A Foretaste of Death
by
Tygerzeye


A lot of questions raised by the plot I have left unanswered because it would have taken too long to explain them all, and it gives me an excuse to write a sequel :)

One note that needs to be added: Ampullae Of Lorenzini are the sensors on a sharks snout and flanks that allow it to detect its prey from great distances. I hope you enjoy it.

---

"Every parting gives a foretaste of death;
every coming together again a foretaste of the resurrection."
-Arthur Schopenhauer.


The snow had begun to thaw that morning when Logan left his motel room and took to the road on foot. Now as he made his way through the woods his jeans became soaked with the ice water that had accumulated on the ground. He wasn't sure where he was going or even what direction he was travelling in; he was only aware of some vague recollection, a hazy memory, guiding him through the soggy undergrowth to a place where he hoped to find the answers to his questions.

It was nearing dusk when he reached the edge of the forest. Below him, in a shallow valley lay the remnants of an old compound, a collection of squat, ugly buildings that Logan had seen hundreds of times in the nightmares that haunted him every night when he closed his eyes. These ruins were what were left of The Experiment.

Setting down his rucksack beside a weary looking tree, Logan crouched on his haunches and studied the scene. What appeared to be the main building was in the far corner of the fenced off area. It seemed almost completely derelict, the roof long gone and the walls crumbling to reveal bare, rusting girders. The collection of barracks, store rooms and garages that surrounded it seemed to have survived more or less intact although they were all in bad need of a coat of paint. The high fence was topped with tumbling rolls of barbed wire and the large gate was chained and held shut with a padlock. The guard-post, if that was what it had been, lay in a heap of mouldy timbers. Logan sighed. What, if anything could this place tell him?

He rose to his feet and bent down to retrieve his rucksack but something made him pause. Ducking back to the side of the tree he listened as the distant noise of an engine approached from the road alongside the woods, the road that he knew came to a dead end at the gates to the compound.

* * * * *

Olya had been riding all day. She had to travel over 120 miles to find a store selling the equipment she needed to upgrade her computer system and had left just before dawn that morning. Now she was five minutes from home and desperate to strip out of her leathers and sink into a hot bath, then, if she wasn't too tired she planned to spend the rest of the evening trying to break the security safeguards that were meant to protect the CIA Operations database from people like her. Olya was a Hacker and an accomplished one although she didn't feel the need to brag about her achievements on the hundreds of underground web sites that had been built by those whose practised the craft. Hell, she'd been around since before there was anything to hack.

She guided her bike cautiously around a bend in the road, the tarmac was wet with melted snow and she didn't relish the idea of crashing now, not with several hundred dollars of computer equipment in the bag strapped to her back. Infront of her lay the compound, and beneath it the bomb proof bunker that had been her home since the days when people really worried about the possibility of nuclear Armageddon. The sun was setting to her right and the compound was in virtual darkness, no point in advertising your presence. She eased to a stop infront of the gates and pulled the bike onto its stand. The key to the padlock was in her jacket and as she dismounted she pulled off her driving gloves to reach into the pocket. Suddenly, her senses were flooded with thousands of signals; the idle chewing of a rabbit in the woods half a mile away, the frantic death throes of a mouse caught in the claws of an owl hunting on the other side of the river, the ultrasonic squeaks of a hundred bats setting off in the dusk to find their food. Normally, Olya could block out the millions of noises, which would drive a human to the brink of madness in minutes, but tonight something was different. She could feel someone nearby. She knew from practice that her abilities had a maximum range of about a mile and a half. Like a shark she could pick up the tiniest of electro-magnetic signals given off by living creatures. The Ampullae of Lorenzini, which had erupted on her hands like minute blisters when she was 14 could warn her of an approaching predator or possible prey long before her eyes could see them. What they were telling her now was that she was almost certainly being watched. The signal was strong; the heartbeat of a male human but there was something different about it, a uniqueness that she had only encountered once before. The signal was being interfered with, as if the heart that was producing it was surrounded by a Faradays cage, a case of metal. It had been fifteen years since she last heard that sound, on the night she last saw her man, when it rained fire and the air stank with the blood of the man he killed.

Slowly, on legs that were suddenly like rubber, she walked to the gate. Reaching inside her pocket for the key she stretched out her free hand and twisted it around at the wrist, trying to get an idea of where he was. Yes, she was sure, he was behind her, probably on the small rise that marked the boundary of the woods, less than a hundred yards away. She fumbled with the key, her whole body now in full rebellion, and eventually managed to snap open the lock.

* * * * *

Logan had watched cautiously as the bike and its rider had pulled up at the gate but his curiosity had grown when he realised the rider was a woman. He edged forward to the top of the rise as she dismounted and walked towards the fence but then suddenly she stopped, her head jerking upwards and turning from side to side. For one desperate moment he thought she must have heard him but then he decided she couldn't have, he was too far away and the bike engine was still purring loudly. There was something familiar in that body language though; the way she cocked her head to one side, holding out her hands, almost as if she was listening to the voice of a god. Something stirred in the murky darkness of Logan's jumbled memory, a feeling that he'd seen this before. An image flashed infront of his minds eye, a young woman with a handsome face and the body of a ballerina, black hair cascading over her shoulders and breasts, gazed down at him, her eyes filled with concern. He felt her hands, burning with an intense heat as she gently caressed his chest. He saw her speak to him though he couldn't hear the words. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried desperately to hang onto the picture but it slipped back into the darkness as quickly as it had appeared. Cursing in frustration, he opened his eyes. The woman had vanished. The road was empty again and the gates to the compound appeared to be closed. His eyes searched the buildings but he saw nothing, it was now almost completely dark, then he heard something, the sound of a heavy door being dragged open. A faint light snapped on in one of the old storehouses and he saw her, silhouetted against the single light bulb as she stepped inside the building. The door slid shut behind her and a moment later the light was gone.

* * * * *

Why now, dammit? Why now? Olya bolted down the stairs and threw open the airtight door that led to her bunker. She'd always thought that when Logan eventually showed up, and she knew he would, that she would be ready for him. She would welcome him back like a lover who had been lost at sea and miraculously returned. Now her mind was in chaos. There was every possibility that Logan had no conscious memory of who she was. The Experiment had taken its toll on him and even though his body had healed his mind had been shattered by the experience, perhaps irreparably so. She remembered the last night she saw him. She had watched from the safety of the tree line as he had stalked Jones through the compound. He had been unrecognisable to her then, the passionate man she had known had been replaced by a cold and relentless killer. After 15 years she couldn't be sure if there would be anything left of the man she had loved.

