Logan stares silently at giant map layout on his table, a finger absently scratching at his sideburns. The raids over the last few nights went better than he expected despite the detour he had to take the other night. Even if he didn’t get as much intel as he would have liked from the remains of that airfield. Nevertheless, a major goal has been accomplished, Leech is dead, his remains burned, it is unlikely that any DNA can be recovered from that wreck. That combined with the intel he already has, Logan is almost positive that any chance to recreate the Cure is dead.
All of that is at the small price, killing the one person that can give Marie a normal life. He knows that one action might have caused a large rift between him and Marie, probably shattered her image of him as a savior of troubled mutants. However Logan has not an ounce of regret, he would always rather have her alive and angry than dead. He can honestly admit that he spent a long, long, time thinking of ways to neutralize Leech. Outright killing him wasn’t at the top of the list and even if it wasn’t intentional, he can't deny its effectiveness.
A major obstacle has been cleared, years ahead of schedule, for the first time in ages, he feels slightly optimistic. He grabs the nearby bottle of beer and downs it in several large gulps. There is yet a few hours till sunrise and he could still head out trawl through a few bars, find a few slutty women and fuck his cares away.
Logan throws on his jacket and spins his keys in his hand on his way out the door, only to bump into Sergi. He looks out of breath, having just run up the stairs, he taps an antique cordless phone in his hands, “Boss you just got a message.”
Logan frowns, it is rather odd for anyone to contact him on the mobster’s phones. Alexi is a good cover, a rather vicious Russian officer accused of war crimes before Logan retired him a few years back. The FSB is supposed to have covered up everything related to Alexi. “A message?”
“Yes, from Fisk. He wants meeting, now.” Sergi says through clenched teeth. “Give me 30 mins and I can get my men ready, then we fuck him up ass!”
“No.” Logan shakes his head firmly. Fisk didn’t become the head honcho of Hell’s Kitchen by being stupid. He wouldn’t call for a parlay if unless he believes he had something to offer.
“Why?!” Sergi throws his arms up in frustration, before punching a few holes in the wall.
Logan lets the burly Russian vent briefly before grinning, “You know there are rules to this shit.”
“Since when do you follow rules, Alexi?” Sergi, turns around and stares at Logan with an incredulous look.
“Whenever it suits me.” Logan dismisses Sergi with a wave, “Now go make the rounds and wait for my command.”
Sergi regards Logan with a resigned look before nodding then stomping off down to the warehouse floor. Logan unlocks his phone and hesitates. He rather not involve anyone else but it would look suspicious if arrives alone. Pressing the per-programed speed dial Logan decides to call in just one team.
Logan snuffs out his cigar and pockets the rest when he hears a convoy of vehicles advance upon him. He adjusts his mask and signals his men into position. The vehicles are still a few miles off, but Fisk has his observers nearby and Logan has been tracking them since he first arrived.
A large black SUV slowly comes to a stop in front of his car, Logan flashes his high beams before stepping out of the vehicle. Two men from the squad accompanying him step out with him. Across from him, several men exit the large SUV, one particularly practically obese man draws his attention. From the solid weight of the fat man's steps, Logan knows better, there is a lot of muscle behind the harmless physique.
“I am glad we have this chance to meet face to face, Mr. Budakov.” From the attitude, the tone of voice and the body language it is obvious that this big man is Fisk, a brand new piece on the chessboard. Logan never saw this man before, perhaps Fisk never rose to enough significance to be noticed before now. But it is a stark reminder of how much things are different this time around, Logan’s own efforts at eliminating major players he is aware of no doubt added to the complication.
They size each other up for a moment, and Logan’s already thin patience is stretched to the breaking point. If there isn’t a good reason he just spent hours in this shitty ass place, he is going to start ripping heads off. “What the fuck ya want?”
“I can appreciate a straight talker such as yourself. I know despite the word on the street, you don’t actually have any...” Chuckling Fisk claps his hands together before him nodding, seemly searching for the right euphemism. “… stakes in this war. My source tells me you came for information.”
