FIC: Remote Control (Logan/Rogue/Scott etc) - PG-13
- Remote Control
Dedicated to D. Benway. Wherever you are, this is for you. Our
email conversations were the inspiration and although it's been
awhile, I never forget a good source. ;)
Summary: X-Men Movie Universe: The Weapon-X program is revised and
Logan finds himself used as a weapon by an anti-mutant faction. This
story contains graphic, violent scenes and plenty of the three
Angst, Action and Adventure.
Spoilers: None really. Contains references to Barry Windsor-
Smith's "Weapon-X" the definitive story of Wolverine's beginning.
Usual disclaimers apply.
New fallen snow carpeted the mountainous landscape in a white sheet
that sparkled under a moon edging between dark, bloated clouds.
Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled once and an animal cried out
in the moment of death. At the edge of a frozen lake, a half dozen
buildings surround by a chain link fence topped by razor wire, looked
dilapidated and long deserted. Broken down military trucks further
lent an air of neglect and abandonment. But appearances were
purposefully deceiving. In the basement of a long, one story cinder-
block bunker, computers and other equipment hummed in a neat and
sterile environment. Half a dozen technical personnel went about
business, quiet and orderly, checking computer hardware and program
output on monitors. One man wearing a white lab coat paused to study
a satellite image.
"Close-up on image in quadrant L2, Miss Edwards," he requested.
"Yes, sir," his assistant answered and used the mouse to draw a
square around the specific area. The computer screen clicked to the
area and centered, bringing into focus a man, his eyes and face
frozen in an expression of serious intent. "Who is he?"
"Ah, that is the question, Miss Edward, that even he doesn't
Doctor Kirby raised his voice just a bit, enough to catch his
attention. "It is time, my friends, to finally see the face of
freedom. He is the key," Doctor Kirby said. "Freedom from fear of
All the technicians gathered around to get their first look at the
weapon that they had worked so hard to reconstruct. Many of them had
left lucrative jobs to work for Kirby and the doctor appreciated
their dedication. In the process of choosing his select team, he had
screened each applicant thoroughly. All of them, he made certain,
had suffered or had a loved one suffer under a mutant's power. Those
he had hired understood that due to the nature of their project,
security around the secret of their agent would be kept until the
moment of deployment
Kirby felt that moment had arrived.
"Weapon-X is... impressive, doctor," said Miss Edwards. "He is not
what I expected." The woman adjusted the glasses on her nose and
licked her lips. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun as severe as
the cut of her gray suit.
"What did you expect, Miss Edwards?" Doctor Kirby asked and took note
of the slight flush in her cheeks. It wasn't hot in the room, just
the opposite. All the computer equipment needed to be cooled.
"I expected a more brutal appearance. He appears intelligence and
that makes him more dangerous." She tapped her fingernails on the
keyboard. "A pity we can't meet him in person."
"Weapon-X's civilized exterior is only a veneer; he is a tool, a
living tactical weapon with the appearance of a man. This satellite
photo was taken this afternoon in Professor Xavier's School for the
Gifted. He is in a perfect location for initial deployment," Kirby
said and smiled. Thick eyeglasses magnified his benign expression
and his avuncular smile was one a child would trust. "All my anti-
mutant colleagues were going about mutant elimination the wrong way."
"Find a mutant to execute the rest," Miss Edwards said with approval
in her tone.
"Exactly. My uncle found the perfect mutant, one that could survive
the required operations, but my uncle made one lethal mistake. He
underestimated Weapon-X's ferocity and strength and paid the ultimate
price. I won't make the same mistakes he did. Weapon-X will never
know what is happening to him or by whom. All our contact with him
must be by remote only, with his mutant senses it is important that
he can't see our faces or identify our scents." A year ago, when
Doctor Kirby first stumbled upon his uncle's technical journals and
tapes in an old box, he realized he held the salvation of mankind in
his hands. The journals were damaged, some slashed to ribbons and
splattered with his uncle's own blood. Kirby had some problems
reading them and the tapes needed restoration. The expense and
effort to restore the tapes were worth the trouble; what he saw both
frightened and thrilled him and gave his life new direction. It had
taken him six months to rebuild this lab on the ruins of the old
lab. After that, it took Kirby another three months to locate Weapon-
X, and when he found him he couldn't be more pleased.
