Chapter 9: To Catch A Break

"I see you've let your half-dead bird fly away," Stryker said with a banal tone, weary eyes watching over four mutants bound on their knees with Victor making his way over to him.

General Munson had tipped off the colonel concerning mutants who had escaped custody, hiding in an abandoned warehouse after they infiltrated a secret government bunker. Inside the dry-rotted building papers detailing their findings littered the tables. Plans written to overthrow officials against mutant rights smudged an old chalkboard, down to the minute detail of how it needed to happen.

Stryker reeled in his sentiments over the pathetic display. How can mutants expect rights when they committed violent acts against humans? Just the other day a mutant attacked a human woman simply because she walked on the other side of the street to avoid the mutant's suspicious aura. How many more incidents like this should occur in order for the rest of the congressman to put mutant laws into effect?

"Look at this," Stryker motioned to the detainees, a ridiculing sneer crossing his face. "This is getting out of hand, such a waste to kill them when they harbor such magnificent powers."

Victor gave an alligator's rotting carcass about the mutants Stryker nagged about, simmering in quiet rage over his prized capture alluding his grasp at the last possible second. He surprised himself by reigning in his murderous intent, the urge to expel his frustration maddened him.

"Just like your captive, Victor," he turned to face his soldier, his defined jaws were tight with strain. "How soon will it be until she exposes us? We are... non-existent in this world, a ghostly hand that deals with any threat in the dark..."

Aw fucking hell.

How many times did he have to bring up another one of his 'failure isn't an option' speeches like he was a child? It wasn't often, if ever, that he let his quarry escape; leaving none alive to tell their tales. So unless he had a point to make in all this he wasn't going to stand around and listen.

"Is there a point in all this?" Victor crossed his arms, eyes pointedly staring ahead, sucking on the inside of his jaw to keep his voice even.

"Yes, there is," Stryker walked around the captives, placing his hands behind his back. "Remember that... meeting we had with General Munson? Where we discussed plans to re-furnish the military compound up north? The contractor, Mr. O'Dare, showed me the new blueprints; nothing short of amazing..."

He wanted Victor to ask him about the place, what he needed to do with it and what had to be done to get it. His personal missions always started out that way now, Stryker leaving vague hints and purposely omitting the details to make him ask.

"Why are you so happy about it? Is the building adding shit so you can watch all the attractions like a zoo?" Victor jested in dry mirth, wary of an obese mutant shifting from the pressure on his knees.

"Well... yes Victor," he smiled, finishing his stroll around the prisoners. "If you have noticed there is an increasing mutant problem-" he looked down at the bound men "-and I firmly believe the location will serve as a greater good to the people."

"You think you can lock us up like animals!" One man bellowed, eyes glazed over in heated rage, or rather one of them was. Victor enjoyed sinking his thumb into this idiot's eyeball after he kept shooting... magma or some shit out of his sockets. Underneath his lower lids a scorched-triangular region served as the area where the fiery liquid receded to―or it did. Victor messed up that part too.

"Trade places with us and see how you feel just because you were born with something you couldn't help!" Another captive snarled, covered in slashes brought upon by that loud monkey of a mercenary.

"You fucks are the reason we fight! We're not the bad guys, you are!"

"Victor!"

A solid knee connected to an open jaw, hearing the bone crack as the vocal protester sprawled to the floor unconscious.

The others quieted their verbal outbursts, defiant eyes lit ablaze of one of their own injured. These militant men who captured them share their biological nature, born with a genetic mutation ignorantly shunned by the masses; but unlike them in their ability to hunt their own in terms of greed.

"Now, like I was saying before the rude interruption, I need you to reclaim that woman Victor. Who knows of the damage she will cause us-"

"None," he rolled his eyes, a flat tone punctuating his word.

Stryker stood unamused. "And if I may inquire why you think so, Victor?"

"Didn't say shit to her about anything nor has she seen any faces, save for Bradley but he's easily forgettable."