Calm, she must stay calm. Her senses were still picking up the sounds of his body, although the layer of concrete above her head was muffling them. He was getting closer, walking to the gate, which she had deliberately left unlocked. She unzipped her jacket and discarded it on the floor near the bathroom door. Kicking off her boots she struggled out of her leather jeans and, clad only in her underwear, she strode to her bedroom, pulling on a pair of cotton pants and a vest that she had left on her bed that morning. He was inside the compound now, probably nearing the door to the storehouse. His heartbeat was quickening, she could almost smell the adrenalin that was pumping into his system, he was nervous or excited, she couldn't tell which. With trembling fingers she gathered her hair into a loose bun and stepped back into the main room to wait for him.

* * * * *

When Logan found the gate unlocked, he knew. The woman had known he was there watching. She had felt his presence and left the padlock open, knowing that he would follow her inside. That meant two things; she had to be a mutant of some kind with senses at least as strong as his own and she had to be expecting him, knew him well enough to let him inside her domain. He had to find her, had to find out who she was and what she knew. Padlocking the gate shut behind him he made his way quickly to the storehouse, pushing open the heavy door and stepping inside. The place was empty but not completely dark, a small staircase cut into the floor led down to what appeared to be an airlock. It was open and a warm, soft light spilled out from behind the door. Slowly, Logan began to descend the stairs his senses filling with the smells of a woman's presence, shampoo and soap, the musky perfume of fresh perspiration evaporating from warm skin. He paused for a moment as her scent overwhelmed him, coaxing more images from his traumatized memory. He saw the look of concentration on her face as she gently coaxed a bandage from his thigh and her playful smile as she flashed a winning hand of cards infront of his eyes. He clenched his fists and felt her hair twined between his fingers, her body pressed against his in the afterglow of ecstasy. He sank down onto the bottom step, the effort of holding onto that image almost too much for him. He wanted to scream in rage. He wanted to find those responsible for what had happened to him and tear them apart. But most of all he just wanted to remember.

Something touched his face and he forced open his eyes relinquishing the images to the darkness once more. But that didn't matter now. She was kneeling infront of him, her slim body positioned between his legs, her fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. The mane of her jet-black hair had been twisted loosely at the nape of her neck but long strands of it still hung down to her waist. Her dark eyes gazed at him, glowing with a mysterious light that could only be coming from within her.

"Damn Logan, you look like shit." She whispered and the sound of her voice speaking his name seemed to lift something from his soul. The wild animal within him that had raged against the torture inflicted upon it was momentarily soothed. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. Pressing her body against his own, he buried his face in her hair and breathed in her scent. His lips brushed momentarily against her neck and he felt the blood coursing through her veins and tasted the honey like sweetness of her skin. She was returning his embrace now, her arms encircling his torso, the smooth curves of her breasts and belly moulding perfectly to the contours of his own flesh. He felt himself succumbing to instincts that he hadn't felt for a long time. There had been women he had known over the last few years but none of them had had the effect on him that this one was having right now. She was still all but a stranger to him but all he could think about was lifting her up in his strong arms and carrying her to her bed. He wanted to shut out the bitterness of the outside world and loose himself in the warmth of her body, to rediscover all that he had lost, for he was suddenly, inexplicably certain that she was the elusive presence that had seemed to be forever on the edge of his dreams.

Olya found herself sinking further into Logan's arms. At first she had been nervous. He had been slumped against the bottom step when she found him, his fists clenched, his knuckles white. The pain that he was feeling was etched in the frown on his face and his breathing was ragged and quick. But then, when he opened his eyes, she had seen in them the hint of recognition that she had dared not hope for and she knew that somewhere within him his memories were struggling to break the surface. When he drew her into his arms she almost fell against him so great was her relief. She rested her head against his stubbled cheek and slid her arms under his jacket, exploring with her fingertips the ridges of hard muscle that lay beneath his shirt. She felt his legs draw in around her, his thighs grasping her hips, pulling her even closer. His powerful hands slid gently up her spine and beneath her shoulders to cup her face, guiding her lips towards his. The spark of electricity that arced between them was enough to throw Logan back against the steps in surprise.

"What the hell. . . " he lifted a hand to his bottom lip but it wasn't bleeding and the tingling sensation left by the small charge was already dissipating.

"Oh Logan, I'm sorry." Olya helped him to his feet, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

He looked at her with a curious expression.

"Tell me that doesn't happen every time." He said.

"It never happens, I mean. . . " she looked flustered. "I can control it, usually."

"Hmmm." Logan stepped closer to her and gently placed his hand under her chin tilting her head upwards. "Glad to hear it," he whispered bending down and pressing his lips to hers. This time there was no spark of electricity, only the soft moist feel of her mouth against his. It seemed as if this simple kiss was what his whole body had been waiting for all these years. He almost felt young again. A strange but exhilarating energy seemed to be flowing from her, invigorating his aching muscles, sharpening his already acute senses. He suddenly found that he didn't want to let her go, wanted to feel like this forever and to hell with everyone else but after only a few moments she pulled away.

"You feel like a drink Logan?" she asked turning towards the door.

Alcohol was actually the last thing on his mind right now but she looked like she needed a shot more than anyone else in the world.

"Sure darlin." he replied. "You got any Scotch?"

She chuckled.

"Name your brand."

* * * * *

Logan followed the young woman through the airlock door and whilst she disappeared into what seemed to be a kitchen at the far end of the bunker he took some time to look around, curious to know what kind of place she might inhabit.

The main room he found himself in was large and divided into two parts. The lower section formed a passage leading off to other rooms. To his left, on a raised platform sat what was the largest computer system Logan had ever seen in his life. A wall-mounted scaffold supported an array of monitors, the largest looked to be about five feet square. They were dark except for a blinking green cursor in the left hand corner of each one. Below them was a workbench stretching along the whole wall. It was scattered with keyboards, spare computer parts, cables and a variety of tools. There were four worn and battered looking leather chairs spaced along the bench and the whole set up was lit by a scattering of ancient looking desk lamps. He had to admit he was impressed.

Olya returned from the kitchen with a fifty-year-old bottle of single malt and two shot glasses to find Logan staring in awe at her rig. No-one else had ever been down here since she built it and she allowed herself a brief moment of pride knowing that no better system than this existed outside a government agency. With it she had spent days accessing secret files in America, Canada and Russia and no-one had ever noticed least of all traced her.

"Why don't you take a seat?" she suggested, climbing up onto the platform and beckoning Logan to join her. He followed cautiously, keeping a wary eye on the bank of monitors before him.

"Marvin won't bite you." She laughed.

"Marvin?" he looked at her with a sceptically raised eyebrow.

"That's right. Marvin we have a guest tonight." She announced to what Logan assumed was thin air. "I'd like you to meet him."

