Wolverine: Weapon X

by Marc Cerasini

  It’s on my trail. . . At my shoulder. Cutting me with spikes. Breaking into me. Hot breath, searing pain. Flesh burning, bones turned to magma. The putrid stench of death in my nose, my mouth.

  The claws that reached into his body began to tear at his mind. Logan’s senses dimmed. An electronic hum dominated his hearing. A blue pall fell over his eyes. He struggled against the almost hypnotic influence, but the blue fog turned ebony black, and the weight of the void fell heavy on his consciousness.

  Can’t get away . . . Must get away. Must run forever . . . fight forever. Never give in to the darkness. Never surrender to the beast. A man. Can’t forget…

  But out of the blackness, the shadow rose, suffocating him, dulling his mind, crushing his will. Logan moved his lips, but discovered he’d lost the ability to speak.

  He felt an icy rage squeeze his brain. A rage that was not his own. A hatred for all men that he’d never felt before.

  It’s got me . . . and it wants revenge. It’s turning me inside out. Darkness unending. Behind me, around me. It’s everywhere. The shadow’s everywhere.

  I’m everywhere.

  As the void washed over him and consciousness winked out like a thrown switch, Logan heard a tiny voice from somewhere deep inside of his abyss.

  “Don’t give up,” it said.

  Can’t go on . . . bones dense like lead. Like iron. Knees giving in …

  “Don’t give up…”

  Shot through like steel in the heart caving in—

  Don’t give up.”

  —under the weight. The weight of the beast.

  19

  Endgame

  “It’s extraordinary, is it not, Cornelius?”

  The Professor stared up at the monitor, hands locked behind his back. “Amazing that Weapon X, a creature of such power, is shaken by his own shadow. Driven by fear of himself to something akin to a nervous breakdown.”

  Dr. Cornelius, at Carol Hines’s shoulder, glanced at the readouts on the woman’s REM terminal. Slowly, the device’s waves were being reduced, releasing Logan’s brain from its murderous dream thrall.

  “It is impressive, Professor. More impressive still is the way he’s pulling through. Fighting back. Despite it all, there’s a core element to Logan’s personality that battles on, even when the odds seem hopeless. Exterior camera, Ms. Hines.”

  “Switching…”

  The image on the HDTV monitor morphed. The frozen picture of Logan’s bleak dream-scape—a nightmare in purple and scarlet, with a desolate black void for sky and bony white spikes protruding from the virtual ground—was replaced by a chilly exterior shot of the complex.

  Pale moonlight glistened off freshly fallen snow. A frigid wind howled down from the nearby mountains, shaking diamond-dust ice crystals from the white-blanketed branches. The bitter-cold night unmarked by clouds. A spray of stars and a bright hunter’s moon cut the sky’s silky blackness.

  “So you think he has pulled through, beaten back his fear and self-loathing, eh?” the Professor asked, his lips a challenging sneer. “We shall see what we shall see.”

  “Yes, I guess we will, Professor. Logan’s still standing, isn’t he?” Cornelius gestured to the image on the screen. Logan, silhouetted by the brilliant moon, legs braced in the snow, arms at his side, claws like icicles hanging from his wrists.

  The Professor leaned toward the monitor, savoring the raw power of the thing he’d created and now controlled. On-screen, Logan’s naked flesh gleamed palely in the moonlight, crowned by a shock of raven black hair. Slabs of bulky muscle, rigid as concrete, plastered his chest, and thick, corded bands crisscrossed his arms, loins, thighs. Legs spread, crouched—he was a juggernaut ready to explode, Logan’s flanks quivered like an excited animal, his hot breath came in moist, steaming clouds.

  The mutant faced a white-striped Siberian tiger—starved, of course, as per the Professor’s instructions. Man and beast stood frozen in place, eyes locked. The cat curled its lips to bare merciless fangs.

  “Logan didn’t buckle,” said Cornelius. “He didn’t give in. He didn’t even retract his claws when we gave him the power to do so.”

  The Professor placed his index finger in front of his lips. “Hush, Cornelius. He has found the snow leopard.”

  “Siberian tiger, sir.”

  “Yes, thank you, Ms. Hines.”

  Cornelius cleared his throat. “We could have set this up better, you know.”

