“The object of this exercise is very simple.” Storm’s voice rang out in the hallway with unmistakable authority. Dark brown eyes gazed at her young team, making certain to look each one in the eye, letting them know nonverbally that she meant business, that this was serious and they had better take it seriously.
Storm stood just outside the Danger Room doors, overhead lights casting a silver/blue sheen over her and her crew. Each dressed in their uniforms, Storm was preparing Kitty, Colossus, Bobby to go in. The three teens had proven themselves time and again since Alcatraz, and had been officially named X-Men months ago, and as such, they, unlike the other students at Xavier’s, never really got a break from training.
“Once inside you will have a single objective.” Storm entered her five-digit security code, opening the polished silver doors. She glanced at her team over her shoulder, smiling internally at their solemn, yet eager expressions. “Any questions?”
“Yeah. What the heck is our objective?” Kitty finally asked, rolling her eyes. Cloak and dagger never really suited her, she liked things straight forward and to the point.
Storm motioned them forward through the doors into the holographic environment. The scene behind the doors was unassuming at first glance; a dim city street with flickering lamps, five story buildings, a quick-stop with a gas station, a laundry mat and several pedestrians milling about. “Find and detain Wolverine.”
Bobby groaned. “Why can’t we just face an insurmountable army on quicksand?”
Kitty punched him lightly in the arm. “Quit being such a baby.” Despite her bravado, she looked just as nervous.
“All right, team.” Storm spread her arms, a small funnel of wind forming beneath her feet. “You have all the time you need. Remember your training and you’ll be fine.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Bobby‘s look was incredulous. “You’re not helping us?”
“Not this time. I’ll be observing. Good luck.” She lifted herself into the air, disappearing over the ledge of one of the taller brick buildings.
“What’d we do to you?” Bobby called after her.
“Okay, guys,” Kitty said, snapping her fingers to get their attention. “Logan isn’t going to make this easy on us. I suggest we stick together and don’t separate for anything.”
“I think we should split up,” Bobby countered. “Cover more ground.”
“What? And have Wolverine pick us off one by one? No way.”
“He can’t get all of us at the same time if we separate. Together we’re a bigger target.” Bobby looked at Peter for support. “Right, man?”
Peter shrugged his massive shoulders. “I’m with Katya on this.”
“Of course you are.” Kitty beamed. “That’s two to one, Popsicle.”
Bobby was less than thrilled with Kitty’s superior look and use of his loathed nickname. If she wasn’t so damn cute she would be nearly unlikable.
Across the street, concealed by the shadows of an intersection, Logan watched the trio huddle together, his eyes narrowed into slits. He sniffed the air, and smiled at a scent he immediately recognized. He lifted his head catching a flash of white on the fire escape of a nearby building. She may not be leading her team, but she wasn’t exactly about to throw them to the wolves, so to speak.
Logan turned back to the others, noting, with a fair amount of pride, the younger X-Men begin moving along the street, in the opposite direction, guarding one another’s backs and checking concealed locations, just as they had been trained to.
With a confident smirk he stepped under the street lamp, striding into the open as unconcerned as could be. He bent down, tied his boots tighter, stretched and yawned. A walk in the park for him, that’s what this exercise was.
Above them all Storm watched Logan strut into the open and rolled her eyes heavenward, asking for patience. Always had to play cowboy, she thought with mild irritation. Someday his reckless attitude would likely get him into severe trouble, but for now, she supposed he had every right to be arrogant. What was that expression he used all the time? He was the best at what he did and what he did wasn’t pretty…or something like that. Well, she supposed that depended on what he was doing.
Adjusting her position to keep tabs on Logan and her team, she set aside her wayward thinking and began following Logan’s path along the rooftops. He was closing in on the others, still strolling, but she knew his brain was forming a multitude of attacks, counterattacks and strategies.
Storm pulled out her binoculars to get a better look and noticed Peter’s skin ripple, steel replacing flesh. They were not as unaware as they would have Logan believe. With a smooth twist Colossus picked up Kitty, throwing her hard and fast in Logan’s direction. The maneuver was rather brilliant, Storm thought, considering that Kitty was nearly invulnerable in her phased state, the only problem was she had to stop herself and to do that she would be tangible and all Logan needed was an opportunity and he could take her out of the equation.
