After listening for a solid thirty seconds (he couldn’t rely on his sense of smell, as the burlap bag on his head reeked of old food and piss), he popped his claws on one hand, the one twisted towards the ropes around his wrists. He pressed the blades against them until he was able to yank the ropes apart. Then he sat up and ripped the hood off his head, retracting his claws.

He was in what looked like a shelled scrubland, with dusty, dead dirt the color of landfill mud, and scraggly trees that looked like they were pretty much born dead. But the smell in the air was odd; it had just a hint of dirty water in it, and as he strained his hearing, letting it go to full, he could hear the gentle slosh of water against rocks in the distance.

He climbed to his feet and started walking towards the source of the noise, and after about a fourth of a mile, he started to see a break in the horizon. Yes, just like he’d hoped - it was a canyon. Naher Canyon. They’d tossed him out, into the belly of the beast.

There was no cover, so he started walking to the gap that made up the canyon, and figured he’d find some soon enough. It would be fun to see the Organization again.

Not for them, but he’d enjoy it.

10

Back at the office, he filled Saddiq and Brendan in on the plan.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Bren exclaimed, jumping up from the couch and flinging his hands in the air. “You can’t do that! How do you know that this won’t go totally bugfuck and turn you into a killing machine?”

Angel grimaced, not wanting to admit there was a chance of that. A slim chance, but still it couldn’t be totally dismissed. “We do have a back up plan to keep this from spiraling out of control.”

“How good is it if you know the plan?” Saddiq asked with genuine curiosity.

Angel had to admit that was a fair point, but not out loud. Before he could respond, Giles appeared in the doorway and admitted, “I actually have a contingency plan or two. But for obvious reasons, I’m not sharing them.”

Saddiq nodded at the sagacity of that plan of action. “And I’m here. I can help. There’s no one I can’t fight.”

“Logan,” Bren pointed out.

He had the good grace not to even be briefly offended by that. “Okay, with that exception.”

This was a tough one. He knew Saddiq could take almost anything - what happened to the werewolves made that pretty clear - and in spite of his age (Bren assured him he was eighteen, but he could pass for younger), it was clear he had fighting skills to burn. But having Bren involved in all of this was bad enough.

As it was, it was Giles that bought him some time. He’d been studying Saddiq since he’d come in, and finally said, “I’m aware you did well tonight, but fighting demons isn’t for the unprepared, even with someone with your … abilities.”

Saddiq met his gaze evenly, not surprised by the statement. Saddiq seemed to come to the table with upper class British unflappability, which might make for a funny stand off between him and Giles. “Demons are not unlike another species of mutant, Mr. Giles. You need to determine what will hurt them, what will not, what their weapons are and how best to take them away. For instance, the werewolves. I’ve never fought any before tonight. But it was instantly clear their weapons were their teeth, so I took them away.”

Just like that. Damn, he could see why Scott had promoted this kid to reserve X-Men status, but damn if he wasn’t just a little bit scary. Giles continued to look unimpressed, which was impressive in its own right. “Next time you might not have the time to make such an assessment, or make the correct one. Your mutation might not be enough to protect you.”

Saddiq remained implacable in the face of the warning. “Perhaps not, but my training should be. I know twenty six ways to kill a man with my bare hands - or feet, no real matter. Some are bound to at least stun any demon.”

Giles raised an eyebrow at that statement. Puzzling over the number twenty six, Angel started counting the ways he could kill someone with his bare hands, and then stopped, as it was rather morbid. “And these X-Men taught you that?”

“No, my basic training in Rajan taught me that. Although admittedly they just taught me the twenty five. Logan did teach me the twenty sixth, and I felt like a fool not knowing it. It was perfectly obvious …”

Giles shook his head, frowning in disapproval. “This is honestly beyond the pale. Training children as weapons? Appalling.”

“Is that not what Watchers do with Slayers?” he replied, again with more curiosity than any other emotion.

“Whoa,” Faith commented, laughing slightly. “Pretty boy shoots and he scores.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Giles interrupted.

Saddiq looked at Faith, who was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, and gave her an odd look. “Pretty boy?”

“That is not a valid comparison,” Giles continued, looking as angry as Angel had ever seen him. “Slayers are born, not made. They will be magnets for demons whether they are trained or not. Training is as much for their protection as anyone else’s.”

“Which is also true of most mutants. So where does your problem lie?”

“Okay, let’s dial it down a little,” Angel finally said, aware that this argument could go on for a while, and get distressingly personal. “I’m all for letting you in on this, Saddiq, but if we let you in, you must follow my and Mr. Giles’s instructions to the letter - no deviations. Is that clear?”

Saddiq nodded once. “I can take orders.”

“Excellent. That’s a place to start.”

