Author: Notmanos
E-mail: notmanos at yahoo dot com
Rating: R
Disclaimer:  The characters of Angel are owned by 20th Century Fox and Mutant Enemy; the
character of Wolverine is also owned by 20th Century Fox and Marvel Comics.  No copyright
infringement intended. I'm not making any money off of this, but if you'd like to be a patron of the
arts, I won't object. ;-)  Oh, and Bob is *my* character - keep your hands off!   


Logan could still hear the random booing as he got dressed in the back, and even after all this time, he couldn't help but chuckle. It bothered him a little that he got a charge out of being the source of so much enmity, but hell, why not?

The promoter entered the room, rolling two of his five eyes. He was a demon he'd never heard of before - a T'Krit ( apparently pronounced like an insect noise ), and sort of resembled a potato with limbs. His attempt to cover up his strangely bulbous shape and clay like skin involved a loud Hawaiian shirt, khakis, a Panama hat, and - perhaps the worst sin of all - white deck shoes. All he needed was a Nikon hanging around his neck, and he'd have looked like any American tourist. Well, save for the pyramid of eyes ( one on top, the other four beneath in matching rows of two ) in the center of his forehead. Also, much like an animé character, he had no apparent nose. "You put on a hell of a show, Human, but you lied."

"About what?" He wondered, pulling on his t-shirt.

"You're somethin' of a celebrity in the underground circuit, ain't ya?" Bert - god knew why he chose that name for himself - said, his voice almost annoyingly nasal. "I did some checking after you beat the shit out of the Crimmins."

"You didn't ask me for my resume," he pointed out. The Crimmins were a bit of a cheat, he thought - they were a type of "hive" demon that shared a brain, so there were three of them. Well, three identical bodies - all big, muscular, and dumb as a footstool - and they were the regional "champions" - or, at least they were. Now he was, although he was getting the idea his brief reign was very much over.

Logan had no idea why he'd done this. No, that wasn't true - the money sounded nice ( a thousand bucks if you were the last man standing in the ending "Free For All" Brawl - of course he was, he had never doubted he would be ), and so did burning off some steam. It was a demon club ( it was called "Second Level", and it didn't take a genius to figure it out - he'd help take down Seventh Circle in New York, after all ), but unlike Seventh Circle, it was not some sleazy fly-by-night ( no pun intended ) operation - this was a franchised, slightly Yuppie - fied sleazy organization: it was all chrome and plastic, gel lights and fancy drinks that probably glowed in the dark, and were sweet enough to cause an instant case of diabetes. And there didn't appear to be a kill floor, which was a point in their favor. The fights were a weekly occurrence, held at one or another club ( there were, according to Bert, eight clubs in the U.S. and one in Canada - they hoped to expand to more states and provinces soon ), and beamed to the others on closed circuit television. Logan had already guessed who had recognized him, and from where.

"No, but shit dude - the least you coulda been was honest with me. Brisley up in Vancouver recognized you; he said you're the Canadian bare knuckle champion."

Brisley? Now there was a name. "I don't know about that. I was never given a sash."

Bert glared at him, and that was quite an experience with five orange eyes.

Logan sighed, and said, "Hey, they were all Humans. I didn't think it counted."

"What about the fact that you were a good bet to win the "Ultimate Fighter" championship on Dis? Well, before half the island ended up under water." He replied, folding two of his arms across his chest.  He usually hid his other two arms inside his shirt when trying to pass for Human, but now they hung loose at his side. They both knew he was a demon, so why hide it?

That was a surprise. "Oh, there were other survivors, huh? I didn't think almost champion counted either."

Bert's five eyes continued to glare at him for a moment, then he sighed heavily and rolled them all. "This is precisely why I don't let Humans in the fights."

"I thought it was 'cause they generally couldn't last."

"That too."

This was usually demon on demon fighting, but sometimes "half breeds" and mutants were let in, to "liven things up" and give the crowds "someone to root against". Hence all the booing he received. Also, someone threw a bowl of soy nuts against the cage after he won the big brawl, and he thought that was really uncool. Did they think edamame grew on trees?

Only in California would you have toasted soy lobbed at you in a bar.

Bert held out his third hand, and in it was a small but still impressive wad of cash. "Since you're a ringer, I don't suppose I have to tell you the drill, do I ?"

"Never come back?"

