But Jean was worried about him, and Xavier was worried about her taking it into her own hands ( well, mind ) to find him. She was more powerful than before, there was no denying that, but it bothered him because he knew all telepaths had to grapple with their powers when they went beyond a certain point. The fact that she was a telekinetic on top of this - and much more powerful there than with telepathy ( so far ) - made it that much more difficult.

He knew what it was like to get intoxicated on your own sense of power. It happened to the best of them; once, it had even happened to him. But stumbling was as much a part of the learning process as anything else, and there was little substitute for experience. Jean had already had a negative experience with her telekinesis: she let her emotions get out of control, and her powers lashed out of their own accord, and people were hurt. It was what brought her here, as she never wanted that to happen again.

But there was a slow but inexorable change occurring with her. Maybe it was exposure to Logan's lack of emotional restraint, or Bob's power, or Camaxtli's power, but she was growing restless with her own well crafted emotional  armor. Feeling that poor woman die while she was in her mind probably made her retreat back to it, but it was only a matter of time before she ventured out again. And when she did ... what would she do? He would have to help her through it, prepare for it, because he didn't like to think of Jean getting out of control. He didn't think it was likely, but Erik had taught him to prepare for the worst.

Cerebro was as cool and empty as always, and as he maneuvered his wheelchair up to the console, he touched the cold metal headpiece of the device, and wondered if he had any right to intrude.

Logan did ask them to check up on him after a certain number of hours had passed, but that allotted time had not completely elapsed. Still, if he was in danger, what was a little fudging? And, if not, perhaps he could get by undetected.

He slipped on the main control of Cerebro, and focused on finding Logan as the world fell away.

***

And as horrifying as that thought was, it wasn't as bad as the feeling of almost post - coital bliss he could feel warming his muscles and soothing his nerves. He didn't want to know the connection between those two things.

But he had to open his eyes.

He did, and was not surprised to see the blood whose scent clogged his nostrils and filled his mouth. It was all over the walls and floor, along with bodies it had come from.

He got to his feet, careful not to slip on the gore, trying to remember what the hell had happened. The bodies around him were torn up badly; some had been completely ripped in half. They all had worn black suits, all ten of them, but now they were just smears and body parts, piles of entrails scattered across the white tiled floor.

There wasn't only Human refuse; lab tables had been shattered, and glass fragments glittered among the blood slick like crushed diamonds. He didn't remember what had happened, and his head hurt, pounding like a second heart. Did they hit him with something? Give him a powerful drug? What?

He ran his hands through his hair, and realized belatedly he shouldn't have, as they were sticky with blood. He was covered in it; he couldn't even tell if he was wearing clothes or simply other people's blood.

There was the hiss of a door opening on the far side of the room, and he instantly tensed as he saw a man in tan uniform enter, and look around in abject horror. "Wolverine, what have you done?" The man exclaimed, his round, pale face crumpling in pain. "They were trying to help you."

There were so many interpretations of "help" it didn't bother him - some people's idea of help involved hurting others as much as possible. But he was starting to remember now ... little fragments ... his claws slicing through a man as easily as warm butter; blood splattering his face like a hot spray of saltwater; the crunch of bones beneath his fists and his feet ... and worst of all, the raw satisfaction it brought him. It was almost as good as sex; it felt liberating and intoxicating. He had been drunk on power and blood. What for? Why? Why had he done it? He still couldn't remember that.

He was ready for the man to attack him - he was almost looking forward to it - but he just fell to his knees beside the top half  of a body, looking miserable. "Why did you do this?" He asked again.

He didn't know what to say. He had no answer, and the man's raw grief was not something he was prepared for; he was being slowly overtaken by the surety that he was an animal, or perhaps even worse.

"What do you think you are doing?" A man's voice said. It was familiar, but so out of place it took him a moment to recall who it belonged to. The guard or corporal or whatever the fuck he was looked up in shock, all traces of grief gone, and he followed his gaze to the far corner.

Xavier was standing there, in his dark grey pinstriped suit, glaring at the guard like he was responsible for the carnage. Logan's head reeled - his name was Logan, right? - and suddenly he had absolutely no clue what the fuck was going on. And he thought his head had hurt before.

The bodies disappeared as Xavier crossed the room towards the guard, who stood up and faced him with sheer contempt. "And who the fuck are you?" The guard demanded. At the end, the voice had gone from male to female.

