When Scott left, Remy had stood naked, his eyes still glazed and fought down the rush of panic. There was nothing to panic about. He had not been left by Scott, Scott had ceased to exist. Remy was nothing, barely a name. He was meat.
He took a deep breath, cleared his mind of everything but the word whore, and let himself go hard.
There were chuckles and appreciative remarks from the men around the room. Karmike, laughed the loudest then called for Bromly, his right hand man, to collar the new boy. Remy didn�t make a move as Bromly moved forward and fastened the thin adamantium band around his neck.
As soon as it was on, he knew something was wrong. Other times he had been collared had been by the some of the most powerful mutants in the world, Magneto, Apocalypse, Sinister, men who took pride in their unbreakable traps and unparalleled technology. But this was different. In the seedier establishments it seemed they cut costs on collars. And why not? Remy suspected they didn�t get many Omega class mutants through here. But he knew, even as he tried not to think about it too clearly, that this collar wouldn�t be able to entirely hold him. It was a small comfort.
Then Bromly fastened a thicker iron collar around his neck. Something in Remy died as he felt it touch his skin. So many years he had worked to get away, and for what? To be sent back in. This was his world now, the world of being owned.
�Chain him to my desk.� Said Karmike. �He�s definitely a new show piece.� So a chain was attached to Remy�s collar and bolted to a ring in the side of Karmike�s desk.
Remy leaned over and began to run his hands over Karmike�s groin as if he were dying for a taste of the man. His skin crawled, but he forced himself not to think.
�Stop that.� Said Karmike. �Sit still, and if you�re really good, I�ll let you blow me.� So Remy sat still, trying to look awed and horny, sending every man in the room smoking looks while Karmike conducted business.
Hours past, he didn�t know how long, before he was unchained and led to a small dressing room on the first floor. �New meat for the stews.� Said his handler. Someone came and dressed him in a bizarre contraption of chains and leather straps, then led him to a large Victorian sitting room.
The room was decorated in reds with bright flashes of color, lace and art on the walls. Everything was just a little seedy, a little decadent, so that a man might have the feeling of cultivated debauchery, any sin he wanted served on a luxurious platter. The men who came through were rich, powerful. Remy recognized several from the newspaper. Whatever else this was it was clearly an establishment that catered only to the very best.
The best like Remy. It didn�t take him long to catch a willing eye.
When the first of the balding men came on top of him, his weight on Remy�s chest was very familiar.
He didn�t grit his teeth the first time that man came into him. He didn�t close his eyes. This was what he was. He was there for the taking. Life outside of the daily routine ceased to have any meaning. Remy LeBeau was dying and only the prostitute remained.
He let the hands grab him, paw him. Sometimes they hit him, hard enough to draw blood. It didn�t matter. None of it mattered.
He was dressed in clothes no man would wear. So be it. He wasn�t a man.
<I promised myself. I promised myself never again.> But he had lied. What to do about such a lie? He had thought that if he were forced into this world again he would not survive.
It turns out he was only half right. In the morning, when the men were gone, he got up, cleaned himself off. Someone came and led him down to Katmike�s desk, where he was chained again. All of these things happened to his body, but none of them happened to Remy. Remy was gone.
Remy soon learned that there were other galleries in the house, stews as they were called, in descending order of price and quality of merchandise. He had been started at the top, but when his body wore out he knew he would be sent to one of the cheaper room, and then another, on down the line. The very cheapest rooms, those that housed only the sickest and most broken were the snuff rooms, rooms where a man could ease his appetite for killing. He should have been horrified, but by the time he learned this, Remy had ceased to care.
It was easy, really frightening, how quickly old habits became new again. He did what he had done instinctively all those years ago, he survived. Remy turned himself off. He stopped being Remy LeBeau, thief, X-man. He became instead what it seemed like he had always been, prostitute, wreckage. He did what he had to do, what he�d done before, telling the sweating men above how strong they were, how much they hurt him, how good they felt inside him. It was easiest not to think, and so Remy stopped thinking at all. It was frightening how easily he ceased to exist.