Why in the hell is he explaining himself to this old coot as if he was a child telling his father about his misgivings? Chances are she wouldn't mention a peep to any authority because she is a mutant. Equality for mutants are just about non-existent. Any physical incidents are swept under the rug and if they are to blame then a hunt to claim their heads commenced.

She was smart enough―hopefully―to keep a low profile. Or dumb enough to seek a fatal revenge against them... on her part.

"Not good enough of an answer, Victor-"

"Nothing ever is with you is it, controlling down to the last detail," Victor cast a sly glance in the colonel's direction, internally reveling at the dark look crossing his features. "What's with this O'Dare fellow? Another one of your bed mates you want something more from?"

The colonel played it off under a smirk, strolling a little past Victor faced in the opposite direction.

"What do you think they would have done to you and your brother had I not come along? Would you rather be in a controlled setting where they picked and prodded you with no concept of freedom?"

A slow, heated sensation prickled in his chest, spreading downwards to pool deep in his belly, rising like a tidal wave to submerge rational logic. He didn't appreciate someone mentioning his brother to rile or subdue him, creating an opening to test his patience with their snide remarks.

Some day he'll have to figure out why he let Stryker continue to breathe. It wasn't the money because he had so much of it. He had received exclusive offers from certain 'shadow' officials from the government; they'd thought he could serve their purposes better, but Victor wouldn't be able to express himself to his preference. 'Like' and 'Stryker' were not in the same category so that wasn't it either. Steeled gray eyes looked down at the unconscious mutant, Cappuccino-hued complexion reminding him of that deplorable town in Africa where they found a precious metal.

Oh, now he remembered.

"I don't see the point in bringing him up," Victor snarled a little, speaking in a carefully controlled tone.

"It's just... humbling to remember your beginnings when you lose your place, that's all." he held his hands loose behind his back, pretending to hold interest in the scenery. "Now, Mr. O'Dare helped in adding compartments to the facility up north but he has this irritating desire to build residential dwellings to expand his empire in the same location. But there is more than enough space here in the United States for his endeavors, don't you think?"

So... the old fart wants him to visit O'Dare because he intended to cut down a few trees where the general wanted to update this facility?

"I believe you should pay him a visit to persuade him to locate his expansion somewhere else."

Oh, now he got it. Whatever Stryker and his government bed buddies wanted to do they couldn't with O'Dare in their hair. Well persuading people to change their goals he had no problems with. Though to piss the colonel off after that sly comment he should track Anaya down after he talked to O'Dare.

In fact, that's exactly what he'll do.

"I trust your indiscretion has not thrown you off your game, Victor," Stryker said, turning to see the stocky soldier with an expressionless profile. "Capture her. She cannot expose us."

"All right, all right," his eyebrows furrowed, irritance seeping into his core because the old fart nagged about the same command like a broken record.

"Go back to the helicopter, Zero will give you the necessary items to complete your mission."

Without another word Victor rolled his eyes and turned around, glad to get be from that senile fuck and his faltering faith in his "dream team." Victor guessed, at some point, that the troop would fall apart; only a matter of time left until it did.

It's natural though, the weakest-willed are the first to quit. Hm, he wondered what made Jimmy's resolve suddenly dissipate?

Zero stood outside the helicopter with a manila folder waiting in his hands, Bradley leaning against the helicopter's door. The feral took the folder without acknowledging the two and looked inside. A false I.D. with his picture on it told of his employment as a government official. He kept his smarts and intuition sharp as the years grew by dealing with Stryker and authoritative figures. Victor knew of their vindictive methods and the extremes they would go through to get something done. Like so, he participated in these mannerisms too, but he wasn't naïve to the concept of betrayal.

A first-class plane ticket to New York rested underneath the card and above two pictures; one of Mr. O'Dare and his bloated, walrus-sized face and of a woman with raven-dark hair and round eyes.

A woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to the harlot in that seedy bar, wearing a black top and a camouflage mini-skirt a few days ago.

He felt his lips threaten to split his mouth open, teeth proud and glistening to reveal a sudden giddiness swimming in his gut. Victor couldn't tell if it was a coincidence or if lady luck thought to humor him, but this presented a viable opportunity to draw Anaya out if he missed finding her in time.

