Wolverine: Weapon X

by Marc Cerasini

  “Logan, more vehicles on the road!” Miko shouted. “They’re coming from the dam, driving right for us!”

  10

  Illusions

  “Cardio-inhibitor, Ms. Hines.”

  Tapping, and then she looked up, bright green eyes on Cornelius. “Activated.”

  They all stood in the west corner of the main lab, which was now dominated by a digital screen the size of a wall. In the middle of the room, Subject X lying naked on a technological “table” mounted atop an array of computers and diagnostic machinery. Carol Hines sat at a terminal, inches from Logan’s head.

  “I don’t understand the point of this twenty-four hour delay, Doctor,” the Professor grumbled. Hands in his pockets, he leaned over the edge of the massive medico-diagnostic tub. Logan lay in its sunken center, sprawled on a bed of wires and tubes.

  “Ms. Hines and I have determined that all of Dr. MacKenzie’s conditioning techniques will most likely fail,” said Cornelius. “We have decided to take a different approach using the REM device.”

  “But it took MacKenzie years to develop his data, formulate effective surgical techniques,” countered the Professor.

  “His data was based on human subjects. Logan is Homo superior, which renders the good doctor’s advance research moot.”

  “Surely Logan has the same psychological makeup as anyone. The psyche is formed by experience and conditioning. He probably thought he was human until he discovered the truth.”

  Cornelius shook his head. “Dr. MacKenzie was relying on brain surgery, detaching the hippocampus, rewiring the prefrontal lobe, severing the hemispheres. But with Logan’s healing abilities, it’s possible he could regenerate the damaged brain tissue—”

  “Preposterous!” snorted the Professor.

  Carol Hines spoke up. “But Professor, with all due respect, we’ve already learned that Logan can regenerate damaged nerve tissue—something impossible with a normal human being. Why not total restoration of his brain functions, too?”

  “And there are also risks of side effects,” Cornelius added. “The hippocampus is particularly sensitive to global oxygen deprivation. Epilepsy could result.”

  “I see.” The Professor rubbed his chin. “Logan would certainly not be a reliable or effective weapon if he suffered chronic seizures.”

  Cornelius nodded. “Worse than that, there’s the possibility of anterograde amnesia. How could Logan accept conditioning if he lost the ability to form new memories?”

  The Professor’s eyes remained focused on the subject. Cornelius sensed he was still unconvinced.

  “There are other factors,” Cornelius warned. “The subject is still aggressive despite ego eradication.”

  “Reason?”

  “Chemical reactions have been ruled out. No metal poisoning is present, no schizoid chemical imbalances we can detect.”

  “Perhaps it has something to do with pain,” said Carol Hines.

  Both men faced her.

  “What if the organism itself were experiencing a kind of recognition—a memory, if you will—of the pain experienced during the bonding process?”

  The Professor scoffed. “Memories reside in the brain, Ms. Hines, not in the individual cells.”

  “Whatever the cause,” Cornelius declared, “his brutish impulses have become greatly exaggerated since the adamantium bonding process began.”

  “And this … treatment … will correct that situation?”

  “No, Professor. Hardly,” Cornelius replied, “But it should give us a real knowledge of Logan’s mental stress dynamics and a better understanding of his current capabilities, such as his retention of language skills, his recognition of symbols …”

  The Professor’s eyes narrowed. “I hope this isn’t a waste of my time, Cornelius. We should’ve begun reorientation by now. What’s the point of this weapon if we can’t control him?”

  “But we can control him, somewhat.” Cornelius handed the Professor a spidery headset and microphone. “Use this. It’s a direct link to his cerebral cortex.”

  The Professor seized the device with greedy hands. “With this I can speak to him? Control him?”

  Cornelius shrugged. “Suggest, perhaps. Control? I don’t know.”

  Carol Hines tapped her keyboard. Cornelius threw various switches. The console on the medico-incubator activated with beeps and dings as vital signs were monitored.

  Cornelius directed the Professor’s attention to the giant HDTV monitor, now rippling with silent static.

