There's a man on the road. A big man. Muscles an' all with a wild mane of blonde hair. Mama looks at me and gently unbuckles me. Mama was a beautiful lady, long black hair an’ pretty blue eyes. Fear, protectiveness, all that there on her face. I couldn’t forget it even if I tried. She grabs her shotgun an’ looks at me.

"Mama?" I whimper.

"It's okay, son. Just... just get outta here. I'll meet you back at the house."

"But Mama-"

"Now, Vicky." she says and I almost scramble out of my seat and onto the road. The man's head slightly turning towards me, he smirks, amber eyes burning into me. I should've stayed.

My father. He’s my father. The only thought I had was ‘Run! Run like hell, boy! Run back home! Run run run!’

I should've stayed and protected Mama. She'd be here now and... and I'd have my healin' factor and my claws, I'd be stronger than anything in the world. I ran through the woods, heart pumping in my ears as I hear my father's voice.

"Silver Fox, what's today?"

"Victor's birthday..." She sounded so defeated. Like she knew I'd be put through hell. My legs pick up speed, my tiny claws whacking branches out of the way. I didn't look back, I didn't want to look back.

I screwed my eyes shut, trying to shut out the screams, the buckshot, the laughter at her attempts to stop him. I made it back to the house but... but I hid. I hid under my bed, eyes shut and covering my mouth.  Prayin’ that Mama made it. Prayin’ that this was just a bad dream and she’d wake me up and hold me an’ tell me that the Bad Man was just one of ‘er stories. I dunno how long I stayed under there but I couldn’t move.

Heavy boots stomp on the wood, "Boy? Where are ya?" my father asks, "Come on out, I won't hurt'cha."

I don't want to. I want to stay. He killed my Mama. I heard it. I know what he did so... so why did I come out? He was gargantuan. A monster of nightmares. He smiles and reaches out, his wicked claws retracting a little, smearing my mother's blood into my hair with a fatherly pat.

"See? It wasn't so bad," his amber eyes burn cinders into me, "She's gone now, so let's play a game!"

"A game?" paralyzed, stuck with my father and he gently dusts me off, the only time he ever would show any concern for me without bodies. He chuckles.

"Sure. A game. Lessee..." he thinks a little, "Oh! I know! How about every year on yer birthday I come an' see you?" He’s got that wide, toothy grin that’s got blood in it too. I dunno if it was from the shots or he really took a bite outta her. He had his other hand behind his back, he was blocking the door, I couldn't get out even if I knew what was coming when I said...

"No!" I squeak, and that's when he hit me, ripping my clothes to shreds as he slashes me through a wall and slams me into it. Blood rains down and the pain is unbearable. He crushed my ribcage, my young healing factor already rushing to repair the damage. Wind blasted outta my lungs, blood dribblin’ out, pulverized bone sendin’ shards into my organs. The way I think back on it is like he hit me like a truck. Organs on fire, everything on fire.

"No?" he snarls, "Come on you little shit, humor your father!" he grins, "Just like I did for yer Mama's old friend, I'm gonna check up on you. Every year. Every birthday." he gently thrusts his hand out of my chest.

"F...Fuck... Y... Y..." I wheeze.

"Oho, there's that fire, boy!" he chuckles, licking my blood off his claws, "Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, I'll see ya next year, Vicky." As he leaves, tears run down my cheeks as my bones and flesh knit back together. I didn't have hatred then. I didn't have anger. It was sad. Finding my Mama's body all cut to hell and back and just... sobbing. I know it wasn’t the only loss I’d ever feel, but it’s a big one.

"I'm sorry, Mama! I'm sorry! I didn't... I didn't..." I bury my face into her chest not even caring about the blood, trying to find a heartbeat, trying to find some hope. But she was cold. And that was when I howled. Crying, screaming, claws whooshing through the air and small child anger making me look like a fool. I packed a small bag and just... hit the road. A lonely kid on a lonely mountain road, a bag on my back. I’d get used to it. I’d cry, I’d hide, I’d try to get outta there. Maybe to the States but I didn’t know anyone then.

---

The small frontier town is where it begins again. The game. The trees outside of town I cut down with the loggers loaded up on the lumber trucks outta here, it’s a quiet life for me. Not really anything special or loud. The valley’s a quiet place, pretty. A lot of nature and a lot of space t’think. Just somethin’ to come back to every day. One of the other loggers watch me as I sit at the bar. He’s older than me, about his forties or fifties, still workin’.

“You’re still a kid, Vic…” he sighs, almost shooing me off.

“Yeah? So? Laws don’t count up here.” I laugh a little, “Well, unless yer all the sudden tellin’ me what t’do.”

He laughs as I reach over and grab a soda instead, “I’m smarter than that, man.” I pop it open and chug it down, the taste breaking down the thirst I got. Day in and day out I cut down some trees, go here to talk with the guys, and head home happy and sleepy for the next day to do it all again. The doors swing open, the sharp cold blistering down the warmth of the bar. I don’t bother turnin’ around. It’s probably Rourke or Jones coming- That’s when the scent hits me. I’m downwind which carries…

Metal.

