The journey through the base an’ out to the helicopter is made in total blackness – Control shuts down my visor so that I can’t see, presumably to prevent me from memorisin’ a way out. I am guided through the hallways by Kelly an’ DaCosta. Each rest a hand lightly on a shoulder, using pressure to indicate which way I should go or when to stop. A muttered word warns me of a step or a doorway. I’m reminded o’ the time a serial killer I was trackin’ through the sewers o’ Madripoor threw acid in my face. My eyes were useless for a time an’ I had to rely on my other senses to pinpoint his location an’ bring him to justice.
My eyes are similarly useless to me now, but I still have my ears an’ nose.
The further I get from the cell, the quicker the suppressant wears off, until I know I am once again operating at peak efficiency. Stands to reason that the gas would wear off quickly once I was out of its immediate influence. Roberts could hardly send his prize killer out on a mission with half of his mutant arsenal out o’ commission. With my head clearin’ quickly, I begin cataloguing scents an’ sounds, creatin’ a mental snapshot o’ my surroundings. My first clue comes at the end o’ the cell block hallway when I am ushered into an elevator which immediately begins to rise. Going up to get out means that we’re somewhere underground. But where? Are we in the city? Out in the suburbs? Are we even in the same State?
The place doesn’t have the same feel to it as the original Weapon X base – even without my memories, I’ll remember the stink o’ those hellish hallways until the day I die – so I know we’re somewhere new. But no matter how hard they try, they can’t disguise their own scents – I manage to isolate the unique traces of at least fifty individuals besides the ones I already know. Which means that this set-up is bigger than I originally thought. Are they all Weapon X operatives, or do they also employ casual workers for the more mundane tasks? I figure that’s something I won’t find out until I finally manage to break free o’ the flamin’ cell.
I encounter Victor’s scent on numerous occasions. It seems he has the run o’ the place, which is strange considerin’ he’s a mutant an’ Roberts is in the habit o’ keepin’ mutants under lock an’ key. What is Victor doing to secure his safety here? And, more importantly, what has Roberts offered him in return?
I receive my biggest shock as we move through what I presume are the upper levels o’ the base – I hear a baby crying. A baby, fer Christ’s sake! What the hell is a baby doing in a place like this?
Y’know what? I don’t think I wanna know.
We eventually emerge via a sliding door into what I presume is a barn – I can smell hay an’ leather an’ …….. horses? I snort an’ force the pungent scent outta my nostrils, wonderin’ if I’ve made a mistake, but no, the spoor is too distinct to be mistaken for anything else. The more I learn, the more the questions keep mounting up.
Crowe pushes open a set o’ typically creaky doors at the end o’ the barn and I am ushered out into the night air. My nose twitches as I eagerly inhale the scent o’ trees an’ grass an’ wide open spaces, an’ Kelly an’ DaCosta tighten their grip on my shoulders, as if suspecting that the clear air has charged me for flight. If I had just myself to worry about, I would be tempted to make a run for it. But there is the cub’s safety to consider an’ I won’t leave her alone in Roberts’ clutches, even if it means sacrificin’ my own survival. She is a team-mate an’ friend. An’ cubs are precious.
I can hear the sound of a helicopter now – probably a modified Black Hawk, if my memories o’ Black Ops missions with the Canadian Secret Service serves me true. There’s plenty o’ clearance above my head, but one o’ my handlers pushes me down into a stoop anyway, just in case I try anything stupid an’ take my fool head off with the rotor. It’s an interestin’ prospect – I doubt the blade could sever the metal in my neck, but it seems my captors aren’t willin’ to risk it.
Once inside the chopper, I am pushed onto a bench set against the bare fuselage. My cuffs immediately magnetise to a metal bar that runs along the back o’ the seat, effectively holdin’ me in place. As the chopper lifts off, I expect my visor to clear now that there’s no danger o’ me noting our location, but it remains dark an’ I cock my head to the side, zeroing in on another familiar scent.
“Frost? Ya gonna let me ride the whole way in the dark?”
There’s a pause an’ I figure Frost has just nodded. Asshole. “Standard operating procedures, Wolverine. Your visor won’t be cleared until we land.”
“Am I at least to know who my target is?”
I whuff air an’ double over as a gun barrel slams into my stomach. Struggling to draw breath, I ride out the pain an’ then cautiously right myself, testin’ the air an’ knowin’ instantly that the guard closest to me is Crowe.
