Edited: 2/28/16

Chapter 8 – Field Testing

"I am my brother's keeper for himself every man, I have been your reaper, there's blood on my hands. Except me as your keeper, there's been a change of plans, be careful what you speak of, I've come to understand." – Clipse

The Matron tisked while she surveyed the facility. From the outside it hadn't looked damaged, until one came to the main entrance and witnessed the crisscrossed cuts breaching the once secure doorway. Inside, the destruction became more apparent. Emergency lighting had failed, deep slashes gouged walls and made impromptu doors, disregarding the wiring housed in the steal walls. Then there were the large patches of brown, so dark they were black in the dim light. Those pools, streaks, and in places entire oceans, were scattered throughout the compound. They were a silent testament to the violence that swept the place, leaving behind nothing but corpses. Thankfully, the bodies whose life blood painted the floors and walls so harshly were absent. It's a shame they hadn't taken the time to mop up the blood while they were dealing with the dead. She thought, a small sniff of distain wrinkled her nose at the mess left behind for her people to clean up.

"We've finally arrived," the Matron said. "It's sad to see it in such disrepair after all the scientific breakthroughs and accomplishments that were achieved in this place," she said wistfully before brightening. "But, since we will be deploying from here for the duration of the mission, perhaps we'll be able to bring a little life back to this tragic place."

A beautiful smile softened the hard lines of her face. "To see it operational once more, it's like a dream come true," she breathed.

Not a dream Matron…more like a nightmare. Dr. Vigil couldn't help but think as she flexed the small muscles in the corners of her eyes to turn her vision to black and white. The splotches were less terrible when the bloodstains were reduced to black smudges that could have been motor oil. Her red optics flickered dully in the uncertain light of the flashlights as the ghastly tour of what would be her new home for an unspecified amount of time continued.

"Sir?" the mechanical tones of the Voice jolted him out of a slight doze. The Director blinked, chasing away vague dreams of wars long forgotten.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice gruff with the fading tendrils of sleep. "I must have fallen asleep."

"You are tired Director, it has been nearly two days since the operation began, and you've gotten less than four hours sleep in that time." The Voice was as chastening as a robotic voice was capable of being. "You should delegate more."

"No, I delegate enough as it is. It's important for a man to mind his own business and not rely on others to do it for him," he replied coldly.

"Yes, sir. It appears that Dr. Vigil has made her first report," the Voice offered.

"Good news, I trust?"

"Yes, sir. The report indicates that the Matron has arrived on-site, and that The Royal Air Force technicians are working to power up a small portion of the facility now. Within two or three hours the Weapon Null base of operations will be up and running," the Voice dutifully reported.

A rumbling laugh escaped the Director at the mention of the Air Force. "My how they squawked when I commandeered an entire fleet of Chinook, but it was necessary, and we are ahead of schedule." He said, humor flavoring his tone.

"What will happen next?" the Voice inquired.

"Once the technicians have the base in working order, call back the Chinooks. The aircrafts and crews should return to their home base-"

"But, Sir! That would leave the Matron and her team isolated," the Voice exclaimed.

"As they should be. No one from the Royal Air Force should be present when the Matron activates her little freak show."

"Won't the Matron require helicopters for her operations? For insertions, extractions, resupply-"

The Director waived away the Voice's concern. "Not to worry, I've already dispatched Major Sallow with three Blackhawks. By the time the facility is up and running, he and his men will be on site to provide any air support the Matron needs."

"Very good, sir." A pregnant pause followed the words.

"Yes? What is it?" The Director demanded.

"It appears that Dr. Vigil is not reacting well to her new surroundings. She appears uncomfortable in the ruins of the Professor's lab, and I'm sure she will not appreciate knowing that she is trapped there."

"That's unfortunate, but we can't risk public exposure of the Weapon Null program. Can you imagine what would happen if one of those Airmen spilled his guts on the national news? No, the average person isn't capable of understanding our motivations for creating such…things. Even though our goal is noble, I'm afraid all they would see was the grotesquerie itself and their reaction would be outrage, not understanding," the Director sighed. "We must protect the public from truths it simply isn't capable of handling."

