The roar of gunfire echoed through the night as Nathan stole a glance at the rearview mirror. Three vehicles were in pursuit, their mounted guns spitting lead in relentless bursts. The flickering muzzle flashes illuminated the grim determination on the faces of their attackers.
"How's it looking back there?" Nathan called over the cacophony, his voice strained but steady.
Silvija didn't answer immediately, too focused on returning fire with the mounted machine gun. She unleashed a deafening volley, the recoil jarring her shoulders but not her aim. "Busy," she finally barked.
Nathan shifted his attention back to the road, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The jeep jolted over the uneven terrain as he swerved left and right, trying to make them a harder target. The bullets still came, chewing into the dirt around them and occasionally pinging off the jeep's frame.
A sudden, intensifying glare in the mirror caught his attention. His jaw tightened as he spotted a pickup truck speeding up, the driver clearly intent on closing the gap. Its oversized headlights cut through the darkness, bathing the jeep in blinding light.
"Persistent bastards," Nathan muttered under his breath, pressing the gas pedal to the floor. The jeep surged forward, its engine roaring, but it wasn't enough. The pickup continued to gain ground, inching closer with every passing second.
"Hold on back there!" Nathan shouted, veering the jeep sharply to the left. He then slammed on the brakes, the tires skidding as the jeep slowed just enough for the truck to pull up alongside them.
Without hesitation, Nathan grabbed his MP5 from the passenger seat, his movements precise despite the chaos. He leaned out the window, the bitter wind whipping at his face, and aimed at the truck's cab. The weapon spat fire as he pulled the trigger, the sharp bursts of gunfire drowning out the world.
The bullets tore through the driver and passenger, blood splattering across the shattered windshield. The pickup lurched violently to the side, veering off the road. Its tires skidded before it tumbled, flipping end over end in a cacophony of metal and shattering glass.
The man stationed at the mounted gun screamed as he was flung through the air, his body hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. The wrecked truck rolled to a stop, its crumpled frame emitting a low groan of protest before bursting into flames.
Nathan didn't have time to celebrate. A thunderous explosion echoed behind him, and he glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see another vehicle erupt in a fiery blaze. The flames licked at the night sky, consuming the wreckage as it crashed into a tree.
Silvija's sharp laugh rang out above the chaos. "That's two down," she called, her voice edged with satisfaction as she continued firing at the remaining car.
"One more to go," Nathan muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the last car still in pursuit. Its headlights cut through the darkness, bouncing wildly over the uneven terrain. He quickly gauged the distance, his mind calculating speed and trajectory.
His eyes darted briefly to the speedometer before he reached into his coat, retrieving a fragmentation grenade.
"Alright, let's end this," he growled, pulling the pin with his teeth and gripping the grenade tightly. He held it for a calculated moment, feeling the vehicle's vibrations beneath him as he adjusted for timing. Then, with a sharp twist of his arm, he hurled the grenade out the window.
The explosive arced through the air, landing just shy of its intended target. It detonated with a deafening roar, the shockwave rocking the car. The grenade's shrapnel shredded through the passenger side of the vehicle, obliterating the tires and sending it careening off the road. The car smashed into a shallow ditch, flipping onto its side before coming to a smoldering halt.
"Clear," Nathan muttered, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
From above, Silvija's voice rang out, sharp and dry. "Good timing. I was just about to run out of bullets."
Nathan glanced up as Silvija climbed down from the mounted gun, her movements fluid despite the chaos. She slung her rifle over her shoulder and made her way to the passenger seat. He looked back at the wreckage, then forward at the empty stretch of road. For now, there was no sign of reinforcements.
"Now would be a good time for you to make your exit," he said, gesturing toward the passenger door without looking at her.
As if on cue, the rhythmic thumping of helicopter blades echoed in the distance, growing louder with each second. Nathan's expression darkened. "Quick," he added, his tone sharper.
Silvija nodded, already moving. "Before I go, I've got a couple of gifts for you." She gestured to her duffle bag in the back seat. "A few guns, flashbangs, grenades, and two Chitauri stims. Consider it my holiday cheer."
Nathan offered her a faint smirk, his hands steady on the wheel. "I'll put them to good use."
But Silvija wasn't finished. Her silver lips curved into a sly smile as she reached toward the back seat again. "There's one more gift." She pulled a cylindrical object into her lap, its length wrapped in a worn cloth. With a flourish, she removed the covering, revealing a sleek, compact rocket launcher.
