Edited: 2/28/16

Chapter 10 – Expendable

"They wanted to serve their country, become heroes, see the world. But they were expendable, discarded like broken toys." – Mark Piotrowski

"Perhaps it was for the best that the civilian interfered," the Voice soothed. "The man saved Weapon X from destruction after all." A low snort met the pacifying remark.

Keys clattered as the Director pulled up the desired data. "Don't be foolish, as you can see from the biological monitors, Weapon X's metabolism is well beyond anything we've ever encountered. It was adapting. Prior tests showed that its healing factor took time, yes much shorter time than an average human," the word average was sneered, "but it still took time. Anywhere from seconds to hours depending on the degree of damage inflicted upon it. As we know, no damage done to it during the testing phase proved fatal, but grievous wounds still put it out of commission for the amount of time needed for them to heal."

Steepling his fingers, the Director's hawk like gaze rested on the footage of the flesh being incinerated from adamantium bones only to reappear an instant later. "The fire wasn't destroying it, but forging X into an even stronger Weapon. Had the foolish civilian not interfered, Weapon X would have overcome the effects of that over grown lighter and easily defeated it."

"What of the civilian?"

The Director scoffed. "There's no way the Good Samaritan survived his heroism," he said scathingly, a dark grin twisting his features. "Not at ground zero. The remains would have been difficult to locate with bits of Blowtorch scattered liberally over the area." His smile faded into a contemplative look as he brought up schematics on the troublesome little town.

"The civilians have seen too much, and meddled one too many times. It's time to isolate the population until they can be dealt with. They've witnessed more than they should, and if they choose to flee, who knows what damage they could cause spreading tales," the Director decided, reviewing the satellite images.

"What should be done?" the Voice asked.

"Here," the Director marked a point on the map. "This is the only trail that leads into or out of the valley the town is situated in. The trail passes through this narrow canyon. Inform Major Sallow to dynamite the passage at this point, sealing off the town until we've finished the field tests."

"Won't the population be suspicious?"

"No, there is a storm coming. Have the Major make it look like an avalanche took out the pass," he decided before turning his attention back to the field reports.

Cold emerald eyes studied the mouth of the cave when the large shadow shifted its burden before entering. While waiting for X to return, IX had cleared out the remains of the deer from their cave after carving off a few remaining scraps of meat to roast over the newly rekindled fire. A low groan came from the hunter when X set him gingerly onto the pallet of deer hide that made up their sleeping place. Warm firelight danced hypnotically over stone walls as the scent of cooking meat filled the small confines of the cave.

The civilian wasn't a threat in the state he was in, not that he ever presented much of a threat. As grievously wounded as he was, IX was content to ignore him along with the large weapon. His apparent inattention was proved false when X casually stripped the bag from the Native and tossed it to the smaller male, who snatched it out of the air without bothering to glance up. Sifting through the contents of the sack revealed a number of MREs, and IX tore open a packet of beef stew before drinking down the flavorless contents of the Meal Ready to Eat.

Whisky colored eyes locked on the smooth column of IX's pale throat, and he couldn't suppress the low rumble of desire that trickled from his lips. Finishing the MRE, IX gave his fellow weapon a glance, before tossing him two of the packets. Sitting back on his haunches, X followed the short male's lead and tore open a pack before drinking down the sludge in one long swallow. His nose wrinkled in disgust, but one searing look from IX caused him to dutifully eat the second.

The snack finished, X turned again to the unconscious hunter. With gruff gentleness, he stripped the shredded parka from Thomas before removing a thick well-worn sweater and drab grey undershirt, revealing the wound that caused the heavy blood scent in the air. Lodged in Thomas's ribcage was a nine inch splinter of wood. Primitive thoughts of weakened prey lurked in his mind but under those currents the other stirred. Not prey, not food, friend…ally…pack. The sluggish words twisted through, him along with the strong pulse of protectiveness that had first caused him to halt IX's attack.

A low growl curled his lips as he studied the wounded hunter. X didn't know how to fix such terrible wounds. Shifting on the balls of his feet, he tried to prod the other in his mind for the answer, sensing on some level that it would know what to do. IX, the voice breathed through his mind, tired, fading now that there wasn't a threat to keep it anchored.

Turning, X locked eyes with the slight male half hidden in the shifting shadows cast by the fire. Chips of perfect jade studied him and X gave a soft whine, causing the eyes to narrow. Even with weaker senses, IX was too familiar with the sharp metallic tang of blood to mistake it for anything else. He didn't need to see the wound to know that if left untreated the hunter would bleed out. That would solve the problem of the interloper who had interfered, but another plaintive whine forced IX reluctantly to his feet. He owed the man a debt for his actions in defending X when he hadn't been permitted to do so.

This is a mistake, he should have been terminated the moment he set foot on the field of battle, the programmed obedience made IX's steps falter in their smooth glide. IX was obedient to his Wielder in all things, but a new loyalty whispered seductively though his mind. The order was to observe, not to interfere, you were not ordered to report upon the activities of non-combatants, you were only to observe and report on the field testing of Weapon X. Your objective was fulfilled, new orders have not been issued. The logic for this borderline insubordination was flawless. Should his Wielder request information on the hunter, it would be freely given, and should he be requested to terminate the hunter's life, then it would be done. But…he didn't have to volunteer information.

The harsh leash of obedience satisfied, IX stalked forward silent as a shadow, before kneeling by the much larger weapon. X gave a soft rumble of satisfaction, and bent to nuzzle IX's neck, not biting, just taking in his tiny mate's unique scent. Without thought, IX's head tilted, exposing more of his throat to X while his cold gaze studied the deep wound. Lips, and the slightest edge of teeth scraped along the soft skin, and goose bumps rose along IX's arms, but his scent remained painfully indifferent to the touch.

The lack of arousal kept X's burning hunger leashed, but left the large weapon aching with desire. "I need to focus if your objective is to keep this one alive." The apathetic words reminded X the hunter's life was still in the balance, and IX had little interest in maintaining it. X huffed, and sat back on his heels before nudging IX forward with one large hand. A ghost of a frown, or perhaps just the uncertain light, touched the marble like features. IX turned back to the dying human.

Leaning forward, IX placed his delicate hands on the native's chest, close but not quite touching the stake. A deep rumble of displeasure sounded at his back, and IX's head tilted without turning to look at the agitated weapon. "Shall I let him die then?" He could hear X shift behind him, but there was no further protests when he returned his full attention to the unconscious man.

Sharp green eyes narrowed when IX brought the full force of his conscious down onto the wound. Healing others was difficult, not like healing himself. Somehow, the power healed his own injuries without his conscious effort. IX found through trial and error that he could heal others, but if his attention waivered before the task was done, things could become much worse for the subject of his focus. His power was like a laser. While he focused, it remained a perfect beam of pure energy that could repair even grievous wounds, but if his focus slipped the beam expanded leaving devastation in its wake.

The world fell away while IX's focus narrowed down to the long shard of wood, and the body it impaled. With the iron clad will of a master surgeon, IX drove his power into the body beneath his hands. Magic melted into the flesh before pooling beneath the point of the stake lodged deep in the left lung of the hunter. With slow meditative breaths, IX directed the power to begin healing, and another tendril of pure energy nudged the tip of the stake. Centimeter by bloody centimeter, the wood was pushed out of the flesh from within as the wound healed in the wake of its departure.

Time became a meaningless thing while IX continued the delicate task of mending organ, arteries, vessels, muscle, and bone. He didn't notice the sweat sheeting his skin and dripping onto the man he was trying to save, or the way X loomed behind him like a guardian shadow. All that existed was his power, the wound, and keeping the energy under control. IX's entire existence was that of destruction, fine tuning that vicious power into something that healed was no easy task.