Giles gave him a look that suggested as soon as they got a moment alone he was going to chew his head off, but that was okay. Angel had actually been hoping he could have Logan around as part of the back up plan in case everything went wrong, because he already knew the kind of damage he could do to him. While Saddiq didn’t have blades, he was essentially Logan’s protégé, someone also made solely to be a weapon, and that would probably be more than good enough.

The kid was frightening, but that was okay. If everything went wrong, he’d have to be.

*****

The sky was moving towards full night, a deep indigo just starting to sparkle with a handful of bright, pristine stars. The sky seemed big here, with no implied borders or light pollution to impede it, and the temperature had dropped precipitously. He could almost see his own breath, which wouldn’t be very good for covert surveillance, so he hoped the temperature stayed level until he could make it down to the compound.

He was still on the very top of the canyon, which was a bit of a bitch, as the Organization seemed to have a team down in the canyon, around the bend on the westernmost side, next to the sludgy ribbon of river that sliced through the chasm like a road to nowhere. He judged it to be a least four hundred meters down, a steep drop by anyone’s estimation, and while he was sure he could climb down using his claws in place of climbing axes, it would be relatively slow going, and probably not as quiet as it should have been. There was the added problem that surely they had advanced equipment - night vision goggles, possibly hand held scanning units - that he didn’t have. They were probably also walking the length of the canyon, searching for the bad guys, so there was a slight chance they’d spot him before he spotted them. There had to be some easier way into the canyon, but right now he couldn’t see it. He didn’t want to wait a day either, although he knew if he waited long enough, most of the patrol would fall asleep.

He was surprised by hearing a noise far behind him, footsteps that weren't nearly as silent as the person probably hoped, but the wind was blowing in his direction and he recognized the smell. Damn it.

He crept back quietly, and obviously wasn't seen or heard, because when he grabbed them and put his hand over their mouth, they smelled shocked, and stiffened under his grasp. "It's me, okay?" he whispered in Ali's ear. "But there are people around and I don't want them to hear us, so be quiet. Got it?"

Ali nodded, and he let her go. She turned to face him, looking a little annoyed, but no longer scared. "People? What people? The others?"

He decided to play dumb. "I dunno. All I know is they're in the canyon. You can see their flashlights." Actually they were relying on their night vision goggles to get around without attracting undue attention, but that was something she didn't need to know.

She studied his face closely, looking deeply puzzled. "They didn't hit you in the face? I thought Dhal kicked you in the face."

He scowled at her. "He missed and got me in the throat instead. Look, why are you here?"

"I was afraid they'd killed you! I didn't want ... I mean, I didn't want you to die."

Didn't want to be incriminated. Also, he might have some money or something the others had missed. He didn't actually blame her for this callous attitude, as sometimes you did what you had to do to survive. There were probably a few situations worse than being a street kid in Asrahar, but not many.

"Well, I didn't. I've been beaten worse before; I once did a story on corruption in the LAPD. Frankly, your friends are a bunch of pussies."

"They're not my friends," she replied defensively, and once he turned away, she muttered, "You're a tough old buzzard, ain't ya?"

Old buzzard? Well, to a twelve year old, thirty was probably ancient.

She followed him back to the edge of the canyon, and while not always visible, he was able to point out some shadowy figures down below. "See? This is why you need to get out of here. They're armed, and somehow I don't think they're friendly."

She squinted down at them a long time, the bright silver sliver of the quarter moon doing her vision little good at all. Although certainly his better than average vision gave him the edge in most situations, he had to consider the possibility that her poor diet - and it was undoubtedly poor - gave her poor night vision, no matter the circumstances. "They've got guns? Then they're not the others. They don't carry guns. They don't have to."

He stared at the side of her face, her profile extremely gamine and feminine. Maybe they were just willing to believe she was a pretty boy. "You've seen them." He was gobsmacked, and couldn't help but chuckle. "You put me through that for nothing."

"No," she protested, face flushing in embarrassment at being caught in a lie. "It's just what I've heard Amir say. He said we should avoid them and never pick their pockets, 'cause they could kill us without raising their hand."

It was possibly true; it was also possibly fudging. But right now he didn't care that much. He knew what he needed to know. "Good enough reason for you to go back, kid. I got this one."

She looked at him askance. "You know the way down into the canyon then?"

He stared into her big brown eyes, and couldn't help but smirk. Yeah, sometimes precocious kids were good for something. "This is gonna cost me extra, isn't it?"

"I'll take a digital camera if you don't have cash."

Oh, she was good. He liked her. "We get back to my hotel in one piece, I'll give you all the cash left on my account. Lead on, Gunga Din."

Her look was bewildered. "Who?"

"No one. Come on, show me."

