FIC: The Weapon 1/12
- Ok, this is the last you'll be hearing from me for a while. Sorry to
overflow your mailboxes. I've been trying to spread this out, but I
don't think you'd appreciate being left at a cliffhanger, so I've
kept the stories relatively together. Again, if you've already read
this story, sorry.
Title: The Weapon
Rating: PG13 (for violence and medical scenes)
Disclaimer: If I owned them, there would be a series of X-Men novels,
written by science fiction authors, based on the movie, and available
in all fine bookstores and most really bad bookstores, too. I don't.
Archive Rights: WRFA, XMMFFC, otherwise, just ask.
Summary: What became of Logan two years after the movie?
WARNING: Character death. Yep, I got a taste of it in the last
story, and I like it. However, unlike the last death story, this one
will end with you feeling pretty ok.
A stealthy figure approached the quiet mansion, his black fatigues
and dark, close-cropped hair allowing him to blend with the shadows
effortlessly. He had no memory of how he had arrived there and no
knowledge of where he would go after his work was done. This
emptiness did not bother him. It was unimportant. He knew why he
was here and what he had to do. That was enough.
The security around the perimeter was minimal for someone with his
skills and information. He could not remember studying any
schematics of the security system or plans of the house, but somehow
he still had the knowledge.
Picking the lock on the main door, he entered the large home and
easily disabled the interior alarm as he had the exterior. Sniffing
the air, he determined that there were no pets in the home that would
give away his presence. Also, the target, as well as the other
residents, were upstairs and had been for several hours. He could
move freely while he completed the mission.
Moonlight shone through the few uncurtained windows on the first
floor, but the killer did not need the illumination. His eyes were
as keen as a cat's, allowing him to see everything in the dim
entryway. He walked easily through foyer and down the hallway to his
Entering the brightly decorated kitchen, he walked straight to the
knife rack and pulled out a six-inch butcher knife. Holding it in
his gloved hand, he tested the balance of the weapon. Satisfied with
its heft, he left the kitchen and proceeded to the stairs. It would
have been easier to kill with his claws or bare hands, but the
mission called for a weapon on the scene.
Ascending the stairs, quiet as a whisper, the dark figure sampled the
air again. The target was through third door on the left at the top
of the stairs, and he was not alone. After pushing open the door,
the killer could see the man in bed, sleeping on his back with his
wife curled at his side.
Perfect. The man would be easy to kill. The only difficulty of the
mission was that the death had to be silent. The wife must not be
aware of the killer's presence. She must be framed for the murder:
a domestic dispute gone horribly wrong.
As the killer slinked forward, he remained hyper aware of the
heartbeats and breathing of the people in the bed before him, ready
to act if either of them started to wake up. He was so aware of the
bodies, that he noticed a discrepancy. One so glaring that, once
discovered, the killer could not take his mind off it.
The target was an older man, his hair a mix of blond and grey. The
smell of aftershave, cologne, soap, and deodorant couldn't cover the
natural musk of the man himself. The musk was feminine. Not only
that, but the smell was familiar.
Kelly had to die, but was this really Kelly? His scent and face
matched those in the killer's head, but one or the other had to be
wrong. If he killed this man now, would he be killing the target and
fulfilling the mission or killing a decoy and leaving his work undone?
Independent thought had been discouraged in the killer by every means
available to his owners. He was ill-prepared for any deviation from
the expected mission. He had no memories to draw on, no prior
experiences from which to extrapolate a new plan. Therefore, he
followed the mission despite his conflicting senses.
Lining the butcher knife up, he plunged it deep into Kelly's chest
between the third and fourth ribs. The man died almost instantly,
never waking from his sleep. As the killer watched, Kelly's skin
flickered, blue scales moving across his exposed face and neck,
revealing the beautiful, blue mutant that had been masquerading as
The dead mutant's face mixed with her smell was even more familiar.
He *knew* her. This was not knowledge that had appeared from nowhere
like his other memories. This was a nebulous, gut feeling.
Sometime, before the mission, he had known this woman.
'There is no past, no future, everything is the mission,'
automatically ran through his thoughts. Yes, that's right. He
couldn't know the woman. There is no past.
Carefully and gently moving the wife's arm to the dead mutant's
chest, he wrapped the woman's fingers around the handle of the knife,
and she gripped the wood in her sleep, snuggling closer to the dead
His work done, he left the mansion, stepping to the curb and into the
van waiting for him.
"The mission failed!" the young colonel yelled at the older scientist
standing before him as he paced the small lab.
The man known only as the Weapon lay quietly in the sealed room
before them, oblivious to their words. He had been returned to the
base early that morning, and now, after debriefing, he was being
wiped and reprogrammed for his next mission as the two men talked.
"The mission was a phenomenal success!" the professor responded,
thrilled at the results of his latest endeavor.
"How can you say that? Your magnificent weapon didn't kill Kelly.
He killed a shape-shifting mutant, probably planted there to hide the
"No." the professor answered, quickly losing his patience with the
younger man. "Think about it! Senator Kelly was anti-mutant for
most of his political career..."
"He changed sides. That's why we had to eliminate him. He knew too
much and wouldn't listen to reason."
"No. Don't you remember the panic right before that mutant terrorist
attack? Kelly disappeared for a week and then changed sides in a
press conference. Don't you see? He was replaced then! This blue
shape-shifter probably killed him and took his place, switching his
affiliation and working for mutant causes ever since."
The professor watched as the stunned colonel processed his
theory. "Two years? There's no way that facade could've been
maintained for two years. His wife would figure it out... wouldn't
she? My heavens, the man was running for president!"
"Which is why this mission was such a success. Darlene Kelly is
already being praised in the media for her act of self-defense
against a mutant who was pretending to be her husband. A mutant who
could easily have become president. This will increase the cry for
mutant registration. Soon, we will be able to take our project out
into the open."
"Kelly's been dead all this time?"
"Yes, and our weapon has eliminated a very dangerous mutant. Can't
you see how successful this project is?
"I must admit, Professor. When you put it that way, it is quite
impressive." Turning his attention to the man lying in the room
beyond, the colonel asked, "What is he being programmed for now?
Another political assassination or some mutant eliminations?"
"Another assassination. The only man that can stop us now is already
petitioning Congress and pandering to the press, trying to calm the
outcry over the shape-shifting fraud. With him and his assistant out
of the way, there will be no one to stop us."
"So you're sending the Weapon against two targets? I didn't know he
could be programmed with that much information at a time."
"Both targets live in the same building. He can kill them and be
back out with minimum residual presence. It shouldn't be too
difficult. It's not like these are mutants he's going against, just
some rich people in a private school."
"Who are they?"
"Professor Charles Xavier and Dr. Jean Summers."
See part two.