Post by DiscipleofBob on Feb 28, 2013 12:52:16 GMT -5
Weapon X #1:
Tiger Hunt
Tiger Hunt
The Canadian Rockies
It was just a small run-down bar on a long, rural road through the mountains. There weren’t even enough buildings in a ten-mile radius to consider the area a town. There were a few regulars, only there because it would be a solid half hour drive to reach a different watering hole. Occasionally some truckers or bikers would stop by. On a rare occasion some traveling hiker would stop in to use the bathroom, take one look at the dive, and decide that the bushes were safer.
The door opened, ringing a small bell to signal a new arrival, but it wasn’t necessary in this man’s case. The newcomer definitely wasn’t a regular. No one would forget that odor. He smelled like a combination of wet animal fur and dead game. He had long, dirty blond hair and whiskers, as if it had been years since this guy had seen a shave. His long, leather trenchcoat was ripped all over and looked like it hadn’t been washed since ever. The rest of his clothes were in similar condition.
As he walked up to the bar, everyone cleared out but the bartender, who started regretting his career choices in life, and one regular, too drunk to care.
“What’ll it be?”
“Beer,” the wild man said in a low growl. The bartender pulled out a glass. “No,” the wild man shook his head, thick matted hair swinging from side to side. “Cases. To go. Kegs if you got ‘em.”
On the one hand, it meant extra work for the bartender. On the other, it got the crazy guy who looked and smelled like roadkill out of his bar. The bartender shrugged and left to the back to fill the order.
“Jesus, boy, when’s the last time ya scrubbed yerself?” the drunk at the counter slurred. The wild man’s gaze darted over, but the man was too inebriated to notice to the potential danger. The wild man snarled and stretched his gnarled, dirty, rugged fingers with crusted three-inch claws on each finger.
When the bartender came back, struggling with four cases of cheap beer, the only kind he had, his last customer was gone, only the wild man remaining. Hadn’t paid for his drink either. The bartender would remember the drunk’s tab for later.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but the wild man smelled even worse than before. “Here you go.” The wild man grabbed all four cases in one arm, impressing the bartender, but not enough. “Nuh-uh. You got to pay first.”
“I ain’t got no cash,” the wild man growled.
The bartender saw all sorts of tough guys on a regular basis. He didn’t take any lip from them either. “Well then you ain’t got no beer, cause I don’t take credit or checks.” He wasn’t too worried. It didn’t matter how tough this guy was. The bartender kept a loaded gun under the table.
Before he thought to reach for it, the wild man’s arm lashed out, grabbing the bartender by the scruff of his shirt and yanked him over the bar. Only now could he see the fresh blood in the wild man’s jagged claws and in his elongated, bestial teeth. Only now could the bartender see the mutilated body on the floor. And only now did he really start to fear for his life. “Well then,” the wild man grinned. No way were those the teeth of a human, no matter how much of a psycho he was. “I guess we got ourselves a problem.”
=====X=====
Two unmarked military transport trucks sped over the bumpy mountain road. In the rear truck, a small platoon of heavily armed soldiers silently awaited their arrival to the mission point. They had already been briefed before leaving. The front truck, however, required supervision.
Brent Jackson was driving the front truck. Being the new guy in the unit, he had little idea of what to expect. He still did not know much about the new outfit he signed up with, only that it was only technically funded and supported by several governments and made his previous job at SHIELD look like a glorified mall cop.
He could not help but glance in the rearview mirror at the motley crew that made up the main force of this operation. Most of the troops were only there for support, but these five were apparently what this whole operation was about. Besides Jackson and them, the only other person in this car was Senior Agent Frank Chen. The grizzled veteran of a soldier was “the handler,” which meant he was running the show.
“So we’re trackin’ down Bigfoot now? What’s next, Frank? Scuba-diving for the Loch Ness Monster?” growled a man Jackson assumed was the squad leader, as the other four either rarely spoke or deferred to him. His unkempt hair stuck up in two points, coming all the way down in impressive mutton chops. He wore hardly any armor compared to the normal troops, and his black uniform was covered in yellow stripes.
“We do when these Bigfoot sightings leave twelve mutilated corpses behind. Don’t get cocky, Wolverine. Intel says this mark won’t go down easy,” Chen replied.