"Get out of his mind." Xavier ordered, and Logan finally figured it out. This wasn't real at all - this was the doing of a telepath. But why? And what the hell was Xavier doing here - was it another trick?

The guard suddenly became the young girl with the two toned silver and violet hair, and now that he had a good look at her, he saw her eyes were two toned as well: the right one was black, and the left one was blue. "You first," she snapped, and Xavier disappeared. She then turned to him with a triumphant look on her face, and said, "Haven't you ever told your friends it's rude to barge in like that?"

He wanted to tell her to fuck off, or better yet attack her, but he couldn't do anything. He was at her mercy here, whether it was his mind or not.

But then Xavier appeared right behind her, arms folded across his chest, a very stern look on his face. "Who do you think you're dealing with, child?" He asked, making her jump.

She spun around, obviously shocked by his reappearance, but he simply told her, in his best stentorian tones: "Get out, and stay out."

And Logan woke up.

13

"Delirium," a man said, alarmed. "What's happened? What's wrong?"

He was careful not to move and alert those with him he was conscious. He assumed Delirium was the telepath, and that Xavier had put her out of play; by scent he judged he was surrounded by seven men, three on each side and one at his feet, where Delirium was carrying on. They were armed, but that didn't bother him - what did bother him were the shackles. He could feel them, so tight they were biting into the flesh of his wrists ( and he was trying to heal around them anyways ), and they were behind his back, while he was face down on the floor of the dirty truck ( probably a small troop transport, judging by the smell ). The truck shuddered as it traveled down a rough road, and he wondered where they were taking him.

Well, where they thought they were taking him - they'd never get that far.

Logan exploded into action, hoping that surprise would aid him as much as anything else. Using sound alone as his only guide, he lashed out with both his feet and nailed the asshole attempting to coax coherence out of Delirium ( that sounded like an oxymoron ), and the one of the troops made a startled noise as others pulled their weapons, but Logan was already up on his knees. Delirium was still wailing, arms around her head, and seemed to be completely unaware of what was going on around her ( what had Xavier done to her? ). The closest soldier to him tried stupidly to put him in a throat lock, so Logan simply smashed his head back into his and sent him crumpling to his bench.

He'd barely gotten to his feet when the invisible "dog pile on Wolverine" signal went out, but he didn't care - he was so fucking ticked off they were going to have to do better than cattle prods and bludgeoning to bring him down.

They hadn't realized they were doing him a favor by all attempting to subdue him at once. There was no room to maneuver in this confined space, but he also couldn't use his arms for the moment, so it helped to have them all around him and ready to get flattened. Well placed kicks broke legs and cracked sternums; one grabbed him from behind and tried to jam a paralyzer in his ear, but a hard pivot sent the asshole flying, and he hit the tailgate door and went flying out with a startled yelp. He hit the road hard, and Logan judged this thing was flying along at maybe sixty miles an hour. ( Well, that was flying for a troop transport. )

This was his opportunity, and he took it. As soon as he had a clear shot, he dove head first out of the tailgate door.

Unlike the soldier,he was ready for it ( even if having his arms cuffed behind his back put him in an awkward position ), and was able to hit the road in a ball, shoulders first, rolling with the tremendous, skin shredding impact ( it would have killed him or at least mortally injured him if he were a normal human - that soldier was surely road pizza ), even as muscles tore, skin disappeared with the friction of speed and impact, and his consciousness reeled from hitting the ground so hard, and so goddamn fast. But it was nothing he couldn't deal with, and by the time he finally came to a stop, half his muscles were healed, he could feel his skin growing back, and his consciousness seemed to be firmly back in place. Enough for him to realize the truck had stopped, as had the second troop transport in front of it.

Oh shit.

Troops began pouring out of the back like cockroaches swarming from beneath a fridge, and he heard some random conversations among the group.

" - happened to Delirium?"

" - behind his back, right? How hard can he be to subdue - "

" - fuckin' mutie was nuts anyways!"

" - after you."

Finally some authority figure got his fat ass out of the truck, and shouted, "Don't make us hurt you, Wolverine. Stand down." Lights from the top of sniper rifles fixed on him, blinded him, and he snorted derisively as the men approached en masse, in that cautious, spread out scramble that soldiers used when approaching a target that isn't secure.