“Information the Ranskahov brother were contracted to provide.” The Russian brother’s names are spoken with great vehemence, and Fisk pauses again before speaking carefully, “I understand my… disagreement with the Ranskahov brothers interrupted the delivery.”
Logan suppresses the urge to interrupt. Fisk’s little fireworks show is a significant setback to his schedule only partially rectified by Leech’s neutralization. “Ya made me waste a lot of money and time.”
“You have every right to be upset. I would be too in... similar circumstances. Tonight I would like to make amends.” Logan smirks under his mask, Fisk is not just a dumb thug, maybe even a smart one. But no matter how he presents himself he is still a thug. Just by the bruises on his knuckles alone, Logan knows Fisk will never escape that. Logan's eyes snap to Fisk, and his men reach for their guns when Fisk reaches into his jacket pocket. Slowly a USB disk appears from the underneath his jacket. “Everything I have on the man you had the Ranskahov brothers look into.”
The man cautiously walks over to Logan and hands to him. Logan quickly plugs it into his tablet and glances through the materials. Looking up he questions Fisk’s intent. “All this, gratis?”
“Yes, gratis.” Fisk claps his hand together again, and a cold grin appears on his face. “I do hope this would... free you to pursue your own goals.”
Logan nods slowly, glancing through the content some more. It looks genuine, there are manifests, ledgers, even an address. Most of the cargo is weapons, the kind specifically designed to kill ‘powered individuals’. Logan chuckles at the new moniker.
“Alright, if this is genuine expect me gone, if not…” Logan returns to Fisk a smile of his own, one that promises a lot of pain.
Marie adjusts her coat, wrapping it around herself tighter. Even in the warm humid night air she feels exposed, standing on a street corner under a flickering street lamp. This morning just when she thought her life could not possibly get any more chaotic, Marie received a curious postcard in the mail, with a blurry photo, and without a return address. It was a picture of that night at the Oriental, right before Jimmy was kidnapped. She can be clearly seen in the picture, standing close to a man almost completely encompassed by the shadows. The accompanying note is ominous ‘I know you know him, I just want to talk. Come alone.’ Scribbled on the back is an address in Hell’s Kitchen.
Marie knows that she should just ignore it, but she can’t shake her curiosity. After what happened that night she is more interested now than ever to know more about Logan’s life. All her own efforts to locate him have been for naught. And whatever this is, Logan is obviously the target. Despite her misgivings, she is willing to take a chance for any additional information she can glean on Logan.
Despite her training, she can’t shake the uneasy of standing in this part of the town, so late in the evening and alone. Just as her nerves are about to get the best of her, a man steps out of the shadows dressed in weird black pajamas with a matching bandana tied over his eyes. She remembers something on the news, a new vigilante in Hell's Kitchen. His area of operation is so small that it honestly slipped from her mind a few minutes after she heard the report. Now he is standing before her in the flesh.
“Ms. Adler.” His voice is deep, but it is unnatural, not at all like the way Logan’s voice when it reverberates through her. More like a person forcing his voice deeper.
Marie relaxes slightly, the little bit of telepathy she can use lets her know that there is no one else around and that he is not part of any organization she should be wary of. She is now more curious than ever why he called her out here and what it has to do with Logan. “Why did you call me here?”
“Do you know a man named Alexi Budakov.” He stands ramrod straight never looking straight at her but seems to be well aware of her presence. “He is a gun smuggler and a war criminal.”
Marie shrugs her shoulders and folds her arms. “Never heard of him.”
“No? I have a photograph of you two together.” A photo appears in the masked man’s hands as he is speaking. It is the same photo that is sent to Marie.
Marie stares at the photo trying to piece together this new puzzle, and how this Alexi relates to Logan. Something in her body language must have given her away. The man continues his interrogation, “His name is not Alexi Budakov, is it?”
Marie’s nerves calm down with the question. It is obvious to her that while this man knows something it is not enough. And is clumsily trying to fish her for information. She gives him a steely glare, “Look whoever you are, I hear you do a lot of good in your neighborhood. Why don’t you keep doing that and leave me alone?”