And she did. It was about three hundred meters from where he was, a place where there was a steep slope, into which a winding but passable path had been worn into the grade by years of travel. As they climbed down, she started shivering violently - mostly due to the cold; some due to the sudden realization of what she was doing - so he checked his pockets to make sure they were clean before taking off his coat and giving it to her. She looked a bit suspicious at first, but then she snatched it away like she was afraid he was teasing her with it, and slipped it on. It was absurd how small she looked in it, it swallowed her like a burqa, but she stopped shivering, and seemed to move a bit faster.

To give her credit, she was very quiet on the trip down. Then again, she was a semi-professional thief, and that was simply a survival skill. You learned it, or you weren't a living thief for very long.

It seemed to take the better part of an hour, but finally they reached the canyon floor, the noise of the river much louder than he would have thought. It didn't move very fast, but the sound was concentrated within the rock walls, as was the chill air coming off of it, and the smell of various effluviums dumped in the river from a variety of sources. He bet the EPA would have a field day here.

The Organization encampment was still on the other side of the river, but if necessary he could swim it. He patted Ali on the back, and said, "Thanks kid. I'll meet you back at the hotel as soon as I'm done here, okay?"

She looked up at him, clearly surprised. "You think I'm just going away now?"

And there was the problem with precocious kids. Why couldn't he just get the good without the bad? "Kid, these are dangerous people. You don't want to be caught here, especially not with me."

Her eyes narrowed, and it looked like she was squinting to make out his face. "You're not really a journalist, are you?"

"Yeah, I am, that's why everybody hates me. Now stop arguing and get moving." He pointed towards the path, and up at the top of the canyon, but she sulked for a moment, scowling at him. Finally, she got going, although he didn’t turn his back on her until she actually started climbing upwards. Of course he heard her stop shortly after he turned away from her, but he didn’t care. She’d soon lose him in the dark, and would have no choice but to go.

He moved quietly along the shore, looking for a good spot in the river where he could swim across and not be heard or spotted, nor dragged farther downriver. Admittedly he was so heavy with all his adamantium that it’d be hard to move him, it wouldn’t be impossible. Some undertows had incredible strength, ones even he couldn’t fight. The fact that this seemed to be a placid river on the surface meant nothing. He seemed pretty placid too, at times, but he knew he rarely was.

He sat down on the bank, and unlaced his boots, then pulled off his socks and shoved them deep inside the boots before tying the laces together tightly. He had no choice but to put up with wet clothes, but he didn’t have to put up with squishy boots that would allow any alert soldier to hear him first. He stood up, letting the grainy, damp dirt squelch beneath his cold toes, and swung the boots for a moment, gaining momentum, before tossing them across the river. They made it, landing on the far bank with a small, dull thump. He quickly but quietly slid into the water, in case any soldier heard it and checked it out - they’d be unlikely to look in the water for something they heard on land. Just in case, he let the current carry him about ten meters downriver before swimming across.

He was glad he had a healing factor, not only because of all the human waste and other stuff surely filling this river, but because the water was so cold he would have sworn his heart stopped from the shock, but only for a single beat. He took a deep breath and started swimming towards the opposite shore, which was just a dark wall that seemed to shimmer like a ghost under the pale moonlight.

He kept his strokes short and even, making hardly any noise at all, and even though his clothes threatened to weigh him down, he made great time and started to feel warm enough that he knew if he was a regular Human, he’d have to worry about hypothermia. But he wasn’t, so he didn’t.

The soldiers didn’t hear his boots hitting the dirt, as no one came, and he was able to pull himself up on the opposite bank, into the bitter cold night air. He was shivering now, and he decided, since there was no one around and no one coming, he stripped off his wet jeans and wrung them out before putting them back on. He did the same thing with his shirt, which was pretty torn up from his near fight and eventual beating, but he decided to keep it until he could steal a decent shirt from another guy. But at least he wouldn’t squelch when he walked.

He put his socks and boots on, which felt that much warmer just because they were dry, and started heading towards the Organization encampment. He moved quietly, his hearing and sense of smell stretched to their limits as he tried to settle on his quarry long before they were even aware they weren’t alone.

He began to wonder if he could kill in cold blood - again; without any mental gang raping - when he caught the scent of cigarette smoke in the air, and heard the rumble of men’s low voices, two soldiers talking amongst themselves. He focused on their words, and eventually made out their conversation. They were talking about one of the men’s last trip home; his parents lived on a ranch in Texas, and they were - surprise surprise - a bit nutty. Listening to them, he figured they were kids, rookies, homesick and new at this. He didn’t need to kill them; they’d scare very easily.

He snuck up on them easily, they never heard him or suspected him. He pounced on them like a mountain lion might, slamming a flattened palm straight into the base of the skull of the one on the right, while grabbing the one on the left so hard around the throat that he couldn’t cry out or breathe. He also bent him back at a sharp angle, about an inch or two away from snapping his spine, so he’d be very unwilling to reach for a weapon, and find it nearly impossible to fight back.

