I realize that I made the change in Logans uniform too early, as my plot in accordance with X-men Evos is nowhere near season three yet, but honestly that neon yellow craziness had to go. As much as I love it for the cartoon/comics, it's silly and impractical in the "real world", so I changed it to the black (leather?) leotard he wears in season 3 for the purposes of this story.

Also, I figured I'd try adding some Japanese to Inus section. He's technically thinking in Japanese anyway, since it's his first language, so let me know what you think about the change. Translations are as follows:

Sakasagami no Yura – Yura of the Hair

Hinezumi haori – Fire Rat Haori

Hime - Princess (literally)

Koketsu ni irazunba koji wo ezu - Literally: If you do not enter the tiger's cave, you will not catch its cub. Basically translates to 'Nothing ventured, nothing gained'.

CHAPTER 7

Inuyasha

The new girl sat down in the newly vacated folding chair, opened her magazine, and proceeded to "guard" me. This one seemed about as old as my other guards, however, she wasn't at the clearing with the rest of them. Every other human in the building I've seen thus far has either been at the clearing and has been my guard, or has not been at the clearing and not been my guard. All those not at the clearing are younger, except this one. To me this indicated she was either uncooperative and disruptive during team missions, or she wasn't experienced enough to go despite her age. I looked her up and down noting the lackadaisical way she sat, the arrogant and slightly flirtatious looks she sent me between articles, and the way she'd thoroughly dismissed my previous guards odd behavior, and decided it was probably both.

The girl noticed me watching her and grinned mischievously. She leaned over the magazine perched in her lap, giving me a full view of her ample cleavage. I growled my disapproval and turned away. The kid was asking for trouble.

When the girl realized I was dead set on ignoring her for the remainder of the night, she sighed, flipped her hair, and went back to her magazine.

I had just made myself comfortable when I heard someone approach the door. I sat up and turned just as Logan entered. He cast a disapproving look at my "guard" and her magazine, then turned to me. I stood, ready to defend myself if need be. Tucked under one of Logans' arms was a fresh pair of clothes which he tossed in my direction. I caught them, and put them aside, not wanting to even look at what he brought me till I was alone...well, as alone as possible.

Logan exhaled pointedly. He seemed exasperated and tired. "Come on, kid, you got a date. Take the clothes with you."

He took a few steps back, giving me ample room to pass him, and waited. Grudgingly I complied. I wasn't sure where they wanted to take me, but I was glad they were letting me walk. The more they let me walk around the compound, the better I'd know it when it came time for me to escape.

Slowly I started towards the door, the fresh clothes in hand. Logan followed closely once I passed. Again I heard the snikt that accompanied the unpleasant, yet familiar feeling of three metal points between my shoulder blades. I stiffened slightly while wondering where the knives had come from this time. The man was wearing a form fitting black leotard, cinched together at the waist by an "X belt" similar to the ones many of the other humans around here wear. It was the same uniform he'd been wearing at the clearing, and I've started to realize the X-paraphernalia only came out around me when some shit was about to go down. The impulse to make a run for it took me, and I tensed, ready to flee when I heard a second snikt. Three more knives embedded themselves at the base of my neck, threatening to break skin and sever my brain stem. I continued walking down the semi-familiar hallways to the elevator.

Behind me, Logan tapped on the keys, entering an access code. The metallic doors slid open, and with the six knives at my back, I entered. The doors slid smoothly shut behind us, barely making any noise. The pressure on the base of my neck increased slightly as Logan punched in a few more numbers onto yet another keypad. I turned my head slightly—an attempt to get a glimpse of the code—they would be handy later.

The knives dug in deeper, barely piercing the skin almost before I turned my head. If I'd been wearing a shirt, the blood would have been absorbed by the fabric. Since most of my clothing was in shreds on the floor of my room, I was forced to suffer the overwhelming urge to scratch my back as beads of my blood ran down my spine. I few seconds later and the wound was healed, but the itch remained. I shifted uncomfortably.

Three low beeps later and the doors opened to what must have been a lower basement level. I could hear the hum of machinery as soon as the doors opened, and my nose wrinkled from the smell of disinfectant, cleaning supplies, and recycled air.

I was lead down crisp, clean metal hallways. After a few minutes of walking even I was a bit disoriented, and if not for my scent marking where we'd already been, I probably wouldn't have been able to find my way back to the elevator on my own.