“I can’t do that, not when Alexi is flooding my city with guns, drugs, and mercenaries.” The masked man shakes his head, and then takes a step closer to her, “I know you are not involved. Not yet, so I am giving you some advice. Don’t get involved. Whatever he is promising you, he is lying. He will just use you and toss you aside.”
Marie maintains the distance between them. It does not surprise her that Logan would run guns or have mercenaries, she’s seen his work firsthand in South America. But Logan would never participate in the drug trade. The masked man somehow senses her hardening attitude. Tossing a small USB drive towards her, which Marie catches out of reflex, he sighs, “You don’t believe me. Then why you don’t you see for yourself.”
Another glass of whiskey slides down his throat while he waits at the bar. Everything on that disk checked out, Logan honestly could not believe his luck. A W. Stryker A.K.A Diamondback is reported to be active in Harlem. Logan’s never heard of Stryker referred to in either of those ways, but this is a new world, perhaps Stryker is trying to keep a lower profile after his military contract was terminated.
Finally, he catches the scent wafting through the door. Clinking the glass on the bar table, Logan waves off an attempt by the busty bartender to refill his glass. Victor steps through the door in a black leather trench coat that took him back to a time when they still ran missions together.
“Jimmy, you look like shit.” His eyes lock on to Logan immediately and a wide grin appears on his face. And Logan is thankful that Victor is playing along to keep his cover. “I hear there is good news. ‘Alexi’”
Logan’s nose wrinkles when Victor draws near, he can smell sex all over him. Then it suddenly hit him, he couldn't remember how long it’s been since he last had a woman. The female's scent floats by him, it is unfamiliar and for some reason that gives him a feeling of relief. Forcing all distractions aside Logan retrieves the file he compiled on this Stryker that is purportedly operating out of Harlem and places on the table. “Maybe, all I got on this W. Stryker is that he calls himself Diamondback and sells advanced weapons.”
The pint of beer in Victor’s hand cracks in his grip and his claws pops out from his fingers, hooking deep into the wooden counter. “Well, what more do we fucking need!”
Logan gives Victor a contemplative look and shakes his head, “No, something's not right. Should send someone to check it out.”
“Fuck That! I want to go in right now and rip that fucking little bitch a new asshole!” Victor is already on his way out of the bar before he finishes speaking.
“If we spring the trap early, we might lose him again,” Logan remarks casually, and finishes his whiskey. “Got some unfinished business to wrap up. Just a few hours.”
“Fine, we do it your way.” Victor snarls and his entire body shakes with rage. “But we better get him this time.”
Logan just smirks and raises his hand for another drink. No one panics Stryker like Victor. In that panic, while Stryker is trying to get away, Stryker will make mistakes. Logan will be ready to exploit it when that happens, so long as it happens at the right time.
It is dark by the time Logan arrives in Harlem. He sniffs the air as he steps out of his SUV. He scouts tracked the target to this warehouse. The scent of blood is strong enough to cut the smell of rancid garbage in the air. Victor couldn’t have been more than a few minutes ahead of him, yet the carnage he causes is already apparent. He almost regrets texting Victor the address while he was still on the way. He catches Victor’s scent, mixed together with the smell of blood and piss before Victor drops down next to him, two young gangsters barely hanging on to life, dangling in his grasp. “Bout damn time!”
“Look what I caught? It’s sooty and spic. It’s like I’m in one of them rap music videos that are all the rage these days.” With a disturbingly playful grin, Victor shakes them like a pair of puppets. The two young men groan painfully in unison. From the wide and deep gashes on their torsos and the broken flailing limbs, Logan knows they don't have much longer left to live.
“I’d never thought Stryker would stoop to keeping these kinds of company,” Victor remarks while throwing the two gangsters before stomping on the one trying to crawl away.
Stryker’s never been the progressive sort, not in all the times Logan has known him. As much as this does not fit Stryker’s modus operandi, Logan would not put him above using ghetto youth to do his dirty work. Logan gives the two young men one last dismissive glance, “Well? They say anything?”
