Northern Alberta, Canada.
My first thoughts that I had ended up in Russia somewhere near Magadan, fortunately, turned out to be wrong. It turns out that large uninhabited spaces, crappy roads from one unknown place to another and snow are not only found here, Canada can also boast of this.
A good country, by the way. Beautiful. But big. Even though, being a representative of the divine race, I could neither get tired nor freeze, but trudging along an empty road for fifteen hours straight is not the most pleasant pleasure, and I do not have a Tesseract for instantaneous travel in space. However, I hope I will not, like any other of the Infinity Stones. Perhaps I went too far, but I did not have the slightest desire to get involved with semi-intelligent embodiments of mystical forces that have their own will and the habit of influencing the consciousness of the carrier. But every cloud has a silver lining - a long walk alone helped to finally overcome hysteria and understand myself. No, I did not begin to love this entire world and its inhabitants, to tell the truth, I seriously considered the option of starting a nuclear war on Earth. And it was a good idea! I won't die from radiation, or from hunger, and I can wait out the hottest phase in some neighboring world, but Thanos won't give a damn about Earth, well, except for the search for the Infinity Stones, but the main thing here is that he most likely won't even think about destroying those who survive on it. And I, meanwhile, will calmly figure out how to get out of this universe for good. A brilliant plan! But since it's still a long way to the White House, we'll leave it for the future. In any case, I'm no longer so cringing at the thought of living in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and that's already a good sign.
Hmm... I suppose I should be somehow concerned about the ease with which I am ready to organize a mass murder of innocent sentient beings from my recently native species, but... The thought of killing seven billion people does not stir anything inside. It is too abstract, too digital... impersonal. It is too easily interrupted by the understanding that Death is not the End.
But the thought that a specific kindhearted guy would die, who stopped his van near me on the highway and offered to give me a lift to the city, and even treated me to hot coffee, that thought does cause a reaction. A negative one. And that's great, it proves that I haven't completely gone crazy yet and nothing human is alien to me, I'm just still in a state of affect. Probably... But "I'm still in a state of affect" sounds better than "it seems that I'm a scumbag in life, who was torn from the pressure of the usual social environment and the acquisition of superpowers deprived of all brakes, revealing his true rotten nature."
Anyway, by the end of my first day on Earth, I finally found myself in civilization. And if someone says that a backwater bus station full of bearded truckers and other bikers is not civilization, then they have never been to a settlement of troll bandits on the border of the Nine Worlds.
- And what is the name of this city? - Having already gotten out of the car, I ask my fellow traveler who so kindly gave me a ride. There was no problem with the language barrier - divine races are able to understand any spoken language, with the exception of rare exceptions, and in the same way make their interlocutor understand them.
"Loflen City, the sausages here are crap, but the cutlet is okay," the man, whose name I never asked, answered, wrapping his jacket around himself against the fresh wind.
"I'll take that into account," I say, looking around the surrounding area with a smile.
A few minutes later I was already entering a white building, a "large barn" type, which combined a hotel, a restaurant and an entertainment center. The locals were entertaining themselves with fights in an improvised lattice arena in the center of the room, and there, at that very moment, some bald-headed closet was kicking another pumped-up guy. My black winter coat, transformed from Asgardian clothing, stood out a little from the surroundings with its dapper neatness and cleanliness, but... in general, no one cared about it. The crowd was making a fiery noise, encouraging the fighters, smoking, drinking and spending other cultural leisure time.
Naturally, I had no money with me, but this place was perfect for testing those areas of magic that were responsible for influencing the perception and mind of those around me. However, before I had time to notice those on whom I could experiment innocently and harmlessly, a friendly sigh from the crowd drew me to what was happening in the arena. Something very interesting was happening there: the man who had just been kicked was already getting up, and his opponent looked like he had just hit his right hand. A second later, the one who had gotten up kicked his opponent with his left, throwing him into the opposite wall made of mesh. He immediately floated, disorientated, but only managed to take a weak step to the side when he caught a sweep and a finishing blow to the forehead tangentially, after which he collapsed as if he had been mown down and was already knocked out. However, this was not at all interesting, but the fact that I saw and recognized the face of the winner.
The triple ringing of the gong coincided with the appearance of a thoughtful expression on my face, and the organizer was already speaking to the entire hall:
- Ladies and gentlemen! The winner and the king of the arena is Wolverine!
"T-that's… I came in at the right time," my lips whispered under the friendly hum of discontent from the spectators, who had clearly lost the money they had bet on the betting.
So… Something about all this doesn't add up. The unshaven face of the most famous mutant with a keen sense of smell was right there, a few meters in front of me, already with a lit cigar in his teeth, but that was wrong. The Marvel Cinematic Universe, where Loki is present, is not the same universe where the X-Men exist. Their storyline takes place in some kind of delirious reality, with toxic adamantium and half a dozen contradictory plot twists. And yet, I was Loki, and in front of me stood Wolverine, who had just beaten up some guy in the fighting arena of a squalid provincial town. By the way, this reminds me of something… Now, is there by any chance a lost-looking teenage girl in a hoodie somewhere in the vicinity?
My gaze quickly ran over the crowd of spectators and indeed noticed a figure wrapped up to the nose in a light dark green coat with a large bag in her hands, on whose face it was written in large letters that she was at such an event for the first time. And her face was also familiar to me.
Well, here we go... I wonder if I was able to accidentally switch from one franchise to another or if everything is even worse than I initially thought, and in addition to the drunken brawl of the Avengers with all sorts of Hydras, Ultrons and Thanoses, the world around us is expecting a psychedelic race of the X-Men against the Guardians, Apocalypse and two whole pirate copies of Phoenix, accompanied by interracial strife?
- Are there any others who want to try their luck with the champion? - a flabby man with a microphone started to call for a new fight, while I was thinking. - God knows, it was a great match, and it should end beautifully, what do you think?
A new wave of spectator noise gave me another thought. If I had already managed to test the magical skills of my predecessor to a significant extent, then the same cannot be said about his combat skills, and Loki was a very good fighter. Physically, he was weaker than Thor and did not really like to fight face to face, but the rivalry with his brother forced him to diligently study military skills, and, as I knew from the future, he could well fight Thor on equal terms. But testing myself on ordinary people would be, to put it mildly, pointless, but a fight with a mutant regenerator, and a fight that was obviously not fatal, could be exactly what I needed. And the problem of conjugating space-time continuums could be thought about later ... Moreover, there are no signs of anyone willing to challenge Logan, from which it is easy to conclude that the show may be about to be wound up.
"Will you watch my coat, baby?" I called out to Rogue, having quickly made a decision, already throwing my outerwear off my shoulders.
- What? - the mutant turned to me in bewilderment and immediately received a piece of clothing in her hands, and a charming smile from the collection of Loki's best smiles in her face.
Since I now bear this name, I need to get used to shooting several birds with one stone with each bullet. If only she were the same fatal beauty as in the cartoon series of ninety-two, or the cute hedgehog from the series of two thousand, but alas and ah, beautiful girls were not brought to this universe, and the local Rogue pulls at most on the "pretty", but still not "beautiful" girl.