  “Ms. Hines has interfaced successfully. The REM is digitally coding the electrical impulses inside of Logan’s brain, and will translate them into digital images.”

  “Remarkable.”

  “Indeed, Professor. We can actually watch Logan’s dreams,” Cornelius told him. “What you’ll see on the big screen will be in direct relation to your spoken words. Tell him he’s eating, and you might see a sizzling steak. Tell him he’s flying, and you may see the image of a bird, an airplane—”

  “I understand, Doctor,” the Professor barked impatiently as he raised the microphone to his lips. “Logan,” he began in a commanding tone. “You are in my control, Logan…”

  “Yes, like that,” said Cornelius. “Speak clearly and slowly But you shouldn’t use his former name, sir. It probably wouldn’t mean a thing to Subject X at this stage, but we are trying to eradicate the previous markers of his life.”

  “Yes. Quite so,” the Professor replied.

  “Ms. Hines, we’ll need an exacting flow of adrenergics as soon as possible,” Cornelius cautioned.

  “It’s all in the system, sir,” she replied. “I programmed it myself. For the most part, it was pretty straightforward.”

  “Splendid.”

  They looked up when they heard the Professor’s sonorous voice.

  “You are a beast,” he said. “You are an animal born to serve…”

  Cornelius and Ms. Hines exchanged glances.

  “You have one master—and it is me. You will do anything I say—”

  “Uh, Professor?”

  “Yes? What?” snapped the Professor.

  “We… We haven’t begun yet, sir,” Cornelius explained. “The link hasn’t been activated.”

  The Professor pursed his thin lips. “Then please get on with it already, Doctor.”

  Cornelius gave Carol Hines a signal, then ran down the checklist in his head. “Set three of six in post-adamantium cell-bonding process. Stress and engram block and block complex. Language and symbol comprehension scan. Feed interface with the monitor. Two way communication. Have all that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Proceed, Ms. Hines…”

  She tapped the keyboard with machinelike precision. Cornelius stepped up to the Professor, who watched the whole process with predatory eyes.

  “Pardon my suggestion, sir,” he began, “but it might be advisable to avoid any directives to the patient during these tests. The psychotechnics of the situation warrant caution, as—”

  The Professor cut him off. “Thank you for your suggestion, doctor. Have you any more?”

  “No,” Cornelius replied. “I guess not.”

  A sudden pop, then Carol Hines’s console sparked. “Oh!” she cried, jumping back. Smoke and more sparks emerged from behind the faceplate of her terminal.

  Then a thunderous, crackling roar—screeching like feedback magnified a hundred times—as the electronic systems overloaded and shorted out one by one.

  The Professor tore off his headset, but the noise was filling the lab as well. He howled and covered his ears.

  “Overload!” Cornelius cried, his voice lost in the racket.

  The fire extinguishing system blasted flame-smothering halon gas that quickly doused the electrical fire brewing inside of the computer, but the damage had already been done.

  “Hines! Do something!” Cornelius cried. “Cut off the power!”

  “I’m trying,” she said as she pounded the keys. Finally, she located
the audio cutoff and the deafening noise ended as abruptly as it began. Only an insistent fire alarm could be heard reverberating through the corridors outside the sealed laboratory.

  Another electronic pop, then a crackle of static—this time from behind the massive HDTV monitor.

  “What was that?” the Professor cried as the wall screen sprang to life. Projected on it, a roiling purple haze, like psychedelic smoke. “And what’s that on the screen?”

  Carol Hines glanced at the monitor, then down at her smoldering terminal. “We’re getting some sort of internal feedback, sir,” she reported. “The interface is—”

  She squealed and pulled her scorched fingers away from the console. “The imaging is so powerful, it’s burning circuits,” she cautioned. Her statement was followed by another automatic blast of frigid halon.

  On the wall screen, three curved, bone-white spikes rose into the frame. Each structure had a raw, jagged, unfinished look. Several times the digital image froze and began to break up, only to reconstitute, sharper than before.

  “Something’s wrong here,” said the Professor as he stepped back from the monitor.

