He expected to be swarmed by an entire platoon as the door opened, but instead it opened into
complete darkness …

“ - knew he would do that,” a voice said distantly, faintly.

Logan suddenly realized he could not only see nothing but black, but he couldn’t quite feel his body any longer. Also, the scents had all changed: now he could smell several people, ripe with the chemicals they wore (deodorant, perfume, hair gel, soap, fabric softener), and the voice ... the voice had been Dorn's.

Oh, son of a bitch.  No wonder it had felt like an out of body experience. In a way, it was.

"Do we have time to dick around here, sir?" A male voice said - Logan didn't recognize it. "You said, yourself, that we have to assume his friends are on their way."

"I want to give the secondary personality implant a chance to activate," Dorn replied, his voice carrying
the same insufferable smugness that it had in the mindscape.  Some things never changed.

"There is no secondary personality," a female voice said. It was high pitched and young, and Logan would swear it was familiar. Who did it belong to? "Not anymore. I keep telling you that, but do you listen to me?  It's gone!"

"It can't be gone, Candace," Dorn told her.  Candace?

"But it is! Where it used to be is a big blank spot, and there's some kind of residual energy in his mind that really hurts. It's almost telepathic, but ... like, ten thousand times that.  I don't wanna keep going back in there."

Logan suddenly recognized the voice, which gave him a brief cramp in his belly: Delirium. Candace was the telepath they called Delirium.

"You were told Xavier might have left some traps," Dorn told her, as warmly and calmly as a patient father. "You said you were ready for that."

"It's not that old coot's shit!" She protested. Her voice cracked when she got emotional; it was really annoying. "It's ... weird. It's almost not Human, ya know?  It's like he's had a star or two camping out in his brain. And I don't mean Johnny Depp, either."

Logan had finally determined he was not blind, but he had something heavy and metallic - a helmet? - over the top half of his head. He could now feel shackles - adamantium by the smell - over his wrists, ankles, waist, and throat. They were taking no chances that he could hurt them, or get away.

"You're not making sense," Dorn told her.

"I'm prepping the new chip," the other male voice said.  New chip?

"I am so!" Delirium protested. "I think you must be right about that Bob guy - if he's what's been in his head, there's no fucking way he's Human. Not with power like that." She paused, and then added, "He's awake, you know. He's listening."

"That's to be expected," Dorn replied, not at all surprised. "Welcome back, Logan."

"Fuck you," he snapped. "Get this thing offa me."

"Sorry, we can't do that. You really should know better than to ask that of the man you just decapitated." He could hear the smug little smile in his voice. "So tell me, is our dear Candace right?  Is Bob not Human?"

"He's more Human than you'll ever be."

"Indeed?" Again the superiority, leaking through like a bad smell.  God, he wanted to kill him - slowly. "I find that somewhat hard to believe."

"Everything you told me....it was all lies, all of it," Logan said, but that was mostly to reassure himself.  But wasn't he just a little bit disappointed?

"Oh no, not at all," Dorn replied glibly. "Unless you don't trust your own mind. You do trust your own mind, don't you?"

"Bite me, asshole."

"You missed your calling as a poet." Dorn paused long enough that Logan figured he had turned to someone else, now addressing Delirium. "One more try. The secondary personality could be very deeply buried."

"But sir-" the other man complained.

"Prep the chip," Dorn agreed, once again sounding like that endlessly patient father. "Have it ready to go. If there really is no vestiges left, give it to him."

"Chip? What the fuck is that?" Logan asked angrily, but feared he already knew.

"Just a little something that will make you feel like your old self again," Dorn said, his voice oozing with smarm.

That was exactly what Logan was afraid of.

12

Storm's idea of going in hot was using a big wind to bust the gates open.  Marc wondered if that had ever really worked.

A moment later he was walking in the newly open gates, big wind at his back, pulling out two handguns as he announced, "Avon calling. Wanna pucker up and kiss this?"

"My god - you mean people talk like that outside of Jerry Bruckheimer movies?" Rogue asked in disbelief.

Marc didn't really understand the makeup of this team. It was Storm, Piotr the big metal guy, Rogue, her surprisingly fey boyfriend Bobby, Brendan, the half-demon kid, who was limping slightly but insisted on coming because it was Logan who was in trouble and he "owed him one", and some weirdly lean and lanky big eyed guy called Spider, who apparently used to work for the Org too, and was coming along - despite obviously being distraught about something - because he wished to 'get back at' the Organization. According to a very annoyed Storm (boy, was she giving him the cold front now), Scott was "on sabbatical", which Marc took to mean he'd had a nervous breakdown, or simply left before he couldn't take anymore of Mutie High. That tracked, actually - people that high strung were usually the first to snap.