Thomas's breath hissed between his teeth, waiting for the cold bite of the blade to find him. One blade is better than three, better than six, he tried to convince himself, unaware that a single blade of IX could be just as fatal, if not more so that X's claws. Time seemed to stop, and it was only the loud snarl that jerked the Indian's head up enough to see time hadn't frozen after all. Instead, the blade was lodged in the wild man's arm.

X saw the brilliant shine of sunlight glinting off metal and reacted instinctively, throwing up an arm in the path of the blade as he spun to growl at the slight form half hidden behind the rocks. That his interference saved the cowering hunter was more due to luck than design. Lips pealing back off his teeth, he stalked forward. His large bulk inadvertently blocked any further attempts on the man's life. All the weapon was focused on was the fact that his little mate had left the comfort of the cave when he'd been told to stay, and the slight trembling of the form pulled another scolding growl from his throat.

IX heard the gunshot echo through the small ravine, and he knew the caliber was too small to be part of the actual testing. The out of place sound drew the smaller weapon out of the cave to investigate. When he spotted the hunter, still splattered with X's drying blood, he reacted. The blade flew with effortless grace from his slender fingers, but to his surprise it bit into X's arm, instead of the hunter's throat as he'd intended.

Jaded green eyes narrowed when the growl rumbled through the pass. X stalked mercilessly towards him, the leg of deer tossed over his shoulder while he gave the stranger his back. The soft scuff of shoes alerted IX to his queries escape, and he tilted his head, studying X, and wondering why the weapon had permitted the invader to live in the first place. Why did he allow the man to flee? Another tremble from the cold wracked his slender frame. IX, knowing X would drag him along anyway, turned on his heel in the shadows and vanished back to the relative warmth of the cave. The hunter could be dealt with later, if necessary.

A low grunt of annoyance escaped X when his mate vanished before he could give him a proper swat for disobeying him. He shifted into the long lope that would take him to the cave in the swiftest time. Hunger made him want to pause and tear into the leg of deer, but it was his duty to see to his mate's comfort first, and he knew the little weapon preferred his meat scorched.

When he entered the cave, he gave IX a dark look before handing over the meat. The delicate features of IX face remained neutral as he accepted the bloody offering. It didn't take him long to skin the limb and cut off a decent portion of flesh before spearing it on a stick to roast over the flames. X growled softly at the small helping when the leg was returned to him, and a single claw slid out to cut off a larger hunk of meat. Green eyes narrowed at the offered flesh, but he reached out and took it without dispute before adding it to the already cooking meat.

X gave a satisfied huff and tore into the remaining flesh, uncaring that it was raw. The hunger gnawing inside of him was replaced by the warm weight of fresh meat. By the time IX pulled the first spear off the flames and delicately cut a bit of crisp flesh free, all that remained of X's meal was a few stripped bones.

The rich scent of cooking meat made IX's stomach rumble uncomfortably. He'd never felt such hunger before. In the Hive, meals were provided at set intervals and were a precise balance to provide optimum strength and energy. The first cut of meat burned his tongue in his haste to devour it, but the taste, though lacking in seasoning, was still satisfying. At least it had some flavor, unlike the bland meals that made up his existence thus far.

Cut by careful cut, he finished the first shank of meat. IX paused between bites to lick the juice off his fingertips. Each movement was watched by dark whisky colored eyes. X studied his little mate, longing for the day when that soft pink tongue might lick something other than fingers. IX ate half the second before handing the rest off to X. The larger male gave a disapproving growl, but a single sharp glance made him reach out and take the offering.

