The deserted American Army base, left to rot since the withdrawal of SOUTHCOM, was not so deserted any more. Elevators groaned as the delegation went down into the bowels of the earth on them, steel ropes <pinged> as they were used for the first time in years, gears in motors ran smoothly, the fresh servicing having cleaned them of the dust and debris that had built up in the jungle installation.
The 4-star General that met them stood back and saluted them as they reached the final level, Ù (Omega) 16. He obviously wasn't impressed at having to obey a bunch of civilians, but swallowed his tongue. After the fiasco that had occurred in Canada, this project needed money and test subjects. These people could supply them. It was that simple.
"At ease, General." The first person to step off the elevator offered a lazy and inept salute in return of the Generals clean, militarily precise one.
"Welcome, sir, to the Clayton Research Centre." The word 'sir' nearly stuck in the Generals throat, but he forced the word through without making the slight pause noticeable.
The man nodded, and turned to his compatriots. "We will have a short inspection tour, and then make the final decision." His escorts to him nodded in return.
Swallowing his pride, and nearly choking on it, the general motioned them forward. "If you would follow me, sir."
A shiver went up the generals spine as the man smiled. It looked as if the expression would be completely at home on a scorpion. "Certainly, general." He inclined his head, "Whatever you wish…"
The inspection of the refurbished facility went off without a hitch, and the visitors seemed to be most impressed. This base was far more advanced, and far better protected than the one nestled in the outback of Canada. Many mistakes had been made there. Instead of using people, real people, they chose to use mutants. Genetic freaks that were already on the edge of sanity from the way so-called civilization treated them. The treatment received at the Alkali Lake facility broke them completely, removing any trace of humanity and turning them into animals. And deadly animals at that.
The apparent leader of the visitors turned to the general as they returned to the lift. "Your facility is most impressive, general. You can be assured of our support, both in monetary matters, and in providing adequate subjects."
The general nodded. "Thank you, sir. You can be assured that we are most grateful."
The scorpion smile appeared again. "You will receive your first subjects in a few days, general. Our first payment you will find already in your accounts if you check. Double what we agreed, four hundred million dollars."
Only military training stopped the general from goggling at that figure. "Thank you, sir."
"And do not be concerned about further payments. They will be in the accounts twenty-four hours ahead of schedule every quarter, as agreed. Wolfram and Hart do not back out of deals we make." He smiled again, and the general felt he that the very depths of his soul were being examined in the stranger's eyes.
As the delegation from Wolfram and Hart got into the lift and it ascended, the general sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping in defeat. In all his years serving the United States military, he had never been a part of a project like this. It rang wrong, but there was nothing he could do about it now. His arguments had died when the president passed an executive order.
Words of the conversation the delegation were having floated back down the shaft.
"That Summers bitch and Harris should do quite nicely."
"We may have to persuade them to come."
"So persuade…"
The rest of the conversation was lost as they passed out of earshot.
General Bob Lee was not happy with this project; not happy at all, but the orders were direct from the President. He couldn't argue with that.
Turning away, he thanked his lucky stars that he wouldn't be here for very long. Enough to start the project, and then he was off back to the Pentagon to oversee another operation, one he was not so despondent about. He grimaced as he thought about what the Marines would say about the Army taking over their pet project. Without doubt, they would be extremely unhappy…
On the private jet that had flown the Wolfram and Hart delegation down to Panama, Lindsey looked over at his only remaining boss, who had stayed on the plane, due to a sunlight allergy.
"How do you intend to get Summers?" Hart was asking. He had heard the tour through a spell his seers had given him, that he had attuned to Lindsey's ears.
Lindsey shook his head. "I'm not sure about her, but Harris should be easy enough. Standard abduction tactics should work for him, and may work for the Slayer if we're fast enough."
"Possibly. However, you have neglected to think about one fact. Their friends."
"No. I was thinking that perhaps, his friends might even help us to get to Harris. It would be… amusing."
"Yes. An interesting proposal. See to it." Lindsey nodded and turned away. Hart called, "Oh, and Lindsey, please be less free with the generosity next time. I can afford it, but why throw money away needlessly?"
Lindsey winced and left the private area.
"Xander, we can't have you getting hurt. You're not a good enough fighter, and you're a liability in a fight!"
"But…" Xander started before being cut off ruthlessly by Buffy.
"No! No 'buts'! I'm sure about this, and everyone agrees with me!"
Xander looked around the room at the people he had called friends for the past few years of knowing what went on at the Hellmouth.
"Giles?" he asked. Giles just looked away, feeling guilty. Buffy was his Slayer, and he felt compelled to back her up, even if the decision she chose he considered to be wrong. They had to present a united front, or this would fail. Giles told his rebelling heart that it was for Xander's own good.
Buffy cut in again. "It's for your own good, Xander. We just don't want you getting hurt…"
The absolute lack of emotion in Xander's eyes as he looked at Buffy frightened her. She had expected anger, or betrayal, but not the total lack of any sort of thing at all. He turned to Willow, his closest friend since, well, ever.
"Will?" his tone was resigned, as if he knew what was coming.
Willow shook her head and looked away, agreeing with Buffy. Xander didn't even bother with Oz; he knew he would side with his girlfriend.
Riley chose to cut in. "Buffy's right, Xander! You're no help if we have to protect you all the time!"
Xander didn't even look at him. The Scoobies watched with bated breath at what he would do.
"Anya?" he held out a last hope.
She looked down. "I love you, Xander. The sex is fantastic, but, well, I don't want you to get hurt either. Who would I have intercourse with then?" The disgusted looks ran round the room, none more disgusted than Xander himself.
"Fine…" Xander said the word so quietly that every person in the room nearly missed it. Xander walked to the door. As he pulled it open and stepped out, his final words were aimed at Buffy. "Who saved you in the Master's lair, Buff? You still think it was Angel? You should have gotten over him by now, hmm?"
The door slammed shut, leaving a speechless Scooby gang wondering if they had done the right thing…
Riley spoke again. "Who's Angel?"
As Xander stepped through his apartments door, he didn't see the demons hiding behind the door, he only saw the tip the room had been turned into.
"Gee, great… I think my day can't get any worse… and here it is, the next step up; get robbed." He kicked the rubbish bin that was lying on its side near where he was standing. It hit the opposite wall with a satisfying <clang>, but Xander heard a noise that shouldn't have been.
A crunch.
Behind him.
Xander turned at the sound behind him, and was clubbed to the ground before he turned more than a few degrees. He caught a glimpse of a green mottled demon out of his peripheral vision. This was the last thing Xander saw before being knocked unconscious from the heavy blow the demon gave him.
"Perfect…" growled the demon. It picked a small radio out of a pouch in its side before speaking into it. "It is done." The demon took one last look around the room, and pocketed a snow-globe on the mantelpiece, before picking up the unconscious form of Xander and dragging the senseless body outside.
Lindsey took Xander to the military facility, on the orders of Hart.
The first thing Xander knew when he awoke was the painful throbbing in his head, followed by the sudden and uncomfortable realisation that he was tied to a table. The next thing his awareness gave him was the fact that people in green surgical scrubs surrounded him.
"Ah… perfect… he is awake." One of them spoke. He couldn't tell whom, as they all had facemasks on, hiding their mouths.
Another spoke. "Don't worry. We wont hurt you."
A third chimed in, voice flat behind the mask, but Xander could sense the amusement present. "Much."
Xander's mind was racing, trying to remove the effects of the last remnants of the sedative that had been pumped into him by Lindsey as he brought him. Of course, he didn't know who did it, just that someone had.
Who the fucking hell are all you people?
His mouth tried to form the words, but the sedative was still too present in his system, it came out as garbled and mashed syllables that were completely unintelligible.
One of the robed figures prepared another hypodermic full of a colourless solution. Xander struggled away as the needle neared his arm, but couldn't move from the straps on the table.
The robes picked up scalpels and other implements as Xander's vision swam and he blacked out again…
"And the old military facilities in Fort Clayton, Panama, have been reopened to provide support for the ailing community in the region. After the Columbian government gave the drug lords free rein over the northern border of Columbia, and after a dramatic yet almost bloodless coup in the capital, Panama has felt threatened, and has asked the US for a return of military operations. The President has agreed as it is in the best interests of both countries. In other, slightly closer to home news, the…"
Logan snorted and hit the 'off' button violently. After returning to the Mansion from his trip to Alkali Lake, his mood had been dark and sombre, being even more antisocial than he used to be. He didn't even hit on Jean any more, proving that he had some serious shit to sort out.
Pulling the files out from underneath his bed again, he flicked through them until the picture stared at him once more. It was a picture of him, not looking much younger than he did now, but his healing factor would make age determination difficult at best, and at worst, bloody impossible. The bit of the picture that got to him was the woman in it. She was leaning back into him, and both of them had great soppy grins on their faces. He was the Wolverine, for god's sake; he didn't do soppy grins. But there it was. Hugging a woman. Him with a big soppy grin. It was unreal. And to top it all, the woman was obviously pregnant.
He didn't know what to feel about it. Was she dead? Was she alive? Did she give birth? Did he have a son? Or a daughter? What the fuck was going on?
A knock at the door snapped him out of his brooding. Striding over to the door, he pulled it open with a gruff, 'what?' as soon as he saw who it was; he wished he had kept his mouth shut. Marie was standing in the doorway, looking scared at the near violent reception she had received. She recovered admirably.
"Uh… Logan… did ya want ta watch TV with meh? It's a Steven Seagal Marathon…" She looked as if she regretted doing this now.
Logan looked back into his room. The papers were still spread about. He didn't want to ignore Marie's offer, but this was more important. There was still a lot of stuff he hadn't gone through.
"Um. No thanks kid. I've got some work to do."
Marie looked taken aback. Work? Logan? "Oh. OK then. Sorry for disturbing you." Months in New York had started to erase her southern accent. It was one part of the move to Xavier's Institute which neither Marie or Logan really liked, but hey, you can't have everything.
"Don't worry about it, kid." Logan shut the door before she could say anything else, in case she asked to come in. That would be a disaster. He had managed to keep this file a secret from the X-geeks only because the telepaths had scruples. If Jean or Wheels ever went digging, they would find out in a second.
Marie stood, staring unseeing at the door closed in her face, before sighing heavily in the empty corridor. One thought ran through her mind. {He still thinks I'm a kid…}
Logan returned to the bed and continued reading where they had found him. Sunnydale, California.
"My love for the cold and they got me in California? How the fuck did that happen?"
Logan took one final look at the files, and buried them back underneath his bed. He needed to see Wheels tomorrow about going to Sunnydale…
Xander awoke in a jail cell. It was obvious to anyone who tried that that was what it was, as, while it did not have bars, it had a glass partition across the front of the small room, preventing any possible escape. The only furniture in the room was a small cot, standard military issue, looking a little worse for wear. A bucket stood in the corner. Obviously sanitation wasn't a major concern to these people.
"Where the hell am I?" Xander muttered under his breath as he stood up and walked to the glass wall. As Xander touched the glass panel, electricity coursed up his arm and down his body, earthing in the metal floor. The current was so strong it flung Xander back against the opposite wall.
"Uh…" Xander lay half propped against the wall, wishing the pretty lights in his eyes would go out. As they did, so did the rest of his vision.
Darkness followed the pain…
"Hey, Chuck, I've got another lead on my past. It's apparently some place in California. Sunnydale, it's called. Sounds a quiet place, I shouldn't get into any trouble, but if I do, don't come after me." The answering machine message played and a click was heard as it shut off.
Scott Summers looked up at Professor Xavier. "So, what do we do?"
Xavier looked unconcerned. "We respect his wishes. He does not wish to be followed, and as such, we are not his keepers. Logan can look after himself."
Scott nearly exploded. "You can't be serious! He's a liability! Any connection to the school and we can be in serious trouble if he gets caught, by either Magneto or the government! We have to go after him!"
Xavier looked at his first student unimpressed. "I am completely serious. Logan can look after himself. I have said that once already. We do not go after him if he does not wish us to follow. Scott? Scott? Are you listening?"
Scott head rose again, a thought had occurred to him. "Yes, professor, I was listening." A smile played over his rose quartz covered face. "I have two cousins in Sunnydale. It would be nice to visit them again after all these years."
"Scott," warned Xavier, "do not do anything you cannot undo later."
"I'm going to Sunnydale." Scott turned and walked out, to tell Jean of his plans and pack.
As Logan drew the motorcycle to a halt outside the 'city limits' he looked unimpressed at the sign. Some joker had scrawled an arrow pointing down next to the town population.
Someone else had stuck up another sign. It read 'abandon hope, all ye who enter herein…'
"Someone's got a sense o' humour…" muttered Logan before gunning the engine and tearing past the sign while keeping a watchful eye out for any speed patrol cops who might catch him doing 150 in a 60 limit.
Little did he know, the cops were too keen on their own survival to do damn-fool things like go out after dark.
Logan, however, was about to discover this…
The next time Xander had any sort of consciousness to call on, he wished he didn't. Pain wracked each and every inch of his body, as if someone had done a 'deep six' on his entire body. Looking down, after struggling with gravity to raise his head off of the cot he was lying on, he saw his entire body covered in some sort of diagrammatic representation of his whole bone structure.
Scars ran the length of his body, following each marker line perfectly, never straying more than a fraction of a millimetre from the marker line.
Just as he had worked up the courage to look to see if he was covered, the door to his cell slid open smoothly. Five men walked in, two carrying weapons, and dressed in NCO uniforms. The third was what appeared to be a general, at least from the stars on his shoulder, and the other two were 'suits' the pen pushers and moneygrubbers that inevitably ran the military.
But these were different.
Both carried briefcases, and neither looked as if they had ever even seen a boot camp, let alone a battlefield. They carried themselves with the self-assuredness that advertised to everyone that they thought they were better than the people they ordered around. It was the sort of attitude that trained soldiers instinctively hated, and the general looked none too pleased at having to cow tow to these two.
