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“One-thousand and one Miss-iss-ippi, one-thousand and two Miss-iss-ippi, one-thousand and three Miss-iss-ippi, one-thousand and… oh, screw it,” Calvin muttered face-down into his pillow, “obviously this isn’t working.”

Still grumbling under his breath, the raven haired youth rolled out of his still-made bed and padded silently across the room. The bare floor was cold under his feet, but Calvin found the sensation a welcome relief from the almost too-warm cocoon that his bed had become. Despite having spent the last two months quite literally living in the lap of luxury, Calvin was still finding it difficult to adjust to no longer being on the streets. Hard floors, cold nights, and night-owl hours had all become so much a part of the young mutant’s life that he was finding it difficult adjusting to having even the most basic of amenities again. He’d tried counting sheep, working out, taking a warm shower, even sleeping on the floor, but none of it had been able to soothe his restlessness on this night. Finally, after having spent the last hour and a half with his face shoved into a pillow, Calvin could take it no more. Making his way to the door, he slipped noiselessly out into the hall, thankful, at least, that his room mate was the sort who slept through almost anything and didn’t ask awkward questions about Calvin’s sleeping habits.

The door closed with a gentle ‘click’ behind him, and Calvin turned to survey the hallway before him. He wasn’t entirely sure what the rules were concerning night-time hours, but the boy figured if he was quiet enough, no one would be any the wiser either way. Dressed as he was in black sweat pants and a skin-tight long-sleeve shirt of the same color, he should have little trouble going unnoticed. Besides, he hadn’t really had time to do any extensive exploration of the Institute like he’d been itching to do since he’d gotten there. The last few months his every waking hour had been filled with activity, from school work to basketball games, and daily training sessions to boot. There had been very few hours left to him for thought, or the restlessness he knew it would bring, but the last week or so had seen his life falling into a steady, predictable pattern, and Calvin had found that he now had time to do more than just pause for breath every now and then. With the pattern of his days settling down to a steady, comfortable drone, the youth began to find himself growing more and more restless with each passing day. His thoughts had begun to turn to the life he’d left behind him, and the possible future he might have in front of him. Unsure of who he had become, and frightened to death of where he might be going, Calvin had done everything in his power to distract himself from these thoughts.

Well, until tonight at least.

Sighing to himself, Cal padded silently down the hallway. This hall, at least, was familiar enough to him, and he had no trouble negotiating the twists and turns in its layout. Even in the dark he could see well enough to make his way stealthily across the carpeted floor, and he encountered no trouble before reaching the end of the hall. Here he paused, studying his options as he stood before the grand staircase leading both upwards and down to the lower floors. It presented him with a multitude of options for his nighttime explorations, and Calvin reflected momentarily upon these choices. While he was still somewhat unfamiliar with the entirety of the main floor of the building, he had spent most of his waking hours in the mansion on the ground level. Surely there were rooms he had not seen, and the call of the kitchen was quite strong given his never-ending appetite, but he had as of yet to set even a single foot above the second floor of the school. His mind made up, the young mutant crept quietly up the stairs.

When he reached the landing on the top floor of the building, he paused once more, taking stock of his surroundings. His uncertainty and unfamiliarity made him cautious, and he unconsciously kept close to the shadows. Calvin wasn’t sure where exactly he was, or even if he would be allowed into this wing at all, and so he moved slowly down the hall, keeping his eyes peeled for the slightest movement. Instincts picked up from night-time prowling (both legal and illegal) while he’d been living on the streets made his steps stealthy and silent, almost cat-like in his prowling. Cal could feel his breaths coming in a slow, steady rhythm, his rib cage rising and falling in a shallow four-beat tempo that matched the beating of his heart. His bare feet made barely the ghost of a whisper upon the carpet at his passing as he crept steadily down the length of the hall, his arms loose and relaxed at his sides. To the inexperienced eye, he might have seemed no more than a waver in the shadows, a movement missed in the blinking of an eye attributed to dull senses and sleepiness. Even the lightest of sleepers would scarce have caught his passing, so quietly did he move.

Grinning to himself, Calvin continued to creep further down the hall, his silent footsteps carrying him forward toward whatever adventure might lay around the next curve in the hallway.

Logan had spent the past few hours as he usually did. After dinner -an essential part in his life- he had lit a cigar, spent over two hours in the Danger Room, most of that time all alone, before he came out again, tired and his clothes wet with sweat. He had given himself a rough time. A quick shower and time to go and get some sleep. Logan had actually checked on the student dorms before heading to bed. He had slept two whole hours before awakening, again covered in sweat and breathing heavy. It was a whole new piece in the puzzle of his life...

Another quick shower settled his nerves and flushed away the sweat. His mind went over this new dream again, trying to fit in the dangerous slender man that had apparently been his mate, his friend, in the Vietnam war. Vicky... What had happened there? Why had he killed his superior? Why had he, Logan, fought with Vicky to defend him? What had become of them? Dripping on the floor he stood there. It was fucking late, every human and mutant being with good intentions slept at this hour. Or sat gaming behind a computer. Suddenly a vague scent gently touched his nostrils. The soft sound of footsteps could be heard on the stair. There was supposed to be utmost silence at this hour, as all of the teachers and staff already slept. Well, except for Wolverine.

Within a matter of seconds Logan had put on a pair of trousers. With only his trousers on, his impressive upper body glistening because of the water that still covered it, and his dogtags around his neck he opened the door. His claws extruded the moment he clenched his fists together, silent as the night itself. The adamantium caught a beam of light, shimmering for a brief moment. Wolverine searched for the origin of the sound and the scent, sniffing up the air.

