“They might not get the message,” Wolverine said in his ear. “But it still might be fun to turn you into a puzzle. They’ll never put you back together again, will they Humpty Dumpty?”

“Please don’t do this,” he begged, unable to keep from crying. He could feel his claws in his body now, and they hurt; maybe it was just because it was cold metal sticking through him, and it was such a foreign, eerie feeling that his brain could only interpret it as pain.

“Why shouldn’t I, you mewling little weasel? I’d be doing everyone a favor to remove you from the gene pool. You and all your kind … “ He suddenly trailed off, and his grip slackened slightly; not enough that he had any hope of escape, but enough that he could breathe a little easier.

Wolverine’s claws retracted, and he shoved him down violently to the street, Mack barely catching himself with his hands before his face smashed into the macadam. “Tell your superiors that if they keep sending soldiers after us, I’m gonna hunt each and every one of ‘em down, and stick their heads on poles on the White House lawn. I bet they won’t get many recruits after that.”

He glanced back at Wolverine, putting a hand over his stab wounds, trying to staunch the blood. Wolverine looked wild eyed, with gore ( probably not his own ) splattered on his face and fragments of building plaster in his hair, but there was something wrong with his expression; it was a strange combination of bewildered and angry, lost and torn, hateful and scared. It was like he'd just woken up and had no idea what was actually going on. How hard a shot to the head did he take?

He was sure Wolverine was serious. But Mack wasn’t sure if the guy even knew what he was saying or why, or if he had a sane neuron left in his brain. He looked completely mindfucked.

“Are you gonna try and follow?” Wolverine asked, using anger as a shield for his confusion.

“Fuck no,” he admitted, trying to look out of the corner of his eyes for his gun. He wasn’t going to shoot Wolverine unless the guy figured it would just be easier to kill him; he wasn’t so stupid that he thought the gun would do him any good otherwise.

The mutie must have believed him, or was simply growing unnerved by the amount of witnesses starting to gather on both sides of the street, as he simply grunted an acknowledgment and started walking away. As an afterthought, he retracted his claws, and someone on the near side of the crowd gasped, and they seemed to fall back, like awed troops in the face of an overwhelming enemy. Wolverine never even bothered to look back.

Mack sat up, still grabbing his side, and wondered if a desk job was completely out of the question.

8

He wanted to kill something. He wanted to kill everything, in fact. And maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if he was angry; but he wasn’t. He just felt cold and intensely focused. People were just things in his way, means to an end … but he could only kill his targets. Killing others would inevitably attract attention he didn’t need …

What the fuck?

Logan stopped and leaned against the wall of a bank, hands to his head. It was like he could feel a growing schism inside his own mind, some dark need rising up and leaving him feeling … almost dizzy. Or maybe that was just taking a header into the street.

Was he crazy? Bob had said something about a blank spot in his mind. He could feel it; it was like another personality asserting itself. But so close to his own he could hardly tell.

He was crazy. That explained so much.

He staggered another block, still feeling dizzy, and wasn’t surprised to find that the van had been parked at the curb in front of a post office. He didn’t think he could drive, so he went around to the passenger side and got in. “They’re not gonna follow,” he announced, settling into the passenger seat.

Xi looked at him in muted horror. “Did you - Are you okay?”

He nodded, wiping blood off his forehead. He didn’t remember where he’d gotten it, if it was his or someone else’s. “Fine. Drive.”

She continued to stare at him, nonplussed, and even that asshole Clive looked in from the back. Considering how high his head was, he must have been on the ceiling. “I could’ve helped,” he said, giving him that cold smile that never reached his oddly flat, purplish black eyes. They looked like massive bruises in his pale oval face, which was topped by a messy mop of chocolate brown hair that often seemed to move of its own accord, like reacting to subtle shifts of gravity or static electricity. His thin lips were bruise violet and often twisted like worms in a frying pan, revealing slender, almost translucent white teeth filed down (?) to fine points. While he didn’t exactly look like a spider, he hardly looked human either. Under different circumstances, Logan would have been willing to believe he was a demon.

