Washington, D.C. A few days after Tony Stark's healing.
She walked down the corridor again, barely perceiving the blurring walls. Her hands clutched her work folders tightly, her legs confidently stepped in time with the person hurrying ahead, her lips answered the questions asked from time to time clearly and quickly, but all this was happening without her will. How long had this been going on? A month? A year? Or had it already been ten years? She saw everything, perceived and realized everything, but she could do nothing, she could influence nothing. And only when the Other, the one who controlled her arms, legs and speech, remained idle, frozen in anticipation and immobility, could she crack her knuckles. Fleetingly feel a glimmer of control over her limbs, playing the role of a harmful, unconscious habit.
Today, like hundreds of times before, the world before her eyes blurred under a fuzzy veil, her familiar pupils, no longer subject to her will, looked anywhere except the places she wanted to see. Her captor had meetings and conversations. Offices replaced each other, work folders passed from hand to hand, Another made reports and brewed coffee for the captor. Everything was as always - only despair and helplessness in every moment.
The working day was coming to an end. The last meetings, the usual waiting with the painfully sweet taste of fleeting control over the fingers and a quick step to the car... She did not immediately understand that something was happening. She had lost hope of escape too long ago, had become too indifferent to what the Other was doing, controlling her body at the will of the captor. And yet, subsequent events forced her to throw off her apathy, because the Other told the captor something that did not happen.
An invitation to dinner from an important patron, whom the captor could not ignore. There was no invitation, but the Other spoke of it. Said the place, the time, the wishes of the inviter… Clearly and businesslike, as she had done thousands of times before on any other topic. But all those thousands of times the Other had spoken only the proven and impartial truth, and now she had lied. Lied to the one who had given birth to her.
And he believed. He couldn't help but believe, because the Other had never lied to him.
And then they set off. Without a driver or security, because the patron did not like extra eyes outside the walls of official institutions. And again the Other deceived. They did not reach the place. They turned onto an inconspicuous turn. But the captor did not notice anything - he was too immersed in compiling the report that the Other told him he needed.
And they stopped. The other one got out of the car and politely opened the passenger door so that the overweight captor could get out without any problems. The darkness of the night helped hide reality from him for the first few seconds, and when bewilderment began to appear in his eyes, her fingers tightened on his flabby neck, simultaneously twisting the arms of his corpulent body…
"Welcome, Mr. Striker," an unfamiliar male voice came from the darkness, in which pleasure from the observed view was splashing, "I hope you are comfortable in the gentle hands of your assistant?"
"How did you do it?" the man croaked hoarsely through a constricted throat. "Who are you?"
- The right questions, - a young man in a light coat over a business suit appeared in the section of light from the headlights. His long black hair was neatly combed back, held at the back of his head without any elastic bands or laces, and an ironic and cheerful smile played on his lips. - I'll answer the first: your wonderful potion, - he stepped closer, and the Other sharply jerked Colonel Stryker so that he was unable to prevent the unknown person from extracting a dispenser with a transparent liquid from his inside pocket, - a very interesting thing, - the brunette finished the phrase, measuring the find with his gaze. - But here's the trouble, it makes the victim completely defenseless against mental suggestion.
"Impossible," the man croaked, frantically groping his hand over the steel grip of her fingers.
- Why not? - the stranger smiled. - This is chemistry, not magic. But we've been chatting for too long, and I came to you on business, - the hated dispenser disappeared under the coat of the man who had somehow subjugated the Other. - Oh, don't try, - he warned William's attempt to say something, at the same time as her hand squeezed the colonel's throat, not letting him breathe out even half a word, - I don't need your opinion and language, - the stranger's right hand lay on Stryker's head, - just relax and enjoy...
She felt the man in her arms flinch, as if he felt a prick of pain, and then everything froze. The other relaxed her fingers slightly, allowing the former captor to breathe, and the second one, apparently the new captor, closed his eyes, as if listening to something. And then there was silence…
They were in some empty warehouse, through the main gate of which they drove into a room hidden in darkness. There was not a single light on anywhere, only the headlights of a car dispersed the darkness in the center of the empty space. And this combination of silence and darkness made her soul feel eerie. Just an hour ago, she thought that she had gone through all the circles of Hell and was stuck in one of them forever, but now the mutant woman, who, to her misfortune, had the ability to regenerate, was experiencing fear again. Fear that with each passing second was taking hold of her heart more and more, displacing the black despair that had long reigned supreme there.
Whoever this young brunette was, he wasn't going to leave Stryker alive, that was as obvious as night and day. But what would he do next? What would he do? Yuriko Oyama had long since stopped being afraid of death... she dreamed of it as a deliverance! That's what she thought... But what would happen now? Would she become a spineless slave to a new master or would she end up like a spent animal along with William Stryker? What should she do? What should she prepare for? She thought she couldn't be afraid. She shouldn't! That the worst was behind her, that things couldn't get any worse... But that was only until hope appeared. What... What if he let her go?.. Freed her?.. He was also a mutant... a telepath, most likely, but he was a mutant! He could pity her... He could help... He could... save her !
This word tore at the heart... Even the Other's breathing became faster. The potion injected into the neck - on the upper vertebra, was still working and should have been working for a long time, not allowing even to blink of one's own free will, but the cheeks became hot, and the eyes became cloudy not only from the veil of the intoxicating obsession, but also from the moisture that appeared.
A chance... The first chance in all these years... The first since she was captured and turned into a guinea pig... It was so enticing and close, but... But it was so terrifying that her hope would be trampled, like Stryker had trampled her life almost ten years ago.
- Please... - inaudibly, with only barely parted lips, for the first time in many years, it burst out... not even a sound, but a shadow, but a shadow of her own voice. - Please... - the second word was pushed out an elusive fraction louder. - Pr... - but the third was shackled by the Other. The captor's potion coped with the hormones injected into the blood, cutting off the chance for conversation more reliably than any gag.
A single tear traced a narrow path down her left cheek, making Yuriko feel as if her wet skin was burning and twitching, as if she were on acid. It became even more frightening. The cold claws of returning despair dug into her chest… No longer repressed, but only strengthened by the rolling horror. She wanted to scream, cry, sob… but she could do nothing, locked in her own body as a powerless spectator. And then she felt a touch…
"Don't be afraid," the stranger's soft voice reached her ears at the same time as his finger wiped a tear from her cheek, "I will help you," the brunette's palm gently moved to her temple, and the next words echoed throughout her body in an indescribably sweet way. "Follow my voice…"
Without yet realizing what she was doing, Yuriko leaned her entire being towards this command and... She sighed convulsively, dropping Striker's limp body from her weakened arms.
From her hands...
Again... completely... her ...
Same place and time, Loki.