  The spikes became ribs that morphed into spinal column, hip bones, a skull. Then a booming voice filled the lab with a single word: “PAIN!”

  Cornelius tore his eyes away from the screen. “Okay. Shut it down. Shut it all down. We’ll clean up the mess, check the data preps and find out what the hell went wrong.”

  A sudden, incomprehensible scream of baffled rage echoed off the walls.

  “Ms. Hines, I said shut it down!” Cornelius cried.

  “I… I can’t, sir. There’s no response!”

  “I’M HURTING… PAIN!”

  On the screen, the image of a skeleton was fully formed. Wild eyes glared with hate from dark sockets. Gnashing teeth turned to fangs as spikes sprang from every bone, every rib.

  “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?”

  “If you can’t cut the monitor, will you please cut the damn audio so I can hear myself think?”

  Carol Hines met Cornelius’s angry glare with a look of fear. “The audio feed is not activated, Doctor. It’s malfunctioning. I shut it down already.”

  Cutler was manning the security command center when the fire alarm went off in the main lab on Level Five.

  As per established protocol, he sealed off the floor from the rest of the underground complex. With the clatter of keys, the fireproof hatch closed automatically, the ventilation system shut down, and the elevator cars ascended to the surface and disgorged their passengers before powering down.

  * * * * *

  Cutler was about to alert the emergency response team when they contacted him.

  “Anderson here. I’ve got a halon gas release in the main lab. Heat sensors indicate the fire is extinguished, but there’s smoke so I’m dispatching a security team.”

  “Who’s with you?”

  “Franks and Lynch.”

  “Arm yourselves with tranquilizer guns. Sidearms with live ammo, too. Kevlar body armor. Helmets and visors.”

  “Come on, Cut. It’s a fire, not a war.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Cutler shot back. “There’s another experiment going on down there. The Professor and his team are working on Subject X.”

  There was a pause before Anderson replied. “Okay, I’m calling for immediate backup.”

  Cutler grinned. “Great. I’ll be right down. Over.”

  Cutler was halfway out of his chair when a firm hand pushed him back down. Another reached over his shoulder and keyed the intercom back on.

  “Major Deavers here. Listen up, Anderson. I want you to call Rice or Wesley if you need help. In the heat of the moment, Agent Cutler probably forgot that he’s been assigned to light duty Over…”

  * * * * *

  The Professor stared at the monitor, transfixed. A grinning death’s head stared back at him.

  “PAIN! WHY PAIN?” the voice raged.

  “This is unbelievable, Cornelius,” the Professor cried, hands covering his ears. “You must stop it. Stop it now!”

  “I can’t. We’re not sending. We’re receiving.” Cornelius looked up at the screen. “He’s in control.”

  Then he turned. “Hines. Can you get Logan under control?”

  Green eyes wide, she glanced away from the horrific image on the screen, hand covering her heart. “No, sir, Dr. Cornelius. I… I can’t do a thing.”

  When Hines looked back at the screen, the bulging eyes seemed to stare back at her. Fearfully, she slowly stepped away from her console. She bumped against the diagnostic table.

  A thick, muscled arm shot out of the high-tech sarcophagus, fingers curled into a grasping claw.

  “PAIN!” roared Logan as he reached for Carol Hines.

  “Doctor—help m—” Her frantic plea was cut off as Logan’s fingers closed around her throat.

  Still clutching the helpless, choking woman, Logan tore an intravenous tube from his neck and stared into Hines’s terrified face.

  “YOU! YOU GIVE PAIN TO ME…”

  Her frail fingers clawed at Logan’s hand, nails breaking as she tried to pry open his grip. Logan shook her as she pleaded for her life with gasping sobs. “No… oh, no … oh God, no …”

  “PAIN…”

  While Cornelius called for a security team, Logan struggled to rise against the wires, tubes, and restraints that held him to the diagnostic table.

  The sound of the fire alarm mingled with the loud howl of the security alert, creating a chaotic cacophony. Suddenly, a very stern voice broke through the clamor.

  “Logan! Leave that woman alone, you animal.”

  It was the Professor, eyes burning behind his square lenses.