The memory of the invasion was still fresh on his memory. The chaos and the panic after some -or pretty much- soldiers suddenly invaded the school, kidnapping most of the students that were present there. He had escaped, as had the staff and some students, as Iceman and Rogue. After that incident, the security of the school had been updated and the rules were sharpened. So, someone wandering through the school in the middle of the night was... odd, least to say. Suspected, to be more honest. And Wolverine was a bad guard dog to bump in late in the night.

His eyes swept through the hallways, as he heard another sound. He more or less froze in his position, his hands 'loosely' at his sides, ready to attack. They were hidden by the shadows of the night and the simple lack of light in the hallway. Focused on the curve in the hallway, Wolverine waited. He was strong and capable enough to deal with one or more intruders. And as he stood there, he showed confidence, certainty, pure manly power, and a dangerous mutant power as well.

Step after cautious step Calvin progressed down the hallway, easing his way along the wall at a steady pace. Though it had seemed like an eternity since he had last used such skills as he now called upon to silence his feet and conceal his movements in shadow, the raven haired youth found that he slipped back into the familiar patterns of his life on the streets almost as easily as slipping into his favorite sweater. Truthfully it hadn’t been all that long ago, a scant few months in fact, since Calvin had last prowled the night in just such a manner. He could feel the calmly detached demeanor of his thieving days click into place in his mind, a calculated outlook on life he’d been forced to adopt in a ‘kill or be killed’ world.

Silently Calvin assessed the situation, running a mental check in the back of his mind more out of the comfort of familiarity than necessity. The night was dark, and so was the hallway around him, a fact for which the youth was mildly thankful. The only faint light lending any visibility to the hall at all was the occasional swath of pale starlight shining in through a window. Either this hall was used only during the day, or everyone living here was fast asleep, for not even the faintest of lights shone out from under the doorways.

His clothing also was dark, and allowed him to melt into the shadows with little effort. The dark sweats and shirt were favorites of Calvin’s, and he had worn them enough that the once completely black cloth was now only a deep shade of grey. A fleeting smile flickered across the youth’s features at the memory of the very first lesson he had learned on the streets. Only a fool wore completely black clothing to blend in with the night. No shadow was truly black, merely darkening shades of grey, and it was all too easy to spot the shape of a blacker outline in the darkness of the night. Calvin had learned that fact quickly enough, to say the least. He’d had to, in order to survive.

Everything seemed to be in order until Calvin realized he’d forgotten his war paint. Another grin split the young mutant’s features at this thought. “War paint” was the term the Passaic River Warf Rats had used to describe the final touches they’d put on their night clothes when sneaking about after dark. Each member of the group would pause to smear the dark, murky mud found on the river’s bank along any exposed parts of their body, usually their face and hands. Most of them had been dirty enough that a little bit of extra mud wasn’t going to make a difference one way or another, but it had been a ritual they had partaken of with an almost religious air. The practice had a more practical purpose as well. The grimy mud served both to darken and disguise their features, and for those with light skin, to keep any attention being attracted to these features which would otherwise stand out in the dark. Calvin had to admit he felt almost naked without this addition to his wardrobe, a feeling that both surprised and amused him. Why should he be feeling like this now? It wasn’t as if this were a life or death situation. The most that would happen would be getting caught and possibly detention, not winding up beaten and bleeding in a gutter, or caught and sent off to Juvie.

Only a few feet from the fork in the hall, Calvin suddenly paused, freezing in his tracks as if he had become rooted to the spot. He couldn’t say for sure what had caused this reaction, but the youth was almost certain he’s heard something in the hall ahead of him. Something was out of place, and a strange sixth sense caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. Calvin had learned long ago to trust his natural instincts, rational or not, and so he waited and listened, searching frantically for whatever it was that had alerted him in the first place. The faint clink of metal against metal grabbed the young mutant’s attention, out of place with the normal nighttime murmurs and creaks of the mansion.

Cal quickly came to the conclusion that he wasn’t alone.

Several long moments passed while the raven haired youth strained to catch any noise coming from around the corner of the hall, but he could make out no further disturbances in the night. Unable to stand the curiosity any longer, he ever-so-slowly began inching his way forward again. One little peek, just to make sure, couldn’t hurt anything could it? Promising himself at the first sign of discovery he would turn and disappear in the other direction, Calvin crept forward.

With the sound of his own pulse pounding against his eardrums, Calvin shimmied up to the very edge of the wall. Pressing his body as close to the wall as possible, he took one last steadying breath and poked his head around the corner.

Time passed while he stood there, waiting. He barely moved, until his patience was finally rewarded by someone peaking around the corner. Before the eyes of the 'intruder' could adjust to the different light, Wolverine leaped forward. He moved his hands forward, or to be more precise: his claws. The metal suddenly showed, for the unknowing eye looking like some knives, until one realised that they a) came from ones hand and b) there were many. At least more than the simple knife one could handle. Before the head really could realise what came after -or for- him, Wolverine arrived. With one hand he attempted to push the person backward, the other hand -or actually claw- shot forward, ready to slice through the persons throat. He restrained himself the moment as he was about to make the move to cut through the throat. That was not the way to be able to interrogate the person, nor was it really smart, since what if it happened to be a student that had ignored the rules and would now presumably be very startled? A grim twist of his lips, possible a smirk, showed as he lowered his claws. They seemed to make contact with the clothing of the young man in front of him, though it could've easily torn apart the materials. He could shave himself with his claws, if he would be handy enough. So tearing apart clothes was no problem.

Wolverine slowed down, his claws still ready to attack, as he eyed the stranger. He seemed young, but that was no guarantee as to whether it was a soldier, and intruder, spy, mercenary, teacher, student, whatever he could've been on this green -or brown- earth. Dark, at least. The younger person was dressed in tight black clothes. A perfect outfit for a burglar, actually, if he had worn something to hide his face. It was a little thing missing that kind a had an impact on him. Wolverine doubted for a moment who the hell it was.

