally fallen into place. He'd then gone looking for files, which to his perplexity had suddenly become missing. But of course, they'd been later discovered shoved under Rogue's bed.
Magneto's facility in San Muertos. The remote town itself held a strong foreboding to it. It explained so many occurrences; Magneto's mysterious disappearance two months ago, the sudden urgent rallying of the FOH in Bakersfield, not too far from the town, and most likely the current victim of the antics of the Brotherhood.
And the only conclusion was that Logan was going after Magneto himself.
Xavier's head had begun to throb with the influx of events, the intensity of the situation at head. So, it took him slightly longer to wheel himself up the ramp into the Blackbird, his mouth set in a firm, grim line, yet his eyes trying to reassure the X-Men.
Scott, Jean, and Ororo jumped to attention as soon as he entered, not thinking to disguise their immense relief and anticipation to move. Xavier only managed a small smile at them before allowing Scott to lift him into a seat.
"Are we ready, Professor?" Scott asked, his eyes lighting up eagerly, as if not expecting any other answer except agreement.
Xavier nodded. "Yes," he said, "Let's go."
The engine of the Blackbird roared to life, the vibrations of the jet becoming diminutive compared to Jean's racing heart, Scott's climbing anticipation, Ororo's focused concentration, and Xavier's premonition of dread.
Stealthily he creeped through the facility, keeping his head low and his claws at the ready. His mouth watered, suddenly struck with a surging hunger for blood. He craved it with every taste bud in his mouth.
It had been silent too long, and his wariness had only become intensified as the floor became as silent as an abandoned tomb at midnight. Now he hesitated before passing every corner, scanned his trained eye over every wall looking for surveillance or a hidden niche. Beads of sweat collected over his eyebrows, accentuating the wild glint in his burning hazel eyes.
His nose arched up slowly in the air. A bitter, reminiscent scent flowed through his nostrils, reminding him of blind anger and ferocious rage. The scent itself seemed to reflect its owner, the essence of metal increasingly palpable with every deep sniff he made.
Magneto.
Adrenaline raced through his blood as his upper lip curled into a horrid snarl. His prey wasn't far away now, and he couldn't wait for the moment where he would finally catch it, and sink his claws into the easily pierced flesh and satiate his blood-lusting hunger.
Footsteps vibrated under the pads of the Wolverine's feet. The man paused, sniffed the air once again, and crouched low to the ground. The callused tips of his fingers ran lightly across the metal floor, feeling the vibrations ring through his nerves.
Underneath. The prey was underneath his feet.
A slow, self-satisfied smirk appeared on the Wolverine's face as he stood on his feet again. So close... so close.
Vengeance never seemed more appealing.
His pace quickened as he half-ran through the halls, his eyes on the watch for an exit, for stairs, for anything that could lead him to his destination.
An elevator.
The smirk grew wider as he approached the dated elevator, its metal doors shut tightly. There was a key-hole right on its side, but a swift extension of his claw gave him full access to the transport.
Once inside, Logan's eyes roamed over the buttons, finally finding one titled 'B1'. He could only assume, and hope, that it would take him down to the Basement, where Magneto was currently hiding. A bitter voice in his mind fumed angrily, wondering if he had kept Rogue on the bottom floor, enclosed in a small room where he performed all of his damned experiments on her.
The snarl grew wider and more lethal.
The metal doors closed as he pushed the button, and his mind eased as the elevator began to go down. Anticipation ate at him like a child waiting to find out exactly what his birthday surprise was.
Then the ground shook.
Wolverine growled, his eyes shifting straight up over his head. A new, swampy scent filled his nose, encroaching the elevator with the smell of rancid garbage. Again he crouched low to the ground, his heated gaze never wavering from the ceiling of the elevator. A deep growl instinctively burbled in his throat, readying himself for a battle.
In response, a plate in the ceiling was torn in once swift movement, barely giving Logan enough time to register the long, rough tongue lashing out at him. He recoiled in disgust, crouching low to the ground as the tongue hit the wall, inches above his head.
"You damn X-Men," Toad ranted, reeling the organ back into his mouth, "You never know when to mind your own business."
The Wolverine cracked his knuckles, enraged. "Wrong," he growled, lifting his claws to give his enemy a more sufficient view. "I wasn't sent by the X-men, bub."
Without warning, he lunged his great body up into the air, his arms stretching up toward where Toad crouched on his hind legs. The amphibian leaped back in surprise, his adhesive fingers gluing him to the inner wall of the elevator shaft.
"Cheating bastards," Toad mumbled to himself, crawling higher.
Wolverine roared, prying the ceiling apart with his claws and therefore creating no metal barrier between him and his foe. "I didn't know Magneto took in worthless cowards," he hissed tauntingly, lowering his hand slightly in hopes of an attack.
Toad's red eyes widened in enraged indignance before he let go of the wall, landing all but gracefully inside the elevator car. "You want to say that again, you flea bitten canine?"
Wolverine smirked and raised his eyebrow in an amused expression. Toad cursed under his breath, realizing too late the trap he'd just fallen into. A shrill cry echoed against the walls as he jumped desperately to the other wall, falling to the ground mid-air as a long blade ripped through his arm.
His mouth opened again, unleashing the five foot tongue at his attacker. Wolverine dodged to the side, sniffing in disgust at the rancid scent of garbage. "Where's Magneto?" he shouted before lunging again, his hands opening to encase the toad's throat into his grip.
Toad jumped again, off toward the side and out of range. He was panting now; everywhere he turned he saw claws glinting in the light, and somehow they kept getting bigger...
"Where's Magneto?!" Wolverine repeated, striking out with his right arm, knocking Toad's head backward with his elbow. The amphibian shook his head, dazed.
"Go find him yourself," his retorted hotly, regaining his balance on all fours.
Wolverine snarled. "One. More Time." With the lightning speed of the animal he was believed to be, Logan finally pinned Toad against the wall, one set of claws hovering mere inches from his abdomen, while the other set were pressed tightly against the collarbone. "Tell me where Magneto is."
Toad shrunk back, but realized he had little to no room to move. "Bastards," he uttered contemptuously. "You're all alike." Then he widened his mouth and spit.
Logan snarled, sinking his claws into the flesh without a second's thought. Toad's expression of victory suddenly turned to anguish. He clutched at his stomach, slicing his webbed fingers on the blades as he tried to draw them out, to no avail.
Blood seeped through his clothes, trailing down his oddly bent knees into a pool collecting on the metal ground. Wolverine's ears picked up the sound of a dying heart, until the only sound of beating was his own thundering pulse. With much ease and no regret, the hands fell to his sides, stained and sullied with the blood.
For added satisfaction, his leg swung out at the limp figure, sending the corpse into the wall with the impact.
Luckily, the mucus had only covered his mouth up toward the bottom edge of his nostrils. But despite how lucky he was, the smell stayed strong and disgusting. Wolverine crouched next to Toad and wiped his claws off on a dry patch of the jacket. With reliance on his quickening healing ability, Logan tore through the mucus with his adamantium claws, creating a large gash above his upper lip. But soon the wound healed, and Logan flexed his jaw muscle before turning his attention back toward the task at hand.
What he saw amazed him momentarily. Since he had been so distracted by the fight, he hadn't noticed that the elevator had reached the bottom floor, and he was staring into a long hall of shadows.
Even better, the scent of blood was stronger.