Alternate Reality: Gambit
*Part Two* 

Dis is startin' to get irritatin'. It was bad enough that Gambit had to be on security watch. Spending several hours in front of a few television screens with absolutely nothing to do was not what he considered fun. He tended to wear an exprseeion that his foster-brother Henri LeBeau said conveyed the feeling of being 'totally bored out of his mind!!'. The title said it all. 

Wolverine wasn't helping at all. 

The X-Man was on a table similiar to the ones used for Essex's operating projects. The head of the table was lifted so that the table was at an angle, slanting halfway to being vertical. His deadly hands were strapped down spread-eagled so they hung over the edge. His feet where strapped much like his hands. The short man had surrendered the subtle growling to all out shouts and threats. The others had been more than willing to goad him about his situation while they were on their watches so he was worked into an even fouler mood than usual. His claws were bared, swiping at the air, as that was all he could reach. 

"Ya gotta name boy?" Logan snapped. 

"Wassit matter ta you?" Remy snapped back from his chair. It was turned away from the man and facing the screens. He didn't bother to turn it around to look at Wolverine. He'd been shuffling a deck of playing cards agitatedly and now lay them down on the terminal before him. The man was getting his temper boiling as well. He knew if he kept shuffling that he'd eventually lose control and they'd fly out everywhere. It would be too embarassing to sit there trying to pick them up. So he didn't allow the chance to occur. 

"I wanna know so's I know what ta tell people when they asked who's bleedin' carcass it is I just ripped up!" 

"Startin' ta sound like Miseur 'Tooth." Remy mumbled under his breath. Somehow Logan heard him and it hit a nerve. A raw one. 

"I AIN'T SABRETOOTH!!" Logan bellowed. 

"Den stop actin' like it already!" Remy screamed back, this time swiveling the chair around long enough to look at him while he said it, then swiveling it back. He felt very much like a child slouching in the chair with his arms crossed and what he felt sure was a petualant looking frown plastered on his face. 

Logan actually became somewhat quiet. Remy could still barely hear the gentle rumblings of a growl in the back of the older man's throat. But otherwise he had silenced. It became more uncomfortable than the yelling. 

He roved the screens in front of him, stopping at the one that watched the storage room. The storage room was one of many, but the only one that this particular station covered. There were other security rooms that watched certain areas and then there was a main room that Remy had seen only once, just a glimpse  of it, and the Marauders hadn't been allowed into at all. 

This storage room had been emptied due to Rogue being placed in a cell in there. Any place the X-Men had been put had been cleared so as not to leave anything helpful to the X-Men. Wolverine was the exception, one; because they had run out of room (He wondered how Sinister had imagined holding all the X-Men here. It all probability he would have sent them to another base) and two; he was an incredibly resourceful man. More so perhaps than his friends. He was dangerous, especially when hostile, which he tended to get when he was in Sinister's presence as well as a captive. That was why he was strapped in on the table rather than in a cell. The bonds were stronger. 

Gambit could see Rogue's thin frame nestled deep under the covers. She looked like she was asleep, though she might only be resting. She needed it, in his opinion. He wondered why she made him feel so strange. After he had been banished from teh home that Jean Luc had given him, Remy LeBeau had never cared for anyone other than Remy LeBeau. It was how he protected himself. Why, then, was this woman getting him so flustered. His heart flipped out when he was wrapping those bandages. Did she feel the same way? He couldn't answer that really because he didn't know what he was feeling. He had no basis for comparison because he couldn't figure it out. 

Besides, he was a Marauder now. At least he worked for Sinister and he helped bring them here. He was the reason they were here. But his soul was finding that it couldn't take that kind of beating. 

Again wit' de thinkin'! Ya gonna think ya way inta trouble.

So? What's wrong wit' t'inkin' for yaself once an' awhile. Call ya own shots. Essex been keepin' you on a leash the whole time ya been here! What happened to d Cajun charmer, neh? Where's de smart talkin' thief?

He saved my life. I owe him my services. He de only reason I still be alive. He brought me back when I would have died by m'self.

An' he tinkered wit' ya genes an' DNA while ya was out! You know dat! Admit it! He be playin' around wit' you an' ya lettin' him. Wake up an' smell de gumbo!!

"So what's he holdin' over yer head, Gumbo?" Logan asked, prodding. His voice cut through the mental arguement Gambit was having with himself. 

"What?" 

"I said 'what's he holdin' over yer head?'. You don't wanna do his dirty work. So why are ya doin' it?" 