Once the meal, the first they'd ever shared, was finished X circled the fire and grabbed IX. A small yawn was IX only reply when X tucked him into his lap to sleep. "Guard." IX murmured, allowing X to tuck his head under the large male's chin. For such an odd position, sitting mostly upright and cradled in X's arms, it was comfortable. It didn't take long for the small male's breath to even out into a light sleep. X stroked IX's wild black locks, guarding his mate's sleep and watching the lazy flames paint flickering shadows on the stone walls.

"The first test will commence in 0700 hours. Send X to the clearing just west of your position at that time and observe the battle. Do not be seen." IX stirred awake at the voice.

"Yes, sir," he replied automatically.

The arms around him tightened, but the warning prick of a blade against his ribs convinced X to let go. "The first test will begin shortly, you will head out to the meadow to the west and wait. I will gather intel and observe the altercation." The words had the underlying note of command, telling X not to fight. It was the same tone the Weapon used during battles, and one X had learned not to question.

Without hesitation, IX turned on his heel and vanished into the shadows.

Thomas paced the confines of the book lined cabin while he spoke. "When the gun went off, the bullet hit him in the head." He explained, clutching the hot cup of coffee in his hands.

"And you're sure you hit it?" The Librarian persisted, studying the agitated Indian.

"Him, yes I'm sure I hit the man. The bullet slammed into his head, and the blood sprayed over my face. I saw it, and I saw the wound heal in seconds."

"What else did you see? Apart from the metal claws he was wearing on his wrists?" The Librarian asked before he took a sip from his own cup of brew.

"I'm not sure he was wearing them." Thomas admitted grudgingly. It was difficult to voice the crazy things he'd seen.

"Oh?"

"When his scalp was blown back, I saw metal." He added.

"Like a metal plate or something?" The Librarian attempted to clarify.

"Or something, I guess." Thomas shrugged after taking another long swallow of the bitter liquid. There were still more questions than answers. How was the man able to survive wearing just a pair of pants in this climate? Hell, how'd he survive a bullet to the head? And who threw the knife?

"Someone else was up there too. I didn't see it, but someone chucked a knife at me and it wasn't the Wildman. In fact, he'd moved at just the wrong, or I guess it would be right for me anyway, moment and the blade caught him in the arm. The man didn't even seem to notice!" he exclaimed, remembering the strangely annoyed growl when the stranger turned and walked away, leaving Thomas inexplicably alive.

"Hmmm, are you sure the man wasn't wearing a helmet?" the Librarian asked, dismissing the information about a second person since the native hadn't gotten a good look at that one.

"No!" Thomas cried, and turned too fast, spilling a bit of the scalding liquid over his hand. A low hiss of pain whined from his lips. He wiped the coffee off on his pants. "He had hair, and sideburns, and a beard even, his hair actually came up to points on either side of his head."

"Calm down Tommy-boy, I believe you. Just don't go blabbing about this to Martin or he'll think you're crazier than he already does. And don't you go tellin' Ben or Jerry either, or they'll think it was Sasquatch and will run off to try and hunt it down." The Librarian demanded, watching Thomas pour himself the last of the coffee.

"I wonder if that thing has anything to do with the choppers we heard the other night." The Librarian mussed.

"Me too, I haven't heard that much air traffic since I settled here."

"There used to be a lot of traffic a few years back. Martian thinks there was a military base out there by the dam." The Librarian confided.

"There's a dam?" Thomas asked as he studied the old man, surprise coloring the words. He'd never noticed a dam near these parts.

"Mhm, about forty miles southeast of here. I guess the base closed some time ago, haven't heard much traffic except for last night."

"I hope it isn't an omen of things to come." Thomas said with a frown before he looked down into the black depths of the coffee.

The information provided on the first of the Matron's…team members was astonishing, almost incomprehensible. While Megan could grasp the science of it, what she had a harder time accepting was that anyone would volunteer to be turned into…into something so monstrous. Herbert "Hank" Gosling had been one of many troubled youths that were given a choice after their third arrest: to join the navy or to go to prison for three years. Ever defiant, Hank had opted to sign up for the Marine Corps instead.

