I wanted to explore what might go on inside Logan's head when he goes berserk. Some part of him, his spark of humanity, must still be there when the animal is in charge. Observing. Commenting. Trying to avoid the tragedy of collateral damage.
Everything in italics, including speech-marked growls and howls, is Wolverine in feral mode. Logan's thoughts are in normal print, not speech-marked because they are unspoken thoughts. I hope it's not too confusing.
My thanks to MidLifeCrisis, sniktbezerker and joegood2003 for their encouraging compliments. I am so pleased you are all enjoying the story.
Special thanks to Minisinoo who's own formidable talent inspires me to do better. If you haven't discovered her work then I highly recommend you check out her portfolio right now.
It would be nice to receive other reviews, even if it's to say you don't like the story or how it might be improved. If nothing else, at least I'll know it's being read. Please, people, the noob craves input. Lots 'n' lots of input!
Chapter 3: Comin' at ya, runt!
"Load Logan zero zero one simulation."
"Simulation Logan zero zero one ready for activation."
This ain't no training simulation 'coz I'm not interested in fancy moves right now. Jeanie's death awoke something inside me that's festered way too long. It's a dark void threatening to engulf the tiny flame of hope Jeanie kindled in me. Ironically I've gotta put aside her gift so that I can preserve it. I'm going darkside; full-on feral berserker. I'm gonna cancel my civilised overrides and do serious grudge match on Sabretooth's holographic butt.
Unconditional surrender to my animal is out of the question. To relinquish all control and achieve a state of unchecked feral frenzy is not what this is about. Couple of hours tops is all I've got so I don't have the luxury of fighting 'til I drop. I just wanna relieve some tension before I burst. My rage is like a pressure cooker. If it can't vent steam it explodes. Kicking the shit out of something I hate, that hates back, is my safety valve. Cage fighting gave me that release. I didn't kill or permanently cripple and it paid well. All that changed when I became an X Man. The fights are fewer but more intense. More visceral. Certainly more lethal. Unfortunately, since Alkali Lake, they've been non-existent. And trying to cope with Jean's death has sent me into a deadly tailspin. If I crash and burn without dumping the excess fuel things are gonna get real ugly real fast. This Danger Room session is gonna be the grandpappy of all cage fights but with all bets off.
In the throes of a berserker rage my mind's got the ability to revert to a more primitive level allowing the beast to eclipse the man for the duration. I become a vessel of lethal intent, driven by a savagery so primal it scares the shit out of me. The tidal force of my will, though weakened, still exerts some influence. Unfortunately, there ain't no guarantees the brakes will work and the potential for collateral damage is the stuff of nightmare. It's saved my life more times'n I can count though.
Bleeding off my rage berserker style is fast and effective but extremely dangerous to anyone who gets in my way. I don't want someone walking in and getting skewered accidentally so I've dismantled the electronic lock and switched on the warning light in the hall outside. No one who ain't got a battering ram and a small regiment is gonna access the room 'til I'm finished.
I'm gonna find myself in a shitload of trouble for this unscheduled session. It's still early and last I checked there's only me and the school mouser not stacking zees. Being Saturday I expect it to stay that way for a while. Maybe I should've asked but a berserker rage ain't pretty and I don't want people seeing me at my worst unless it's necessary. It's just something I gotta do and if I'm caught I'll take whatever punishment Xavier or Summers shells out. Just so long as they don't give me detention.
"Run simulation."
"Logan zero zero one progressive simulation level six activated. Prepare to engage."
Grey walls shimmer briefly then morph into a weirdly illuminated forest. It's night time so why the bizarre cone of harsh, unnatural light transforming the slender tree trunks before me into a gigantic barcode? The source of the light is someway off in the distance and lost among the trees. The place is eerily familiar. I've been dumped into a location right out of the X Files. Great. Nice dramatic effect. I really appreciate the thoughtful gesture of having my night vision so completely fucked up. Me and the unknown geek are gonna have words.
