Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never have. Never will...*sigh*
Rogue sighed happily. It was nice having her room to herself once in awhile...Kitty and Jubilee, her usual roommates, had both gone home for the weekend, and so she was able to enjoy the solitude of her room for once. She'd taken the opportunity to indulge in a secret pleasure that she couldn't do when the other girls were there, for more reasons than one...and that was sleep in the nude. The covers felt deliciously cool against her bare skin, and she stretched her legs and wiggled luxuriously, enjoying the feel of no clothes after ages of being wrapped up head to toe in fabric for fear of touching someone with her poison skin.
She cracked one eyelid...the heavy drapes were drawn, allowing only a small sliver of early morning light to slip in between them, and she regarded the dancing dust motes with a lazy grin. Sleep in...yep, that was the ticket. She pulled the covers down slightly, tucking them just over her breasts, and rolled over to take full advantage of this sleepy Saturday morning...
"Mornin', chere."
Rogue shrieked, scrambling away from the grinning Cajun perched at the head of her bed. He was sitting beside her, his back against her headboard and his long legs crossed at the ankle, a narrow cigarette perched between his lips.
"What in the hell are you doin' here, Remy?!" she sputtered, pulling the sheet up to her chin.
"Waitin' for you to wake up," he replied. He inhaled deeply on the cigarette, then removed it between thumb and forefinger and held it out with a smile.
"Cigarette?" he asked solicitously.
"Remy!" she said in exasperation. The initial shock was wearing off, gradually being replaced with...what? The realization that she was lying, nearly naked, next to Remy LeBeau was rapidly becoming the only thought she could formulate. "You...you need tah go," she stammered, scooting away from him to huddle as far against the headboard as possible. "Ah...Ah might accidentally touch you, Remy! Ah don't have mah gloves on!"
Remy grinned wider. "You don' look like you got much of anyt'ing on, chere."
Rogue blushed hotly. "Well, Ah wasn't expectin' company, swamp rat!" She yanked on the sheets, gathering them around her in an embarrassed huff as she tried to stumble from the bed.
Remy, however, reacted quickly. He reached over, his cigarette popped quickly between his teeth, and pinned Rogue to the bed, his hands trapping the concealing sheets on either side of her body. Only then did he stretch out on top of her, effectively pinning her legs as well. "Wait, chere," he said, pausing only long enough to remove the cigarette and perch it on the edge of her nightstand.
"Get...off...of me, Cajun," Rogue said through gritted teeth. The feel of his athletic form pressed against hers, with nearly nothing between her skin and him but the sheet, was making her both excited and angry by turns. "If the professor or...or...Logan were tah find out you were in here..."
"Actually, dat's what Remy came in here to talk to you 'bout, chere," Remy said, his grinning, handsome face only inches from hers. "De Wolverine been kidnapped."
Rogue blinked, then scowled. "What are you talkin' about, Remy?"
"Jus' what Remy said...de Wolverine done been kidnapped. Now, if Remy roll off o' you, you promise you won' run away?"
Rogue stared up at those bizarre and utterly gorgeous red and black eyes...God, Ah wish he would kiss me...Ah wish he COULD kiss me...and nodded once. Remy smiled a little wider, then rolled off of her carefully, lying on his side beside her with his head propped on one hand.
"Spill it," she ordered.
"Remy got up early dis mornin', an' he happen to hear dat Logan been missin' since late las' night," Remy said with a shrug. "An' he t'ought, dat since you an' de Wolverine were such good friends, dat he better tell de Mam'selle Rogue as soon as he could."
Rogue felt a sinking feeling. "Logan wasn't kidnapped," she said slowly. "He just left. He's done this before..."
Remy waved a hand in negation. "Non, chere...dat not what de rest say. He an' Mam'selle Munroe went out las' night, an' dey had a fight. He proposed to la belle fille, Remy heard."
Rogue's mouth dropped open in shock. "What? You heard...what? He proposed?!"
"Dat's what Remy heard."
She leaned forward and grabbed him, forgetting in her excitement to be careful. Luckily, her hands grabbed his shirt sleeves instead of his arms. "Where did you hear that, Remy? From who?"
"From de others, when dey was talkin' to de Professor."
"An' now Logan's gone?"
"Dat's what Remy heard," he repeated patiently.
Rogue bit her lip. Why would Logan leave? Did Ororo say no to his proposal? Did he really propose? It didn't seem possible, but then...and speaking of possible, Logan wouldn't leave on his own and not tell her goodbye, would he?
