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Chapter 28

At Death's Door, pt 2

************************


As the convoy rolled out of the city, John Wraith stared out the passenger window of the two and a half ton military truck leading the way. He'd received numerous reports of Creed speeding away on his bike as the troops were preparing to mobilize and found himself pre-occupied with thoughts of what the mutant was up to now.

Seven trucks moved along the highway, staying to the right in the slow lane as they neared the exit that would bring them out to the wooded, more rural areas of Westchester County. Five of the trucks, all deuce-and-a-halfs with canvas tops, were loaded with troops. Each contained sixteen men; well-armed and sitting quietly in the back. The men sat in the cargo area, eight to a bench, facing each other. They glanced at each other once in a while, or simply stared out the back of the truck at the scenery passing by or looking to the truck behind them. But no one offered a comment about what was expected of them, or where they were going, as they rocked and bounced on the hard wooden benches with the motion of the speeding trucks.

The sixth truck in line was a semi-tractor pulling a large silver trailer. The walls and interior cell units of the trailer were constructed of a heavy, metal alloy; known as adamantium. This would be the containment unit for Weapon X on the trip back to Canada. Inside the trailer, were two men and one woman, all wearing white lab coats and passing the time discussing different components set up inside the trailer unit and any possible complications once their charge was turned over to them.

The seventh vehicle in line, bringing up the rear, was a large double-wide mobile unit, much like a civilian recreational vehicle. It was big and wide and shiny black and rumbled along as if on air currents absorbing the shocks of the road. Inside this mobile comfort facility was a group of newly acquired doctors, for the government's secret program in the study and research of human behavioral patterns. Their host was one Dr. Devan Maier, whose detailed indoctrination of the new team was continuing even as they were en route to recover their confused patient. Or so they thought.

Colonel Wraith lit a fresh cigar as he checked the map that lay open on his lap. His teeth clamped onto the stogie as he leisurely waved a finger toward the exit ramp indicated and the lead truck veered off the small highway heading toward Graymaulkin Lane followed in line by the others.


* * * *


Creed set his stance as he stared at the menacing angelic figure hovering twenty feet above the ground. Angel hung there, his large wings flapping slowly as he sneered at the large furry mutant below. His strategy; to hang there in threatening fashion, showing off the advantages he had over the earth bound feral. The advantages being the large broadsword, for one, and the ability to occupy the "high ground". His mistake? Hanging there in mid-air long enough for Victor to assess the disadvantages of Angel's tactics.

When Warren made his move it was lightening quick. Victor blinked in surprise and that was all he had time to do before he was struck. He'd attempted to move to his left to evade the quick attack but his first step never made contact with the pavement before he was flying through the air again. When he landed hard on the embankment, not only face down once more, but facing down the incline of the roadside slope, Victor got up onto his elbows with a groan and put a hand to his shoulder.

It had happened so fast he wasn't even sure what exactly had happened, besides the fact he had a very large hole in his chest, just below the shoulder. The blade had knicked his lung and he took a few deep breaths with a bit of difficulty before the internal tissues mended themselves. Then it was just a matter of the gaping hole healing itself and that would take another few moments.

Victor felt a gripping pressure encircle one ankle and furrowed his brow curiously. Just as he made a move to roll over and prepare to defend himself, Angel dragged him from the ground. Literally.

Holding the feral by the ankle, Warren went aloft. Victor flipped over onto his belly again and clawed at the ground, looking for purchase and finding none. His large claws dug into the soft ground then scraped across the surface of the asphalt, as he was bodily dragged from the roadside into the air.

Once Victor had lost any chance to keep himself grounded he stopped grappling and turned to look up at Angel. Warren looked down at his prey as he slowly lifted them both higher and higher. The weight of his own armor and the large steel double-blade, coupled with Sabretooth's enormous size and weight, made gaining altitude a bit of concentrated work for the winged mutant.