He briefly doubted if he should raise an alarm, to ensure the safety of the kids -after all, he still saw most of the students as kids- but he decided he could handle this one person after all. Wolverines eyes darkened as he awaited the move of the other person. He was giving him time to say something, explain why he was here, or actively fight back, giving him the opportunity of well... taking him down... Or out, depended on how dangerous he was.

As he poked his head around the corner of the wall, Calvin immediately noticed two things. The first was that there was a very large, half-naked man standing in the hallway only a few short feet from where Calvin himself now stood. The second, and more alarming of the two, was that this man was holding a knife.

Before his eyes even had time to properly adjust to the sight, the man moved, and Calvin suddenly found himself under attack. In one of those bizarre moments where time seems to slow, and everything around you comes into crystal-clear focus, the youth watched the scene before him unfold.

What had at first appeared to be only an ordinary knife, upon further examination, turned out to be three, well… claws. At least that was what the boy assumed, since it was the only thing that seemed to make sense, given the present situation. Three razor sharp blades of steel protruded from between the knuckles of the man’s clenched fist, glimmering even in the pale light of the window above the man’s head. The moonlight reflected sharply off of the metal, creating a mesmerizing rainbow of color that seemed almost painful in its intensity. Calvin got the impression that those claws were quite deadly, a weapon with which he had no intention of tangling.

The man behind the weapon was impressive as well. With the light shining in from behind him, he was more silhouette than anything, but even that was not enough to cover up the scale of his mass. All muscle and brawn, Calvin was quite sure that even without the blades he could easily tear him to pieces with his two bare hands. The boy was certain he’d never met anyone like this in the mansion before. He would have remembered someone like that.

It was about this point that it dawned on the young mutant that he should probably be doing something about the sharp, pointy objects flashing toward his face other than just standing there gaping at them with his mouth wide open. Maybe something like, oh… moving out of the way. It was also, unfortunately, at this point that time seemed to jolt back to its normal pace, and before he knew what was happening the man was on top of him.

One of the man’s hands reached out toward Calvin’s chest, shoving him backwards. It was possibly the only thing that saved him from the flash of deadly metal that sought to separate the boy’s head from his neck. The force of the blow was enough to knock him off balance, unprepared as he had been for the sudden attack, but even so he could still feel the breeze kicked up in the wake of the claws that slashed in front of him just millimeters from his throat.

His feet knocked out from under him, Cal found himself propelled several feet backwards at a dizzying speed. He landed heavily on his back, the breath he’d been holding pounding out of his lungs with a violent ‘woosh’. Stunned and disoriented, Calvin was quite sure it all would have ended for him right then and there if it had not been for what happened next.

Sudden warmth permeated the boy’s limbs, like the tingling feeling from a hot drink on a cold winter’s night. It spread throughout his body, strengthening him, and easing the iron grip on his lung that prevented him from drawing breath. The heated sensation cleared his mind, and the disorienting head-spinning disappeared in an instant. The feeling that replaced it was one of languid self-assurance, something Calvin would liken akin to the attitude of a predator who knows no enemies and has no reason to fear defeat. Where before he had felt the grip of fear slowing his reactions and causing his heart to pound frantically against his ribcage, now he felt only calmness and a silent confidence in his ability to deal with whatever danger might come his way.

Before he could fully comprehend the action Calvin was up again, the muscles in his arms and legs tightening and flexing in an efficient little flip that landed him squarely on the balls of his feet. He crouched there, hovering low to the ground over his center of gravity, one arm extended slightly in front of him, the other at his side.

The young mutant was surprised to find the man who had attacked him still a short distance away. He was just standing there in the middle of the hallway, as if he were waiting for something. Calvin was unsure of what to make of this. What was he doing, and why the hell had he attacked him in the first place? A brief flash of emotion flared through his body at this thought, one that caught him off guard in its intensity - Calvin was angry. He couldn’t say why, when by all rights he should have been scared out of his wits, scrambling away from his crazed attacker as fast as his legs would carry him, but he was. Who did this guy think he was, anyway, jumping him like that? This was supposed to be a school, a safe place for people to come and learn. He could have been killed!

A low growl bubbled up from somewhere deep inside of Calvin, a primal, instinctive sound that reminded him distinctively of a cornered dog warning off intruders in his territory. He didn’t know who this man was, or why he’d attacked him, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let him do it again. If it was a fight that he wanted, then Calvin was more than willing to give it to him.

Settling his weight over his haunches, the boy waited for his attacker to make the next move, his eyes never once leaving the dark form in the hallway before him.

Wolverine was -at least- surprised when he saw how the opponent reacted. He seemed stunned, shocked, surprised. And then it changed. Suddenly it was no longer a scared and clumsy kid, but someone ready to fight, fuelled by anger. He hadn't said a word. No questions, no explanations as to why he was there. Nothing. Not a single word. Only one sound had disrupted the silence, and that was the low primal growl of a threatened dog. A sound Wolverine knew all too well. As the kid took his position Wolverine moved into action. Since the other hadn't chosen the protection of claiming to be a student, he didn't need to be that careful. A low, rumbling growl rolled off Wolverines lips. His teeth were only just visible beneath the tight face. There was barely an expression left, only the eyes showed all too vivid signs of life, burning with... anger might be the right word and piercing dark.

For a brief moment his eyes caught those of the other. He stared in them, before attacking. Super speed might not be his power, but he was fast enough. His movements were quick and precise. And above all, they were familiar. He'd done them hundreds of times before. Almost thoughtless he stepped forward. He didn't even bother to assume the proper position but reached his hand out, swaying towards the stomach of the other. A proper hit in the stomach could be rather painful and very distracting for the receiving person. Even though Wolverine often was the one to do the dirty jobs for the X-men -when they were there, of course- he had never lowered himself to the level of kicking a man in the crotch on purpose. After all,accidents happen, even when you're as old as Wolverine. Some said he was old as dirt, but Wolverine had the feeling that the dirt was way older.