Suddenly from above their heads came the sound of frantic electronic whirring. Logan looked up in surprise and saw two surveillance cameras, which he had previously missed, focussing in on him from the top of the scaffolding. All at once the monitors blinked into life, dazzling him with a wave of white light, then slowly an image appeared and he saw a still picture of himself looking up at the cameras as he had been a moment before.

"Good evening Olya." A disembodied voice boomed out of nowhere. "I am accessing stored personnel files, please wait a moment."

Logan turned to the woman sat next to him. The computer, or whatever it was, had called her Olya. He studied her face as she filled his shot glass with whiskey, trying desperately to connect her name with something, any rag or splinter of long forgotten experience but his mind was blank. He had no memory of that name.

She passed him his glass and watched him down the shot in one gulp, gesturing to her to refill it. Olya knew what was going through his mind right now. He had heard her name for the first time that night and was frantically trying to remember anything he could about her. The speed with which he was consuming the drinks she poured told her his efforts had been fruitless. Her heart sank. Maybe she had held out too much hope after all.

Marvin beeped, the computer equivalent of clearing ones throat.

"Accessing complete." he announced. "Good evening Mr Logan, we have not seen you for some time."

Logan jumped at the sound of his own name.

"It knows me?"

"Of course." Olya sipped at her drink. "You've been here before. Marvin holds files on everyone that lived or worked here when this place was active. He knows all about me, and he can tell you a lot about yourself too."

Logan sank back into his chair and sighed. He had been searching all this time for the key to those forgotten years, looking for the ghostly figure who haunted him every night and here he was with the possibility of regaining both of them and suddenly he was scared, not only of what he might find out but also of what effect it might have on him. He began to wonder if he had blocked out the memories of his time here for a very good reason. There was every possibility they could push him into madness. But just as the thought that he should back away crossed his mind he once again felt the warm, soothing touch of Olya's hand resting on his arm.

"It'll be tough Logan." She whispered. "I wont tell you otherwise. What went on here was a crime. It's your choice."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. She was leaning towards him in her chair. Her gaze met his and he sensed that she too felt the turmoil that boiled inside him, but there was also a passion within her that reawakened his desire to find out what had happened in this place and what they had meant to one another. He reached out and caressed a stray lock of hair that was tumbling around her face.

"You remember everything?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Then tell me about you first?"

"About me?" she seemed surprised by the question.

"Uh-huh. How did you end up here?"

She chewed her lip for a moment, then stood up and paced to the end of the platform. Logan watched her, sensing that she was trying to decide where to start. Eventually she turned back to him and started to speak.

"My name is Olya Gurov. I was born in 1919 in a town called Archangel in Northern Russia. I lived there until about 1960 I guess." She paused, a bitter smile playing on her lips. "People start to talk when they see a forty year old who doesn't look a day over twenty five."

"You look fine to me" Logan responded and she laughed.

"Anyway, I travelled around some, as much as you were allowed to back then, then in the summer of 1978 I was in Moscow and I was approached by a Secret Service Agent."

"KGB?" Logan's curiosity increased.

"Mmmm." She sat back down in her chair and poured another glass of whiskey. "They recruited me into the Counter Intelligence section of their Mutant Task Force. The Russian Government had been interested in the mutant phenomenon ever since the October Revolution and the KGB set up the task force as soon as they could. But they knew that if they were recruiting mutants as agents, then America was probably doing it as well."

"So they sent you here?"

"No, not directly. My orders were to infiltrate the mutant community on the American mainland, find out how organised they were, if at all, and to discover who was doing the organising. I arrived in Chicago sometime in '81. It wasn't difficult to find other mutants, by nature we tend to gather in the kind of places where people don't ask too many questions. I moved from place to place, picking up rumours here and there and passing them on but nothing really concrete, mostly hearsay about Black Ops that no one could confirm. My superiors were on the verge of pulling me out, then one night, it was the fall of 86, I walked into a bar not far from a Canadian border crossing and found myself in the middle of a brawl."

"Huh." Logan exclaimed as if bar brawls at border crossings were an everyday occurence. He poured them another shot of whiskey each. Olya thanked him and continued.

"It seems you'd managed to pick a fight with an entire Chapter of Hell's Angels. Anyway it was messy, but the fact that you were the last man standing made me think that maybe you were a mutant like me. I didn't know what exactly you could do though so when the bartender levelled a Winchester Pump at your chest I decided it might be wise to get you out of there." She paused and sipped her drink. The expression on Logan's face was one of intense concentration. His eyes darted from side to side as he racked his memory, trying to recall the events she had just outlined. Eventually though he appeared to give up and beckoned her to go on.

"I had a car parked up outside and the border was only a few miles away." She explained. "We made a run for it, kept going until we were well inside Canadian territory then stopped at a roadside motel and paid for a room for the night." Olya stopped and sipped her whiskey nervously. This was beginning to prove harder than she thought. Although Logan was listening to her intently, it was obvious that what she was saying meant nothing to him and what she had left to say was proving impossible to put into words. She gulped her whiskey down and poured herself another one before carrying on.

"They came for you the next evening. I don't know how they found us but they did. I went out to get us something to eat from the restaurant across the road, a couple of burgers, some french fries and two cokes. Somehow they managed to get to our drinks. I remember feeling the dizziness, the double vision. I think I heard you calling me but after that all I remember is waking up here."

Logan sank back in his chair and thought about what she had just said. He had been drugged and kidnapped, brought to this place against his will and subjected to the experiment that had bonded the adamantium to his entire skeleton. He should have felt angry, should have been furious at this violation of his being by faceless men he could not recall, but the feeling that overwhelmed him the most was one of utter helplessness. He glanced over at Olya. She was curled in her chair, her knees up against her chest, staring into the amber coloured liquid that filled her glass. She was gripping it tightly with both hands but it didn't hide the fact that she was trembling with emotion. Looking at her like that he felt a sudden need to protect her, to wrap his arms around her and shelter her from the demons that she could see all too clearly but which still remained invisible to him.

"This computer of yours, Marvin. He has records of what went on here?"

Olya nodded.

"What I could find anyway. Most of the files were kept on paper back then. I transcribed them a few years ago. They're all stored on his hard drive. Just ask him a question."

"Maybe I will." Logan replied. "But you should get some sleep."

She looked at him for a moment in silent protest, but realising it wasn't going to get her anywhere she got to her feet.

"There's a closet in the bathroom." She explained. "You'll find some clean clothes in there and a sleeping bag and some pillows."

He nodded, although the thought of spending the night alone in a sleeping bag when he would rather be curled up with her in her bed disappointed him somewhat. He admonished himself for letting his libido get the better of him and turned his attention back to the monstrous machine called Marvin.

