xXx

Peter screamed as Creed dug his thumb into the muscles in the back of his knee. He abruptly stopped screaming as Creed crushed a blow into his gut. Creed flung him to the ground, caught him on the rebound, and stomped on his ankle and foot. Peter wheezed a gasp as snapping bone reverberated through his body. Then his mind shut down and his body took over.

Fists zipped around and snapped into the pressure points in Creed's wrist; the big man let go. The spider flung itself at the wall and swung up with its three good limbs.

Creed swore, and flung a tire iron. The spider scrabbled to the side as the iron missile buried one of its arms in the crushed car he clung to. Creed threw a jack as the spider sprang free, and it smashed into his back, spinning him so he fell out of sight. Creed leaped up the pile of cars, but by the time he could see over, the spider was gone.

"We'll meet again," Creed muttered. "Hope you learned your lesson." He turned, dropped from the stack, and limped away down the corridors of mangled metal. He stopped, and thought a moment. Then he started into a loping run.

Peter came back to himself, feeling blood ooze and drop from his back. He saw he was stuck to the underside of a car chassis, in a loose stack of flattened cars. He crawled free, and realized he couldn't use his right leg. His back was a seething, throbbing mass of agony. He couldn't see out of his left eye. Ribs broken. Internal bleeding. And he couldn't go to a doctor. Damn.

He stumbled to the fence, crawled over. He was lost for some time, drifting in and out of coherence. Finally he found the alley where he had begun. He stripped off his mesh and left its shredded remains on the ground. It would be dissolved in an hour. He dragged his clothes on, feeling them stick to the blood on his skin. He started home, but when he was almost there he lost his balance and fell, rolling down two flights of stairs. He lay at the bottom, more startled than anything else.

He heard footsteps approaching. A worried man bent over him. "You okay, kid?" he said.

"Fine," Peter muttered. "Das my house." He pointed to his house, blessedly close.

"Hey, I better call an ambulance," the man said, looking at the blood staining Peter's clothes.

"Nah, 'm fine. Soccer player, usta it."

"Whatever you say. Need a hand?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "Thad be good."

They made it to the front door. "Thanks," Peter said with a smile. Then he opened the door and stumbled in.

Upstairs, quick. "Peter, is that you?" came a querulous voice. "Are you alright?"

"Just a minute," he said in his best impression of a normal voice. "I'll be okay."

Then he shucked his clothes and was leaning against the shower wall, a throbbing mass of pain. He stuck himself to the wall with one hand, so he wouldn't fall.

He checked himself out. Deep laceration in the back of his knee, to the bone. Torn tendon. Crushed foot bones, ankle, broken shin. Deep tears and internal bleeding in his back. Broken ribs and maybe ruptured organs in his torso. Other bruises and cuts. Emptied web sacs in his arms.

"Now that," he said, "was a workout."

xXx

Creed crouched and watched the headquarters from across the street. Skeleton crew. Somewhat relaxed security. No sign of elite troops.

Which meant they had Logan and they were out of town. Damn. He'd missed the show.

He stood deliberately. So they were gone. He knew where they went. He wouldn't be far behind.

This wasn't over.

He disappeared into the city, through the city, out into the wild.

It would be over when he said it was over.

Not long now.

January 2, 2002

He lay on the bed, burning with fever, rolling. Aunt May came in and sat by his side.

"Peter," she said softly. "I've brought you some more chicken soup."

"Thanks," he said. "It's so cold in here."

"Peter, I think it's time to call the doctor."

"I'm fine," he said, propping himself up on one elbow. "Really. Just need a little more rest."

She looked at him uncertainly, her peering eyes worried. "Well, we'll give it another day."

"How long has it been?" he asked, but he didn't hear her answer. He lay back down, feeling the spider within him furiously knitting his tendons, stitching him shut, sealing him back together, teasing his bones back into place. He surrendered to the process; the fever of activity, not of disease. Peter was weak, and the spider was stronger. He was healing.

Some time later there was a gentle knock on the door.

"You have a guest, Peter," Aunt May said. He glanced over at the door, his eyes flashing in the dimness.

"Thank you, Aunt May," came a purr. Peter sort of grinned.

"Mary Jane," he said. "Hi."

"I'll leave you two alone," Aunt May said with a smile. She shut the door.

"Peter Parker," Mary Jane said, her voice low and furious. "You abandoned the cat."

"Oh no," he burbled, pulling the covers over his head. "Oh no, Mary Jane, I'm so sorry." He wanted to die. He wanted to give Creed another chance. This was going to hurt even more than the flying jack had.

"I can't believe it," she said.

"Fell down the steps," he muttered. He pulled the blanket back, and she saw his bruised face. "Two flights, on ice. Sprained my ankle, bruised some ribs. I totally forgot about 'Razer. I'm so sorry. I'm scum."

