Disclaimer: Nope. I don't own it.
Welcome to part two of the finale! Lots of stealth, and a brand new revelation!
Bolton101 - I've gone with a very wide form of psychometry - both touch telepathy and object memory - rather than simple telepathy a la Legilimency. As for why Tom didn't just teleport Laura in... to give her something to do, in all honesty. Let's just say it deactivated some alarms, yeah? :P
starboy454 - I really love Sinister as a character, those this one will more be a finger's in all the pies sort of guy rather than with a grand secret base.
Thank you for all my consistent readers! I'm glad I'm bringing some entertainment to your lives.
Chapter 10: Assassination
Tom looked at the mercenary, unimpressed. "You've royally screwed this up."
"Oi!" Bullseye retorted. "How'd ya know it won't you two bozos? Ya have the numbers disadvantage."
"We came in through the ventilation," Laura snapped. "No one knew we were there."
"Bollocks," Bullseye scoffed. "There was a laser grid."
"I deactivated it," Tom drawled. "Wasn't that hard. How'd you get in?"
"Roof access," he answered easily.
"The one with the silent alarm and hidden camera?"
Bullseye blinked. "Dammit. You win, kid. How'd ya know about dem? I'm good, and I didn't see nothing."
"Blueprints," Tom answered dismissively. "Let me guess, Fisk sent you, not trusting a third party to deliver the results."
Bullseye flicked out a playing card, a grin spread across his face. "Got it in one, kiddo. So, whaddya say, work together?"
"They know we're here now," Tom sighed. "Just raise some hell and stay out of the way."
Bullseye grinned. "I can do that."
Before he could leave, however, Tom stopped him, forcing something into his hand. "Inject yourself. You'll thank me later."
Bullseye frowned, but did so, turning to leave. The crack of gunfire rose a few minutes later."
Laura raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"
"Don't worry about it," Tom drawled, even as he injected himself.
"Seriously, what is it?"
"Honestly, don't you ever shut up?" he asked, exasperated. "Come on, we've got a bastard to kill."
It was slow going through the hallways. Despite the knowledge that the opposition were aware that they were in the building, they tried to stick to the shadows, leaving the fighting to Bullseye.
They were just around the corner from the stairwell when they heard the approaching footsteps of a horde of grunts - an inconvenience they could do without.
"Quick," Laura hissed, diving into a nearby cupboard. "Hide!"
Despite his many skills, Tom was not quite quick enough, instead throwing a nearby cloak around his body, hood up. He concentrated, mimicking the stance of the man from earlier. A rush of energy coursed through his body, almost throwing him off. It was the same energy as before - but doing what?"
"Hey," one of the grunts snapped, grabbing his shoulder. "Why aren't you fighting?" He was tugged around, before the grunt paled. "Oh, sorry Mamakar. I forgot you were here, pretending to be the Boss. Good to see you made it out."
Tom blinked in surprise as the soldiers moved on past. When they had gone, Laura emerged from the cupboard, jaw slack.
"How'd you do that?" she hissed.
"Do what?" he blinked, as the energy seemed to fade away.
"You looked like the decoy!" she said. "You've just changed back."
"Huh," Tom murmured. He would have to look into this… energy of his. Touch telepathy… shapeshifting… there was bound to be more. He shook his head. "Onwards and downwards, X23."
"It's Laura," she growled. "And the saying is onwards and upwards."
"Yes, well," he said, pointing at the stairs. "We're going down."
"Oh, no you aren't, sonny Jim."
Tom spun around to find a man dressed in blood red Kevlar, adorned with a multitude of guns and blades, his signature katanas drawn. "Wade Wilson," he spat.
"Actually, I'm on a job right now," he corrected. "So it's Deadpool. You here to kill or defend the Yakoo?"
"Kill."
"That makes sense," Deadpool groaned, rolling his shoulders. "Guess the author wants an epic showdown between the main character and the fan favourite."
Laura growled at the man, claws popping out. "Just try it."
