The End of the Road
by
Elektra
DISCLAIMER: Most of these lovely characters belong to Marvel, etc. However, Little Golden Bird a.k.a. Subject 47 is a figment of my imagination.
DEDICATION: Thanks and praise to Lady-T for suffering through this story with me. It lived several lives before finally settling on this one. Thanks for your patience LT.
Four months had passed since the encounter with Magneto on Liberty Island and Logan had yet to uncover any vital information about his past. Though Charles had given him a rough estimate of the location of the military base at Alkali Lake, Logan hadn't been able to will himself to go there. It was empty, of that he was certain. Charles hadn't needed to tell him that much. What kind of moron would leave tangible evidence of a project with those implications?
So, he'd pointed his stolen motorcycle northward and moved on instinct. Logan discovered that he had an unfailing ability to find every one-stop town between the border and the lake. At this point he couldn't remember the number of Mom-n-Pop groceries and gas stations that he had quietly made his presence known in, each time hoping that someone would look at him with a spark of recognition. Strangers had a tendency to stand out, and if he wasn't strange, he wasn't sure who was.
Stomping away from Truvy's Gas and Go, he dug his boots viciously into the ground, pieces of crumbling asphalt skittering out of his path as he walked. He propped himself against the seat of Scott's motorcycle and pulled a pack of unfiltered cigarettes from the breast pocket of his flannel shirt. Having run out of cigars several towns back, he'd had to settle for the most noxious substitute he could find. The rank smell of the burning tobacco kept a lot of people at bay and he wasn't exactly going to complain.
As he exhaled, careless curls of dark gray smoke twining through the windblown locks of his hair, Logan's eyes traveled over the horizon. Burnished hints of gold and red glinted in the underbrush and in the trees. A faint, sharp aroma slowly rolled across the landscape. Fall was coming. Over the tree line, Logan's gaze came to rest on the hulking shape of a sleeping giant. Alkali Lake lay at the base of that mountain, and smart money said that the government had probably used that particular geological wonder to conceal their covert operations.
Logan lifted the remnants of his cigarette to his lips and took a long, slow pull. He'd almost reached the end of the road.
* * *
After stowing his motorcycle in a small cave that he'd found several yards from the road, Logan set off through the woods to cover the last miles to the lake. Though he was confident that the place had been deserted, he wasn't a man to take chances. Despite his conscious mind's unwillingness to admit that he'd covered this ground before, Logan felt at peace with the narrow, rocky path he'd found scratched through the wilderness.
Rounding a bend in the trail, the lake's sudden presence surprised him. The glassy, polished surface belied its deadly secret. The water was eerily perfect. No birds. No fish. Logan crouched beside the shoreline and pulled a small white, pitted object from the rocky mud. He rolled the shard of bone between his hands.
Femur. Human.
Someone had tried to use the path to escape and they hadn't made it. Logan tucked the remnant of the bone into his jacket pocket. The least he could do was offer a decent burial for one of his fallen comrades.
As Logan made his way around the lake, Charles's prediction was confirmed. There were no men guarding the shore and the entrance to the base appeared to be equally abandoned, an empty husk left to rot on the vine. At least that was how it seemed at cursory inspection.
Logan took his time exploring the exterior of the institution. As he had expected, it had been built directly into the side of the mountain. Careful inspection of the architecture suggested that the base would be perfectly concealed from the air. The thick forest wouldn't have been much of a problem considering that the only entrance would have been heavily monitored. The only other conceivable way in would be to blast a hole through several hundred feet of granite and that might just draw a little bit of attention. In all, it had been the perfect death trap. . . until their prize bull broke out.
Upon entering the building, Logan pulled a powerful flashlight from the pocket of his denim jacket. A choking swell of fear rose in his gullet and he found himself silently thanking Cyclops for stowing the equipment aboard his bike. As the sharp beam of light penetrated the gloom, Logan fought the panicked tingling of his nerves until they abated.
From the smell of the facility, he could tell that it had been empty for quite some time. Unfortunately, that was of little comfort. He wasn't sure whether it was a blessing or a curse that he couldn't remember what had happened to him within these walls. Given the few clear memories that he did have, Logan tended to believe that the former was more accurate than the latter.
