Chapter 13
XIII
Yukio was on the floor, and Cunningham standing a few steps away with a gun pointed at her. His suit was dishevelled, and the fabric of the left arm was in tatters, from when her chain-whip had wrapped around it and pulled him towards her.
In the split-second it had taken for the chain to be pulled taut, he had already understood the situation, and she had underestimated his speed. Besides, by that point, she was working more on instinct and muscle memory than any conscious strategy. If she had had her powers, she would’ve simply shot a small burst of electricity through the chain and stunned him the second the chain had touched his skin, but the power dampening field was still active, and she hadn’t counted on him to rush towards her with his fist swinging. It connected with the side of her head, reopening the wound from last morning’s battle with the double-sentinel. Dazed and in pain, she still could’ve subdued him, with the chain still around his arm, if only he hadn’t fallen on Colossus’s prone body. His elbow hit the giant mutant’s stomach, and she saw Colossus let out a gasp. In the rush to remove Cunningham from him, she lost the advantage and he picked up the gun she had dropped when he had hit her. Quickly removing the chain from his hand, he had gotten up, yelling at the soldiers to stop firing.
And now, there he stood, above her, triumphant but angered. “You think this changes anything?” He said through clenched teeth.
She ignored him, instead focusing on Colossus, whose breathing was almost imperceptible.
Hearing the shots fired inside, another group of soldiers had rushed inside the mansion. He instructed them to go after Wade. Following the trail of blood he had left, they found the elevator, but it was stuck. The whole mansion shook as they used small explosives to blow the door open. Several of them rappelled down the shaft.
Though she was anxious and afraid, she knew that if he had reached Cerebro, he would be safe, at least for some time, for the vault door was thick and reinforced and it would take much more firepower to blow it open. Then she remembered what he planned to do, without his powers, and the fear threatened to overwhelm her. Using the pain as her anchor, which flared up with the smallest movements of her head, she tried to control her trembling hands, choosing to ignore whatever taunts and threats Cunningham was making. It had been five minutes since the soldiers had gone after Wade, and she could hear faint sounds of firing coming from somewhere below her. Once, the floor shook with a muffled explosion. Then a soldier approached Cunningham, and mentioned something to him which she couldn’t register. He seemed to respond with curses and shouts at first, and then he turned towards her.
“Time to cooperate.” He said with a smile.
She frowned, then understood. Cerebro wouldn’t open without a retinal scan, and they wanted to get in. Not saying anything, she just held on to Colossus.
“Your death is inevitable.” Cunningham said, “You can either go with dignity, or not. The choice is yours.”
She was terrified, but knew she’d be of no use dead or gravely injured. And the way he was looking at her, and what he had done to Wade – she was sure these people wouldn’t mind hurting her badly. There had to be another way, some way to stop them. And if she had to die, maybe she could do something to stop them from getting what they wanted as well. And then it occurred to her. The Cerebro shutdown procedures and fail-safes. If she could reach the Cerebro room, there were fail-safes that she could trigger that would shut it down permanently, or at least shut it down until the Professor returned, and that probably wasn’t happening anytime soon.
On the verge of losing all hope, this tiny flicker of a chance to stop these people gave her some strength. And maybe, Wade was still okay inside. Maybe he hadn’t yet done anything drastic. She looked up at Cunningham with disdain, and slowly got up. For a second, as she straightened up, her vision swam and darkness rushed in at the corners, but she screwed her eyes shut and tried to overcome the awful pain in her head. When she opened her eyes, Cunningham was still smiling. “Good decision.”
They moved towards the elevator. The soldiers, once they had reached the underground facility, had removed the sword that Wade had used to jam the doors, allowing it to come back up. As Yukio and Cunningham entered it, he said, “You know, I wasn’t always a cruel person.” She resisted the urge to scoff at him. “You mutants, and your dear Wade Wilson, made me so.” He sighed. “Still, once we figure out how to use it – and you,” He whispered in her ear, making her skin crawl, “will be a major part of that – once we figure the machine out, I do sincerely hope you mutants’ deaths are painless.” He fixed up his suit. “I hope so,” He chuckled, “But they probably won’t be.” By this time, her attention was drawn towards the red smears on the buttons, and her anxiety spiked again.
The elevator doors opened. Yukio gasped when she saw the trail of blood going towards the vault. There were handprints on the wall, bigger smears where he had probably stopped to rest, an unbroken red trail from his limping feet, and thick splashes of blood all across the hallway. Twenty soldiers stood with their guns ready. The pair made their way through, Yukio being deliberately slow, trying to keep her eyes away from all the blood on the floor.
“He’s probably already dead, locked inside.” He said, “Pity. I wanted to see him die.”
She had never hated anyone as much as she hated that man in that moment. Teeth clenched and tears welling up in her eyes, she kept moving.
They were halfway through the corridor when it happened. Gunshots sounded from somewhere above. She stopped and turned to see Cunningham just as puzzled. The firing sounds increased, then lessened, then increased again. Then there was an explosion. This broke the spell. He pushed her hard. “Get to it!”
