*Special thanks to willwrite4fics and Karama9 for beta reading and offering comments. My chapter came out better because of it.
Also, I want to apologize that it's been a while since the last update and that no Joes actually appear in this chapter. I'm aiming to update this story 2-3 times a month. The next update of Ninja Walkabout will be up by Saturday. I'm also working on the first chapter of some bonus scenes, which I will post as well. My goal is to finish Silence by the end of summer.
Silence
Chapter 28: Ticking Bomb
Florida
He straightened his business suit as he waited for his client. As usual, every hair was in place and not a wrinkle was to be seen. Tomax prided himself on his impeccable sense of dress. After all, image was very important in the business world. If you couldn't look like a respectable business man, people were less willing to contract with you.
"Hey Ripper, it's Tomax," Thrasher said. "We'd better let Zartan know he's here."
Tomax cast a disdainful look at the trio of Dreadnoks loitering near a motorcycle. Bad hygiene, torn clothing, horrible manners…he watched as Thrasher stuck his pinkie finger into his nose and flicked out a piece of dried mucus. He scowled slightly at such an uncouth act. How Zartan's family and Buzzer could stand to be around the barely literate rabble was beyond him.
He smoothed his tie and waited.
Yes, image was very important. He and his brother hadn't worked themselves up from poverty to become international corporate giants just so they could socialize with such filth. Five minutes in Dreadnok territory and he already felt the need to shower. Being forced into a poker game with them by Wade Wilson had been a nightmare, one that he certainly wasn't going to repeat.
"Ah, on time, as usual," a male voice said. Years of practice prevented Tomax from jumping when his client suddenly appeared next to him. Zartan seemed to get amusement out of startling unsuspecting visitors. Neither of the twins ever wanted to give him that satisfaction.
"Of course," Tomax replied smoothly. "Shall we get down to business?" He focused his attention on the Dreadnok leader and prepared to exchange several rounds of fake pleasantries with his Cobra colleague.
"Why, no 'hello Zartan, how are you,' or 'fancy meeting you here after such a delightful poker game'?" the other man smirked. Tomax bristled slightly, but forced himself not to snap at the Dreadnok. It had become more difficult to control his temper lately. Zartan seemed to have realized that and had now made needling him a new hobby.
Tomax considered putting on a by now well practiced fake smile, but instead settled for a slight scowl. Zartan would know he was pretending anyway.
"Do you want to do business or not?" he asked irritably. Seeing as the man had insisted that one or both of the twins come all the way to Florida to do business, Tomax wasn't in the mood to play games. The smirk on Zartan's face widened slightly.
"Of course," the other man replied. "I was just trying to be 'polite.' That is how you people operate in your ivory towers, isn't it? Smiling at people and pretending to be their friends while you stab them in the back?"
"Like you're one to talk," Tomax pointed out. Zartan shrugged.
"When I stab people in the back, I'm not pretending to be their friend," the mercenary replied. "People automatically know they can't trust me, which makes me the more honest one." Tomax held his tongue, regardless of how much he disagreed. Zartan was trying to draw him into an argument and get him riled up. He'd let it happen during the poker game and then again after a meeting with Cobra Commander. It wasn't going to happen a third time.
"It's how the business world operates," Tomax said tightly. "Clients don't want to deal with murderous psychopaths. They want friendly, capable people to entrust their money to." Image was everything. Every hair in place and a well-polished smile in hand. A smile and money could grease more palms than threats and blackmail.
"Well, if you put it that way, I suppose we'd better act like 'friendly, capable people," the other man replied sardonically.
Zartan stopped trying to wind him up as they walked through the Dreadnok's Florida compound. Tomax handed him a folder of information and explained the contents. He and Xamot both managed most of the Dreadnoks' assets, including some stock Zartan and more financially minded Dreadnoks owned. However uncouth the biker gang might be, they still ran on money. Zartan knew he could trust the twins to make as much money for him as possible, even if he had to give them a cut out of it.
"I understand that you made a sizable sum of money off of the War Machine suit," Tomax said, flipping to the next page of his small notebook. "Would you like to invest it in anything?" The Dreadnoks, of course, had "given" James Rhodes's suit to Cobra Commander for a price. Zartan thought for a few moments before finally shaking his head.
"No, I don't think so," Zartan replied. After a moment, he added, "I think I should have demanded more money. Mindbender looked like he was ready to have an orgasm when he saw the suit."
"A mental image I did not need," Tomax groaned slightly.
"You're welcome."
"Shut up Zartan," the Corsican scowled. Zartan responded with a 'touche' and seemed quite pleased with himself. Tomax hid an exasperated sigh and asked the other man if he had any other business to discuss.
"Actually, there is one more thing," Zartan told him. "Nothing much, just some information you might be interested in." Tomax raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. Whatever "information" this was, a vast quantity of money was sure to be involved.
"You'll have to give me more than that if you expect me to pay you for it," Tomax said. Zartan made a show of considering it, going so far as to rub his chin in thought. The silence continued and he felt his irritation grow. Tomax almost snapped at the other man, but caught himself just in time. Zartan was baiting him again and he wasn't going to fall for it.
Looking somewhat disappointed, the Dreadnok shrugged his shoulders and pulled a tiny recorder out of his pocket.
"Let's just say that it pertains to you and your brother's…shall we say, 'different' behavior as of late," Zartan said. Tomax stared at the tiny object in the other man's hand. He was sure that Sinister was behind the mess that he and Xamot had gotten themselves into, but he had no proof. Considering the man's abilities, there was every possibility that Sinister knew that Zartan had evidence.
Tomax chewed his lip in thought. He closed his eyes and counted silently to five before reopening them.
"How much do you want?" he asked.
"Five hundred thousand," Zartan responded. "Take it or leave it." He held the device in front of Tomax's eyes. The Corsican eyed it silently before deciding that he could afford to lose five hundred thousand dollars for something that was potentially useful.
"Fine, which account do you want me to transfer it to?" Tomax asked. Zartan told him and waited while he called the bank and had the funds transferred. As soon as the transfer was confirmed, the Dreadnok handed him the sound file.
"Sinister's behind it," Zartan explained. "Apparently your and Xamot's minds merged together due to the telepathic link you share. He cut it as an experiment. All the changes you two are going through…it's just your natural personalities reasserting themselves."
Tomax stared at him and then down at the file. He refused to believe it. He and his brother were the same. They'd shared everything since they were children. The Corsican cursed under his breath. Sinister had no right! His and Xamot's bond had always been special; to touch it was almost sacrilegious. The pale skinned freak had no right to touch it.
"Is what he did actually that bad?" Zartan asked him curiously. "From the way I see it, he actually did the two of you a favor."
"Favor?" Tomax snarled. "I'm going to kill him. We're not his "experiment" to do with as he pleases."
"Not sure how you plan to kill him, seeing as he's more powerful than you," the Dreadnok shrugged. "That's your business though. Sinister probably even knows I overheard him talking to Mindbender and Cobra Commander. If you want my advice…"
"I don't need your damned advice."