"Bingo." He gave Logan the cash, and he had to admit to himself it was hardly an "X-Man" sort of thing to beat the shit out of guys - Human or otherwise - for cash. But that was only one of his very good reasons to keep doing it, whenever the mood or need for money hit him. It was better than being a bartender or a pipeline worker, and he couldn't see accepting money from either Xavier or Bob - he did nothing for them, and he didn't need handouts. He pulled his own weight, or he didn't participate.

"You're a nasty son of a bitch, you know that?" Bert said, as Logan pocketed his money and grabbed his leather jacket.

He grunted an acknowledgement. "I've heard that a lot."

"It's admirable in a Human."

"Thanks ... I think." He left the "locker room" and headed out the back door, into the relentlessly bright sunshine and strangely dense air of Los Angeles. They had "day fights" to suit the "early risers" back on the East Coast, where most of the Second Levels were. It was a little disorienting, since he was used to fighting in grotty dives in the dead of night, but not all demons were nocturnal. And also, Second Level was apparently listed in the New York Stock Exchange, under the aegis of its parent company - they were demons trying to go mainstream legit. It was such a fucking weird idea he had no idea how he felt about it. He wondered if the really evil ones called them "sell outs".

In spite of the heat, he kept his jacket on and sweated, and attracted the occasional strange look, but mostly from those camera toting tourists that Bert had inadvertently resembled - even he was not too strange for native Angelenos.

A couple of blocks over, the gentrification gave way to a more slum like area, where the scars of the '90's riots still lingered, if only because no one was brave enough to come out here and fix them. Crowds thinned, tourists disappeared entirely, and the few people around gathered in menacing clots on the corners or lurked in shadowy doorways or alleys. He met all their eyes, waiting for another good fight, but he was known too well down here, and gave off too much of a "Come on, fuck with me" attitude: when they bothered to meet his gaze, they all looked away quickly, and pretended he wasn't there. No one wanted to fuck with him, and that was a damn shame.

Well, maybe not. He'd beaten the shit out of enough dumb asses for now. All he wanted was a smoke and a beer, and maybe somebody pretty to look at. So why the hell was he headed towards the Way Station?

At least Bob was back in Sydney. Knowing Hel, she wouldn't even let him up for air until three days from now, so at least he wasn't going to pop up and bug him any time soon. Still, it would have been nice to have some answers about that fireball thing - Bob told him he'd been unable to follow it, which was troubling. Bob seemed pretty troubled by it too. If he couldn't find it, what the fuck was it?

He hoped Lau was on duty as he shoved open the door - which appeared like a boarded up husk held together by condemned signs to everyone else - and wasn't surprised by the wall of music and smells that hit him, followed by a chorus of sour groans from demons who were too hung over to care for the light, or just didn't like the light in principal. He wondered how the hungover were exactly coping with the Deftones.

The door had barely swung shut behind him when he saw something flying straight towards his head. he caught it by pure reflex, and only after it was in his hand did he realize it was a cordless phone receiver. "Call for you," Lia snapped, returning to wiping some spilled cow's blood off the bar.

He should have known - object flying at him equaled Lia behind the bar. "Gee, really?" He shot back. "I thought that was just my "welcome home" kiss." He brought the receiver up to one ear, and covered the other, hoping to block out some of "Rx Queen". "Yeah?" He figured it was Bob; maybe he'd finally figured out what that fire thing was.

There was a pause before Xavier asked, honestly concerned, "Is everything all right there?"

"Uh, yeah, it's just Lia," he said, wondering why Xavier was calling. It was bad news, wasn't it? It was always bad news. Lia gave him the finger for that comment, and he gave it back to her with a claw, since his hands were basically full. The horned demon at the bar jumped upon seeing it spring from his hand, quickly paid his tab, and left. He couldn't even pick a fight with a demon dumb ass anymore - how disappointing was that? "What's happened?"

There was another pause, like he was considering denying it ( "No, Logan, I just called to see how you are. Still beating people up to make yourself feel better? Still finding solace in meaningless sex? Good for you!" ), but then he realized there really was no point. Perhaps he'd read his mind over the phone line. Could he do that? "Storm and Cyclops have been shot."

Of all the things he expected him to say, that wasn't on the list. "What? By who?"

"We aren't sure."

"Are they okay?"

"They're alive, and expected to recover," Xavier sighed, and only then did Logan realize he was tense. "But they won't be on their feet for a while. They're still operating on Scott's punctured lung."

