Nothing, nothing beats the thrill of the chase. Not beer, not a good fight, not even sex. Okay... maybe sex. But right now, nothing mattered except his mark. The scent of his shampoo, the cheap cologne barely masking the warm, bitter stench of sweat mingled with coffee and paper. To the eye the man was nothing remarkable; a simple grey suit and plain brown hair slicked back and a commonplace face, but his scent was burned into the Wolverine’s mind after days of tracking and watching and waiting.
The Wolverine was growing irritable. Normally the job would be done and paid for by now, but the client wanted him to wait for further instructions. Hmph, like he needed to be told how to kill a man. But the pay for this job was high, and he needed the money. So he waited, and stewed, and vowed to make this man’s death a slow one to make up for it.
He was half-imagining the way the mark’s skin would peel open under his claws when his phone rang. He held it to his ear without saying a word, and the voice on the other line simply said, “It’s time.”

      The parking garage was dark and deserted; the perfect setting for the Wolverine to take action. The mark had taken a new path home after work this evening. Strange, considering he had walked to work this morning as he did every day. But, the hunter followed behind the mark. He kept a good distance between the two, far enough away to avoid detection, but close enough to catch up if the mark tried to escape.

      He ignored the damp chill that radiated from the concrete as he slunk through the shadows, and tried to tune out the terrible scents that hung in the air. Gasoline, mould, cigarettes, bad body odour and urine; it was almost too much. The Wolverine focused his senses on the mark, and stalked onwards.

      The mark was nervous. His fluttering heartbeat and quick pace made it obvious. When he glanced over his shoulder, the sweat on his forehead gleamed in the yellow light. The Wolverine hesitated. He hadn’t revealed himself yet, why was the man panicking? He decided to get the job done, before the man fled into a more populated area.

      Near silent footsteps, the rustle of his leather coat, the mark heard neither of them. The Wolverine moved in closer and closer. His senses were on fire, the echoes of voices on the floors above and the street below sounded absurdly loud, and the mark’s footsteps were like drumbeats on the bare concrete. A low growl emitted from the Wolverine’s throat, and the mark’s heart rate doubled. He let out a small cry as he broke into a run. Wolverine easily caught up. The adamantium claws shot out of his hands, and the man must have heard, because he started yelling. Fool.

      “Help! Somebody help!” His voice echoed. His next syllable was mangled into a shriek as three of the claws drove into his back and pierced his lungs, and the other three raked the back of his head. He stumbled and collapsed to the ground.

      “Parker!” The man yelled helplessly. A satisfied smirk, and the fist poised for another strike and- shit. Someone was coming. The Wolverine looked up, spotted someone running at him. No, three people now. Shit .

      “Par-“ the man choked, swallowed. “Parker!”

      The one in front was a girl. The Wolverine hesitated. He may not have a problem killing a man when asked to, but a child was out of the question. His claws slipped back in, and he stepped back. The girl and the other two with her – her parents, he assumed – were close. Too close. The woman was grabbing at the girl, trying to pull her back, the father frozen in shock. Wolverine sneered and turned to dash away when a gunshot rang out. It was loud, the volume enough to stagger him for a second. The girl was screaming now. The mark was silent. Wolverine’s head whipped around, searching for a sign of the gunman. There, a glint of light behind him, at the opposite end of the building. He heard the tinkle of a shell casing hitting the floor, click of the gun being reloaded. A figure emerged from the corner, and stepped into the dim light. Shit shit shit.

      “Make one more move, and the next one is for you,” the figure said, his voice was deep and calm. The Wolverine tensed, clenched his hands at his side. The figure gestured with his hand, and more men seeped out from the shadows. Footsteps could be heard above and below. More were coming.

      “Ah, Wolverine,” The man sighed, “I can’t believe it was this easy.” Wolverine bared his teeth in reply. The man crossed his arms behind his back and strolled closer. “Shame to lose one of my men,” he clucked his tongue as he eyed up the body on the floor behind Wolverine. His gaze shifted to a point in the distance and he gave a slight nod. There was a scuffle, and protests from the girl and her family.

