The rhythmic thud of helicopter blades cut through the frozen silence.
I felt Laura tense beside me. My eyes tracked upward—a black transport helicopter descended through the gray sky, snow swirling in its downdraft.
"Run?" Laura's voice was flat. Not a question, really. An assessment of options.
I watched the helicopter settle into a clearing thirty meters away, rotors still spinning. They were assuming we wouldn't engage. They were wrong.
"No."
The side door opened.
Kimura dropped to the ground creating a large cloud of snow, as her boots sunk in. Even from this distance, I cataloged the details: black tactical gear, no visible weapons, confident posture. Behind her, several armed agents descended—assault rifles, body armor, military precision.
My strings were already forming, invisible filaments extending from my fingertips.
"X-23. Weapon 0." Kimura's voice carried across the clearing, emotionless as a death certificate. "You are property of the Facility. Surrender immediately."
Laura's claws slid out with that distinctive snikt. Two from each hand. Her breathing slowed, as got combat-ready.
"Last chance," Kimura called. She made a gesture.
The agents raised their rifles.
"Left flank," I said quietly. "I'll handle trajectories."
Laura moved before I finished speaking.
Gunfire erupted—sharp cracks that sent birds screaming from distant trees. I saw the causal strings bloom into existence, red threads connecting triggers to chambers to barrels to air to targets. Fifteen years of tactical analysis compressed into microseconds.
First bullet: twelve degrees off center. Duck.
Second: aimed at Laura's head. String attached to the barrel—minute pressure, trajectory shifts two inches left.
Third, fourth, fifth: a spread pattern. I stepped right, felt the displacement of air as rounds passed where I'd been standing.
Laura was already among them.
She moved like violence incarnate—claws already drawing blood. The first agent didn't even have time to scream. Her foot-claw gutted him, her hand-claws shredding the second agent's armor like paper. Throat. Heart. Femoral artery.
I sent strings shooting forward, as I ran, invisible razor sharp moving at high speeds. They found eyes, throats, the soft spots behind kevlar collars. Three agents dropped in as many seconds, hands clutching at wounds that severed arteries and windpipes.
"Regroup!" Kimura's voice, still calm. "Pattern Delta."
The remaining agents spread out, firing in controlled bursts. Smart—harder to predict, harder to counter. I wove a web of strings between us and them, felt bullets impact and deflect. Laura used the cover to circle wide.
One agent tracked her movement, rifle swinging around. I saw the causal thread—trigger pull to firing pin to her skull. I moved.
String attached to his ankle. One sharp pull and he went down hard, face-first into snow. Laura was on him before he could rise, claws through the base of his skull.
Two agents left. They'd retreated to flank Kimura, using her as an anchor point. Remaining professional and disciplined despite the carnage surrounding them.
Still that was the wrong call.
Kimura moved.
She was fast—faster than someone her size should be. She covered the distance to Laura in four strides, fist already swinging. Laura dodged, claws slashing across Kimura's chest.
The sound was wrong, like metal on metal, a scraping shriek instead of parting flesh.
"Did you miss me, X-23?" Kimura's smile was sadistic. She grabbed for Laura's wrist.
But she was already moving, ducking under the grab, claws raking across Kimura's face. Same sound—metal on metal. Not a scratch.
The two remaining agents opened fire, trying to catch Laura in a crossfire. I sent strings whipping out—one wrapped around a rifle barrel and yanked, throwing off his aim. The other agent adjusted, firing at me instead.
I read the causal threads, stepped into the pattern of his shots rather than away. His eyes widened as he realized—he was shooting where I was going to be, but I was using that knowledge against him. He was too slow to adapt and a string shot through his throat. He went down gurgling.
The last agent broke and ran.
String around his ankle. He crashed into the snow. Another string, this one thick as rope, and I yanked him backwards toward Laura. She didn't waste the opening—single claw through his eye socket.
Kimura hit her while she was extended.
