They call me Wolverine.

Got a real name, but it ain't none of your flamin' business.

Truth is, I can't be sure what it is myself. Past is all mixed up in my head, so I try to stay focused on the present. Present is this: I'm in the middle of the Colorado Rockies starin' down a rattlesnake. Snake ain't lookin' to hurt nobody. I ain't lookin' to hurt nobody either, but usually I have to; snake's about to find that out.

I'm a mutant. So I got a mess of primal instincts most people don't, which is how I'm bein' right on top of this snake without gettin' bit. Also got a "healing factor," just in case he manages to get any licks in. Mostly, though, I got three pig-sticklers in each forearm, that shoot out through my hands so I can make breakfast out of him. The claws--all my bones--used to be covered in adamantium so they'd never break, and the sound of the metal comin' up through my wrist made a clean "snikt" sound. Now the adamantium's gone, it sounds more like crackin' your knuckles underwater. Don't matter to the snake by the time he hears it.

I take him out nice an' quick. Ain't gonna make me feel big about myself to watch it suffer. Usually I don't even hunt to kill--just go out and tap a deer on the shoulder so I know I still can. Guy's gotta eat, though, an' I don't have time to head back into town. I was in Burton Canyon lookin' for somebody, and ended up drinkin' all night with a guy who should lead me to him. Holds his beer pretty damn good--walked out into these mountains just as sober as me. Considerin' I've got a healin' factor an' he don't, that means he's more than your average guy.

His name's Josten. I ran into him a long time ago, when I was workin' for the Canadian government in a team they call "Alpha Flight," fulla super-types like me. First time out we had to stop some chump* from nukin' the whole country, and Josten was one of his goons. Called himself "Power Man" back then.

[* Egghead, as shown in the 1992 ALPHA FLIGHT SPECIAL.]

Haven't seen him since then, 'cause I guess I got mixed up in fightin' for mutants' rights when I joined the X-Men. Buncha guys runnin' around makin' sure everybody knows some mutants ain't so bad, and takin' out the ones who are bad--Magneto, the Marauders, the Hellfire Club, Sabretooth... I think about half of those bums have been X-Men, though. Maybe it ain't perfect, but at least Xavier doesn't have me filin' paperwork all the flamin' time. The X-Men've mostly been good people, even if they go sour.

Xavier himself did for a while there, and that's when Josten turned up again. After Chuck flipped out and knocked out half the super-types, Josten an' his runnin' buddies decided to start actin' like heroes so they could take over the world. They lost, said they were real sorry. Now they're holed up in a mountain I can see from where I'm cooking my breakfast.

The Thunderbolts are pros, an' they ain't to be messed with. When they weren't takin' over the flamin' planet, they were out knockin' around armies even worse than them. I ain't talkin' seven or eight guys--I mean two dozen to a hundred jokers who could each tear a car apart, easy as I killed this snake.** I ain't sayin' they didn't have some lucky breaks, but they ain't gonna flinch much at me by myself. But just 'cause I know they're tough don't mean I ain't goin' in there. It's personal.

[** Would Wolverine lie? See THUNDERBOLTS #6-8 and #24-25.]

Betsy Braddock's an X-Man--calls herself Psylocke--and a good friend of mine. Ain't got much in common with her, but I ain't got much in common with nobody. Betts hooked up with another X-Man, Archangel, and they both left the team a while back. They kept in touch with us, helped us out once in a while. Until a few weeks ago. Now it's been too long since anybody's seen 'em, and all I know is Archangel's runnin' around with these Thunderbolts.

Soon as I finish breakfast, I'm goin' up there for some answers...

Next Best Thing
The fanfic that sold out for YOU, the reader!

by Jim Smith

Chapter Seven! "WOLVERINE! (Now That I Have Your Attention...)"

***

Elsewhere...

They called him Galactus in some worlds; the rest had been destroyed by him. He appeared differently to every culture he appeared before. Right now he was 20 inches tall, sitting on a giant dog named Sassafrass.

"Attention, intruders!" the miniature devourer of worlds announced. "This is the property of my friends--the Defenders! And if you don't identify yourselves within ten seconds, I shall be forced to blow you away!"

"Uh, Warren, what _is_ that?"