Having made sure that my coat was not in a hurry to fall out of the hands of the slightly unsettled lady, I headed towards the entrance to the arena, which was immediately noticed.
- Oh! Looks like we have a contender after all! - the organizer rejoiced. - Hey, man, aren't you too puny for this? - covering the microphone with his hand, he leaned towards me as soon as I was next to him.
"Don't worry, I know kung fu," I answer him with a grin.
- Well, see for yourself, - the referee shrugged, the head of the betting shop and what else does this man do? - The rules are simple: don't hit the balls, fight with bare hands, whoever remains standing wins. If you knock out Wolverine, you get three hundred bucks, he'll take you - no claims against us, got it?
"Quite," I nod, and the organizer finally makes way for me, allowing me to enter the cage, at the other end of which a gloomy, unshaven guy with a bare torso is already waiting for me.
"Aren't you afraid of ruining your pretty face, kid?" Logan greeted me politely.
- You know, just now I just wanted to warm up a little, but now I have a desire to beat you up like God beats a turtle, - I smile broadly and happily in his face. It's a pity that I'm the only one who will understand this joke.
"Now, now, don't overexert yourself, brat," Wolverine chuckled.
- Maybe we should get started already? It's not like I'm in a hurry, but it's probably hard for an old man like you to stand on your feet for long... - I tilt my head to the side.
- Heh, you're not one to mince words, - the mutant's grin grew wider, after which he jumped up to me and with a short, sharp movement threw a straight punch to the jaw. More precisely, he tried to throw one. The body worked almost by itself, with minimal participation of the mind - a small step back and to the side, twist the torso, intercept the hand and continue the movement.
- Ha, it seems the kid wasn't joking when he said he knew kung fu, just look, ladies and gentlemen, what a flight! But it's unlikely to be enough to defeat our permanent champion!
"Hmm, okay," Logan, who had ended up on the floor after throwing into the net, stood up and demonstratively stretched his neck, "you can do something."
Now the mutant acted much more carefully and not so straightforwardly - he tried to come from the side, indicated feints and attacks, but... I was faster, stronger and, although not quite my own, had a thousand years of combat experience, and exactly this - close and weapon combat. Logan, of course, is a veteran and also extremely experienced, plus animal instincts, but now he has amnesia, and he is used to fighting either with claws or using more traditional weapons for mortals like rifles-grenade launchers and other shooting machinery. And he fought more with ordinary people, which also played a role. Loki's experience was extremely diverse, and opponents with abilities beyond any human capabilities were the norm there rather than the exception. This, by the way, was one of the main reasons for Asgard to use cold weapons as their main ones - many races, including the Aesir themselves, were almost invulnerable to purely physical damage, and it did not matter whether it was a bullet or a blaster charge. To inflict life-threatening damage, a weapon with a magical component was required, but enchanting each bullet is unrealistic even in a techno-magical civilization - magic is too individual, you can't put it on a conveyor belt, but enchanting cold weapons and armor is very possible, especially in the context of the fact that this will have to be done once every five thousand years, which is the average lifespan for an Ace, and he usually uses the same weapon his entire life.
And so each of Logan's punches was smoothly deflected to the side, only occasionally meeting a hard block, and a block and deflection were followed by a counterattack, and each time it was very mean, or rather, insidious - a punch to the side of the face just to cover a low kick to the knee? Of course! Poke at a nerve knot in order to dry out an arm? Of course! A kick under the diaphragm and block the breath? As it turned out, I love it, I can do it, I practice it. My fighting style was very, very dirty, and I could do nothing about it. But there was one tiny problem in all of this. It was still unrealistic to win against Wolverine in this fight - all these punches and kicks for his regeneration were not even mosquito bites, but peas against the wall. I was not even sure that if I took him in a choke, it would have had any result. Unless you hit him hard enough to give him a concussion and knock him out cold, though that probably wouldn't help for more than ten seconds. Of course, there was the option of magic, but that wouldn't be sporty at all.
Okay, I've learned what I wanted. Let's practice the techniques a little more on the gradually becoming brutal "dummy", and then we can wrap things up.
- Listen, is this your tactic? - After a few minutes of this "fight" I felt that even the spectators were starting to get tired, and decided to wrap it up. - Overcome until the opponent finally gets p*ssed off?
"Go to hell!" Logan answered me, once again getting up from the floor and spitting out blood, apparently having managed to bite his tongue.
- No, I'm really fed up, but I don't want to get punched in the face, - a snap of the fingers, and we find ourselves in the center of the "hologram", where Wolverine, who has finally risen, intercepts another blow from "me" and sends the opponent into a throw, and as soon as he rises, he punches him in the stomach, and immediately later - along the spine of the bent opponent, literally driving him into the ring. - Yes, it turned out brutal, - the physics have been tested and found suitable, now the next section is optical illusions, combined with mental suggestion, so that the audience does not pay attention to some nuances.
- What the hell is this? - the mutant tensed up.
"Just an illusion," I shrug with a reflexive half-smile. "I wanted to warm up with a suitable opponent, I achieved my goal, but continuing to 'sort things out with fists' with the regenerator is just stupid. Of course, I'm in no hurry, but I still wouldn't mind a bite to eat… And it's better tonight than in a week, when one of us finally runs out of steam," my right eye winked slyly at my opponent. The muscle memory of the real Loki clearly remained not only in the muscles of his arms and legs.
"I understand, then," Logan's gaze changed, now he could clearly see a beast ready to jump.
"It wasn't hard: when a bruise on your opponent's cheekbone completely dissolves in less than a second after it appears, it's hard not to understand that something is fishy," I watched with interest as the Wolverine mirage gave my double a hearty kick in the kidneys, "especially when you know a couple of tricks yourself."
- I see, and what next? - the wariness did not go away.
- It's okay, now "I" will be knocked out, you will get your prize, and I will "recover" a little and take my coat from that girl, after which I will go look for a free table - I heard they serve a good cutlet here... And I hope that was not a joke about this ring.
- That's it? - This paranoia is already starting to get on my nerves.
- What else?
- No, nothing.
"Well, that's great, okay, let's go take our places," the referee had just finished counting over the knocked-out "challenger" and was announcing the winner, lamenting the fact that the newcomer was doing well, but the old experienced champion had once again proven that it was too early to write him off.
Having finished the show for the audience, as promised, I left the cage and quickly found Rogue in the crowd. She looked at me even more stunned than she had looked at Logan before, and no wonder, since I personally allowed her to see reality in combination with illusion, therefore, even without hearing the conversation with Wolverine, she had grounds for strong emotions.
- Aren't you tired? - with a new charming smile I take my coat from the girl's hands.
- Ah... No. Not at all, - the girl began to shake her head hesitantly, staring at my face with all her eyes.
"Wonderful," the outerwear returns to my shoulders in one movement, and, following the new smile given to Rogue, I head to the counter, literally after a few steps causing everyone around me to lose sight of me.