Having caught the girl who was beginning to sag, I picked her up in my arms and carefully carried her to the still open car door. Already on the second step, Yuriko began to shake violently, demonstrating the stress her body had been subjected to. My impact, no matter how gentle it was, was still a sharp "shifting of the steering wheel in the opposite direction", which was a severe test for an already depressed nervous system. So even her regenerator body needed time to recover.
To immediately twist Tony's tail with the theme: "Find me scientists! We need more scientists! All of them - to the sharashkas, according to the precepts of KGB! Look for a way out of this universe for me! Schneele! Schneele! Arbeiten!" would not be very correct in the general context. Let the guy sort out his affairs, get used to the new position, and then you can somehow gently hint about a promising direction. The final result in this case promises to be of higher quality than if he starts twitching convulsively now. Thus, after completing my business with Stark, I figured that one way or another, Tony will soon distract the attention of all interested parties, starting from Fury, who has lost one of his best operatives, and ending with the big guys in the Pentagon, whose dream of getting Iron Man armor at their disposal will be ruined with the recovery of the billionaire. So I thought that since everything was going so well, why not do another little thing that I had been collecting information for for a long time? So, abandoning my illusion of teaching a lesson and flirting with Storm, I went to the capital of the American hegemon, the result of which was Stryker lying on the floor and a trembling mutant girl in my arms.
Having carefully seated the stunned lady in the car, I took brandy from the car's minibar and generously poured the amber liquid into a glass, which I handed to the recent captive of my own body—the relaxing effect of alcohol was the best choice right now.
"Drink this, it will help you come to your senses faster," thin but extremely strong fingers convulsively clenched on the glass, it creaked in protest, but still did not rush to crack, although it was clear that it was not far from this state.
Another second or two of looking into "nowhere," and the container with the drink is brought to the lips. A greedy sip.
"Cough… cough…" the trembling Asian woman coughed.
"Don't rush, everything will be fine now," I promised, trying to give my voice a calming tone, and received a short nod in response... And another sip, not so convulsive.
Things started to go well, and I, watching the rescued girl slowly come to her senses, continued to ponder what I had seen in the fat man's memory. What he had stored in that memory would have been enough for an electric chair for him and another dozen influential uncles and aunts, and another fifty different senators and congressmen could have received forty to fifty years of "special regime". The deposits of incriminating evidence, however, were not the most interesting treasure I found in Stryker's head. I had achieved my original goal - the secret of adamantium was now in my hands, and, like everything ingenious, it turned out to be simple.
No, the events of that crazy movie with young Wolverine, Deadpool-constructor on text control from a personal computer, older brother-Sabretooth and half a ton of other crap, including an adamantium meteorite, did not happen here. And praise to all the Great Powers, I tell you! Because I was afraid until the very last moment, although I saw Logan's x-ray. I don't care that there were no bullet holes in the indestructible skull and a couple of bullets stuck in the brain, because this is the Marvel Cinematic Universe! Here, even the properties of Mjolnir change to strictly the opposite within one timeline, in the sense, from a powerful weapon giving power over the weather, to a plug for Thor's personal powers, and before that Hela wore it, and it gave her all the same abilities with thunder and lightning ... don't ask ... I don't know how it works. Marvel Cinematic Universe - everything is possible here! Even talking raccoons.
However, I digress. The point was that the secret of creating adamantium alloy was discovered by accident, when trying to reproduce the secret of creating vibranium, which was used for Captain America's shield. The base was titanium and another dozen and a half rare earth metals, which had to be mixed in strict sequence and proportion. However, there was nothing impossible about it, even the working temperatures were incomparable with other weapon steels. The most difficult thing was preserving the alloy and working with it, since once it solidified, no furnaces were able to melt it. Unlike vibranium, by the way, which, although it was a refractory metal, was not so refractory that it could not be remelted. But it was not possible to determine the melting point of solidified adamantium, despite the fact that it remained in a liquid state even at three hundred degrees, which is less than lead, and only when lowered to two hundred and fifty did it completely solidify.
As for Stryker himself and the question of the uniqueness of his knowledge, he was the only possessor of the secret of creating adamantium, or at least he sincerely considered himself to be so. He prudently killed all the scientists who knew about the process, erased all the records, and did not really believe that someone would be able to rediscover the alloy recipe.
But these were expected data, you could say, for their sake I moved, because without the captive Magneto, as I believed, William Stryker became a person practically safe in the global sense. I won't say that I was very wrong, but…
There was the X-23 project here.
The same one with the female clone of Wolverine, who was trained from birth to be an obedient puppet of the right people in the war for American dominance. Stryker was only "one of" the project's leaders, far from the leading one - all his participation ended with the delivery of adamantium and the choice of the direction of training of the experimental girl, and yet this project was here , and the restless mutant-hater colonel knew about it .
Like another project: a project to create a biological weapon against mutants based on ... a drum fraction ... a virus that has killed all vampires in the early nineties! Hello, a cool black guy with a katana! Blade, Niger you are very skipped, you here, it turns out, exist!
But what's more, the project of total destruction of all X-gene holders was supervised by the same person who supervised the X-23 project - Zander Rice. And he was a real crazy bastard, no wonder Stryker wildly respected him and dreamed of overtaking him even more, even though he was twice his age. And I think I'll go see him in person too. Because, with all my current roof and general carelessness caused by this case, knowing for sure that something like this was happening in a lost bunker near the Mexican border, and doing nothing... no, that wasn't my thing. Here, the question was rather different: should I run to that bunker and pull X-23 out of there right now, or should I finish with the colonel first? I didn't really want to waste time, besides, the noise raised could force the other curators of the revived Weapon-X project to lie low. But, on the other hand, it was not worth rushing into things either... No, perhaps William Stryker's death, no matter how loud it was, will not affect the rest of the work in any way. Considering the public there, they would rather be glad that there was one less pain in the ass, with its stupidities and desires. It was a little worse with his curators at the very top, but they would hardly scratch themselves. At least because Stryker's main curator was Alexander Pierce. He is, mind you, a member of the World Security Council, to whom S.H.I.E.L.D. is directly subordinate, and the colonel's affairs, although important to him, are far from primary. Half of N.A.T.O. has such colonels. Oh yeah, and Pierce is also one of the leaders of Hydra... Not the "Hydra Dominatus", but a local pirate copy of the Nazi spill, created by the Red Skull - a quasi-super soldier, a quasi-Fuhrer, a quasi-agent Smith, a quasi-Elrond and, in general, a complete misunderstanding. His successors, however, turned out to be a little more talented and now rule from the shadows almost the entire world. Well, after one not very smart black man (not Fury) sawed out all the vampires who quietly ruled the entire world before that. Seriously, tools like the offer of immortality, wealth and power were better than what the "pirate copy" of Dominatus could offer, which, with a probability of 99 and many, many nines after the decimal point, was previously under these same vampires. But Stryker did not know about all this, and I only know from the movies. In short, the big guys have no time for a plump fan of bone metallization, because even if he wants to hand over everything and everyone, he does not threaten them in any way.