* * * * *

Olya left the door to her bedroom ajar, as she did every night. Her experiences in this place had left her with a fear of closed doors. You never knew what was behind them. She stripped off her clothes and paced naked around her huge double bed. She had built it herself, having found that the nightmares often caused her to fall out of smaller ones. Her reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the wall caught her eye and she stopped to gaze at it. She hadn't changed in nearly 60 years. Her mutant abilities meant she could subconsciously exercise minute control over her muscles and the layers of tissue beneath her skin. She would remain ever youthful. It seemed as if her body had reached 25 and decided that was the ideal place to stay. She guessed that would probably make her the envy of every normal human woman had the circumstances been different. She just wished that her ability stretched to making the scars disappear. They criss-crossed her body in a jumble of thin white lines, from her back, across her shoulders and down to her abdomen, souvenirs of her first forty-eight hours inside the compound when they had interrogated her about what she knew and what she had told her superiors. Although she was quick to heal, like many mutants she had encountered, and had the ability to heal others, she felt pain like any normal human. She could not hold her head up and say with pride that she had endured. They had broken her. She ran her finger along the most prominent scar. The product of a flick knife cut, it ran from her left shoulder blade, between her breasts and ended at her navel. Fifteen years ago when the wound was fresh Logan had gently washed the blood from her body and bandaged the cut with a long strip of gauze. He had held her in his arms as she suffered withdrawal from the drugs they had injected into her and then when the shivers and the fever had gone and her skin had knitted back together he had peeled off the gauze and planted sweet, soft kisses along the thin white scar that was left behind. She wondered if he would ever feel inclined to do that again.

* * * * *

Logan slouched in the battered leather chair and sipped his whiskey. The computer had apparently powered down but Logan didn't care. He had no desire to access the files that were stored within it, felt no inclination to have his questions answered by a jumble of cold, unfeeling electronics. What he wanted to do was step inside the open door to Olya's bedroom, wanted to find her still awake, needed to feel her arms encircle him as she guided him onto the bed. He could imagine the feel of her body as she embraced him, see that strange beautiful glow in her dark eyes and smell the sweet scent of her skin. What was it that was making him feel like this? Was it her gentle beauty alone that was attracting him or something more besides that, a dim remembrance of things past, of a love he had had and lost. He slugged the rest of his whiskey, wincing slightly as it burned the back of his throat.

Well, bub, it ain't gonna happen tonight, he told himself, easing out of the chair and making his way to the bathroom. Her suggestion that he could borrow a sleeping bag had stung him more than he cared to admit but he accepted it. He had to be realistic. If there had been a time when he meant something to her that time was long gone and there was every possibility that she didn't feel that way anymore even if the passion of her first embrace hinted otherwise.

He reached the bathroom closet and pulled open the door. A light blinked on inside, illuminating several shelves piled with what had obviously been regulation sports wear back when this place was home to more people than just a single woman. He rummaged through the stacks of mute coloured sweats until he found a black pair that seemed to be his size. The sleeping bag lay on the bottom shelf and was rolled loosely around two pillows. He picked the bundle up and headed back to the main room. Doing his best to avoid Marvin's cameras he stripped out of his own clothes and dressed again in the black sweat pants. He was just rolling out the sleeping bag and looking for a comfortable spot on the floor when his ears picked up a noise coming from beyond the open bedroom door. He paused to listen. There it was again. The sound of Olya's voice, distant and muffled but becoming more frantic and incoherent. She was dreaming and whatever it was she could see in her mind, it was terrifying. Logan knew only to well that sickening sensation of being trapped in a nightmare world as it pulled you down forcing you to witness horrors that you knew were one day going to drive you insane. He dropped the sleeping bag and strode over to her bedroom door, cautiously peering inside. The room was lit by a child's night-light mounted on the wall to his left. He could see Olya lying almost on the edge of a huge double bed, a single white sheet twisted around her naked body and tangled between her legs. Her back was arched almost completely off the mattress and her arms were held across her face as if she was trying to protect herself from an attacker. She was whimpering like a wounded animal, occasionally crying out words that Logan knew to be Russian although he didn't understand them. He crept silently towards her, not wanting to wake her and frighten her even more than she was already but as he got closer the terrors seemed to subside. Her body relaxed, slumping into the mattress. The heart rending cries that had so alarmed him stopped. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully again. He sat down beside her on the mattress, careful not to disturb her, and brushed the hair away from her face. Her skin looked pale and although she was soaked with sweat she was shivering and cold. He looked around the room, searching for a spare blanket or something to wrap her in but there was nothing. It was then that something caught his eye, something on her bedside table shining in the glow from the night-light. He leant over and picked it up. It was a set of dog tags, not unlike the ones he wore around his own neck accept that this pair was not made of metal like his, they seemed to be made of some kind of glass or crystal. The lettering etched into them was Russian. He didn't know what it said. Then he realised there was something else attached to the chain. He held it up in front of his eyes, watching it spin lazily in the soft light. It was a woman's ring. Small with rounded edges it was made of a green stone that Logan recognised as malachite. Looking at it hanging there before him, it seemed for a moment as if he had seen it before. He reached up with his free hand and grasped it between his fingers.

The pain was sudden and excruciating. A searing white light filled his vision, blinding him. He heard the faint sound of his own voice crying out in pain, felt himself falling and then. . . .nothing.

* * * * *

Everything was dark. Logan lifted his hands to his face and felt his eyelids fluttering against his fingertips. He couldn't see. He staggered to his feet, feeling drowsy. His head was pounding. Then, in the distance he heard voices and the sound of footsteps approaching him. All at once there was light everywhere. He could see again. He wasn't in Olya's bedroom anymore. He was in a cell, a large box, thirty feet square. It seemed to be made of some kind of reinforced glass or plastic with small air holes in the roof. The furnishings were spartan; a bed, sink, toilet and a single fold away table with two chairs. The walls and ceiling were transparent and he could see that the whole structure was mounted on some kind of platform in the middle of a much larger room. The cell itself was accessed via two doors, linked by a small passageway. They were also made of the see through material. The room in which the cell was housed had only one entrance and it was this door that was swinging open now. A man walked in. He was wearing surgical scrubs and carrying what looked like a large bundle in his arms. But as he drew closer Logan realised that the bundle appeared to be making sounds. A sickening feeling wrenched at his guts. Olya. The man paused at the first doorway to the cell, staring at Logan with eyes that were cold and dead. The doorway slid open as if of its own accord and the stranger stepped inside, letting Olya slide from his arms to the floor. Logan watched in horror as blood began to pool around her body. Oh no, please, no. He ran to the inner door and pounded on it with his fists, screaming at the man to let him help her. The door didn't budge. The man ignored him, stepping back outside and walking away as the outer door slid shut and locked firmly. To Logan what seemed like forever was probably only seconds and then the inner door popped open. Frantically, Logan pushed it aside and scooping Olya into his arms carried her, blood soaked and sobbing inside the cell. Please don't die darlin' don't die.