It was dark, or nearly so. The sky was clear, and a hazy bruise colored purple that only occurred at dawn and dusk. If it was simply dusk, then he hadn't been out for long, and he knew he was still in Montana simply from the flat openness of the landscape and the sky.

"Bullets? Wanna annoy me, fuckwits?" He growled, squinting against the light. He knew they were assuming a standard girding pattern around him, which would leave him the center of their circle. Stupid, considering they were all aiming firearms. If he could coax them into firing, they'd all kill each other.

"Adamantium," the leader said, hanging back, proving he was brass. "I bet they'll sting."

"Stinging ain't gonna cut it. "

The silhouette of the man nodded. "You've had worse. I guess we saw to that, didn't we?"

That made acid churn in his stomach ( what if Delirium wasn't just playing with his mind? What if they were actually memories she was distorting ... ), and it was just the type of distraction that the guy wanted. The troops closed in, and pulled a bait and switch - instead of using their guns, they flipped them over to their adamantium coated stocks, while others swung them under their arms and pulled out paralyzers. He didn't wait for them to close in further: the nearest one coming at him with a paralyzer got a kick in the face that launched him straight into the next guy, and even as  the first adamantium plated gun butt slammed into his skull, he spun around into a high kick that nailed two guys in the face and one in the arm, sending his rifle right into the face of a neighboring soldier. They were so close together in their scrum there was a domino effect, and the falling knocked others over. Idiots.

The smarter ones were waiting on the outer perimeter, and remained spread out, attacking in tandem: one in the front, one from behind. It was a good strategy, and it allowed them to hit home with a few blows and a paralyzer hit that almost took him down, but he lucked out in that it was glancing. He just started picking them off, working with the ones in front first. Those who got too close got a head butt that broke their noses and possibly their foreheads, and the ones that hung back got a kick to the face, sternum, or gut that sent them flying back, at least giving him a bit more room to work. The remaining ones spread out even more, making it a harder fight. If only he could get these stupid fucking cuffs off - they were throwing off his balance.

The paralyzer hit made him slow, and one of the soldiers caught his foot when he tried to get him in the face, but he did what 'Clops should have done when he did the same thing to him in the gym. Deciding the guy's grip was firm enough, he launched into a kick with his free leg, aware he could completely pop the other leg out of its hip socket if the guy held on to his other foot long enough.

The guy didn't. He figured out at the last second what he might do and let go, but not in time. Logan just spun in mid air and nailed him with a boot right to the side of the head. There was a crack and the guy collapsed like a puppet whose strings had just been cut, and Logan hit the ground hard. He felt his shoulder - already under strain from the tight cuffs - tear, but he rolled and hit another soldier in the legs, sending him falling on his ass. The pain in his left shoulder was excruciating, even beyond the burning pain of healing, but he still used both his shoulders to arch his back and give him enough leverage to flip back up to his feet ( if he stayed down too long, they would have him for sure ).

A soldier rushed in, but he met his charge with a kick that was supposed to nail him in the stomach, but since his aim was a bit off, it ended up catching him right in the balls. The guy dropped like a stone, grabbing his crotch and making retching noises. That had to hurt. He almost felt bad for him; he hadn't meant to get him there.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blur, and instantly moved, which was a good thing, as the macadam where he had been standing just a second before exploded into tiny bits.

Looking towards the fat ass - the direction from which the blast emanated - he saw that thick necked guy standing next to him. The one who shot concussive blasts from his hands - shit! He'd forgotten about him. "You are mesmerizing to watch fight," the brass said. "Even with your hands tied behind your back. You just have no sense of self preservation, do you? I always wondered why the higher ups liked you so much when you didn't seem to have a power worth a damn, but I think I get it now."

"Goody for you," he snapped, glaring at the shadow of the blaster guy standing beside him. "How can you work with this fuck?"

"Shut the fuck up, mongrel," the guy replied - Logan could hear the sneer in his voice. Obviously he hadn't heard of the mutant brotherhood thing either.

"What did you do to Delirium?" Fat ass wondered, sounding more curious than concerned.

"My mind's not a very friendly place, is it?" He wasn't going to tip them off that Xavier must have had some idea what was happening. It was doubtful they could get ready for him, but he wanted him to have the element of surprise if nothing else.

"Nothing about you is friendly." It sounded like he was smiling as he said that. "Now get in the truck, or get blasted back to the fucking stone age."

His response - a heartfelt "Blow me" ( self preservation was for suckers ) - died in his throat as he heard footsteps and smelled someone familiar. Very familiar.