  The Professor faced him. “How do you mean, Doctor?”

  “If Logan actually had to hunt the cat down, confront it, to kill it of his own volition, instead of the tiger just being there, threatening him… this experiment would have been a little more telling if Logan’s will were somehow engaged, I think.”

  “Yes,” the Professor replied thoughtfully. “I suppose you’re right. But still, this is an acceptable scenario for one possessing the subject’s simplistic perceptions.”

  On the screen, the tiger opened its jaws. The snarling sound crackled through the speakers after a split-second delay. Its ferocity grew with each passing second.

  “Please synchronize the sound system, Ms. Hines.”

  The snarl became a gurgling roar. Though the tiger was hungry—very hungry—it seemed cautious of its adversary. The tiger’s flanks rippled, its tail flashed from side to side; the creature backed up and crouched, ears flat. Even then, it would not spring.

  In the end, it was Logan who lunged first, attacking the big cat a split second before it leaped at him. The antagonists slammed into each other, Logan’s arms rising and falling as he repeatedly stabbed the roaring feline.

  “Look at that!” Cornelius cried. “Logan’s right in there. He’s just as wild and savage as before.”

  But the Professor shook his head. “He may seem so, Doctor, but in the past few days, Weapon X has been altered irrevocably. His savagery is now tempered by ego and ratiocination. It is not savagery we see, but cunning.”

  On-screen, Logan and the creature grappled in fur neither gaining the upper hand.

  “Look how he fights, Cornelius. Any hesitation, a moment of fear, trepidation, or merely caution—and he will be undone.”

  “Yes, literally,” said Cornelius. On the monitor, Logan and the tiger rolled across the snowy expanse. The tiger’s claws raked at the man’s soft belly while he slashed at the creature’s exposed throat. Blood drops decorated the combatants.

  The Professor sighed. “It has, of course, been necessary that Logan not know of his indestructible skeleton…”

  “Which won’t help him if he gets disemboweled, anyway.”

  “No, Dr. Cornelius. In that case, he would learn the truth the hard way—and with much pain.”

  “Camera four, Ms. Hines.”

  “Yes, Doctor. Switching…”

  The scene changed, and so did the contest. Now Logan was up, his knee thrust into the tiger’s chest. The butchering began. Black blood stained the snow, and gore flew in great gouts at every blow from Logan’s long claws.

  “He’s gaining the advantage, Professor.”

  “Yet not so long ago, Weapon X beheaded a grizzly bear without hesitation. “Without so much as a tussle,” the Professor said regretfully. “That is what I call gaining the advantage.”

  The tiger’s quick movements were less frenzied. The beast was weakening from exhaustion and lack of blood. Logan continued to rip the creature, his own grunts of exertion mingled with the cat’s growls of pain and rage.

  “You have to have faith, Professor,” Cornelius said. “Look I’ll lay you a hundred on Logan. What do you think of that?”

  The Professor made a sour face. “This is not a game, Cornelius…”

  “Give me a full close-up on camera number six, Ms. Hines!” cried Cornelius. “And wake up, or we’ll miss half the action. I don’t think I’ve seen Logan’s reflexes faster than they are now.”

  “Switching…”

  With renewed strength, the tiger reared up and lashed out with a v
icious blow from one of its front paws. Logan pulled back just in time, the claw tearing a ragged canal across the muscles of his chest.

  Cornelius faced the Professor. “You’re telling me this is no game? If that blow would have connected, it could have gutted Logan and I’d be out a C-note.”

  The Professor chuckled. “You don’t see it, do you, Cornelius? That was a feint. You are correct about his reflexes. They are more nimble. And so is the mind of our subject. Weapon X was drawing the creature out for the kill. Watch and learn.”

  “Pull in closer, Ms. Hines,” said Cornelius.

  The tiger drew back its front paw to strike again, leaving an opening for Logan to exploit. With a deadly lunge, he sunk his steel claws into the beast’s soft throat until his fist met the animal’s gore-streaked fur, and the tips of the blades protruded from the dead beast’s wedge-shaped skull.

  “A magnificent blow!” cried the Professor.

  Over the speakers, the snarls ended abruptly. As Logan struck a second time, plunging his claws into the tiger’s heart, his own raking breath could be heard over the loudspeakers.

