** Copyright ** These characters are Marvel's. I'm just using them in some fantasies... so don't sue me or anything because hey... everybody's got fantasies! X-Writers is a non-profit fan-fiction organization. --------------------------- Cable #30 "Cain is Able" Writer: Wix Editor: Marysia --------------------------- The town is Del'pk. A hole in the ground on the Chad/Niger boarder. Haven for gun-runners, smugglers, political refugees. Anything is for sale here. Drugs? Girls? Organs? God? It's all here, if you've got the cash. A man can make good money here. The bar is called Jodie's. Though I've been here for about a month, since I got back from that weird kidnap attempt, and haven't met Jodie. Strange business that, everyone was ever so apologetic about the whole thing and they dropped me off here. Wanted to get my head straight, drop out of the supervillian game for a bit. That Onslaught thing really freaked me out. The men are criminals, politicians, business men, and heroes. The four in the corner play a game called Qurk, it's a combination of Russian Roulette and Poker. Losing hand looses a finger, it's a game of luck and sacrifice, but winning pays well and so they play. The fat guy talking on the pay phone is my partner Vinny Urbino. The locals call him "Hiawl," it means "Wet." Vinny sweats a lot. The woman behind the bar is mine. Her name is Niagara, and I guess you'd say she runs the place. She a tough bitch, knows how to handle herself. More importantly she knows how to handle trouble. And me... I am trouble. The name's Cain Marko, though you may know me via newspapers, or television as the "Juggernaut"; Indestructible, force of nature, nemesis of the X-Men, Charlie X's brother, and a hundred other acronyms, titles, terms, or insults. Today is my birthday. Birthday. Not my real birthday you understand. When your damn near indestructible, virtually immortal, and bent on being the richest villian around you don't stop to celebrate, but I am getting old... and I forget things now and then. Maybe it's time I started keeping track again. Vinny shuffles over from the phone. He was beaten by a gang of thugs a few weeks ago, for being white, and still has the limp. He's smiling. We have a buyer. "Yearsly my boy you won't believe it!" Vinny is excited, he's sweating more than usual, and half whispering half screaming into my ear. "We got a buyer in Uganda, calls himself Gregory, he wants the whole shipment Yearsly! The whole fucking thing!." It's not everyday you find a buyer willing to deal in Sentinel technology, not at the prices we're asking, not in Uganda, and especially not enough Sentinel parts to outfit a legion of mutant hunters. "You sure about this Vin?" I ask, but his eyes are gleaming, and I know he's serious before he answers. "God-fucking damned if I'm not! Says if we get it there in two weeks he'll give us a cool million for our troubles. I tell ya Yearsly this is the score we've been waiting for! We'll be set for life!" "Sounds suspicious to me Vin. You know that the market for out-of-date Sentinel parts isn't exactly skyrocketing, you sure this guy's legit." "The bastard didn't even know what a Sentinel was! Had to explain to him about the 'bots, even mutants! Friend of mine put him onto us, he was looking for some heavy duty artillery, and he came to the right place. If we can get the I-982 operational on the trip I figure we can pull double the asking price out of him." Vinny wasn't whispering any more, and heads turned. It's not good to draw attention to yourself in a place like Del'pk, especially not when your talking about a 1 billion dollar score going down in two weeks. "He wants the I-982?" I asked, the I-982 was an prototype Sentinel built about eight years ago. It wasn't a mutant hunter per-say, it tracked muties alright, and could handle them if it had to. But the I-982 was built for a more general purpose, mass destruction. In the late eighties the U.S. government was sure mutants were creating "Mutant Only" communities around the globe. Antarctica, the Australian outback, the Sahara. Anywhere desolate and uninhibited was a suspected site, the I-982 was made to get in undetected, cause a lot of damage. Then either get destroyed, or get out. While the mutants were rebuilding more Sentinels could be sent to the coordinates and mop up. It was a good plan, and maybe the governments were right. I mean if a guy can spout wings and fly nothin' says there isn't some "Mutant Hilton" in Latin America somewhere. Anyway the I-982 was developed in northern Madagascar. Everything seemed to be