By: Marko Lindman.
(Warning: the text contains graphic violence)
**************
Disclaimer (of sorts):
Sabretooth belong to Marvel Comics.
I'm not planning to get any profit out of this
so please don't try to get profit out of me by
suing (I wouldn't have the money for that matter either).
Continuity:
Well there are two answers to that, it started out as my response
to the 'Creed in Hound-project' - storyline (haven't confirmed
it's existence, just heard rumors about it) so I was originally
thinking of it as a after-Onslaught story. But as Sigil pointed
to me it would work even better if the continuity would be set
to in the sixties after Creed had been in the Black Ops
(and mayhap after the Weapon X - project, they haven't given
the dates of that thing, have they?).
And now on with the show...
**************
This wasn't the weather Creed liked: the clouds were low and winds
wheeled back and forth.
He snorted. "What good does the world's best sense of smell do
when the wind blows all the scents around so you can't pinpoint any
of them," Creed thought sullenly.
If it would just start to rain and get it over with... to tell the truth,
he'd like to feel rain on his face for a change. He'd been in the city too
long and longed for the feel of the wilderness again. But whether
he liked it or not, he had a job to do and that job couldn't wait.
It had been five weeks since he had been contacted by
an agent from Mossad. The Israelis had a lead on a Nazi war
criminal that had previously escaped them.
"Why don't you do the job yourself?" he had asked, only to be told that
it was none of his business. He shrugged, and was about to leave, when
they hastily stopped him and explained that they had little proof against
the man, no proof that would hold in any court.
He had had no trouble with that, their money was good and that
was all that mattered.
It had taken him five weeks to trace the man through Brazil
and French Guyana, but the trail ended in Germany. The old bastard
had returned to the scene of the crime after the attention of the world
had shifted.
He had retired to an old castle that looked over a valley near Bonn.
The castle was perched on the top of the hill, with only one narrow road
leading to it. On the other side was a precipice.
"An easy place to defend... yeah, against anyone else, maybe," Creed
thought with a slight grin, and set forth.
It took him about an hour to climb up the precipice, which would have
been a hard climb even for an experienced mountaineer with climbing gear.
After that, it was easy to get in. Oh, there were a couple of
dobermans - their master would find them tomorrow gutted and
stashed up a tree - and armed guards, some of whom even got
a glimpse of him before he tore their throats out.
Then he was in.
**************
It had been a long shift. Markus and I had been on for almost four
hours. At this hour, it was a living hell. Our systems cried out for
sleep, but there was nothing they could do about it. The one who was
caught sleeping on guard duty got a big cut on his next paycheck.
The first time had taught both of us. Still, the fatigue was there,
slowing our movements and making our vision slightly blurry in the
darkness. No flashlights were allowed, not while on duty.
We had been going through the second floor for the third time this shift
when Markus suddenly stiffened.
"Hear that?" he said, holding a hand behind his ear. I shrugged but
followed behind him when he started towards the door where he
thought he had heard the sound.
When he threw open the door, we could only stare in amazement.
Helmut M�cher, our boss, the man we were supposed to protect, was
hung from the ceiling by a thin rope around his ankles. He was naked
and had two huge gashes along his sides.
He was bleeding to death in front of our eyes.
Markus was the first to react.
"We have to get him to a hospital at once! Give me your knife and
I'll cut him loose!" Markus yelled. I gave him the knife while still
looking at Herr M�cher, dumbfounded.
A slight growl was the last thing I heard. Someone was behind me,
and he thrust his hand and its massive, brutal claws, straight through
my neck. Blood sprayed everywhere. Horrible pain kicked in, and
I dropped silently to the floor, wrapped in the shock of impending death.
Markus was next, I saw from my new and oddly calm position on the floor.
The man that had killed me was dressed in an orange leotard with a mane
attached to it. It made him look like a lion. He moved so fast it was hard
to even see him. Markus was still preoccupied with trying to get our boss
down from the rope and never saw the attack coming.
He slashed at Markus, this time not going for the neck but
instead for his abdomen. Markus was gutted from the groin to the throat.
As he opened his mouth to cry out, the lionman shoved some piece of cloth
in it, and Markus fell into his own spilled guts on the floor.
Then the lionman just left, not even bothering to look twice at the
carnage he had left behind.
**************
Every obstacle had been removed. He was now alone on the second floor
with his target. Nothing left to do but to put this to an end. He sighed
quietly. Despite all his complaining, he had enjoyed this.
Maybe even too much. He knew that this had been an easy catch,
not like some of the work he had done with the runt, but the hunt had
exhilarated him anyway.
It had been so long since he had been able to let this part of himself
loose. He'd been in the hands of the government, kept away from his
prey... oh, he hadn't liked that at all. He had left as soon as he had had
the
opportunity. You'd think they had learned their lesson by now.
They could never keep him under their control. He would never be
a good little soldier for the government.
Not. Ever. Again.
**************
The old man was on the floor. He already had several cuts and
bruises, but worse was yet to come.
"No! Why are you doing this?" the man cried between sobs.
"I was hired to do this. Nothing personal. I actually admire the
straight-forwardness that your society had," Creed said softly,
towering over the whimpering man.
"Society?... It was the Israelis, wasn't it? Those Jew bastards!
L-look, I can pay you more than they are paying, I'll do anything,
just don't kill me..." His voice was weakening as his blood loss
increased. He had received a carelessly deep cut while Creed had
been playing with him like a cat with its prey. Creed was not happy
with this.
"Am I getting old? Didn't plan for him getting any bigger injuries...yet"
he thought.
"No can do, sorry. You see, I'm a merc, gun-for-hire. Assassin, if you
prefer. If a man wants to make his living in this market, he has to stick
to his assignments. If you lose your cred, you lose your job. Simple as
that," Creed said in a nonchalant voice, and slashed open the old man's
thigh, going for the femoral artery.
"Aaargh! No! Please! I've done nothing wrong. I just followed orders. I
didn't do anything! I was just a petty officer at the camp, others made
the decisions. I wasn't even one of the people who put them into
practice!" he howled.
"A camp, eh? Well, I don't care if you were an innocent little soldier or
some perverted sicko. I came here to do a job and that's just what I'm
going to do. Let's get this over with," he said nonchalantly, and started
towards the man.
"No!" he cried, and tried to crawl away from Sabretooth, leaving a thick
trail of blood behind him.
**************
Afterwards, Creed was busy licking his claws clean from the blood when he
felt a sunbeam on his cheek. He opened the curtains fully and looked out.
It was dawn, and the sky was clear.
"Maybe this will be a good day after all," Creed muttered and grinned as
he walked away.
