I was inspired by the fanfics; Taming the Wolf, by Feyd-Rautha3 & Learning to Breahte, by onoM. Thank you for your inspiration! ^^
Dedicated to Pyry and Nasko, you guys are awesome.
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Ragged, dirty, grimy, tired, there were many words that could describe how Z looked, but one fit him better than any of the others: Confused. The teenager stumbled through the streets of New York, mumbling incoherently and almost inaudibly all the while. None of the people who saw him helped him, but no one bothered him either. Even the group of punks leaning against the wall of a rather depressing-looking alley didn’t take a second look at him. To them, he was just yet another bum high on some new experimental drug, nothing more and nothing less. They had no reason to believe anything else and never would have. The teen was dressed in a ragged, black wife-beater and an old, dusty trench coat that was so dark grey that black seemed more suitable to describe it. A pair of dark, blue jeans with several holes in them and an old pair of sneakers with their laces untied made up the clothes on his lower body and a single black fingerless glove adorned his left hand. The only item on the teen’s body, that looked even remotely clean or new, were the earphones that never left their place in the teen’s ears. Stumbling into an alley like a drunkard, Z finally came to a halt and supported himself against the wall with his gloved hand, panting furiously. Hadn’t he just been watching one of the educational programs? How did he end up in New York? Z’s foggy and unclear mind did nothing to answer his questions and the teen shook his head in anger, regretting the action instantly as his headache took a turn for the worse at the motion. Damn take his insomnia. Z blinked owlishly a few times before he narrowed his eyes in concentration and raced towards the other end of the alley. The teen paid no attention to the fact that he was running with ferocity and speed that seemed impossible for one who had been stumbling like a drunkard mere seconds ago.
Z opened his eyes and took an involuntary step backwards at the sight that met him. He seemed to be in a public office, though the room was nearly unrecognizable. The tapestry and the single painting hanging above the small, former black couch, was smeared with blood, skin and what looked like the sad remains of someone’s intestines. The room itself was furnished with a couch, a small, glass coffee table, one wooden desk and an office-chair, but it was the numerous file cabinets taking up most of the space in the office that caught Z’s attention. Despite the fact that the couch was smeared with insides, the table destroyed, the chair smashed, the desk now sporting a partially flayed man and that the sound of sirens were getting louder, the teen made his way towards the cabinets. The files revealed next to nothing, except the fact that the communal worker he had, apparently, just killed had been involved in some dealings with the black market. The word mutant was mentioned several times, but before Z could investigate the files any further, the sound of policemen ordering the remaining employees to find cover made its way through the door. Snatching as many files as he could handle, the teen sneered once before he jumped through the window, into the dark streets below.
The feeling of a fist connecting with his jaw sent Z spinning out of his foggy mindscape and back to reality. Staring into the grey, familiar ceiling of his cell from his position on the floor, the teen narrowed his eyes in concentration. It wasn’t often he had clear moments like these, not since he had turned thirteen. Z could hardly remember anything anymore. He still had all the skills he had acquired through his many years of training with the organization that had bred him, but his memories has become increasingly more foggy as he had grown older. After they gave him the earphones and began to play those sounds, he could hardly remember anything. Brief flashes from missions he had, apparently, completed, were the only thing he could remember of the last six months. The teen turned his head towards the door and saw the one person he really didn’t want near him at such a clear moment: His physician, Doctor Laura McCray, flanked by two of the organizations security guards, one of them who looked smug even through his mask, obviously having been the one to hit the teen. Laura had been Z’s doctor for as long as he could remember; she knew everything about his powers, his weaknesses and how he had progressed through the program. Everything there was to know about him, she knew. Laura was also the one adult in the entire facility who had treated Z with some affection, albeit close to none. But the occasional half-smile had meant more to Z than she could ever imagine. But the slightly friendly, or at least not hostile doctor, had been replaced with a cold and malevolent woman, who took pleasure in even the slightest amount of pain she could inflict on the teen. She had her reasons though.