“You worry too much, Frankie. Look, I packed ALL the beef jerky!” came the snarky voice of the second agent, called Deadpool. Jackson couldn’t figure out why he was called that, why his voice always seemed to grate on his nerves, and where the hell did he get all that beef jerky? Deadpool wore a skintight red and black outfit covered in belts and pouches filled with every conceivable weapon he could carry, only today half of them were filled with Jack Links brand beef jerky. As far as Jackson knew, the group hadn’t been briefed on the mission until now, so how the masked assassin knew to bring them for the sake of one joke was a mystery. “Feed your wild side!” Deadpool suddenly turned to face the very rearview mirror the rookie agent was watching from doing a commercialized pose. Jackson's eyes suddenly snapped forward. “That’s right, noob. Eyes on the road.” When Jackson dared to glance back, Deadpool had taken a bite out of a stick, somehow without removing his mask, but at least he paid Jackson no more mind. “Want a bite?” Deadpool muttered with his mouth full as he gestured towards the two sitting across from him, who only stared back in silence.
One was a huge Russian with long, blond hair. His armor was black with a few red streaks and plates. Jackson knew him from his initial briefing as Omega Red, Russia’s ‘contribution’ to the team. Next to him was a tall Japanese man in full-body bright silver armor, a stark contrast to the others in the truck. His codename, Silver Samurai, had a much more obvious meaning than the others.
“Wilson, sit down and shut up,” muttered a black Texan who stood up in the back. “Guess if we’re getting close, this is my stop.” Unlike the others, John Wraith didn’t bother to wear military armor or a military-grade stealth uniform. Instead, he wore a simple white suit and jacket with a cowboy hat and shades, carrying a large black case with him. I waited for Chen to give the order to stop so John Wraith could get out, if he was telling the truth.
The order never came. Instead, John Wraith seemed to look straight at Jackson through the rearview mirror. “Eyes on the road,” he echoed Deadpool’s words. Once again my eyes shifted forward, and when they dared to look back, he had vanished without a trace. Jackson could not even feel the shifting weight of someone leaving the truck.
“How come he’s the only one allowed to pull a Batman?” Deadpool continued before apologetically interrupting himself. “Oops, am I not allowed to say-”
“We’re here,” Chen ordered as Jackson pulled the truck to a stop, the other following close behind.
Agent Jackson grabbed his gear and practically leapt out of the truck. Before he could rejoin the rest of the ‘normal’ squad, a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Thankfully, it was only Chen. Otherwise he might have not had an arm left. “Wait just a moment, son. Jackson, right?”
“Sir! Brent Jackson, reporting for duty, sir!” Jackson did not salute. This was not a formal military unit.
“Cut the marine crap, Jackson. This ain’t SHIELD. Now listen, you do only and exactly as you’re told. No more, no less. Is that clear?” Jackson nodded meekly. “Good. I’ve only got two weeks until retirement and I’m not about to let some rookie screw things up.”
“Aw, why’d you have to go and do that?” whined Deadpool nearby. “Everyone knows that as soon as the old officer says something like that, he’s dead before the end of the movie.”
“Can it, Wilson!” Chen barked before turning back to Jackson. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get into position!” Jackson wasted no time deploying with the rest of the unit. They fanned out until they had the bar surrounded, each soldier only just close enough that it was in visual range through the scopes of their rifles.
“Remember, do not engage the target unless ordered. Only report location. If the target approaches you, retreat. That’s an order,” the voice of Agent Chen buzzed over the com links. Jackson still did not understand the reasoning behind the order. With as much firepower they were carrying, why weren’t they taking any shot available? “Wolverine is approaching the target,” the voice buzzed again. Through the scope of his rifle, Jackson could see Wolverine calmly stride into the bar.
=====X=====
The wild man, who went by the name Victor Creed, tossed away what remained of the bartender. He was getting thirsty, so he grabbed the beers and turned to the door when someone else walked in.
“Last call, bub,” said the man in the doorway. As he clenched his fists, three dagger-long claws extended from each fist.
Victor took a few good whiffs of the runt. Something about his scent was familiar, but Victor could not place it. Little did he know that the other guy was thinking the same thing.
They probably could have bantered. Exchanged insults and threats. But they might as well be two feral beasts trying to mark the same territory. Both knew where exactly this was heading, and neither was about to pretend otherwise.