Suit number one looked down at Xander. "Good, I see you got the package…"
The general nodded. "We got him, but where did you find him? He died on the table the first time we operated, but since the first resuscitation, he has never been out for more than a few minutes."
The second suit looked puzzled. "Odd." He shook his head. "It is of no matter. Nevertheless, we will… investigate… this… development."
The general nodded. "Be sure that you do."
The first suit kneeled next to Xander, and whispered to him. "Well, mister Harris. How are you enjoying Wolfram and Harts hospitality?"
Xander worked up enough strength to sit up slightly more. "Buddy, it fuckin' sucks…"
The suit merely smiled. "Excellent." He stood, and turned to the general. "General, I expect this subject to be complete within the quarter. No failures will be tolerated."
"Now hold on just a doggone minute! You do not order the US Army around, even if you are paying the bills…"
The second suit cut in. "We will do what we wish to do, GENERAL. Remember, we could have this place annihilated if we so wished, and you with it. Do not anger us!"
The general seemed to rein in his anger. "Yes… SIR…" he spat the final word, as if it was going to stick in his throat.
"Good." The five trooped out. The two NCO's were the last to leave. The first one turned to his compatriot. "Poor fucker… I don't want to see what they do to him next…"
The second nodded. "Yeah." He turned to Xander. "I don't like this shit, buddy. If I could help you out, I would."
Xander just nodded, not sure if he was being set up or not.
The NCO's nametag read 'Daniels'
Logan got off his bike at the 'Sunnydale Holiday Inn' a place that alleged it was a hotel for tourists and businessmen on trips, but looked more like a fortress. As he hammered on the door, a night clerk came to the heavily barred steel door, with only the slightest of holes, covered with re-enforced glass.
"We ain't letting you in at night!"
"Why the hell not?" asked Logan, "I only just arrived here!"
"Then you, mister, are crazier than I am, out travelling at night in this place!"
"Let me the fuck in!"
"NO!"
"Why not?" asked Logan again, starting to get angry.
The night clerk's eyes widened. He pointed at something behind Logan. "Because of them!"
Logan turned around, to see seven dangerous looking teens approaching. They were all dressed in black, and it wasn't so much their appearance as their attitude that made Logan worry. The way they swaggered reminded him of him before he met Marie.
"What do you lot want?" he asked forcefully, hoping to forestall any problems.
The leaders face changed, becoming ridged and fangs appearing out of his mouth. His eyes had turned an eerie yellow/gold. "Breakfast." The rest of his cronies likewise changed, becoming hideous parodies of what they had been.
Claws sprung out with the <snikt> sound Logan had become so accustomed with. "Alright. Lets party."
Ducking the first swing, he stabbed the boy in the gut, and drew the blades along, disembowelling him. The whatever-it-was just kept coming, not even caring that its intestines were now tangling its feet up. Eventually, it gave up and collapsed on the ground, where its fellows just trod on it.
"What the hell are you?" growled Logan, obviously perturbed. Marie and the X-geeks had made him go soft.
"You worst nightmare, amigo." Said the first.
"What, you're the dancing purple dinosaur?" quipped Logan. He had once been roped into looking after the little toddler mutants with Marie one evening, and still had vivid memories of all the weird and disturbing TV shows the kids watched. Remembering that was almost as bad as some of his nightmares.
"No!" screamed the leader.
"Or those ugly fuckers… what were their names? The teletubbies?"
"NO!" Leader was really getting pissed. Logan was quipping and taking out his whole retinue.
Logan stopped dead in horror, his amusement well hidden behind his mask. "NO! You're not the TWEENIES?"
The near mindless scream of frustration was exactly what Logan wanted. The leader had taken his eyes away from the fight. Quickly swiping at the neck, Logan recoiled in shock as he burst into dust.
"Just what are you?" he asked to himself.
The only female vampire there screamed at him, baring her fangs. "You fool, we are vampires! VAMPIRES! CREATURES OF THE NIGHT!"
Logan looked unimpressed. Before any of the remaining vampires could blink, he had nodded. "Fair enough." He spun, decapitating two more. "And if decapitation works…" he thrust and twisted his hand, tearing off another head. "…why the hell not?" A diagonal swipe took the two remaining vampires, one carved through the neck, the other having adamantium embedded in its thigh. Before it could do anything other than scream, Logan had taken its head off with his other hand.
Seconds later, all that remained of the fight was the gutted vamp, still writhing in agony, lots of dust, and a panting Logan. "Damn, what a workout. I have been getting soft at Chucks…"
Seeing that the night clerk really wasn't going to let him in now, he got back on his motorcycle and rode off, trying to find somewhere quiet to hole up until morning.
"Jean, Logan has gone looking for his past again, and he's headed to California!" Shouted Scott as he entered the medical lab in the basement of the School.
"He's what?" asked Jean, head buried in a new medical journal and not really paying attention to what her fiancée was saying.
"I said he's heading for Sunnydale, Jean, and I've got an aunt and two cousins there that I haven't seen in, God, must be nearly 8 years... when I last saw Joyce and Buffy, Dawn was only about four... doesn't time fly?" The last was more of a statement than a question, and Jean just grunted in agreement, new surgical procedures dashing round her brain to the exclusion of all else.
"I can see this is going to be a one sided conversation, so I'll finish now. But how do you feel about a short holiday?"
Jean perked up at the mention of a holiday, and nodded, but then looked up suspiciously. "This wouldn't happen to be a 'follow Logan and meet the family in the process' holiday, would it, Scott?"
"No, I... no. I just want to see Joyce, Buffy and Dawn again, that's all."
"And hope to find Logan?"
"No." stated Scott, before looking guilty. "OK, yes, dammit, yes... I want to find Logan before he gets himself into trouble. The School can't stand more publicity if he gets caught and blathers to the authorities, they never keep anything secret, and we've had anti- mutant demonstrations outside for months now. It's only a blessing that no-one has ever managed to scale the walls."
"Yes, Scott, you are right, I suppose." Jean sighed, "It would be nice to get out of New York for a while..."
Scott nodded decisively. "It's settled then."
Xander moaned and turned over, a move made considerably more difficult by the straps on his cot. A voice sounded form the other side of the cell.
A decidedly female voice spoke. "Woken up then?"
Xander didn't open his eyes, and moaned again. "Uhn…"
"Come on," the voice teased, "stop being such a big baby…"
Xander decided to dignify that with a response. "You haven't been through all of the shit I have here…"
She was silent for a second, before answering in an uncertain tone of voice. "No… maybe not… but I can be damned sure that I've been here longer."
"Why?" Xander opened his eyes, but didn't look at her. His eyes remained on the ceiling.
"Well, I have only one method of keeping time here…" she sounded sickened for a minute, then spat out what she was so repulsed about, "and it's how many times I've gotten pregnant."
Xander pulled a face. "I don't want to know."
Her voice was laughing, despite the subject. "Didn't think you would. But tough. There is only one reason they put me in a cell with another prisoner, and it's directly related to timekeeping."
"No."
"Believe me, I don't particularly want to either, especially with some of the freaks they've put me with. I think that hairy fucker was the worst. Jeez, he stank like a sewer, and looked like a yeti…" Disgust echoed in her words.
"What?" a combination of curiosity and shock got the better of Xander's tongue for a second and the single word slipped out.
"So… you want to know all the details now, do you?"
"I cannot believe you just asked me that…"
Giggling slightly, she shifted. Xander could hear the sound of her feet moving on the cold metal floor. "Well, when locked in a cage with animals, the subject loses its intimacy, until it's just something to keep warm, or pass the time."
Xander's face showed his disgust at that view.
At another quiet laugh from the unknown female, Xander asked a question. "Why do keep laughing, and make light of your predicament?"
She quieted for a second, seemingly thinking. Finally, she answered. "Well… if you don't laugh, you'll cry, right? And I've already done enough of that…"
"Oh."
"Come on, honey. Lets get you out of those straps and get on with this, or they'll kill you."
"No. I wont do that." Xander struggled against his bonds, trying to get free.
As she leaned over and helped to undo them, Xander got his first look at her. Naked, and slightly blue from cold, she was gaunt almost to the point of malnutrition. They obviously didn't even care about anything that experiments were being used on. Her face was young, but with eyes that, while twinkling showed far too much agony. Other than her eyes, which were a strange shimmering silvery grey, her hair was her most obvious feature. It was pale blonde, to the point where it was silver or white. Her hair colour added years to her otherwise youthful appearance.
As Xander sat up off the cot, she smiled. "You're not that bad to look at honey. It will be better than most of them, hmm?"
Xander's eyes showed his final decision. Standing up, he moved away from her, allowing her the cot and its meagre blanket. "NO! Just… just no…"
She seemed genuinely surprised. "Not even to save your life?"
Xander's eyes softened for a second. "Not even then. I will not rape you."
Relief and tears combined welled in her eyes, swiftly followed by fear. "They will kill you. And maybe me as well."
"It will be a release, then. Of sorts." Xander was adamant.
"Yes…" she murmured. "Of sorts…"
Logan found a reasonably quiet place and stopped for the few remaining hours before sunrise. It was a children's play park overlooking a large lake. The bike squealed its protest as the wheels bit into the tarmac to slow him to a halt, but did nothing other than that.
Swinging his legs off the bike, Logan took a long look around. Deserted. But at 3AM he hadn't really expected for it to be anything but.
Sitting on a nearby wall, he pulled out a cigar and lighting it, took a long puff. "What the fuck were those things?" he asked to himself quietly. He jumped at the sound of a voice behind him.
"Those? Those were vampires. Didn't they tell you?" A short blonde girl walked out of the trees to his left and sat on the wall next to him, but still a safe distance away.
"Yeah… they told me. But I thought, hell… I thought I was dreamin' or somethin'"
"Well, you weren't. What the hell do you think you were doing out in Sunnydale at night?"
"None of your business." Snapped Logan.
"Oh… OK, I guess." The girl sounded hurt.
Logan grimaced. "If I ain't supposed to be out, what the hell are you doin' girl?"
"Doing my job."
"What's that then?" Logan tried to inject interest into his tone.
"Killing those things." The nonchalance in her tone hid her unhappiness with her profession.
Logan took this remarkably well. He merely nodded.
The girl spoke again. "You'd better find somewhere safe to hole up. I can't stay here all night looking after you…"
"Yeah. Right." Logan finished his cigar and crushed it into oblivion with his boot. "What's your name, girl?"
The girl looked over to him. Sizing him up. "Buffy." She stood and began to walk off, back into the wood.
"Wolverine…" muttered Logan, almost sadly.
Xander found out that the pay men weren't happy with his lack of cooperation when a half a dozen soldiers burst in, with a suit. It was the same suit that Xander had first 'met' when he had arrived.
The suit looked on sadly. "Mr. Harris. Why will you not cooperate with us? Your life will go much more pleasantly if you do."
Xander snarled, a noise that surprised both the suit and himself. "I will not rape someone for your little 'project'."
"Why?" The suit seemed genuinely puzzled. "It will keep you alive if you do."
"No."
"Fine." The suit didn't have time to argue apparently. "Kill him."
Rifles raised, the soldiers took aim and sighted down at Xander. Xander shifted to cover the girl in he room, so she would not be hit as well, and closed his eyes, knowing death was approaching from the barrels of six high-powered assault rifles.
The last thing he heard was the staccato beat of the rifles being fired, followed by unbearable pain as the bullets tore into his body…
With that, Xander died…
Scott and Jean reached the Summers house about mid afternoon. The two knocked on the door and were met by a very surprised Joyce Summers when she opened the door.
"Scott! And who is your lady friend?" Joyce smiled at the two, but years of living on the Hellmouth had taught her not to invite people in.
"Hello, Aunt Joyce. This is Jean. May we come in?" Scott smiled, and his rose quartz hidden eyes dimmed slightly as they narrowed with the smile.
Joyce paled at the request, and reached for a cross she kept by the door. Holding it out, she ordered, "Touch it, please."
Scott frowned, but complied. Jean smiled and did the same. After both had touched the cross, Joyce backed up and let them in.
When through the door, Scott wanted to know what that was all about. "What was all of that, Aunt Joyce? Why the cross and no invitation in?"
Joyce sighed, and wondered how to explain this. "Sunnydale is not a pleasant place. Not because of any gangs or anything, but because of creatures that live here…" At both Scott and Jean's confused looks, she continued, "you are both mutants, are you not?" They nodded. "And I am the only member of the Summers family that does not hold that against you, Scott. Buffy could also be considered a mutant of sorts now. She is a Slayer, someone who has to eradicate this plague on the world… sorry… I'm not explaining this very well, am I? Well, bluntly, vampires are real… but for them to hurt you in your home, you have to invite them in."
Scott and Jean shared a look. Scott's said 'what?' while Jean's read 'she's gone nuts…'
Joyce continued, "Now, I expect you both think I'm crazy. But it's true. Do not invite anyone in. At all."
The family reunion quickly turned to more mundane matters, and Joyce wondered where Buffy had got to…
Professor Charles Xavier sat in his wheel chair, as he always did. That would never change. The one constant in his life. Times, and people, changed, but the wheelchair remained the same. He was inside Cerebro, the giant spherical room that amplified brain waves to the point where he could find almost any person on the planet.
He was observing Scott and Jean having a conversation with Scott's aunt. He chose to place a comment in, after Joyce had finished explaining.
Your Aunt is correct, Scott, Jean. There are far worse things in this world than anti-mutant demonstrations and men bent on revenge for past woes. Listen to her. She is right. With the repeat of his first statement, he left, to search for Logan…
Logan was in 'Willy's Rest' a little bar he had found while searching the neighbourhood. It was pleasant enough, quiet and dark, just the place for a little silent drinking with no interruptions. He had come looking for his past, and now he was here, he wasn't so sure he wanted to know.
He sat down at the bar, and glared at a weasel-ish guy who appeared to be the bartender.