Melissa Gold called herself "Songbird"--partly because she could fly by cybernetically transmuting her voice into sonic "wings," and also partly because there was a time when she had to hide her real name from the law. As a Thunderbolt, she used the identity to portray a new superhero until her team was revealed as frauds, and she kept the name in the spirit of reforming from her criminal ways. Twice in the last 24 hours, a vigilante group called the Jury had attempted to collect a price on her head, and it seemed inevitable that they would succeed. That is, until she happened to mention the Jury's corporate sponsor to the newest member of the Thunderbolts, Archangel. That information had given him an idea, and it started by bringing her here.

"Oh, that." Warren Worthington's blue features reddened a bit as he tried to explain the bizarre scene. "You know about how I was a member of the Champions? Well, after that I tried the super-team bit with the Defenders, and let the team relocate to this estate. This was one of our security systems."

"If you were trying to let everyone know the Defenders sucked, I guess it worked," she grinned.

Galactus mericlessly continued, unabated. "Attention intruders! This is your last chance to identify yourselves before we open fire!"

"Huh? No, no...the idea was to have the real muscle of the Defenders--former members like the Hulk or Namor--standing here as big as life giving this message. Candy...got creative.*"

[* DEFENDERS #145.]

"Candy?"

Warren paused. "Long story."

Another pause. "The weapons he's threatening us with are disarmed, though. I guess this thing got turned on in a power surge or something--I can't remember the last time I came here. I guess right before we started X-Factor." He sighed a bit and let himself into the chateau, ignoring mighty Galactus's warnings.

The place brought back a lot of memories he didn't want to have to explain to Songbird. Memories of his carefree days as the Angel--a mutant adventurer, a millionaire playboy, a lover of beautiful women, and a member of about five different superhero teams. If you counted X-Factor and the X-Terminators, anyway. Sort of like Songbird was in the Thunderbolts and the Masters of Evil at the same time, for a while. Maybe that was why he so easily gravitated to the team, to the life of the outsider, to...her.

"Welcome to the Aerie, Melissa," Warren said as he threw open the door.

Songbird took in the impressive interior...and wrinkled her nose. "What's that _stink_!?"

Warren recoiled as he got a whiff of what she was talking about. "Geez! I _haven't_ been here in a long time. Bobby...Iceman, one of my teammates...he got rambunctious with his powers the day he moved out. We had a laugh and figured I'd pay to clean up the glacier he left in here. But that was the day we found out Jean wasn't really Phoenix and we got so busy and..."

"Soooooo...the carpet in here's been covered in mildew for years." Melissa shrugged--she didn't have a clue what he was talking about**, but she got the point.

[** You would if you read X-FACTOR #1.]

"OK, OK, it's no Taj Mahal," he quipped. "We aren't moving in or anything. I just brought us here because I know I refurbished it the last time I was here. Candy and I liked to leave some things here in case we made an unplanned visit, so it should have everything we need to take care of the Jury."

"Mildew."

"_Clothes._ Upstairs. Where Bobby _didn't_ leave any spills. Well, I don't know about his bedroom...that boy just ain't right, y'know..."

"I still don't know about this, Warren. And I've _got_ clothes back at Mount Charteris."

"All I had was this long underwear," he replied, gesturing to his blue and white costume. "Besides, Wysper came so close to discovering our base, flying back in after we turned her loose would have been risky. And I think Candy's wardrobe will be more useful for this mission."

Melissa made a "pfft" sort of sound at him.

"They'll fit! She was your size. I think. I mean, it's not like I know your size, or anything like that. I mean..."

She hit him on the shoulder playfully and smiled. "Whatever, Wings. I'll have a look. I _still_ don't know if this is going to work. When do we leave?"

"I figure we can get some sleep first. Plenty of bedrooms to pick from. I'll see you in the morning." He smiled to her as she flew over the mildewed stairs, until she stopped suddenly and turned back to him.

"Bobby's was the third door on your right," he sighed, and shook his head as she avoided that room.

***

Took me a couple of hours to climb the mountain before I figured out how Josten got up and down the flamin' thing when he visited his waterin' hole in town. Not that it helped much--at five-foot-three, I can't use footholds twenty feet apart. Big man got some growing powers since I last met him, so it ain't no wonder he's goin' by "Atlas" now.

