Apologies, once again, for the delay.

"Let's try this one more time."

The guard in front of Logan, who'd been doing his damnedest to beat him into submission, shook his hand out. Despite protective measures he'd split open his knuckles but he didn't seem to care. He had a predatory sort of smile on his lips.

A woman in a labcoat stood off to the side, a mousy brunette who looked vaguely queasy at all the violence but hadn't left the room yet.

"It would go so much easier for both of us if you cooperated," she said, all but hiding behind her clipboard. "Jameson could stop."

Logan wanted to give in, to give up. He didn't even need to close his eyes to see the horrible images of Vic and Teva, of all the things that psychopath had done that were so much worse than...

Death. Denyin' it don't make it any less true. He took a shaking breath in. She's gone. And her dying had torn a hole in his psyche, in his soul, that hurt worse than anything - any pain physical or mental - that he'd ever endured in the past. It felt like a raw nerve exposed to the air multiplied by 10, and in comparison being beaten into a pulp was nothing. He barely even felt that.

What he did feel, though, was the effects of adamantium poisoning. Since they'd turned off his healing factor when he'd been forced to watch his mate suffer, it had slowly been leeching poison into his system; previously, they'd turned it back on each time he was returned to his cell, so that he'd be ready for more torture when they came for him again. Under normal circumstances it was just a dull ache in his body, kept in check by his mutation. Now it was a screaming agony that almost took his breath away.

Logan bared his teeth at Jameson. The guard, blond and built like a linebackers, grinned back. He was the second they'd brought in after the first had suffered a severely smashed face when he got too close and the feral drove his metal-coated skull forward.

Jameson was more cautious, and more thorough. It was obvious he'd been trained in interrogation though he'd had to modify his techniques for someone whose bones couldn't break, and it was also obvious the bigger man was enjoying himself. He was no different than any other common thug except he got paid to do it.

He drove his hand, fingers stiffened, into Logan's throat, choking the mutant as his trachea collapsed.

Air refused to fill his lungs, bringing stars into his vision while his brain starved for oxygen, and for a moment he panicked. His hands, bound behind his back, flexed as he reflexively tried to free them, as if that would save him somehow; it wasn't like being strangled and removing the obstructing object. And with his healing factor inhibited there was a very real chance this was the end.

Just as he started losing consciousness he felt the familiar burning pain of tissues knitting back together and he heard the woman scolding Jameson.

"If you kill him we're not going to get anywhere." She had the inhibitor's controller in her hand, clearly she'd been the one to deactivate it. "You might be alright with losing your job but I'm not, and you were instructed to do whatever damage is necessary for compliance without damaging his ability to speak."

"It's not like we couldn't get a psi in here," Jameson protested.

The woman sighed. "If you'd bothered to listen when we were briefed, Weapon X has a natural near-immunity to telepathic attack; the only reason his wife penetrated it was because he allowed her to."

Now how the hell did they know that ? he found himself wondering. Teva had elaborated on just which questions had been asked of her, and that hadn't been one of her answers. They're fucking with your head, Logan. Trying to get you to talk. He wanted to tell that inner voice to fuck off and let him be, but it was having none of that. You couldn't save her. The least you can do is hold your damn tongue, not let them destroy your memory of her.

"Which is why I'm hoping you'll cooperate," the woman said, now addressing Logan again. "She's dead, what could we possibly do to her now?"

Logan cleared his throat, finding that he'd healed enough to speak again though his voice was rougher than usual.

"Do ya think I'm simple, lady?" He resisted the urge to growl at her, she'd yet to be intimidated by him for all she didn't seem to care for Jameson's methods of coercion. "There's several dozen nasty things ya can do to a dead body. I ain't gonna give ya any reason to dissect her for shits and giggles."

She seemed about to speak again when a cold, dispassionate voice came through a speaker on the wall next to the door.

"That's enough. Leave him. Ms. Towers, please report to Section C, Room 304."

"What would you recommend?" Riggs asked, watching Weapon X on the monitor. "He has a remarkable capacity for enduring pain and there's only so much damage one can inflict on someone with unbreakable bones."

Towers opened her mouth to answer but was cut off by another voice.

"Ya gotta get into his head." Creed stood inside the doorway. "Mess with his mind."

Riggs raised an eyebrow. "Is there an echo in here? The adamantium you have in common with Weapon X means we can't send one of our psionics in to do the job."

"Really." Creed drew the word out into multiple syllables, infusing it with obvious sarcasm. "Don't they pay you some obscene amount of money, Riggs? Listen close – what'd they do to break 'im before? Fuckin' with someone is somethin' anyone with half a brain – like Wade – can do, ya just gotta know their weakness. Figure out the chinks in the armor."

"Maybe we should ask Wade, then."

Creed bared his fangs. "Ooh, that stung. Shut yer trap, feeb, ya ain't my boss."