"Should I run another simulation?" Miss Edwards asked, her fingers
moved nimbly over the computer keyboard. "I have Professor Xavier's
mansion plans and grounds layout downloaded."
Kirby tapped a finger on his chin and stared at the image of Weapon-
X. "No. Are all the necessary software and hardware upgrades in
"Yes, sir. The revisions have been completed and complied
successfully into existing code and all A.I. simulations have
executed as predicted."
"Kill rate in the simulations?" Kirby asked.
"Averaged over ten scenarios, sir, KR is 99%," Miss Edwards
answered. "Would you like me to bring up the data?"
"Not necessary, Miss Edwards. Tonight we bring Weapon-X online.
We're going live people," Professor Kirby turned and announced to the
techs in the lab and a subdued cheer arose. They all had been
working hard for this moment, the moment of truth when they would
know if their world would at last be safe from mutants. "Miss
Edwards, let's wake up Weapon-X and apply stimulus at one quarter.
Let's see what he can do."
"Is that wise, sir? We should run through a few more tests...."
"You're second guessing me, Miss Edwards," Kirby mildly reprimanded
his assistant. She was a good assistant, asked few questions,
usually did as she was instructed and unlike his other half dozen
assistants, she was pleasant to look at. "Even the most detailed
computer simulations cannot substitute for real data. Let's see what
we can do with mild stimulus."
"You're correct, sir, I apologize." Her fingers tapped on the
"Tech, bring Weapon-X's retina camera online," Dr. Kirby ordered. He
clasped his hands together and put a calm façade on his
His uncle had spent years working on this project; he wished he could
tell the man that his dream would finally find fruition.
"Yes, sir," replied a young computer techie sitting in a swivel chair
at a bank of system. "Executing programs. Programs in run state."
The screen displaying the retina camera feed remained blank, that was
to be expected Kirby knew, their subject would be sleeping.
"Thank you. Miss Edwards, you may proceed to bring up Weapon-X's
"Executing," she said and typed in the final keys, then quoted
Virgil "Let us die even as we rush into the midst of the battle. The
only safe course for the defeated is to expect no mercy."
"You misquoted. Isn't it 'expect no safety'?" Kirby asked with a
slight amused tilt to his lips.
"Not in this instance, doctor" she replied with an arch of one
* * * *
**He opened his eyes and found himself surrounded and suspended in a
warm, viscous liquid contain a glass-like tank; a breathing tube tape
into his mouth force-fed him oxygen. Dozens of attached tubes snaked
off his body, and like snakes he could feel their teeth locked deep
inside his flesh. **
**"He's conscious. What are his vitals!" barked a voice.**
**"Stable," replied a female voice, the rest of her reply drowned out
in a hum of machinery.**
**"Very good. Begin the feed." **
**His whole body spasmed and he tried to gasp, the breathing tube
stifling his cries. Exquisite pain painted his world red and seared
through his entire body like a blazing inferno that charred every
nerve ending. A blurry figure wearing hospital scrubs and a surgical
mask bent over the tank, they held a long hypodermic needle.**
**"High. Higher than we expected and rising."**
**"Up the pheno-B two points... no make that one. We don't want him
to have beans for brains."**
**"Compensate and increase feed."**
**Liquid metal seemed to rush through his body, hardening it and
turning it to a pillar of living steel. **
"AAAAHHHHHHH!" Logan shouted and jackknifed up in his bed. A sound
like a gunshot cracked over his head.
Six adamantium claws slid from Logan's hands and he rose up to his
knees and lashed out. His right claws hooked into the wall and
slashed through the drywall like paper. He stumbled from the bed and
slashed at anything in his way. His claws ripped blanket and sheets
into thin streamers. Spinning around, he slashed blindly,
splintering a chair and ranking the claw points through the wooden
closet doors. Outside, a crack of lightening lit the room to
The sound had been lightening, not a gunshot.
Crouched, naked and panting in the middle of his room, Logan stared
wildly into the darkness and realized he was alone. Outside, another
crack of lightning lit the room before it plunged into darkness once
again. He retracted his claws and breathed in deeply of the familiar
smells... yet there was something off about the smell, some
underlying change that he couldn't define. The peculiar scent
faded. Perhaps it was nothing more than a phantom of his nightmare.
He looked around the destroyed room. Jean and Storm weren't going to
appreciate his interior decoration techniques.