"Well, that's not gonna happen," Bob said cheerfully, coming up the road behind Logan.

Blaster guy aimed his hands in Bob's direction, and he could see white light accumulating in his palms. But then Bob said, "Oh please," and the lights died out immediately. Blaster looked at his traitorous hands, startled, clearly not understanding what was going on.

Bob then said, "Half power," and Blaster accidentally got a face full of one of his own concussive blasts. His head snapped back so violently Logan was amazed it didn't sail clean off, and Blaster ended up throwing himself backwards about fifteen feet.

"Shouldn't look into a loaded firearm," Bob said, making perhaps the worst joke in history. In spite of that, Logan couldn't help but laugh. It was too funny watching him send himself flying.

Fat ass was starting to stink of fear, he was so baffled by what was going on he couldn't even begin to cope. He may have tried to grab a sidearm of his own, but he wasn't terribly successful. Bob patted him on the arm as he walked past, and said, "I still got the timing, don't I?"

"You're good," Logan admitted. "But I coulda used ya an hour ago."

Bob shrugged, never looking back, as he heard Helga come up behind him. "You're not very grateful when you're grumpy, are you?" She said, and he felt her grab the cuffs around his wrists. His left shoulder still ached, but mainly from the continued healing process. "Don't move, tiger - I don't wanna cut you."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me. I need the practice picking the locks of adamantium cuffs. Now hold still."

Bob had gone up to the brass, who was frozen in place, gaping like a fish out of water. "Now tell me, where were you taking Logan." Not a question, but an incredible simulation.

"Base Cypher, over the border."

"More specific."

"Lantern Flats, Saskatchewan, Canada."

Bob glanced back at him, but all Logan could do was shake his head. He'd never heard of a town called Lantern Flats, nonetheless a base called Cypher. Bob turned back to the brass, and said, "Why?"

"Reaper wants him."

"Reaper?" Bob repeated.

That name was familiar in more ways than one. Not only was it in the memories Delirium was toying with, but he would swear it was one of the words that popped up in the gibberish of the files Static had brought him. "Who the fuck is he and what does he want with me?" Logan asked.

"You heard him," Bob said, just to make sure fat ass would answer the questions.

"Reaper is the senior most mutant in charge of other mutants," Brass replied flatly. " I don't know what he wants with Wolverine."

"Is he at Cypher?" Bob asked.

"No. He wanted Wolverine brought there for containment."

Containment - another wonderful word he heard a lot. What was with people always trying to "contain" him, like he was a toxic waste leak?

He felt the cuffs loosen around his wrists and he pulled them apart as Helga stepped back, and they clattered to the street. She said proudly, "I've still got it"

"You pick a lot of locks?" He wondered, rubbing his wrists. The pain was mostly in his head.

"Only if I can't kick down the door."

He assumed that meant "not very often".

"Do you know anything about Wolverine?" Bob asked the brass, clearly frustrated by his obvious boneheaded ignorance.

"He's a level twelve."

Bob, Logan, and Helga all exchanged puzzled glances before Bob asked, "A level twelve? What does that mean?"

A voice out of the dark said, "Grave threat - the highest isolation protocols are needed to contain or liquidate a level twelve." Logan turned so fast he almost threw himself off balance, and he still couldn't believe what he was seeing - Marcus coming up the road, grabbing his chest like it hurt, but otherwise okay, just slightly pained. "You could have waited for me, ya know," he said peevishly.

"You needed a breather," Bob argued. "And Logan didn't."

Marcus didn't look happy about that, but what could he do? It was dark enough that he had his goggles pushed up on his head, and his eyes looked like all pupils, with just a thin rim of white around the edge. He had a huge hole blasted in his flak jacket where Logan his chest explode outward, so that hadn't been a Delirium mind trick - he had actually been shot. He had been shot and was dying when he last saw him, so ... Logan shifted his gaze back to Bob, who looked as guileless as always. Seeing the question in his eyes - or his mind - he simply shrugged. "We stopped by the battlefield before we caught up with you. I'm still gettin' the teleporting targeting down. It's hard enough to stick dimensions without bein' exact to feet."

So Bob had saved him. The relief he felt was o overwhelming he had too close his eyes for a moment. He hadn't gotten Marcus killed. He owed Bob for that.