"Fine, then I'll give you my opinion," Zartan continued. "Sinister's a problem. While I do think that what he did to you isn't that negative in the grand scheme of things, he is using Cobra leaders as his own personal play things. Even Mindbender, who I know hates him, has actually stopped bitching and complaining about him. He actually seems to like him now….which I find hard to believe."
Tomax quietly considered that. While he disagreed with Zartan on the subject of the pros and cons of having his and Xamot's telepathic bond tampered with, it was a little reassuring to know that he wasn't alone in his opinion of Sinister.
"Sinister's a powerful telepath," Tomax admitted grudgingly. "And that's not including his other abilities or his genetic experiments. He could easily manipulate any of us and we wouldn't know it."
"Which is why I intend to stay as far away as possible," Zartan said quietly. "I learned some mental techniques when I trained with the Arashikage, but I don't think it's enough. Maybe against a low grade empath like you it would be, but not against him. If he's got Mindbender under his control, I don't know what the hell I can do. The telepathic blocks that Mindbender made don't work against him."
"So what, we should do nothing?" Tomax asked. "Let him ruin Cobra…play us like chess pieces?" While the angry part of him demanded action, the more rational part of him urged caution. Battles weren't won by rushing in with drawn swords, especially against enemies who possessed artillery.
"You're smarter than that," Zartan replied, his eyes piercing in their intensity. "There's nothing we can do right now but watch our step and keep our distance. There's a reason I wanted you to come to Florida instead of meeting at headquarters or speaking over a "secure" line."
That made sense. Tomax hadn't been happy when the other man had insisted that the twins consult with him at his Florida compound. Even so, Zartan was running a huge risk that Cobra Commander would find out. The Corsican mutant pointed it out, which elicited a shrug.
"I'm not saying anything against Cobra Commander, except that he was a fool to bring Sinister in and think he could control him," Zartan answered. "There's nothing we've said that he can construe as being against Cobra's interests or his position."
"Unfortunately, Xamot is meeting with Cobra Commander today," Tomax sighed. "Sinister will probably be there." He should probably wait until afterwards to fill his brother in on the newest details. No sense in risking this conversation becoming known through a telepathic scan. Zartan was apparently thinking the same thing and voiced it.
The two men stood silently for a while. Tomax checked his watch. His brother should be training some new members of the Crimson Guard at the moment. The meeting with Cobra Commander wouldn't be for another two hours.
"We should be careful about how and when we discuss this again," Zartan finally said. "I know you hate poker, but the poker games that Deadpool keeps putting on makes them the ideal places to meet. They're loud, full of Dreadnoks, and far from Sinister and Cobra Commander's ears."
"And they're supposed to believe that I've suddenly developed a liking for you?" Tomax asked dryly. He hated being around the Dreadnoks and he hated Deadpool. They were filthy and loud and…Zartan did have a point, he admitted reluctantly. Dreadnok poker games and Wade Wilson were sure to repel anyone with a modicum of civilization.
"Well, your brother doesn't seem to mind us so much anymore," Zartan pointed out with amusement. Tomax gave a snort of disbelief. It was all Deadpool's fault. No one in their right mind would enjoy socializing with Zartan's riffraff. If Xamot kept ending up with Wade Wilson and Buzzer, it was because he was being coerced into it.
"Fine, keep pretending that he doesn't," the Dreadnok said dryly. "It's not my business, but I can certainly tell you that I don't tell Zandar and Zarana who they can or can't associate with. Their personal lives are their own damned business."
"You're right," Tomax replied icily. "It's not your business. Why do you even care, anyway?"
"I don't," the other man answered honestly. "But you two do manage my stocks and we do have to work together. You could say that I have a vested interest in making sure that two of my 'colleagues' aren't shirking in their work because they can't stand being able to think for themselves."
This time, Tomax did lose his temper slightly. He said a few choice insults, which only seemed to amuse Zartan, rather than offend him. The Corsican reined himself in and forced himself to calm down. Zartan had done him a favor. That favor had cost half a million dollars, but it was still a favor. He was also a potential ally against Sinister.
"Until next time," Tomax said with forced civility. He briefly shook hands with the other man. Zartan nodded at him before walking him out to the company car waiting for the Crimson Guardsman.
"The next poker game is Friday night, as I understand it," Zartan told him. "I think Wilson's throwing them once or twice a week. We can talk again at one of them."
Tomax nodded stiffly and climbed into his car. The young woman in the driver's seat turned on the ignition and prepared to take them to the airport. As the car glided away from the Dreadnok compound, the Crimson Guardsman mulled over what he'd learned. Sinister was a dead man…not just for what the man had done to him and Xamot, but for what he could potentially do. The man was a ticking time bomb, one that could possibly destroy Cobra. If he had no qualms about manipulating the twins or Dr. Mindbender, who knew what else Sinister was capable of?
Cobra Headquarters
"Can it be done?"
The mutant known as Mr. Sinister broke out of his musings to regard the man walking beside him. A pair of calculating brown eyes studied him from underneath a blue cowl before flicking in the other direction. Sinister noted how those eyes were constantly studying and watching. One did not become a terrorist leader and continue to live without some paranoia.
"Of course," Nathaniel Essex replied. "Though I am curious about your interest in the subject."
"Spare me, Sinister," Cobra Commander replied. "Bishop went out of his way to save Xamot's life. Several eyewitnesses saw it. Based on the personality profile we've constructed of him, that was out of character. I want to know why." Unsaid, though understood, was also the fact that capturing Lucas Bishop or Cable would be potentially very useful for Cobra.
"It would be a simple matter to scan his mind," Sinister told him. "If you want information on the future, however, I fear that his timeline has now become a parallel one."
"It doesn't matter," the Cobra leader responded. "I want whatever information is in his brain."
They continued to walk through one of several highly secure areas of the Cobra base. Sinister periodically nodded his head and offered suggestions for capturing the X-Man. As they talked, part of his mind mused on the topic. The Corsican twins had turned out to be an amusing little experiment, one that he'd eventually informed Cobra Commander after the man had questioned him. The Cobra leader had considered it, before dismissing the matter with a shrug. As long as the two men continued to fulfill their duties to Cobra, he had no problem with the experimentation. If anything, Cobra Commander seemed rather amused by it all.
It was curious, really. Sinister had easily disabled Cobra's telepathic blockers. Yet, for some as of yet unexplainable reason, Cobra Commander was completely unreadable. The scientist continued to puzzle over this, even wondering if the man was himself a mutant, seeing as his son was one. Information regarding his personal information, including blood samples and fingerprints, were highly classified, though Sinister eventually managed to get access to them. Testing the blood samples, if they truly belonged to Cobra Commander, had proven to belong to a normal, non-mutant male of his age.
So why was he immune to telepathic scans? It couldn't be a telepathic blocker, unless he'd gotten it from a source other than Mindbender.
"How are the experiments?" Cobra Commander asked.
"Well, although a couple of them are rejecting the DNA," Sinister told him. "Would you like to view them?" Cobra Commander nodded. After they arrived at the laboratory, the pale mutant led the man to a set of large, glass tubes. Several captured GI Joe greenshirts and SHIELD agents floated inside of the test tubes.
"These two and the male on the right are taking nicely to the implants," Sinister explained, pointing to the unconscious man and women in question. "Two of them are breaking down at the cellular level. The remaining three are simply controls."