* * * * *

Logan was lying on Olya's bedroom floor, the malachite ring clenched in his fist. Someone walking in at the moment would have thought he was having some kind of seizure. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched with the pain as hundreds of images flooded his brain at once. His entire body shook with tremors as he re-lived months of forgotten memories in minutes.

Olya's skin looked so pale. He was trying his best to remove the gauze bandage from her stomach but she kept squirming.

"That tickles Logan." He heard her voice as if from the other end of a long tunnel. . .

. . . her body was so warm he felt as if his lips were burning as he worked his way up her, kissing the quivering muscles of her belly, sliding his tongue along the gentle valley between her breasts. Her legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him down into a fierce embrace. Her heard her gasp, felt the sweet pain of her nails digging into his shoulder blades. . .

. . . the lights blinded him. The bindings around his feet, arms and neck cut into his flesh as he struggled to free himself from the operating table. The pain, the pain was too much. The scalpel blade sliced into his body. . .

. . . "Oh Logan, why are they doing this?" her tears splashed against his chest. He tried to put his arms around her but he couldn't move, couldn't even think straight. They were tearing him apart. . .

. . . "My Grandmother was Russian." The young man announced. Logan looked at him. He was the young intern that brought their food to the cell door twice a day. The tray that he had left for them in the passageway between the two cell doors was laden with two large bowls of stew. Next to one of the bowls was a small square of cream coloured felt and on it lay a delicate green stone ring. Logan looked at it curiously. "It belonged to her a long time ago." The intern explained in a voice choked with fear. "It's malachite. I don't have a woman to give it to. You do.". . .

. . . Olya lay in his arms, her fingers playing lazily in the hair at the nape of his neck. She was sleeping peacefully. They had been confined in that cell, for what must have been several weeks now and although they had shared several passionate embraces Olya had always broken away from him at the last moment, fearful they were being watched. But that night, when he had been returned from the operating theatre, his hands swathed in bandages from the surgery, she had taken him in her arms and guided him towards the bed. He had lain there gazing at her as she slowly stripped out of her own clothes before gently undressing him, running her lips over every inch of his skin. Her hair had fallen around him in a shining black tide as she straddled his hips, her body moving in perfect rhythm with her own breath, although she was perfectly silent, not muttering a sound or speaking a word. Logan had felt himself sinking deeper into her, becoming slowly more aware of the strange energy that flowed from her body into his, spreading from the pit of his stomach to invigorate every muscle. The scent of fresh perspiration beading on her skin and the calm swaying of her hips against his had sent quivers of pleasure along the length of his spine, until eventually he couldn't hold back any longer. He tore at the bandages with his teeth until finally they fell away from his hands in bloodied pieces. Grasping her waist he had rolled her onto her back, clutching at her desperately as the ecstasy exploded out of him. He heard her cry out and felt her back arch, pushing him upwards. A surge of pure electrical energy burst from her body, making the air crackle with static. She fell back onto the mattress breathless and exhausted. Logan drew her into his arms, stroking her sweat-drenched hair until finally she drifted silently off to sleep. . .

. . . he was going to drown, he was sure of it. Even though they had fitted breathing apparatus over his mouth and nose the air tank that they were attached to looked disconcertingly small and to make matters worse he was trapped and alone. The surgery that they had performed on him over the last two days had been extensive. They had already finished the bonding process on his limbs and now it was his pelvis, spine and ribs that took the brunt of the punishment. He knew this only because of the pain; he had no memory of the procedures themselves. After each operation they had immersed his whole body in a tank of liquid, leaving him suspended there alone and in the dark until they were ready for him again. Logan could only guess at the purpose to this strange ritual but he assumed it was to aid his already rapid ability to heal. That way they could work much faster. He reached out his hands and felt along the inside wall of the tank. It was seamless. How they got him in and out was a mystery. The tube that was supplying his air ran from his mouthpiece upwards to the roof where it disappeared through a snug looking hole, reappearing on the outside where it was attached to a compressed air tank. The first time Logan had awoken in this watery chamber he had tried to punch through the thick glass, the animal within him furious at such close confinement, but he hadn't even made a scratch on the surface. Now he leant against it in despair, his mind crying out in anguish, yearning for freedom. Beyond the glass a light snapped on. . .

. . . Logan ran his fingers over his temples and across his brow. Just below his skin he could feel a metallic hardness that hadn't been there before. He recalled them coming back for him hours before, could see the two men silhouetted before him as he stood in the tank but then there was nothing, his mind was a void until he woke again in this liquid cage. The mild throbbing in his skull told him what they had done. Surely there was nothing else they could inflict on him after this. Then the lights flicked on outside and the door to the post-op began to swing open. No more, please no more. He braced himself for what was to come. . .