“I didn’t - “ He didn’t want him to kill them all. Weird - why had he thought that? It was especially puzzling now since he didn’t care. “In case I fucked up, I needed you here.” Well, it sounded good.

Clive’s upside down head continued to leer at him, with a vacancy in his eyes and face that reminded him of Shrike. ( Why was he thinking of Shrike? ) “Do you fuck up, Wolverine? I always heard you didn’t.”

Why did everyone call him Wolverine? Only Xi called him Logan, and he didn’t know why it bothered him at first. Because, right now, it didn’t bother him at all.

In fact, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

***

Sixteen years ago - Le Havre, France

Xia was surprised to find that Logan had left the door of his hotel room unlocked. He seemed so security conscious it verged on paranoia, but usually for good reason. But, the mission was over, and who was stupid enough to go after him?

Only after she had opened the door and walked in warily did it occur to her that it was unlocked because he was expecting someone.

“I’m not sure I can take it anymore,” he suddenly called out. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and the air in the room was humid, suggesting he had been taking a shower. Even though they were in a hotel with a breathtaking view of the water, the curtains were drawn tight; he always drew the curtains tight if there was a possibility someone could see in. ( “Windows are a vulnerability,” he told her once. “Snipers can see you, and you could never see them, until it’s too late.” ) The Organization had put them up in a fairly posh hotel for once, mostly due to its proximity to the docks - they‘d been after an illegal mutant smuggling network that had been surprisingly easy to shut down. Almost too easy if she thought about it, so she tried not to think about it too much. “Holding it together is - “ He paused, and she knew he must have realized she didn’t smell like the person he had been expecting.

After a moment, he pushed the door open further, and peered out at her, still using a towel to dry his hair. He was just wearing jeans - but newer ones, obviously, as they had no blood stains or tears - with another towel draped over his shoulders. “Somethin’ wrong, Xi?”

She found it difficult not to stare at his chest, or the water droplets still trailing down his skin, matting down his dark hair. She’d never seen anyone with a perfectly flat abdomen before, and it looked as taut as a drum. Did he appreciate how hard it was to look him in the face when he was half naked? Still, she forced herself, and wasn’t sure she liked the look on his face. He looked tired, and his eyes seemed … old somehow. “I, uh, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to thank you for the present.” As if he didn’t know what he bought her, she raised her arm and touched the bracelet on her wrist with her opposite hand. It was multi-colored jade links, held together by gold and gold plated Chinese characters. They meant success, health, prosperity, joy, love. And she knew he knew what they meant. Jade itself - no matter its color - was symbolic of peace and longevity. It was a sweet gesture ( and probably an expensive one … if he indeed bought it )! . “I can’t believe you remembered my birthday.”

He shrugged, and threw the towel he was using to dry his hair back into the bathroom. “I remembered the month; I forgot the day.”

“So did I,” she admitted sheepishly. “Thank you.”

He shrugged again, not quite meeting her eyes. He went to the armchair by the covered window, and pulled on a white undershirt. “It was nothing, really. I just saw it in Taiwan last month, and I thought you might like it.”

Could wearing a sleeveless shirt well be considered a mutant ability? Because if so he had that one nailed down too. She tried to focus on what she came here to say, but was overwhelmed by the awkwardness of it all. God, she was an idiot - why did she think she could do this? ( And some jealous beast rose up in the back of her mind, and she desperately wanted to ask, “Who were you expecting? Was it Static? Are you fucking her?” She was stunned by the new bitterness she found in herself. )

“Xi, what is it?” He asked again, spoiling her dark reverie.

She glanced at him to find Logan watching her, facing her now. Maybe he had noticed how she was trying not to look at him undressed, and covered up just for her. Did she think it was modesty? She wanted to laugh, but bit down the urge. “What? I just wanted to - “

“No you didn’t,” he replied, not unkindly. “I can smell you‘re scared. What is it?”