Would he?
"Come on, Remy," Rogue said. She tucked the sheets around her with as much dignity as she could muster, and got up, stumbling ungracefully from the bed.
"Where we goin', chere?" he asked, sitting up.
"You are goin' out into the hall while Ah get dressed," she replied, pointing at the door.
"An' then?" he asked with a rakish grin.
"An' then," she said, adjusting her concealing sheets. "We're goin' tah find out what happened tah Logan."
*****
Ororo hugged herself miserably, trying very hard to avoid the eyes of Jean and Scott from where they stood beside her. The sterile silence of the hall outside Cerebro was deafening, and the brilliant, hidden fluorescents made her eyes smart and burn. Funny...they'd never bothered her before...but now the stress of the sleepless night coupled with this excruciating wait was wreaking havoc on her already fragile state of mind.
"The professor is taking longer than usual," Scott commented quietly. Ororo lifted her head a little, meeting his eyes behind his glasses, but she said nothing...although the same thought had gone through her head as well. It was taking a long time...where could Logan possibly be, that the professor was having such a difficult time finding him?
As if on cue, there was a soft hiss behind them as the metal doors to Cerebro's inner chamber snicked, then slid open on silent tracks. Xavier's wheelchair hummed out smoothly, the door sliding shut once more as he met their eyes with a concerned expression.
"I've found him," Xavier said. "I apologize for how long it took, but it was difficult to pinpoint the exact location."
"Who has him?" Scott asked.
"Is he all right?" Ororo added hopefully..
"I...I'm sorry, Ororo," Xavier said, rubbing his forehead with a tired look. "I don't know if he's all right...but I do know he is alive."
"But, Charles," Jean said, her brow furrowed. "How can you not know? I thought Cerebro allowed you to actually see the person you were trying for."
"Normally, yes, Jean," Xavier replied. "But in situations where the person is...well, underground or in a somehow super-terran surface, Cerebro can generalize, but actually being able to see the person in question can often prove impossible. I have, however, been able to get a general location..."
"But you haven't actually seen him?" Ororo interrupted.
"No, Ororo. I'm sorry."
"So, now what?" Jean asked softly, her pretty face drawn with worry.
"We go find him," Scott said decisively. "Is the location you were able to find enough for us to start with, professor?"
"Yes...it's a small miltary outpost, built above a converted missile silo," Xavier said, powering the wheelchair past them as he moved down the corridor toward the map room. The others fell into step beside him. "I believe Logan is being held in the silo itself, underground, because I am unable to get a precise reading on where he is, and that would explain it."
"A military outpost?" Scott's head swung toward the professor curiously. "But Forge works for the U.S. military...why would he allow them to take one of our own?"
"And why would they want to?" Jean added.
"I don't know, Jean," Xavier said. "But I think, where Forge is concerned, that this may end up being a double-rescue. Forge's trace readings came up in my scan as well."
"Forge? He's at the...outpost? With Logan?"
"I believe so."
They all stopped, exchanging bewildered glances, then Scott said, "Right...then let's get going, people. Professor, will you transfer the coordinates to the Blackbird?"
"Immediately, Scott."
"Go get you uniforms," Scott told Jean and Ororo. They nodded and moved to comply, then...
"Hey! Wait!"
All four of them looked up, startled. "What in the hell...?" Scott muttered.
Rogue was hurrying down the corridor, her brown and white curls bouncing madly every which way. Remy LeBeau, the new kid with the weird eyes, could be seen bringing up the rear, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans as he followed Rogue at a slightly more leisurely pace.
"What are you two doing here?" Jean asked in surprise.
"And how did you get down here?" Xavier added sternly. "Mr. LeBeau?"
Remy shrugged good-naturedly as he and Rogue caught up wth the others. "Remy don' rightly know, professor," he said with a grin. "Remy was jus' walkin' aroun', an' dere de door was...jus' hangin' open, wide as you please."
Xavier lifted a skeptical brow. "Make a note, Jean...it's time to change the access codes again for the lower levels."
"But how...?" Jean began.
"Our young Mr. LeBeau has an uncanny knack for getting into places where he's not allowed," Xavier replied, trying to look stern...but his twitching smile giving him away.
"Where's Logan?" Rogue demanded.
"We don't know yet, Rogue," Scott replied with a sigh. "But we're going to get him back...as soon as you and Remy go back upstairs."
