The Characters depicted in this story are the Intellectual Property of Marvel. We just toyed with them a little to right the wrongs that Ratner inflicted on canon. No breach of copyright is intended and no money has found its way into our eager, sweaty little hands.
A/N This is post X3 but can be considered AU. Black Phoenix did not rise from the soggy ashes therefore Charles Xavier and Scott Summers are still very much alive and kicking ass.
Three hundred ass-numbing miles since dawn and a bug in the teeth for every one of 'em. Ain't no kinda meal for a man so I'm gonna shove a big juicy mammalian steak down my neck before I turn gecko. There's a pit-stop up ahead with a shitload of trucks in the lot. Lotta trucks usually means decent chow. One minor fly in the ointment though. Truckers can be a surly bunch of assholes. Sorta clannish. Brotherhood of the Highways and all that crap. Tend to get a tad antsy if pretty waitresses make eyes at one-time through trade. Like the female staff are their personal property or something.
Let 'em suck it up.
Ain't no clue where I'm going. Heading north. Don't give a fuck where. Just north. Away from people. Away from Westchester. Just...away! Broke Rogue's heart seeing me up and leave without warning. Could smell and taste the salt tears as I scrammed with hardly a backwards glance or farewell. Heard the catch in her breath as she called after me, asking me when I'd return. Didn't have an answer for her. Fuck knows when I'll be back.
When I'm ready.
Taking the cure changed her. Changed the way people treated her. Suddenly she was a human girl attending Mutant High. Her buddies sympathised; became overprotective which she hated. Others didn't sympathise. A few dumb pukes looked down on her; considered her weak for going belly up first chance she got. Like she'd never helped save their miserable asses. Like they didn't fucking care how shitty her life was. It sucked, that whole can't touch, daren't touch deal. I know it. Rogue knows it. Can't help thinking she shoulda given Chuck a chance to help her though. Like he helped One-eye control his ocular ka-pow. Too damn late now. Decision's made, she powered down and now she gets to live with it.
Hope it was worth it.
Cooking smells make my mouth water but I'm gonna fill up on gas first. With a face and a history like mine, plus a diner full of truckers, ya just never know when a quick exit strategy is required. Look kinda dumb if I ran outta gas while a convoy of eighteen wheelers scorched my tail. The gas station attendant and locals seem friendly and there's no hassle as I fill the Harley's tank so I'm gonna take that as a good sign. There's an area outside the diner just for bikes which is also promising. I leave my baby where I can see her and head inside.
The place is bright, clean and busy. The ambient din of people eating and talking is underscored by the racket of the cooks somewhere out back doing their thing. Topics of conversation range from planning some kid's birthday party up to lurid details of a beefy guy's recent one night stand. One or two singletons have their noses in newspapers and the clientele is overwhelmingly male. All the tables and booths are occupied so I take a seat at the counter. The waitress fiddling with the coffee machine don't wait for me to call her over.
"What's your pleasure, fella?"
She's a looker. Young, early twenties, bright red lipstick, long brown hair, clear complexion, dove-grey eyes and a body worth exploring. Nice rack filling out her close fitting uniform. There's a name tag pinned over her left breast that says, Melody. Name suits her. Shame I ain't sticking around long enough to show her what my pleasure is.
"Coffee. Strong. Black. Keep it coming."
"Anything to eat with that?"
This kid sure knows how to ask questions. "Steak. Bloody. Gimme the works. Pile it high will ya, darlin'?"
She scribbles my order on a pad, tears off the page and hands it through a hatch to someone in the kitchen.
"That'll be eight ninety-nine."
I open my wallet, extract a ten and a five and hand 'em over. "There ya go sweet cheeks. Keep the change."
The tip's a generous one. She smiles, showing her pearlies. "Thanks mister."
Someone yells for more coffee so she scoots off after handing me a steaming mug of the same.
The steak's tender and the coffee's as hot as the waitress. Both slide down the tube easily. As I shovel the food into my mouth people leave, people arrive and the fragrant Melody flits from table to table like a bee on speed, flashing her high wattage charms as she goes. Her efforts don't go unappreciated. A guy exits the bathroom and heads for the jukebox and moments later a song starts up. It's Country, which I loathe, but I understand the sentiment as the strains of Take This Job And Shove It begin to filter through the diner.
Out in the parking lot a truck's pulling onto the highway. Beneath the meaty throb of its engine I can hear the purr of a motorcycle throttling down. It's a big, sleek Kawasaki, all silver and black. Looks like one of the new Concours 14s I've read a lot of hype about. Ain't the bike that catches my attention though, it's the lithe contours of the rider. Totally female and dammit if she ain't hotter'n Hades. Strong too coz that ain't no pansy-class crotch rocket between her thighs.
