Edited: 2/28/16

Chapter 9 – Interference

"A person who is too nice an observer of the business of the crowd, like one who is too curious in observing the labor of bees, will often be stung for his curiosity." – Alexander Pope

Cold granules of packed snow creaked when Thomas shifted his weight forward. He'd dropped to his belly to crawl into position under a winder capped bush. The booming chop of blades overhead alerted him to the helicopter that had appeared after blasts of heavy gunfire that had drawn him up the mountain ended in a roar of stone seconds before the Native topped the hill. Now the area was eerily calm except for the buzz of the helicopter tracking over the sky. The side door of the helicopter opened, revealing a black clad figure who appeared to be shining a flashlight out the opening. Thomas knew better, the man was using a laser to mark out a landing zone to guide in more aircrafts and personnel.

His dark gaze trailed over the large scar marring the side of the mountain, completely obliterating the old path up to the peak. A muffled curse was pulled from his throat when he saw a small shape clinging to the top of the swath of destruction. Shifting, he moved the Colt Commando off his shoulder, and he reached for the pouch at his hip. It didn't take long to fish out the binoculars he'd borrowed from the Librarian before setting out. Bringing them up, he focused on the distant shape. Thomas jerked the binoculars away and bit his tongue to keep from heaving up his dinner at the sight of the Wildman.

Still breathing heavily, Thomas's hands shook more than he cared to admit, but he forced himself to look again. The Wildman hung limp as death from the shattered rocks. Somehow, those terrible claws managed to anchor the body to the sheer cliff face. Shuddering, he trailed his gaze down the man's body, stopping when he came to the leg. Or what was left of it. From this distance, even with the help of the binoculars, it was difficult to understand what he was seeing, or maybe his mind didn't want to make sense of the image. It looked like the limb had been…de-fleshed, yet that was impossible wasn't it? Anything that could do that kind of damage would have blown the leg right off. It was difficult to see, but he thought there was something unusual about the bones. They shimmered in an unnatural way, reflecting the light. He remembered the bullet that had pealed back the Wildman's scalp, revealing the glint of silver instead of shattered white.

Gods of my fathers, he'll never survive a wound like that. Even as the thought filled his mind, Thomas's hand jerked again when an even smaller figure appeared, literally just appeared out of nowhere, standing on a small out crop just above the Wildman. It was a boy, a mere child crouched indifferently on the rocks before he reached forward and rested his hand against the Wildman's hair. Then, just as the boy had appeared, they both…vanished. "That's not possible!" Thomas shouted, feeling like he was losing his mind. Rubbing his eyes hard he looked again, no badly wounded Wildman, no boy, nothing at all. "Impossible," he muttered again, refusing to believe what he'd seen.

An animalistic howl of pain ricocheted off of the hard stone walls of the cave when the harsh jolt of being displaced woke X from his stupor. IX was slumped across his gore smeared chest, and wicked claws were halted an inch from the small weapon's neck by the slender blade that came up just in time to catch the larger weapon's downward stroke at the wrist.

"Be still," IX commanded while X's blood flowed freely onto his upturned face. His arm was twisted at an awkward angle to keep from being speared by X's savagery, but the smaller weapon's strength didn't falter. "Be still," IX repeated, the words were as remote as the winter wind, apathetic towards the wounded animal look in X's eyes that made the much larger male tremble with the need to attack. Twisting to free his other arm from where it was pinned beneath him, IX brought his hand up and swiped his fingers down X's face. The head turned fast as a striking serpent, but IX didn't flinch, even when teeth caught, and held his slender fingers in a tight but not crushing grip.

X's tongue flicked questioningly over the delicate digits before IX's scent broke through the killing haze his wounds had locked his mind in. The small hand remained passive in his grip, waiting with the patience of the moon for him to decide to accept or reject him. Shuddering, a softer keening sound was pulled from his barrel like chest as he nibbled the fingers in apology. Jade eyes watched X's form relax, coming down from the predatory high the fighting and wounds had forced on him. "Remain here, you will need sustenance to heal," he said indifferently, but the way IX absently stroked X's bottom lip as he spoke gave lie to the heartless tone.

After a long moment, the large male released his grip and lifted his wrist away from the cutting edge. One more wound among many. The screaming agony of his leg made X stifle another bellow when IX stood, and accidentally brushed against the raw bones now sheathed in a thin layer of vein and muscle. The safe confines of the cave, thick with IX's scent helped set X at ease, and the darkness of healing sleep pulled him down into its depths.

Gentle fingertips pressed against X's throat after he slumped into unconsciousness. Assured that the wounds hadn't killed the supposedly un-killable weapon, IX walked deeper into the cave. Once the shadows were thick enough, he turned and vanished. The jump was a short one, taking him into the woods not far from the mouth of the cave. Standing still as death, IX listened to the gentle murmur of the woods. In the distance he heard the crash of rock being excavated at the site of the battle, but that was unimportant. IX glided through the thick woods with the silent stride of a hunter seeking what X needed.