Nathan glanced at the weapon, his grin widening despite himself. "Merry Christmas," he muttered, the first genuine amusement he'd felt all night.
Silvija set the rocket launcher down with care. Nathan returned his attention to the road, the faint glow of a distant town beginning to appear on the horizon.
But Silvija wasn't finished. Taking a deep breath, she leaned closer. "Just one last thing, Nathan."
Without waiting for a response, she reached out, gripping his face with both hands. His eyes darted to hers, but before he could react, her lips were on his, firm and deliberate.
The kiss lasted only a moment, but it left Nathan momentarily stunned. Silvija pulled back with a mischievous glint in her eyes, opened the door, and launched herself out of the moving jeep.
Nathan's heart skipped as he caught sight of her rolling expertly across the dirt, using the momentum to minimize the impact. She came to a stop near a cluster of bushes, her silver outfit and hair shifting like a chameleon's skin, blending seamlessly with the shadows.
The helicopter's thumping grew louder, but Nathan pressed the gas pedal harder, the jeep roaring toward the distant lights. "Merry Christmas indeed," he said to no one in particular, wryly shaking his head.
His grip on the wheel tightened, his mind already planning his next move. If Silvija needed a distraction, he was going to deliver. And if there was one thing Nathaniel excelled at, it was creating chaos.
...
The Blackbird hummed as it cut through the night sky, its sleek form blending with the darkness above the island. Inside the cockpit, Wolverine lounged in the co-pilot's seat, arms crossed over his chest and a gruff scowl etched into his face. Across from him, Archangel adjusted the controls, his sharp, regal features betraying nothing but focus as he piloted the jet.
"This is a simple job," Wolverine grumbled, his gravelly voice breaking the quiet hum of the engines. "We get in, take the kids, stomp anyone dumb enough to get in the way. Why do I gotta have you tagging along, Warren?"
Archangel didn't look up, his voice calm but firm. "Because, Logan, it's not that simple. These people aren't your typical bad guys. They're parents, neighbors—people terrified of what they don't understand. We need diplomacy."
Wolverine scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Diplomacy? What for? We already know these kids've been through hell here. You think talkin' is gonna make these people see the light?"
Archangel sighed, shaking his head. "Ignorance isn't a crime," he replied quietly. His tone carried an edge of sadness, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "These people think they're protecting the world from their children—or protecting their children from the world. It's not malice, Logan. It's fear and ignorance."
He trailed off, his blue gaze hardening as he stared at the horizon, lost in thought. Memories surfaced unbidden, of a father who had once tried to suppress his mutation, to mold him into something he wasn't. He clenched the controls, shaking his head slightly to dispel the memories.
"We need to make them understand," he continued, his voice steadier now. "They're harming their children more than they're helping. We can guide these kids, give them a future. But we can't do that by tearing their world apart."
Wolverine turned to look at him, his expression flat and unimpressed. "Yeah, yeah, you keep tellin' yourself that. Meanwhile, I'm gettin' ready to do what actually works." He leaned back in his seat, clearly losing interest in the conversation.
Before Archangel could respond, a sudden, deafening explosion rocked the jet. The force of the blast rattled the controls, and the Blackbird shook as if caught in turbulence. Wolverine snapped upright, his instincts instantly on high alert.
"What the hell was that?!" he barked.
Archangel's hands flew over the console, steadying the jet. "We're too high for ground fire to hit us," he muttered, his tone sharp with concern. "That was something big."
"Scan the area," Wolverine ordered, his voice a growl.
Archangel activated the Blackbird's external cameras, adjusting the view until a small town came into focus on the main screen. The scene was chaotic: a burning helicopter smoldered on the outskirts, its twisted remains illuminating the area in an eerie glow. Cars screeched to a halt at the edge of town, disgorging armed men who scrambled for cover as more explosions erupted in the distance.
The battlefield unfolded like a grim mosaic—smoke, fire, and the staccato flashes of gunfire illuminating the night.
Wolverine leaned forward, his expression grim as his sharp eyes studied the scene. "That's no regular scrap," he muttered. "This is somethin' else."
Archangel nodded, his jaw tight. "Whoever's down there, they're not alone."
"Fly us over that town," Wolverine said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We need to figure out what's goin' down before those kids end up in the middle of it."
Archangel adjusted the controls, the Blackbird beginning its descent toward the town below as the chaos continued to rage.
...