Rolling to a stop just a few feet from my Harley she switches the engine off, detaches her chassis from the one she's straddling and releases the kickstand with a deft flick of her boot. The execution of the dismount is both elegant and stimulating. God, those legs go all the way up to heaven and my groin tightens as I imagine them wrapped around me. After pulling her gloves off she tosses them on the seat and removes her helmet. Long, tousled, satin-black hair cascades across her shoulders and down her back. Her almond shaped eyes and flawless features look stunningly exotic. Facial bone structure says Japanese, lithe figure screams take me now.
I ain't the only guy who's noticed the show. Guys are nudging each other, muttering their admiration, putting the new arrival at the head of their "to do" lists. Can't fault their taste. For a piece of classy ass like that I wouldn't merely break my journey, I'd smash it to splinters. Girl like her's worth making time for.
As she steps into the diner a chorus of wolf whistles start up and patrons beckon, inviting her to sit with them. Propositions and blatant horniness follow her like a Mexican wave. Cool as a cucumber she ignores 'em and heads for the counter where she lays her helmet and gloves. Melody hangs back, clearly annoyed that the focus has slipped from her. She scowls at the fickle crowd that so recently made her the centre of attention and announces a break. Swinging her hips seductively she hightails it into the kitchen. Another waitress, a worldly wise, pleasant looking middle-ager takes her place, a knowing smile playing across her lips as she watches the retreat of Melody.
"What can I get ya, miss?"
"A coffee please. Black. No sugar."
"Want anything from the menu?"
"No thanks. Where's the restroom?"
"Left of the jukebox. Can't miss it."
"Thanks. Will my stuff be okay here?"
I watch her sashay through the diner finding her rear view is every bit as stimulating as the front one. Those pants sure are skin tight. Never knew there was such a thing as spray on leather.
Minutes pass and the conversation buzz settles down. It's short lived. Finished with the restroom she ventures into the eating area and runs a gauntlet of wolf-whistles on her way back to the counter. Without any acknowledgement whatsoever she slides onto a stool two up from mine. Close enough. Her natural scent and the stink of road dust has been infiltrated by the cheap liquid soap these places stock restroom dispensers with. She's combed her hair and it swings around her face and shoulder like liquid silk. My eyes just can't get enough of her.
"Here you go, hon. There's more if you want it." The waitress hands over a cup of steaming coffee.
"Thank you." I watch as her lips grip the cup delicately while she sips and swallows. "This is great."
Her compliment brings a smile to the waitresses lips. "You're welcome." Turning to me she brandishes the coffee jug. "Top up?"
"Yeah. Thanks." After the refill the waitress saunters off to tend tables leaving me to enjoy the scenery.
High class biker babe catches my eye. Catches me checking her out.
Her voice is soft, low. Sexy. The kinda voice I like to hear urging me on.
"Nice looking ride."
Her eyes narrow. She's got beautiful eyes. Dark brown; almost black. Right now there's an icy glint in 'em. Her wine dark lips are tense, thinned by anger. She's misunderstood my words. Or maybe she hasn't. I incline my head to the large window through which our bikes are visible.
"The 'Saki. That's some machine ya got there. How's she handle?"
"Who wants to know?"
Things are looking up. Girl wants my handle. "Name's Logan."
She looks me up, down and back up again, taking her time, her expression guarded. Look on her face says my first impression didn't cut too deep. The glint's still there but the temperature has dipped. She gonna need some work. Why is it things worth having never come easy?
She takes another sip of coffee. Jeez, I'd give anything to be that cup right now. After putting her cup down she looks at me and I get a mixed reading from her. Intense, interested maybe. But there's disapproval too.
"You know bikes?" she asks.
Safe subject. Neutral. Not that I care. She could be tearing me a new one and I'd still wanna listen to that sultry voice of hers.
"Yeah, that's my Harley parked out front."
Now I'm picking up amusement but her poker face don't change.
"The Pork Boy? You don't look like a dust addict."
Pork Boy? Dust addict? She just insult my ride and me right along with it? Gotta knock that notion clean outta her head.
"I don't eat dust, darlin'. I dish it."
The glint hardens. Guess male posturing don't cut it with her. For a heartbeat those expressive eyes study me and a smile ghosts across her lips.
"If you say so."
"Are you challenging me?"
C'mon, darlin'. You show me yours and I'll show ya mine.
