15

Scott thought Cressida pretending to be Logan (and indulging Brendan’s bare arm fetish) the entire flight was bad enough, but he should have known better.

The scene was utter chaos. They landed a couple blocks away in what appeared to be an abandoned gravel pit, and walked in, navigating a crowd of rubberneckers, frustrated commuters blocked from their usual route, and emergency personnel and press, still swarming past the ad hoc barricades placed at
either end of the street.

Brendan was sure he could find a way to “sneak access” to the scene - “Come on, I used to sleep in movie theaters - you don’t think I actually paid to get in, do you?” - and while it was probably bad precedent, Scott had Bobby and Rogue go with Brendan, to see if they could indeed get on the scene in a sneaky way. Well, he and Cressida could make up some bullshit story, but he couldn’t see getting kids to pass.

But he had no idea what bullshit story they were going to use until Cressida suddenly changed her appearance to a short, stocky middle aged man they had seen earlier: the fire chief.  He seemed to have been giving a statement beyond the barricade, possibly to distract the reporters, or they simply had him cornered on his way to the site.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Cressida barked sharply, in a distinct Chicagoan nasal accent.

One of the cops manning the barricade moved back the wooden sawhorse acting as part of the physical cordon, and said, “Got away, huh?”

“By the hair on your wife’s chin,” she replied breezily.

The cop chuckled weakly, then gave him a suspicious look as he followed Cressida (what the hell was
the chief’s name? Did she see his patch?) past the barricade. “This is Buck Summers, he’s an arson investigator for the Feds, sent in from Madison.”

Buck? Scott just flashed the man what he hoped was a professional, perfunctory smile, and the cop just gave him a terse nod, although he seemed to stare pretty hard at his glasses. “Wooten’s waiting at Base Camp two for you,” he said to Cressida, apparently buying her story.

“Wooten can wait - I gotta give Buck here the grand tour. Tell him to grab a cuppa coffee, or he gets to talk to the vultures.”

And that was it. They were through the crime scene unchallenged, and as soon as he was sure no one would hear, he muttered, “Buck?”

“They all have stupid nicknames,” she said dismissively. “Buck, Red, Tex, Lefty, Slim, Butch, Noodle, Frenchy, the Weasel, shit like that.”

Noodle?  She was making that up. Actually, she was probably making this whole thing up, but he had no desire to argue with her. Still, he was impressed how easy she was able to get into this area.  Although looking the part was most of the battle, her glib, causal tone was a big help.  This was why she was so frightening; she knew she could get in anywhere, at any time.  She had a gift for killing, and a gift for bullshit.

She took a cut down an alley, and he had no idea why, except the minute she stepped into the shadow, she morphed into a tall, lean police officer, maybe ten years younger than the fire chief.  She'd even morphed a gun, a cap, and a shoulder radio, although he was pretty sure neither the gun or radio would work. “Your powers are really no good here, are they?”  She had changed her voice. Although still male, it had less of a nasal tone, and the slightest hint of a Midwestern drawl.  She was genuinely freaky.

It sounded like an accusation, and made him frown. “No, but I know Pyro - and Magneto and Mystique, if it comes to that. Do you?”

Her now cornflower blue eyes stared back at him impassively. “I know Mystique too. She used to merc, do pick up work for an Eastern European organization.”

This was news to him. “Are you serious?” It would explain why she was such an experienced terrorist.

“Yeah. Sometimes the Org worked with them on parallel projects, but that was before my time. She had a real rep. They said you couldn’t trust her as far as you could sling a rhino - and that even went for the people who hired her.  They called her the blue-assed bitch.”

He fought hard to keep from laughing. “So you know what you’re in for if she’s here.”

“If she’s here, she doesn’t have a chance. They may be malleable, but she still has bones.  I don’t. Could she pour into my mouth and explode through my lungs?  No, so I win.”  She started looking around the alley. This area appeared untouched by fire, although there was what looked like smoke smudge on the left side wall.