The ground floor offered no hints as to what had really happened within the steel-reinforced walls. As Logan moved through room after room, he was confronted with one abandoned office after another. Desks and chairs, telephones and typewriters, everything lay waiting for the occupants of the offices to return. Desk drawers, filing cabinets, telephone rolodex, all revealed nothing. The few sheets of paper that he found were blank or scribbled with inane messages about groceries, dental appointments and baseball games.
At the end of the corridor, Logan discovered the landing to a stairwell. He paused at the top of the stairs, his heightened senses taking him into the depths of the facility that his eyesight could not reach. The tremble of an indrawn breath, an echoing footfall, the click of a round loading into a chamber, he listened for the slightest hint of a presence. Finally, when he was confident that the facility was, in fact, abandoned, he began to slowly descend like Dante into the inferno.
He made a cursory inspection of the first subterranean level of the facility. The pungent scent of rodent urine clung to every imaginable surface. Flashing the light along the floor, Logan nudged an overturned cage with the toe of his boot. Cedar shavings the consistency of sawdust fell from its mouth like fine snow.
Moving quickly through the labyrinth of animal research labs, administrative offices and data storage rooms, Logan smiled wryly. From all outward appearances, one would think that this was your average research compound. A few dead rats, a couple of cats, what would it matter? The truth is, it was ugly but acceptable.
Returning to the stairwell, Logan set his course for a deeper level. SL2 and 3 were near mirror images of the first subterranean level. The deeper he went the more the pretense fell away. The animals were bigger -- so large they hadn't been removed when the orders to abandon the facility had come down. The spicy scent of rotting flesh was overwhelming, but the visuals were worse.
Logan crouched beside the limp form of a large primate. It was too far gone to tell exactly what it had looked like in life. The slight bend in the bars of its cage confirmed that it had been alive when the building was evacuated. It had died with its fingers clutching at the lock, still trying to break free.
Bastards.
Logan stood and moved quickly down the hall. Try as he might, he could not escape the scent of death. If he had stayed in this facility, would he be like that ape -- alone, afraid, desperate to escape, with no hope? Worse yet, had they all been abandoned because he had been smart enough to find a fatal flaw in security?
Logan continued making his way deeper into the pit. It was wiser to move than to keep on thinking. Thoughts could get a man killed. What was needed now was action.
At SL19, Logan stopped.
He couldn't remember the specific brand of lab table or the make of the restraints. The sensory deprivation tank seemed new. The view was distinctly forgettable. But, together these items painted a picture. Something big had been studied here, something intelligent. Though the room had been abandoned for at least a decade, the scent of death was unmistakable. In a moment of stunning clarity, Logan realized that he had not been the first mutant lowered into a tank of bubbling ooze. No, others had gone before, and after, leaving the perfumed stench of their fear behind.
After wedging the flashlight high into the gap between the door and its frame, Logan searched the lab, systematically deconstructing what was left of the rat-hole of a prison that had taken every meaningful memory of his past. He overturned desks, chairs, cases of pipettes, slides and syringes and still he found nothing. Desk drawers were empty, as were the cabinets built into the lab table.
The frantic pressure of fear pounded against his skull, propelling him forward. With a Herculean effort, Logan began rocking the heavy, cast-steel lab table from its foundations. He pushed and pulled, slowly inching it away from the wall.
As he slipped behind the table in hopes of finding better leverage, an unexpected flash of rainbow-colored light glinted from the backside of the large piece of furniture. He pushed against the heavy steel, forcing the far side toward the center of the room. After he had moved it several feet from the wall, Logan bent to examine the back of the lab table. There, wedged into a drawer frame, Logan found a small circular disk. Somehow it had managed to escape the trash 'n burn phase of the evacuation plan.
It wasn't much, but it was something.
Looking at the disk, Logan realized that he could no longer carry out his mission alone. He needed someone to unlock the technology for him. In the last fifteen years, he'd done a lot of living, but hadn't found the time or the inclination to sit down at a computer and figure out how it worked. It hadn't been a necessary skill. He'd been made into a physical machine. Fighting tactics, strategy, they had all been preprogrammed into his brain.
No, to finesse this disk, he needed someone else -- someone with hair the color of flame at sunset.
Cyclops was going to shit.
* * *
Jean removed her glasses and gently placed them on the table. How she found the strength to stop herself from hurling them through one of the Professor's hand-blown glass windows, she did not know. She had spent several days chipping away at the security features on the computer disk Logan had brought home from Canada. Charles had even taken a turn at cracking the encryption.
The truth was that this was not her area of expertise.
