JULY 2002 - #18

All New, All Different Team X! Part Three: Rage Against the Machine by Paul Hahn

The mysterious man known as Logan was scaling a cliff without any equipment. He was a mutant with the powers of a healing factor and heightened senses. He also had a skeleton covered with Adamantium, the strongest metal in the world, making his bones unbreakable, including the sets of claws he had on each hand.

It was the claws he was using to climb down the cliff. It was cold and windy, but he was a tough guy. He was also known as Wolverine, a member of the X-Men, a team of outlaw mutants that believe in a dream of peaceful coexistence, and fight to protect a world that hates and fears them.

They're based in New York. Salluit's a long way from New York. Logan came here on a clue the telepath Psylocke ripped from the mind of the Marauder Random. Random was a former teammate of Logan back in Weapon X, the program that bonded the Adamantium to his skeleton in the first place. He barely remembers his time there, and only gets vague memory flashes now and then.

All he really knows is that he didn't quit. He escaped. They weren't going to let him leave. And they weren't nice.

Down the cliff was a large snow-covered field, on which some sort of military complex stood. It looked abandoned from afar with the naked eye. But Logan knew better. He decided to take an up-close look. It was the biggest lead he had ever gotten, the closest he had yet come to uncovering some part of his past.

It was risky. If the base was operational, surely they knew he was coming. But so far, no move had been made against him. He finally landed on the floor. It was surprisingly soft. The snow wasn't fresh . . . the ground should've been frozen solid. But it wasn't . . . it was almost . . . warm.

Logan retracted his claws and began to approach the main complex. There was no place to seek cover should a fight break out. Only the open field. He took a deep breath and continued forward.

His senses were still working overtime. His ears were listening, but all they could really hear was the wind. His eyes looked for movement, but there was nothing. His nose searched for a scent, but there was nothing . . . just winter.

This isn't right . . . it's too quiet.

He stopped and closed his eyes. He shut off his other senses and focused on his hearing. He began to pick something up. A hum of some sort. A low hum, sort of . . . mechanical. Then he focused on his sense of touch. The snow on the ground was soft . . . almost warm.

Logan popped out his claws and began to tear into the snow. After ripping up a few feet, he began to scratch something metal. It was steel. Thick steel. His claws had already torn away nearly six inches. He stopped.

Well, I'd say that this place is operational. And I wouldn't be surprised if that made someone notice me.

As if on cue, the ground began to shake. A patch of ground split apart and a military helicopter rose from underground. They shined a spotlight on him.

"You are on restricted ground," a voice called through a speaker. "Put your hands on your head and don't move."

"You're the boss," Logan replied, doing as he was told.

A rope ladder was tossed down from the chopper as the ground re-sealed. Three troops armed with rifles climbed down and approached Logan, their guns targeting them.

"Search him," one of them said.

"I'm gonna take that real personally," Logan replied.

"Shut up," the same one said.

"Sure thing," Logan replied. He turned quickly and kicked one of the three in the stomach. He popped his claws and slashed apart their guns. He slashed one of the soldiers in the stomach, and the other tried to tackle him. Logan threw him several yards across the field. The other man got up. Logan made a motion to slash the soldier's face, but drew in his claws at the last second. A hard punch connected to the soldier, knocking him unconscious.

The chopper fired a few shots at Wolverine with a powerful rifle. Logan fell to the ground. It hurt, but his healing factor was kicking in. He rolled over to one of the downed soldiers and took his gun. The chopper's gunner re-aimed and sent a trail of bullets along the floor towards his target. Logan opened fire on the chopper, sending a hail of bullets through the windshield. The glass shattered and the pilot got hit. He lost control and the chopper crashed into the ground. It sat there for a few seconds before finally exploding and bursting into flame. No apparent survivors.

Logan dropped the gun and took a deep breath. Another part of the floor began to open up. Light burst up from it.

"Let's see what else they got," Logan said calmly.

"Freeze, Logan," a voice called.

Four people jumped up from the opening. Three women and one man. He was black. Two of the girls were white, the other was black. The two white girls couldn't have been older than sixteen. The other girl was in her early twenties, probably. The man looked a bit older, but Logan doubted he was older than thirty.

"How d'you know my name?" Logan asked.

"We're Weapon X," the man said. "We know all about you."

"Then you know you're gonna lose this fight," Logan said, waving his claws about.