The guy’s too handy with the barrel o’ that rifle for his own good.
I decide to throw caution to the wind an’ tilt my head in his direction. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then?” I throw back, an’ brace myself for the blow I hear whistlin’ through the air ……..
Professor Xavier paused as the Med-lab doors rumbled open before him and then guided his wheelchair through the doorway and into the lab proper, expertly negotiating the examination tables and other equipment in his way as he headed towards the second set of doors at the rear. Like all the entrances on this level, they were stylised with the team’s trademark X and resolutely remained closed as his chair stopped before them. Palming a heat sensitive control pad on the wall beside them, he leaned forward to allow the computer to read his retina, trying not to feel self conscious as he adjusted his robe around his striped pyjamas.
“Who is it and what do you want?” The voice of his chief research scientist and friend, Henry McCoy, issued from the com-unit, sounding irritable and strangely distracted. “I am conducting some very important research and cannot afford to be interrupted.”
“It’s me, Henry. You asked to see me?”
“Oh yes, Professor! I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”
The doors opened immediately and the Professor motored softly into the private lab beyond. This was Doctor McCoy’s pride and joy – his inner sanctum – home of his many experiments and little projects that he wished to keep safe from prying eyes and careless fingers. Maintaining the lab was costly, but many a scientific breakthrough had seen the light of day here and so Henry was indulged and allowed unlimited access to the Xavier fortune. Lately, he’d all but locked himself away here, working night and day on some undisclosed project and Xavier wondered what he could have discovered that was so important as to summon him from his bed at 2.25 in the morning.
The Beast was sitting at his desk, peering thoughtfully at a computer screen through a pair of round glasses, which were perched comically on his leonine nose. He took them off as the Professor approached and rose eagerly to his feet.
“Professor, I am so pleased you could come. I have monumental news!”
“Do tell, Henry. I would hate to think I have been summoned from my bed in the small hours of the morning for something merely mundane.” He smiled to show that the reprimand wasn’t to be taken seriously, but the Beast was too thick skinned to allow mere words to curb his enthusiasm. He swivelled the computer terminal around for the Professor’s perusal, tapping the screen with the earpiece of his glasses.
“The density was all wrong, Professor. Do you see? I should have noticed it right from the start, but we were all reacting to the evidence in front of our eyes and not examining the finer details. But once I decoded the matrix, it all fell into place!”
Xavier held up a hand as Henry drew breath to continue, too excited to realise that he wasn’t making sense. “Henry, please, you’re losing me. What exactly are we talking about here?”
“The adamantium skeleton, of course.” Henry shook his head distractedly, as though it should all have been perfectly obvious, and strode in his fluid loping gait to the gurney which Xavier knew held the Wolverine’s gory remains. He winced involuntarily as the doctor threw back the protective covering, revealing the shiny metal skeleton in all its shocking detail. It was a hauntingly beautiful creation, perfectly rendered in minute detail, but the fact that it belonged inside a man whom Xavier had come to regard as a friend made him feel sick to the stomach.
He realised Henry was speaking once more and forced himself to concentrate. “……..so I double-checked my findings and cross-referenced them with the DNA database. The results were astounding! There was absolutely no match at all with the man we know as Wolverine.”
Xavier shook his head and tried to focus on the enormity of what McCoy was telling him. “Did I hear you right, Henry? Did I hear you just say …….?”
“That there is no evidence of DNA in or around the skeleton that any of my scans or equipment can detect.” McCoy grinned at the Professor in obvious delight at his good news. “Wherever that skeleton came from, it did not come out of the Wolverine …….”
I grunt as the chopper banks sharply, knockin’ my head against the fuselage, an’ I realise with a start that I’ve actually been jolted out of a light doze. Air travel usually scares the shit outta me – don’t ask me why ‘cause I’ve forgotten – but it’s been going on for as long as I remember an’ I hate it. Physically loathe it with every fibre of my being. I probably had a ‘plane dropped on my head when I was a baby or something, but even the thought o’ flyin’ brings me out cold. I try to avoid it whenever possible, which ain’t easy when you’re a major player in a band o’ super-powered do-gooders that uses a jet as casually as a normal person might use a bus. That I managed to fall asleep in a noisy an’ obviously airborne helicopter is something of a miracle. Or an indication o’ how exhausted I am. After all, I haven’t really slept since me an’ Jubilee were taken. Havin’ a bunch o’ guards constantly poundin’ past your cell an’ proddin’ you awake with pulse rifles at all hours o’ the night in order to give you a serum shot kinda disrupts the sleep patterns somewhat.
