Chapter 16
Well, I hadn't imagined the click. But what to do next? The honor guard of five soldiers with Hydra blasters hadn't gone anywhere from the laboratory. Just as they had been guarding in shifts around the clock, they had no intention of abandoning this idea.
And I couldn't fully trust my body after using the vaccine. The result is still too unpredictable. It could fail at the most unexpected moment, and according to the movies, one blaster hit was enough to vaporize a tank. I don't consider myself tougher than a tank. More effective—maybe, but tougher—no.
Well, all I can do is hope for my agility and skills. Including my special Qi control skills. Fortunately, I had already managed to circulate it through my body, and the Beast was still snoring contentedly, not clouding my mind with rage.
And not even a minute had passed after Klaus Schmidt left when Johann Schmidt flew into the laboratory. I suspect that Klaus left so hastily precisely because of Johann's imminent arrival. After all, he had introduced us to Max, but hadn't arranged a demonstration of abilities, which would have been logical.
Herr Schmidt, without saying a word, immediately thrust himself at me with a syringe. He aimed and stuck the needle in. Or rather, tried to stick it in: the Iron Shirt is one of the most hyped tricks of the Shaolin monks. Naturally, I was taught it. And I mastered it at a very good level. In principle, with proper concentration, I am able to deflect a bullet from an anti-tank rifle or a machine-gun burst with my bare skin. But in my normal state, with every second of maintaining this state, preserving control over my own rage became harder. So much so that after a minute, I would already throw myself at anything that moved.
The needle bent. Johann stared at it in incomprehension. Then at the injection site, and even tested the skin with his finger. Scraped it. Looked at the needle again, sighed, and left the laboratory for a new one.
I deepened my concentration, preparing to deliver a simultaneous Qi strike at the guarding soldiers. But I didn't have time. Johann returned, already with a new needle.
I focused on the syringe and struck it with Qi. It didn't fly out of Schmidt's fingers, no. The strike was calculated to destroy the contents. Maximally weakening the effect—that was my goal in this strike, because I couldn't play with needles anymore. It's too dangerous to show my true capabilities.
Schmidt noticed. Not my interference, but that something was wrong with the serum. He stopped and carefully looked at the syringe against the light. Its contents had changed hue from bright blue to pale purple.
"Strange," he said to himself in German. Looked at me, calculated something in his mind. "No, we will test this compound on another subject. I don't want to violate the purity of the experiment," he muttered just as quietly. "But still, what could have influenced it so much..." he left the laboratory, continuing to examine the syringe.
After some time, a woman's scream was heard from behind the wall, then everything went quiet. It wasn't anything surprising—someone is constantly screaming here, the laboratory isn't the only one. And in general, as I understood from the clothes worn by the teenager, we are in a concentration camp. And judging by some guesses, specifically in Auschwitz.
I relaxed my muscles and continued to circulate Qi through my body using Qigong techniques. The strike must be delivered once and with a guarantee. Because it is unlikely I will get a second chance.
And also, before leaving the camp, I absolutely must finish off Johann. It's too dangerous to leave the formula, even an imperfect one, to such an active person. He will definitely stamp out an army of super-freaks, and everyone will have to deal with the consequences. At the same time, it's better not to mess with Klaus. As far as I remember from the movies, he is a mutant himself. And his ability was not harmless at all. So much so that Xavier had to gather a whole team just to take him down alone, and that says a lot.
* * *
Klaus came in again. This time he conducted a demonstration of Max's abilities for me too. And Max indeed turned out to be Magneto. He still controlled his ability very weakly, so it was limited to tweezers flying over the table. And another quiet click in my elbow restraint. The demonstration of my abilities was conducted entirely without frills: this bastard Hans simply shot me in the liver and waited for my body to push the bullet out. Painful, but informative: regeneration really had accelerated compared to what it was before the serum. I even started wondering whether I should let Schmidt inject the second dose? But I brushed those thoughts aside, because fuck that! I got lucky once, it's not a given I'll get lucky twice. And greed and curiosity have killed more than a hundred cats.
Klaus came in again, apologized that he wouldn't be able to visit me in the coming days, some business required his attention. He's become so polite, just a sweetheart! A Zen-forsaken vivisector! I haven't forgotten anything, let him not hope. I keep an exact count of all the organs cut out of me. And someday I will present this bill for payment. But for now, "Smile and wave, boys. Smile and wave"©.
* * *
I didn't wait for a better moment. After all, those who don't take risks aren't buried under marble monuments.
The strike turned out to be a sight to behold: all five guards slumped over like broken dolls, without even a squeak. Then came into play the arm freed by Max and the key sto... stolen from Johann during his confusion with the needle. Sleight of hand and no fraud!©.
Clothes were kindly provided to me by one of the eternally sleeping guards, fortunately they didn't put wimps in my laboratory. What next?
And next, chivalry flared up, waking up at the wrong time in my thoroughly piratical soul. It got stuck in my head to find the kid who had so kindly clicked my shackles and say "thank you" to him, by pulling him out of this fun place. Even if forcibly.
On the other hand... Why the Zen? Even though I don't feel bloodlust right now and the rage isn't splashing in a hot wave, they kept me here like a wild beast, a monster, cut and tortured me. So why should I leave quietly?
No, boys, that won't do: the monster has broken free! You can kill not only in a rage. With a cold head, it should turn out much more effectively.