      “Leave them out of this,” The Wolverine hissed. The man in front of him turned his attention back to the brute. “Will you follow me willingly, or will we have to drag you out as well?” The Wolverine snorted, and the men around him drew closer. The air radiated with tension as they considered each other. The Wolverine strained his ears and nose, tried to count the men around him, but there were too many. He’d been in tighter situations than this, he knew. He met the eyes of the one in front of him, letting out a rumble from his chest.

      A heartbeat later there was chaos. Adamantium met flesh, and metal and leather. Blood sprayed into his eyes, but he did not need vision. Instinct guided his movement, ducking blows and driving his claws in any target he could reach. And then there was only pain. His muscles clamped as electricity surged through him, everything went white. A second gunshot echoed, and his body slumped to the cold concrete floor.

      There were no windows in the back of the van that they were riding in. There were no seats either. The five of them were huddled in the back of a cargo van, sitting on the floor and keeping their distance from the body laying face-down in the middle of their semi-circle. Two men were with the girl and her parents, sitting across from each other between the back door and the captives.
      “We don’t belong here, I don’t even know why you think we’re involved in this... this...” Her father sputtered and was cut off by one of the men.
      “Pipe down,” The man beside her father ordered, “I’m tired of listenin’ to ya.” The man, clad in worn black jeans and a dark button-up shirt adjusted the ski mask that covered his face. “This thing is drivin’ me crazy,” He groaned to his partner. The second grunted an agreement, and examined the pistol in his hand. Marie sat quietly, stuck in the corner furthest from the doors, and kept her eyes on the body at her feet. His head was turned in her direction, and she couldn’t stop staring. Wolverine they had called him. She didn’t know what it meant, and she didn’t know who he was. What bothered her most was that they had feverishly worked to bind his hands and feet, and chain him to the floor of the van after he fell. What was the point? The man... the Wolverine was dead, she was sure of it. No one survived a bullet to the head.

      The van hit a particularly deep pothole, and she was nearly thrown on top of the body. A sigh of relief escaped her lips, but when she heard a groan her heart skipped a beat. She pulled her feet away from the man on the floor and examined his face. The interior lights were on, but the tilt of his head cast most of his face in shadow. Did his eyebrows just twitch? Were they always furrowed like that? He looked like he was concentrating. Marie chided herself for letting her imagination get the best of her, but still couldn’t bear to look away. The two in masks were bent forwards, talking quietly to each other.
      Marie’s father put his arm around his wife and pulled her close. He whispered something into her ear. Marie wrapped her arms around herself as she tried to block the world out. Her mind was racing a thousand thoughts a second; who are these people? What is going on? Where are they taking us? But she knew she had to be strong. She met eyes with her mother, and gave a weak smile to show that she was alright. Her eyes settled back on the Wolverine and oh my God. His eyes... they were open.
      She couldn’t help the shriek that escaped her lips as she scrambled to her feet.
      “Sit down!” The uniformed man beside her ordered. A second later he struck Marie. She cried out and slumped down on her knees, hands cradling the side of her face. Her father jumped at her attacker. A deafening BOOM made her ears ring, adding to her disorientation. She watched helplessly as her father stumbled back and hit the wall behind him. Her mother’s lips were moving, and she was grabbing at her husband, but Marie couldn’t hear what she was saying. The ringing subsided, and was replaced by the voices of the men beside her.
      “Jesus Christ, Carver,” the one beside her father – the one with the itchy ski mask – gestured wildly. “Was that really necessary?”
      Carver shrugged, seemingly unfazed.
      “Did you have to hit the girl?” Ski mask shook his head. He bent down and quickly checked her father over. Marie’s mother was crying and stuttering nonsense words, and Carver pointed his gun at her. “Keep quiet, or you’re next.”
      They rode in silence, broken only by her father’s groans of pain and her mother murmuring to him. Marie was numb, and her mind had gone quiet. She had no idea if the ride took one hour or six, but when the van’s doors opened the sky was black. It was misty, and a single lamp shone yellow light which gave the entire area a surreal glow. A dozen men had rifles pointed in their direction.
      “What’s this?” One of the men outside motioned his gun at Marie and her parents. Carver held his hands up in a gesture of uncertainty. The group of men mumbled to each other, and then two shouldered their weapons and stepped forward. Marie’s father was shoved out of the van and led away, followed by her mother. The man with the ski mask grasped Marie’s sleeve and yanked her towards the door as well. She stumbled on the feet of the man on the floor, lost her balance, and teetered on the edge of the door. Strong hands seized her and passed her on to someone else. There wasn’t much to see, other than a dozen or so armed men and two other vans parked nearby. She only caught a glimpse of the run-down warehouse before they dragged her inside.
      It was dim inside. A few of the industrial lights in the ceiling were on, but most seemed to be broken – one flickered incessantly, as if it were struggling to stay lit. The windows had all been blacked out and a measly lamp on a crate in one corner barely lit more than the floor around it. A few men were sitting around it, playing cards. “Put her in the back with the other ones.” Someone instructed. She lost sight of the lamp as she was led through a winding maze of boxes to the other end of the building, and was ushered through a doorway. She didn’t fight back as they descended a set of iron stairs. The thought briefly occurred to her that she could, but she squelched that almost right away. Better to stay on the good side of the men with the weapons for now, she figured.
      Two men opened the door at the bottom of the stairs for her captor. She was pushed inside and it was shut behind her before she could even turn around. The basement was long and narrow, from what she could see.
      She stood in the entry, eyes working to adjust. Light glowed around the edges of the door behind her, glinting off of pipework that lined the wall on her right. Her voice was just more than a whisper when she said, “Mama?”
      “Over here,” her mother replied, hidden in the darkness directly to her left. There was a commotion outside just before their door was jerked open and the man was carelessly tossed into the room beside her. The door slammed shut again, and this time a number of locks could be heard sliding into place. The man – or the body, she still wasn’t sure – lay on his back at her feet. The streaks of light rested on his chest, giving a glimpse of a blood-darkened shirt under his jackets.
      “I wonder who he is?” Marie said, more to herself than to anyone else. All the same, her father beside her wheezed a response.
      “A scoundrel, I bet.” Another wheeze of a breath drawn, then: “Probably a mutant.” Marie flinched, pulled her arms tighter around herself.