But, Logan's intense stare and the one word he had spoken when he returned from that outpost deep in the Canadian wilderness forced her onward. He had simply said "help". That was all, nothing fancy, nothing poetic. But, for Logan it was new ground. He wasn't asking for Rogue or the Professor or even for humanity. He asked for himself.
It was Jean's experience that one came across very few people in anyone's lifetime that trusted you implicitly. His steady gaze warmed her with the knowledge that Logan had gifted her with his trust. That precious commodity wasn't something to be taken lightly nor was it something to be squandered. She couldn't give up, no matter how much she wanted to.
Jean watched as Logan pushed off from the wall he had been leaning against and began pacing back and forth across Charles' Persian rug. His impatience was palpable. Unable to prevent her natural curiosity from taking over, Jean used her telepathic gifts to peek into his thoughts.
*-- the hell can the world's most powerful brains be unable to solve a computer glitch. Fucking technology*
Jean turned back to the computer terminal. She would find his answer; she had to.
* * *
Days passed and still there was nothing. He was so close. There were answers on that disk, there had to be. The missing years were there. If only he could reach out and touch them.
Logan sat under a tree on the east lawn of Xavier's compound. He couldn't bring himself to stay inside any longer. The more time he spent staring over Jean's shoulder, the more he felt consumed by an unidentifiable, claustrophobic feeling. His presence hadn't exactly helped Jean much either.
Jean. She had taken one look at his face and rushed into battle, just as he had known she would. That was the kind of person she was. Because of that, because of her innate goodness, Logan had somehow managed to prevent his rabid temper from bubbling to the surface. She was the first decent, honest, maybe even wholesome woman he'd allowed himself to care for in the brief flash of his life that he actually remembered. He'd spent a lot of years living for sex and sin, proving to himself that everyone eventually fell to their most basic instincts. But, Jean was different. She was incorruptible, much like Xavier and her boyfriend, Stands-With-A-Stick-Up-His-Ass.
Logan smiled slightly when he looked up and saw Marie approaching. She had a stack of sandwiches tucked into the crook of her left arm and clutched at the necks of two brown glass bottles with her right hand. Marie had taken every possible moment of the week he had been home to stuff him with food. He figured it was a southern thing, so he didn't rock the boat. She was his girl after all. Hurting her was not an option.
"I made you some lunch," she said cheerfully, as she moved to sit beside him under the tree.
"We had lunch, at 11:45. Remember?" Logan asked teasingly. "You told me you couldn't wait for lunch period."
Rogue frowned. Clearly she had forgotten that they had eaten together only two hours prior.
"Ok, then I made you an afternoon snack," she said with a grin. "I even brought you a beer." She waved the bottle back and forth in front of his face.
Logan groaned and took the bottle and two of the sandwiches from her.
"You know, kid," he said, taking a large bite -- meatloaf, his favorite, "you're gonna make me fat eating all this food."
Rogue wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at him.
"Am not, you have a really fast metabolism. Besides, you didn't take care of yourself while you were in Canada. So, now it's up to me to put you back in shape. Can't have you falling down on your ass during your next cage match."
Logan grunted and continued eating his sandwiches. The kid was one hell of a cook. He'd give her that.
* * *
Logan was nursing his second beer when Jean found him sitting under the tree on the lawn. Rogue was asleep, her head resting on his lap, gloved hands tucked under her chin. He watched Jean walk slowly across the faded green of the grass. The violet shadows beneath her eyes told him that she had not slept in days.
Jean looked at them, man and child, her face a mask of pale contrition. She had failed. He'd asked for her help and she had failed. She knew how much this meant to him and wondered if he'd flee rather than stay in the mansion with them, alone with his questions. And Rogue, how would she handle such a loss? When he had left before it was one thing. She had known that he was coming back. This time, his return might not be inevitable.
"No luck, huh?" Logan asked, already sure of her answer.
"No," Jean said quietly, as she moved to sit beside him on the lawn. "I got nowhere. I don't know who they had designing their encryption system, but they were good. Whatever is on that disk, I don't think it's grandma's secret recipe for pecan rolls."
Logan nodded.
"Makes sense. Found it on SL1, and I'm pretty sure that was where they kept us -- mutants I mean," he said, offering her a sip from his beer bottle as he spoke.
Jean accepted the bottle and took a drink. She made a face at the lukewarm contents.