People's minds were surprisingly easy to magically suggest, but even though I had talked about the desire to eat, the experiments were not yet finished, and information about the local reality needed to be collected. The easiest way to do this was to study the memory of one of the natives, and I was going to do this in the near future. This trick had nothing in common with classical telepathy, except for the fact of reading memory, but the principles by which this reading was carried out were completely different. In any case, it was necessary to start with something simpler, and Logan and Rogue... Nothing would happen to them in a couple of hours, and they would have time to digest what they saw.
The next morning.
The town didn't impress me: no library, no cinema, even the shops were all... gas stations. Sometimes literally. True, I found French fries in one of them and now I was happily gobbling them up, walking through the fresh snow to the doors of the hotel, but if things were really bad, this universe would be decorated in noir tones, but I didn't feel like Professor Snape surrounded by the Potters and Weasleys, so it was livable.
My magical research traditionally ended successfully. Even viewing someone else's memory did not break my brain block, turning me into a psychopath with a third personality. In general, viewing other people's memories with magic was very different from the perception of Loki's memory in my head, perhaps that is why he could not do anything with my hit. However, how this hit happened, I completely do not know. I did not remember the circumstances of my "death" in my past life, as a person, or even what exactly from the memories about it comes last in the chronology. With Loki it was about the same, although to a lesser extent - I remembered the day before the hit, but how the God of Deception came to his chambers and what he did there - no longer. On the one hand, it was bad. On the other ... the less you know, the better you sleep. For some reason, it seemed to me that in my situation this was a very correct thought.
In any case, asking for the help of several "volunteers", I was able to make an approximate picture of the surrounding being. Firstly, Tony Stark really had already been captured by the militants, created his armor and heroically returned, having managed to admit to the whole world that an iron man is him. And, speaking in truth, on this side of the Canadian border on these events, the people as a whole spit from high pines. For local hard workers, the question was much more relevant about who would win the next football match on TV, and stories about a rich psycho in the iron Girl here were perceived precisely as stories about a rich psycho, the bizots of which have not surprised anyone for a long time. Secondly, the Hulk was already here, but also at the level: "A green man either from Mars, or from Venus, or from a government laboratory arranged somewhere riots, just like nigers in Brooklyn," and it was almost forgotten. Nobody knew what was wrong with him or how, but he certainly hadn't been acting up lately. And finally, the mutant problem. It was a trend these days, and all the media was hyping it up, but nobody had really seen the mutants themselves anywhere. That is, they kind of exist - "that's what they say on TV", but they kind of don't exist, because... well... you couldn't just meet them on the street for a mere mortal. Nobody knew about the X-Men, Spider-Man, or the Fantastic Four yet. The last one is especially sad - I always liked Victor von Doom played by Julian McMahon, but no one here has heard of him either.
In short, I spent the night productively, and at the same time became five hundred bucks richer. And there is no point in inviting all sorts of small-time swindlers to play cards with the God of Deception, even if he looks like a harmless dandy.
This time the hotel I had visited earlier greeted me with sleepy silence and the sluggish bustle of the staff with brooms near the arena. A mustachioed truck driver was sleeping on a large sofa in front of a side table, a couple of people were having breakfast at another table, a TV was playing pop music quietly at the bar, a bartender in a red checkered shirt was wiping a glass, and in front of him sat a lost, pinched figure in a hooded coat, with a large bag lying at his feet.
Crumpling the empty bag and flicking it across half the room into the bin where the cleaners were dumping the trash, I walked over to Rogue without hiding from anyone.
- Got coffee? - I pretend to yawn for the bartender. The girl I sat down to the right of winced and glanced sideways at me, the man also clearly recognized me and nodded silently, switching the switch on the electric kettle. - And a couple of cheese sandwiches, - I complete the order, putting a ten-dollar bill on the table.
"Warm it up?" the bartender asked, nodding his head at the microwave.
- It's not worth it.
Without asking anything else, the man walked over to the doorway to the kitchen, where he repeated the order. At that moment, Logan, dressed like a typical local regular, approached from the opposite side of the counter. He noticed us only when he sat down on the last stool, and only because Rogue, excited by my appearance, glanced at him as if he were some kind of monster. She glanced at me like that too, but I was expecting it, and Wolverine was attracted to such a look from a random neighbor. After that, his eyes moved to me, reflecting slight bewilderment; it seemed that my disguise could also deceive his animal senses. Actually, there is nothing surprising, because "smell" is the same obvious parameter of an object as color and weight, which any invisible person should be able to hide first and foremost. Hiding magic and a spiritual imprint is much more difficult.
In response to the attention to my person, I only nodded in greeting, showing with all my appearance that nothing except the order I had made particularly concerned me. Logan was satisfied with this and, taking out a cigar, tried to pretend that my presence did not bother him. In fact, he quickly succeeded, since Rogue continued to glance sideways, and her facial expression naturally drew attention to itself.
"Give me a beer," Wolverine asked, turning to the bartender, who was just counting out my change, putting his banknote on the table.
He got what he needed faster than me, but not by much - the kettle had just boiled, and they brewed me some local instant swill, not even skimping on the sugar bowl. The swill tasted bearable, and when sandwiches were brought from the kitchen, it was even better.
And by the way... Rogue obviously had no money. At least she sat with a glass of water and watched the first sandwich I bit into with such a greedy look that I involuntarily hesitated while chewing. Realizing that her interest had been noticed, the girl immediately became embarrassed and looked down, but even though questions like: "How did she end up in Canada without money?" and "How was she going to live?" boiled up in me, this did not stop me from silently pushing the plate with the remaining culinary "masterpiece" towards her.
- Huh?.. - the mutant was confused. - What...
- Believe me, I don't mind when girls look at me with lust, - playing with my face in the style of Loki, I say to this miss "tourist extreme", - but the gastronomic interest in your eyes is unnecessary. Better eat it. I'll order again, - I nod to the bartender in a gesture of "repeat", fortunately the change he gave me was still lying on the table and I didn't have to reach far.
"Thank you," the girl, clearly out of her element, nevertheless readily grabbed the sandwich and hurried to bite into it.
- Alice Island, once a landing place for thousands of immigrants, is opening its doors again, - the announcer's voice began to broadcast on the TV as soon as the music video ended. - Preparations for the summit of member states of the United Nations are almost complete, and since almost all the invitees have already confirmed their participation, the summit promises to be the most representative in history. The heads of more than two hundred countries will discuss a wide range of issues, including the state of the world economy, the conclusion of arms treaties, as well as the phenomenon of mutation and its impact on our lives. Many American legislators continue to insist that the discussion of the mutant issue remain in the center of attention...
I was about to joke that this desire was quite logical, in light of the information that about fifty of the newest missile systems with radioactive elements in the warhead (the same ones from which Stark assembled his first miniature cold fusion reactor and which he then destroyed, like Iron Man) had leaked from their warehouses into the hands of terrorists, but I didn't have time. Two men approached Wolverine, who was peacefully sipping beer, from behind, and I recognized one of them as the brute from yesterday, who had taken a good blow to the head from Logan. The hematoma was significant and very intense.
"You owe me," the victim touched Wolverine on the shoulder, drawing his attention.