Cobra Commander simply nodded his head before looking around at the laboratory. The War Machine suit lay in a carefully dismantled heap at the far end of the room, currently in the process of being reverse engineered by Dr. Mindbender.
"You seem to be getting along much better with Mindbender now," Cobra Commander noted slyly. "Have the two of you 'resolved' your differences?"
Ah, so the man suspected.
"As amusing as it was before to engage in witty repartee, we found that it was much more beneficial to both Cobra and our own research interests to cooperate," the mutant replied. It was half true. Dr. Mindbender had been a constant source of amusement with his secret plotting, but Sinister had eventually become bored with the game. It was now more amusing, and useful, to have the man obedient to him.
"Hmm, but of course," Cobra Commander replied. "Mindbender can be a bore at times. Still…" the man turned to face him. "From now on," Cobra Commander warned dangerously. "You will request permission from me before 'resolving' any differences you have with Cobra leaders. I've overlooked it up now because it hasn't interfered with my plans. However…."
"Of course," Mr. Sinister said. "I have not done anything that will get in the way of Cobra."
"Xamot's potentially turning into a liability," Cobra Commander told him. "Which means Tomax might as well."
"I thought you were amused by it," Sinister pointed out curiously. "In fact, you congratulated me on separating them. If you want me to fix their telepathic link, it's a bit late for that. Their minds have already begun their own independent development."
Cobra Commander thought about that for a while. The man rubbed his chin before peering down at a set of blueprints.
"I am amused," Cobra Commander told him. "And as you told me before, they should recover from this."
"The assets they brought to Cobra before are still there," Sinister pointed out. "However, now there are other possible strengths they can bring into your organization, ones that had previously been dormant."
"Or trouble," the Cobra leader said. "Xamot has become much too indecisive and impulsive. Those are not 'assets.'"
"Need I remind you, Tomax was the dominant personality in the link," Sinister pointed out. "Although both of them are still adjusting to the changes, the greatest adjustment is for Xamot."
The scientist neglected to add that he'd taken DNA samples from the twins without their knowledge. Like most mutants, the two men had the genetic potential for further mutations. Sinister had briefly considered trying to induce a secondary mutation, but had decided to content himself with simply watching their mental development. Other than cutting them off from each other and separating the two minds, Sinister had given them free reign. So far it had been endlessly amusing.
"I wish they would adjust faster," Cobra Commander complained.
"Of course," Sinister said in false agreement. They had met with Xamot earlier to discuss the Crimson Guard's activities on Muir Island. Cobra Commander had made it a priority to bring the mutant research facility under Cobra control.
Xamot had been unnerved by the presence of Sinister. To his credit, however, he hadn't shown any of it. He and his brother seemed to suspect that Sinister was the cause of their problems and were making every effort to stay away from him. None of which worked, however. Sinister found it amusing to arrange the occasional "accidental" meeting, which served to infuriate the two siblings.
"Keep me informed," Cobra Commander told him. "I suppose if either of them becomes a problem, there's always the Brainwave Scanner."
"Much cruder than using a telepath," Sinister observed. "But yes, that is an option."
"I've managed just fine all of these years without a telepath," Cobra Commander noted dryly. "Discounting the twins, of course."
"I've noticed," Sinister said simply. There was a pause. Cobra Commander seemed to realize that it was a reference to whatever was making him invisible to telepaths.
"My secret," the Cobra leader told him. Cobra Commander left the laboratory. The two hundred and some year old mutant chuckled to himself. Games upon games. There was no end to the amusements and curiosities that Cobra provided him.
The most intriguing one was Serpentor.
Sinister walked up to the tubes containing the captured soldiers. The skin had begun to decay off of one of the women. Intriguing, he should catalog that. The scientist took a new skin sample and carefully placed it in a small container.
Mindbender was an idiot in many ways, but he was fairly competent in the realm of genetics and cloning. Sinister had been intrigued to learn that Mindbender currently existed in a cloned body of his original self, having been killed several years ago. Further testament of the man's abilities had been Serpentor.
Collecting and salvaging centuries old bits of decayed genetic material had been no easy feat. Combining those together to create a new life form had taken astounding skill. Sadly, Serpentor had been killed by Zartan. However, Sinister had learned that Mindbender had recovered the body and had placed it in a secure location, far from Cobra Commander's eyes. It would be a relatively simple task for him to recover it and examine the remains.
Mr. Sinister was a man of science. The raw material that Serpentor's corpse could provide him was immense. Years of his life had been committed to studying mutant genetics, which meant he had a large supply of genetic material in storage. His most important project remained the Scott Summers and Jean Grey bloodlines.
Yes, that was an endeavor worth pursuing, Sinister decided. He once again thought over the idea that had been dominating his mind as of late. If he were to combine the genetic potential of the Summers-Grey bloodline with that of history's greatest conquerors….what would the end result be?
His fingers tingled at the thought. Such potential! Who knew what he could create from that mix? Yes, there would be variables, but the potential! The raw, genetic potential!
Sinister smiled.
Cobra Headquarters
The metallic screech of gears mixed with the cacophony of sounds. Shouts and the hum of voices joined the grinding noise as men and women milled around vehicles in need of repair. The scent of oil, grease, and human sweat hung in the air.
Xamot purposefully avoided the mechanics as he made his way through the back of the Cobra motor pool. He walked past a line of parked Cobra Ferrets. The ATVs were in the process of receiving their weekly maintenance check.
There was really no particular reason he needed to be here. He'd spent several hours training new Crimson Guard recruits and had sat through an unpleasant meeting with Cobra Commander and Sinister. The Cobra leader was often seen with the pale mutant lately, which didn't please Xamot at all. Tomax had also been uncharacteristically moody over the phone and had refused to tell his brother what the problem was. He had become more irritable lately and Xamot was sometimes at a loss of how to deal with it. All of that in combination with the stress that continued to build left him physically and mentally exhausted. It perhaps shouldn't be a surprise that he'd managed to come down with a slight cold as well.
Xamot sniffed a few times before digging out a Kleenex. He really should just take a shower and go to bed.
"Uh…excuse me sir," a hesitant mechanic asked him. "Can I do anything to uh…help you?"
"No," Xamot told the man. "Don't worry about me. Just continue with what you were doing."
The mechanic left him, but every so often another one would cast a furtive glance his way. Xamot hid a sigh. He really had no reason to be here. The fact that he was present in the motor pool was making the mechanics a little wary and cautious. He ignored them as he bent down to examine an open box of tools. His fingers itched to touch them.
It was weird. He'd always been a bit more mechanically inclined than Tomax. When they'd been in the Foreign Legion, he had been the one who usually did the repairs in their unit. Xamot picked up a wrench and looked at it thoughtfully.
He'd actually enjoyed tinkering around with machines back then. Tomax had used to help him scavenge for pieces of broken machinery when they were teenagers. Taking them apart and trying to rebuild them had been both a hobby and occasionally a way to make money. Somewhere along the line, he'd lost interest in it even though he had still made it a point to make sure that his skills didn't erode too badly. They had been too useful to simply throw away.