The clatter of wood on stone drew IX back to himself, and he withdrew the power back into himself. A quarter sized dimple of shiny scar tissue marked where the spear of wood nearly ended the hunter's life. The unconscious man took a halting breath, then half of another before his chest fell still. X growled when he heard the native's heart stutter to a stop. Another near frown touched IX's bow shaped lips, and he reached out again. His hand rested half an inch above Thomas's chest, just above his heart. A spark, like a minuscule bolt of lightning jumped from IX's palm and the body jolted, arching up towards the splayed hand before falling back.

"What happened?" The words held the brittle edge of someone who was trying not to scream, drawing them out in a low hiss. Orange clad techs around the room hunched their shoulders at the careful sound. They knew the Matron well, and her fury was devastating when roused. The angrier she got, the more controlled her tone became. Her blue eyes seethed like the sea in the midst of a great storm and the silence seemed to echo with her demand.

One of the techs quelled even deeper into his seat when he spotted the source of the unfortunate incident. "M-Matron?" He squeaked when he felt her attention zero in on him like a hawk sighting an exposed mouse. "Here," he choked out. Oh God, she isn't going to like this, not one bit, the Tech thought, zooming in on the recorded image. He brought into focus a local, a civilian, who'd managed to destroy one of the Matron's prized weapons.

Stalking forward, the sharp crack of her heels on the floor was the only sound in the large room, and everyone held their breath. The Matron stared at the frozen image. "Play it forward," she whispered and with a hand that shook, the Tech complied. Two bullets…two messily bullets, and her beautiful work was in ruins. The blast was extensive to say the least, and left behind such heat and smoke that the images on the ground were lost to their surveillance. It is too much to hope that the damnable Weapon was destroyed in the explosion. "Send a retrieval team to gather the remains, and to confirm if the target was neutralized."

"Ma'am, what should we do if the target is still on site and active?"

Burning sapphire eyes locked on the airman, "I suggest you shot it and try your best not to die." She said coldly before turning her back on him. They all knew that bullets were less than useless, and that fire was also off the table. The best the retrieval team could hope for was the Weapon abandoning the area after the battle had so abruptly ended.

The Director informed her of the marginal risk the small township of drifters represented, though his briefing had been strictly on the risk of exposure of the Weapon X and Null programs to the eyes of the Public. But, he'd failed to recognize the possibility of actual interference on behalf of Weapon X. I failed to realize it as well, and Blowtorch lost his life because of my oversight. Manicured nails tapped against her folded arms as her mind circled the problem. The town has thrown their lot in with Weapon X, we'll have to give them a reason to cast off that sentiment. She decided and a cruel smile, one full of budding vengeance, curved her red lips.

"Activate Thorne."

A second jolt, and a third. Thomas's eyes snapped open. He fell back choking as he attempted to drag in a lung full of air. Harsh barking coughs filled the cave when the native hacked up the blood that clotted in his lung from the now healed puncture. When he could finally breathe without feeling like he was about to keel over, Thomas looked around. Where the hell am I? He wondered. The last memory he had was of shooting the fire breathing freak. Brown eyes widened when they landed on the very naked Wildman crouched a few feet away from him.

Even in the uncertain light of the fire, Thomas could see that the man was whole and healthy. Hell, he's still got all his hair, he thought in bemusement. How anyone, even someone who could heal like the Wildman, survive the killer fire Thomas didn't know. Looking at the man, he couldn't see a single mark left over from the incineration, not a singed hair or shiny burn scar. If it wasn't for the terrible bone deep ache that only a good explosion could cause, Thomas would have thought he fell, hit his head on a rock, and dreamt the whole damn thing up. The resounding pain, and the singed smell of his own long ebony hair gave lie to that belief before it could take root.

A shifting shadow behind the Wildman caught the hunter's startled gaze and poisoned green gems seemed to consume his vision as he fell into eyes colder than any serpents. The boy…no not a boy he decided as he managed to take in the rest of the face that housed those brilliant, if terrifying, eyes. Short yes, and delicate of frame with fine bones, but the face lacked the roundness of childhood. The features were refined and void of expression. His was a beauty that transcended gender, but it wasn't the sort of loveliness that inspired thoughts of softness. It was the sort of beauty that poison dart frogs had, sleek, with brilliant, vivid color that belied their poisonous natures. He is deadly, the thought wasn't a pretty one. It wasn't difficult for Thomas to recall the thrown blade, this one's blade, death halted only by chance. How had he cheated death a second time?

Thomas's wandering thoughts were cut off when a low growl forcefully returned his attention to the Wildman. The feral man shifted and backed up at the same time, forcing the smaller male deeper into his shadow and farther away from Thomas. A soft huff of breath whispered through the cave when the short male fell back another few steps to pacify the Wildman. Blinking, Thomas watched the odd behavior and tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

Another push. This time the sound of flesh smacking flesh cracked through the silence when the short one gave the much larger man a hard swat. "Enough, you wanted him saved, it is done. I do not require your protection from a half dead civilian." The words were blandly spoken, unlined with anger or frustration. A frown tugged Thomas's lips while he mulled over that revelation. The Wildman saved him? Why? And why was the other one's tone so void of emotion? Any man would become defensive at the thought of needing protection, especially one as short as he was. Guys like that almost always have a Napoleon complex. Thomas could only imagine how much crap the kid got in school, with his pretty looks and short stature he must have gotten thrashed often.

Then his frazzled thoughts were snagged by the title of civilian. Shit! These guys are military? No way, even the Canadian military has height requirements, and psych evaluations. Those twisted monsters after them smack of mad scientists though, and the brat isn't normal, neither of them are. He mused remembering how the youth had appeared on the cliff and vanished with the Wildman in tow. They looked normal enough, at least when the Wildman wasn't waiving his claws around. They couldn't possibly be from the same group that spawned the fire breathing menace or gun boy could they?

"What are you?" Thomas asked, his voice rough after his near death experience.

"That information is classified." IX replied indifferently. X continued crowding him, herding him farther back into the cave and away from the now conscious hunter. The instant the native's eyes had snapped open, X jerked IX behind him and hadn't shifted an inch, forcing the short male to remain hidden behind him. The behavior was illogical, and IX was quickly losing his tolerance for humoring the larger weapon.

A blade glittered in the firelight as it lashed out, cutting a shallow arc across X's bulky shoulders, earning a low whining growl. Ignoring the startled gasp from the hunter IX tilted his head. "Be still," he demanded. The blade darted out again, making a second cut. X's muscles twitched, but he didn't move when his small mate cut him. Jade eyes studied the smooth, healed skin. X's healing factor had always been swift, but nothing like this. The wounds hadn't even bled. "Your healing factor has increased," he stated, trailing his fingers over the whole flesh. X trembled beneath the soft touch.

"Why are you here?" Thomas tried again, filing away the revelation and the warning. Small he may be, but if he was willing to lash out as his own companion, then there was nothing keeping him from turning his sharp attention on Thomas.

"Classified."

"Are you part of the military?"

"Classified."

"What's your name?"

"Classified."

Thomas ground his teeth in frustration. Each reputation of the word was as free of emotion as the first, and he suspected that he could ask any and every question under the sun and receive the same uninterested answer. I bet he'd be a right bastard during an interrogation.

"Fine, I'll just call you two Wildman and Tiny," he snarked, wariness over the quick knife skills of Tiny forgotten in the attempt to get a rise out of the green eyed man.

"It doesn't matter," empty emerald eyes studied the shirtless native. The pink diamond shaped scar wasn't the only one to mar the coppery skin. There was a deep slash across his chest where he'd met the business end of a knife wielder, and shrapnel scars were littered over his left arm and shoulder. Before IX had begun the healing he'd noticed the tarnished dog tags on the man's neck that read: Thomas Swimming Horse, Lieutenant, United States Army, Blood Type O, Religion: None.