But first, Johann.
I quietly sneaked to the neighboring laboratory and looked through the crack. I couldn't make out anything clearly. Sniffed. Inside the room was a standard quintet of soldiers with blasters and someone else whose scent was vaguely familiar to me, but not Schmidt and not Max.
This interested me. A quick pull of the door towards me, a jump with a roll, and four scalpels from my laboratory found their place in this laboratory. Places, admittedly, not quite intended for them, but lethal for the guards, since no armor provides one hundred percent throat protection, otherwise it's impossible to move in it.
Except the throws turned out much stronger than I expected. Good thing the accuracy didn't suffer. The scalpels, like bolts from a monstrously tight crossbow, pierced the bodies right through and even plunged into the concrete wall, just like back then with Issei. But that was a dagger, about eight times heavier than a surgical scalpel, and I threw it putting all my strength, all of myself into it. And here, a routine throw, without much strain, for speed and accuracy, and certainly not for strength.
The fifth one I simply snapped his neck.
Then, just like in my laboratory, I broke the blasters (because fuck leaving anyone a weapon capable of harming you). Only after that did I approach the table, of the same system as mine, but slightly flimsier.
On the table lay a chained woman, naturally naked, since the service in this hotel is the same for all guests: an IV and a fire hose.
Her facial features were vaguely familiar, but I still couldn't catch the thought by the tail. Where do I know her from?
She looks very much like an actress from my world, I think her name was Alana de la Garza, and she only made a mark in TV series, but I liked her in that life. Beautiful.
What spoiled the woman lying on the table was only something like a fresh burn over her entire left eye socket.
Then she opened her eyes and stared at my face studying it. One eye was brown, just like that actress's, but the second one, in the "burned" socket, was red with black. That is, the sclera, instead of being white, had a rich black color, and the iris an equally rich red. A creepy combination.
Suddenly, recognition flashed in her gaze.
"Uncle VictOr?" she asked in French with astonishment, disbelief, and joy.
This address... Only one person had called me that in my entire life. Could it be...
"Nicole?" I widened my eyes in surprise and began to open her shackles. There were no complex locks here, just like in my restraints actually, but they aren't really needed here anyway. So a broken piece of tweezers completely replaced a key for me. "You've grown up, become prettier."
"Uncle VictOr, can you imagine, just today I dreamed... I dreamed of you... that if you were here, and all of them... You would... all of them... I'm silly, aren't I?" she said trustingly and smiled awkwardly, her eyes filling with moisture.
I had just finished with the shackles. Nicole sniffled and, grabbing onto my clothes, burst into tears on my shoulder like a little girl.
I absentmindedly hugged her and began stroking her hair, whispering some soothing nonsense.
Nicole...
I met her in France. In 1914, when I had just arrived from Asia, she was a little girl of six. She lived with her grandmother next door to the little house I bought in Paris before entering the Sorbonne.
A cheerful, sociable, and inquisitive girl, she often ran into my yard. She called me Uncle VictOr, loved to watch my morning and evening training sessions.
Somehow it turned out that from a simple spectator, she gradually moved into the category of students.
Despite all her good-naturedness, the girl was stubborn, straightforward, and assertive. So I chose Wing Chun as her main style. Plus elements of Muay Boran. She liked it.
Gradually, she attached herself to me like a tail in shooting, piloting (let me remind you, I had my own little plane at the time), and drawing. In general, she was almost always hanging around. I didn't mind. Teaching her was fun.
When I finished the Sorbonne, she was twelve. Naturally, her family didn't go to Munich. So we corresponded with her after that. During summer vacations, again, I visited France. Probably for nothing, but what's done is done, I taught her explosives, mechanics, engineering, driving, picking locks and security systems... She liked it.
But time passed. I don't know what happened, but in 1924, arriving in France again, I found completely different people in the house where she lived. And I didn't receive any more letters.
It was sad, of course, but a long life gets you used to partings. She was sixteen then.
Now, she must be thirty-five... Recognizing me without hair, after nineteen years—it's amazing. She's been through a lot. And then there's this eye.
I think I even know exactly what made her eye like that. After all, a thoughtful Schmidt with a syringe had left exactly in the direction of this laboratory.
"And what are you doing here, Uncle VictOr?" she asked me after three minutes, wiping her eyes.
"Apparently, just like in your dream... Everyone..." I replied and tried to squeeze out an encouraging smile. But it seems I didn't succeed very well, since Nicole... Zen, it's hard to call an adult, almost unfamiliar woman by the name of a girl who remained in memory. Since Nicole shivered chillily from what turned out to be my smile.
"You've changed, Uncle VictOr. You've become scary," she shivered again and covered her chest with her arm, finally realizing that she was completely naked in front of me.
"War, Nicole, war," was all I could find to answer. "Alright, you cover yourself up here. Wait a little, I'll go clear the way now and come back. Pick out some clothes for yourself in the meantime..."
"Are you sure you'll come back?" she threw up her eyes pitifully and involuntarily grabbed onto my clothes again.
"I will," this time the smile turned out tender and encouraging.
"Okay," she lowered her eyes and released her hands with an effort. "I will be a good girl and wait for you here."
I swallowed the prickly lump that had suddenly gotten stuck in my throat and nodded.
And then I put the helmet of a killed Hydra soldier on my head and walked out the door.
* * *