He lost track of time. Everyday was the same, the afternoons chained to Karmike�s desk, the nights servicing customers. He kept track of who came and went, who was important, who might have the information he needed. When he identified those men he tried hard to catch their eyes, to be extra seductive, tried hard to get himself offered as a fringe benefit.
He became popular on his own in the stews as well. After the first week, he had a slew of regular customers. But Logan had not appeared. In the part of himself that Remy tried to ignore, the fighter, the part that would get him killed, he became increasingly worried. The device in his skull only lasted ten days. If Logan didn�t come all this would be for nothing.
He pushed the thought away ruthlessly. That kind of thinking was dangerous. It would give him false hope, it would make him stand out. His existence wasn�t for something, or for nothing. It simply was, immutable and not worthy of thought.
Logan walked into the brothel trying to calm his nerves. <Easy does it. You go in there jumpy as a cat, you�re only going to get the kid killed.> But his mind ran on without his permission, cycling through the things that could go wrong. What if they showed him to the wrong room? What if Remy wasn�t even working tonight? What if they had video cameras in the rooms? What if they had peep holes? A lot of places did. Suddenly the task before him seemed overwhelming, impossible. A fool�s errand.
Then he thought of his kid and took a deep breath. He had to find Remy. That was all that was important right now. Find Remy and make sure he was still alive, and, for better or worse, not let this stupid sacrifice he was making got to waste.
Jean had come to see him before he had left. �Scott hasn�t slept in a week.� She said.
�Good.� He hadn�t been sleeping so well himself.
Jean sighed.
�Logan, I don�t know what�s going on. Scott�s locked me out, the professor won�t talk to me. But what I do know is that Scott�s dedication to the team is absolute. He might make mistakes, but he would always make them trying to do the right thing.�
�Is that supposed to make me feel better? If someone dies that�s going to be cold comfort.�
�I suppose it is.� She paused. �I guess I was hoping it would help you to forgive him.�
Forgive him? It was possible, Logan supposed, in a very long time, providing Remy came out of this whole and unharmed. But Logan knew that was unlikely. He knew the kid, after years of watching he knew Remy better than anyone. Remy would break himself inside this place. Even if he didn�t the risk he would would never be worth it.
Now he smoothed his button down shirt and adjusted the ridiculous white cowboy hat. It had been decided he could never pass for a conventional businessman or politician, so his cover would be that of an oil baron, one who�d struck it rich in Texas and moved on to the sunnier partnerships of Saudi Arabia.
To his mild surprise, people bought it. The man at the door hadn�t blinked as he had turned him over to a handler�apparently that was what they were calling high class pimps these days�who had asked him a series of questions about his tastes and preferences before escorting him to a sitting room lined with youthful, nearly naked men, lounging on couches, sucking on their fingers seductively, or gazing blankly at the room in their own hormone induced stupor. Remy wasn�t there.
Logan tried not to show his dismay. Now what? He would have to pick one of them, have to have sex with them to keep up the cover so that he could come back. His stomach twisted. He felt himself begin to gag.
�Why don�t you sit down, take some time to consider?� suggested the handler. �Can I bring you a drink?�
Logan nodded woodenly. He sank onto an overstuffed couch and instantly felt hands on him as the men began feeling him, pulling on him, cooing and mewing with their need.
It was terrible.
Before tonight Logan had never really understood the situation. Someone was running some brothels, so what? Didn�t someone always? But now, looking into the blank stares of the boys on top of him Logan�s throat clenched.
No one, regardless of their choices, no one deserved this. It was slavery. It was worse really. Whatever this drug was had wiped every trace of humanity from the men before him. They were blanks now, whatever they had been, whatever they were was simply gone, and what was left was a shell, held prisoner in their own unnatural impulses. For someone born wild, someone who prized their freedom above almost everything else, it was the worst fate imaginable.
He felt himself begin to choke, and for an awful moment thought he might throw up. The handler returned with his drink and he downed it quickly. �Anything catch your eye?� asked the handler. Logan didn�t know if he would even be able to answer.
Then, on the other side of the room a panel slid open in the wall and a slim, nearly naked figure slipped through. It was Remy, though how Logan recognized him he almost didn�t know.