Deadpool blinked. "Or maybe it's to advance the plot." He shook his head. "Okay, nice meeting y'all, but I best be on my way." He took a running jump out the window. "Toodles!"
Tom stared after the insane mercenary.
"Lo-gan!" the merc cried in the distance. "Oh Lo-gan! I found the Weapon! They've pulled a Daken!"
Laura blinked. "What?"
"That's Deadpool," Tom grumbled. "I've seen his file. He's a nutcase, and a previous Weapon. I've been warned to stay clear of him, and ignore anything he says. Come on, let's go."
Laura nodded, following him down the steps, heading towards the safe room.
Tom raised a hand, slowing to a stop. The silence was broken by pops of gunfire and the clash of blades.
Laura raised an eyebrow. "What's the problem? We can easily sneak past them."
Tom shook his head. "Can't risk them stumbling across us. Wait here a sec." He pulled himself up into the vent system, pulling a device out of his bag. It was a chemical disperser, containing one particular chemical: Trig-X. He was immensely thankful for his injection, containing a chemical with a scent even stronger than the trigger, one that protected the wearer from X23's blind rage. If only his body didn't burn it out within a couple of hours. He pressed a button on the device, and the device emitted a slight hum, before a transparent gas began to seep out.
Laura stared at him, shock and betrayal scrawled across her face. "What have you done?"
"What needed to be done," Tom drawled. "Now be the good little psycho that you are and distract the crowd, will you?"
Laura glared at him, nostrils quivering as her body shook, a low growl forming in her throat. Her claws burst from her knuckles as her pupils shrank, her vision tinged with blood. She let out a furious howl, before lunging through the wall, a scream on her lips as she tore into whatever lay beneath her. It had to end, had to die, had to bleed…
A cackle escaped Tom's lips. Perfect. Ajax may have said he couldn't kill her, but he could let someone else do the job for him, couldn't he? Still… he ignored the nagging feeling in his gut, the lingering thoughts of her grace, her skill, her ruthless efficiency…
He drew his left pistol, screwing on a silencer as he slowly made his way across the hallway, stopping only when he reached the bend that led to the reinforced steel concealing the safe room, locked with an electronic keypad.
He was surprised to see only one guard, his back to him, a guard that wasn't even Yakuza. He was oddly dressed, in burgundy robes, a thin sliver of wood being fingered by his thick, calloused fingers. He had long, ginger hair, pulled tight into a ponytail. He wore a single earring, made from a large tooth. Crocodile, perhaps?
It would have been easy to kill him quickly. He had no intention to fight what was clearly a mercenary, albeit one he had never heard of. Made sense that the only mercs he had seen the Yakuza hire so far were an unknown and an insane assassin, who ditched the fight for no apparent reason. Not that he wasn't glad, though - no matter his quirks, Deadpool was a formidable opponent.
He didn't, however. He got cocky. Thinking back to earlier, he reached over, his fingers touching the man's temples, a rush of energy surging through his fingers as he sought out the keycode for the door, only to be met with the mental equivalent of a punch to the gut.
Tom staggered back, dropping his gun with a gasp.
"A legilimens, huh?" the redhead murmured, turning around. His face was concealed with a bandana, but a pair of mud brown eyes glittered freely. "Didn't realise there were any of our kind working freelance. Thankfully, I'm an occlumens."
"The fuck you on about?" Tom snapped, drawing the dagger from his waist. "Get out of the way, and I'll let you live."
"No can do," the ginger grinned. "The Gringotts Association has a clear policy on completing contracts.
Tom's blood ran cold. The Gringotts Association. A legendary mercenary guild, known for untraceable assassinations and excursions, with no members having been identified. "Well, I suppose I'm gonna have to kill you, then."
"I suppose so," the ginger smirked. "Avada Kedavra!"
A burst of green light burst from the strip of wood, a light that Tom instinctively blocked with his adamantium blade, the resulting explosion sending him skidding backwards.
"Nice knife," the ginger commented. "You have earned my respect. Name's Curse."