Towers put her hand on Riggs' arm to forestall a response and possible bloodshed.

"Your insight would be much appreciated, Victor."

He smiled at her. "See? Flies an' honey." He flung a hand at the monitor. "Ya gotta combine the pain with somethin' he can't handle or he'll just shake it off. Now that he thinks his girl is dead he's got one big thing left, one thing he clings to like it's a fuckin' lifeline, an' that his humanity. His friends, his family, his memories. When they tried to break him the last time he didn't even have that much but it might be easier to tear him apart now than before."

Creed shifted, leaning one massive shoulder against the wall.

"An' ya might not be able to get into his head like a psi but they didn't brainwash him that way – they stuck shit in his grey matter and played 'im like Halo."

Riggs looked like he wanted to hurt Creed but he was slowly nodding anyway.

Towers had been writing notes frantically.

"That how to go after you, Sabretooth? Take away your humanity?"

The big feral stared at him a moment and then burst out laughing, holding his abdomen like it hurt.

"Hoo, Christ." Creed grinned but his eyes went dead, making the two humans back up a step or two. "I ain't had 'humanity' since I killed my parents. Might be I wasn't born with any in the first place. Wanna test that theory?"

"Thank you, Victor," Towers said, trying to head off a confrontation.

Creed tipped an imaginary hat at her.

"If ya'd let me know when they fun starts I'd be much obliged."

"Um. Sure." She waited until he was gone before exhaling sharply. "They won't be very angry with him if he end up gutting you, Michael. And I don't want to end up guilty by association."

She flipped through her notes and then looked back up.

"I'm going to go back and look at the records. I didn't pay enough attention to what happened with the Project, and I don't want to end up doing something else that won't work."

"Do you think he suspects anything?"

"It's been five minutes," Towers replied to the tech, a cadaverously-thin man who hadn't been working there long enough for her to remember his name.

He'd been brought up from one of the labs to handle the delicate procedure of inserting various wires and probes into Weapon X's brain. The devices used decades ago had been effective for their time, and these new ones were based on the same technology only with many improvements that reduced the margin for error while increasing effectiveness and ease of use. The tech had kept up a steady stream of chatter explaining what he was doing that Towers had mostly blocked out while putting the finishing touches on programs she'd been developing and coding all morning.

The subject had been secured in a chair as a precaution beyond the paralyzing effect achieved with the inhibitor embedded in his cerebral spine; after his escape from the metal cuffs they weren't taking any chances, since they needed to allow his healing factor to come up to full power so that the procedure would be the same as before. Two guards with both tranq guns and actual firearms stood by the door as yet another precaution against rebellion. Everyone in the room had been briefed as to the escape of Weapon X following his original captivity, and they all knew the fate that awaited them should he gain his freedom.

A neck-ruffling scent caused Towers to turn and she bit back a yelp at finding Creed standing at her shoulder.

"Howdy," he said, baring his fangs. When he looked up and saw Weapon X studded with probes and needles and other things he actually shuddered, and Towers recalled that Creed had undergone much the same experiments. The reaction wouldn't have been obvious in the average person; it was his usual nonchalance and utter lack of regard for much of anything dangerous that made that one small gesture of unease look like a screaming fit from anyone else.

She heard him inhale and then he chuckled.

"Dream Angels?" he asked. "I figured ya for a more sophisticated scent."

"It was a gift," she replied, trying to concentrate on the words and numbers scrolling across the monitor. She knew he was just trying to unnerve her. "Are you sure you want to be here for this? It might cause flashbacks."

The way he growled as an answer let her know that her barb had hit its mark; Riggs may have been in danger of evisceration but Creed seemed to find women who stood up for themselves intriguing. Even so, in a small, petty gesture, he swiped the rolling stool from under her console and sat down on it.

"Is he ready?" she asked the tech.

"All readouts are nominal," he replied. "My name's Grant, by the way."

"Wonderful." She tapped a few buttons on the keyboard, adjusted a few feeds. "Alright. Attempt #1, Weapon X Conditioning. Towers, Lydia directing with aid."

"Grant, Charles," the tech supplied.

"Initiating."

The machines began their work, taking on a high-pitched whine that rose until it passed human hearing, though apparently Creed could still hear it judging by his cursing.

"You're welcome to leave," she offered, not taking her eyes from the task at hand. She didn't expect a reply and she didn't get one.

Across the room, on the other side of the reinforced glass meant to protect the workers, Weapon X jerked in the chair. The EKG started beeping rapidly followed by the EEG going off.

"Is it critical?" she asked Grant.

He shook his head. "Within the range that's supposed to be normal for him. The same thing happened the last time and he was fine."

Towers added details to her notes and then settled in, accepted Grant's stool with a nod.