After the hit directed at the stomach, Wolverine changed the position of his fists, or more precise: his claws. Time for the more serious part. One of his claws swung forward, quickly followed by the other one. They were aimed at -indeed once again- the stomach. Stomach, thighs, somewhere in between... Wolverine didn't really care, as long as they reached their target and it worked...

Both claws approached their respective targets. Wolverine had deliberately aimed to injure, not to kill. That would be a bit overdone, after all. And he wanted to know who this one opponent was. Who was he? Why was he here? What did he intend to do? If there would be more, he would've killed them as soon as he could, to neutralise or eliminate the threat, but one man? He could handle that. That, and the questioning. Interrogation wasn't one of his strongest points: he wasn't really what one could call patient enough to thoroughly interrogate someone.

The hour was nearing 2 AM on a clear, but gloomy night in Upstate New York. Pale shadows raked across the grounds of Xavier’s Institute for Gifted Youngsters, like crooked fingers reaching out to grasp the night under the waning light of a new moon. The whisper of an autumn breeze played through the tops of the tallest trees, their dying leaves crunching and crackling against one another in protest. Inside the walls of the Institute the night was even darker. What little light shone in through the windows was hardly worth noticing, but then, there were few remaining awake to take note of such a fact. Students and teachers alike slept in peaceful ignorance, unaware of the drama unfolding right outside their bedroom doors.

In the halls, death was lurking.

As he crouched in the hallway before his unknown assailant, Calvin’s gaze never once left the other man’s features. All of his senses were focused upon the attacker; his complete concentration centered around the other man’s every movement. The boy’s eyes, moments ago hampered by the dimness of the light, now focused with crystal clear intensity upon the man’s face. Despite the fact that he was sure the night was just as dark and nebulous as before, the picture before him sprang forth in vivid detail. Every breath the man took, every noise from the building around him, down to the hum of the refrigerator two floors down, sounded to Calvin as if it was coming from right beside him. He could even smell the scent of the man in the hall with him, a musky, feral odor that spoke of power and untold danger.

This was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, a power stronger than any he had previously encountered. Calvin could feel the heat coursing through him as his mutation took hold, and reveled in the strength and almost superhuman awareness that came with it. Each power he had encountered thus far had been different, and each had brought with it its’ own quirks and curiosities, but the absolute control and self-assurance that flooded through his body made the boy almost giddy at its touch.

Between one breath and the next all of that changed. Suddenly, as if a rug had been yanked out from under him, the all-consuming rage came crashing back down upon him. It overpowered the small, ever rational voice in the back of Calvin’s mind that had been screaming danger at him, silencing it with little effort. Anger, pure, primal, and instinctive took over, so intense that there was little room left for any other thought. In an instant Calvin’s world narrowed to a single, mindless focus, his lips curling back from his teeth in a silent snarl. The man before him had made his intentions clear. The boy would not be remiss in defending himself. He would kill the other first, if he had to.

Calvin could feel his assailant’s gaze boring into him, and for the briefest of moments the two mutants’ eyes met and locked. The raven haired youth couldn’t quite make out the expression on the man’s face, still with his back to the only source of light, but the whites of his eyes shone bright enough through the gloom. It was easy enough to understand the intentions mirrored in their dark depths, a narrow-eyed anger that focused solely on the boy before him. The barest hint of a growl burbled from the other mutant’s throat, and Calvin felt his own lips peel back in a snarled reply.

Quick as a cat his opponent was upon him, his bare fist swinging out toward the boy’s torso. The speed of the attack took Calvin somewhat by surprise, but with his guard already up it was a simple enough matter to duck out of the way. Backpedaling, the boy danced just a step or two out of reach, his movements agile and purposeful, but keeping his body always facing his attacker.

Giving him no time for recovery, the other mutant immediately came after Calvin again. This time the claws were out, and both sets of them swung at his midsection with deadly accuracy and speed. Bare fists the boy could handle, but super sharpened metal was another thing entirely. The extra foot of reach it afforded his assailant came into play more quickly than the youth could have anticipated, and he was forced onto his heels in a violent retreat that just barely kept him out of the other’s reach.

The first set of claws passed harmlessly through the air in front of Calvin, but he was not so lucky in evading the second stroke. The other man’s size and strength gave him a distinctive advantage, despite Cal’s lightning quick reflexes, and his initial momentum was enough that the boy could not get out of his way quickly enough. He overtook the youth with ease, and his second swipe found its mark in Calvin’s side. Even as he twisted frantically out of the way, the youth knew it was no use. He could feel several inches of the metal pass cleanly through his side, slicing through the flesh and muscle as if it were no more than wet tissue paper. It wasn’t a fatal wound, for the claws miraculously hadn’t passed through any internal organs, but it was serious enough that it would require the attentions of a trained medical expert.

Calvin had already put several feet of space between him and his attacker before the shock set in, backpedaling furiously before his assailant could press the advantage. It was impossible to silence the sharp hiss of pain that whistled out through clenched teeth as pain suddenly exploded up his side. Instinctively he reached down to assess the wound, drawing back the tattered shards of his shirt to reveal a shocking sight. Where should have been a large, gaping wound, now only three relatively small slashes laid across the otherwise unmarred canvas of his skin. Even as he watched, the wound continued to heal itself, and within the space of a few slow heartbeats it was completely closed over. Calvin gaped, open-mouthed, down at the perfectly healthy flesh of his side.