"Who the hell wounded the water buffalo?" Marcus asked, as Delirium continued her pointless wailing from the back of the truck.

"It's a telepath, the weird haired girl," Logan explained. "Xavier took her out."

"Xavier?" He replied, surprised. He even glanced around, as if he might have had his wheelchair parked in a nearby field.

"Chuck didn't hurt her," Bob said to both of them. "You know he's not the type. He just scared her. She's not taking it well, but I don't think the poor dear has a full kebab, if you know what I'm sayin'."

"I have no fucking idea what you're saying," Marcus replied.

"A taco short of a combination platter," Helga offered helpfully.

"Oh, okay."

Bob glanced back at the truck, and said, "Nighty nighty, darlin'." She fell instantly quietly, and they were all grateful for that.

Logan rolled his left shoulder, as it was a little stiff, but the sensation of healing had almost completely died down now. "Okay, something really fucked up is goin' on here."

"More than usual?" Bob replied.

That made him hesitate. "Yeah, I think so."

"What's the deal?" Marcus asked.

Logan tried to get it straight in his own mind before airing his theory, but to be honest he was having a hard time getting it straight in his own head. Maybe saying it aloud would help him piece it together. "I don't think any of this is about me. I think this is all about Reaper."

"How so?" Bob asked first.

He told them about the memory - if that's what it was; if it could be trusted - of Reaper having a different scent and changing, shortly after his supposed mission to Siberia ( there was the tie there ). And now Reaper was the one who wanted him contained, even though the human here didn't know why. "I think those disks Static brought me weren't really about me - I think they were really about Reaper," he concluded, not sure it made sense, but it felt right.

"Hold  up," Marcus said, leaning on the butt of a large assault rifle like it was a cane. It figured he'd pick one of those up. "Yeah, I remember his name bein' on the files, but why would this Delirium chick help you in any way? This has got to be a set up."

Bob made a noise of disbelief and shook his head. "Ah god, I love Byzantine plots."

Logan wasn't sure he understood that, but he got the gist of his meaning. "You think I'm right."

"I think it's a mutant problem, and I think they think you can solve it, yeah."

"Wait - they work for the Org, so why - oh, wait a sec," Marcus said, absentmindedly rubbing his chest. He bet the place where the chest wall had been formerly blown to pieces was gonna hurt for a while now, no matter that Bob put it all back together. "The double cross, right?"

Bob shook his head. "The Humans think they've suckered the mutants in the Ogre for  working for them, but the mutants have another secret agenda. They're both working for the same place, but with different goals."

"So why wasn't blast face down the street there helping me out?" Logan wondered, punching a hole in the theory.

"They might not all be in on it, or playing for the same end," Bob suggested. Bob made everything seem reasonable, but he still had a point.

"So Reaper might have his own team?" Marcus nodded in agreement. "Okay, makes sense. But why Logan? Wouldn't they have someone on the inside to take care of this?"

"There'd probably be repercussions in fucking with the boss," Helga pointed out. "I bet there was a lack of volunteers."

"And maybe there's no one on the inside who could take care of it," Logan said, wondering if he was being egotistical. "Maybe I'm it." He thought about Static's last words. 'Tell Logan he has to -' ... kill was the word, wasn't it? Tell Logan he has to kill Reaper. But why? And why now?

"What's his power?" Bob asked. "Do you know?"

"He vaporizes things."

"Holy fuck," Marcus exclaimed. "No wondered they wanted to farm this out. How the fuck do we take on a guy who could vaporize us where we stand?"

"You don't," Bob said casually, as if it was no big deal at all. "I do."

Logan wondered if Static knew about Bob before she decided to bring him the disks. Maybe, ultimately, this task wasn't really meant for him.

14

The man who got out of his oversized Road Ranger in the sparkling clean driveway of the strangely prim split level suburban house was just an ordinary looking man - neither handsome nor plain, average height and weight, maybe in his early forties and just starting to lose his brittle dun colored hair near the temples. He wore a well tailored grey suit with matching tie that wouldn't have looked out of place in Xavier's wardrobe. There was nothing about him that screamed "mutant" - there was nothing about him that screamed "traitor", "torturer", or "murderer" either, but Logan knew he was all those things, and possibly more.

He locked his truck with his electronic remote, and the bleeps seemed to echo in the eerie stillness that had settled over this sleepy bedroom community in the shadow of Washington D.C. - it was nothing like real urban Washington D.C., where Reaper would not only stand out for being a wealthy white guy, but would just be begging to get shot for his obviously arrogant attitude.