As Warren looked down at him, Victor grinned back. Angel's expression changed momentarily from his triumphant yet casual confidence to curiosity as Creed smiled up at him, hanging upside down from his grip. They stared at one another as large powerful wings lifted them slowly higher and higher. Angel wondered if Creed was so sure of his ability to survive a fall from such a great height that he honestly found this humorous.

He found himself suddenly in a panic as Creed curled his body upward toward him, reaching out with great clawed fingers. Warren pulled his head backward, thinking the feral beast was targeting his face, but instead Angel shouted out in surprise as Victor grabbed one large wing, practically wrapping his arms around it in a strange embrace. The other wing, unable to keep them aloft by its own power, stuck straight out and froze in position as the maneuver pulled Worthington over sideways and the two men somersaulted at high speed back toward the earth.

The Guardian's grip on Worthington's psyche was over-ridden by Warren's outright terror as he realized Creed would most likely heal from the sudden, inevitable impact with the ground. But, his own bones, which were much lighter than most humans' in order to achieve his powerful grace in flight, would shatter like a china tea cup. Creed could feel the muscles of the immense appendage straining in his embrace, trying to free itself as the two men hurtled toward the pavement below. Victor could only guess at what speed they were falling, but the blast of wind passing him by nearly stole the breath from his lungs.

He chanced a glance downward and saw the ground coming up at them fast. Estimating about thirty feet now... twenty.... ten...... Releasing the captured wing, Victor grabbed onto the padded gambeson with strong fingers. Now, unencumbered by the strangle-hold of the feral, Angel was able to put both wings to use in order to try to slow their descent. He'd managed only two attempts before he crashed down on top of Creed.

Warren had managed to stop the fatal fall just enough not to kill them, but he still wasn't used to hitting the ground at such a speed. With Creed still clinging hard to his padded chest, he came down atop the feral's body and, if he hadn't known better, it would've appeared as though his enemy had deliberately maneuvered them into position in order to save his life.

Victor got the wind knocked out of him as his back hit the ground hard. He was sure he heard a few ribs pop and crack but he kept a strong grip on Angel's vest. The nine foot wings lowered to the ground slowly, stretching out to either side of them as Warren lost his senses for a minute or two before The Guardian realized they were still alive.

When the X-Man stirred above him with a moan, pulling the wings up behind his back, Victor pushed Angel off of him and slid out from beneath him to stand up. His hands never releasing The Guardian's padded garment, Victor pulled his assailant from the ground and looked at him closely for a moment before winding up and hurling the winged mutant into the forest cover.

The Guardian crashed through the lower branches of the dense trees. Naturally, the large wings stretched out, instinctively trying to slow him down and change trajectory, but Warren realized the mistake as he felt the delicate appendages catch and twist, tangling in the branches that seemed to grab at him. He tumbled into a heap, covered in debris of the forest. Twigs stuck out of his hair and his face was cut and bleeding as Warren sat himself up slowly.

Assessing himself and finding that nothing was broken, he inspected each wing carefully and removed a few twigs from within the feathers, preening them quickly, and then folded them safely against his back as he stood up. He couldn't hear Creed moving about, but Warren was well-aware how stealthy the ferals could be. He looked around him, turning in a complete circle, before relaxing a bit. Realizing the feral was no longer in the immediate area, he took a slow deep breath and released it as a frustrated huff.

He knew that Creed would stick to the forest now, where The Guardian couldn't follow "on the wing". Warren was no match for Creed on the ground, in the forest, and trying to locate a feral who's gone to ground from above the forest canopy would be near impossible. Angel set his jaw hard, muscles pulsing in his temples as anger flared in his eyes. Feathers quivered with his rising anger, knowing that going back to the mansion without backup would be futile. Deciding instead to meet up with the military first to re-group, Warren made his way back out to the road.


* * * *


Dr. Maier poured himself another mild drink as the conversation amongst his newest team members continued. In the few months since Logan's escape his research and reprogramming studies had come to a grinding halt. Other than bringing the new recruits up to speed on the history and theories that drove the Weapon X experiments, he had little to do until the feral mutant was returned to his custody.