Blood. 

God no.

Before I could get up I feel his arm around my shoulders, “Heya, kiddo.” he greets, amber eyes burning into my blue as I slowly look at him. He’s not that much bigger than when I was five. Still got that long mane of hair though and he’s wearing pretty much all black.

“H-hey…” I wanna get out. I wanna go. I can’t go. He’s here. He’s here and I-

“How old are ya now?” he still has that smile on his face, “You know what day it is, right?”

I nod, “Six… Sixteen?” I mumble.

“Ah!” he exclaims, “An’ here I thought I got my dates wrong. See you ain’t the only guy I see yearly,” he reaches over the bar and the Bartender tries to stop him but a warning glare wards him off.

“One year closer to the big one-eight.” he huffs softly, “How long have we been at this?”

I was five when he started this game. I’m sixteen now, “About eleven years?”

“Smart kid!” he exclaims, “Ain’t my boy smart?” He looks at the bartender with a grin and the poor guy, name’s Corky, nods and backs off a bit. Sabretooth looks back at me with that smile growing.

“Here.” he poured me a glass, “Makes things easier.” The clear liquid glints as he smiles. He wants me to drink it. The bastard chose somethin’ hard to keep down on purpose. Something that even my healing factor won’t make any easier.

“I’m not-”

His claws grow, they’re metal. Adamantium. They reek of blood and of course the metallic stench of the material. Passing the glass to me, I study it. He chuckles and pats me on the shoulder.

“What are ya, a connoisseur? Drink up.” I take it and knock it back, flinching hard at the burning, almost wanting to cough it back up but I choke it down. He pats my shoulder again.

“There we go! Good boy.” he growls with a grin, after he drops some bucks on the table, leading me outside and looking over his shoulder at me, almost mockingly placing his hands over his eyes.

“One… Two… threeeee…” he counts and I dash off, grabbing my chainsaw and taking off running. I gotta get my plan in motion. Just find that bag I packed, get this saw in his ribs, right between ‘em, make him hurt.

Branches crack as he leaps outta nowhere and sparks fly, blade grinding and screeching, breaking off and flying for the other trees. Fuck! His metal claws dig into the back of my head and he breaks into a heavy run, dragging me through the snow and dirt, rocks pulverizing my face. Tossed, trunks beating against my back and chest, grinding through the air with it screamin’ through my ears, tearing me apart and slamming me down like an angry God. Lying there, he looms above me.

“That’s all? A chainsaw an’ a bag? Whaddya gonna do with that?”

Burning.

It burns.

Claws tear, ripping into him with all I got. Teeth find their mark an’ dig in. All I think of is my Mama’s body torn up, my life runnin’ away. Claws dig into his eyes, throat tears away in my jaws, blood turns the snow red. I can’t break his bones, I can’t outrun him, I can’t win in a contest of strength, but he’s letting me get some major damage on him. I kick off him and he goes skidding back. We both reek of blood and adrenaline.

We’re just-

Slash, block, dodge. A deadly dance of predators. Apex and second best. Despite the pain, the slowin’ down, the way the adamantium slices me up like that really thin ham… I’ve never felt more alive. That’s when I catch it. A scent, a constant thunder sound of an engine. Sabretooth stops trying to shove me onto a thick branch and looks behind him with an expression of pure MALICE.

Blood. 

Metal. 

Booze. 

Exhaust.

Riding in on a black and yellow painted motorcycle, speeding down like hell’s comin’ for him, it’s someone Sabretooth used to scream about every time I got one over on him. He’s short, he’s got air, slamming into my father front wheel first and forcing him off me.

The bike falls, the rider too, clunking down as Sabretooth relocates his jaw, “Logan…” he snarls. The rider takes off his helmet, ditchin’ it to the ground as the bike dies a few clicks away. Black hair in two animal-ear like points, thick black sideburns, blue eyes. Wearing a bomber jacket and blue jeans with a black belt with the buckle being an X.

“Victor…” he snarls, three claws flash out of his hands, three on each hand. He grins and stalks towards us, “You know what I’m here for so let’s cut to the chase, bub.” Sabretooth gets in front of me and I don’t move. They’re on a whole nother level and I’m just a small fry. The Wolverine looks at me with a smirk.

“You Junior?” he asks.

“Whaddya want with him, Logan?! He’s my prey!” Sabretooth yowls before that fire burns back in me. Muscles swell and bulge a bit with more adrenaline than I could ever want, pouncing on behind him and-

Slam.

Slam.

Slam.

Slam.

“Raaagh! RAGH! RAAAAGHHHH!” Flashes of broken memories playback like the worst hits list imaginable. Blood rains and muscle snaps, flooding my senses, everything fades away and my claws rip out of my fingers as I go flyin’.

I land on all fours, growling and snarling. The rage still burns in me. Sabretooth shambles to his feet, The Wolverine tenses, I dig my new claws into the soil and the muscle tenses again, tearing towards them across the ground with the Wolverine dodging. Sabretooth grabs me and slams me hard onto my back. I don’t give up, driving my claws into his head, Mama’s dead body flashing through my mind, all these years and he still wants to make me suffer.

