FIC: Promises: Short Circuit (18/?) Part A

[niceandfluffy2]

Promises: Short Circuit (18/?) Part A
Author: Foofy (niceandfluffy)
Rating: NC17, mostly for violence although some sexual situations
Warnings: Sex and violence and flamingo impressions. Imprisonment and torture (mostly suggestive) are also present throughout. AU

Summary: The three remaining members head on to the base, unaware that their fourth had already unwillingly beaten them to it.

Previous chapters can be found here

Author’s Note: This chapter is plot heavy rather than smutty (sorry!), and contains more mutants which are a blend of my own imagination and other Marvel characters rather than any specific canon ones.

I am extremely sorry about the length of time taken to write this particular one – hopefully chapter writing will speed up shortly!

The base is vaguely based on a real mining town (now a ghost town) called Bodie. Useful piccies here


*

Subject H2 had taken a long time to regain consciousness. Frank Caleb hadn’t been overly concerned over it, although he couldn’t deny that it was irritating; their schedule was tight as it was given the attacking mutants’ intentions, and a lengthy delay from the drug given to the boy to keep him passive was not ideal.

He sat back in his seat as he studied the young man who had been shackled into the interrogation chair, a little creak of leather accompanying his movements. H2 still held the air of youth, just barely out of teens but with a criminal record that accompanied men three times his age. His athletic physique spoke of H2’s day to day activities, which tied in well with the reports of the mutant’s behaviour and misadventure. Even when the young mutant was still, he still had the look of one that was running behind his eyes, constantly alert. Caleb smiled slightly. Yes, the boy was something of an acrobat, although no amount of twisting or turning was going to get him away from their control.

Caleb drummed his fingers on the chair, his eyes glowing with satisfaction. Stryker had been misguided in his ‘Island’, treating each mutant as though they could be contained in a box and nothing more. True control needed further involvement, and certainly Caleb wasn’t feeling either generous or foolish enough to allow H2 the same ability of escape as he had enjoyed under Stryker’s management. No, the boy was here and here he would remain until his death.

H2’s mutant abilities were interesting, but Caleb didn’t feel they were of any real concern. The kinetic power was impressive for what it was, but in comparison to some of the weapons that Caleb had in his possession it was nothing more than a child’s toy. He had a suspicion that H2’s success seemed to revolve around the boy’s significant ability to know when to apply his talent, which was enhanced by a charismatic capacity that appeared to work on either gender. Again, this was nothing Caleb was concerned over. H2 would learn that his charms held no merit here.

He tipped his head slightly to the side as he watched the boy stir in the high backed, wooden chair. There was the softest of grunts as the shackles holding the mutant’s wrists and ankles were discovered, and another as the boy tried to move his head and found it restricted by a collar that connected his head to the back of the chair. Caleb rubbed a finger across his lips idly, then placed his hand delicately back onto his chair’s arm.

“Is he fully conscious?” he tossed the question to the only female in the room. There was the usual hint of concentration in Six’s eyes, before the dark, cool eyes turned back to her master. The woman tilted her head in confirmation, her mid-length mouse-blond swaying for a moment with the movement. Caleb smiled and delicately crossed his ankles.

“He doesn’t seem very vocal,” he commented, the remark aimed solely at the mutant rather than his servant. There was no response. He hadn’t been expecting anything else, however. There was no chance that H2 could possibly escape through trickery or words, and therefore the mutant was clearly waiting to understand the situation better before acting.

The extraction had worked remarkably well, better than he had been hoping for. A simple mental command had brought H2 out, and another sexual suggestion added to Wilson – aka “Deadpool” – had provided the perfect cover for both attention and scent. Caleb shuddered slightly in memory. Using sexual distraction had never been his preferred method, or indeed taste, but Six had assured him that the simplicity of the targets had required a simplistic approach in itself.

His lip curled. The ‘team’ that came to them so arrogantly were animals. He hated animals, each filthy hair of them. Their minds were primitive, their actions brutal and uncalculated, and their primal natures seemed to drive most of their actions. And yet Stryker relished the two feral creatures he had picked up from a flea infested jail cell, feeding them and training them and attempting to introduce the pair to the concept of soap. The reasons hadn’t been too hard to see, Caleb had to confess, but they were all surface based. The ferals had some aspects that made them officially interesting, but not enough that a quick DNA-mutant extraction couldn’t have dealt with. No, Stryker enjoyed the prestige that came from having such powerful creatures under his direct command, knowing that he could snap his fingers and have his favourite – the more brutal ‘Victor’ – disembowel whoever he wished. It was messy, but the fear.. ah, the fear, was perfect for keeping a house in order.

But now Caleb had those same animals lurking on his own doorstep, and the odour was already beginning to seep into the building. Caleb shuddered again, and gave a little nod to Eight. The time for letting the boy have his silence was over. Now H2 would find out exactly how limited his choices were, and how swiftly he would answer the questions posed to him despite his little moment of stubbornness.

“I am going to ask you a series of questions,” Caleb said cosily. “And you will answer me. If you are smart, then you will answer me immediately and in full. If you wish to be difficult, then you will be in pain and we will extract the information in a different manner. Are we clear?”

There was silence, although H2’s eyes rose slightly to give him a cold look; Caleb could see the faint red glow deep within the boy’s eyes which told of the weapon that the mutant had no doubt charged, waiting for any opportunity. Not that Caleb was intending to give him any, of course.

“What is your plan of attack?”

Still nothing. Caleb shrugged to himself idly. The majority of prisoners took this route, as though Caleb might bother with such things as bluffs. He gave the smallest of nods to Eight, who smiled and crackled with his own electric charge. One hand casually rested on the younger man’s shoulder; there was a flash of a spark and H2’s body arched in the chair in shock as the charge flowed through him. Caleb’s eyebrow rose. No noise, though. Interesting. Ordinarily they yowled as loudly as a cat attached to a blender.