“Keep coming, kid,” Logan grinned, unsheathing. A moment later he grimaced, feeling his hands going numb. Bobby Drake, fully in Iceman form, came from his left, sending a stream of ice towards him. Kitty, still ghostlike, shot through Logan, reaching out one hand to grab hold. Logan evaded easily, moving out of her line, knowing she would be forced to come at him again, her initial strike a miss.
Kitty swore softly, landing several feet off target. She should have calculated Logan sidestepping her, but she had assumed he would face her like he did everything else. Head on and stubborn.
Logan chuckled at the string of curse words coming from behind him. Kitty had a temper, that was for sure. He smashed his fists into the ground, effectively removing the layer of ice coating his skin. He crouched down low as the three circled him and grinned at his three would-be captors.
“Are you sure this is the right approach to be taking?” Alicia Vargas’s asked.
Henry moved the phone to a better position against his ear as he searched his closet for his red tie. “I see no other alternative,” he stated flatly. “Best to take the bull by the horns, so to speak.”
Alicia’s sigh traveled the miles between them over the phone line. “Yes, I know that is how you operate, Henry, but Trask--”
“Is a formidable man, I know, Alicia. Believe me when I say that these are not the circumstances I had hoped for, but never-the-less, they are what they are. I can‘t spend my entire career being afraid to address those that pose a threat. To do that, to show that kind of cowardice, goes against everything I stand for.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “Just…be careful, ok?”
Henry was touched by the concern in her voice. “Always, my love.” He looked at his watch. “I have to go now.”
“I love you, Hank.”
He hung up, his chest tight. He would have to get her to Xavier’s soon. He didn’t like the separation. He straightened to his full, impressive height, adjusting his suit jacket. Time to face the bull, he thought grimly.
The exercise was going to hell, Storm thought, watching her team scatter. Logan was having way too much fun handing them their collective asses. Using the radios they all had in their ears, she voiced instruction to the younger mutants.
“Stay in formation. Wait for him to make a move. Counter and plan,” she coached. “Stay together.”
Logan sliced down a street lamp, dropping it dead center of the trio. They scattered.
Damn it, she thought with admiration and irritation. Clever bastard.
Kitty, from her crouch behind a small Pontiac, cursed for the hundredth time. “We are so royally fu--” Her words were cut off by a hand around her neck and a yank to her feet.
“Kitty!” Bobby foolishly ran towards them, just as Logan had known he would. Kitty could easily phase out of his grip, but Bobby hadn’t thought of that, only reacted to his teammate in severe danger.
With a growl, Logan moved to intercept.
Hank McCoy had never been intimidated by anyone or anything in his life. He had not flinched as a child when his father had beat him relentlessly and had not given up his dream of becoming a doctor even later in life when his mutancy made it impossible for him to continue in public school; however, standing behind his desk in a stare down with Bolivar Trask was definitely one of his more uncomfortable experiences.
Both men, broad shouldered and larger than most football players stood on opposite sides of Henry’s polished desk, neither willing to sit and be, for one moment, on a lower level than the other.
“You called this meeting, McCoy,” Trask broke the silence with his usual frankness. “What is it you want?”
Henry adjusted his spectacles absently, a habit he had when about to engage in a serious debate. “I believe you to be an shrewd man, Trask. Certainly not one to be confused about the reasons behind my inviting you here.”
A small flicker of what could have been annoyance touched Bolivar’s dark eyes. “It is my thinking that you intend to try and influence me the same way you influence policy. Through twisted logic and manipulation to suit your agenda.”
Hank sighed inwardly. This was not the foot he had hoped to start out on. Trask was already borderline antagonistic, making no attempt at the appearance of truly wanting to debate anything. Like his hard features, it seemed his opinions were already set in stone.
Deciding that once more it would be up to him to bend, Henry sank into his custom fit leather chair, indicating with a welcome hand gesture for the other man to follow suit. Trask remained standing. Henry continued regardless, “With all due respect, I do not believe I have ever manipulated policy to suit any agenda, as I do not have an agenda.”