"Hey, Irish!" he called; slapping down a twenty dollar bill and leaning heavily on the bar, face down. A pattern caught Logan's eye in the woodwork of the bar. It kinda looked like Marie's smile…
…Don't go there, Logan!
The bartender walked over with a glass. He plonked it down in front of Logan and swiped up the twenty. "Here." He said simply.
Logan took the glass without looking and threw it down his neck.
As soon as the liquid hit his lips, he knew from the burn that it wasn't Irish whiskey. He spat it out so fast it splattered on the wall behind the bar, coating pictures and other mementoes on the wall. The bartender ran over, and waved his arms like a pissed off chicken.
"Hey! Hey hey hey! What d'you think you're doin'?" He grabbed a rag and began to mop up the mess.
Logan looked down at his glass, and the smell hit his nose for the first time. "You gave me BLOOD!?" He shot up from his stool and grabbed Willy by the neck. "What the fuck are you tryin' to do?"
Willy looked distinctly worried. He was used to being manhandled by the Slayer, but not by unknown clientele. "You're… uh… you're not a vamp?" he asked his voice quavering.
Logan felt the claws in his right hand extend with a <snickt> "These look like somethin' a vamp would have, pansy ass?"
Willy's eyes shifted sideways to examine this new development. "Uh… no?" he replied weakly.
Logan felt eyes watching from behind him, and they felt distinctly uncomfortable. He dropped Willy and sat down again, retracting his claws with the same sound that accompanied their arrival. "Right. Lets try this again… I want Irish whiskey, and a good meal. And have the steak well done. I don't go for food that's still kickin'"
He caught a thread of conversation from behind him. "I like food that's still kickin'… much tastier…" A few snickers accompanied this comment.
Willy noted this order down, and headed off to stick it through a little hatchway. He looked back. "That could be about half an hour… we don't get many food orders in here… unless you count the liquid type."
Logan just nodded. "Fine." Feeling eye still watching him, he spun slowly round on his stool and fixed the rest of the bar with a hard stare. Most of the clients seemed to be dressed in black, with leather being the clothing of choice. Something Logan once mentioned to Scott about the X-Men uniforms came to mind:
"Leather Coats; fine. Leather gloves; fine. But leather trousers? Make ya look like a pansy ass… and don't even get me started on full bodysuits… Jeez… you'd think we we're all gay or somethin'" Scott had replied, "Well, it beats the hell out of Spandex…"
"Have any of you pansies got a death wish?"
One stepped forward, knocking over a table. Logan let the claws slowly extend once more, inching out slowly, ever so slowly, for effect. Some of the patrons nearer the back winced at the sight. The vampire, or whatever it was got real close, and whispered something to Logan, almost intimately. "We are dead, pretty boy… who does your hair? Must take a ton of gel to get it like that." The vamp sniggered at his supposedly witty comment.
Logan smiled, and the vamp suddenly got very worried. When a human smiles and a vamp is that close to them, they are either stupid, and have a death wish, or have no reason to worry. Looking at Logan, the vamp was inclined to believe the last idea.
"I don't want any trouble, but apparently, it just follows me around these days…" With that, he buried his claws into the vampire's chest, and yanked upwards through the heart.
It burst into dust.
The rest of the bar turned away, entertainment for the evening apparently over.
Logan gave one last look around the bar, and turned back to the whiskey that Willy had left him…
Xavier found Logan not far away, buying some food in the local gin joint. Logan. Be careful. That place is the favourite bar for the creatures you killed last night… and be wary… Scott and Jean are in Sunnydale also, looking for you, under pretence of visiting Scott's aunt. Buffy, the girl you encountered, is their cousin.
Logan jerked upright at the unexpected message and tried hard to send one back, his mental voice tinged with sarcasm. Right. Thanks Chuck.
Xavier laughed in his mind, having just seen what happened by Logan's open memories. You are welcome, Logan. I did not tell Scott to follow you, in fact I warned him against it. And do not call me… Chuck.
Logan's mental guffaw was the last thing Xavier received from him.
"No!" The unknown girl cradled the dead body of Xander in her arms as his blood pooled on the cold metal floor around them. She looked up with venom at the soldiers. "Why? What did he do? Is it that he wouldn't help your little breeding project? And rape me in the process? Is it so bad that for once, one of the fuckers you capture actually has some morals?"
The suit looked unimpressed at the outburst. "Get away from him."
The girl cradled Xander's body closer, pulling his head up to her breasts. "No!"
"Get away from him." The voice brooked no argument, and at the click of the rifles once more having the safeties taken off, she let Xander rest gently on the ground. As his head hit the metal, the suit smiled, and walked over to her.
"Come with me, my dear…" with that, he gripped her arm and began to drag her out of the cell. "We have another visitor that we wish you to entertain… and you will really enjoy this one…"
One of the soldiers shakily asked the suit, "Sir? What should we do with the body?"
The suit turned back unconcerned. "Dispose of hi… it."
"Yes, sir." The Soldier nodded and motioned for his companions to pick up the legs.
The suit continued down the hallway, until he reached a door that was nearly off its hinges with the beating it appeared to have taken from inside the room. Whoever, or whatever was in there, obviously wasn't happy about it, and was working as hard as he possibly could to get out.
The girl cowered back from the door when the suit made it plain that was where she was going. "NO! Please! Not another like that! NO! NOOOO!" She screamed mindlessly as the door was opened and she was thrust through, into the waiting arms of the person inside…
Logan was cruising around Sunnydale, trying to avoid Cyke and Jean, while still finding hat he was looking for. He was not having much success in his endeavours.
"Damn. If I take much longer, the cops will pick me up…" Logan grimaced at that idea. If the cops did decide to arrest him, they would likely have enough on him to put him away for several years.
Not that bricks and steel hold someone with an adamantium skeleton. Ten minutes of slashing, and he'd be out faster than Jesse James.
But it would be a waste of time, and it would mean Cyke would be right. He couldn't go anywhere without getting arrested. It was bad enough the flak he had taken from Cyke about Marie's crush on him after the Statue of Liberty, without having him going on all the time.
Logan shook his head violently. I'm here for a reason! Don't get distracted!
As he turned down a new street, Logan noticed a woman unpacking a car. She looked just like the woman in the picture he had found in his file. A few years older maybe, a few more wrinkles, but the look was unmistakeable.
She looked haggard in the extreme, and he swiftly found out why when an irate man opened the front door of the house and ordered her inside. Logan memorised the location of the house, and sped off…
Willow burst into Giles apartment, with rage boiling in her eyes. She stalked straight up to Buffy and slapped her as hard as she could.
"You BITCH! You good-for-nothing heartless BITCH! He's gone! He's gone!" She stopped shouting, and broke down, sagging to the floor and sobbing loudly.
Buffy just stared blankly. The rest of the Scooby gang stared in mute shock at the outburst from Buffy's closest friend.
Giles was the first to work up the courage to speak. "Who's gone, Willow?"
Willow looked up venomously at Buffy, before burying her face in her hands once more. "Xander. Xander's gone…"
Anya looked down. She should have fought harder. She should have known that Xander would react this way. He created the Scooby gang after all. Guilt washed over her. But it was too late now. She walked mechanically over to Willow, and sank down next to her. Seconds later, she buried her face in Willow's shoulder, and began to cry softly.
Buffy leaned backward into Riley, who had been standing mutely behind her, like everyone else.
Giles, once more, was the voice of reason. "Didn't we all agree that it would be in Xander's best interests to fight with us no longer? Remember the last patrol he went on? Didn't Buffy have to carry him home after a vampire knocked him out?"
Riley nodded. "Yeah. He was sporting a black eye for a couple of days…" He looked thoughtful for a second. "Hang on… if that had been me, I would have still had that black eye now… not have it gone in a few hours…"
Willow shot a glance at Riley that clearly asked, 'what are you talking about?'
Giles frowned, and indicated that he did indeed remember the black eye. It had gone very quickly. "You don't suppose…" he shook his head, "no… that is patently ridiculous."
Buffy looked up. "You don't suppose what, Giles? You don't usually say something without meaning to."
Giles looked vaguely guilty for a second. "I was wondering if anything… strange had gone on with Xander recently…"
Buffy shook her head. "Not since he was possessed. Unless you count the love spell…" she shuddered for a second, remembering her 'present' to Xander. Still, it may not have been… that… bad… would it?
Riley perked up. "Possession?"
Buffy and Giles nodded at the same time. "Yeah," said Buffy. "He was freaky. Totally nuts. He was possessed by a hyena spirit, and he only thought about one thing." She blushed slightly. "Well… two things."
Riley didn't notice her blush. "What were they?"
Buffy blushed deeper, causing Giles to roll his eyes, and Willow to stare at her with loathing. Anya was still crying into Willow's shoulder. Oz, who up until that moment remained silent and motionless, chose that second to move to Willow's side and crouched down next to her, stroking her hair.
"He only wanted two things. They were simple really. What all animals want. Food. And the strongest mate."
"The strongest mate?" asked Riley puzzled.
Buffy blushed deeper still. "Yeah."
Riley slowly realised what happened. "And the strongest… mate…… was… you………… wasn't it Buffy?"
Buffy was silent for a long time. Then, "yeah."
Riley went purple. "I'll kill him!"
Willow chose that moment to remind them. "That might be a bit difficult, Riley. He isn't at home. In fact, he isn't even in Sunnydale any more."
Oz remained stoic. "How do you know?"
Willow turned into his hand, nuzzling against it; it was a defence against sorrow, a support in mutual understanding. "Because his apartment is totalled. It's been torn apart."
Giles looked deadly serious. "We could do a location spell for him…"
Willow looked up. "I already did Giles. While at his apartment. But we can do it again. I think… I hope… I did it wrong…"
"Why?" Giles asked quietly.
Willow burst into tears again. "Because when I did it, it came out black…"
Giles sucked in his breath, and muttered a prayer. Anya, who had just stopped crying, burst out into a fresh stream. Willow looked down.
Buffy spoke. "Why? Is that bad? Giles?"
Giles looked over to Buffy. "Yes, Buffy. It's very bad. It… means that… well…"
"What?" asked Buffy; fearful she knew the answer.
"That he is dead…" Giles didn't want to say it quite like that, but that was how it came out.
With that, Buffy burst into tears as well.
The helicopter thrummed low over the dense jungle. The pilot wasn't listening to the conversation of the two in back. He was paid to fly, not to earwig.
"Where should we dump him?" asked the private.
The corporal shrugged. "How the hell should I know? We're just followin' orders. And our orders are to dispose of him. I asked the incinerator guys… they said no go in there. Regs… you know?"
"We're about as black an op as you can get… why do they suddenly care about regs?"
"Got no clue… hey, how about here? Were about five miles from base… no civvies around… the jungle'll eat the body before anyone ever finds it…"
"Yeah. Right."
With that, they pushed the body out of the chopper. It landed hard in the soil of the jungle, and rolled to a stop at the bottom of a hill. The corporal nodded to the pilot.
"OK. Mission accomplished. Lets head home…"
"Roger…"
"Are all the ingredients ready?" asked Willow, still sniffing back tears.
Giles nodded, and then gave vocal acknowledgement. "Yes. Everything is prepared." A large bowl sat in front of Willow, with a thin layer of fine, almost dust-like sand in it. In the middle of the large bowl, sat a smaller one. This was full of water.
Willow nodded and looked down at the book in her lap. "I hope this works…" she trailed off, and began to draw shapes in the sand. When the pattern around the inside bowl was complete, she began to chant.
Slowly at first, then picking up speed, Willow chanted words only Giles knew even the rough meanings of. He had worked hard to find the most powerful Locator Spell he could. This would find someone anywhere and anywhen. You had to specify a time frame, which was what the patterns were for, but it did it down to five seconds and about half an inch. However, it also gave some rather… violent effects if the person was no longer living in the stated timeframe.
Willow finished chanting, and dropped an item of Xander's in the bowl, a comb. She watched the bowl of water like a hawk. It would slowly search, and therefore go through the colours of the spectrum until it found who it was looking for, beginning at red, and working it's way to blue. Some others worked the opposite way, but this was the only way this spell could function.
A few minutes later, it went colourless, and Giles whistled quietly. Both Buffy and Willow looked at him.
"What?"
Giles explained, "It's gone colourless… it's gone through the visible spectrum, and out the other side. It's gone into the ultra- violet band. If it does not stop soon, myself or Willow will have to, as it will quickly move first to X-rays, and then to Gamma and other deep space radiation…"
"But… what if it doesn't find him?" asked Willow plaintively.
Giles looked back at the bowl. "Would you rather he came back, only to discover all of us dead or dying from radiation poisoning?"
Willow didn't reply.
Giles shook his head. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Look…" He brought the assembled groups attention back to the bowl, as it darkened. "It's going dark…" he whispered to himself. "Everybody back!" he called and pushed himself up and across the room.
The Scoobies got the far side of the room just in time to see the bowl fracture, and the water pour into the sand. It fizzed as soon as it came into contact, and began to blacken.
"Willow! End the spell!" called Giles above the loud crackling sound now being emitted.
"But… Xander…" she moaned.
"WILLOW! The SPELL!" shouted Oz. At her lovers shout, she snapped out of her stupor and reversed the incantation. The noise died as suddenly at it had begun, and Giles sighed heavily.
"What does that mean, Giles?" asked Buffy with awe in her voice.
Giles swallowed, and thought of the disaster narrowly averted. "Give… give me some time, and I'll find out."
As the Scooby gang moped dejectedly out of Giles' apartment, he sat thinking in his armchair. What if Willow had not ended it on Oz's shout? That is a possibility to horrible to contemplate… maybe Ethan would have an idea about what to do? But that colour… if Xander isn't dead, he is so far away, we cannot begin to comprehend it…
He stood up, and walked over to his kitchenette. Pulling out a bottle of fine Scotch Whiskey, and breaking the seal on the cork, he poured a large measure into a glass.