"How ya know I ain't just as bad as de others, eh? I coulda just as easily gutted ya for all dat noise." 

"But did you? I'm still in one piece, bub. So I guess the answer's 'no'. Come on! It proves my point. An' if you were as bad you'd never have help Rogue." 

That got Remy's attention, he turned the chair once more so he could see the eyes of the man talking to him. Wolverine was smiling. Gambit didn't like the smile. It was too close to the cocky grin Remy had always seemed to wear before Sinister. "How you know 'bout dat?" 

"Ya stick me in a room with surveillance feed back and ya ask how I know? Ya can't be as stupid as yer actin'. Stop lettin' that asshole Sinister push you around, for cripes sake." 

Gambit turned back around and watched the screens. He didn't like this conversation. But he agreed with him. Part of him would have ripped those manacles off Logan and set everyone else free, too. But that part of him was feelign very lost. Buried under too long a time in the back folds of his mind. Way in the back where he tried to put the consicous that sounded too much like Tante scolding him for snitching cookies. Where he put the fun-loving, troubleshooter and troublemaker that screamed to be let loose. Th person sitting in front of the screens wasn't him. It looked like him, but it was just a sheel. The real him was buried somewhere deep inside. Perhaps it was time to dig himself up. 

Noting that his shift was over he stood. His fingers traced some of the keys as he did so. Suddenly the black body suit felt too constricting. A bit too tight for his standards. The small diamond shaped clip on his collar, that was his comm-badge, seemed heavier and dug into his neck. He left the room before Logan could complete the sentence he was trying to say. It sounded something like 'good fer you' or it might have been something less pleasant. He didn't care. But he felt Wolverine's eyes as they bore into his back while he left. 

Remy. What are you doin'? Essex catch ya an' you gonna be in deep shit, homme.

"Oh, shut up." He mumbled out loud. Before he could take any second thoughts he hit the small button that would start the communications. 

"Have you found anything yet, Professor?" 

Charles Xavier looked up as Scott Summers walked in. Charles had remained in the War Room near cerebro after his and Betsy's futile attempt to locate the missing X-Men. The had needed to take a break about half and hour ago. Both had been at it for so long that they were on the verge of collapse from weariness. Elizabeth (Psylocke in battle, and Betsy to her friends) had looked awful and Charles sent her to bed imediately to get some much needed rest. A migraine headached trained through his head as it was right now. It made everything seemed exagerated and far too loud. 

"Charles, are you all right?" Scott asked. The man's brown hair was slightly askew and he knew Scott didn't care. His mouth was drwan downward from mental and physical tire. He was terribly worried about his wife and his friends. So was Charles. 

"I'm fine, Scott. I'm just tired. Unfortunately we were unable to find them. But we will. We have to." 

Scott looked as though he wanted to say more, but an intrusive beeping sound interupted him. A miniature light flashed on the keyboard beside a veiwing screen signaling an incoming message. 

Charles's first immpression was that it must be, Moira McTaggert. He had called her in Mure Isle to let her know of what had transpired and of the missing X-Men. Or perhaps it was Cable, the leader of X-Force. Either way they should be able to assist in some way. 

As it turned out it was neither. Scott's temper flared when he saw how it was, recognizing the red head as Sinister's new Marauder. The connection through which the message was horrible. Static rose up and down the image, distorting Gambit's face and making what he said almost incomprehensible. The room in which he stood was dark and the light from the screen he looked into was the only illumination on his face. It bounced off his eyes, casting red flecks on the veiwer. 

"You've got some nerve! Where are the other X-Men? If they've been hurt--" 

Xavier lifted an arm in front of him to silence him. The man on the viewer screen lifted a single eyebrow at Cyclops's outburst but then turned to Xavier and ignored Scott completely. 

"Look, I don' got much-- *FFFIZZSSSH* --ime. Ya X-- *FWAMZZ* --fine. But no-- *ZZZ*--long. Ya need ta g-- *FM* --fast. Don'--" 

A light suddenly came on in the room he was in. The man turned swiftly around, blocking the scene with the solid black of his uniformed waist and lower back. The could see edges of light where his body didn't block but not much more. As he turned his fingersdanced quickly over the keyboard behind him, sending numbers blinking across the top left corner of the viewer. The his fingers hit something out of their view and the screen wetnt blank. He had severed the connection. 

"What was that all about?" Cyclops asked. 

