It had taken several months. Several trips to the settlement, insane amount of fiddling and tinkering, paperwork and real, gut busting labor in the farm to ensure that Sam was able to run it on his own, and last but not least he had had to use all his almost non-existent skills in diplomacy to ensure Marie that it was a good idea to return to the force. But finally it was all settled, they could pack their bags and leave to start their lives over again.

His status as a veteran had earned him the possibility to choose whether he wanted to go to the front or stay back in the base as an instructor. He had chosen the latter. As an instructor he could spend his days training rookies, and in the end of each day he got to return home to Marie. Home. They had been given a small house, two rooms and a small kitchen from the officer’s district. Neighbors were very friendly and forthcoming, offering their help in furnishing the house and adapting to daily routines. Most importantly Marie and Logan being mutants hadn’t made any difference to them.

To Marie the change was more profound than to Logan. Since her rather destructive secondary mutation was uncontrollable, she spent her days in training. She had her own personal instructor, an elderly woman, who monitored her progress and gave her pointers of how she could most likely gain the control over the blue mist. Ariadne Woolcroft was human, but she had worked years in a group that studied mutations, and had gained quite an insight over most common trigger mechanisms for them.

She had Ariadne, and wives of the officers to keep her company during days. She hadn’t told them the full extent of her earlier experiences with the Old Army, as everybody referred nowadays, but enough for them to understood why she was reluctant, and downright fearful at times to leave her home. But even she had to admit that life was getting slowly better. She had Logan. She had friends. She was slowly mastering her mutations. And to get those all she didn’t have to struggle through every single day.

“Fucking morons. It’s a small miracle that you’re all still alive.” He had to admit that he enjoyed the reaction he managed to shook from his trainees every time he addressed them. Noisy, rowdy bunch of young, cocky men and women turned to shivering pack of mice as soon as he as much as opened his mouth to speak.
“This isn’t a game. There’s a real battle waiting for each and every one of you. At the end of this month you’re supposed to be good and ready to be sent out.” He paused for a moment, gauging their reactions. Few of them looked about ready to wet themselves.
“It’s up to me to decide which ones of you get to sent out. They need only the best. I want only the best. The rest of you, who won’t fit in to standards…” He paused again, then lifted his hand and unsheathed his claws for the effect.
“Those of you who won’t live up to expectations won’t live at all after I’m through with you.”

His superiors had seen it fit to give him the responsibility to welcome the new recruits. His mean attitude combined with the legend of his achievements in the Old War gave him certain power over them. He was able to pinpoint the ones not suitable to the battlefield from the beginning, and it was easier to steer them towards other positions. He also had the skills to mold the rest of the recruits to a tightly knit unit of machines, ready for anything.

Of course there were hundred and one things he had to learn himself as well. New protocols and methods, new equipment, more tactics, and most important of them all, he had had to learn to let go of his suspicions towards the uniformed people surrounding him. It was getting easier. He didn’t pop the claws every time when somebody approached him. He hadn’t tried to gut Dr. Jeffries when he had appeared to his office at the middle of the day with his kit, demanding a blood sample. He had only sent the good doctor away with few selected advices of from where and how exactly he could get the sample he was after. All in all, life was… Life. He got to scare the people, he got paid for doing it, and most importantly he had Marie.

It was his day-off when it all went sour.

He had taken the opportunity to sleep in the morning. Marie had been baking in the kitchen, and the aroma of fresh coffee and cookies had pulled him to pleasant state of half slumber, when sudden silence forced his eyes open. It was too quiet. Just a moment ago she had been humming happily, clattering and banging dishes and rustling with bags of sugar and flour, and now this. Almost deafening silence, and sickening feel of dread spreading over, covering scents of happiness and ease.

He got up and walked in to the kitchen. Marie was standing there; clutching a sheet of paper in her hands, face pale, almost ashen.
“Marie?” Paper fell from her fingers and she stomped on it with her feet, grinding down and nearly shredding it to pieces in the process.
“No. They can’t do this!”
“Marie?” He called her again. She swirled around her face twisted to angry grimace, rage burning in her eyes.
“I told you. I told you this would happen, but did you listen? No. You just had to have this your way…” She growled and stormed out, stopping only long enough to put on her shoes waiting at the door.

He hurried to the oven and took out the cookies before they burned to crisp. Taking one and munching on it he turned his attention to the paper on the floor. Picked it up and read it through.
“Holy shit.”
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