Now that I'm up here, though, I shouldn't have much trouble. Place is huge, and smells like people've been usin' it for years before the Thunderbolts moved in. I do some checking around, and I can tell they've been through the base takin' stock of what's in it, but most of the smells are concentrated in few main areas they use all the time. Archangel's been here, all right, and he's had as much free run of the place as anyone else.

I don't smell Psylocke anywhere.

Atlas must've hit the sack as soon as he got back--all the Thunderbolts look to be asleep in their quarters--so I find myself a good place to hide and wait 'em out. If Archangel's still here, I gotta see for myself what for, and then I'll know what kind of mood to be in.

I hear a door open and figure I might get lucky. Two of 'em come out, but not Archangel. Barely a breeze in here, and from where I sit I can't smell them, but the blonde looks to be Moonstone. I recognize the rhythm of the man's footsteps, and it has to be Hawkeye. Ain't seen much of him since Onslaught*...of course, he's lucky to be alive after Onslaught. Considerin' the Thunderbolts tried to steal his superhero gig while he was playin' dead, I can't figure why he's hangin' around with 'em.

[* Somewhere in that Onslaught crossover. You look it up.]

Not just hangin' around, maybe. Hawkeye's got a look like I ain't had in a long, long time. Can't blame him...even from here I can tell that Moonstone's a looker. Of course, I can tell she's trouble just from lookin', too, and not just 'cause I read her rap sheet before I left Westchester.

"So...what did you want to tell the team?" he asks her.

She ain't happy with the question. "I don't know, Hawkeye. I don't think they need to know right now. It's...too sudden."

"Hey, if you got any regrets..."

"No...no. It's not that." I'm thinkin' Moonstone ain't real sure how she got into this. You learn a few things by the time you're my age...especially if you spend a few years livin' a mansion with a bunch of rookies who can't keep their pants on, or their bedroom doors shut. "I just wouldn't know what to say to them..."

Hawkeye shrugs. "If we don't say something, Archangel will." Well, well, well...the prettyboy's still around. Guess he walked in on the lovebirds or somethin'.

She flashes a grin, but I think I'm the only one who could've caught that. Hawkeye's in the middle of an eyeblink when she goes back to lookin' bothered and tells him something. "I...I guess if we're really...together, Hawkeye..."

Don't fall for it, bub--don't listen to the dame. "What is it, babe?" Nnh! Didn't think Avengers fell for that crap. No wonder the Black Widow strung him along when he was startin' out.

"I suppose I can trust you with this. Archangel...he's not working out on the team. When I lead the Thunderbolts on patrol, he abandons our tactics, follows his own training...he's got this catch-as-catch-can style like we were using...before _you_ came along and showed us a better way."

"Yeah, I guess Wings can't help it. He's a good guy an' all, but he's never been an Avenger, and he wasn't around when I showed you guys the basics."

Now, what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?

"Maybe you're right...darling. You only asked him to join because you and Melissa are grounded, and if he's right about her carapace being repaired..." Dame's practically throwin' Archangel out on his ear so he won't let on about this funny business. Not that I care much...

"Yeah, this wasn't his lifelong dream or anything. He'll probably ask to pack up and head back to Westchester. Can't blame him...the X-Men probably have a lighter load than we do..." Not that I care much, but these jokers are standin' on my last nerve. "That's probably why they're so lax about their combat training..."

My claws squeeze between the muscles in my forearm, and grind against the bones until they jut out of my hands. I jump out of my hidin' place and land a few feet from where they're stanin' "All right, bub, you think an Avenger can run rings around an X-Man? Why don'cha try your William Tell circus act against THE WOLVERINE?"

Not that I'm much for flowery speeches in a fight. Somethin' about these guys just makes you wanna announce yourself like a bad movie. I guess Hawkeye's more impressed with my entrance than me, though--he dives for cover like I said I was Ultron or somthin'. "Crap, crap, crap," he mutters, "how many of these guys am I gonna have to explain the T-bolts to?"