Maier's own expertise and years of experience in mind manipulation and control, and the specific study of psychic driving, was extensive. He was now considered to be the foremost expert on brainwashing, mind manipulation, and memory erasure since Dr. Ewen Cameron, best known for his work with the MKUltra program.

Cameron himself came up with the theory of "psychic driving" and had experimented on hundreds of subjects during the 1930s in Montreal and in the 40's, 50's and 60's out of Cornell University in New York City. His Sleep Room torture chamber was the intense focus of Maier's attention since the specific procedures used in the Sleep Room experiments were powerfully successful in the methodical de-patterning of the subjects used in those experiments.

By the time the victims had been released from the Sleep Room, Cameron had managed to completely wipe out many decades of the subjects' memories. Some did not even remember their own children or their own names and many had so much of their memory erased that they needed to re-learn the basics. Some had to learn how to speak or feed themselves and even to control their bodily functions and almost all had been reverted to a child-like mentality.

Devan Maier, and his predecessors, had taken Cameron's successes steps further through the Weapons Plus program. And he took great pride in his accomplishments, not to mention the stature that came with it, in the secret underground network of the U.S. and Canadian governments.

And secrecy was the key to the successful future of these programs. The failure of the Canadian and U.S. governments to adhere to the Nuremberg Code, not to mention the negligence of the doctors involved who openly ignored the Hippocratic Oath, would most definitely erupt in nationwide outrage.

"So.... Dr. Maier... what I've been able to extrapolate from what you've told us so far is that this particular subject we're on our way to recover has been a willing volunteer with the project for many years. Is this correct?"

Maier turned casually to smile at Dr. Felicia Russ; young and beautiful, ambitious and curious, all virtues he admired. He turned around fully, to face the group sitting in a circle in the center of the large mobile unit, the movement of the vehicle almost undetectable by the inertial dampeners that the special unit possessed.

"Practically since its inception, you could say, yes," he replied and sipped his drink.

"Since its inception? You are referring back to 1973, when the United States lost its MKUltra program and Canada took up most of the responsibility with the Weapon X program at that time. Correct?" she asked for clarification. "If I remember correctly, outrage from the civilian population, regarding the creation of covert assassins and super soldiers by their own government, right under their noses, forced the Americans to close up shop. It wasn't long, after the MKUltra program was halted, that Canada began their own super soldier program."

Dr. Russ's colleagues listened attentively, as much of this information was unknown to them. The four young men sitting with her looked from her up to their new boss, who stood a short distance away smiling at the young prodigy.

"You are well-informed... and quite correct, Dr. Russ," Maier commented. "However, let us not forget the American CIA's attempts, and their subsequent findings, have proven to be most crucial to our own advancements in successful mind manipulation techniques."

"Of course."

"However, we should not give all the credit to the Americans," Maier went on, finding this the perfect opportunity to segue into the darker history of the super soldier's beginnings. "The Weapons Plus Program, specifically this Weapon X project, is merely the most recent incarnation of a long and intense study in the field of mind control. The study of mind control, and these experiments, have spanned half the globe and have crossed many nations to get to where we are today.

"You, all of you, have been selected from the top names in your graduating class for various reasons. The deciding factor being that, for whatever their reasoning, each of you could be trusted with Top Secret clearance. And the success of these programs demands its secrecy from the general population, for they would indeed be horrified to learn these dark facts about their own governments. Not only the willingness of their own security forces to use them, each and every one as needed, as human guinea pigs in research studies in the holy name of "national security" -- but if they were to learn of the pain and lifelong suffering put upon its citizens by their own government -- well, that often has the tendency to grate a raw nerve among the population, as you would imagine.

"And do not be deluded into thinking that the public would understand. They do not have the gift of foresight as we scientists do, nor do they have the inclination to know the truth of their existence. And it has been the very exposure of these truths that has brought about the dismantling of previous programs around the world, to eventually bring it to our doorstep. Through so many years of trial and tribulation, and so many sacrifices, from Nazi Germany to the United States to Canada." Maier finished his oration with a raise of his glass as if toasting their good fortune.