"Challenging you? To a race? No way. Why would I want to humiliate a perfect stranger?"
Humiliate me? She actually believes she's that good? This I wanna see. "So, that's a no?"
"That's a no."
You ain't getting off the hook so easily, Babe. Time to up the ante. "Then ya shouldn't say things ya can't back up, sweetheart."
"I'm not a sweetheart and I've got nothing to prove, least of all illegal street racing with some Clint Eastwood wanna be. Now make my day and go away."
Illegal, huh? So's that outfit yer wearing, doll, or at least it oughta be, but I ain't complaining.
"Whatever ya say, darlin'. Mighta been fun to find out."
I smile just to show I got no hard feelings.
Across the diner someone vacates a booth. Biker babe flashes me a withering glare, gathers her things and hikes herself and her coffee to the booth without so much as a backward glance.
Okay, total flame-out with this chick.
Ah well. Ya win some ya lose some. Time to get myself in the wind. The Harley fires up sweet as a virgin on her wedding night and I head out.
Three miles up the highway I'm burned off by the 'Saki chick. No major feat since I ain't in any hurry. For a second I think she's blowing me a kiss but she slaps her ass instead and opens up her throttle, zooming away with little regard to the speed limit. Message is clear enough. So's the challenge. So much for no illegal street racing. When I catch her, and I will catch her, me kissing that million dollar booty of hers will serve as a preliminary to something far sweeter.
To the victor the spoils.
Couldn't give a shit about speed limits so I open up the Harley and give chase. And man does she does give me a heckuva chase. The babe knows how to ride. We weave in and out of traffic and ride neck and neck on clear stretches. The bikes are pretty evenly matched. So're our skills. The more I learn about this honey the more I wanna know. Swear to God I can hear the minx laughing. She's enjoying this as much as I am.
I lose sight of her as she takes the inside of an eighteen wheeler while I remain in the fast lane. The road bends to the right and suddenly she has an edge and shoots out, gaining distance on me. There's an exit coming up fast and before I know it she's off the main highway. And again, there's the butt slap. An invitation? You betcha! Never one to turn a lady down I cut across the lanes and follow, the truck driver honking his horn in protest.
The road's a lot narrower and it's clear we're heading for higher ground. Trees begin to crowd the roadside and the houses dwindle in number as we race along, taking bends at breakneck speed. She don't let up on her throttle which tells me she's familiar with the road; on home turf. Maybe that's where she's going. Home.
Don't matter none that she's got the advantage on me. I stay right on her six, matching her gear changes and keeping pace with her on the twists and turns. She might think she's winning, hanging up in front but I got the best seat in the house.
The road becomes a steep contour as is snakes around a hill. There's run-off from last night's rain which makes the road slick in places but she don't give in to caution so I ain't gonna neither. The road levels out as we crest the hill and we flash past a road sign warning of a sharp bend ahead. Biker Babe pays it no mind coz rather than throttle down she accelerates into the bend. I follow, not to be outdone. Suddenly there's a screech of tyres. Not the only thing screeching either. There's something in the road. Something long, thin and spiky and taking up the entire width.
Fucking tyre spikes?
I slam on the brakes.
Braking hard but unable to stop, the girl's bike rolls right over it. Her tyres are shredded and she skids, tyre rims throwing up sparks. She loses control as the front wheel twists, taking the bike down. Unable to hold on she catapults over the handlebars, her arms flailing like she's trying to fly. I can hear her scream with terror as she careens headlong through the air, her momentum barely impeded by the braking action. The inevitable happens and a bone-crushing thump cuts off her scream as she collides with a tree. I wanna help her but I got serious problems of my own.
Going too fast to avoid the spikes, I feel 'em rip into the Harley's tyres and I fight to keep the bike under control. Mighta worked but for one thing; the 'Saki toppling right into my path. The bikes collide and suddenly I'm hurtling through the air too, my bike somersaulting after me. Something big and immovable hits me with devastating force. A tree. Something very mobile, very noisy and stinking of hot fuel hits me from behind, crushing me, tearing into flesh, making a blood spattered Canuck sandwich outta me. I fall to the ground, vision blurred and turning dark.
As I lie there fighting to stay conscious I sense a presence overshadowing me and I know this thing ain't over. The presence moves, raising something thick and long over its head. A pickaxe handle maybe? It falls, smashing into my skull, bringing with it an explosion of pain that supersedes the one inflicted by the crash. If it wasn't for the adamantium I'd be dead meat.