Basic gave the brute no trouble at all, and he soon became part of the heavy infantry. Most of his military record was uneventful up until an incident in Africa during a United Nations peacekeeping mission. After a firefight in the jungle that killed seven men from his platoon, as well as sixteen rebels and a dozen innocent civilians, Gosling was brought up on charges. When all was said and done, he was dishonorably discharged. That should have been the end of his story, instead it was just the beginning.

It wasn't long before the ex-marine got a job working security for a Canadian firm contracted to rebuild the same rebellion-torn African nation. While working there, Gosling was injured, and the defense contractor if his unit brought him to the attention of the Director's predecessor, the man who'd founded the Weapon Null Program. Even though Gosling's wound was crippling, he'd lost part of his right hand, it could have been corrected with a bionic repair. Instead, Gosling had opted to become a living weapon for the program.

Photographs, glossy and of the highest quality, had been provided with the file. Megan only gave them a brief glance, after all, she'd be seeing Slammer in the flesh soon enough. She was struggling with the question of why someone would willingly do that to themselves when her communicator buzzed.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Vigil?" The Matron asked.

"Yes?"

"Weapon X's position was discovered in a meadow near the top of one of the mountains fifty kilometers from here. An insertion team was provided by the Director along with three military helicopters. They're set to arrive within the hour. Have you read the file?" She asked after a slight pause.

"Every word." Megan confirmed. "I found the information on Slammer to be quite astounding."

"Perfect, please join us in the lab. He's being prepped now and will be ready for the assault in an hour's time."

Megan stood up and closed the disturbing file. "I'll be there in five minutes."

IX appeared in the dark confines of one of the many storage rooms located in the deepest sublevels of the compound. After they'd cleared the complex from top to bottom, hunting for stray personnel, IX had taken the time to memorize the full layout of the structure. Now, as long as the room held shadows, no area was barred from his entry.

Moving gracefully through the pitch black room, IX whispered "open." The locked door slid open at his command, and a quick nudge of his gift. Darkness greeted him; the halls beyond the room were equally unlit. It took three levels before he encountered the long strings of lights that had been hung by the Matron's technicians. Like a shadow, he deftly made his way towards the lab and the horrid racket that indicated something of interest was occurring there. IX avoided the orange jumpsuit clad workers who scurried through the halls like day-glow rodents, and after a quick glance in the lab to see where everyone was positioned, he turned and vanished.

Two women stood on the cat-walks overlooking the large lab. At the center of the room, the source of the racket became apparent. The spectacle managed to catch IX's jaded gaze. A giant of a man was laid out face first on the operating table. The table had been altered to include a new bio-monitoring system incased in a reinforced steel box supported with titanium rods to help hold up the man's impressive weight. There was a huge machine situated next to the table that was the source of the mechanical racket. The top of the machine held a bin full of large caliber rounds, attached to the bottom of the machine was a chute that fed the ammunition into a surgically implanted loading breech at the base of the man's spine. An IV in the man's limp left arm pumped chemicals directly into his bulging purple veins.

The strange man's left arm was incased in a large metal tube, effectively hiding it from the weapon's green gaze. More of the orange jump-suited men swarmed around the table. One fed black hydraulic fluid into the metal tube while others monitored the ammunition feed. There was a grotesquely large hump on the man's back that resembled a turtle's shell. Studying the misshapen lump, IX could see the sharp curve of ribs supporting the oddity.

His narrow gaze turned to the two women. It was easy to see how the orange suits differed to the older female when one scurried up to offer the younger a headset to cut out the noise and permit the two to speak to one another. IX wasn't positioned well enough to see the younger woman's face, but the older was angled just right for him to read her lips from his shadowed hiding place.

"Slammer earned his name due to the organically fabricated mini gun grafted onto his left arm." He watched the dance of lips, teeth and tongue, reading the words that couldn't be heard over the percussion of noise. The other one asked a question.