"Don't get involved," the second guest tried to reason with him in a half-whisper, trying to take him back, but the bald-headed man waved him off without looking.
"No man could stand that," the failed fighter continued to press, a little louder but still in a calm voice. Logan gave him a brief glance and turned away, taking another drag on his cigar.
"No need, let's go," the second man tried again to lead his friend away from the bar counter.
"I know who you are!" the shaved man waved him off again and leaned toward the mutant's ear. "You…"
"You lost your money," Wolverine interrupted him coldly, irritation showing on his face, "so back off!"
Washing down a hot drink with a sandwich, I watched with great interest what would happen next. Part of me hoped that canon would go to hell, but the other part no longer believed in it - there had been too many coincidences back in Asgard to hope for the unpredictability of the surrounding world. And it turned out to be right. Gritting his teeth, the victim of yesterday's battle took a step to the side, but only to grab a knife and try to shove it under Logan's rib.
"Turn around!" Rogue screamed shrilly, also watching the conflict unfold with wide eyes.
Wolverine immediately stepped aside, letting the hand with the knife pass by him, but he couldn't hold back any longer. If he had limited himself to a slap and grabbing the hapless killer by the chest, everything would have been fine, but his hot temper let him down, and, in addition to pressing the attacker to the nearest vertical beam, on which the second floor was held up, the mutant released his claws, threateningly pointing them at the victim's throat.
"Hey," I called out to the bartender, who had frantically snatched a pump-action shotgun from under the bar, "don't turn my breakfast into a vulgar shootout. The guy asked for it himself."
- Are you in cahoots with him? - the gun was instantly pointed at my face, causing Rogue, who was sitting next to me, to turn pale. - Come on - get out of here! - this was already addressed to both me and Wolverine.
- How rude, - a grin crawled onto his face. Loki responded to all the blows of fate with a grin, and I couldn't do anything about his reflexes yet, - and I was about to leave a tip, - a short gesture with his fingers activated the spell.
The illusion worked as if it belonged to him, and the man saw the gun in his hands turn into a snake. A scream from one of the female visitors coincided with the reptile being thrown away. The frightened man recoiled, crashing his back into the shelves with bottles. The snake fell to the floor and hissed threateningly in the direction of its recent owner. The people in the hall froze, looking warily at Logan and me, afraid to move.
- Why? - Wolverine's sharp gaze bored into my face.
"I don't like it when people point weapons at me," I shrug. "However, breakfast is ruined anyway," I rise to my feet, throwing back the last drops of coffee. "Can you give me a lift to the next town? I'm afraid it will be hard for me to find a travel companion now," I glance at the visitors with a hint.
"Does such a dandy not even have his own car?" Wolverine growled, still grinning irritably and not removing his claws from the shaved man's neck.
"In my village it was difficult to get a driver's license," I say in response, theatrically adjusting the hem of my coat, with a hint of confidentiality.
- R-r! - the mutant growled briefly, either accepting the answer, or deciding that I was hinting at the undesirability of spreading it around in the presence of strangers. Either way, his claws disappeared into his fist with a sharp rustle, and, rewarding the man who was trying to stab him with a knife with an angry look, Logan grabbed an unfinished bottle from the counter and then headed for the exit. - Keep up, - he threw over his shoulder, passing by.
Playfully winking at the dumbfounded Rogue, I made a sort of farewell hat-raising gesture towards the customers and followed. At that moment, a middle-aged lady appeared from the kitchen doorway with a plate containing three fresh sandwiches from my second order, and, noticing the snake at the boss's feet, she stood dumbfounded.
"You are charming," I say, passing by, giving the service worker a smile and taking the plate out of her hands on the go.
Logan, who was walking ahead, gave me a quick glance that clearly showed that he didn't approve of my behavior.
"What? I paid," I shrug nonchalantly, forcing him to turn away.
Already sitting in the cabin of a battered van of some kind of mobile home, I noticed in the rearview mirror how a skinny figure in a green coat with a hood and a huge bag in her hands was quickly approaching us. Logan at the wheel was clearly too irritated to pay attention to the strangers flickering in the parking lot, and meanwhile the girl reached the trailer following the van and climbed inside. What a risky lady. And yet I was sure until the very end that she would knock on the cabin.
Wolverine, same time and place.
Starting the engine, Logan glanced sideways at his unexpected fellow traveler. A well-groomed young man, who could hardly have been more than twenty-five years old, was lounging comfortably in the seat next to him, looking out at the street as if nothing had happened. It was absolutely unclear where he had managed to put the stolen plate of sandwiches, as well as many other things about him.
The stranger's long dark hair was perfectly combed back and did not lose this perfection even when he was jumping around the sweat-scented ring to the envy of any monkey. His clothes were more suitable for some social event or a bohemian party in New York, and not for the Canadian backwater, but the owner of emerald cufflinks, a black tie and a shirt so snow-white that the phantom taste of starch made your teeth hurt, obviously did not care. Even the scarf with a green pattern thrown around his neck did not look like an element of warm clothing, but a luxurious decoration, expressively emphasizing the refined style of the owner. But the most incomprehensible thing was that Logan could not catch his scent at all, as if in the next chair there was not only no man, but also no clothes.
He could fight, too. So much so that Wolverine couldn't even remember ever meeting an opponent of his level. Although it would be fine if only that were true - Logan himself had never chased the title of martial arts master, seeing neither the point nor the interest in it, but the guy was definitely physically stronger than him. Not so much that he could break down walls with his bare hands, but it was definitely not worth trying to compete with him in arm wrestling, and Wolverine was two or three times stronger than an ordinary person of his build, while this dandy looked much thinner. The last mystery was his tricks with illusions, or whatever he did there? But Logan didn't understand anything about these things at all, so he decided not to bother his head.
They set off in silence and drove off in silence. The man, accustomed to solitude, was not inclined to start a conversation, and his fellow traveler, apparently, was not either. Probably, someone else in Wolverine's place would have tried to satisfy his curiosity, taking advantage of the opportunity that had come his way, but the lonely vagabond did not want to get involved in other people's affairs. Other people's affairs are always problems that he could easily do without. Now the secrets of his involuntary fellow traveler did not concern him in any way and did not interfere in any way, and Logan was happy with that. He was equally happy that no one was pestering him with questions or complaining about the smell of tobacco, and he was ready to think about something more closer to lunch… or dinner.
However, after more than twenty minutes of driving, the man noticed a strange sound coming from the trailer. The wheels were spinning somehow wrong. While they were driving through the city, he did not pay attention to it, but when he got to a quiet highway, he involuntarily began to listen and eventually determined what was scratching his enhanced hearing.
The forest road was empty in the morning, the sun hadn't really risen yet, and it was cloudy today, so Logan calmly stopped the car right on the roadway and turned off the engine, putting the keys in his pocket.
"We need to check something," he still considered it necessary to explain to the passenger, although judging by the latter's appearance, he was not particularly interested in the reasons for the sudden stop.