She leaned forward and touched his forehead. "You're burning up!"

"Fever," he muttered, falling back. His eyes glittered. The spider sized her up, and liked what it saw.

"Oh," Mary Jane said. "Oh, Peter, I'm sorry. I didn't realize what shape you were in. Have you been to the hospital?"

"No insurance," he muttered.

"Peter!" she said, and her anger melted. "Okay, okay, I'll forgive you this once. On one condition."

"Name it," he grunted.

"You have to take me out to dinner."
"Well," he managed, "Okay."

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "Poor Peter," she said. "Get better soon, okay?"

"Hoo boy," he faltered. "Sure thing."

She left, and was making small talk with Aunt May in the hallway. Peter grinned until he thought his face would burst. "Will you go out to dinner with me?" he whispered, and he closed his eyes. His forehead creased and his grin became wry. "I wonder what day it is."

January 3, 2002

Bryant watched the small monitor. The screen showed Logan pacing back and forth in his cell. "If he had a tail," Bryant said softly, "he'd be lashing it."

"He's working things through," the security officer said. "Look at him. He's thinking it over. He's making decisions."

"Perhaps making a single decision," Bryant nodded.

"I don't like it," the doctor next to Bryant muttered, shaking his head. "This dishonesty is going to get you in trouble."

"Us, Doctor Banner," Bryant said without turning. "Get us in trouble. No, I'm afraid it's the only way. Some of the truth is always better than all of the truth, when dealing with weak minds like Logan. I've told him we are making some progress on the serum to heal Lisa Sendry. That is true."

"It would be more true if you gave us more time to work on it," Banner said. "As long as you've got us working on the details of the bonding trace patterns and algorithmic fusing probabilities, we haven't got much time for the development of—"

"Banner," Bryant interrupted. "Breathe. Everything will be fine. We have the situation under control. We will continue to have the situation under control. And unless you've forgotten, you answer to me. This frees you from the burden of decision making. Now go and run the colloidal adhesion tests and see what you can work out. Officer, show me Ms. Sendry."

The security officer pulled up a screen that showed a darkened room. The light enhancement systems of the camera showed it in a clearly visible twilight. A blonde was sleeping uneasily, tangled in her blankets. Bryant watched her. "Looks like she's not resting easy here. Reduce the oxygen ratio in her room."

The security officer made the adjustment. In less than a minute she was sleeping deeply. Bryant smiled.

"The key," he murmured to himself. "We crack the secret of Tymaz Nine, get an antidote, and we'll have the best rebels of the former Soviet Republic willing to do anything for us. If anyone appreciates the scientific breakthroughs that could lead to, it would be you, Dr. Banner." He looked back at Logan, pacing in his room.

"We don't have Creed or Mystique here," Banner said quietly. "If Logan gets loose—"

"That's enough, Doctor," Bryant said in a dangerously quiet voice. His eyes narrowed.

Banner spun on his heel and left the observation room. Bryant turned back to the screens.

"Get some sleep while you can," he said to Logan's picture. "We resume testing in the morning." He smiled to himself, and left.

xXx

Logan growled deep in his throat. Knife-like syringe adaptations had been rammed into his back, and he lay face-down on the slab. Bryant's voice came through.

"Logan; push up, hard as you can."

Logan gritted his teeth, thought of Lisa, and tried to do a pushup. The bars with the bladed syringes were weighted, sinking into the meat of his back. He rose against them, as hard as he could; the blades slid deeper into his flesh, and he felt a scream welling up within him as he pushed, harder, harder; the bars creaked up as his arms straightened, then he was up.

"Good, that will do," Bryant said. Logan lowered himself back down to the slab. He felt the thin draw of the syringes.

Torture.

Just like he remembered, but without the shackles.

It was getting harder and harder to think of Lisa. Her cold eyes at their last encounter kept getting in the way. That, and the pain.

"That will do for today," came a different voice over the speaker. Logan felt the bladed syringes slide up out of his back, and already the slits began to seal. He rolled off the slab; lots of pain, less physical damage. So far.

The door opened, and Logan walked through it. He climbed into the single piece jumpsuit he was obliged to wear while he was here. They had also left a meal out for him. He sniffed it; microwave dinners looked luscious compared to the soy wad on his tray. He ate quickly and without relish, then the door on the other side opened and he walked to the hallway, to his room. The door opened to his quarters, and he trudged through. Might as well be a cell.

The door slid shut behind him, and his eyes narrowed as he sniffed the air. A quick look showed him that the room camera had been adjusted; a small box the size of a pack of cigarettes was next to it, with a wire running into the camera's circuits. That and the whiff of brimstone told him everything he needed to know.