Closing the folder his feet led him around the helicopter, inhaling the brisk, nutty fragrance and a light sanguine odor, lifting his nose to the breeze swirling about him.

The Korean gunslinger looked upon the feral mutant with a questioning glance, clueless on the reason for Victor's vacancy in the helicopter. It was early morning already in New York and taking the scenic route wasn't an option.

"There's another bird coming for the rest of the team. I'm to drop you off near the airport."

"Oh come now Z," Victor hummed, swiveling his head to the side, glancing beyond his shoulder with his feet trekking deeper into the forest, "You know I prefer the old-fashioned way on a mission. See that's what's wrong with you kids today"―Victor stopped and faced the agent―"You're so in a rush to get things done that you never enjoy the full experience or the thrills."

"Well, not all of us can thoroughly enjoy ourselves as much as you, Vic." Zero dragged his words with purposeful intent, knowing it was pointless to steer the feral against his resolve.

"You should try it more often," he teased, spinning around to keep on his walk. "You might find a better part of yourself if you let loose. What fun is it if you don't chew on the leash pulling you back?" He left the gunslinger with those parting words, trailing into the thicket of low-hanging branches and thick shrubbery, inhaling the woodsy aromas of the night.

Ten minutes later the feral returned to the spot where his defiant bunny hopped out of his grasp, inhaling her blackberries and vanilla aura buried into the frantic footprints she created. To the common man her trail would have gone cold if they chased after her, lost on their radar until they chanced upon her again.

But not Victor.

Three days could go by and he can still track someone's scent from the particular bodily oils they secreted and hers was ripe with her recent departure. Leaning on one knee he dug his thick fingers into the soft clay, scraping up a pile to inhale the mingling odors within. Natural elements of the earth coated by the loose gravel stained his nostrils; the dirt pummeled by industrial scents tainting its original smell. He dipped his tongue inside the mound tasting her essence; an internal tracking device should his current search yield no results.

On average his interest in a frail should have waned, finding a new chew toy to gnaw on to humor his sanity. Yet her stubborn wiles and tricky ploys intrigued him, able to keep up with him, though barely, and have his toes tingling with the delight of a chase. Nothing replaces the acrid, despair-ridden pheromones and the damp aroma of a wet pussy when a frail denies him, but Anaya's obstinate ways to submit to her faltering resolve demanded his attention.

The hunter is a strategist at heart, making the prey believe they had control over their options when they expanded the range for the hunter to strike instead. Yes, she posed a minuscule challenge he had yet to mount successfully, entertaining the idea to stalk and follow her now, letting her know that he will claim her no matter how flippant and evasive her tactics may be.

It's funny how shit can flip on its head without notice.

Bitter disdain accompanied Anaya's reflections, trying to shove the memories into the recesses of her mental prison but it flashed to her mind's forefront. That was such a shitty―what was she going to call it, a kidnapping?―circumstance that it kept replaying on an endless loop. She didn't know what she had gotten into, but those men―and Victor―had this secret, militant vibe coating their presence and she held no interest in getting involved.

After nearly falling into the brute's clutches and escaping into the bed of a rickety truck, an elated sensation washed over her being then fleeted away, only to return like a yo-yo. With the now-obvious government group Victor worked for she needed to seek hidden shelter, presuming they'll probably want her dead just for seeing them. A niggling feeling told her that Victor's commander would send the brute on her trail, and with his desire to hunt she would be nothing but sport to him.

In a small town the nearly senile and oblivious driver swerved into she had stepped out of the pickup's bed after he went inside a dingy-looking tavern, keeping to the shadows so the sparse humans prowling the night wouldn't see her.

Her hunger spiked, demanding some much needed nourishment, searching through the darkened side streets for someone walking near or into them. She entertained the idea to let somebody help her but humans are such ignorant and cowardly creatures they'll probably turn on her with her eye color and fangs. Perhaps even hand her over to the men she expected to reclaim her.