Having climbed out, but not having waited for the sound of the door opening on the other side, Wolverine sighed and, just in case, having checked the ignition keys in his pocket, headed towards the trailer. A fresh breeze slightly diluted the sweet bitterness of the cigar in his mouth, wet snow crunched under his boots, and there was a pristine silence all around. Having meticulously examined the wheels and the coupling, the man did not see any unnecessary details, but as soon as he puzzledly tossed the cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other, his sensitive hearing caught some rustling from under the tarpaulin covering the trailer.
Slowly taking two more steps closer, Logan began to distinguish other interesting sounds that could not possibly come from his motorcycle, which had been the sole occupant of the trailer for the last couple of years. If only because motorcycles do not breathe, and the sound of the engine is very different from the human heartbeat.
Having seen the contents of the open body, the mutant only pulled the cigar out of his mouth, impressed. The disorder in the tarpaulin covering the steel horse immediately caught his eye. He had been subconsciously expecting something like this. If shit happens, its dimensions can only be either "huge" or "really huge". Although he had problems with his memory, his animal instincts were in perfect order and promised that the day that had started so badly was bound to end no less badly.
Silently poking two fingers at a new bulge on the tarpaulin near the wall closest to him, the man, without surprise, heard a frightened 'ooh', pronounced by a clearly female voice, after which he abruptly pulled the disguise off the illegal passenger. The passenger turned out to be some girl in a light green coat with a hood, sprawled near his motorcycle, resting her head on a bag with things. Not immediately, but the girl raised her gaze to him, and Wolverine recognized the face of a girl of about seventeen or nineteen years old, who had been furtively staring at him and his second fellow traveler all morning.
"What are you doing here?" Logan asked, not so much interested in the name of her horizontal position in her trailer, but rather what she was thinking about climbing into the car of a strange man heading into the deep forests of Canada, quickly returning the cigar to his mouth to calm his nerves with a drag.
"Sorry, I just had to go. I need help," the girl mumbled, wincing from the sunlight as if she had managed to fall asleep lying on the cold metal of the open truck bed.
"Get out," he commanded briefly and, taking someone else's bag, decisively threw it out of the trailer.
"Where should I go?" the stranger muttered, starting to rise.
"I don't know," Logan said uncompromisingly.
"You don't know or you don't care?" the impudent woman asked again with an accusatory tone in her voice, jumping down to the ground.
"It's up to you!" the man answered harshly, not staying in debt.
After making sure that there were no other new things in his trailer, Wolverine glanced at the girl, who was gasping for air, and quickly turned back.
- What kind of help were you talking about? - a voice suddenly heard behind him made the mutant twitch. And not only him - behind the girl who jumped up on the spot, as if nothing had happened, stood his smiling fellow traveler. It was completely unclear how he managed to appear there in less than a second and how he managed not to creak either the door or the snow under his feet.
"I don't have a taxi," Logan felt it necessary to warn, already understanding which way the wind was blowing.
- And yet, - his new acquaintance grinned like a snake right in the face of the girl who had frozen in front of him, - someone wasn't afraid of two scary guys with abilities, but climbed up to be their fellow travelers. Should I continue, baby, or are you going to answer yourself? - tilting his head to the side, the guy winked slyly.
"I… yes. I have the ability too," the girl mumbled fearfully, then swallowed. "You… you are mutants, right? Can you help me?"
"Maybe," the green eyes of the unwanted fellow traveler number one rose to Logan's face. "We can't leave a teenage girl alone in the cold winter Canadian forest," the new smile that distorted the guy's lips made Wolverine's teeth hurt.
"You want to walk?" the man snapped irritably.
"I can easily ride in the back, there's more than enough room," the brazen young whippersnapper shrugged cheerfully. Logan's fists itched, but... this guy was right - he couldn't abandon this fool in the forest, given her clothes and the local weather, she'd freeze in half an hour or an hour, and the traffic here isn't very active, to put it mildly. The mutant regenerator, who couldn't have anything hurt for more than a few seconds, felt a migraine coming on and getting stronger.
"Okay..." he sighed, "get in," and, turning around, he walked back to the car... where he saw the dandy still sitting in his seat.
- Em? - the girl was also surprised, because the said dandy had just been behind her, and now he was moving into the back of the "house on wheels". - But you?.. - then she turned around and saw exactly the same person behind her.
"An illusion," the guy snapped his fingers, and his copy disappeared in a shimmer of yellow-green light.
"But she said..." the girl babbled, lost.
"That's right," came the satisfied confirmation, and from the van came the creaking of a bed, as if someone had sat on it.
"I didn't allow you to sit on my bed," the older mutant grimaced with displeasure, climbing into the driver's seat.
"Don't worry, I'm lying down… And my coat is still cleaner than this bed," this embodiment of impudence answered again calmly, obviously settling down more comfortably, if the rustling was to be believed. Logan once again thought about the question of whether it was so bad to throw out random fellow travelers into the cold. Especially if you really wanted to. His thoughts were interrupted by his fellow traveler:
"Do you have anything to eat?" the girl asked sheepishly, settling into the passenger seat.
"Here," the "dandy" suddenly got up from the bed, stepped towards them and, finding himself in the passage, somehow slyly moved his hands, after which, from some kind of kaleidoscope-like jumble of either glass shards or something else, the very same plate of sandwiches that he had stolen from the diner appeared in them.
"Eh…" was all the girl could mumble in response.
"A subspace pocket," the guy explained, handing the plate into her hands. "Very convenient for carrying personal items."
"Thank you," the girl nodded, after which she took off her thin gloves, which were completely unsuitable for this weather, and greedily bit into a cheese sandwich.
A fugitive God with a mild case of insanity. Ibid.
"I'm Rogue," the girl introduced herself, having satisfied her first hunger, glancing sideways at Wolverine. And she froze in anticipation.
From my place on the bed, I had a good view. It folded out so conveniently from the wall right into the center of the van, as if it were created so that a respectable patrician, reclining on the feather beds, could contemplate the work of the driver and his neighbor. Wolverine, however, was in no hurry to make contact and generally showed with his whole appearance that he was already fed up with his fellow travelers and as soon as the first opportunity arose, he would hurry to get rid of us. And if we behaved badly, then the method of "getting rid" of "shove the hell out of us" could change to something more... rude. And how did he manage to say all this with just one sidelong glance? Talent! To his deep misfortune, I personally did not care, and Rogue did not know how to read physiognomy and did not understand such complex messages. Well, okay, let's keep up the conversation. We are polite gods, right?
"Loki," I introduce myself.
- Uh... What? - Rogue turned around.
- Hn... - the brutal driver chuckled and even smiled slightly, apparently admitting that such a name suits such a charming rogue like me! Hmm-m-m, am I not behaving too strangely? Although... no, everything is fine, I just (and by aces' standards, just barely) got out of a big ass, morally resigned myself to the local exterminatus and was about to get away, so why not have a little fun "on vacation"?
- My name is Loki. And no, it's not a joke. And not a last name. And not a nickname. And not an acronym. And not even a code name for a top-secret government project, - at the last moment, Logan fell into a kind of stupor.