Whoever the fucker is, he's just getting warmed up coz he's raising his bludgeon again. It comes down with clinical precision, over and over, delivering a series of relentless, agonising blows. I try to move, fight back, but my legs won't work so I go defensive, curling up into a ball, instinctively protecting my head with my arms.
A whack to the base of my skull knocks me senseless. Not the bludgeon this time. Felt like a kick from a steel toecap. The blows continue to rain down and as every one finds it mark I'm pushed closer to the edge of oblivion. The bastard's intent on beating me to death and doing a damn good job of it. I'm helpless to prevent it. Smacking into the tree musta caused a shitload of internal damage and whoever this sonuvabitch is he ain't giving me time to heal up. Can't see who it is coz there's too much blood in my eyes. My other senses don't fail me. I can hear guttural laughter, smell hot, fetid breath on my face. The scent's all too familiar. So's the voice.
"Yer so fucking predictable, runt!"
Large hands grip my wrists, drag them away from my head. A heavy boot pins them to the ground leaving my head unprotected.
One last blow, full of malice and murder, strikes me in the face and everything goes away.
Coming to ain't none too pleasant. I hurt like a motherfucker. Musta been some beating Sabretooth gave me. My face is encrusted with dried blood which cracks and flakes as I moisten my lips. Room reeks of blood and sad to say, it's all mine. Ain't the only thing I can smell. The air is cloying, infused with the stink of concrete, damp and disuse. There's a sharp taint of ozone too. Figure it has something to do with the low, monotonous hum I can hear. Sabretooth's gamey musk is fresh and his personal hygiene ain't improved none since our last encounter. One thing I'm sure of though, he ain't close by, ain't in the room, so I crack my eyelids open. Above me is a concrete ceiling painted white and flaking in places. The air feels dead, oppressive, like I'm underground and the air ain't being circulated. Harsh fluorescent light does the place no favours. What I can see of the room is cell like but the dimensions are generous and from what I can see I'm in the centre, lying, spread-eagled, on my back, the surface beneath me hard and uncompromising. I try to turn my head and that's when I discover I can't move. Can't even wriggle. Can't pop the claws either. I'm pinned down so thoroughly I can hardly believe it.
Ain't drugs coz my muscles are working fine. Can feel 'em tensing and relaxing; straining to move my limbs. But I can't. Not even a pinky. It's like I've developed über-mass or something. Like my body had become too heavy to lift.
What's more I'm as naked as a Thanksgiving turkey about to be basted and baked.
Can't feel any straps or chains restraining me which shortens the possibilities. Since I refuse to accept I've been super-glued into submission and I can't smell the tell tale sweetness of cyanoacrylate, that further reduces the options. The hum is an electric motor, no doubt about that. And I've been rendered as helpless as this a few times coz of the metal on my bones. Figure there's a fucking industrial strength electro-magnet right under my ass.
Okay, this is a serious setback.
Heavy footfalls approaching. Looks like I'm gonna have company. The air stirs as a door opens. The draught is cool on my flesh and carries a musky, unwashed reek.
He's wearing a grimy brown duster with an equally grimy leather vest and jeans underneath. The stench of three day crotch wafts off him.
"Woken up have ya, runt? Took yer fuckin' time."
"Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too!"
His fist hammers into the side of my head and I see stars. Could be worse. Coulda been whatever he used on me back on the road. He flexes bruised and bloody fingers and I watch them heal in seconds.
"I give ya the best room in the house and you give me attitude. People got no fuckin' respect these days."
The strip light overhead is eclipsed by his bulk as he leers at me, bathing my face in terminal halitosis. I hear a metallic click and servos fire up. The magnetic table under me judders and begins an inclined rise, raising my head and lowering my feet. Another click and the table quits moving, leaving my head roughly thirty degrees from upright.
"Magneto thought ya'd be too sharp ta fall fer a pussy trap but I knew better. No way a horny li'l mutt like you was gonna resist a piece o' ass like that."
Magneto? "He went to Alcatraz and got the cure. Since when do you hire out to losers like that?" Actually that ain't a hard question to answer coz Creed's the biggest fucking loser of 'em all. Classic example of like attracting like.
"If a guy pays me shitloads o' cees ta break things and rip the heads off cocksuckers who cares if he got fucked up by you an' yer blue boyfriend."
"Was the girl on the payroll too?"
"Hell no. She was a skip tracer looking to collect a big fat bounty. Good at it too which is why Magneto chose her. O' course, her bein' stacked like that was value added. Only a stupid jerk off like you woulda fell for the oldest trick inna book."