Oh god, was she reeking of fear? She sat down heavily on the end of his bed, and hid her face in her hands., not wanting him to see her blush. But he could probably smell that too.

She was just gathering her strength to talk when the most startling thing happened. Logan sat down beside her, not touching her but close enough that she could sense his body heat. He also smelled faintly of soap, which was probably deemed better than blood - oh, and salt water ( until now, she had no idea he could sink a double hulled ship with a single swipe of his claw - but why was that surprising ). “What’s happened, Xi?” He continued, lowering his voice to a whisper. “What’s goin’ on? Was it the mission?”

“No. I - “ She didn’t even know how to say it. She had psyched herself up, she had practiced in her head, and it was all ultimately worthless. “Logan, I … you know … “ Damn her, she couldn’t do it.

“Has someone hurt you?” He asked, sounding concerned.

“No. Do you - do you love me?” She finally spit out, feeling even more embarrassed than ever. She continued to hide her face in her hands, as if that would do any good at all.

He shifted uncomfortably, and she listened to the bed springs groan under his weight. “Sure I do, Xi,” he said, so nervously she wasn’t sure if he was lying or simply uncomfortable with the words.

“No, I mean … “ What did she mean? She finally forced herself to look at Logan, and even in the gloomy room, with only incidental dim light from the bathroom illuminating the scene, she could see he was uneasy; he was afraid where she might be going with this. And she did the most stupid, most girly thing she could have done - she started crying. Now she felt like more of an idiot than ever.

She was going to get up and bolt out of the room - she was a fucking moron - but then Logan awkwardly took her in his arms, and said, “It’s okay, Xi. What happened? You know you can tell me.”

And that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? She took the opportunity to settle against his chest, and hide her face in his neck. He patted her back awkwardly, and shifted uncomfortably again, but didn’t toss her off. She could remember the first time he held her, when he carried her out of that place in Nanjing, and she realized that she had probably loved him since then, and that she would have loved anyone who got her out of there. She fought to get her embarrassing sobbing under control, and found the smell of his skin helpful to that end. He was tense, though, his muscles as tight as coiled springs, and she realized he was preparing to hurt whoever had hurt her. Her big bad protector, even though she hardly needed one. As soon as she was able to talk, she admitted, “I haven’t been hurt. I just … “ She sniffed, and moved her head long enough to wipe her runny nose on her sleeve. She then looked up at his still puzzled face, and admitted, “I wanted you to know that I love you.” She then kissed him … or at least tried.

“Whoa,” he said, instantly holding her back at arm’s length. “Honey, no. You know I care for you … but not like that.”

“Why not?” She asked, and instantly hated herself for it. Hadn’t she embarrassed herself enough?

He gave her a sad smile, and she suddenly wondered if he thought she was silly. ”Just to start with, I’m so much older than you.”

“You’re only thirty.”

That made his smile broader and sadder. “Thirty? Do you know how long I’ve been thirty, according to the Organization’s files? They say it’s a simple computer problem, that ‘cause there’s no birth date listed for me, my age never advances. But truth is, they don’t know how old I am, and neither do I. I’ll always be thirty, forever and anon, ‘cause they don’t know what else to say.”

And that was another segment of the problem. He was so perfectly constant. People died - with alarming regularity, especially around the Organization; it was almost as if mutants were an expendable commodity - but not Logan. He didn’t age, he probably would never die; he’d probably outlive her. That should have been a frightening thought, but she found it strangely comforting. At least she’d always live on in someone’s memory. “How old do you think you are?” Her continued embarrassment was briefly forgotten, overwhelmed by her curiosity about his supposed and true age.

He chuckled bitterly, as if it was yet another topic he wasn’t totally comfortable with. “A damn sight older than they say. I feel … too old. I think … I think I shouldn’t be around anymore, ya know? But here I am.”

