Hello, my painted minions! I…wait a minute… (stares at crowd of angry fangirls) This isn't the Convention of Cannibalistic Painted Minions! Well there's only one thing for it! (curls into ball and awaits heavy and blunt objects to be thrown in her general direction)

For all who are interested I HAVE FOUND A TEASER TRAILER FOR X-MEN 3! IT IS A GOOD TRAILER! IT HAS COOL MUSIC PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND! THERE IS WOLVERINE! LOTS OF WOLVERINE! (maniacal laugh) No seriously, you guys should go check it out. It's on the official X-Men 3 site! Yay!

RhiannonUK: Hellooo! I have updated so you can stop badgering me with those evil badgers! BTW, you'd better start that new Wolverine fic soon! He must get out of the medlab! Out I say!

Elwyndra: Dear Elwyndra…STOP THROWING THOSE BLUE DUCKS AT ME! Heh heh, one day Logan shall return to the mansion…one day…I'm SORRY you started to die! Please forgive meeee! It wasn't my intention… (shifty eyes)…not at all…

Blix Howlett: Yeah I know, shunned from the only family he ever cared for… (moment of tearful reflection) Now, back to the torture!Still, it IS such fun shunning people.

hottietom: I have a present for you hottietom! Look, a camel with… (does double take) eyes suspiciously like…Tom Welling, the star of Smallville? Heh heh…he's not a camel…try to think of him as a…large…and cuddly…animal.I watched an episode the other day and Tom got beaten up by his foster dad! It was amusing!

BeastBoyBlitz: Hello! It's always nice to find a new reviewer that has…well…reviewed. Unless of course you already have…so I shall apologise in advance…Still, thanks for the review!

misc: It wasn't a cliffie! Was it? Either way, I must now laugh evilly at my cliffie! Moogah! Gahahah! Moohoo!

Shalbrenfan: Oh thank you for your kind compliments! I like Wolverine fics too! Which might be the reason for me…writing…one. Hmmm. That made sense. Anyway I hope you have fun reading this chappie!

Now to the title…

Silver Eyed

Disclaimer: Disclaimers…hiss…boo…the reason for their existence shall be forever veiled to me…FINE! I don't own X-Men! I did own that general dude I killed off in the first chapter though! Ha ha! I own a dead evil dude!

Chapter 6: Caged

It was a cold night when Mack arrived at the bar. He hopped down from his old truck, patting the hood with a grin. 'I knew she wouldn't let us down. Betsy could make it in any weather.' His companion slammed his door, shooting his friend an exasperated look. 'With your drivin', it's a wonder we made it here in one piece.' Mack laughed, a deep, rich sound that seemed to drive back the harsh Canadian wind as they headed towards the lit bar, where laughter and loud music streamed out into the night, drawing weary travelers like moths to a flame. 'Yur such a wuss, Greg. I didn't hit ninety the whole way here!'

A couple of drinks later, the companions finally felt intoxicated enough to take notice of what was happening around them in the bar. Most of the people perched on the barstools nearby were facing the cage fight happening in the middle of the bar, screaming for whoever they were betting on and making collective moans or cheers as one fighter got in a particularly good hit to his opponent. Mack wiped his mouth with a belch, finally turning his interest to the cage match. It was actually a fairly new cage. It hadn't been here the last time he had come for a drink. Business must have dropped dramatically for any man to let a bloodthirsty, raging and drunk mob of people inside, those who followed the cage circuit and could never get enough of the violence.

One man, a trucker by the look of his stained overalls and staggering drunken stance, was swinging wildly at the other, cursing richly as he did so. The hits were wide and expertly ducked by his opponent, who stayed in the shadows, the smoky lights causing a mixture of light and shade to wave crazily in a zigzag pattern every so often across his body.Mack craned his neck but couldn't make out who the challenger was fighting. He turned to the bartender, asking, 'Who's fightin' tonight?'

The bartender turned his gaze to ogle a young woman who sat a little further down the bar, wearing scant clothing and old, heavily made-up eyes. 'You wouldn't be thinkin' of trying to start off business in my bar, now would ya, missy?' he called with annoyance. The prostitute ignored the man, her eyes deep in the shot glass she nursed. Turning back to Mack, the bartender answered his question briskly.

'Some guy called 'the Wolverine'. Ain't seen him 'round before. Must be passin' through.' Mack nodded vacantly, turning back to the cage. Greg elbowed him, eyes bloodshot but still calculating. 'Mack, you ain't thinking of fightin' tonight?' Mack shrugged with one shoulder, but his eyes were already watching the Wolverine's form, the way he moved, fought. It would be nice to have a little extra money when you're traveling through this rugged country. And it wasn't as though he had never fought in a cage match before. Any man could get sufficiently drunk and confident enough to do so.