"What do we do now?" he wondered aloud.
His internal voice, once the driving force of Ripper, spoke for the first time in many years. You have to try it yourself, my old boy. And not stop if it goes too far…
Over the dead body, lightning etched its way… it would not be long now…
Fingers twitched spastically as muscles reacted to the electricity pouring through them, arms and legs jerking slightly. As Xander's death was slowly repaired, the scientist's experiments made themselves known…
"Come on, girl," growled the beast she had been put with. "If you don't struggle, you might even enjoy this…"
"I doubt it, furbag."
"Defiance." He snarled. "I like that. It turns me on…"
With that, he pounced…
Lucy Harris stared in shock. It was him. It was HIM!
"Logan?" she whispered, before he husband came out the door to start ordering her around. Shaking her head, making it all a dream, she picked up the remaining bag and shut the door of the car.
"Could it really be him?" she asked herself as she stepped through the door. "No… he died… years ago…" she sniffed. "He died!" she whispered it strongly, perhaps more to convince herself than the rest of the world.
"What you mutterin' about?" asked Jack, her husband.
Lucy shook her head, and shot him a look. "Nothing… dear…"
Questions and insecurities warring in her mind, as she put away the shopping, she smiled for the first time in years. "But I can hope, can't I?"
Xander woke up in a jungle, very uncomfortable. A large rock was sticking him in the back, and a branch had snapped off a tree, which had then had the temerity to fall on top of him. "Where the hell am I now?" he spoke out loud.
Then his memories hit him. "I was dead. They shot me when I wouldn't rape… um… whatshername…" he shook his head, and looked down.
"Damn… didn't even get her name… but at least they put me in some clothes… urgh, imagine a jungle without clothes…"
He had some worn fatigues on, clearly thrown away, as they had a large tear in the material of the chest. Lovely.
Looking around, Xander saw the dense jungle surrounding him. Vines and creepers covered every square inch of tree bark, moss over every stone, and he couldn't see further than about twenty feet away. The jungle was that dense. The humid air made his fingers itch. He didn't know what was causing it, but he felt… at home… but threatened. Like he had when possessed and the pack had challenged his alpha status.
"How the hell do I get home? Where is home?" Xander shook his head, but started off in the direction he heard noises coming from. Human noises.
That meant one of two things:
Civilization.
Or the bastards that did this.
Xander growled, and felt his hands twitch again. Despite his fear, he kind of hoped that it was the later…
Giles sighed, and removed his glasses from his face. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he proceeded to clean the lenses of the spectacles with a gusto rarely seen outside of the extremely stressed.
He had re-run the location spell, several times, and had got conflicting results. Several times, it had exploded in his face. He was still unsure what to make of that. He had phoned an ex-colleague in the Watchers Council about it, and was currently waiting for their return call.
The Scooby gang, or what remained of it, at any rate, had been sent home. Willow and Oz had headed off to somewhere, presumably so that Oz could try to calm his girlfriend down. An angry Wiccan was not something Giles particularly wanted to deal with right now.
Riley and Buffy had gone back to his dorm room, Riley quietly seething at the non-present Xander, and Buffy alternating between near insane anger and manically depressed Slayer. Which was also not good.
Anya had been taken home by Oz and Willow, before they had called in to let Giles know everything was OK and they would be out for a while longer.
Despite Giles' best efforts, the location spell refused to do the same thing more than twice in a row.
The first two times, it had come out black… a sign that he did not want to see, as it meant that Xander was dead. The third and fourth times, it glowed an angry purple, which, while not a bad sign, meant he was somewhere between a thousand miles away, and ten thousand. That was a lot of area to cover. The fifth time, it exploded.
There was now a nice symmetrical chrysanthemum pattern on the ceiling of his front room. It would take more than just a mere coat of paint to hide, too. Magic didn't like getting covered up, even when it wasn't meant to do what it did.
Giles stopped cleaning his glasses, put them back on his face, and reached for the industrial strength stain remover once more.
While magic didn't go completely, he was damned if he was going to have that pattern reminding him of a screw up for the rest of his life…
Xander crouched in the edge of the jungle, watching the men in front of him, in the clearing.
They were obviously army, trained and drilled to the point where it was reflex to fire at an attack rather than cower away. They were dressed in dark green and grey combat fatigues, and each carried a high-powered assault rifle.
Xander didn't know what the rifles were, but something told him to be in awe of the weapons. They looked hard, and deadly. That was enough.
The men themselves were an eclectic bunch. Some were quite tall, while others were short and stocky. All had the mean look of people that had done too much, and seen too much in return. Black ops troopers.
Xander picked up a medium sized rock, and threw it into the jungle behind the men. They whirled around, and all aimed at the jungle. One seemed in nominal command. He spoke with a harsh voice, loud and authoritative.
"Alverson! Go check what that was! Martenson, go with him!"
The two, Alverson and Martenson acknowledged and moved off into the jungle. Xander didn't know which was which, but he didn't really care either. Neither would find him if he could help it… but they might find something else…
Xander grinned evilly and moved off into the jungle, to circle round the two troops and lead them off from their compatriots. This, he mused, was going to be fun…
Moving silently was a skill he hadn't known he owned. But yet, here he was, moving through the jungle as if it wanted him to pass, to aid him in his struggle. Not a footfall sounded on the leaf mould, not a twig snapped. He never stood on one.
In comparison, he could hear the two troopers moving as quietly as they could. They tried to move silently, but sounded more like a couple of kids out for a day trip in the forest, adventuring and knowing nothing could hurt them, and therefore not caring about being quiet. They crashed about like elephants. And cursed like seamen when their fatigues got caught on branches and creepers.
Xander got to within twenty feet of the two, and they never noticed him. He picked up another small rock, and threw it past them. It crashed into a rock and made a grinding noise as it contacted. It then thudded off of a fallen log. The two jumped, and twisted to look at the sound.
Nothing.
Xander moved off again, being sure this time to make noises occasionally. They followed him, and he stopped making noises.
They kept going, but were getting increasingly paranoid. "I think someone is playing with us, Al…" whispered Martenson.
"Yeah… an' I don't know why…" he whispered back.
A voice sounded around them, seeming to come from every direction. "It's quite simple, guys…" the voice said, "…you have something I want."
"Uh…" muttered Alverson, "What would that be?"
The voice spoke again, hard and angry. "Answers."
Martenson looked at his friend. "Al… I don't know about you… but I'm getting back to the squad…"
"Likewise…"
They turned tail and ran, scanning the jungle for their mysterious voice.
Xander dropped out of the tree above where they had had their conversation. "Oh…" he sounded disappointed. "Don't go yet, guys…" he grinned. "The party's just gettin' started…"
Alverson and Martenson crashed through the tree line and came to a halt in front of their squad.
"Anything to report?" asked the Sergeant with a slight smirk.
Martenson was still catching his breath. Alverson spoke. "Uh… yes, sir. There's someone out there. And they were playing with us."
An eyebrow was raised. "Explain."
"Whoever it was was leading us about, getting us confused and disoriented. He let us get back here…"
"'Let you' get back here? No one 'lets' the US army do anything, soldier! Alright! I want the entire squad in threes! Spread out, and find this bastard! He might be a slippery bastard, but I'm damned sure he can't outrun a bullet!" He pumped his arm, and the squad moved off in different directions, in threes as ordered.
The sergeant whispered a prayer to himself as he moved off into the jungle. If this guy was as good as he sounded, the whole squad were fucked. They just didn't know it yet.
Alverson and Martenson had been tripled with another. Daniels had joined them, and they moved off back in the direction they had initially when they had been ordered to find whatever it was.
Daniels was wary, but not half as wary as the other two members of his group. They were jumping at every sound, and that worried him slightly. They had safeties off, and both of them looked so itchy that he could see something bad happening. Like getting shot, or having a squad mate shot by them.
The three crept slowly through the jungle, watching everything as they walked by. They didn't watch hard enough. Alverson was in the lead, with Martenson close behind. Daniels took up the rear, and watched their backs.
No one saw the bush that had a hand. Or the form of Xander crouched within it. The hand extracted Daniels' silenced pistol from its holster without anyone noticing…
…Xander was about to get even…
The first thing that indicated something was wrong was when Alverson collapsed in the middle of the path. Neither Martenson nor Daniels had heard a sound other than the usual jungle noises, but Martenson dropped to his knees in the soil and slowly flipped Alverson over.
He quickly shut his eyes and looked away. Daniels looked down.
"Oh, God…" he muttered.
Alverson had only two bullet holes where his eyes should have been.
Martenson hefted his rifle. "I'm gonna get this bastard!" he was practically screaming. "I'm gonna get 'im, an' fuck 'im! I didn't even hear it! WE didn't even hear it! Don't worry buddy," he shouted, addressing the now dead body of Alverson. "I'll get this fucker for ya!" He fired a few random shots off into the jungle.
Shouts and calls from the other groups reached Xander's ears. If I'm gonna go this, I've got to make it quick!
While Martenson was still raging, he simply shot him in the head. Martenson, like his compatriot Alverson, merely collapsed to the dirt. Cold and efficient, and Xander knew that he would probably regret it later, but right now, he didn't care.
This time, Daniels heard the puff of the silenced pistol. He raised his rifle. "I… I know your there…" he said into the bushes.
"Yes… but do you know where I am?" said the unknown person.
Daniels suddenly felt the end of a silencer touch the back of his head. "Not a sound…" said the voice.
"What… what do you want?" Daniels asked.
"I want to go home…" said the voice. "I want you to get that girl out…" the voice changed. "I want vengeance…"
"What have I done to you?"
Xander was taken aback. "What have you done? You've kidnapped me, held me in a cell… experimented on me… shoved me in a cell with a girl not any older than I am, probably younger, and asked me to RAPE her… and finally you shot me and dumped my body in the jungle, and you ask me what you've DONE?"
Daniels felt his blood run cold. "You're… him… aren't you?"
"Him who?" asked Xander coldly.
"The guy… the guy that arrived… God, you're gonna kill me… the one they wanted to make the second 'Wolverine' from…"
"What… are… you… talking… about?" Xander asked firmly, slowly.
"I don't know! I don't know! Some suits brought you from the States… said you'd be perfect. The doctors agreed, and started on you before they'd even given you a cell allocation. The suits later said you were a criminal that had agreed to the project in return for reprieve… fuck…" Daniels babbled constantly, on and on. Some of it didn't make sense. Some of it did. Some of it was terrifying.
Xander caught a call in the jungle, and realised he had spent too long listening to a man about to die try to babble his way to freedom. Walking round, so that the condemned could see the executioner, he looked down. A nametag read, 'Daniels' on the uniform.
"You Daniels?"
Daniels nodded.
"You promised me you'd help me escape. Remember? We'll here's your chance to do good or evil. I ain't gonna shoot ya."
Daniels physically slumped in relief.
Xander brought the pistol down on the junction between his neck and his shoulder. Daniels dropped like a stone, unconscious, not dead.
Then he heard a shout, much to close for comfort.
He dropped the pistol and ran.
Daniels…
Daniels…
"Daniels…"
The voice broke through.
"Daniels." The voice was no longer questioning. It demanded obedience. Daniels sat up slowly, grimacing at the pain in his head and his shoulder.
"Did anyone get the number of that truck?" he quipped while leaning upright a bit further.
The sergeant looked down on him, part relief, and part anger showing in his gaze. "You OK, kid? You got hit pretty hard according to Richards."
Daniels looked up, and saw the remaining members of his squad surrounding him. Richards picked up a Bergen and slung it back over his shoulder. "You're lucky, kiddo," said the team medic. "That guy knew what he was doing, but didn't hit ya hard enough to break your collarbone." He smiled. "You'll feel it for a week or two, but then you'll be as good as new."
Daniels nodded. "Thanks, Bob, this is another I owe you."
Robert Richards' smile broadened. "Na. If ya owed me every time I patched ya up, you'd be forever losing at poker against me. And I can't see that happenin' any time soon…"
"Right." Daniels got to his feet and looked at the two tent canvasses that had been converted into shrouds for Alverson and Martenson. "Whoa… still a bit dizzy…" His head swam as he straightened.
The sergeant followed his gaze. "Yeah. He took 'em out without givin' 'em a chance. Martenson got a bullet in the back of the head, killed him instantly. Alverson… I don't know… one in each eye socket seems a bit fancy for Columbian guerrillas. They tend to use Russkie tactics. Spray and Pray."
"He was gonna kill me, sarge…" whispered Daniels. "He was gonna kill me… and a random comment I made once while in a cell saved my life…"
The Sergeant shook his head. "Ain't nothin' random in this world, son. It may be rare, but the possibility is always there…"
"Yeah. I guess so."
"Why'd he leave you anyway? That 'random comment' thing? You're gonna have ta explain that when we get back ta base, ya know."
"We're goin' back?" Daniels looked shocked. "But our scheduled patrol isn't up for another three days yet sarge."
"I know, but we're two men down now. And in this jungle, if we leave 'em somewhere, they'll get eaten by the time we get back. And I ain't luggin' around two dead bodies just for us to become the targets, kid."
"He wont stay away from the compound, sarge." Daniels said. "He has a score to settle with the guys running the show… and he seems none too pleased with their hospitality."
"Him and me both, kid. Him and me both…"
Xander sat in the lower branches of a nearby tree, watching Daniels squad discuss what they were going to do next. The general consensus seemed to be 'lets head back to base' which was good. It would let Xander follow them, and find where he had been held prisoner.
The all-consuming rage, that he had felt so strongly when he woke up, had faded to a barely noticeable throb. The guilt over the lives he had taken just because he could nibbled at him, further reducing the anger and hurt. Neither of those soldiers had had anything to do with his capture really. It was that damned demon and Wolfram and Hart, whoever the fuck they were. The soldiers were just following orders.
Although why the government would have anything to do with Wolfram and Hart, he had no idea.