"Stop," Logan growled suddenly. I did, and looked around. We were in the middle of a stretch of hallway, a few feet away from a door. I made a move towards it, thinking that was where I was being led to in the first place, but Logan grabbed my shoulder roughly, keeping me in place. Out of the corner of my eye I saw three blades. They were long and thin, and the brief glance led me to believe they were actually curved daggers, not knives.

I frowned; someone adept at using bladed weapons should know it was idiotic to try and wield six long daggers at once. To hold three per hand, he must be keeping one dagger wedged between each finger of his fist. One strike and all three would be knocked askew, unless the hilts of each were fitted specially to his hand. That may have been the case, but it still seemed odd to me. Logan probably risked cutting himself more than cutting me.

To the right of me a hidden door slid open and my chance to ponder Logan, his daggers, the meaning of life, and anything else flew out the window. With Logan at my back, I turned and stepped cautiously into the room. The last time those fucks put me in a bare metal room, I nearly got fried. I sniffed, trying to get a feeling for the place as I entered, thinking that so long as Logan entered with me, they wouldn't attack, but as soon as I crossed the threshold the wall behind me slammed shut, leaving Logan on the other side.

Kitty

I skipped down the steps and up the hall then slowed to a walk just before I got to the Professors door. Logan was just leaving the office and was heading my way, scowling. That wasn't too unusual; Logan was always scowling about something. I greeted him, and he grunted something back, sounding distracted. That wasn't too unusual either; Logan was always distracted about something too.

I knocked on the door, surprised when the Professor actually came to answer it. Normally he'd telepathically or verbally invite us in from his desk. It threw me off guard to have the Professor sitting there in front of me. "Yes, Kitty. What is it?"

Of course Professor X could just read my mind, but he always did us the courtesy of asking why we were there instead.

"Umm, well, it's about Inuyasha... Can we like, sit down or something?"

"I am sitting." I froze, realizing what I had just said. I was about to fly into an apology when the Professor smiled. "Please, come in." He wheeled himself around and back into his office, stopping next to one of the chairs by his desk. After a moment I followed him, slightly dazed. Was that a joke?

"Is something the matter with Inuyasha?" Professor asked once I'd settled into the seat.

"Oh no! It's just that we've had him here for, like, awhile, and I've like, spent a bunch of time with him, right? And like, I was just wondering why exactly he needs so much..." I paused, looking for words that wouldn't offend the Professor or come across as rude, "...extra attention, you know?"

The Professor smiled thinly, knitting his brows together for a moment before replying. "Kitty, Inuyasha is a complicated boy. There is much more to him than you could ever understand. You've seen some of what he's capable of in the Danger Room, am I correct?" He waited for me to nod my agreement before continuing, "Then you should also understand that he has a very...unstable, volatile mind. There is no telling what he will do, with or without provocation. He needs to be handled with care."

"But we don't really know anything about him. You said that you like, can't really go into his mind, right? I'm not saying he's a good guy, but like, he can't be all bad."

"That's what we're trying to figure out, Kitty. From what I've seen, there is something very...dangerous inside of him. No matter what goes on inside that room, no matter how 'normal' he seems, while you're with him, I expect you to treat him as a Red Zone case, do you understand?"

I gaped at him for a second before answering. "You mean you want me to treat him like I would the Juggernaut!" He had to be crazy!

"That is exactly what I mean, Kitty."

"But-"

"If you can't do that I'll have someone else cover your shifts."

Have someone cover my shifts! I blanched at the thought. "I don't want that..." I muttered weakly. "I want to help the others watch him. I want to do my part."

The Professor nodded, knowing that I meant it. "Good," he said, wheeling himself back and away from my chair, politely hinting that our conversation was over, "I'm glad you understand the severity of the situation. Because of his mental instability I want to see you on guard and ready for anything." I walked slowly as he escorted me to the door. "Keep in mind what this mutant is capable of, and I'm sure you'll be fine. He needs your help about as much as you need his," he concluded cryptically.