Moving wrath-like between the towering trunks, IX was reminded of his earliest training and how he'd hunted the shadow men. He recalled the subtle sound of weight shifting minutely from the branches, and the delicate fall of a foot when the shadow men vanished and reappeared. Those early lessons served him now as he listened for the soft crunch of hooves on snow. A squirrel chattered angrily at the stalking predator, alerting the forest to the fact that death hunted the woods. IX's lips twisted into the ghost of a snarl at the warning, but he didn't waste time killing such small game. No, X needed something more substantial than a few noisy squirrels.

There, the sound of antlers raking against the bark of a tree. Zeroing in on the noise, IX stalked through the underbrush. He moved like liquid past branches that tried to catch on his clothes and hair, but they never managed to touch him. The thick wall of green broke up, revealing a small clearing. A large buck stood majestically next to a massive oak His antlers tore at the tree with enough force to leave great gouges in the thick bark. IX's wrist flicked, the subtle movement so slight it went unnoticed by the great beast. Thunk! The small blade slammed into the buck's skull, just below the flicking left ear. His head jerked up, large velvety brown eyes went wide as he took two bounding leaps before his body gave out, sending the creature crashing to the ground in a heap of twitching limbs.

IX waited, the hint of impatience shining in his emerald gaze for the animal to stop moving before he stepped into the clearing. On feet as quiet as cat paws, IX padded over to the fallen deer before bending over and resting one small hand on the top of the creature's wide shoulder. Closing his eyes, he focused, pulling X along with him had been the first time IX had tried to bring something so large with him while he jumped, and the deer was massive as well. One breath, another, and they vanished.

A self-satisfied smirk danced along the Director's withered lips while he studied the copious amount of data flowing over his monitors like research gold. Resting his chin on his steepled fingers, he could not suppress the dark chuckle that tickled the back of his throat. His desk was clean of paperwork, the dark wood shined to a high gloss reflected his gloating features. The Director had forgotten how delicious it was to completely destroy an opponent. Weapon X had performed stunningly, slaughtering the Matron's monster and proving itself to be the superior weapon.

"Director? The Matron sent in her report. We received Major Swallow's as well," the Voice said, its mechanical tone breaking the Director's train of thought.

"Very good, and what does she have to report?"

"Slammer was terminated in the battle. The Matron is already getting the next member of her team prepped and ready. It is her intention to attack at dawn before the Weapon is fully recovered," the Voice replied.

"Clever, clever," came the Director's dark response. He would allow it. This was a perfect opportunity to gauge well the weapon's recovery time was between battles.

"She requests all of the usual support, control of our satellites, air support…"

The Director waved his hand. "Give her what she needs. Don't bother me with such trivialities. Now, what about Major Sallow's report?"

"It appears that there has been a starling new development. According to Major Sallow, a local was spotted near the scene of the altercation between Weapon X and Slammer. The man got away before the Major's men could intercept him."

"What do you mean a local? That facility was placed in the middle of nowhere for a reason. There shouldn't have been any towns near enough for locals to be involved."

"That isn't precisely the case. Prior to construction of the Professor's lab, as well as the dam, a routine security assessment of the region revealed two communities, about two miles apart, both located within fifty miles of the facility," the Voice reported.

"That's not possible. The facility was meant to be secret. In order to make that happen, the Government would have enacted eminent domain. The Department would have bought the land and evicted the people long before the facility was competed," the Director protested.

"Perhaps, but the communities are not documented. In essence, they are squatters who took the land for their own. There are no deeds, no censes records of the population, no ownership."

The Director paused, an incredulous look twisting his features. "You must be joking, what are they a fanatical cult or something?" he snorted.

"Both communities are made up of squatters, most of whom are in Canada illegally. The first started as a counterculture commune that migrated from California to escape drug charges. The second was a survivalist cult who'd fled into the wilderness when they predicted the end of the world was imminent twenty-two years ago. Reports show the two communities have merged into one. A small settlement of roughly one hundred individuals." The Voice stated while the monitor reconfigured to show a satellite image of a small township of rough wooden buildings situated around a well. "Forty-seven log cabins and three larger wooden structures make up the town."

The Director's fingers tapped against the polished surface of his desk. "I see. This isn't going to be a problem. In fact, it might present us with an opportunity."

"Director?" The Voice questioned.

"What we have here is a community of squatters. They are little more than antisocial misfits and miscreants who survive without electricity, running water, or other amenities of society. As a whole, they keep to themselves, are unemployed, and don't pay property or income taxes. They don't have credit cards or documentation." Again the dark grin flared across his lips. "In short, they don't exist."

Silence descended at the proclamation. "Sir, how precisely should we deal with people who do not exist?" The voice finally questioned.

"At this time we will do nothing. As long as they don't interfere or spy on our activities, I am content to let them be. But, if they do cause a nuisance of themselves, the whole town will have to be neutralized. The Weapon Null program can obliterate all traces of the town, or perhaps we will lose Weapon X on them. That might be quite interesting." Or perhaps this would be a good test for IX, the Director mused, returning his attention to the streams of data that flickered endlessly over the screen.

Dr. Vigil shuddered under the cold water cascading over her slim body. The autopsy, no it couldn't even be called that, the dissection of Slammer concluded half an hour ago. She scrubbed the dark splotches of blood, accented with swirls of oil, from her skin and wondered if she would ever feel clean again. For all the care and supposed affection the Matron professed to feel for her team, those feelings seemed to die with the team member's death.