While cradling her sore back a rusted red door opened in the vacant side street she hid in, Anaya ducking behind a putrid-smelling dumpster bin to avoid the civilian's gaze. From the heavy footfalls Anaya believed it to be a male, aided by the hoarse cough and the thick stench of marijuana coating their scent. The person lifted the top of the bin and threw a bag inside with what sounded like old pots.

Broken glass echoed in the grime and oil-slicked alleyway but not from the trash bag hitting the dumpster's bottom, it came from inside the building, followed by men shouting. Frantic footfalls belonging to the mystery trash taker-outer scurried back, Anaya peeking around the bin's corner to see a round, heavy-set man rush through the door.

If she had been on her game she could have charged at the human and supplied her thirst temporarily, though the thick odor of weed sounded unappealing to ingest, However the commotion inside the building should give her a broader range of choices to choose from.

Mustering the last reserves of her adrenaline-induced strength she tip-toed towards the rusted door, hearing angered voices rising in heated exchanges, opening the door to step into a barely lit kitchen. An eclectic mix of herbal seasonings and flavored meats stirred her stomach awake, wanting to stuff her mouth yet time was fleeting to capture something more savory.

Muted voices had morphed into emotionally charged words after Anaya squatted near a counter by the stove, listening to what she considered a robbery.

"We told you to get someone else to run this restaurant! No one wants a dyke here negatively influencing our kids!"

Oh... this was one of those attacks.

"The mayor won't do shit about you so we have to step up to the plate," the country-sounding man said, breath hard and raspy with his venomous words aimed to hurt whom he talked to.

"It's not your place to say where I can set up my business. You're not customers here so it shouldn't matter to you!" A husky feminine voice shouted.

Whoops. Anaya assumed the person who took out the trash was a man because of the cough's deep pitch.

"Trent's daughter is already picking up your habits. She kissed Brady's daughter and they're only fourteen years old! Where in the hell did they learn that except from you?"

"No! Stay away from me-"

A scuffle clamored in the dining room, a vase or a ceramic object dropping to the floor with a loud crack. It sounded like the two men held the woman down, her frantic protests muffled by something covering her mouth.

How repetitive.

Is that the solution to combat a situation where it made someone adamant to stick to their lifestyle when it was challenged? Of course it was. Hell, history is full of problems like this, where the majority or a dominant group would rather exterminate anything different from them than use any semblance of logic to understand why they felt that way.

It amazed her how humans can fill their hearts with hatred over something so petty. So... because she lived her life as a different sexual orientation, these simple-minded fucks had the gall to assault her even though they had their own lives to live?

Sucks to be her right now.

Slim fingers covered her sensitive nose and slightly chapped lips after she caught the tantalizing, coppery whiff hovering in the air. If the woman's yelp led to any insight she knew they cut her. Her sobs increased, punctuated by the muffled restraint hindering her cries.

"Shut yer yappin'! Ya brought this upon yerself," a man with a stiff, gruff tone said, doing something to her to heighten her screams. The captured woman's fear-laced aura mingling with the loud sanguine aroma snuck through Anaya's palms, planting its spice in her nostrils, waiting on them to finish her up to lap her blood.

Yes, have her suffer like you did when he assaulted you. You two are a match made in Hell!

The haze she roved under had cracked, allowing her thoughts to sink in, frowning after she realized she indeed sounded like her captor. He reveled in her pain and suffering, laughing at any attempt of hers to stand up to him or plead with him to let her go.

Yet she wasn't basking in the woman's misery, it's just her plasma smelled the cleanest. Mr Country had an acidic tint and Mr. Gruff's carried a thickened odor. Her sights had already chosen the now-injured woman and she didn't feel like changing targets. Anaya only needed about a cup's worth of blood to steer her straight then she'll be on her way.

"Oh man," an uncontrolled sigh let itself out on a heavy breath, mashing her hands against her cheeks. Interfering had no positive benefits, other than the woman hollering out 'monster' if Anaya offed those two, forcing the vamp-mutant to silence her hysterical screams anyway.