"But we want to come with you!" Rogue said.
Scott flicked his gaze up at Remy, who shrugged again and grinned wider, as if to say, Dis is her idea, mon ami...Remy jus' along for de ride.
"Rogue, the X-Men don't have time for this," Xavier said patiently.
"You guys always leave me behind!" Rogue snapped. "Ah've been in more danger than the bunch of you together, an' you still don't trust me to come with you! Ah could help a lot, you know!"
"I don't doubt it, Rogue," Ororo spoke up quietly. The others turned to look at her in disbelief, and she smiled a little. "Rogue is right...she's been through quite a bit, and she does have a personal stake in this." She smiled at Rogue. "After all, Logan is her friend, too."
"I understand, 'Ro...but I don't think we need an inexperienced, untrained person on a mission like this," Scott replied. "Remy, take Rogue back upstairs. We have work to do."
"But..." Rogue protested.
"C'mon, chere," Remy said genially. He took her by her gloved arm and began pulling her away. "Dey not gonna let us go, you know dat."
"Right. Come on, people," Scott said.
"Remy!" Rogue tried to pull away from him, but his grip on her arm was strong. She watched in impotent fury as the three X-Men and Xavier hurried off down the hall, toward the control decks and the hanger...then she turned on Remy with fire blazing in her brown eyes. "Damn you, Cajun! Why didn't you say somethin'?"
"Because Remy knew dat dis was a hopeless cause," Remy replied. He was still grinning, and Rogue fought the urge to smack the grin right off his handsome face.
"Then why did you come down here with me at all?" Rogue snapped.
"To see what we could find out," Remy said. He dropped her arm, turning his head to watch the X-Men disappear through the hanger doors. "Dey gotta get some uniforms on, non? Where dey go to do dat?"
Rogue shrugged sullenly. "Ah think there's a suiting-up area, on the other side of the hanger," she said. "Why?"
"So dey won't be in de hanger for a few minutes, non?"
"Yeah...so?"
Remy grinned again. "You still wan' to go on a mission, chere?"
Her brow furrowed a little. "What do you have in mind, Remy?"
"C'mon, chere," he replied with a laugh, grabbing her gloved hand in his. "Remy got a plan."
"Remy!" He pulled her along after him, hurrying down the corridor the same way as the rest of the team. "Where are we goin'?"
"Hush now, chere," Remy said. "You gotta be quiet, or dis ain't gonna work."
Rogue obediently closed her mouth, breathlessly keeping up with Remy's long stride as he whisked them both down the gleaming white hall. He stopped in front of the hanger doors, which had closed fast behind the three X-Men. Their steel surfaces were shining dully, a small keypad beside them blinking on and off with a Christmas tree variety of colors.
"Can you get us in?" Rogue whispered, remembering how effortlessly Remy had disengaged the keypad upstairs at the entrance to the lower levels.
"Remy t'ink so," he replied. He flexed his fingers nervously, then punched an experimental sequence on the keypad. Nothing happened. "Whew," he said with a quiet chuckle. "At least it not booby-trapped."
"Like they would do that," Rogue said sarcastically.
"Dey might," Remy said. He tried punching a few more numbers, but still nothing happened. "Hmmm," he mused. "Dis one is a little tougher, I t'ink."
"Oh, hurry, Remy," Rogue said. She was unconsciously dancing from one foot to the other. "They're gonna leave without us if you don't hurry."
"Remy can't hurry, chere...dey've got dis code on a random sequence."
"What's that mean?"
"It means Remy can't get it open in time by tryin' to crack the code." He frowned, staring at his feet in thoughtful silence.
"So...it's hopeless?" Rogue said mournfully.
"Non...Remy can pop de lock, but he need somet'ing to slide in der, and somet'in to charge," he replied.
"Something to charge...? Oh yeah, your mutation," Rogue said. She looked around, patting her shirt and pockets lamely. "Ah don't have anything you can use, Remy." Ah, wait...hold on..."Would my earrings work?"
"Oui, chere, I..." Remy suddenly paused, his hand touching a squarish lump in his back pocket. "Wait a minute...dis'll work, I t'ink..."
"What?"
"My playin' cards," Remy said. He drew out a pack of cards from his back pocket, flipping open the box flap and pulling a single card from the deck. "Remy always carry dem with him, in case someone want to play a game."
"Yeah...so you can beat 'em and get their money," Rogue remarked dryly.
