Marie?
Marie’s eyes shot open, her neck jerking in a spasm as she attempted to launch herself upwards and into a standing position.
No dice.
Glancing rapidly from side to side, she bit back a terrified scream that threatened to well up uncontrollably from her throat. Her head had been forced into some sort of device that completely covered her cranium. A gag had been shoved into her mouth, her tongue was bone dry.
Harsh metallic arm bands bolted her down into the arms of the chair that held her captive, gloves made of metal pinned her fingers individually, spreading them painfully away from each other. A thin bandeau top made of white fabric, as well as a pair of white shorts covered her necessities. Her legs had also been imprisoned.
It was futile to struggle.
But she did so anyways.
Marie clenched her teeth and summoned Carol’s superstrength, straining against the bonds with ever fiber of her being. She roared behind the gag, frustrated. Tears streamed from her face as the metal refused to give, didn’t even bend under the massive force she applied.
The sound of footsteps shuffling towards her echoed in the cave-like room she was being held inside. Her wide, bloodshot eyes could see brilliantly in the dim light, a side-effect, she supposed, of permanently absorbing a feral mutant.
A larger, hairier than usual feral appeared in her line of sight. Scraggly ginger-blond hair hung down his mid-back, matted in places. Wickedly sharp claws protruded from the tips of his fingers, cat-like eyes glowing with reflected light. r32;
Sabretooth.
The males embedded in her psyche went from casual observers to all-out-rebellious sonsofbitches. If the Wolverine had been able to physically separate his astral projection doppleganger from her head into the cave she sat in, she was almost certain she would have been witness to a massive mutant death match. Daken was clearly his father’s son, he too, had no love for the animal that stood before her.
The picture the two painted was one of a snarling, blood thirsty killer. Apparently, murdering innocents for fun should have been the number one hobby on his match.com profile.
So she was completely surprised when he sat down where she could see him, hands and claws clearly visible.
“Hello,” he said, cordially, almost...amicably, “I’m Victor.”
--------------
“What do we do with him?” Hank asked. His blue, furry arm was being held in a vice grip by Colossus. Storm and Jean were dabbing strong smelling antiseptic on three wickedly deep gashes that still spewed copious amounts of dark red blood onto the pristine tile floors below, sustained while attempting to subdue the newly acquired undead feral. If Colossus hadn’t tackled him and knocked him into the holding room...
Hank shuddered. He didn’t want to think about that.
“That is a good question, Hank,” Xavier replied, pursing his lips as he held his hands together thoughtfully. Kind and knowing eyes watched through a two-way mirror into the isolation chamber the medical bay had installed many years ago in case of an adolescent mutant rampage.
The Wolverine was completely naked, claws unsheathed. A faint, pale pink scar circled his neck completely, refusing to fade despite his extraordinary healing abilities. The wound on his stomach was the same - healed, but massive scar tissue still lingering behind. Claw marks dug gouges into the three foot thick chamber walls, puncture marks showing where the Wolverine had attempted to climb up the walls to reach the two-way mirror some ten feet above his head.
Well, the kids didn’t call it the “Pit” for just any old reason.
“Professor,” Kitty’s voiced asked, breaking his train of thought, “I was unable to find any current information on the network about any “Son of Wolverine, however, I did find mention of a mutant going by the name ‘Daken,’ in some of our archived FoH files from several decades ago, he seems to match the description you picked up from Cerebro, but he would be much older now.”
“Thank you, Kitty, but age is not a factor for those who possess this particular level of cellular regeneration,” Xavier murmured, “In fact, I believe that the man in the pit below us could possibly be hundreds of years old, despite his youthful appearance.”
“Hundreds,” Jean asked, incredulous, “Are you serious?”
“Jean, my dear,” Xavier said, smiling, “There have been many mutants who aged irregularly in the past. What is to say that this man’s mutation is not the ultimate tool for survival? He is natural selection at its best. Not only does he regenerate, he is apparently capable of surviving extreme, debilitating trauma. If this Daken is indeed his son, it would be apparent that he also passes on this valuable characteristic to his offspring.”
