‘The Point At Which Two Worlds Collide…’

He’d been a good soldier, fuck he’d been one of the best soldiers they’d ever had. No one could clear a building like him, no one could pick up their scents like he could, and he seemed to have almost a sixth sense about them.

He’d hunted mutants, found them burrowed in hideouts, found them being sheltered, hell he’d have found them if they’d hide out in the depths of hell. Thing was he’d been so obsessed with the hunt, with the chase, with the thrill of live bait he’d have followed ‘em there.

That was the kind of soldier he’d been, strictly adhering to duty, following orders down to the last kill. It was the kind of soldier he had been, now...now he wasn’t sure what he was.

There comes a point in life when a few seconds of indecision leads to a fork in the road. A moment when choosing one part or the other will determine what sort of person you’d become, that sort of soldier or that sort of a man.

And there is a point when two lives, two seemingly irreconcilable lives collide and a whole new future is pre determined.

That moment had come for him on another seemingly routine hunt; he was in his element, a steep bank, a landscape obscured by heavy foliage and tall trees, the only escape behind him, down the embankment and a road.

He was chasing a shape shifting mutant, a woman, blue from head to toe, hard to miss unless she’d transformed into one of his platoon, even then her eyes would give her away, yellow eyes, cat like.

His hearing attune to every sound he stood stock still and waited, listening for the slightest shift in the soil, the snap of a twig, the rustling of the leaves. His gun was armed and ready and his keen eyes shifting…waiting, ready for the kill, and then he heard it.

The quick scampering of feet, he turned quickly to his left flank to cover the noise, at that point the sharp sunlight burst through the branches of the trees and he was temporarily blinded. He squinted against the harshness of the light, his finger itching to pull the trigger; he breathed slowly calming his heartbeat, as any soldier knows you can’t shoot for shit when your blood’s pumping round your veins at a hundred miles an hour.

He watched as his vision cleared and he saw her clearly, it wasn’t the shape shifting mutant, she’d stopped directly in front of him, the sunlight streaming against her back, lighting her up, an ethereal glow almost.

He looked clearly at her, she couldn’t be more than seven years old, her dark long hair pulled into a tight ponytail, her chocolate brown eyes staring up at him, her clothes tattered and torn, she wore a pair of black gloves that went up her arm all the way to her shoulders.

She stood staring, seemingly as fixated by his sudden appearance as he was by hers. They stood that way for a while until a cacophony of shouting, noise and running forced them out of their strange silence.

She looked behind her and saw the small army of soldiers heading her way, and she did what only came naturally, she turned to run. He did the only thing he knew as a soldier, he raised his gun and opened fire…

---

Marie D’Ancanto had been staring out the back of the transport vehicle as soon as it had started winding its way along that deserted road; she’d taken in the steep embankment, the cover the thick foliage would provide her. And she’d taken her chance.

They hadn’t bothered putting the cuffs on her, hadn’t seen her as much of a threat, not a seven year old, the journey to her next camp had begun early that morning and the young soldier that had been sat directly in front of her had started nodding off, by some lucky chance she’d been seated by the end of the truck.

The other soldier was further away, towards the back of the cab, sitting laughing with the driver, so she’d waited and waited until the slack soldier had started to loosen his grip a little more on that gun of his, then as the truck had slowed to hit a slow bend she’d leaped to her feet and jumped over the closed ramp, landing gracefully on her feet, crouching low she’d run, her small legs pumping faster even as the alarm was raised behind her.

She’d ran blindly further into the thickets, not daring to look behind her, the low branches and leaves smacking her in the face, scratching and tearing at her clothes as she went. Her breath came short and hard, her heart beating impossibly loud in her chest, threatening to deafen her.

And then she’d almost stumbled into the clearing, the sunlight hitting her back like a warm blanket. Momentarily disorientated she stopped, and looked to her left, seeing him.
His gun was pointed to the ground, and though she blinked against the light, she knew instantly what he was, a soldier, and a hunter…a killer.

But for the life of her she could not move, she simply stood still and stared. Her chest heaved as she saw him lift the gun, as she saw his finger itch over the trigger. Her eyes met his and she looked at him directly, and she saw him calm his own breathing down, saw him brace himself as she knew by now soldiers did, before they moved in for the kill.

The silence seemed to hang forever between them, until the noise of the soldiers chasing her broke through the trees and she saw them scrambling after her. She turned at last to run, and then she heard it, the crack of gunfire, a volley of shots and she knew then he’d opened fire…at her.

---

To this day he had not known why he’d done it, why he’d deliberately missed, whey he’d aimed at the ground before her feet stopping her short as she had turned to run.
He’d watched, just like her as the soldiers chasing her had caught up, he’d heard his own platoon clambering down the hill, heard his own sergeant bark orders at him.

It was a mess of confusion, so many sounds and voices he seemed to be drowning in the noise, and try as he might he couldn’t seem to stop shaking. All the while he stared at her, the girl he hadn’t killed.

He’d figured by this time she was a mutant, he’d remembered the road had been used to transport mutants to the camps before; he knew she’d just escaped, so why hadn’t he shot her?

He watched as the soldiers from the surrounded her, three of them heavily armed, one of them extremely pissed off, swore at her before he moved to grab her round the neck. He used so much force, his forearm pressing tightly against her neck, that he lifted her clean of her feet. She struggled, kicking her legs as she choked; it seemed he was ready to strangle her there and then.

To this day he did not know why he’d done it, why he’d raised his gun and shot the soldier strangling her clean in the head. It seemed to be a shock to all concerned, the girl who fell down to her knees, red faced and gasping for breath, scrambling backwards from the body that fell on top of her.

And then she’d screamed as a volley of shots rang out pumping into the body of the man who’d just rescued her.

His own platoon had turned on him without a second thought; traitors will be shot on sight, cutting him down like an animal where he’d stood. His eyes rolled backwards in his head as he’d fallen, the last thing he saw was her face, the tears rolling down those cheeks of hers, and he’d smiled, even as the darkness overwhelmed him, he’d smiled at her.


For the life of her she hadn’t known why he’d done it, all she knew was that she’d never forget that man, that soldier, who in saving her life had probably succeeded in ending his own. And she’d never forget the way he smiled.

---

He had been a damn good soldier, fuck he had been the best soldier, maybe that’s why he’d survived, even as they’d tossed him to morgues, those endless pits where they threw all the bodies, when they’d been rolling him to the edge, he’d snapped his eyes open, giving the young soldier standing over him cause to piss his pants.

They’d spared him the pit then, but only because they had worse things planned as a punishment, things like taking him to those labs, where they’d stripped him, where he’d screamed as they’d cut him open, ripping apart every inch of his skin, and then pouring that molten hell into him.

And he’d survived even that, survived as they’d broken him apart and fixed him again, into something else. Survived as they’d killed him, and brought him back to life, just so they could do it over and over again, die…live…die…

They’d tried their experiments on him, and they’d paraded him, like an animal, which was exactly what they’d made him into. They even introduced him as that, as they’d finally been satisfied with the irony of their inflictions upon him.

Satisfied that his punishment was now complete, that he’d paid for his insubordination, he was heralded as a genetic breakthrough, an example of carnal torture as they showed just how extensive man’s cruelty can be, cruel satisfaction in the knowledge that they’d turned him into what he had once hunted… a mutant.

‘Welcome to a brave new world,’ they’d said, 'welcome..., Logan.' And Logan, now with the added codename Wolverine, as damned a good soldier as he was, as damned resolute as he had been, never forgot that little girl with her long hair and her chocolate brown eyes.