Remy was changed. His movements were lax and sensuous, he�d lost weight. But it was more than that. There was something missing from him, some spark, or fire that Logan had always taken for granted, but was now gone. <Jesus kid, what have they done to you?>
He forced himself not to react. �What about that red head?� He asked the handler.
�Oh yes. That�s one of our most popular. You have excellent taste sir. May I have him sent up?�
Logan nodded woodenly. He followed the handler back out of the room, up the front stairs, down a long hallway where they stopped outside of a brass hung door like the dozen others that lined the hall.
�I want him for the whole night.� He heard himself say. His voice sounded strangely calm.
�Of course sir. Anything else? Food perhaps?� Food? Logan doubted he would ever eat again, but he didn�t know what they�d been feeding Remy.
�Yes please. Water as well.�
The handler nodded and handed him a key. �Very good sir. It will be here momentarily. May I wish you a good night.� He turned back up the hall.�
Logan turned the key in the solid lock. Then he leaned against the door, bracing himself momentarily before he pushed it open.
Remy stood at the back of the room, staring at him.
It was a terrible moment. Everything sordid and degrading about their surroundings hung in the air between them.
Staring at Logan, Remy felt himself crumbling. All the defenses he had built in the past week, all the incoherence he had willed upon himself, vanished before that penetrating blue gaze. He stood there defenseless, nothing but himself. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by what a contemptible, pitiful thing it was. He gave a small, choked gasp.
The noise seemed to bring Logan out of his daze. He took a step forward. �Oh God, R-�
Remy cut him off with a quick jerk of his hand. �Oh, monsieur.� He gestured with his eyes, indicating the tiny microphones that laced the room. �Monsieur, I have been waiting for you.�
Logan opened his mouth. His throat worked, but he didn�t make a sound.
�You come for pleasure? No?� Remy asked desperately. �Tell me how I can please you, monsieur.�
�Get on the bed.� Logan didn�t recognize his own voice.
�Of course monsieur. And how do you want me to touch you? Like this? Like this?� Remy sank to the ground with his back against the wall. He couldn�t meet Logan�s eyes. He leaned his head back and shut his eyes tightly. �Do you like this? This.� He made a muffled sucking sound. �Tell me this pleases you, monsieur. I want only your pleasure.� He felt like he was dying inside.
He kept murmuring the words, mocking the cries of passion and love making, through climax and finally into satiated moans, not opening his eyes, knowing that Logan was sitting on the bed, his jaw clenched, his eyes everywhere but on him, shamed for Remy.
Finally it was over. Remy opened his eyes. <Don�t feel. Just think. He has to get the bug out, and replace it. Once he does, he can get out of here. Oh God. How will he even be able to bring himself to touch me?> He braced himself, stood and walked over to the bed.
He knelt before the older man. Logan glanced up, something very much like fear in his eyes. Then Remy bent his head and parted his hair to expose the edge of the thin microchip inserted under the skin of his scalp.
Carefully Logan pulled the wafer of silicon free. It was tiny, barely bigger than his fingernail. He pulled a small tube out of his pocket and from it dropped an identical chip into the palm of his hand. Placing the new chip in Remy�s bug, he slid the used one into the vial and placed it back into his shirt. Then he looked down at the slim figure still kneeling on the floor before him.
Pain and fear were rolling of the boy. Logan felt the Wolverine in him begin to growl, low in his throat, to see his crazy kid so humbled. He reached out to touch the soft hair. Remy flinched, pulling back to avoid the contact.
His instinct as a man was to stop, to give the boy space, for fear of hurting him further, fear that his intentions would be misunderstood. But he was half feral as it was and in this state he responded to a different set of instincts, the ones that gathered the boy to him despite the feeble struggles. They knew that his kid needed this, to be reminded of touch as comfort not just as a vehicle for humiliation and pain, needed to be reminded of himself most of all.
He pulled the kid tight against him, another growl rumbling deep in his chest. He stroked Remy until the weak struggles stopped, the shaking stopped and he dropped into an exhausted sleep, the first he had had in over ten days. For the second time in two weeks the wolverine stood watch as Remy slept through the night.