I opened the door, ready to leave and close it behind me when I realized the Professor was following me out. "Let me know if you have any other concerns." I told him I would, thanked him, and began moving towards my room. I couldn't be the only one here that felt so conflicted about the Killer. Yes, I saw what he did in the DR. Yes, I realized that the Professor wouldn't keep someone here under such harsh conditions for no reason. Yes, I realized that just because he acts nice doesn't mean he actually is nice—but a Red Zone! That means that if Inuyasha made any kind of threat towards me or anyone else on the team, I had full authority to do whatever it takes to stop him. Whatever it takes.

Those are three heavy words.

The door to my shared bedroom was closed and I knocked before phasing in, giving Rogue—assuming she was there—fair warning that I was coming. I caught her as she was rushing towards the door with Kurt.

"What's going on, guys?"

"The Killers bein' moved!" Rogue called, running past me and flinging the door open.

"No way, I was just there! How do you know?"

"Tabitha told Bobby Logan took 'im away in the middle of her shift."

"Where are they taking him?"

"Don't know!" Kurt responded as he ran after Rogue. The door slammed shut behind them.

I phased back through the door, sprinting to catch up. The Professor didn't tell me they were moving the Killer, and I had just spoken with him. I guess he didn't want us to know, but like everything else around here, a secret doesn't stay a secret for long.

Inuyasha

I spun towards the door just as it smoothed shut, then froze, expecting violence. When nothing happened I relaxed enough to take in where I was fully. It seemed that I was once again in a bare metal room—this one much smaller than the last, and without the greedy little eyes staring at me through glass. I wondered about the implications of my being here. There was no viewing area like last time, just a mirror covering half of the far wall. There were also no cameras, unlike the rest of the building. Did that mean they weren't watching? I didn't think they trusted me enough to be put anywhere without supervision, but I ignored the lack of a guard for moment.

I didn't sense danger so I took a few tentative steps forward, ready to dodge if anything came hurtling at me. Nothing did. I sniffed and smelled several of the witches, but nothing else. Most of the scents were stale; they had been in the room to secure it, most likely, but not since. Others were fresher, but faint, like they weren't coming from the room at all.

I moved towards the far end of the room, opposite the door, following my nose. In ten steps I was at the mirror. From behind the glass I detected the faint smell of Logan and the Professor. It was a two way mirror, I concluded, hence the lack of cameras. Turning my back on my audience, I took in the room. It was small. I crossed the length of it in ten steps, and I could cross the width in five or six. Other than the mirror, the room was bare. I walked around, inspecting it for any visible weakness. I could probably bust through the metal without too much trouble, though the witches would probably assemble before I got too far. Once I started banging away at the walls they'd pretty much know what I was up to. It didn't seem like a good time to escape, but you never know. I looked at the clothes still in my claws. Did they take me in here to change? I dropped them on the ground by the mirror. Not in front of them, I wouldn't.

As I wandered I kept half a brain on the witches behind the glass. I couldn't hear anything being spoken so I took that to mean the walls were incredibly thick. I wasn't worried though; it was just metal. Nothing a few good swipes of my claws couldn't fix.

After a few minutes of pacing I deemed the room safe and secure. I wasn't under attack, and it was so secure that if I hadn't noticed the door was directly across from the mirror, I wouldn't be able to tell where it was anymore. It looked just like the rest of the walls.

Now bored, I walked over to the mirror, scrunching my nose in disgust at my reflection. I was filthy. Even without my super human sense of smell, the humans guarding me must have noticed by now. It's been days since I'd gotten a decent shower before the witches picked me up, and it had to be a good week already since then. Shaking my head, I tried to remember the last time I'd looked at myself in a mirror. It was a month at least. Since then not much had changed. I don't know what I expected, not much ever changes with me. I was a hell of a lot dirtier, but I was still a 17 year old boy. Maybe 18 now—who the fuck knew anymore?

I combed my fingers through my bangs. Thanks to the brunette bitch, the strands weren't nearly as gnarled as before, but it was still pretty bad. I'd kept from cutting it all these years, despite its inconvenience. When in school I took good care of it—washing, brushing, and then braiding it daily so it wouldn't attract any more unnecessary attention to my odd appearance and behavior.

Sakasagami no Yura would have been proud, I thought, all that stopped about a year ago when I gave up my semi-public life and went back to peace, quiet, and solitude. Still, I never cut it. My hinezumi haori was long gone, along with Tetsusaiga, my mannerisms, and my old way of life, but the hair stayed. I guess as childish as it may seem, keeping my hair reminded me of the past; of the Sengku Jedai, Sango, Miroku, Shippou, and—of course—Kagome. It was the one external thing I couldn't bring myself to part with.