Yeah, I did. And yeah she was good. Got my name and identified her mark while all I got was a righteous case of the hots. Played me like a Fender and I never picked up on it coz my brain was trying to bust outta my fly. Like to have a word with her about that but she musta clipped that tree at something like sixty miles an hour. Human flesh and bones are resilient but ain't designed to take an assault like that. Girl thought she was bringing in a bail jumper and it cost her everything. What a tragic fucking waste. I can only hope she died instantly coz this psychotic bastard woulda made her suffer.
"Where is she now?"
"Splat City. Mighta been a scrawny baseline but she was a tasty frail and woulda made a mighty fine dick ornament while I waited for my pick up. Shame I never got ta try her on before she gave that tree a high velocity Frenchie. Got my rocks off though, her moanin' like a hot whore as she bled out. Lasted a lot longer than them two pansies she had waitin' for ya. Pissed 'emselves as I cut their throats, can ya believe that? Reckon I did 'em a favour."
Jeezus! How many civilians did he off to get to me? "You are a fucking dead man walking, Creed."
His fist lashes out a second time, hitting me in the mouth, mashing my lower lip. Sharp edged molars cut into my tongue and I spit blood. I wanna spit in his face but I can't turn my head.
Again, he flexes his fingers as his healing factor deals with the result of hitting flesh covered adamantium. "See, there ya go again. Disrespectin'. Pissin' me off. Ya sure are slow upstairs, asswipe."
"Let me loose and I'll show ya who's slow ya shit fer brains psycho."
This time he backhands me, opening up the healing gash on my lip. "Temptin', but I'm havin' way too much fun."
"Spineless piece of..."
Creed don't wait for me to finish. Bellowing like a bull with its balls caught in a razor wire fence he lays into me.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Using both fists he breaks my nose and pulps the flesh of my face, his own face a twisted mask of insane hatred.
The punishment ceases and Creed steps away, panting heavily, his fists bloodied, most of it mine.
"I asked you to check on our guest. I did not give you leave to exercise your customary boorish behaviour."
This is too surreal. Magneto's lost it. When the cure wiped out his mutant powers it musta took his mind too. Creed's a stone killer who could take him out with one punch. Ya don't play prissy games with an animal like that. Ya certainly don't go schoolteacher on his ass when his blood's up. And why the fuck is Creed backing off like a chastised kitty? Must be some fucking health package Mags laid on his toy soldiers.
"Wolverine, I have in my possession several hundred thousand doses of the cure. I intend to use them to separate the sheep from the wolves."
"Really? I'd go with culling the goose stepping assholes outta the flock myself. Oh wait..."
"The runt needs an attitude correction."
Creed steps into my line of sight, fist raised, a malevolent gleam in his eyes. First chance I get I'm gonna skin the prick and turn his hide into a novelty rug.
Magneto brings his own hand up, checking Creed's progress with a firm, "Later, my friend." He twists his lips into that creepy smile of his. "Some wolves cannot be permitted to run with the pack and create havoc. You are included in this number. In a few moments I will administer the cure but before I do let me assure you the same fate awaits all of the X traitors who stood against me at Alcatraz."
Like that's gonna happen. "You mean the handful of X Men who defeated your army of cretins and kicked your fucking Nazi ass?"
"Quite so. But your victory was only a temporary setback. Beast will be the next to share your fate since I hold him equally responsible for perpetrating this crime against me."
Can't help laughing. Hank would probably welcome to the cure. "Mess with the X Men and yer gonna get yer ass handed to ya in a paper bag. Again."
Ignoring the jibe he continues. "Cyclops, Storm and the juvenile offenders will follow in whatever order opportunity presents. Of course, I cannot permit Charles to keep his powers either. He has interfered in my affairs for the last time."
"You're coming across as a third rate, poor man's Hitler. Der Fuhrer woulda been real fucking proud of ya."
A tic starts up in his left eye. I'm getting to him. Chuck told me about Magneto's history, about the death camp and his family. Fucking ironic he's become the biggest Nazi of 'em all.
"The children will be given a choice. They can either join me or take the cure."
"Every mutant will be offered this choice. Those who prefer to shrink away from their genetic heritage will cease to be mutants and join the baseline cattle."
"Get real, buckethead. Ya really think that a de-powered lowlife like you's gonna front up the mutant revolution? Never happen."
Magneto's smile is cold. "People are flocking to the cause as we speak. I might have lost my powers at Alcatraz but mutants everywhere saw the writing on the wall and their anger motivates them to take a stand against those who would steal their birthright."