“Once again, this time with feeling.” he said idly, picking at a fingernail. “What is your plan of attack?”

For a moment, nothing happened. Caleb waited. Some prisoners were particularly slow to acknowledge their positions, needing stronger and stronger punishments until they cracked. Some were quick on the uptake, appreciating reality for what it was. As it turned out, H2 seemed bright enough to grasp what he needed for his own survival.

“We didn’t have one.” H2’s voice was deeper than Caleb had been expecting, but the sullen snarl was typical of his breed. The accent was irritating though, and an irritation that appeared to be increasing as time went on. “We were gonna make it up as we got here,”

“Joy,” Caleb’s fingers drummed on the table top before he glanced across at Six. She obediently rested her palm across the young mutant’s forehead, her dark eyes closing for a moment as she read his thoughts.

“Verified,” she replied after a moment. “He had some suggestions but they were never relayed to the remaining mutants. They would be going in blind,”

The little red glow increased in H2’s eyes as he recognised Six’s ability for what it was. Caleb smiled in satisfaction. There was nothing more irritating to a gambler than a genuine mind-reader. The art of manipulation could always wither and die with a firm application of fact.

“Make no mistake about it,” Caleb settled back in his chair. “We know a lot about you already. We know a great deal about your .. shall we call them ‘friends’ for simplicity’s sake? However, you’ll be giving the extra details, the cherry on the cake as it were.”

H2’s eyes turned a brighter shade of red, through anger or alarm or both. Caleb idly wondered whether he would cry blood. They normally cried at one stage or other. It was always irritating, whichever stage it turned up in.

“So. Out of all of them, which individual would you say is the greatest threat?” Caleb shrugged again carelessly. “In a battle. Which one are you the most wary of?”

“I ain’t gonna-,”

H2’s words died in his throat as Eight placed his hand back on his shoulder at Caleb’s little nod. The smell of burned flesh drifted in the room and the mutant jerked away in pain, although his mouth remained firmly shut. Caleb’s thoughts turned briefly to lunch, and the steak and fries he suddenly fancied. H2’s response wasn’t exactly unexpected. It was too early to expect them to give answers without prodding, unless they happened to be a particularly weak willed version of their breed. Those were easy to spot as well, considering they normally urinated on the floor as soon as they caught sight of some of the drilling equipment in the next door room.

No, the response was very much expected. Caleb’s eyes moved onto Six in disinterest. He flickered a finger towards H2 and settled back as Six’s hand returned to the smooth forehead, her eyes moving behind closed lids as she searched through the limited knowledge the boy possessed.

“Creed,” she said finally. “He is afraid of Creed. The others less so, although he does not trust them either.”

Caleb’s eyebrow twitched upwards. Almost vaguely interesting. Stryker’s favourite pet was H2’s personal ‘team’ torment.

“And why would that be?” he purred, watching H2’s face as he asked. Oh, this was another favoured stage. The knowledge of having private thoughts laid open as though they were a book to read, and that wonderful struggle in his eyes as the target struggled to fight it. Such determination and yet such utter futility.

“A sexual incident at the Island.” Six replied after a short pause. “Physical violence. Distrust of motives. Romantic challenger. Suspicion of termination after mission is completed. Entertainment,”

“Entertainment?” Caleb echoed in disinterest. “Are we talking about the juggling ball type?”

“Yes.”

Caleb smiled slowly. “Like a cat with a mouse,” he murmured softly, his eyes flickering up to Six. “Creed’s MAL is six, yes? Stryker was keen to increase it, but other matters kept him from tending to his little pet,”

The MAL – mental attack level – was unsurprisingly low. Physical grunts often were, and the individuals who had a high MAL rating tended not to turn up on mental scans unless the military was fortunate enough to get a very young specimen who had not yet built up their defences. Yes, a low defence rating made it so much easier, although Caleb already knew it would be simplicity itself. Both feral brothers held a firm belief in what they could personally sense, what they could touch, taste, smell, and what they could destroy with their own bare hands. Not for them the little red button that could destroy a nation in seconds, and not for them a death through someone else. That meant their MAL regularly drifted even lower than their potential, neither mutant able to fight against something they refused to fully acknowledge.

And, if the reports were to be believed, to understand ‘Sabretooth’ was to understand the other members of their so called team. The corner of Caleb’s mouth twitched upwards again. Each member was so autonomous and yet so dependant on the others for survival in some way, even if it was simply a way to channel the ability to survive in the right direction. H2 was the wild card in the mix, but then again H2 wasn’t going anywhere for some time.

“I want an efficient way to cripple Creed,” he instructed Six. “Can you read him directly from this point?”

Six’s eyes flickered behind closed lids. She tilted her head forward again. “I can.”

There was silence once again. Caleb leaned back and waited, watching the female mutant as she slowly began to scan through the layers of mental thought that the man possessed. He knew this would take significantly longer than the average individual; both ferals were significantly older than any normal soldier even if they had failed to do much with it. Eat, sleep, mate, repeat. What could a scientist have done with that unlimited aging, he wondered? Endless possibilities, endless research, enhancing again and again without the fear that the mental processes would one day wither and fail. And yet these beasts simply wasted it on their own pleasures. A pity and a missed opportunity.

His thoughts returned to the mission once again as Six cleared her throat.

“I have located a suitable vulnerability,” she reported, her voice flat and dead as though the report meant nothing more than a comment on the weather. “His defences are non-existent. He knows of mutants with mental abilities but none with my qualities, and the majority of these have been solely emotional based. These attacks do not appear to work on Creed, and therefore he believes himself immune to any mental assault.”

Caleb snorted softly in dismissal, and then tapped his finger on the chair arm. Out of the corner of his eye he could see H2’s head lift slightly, the blaze of red glow from under the brown fringe as he glared at his captors. The anger surprised him slightly, but then there was always a point where self-preservation failed in the face of personal, emotional interference.