“You’ve never done that, have you?” He asked, stunned. “You’re just using that as an example, right?” She was silent for a long time. “Right?” Oh Jesus Christ; that had never even occurred to him as a possibility.

She had to be making that up just to unnerve him. There was no way she could actually maneuver herself into a living Human body, and then push her way out.  No way.  But then again, there was no way she should have been able to become a convincing part of the wall and still be aware on any level.  Man, she was frightening - no wonder the Organization treated her well, at least until they decided to eliminate all of their mutant operatives.

“Hey, can you point me to the Loop?  I’m lost,” Brendan said, rounding the far end of the alley. He had soot on his hands, but otherwise looked okay, as did Bobby and Rogue trailing behind him.

“That’s you, right?” Rogue asked Cressida.

She pointed to the small patch on her police issue parka. “I’m Officer C. Crumb, young lady - don’t you forget it.”

“What’s the C stand for?” Brendan asked.

“Coffey. I’m Coffey Cake Crumb.” She said, with a perfectly expressionless cop face.

Rogue and Bobby laughed, while Brendan just snickered. “Yer lousy with the names, aren’t ya?” Brendan asked, voicing what Scott was thinking.

“Nope, I just think everyone in authority should have a silly name.”

“What did you name the fire chief?” Scott asked warily, aware that he was probably just setting up a joke.

“Clem Lorne Clodhopper the Fourth.”

This provoked even more laughter, and Scott looked away towards the street, trying to conceal the fact that he was smiling. Okay, she was still a scary sociopath, and yet she did have her endearingly quirky moments. That’s probably why the kids liked her.

From this vantage point, Scott could see several low slung buildings that had clearly not been targets of
the firestorm. And one immediately caught his eye - a bank.  No, Magneto would never … then again, why the hell wouldn’t he?

“What is it, Doctor J?” Cressida asked, in her Coffey Crumb voice.

He ignored the nickname, but gave her a small frown for it. “Interesting how that bank is untouched, isn’t it?”

Cressida came up beside him and looked, while Bobby asked, “Is that supposed to be significant?”

“Thievery?” Cressida said. “Everything I’ve heard about this guy seems to indicate that would be beneath him.  If he was gonna go for money, he would hit fucking Fort Knox.”

Although he cringed at the language, he knew she had a point.  This seemed far too petty for Magento. “Let’s put it on the list as a possible reason; primary, if we find nothing else.”

Cressida shrugged, and then looked back at Brendan. “Get them across the street, and don’t be seen. Summers and I can’t draw too much attention to ourselves. As soon as the real Clodhopper comes up to the barricade, they’ll realize they’ve been fucked over, and they’ll look for the so-called Fed.  Have an exit strategy ready if all hell breaks loose - we’ll meet you back at the jet.”

Scott didn’t remember giving her lease to issue orders, but he said nothing, because she was absolutely right (language aside).

“What about you guys?” Rogue asked.

“I’ll get us out,” Cressida said cryptically, looking back across the street.

Scott looked at the kids and nodded, and with that tacit okay, the three started back down the alley, Brendan reluctantly taking the lead. He hoped they weren’t pushing him too far too fast, but he seemed
to be holding up well.

As soon as they were gone, Scott turned back to her, and hissed, “Who said you were in charge here?”

She gave him that blank eyed stare that cops gave you when they had decided you were the troublemaker, and they were a minute away from taking you down. “You don’t want a body count here? You wanna get through this thing smoothly?  Follow my lead. I was a high risk operative for twelve years, in war zones stretching from one end of the globe to another.  No one knows more about successful infiltration than I do.  I realize you have a lot of ego invested in being the big cheese, but you’re going to have to give some of that up right now.”

“Because you say so?”

“I trusted you people, against my better judgment. Don’t you think it’s time you extended a little trust in my direction?”

He wanted to tell her “No, we weren’t assassins,” but even he knew how incredibly bitchy that was. It was important that they figure out what Magneto was up to before he struck more lethally; but it was equally important that he learn if he could trust Cressida before things got vicious. “Don’t treat me like a non-entity. I’m not one of the kids; I want in. Is that clear?”

