Chapter 2: Oh, You're Awake…
New York, 1962.
The alley reeked of stale beer and rotting trash, the kind of place where dreams went to die. Neon lights from the street cast jagged shadows, flickering like a bad B-movie. A low, guttural voice rumbled from the mouth of the alley, dripping with sleaze.
"C'mon, ladies, stick close. Don't want some punk jumpin' us in this dump."
Sabretooth, a hulking beast of a man, loomed over two women in skimpy dresses, his massive arms slung around their waists. His scruffy beard and sharp, fang-like canines gave him the look of a predator fresh off a kill.
He took a swig from a half-empty whiskey bottle, his lewd chuckle making the women giggle nervously, their eyes darting between fear and forced flattery.
Ron stepped out from the shadows, his black leather jacket blending into the darkness. His boots crunched on broken glass as he glanced at the ground. Next to a rusted green dumpster, a soggy newspaper glowed faintly under a flickering streetlamp.
The headline screamed about President Kennedy, his face grim, delivering a speech that'd define the Cold War's hottest moment.
The date: 1962.
"1962. Sabretooth… Victor Creed," Ron muttered, his lips curling into a predatory smirk.
His eyes, cold and piercing, locked onto the hulking figure swaggering toward a neon-lit hotel. Sabretooth, fresh off a Team X mission for Stryker, was indulging in a rare night of debauchery with his brother Logan nowhere in sight. Perfect.
Ron's mind raced. Sabretooth's powers—regeneration rivaling Wolverine's, superhuman strength, speed, and claws that could shred steel—were a goldmine.
"A damn good start," he murmured, his voice low and hungry, echoing Homelander's ruthless edge.
The X-Men world in '62 was a powder keg, with mutants and humans on the brink of war. To play in this game, Ron needed a mutant identity. He wasn't one—yet. But Sabretooth was about to fix that.
The city pulsed around him, a far cry from the sleek future he'd left behind. 1960s New York was raw, gritty, alive with decadence. Neon signs buzzed, advertising dive bars and burlesque shows. Skyscrapers loomed, their steel frames cutting into the smoggy sky. Cars rumbled by, tailfins gleaming under streetlights, blasting Elvis Presley from crackling radios.
Ron's smirk widened. This world was chaotic, ripe for the taking.
He trailed Sabretooth, his steps silent, blending into the crowd.
The mutant swaggered into a seedy hotel, its neon sign flickering Paradise Inn in garish pink. The women clung to him, their laughter high-pitched and brittle as they disappeared inside.
Ron's eyes glinted with anticipation. "Showtime," he whispered, slipping into the alley beside the hotel.
…
Inside a dimly lit room, the air was thick with the stench of cheap liquor and lust.
Sabretooth's massive frame dominated the space, his eyes wild with predatory hunger.
He shoved the first woman against the wall, her gasp muffled as his rough hands pinned her wrists above her head.
His mouth crashed onto hers, a brutal, devouring kiss that left her trembling. Her body arched, caught between fear and surrender, as his calloused fingers tore at the thin fabric of her dress, grazing her skin.
He growled, low and animalistic, his teeth nipping at her neck, drawing a sharp moan.
"Ah! Oh…God"
The second woman watched, her breath hitching, eyes wide with a mix of terror and twisted fascination. Sabretooth turned, his gaze locking onto her like a wolf spotting prey.
He stalked forward, slow and deliberate, his boots thudding against the creaky floor. She backed up, her heart pounding, but he was on her in a flash, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her flush against him.
His mouth claimed hers, rough and unyielding, his tongue forcing its way past her lips. His fingers dug into her curves, possessive, as he pressed his hardness against her, a primal edge to his touch that made her knees buckle.
The room filled with their gasps and moans, a chaotic dance of pain and pleasure. Sabretooth's animalistic nature consumed them, their bodies yielding to his brutal passion.
The women's cries echoed, a twisted symphony of submission, as they surrendered to his raw, unrelenting desire.
…
Knock knock!
"Who the hell is it?" Sabretooth's growl cut through the haze, his voice thick with irritation and liquor.
"Sir, pardon the interruption," came a smooth, magnetic voice from the other side of the door.
"I'm here to share the good word of our benevolent Heavenly Father…" A faint cough followed, the tone cultured, almost mocking in its politeness.
"Get lost, preacher!" Sabretooth roared, his temper flaring. He shoved the women aside, their startled gasps ignored as he stormed toward the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Sir, if I may—" The voice persisted, calm but infuriating, like a fly buzzing just out of reach.
"I'm gonna smash your face into the goddamn floor and see if your Heavenly Father saves you!"
Sabretooth flung the door open, his massive frame filling the doorway. His fist, the size of a sledgehammer, shot out, grabbing the figure outside and slamming him against the wall. His snarl was pure rage, his claws twitching as he raised his arm to pulverize the idiot who'd dared interrupt his night.
Pfft!