He swivelled the chair with the heel of his boot and idly surveyed the machinery to one side of the room. The tagging system had proved remarkably useful, each of their would-be attackers having already gone under the knife at the Island in one way or other and gained their electronic weakness buried deep in their heads. His eyes drifted to the screen, where a little dot spoke where each of them were, unable to hide from the scan even if they managed to shield themselves from everything else.

Oh yes, the mutants were approaching the base swiftly. Caleb smiled slowly. None of them would know what they were attacking until too late; for all their strength, they were still lambs to the slaughter.

Today promised to be profitable indeed.

*

Logan hadn’t stopped scowling since they had got up that morning. It was becoming irritating, although Victor had decided not to say anything. His younger brother’s moods were rare but impressive when they got going, and this was liable to get messier now he was in possession of his metallic claws. However, now the mood was moving from anger into sulk, and Victor’s hand was itching to give his baby brother a well deserved thump to bring him back to reality.

Wade wasn’t helping either. He was standing on one leg, balancing on a chair and humming softly to himself in what was presumably some odd Wade version of yoga. It was relatively quiet – for Wade, anyway – but the presence of a strange organic statue perched on a chair wasn’t doing anything for Logan’s nerves.

“Stop it,” Victor slapped Wade’s thigh hard as he walked past. “You look like a really confused flamingo.”

“I object. I’m less pink.” Wade wobbled slightly to regain his balance, and then continued to hum his little tune. Victor snorted.

“That’s a matter of opinion.” he raised his head to look at Logan idly. “So, I assume we’re going after him?”

“If he’s being an idiot, then it ain’t up to me to save him,” Logan snarled back.

“I dunno. Idiots tend to require saving more than everyone else.” Wade piped up. “Unless they’re really, really fast like me. And a flamingo impression doesn’t hurt either, see? Keeps you all flexible and good for those points trying to squeeze into awkward holes.”

“If you don’t go after him, he will be a long, long way away and it is remarkably difficult to fuck someone who’s not in the room at the time.” Victor commented, ignoring Wade’s little contribution.

“Amazingly, I am capable of doing other things than simply fucking,” Logan snarled back.

“True, but that’s LeBeau’s main purpose in life, remember?” Victor shrugged, then dismissed that aspect. His brother’s sex drive would easily make the argument for him. “So if we’re not going after him, what are we doing? Because I’m feeling bored, and that’s a bad feeling.”

“I second the bored,” Wade held up his hand. “Can we go to the base yet? Cause that’s not really going after him, it’s more going in a similar direction. And I have really shiny swords. Do you realise they lose their shine if you don’t get them used in a fight at least once a day? True story, honest. And you know how I like-,”

Logan stalked past him, pausing only to shove him firmly off the chair. Wade landed gracefully, and then sulked.

“Huh! Okay, fine. But we need to do something, and when I say something, that’s something with a bit of violence attached rather than, say, going to return our library books.” Wade did a little tap dance and spun around on the ball of his left foot. “And without Worry Boy, we can just go in there and beat the crap out of ‘em,”

Victor’s eyes narrowed. “Need a mask,” he grunted. “Catnip.”

“Catnip?” Wade looked at him in bewilderment, then laughed and turned to Logan. “You get affected by that too?”

Logan shrugged without shifting the scowl. Wade took a careful step backwards in case the man was likely to add claws to his sulk, and then looked between the two ferals with the eager expression of a dog expecting a walk.

“So,” he poked further. “Can we go now?”

“Might as well. I don’t think we have any other plan to go on,” Victor drawled, his eyes flickering to Logan’s. “We gotta be quick, though. They’re not messing around.”

Logan cracked his knuckles in his hand, the scowl pausing for a moment of grim satisfaction. “Neither am I,”

There wasn’t much else to do other than go once Jimmy had put that expression on his face. Victor had only seen it a few times through the years, but it had a grim finality to any situation. It was easier to accept it and move on, rather than try to find a tube of glue strong enough to stick your arm back onto your torso.

They used the same truck that Logan had borrowed the night before, its battered form dusty from the track, and set a firm pace toward the base. Logan drove again, his eyes fixed on the road as though glued in place. Victor could see the whiteness in his brother’s knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel in a death grip, and looked at him thoughtfully. This was getting ridiculous.

“The kid got some bad bruising yesterday,” he commented idly as they travelled. “Can’t really see him getting all active whilst his leg’s getting stiffer than Wade in a stripping contest,”

“So? You think he’s gone sightseeing?” Logan snarled without looking at him.

“Possibly,” Victor shrugged.

“…or?”

“An oar? Why would I need one of those in a desert?”

Logan punched his brother in the arm as a response. Victor smirked and settled back again.

“Or he’s had a little bit of help when it came to his vanishing act. There were some unusual scents around the motel,”

“It’s a motel. There’s always unusual scents.” Logan muttered. “Mostly connected to Wade, I notice.”

Victor allowed that observation to pass without comment, not least because Wade did have a nasty habit of experimenting with anything that came to hand. He shrugged carelessly. What his brother chose to torment himself with was up to him.

“Suit yourself,”

They travelled on in relative silence, Logan scowling even harder into the distance. Victor lounged back on the chair, staring out at the countryside in slight disgust. There were patches of grass but it was all parched, barely more than a balding hairstyle to the landscape. A no-man’s land, dependant on whatever minerals it could find. No wonder the damned place was abandoned soon after the gold dried up. He turned his head as Logan turned the wheel and stopped the car, the wheels crunching on the stones as it stopped.

“We walk from here,” Logan grunted, opening the door. Victor frowned, following him and leaning on the car door as he studied the buildings. They were closer to the remains of the town than he had realised, but there was still plenty of ground to cover.