She dipped her head to the side, and he supposed that was as close to an assent as he’d get. “What are you planning to do?” He asked.

“We need to find ground zero. This Pyro - the kids told me he can’t make fire, only control it, right? So the fire had to start somewhere. We need to start in the same place too.”

He nodded, surprised at how reasonable that sounded. Maybe she had a point about being an operative for so long. “Then what? And how are we going to find the origin point among all this rubble?”

“Leave that to me,” she said, then added, “Stay on my right until we’re across the street, so you’re not visible from the barricade.” She then set out towards the bank, and Scott was left scrambling to follow.

He just knew he was going to regret this.

16

In movies, the henchmen of bad guys were always polite and brainless enough to attack you separately rather than in tandem, which might do them some actual good. In Logan’s experience, movie fight scenes rarely had any connection to real life fights.

This one was no exception.

Two of the big rock demons attacked him first (maybe they'd done their homework enough to know that Ressiks wouldn’t last long with him), and for big ass piles of stones, they moved pretty damn fast. One came at him from the left, the other from the right, but were still almost shoulder to shoulder, adding up to a huge wall rushing for him.

But the best defense was a good offense, so Logan jumped at them, arms spread out, and popped his claws just before his fists made contact with their thick torsos. He punched the blades right through, heard the spatter of gravel bouncing on the dirt floor, and they were so stunned they staggered back, leaving Logan to stand where he was and admire the two neat holes he’d made in them. The demons appeared to bleed a cascade of very tiny pebbles.

He felt the shadow fall on him, but wasn’t quick enough to avoid the anvil that fell on his head. Okay, maybe it wasn’t an anvil - it was probably a rock demon’s fist, but it felt like a motherfucking anvil - and it drove him instantly to his hands and knees, stars not so much appearing in his vision as exploding within it; he would swear he could feel his own brain slosh up against the confines of his skull.

But even as his consciousness threatened to recede on him, he knew he had to move fast if he didn’t want to end up flattened, so he donkey kicked blindly behind him, assuming these things were built so thick he’d hit something.

He did.  His right foot made solid contact with a gable thick leg, and before the thing could retaliate, he forced himself up to his knees, and used the momentum of slashing out to get him to his target. It worked, and he cut the thing’s leg right out from under it.

A really bad move, as it started toppling right over - towards him.

Logan jumped aside, barely clearing the space before it came down like - well, like a ton of rocks.  He ended up crashing into a table full of “I Ching” coins and straws, and it seemed to explode beneath his weight, sending debris flying everywhere.

He was able to see from his vantage point on the floor that Yasha had gotten behind a Ressik, and as she snapped his neck with one hand, she grabbed his gun hand with the other, and used his weapon on his own men.  The Belial dived for safety behind the counter, while she shot the other Ressiks. It wouldn’t kill them, but it was bound to slow them down. One screamed and reeled back as she shot out one of his big lizard eyes, and another collapsed after taking a bullet in the knee.

The rounds just pinged harmlessly off the stone demons, and he could see quite clearly that even the ones he had wounded didn’t have the fight taken out of them yet.  They must have been a hard to kill breed. Could they manage without their heads?

Logan hastily scaled the nearest shelf full of animal skulls as the gun clicked dry, and he jumped from the top, aimed towards the stone demons he had partially gutted before.  He sank his claws into the neck of one, but caught the other in the face - no matter.  He yanked his claws through as he hit the floor, and quickly moved aside.

Just as he thought, the one newly divorced from its head toppled over in slow motion, and hit the floor so hard he may have cracked it. But the one with half a face staggered around blindly, lashing out at everything, not going down and not happy about losing his best side. Logan intended to make a dive for it, but just then the front window display seemed to explode all over him, and something grabbed him and yanked him outside. He was almost sickened by the scent of burning tires and bile, and realized the Berserker had finally decided to act.  Oh joy.