Holokitty's in here with me somewhere. He's bigger and stinkier than me but when it comes to mean and vicious I'm gonna introduce his ass to a whole new definition of hurt. The avatar has a progressive mode – it learns; a concept the real Sabretooth would no doubt struggle with. The better I am, the better the avatar, the harder the fight. Can't crack the level six parameter but I sure as hell can push the envelope.
Inside my mind the animal slides seamlessly into place and takes the controls. I'm now occupying the passenger seat and buckled in for a rough ride. All my civilised constraints seep away like water in the desert.
Freedom!
Free at last!
Where is he? Where is Cyber-Sabre? Wish he was for real.
Nostrils dilate. Taste the breeze. Track him down. Eviscerate the bastard. Ain't the same but it'll do 'til I find him for real.
Wrong. All wrong. Scents are wrong. Sounds are wrong. Everything's WRONG!
Trees sway but the breeze stinks of old dust and metal. Stinks of INSIDE.
I see jack pine. I smell ponderosa. What the fuck?
Animals call from close by. Where is their spoor? Where is their scent? Why do they not move or show themselves? No presence. Nothing! Except calls.
Dead pine needles crushed by my feet. I can feel 'em; all springy and soft. I can hear 'em crunching and snapping beneath my boots. But where's the earthy smell of decay released by surface displacement?
My senses are lying to me. I can't trust them. This is bad.
Confusion. Disorientation.
Dumb Canucklehead. This ain't real. This is virtual. This is a game. Ya have'ta remember that. Get with it!
Remember. Yes.
"Comin' for ya, runt!"
A challenge.
"RRRRARRRGH!" I answer it.
The roar is full throated. My animal is having fun. So am I. Pity the simulation is lacking some vital elements.
He's above me, maybe twenty feet up. I'm fucking sure he wasn't there a second ago, perched on a branch, glaring down with those hate-filled black pits he calls eyes. It sounds like ol' Sabretooth, looks like him too but don't stink like him. I smell acrid chemical sweat, not the gamey male musk I remember. Can't smell his hate. Can't smell his savagery. Can't smell his pumping adrenaline. No heartbeat. No gut noises. No body heat Can hear his boots scraping on the branch though. And his rawhide coat rasping like a saw against the bark. Like me, he's a predator, more animal than man. And just as dangerous.
I watch Sabretooth, watch for him tensing his muscles for a spring. Ain't happening. Ain't gonna happen I reckon. Can't read his intentions. No damn body language.
Adrenaline burns through my veins in a glorious surge of power. I adopt an attack posture, unsheathe the claws.
SNICKT! Pain. My hands are on fire with hot, pulsing pain. That's for fucking real.
"If them nose pickers are all ya got, runt, yer hardly worth the effort."
He doesn't leap or jump. Just drops. Silent. Deadly. Yellow mane and open coat streaming out behind him. Fangs barred in a snarl. The talons on his massive hands poised to shred flesh. The sucker's making me a gift of himself.
One step back. Another. Claws raised I find his soft belly. Stupid bastard impales himself and gravity does the work for me as I slice him open from groin to sternum. His innards glisten wetly as internal pressure squeezes them through the ruptured peritoneum. Loops of slimy, grey/blue coils slither down my forearms like greased snakes. Blood gushes. Can't smell it. Can't smell the viscera. Can't smell the sweet metallic tang of blood. Looks real and it damn well feels good.
Too fucking good. Not happy about where this is leading. Ain't got time for that kind of fun. Let's put the brakes on a little, huh?
Nah. Lookit him hanging there, a limp dead weight with head lolling to one side. Impaled like a dumb shit. This is too easy. Foot on his chest I shove hard. Cyber-Sabre slides from my claws and crumples messily to the ground. He's melting away like mist in the sun.
"RRRRRRAAAARRHH!"
What, yer celebrating freebies now?
Grrrrrrrr.
"Comin' for ya, runt!"