She sat back, and he let her go, no longer concerned that she’d molest him. She wiped away more tears and snot with the back of her hand, and asked, “What do you mean you think you shouldn’t be around anymore?”

He glanced away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. “I should be dead, kiddo. Sometimes I feel like I’m livin’ on borrowed time - borrowed from someone else. I shoulda left a long time ago.”

It was almost as if he'd morphed into another person right before her eyes. Her brave Logan was transforming into a suicidal, depressive man with a death wish. She could have wept. When had this happened? Was he always this way? “Don’t say that,” she said, almost beside herself with grief. She

felt like she had loved him forever, but now she felt queasy, as she realized she may have never known him at all.

He gave her a thin smile, possibly trying to be encouraging or reassuring, but it failed on both counts. “Don’t you worry, hon, I ain’t walkin’ out on ya. We’re all we’ve got, right?”

She nodded, and suddenly very much wanted to leave. If making a fool of herself wasn’t bad enough, now she had come face to face with a Logan who was not her Logan. There were two - there must have been two - and she was no longer sure which one she loved, and that alone made her feel hideous. No; he was Logan/Wolverine - any division existed only in her mind. ( Right? ) “I - I’m sorry - “ she stammered nervously , getting to her feet.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, darlin’. We all get a little mixed up at times.”

It was only when she reached the door did she realize he was referring to her trying to kiss him.

Once she was back in the hall, she leaned against his closed door, and tried to gather whatever dignity she had left. She took a deep breath through her nose - a calming technique he had taught her - and struggled not to start crying again. What the fuck was wrong with -

- ( him ) -

- her?

“Is there a problem, my dear?” A voice said, mocking and silky with malice. A familiar voice.

She opened her eyes with a jolt, and saw Shrike standing at the end of the red carpeted hallway, He was giving her a lopsided, toothy grin that belied eyes that were as hard as stone, and glittered like diamonds in the sun. “Is Weapon X not acting like himself?”

“What?” Why did he call Logan that? Wolverine was his code name.

He started stalking down the hall towards her, as predatory as a tiger. She put her field up, if just to keep him out of her head. He must have noticed, because he chuckled coldly, sounding like a machine just starting to run down. “No need to be afraid of me, chickie pie. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

“When did you get here?” He wasn’t among the strike team - it was just her, Static, Reaper, and Logan.

But he didn’t answer. He just continued to grin at her like a shark closing in on its prey, and said, “Reaper reported that poor Wolverine was falling to pieces. I’m simply here to put him back together again.”

She almost asked “What?” but held off, as she realized exactly what he meant. She could recall all those times Logan seemed so out of it in combat situations, and how he was in there. What was the telepathic brainwashing, and what wasn’t? What if the person she loved was just a façade?

No, she couldn’t believe that. Logan was the bravest man she’d ever known. There was no way in hell that was just an implanted personality.

He couldn’t be reading her mind, but he leered at her like he had. “Do you know what your precious Logan was before I got a hold of him? He was a loser; a fucking emotional train wreck. He hid himself away and played mountain man, so he never had t o have any contact with people or the outside world.” He suddenly adopted a whiny, high pitched voice. “Oh, I’m a mutant, and I’ve been abused, and I’ve lost everyone, why don’t people leave me alone, wah wah wah.” Shrike went back to his normal voice, which was hardly any better. “Such a fuckin’ pussy. A waste of talent. The Organization trained him, gave him money, shelter, a rep for Christ’s sake, and he tried to throw it all away like an ungrateful brat. But nobody leaves until we say they can - and Weapon X is ours. We made him. We keep him until we  destroy him.”

He was insane. There was an emptiness behind Shrike’s eyes that suggested he had been mindfucked himself, until he had no semblance of reality left to access. There was no way anything he said could be true. ( Was there? )

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Suzie Wong. I’ll give him a brand new trigger.”

