Categories > Comics > X-Men > Cinnamon and Smoke

Chapter 6 - Final

by foozi100 0 Reviews

Sabretooth has some questions. Unfortunately, the people he's dealing with don't have answers.

Category: X-Men - Rating: R - Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Humor - Characters: Sabretooth - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2007/04/09 - Updated: 2007/04/09 - 1715 words

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After all o' this drivin', an' you knowin' I've got money, you might be askin' a question right about now. Why don't this chump take a plane? Well, I'm not too fond o' havin' my feet off the ground. I know how easy those things go down an' I've sabotaged too many planes to knoe how easy it is to overlook somethin'. I blow a tire or run outta gas? I get to walk a bit to the car shop. Where the hell is a plane gonna stop if somethin' goes wrong? The local 7-11? Nope, I don't do air travel that much, except under duress, schedulin' or necessity. Otherwise, I'll take the highway thank you very much fer yer concern. An' it gives me time to think. Like, do I sneak in or just walk thrguoh the front door all proper like? All I've got is an address, no name to go with it. Should I go in nice or rough? Rough is more fun, but I tend to get more answers if I ask questions before removin' chunks o' someone's anatomy. Go figger.

It takes me a bit to find the address, since my mind keeps throwin' all kinds o' memories at me. I've been in this city before, an' I didn't like it much then. It ain't all that better the second go-around. To hell with this, I ain't fond o' many cities anymore. They lately breed an animal worse than anythin' I ever tangles with up in the Rockies. A human monster. I'm just the monster taken to the limit o' it's ability, is all. Enough o' that. Got more important things to think about. When I hit the neighborhoos, I can feel it's the right place. All wrought iron fencing an' alarms, a Beemer in every driveway. This place stinks o' money, an' corruption. Wonder how many o' these crooks are just as bad as me. Hypocrites.

It's a Sunday night when I jump the fence. No subtlety tonight, I'm tired o' this game, as fun as it's been fer me. The dobermans get to be first, as I nal them to the nice lookin' posts at the top o' the fence. Too much soft livin' fer them, they didn't even recognize a hunter when they smelled one. Around the back o' the mansion, an' in through the slidin' doo. Is it me, or does everyone forget to lock this door after an afternoon in the yard? I've done this enough to notice a trend, anyways. The motion sensors are shorted out, since I crossed the wires at the pole down the street. Then I catch it. Damn. That kevlar an' gun oil scent. I get aobut three seconds to prepare, an' then the walls come alive with more o' them dime a dozen goons. Figgered they'd learn their lesson by now, but I guess they need a few more. Fine by me, I'm thinkin.

It gets relly messy. Oh, it starts off all proper like, me fightin' three or four at a time, but they keep dyin', an' they have the gall to plame me personally like. Tough, they shoulda trained better. So the rules go out the window, an' it gets a little confusin' from here. Some get a few good licks in, an' that guy turnin' my head into his personal punchin' bag is pissin' me off, but I know the end was never in doubt. Stupid me, shoulda remembered these yahoos have slowed me down on two seperate occasions. An' tonight ain't no different. I get nailed in the eyes by somethin' that tastes like pepper spray, an' I lose all sense o' dircetion. I'm fightin' blind, until my eyes decide to join the party again. It don't do much more, but it does slow me down, an' I start to feel them a little more than I care to. Oh, I'm still kickin' their collective butts from here to next month, but they ain't all goin' so quietly anymore.

Someone lays a good one across my nose, an' the crunch can be heard over the scuffle o' me an' these goons goin' at it. Dammit, it's like they plan this, Sharp pain, hacksaws butcher knives aw hell, I hate breakin' my nose. It throws everything off, an' they take advantage of it. But I'm still not down, even when one o' them kneecaps me, an' I get the fun o' fightin' on one leg. The crowd's thinnin' out, by the sound o' it, which pleases me just fine. Was that a table one o' them broke over my back? No, but that blow was. Not enough to put me down, so I pay back the favor an' spin, tearin' a lot o' chunks out that were never designed to be removed. The goons are defiantely thinnin' now.