Logan winced. Having had both lungs punctured before, he knew how much that hurt, and what a fucking drama it was to get the tissue to reconnect and the lung to inflate once more. Of course, Scott's tissue reconnection wasn't going to happen that fast, not without outside help. A bad joke occurred to him - "I know the Boy Scout's a bit much, but shooting's uncalled for; a pistol whipping would have done." - but he knew enough not to say it. "Was anyone else hurt? When and where did this happen?"

"Chinatown, about an hour ago, and no, no one else was hurt ... well, no one not involved. They appeared to have been targeted specifically."

"Sniped in broad daylight, in a crowded section of New York, and no one saw anything?" That sounded not only really fucking bad, but suspiciously professional. Then he considered Xavier's addendum. "Storm and 'Clops got some of the guys before they went down?"

"No, a student did - Brendan Chambers."

That name was somehow familiar, but it took him a moment to place it. "Oh, uh, the demon kid?"

"Yes. He happened to be there at the time, as did Matthew Parker."

Brendan's friend or boyfriend or whatever the fuck he was. No matter - good for them. He hoped they killed the fucks. "The kids weren't hurt?"

"No, not to our knowledge. Brendan ran off after the incident, and we have yet to find him, but Matthew doesn't believe he was hurt. Matthew was in shock, but seems otherwise all right, considering." He paused once more, before saying, "I believe the intention was to incapacitate Scott and Ororo, and perhaps capture them. The men found at the scene were wearing military caliber body armor and carrying paralyzers."

Logan sat on the edge of an empty table and rubbed his eyes, letting the music blast the hell out of his right side eardrum. Oh fuck. "The Organization."

"It would seem to be."

"Didn't they get the memo? With their big cheese out of the picture, they don't exist anymore. The government got caught with their pants down, so they cut the funding." He then realized what he just said. "Officially. Fuck, is it even deeper than black ops now?"

"It can't be ruled out at this point. But the assault in this manner is puzzling."

"No, it isn't. They worked out the kinks of the last try - it's called testing the defenses, and it's a solid tactic. Evacuate the school, get everyone the fuck out of there, you included." He then considered that a moment. "Unless the intention is to get you to evacuate the school ... "

"As good as you are, even you can't guess their motivations from there."

"You were calling for Bob, weren't you?"

"No, Logan, I was calling for you. I assumed you'd be safe where you are, but I thought it best to check."

Safe with Bob, he meant. And yeah, sure, his orbit was the safest place, wasn't it? When you boiled it down, they'd never been able to come up with a counter measure that could neutralize him. And how could they? He was a god, after all. "Look, Bob's in Sydney, but I'll see if he can't get us over there - "

"You don't need to." He replied, maddeningly reasonable.

Logan felt like punching through the table. "They knew enough to take out Storm and Cyclops from a distance. They could be prepared for you too."

"I'm sure they are. Mind scans of the injured men revealed they had already had them scrambled telepathically. I believe that girl - what was her name, Delerium? - was responsible."

Logan wished he was surprised, but this was another instance of his jaded nature serving him far too well. "See? I have to rally the troops. You're in danger; the kids are in danger."

"I'm not so sure about that. I was virtually alone here at the mansion at the time of the attacks. If they wished to attack me, and had the ability to do so, they could have then, and laid in wait for the others. But they chose that moment to attack Scott and Ororo. And if Delerium's the best telepath they have at the moment, they haven't a chance."

Yeah, he knew that - Baldly could kick crazy girl's butt. But why else would they hit 'Clops and Storm, except for their being close to Xavier? "Is this revenge?" He wondered, aware he was grasping at straws. "Their big bosses are dead, their jobs are dead, so now we are?"

Xavier considered that a moment. "That's why I called, Logan. I thought, even with Bob there, you might need the warning."

He got it now, and it was almost funny. "You think they're comin' for me."

"If revenge is indeed the motive, they may consider you the one that shoulders the majority of the blame."

Logan chuckled, but there was no mirth in it, just a sort of sick bitterness. "I was the pet project gone horribly wrong, wasn't I?"

"You were one of Stryker's obsessions," Xavier corrected. "He had a tendency to spread them on to his people."

That reminded him why he was staying away from Xavier's. "Why did you hold out on me?"

The subject change seemed to throw Xavier for a moment. "What? Logan, I never - "

"Fuck you," he snapped bitterly. "You knew my past was connected to Stryker, and you never told me."

"Surely this isn't a discussion you want to have over the phone."

"No, it's a discussion you don't want to have ever. Now why did you tell me you knew nothing about me when you damn well did?"