The squad moved off, one taking the lead, scouting ahead, as was standard operating procedure in forests and jungles. Didn't want any surprises, did they? Daniels, Richards and their Sergeant were in the middle, with a couple of other men, and two more were bringing up the rear, covering their trail.
Xander followed the squad, moving from tree to tree. They were that close together. Branches formed practically one long run. He could move from level to level with ease as well.
Xander never noticed the branches bending under his weight. It wasn't something that he used to look for. He knew how much he weighed, and knew how big a branch would take him, and how small a branch would snap.
If he stayed still for too long, however, he would find out that he had put some weight on in the labs of that base…
…Quite a lot of weight, in fact…
…Actually, almost three hundred pounds…
Lucy Harris opened the door at the insistent knocking. She stepped back, fearful that it was vampires or something like that. She got a shock.
"Logan?" she breathed.
Logan nodded, but remained silent.
"Where are my manners? Co…" she clammed up suddenly. Instead, she merely backed up, and got out of the doorway, so that Logan could enter.
"Thanks," he mumbled.
"I… um… I'm afraid my husband…" she spat the word, "is drunk. So as long as you're quiet, you wont have the pleasure of meeting him…"
Logan frowned, but nodded his ascent. "You're… uh… you're looking good…" it was all he could think of to say.
Lucy let out a girlish giggle. "Liar. I look as old as I am. I'm 38, Logan. Don't flatter me any more. I'm not that pretty girl who fell for you twenty years ago…"
Logan looked pained. Twenty? Twenty years? I thought it was only fifteen I lost!
Lucy didn't seem to notice his look. "But, I have to say… you still look like you always did. Early thirties, and as badass as ever. I guess it's that healing thing you've got, hmm?"
Logan choked. "You… you know I'm a mutant?"
"Of course! It was one of the first things you told me, for some strange reason. Why, I don't know… but I was glad you did. It made me love you more, that you would trust me with that secret at that time…" She looked sad for a moment.
"I'm sorry." Logan didn't know where that came from, but it just popped out. Dammit, man, you're supposed to be the badass Wolverine, for fucks sake! Make the ladies swoon, get some ass, and then get the hell out of dodge!
Lucy smiled softly. "I'm the one that should be apologising Logan. I have something to tell you… you have a son."
"W… what?" Logan managed to choke out the word, but even still, it nearly caught in his throat.
Lucy hugged him, and began to cry softly. "I'm sorry, Logan. I've just got so good at not showing… anything since I married Jack. It was the biggest mistake I ever made… but I needed someone to provide for Alexander… my parents certainly weren't going to do it. I'm so sorry…"
Logan hugged the crying woman, and heard some noises from the lounge. "Uh… Lucy?" That's her name, isn't it? That's what it said in that phone book! "I think we had better go for a walk… that is, unless you want your husband…" he sneered the word, with as much venom as she had shown, "to find us like this."
Lucy looked grateful, and then frightened. "We can't go out after dark… there's… things… out there."
Logan nodded, "Yeah. Vampires. I know. Don't worry." He smirked, and raised a fist. His foot long claws extended with a <snickt>.
Lucy jumped at the sight of them, and then smiled slyly. "Well… you never told me about them before…"
Logan frowned. "That was because I never had them… uh… before."
"Oh, I'm sorry." Lucy looked apologetic. "Jack!" she called to her husband. "I'm just going out for a while!"
The only reply was a grunt, and "Get me more whiskey then!"
Logan felt the anger rise in his veins. The other claws extended slowly. "I'll show you 'get me more whiskey then', bub. You're gonna regret that…"
"No, Logan, don't. It isn't worth it…"
He grunted, and withdrew the claws. The skin closed up around them as if they had never been there at all.
Lucy winced, and drew Logan's hand into hers. "I'm not frightened, Logan," she said on his look, "I'm feeling… for you."
The door shut, and Jack Harris went back to his alcohol dream. Strange, he thought, I could have sworn I had a wife a few minutes ago… and who was that big hairy guy?
Xander dropped from the trees at the edge of a clearing, just far enough into the tree line to remain invisible. Only someone watching directly would have seen him land, and as no one knew he was there, no one saw him.
He had tracked his little group of black ops soldiers about ten miles, by his estimate, although it could have been more. They certainly believed in keeping a wide perimeter.
In the clearing, but hidden itself behind a large collection of smaller shrubs and bushes, stood some sort of military facility. The only part of it that was visible was an entrance, and a helicopter pad. With a BIG chopper on it. A hangar was hidden in the jungle off to his right, but Xander did not know what it contained. Probably another helicopter, maybe this time, a combat chopper.
As he watched, the large chopper on the pad took off, and began to fly north.
Makes sense, mused Xander, if this is jungle, then I am not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Or California. Whatever. In fact, if this is jungle, I ain't even in the 'States nomore…
That little baby must be the supply chopper. It also happens to be my ticket out of here if it comes back.
The helicopter did not return. Xander sat and watched for several hours, until nightfall. No lights came on. Even the chopper pad had no lights on it. But then, they would only be needed if a delivery were to be expected. One plainly wasn't.
Probably enough time to get in and find some stuff out… before my ride comes back.
Xander got to his feet and approached the entrance, a bulky metal door, clearly designed to withstand just about anything. "Well, that isn't a way in…" muttered Xander. Then he saw something above the door that made him grin.
A ventilation hole. Big enough for a person.
"Tactical oversight." He smirked. But who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?
He froze as the blast doors began to open.
Oh, shit! He thought. He was right in the open, in front of the door. Gotta hide!
Xander dived for the bushes and overgrowth to the side of the door. He just made it in time, as two technicians walked out, obvious by their clothing and attitude.
"Aw, man… I hate this shit!" complained one. "Every fucking time that Chinook arrives or departs, we have to move the '66."
The other looked over at his companion. "Shut up, Matt… you know as well as I do that this place is only for six months… then you get rotated home again."
Matt nodded. "Yeah, Sid, I know… but that don't make it any easier on me… but I bet my wife loves it. Six whole months without me…" he sighed. "I wonder what she does without me?"
Sid smiled, and laughed. "Shit, man… you'll probably get back to find she's slept with every guy on the base… and a few of the women too!"
Matt shot daggers at his friend. "Fuck off man! I know my wife, she's faithful!"
Sid slapped Matt on the back. "Yeah. She's faithful. Just ask the last guy who pulled moves on her!"
"What?" Matt was plainly confused.
"Remember about a year ago? She went out for the night with my Sandra to that club?"
Matt indicated that he did indeed remember.
"Well, Sandra told me the minute she got home that Clara had practically castrated this Captain who chatted her up."
"What Captain?"
"Some hot-shot who transferred to the base a week before. Transferred his ass out again so fast you'd 'a thought it was on fire or somethin'. Trust me, man! Your Clara… she's hot, but she's yours, my man. She will never leave your side…"
Matt smiled.
Sid continued. "I'm just jokin' with ya about stuff like that, man! You don't have to worry!" he quietened suddenly. "What was that?" he asked, casting his eyes about.
"What was what?" asked Matt, his friends paranoia kicking in his own.
"That noise…" said Sid.
"What noise?" asked Matt, voice trembling.
A figure appeared in front of the two.
"I believe your friend meant this noise…" he made a sound in his throat, exactly like the two had heard.
Sid looked at him, and saw only the fatigues, not the features or the grubby state of what he was wearing. "That shit ain't funny, man! Don't do that!"
The figure smiled. "Oh, you'll find that's the least of what I'll do…" he grinned. "But don't you have to move a '66?" Xander played along. He wasn't entirely sure what a '66 was, but what the hell?
Matt looked at Sid. "Yeah, he's right, mate. We'd better get to it."
Sid looked once more; he was going to report this guy. "Right. OK. Let's get on it."
The two disappeared into the '66 hangar, and sounds of a tow-tram could be heard, an electric whine followed by wheels rolling slowly over the tarmac as the helicopter moved, powered by it's little assistant.
Xander stood and watched, as the copter moved into the light of the evening. Wow. It's a Commanche…
Xander's eyes widened. This outfit must have access to some serious cash. The Commanche Rapid/Reconnaissance Attack Helicopter wasn't due to enter service until 2006. Some estimated even later.
He waited until the two technicians had finished, and stepped up behind them once more.
"Hi, guys." He said.
Sid and Matt turned round, jumping out of their skins. "How… how'd you do that, man?" asked Sid.
"Practice…"
"Just who are you, buddy?" asked Matt.
"Oh, sorry. My name's Xander."
Sid looked at him. He was definitely going on report now.
"What's your rank?" asked Matt, interested.
Xander seemed to pale for a second, but recovered admirably. "My… uh, rank?"
Matt nodded. "Yeah."
"Um… I suppose you could call me… one of the lab rats in there." He pointed toward the facility. "One who didn't like it very much."
Matt's eyes got wide, and Sid tried running. Xander moved like a snake, and succeeded in knocking them both out before either got more than another three feet, and dragged them both back into the hangar.
"I'm sorry to do this, guys…" said Xander, "really I am. But I can't have you blabbing to the base…"
Xander rummaged around in one of the utility kits, and pulled out a roll of duct tape. Pulling off a small amount, he pressed it to his arm, and pulled it off suddenly. No hair was left where the tape had stuck.
"Perfect." The word echoed around the now empty hangar.
Dragging the two technicians to the darkest corner he could find, Xander sat them back-to-back, and began to wrap tape around their chests, trapping their upper arms as he did so.
Be thorough. Said his mind.
Don't worry, I will be. He thought back.
He tucked their knees under their chins, and began to tape round their legs as tight as he could go. They would be uncomfortable as hell, but it would stop them moving about.
Their hands were covered in duct tape, and taped to their ankles. It put their arms at an odd angle, but again, it would stop them from doing anything funny.
When their bodies were completely covered in duct tape, and Xander had to go back for a second roll, he started at their heads. Tape their mouths shut, and cover their eyes. Whoops, got it on their eyebrows. That wont half hurt when it comes off…
Tape their heads together, back-to-back. Make it so they can't move their heads.
Make sure their noses aren't covered. Don't want 'em dead, just not alerting the base…
Reversing the tape, so the sticky was on the outside, Xander put a big loop from Matt's neck, to Sid's feet, and then did the same for Sid's neck and Matt's feet. Then he taped that in place at the feet and neck.
If either of them moves too much, they'll start to choke their pal…
To stop them from moving about the hangar, or knocking stuff over to get attention, he ran a line of tape over their knees, and taped it to the floor for about three metres either side of them.
Xander stood back, and admired his handiwork.
"Nice… duct tape mummies…" he tossed the remaining part of the roll away. "I really am sorry about this, guys… you seemed so nice, too…"
A moan signalled that they had started to wake up.
"Time to make a big entrance…" he looked at the floor, next to where he had initially dragged the two trussed men. Seeing a badge, he picked it up. "Hey… Sid, is it? Thanks for the pass, man! You're a lifesaver!"
Logan and Lucy, Xander's mother walked down the pavement by the road. When they had reached about three blocks from the Harris household, Logan turned to her.
"Look. Lucy. I hate to say this, but. I can't remember anything. My life before fifteen years ago is a complete blank. I went looking for my past. after some bad stuff. had happened. I had to get out. I had found a home, but. well. I felt trapped there. It wasn't the people's fault. I'd." he trailed off, unsure of what to say.
Lucy sighed, and squeezed his hand. She felt the indestructible skeleton underneath the flesh and a prayer for mercy ran through her head. "Logan." she began. "I. I don't know what to do either. I mean, here is my lover from the past. returned and no older than he was when he disappeared. What am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to say?! I can't change the past. but maybe I can change the future." She smiled, and the dark seemed to light up.
"Thanks." whispered Logan, strange emotions running rampant round his mind. Not even Marie made him feel like this. No, not even Marie.
Lucy started walking again. "I really need to get home, Logan. But here is Alexander's address. He has a girlfriend at the minute that is a bit. strange. But she means well, I expect. But there isn't an ounce of tact in her whole body." She smiled slightly at the thought of Logan meeting Anya.
She reached into her coat pocket and extracted a scrap of paper. Pressing it into his hand, she turned them around and headed back to her home. Logan stood outside, mute, as she walked back through the door, and blew him a kiss. He nodded gruffly to her, and turned away.
The note had an apartment number and road on it. Shouldn't be too hard to find. mused Logan. He should smell like his mother, to a degree. Even if he hasn't seen her in years, the familial scent remains.
"I'll visit you tomorrow, Alex." Logan promised as he walked, unaware of the creatures that followed him. The scent of death hung so strong around Sunnydale that the vampire smell never really registered.
Logan stood outside the door of his son's apartment. It was mid afternoon, and he was debating in his mind whether or not he should go in when he heard voices from inside. One he recognised, the others, he had no idea.
He stood and listened.
"He isn't here!" said Buffy.
Willow closed her eyes. "That was what I've been trying to tell you, Buffy. Xander has gone."
Logan heard that, and wondered, gone where?
"He can't have just vanished!" exclaimed Buffy.
Oz spoke next. "Why not? He has done before." Willow nodded.
Buffy spluttered for a second, before rallying. "It isn't like him, that's why not! He never deserted us before! Even when we tried this when Faith was here!"
Willow smiled secretly, and Oz shrugged his shoulders at her. "Might as well tell her." he whispered.
Willow stepped up to Buffy. "When we tried to keep him out of trouble before, he got into worse. while we were trying to stop the Sisterhood. he stopped Jack from blowing the whole school up."
Buffy turned white, but gripped Willow on the shoulders. "And why didn't you tell me this before?"
Willow shrugged, and tried to extricate herself from Buffy's vice like grip. "There was no reason to. You were moping over Angel, and all of us were pretty much getting ready for the whole College thing, not to mention the Ascension. It just kind of got forgotten."
"And what would have happened if he got hurt or killed? What then?"
"Then, we would have told you. before blaming you." Willow smirked slightly as she palmed some of her guilt off on Buffy. "It was your idea, after all."