working just fine until the techs took 'ol I-982 out for a test drive. Turns out the big boy worked great... too great. Destroyed the tech. crew, control buildings, and even the mini-nuclear reactor powering the research facility. With its external command computers shut down the I-982 shut down as well. The mini-nuclear reactor went Chernobyl and released killing radiation in a ten-mile radius. No big loss, a few native tribes. About ten thousand animals. The I-982's backers tried to recover the 'bot but their teams got eaten-up by the radiation. Eventually the new model came off the lines and they forgot about it. Figured no one would be able to get to the droid for at least a thousand or so years. Well it took me two months working alone, hauling out each part by hand. But I got it. Every last scrap. Theoretically the I-982 could work again, of course theoretically the sun could explode any second. I figure the chances are about even. "Well, he didn't actually say he wanted it," Vinny admitted, and tugged on his collar, "but if he wants heavy artillery I-982 is the biggest there is. If we get it running I'm sure he'll be interested, if not..." Vinny let that last part trail off and gave me the 'ol eye-brow arch. Well hell, it wasn't as if extortion was anything new to me. I'm about to reply when Niagara hauls out a huge honey cake, slaps a conical hat with Snoopy on it over my head and breaks into song accompanied by most of the regulars, and Vinny. I smile, it is my birthday after all. I count thirty-three candles on the cake, I figure I'm really up in my late fifties but I have aged well, to say the least. The song winds down with the drunks at the bar banging their glasses in rhythm (this is Africa, they're black... they do everything in rhythm... it gets damn annoying), and belching (yeah, in rhythm). Niagara stands on her tip-toes and plants a big wet one on my cheek. I give her a pinch and a pat for good measure and hug her close. The cake tastes great. I guess you never really think about a villain like me wolfing down six large slices of honey cake and four glasses of milk in under ten minutes, laughing, telling dirty jokes, and genuinely enjoying the company of a good honest woman, and some not-so-honest men. But it happens. And sometimes it feels damn good! Vinny and I leave to check on the goods, they're buried about twenty miles outside Del'pk. We climb into my rusty Land Rover. I turn the key, and nothing. Damn, Vinny talked to loud... and now there's going to be trouble. I get out of the drivers side. Vinny stays in, he's been around enough to know that I can handle this type of thing. About five feet away is a group of men, they are holding Uzi's, and they've got a target. Me. Now I'm an imposing guy. About 6'10", nearly 400 pounds of muscle, I'm big I'm mean, and I don't smile much. But to these guys size means shit, this isn't some school yard bullying. These guys are serious. They open fire. Now I've heard it said that, "God created men, and Mr. Colt made them equal." Because let's face it, when its man vs. a slug the slug will win seventy percent of the time. But the way I figure it God got a little peeved at Mr. Colt (who is rotting in some pit in Hell no doubt for pissing on the Almighty's idea) so he turned right around, gave that 18th century fuck the finger and made guys like me. Men still aren't equal in God's world. But guns aren't all they're cracked up to be either. The bullets are slowed about a foot from me. That's the old personal force-field taking effect. They still hit me hard, though I don't feel much pain any more. But they do about as much damage as a snot ball hitting steel. I smile, the men with the guns don't. Two minutes later things are mopped up. Vinny is getting a little green, and I don't blame him not everyday you see some Zulu with a gun shoved up his ass. I look under the hood, replace the spark plugs. And we're off. ********* The hiding place is still there, undisturbed. Course anyone coming through here would feel a little tingle the closer they got. When they were within two miles they'd start feel nauseous. One mile they'd have diarrhoea so bad they'd be near dehydration. One-half mile, they'd start to cough. Not just a little cough by a wracking, gut wrenching, belching cough. Quarter of a mile? Well, no one has gotten that far yet. Vinny's outfitted in some radiation gear we picked up surplus from the Egyptian army. Nice quality, he's still a little green from the site back in Del'pk and the radiation old I-982 is emitting isn't helping much either. Me? I'm