"Can I help you, sir?" a new voice asked. An attractive woman hovered uncertainly near him.
"Is this your toolbox?" he asked. The woman nodded. Xamot put the wrench down and walked away. He still couldn't bring himself to leave, so he wandered to a back corner of the motor pool. Not quite sure what to do with himself, he watched as a pair of men worked on a HISS tank. His fingers seemed to itch again.
Xamot wasn't sure why he was feeling the way he was. He'd had nightmares the past week after accidentally being in a Cobra trooper's mind when he died. The changes and the somewhat growing distance between himself and his brother confused him. He increasingly found corporate life boring and less stimulating than it had been before. Adding to that was the fact that not only had an X-Man inexplicably saved his life, but Deadpool seemed to have decided that they were now friends.
He wasn't sure what to make of any of it. Life just didn't make sense anymore.
"Excuse me." Xamot looked up to see that it was the female mechanic that he'd spoken with before. She hesitated a moment before pointing back to her station.
"If you'd….like to borrow some of my tools, you may," the woman said. She visibly gulped and nervously watched him. Xamot sensed her fear and correctly guessed that she was worried that she may have stepped over the line.
"Thank you," he told her. He hesitated as well before asking if there was anything he could do. Xamot felt rather awkward. The tension in the woman eased up slightly. She directed him to truck that needed some work on the brakes. An examination proved that the brakes were corroded with rust and needed to be replaced.
Xamot threw himself into the work. At first he was a little uneasy since he hadn't done any repair work for a long time. As he worked though, it became easier and even calming. His life was a mess, but doing minor repair work gave him an unexpected feeling of control.
Fatigue drained away as he felt a new thrill of exhilaration. Feeling reenergized, Xamot looked around for something else to do when he was finished. He spotted a lone engine sitting next to a couple of crate boxes. On a whim he wandered over to it and examined it curiously. It looked different than the type of engine that he was familiar with. Driven by an increasing sense of curiosity, he removed a few parts and tried to peer inside. Unable to get a good view, he briefly left the engine and returned with a tiny flashlight and several more tools.
"Uh sir…" wary mechanic stammered. "I don't think you should…uh…" The man trailed off and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
"Do you need this?" Xamot asked. The man shook his head. He sensed that the mechanic was confused and a bit frightened. The Corsican figured that it was justified, as Cobra leaders randomly appearing in the motor pool and wanting to work could hardly be normal.
He ignored the Cobra mechanic, who finally gave up and retreated. Oil covered his hands and stained his Crimson Guard uniform. However, Xamot felt more contented than he had in a long time. He began to hum softly to himself as he removed a connector rod and a couple of valves. A new shadow walked up next to him and stopped.
"Hey, is that a hydrogen engine?"
Xamot looked up from his work to see a gangly young man, probably in his mid to late twenties, watching him with interest. A mop of messy dark hair covered his head while the rest of him was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. The young man adjusted his glasses and peered down at the engine.
"I think so," Xamot replied, feeling a bit foolish. It was obvious that the engine wasn't gas powered and he'd been trying to figure out what it ran on. The kid, whoever he was, seemed to have instantly realized what it was just by looking at it.
"You're not sure?" the kid asked. "But you're working on it."
"Uh…actually I'm taking it apart because I wanted to see how it works," Xamot admitted. "I'm not actually a mechanic." The younger man accepted the answer with a shrug. He continued to watch the Corsican remove parts before finally asking he could help. It was Xamot's turn to shrug in reply. Grinning now, his new companion knelt down next to him.
"Hey, this uses fuel cells!" the kid exclaimed, peering inside the by now half dismantled engine. "I don't see a cooling system though, how does it keep from overheating?"
"I'm not sure," Xamot admitted. "But there's a small rotor over here." He pointed to the part in question. The unknown young man adjusted his glasses again before removing some of the fuel cells to get a better look.
"Could be it," the man said. He carefully removed the digital control system and set it aside. Xamot inched closer and saw a small pipe that had previously been invisible.
"What's that go to?" Xamot asked curiously. The other man shrugged.
"Don't know," the kid answered. He grinned and held up a small pair of pliers. "Want to find out?" Xamot found himself grinning back. The two men eagerly began to dismantle the rest of the engine. It wasn't until after it lay in fragmented pieces that they finally had the thought to introduce themselves.
"By the way, my name's Jack Hammer, but my professional name is Weasel," the younger man told him. Xamot raised an eyebrow. He'd heard of the name. Weasel was a rising weapons maker and technical wizard in the underground mercenary world. Deadpool had claimed that the man was his arms and information supplier, as well as his friend.
"Xamot Paoli," he told the kid. "I head Extensive Enterprises and the Crimson Guard with my brother."
"Oh, hey! Wade's told me about you," the younger man replied.
"Uh…really?" Xamot asked warily. He cringed to know what the loudmouthed mercenary had said about him.
"Yeah, he said that you and your brother both have sticks up your asses," Weasel grinned. "But he figured that there's at least hope for you. He also said that you don't play a bad game of poker."
"A ringing endorsement from Wade Wilson," Xamot said dryly. "Charming. I should add it to my resume."
"Don't forget to add him as one of your references," the younger man told him.
"What the hell would I need him as one for?" Xamot asked. Weasel snickered as he reconnected a few pieces of the hydrogen engine.
"It depends. If you're applying to the 'Mental Institute for Annoying, Hard to Kill Lunatics', it might be useful."
Xamot actually laughed at that. It felt good to laugh. He hadn't done so in a while. The two men chattered back and forth while they began to reassemble the engine. Xamot was glad that the other man was helping him. The engine design was far beyond his skill level, which was underdeveloped anyway. Weasel, on the other hand, had instantly understood how it worked and was spending much of the time explaining it to him.
They were so completely engrossed in the engine that neither of them heard a polite cough from behind. The man cleared his throat again, this time louder. Xamot looked up to see an unamused Destro towering over them. Weasel's face paled next to him. The young man gulped and looked at the tall Scotsman and then uncertainly at the Corsican mutant.
"I see you've found my brand new, prototype hydrofoil engine," the Scotsman remarked dryly. "Which you seem to have seen fit to tear apart."
Well, shit. All possible excuses fled from his mind. Xamot's traditional reply would have been that the project was probably funded by Extensive Enterprises, which gave him a right to do whatever the hell he wanted. As the engine was apparently a MARS project, he had zero deniability.
Seeing as he'd also been avoiding Destro since the man had seen his breakdown during the battle against the Joes, this encounter probably wasn't going to go well.
"I wanted to see how it was put together," Xamot replied tactfully. "I didn't realize it was yours." He refrained from apologizing. After all, this was Destro and the Corsican had never apologized to him for anything. After a moment, he supposed that he should at least make sure that Weasel didn't get into any trouble for it.
"I was already taking it apart when Mr. Hammer showed up," the Corsican added. "I'll take full responsibility for this." He felt a flash of relief and gratitude from Weasel. The younger man gave him a thankful look. Xamot felt an unexpected warm feeling in his chest. Not understanding it, he pushed it away and ignored it.
"It's a wonderful piece of machinery," Weasel suddenly said, jumping into the conversation. Destro turned to look at him and the young man stammered slightly. He pushed ahead anyway and began praising the design.