A single attempt to get around X earned another ragged snarl. He could have forced the issue and asserted his control, but the battle wasn't one he cared to engage in. X wanted this man to live, not IX. "What is your status? Does your chest hurt?" A verbal assessment would have to do. The man hadn't fallen over dead yet, so the healing was most likely successful. IX's only worry was blood clots in the vascular system. With X acting so oddly, he wouldn't be able to save Thomas if he flat lined again.

"My chest?" Thomas asked, vaguely recalling the searing agony of a deep wound before he blacked out. Glancing down, he stared dumbly at the sleek new scar. Poking it revealed the healed flesh was still tender in a way that he'd never experienced before. The strange sensation made him shiver when the skin seemed to yield more readily that flesh normally did. Then he noticed the stick, still caked with drying blood.

Shakily, Thomas picked up the dagger long spear of wood. Questions flew through his mind faster than he could catch hold of. He stared at the inches of crimson that painted the wood. "What…how?" He said faintly, realizing how close he'd skirted death this time.

"That information is classified. The wound is healed, but it will be fragile for a few days until the new muscle develops to match the surrounding tissue." That wasn't how it worked when IX's magic healed himself, but the few experiments he'd conducted taught him that the healing left the muscle weakened as if the newly formed tissue was that of a child instead of an adult when he performed it on others.

Turning his attention back to X, he said "he will survive. If you want him to remain alive I should return him to his cabin. We can't be seen with him." The words held the slightest edge of warning. IX would go along with this foolishness for the time being, but if his Wielder realize that the hunter lived, and gave the order, the man's life would be forfeit regardless of X's feelings on the matter.

X turned and stood in one smooth animalistic motion and grabbed IX. With a base growl, he sank his teeth into the delicate scar laced shoulder.

Thomas cringed back, expecting to see the tiny male torn apart by the fierce predator, or at least to witness a bloody battle between the two. But, to his shock, the short one relaxed under the brutal treatment. They stood like that for endless moments with the wind howled ominously outside the cave. That's a hell of a storm, no way would we survive if we left now.

"Enough," the word was still void of emotion, but it held the sharp tang of command that made Thomas want to stand and salute. Which of them is the leader and which the follower, Thomas wondered as he watched them interact. It was impossible to discern who held the reins because the pair seemed to switch power with a smooth intricacy that he'd never seen before. The inability, or unwillingness to speak on the part of the Wildman didn't seem to hinder communication. Thomas realized that most of the pair's communication stemmed from body language too subtle to be easily read by outsiders. They are a formidable pair, no wonder the Government's after them.

X gave a low growl before he bathed the deep bite, and released his tiny mate. Emerald eyes pierced Thomas when IX's focus returned to their unwanted guest. "Move to the back of the cave, away from the light of the fire." The quiet words forced the native shakily to his feet when the command in them demanded obedience. Even though the major wound had been healed, he could tell that the non-life threatening wounds remained. Thomas bit back a whimper when each shuffling step caused the injuries littering his battered body to flare up and inform him how lucky he was to be alive.

Whisky colored eyes glared him with the cold calculation of a predator eyeing a limping deer, and Thomas kept his own eyes on the ground submissively. He didn't know what happened between falling unconscious and waking up, but apparently the Wildman wasn't quite as keen on his survival now that he wasn't about to fall over dead. The eight and a half steps it took to escape the grip of the light felt like miles, and by the time he was fully sheathed in shadows, the skin along his back was crawling with anticipation of those wicked claws slashing him to bits.

IX shifted, bringing X's heated gaze back to him. Stepping forward, the much shorter male held his hand up towards X's face and remained still as the large weapon's face dipped to nuzzle his palm and drink in the reassuring scent. He didn't flinch at the dampness of X's tongue darting out to taste his skin, permitting the large male such liberties to reaffirm their partnership. IX was uncertain why X was such a touch based creature, but he learned it was easier to put up with these displays, than to attempt to fight them. The bite on his shoulder ached fiercely but it was a pain he'd become familiar with, and almost took comfort in.

Thomas watched the exchange out of the corner of his eye and couldn't quite hide the slight smirk. They were a strange pair, but they seemed to fit well together.

"I will return momentarily." IX said in his soft monotone before he turned and paced over to Thomas. Another low growl escaped the larger male, but this time IX ignored it even when Thomas flinched at the lethal sound. He was so focused on the Wildman that he didn't see the small hand reach out and touch him on the shoulder before they vanished with a sharp crack.

Cursing up a storm, Thomas staggered to his feet and almost slipped in the puddle of vomit left over from whatever the hell that kid did. The brat vanished after they appeared in Thomas's house. That fact alone made him feel dizzy with terror. A crazy robotic killer teleporting kid can get into my house, oh joy. With a power like that, there was no longer any mystery in the Government trying to get their hands on the pair. Hell, just the kid alone would be damn useful as an assassin.

He moaned and began the tedious task of cleaning up the floor. The activity made his wounds scream in protest, but Thomas wasn't about to let the mess sit there stinking up the place. After he finished up and was about to crawl into bed to sleep for the next dozen years or so, someone knocked on his barred door. "Damn it," he hissed, and snagged a sweater before painstakingly tugging it over his head. It was tempting to ignore the knocking, but with all the shouting he'd done earlier it wasn't likely that whoever was out there would believe he wasn't home.

Opening the door he found the Librarian standing in his ragged overcoat and rubbing his hands together to keep them warm in the cold morning chill.

"So am I being kicked out again?" Thomas said with cold neutrality before giving the old man a piercing look.

"No, no nothing like that Thomas. We saw the explosion, and it looks like the pass has been blocked by an avalanche due to the storm." The words were edged with worry, and the old man fingered his beard. "I know you went up the mountain. We're all stuck here now, and if you don't know anything well that's fine, old boy, just means you're as lost as the rest of us. But, Thomas if you do know something, anything, then you ought to share that with the rest of us. We all live here and good or bad, we need to know what's coming," the Librarian pleaded.

Thomas rubbed at one of the scratches on his forearm uncomfortably at the old man's declaration.

"You know something," the Librarian said with conviction. "Now, how about I make up some breakfast at the long house and you can sit down with the rest of us and tell us what's going on," he coaxed.

With a low sigh, Thomas nodded. "Right, give me half an hour to get cleaned up. Eggs and bacon, American bacon you hear? None of that Canadian bullshit." he grumbled under his breath, the light teasing helped to alleviate some of the tension before he shut the door.

Twelve-year-old Rachel had been fetching some water from the well when she overheard the conversation between the Librarian and Thomas. Bright inquisitive eyes hidden behind thick glasses sparkled as she hustled back to her guardian's house to deliver the water. Her mother came to Second Chase twelve years ago, pregnant and alone. She'd died not long after giving birth to the healthy young girl, and the community banded together to raise the little sun sprite.

"Nana, I'll be back later," She yelled after putting the bucket of water down and vanished back out the door before Mrs. Carlyle had a chance to protest. Her friend Thomas was back. She knew something happened and wanted to know all the details.

The adults would send her away if they saw her, so the small book worm of a girl tucked herself into a gap between the shelves that held dusty copies of Reader's Digest, and a teetering stack of magazines called People. While she waited for the adults to gather, Rachel snagged the top magazine as she pushed her horn-rimmed glasses up her nose and began leafing through the pages. It was full of pictures of people she didn't know doing things she didn't understand, but her hungry young mind absorbed the content with ease.

Work boots clomped over the rough wood floor, alerting the young girl to the men's arrival. Peeking out of a small gap in the books, Rachel ducked when one of the men glanced in her direction. She didn't want her hiding spot to be found before she got a chance to hear Thomas's story!