"Are you just going to watch me, or are you going to show yourself?" Reaper asked, his voice dripping with smug confidence.

While Reaper had sussed his surveillance, he remained perfectly oblivious of Bob, who was sitting on his front porch, singing quietly and juggling pine cones from the Douglas fir in his front yard. Bob had been there the entire time he was parking - his headlights had even shined on him - but he hadn't noticed because Bob hadn't wished him to notice him at all. That was all it took to make Bob invisible, apparently, and that was a frightening thought.

"Tease this amputation, splintered larynx it has access now," Bob sang, bouncing a pine cone off his forehead, only to kick it back into the juggling stream with the toe of his boot. He was a remarkably talented juggler, but why was Logan surprised? he was good at everything. Well, except parking - he still didn't have the hang of that.

Logan wanted to play it this way. He wanted to see the man, wanted to see his reaction when confronted with him. There was no danger in this for him at all - if the thought to vaporize him crossed his mind, it would be the last free thought he would have.

Logan emerged from the shadows beside his garage casually, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall as if this was a friendly social call; like he didn't want to instinctively rip his smug face off, or crush his sternum with a well placed boot to the chest. He could do either without a problem, and he hoped to soon. "For a guy named Reaper, you don't look all that scary."

He spun so fast to face him that Logan knew he had surprised him even before the smell of fear registered. But he played it cool, or at least tried, attempting to hide it as best he could behind a neutral expression. "Wolverine. So you slipped the noose? I'm impressed."

He liked his use of the word "noose". "Banked on memory, mummified circuitry," Bob continued to sing. He was now juggling three pine cones with his left hand only. Perhaps he was bored. "Skin graft machinery - " Logan was starting to wonder if the song he had chosen to sing was somehow a comment on him.

"How did you get past Delirium?" Reaper asked curiously, trying to play it casual. But he made no move backwards or forwards, and his posture was still far too rigid for the impression he was trying to get across. He was trying to surreptitiously check out his surroundings, probably for others. Maybe he thought the "X Men" had sprung him.

" - species growing, bubbles in an IV loitering - " Bob sang, and then whipped a pine cone straight over Reaper's head. He must have felt the breeze because he looked up, but he didn't see what had just narrowly missed his skull. When Bob wanted to fuck with your head, he could do it up big time.

"Since when can a telepath hold me?" Logan replied blandly. God, he wanted to kill him.

Reaper nodded slightly, but seemed more relaxed than before. And in the dimness of early night, Logan could see the slightest silver light in his otherwise unremarkable blue eyes. The light was starting to glow, slowly but surely, tiny pinpricks clustering around the irises like miniature fireflies.What the hell was going on with his eyes? "Good point. But hope springs eternal."

"Unknown origin. Is this the comfort of being afraid," Bob sang, tossing the rest of the pine cones back into the yard. He was done wasting time.

"I know Static wanted me to stop you," he said, laying it all out now. "But what I haven't completely figured out is why."

"I see. And this is the part where I spill the beans, giving you the opportunity to save the day, is it?"

Logan shrugged. "I don't wanna save the day. I just wanna kill you."

Reaper laughed, as if that was genuinely funny. "That's the one thing I liked about you, Wolverine - you were very uncomplicated."

That was a good example of a backhanded compliment, but he wasn't about to take the bait. After all, Reaper was just one person - he didn't have a god on his side. Still, he went along with the plan: he dropped  his hands and sprung his claws. "Fine - I'll just gut ya in Static's name, then."

"Oh, you stupid animal - you can't kill me."

"Wanna bet?" He took a threatening step forward, but Reaper just smirked, the glow in his eyes almost too bright to look upon now. Logan dutifully stopped, as if confused, but he honestly was; it was hardly acting. "Why ain't you bothered?"

"You can't kill what has no form. I'm no frail, Wolverine. I'm your better."

"He is not a demon," Bob said, approaching the driveway. He wiped the pine pitch off his hands on the back of his pants, although since they were leather Logan had no idea how he did it, or why. "He's a mutant, big time. Unusual psychic signature."

"How so?" He was asking Bob, but Reaper took it as a question for him.

"Like I'm really going to tell you, savior," Reaper snapped - in perfect Russian -  as the glow from his eyes flared, like a burst from Cyclops's eyes.