“W-what the hell?” The boy simply couldn’t help the stammered question that hissed out from between his lips. What had just happened to him? The anger that had fueled him just moments before quickly faded away, and Calvin was left staring at the bloody shards of his favorite shirt, wondering what to make of it all.

With a little disturbed feeling Wolverine noticed a change in the boy in front of him. He wasn't really aware what might have changed, but something clearly had. The way the boy looked at him, gave him a soundless snarl... Well, fine with him. His first two punches had missed, but the third hit its target with a satisfying feeling. Flesh and muscle parted as his adamantium-coated claws slid through them. The old feral mutant didn't took a break when the boy hesitated, tried to get out of reach.

The boys reflexes were fast, Wolverine would've agreed with that, if someone asked him about it. But fast reflexes were no match to the years of experience and the extra mass of Wolverine. Relfexes were fine enough as a back-up, a little extra, but one needed more to be successful in fights. And Wolverine was prooving that. As the kid was apparently completely surprised by the fact he had healed this fast, Wolverine was as well surprised. A little shiver of recognition slid down his spine as he recalled the feeling of the parting flesh and muscle. Yes, he had injured the boy rather serious. Might not be fatal, but still... This looked a lot like his own healing factor. When it kicked in, wounds disappeared before you could really realise that you had been injured. Well, that depended on the injury, but still... He narrowed his eyes a little as he looked at the boy.

“W-what the hell?”

As the young boy said it, it almost felt as a sudden burst of sound. After the silence in the hallway, and only the sharp hiss that had disrupted the silence a few moments ago. Wolverine pulled his lips back, a short matter of instinct, before giving a snarled reply. "Yeah, like hell" he replied. "Who're ya? Wha' 're ya doin' here?" His voice was filled with suspicion and anger, as he didn't trust the boy. It was very visible in his body language. It was aggressive, filled with anger and suspicion like his voice. However, where his voice was threatening and little more, his whole body language bein' aggressive was a bit... more impressive. He still stood ready to attack or defend himself, all muscles tense, nothing in him showed any signs of backing down or even a moment of relaxation. His claws still were out and visible, those on the left hand had the blood dripping of them onto the floor. The rhythmic sound seemed to fit particularly well in this situation. "Come on, tell me" Wolverine added a bit later. It barely sounded like a question, it was more like a threat. His chest moved up and down as his breathing calmed. He seemed to be a bit calmer, but nothing was less true. He was still on the edge, and it all depended on the boys reaction whether he'd loose it and give it another shot at trying to kill/defeat the boy, or... wait some longer with it.

It took Calvin several long seconds to comprehend what had just happened to him, the shocked expression on his face obvious even in the obscure lighting of the darkened hallway. The sight of his own flesh healing over before his very eyes was disturbing to the young mutant, and for the briefest of moments he wondered if he hadn’t hallucinated the entire thing. Even the pain had faded away to nothingness, the sharp stomach-quivering flare of nausea nothing more than an easily forgotten memory. If it hadn’t been for the ragged, bloodstained slashes in his shirt, Calvin might almost have believed that he had imagined it all. But then, there was still the unknown man standing in the hallway to consider…

The boy’s eyes instinctively sought out his attacker, swiveling to focus with hawk-like intensity upon the shadowed form. His gaze rested heavily upon the three blades still protruding from each of the man’s clenched fists, a silent appraisal made all the more weighty by the dual amounts of fear and admiration reflected in its depths. Even with the distance between them Calvin could feel the unspoken threat of death emanating from the thin blades of super-sharpened metal. The fact that the blood that now rolled down their length and dripped to the floor at the other mutant’s feet was his own sent a shiver up the boy’s spine, a tingle of apprehension and fear that set his nerves on edge.

If his attacker had decided to press his initial advantage and come at him again, the boy was quite certain he wouldn’t have been alive at that moment. His own shock, however, seemed to have surprised the other mutant, and Calvin took advantage of the moment’s respite he had been given to recover both his breath and his wits.

"Yeah, like hell," came the snarled reply from his attacker, "Who're ya? Wha' 're ya doin' here?" The words he spat at the young mutant were low and angry, laden with suspicion and a hint of disquieted concern. Even his body language showed his distrust of the situation. Every muscle in his naked torso seemed to be taught with suspicion, his posture aggressive and threatening in the narrow confines of the hall. With every breath he took Cal could literally smell the uneasiness rolling off him in waves. Clearly he didn’t trust the boy, and had no intention of letting his guard down.

Calvin was unsure what to make of this. These questions did not seem the sort of thing an intruder in the mansion would go about asking someone. In fact, they were exactly the questions echoing through his own mind. Who was this man, and why was he there? Why had he attacked him? The cogs in the boy’s brain were immediately set in motion as he scrutinized the situation. Did this person actually belong in the mansion? Did he, perhaps, mistakenly think that Calvin was the intruder here?

Before he had time or thought to properly assess the problem, his brief introspection was interrupted by another throaty growl. "Come on, tell me," the man demanded, his tone equal parts order and threat. Startled out of his thoughts, Calvin immediately felt himself bristle at the command. Who in the world was this guy and why was he so set on attacking him?

Though moments before he had been calmly assessing the situation, now Calvin found himself once more falling under the control of emotions. The all-consuming anger he had experienced before came raging back, flooding through his veins like fire. The heady feeling of power and control also accompanied it, and the boy felt himself settle under the mantle of his rage. The urge to fight was strong, and the knowledge that he now seemed to be invulnerable to attack only further fueled the heady feeling. Irritated, the raven haired youth bridled at the comment, his eyes flashing dangerously at the man across the hall.

“Who the hell are you?” Calvin retorted, tossing the question back into the face of his aggressor. A subtle shift in his stance brought him around to face the other mutant full on, his head held high, defiance and bristling anger evident in both his tone and posture. Calvin was not one to take lightly to being ordered around, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to go out of his way to do anything for this guy. If he wanted answers, he’d have to come pry them out of the boy by force.