There was the soft chime of the elevator doors opening, and Static stepped out, pausing as she saw the tableau of Shrike advancing and Xia frozen against Logan’s door in abject terror. Her white eyes narrowed, and she must have “pinged” Shrike with her powers, because he suddenly winced and grabbed his head. “Stop tormentin’ the girl,” the Irishwoman said angrily. Xi always thought the reason she was regularly teamed with Logan was because she was just as fearless as he was, but now she was beginning to suspect there was more to it than that. She admired her, so she hated the sudden surge of jealousy she felt towards her.

Static stood between the elevator doors, keeping them opened, and motioned for Xi to join her as she kept her stern, seemingly sightless gaze on Shrike. Although he leered at her as she snuck to the lift, he didn’t dare move for her, not with Static there. Her powers could put telepaths in a world of hurt, not just shut them down, and Shrike probably knew that all too well.

Xia got in the lift, standing well behind the protective shield of Static, and Shrike shifted his leer to her. “Are you here to see Logan? Sorry hon, but I gotta see him first.”

“We’ll both see him,” Static insisted. Even though she knew Logan could kick Shrike’s ass with both his hands tied behind his back - and she currently hated Static, if only because she was involved with Logan somehow - Xia hoped Static went with, if only to protect Logan from Shrike’s telepathy.

But he shook his head, and his smile turned gloating. “Nope. Priority clearance, Reaper’s orders.”

“I have priority clearance.”

“Security clearance X-13? No, I didn’t think so. You can check on loverboy later, Sloane. As soon as I’m done with him.”

Xia felt her stomach burn at the mention of Logan being Static’s “lover boy”. But he was probably just being the mean bastard he was; that taunt alone didn’t prove anything. After all, had she ever seen anything even remotely affectionate pass between Logan and Static? They always seemed to be the consummate professionals, all business.

Shrike resumed stalking down the hall towards Logan’s door, and she felt mildly relieved that he was moving on, even if she did feel bad for Logan having to deal with him. ( What was that “brand new trigger” crack supposed to mean?) Static was not only unimpressed, but by the way her hands curled into fists, she was seething. “I hope he kills you someday,” she snapped.

Shrike glanced back at Static with a self-satisfied grin. “Now now, I’m the Shrike - I’m the only one who does the killing around here. And I’ll outlive all you peons; mark my words.”

Static cursed under her breath and backed into the elevator, violently punching her floor button, as Xi retreated into the far corner.

There was so much going on here she didn’t get. She wondered if any of it would ever make any sense.

9

Logan was trying to decide which of the crappy American beers in the cooler would be more palatable when he noticed the shift.

It was just a feeling at first, undefined but uneasy, and then his first obvious clue was served:  the convenience store muzak. It had been playing a watered down version of an already watered down “Margaritaville” ( it struck him as ironic for a gas station mini-mart with an entire back section devoted to beer and malt liquor ), and then, just as he was looking through the beers for at least a Moosehead, he realized the music had gotten a lot more bouncy. Actually, way too bouncy - suddenly it was The Propellerheads.

“I hate muzak,” Bob said behind him. “But then again, you’ve been to my hell; you know that.”

Logan sighed and turned to face him, cooler door still open. “Can you make a decent beer appear?”

“What? Like that?” He said, gesturing with a nod of his head.

Logan glanced back, and saw a single six pack of Castlemaine XXX sitting on top of the Budweiser. “Thanks,” he grunted, grabbing it and letting the door swing shut. “You got something for me so fast, or are you just here to annoy me some more?”

Bob crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the bottles of margarita ( ha! ) mix and boxes of wine. Somehow he didn’t knock it all over. “Tired of your companions already?”

“I’ve been tired of all this shit forever. Have you got something for me or not?” They needed gas anyways, and Logan not only needed the beer, but the peace. He’d had enough of them for one day. He felt like he was trying to crawl out of his own skin, and he didn’t know why.

Bob grinned, flashing his teeth at him. A heavy-set white guy in a grease stained STP shirt walked passed them, grabbed a six pack of Bud, and walked off, never glancing at either of them, or even noticing the techno dance music blasting from the ceiling. Bob must have made them insignificant. “Patience, patience. As it is, I have loads of good connections, and, for some reason, whenever I ask for something, they hop to like roos on crack.”