. . . Olya? He blinked, trying desperately to see through the watery haze. She was walking towards him across the bare floor, dressed in what appeared to be black fatigues. Her hair was tied tightly at the back of her neck and she was gesturing to him, pointing at his chest. He looked down and saw the small monitor pad stuck to the skin next to his nipple. Stay calm, he thought as he realised his heart was pounding and that somewhere someone was probably monitoring his life signs. Olya was checking the compressed air tank. She seemed satisfied that he still had plenty of air so she turned her attention to what looked like a control panel on the wall a few feet away. He watched as she ran her hands over the arrays of lights and switches, her mind working quickly to try and get him out. Movement near the door distracted him. It was a guard, a huge hulk of a man in a navy uniform. He was watching Olya with a twisted grin on his face, one hand resting lazily on the handle of his nightstick. Logan turned back to Olya. Her palms were pressed to the control panel as she concentrated on the read outs in front of her. Why hadn't she noticed? Was she so focused on what she was doing that she had shut out all her other senses or were the electronic signals being given off by the machinery masking the man's presence? Logan pounded his fists on the inside of the tank, trying to get her attention but the glass was too thick, she couldn't hear him. He could only watch helplessly as the man advanced on her from behind, six feet away. . . four, Olyas head snapped up, he saw the fear in her eyes but it was too late. A huge hand snaked out and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her clean off the ground and hurling her across the room. Logan screamed into the respirator as her body struck an empty gurney and tumbled to the ground. The guard pursued her and was upon her again in two strides. He grabbed her hair and pulled her backwards but Olya retaliated. She reached behind her head and clamped both hands to the man's forearm. A huge burst of light lit up the room as the massive charge of electricity exploded from her, surging through her attacker and throwing him to the floor. Logan was certain it must have been enough to kill him but he was wrong. Olya, exhausted from the effort, drained of power, was helpless as the man rose to his feet and advanced on her again. This time he was careful not to touch her. Instead, he drew his nightstick, waiting patiently as she pulled herself upright before knocking her down again with a powerful blow to her jaw. Blood sprayed from her mouth as she fell to her knees. The guard stepped closer and kicked her viciously in the belly sending her tumbling onto her back. Logan pounded on the inside of the tank, but it was to no avail, he could only watch impotently as the blows rained down on her delicate frame. Then, suddenly, it all stopped. The giant man stepped back from her, a grin of pure pleasure twisting his face into a sick mask. Olya was still conscious. Clutching her wounded stomach she stumbled to her feet. For a brief moment, Logan felt relief, he was letting her go. Then he saw the gun. The standard police issue revolver looked like a child's toy in the monsters massive hand, but it was trained straight at the centre of Olya's back. The air tore from Logan's lungs as he howled in primeval anguish. His eyes registered the muzzle flash and the fountain of blood that erupted from her body, but it was not Logan the man who saw them. As the bullet streaked from the gun all that was human in him shattered like so many pieces of broken glass and from the debris arose the beast. It watched in icy hatred as the man picked up the broken body of its mate and carried her away. A low rumbling growl grew from its throat as slowly, carefully, it extended its claws. . .

* * * * *

. . . the human was speaking to him through the clear wall of his cell but although he heard the words they barely registered in the chaos that had become his mind.

"She used to tell me stories when I was young" the man was saying, "A woman who never grew old. . . wandered the Siberian deserts. . . treated the sick. She cured people with her hands. . . and they called her Gabriel because her eyes shone with the fire of God."

Wolverine growled, this meant nothing to him. All he cared about was getting out. His only purpose now was vengeance. His ears registered the sound of the inner door opening and he strode over to it and into the passageway. The outer door was still closed, the young man stood on the other side, watching nervously.

"It was her wasn't it Logan? Olya, she was Gabriel?"

The words washed over him, their meaning failed to register in his animal consciousness. He growled impatiently and his hot breath misted the glass in front of him. Finally, the human seemed to get the message and reaching out a shaking hand unlocked the exterior door. Wolverine stared at him as he stepped outside, calculating how much of a threat this man was. He was unarmed, he could strike him down with a single blow, but this one was not the one he wanted and he posed no threat. Wolverine strode away without a word. . .

. . . there was snow on the ground and the air was frigid but Wolverine didn't notice. Ahead of him, slumped in the ice was the man he sought to kill, the guard who had robbed him of his mate. He had caught him by surprise, alone by a fire escape, sneaking a cigarette and had disarmed him easily. Terrified the man had made a run for it up the fire escape stairs to the outside, but Wolverine had pursued him, his metal coated claws slashing at the mans legs, hamstringing him. Unable to walk, the man had dragged himself outside into the winter night, leaving a bloody trail in the snow. Now he cowered at Wolverine's feet, his knees drawn up beneath him, one hand raised above his head in a pathetic attempt to ward off the beast that towered over him. But forgiveness is not in an animal's nature. Wolverine bent down and with one hand grasped the man's hair, pulling his head up and backwards. The last thing that the petrified guard saw before the darkness took him was the glint of moonlight on the beasts' metal claws as they swooped towards his exposed neck. . .

. . . a piercing scream ripped through the night. The man's body slid from Wolverine's grasp as he spun around, trying to pinpoint the source of that anguished cry, but he could see nothing. The forest beyond the compound was pitch black. Movement nearby caught his attention. It was the man who had released him from his cell. He was running for the perimeter fence like someone who had death on his heels. Wolverine watched him go, perplexed. What was he running from? The blast wave caught him square across the shoulders as the main building erupted in a huge ball of flame. He was thrown to his knees by the concussion and it was while he lay there stunned and confused that he heard it again, drifting to him above the roar of the flames. That strange unearthly cry that screamed at the Heavens, raging over some injustice felt, some great loss mourned. Wolverine drifted into unconsciousness and the sound melted away into the night once more. . .

* * * * *

When Logan opened his eyes he found himself lying on the concrete floor of Olya's bedroom. He staggered to his feet, his mind reeling from sensory overload. The ring slipped from his fingers as he fell back against the wall. He remembered it all now; the cell, the surgery they inflicted on him, the torture they put Olya through to find out what she knew.

Olya?

She was still sleeping peacefully on the bed. The sheet was draped loosely around her waist as she lay in a foetal position, her back towards him. He stepped over to her and reached out with a shaking hand to brush away her hair. The circle of scar tissue was between her shoulder blades. It was paler than the surrounding skin and slightly ridged around the edges. Only a bullet would leave that kind of mark. Logan fell back against the wall, the grief and anguish swamping him. He had seen her shot and had been convinced she was dead. Where had they taken her? How had she survived? Had she ever looked for him since? His head swam. Shaking and gasping for breath, he stumbled from the room.

A loud crash jolted Olya from her slumber. She bolted upright, suddenly afraid, her heart pounding. It sounded like someone was ripping apart the place. She heard the screech of metal against metal and the sound of heavy objects being thrown to the floor. Her mutant senses pounded in time to a furious heartbeat. She could smell the adrenalin in the air and the stench of hatred filled her nostrils and mouth with such a foul scent she thought she was going to gag on it.

Oh God, why did I leave him alone? Hastily she pulled the bed sheet around her body and ran towards the sound of the noise.

When she reached the kitchen door and looked inside it appeared as if a bomb had gone off and she had slept through it. The whole place was a shambles. Pots and saucepans laid scattered on the floor, drawers had been ripped out, their contents thrown against walls. The metal worktops were scored with dozens of scratch marks. And in the midst of it all was Logan. Dressed only in a pair of black sweat pants, he was slumped against one of the kitchen counters, his head in his hands. His long metal claws were still extended and there were trickles of fresh blood running down his knuckles. Cautiously, Olya approached him. She knew he was capable of killing her with one blow if he lashed out in instinct. She hoped that whatever had happened whilst she had been asleep it hadn't been so overwhelming as to push him back into that feral madness she had seen fifteen years before. She crouched down by his feet, careful not to touch him and softly whispered his name. No response. For once she didn't know how to proceed. Seventy years ago she had seen soldiers returning from the Russian Front; cold and starving, every shred of humanity stolen from them by the things they had witnessed, or participated in. She had touched many of them, drawing out their nightmares, soothing their shattered minds. She wasn't sure how her powers worked, only that the force that flowed within her seemed to bring back balance to those broken by pain. But this man's anguish was so deep routed within his psyche she wasn't sure if she could offer any assistance to him. She had learnt to be strong after all these years but touching Logan's mind in the state he was in could be fatal to her. Looking at him though; this strong, handsome man who could kill without feeling but who was the gentlest of lovers, she knew she had to take the chance. Carefully, she reached out one hand and touched her fingers to his forearm, feeling a tingle of energy pass through her as the atoms in his body reacted to her touch. She slid her hand gently upwards across the inside of his wrist and over his palm, until her fingers were laced through his, then drawing in a deep breath she closed her eyes and slowly exhaled.