Charles had his hand clasped lightly on his chin, processing what he'd just seen in his educated mind. 

"Cerebro," he said after a brief moment of silence. 

"FUNCTIONING"

"Bring up the most recent communications and display on main veiwer."

On the command, cerebro restarted a copy of the communication.

"Pause."

The screen stopped in motion just before the first major flash of static.

"Go to final frame and freeze."

The images sped up into a fast forward until the last frame had been reached. Then it halted and held the frame. The man's arm was just stretched off to the side, the other hand resting just beneath the keys. In one of the far edges of light, Charles could just make out someone else's arm, farther away on the opposite side of the room. The hand was being brought down fomr a panel, most likely holding the 'on' switch for the overhead lights.

But it was what the upper left corner held that caught his attention and filled his mind with questions and a certain hope.

In white print, coordinates for some unknown location seemd to grin down at them.

"If his reasons for this communication are as benevolent as I hope they are," Charles said slowly, "these are the coordinates where we will find the missing X-Men."

"Now what could you possibly be doing in the communications room, hmm?" Scalphunter sneered venomously. He looked at the Cajun with a knowing grin that any classic blackmailer would have worn. It was an expression that Remy had seen hundreds of times on his own face and it bothered him to think that he had anything in common with this man. 

"Not much. Dere a problem?" Silently Gambit prayed that the scrambler he'd placed over his connection to the X-Men worked. It made visual and sound emissions terribly staticy but he had to take that risk. If any Marauders or Sinister checked the comm systems, the signal would have shown up without the scrambler. Unfortunately the scrambler was also incredibly flaky and he never knew if it would work. That would be an almost concrete ticket into Sinister's lab. 

An all expense paid trip to ya very own private cell, wit' a magnificent veiw of de nearest operatin' table. Have de complete guinea pig experience with Sinister Laboratories! Ha!

He knew that's where he'd end up if Sinister knew what he was doing. A woman had turned down Sinister's offer to become a Marauder once. She'd been stupid enough to threaten to expose him. To destroy his work. She been split open and sectioned on a rather large dissection tray within the hour. He remembered her screams. Still had the occasional nightmare about it too. He'd learned to tactfully be somewhere else when Sinister was working on an 'experiment'. 

"There's a problem alright." Scalphunter took a step closer. Sinister had said not to let Gambit know he was being watched. But he wasn't about to let a chance like this to get on the Cajun just fly by. 

"Sinister's on ta you, swamp boy. He knows what you're doin'. I saw that message you just sent out. An' he sent me ta handle it." 

Scalphunter pulled a nasty looking serrated blade from a case on his back. He was still two arms' lengths away from Gambit and he began closing that gap. Gambit remained where he was, steady and controlled. 

"You gotta death wish for yaself, Hunter?" 

"Not for me, but for you." 

He lunged, aiming for Gambit's gut, but Gambit was ready and twisted out of the way and beneath Scalphunter's arm. He brought his fist down in a chopping motion behind Scalphunter neck. The Marauder slammed headlong into the board in front of him but Gambit hadn't gotten enough force into his motions to cause significant damage. He hoped no one heard the fight. The communications room was a good distance from where he thought everyone else was. But if he was forced to use his kinetic charge potential they would surely notice. Explosions that rocked the foundation would be more than he could hope for them to ignore, even half-witted as most of them were. 

Scalphunter dropped to the floor and sweeped his leg out, catching the other at his ankles at disabling his balance. Gambit changed his downward momentum in to a back flip and landed on his feet, though rather precariously. He got his bearing before Scalphunter came at him again. The knife was still in his hands and he brought it down over Gambit's bicep. The toothed edge of the knife cut jagged lines through the black fabric and his skin. 

Gambit bit down a cry. He wasn't about to give that asshole the satisfaction of hearing his pain. 

Gambit kicked his foot up and connected with the other's wrist. The knife went flying away from them. It landed blade down in the computer terminal, jamming into the main drive. Sparks jumped and hissed. The flares of light created a momentary distraction for Scalphunter and Gambit took his opportunity. He pivoted on one foot and executed a round house kick that caught Scalphunter in the temple. It was a clean move, one of the first that his foster brother had taught him when he was thirteen. 

Scalphunter smashed down hard, catching the edge of a chair as he went down. The chair stood in front of the terminal and spun idly on its rotating hinge. Scalphunter didn't move. 