"Oh…" I was pulled out of my thoughts by the sigh of the young mutant, who had finally managed to drink and began to look at the world with a much more meaningful gaze.
- So, - I draw Yuriko's attention to myself, - I suppose now I should say something like "he's yours", or some other pompous slogan of a brutal hero walking into the sunset, but forgive me - I've already written the scene of his death, and the scenery is waiting for the actors. So, when you come to your senses, I advise you to take his car home, and then quietly and peacefully disappear. You have money and resources, but if anything, I can share a couple of addresses of mutant communities. There is an option with a caring team, professional rehabilitation and other resorts, and there are also radically vengeful guys who will be happy to help you open a couple of throats of those involved in your fate. Choose what you like best.
"And… you?" the girl squeezed out hoarsely and not very confidently.
- And now I'll get busy preparing the last act of the Marlezon Ballet, and in about a week the country will be shaken by a report telling of unprecedented cruelty that was happening under the noses of honest taxpayers. But by that time it would be better for you to be far away.
"So, I'm… free?" Despite the strict gray suit, business glasses and tightly pulled back hair, which together should have literally screamed that in front of me was a cold and unyielding woman, she now looked extremely helpless and confused.
"Yes," I confirmed briefly and took the bottle of brandy again. "Here, drink some more, you need it now," I filled the empty glass.
- Just like that? - not noticing the appearance of the amber liquid, the Asian woman continued to timidly look me in the eyes.
"Yes," I confirmed again, letting a reassuring smile appear on my face.
"And you don't want anything from me?" Yuriko's voice was filled with a note of timid distrust. I can't blame her for that.
- No, - I smile wider. - And relax already, if I wanted to do something bad to you, I wouldn't help you regain control of your body. Now shake yourself, finish your medicine, - I point my gaze at the brandy, - and decide: are you interested in the addresses of mutants ready to help, or can you handle it yourself? Just decide quickly, otherwise I'll take this body now, - a nod at Stryker, - and I'll be gone.
- Can I come with you? - the glass in the lady's hand cracked, spilling its contents, but she didn't notice, leaning towards me with a new level of fear on her face.
- Um... - it was sudden... Although... If you think about it... The reasons for her emotions can be understood. - What do you mean: with me "from here" or with me "in general"? - I clarify an important point, otherwise who knows what's going on in women's brains? Even with all of Loki's insight, you can run into trouble here.
- With you at all! - the Asian woman quickly jerked her head, but for some reason it seemed to me that she again did not really perceive the surrounding reality.
- Just a second, - I raise my index finger in warning. - You just got free from slavery lasting several years, when you were a prisoner of your own body and worked for a man who dreams of destroying your entire species and is ready to use you up at any moment, when you become unnecessary, and now you want to go to an unknown place, with an unknown person and on a permanent basis, am I right?
"Y-yes!" the woman nodded abruptly, continuing to stare at me hopefully.
"It seems to me that you are speaking in a state of affect," I considered it necessary to make another attempt.
"I have nowhere to go, everything I had was taken from me, and you saved me. Please," Yuriko leaned even closer, practically getting out of the car, and if I hadn't been standing right by the door, she probably would have gotten out, "give me your protection!"
- Sorry, what? - I thought I didn't hear.
"Let me serve you for your protection, I beg you!" the girl repeated without hesitation, and my skull seemed to start itching.
- But... you are strong, aren't you? Regeneration, martial arts, adamantium skeleton, retractable nails?.. - I wave my fingers in the air, vaguely questioningly, finishing listing.
"My power didn't help me," Oyama shook her head without breaking eye contact. "I know these people, they will look for me. Even if it's not Stryker, there will be another. And another, and another. I have nowhere to go and… no one. They will find me. I beg you… Please!"
- Well, I'm saying that I can recommend a couple of good mutant communities. Believe me, each of them has enough strength to arrange a small apocalypse in a single country.
"I don't know them," came the immediate and firm answer.
"You don't even know my name!" I couldn't bear the intensity of the strange situation and said out loud indignantly.
In response, they nodded to me. Impulsively, firmly, and still without a shadow of doubt in their desires.
- Okay, let's calm down a little, - I carefully put my hands on the girl's shoulders, immediately feeling through her clothes how she continues to shake violently, although imperceptibly in the semi-darkness. Well, we're clearly in hysterics here, and logic won't help matters. We need something else, something that will switch her... - Let's start with the fact that I'm not human, - and I fall silent, waiting for a reaction. There was no reaction. - I mean, not human at all, not even a mutant, - we wait... look at each other... no reaction. - Okay... - I smack my lips, realizing that this won't be easy. - My name is Loki, I'm the Scandinavian God of Magic, I'm over a thousand years old, and I'm one of the most famous bad guys in human history... you can hear me, right? - Yuriko nodded eagerly, but that was all the reaction she got. - I am eccentric, narcissistic, unbearable, impudent, disgustingly tactless, and if you go with me, there will be no turning back, do you need that?
- I agree, - but your mother, what kind of fanatical fatalism is this?!
- Agree with what?
- Help you. I will be useful.
- Do you even know who Odin, Thor, Loki are?.. I mean, you understand what I'm warning you about right now?
"Yes," the girl nodded briefly and laconically once again.
Silently letting go of her shoulders, I took a step back and took a new look at Stryker's former assistant. The semi-darkness of the night warehouse was not very conducive to a detailed assessment of facial features, even for the eyes of a Jotun, but in general... If you look closely and take off these glasses... Perhaps you can say that this was the second beautiful girl I met in this world, Black Widow does not count - Scarlett Johansson is not my type. And-and-and... this beautiful girl wants to work for me... But the question arose, do I need this? Well, and a number of others, like: will she change her mind when she comes to her senses? Can I trust her? Did Stryker's cocktail damage any brain functions? Although the latter was unlikely, because even natural frying of the brain with hot metal does not affect the sanity of regenerators, Logan proved, but you never know? On the other hand, I... not that I couldn't just leave a damsel in distress, but, damn, this is the second beautiful girl I've met in this universe, and I've already managed to crawl around a multi-million city and its environs. Plus, she's Japanese. It's not that I have anything against the Japanese, especially if they're pretty girls, but even in my past world, the number of their fetishes, oddities in behavioral paradigms, and just the size and number of cockroaches in their heads would make any European hiccup nervously and look for a canister of sacred promethium. I'm scared to even think about what could be going on in this world, especially with the "victim of the experiment," but for some reason I have little doubt that she could snap out of it.
Okay, we can return to this issue and finally resolve it when she has passed, but now it is useless to try to somehow convince her, and I will definitely not play hide and seek and run away in a hurry, especially with Stryker's body on my back, because this action will undermine my divine dignity. Who said anything about laziness?