Z was a mutant, a cloned mutant to be exact. 93% of his entire being was a perfect copy of Weapon-X, also known as Wolverine to some. The one sample that the organization had available from Weapon X had been slightly damaged and it was only by sheer chance that Z-26, him, had been a successful experiment. When the researchers and scientists had created Z, their plan had been to create a second version of Weapon X, similar in all but strength. Their Version Two would be made stronger, better. But the 7% of Z’s DNA that consisted of X-gene enhancing strings didn’t strengthen Weapon X’s gift. It changed it. So when Z’s trainers, after nine years of fierce training, finally managed to unlock his gift, they were surprised to say the least. Where Weapon-X had been in possession of three retractable bone claws on each hand, a very strong healing factor, enhanced senses and a slight animalistic touch, Weapon-Z’s natural abilities had been distributed very differently.
Z lacked Wolverines signature claws, which was the scientists’ first observation and greatest disappointment. But what Z lacked in claws, he more than made up for with his other abilities. Instead of claws, Z’s primary gift had been that of a single, bestial transformation. The transformation had been examined countless times over the years, but it was still referred to as a werewolf transformation. When subjected to enough pressure, Z would literally turn into a medieval villager’s nightmare. His transformation included a complete reorganization of his skeleton, thicker skin, black fur, claws, fangs, yellow eyes, even the slight tendency to droll whenever potential prey came near. The transformation was authentic to a fault. In his transformation, Z’s mindset would also become much more animalistic, so while the transformation empowered all his abilities to an almost impossible level, Z was a mere animal while he used it.
Even without his transformation, Z’s mindset was much more animalistic than normal humans’. His senses were enhanced to a point Wolverine could never hope to reach and he had moments where he acted very primitively and wolf-like. As an extra bonus, Z had also inherited Weapon-X’s healing factor and the scientists were delighted to discover that it was as strong as Weapon-X’s, if not stronger. Added to the fact that Z’s body produced about fifteen times as much adrenaline, which was constantly pumped through his body, as a normal human, a perfect weapon had been born. All in all, Weapon-Z was just as useful as Weapon-X. But because of the teen’s stronger animalistic side, he was easier to control.
The incident with Doctor Laura happened as a direct result of Z’s training. The organization had attempted to use sounds to provoke basic instincts and reactions in the teen. The day had been exhausting for the, at that time, 14 year old boy and he had barely been conscious when Doctor Laura had begun her medical check, which was also the only reason why the guards were stationed outside the clinic and not inside. Until then, the sound experiments had yielded no useful results and the scientists were on the verge of giving up on it altogether. But the exhausted teens mind was much more receptive to the sounds than it normally would be. Not only because the teen felt safer in the clinic than in the training area, but also because the mental strain had almost caused his mind to crack. It took nothing more than the sound of two glass phials hitting each other to awaken Z’s animalistic side. The guards stationed outside the door had to call for two entire teams of security guards to assist them in pulling the frenzied teen away from the doctor and while they managed to restrain him in the end, the damage had been done. Driven by base instinct alone, the fourteen year old boy had partially transformed into his werewolf-form and mated with the doctor.
The doctor stared down at Z with a hateful gaze that all but commanded him to die on the spot. Her lips were a thin line and the sour face, which had been permanently etched into her features whenever Z was near ever since that incident two years ago, was ever-present on her face. The teen stared back at the somewhat attractive woman with an indifferent expression. He hadn’t been trained since infancy for nothing. If there was something Z was, it was professional. Laura’s scowl only deepened at the sight of the impassive teen and she produced a small remote from one of the pockets of her white lab-coat. With a sadistic glint in her eye, the doctor pressed one of the buttons on the remote. The effect was instantaneous.
