xp_logs | For Treason: Act III, scene ii

Kyle finds out what Liam’s “training” really is. And is Not Happy.

TW: Violence, Indoctrination, Non-Con/Dub-Con, Sexual Content

Training over, Liam dutifully cleaned all the training toys in the nearby sink, then put everything away for the next session. If he didn't, he knew the consequences. Better to obey. Finished, he padded over to thank his trainer, kneeling down. It had started with simple kisses, but now as he unzipped his pants, he showed his thanks in other more intimate ways.

Jesus, they -had- gotten through all the lesson plans, even the bullshit he'd made up on the fly. Kyle dug hard knuckles into his temples, trying to ease the start of a tension headache. Exceptional kids, all of them. Couldn't ask for a better bunch. He gave a glance over his shoulder at - Celeste, that one was Celeste, he was pretty sure, detangling miles of blonde hair, and her sister ready with bobby pins.

Jessie was in the shower, he could hear the hot water and whatever music she'd gotten to play on the little iPod she'd gotten as a prize this week. Some pop thing he didn't immediately recognize layered over some ethereal trance club thing he also didn't recognize. God, he needed to ask these kids about their music more.

Wade was - lying on the floor, starfished, asleep. Probably asleep. Doing a really good job of pretending to be asleep, even when Kyle threw a full yogurt cup at him, so probably definitely asleep. Or dead. Or pretending yogurt didn't exist in this universe.

Liam was... off. Again. Infil training, or something, and Kyle was pretty sure - he padded over to the doors to the training rooms, and sniffed - fuck sake, that was a distinctive smell, and that was what the showers were for, jesus. Also if they'd let him have porn - well, Kyle wasn't going to tell anyone no, like he could tell their handlers no, but he was going to put in a formal "Hey, what the fuck, some of us might also like some damn porn" complaint.

=

He waited a good ten minutes. No way it could take longer than ten minutes, Kyle remembered being that age. He tapped the pad on the door, unlocked it, and followed the smell of young-man-needs-a-shower-hand-down-his-pants to one of the rooms Kyle'd not used yet. Jesus, yeah, that was the right noises for his theory, a little grunt, a quiet little moan - Liam was jerking off in a classroom?

He stopped dead at the second voice. Actually Liam's voice, well, not voice, but a rumbling purr, a choking noise, and Kyle's legs moved before the information caught up to what was happening, and he was through the door, tread heavy on the ground, hand heavy as he pushed the door open "The fuck you doing with your dick in his mouth?" One of the guards. A little thick, a couple of bad tattoos, douche bag facial hair, standing over Liam with his dick halfway down Liam's throat and Kyle had his claws in the man's face before he could answer. "Get. Your dick. out. of his mouth."

Liam turned at the noise the motion automatically causing the dick to slide out and sort of nudge at hiss face, "Kyle?" he asked, a little confused. "I won't blow him!" Liam started preemptively. There were lines!

"What? No! What the fuck!" Kyle's voice had gotten a little deeper lately. "I don't want.... " He had to settle himself. The absolute rage that went down his spine was making his muscles ache and he still hurt everywhere. "You, get your ass away from him" he said, pointing a clawed finger at the trainer - and then one at Liam "You. Go clean up. Put some pants on." He didn't look at Liam - he took a step towards the trainer - but the question was definitely for Liam "Is this the shit you've been doing this whole time?"

Liam blinked, unsure how to answer. The truth would piss Kyle off more and he could smell a lie. "No? Not just this," he said finally, which was a technical version of the truth.

"Well fuck." Kyle took a step towards the trainer, who still. hadn't. put his dick away. "You know what, fuck it. Yeah, no more of that from you. Liam, any more of this shit and you tell me, you got it?"

The trainer tried to back away, got a tiny little step away, his hands up in the air. Watched Kyle's dark, sharp claws, the cold fury on his face "Yeah, no, no. Yeah, I get it, he's yours. It won't happen again."

One thickly muscled arm came up, then the other. The snap was wet and quiet and then Kyle was looking down at the body on the ground. "Yeah. It won't."

Liam blinked, a little confused. "But...training?" He asked, finally, staring at the body. He should be revolted. He should be a lot of things, but he didn't feel much of anything.

Kyle's lip curled up and a growl settled in his chest, making his voice low and deep. "I'm not mad at you. It's gonna sound like I'm mad at you. I'm not. I am gonna go bust some heads, and you're gonna go take a shower."

Kyle smelled furious. Tail down, Liam did s he was told, absolutely certain that Kyle was flipping tables mad at him. But he'd only been doing what he was supposed to!

"Good! Tomorrow we rework this training bullshit! No more blowjobs, you have claws! Time to learn how to use them!"

Kyle goes looking for answers.

🟨 And I attempted good communication! 🟨

TW: Violence, Gore, Self-Harm, Mental Illness, Discussion of Non-Con/Dub-Con, Discussion of Sexual Assault

Wade was, once again, laying on his bed with Golden Girls reruns on his TV. The familiar, pleasant tones of the laugh tracks and the ladies bantering back and forth helped to keep the monsters in his head from popping up to the surface too often. He mouthed all of Bea Arthur's lines as she spoke them, the rote repetition settling him in his skin.