"Kurt," he said to the shadow in the corner. "Never thought I'd see you again."

"Hello, Logan," Kurt replied. "I never thought I would find you here again."

Logan sat on the bed. "I'll be damned. Why did you come back?"

Kurt stepped out of the dark corner into the dim light of the room. His eyes had a soft yellow glow, and his angular face was quite handsome, in spite of its velvety coat of midnight blue fur. His wild dark hair was the same color as his face, and when he smiled his too-white teeth had points. He was shrouded in a dark outfit, the cut of the cloth difficult to make out in shadow. "I came looking for you," he said softly.

Logan waited.

"You remember the last time I came," Kurt said, his Romany-German lilt exotic and hypnotizing. Logan nodded. "You remember when we were leaving, we were captured while in subspace." Logan nodded again. "You remember what happened next." Logan's face darkened. "He's back."

"Back?" Logan said. "Is that possible? I cut his flamin head off!"

Kurt shrugged. "Then, headless, he retreated to a deeper realm where he was not dead."

Logan hesitated. "I'd go with you in a heartbeat, you know that," he started.

"But," Kurt said.

"The only reason I'm back here is that the girl got some disease, and they think I'm the only cure."

Kurt watched him silently for a moment. "You believe them."

Logan sighed. "They've been torturing me, like they did when I was here before. But I've been takin it, because if it'll fix what's wrong with her, it's worth it. I knew when I came here that they'd do some pokin around to try to reconstruct how they made me. Now it's been a month and I think they're just using her to keep me here, like they don't care about her at all."

"Still Bryant?" Kurt asked.

Logan looked at him sharply. "I won't believe your contacts don't keep you informed."

Kurt smiled. "Forgive my indulgence."

Logan looked at the floor. "The doc in charge of the experiments is Banner. He don't like Bryant, so I figure he might be okay. But he'll do as he's told. Aint gonna be long before they start strippin me to the bone to see what my healing does about it. After that they won't let me escape. I'll bet my eyeteeth they start tryin to find out how much of me has to get cut out before the healing factor gives up. They'll experiment me to death, Kurt."

They were silent for a brief time.

"You would die for her?" Kurt asked finally.

"I would," Logan said. "In a heartbeat."

"But," Kurt said.

"But I don't know that it'll do any good. They don't care about her, Kurt."

"Then leave," Kurt shrugged.

"If I do that, everything I've done to get here is undone. To promise to do everything you can then leave when things get awkward is goin back on your word, goin back on your honor."

"Bryant is a dog," Kurt said. "These people have no honor."

"I do," Logan replied softly. "Livin without honor is worse than dyin."

There was another silence.

"Well," Kurt sighed, "It looks like you have some decision-making to do."

Logan looked at him, pleading. "I want to help you, Kurt. I ran from this place for so long I forgot how to live without runnin. I can't go back to that. But I don't know that I can get out of here on my own."

Kurt looked deep into his eyes. "I can evade the security systems here for twelve hours."

"I'll see you in twelve hours," Logan said solemnly. "Then you'll have an answer."

Kurt nodded. He sprang up to the ceiling and reached into a small gap in the light fixture. He removed a disc the size of a quarter, and the lighting flared back up. He dropped and touched the door pad; it opened smoothly. One last glance at Logan: "Take care, my friend." Then he pulled the camera bypass free and slipped out into the corridor. The door slid shut behind him, and Logan sat on the bunk.

"Take care," he murmured.

xXx

"What is it," Bryant snapped, pausing in his undressing.

"The experiment wishes to see you, sir," came the security officer's voice.

"Patch him through," he muttered. "And call him Logan."

Bryant switched on the console in his quarters and looked at Logan's image. "Trouble sleeping?"

"That aint it," Logan drawled. "How come I'm quarantined? If anybody here's healthy, it's me."
"We've been over this," Bryant said patiently.

"Yeah, you told me that's the way you wanted it," Logan said. "That's no answer."

"I don't want you to lose your focus."

"No mental tests in the battery, Bryant," Logan said. "Just torture, like old times. I need to see Lisa. I know she's here somewhere."

"Do you have doubts?" Bryant asked.

"No doubts," Logan said, shaking his mane. "I just want to see her. Keep her in mind while I'm getting speared in the back."

"I'll see what I can do," Bryant said.

"No," Logan retorted. "You run this show. Just say I can see her and I'll let you get your beauty sleep."

"I'll let you know in the morning." Bryant moved to turn off the terminal when Logan gripped the camera he was talking into.

"Bryant," he growled. "Don't put me off. I've sacrificed a lot to come here."

"Yes, but what's the rush?" Bryant smiled. "You have time on your hands. Get some sleep." He shut off the connection, smiled to himself, and went to bed. Logan wasn't going anywhere.