“I suspect that valuable characteristic of almost-immortality resulted in his value as a case study subject,” Hank interjected, nodding towards his cuts, “One isn’t born with adamantium claws sticking almost a foot out of your hands, the make-up of that particular alloy does not occur organically.”
“So an inorganic compound was grafted onto his bones?” Jubilee asked, appalled.
“Not everyone is as civilized as you or I, my dear,” Xavier said, relaxing his hands onto the arms of his wheelchair. He glanced down into the pit and sighed, “And if they are civilized, it does not guarantee that they will stay that way.”
“Who do you suspect?” Scott’s firm voice rumbled. He leaned, tense, against the metal doorframe.
“I believe you already know, Scott,” Xavier replied. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward and placed his forehead against the glass.
--------------
Logan.
The Wolverine snarled. In his head.
They were in his head.
They had Marie, and they were in his head.
He howled, claws dragging sparks against the immovable walls, “Get out!”
We can help you.
“Where. Is. She?!”
Fucking needles. Fucking doctors. Fucking constantly messing with his head. The man, Logan, had retreated far into the recesses of his mind. Primal, urgent rage, tempered by fear, the overwhelming need for self-defense reverted Logan from man into beast.
The true Wolverine.
Not just a piss-ant piece of him, allowed to annihilate weaklings inside a cage made of flimsy metal and plywood. This was a creature born to be a perfect weapon, the next step of the evolutionary chain that truly embraced the primacy and brutality of life.
One with needs.
Needs that must be met.
First was the girl. He saw her, swimming in his head, a teary eyed brunette. He barely knew who Marie was - fuck, he had just regrown his own damn head and spinal column after all - but she was his. He knew it, something deep within him roared and swaggered at the thought of her.
His.
And the Wolverine protected what was his.
So need number one. Find the girl.
Need number two, get the fuck out of this cell.
We know where she is... The visitor’s voice whispered, that caress of a male-mind against his own.
He snarled, lips curling up and spittle spilling from them as he glanced upwards at the tiny window letting light into the pit entrapping him.
Dammit.
Wolverine was going to have to play nice.
His hackles rose, irritation overwhelming him. But the quickest way to any point as via a straight line. And even if he didn’t like it, the psychic hotline upstairs might be the easiest way of getting to need number one.
“Let me out then,” he called, voice deeper than Logan’s, raspier almost, “I promise to play nice.”
Listen first. Then you may come out.
“Afraid I’m going to hurt another one of your pet mutants, Doc, or maybe you?” Wolverine cackled. He knew what this place was. Knew they were hiding Marie from him.
Afraid that you might hurt one of my mutants? Perhaps..., the voice said, But you, Wolverine, hurt me? My dear boy, you have no idea what I am capable of. So listen, think, contemplate, decide the best course of action to take - besides gutting myself and my entire school.
Suddenly exhausted, and certain he was being mind-rolled, he plopped to the padded floor of the cell and leaned back against the cool wall.
“Okay, I’ll listen,” he hollered. Glancing down at his claws, he smirked.
Just because he would listen, didn’t mean he still wouldn’t gut someone.
Good compromise.
I heard that, the voice chided, If you attempt to gut one of my students, I will liquify your testicles.
“Grrrr...fuck!”
Watch your mouth.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: Sorry this story has taken so long - I literally have been on writer’s block central on this for at least a couple of months. Finally, my plot muse hippity hoppeded its way back, and now, more Finding Home!
“Stronger,” Kanye West
Work it, make it, do it, makes us, harder, better, faster stronger
That that don’t kill me - can only make me stronger
“Stronger,” Kanye West
Work it, make it, do it, makes us, harder, better, faster stronger
That that don’t kill me - can only make me stronger