"I've never seen an actual, working hydrogen engine before," the young man added. His eyes suddenly lit up with enthusiasm as he ran over bits of the engine that he'd found particularly brilliant. Xamot watched Destro out of the corner of his eyes. The man's stance began to relax. Figuring that Destro was no longer keen on shooting them, Xamot allowed himself to relax slightly as well.
"Your name is Weasel, correct?" the Scotsman asked after a while. The young man nodded his head nervously. Destro rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"I read the file on you when you asked to join Cobra," Destro said. "You live up to your reputation." Weasel relaxed and then was shocked a moment later when the Scotsman invited him to tea.
"You're an intelligent young man," Destro explained when he saw Jack Hammer's expression. "I would hate for your potential to go to waste, especially if Deadpool is one of your 'friends.' His influence can hardly be good for you." Weasel stammered his thanks. Destro nodded once before dismissing him.
"I wish to speak with Xamot in private," the man said. "You may go." Weasel looked at Xamot warily.
"Is he…" Jack Hammer started to ask.
"If you mean, 'do I mean to kill him?', no," Destro chuckled. "Though I do admit that the thought crossed my mind when I saw what the two of you did to my engine."
"We've nearly put it back together," Weasel said defensively. "It'll work as well as it did before."
"You put it back together," Destro corrected. "This was beyond Xamot's ability. I was watching."
"I just wanted to see how it worked," Xamot muttered, now feeling like a total fool. He should never have come to the motor pool. All he'd managed to do was complicate things and cross Destro.
"Hmm," was all the other man said. Destro ordered Weasel to finish rebuilding the engine, with threats that he would fully inspect it later. Jack Hammer gave a heavy sigh and bent down to finish repairing the machine. Xamot gave him a sympathetic look before turning around to face his Cobra colleague.
"And for future reference," Destro added. "I'd like to request that you two refrain from taking apart my property without my permission. Especially you, Xamot. Weasel at least knows what he's doing." Xamot bristled slightly, but didn't argue the point. It was the truth, as much as he hated it. Destro also had the right to be pissed that they'd taken apart one of his pet projects.
"You said you wanted to talk privately," he said instead. "Where do you want to go?"
Destro led him back to his private quarters. Neither man spoke much along the way. Xamot tried not to feel too uneasy. After all, what did he have to fear from Destro? The twins had crossed paths with him before. He figured that Destro hadn't wanted to rebuke him in front of the Cobra mechanics. To do so would have shown conflicts among the Cobra leadership that the average worker didn't need to be aware of.
"The lavatory is that way if you wish to clean up first," the Scotsman said after they'd entered his rooms. Destro put emphasize on the word clean and Xamot suddenly remembered that he was still covered with grease and oil. While he did his best to wash up, he heard Destro and the Baroness speaking quietly a few rooms over, though he couldn't understand what was said.
When he finally joined Destro, a plate of scones and a pot of tea had been placed on a small table. Xamot blinked at it in incomprehension. This had hardly been what he'd expected.
"They are not poisoned," Destro told him dryly. "Have a seat."
Xamot sat awkwardly. He watched as the other man poured them both a cup and then picked up a scone. As Destro took a bite, the Corsican marveled at how the metal mask could be so damned lifelike. Not knowing what else to do, he took a sip of his tea.
"You seem to have developed a knack as of late for getting yourself into trouble," Destro observed mildly. "I'd like to blame Deadpool, but I know he's not the real problem in this situation."
"And who says that there is a problem?" Xamot asked carefully. It was a lie and Destro knew it, otherwise the man wouldn't have brought it up. He hoped that the Scotsman would take the hint and drop it.
"If you wish to continue this charade, then by all means," Destro said dryly. "Though I seem to recall you being rather distraught a week ago…and don't think that Cobra Commander hasn't noticed your odd behavior."
Xamot stared into his cup of tea. How should he respond to that? Lying wasn't an option anymore. What could he say, though? The Corsican had no idea what was going on, but he wasn't about to admit it. The only person he could try to discuss any of this with was Tomax.
But…he'd been having a harder time being able to relate to his brother lately.
"Trust isn't exactly in the vocabulary of Cobra," Destro told him. "But it seems to me that you need to trust someone. Holding it inside isn't helping. Besides," he added after a moment. "I rather hope to avoid more dismantled engines." Xamot looked at him in surprise. The Scotsman ignored his astonished look as he took a sip of tea.
Trust? He couldn't trust anyone but his brother. It was ludicrous for Destro to suggest such a thing.
"Tomax and I have spoken of it," he said stiffly.
"And yet here you are," Destro replied, folding his hands in front of him.
Xamot didn't reply. The man was remarkably perceptive. For the first time, he wondered if Destro knew something that he wasn't letting on. The Corsican thought about it before shaking his head. There was a good chance that the Scottish Laird knew something, but if he was unwilling to say anything, he had a reason. Destro had always been the one Cobra with a modicum of honor, with the exception of Storm Shadow. The twins had always faulted him for it. Now, Xamot was somewhat grateful.
"I don't know what's going on," he finally relented. "I feel like everything's spinning out of control." Xamot didn't elaborate. He wasn't sure how to, honestly. Things felt wrong. Yet, oddly, some things felt right. He couldn't explain it.
"At the battle, you asked me what the point was," Destro reminded him. "That's something humans have asked themselves throughout the whole history of mankind. Whole books and theologies have been written about it."
"Do you think…that there's life after death?" Xamot asked hesitantly. It was something that he'd never really considered before. He'd never really cared. But after being in a person's mind when as he died….he shivered slightly. One moment, there was a personality. The next moment, there had been nothing. His mind had almost been pulled down the tunnel with the man.
"Perhaps," Destro shrugged. "My mother was a firm believer. She was an Anglican. My father was Catholic. As for myself, I suppose I'm agnostic."
"Technically, my brother and I are Catholics," Xamot grinned wryly. "We were actually baptized, but we never went through First Communion or anything. I don't think I've actually been inside a church since I was six or seven." That had been when his mother was still alive. Odd, how long ago that felt.
"A…comrade in our unit in the Foreign Legion," he added, suddenly remembering something. "He used to call Tomax and I a couple of heathens. He was one to talk, seeing as he'd never even read the Koran." Xamot found himself smiling a little at the memory.
"Muslim?" Destro asked.
"Yes. He tried to convert us with promises of 'eternal riches in heaven'," Xamot replied, shaking his head. "Usually right before he cheated us in cards."
"You have fond memories of your time in the Legion," the Scottish Laird stated. Xamot stared at him for a moment before shrugging.
"I suppose," he admitted. "It's odd though. I haven't thought about the Legion in a long time. Tomax and I never talk about it." Xamot wasn't sure why he thought about it lately. He figured it had something to do with the camaraderie he'd had in the Foreign Legion, of knowing that the man next to you had your back. The rest of the Legion, however, had been idealistic nonsense.
"Hmm," the other man murmured. Xamot decided to switch the topic and began to talk about Cobra's plans for Muir Island. The whole discussion of religion, while actually interesting, made him a little uncomfortable. Besides, he'd already opened up more to Destro than he had planned. Xamot didn't plan to reveal anything else. Destro played along for a while before steering the conversation back.