He sighed, and at least he didn't try to deny it. That was a point in his favor. "You were recovering your memories, Logan, slowly but surely. I was sure you - "

"A sin of omission is still a lie," he interrupted. "And I don't give a fuck what your excuse is. You didn't tell me 'cause you're a chicken shit. What did you think I would do, run off and kill him?"

"That was exactly what he wanted you to do."

"You can read minds posthumously now? You know, Bob helped me find some of my past; he found proof I had a life before ... this." He found Mariko - he found pictures of him with her taken in a Tokyo parking garage; he found her grave. Logan had to close his eyes and take a deep breath before sorrow and rage overwhelmed him. If he crushed the phone in his fist, he bet Lia would have some big ass hissy fit, and lob a Guldar demon at his head. "You read my mind, Chuck." He packed as much contempt in that nickname as humanly possible. "You know I sometimes wondered if I was completely a lab experiment, like Frankenstein's monster or somethin'. I didn't think about it a lot, but you had to know it was there."

"Logan, I am sorry - "

"No, no, I don't want an apology. I want you to know that what little trust I had in you has been blown to hell. If I do anything for you now, it's not for you - it's for those poor kids. Those fucks have it bad enough bein' one of us in today's world, nonetheless havin' these government bastards after 'em. Got that?"

Xavier paused for a good, long while, and Logan did nothing to fill the silence. He was happy to let him twist in the wind. He realized the song on the jukebox was now "Whole Lotta Rosie", and he vaguely recalled Bob once telling him that song had the "greatest three chord guitar progression" of any rock song ever. Bob was one of the strangest men (god/demon/whatever) he'd ever met, beyond a doubt.

Finally, Xavier said, "I understand your feelings, Logan. I only wanted to do what was best for you. I see that perhaps I misjudged the situation."

"Damn right you did. I am not one of your kids. I have seen things and I have done things that would make your hair curl - if you still had any - and every night I face a war zone in my own fucking head. I will not be patronized or treated with kid gloves. If I am part of your little group, I'm an equal. Is that clear?"

"You were always an equal."

"I didn't feel like it. And how can you be an equal when someone sits on major info 'cause they don't think you were strong enough to take it?"

"That wasn't - " Xavier began, but he stopped himself before Logan could interrupt him again. After considering his next words carefully, he said, "All I ask of you is to obey the rules of the school while you're here - nothing more."

"Fair enough." He rubbed his eyes, and tried to get back on the conversational track they had been on before he got indignant. But all he could think about now was the fact that they'd found nothing him in Stryker's files.  Even before his death, the bastard had wiped all traces of him from his database. The only thing that had been found was a single phrase - " - weapon X phase one must be considered a failure - ", and he hadn't told anyone he was "weapon X" (save for Marcus - and Bob already knew), so he couldn't say that was a reference to him. It made him wonder how many "phases" there had been, and if any of them were still alive and on the payroll. It also made him think the best chance to recover any of his past had died with Lethe. "You gotta get the kids safe until we can figure out if revenge is all their after. They'll probably leave the kids alone if this personal, but we can't assume anything."

"I agree. It's being done."

"Wait - what about Chambers? The demon kid."

"I have Rogue and Piotr out looking for him. Rogue seems to have an established friendship with Brendan, he trusts her, and I believe she can reach him."

"Piotr?" He asked, at a loss.


That was hardly any help at all. Who in the hell had a nickname like that? "The metal guy?" He guessed.

"Yes." Xavier sounded mildly amused by that description.

"Well, that's no good. If the Org is out there and sees them, he's fucked if they have armor piercing bullets, isn't he? That metal ain't adamantium."

"That's why I sent Sadiq with them as well."

Another name that meant nothing to him. "Who the fuck is that?"

"The oldest of the Eden children you brought back."

Okay, now that made sense - the "constructed" mutants of Eden Biotechnics, Alex's "siblings" in mutation if nothing else. They had skin that could only be pierced by adamantium; armor piercers might tear through Colossus's "armor" like cheesecloth, but it would still bounce off the rhino hide of an Eden kid. They would need to pull out their adamantium bullets, but it probably wouldn't even occur to them to do so, not without him around. And if he was right, Sadiq was one of the Rhajan kids, which meant - fifteen or not - he'd already had some serious training as a palace guard before Bob "bought" them from al-Saud. He already knew ten ways to kill a man with his bare hands - good fucking luck to the Organization when they thought they engaged an easy target fifteen year old. "Good thinking," Logan admitted reluctantly. That was more hard nosed, pragmatic thinking than he would expect from Xavier, but then again, he was terribly short handed - both Storm and Scott were out of commission, he was here, and Jean was dead. The older kids who had at least had partial training were the fallbacks. But they could become cannon fodder way too easily, and he knew Xavier was as uncomfortable with that proposition as he was. "I'll call Bob, see if I can get ahold of him. If I can't, I'll see if I can't get one of his friends to zap me back to New York."

