Which is Worse? My Bark or My Bite?

A nice, quiet evening.

"And I bet thirty bucks it won't stay that way," Raz sighed. Currently, she walked down a fairly unoccupied street, somewhere in one of the many shopping districts of New York City. The last two months had seen a wild uptick in Vagrant appearances. And a few days ago... one of those Vagrant neos had threatened the White House directly. They were currently under-staffed since a large chunk of all military personnel -- and naturally, the goddamn Senators wanted the creme de le creme and pulled a few G1 super-soldiers from key positions -- to protect politicians fat asses.

Raz had been one among many voices to voice opposition to such a move. Not only was the the same corrupted, self-serving, asshole move that insulted the positions they held, it just spread the damage further. Their fear showed.

And fear spread.

It clung to the city like a foul fog. A pungent, skunky scent that filmed windows and eyes and clung to the back of the throat with a nasty aftertaste. Everyone was jumpy. the NYPD had its hands full with brawls and random acts of violence and road rage every day. Furtive glances met anyone walking into any public building. Social media had exploded, protests from both sides took to the streets and already Raz had to show up at riots four times to put it down. It never took long for them to scatter. But it seemed like it only made them regroup and start all over again faster each time.

People kept their heads down. They were quiet, making themselves as small a target as possible. The city held its breath, waiting. Military personnel and law enforcement were on high alert, over caffeinated and sleep deprived. They waited. They watched.

And in the right at the witching hour, something just had to happen. Reports of bars getting hit all along the same street, for at least a few blocks, dead center in her patrol route. The call centers had just gotten flooded with reports of a neo in the last one to be hit. Everyone had gotten the chance to get out without any scrapping this time, thankfully. Apparently, the ER's were already busy with the damage done by this nasty customer. She was to head there immediately and detain the neo, if it was such. They'd had a lot of false alarms lately, mostly wild-eyed fantatics trying to prove a point and only scaring people more. According to the fleeing patrons, the guy was just sitting inside... drinking.

Raz acknowledged the order and immediately started heading there as fast as she could without smashing up the sidewalk. "Sounds like someone wants to monologue," she muttered. She was so sick and tired of these goddamn monologues. Especially the protesters. Especially the flag-burners. She straight up shot one of those special little assholes with a tear gas canister. He went down coughing and gasping for hair, later dragged off screaming and cursing about tyranny, oppression, blah blah blah... she offered him the chance to leave the scene in a squad car or an ambulance. He chose squad car.

Her superiors hadn't uttered a single reprimand for it either.

It didn't take long for her to find the bar. Just as she suspected -- it was some trite, endless iteration on the stereotypical Irish pub. A few souls, either brave, stupid, or a little of both, lingered around the corner and frantically pointed her toward the building, as if she didn't already know where it was. Inside, a man sat at the bar. Seemed normal enough, but that didn't mean a thing. She looked pretty normal too, and was anything but. He must've known this would get unwelcome attention. There was more here at play and she knew a goddamn trap when she saw one. She didn't fancy the idea of walking into one.

Then again, the situation was pretty clear. Maybe -- maybe -- she could keep it contained to just within the building. If she drew him out into the street, who knew what damage could be done, who might be caught in the crossfire? It was a bad situation and she was going in anyway. Didn't matter if he had no weapons or not. A neo was a weapon, more often than not. The unthreatening scene only made her more paranoid and suspicious.

"Just a lovely, midnight chat. Suuurre..." she muttered. She flicked off the safety on her rifle. She really ought to start carrying a damn shotgun. "At least I'll get thirty bucks out of this if I don't die." She snorted. "Like that'll happen."

She sighed and carefully, slowly, stepped inside, her rifle shouldered but not raised. Not yet, at least. The heavy thunk of her armored feet sounded loud in the bar. A jukebox, of all damn things, was still playing a song. Something old and jazzy. She tongued her external speaker on.

"U.S. military, put the drink down and turn around, slowly."

Wolverine

As ever, no one, no Vagrant or neo-human, could just act as expected for a goddamn change. She really ought to stop being surprised by the not getting anything remotely near to what she anticipated. Or even bet on happening, which often ventured into the outrageous. But by this point, if something did go according to expectations, I'd be so floored, I'd probably think it was a dream, she thought sourly.