"Nice rot gut you've got there," she said. "Why don't you want us to go to Alkali Lake? Together we could find something. We'll bring some of the equipment from the lab. Charles knows some very powerful empaths they mig-"
"No, Jean," he said sternly, "it isn't an option. At least not yet. If we go flying up there with the entire team, someone's gonna notice. Hell, how do we know that I didn't trip some security device? What better way to capture your runaway freak than to wait for him to return to his cage?"
Jean placed her hand on his arm. Glancing down at Rogue, she was surprised to see that the girl was managing to sleep through their conversation. But maybe that wasn't so surprising. Rogue had hardly rested for a moment since Logan had returned. She was trying to make something up to him, trying to fill the hole that had been so clearly evident in his eyes when he walked through the front door.
"Logan, we do have experience at this. We can get in undetected. We might even-"
"No," he said. "I won't risk you or Marie or any of the rest of them for what's up here." Logan tapped at his forehead. "If you can't figure out the disks right now, then we'll just have to wait and see. I've had fifteen years; I can take fifteen more."
"Logan, if we could just see. . . " Jean stopped suddenly. She sat there looking at him for several long, silent moments. The powerful thunder of her thoughts was almost palpable. Her lips spread in a slow grin that went straight to his groin. Jean had an idea.
Unconsciously, the redhead began to gnaw at the corner of her lips. Her plan was risky. Would Charles agree to be a part of it? It was the only conceivable chance they had to crack the encryption. If they could only see what Logan had seen in all those blank, empty years. He had to know. Somewhere, locked deep inside his brain, were the secrets to the program. If he had been smart enough to escape, he had to have been smart enough to realize that the only way back to his past lay with the very program that had held him hostage for who knows how many years.
"You're the key."
Logan shook his head violently. He trusted Jean. He knew she wouldn't screw him over. Deep inside, he had always counted on that. But this was just wrong. She was reaching to lengths that she would normally never consider. She was doing it for him.
"Logan," Jean said, "I'd like you to let the Professor establish a telepathic link with you. I'd do it if I could, but it's too dangerous for me. I could get lost in there, trapped. But, if you really were kept in that room, there may be some residual, untapped images that could give us the secret to this encryption. They might have done something in front of you, assuming that you'd never see the light of day and use it against them. You're a smart man, Logan, surely you were smart enough to realize that you might need this some day."
"Jean, my brain is Swiss cheese," he said. "I couldn't even remember my own damn name until I found those dog tags. Why the hell would you think I could remember anything else? Besides, I can't tell the real memories from the ones they planted. If their encryption is so secure, why would they be stupid enough to let any of us see it!"
Jean and Logan's raised voices had stirred Rogue from her sleep. She lay still, her head resting on Logan's lap. She looked up at his fear-ravaged face. He looked so very tired despite his advanced healing capabilities. His trip into Canada had changed him. He had confronted the ugliness of what had happened to him with no one to comfort him. Logan had a tough exterior, but that's all it was, an exterior. Inside was a tender, vulnerable man that he only allowed herself and Jean to see.
"Logan," Rogue said quietly, "it's your only chance. They're adults. If the Professor agrees to this, he won't do it without thinking about all the consequences. He has a lot of responsibility here. He isn't going to take an unnecessary risk. The Brotherhood almost took this place from him not too long ago and he hasn't forgotten that. Besides, you're part of the team and we pull out all the stops for the team."
Logan frowned. Not one but two interfering females. They sat there thinking they were going to be the ones to save his ass.
"How do you know there's anything important on there? It could be some geeky lab-tech's electronic porn stash! Besides, I'm not worth all this trouble. I've got time. Hell Jean, you said yourself that I'm probably older than the Professor."
"Logan," Rogue said, her eyes filled with tears, "I was dead. I was dead and you brought me back. If you think I'm going to let you kill yourself, you've got another thing coming."
Christ. Tears. He looked at Rogue and Jean. How the hell had he ever gotten so lucky? He held his tongue. They truly believed that this was his chance for answers and, if these ladies thought enough of his flea-bitten hide to care, who was he to argue? Besides, working so closely with Jean on this project was bound to piss off good ole Cyke. Was there a greater joy in life?
"Okay," Logan said belligerently. He'd just have to hope that Xavier was smart enough to put a halt to this scheme.