The angle o’ the chopper tells me it’s coming in to land an’ moments later we touch down with a jolt. My cuffs de-magnetise from the bar an’ I am pulled from my seat, staggering slightly as I am ‘helped’ to disembark. I feel the business end of a pulse rifle settle between my shoulder blades as Frost steps closer an’ begins to prepare me for my mission.
“Control, this is Frost, authorisation code Zero X-Alpha. Stand by to release the cuffs and activate visor.”
“Copy that, X-Alpha. Standing by.”
“Activate.”
There is a click as my cuffs release an’ fall away, leavin’ my hands free for the first time in days. I flex my fingers, rubbin’ the feelin’ back into ‘em, an’ try to unsheathe my claws. They fail to deploy an’ the tilt of my head conveys the question I haven’t put into words.
“You won’t be able to unsheathe your claws yet, Wolverine. At least, not until the chopper lifts off again. Control doesn’t want you gutting us and making a run for it.”
“Ah hell, I wouldn’t gut you, Frost.” I tip my head at Crowe. “For him, I might make an exception.”
“Yeah, real funny, Wolverine.” The pressure between my shoulder blades increases an’ I rock forward a step just to give myself some breathin’ space, “Ya talk real smart for a guy who’s life depends on a daily injection.”
“Cut it out, Crowe, he didn’t mean anything by it.” Frost’s tone conveys a reprimand, but I can sense the smile behind his words. So Frost likes the idea o’ me sheathin’ my claws in Crowe’s gut, does he? Maybe I’ll remember that for later.
The guard lifts my hand an’ fastens something around my wrist. The device resembles a robust watch, with digital numbers counting backwards.
“What’s this?” I ask, curiously.
“It’s your aH-indicator,” Frost explains, in clipped tones. “It tells you how long you’ve got before you need your next shot.”
I tilt the face towards me, noting with concern the hours remaining to me. “There’s just less than four hours,” I retort, sharply. “Ain’t Roberts cuttin’ it a bit fine?”
“It’s his insurance that you’ll do the job and return to us,” Frost tells me quietly, an’ I catch the note o’ regret in his voice. “Be back here before that timer runs out, otherwise ……..” He lets the thought go unsaid, but I don’t need a diagram to know what’ll happen if I fail to make the rendezvous. Heaven will be takin’ receipt o’ one clawed an’ extremely cranky angel ………
Or I could go the other way an’ end up makin’ Lucifer’s acquaintance. Either way, I’m screwed.
Frost stoops to pick up the fallen cuffs an’ turns towards the chopper. Kelly an’ DaCosta have already climbed aboard an’ the pilot is indicatin’ his watch impatiently as Crowe taps me with the barrel of his pulse rifle just to remind me to behave myself an’ then follows them aboard. Freed of the threat o’ electrocution, I turn’ an’ toss Frost a cheery wave.
“Try not to miss me while I’m gone. An’ make sure ya’ve got that serum to hand when I get back.”
With that, I turn an’ lope off into the night.
The helicopter lifts off behind me, the sound of its engine fadin’ as it speeds away. I wait until I can no longer hear the chop of its rotors an’ then check out my surroundings. Maybe I can figure out who they’ve sent me to ice while I wait for Control to clue me in.
So I’m standin’ in a field. Not much of a clue there then. In the distance, maybe about four miles away, I can see a scatterin’ o’ street lights, so I must be near a town o’ sorts. The air smells fresh an’ unpolluted, betraying the absence of a big city anywhere in the immediate vicinity. Who the hell could have attracted the attention o’ the Weapon X project out here? An’ attracted it enough for ‘em to want him dead?
The answers are slow in coming. Control remains strangely silent an’ I figure it’s time to give ‘em a wake up call.
“Control? Are ya readin’ me?”
“Loud and clear, Wolverine. Go ahead.”
The voice is young, cheery an’ refreshingly devoid o’ the hatred that seems to categorize most o’ the guards. Is this another o’ Frost’s disillusioned workers? Perhaps I’ll ask him later.