Trask’s mouth twisted sardonically. “Don’t you?”
“No,” Henry stated matter-of-factly. “I do not. But I believe you do.”
Bolivar actually looked momentarily startled when Henry tossed the files Alicia had given him onto the desk.
“Look familiar?” Hank asked, his tone idle; his posture tense.
Bolivar didn’t bother to open the manila folder. He straightened his tie, seeming almost indifferent to the entire situation. “Suspicion and speculation, McCoy? These are the reasons I flew to New York? I don’t have time for your innuendos. If you have something to say, I suggest you stop wasting my time and say it.”
Hank just barely restrained a rumbling growl. He cleared his throat before continuing. “Very well. I believe, with certainty, that you are endeavoring to continue Senator Kelly’s misguided attempt to control all mutants.”
“I don’t believe it is anyone’s right to control all mutants,” Bolivar corrected, not bothering to confirm or deny Henry‘s statement. “Only those that pose a threat to the general populace.”
“And just who decides what constitutes a threat? You? What qualifies you to make that determination?”
Trask, for a brief moment, let his mask of indifference slip, anger crossing his features. “I swore an oath to defend this country and it’s Constitution, and by God, I’ll do just that.” He reached one battle scarred hand into his blazer, pulling out a small diskette and tossing it atop the unopened folders. “If you are so interested in what constitutes a threat by my standards, take a look at that.” He lifted his long coat from the rack beside the door. Turning back towards Henry, he pointed at the diskette. “That is the threat you house under this very roof, and that is what I will protect the law abiding citizens of this country from.” He opened the door, his face hard as granite. “Stay out of my way, McCoy, if you know what’s good for you.”
Hank flinched as the door slammed, knocking his degree from the wall. “Well,” he muttered under his breath. “That went smoothly.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, removing his glasses and setting them on his desk. There was no getting around it, things were looking grim, he would have to tell Ororo what they were up against. He reached over the folder, fingering the diskette that Trask had left behind. Undeniably curious, Hank opened his closed laptop and slid the disk into the drive.
Fifteen minutes later he let out a shaky breath, feeling nauseas. “Dear God in Heaven.” He shot to his feet, moving swiftly into the heart of the Mansion. He needed to find Ororo.
Logan straddled Colossus, three adamantium claws extended mere inches from the Russian’s face. The team had done a remarkably good job of getting Logan cornered, however, they forgot one cardinal rule of nature-- a cornered animal was often the most dangerous.
Kitty and Bobby were effectively neutralized as threats first, and by Danger Room rules, despite being able to continue, they were forced to sit out and watch Wolverine and Colossus battle it out. The fight was a slugfest that had nearly gone Peter’s way, but he made the mistake of miscalculating Logan’s agility and had ended up on his back, Logan astride him.
A crack of thunder signaled the end of the exercise.
“Good job, everyone,” Storm said with genuine pride.
“Are you kidding?” Peter asked, allowing Logan to help him to his feet.
“We got our butts kicked,” Kitty pointed out.
“As expected.” Ororo landed next to them.
Logan dusted off his jeans. “Ya didn’t think you’d actually get me, did you?”
“Well,” Kitty mumbled. “We might have.”
“You done good, kiddo,” Logan assured her. “All of you.” He looped his arm around her shoulder companionably.
Kitty beamed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m starving,” Peter commented just as his stomach made a boisterous rumble.
“Can we order in, Storm?” Bobby pleaded. “Pleeeeease.”
“Chinese sounds good,” Kitty added with a batting of her eyelashes. “We did work up an appetite.”
“I suppose you’ve earned it,” Ororo agreed after feigning contemplation.
Bobby whooped, hugging her. “You’re still the best!”
Laughing Ororo shooed them towards the showers. She watched them go, her smile full of affection. Studying her face Logan wondered if she realized the emotions she radiated. She glanced at him, her eyes sparkling. “What?”
“You’re beautiful.” He stated simply, honestly.
She opened her mouth to say something, but Hank’s baritone boom came from the elevator. “Storm!”