“Need the exercise, little brother?” he shut the door, and glanced carelessly at Wade who had leapt down from the back of the truck in excitement.

“Ah, cool! It’s like a ghost town.” Wade trotted further up the track to look at the nearest battered wooden building. He lifted a sword and poked the wood experimentally, then disappeared inside. Victor rolled his eyes, and then watched as Logan began to stalk down the road with the body posture of someone about to enter into a dual. All in all, it was about as subtle as a large tank painted lime green with a flag hanging from the barrel.

He checked the mask in his pocket just in case of catnip ambushes, and then followed behind him at a leisurely pace. Logan would only walk faster if Victor tried to catch up him, and the last thing they needed to do was enter into a base whilst engaged in a personal race. It wasn’t dignified for a start. Victor allowed his gaze to travel lazily down his brother’s back, noting in pleasure the way that Jimmy’s predatory body seemed to ripple with strength and the way the jeans clung to his thighs. Victor’s smile twitched upwards. If you had to walk into the valley of death, then you really needed some decent in-flight movies.

There was the pitter patter of feet and Wade suddenly turned up beside him, thankfully without his now customary puff of blue smoke. Victor was more than happy with this. Teleportation might be useful in the occasional battle, but in any other situation it was merely irritating; Victor also didn’t like having the prospect of private activities being invaded without warning.

“It’s all abandoned,” Wade announced.

“Because it’s a ghost town.” Victor grunted. “Makes a crap ghost town if people still live here,”

“Yeah, true. But it’s really abandoned. You know, cobwebs and rats and things that look like they’ve been abandoned in the middle of whatever it is they were doing. Spooky stuff,”

“How is that spooky? People left without tidying up. That’s not spooky, that’s just natural.”

“You only say that because you’re a filthy beast,” Wade poked him in the side.

“And your issue with that is…?” Victor drawled, ignoring the poking. Wade considered that.

“Hmm. Good point. Filthy beasts are pretty good when it comes to sex games,” Wade scratched the back of his head with a hand, then glanced at Logan who was still stalking in front of them as though the world was about to get sliced and diced. “Uh. Does he even remember we’re here?”

“Probably not.” Victor replied. It was depressing, in a way. There had been a point where he and his brother had fought as one, guarding each other’s backs and combining their strengths so easily that speech hadn’t been necessary. Now Jimmy fought by himself, furiously and irritably; there was a beast inside his brother, and it was seriously fucked off.

“Well, that’s a bastard,” Wade commented. “He was the one who was all for teamwork, and pow! When you need a team, there’s no one waving the membership card. Of course for us, Vicky darling,” an arm was draped over Victor’s shoulder for about a second before Victor shrugged him off. “we’re good at knowing what’s right for a battle. We take things seriously. We even have the t-shirt. Actually I do, but it’s probably in the wash. Everything’s in the wash for me. I probably should find out where that is at some point…,”

“Wade. Quiet.”

“Now, those words don’t normally go together well. They kinda repel each other,” Wade waved his hands around as though this might in some way assist. “Now, Wade loud is a much better-,”

They stopped as Logan did, the conversation cutting off as they studied him. Logan raised his head, sniffing, and then began to prowl forward again slowly. Wade frowned and glanced at Victor.

“What’s he sniffing when you’re not?” Wade looked blank for a moment, and then a slow, wide grin presented itself to the world at large. “Ohhhhhh. The catnip, right? What does that do to you, anyway? Do you have a sudden urge to go off and hunt down a ball of wool? Cause you’d look cute rolling around on the floor batting around a ball of wool, rather than your customary enemies’ head, and-,”

The discussion was paused by a firm clout to the head. Wade winced, rubbed his ear, and then continued.

“- you’re so touchy, and not in a good way either. It would be nice to have you being cuddly rather than-.”

The discussion stopped dead as a large missile was suddenly shot at them, which sadly seemed to be the usual way their conversations tended to end; Wade immediately teleported and Victor leapt to the right, bouncing onto a building’s wall and easily making his way to the roof. He raised his head to scout for Jimmy, but he had already found his own shelter. Victor smirked, and felt the satisfying tug as his claws lengthened. He could see, he hadn’t been hit by any sneaky scents, and he wasn’t lumbered with some kid who couldn’t get out of the way. And, hell, he hadn’t had a decent battle in far too long. His claws itched for some blood.

Victor’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked over the grounds. The abandoned town lay in the shadow of the rocky hills where the gold had once been plundered, the buildings generally following the line of the main road that ran through it. Two buildings had decided to forgo the road positioning; a half destroyed church lay to the east and the main mining building which Gambit had maintained held the base itself lay to the other side. Much as he hated to admit it, LeBeau definitely had a point. The roads had been cleared to make deliveries easier, and what looked like poor construction from a distance was blatantly tougher than the first glance suggested. It was also well defended, able to see across the plains for miles. All in all, it was a wolf pretending to be a sheep.

No guards though. That was disturbing. There was absolutely no way Victor was going to get someone else’s blood on his claws if someone else turned out to be some trap or machine. He was a mercenary, not a mechanic. Victor moved slightly, raising his head to the wind and sniffing again. No obvious guards, but the base clearly wasn’t empty either..

He growled softly. The hairs on the back of his neck had risen, and he hadn’t had that for a long, long time. For some reason he could almost feel a storm in the air, although the skies seemed perfectly content to be boringly dry. Victor’s frustrated growl increased. Why couldn’t anyone just fight a battle in the usual, up close and bloody fashion?

He leapt down from the building and began to prowl further along the road; he wasn’t in the mood to just stand there and wait for whatever it was to turn up, and the base was definitely over there. They weren’t gonna open up their doors by him simply wishing for it to happen.

The sensation of a storm increased. A crackle of ozone sounded. Victor scowled, then glanced to one side where Logan was standing in the shadow of a building, a calculating look on his face that suggested that the storm feeling hadn’t just kept its sights on Victor. Well, at least he wasn’t going crazy.