"Shit," he mumbled, stood and retracted his claws. "I'm losing it."
Maybe it was the storm that had triggered his dream. In the shadowed
areas of his memory he could remember a mother of a storm the day
that two men approached him in a snow-covered lot outside a crowded
Canadian bar. He'd been half drunk; they had taken him by surprise.
Logan had sworn it would never happen again, but it did the day he
met up with Sabertooth. He crossed to the window, moved aside the
curtains and looked out into the darkness and the heavy rain slanting
down in a stiff wind.
In had been a few months since dreams of the Weapon-X lab haunted
him. Since his return from the abandoned military installation at
Sulphur Lake, he and the professor had twice-weekly sessions. In
these, he gritted his teeth and tolerated the professor screwing
around in his head attempting to purge memories that might be false
and to help fade the tormenting memories of the adamantium bonding.
At first Logan disliked allowing another to free range into his
mind. It was the only place he felt vulnerable, where he felt he
could not shield himself.
Until tonight, he thought the nightmares were gone, but the memory of
the suffering was forever burned into his mind. Not even the
professor could heal those invisible scars.
All Logan had to do was close his eyes to feel pain spiking up his
entire body, consuming him in fiery agony. He clenched his hands and
recalled the first glimpse of his claws pressing through the flesh of
his knuckles like an inner monster straining to free itself of his
human-like cocoon. Perhaps in that instant, a monster had been born
and deep inside his soul there was a darkness that still had a
Vivid in his memory were his screams and the glistening red blood
running down his forearms and the horror of those 9" steel claws. He
held his hands up for inspection. The skin was smooth and unbroken,
only a few splatters of blood drying on his knuckles. Sleep was
impossible now. A glance at the clock told him it was a little after
midnight. Crossing to his nearly destroyed dresser, he slipped on a
pair of jeans, a t-shirt and his boots. Another jagged crack of
lightening lit the room again and a rumble barely a second later,
rattle the windows. The illuminated clock face blinked out. He
flicked the light switch and nothing happened.
The power was out.
Logan considered the dark an ally, it provided a secure blanket of
anonymity where he could shed his civil façade, but tonight he
it provided no such refuge. Lately he felt his every move and
thought was being watched and measured. He wanted to blame it on his
paranoid personality. Logan kept a bottle of Canadian whisky in his
top drawer and he reached for it. Jean couldn't disapprove of
something she didn't know about. He gulped back half the bottle,
mutant healing ability compensating for most of the alcohol's
effects. That sucked really. A man should be able to get wasted
when he needed to.
Logan paused as an odd tingle spread up his spine and over his
scalp. He staggered back against the wall. Static-obscured voices
whispered to him, rising and falling like the volume control on a
radio. He gulped down several large breaths and the odd feeling
passed. He held up the bottle, looked at the label and made a silent
vow to avoid this particular brand.
Needing something to do other than dwelling on his thoughts, Logan
slipped out of his room and into the dark, silent hallway. The
mansion appeared deserted, but he knew it was not. He could detect
the different scents of the people sleeping behind closed doors. He
passed the door to the room where Jean and her boy scout stayed.
Imperceptible to anyone without his sensitive auditory mutation,
Logan could detect the murmur of voices. He paused for a second then
continued, his steps turning toward Rogue's room. He should make
sure she was okay, then again he reminded himself, she was a young
woman now and no longer a frightened runaway that needed him.
"Flamin' kids grow up too fast," he grumbled.
It hadn't been that long ago that he promised he'd take care of her,
and he hadn't been doing a great job of it. Not that she needed
help. She was busy with schoolwork and friends, and he with the X-
Men. She didn't need him any longer, and although a remote part of
him felt he should be pleased to shed that burden, he was not. She
provided a grounding focus, a reason to not tell Dickhead to shove
the X-Men idealistic bullshit rhetoric up his ass as he'd been
tempted to many times. The X-Men was not for him.
Outside Rogue's door, Logan paused and lightly knocked with the back
of his knuckles. If she didn't answer he would just leave her be, no
sense in waking her. But before he finished his knock, the door
edged opened and Rogue peeked out, her hair tousled and her robe
askew. As usual she was dressed almost head to toe. At the sight of
him she smiled, her affection genuine and unconditional.
"Hi. This is a surprise visit," she said in her soft drawl
opened the door a little wider.