Logan was quietly steaming outside the door. How dare they?! Send his son away! Alright, maybe he was being a bit of a hypocrite, as he would try his hardest to get his kid to stop risking his life, but. did he really have a say? He was effectively dead for his son's life. not knowing. not caring. He zoned back in to realise he had missed a portion of the conversation.
".But his apartment is trashed. who could have done this?"
Buffy snorted. "Try anyone in Sunnydale. Could have been vampires. If Xander is dead, like you say he might be." she sniffed, "the 'on invitation only' thing would end."
"Yeah." said Willow, but she didn't sound convinced.
Logan's eyes widened. Dead? No! He can't be dead! I haven't found him yet!
Buffy froze. "Did you hear that?"
Willow shook her head. "No. What are you talking about?"
Oz nodded. "I heard. something. And I can smell."
Willow looked at him. "What?" she asked, fright beginning to gnaw at her.
Oz sniffed strongly, then gagged. "Riley, could you move over by the window for a second." Riley did so with a nod, which quickly turned into a glare. "Thanks. Your aftershave stinks."
Riley bristled it the insult, but Buffy made a cut off motion with her hand.
Oz continued, "it. smells like." he took a step toward the door, ".a predator." He yanked the door open, to be greeted by a burly man in a battered leather jacket and faded jeans. His face was hard, and he looked none to pleased.
Oz stepped back. "It's him." He said simply.
Willow 'eep'ed and stepped back, a spell forming on her lips. Riley took up a defensive posture, and Oz backed off further. Buffy just stood and looked at him.
Logan looked at the four. "Uh. I. guess your wonderin' exactly what I was doin' there, ain't ya?"
Riley's voice was firm. "Could be."
Buffy didn't move. "Hello. Wolverine."
Logan looked at her, and now remembered the girl from the first night he got into Sunnydale. "Buffy, isn't it?"
Buffy nodded.
Riley stood, relaxing his guard. Thoughts were running through he head at incredible speed. The next began before the previous one finished. The WOLVERINE? It's him! He escaped years ago! The brass still wants him back! What the hell has he got to do with Xander? I've got to tell the Initiative! During this time, he remained still, not a single flicker of emotion on his face to give him away.
Logan smiled evilly at the soldier boy. It was plainly obvious to the animal instincts inside him what he was. He stood like a soldier, and shut his emotions off like a soldier. But he couldn't shut off smells. No, an animal relies more on scent than sight. The soldier boy had just given himself away.
.But he wouldn't call him on it yet. He needed to find Xander first. Then he could worry about glory hunters.
Logan turned back to Buffy. "Do you have any idea where Alex Harris is? I need to find him."
Buffy looked confused for a second. "Alex. Harris?" She mouthed to herself.
Willow's expression darkened. "What do you want with Xander?" she asked forcefully.
Logan took a step back at the plain hostility in Willow's tone. What is it with me and redheads? He wondered. Any girl that slight had to be given a wide berth if she got that worked up that quickly. Spitfires are usually the small ones. Kinda like Marie.Logan snapped back violently from that thought. Stay away from Marie thoughts, Logan, old boy. oh Christ on a crutch. now I' m even talkin' like Chuck.
"Well?" demanded Willow.
Logan scowled. "I need to find him. We've got some business that we need to sort out. It's about his parents." Logan had the distinct feeling that if he told her to 'stuff it' he would quickly be in great pain.
Willow's scowl deepened, but she nodded fractionally.
Oz sniffed, and stepped up to Logan. "You. uh. you realise that you're. um."
"That I'm what, kid?"
"You smell like a predator." Oz stated bluntly.
Logan smiled, and it wasn't an expression Oz could ever remember relating to happiness.
"These give you a hint, Wolfy?" Logan asked. He popped the claws in his right hand, and the dull <snickt> sounded loudly in the quiet room.
The teens all jumped back at the sight. Riley, the furthest away, was shocked, but not surprised. Willow nearly screamed, and hid behind Oz for safety. Even the normally unshakable Oz seemed mildly disturbed.
"They aren't. natural. are they?" he asked.
Logan looked at them. "No. They ain't."
Willow peeped out from behind Oz. "Do they hurt? When they come out, I mean?"
Logan smiled privately. Marie had asked him that exact same question. He wasn't going to be quite that nice to Willow, though. "Yeah." Logan said flatly.
Willow winced.
Buffy recovered from her shock. "Why are you looking for Xander?"
"Told ya already." Logan sniffed the air once. "Well, if he ain't here. I think I might now how to find him."
"How?" asked Willow.
Logan looked at her, deadly serious. "Ask the thing that kidnapped him."
With that, he stalked out. The group were left talking amongst themselves. What had just happened here?
Oz frowned, and walked out the door, following Logan. Willow threw him a questioning glance, but he just shrugged.
He caught Logan up outside the building, just after Logan had straddled his bike.
"Hey, wait!" Oz called.
Logan turned his head. "What d'ya want, wolfy?"
Oz frowned. "My name is Oz."
Logan yawned. "Thanks for giving me a name to fit to the smell. Not that I plan on comin' back here any time soon."
Oz stuck his hands in his pockets. "You. uh, you do realise that you smell like Xander. don't you? That's what your business with his parents is, isn't it? You're his father."
Logan snarled and popped his claws at the young werewolf. They hovered in an impasse for a few seconds, before Oz nodded once. Logan growled low and his claws suddenly shot back into his fist.
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell the rest of them," he jerked his head at the building, "the soldier boy is gonna try to capture me, I'm sure of it. After all, I am their pet assassin. Or was. Whatever."
Oz's eyes widened. "I won't tell them. But Willow will want to know. She's his best friend."
Logan blinked, and Oz got the distinct feeling that something awfully bad was about to happen. "If you tell her, whether she is your girl or not. whether she's his best friend or not. I'll come back. during your 'moony' phase if you want. and skin you alive. Then I'll sell your pelt to the highest bidder."
Oz held his hands up in a gesture of submission. "I said I wouldn't tell them. I am a wolf of my word."
Logan revved the bike. "Yeah, Wol. Oz. You are. I can smell that on you. That redhead is damned lucky."
With that, he tore off.
Logan stopped next to Scott's four-wheel drive, and stuck a letter under the wiper blade.
It was a warning.
Xander was currently hiding in on of the larger supply rooms, praying that no one did a regular and complete inspection of them. While he had justified to himself the deaths of the two soldiers outside in the jungle, a nagging doubt still eat at his mind. should I have killed those men? Or would something a little less permanent have worked?
Getting into the base had not been easy. The security system had been an absolute pig to bypass, but when he had found a junction box that was outside, it was relatively simple matter of bringing the entire bases power down for a few minutes. Emergency power kicked in for lighting etc, but the security grid had been out for vital seconds while he got in.
Xander was still on the entrance level, but had travelled about five minutes down random corridors and passageways hoping to throw off anyone who might have picked him up. The red emergency lights glowed angrily at Xander as he looked up.
"I wonder how big this complex is?" he said to himself.
There was one way to find out.
"I'll take four."
"Cunning devil, you've obviously got one of a kind."
"Three off the top, please."
"One. And make it a' goodun'"
"And the dealer takes tw."
The door burst inwards, spraying wooden splinters around the small room. In the doorway stood a very angry Logan.
"Which one of you fucks kidnapped my son?"
The five demons looked up from their poker game, and one stood. "What is the meaning of this. this. outrage!?"
Logan smiled, and it held no friendliness in the expression. "This is the meaning!" He popped his claws on both hands with a <snickt> and the demons still sitting leapt to their feet, shock playing the hand now.
"Now. do I have to ask again? Which one of you kidnapped."
"Yeah, yeah. We heard you the first time, scuzzball." The dealer spoke with the assuredness of a seven-foot tall dark green thing with more spines than Sonic.
"Why do you think it was one of us, compadre?" asked the smallest demon there. He was standing on his chair, hopping from foot to foot in agitation. He was barely four inches tall. Tiny wings flapped slowly on his back.
Logan shot him a glare, and pinned one of the demons that was trying to inch his way round him to the door to the wall with two of his claws. "'Cause I can smell him, bub." He fixed the one he had pinned with an icy glare. "Right. The rest of you gents can get the fuck out!"
Even the dealer scrambled for the door at his tone. The demon Logan had pinned likewise tried to run, but was discouraged from that course when the middle claw slowly extended toward one of his multiple larynxes.
Logan focussed all his attention on that one demon. "OK, look, bub. Normally, I'm a reasonably calm sort of person. Leave me alone, I'll leave you alone, you know?"
The demon nodded at the silence; maybe he felt some input was needed.
"But. there are these times when I just get. insane. When people attack me, or threaten someone I've promised to protect."
The demon nodded again. "And you've promised to protect your son, am I right?"
Logan got even more serious, if that were possible. He made a noise in his throat, designed to imitate a game show failure siren. "Wrong! I didn't even know I had a son! And anyway, what business is it of yours?" He waved his free hand around carelessly in front of the demon, bringing razor sharp adamantium painfully close to the demon's features.
The demon took the hint. "None! No business of mine whatsoever!"
"Good." Logan growled. "Remember that."
He calmed slightly again. "Now. where did you take my son?"
"I." It gulped as Logan's middle claw tickled its larynx a little. "I just do some work for this firm! Just the hired help! I don't know nothing!"
"What's the firm?"
"Wolfram and Hart! But you can't go after them! They've got mages and demons worse than the largest thing you've seen in Sunnydale workin' for 'em!" It's panic turned calculating. "I can help you. for a price."
Logan leaned on its' throat, and eased off when he heard a satisfying cracking noise emanating from the cartilage. "You, my little pal, are in no position to make suggestions like that. You should be praying I don't kill you before I walk out of this place."
The demon's voice was now hoarse, and somewhat reedy. "OK."
"Tell me where Wolfram and Hart are based, and who your contact is."
Choking, the demon wheezed, "They're based in LA. Can't miss 'em. Biggest damn tower block in the whole city is theirs. and. and my contacts name's. Lindsey. yeah. Lindsey."
"Any other names?"
"Not that I know of."
"Any little surprises? Passwords, shit like that?"
"The contact phrase is 'wolverine'."
Logan stiffened. Did these jokers have something to do with his past? Was what he went through now being rerun like a sick film on his son? What the fuck was going on?
Logan used to think that it was just anti-mutant activists in the government and other organisations that had something to do with his past. now it seemed like so much more. People were involved that he had not even dreamed of. People with power that the government didn't, people with the power to control anyone, or anything. Those demons proved it.
The demon remained silent while Logan seemed frozen. While he was wondering idly if he could actually escape and Logan not notice, it thought quickly about how much it liked its head attached to its shoulders, and how it probably wouldn't stay there if it pissed Logan off. Well, more than he already had.
"Those bastards."
Logan spun, causing the demon to throw itself across the room or risk decapitation. The poker table, standing forgotten in the centre of the room was spit in two before the demon blinked.
"Those lousy fucking BASTARDS!"
Logan stood crouched where the table had collapsed. Panting in rage and animalistic hatred, his eyes focussed on the demon. "You did this! You!" The mindless part of his brain hungering for revenge searched for a target, and found only one in the immediate vicinity.
With a roar of rage, Logan launched himself across the room at the demon, who was nearly cowering in the corner at the display of fury that the human was exhibiting.
In seconds, it was over, shreds of demon hanging from his claws, green blood coating the walls and Logan's frame. The demon had barely had time to scream. The few it had got out, however, cleared the bar out front of the room in double sharp time.
Withdrawing two claws from his right hand, Logan skewered the head of the demon, the only part that had not been completely mangled beyond any recognition. With this grisly trophy, Logan stepped back out of the poker room, and stalked over to the bar.
Willy, the bartender, and overall proprietor of 'Willy's Rest' looked at the still fuming Logan. "Irish, not Irish, right?"
Logan sighed. "No. Just get me a doggy bag for this."
Willy looked at the trophy still hanging from Logan's claw. Suppressing a shiver, he reached under the bar and pulled out a box big enough for the head. "No charge." He pulled a face. "Hey, what d'ya do, collect them as souvenirs or somet'in'?"
Logan smiled. "No. This is a present for someone."
"I'd hate to be whoever your sweetheart is if ya give 'em presents like that."
"Who its for is none of your business."
"So it is for ya sweetheart, eh?"
Logan reached over the bar and grabbed Willy's collar before he had time to run. Dragging him up over the bar, he held his face close to his own. "Shut the fuck up, and get me that drink!"
Willy sagged back over the other side of the bar, and hurriedly gripped a bottle, pouring a large measure into an empty glass. "Here ya go, knock ya self out."
"Cheers." Logan took the drink in one slug, and slammed the glass back down on the bar.
Picking up the box, which was now slightly soggy on the bottom from the demons blood, he walked out of the bar.
Willy watched him go. "If I never see ya again, mate, it'll be too soon."
The sound of a motorbike drowned out the other sounds of the night, and Willy listened to it fade into nothing as Logan got further away. Walking into the back room, Willy sat in the one remaining chair and his face sunk into his hands.
"Do you have any idea how much scrubbing it takes to get Karal demon blood out of the wood?" He sighed. No one in this world cared about his worries. He wrinkled his nose. "Not to mention the SMELL!"
Riley entered the Frat house, and walked up to the mirror. "Agent Finn, Reporting."
An electronic voice sounded tinny from small speakers. "Enter, Agent Finn." The mirror recessed back into the wall slightly, and slid to the left. Riley stepped into the elevator, and a frown appeared.
"I hate the re-build they've done to this place."
The elevator continued down its tracks, and stopped suddenly when it reached halfway down. The electronic voice spoke again. "Request Vocal Identification of Finn, Riley, Agent."
"You've got to be kidding me." muttered Riley.
"Incorrect Identification Phrase." An alarm blared in the small elevator, and nearly deafened Riley. "Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert! Security report to the main entrance to prepare for trespasser."