"You and Mr. Hammer seemed to have gotten along rather well," the Scotsman pointed out. "I had no idea you were interested in mechanics."
"I…uh…" Xamot searched for a response. He tried to think of a way to gracefully exit the conversation, but couldn't think of one. Finally, he gave in and admitted that it was a renewed interest. After Destro prodded him a little, he unhappily told him that he'd been the unofficial mechanic in his Legion unit.
"I began to lose interest around the time we began to work as mercenaries," Xamot said. "We would have been about twenty-two then. I still did most of the repairs though since I was better at it than Tomax." Now that he thought about it, Tomax had picked up a little more skill with machines around that time. Nothing much, but it seemed strange now that he thought about it.
Destro seemed to consider that for a while. He excused himself and left a curious Xamot for several minutes. When the Scotsman came back, there were a couple of books and a rolled up sheet of paper in his hands. Xamot found himself surprised yet again when Destro handed them to him.
"You may find these of interest," Destro said. Xamot unrolled the sheet of paper and found that it was a blueprint for some kind of engine. It didn't look like the hydrogen one he'd taken apart, which somewhat disappointed him. However, it also looked more recognizable.
"These should be more on your level," the other man told him. "You're intelligent and you seem to have a good grasp of basic mechanics. I doubt it would take you long to improve your skills, if you so choose."
"Why?" Xamot asked him.
"I find it wise to cultivate multiple interests. I suggest that you do the same."
"Yes, but…" Xamot trailed off. What he really wanted to know was why Destro was even bothering to be friendly with him. He'd certainly never given the Scot any reason to be. Hell, he'd taken apart one of his damned engines. If not for Weasel, he probably wouldn't have been able to put it back together.
Yet here Destro had invited him to tea, somehow got him to open up a little about himself, and was now encouraging him to develop a newly rekindled interest. Instead of feeling more certain, Xamot only felt more confused.
"I should be going," Xamot said, trying to extract himself. "Thank you."
He froze slightly. Did he just thank Destro? He'd never thanked anyone in Cobra, let alone Destro, for anything. Something really must be wrong with him. Xamot looked at Destro and saw that even he looked a little surprised.
"Interesting," Destro murmured. Xamot pointedly ignored what had just occurred. He nodded to Destro and made his way to the door. He was a little disconcerted when Destro walked with him. The Scotsman opened the door and looked at him.
"You said that you felt as if the world was spinning out of control," Destro told him. "If I might make a suggestion, perhaps you should let it spin a little…within reason, of course."
Xamot found himself standing out in the corridor. He stared in puzzlement as the door shut. What was Destro talking about? He didn't want his damned world to spin. The Corsican wanted it to stop and start making sense again. He wanted to stop being at odds with his brother over insignificant differences that shouldn't even exist.
"He gone?"
Xamot nearly jumped out of his skin when Deadpool popped up next to him. The mercenary hummed slightly as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Xamot forced his heart to stop beating so rapidly.
"He's gone," Xamot answered. The day just kept getting weirder. He considered giving Deadpool the cold shoulder, but decided against it. Besides, he really wanted to know why Wilson had been lurking outside of Destro's private quarters.
"Why are you here?" he asked, bracing himself for a nonsensical answer. Wade Wilson shrugged again as he peered at the door.
"Weasel told me about what happened," Deadpool answered. "We wanted to make sure Chrome Dome didn't do anything to you." Xamot was completely caught off guard by that answer. He stared at the masked mercenary for a long moment before finding his voice again.
"You…what?" he asked. He must have heard wrong. Deadpool twirled a couple of knives in his hands.
"You know, Destro may have tried to kill you or something," the mercenary explained. "If he tried it, I figured I'd put a few bullets in him. Or slice off his head…hmm, maybe that," he added, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Destro's head would make a pretty cool keepsake."
Xamot forced himself to stop gaping. The strangeness of Wade Wilson aside, he was actually a little touched that someone other than Tomax had actually cared about his welfare. It wasn't a sensation that he was used to.
"I thought he might at least lecture me," Xamot finally said. "He didn't do anything though but talk and…uh…give me these to read." He held up the books in his hands. Deadpool looked at them before announcing that they looked boring.
"Whatever, man," Deadpool told him. "The point is, Destro didn't kill you for the engine thing…which is hysterical, by the way. I'm pretty sure Buzzer's still laughing his ass off about it."
Great, how many people knew about it now? Xamot hoped that Weasel had only told Deadpool and that Buzzer had just happened to be with him. He wondered what he should say. Thanks was probably the appropriate response, which was of course something he wasn't going to do.
"You didn't have to do that," Xamot told him instead. Deadpool balanced one of the knives on his finger before flipping it up in the air and catching it.
"Sure I did, friends look out for each other, right?" the man asked. Xamot nearly told him that they weren't friends, but something stopped him.
"Sure," he found himself replying. Deadpool seemed pleased by that response. Xamot tensed up slightly when the man decided to throw a friendly arm around his shoulder. The Corsican hid a groan. How the hell did he get himself into these situations?
"You sure that I don't need to pop a few into Destro?" the mercenary asked hopefully. "Cause I can do it. Bam bam, done. He'll be as dead as William Shatner's singing career."
"I don't think that's necessary, Wade," Xamot replied dryly. Deadpool perked up and slapped him painfully across the shoulder.
"You just called me 'Wade,'" he pointed out happily. Xamot mentally slapped himself. Why the hell had that slipped out? He wasn't on a first name basis with the psychotic lunatic. He wasn't.
"I suppose I did," Xamot sighed. Right now, all he wanted to do was go to bed. Maybe that way the world would stop spinning for at least a few hours.
"We've got to go celebrate," Deadpool continued. "I mean, this is an important step in our friendship." Xamot groaned under his breath as the man continued to chatter.
"I have a cold," he told him. "Maybe we can…uh…celebrate later. I need to go lie down."
"Okay," Deadpool answered. "You promise though? " Xamot found himself nodding before he really thought about it. Anything to get away from the maniac for now and go to sleep.
"Sweet," Wade Wilson said, pumping his fist into the air. "Maybe we can watch a movie or something. I just got Dirty Harry on DVD. Hmm, or maybe the Golden Girls…I keep trying to get Buzzer and Ripper to watch it with me, but the bastards keeps skipping out. I mean, how can they hate Bea Arthur? Or there's Firefly…wait, has that even aired yet? What year does this story take place in anyway? By the way," the mercenary added, looking closely at Xamot. "You kinda look like Nathan Fillion from this angle. It would be totally awesome if you started wearing a brown coat."
"Uh, okay," Xamot said, trying to get away. He had no idea what the idiot was rambling about. The Corsican had zoned out halfway through the string of nonsense. Deadpool grinned and slapped his shoulder again.
"No worries, dude, just go rest up," he said cheerfully. "We'll have a movie night when you're feeling better."
The loudmouthed mercenary sauntered away, singing to himself. Xamot numbly began walking in the other direction and heard the occasional refrain of Deadpool singing 'You can't take the skies from me,' drifting from the opposite end of the corridor. What the hell had he just agreed to?