Mentally chalking up 'super hearing' -- seriously, that seemed like a kinda shitty power, right up there with super smell -- Raz couldn't suppress a tiny shiver at how much he'd managed to pick up through her helmet and being at least 40 feet away. Really effing super hearing, then. She was half-tempted to turn off her external mic in spite but decided against it. Polite and professional and all that.

The next words out of her mouth nearly made her drop her rifle. How in the hell....?

Well, that confirms he's a Vagrant at least.

Ignoring the stern questions in her earpiece from base, Raz just lowered her weapon slightly. If he could see through her helmet, he'd see her blinking in surprise, eyes wide. "Wade?" Her body language changed ever so slightly, just a hair less tense, but still just as wary. "I know him. Kept a..."

Faux special agent. Rogue operative. Neohuman assassin. All of the terms were only half right. Truth was, she had no damn clue what had gone after Deadpool. The blue-haired girl she'd fought off fit all those descriptions but at the same time, none really applied. Something was going on around Raz, something with ill-intent and dishonorable methods, and she didn't like it.

"Well, I helped him out," she finished, finally. "Long story. Look pal, I don't you from Adam, but you obviously wanted my attention; you got it. So how about you turn around real slow-like, and we'll talk. If you want to know about Wade, I'm gonna need a few answers of my own. That's how it's gonna be."

Raz didn't adjust her grip on her rifle. She didn't have to. Every muscle already hung on a thread of tension like a wound up spring, ready to snap loose in a heartbeat. "If you don't mind, I'd really rather avoid more paperwork at the end of the night, so I appreciate it if we go the civil route."

Wolverine

Raz nearly facepalmed. If not for the fact it would require taking her hand off her gun, she would have. So much for the civil route -- they were about ninety seconds into talking and she could practically smell the testosterone from here. This didn't faze her at all. Having grown up with her brothers, roughly 1,000 men over 6' 4" and on a high protein diet, she quite literally grew up as 'one of the boys.' Hell, all of them did. So if he thought to intimidate her, he had a rude awakening scheduled.

As it stood, she barely restrained herself from snapping at him with, 'Oh golly, you're in a goddamn war? So sorry, we NEVER meant to inconvenience you!' and instead grit her teeth and shifted her weight slightly as he stepped forward. The familiar, hot rush of blood in her veins gave warning she'd already started to flirt with the edge of rage. The goddamn balls on this guy were unbelievable; but she had to maintain composure.

As befitting an officer.

Dammit.

Raz spoke sharply, just shy of snapping at him as he approached, "Sir, do not approach me again, thank you." It came out in a rush, something repeated off a rote script. Standard operating procedure. No soldier, good or bad or stupid, went a day without it. She had to take a slow breath, counting four seconds, to reign in her instinct to react violently. "Firstly, you don't know sh*t about my questions, but thanks for the info. I don't know who the hell you are or what your intentions are toward Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool. If you intend to harm him, I really do not advise it. Maybe you haven't noticed, but my job isn't to win a war, it's to stop one. I will not allow you or anyone else to jeopardize that mission."

Then her mouth kept going, without her permission, as she added dryly, "And since we started off so chummy, I can't take you at your word about the extent of your powers. Or, gee, anything really. So I'll keep the helmet on, thanks."

Raz took a step back, her armored boot thumping hollowly on the wooden floor. "If you are his 'friend' you won't mind if I confirm it with him first. Hell, come in with me -- quietly -- and I'll even make sure you get a call to him tonight. I am not at liberty to disclose his whereabouts, but I can tell you this."

The eyeless, faceted helmet gave away nothing as she met his gaze, measuring up the seething fire there she knew was reflected in her own eyes. "He's a helluva lot safer than you are right now."

Wolverine

The medical systems built into the suit bleeped a warning at her sudden spike in blood pressure when the bottle smashed on the bar. The gun pointed at Logan and her finger took up half the slack before she'd made the conscious effort to send the command to her arms. Good ol' training your whole life would do that. Rifle shouldered, finger on the trigger, she barely breathed as he spoke, not even flickering an eyelash at the newest nickname. Being called an Amazon was hardly new and 'Brickhouse' had been her ringtone for some time. Yeah. She owned it.

She stood ready to go, muscles practically thrumming with tension, ready to react instantly.

Then he drove the jagged glass into hand.

"Hey--!" The exclamation burst from her without thinking or purpose. Then the crazy sonofaB*tch carved himself a Sicilian necktie.