I brought a claw to my head, intent on getting out those last few stubborn knots when I picked up new scents. Speaking of the bitch, I could smell her. Had she been in this room before? I closed my eyes, turning my head from side to side to gauge where it was coming from. My nose, once again, led me to the mirror. She's here to watch the peep show with the rest of those fuckers, I silently fumed. I sniffed again and found more new scents. The fuzzy witch and the girl with toxic skin were there, as well another boy but whose face I couldn't recall, but whose scent I recognized.

What were they doing in there? Fuck, what was I doing in here? It had been at least a quarter of an hour and I was still standing around like a moron, playing Hime in the mirror! No way, this had to be a test of some sort. Just because I didn't know what was going on doesn't mean this shit don't stink.

I slipped an emotionless mask back on and proceeded to untangle the birds nest in my hair. Hopefully unbeknown to my captors, I was not as carefree as I appeared. I was still on guard. I was still ready, and I was waiting for the absurd crap they'd throw my way next.

Patiently I ran my claws through my long mane, picking out the last of the glass and knots for a good 10 minutes before it was relatively smooth. In the mean time, Scott, the red head, and the Weather Witch—Storm—joined the party. Silently I fumed at them, hating them for making me feel, yet again, like a caged animal performing tricks for their sordid amusement.

My appearance made semi-presentable, I had no other reason to be in front of the mirror. Instead I ambled around, trying to look bored and confused and relaxed—what I thought would be the natural state of someone locked in a metal box for a long period of time without explanation. I began walking around the perimeter of the room, no longer feigning boredom, but keeping alert nonetheless. After several slow laps the inadequacy of the small space became vastly apparent. I was getting dizzy, annoyed, and angry. Why hadn't they attacked me yet? Why didn't they just get it over with!

Still walking in circles, I began taking longer steps, speed walking instead of meandering, angry rather than calm. I walked over to the mirror and stopped, blatantly staring at my captors in the next room, straining with all my might to hear what was going on the other side. After a moment I stopped and continued pacing. I think better when moving.

Maybe they put me in here just to rattle me?

If that was the case it was working. Escape was on my mind. All I had to do was barrel down the wall across from the mirror, or even go for the mirror itself and I'd be out of this fucked up metal box.

Maybe they want me to try and escape?

I shook my head as I walked. That couldn't be it. What if I succeeded? If they wanted me to escape they could have just been "accidentally" sloppy while transporting me here. I would have taken full advantage of their "carelessness" and made my escape attempt. Then they would have stopped me, or at least have tried to—assuming that was what they had planned. Either way, that theory didn't make sense. Why would they want me to try and escape? That's just fallacious and stupid.

I growled softly in frustration. In an attempt to calm my fraying nerves I stopped pacing and sat down mid-stride, making a serious effort to remain calm and take things as they came. I took a deep breath in and then released it, telling myself that when something happened, I'd react; I just had to wait patiently till then, but after a few moments I was itching to move again, and lost focus. Patience was never my strong suit.

So I decided, fuck it. If they wouldn't make the first move, I would. As they say, Koketsu ni irazunba koji wo ezu, I reasoned, knowing this wasn't necessarily true. Whatever, I didn't want to be in that stupid little room anymore. That should be reason enough to leave.

It was final. As soon as I made the decision to escape my mind cleared. I automatically did a sweep of the room, knowing that its weaknesses were the mirror and door. Since the mirror lead to a room holding the people I was trying to avoid, the logical place to strike was at the door.

I made my way over to where I knew the exit should have been. Now there was no sign of it; there was only bare metal wall. I remembered being directly across from the mirror, towards the left. I was almost certain. I knew better than to second guess myself. That nearly always led to mistakes.

Spinning around on my heel, I briskly walked to the mirror side of the room. I stopped, cracked the knuckles in my strong arm, and lunged at the door as I extended my claws.

"Sankontessou!" I cried out, focusing my energy on slashing the door open in one perfect strike. Inwardly I winced at the offensive noise my claws made as they connected with my metal enclosure, feeling its resistance and knowing right away that I had not broken through. I leapt back a few feet, a few inches from the mirror behind me, and quickly hopped back to survey the damage.