Something was happening up there. The sounds got closer. Now they could hear faint shouts, thuds and bangs, and more gunfire. Some screams got abruptly cut off. The elevator doors started closing and one of the soldiers stopped them, standing in the doorway, looking up nervously.
Yukio and Cunningham were almost at the vault doors, when something fell heavily on top of the elevator box. The one stopping the doors pointed his rifle up. Four others trained theirs in the same direction and slowly moved closer. And then the elevator roof caved in, instantly killing the one standing below it. The four guards fell back by the debris and dust, scattered and confused, but before they could get their bearings, each of them found claws in their heads or hearts or stomachs or kidneys or necks, and their confusion was permanently resolved.
The dust cleared and Logan stood panting in their midst, covered in blood, mostly not his own. He had no mask on, and his suit was barely hanging on his torso by a thin blue strap over his right shoulder. His shoes were also gone, and bare feet were planted in the blood of the soldiers. There were cuts on his temple and his cheek, and, as Yukio looked, he limped as he turned towards them.
He pulled off the remains of the suit, his chest heaving with rage. His eyes met Yukio’s, and he growled, “Where?”
She knew what he meant, and pointed towards the vault door.
Fifteen men trained their rifles at him. He scrunched his nose once, nostrils flaring, grimacing, and charged into them. It was mayhem. She and Cunningham crouched as bullets flew everywhere. Logan slashed and tore and ripped his way through, all the while growling or yelling, drowning out the sounds of the men he was killing. He moved so fast and so savagely that she couldn’t see what was happening. Only the progressing sprays of blood on the walls and the increasing bodies and guts on the floor told her that he was coming towards them. How he was dodging the bullets, she didn’t know, but he was succeeding.
Cunningham pressed his left hand on the back of her head, prodding her in the back with the gun that was in her right hand, forcing her towards the scanning system in the door. But she had had enough. She thrust her elbow into his chest, holding his right hand away from her, then grabbed the hand that was on her head and twisted it, making him cry out in surprise. As she twisted it, she dug her nails into his right hand and slammed it into the vault door. The gun fell from his hand. Quickly turning, she struck him on the nose with her forehead, and before he could recover, aimed a kick at his right knee with all the hate she had for him. There was a sickening crack, and he crumpled up, screaming out in pain. She picked up the gun he had dropped and struck his head with it, hard, making him lose consciousness. She looked up to see Logan.
He threw the last of the soldiers – what remained of him – over his right shoulder, planting a knee and pushing himself up. And she screamed in horror, “Logan!”
He hadn’t been dodging the bullets after all. His chest and stomach were covered with holes, bleeding profusely, and his left hand, below the elbow, was gone, only the silver bone poking out of the flesh. His left shoulder was heavily wounded, glistening grotesquely in the light, and part of his right ear was missing. His hair was plastered to his head, dripping with blood, coating his face in red. He tried to stand up, but faltered, falling down. She rushed towards him, but he raised his right hand. She could see his last two fingers broken, and the claws were still extended, perhaps unable to go back inside.
“Wuh…Wade.” He rasped out.
She didn’t know what to do, whether to help him or do what he was saying.
“Wade!” He called out, his voice horribly hoarse, and reached out weakly, as if not seeing her anymore. His eyes were screwed up, staring at the vault.
She gave in, and opened the door. Just as the door slid open, there were a series of explosions overhead, shaking the whole mansion. And instantly, she felt as if a weight she didn’t realize she had been carrying was lifted from her. She looked at her hands, and felt electricity running inside her again. A blue-white spark played around her fingers and then was absorbed back in. She turned to Logan, who was on all fours, trying to crawl towards Cerebro. She went to him, helping him up. His hand was healing, and she could see the wound in his shoulder filling up. But he didn’t seem to care.
“Wade!” He called out again, and now she looked too.
There he was, at the end of the walkway. But he wasn’t moving. And as she helped Logan inside, getting closer, she noticed the wires. The helmet was on his head. And there was a smell of burnt flesh in the room. It was with difficulty that she controlled herself from breaking down. But after a point, she couldn’t go any further. She couldn’t look at him any longer, lying there, clearly lifeless, broken, bloodied, and burnt. Her feet stopped on their own, but Logan went on. His legs had healed, and as he walked, bullets fell from his chest and back, clinking loudly on the floor inside the vast room.
He moved closer, slowing down. His vision cleared, and he saw him. And a soft whisper left his mouth, “No!” He fell to his knees, and screamed out, “NO!!”