"You can't hurt what you can't touch!" one of the girls said.

Logan's eyes went wide. He was hit with a blast of energy, a blast of solid light, several glowing bombs that exploded upon contact and a telepathic lash of pain. It was a huge payload, way more than was expected. It knocked Logan back and made him fall unconscious.

The four approached his unmoving body.

"Is he dead?" another of the girls asked.

"No," the man replied. "But we need to get him secured, and quickly."

The four picked him up and turned, carrying him back towards the base.

It's here we find a nice mansion, which happens to be home to the uncanny X-Men.

Jean Grey sat and pondered. It had been days since they'd heard from Logan. And she was worried.

Callisto had taken the wounded Morlocks out of the mansion. Random was given to the proper authorities. Morph and Sarah were dead. Psylocke had left. Angel was still recovering from injuries.

But Logan hadn't been heard from in days. And Jean couldn't help but worry. There was something about him that intrigued her. And she missed him.

She walked down a hallway towards the kitchen, where Clark Kent was sitting and reading a newspaper.

"The Planet really needs some better writers," Clark frowned. "I could write better articles than this."

"Maybe you should try it sometime," Jean smiled slightly.

"Maybe I will," Clark shrugged, turning a page. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," she shrugged.

"Come on now," he said. "I know you better than that. Something's on your mind."

"Well . . . "

"Logan, right?" Clark asked.

She sighed. "We haven't heard from him in days . . . "

"You care for him a lot, don't you?"

"N-No . . . it's not like that, Clark," she said. "But I've invested the most time in him, y'know? I'm the one who got to know him . . . and I'm the one he trusts the most. I know you two haven't exactly gotten along . . . but I feel responsible for him."

"Jean, he's part of the team," Clark said, putting the paper down. "That means I'm responsible for him. But he his a tough little guy . . . he can take care of himself."

Jean looked at him pleadingly.

Clark sighed. "But I suppose, if you really want, we can go looking for him. We've got the jet. Tell Bobby and Hank. Warren should be fine by himself for a little while. Let's go make sure the shrimp's okay."

Logan began to regain consciousness. He pulled at his arms. He was chained up. Arms and legs against a wall. He was standing . . . but couldn't move.

"About time you woke up," a large, black man said. He stood easily over seven feet tall, and had a very muscular build.

"Who the hell're you?" Logan asked.

"Martin Henry Strong," the man said. "Current director of Weapon X. Behind me is my second, a man I'm sure you remember . . . David Wraith."

Logan let out a small laugh. "I remember him . . . barely. You guys screwed with my mind so much . . . "

"That was the past," Strong said. "I wasn't responsible for that. But then again, I do continue those techniques. You met the new Team X already, didn't you? Bishop can absorb and rechannel kinetic energy . . . Meltdown can create and control timebombs . . . Neurotap can fry your mind or take control of you . . . and Daze can capture light energy and redirect it as solid blasts. They're quite the deadly group. And most of their heads have been messed with sufficiently enough to make them loyal to the cause and to believe they're doing the right thing."

"You're a sick bastard," Logan frowned. "Those girls looked like teenagers . . . "

"Two of them are," Strong shrugged. "It's better to start young. Easier to shape them . . . and the brain implants work better."

"You shoulda learned from the last group . . . we didn't work."

"That's where you're wrong," Wraith frowned. "We worked very well for years. Creed was the loose cannon . . . a psychopath. After he killed Silver Fox, that's when things got out of hand. He fled . . . you went a little crazy. When you escaped, David made a break for it . . . last we heard he was in Germany somewhere. Stone remained with us for years before eventually gaining the freedom to be a freelance agent. I stayed to become assistant director of Weapon X, to shape the future of mutantkind."

"This is wrong, Wraith," Logan said. "Whatever history we had, whatever that means, you've gotta know it's wrong."

"No, it isn't," Wraith frowned. "You grew soft on us, Logan. But now that you're back . . . we aim to make sure you stay."

"Not gonna happen, bub," Logan said. "I'm too cool for this gig now."

"I'm afraid you won't have a choice," Strong grinned. "You'll get more implants in your brain, and you'll become a willing agent again."

"It'll never happen," Logan said. "I won't allow it!"

"Like I said," Strong continued grinning, "you don't have a choice."

"Adamantium laced bones . . . healing factor . . . the ultimate killing machine. He's gonna be my prize tool . . . "