With a weary sigh, Thomas finished the last of his coffee. He felt like a dish rag that had been rung out. "That's what happened up there, any questions?" Thomas asked, a headache was building behind his eyes when the men situated around the table looked at him like he'd gone insane. Ben and Jerry, two individuals who lived and breathed conspiracy theories looked like they were teetering between stark disbelieve and utter panic. Jesse Lee was sitting with his jaw gaping like a cow that had been hit over the head with a frying pan. The Librarian stared off in the middle distance, and digested the fantastical tale.

"So, just like that you shot the guy?" Marvin demanded incredulously.

"Yes." Thomas said. "I shot him twice before the fat fire-breathing bastard exploded."

"Why? He wasn't doing anything to you," Marvin countered.

"To me? You're right, he wasn't doing anything to me," Thomas agreed. "But he was burning the Wildman, a guy who saved my life."

"So let me get this straight," Martian continued in a condescending tone. "You took a side in a fight you had no business in? For the love of God Thomas, you're out of control!" He barked, throwing up his hands in disgust.

"That's enough Martian, any one of us would do the same," Ben interrupted, cutting off the tirade before the short man could really get going. The balding mountain man had shed his sealskin coat but kept the fur cap to cover his bare head. "Hell, if I saw a man in nothing but leather undershorts out in the woods breathing fire I would have shot him just for being fucking weird."

"Oh yeah? Well you're weird Ben! You and your brother Jerry. Should I shot you because of it?" Martian shot back.

"You could try," Jerry growled as he gave the pacifist a look that quelled him in his seat.

"Come on guys, this is totally wacked," Bill Lyons declared, thumping the table with one beefy fist. "Tommy-Boy, you probably slipped on the ice and gave your head a good knock."

Pointing a thick finger at Bill, Jesse Lee said "How do you explain the explosion then? You saw it too, not to mention the heavy gun fire before that. We all heard it, you saw the fire. This isn't a dream."

Turning his eyes to Thomas, the old Vet said calmly, "I don't know about the rest of you lot, but I believe him. Thomas never lied to me and I doubt he'd start now about something like this."

"No, Army boy wouldn't lie, just bring illegal weapons into the community!" Martian sulked.

"Oh come off it Martian, it's not like this is San Francisco." Bill said crossly.

While the men bickered among themselves, the Librarian thought over everything Thomas said. When the other settled down the old man spoke "So, you said this Wildman helped you, saved your life? Did he speak to you? What did he say?"

Shifting his weight, Thomas paused. This was the part he needed to be careful about. "We didn't communicate exactly. It was more like when I met him the first time, and we could have ended up fighting over the deer but in the end he took what he wanted and left the rest."

"So you didn't speak to each other?" The Librarian said skeptically.

"I don't know, after the blast I was pretty out of it, we might have spoke but I don't recall. All I know is that the Wildman helped me survive," he lied. "If he hadn't taken me into his cave I would have died in the blizzard."

"Just wait a minute now, this 'wild man'" Martian made the air quotes to go with the words. "Is undoubtedly a fugitive or something. Why else would the military be after him? He did something terrible. Not to mention you said the guy had metal claws coming out of his hands. I highly doubt those are for decoration."

Snorting, Jerry took a long swig of coffee before muttering into his cup. "Yeah, not like the Government ever persecutes innocent people."

Everyone laughed except Martian. "What's so funny?" he demanded. "We have a wack job with metal claws wandering around the mountain waiting to kill us in our sleep! There's nothing funny about that!" he said shrilly.

"Relax Mar-"

"No! Don't you get it? We're trapped here, the pass is closed, and there's a crazy man with half the Canadian Military after him!" He shouted, desperate to make the group understand the gravity of the situation.

"There's no need to panic." The Librarian said sternly. "The military is focused on the Wildman, and the man hasn't shown any inclination of coming down here. So I say we just leave well enough alone now."

"Amen" Bill grunted after he stood. "Thanks for the breakfast old man," the aging tattooed biker said before he headed for the door. The other men followed suit, but Thomas remained behind. He rested his head on his hands, and thought over the conversation. Just telling them about the Wildman had been enough, Thomas thought. He hadn't brought up the teleporter. Bad enough they were worried over the threat the Wildman posed, if he told them about the little assassin that couldn't be kept out, there would have been panic for sure.

Rachel slept fitfully that night when she dreamed about the fire breathing man (who became a fire breathing dragon) and the Wildman. After the nightmares, the annoying sound of Mrs. Carlyle's rooster at the crack of dawn was a relief. She wasn't sure if she believed what Thomas said, but after night fell it seemed far more likely than it had in the light of day. The weak morning light helped banish her fears as she yawned and stretched.

She gave a squawk when her bare feet met the freezing floor, and she shoved them into her fur lined slippers. Shivering from the cold, Rachel trudged over to the fire and gave the embers as vigorous stir with the poker before adding more wood.

Once the cabin was warm again, she crept down the hall and peaked into Aunt Ellie's room. The ailing old woman was sleeping comfortably, and Big Rita was slumped in the chair next to the bed. Her gentle snores filled the room. The little girl didn't have the heart to wake them, so she backed out of the room and closed the door.

Rachel tried to brew some tea, but discovered all the fresh water had been used to do the dishes last night. With a sigh she pulled on a pair of jeans, and threw a sweater on over her night shirt before putting on her snow boots and parka. On her way out the door, she snagged the water buckets.

The morning was bitingly cold, and the thin sunlight scratched at the bottom of the early morning sky. Her breath formed white plumes as she made the short walk to the well at the center of the town. Heavy clouds hung on the horizon, promising another storm, and the only sound to be heard was the soft crunch of her boots in the snow. Rachel shivered at the lonely sound. It was always strange to be the only one awake in the town.

Finally she made it to the well. It wasn't a well in the traditional sense, just two pumps facing opposite directions on a cement platform. Rachel set the buckets down and knocked the ice off the head of the spout with a hammer attached to the fountain for that purpose. The loud clang, clang, clang echoed eerily through the still morning air.

When the pump was free of ice, she gave the rusty handle a few good pumps to get the water flowing. It didn't take long for the sloshing water to fill the two buckets. Her task compete, Rachel was about to pick up the heavy containers when a shadow fell over her. Turning, she gasped at the stranger standing behind her.

"Don't be afraid little one," he said with a warm smile.

"I'm not afraid" Rachel replied, trying to hide the way her breath quickened in surprise at the sight of the man. "Just startled, we don't get a lot of strangers around here."

"Would you like help with those?" he asked, tilting his head towards the water filled buckets.

"No thank you, I've got it," she replied, giving him a long look. The man was tall with wide shoulders and thick midnight black hair. He had on a pair of well-worn moccasins and a badly stitched together leather pants. His coat was a patched together thing of many different furs. At a glance the girl recognized grey wolf, beaver, rabbit, cougar, fox, and badger. Taking in his curious apparel, the young girl came to the logical conclusion. "Are you the Wildman who lives in the mountains?" she asked.

Another smile flashed across his face. "You know of me? Well I suppose the whole town does by now hm?"

"Yup," she chirped.

Most of the citizens of Second Chance didn't believe the Wildman existed, or they didn't care either way. But Rachel believed, after all, her friend Thomas said he saw the man and Thomas never lied. A delighted smile curved her lips at the thought that she was the first person to talk to the mystery man.

"What's your name?" he asked softly as he took a step closer.

"Rachel, what's yours?"

"You can call me Mr. Thorne."

"Is it done?" The Matron asked, scrolling over the data she'd been able to salvage from the Professor's files. Something wasn't adding up, and the discrepancies were beginning to nag at her. It was like an itch she couldn't reach. There was systematic destruction of some files, whereas other files remained untouched. What truly happened here?

"Yes, Matron."

She gave a quiet hum of approval as she tried to unscramble some badly damaged data that hadn't been completely destroyed. "Good. Bipolar has been activated. You will go on the helicopter with him and provide any support you can. Do be careful Thorne, X is turning out to be more dangerous than we anticipated."