They didn't just examine the body for means of death, no the Matron wanted to show off. Not only that, but the woman harvested parts of the dead soldier to be shipped back to her own lab for more in depth study. Megan still felt ill by the woman's excited tone when she pealed back the monstrosity's flesh and showed her how he'd been shaped and crafted. It was then Dr. Vigil understood that the Matron had no care for the men under her command. She saw them as things, as models she could shape for her own use, and when they were broken, they were reduced to nothing more than spare parts.

Finally, she could stand the cold water no longer, oh how she wished it was scalding hot. Much to her displeasure, the hot water was not functioning and wouldn't be any time soon. Megan dried herself, rubbing harshly at her cold pebbled skin as if the sting of the cloth might ease her disgust over helping that woman. She'd just finished dressing when her phone went off.

"This is Dr. Vigil," she said, proud that her voice didn't shake.

Without pausing for small talk, the Matron stated, "operation Blowtorch has been cleared for activation. Have you read the file? If not, I will brief you when you arrive. I'm afraid that we will begin activation in less than three hours. If you wish to be present for the entire opperat-"

"I require very little sleep Matron, when would you like me to come down?" Megan interrupted. After her new visual optics were installed, she'd found that she only needed two hours of sleep for every thirty while they recharged. When the recharging phase was finished, her brain switched back on with the optics.

"Be here at oh-five-hundred," came the Matron's curt response before the line went dead. Sighing, Megan reached for the stack of files before letting her hand drop. She had no interest in reading about another one of the Matron's projects, not now. In a short time, she would see another of the Matron's men, her creations, prepped and sent out to be slaughtered.

IX stumbled and fell to one knee after he reappeared at the back of the cave. Carrying objects that weighted many times more than himself while he shadow jumped was more of a strain than the young Weapon realized. Soft gasping breaths escaped him, and he fought the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. A low questioning growl rumbled from the other side of the cave. "I'm fine, wait there. I will bring the food to you." IX replied, his voice rasping as he sat down hard. I will need to practice jumping with weights. This weakness is unacceptable, IX thought before sliding a long blade out of the sheath at his hip.

The past few days taught IX how to deal with crafting meals out of raw flesh, but none of that experience prepared him for the daunting task of dismantling an entire deer on his own. The short Weapon didn't hesitate. The knife sank into the dead flesh as easily as it did the living, and he began skinning the animal's haunches. Working with care, he cut large shanks of meat free. He ignored the thick blood that stained his hands and clothes, it could be tended to later. When IX had a sizable portion, he stood and carried the bloody offering to where X lay near the crackling fire. Cool jade eyes took in the sight of the leg, now thick with muscle but still unsheathed by skin. It was a gruesome sight, one that would cause many a man to be violently ill, but IX just studied the healing and nodded before handing over the large chunks of meat.

X fell on the raw flesh like a half starved beast, tearing into the offering with a voraciousness that told IX the meat he'd brought wouldn't last long. Returning to the carcass, IX continued his rather terrible attempt at butchery. It took five more trips to strip most of the easily accessible flesh from the beast and still X feasted. Digging deeper into the body, IX removed the heart, liver, and kidneys. The organs were high in protein as well as copper. X would need all he could get to recover from the devastating wounds in preparation of the battles to come.

Returning to X, he presented the large male with each organ and watched while they were devoured. When they were gone, IX started to stand to retrieve more sustenance, but a large hand caught his wrist and pulled him forward. A low satisfied rumble vibrated X's chest, his belly distended with the huge meal, and the pain in his leg beginning to fade, he tugged his mate closer. Pulling the blood soaked hands close, X's tongue darted out, bathing the skin clean while relishing the taste of his little mate flavored by the blood of the kill.

Calmly, IX indulged X in this and allowed the male to tend to his hands. When he was finished, X pulled him close against his chest and was again overcome with the need for sleep.

There is a settlement located near your position, observe its inhabitants and the layout, be familiar with it. Do not allow them to see you. The next field test for Weapon X will be at 0600, finish your observations before then.

The Director's voice whispered in his mind causing IX shifted in X's grip. The thick arm tightened around him, and IX waited until it went limp again before easing out of the cradle of X's arms. "Yes, sir," he murmured quietly to keep from disturbing the sleeping male. IX recalled the small grouping of buildings they'd passed though when they first abandoned the lab and figured that was the area he was to scout. The fire had burned down to mere glowing embers, leaving most of the cave in darkness. Twisting, IX vanished into the night.

"Who goes there?" A voice barked. The tiny blade that bloomed in IX hand nearly silenced the large man forever when another voice answered.

"It's just me dumb ass, get that light out of my face won't you?" Thomas snapped when Jerry flashed the beam of his flashlight directly in his eyes. Neither man noticed the small shadow hidden among the deeper shadows of the tree line. "Where's your better half?" Thomas asked. It had taken him until well past night fall to make it back to the settlement. Those damned orange suits spotted him when he tried to sneak away after he watched them digging out the corpse of a God forsakenly large man from the rubble. It took some doing, and more than a bit of cat and mouse play to escape, but Thomas managed to give them the slip. He had to hide out in the hollow under a log for a few hours, but whoever those men were, they weren't good news and being caught by them wouldn't have ended well.