Oh, he groped for the weapon in his holster, but by that time his friend had crumpled to the ground, so Logan just pulled it out of his holster for him, and pressed it flush against his temple. He stopped struggling as soon as he cocked it. “I know who you are,” he growled, deliberately making his voice gravelly. “And I know why you’re here. I also know all your tricks, ‘cause I used to be one of you. Now if I let you go, you best answer me and speak quietly, or the last sound you hear will be the bullet that kills you. Got it?”

He nodded as best he could with his oxygen being cut off and his spine being pulled to the breaking point. Logan added an extra, threatening squeeze before easing up on his throat. But he still kept a grip on his Adam’s apple, just to let him know he could cut off his voice in a very permanent manner if he had to. “Now tell me where do you guys think Black Fire is around here.”

The kid attempted to squirm, to try and get a look at him, but couldn’t. “We don’t know,” he wheezed. “Maybe the other end of the canyon, we can’t find them here. They’re using our tech against us.”

“How is that possible?”

“They have some. They know us too.”

Weird, but not really surprising. “What kind of mutants do you have with you?”

“None. We couldn’t risk it.”

Okay, now he was lost. “I don’t get that. You think they’d just defect and join a cult?”

The kid now reeked of fear, sour enough to make him wrinkle his nose in disgust. “It’s not really a cult; it’s a splinter group.”

“A splinter group of what?” But even as he asked it, he had a sinking feeling in his gut, and remembered his dream on the plane, seeing himself in pseudo-military gear, telling himself ‘You know this’. Oh god, did he?

“The Organization. They’re part of us … or they were. They went rogue and started freelancing.”

“Who’s their leader?” He knew he always said never ask a question you really didn’t want to know the answer to, but sometimes circumstances compelled you.

“We’re not sure. But we think he goes by the code name Timebomb.”

“He’s dead.”

“The first one, yes. He’s a … copy.”

Holy shit. He did know this; he knew it all along. Now what the hell was he going to do about it?

*****

This was such a pointless exercise, Boyle wondered if they were simply bait.

He hadn’t been with the Organization long, just three years after getting bounced from the SEALS for a lame ass reason (what was “excessive force” anyway?  Legally, the term was nebulous), and he still got irritated by their vague instructions sometimes. Of course in the military you got used to it - “need to know” and all that jazz - but it still got under his skin. And as a deeper than black ops group, there was no one he could appeal to or complain to about anything. Just suck it up, or face a superior who may hate your fucking guts. If he or she wanted you gone, it could be like you never existed.

They were supposed to stay in pairs at the very least, but he couldn’t stand Brown, his current partner on patrol. He was an ignorant redneck who seemed to have the need to spit every five minutes, and a need to talk about what he’d do to the “muties” every ten. He’d heard it all already, it was old, he needed to move on, wrap that five watt brain around another topic, if he could at all manage it. Boyle had figured that Brown had neither had a woman, a bath, or encountered a mutant in a genuine combat situation. It was generally true that the ones who bragged about it the most had it the least.

He found a nice quiet place to have a piss, eschewing the river as it would make more noise. He was supposed to have Brown with him, they were supposed to remain in pairs, but fuck it. He told him he couldn’t piss with some guy watching him, but the truth was he just wanted to get away from the idiot.

They had been in this canyon for two and half miserable days, seemingly from one side to another, and found no trace of these rogue operatives. Boyle had figured they knew they were coming and skedaddled, but the Commander was of the opinion that they were hiding, that they had found too good a position to move. That seemed hinky in the logic department, enough that Boyle decided to read between the lines: they’re not moving because they’re not afraid of us. If that was honestly true, what did that make them? Again, the only thing he could think of was bait.

He finished and zipped up, then searched his pockets for his smokes. He was giving them up, mainly because they could give positions away, but right now it was an excuse to stay away from Brown that much longer. He found one and stuck it in his mouth, now searching for his lighter, when he heard the noise right behind him.

He didn’t know what the noise was, it was soft and strange, but before he could turn around someone grabbed him, and jammed something in the side of his neck.  He felt a brief, sharp shock, and then he couldn’t feel his body anymore.  It was a paralyzer; it had to be, since it didn’t feel like he’d been injected with something.

He slumped back bonelessly into the arms of the man who had assaulted him, and he smelled of alcohol and something else, something dry and unpleasant but not necessarily awful. He wanted to see him, but he could only move his eyes to encompass his surroundings. “I know you’re scared little grunt,” the man said, and his voice had a hint of an accent. Spanish? “But just think how lucky you are. You’ll be with us when we destroy this canyon and all your team dies. Better to die later than now, yes?”

He was fighting it as best he could - at least the paralyzer was on Human level charge; mutie level would have killed him - but he could feel his mind shutting down. Damn it, he was right. They were bait.

But if they were the lure, what was the snare?