“He is here, warehouse round the corner. That about all I got outta them before they started sniveling.” Victor casually crushes two whimpering men’s heads into the gravel with two hard stomps. He grinds the heel of his boot on the ground then wipes his foot off into the dirt. “They're pretty much useless at this point.”
“Don’t smell him here, but that don’t mean anything.” Logan sniff’s disdainfully, while the hunt can be thrilling the aftermath is never pleasant especially with his senses. “He has gotten good at hiding recently.”
“You said he be here,” Victor growls out then spits on the dead bodies nearby. “They said he is here. What the fuck are we waiting for?”
Together they walk to the corner of the street and Logan pops his head out and quickly glances around the corner. Stryker is supposed to be in the warehouse just down the street. The warehouse is larger than he expects, but only a single story. Between himself and Victor, they should easily cover all the avenues of escape.
Victor peeks out next, and pulls back with a satisfied grunt, “Heard ‘em inside, a half-dozen plus. I’ll head through the front. You head up the rear.”
Logan nods. As fulfilling as killing Stryker personally would be, Logan is willing to let Victor have his prey. It is not as if he hasn’t killed Stryker before. And this time his reasons aren’t as personal as Victor’s.
He waits for Victor to make the first move, before dashing across the street and cutting through the back alley. He finishes loading the shells into his new shotgun on the stairway up and flicks off the safety as he approaches the door. Logan slows to a stop next to the entrance. Victor is already inside the building and the sound of carnage is already spilling through the cinder block walls.
The thugs here are remarkably well armed. Fully automatic fire is echoing through the building, only to be occasionally interrupted by the detonation explosives. The sound of rushing footsteps nears, and finally, a slight breeze flows through the door carrying with it a familiar scent. A young thug burst through the door first, gulping deep desperate breaths, eyes filled with fear. Logan’s hands snap out before the young man is even completely aware of his surroundings.
With a flick of his wrist, Logan sends the thug flying. Before the body has yet to splatter on to the asphalt Logan pumps two shotgun blasts into two more of them running close behind. Shocked by sight of two men sliding down to the floor clutching at their entrails, the last gangster dives out of the window through a shower of broken glass, choosing to meet his end on his own terms.
“Cornelius.” Logan’s eye falls upon the last man still standing and he smiles. He snatches the man by the throat just as a roar shakes the room. A cacophony of rending flesh, breaking bones and blood-curdling screams soon follow. Logan walks around the corner dragging the elderly scientist behind him.
Victor charges through another set of metal doors and skids to a stop. Another dozen men stand before him, and beyond them, he can see the man they are guarding. The armored and masked man leans over the railing looking down on him. In that moment Victor can see him, Stryker in full dress, sparkling with medals, as he snarls up at him, chained to the machine. The bite of the first bullet tearing into his shoulder snaps him back to the present. Just in time to feel another few dozen slam into him. Flicking the blood and entrails from his talons, he grins.
Lunging forward, Victor closes the distance in seconds, tearing off the leading gunner’s arm in a spray of blood. His tongue flickers out, finds the rich iron and salty taste of blood. Another man dares to come within arm’s reach. He rips him off his feet by his bulletproof vest and pulls him close, sinking his fangs into the man’s neck, ripping out his larynx. Throwing his head back, Victor rises to his full height, savoring the gush of blood in his mouth. As the men around him empty their rifles into him, he feels it stirring within him.
The circle of men around him cannot even see Victor when he finally makes his move. He rends limb from limb with each swipe of his arms. The 3-inch adamantium talons slice through flesh, bone and even armor with ease. Half of his prey is splattered out on the cold concrete, dead before Victor is of a mind to enjoy himself. Sensing perhaps the best opportunity they are going to have the remaining thugs scatter. He watches them scramble away like cockroaches and the urge to run them down is strong.