"Logan - "

"You heard me. Now I gotta drag Bob's butt out of bed." He held the receiver away, and shouted, "Incoming!" He then lobbed the phone handset back at Lia, who caught it easily, yet still gave him an evil scowl. Oh, what, did he breathe too hard on her phone?

He was aware that calling Bob might be a difficult proposition, so he decided to make another phone call first, and hoped that - for once - he lucked out.


It was interesting to encounter a true void. A big blank where you can't help but expect something - life, voice, intellect - to pop out. But Xavier had encountered this before, so he wasn't terribly surprised.

Rogue, Piotr, and Sadiq had just recently returned with Brendan, who was still distraught but convinced by Rogue that the safest thing for him was to go back with them. He seemed relieved he hadn't killed anyone, although he didn't believe that they were telling the truth at first. The soldier hit by the car had had much of the impact absorbed by his heavy body armor - he had some broken bones and a concussion, but nothing fatal. The soldier who was the worst off was the one "hit" by Matt; Matt had broken his spine. He was permanently  paralyzed from the chest down. It was a bit extreme, but Xavier knew - as belligerent as Matt could get - he was still a child learning to deal with his abilities, and he'd simply lashed out, trying to help Brendan. It was not a deliberate act, even though Matt had to have been aware he was breaking something major. At least he hadn't went for the man's skull.

Right now, he was more concerned about Logan. Unlike Scott, he didn't believe that Logan would "turn evil" on them if he left. Logan was not a black and white sort of person, and frankly working with other people always put him at a bit of a loss - really, all he wanted was to be left alone. And that was the problem.

Avoiding humanity was second nature for Logan, and for understandable reasons. But it wasn't good for a man like Logan to become a pariah. He didn't think he would become as twisted and bitter as Erik ( could Logan, in fact, be more bitter? It sounded like a rhetorical question ), but there was a wealth of knowledge and ability locked away in his mind, and it would be a shame to let that waste away. Admittedly, accessing it was a problem, and might remain so to his dying days (if Logan had one that stuck - and you'd think that eventually he would ... someday ...), but it was there. And, in spite of all that had happened to him, Logan had a well of compassion that had yet to run dry - it was obvious in the way he refused to stand by and watch others get hurt. Unless he was doing the hurting, but that was another story. There was a good person inside of Logan, somewhere, and Jean had been sure they could access it, bring it out more. Of course, Jean had the closest bond with Logan, and now ... well, he'd tackle that conundrum when he came to it. Logan might be angry with him now, and he might have to work at regaining his trust, but at least Logan wasn't walking away entirely; that seemed like a small victory.

Xavier went out back to the garden, where a brisk wind caused the hydrangea and laurel bushes to agitate as if trying to pull their roots out of the ground and leave. If that were indeed the case, he couldn't have blamed them. This might be ugly.

The sky was a high, pale blue, and dry heat seemed to radiate from the grass, giving the air a dry smell that was not by itself unpleasant. It was a lovely day by appearance; a shame that it wasn't more than skin deep.

He got a sense of those voids again, those blank minds, and finally one appeared, coming around from the left side of the house. "There you are, baldy. Don't you know it's safer inside?" The Ressik demon said, snarling. It wore a natty pinstriped blue suit that looked like a throwback to another era, and flattered the green tone of its scaled, reptilian skin.

"If you have business with me, I don't see the reason for involving others," he pointed out, as other Ressiks started to appear. He now faced three, although none were as well dressed as the first.

The pinstriped one - who must have been the leader - smirked as best he could with a wide, lipless mouth. "Ain't you a cool customer? You're aware that teep shit ain't gonna work on us, right?"

He assumed "teep" was some kind of shorthand for telepathy. "I've encountered your kind before." According to Bob, the reason telepathy of any kind didn't work on Ressiks and their "cousins", Frenik demons, was for the simple reason that they didn't have "centralized" brains - their brain tissue was spread out in "nodes" all over their bodies, which was also the reason why a head shot to one of these demons most likely wouldn't be fatal, or even slow them down much. It disturbed him that Bob had knowledge of head shots, but why wouldn't he? Bob seemed to know a lot of things he shouldn't have.