Then someone banged on his door -- it wasn't a knock. It was definitely a banging. Like the cops were making their presence known... only Wade knew that couldn't be it because his room was buried somewhere in the depths of Weapon-X's newest complex.

Hopping up, he strode over to the door, flinging it open. "What?"

"Did you fuck my kid?" Kyle asked through a tight jaw. "I just fucking caught him with one of the guards’ dicks in his mouth and now I'm fucking remembering how many times he stunk of you." His shoulders were tight and the tendons in his neck stood out with barely controlled rage. "I thought you were fucking teaching him how to fight better. You fucking my kids, Wade? How many of those busted ass fingers have you put in Liam or Jessie?"

"Ew, no," Wade said, his face somehow still able to convey his utter revulsion at the thought. He made the same gagging face that he'd made the first time that asshole doctor had sent the catboy to him as a reward. "Which, let me clarify, wasn't for lack of trying on that skeezy doctor's part. But you know my type and neither of them are it. None of those babies are it. Blech, gross. Ew." He continued making gagging sounds as he turned around and walked properly into his room. "They are like twelve. And Whiskers tried to do the 'I'm a lover, not a fighter' thing, but I still taught him how to rip out somebody's throat with his claws and also how to kill somebody quiet with a slice to their femoral artery. Also, Shade-Shifter's doing really well. In case you weren't actually reading the reports they made me email you. So dumb."

Kyle used to think seeing red when you got angry was a literary metaphor. "You knew what the fuck they were having him do and didn't tell me. You knew." He didn't even see Wade, or Deadpool or whatever the merc was calling himself. He lunged, claws out and teeth bared and didn't bother with both of the sharp bits, he drove a hardened knee into Wade's groin.

Wade bent over and clutched his soft bits because even with a healing factor that rivaled Wolverine's now, some things were so ingrained that doing anything else was completely impossible. Still, his healing factor kicked in less than a second later and he straightened up, not even attempting to get even. "Okay, but consider -- you just tried to castrate me with your knee and you know I haven't been touching him. I give him a safe place to land -- the couch -- and two meals twice a week with a solid eight hours of sleep and no touching. You'd absolutely have killed somebody if you found out what they were actually training him to do."

"I did kill someone!" Kyle growled. "I snapped his fucking neck and you could've told me months ago so I could've shut this shit down before Liam had some guard's dick down his throat!" He drove an elbow into Wade's ribs, and followed it with a quick, brutal shin stomp. "He's my kid, Wade!"

Wade let Kyle stomp on him and do whatever else he wanted. "Well, shit. I mean, that's good, one less asshole out there to worry about, but I was legit trying to keep you from getting Weapon-X demerits or whatever. They tried to give me Liam as thanks for good behavior, God only knows what they're gonna do to you now that you've straight offed one... though probably you'll be okay cause you're like pack alpha and they're all about reorganizing and using actual science. Before you beat me up anymore, Whiskers is way too old to be your bio-kid. Unless... wait, how long have I been gone? I thought it was just like. Not a decade. But I dunno how long... you know, my head's all fucked up."

The brutal beatdown ended as abruptly as Kyle had started it. "He's eighteen. He could be mine. Pretty sure he's not though." He looked down at Wade, assessing - broken rib, broken rib, broken rib, broken foot. "Fuck, shit fuck. I'll be fine. I already told Killebrew, got a weird attaboy about it. Fucking weird one, that guy. Like, prick, but with a customer service voice."

"How old are you?" Wade asked, eyes glazing over briefly. "Aw, Big Purr could be my grandbaby if that DNA test hadn't come back negative..."

"He is gonna lose his shit if you call him that to his face." Kyle let himself drop onto the plastic deck chair next to Wade's bed. It creaked. "You gotta tell me shit, man. We're bros. Communication's important, man. You have to tell me shit when you find shit out. You don't have to do this alone, man. That's the whole point. We share the information and the stress and the resources. How long have they been trying to make Liam some kind of murder fuckboy?"

"Bro, I feel so attacked right now," Wade half-whined even as his bones healed and the bruises that no one could see because of all his scars disappeared. "Like, were you channeling my ladybird and Dougie?" He waved his hand between them, moving over to his fridge and pulling out two uncooked steaks that he immediately handed to Kyle. "And it's been since before you went in for the new hardware, not-bio-kid. They pegged him for a fetish piece with potential assassin thrown in for fun -- otherwise he'd be pretty useless to them unless they grafted some other mutation onto him... or made him turn into a whole-ass tiger the way Catseye could before the world ended and revamped..."

