The Ultimate Prey
Chapter 3
by
DreamWeaver and Hunter
DISCLAIMER: Everything belongs to Marvel except Kiefer, Jan, and the Disco.
FEEDBACK: Yes please. . . . katduza@yahoo.com or mainsmel@yahoo.com
HUNTER'S NOTES: Many thanks to Dream Weaver for all her amazing hard work to get this done before I left for Canada. It was a pleasure to work with you.
DREAMWEAVER'S NOTES: Kudos to KAT for setting out the whole idea! An amazing mindmeld as we sliced, diced, and spliced the story together over many a chat. Great fun!
AUTHORS' NOTES: The dialect of the two main baddies is of Southern African origin: South Africa (Kiefer) and next door Namibia (Jan). (boet--Afrikaans for 'brother', in slang-comrade or close friend)
Tool cabinets were falling one after the other in his head. He yelled at Bobby to turn off the damn disco and his shout came out a croak. It was the searing rawness in his throat that at last nudged him into awareness. Logan struggled to open his eyes. They felt gummy, sticky, and he had to blink repeatedly before his vision cleared.
He looked at his surroundings with disbelief.
Great. Just fucking great! If he could have pinched himself he would have. A surge of nausea rose in his aching throat as his initial shock turned to anger quickly becoming rage. Not again! His nightmares had come to plague him in living, breathing Technicolor. No. No, not quite. He forced himself to examine his surroundings, its occupants, already accepting the situation and assessing the possibilities. They looked to be few.
A long, cold, severe and sterile room, blinding white tiles competing with flickering fluorescent lights as to which was more irritating to the eye. Hospital? Medical lab? Veterinary? All of those. Perhaps the last was most true. For along one side of the room stood a row of large stainless steel cages from which came the odor of animals, the reek not totally wafted away by the laboring ventilation system. The majority of those cages appeared to contain predators. Anyway, his neighbor to the left certainly fit that category. The panther's green eyes were regarding him with culinary interest.
"Same to ya, bub," Logan growled.
The big cat stretched, yawned, displaying his weaponry of claws and fangs before settling down to rest his head on massive forepaws and fix the man with a disconcerting stare.
Logan snarled in return, begrudging the panther the luxury of its cage for he had been given no such amenities. Instead, he was forced to stand, cuffed hand and foot to a steel panel set in the wall. Straining his neck, twisting his body, Logan examined the manacles, tested the limited play they grudgingly allowed. With his hands fastened shoulder-high his claws were of no use.
"Doesn't this bring back happy memories!" he muttered to himself, pulling against the bonds until dribbles of blood ran down his wrists. Nope. Not going anywhere with these on. Feet? Same sad story.
With a sigh Logan looked over at a drowsing Bobby pinioned in like fashion to his right. Just beyond, Scott hung unconscious in his bindings and last drooped Hank's blue bulk He regarded his team mates with an odd mixture of unwilling affection, exasperation, and envy that they were still ignorant of their situation. In the end he decided to let them sleep. Reality would rear its ugly head soon enough.
Logan felt worse about the kid. He thought he'd made it possible for Bobby to get away. Hell, it was the kid's birthday after all! He and Cyke and Beast were big boys and could handle this--he hoped. But the kid-- Even though he knew it wasn't true, he felt Bobby's capture was his fault.
At some point they had been stripped of everything except their jeans. Only Hank looked dressed. Logan noticed that the bastards had left Cyke his ruby quartz visor. Too bad, or else this whole place would be smithereens as soon as he woke up. But with Scott's hands securely manacled the visor was as ineffective as Logan's claws. The kidnappers must have known about that visor, he realized. Yup. Canny Jan had done his homework. Knew who to catch, and where, and what would draw them in.
A sudden thought struck him. Somebody knew about the visor, what it did and why . . . And Beast was obviously a mutant. A roundup. The mutant slayer? Nah, couldn't be. That bastard killed, he didn't collect. It had to be somebody else. But did that somebody also know about the kid's peculiarities or was aware of his own claws? He dimly recalled a dream-like conversation where he had supposedly slashed the truck tire with a knife. Okay. The best thing was to keep quiet about the claws and Ice Cube's little tricks. Pretend to be the ordinary Joe on the street. Not that he expected their captors to give him and the kid a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card. But what the baddies didn't know might hurt them. Besides, it was only smart to keep a couple of aces up his sleeve--even when he didn't have a sleeve.