"Lights are out. I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I'm okay." Rogue flinched when another streak of
lightening lit up
the area. "This storm woke me up." Her smiled suddenly
faded. "Logan, you don't look so well."
Logan ran one hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, it hasn't been a
Rogue stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. "Are
you having nightmares again? I thought the professor had taken care
"Guess not." He flicked at her silver lock of hair with a
finger. "I'll deal with it tomorrow. Go back to bed, kid."
"Promise me you'll see the professor first thing," she urged standing
so close to him that he could feel the heat of her body. He found it
comforting and dropped an arm around her shoulders. Her absolute
trust and friendship had thawed a part of him that he thought would
remain forever frozen.
"There's supposed to be a break in the weather tomorrow, so how about
we go for a motorcycle ride."
"Go for a ride? Really?" Rogue clasped her arms around his chest
and gave him a hug. He patted her back and smiled. Sometimes she
really did remind him of a kid, but her quicksilver flashes between
mature woman and young teenager still had the power to push him off
"We'll go into New York City and walk through those museums you
like." Logan set his hand on her forearms and drew away from
her. "See you around noon." He started to leave but she stopped him
with a light touch on his arm.
"Wait, Logan," she began, then hesitated and looked over her shoulder
at the door then moved toward it. "Do you... uh, want to come in?"
Rogue opened the door a bit allowing Logan to see that two other
young students, Kitty and Jubilee, sat on Rogue's bed and looked at
him with identical guilty expressions. They had a half dozen candles
lit and a pack of Tarot cards lay spread on the blanket "We
been able to get back to sleep, so we're having a tarot reading party
by candlelight." She tilted her head and smiled up at him. Logan
wondered if she were flirting with him. "I could read your fortune."
"Kid, I don't think I want to know, I--." **Kill her**, a battery
of voices muttered in his head. Logan looked away and shook his head
and pressed one hand to his ear. "What?"
"I didn't say anything. Are you okay?" She closed the door, moved
next to him again and put her hand on his arm.
**Kill her**. "I--," Logan said and looked up. The face of man in a
surgical mask and scrubs looked back at him. He yanked away from her
and stepped back.
"What's wrong, Logan? You look like you've seen a ghost."
It was Rogue's voice coming out of that mask. The image flickered
back for a moment to Rogue then to the man with the surgical mask,
the nightmarish image that played so prominently in his dreams; the
face whose disembodied hand held a long hypodermic needle. One part
of him, his conscious rational mind, told him this was Rogue, the
other part of him, survival instincts on alert, shouted at him to pop
his claws, gut her and take his long-overdue revenge.
**Do it!** sibilant voices whispered.
A sudden image, like a picture in a slideshow, clicked into his mind
of Rogue lying on the floor, a pool of blood spreading out from her
back, a white trembling hand pressed over three narrow wounds in her
chest. He held onto that image like a drowning man to a life raft,
it was the only thing keeping him from popping his claws. "I'll see
you tomorrow, kid," he managed with what he hoped was a normal
tone. "Go back in your room."
"Okay, Logan," she replied tilted her head for a moment, then quickly
leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. It the briefest of touches
that his healing factor immediately compensated for. He was the only
one she could touch however brief. It was something they both
needed. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear, then turned and
sashayed back into her room with a provocative sway of her shapely
That sight was almost enough to clear Logan's mind. Almost. The
door closed behind her and he leaned back against the wall. Sweat
popped out on his forehead and he drew a long, ragged breath. He
wiped his forehead on his t-shirt sleeve.
"I should wake up the professor," he told himself. It would take
just a mental shout but whatever it was seemed to have lessened,
although he could still hear a faint irritating buzz in the back of
his mind. Perhaps another few hours of sleep would help and then
he'd call the professor.
* * * *
The image on the screen was that of a young woman with long brown
hair and large brown eyes. Information streamed across the bottom
half of the screen identifying the girl as Marie, AKA Rogue. Mutant
abilities: With touch, possesses ability to absorb mutant power from
other mutants or life force from humans.
"How convenient for her," Kirby muttered and tapped his fingers on
the arm of his lab chair. "Update Miss Edwards."
Miss Edwards tapped on her computer keyboard. "Weapon-X's
factor is compensating for the stimulus. He's fighting us,
"That was to be expected. Increase stimulus by 1/8th and
steady current." His eyes narrowed at the screen. "We will
point, Weapon-X, where your healing factor cannot cope."