Still, Deadpool and Weasel had actually been concerned about him…concerned enough that Wilson was more than willing to kill Destro over it. Not that Wade Wilson really needed an excuse to kill people, but still…
Xamot realized with a start that he was finding Deadpool a little more tolerable lately, still irritating, but tolerable. He'd also enjoyed talking with Weasel as well. Never in a million years would he have once thought that he'd ever socialize with people like them and not find it entirely unpleasant.
When he arrived back in his and Tomax's quarters, he took a long, hot shower and climbed into bed. Xamot tried to will things to make sense, but the world kept spinning.
Cobra Headquarters
Destro sat silently as he stared at the wall. There were too many things going on…too many variables that might get in the way of Cobra's plans. He didn't trust Sinister and had already warned Cobra Commander of him several times, but those warnings always fell on deaf ears. It now appeared as though what he had done to the Crimson twins was going to be more trouble that it was worth.
"You were surprisingly chummy with Xamot," the Baroness pointed out. The beautiful mutant was dressed in a tight fitting gown. They were scheduled for a date tonight in Paris and Destro knew he wouldn't hear the end of it if they missed it.
"He's unstable," Destro told her. "Threatening him would hardly be conducive at this point." There was no telling what kind of trouble Xamot would continue to get himself into if he did nothing. While Destro cared nothing for the man, trying to help him work through whatever issues he was going through was more pragmatic then letting him run loose. The engine could very well only be the beginning of it.
"Besides," he added. "It would be useful to have him on my side. The twins usually side with Cobra Commander in disputes." If he could get at least Xamot loyal to him, so much the better.
"I suppose," she said. The Baroness sat down and crossed her very shapely legs. Destro took a moment to admire them. He really was a lucky man.
"Jack Hammer may be a potentially useful associate as well," he added. "It would be good if I could get him away from Deadpool and loyal to me. I could use a young man of his intelligence in MARS."
"But he's friends with Wilson," the Baroness pointed out. "His first loyalty may be to the Dreadnoks."
"Then I shall make every attempt to ensure that doesn't happen," Destro replied. "His association with Deadpool seems to be largely destructive. I think if given proper incentives, Mr. Hammer will break off that relationship."
Besides, there was something about Wade Wilson he didn't trust. Yes, he was an excellent killer. Wilson was well versed in close combat, surveillance, and foreign languages. The man was, after all, a former member of Weapon X. Despite his insanity, he was useful to Cobra.
That still didn't mean, however, that he trusted Wilson. The Joes had somehow known about Cobra's attack, even if they hadn't been sufficiently prepared for it. Even though Cobra had succeeded in keeping most of the Avengers engaged elsewhere, the Joes had quickly been able to get reinforcements from the X-Men and S.H.I.E.L.D. Someone had tipped them off.
He had no reason to suspect Wade Wilson of course. Destro had been personally conducting an investigation into the G.I. Joe mole and Wilson was only one of many suspects. However, the man had associated with the X-Men in the past and seemed to have once had a romantic relationship the daughter of Banshee. It was entirely possible that Deadpool, insane that he was, had reason to aid the other side.
"What about Muir Island?" Baroness asked quietly, changing the subject. "What if they find him?"
Destro looked up at her. His contacts had trailed Cobra Commander's son to Muir Island. The Scotsman had no idea what the young man was up to, but he could guess. He'd informed Billy that Storm Shadow was free and in contact with the X-Men. The young man had logically assumed that the easiest way to contact the X-Men was through Muir Island.
"It's a problem, dear," she reminded him somewhat snidely. "What if Billy's caught and it's found out that we aided him?"
"We'll have to make sure that doesn't happen," he replied. It was a huge problem. The Crimson Guard was in the middle of an operation to take over the mutant research facility. He should never have mentioned the connection between Storm Shadow and the X-Men. Destro had been hoping to get the young man out of Scotland and to New York City, especially since Cobra Commander was starting to become suspicious of Destro's involvement in his son's escape.
Maybe he should have done nothing all those years ago. If he'd let Billy assassinate his father or had done nothing when the teenager tried to escape from Cobra, none of this would have happened.
Regardless, he was an accomplice now and was honor bound to continue with his aid. Destro was many things, but he hadn't been able to condone patricide. When Dr. Mindbender had used the Brainwave Scanner on Storm Shadow, Billy, and the Baroness, Destro had struggled with guilt. When Cobra Commander finally agreed to let the Baroness go free, she had expressed a desire to help Billy. Destro suspected that it had to do with her manipulation of him as a child and their shared enslavement through the Brainwave Scanner.
Whatever the reason, he had agreed with her. Just as a son shouldn't kill his father, a father shouldn't brainwash his son and afflict him with the psychological trauma that Cobra Commander had done. When the opportunity had presented itself, Destro had acted to ensure Billy's freedom. Now he had to act again to preserve not only that freedom, but his own survival. If Cobra Commander discovered the truth, his own life and standing within Cobra could come to an end.
"Fortunately, I have a contact on Muir Island," Destro said. "We need to act now, before Billy's detected by the Crimson Guard."
S.H.I.E.L.D.
The next day.
He slipped silently past security check points and body scanners. A locked door soon met him and a computerized female voice demanded a retina scan as well as voice confirmation.
"Dalton Reynolds," the man answered. He waited patiently for the scan and continued on his way when the door opened. When he arrived at a second locked door, Dalton Reynolds keyed in a combination and slid his ID card through a computerized slot.
"Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., Mr. Reynolds," the security system told him.
"Thank you," the man answered.
Zartan hid a smile as he walked past S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. He slouched slightly as he imitated the "real" Dalton Reynolds. The unfortunate donor of his new identity had met with an unfortunate demise after being seduced by Zarana. Cobra had extracted the necessary information from the lowly S.H.I.E.L.D. agent through interrogation and a telepathic scan. What had been left of the man afterwards had been given to Sinister and Mindbender.
The Dreadnok frowned slightly at the thought of Sinister. He hadn't admitted it to Tomax, but the man down right terrified him. Considering the people that Zartan associated with, that was saying something.
"Hey Dalton, how's it going?" a woman asked. Zartan put on a smile and waved to the woman. Pertinent details about Dalton Reynold's life had been inserted into him telepathically. The Dreadnok wasn't too happy to have any telepath in his mind, but they were useful from time to time.
"Great, Felicia," Zartan replied meekly, perfectly mimicking the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent's mannerisms. "How was your weekend?"
"Great," the woman replied brightly. She chattered for a few minutes before Zartan politely excused himself. He found Dalton's supervisor and turned in a report to him. Zartan continued his pretense the next few hours. Fortunately, the man he was impersonating was naturally shy and socially inept, which made it easier to avoid unwanted conversations.
Dalton Reynolds….or "Dalton the Dolt", as Zarana called him, was the man he was impersonating. Seriously, what self-respecting parent named their son "Dalton"? Zartan shook his head as he poured himself a cup of coffee in the break room, quite pleased with himself. His orders were simple. Ascertain where the Joes were planning to relocate their base, discover where Mystique was being kept under guard and free her if possible.