Logan could see no visible wounds on any of them. What had the bastards hit them with? He recalled a quiet popping sound, a sting in his neck. Some kind of tranquilizer gun, he decided. That's what knocked out Cyke and Beast so silently. They must have already been tucked in the van by the time he and Bobby arrived on the scene. A tranquilizer would also explain the bitter, medicinal taste in his mouth and the delayed reaction of his healing factor to overcome the drug. Wonderful. He'd figured out who had captured them and how. But damned if he knew why!
'Why' chose that moment to announce its entrance. A squeak of the handle on the steel door at the end of the corridor caused Logan, the panther, and the roving eye of a security camera set high in the corner to focus on the newcomers. A tall, deeply tanned man radiating good humor strode in first with leopard-like grace. Close on his heels, came the watchful, expressionless Jan. Last to enter were two heavy-set thugs in pseudo-military outfits with pistols and other paraphernalia strapped around their hips.
Jan went up to Hank, broke a capsule under his nose, and when that one jerked his head away from the sharp smell gave the Xman a half-dozen stinging, unemotional, methodical slaps bringing Beast to roaring life. He administered the same gentle, kindly attentions to each of the other two. His eyes narrowed when he found Logan awake and aware. With a tight little stretch of lips Jan slipped the last capsule in his pocket and slapped Logan anyway.
"This is just a taste of what awaits you, baster," he murmured.
Logan lunged his full extent from the wall--a good four inches. The only impression his aborted attack made on Jan was to harden the man's smile. "Your turn will come." Slap! "I swear it." Slap! With an abrupt nod that promised vengeance, Jan left Logan licking blood from his lips and went to stand by the other man who was studying the captives.
"Hey, I'm hungry!" Bobby complained. "When do we eat around here?"
Logan grinned in spite of himself. Trust a teen to rank his stomach higher than drugging, kidnapping, or imprisonment!
"We don't eat," said Scott. "No shoes. No shirt. No service," he intoned, dead-pan.
The incongruity and truth of the statement brought a startled laugh out of his teammates, eased the palpable tension. Even the tall man chuckled. Logan mentally revised his assessment of Cyke's leadership abilities, pushing it upward another notch. Damn! At this rate he might even end by liking the guy.
Followed by Jan, the man now approached Hank, staring at him curiously. "What do we have here?" He ran an admiring hand through the blue fur.
"'Whom do we have here' would be more accurate," rumbled Hank.
"It talks!" The man turned to Jan with delight.
"It is also fast, Kiefer. It kept up with me despite its bulk. Looks strong, as well. It would have to be to carry that weight. Take care with this one, boet. I think it may have a surprise or two."
"Perhaps I should introduce myself," Hank suggested. "I am Dr. Henry P. McCoy, medical doctor as well as recipient of Ph.Ds in chemistry, biology, mathematics, and genetics."
"Have you felt its fur, Jan? Almost like--"
"The fur's molecular structure is not dissimilar from the best quality of cashmere," Hank interrupted. "However, it also bears close DNA resemblance to the thick, water-proof fur of sea lions, rendering it both amazingly warm and incredibly weather resistant--as I am modestly able to testify. And now that I have satisfied your curiosity, gentlemen, would you be so gracious as to satisfy mine?"
Logan understood what Hank was doing. P.O.W. Psychology 101--make your captors acknowledge you as a human being and not as a thing. He doubted it would work in this case.
"Firstly," Hank continued, "why are my friends and I trussed up in this undignified manner? And, secondly, what are your intentions that warranted our abduct--"
Kiefer yanked out a tuft of blue fuzz, sniffed at it. "Damn me if it doesn't smell like . . . roses? Jan, release this one first."
"As you wish," replied Jan as they moved over to Cyclops.
"Scott Summers?"
"Only to my friends. Who are you?"