The screen displayed the dark hallway from Weapon-X's point of view,
all of the visuals automatically copied to disk for analyzing at a
more convenient time. Someone approached up the hallway, they wore
casual clothes and, oddly enough, sunglasses. The computer took the
image of the newcomer froze it and streamed data across the lower
half of the screen. 'Scott Summers,' the computer reported, 'AKA
Cyclops, Mutant power: Produces optic energy blasts.'
"Increase stimulus another 1/16th."
"Increasing," Miss Edwards replied.
* * * *
Logan turned back down the hallway toward his room but a familiar
scent brought him up short. With a low growl he stepped backwards,
fading into the deep shadows of an alcove and listening to the
approaching footsteps. A coherent part of his mind categorized
scent as Scott Summers. Another part of his mind identified the
scent as the man in the surgical mask and he fought the urge to
attack the man responsible for all his pain, take retribution for all
the memories he had lost. He fell into a half-battle crouch.
**Kill him!** The voices urged. **Feel his fear.**
Just past the alcove, the masked figure stopped. "Logan, was
you? Are you here?" The man turned and stared right at him,
sparkling weirdly in the darkness. He held up a hypodermic
needle. "And you're going to do exactly what we tell
"Like hell," Logan growled and leapt from the alcove. He hit Scott
broadside taking him down to the ground and pinning him, shoving his
face to the side and planting his knuckle against his cheek. The
position rendered Cyclops' power useless.
"Logan! What the hell is wrong with you?" said Scott's voice,
wasn't Scott. Logan grip tightened. He wouldn't let them
him a second time. No mercy.
Logan's voice dropped to a guttural growl. "I don't know what
you're playing Beam Boy, but I don't like it."
"Why don't we end it right here, Logan," Scott replied though the
surgical mask on his face. "Let's do it. I'm sick of your shit, you
Logan pulled Scott's head around so they faced each other, and he
shoved a fist under Scott's throat. "I'm game. Let's see what is
faster, your beams or my claws. I'll even give you a head start."
Logan blinked. The face wavered between that of a man wearing a
surgical mask and Scott's. What was he doing to Scott? Granted, he
thought the guy was a dickless Boy Scout, but he didn't hate the guy
enough to scramble his brains. He fought to relax his arm and
release the guy. His arm would not obey.
**Kill him, now!**
"Stop it!" Logan shouted. His arm shook with the strain, sweat
popped out on his forehead. Finally his hand obeyed him and he
jerked it back, releasing Scott and stepping away.
Scott sat up and rubbed his throat. "You don't belong here, Logan,"
he rasped "You're a danger to yourself and everyone around you. If
you respect the professor, you would leave before you kill someone."
* * * *
"Healing factor still compensating," Miss Edwards reported. She
brought up a graph on the screen. "Should I increase?"
Dr. Kirby remained silent for a moment. "No, decrease the stimulus
and let him relax and drop his guard. Let him think that his
hallucinations have past. Then, we'll increase it to 90% and take
him unawares, he'll be unable to fight us then."
"90% could render him unconscious," Miss Edwards said.
"I think we're underestimating our weapon's resolve and regenerative
abilities. It is what my uncle did. I will not make that mistake."
* * * *
Rogue slipped back into her room, shut the door and leaned on it, her
grin stretched ear to ear.
"Why was Logan here?" Kitty asked.
"Checking to make certain I was okay with the power being out and
all. He's going to take me out on the motorcycle tomorrow." She
skipped to her bed and plopped down.
Jubilee rolled over to her side, leaned on her elbow and propped her
cheek in the palm of her hand. "You really like that guy."
Rogue just smiled and hugged her pillow.
"I think he's scary," Kitty said, gathered up the cards and shuffled
them. "Bobby thinks you spend to much time with him."
"Bobby would think I spend too much time with any guy that
him," Rogue countered. "Logan makes me feel safe."
"Well, you're here with Professor X now, and that should make
feel safe," Kitty replied. "You don't need him
* * * *
Scott lay on a trolley underneath Storm's black SUV, only his
and feet showing. He hadn't slept well last night after his
encounter with Logan and he was angry with himself. The man should
never be trusted. Logan lived on a hair trigger, anything could set
him off and one day he wouldn't be able to control himself and
someone in this school would end up dead. He gave the wrench a
vicious twist. Despite Logan's nasty temper, everyone seemed to like
him and that rankled. Jean told him there was a gentle, lost soul
inside Logan's gruff exterior.