I snarled at the five tiny scratches. Offended by the doors lack of willingness to give, I took a few steps back, giving myself room to strike and let my claws extend once more.

Again I screamed as I let loose two successive strikes at my enclosure. This time I used a considerable amount of my strength. When my first strike connected, I swear I felt the room shake a bit. The second strike, weaker, (yet still forceful enough to tear through skin and bone 100 times over) was just supposed make sure I'd created a gap large enough for me to fit through when escaping. Unfortunately, neither strike did much to scratch the door, let alone penetrate it. Horrified, I stared at the still-standing door. It antagonized me by refusing to submit to my claws. This was the first time in a long time my claws had found something they couldn't bust through, and I'd never found a metal that I couldn't easily tie into a pretzel or shred to confetti. Obviously something must be wrong. I probably wasn't hitting it hard enough.

Backing up until my back touched the mirror, I charged. In one powerful leap I was at the wall, ramming it as hard as I could with my shoulder. I bounced off like a tennis ball, and landed on my feet back where I started. I yelled savagely at the obstinate thing. I sunk my claws into my forearm, drawing blood, seeing red, feeling only obtuse rage.

"Hi..." I growled deeply as I prepared to leap, "...jin..." my voice crescendo-ed as I took to the air and tore the claws out of my forearm, trailing blood, "…KESSOU!" I screamed as I slashed at the wall full force. My claws sank deep into the metal and stayed there, stuck. Immediately I swung my feet up and pulled myself out, bracing my feet against the wall for leverage. I back-flipped through the air to my new official starting point by the mirror. This was ridiculous. How was I still here!

I repeated the maneuver again, this time struck mute with fury and shock that my attack hadn't worked the first time. Again my claws sank into the metal, again no matter how hard I pulled down, they wouldn't tear through the substance, and again I was forced to rip them out of the wall, leaving nothing behind but five small holes where my claws had been.

I tried again and again, each attack growing more savage and desperate then the last. Half the assault consisted of me ramming myself into the wall over, and over again to no avail. When I was too tired to continue pounding my fists, claws, and shoulders into the wall, I retreated back to the mirror to regroup, panting and snarling. I wasn't thinking straight, I was just mindlessly attacking. Something in the back of my mind equated it to my mental state when I was turned, but I kept going, too angry to stop. I looked around wildly for a place to run, feeling panic when I knew there was no where to go.

I crouched down low, as my eyes darted around restlessly. My eyes wide and wild, I snarled as the room closed in around me, getting smaller and smaller. My breaths came out in gasps, and I felt the metal constricting, suffocating me. I couldn't breathe! Suddenly I stood, swinging madly the invisible demons taunting me, restricting me, causing me fear and pain.

The sound of my ragged breathing and snarls filled the room and I prepped myself for a final attack. I'd hold nothing back this time, and I'd be out of this fucking box if it killed me. With a harsh cry, I threw myself at the wall and struck it full force with my shoulder. There was a ripping noise on impact. When I found myself back at the stupid mirror again, I was nursing a dislocated shoulder. To say it hurt was an understatement, but I'd been through worse. The pain instantly cleared my mind and gave me something to focus on. Haggardly I looked around, knowing I was a fucking moron for letting myself get so crazy over nothing. I didn't dwell, however. I had bigger things to worry about, like fixing my shoulder.

Leaning back against the mirror for support, I gripped the wrist of my injured arm with my non injured hand. Grimacing from the pain I lifted the arm up and to my chest, biting back screams. When my wrist was place firmly against my chest I steadied myself against the wall, steadying my nerve and resolve. It felt as though my arm was being torn from it's socket—which was indeed what had happened, but it felt worse than that even—like someone was tearing the limb from my body. I'd done this before once or twice, but that didn't make it pleasant. It would get agonizingly worse before it would get better.

Slowly, painfully, I forced my arm out and away from my body, trying to get it all the way to the other side of the wall, but hoping the damned thing would pop back into place before then. It took three harrowing tries before I heard a pop and felt instant relief. I sank to the ground, sobered by the experience.

The shoulder was still sore, but I was able to move it semi normally without too much pain or trouble. I let my arms flop to my side. I was tired. I needed to rest. Using up all that energy was stupid. Now I'd be weak, injured, and unprepared when those fuckers finally did whatever it was they were going to...do.