“Henry.” Immediately Ororo knew something was very wrong with her friend. She rushed towards him. “What is it?”
Henry’s eyes flickered briefly over Logan and there was no mistaking the subtle tension that went through him. “I need to speak with you.”
Ororo’s brow creased in a worried frown. “Alright. Let me change and we’ll be in your office.”
Henry shook his head. “Privately.”
Logan took the hint. “Catch ya later, Storm.” He stalked towards the showers. He was irritated for some unknown reason at being left out of the loop. He rarely participated in the scholastic or academic end of the school and just as rare was his involvement in team decisions. He did his own thing most of the time and couldn’t give a shit what the others did, but he felt distinctly put out by Hank’s obvious not wanting of him around for whatever he wanted to discuss with ‘Ro.
Upstairs in Henry’s designated UN office Ororo took a seat on the small couch near the fireplace. She waited patiently as Henry poured himself a drink, and declined his offer of one for herself. “Something has you very upset, Hank, What is it?”
Hank swallowed his glass of Scotch in one throw back. He welcomed the burn of the liquid down his throat. “I met with Bolivar Trask today.”
“Ok, Hank. You have my attention.” Ororo sat forward, her eyes taking on a hard edge. She had never been a fan of Trask’s and after recent events even less so. She knew from her initial dinner with Henry weeks ago that Trask was a problem, but from Henry’s expression Trask had moved from ’problem’ category to ’threat’. She had rarely seen her friend so flustered. “What did he want?”
“Not much of anything. I invited him here in hopes to mend fences.”
“And it didn’t go well?”
“That, my dear, is an understatement.”
“So, what happened?”
Henry took the seat beside her, reaching for her hand. Whatever he had to tell her wasn’t good, she knew with great certainty.
“It’s Logan.”
Ororo tensed, a ring of blue appearing around the dark chocolate of her eyes. “What about Logan?”
Henry took a breath, continuing gently. “I know you’ve come to care for him a great deal--”
“What about Logan,” she interrupted.
Reluctantly Hank met her eyes. “He’s dangerous, Ororo. Far more dangerous than I think Charles realized.”
“Hank, I know you and Logan sometimes rub each other the wrong way, but where is this all coming from?”
“How much did Charles speak of Logan’s past?” He evaded subtly.
“Hardly at all and rarely to anyone other than Logan. Is that what this is about? His past?” Ororo relaxed a bit. “We all know he has a past, but that’s just it--his past.”
Henry took a long minute before speaking again. “How long do you think that past will stay buried?”
“Henry, it isn’t like you to talk around in circles, well, at least not with me. Just spit it out.” She prompted.
“You said yourself a leopard doesn’t change it’s spots.”
Ororo‘s own words regarding Mystique, she knew. But Logan wasn‘t like Raven, she was sure of it. She squeezed Henry‘s fingers reassuringly. “Whatever Trask said needs to be taken with a grain of salt, because I refuse to take his word--”
“He didn’t say anything, Ororo. It was what he showed me.”
She tensed again. “Something from Logan’s past?”
“Yes. A video.”
Ororo stood up. “Do you still have this video?”
“Yes. Wait, Ororo, where are you going?”
“To get Logan.” She turned at the door, her eyes mostly blue now. “This is his past; his life. He has a right to see it.”
Hank stood as well, shaking his head. His eyes held a wealth of sympathy. “I don’t believe that his seeing it will be of any benefit to him.”
Ororo spun on her heel, her eyes snapping. “How can you say that? He has a right to know about his past. Even Charles knew that.”
Henry chose his words carefully. “And if that knowledge could trigger a violent reaction that puts the students here at risk?”
That gave Ororo pause. She regarded him carefully, gauging his expressions. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I have never before seen the likes of what was on that disk, and God willing, I never will again.” Henry appeared visibly shaken.
“Hank?”
“I can’t in good conscience not tell you my concerns. You are ultimately the one to make the decision as school Head Mistress.”
Ororo blinked, slightly confused. “What decision?”
“Whether Wolverine stays or not.”
“Of course he stays.”
“Ororo, you have not seen the footage.”