Moonstone stands her ground as I charge, and flashes like a lightning bolt to change into her costume. She's coverin' for Hawkeye--I can tell he's been on the mend for a while--but I ain't too picky. Soon as I can see she ain't budgin', I dive into her, claws aimed at anything that'll bleed without killin' her. Before I know it, I'm headin' straight for the ground, and I pull a muscle tryin' to roll into the landing.

Healin' factor handles the injury by the time I get up, but I feel like a flamin' amateur. I figured I had a shot at makin' a dent in Moonstone's bulletproof hide, but I got so worked up I forgot she can phase right through me, like Shadowcat. As soon as we make eye contact again, she's grinning like a fox that outsmarted a huntin' dog--she _knows_ I'm beatin' myself up for fallin' for her stunt, and she's rubbin' it in.

"Moonstone, don't antagonize him!" Hawkeye knows what he's talkin' about, but I gotta feeling none of the other Thunderbolts are gonna let my rep stop 'em from playin' rough. I ain't complainin'. I hear footsteps down the corridor, and I've got three more problems. The big one's Josten, pullin' his Atlas gear on. The girl should be Jolt, and big lump of black rock has to be Charcoal. Still no Archangel.

But I ain't in a hurry.

Charcoal lunges from about thirty feet away, and a hunk of his arm stretches to grab me. I jump past his hand, onto his arm, and dive into Atlas. He's still shocked to see the guy he met at the bar, and he'll be the easiest to start with. I ain't so confident my claws will cut his skin or snap like twigs, so I retract them as I connect with him, poundin' away at his head. If I'm in luck, he'll feel this even with his powers. I don't have time to find out, though, 'cause I've got to keep movin' and changin' targets. Charcoal's limbs are swingin' all over the room like Mister-flamin'-Fantastic, tryin' to catch me, and it's gettin' harder to keep from taggin' me. I take a couple of swipes at him with the claws--looks like it hurts him.

Dammit, Logan, focus! The downside of havin' animalistic rages is you start lookin' forward to a tough fight an' forget what you're fightin' for. Moonstone and Jolt could still give me a heap of trouble while I'm keeping Charcoal offa me, and Atlas will shake off the beatin' I gave him any second. What's important is findin' Archangel--findin' Betsy--and gettin' out of this hole. So I dodge the Thunderbolts and make a run for Hawkeye. He's so busy trying to get up without hurtin' his back, he ain't got time to keep me from lodging my fist under his chin. He's got a claw on either side of his face, and I make damn sure the Thunderbolts know I could pop the middle claw right through his head.

"All right, folks," I tell 'em. "Get Archangel over here. Now."

***

The office of billionaire Edwin Cord was spartan, yet pleasantly decorated with subtle uses of light and color to distract attention from the fact Edwin Cord was sitting in the middle of it, souring the whole atmosphere of the room with his disposition. "Archangel!" he shouted. "What's the meaning of this! Who let you in here...?"

"Keep your voice down, Cord." Warren was dressed in the best suit money could buy...a few years ago, anyway, when he had last been to his Aerie and fashions were a bit different. He pulled it off, though, with his dashing features and charming poise. As well as his blue skin. "If you don't mind, I'd prefer you addressed me as Warren Worthington III...I think you knew my father? Your secretary let us through without an appointment because she didn't feel like being charged as an accessory."

Cord snarled. "Accessory to what?"

The woman to Worthington's right stepped forward. Her white hair and thick-rimmed glasses detracted from her beauty, but her profession-yet-provocative outfit could have easily earned her a role on a David E. Kelley series. "My client," she said effeicently, "in addition to being the chairman of Worthington Industries, has also chosen to sponsor a team of superheroes, the..." She thumbed through a legal pad for her notes. "...The Thunderbolts. There's a few laws against threatening the lives of your competitor's employees, Mister Cord."

Worthington grinned. "I don't think you've met my lawyer, Cord. Tony Stark recommended Ms. Mahoney to me when I started shopping for a super-team. He said she had proved invaluable when people contested his ties to the Avengers...and when his corporate rivals targeted them to undermine his operations."

"Archangel..."

"'Worthington,' please. We superheroes have etiquette about these things..."

"...You're a Thunderbolt, and that makes you the biggest crook in _my_ back yard. And if you think claiming your father's pissant company competes with me is going to get the Jury off your back, think ag--!"