      Mutant.

      That word hard torn her family apart.
      It felt like a lifetime ago they had been happy. Normal. But her mutation had changed everything. It had taken away her childhood, her compassion, everything. Mutant or not, there was no excuse for the horrors she had been put through, at the hands of humans. Of normals. The images brewed at the edge of her mind, threatened to tear down her defences. She steeled herself, throwing up walls as high as she could. One step at a time, Marie moved further into the room, leaving her parents behind her. The row of vertical pipes came to an end at about thirteen paces, and an arm’s length from there was a rough concrete wall. There was nothing else. Marie’s body started to tremble. Timidly, she tucked herself into the space between the last pipe and the wall, and she slid down to sit on the cold floor. She wrapped her arms around herself, knowing that that was all the physical comfort that she would get.

       “I just don’t get it,” her mother complained, “What did we do? Why are we even here?” She didn’t receive an answer from her husband, and Marie smirked at the irony. How many times had that thought run through her own head when her mother had taken her to the facility to be treated?

*

      The address was for an office tower downtown, in a city not too far from their home. He remembered being surprised when they entered the front doors. How many times had he walked past this very building on his way to work after lunch, and assumed that it was just lawyers offices and telemarketers hunched over their computers inside?

       A security officer sat at a large, finely carved mass of a wooden desk. The marble countertop gleamed from the light the chandelier cast down upon it. The officer was well muscled, and had a hard look in his eyes. Not at all like the overweight and overage man that worked as the only security employed in his building.
      It took two pieces of photo ID and a signed waiver before they received a keycard and were sent to the elevator.
      “This seems like a nice place,” his wife said nervously. His daughter stood sullen and silent in the elevator beside them. Part of him wanted to reach out and stroke her hair like he used to. To put his arm around her and tell her that everything is going to be okay. But he saw what she did to David. She wasn’t his little girl anymore. She was ... something else. It hurt to see her like this, covered head-to-toe and cowering beside him, but this was the only way he knew how to help.
      The elevator came to a stop and they stepped out into a sparse hallway. His wife reached out and pressed the buzzer. A woman’s voice asked for their security clearance to open the doors. Awkwardly, Owen stepped forward and swiped the card on the panel beside the entry. The LED turned from red to green, and the doors slid open.
      Dark carpets covered the floor of the reception room, with delicate damask wallpaper and wood panelling on the walls. An abundance of fine paintings and plants filled the room, and the receptionist was very beautiful. The extravagance was marred by the presence of two security guards standing on either side of the entrance, however. And as he looked around, he saw security cameras in every corner. They were given a clipboard with a stack of papers and the three of them were ushered into a smaller room.
      “Dr. Levowic will be with you shortly,” the receptionist told them in her soft voice before closing the door behind them. His wife sat in a chair facing a large mahogany desk and began filling out the forms. His daughter stayed at the door as he paced around the room examining the thick books in the bookshelf (which covered a variation of subjects, including genetics, medicine, psychology, and hypnosis, he noted) to the row of certificates hung on the wall.
      “Daddy,” Marie’s voice drew his attention immediately. “I don’t want to be here.”
      “It’s for your own good,” her mother said, not even looking up from her papers. He didn’t say anything, just looked at Marie. His little Marie. Couldn’t she see that he just wanted to help her? Her eyes were shining with tears and her jaw was trembling. “Daddy, please.” His wife gave him that look. The ‘don’t screw this up. This is what she needs’ look.
      He didn’t say anything.