Looking into the eyes of the cowering girl once more, I sighed heavily. Why the hell am I taking on this extra hassle?
- Agreed, here you go, - I take a box of chocolate chip cookies out of my subspace pocket. Yes, sometimes I go to the store, I can't always go and eat the kids in Xavier's kitchen, can I? - Once you finish eating, you'll start your new job responsibilities.
"What is this?" Yuriko accepted the box, confused.
- Dark Side cookies, - I smile like the complete idiot that I feel like. - If you asked to be a servant of an evil deity, then you need to follow the traditions. And yes, I warned you about the eccentricity, but you can still back out. You can always back out before you eat the cookies!.. But then it's too late!
"I understand," the woman nodded mechanically and, completely ignoring the warning, opened the package.
I have no idea how I managed to refrain from caressing my face with the full breadth and scope of my divine palm. Although, I suppose, I was ashamed to fall even lower. However, in order not to see how the poor Japanese girl was concentrating on chewing a cookie with such an expression as if the level of the world ocean depended on it, at the very least, I hurried to move away and take care of Striker.
While gutting his memory, I didn't care much about the safety of the process for the victim, I was much more concerned that he didn't interfere and didn't resist. I was much more careful with the same Eric Lansher, and I looked through a noticeably smaller volume of his - only what concerned scientific research and the current situation on the front of his fight. The same situation was with Stark, only without the fight. However, the colonel's personal life didn't bother me either, as did the first issues of Playboy that fell into his hands in his distant youth. Nevertheless, the volume of "dirty deeds" was still very large, and if Loki's brain endured this flow of information calmly, then Stryker was in bad shape. And it would be bad for about another week, with constant attacks of dizziness and loss of consciousness. It would have been bad after that, too, but he was no longer supposed to live there, and for my plans, his condition suited me just fine.
Lifting the corpulent body by the scruff of the neck, I easily carried it to my car and dumped it in the back seat. Then I took my mobile out of the colonel's inside pocket and, finding the right number, called the nanny of Jason Stryker, or mutant number one hundred and forty-three, as his own father preferred to call him after he lobotomized him.
A sound illusion, a short dialogue - and the last participant of the upcoming performance is ready to be taken to the set decorations and are just waiting for the appointed time. One more call - and the helicopter is ready for me, because the adamantium produced by Stryker will not take itself out of the base. There was not much of it at the moment - only about half a cubic meter of melt. There was no point in keeping a larger volume, because even in the depths of a full-fledged hydroelectric power station one could not be completely sure of the absence of power supply failures, and as a result, heating. The equipment also tended to break down, and in general ... Large volumes of this metal were not required. At one time, the colonel still dreamed of adamantium fighters and bulletproof vests, but when he calculated the cost of rare earth metals for the production of the alloy alone, without taking into account all the hemorrhoids with the manufacture of finished products, he put his dreams far away. Plus, mass production put an end to his prescription monopoly, and William was not ready to go for this. For many reasons…
In short, it was time to leave the hospitable warehouse and go meet my destiny. Fortunately, the technomagic "thermos" was already waiting for its turn in my subspace pocket and was even ready to accommodate three times more alloy.
"I see you've finished your spiritual fortification?" I ask the girl, returning to the circle of light, referring to the empty plastic cookie tray.
"Thank you for the treat," she bowed her head formally, rising to her feet.
- Good, - I step closer, take the package and immediately send it to the subspace pocket. - Now listen carefully. Now you will get back in the car and take it to Stryker's house, leaving it where it belongs. After that, I will tell you where you should hide for a while, while I deal with your previous employer. Any questions?
"How can I contact you?" Yuriko asked laconically, clenching her fists and stretching out as if she had swallowed a pole.
"Look to the right," with a light movement of my hand I create my phantom next to me, "I will be nearby the whole time," I continue the phrase with his lips…
Some time later. Not far from the Mexican border.
- Rice, turn on the news channel! - a young tanned woman with a distinct imprint of bitchiness on her face unceremoniously burst into Zander's office.
- How many times can I ask you not to break into my office without a compelling need, Kimura? - the head of the laboratories winced. - And anything that does not relate to a potential danger to the project is not "compelling"!
"Just turn on this fucking box and you'll understand everything yourself!" the woman growled in response, impulsively grabbing the remote control from the nightstand and forcibly shoving it into the boss's hands.
"Okay," the scientist sighed, wincing, and, pointing the remote control at the plasma panel hanging on the wall, turned on the requested channel.
– … two wounded police officers have just been taken away by ambulance. We remind you that we are broadcasting from Irving Street, Washington. At thirteen forty-seven, the dispatcher received a call about strange sounds in the neighboring yard. A regular routine call in the suburbs of the capital this time turned into something terrible, – the camera switched to a view from above, apparently from a helicopter. A solid-looking large house behind a massive fence was surrounded by police cars, behind which brave servants of the law were sitting, not trying to stick their heads out.
- Stinking mutants! - a familiar voice was heard. - It's all your fault! - the voice was joined by the sounds of gunshots.
– The military adviser living in the house, Colonel William Stryker, in a state of extreme alcohol or drug intoxication, opened fire in his own house, and upon the arrival of law enforcement officials, he refused to let them in and opened fire. At the moment, there are two wounded, and, according to preliminary information, in the house, in addition to Colonel Stryker, there is one hostage, who is his son. The Ministry of Defense has not yet commented on this case. However, based on the shouts of the suspect, the reason for what happened is his radical views on the phenomenon of mutation, which was discussed in Congress six months ago. Our operator managed to record some of William Stryker's remarks, I suggest you listen to them.
– … They live among us, pretending to be ordinary people! – the familiar voice of the colonel angrily wailed, but with a completely unfamiliar feverish intonation, as if he was having a nervous breakdown. – They disguise themselves and even interbreed, giving birth to bastards like themselves! But you won't get me! – the sounds of gunshots were heard on the recording. – I have studied your habits for forty years! Do you think you have abilities? Ha! I saw your abilities on the operating table! Whatever you can do, you can always be cut open! Animals! – a shot. – No, you are worse than animals, worse than blacks and dirty Latinos! A real plague that cannot be determined by the color of your skin, so you can stay away! Infiltrating our society! Pretending! But I have found a way to find you! Yes, you can't fool me! – the roar of gunshots again. – Did you want to take me to a honey trap?! Did you think my wife could control me?! No! I got it all! I figured out who she was! You all need to be isolated from normal people and treated... treated or destroyed. Keep on pills! Yes, on pills, - the hysterical screams were interrupted by another shot. Apparently, there were more than enough bullets in the colonel's house. - I tried to cure her... I almost succeeded! It's all in the brain, in the brain!.. But she did not appreciate my efforts, she wanted to run away and prevent me from treating our son... a stupid mutant and her degenerate! She probably cheated on me with the same freak, a normal person could not have a mutant son... But it's okay, I did not let her ruin everything and cured my boy! Right, son? This is what needs to be done with all of you! What needs to be done for the sake of America! Real people must protect themselves from these degenerates! Protect! Unite!..