A little zapping noise announced the presence of Wade, who had least had learned not to teleport within striking range of Victor’s claws.

“Oh cool, so we’re gonna stroll on in there like we’re gonna do a duel at midday? Ah shit, I should have worn my swaggering pants,” Wade looked down at himself. “These just don’t show off my groin to the best effect.”

“Less talking, more killing,” Victor reminded him softly, deciding not to complain about the unrequested company.

“You can kill and have really sexy trousers.” Wade protested. “And who’s that?”

‘That’ was someone stood a few meters away from the main base’s walls. One, solitary man. Victor’s interest suddenly dropped a few notches. One man, even a really speedy one, was not going to last against three hardened, fast mercenaries with healing factors. He studied the other man in growing disinterest. Short, under six foot, and with a stocky physique which gave the man the basic outline of a brick. Dark hair, no doubt dark eyes to match, and remarkably skin tight clothing which again was all along the ‘dark’ theme. The brick was wearing a pair of arm bracers, which seemed a little over the top for day to day clothing, but Victor guessed they had little else to do out here other than worry about fashion.

“Dunno. Didn’t get the introductions,” he grunted.

“Is that the same RoadRunner as last night?” Wade asked in interest.

“No. Wrong scent.”

“Oooooh, I wonder what this guy can do,” Wade skipped a few paces, and spun one of the swords in his hands. “Any guesses?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s boring. I mean, he could be a fire-breather, or a knife juggler, or be able to command attack ferrets or-,”

There was another crackle of electricity, and a bolt of energy zapped from one arm to the other in the most impressive show of juggling that Victor had seen for some time. Even Wade fell silent, which was impressive in itself. Wilson gave a low whistle, followed by a chuckle.

“Well, that’s cool. Zappy man. What d’you think his range is?” Wade hesitated, and then looked at his swords. “Ah, shit. Does that mean I can’t whack him with my swords? It’ll be like shoving ‘em in a plug socket?”

Victor snorted in amusement. “Probably.”

“Well, shit!” Wade sulked. “What am I supposed to do now? Subdue him with bad language?”

“There’s more to you than just a pair of swords, Wade.” Victor stopped and eyed the enemy thoughtfully. Wade brightened.

“Yeah, fuck him to death!”

“Try again,”

“Um. Singing?”

“Something more lethal and less annoying,” Victor growled softly. Wade put his swords away and began to pat himself down, as though expecting to take on the world armed with a couple of very explosive ball point pens.

“Guns? Shit, I’ll be like Zero,” Wade sulked again. “Except sexier. Well, I guess when you’re running out of options…,”

He pulled the gun out calmly and fired. There was a crackle, a flash of something, and absolutely no sign of impact. Victor frowned. Wade raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, where’d my bullet go? Those aren’t cheap, y’know!” Wade fired twice more, both accompanied by the crackling, flash of whatever it was that was ruining Wilson’s day. “Fuck! I’m running out of decent weapons here! I’m gonna be strangling the bastard with my underwear soon… well, I would if I was actually wearing any. Can I borrow yours?”

“No.”

“That’s not fair.. ! Wait, are you actually wearing any?”

“No.”

“Oh. Okay, I’ll retract that one.” Wade fired a few more times, and then sulked even harder. “Okay, I’m getting really fed up of this fight and we haven’t even started yet! How can I get blood and gore if nothing works?”

Victor waved his clawed hand idly. “I’ve got it covered.”

“Warfare is not supposed to be a spectator sport!” Wade wailed. “And where’s your brother?”

“Knowing Jimmy, wherever he can cause the most trouble,” the corner of Victor’s mouth twitched upwards. “Let’s go meet Sparky,”

Wade grumbled, but followed willingly enough. Victor already knew the swords would make a reappearance, even the threat of a particularly spiky hairstyle not enough to stop him. Victor began to trot forward, then dropped to his paws and charged; you could never tell about a man until you engaged them in a decent battle, and hell, he was in the mood for some serious aggression.

The smell of ozone increased as he approached, the hairs on his body vibrating which was a peculiar experience; Victor snarled and pounced hard, only to strike an invisible barrier which bounced him back with a crackle of energy and every single muscle in his body tensing from an electric charge before completely collapsing. He crashed backwards, skidding in the dust and hitting the wall of a building hard.

Ow.

Panting, Victor tried to move but his muscles were still objecting to anything but resting. He growled and forced himself to wait, feeling his healing factor finally creep in to suggest to his body that perhaps obedience was the better way to go, and then pushed himself up irritably. The smell of burned fur was a little too strong in the air.

Fucking mutants.

“So he’s got an electrifying barrier bounce-field thing too?” Wade called. “Cool! Can we short circuit him? A bit of water over his head and he’ll probably go the way of the toaster in the bath.”

Possibly. Possibly not. Just because someone had the ability didn’t mean it was on 24 hours a day. On the other hand, the chances that said someone could get that type of strength on two places at the same time was limited. No one could keep that up for too long, even with a few scientists giving them an unfair advantage in the background. Victor strode towards Wade, feeling the power return to his muscles, and grabbed hold of the younger man by the neck.

“I’m going to short him out again,” he hissed. “You teleport in at exactly the moment his barrier’s down, okay?”

“Oh, so nothing much then, eh?” Wade rolled his eyes, and then rubbed his hands. “Sure, go on then. But get it right, okay? When you go, I’m gonna have to go straight away too otherwise I’ll miss it, and I’m really not in the mood to be bug-zapped.”

Victor nodded and turned, eying the man and beginning his run; his paws hit the floor, propelling him into certain pain, but that pain was mitigated by the fact that Wade was going to bounce through and –

-the bright sun faded to grey. The floor underneath his paws turned from sandy path to cold, wet cobblestones. Victor skidded to a halt and stared uncertainly around him, his head raising as he heard a distant cry but unable to see anything but buildings.