"Ach, so rude! But I have wanted to meet you for some time, Scott Summers. Call me Kiefer. That will serve for the brief period we will be acquainted." He laughed. "And if I remove that which hides your eyes what will happen, hey?"
"Hmm. Let's try it and see," Cyke suggested with a winning smile.
The man laughed again. "I think not! I have heard of the power of your gaze. Save this one for last, Jan. He will provide the greatest sport."
"And you, boy," Kiefer addressed Bobby. "I'm truly sorry. I did not intend to net any kids in my hunt."
"I'm not a kid!" yelled the kid.
"You claim to be something more?" he goaded. "My men tell tales of frost, ice. But surely these are fantasies."
"C'mere and find out, asshole!"
"You think to hurt me, little boy?" The man grinned and moved closer. "I dare you!"
Even as Logan shouted at him to stop, a haze of freezing cold streamed from Bobby towards Kiefer. Still grinning, that one adroitly stepped aside and the icy cloud enveloped the guard by the door. In seconds, the man stiffened, turned shimmery white, and crashed to the floor, scattering across the tiles in a hundred pieces.
Bobby looked horrified at what he'd done. The next instant Jan's knuckles caught him on the chin and the kid slumped unconscious, hanging from his wrists.
"Ulrich!" Jan made a whipsnap of the name, jerking the second guard out of his befuddlement as he gaped at what remained of his companion. "See that this one is kept sedated until we are ready for him."
"Ja!"
Chuckling, Kiefer stepped back, hands on hips as he regarded the prisoners. "A good catch, Jan! We shall amuse ourselves with these. A blue gorilla, a maker of lightening, another of ice, and . . . What are you?" He came over to Logan. "I know why the others are monstrosities, freaks. How are you different?"
"Lemme loose, and I can make my fist materialize in your teeth," Logan growled.
The man laughed. "A maker of bad jokes. Commendable under the circumstances, I suppose, but of little interest otherwise. However, he was resourceful, hey, Jan? Ernst dead, the van damaged. Or are you just a lucky baster?" He studied Logan again as that one sneered in return. "This one second, Jan. We'll see how long his luck holds. Then the boy."
The two men started for the door. "Ja, the most challenging we keep for last." Kiefer paused on his way out, gave a half bow to Cyclops. "Scott Summers, in four days we will meet again. I await it with anticipation."
"Just why did you bring us here?" demanded Scott. "What do you intend to do with us?"
"Didn't I say?" He smiled at Scott. "Why, I have invited you all here for a bit of sport. Hunting, in fact. I--the jagter, the hunter, you--the hunted. We are on an island. There is a dock, a boat. If you wish to escape you will find that boat."
"What's to stop you from just setting up camp on the dock?" Logan snarled.
Kiefer laughed. "The bad joke maker has no sense of sportsmanship. Guarding the single exit is too easy. You are here because of the chase. You offer challenge, danger, wit--in a word, sport. It is not the kill that makes the victor. It is the trial of the hunt, then the kill. In the morning the ape will be released to run. A half hour later Jan and I will set out. I warn you now, Jan is the most clever of trackers, spying out the most subtle of signs."
"Two against one doesn't sound very sportsmanlike," Scott commented. "Also, you have supplies, equipment, manpower. We don't even have a shirt on our backs."
The man grinned unpleasantly. "If it's a shirt you want, Scott Summers, then you must kill to get one." He left, still fingering the bit of blue fur.
Jan stopped by the guard. "Ulrich, I will send Thomas down to help you clean up what is left of Carl." He indicated the glittering ice. "Meanwhile, see that this lot are fed as well as the animals. Thomas will take care of the boy intravenously. Ach," he turned in the doorway, "I almost forgot. The one on the end there, the maker of bad jokes, no need to feed him. He is not to be pampered. Do I make myself clear?"
"Ja!" And before the door clanged shut Ulrich snatched something thick and black from his weapons belt and was striding towards Logan. A rubber truncheon. Maximum pain. Minimum damage. Make that visible damage.
Logan gritted his teeth. He knew who was going to pay for what happened to Carl.
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