"But the Weapon X Program is still being funded by the American CIA, correct?" asked a bespectacled young man, Dr. Roger Lindsay.

"Oh, absolutely," he assured them strongly. "For the most part anyway. Even the original MKUltra program was a mutually beneficial U.S./Canadian defense program. That hasn't changed. Only the name and location has changed... along with a few new faces coming in now and again," he added with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"But what you must understand," Maier continued, "is that this goes far beyond MKUltra and Weapon X. The evidence that reveals a direct lineage between Nazi Germany and the U.S. experiments had already been exposed in the past. Fortunately for us, most of the populace prefers to regard that evidence as hysterical rumors." He took a deep, almost satisfied breath and exhaled it with a grin. Swirling his glass, the ice cubes tinked against the sides lightly, then bringing the glass to his lips he muttered softly, "Their denial is our survival."

"Wait just a moment... the Nazis??" One of the young men remarked a bit aghast. His name was Dr. John Carlton and he'd been recruited from the same class as Dr. Roger Lindsay. "The Nazis tortured and murdered millions of people." He looked around at the group incredulously and they looked back at him. Some had almost neutral expressions while others appeared to be hiding their own surprise. "I don't think I'd classify what they did to innocent and unsuspecting victims as scientific study."

"I would. And so would most of my colleagues," Maier informed him. "When the Nazi death camps were captured and destroyed by allied forces all over occupied Europe, these very same experiments which were, at the time, being conducted by the German SS became a great interest to the allied scientific community and were intensively studied by U.S. military scientists who --"

" -- who turned a blind eye to the human torment resulting from those very experiments in favor of the possible benefits in the name of "national security"," Carlton finished.

"Precisely," Maier replied, giving the younger man a cold dark stare. His tone had changed in the face of the younger man's challenging statement, but he shook himself from his suspicion and continued with his history lesson. "And... having found great interest in the efforts and steps the German SS had taken, however unsuccessful most of them were, the CIA went ahead and imported over one thousand German scientists to the United States in order to finish their work. Some of these scientists were the very same people responsible for perfecting the Zyclon-B gas which was used in the extermination of millions of Jews, along with other doomed prisoners and undesirables, of course."

"Undesirables?" Dr. Russ ventured with interest.

"Yes, my dear. Those persons deemed unworthy of existence by the Nazi party... gypsies, homosexuals... mongrels, like our friend out there," Maier explained with a glint in his eyes and gestured toward the windows and the scenery passing by. His voice took on a nostalgic tone as he remembered the words he'd read in an old dusty journal. The journal, embossed with the silver SS monogram on the softest black leather and inscribed with the original owner's name - Professor A.G. Eichmann - was a cherished possession.

" 'Known by some as the Raggedy Man... known by all in camp as "the man who wouldn't die", and many more prisoners simply thought him to be a ghost that returned over and over again to re-live his last tormented moments'," Dr. Maier recited, then raised his eyes to his new team. "But there was one... one very attentive civilian scientist, an officer and lead professor of a special unit working directly under the authority of the SS, who had taken special notice of our raggedy little mongrel --."

"One moment, Doctor, if you please," Dr. Lindsay interjected as he sat forward in his chair. "Are you inferring that this particular patient, the one we're presently on our way to recover, was a prisoner in a Nazi death camp?"

"Yes, yes!" Maier exclaimed. "He was imprisoned at Sobibor and was discovered by Professor Eichmann."

"Sobibor? Never heard of it," Lindsay confessed a bit skeptical, glancing at his companions who indicated with a shake of their head or a facial shrug that they'd never heard of it either.

"Yes," Dr. Maier grinned evilly, "one of Nazi Germany's greatest secrets. Our mongrel... our gem... his entire life is submerged in the greatest secrets our world has ever known." He thought about the irony of that particular statement and chuckled darkly.