Logan supposed that was supposed to be funny, but he didn’t laugh. He simply raised an eyebrow, and waited for him to be serious.

“Oh, you’re no fun anymore,” Bob complained sarcastically. But at least he finally got to the point. “Seems your friends may not have been as bright as you thought - or perhaps more bright than you expected. Depends on how you look at it.”

“Bob,” he said impatiently.

“Cool your jets, Roger Ramjet, I’m getting there.” Roger Ramjet? “So this Mystique - killer figure, by the way. But then again, I have a thing for primary colored women - took the copies of the disc, yes, but unless they kept a copy of the disc for themselves, they don’t have them anymore. They sold them.”

He didn’t know why, but he found Bob hard to follow. He had to consider his words carefully for a moment, then said, “Sold them? To who? Why?”

“Who else? The ubiquitous “foreign interests” - opposing governments, allies, and/or terrorists. They got about a cool mil for them, so wherever Chuck’s buddy Erik is, he has himself some working cash. Now, I gotta hand it to them there; that’s strategy. You wanna rebuild an empire, you need untraceable capital.”

It really was hard to focus on his words. Maybe he was talking too fast, or the Propellerheads were simply too loud. “What are they gonna do with Organization files? Are they aware of Armageddon?”

“I doubt it - it seems that Mystique and Co didn’t even know to look for them. But don’t you worry about the discs; I’ll go buy them back. Well, I’ll make people think I’m buying them back. Same thing.”

“So we still have no idea where this is?”

“Death Valley.”

Logan stared at him, sure he missed something. The song had switched to a slower Radiohead song, which made it easier to think, but made Logan feel as though he had experienced a gap of lost time. “Huh?”

“The Organization used a front company as a tax shelter, and to work on “projects” in secret, away from prying eyes. This front company was known as Canmer Mutual Industrial Technologies, or MuTech for short.”

“Cute.”

“I know. They owned the property where Alkali Lake was situated. They own seven acres of desert in Death Valley. Now, I haven’t gone out there yet, but they don’t own any other property that’s unaccounted for. In fact, they tried to hide the purchase of the Death Valley land by buying it not in MuTech’s name, but in the name of one Vasely Petrovich.”

It took Logan a moment to place the name, but finally he did. “The thing that took over Reaper?”

“Got it in one.”

“But you took care of him, right?”

“I did; made him plain old normal. But the purchase is in his name, Logan - it doesn’t mean he had anything to do with it.”

“They just borrowed it.”

“Bingo.” After a pause, he said, “I really think I should come with you. This could be very bad, Logan. You might need me.”

He knew that, but he didn’t want to hear it. “Got a cell phone?”

Bob reached into the back pocket of his leather pants, and pulled out a small phone knew for a fact there was no room for. He tossed it to him, and Logan caught it with his free hand, never loosening his grip on his six pack. “I’ll call ya if I need to, okay?”

“Will you?” Bob asked skeptically. But after a moment, he smiled, and said, “Ah well - it’s not like you can shake me, is it?”

“Tell me about it.” He grumbled. He tucked the phone in the pocket of his jacket - noting it wasn’t a good size for flushing - and then thought he should say thank you. Nosy or not, Bob did seem to help him, and he knew when to butt out … well, sometimes. “Look - “ he began, but when he looked up, Bob was gone. Now Logan was relatively sure there was a slip of time, a gap that was almost palpable. Had Bob done something to him, “pushed” him?

If he had, what the fuck could he do about it?

As Logan walked towards the front counter with his Castlemaine, wondering what the clerk would charge him for it, he realized Radiohead was still playing out overhead, repeating over and over, “I will eat you alive, I will eat you alive,” in a quiet, menacing drone. Logan wondered if that was a last warning from Bob, or simply a coincidence.