Saitama took a step forward—stone screamed underfoot, and the concrete floor sank half a meter where he'd tread.
"Hss—"
John's eyes almost fell out of his head. The Blob went corpse-pale. Even Wolverine stared, dumbstruck.
No way. That kind of force? Even with adamantium bones, Logan couldn't stomp a crater like that.
"I'll talk! I'll talk!! I'll tell you everything!!"
The fat man shrieked, voice breaking high enough to pass for a soprano.
What followed was the smoothest "interrogation" in history. Fred Dukes almost volunteered the color of his underwear—every detail came spilling out.
Stryker had been hunting mutants for one reason: to combine their abilities and forge a truly invincible Weapon X.
"Thanks, fatty."
Saitama's lips tugged into a faint smile. Ever since he'd crossed from the main Marvel world, a sliver of feeling had crept back into him.
At that smile, Fred's meaty face scrunched into a toady grin. Being called "fatty" didn't bother him anymore; he looked positively flattered.
Even among mutants, there are tiers. Wolverine and Sabretooth sat in the top bracket—at least in this era, when "mutant" was barely a defined word.
But no one had ever heard of a monster like Saitama. His ranking? Way above.
With the intel in hand, Logan and Saitama headed for the island Fred had described.
At the same time, in a suburban classroom—
Cyclops had just finished teaching. All day he'd been on edge, skin crawling with a danger he couldn't name.
Bang.
The door slammed open. A short-haired man in a black coat walked in, face like a block of ice—killing intent riding his shoulders.
Sabretooth—Victor.
The moment Scott saw him, he ran. No hesitation.
What, stick around and die? Recently, word had spread among the old unit: former comrades turning up dead. Those who survived had compared notes—and the killer was Victor, Sabretooth.
Now he'd come for Scott.
Scott had zero confidence he could win. He bolted the second Victor appeared.
"Running?"
Victor's lips peeled back, baring fangs.
He loved this—the hunt, the look in old comrades' eyes when awe curdled into fear. He'd prove who deserved "strongest." His weak little brother Logan? Not a chance.
Stryker had given him a sweetener, too: inject adamantium into his body, just like Logan. All he had to do was finish the job.
Scott's optic blasts carved the air, but Victor slipped them and pounced, slamming him to the floor.
"Too green, kid. You're coming with me."
Victor grinned and chopped Cyclops into darkness.
Elsewhere—
Fred's info hadn't nailed down the exact position of Stryker's island base. They'd need another contact.
Gambit.
Flashy nickname, cards like weapons. Ever since the unit disbanded, he'd been haunting underground bars—and doing quite well for himself.
"I'll watch the back door,"
John said, winking at Logan and Saitama. He had no desire to loiter with two walking disasters.
"Then I'll have a snack."
The bald salted-fish hero kicked back on a stool, picking at sweets like he had all the time in the world.
"I won't be long. Wait here."
Logan scratched his cheek, turned, and headed inside.
John drifted out front; the noise inside grated on him. The night air was cool. He stopped short, eyes cutting toward the alley.
A man in a black coat slipped into the shadows.
Sabretooth—Victor.
"Didn't expect to meet you here. Bad timing, though."
John blinked into the alley, planting himself in Victor's path.
"Well, if it isn't little John. Shouldn't you be scared to death right now?"
Victor sneered. Back in the day, he'd been the undisputed top dog—far beyond the others. John barely registered.
"Scared? No. I'm going to kill you here."
John's smile was knife-thin. He vanished and reappeared with a crunching hook across Victor's jaw.
"Doubt you'll live to see Logan again," he hissed, blinking, striking, blinking, striking—too fast to track. Sabretooth reeled under the teleport assault.
Too fast.
He couldn't react at all—
But Victor only grinned inside. John's power was scary, sure—but the guy pulled his punches. Fists? Against Victor? Joke. He'd seen better regeneration than his—this level of damage was nothing.
And beyond strength and speed, the beast in Victor gave him something else: a predator's intuition.
"Here."
He spun and raked his claws through empty air. "You're too predictable, John. Same three tricks as always."
He was certain the swipe would open the belly, snap the spine, and teach the brat what power really meant.
John locked up, sweat beading his brow as the claws kissed his abdomen—skin split, a thin line of blood welling—
And stopped.
Victor blinked. His claws hadn't sunk into John. A stranger stood between them, fingers gently wrapped around Victor's wrist.
Yellow jumpsuit. White cape. Red gloves. Pristine bald head.
Saitama, the king of laid-back.
He'd actually been enjoying his fruit tart. He didn't mind John—guy had shown some spine. When danger pricked his senses, Saitama stepped out and lent a hand.
"Sai… tama… bro…"
Cold sweat soaked John's back. Fear rattled through him—if Saitama hadn't stepped in, he might already be dead.
(End of Chapter)
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