"I will, Matron," he said with a cool smile as he turned to leave.

Dr. Vigil bumped into him when she entered the room as he tried to exit. "Oh excuse me," she murmured, and received a grunt for her politeness.

"Good afternoon, Matron."

"Ah, there you are. We are ready to send Bipolar. I'm certain he will fare better than the others," the Matron said with the same conviction of a Born again Christian. I highly doubt it, Megan thought before she took a seat.

The Matron looked at the images on the screen fondly while the technicians placed a domed helmet over the man's shaved head. "Lieutenant Kenneth Biggs was a communications specialist in Tamboor. He was helping to build an advanced telephone system for the citizens there when he was gravely injured in a car bombing. The blast shattered his skull and burned away most of his lower jaw, tongue, and nose. Both his larynx and vocal cords were permanently damaged."

Megan shivered, remembering her own experience with a bomb and how it had altered her life irrevocably.

"We were able to implement bionic and surgical alterations that Lieutenant Biggs had a hand in designing. He wanted to go down a different path in the area of communications," the Matron continued, handing Megan a stack of photos.

Her stomach churned while she looked at the glossy images. Well, at least my eyes can be hidden behind sunglasses, she thought critically. There was no hiding the fact that the man had what looked like a radio dish implanted in his lower face.

"Both his mouth and lower throat were replaced by a wave transmitter disk of exceptional power. Behind the microwave emitter the klystron, magnetron tubes, as well as the oscillators and resonators to control frequency are located," the Matron explained without Megan's prompting. The younger woman found that she had no taste for the way the Matron twisted human flesh and blended it with technology.

"Microwave?" She couldn't help but ask.

"Much the same, yes. Microwaves use short, high-frequency radio waves. But, such waves have many applications outside of the realm of cooking," she said. "Radio, radar, television, meteorology, and satellite communication are just a few areas where these waves are utilized."

"How will this be used against Weapon X?" Megan asked, curious in spite of her distaste.

"Microwaves work by agitating the water molecules in food, which in turn causes them to vibrate and heat the food. Unlike microwaves, which cannot penetrate metal, Bipolar is able to use the entire spectrum of energy waves. He is capable of creating radio waves that can cause burns, cataracts, damage to the nervous system, and even sterility. But what he excels in, is focusing energy in the microwave range to burn metal and sear flesh," she all but cooed.

Megan's stomach gave another sharp twist of disgust. "I see," she murmured, wishing she hadn't asked.

Screams shattered the still morning and tore through the town. Big Rita's anguished cries pulled people from their cabins. Jesse Lee had been trudging to the pumps when the terrible sound made him drop his pails and sprint for the pumps. Dropping to his knees he frantically touched the small broken child, desperate to undue the terrible slashes that savagely ended her young life.

"Why, Why?" Rita howled to the uncaring sky. The screaming demand mingled with her native Inuit when she pleaded to the Gods for answers.

The crowd grew, and other voices joined hers. The community reacted with horror and growing rage at the sight of the slain child. Both Thomas and the Librarian arrived together, they'd been drinking coffee and trading stories before the commotion began. "What happened?" Thomas demanded, elbowing his way through the crowed.

"It's Rachel" Ben choked, tears streaming freely down his weather beaten face. "The Wildman killed her!"

Forcing his way past the large man, Thomas took one look at the blood stained snow and cursed before looking away. Ben was nearly incoherent with grief and had to be supported by his brother Jerry.

"Ben's right, that God damn Wildman did this," Jerry growled. The snarl was echoed by the crowed. The accusation was repeated and spread like wildfire through the onlookers.

"You can't know that," Thomas protested, his voice rising so that everyone could hear him. "No one saw what happened, so no one knows who did this," he said sharply, gesturing towards the carnage.

"Who else would have killed her?" Martin demanded, pointing a finger at Thomas. "Look, her throat's been cut, there are three parallel slashes from her neck to her knee. You said it yourself, the Wildman had three blades on each hand."

"That doesn't mean he did it!" Thomas countered. "You gotta remember, the Wildman isn't the only stranger wandering around."

Bill's tattooed arms were wrapped securely around his wife's weeping form. "Army didn't do that. Yeah, they're shootin' shit up, but they wouldn't come down here just ta kill a little girl," he rasped.

"Why would the Wildman?"

"Why? Because he's a damned monster that's why! I say we ought to go up the mountain and kill it!" Ben snarled. The crowd roared in agreement, falling into a mob mentality.

"Shut it! Try and have some respect for the dead," Jesse Lee's voice slashed through the angry babble like a hot knife. After removing his army-surplus jacket, the man gently covered Rachel's corpse with it before he picked up her and cradled her to his chest.

The Librarian moved through the crowd. "Come along, let's bring her to the long house," he said solemnly, and laid a supporting hand on Jesse Lee's shoulder.

"And the Wildman?" Martin demanded.

Glaring at the little man Thomas said "What about him?"

"Aren't we going to get him?"

Ben answered, his voice hollow with grief "Damn straight we are." The words held a finality about them that kept the rest of the crowed, even Thomas quiet as they trudged to the long house.

Worried citizens of Second Chance packed themselves into the building. News of Rachel's death spread like wildfire. The room was full of men and women who sat in the chairs, on the floor, leaned against shelves and even stacked books to create seating, and messed up the Librarian's careful organization.

Thomas studied the faces around him, trying to decide who stood where while the Librarian spoke. It was a pointless task, but one that helped him keep his own rage in check. Thomas wanted to kill the dirty bastard who did this just as much as everyone else did, but he didn't think it was the Wildman. Not only that, he doubted anyone here had a snowflakes chance in hell of surviving if they went up the mountain. If those freaks couldn't put the Wildman down, no way a bunch of old bikers and hippies can do it.

"That's where things stand. Now, before I open up the floor I wanted to inform you all that we will be laying Little Rachel to rest up on the hillside next to her mother tomorrow at noon. I hope you'll all be there to say a few words of remembrance," the Librarian stated, looking down at his notes. "Next order of business?"

"We ought to form a posse to hunt down the Wildman" Ben barked, slamming his fist on the table hard enough to make the wood creek in protest.

"I second that!" Jerry bellowed.

"Let's take a vote on the matter." Marvin demanded.

The room erupted with shouts, and the Librarian's voice was lost in the ruckus. After a few attempts, he snatched up the ball-peen hammer from the hearth and banged the table. "Order. Order!" The old man shouted, until the group settled down enough for individuals to be heard.

"I object, this isn't a posse you're talking about, it's a damned lynch mob." Thomas said. Angry shouts met his words, while a minority called for silence.

"Just what are you objecting to Swimming Horse? We haven't even voted on anything yet," Bill demanded.

"Look, you guys are making a mistake. The Wildman didn't do thi-"

"And how do you know that, huh?" another voice shouted, cutting Thomas off.

"I don't, but what I do know is that if you go up that mountain and make him mad he'll wipe you out, every one of you."

Bill snorted "Yeah right, if I get that bastard in my sights, he'll be a dead man."

"Really? And what can you do Bill, that the army and a bloody human torch couldn't?" Thomas questioned harshly.

"We can chase him out," Bill said.

"How? You don't even know where he is," Thomas countered.

"We know he's on the mountain, and if he's there I can track him," Ben said. Thomas knew it to be true. The brothers were as good at tracking as their grandfather before them.

Marvin's voice rang out with fiery conviction "I move we vote!"

"I second." Ben said gruffly.

"Motion passed," The Librarian said, not looking at where Thomas stood. "Those who vote aye to form a posse?" The building shook with the force of Ayes, drowning out the hand full of nays.

"The vote is yes," the Librarian said with finality as he banged the hammer again.