"Exactement," he said with a chuckle. "Watch dis, chere...Remy show you a trick."
Rogue leaned closer, watching with interest as Remy held the card carefully between his thumb and first two fingers...then her eyes widened in astonishment as the card began to glow a bright, eldritch pink. "On mah God..." she said breathlessly.
"Jus' a little bit will do," Remy said. He took the glowing card and stepped back to the keypad, carefully slipping it behind the metal casing. It slid in without resistance. "Step back, chere...it's gon' explode."
"Explode?!" Rogue stepped back nervously, looking from Remy to the card he held with some concern.
"Oui. Here...we...go," he said. With a small flourish, he let go of the card and stepped away. At first, nothing happened, then before Rogue had a chance to yelp or run or anything...the card exploded! There was a blinding flash of rosy light, then smoke and the singed remains of the playing card fluttered lazily to the floor.
"Good God almighty!" Rogue said breathlessly.
It had all happened so quickly! Where the card and the keypad had been, there was now only a twisted piece of smouldering metal. "How did you do that?" Rogue asked, a look of unabashed admiration stealing across her face.
"Remy show you sometime, chere," he said with a laugh. He took another card and used it to nudge a small, exposed circuit in the smoking keypad, and the steel doors to the hanger slid open quietly. "C'mon...we have to hurry."
"What if we're too late?" Rogue asked. She followed Remy through the door, only to see the majestic Blackbird still looming in the shadowed light of the hanger space. "Ah can't believe they're not gone yet," she whispered. "It seemed like we were takin' forever."
"Non, chere...it was only a few seconds." Remy looked around quickly. "Dis way, Marie...around de back of de plane."
"Where are we goin'?"
He grabbed her hand again and pulled her along, the two of them ducking down to slip silently under the spread wings of the sleek jet. They half-crouched, half-walked in the darkness under the Blackbird's belly, until Remy suddenly stopped, Rogue running into his back with an ungainly thump.
"Remy! What...?"
"Sssh...we go in dis way," Remy whispered.
"Which way?"
"T'rough de landing flaps," he replied. "C'mon...Remy give you a boost."
"Remy, Ah...wait...no!" she sputtered, pushing away his hands that had come up around her waist. "Ah can't see...what if they start the plane an' pull up the landing gear before we're in? We'll be crushed!"
"Not if you hurry up an' get inside," Remy said in exasperation. "C'mon, chere...Remy lift you up, an' you grab de lip on de side an' pull youself up..."
"Ah can't see a thing...can't you charge one of your cards an' give us some light?"
"Oui, but den Remy'd have tah hold de damn t'ing 'til we got where we're goin'." He grabbed her by the waist again and lifted her up, somehow managing to avoid bashing her head on the undercarriage of the plane. "Feel aroun', chere...can you find the sides?"
Rogue struck out blindly with her hands, giving a little sigh of relief when her fingers brushed, then caught the interior lip of the landing flaps. "Ah've got it, Remy," she called down quietly. "Give me a push."
He grunted, then hoisted her a little higher, and she was able to reach in farther and curl her fingers around a bar of metal. "Got it!" she whispered triumphantly, her arms flexing as she yanked and pulled herself into the pitch-black interior of the wheel housings. Her stomach slid across the metal floor, her legs pulling free of Remy's hands as she twisted and finally came to rest on the far side of the housing...winded, sweaty, but strangely exhilarated.
"You in, chere?" Remy called up.
"Yep."
"My turn."
"What do you need me to do?" Rogue asked, crawling back and peering down into the gloom where Remy waited.
"Hang over de sides wit' your arms down," he replied.
"Ah can't pull you up!" she protested.
"Remy jus' need you to catch his hands. Hold Remy for a second, 'til he can grab de side on his own."
"Aw, jeez..." Rogue stretched out on her stomach, hooking her legs under the bar of metal she had initially grabbed. Please, God, don't let me fall, she pleaded silently, then she dangled her arms through the landing flap...just as a sound on the other side of the hanger caught her ears.
Doors opened. "Storm, can you take over your co-pilot's duties again?" Scott asked.
"Of course, Cyclops," came Ororo's subdued reply.
Cripes! "Hurry, Remy," Rogue hissed into the darkness. "They're comin'!"