fine, never felt better. A little hungry though. I thumb a button on my belt and gears and cranks grind into motion. A steel box rises slowly out of the ground. It's almost two stories high, and thirty yards long. When I said we had Sentinel parts, I meant we had Sentinel parts! Vinny runs inside for a quick inspection, he's carrying the anti-grav. disks we "borrowed" back in Paris. We plan to move out tonight, we'll make good time. Should be in Uganda in eight, maybe ten days. I light a cigarette and take a draw. Lung cancer? Stopping the Juggernaut. Not likely. Juggernaut, haven't used that name in awhile. Vinny doesn't know, nor does Niagara. I'm old, I'm tired of playing villain to Charlie's hero. I want one big score. Then settle down, maybe have kids. Maybe just eat, drink, and screw until I die. If I die. Hell who cares, just to live again. Ain't lived much since I got these powers, hate, jealousy, rage? Oh, I've had them in abundance, but fun? laughter? companionship? Well there's been a little or each. To little. Vinny is just affixing the last anti-grav. disk when I notice the figure on the horizon. He must be about three miles away, and he's coming fast. Like he's running. Running right into our stash. I motion Vinny back into the Land Rover. He swallows hard, he's paranoid, and does what I tell him. I finish the cigarette and wait. The figure is coming fast, must be making great time. He's within a mile of us now and hasn't slowed. Probably a goddamn mutant. But he's alone, and no one mutie stands up the Juggernaut. I crack my knuckles, take off my shirt, and wait. It takes about twelve minutes for the guy to come into view. He's running, not even breathing hard. He's stark naked. And he's familiar. I hear Vinny cock a shotgun behind me, he's probably getting a bead on the sucker right now. I don't bother telling him it won't do him any good. The guy slows as he approaches us. His face is calm, serene, I guess you'd call it Zen-like if you were so inclined. He was missing a few robotic appendages, his hair was shorter and less grey, and he had put on a little muscle. But I recognized him anyway. I may be getting old, but you don't forget the face of a man. Especially when that man is Nathan Summers; Cable. I smile to him. Vinny looks confused. Nate looks confused. I toss him my shirt. It's big, it'll cover him. He isn't paying much attention to he clothing however, he's focused on me. I approach him. Getting closer causes a headache, when I'm within hand-shake distance the pain is splitting my head like an axe. I get headaches around telepaths sometimes. Little ones around minor players, bigger ones as the muties power increases. Around Charlie I get a migraine, around this guy my brain feels like it's about to explode. This didn't happen the last time I met him. "Cain..." He begins, his voice is dry and cracked. But it has power to it. A power you can almost feel. "Cain...That's right, Yearsly Cain. Good to see you again Nate. Glad you got the invitation." I cut him off, he looks confused again, Vinny is dumbfounded. I drape my shirt over his shoulders, ignoring the fact that the left hemisphere of my brain just fell out my ear, and put my arm around him. He flinches. "Vinny," I yell, motioning him to put the gun away, "this is Nate Summers. Great recon man, old buddy of mine." Vinny lowers the weapon with a little hesitation. Cable stares at me. I wink at him and think 'I'll explain it later,' if he's half the telepath my head tells me he is he picked it up loud and clear. I push Vinny into the back of the Rover. And help Cable into the passenger seat. An adamantium coil has been attached to the shipment. We pull away, the huge metal box floating behind us a like a cloud. Vinny relaxes, and pulls out his laptop. Cable is still staring at me, he's bewildered I can tell. But judging from past encounters will him it's best to have him off-guard. And me? Well I'm whistling an old Hank Williams song and thinking maybe it's time I make more friends. And eliminate a few old enemies in the process... ----------- Wix (Wix@wolsi.com) Creator/Writer: "Vincent Perkins, Hero at Large" "Inquisition" "Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men," -- John Donne, "Death, be not proud" -- *Marysia* Keeper of the Labyrinth Flame and Holy Virgin of Scotland. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Sometimes I fear that the | http://gwis2.circ.gwu.edu/~hawk/fanfic.html whole world is queer. Some | http://www.eskimo.com/~ash/ (or ftp://ftp.") times but always in vain." | http://minuteman.com/x-writers/