1986 Washington D.C.
The house was dark and empty when William Stryker walked through the back door. Just as it had been every night for the last year since his wife killed herself. It was more like a tomb to him now than a home.
As he flicked on the kitchen light he gasped and staggered backwards, finding that he was not as alone as he would have thought. Victor Creed sat at his kitchen table tapping one long curved claw on the smooth surface and smiling at him coldly. His eyes were like chips of grey ice.
"Victor!" Stryker gasped standing still and not making any sudden movements. He glanced around him for any possible weapons but nothing was in reach. It didn't matter anyway. There was no way he could take Creed down. The man would simply heal and keep coming.
He was afraid, more afraid than he had been with Logan. Logan was a bit more human than his brother. He had thought Victor to be dead, crushed under the rubble that was Three Mile Island. Apparently not.
Victor raised his eyebrows mockingly and stood up. "Stryker." He narrowed his eyes on the other man as he slowly advanced.
"What are you doing here?" Stryker asked, his voice slightly higher in pitch than normal. "I thought you were dead." Hoped was more like it.
"What did you do to Jimmy?" He didn't like to beat around the bush too much. Sometimes it was fun to toy with his victims before he killed them, but in this case he was in a hurry.
"He was a danger to us, Victor," he said smoothly, trying to save himself with as much fast talking as possible. "I had to stop him. He was out of control."
Victor easily crossed the remaining space between them and grabbed Stryker by the throat, lifting him up against the wall easily. "What did you do to him? He lost his memories."
Stryker tried to loosed the other man's grip around his neck but couldn't. "I shot him in the head with only thing that will penetrate his metal skull. Adamantium bullets," he gasped, desperately trying to free himself.
Victor eased his grip a fraction and frowned. Adamantium bullets? He glared at Stryker and kept him pinned to the wall. "Fix it," he growled.
"I can't. There's nothing I can do," Stryker said nervously, "As long as the bullets are in his brain his memories will be gone."
As long as they're in… Victor would just have to find Jimmy and get someone to retrieve the bullets. Then everything would be fine. Brothers look out for each other.
He turned his grey eyes back to the trembling man in his grips. He smiled a slow chilling smile. "Thanks. You've been a big help, Colonel. Say hi to your wife for me." He slid his claws out as far as they would go and reached for his throat.
"Wait, wait," Stryker tried stammering, sweat running down his forehead, "You can't beat him, Victor. If you try to confront him, you'll lose."
Victor glowered and snatched up the other man's neck, squeezing slowly so that he could enjoy it. "We'll see,' he promised.
"I—I—can…help you," Stryker gurgled out, turning red. He was trying one last ditch effort to save himself, playing on the one thing that had been his previous control over Victor. His desire to be better than his brother. More powerful.
To his disappointment it didn't work this time. Victor just sneered and kept squeezing. "I won't fall for anymore of your lies, Stryker."
"Not lies—new project," he gasped, "Help…your…brother."
Victor scowled not wanting anything to do with him anymore. But, a niggling seed had already been planted in the back of his mind. The kind that told him that this time would be different. This time he would finally get what he wanted, everything. Power, his brother, the life he wanted.
His grip slowly and reluctantly eased up and Stryker coughed and gasped for air, his vision swimming. It had worked. Now he just had to keep Victor interested. He smiled stiffly as the glaring eyes bored into him.
"Start talking," Victor demanded coldly, keeping him firmly under one clawed hand.
1986 Maine
It was cold. Not even winter yet and snow was falling outside. Logan wasn't as affected by the falling temperature as the other men were. They walked into the bar, shivering and shaking white fluff off their hats and coats, eying the stranger with a distrustful eye before sitting down on worn red leather stools.
"Three beers, Tom," one of them called out, happy now that a long work day and an even longer work week was finished and under his belt. Tom obliged the man and sent three foaming mugs sliding down the bar.
It was six o'clock on a Friday night and things were about to pick up. Logan sat stoically at the opposite end, smoking a cigar and minding his own business. He didn't know anybody in this town and he didn't want to. He was just passing through for a short time before heading back out again. He'd found work at a farm outside the town about five miles and it would suit him for the time being.
But, people always got nosy. They got suspicious when he was able to heal so quickly, or lift loads men twice his size had trouble with. And someone always made him angry, always had something to prove and then people got hurt.
He figured that it was better to keep drifting, not getting close to anyone. It had been a year since he had first awakened with no memory of who he was, except that he knew he was a mutant.
He heard about the emerging mutant phenomena on the news at various bars that he patroned. Snippets of gossip combined with general remarks he heard made about people like him led him to strive to lead a quiet life. He would give trouble to those who asked for it, but he wasn't going to court it. But, some men begged for it… and he found he was only too happy to oblige.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he could immediately tell it wasn't a friendly tap. He tensed and gave the man an unfriendly look hoping he'd take the hint and leave him alone. He didn't.