"That's impossible, sir. That would make this patient over --"

"Over 60 years old, yes," Maier confirmed, "... but he's much older than that, my young man, I assure you. And I assure you, it's the truth."

"Who is this man?" Lindsay asked, quite curious about a man who would volunteer over 60 years of his life to torturous experiments.

"No one knows his true identity," Maier admitted. "But that's neither here nor there," he said waving the questions away with both hands and refilling his glass before continuing to relay what he knew of the subject's history, as written in Professor Eichmann's journals.

"No matter what they did to him... no matter how many times they killed him... he always came back to life. His unusual habit of returning from his own brutal and tragic deaths to torment those who had tortured him resulted in the commandant's own suicide. His replacement, a Major Bauman, quickly lost control of his own mind as well after accepting the position. The camp, and control of it, dropped into disarray and the officers under Bauman's command lived in constant fear. Not fear of the Major, no, not at all, for he had already lost himself to the bottle.

"At first, the reports to Berlin were waved off as hysteria. But subsequent inspections of the camp showed tremendous problems in the command structure that seemed to spiral downward with each change of command. And the reports of this "ghost", who tormented the staff with simple stares... and whistling, constant repeated whistling...." Dr. Maier smiled darkly as he thought about that. In his own way, the mutant - the mongrel - had accomplished the same results as Cameron had in his Sleep Room experiments. By using simple repetitive signals he was able to instill fear and a sense of impending doom on his own captors, resulting in a uniformed and unquestionable response. Shaking himself from going too deeply into those thoughts, Maier clutched his drink in both hands and continued.

"Months later, the rumors of this "ghost" finally made their way to Eichmann's ear. He did not wave them away so easily. He had already found a few, out of the millions, who had special abilities... those who could not be burned in the incinerators, or those who could cause objects to fly through the air under great emotional stress... so this one, the one who appeared to always come back from the dead, was of great interest to him." Maier turned back with a gleeful, if not evil, smile on this face which caused his audience to sit further back in their seats. His sadistic excitement clearly showed on his face as he tried to instill that excitement in his new recruits. "This mongrel was the gem he'd been searching for! A treasure he refused to let loose from his grasp. And it wasn't long before Professor Eichmann realized that this mongrel wasn't simply a man who wouldn't die..... he was a man who couldn't die."

Maier dropped into his own deep thoughts about his work, his mongrel, his fame and fortune when he finally succeeded in giving the governments of the world exactly what they'd pined for, for over a hundred years; a controllable, unstoppable, living weapon.

Again, pulling himself from his thoughts, he turned to see the young group watching him, waiting patiently for him to continue. Pulling himself together, Maier took a moment to straighten his coat and pushed at his wire-rimmed glasses. A light sheen of perspiration showed across his forehead and he calmly smoothed one hand over it, wiping it from existence. He swept his dark hair back, in a show of total self-control, then took a slow deep breath.

"Anyway..." he said, waving his hand slowly in front of himself as if to wipe away his last spoken words before he'd gotten off-track, "these German scientists that I mentioned, were rescued from certain execution by the American government, even as they were being actively investigated for possible war crimes. But the U.S., intent on using their knowledge and expertise for their own efforts in the Cold War, kept them from being prosecuted for crimes against humanity, protected them from execution and sheltered them under the veil of amnesty.

"And I assure you... each and every one of you, that you need not worry for your own futures. The work we do here is still defendable by invoking "the good of national security". And that defense has proven to be quite useful in keeping our vast arsenal of knowledge and sophisticated mind bending techniques hidden from the general public."

"Sophisticated mind bending techniques?" Carlton barked out again, and Maier turned to glare at him. "What you're speaking of is the torture of human beings!"

"Not human beings! Mongrels! Mutants! Animals!" Dr. Maier roared at him. His rage at the accusation made his muscles tremble and his hands shook so bad the liquid in the glass he held sloshed over the rim to splash on the plush carpet at his feet.