Here he comes again. Cyber-Sabre resurrected, pristine and whole, circling towards me from my right flank. He's charging, bearing down on me fast with his hulking carcass, all claws and attitude. I stretch my lips into a feral half smile. The avatar might be on a learning curve, might not be allowed to cause me any great damage, but I aim to see that he learns to die hard.
Yeah.
Lost track of time. Lost track of how many avatars I've trashed and how many bloody stripes his talons have given me. Can't remember feeling an adrenaline burn quite like this, not even on Liberty Island. It's exhilarating. Addictive. Seductive. Feral.
Get a grip asshole. This is a quick fix remember.
Grrrrrrrr. Shut the fuck up why don'tcha.
"Comin' for ya, runt!"
He's behind me, mere inches from my right ear. Why can't I feel his hot breath misting my skin? His reactions are lightning fast. Claws gouge ragged trails of agony along my spine. The wounds are superficial but flesh tears and I bleed out. More pain, an acid sting as I knit back together almost instantaneously. Staggering from the blow I twist away, just a step or two and use the centrifugal energy of the spin to deliver a vicious slash across his ribs. The impact is blunted by the rawhide coat snagging my claws but I still rake what passes for bone. Cyber-Sabre rocks on his feet.
Catch him on the back end of my spin, kick low, sweeping the bastard's feet from underneath him. The force of the blow dumps him flat on his back on the ground. He don't stay there though. I recover my balance while he rolls with an agility that belies his size, vaults to his feet and advances on me.
"Nice moves, motherfucker. Wanna try an' get it right this time?"
"GRRRRRRAAAARRHHH!"
Something inside me cracks wide open. With the intensity of a bomb, bloodlust explodes up from my gut, engulfing me in an organic hatred so pure it incinerates any vestige of control I have. Shit! This ain't good. Gotta apply the brakes real hard now. And it'll take all of my will to exert control. How the fuck do ya shift an immovable object when the irresistible force is batting for the other team?
Kill! Obliterate! I fall on him, slashing, carving out great chunks of flesh and bone. Blood sprays. Cyber-Sabre screams and melts.
"Comin' for ya, runt!"
A surge of elation. I sing my joy, my victory, my dominance, my new challenge. "RRRRAHHHGHHH."
Stop this. Gotta stop this. The relentless attacks of the avatar are feeding the feral rage. Gotta end the simulation.
"Ahhhh end….Nahhhrahhhhhhh!"
"Comin' for ya, runt!"
The words won't come. I can't cancel the simulation. The seductive power of the animal is dragging me under. I've underestimated the intensity of my own rage and now it's gotten away from me and I'm paralysed, an unwilling observer. The new avatar has learned, analysed and absorbed that little burst of savagery. Now he's coming at me again, a distorted reflection of the animal I am.
Claws flash. Blood sprays. He's gone! Elation.
Trying to stop is like trying to halt an express train by tripping it up. Part of me doesn't want to stop.
"Comin' for ya, runt!"
"YESSSSSSS!"
NO!
"End simulation!"
There's a deathly silence as the scene dissolves into plain grey walls. The place reeks of blood and the floor is spattered with it. All mine of course. Someone ended the simulation. It's wasn't me. Then who? 'Ro's face peers down from the observation booth. Her eyes are wide with shock. She's looking into the eyes of a rabid beast and I guess I'm eyeing her up like she's lunch.
"GRRRRR!"
My animal ain't happy. Me neither. The stakes have just skyrocketed. There's just a broken lock between my rage and a potential string of mangled corpses. Gotta end this now.
The door explodes inwards and my head rings as the shock wave bounces of the walls and through me. I stagger and fall to my knees. A blast of hot air and dissipating plasma washes over me. The atmosphere is acrid with the stink of scorched metal. Fuck! My head turns towards the new distraction. Summers steps past the buckled and still smoking door, hand to visor control.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing Logan?" Anger radiates off him like heat.
A challenge! Smell anger Hates me. Hate him. Smell flesh and blood. Smell adrenaline rush. See threat posture. See muscles tensed. See real prey Attack imminent. Kill it.