It was funny, but he'd gotten the general impression everyone didn’t like him. Which was fine with him, but he was curious as to why. Of course, they also seemed to be wary of Spider, but he was so freaky looking, that almost made sense. Spider was pretty quiet too, and mopey, and seemed to never look directly at Storm, as if he felt guilty about something. What?  Oh hell, Marc hoped he'd never slept with her; because he really didn’t want to imagine that guy in bed.

“There could be mines,” Spider warned.

Marc tapped the goggles now resting on his forehead. “I see in infrared, bud, and I can tell you there are no unnatural temperature variations in the ground; we’re clear.”

“That’s handy,” Brendan muttered. He was all green and spiky - his demon form.  The Russian was all armored up too, making him look like a rejected Terminator design. Spider was closest behind Marcus on his right, while Rogue - ironically enough - was closest to him on his left, with Brendan, Metal Head, and Bobby-fey following in a sort of zig zag placement, all tricked out in their black leather uniforms (save for Spider, who - like him - was just dressed like a normal person, not a leather boy parade). Storm was bringing up the rear with her huge, targeted gusts of wind, making her rather gaudy cape and white hair flair dramatically in the current. She was probably a big old drama queen; she just had that vibe.

“Professor...anything?” Storm asked, presumably into the little ear piece thing she wore. Xavier was monitoring the situation back at Cerebro - apparently, he could use his telepathy against these jackasses
if he had to, even though he was half a continent away.

After a moment, she said, “He says he’s not getting any mutant readings here - or any Humans either. He’s telling me the place is abandoned.”

Marc scowled at the boxy building ahead of them, and wished he was surprised.  But that tracked with what he knew of the Organization: they'd probably grabbed Logan and booked. They couldn’t have been as stupid as they often seemed.

“What?” The tin man asked.

“I ain’t smelling anyone, if that’s worth anything,” Brendan offered. “But, then, I can’t smell as well as Logan.”

Marc holstered his gun - could the Org successfully shield all of themselves from Xavier’s telepathy and his infrared sight (let alone a demon nose?) - and quickly knelt down on the hard packed sand, slipping his laptop bag to the ground and pulling it out. That was the true slogan of the smart mercenary nowadays - have laptop, will travel. “Storm, blow the doors,” he said idly, booting up.

Rogue stopped near him, and came to peer over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Storm replied icily.

“Fine, I’ll lob a grenade in that direction, whichever.  But if there’s someone hiding in there, we really should roust them.”

“What exactly are you doing?” Another voice asked. By the British accent alone, he knew it was Spider. He had no idea what his powers were, beyond looking fairly repulsive, but Marc really didn’t care to know. Hopefully he didn’t create webs through a spinner on his abdomen, or eat flies.

Marc felt the static electricity building around them, making reddish blue haloes in the side of his vision as he loaded up the probability file he had created earlier. “Trying to figure out where they took Logan.”

There was a burst of lighting - a sharp red flash in the corner of his eye - followed by the sound of the armored doors of the base warping on their tracks, locks shattering like icicles. He didn’t bother to look and see if anyone came out firing, as he figured that’s what the rest of the super squad was here for. Someone leaned into his peripheral line of sight, but rather than the fairly fearless Rogue, it was Spider.

He'd tried to talk to him on the jet, but Spider was even more taciturn than Logan. Marc had asked him if he had 'worked' with Logan in the Organization, and all he'd said was, “Not in the Organization, no. Not that I recall.” And that was it - after that, he went back to staring at the floor or the bulkhead, anything to avoid making eye contact with anyone. Was he suicidal, or just painfully shy?

“How do you know where he is so fast?” Rogue wondered.

“Let’s check out the place, just in case,” Piotr said, tromping across the sand to the broken-into base. Bobby followed, as did a slightly reluctant Brendan.

“Yes, how do you know?” Storm asked, although she seemed intent on following the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion, and the Demon Kid (well, no metaphor could hold that long) into the base.

“Probability projections, based on recently accumulated data.  It obviously worked here.” Marc got the sense that Spider was studying his screen with a sniper’s scrutiny, possibly memorizing it. He was a very creepy guy, but if he'd truly been in the Organization he could probably kick a surprising amount of ass.

“These are all base locations?” Spider asked.  He had a mid-London accent, a curious hybrid caught between upper-crust plummy and mangled Cockney patois.  It might have been melodic if there was
any emotion in his voice at all.

“Potential base locations...and the best bets.” The next best bet popped up at the top of the list, and he said, “Okay, this is most likely where they moved him.”

“Based on what evidence?” Spider asked.

Oh great - Beyonce’s cousin was gone, and now he had to deal with the freaky antithesis of Hugh Grant interrogating him. “Lots of shit - I’ve been after these fuckers for a while.”

