N
ningi
Guest
This started out as a Sabretooth fanfic, but evolved on it's own until it became almost a lesson. I haven't finished it because I seem to have forgotten the direction of the story, even though the original ending was written down on a scrap piece of paper. This short fiction was intended to be an off panel filler between Mary Shelly Overdrive, Weapon X, and Sabretooth's appearance in July as an X-Men. If anyone wants to pick up this story where I left off, please feel free to do so. I don't write sex and murder very well, but do enjoy the exercise of writting a characters personality. The story starts out with one of two of Victor Creed's victims, and revolves around a point in Sabretooth's life where he reaches an unconcious crossroads in his insanity. A cross roads which could lead to his mind finally stablizing, even though he would not be considered sane, it is the closes thing to sanity he will ever know, so close infact, that most would think he was sane. Saner than he had been before his capture and torture during WW2. So here below, enjoy ^.^
Death Becomes Her
It was now or never, she told herself. Either I leave now or I will never be able to be myself again. With those thoughts, she packed a backpack with several changes of clothes, threw in her identification, and slipped out the back door. Married with 2 kids, she was now running away like a small child, never to be seen again. Or so she thought that was a week ago. Her trip was filled with memories of a by-gone childhood complete with tree shapes and cloud people and things.
His name was Tristram Silver, but everybody else called him Sabretooth or Victor Creed. A feline feral mutant who could pass himself off as a very tall flat scan, he was best known by those on the shady side of the law as one of the best assassins around. He was more known to the legal community as an insane serial killer. A sadist. One of those who were so insane, very few were able to reason with him and live. And tonight, he was back at one of his old haunts. It wasnt often he took time off after a hit. Not since he nearly had his ticket punched by Bonnie. Occasionally, he thought he saw Birdy around, but after his time at Xaviers Institute, along with his consequential divorce from Mystique, he no longer really cared about wanting a long-term companion. If anything, the ****es were company enough, at least until the next gold digging teenybopper of legal age came along. He snorted as he looked down at his cards. Four of a kind, Aces high. His blood lust rose, as a slow smile crossed his face.
Betn it all boys. He said to his playing companions as he pushed close to 100,000 in chips across the table to the pot.
As usual, Peepers was eyeballing the table. With stakes this big or even small, Satans Pub had a reputation for no violence of any kind. Still, it didnt help, not when he was playing poker when the west was young and wild. He looked at his playing companions, even as he leaned back in his chair, old habits taking over, freeing his arms and body to move should someone get stupid and pull a weapon.
His companions grumbled as they alternately pushed their piles into the center.
Call said Scalphunter placing 3 of a kind with Jack high face up on the table. The others threw down their cards as well.
You got me beat. Was the chorus, then everyone was looking at him. With the same wicked smile, he placed his cards up.
Readm and weep girls, four of a kind, aces high. The faintest hint of a genuine smile lit his face as the others all groaned, chairs scraping as they sat back Yes, they were good people, wouldnt turn his back on them when the chips were down, but when it came to play, he could always count on them to be failures. The strains of Joe Cockers Fun Time played on the jukebox.
He looked at his watch, just enough time to troll, then catch Raw live at the local arena. Cashing out peeps, gotta run. Places to kill, people to see, that sorta thing. he said standing. He politely waved off their anticipated routine of begging for just one more go as he paid the tab and left.
Outside, the sky was just beginning to darken, storm clouds gathered on the horizon. His sense of smell picked up the heavy scent of rain, and as he walked to his car, his instincts began a vague nagging. They always nagged him whenever he went outside. He sighed as he surreptitiously glanced around. Nope, nothing. He never ignored his instincts, despite how annoyingly paranoid it made him feel, especially when he knew he was in a safe place. His instincts had saved his ass, and those of the people he had worked with on more than one occasion, even when it seemed as though he had completely lost what little reason he had left. As he climbed into his car, his mind wandered back to the time he had killed that female scientist, he, Logan and North had been sent to retrieve. His instincts had warned him then that it was a trap, hell, it had all the classic signs of a typical spook setup, but did anyone of his companions listen to him? No, instead, he had to blow up a bridge, force the others to turn around and run back the other way.
No guts, no glory he whispered.
Called him a coward, his superiors did, even when he proved the intell was wrong. Pissed them off something fierce. Especially when they couldnt get the information he was able to provide. Wasnt his fault she had turned and was deliberately working for the other side. He even produced proof that theirs wasnt the only black ops team sent in, just the one that got out. What did that get him absolutely nothing. At least he hadnt gotten demoted, or sent back to prison. The adjunct said it was fallout from Callisto, and what had happened then.
Fallout my ass, he whispered again, completely unaware he was talking to himself in an empty car, You bastards forgot I wasnt sane, thats why you used me for that op.