Hold the damn bus. What the fuck is wrong with this? "But you ain't a mutant no more. Why d'ya give a shit about any of this?"
"That is something your limited feral intellect will never comprehend."
Bastard's oozing smug superiority. Well here's what I think of that.
"Oh yeah? Ya think I can't recognise a delusional shithead when I see one?"
A grimace twists his face into a sinister mask. Reckon I hit base with that one. "It is you who are deluded, Wolverine. There can be no peaceful coexistence between homo sapiens and homo superior because the humans will never allow it. Charles did you no great favour polluting your mind with his perfidious, dual species utopia. Such a pity. You could have been a valuable asset to our cause."
"You can take yer cause, stuff it in a jackboot and shove it up yer Nazi ass."
Magneto gives me one of his pitying, disappointed father looks. "Victor, it is time."
"Past time if ya ask me." Creed flashes me an evil grin. "I'm gonna enjoy this, runt."
"Making sure I can't fight back, huh? Just what I'd expect from a lily-livered, back-stabbing cheese dick like you."
"RAAAARRRRGH! I'm gonna rip yer fuckin' guts out and choke ya with 'em."
"Victor, control yourself. Wolverine is attempting to delay the inevitable."
Damn right I am. If I can get these two at each other's throat I might just pull my fat outta the fire.
"Creed's a murdering, dumb as rocks maggot. Yer gonna sell him as the poster child for mutant supremacy? Gimme a fucking break. No one's gonna buy into a wacked-out pile of crap like that. 'Sides, if ya succeed d'ya really think he's gonna keep a de-powered freak like you around to run the show?"
Magneto smiles. "A divide and conquer strategy? Very clever. And as subtle as a fox in a henhouse. Do not worry yourself about such details because you will not live long enough to witness the Mutant Dawn."
Got news fer ya, bub. Ain't gonna be no mutant dawn, just one blood red fucking sunset.
"So what the hell is this about? Ya gonna cure me so ya can kill me?"
There's a nasty gleam in his eyes. I reckon I've seen friendlier pissed off rattlesnakes. "Administer the cure, most certainly. I shall deprive you of your phenomenal senses and your healing factor with the same callous disregard you demonstrated when you stole my power over magnetism. However, when Victor and I depart this place you will be very much alive. Look upon it as me returning the compliment."
"That's yer big plan is it? Ya gonna leave me here to starve to death?"
"You will be dead long before that eventuality, my friend. From thirst and the ravages of adamantium poisoning. I understand that either death is extremely unpleasant. When combined..." He lets his words trail off.
There's a flaw in yer plan, buttwad. Xavier. "Yer all heart."
"Of course, if Charles is able to locate you in a bunker buried deep underground he is welcome to you." Magneto pauses, looking thoughtful. "But then you are embarked upon one of your sojourns are you not? Your disappearance will go unremarked. And in the remote event that he does search for you he will be searching for a difficult to trace mutant who no longer exists. I surmise those circumstances reduce your chances of rescue to virtually zero."
Yeah, well virtually is gonna get it's fucking head kicked in and when it does I'll give ya something to surmise.
"I say we should kill him now. Can't risk havin' the X pussies findin' 'im." Creed growls.
"Patience, Victor. It matters little if he is rescued because medical intervention will only prolong his agonizing demise. Without his healing factor to protect him Wolverine's body will succumb the toxic effects of the very thing that makes him strong; adamantium Let the man enjoy what time he has left to contemplate the error of his ways."
"And live ta open his trap ta Xavier?"
"You underestimate Charles. Henry McCoy will already have appraised him of the missing cure serum. He understands the loss of my powers will not deter me from my goal and he knows my revenge upon himself and his students will be forthcoming. Wolverine can tell him nothing he does not already know."
Creed don't look happy. "That's fucked up."
"A dose of the serum if you please, Victor."
He's gonna do it. He's gonna shoot me up with that crap and there's fuck all I can do to stop him. Well the hell with that. I ain't gonna beg for my life. One small mercy though. Mags spilling his guts bought me time to heal from Creed's beating. I'm gonna live. I'm gonna escape and survive long enough to put these motherfuckers in the ground.
Needle in hand Magneto moves closer.
"The symptoms of Adamantium poisoning are extremely unpleasant. Your body will betray you. Overwhelmed by toxins, you'll waste to a mere shell of your current self. Suffering unbearable pain, you'll haemorrhage internally and one by one your organs will cease to function."
His eyes are wide, intense. The pale blue irises are cold, hard; raw hunger pooling in them. I can smell his anticipation, his triumph. It's almost orgasmic.