"Weapon M," Tom spat, lunging at his foe, who swiftly ducked, rolling out of the way of the blade.
"Hmm," Curse thought for a moment, standing warily, his wooden stick stretched out at his opponent. "Not that catchy, is it? What are you, some Wolverine wannabe?"
Tom's stance shifted, more defensive than before. His fingers played with the handle of a knife, his dagger flipping into a reverse grip. "You are remarkably well informed, Mr. Curse."
"Gringotts has its connections," Curse grinned. "Incendio!"
The orange projectile caught Tom in the chest, burning through his chestpiece, searing his flesh, leaving a mangled mess of black and bone. He blinked, looking down as a warm ache stretched across his chest. "Toasty."
Curse blinked. "I was expecting a stronger reaction."
"Well, this is all the clothing I brought with me," Tom drawled, running his fingers over his rapidly healing flesh. "And I really didn't want to be wandering around the rooftops of Tokyo with half my jacket missing. So, knife or gun?"
"That's not quite what I meant," Curse muttered, foot shifting back, as if preparing to spin. "I was hoping for a scream, or even, you know, a gasping last breath."
"Gun it is," Tom said cheerily, firing his pistol. He proved to be not quite quick enough, as the mercenary vanished with an ear splitting crack, the bullet embedding itself into the wall behind. There was something familiar about the method… an energy left behind. He blinked. "Huh. Guess I should have asked him about the other shit. Oh well."
He turned to the safe room, cocking an eyebrow at the keypad. Guess it would be the old fashioned way after all.
A quick flick drew his claws, almost immediately to be dug deep into the metal door. He tore the steel door off its hinges, allowing it to fall to the ground beside him, a deafening clang signalling its fall.
Alone in the room was Makarato, cowering behind a chair, pistol pointing out from behind the chair.
Tom hissed as three bullets pierced his chest, forcing him to stagger backwards, before he fixed the man with a glare. "I assume you know why I am here."
"What do you want, American?" Makarato growled. "Is it money? Fame? Women? I can give it all, just let me live!"
"I am tired of you people calling me American," Tom groaned, rolling his shoulders as he gestured with his pistol. "I'm fucking British. I don't even work for Americans - they're Canadian!"
"It makes no difference to me, Westerner," Makarato spat. "Just be done with it."
"My pleasure," Tom grinned, raising his gun. A squeeze of the trigger was all that it took, the man collapsing to the ground, a precise wound at the centre of his forehead.
Pocketing his pistol, he stretched, making his way over to the window, smashing it with a single strike from his elbow.
Reaching up, he switched his earpiece back to the public channel. "Yo, Ajax."
"You cocky bastard," the handler growled. "You think you can just cut me out?"
"Well, yeah," Tom grinned. "Anyway, Makarato's dead."
"Good," Ajax growled. "Get your arses back to the chopper and we'll be off.
"About that," he said. "X23's… occupied."
"No matter," Ajax said easily. "You are the priority. Feel free to leave her behind."
Tom smirked. That was the result he wanted. "Copy that."
He stepped towards the edge, turning to look back for a moment. He let a smile grace his face as he took in the sounds of gunfire and screams of agony. "Checkmate, bitch."
But, as he turned to leave, his thoughts once more lingered on her, on her smile, on her grace, on her athletic body. On her cheerful attitude (for a captive, at least), on her ruthless determination. It would be so easy, to leave her and let her die, to finally exact revenge for the loss of his eye.
But it wasn't. He couldn't just leave her. There was something about her…
He groaned, striding away from the edge. "Damn you, Harry. Damn you."
A/N: Aw, Tom has a heart!
The finale's finale is next time - we get a nice little fight scene, and the fallout of Tom's betrayal.
Also... metamorphism!
Curse is... sort of an OC. The Curse persona is my own, but the man behind the mask? He is most definitely not my own. Virtual cookies to whoever gets who it is.
Please favourite, follow and review!
Until next time, this is JaguarAJG, signing off.