* * *
Logan grit his teeth as the two telepaths took great care with his restraints. He was still reeling from the fact that Xavier had agreed to this ludicrous stunt. This was insane. Who the hell were these people? Where was the voice of doom and gloom, Mr. Straight and Narrow when you needed him?
At least he'd gotten both Xavier and Jean to agree that Rogue should not be present for this catastrophe. She was safely tucked away in Storm's European History class. Instead of watching this three ring circus, she'd be learning about more interesting, useful stuff like. . . the plague.
Because of their prior experience with Logan's reaction to undue mental stress, the Professor and Jean took extra care with his restraints. He was capable of snapping at any time. And, once in a rage, it would be impossible for any of them to talk him down.
While Logan was away, pulling the base at Alkali Lake apart bolt by bolt, Jean had been busy upgrading the facilities in her lab. As a result, adamantium restraints had been added to her arsenal of medical equipment. Two bands of the strong alloy fitted snuggly against each of Logan's thighs, with two smaller restraints on each calf. His torso was fitted with vest-like adamantium restraint that Jean had had custom molded to his measurements. Logan's arms were bound in three places, across his biceps, elbows and wrists. Jean pushed his head back gingerly and pulled a final strap across his forehead.
Logan jerked against his bonds, muscles twitching.
"I bet this would bring back a lot of really bad memories," he said wryly, "if I could only remember them."
Jean smiled down at him, softly stroking his hair in an effort to comfort him.
"It'll be over soon," she said with a smile. "And just think how exciting it'll be to remember all those ladies who were so fond of you."
"Yeah, they're probably all 106 by now."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Jean said evilly.
"Alright Chuck, I think you better start your mo-jo before Jean here makes me lose my lunch."
"Fine, just ruin all my fun," Jean whined.
"Jean," Logan said wryly, "if this is your idea of fun, you've been spending way too much time with Cyclops. When this is over, I'm taking you out for a coupla steaks. Then you'll learn the true definition of fun."
* * *
Jean looked at the clock on the wall, 4pm. School was done for the day. Rogue had immediately come rushing down to the lab and though it had broken Jean's heart, she had sent the girl off again.
Thankfully, Scott and Ororo had somehow managed to wrangle the young girl back into the kitchen. Once there, Rogue had cajoled her two teammates into helping her prepare a celebratory dinner. While she was busy with the pot roast, baked potatoes and braised carrots and onions, Scott handled the dinner rolls and Ororo whipped up her famous chocolate cake with broiled coconut frosting.
Normally, the image of Scott blundering his way around a kitchen would have made Jean giggle. But, as she looked at the two men who shared the room with her, she could find nothing to smile about. Logan and the Professor had remained locked in a kind of mental battle for hours. From time to time, Logan flinched against his bonds, as though all he wanted to do was escape. The Professor looked tired. His rigid control had disappeared hours ago and he slumped ever so slightly in his chair.
She was uncertain as to how much longer she should allow this to go on. It was a delicate procedure, one that Charles would have to carefully extricate himself from. Both minds were at risk; and, the loss of the two men would be catastrophic to their cause.
"Jean." The professor's voice was weak; and yet, she could still hear the strength of his will. "The terminal. I think we've found the answer."
Jean rushed to the computer console and hurriedly followed Xavier's commands. In moments, the computer chimed and Jean was granted access to the contents of the disk. She smiled. They were in. It was going to work; it was really going to work.
Cautiously, Jean ran several virus tracking programs, including one that had been developed for use by the FBI and CIA. As far as she could tell, the disk was safe. She executed several key commands and smiled when the disk's directory appeared in a window on her desktop. As Jean scrolled through the list of files, a surge of disappointment threatened to overwhelm her. The disk contained numerous word processing documents, but little else.
Before continuing on, Jean turned to Logan, who had remained eerily quiet after the Professor had begun to explain how to override the disk's security features. His face was pale, his expression passive. It was only when Jean finally looked at the Professor that she realized that he was still exerting a great deal of mental control over the Wolverine.
*Scott! Scott!*
Jean's urgent distress call sent her lover running. Rogue and Storm followed closely behind. All three X-Men feared that the worst had happened. Not only had they not found the secret to the disk's encryption, but they'd lost both men as well.
Scott reached the room first, Rogue only strides behind. His breathing was erratic and he silently made a note to himself that extra time in gym was in order. He looked at his mentor and Logan. They appeared fine.
He looked to Jean, their close relationship making verbal communication unnecessary.