“What the fuck..?” he stood up, still looking around him. Grey. Cold. He could already feel it in his body, his fur trying to cope, and the scents surrounding him seemed strangely familiar. There was a murmur of voices and a man and a woman walked past, completely ignoring the bloodied mutant in their presence as they continued on their route. Victor’s gaze fell to their clothing, vintage clothes he hadn’t seen in so fucking long.

His blood suddenly turned to ice. Where the fuck was he? He couldn’t be back in Canada, it was impossible. Someone was tricking him, but it didn’t feel fake, and he couldn’t see a way out of the nightmare.

“There he is!” a familiar voice from long ago, and that too was impossible because Victor had killed that man himself, taken delight in the way the blood had trickled down his arm and the way that he had so casually torn the man apart. He backed away and snarled automatically, scanning the road and finally seeing his enemies approach. Street rats. The same street rats who had captured him as a kid.

One held a long blade, his face contorted in a sneer that echoed through the decades.

“Get him!”

Victor growled, low and dangerous. He didn’t care what this was. They weren’t going to take him again, to torment him, to rip out his teeth and claws as though they might in some way be naturally detachable. He charged, one powerful arm swinging back in order to slice towards the vulnerable belly of his prey. The man managed to dodge the first blow, the blade swinging harmlessly over Victor’s head, but he couldn’t avoid the other clawed fist that powered towards him. Victor felt the satisfying way his claws sliced through flesh as though a hot knife through butter and the way the man staggered backwards; the warm blood flowed across his skin but it wasn’t enough. He needed to feel them broken under his hands. He needed to feel their pain.

Somehow the man managed to slide out from his grasp. Victor snarled and began to follow, his eyes gleaming in the light as he smelt the blood and followed it. There might be others in the gloom, but he would deal with those as well, just as he had dealt with them all that time ago. He was his own man now, not the whimpering child he had once been.

They would pay.


*

Logan had been in the shadows of the building when the first mutant had arrived. Electricity. And from the look of it, it had enough of an effect to make Victor’s body seize up for a few moments. Logan scowled angrily. A few moments was probably all these mutants needed. Yes, today was going to prove a major headache.

Not that Victor was down for long. Logan watched his brother in faint approval as he moved to Wade and began to murmur out a plan to get around it. Victor might often act as though he was nothing but a mindless fighter, but there was always an element of sneakiness that was often overlooked, and Victor was not averse to working in a team if the enemy required it. Wade trotted to the right and Victor turned, clearly gathering his strength again before he began to run back at the electrified mutant that awaited him. Logan remained where he was, almost hearing Victor’s words in his head from long ago: If you’re not in the plan, then keep your ass away from it. You’ll only screw it up.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Wade gather himself for a teleport, calculation in the young man’s eyes as he tried to work out exactly where he needed to be; as Victor charged, Wade disappeared. Logan knew what would happen. Victor would hit, be thrown once more but by that time Wade would have breached the electric barrier and be close enough for a strike. One good blow might be enough to turn a defensible position into a wide open gate.

Or at least that was what should have happened, anyway. Victor’s charge suddenly faltered, the man stumbling on his feet before standing up and looking around as though he had absolutely no idea where the hell he was. Logan winced as there was a crackle of electricity as Wade landed where he was supposed to land and received a face full of charge, blasting backwards and landing in a messy heap that was completely unlike Wilson’s normal grace. One hand twitched, and then lay still for a moment as Wade groaned his pain.

Fuck.

Logan stepped out the shadows, bearing down on them. The plan was clearly fucked, and by the expression on Victor’s face he doubted whether his brother would even know he was there. Wade was slowly pushing himself up, wincing in pain as he did so, and behind him the mutant was approaching. Victor could wait.

Logan’s claws slid out, a snarl on his face as he turned to greet the threat.

“Get to Victor,” he snarled as he reached Wade and stood between him and the approaching mutant, protecting the vulnerable mercenary as he struggled to get his body under control.

“Yeah, easy for you to say,” Wade panted, slowly getting to his feet and stretching. “Fuck, that hurt!”

“Wade-,”

“Going, going..,” Wade slowly began to move over to Victor, breaking into a trot as his body slowly recovered from the inflicted pain. Logan turned to look at the mutant in front of him who had stopped and was giving him a thoughtful look back. There was no fear. There wasn’t even any interest. It was as though Logan was merely a situation that needed to be resolved.

Logan growled and was about to attack when there was a sudden cry from the side; he glanced over to Victor and Wade, and was taken aback by the furious look on his brother’s face as he bore down on Wade. Wade had already managed to avoid one claw blow, but his body hadn’t recovered enough to be his nimble self and the second heavy clawing struck. He recognised that look of pleased satisfaction on Victor’s face as the claws landed, his brother’s eyes gleaming with the prospect of blood.

“Fuck!” Logan snarled and ran, tackling his brother around the waist and forcing them both to the ground just as Victor aimed his swing to Wade’s throat. He could already smell the blood and saw the flash of red that spoke of how Victor’s clawing had pretty much opened up the younger man’s chest to the elements. Oh yeah, Wade was not having a good day.

“Victor, calm down!” he snarled, but Victor didn’t even look like he could hear him. Logan suddenly found himself thrown off with enough power to crash him into one of the buildings; Victor stood up and snarled, crouched and ready for attack. Logan shoved himself up and stared in disbelief at his brother. There was recognition in Victor’s eyes, but it was hard, cold and completely unlike his brother’s normal slightly exasperated expression. This was the look that a mouse received from a starving sparrow-hawk.