Bone screeches against Adamantium. Strength and power run to desperation. Nine or twelve millimeter claws stab through his chest and tossing him aside is Logan, standing over me with his claws bloody.

“Kid, don’t make me have to do my backup plan.” he warns, claws shining and expression grim.

“GAAGH!” Roaring, snarling, an angry god of wild rage. Charging at him as his claws rip through my side, blood and guts, bone shards, all of it falls to the snow. Everything slows, I look back at him and he sheathes his claws, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“I gotcha, kid.”

“You… c-cut… me open…”

“Sometimes that’s what’s gotta happen.” he sighs, My eyes slowly close and I lean on him.

---

The first thing I hear when I fall asleep is music. A soft kinda mournin’ guitar. Chained to a wall and tryin’ to bite my way out. The song still in the distance, a singing voice almost sounding like the flyin’ of birds. Straining, pulling with all I got, muscles yanking and claws digging into my palms. Fangs snapping in the air, and I see the girl surrounded by flames, holdin’ out her arms, her hands reaching for me. She’s got the kindest expression on her face, one not really given to me. Not without a knife bein’ slid between my ribs.

It fades when the room comes screaming towards me, bolting straight up and startling the crap out of whoever was in it with me. The person scrambles back, alarmed and I have my claws extended and panting hard. The person’s got long red hair and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. In fact it’s a girl. A girl in my room? What the fuck? Steadying myself and my claws retracting a little. I get my bearings. The scent’s weird, like… it’s too clean.

Too warm. Too safe. The girl starts back, “I won’t hurt you.” she says, “You’re safe here.” her tone’s not condescending. I lean back against the pillows. The room around me is coming into focus. Its walls are bare but the window’s got daylight streaming in, the scent of wood coming to me. Probably mahogany? The air’s different here, I can feel it. Almost like it’s a different country, the girl sits on the edge of the bed.

“You’re in New York,” she says, smiling as if she already knows what I’m about to say, “And yes, Mr. Logan did bring you here.”

“Why the fuck am I in New York? Do you know who’s after me?!” my hands shake, she doesn’t know. Dad’s gonna come back for me. He always does, and he’ll rip everyone here to shreds.

‘Oh, I don’t think he’ll do that.’ a voice says, kindly. Sounds British. The door slides open with a click of a button. Rolling in is a bald man in a suit, tie’s black. Dude looks serious, blue eyes knowin’ more than I ever could.

“How’d you-”

‘Jean, you can leave now.’ his voice echoes through my head and she looks at me. The wheelchair rolls closer and there’s claws out before he can even think.

“No closer, got it?” my voice growls. He stays back and I settle back down. He gives me a warm smile and Jean, the girl, goes out. The smiling guy rolls a little back and his voice echoes through my mind.

‘So, your name is Victor Creed Jr. You have the same powers as your father, Senior.’

“How did you-”

‘I have my ways, Victor. I assure you that you’re perfectly safe.’ he has that smile on his face but there’s always a catch. Always something they needed outta me. Always. No matter what happened or who wanted what done.

‘It’s only if you’re up for it, Victor. I won’t try to force you.’

“Oh, so… I’m in New York?” I ask, almost looking down at my hands in shame, “Sorry ‘bout lashin’ out. It’s been a long time since I’ve been taken from Canada, y’know?”

The man nods, ‘Oh! Do forgive me, Victor. I’m Charles Xaiver, head Professor here at my school for gifted youngsters such as yourself.’ 

“Okay…? So what now? Am I gonna be opened up?” he looks at me in horror, I must’ve shown ‘im something horrible but-

‘No! Just a little mental examination, no surgery required!’ he smiles but I know I made him uncomfortable. It’s something with me that I can’t ever fix. It’s a feature, not a bug. Leaning back against the wall, I bury my face into my knees, foot stomping softly into the mattress with claws not really stabbing in.

‘Well then, shall we?’ he rolls closer and puts his hand on my shoulder. There’s an odd pulling sensation, a gentle jolt and bump like we were in my Mama’s truck. He closes his eyes and I do too, and the air rushes in.

Cold, sharp, snow driving down and trees bursting out of the hardwood flooring. The sun is so bright and warm, but the air and snow are ice cold. We rush through the air, speeding through it like some kinda mad machine. Until I’m back. The cabin is so lonely and so still. The busted open door, the lonely guitar of Jim Croce’s Time in a Bottle softly plucks through the air. But it’s distant. Almost on a broken busted out radio.

Charles stands, his wheelchair gone and his eyes on me, “Victor. I want you to show me your earliest memory.” he steps onto the porch, looking in. Until he realizes… this IS the memory. Something breathes in the darkness.

“Hey, Professor? I don’t think you wanna do that.”

Bursting from the shadows comes a taller, more muscular version of me, fangs more pronounced with torn overalls and the remnants of a shirt clinging to my skin. This is why I don’t let people into my headspace…

Fuck.