“The chopper’s gone, Control. Is there any danger o’ me being given the name o’ my target tonight, or do I have to play twenty questions?”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Wolverine.” Ooh, I struck a nerve.
“It’s all I’ve got going for me right now, Control, so yer gonna have to roll with it. Spill.”
There’s a moment’s pause an’ I can imagine Control rolling his eyes, not likin’ my attitude. But being on the other end o’ this com-unit is giving me the first feelin’ o’ control I’ve had in days an’ I kinda like it.
“Your target’s name is George Lacombe.”
My face blanches white in the darkness an’ I jerk to a stop, starin’ at nothin’. “George Lacombe the Senator?”
“One and the same.”
Oh my god ……. “But he’s pro-mutant. He’s been lobbying against the Mutant Registration Act …….”
“Which is why our client wants him taken out. It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it, Wolverine.”
Yeah, an’ why did it haveta be me? ‘Cause of all the men I’ve ever been called upon to put out of their misery, Senator Lacombe is the least deservin’ o’ death. He’s a good man. Been speakin’ out on behalf o’ the mutant community for a number o’ years now – he’s even met the X-Men a time or two. Xavier attended one of his pro-mutant speeches a couple o’ months back.
An’ now Roberts wants me – one o’ the X-Men – to take him out.
I know now why they gave me my fightin’ uniform to wear ……..
The house is silent an’ dark, squattin’ in the still o’ the night like some sleepin’ monster. I’ve been around it twice an’ sussed out all the potential dangers. Cameras are posted every few feet along the walls, monitoring both the grounds an’ all approaches. The front gate is alarmed an’ rigged with touch sensitive sensors which similarly run along the tops o’ the perimeter walls. A security guard is stationed at the gate an’ three others are patrolling the grounds with dogs, but I’ve watched their movements an’ I know I can evade them easily. Gettin’ in ain’t gonna be a problem. Gettin’ out again with my hide intact may be another matter.
I hunker down behind a tree not far from my chosen point of entry, studyin’ a schematic o’ the house that is playin’ across my visor. Lacombe an’ his wife sleep in the master bedroom at the back o’ the house, their two kids at the front. It should be an easy matter to get in without alertin’ the kids, deal with the wife an’ take out Lacombe. This fact doesn’t sit well with me, but knowin’ that Control can see every move I make doesn’t leave me with many options. I can either take off into the night, die a horrible an’ painful death an’ leave Jubilee all alone in Roberts’ clutches, or I can carry out my mission an’ hate myself for the rest o’ my life.
Not much of a choice, is it?
I cancel the house’s floor plan with a shake o’ my head an’ stand, flexin’ my fingers an’ lettin’ my claws slide slowly forwards until they’re nudgin’ the skin o’ my knuckles. I can feel my heartrate rising – as it always does when I’m about to go into action – and, just for a moment, I experience a sudden rush o’ anticipation an’ elation. This is what I was born to do – to experience the thrill o’ the hunt an’ the triumph o’ taking down one’s prey. With my feral side more to the fore than I usually allow, this sense o’ stalk an’ pounce is heightened to the point that my head feels to be buzzin’ with the intensity of it an’ I allow a low growl to rumble in my chest, feelin’ truly free for the first time in years. I may be about to do something distasteful, but the beast within is lookin’ forward to the chance to flex his claws without being restrained.
“Wolverine? Something wrong?”
I break out of my reverie as Control’s voice rings in my ears. He must have heard my growl an’ registered my changing heartrate an’ figured I was in a tight spot. I bite the growl off abruptly an’ clench my fists in an effort to control my emotions as I formulate a response.
“Nothin’ wrong, Control. I’m just about to go in.”
“Copy that.”
Inwardly berating my lack o’ concentration, I stride purposefully towards the stretch o’ wall I have chosen for my entry point. It looks no different to any other stretch o’ the wall – same stone, same set o’ sensors embedded in the top, same sheer climb. Its height would pose no barrier for a man o’ my talents, but I have no intention o’ scalin’ it an’ runnin’ the risk o’ settin’ off the sensors. My objective is a large tree which has been allowed to grow far too near the perimeter wall an’ poses a severe risk to security. Its branches provide a perfect bridge from one side o’ the wall to the other an’ I am only too happy to take full advantage o’ this tactical oversight. In no time at all, I am dropping down onto an immaculately trimmed lawn surrounded by flower beds an’ shrubs. The house beckons silently from the end of a gravelled drive.