He could smell the burnt flesh much more clearly; he could see the smoke coming out from the still faintly humming helmet; he could see the absolute lack of any movement. And he could see how broken the body was, how tortured. The Cerebro helmet had fused with the head, the flesh almost melted off, smoke still coming out of it. Logan took Wade in his arms. He was aware of how doll-like, how stiffly, his arms and legs moved. He saw the broken, blackened palm. He saw the blood that dripped from his suit, and the blood that had pooled on the floor. “Wade?” He called softly. “Wade!” He called again. There was nobody else in the world, just him and…and this body. “NO! WADE! WADE, WAKE THE FUCK UP!” He screamed, his throat hoarse. Yukio, sobbing, came near him and placed a hand on his shoulder, but he shook her off. “NO! HE ISN’T DEAD. HE ISN’T—WADE!” He yelled, and placed a hand on his cheek, turning his limp head towards him. He looked at his face, and there was no life in it, and he was hit with the reality: there were the lips that would never turn up in that mocking smile of his; There were the eyes that would never open, never wink at him again. His hand slipped from the cheek, and the head fell back, and he knew that Wade would never rest his head on his shoulder again, annoying him so much but filling him with a longing for more. And he cursed himself for never having been honest, for never showing how much he had liked all the times when Wade had touched him, how much he had yearned for that touch, and how warm his heart had felt when it had come again. But he had never shown it, always following his role in their usual dance of being annoyed with him, of threatening him, of shrugging him off – the dance that was broken by Wade, in the end. He had vowed never to repeat the mistakes he had made in his own world, but here he was, holding the body of the man he—holding this lifeless body, and he had done it all again, he had repeated those same mistakes and had not shown what he felt. Mired in his own idiocy, his own dumb ideas of how things were, never having the courage to even acknowledge what had changed inside him, he had never told Wade how much he had begun to mean to him. And now he never would get the chance to. He pressed himself against body, holding it closer, and sobbed.
Logan’s chest hurt as hard, loud sobs escaped him. His vision was blurred with tears, and he didn’t know where he was or what was happening. There was just this body, and his hands touching it, his arms hugging it, his chest against its cold, wet chest. Nothing else. He didn’t want anyone else here, didn’t want anyone else to ever disturb them again. He would stay like this forever. There was no time. There was nothing else. He was still sobbing when he felt another hand on his shoulder. He looked to the side, and Laura knelt by his side, her cheeks wet with tears. Behind her, Yukio was quietly crying in Ellie’s shoulders, who was looking at the body, her face frozen in a frown, unable to believe what she was seeing. Russell was standing at the end, just inside the vault doors, turned away, his hands over his face.
Laura squeezed his shoulder, and he looked into her eyes. He slightly lifted the dead body towards her, as if showing her what had happened. She nodded, crying, and placed a hand on his fingers that were wrapped around the limp arm. He tried to swallow and another wave of sobs hit his chest. Laura rubbed his back, trying to force down her own tears. He swallowed and tried to speak again, “He…He’s…”
“I know.” She whispered.
“He can’t…” His face distorted as the pain rose up again, and she hugged him, letting him cry in the crook of her shoulder. The room echoed with his sobs.
Ellie said, her voice flat, “Why?” She was shaking. “Why did he…Why did he do this?”
“He did it for us.” Yukio said, lifting her head, her voice breaking. “He knew what was going to happen…and he did it anyway. For us.” She looked at him, then looked away again, placing her head deeper in Ellie’s shoulder, holding her tighter. “Because of how much he…how much he loved us.”
Logan lifted his head. Laura had never seen him like that – eyes red and haunted, face bloodied with streaks of tears running down his cheeks, washing away the red in lines. Completely broken. And yet, she saw something in his eyes that puzzled her.
Logan remembered those last words. How faint they were, but how clear. How soft they were, but how hard it must have been to speak them. How few they were, but containing multitudes. How warm. How simple, and how endlessly complex. And he had heard them, from miles away, spoken directly inside his mind. He had heard in his heart, his own name, called from Wade’s heart. And then the three words that had at once made him feel a happiness he had thought extinct for himself, and a fear unlike any he thought himself capable of feeling. It was the feeling of gaining heaven and losing it in the same second — a heaven he didn't even fully know he needed, but whose loss left a hole that he knew would slowly consume him.
And he knew he was not ready to let it go. Not yet, not now when he had tasted it, felt it inside his heart. Felt the happiness it contained. He was not ready to lose it. To lose him.
He looked at Wade, at his head, where the melted flesh and the helmet were joined together. And he saw the three wires that led from the helmet to the machine. There was a low hum barely audible from it. He let go of Laura, who moved back uncertainly. His fingers wrapped around the central wire on top of the helmet. It was warm, faintly vibrating. And he pulled it out with all his might. It detached from the helmet with a small electric discharge. Its end was tapered into a sharp point, different circular ridges visible on its surface, glowing blue from the inside.
Before anyone could ask, before they could wonder aloud what he was doing, he brought it closer to his eyes. And without saying anything, without indicating what he was going to do, he thrust the point of the cable into his own head, directly into the forehead, above the eyes. He could just hear the beginnings of shouts from the others; he could just feel the beginnings of the intense pain in his head as the cable penetrated his brain; and then it was all gone.
And he was falling, drowning, into darkness.