Stepping out from behind Old Hermit's shack, his worn sealskin jacket buttoned tightly over his large belly, Ben, bald, bearded and armed with a bear rifle joined Jerry.

"Jesus Ben, what do you think you're going to shoot with that thing?" Thomas asked.

"Librarian said you ran into a wild man, coulda bin a Sasquatch" Ben grunted as he gave the surrounding woods a hard stare with his dark beady eyes.

"The wild man is not a Sasquatch," Thomas replied, rolling his eyes. Leave it to these idiots to jump to such a conclusion. "He was just some crazy old hermit, probably passing through," he lied, no need to give these two more ammunition. There was no way they would survive against the Wildman.

"What was all that shooting about?" A nasally voice cut the darkness. Thomas sighed when Marten stepped off the Old Hermit's porch to join them.

"Don't know much more than you. The shooting was done by the time I got up there. An avalanche took out a good chunk of the trail, and there were helicopters buzzing around. Looking for lost hikers or the like would be my guess," Thomas said, mingling the truth with lies. Those choppers were looking for something all right, and they found it. Only it wasn't some helpless hiker, or lost motorist. It was some sort of deformed giant who was quite dead. But, a conspiracy theorist like Martin needed to know that about as much as Tom and Jerry needed to know about the Wildman.

Light flooded the area when Martin turned on his lantern. IX backed deeper into the shadows of the trees as he watched the men interact. The movement went unnoticed while Martin's suspicious gaze locked on Thomas. "What's that? Oh my God! You have a machine gun? How could you bring something like that here?" he demanded his voice reaching a shrillness that made Thomas grit his teeth against the desire to smack the man.

Ben and Jerry both stepped back. "What I'm packing's none of your business." Thomas replied, his dark eyes locking on Martin. "I have a right to bear arms-"

"In case you're forgetting, this isn't the United States Army boy" Marin said snidely. "Machine guns aren't legal in Canada."

"Actually, it isn't really a machine gun…it's more of an automatic-" Jerry started to say before Martin interrupted.

"It doesn't matter! It is military stuff, that's what it is. Guns manufactured by war machines for the sake of killing other human beings." Turning on his heel, the short man shook his finger in Thomas's face. "Guns like that, and the killers who use them, bring nothing but trouble," he hissed. Snorting, Thomas shoved past Martin and stormed into his cabin, slamming his door in the other man's face. "You're nothing but trouble Thomas Swimming Horse! You and your gun, you'll bring war here!" Martin shouted at the closed door.

IX watched the drama unfold as he studied the men and the level of threat they posed. He recognized the Native as the same one who'd shot X. The taunt of Army Boy lead the short Weapon to believe Thomas had military experience. The other two men were large, and armed, but would still be easy to take down by surprise. The last one screamed civilian, he wouldn't be trouble. Once the soldier retreated, the civilian roused the rest of the small township and called a meeting in the large central building.

Waiting until the meeting was well underway, IX began his reconnaissance mission. It took less than half an hour for him to map out the town and familiarize himself with its layout. The meeting was still going strong, and he listened at one of the windows for a few minutes before turning away. Apparently they were fighting about whether or not to banish Thomas for bringing military weapons into the community. Foolish of them, IX thought. Banishing one's protectors was not a logical course to take if the group wished to survive. Not that Thomas would be enough of a deterrent to protect them if the Director decided they required more than mere observation.

His task compete, IX returned to the cave.

"It's unfortunate that the glitch in your bionics doesn't permit you to see this Dr. Vigil," the Matron's condescending voice made Megan want to scowl, but she forced a pleasant smile to remain on her features. "Blowtorch has washed the entire western side of the mountain in flames in just under three minutes," she continued oblivious to Megan's ire. Her gaze locked on the monitors showing the satellite feed of the battle site.

"I thought we were trying to avoid a forest fire. After all, that is government land." Megan said, observing the rest of the people in the room. Everyone's gaze, from the Matron down to the orange clad techs, was fixated on what the monitors had to show.

"Not to worry Doctor. Blowtorch is merely putting on a show to flush out Weapon X. I assure you that he is not going to burn down half of the Canadian wilderness," the Matron said, her tone smug while she waited for the questions that would permit her to flaunt the glory of her creation.

Corporal MacKenzie, the only regular Canadian official to remain after the troops were recalled, obliged her. He stood in the typical stance of the Military. His back ramrod straight, and his hands behind his back when he spoke. "Begging your pardon ma'am, but it looks like he's going to burn it all down."

"And that's where you're mistaken Corporal. You see, Blowtorch is able to do more than create fire, he is able to control it. Should he choose to do so, he can extinguish the flames in seconds. Power without control is less than useless, it's dangerous. Just look at Weapon X. The Professor created an awesome weapon, upon that we can all agree, but he couldn't control it, and in turn it destroyed him," she replied.

"How does he do it? Control the fires I mean," the Corporal asked.

"As a soldier, I'm sure you're familiar with napalm, its components and how it functions?" she inquired.