Wolverine barely managed growl at the boy. "Who the hell are you?" He didn't even thought that question was worth of a reply. Not for now, at least. As the boy still hadn't said he was a student here, Wolverine assumed he had to be an intruder of some kind. His eyes, almost as dark as the night itself, never left the silhouette of the boy as he once again attacked. In all its simplicity his attack was smooth, almost gracious, if it wasn't for the often bloody aftermath. His claws, seemingly in slow motion, swung forward, again aiming for the precious middle section. However, this time he did targeted for the internal organs, or the weaker parts of the body. Maximal damage with minimal efforts, wasn't that what life really was about?

But this time he had an idea as what to expect of the other mutant. He had seen the last few moves of the boy, giving him a slight idea as to what he might do. He already held one of his claws in front of that possible way, as to keep him from diving away in that direction. It was merely a situation of driving him into a corner before actually... Well, whatever he would do after that. He couldn't really kill the other one. Let alone the fact the boy had apparently a rather strong healing factor. That would mean cutting of his head, and well, that was messy. And he didn't feel like cleaning the entire hallway to disguise the fact he had killed someone there. Besides, he wasn't such a beast that he enjoyed killing, just doing it. Well, sometimes, but not tonight.

His claws reached towards each other, intending to 'slice' the boy in halves. Or something that had more or less the same effect, but without the mess of slicing through someones intestines. He only expected the boy to actually defend himself. What else could he do, with a 300 lbs of angry male with shiny hard sharp claws on top of him? And that was just the 'light' way of putting it. His mind half flew away, discarding other thoughts. He was half busy with this fight, even though the kid seemed to have pretty good reflexes and a healing factor, he hadn't showed much else yet. Only clumsy defense. The other half of his mind went over a difficult Danger Room session, a few days ago. It had involved some rather inexperienced students, himself, and a few sentinels to complicate the business. Well, it had been a close call, several times even. He had had to admit it wasn't the best session ever, if not one of the worst. He hoped he'd do it better next time, with the same group of students and more or less the same setting.

Suddenly something drew his attention back to the fight. He couldn't give it a name, but again something had changed. Whether it was the boy in front of him, something in himself, or just something in the air around them, he couldn't say. It was just like a little man on his shoulder had shouted Danger! aloud, but there was no danger, was there? Well, this boy. Could it actually be that he proved to be more dangerous than, well, expected?

“Who the hell are you?”

The defiant words seemed to echo through the hallways around them, oddly loud against the eerie quiet of the sleeping mansion. Before he had even spoken them Calvin had known what the reply to such a flippant retort would be. His words had been chosen, however foolishly, with care to the goal of egging the older mutant on. He had expected, event wanted it this way. If he had been thinking clearly, the boy would never have antagonized such an aggressive opponent, but the rational part of Calvin’s mind was buried somewhere deep beneath the fighting instincts and animal rage. The youth was quite unsurprised, then, when the other man’s only reaction was to launch himself once more into a head-long attack.

The second time his opponent came at him was different than the first. Calvin could feel it in the way that the man committed to his attack, and in every movement of his body. There was no holding back, no hesitation at mistakes that might be made. This man was angry, and he aimed to show the boy just exactly what he could do. The claws were out, so to speak, and he was gunning for blood.

Unlike his first attack, however, this time he would not have the advantage of surprise, and Calvin found that as he faced this larger, more experienced opponent down, he was not afraid. A feeling of detached calculation settled over him, and all of his senses once again became super-aware. The animal-like instinct for survival took over as he calmly observed each movement his attacker made, assessing even the slightest adjustment in angle or speed, and gauging the potential result of these actions. He had time enough to guess the intentions of his aggressor, calculating the angle of swing behind those deadly claws. The young mutant’s eyes narrowed the barest fraction of an inch at the way in which the man had neatly positioned himself. One set of claws came at him from the left, seeking to run him through, while the other stood at the ready on the other side, warding off any possible avenue of escape in that direction. Calvin could see the trap closing in on him as the other mutant sought to block off his retreat, boxing him in between the wall and the murderous blades in his hands. Retreat would not save him here, and the boy was well aware of the fact that there was no escape left to him either behind or to the side.

Another flash of anger hit him then, a surge of carnal rage so powerful he could feel himself shaking where he stood. This man might be bigger, more powerful, and far more experienced than him, but Calvin would be damned if he was just going to stand there and let him gut him without a fight. With all avenues of escape effectively blocked off, there was only one option left to the boy, and he prepared himself for it without a moment’s hesitation.

Calvin crouched down once more, balancing himself over his center of gravity and preparing his body for the impact he knew must come. His arms came up in front of his body, fists clenched in anger, creating a guard against possible damage to the less defensible parts of his abdomen. The youth could feel the determination and anger coursing through his veins, and his lips once more curled back in a defiant snarl, the battle call of an enraged predator echoing off the walls. If he was going to die, it would not be without a fight.

In that instant everything changed.

Three long, pale claws of dense bone burst from between the knuckles of the boy’s clenched fists. Their razor sharp edges pierced through flesh that healed itself in an instant, growing to about a foot in length before they had fully emerged. Though they made not even the slightest of sounds, Calvin could feel the subtle shift in the atmosphere that came as he drew his own weapons. It was as if the air itself had suddenly become electrically charged, vibrating with the threat of imminent danger. All at once the situation had changed from a one-sided massacre to an actual evenly matched fight.

The expression on the boy’s face quickly formed into a delighted grin.

