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Weapon X: Man or Animal	By : AmandaJean Category: X-Men: (All Movies) > General Views: 1911 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, Nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 27
Chapter 26
Victor Creed always thought emotions were a weakness and that belief only got worse after Jimmy betrayed him. And Victor knows how well that whole mess turned out in the end. The result was now feral in a holographic room, and Victor was trapped with do-gooders. Nobody worth his time. So the fact that Victor is now forced to deal with the most unfamiliar and most hated emotion simply turned to unhinged rage as he thrashed the room with the X-Jet nicely tucked away underneath the basketball court. Tacky place, obvious and well hidden all the same. The jet was untouched; Victor could not say the same for the rest of the room though. It’s seen better days.
And he was not quite finished yet, just taking a breather as those hated words of Xavier’s kept repeating in his mind as though it was a broken record. It made his guilty feeling only twinge harder and the nauseating feeling in his stomach mocked him further. Snarling angrily his face no doubt twisted in a rage filled expression as his claws sunk through his palms to the point where the tips started to break through skin on the other side. Blood dripped freely and it stung enough to keep him blinded to rationality. He really wanted to kill someone right about now. Make them feel torment as great as or greater than what he was being put through by his own almost human emotions.
And for a moment, just one moment he might be free from his own torment.
“Fuck…” Victor snarled to himself as he paced up and down the thrashed room angrily. Victor took random swings at things that looked to be to be in decent shape still. Nothing could be in good shape so long as he is upset! His whole body was warm and the blood was pumping through his veins hard enough he could feel it due to the adrenaline rush his own rage drove him into.
“…He is damaged goods, Victor. He has been for a long time, the wars. Your father. Stryker and the Project. It all pushed him to a breaking point and although many times he came close, he didn’t break just let it be a copping mechanism that went unacknowledged by those around him. It left him with severe PTSD and Hypervigilance. However, this time he didn’t just come close Victor. He shattered, he’s broken in there and this is the only way he can find his way again.”
What did he know?! Victor knew his brother better than any man and any frail to walk this earth. Even better than some two-bit hot-shot baldheaded psychic know it all. No matter what that fool spewed out. He would have seen those feral states; he would have recognized those states. And he would have been able to deal with them accordingly; Jimmy was just as much of an animal as Victor is. Couldn’t the moron see that much? At one time the teacher’s pet saw it? Why else did Jimmy-Logan leave this forsaken place?
Victor panted from the long night of running, it was finally quiet and he made the mistake of wandering away from his frie-brother for a few minutes. When he returned to the boy’s side he noticed the boy curled up between two old looking roots. The ground was moist where he was, and Victor could tell that it was not water due to the staining of James’s clothing. Fear and the rush of having to run like that no doubt took away from the basic controls someone would have over their own bodies. James was curled up in his own mess. Vomit was on the ground in front of him. And Victor didn’t have to be a genius to know that the kid was afraid, terrified even with how wide his eyes were and how frantic they were darting around.
“James?” Victor tried cautiously. He had seen that kind of look before. But mainly in an animal for the slaughter that he watched hi-their pa put down. It knew it had something to fear, so it was afraid. The same frantic look was now mirrored on his brother’s young sweaty face. It did not fit. Where were the smiles? The laughter? Stolen no doubt. Victor would do what he could to give those back to his fr-brother. Victor called for James again, no answer and after several frustrating attempts he grew irritated and tried to remove James forcefully. Only to pull back hard enough he fell to the ground in shock. His wrist was a well-shaped bite mark and claws made it harder to grip the boy if he even tried as he had them out and clutched himself closer and sunk farther into the spot between the two old roots. Fearful. Panicked. If Victor wasn’t careful, James might try to run away from him too.
Then Victor would be alone.
Victor did not want to be alone, and he knew that deep down neither did James.
They were brothers, and brothers stuck together.
Softer this time Victor approached James, kept his voice soft and his body low. Not really knowing what he was doing, but he had to make sure he was not threatening or too dominant for the poor frightened boy. After what seemed like half the day and a few more wettings on James’s part, Victor managed to drag the boy out of his hiding spot ignoring the panicked sounds and screams as he held the boy tighter. Ignoring the scent or how he could feel wetness transferring to him. Eventually the struggling and panicked sounds turned to panting and uncontrolled sobs. Six in total claws still out and marring the image of innocent fists desperately clinging to someone for security.
“It’s okay… It’s. It’s going to be okay.” Victor hummed to his brother who probably couldn’t even hear him over desperate sobs and pleadings for all this to go away. Victor ignored the uncomfortable wetness now forming on his shirt where James dug his face and the uncomfortable feeling of being touched like this.
Victor ended up collapsing under that memory, and for a moment he could have sworn he felt those wet spots. Looking back at that part of the memory Victor still had a hard time feeling disgusted, his brother was afraid and Victor’s seen adults wet themselves over less when face-to-face with Victor. Leaning against the wall he surveyed the room with barely present amusement. Victor wo not clean this mess, he won’t. He didn’t care what anyone said.
Damaged goods. That was what his brother was, and this feral state. This state his baby brother was in was a supposed coping mechanism. Or so says Xavier. But, Xavier’s a shrink like psychic so he has to know what he’s talking about. Right? Victor snarled. He’ll let this carry on, for a while. Yes that is what he would do. He’ll let this carry on and if he finds out something was done to his brother. No one in this school will survive to tell the day the crossed Victor Creed in the worst kind of way. He could see the headlines already.
