You're Awake

X-Men world, 1962, New York.

Before a dark alley.

A rough, deep voice rang out.

"Ladies, stay close.

Wouldn't want some thug jumping out of this alley and scaring you."

In front of the dark alley mouth, a man with two sharp fangs like a wild beast, arms around two scantily clad, seductive women, downed a swig of liquor. His teasing words drew fawning giggles from the women.

After he passed.

Ron slowly walked out of the alley, glancing at the ground beside his foot.

Under the dim yellow streetlight, next to a green metal dumpster, lay a newspaper half-soaked in sewage.

On it, a black-and-white printed photo of a certain president, famous for his sunny smile at the time of his death, giving a stern speech during a special period.

The date on the newspaper—1962.

"1962, Sabretooth Victor..."

Sabretooth, tall and burly, with a mane of hair, two fangs jutting from his mouth, a fierce appearance, and manners like a beast ignorant of etiquette.

He and his brother Logan, along with the rest of X-Force, had just finished some mission Stryker had given them. During this rare break, they'd split up to unwind. Drunk and rowdy, Sabretooth had picked up some streetwalkers and was heading back to the hotel for fun—only to be unluckily spotted by Ron, who had just arrived in the X-Men universe.

Stepping onto the street.

America in the sixties wasn't as modern or developed yet, but the big city was still bustling, with the occasional skyscraper, neon lights, and a haze of wine and money.

In his line of sight, Sabretooth, with a woman on each arm, cracked a crude joke and laughed his way into a hotel not far off, its neon sign flickering.

Watching that hotel, with people coming and going, Ron smiled faintly.

"A healing factor and lifespan rivaling Wolverine's, with theoretical strength and speed slightly exceeding his before the Adamantium injection.

I'll start with you."

He recalled that in 1962, a certain Major Event was unfolding in the X-Men world.

To reasonably take part in that Major Event, he needed a ticket—a mutant identity.

He wasn't one yet... but no matter. He would be soon.

Thump thump!

"Who's there?"

From inside the room came the faint rustle of clothes being removed and low, heavy breathing.

"Sir, sorry to bother you. Would you be interested in learning about our merciful Heavenly Father..." Two coughs, then a man's magnetic voice rang out, with a touch of refined elegance.

"Get lost!"

Before he could finish, an irritable roar erupted from the room.

Thump thump thump.

"Sir?..."

The knocking persisted, the voice outside still polite, but thoroughly annoying.

"Hope you can still keep your faith in that so-called Heavenly Father of yours when I've got you pinned to the floor and beaten to a pulp..."

The room door was yanked open.

Sabretooth, violent-tempered and half-drunk, grabbed the man outside and slammed him against the wall. His face was savage, like an enraged beast, and he raised a fist the size of a sandbag, ready to teach this bastard who dared interrupt him at the worst moment a harsh lesson.

Shh!

The moment the door opened, Ron raised his hand. A fine, pocket-sized spray bottle shot a puff of white mist into his face.

"What the hell is that... damn it!"

Sabretooth inhaled a lungful, staggering back.

The next second, his head went groggy and heavy.

"Whoever you are, when I open my eyes again, I'll send you straight to your Heavenly Father. I promise!"

Under attack, Sabretooth shook his dazed head, showing no panic at all. Instead, he bared a vicious grin at Ron.

Superhuman healing gave him an extraordinary resistance to drugs.

Something that could knock an ordinary person unconscious for a day would only last him ten or fifteen minutes at most.

"Heh..."

Ron, covering his mouth and nose with a handkerchief, sneered dismissively at the threat.

The world before Sabretooth's eyes began to sway and blur. The sounds around him grew distant.

With a heavy thud, his tall body hit the floor.

"Ah!..."

Two disheveled women in the room saw this and screamed, thinking they were thugs.

"Shh, official business from the Security Bureau..."

Ron lightly pressed a finger to his lips and smiled.

A few minutes later.

