Days blended together. Same patrol route. Same guards. Same duties day after day. Hunters had long ago learned not to aggravate him. He had taken the leader of their small pack and beaten it to a pulp in front of the rest of them. Gary had frowned and scolded him, but he had understood. New hunter had been assigned to replace the one he had killed.
Apart from his slight slip up with the Hunter he had kept quiet. Obeyed orders and kept away from trouble. He had been rewarded for the restraint he had shown when Gary had taken off the collar one morning, reminding him that he could as easily put it back if it was needed. He had discarded the Kevlar vest with a relieved groan, stretching his shoulders and cracking his neck. Hunters had perked their ears and snouts, taking in the slight change in his scent and posture. He hadn’t needed the leash to control them ever since.
All in all, he had settled in pretty good, when the call came.
“You’ll leave in the morning. Shit. As soon as I get one trained…” Gary had cursed, stripping off tag that identified him as a perimeter guard from the breast pocket of his uniform.
“They are getting desperate. Throw someone like you on the field. Fucking slaughter, that’s what’s waiting for you. Just remember to keep your head down,” he had advised. Wolverine had smirked. Slaughter was his game. The game he played the best.
He wasn’t smirking anymore. Things had changed on the field as well. Long-range fire had replaced hand-to-hand combat almost completely. Instead of vulnerable mutants enemy drove tireless machines on the field. For the first time tide had changed, in favor for the enemy.
He lay in the corner of the bunker, staring at the flickering fluorescent lights above him. Dog-tired and cold. Soaked to the bone. Summer had come; bringing chilling rain that turned the terrain from rocky sand to a slippery mud. Shredded makeshift uniform he wore now was caked with dried blood and other grit and grime. He had slept last time nearly a week ago, and it was hard to let go of the tension and close his eyes. To trust his hide to the hands of the others. Even smallest of the sounds was enough to jolt him wide-awake, every nerve humming and aching muscles rippling, ready to bolt. Hunger gnawed in his stomach, but he couldn’t bring himself to calm down enough to actually eat something.
“Stay the fuck down and sleep. You’re no good to us if you don’t rest every once in a while.” Guard rumbled from the doorway when he shifted, turning on his side and from there to his hands and knees.
“Can’t sleep. Too wired to do that.”
“Tough luck. You got six hours. Try to get some shut-eye.”
After tossing and turning for what felt like eternity he stood up, eyeing the concrete wall of the bunker. It could work. Hoped it would work and raced against it, face first. Sickening metallic thud rang in his head before blessed darkness claimed him.
He came back to his senses. Somebody was shouting and shaking him.
“Get the fuck up!” Guard. Shouting and jostling him up. Destroyers were clearing from the bunker. Steady stream of mutants, different sizes and shapes running out from the doorway.
“We’re under attack. Perimeter’s breached. Go!” Hard slap to his back sent him stumbling after the others. Blood was still slowly dribbling from the wound on his forehead. He hadn’t been out long, couple minutes at most.
Base was a mess. Ground slippery from mud and blood. He staggered carefully over fallen Destroyer and slipped to a steaming pile of innards, landing on his back. In a flash there was an enemy unit towering over him. Dressed in white, driving a sharp metal pole through his gut. He kicked blindly and heard the satisfactory crunch when its knees gave up and it fell screaming. He yanked the rod out. Claws finished writhing and screaming unit lying next to him and he stood up, eyes scanning his surroundings, searching the next prey. He spotted it, growled and turned towards it. World around him blew apart and he was flying through the air. Ground caught him with a bone-jarring thud and he dove to darkness once more.
He woke up from a pile of corpses. Again. One could think the series of number in his tag that identified him as a healer would prevent this from happening. When he could feel first trickle of acid on his skin he let out a hoarse scream.
“Fuck, that one’s alive!”
“Well, get it up from there! We have to get this finished!” He opened his eyes. At least this time he had ended up on top of the pile. Somebody was approaching, sliding down the slippery slope of the mass grave carefully. A Guard.
“Wolverine? The fuck you are doing in here?” He recognized the Guard. Guy was guarding the bunker he was assigned to.
“Don’t know…”
“Shit. You’re a mess. Come on. I call a Mech to check you up…”
“I’ll arrange a transfer. I’m tired of this shit. Okay, Wolverine heals, but it isn’t much of use to us when ninety-nine percent of the time it’s dead to the world. Don’t know what they were thinking, sending it here… Healing alone isn’t any good, but mixed with something ranged…”
“You lucky bastard. You’ll get sent to a breeding center!” Guard said, smiling widely and slapping his thigh when Mechanic left the bunker, muttering about all kinds of idiots in the dispatch center.
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