Did something really go by association? Hmm-m-m, in general... it's possible. I seriously doubt that there was the same idiocy here, where an adamantium bullet from a regular revolver was able to pierce an adamantium skull and shake up the gray matter in the mutant's head, formatting it if not to zero, then close, but amnesia due to the boiling of body fluids in the process of soaking bones with hot metal is quite possible - Wolverine's regeneration, of course, is brutal, but such an ordeal could damage the brain neurons enough for amnesia.
But I got distracted, and in the meantime silence settled in the car again. The elder mutant did not answer on principle, although he seemed to be itching to say something about my parents' sense of humor or the size of the cockroaches in my head. Rogue, perhaps, would not have refused to speak out either, but she did not dare to be impudent, from her point of view, the limit of impudence on her part had long been crossed. However, she is a teenage girl, and therefore she could not sit silently for long and began to look around in search of a topic of conversation. But, contrary to my predictions, Wolverine could not stand it.
"What kind of name is 'Loki'?" he snorted.
- Asgardian, - I shrug. - You can also Loft, Lodur... please do not confuse with the slacker, Hvedrung, Mocker, Charming Bad Guy, Cegorach... oh, no, not that universe - the copyright holders can file a metauniversal court. And you, oh my eloquent friend? - I change the subject.
"Logan," the mutant answered after a moment of silence, "and you, boy, have serious problems with your head."
- No one believes me when I tell the truth, but everyone believes me when I brazenly lie. That is why they called me the God of Deception, although I did nothing special for this, but simply told those around me several times what they wanted to hear, and not what they obviously would not believe - lying, like the already mentioned Roman patrician, on the bed and watching my slave ... companions spread out, I indulged in a little philosophical speculation.
- Uh-uh... O-okay, whatever you say! - Rogue agreed hesitantly. For some reason, it seemed to me that she simply decided that it was better to agree with dangerous psychos on everything. To avoid. And again, a cozy, though not for everyone, silence reigned.
The "hare's" problems did not end with just a hungry stomach. Having quickly dealt with the meager and, frankly speaking, not the best treat and having also satisfied her hunger for information, the girl began to rub her hands with cold - ten kilometers at a speed of fifty miles per hour, and at an ambient temperature of minus five degrees ... how did she not freeze to death? Logan also noticed the difficulty of the young passenger. With a suffering sigh, he switched the heater to maximum.
"Here, warm up," he said, reaching out to take the girl's hands to bring them to her, but the passenger jerked sharply and hurried to move away under the regenerator's surprised gaze.
It looked like the reaction of a girl who had already experienced violence, however, such a girl would not sit with two men... well, at least if she had not liked the previous experience. However, jokes aside, I already remember why the girl had such reactions.
"I won't eat you," Wolverine tried to calm the girl.
"No offense," Rogue said, embarrassed, "it's just... it's about my powers. Every time I touch someone, something... happens."
"What's going on?" Logan asked, confused.
- I... don't know... but it hurts them...
- I see... - Wolverine maintained a stony calm. I've even started to feel a bit of a sporting interest, is there anything that could get to him? Well, besides a direct hit from an anti-tank shell, of course.
- It looks like a parasitic mutation, - I decide to explain the girl's situation. - There's a guy in Mexico who needs to regularly suck energy out of other people, otherwise he himself might kick the bucket... However, if he attaches himself to a mutant, his body will morph into something like a pterodactyl with delusions of grandeur. It's like the Hulk - each form has its own personality. But you didn't feed on anyone in the city, did you?
- No! I don't need that! - the girl was even scared.
- Then you're lucky.
"Uh…" Rogue glanced at Logan and turned to me, "what's that guy's name?"
- I don't know his real name - I've never met him in person, and his nickname, I think, is Pterox, but I'm not sure, - I'm telling the pure truth. Only it was true for another universe, but what difference does it make?
- How do you know about the Hulk? - Wolverine showed curiosity.
- I've been watching him for a while, - I shrug. - But since we're having a morning of revelations, baby, tell me a secret, how did you end up in Canada alone and without money?
"I…" Rogue looked down. "Ever since school I've wanted to walk the route from Mississippi to Niagara Falls and Alaska…" she fell silent.
"Are all kids in America this reckless?" I look at the back of Logan's head.
"Don't ask me," the driver snapped, wearily blowing out a cloud of cigar smoke.
- Um, what can you do, Loki? - Women's curiosity is ineradicable, regardless of the world or era.
- Well, a little bit of everything: illusions, playing with the space-time continuum, throwing knives... oh, and I'm also a famous brain-pecker! - I recall an important moment, breaking into a smile.
"I have no doubt," Logan nodded grimly. "Wow, I told the truth, and they believed me immediately and unconditionally, although I suspect that I was misunderstood, but what can you do - the world is not perfect.
And at this fortunate moment our journey was interrupted by a tree that suddenly flew out onto the road. Wolverine, who had not buckled up after the stop, was not prepared for such a turn of events, and so he flew out beautifully through the windshield from the impact. The buckled-in girl simply jerked in her seat and lightly hit her head, and I was unaristocratically dragged off the bed feet first. However, it wasn't that far to drag myself, so you could say I got off with just moral trauma.
"He went low... it's going to rain," I commented on our driver's maneuver, standing up and looking out through the aisle into the cabin. Logan was carried away quite a bit, almost fifteen meters, that's what the inertia of an adamantium skeleton means.
"Oh," Rogue shifted in her chair.
- Is it safe?
"Y-yes," the girl grabbed her head and tried to unhook the seat belt to get out, but it didn't give in, "but I'm stuck!" There was a bit of panic in her voice.
- Just a second, - leaning towards the lock, I carefully move the mechanism that had jammed from the jerk. Carefully - so as not to accidentally break it, otherwise Loki's strength is more than enough to crush ordinary steel. Well, Wolverine had just stood up by that moment and with a slightly unsteady gait (becoming more and more confident with each step) of a man who had had a good drink, he headed towards us.
- Hey, are you alive there?!
- If I were you, I would look around, because trees don't fall under cars by themselves, - I warn the mutant, having clicked the lock out of the groove. I didn't remember how the canonical attack of Sabretooth went, but apparently, that's exactly how it went.
Here the bushes crunched, and the expected "caveman" attacked the man who had managed to "pull out" his claws. His dash was quite fast, much faster than Wolverine had shown a similar move in the arena, which allowed him to avoid the claws, stunning Logan for a second. And it immediately became clear that he knew who he was facing, since Sabretooth, who could not be anyone else, did not exchange punches for blows. Instead, he grabbed his opponent by the jacket and, spinning him around, sent him back into the nearest tree, clearly trying to cause at least an extensive spinal contusion, and at most - a concussion with a knockout.
"We need to help him!" the girl, freed from her belt, fell out of the crumpled van and stood unsteadily in the snow.
- Why? I think he's having a lot of fun, - at that moment, dressed in furs and with a mug so brutal that even the Vikings would have been filled with respect, the man decided to play baseball with Wolverine and, having pulled a log out of the ground, gave the clawed bearer, who was just starting to get up, a good whack on the head. - And the weather is getting better... - I watched our driver fly in a much steeper arc right onto our hood. Now it was definitely a concussion, and Logan agreed with me, as evidenced by his motionless state. - Let me go, - I squeezed past the chair and jumped down onto the snow next to Rogue.