"Yes ma'am. Napalm is a petroleum-based jelly that is highly flammable. By placing this jelly into bombs the napalm is dispersed over a large area and clings to anything it touches. Because it is nearly impossible to extinguish, it creates the maximum amount of damage possible," the man responded, giving a perfect textbook answer.

"Correct. The difference between such incendiary devices and Blowtorch is that he does not use jelly or liquid to create his fires. Instead he utilizes a highly flammable methane gas manufactured in three auxiliary stomachs." She paused when it appeared that the Corporal had a question but didn't want to interrupt.

"Three stomachs, ma'am?"

"Indeed, Blowtorch actually has four stomachs. The first is, of course, the one he uses normally. The other three were harvested from Angus bulls and grafted onto his lungs, of which he also has four." The soldier gave her a surprised look, as if he wasn't quite sure he believed her.

"And these…extras…somehow produce fire?" He asked hesitantly.

"The lungs are only there to provide propulsion. It is in the stomachs where the flammable gas is produced via methanogenesis, which is the formation of methane by microbe organisms. So, the gas is produced in the stomachs, which then fills the lungs and is expelled through his mouth on a jet of pure oxygen processed in his lungs." She paused again to see if he was still following, when he remained silent she continued. "Because of the extra organs, Blowtorch's ribcage was severed and strips of expandable material was used to reconnect them. This gives him enough room to expand when he fills all of his lungs at once. These alterations permit his chest to expand ten times its normal size."

"How do the gasses ignite?"

"There are a series of mandibles, much like those found in a crab's mouth, located in Blowtorch's throat. When they click together, it creates a spark and when Blowtorch exhales he literally breathes fire," she finished.

"That must make talking difficult," the Coronal said, his gaze turning thoughtful as he studied the man on the monitor.

"True, Blowtorch is mute. During a United Nations mission in Africa, his larynx was shattered by a mortar shell."

"How does he keep from blowing himself up?" he asked.

Stepping forward, Megan answered, "It's because of his sweat. Blowtorch actually produces a substance in his sweat glands that retards flame."

"All right, so how does he put the fires out then?" He questioned, not seeing how sweat would extinguish the massive fires that now filled the screen.

"On Blowtorch's back there are a number of bony projections as well as three such projections rising up off his shoulders. The ones along his spine collect various gasses and components from the atmosphere. While he can produce flammable gas in his stomachs, he is also able to stoke the blaze to greater heights using pure oxygen form those spines, or snuff them out using pure nitrogen, the same way a fire extinguisher does," the Matron explained.

Taking a breath, the Coronal said softly "this Blowtorch is surly a frightful creation." The Matron beamed, not noticing that the words weren't meant as a compliment.

Before any further explanations could be given one of the tech's cry pulled all of their attention back to the action. "Matron! Look at the screen, Weapon X is approaching the battle zone."

"All right everyone, I want all personnel to report to their stations. Get as many satellites over that area as possible, we aren't going to miss anything this time." The scathing tone made everyone jump to do her bidding. "We'll see who wins this round," she said, her face tight with anger when she remembered the autopsy. Something unusual was going on. Something didn't make sense, and she'd be damned if she'd lose another weapon without knowing the reason why.

Slammer died of a single blade thrust to the throat. The wound was one that could have been caused by Weapon X she admitted grudgingly, but how? The last image relayed of the battle before Slammer was buried had been of Weapon X hanging from the cliff, his leg a mangled ruin. So how the hell did the beast not only get down from the cliff, but find Slammer in the rubble and stab him just once before her men arrived? It was too precise a strike for a mindless killer beast. This time she wasn't going to rely just on the visuals provided by Blowtorch, no she was going to have eyes all over that hilltop.

The meeting broke up an hour before dawn. Thomas groaned when someone pounded on the door. The racket of the meeting had kept him up most of the night, and because it was about him he wasn't permitted to attend. But that didn't stop him from being kept awake by the loud voices since his cabin was close to the main building. He hadn't been able to make out what they were saying, but the shouts were loud enough to keep him from sleep. Not long ago there had been a large number of yeas shouted, and not too many nays.

With a grudging sigh, he pulled himself out of bed and went to confront the pack of fools. A hiss slid from his lips when his feet fell on the icy floor. Thomas grumbled, tugging on his jeans and an old sweater that might have been black at one point, but now was just a faded grey. Dressed, he opened the door and gave the group standing outside his home a cold look.

Thomas held his ground, though he wanted to step back in surprise at the sight. Nearly a third of the town stood outside his door, over forty people in all. The Librarian, the town drunk Old Herman, the mayor of the town, Waldo, who was the other town drunk, and leading the pack was Martin the Zen Naturalist.

"What can I do for you folks?" Thomas asked, forcing his voice to remain pleasantly unconcerned.

"You know what you can do for us Swimming Horse? Get out of our town, and take your interments of death with you!" Martin snapped.

"I beg your pardon?" Thomas stared at the short man, whose chest was puffed up with righteousness.

"You heard me, you broke town law by bringing weapons not used for hunting here. The citizens of Second Chance had a vote, and you've been banished, you've got until sunset to get out." Martin said, his blue eyes flashed with high-handed glee as he spoke.