"Finally, like the rabid beast you are, your life will end in violent suffering; your body racked by unceasing convulsions. You'll beg for death but you'll be powerless to affect swift mercy upon yourself. In your last moments, seizures will destroy your brain and your heart will fail from complete exhaustion."
"Not before I eat yer fuckin' heart, you scum-sucking slimeball."
"This will hurt," he assures me, face solemn. Hand rock steady he inserts the needle into my throat and for a few seconds all I feel is a stinging sensation.
And then the burning starts.
Liquid fire sears through my veins and my muscles spasm, racking me with pain. I wanna thrash about but I'm pinned to the table like a fucking lab specimen. I can feel my healing factor battling the poison, trying to flush it out of my body through my pores; whatever the outcome it ain't going quietly. And then it's over. As suddenly as it came the pain is gone and I lie there gasping for breath, feeling the flop sweat forming beads of moisture across my brow.
"Victor. If you please."
Creed grins; bloodlust plastered across his ugly mug.
The fucker hits me in the face and doesn't pull his punch. Both of them stand there, watching intently. Blood runs freely, dribbling down my face and onto my chest. And then stops. I can feel the damage knitting back together. The cure didn't take.
Way to go healing factor!
"It didn't work asshole. I'm immune."
"It was to be expected. Let us see how you cope with ten doses."
Ten? Now wait a fucking minute! Panic sets in. My healing factor struggled with just one dose. Ten doses means I'm on an express train to shit city. The icy hand of fear squeezes my gut into a hard knot. I do not like where this is going.
Magneto disappears from view and returns moments later steering a rickety pushcart covered by a white cloth. He parks it in front of me and tosses aside the cloth revealing a large vial of clear blue liquid, a long, thin plastic packet and the largest fucking horse syringe I've ever seen. Tearing open the packet he extracts a needle big enough to stab a bull elephant to death and makes a show of attaching it to the syringe. Hook up completed he turns to me.
"I am truly sorry it had to come to this."
That's it? My epitaph's a line outta some crap movie? This ain't an execution, it's the fucking Twilight Zone.
"Not as sorry as you're gonna be you sadistic motherfucker."
A sigh escapes his lips. Without another word he picks up the vial, upends it, sticks the needle into the cap and draws serum. Discarding the now empty vial he points the business end of the syringe at the ceiling, flicks the barrel with a finger and expels the trapped air in a spurt of fluid. Satisfied, he cradles the thing in his palm like it's precious, like it's the Holy fucking Grail. And then he just stands there. Looking like an undertaker in the weird suit he wears. Watching me with pitiless, reptilian eyes.
Waiting for what? For me to beg for mercy? Be a cold day in hell first. What he does get is my best fuck off and die snarl. My defiance snaps him out of his immobility.
Sombre as a priest administering last rites he looms over me, syringe poised for action. I can feel the needle grazing my neck and my muscles tense, anticipating the pain of injection and what will follow. It don't happen. Instead he traces a path across my collarbone and onto my chest where he begins to palpitate the V where my ribs meet. Instinctively I suck in my breath, tightening my diaphragm, expecting to be speared under my ribs and through the heart. But no! He's fucking with me again. Taunting me.
The needle's on the move, tracking south along my belly, coming to a rest over my pubic bone.
Horror grips me; freezes the blood in my veins, slithers down my spine and shrivels my balls to acorns. If only my dick could make like an ostrich and shove it's head up my butt…
The man really is totally bugfuck crazy! Out of options I got nothing to lose. I remove the mental shackles that keeps me human and turn my animal loose. Rage and adrenalin surge through my body, summoning the primal berserker strength that's saved my ass so many times. Desperate, I try to tear myself free but even the berserker is powerless against the force pinning me down. This time there's no escape. As gruesome possibilities play out in my mind Magneto plunges the needle into my groin, nailing the femoral artery, shooting me up with liquid doom.
This time the burning's instantaneous; a firestorm surging through my bloodstream on a seek and destroy mission. Gotta fight it. Can't let this lousy fucking X-gene annihilator take me down; take away what I am. I've beaten it once and I can do it again.
I will kick the crap outta this fucking poison.
God help me I can't.
I can't stop it!
The poison spreads swiftly; invasive; corrosive; unchecked. It hits my nervous system and the pain goes nova as every muscle in my body explodes into violent spasms. An agonised howl fills my head. Shit, izzat me?
The hellish torment intensifies as the gene-killer inundates my cells and seizes control. The howl is choked off. Completely overcome, my body locks up tighter than a virgin's cherry, paralysing me.