Gambit looked around the room for a place to put Scalphunter so he couldn't cause more trouble when he came to. There was a narrow door leading into a storage closet. It opened using a small control pad beside it. There was no lock on the door but it would have to do. Maybe he could rewire the controls so that it refused to open. Scalphunter would certainly be able to break out but it would at least slow him down. 

Slipping his arms under the other's arm pits, he dragged the unconscious Marauder to the closet and unceromoniously dumped him inside. The control pad wouldn't rewire as he wished, not quickly at any rate, so he shorted it out, placing his palm on the pad and jarring it with a small, explosive, kintetic burst. 

With that taken care of, there were still several things he needed to get done. He clicked a computer button and watched the screen flare to life. He had to use another keyboard that rested under the terminal; the present one still sparked and hissed at him where the knife stood lodged between the keys. 

Command? the computer queried silently.

Initiate. V R-3, he typed.

He watched as the screen hummed through several automatic codes and key words. It finally came to rest.

Program: Virus R-3 running. Rungggg ...TPPPPPPPRRRRRoooOgggm VVv R-------kahiu$%&hkjg^%KJHKKkhuiriuiuhiuhgab v    g[ao][-00

The computer began to scroll hundreds and hundreds of nothings as the virus went into effect. It wasn't a very good one. Essex could fix it in twenty-four hours. But Gambit wasn't planning on taking that long to get things done.

Saints, I hope dis all works.

Psylocke looked out from her seat at what was left of her comrades. The War Room seemed so empty with half of them missing. She refused to dwell on the empty chairs beside and across from her. She wouldn't think about where her friends were or what was happening to them. She didn't want to speculate on the kind of things that might befall them if they weren't already dead. 

She stopped at the far corner of the room where Archangel usually stood. She missed him so much in these past few days. Worry and regret sank heavily in the pit of her stomach. She cared for him so much and she wasn't sure what she would do if he was gone for good. She wouldn't grief or mourn os hard as Scott would over Jean, though she cared no less than he did. She would find a way to deal with it and go on. But as of now, that was far from what she wanted to do. 

Storm sat in the seat just opposite her, the white hair flowing regally behind and around her. One elegant hand rested jsut beneath her chocolate-colored chin. Her gaze flickerd momentarily to meet Betsy's. She gave a reasuring smile. She understood what Betsy was feeling and shared the fear for their friends. But for now she was resigned to listen to Charles and Scott as they replayed the strange communications they had recieved. 

Betsy heard a heavy sigh of relief when Charles freezed the frame containing the coordinates. With sudden embarassment she realized that it had come from her own mouth. 

"It must be a trap." Bishop spoke suspiciously. He stood behind Ororo with his arms crossed. Storm turned her head slightly to see him as he made the statement. 

"I have to agree." Cyclops said. "He's a Marauder. We can't trust him." 

"I'm afraid we may not have a choice." Charles interjected. "He is the only lead we have to finding the others. And I fear that the more time we waste debating over it, the less time we will have to act." 

The two women nodded their agreement. Xavier neglected to mention the odd encounter he had with that particualr young man in his study. Scott would only point out that he didn't help the X-Men fight. But to Charles, the man's reaction seemed so much more. He wasn't sure what it was more of, but there was something distinctly different in him. 

Trap or no trap the man had provided them with a location that was, in all probability, where they would find their friends. He had to take that risk. 

Archangel watched Sinister as the geneticist strode purposefully from computer to computer. He was amazed at the technology he saw inthis room. The X-Men's  med-lab had similiar technology but it was always set up so that it looked at least respectfully normal. Sinister's machines were arranged and designed in such an odd array that it looked surreal. They had recievd their technologies through an advanced alien race. He couldn't help but wonder how Sinister got a hold on such things. 

The geneticist in question walked over to him now and began pressing buttons around the manacles that held him to the wall. His metal wings were spread to their full length along the walls as well. He had tried several times to retract them but Sinister had injected him with some sort of muscle relaxant that prevented it as well as the paralyzing wing fletchets that he would normally be able to propel. 

Sinister placed one had along the edges of his wings, studying them. He raised a fletchet from the groove it rested in, then released it, allowing it to slide back in to its place. 

"What do you want, Sinister!" He yelled. His sore throat made his voice crack uncertainly. He wasn't sure how long he had been imprisoned but he hadnt had water in the entire time. He was beginning to feel as he did when he lost his original wings. Sinister had been responsible for that loss, he felt, and he didn't like the tought of Sinister doing anything like that again. 