And just like that a light bulb went off on my brain. I knew why those fuck-heads had brought be down here. It was so that I could try to escape; so that I'd try and fail. It was to show me that it didn't matter how strong or smart I thought I was, the technology they possessed was better, and if I pushed my luck I'd be locked up in this box—or one just like it—for good. The thought made me sick. I really couldn't get out of here. For the first time since I woke up in the accursed room that's been my cell, I felt like a prisoner—trapped, with no means of escape.

Now there was only one thing to do. As soon as they actually let me out of this room, assuming that ever happened, I needed to do whatever was in my power to get the fuck out of this place, and run as fast and far as I possibly could. It was either that, or be kept in a box like this for the rest of my life. Who the fuck knows what these witches had in store for me, or why they felt I was so dangerous. They had told me repeatedly they were keeping me until they figured out the "truth" about whether or not I'd murdered some innocent children, but why did they even suspect me in the first place? I hadn't really been among humans in awhile now, and when I was it was just to steal some clothing or supplies for myself under the cover of darkness. It's been ages since I've even seen any children.

I stifled a whimper...fuck this shit, I just wanted to go home.

My hand brushed up against fabric. It was the clothes that fuck, Logan, had given me to wear. I didn't understand these people. They try some crazy-ass fucking psychological experiment with me, but first they decently give me some fresh clothing to put on before they make me flip a shit about being trapped in a metal box for Kami knows how long. Why bother? It barely mattered anyway; even if I put on the fresh clothes, they would instantly be contaminated by my filthy self.

As though someone had heard read my thoughts, I felt a few drops of water from above. It was only then I noticed the small nozzle jutting out from the ceiling, directly above the mirror. I stood, trying to get a closer look.

It appeared to be some kind of hose dripping water. I stuck a hand out as a few more drops leaked out, followed by a steady trickle. It was a hose dripping water. Cupping my hand, allowing the water to pool there, I smelled it for traces of poison or drug. It was just water, like from the tap. I tipped the pool, and it drained right onto my clothes. I nudged the pile to the side, wondering what was going on now.

Slowly the trickle became a stream, which turned into a high pressure, wide torrent covering the left half of the room. I looked at the ground where the water struck, making a dull noise. It was then I noticed the small hole on the left hand side of the wall, obviously a drain. The floor must slant slightly in that direction. I felt foolish for not seeing it before.

My curiosity thoroughly quenched, I allowed myself to relax slightly. They'd proven I can't break out of here. I suppose this was the final reason for me being kept here. My shirt was already gone, my feet already bare. I debated whether or not I should remove my torn, filthy pants as well, but decided against it. I stole a glance at the mirror; they were still watching me. After testing the water, (it was hot, not scalding) I slowly eased myself into the stream. The pressure felt nice on my aching, tired body. I stood motionless for a moment, or a few hours—I couldn't tell. I'd lost track of time.

The tension in both my mind and body eased with the hot water. My sudden panic felt so stupid now. I dropped to my haunches, allowing my mind to drift pleasantly. Finally, when I was finished soaking, I began scrubbing my face and body with my fingers, rubbing weeks of dirt and grime away. When I was finished I stood, finally remembering where I was and that I was being watched. I glanced over at the mirror. It and everything else in the room were covered in a layer of fog from the steamy water. I wondered if they could still see. I stayed in the shower while considering the mirror, reluctant to get out of the water. Fortunately my captors where in no rush, or they couldn't see me anymore. Regardless, they left the shower running. Finally after a few more minutes of enjoyment, the hot water and steamy air become bothersome.

I moved over to the dry area of the shower, leaving wet footprints on the clouded floor. When the water remained on, I decided they couldn't see me, and even if they could fuck them, I was changing. I pulled off my pants, and slipped on the clean jeans. They were a little big and sagged precariously low. I used the shirt to wipe the rest of my body and mop up the excessive amount of liquid trapped in my long hair. When I was finished, I walked to the mirror and used the palm of my hand to wipe away a peep hole. I gave a thumbs up sign, hoping they'd understand that I was finished and ready for whatever they had planned next. After a few moments, the water pressure decreased its flow until it became a trickle and stopped.