Jeezus I can't breathe. Can't expand my lungs.
Panic sinks her talons deep.
Can hear my pulse pounding in my ears as my heart races to compensate for the sudden dip in available oxygen. Long, slow seconds tick by and still there's no let up; my chest's a pressure cooker, its release valve jammed shut. Oxygen deprivation sends my brain into crisis, filling my head with a dull buzz that quickly builds into a roar. Vision's gone crazy, shot through with blinding neon flashes.
Magneto fucked up. The cure ain't just killing my mutation, it's killing me.
Agony's way off the scale. Healing factor's gone. Can feel death coiling inside me like a cornered snake.
Don't wanna fucking die.
Not like this.
Not helpless as a baby.
My brain's last gasp send bolts of blinding white light across my vision. Everything around me wavers and fades. One by one my senses switch off dragging reality with 'em.
I'm still here?
Thank fucking Christ! Musta blacked out. Thought I was a goner for sure back there. Something's wrong though. Something ain't right. I feel spaced.
Still woozy. Feel sick as a dog. Clenching my eyes and swallowing hard does no good. Stomach's rebelling with the after shock and I taste bile in the back of my throat.
I gonna hurl but…
What the fuck?
Creed fixes my queasiness with a knuckle sandwich.
Skin splits open, pain flares, blood flows and this time it don't stop.
I wanna kill 'em. Tear 'em both limb from fucking limb. Rage floods through me as time passes and the cuts don't heal.
"I do believe our business here has been concluded, Victor. Come. Let us leave the Wolverine to his solitary contemplation."
I hear Magneto marching from the room. Can't see him leave coz his pet ape is blocking the view.
Creed crooks a finger and strokes it along my jaw. The touch is soft, like that of a lover and I get to wondering just how depraved this fucker really is. Maybe depraved enough to switch off the electro-magnet and turn me over? Yeah, do it bub. A split second's all I need to chop ya off and be outta here. Without warning his hand darts forward and he sinks a claw into my chest, gouging a diagonal line from my left shoulder to about four inches beneath my right nipple. Then he repeats the cut, this time beginning with my right shoulder, marking me with a ragged bloody X. It burns like I've been branded.
Blood dripping, he raises the finger to his lips and licks slowly, savouring the flavour, rolling the blood around his tongue. Too much too hope that I'm so shot full of the cure that little dip dab will take his healing factor out. I watch for the signs but there ain't any. Taste test over he grins and shows blood-streaked fangs.
"Ain't as spicy as it used ta be. Lost some of its pee-quan-cee. Now ya taste just like baseline trash. Ya ain't as immune as ya thought, are ya runt."
I force a laugh. "Neither are you! If Maggie can wipe my healing factor out he can do for yours too."
That wipes the smile off his face but only for a moment.
"When I'm ready, Magneto's toast. Meanwhile lemme leave ya wi' this thought. I'm gonna rip all them X bitches from the crotch up when I fuck 'em ta death. And I'm gonna save that little slut yer so fond of 'til last. Heard the li'l cow went chickenshit and took the cure. That means she ain't untouchable no more. She'll die screamin' yer name, I promise yer that. Hatin' ya with everythin' she's got coz it'll be all your fault."
I wanna think Creed's just playing head games with me but I know he'll make good his promise first chance he gets and I ain't having none of that.
"You lay one filthy paw on any of them and so help me..."
My head explodes with pain. As the room wavers and dissolves into blackness I can hear Creed's filthy laughter.
"Yer too dumb ta live ya piece o' shit. But Magneto's right. I'm gonna leave ya here, stuck to this magnet an' alone wi' yer thoughts. Leave ya to imagine what I'm gonna do ta all them X bitches. Maybe I'll give ya an extra special treat. Drag yer special li'l Roguey all the way back here," he grabs his crotch and leers, "an' do her right in front of ya."
"Ya sick bastard! I'm gonna..."
"Yer gonna do nuthin'."
His boot comes up and slams into my groin. Indescribable excruciation rips through me and I wanna scream. Can't. Unable to breathe or go foetal, all I can do is gasp like a stranded fish while hot tears stream from my eyes.
Tears ain't the only thing streaming. Bile, volcanic hot and unstoppable, surges upwards and erupts from my mouth. Creed roars as semi-digested steak and fixings splatter him square on.
"Yer gonna pay fer that, runt."
I hardly feel Creed's final blow as it sends me spinning into oblivion.
Worth a second chapter? You tell us. Sunshine & Sweetheart.