The blow caught Laura in the ribs, sent her tumbling across the clearing. I heard bone crack even over the helicopter's rotors. Laura rolled to her feet, already healing, but Kimura was closing in again.
I needed data. Information. Weaknesses.
I switched vision again—saw the world as threads of causality. Kimura was a knot of them, dense and tangled. But not impenetrable. Everyone had vulnerabilities. Physics demanded it.
And I found one.
Her skin was invulnerable. But skin was just a barrier. Beneath it, organs still functioned on the same principles as anyone else's. Lungs needed air. Brain needed oxygen. Eyes needed to see.
"Laura," I said quietly. "Distraction. Thirty seconds."
She didn't question it. Didn't ask for details. Just attacked.
Kimura caught her wrist this time, twisted. I heard bone grinding. Laura drove her foot-claw at Kimura's knee—the blade scraped off without penetrating, but the impact made Kimura shift her stance. Laura used the opening to tear free, leaving skin behind.
I was already moving, strings extending in a complex web. Not to cut—that wouldn't work. To bind.
Kimura backhanded Laura, the blow powerful enough to snap a normal person's neck. Laura's head whipped around, but she was already recovering, claws finding Kimura's eyes.
Same metallic shriek. Invulnerable.
But I'd seen what I needed. The eyes moved. The eyelids blinked. The throat worked when she breathed.
Twenty strings, each thinner than spider-silk, invisible in the gray light. I sent them forward in a coordinated strike—not at her skin, but at the openings in it.
Kimura sensed something. Her head started to turn.
Too slow.
Strings wrapped around her entire face—across her mouth, her nose, pulling tight. More strings went for her eyes, pressing against the lids, forcing them shut. I kept it up until her entire head was a coccoon.
She couldn't breathe.
Kimura's hands went to her face, clawing at strings she couldn't see. I pulled tighter, weaving more threads into the web. Her chest heaved, trying to draw air through a barrier she couldn't break.
Ten seconds. Her movements became more frantic.
Twenty seconds. She dropped to one knee, still tearing at her face.
Thirty seconds. Her hands fell slightly, motor control degrading from oxygen deprivation.
"Laura. Now."
Laura moved like a bullet. Claws extended, both hands, driving forward with all her strength and weight.
I released the strings covering Kimura's mouth.
Laura's claws punched through the soft tissue—tongue, soft palate, straight into the brain cavity. Then higher, through the eyes that couldn't close fast enough to protect themselves.
Kimura's body went rigid. Trembled then went still.
Laura held the position for three more seconds, making sure. Then she pulled her claws free with a wet sound that echoed across the clearing.
Kimura's body toppled backwards into the snow.
Silence, except for the helicopter's rotors and our breathing.
I counted bodies. Eight agents. One handler. All dead.
Laura's healing factor was already working on her broken ribs, her torn wrist. She stared down at Kimura's corpse, expression unreadable.
"She trained me," Laura said quietly. "Fifteen years. Knew exactly how to hurt me."
I walked over to stand beside her. Blood was already freezing in the snow, dark red against white.
"She's gone," I said.
Laura nodded slowly. Then she looked at the helicopter, still running. "Can you fly that?"
I examined it. "I can learn."
"How long?"
I studied the controls, the mechanical connections, the cause-and-effect chains that made a helicopter function. "Thirty minutes. Maybe less."
"They'll send more." Laura's eyes scanned the horizon. "This was a retrieval team. When they don't report back..."
She was right. The Facility had invested too much to let us go.
I looked at the bodies around us. This was the first time we'd ever fought together. We'd moved like parts of the same weapon.
Maybe that's what we were. What they'd made us.
But now we could choose what we became.
"Thirty minutes," I repeated, moving toward the helicopter. "Then we disappear."
Laura followed, claws retracting. Behind us, nine bodies cooled in the snow beside Dr. Kinney's grave.
The Facility would send more. But we'd be ready.