Scott snorted. That was a load of crap. From now on, he would be on
guard around Logan. He heard the scuff of feet against the cement
floor of the garage.
"Hi," Rogue said, bending down and looking under the car.
"This is my grease monkey impersonation," he said and smiled.
liked Rogue. "Want to help?"
"I'll pass right now," she replied. "Have you seen
Scott's smile evaporated along with his fragile good mood. His
expression darkened. "Don't know," he replied shortly,
"Maybe he's upstairs in his room," she said. By the tone of her
voice, he could tell she was confused by the shortness of his
reply. "I'll look for him there."
Scott didn't reply, just mumbled something that he hoped she
hear. She left, her footsteps fading away and Scott focused on his
task, trying to forget last night. Working on the SUV helped, it
gave him something to focus on. He heard the soft swish of wheels
that heralded the professor's arrival.
"What's going on, Scott," the professor asked. "I
need you to talk
Scott scooted out from under the car and looked up at the
professor. "Nothing." He started to scoot back but the
voice stopped him.
"I don't need to be psychic to know when you're
"Damn," Scott muttered and pushed away from the car, sat up,
straddling the trolley and looked away from the professor's
face. He couldn't lie. "Logan attacked me last night."
down the collar of his turtleneck with the crook of a finger to show
Xavier the finger shaped bruises. "I thought he was going to make me
a human shishkabob."
Xavier was silent for a moment. "Logan did this," it was a
and not a question. "Do you know why?"
"Who knows what the hell goes through Logan's mind. I should
that question, you've been searching around in there for weeks."
Scott shrugged. He didn't really want to talk about it, he just
wanted Logan away from the school.
"You have to talk about it. I must know," the professor
reached... a block with Logan."
Scott shook his head then resigned, he shrugged. "He kept saying
that `It's not going to happen. I won't let you take me
He was babbling and I thought he was going to kill me, then he just
let me go and disappeared." He tried to sound offhand, but knew
never fool the professor who didn't need to read his mind to know
"Why didn't you wake me?"
Scott shrugged again. He knew he was being difficult but he
help it. "I can handle him."
"Logan is not someone you can't simply `handle'" the
returned tightlipped, and Scott keenly felt the reprimand.
his mind tampered with, his memories ripped from him. He doesn't
know the first thing about himself. He's not even certain about
real name. Even beyond his mutations, Logan is not a normal man.
His anger stems from very real misfortune beyond anything we're
"It's not the anger!" Scott shouted, unable to prevent
his surge of anger. "The anger we could all handle. The problem
that the man is dangerous to everyone around him. Who does he have
to kill in order for you to believe me?" Scott looked at the
Professor then took a deep breath. "Logan doesn't belong
don't know why you allow him to stay."
"This is the very place that Logan does belong," the
professor corrected. "Would you have me turn him out? The
brotherhood is not dead, only temporarily suspended. We all know
they won't hold Magento for long and Logan would be a valuable
for their cause. We all must work to help Logan."
"He is too unpreditable."
"He is a more of a danger out there among humankind.
"What you're doing isn't helping him, and it'sputting
us all at
risk," Scott said.
For a moment a expression of uncertainty crossed the professor's
face. Scott had never thought to see the professor uncertain.
"I must help him, Scott. Logan's memory implants are deep
and I've been unable to purge them. I'm sorry, Scott.
I'll ask Logan
to report to the lab so Jean can run some tests." Xavier
jerked in his chair and looked toward the mansion. "I
heard " he held a hand to his head. "Logan. There's
with him, I " The professor's body spasmed then stiffened,
opened in a silent scream.
"Professor!" Scott shouted and grabbed his shoulder.
"Logan is " the professor whispered, straining to
speak. "Someone is controlling him. I cannot breaking in, I
"Son of a bitch," Scott swore, "Rogue went up there
looking for him."
"Hurry," the professor whispered, his entire body jerked.
"Hurry before it's too late."
* * * *
"Logan!" Rogue called through the door and knocked again. "Hey
sleepy head, you promised to take me for a motorcycle ride!" The lug
wasn't answering... unless he'd already gone somewhere else and
forgot about their date. She brushed a lock of long brown hair away
from her face and resisted the childish urge to stomp one foot. "The
rat, he wouldn't dare," she mumbled to herself. She pressed an ear
to the door and heard nothing. "All dressed up and nowhere to go."