With weapons at the ready, Calvin stepped forward to meet his attacker. One arm swung wide, reaching out to block the first set of claws with his own. The boy didn’t bother to wait for the crash of impact, but immediately set his body into motion once more. The other set of claws flashed out with blinding speed, reaching up under the man’s guard and seeking to find purchase in the flesh of the man’s naked torso. The move would leave his own left side fairly open to attack, but Calvin was banking on the other mutant’s reaction to save him, a ploy that would force his attacker to choose between recalling his attack to defend himself, or suffering the consequences of certain injury.

As he had launched his second attack, the kid seemed to realise there wasn't really a way out. The combination of a wall behind him and the two claws each on a side only now showed the bare truth to him. He noticed that the kid wasn't afraid, seemed to be allright with the attack. He even made preparations for resisting the attack. Surprising. With one eye brow raised high he kept on going.

That was, until something completely changed. The snarl the boy gave stated that he would not surrender without a fight. Well, he could get a fight. It genuinely shocked him when he saw three bone claws protrude from each of the kids hands. His eyes swept over his own metal-covered claws, back to the bone claws of the kid. The scent of blood made thinking clearly hard for him, but he succeeded in it, more or less. "How the hell..." he muttered surprised, after a few more serious curses. The atmosphere seemed to get tense with strain, almost as if once could cut through it with ones claws.

But it was the delighted grin on the boys face that made him come back from distant thoughts. He didn't knew how the boy could've got those claws... He would've been told if there was someone with, like, the exact same mutation he had. And he hadn't been told. So, another point for the intruders-theory. Not only that, it was no longer a fight to make the other surrender...

It was a real counter-attack, that didn't fully surprise him, even though he hadn't expected it. The boy had chosen to attack, choose offence as a way of defence. As soon as the boy moved towards him, he realised he had a choice. What would he do? Retreat and defend himself? Or keep on going and have the certainty of being injured? It wasn't really a choice, not for a man like Wolverine. His reputation hadn't just made itself up, it was real for large parts. He might not like pain, he didn't fear it. And that was what made him moving towards the other. Their claws violently met as the boy blocked of. He could feel them scratch across his arm, tearing of some of the skin, but didn't even bothered to look. It didn't really felt like it was even close to a serious wound.

His attention was needed elsewhere. He had aimed for the midsection twice already, and it seemed that came back to him. The bone claws aimed for his torso. With a grim expression on his face, as he threw himself towards it, realising he'd be feeling the pain soon enough, he targeted the left side of the boy. As the kid attacked, he had let a gap fall there. One of his claws changed direction and swung towards the gap. It hesitated a moment, seeming motionless in the thick air as the bone claws of the kid finally hit their target: his own torso. It hurt as the flesh was ripped of the bones, torn apart by the bone claws of his assailant, as he could say right now. He could feel and smell blood, his blood, slowly it dripped down his still wet torso. It had been almost dry, but the red fluid changed that. But, before he could even wipe it off, his healing factor kicked in and his wounds started to close themselves.

He more or less ignored them, even though he could feel them ache as he moved his claws forward again. His eyes were practically black, due to the combination of anger and pain, but it barely affected his ability to think clearly, and still act and react, whatever the opponent would be doing.

The first of Calvin’s claws connected with the other mutant’s with a satisfying crash. The impact sent shivers of concussion up the boy’s arm, jolting and jerking at the sudden force as the two sets of weapons met head-on. The defensive swipe did exactly what it was supposed to, stopping his opponent’s attack in its tracks. The small victory sent a thrill of triumph racing down Cal’s spine, a fierce grin splitting his features. The feeling of accomplishment was short-lived, however, as the boy turned his full attention back to the battle at hand.

Calvin was not inexperienced in hand-to-hand combat, to say the least, but he’d never fought an opponent with such blatant disregard for his own well-being. It was as if the other man simply did not care whether or not he was injured. Calvin, who had never fought another mutant, and who was therefore used to normal human responses to pain and injury, had been operating under the assumption that pain and injury were things to be avoided. He had launched his retaliatory assault with the intention of forcing his opponent’s hand, making him withdraw his own attack in order to prevent himself from being injured. Normal human response would dictate this as the only reasonable course of action. Calvin, of course, had failed to take into consideration the other mutant’s impressive healing factor. Still, he had never expected the man to step into his attack.

Though the boy realized his mistake almost immediately, it was too late to change the course of events that had been set into action. He could only watch, wide eyed, as the man stepped forward into the reach of his claws. The force behind Calvin’s swing tore a wide swath of destruction across his aggressor’s torso. The razor-sharp points of bone sliced through flesh and tissue, raking across the length of the man’s chest with only a minimal amount of effort. In a normal human being, the wound would have been completely debilitating, though not necessarily fatal.

Calvin’s opponent didn’t even blink.

The momentum of the boy’s attack continued to carry him forward even after the damage had been dealt. The youth knew with absolute certainty that there was nothing he could do to prevent what was to come next. He was simply a helpless bystander, a slave to the weight of his own body, unable to do anything but stare with shock and horror evident on his face as the dagger-sharp metal claws of his opponent raced forward to take advantage of the obvious opening left from his counter-strike.

The three deadly blades bit into the flesh of Calvin’s left side, entering his torso just below his lowest rib. The boy’s own weight and forward motion forced the metal even further into his body, wrecking havoc amongst his internal organs as it passed through. Liver, kidney, spleen, stomach – none were left unscathed as those merciless claws shredded through the young mutant’s flesh like so much wet cardboard. One of the claws nicked a vertebra in the boy’s spine, severing his spinal cord and perforating his left lung before exiting out his body on the other side. For a long moment Calvin hung suspended, just inches from his opponent’s face. His pale eyes, thrown wide in surprise and terror, locked upon the inky-dark gaze of the mutant, a slack-jawed expression on his face as he stood, impaled upon the other man’s claws.