"Good for you. Obviously, this guy hadn't." Pinstripe gestured with his snake like head, and a fourth and fifth Ressik appeared from around the shade of a large maple, dragging between them a bloodied and unconscious Piotr. (He knew he was still alive; there was some base brain activity, but nothing suggesting he'd be conscious any time soon.) "The metal thing was cute, but he'd obviously never fought demons before. You need more than a cute trick if you're just a Human."

"You didn't have to hurt anyone," Xavier said sharply. "I came out here for that very reason."

"But where's the fun in that?" The leader asked, as the two Ressiks dropped Piotr under the tree and came to join the group forming a wide but ever shrinking circle around him.

"You don't work for the Organization, do you?" It was just a guess, but as far as he knew, they didn't overtly employ demons.

"Organization?" The leader replied curiously, his tangerine sized golden eyes narrowing slightly. "Which one? No, we're freelancers; we prefer being our own bosses. Surely you can get that, meat bag."

"Mercenaries." Had the organization contracted out, since they no longer had a telepath strong enough to neutralize him?

The Ressik shrugged with his hands, spreading them wide. "It's a living."

"In that case, you must be givin' us a bad name," a man's voice said from the vicinity of the back wall. And before anyone could react, several things happened in rapid succession. For the most part it was gunshots, several in a quick clip, muffled slightly, suggesting the use of silencers.

The legs of the Ressiks seemed to explode in gushes of sour smelling black blood,  and they yelped in shock as much as pain as they collapsed to the ground. The leader managed to pull out his gun and turn towards the source of the shooting, but the second he did, his gun went flying past Xavier's head - with his hand still attached.

"Fuck!" The leader cried, grabbing the bloody stump of his right arm.

"Now, I want those guns out on the ground, nice and slow, or yer gonna find out what it feels like to have one of those big ass eyes explode inside your head," Scorpion said, walking across the grounds with two smoking automatic pistols in his hands. "Now, unlike the heap under the tree over there, I have fought and killed demons before, so try one of your tricks and you'll need a friend with a shovel to pick up what's left of your limbs. And here's a fun fact for ya - in spite of these stupid ass goggles, I see in infrared, which means I can see your weaknesses, namely the parts of your body getting the most blood flowing to it. That's a major weakness when you get holes put in 'em. Gettin' the drift here, Snake?"

Although Xavier could only see his back, he could feel the hate emanating from the Ressik in waves. "You're gonna pay for this, meat bag."

"Uh huh. Watch me shake." A Ressik on the ground pulled out his gun, but Scorpion kicked him hard in the face without breaking his stride. "Now, Charlie over there is very much the pacifist, but me, I'm one of you -a merc. And I'm doing this for fun. Do the math on that yourself."

Telepathically, Xavier sent  *Logan?*

He seemed briefly startled, but didn't show it outwardly; he was very good at this. *Yeah, he called me, told me you guys were in deep shit, and asked me to drop by and keep an eye on things until he can get here. He also said there was an Org connection, and how could I say no to that?*

Scorpion shoved one of the guns right under the leader's throat, and kept his second gun fixed on the rest of his troops who were still moving enough to be considered a threat. "Now, you're gonna tell us all about your employers, and what they expected you to accomplish with this, or I'm gonna see how many holes I can put in ya before you cry "uncle". Comprende?"

The Ressik snorted derisively, at least feigning unconcern. "That ain't how baldy works, is it? He ain't gonna let you torture me."

Scorpion spared him the slightest glance over the Ressik's sholder, quirking an eyebrow in curiosity. Xavier knew this too could get ugly, but it was hard to argue with a man who just may have saved your life, no matter how ruthless he was. And there was no doubt in his mind that Scorpion was amazingly ruthless at times. But much like Logan, he was a shadow dweller - not all good, not exactly all bad. Unlike Logan, though, this was a calculated move on his part; by not picking a side, he was free to do as he pleased whenever he felt like it.
No matter how he chose to come off, Marcus was a very shrewd man. That was perhaps the most dangerous thing about him.

He moved his wheelchair carefully, avoiding the splayed out Ressiks on the ground and the muddy patches their black blood made on the lawn, and made his way towards Piotr.

"Hey," the leader shouted, sounding just a little anxious. "Hey! You can't - "

"I do believe he can," Scorpion countered smoothly. "You got three seconds, and then you get a new hole. Talk, Snidely."

As distasteful as it was, sometimes it was best to leave these things to the professionals.