It was burning, wasn’t it? The icy-warm touch of one of the larger flames in the room was what made Z opens his eyes for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. Again, the scenery that hit him full force as his eyes adjusted themselves to the lighting the flames gave off was completely foreign to him. The constant blackouts and waking up in the middle of a crime-scene was making Z’s inner beast growl in annoyance. It didn’t like the feeling of not being in control. The roar of fire burning through wooden shelves and plastic made Z clench his fists and a do a quick, futile scan of the room in search of an exit. The building was completely engulfed in fire and even with his healing ability and constant adrenaline-rush, the teen was starting to feel the heat. Z never panicked, he never cried and he never showed emotion. Z-26, as a human, was the perfect, obedient weapon. The beast inside him, however, was another matter entirely. From the moment he was born, the boy’s inner beast had been both a blessing and a curse to the scientists. The beast could be controlled, subjugated to a certain extent, but it wasn’t always enough. Throughout the years, Z always did things he hadn’t been taught by the Organization. Things he hadn’t been ordered to do. He had to challenge the Alpha-male, he had to howl at the full-moon and he had to growl like a beast when he was punished. The list was endless and it caused the scientists no small amount of sleepless nights, when they tirelessly searched for something that could completely bend the beast to their will.
The teen didn’t make a sound as he checked the pockets of his trench-coat in search of some equipment, something useful if nothing else. His black-out personality might be much more barbaric than he, but it wasn’t stupid. But peculiarly, his pockets contained nothing apart from a small flashlight and a knife that looked to be no sharper than a spoon. Feeling slightly let down by his so-called ‘professional’ alter ego, the teen shrugged and made his way towards one of the blocked exits of the warehouse, ignoring the searing heat of the fire around him as he did. It didn’t take long for Z to reach one of the great, grey metal walls that made up the cornerstones of the warehouse. The teen knocked softly on the walls surface a single time, as his mind came up with dozens of ways to escape the blazing hell that the warehouse had become. Choosing the simplest way, the teen simply reared his gloved, left hand backwards and took a swing at the wall. While it didn’t collapse under his power, the water bulged like foil, and the second punch made an opening big enough for Z to crawl through. He didn’t even get a glimpse of the landscape before a sound emanated from his earphones and the world turned just as foggy as his mindscape.
End of Chapter One.
_________________________________________
AN: An idea I came up with. What if the scientists actually succeded in creating a male clone of Wolverine? This is my answer.
This fanfic will feature X-23, she's awesome!
I'm a Feral fan, Feral mutants are just so damn awesome @___@ My adoration of Feral mutants will not let me leave anyone behind, so Victor Creed/Sabretooth will get some screentime.
Thanks for reading, CnC is appreciated!
Comments in general are actually appreciated <.<
Dedicated to Pyry and Nasko, you guys are awesome.
___________________________________________
Ragged, dirty, grimy, tired, there were many words that could describe how Z looked, but one fit him better than any of the others: Confused. The teenager stumbled through the streets of New York, mumbling incoherently and almost inaudibly all the while. None of the people who saw him helped him, but no one bothered him either. Even the group of punks leaning against the wall of a rather depressing-looking alley didn’t take a second look at him. To them, he was just yet another bum high on some new experimental drug, nothing more and nothing less. They had no reason to believe anything else and never would have. The teen was dressed in a ragged, black wife-beater and an old, dusty trench coat that was so dark grey that black seemed more suitable to describe it. A pair of dark, blue jeans with several holes in them and an old pair of sneakers with their laces untied made up the clothes on his lower body and a single black fingerless glove adorned his left hand. The only item on the teen’s body, that looked even remotely clean or new, were the earphones that never left their place in the teen’s ears. Stumbling into an alley like a drunkard, Z finally came to a halt and supported himself against the wall with his gloved hand, panting furiously. Hadn’t he just been watching one of the educational programs? How did he end up in New York? Z’s foggy and unclear mind did nothing to answer his questions and the teen shook his head in anger, regretting the action instantly as his headache took a turn for the worse at the motion. Damn take his insomnia. Z blinked owlishly a few times before he narrowed his eyes in concentration and raced towards the other end of the alley. The teen paid no attention to the fact that he was running with ferocity and speed that seemed impossible for one who had been stumbling like a drunkard mere seconds ago.