Logan readied himself. “Victor, take a deep breath and-,”

“Watch out!” Wade’s voice broke through their little brotherly discussion, ragged but as powerful as the man could make it. Logan jumped to the side as the zap of electric charge spoke of the attack that had been aimed at him, rolling on the ground and getting back to his feet smoothly. Wade was already up but the man was still recovering from his injuries, his blood stained shirt flapping as he desperately tried to recover enough energy to help.

Logan could feel the charge building as well as see it in front of him, the power causing his hairs to rise. Logan waited for the attack, then suddenly realised that Victor was also stalking towards him, a growl in his throat and his bloodied claws ready for action. He swore inwardly, then breathed a sigh of relief as Wade suddenly teleported next to Victor and tapped him on the shoulder. Victor immediately sliced at him with the clear intention of ripping off the younger man’s face but Wade immediately teleported away, far enough to avoid the attack but not enough to lose Victor’s interest.

“C’mon, kitty, kitty!” Wade had given up trying to reason with the man, which Logan couldn’t really blame him for. “Let your brother sort out the nasty men and we’ll go have a play in the grass! Um, where the grass should be. A roll in the dirt?”

Victor swiped at him again, causing Wade to teleport to a different location.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty! I got a treat with your name on it!” Wade waggled his hips. Logan rolled his eyes and turned back to the electric spark who was slowly walking towards him, crackling energy. A frontal attack was probably going to be awkward. Flattening the bastard with something very heavy was almost certainly the way to go.

His gaze soon located something suitable, a wooden post which was large enough to even cause Victor a problem, let alone Sparky. A few moments later and he had sliced through the supports, causing the side of the building to slowly crash over; Sparky dodged the building, but failed to dodge the large log that Logan slammed in his face. The mutant flew backwards and crumbled in a heap.

Down, but possibly not out. Logan panted as he leaped backwards, glancing to the side to check on the others. Wade. Victor. And-

Fuck.

“Good boy, Vicky,” Wade teased the cat, still leading him away from the fight where he could cause a problem. Victor snarled and leapt, Wade immediately teleporting and immediately landing himself in more trouble than he was expecting as a whisper announced the arrival of another mutant into the battle. A mutant with a personal grudge against Wade and apparently a good supply of sharp implements.

Wade looked down at the knife buried in his chest, then up at ‘Roadrunner’ who had finally stopped moving, albeit at least ten foot away.

“For fuck’s sake! What, did I piss everyone in the entire world off? D’you realise how hard it is to find different clothes-“

“WADE!” Logan roared. Almost too late Wade remembered the danger of a prowling Victor, the teleportation just working before the claws shot through his position. He reappeared nearby, and then had to fight off the attentions of ‘RoadRunner’, who immediately attempted to stab another dagger through him. Logan swore again, and began to run. There was no chance he could help with the speed freak – the man would be half a mile away before his claws finished swiping – but at least he could stop his brother from trying to turn Wade into animal feed.

That was, of course, until his legs suddenly gave way underneath him as another bolt of electricity cut off power to his muscles. Logan fell heavily to the ground, his arms outstretched to take the brunt of the force and to roll himself back up. Okay. Apparently Sparky was going to need more than a log in the face. Logan snarled. All in all, this fight was not going well. Their enemies seemed to be perfectly aware of what they were capable of, which wasn’t that unsurprising given the files that LeBeau had obtained, and that was without Victor sudden need to take on Wade’s role of insanity.

He turned his head to see two further figures stroll – stroll! - out from the base, both of whom were armed with what appeared to be oversized guns. Logan growled and twisted, feeling the familiar anger take hold of him. Fuck this. If they wanted to tango, he was quite happy to assist. His claws slid out of his knuckles and he began to pick up speed, taking satisfaction in the fact that both figures had suddenly stopped dead. He heard a few faint pops that signified the weapons firing, swiftly leaping to a building to avoid them and then back down again to pick up even more speed. The ‘roadrunner’ tried to get in the way, but Logan simply crashed into him with enough force to knock him solidly to the ground.

He could smell their caution, although their faith was still placed in their little toy guns. Logan heard the sounds of shots again but ignored it, raising his arm to swing-

His body started to object again. He glanced down angrily to find two darts sticking from his body, one in his chest and one buried deeply in his thigh. Darts? Jesus. He ripped them out angrily and continued, but whatever they had been dipped in was not the usual knock out juice that Logan had experienced before. Ordinarily, tranquilizers were a mere irritation until his body kicked it out his system. Now it seemed determined to convince his body that now was a great time for a snooze.

He could see movement to one side that spoke of the other enemy mutants beginning to surround him; the crackle of ozone as electricity charged. Logan snarled and continued on, determined to slam his claws through something, but it was like walking through a sea of treacle. Another dart slammed into his stomach, causing him to drop to a knee before forcing himself up again.

A flash of blue smoke announced the arrival of the Cavalry, insane though it was.

“Nice fashion accessory,” Wade stood over him, looking ragged and scarred but still standing. Logan noted that Wade’s injuries had healed but not perfectly, leaving behind a raised scar that didn’t quite fit in with the natural smoothness of the young man’s features. He closed his eyes, trying to get himself to work, but the world was getting fuzzier by the moment.

“Wade.. can’t…,”

“Talk? Walk? Dance? Hopscotch? Yeah, thought you might be a bit fucked. And your brother’s still trying to kill me, by the way,” there was a pause as Wade’s swords suddenly burst into life, a glittering, swirling fan of blades as two darts suddenly were shredded into tiny pieces. Wade threw a dagger with deadly accuracy at one of the men, who suddenly fell backwards. Logan sniffed.

“No blood.” he grunted. “Armour,”

“Well, that’s just cheating,” Wade dropped to his knee and grabbed Logan by the arm, struggling to pull him up. Logan tried to assist but his legs felt like jelly, unable to support even the slightest amount of weight. He was about to protest that they could fight off their position when the scent of Victor suddenly drifted to him. Wade could fight off the others, but Victor… no.