"As you can see, the colonel is clearly very upset," a journalist appeared on the screen, behind whom one could see the house being viewed from the helicopter. "These racist slogans are obviously…"
BOOM! - another shot, judging by the noise - from a shotgun, rudely interrupted the speech that had begun, and something smashed loudly right next to the camera, forcing the operator to sharply blur the image.
- Do you think I don't know what you're up to?! You can't keep me quiet! - A hysterical sob followed the distant scream. - I'm sorry, but I can't help you... damn mutant! It's all your fault! Mutants... damn mutants everywhere! You can't take me! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
- Get down! - a policeman in a bulletproof vest ran up and knocked the journalist and cameraman off their feet.
- Don't come any closer! I won't give in! BAM! BAM!.. - and everything went quiet.
The journalists, despite the police's attempts to persuade them, managed to point the camera at the house, and it became clear that the guardians of law and order were banging on the door. A second, another - and the camera snatches an exhausted man in the opened corridor, limply leaning back in a wheelchair, a neat hole in the forehead clearly shows that the unknown person is definitely dead, and a scar around the temple - that the colonel's words about the brain and "treatment" were far from drunken delirium. A few minutes later, cunning reporters already reported that Stryker himself was found nearby - a body with a completely torn off back of the head lay in the middle of a destroyed room. In his hands was a revolver covered in blood.
At this point, Rice turned off the television, not interested in watching the TV crews retell the news again and again. He was far more concerned with completely different issues.
"So how do you like it?" asked the woman who burst into his office.
"What nonsense," the doctor frowned. "It's okay for the average person, but for those in the know… I knew William pretty well, he was a real pain in the ass, of course, but… he never drank like that, let alone anything more."
"And what could it be then?" asked the one named Kimura.
- I think... - the scientist strained his considerable intellect, - for public opinion - it's just the suicide of a crazy mutant-hater, but for more enlightened people, the staging of this whole... performance will not raise any doubts. The question arises, why? A warning? A preemptive strike?
"A little bit of everything," an unfamiliar voice said from behind and to his right. "But I was mostly interested in the secret of adamantium, and the rest was a nice bonus."
- What? - Rice tried to turn around, but suddenly something pricked him in the neck, and his body was painfully paralyzed, without, however, turning off his consciousness.
A moment, a rustle, and Kimura falls next to him, awkwardly trying to group himself and put his hands out, like a naughty cat that its owner has thrown off the closet.
- What "what"? - a young-looking man who appeared in his field of vision asked curiously, unceremoniously smashing the woman's head into the floor with a kick. And the phrase "smashed into the floor" was by no means a figure of speech - the tiled concrete cracked and sank five centimeters, which made even the bulletproof Kimura go quiet. - Guys, you decided that you can do anything. The dissatisfied public, represented by me, decided in response that you were superfluous in this world.
"You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, man," it was hard to speak, but the thing they injected into him only completely paralyzed him from the neck down.
- Oh, - the stranger winced, - just don't use these cheap cliches with "you don't know who's behind us", "it's all for the greater good", "Gott mit uns", "Heil Hydra" and other babble. Believe me, I know much more about the structure of the universe than you do, - the young mutant, and this guy could not be anyone else, leaned over and easily pulled Kimura onto her knees by her hair, after which he thoughtfully tilted his head to the side. - Look, she's really alive... It's good to be strong, - he summed up with a grin and put his right hand on the woman's temple. - Hmm... So that's how it is. Just a sellout scumbag with a bunch of complexes and childhood traumas that developed into a simply gorgeous bouquet of mental deviations. Nothing valuable... but at least I'll see how this thing works, - with these words the brunette pulled out a "dropper" that was vaguely familiar to Rice and dripped some transparent liquid under the upper vertebra on the neck of Kimura, who had not yet come to her senses. Upon contact with the skin, the liquid hissed and was absorbed almost instantly. - So, what should I order?.. Oh, right! - releasing the woman, the mutant snapped his fingers and smiled. - Go and drown yourself in the nearest sink.
The mercenary mechanically straightened up, turned around and went to the toilet adjacent to the doctor's office. And he, to his great horror, was able to watch as the woman, having plugged the sink drain, busily filled it with water, after which she stuck her head in it and... remained standing until she lost consciousness due to asphyxiation, but even so her body simply sank and fell forward, her head remaining under water.
- Not bad, - thoughtfully stroking his chin, the mutant stated. - Well, now let's get to you, doc! Let's play! I'll be like a priest, and you'll be like a parishioner at confession. Unburden your soul, so to speak. Otherwise, I'll have to climb into your brains later, pick through this garbage, but this way, with fresh associations, I'll get through it faster, and you, perhaps, will remain sane, and not like poor Will. Come on, you don't want to upset me, do you?..
There. Loki.
As expected, it wasn't hard to crack this creature, or rather, to understand the stream of eloquence that he poured out on me was a difficult task. For some reason, sadists who are confident in their exclusivity and impunity very quickly become obedient and ready to cooperate, as soon as it dawns on their brains that they have no more "exclusivity", and now they can and want to "pinch his finger". And here it was. And the cobbled-together production with Stryker, which will now simultaneously give a reason to say their weighty word to the "defenders of mutants" in the political arena, will shut the throats of mutant-haters-chatterboxes and make those who are aware of the real state of affairs think hard, and another "voluntary suicide" of another victim is a good motivating factor for frankness. Even if I still have to climb into his brain, at least I will shorten my unpleasant work...
Alas, the decorum did not last long, and vulgar notes of slyness wedged themselves into our instructive conversation. In the sense that Zander Rice began trying to embellish some moments and gloss over others, and I had just gutted Kimura's memory…
I had to end the conversation and put my palm on his temple. I don't know how telepaths perceive this, but for me, viewing someone else's memory is like visiting a movie theater, with full 3D immersion, surround sound, and a remote control in your hands. Only the latter saves, allowing you to skip the unnecessary, go to the "menu" to the especially important or put "mute" in the especially unsightly. Otherwise, it's like I'm watching a first-person film about a person's life with a second-by-second chronology. Many frames and entire layers of time in people, as a rule, look faded and faded, but if you want, even the most worn out ones can be restored, seeing everything in the smallest detail, although this requires considerable effort from the mental magician. Although in reality this is absolutely unnecessary, and a person will never send really important events or work results to the "everyday routine" section, which "does not require the participation of consciousness," and therefore is almost never "written" into long-term memory. Nevertheless, the phrase "my whole life flashed before my eyes" is more appropriate here than any other — I can actually look through my whole life while only a couple of seconds pass in the real world. And these lives were those of a mercenary nicknamed Kimura and a scientist named Zander Rice…
It's like I bathed in shit...