      The doctor entered the room then. His sandy receding hair was slicked back, which made his widow’s peak even more prominent. He introduced himself, and said his little spiel – essentially exactly what had been in the pamphlet they had received in the mail. They were a top notch facility, aimed at helping those unfortunately affected by a “genetic quirk” that wreaked havoc on their bodies and their loved ones. Their therapy sessions differed in every case, some were successful in only a few short weeks, but they must understand that some difficult cases took months, even years, to find a breakthrough. “But rest assured,” he bowed his head and smiled, “Your daughter will receive the most advanced care in the country.” He clasped his hands together and turned to Marie. “If you would like to say your farewells to your parents...” The room stayed silent. A moment later, Marie’s mother coughed politely and turned a page over. “We have already said our goodbyes.”
      The doctor nodded and reached out to put his arm around Marie, but she flinched back. “Do not be afraid, young one. We only wish to help you.” He stepped out into the main lobby with Marie reluctantly following, and the door slowly closed behind them. But not before Marie turned back and looked to her father.
      “It’ll be fine, Marie.” Owen said, but she was already out the door. He fixed his gaze on his wife, who sat coolly in her chair, pointedly ignoring him.
      “I hope you’re happy,” he said, before turning and leaving.

*

      He could just barely make out voices coming from upstairs, but he could pick up what the two men outside the door were saying.
      “Sounds like we’re going to be here for the night.”
      “What? Why? I thought Pollard would be here tonight.”
      “You think the men up there would be carrying on like that if they were expecting Pollard to show up?”
      The two of them were silent for a moment. A shout, then a chorus of laughter echoed in the stairwell.
      “See? He’d have their hides if he caught them acting like that.”
      “Guess he got delayed or something”
      “Shit man, I didn’t want to be here all night. Not with him.”
      “Scared of the wolf man, are we?”
      “Dude. You weren’t there when they took him down.”
      The clang of footsteps on the metal stairs cut the conversation off. “Open the door.” The voice sounded slurred. “Salas, what are you doing?” scaredy-pants asked before what sounded like a scuffle. “Guys, seriously, go back upstairs.” More footsteps came down, and the arguing continued. The door shuddered as someone’s weight was thrown against it, and then the locks began their clicking as they were hastily unfastened.
      The Wolverine was struggling to his feet, spitting blood from his mouth and shifting his jaw back and forth. He rolled his shoulders and tested the bonds on his wrists. Not handcuffs like what a policeman would have, but what felt like two metal tubes welded together in an X, keeping his hands and lower arms completely immobile. His eyes met with the couple huddled in the corner just before the door burst inward. Several of the guards were wrestling in the small space. An automatic gun went off in the confusion, sending a flurry of bullets into the room. A few grazed Wolverine’s face, but the rest embedded into the wall far behind him. His lips curled up into a snarl and he lunged at the group of men. But without his arms, he could only toss his crushing weight into the pile, pinning two men to the ground.
      One of the intoxicated guards stumbled into the corner where the husband and wife were cowering. He grabbed the woman by her arm and hauled her to her feet.
      “Hmn,” he pulled her closer and examined her face. “Not the one I wanted, but you’ll do.”
      “Owen?” She called to her husband.
      “Let go of my wife!” The husband jumped to his feet and took a swing at the guard. A second one showed up beside the first and landed a punch right in Owen’s stomach. The two guards pulled the struggling woman out of the door, pushing past the men waiting outside. When they were gone, her husband cried out and dove for the doorway. Two more entered and began beating him senseless.
      Marie watched the whole scene from her hiding spot behind the pipework. She dared not enter the melee to help her father, nor did she want to draw attention to herself, lest they carry her away too. She closed her eyes and clamped her hands over her ears, but was unable to drown out the roar of the gunfire.