Wolverine lunged first with a swipe that caught Victor off guard. He dashed backward, but Wolverine’s claws still managed to slice through the kegs in half with little trouble, covering them both in stale beer.
Victor growled at his destroyed libations and charged Wolverine shoulder-first, throwing him back out the bar door and quickly followed.
=====X=====
Jackson practically jumped when he saw Wolverine burst through the bar door, tearing it to pieces, not even a minute after he went in. He crashed into a pickup truck, completely caving in one half of the vehicle.
The wild man who exited the bar after certainly would illicit supposed sightings of Bigfoot in the area. He was tall, built like a freight train, and looked like he hadn’t bathed, shaved, or washed his clothes in months. “Unit 6. I have visual confirmation on target: Sabertooth. Confirm. Over,” Jackson’s com buzzed. Sabertooth was the codename for the target. Somehow Jackson had missed that during the initial briefing.
“Unit 10. Confirm. Over,” Jackson quickly replied, along with several other voices over the com.
“Roger that,” Agent Chen’s voice buzzed over the com. “Keep the target in sights. Do not engage unless ordered. Over.”
As Sabertooth walked into the open, there was a loud hail of gunfire as Sabertooth’s back bullets riddled Sabertooth’s back. A brief look to their source found Deadpool standing on the roof, firing twin submachine guns until they ran out of ammunition.
“So Bigfoot walks into a bar and the bartender says, ‘Why the long feet?’” Deadpool quipped. Jackson was sure that the target was down for good. Even from here he could see the pool of blood behind the truck, but the target merely turned around and roared, merely annoyed. “Yeah, I know it’s not that great. I was working on that one all the way here, but I got nothing. Maybe if I worked in a couple dick jokes…” Deadpool did not get much farther with his rambling before Sabertooth grabbed the nearby pickup truck and hurled it at him. “Heh, Pick-Up truck,” muttered Deadpool to some inside joke as he cartwheeled off the roof just in time for the building to be completely demolished as several tons of steel crashed through the roof where Deadpool was standing.
Sabertooth turned his attentions back to Wolverine, only to find himself flanked by two other newcomers rushing him from opposite sides. On one side, the silver-armored Samurai moved as a streak of light, drawing his katana and slashing in one quick movement. Jackson was reminded of old samurai movies as time seemed to slow down with his movements. Although Sabertooth escaped unscathed, a few seconds after Silver Samurai completed his swing, two utility poles and a mailbox slowly split in half and collapsed.
As Sabertooth’s attention focused now on the man in gleaming armor, he failed to notice two metal tentacles snake along the ground towards him until they reached and wrapped around his torso and arms. Even Jackson had not noticed the tentacles until they launched up, and his eyes followed their trail to Omega Red’s wrists where they originated.
There was a faint glow from Sabertooth that traced along the tentacles back to Omega Red. The wild man writhed in pain as the life was being literally drained from him, falling to his knees.
As the Silver Samurai stepped forward to deliver the final blow for what should have been the final blow for this fight, Sabertooth suddenly forced himself back to his feet, the man holding him struggling to maintain his hold.
Twisting and contorting his body, Sabertooth picked up the giant Russian by his own tentacles and hurled him around into the Silver Samurai, knocking them both to the ground as the tentacles finally loosened enough for Sabertooth to make his escape. His survival instincts overrunning his bloodlust, Sabertooth turned to make a break for it. “All units, take aim. We can’t let this one get away,” Jackson’s com buzzed as his finger steadied on the trigger.
All this time Jackson had kept his eye on the target, and somehow it had not occurred to him that Wolverine had somehow vanished from the melee, until the clawed operative leapt from a tree to dive tackle Sabertooth.
All six of Wolverine’s claws dug into the target’s back, so deep the blades pierced through his chest. He clung on for dear life as he and Sabertooth rolled along the ground, but Sabertooth was stronger. In a confusing mash of two feral beasts, Sabertooth finally managed to pull himself free of Wolverine’s claws and ended with Sabertooth on top, pinning Wolverine to the dirt. As Sabertooth raised a claw to start tearing into the flesh of his prey, a shot rang out.
“DAMNIT, WHO FIRED?!” Chen’s voice screamed over the com link. At first Jackson thought it might have been Deadpool again, or maybe Wraith had finally taken action, wherever he was. Then he realized it was his finger that squeezed the trigger, his gun that had the smoking barrel. Jackson could not tell if he had merely lost control under pressure and squeezed too hard or if he had tried to save Wolverine’s life by drawing the target’s attention. Either way, he got it. When he looked through the scope again, Sabertooth was looking straight back at him, seeming to impossibly make eye contact through Jackson’s scope despite the distance.
