xXx

He stood at the edge of the pit, looking down at the mutilated headless meat at the bottom of the pit. He slowly shook his head.

"Wish I had somethin ta say," Logan murmured low. He swallowed hard. "I wish you coulda seen another way," he whispered. Then he turned his attention to the small canister of kerosene from Kravinoff's stash. He slopped some over Creed's body, far below in the pit, then he tossed the can down.

"Goodbye," he whispered, snapping the lighter open.

He dropped it.

For a long time, he stood staring into the pit, into the flame, watching it end.

Making sure.

xXx

"I figure it's less'n half an hour till sunup," Logan said as he caught up to where Kravinoff was hobbling up the mountain trail.

"Go on," Kravinoff said shortly. "I'll be fine."

"No, I think we better get up there together. That's where the chopper'll come down, right?"

"Yes," whispered Kravinoff, his face chalk white from blood loss. Logan supported the huge man, and together they stumbled toward the top of the trail.

"Only thirty meters," Kravinoff managed. "I'll catch up."

"Maybe you will, maybe you won't. I'm stayin with ya. I want that cure too much to risk losin it, you hear me?"

"I hear you," Kravinoff choked.

The sun flared over the lip of the ocean. Logan looked out across the water, and his sharp senses picked up the thudding blades of an incoming helicopter, still out of sight. He smiled.

He heard an electronic ring not too far away.

"Ten meters," Kravinoff managed. "Then we're to the tunnel in to the crater."

They covered the ten meters, then the twenty meters of tunnel to the crater. Then they walked into the open space, with the tent over the fax machine in the center.

Logan leaned Kravinoff against the wall and jogged over to the fax machine.

"Uh," he said. He quickly checked the paper tray. "Uh," he said. "The, uh," he managed, tapping the machine. "The fax. It's gone."

"What?" Kravinoff said, genuinely shocked.

Logan sniffed, his eyes narrowing.

Just the faintest hint of brimstone…

"The fax is gone," he said, his eyes furious. "We're gonna hafta tell yer contact to head for cover, before it's too late."

"No good," Kravinoff said. "I set it up through a double blind. I don't know who the contact is. If I did, the information could be tortured out of me."

"Dammit!" Logan said, with feeling. He turned to Kravinoff. "You owe me that formula. You have a copy?"

"Oh yes," Kravinoff said quickly. "I will be able to secure it. I would not put my only copy up as the prize."

"I'm callin in my hunt," Logan said, his eyes cold. Now they could hear the helicopter thudding through the air towards the crater. "It's time to find out who Trespasser works for. You'll like him," he added, his expression dark. "He should be quite a challenge. And he's furry."

"Furry?" Kravinoff said, startled.

"I'll tell you on the trip," Logan said, looking up as the chopper descended.

xXx

They sat facing each other as the helicopter lifted off and swooped away from the island towards the mainland. Behind them, another helicopter lifted from a clearing, sleek and dark.

It was a gunship.

"That chopper usta belong to the Project," Logan hollered. "Don't anymore," he added.

"Trespasser?" Kravinoff shouted back.

"Yep," Logan replied. "So you'll get that formula to me?"

"And a sample," Kravinoff nodded.

"It's been a pleasure," Logan grinned, "doin business with ya."

The gunship streaked away and was soon out of sight.

xXx

Stark nodded. "I'll hand it to you, Logan, that's one helluva story. So Creed's dead."

"Perished," Logan agreed, lighting up another cigar. "That's a load off my mind."

"Let me take another one off," Stark said, his face grim. "I know how Trespasser found you."

Logan watched him, expressionless.

"I've been looking over the scans we did of your skeleton when you first came here," Stark said. "I found a spinal anomaly. It's a tracer. It's also a transmitter and a microphone that listens with your bones as a sounding board."

"I suppose it's a bomb, too," Logan said, still expressionless.

"No," Stark said, shaking his head. "No, it's not big enough. They bothered to make the case out of adamantium, though. The whole affair is the size of a pencil eraser."

"And you know how to get rid of it," Logan said.

Stark smiled, and raised a small device like a television remote. He walked over behind Logan, pointed it at his spine, and pushed a button. He held it trained on one spot. "No telling who was listening in on that," he said, "but they are real unhappy right about now." He finally released the pressure.

Logan grimaced, then flinched. He felt something crack in his spine. "That it?" he asked in a strained voice.

"That's it," Stark said. "You're a free man."

Logan looked him in the eye. "It's been a long time," he said softly. He stood and left the room.

Stark watched him go, then looked down at the scrambler in his hand. He sighed, a deep sigh, and tossed it on the desk. Then he walked over to the window and looked out, his eyes and thoughts distant.

"You're free, Logan," he said. "Now what?"

There was no answer. He was alone.

xXx

The sinewy shadow crept along the roof of the house, then began to slowly climb headfirst down the wall towards the window. A dim wash of light from a screen inside the room glowed through the window as the stealthy figure climbed sideways, then right side up under the window, peeking into the room.

Infrared scans revealed no one in the house. The computer was powered by an extension cord, buried in the dirt and terminating in the neighbor's outside socket, most likely undetected. The phone line to this particular computer was an illegal tap to the line the entire street shared. Whoever set up this computer and its connection was a real pro, and it was either a trap or an amateur who almost succeeded in covering his tracks.

