Marvel owns the X-men, no profit is to be made from this work.

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The Hand, Shinobi that turned Assassination into art, and just like in the days of yore they were always up for hire. From one professional to another, Victor could appreciate that someone hated him enough to put some real money down, and that narrowed down the suspects to a sure bet...from China with love.

That Tai had come on by for a friendly drink likely told of the world's newest Super Power flexing their hand to force him to get his hands dirty, but one thing China didn't know was that Tai never did his own wet work. If Tai wanted you dead, he'd hear about it in the reports that came across his desk. Leading a bunch of hired Hand Ninja to you who were well and capable of finding you was the kind of bullying that would leave a bad taste in the Police Chief's mouth, just like the Canadian Whiskey he'd forced down while playing nice and civil for the crowd.

It was all told by the kanji scribbled on the silken handkerchief, but as honestly appreciative as Victor was for the warning, there was one thing Tai didn't know that he did. You didn't draw steel against Wade Wilson unless you were interested to find out what your kidneys looked like, and that was all back when he'd been just the kind of exceptional man that had walked shoulder to shoulder among the freaks and monsters Stryker had assembled. That was before Stryker had tried to turn him into the kind of soldier he could enjoy the company of, the quiet type that Wade had never been.

"Saved your life."

Of course the thing about Shinobi was that there was a bit of honour to them, and seeing one of their own cut down before his feet had time to really find their footing said that the one who had killed him owed them blood. It wasn't the blood that splashed across Jubilee's face, painting her in just the right red that had him grow hard, it was the blood beating through the gaijin scum who had turned their ambush right around on itself.

Draining his drink and throwing the glass at some genin who hadn't even earned the right to dress up for the night, Victor let Wade have his fun. He was much too lost to enjoying his painted lady finding her feet, seeing the truth laid out ugly and bare and bloody. While Wade sure as damned well wasn't playing with a full deck, Deadpool was the kind of Merc who most folks couldn't afford, and the reason was writ in the blood of the old Order of Assassins that were finding out that all their occult mystic bullshit didn't stand up to a man that could slice a bullet in twain before it had barely left the barrel.

Her eyes looked into his, seeking another truth that he alone could tell her, that she really was safe and that they might damned well enjoy the show. He looked deep into hers and saw her want, the kind you didn't know you had until it hit you hard in the gut and left you gasping for breath. Some frail once had tried to tell him it was love, but he knew it was something else. It was need, it was your reason for living, it was seeing everything you were lacking right there at arms reach and knowing you had to grab for it and never let go.

It took a lot to scare him, to let the beast free and ride through the red just to avoid dealing with the mess of emotions that gripped him by the gut and twisted hard. It took seeing something that turned his world on its head, seeing the kind of mystical mojo and magic the Hand excelled at risking to take something from him he had only just found, the life of his little Lee. The beast was let off his chain, left free to drag him down into the red that would be a hell of a fight to climb out of, but in those eyes he saw something that left him and the animal within frozen alike at seeing something they hadn't expected.

It was the kind of look Jimmy had for him all those years ago back before they found out just how really hard it was for them to die. It was a mess of hurt at thinking she was causing him any kind of pain, a hurt so bad that she'd do anything just to make it go away. It was her crossing a line she'd long ago set for herself, just like Jimmy always had when the chips were down, it was her ace in the hole.

As a man who had gotten on the wrong side of napalm once, being burned alive was for most a slow and painful death. Gas cans and tires were one of the few times he thought to give a man the mercy of the bullet. But this, this was something else new and awful and fearsome. His beast was cowed by the pain that lanced through his body, eaten away in an instant that brought with it the blast wave of heat he was no stranger to.

The explosion rocked the bar a heartbeat after the pain had his blood sing the song of his suffering, there was a silence before it where he was forced to look on himself and all those others who had been engulfed in their shared torment. The Hand died by the droves, blood spurting from wounded flesh that had been healthy and hale but a moment before. Screaming as one, all their knowledge of the dark arts couldn't help them to comprehend what was to be their undoing, not at least until the thunder crash came now that the lightning had blinded them.

Paint bubbled, blistered and burst as the blast wave hit, wood smoked and sizzled until the flames finally came. Time moved slow as he looked on his little Lee who had been born anew, a suiting Venus who had been birthed in flames. Untouched by anything other than the ash, she laid spent and fatigued and weary all while struggling to find her focus with eyes unseeing of the destruction she had wrought.

"Ace in the hole..."

He picked her up as he had but hours before, when she had lit the sky in celebration, she curled against him and her scent carried with it the memory of that moment. His beast was prowling behind his eyes, awash in red and too ready to take the lead in claiming this suiting mate. He didn't have to fight against it, her scent said all he needed to know, she was his if he would have her.

Breathing deep that aroma of ash and blood that was a perfume so suiting of her, his nose nuzzled hers and let him draw her weary breath. She was so much like him and Jimmy, that thing behind her eyes had its price paid for in flesh, all told by her pale skin and how limp she lay in his arms. The hunt was his, to provide for her and those that would come after, to prove he was worthy to mate with her if just to keep her belly full in one way or another.

These were all the whispers of his beast he wouldn't and couldn't ignore, it was what humanity had been running from ever since they had learnt to make a spear from a pointed stick or to call fire from struck stones over a tinder of dry grass and moss. They had been running from the reflections of their own animals that had prowled around the campfires, silhouettes and shadows only fit for the cave walls where they were safe to be given names at last, the Sabretooth monsters of prehistory.

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