A/N Sorry this one is so short, but gore doesn't take that much space...


He slipped into the rotting building. He only had a few more hours and he'd be out of this stinking hell hole and on to building a new life. He'd called Eric after leaving the penthouse and told him about the pusher and what he wanted to do. Eric agreed, it was time The Brotherhood stood up and was noticed.

Victor grabbed the half starved, trembling with withdrawals, piece of shit from the closet he'd hidden him in.

"Wake up, sleepy head, wouldn't want you to miss your own funeral." He growled. The idiot actually tried to run, and Victor grinned. He chased him, giving him enough of a lead that there was actually hope mixed in with the stench of fear and excrement that wafted off his target.

He deliberately walked past his hiding place, made a show of looking for him, and, as the punk made his leap for freedom caught him by the neck and squeezed hard.

"Fun's over. As much as I like to play with my prey, you're not worth eating, and I only really play with my food." He held the punk in front of him almost with two fingers, like he'd carry one of the cub's diapers.

He dropped the dealer in the room he'd set up a week ago. Plastic covered everything, and nothing in the room could be traced back to him, or through him to Karen. He used a scrap of leather and tied the dealer's hands in front of him, then hooked them to the winch and pulled him up by his arms. He grunted when he heard the whiner's arms dislocate, and sneered in disgust at the scent of tears.

He'd planned this so carefully, the careful cuts with his claws, meticulously drawing his message onto every inch of skin. Not a single mistake could be allowed, so he began his work slowly, meticulously.

"Mutants Unite, take our Schools, our Parks, our Streets back from Drug Dealers and Thugs." Over and over. He ignored the screams, then whimpers, then silent sobs of pain. Finally, when he was sure his work was finished, he inserted one claw, slowly, under the dealer's chin, right into the V of his throat, and sliced down his rib cage, his stomach and stopped right above the shriveled and useless thing hanging between the dealer's legs.

His hand held the slice closed, like a suture, as he leaned over and whispered. "You will never kill another child, mutant or not."

He let go, and watched as the membranes of the dealer's body tried to hold his internal organs in place. He released the winch, and wrapped the nearly dead corpse into a piece of plastic for transport.

He dropped it, gently, he didn't want to spoil the effect. He unrolled the cooling body in the alley, wrapped him in a trench coat, and dragged him to an unoccupied bench near the school.

He propped the dealer up, then opened the trench coat, and gave the body a good shake. The internal organs burst out of the membranes. The just were not designed to hold things in without muscle and bone to help. He knew the smell and gore would draw someone to the message quickly. This time of the day, there were very few kids in this park, mostly adults, joggers, walkers, and other fitness nuts.

He ducked into a shadow, certain he hadn't been spotted, and made his way quickly to his secondary location. He cleaned up quickly and slipped out of the back of the bar. He had a friend who'd sold his bike to some guy in DC and was driving it down, then was going to catch the plane with his wife and child on board. His alibi was he'd been at the bar all morning, consoling his friend with a broken leg, and catching up with some other buddies before heading out to DC with the bike.

He grinned as he gunned the bike to life. He was done with New York, for a while, his work here was done, he didn't even look back. Karen and June were waiting on the plane, and he knew his life was changing. She was his, no matter what, and she'd better not forget it. His debt was paid, now she had her whole life to repay him.