He managed to work his claws free - it was trying to pin his arms to his side, proving it was smart - and sliced through its rubbery fingers.  But as it screamed like a metal drill bit biting into pure diamond, it dropped him and backhanded him, all in the same motion.  He flew half-way down the street, only stopping when he crashed into and through the back windshield of a Honda. He hit his head on the metal frame as he smashed through the glass, and as he collapsed onto the back seat, the car jolted violently, and he heard a loud pop as the front tire blew out. “Fuck,” he grumbled, rubbing his ringing head, tasting blood in his mouth.  From the rapid fire thudding that shook the street, he guessed it was now coming to mash him while encased in steel - actually, a pretty good gambit.  This was a Berserker who was smarter than he (she? How did you tell?) had a right to be.

Quickly he kicked off the rear car door and scrambled out, barely getting clear before the Berserker squashed the rest of the car like an empty beer can, the remaining three tires blowing up like firecrackers. “Human, you cut my fingers off,” it growled, in a voice that suggested a cement mixer.  It batted the crumpled car aside like a Styrofoam cup. “I’ll have to use your bones to pick my teeth.”

“What a pisser,” he replied sarcastically.  He was on his feet, back to a wall, and although most of his immediate line of sight was taken up by the huge, wide body of the Berserker, he was positive the streets were deserted.  That was fast.  Cowards.

The thing glared at him, its skin as black as the night around them, its red eyes glowing like embers as its lipless maw pulled back, revealing layers upon layers of razor sharp ivory fangs.  Saliva dripped from its jaws, and black blood, as thick as tar, poured from the severed stumps of the fingers of its left hand. “Well, Human?  Is that all you got?”

Logan raised an eyebrow at it, aware that any attack he could make would end with him getting swatted down like a bug.  It had too much room to maneuver, and his head was still ringing from the car accident (although he was relatively certain he’d just made history - the pedestrian had hit the car). “Afraid to get close, ugly?  Afraid I’m gonna take off more than your fingers?”

“They’ll grow back.”

“Oh really?” He’d never heard that before.  It had the potential to be true.

“Did you really make a deal with a vampire?  How stupid are you?  She just wants your blood.  Even I can smell it; it’s not right.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” He really had no choice, did he?  There was only one strategy he could employ here.

“It’s powerful.” It rumbled in its throat, like a car with a bad transmission. “Maybe I want some of that.”

“Come and get it, Mongo,” he said, charging it.  It was the only choice he had.

Just as he expected, its intact hand moved so fast it was a dark blur, but he stopped short on his lunge, and, bracing himself as best he could, slashed out with both hands - in opposite directions - as he ducked his head low. Black blood that smelled of burning rubber splattered him as he sliced through its arms, and as it screeched in rage as much as pain, he planted a solid kick in its sternum, and it felt like something snapped under his boot.

But the thing remained firmly planted on the concrete, not moving an inch. “Dirty little maggot,” it spat, and its jaws snapped closed on his nearest arm, all the way up to the elbow.

Yet, even as Logan felt the pain of its teeth ripping into his flesh and muscle, the thing knew it made a mistake. He felt its teeth shatter against the adamantium laced bones, lodge deep in his flesh, just as Logan let out his own scream and slashed its glowing red eyes with his free claws.

It snapped its head back, releasing his arm as it shrieked, and Logan found himself airborne once again. By the time he tried to control his own direction, he smashed back first into the aluminum lined door of the karaoke bar across the street.  The door held miraculously (well, it was a demon bar - presumably, they’d had worse than him thrown at it), but it knocked all the wind out of him as he slid to the pavement, very aware that he’d left a big Logan sized dent that the owners probably wouldn’t be very happy about.  Not that anyone seemed to notice right now.  Inside, he could hear someone atonally howling Marty Robbins’s “El Paso”, translated somewhat ineptly into Japanese. It was so fucking surreal he knew, if he could have breathed, he might have laughed.

The thing came stomping across the street towards him, blood and saliva dripping from its oversized jaws as one of its eyes seemed to be slowly running down its face. “Stupid piece of shit. I’ll scatter your entrails for the crows.”

