X-23

The trip to Detroit was useful, insofar as it left X with a name: Metzger. His location?

A seemingly under-funded lab in Madripoor.

X spends some time sending out inquiries to former colleagues and friends-of-friends -- the X-men get around. What information she receives she keeps track of, until she thinks she has something of a plan.

Then she strategizes with Elle. It only makes sense, and not taking back-up into a difficult situation can be stupid.

This is doubly so when the news confirms that X will be traveling into a riot zone. She could postpone the trip, but that would give Metzger time to get away. Provided he is not killed in the fighting.

Stranger things have happened.

****

One of those stranger things includes the fact that when X tracks Doctor Metzger down, he's dying, bedridden and swearing at her as soon as he recognizes her face.

She does not understand why his current condition is her responsibility, but that detail is hardly relevant to her mission.

He gives her the name of the man he worked for. Colcord. There is still more swearing.

She kills him before she leaves. Because he asks.

****

Tracking Colcord is a more difficult proposition. He is smart, he is canny, and he has friends in high places.

Fortunately X can listen with the best of them and, for short bursts, she is good at blending in.

It helps that very few of the people around her are paying much attention to anyone who isn't directly trying to kill them. Smoke from the fires also helps in concealment.

Their are rumors about people having contact with a man in a mask, supposedly the spokesman for the council of gang leaders that runs the city. The name Tyger is also thrown around, and X files it away. Just in case.

Eventually word reaches her of a meet between the masked man and a resesarch scientist. The scientist is Colcord.

X takes note of the time, then takes a detour to Milliways for back-up.

There is a great deal of work to be done.

The interesting thing with X is that she does not feel the cold very well, even with six inches of snow on the ground. Plus she is used to parkas and scarves and bobble-hats as a way to disguise this, and Ambergeldar does not have all of those.

Which means she is consulting with Princess Susan on what would be appropriate snow gear for their adventure today.

It only makes sense.

After talking to Bucky (and reading Teja's note), X cannot ignore the sharp demands of her mission parameters anymore.

The sickness is problematic, and so is the knocking people unconscious -- particularly in the bar proper.

Which means, if this Slenderman is out there -- someone has to explain the rules. And enforce them. And since X is one of the least-affected people she's met, it seems like a not-terrible idea to be the one to try.

She brings back-up, of course. And Elle has met the Slenderman before. Maybe that will . . . aid in their efficacy.

Though the sight of the decrepit house by the lake is not particularly comforting, in that regard.

Still. Needs must.

Which is why X begins making her approach, not even trying to be quiet.

There is something to be said for practicing katas. X rarely has much patience for it.

She is better at remembering her own combat experiences and replicating them, minus her opponent.

Or in adjusting her own approach to said remembered opponent.

it is not entirely ineffective at mimicking the uncertainties of combat.

Or at least it is better than hitting a stationary target.

X has not had to worry about muscle memory in a long, long time.

X opens the door to her apartment, letting it swing behind her as she stoops to grab Steve McQueen before he can make a break for it.

Farrah, meanwhile, decides that an aerial assault is the best plan and dives for Stitch's head as soon as it appears.

At least Thor looks like he will get off scot-free?

(For now.)

There are reasons X made him carry the pizza. And the cupcakes.

And the popcorn.

It's a sunny day, something that Norman appears to much appreciate as he sprawls across one corner of the castle courtyard, spreading out his wings to soak up as much of the heat as possible.

Susan and X, meanwhile, are perched on one of his forearms, using the steam he is exhaling to heat the tea.

Well, X is taking care of the tea, at least. Susan's job is to hold X's feather boa out of the way of any potential flames.

It is a very important job.

The trip from Milliways to X's apartment is never very complex. The trip from X's apartment to a series of rooftops suitable for free-running is a little moreso.

Hopefully Rachel continues to not mind the use of motorcycles as urban transport.

It saves time.

Whether the bedroom is silent before her arrival -- her return -- X can't say.

In point of fact, X's throat is still so dry that she won't be able to say anything for a few minutes.

But even before she takes steps to address that, X is going to take the time to properly appreciate the sight of Bruce.

Alive.

Sadistic monsters, after all, are not well-known for keeping their word.

The hounds of hell are always hungry.

X knows this well as she runs across the blasted plains, black dogs baying behind her in a veritable flood. She can run for a long time, but they can run forever.

Strategy demands she find a defensible place to make a stand, perhaps the dying copse of trees up ahead, or somewhere else -- somewhere far from here -- where she can take the high ground.

That is what strategy would demand. But this is hell. Logic has very little place here, and X --

X is tired of running.

The baying of the hounds grows closer, and X-23 -- the weapon, the warrior, the woman -- turns to meet them.

She's killed dogs before. These hounds are bigger, and they are smarter, but they have only claws and teeth with which to tear at her.

And X is very well-equipped to tear back.

It may take hours -- it may, in point of fact -- take days, but eventually the hounds retreat.

X falls to her knees, soaked in sweat and blood, both her own and the hounds', taking deep breath after deep breath, the viciously hot air of hell burning in her lungs.

But she does not have time to sit.

He is here, the thing that is not Wolverine. The demon that is no one and nothing to X-23.

Which is why, when he approaches her, teeth shining white and brilliantly sharp in his reptilian face, when he holds out his hand, saying , "Oh well done, my queen. Marvelously done, shining beacon of my kingdom, anointed in death and blood. Rise, and give yourself up to me, and become what you were always meant to be."

X looks at his hand, her own body limp with exhaustion, and then looks at his face. Her breath is loud in her ears, as is the sound of her heartbeat, too-quick but still steady.

"Okay," she says, just as she did before he first brought her here, this monster, this thing that she could, perhaps, have been. "I can do that."

And then she's on him, claws bared, the runes she traced into the adamantium long ago (traced to fight Them, those otherworldly demons that so plagued Jamie and Joris and Helen) flaring bright as she drives each and every one home into the demon's chest.

X could keep going. She could let rage cloud her vision until all she can do is hack at the demon's body until it's a fine red paste on the ground. She could cut off his head, or dismember him, or rip out his guts and leave them as a message for any who would seek to bring her back here.

She could do all these things, all these terrible things --

But she does not.

The kill is quick, if full of far too much blood to be called clean.

X leaves him where he falls, the king of this particular corner of hell.

The remnants of his hounds will feast well.

X does not care.

Parched and bloody and exhausted, she gives herself a moment to catch her breath and gather her strength.

And then X makes her way back across the vast, empty span of Hell, looking for a way home.

X does not remember her dreams. Sometimes she thinks she does not have them.

That would be preferable to the situation she finds herself in, now.

Every night she dreams of Logan, but a Logan that smells wrong. The way he talks -- wrong. The way he moves --

She knows it is not her brother. He says things, terrible things.

He wants her to go back to the way she was, a thing. A tool. A weapon. Not a person at all. He wants to use her. X does not even have to listen to him talk to know that.

It is in his scent, the sound of his voice, the way he keeps reaching for her, even as she stays more than an arm's length away.

It is safer.

And when she wakes --

When she wakes it is almost impossible to tell that she was ever asleep at all.

If she were someone else, X would probably be afraid.

As it is, every night before she falls asleep, X just tries to remember to kill the thing wearing Logan's face.

Someday.

Someday soon.