There was a soft grunt from below her, then she had to bite back a cry as Remy caught her hands in his iron grip, his full weight hanging from Rogue's slender arms. It felt like it lasted an agonizing forever...but a split second later, he caught the sides of the wheel housing and was struggling to pull himself up, his long legs pinwheeling madly in the empty air below the casing. Rogue reached down and blindly scrabbled for his belt, catching his belt loop instead, and she yanked with all her might and helped drag Remy into the darkness of the plane's interior, where he landed with a soft thump.
"Sacre bleu," Remy swore softly.
"C'mon, Remy!" she said, giving him a small shake. "We have to find a way out of here, before they lift the landing gear!"
"Dis way, chere...dere has to be a service door somewhere." She heard him move away, then the sound of him patting the curving metal above them.
"A door?" she repeated...oh, jeez...they were going to be smooshed like bugs in here...
"A trapdoor," Remy replied, his voice light. "Here we are," he added. "Give Remy just...one...second..."
There was a soft click, then a perfect square of dim light slid open above them. The light spilled down on Remy' head, and he turned to grin at Rogue. "After you, mam'selle."
"Remy, you're a marvel," she said in wonder. The opening wasn't high at all, compared to the jump for their current hiding place, and Rogue hopped up easily and slid through the trapdoor to the space on the other side. Remy scrambled up after her, then carefully closed the door behind them, brushing off his hands and looking around them with a curious gaze.
There was a low, resonating boom from somewhere toward the front of the plane...then both Remy and Rogue gasped as the powerful engines of the jet roared to life. They had found there way into the bowels of the Blackbird, in an empty cargo space of some kind...but apparently the engines of the jet were located to either side of them. The thundering sound they made was nearly overpowering.
"Jus' in time, chere," Remy shouted above the noise.
The engines began to whine, and they heard a set of thumps below them as the landing gear were drawn up inside the housing. "What do we do now?" Rogue asked.
Remy slipped an arm around Rogue's waist and scratched his chin with his free hand thoughtfully. "Well, chere," he said. "We wait."
*****
Logan pulled experimentally at the metal restraints that bound him, testing them for weaknesses. There didn't seem to be any, but he wasn't surprised. He needed to be careful, though...the grunts pushing him along were probably itching for an excuse to bash him across the head again, and while the pain was tolerable, he needed his head to be clear for whatever laid ahead.
He had come out of a groggy unconsciousness to find himself upright, his arms bound in front of him and his entire body lashed securely to a handtruck or standing gurney of some sort. The hood was still over his head, shutting off his sight, but his other keen senses could still make out a barrage of conflicting scents and sounds on either side. The smell of paper and office supplies, mixed with the oily, metallic smell of guns. The sounds of typewriters and file cabinets being closed, mingled with the crisp snap of military boots as they rang on tiled floors. Where in the hell was he? His senses told him he was underground...he wasn't sure how he knew this, but something about the feel of the air confirmed it. So, now what happened? And where in the hell where these goons taking him?
The handtruck was being steadily wheeled along, with a pair of armed men, one on each side from their scents, simultaneously guarding and pushing it at the same time. Could he get free and take them out before they had a chance to react? He wasn't sure...
The pushing movement slowed, then stopped. Logan's ears pricked...a door was opened, then he was being wheeled forward again, the light behind the hood changing subtly.
"Good, thank you," a man said from within the room. Logan recognized him as the man from the vehicle earlier...the one that had knocked him out the last time. Bastard. "Leave him here...then take positions outside the door."
He was moved again, then the footsteps of the accompanying guards moved away in tandem. An uneasy silence fell over the room, and Logan could hear the authoritative sound of the door closing behind him with a hollow finality.
A throat was cleared. Booted feet came close, then the hood was pulled from Logan's head with a brisk snap. His head jerked back, his sensitive eyes squinting against the sudden bright light from a single, dangling bulb in the ceiling.
"Hello, Logan," the man said politely. "I'm Major Robert Santrock."
Logan blinked, willing the burning of the bright light from his eyes, and focused his attention on the man standing before him. He wasn't very tall...Logan stood at least a head taller, but Santrock made up for his lack of stature with a broadness and depth of chest that made him look a bit like a pitbull. The resemblance was compounded by the man's short neck and mashed-in features, his small, beady eyes glittering as he regarded Logan coldly.
"Fuck you...Major," Logan growled.
Santrock only smiled benignly...except the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Is Logan your first name or your last?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard Logan speak. "Or do you know?"
Logan didn't answer.