“That doesn’t matter. This is Logan’s home. I refuse to turn him away. Now or ever. He is welcome as long as he chooses to stay.”
“You trust him so completely?”
“Of course.”
Henry closed his eyes. He hated to break her heart, but knew she needed to see what he saw. “Ororo, you may want to sit down.”
“I am not watching it.”
“Ororo--”
“No,” she held up her hand. “Whatever that disk holds on it is for Logan, not me.”
Henry grimaced. Damn her and her stubbornness. “If you insist he see it, I must warn you that his reaction could be--volatile.”
Ororo nodded solemnly. “Understood.” She held out her hand, waiting.
She wasn‘t about to relent. “Do you want me to come with you?” Henry finally asked, sliding the small diskette onto her palm.
“No.”
“Ororo?”
She paused.
“Don’t think me too harsh. I simply want the students here to remain safe.”
She smiled at him, full of warmth and understanding. “Henry, I know that.”
His next words caused Ororo more fear than their entire conversation before hand. He took her face between his big palms, holding her eyes. “He’ll need someone to lean on after he watches that.”
“Logan?” Ororo hesitated just outside of his room. The door was ajar, and she could hear him moving around inside, but still she waited for him to answer.
“Hey.” He opened the door farther, toweling his thick hair. His button down shirt was partially undone, revealing a damp mat of hair on his chest. “You and Furball squared away?”
Ororo bit her lower lip, not quite sure how to proceed. “More or less,” she murmured quietly. “Can I come in?”
Logan backed up a step, sensing her anxiety. “Sure, ‘Ro.” He quick stepped across the floor to his bed, picking up his discarded towel, clearing a spot for her. She glanced at the newly designated seat, but chose not to sit, instead pacing the hardwood.
After a few moments Logan grabbed her arm, gently halting her. “What is it, darlin’?”
“Do you remember Bolivar Trask?” she asked, stepping away to continue pacing.
“Yeah. Big guy, looks like he’s gone a round or two in his day. Never met him personally, but I remember him in Cockrum’s office from time to time.”
“Well, he was here today.” She moved to stand beside his dresser, her fingertips playing over the brass handles. “He gave Henry something.”
Logan leaned against the dresser next to her, his eyes intent on her averted features. “Am I supposed to play twenty questions to figure this out, or are you gonna spill it sometime soon?”
Ororo held up her hand, a silver diskette snugly secured between her index and middle finger. “Henry says this has to do with you.” She faced him, her eyes speaking volumes as they always did. Concern, tenderness, a subtle fear. Not of him he knew, but for him.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen it. Henry says it’s something from your past.”
Logan wasn’t sure how to take that. He had given up any chance of his past after Chuck’s death and now Ororo stood, offering him a glimpse of it. He tried for nonchalance. “Well, put it on,” he said, gesturing towards his flat screen.
“You want me to go?” she asked, opening the disk tray.
“Why?” He shrugged, his forced smile not reaching his eyes.
Ororo stepped back as the screen flickered to life, standing beside Logan. She glanced at his averted features, but he was focused intently on the screen, the tick in his jaw betraying his pseudo calm.
Scrolling data that meant nothing to either of them was what first appeared. Ororo caught several statistics that could have been basic stats, height, weight, blood type. The next series of figures was completely foreign to her. Then at the bottom, flashing in neon green were the words “Weapon X: Codename Wolverine”.
Logan shifted subtly, his hands moving together. He absently rubbed the ridges between his knuckles, his eyes glued to the television.
A winter scene filtered on after the data. The footage was old, grainy, black and white. It was a cabin, somewhere in the woods. A lone figure stood in the snow, chopping wood. The camera zoomed in and Ororo recognized Logan. He looked…younger. Her eyes flickered towards from the television image to her companion, but quickly back to the screen.
A voice spoke, just off camera. “Mr. Logan?”
The Logan onscreen stopped chopping wood, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Yeah. Who wants to know?”
“Mr. James Logan?”
“Who are you?” The onscreen Logan rolled his shoulders in way Ororo recognized all too well, poising to strike.
The voice never answered, instead rifles fired.