      It was silent for a long time before she dared to look.
      One figure was heading in her direction. Fear took over her senses, and she leapt to her feet.
      “Don’t come any closer!” She managed to say, though not as firmly as she hoped she would sound. The figure stepped closer, and she noticed the weird hunch of his shoulders. It was the man from the van, the one that had been chained down. What had they called him? Wolf? She skittered out of his path, and watched him as he continued to the wall, turned, and paced in the other direction. Marie’s gaze followed his fading form, until it fell on the sight of her father crumpled on the floor. She wanted to go to him, and she managed to take a few steps forward before her mind started yelling at her. He won’t want you to touch him. It said to her. Just the thought of your skin revolts him. Her nails dug into her palms. Her bare palms, she had refused to wear those rubber medical gloves once she was free of the facility and she hadn’t gotten a chance to buy a pair of fabric ones before all this happened. If you try to comfort him, you will only hurt him.
      And he will hate you even more.
      She sank to the floor, and watched the wolf man pace like a caged animal.

      His head was pounding from a killer headache. The kind he always got when his adamantium skull deflected bullets. And it had done a fair share of that tonight already. He needed to rest, to heal, but being pinned up like this drove him halfway to insanity. He wondered if the girl could hear her mother crying. He certainly could. Earlier he had heard her struggling, the sound of fabric tearing, the slap of skin on skin, the other men fighting over whom was next. He didn’t think they’d even made it up the staircase, considering how loud it all sounded. But now the commotion had settled somewhat, and the muffled sobs of the woman on the stairs had disappeared when they finally took her away.
      The throbbing in his head finally got to him. He stalked to near the back of the room and slumped down into the corner. His eyelids fluttered shut before he even got into a comfortable position, and within seconds he was out.

      She was alone. Completely alone. Maybe they would forget her down here and she would die. It was just like that other place all over again. She had gotten her hopes up when her parents came for her, thinking she would never go through that hell again. Yet here she was. Soon would come the sleeping gas, the poisons and powders, the wires and tubes, the needles, the scalpels, and the bitter reassurances from the doctor that it wouldn’t hurt, reassurances from herself that this time it might be different. Maybe this would work, and then she could go home. She curled into herself, digging rhythmically into her palms with her nails to draw her attention from that line of thinking.

