By Ryan Ledgerwood
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DISCLAIMER: Anyone/thing that is owned by anyone is their own property. Anything that you don't recognize is probably soemthing that I made up. If you want to use them, then ask. There's swearing in this story, so if you don't like it, DON'T READ IT! Nobody's holding a gun to your head.
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"LOGAN! Logan, wake your wrinkly ass up and get this god damned tin monkey off of me, before I tear it apart!" shouted Sam, from the tightening grip of a robotic monstrosity. Logan woke with a start.
"Wha...? Huh?" he asked, still asleep. He noticed the 'prisoner' in the robot's grasp. "Shiva, let him go." The robot did so. He then noticed who the prisoner was. "Holy shit. Well if it ain't the friggin' ghost of Christmas past. Sam, you old shit, where the hell have you been?"
Sam shook off the robot's grasp and answered. "I need my stuff. You been keepin' it safe?"
Logan raised a withered eyebrow. "Really? You decided after forty years to start up again? You know no one was better."
"Logan, I got a note." He handed Logan the note. He read it. Logan growled and hit a nearby cabinet, shattering the wood. "I know. Is my stuff ready?"
"You know it boss. Shiva, get his stuff." replied Logan. "Ya' know, it's still funny, having Shiva as my servant, instead of my enemy. All it took was a two-bit mutant hacker."
"Logan," scolded Sam. "Willy Gates wasn't just any hacker. He could control any computer, write and re-write any program, and some say he had some sort of mass mind control power. He was the ultimate hacker." Just then, Shiva arrived, carrying a large crate.
"Kept everything up-to-date, bossman, just as you wanted." He slowly made his was to the crate, and opened it. He started naming the things off. He pulled out a thick piece of folded black cloth. "Full flexi-adamantium combat armor with cybernetic strength enhancers." He then pulled out some firearms. "Two plasma rifles, your supped up shotgun machine gun combo, and your semi-automatic crossbow." He then gingerly pulled out a sword and sheath. "And now, the finale, your sword, sire." Logan got on one knee and presented Sam with the sword, with a grin on his face. Sam took it, unsheathed it, and took a few practice swings.
"Nice, very nice." replied Sam.
"Very interesting metal, if you don't mind me saying so. Carbonaniun and Vibranium right? Nice combo." said Logan.
"Yeah, it is. It's been in the family for generations. Funny thing is, when it was forged in Japan, almost no one had heard of either metal. My ancestor received it as a gift for saving their Emperor's only daughter. There has been no equal." Sam's voice told of how proud he was of this sword. "When my father...died, he left this to me."
Having lived in Japan for years, Logan could see the fine design and craftsmanship that was put into the sword. "It's a damn fine sword, and a damn fine shame if anything should happen to it..."
"Logan, I have no intention of dying tonight anymore than you do." He grabbed the stuff. "I gotta go." With that, he left into the black night.
"Kid, I am dying," he said to no one in particular. "My healing factor quit working about five years ago, and I got cancer." For the first time in years, tears started to flow down Logan's face. "Kick some ass kid."
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"Are the plans for our visitor in place?"
"Yes, m'lord"
"Excellent. Remember, he believes that we are under a flag of truce, which shall remain so until I tell you otherwise. Is that understood?" With the obvious threat within the last sentence, the servent knew only one response.
"Yes, m'lord."
"Excellent. We were once enemies, but times and situations have changed. ANYONE who attacks him without excuse will be dealt with most severly by myself. Need I remind you what happened last time..."
"No, Lord Sinister."
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"Logan seemed awfuly quiet," Sam thought as he put his armor on. "Well, what did you think, Sam? Did you really think that he would limp over to you and greet you like a long lost son? Well, yeah actually. I mean I haven't seen him for most of the past forty years after all."
He checked his weapons for ammunition, holstered them, and examined his sword again. "Have I really been reduced to this?" he asked himself as he wearily sheathed his sword onto his back.
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Remarkably fast for someone who had until recently been dead, she made her way to the coast of New York, to a place she shouldn't know about, and entered it. A metalic arm grabed her, but in a show of remarkable strength, she picked it up and threw it into an empty crate.
A whithered old man slowly made his way to her, aided by a cane. He looked...then stared at her. "Paige?" he croaked.