Z opened his eyes and took an involuntary step backwards at the sight that met him. He seemed to be in a public office, though the room was nearly unrecognizable. The tapestry and the single painting hanging above the small, former black couch, was smeared with blood, skin and what looked like the sad remains of someone’s intestines. The room itself was furnished with a couch, a small, glass coffee table, one wooden desk and an office-chair, but it was the numerous file cabinets taking up most of the space in the office that caught Z’s attention. Despite the fact that the couch was smeared with insides, the table destroyed, the chair smashed, the desk now sporting a partially flayed man and that the sound of sirens were getting louder, the teen made his way towards the cabinets. The files revealed next to nothing, except the fact that the communal worker he had, apparently, just killed had been involved in some dealings with the black market. The word mutant was mentioned several times, but before Z could investigate the files any further, the sound of policemen ordering the remaining employees to find cover made its way through the door. Snatching as many files as he could handle, the teen sneered once before he jumped through the window, into the dark streets below.
The feeling of a fist connecting with his jaw sent Z spinning out of his foggy mindscape and back to reality. Staring into the grey, familiar ceiling of his cell from his position on the floor, the teen narrowed his eyes in concentration. It wasn’t often he had clear moments like these, not since he had turned thirteen. Z could hardly remember anything anymore. He still had all the skills he had acquired through his many years of training with the organization that had bred him, but his memories has become increasingly more foggy as he had grown older. After they gave him the earphones and began to play those sounds, he could hardly remember anything. Brief flashes from missions he had, apparently, completed, were the only thing he could remember of the last six months. The teen turned his head towards the door and saw the one person he really didn’t want near him at such a clear moment: His physician, Doctor Laura McCray, flanked by two of the organizations security guards, one of them who looked smug even through his mask, obviously having been the one to hit the teen. Laura had been Z’s doctor for as long as he could remember; she knew everything about his powers, his weaknesses and how he had progressed through the program. Everything there was to know about him, she knew. Laura was also the one adult in the entire facility who had treated Z with some affection, albeit close to none. But the occasional half-smile had meant more to Z than she could ever imagine. But the slightly friendly, or at least not hostile doctor, had been replaced with a cold and malevolent woman, who took pleasure in even the slightest amount of pain she could inflict on the teen. She had her reasons though.
Z was a mutant, a cloned mutant to be exact. 93% of his entire being was a perfect copy of Weapon-X, also known as Wolverine to some. The one sample that the organization had available from Weapon X had been slightly damaged and it was only by sheer chance that Z-26, him, had been a successful experiment. When the researchers and scientists had created Z, their plan had been to create a second version of Weapon X, similar in all but strength. Their Version Two would be made stronger, better. But the 7% of Z’s DNA that consisted of X-gene enhancing strings didn’t strengthen Weapon X’s gift. It changed it. So when Z’s trainers, after nine years of fierce training, finally managed to unlock his gift, they were surprised to say the least. Where Weapon-X had been in possession of three retractable bone claws on each hand, a very strong healing factor, enhanced senses and a slight animalistic touch, Weapon-Z’s natural abilities had been distributed very differently.
Z lacked Wolverines signature claws, which was the scientists’ first observation and greatest disappointment. But what Z lacked in claws, he more than made up for with his other abilities. Instead of claws, Z’s primary gift had been that of a single, bestial transformation. The transformation had been examined countless times over the years, but it was still referred to as a werewolf transformation. When subjected to enough pressure, Z would literally turn into a medieval villager’s nightmare. His transformation included a complete reorganization of his skeleton, thicker skin, black fur, claws, fangs, yellow eyes, even the slight tendency to droll whenever potential prey came near. The transformation was authentic to a fault. In his transformation, Z’s mindset would also become much more animalistic, so while the transformation empowered all his abilities to an almost impossible level, Z was a mere animal while he used it.
Even without his transformation, Z’s mindset was much more animalistic than normal humans’. His senses were enhanced to a point Wolverine could never hope to reach and he had moments where he acted very primitively and wolf-like. As an extra bonus, Z had also inherited Weapon-X’s healing factor and the scientists were delighted to discover that it was as strong as Weapon-X’s, if not stronger. Added to the fact that Z’s body produced about fifteen times as much adrenaline, which was constantly pumped through his body, as a normal human, a perfect weapon had been born. All in all, Weapon-Z was just as useful as Weapon-X. But because of the teen’s stronger animalistic side, he was easier to control.