Sabretooth struck again!
Victor chuckled as he loosened his fists and retracted his blood covered claws as he simply sat there, barely afloat in his own unwanted guilt and his welcomed malicious intent for revenge should anything go wrong. After all, he might be playing nice with the kids. But he was not the good guy, so he won’t have a problem carrying out his revenge. Should it be needed and Victor knew that a part of him hoped that it would be needed.
~ Man ~ Weapon ~ Animal ~
Weapon X eventually gave up on the damaged gate locking him in; he cautiously moved forward hiding behind everything to give himself cover. But no one was around and that did not make any sense whatsoever. This place looked like it had people living here; even the door was left wide open almost like someone ran out and forgot to close the door behind them. Weapon X frowned at the foolishness in that action, cowardly or overexcited? He didn’t know which led to such a foolish move and it did not matter either.
“What are you?” A feminine voice said.
Whoever that voice belonged with it sounded like she was confused, hurt and disgusted by something. And something told him, that something was him. Weapon X could not explain why but he felt hurt, like he was rejected by someone he cared for somehow. Perhaps even loved, if he was even capable of that. Weapon X touched his stomach, it felt like it just dropped in child-like disappointment and like someone punched him in the stomach but there was no physical pain. Weapon X looked around, angry suddenly at the female voice. He wanted to scream at her, hurt her like her voice just hurt him and worst of all was that Weapon X almost wanted to beg that voice to take him back to want him in some way. It hurt and it was frustrating.
“Why… Why did she say those things Victor? Does… Does she hate me now? It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to make her hate me…” A child whimpered.
A young voice, the same one that belonged to that James kid said. Weapon X roared out in rage, why won’t it stop? This wasn’t his problem. None of this belonged to him, he was a weapon. He was! So than why did he have to deal with a thing that was not his problem to begin with? Almost running from that voice and the feminine voice, Weapon X bound around the corner and into the house stopping dead in the center of the room he entered. Suddenly without warning Weapon X could not help but feel suffocated by the intensity this place seemed to have in its affect on him.
On the ground to his left was the outline of a body, the white lines created by chalk. Weapon X cautiously approached it; there wasn’t any blood or anything to indicate a murder happened or something. Weapon X barely noted that murder and killing was two of the same things done differently at times. It was not important. Why should it be? Almost like he was unsure of himself or what he was doing he knelt by the outline in a manner that would allow him to survey the rest of the room freely. Autumn leaves were spread across the floor from the door being left open. It didn’t seem like an act of overexcitement now. Something deep inside of him told him that it was far more tragic happened to cause the outlines and the door to be opened.
“J… James…”
Weapon X looked down, almost expected to see somebody on the last grips of dying to be laying there. Weapon X nearly choked in sudden sorrow and desperation, and all of it turning to rage. Only this rage was a drop in the pool compared to Weapon X’s rage, but rage nonetheless. Looking up he noticed another chalk outline against the door, the body would be slumped if it was still there.
“He wasn’t your father…”
A male voice now, one that gained a feeling of distrust, resentment and perhaps some fear as well. Like the voice belonged to a man that Weapon X was wary of to begin with. Why? Weapon X growled loudly and in a threatening manner. Why was this happening to him?
“What are you?”
Weapon X’s head snapped towards another direction, chalk outlining a spot where someone would be or should be kneeling. Why did he know that?! Weapon growled at that direction only it was weaker than he expected. He was a weapon, this should not be happening to him!
“He wasn’t your father, son.”
The same feeling of shock and being punched in the stomach came back, and along with it came the knowledge that he was now a killer. A monster. Weapon X wanted to ask that pathetic question of, why me? What did I do to deserve this? Weapon X forced himself into a crouching position so that his feet were touching the ground rather than just kneeling as he was. When did he kneel in the first place?
“What are you?”
Weapon X shook his head savagely, almost desperately to force those voices that tormented him away. What kind of sick joke was this? Was it his handlers finding some cruel way to mock him with things that aren’t his? That, that should be his? A word nearly caught in his throat if not for the constant growling that drowned it away before it even started. Without warning Weapon X took off in the opposite direction of the door and up the stairs. Not noticing where he was going only letting his instincts and need to get away to guide him. Collapsing on top of the stairs he could have sworn he saw a boy in red stop at the railings before running down stairs. Weapon X found himself vibrating for some reason as he watched as what seemed to be ghosts acting out what Weapon X figured happened. The boy in red murdered the man with a gun.
Letting out a choking sound Weapon X didn’t understand what was wrong with him and did not care to find out as he forced his body to move forward until he entered a room and slammed the door shut behind him. Once more collapsing over the traumatic state his mind seemed to be in all of a sudden. Weapon X looked around and noticed he was in a room with a lot of pictures hanging on the wall or set up in picture frames on the ground. The pictures were not supposed to be here. That was all he knew. Weapon X didn’t know what else to do at this point, so he let out a loud nearly inhuman sound that was mixed with everything he was feeling at the moment. All his rage. All his sorrow, and sorrow he didn’t even know he had. All the betrayed hurt. All the hurt from rejection. Lost love? Everything he had and didn’t know even existed.
And he kept it up until collapsing in a crumbled form curled tightly against the door. His only quiet thought was of two words.
Why me?
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- 27
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Weapon X: Man or Animal