Not in the sense that their life was unbearable and disgusting (although Kimura had a difficult childhood), but in the sense that they lived like complete scumbags and did vile things not because they had to, but because they could. Here their story was not much different from what I knew from comics, although with an adjustment for the cinematic universe. A downtrodden girl from a family of poor alcoholics, who grew up in a disadvantaged area, formed into a little rat, who went on a rampage as soon as he awakened his abilities. All the complexes from bullying at school, poverty and parental indifference immediately blossomed into violent sublimation. The former victim became an executioner for others and found in this the only way to self-affirmation. She herself would have been dissected long ago, despite her increased physical characteristics and impenetrable skin, but she turned out to be too convenient a tool. She couldn't be called a fool, but her childhood complexes completely cut off her ambitions above the most primitive level. She had two passions: money and bullying others, and she didn't really need money, but she still lusted after it and was ready to take on the most dubious adventures for a pack of greenbacks. An ideal puppet for dirty deeds, who was not at all interested in power or any high ideas, just provide her with "toys" - and she, sitting on a leash, will also happily wag her ass and rush to gnaw the throat of anyone you point to. And cutting such a thing is wasteful - where else can you find a mutant who will enthusiastically help you find ways to subjugate or destroy his race? With Rice, it was both similar and different: his childhood was wonderful and wonderful, his family was rich and not deprived of social status, the guy grew up an "elitist", like a licensed copy of Bill Gates or the same Elon Musk, but ... he turned out to be a sadist with rat habits by nature. He was a good organizer, had connections, knew how to present himself and pull the wool over the sponsors' eyes, imagined himself an outstanding scientist, but in reality he was little more than that. In this, they were very similar to Stryker - both considered themselves innovators and great minds, although in reality they were classic "improvers" of existing technologies, and not "inventors" of new ones. Nevertheless, they knew how to organize the process and select people who would do the work for them and then quietly disappear. So, although Rice was a relentless supervisor of the X-23 project, his contribution to the success of the work was no more than that of the abstract "Uncle Sam" who provided the money for the entire banquet. The real driver of the project was Dr. Sarah Kinney - initially a young, ambitious and daring scientist specializing in gene mutation, but over the past eleven years she managed to get rid of the rose-colored glasses of idealism and understand what kind of company she got into. As I determined this by nother memory? So the behavior changed. People full of hope and inspired by the prospects of a career in a new place of work, and people who realized that their employer is capable of slapping them at any moment, without the slightest twinge of conscience, and there is no point in contacting the police a priori, behave oh so differently. And it cannot be said that Sarah did not have enough opportunities to verify the reality of the second option. Here, at the base, of course, they did not cut up test subjects in batches and did not shoot their own every day according to the precepts of cliched villains, but ... incidents happened, and the leading specialist on this project knew perfectly well why the X-23 project was being prepared. Just as she had the dubious pleasure of observing the course of training initiated by the boss.
However, I would have time to talk to Dr. Kinney later, but right now I was more interested in Rice's second key project, namely, biological weapons against mutants. The work was being carried out on the same base, and, it must be said, quite successfully. Zander knew little about vampires and their role on the world stage, practically only that they were destroyed by Blade, on whose capture the bloodsuckers had been oriented the intelligence services of the whole world for more than a decade. However, the sample of the virus with which they were exterminated was provided to him from above in a very pure and healthy form, along with a number of other interesting materials on the topic of the genetic structure of vampires, the process of degeneration into them from ordinary people and other extremely specific details. At the moment, painstaking research of the virus was underway, together with attempts to develop a strain against mutants, which at the same time would not affect ordinary people. There was some progress, but it was not worth even thinking about waiting for the result earlier than in seven or eight years, I would even focus on twenty years - this is a more realistic figure for such research. Besides, despite almost unlimited funding and support from the very top, Rice's staff was very small, and there were no geniuses on the level of Tony Stark or Bruce Banner. And if the curators of all this obscenity had found such a person, they would never have given him over to Rice as a slave, rather they would have organized a separate laboratory, on the principle of Stryker's scientific center, and then whoever copes first is a good man.
In general, having combed through all the ins and outs of the human brain, I let the former base commander go, sending him to bask in the other world, and I went to the toilet. Having pulled Kimura out of the sink, I checked her brain for signs of life, but none were found. Having poked her skin with a summoned dagger, I learned an interesting fact - with death, her natural armor ceased to work. This was good - I would just need samples of her tissue. A couple of minutes later, the woman's head (by the way, not at all such a fatal beauty as she was depicted in the comics, but a very ugly fighter) was separated from the body, and a small suitcase with built-in cooling in my subspace pocket acquired a number of samples, from blood to spinal cord.
Having dumped the remains in the bathtub and pulled the curtain, I washed my hands in a civilized manner, washed my face, slightly straightened my hair that had gotten out of my hairdo and went to the mass executions. Here, unlike Stryker's secret base under the dam, all the personnel were very dirty. And if in Canada I calmly entered, took the adamantium, Jason's "potion" supplies and just as calmly flew back, then here the people were unlucky. Although the colonel was a stubborn racist, sadism was not listed among his numerous sins and, when he could, he tried to be scrupulous in the means. Zander, on the other hand, was a man of a different disposition, and using X-23 to train innocent prisoners to kill was in the order of things for him, like, well, a couple of Mexicans will disappear in the neighboring city, so who's counting them? So let's forget about humanity, and for the main villain of a couple of films in this damn cinematic universe, I haven't killed enough earthlings, I need to fix that, otherwise what kind of evil God am I?
The last thought made me freeze for a second, there was something strange about it... In fact, I had noticed long ago that from the moment I got into this body, I had never even mentally called myself by the name from my past life, but the name Loki somehow quickly stuck with me. I really liked calling myself that. And the further I went, the more I liked doing that... because of the lack of which I decided to escape from Asgard. I liked associating myself with this unlucky, but, let's be honest, damn charming scoundrel. Even in conversations with Xavier, describing some moments from the past, from time to time I seriously perceived them as having happened to me, if I pulled myself up with my mind, then belatedly, or even without attaching any importance to it at all. Despite the fact that, consciously digging into Loki's memories, I continued to clearly feel that these were not mine, but his memories. An alarm bell, if you think about it...
Perhaps I was wrong to make waves at the previous (or was it the past???) owner of the body...
On the one hand, it's scary to realize this, but on the other... it's good! To be a full-fledged God is much better than an unknown chimera made of a pathetic little man (I've never had any illusions about this) and the soulless body of a dystrophic Jotun. True, this option gives rise to a whole abyss of inconvenient and difficult questions. Starting with: what is "personality" anyway? If it is a combination of character traits and life experience, guidelines and rules, then the deformation of my own personality as it approaches Loki's is quite logical. What is a little more than a quarter of a century of a mortal's memory against more than a millennium belonging to God? And ending with: why do I consider myself myself, and not, say, Loki, who received "knowledge of the future" with an appendage in the form of "garbage" from the memories of a person from another universe? The last question is especially interesting, by the way...