“But just ‘cause it’s kinda close doesn’t mean they took him there,” Rogue chimed in.  Jesus, these people asked too many questions.

“True. Do you have a better idea?” He asked her.

His answer was a deathly teenage girl scowl.

Storm emerged from the base shaking her head, and Brendan, following immediately behind, elaborated, “He’s been here with some other people, but they’re gone now.”

“Great - let’s hop back in the jet and get a move on,” Marc said, shutting down his laptop.  He knew where they needed to go.

“And what if he’s not where you think he is?” Spider asked.  This guy was really getting on his nerves. Funny, considering they were both arachnid code names, right?  Shouldn’t they get along?

“Then we keep hitting the likely places in order, until we find him.”

Storm gave him a withering look. “You call that a plan?”

He shrugged with his hands. “Got a better one?  I’m all ears.”

“Better than me - I’m all eyes,” Spider said, walking back towards the broken gate. Wow!  Weirdy cracked a funny!  And in that droll British way too. Neato bandito; he wasn’t all bad.

Tin Man morphed back to skin, and as a result seemed much less impressive as he passed through the gate, along with the rest of the Super Squad.  Marc stayed behind, packing up his laptop, and Storm loitered around to - what? As “leader”, was she obligated to make sure everyone else got on the plane before she did?

After a moment, she ripped off her black earpiece, and leaned down to snap, “The Professor won’t deign to argue with you, but I will.  He’s helped Logan more than you will ever know, and he’s never set him up with a vampire or sent him to his potential death.  If you ever talk that way to the Professor or any one of us again, I will blast you into next week.” She then stormed (ha again!) off towards the jet, putting her ear piece back in.  A shame, because she failed to see his mock shivering.

She really needed to work on the delivery of her threats.  But hell, everyone needed to start somewhere.

13

Bob woke up covered in snakes, and was careful to shift slowly, so he didn’t actually crush any.  They must have liked the heat of his energy, or maybe they were just really lonely.

“Tea?” Degei chimed in, as Bob helped the napping coral snakes and boa constrictors off of himself.
Boas were heavy.

“Sure,” he said, as enough of the snakes had moved away so he could sit up.  He was on a nest of blankets in the corner of Degei’s cottage, as that was as close to furniture as he got.  Oh sure, he had the table and chairs, but only so he could properly enjoy his tea.  An essentially bodiless snake god had no call for material goods.

Bob stood slowly, still watching his step until all the garter snakes hustled out of the way, and rubbed his temple, although the ache had all but subsided now.  It was just psychosomatic at the moment.

“Did I understand you correctly,” Degei asked, as he took a seat at the carved stone table. “Or did you imply a Human hurt you?”

Bob sighed as he cupped his ceramic mug of spiced tea, inhaling the fragrant steam as a tiny green snake curled up in the sugar bowl.  How cute - would it fetch him a lump if he asked for one?  “Things have gotten needlessly complicated, Deg.”

“How so?”

“One of Cammy’s final acts was to corrupt a Human.”

“Corrupt?  How badly?”

“I’m not sure. It’s hard to say, ‘cause she never trusted me in the first place. And I didn’t get a good enough measure before she sucker punched me.” Or did he?  Was he lying to Degei as well as himself? Sure, Jean generally disliked him, but enough to put a bolt between his eyes?

Degei’s silver eyes studied him warily, his tea cup half way to his thin, recessed lips.  Snakes adjusted themselves on his torso, his shoulders roiling like waves. “She was powerful enough to sucker punch you?”

“I didn’t have my guard up. I didn’t want to accidentally hurt her.” What a laugh that was now. He rubbed his forehead, and briefly watched the snakes slither in and out of the glass free stone window. It was a nice day in the snake universe, but then again, it usually was.  The light was pearlescent, and gave the ever shifting landscape - constructed of nothing but snakes - an attractive wet sheen, like a spring shower had scoured everything clean.

“How badly corrupted is she?  She must be pretty bad if she can hurt you, guard down or not.”

“Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, and tried hard to plot his next move. He needed to confirm how much - if any - of Jean was left, but hopefully without getting hurt again, or having to hurt her in return.

Deg paused for a significant period of time, long enough to take a sip of his tea, and incorporate a new rattlesnake into his midsection. “If Camaxtli gave her all his powers, she will have to be dealt with.”

“Believe me, I know.” The question was, was there some way he could do it without going all out?

If there was any bit of Jean left, and he killed her, Logan would never forgive him.  And Bob wouldn’t blame him. So how was he going to figure this out from a distance?

Shit. It was always something.

*****

Logan didn’t see what they hoped to accomplish, especially since he knew what was going on. But
they had to play their games; they had to get into his head and muck around like it was an abandoned amusement park created just for them.