  He’s mad, thought Cornelius. He hasn’t seen what Logan can do…

  “This is your master! You are in my control,” the Professor bellowed. “You have no will but to serve me! Your master…”

  A guttural snarl rumbled in Logan’s throat. He locked eyes with the Professor and tossed the woman aside like a rag doll.

  Carol Hines sprawled to the floor, unconscious or worse. Despite his fear, Cornelius dropped to his knees at the woman’s side and dragged her back, away from the raging wild man.

  “Stay where you are!” the Professor shrieked as Logan reared up from the table, tearing away the last of his restraints and ripping out tubes and wires. As he crawled off the recessed slab, a security team burst through the door, tranquilizer guns ready.

  Before the Professor could retreat, Logan vaulted. Fingers reached for the man’s throat, and the Professor fought in vain against Logan’s choking grip.

  “Guards, tranquilize Logan now!” Cornelius cried, still cradling Carol Hines in his arms.

  But Agent Franks hesitated. “We might hit the Professor.”

  “Just shoot, damn it! SHOOT!” screamed Cornelius. With the Professor still struggling in his grip, Logan spun around to face the guards. Hair wild, eyes wide, Logan howled and stomped his feet at his new foes, snarling like a trapped animal.

  A third guard—Anderson—barked a command from the corridor. “Fire! Fire now!”

  The shots were not loud—just a sibilant hiss accompanied each gas-propelled tranquilizer dart as it burst from the tube, followed by a wet smack as it impacted. The darts peppered Logan in the throat, chest, face, and belly. But he did not go down.

  More shots, Anderson adding to the volley with his own dart gun. Finally, without a sound, Logan fell backward, into the incubator tub. His legs twitched as powerful nerve suppressants made their way into his bloodstream and then dispersed throughout his body.

  Carol Hines lolled on a chair, eyes fluttering. Then she coughed and held her head in her hands. Cornelius faced the others. “Professor,” he called. “Are you all right?”

  Cornelius saw the man stumbling to his feet, clutching his throat. His face was ghostly—pale, and Cornelius feared the Professor was about to collapse, too.

  “I didn’t hit the
Professor, sir,” Franks babbled to Anderson. “I know it.”

  The Professor coughed, then his eyes focused on the now unconscious Logan and he snapped.

  “Kill him!” he shouted. “We must kill Logan now!” The Professor lunged at Franks and tried to tear the tranquilizer gun out of the agent’s grip. “He’s a wild animal! We cannot control him!”

  Franks pulled away and the Professor spun around and lunged at Anderson, trying to rip the automatic pistol from his holster.

  “Give me that gun,” the Professor demanded as they grappled for the weapon.

  “I can’t do that, sir,” cried Anderson, trying to fend off the man without hurting him. Suddenly Cornelius threw himself between the two men.

  “Professor, calm down now. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  Wild-eyed, the Professor clutched the lapels of Cornelius’s lab coat. “That beast tried to kill me. Didn’t you see?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” said Cornelius. “But you’re just in a state of shock right now, that’s all.”

  The Professor muttered something unintelligible, and Cornelius grabbed his arms to steady him.

  “Guard,” Cornelius called over his shoulder. “Get some medical staff in here. Stat.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Doctor!” The cry came from Carol Hines, standing near the diagnostic table.

  Cornelius raced to her, the Professor following reluctantly. They watched in awe as pinpricks of blood spouted from Logan’s forearms. Then, the adamantium claws slid out from their sheaths, to gleam bloodstained—silver in the lab’s dim light.

  SNIKT! The sound of the claws silenced all.

  “It’s alright. He’s totally sedated,” Cornelius whispered. “That’s some sort of random impulse we’re seeing—a reflex. Good thing it didn’t happen when he attacked you, Professor…”

  “Oh God!” gasped Hines. “Look at the screen!”

  Logan’s violent thoughts flashed on-screen. Framed in splashes of clotted crimson, the face of the Professor dominated the digital frame—mouth open in a frozen shriek, glasses pierced by razor-sharp claws, the eye sockets gaping, bloody pits.