Finally the Wolverine seemed to tire of his drunken opponent. He stepped forward fluidly, ducking lightly under another blow and brought a fist up, smashing the trucker in the stomach and knocking him backwards. Without missing a beat, he brought up a leg and executed a neat kick, which slammed his opponent into the cage wall. Mack's eyes ran over the men, eyeing first the guy lying on the ground struggling to right himself, and then the Wolverine himself. He had muscles but wasn't heavy-set. He was slighter and taller than the trucker and cut a menacing silhouette in the cage. Thick black hair was swept upwards on his head, giving him a wolfish look and, when coupled with his bright harsh eyes, gave him a look of some animal, come out of the wilds of Canada.

The cheers reached a crescendo as the other fighter finally got back up, foaming at the mouth and staggering more than ever. For a moment the Wolverine's eyes swept the crowd with distaste as he turned back to the challenger, passing over Mack with fierce intensity. Mack couldn't suppress a shudder. The eyes of an animal in the body of a man. That wasn't natural, not by a long shot.

Before, the Wolverine seemed to have been content to allow the trucker to totter about the cage stupidly and allow him to tire himself out but now he stepped forward, slamming a fist across the others face. Another fist plunged into the trucker's gut and then a knee in the groin. The man slumped to his knees, tears running down his pudgy face. The Wolverine bent his gaze over his opponent for a moment, before catching the half-hearted punch of the trucker and twisting his arm slowly. The snap of bone echoed loudly in the sudden silence and winces and murmurs of sympathy lingered about the crowd. The man fell back, completely defeated and the Wolverine moved away from him with silent footsteps to the opposite side of the cage, where he leaned, waiting with the infinite patience of a predator for the next challenger.

The emcee quickly ushered two men to remove the beaten trucker from the cage. He bellowed into the microphone, 'Who else will dare to fight? Will we let him go away with our money?' The mention of the money did the trick. The crowd bellowed its disapproval, shaking their fists and yelling at the silent figure in the cage. But no one stepped forward. One bold man threw a beer bottle at the cage and the silent fighter and it shattered on impact, shards of glass tinkling across the floor. The Wolverine didn't move. More shouts erupted from the crowd and more bottles were thrown. The mob was starting to turn ugly and Mack made a split second decision.

He stood, turning his body to Greg, his eyes never leaving the Wolverine. 'Guess I am fightin' tonight.' Mack strode towards the cage, waving at the emcee, who quickly pointed him out, yelling encouragement into the microphone as the cheers rose up again from the stands, their anger forgotten with the promise of more bloodshed. As he moved up the steps, he halted beside the man, asking, 'How long has he been fighting?'

The emcee turned towards him, flashing a bright smile, 'Ages, mate. I've been standing here since seven.' Mack smiled. Things were looking up. Exhausted men were easy to beat.

Logan leaned quietly, letting the roar of the crowd wash over him. All the time in between his last fight and this one melted away. It was as though it was the same cage in Laughlin City where he had met Rogue…Immediately his eyes hardened, remembering how they had parted that night, almost a month ago. He had left her soaked in her own blood, from a wound he had inflicted with cold indifference. Then he rolled his shoulders, hearing the clang of the bell, trying to dispel the memory of that bloody night from his mind. But it wouldn't go away.

His hands started to shake.

A hot flush glided over his eyes and he passed a hand over them, scarcely believing it.

Jesus, this hasn't happened for weeks! Goddamn weeks! Not here…not now…

Mack swayed behind him, fists up. His opponent wouldn't turn around and face him. He watched the Wolverine's hands clench into shaking fists and his brow furrowed in confusion. The bell had rung. Why wasn't he doing anything? 'Hey!' Mack yelled. His opponent's head snapped up and turned slightly. His fists were clenched so tightly they had turned white. 'Ain't you gonna fight? You scared or somethin'?'

Logan closed his eyes, trying to bury his primal urge to rip apart the man behind him. He smiled a little at the irony. If that man had known what he was, he would probably have been running in the opposite direction as fast as he could. But, then again…maybe he wouldn't. Drink could stir courage in a man hidden so deep it could only be brought out by an extremely dangerous and stupid situation. Now, because of that courage, and, of course, his complete oblivion to what Logan was, he was going to die.

'You are scared aren't ya? Come on! Come on!'