"It's quite simple Dr. Vigil, the cannon was fashioned out of the subjects own biological material. You see, near the end of the Weapon Null program, the Professor mastered a technique allowing him to grow bone matter into any shape he desired. Unfortunately, the process has been lost to us, but we still have Slammer." The woman explained, gesturing down at the unconscious being. The young woman made some comment that spurned another generous offering of information.

"After all four of the barrels for the Gatling gun were grown, they were sheathed in titanium steel to increase muzzle velocity and stopping power. The bioweapon was modeled after a four barrel GAU-13/A Gatling gun. It takes thirty-millimeter shells that have been designed to be lightweight and explode on impact. There are more than ten thousand rounds in the organic sac on Slammer's upper spine." IX's eyes darted back to the misshapen lump on the man's back, noting the weapon's weak point. Should the sac be ruptured, it would potentially destroy the entire store of ammunition.

His attention returned to the woman. "The bullets are expelled from the sac into organic loading tubes via methane gas created in Slammer's digestive system. From there, the bullets are fed into the breach using muscular peristalsis." The younger said something that made the woman look cross for a moment, another burst of speech appeared to appease her, and the explanation continued. "Yes, the organic tubes are made from the subject's lower colon. We found that having just one loading tube was too slow, so two have been grafted into Slammer's forearm. This also gives us the added benefit of two different types of ammunition. The sac on Slammer's back is divided into two compartments, one about a quarter of the size of the other. That one holds incendiary ammunition, whereas the larger only holds exploding rounds. We thought it would be best to have a limited number of incendiary rounds. After all, we are trying to capture Weapon X not destroy it, and it wouldn't do to start a forest fire." She said with a laugh.

The Matron shifted, her mouth hidden now. IX shifted to bring it back into sight when the younger woman's head snapped around to study the space he'd been standing a moment before.

Megan blinked and stared into the deep shadows. A flick of muscle shifted her vision to infrared, but still nothing. The Matron followed her gaze. "Jumping at shadows?" She asked in a mocking tone.

"I thought I saw someone," she murmured before she turned away from the now empty patch of darkness. One of the benefits of her optics was that her eyes did not play tricks on her. And the small human shape that had been standing in the shadows couldn't have been a mere trick of the light. But, it was gone now, whatever it was and she wasn't sure what to make of it. The catwalk was designed in such a way that the person would have had to pass them to leave, but it had vanished into thin air. Maybe it's just the stress of living in a place where so many died, she decided, returning her attention to the Matron's long winded explanations.

"Originally, the Null Program was designed to create soldiers that were also self-contained advanced weapons systems," she said, pride shining in her eyes.

"Do you believe you succeeded in that goal?" Megan asked, giving Slammer a pointed look. The weapon was far from self-contained.

"To varying degrees," the Matron conceded.

"But each member of your team requires complex and expensive procedures just for travel and maintenance, that's hardly self-contained."

"I said that was the original aim of the program. But, just as we were starting to make real progress, funding for the Weapon Null program was diverted to more promising avenues of research. That is all about to change though," the Matron said with a beatific smile.

"What do you mean?"

"You see, it's really quite simple. Slammer is not the most powerful or advanced member of this unit, yet I'm certain that he, acting alone, will be more than enough to capture or even destroy Weapon X if it should come to that. When the Director sees how well Slammer performed against something as advanced as Weapon X, he will return funding to my program." The Matron's eyes closed as a look of pure joy at being able to prove the validity of her team crossed her face.

Good lord, she has no idea how expendable her team is, and the level of contempt the Director feels for the Weapon Null Program, Megan thought disdainfully. Just then, the loud clamber ceased and the deafening silence made her ears ache.

"It's time."

Icy wind blew through the clearing, and the delicious scent of his mate caused X to turn his predatory gaze toward the tree-line. Light flashed half way up a massive pine, a deliberate twist of a blade to catch the sun. A disgruntled growl rumbled in X's chest at the sight. Now that they were no longer in the careful confines of the Hive, no matter how deadly the tests there might have been, he felt a driving need to protect the slight male. He wanted to bundle him up and return him to the warmth and safety of the cave. Not allow him out here where danger could strike.