"What we _think_, Mister Cord," Mahoney interrupted, "is that the Colorado Supreme Court--which I'll make sure this goes to, if I have to--will be very interested to hear that you send superhuman employees to attempt to eliminate my client's. My firm is already cutting through the red tape of making sure Worthington Industries will not be held accountable for the Thunderbolts' crimes, but I somehow doubt Cordco has taken similar precautions in case anyone discovers its secret cadre of mercenaries. You know they've broken the law, Cord, and that's why you've distanced yourself from them in public. But now you're dealing with a Thunderbolt who has legal counsel, not to mention enough money to keep you tied up in court until it's proven that the Thunderbolts are the _second_ biggest crooks in the state.

"You're bluffing, Worthington."

"I hope you mean I just don't _feel_ like making good on this threat, Cord," the blue man replied, "because you _know_ I can. And maybe you'll get lucky and drag down me down with you--sever my ties with the T-bolts, the X-Men, and a school back east you don't know about--but like you said, _my_ 'pissant company' can't hold a candle to Cordco. So I guess I just don't have as much to lose, do I?"

Cord gritted his teeth, fuming with anger, and shot up from his chair to lean forward with a threatening stare. "All I have to do is press one button on my desk, and--"

"Mister Cord," Mahoney said calmly, "you'd be amazed how many times Justin Hammer has made very similar threats to Tony Stark, and how much more admissible they were in court when he said them in front of witnesses." She turned to her client. "I believe we're through here, Warren."

"Very good, Sasha," he replied as they left Cord's office. "Still on for dinner tonight? My place?"

"Better stop by my...office...first," she said with a smirk. "I'm sure my partners will want to hear from us..."

***

"Look, Wolverine, we've been all over the base, and Archangel's _not here_! We don't _know_ where he is!"

Jolt's talkin' like I'm some nice guy who should feel sorry for her and let Hawkeye go. "You're breakin' my heart, kid," I answer, "but I ain't got much reason to take your word for it."

That's about when Atlas can't take any more. "Look, Short Stuff, the longer we sit here takin' your crap, the longer Melissa and Wings are out god-know-where!"

"Then go look for 'em, bub. Me, I'm stayin' right here, introducin' Robin Hood to my claws until you get back."

"You're running out of archery references, Wolverine," Moonstone tells me, "and I'm running out of patience. Hawkeye's our leader, but that doesn't mean he's worth this much trouble. Kill him or not; just leave us alone."

I nearly laugh out loud. "Don't even try bluffin' with me, darlin'. Now that I'm up close and personal, I can smell you all over your fearless leader."

Heh. That got her. "I...I was debriefing him last night, and I treated his wounds..."

"Lady, you _don't_ wanna find out how good my senses are." The other Thunderbolts are startin' to give Moonstone and Hawkeye some mighty weird looks. Guess I spoiled the surprise, as if I give a spit. "Bottom line is, you ain't foolin' me, so the only way I let your boyfriend go is when you round up Archangel..."

"Logan?"

I know who it is before I even hear his voice. Archangel still smells sanitized for his protection, even though I can tell he hasn't been livin' like a prince for the last few weeks. The dame he's with is familiar too...not sure where I've ever gotten a whiff of Songbird, though.* She's wantin' to rush me--I like her spirit--but she's following his lead, and Worthington knows enough to come to me nice an' slow. "What's this all about?" he asks.

[* MARVEL TWO-IN-ONE #96 was a while back, after all...]

I retract my claws and toss Hawkeye aside, figurin' on Moonstone catching him. "Came to see where you've been."

"I think I know why."

"I bet you would."

"The Thunderbolts don't have anything to do with this, Logan," he tells me. They haven't done anything illegal since I've been here, and they didn't coerce me into staying. I'm here because they needed some help."

"Fine by me," I answer. "If they ain't on the level, they got bigger problems than me. Today I got other business."

"Then we'll take it outside. I might as well save you the trouble of climbing down the mountain. OK?"

I shrug at him. Like I need him to fly me anywhere. But it don't matter much to me. "Start flappin'," I tell him, leavin' the Thunderbolts to think about the lesson I gave 'em.