"This is wrong. I know the Wildman didn't do this," Thomas said. "He didn't even have weapons in his cave."

Jesse Lee scoffed. "What would he need weapons for? Didn't you say he had knives built in?"

"Hold on a tick," Ben said as he stood and shoved past people until he stood in front of Thomas. "Did you say he lived in a cave?"

Thomas shifted his weight, realizing his error too late to take it back. "Maybe."

"That's the cave between the ledge and the plateau up by the summit," Ben said, punching his palm with his other fist.

"Hey yeah, the one where the cat used to den," Jesse added.

"Don't do this," Thomas pleaded.

"Just drop it Swimming Horse," Martin sneered. "You were outvoted."

"Fine, whatever. You're wrong. And by the way, you're all committing suicide," he said harshly, and headed for the door.

Ray Creighton and Old Herman blocked the path. A gnarled shillelagh was clutched in Ray's hand and Herman gave Thomas a yellow tooth bearing grin.

"What the he-" Thomas began.

"We ain't gunna let cha go awarnen that Wildman now Thomas," Herman said in his age crackled voice.

Fury washed though Thomas. How dare they try and keep him from leaving, even if that was just what he'd planned to do?

"Get out of my way," Thomas snapped, shoving Herman out of his path and darting for the door.

"Stop him!" someone cried. Ray gave Thomas a hard whack to the back of his skull with his club, driving the native to his knees. A second hit sent him crashing to the floor in an unconscious heap.

"Meeting adjourned," the Librarian's voice followed him down into the void.

"The next opponent is operational. It will reach your location within the hour. Do not be there, do not inform Weapon X of the impending attack." The voice crackled through IX's mind, snapping him to full alertness from the light doze he'd been in. Strong arms tightened around his slender body, and he remained relaxed against the massive chest while he contemplated the orders.

"Yes, sir," IX's quiet monotone caused his living bed to give him another squeeze. "I have to compete a reconnaissance mission. Remain here until I return," he stated before wiggling out of X's possessive grasp. With something akin to a playful growl, X pounced on the slight figure before he could vanish and drove him to the ground. Ignoring the short dagger twisting in his gut, he nibbled along IX's collar bone. The touch of tongue and teeth was a gentle teasing thing while the large weapon explored his little mate's soft skin.

The blade twisted in warning and brilliant green eyes stared frostily at the top of X's head. While the strange new touches weren't unpleasant, they were interfering with the mission and that was unacceptable. "Off," he said, punctuating the command with another cruel twist. Grunting, X gave the pale skin one last lick before he pulled himself up off the blood stained blade. The wound healed instantly, and X stretched like a great cat before sauntering back over to the fire to add some more wood.

IX huffed at the large Weapon's unusual behavior before he stood and dusted himself off. The neck of his shirt had already been damaged beyond repair, causing the garment to continually slip off one shoulder or the other. I would have grabbed myself another if I didn't think X would just ruin it as he has this one. IX mused, stepping into the shadows. Before giving into sleep last night, he'd returned to the facility and grabbed X a new pair of jeans to replace the ones that had been reduced to ashes.

He had no interest in returning to the facility a second time. So with his destination in mind, IX turned on his heel and vanished, leaving X to cope with the surprise attack on his own.

Thomas groaned when he felt a sharp tug on his bound arms. Then the unmistakable sound of a knife sawing at the tough fibers vibrated through his headache heavy mind. It was a struggle, but he managed to pry open his eyes once his arms were freed from the biting rope.

The first thing he saw was Old Herman sprawled on the floor. The sound of his snoring assured the native that he was alive. The lithe shadowy shape moved to the rope that bit into his ankles before carving through them in a single stroke. "Tiny?" Thomas muttered in confusion when his concussed brain tried to sort out what the hell was going on. Sitting up, the native began to rube the feeling back into his numb hands while he studied the young man standing in his cabin.

"Did you or the Wildman kill the girl?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.

IX tilted his head, studying the now free hunter. He'd decided to check on the man to ensure the healing held up when he'd found the native tied up. Taking down the guard was a simple matter. It helped that the incompetent man had been intoxicated at the time. It was difficult for the Weapon not to kill the guard out of sheer contempt. But, he hadn't been ordered to bring harm to the citizens of this community, and unless they attacked first he wasn't to engage them.

Then why are you helping this one now? IX wondered. What did it matter if the community had turned on the hunter? The questions had no answers, so IX focused on Thomas's question instead.

"What girl?"

"The one that was murdered here last night. She was killed with knives, a lot like the ones the Wildman has." Thomas admitted, his voice diamond hard with demand. He stared at IX, trying to find any hint of deception in the short male's body language. It would have been easier to read a tree for all the emotion IX's face and body gave away.

"No one in this community has died by our hands," IX said indifferently. The words caused a shiver to twine down Thomas's spine as he read between the lines. No one in this community. He had little doubt that both Tiny and the Wildman's hands were soaked with the blood of others, more than just the freaks that had been sent up the mountain. Something about the way IX spoke that one sentence said as much.

Before he could ask anything more, the tiny male vanished. "I hate when you do that," Thomas muttered before he stood and rummaged through his pantry. Grabbed a bottle of generic aspirin, he swallowed three of them dry in the hope that they'd help reduce the pounding in his skull.

"Someone has to try and stop those idiots," he groaned looking out at the early morning light. It looked like barely an hour had passed since he was knocked out. There was still enough time to try and cut the fools off before they got themselves killed.

Hunger caused his gut to rumble, and X slipped out of the cave to hunt. With the grace of a stalking panther, he picked his way down the shattered landscape and into a narrow ravine. Finding prey would be difficult after the fire a few nights ago, but the thought didn't worry him. Like a wolf, he would range as far as needed to find food.

The wind shifted, causing the hunter to freeze when it brought an out of place scent. Leather, mothballs, alcohol, tobacco, men. His lips twisted into a fierce snarl. Killing them would be a simple thing, but they were not part of the operation, and he'd been drilled extensively about targets and non-combatants. The Professor didn't want a killing machine that couldn't differentiate between the two and, he would be useless if he killed everything in sight. They wanted weapons that were smarter than bombs after all.

With another low growl, he turned and darted back up the trail. He needed IX. The small male was better at incapacitating targets without eliminating them.

"He knows we're here!" Jesse Lee shouted, leaping up on top of the rock he'd been hiding behind, took aim, and fired. With a boom the rifle shot echoed off the mountains. The bullet tore a large chunk out of X's thick back, splattering dark blood over the snow, but the wound didn't even cause him to stagger as he continued running. The hole healed before he'd taken three steps.

X darted out of the way of another bullet that tore through the place he'd been standing. All around the parameter of the ravine shapes broke from hiding, revealing the ambush he'd walked into. Ferocious eyes took in the sight of middle aged men, old men, beards, warn patched jackets and furs. Old they might have been, but it was clear when another bullet tore his calf, causing him to stumble before the flesh regenerated, that they made their livelihoods by hunting and were damned good shots.

"He's headed your way Jerry!" One of the men shouted and a bullet ricocheted off the back of his skull, hot blood danced down the back of his neck, but didn't flow long enough to touch his back. Without missing a step he leapt off the trail and began scrambling up the face of the mountain. His bare feet easily found purchase on the icy rocks as he climbed. The old men weren't as lucky, their boots couldn't grip the rocks causing them to fumble with their guns as they were forced to use their hands to keep from falling.

Just as he reached the top of the ravine and pulled himself over the edge back onto the trail, a shadow fell over him. The click of a hammer was loud in the stillness, followed by the resounding blast of a shotgun. X grunted when buckshot slammed into his shoulders and chest. The force of the blast almost sent him careening back over the edge of the cliff, but his claws snapped out of their sheaths and bit into stone to keep him anchored.