A snort caused a puff of fog-like air to explode from his nose like dragon smoke. No matter how IX yielded to his bite, or even permit him to coddle him in this windswept wilderness, the large Weapon knew this was a mission, and nothing diverted his mate from a mission. It made X furious to know IX would sacrifice everything, even his life, if that was what the mission called for. Nothing, and no one, could keep him from completing an assigned task short of death. It made X restless to know the one thing he couldn't protect the smaller weapon from was himself. If ordered to, IX would end his own life in an instant and that knowledge ate at X. The thoughts were new, and linked to the strange other that whispered deep in the darkest recesses of his mind, that pushed and nudged and guided him in his quest to protect the tiny male.

The oddly philosophical thoughts were interrupted by the deep thrum of chopper blades cutting through the winter air. A blast of snow caused by the Blackhawk's blades obscured X's vision when the helicopter crested the cliff edge that lined the left side of the exposed outcropping of a field. His dark eyes tracked the helicopter, and a low snarl curled his lips when a malformed shape appeared in the open troop compartment door.

The being was thickly muscled, with over sized hips and legs as thick as tree trunks. His left shoulder was bigger than his right, and there was a large pulsating hump on his back. Titanium armor formed sheets over heavy slabs of muscle and were linked by a pitch black steel battle suit. The man's eyes were covered with wide goggles that held a highly sophisticated targeting system, and his head was encased in a titanium helmet. A grenade launcher had been fixated to the man's musclebound right arm, but it was his left that caught X's gaze. The shoulder and upper arm were as beefy as the rest of him, but from the elbow down a multi-barreled Gatling gun encased in gleaming white bone grew where the remainder of his arm should have been.

X was studying his prey when the man's head snapped up, locking on his position. "I'm comin for you X!" The voice bellowed out a challenge, enhanced to blast mechanically over the clearing. The chopper dipped, and the man leapt out to land on the ground. "I'm Slammer, but to you…I Am Death" the man yelled dramatically. In his perch, IX frowned at the foolish display. Had this been his fight, the target would be choking on his own blood right now, a blade buried in the slim seam between suit and helmet before he'd even gotten off a single shot.

Growling, X faded back into a corps of ancient pines that lined one side of the clearing. He would wait for his prey to come to him. A rain of exploding bullets caused him to dive for cover when the pine trunks began exploding around him, severed by the prolonged bursts of fire. Trees began crashing down around him, and X scrabbled on all fours, twisting out of the way as the trees attempted to crush him.

"Come out, come out, where ever you are," the taunting voice echoed over the din of falling trees. X ran along a shallow depression. His hunched over back was riddled with splinters from the exploding trees, but the pain was ignored in favor of the hunt. The small ditch came to a dead end and fearlessly X broke cover.

"There you are!" Slammer shouted in triumph, sending a barrage of bullets crashing into the forest in front of X. A falcon shot out of one of the falling trees, and with perfect precision Slammer shot a single bullet. The bird exploded in a shower of feathers and blood. "You're next you freak, and you won't go as easy as that turkey," he shouted.

X ignored the meaningless taunts. While he could understand language, only IX's words were worth listening too. X's lips pealed back in a silent snarl when he realized he had to watch which way he moved. He didn't want those bullets tearing up the forest where IX was. Silence rang through the clearing as he crouched behind a pile of boulders. Playing prey was not a game he cared for, and he listened for the sound of the other's movements waiting for the opportunity to turn the game around.

The helmet, he can see you! The voice caused X to startle, jerking in surprise at the clear words that shouted in his mind. The source of the nudging had never spoken so clearly. Before he could make use of this new information, a tattoo of gunfire sent a torrent of white hot bullets into his chest, arms and legs. Agony roared through Weapon X when the heavy projectiles began tearing great chunks out of his flesh. One ricocheted of his adamantium sheathed spine, and spun pinball-like through his guts, shredding his insides before blasting out of his lower abdomen, leaving a ragged hole behind. Blood gushed from the tattered flesh in a scalding flood. Sunned, the force of the bullets sent X face first into the rocks he'd been hiding behind, hacking up bloody bale peppered with chunks of his own lungs.