      Her palms were scratched raw by the time her father groaned and rolled onto his side, nearly giving her a heart attack. “Dad?”
      After a moment, he managed to grunt, “Yeah.”
      She opened and closed her mouth, wanting to ask so many things, but not knowing what to say. He spoke first. “Are you-“
      “I’m fine.” She cut him off.
      “Listen, I-“ he hissed in pain, “I’m sorry we trie- we tried to-“ Why are you apologizing? She wanted to yell. You never said a goddamn word to me since you came to take me home. If you were sorry for putting me in there and leaving, why did it take you so long to come back for me?
      “Fix me?” She finished for him.
      “No. No, that wasn’t ”
      “I heard you and mom fighting, dad. Every day,” Her voice wavered on the last word. “Every day, you fought about me. You never cared what I wanted; you never cared how I felt.” Her tears burned a path down her cheeks as they fell from her eyes. “You weren’t sorry for what they did to me. You were sorry that it didn’t work.”
      Her father didn’t say anything after that. She regretted saying it, now that she had. He was her father after all. Deep down she knew he still loved her. But, like her mother, she was stubborn. And though she was scared, and confused – she was hurt. And she wasn’t going to let him forget that. She stood and returned to her place between the pipes and the walls, leaving her father behind.
      And so the three of them sat in relative silence, listening to the rain outside and the wheezing and coughing of her father echoing in the room. If she had any inkling that those would be her last words with her father, maybe things would have been different.

      Hours passed. The temperature dropped, and her father’s wheezes became quieter.
      It was cold.
      Cold, and damp, and dark, and she didn’t like it. The floor was bare concrete, and it sapped all of the heat from her body. The two of them, Marie and the Wolverine, sat facing each other, their backs pressed to the walls. The room was long and narrow, and if they had both extended their legs, their feet would have touched. She was shivering so hard that her body was convulsing. He was more than comfortable in his layers of flannel, denim and leather. But with his hands bound behind him, they wouldn’t be coming off.
      Her teeth captured her bottom lip again, and she glanced nervously in the direction of Wolverine.
      “You were dead,” she stated softly. If he heard, he didn’t acknowledge it. “I saw them shoot you.” Again, he didn’t move. The pitter-patter of the rain outside filled the silence. She regretted saying anything, until his head turned slightly to her direction.
      “It ain’t that easy to kill me, kid.”
      She went silent again, rubbing her arms with her hands in a feeble attempt to warm up. He sighed in what she perceived to be irritation. “Kid, come over here.”
      He could see her eyes widen at him. The tremble of her lips as she stuttered: “W-what?”
      “Come sit close to me,” His voice was barely more than a growl, “You’re going to freeze.”
      It took another minute or so of contemplation and violent shudders before she gave in. It would have taken him two strides to cross the room; it took her much more than that. She finally settled down beside him, an arm’s length away. He was irked.
      “Look, kid... I’m not gonna hurt you.”
      A moment’s hesitation and she shuffled closer. A few minutes later she shifted another few inches towards him.
      Logan exhaled through his nose and leaned his head back against the concrete wall. He let the parking garage scenario play through his mind for the nth time. Analysing every move, every scent he hadn’t picked up on. It was a stupid, amateur mistake. He should have known better, but he had let confidence and routine blind him to all the signs of an ambush.
      The gentle press of the girl against his side woke him from his brooding. He could smell her tears, and he groaned inwardly. He hadn’t wanted to be her friend. He just couldn’t take the thought of her freezing to death at his feet. He may be a killer, but she was a child. Maybe if he ignored her, she would keep her problems to herself.
      “Thank you,” she murmured into his side.
      “Don’t.” Don’t what? Don’t thank him? Don’t come any closer? He didn’t know. He figured he’d let her interpret it.
      It took a while, but her shivering finally subsided. But she did not move away. He was willing to let her sit this close to him without pulling away, something she hadn’t experienced in quite some time.
      Her mind finally started to process her situation. The fact that her mother didn’t seem to be coming back, that maybe her father was worse off than she’d thought. She had seen a lot in the past year, learned to numb herself to the tortures of those trying to help her, to turn off her mind and let time simply pass on unobserved. But for once, she didn’t know why she was somewhere cold. Why the unfamiliar and harsh and frightening people were treating her this way. She didn’t know what to expect, and it was gnawing at her like a mouse, tearing away her defences and exposing her weak and fragile interior.
      If anyone had any idea about the situation, it would be this man – The Wolverine. “What’s going to happen to me?” She looked up, examining his face for some kind of response.
      He didn’t answer, though he could probably guess what they would do with her. The man slumped on the floor, her father, wasn’t going to make it through the night. And her mother was likely dead already. The girl would probably meet the same fate, and that stirred something inside of him.
      It scared him.
      It scared him even more that he cared.