A berating hunger tried to claw its way to her insides, shaming her to let the woman suffer abuse because she lived how she pleased. It ran parallel to Anaya's own mistreatment, Victor glowing in carnal excitement every time he gained an upper hand on her through violence. However she had her mutant powers to see her through the ordeal. Would it be so bad to help a woman from the ever-growing ignorance and harm many men loved to display?

"Victor, you fucking asshole." She gritted her teeth under her breath, anger bubbling inside her upon recalling his vindictive ways.

Apparently her words came out above a whisper, the door swinging open to reveal a henchman.

A bloody knife gleamed in the dimmed lights of the kitchen, Amethyst-hued eyes trailing up a sleeved-covered arm, finally settling on a narrowed and gray-bearded face. Round eyes sporting irises the darkest shade of emeralds glared in dismal surprise, his tall and slender build tense and strained, prepared to strike if need be.

"What is it, Bill," the owner of the hoarse voice spoke.

"Just some colored prostitute hiding back here."

A what?!

Anaya failed to process how she made her way to him in half of a millisecond, but one minute his widened eyes couldn't believe he was held in the air by his throat and the next on the floor with his neck ripped out.

It seems these upstanding gentlemen cared less to, or flagrantly wouldn't, accept the changing times, pushing their views on what they deemed abnormal to assimilate into their mannerisms. His comment would have rolled off her shoulders but he had to shed the skin off her teeth with that 'prostitute' remark. She would have thrown off this flimsy robe if she had found some clothes but alas there was no stores around to break in and put something else on.

Grabbing the hunting knife 'Bill' dropped she licked the flat side in obvious enjoyment, shivering when the vital fluid seeped into her tongue. Crackled energy spiked through her, breath heavy and thick with the revitalizing sensation awakening her senses. She wanted more―needed more, craved it for so long she almost forgot what it felt like.

"Bill, what happened?" Gruff's tight voice drew near the door, unsure to what those squelching, choking noises were. "Did she run away or did ya knife her?"

Gruff found himself jerked to the floor after the door swung outwards, dark hazel eyes looking upon a woman with red smudged on her left arm, licking Bill's knife in obvious pleasure. As the door closed his vision located Bill on the floor, staring straight towards the ceiling lying motionless, his blue and white plaid shirt no longer sporting the light colors.

Anaya looked over the small establishment, a woodsy and rustic setting to fit in with the town's rural location. She guessed it was closing time judging by the dirty plates still left out, a cleaning cart sitting by a table the men had obviously disrupted her from doing.

The woman sat tied to a chair with knife wounds littering her arms, medium-bronzed skin polluted with bruises from Bill and Gruff's fear-driven blows. The cut on her wrist was deep, a steady stream dripping to the floor to pool into a small puddle.

A stream where Anaya unconsciously latched onto its source.

"D-demon. You're a demon!"

Somewhere in-between the woman's pained mumble and Gruff's hysterical outbursts the mutantess threw herself away from the victim's wrist, breathing deep to calm her craving thirst from reaching its peak. Her mouth worked on its own accord, licking, sucking, tasting and savoring the succulent fountain she drank from, letting her malnourished body gain a chance to settle.

Her senses kick-started into overdrive, returning to their original strength after she neglected her hunger, after it dulled with her kidnapping. "Pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?" Anaya closed her eyes to let the filling sensation spread throughout her limbs, hearing the thunderous pounding of frantic hearts coming off the two occupants in thick waves.

Her lids opened, vision sliding over to the sickly, pale-looking man, his hazels wide in disbelief. "Here you are calling me a demon when you're the one slicing someone to death." Anaya felt her claws extend, shifting towards the woman, cutting the rope trapping her.

Dark brown eyes never left her robe-clad form. The woman shook with uncertainty to yell in fright or express her gratitude, backing over to the counter where the cash register rested, cradling her wrist tight with worry evident on her face.