A hoarse snarl tore from his blood soaked lips, and he turned with his claws fully extended. Slammer stepped out from between two rocks and fired a single shot. Before he could dodge, the bullet ripped a savage gouge in X's jugular, causing his head to snap back as if he'd been stuck by a bat. Blood poured from the open wound, flowing over his bare torso in a crimson wave. X collapsed to his knees, but still stubbornly refused to fall.

His fury maddened features twisted into a bloody snarl when the shadow loomed over him. A large hand twisted in his hair, jerking his head back. The fatal wound tore further under the brutal assault, causing a fountain of blood to splash over the sleek black armor. The stink of cordite and scorched flesh filled his nostrils when the red hot barrel of the mini-gun was pressed against his temple.

IX sat unmoving in his perch, and watched the massacre with indifferent eyes, not noticing the tiny blade gripped tightly in his right hand, aching defy orders and fly.

Slammer's laughter rang through the clearing with grim finality.

"How disappointing," the Director's chilled voice stated while he studied the image on the giant high-definition screen. "It would appear that the Professor sold us a false bill of goods after all. Weapon X is a complete failure. Worse, it is little more than a joke if one of the Matron's junkyard dogs can naturalize it."

"This is not the outcome I anticipated," the Voice agreed dispassionately. "In spite of the high potential of the project, it would appear that Weapon X has failed its first true test."

"What is the Matron seeing?"

"She sees precisely what we do, sir. The visual optics in the subject's helmet are relaying a live feed to her as we speak."

"I'm sure she's celebrating," the Director said bitterly. "We have been soundly defeated by her pathetic excuse of a weapon."

"Sir, this is a scientific experiment. There are no winners or losers here, just data to be collected." The Voice reasoned.

"Perhaps there aren't losers, but there are failures and that is what we are now bearing witness to, an unmitigated failure." The Director replied, his blue eyes flashing. "All those resources and for what? Weapon X turned out to be worthless."

"Sir, please observe the monitor," the Voice interrupted.

"This is it? This is the legendary beast who killed the Professor and his entire staff? The bane of Department K?" Slammer snarled, pulling the barrel away and waiving it in a show of disgust. "I hope you're catching all of this Matron! I want everyone in the Department to witness me destroying their precious toy soldier," he shouted.

X shuddered, feeling the large wounds knit together. His ebbing strength began to return, and his blood was replenished. With a roar, X lunged to his feet. His claws crossed in a slashing arch at Slammer's face, cutting not just air, but the optical targeting system as well. In a mini-explosion, the large lenses fractured spraying broken glass and sparks over X.

Screeching, Slammer jerked back and fumbled with the emergency release on the helmet. Just when X was about to leap onto the man to finish him, the weapon spit deadly fire in his direction, causing him to dive away as rock shrapnel imbedded itself into his side. Swift as a fox, he bounded over the rocks, taking shelter from the hail of bullets.

"GOD DAMN IT!" Slammer roared, tearing the destroyed head gear off. The move revealed his shaved head now seared by fire. His eyebrows were scorched off and tears blinded him. USB ports embedded in Slammer's scalp were reduced to dangling wires that continued to smolder and spark. X snarled preparing to leap at the blinded man when the roar of the Gatling gun forced him to flatten himself on the ground to avoid another barrage of tearing bullets. Slammer scrubbed at his burning eyes with his right hand while his left fired blindly.

When he could see again, X had vanished. "You think I need fancy eyes to kill your ass?" Slammer snarled into the empty wilderness. "Well you're wrong! Don't you get it? I'm the gun! I'm the gun and I'm comin' for you!" he bellowed, waiving the Gatling gun skyward. Still howling furious curses, Slammer ran the length of the valley and back, mindless in his rage.