  “God! Another blow—straight to the heart. Son-of-a-bitch Logan is more brutal than ever.” Cornelius faced the woman. “Give me readings, Ms. Hines … heart rate, respiration, adrenal levels.”

  Carol Hines checked her monitor, then blinked in surprise. “No readings, sir. Mr. Logan is off-line for this. He’s performing without the influence of the REM device.”

  “Excellent,” said the Professor. “Weapon X has executed his mission without benefit of our direct commands. Only our influence, his conditioning, and the reprogramming techniques we applied, are controlling him at this point.”

  “Fantastic!” said Cornelius, grinning. “Then I guess it’s mission accomplished. Logan is functioning autonomously, per your original specifications, Professor. What do you say to that?”

  “It is remarkable, indeed, Dr. Cornelius. His instincts and reflexes, though perhaps more pragmatic, more careful, seem quite undiminished. More important, his ferocity is still unparalleled.”

  Cornelius chuckled. “Pity I couldn’t get you to take that bet, eh, Professor? It would have been easy money.”

  Peevishly, the Professor crossed his arms. “I will not sully the nature of our scientific endeavor with wagers, Doctor.”

  Cornelius refused to be cowed. After months inside this facility after weeks of lockdown, he finally saw the end of this odious experiment just over the horizon, and his mood was high.

  I have all the samples of Logan’s blood and tissue that I will ever need for my immunology experiments to continue, long after I leave this place, mused Cornelius. The Professor’s right about one thing, though. The existence of Weapon X will alter the course of history. Not as a destroyer however as the Professor envisions, but as a healer and a boon to all mankind.

  On the HDTV monitor, Logan rose, bloodied but undefeated, the tiger broken and lifeless in snow turned crimson. The subject stared straight ahead into a fathomless distance.

  Cornelius sank into a chair. “I believe you have underestimated your prize, Professor,” he began. “In that little virtual-reality scenario of yours, Logan was set up. We gave him a chance to escape. Yet he didn’t run. Instead, he turned around and savagely assassinated the lot of us. Then we jammed his psyche with his fear of his own mutant nature, and even that didn’t faze him.”

  The Professor’s eyebrow rose. “Meaning?”

  “I’d say he came through your final test with an A, wouldn’t you?” Cornelius replied.

  “Yes, yes, he was aggressive enough,” the Professor replied. “And yet he failed to kill Ms. Hines. An act of mercy that leaves doubt still lingering in my mind.”

  “We discussed this with Dr. MacKenzie in the postexperiment briefing,” Cornelius replied. “He spared Hines because she was never a threat to him. It’s as we conjectured—Logan will only kill if threatened with harm, or … well. .

  “Out of hunger?” posited Carol Hines.

  “Yes, or out of hunger. And why would he want to eat Ms. Hines, anyway?” Cornelius joked.

  “Yes, all right, Cornelius,” said the Professor. “I suppose we should consider this experiment a successful one—flawed though it may be.”

  Carol Hines looked up from her own terminal. “If I may say, Doctor, I think Mr. Logan only killed you in the VR scenario because of that accidental shooting. I don’t think he would have attacked you if the circumstances were different.”

  Cornelius thought about it for a moment. “You may be right, Ms. Hines—”

  “Hmph,” grunted the Professor.

  “In any case,” Cornelius continued, “Weapon X… Logan… made a rational decision within the parameters of the situation he experienced, and relied on a modicum of rational judgment rather than reacting with naked aggression. Which makes him a smart weapon, indeed.”

  “I shall have to consider a new round of tests, turn Logan over to MacKenzie for the next phase of operations,” muttered the Professor.

  “Have the wranglers pick up Logan, Ms. Hines.”

  “Yes, Dr. Cornelius.”

  She tapped the intercom and a voice crackled in reply. “Cutler here…”

  “Please bring the subject inside, Agent Cutler. Subject X should be taken to D-Block this time.”

  * * * * *

  “Yes. D-Block. I know, Ms. Hines … over.”

  Cutler keyed off the intercom and rubbed his tired eyes. The hatch to the armory opened and Agent Anderson entered.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Anderson? Franks is the name on this morning’s duty roster.”

  Anderson paused, but would not face his boss. “I guess you just got out of bed, eh, Cut?”