Avoidin’ the gravel like the plague – no sense in vaultin’ over the wall only to give myself away with noisy footsteps – I make my way stealthily across the lawn, usin’ the shrubs an’ flower beds to cover me from the patrolling guards. I can be as silent as the night when I want to be, an’ I encounter no opposition as I reach the house an’ flatten myself against the wall. A quick glance to left an’ right confirms the positions o’ the guards on this side o’ the house. The one on the left is just movin’ into range from around the back o’ the house, but has no clear view o’ me due to the wavin’ fronds of a large lobelia bush. The one on the right has just completed his circuit an’ is swingin’ around to retrace his steps, bringin’ him alarmingly close to where I am pressed against the side o’ the house like a human limpet. I am countin’ on the guard’s familiarity with the routine o’ the job to make him careless an’ sure enough he continues on his way without even glancin’ my way. His dog, however, is not so negligent. Catching a whiff o’ my scent, it barks once an’ pulls back, growling, but the guard gives its lead an annoyed yank.
“Quit it, Tyson! Come away! Christ, I swear if those damn kids don’t start keeping their cat in at night …….”
What the guard will or will not do is lost to distance as he moves away, dragging the still growling dog along with him. Sendin’ silent thanks to the god o’ bored guards an’ kids with pets in general, I let out the breath I had been holdin’ an’ turn to review my next move.
I sidle down the wall to the nearest window. A single claw makes short work o’ the lock an’ I climb through into a darkened study, not unlike the one at the mansion. I pad across the floor on silent feet, skilfully avoidin’ a desk an’ a couple o’ chairs as I make my way to the door. Darkness holds no obstacles for me – I’m as at home in the night as I would be in the daylight. Probably more so, given my feral nature.
The study lets out into a wide hallway an’ I am about to step into it when I hear a sharp sound from around the corner. I duck back into hiding, peerin’ around the door an’ raisin’ my nose to the air, testin’ for scents. I recognise the soothin’ aroma o’ herbal tea an’ the lingerin’ after-scent of a lady’s perfume. Puttin’ the clues together, I surmise that Lacombe’s wife has had trouble sleepin’ an’ is lookin’ for a remedy. Her presence downstairs both complicates an’ simplifies things. It’ll be easier for me to sneak into the bedroom undetected an’ do what I have to do, but if she returns midway through the job an’ raises the alarm I’ll be forced to take drastic action. Once again, the thought doesn’t sit well, but I’ll do what I have to do in order to survive.
It’s me or them.
Duckin’ out o’ the study, I trot along the hallway, my ears pickin’ up the sound o’ gentle hummin’ as I pass the kitchen. Blissfully unaware o’ my presence, Mrs Lacombe goes about her business as I make my way upstairs, zeroing in on the master bedroom with ease, thanks to the heads-up display provided by Control. The door has been left slightly ajar an’ I slip inside the room, closin’ it with a soft click behind me.
Inside, the light to the adjoining en-suite has been left on, providing gentle illumination to the main bedroom. A large hump in the bed betrays the presence o’ Senator Lacombe an’ I step forward, my mind now intent on only one thing; damage control.
“Hey, honey, back already?” The figure rolls over with a sleepy yawn an’ I freeze. Shit! I raise my fists as Lacombe sits up with a grunt of alarm.
“Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?”
I remain silent, regarding the answer as fairly obvious considerin’ the circumstances. I’m not the Avon lady, that’s for sure.
Lacombe’s eyes widen in startled recognition. “Wait a minute. I know you! You’re …….. you’re one of the X-Men, aren’t you? The one called …….. Wolverine.” He gasps sharply as his intel comes rushing back to mind. “Oh my god. What have you done with my wife?”
“Yer wife’s safe,” I growl back, roughly. “Which is more than I can say fer you. People want you dead, Senator Lacombe.”
Lacombe’s face pales, visibly. “My god. I thought I recognised that visor. You’ve come to kill me, haven’t you?”
“No, Senator, I’ve come to set you free.” An’ I unsheathe my claws, leapin’ forward onto the bed as Lacombe scrabbles backwards furiously, tanglin’ himself in the sheet.
“Die!” I howl, an’ plunge my claws into the screamin’ man’s gut ……..