"Merely to examine the effects En Sabah Nur's machinations have had on you. I admit, I am curious to the nature of these wings. They appear to be orgainc and metallic. I want to know how that combination was applied. I warn you, this will hurt." 

He stepped away and ignored Archangel's protesting. An electrical current would determine just how much was metal. Metal is an excellent cunductor and he could track the currents with his computer scanners to see where if flowed easiest. He could also track it through to see how far into his body the currents went. But if more of hi was orgainc than metallic, he could have some serious reprocutions. 

Sinister sent the first current through, a rather powerful current at that. 

Archangel screamed. 

Two of the Marauders were too close to figuring things out. He hadn't seen Essex anywhere but he could hear Blockbuster and Arclight following the hallways looking for Scalphunter. They weren't moving very fast. Perhaps they thought they could handle it without the aid of others. 

Their suspicions had first been aroused when they couldn't find Scalphunter. He didn't answer the comm-signal they sent him. He and Arclight were supposed to go out into St. Louis, a ten mile trip from the entrance to this base. They were probably going to pull off a random murder just for the hell of it. Maybe they were going to take care of one of the loose ends that Sinister had mentioned. A minor shipper who had failed in a duty that Sinister had forced him into. But for whatever reason, half of Arclight's party couldn't be found and she wanted to know why. 

If he could get to the surveylance room before they did, he might be able to pull this off. He placed hsi fingers in a small pouch on the waist of his uniform and felt for the key he had swiped before making the call to the X-Men. He could pick the inhibitor collar locks ifhe had to, but he was sure he wouldn't have the time. The cold metal grazed the edge of his finger tips. He felt minor relief at the feel of it. 

He reached the surveylance room door long before the other two caught up with him. They were still several halls away now. He reached for the control panel and the door slid open noiselessly. The room was dark except for the flicker of the surveylance screens playing their silent black and white tales. Harpoon sat lazily in the chair with his feet propped up on the terminal. 

Gambit smiled. He was lucky that it would be this Marauder. It would be easy to sneak up on him. If it had been someone like Sabretooth, it would be nearly impossible for  him to come in unnoticed. Or get out in one piece. That thought reminded him of the sting in his arm. He hadn't done anything to help it. A thought occured to him. He looked down at the floor behind him. To his dismay there was a trail of blood following the entire path he had taken. His blood. It dripped down his arm and over his hand. He'd been so preoccupied he hadn't seen it before now. The black uniform had made the blood nearly impossible to see until it reached his ungloved hand. 

It would have to wait. 

By now, Logan had seen  him silohetted in the door. He watched as Gambit stepped stealthfully in. he tapped Harpoon lightly on the shoulder. Harpoon jerked. But Gambit's fist was already in his face before he could stand and he slumped into the chair. 

He turned around to Logan giving him a sardonic grin. 

"What took ya so long?" he asked smugly. 

Gambit came over, pulling the key out of his pouch and turning the collar around do he could get it in the keyhole. 

"Don't ya dare say 'I tol' ya so'." 

"Wouldn't dream of it, Gumbo." 

"Sir, I've got them." Scott called triumphantly. "They're right where the coordiates said they'd be. Ten miles north of St. Louis, Missouri." 

Charles nodded and pulled his hoverchiar farther up into the cockpit of the Blackbird jet. Scott and Ororo were in the pilot seats, gazing expectantly at the river and Missouri land that stretched out beneath them. He usually didn't come with the X-Men on missions. But this time he felt he needed to. He would be no help in a physical battle but he could stay in the Blackbird and help telepathically. 

He felt a stab of hope and joy when his senses touched a familiar mind below them. They were so close now. 

#Jean? Can you hear me?# 

Professor?

#Are you alright?# It disturbed him that he was reading her thoughts rather than her own telepathic message. 

I suppose. But none of us have our powers. I don't know what's happened to the others.  Have you found any of them?

Charles split his attention between her and another mind that was approaching her. He was quite relieved ot learn that the new mind was not a threat. 

#Don't worry, Jean. We're on our way now. As is Logan. I sense him somewhere close to you.# 

"Professor, we're getting ready to land. Perhaps you outh to get yourself secured." Elizabeth's words cut lightly into his thoughts. He opened his eyes long enough to see her. She was already strapped into the seat with the lowered harness that held her sucurely in place. 

Charles nodded to her and then returned to Jean. He would need to sever the close connection with her to watch everyone else. And to block the Blakcbird from notice as it landed. Rather then words he sent her the feelings and mental instructions of what they were about to do. He felt her understanding and he cut the connection with her. 