Having immersed myself in this thought, I resumed moving, although two active phantoms, one in Xavier's school, the other in the hotel with Yuriko, continued to sit motionless with their eyes closed in their chairs. However, they had been sitting there even before my thoughtfulness - it is easier to dig into someone else's memory, and from the operation of penetrating a closed object, attention is not distracted by unnecessary angles of vision and limbs. Still, I would not want to screw up in such a matter due to my own stupidity, and if I were to conduct active actions in three different scenery at the same time, I could be distracted at the most inopportune moment by some insignificant trifle or, distributing attention, miss another trifle, but already significant.
In general, immersed in thoughtful self-analysis, I moved to clean out the bunker. The bunker, with the security system already deactivated, was cleaned methodically and calmly, most of Dr. Mengele's followers did not even realize that they were suddenly going from a living state to a non-living one, and I calmly walked on to the "wing" where X-23 was currently being kept. And where I was about to have a thoughtful conversation with Sarah Kinney.
The question remained, where to go first? To visit Sarah or Laura? More precisely, to X-23, because, as far as I remember, the girl would receive her name a little later... or rather, she would have received it from the dying Sarah, having simultaneously cleared out and blown up the bunker on her own. But the question remained open. Who to choose to start the conversation with? The learned lady or the child who knows nothing and who is turned into a little animal, without bothering with such "nonsense" as socialization and other things? Hmm... a dilemma. And then the corridor forks, offering to go left or right... okay, let's be consistent in our image and turn left, what can we do?
A leisurely sweep of all living things fifteen minutes later brought me to a monumental-looking hermetic door. The information received from Rice's head suggested that behind this door was the "room" of the weapon girl. Well, if my feet brought me here, then so be it. I enter the necessary combination on the combination lock, the door opens with a barely audible hiss, and... my gaze opens to a picture of a girl of about ten or eleven years old standing at attention in something like a medical gown on her naked body. A look like a brick. Her feet are bare. The pose is tense, apparently, Kimura's "training" has already borne its first fruits, although it lasted only a little, because she was hired only about a year ago. Perhaps I rushed with her drowning, and it was worth thinking of something more interesting.
- Well, hello, - I greeted the girl. At the same time, I again cursed the authors of the universe.
Why? Well... the future Laura was very cute. Not even that, she was a charmer, promising to grow into a real beauty, which without the prism of someone else's perception, with a personal look, was obvious as day. What kind of world is this? Beautiful women can be counted on the fingers of one hand of a loser turner, but this young miracle would already give even the Black Widow a ten-point head start. And no, if I exaggerate, then within very reasonable limits. So how should I feel about this? How am I supposed to perceive this? What is this universe hinting at to me?! Like, I flirted with Ororo a couple of times, and they immediately wrote me off as a pedophile, like, I'm more than a thousand years older than her, and therefore - perversion? What the hell is going on here?!
"…" my greeting was answered only by a frowning look from under the eyebrows.
- Hmm... - I sat down in front of the child and thought. My usual manner of behavior was clearly not suitable here. What can you talk about with a ten-year-old girl who doesn't even have a name, but has training, albeit "basic"? - Let's get acquainted, my name is Loki. What's your name?
"Call sign: X-23," the girl answered laconically, looking at me with her brown eyes without blinking.
- I see, - according to Rice's memory, adamantium was applied to her claws thirteen months ago, but the reaction to the smell of the "trigger" had been developed for a year and a half, starting at the age of eight. Fortunately, the last work was not yet completed, and the berserker state had not yet become a conditioned reflex. - Well, I came to take you to a place much better than this, will you come with me?
"I'm ready to follow you," yeah, it'll be difficult.
- Okay, let's go, - I straightened up and in one movement lifted this miracle into my arms. Of course, I should have been wary of her claws, but knowing the speed of Wolverine and Sabretooth, I would have time to dodge the little girl's hand ten times.
- Um? - the child, taken into her arms, fell into a stupor. Apparently, she had never moved like this before.
- What?
- No, nothing, sir...
"We can do without the sirs," I shrug. "Okay, now let's go down the remaining corridor and visit Sarah."
- Hmm... - the girl's gaze fell on the body of the guard with a slit throat, who was sprawled in the middle of the corridor. However, that was where the reaction ended.
Still, Rice is a moron, just like Kimura. If you really want to grow a sentient weapon, the first thing you need to do is worry about its loyalty, and here the reaction is completely indifferent to the corpse of "one of their own", in the future she would have organized these corpses herself. Oh well. Another walk along the new corridor took another ten minutes and seven corpses - my illusory double was doing quite well, so I just walked forward with a child in my arms, and behind me in separate offices, lab assistants were suddenly dying.
Sarah was waiting for us in her office. She looked rather pale, but that was not surprising - the woman had access to the surveillance cameras and, since I personally did not block her line, she could easily see the "bloody trail" I had organized and the methodical cleansing of the complex's personnel, so she could well assume that I would come for her soul. Moreover, the assumption was true. In a way.
- Miss Kinney, - we smile politely at the scientist, - good evening. Beautiful weather outside, isn't it? - I must say, the woman was somewhat prettier than most of the ladies in this universe, but she still didn't meet my requirements, and anyway, I have a Storm... well, hypothetically.
- Please... not in front of the girl... - she answered with trembling lips, and the said girl in my arms tensed up and, trying not to attract attention, shifted slightly. So that it would be easier to stick her claws under my chin. A good girl.
"No, no, I'm not going to kill you," X-23 immediately relaxed in my arms, "moreover, I came to you with a proposal!"
- An offer? - Sarah didn't understand anything.
- No, not hands and hearts, you're not my type, but I think you'd be interested in the opportunity to disappear from your employers' radar and start a new life?
- What will I owe for this? - it is obvious that a person beaten by life, maybe scared, maybe realizing that she has no choice, but already almost reached that point when a person starts to spit on herself, but the prospect of getting to the enemy's throat inspires. Even if there was no "throat" here, but, it seems to me, between death and an offer to work for the next vivisectionists, a woman would prefer the former.
- Absolutely nothing, - I give the woman a discouraging smile. - And before you start arguing, let me introduce myself. My name is Loki. I am the God of Magic, - I create a phantom next to me, through whose lips I continue my speech: - Intrigue, - another one - and another switch, simultaneously playing with my eyebrows, - and what is called trolling in the modern Internet. And so that you don't think too much, - I speak in three voices, - I ended up here completely by accident. In general, I was busy with other things, - the first phantom shrugged, - but it just so happened that I found out about this place and decided to drop in, - the second one added. - Not for the sake of self-interest, but for the soul, - I finish with my main body, slightly rocking Laura in my arms.