Sabertooth quickly left his prey and started bounding on all fours in Jackson’s direction. He saw Wolverine, Silver Samurai, and Omega Red pick themselves up, but there was no way they would catch him in time. Fear overrode reason, and Jackson took aim and fired again. And again. And again. He thought he was missing, or that Sabertooth was somehow dodging the shots, but each time Sabertooth flinched just enough to register the shot without slowing down. He pulled the trigger until instead of bangs he heard empty clicks. By the time Jackson thought to run, Sabertooth was already visible.
Jackson did not even bother to carry the rifle. He just ran, but there was no way he could outrun the wild man. Orders barked over his com link but right now they were completely unintelligible. He ran through the brush without looking until a root tripped him and Jackson tumbled into a tree. Looking up, Jackson saw the large, hairy shape bound towards him through the brush as what he was certain would be the last thing he would see in this life.
Suddenly, several shots rang out, Sabertooth wincing from each one. Once again, a separate hail of gunfire had drawn the wild man’s instincts and attention. Jackson looked to the source to see Frank Chen unloading his pistol on Sabertooth to little effect. “Get out of here, Jackson! Now!” The rookie agent would have complied if not for the shock when Sabertooth immediately lunged and tackled Chen. All Jackson could see was a flurry of blood as Sabertooth’s claws tore into his prey, and all he could hear was the screams of the Senior Agent quickly being cut off as his throat was torn to shreds.
Jackson realized that, while Chen tried to save his life, all he did was delay the inevitable for maybe a few seconds. When what was visible of Chen’s body went completely limp, Sabertooth turned around with a feral grin towards his next prey. Jackson suddenly wished he felt religious. The monster leapt towards him. There was a blinding flash. Jackson was sure it was his life before his eyes.
The scraping of claws against metal suggested differently. As Jackson dared to look back up, he saw the shining suit of armor standing in front of him, blade positioned to guard against the wild beast’s attack.
Sabertooth roared in pain, his body twisting in agony. Only then from Jackson’s point of view could he see Wolverine clinging to his back again, making himself as difficult to get rid of as possible.
At the same time, Omega Red’s tentacles wrapped around Sabertooth’s legs and waist. It was not enough to trip the wild man, but the coils drained Sabertooth of energy.
Yet somehow, even all three struggled to contain the beast. Sabertooth finally managed to grab Wolverine and throw him off, destroying a tree as Wolverine crashed into it. In the same action his other arm barreled into Silver Samurai. Although he could not pierce the armor, he could still knock him away. Even with the tentacles around Sabertooth’s legs, he was still close enough that his next swipe prepared to take off Jackson’s head.
Something zipped through the air into Sabertooth’s shoulder. Not a bullet. Jackson recognized the large metal dart sticking out to be a tranquilizer, the type used to take down large wild game like elephants or rhinos, but this one was much larger than any tranq Jackson had ever seen. Sabertooth irritatedly tore the projectile out of his shoulder, only for another one to hit his opposite arm. Another struck him in the back. A fourth got his leg. Jackson had no idea where they could come from. There would have to have been snipers all over the forest to make those shots yet no one was visible.
Finally Sabertooth started to get sluggish from the copious amounts of sedatives, enough to kill any known animal on Earth. Two more darts struck his back. Only now could Jackson see John Wraith stepping from behind a nearby tree with a large, modified pistol in one hand aimed at Sabertooth and a large sniper rifle in the other.
The large beast finally collapsed on top of Jackson. The smell would have been enough to knock him unconscious if not for the amount of adrenaline running through his veins. After a moment to process the shock and realize that he was not about to be savagely mauled today, Jackson finally managed to squeeze out from under the beast. All five of the specialists were either looking over Sabertooth or hunched over the dismembered body of Frank Chen.
“Aw, man, I told him he should have kept his mouth shut about retirement.” Even Deadpool.
His breath finally caught up to him, but his mind still in somewhat delirious with adrenaline fatigue, Jackson asked, “What... What just happened?”
Wolverine took one look at what remained at Chen and replied, “Bub, I think you just got promoted.”