Raz twitched slightly, the only tell-tale she'd aborted a greater movement to lunge forward and rip the shard from him. Her heart jumped a bit but she held steady at the grotesque display, already mentally figuring how many ounces of blood he spilled across the floor. In the back of her mind, logistics were running. Damn, if she had O+ blood, she'd be able to keep him alive, but unless he happened to have the right blood type on his non-existent license, she could easily kill him trying to stabilize him...

Then he began to speak and her skin went cold. The sound of tortured vocal chords rubbing against blood and glass sounded far too familiar, brought back haunting memories that put every hair on her back standing on end. She kept silent as he said his piece, the barrel of her gun not wavering from his left pupil for a second. Distantly, a random thought lauded her for her absolute calm in the face of this self-mutilation.

Things are screwed up when you don't freak out over people talking after they gargled glass and are making comments about how I smell.

She couldn't remember what normal felt like anymore, if she'd ever had it. But this sure as hell didn't feel like a normal she wanted to get used to any time soon. Her eyes flicked to his hand, the shiv, the slash in his throat as it healed. Useful intel. Fast healing power, very similar to Wade if not just as strong. Perhaps they knew each other because they both acquired their power at the same time, in the same circumstances?

She quickly ran down the list of what she knew about him.

Fast healing, to the point it slowed aging if his 'immortal' comments were true.

Massively heightened senses, to the point he could smell the estrogen in her body and the odorless anti-scar cream slathered on her back.

Arrogant, threatening, hyperviolent.

No way to end this peacefully. Just once, just once, she'd love to not have to use the stick. But no, no matter what she did, how polite she tried to make it, how much she desperately muscled diplomacy into the situation, it always came down to them choosing the stick over the carrot. Almost every -- goddamn -- time. She spoke evenly, voice simmering with leashed energy.

"I believe you. And you know I cannot give you that information based on, 'Because he's always got a sob story and so I just know' explanation. I know you don't give a sh!t about seeing it from my point of view and not work with me on this. So I'm guessin' you wanna throw down and try and rip it outta me instead. I can understand that kind of frustration. But there's one thing you overlooked."

She put seven rounds into him, center of mass, all within the space of half-dollar. And she kept shooting, putting at least one bullet right in the joint of the right arm.

"Now I can shoot first, dumbass."


Wolverine

Well this definitely put some kinks into her plan.

Why are all these bastards bulletproof? was the grumpy thought in her mind as round after round spit out of his body like being squeezed out of Jell-O. Dammit, I wish I had my white phosphorous rounds. But she'd been forbidden those despite strenuous argument with the major general, on grounds that their mission was still to contain and detain, not put down. Not to mention the certain fire hazard they posed. She didn't really care -- the kinds of things they were up against didn't really give a damn about even hollowpoints. Not even flechettes did anything more than piss off the really angry ones and they needed something that could actually cripple these threats, even if not put down for long. That's what she knew. Of course, the higher-ups didn't want to hear it.

He moved fast but she'd been fighting just as fast her whole life keeping her fire controlled and trained on him perfectly, the way she'd been doing her whole life.

Right up until a swipe of his claws turned her gun into four piece.

Her first reaction was shock. My gun!

Her second reaction was fury. MY GUN.

She's spent time building that puppy. Picking out the nickle-boron bolt carrier, the sights, the rail, the folding stock, fine-tuning the trigger just to how she liked it. She had sunk considerable time into that gun doing research and acquiring parts until it was hers alone, her baby. As he took a breath to calm himself, she stared at the piece left in her hand, now worthless metal.

This cocky sonofaB*tch just sliced it into chunks.

Raz laid hands on him.

Anyone that knows her can tell you this isn't a good thing.

She grabbed him by the wrists and brought her helmeted forehead smashing into the bridge of his nose. "NICE? NICE!?"

Grabbing him by the belt and still holding to one wrist, she easily hoisted him off the floor and into the air. His one free claw swiped at her raking against the helmet and sending up a shower of sparks.

Then she threw him through the brick wall of the building into the alley outside. Brick exploded into dust and powder, the lights flickered out and water began to spurt from a broken pipe.

"You threatened me! You refused to be civil! You tried to intimidate me! AND YOU KILLED MY GUN, YOU SONOFAB*tch!"

Then, added spitefully, "AND I'M NOT f**king PRETTY!"

Wolverine