Also on his to do list was the assassination of Nick Fury. Zartan was more skeptical of this part of his assignment. Not only was the place crawling with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, the Joes were temporarily operating from the base as well. The more prideful part of him thought it would be quite good sport to kill Fury underneath all of their noses. The younger him would have had no compunctions about any of this.
However, he was older and wiser now. Zartan wasn't going to take an unnecessary chance out of pride. He'd done so as a younger man and it had turned out badly nearly every time. If anything, Cobra should wait until after the Joes were gone to go after Fury. However, Cobra Commander wanted to off Nick Fury under the Joes' noses.
Zartan didn't care what the man wanted, honestly. He wasn't going to risk himself or his disguise over an ill-advised assassination attempt. If the opportunity presented itself, he'd take it. If not, then he wouldn't shed any tears. Besides, Fury was supposed to have several androids that looked like him. According to Cobra intelligence, these life model decoys, or LMDs, were supposed to perfectly duplicate Fury's speech, appearance, and mannerisms.
No unnecessary risks, pride be damned.
He thought back to his conversation with Tomax as he sipped his coffee. Zartan was actually finding the whole twin affair rather interesting. The new Tomax was much the same as the old, with the exception of his temper. He seemed to have a harder time controlling his emotions without Xamot. The man was certainly more fun to mess with, as Xamot didn't rise to the verbal taunting as easily as his brother.
Ah, Xamot. The second twin was another matter. Xamot had become far more cautious and unsure of himself. Despite that, he was also becoming more laid back and had actually become more bearable to be around. Zartan was rather shocked by how much the man had loosened up, even if he was still a prick at times. He supposed that Deadpool deserved some of the credit for that. Maybe he should give Wilson a reward.
"Did you see the way that I handled that guy?" a voice asked. Zartan kept his eyes down as he pretended read through some new paperwork. Out of the corner of his eyes, a couple of soldiers were conversing just inside of the break room.
"Yes, I saw," the second man sighed. "Idiot, as if he could take down a Joe."
"I would have liked to see him face Beach Head," the first man grinned. "Though I suppose me kicking his ass was good enough."
Zartan recognized the two Joes, who went by Dusty and Tunnel Rat. He kept his face down and quietly continued to write away on "Dalton Reynold's" current assignment. The two Joes continued to talk, but Zartan didn't learn anything of interest, other than that a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had felt he could easily take down Tunnel Rat because he was larger than the small Joe.
The Dreadnok felt that the unknown man had deserved to get his ass kicked for underestimating a Joe. He was almost disappointed that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent hadn't picked a fight with one of the ninja.
"Listen 'Rat', I've gotta get going," he heard Dusty say. "Flint's already in a pissy mood and I don't want to get yelled at for being late for my shift."
"Archangel again?" Tunnel Rat guessed. "Seeing as Beach ain't here and all."
"Yeah," Dusty grinned. "I don't know what happened this time, though I hear several rounds of insults were involved." The desert trooper looked around before leaning in to whisper into his friend's ear, though Zartan heard every word.
"Man, I thought Beach and Flint hated each other," the desert trooper whispered. "But I actually heard Flint tell Duke that he'd take Beach any day if he had to choose between him and Worthington."
Interesting. Zartan thought about that. He knew that there were personality conflicts at times between Joes, but they were all too professional to let it go beyond the occasional scuffle or argument. A conflict between one of the top Joes and one of the X-Men was noteworthy. It might even be exploitable.
Dusty wandered off, but Tunnel Rat continued to loiter about the S.H.I.E.L.D. break room. The talkative Joe tried to engage several of the other occupants in conversation before he arrived at Zartan's table. Zartan pretended to jump slightly when the Joe politely introduced himself.
"Err…sorry about that," Tunnel Rat apologized. "You seem pretty busy."
"I…uh….yes," Zartan stuttered. "Um….can I help you?"
"Naw…just wanted to introduce myself, seeing as me and my buddies have taken over your base and all," Tunnel Rat grinned. He stuck out a hand. "I'm Tunnel Rat."
"Um…Dalton Reynolds," Zartan replied shyly and hesitantly shook the man's hand. The Joe continued to smile and attempt to engage him in conversation. The disguised Dreadnok added a slight stutter to his voice, which he gradually allowed to fade. Dalton Reynolds appeared to grow slightly more confident by the fact that someone was paying attention to him.
"Nice to meet you, Dalton," Tunnel Rat grinned. He gave a friendly pat on Zartan's shoulder and left the break room. Zartan stared after him with a shocked expression before hunching his shoulders and returning to work. After he finished the report, he left the break room and headed towards the observation deck. Reynolds was scheduled to be on monitor duty for the next four hours. This particular job also gave him access to the base's computer systems.
About three hours into the shift, Nick Fury and Clayton Abernathy walked in. The two men appeared deep in conversation as they walked onto the observation deck. They stopped talking when they drew closer. Instead, they stood in silence while they watched the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on duty work.
"I can't believe they're doing it," Fury muttered after a while.
"It makes sense," Zartan heard Hawk say quietly. "Cobra and Hydra are basically one organization now. It makes sense that Washington is merging our jurisdictions. At least they're still letting us continue to run our own operations, so long as we share intelligence and the occasional mission…which we had already started to do."
"Still don't like it," Fury muttered sullenly. "Though the liaison officers aren't a bad idea."
It would be so easy to kill Nick Fury right about now, Zartan mused dryly. Of course, he wouldn't escape alive if he tried it. He'd have to wait and bide his time. Besides, he was learning some interesting information, even though the two men were obviously making an effort to watch what they said.
"What kind of man is General Colton?" Fury asked.
"He's the original G.I. Joe," Hawk answered. "You couldn't ask for a better man. Just be glad that one of the Jugglers didn't decide to make himself our superior." Nick Fury gave a disgusted snort.
"Still don't like it," Fury complained again. The man obstinately crossed his arms and glared around him. A cigar hung out of his mouth. Zartan did his best not to breathe in the tobacco fumes. He hated cigars. Cigarettes he could stand, but cigars were horrible things.
"Nick, if you whine one more time I'm going to smack you," Hawk sighed. Zartan wasn't the least bit surprised when Nick Fury turned around and proceeded to "whine" one more time. He watched as Hawk very deliberately kicked Fury's shin. The older man grunted with pain, but refrained from yelping.
"Hawk, stop trying to embarrass me in front of my people," Nick Fury smirked. "It ain't polite."
"You bring it on yourself," the other man retorted. The two men bantered back and forth for a few minutes while they observed the men and women working. They eventually left. Zartan carefully took note of the direction they went. He followed them through the security cameras before they disappeared on the second level. That had to have been the real Nick Fury, if General Hawk was with him. Maybe an assassination wasn't out of the question.
Zartan checked his watch. Thirty minutes until the end of his shift.
Author's notes:
Deadpool was singing the Firefly theme song as he walked away from Xamot, hence why Xamot overheard the refrain "You can't take the skies from me." Dalton "Reynolds" is also another Firefly reference. Yes, I'm a Browncoat and a Nathan Fillion fan.
The Billy saga will be continued shortly in Ninja Walkabout. I hope you enjoyed the little preview and the look at Destro's motives.