For a moment, the infiltrator listened. He checked his readings through again. Couldn't be a trap. No one hiding in the house to trigger it, no trace emissions from explosives, electric eyes, nothing. Made no sense. Things that made no sense made the infiltrator very uncomfortable.

"I am a professional," he thought. "I can get away with this." He jimmied the window open with the ease of an afterthought and sprang silently into the room.

No explosions. No gas. The trespasser's curiosity was piqued.

He hunched over the computer for a moment. Sure enough; the computer was online and its web page editor was up, working on the page. Evidence didn't get more damning than that.

The window snapped shut—

Trap—

Even as he reflexively shunted his body into underspace to teleport away, some part of his mind realized the real trap—

The monitor blew out as the delicate device within detected the potential for mass displacement a hair of a second before teleportation, and a shock wave snapped through the room. The fuzzy blue man toppled to the floor, faintly steaming, out cold.

A few seconds later the front door opened, then closed. Heavy footsteps trod up the steps. Then the door opened. A huge man stepped in, knelt over the unconscious trespasser.

"This won't hurt a bit," he said as he administered a shot full of enough tranquilizers to keep his trophy unconscious for hours. He smiled.

"Computers," he said with a shake of the head. "I shall have to give my programmer a bonus." Then he stood, tugged the remote control apparatus off the hinge of the window, pocketed it. He picked up the sack with his prize and left the house, smiling as he walked past its "For Sale" sign. He tossed his prisoner into the back of his van, climbed in, and was gone into the night.

xXx

Trespasser blinked, shook his head, and sat up with a groan.

"Mornin, Kurt," said a hoarse voice. Trespasser bounded to his feet, trembling.

He was in a fifteen foot square room with a toilet and a bed and a door. Through the transparent window that took up much of the door, he saw a scruffy whiskered man sitting on a backwards chair. "Rise n shine," the scruffy man said.

"I demand to know the meaning of this," Trespasser said, his voice quivering with indignation.

"So you know, you're in Stark International's New York facility," his captor said with a gesture. "It's got all the doohickies it needs to keep you snug in there, so don't do anything to hurt yerself. Plus you've been searched. Believe me, you're glad to have missed that part, being unconscious and all. They were pretty thorough." He tugged a cigar out of his shirt pocket and bit the end off. He squinted at his prisoner. "As fer the meanin, cast yer mind back a couple weeks to a small island off the coast of Brazil. A fax machine. A helicopter. Ring a bell?"

Trespasser's yellow eyes blinked once. "No," he said, sounding puzzled.

"Just wait," Logan said, nodding sagely as he lit up his cigar. "It will." He grinned wolfishly, then took a drag on his cigar as he snapped the lighter shut.

"Your trap was cunning. More cunning than I would have expected of you," Trespasser said, his voice low.

"I contracted that one out, actually," Logan said. "How'd he do it?"

"You do not even know the methods used to capture me?" Trespasser said, equal parts contempt and outrage in his tone. "It was childish and cute," he said. "Fuzzyelf dot com. Little cartoons," he sneered, gesturing with his three fingered hands. "A little animated cartoon demon, cute as a button" he spat "steals black helicopters and teleports around on the screen. It could not be missed by my employers. They were most displeased," he muttered. "I was sent to investigate, with the information they gleaned about the origin of the site." He abruptly stopped talking, his mouth a tight line.

Logan's shoulders jounced as his face contorted. He was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Oh, to you I imagine this is most amusing," Trespasser spat, and he turned his back on Logan.

Logan's face was turning purple as his forehead bunched, containing the laugh that would not be contained. He put his head down on the back of the chair, struggling to regain his composure.

"Naw, that's not funny at all," he managed before the laughter burst free.

"Neither is this," Trespasser said, his voice even and cold. "I will get out, and I will get satisfaction for this… this rash and cowardly act."

"Now you know I wouldn't lock you up for no good reason, fuzzyelf," Logan said, mirth dying down. "You should have thought this through more carefully before you stole my prize."

"What prize?" Trespasser said with an expansive gesture. "Tell me what awful deed I have done to you, Logan."

"The cure for Tymaz Nine, nothing less," Logan said, his face darkening. "I fought hard to get it, I won it from Kravinoff fair and square, and you just port in and snatch it for your employers. I won't have that," Logan said. "You stole from me, and that's crossin a line I never thought we'd cross."

"You captured me," Trespasser said, exasperation in his voice. "Especially after our history," he added, "that is a line I did not think you would cross." His face was grim. "Ever."

"Looks like we were both wrong," Logan said, his eyes hard. "I won't let you steal from me and get away with it, blue. I figured you tracked me with the device they put in my spine at the Project, but I'll get outa you who yer employers are before you leave that room."

"It seems we have nothing to discuss," Trespasser said coldly.

Logan stood, his face expressionless. "Get comfy, then," he said. "I thought of you as an ally, maybe even a friend. That's why I can't let this slide. You just think about that."

For a long moment their eyes met. Then, deliberately, Logan turned and walked away.

"Logan!" Trespasser called after him, taking a quick step to the door. "Logan?"

For the first time, he felt a cold touch of fear.