The church tower was dark and silent save for the muted hum of the rifle in Nathan's hands. From his elevated perch, he had a clear view of the ruined streets below, the cracks of gunfire echoing through the air like thunderclaps. The sniper rifle pressed against his shoulder was an old friend in his hands, the scope painting a grim picture of the chaos he had orchestrated.
Nathan exhaled slowly, his gloved finger tightening on the trigger. A lone figure darted from cover to cover near the remnants of what had once been a bakery. He squeezed. The rifle kicked, and a sharp crack rang out. Through the scope, the target crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
"Idiots," Nathan muttered under his breath, shifting his aim to scan for the next wave.
His other hand hovered over a remote detonator clipped to his belt. Outside the town and along its main roads, he'd rigged explosives, each one carefully concealed beneath loose debris or inside abandoned vehicles. The Foreigner's assassins had taken the bait, charging straight into the labyrinth of traps he had crafted.
The detonator gave a satisfying click as Nathan pressed it. A deafening explosion erupted near the town square, sending chunks of asphalt and smoke skyward. Shouts of panic followed, then silence.
Through his scope, Nathan caught sight of a man crawling out of the wreckage, covered in soot but still clutching his rifle. Nathan lined up the shot, his crosshairs steady. A second crack split the night, and the crawling man slumped forward.
This was how it had been for hours: assassins pouring into the town like an endless tide, and Nathan picking them off one by one, his traps thinning their numbers before they could ever reach him.
Yet, as he reloaded the sniper rifle with methodical precision, a darker thought nagged at the edges of his mind. Who was funding this?
The Foreigner was no stranger to mercenary work, but this? This was excessive, even by his standards.
The entire populace of the island had been bought out, evacuated or silenced to ensure secrecy. There were radar facilities, smart targeting systems that monitored the airspace, and the roads were crawling with vehicles outfitted with cutting-edge weaponry.
Nathan adjusted the scope and focused on a cluster of SUVs pulling up just outside the town's border. Armed men spilled out, their movements precise, their gear top-of-the-line. These weren't just hired guns. These were professionals—elite operatives trained to kill efficiently.
"Deep pockets," Nathan murmured, shaking his head. He watched as one of the men pointed toward the church, their gazes locking onto his position. "Real deep pockets."
The question burned in his mind as he fired again, the recoil barely registering. The Foreigner's client wasn't just paying for an army of assassins and international mercenaries—they were turning this island into a fortress. And for what? To kill Wolverine? Why?
Nathan's thoughts swirled with unanswered questions, the mysteries of the Foreigner's benefactor gnawing at the edges of his concentration. He steadied himself, exhaling slowly as he adjusted the rifle's scope. The battlefield stretched out below him, a chaotic tapestry of smoke, fire, and bodies.
Then, something unusual caught his eye—a faint shimmer in the sky. At first, it was nothing more than a distant speck. But as it grew closer, hurtling toward the ground at an alarming speed, Nathan's pulse quickened.
"What the hell...?" he murmured, shifting his focus to the descending object.
Through the scope, the image came into focus: a man, or rather something resembling a man, descending like a missile from the heavens. His yellow and blue jacket stood out vividly against the blackened skyline, the colors unmistakable. His arms were spread wide, claws gleaming like wicked stars in the moonlight.
Nathan's breath hitched. The realization hit him like a thunderclap.
"Speak of the devil..." he muttered under his breath.
The figure smashed into the earth with a force that shook the ground beneath Nathan's perch. The thud reverberated through the town, so powerful it was felt even from Nathan's vantage point high in the tower. Dust and debris exploded outward in a cloud, shrouding the impact zone in a haze.
Through the swirling dirt, Nathan caught glimpses of the figure rising from his crouch, his movements slow and deliberate. Even without the rifle's scope, he could make out the glint of animalistic eyes and the feral snarl curling the man's lips.
Wolverine.
The mercenaries and assassins reacted instantly. The chaos of gunfire aimed at the church abruptly ceased, every weapon snapping toward the new arrival like iron filings to a magnet. Orders were shouted, vehicles roared to life, and the once-organized siege on Nathan's position dissolved into a desperate charge toward the living weapon standing in the middle of the street.
Nathan leaned back slightly, lowering his rifle and letting out a quiet chuckle. "Well, aren't you just a walking distraction?"
Through his scope, he watched Wolverine's claws extend with a metallic snikt, his body lowering into a predatory stance. The first wave of mercenaries opened fire, bullets sparking off the indestructible bones beneath Wolverine's flesh as he charged them with unrelenting ferocity.
...
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