The darkness and his limited awareness beyond the headgear they had strapped on to him fell away, to
be replaced by a snowy forest, which looked damn familiar. “Did you have an awareness of the other personality?” Dorn asked.  He was standing beneath a pine tree, ankle deep in snow.

Logan turned towards him and took a few menacing steps, wondering how many times he’d have to kill this fuck before they finally abandoned their salvage mission inside his head. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

Dorn crossed his arms over his chest and looked at him askance, like he was being a deliberate idiot. “What is it you want, Logan?  Do you even know, or are you just acting out of pure, belligerent rage?”

“You want rage?” He snarled, and lunged, popping his claws as he slashed out -

- and landed face first on a hard wooden floor.

Logan shoved himself up, snarling at himself as much as Dorn. The arctic landscape had not only abruptly switched to the Way Station, but Dorn was now standing behind him.

“This may be your mind, but you don’t control anything here,” Dorn said smugly (could he say nothing without the smugness?). “Fighting us is like fighting yourself.”

“I do that a lot,” he growled, getting to his feet. When he spun to face Dorn, he found the landscape had shifted once more, this time to the silver metal corridors outside Cerebro.  Dorn was standing at the head of the hall, continuing to eye him like a unique species of insect.

“This is pointless, you know. As much as I hate to ever quote Star Trek, resistance really is futile, Logan. You’re merely postponing the inevitable.”

“Fighting is never pointless,” he snapped, and then, distantly, felt something like … a needle, jammed into his heart.  He gasped, the pain disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared, demanding, “What the fuck did you just do to me?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  Dorn gave him a small, tight smile that looked constipated and painful, his eyes as bright and hard as diamonds.

With a roar of rage, Logan launched himself at Dorn once more, braced for the shifting of the world around him.

But this time he got more than that. It felt like he was slammed head first into an adamantium wall, sending explosions of light through his brain as he slid to the ground, tasting blood and relatively certain he’d lost a few teeth on impact. He was back in the snow again, the ice melting into his clothes, and he looked to see Dorn once more behind him, arms crossed over his chest and a half curious, half amused look on his face. “We could do this all day, but seriously, you don’t have that kind of time.”

“What the fuck do you want from me?!” He roared again, leaping back up to his feet.  He popped his claws - as futile as it all was - and spit out a mouthful of blood, a shocking crimson splotch on the pure white snow.

“Maybe you should ask yourself that, Logan. You used to be a reasonably bright man, and a very subtle killer.  Stryker really did a number on you, didn’t he?  You don’t even know what you want anymore. You’re just a drowning man, flailing and not sure you even want to be saved.”

“Cut the shit. What the fuck do you want?”

Dorn shrugged, “It doesn’t matter, does it?  If I get it, even you won’t know.  So tell me, how did your Aussie miracle worker wipe out the secondary personality?”

“He didn’t. I did,” he lied. Well, that had been what Bob was aiming for, right?

Dorn shook his head, frowning in disappointment. “Now, see, the old Logan would have known there’s no point lying in a mindscape.”

“The old Logan was an automaton,” he replied coldly. “Live with it - your puppet is no more.”

“Not true. He’s just waiting to be resurrected from his tomb.” His smile transformed into a smirk that was so arrogant that Logan wanted to rip it off his face with his bare hands.

And that’s when he felt it. A strange prickling sensation, an eerie, familiar feeling shuddering down his spine, and he knew they weren’t alone.

Oh shit.

Dorn cocked his head, listening to something only he could hear, and he said, apropos of nothing,
“Is it Xavier?”

“Who is he?” Jean asked, materializing right beside him.

“Get out of here,” he hissed.

Dorn stared at her in disbelief. “Now which one are you?”

Delirium - she of the multicolored hair - suddenly appeared beside Dorn, and she looked both confused and pissed off. “Back off, bitch.”

Jean simply raised an eyebrow at her, and then chuckled coldly. “Were you just trying to hurt me, girl?”

Delirium’s odd eyes - one blue, one black - widened, and she started to look scared. “It didn’t work on her. I don’t think she’s Human - “

“Get us out of here,” Dorn interrupted, cracks starting to show in his smug façade.

“I’ve been trying,” she replied, almost whining.  She grabbed Dorn’s arm, as if seeking support, but even before Logan got the sense of Jean’s power surging, he knew they were fucked.

She wasn’t even remotely Human anymore, was she?

Jean seemed to glow, her aura a translucent aurora borealis flame, and she said, in a voice that hardly sounded like hers at all, “You wish to go?  Fine - let’s go.”

And with a bright, violent flash of light, Logan’s mindscape world was thrown into complete and utter darkness.