He knew where he was but didn't know why he was there. He didn't remember coming back to the burnt-out husk of the original Weapon Plus facility, the one he'd decorated the walls of with the blood of his many tormentors. The last time he'd been there he'd accidentally activated the S.H.I.V.A. Protocol, a robot designed to kill him and with a failsafe to restore his lost memories so that he would be incapacitated. All it served to do was trigger his feral nature and he'd destroyed it, without regaining his memories.

As he walked down the hallway he saw broken and bleeding bodies that covered much of the floor, some staring with sightless eyes. Logan recognized the method of their massacre, severed limbs and heads, bellies slashed open to released their contents of viscera and worse things.

He wandered somewhat aimlessly and as he came to a doorway that he knew lead to the chamber where the adamantium had been bonded to his skeleton, searing pain stole his breath and his sight. When he opened them again he found himself floating in that tank full of embryonic fluid meant to aid in the bonding process as well as keep him from contracting any infections. He screamed, or at least he tried to around the oxygen mask strapped to his face.

He could see the liquid adamantium snaking through the tubes attached all over his body and again the pain ate at his sanity.

Then he blinked and he was back in the corridor. He'd fallen to his knees and now he lifted his hands, expecting to find the probes but his flesh was whole, unmarked. Shakily he got to his feet and walked past that room, coming to another.

This was where they had begun his programming. Various wires and rusted boxes lay within the 10'x10' cell, and equally-rusted chair a few feet away from them. No bodies here.

Something caught his eye, a marking on the wall. It was a design of some variety of flowering vine. He touched it, finding it vaguely familiar, before he was plunged into another nightmare.

He was naked in the snow. His vision was partially obscured by a helmet on his head, his body draped with wires attached to heavy batteries dangling here and there. Before he could make heads or tails of it he caught the scent of blood and the beast took over.

At first it smelled like a wounded bear, blood and musk, then it changed. The scent was somehow cleaner and now he knew it was something else. The beast saw only prey while the man, shoved down and screaming, recognized one of the girls he thought of as a daughter.

Jubilee was crouched, one arm cradled against her body and a wound dripping blood down her face.

"Thank God," she said, apparently seeing nothing wrong with the situation. "I thought I was a goner."

He barely understood her and he growled at her.

"Wolvie?" she said, her voice becoming worried. "Hey, it's me, Jubes. Y'know, your little firecracker." Her tremulous smile was unconvincing even to the beast.

Quick as thought, almost quicker, his claws emerged and he was on her, attacking with the ferocity of his namesake.

She fought back weakly, crying out in pain and sobbing his name, begging for mercy.

Her blood steamed where it touched the snow and finally she was silent.

He was back in the tank, thrashing. He hadn't been completely conscious when he'd been bonded in reality but now he was and the pain was so much worse. Combined with the knowledge of what he'd done, who he'd killed, he couldn't think past it. Not even to try to break free.

Things shifted and he was back in the room with the weird design on the wall. His fingers traced it and he racked his brain trying to dredge up the memories associated with it. His attention was broken by the sound of sobbing and he followed it, tracked it. The scent of blood was once again a trigger, a force he couldn't resist. This time it was kitty, hiding in the adjacent room behind some old equipment.

She fought more than Jubilee had. Logan himself had trained her in martial arts and she knew how to fight even when wounded. Still, any damage she inflicted was momentary, and she didn't have his stamina, or his reflexes.

It was almost a relief to be back in the tank and he accepted the pain as penance, knowing it would never be enough.

His heart was beating so fast he thought he was either going to stroke out or go into cardiac arrest. He felt his blood pounding in his temples, and he must have actually been bleeding because suddenly there were streaks of red in the green-tinted nutrient bath, swirling with the movement of his body.

As he forced himself to calm down he lifted his hands and found the wounds on the back of them. His gaze was pulled to the blood again which was seemingly coalescing into that damned design, and another glance at his hands brought clarity. On the left was a simple band on his ring finger.

Teva.

Her scent filled his senses and once more he was in the snow as before, but she wasn't there. It was another friend, another loved one, and he lost track of the cycles he went though, from tank to death and back again. All the while he strained to see if she was there while things blurred together.

She was bleeding from dozes of gashes, in groups of four and five, and there was bruising around her neck in the shape of fingers. She was looking down at her feet, her long red hair nearly obscuring her face.

He tried to say her name but what came out was an unintelligible growl.

She looked up, revealing more cuts on her face.

"Ah," she said, seeing him for the first time. "I did'nae expect to find you here." She stepped forward, leaving a trail of bloody bootprints, reaching out to touch him.

He flinched and took a step back.

"Stad," she said, stay. With deft, gentle hands she removed the helmet. "Oh, Logan. You're nearly lost."

Another growl left him, resolving into one word.

"Help."