"There are laws in both countries, Doctor, that ensure protection of animals from all manners of cruelty!" Dr. Carlton shouted back.

"Aaaah, yes," Maier conceded with a crooked grin, "but there are no laws to protect mutant humans. These mutants exist in a limbo between humanity and ... non-humanity. Even they don't know where they belong! I give their existence purpose! I give them a reason for being!" He defended himself and his actions vehemently, and then, as if he'd slammed his temper into reverse, his eyes cleared and his facial muscles relaxed again. "All of our weapons have had to be perfected through human experimentation. There's simply no way around it," Dr. Maier informed him calmly.

"Are the subjects of these "human experiments" willing volunteers, Dr. Maier?" the younger man demanded to know.

"We use highly sensitive research, development and experimentation in order to alter human behavior. We break down their human consciousness, we deconstruct their identification with the illusion of "I" or "me" and we build them back up, in tact, but separate from the ego."

"You didn't answer my question, Doctor."

"All of our subjects are told of the experiments and procedures --"

"Before or after you've destroyed them psychologically?"

"We choose only the most acceptable subjects for these experiments! Logan, our mongrel, if you will, possesses tremendous healing abilities that virtually allow him to survive absolutely anything we've thrown at him. This is what these experiments are all about!"

"He's a mutant with a healing factor!" Dr. Carlton shouted back. "That's it, isn't it? Of course he heals! But he still feels the pain of what you do to him, doesn't he? And he feels that pain, that torment, as many times as you see fit to put him through it, doesn't he?" The young man set his glass down with a loud clank and stood up, enraged at the deception he'd almost become an unwitting part of. "This is government sanctioned torture of innocent victims! Unwilling and, most undoubtedly, non-informed and non-consensual individuals! Your subjects don't have a choice in the matter, do they, Doctor?"

Maier glowered at the petulant young upstart standing in front of him. The other recruits simply looked between the two men, some with fear in their eyes and the others with total complacency as their colleague continued to challenge their host.

"You spoke of the Nuremberg Code and the Hippocratic Oath," Carlton reminded him, "..... what of basic human rights, Doctor? How many international human rights covenants are you violating?" Carlton demanded to know, but Dr. Devan Maier offered no reply. His dark eyes were unfocused in a thousand-yard stare as if distancing himself from the man's accusatory tone. "This subject... this person, that we're on our way to collect --" Carlton challenged, "is he lost and confused as we were told? Or is he running for his life... from you?"

Dr. Maier took a moment to put his heavy glass down on the bar behind him as he reached into the pocket of his white coat. He turned back around, pulling his hand free, to show he now held a loaded pistol that swung up in a smooth easy motion. Barely taking the time to aim, he pulled the trigger and the young man's head snapped back as blood, brains and gore exploded onto the leather seats behind him. The others startled and yelled out in horror at the sudden loud noise and the sight of their colleague's head exploding.

Roger Lindsay sat in horrified silence, staring into the glazed eyes of the murdered man, his friend, whose body had dropped back into the chair beside him haphazardly. Dr. Russ looked from the dead man back to the man holding the gun, and the other two men beside her paled to a sickly ashen grey as they stared in horror at the entire scene. The large windows of the fancy vehicle were now painted a grisly red with blood and brain tissue sliding down the smokey glass.

Maier lowered the pistol again in a casual, smooth motion as if this act was second nature to him. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, he looked to each of the remaining new recruits as they each finally turned their terrified gaze back to him. He held the smoldering gun down to his side and reached for his glass again. Taking a large satisfying swallow, he crooked a grin at his slightly smaller audience.

"Any other questions?"


* * *


Sabretooth kept to the densest parts of the forest as he made his way toward Xavier's mansion. Glancing skyward now and again, Creed kept a sharp eye out for the winged mutant but there was no sign of him.