With a huge effort, he pulled his mind away from following the path of memories that name triggered. He had tried to deal with it, but how do you deal With It when the fallout cost him the only thing he ever cared about. Not just the fragile sense of sanity he had discovered, but something else just as equally important. His future. To this day, he still wondered what his daughter might have looked like if he had been allowed to have her. He didnt even have a grave to leave a flower at. The body had been disposed of, and it wasnt until several years later, when abortions were spoken about openly, did he realize what they had done to him when the doctors had found out it was his torturers his friends rapists offspring. A wave of homesickness washed over him at the thought of not having even a gravesite in some Podunk town he could fake calling home. He had been careful after that, acting like the typical male, not a mutant with a pouch. The ones who did find out, he simply killed, all but Birdy that is, she seemed to accept his revert mutation as though he were perfectly normal.
Death Becomes Her
It was now or never, she told herself. Either I leave now or I will never be able to be myself again. With those thoughts, she packed a backpack with several changes of clothes, threw in her identification, and slipped out the back door. Married with 2 kids, she was now running away like a small child, never to be seen again. Or so she thought that was a week ago. Her trip was filled with memories of a by-gone childhood complete with tree shapes and cloud people and things.
His name was Tristram Silver, but everybody else called him Sabretooth or Victor Creed. A feline feral mutant who could pass himself off as a very tall flat scan, he was best known by those on the shady side of the law as one of the best assassins around. He was more known to the legal community as an insane serial killer. A sadist. One of those who were so insane, very few were able to reason with him and live. And tonight, he was back at one of his old haunts. It wasnt often he took time off after a hit. Not since he nearly had his ticket punched by Bonnie. Occasionally, he thought he saw Birdy around, but after his time at Xaviers Institute, along with his consequential divorce from Mystique, he no longer really cared about wanting a long-term companion. If anything, the ****es were company enough, at least until the next gold digging teenybopper of legal age came along. He snorted as he looked down at his cards. Four of a kind, Aces high. His blood lust rose, as a slow smile crossed his face.
Betn it all boys. He said to his playing companions as he pushed close to 100,000 in chips across the table to the pot.
As usual, Peepers was eyeballing the table. With stakes this big or even small, Satans Pub had a reputation for no violence of any kind. Still, it didnt help, not when he was playing poker when the west was young and wild. He looked at his playing companions, even as he leaned back in his chair, old habits taking over, freeing his arms and body to move should someone get stupid and pull a weapon.
His companions grumbled as they alternately pushed their piles into the center.
Call said Scalphunter placing 3 of a kind with Jack high face up on the table. The others threw down their cards as well.
You got me beat. Was the chorus, then everyone was looking at him. With the same wicked smile, he placed his cards up.
Readm and weep girls, four of a kind, aces high. The faintest hint of a genuine smile lit his face as the others all groaned, chairs scraping as they sat back Yes, they were good people, wouldnt turn his back on them when the chips were down, but when it came to play, he could always count on them to be failures. The strains of Joe Cockers Fun Time played on the jukebox.
He looked at his watch, just enough time to troll, then catch Raw live at the local arena. Cashing out peeps, gotta run. Places to kill, people to see, that sorta thing. he said standing. He politely waved off their anticipated routine of begging for just one more go as he paid the tab and left.
Outside, the sky was just beginning to darken, storm clouds gathered on the horizon. His sense of smell picked up the heavy scent of rain, and as he walked to his car, his instincts began a vague nagging. They always nagged him whenever he went outside. He sighed as he surreptitiously glanced around. Nope, nothing. He never ignored his instincts, despite how annoyingly paranoid it made him feel, especially when he knew he was in a safe place. His instincts had saved his ass, and those of the people he had worked with on more than one occasion, even when it seemed as though he had completely lost what little reason he had left. As he climbed into his car, his mind wandered back to the time he had killed that female scientist, he, Logan and North had been sent to retrieve. His instincts had warned him then that it was a trap, hell, it had all the classic signs of a typical spook setup, but did anyone of his companions listen to him? No, instead, he had to blow up a bridge, force the others to turn around and run back the other way.
No guts, no glory he whispered.
Called him a coward, his superiors did, even when he proved the intell was wrong. Pissed them off something fierce. Especially when they couldnt get the information he was able to provide. Wasnt his fault she had turned and was deliberately working for the other side. He even produced proof that theirs wasnt the only black ops team sent in, just the one that got out. What did that get him absolutely nothing. At least he hadnt gotten demoted, or sent back to prison. The adjunct said it was fallout from Callisto, and what had happened then.
Fallout my ass, he whispered again, completely unaware he was talking to himself in an empty car, You bastards forgot I wasnt sane, thats why you used me for that op.
With a huge effort, he pulled his mind away from following the path of memories that name triggered. He had tried to deal with it, but how do you deal With It when the fallout cost him the only thing he ever cared about. Not just the fragile sense of sanity he had discovered, but something else just as equally important. His future. To this day, he still wondered what his daughter might have looked like if he had been allowed to have her. He didnt even have a grave to leave a flower at. The body had been disposed of, and it wasnt until several years later, when abortions were spoken about openly, did he realize what they had done to him when the doctors had found out it was his torturers his friends rapists offspring. A wave of homesickness washed over him at the thought of not having even a gravesite in some Podunk town he could fake calling home. He had been careful after that, acting like the typical male, not a mutant with a pouch. The ones who did find out, he simply killed, all but Birdy that is, she seemed to accept his revert mutation as though he were perfectly normal.
Ive read the first part so far, Im reading the rest now