Riley levered off the access panel, and pulled out a wire. He spoke again. "Emergency Override: Riley Finn. Codephrase:" He began in a strained tone of voice, to sing; "'I'm A Yankee Doodle Dandy'."
The elevator pinged, and the alarm ended. Riley sighed and shut the access panel. "I'm gonna kill whoever put those pass phrases in. I swear!"
Scott Summers walked out to check on his car, and get the morning paper for his aunt. On spotting a notice tucked under his wiper blade, he near panicked. A ticket? It couldn't be! He parked legally!
Only when he got closer did he see the untidy script that no warden would ever have. Mainly because they used electronic stuff. It had to be Logan's.
Pulling his wiper blade carefully off the window, he picked up the letter. It was in a waxed envelope so the elements didn't get to it if it rained. Some habits were hard to break.
"Rain? In California? Ha!"
Scott pulled the note out of the envelope. It read, in Logan's hurried handwriting;
˜Heya Scooter,
˜Just wanted to tell you that Sunnydale is a bad place to be. Of course, if you've been out a night, you've already found that out. If you haven't: don' t. It ain't worth the pain.
˜Might be here a while, so you'll probably be chasing me for a while. If you ever catch me up, I'll give you a ticket to the Hockey Finals. I know you want one, and I've got two. Was gonna go with Marie. Rogue. whatever, but you do manage to get me, and I'll give one to you. Don't think we're gonna do any of that male-bonding shit though. Hockey's the only thing I can talk to you about!
˜Here's some friendly advice, Cyke: get the hell out of SunnyD. Things are gonna go down, and I don't want any of the X-geeks caught in the crossfire. Your Cuz is one scary girl. But she can look after herself.
˜Maybe I'm getting' soft in my old age, but (and I'm gonna hate myself for this in the morning) be careful, Scott.
˜I'll explain what this is all about when we get back to the School.
˜I need to do this alone, Scott.
˜Logan.
Scott puzzled this message all the way up to the time Joyce asked him where the paper was.
Blushing furiously at his forgetfulness, he scuttled back outside to get the paper.
"Agent Finn reporting, Ma'am!" Riley maintained his military mask, but inside was wincing. 'Ma'am' just didn't sound right, and to a civilian. It made the soldier in him want to puke.
Walsh looked him up and down. "Very good, agent. And could you refrain from promises about the programmers in the elevators?"
Riley winced. "Yes, ma'am."
"Now, what was it that you wanted to report? It must be serious to come here personally rather than radio it in."
Riley nodded. "Yes, ma'am. It is. The Wolverine has surfaced. He is in Sunnydale, and is apparently searching for Alexander Harris."
Walsh hid the surprise well. "Do you know why he is searching for Harris?"
Riley shook his head. "No, ma'am. I do not."
Walsh did frown this time. "Very well, Agent Finn. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."
"Ma'am? What should we do about him?"
Walsh frowned deeper. Even she did not have the clearance necessary for all information about the 'Wolverine' project. It was a joint effort between the governments of the United States and Canada, but the US had allegedly pulled out after several problems. It seems that it was restarted. She turned, and almost as an afterthought answered Riley. "For now, do nothing. Observation only, Agent."
"Yes, ma'am."
Xander shadowed some soldiers down a long corridor. It had a lot of little duck holes, presumably for defence, but now it just served his purpose. Getting further into the facility, and finding out what the hell was going on. His conscience was gnawing at him to check on the girl first, but he had succeeded in pushing it back for the time being.
He was beginning to get worried. Paranoid worried.
He had almost expected to get caught before now, and every second that a guard looked the wrong way at just the right time was pure torture. Would he get caught this time, or not? For whatever reason Lady Luck had suddenly decided to shine on him, Xander wasn't about to pass up a freebie. It was about time he got repaid for all this shit.
The soldiers reached an elevator, and swiped a card before pushing a button. The elevator <pinged> as it reached the level that they were on, apparently Alpha 2, according to the sign. Xander ducked behind another alcove as the soldiers entered the lift and turned around. The doors shut and Xander shut his eyes.
"How am I gonna get down there?" he whispered.
He answered his own question. "Find some stairs, or failing that, take the express."
Lindsey pushed open the doors of Hart's personal rooms in the Wolfram and Hart building. He nervously approached the far door, a sturdy oak affair that looked as if it had seen centuries of use.
It had, in several different locations around the world.
Hart fixed Lindsey with a piercing stare as he entered his inner sanctum. "Yes, Lindsey?"
Lindsey bit his lip, and chose the direct approach. "Sir. it seems we have one Mr. Logan on the way to visit us. Something to do with a personal matter, I believe."
"And what does this have to do with us?" asked Hart dismissively.
"Does the name 'Wolverine' mean anything to you sir?"
"That assassin that disappeared after that furore at Ellis Island?"
"Yes, sir."
"What about him?"
"That, sir, is Mr. Logan. According to our sources, he's looking for his son."
"I did not know he had one."
"Neither did we, sir. It appears that he got his girlfriend pregnant just before we captured him. She got married after her parents disowned her and moved with her husband to Sunnydale."
"That's all very interesting, Lindsey, but what does it have to do with me?"
"You are funding the new project, sir." Lindsey spoke carefully, respectfully. "In Panama. The only subject that we could acquire from the so called, 'Scooby Gang' was a Mr. Alexander Harris, of Sunnydale. The Slayer. was. unattainable."
"Get on with it man!"
Lindsey shook himself. "Well, Mr. Harris is the son of Jack and Lucy Harris. Lucy Harris became Harris after she married Jack."
"Yes, that much is obvious."
".well, she was Logan's. girl. Sir. and she was pregnant when she married. Therefore, we have reason to believe, sir."
"WHAT?" thundered Hart, anger showing clearly now.
".That Mr. Harris is Logan's son, sir." Lindsey breathed deeply.
Hart seemed to absorb this development for a second. "And?"
"Well, Logan obviously wants his son. And he is currently in Panama. Also, he kind of. refused to take part in the project." Lindsey winced.
"Which part of the project?"
"The girl that they use for breeding experiments was put with him. And he. wouldn't."
"You are telling me that he wouldn't rape her?"
Lindsey looked relieved that he didn't have to say it. "Yes, sir."
"What happened to him, then? I get the distinct feeling that you are not telling me everything, Lindsey."
"He was killed, sir. Of no further use to the project if he would not procreate. All of the enhancements seemed to be a failure, sir. Skeletal, neural, musculature. everything. Even the forced mutation of DNA into forms known to create mutants was a failure. As fast as it mutated, it returned to normal. There was not even any evidence of claws on x-ray examination, and they were installed surgically. When the surgeon went back in, they were there, they just didn't show up."
"So. to return to the topic at hand, rather than how badly they failed. Mr. Logan is searching for Mr. Harris, who is currently dead in Panama? Am I correct?"
Lindsey nodded.
"So where is the problem? We can tell him that his son is in Panama, and he will probably go. At the least, it gets him out of our hair."
"There is one more thing, sir. the Panama installation lost communication abruptly about an hour ago. It hasn't come back yet. The Doctors did mention something about Mr. Harris dying on the operating table during the first op, but never being out for long after that. Could it mean.?"
Hart looked thoughtful. "It may do. It may do. Wouldn't it be interesting. if. an Immortal had mutant powers? I wouldn't have thought such a thing was possible."
"But there are demonic Immortal's sir. several of them are clients."
"Yes, I am aware of that fact. thank you, Lindsey; for stating the ever present obvious. That is all, you may go."
Lindsey faltered for a second. "Sir? The Wolverine?"
Hart smiled, and it seemed to be the most evil expression Lindsey had ever seen. "Let him come to us, Lindsey. Let him come to us."
Logan tore off the Interstate and along the slip road into LA proper. As houses and other buildings became more regular either side of him, he squeezed the brakes gently, watching the speedometer needle as it fell from the upper end of 120 down to the more reasonable town level of 60.
He had an address, a large tower in one of the more upper-class part of LA.
He had a name: Lindsey.
He had a target: Hart.
And he had a reason: His son.
.
.
<Whee! Ruuuhh!>
And he also had the cops on his tail. Damn.
Logan twisted the throttle, and glanced back to see the police car falling behind. But it didn't fall behind fast enough. As another siren reached his ears, Logan brought his attention back to what was in front of him.
Which happened to be another cop car.
"It's just not my lucky day, is it?" he muttered and leaned the bike, skipping his foot over the tarmac to stop the bike from flattening out too much, and crushing his leg in the process.
Bringing his foot back up, Logan hugged low to the bike's chassis, lowering his wind resistance as much as possible as he gunned the throttle and tore into an alleyway.
"What's that noise, Kevin?" asked Stacey worriedly.
Her boyfriend looked at her. "It's nothin' Stace." He turned back to driving the car, a deep green 'Vette that had been a graduation present from his parents. A beautiful car, it was the dream car of all his friends.
And he owned it.
There were times he really loved his parents. And there were times he really hated them, which admittedly, was most of the time. But when they did something like this, he had to love them for a little while.
Stacey looked over her shoulder.
Kevin looked round angrily at her. "For fucks sake, girl! There's nothing wrong! Why are you so paranoid all of a sudden?"
Stacey fixed him with a glare, and threw open the glove compartment. Several small white bags fell out, and more were inside. "Maybe it has something to do with all this coke in here?!" she nearly screamed.
Kevin slammed on the brakes, and leaned over to her menacingly. "Don't you ever raise your voice to me again, bitch! Not if you still want to be able to get more powder up that pretty little nose of yours!"
Stacey looked down, and sniffed. "You wouldn't." she mumbled.
Kevin smiled triumphantly. "I would."
"But you said."
"I don't give a fuck what I said, girl! It's what going on now that counts! Now. put that stuff away again, and we'll find somewhere real good to get high."
Stacey picked up the bags and put them back in the glove compartment wordlessly.
Kevin nodded and stepped on the gas, only to swap to stamping on the brake almost immediately, just to narrowly avoid hitting a motorbike as it tore out of an alley to the right, continued on without so much as looking back, and zipped into another opposite. Kevin leaned out of the car a little and shouted after the biker, "Look where you're going, asshole!" and put his foot down.
Unfortunately, then came the police car, with sirens blaring, badly damaged from the trip down the too narrow alley. The eyes of the driver widened in shock as he saw a car in their path, and pulled the handbrake, only to continue into the car by the law of motion.
Stacey screamed from the second she saw the motorbike cross in front of them, and kept screaming as the car was shunted by the police car, into the corner of the building that formed the mouth of the alleyway.
She kept screaming even as Kevin cursed and swore, fighting desperately to get him and his coke out of range of the police with a car the was now too damaged to do anything other than ornament a scrap heap somewhere.
She kept screaming even as the car was crushed into the wall, the side of the car that Kevin was sitting on caved in from contact with the brick wall at thirty miles an hour, sideways.
She kept screaming even as the cop car continued forward, beginning to crush her side as well.
Kevin hit his head on the window, and then steering wheel as the car stopped suddenly, and was knocked out cold. The glove compartment, containing so much illegal powder, burst as it was compressed, showering the area with powdered cocaine.
Stacey kept screaming even as Kevin slumped unconscious sideways onto her lap, with blood pouring from a gash on his forehead.
As soon as the cars stopped, and it was safe to do so, the driver, a white man in his mid thirties, leapt out of the police car to male sure the civilians were unhurt. When he got out, however, he stopped in amazement. His partner, a young Hispanic by looks, got out more slowly, and looked at the scene long and hard.
"You know, were gonna have a lot of explaining to do." he said.
The first man out of the car waved him to silence. "Shut up, man." He stepped forward, and wet his finger, allowing some of the dust still floating in the air to settle on it. He gingerly touched it to the tip of his tongue. "Holy shit." he muttered.
"What?" asked his partner.
"This. this is cocaine."
"Oh yeah. we got a hell of explaining to do." the Hispanic man stepped forward, and covered his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his coat. He reached the unconscious guy, who technically was in the drivers seat, although he was currently bleeding on his girlfriend's white leather coat, and pulled him up by the hair. A moan issued from his mouth, indicating he was hurt, not dead.
"You, my son, have a ton of explaining to do. and I really want to be there when you explain to your parents why your nice new 'Vette has got enough snow on it to be a Christmas card. Not to mention the fact that it's now egg timer shaped."
His partner was bouncing on his feet excitedly. "You know who that is, mate? You know who that is?!"
"I got no clue, you know I don't watch TV. its too damn depressing."
"That's Kevin Velora! You know, the son of that property magnate?! The one that's backing the anti-mutant stuff!"
The Spaniard sobered even further as he listened. "Just call it in, man. just call it in."
His partner nodded. "Right." He picked up the radio and pressed the side. "Control, this is." he looked up.
"Alpha Romeo Niner Two Niner."
".Alpha Romeo Niner Two Niner, requesting assistance, a." he released the button. "Hey, what do we call this?"
His partner shrugged. "How the hell should I know? A smashed up car and enough coke to put someone in a very nice house. what do you want to call it?"
Sticking his tongue out, he went back to the radio, ". oh, sod it, we've got a trashed 'Vette and a shit-load of cocaine floating round like it was snow. we need medical assistance, and some time off! Over."
The radio crackled. "Roger that, Alpha Romeo Niner Two Niner, ambulance is on the way, along with backup. No can do on the off time though. Over." A chuckle was heard.
"Funny, real funny, control." He let the radio drop from his hand, and sat on the boot of the totalled police car. "What are we gonna do?"
"Wait here for help, then go home, get drunk and try to forget this ever happened."
"I hear ya, buddy. I've had enough if this shit, man. at least when I was in the army, all I had to worry about was duff orders and getting shot, not necessarily in that order. I wanna quit!"
He partner looked at him in shock. "You're. you're kiddin' right, amigo?"
"No. I'm not."