Stepping down onto the frozen ground, the ice burned the soles of his feet, but Thomas ignored the aching pain while he closed the distance between him and Martin. "You didn't come prepared."

"What do you mean we didn't come prepared?" Martin demanded.

"Shouldn't you have pitchforks, torches? No self respecting mob can run the monster out of town without the proper equipment. It's just not good form you know."

The Librarian chuckled, then ducked his head. Thomas's eyes flicked towards the old man, hurt flashed in the chocolate orbs when the Librarian glanced away, showing how his vote went.

"We aren't a mob! We just voted you out, that's all." Martin said sullenly.

"And that vote was unanimous was it?" Thomas shot back.

"It doesn't matter if it wasn't." Martian hissed like an agitated cat. "This town is majority rule, and the majority wants you gone."

"Sounds like mob rule to me." Thomas replied before squaring his shoulders. "I'm not leaving. I haven't done anything wrong, and this is my home too."

Martin's face darkened to an ugly shade of red. "Now don't you be difficult Swimming Horse, you aren't the only one with a gun around here!" Turning to Ben and Jerry he snapped. "Tell him! Tell him what will happen if he doesn't do what we say."

Shuffling his feet, Jerry looked away. Ben stepped forward. "Look, it's nothing personal man but bringing an automatic weapon here that just wasn't cool, you know man? You're scaring folks and breaking the rules, even the doomsday guys don't pack combat weapons."

"Maybe they should." Thomas stated, shifting his weight. His feet were sending sharp stabs of pain up his legs from the cold. "Something's going on up the mountain, something bad, and this is just the begi-"

His words were cut off by a woman screaming as she pointed towards the mountain. The crowd turned as one and saw brilliant flames licking across the top of the mountain. As if it was a sign of doom from the old Gods, the crowd panicked and with screams, shouts and curses they fled to the uncertain safety of their homes. Thomas stepped back into his home too, but not to hide. Instead he put on a thick pair of socks, slipped into his heavy boots and threw on his parka before heading back out. The gun that had started the debate of his exile cradled in his arms.

IX faded back into the shadows. It had been effortless to blend into the crowd of riled town folk to observe the proceedings. They were too focused on Thomas to notice the slight boy in their midst. Jade eyes shifted towards the mountain before he vanished back to the cave to inform X that the next test had begun.

Shifting his backpack of supplies higher up on his shoulder, Thomas stepped out of his cabin again. He studied the orange flames that washed across the top of the mountain before they reseeded like the waves of the ocean. He was certain that the behavior was unnatural for fire, and he was sure it had something to do with the Wildman.

"Heya Tommy-boy, where you going?" The Librarian's gruff voice halted his steps.

"I'm going up the mountain." Thomas said. "Going to find out what's happening, someone needs to and it might as well be me."

Face pale, the old man glanced at the mountain before looking away. "Look Thomas, the fire is contained, it isn't spreading. We're safe down here, you don't have to go up there." he tried to reason with the stubborn native.

"Fires spread, Librarian."

"Tommy-Boy, we don't need that kind of trouble, don't bring it down on our heads." the Librarian pleaded.

Ignoring the old man, Thomas took off at a run. It didn't take long for him to reach the edge of town and to begin the trek up the mountain.

When IX appeared, X pounced. X barely felt the knife that slammed between his ribs as he growled and sank his teeth into IX's shoulder. The familiar pain of X's teeth kept IX from twisting the blade and shredding the larger weapons heart. Not that it would kill him, but it would take him a few minutes to recover, and they didn't have time to spare. His own curiosity about how the town would vote kept him longer than he anticipated, and now they were late.

Sliding the blade from X's flesh, IX's eyes slid shut while X's tongue bathed the new mark gently in both apology for overacting, and forgiveness for IX's strike. "Enough," IX said, even as his muscles relaxed under the attention. "It is time for the next test. Your target is located on the plateau. Destroy it," IX ordered. With a soft rumble, and one last swipe of his tongue over the deep bite mark, X leapt to his feet, his leg once again whole.

IX stood and cleaned the blade before he re-sheathed it. Turning on his heel he vanished, leaving X to find his own way to the prey. Bright flames licked over the mountain, and IX was forced to put a shield up to remain close enough to properly observe the battle without burning. It didn't take long for X appear.

Loping through the woods, X followed the stench of burning pines and fretted. Waking up alone had been maddening, and worry kept him restlessly pacing the cave while he waited for IX to reappear. It had only taken a few steps out of the cave to know that wasn't the way IX left, and without a scent trail to follow, IX was impossible to track. So he'd been forced to wait. Now, the sight of the brilliant fire made his lips peal back in a sharp snarl. What if IX was caught in the flames during the battle? End the fight quickly, the strange voice caused X to halt in his tracks. His head cocked to the side while he probed his own mind, trying to understand, to ferret out the source of the unnatural thoughts. But it was gone, leaving nothing but the sense of urgency to end the battle swiftly in its wake.