  “Yeah, ten minutes ago. You’d sleep for three whole hours, too, if the Professor didn’t have you on duty for the nuttiest experiment on record. Logan was running around on the grounds outside, lost in some kind of delusion or something. I thought he’d run away, but the eggheads got him under their thumbs. Shut Logan down until a little while ago…”

  Anderson would not meet the other soldier’s gaze. Cutler noticed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “You… you didn’t hear about Franks, then?”

  Cutler stared. “What about Franks?”

  “Two hours ago. The handlers were moving that Siberian from the cage to the compound. Tiger got him—”

  “What?”

  “Franks was prodding the thing out of its cage so Logan could hunt it down. The tiger turned, ripped Franks.”

  “How bad?”

  “Took his arm off Franks bled to death before Dr. Hendry could get to him. Lynch wanted to shoot the tiger as soon as he attacked Franks, but Major Deavers stopped him. Said the Professor would be pissed if Weapon X didn’t have something to hunt…”

  Cutler slumped onto a bench without knowing it. He stared at the far wall. “That bastard Deavers … that son-of-a-bitchin’ suck-up.”

  “You can’t blame it on the Major,” Anderson replied. “Really, I saw the tape, Cut. There was nothing anyone could do for Franks.”

  Cutler nodded. Then he stood and quietly began to suit up. As he donned his Kevlar armor, he began to speak—more to himself than to Anderson.

  “Franks was okay,” he said. “You could count on him. He took this job seriously, tried to do his best. Now he’s just another goddamn ghost haunting this place.”

  “Come on, Cut, don’t take it so hard.”

  “Don’t take it so hard? That’s a laugh. I’m not taking it at all. I feel nothing Numb. Like I’m half-dead myself Like I’m just a ghost, and so is everybody else in here. This … place. The desolation. This lockdown. This sick, twisted experiment…”

  Anderson glanced at the overhead security monitor. “Hey, Cut … the walls have ears, y’know.”

  “I’m not the only one, either. MacKenzie told me people are freaking out, especially in the last week or so. The Professor’s been on duty, like, t
wenty-four seven, running that damn dream machine they have down there.” Cutler locked eyes with Anderson. “You been having dreams?”

  “Huh?”

  “Dreams, Anderson? Or nightmares?”

  Anderson seemed guarded. “Who wouldn’t… in a place like this?”

  “Well, I’ve been dreaming. A lot. Different stuff. Last night, I dreamed about something that happened a long time ago. When I was active duty… a corporal in the Special Forces… in another country..

  “Jesus, Cut. Don’t get spiritual on me, and don’t wig out. I can’t take it. You’re security chief. The rock, man. If you crack up, what chance do the rest of us have?”

  Cutler tried to shake off the ill mood, but found it completely impossible. He blamed it on the news about Franks. The truth was that he woke up with a feeling of oppression, as if something bad were about to happen.

  Or already had.

  Maybe it was a premonition. Maybe he was thinking about Franks and didn’t even know it.

  Another ghost to haunt this place…

  “Forget about it, Anderson,” Cutler said at last. “I’m just pissed about what happened to Franks, that’s all.”

  Cutler laughed—a bitter, mirthless sound—then lifted his helmet. “Suit up, and let’s get this over with.”

  As they stepped out into the cold and tested their electroprods, Cutler remembered the night he’d caught up with Logan, outside the rundown gin mill in that crappy part of town. He’d wondered at the time who the guy really was, knowing only that Logan had some kind of connection to the military or military intelligence—as Cutler himself did, then and now.

  At that time, Logan was considered an expendable “package”—a piece of discarded military hardware that was being recycled into something new with predictable military efficiency. But suddenly, things had changed. Now Logan was the valuable commodity and the people around him were the disposable ones—guys like Hill and Franks, Anderson and Lynch.

  And me.

  Cutler could not help thinking that maybe he deserved what was happening. Maybe the way he’d treated Logan was coming back to him. In spades.

  As they moved across the snow to the scene of carnage, Cutler felt trapped, like he was stuck in an endless loop of twisted cruelty. The frozen black blood on the snow—glass-smooth; the slashed animal on the ground; the smell of spilled blood. All of it gave him a shiver of déjà vu, a sense that he’d been here before and would experience these things again, perhaps endlessly.