“You can’t carry me anywhere-,” Logan mumbled, when suddenly there was a faint pop and the world swirled around him in a light blue haze. His stomach lurched, his eyes grew fuzzy and his sense of balance suddenly crashed into an awkward reality.

Okay. Flight and teleportation were seriously on his ‘not to do’ list.

“I can’t get through to Victor, and can’t knock him out. I tried leading him away but something kept bringing him back,” Wade murmured in a low voice, panting softly. “Fuck, you’re heavy.”

Logan suddenly realised the implications of that, and struggled to stand. “I ain’t leaving him.”

Wade’s hand kept him to the floor, a weary expression aimed at him. “Yeah, I know. And I’d be the first to go for the whole white knight thing, but he’s gonna try to rip you to pieces. He’s not just angry, he’s fucking furious. I’ve never seen him so bad. You take him anywhere and he’s going to spend his whole time trying to tear your heart from your chest and shove it up your ass, where he’s gonna try ripping it out again through your stomach.”

He paused, and then closed his eyes. “Hang on. Need to teleport again. You’re taking a fuck load of energy.”

“What..? No!”

The world wobbled again. Logan felt himself land on another grainy floor and promptly leaned over to the side to throw up the contents of his stomach.

“Okay, stop doing that. This is hard enough to do without me needing to provide sick bags,” Wade poked his leg with his foot, his voice breathless.

“I need to get Victor-,”

“Victor is a massive bulk of enraged psychopath. If he can’t handle himself, then no one can,” Wade grabbed hold of Logan’s shoulder with the clear intention of dragging him back, although he had completely underestimated his ability in this. Logan heard the other man take a few deep breaths of air, as though he was about to dive deep under the sea, then the world wobbled again.

“Oh fuck-,”

The truck. Thank god. Logan leaned over the side of it and retched again as Wade bent over, his hands on his knees and slowly shaking his head to clear it from the teleport. He muttered something about ‘fucking massive luggage’, then jumped over the side and slid into the driver’s seat. Within a moment the vehicle started to move, swerving round and setting off into the distance with a crunch of tyres.

Logan tried to force himself up but his body wasn’t allowing him; his legs were all but useless, and his arms weren’t much better. The sites where the darts had entered were completely numb, raised as though he had been stung by giant wasps, and as he raised his hand to look at it he realised his vision was already beginning to become temperamental.

He slumped back onto the back of the truck and allowed the darkness to take over as Wade careered over the road like a young child who had stolen the keys to the car and was having a laugh.

His last thoughts were of his brother.

*

“Is he chained?”

The question was redundant, but Caleb felt it was necessary to check. Creed – now known as TX4 – was not a mutant where someone forgot to check his bonds, and he had already needed the whole of the task force to take him down. TX4 had still been under the influence of Six’s mental suggestion which had been a little awkward, but several darts and two jolts from Eight had weakened the man enough for them to fix shackles to his limbs and arrange transportation back to the base. The drugs had made the mutant’s body useless but his mind was still active as they manhandled him into his new home; the mutant’s eyes reminded him slightly of a panicked hare running from the hounds. Six could always find the vulnerability in even the most hardened of creatures. Even a beast like Creed had a weak spot.

TX4 had been placed in a reinforced cell in the lower quarters of the compound, deep under the surface. A heavy metal chain had been attached to an obedience collar around the mutant’s neck, although Caleb knew the collar had only been chosen due to its significant strength rather than any assumption that the shock treatment might in some way cause TX4 to behave himself. This mutant feasted from pain, either his own or others, and to give him that would be to offer him more stimulation than Caleb wanted.

TX4. He stood and looked at him through the bars, his lip curling in contempt. Sabretooth. Stryker’s pet, the mutant who thought nothing of hunting or massacring as long as he was amused doing it. Not that Caleb had any issue with either, but there had to be a point to it, some profit that couldn’t be obtained elsewhere. You always got more from a living victim, pleading for their life. A corpse was only good for the pathologists.

That concept was also keeping H2 alive. Caleb had already gone through the files regarding Remy LeBeau, and had dismissed much of it. His powers were impressive, but impractical in combination with some of the other aspects he wished to install in his soldiers. Equally, the mutant himself was not viable to keep long term, other than as various samples in jars. LeBeau had already proven himself to be problematic when it came to staying where he was put, and Six had confirmed the mutant’s psychological profile. If it wasn’t for a few interesting aspects tucked away in H2’s mind, he would have already been scheduled for surgery and permanent removal.

For now, he was being kept close enough to TX4 to unnerve them both but not close enough for TX4 to actually disembowel him. H2’s dispatch went on Caleb’s orders, not the whims of a murderer. He was also faintly interested to see the dynamics between them; they had fought well together, and yet disliked each other immensely. This was remarkably interesting on many levels. Something was keeping TX4’s behaviour in check when it came to H2, and that required investigation.

Caleb’s smile flickered upwards again. Not that investigation at this point would do any good. The mental suggestions were still working their way through TX4’s mind, and there was always an element of unpredictability whenever there was such an intensive violation. It was clear by his reactions that TX4 had a well of possibility when it came to emotional manipulation, and that was always useful – especially considering the sturdiness of his team mates.

Oh yes. TX4 might well be the solution to their somewhat annoying problem of Deadpool on their doorstep, not to mention Weapon X himself. Caleb sighed to himself. If you were going to make essentially immortal fighters then there was a duty of care to ensure that they remained under strict control. He knew he should have taken both projects away from Stryker, but then William always had a way of convincing officials that he was clearly the dedicated man for the job. Charm versus science. It was frustrating.

Caleb took another look at the crouched, chained figure in the cell, and then slowly turned on his heel to return to the control room. It would take several hours before TX4 returned to his usual cheerful self, and Caleb really required a coffee. He might even have a sugar in it; victory required a little celebration, after all.

*
TO PART B