X waited with patience of a stalking panther, crouched, and hidden from view on an overhanging cliff high above the agitated weapon. He'd used his claws to climb the sheer cliffs that bracketed the other end of the valley. A guttural snarl reverberated in his chest while he waited for the pray to come into striking distance.

Slammer's head jerked around at the sound, and he looked up. "There you are, Weapon X!" He crowed, firing at the cliff in a continuous burst of both explosive shells and incendiary bullets. The rock beneath X gave way and with a grinding screech. X howled in fury and lashed out to bury his claws into the stone of the mountain side.

Through the avalanche of cascading mountain side, a single shot found its mark. The explosive bullet slammed into X's left leg, struck the adamantium-encased femur, and detonated. Flesh and muscle were instantly vaporized leaving only sleek silver bones exposed to the frozen air. The massive impact reverberated throughout the metal skeleton, tearing muscle, popping joints, and sending X's brain bouncing around his skull like a BB in a barrel. Weapon X hung limply by the blades imbedded in the mountain, knocked senseless from the devastating attack. Tiny veins and arteries crept ivy like over exposed bone while he hung stunned after the shocking blow.

Below the now shattered ledge, the only thing that stood between the bottom of the mountain and the avalanche of cascading rock was Slammer. Terror sparked in his chest, and he scrambled to find cover when a bolder the size of a large cow crashed into his chest. Air woofed out of his lungs, and the sac on his back ruptured under the crushing pressure, sending a spill of bloody bullets over the rocks. The cascade of stone flung Slammer off the side of the mountain before pinning his broken body under their devastating weight.

The shrill wail of alarms bounced chaotically through the Professor's ruined facility. Emergency teams were assembled to deal with the fallout of the battle. Outside, a tide of orange-jump suited men who were part of Weapon Nulls' medical retrieval unit sprinted across the tarmac, piling into the two remaining Blackhawks.

Inside the laboratory equally frenzied activity commenced. Technicians tried to restart Slammer's bio-monitoring systems. Until those were functioning they wouldn't know if the weapon was still alive. The lab was brimming with people running to get medical supplies, plasma, and any number of other odds and ends that would be needed to put the weapon back together.

All the king's horses, and all the king's men, Megan thought, feeling mildly hysterical as she helped string cables from the emergency generator to power the new mechanical devices that were appearing like mushrooms after a rain shower. A team of specialists put the final touches on the emergency operating room that had grown out of the ruins of the Professor's old domain while they waited for the retrieval team to return with their patient.

"Are the bio-monitors up?" The Matron asked. She stood in the center of the room, orchestrating the frantic activity, making split-second decisions and issuing orders in a cool, even tone.

"They're coming online now Ma'am." One of the orange clad techs said as he surveyed the screens. "He's alive! Unconscious, and he's lost a good deal of blood, but he's alive."

Just when the tension started to fade, and the activity picked up, the screen gave an ominous beep. "He's…gone." The tech breathed, confusion etched over his face. A second ago, Slammer had been gravely wounded but stable, now he was flat-lined.

"What!" The Matron demanded before storming over to the council to stare at the proof with her own eyes. "Damn it. Still, we will retrieve the body." She said with a heavy heart. Losing her men was the most difficult part of her job, and every loss was a personal failure.

The Director gave the image on the screen a dark smirk. "Sir, did you see that?" The Voice asked.

"I didn't see anything at all." He said blandly, ignoring the small flicker of shadow that had appeared over the mound where Slammer lay, along with the dark spray of arterial blood that bloomed before the shadow flickered out of existence.

IX slipped the blood slick blade back into its sheath, not taking the proper time to clean it before vanishing. He reappeared, perched on a rock outcropping a foot from X's slumped form. The sun had begun to sink below the rim of mountains, casting deep shadows over the hanging man when IX reached down to nestle his small hand in X's wiry hair. Closing his eyes, he focused and pulled. Instantly the two shadowy shapes disappeared.

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