My appearance attracted the enemy's attention, and this stern Norwegian version of Conan the Barbarian moved towards us with a natural tiger roar.
- You know, boy, you look a lot like a wild Viking, - I was overcome with some kind of courage. Although Sabretooth moved quickly and was clearly strong, neither his speed nor his strength could be compared to the similar parameters of Thor, whose fights Loki had watched many times. And from this fact a very simple conclusion followed - these parameters cannot be compared to mine either, - and I hate Vikings, - the throwing dagger, having materialized in my hand, the next moment cut the air with a whistle and entered Sabretooth's eye.
The enchanted steel, designed to kill immortals, could not cope with the purely "material" healing factor of the mutant, but it clearly caused more problems than a regular knife could. In any case, the menacing roar immediately turned into a painful howl. I did not intend to wait for the mutant to come to his senses, and, taking another dagger out of my spatial pocket, sent it into the enemy's heart, and the third lay in my hand, instantly generating two copies of itself in the hands of my own illusions.
Seeing the world from three angles is quite funny. I'm not sure that, as a human, I would have been able to maintain even the most basic coordination of movements in this state, but Loki's brain was accustomed to this and could synchronize the actions of three to five "bodies" quite well - depending on the speeds taken and the degree of uniqueness of the movements. If it was necessary to deliver one blow to one point, then here we could be talking about three dozen pseudo-material illusions, and if each had to attack in a unique style to a point different from the others, then it was already more difficult.
The first blow was delivered by the copy next to me on the left, piercing the liver, the second came from the right under the knee, the third, already mine, hit the throat. Sabertooth tried to wave it off, but I was right - his speed was not enough even to hit the phantom, and blows from three directions continued to hit. For the memory of my predecessor, this was unusual, because even Volstagg, not the most agile of Thor's three best friends, would hardly have let my illusion hit him more than once, at least somehow, but having managed to damage the outer contour, and here - do what you want and how you want. However, despite the many blows, the enemy was still alive, although he was clearly starting to lose interest in resistance in particular and the situation in general. Nevertheless, leaving him alive was not in my plans, and therefore, having knocked him down with a sweep on another bunch of blows, I sharply lowered the enchanted dagger on his neck.
The magical steel passed through ordinary flesh and bone like a knife through butter, and only then did I realize that somehow I hadn't even thought about the fact that this would be my first kill.
"Uh-uh…" Rogue said somewhere near the car, obviously glancing at my work.
- Everyone tries to offend an artist! - I was offended in the best feelings, examining the mutant's head separated from the body. The realization of the fact that I had just cruelly and with pleasure killed a rational (well... more or less) creature did not cause the slightest discomfort. After everything that I got from Loki's memory... ahem, I suspect that I no longer have a feeling of disgust. True, I somehow, again on reflexes, managed to remain completely clean and just as elegant, yeah, despite the butcher's work and a knife covered in blood to the brim... oh, no, it had already absorbed Sabretooth's blood.
"Oh," Logan groaned a minute later as I pulled my hand away from his head. Nothing wrong, just a little magical stimulation to get him to his senses.
"Your skull is strong, but you lack the habit of taking a blow from a log," I sympathized with him.
"Where is that thing?" Wolverine asked, sitting down on the broken bumper and looking around the picture.
In response, I silently raised my other hand, in which I held the severed head by the hair, and nodded at the body to the side, which my copy was keeping an eye on. The visible regeneration of the mutilated organism had stopped, but I had not yet managed to conduct a diagnosis, and without the Soul Furnace it was difficult, and this ultra-fancy techno-magical operating table remained in Asgard.
Seeing my handiwork, Logan made a face that resembled a twitching of his cheek, but then nodded silently, although he began to look sideways a little.
- What? He was a regenerator, - I shrugged. - But everyone knows: if you want to finish off an immortal, tenacious creature, cut off its head, - I look at the body. - Besides, he looks too much like a Viking, and I really don't like Vikings.
- Loki... - the mutant winced, - just... shut up. And throw that head somewhere already! Rogue, are you okay?
- Uh-uh-uh... - the roadside on the other side of the car responded. Well, I just shared my food with someone for free, and then they waste it in such an ugly way. I'm sad. And... this is probably also a sign of a not entirely healthy psyche, but... I'm still sad. I wanted to eat these sandwiches myself.
- Eh, no one t... - here two more subjects, noticed by the phantom, appeared on the road, - ...it. Oh, two more? - I add my own angle of view to the eyes of the illusion. - It seems he wasn't the only one sitting in ambush here... - I smiled cordially at the new guests.
"This day is getting worse with every minute…" Wolverine stated, standing next to me and releasing his claws.
"Wait," one of the uninvited guests raised his hand, or rather, raised it.
Hmm, perhaps it's worth describing the visitors' appearance in a little more detail. There were two of them: a man and a woman. The man was nothing special - average build, brown hair, a stern face, but he still has a long way to go to reach for Logan's brutality, and a fancy visor with a red filter on his eyes. As I remember from the film, he has to reach out with his hands every time to adjust the bandwidth. To me, it's a so-so solution, but adding a "window lifter button" somewhere on his hand to spend less time in combat, without hinting to the enemy by his hand raised to his head that he's about to get hurt, apparently his religion didn't allow it.
In short, the real Cyclops looked exactly like the movie one, even the stylish black suit was present, although it clearly lacked a bulletproof vest to become a full-fledged combat gear, because now it was just a suit made of artificial leather with a hint of futurism, and that's all. His companion was wearing the same thing, although she herself was much more interesting. She looked about twenty-five, thirty at most. White hair, shimmering with silver, skin the shade of dark chocolate, a beautiful figure and a beautiful face with regular features and without visible defects, really similar to Halle Berry in her best years. Damn, she looked like a goddess an order of magnitude more than half the women of Asgard! If my sclerosis doesn't fail me, in one version of the comic book universe, Dracula himself was smitten by her beauty and tried to achieve it for a decade using various methods, including offering her immortality, throwing countless riches at her feet, the thrones of a couple of states, songs under her windows, feats in her honor, and about a dozen and a half attempts to kidnap her, when all of the above didn't work. And I understood the man, damn it, this is really the first truly beautiful woman I've seen in this world! And Loki's memory, by the way, can't help me here in any way, rather the opposite - it makes the picture worse. And Storm, because this beautiful person can't be anyone else, continued:
- We are not your enemies. Moreover, we have come to help.
"It doesn't sound convincing," Logan raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Now no one will drive along this road in a week, then there's a whole crowd, and one after another."
"I must admit, my friend says some sensible things," having gotten rid of Sabretooth's head, I played with the dagger in my freed hand, suggestively, while simultaneously casting a couple of unnoticeable illusions over us. "As one not very honest senator used to say: 'what's your evidence?'"
"We are not attacking you," Cyclops stepped forward.
"That's very far-sighted of you," I nodded with a smile, twirling the dagger in my fingers again. "Your friend wasn't so prudent."