The heat that shot up his arm was enough to jolt Logan out of his stupor. For a split second he thought he must be leaning against an open oven then his vision cleared, his senses came back to him and he realised it was Olya who was the source of the strange sensation. She was kneeling beside him holding his hand, her head gently tilted to one side, her eyes fluttering slowly under closed lids. Logan found himself moved by her serene beauty and reached out to touch her face, a phantom voice drifting up to him from the corner of his mind, ". . . . they called her Gabriel because her eyes shone with the fire of God." His fingertips brushed her cheek and suddenly it seemed as if his whole body was on fire. But far from being a painful experience, he welcomed it, surrendering himself to it as the energy streamed into him. His exhaustion melted away, his mind and senses suddenly felt clear again. He felt his claws slowly retracting inside his hands, the skin healing over, but this time they didn't hurt. It was as if, by some means that was a mystery to him, she had gathered up everything inside him that had been broken or shattered and put it back together again. The memories of what had happened to him were still there but they were no longer a chaotic jumble of incoherent images, merely a part of what made him what he was. She had taken away their power to torture him anymore.

He felt her hand slide away as she released her grip on him. Her eyelids opened and for a brief moment he saw that strange dark fire that burned inside her then he watched as it slowly faded away and she turned to look at him with those deep chocolate coloured eyes that hadn't changed in fifteen years. She seemed exhausted.

"You remember now." She whispered, not posing a question but stating something she knew already.

He nodded and it occurred to him then that when he had first seen her that evening when she was still a stranger to him, and he had felt that overwhelming desire to hold her it had not been because of any animal extinct getting the better of him. Some part of him, buried and long forgotten, had realised it was home.

Pulling himself to his feet, he scooped her up in his powerful arms and carried her out of the ruins of the kitchen.

* * * * *

The bed sheet remained wrapped around her body for a long time. They had fifteen years of catching up to do; there didn't seem much point in rushing. Logan had laid her down gently on the bed before easing down onto the mattress himself. She had rested there for a while, gathering her strength back as he had carefully combed her hair with his fingers. It fanned out around her head in a thick black halo, the long plaits that she had woven in several places seemed to shine in the weak illumination of the night-light. He touched the pale, soft skin of her face, noticing for the first time the tiny freckles scattered across her cheekbones. She responded to his caress, nuzzling against his hand. He drew her to him, his lips finding hers as they kissed with a slow sensuous passion, their tongues entwining as their bodies did the same. Logan surrendered himself to her embrace, surprised by her strength and suppleness as she bore his weight against herself and wrapped her legs around his hips, using her feet to gently ease the sweatpants from his legs. The velvet feel of the skin on the inside of her thighs, so smooth and warm against his naked legs made him yearn for more of her. He ran his hand across her neck; her pulse was strong and quick. Sliding his fingers further down he found the knot that held the sheet firmly around her upper body and with a single tug pulled it apart. The thin cotton fell away and he clutched her naked body to his own, breaking their kiss for a moment to explore with his lips, following the line of that pale scar that ran from her shoulder to her navel. Her skin tasted sweet, like wild honey and vanilla, the muscles of her abdomen trembling as she gasped in pleasure at his touch. He kissed her again and her lips met his with fierce intensity, her hand grasping the nape of his neck as she coaxed him onto his back

Olya took her time to explore every inch of Logan's body, relishing the feel of his powerful muscles as they rippled beneath her hands. His skin was darker than hers and much of it was covered with a fine layer of hair that thickened up across his chest and lower belly, forming into black swirls that she traced with trembling fingers. Her eyes gazed at him as she continued her caresses, watching every reaction to her touch, the rise and fall of his chest, the movements of his eyes beneath half closed eyelids. He was the only man she had ever given herself to and it had been so many years ago.

Logan gasped as he felt her warm body envelop him, drawing him in. Ripples of pleasure erupted through him spreading out across his stomach and into his chest, increasing in intensity with the gentle rhythm of her movements until he could barely breathe anymore. Her hands were braced against the lower part of his ribs and he could feel the electricity crackling between her fingertips, making the hair all over his body stand on end. Raising his knees to support her back, he grasped her thighs and pulled her down even further onto him. Her head snapped back and she let out a sudden cry. Fearful that he had hurt her, he stopped but then she was clutching his arms, urging him to continue, her breathing becoming faster and harder as he moved within her. His own pleasure was increasing too as his powerful senses became overloaded with the sights and sounds and smells of her body and when release finally came for both of them her tender cries of ecstasy were almost drowned out by the animal roar that erupted from his own throat. She fell against his chest, exhausted and trembling. He reached across for the discarded bed sheet and wrapped it around them, holding her tightly in his arms so that she wouldn't get cold. She nuzzled against his neck, planting a single, sweet kiss against his jaw before they both fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

Logan didn't know what time it was when he awoke but then he didn't really care. Olya was curled up next to him still sleeping soundly. Her head was resting against his chest and he could feel her warm breath blowing softly against his skin. Her left arm was wrapped around his shoulder whilst her right hand played idly in the thick black hair that lay in a line between his navel and his groin. He lay still for a short while, savouring the sensation of her fingertips as they danced across his skin, feeling himself become aroused again. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. Her lips brushed against his for the briefest second, then she stirred, her eyelids flickering open. She watched him for a moment, her pupils wide and black and fathomless then, without a word, she slid her hand lower over his groin, her gaze never leaving his as her fingers slid through his pubic hair. He felt his breath catch in his throat as she encircled him, whispering his name, her tongue gently lapping the fresh sweat that covered his throat.

The deafening screech that split the air sounded like an army of demons wailing at the gates of hell. Olya jumped from their embrace as if she'd been scolded. She looked confused for a moment, then slowly the flush of passion drained from her cheeks and a flicker of fear darted in her eyes. She bolted from the room before Logan could even say anything. He slumped back onto the mattress, the pleasure of her touch fading away as the siren continued to wail.