"Hey, that your bike outside?" the man asked, giving Logan a hard stare that most men would begin shaking under. Logan wasn't most men.
He inhaled on his cigar and sighed. "Yeah, what about it?"
"You're parked in my spot."
Logan stared ahead, glancing over the different bottles of liquor that lined the shelves behind the bar. Was this guy for real? "Didn't know there was assigned parking here, pal." He took another drag and prepared to stub it out. He didn't want the cigar to get crushed and ruined in a bar fight.
The big guy behind him didn't think he was so amusing. "Well, now you know. If you were smart you'd move it," he threatened, cracking his knuckles. He didn't like this newcomer and wanted to make sure he knew who ran things around here.
Logan shrugged. "If you were smart you'd walk away right now."
The guy looked astounded. He outweighed Logan easily by about a hundred pounds, and he was a couple inches taller too. He looked back at everyone who had stopped what they were doing in the hopes of seeing some fists fly and laughed.
"What do you think you're going to do if I don't?"
Logan had had about enough. He stubbed out his cigar and slowly stood, turning as he did so to face his challenger. His anger was starting to simmer below the surface and he inhaled slowly to calm himself. It wouldn't do to lose control too early.
The other guy took in Logan's posture and facial expression. He was going to really enjoy pummeling this arrogant fool. He raised a fist and aimed a punch right at Logan's face, which he ducked and rebounded with his own. Blood squirted from the giant's nose and he looked down at it in wonder and then fury.
Logan glared at him as he charged forward and sidestepped a blow, planting a knee in his stomach and a follow up punch to a kidney. The man fell to the ground and Logan looked longingly over at his cigar, wondering if the guy had had enough yet. He hadn't.
"Aaargh!" the man screamed in fury as swung his fists blindly and furiously hoping to connect with some part of his opponent. Everyone was watching and he couldn't be made a fool of in front of them. It would be humiliating especially losing to a guy almost half his size. His bulk was slowing his down though and he was beginning to sweat profusely.
Logan landed two more solid punches to the guy's face and he was out cold. His enormous bulk landed on the bar floor with a resounding thud. Everyone looked at him in amazement. Nobody had ever beaten Nathan before and so easily. The other guy hadn't even landed one punch.
Some of his buddies rushed over to take him to the hospital, glaring at him the whole time. It was clear they weren't going to let this incident go. Logan smiled briefly. Let them come, he thought. Fighting gave him a thrill that nothing else did. He was good at it and it came naturally to him it seemed. Maybe he was a fighter before he lost his memory.
The bar slowly went back to normal and nobody said anything to him. A few of the women eyed him with appreciation and he gave them a twisted smile that said they were more than welcome to join him upstairs later. It seemed that they were going to take him up on his offer, but before he could make a move, he felt another tap on the shoulder.
"What?" he growled, annoyed that he had been interrupted and bother yet again. He whirled around on his stool to see a thin wiry looking man holding a card out to him. Logan sniffed it and wasn't impressed. "I repeat, what?"
"That was quite a performance you gave there, friend," he started easily, lowering his arm haltingly as he realized the rough looking man wasn't going to take the card he held out.
Logan ignored him and turned back around to face the bar. His cigar was calling to him.
That didn't deter him though. "Stanley Roswell, here friend and I just wanted to-,"
"I'm not your friend. Go bother someone else," Logan groused, successfully lighting it and inhaling deeply.
"Well, okay but I just wanted to let you know of an opportunity for someone of your talents if you were so inclined."
"Already got a job."
"One that pays a thousand dollars for a few minutes of your time?" He knew he had him when Logan turned around and eyed him speculatively.
"Eventually it will," he said. "What sort of job?"
Stan slid onto the stool next to him and tossed his card over. "A fight. Tomorrow night. Winner takes home the grand prize of one thousand dollars. For someone like you it would be a sure thing."
Logan rolled his eyes at the flattery but was intrigued by the proposition. "Who do I have to fight?"
Stan leaned closer. "Well, there will be other participants of course. Three minute rounds. Whichever person takes down the current champion is the winner."
Logan smirked as he perused the card. He was guessing that if the other guys were all non-mutants then they wouldn't stand a chance against him. He had no qualms at all about using his mutation for personal gain. He didn't much care for fair or unfair. Hell, life was unfair. He was testament to that. Besides, his current predicament didn't leave much room for career advancement. He would take what he could get.
And, he would enjoy it.
"Count me in." He pocketed the card and Stanley smiled.