IX studied the fat little man while he waited for X to arrive. It was a curious creature that stood in a pair of tight black shorts made of a fire-proof material and a pair of dark ill fitting boots made of the same. Not a hair grew from his bulbous white flesh and ample love handles hung in folds over the shorts. His skin glistened as if he'd been rubbed down with oil, and IX's fingers itched for a blade when the male inhaled, and inhaled, and inhaled. His pudgy body grew grotesquely large, and the bony projectiles that lined his back looked like the spines of a puffer fish when he inflated. Flames shot out of his mouth with his exhale in a long blazing stream.

X darted around the trees towards the scorching heat. Growling, he scrambled up to the top of a small mound of rocks. The stench of burning things covered any scent IX would have left behind, and that further agitated the large weapon. He didn't know where his mate was, so he couldn't ensure the flames were not shot in that direction.

Whisky colored eyes locked on the strange looking man, and X's nose wrinkled in disgust at the chemical smell the man gave off. Shink! His blades slid out, and just before he leapt to end the threat, the man turned. X cocked his head when the tiny man began to expand to an alarming degree. The fat man's eyes bulged, and his cheeks burned a bright red while he inhaled. The strange sight threw him off just enough for Blowtorch to strike. A stream of fire crashed into X's chest with enough heat to shatter the tumble of rocks he stood on and sent him careening off the edge of the plateau.

Waddling over to the edge, Blowtorch peered over and saw the scorch marks. A steaming the hole in the snow bank marked the landing place of his prey. Grinning, the man inhaled again before opening his mouth wide to vomit out another blazing stream of fire. Steam exploded around him after the snow bank was incinerated. Finally letting up, Blowtorch stared down at the burnt and shattered ground, frowning when no shining skeleton met his questing gaze.

Scrambling through the super heated steam, X groped blindly until he reached a corps of pine trees. Swiftly he dug under the low hanging branches to hide, and rubbed harshly at his eyes. The right one opened with a sick tearing sound, but the left remained fused shut from the blistering heat. Every breath was agony to his scorched lungs, but he ignored it in favor of scanning the cliff edge for his attacker. Nothing, just the windswept edge and the wailing wind that was not the same as the keening howl of air being sucked into the fat man. Again, he tried to open his eyes. The left snapped open, but his vision remained foggy.

The sound of crunching footsteps alerted X to his enemy's position, but before he could take advantage of the information another wave of fire crashed into his position causing the tree he'd been sheltering under to explode in a flash of brilliant yellow. Leaping to the side, X was pelted with burning remains, and shards of wood lodged into his flesh like knives. Grunting, he took off over the icy terrain while blazing balls of hungry flames chased after him like machine gun fire. They hissed furiously when they struck snow and exploded in angry shards of super heated stone when they found solid ground.

Rabbit-like, X darted left and right to outrun the endless blasts until the ground came to an abrupt end. Without hesitation, X flung himself over the cliff edge. He twisted lithely, and sank his claws into the sheer rock face and was almost pulled free by the force of his momentum. Heavy muscles bunching, he began clawing along the side of the cliff like a spider. The roar of the weapon's inhalation reached X, and a waterfall of flame cascaded over the edge of the cliff, scorching the rock and causing great gouts of steam to burn over his flesh when the snow exploded under the blazing heat. Ignoring the agony, X swung from one claw and narrowly missed being engulfed by the attack. Claws held as he began moving again, until he was in a position behind his attacker.

Another blast of flaming gasses rolled over the cliff edge, and X leapt onto the plateau and dove behind a tall stand of towering oaks. The tree! The strange voice roared in his mind and X reacted. Adamantium claws slashed through the massive oak as if it was a sapling, and the enormous tree separated with a loud snap before falling straight towards the fat, fire-breathing menace.

The crashing sound alerted Blowtorch to the danger. With startling grace, the fat man whipped around and belched out a massive ball of fire. The giant oak exploded like a stick of dynamite. The concussion smashed into X, and he threw up his arms to protect his face from the jagged spears of flaming wood that rained over him. A blast of agonizing flame slammed into his chest, throwing him backwards and exposing him to the Blowtorch's attention.

The force of the jet of fire sent X careening down into a shallow ravine while the remains of the oak tree continued to rain from the sky. Blood poured from hundreds of wounds when he finally crashed to a halt, his legs pinned by the crushing weight of the shattered trunk. Every breath wheezed from his scorched lungs, and X tasted the thick clots of blood lining his throat when he tried to cough. While he fought to clear his lungs, the fat man dashed forward. A triumphant crooked grin curled his lips as he stood before the fallen weapon.

X snarled, flashing teeth stained black with blood, at Blowtorch when the fat man's lips spread wide. He began to inhale with enough force to cause X's ears to pop under the force. The man's bulging eyes locked on Weapon X, and he trusted his face forward to spit a steady stream of fire over the pinned man.

Blue flames licked over X's body like a lover, and agony roared through him when his flesh was incinerated by the enormous heat. Cells boiled, muscle melted away and organs exploded only to grow anew when his phenomenal metabolism increased to compensate for the massive destruction. Finally the physical damage reached an unknown tipping point, and the regenerative powers hit critical mass. His flesh vanished, only to reappear phoenix-like and vanish again, over and over.

