*Jack sat in front of his tent, surrounded by folders of various thicknesses and sizes, chewing absentmindedly on end of a pen. He would occasionally take it out of his mouth long enough to scribble something in unintelligible writing down on a scrap of paper in a notebook. He then would rip that scrap out, sliding it into one of the folders. He
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Feeling a little cooped up, Buffalo Joe?
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*Victor caught a glimpse of the boy in Jack's memories, and was instantly curious; there was some kind of connection between Jack and that boy, and it wasn't too hard to work out what that could be. He could use that, perhaps later.*
Oh? And what makes you say that?
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*He wondered if Victor had seen his memory, but he wasn't about to ask. He gave a mental shrug at the cat's question.*
Call it intuition, instinct, or whatever the hell you want. All I know it that's it's the feeling of knowing I should stop but won't. Not until I'm dead. I can almost feel death approaching. Might as well take a few fuckers out with me before I end up in hell.
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*The fact that Jack had referred to mutants as 'livestock' wasn't lost on Victor, but he wasn't one to start arguing for mutant rights; the way he saw things, mutants were generally better than humans, and anyone who didn't embrace their mutation was a fool. And if some mutants had weaker mutations than others, well, too bad.*
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*He reached for his pen, scribbling out an illegible note before sliding into Victor's file. The fact Nicky was his son would make life interesting. Oh yes it would.*
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