For Logan's sake, John the teleporter finally agreed—he'd take them to someone who might know where Stryker was.
"Maybe Fred Dukes knows. But we absolutely do not mention his weight. Got it?"
John hammered the point—he had zero interest in making Dukes an enemy.
Soon after, under John's lead, Wolverine and Saitama found Fred Dukes.
On a private sparring floor, a monstrously bulky man was pounding a heavy bag like it owed him money.
"Come on, Fred! If you want to keep that figure, you've gotta move!"
John called out with a friendly grin.
He barely finished before a thunderous crash answered him.
A dark blur sailed over their heads and slammed into the wall. When they looked closer, they realized it was the poor sparring partner who'd been working with Fred a second ago.
"Oh. That's Fred Dukes—more like something that swallowed Fred."
Logan couldn't help himself. Back in the day, Dukes had been a solid, well-built guy. When did he turn into… this?
"Hey, Fred—still remember this girl at eighty-five pounds?"
Logan pointed at the tattoo on Dukes's arm.
"Hah. You're still funny, Logan," Fred rumbled.
"Do you know where Victor is?"
Logan went straight for it. He only cared about Victor and Stryker's trail.
"I don't."
Dukes shot him down cold. He wasn't stupid—picking a fight with Victor right now was a good way to die. Since Logan quit the unit, Sabretooth had basically replaced him as Stryker's strongest mutant.
"Don't hit the door on your way out, Logan."
Dukes' look said it all: get lost.
"Please—tell me, man. If you don't, I'm not leaving. For old time's sake."
Logan stepped up, unyielding.
"Did you just call me 'butterball'?"
Dukes' eyes went sharp, mean.
"No, I—"
Logan blinked—then remembered in English "buddy" and "butterball" could sound dangerously alike the way he'd said it.
Too late. With a roar, the mountain of a man thundered forward and smashed a fist into Logan's chest, hurling him across the floor.
"Oh—come on…"
John covered his face. The one thing he'd begged them not to do—bring up weight—Logan had basically done.
"I said 'buddy,' not 'butter—'"
"I've got an idea…"
John rubbed his temple—only for Saitama to step past him and plant himself in front of Logan.
"Hey, fatty—mind telling us where that Stryker guy is? Thanks."
Logan: "…"
John: "…"
Great. Out of the frying pan…
Dukes' face went purple. First Logan calls him "butterball," now the bald guy calls him "fatty"?
Die, all of you.
Bellowing like a tank with legs, Dukes charged, promising himself he'd pulp all three—especially the shiny-headed clown who'd insulted him to his face.
"Hey—move! Now!—"
John yelped. In his eyes Saitama was just a normal guy. A hit from Dukes could kill a civilian outright.
He was a step too slow. Dukes' meaty fist crashed straight into Saitama's abdomen.
Boom.
A dull shock rolled across the gym. Saitama didn't budge. No grimace, no wince—just stood there. If not for the spiderweb of cracks exploding under Saitama's feet, you'd think the punch never landed.
"Nani—what?"
John froze.
Dukes' mind went blank. He was a mutant, too—his mutation was raw power. He could crumple a compact car with a clean hit. And this bald guy had eaten it without… doing anything?
"Does it… hurt?"
John asked carefully.
Saitama thought for a few seconds. "You seem… kinda weak?"
His verdict was simple. At best, this guy was B-class hero level—and the bottom of B-class at that. Barely a tickle.
"Weak?!"
The word dropped like a spark in a powder keg. Being fat was bad enough—now "weak," too?
"Then I'll mash you into a pancake!"
Dukes howled and swung for Saitama's skull. John blinked across the floor to intercept, but the brute force blasted him aside, and the haymaker kept screaming down at Saitama's head.
Thunk.
Crack!
The crunch of bone made teeth ache. John flinched, already picturing Saitama's head popping like a melon—but when he opened his eyes, Saitama's smooth dome was pristine.
Dukes, meanwhile, shrieked like a stuck pig, rolling on the floor and clutching his arm. The thick limb was bent wrong; a sliver of white bone poked through torn skin.
"Hsss…"
John sucked air. Just looking at it made his scalp crawl.
Saitama? Not a mark.
Even Logan just sighed. With adamantium in his body now, a guy like Dukes wasn't exactly a problem.
"You really are kinda weak. Just tell us how to get to the island, okay?"
Saitama pinched a fistful of Dukes' shirt and lifted. Four or five hundred pounds came up like a grocery bag.
Seconds ago, Dukes had been swaggering. Now he was chalk-white, pinned to the wall like a cornered animal.
(End of Chapter)
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