With a frightened curse, the large man stumbled back and tripped over the broken landscape. He fell and the empty shotgun tumbled from his grasp to slide down the mountain. "Didja get em, Bill?" a voice called out.

Snarling, X pulled himself back over the ledge. The urge to kill the blubbering idiot burned hotly but X fought the impulse. Now that the civilian was unarmed, it was harmless. The terrified man watched with wide frightened eyes, waiting for the killing blow. Instead, X leapt over the fallen man and continued his assent. He didn't know what had gotten the civilians all riled up, but he wouldn't strike out against them until ordered to do so.

It was a risk, but Thomas was willing to take it. He negotiated the rough patch, making his way up the original trail. Warning the Wildman would be easier than trying to talk sense into the mob led by Zen Master Martin anyway. Thomas was betting he'd be able to make it up the original trail, as destroyed as it was, well before the others made around the long way. He was a better mountain climber than any of the men who'd gone with the posse, not to mention he was a good fifteen years younger than the lot of them.

So far the gamble had paid off. He'd only hit two difficult patches, and he was making good time. Thomas froze, clinging to the face of the rocks when a Blackhawk roared overhead making its way up the mountain. The chopper vanished behind the thick foliage of the summit, but the thick thrum of the blades told Thomas that the craft was hovering. If the past was anything to go by, Thomas was certain that if he followed the Blackhawk he'd find X's current location.

The sound that had twice heralded the appearance of an opponent washed over X, and he gave a toothy grin. Finally, an enemy he could attack, and not foolish old civilians who had to be avoided. X slunk forward, keeping his bulk hidden within the trees when he spied the Blackhawk roaring away. Keeping perfectly still, he let his gaze slide over the forested landscape. He wouldn't be taken by surprise again.

Spotting movement, X clawed his way up the large pine to gain the height advantage. He waited with the terrible patience of a stalking feline while a figure dressed in black body armor stepped into the clearing between the large trees. Something was wrong with the man's face, but X didn't waist energy trying to understand how this one had been altered. All that mattered was the kill. One step, two, almost within striking distance. The strange one paused, his head turning just as the wind shifted again, bringing with it the scent of the foolish civilians.

X's legs bunched when he inched out onto a thick branch just as the civilians rounded the bend and spotted his opponent.

"Holy Mary Mother of God, what is that thing?" Ben whispered while he and the rest of the men stared in dumb silence at the unholy sight. None of them wanted to believe Thomas's story of a fire breathing man in leather shorts, but looking at the stranger with a satellite dish where his lower face should have been suddenly lent more validity to the other man's tales.

An electronic hum began to fill the clearing. Bipolar stared at the rag tag band of hill men. The Matron hadn't said anything about this in her briefing. It didn't matter, they were in the way, and just looking at him sealed their fate. The civilians had seen too much, and were interfering with his mission.

The civilians didn't get to feel the agonizing beam of radio waves, instead sharp blades sliced cleanly through Bipolar's skull and arced down as the weight of X's decent pulled the blades down the man's body, bisecting him before he could discharge his weapon. Blood and thicker things splashed over the windswept stone, the gory sight caused Marvin to backpedal before spewing vomit down the front of his parka in thick chunks. The rest of the men were equally stunned.

"Oh God! He killed him, he killed him just like he killed Rachel!" Marvin shouted, jarring the men out of their stunned stupor. As one, the group lifted their weapons and trained them on the crouching Wildman.

"Guess again," light teasing voice caused the group to jolt and turn in surprise when they saw a group of a dozen armed soldiers standing behind them. X slipped back into the shadowy tree line while the two groups were distracted by each other.

The soldiers had their guns trained on the group. There was a Major with a pot marked face, and next to him stood another man in a black formfitting battle suit. This one didn't have any obvious physical alterations like the one the Wildman dispatched, but the men still felt wary. "I killed the little girl, slit her pretty throat," the battle suit wearing one said with a smug grin. "With these," he added and held up his hands. Three parallel claws grew grass-like out of the man's wrist until they were nearly a foot long before he dismissed them. "With a simple flick of the wrist I could gut the lot of you. That's why they call me Thorne."

"You bastard!" Jerry howled as he brought his rifle up. One of the soldiers fired, and the large man staggered back blood blooming like a rose over his chest. Gasping, he stumbled and fell. The gun slid from his limp hands while his life's blood spilled over the cold snow.

"Now, drop your weapons or we will dispatch the rest of you where you stand," the Major snapped.

Angrily, the men threw down their guns. "What do you want?" Martin demanded, his voice held a shrill edge to it that made Thorne sneer.

"You men are from that little community in the valley, are you not? I believe when we're finished here we'll pay it a little visit" the Major said coldly.

"Why can't you just leave us alone?" Martin cried and puffed his vomit stained chest out like an agitated cockatiel.

"I'm afraid you've seen and done too much for that," the Major replied with mock sorrow. "What with you running all over the mountain and interfering in things that just aren't your business."

"What'll you do with us now?" Jesse Lee demanded.

"State secrets need to remain so, wouldn't you agree?" the Major said. "This mess needs to be cleaned up, and we can't have people talking, you understand."

Thomas hid behind a tumble of rocks and watched the drama unfold. He hadn't been quick enough to turn the men back. Now it looked like they'd leapt right out of the frying pan and into the fire. While he might have been able to talk the Wildman and Tiny down, there was no way he would be able to stop what was about to happen. "I'm sorry," he whispered into the wind, choking back the desperate urge to do something, anything, to save them.

IX perched in the heavy branches of an old tree and studied the unfolding altercation. "Sir, we have a situation. Weapon X successfully eliminated his opponent. It appears the Matron sent soldiers as backup. Armed civilians have ascended the mountain and are being confronted by the soldiers. Please advise if action should be taken," IX reported.

"Eliminate them all, over."

As graceful and cutting as the arctic wind, IX dropped from the branches. He landed behind the row of soldiers without betraying a sound. Before the men realized they were in danger, his blades tore through them, severing spinal cords, slashing over throats, puncturing vital organs, and creating a storm of blood in his wake.

"What the he-" the Major squawked when the sound of men choking on their own blood and falling caused him to turn, only to see a blood soaked child standing behind them. The crimson liquid had splashed almost artfully over the boy's pale features, making the green of his eyes burn with a startling vividness. Before he could bring his gun up, the blade still dripping with the blood of his fallen soldiers shot forward and landed with a sickening thump between the Major's eyes.

When the last soldier fell, IX turned his cold gaze on the unarmed civilians. Thomas almost stood from his hiding place, but one look into those chips of jade told him the short man was beyond negotiation. If he revealed himself now, he'd be another corpse staining the snow with his blood. The men did the only thing they could, they fled.

With apathetic ease, IX bent down and picked up one of the assault rifles. Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack. One by one the targets fell, brains and shattered skull fragments painted a gruesome picture of efficiency while the small Weapon tied up loose ends.

When the last man fell, X ghosted out of the forest. He knew better than to interrupt when IX had things under control, so he'd watched his little mate as he killed. "Pile up the bodies," IX commanded as he wiped the blood from his face. Moving with haunting grace, X obeyed. It didn't take him long to heap the corpses of soldier and civilian alike into one mound of dead.

Focusing on his power, IX began to pace around the dead, visualizing the circle he was shaping. When it was compete, he stepped back and stared hard at the pile. "Burn," fire leapt into being at his command. The sinuous shapes danced over the offering of flesh and began devouring them even while they started to press hungrily against the containment circle in an effort to escape and consume the world. Flesh blackened and the stench of cooking human remains, burned hair, and smoking cloth filled the clearing. IX held the fire until nothing was left but greasy ash before forcing his power into the circle and crushing the flames back out of existence.

IX swayed when the fire was snuffed out, and X pulled the slight male into his arms before stalking back towards the cave so the tiny male could rest. He knew the fire was difficult for his little mate to control and it always left him tired after using it.