Archangel doesn't say much till we reach Burton Canyon. "I know they aren't the best crowd to hang out with, Logan, but I don't expect you to really care what I do with my time."

"Good for you," I tell him, because he shouldn't expect me to care. "Ain't been in touch with the X-Men in a while, Wings."

"I know."

"Jeannie was worried about you."

"I know."

Now ain't that funny. Not "I'm not surprised," or "I figured she would be." I'll never understand what Jean sees in this guy. At least Scott Summers is a regular joe. Course, he married her, and Wings here was left holdin' the bag.

I light a cigar--ain't had a chance to smoke since I left town--and get to the point. "Now, me, I'm worried about Betts. An' from the looks of things, you ain't seen her around much, have you?"

"Logan, I've spent almost two months living in a mountain with Public Enemy Numbers One Through Six. I keep looking over my shoulder to see if SHIELD or the Avengers are coming to bust my ass. I still don't know if I should warn them that my enemies would kill them in their sleep to get to me. DO YOU THINK I'D EVEN _BE HERE_, IF THINGS WERE ALL RIGHT WITH BETSY!?"

I flinch. Man raises his voice to me, he's askin' for trouble. But I restrain myself. I never liked Archangel, but somethin' in his voice... "She came back from Kenya--you were there when it happened**--she came back obsessed with keeping the Shadow King trapped within her mind. And no matter what I did to try to make it better, _nothing was good enough_! We fought, I left."

[** In the we-let-someone-good-write-it-by-mistake X-MEN vol. 2 #77-78.]

I don't care about his excuses. "You think that fixes it, bub?"

"Dammit, Logan, I'm sick of this! I didn't know how to please Betsy after Kenya, and I still don't know how to please you! You want to defend her honor, because you have these special relationships with all the X-Women? You want to gut me to show how special Betsy is to you?" He points to his belly and holds his arms out. "TAKE YOUR BEST FREAKING SHOT! Because I guarantee you, you can't make me feel any worse about letting her down!"

I ain't sure I ever seen him like this. There's a look in his eyes...it's almost like he's jealous. Why the hell would he be jealous of me--do I own a buncha Stark Solutions stock or somethin'? I'm startin' to pity the guy, but I'll be damned if I coddle his sorry ass. "You got a point, Wings--it ain't gonna settle nothin'. So you haven't seen her, then?"

He nods, just a little bit shaken by all that stuff he yelled at me. "We were at Soho--you know where the loft's at. It was maybe a day later I was in that battle in San Francisco,*** so by then I knew as much about where she was as you did."

[*** THUNDERBOLTS #27-29, and the second chapter of our story.]

"That's all you know?"

"That's all I know." He stops and thinks about it. "She didn't want to be bothered, Logan. If you haven't found her by now, she doesn't want you to."

He's right, and that bothers me. "She can tell me that when I track her down, Wings." There's a long pause, like this is the point where I should be thankin' him for the information, and he should be apologizin' for sayin' that stuff. But with me and Archangel, it ain't like that--probably never will be. All we got in common is Psylocke--and maybe not even that, anymore.

"These guys think you're a loose cannon 'cause you don't fight like an Avenger," I finally say. "I don't trust 'em, I don't like 'em. I could head back up there and wipe the floor with 'em, but I figure you got your eye on it."

He takes my meaning--this is as close as I'm comin' to saying I won't report their hideout to SHIELD or Department H. "I do."

"But you listen to me, prettyboy: They saw Xavier when he was losin' it and needed help, and all they did was use that Onslaught business to get what they wanted from everybody. Now, if they'll do that to him when he's down...what do you think they'd do to you? Think about it, because nobody in Westchester's gonna hear if you cry for help."

Archangel nods--can't blame him for not havin' an answer to that--and flies back to the summit. I start walkin'. It's a long way home, but I've got a lot of stops along the way. Places where Betsy might be holed up trying to contain the Shadow King all by her lonesome. If she wouldn't take help from Wings, she damn sure ain't gonna be happy to see me. But the difference between me and the prettyboy is, I'll help her, 'cause I ain't afraid to get knocked down.

Then again, I guess I wouldn't have to fall as far as he did.

[next part]

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