"The Professor is still controlling him, mentally. He's got to stop, Scott. He's exhausted, and if he isn't careful-" The uneven quiver in Jean's voice made the rest of her statement unnecessary.
Scott crossed the room to Xavier and knelt down beside him. He placed a gentle hand on the older man's shoulder.
"Professor," Scott said quietly, "you've got to let go now. He's fine. You need to let go."
Xavier's gaze shifted to his young protégé and, slowly, he relinquished his hold on Logan's psyche, trusting the mutant to the adamantium bonds that held him.
* * *
Jean gnawed at her lip as she scrolled through the main directory of the disk from Alkali Lake. She considered for only a moment before clicking on a document entitled "MOP_N127_011178.doc". The machine whirred for several moments before the file opened in a small window.
Her lips had moved soundlessly as she read.
Mutant Observation Program
Subject #127
Log 011178: January 11, 1978
0600: Subject remains in catatonic state. As have speculated in the past, believe this due to trauma of bonding process. Have planned continued probing using Subject 47. Must know level of consciousness and mental functioning. Hypothesize that mental stability is returning. Must find way to maintain control over subject. Mind is key.
0945: Subject fed breakfast through tube inserted into stomach. Must watch nurse carefully, as attempted to insert drain cleaner instead of properly prepared meal.
1015: Nurse terminated for endangerment of project. Family to be notified. Send flowers?
1230: Telepathic bond established utilizing Subject 47.
1645: No apparent consciousness of immediate surroundings or events. Subject still in deep coma. Subject 47 suggests that 127 is maintaining life through dream state. Hypothesize that subject is, in reality, reliving memories as way to dissociate from current situation. Memories may be key to control of subject.
1800: Administered evening dosage of sedative.
Jean closed the window quickly and returned to the disk's directory. She wondered if Logan was Subject 127. With the file's references to a bonding process, she could only assume that he was. Even before opening the file, she had decided to talk to the Professor about the potential ramifications of showing the material to Logan. The minute details that filled the logs were unlikely to help. She herself had felt ill reading their contents.
* * *
When asked later, Logan would say that he vaguely recalled watching Jean flip through windows on the computer screen. He hadn't needed to ask what they contained. The expression on her face told him everything. He had counted every time her cheeks had lost color. Forty-nine times in one hour.
She'd cried twice.
Strangely, Logan didn't really care about what she was reading. He was more concerned about her. He should have known better. Jean was a survivor, and though the contents of the files pained her, she kept pushing forward in search of some small clue that might lead them into Logan's past.
Cyclops and Xavier returned an hour later to release Logan from his bonds. They found the other two mutants sitting alone in a companionable silence, the clicking of Jean's mouse and keyboard their only form of direct communication. Once Logan was free, the three men turned their attention to Jean.
Logan was the first to ask her to stop. His sentiments were echoed by Scott. Xavier held his tongue. Having finally come across a series of files that might prove useful, Jean refused to comply with their wishes.
"According to the files I've found," she said, gesturing for Logan to sit down in the chair beside the desk, "telepathic exploration of Logan's mind started long before he was taken. Unfortunately, we don't have those logs. What we've got instead is the log of one of the lab techs."
"So, what you're saying is that it doesn't say anything about where I came from or if I had a family?"
"No," she said, grabbing his hand, "it doesn't say anything about that."
He nodded.
"It's pretty ugly, Logan. We don't have to do the rest of this now."
"Just get it over with before Marie shows up again. I don't want her hearing this."
"As I said, they were monitoring you for quite some time. I gather that they tried this bonding process on several other mutants before they settled on you. They tried telepaths thinking that they would be able to stop their own bleeding. They tried shapeshifters thinking that they could just form themselves around the metal. I guess no one told them it doesn't quite work like that."
Logan nodded again, but said nothing.
"They took you in 1971. That much I do know. You were housed at the Alkali Lake facility the entire time because they were too scared you'd escape if they tried moving you. From 1972 to 1976 they conducted some kind of mental conditioning using a mutant they called Subject 47.
"Subject 47 was a class 'A' telepath, like the Professor. From what I gather, they'd had, for lack of a better word, 'it' for quite some time. I guess that explains how they managed to get one mutant to do this to another. Anyway," she said, noticing the glazed expression in Logan's eyes. Traumatic images, even if you couldn't remember them. "For those five years, they prepared you for the bonding process. The mental conditioning was supposed to wipe away all vestiges of your former personality. I guess they didn't do such a hot job, huh?"