A small hum escaped Anaya's ruby-stained lips, closing her lids to withhold her blood lust, wanting to drink until she couldn't swallow another drop; to claw her opponents until their suffering amused her. She hadn't indulged in these carnal desires in months, only taking what she needed then going about her day. Yet the intoxicating aromas swirling in her nostrils yielded a need too strong to ignore.

Maybe one more small dose of the refreshing liquid would quiet her urges.

Before she shifted towards the woman a blunt, scraping burn grazed her cheek, head whipping to the side after an echoing bang shattered the tension. It stung, sending her nerves on haywire to alert her to the injury. Slim fingers slid up her bloodied cheek, body moving in a slow turn until she rested on the culprit responsible.

In Gruff's shaking left hand was a chrome .357 revolver, smoking vapors rising from the barrel, aimed in alignment with her throat. It seems he planned ahead in case a hiccup thwarted their plans to knife the lesbian to death. How noble of him to stiffen his backbone in such a shitty situation, and how foolish he was to piss her off.

Anaya stepped around the counter, teeth gritted with the feel of her skin knitting the deep gash closed. She wondered if her powers were strong enough to function at moderate capacity, wishing to return his friendly gesture upon him.

Only one way to find out.

Her hand wiped away the bloody droplet, taking slow steps in his direction, steeled eyes waiting on his twitchy finger to fire. The moment arrived with the bullet springing from the barrel, Anaya tapping into her natural energies to assimilate her molecules to his right. The bullet planted into the wall where she once stood, Gruff releasing a fresh batch of fright-laced pheromones wafting her way... and the fumes of his thickened blood. He twisted the gun to shoot her again, aim unsteady after her disappearing act unnerved him.

Yes, now we're in business.

She teleported in front of him again, moving one step at a time, assembling her form left or right to avoid the slug. After the sixth shot an empty 'click' echoed in the restaurant, Gruff continues to pull the trigger, droplets of sweat running down his stocky face. His heart thudded with a violent pounding, shaking in deep tremors over his inability to down this monster.

"You're... you're a mutant..."

"Why yes, I am," she beamed with confidence, standing in front of his 5'9 frame, soaking up his faltering, cowardly presence. Take away a craven's weapon he uses for immoral purposes and what's left? "And you must be"―she took a glimpse at her fingernails, admiring their sharpened length―"simply trash."

Four claws raked across his face, a pained howl springing loose from his lips. Crimson trails leaked out of the scratches, Anaya sensed her thirst rising to submerge rational thinking again. And maybe she could let it fly freely this time. It wasn't like this little cockroach didn't deserve it...

Another four scratches would have ripped his skin if five plain-clothes civilians carrying firearms into the restaurant hadn't interrupted. How fun would it be to play with them at the moment, but they shouldered too many guns and teleporting drained what spark of energy she had.

Swiveling her head to give a small wink to the woman, nimble feet carried her to the back door in less than three seconds, dodging whizzing bullets with a humored cackle, feeling a rising rush shooting through her form resulting from their useless chase and surprised yells. She knew they wouldn't catch her, watching them scramble around in terror and disappointment when they lost sight of her. Like so, two of the men twisted around to see where she went, to no avail.

Perched on the rooftop of the restaurant she barely contained her laughter, threatening to expose the tickled giggle urging to explode. Playing this little game suited her fine, a game of tag she always won by default, save for the case a few days ago.

Her jovial mood lessened, sobering from her dazed appetite to remember how these circumstances happened. In her newly regained freedom she had left a stronger, bloodier clue for him to follow her with, leaving her scarce time to put enough distance between them.

With the wind carrying the human's voices through the alley, she left this small detour smothered in rotting garbage and copper behind, hopping from building to building to leave these memories in hopes to never come across them again. Hiding was her best option until she deemed it safe to prowl the streets once more, and she knew just the place to ride it out until this shit storm blew over.

A/N:Looks like some of Victor's mannerisms are rubbing off on her.

I think we need an anime/movie based on Sabretooth, don't you think? We're always seeing movies with the "good guys" but why not one for those who are a bit more...unorthodox in their actions, lol.