@quire-as-in-f-u | sc
slade’s ears prick up. he can hear someone coming, which is strange. they aren’t running, just walking, and he’s sure that he’d taken out everyone in this place. that would’ve been part of his contract, at least for this military post. the second part is to find some information, which is why he’s digging for files in this office. the corpse of the man running the facility is pushed the floor, unceremoniously shoved off of his desk and bleeding on slade’s boots. the whole place smells of fresh, hot blood.
it’s a mutant. slade can smell it on him on the bit that seeps through the blood. he knows him, too, though not by name. a fucking telepath. slade keeps his sidearm trained on him, a knife in his left hand. he’ll know if the punk starts to fuck with his mind, if he gets past the mask’s blockers. his tail flicks slightly as he faces potential prey. “you can tell krakoa to leave me alone. i’m not swearing myself to whatever they call a government.” and he has a job to do. how the fuck they managed to track him down in the middle of rural russia is a real question. he thought he put enough safeguards around him to keep xavier’s meddling fingers out of his business, but apparently it wasn’t enough for a whole mutant nation.