Ron easily hoisted the nearly two-hundred-pound Sabretooth over his shoulder and walked through the hotel corridor.

Along the way, anyone who got close caught the thick stench of alcohol on Sabretooth and quickly covered their noses to dodge aside. Not a single person suspected he was abducting a guest from the hotel.

A few women even came up to flirt—his handsome face and strong, powerful build, carrying a big man like that without any effort, promised a whole new kind of experience. Just thinking about it made their legs weak.

"Sorry, ladies, I need to take my dear friend out to sober up. No time right now."

His smile was gentlemanly and bright as he politely turned them down.

People are visual creatures. A good face and build can help get a lot done.

Like back in the room, when he casually pulled out a wallet and flashed it, making them believe he was from the Security Bureau, hunting down foreign spies sneaking into America to plot terrorist attacks.

With a face like Sabretooth's—fierce, brutish, and rude—it was hard to believe he was a good guy. But no one would doubt he was a bad one.

Shing!

Walking out of the hotel into the shadows.

Ron, with Sabretooth slung over one shoulder, glanced down at his right hand. Sharp claws like a tiger's popped out, and he frowned.

"A bit ugly, but it'll do for now."

The moment he touched Sabretooth's body, he spent three thousand Ability Points. An instant later, he had all of Sabretooth's abilities: rapid regeneration, superhuman speed and strength, enhanced sight and smell, and claws sharp enough to tear a man apart, ready to pop out at will.

Ron carried Sabretooth down the street, his body brimming with power, as if he had endless energy.

After walking a stretch, he stopped in front of a construction site and thought for a moment.

"I was planning to find a factory, but a construction site works just as well."

After direct or indirect contact, the system could record the target's ability template for purchase and enhancement. Sabretooth's powers were his now, but there was still value left to squeeze out!

Thud!

Inside the site, Sabretooth was tossed to the ground like trash. His back hit some gravel, the pain jolting him awake. He blinked groggily at everything.

"Oh?

You're awake."

Ron crouched down, looking at the waking Sabretooth with a hint of surprise, speaking slowly and deliberately.

"Congratulations. You don't have to leave this world in a coma. You get to witness your own death."

"Remember what I said earlier, kid?"

The awakened Sabretooth grinned viciously, ready to use his sharp claws to give this brat a proper welcome and make him regret picking a fight.

But the next moment, he found his whole body weak, his limbs limp, unable to even lift a hand.

"Don't bother struggling. It's a knockout anesthetic spray designed specifically for powerful superhumans."

Ron patted Sabretooth's face dismissively, stood up, and turned to walk away.

"The minimum standard is a punch that shatters walls and a body that can take rifle rounds. An Asian elephant weighing several tons would be knocked out and helpless for a whole day with one spray."

"You—fall short!"

"You want to kill me? Just you, you bastard?"

After a few failed attempts to get up, Sabretooth sneered at Ron's threat to kill him, and started recounting his past before being recruited into the current X-Force.

"Back in the Vietnam war, I disobeyed orders, raped a few women, killed some civilians. Those idiots shot me for an hour. The shell casings piled up like a hill, and in the end, they pissed their pants when they saw I wasn't dead. I was so bored I almost fell asleep back then, kid. What tricks have you got?"

He and his brother Logan had been through countless meat-grinder wars over the years. It wasn't until they got caught, executed, and survived that their immortality was exposed, and they were recruited into Stryker's X-Force. Pain and injury were routine for him.

"The army couldn't kill me, couldn't do a thing to me! Once the anesthetic wears off, I'll show you what cruelty really means, what hell really means!"

"Is that so?"

The next second, shwoosh, two big lights in the distance blazed on, cutting through the darkness. Under the blinding glare, he couldn't help squinting.

Vroom vroom vroom.

Ron drove a heavy, massive steamroller toward him. The huge steel drum rumbled and rolled, crushing gravel beneath it, as his voice drifted over like a demon's.

"I wonder if you can survive the trial of a civilian steamroller?"

"Huh?!"