The incident with Doctor Laura happened as a direct result of Z’s training. The organization had attempted to use sounds to provoke basic instincts and reactions in the teen. The day had been exhausting for the, at that time, 14 year old boy and he had barely been conscious when Doctor Laura had begun her medical check, which was also the only reason why the guards were stationed outside the clinic and not inside. Until then, the sound experiments had yielded no useful results and the scientists were on the verge of giving up on it altogether. But the exhausted teens mind was much more receptive to the sounds than it normally would be. Not only because the teen felt safer in the clinic than in the training area, but also because the mental strain had almost caused his mind to crack. It took nothing more than the sound of two glass phials hitting each other to awaken Z’s animalistic side. The guards stationed outside the door had to call for two entire teams of security guards to assist them in pulling the frenzied teen away from the doctor and while they managed to restrain him in the end, the damage had been done. Driven by base instinct alone, the fourteen year old boy had partially transformed into his werewolf-form and mated with the doctor.
The doctor stared down at Z with a hateful gaze that all but commanded him to die on the spot. Her lips were a thin line and the sour face, which had been permanently etched into her features whenever Z was near ever since that incident two years ago, was ever-present on her face. The teen stared back at the somewhat attractive woman with an indifferent expression. He hadn’t been trained since infancy for nothing. If there was something Z was, it was professional. Laura’s scowl only deepened at the sight of the impassive teen and she produced a small remote from one of the pockets of her white lab-coat. With a sadistic glint in her eye, the doctor pressed one of the buttons on the remote. The effect was instantaneous.
It was burning, wasn’t it? The icy-warm touch of one of the larger flames in the room was what made Z opens his eyes for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. Again, the scenery that hit him full force as his eyes adjusted themselves to the lighting the flames gave off was completely foreign to him. The constant blackouts and waking up in the middle of a crime-scene was making Z’s inner beast growl in annoyance. It didn’t like the feeling of not being in control. The roar of fire burning through wooden shelves and plastic made Z clench his fists and a do a quick, futile scan of the room in search of an exit. The building was completely engulfed in fire and even with his healing ability and constant adrenaline-rush, the teen was starting to feel the heat. Z never panicked, he never cried and he never showed emotion. Z-26, as a human, was the perfect, obedient weapon. The beast inside him, however, was another matter entirely. From the moment he was born, the boy’s inner beast had been both a blessing and a curse to the scientists. The beast could be controlled, subjugated to a certain extent, but it wasn’t always enough. Throughout the years, Z always did things he hadn’t been taught by the Organization. Things he hadn’t been ordered to do. He had to challenge the Alpha-male, he had to howl at the full-moon and he had to growl like a beast when he was punished. The list was endless and it caused the scientists no small amount of sleepless nights, when they tirelessly searched for something that could completely bend the beast to their will.
The teen didn’t make a sound as he checked the pockets of his trench-coat in search of some equipment, something useful if nothing else. His black-out personality might be much more barbaric than he, but it wasn’t stupid. But peculiarly, his pockets contained nothing apart from a small flashlight and a knife that looked to be no sharper than a spoon. Feeling slightly let down by his so-called ‘professional’ alter ego, the teen shrugged and made his way towards one of the blocked exits of the warehouse, ignoring the searing heat of the fire around him as he did. It didn’t take long for Z to reach one of the great, grey metal walls that made up the cornerstones of the warehouse. The teen knocked softly on the walls surface a single time, as his mind came up with dozens of ways to escape the blazing hell that the warehouse had become. Choosing the simplest way, the teen simply reared his gloved, left hand backwards and took a swing at the wall. While it didn’t collapse under his power, the water bulged like foil, and the second punch made an opening big enough for Z to crawl through. He didn’t even get a glimpse of the landscape before a sound emanated from his earphones and the world turned just as foggy as his mindscape.
End of Chapter One.
_________________________________________
AN: An idea I came up with. What if the scientists actually succeded in creating a male clone of Wolverine? This is my answer.
This fanfic will feature X-23, she's awesome!
I'm a Feral fan, Feral mutants are just so damn awesome @___@ My adoration of Feral mutants will not let me leave anyone behind, so Victor Creed/Sabretooth will get some screentime.
Thanks for reading, CnC is appreciated!
Comments in general are actually appreciated <.<