Teva smiled sadly. "Beyond me, I'm afraid. Nothing short of death will bring this to an end." As if gleaning his thoughts as before, she continued. "I've sheltered you before. Seek the silence that will be your freedom."

He reached for her now and found that she was insubstantial, little more than a wraith so far as he was concerned. She began to fade from his sight.

"No," he growled in anguish. "Stay."

"I cannae," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm no really here, little more than a phantom. An afterimage. You have to find your own way."

Her image wavered and he cried out, trying to keep her there.

"Seek."

With the helmet off he could see, and seeing his mate had swept away some of the fog in his head. He remembered that she'd once told him he could control anything within his own mind; it might be painful but it was possible.

Her sudden appearance confirmed for him that he was not in the real world, instead once more a captive of those who only wanted to destroy him. He shut his eyes tight and concentrated as best he could, pulled on every last reserve he had to make manifest a place where he could be safe and make good his freedom.

When he opened his eyes again he was within the shelter Teva had provided for him to weather the storm of his returned memories. All was as before, even the doorway that would take him into her mind, except it shouldn't have been there. He shuffled across the floor and opened the door, only to find a solid metal wall. There were no seams, was no doorknob, no means of egress.

He his his knees, one hand pressed to the wall. If he couldn't get to her, how was he to get free?

Seek the silence that will be your freedom.

Logan shifted, sitting on the floor in full lotus position, instinct beginning to take over. He drew on the things he had learned in various parts of Asia, the discipline of the samurai and, more importantly, the method used by certain Tibetan monks to lower their body temperatures and slow their own heartbeats. His unique physiology allowed him to push far beyond what a normal person could achieve.

...thud-thump...thud-thump...thud-thump...thud-thump...

"What the hell is going on?"

After the rapid beeping of the EKG, now it was slowing, something that didn't show up in the records as having happened before.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Grant replied, his fingers moving in a blur over his keyboard. "He was reacting appropriately the the scenarios you programmed until just a few moments ago, I don't understand the readings."

Creed was muttering under his breath and then suddenly he laughed, a quick, sharp bark of sound.

"That little shit," he said. "Ya might wanna get some medics in here 'fore he croaks."

"Can't we shoot him up with adrenaline? Won't that get his heart going again?" Grant asked, looking panicked.

"Are you fuckin' stupid?" Creed asked. "His entire ribcage is covered in unbreakable, impenetrable metal. On second thought, go ahead and do it yourself, it might be funny."

He concentrated on his pulse, regulated his breaths to bring them into synch. It made him somewhat lightheaded but he pressed on, visualizing a light in his body becoming dimmer.

Something tried to pull him away, a sharp burst of pain like an icepick in his temple. The ones trying to destroy him had picked up on the fact he was doing something, was no longer completely trapped in a world of their making.

...thud-thump...thud-thump...thud-thump...

His heartbeat started to go back up and he fought it, fought them for control of his very being. He would not become the monster again, the thing that killed on command and didn't care about the blood on its hands. He'd fucking kill himself before he let them break him.

The struggle brought more pain, threatened to break his concentration. His hands had curled into fists that he had to consciously release, his jaw clenched until he forced himself to relax. A strange sound made him open his eyes to find his shelter coming apart.

With a growl he diverted some of his attention to maintaining the structure, then he continued his task. His awareness began to drop away bit by bit.

...thud-thump...thud-thump...

Voices shouted distantly and something was making an infernal beeping sound while some kind of alarm blared. The butchers were trying to stop him, rein him back in, and judging by the commotion around his corporeal body, they weren't having an easy time of it.

Choke on that, he thought.

He had the sensation of floating, broken only by quick bursts of pain and bright light. Those became fewer and far between, though pressure was building behind his eyes that was almost impossible to ignore.

...thud-thump...

The light in his belly became grey, quietly pulsing with each lagging heartbeat, flowing out of him with each ponderous breath.

He was well aware that he might not survive this forced coma. It required finer, more minute control than he had not to cross the line into true, rather than temporary, purposely-induced death, and he hadn't the will nor the strength to do more than he was already doing. Not even the grief he knew would be visited upon his friends and family with two deaths was able to do more than make him feel a wave of regret and guilt, gone just as quickly as his breath.

...thud

He hoped Kurt was right, that there was a Heaven and the Teva was safe there now. He was sure as anything he was destined for someplace much hotter.

"Dammit!" Towers slapped her hand on the table while she watched the medics trying to stabilize Weapon X, stop whatever was killing him.

The EKG's beeping now came barely at all, spaced out by handfuls of seconds. The EEG was the same. It should have been impossible for this to happen, yet happening it was.

"Call it." One of the medics had his fingers under Weapon X's jaw. The other one looked up.

"TOD 6:26 pm. Heart failure."

Towers swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and went to the phone on the wall.

"Get me the Director."

"He knows," came the reply. "And he's not happy. He's sending someone down to take care of the body."