An' then they stop. Silence, except fer the moanin' from those unfortunate enough to get into range an' not get outright killed. My eyes are comin' back into focus, an' I can see them all just standin' there, like cut outs. I'm missin' somethin', I just know it. Then a light flashes on at the top o' the stiars, an' I can make out some frail standin' there, carryin' a candle. Now this is gettin' odd.

"Good evening Victor. It is a pleasure to see you, though I doubt you see it as such." She's comin' down the stairs, an' I'm tryin' to place her. She looks damn familiar, but I can't figger out where. I'm hopin' my nose recovers soon, there's somethin' spooky about this whole setup.

"Call off the damn goons, before you run out." No, I'm not being poetic, or creative. But it's better than the line if you don't stop I'm gonna hurt you. After twenty or so minutes with these guys, you'd be hopin' fer a break too. What they lacked in talent, they more than made up in sheer numbers. I ain't been dog-piled like this since my last shindig with the Hand.

She motions to the livin' ones, an' they clear outta the room. Rather quiet too. Someone at least taught them somethin'. "Is that better? I was hoping we could talk like civilized beings, though that might be a stretch for you at this moment, after the night you have gone through." Very cute, frail. An' very nice lookin'. Reminds me o' that Stacie gal who bought it. I wonder.

"Good. Now, do ta mind tellin' me what's goin' on, before I lose my temper?" Standin' up straight takes a bit more effort than I like, but I do it an' start dustin' myself off. "This ain't been the best week or so fer me, so no more dancin' around. You tell me, or I kill you. Simple?"

She smiles. Just like Stacie. My smell is comin' back, an' that with my eyes tells me that this hal hs gotta be related. An' she's covered in cinnamon an' smoke. Wonderful. "I hope it won't come to that. I want the microchip, you want some answers. Fair and simple enough, Victor?"

Hell, I ain't ever gonna need it, so I toss the dice it's in to her. She opens it up, smiles, an' then drops in on the floor an' crushes it under her heel. "There ya go. Now, my answers." Crushed. Why, after all this hell to get it back, whould she do a fool thing like that?

"The answer is simple, really. I required someone to cean out the deadwood, as it were. Though you were very insistant in no longer being on th emarker, I simply could not take no as an answer." I've been set up. I'm the chump in this picture. An' she is so much dead meat.

"So you pulled me in another way. Nice work, darlin'. Sorry aobut yer sister by the way. You shoulda taught her about playin' with fire." Shot in the dark, but it connects. The cracked china look on her face almost makes it worth it. Almost.

She has the guts to pull a gun out on me, but it's shakin' too hard to be of any use. "You... animal. You monster. That's the last thing, I'm afriad. You're just going to have to die for that." An' she pulls the trigger. I don't even bother movin'.

I take the slug in the chect, but it's no worse than a wsp sting. It hit nothin' more than meat, nothin' important, an' she knows it. Again an' again she shoots, until the whole clip is empty an' she's dry firin'. She's a lousy shot. Droppin' the gun, she falls to her knees, abject misery coverin' her face. "Why won't you just die? Why do you live, knowing what you have done?" She's startin' to cry. Good. Let her chew on fear fer a bit.

I walk over, an' squat in front o' her, catchin' her chin an' lockin' eyes with her. She's got them deer in the headlights look now. "She asked fer ot. An' I never claimed to be anythin' more than a monster, darlin'." She's too much like Stacie to just take out, dammit. "What's yer name?"

"why should you care?" Defiant even in the literal face o' death. She's brave, though a touch lackin' in the brains department right now.

"So I can remember, darlin'."

"Heather." I nod, an' make it easy like on her. She feels no pain, just stops breathin' after I snap her neck in my grip. Then I leave the house, an' head back home. Up north, to the Canadian Rockies.

I still think about then, you know. A little research, an' more o' the story comes out, though not all o' the shadows are filled. That only happens in the movies though. Appears that Stacie an' Heather were at war or somethin'. One was the brains, the other was the brawn. The chip was to be a bargainin' tool, to get them workin' together again. So much for the best laid plans I say. Never learned anythin' about the two kids that attacked me, an' Bobbi turned up late that month dead, as a suicide accorin' to the papers.

So I'm alive, they're dead, an' everythin's over, right?

But i still remember them.

~Finis~
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