A hint of a smile curled the corners of Logan's lips.
"Beyond the mental conditioning, there was some kind of physical conditioning. Again, that log was kept on another disk, so I don't know what happened there. What I do know is that on October 17, 1976 adamantium was bonded to your skeleton.
"You may or may not be interested in knowing that you had the claws before the procedure."
"I did," Logan said, unbelieving.
Jean nodded.
"They're naturally bone. I believe that your claws and your heightened senses are actually a secondary mutation. They didn't manufacture them."
"Oh," Logan said, "I guess that's something."
Cyclops and the Professor exchanged a silent glance. Such subdued behavior was unlike the Logan they knew.
"Maybe we should stop now," Scott said authoritatively, "Jean's probably getting tired."
"No," Logan said forcefully, "that is, we can stop if you're tired Jean. But, don't feel like you have to stop on account of me."
"Ok then," Jean said, "we'll keep going."
"As I said, the procedure happened in October of 1976. Another mutant was brought in to assist with the operation. I don't know anything about them. But, I do know that they were somehow related to Subject 47."
"You mean related related?" Scott asked.
Jean nodded.
"It certainly sounds like they were blood relatives. I guess they possibly could have been husband and wife too. Anyway, I don't know what this unnamed mutant's powers were. Maybe they had x-ray vision?
"Anyway, for five years following the procedure you were in a deep coma. I'm not sure how much of it was a natural coma and how much was a forced coma. They were giving you some very powerful sedatives, ones normally reserved for large game animals, so that could have impaired your body's ability to heal.
"During those five years, Subject 47 had daily contact with you. They monitored your neural functions and maintained the mental blocks they had established in your mind.
"You woke up on December 16, 1981, which is Rogue's birthday oddly enough. I guess we won't go telling her that though or she'll get a swollen head."
Logan chuckled weakly.
"It took you two years to learn to walk again. It wasn't just because you'd been in a coma for five years. You also had to learn to carry the weight of all that metal."
"That leaves two years unaccounted for," Logan said, quickly doing the math in his head, "I didn't get out 'til '85."
"I'm not sure about the rest," Jean said, "it gets pretty spotty from here. The logs are more about Subject 47 than you. Something big was happening. Whoever they used during your operation wasn't afraid of them anymore. There were several escape attempts."
Logan nodded, remembering the shard of bone he had found on the shore of Alkali Lake.
"You were paying attention, though," Jean said. "You must have been because you escaped. Subject 47 almost made it out after you did in '85. According to the file, '47 was killed in an escape attempt in 1986. It's the last log entry.
"There is one thing from the files that I don't understand."
"One thing?" Logan said, clearly bemused.
"Has anyone heard of The Little Golden Bird? Because, that's what the log says, 'the little golden bird has flown the coop'."
"You're wrong," the Professor's voice rang out vehemently and all three mutants turned to look at him. "You've got that wrong."
"No," Jean said shaking her head. "No, I got it right. It's the very last entry in the log."
"You've got to be wrong," the Professor said, clearly distraught.
"Professor," Scott exclaimed, "what is it?"
"You can't be right, Jean. There's only one mutant that I know of that has ever been called Little Golden Bird, and she's dead. She died a long time ago."
"Who the hell is she Chuck?" Logan growled, springing from his chair and moving menacingly toward the elderly man. "Who the fuck are you protecting? Whoever the hell they are, they fucking took my life."
Logan grabbed the arms of the Professor's wheelchair and leaned over, holding his face scant inches away from Xavier's.
"I want it back."
"Logan," Scott exclaimed, as he pushed him away from the Professor, "He didn't do this. You can't punish him just because there's no one else."
Logan stalked to the window and looked out blindly. Fifteen years, they'd had him for almost fifteen years. What could he have done with his life in those missing years? He could have had a kid like Marie. Hell, maybe he did have a kid like Marie.
"Professor," Jean said, her eyes on Logan, "please, even if you know this Little Golden Bird died a long time ago, just tell us who she was."
"Don't you see," the Professor said helplessly, "it has to be her. Even when they took her, he knew she had the gift. That's why we got along so well. I reminded him of her. But she was dead. We were so sure she was dead. He was lost without her. She was the only thing that he had left."
"Professor," Scott said, confusion readily apparent in his voice, "what are you talking about?"