Santrock seated himself casually on the edge of the large desk that dominated the room. There wasn't anything else in here...just dingy, soundproofed walls, and the massive desk and swivel chair on the other side. The top of the desk was covered in manila folders and stacks of paper...Santrock picked up one folder and hefted it with one hand, eyeing Logan with that maddening, fake smile.
"We have it all here on record, of course," he told Logan after a moment. "According to one...Charles Xavier," he said, reading the name, apparently, from the cover of the file. "You have no memory or recollection whatsoever of your past, except for, approximately, the last fifteen years. And..." He lifted a finger and scratched the side of his nose thoughtfully. "In theory, you could be older than Moses. Is that right?"
Logan didn't answer...he was too stunned by the thought that Xavier had supplied this man with information. Santrock read his expression quickly, though, and replied with a barking laugh. "Oh, don't worry...Professor Xavier didn't do the informing, or the report," he replied. "Unless you count everything he told Forge in trust...which Forge kindly passed on to us."
Forge! He should have known...Logan's eyebrows lowered dangerously, but Santrock only shrugged and stood up, coming to stand before Logan, his legs spread and arms linked loosely behind his back. "So...how old are you, Logan?" he asked. "Any clue?"
Logan stared him down, his eyes dark with rage. Santrock chuckled. "Don't feel like talking, hmm? Let's see if we can remedy that."
He fished a pack of cigarettes out of the breast pocket of his shirt, along with a small, cheap lighter. Logan watched from the corner of his eye as the man shook out a single smoke, stuck it between his fleshy lips, then lit it and puffed once or twice, the end glowing deep red in the dancing shadows of the small room. He removed it then, eyeing the tip critically, and then looked up at Logan with a thoughtful expression. "You have a healing factor, right?" he asked, his voice still friendly and polite. "Well, only one way to find out..."
Logan knew what Santrock was going to do before he did it, but that didn't make it any easier. Santrock grabbed a handful of Logan's shirt, ripping it open, then with careful precision he held the lit end of the cigarette to Logan's bare chest. Logan flinched only the slightest, determined not to give an inch to this sadistic fuck, and he stared at the far wall stonily as the smoke curled lazily upward, the red-hot pain searing through his chest as the sweet, sickening smell of cooking skin invaded his nostrils.
Santrock alternated his gaze between the delightful scene of his cigarette sinking into the mutant's chest like butter, and the stoic mask that Logan kept turned to the far wall. Amazing...simply amazing. The sweat was pouring down the mutant's forehead, but he didn't move a muscle, didn't even groan! Simply amazing!
He removed the cigarette then, popping it back between his teeth as he watched the burnt spot on Logan's chest. One second...two...the blackened edges of the small hole greyed, then pinked...and in a matter of moments the wound was gone, the skin as clear and unmarked as it had been before. Santrock whistled low under her breath, and shook his head with reluctant admiration. "Damn, big fella," he muttered. "It's true."
Logan fought to slow his breathing. "If I get out of here," he said, his voice soft and eerily calm. "I'm going to kill you."
"I know," Santrock said calmly. "But you won't get out, so I'm not worried."
"What do you want with me?"
Santrock sat back down on the edge of the desk. "Do you have any idea how valuable you are to me?" he asked.
"Why? Because I'm a mutant?"
"Partly," Santrock conceded. He inhaled deeply on the cigarette, amusing himself with the thought of the mutant's skin still smoking in its embers. "But you're also the ultimate soldier. You can't be hurt...not mortally, anyway."
"True, but we're going to find out just how good that healing factor of yours is," Santrock replied. "And you, the ultimate soldier...are going to help me build the ultimate army."
"Like fuck I am!" Logan snarled. Santrock ignored him, stepping around the handtruck to rap sharply on the door. The door opened after a second, and Logan strained to hear what was being said.
"Yes, sir?" replied a voice.
"Take the mutant to the lab and tell them to start the experiments," Santrock replied.
Experiments? No. No no no no no...all the nightmares came flooding back, all of them that had so miraculously disappeared once Ororo entered his life...the restraints, holding him underwater...the liquid fire entering his body, his lungs, his veins, his muscles screaming, his flesh screaming as he was sliced open and seared and killed over and over again..."I'm going to kill you, Santrock!" he raged, fighting with what limited movement he had as two soldiers came in and covered his head once more with the hood. Torture me...please...but not the experiments. Not again...no...
Santrock only chuckled, and Logan heard his laughter fading away as he was wheeled out of the office and down the hall...to where hell awaited him once again.
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