Kyle took one of the steaks, waved off the other - and peeled off strips with his claws. It was a little chewy, colder than he preferred, but his protein intake was fucking off the charts right now so he needed it. "Well they're fucking uncreative. The kid'd be better as a sneak thief. He's agile and fast and does parkour. I get what our purpose is here but come on, distribute skills appropriately." Ugh, he was going to have to have that conversation. Again. With Killebrew. At least the doctor had stopped with the 'it's cute you think you're capable of strategy" and actually started listening a little. "Okay, legit, how's Mims and the Cuckoos doing? When I went in, the Frostlings were still doing the thing where they accuse each other of not being a people."

"Dude, relate," Wade said. "To not being a people," he clarified. "But Mim's doing great. Like a sponge. Baby McSparkleses are... also fine? I mean, Green's good. The new one's... I guess also good? But you know... it's like... they're fucking up the car assembly line and neither one can figure out how to like, blend the Astin Martin with the Ferrari so everything works right. Once the people do what the people do, I'd honestly worry about Whiskers the most? Probably? I mean, being told he's not good for anything but fucking and killing's gotta be doing a number on him, not to mention all the 'training' he's done. Which, for the record again, I have nothing to do with, even though that creeper doc thinks I do. I hate that guy. I hate his teeth. And his face. And he doesn't deserve his nose. He should be like Voldemort. No nose allowed. Snake-face."

"I can't tell them apart much, but I kinda ... " Kyle looked down at his fingers, with the swollen knuckles and sore wrists and claws that could slice through steak - or flesh - easily. "Might've cut one up. Pretty sure it's the really weird one? Which one is Green?" He let himself slump in the chair, stretched out those too heavy long legs, dug the claws of his toes into the carpet a little. "Liam's a hot mess, but he's way more capable than he thinks. Just gotta figure out how to get him off this weird fuck skills track they put him on." He ate another few strips of steak. "Oh, fuck, while you were off being complete bugfuck insanity, Rowling went TERF. So gotta find some other asshole with no nose to compare people too."

"Green's the OG -- I gave them all colors since I couldn't keep their names straight initially," Wade said, heating up a pan to cook the second steak in. "And goddamnit, Rowling. I gotta find a whole different... something something, mumble mumble. Terfs are gross." He slapped the steak into the pan and then scowled at it. "But I dunno. Cognitive recalibration could work. But he doesn't have a healing factor, so probably not. Just like. Don't let him fuck anybody and make him do a lot of jumping jacks."

"He had some like, fucking trauma about snipers, but fuck, his eyesight's good as hell, I kinda wanna get him on that." Kyle huffed. "Maybe I can sell it as like, exposure therapy. I dunno." He slumped more and let out this passionate long groan. "You know I'm making this shit up from like Tom Clancey novels and shit I remember Logan talking about. I don't think I was supposed to be the guy in charge of this, was I? Was it you?"

"I dunno -- maybe? But also, I'm not as fucked in the head as they'd like me to be. They went a little too far when yoinking out Apocalypse's cray. They're kinda pissy about it. And with my healing factor being the way it is, they're lucky they didn't just put me into a coma or something. So maybe initially, but definitely not now. Plus, I'm not actually feral. I've got the whole spilled-blood-together-survived-a-warzone thing going for me, but when it comes right down to it, I don't think I have the cohesivity they want for their new program. I'm more like... I dunno. The crazy uncle who's good with guns. Backup."

"I'm telling the kids you're their insane gay uncle." Kyle said, carefully, like offering a treat to a feral dog. "I mean I know you're not gay-gay, but I'm telling them you're the insane gay uncle, but legit that means you gotta tell me when the kids are thrown into dumb shit that'll mess things up long term."

"I mean, sure. I can do that," Wade said, since that seemed like it'd actually be beneficial to the kids. "But you know they're watching me closer than the rest of you. Cause I'm the loose cannon."

"Sick. Gotta help me track Laura too. Kiddo needs to come home, she's gotta be pretty lonely and cold out wherever she is. Not learning useful stuff either." Kyle flicked a piece of gristle at the trashcan. "Can't've gone back, right? It's been months. Poor kid has to be hiding somewhere."

"So, in an effort to keep communication lines between us open, you know how you were super stressing that the kids needed to be safe and everything?" Wade paused, frowned, shook his head, and then flicked one of his throwing knives into his palm. "Nope nope nope," he muttered. "I am octa-noping right outta this sitch. Sorry," he concluded, then reached up and used his free hand to pull his tongue as far out of his mouth as he could before slicing it off with the knife. Blood rushed to fill his mouth, his healing factor already starting to close off the wound, so he tossed his severed tongue over his shoulder and began stabbing himself in the back of the throat.

"Fuck!" He couldn't even move quickly yet. It took far too long for Kyle to get up and jam his knee into Wade's sternum to get the knife out of his hand, and then yell through the open door for a fucking guard to bring the fucking Haldol, and by the time the guards arrived, and Dr Killebrewe arrived, Kyle was covered in blood neck to naval and breathing hard with the effort of holding Wade down so he didn't mutilate himself more. "Doc, can we just please constantly fucking dose him or something? This is getting old and if you've got shit for us to do, he needs to be effective."