The feral whirled so fast that Mack didn't even see the fist aimed for his head. His body soared through the air, smashing into the opposite end of the cage and sliding to the floor. He took two steps towards his fallen prey, his eyes shining bright as the moon in the shadows of the bar. The prey's heartbeat was still strong. Even unconscious, the blood called him. The feral blocked out the exclamations of surprise at his eyes from the people surrounding the ring. He took another step towards the man.

But a drunken yell stopped his advance, cutting through his concentration like a knife. 'I know him! I know that guy! I know what he is!' Somewhere, a memory pulled at his mind, of the bar in Laughlin City, of his last challenger, the guy who had tried to stab him in the bar to get back the money. His friend had called him Stu. The memory was then swept away, the feral marking him nonchalantly as the next to die, intent on the crumpled man in the cage. He took another step.

'He's a mutant!' slurred Stu, pointing unsteadily at Logan. 'He's got claws!' His own hands bent into claws in demonstration and the crowd cried out in revelation, nudging their companions. An undercurrent of anger crept through the mob. After all, it wasn't so long ago that all the humans in the world had been attacked by mutant terrorists, the pain in their heads driving many to the ground. A deep grudge festered in the hearts of many. More bottles were flung at the cage.

Some shards of glass found their mark and Logan turned his attention to a particularly large piece sticking out of one of his ribs. The sudden pain was enough to return his eyes to their normal colour as he wrenched it out of his body, his face tight as the blood flowed from his side. Seeing his distraction, Greg ran and rescued his friend from the cage, dragging the stirring Mack down the steps and away from the mutant in silent horror.

The door slammed again, locking Logan firmly inside. More shouts and curses were hurled with the bottles and chair legs, while over the top of the sound the bartender was yelling into the phone, 'Get me the cops! Get me the army! Get me anyone! There's a dangerous mutant loose in my bar!' Some bolder men got closer, brandishing guns and knives. Logan backed a little, struggling not to give in to the ultimate goal of slicing through the cage wall and killing them all. One man shot a bullet. The aim was wide and it struck the wall behind him but the threat was clear.

With a warning snarl, Logan unsheathed his claws. The glint of the bright steel stilled every throat in shock, before the prostitute screamed, a high, piercing shriek. Stu yelled out, 'Told you 'e had claws!' And the mob streamed against the bars in a wave, shaking them, screaming insults. The prostitute fled the bar in terror and Logan watched, with a kind of detached envy. If only he could run too…

The door burst open and several police charged in, most holding rifles or handguns. They fought their way through the crowd to stand on the steps at the entrance to the cage. 'Look mutant, we don't want any trouble! Just get rid of the claws and we'll talk!'

Sure, talk…

'You let me walk out of this bar and no-one gets hurt.'

'Get rid of the claws!' bellowed their leader with a hint of panic in his voice. The feral part of him could smell his fear. There was a moment of tension before Logan relaxed and he sheathed them. 'Now…' began the policeman nervously but Logan overrode him. 'If you don't let me go…' he struggled to continue as he began to shake again. 'If you don't let me go, everyone here will die.'

The crowd of men began to yell in disapproval, clearly wanting to see the mutant brought down. Blood pumped through their veins, slowed by the alcohol, the continuous thump boring into Logan's ears. In a last desperate attempt to control himself, he crossed to the door and grabbed the leader by his throat, dragging him close. 'Let me go,' he snarled.

Clawing at Logan's hand, unable to tear it away to get oxygen, the man gasped, 'I can't…just let you…walk away…' For a moment the grip on his throat relaxed, then tightened again, smacking him into the door. His gun clattered down the stairs. The leader could hear his companions yelling his name and raising their guns but he waved them back, hypnotized by the mutant's glowing silver eyes.

He looked for mercy in those cold orbs and for a minute, an expression akin to remorse appeared in the hard face. Then it was gone and he was staring into chips of ice. Shoving him away so the leader staggered backwards down the stairs and was caught by his own men, the feral mutant took an almost imperceptible step, shifting into a fighting stance, his claws glowing cold.

To the mob, he was just an animal in a cage, something to be beaten into submission.

To the feral, they were just prey, begging to be ripped open with their blood swamping the floor.

Several shots rang out and the feral recoiled, a low rumbling growing in his chest as he surveyed the bullet hole in his shoulder. There was a tinkle as the bullet fell to the ground. The feral allowed himself a brief smile at the murmured bewilderment of his prey.

Then his claws slashed open the cage and he was upon them.

Now, you must review me! REVIEW MEEEE! For I finally have an idea where this story shall go! Moohahhahaaaaa!

Until next time, which shall I promise you be sooner than my previous long space between chapters 5 and 6,

Taluliaka