Pedro Vasquez looked at his partner. He had seen the look on his face before. It meant trouble. Usually for Pedro when clearing up the PR cockups that his partner always managed. "Nik? You're not joking, are you?"
Nicholas Gordon looked at the best partner he had ever had. "No. I'm not." He said sadly.
Reaching his own cell in the detention centre, Xander stepped into it and saw his still drying blood on the metal floor. Streaks of it indicated that they had dragged someone out of the room. one conscious, and struggling, the other dead. He knew which he had been, and so surmised that the girl was taken somewhere else after his 'defence' of her.
Rubbing his stomach with his left hand, Xander turned round and winced at the memory of being shot by three men from five feet away. OK, he had changed his mind. The bastards deserved whatever they got. All of them. Even Daniels.
Xander followed the smell down the passage, and stopped when he reached a dented door. The smell was overpowering now. fear, and something underlining it. He couldn't quite decide what it was. The fact that suddenly he could smell didn't fully register to him until several hours later.
He lifted the catch on the door, and pulled back several bolts. A growl came from inside, followed by a females moan of pain. The moan spurred Xander on. He didn't want to know what had been done to warrant that sound, but he needed to rescue her.
He pulled the door open, on hinges that were battered and beginning to look as if they wouldn't allow the door to open at all any more, and staggered back as he got hit in the chest by a ball of fur and claws twice the size he was.
Logan skidded to a halt outside the Wolfram and Hart Plaza. He didn't quite know when, or how, but he had managed to loose the police car that had been chasing him. Swinging his leg over the bike, and cracking the bones in his neck, he chuckled to himself.
Got to respect the guts of someone who chases you at a hundred miles an hour down an alley barely big enough for the damn bike, let alone the car they were in.
The humour died. He stood outside the building of the bastards that had captured his son.
His son.
His.
For that, they had to pay.
And he even had a present for express delivery of the message.
Logan picked the box off of the bike, and walked through the sliding glass doors of the entranceway. He swung his arms slightly as he moved, making sure his jacket didn't ride down into a restricting position if something. bad. should happen.
Reaching the reception desk, Logan swung the box up onto the polished surface, and smiled at the lady behind the counter.
"Can I help you. sir?" the 'sir' was an afterthought, a word that she was trained to say, but wasn't sure applied to the example in front of her.
"Yes, you can." Said Logan.
"Well?" she asked, attempting to be polite, but impatience fraying her honeyed tone.
"You asked 'can I help you?' you can. but will you?"
"Is there something you require of Wolfram and Hart, or are you merely trying to get us a bad name?" the receptionist asked in a snippy tone.
Logan nodded, almost to himself. "Oh, there's something I require of Wolfram and Hart. but will they be cooperative?" his grin was verging on the psychotic, and the receptionist without thinking hit the silent alarm under her desk.
A voice sounded from behind Logan, near the elevators. "It's alright, Ms. Forthright. he is expected."
Logan spun round, and fixed the speaker with a glare. "Who the fuck are you?" The receptionist winced at the words, but remained silent.
"I?" the man seemed amused. "My name is Lindsey. Mr. Hart will see you now Mr. Logan." The man stepped into the elevator. "If you would follow me please? And don't try anything funny. or you wont get any answers."
Logan growled, a sound that any at Xavier's mansion knew meant that the next person to tick him off was going to get shish-kabobed. He grabbed the box off the reception counter, and smiled evilly at the receptionist as she looked distastefully at the green stain on the polished marble.
Logan walked to the entrance of the elevator, and looked inside. "I'll take the stairs." He said flatly. "What floor?"
Lindsey smiled. "As you wish. Floor 58."
Logan nodded, and tossed the box to Lindsey. "A present for your boss. No peeking now."
Xander fell backwards with an angry ball of fur trying to get to his heart through his ribs. When his back finally hit the wall behind him, Xander managed to get enough leverage to fling the furball off, and did so.
The beast leapt at him again, and Xander stepped sideways, allowing the thing to impact hard with the wall. He turned as the beast slid down, with a bloody smear on the metal.
"Ooo." Xander sucked his teeth lightly, "that had to hurt."
The thing growled a tried it again. Once more, Xander merely sidestepped, and allowed the beast to beat itself to death on the walls.
"Stop doing that!" It growled, "And fight like a man!"
"Fight like a man, eh?" asked Xander, avoiding another lunge. "Well, that will only be the one of us then."
The beast roared, and charged again. This time, he succeeded in grappling Xander to the floor, clawing for his face as it did so.
Xander muttered as he tried to defend himself, "Damn, you need a wash."
The beast just growled, and then renewed his struggle. One claw bit deep, and Xander tasted blood in his mouth as the claw went through the soft flesh of his cheek.
Xander bit down, hard, on the part of the digit within his mouth, and was rewarded by a pained roar, and immediate extraction of the bitten fingertip. The beast leapt backwards off of Xander, clasping its wounded hand.
After a few seconds, it released it, and looked at Xander in fury. "You bit me!" it growled.
Xander put his finger through the hole in his cheek, and then withdrew it to see the blood. "Yeah, well turn about is fair play."
The beast roared once more, and crouched to spring. Then an amazed look spread over his face.
Xander reached up at an itching feeling on his injured cheek. He quickly withdrew his hand with an exclamation of pain when a small bolt of electricity zapped him. He tenderly poked where the hole was, and found it had gone. Healed, like it had never been there.
The beast looked on in amazement. "You're a mutant too? Then why are you helping these freaks?"
Xander shot a hard look at him. "I'm not helping these bastards, believe me. They kidnapped me."
The beast crouched lower. "Then why are you wearing their fatigues?"
Xander looked down, "Because," he said angrily, "they took my clothes! And I didn't feel like walking about naked!"
"I don't believe you!" snarled the beast, and leapt again.
Xander was ready for him. Falling backwards, gripping two handfuls of fur as he went, he rolled on his back and threw the beast over his head, to land painfully down the corridor.
Xander rolled sideways, and back onto his feet. "You know, that it getting really old."
A low rumble came from the direction of his opponent, who was still lying on the floor. Then suddenly, it stopped.
Xander sighed, and turned away; stepping through the doorway of the cell he had opened. The girl he had been imprisoned with was nowhere to be seen. Xander turned at a noise, and promptly got hit in the face with a bucket.
As Xander collapsed on the floor, blood streaming from his nose, the girl dropped the bucket with a <clang>. "Oh my God! I'm sorry! I thought it was him coming back! Oh God I'm so sorry!"
Xander moaned, and said through his hand, "You droke by doze."
"I said I was sorry." she babbled on, before coming to a halt. "Uh. shouldn' t you be dead?"
Xander looked up, and let his hands fall away from his face. Small tendrils of lightning played over his pulverised nose, and the cartilage slowly snapped back into place. Xander grimaced as it stopped.
The girl took an involuntary step back in terror. "What. what are you?" she asked with fear lacing her tone. "Not even mutants can survive death!"
Xander lowered his head. "Pass." He said simply. Then he brought his head back up. "I'll worry about that when we're out of here. come on!"
He grabbed her hand, and then let go as he thought of something. "Right, first order of the day. get you some clothes. Then, get the hell outta here."
The girl took his hand warily, and pulled him back just as he was about to step out of the cell. "I. I should thank you for coming back. I never told you my name. its Katrina. Just. just, Katrina."
Xander smiled. "That took guts, didn't it?" he asked, and received a nod in response. His question was based on the idea that trusting someone, even by giving him or her something as simple as a name, took a lot after incarceration. "I go by Xander."
"Xander?" she asked with her eyes widening slightly. Xander missed the change in expression.
Xander nodded. "Yeah. Alexander if you want. but please don't only my mother calls me that. and I really don't want to think of you as my mother. You're way prettier."
Katrina giggled, and Xander frowned. She nodded. "OK. Xander."
The two stepped through the door, Xander first.
.And were met by a roar and Xander being taken off his feet once again by a charging animal.
Katrina jumped back in fright, and cowered back inside the corner of the room she had just left as she saw who had flung himself into Xander.
Xander struggled, and flung the beast off. "I'm really, really getting sick of seeing your hairy ass, pal. I don't like bigfoot rejects."
"I'm not a bigfoot! I'm a Jackal!" the so-called Jackal launched himself at Xander in fury, and started to claw for his face again. "A Jackal, damn it!"
Xander fended off the Jackal's attacks, and backed off slightly, to give himself some more room. "Right. OK, so you're some sort of big cat?"
A deadly growl came at that comment. "Actually," said the growl, "Jackal's are canine."
"Whoops." said Xander shrugging. "My mistake."
The growling Jackal that had attacked him crouched low to the floor, ready to spring once again. Then he simply stopped, and sniffed the air.
The creature stood, and nodded to itself. Then it spoke, in a voice coarse from disuse. "Well done. You managed to get the guards away from here. Till next time." He growled angrily, sneered and took off down the corridor, hunched slightly, with a loping trot that was a common energy saving move throughout the whole animal kingdom.
"Well," said Xander to himself. "That was riveting."
Katrina nervously poked her head out of the cell when the sound of the fight had disappeared. She was frightened that it meant Xander was dead, and that the hairy mutant was still alive.
What she saw was better than she could have possibly hoped for. Xander stood in the corridor, and the beast was nowhere to be seen.
Xander was standing, and gently rubbing his wrists. For some inexplicable reason, they really hurt. He couldn't explain why, or even how. but they itched, and it was slowly getting worse. Muscles twitched as he kneaded them, fingers flexing in time to his wrist massage.
His head turned at the sound of someone near him, even though Katrina was being as quiet as she possibly could.
To Xander, it sounded as if she was marching about in steel capped boots on concrete, not bare feet on metal floor. He frowned, but didn't think anything else of it.
"Is. is he gone?" asked Katrina with fear in her voice.
"Yeah." Sighed Xander. "He's gone. Got the idea that escape was the better idea, I think. He was a lot stronger than me. the only reason I could keep throwing him was that his attacks were uncoordinated. If he'd worked to fight properly, I wouldn't have had a chance."
Katrina's eyes widened at this revelation.
Xander's eyes flicked at the sound of boots at a distance. "I think we'd better get out of here." He said calmly. "Why get captured again?"
Logan stepped through the hallways of the 58th floor of Wolfram & Hart Plaza to Hart's office. Lindsey was waiting for him at the door, with the present held gingerly in his left hand.
"So good of you to join us, Mr. Logan." Lindsey said with a slight smirk. "It would have been much quicker to take the elevator."
"Whatever." growled Logan as he stalked past into the office.
An extremely thin man stood up from behind his desk to greet the Wolverine. He stood almost six feet tall, but had possibly the least amount of flesh on him that a living human, as far as Logan was concerned, could have. Bones and tendons were on full display in his hands and his face, while the rest of his form was covered in a dark grey business suit. The windows of the room, which covered two whole walls, were clear, but from the lack of sunlight shining on the floor, Logan knew that they were jet-black on the outside. Was this man another of those things he had killed in Sunnydale? He smelt wrong, too.
"Ah. Mr. Logan. It is so nice of you to come to visit us, personally." Mr. Hart's voice was honey coated, and oozed charm.
"I have a present for you, Hart, before we go any further," said Logan, as he took the box out of Lindsey's grip.
"Here you go." he said, throwing it carelessly onto Harts immaculate desk.
Hart looked at the now completely soggy box with distaste. "Ah." he murmured. "Well, Wolfram and Hart thank you for your. generosity." Hart sat slowly, his chair pushed backwards slightly away from his desk, which now had a purple ichor dripping down the side.
Logan sat in the chair in front of the desk, first having pulled it to the side a few feet. Lindsey cursed silently. He was in the wrong place for any of the security measures now.
"Why don't you open it?" pressed Logan.
"No, no." replied Hart quickly. "I believe I know already what is in there."
"Do you?" asked Logan dangerously.
Hart sat again. "I believe I also know what you have come here for, Mr. Logan. You wish your son, so you not?"
Logan nodded. This proved to him the man's guilt.
Hart looked sad for a moment. "You know," he said almost reverently, "it brings a tear to my eye when I see a father searching for a child he has never seen. prepared to take responsibility for one that he never knew he had. of course, that is if the motives are pure."
Logan growled at the insinuation that he was doing this for some alternate purpose.
Hart smiled, and it looked nothing like the expression humans wore. It looked more like the final sight a rodent sees before the snake bites down. "You must forgive me, Mr. Logan. You must remember that we are a law firm, and as such, see many court cases to do with divorce and such. Parents are not so all sacrificing as they once used to be. For some unimaginable reason, they believe that once they have a dependent, one who cannot look after themselves, that they are still entitled to live their own lives. It seems especially true for single parents, sadly."
"See a lot of that, do you?" growled Logan.
"Alas, yes." sad Hart sadly, "far more than I would wish to see, I am afraid."
Logan rolled his eyes. "This is all very lovely, but." his claws sprung out, "I want my son. Now."
"That may be a bit difficult."
"Don't give me excuses, give me my son!" Logan advanced menacingly on Hart.
Hart sighed heavily, with dramatic flair. "If you wish your son, Mr. Logan, he is in Panama."
Lindsey's eyes widened at the revelation, given so freely to their enemy.
Logan sniffed the air. "I can tell you're not lying by you're lackeys sudden smell, Mr. Hart. But you smell different."
Logan whirled, and crouched low to the floor. "This smells like a trap."
Hart stood up, pushing his chair back until it touched the wall, and clapped loudly. "Well done, Mr. Logan. How very astute of you to realise!"
A swirl of colour appeared from behind Hart, and he stepped backward, into the vortex. "Goodbye, Mr. Logan. It was such a very pleasant experience meeting you." As he spoke, the door to the office burst open, and a dozen big, and extremely ugly demons rushed through. Logan looked to where Lindsey had been standing.
Lindsey too had vanished, but differently to his employer, he had used a hidden exit.
Logan growled at the selection of opponents, and his claws extended slowly, inching their way out. "Which of you wants to be first?"