Logan was starting to wonder if the Berserker he killed in L.A. was a poor representative of the species, as this one seemed to be made of a lot harder stuff.  Okay, so maybe the Berserker’s fearsome reputation was warranted.  But then again, so was his.  He just motioned it for him to come on with one set of his blood smeared claws, because he still wasn’t sure he could speak just yet.

He used the dented door to help him get to his feet, and when he’d taken in enough air to fill his lungs, he asked, “Why the fuck do you want the sword?”

“I don’t,” it snarled. “I just like to kill things.” It then darted forward with surprising speed, leading with undeniably lethal jaw, as without arms that was the only weapon it had left.

Logan drove his claws into the soft skin underneath the jaw, and ripped in opposite directions.

More blood splattered on him (and he wondered if he’d ever get the stink out) as most of the Berserker’s jaw went flying away in two separate pieces.  It reared back, blood spouting from the ruined stumps of its mouth, and Logan decided it was time to put the mutilated thing out of its misery.  He darted around the thing and jumped on its back, ramming a claw through the base of its stumpy neck.  At least he remembered that’s how you did these things in.

It slewed around violently, trying to throw him off, but he’d had enough of being thrown around like a ball in a pachinko machine and hung on.  It didn’t matter; it suddenly went stiff, and fell down dead, hitting the street so hard the pavement cracked.  Logan jumped off the thing, trying to cover the fact that he was nearly thrown off of it.

God, he stunk like a tire fire, and the teeth still embedded in his arm throbbed like bee stings.  He paused to pull them out, and they felt more like porcelain than actual teeth. Weird. They even made a similar noise when he dropped them on the street.

He started to stagger back towards Black Magic, only to stop short when he saw Yasha standing in the doorway, holding one of the Ressik’s chrome plated nine millimeter handguns. She had a smudge of their brown blood on her forehead. “Wow,” she said, her voice a silky purr. “You really could kill one.  And I thought you were full of shit.”

He did his best to wipe the black blood off his face with the back of his arm, and spit out some of his
own blood before he told her, “I ain’t full of shit when it comes to killing.”

“You sound like a vampire.”

He ignored that. “Where’s Belial Boy?”

“As soon as he realized he didn’t bring nearly enough back up, he teleported out of here.”

“Shit.” He was afraid he’d do something like that.

“He’ll be back,” she replied casually. “Just with a larger squad.”

“Can we get him first?  Hit Fujimori?”

She twirled the gun around, and stuck it in the back of her pants. “A lovely idea, but I haven’t been able
to find his latest hideout.  If I had, do you think I’d be here?”

Okay, that was a point as well. Logan was forced to shake his head, attempting to clear it, as he started
to feel … really funny.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, almost concerned.

Why had the Berserker tried to bite him again?  Did it assume only his arms had metal in them?  It seemed smarter than that.

Why could he no longer feel his feet?  Oh shit.

Did Berserkers usually smell bad all over?  So why had its teeth have an almost sweet odor?  Like … anesthesia. Oh fuck.  Now his legs felt numb. “I think I’ve been drugged.”

“What?”

That’s why it wanted to get another good bite in. If he went down, unable to fight, he’d have been an easy kill, whether it still had its limbs or not. That was pretty clever for a big ugly Hellraiser reject. And from the way the numbness was creeping up his torso, this was a new drug, maybe demon in design.

Yasha seemed to believe him now, as she started walking towards him, her dark eyes wary. “We can’t stay here.”

“No shit,” he agreed, and collapsed to his knees. His mind was being covered slowly by an animate gray fog. But it wasn’t scary; it was kind of fun.  It seemed to promise a dreamless sleep. “I wonder if this drug was meant for you,” he said, thinking aloud.

She crouched down in front of him, and he could barely focus on her. “Shit yeah, you’re toasted.  I could drive a truck through your pupils.”

“Teeth. It was on the teeth.” He told her, hoping she could figure out what it was.  Or not - his system would adapt to it shortly. “I guess my blood’s no good to you right now, is it?”  He wished he could have seen the look on her face, but the fog fell over his eyes, and Logan simply let go, falling back into a warm and soothing oblivion.