Jean stood and rushed to the door of her cell as she heard Logan's gravely voice. 

"The professor said you were near." She smiled as soon as he was on view. His bulky frame strode across the distance between them purposefully. She looked less certain upon Gambit as he approached with him. 

"De location did go through. I was wonderin' 'bout whether dey'd get it or not." Gambit sounded relieved to Jean. His was talking more to himself than to her. 

"You told them where to find us?" Jean asked. Gambit nodded, then shrugged. 

Logan was considering the control panel just off to the side of the cell. It had a numbered code to unlock it and it looked like a flat phone dial that had been glued to the wall. 

"I know what de codes are." Gambit said. "I can--" 

Logan popped his claws and tore them through the control pad. 

"--stand aside while he shreds de thing, apparently." Gambit finished. 

Jean came out of the cell and stood absolutely still as Gambit unlocked the inhibitor collar. The heavy weight was removed from her neck and she breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the rush of her powers return to her. 

"Don't breathe too easy, Jeannie. We ain't outta here yet." Logan pointed out. 

They could hear a comotion forming outside the room. Phoenix placed her fingers on her temples and scanned the immediate area. They were on to what was happening. And the other X-Men were now in the compound. They were making their way steadily deeper in search of their friends. 

"They're in. Come on!" Jean raced for the door with Logan and Gambit right behind her. 

Jean had scanned Warren in close to their position and she didn't like the sate he was in. Her attempt to talk to him telepathically had only been answered by groggy, pained moans. It didn't encourage a good feeling in her. Everyone else seemed fine. 

"In here!" Phoenix pointed at a door. It wouldn't open when she hit the control pad, it had some sort of electronic lock in place. She went for simplicity and blasted it open with a telekinetic outburst. 

Gambit stared at her for a moment as she ran in. "Remind me not to piss dat woman off." he mumbled. 

Archangel looked at bad as he had sounded. He hung limply from the manacles that held him to the wall. His head was bowed and his eyes squeezed unusally tight. Wolverine gave him a quick once-over and reached out to touch one of his outstretched wings. A brilliant spark jumped from the metal, over his claws, and down his arm. Wolverine stiffened involuntarily as his body acted as a funnel, draining the electric current in Warren's body. Logan's healing factor took care of the shock once it was in him. 

He and Jean worked at his restraints. They got them off at relatively the same time and Warren fell forward into Gambit heavily. The Cajun struggled to balance the weight, finally settling for putting the winged mutant's arm over his shoulder. Jean took the other arm, adding to her own strength with a telekinetic boost. They made their way out of the lab with their burden, Wolverine taking point. 

Luck seemed to leave them and not having gone two halls down, they ran into an obstacle. A large obstacle. Their road block crouched in a ready position, claws and teeth bared, the blonde tufts of hair falling around his shoulders and in his eyes. He was ready for a fight. He wanted a fight. He wanted to see blood spilled and splattered over these walls, the more the better. Most of all he wanted to kill these people. 

"I knew you'd be the one to do it," Creed poked a clawed finger at Gambit from where he stood. "Knew we couldn't count on yer sorry ass to be any better'n these punks. Just means I getta rip you up too, Cajun, and I'm gonna enjoy it." 

His red-on black eyes flared with crimson light. Gambit made a motion to go forward but Logan stopped him. 

"He's mine," Logan hissed in a low, predatory voice. "You and Jeannie get Wings outta here and I handle the flea bag here." 

Creed did't need anymore prodding and lunged for his rival. Logan was one of the best, a match for even Creed's brutality. The reason for that was because Logan harbored some of that brutality as well. The difference was that he knew to keep it in check at least most of the time. He saved his battles for the Danger Room and the real enemies. He liked taking pokes at Cyclops a lot but he knew now that he could never bring himself to kill Summers. It would hurt Jean too much. Sabretooth killed because he liked it. He found enjoyment in tormenting and smelling the fear that swelled in a victim. 

The fought now, each a force of nature, each capable of all the otracities, though one hanlded things better than the other. They tumbled, locked in some weird dance that niether had learned the steps to and niether cared so long as the other was out of the way. Of all the people he could think of, Logan hated Sabretooth with everything he had. Creed represented everything that he never wanted to become and even some of the things he had once been. 

While they tore at it, Gambit and Phoenix carried Archangel down a different hall. 

*End Part Two*
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