Logan’s gone. Well, not really gone, but he had to leave for couple of days. He lost some important papers when we were running from Victor and lycans, and Xavier really needed those papers. Logan usually works alone, but this time Professor sent Scott with him. I’m glad for that. I know they are not the best possible buddies, but at least I know Logan won’t be all alone if something happens. Not like me. For some reason everybody keeps avoiding me. Like I had the leper or something. Only one still talking to me is the Professor, and his time is limited. He’s juggling between running the school and observing Logan and Scott’s progress. No one to talk to. Except for the baby, but talking to a two month fetus feels kind of ridiculous.
So, there I was, slowly going nuts, when Professor called me to his office.
“I was wondering if you could help me out a bit?” Was he kidding?
“Of course! What can I do?”
“There’s an old filing cabinet downstairs. It’s filled to the brim with papers and dossiers. I need you to go through it, and organize it.” That sounded heavenly. All cooped up in a small storage compartment, hidden away from all those quiet, staring people. Because they really stared openly.
If I had known what I would find, I would have refused.
I finished the job faster than I expected. All I had to do was to file away scattered papers to alphabetical order. They looked like housekeeping records. Old bills from suppliers, receipts from purchases and so on. There I sat, thinking this was actually nice. To do something useful instead of being one-woman freak show for the rest of the freaks living in here. There were more cabinets, and I decided to take a quick peek. They would be locked if there were something really important, right? Xavier wouldn’t have let me come here all-alone if there was some top-secret stuff in those cabinets, right?
Other cabinets were neatly organized, and I was little disappointed. Then I noticed one file, much thicker than the rest of the files. It looked like somebody had rifled through it in awful hurry, and then just tossed it back, without really caring where it landed. I pulled it out to stuff back some papers that were nearly falling out from it. There was writing on top of it. Big, black letters. One word. Wolverine.
Curiosity killed the cat. It didn’t kill me, but I almost wish it did.
I know what’s inside of Logan. And I’m not talking about his mind. I have seen him get hurt bad enough to see the metal coating his bones. I found some vague memories about how it got there, when I got lost in his mind, but this was different. Old x-rays, black and white photographs, and paper after paper medical records about him. About what they did to him.
… Subject responds to outside stimuli…
… Rapid deterioration of mental capacities…
… heart failure. Subject was successfully resuscitated…
… abnormal behavior…
… First test runs show 89% kill ratio…
… not qualified to breeding program due to claw implants…
… malfunction. Subject resists…
… memory wipe successful, subject more docile…
… Weapon on-line. 100% kill ratio…
When I closed my eyes I could see it all, like I was there. Logan strapped inside of some kind of tank that was filled with greenish liquid. He wasn’t struggling anymore. He had already drowned. They were cutting in to his ribcage, spreading it open and pulling organs out of the way.
I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up my breakfast.
I collected all papers back to a neat pile and pushed it back between two other files. They were both labeled alike. Wolverine. I went back to Xavier, told him I had finished the job, and retreated back to our room.
Jean came over. I wasn’t in good enough shape to go downstairs to dinner with her, so she brought some food to me. I really didn’t have an appetite, but she made me eat.
“What would Logan think of us if we let you starve?” I didn’t much appreciate her attitude, or the tone of her voice. She made it sound like I was something less than human. Logan’s property. Something he left behind for them to look after until he returned. I kept my mouth shut and ate. It was an effort, but once I realized it was as much for the baby as it was for me, food became almost edible.
“When have you had your last medical exam?” She suddenly asked when I was finishing my meal. Piece of bread nearly lodged to my throat. Medical examination?
“I would be more than happy to do you one tomorrow. Just a quick check to see everything is alright,” she jabbered on, collecting my plate and utensils to a tray. Cold sweat broke on my skin. Flashes of surgical knives and small drills floated to my field of vision. She didn’t seem to notice my discomfort.
“How about you come to med lab tomorrow? At ten o’clock? Just pelvic examination and few blood tests. And I could give you some brochures about what to eat and drink during pregnancy. I have some exercise instructions…” All the while she talked I kept seeing Logan, knives parting skin and muscle. I could hear him scream.
Needless to say I was absolutely terrified when Jean left. Logan wouldn’t be back until tomorrow night. I wouldn’t, I couldn’t face Jean alone. Not in med lab, when his memories kept surfacing. I didn’t need any examinations. I had the best possible health monitor attached to my side nearly twenty-four hours a day. Little psychotic, prone to malfunctions, but his every sense was honed to notice even the smallest signs of disturbance.
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