"This is not our friend," Storm said again, raising her left hand as if to stop her comrade. "The mutant who attacked you is named Sabretooth, and he works for the leader of a secret radical mutant group. We have different views and were sent by Professor Charles Xavier to stop this attack. He has been helping mutants from all over the world for many years, teaching children to control their abilities and hide from ordinary people. We do not wish you harm, we simply want to help."
"They already helped," Logan chuckled skeptically. "My car has never been so protected from attacks," given that we were standing against the backdrop of a hood that had been torn to pieces and a windshield that had been knocked out by a body, the thesis, in my humble opinion, turned out to be especially good.
The X-Men looked at each other with a bit of confusion, playing out a strange pantomime of looks, from which I personally concluded that Cyclops was being accused of something. At least, Storm's expression, in the mildest translation, read as: "Satisfied?"
"I'm off course, okay?" the guy said, shaking his head in a "I give up, leave me alone!" gesture. "I've never flown over the forests of Canada. Do you even know how hard it is to find a place to land a plane here?!"
"You…" Logan shook his head, closing his eyes, "really touched me," he glanced at Cyclops again, and there was so much bile in that look that the hapless pilot literally twisted his face, as if he had chewed a lemon.
"Okay, you've convinced me," I took pity on the people, hiding the dagger in my sleeve.
"Are you serious?" Wolverine looked at me skeptically.
"Look at their clothes," I accompany the advice with a nod, "their boss would never allow his man to walk around in skins."
Logan took in the stylish black suits of the X-Men, looked at Sabretooth's corpse, looked back, sighed heavily, and retracted his claws with a rustling sound.
"Yeah, this is too stupid to be planned," the man's hand rummaged through the pockets of his jacket, with the obvious intention of extracting a cigar.
"Are you alone?" the blonde mulatto woman walked towards us, breathing a sigh of relief.
"There's another girl, but she's powdering her nose right now," I smiled. "Hey, Rogue, are you alive in there?" I asked the girl cowering on the other side of the car, raising my voice a little.
- Yes! I'm fine! - the extreme tourism enthusiast answered, getting up from all fours. She looked pale, but overall bearable.
"Excellent," I turn to the X-men who have already come close. "So, since the formalities are over, let's move on to more important things!"
"We…" Cyclops began, but I shut him up with a sharp gesture of my right hand. I mean, I shook my index finger, accompanied by a negative grunt and all that.
"Oh, most beautiful goddess," I quickly, decisively, but tenderly and carefully take the hand of the Storm captive, "you are obliged to tell me your name as quickly as possible so that I can imprint it in my heart!"
- A... um... a? - the confused girl blinked helplessly.
- Loki, God of Magic, at your service, - my smile grew wider. - And now, please, quench the thirst of my soul - tell me your name.
"Ororo Monroe… Storm," the woman shook herself and tried to collect her thoughts.
"A beautiful name," I assured her, trying to give my voice a velvety intonation, looking lovingly into the lady's eyes.
"Hey!" the Cyclops called out to me. "What's going on now?"
"An introduction," I let go of the woman's hand and take a step back without breaking eye contact. Only then do I turn my face to the Cyclops. "But if you prefer something more rude, you can start building a fire."
- What fire?
- For this half-Viking, - I waved my hand towards the corpse. - He is a regenerator, and who knows how his genome is twisted? You don't want his body to grow a new head in a week in the local ecologically clean climate, or his head to grow a body, after which the evil and aggressive mutant goes to take out his grievance on the nearest human settlement?
"We'll take him with us," Ororo said, not raising her voice and very softly, but firmly.
"As you wish," I lost my visible interest in the matter, casually dispelling the illusion that I was watching Sabretooth's body with a gesture. After which I headed towards Rogue, who was frozen in confusion by the car on the other side of the fallen tree.
"Who is it?" I heard the Cyclops whisper very quietly.
"Some psycho," Logan answered him in the same tone. "He asked me to give him a ride to the nearest town."
The further conversation lost its novelty, and the gentlemen mutants launched into a discussion of all sorts of boring but necessary details. Logan's car had given up the ghost, and the X-Men had received clear instructions to deliver the man Sabretooth was hunting to Xavier. True, there were three suspects, I mean, candidates for the true victims, but that meant only one thing - all the conversations very quickly boiled down to attempts to convince Wolverine to go somewhere with two shady individuals, abandoning all his property, business and measured existence. Moreover, the man, in my opinion, was not so much against it, but he simply could not force himself to agree to such nonsense without really compelling arguments from Cyclops and Storm. Unfortunately for the latter, they had a hard time coming up with such arguments, since even the topic of "we can protect you" was met with only sour skepticism from the regenerator with an adamantium skeleton. Rogue helped to move the matter forward by agreeing to fly almost instantly, which allowed Storm to use a killer argument at the next turn of the argument that if he did not trust them, then wouldn't it be better to personally make sure that the girl would be safe, rather than rely on words? Logan also kicked a little at this, trying to convince himself first of all that he should not give a damn about the fate of some random girl he had known for less than an hour, but... he couldn't and, gritting his teeth, was forced to agree.
I didn't take part in this concert, preferring to silently admire Storm's face and quietly send a couple of phantoms to search for the place where our new friends parked the plane. In the end, I found the place, and embarrassed Ororo to the point of uncomfortable shrugs, and even managed to study the design of the aircraft a little. In my past life, I was quite far from aviation and mechanical engineering in general, so I got a rather interesting feeling. Loki, as the God of Magic, knew Asgardian technologies with "yat", as well as the technologies of a number of neighbors in the Nine Worlds, with whom the Asgardians regularly interacted, but the earthly ones were for him... not exactly a dark forest, but perhaps this is how an advanced IT specialist of the twenty-first century feels, having received an early mechanical computer in his hands. Plus, all Asgardian technologies were still techno- magical , while on earth technology developed separately from magic, which also added its own touch to the sensations.
However, I was not allowed to satisfy my curiosity for too long and was politely offered to help with carrying... corpses. Or rather, one specific corpse.
- You want me to trust you and let you take me away to an unknown place, for an unknown purpose, and also to bring to your plane a dirty, bloody corpse of a two-meter-tall savage, who is of no use to you alone? - I raise an eyebrow skeptically, causing Cyclops and Storm to hesitate in confusion again. - I'm starting to like you more and more! - I suddenly switch to a positive tone, letting a reflexive grin appear on my face. - Look, baby, - I shoot my eyes conspiratorially at Rogue, - black tones in clothes, an ominous red visor, transporting dead bodies across the border - we're definitely being recruited by the Bad Guys!
"We're not bad guys!" Storm said, offended.
"As you say," I chuckle in response, already approaching Sabretooth. "We're just illegally transporting a headless corpse across the state border on an illegal private plane," I easily lift the body by the scruff of the neck, head and all. "I love America!"
"I already want to finish him off," Cyclops shared in a half-whisper.
"Get in line," Wolverine muttered, adjusting his bag of belongings on his shoulder and lighting a new cigar.
"Let's go," Storm commanded briefly, catching Rogue's confused look and immediately walking in the right direction.
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