"RRRRRARRRRGHHH!"
I'm drowning in a sea of brutish frenzy and Summers has no fucking idea what danger he's in. But someone does.
'Ro's voice grates out of a hidden speaker, strained, urgent, heavy with stress. "Scott! Logan's gone feral. He's not rational. I wouldn't advise…"
"Oh, yeah?" One-eye steps towards me, hand still clasped to his visor. He ain't gonna hesitate if that's what it takes. It won't be enough to save him.
Oh, Christ, don't do this. Back away now. For once in your life get with the submissive program and you might walk out of here alive.
He's advancing another step. And another. Supple as a stalking wolf, I'll assume combat readiness and circle, slowly, cautiously, blocking off the one escape route. This ain't no dumb avatar. The anticipation of shredding flesh, steeping my claws in real blood and destroying an enemy in the process is so delicious, so sweet and overpowering I can taste it.
Damn!
Summers is an asshole but he ain't the enemy and he doesn't deserve to die like this, butchered like a fucking animal, by an animal.
No. No, yer not gonna do this. Using the equivalent of a mental cosh I bludgeon my way back to control. His will is grinding mine down like a pebble beneath a glacier. Doubling my effort I push back. Hard. Need to make Summers see sense. Need to get him away from me.
"KILLL. YOU. GET…GRRROWWWR…GET. OOOUUTTT!"
The warning emerges as a tortured howl as I try to fight my way past the feral instinct to attack this new threat, past the bloodlust, past the iron will that is holding me in thrall. Past the stubborn bastard that I am. It's a fight I daren't lose.
Grim faced, Summers responds. "I don't think so."
Closing the distance. Can sense his arrogance. His complacency. His over-confidence. He's mine.
NO! I focus my concentration on one thing. One small thing. Sheathing the claws. In my mind I can see the muscles controlling those six cruelly sharp blades. I will those muscles to contract, to retract the claws back into my forearms.
"NNNYARRRRR."
God, the struggle to regain dominance is tearing me apart. Can't stop. Can let my animal win. Sheath, God dammit. Sheath those fucking pig stickers. My concentration is so absolute it blurs my vision. A whole lifetime seems to condense into punishing, interminable seconds.
Contract those muscles for Chrissake.
SHEATH!
Pain explodes behind my eyes as the animal rages against returning to the depths of my mind. My entire being is trembling with shock, heavy tears of agony course down my face and onto my blood-caked chest.. Burning pain in my hands and arms is my victory. The claws slide back into their fleshy scabbard.
Relief.
Sweet blessed relief.
Summers is on me. He's determined to make a fight of this. I do the only thing I can think of to save his life. I hit the bastard. I smash my fist into his skull, exerting enough self control to pull the punch. He drops like a broken doll, unconscious, no longer posing a threat. With morbid fascination I stare down at him, at his pale, slack features, at the blood matting the hair above his left ear, at the small pool of blood forming on the floor. I hate myself. I hate what I'm capable of becoming, the horrors I'm capable of committing, the damage I can inflict.
My lungs labour with the effort of reclaiming my senses as I crouch over the prone Summers, torn between checking his vitals or finishing him off.
Opening my mouth I throw back my head and scream wordlessly. It's the sound of a soul dying; of a man pitching headlong into a bottomless pit of despair. Jeanie was wrong to trust me; to make me hope. What she saw was a lie, self delusion. Stryker knew what I was, what I've always been, what I'll always be. Not a man. An animal.
"Logan! What have you done?"
'Ro steps past the door wreckage and her eyes fall on Summers still form. Her features twist into a mask of loathing and she raises her arms, eyes assuming that unearthly white cast that means I'm gonna feel the full force of her wrath.
For a brief second, the air pressure drops and then I'm hit by the fury of a tornado. The air slams into my body with the force of an avalanche, lifting my off my feet and smashing me mercilessly into the wall. As incandescent agony and blackness claim me, my last conscious thought is that I deserve this. I deserve never to wake up.