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Chapter 19: Why Spidey Why
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With that, Adam and Logan turned and melted into the labyrinthine shadows of the city, leaving a troubled Cyclops and a pensive Jean behind.
They were gone for two days. They reappeared in the deep of night, standing before a nondescript but relatively fortified building on the outskirts of the city.
There was no Logo, no signs, nothing. It was a building that you would pass and pay no attention to.
But Adam knows. This wasn't a field office; it was a detention and processing center.
Logan sniffed the air, his senses parsing a thousand different scents of fear, antiseptic, and cold metal. "You sure about this, kid?"
Genuinely, his senses are off the charts.
Adam didn't look at him, his eyes fixed on the building. "The question is, are you sure the X-Men won't mind what we're about to do?"
Logan let out a low scoff, "If the intel you dug up is true; the experiments, the 'disposals'; then I'd be disappointed in them if they had a problem with it. The lives in there deserve worse than what we're gonna give 'em."
A genuine, happy smile touched Adam's lips. "If only the others were like you, Logan, mutants wouldn't be in such a precarious position."
Logan studied him, raising a brow. "You remind me of someone, kid. Magneto."
Adam laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "That's a silly notion. We are nothing alike."
His smile vanished, replaced by an expression of utter impassivity. "We operate on entirely different planes of existence."
It was true. Adam's perspective, magnified by Doom's stolen genius, was cosmic in scale.
He wasn't bound by mutant ideology.
He knew that Magneto's dream of mutant supremacy was a statistical improbability, a pipe dream that failed in countless realities, even with god-like power behind it.
Earth is special, the nexus point of cosmic, mystical, and evolutionary significance.
Earth has been seeded and experimented on by countless cosmic races; the Celestials, Kree, Skrulls, and others; making humanity genetically unique and mutation-prone.
It is also the Nexus of All Realities; a rare focal point where dimensions and magical energies converge.
It's furthermore protected by the Sorcerer Supreme, because if Earth falls, the barrier between realms would collapse, allowing demons, elder gods, or interdimensional entities to invade.
The most important point of the above for Adam isn't the improbability of mutant supremacy, but the fact that mutants are a result of experimentation.
Mutants are products.
Above all, Adam has complex, multi-layered plans for the so-called "Mutant problem," but they were long-term, strategic plays on a global board.
Tonight, however, was simple. All his actions are in one way or another about gaining [Information] and improving, striving for perfection.
But it's never only that, it's always so much more, like now. Sure, what he's about to do is a very good deed.
But at heart, he's building a web, a conspiracy so grand it shall change the order of the current World.
The building stood before them, a monolith of concrete and steel that housed atrocities sanitized by acronyms.
The building belongs to the M.R.D. Mutant Response Division.
The M.R.D. had many facilities, but this one was special.
Adam's stolen intellect made him always consciously assess how to exploit every single second of his life, such as the rescues with the X-Men.
The trackers he injected into many operatives over the past month allowed him to map out many points of interest.
He had identified this one as a primary "processing" center; a place where captured mutants were cataloged, experimented on, and, all too often, "decommissioned."
Adam and Logan walked toward it through the perpetual half-light of a New York midnight.
They ignored the occasional late-night straggler, but the heavy, constant patrol circling the facility could not be ignored.
Their approach was a study in controlled menace.
As they walked in synchronized, classy steps, Adam's mechanical backpack hummed to life.
Dozens of tarantula-sized mechanical spiders poured from hidden compartments, skittering across the pavement and vanishing into ventilation shafts, drainage grates, and any fissure they could find.
They were his eyes, ears, and silent stingers.
[It's go time! Finally some action!]
[Adam's got a new fit! Let's gooo!]
[Those spiders are creepy as hell. I love it.]
[What will his fighting style be like? Hope he doesn't just stay and support and shoot from afar. Boring, no?]
[Adam is a fan of violence, so bleeding is the way to go! Bleeding is life! Hurray!]
[...]
CRACK. CRACK-CRACK.
The sound of bones crackling reverberated as Logan rolled his neck and knuckles.
Both men were masked. Adam was suited in a stark new combat outfit, a fusion of tactical gear and sleek design.
It was predominantly white, accented with black, clinging to his musculature like a second skin.
A white hood shrouded his head, and a featureless mask covered his face.
In one hand, he held a wickedly serrated short blade; in the other, a futuristic pistol, having an aesthetic similar to a revolver.
They reached the main entrance, a wall of reinforced bulletproof glass.
Inside, two patrolling guards noticed them, their hands going to their weapons.
Slow.
The curse fell upon them like a physical weight.
Their movements became sluggish, their reactions delayed as if they were moving through deep water.
It was all the opening Logan needed.
He lunged, a blur of feral motion, his adamantium claws snikt-ing out.
He shredded the glass, carving a man-sized hole in a spray of polycarbonate shards.
BANG!
A single shot rang out from Adam's pistol, the round passing inches from Wolverine's shoulder to strike the first guard square in the forehead.
The man crumpled, a spray of crimson painting the wall behind him.
The second guard, fighting through the mental molasses, managed to raise his rifle.
BANG-BANG! Two rounds, only one struck Logan in the chest.
He grunted, the impacts rocking him back a step, but he didn't slow.
He closed the distance, his claws flashing in a horizontal arc.
The guard's head separated from his shoulders before the body even registered it was dead.
The bullet hole in Logan's torso steamed, the flesh already knitting itself closed.
Adam stepped calmly through the ruined entrance, his gaze sweeping the lobby.
His eyes landed on the camera in the upper corner.
He lifted his free hand, blew it a kiss as if to say hey, and then raised his pistol. BANG.
The camera exploded in a shower of sparks.
He moved to one of the bodies, crouched, and ripped the communication device from the guard's vest.
He plugged a slender cable from his phone into it, his fingers flying across the screen.
In two seconds, a complex hacking algorithm bypassed the facility's security protocols.
He was in.
He stood just as the blaring sirens finally erupted, painting the hallway in frantic red light.
"Should we start?" Wolverine growled, the scent of blood and ozone filling his nostrils.
Adam nodded. "We start."
They sprang forward. The massacre began.
Wolverine was the vanguard, an unstoppable force of nature. Adam was his shadow in the chaotic storm.
He had already wrapped himself in Fade, his presence becoming an afterthought, a peripheral blur the guards' panicked minds struggled to focus on.
Then, he cast Slow on every hostile signature his enhanced perception could lock onto.
The air in the hallway seemed to thicken.
Guards emerging from doorways moved as if in a nightmare, their shouts drawn out and slurred.
A three-man squad rounded the corner, their rifles rising with agonizing slowness.
Logan was already among them like a predator before its prey.
He ducked under a wild swing from a rifle butt, his claws gutting the first man.
The second guard fired, the bullet hitting Logan in the arm. Strangely, it was the guard who cried out in pain, having been cursed by recoil, rebounding all aggression.
As he cried out, Adam seemingly materialized from the shadows behind him, his blade slicing across the man's throat.
The third guard was suddenly swarmed by two mechanical spiders; one delivered a jolting electro-sting to his leg, the other injected a fast-acting neurotoxin into his neck.
He convulsed and dropped.
[This is a fucking slaughter. It's beautiful.]
[Tf? This is one of the most graphic shows I've seen.]
[Aghh! Why spiders? I feel itchy just looking at them.]
[Dude, they're mechanical spiders, like what?]
[Duuude, they remind me of the spiders back at home! I'm Australian, ok?]
[Oh, ahem, sorry.]