Thomas watched the pair leave before bending over and getting quietly but thoroughly sick.

The dark of the cave encircled them, but before X could pull his mate towards the sleeping pallet for some much needed rest, the smaller male stilled. Large arms closed around IX's waist as he waited, recognizing the listening pose of his mate receiving instructions.

Weapon IX, Report.

"The soldiers and civilians were successfully neutralized. The bodies were destroyed."

Affirmative. Operation Obsolete is now active, you will complete this mission on your own. Once Operation Obsolete is finished, eliminate the settlement of civilians and cover your tracks.

"Yes, sir."

Weapon X will leave immediately, traveling due east. He will be intercepted by the S.T.A.R.T Team. His orders are to attack with non-lethal force. The team is not to be permanently injured. When they net him, he is to yield and feign unconsciousness. They will then bind him and bring him to Headquarters. After your mission is complete, join us for debriefing.

"Yes, sir."

The low hum indicating the line in his mind was open fell silent, ending the communication. Tilting his head back, IX locked eyes with X, holding the other male's gaze with a dominance that wasn't to be ignored.

"Our missions have been given, and here we will part ways." X's lips curled back at the words, but IX didn't flinch. "Your mission is to permit yourself to be captured and delivered to the Director. Head due east, and when you're attacked put up a mock fight. Do not kill the members sent to capture you. Do not permanently harm them. After the net closes around you, be still. Wait, and allow them to take you. When my mission is finished, I will arrive at Headquarters. Is that understood?" IX's voice held a whip crack of steel, demanding compliance.

X's grip became crushing, and when the large man dipped his head, IX expected another bite to sink into his shoulder. Instead, X's harsh lips closed over his own soft mouth. Sharp teeth nipped at his plump bottom lip, making obscure demands that IX failed to understand. His slim body remained perfectly still in the painful grip as he analyze the strange new behavior.

Kiss: To touch or caress with the lips as an expression of affection, greeting, respect, or amorousness. His mind offered up the definition, recalled from the forced upload of language during his initial training.

A rumbling growl trickled from X's mouth into his, flavoring the odd touch with deep vibrations. X's tongue forced itself past his slightly parted lips, demanding a reaction. IX gave the other man a bemused look, his green eyes still open, and finding it difficult to focus while they were so close together. Even though he'd figured out what the other man was doing, he couldn't comprehend why. His limited knowledge on the subject stated that kisses were shared between those who were affectionate towards each other. Either in a romantic sense, a familial sense, or at times just out of friendship.

IX didn't believe this sort of kiss fell into the later categories when the tongue continued to map his mouth. He was so lost in thought, he didn't notice his own tongue slide hesitantly against the invader.

X wanted to shout up at the sky when his own desperate need burned him, and still his mate remained cold. Even with the gentle caress of his mate's tongue over his own, the small male's scent remained the painfully free of arousal. The sweet flavor almost drove him out of his mind with need, but he couldn't act. Not when his mate refused to acknowledge the bond.

The arms around him tightened when IX attempted to pull away. Annoyance flashed through him, and he bit X's tongue hard enough to draw blood for an instant before it healed. X gave a small yelp of surprise at the attack, which IX took advantage of. Pulling away, he glared up at X. "That's enough of…that. We have missions to accomplish, and we don't have time for such foolishness. Now go," unlike IX usual monotone, his voice held a hint of confusion, unable to process X's peculiar behavior.

With a low grumble, X released him. Turning away, IX wiped the excess saliva from his lips, and wondered at the soft tingle that remained before he vanished to execute his first solo mission. The taste of X's blood lingered like a promise of their future reunion.

The Matron took a long sip of brandy, allowing the alcohol to blunt the edges of her sorrow. Bipolar had gone off-line seven hours ago, and was followed by Thorne. Because the attacks happened from behind, and the forest was too thick for overhead surveillance satellites to get an accurate reading, she didn't even know how her men perished.

She hadn't reported the failure to the Director yet, and she was grateful that the infuriating man hadn't called to demand an update. When it was clear her soldiers were dead, the Matron sent everyone away. Now the lab that had buzzed with orange suits and activity since they took command of the facility was silenced except for the soft hum of computers, and the clink of ice in her glass. Everything she'd worked for, all the breakthroughs and effort had been wiped out by a damned renegade science project.

With a slow blink, the Matron turned her attention back to the screen. Reaching out, she tapped the play button again. The screen darkened, before beginning to pixelate. Static hissed from the speakers, but she could still make out the fragmented words. "The subject appears to be a mutant, age unknown, origin-probes were successfully placed. The child's body is badly damaged assumed abu-Project Weapon IV ready to begin growth exc-" The audio broke up entirely, but for an instant the screen cleared. Reaching out, she froze the recording.

The naked, emaciated body of a toddler appeared on the screen. It was clearly male, and bristled with probes. The boy's drugged eyes were half open, flashing emerald under the strong surgical light. This file had been the only one she'd managed to salvage, and it was degraded to the point it was almost useless save for the handful of words and this one image.

Taking another sip, she realized the glass was empty. The air shifted behind her and the Matron had an itch between her shoulder blades that meant she wasn't alone. "Go away, Megan," the woman said in a defeated tone. Her words held the hint of a slur when she turned to shoo the doctor back to her room. She didn't care for company at the moment.

The glass slipped from her fingers when she saw the boy, blood flecked over pale features, and a knife held in his grip in a way that spoke of long familiarity with the weapon. Brilliant crimson drops fell from the blade's edge.

"Weapon IX, I presume?" she whispered, studying the grown boy who was still far smaller than he should have been. Those empty green eyes flicked from her face to the image on the screen before returning to her when she spoke again. "You were the one who killed Slammer, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Why?" the harsh question scraped along the edges of her throat before escaping. What purpose was achieved by killing her creation? He'd been rendered harmless, killing him was unnecessary.

"Because he failed his objective, proving that he had become obsolete. A weapon that cannot perform must be eliminated," his words held the cold conviction of a true believer.

She swallowed. "What of you? If you fail, are you going to let that monster kill you too?"

IX tilted his head in question. "The Director would not need to terminate me, I will complete the task if the order is given for my de-activation." She gaped at him, hearing only the terrible truth in his bald tone and realizing that this…this child would kill himself. Not only if he failed, but if the man ordered him to for any reason.

"My men?" She asked, trying and failing to keep her voice coolly aloft.

"Dead." the boy confirmed in a soft monotone, his voice and angelic face betrayed no emotion. "The Director sends his regards, but regretfully wishes to inform you that your services are no longer required," the words were said with mechanical precision and he shifted his weight, preparing to attack now that her curiosity had been satisfied.

"Wait! I have a message to send in return. Tell him…tell him that for all my enhancements, at least my creations were still human in every way that counted. Tell him that my men had a choice; that they were not mindless, emotionless droids that lived only to kill. Tell him that I'm not the monster, he is," she said breathlessly, hoping that this cold tool masquerading as a person would be moved by her words. She knew it wouldn't be enough to save her life, but maybe, someday, it would be enough to earn her revenge.

"Noted," the cold word was accompanied by the bite of sharp steel, already coated in the blood of her followers, as it slid smoothly through her pale flesh, adding her blood to the lake of life giving liquid that already stained the floor of this facility.

Turning away from the corpse, IX staggered back when a bullet tore through his chest. Brilliant green eyes widened in shock. He stared at the young woman with glowing red optics who stood in the doorway a pistol poised to fire again.

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

To the anonymous reviewer Me: IX would be said as 9. Both weapons are part of the Weapon's Plus Program which actually began with Captain America. He was the original Weapon I. The lab techs and higher ups began calling X as the letter due to the Roman Numerals, but IX is still called 9.