Xavier's estate was less than a mile away now and Creed wracked his brain trying to figure out how to get inside. He couldn't just walk up to the front gate and push the button simply asking to be allowed entry. But he had to make them listen, he had to make them believe what he had to say. All he could hope for at this point was that Xavier himself still had some tolerance for him. The professor had always been willing to give him a chance, to hear him out. He'd done so in the past, despite Wolverine's aggressive protests, and Victor prayed for just one more chance.

The time had come. No more games. No more lies. No more secrets.

He knew that Wraith had to be on to his scheme by now. At the very least, he must know that Sabretooth was not under his command or control - not that he ever had been. But if Weapon X had deemed it necessary to activate The Guardian then they would be on their way to intercept as well. Time was running out.

Wraith's army would be mobilized by now, and with The Guardian and Weapon X in partnership with them, Creed saw few options ahead of him. Regardless of the risks, he had to get to Logan first.


* * *


As the convoy came into sight below him, The Guardian touched down and simply stood in the middle of the road, waiting.

The trucks rumbled loudly through the otherwise peaceful countryside and as the noise came closer, echoing through the rolling hillside, Angel looked around casually as if he fully expected the sound of the rolling army to draw a spectator crowd.

Wraith straightened in his seat, coming to attention, as the figure standing in the road came into view. Clenching the stub of his cigar between his teeth, he disposed of the map that had been long-forgotten yet still lay open across his lap. Stuffing it atop the dashboard, he ordered the column to halt a dozen yards from the armed mutant even as Warren sheathed the large blade once more.

Wraith climbed out of the cab of the lead vehicle and crossed over to the center of the road, watching Angel closely as he waited for Professor Maier's team to join him. He and his men were trained soldiers; their mission, to assist in the retrieval of Wolverine and forcefully take him into custody to be turned over to the projects. It was not his mission to face off with these brainwashed assassins, so he waited.

He didn't have to wait more than half a minute though. Even with the inertial dampeners in the mobile unit it didn't take long for those inside to realize the convoy had stopped. As Maier turned to look toward the front of the vehicle, the driver informed him of the order.

Maier exited the door on the passenger side and crossed behind the trailer in front of him. The medical staff that had been passing their time inside the containment unit also exited their trailer and looked to him as he marched past, his focus on the cigar-smoking man standing at the head of the line of trucks.

As he neared Wraith, Dr. Maier glanced beyond him to see The Guardian waiting patiently. Maier turned briefly to wave his team forward with a harried gesture and the three physicians ran forward. Upon seeing Maier, Angel quickly identified him and walked forward to meet him.

Dr. Maier smiled wickedly as he faced Warren, clasping the young mutant by the arms he welcomed him back warmly. The Guardian simply looked at his master with a neutral expression as the rest of Maier's team ran up to give him a quick visual survey. It was apparent he'd seen some action, but he didn't appear to be injured.

"Take him inside. Quickly, please," Maier instructed as he guided Angel toward the medical staff who then escorted him quickly to the trailer and hustled him inside. Maier noticed the other group of recruits peering around the back of the semi-trailer, curious as to what was going on. He waved them forward even as he turned to Wraith to inform him quietly of the mess inside the last unit. "If you'd see that taken care of before we're through here... Thank you, Colonel."

As Maier escorted his young apprentices inside the silver trailer, Wraith turned to bark orders and three uniformed troops came to his beckon and were given the not-so-pleasant task of cleaning up all evidence of what had taken place and depositing the body into the back of one of the cargo trucks.

Wraith stood in the road, supervising the transfer of the body, wondering what exactly had caused the young doctor's sudden and untimely demise. Not really caring, just wondering. He stood a short distance from the silver trailer, just out of earshot of anything actually being said inside, but the sound of the disembodied voices murmuring through the wall left him feeling a bit odd himself.

A dark sensation seemed to enfold around him like a scratchy old blanket and he scowled in disgust. Rolling the cigar stub between his finger and thumb, he studied it for a moment, and then spiked it to the ground before storming back to the lead truck to await further orders.



________________________________________________________________________

TBC in ... (At Death's Door, part 3)





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