Rogue had dressed carefully this morning for the motorcycle ride.
She wore her long, elbow length gloves, her long black coat she'd had
since her runaway days and boots. Before thinking about what she was
doing, she wrapped a hand around the doorknob and turned. His room
wasn't locked. Taking a breath and holding it for a moment, she
slowly pushed the door opened and peeked into his room.
"Hellooooo," she called, stepped inside and stopped short
staring at the chaos. "What happened here?" Logan's
room was a
mess. Sheets and blankets were shredded. Claw marks perforated the
walls and the beautiful woodwork and furniture. "Well, it looks like
he left without me where he went, that rat. When I catch up to him
I'm going to... OOF!"
An iron-like clamp encircled her throat, picked her up off the
ground, spun her around and slammed her against the wall. Held
there, like a pinned bug, her head rocked back, cracking into the
drywall. She couldn't breath and she gasped for breath.
she managed and looked into the enraged eyes of Logan.
Only this wasn't Logan. It was his face, but it wasn't him. It was
a raging beast that looked like Logan. He held up a large fist and
his adamantium claws popped out.
"You... shouldn't... have... come," Logan stuttered. He fought to
speak, but fought against what? His claws inched toward the tender
underside of her neck, she could feel the cold, sharp points indent
the flesh. Rogue swallowed and took a ragged breath; she could feel
a prickle of hot blood as his claws drove into her skin
"Logan," she whispered, squeezed her eyes closed, tears trickling
from under the lids. "Please don't do this."
Logan threw his head back and creamed, eyes clenched shut. "NO!" he
shouted, released her and staggered back.
Rogue fell in a crumbled heap and held a hand to her neck as she
gulped in deep breaths climbed to her feet. "Logan," she said, "what
"No, no," he kept saying. "Go away. I won't do it. I. WON'T.
"Do what, Logan? I want to help you."
And before she knew what he was about he turned the claws on himself
and rammed them full length into his chest. Blood instantly soaked
his T-shirt and he grimaced before sagging and falling, almost in
slow motion, to the floor.
"Logan!" she screamed and ran toward him and he put out a
"Get away, Rogue, while you can." His voice was rough and scratchy
from pain. "I won't let them hurt you or anyone." He popped out the
claws from the hand he held toward her and, arm quivering in
exertion, straining against an invisible bond he pointed them inward
at himself. He clenched his teeth and slowly, winning the battle,
his claws pressed against his own throat.
Rogue took a step toward him and reached out to grasp his straining
arm. "Don't do this," she whispered.
"Me or you." His expression was tortured, like a helpless
prisoner. "It's the only way," he ground out. Sweat poured down his
head. "It's the only way."
Logan shoved the claws into his neck, the tips protruding out the
"Logan!" Rogue screamed again. She ran to him and went to her knees
at his side. Grabbing each of his forearms in both her hands and
yanked his claws from his flesh. Blood flew in an arc, spattering
her face and clothes. "Logan," she whispered, slipped her
arms around him and tried to lift him up. He was slippery with blood
and she couldn't get a good hold on him. She wasn't certain
his mutant healing factor would handle this, or even if it could.
She had to get the professor.
"Help!" she cried. "Someone help me!"
* * * *
Scott, followed by Storm and Jean ran into the room.
"My God," Storm whispered, and held a hand to her mouth.
Blood was everywhere.
Rogue stood in the middle of the room, her clothing soaked, Logan
with his claws popped, weaved drunkenly at her side. Rogue's
face was drawn tight in pain, blood glistened at her neck from three
"Get away from him!" Scott shouted and touched the controls
of his visor, aiming for the middle of Logan's chest. He'd
waiting to take out this psycho and now he could. No one would
question what he was about to do. He dialed up the beam control, he
wouldn't let Logan's healing factor heal this.
"Stop!" she shouted and leapt in front of Logan.
"It's not my blood!"
Scott had already let loose an optic blast, he couldn't take it
back. The blast hit Rogue square in the chest, lifted her up and
flung her backwards, slamming her against the far wall. Scott
instantly shut down the beam. It was too late.
Rogue's body slid limply to the floor.
End of Chapter One