But there is a far more tantalizing target just out of arm's reach. Victor can still see Stryker standing there even though most of his men are already fleeing. Stryker vaults over the edge of the railing and lands in front of Victor with a thud. The armor he is wearing is heavy as is the backpack. Victor can hear the capacitors buzzing within, and a little voice inside him sounds the alarm. Stryker’s technology was never this primitive, but he doesn't want to believe it.
A right cross slams into his face, sending him sprawling. Victor smirks when he sees Stryker shaking the numbness from his hand. Armored or not it’s never smart to punch adamantium, Stryker should have known this. Victor ignores the persistence voice in his head and says hello with a haymaker of his own. A sharp pain stabs into his fist when it impacts Stryker. The force of the blow cracking the armored mask he is wearing, sending him reeling. Victor watches Stryker stumble with a disturbingly gleeful grin, his fist already healing. Then he sees the face under the mask.
“Fuck!!” Victor roars out and drives a savage kick deep into the imposter's stomach. Stryker flops through the air straight into the warehouse walls shattering the red bricks behind the plaster. Stryker slumps on to the floor, blood flowing from his mouth, “Jimmy!!! He is not here!!! He is not fucking here!!!”
“Fuck ya wanna call the FBI while yer giving out names?” Logan strolls up to Victor still dragging a whimpering Cornelius behind him. It shows the state of Victor’s mind when he doesn’t even give Cornelius a sniff.
“Stryker is not fucking here!” Victor screams again and shatters a large metal container next to him with a swing of his fist and starts to pace. “He was supposed to be here!”
Logan kicks what remains of the mask off the man’s face. He takes a picture of the man on his phone and a few seconds later he gets a text from Birdy. “Shit, Willis Stryker, no relation. Fucking small-time gun runner.”
“Willis Stryker?!” Victor stops in mid-stride and looks over towards Logan and the unconscious man, “Fuck, fuck fuck! We just wasted all that time! He could be anywhere now!”
“Nahh he is still here.” Logan pockets his phone and browses casually through the wares stored here. He doesn't even need to open any of it to know what is inside. He types some instruction to his men. Hammertech weapons are not something Logan would use for himself or for his men, but they do sell well.
“How the fuck do you figure.” Victor sits down on a stack of metal boxes, shoulders sagging and sneers, “That sneaky ass fuck can be anywhere by now.”
Logan drags Cornelius around and dumps him at his feet. “Remember him?”
“Cornelius…” Victor’s eyes go wide, his heart starts beating wildly, and his eyes glaze over. Logan knows the reaction well, he’s gone down memory lanes many times just like that. Logan leans back against a crate waiting for Victor to return to reality. A few shorts seconds later, Victor's talons pop out from his fingertips, puncturing the steel containers he rests on. Victor smiles wide, “I’m going to rip you open and-”
Logan yanks Cornelius out of his reach and dumps the old man into an open crate. Logan stands in front of the container and folds his arms. “No, ya ain’t.”
“Why the fuck not?!” Victor screams at Logan cracking the concrete between them with a stomp of his feet.
“‘Cause he’s gonna give us Stryker on a silver fucking platter.” Logan shows Victor Cornelius’ phone, the name Col. Stryker displays prominently at the top of the recent call list.
“Colonel Stryker…” Victor cracks a smile and nods. His talons retract and Victor arranges his tattered clothes the best he can. He starts walking towards the exit, the yells out without looking back, “Soon as you have the location, I want to know.”
Logan doesn’t bother answering him, his mind is already on what he should do with all these guns. A moan from the far wall reminds him that the fucking waste of time is still here, and is now waking up. He reaches the slumped man before he fully recovers and yanks the heavy backpack loose. The man looks back up at him defiantly, spitting blood out of this mouth as he speaks. “You won’t get shit out of me!”
“Scram, yer ain’t even worth my time.” Logan waves him off dismissively. He was out cold when Victor yelled his name, and even if he heard it, Jimmy is a common enough name. Logan doubts anyone can put it all together and link anything back to himself. He taps on the box and yells after the limping man, “All this here is compensation for wasting my time.”
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
thanks to cschoolgirl for the beta.
Chapter End Notes:
Up next Marie goes searching.