Ororo clasped her hand over her mouth, her eyes luminous, as she watched television Logan being thrown back with the force of each shot, blood spraying the pristine white surrounding him.
Helpless as a sodden dishrag, the onscreen Logan tried to drag his battered form away from the approaching men. They reached him and despite his bloodied state, he lashed out, only to be pummeled ruthlessly by booted feet.
The voice spoke once more. “Subject captured.”
The screen flickered again and a dozen physicians and specialists and scientists crowded a phosphorous green liquid filled tank labeled Weapon X. Logan floated in the center of that tank, long tubes protruding from his naked body. They doctors were all murmuring and clasping each other on the back approvingly.
Ororo felt like she was going to be ill.
In the tank, Logan began to thrash.
“Impossible,” one of the doctors said. “He has been injected with enough sedatives to down a herd of elephants.”
“Obviously they aren’t working.” Another voice, harder and more commanding answered.
In his bedroom, Logan whispered, “Stryker.”
On the television the scientists were scrambling. “500 ccs of Thorazine, now!”
“That’s going to mess up his brain--”
“Do it!”
“Shocks administered through electrical pulses on Subject’s body will subdue him enough to administer the drug.”
“I don’t want a rundown,” Stryker’s voice came again. “I want it done!”
Inside the tank, Logan jerked and screamed, his hands balled into fists, and long bone claws erupted, blood swirling black around him.
“Well, well, well, will you look at that,” Stryker whispered, sick awe in his voice. “Our boy just became priceless.”
There was a lapse in video and when the feed came back it was obvious a great deal of time had passed. Logan was laying in a different tank, one that was also sealed shut, appearing peacefully asleep.
“Why isn’t he responding?”
“No idea.”
“Come on, Wolverine, wakey, wakey.”
One of the scientists moved towards the tank. “Maybe he can’t breathe in there.” He leaned over the glass.
“No! Step back!”
Too late.
Logan’s eyes snapped open and his fist shot out, breaking the glass, pulling the scientist into the tank. Intestines poured from the man’s gutted stomach.
Logan erupted from the liquid, slashing wildly. Necks were gashed and arms severed.
Alarms blared, lights flashed.
Screams, so many screams.
Logan raced through the room, killing each and every person in it without pause.
Panic erupted and people ran, only to be chased down, newly laced adamantium claws slicing through skin and bone like a hot knife through butter.
The camera switched, and the security footage followed Logan through the building. No one he came across was spared. Didn’t matter their age, sex, or station.
Ororo felt tears prick her eyes, watching as a woman folding laundry was stabbed through her back, blood bubbling from her lips, and a kid, no older than Kitty in the kitchen fall beneath Logan’s claws. They screamed for mercy and he gave them none.
Person after person, he killed them all brutally. It didn’t matter if they were simply kitchen workers or the scientists that hurt him, janitors or doctors. All fell before him, He was ruthless and kept going until he was covered in blood, no piece of flesh visible through the crimson sheen.
The last room he came across was labeled Day Care and children could be heard crying behind the closed door. Children of the men and women that he had just slain.
Onscreen Logan put his hand on the door, smearing a bloody hand print.
Ororo bit her lip. Please, no, no, no…
He turned away.
The footage ceased.
The two of them stood in silence. Ororo wanted to say something, but had nothing to offer. Her emotions felt raw, exposed, she could only imagine what Logan felt like.
Logan, for his part, stood staring at the black screen, his breathing heavy. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stood staring.
Ororo moved forward, shutting off the television. She turned back to him, her voice tight. “Logan…” She truly didn’t know what to say.
He didn’t look at her.
Slowly she moved towards the door, prepared to give him his privacy to deal with what they had witnessed.
“’Ro…wait.”
She stopped.
His voice was rough, low, strained. “Stay with me.”
She turned his light off. Without a word she approached him, wrapping her arms around him.
At her touch Logan shuddered, his breath catching.
“I’m here, Logan.” She whispered. “It’s ok.”
“What am I?” he asked raggedly into her hair.
She pulled him closer.
They sank to the floor.
The night passed with neither one saying a word.