His own dead weight eventually released the raven haired youth from the cold sting of metal in his abdomen. Calvin crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap, unable to support himself on legs that would not respond to his commands. Blood immediately darkened his side, welling out of the wound and quickly saturating his pants and what was left of his shirt, as well as the carpet beneath him. A small bubble of scarlet burst between the boy’s lips as he drew a single, shallow, rasping breath. It dribbled down his chin, a sharp contrast to the sickly pallor of his skin.

Unlike the wound he had inflicted upon the other mutant, Calvin’s wound was quite fatal. His internal organs looked as if they had gone through a blender, he was paralyzed from the waist down, and one of his lungs was quickly deflating. Shock set in almost immediately, causing the boy’s body to jerk violently upon the floor. As the first wave of pain finally reached his brain, Calvin’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he lost consciousness.

Luckily for him, the healing factor his powers had mimicked kicked in soon after. It began to knit the flesh and bones back together, setting the young mutant’s internal organs back in order and restoring him to the perfect health he had been in previously. The extent of the damage was enough that the wound would take several minutes to completely heal over, even with the advanced healing factor. The energy it required of the boy’s body was almost too great for it to bear. Taxed to the limit, Calvin’s powers barely finished the healing process before all at once they gave out. The bone claws disappeared without a trace just as the flesh of his side was finally knit back together.

Powerless and defenseless, Calvin’s limp body lay in the middle of the hallway, but he remained blissfully unaware in the cradle of unconsciousness.

One of his claws got blocked by the kid. The impact sent a shivering-like sensation through his arm, and presumably that of the kid. He pulled back his arm before the boy could do anything else with it, like scratching it open, even though there wasn't much he could thoroughly damage in an arm. He could see that the kid in front of him knew how to fight... Just not with someone who stepped forward to the pain, instead of trying to avoid getting hurt. He could see the realisation dawn in the eyes of the boy as his claws inevitably closed the gap between their target -the open gap at his left side.

The claw that had been severely scratching his ribs went deeper, tearing more skin and flesh of the adamantium-coated bones. Wolverine felt the pain surge through him, but it only made his eyes darken and his expression to go even more blank and grim. Pain was an old acquaintance of him, well known and not really liked. His attention swept back to where his own claws were going, reaching the gap.

Only moments later the satisfying feeling of his claws slicing through flesh and bones almost overwhelmed him, made him desire for more -deep inside he was more of an animal than he wished to acknowledge- but he restrained himself. Instead, he awaited the boys reaction. Which didn't came. The dead weight hung off his claws. He could smell the scent of lots of fresh blood that couldn't be missed, the smell of intestines torn apart. The scent of true and intense pain. They eyes of the boy, the kid locked his.They were pale, as was his whole face. Only now Wolverine realised how young his opponent was. He jerked his claws out of the boys body, not really touched by what he just had done. The blood came fast and unstoppable, but Logan attended his own wounds first. Or well, attended. A quick look over his torso showed dark red stains all over his body, down onto his jeans, where the blood had flowed, but the reddish flesh was already mending itself. The wounds had already stopped bleeding, so the worst was over.

Now he finally paid attention to the kid. He lay there, a large heap of unconscious mutant, going down by blood loss, injuries and pain. As he looked the flesh started to knit to the bones and other parts of flesh, replacing the organs in their rightful places. There were only few scratches visible when the bone claws crumbled and disappeared in a little dusty cloud. Odd. Not really thinking about what to do next, he bended down and picked up the kid like he weighed nothing. Well, he did feel it, as his torso still was sore, but without really large efforts he carried the unconscious boy to his room.

He tied the arms and legs of the kid together with some pieces of rope before heading back to the hallway, cleaning it up a bit. It wasn't a master piece, but the majority of the blood was gone, as were the stains. Only now he had the time of examining the boy, as to clues about his identity and the reason why he was there.

Unconsciousness. That was where Calvin was. No sight, no sounds, no sense of touch or taste, nor even emotion or feeling. There was only darkness, a great black void of nothingness that surrounded him on all sides. It was as if the whole world had simply vanished, leaving behind nothing but a gaping hole where everything used to be. The sensation of nothingness, the complete and total absence of anything that could be defined as remotely human was vaguely disconcerting. For some reason he couldn’t explain, however, Calvin felt like he was missing something important. Well, something more important than the nothingness, at any rate. It was like getting a shot of Novocain in the dentist’s chair– there was no feeling left to be bothered by, but his mind still told him the dentist’s drill should hurt. The twinge of concern at the back of Calvin’s mind screamed at him that there was something important he should be doing, something he should remember, but it was quickly smothered by the all-consuming nothingness of the void. He floated along in the bliss of thoughtless oblivion, unaware of anything that was happening outside his own mind.

As such, the boy made no protest as the other man reached down and picked him up, nor did he show any signs of acknowledgment at all. Other than the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath, there was very little evidence to show that he was even still alive. The young mutant’s body flopped lifelessly on the floor as the man set him down, his head rolled back at an awkward angle. He put up no fight as his arms and legs were bound, limp and unresponsive throughout the process. Not even when the other mutant left the room did he move, and there were no signs that he would anytime soon awaken.

While it had been the pain and shock that had knocked him into unconsciousness, it was not these factors that now kept the boy’s mind captive there. The energy his powers had required to heal such a wound and the intensity of the fight beforehand had drained his body beyond its reserves. Though he should have by now recovered with the healing factor he had mimicked from his opponent, this was not the case. Calvin’s own powers were what continued to keep him in such a complacent state, his conscious mind shunted off to a safe corner of his head while his body recuperated from the strain it had been placed under after the force of dealing with such an overpowering mutation. A prisoner in his own body, Calvin continued to drift in the delirium of unconsciousness.