"This aint gonna be your day bub." He muttered, pushing himself to his feet.

"Switch off that damn noise!" Olya screamed at Marvin as she frantically pulled her leathers back on.

"Powering down main intruder alarm.," the computer announced in an infuriatingly calm voice. The siren died, but the echo of it continued to ring in her ears as she tried to pull on her boots.

The bank of monitors in front of her were all showing the same thing; a crude line drawing of the compound, the main buildings and perimeter fence picked out in green. What worried her was the circle of small red dots that appeared to be closing in from three sides of the map, the trip wires and sensors that she had placed outside years ago picking up their every move.

"Are they what I think they are?"

She looked over her shoulder to see Logan, still naked, standing behind her frowning at the image on the screens but she had no time to appreciate his physique right now.

"They're surrounding us" She said, "We have to leave."

Logan didn't need telling twice. He strode over to where he had dumped his clothes the night before and began pulling his jeans on.

Olya turned back to the computer. She had hoped that this day would never come. The bunker that had once been her prison had long since become her home but now that was all about to change. When the place had first been abandoned she had worried that they would come back to salvage what they could, so she had placed the sensors out in the forest, scouting around for the ideal places, choosing locations that were farther out than her own powers could reach. Each sensor was equipped with a transmitter that sent signals straight back to Marvin's electronic brain. She had programmed him to distinguish between the weak forces given off by small animals, wild predators and lone hikers and the stronger signals emitted by large groups of men. What Marvin was telling her now was that a small task force, and she knew they would be armed, was approaching their position, planning to take them by force if they had to. How had they known they were here? Why had they shown up now? She glanced at Logan as he pulled on his shirt. Had they somehow known he was coming here? She pushed her concerns to the back of her mind. There was a task to accomplish, one she had hoped she would never have to fulfil.

"Marvin." She said, her voice choked with emotion. "I want you to initiate Programme Abraham."

The computer was silent for a moment, almost as if it was contemplating the consequences of her request. A momentary fear flashed through her mind that Marvin was going to refuse then his calm, monotone voice boomed out across the room.

"Programme Abraham initiated." he announced. "Ten minutes to complete system shut down."

Olya rose slowly from her chair, picking up an old flashlight from the workbench and descending to join Logan in the passageway. He was dressed in his own clothes again, his rucksack on his back.

"What's Programme Abraham?" he asked, seeing the distress on her face.

"Complete memory wipe." She replied. "If they ever get this far, and I doubt they will, all they'll find is a jumble of useless electronics."

"Why now?" his voice echoed her own thoughts.

"I don't know Logan." She sighed. "Guess my luck just ran out after all these years."

He paused to look at the screens. They were still showing the line map of the compound, the red dots moving in even closer on the perimeter fence, forming a cordon around them. A low growl rumbled in his throat, the animal within him responding to the threat. He was not used to running away, every fibre in his body was crying out to stand and fight.

"No Logan." Olya whispered, sensing his anger. "They're not here to capture you this time, they want us dead, both of us. We're mutants, that's the only justification they need."

The memory of her body sprawled on the post-op floor, bruised and bloody, the light gone from her eyes, was enough to convince him. He drew her into his arms, holding her and kissing her for as long as he dared before breaking away.

"How do we get out of here?"

* * * * *

The abandoned section of the bunker had been left without power for nearly fifteen years, ever since Olya had closed the last airlock, sealing it off once and for all. It took Logan all his strength to budge the rusted door but eventually they were through and into the old laboratories, running along the dark frigid passageways that stank of mold and neglect, guided only by Olya's memories and the weak beam from her flashlight. She led him past the operating theatre, the post-op and the room that had housed their cell, neither of them saying anything, both of them trying not to think about the past, intent only on making it back to the outside and away from the men that were hunting them. After several minutes of weaving their way through the old passages, dodging fallen debris and pools of rancid water they reached the end of the main corridor. It appeared to be a dead end. Olya handed Logan the flashlight, guiding his hand until the beam was pointing at a small hole in the wall near their feet. It was a ventilator opening, its cover long gone to who knew where. That was their way out.

" We go straight ahead, take the first tunnel on the left and keep going to the end." She whispered. "There's a manhole cover, comes out in the forest. They wont see us."

Logan nodded, squeezing his massive shoulders through the opening and crawling for a few metres through the dusty blackness before waiting for her to catch him up then together they made their way through the dark cramped space until they came to the tunnel she had mentioned. It was a much larger passageway, probably having once provided maintenance access to the compounds air conditioning network. It offered enough space for them both to walk hunched over, until after about a quarter of a mile they came to an access ladder bolted to the slimy concrete wall. It led upwards to a manhole cover. Logan returned the flashlight to Olya's hand and she held it up so that he could see as he climbed the slippery rungs to the top, bracing his shoulders against the inside of the cover and heaving with all his power until it flipped upwards onto the ground outside. Daylight poured in, blinding Olya momentarily. She covered her eyes with her hand, loosing sight of Logan for a second as he began to pull himself over the lip of the entrance. Squinting hard against the fierce light Olya chanced an upward glance. Logan was leaning over the edge of the hole, smiling, his hand beckoning her to join him.

Outside it was a beautiful winters day, dawn having only broken a few minutes before. Logan found himself standing on a steep tree covered rise overlooking the compound at a distance of about half a mile. Olya was with him, pressed against him in the cold air of morning, watching the scene unfold below.

The men dressed in arctic fatigues, had cut their way through the fence and were scouting the exterior buildings. They moved stealthily, unaware that their prey had already fled. Olya studied their tactics, the way they moved, rifles in hand, as they checked and cleared each one of the buildings. She felt sorry for them in a way, they had no idea what was about to happen to them, but in their line of work, as in hers, it was an occupational hazard.

She felt the rumble in her feet first as the TNT detonated deep under the bunker. Her eyes registered the heaving of the ground as it first seem to billow outwards, the roar of the explosion pounding in her ears as the blast wave almost knocked them from their feet. A hideous column of debris, earth and shattered bodies hurtled into the air, blocking the morning sun and throwing the forest into temporary darkness before collapsing in on itself again swallowing the entire compound in a swirling cloud of dust and rubble. Then, eventually there was silence. Everything of her life before that moment was gone, buried under a hundred tonnes of earth. After fifteen years of waiting for her man to return, he was now all that she had left.

"Olya?"

She tilted her head, seeing Logan's puzzled expression, attempting to meet his eyes with the steady, calm gaze that a trained killer should possess, but she couldn't do it.

"You had your revenge a long time ago." She whispered, her voice all but failing her. "It was time I had mine." And she slumped into his open arms as the tears coursed down her pale beautiful face.



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