"It's hard to believe," the woman muttered distantly, constantly moving her gaze from one of my faces to the other.
- And yet it is true.
– And that you turned into a mare and gave birth to an eight-legged horse for Odin from another horse that belonged to some giant? – Did I say that I hate the Vikings and their interpretations of Loki's life? I double… no, I triple that statement! Why, why is it that only such stories are remembered about me in Midgard?
"N-no," I couldn't completely hide my emotions, "I collected his genetic code on the Crucible of Souls, and then grew him in a test tube, but my dim-witted brother blurted it out during another drinking bout on Earth, and the stupid Scandinavian savages understood everything in their own way.
- ... - I think I broke it. - A-a... how are you going to remove me from the employers' radar? - the scientist decided to change the subject.
"Well-l-l…" I glance at her, "let's say I know one school that could use a biology teacher."
- Biology? - I love this incomprehension on the faces of my interlocutors.
- Yes, you see, a couple of months ago there was almost a Third World War here, and since I can't let people destroy their civilization, I had to sort it out. Since then, I landed in a private school for mutants and periodically teach history lessons. But our teaching staff is small, and there are a lot of brats with superpowers, so I won't be scolded too much for revealing the secret address to you if you take on some of the work yourself.
- World War III? The teaching staff?.. I mean, - Sarah covered her eyes with her hand, collecting her thoughts, - if you are a god... why couldn't you let people destroy civilization? - It seems that she herself does not know what she wants to ask more.
"Potatoes," I answered exhaustively.
- What potatoes? - Her eyes popped out of her head. And for once, it wasn't me who was suspected of madness, but their own perception of reality.
- I love potatoes, and this is an earthly plant, it is not grown in Asgard, Vanaheim, or Nidavellir, in general, it does not grow anywhere else in the immediate vicinity. Thus, if human civilization ceases to exist, I will lose the opportunity to eat my favorite dishes deliciously ... or I will have to personally collect mutated tubers in the radioactive wastelands, and this is very stressful. Saving you is much easier.
- ... How did it come to this? - shaking herself, but not really coming to her senses, the scientist asked helplessly into space.
- The truth is very difficult, you need to be prepared for it, - I nodded sympathetically with the head of the left phantom. - And you also ask questions to the God of Intrigue. Of course, I restrain myself, but you are completely unprepared.
"But…" Kinney's hands moved to his forehead, trying to either squeeze or massage it. "God-teacher?!"
- What? I may be God, but everyone needs a part-time job! You understand, a crisis of faith, Christianity, Islam, the Spaghetti Monster, you have to figure it out somehow.
– …
- Okay, - I sigh, - you can consider me a slightly eccentric mutant who really didn't like what was going on here. Having interrogated your former colleagues, I decided that, unlike them, you yourself are practically a prisoner here. Besides, as I understand it, this girl has warm feelings for you, - I slightly bounce X-23 on my hand, as if demonstrating which girl we are talking about, - and I don't want to offend little sweet girls. That's why I'm offering you a job. Besides, the child really needs help from a psychologist.
"My psyche is absolutely stable, sir," the subject corrected.
- I believe, but there is no socialization at all. A person is a social creature and cannot live without society, - I explain to this fighting hamster with a didactic intonation, smiling involuntarily. I mean, I smile often, but here keeping a serious face was obviously beyond my strength - she draws her eyebrows together so cutely! - So, - the right phantom returned Sarah's attention to itself, - what do you say to my proposal? It's not that I'm in a hurry, but I'm already a little sick of these dungeons.
"I agree," the woman closed her eyes.
She clearly didn't trust me one bit, but she understood that she had only three options - go with me or, in case of refusal, either die by my hand, or remain alone in a complex filled with corpses, with a stolen "project" and no way to hide. Not a very good prospect. As for trust and the rest - it will come with time. And even if it doesn't, let Xavier's head hurt - he's our director, so let him take the rap.
- Great. Then I have two questions left.
- Which?
- Do you need to take anything from here? I mean personal belongings. Don't worry about any money, documents, clothes and other tinsel, I'll provide you with that, and there shouldn't be any evidence left here that you ran away.
"Then there's no need," the woman shook her head.
- Excellent. Well, and the second one - what is the name of this miracle? - I lift the girl up. - "Callsign: X-23" is clearly not suitable for a child.
"Laura," Sarah replied after a brief moment of thoughtfulness, "her name is Laura."
- Do you hear that, fighting hamster? - I turn to the little girl whose eyes widened in surprise at Sarah's last words. - Your name is Laura, no more alphanumeric identifications! - the confused girl turned her gaze from her mother to me, but was met only with the signature smile of the body's previous owner. I honestly wanted to make it warm and caring, but some slyly cunning note still leaked out, and in general I did myself a disservice, because as soon as I said it, a phrase that went "hee-hee" sounded in my brain like an alarm: "X-23 - fighting hamster." Honestly, only I could have blurted out such an ambiguous and, what can I say, black example of humor. - Well, get off and go to Mom, - I put her down on the floor, out of harm's way, - and Uncle Loki needs to work.
"Doctor Kinney?" the little girl turned to the woman, even more perplexed than before.
Instead of answering, she simply rushed to her and embraced her, reflexively feeling her for integrity and health. Apparently, this is some kind of female instinct, because from a rational point of view, this child in this sense in principle could not risk anything.
- So, now stand still, - having already assessed the ladies' build, I mentally estimate the parameters of the spell. - That's how it is... - I put the spell into action, helping myself with a movement of my right hand, - so! - with the last sound, the clothes of the scientist and her daughter went golden-green shimmering, transforming into a desert-style military uniform, with minor modifications to the materials.
"What is this?" Sarah asked, looking at the new camouflage sleeve.
"We'll have to walk a bit, and doing it in heels or even barefoot is not the best idea. When we get to the nearest city, I'll dress you in something less noticeable, but for now, please follow me," I turn all three of my bodies toward the door.
"We need to destroy the camera footage, the experimental data, the samples..." Kinney jumped to her feet and began to quickly list.
- Alas, contrary to all the laws of the American film genre, this base does not have a self-destruction system, - I sigh, shrugging my shoulders. I specifically watched this moment in Rice's memory.
- But we can't leave all this! They will be able to restore the project!
- Of course, that's why I ask you to follow me quickly. Now we'll go out to the helicopters and fly away, while I, - I nod at the phantoms leaving the room, - will transform the local air into something explosive. Do you think that the explosion of fifteen thousand cubic meters of propane will be able to delete the recordings from the surveillance cameras? - I smile at the woman.
- A…
- Laura, take Mom by the hand and help her not to get lost, - I switch to a more stable listener. - We still have three hours to get to the US border, and I want to have dinner in civilization, not in the desert.
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