As his flesh disintegrated and reappeared only one thing remained constant, the searing mindless torment. X's mouth opened wide, but the endless flames devoured his tongue before he could scream. Still his mouth stretched wide and an unearthly howl of anguish was ripped from the depths of his being. The tortured howls resounded over the blackened mountain top and drifted down to the small town like the wailing of a banshee.

The grip IX had on his knife was so tight his bones ached with it when the screams tore through his heart. Orders kept his muscles locked in place. He was not permitted to interfere, and nothing could override that, but the sound clawed at his mind and made something in him thrashed against the chains that held him back. The fire seemed endless as blazing green eyes watched. Each halting breath made his slender body vibrate with the force of holding himself back.

Subtle movement, even with his entire being focused on X, the shifting of shadows where movement shouldn't be tore IX's gaze away from the bitter sight to lock on the form of someone moving in the underbrush. He watched the figure get into position, and continued watching when it brought up the gun and aimed it at the fire breathing weapon. I am not permitted to interfere directly, but…I am not required to keep anyone else from doing so, IX thought, and deliberately ignored the shape, doing nothing to stop what was about to occur.

Reaching the summit was more difficult than Thomas imagined. The avalanche obliterated the old trail, and he'd been forced to find a new way up. More than once, he had to turn back when he came to a dead end. At one point he'd scaled a twenty foot stretch of sheer cliff face without the proper equipment, but he made it back to the old trail above the area of destruction.

The fires continued roaring overhead, and when he reached the top of the mountain, Thomas saw a large oak begin to fall only to explode into a million pieces. Cursing a blue streak, he dove for cover. Choking on smoke, Thomas stood and scrambled up the last part of the trail before stopping dead in his tracks. He flicked the safety off the Cult Commando and stared incredulously at the unbelievable sight. Blinking hard, he frowned when the vision remained the same. A short fat man in swimming shorts breathing fire at a log.

Then the high wail of a human screaming cut his heart, and he saw it wasn't a log the fat man was burning.

The Wildman.

His eyes darkened as he watched the Wildman's flesh blacken while he writhed with the agony of the damned. There was no reason for Thomas to take a side in this fight. He had no notion of who was in the right and who was wrong; hell he didn't even know what was going on. What he did know was that one man was hurting another, and he reacted out of instinct.

Shifting into a better position, Thomas lined up the shot. The fat fire-breathing monstrosity didn't notice; he was too intent on his victim. The first shot tore a large chunk of flesh out of the fat man's neck, sending a splash of crimson down the flabby white skin. With a hiccupping gurgle, the gout of fire sputtered. The second slammed into the man's chest. Like a small bomb, the fat man erupted in a massive explosion of flesh and blood.

The blast roared around the clearing, and the shock wave crushed Thomas, tumbling him into a tree. Darkness devoured his senses, and Thomas slumped, unconscious, to the ground.

The blast shook the plateau, flattening trees and sending snow and shattered chunks of flesh skyward to fall in a gore soaked rain. As the deafening sound faded, the wild winds stilled. Two fat legs wobbled at the center of the blast radius before they toppled over, the ends still smoldering.

A loud roar shattered the silence when large muscular arms broke through the debris. Straining, he pulled himself free and gave the smoking limbs a dismissive snort as he drank in the fresh air. Shifting through the scents, he still couldn't find IX's and he hoped the small weapon survived the blast. A familiar scent caught his attention, and X followed it.

A soft clicking noise caught X's attention and he turned. His lips curled into a snarl of disgust at the sight of the fat man's head and upper torso sprawled on the ground. Somehow, the head was still alive, his grey eyes open wide and flicking from side to side as his mouth opened and closed spasmodically. The clicking nose was coming from the man's throat, and X saw the strange claws glinting, revealed by the bullet hole in his throat. Another savage snarl curled his lips and X lashed out. His claws came down in an unforgiving arch, severing the man's head in two.

Turning, X heard a low moan. It didn't take long for him to find the hunter sprawled in a shallow depression. His parka was shredded, but the remains of his backpack clung stubbornly to his limp shoulders. Crouching down, he studied the unconscious male.

IX appeared next to him, and X slashed at the smaller male. IX vanished, leaving the blades to pass through empty air. Reappearing on the other side of the fallen hunter, IX bent down. A blade glittered in his palm when the knife descended. He would give the hunter a clean death. He owed him that much for saving X when he hadn't been able to.

The hunter saved us. Growling in annoyance, X's hand snapped out and caught IX delicate wrist before he could finish the downward stroke. Sharp green eyes darted up to lock on whisky brown. A low rumbling growl vibrated form X's lips, and IX's own curved down when he studied the larger weapon and realized that X would fight him on this if he pushed.

Twisting his wrist, IX broke X's grip. But, instead of attacking again, he stood. "Do as you wish with him then," he said, his voice as bland as always before he turned on his heel and vanished. Huffing at his mate's antics, X turned again to the hunter. The man moaned, and his eyes slid open sluggishly before falling shut again.

Huffing, X slipped his arms under the injured man and lifted him. A small sound of pain met the action and X gave a small rumbling growl that attempted to be reassuring before he set off towards the cave and his waiting mate.

I would like to thank everyone who reviewed, alerted, and added this story to their favorites. I'm so glad everyone likes it so far!