The moment the door opened, Ron's hand flicked up, a sleek spray bottle releasing a cloud of white mist directly into Sabretooth's face. The mutant staggered, choking on the acrid fumes. "What the… hell…" His words slurred, his knees buckling as the world spun.
"Whoever you are," Sabretooth snarled, his cruel grin defiant even as his vision blurred, "when I wake up, I'm sending you straight to hell!"
His healing factor was a beast—drugs that'd knock out a normal man for days would only slow him for minutes. He stumbled, clawing at the air, but his strength was fading fast.
Ron, a handkerchief pressed to his face, chuckled darkly.
"Big talk for a guy about to take a nap." His voice dripped with smug confidence, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement.
With a heavy thud, Sabretooth's massive body hit the floor, the impact shaking the room.
The women screamed, scrambling back, their dresses in disarray.
"Oh my God, a robber!" one shrieked, clutching her torn dress.
"Shh, ladies," Ron said, stepping over Sabretooth's prone form. He flashed a charming, dangerous smile, his finger brushing his lips.
"Homeland Security business. Just taking out the trash." His voice was smooth, his eyes locking onto theirs with a magnetic pull that made their protests falter. He tossed a wad of cash onto the bed, his smirk widening as their eyes widened. "Keep quiet, and there's more where that came from."
…
Minutes later, Ron strode down the hotel corridor, Sabretooth's 200-pound frame slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. The mutant reeked of whiskey and sweat, but Ron's strength made it effortless.
Hotel guests wrinkled their noses at the stench, assuming Sabretooth was just a drunk being hauled off. No one batted an eye.
A few women in tight dresses lingered in the hallway, their eyes raking over Ron's tall, sculpted frame.
His leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders, and his handsome face—sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes—drew them like moths to a flame.
"Hey, handsome," one purred, twirling her hair. "Need help with your… friend?"
Ron flashed a dazzling smile, his voice low and teasing. "Sorry, ladies, gotta get this guy sobered up. Maybe next time."
His charm was effortless, a weapon he wielded as easily as his fists. The women giggled, their eyes lingering as he sauntered away.
A good face opens doors, he thought, his smirk pure Homelander. Those women had bought his "government agent" act hook, line, and sinker—mostly because Sabretooth's brutish mug screamed "bad guy" to anyone with eyes.
Snick!
Outside, Ron melted into the shadows, his boots silent on the pavement. He glanced at his right hand, where a sharp, tiger-like claw extended from his fingertip, glinting under a streetlamp.
"Ugly as hell," he muttered, frowning, "but it'll do." By touching Sabretooth and spending 7,500 ability points, he'd copied the mutant's powers: rapid regeneration, superhuman strength, speed, enhanced senses, and claws that could carve through steel. His body thrummed with raw, primal energy, like a caged beast finally unleashed.
He moved through the city, the night alive with 60s decadence—jazz spilling from bars, neon signs buzzing, couples laughing under streetlights.
Ron's senses, now razor-sharp, caught every detail: the clink of glasses, the scent of cigarette smoke, the distant wail of a police siren. He stopped at a construction site, its skeletal framework looming like a monument to chaos. Piles of gravel and rebar surrounded a massive road roller, its steel drum gleaming faintly.
"Was hoping for a factory," Ron mused, tossing Sabretooth's body onto the ground with a dull thump. "But this'll work just fine."
The Template System hummed in his mind, its interface glowing. After contact with a subject, it could record their abilities for purchase. Sabretooth's powers were his, but the mutant still had one last use. Ron crouched beside him, watching as Sabretooth's eyes fluttered open, his healing factor kicking in faster than expected.
"Oh? You're awake," Ron said, his voice slow and mocking, a trace of surprise in his tone. "Guess you get to see the grand finale."
Sabretooth's vision cleared, his lips curling into a vicious grin.
"Remember what I said, kid?" he growled, struggling to move. His limbs were jelly, the anesthetic still dulling his strength. "I'm gonna rip you apart!"
Ron chuckled, patting Sabretooth's cheek with a condescending sneer.
"Cute. That spray's designed for freaks like you. Knocks out anything short of a tank." He stood, his shadow looming over the mutant. "You're tough, but not that tough."
Sabretooth laughed, a guttural, defiant sound. "You think you can kill me? Kid, I've survived worse. Vietnam, '58. Disobeyed orders, had some fun with the locals—rape, murder, the works. They executed me for an hour. Bullet casings piled up like a damn hill. I just laughed while they pissed themselves. What've you got, huh?"
Ron's smirk didn't waver.
"Oh, I've got something special." He turned, climbing into the cab of the road roller. The engine roared to life, a deep, guttural voom, voom, voom that shook the ground. Twin headlights flared, piercing the darkness and bathing Sabretooth in blinding light.
"Let's see if you can tank this," Ron said, his voice dripping with Homelander's cruel glee. The road roller lurched forward, its steel drum crunching gravel like bones. Sabretooth's eyes widened, a flicker of fear breaking through his bravado as the machine bore down on him.