"Magneto," Logan said quietly. "How long have you known? Really Chuck, how long have you known?"
The Professor remained silent for a time, his steady gaze resting on Logan's troubled eyes.
"I didn't know until a few minutes ago. I had guessed the first time I saw your skeleton. Fusing your bones with a metal alloy like adamantium would have required a master of metal. Who better than a mutant to pervert a mutant?
"Oh God, Eric," he exclaimed, "now I know why. I finally understand why."
* * *
"Logan wait," Jean exclaimed, "there's something you don't know."
Logan stalked down the hall, a man possessed. He brushed past Jubilee and Kitty not bothering to acknowledge their presence. He was going to find a way into that prison. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to find a way in. When he found him, God help the old man. Mutant powers or no, he was going to make sure Magneto felt every ill he had ever visited upon him.
"Logan, stop!" Jean called as she hurried down the hallway behind him.
When she realized that she'd never catch up with him at his present pace, Jean slowly began to exert telekinetic control over his limbs. He slowed and finally pulled to a halt. She didn't need to hear the low growl that reverberated in his chest to know he was angry with her.
She quickly closed the distance between them. She supposed that it made sense for him to hear the news from her. Rogue was too young to deal with this and she was the only other person on the compound that he truly cared about.
"Logan, Logan," she said, trying to break through the veil of anger that clouded his senses, "you have to listen to me. There's something you don't know. It happened while you were gone and, well, it didn't seem particularly important then, but it is now."
Logan looked at her, his anger shimmering just below the surface.
"Logan," she said, her face creased with emotion, "he's dead. Magneto is dead."
"You're lying."
"No, I'm not. You know that I would never lie to you. He's gone, Logan. A couple of weeks after you left, Mystique and Sabretooth tried to break him out. She took on the form of a security guard, but somehow they figured it out.
"They managed to get Magneto out of his cell. But, they hadn't quite made it through the plastic tunnel before the guards arrived. They put up a fight, but they were simply out manned."
"He would have controlled the bullets," Logan said simply.
"They didn't use conventional weapons. We don't know the particulars, but we're guessing they used some kind of laser weaponry. It may even have been something like Scott's optic blasts.
"They have Mystique detained at the prison. She's in pretty bad shape. Apparently she suffered head trauma and can't control her form anymore. She constantly changes from one shape to another.
Logan nodded soundlessly.
"We're not sure what happened to Sabretooth. As far as we can tell, he disappeared in the middle of the battle. He may have fallen into the pit below the tunnel. We don't know.
"We do know what happened to Magneto, Eric," Jean corrected herself quietly. "After his body was released, he was brought here. I did the autopsy myself. It was the real Eric Lehnsherr. I'm certain of that."
"Where is he now?" Logan asked, a man defeated.
"The Professor had his body cremated. We flew to Germany and spread his ashes in a garden in the small village that he lived in before the Nazis came and took him."
"Shit, Jean," his voice trembled as he spoke, "what the hell am I going to do now? I can't make him pay and the rest of them are probably fucking dead. If that log was right, if he did turn on 'em after Bird died, that probably means he killed them all. Right?"
She gently wiped a tear from his cheek.
"I don't know, Logan," she said simply. "But, I do know what you're going to do. You're going to stay here and the Professor and I are going to do everything in our power to help you get around the mental barriers Little Golden Bird implanted." She grabbed his hand tightly and he was vaguely aware that she had released her telekinetic hold on him long ago. "You're going to stay here with your family. You're going to grieve with your family. And your family is going to help you through this because they love you."
Jean tugged at his hand and together they walked down the hall, through a door and out into Ororo's rose garden where Logan could have some privacy. Through the tears that he refused to let fall, Logan looked up at the clear blue of the sky. His nose twitched as it took in the sharp telltale tingle of fall in the air. Winter was coming, but his running days were over. He'd finally reached the end of the road.
All references to characters belonging to the X-Men Universe are (c) and TM the Marvel Comics Group, 20th Century Fox and all related entities. All rights reserved. Any reproduction, duplication or distribution of these materials in any form is expressly prohibited. No money is being made from this archive. All images are also (c) and TM the Marvel Comics Group, 20th Century Fox and all related entities; they are not mine. This website, its operators and any content used on this site relating to the X-Men are not authorized by Marvel, Fox, etc. I am not, nor do I claim to be affiliated with any of these entities in any way.