Winter Home was a place where money wasn't currency, but flowing desire, the very oxygen gamblers breathed. Winners laughed, losers feigned composure, but all were pulled by the same insane gravity, sinking into this golden cage until their last chip was gone.
It was into this kind of place that a Japanese man, clearly of Caucasian descent, walked in. He had a high nose bridge and deep-set eyes, but those eyes held an Eastern chill. He stood at the casino entrance, took a deep breath, as if to savor every whiff of decay and extravagance. Then, he smiled, and sharp canines flashed a cold gleam in the light.
This wasn't his first time at "Winter Home," but each time, the casino offered a new surprise. Today, for instance, the cold air from the air conditioning system carried the scent of rust, like an ancient hint of blood, more unsettling than yesterday's air.
"What's he looking for here?" a security guard whispered to the front desk lady.
"I don't know, he's been here for days."
The casino staff watched him curiously. This Japanese man had been coming for several days but had never gambled, only walked around, observed the people, and then left. Many suspected he was planning something illicit. Seeing his muscular build and the Yakuza tattoos adorning him, there was no doubt he was a tough individual. Many security guards were already on standby, ready to use their stun batons on the man.
But today seemed different. This mixed-race Japanese man walked into the casino with a bag, opened it, pulled out a wad of cash, and placed it on the counter.
"Please exchange it all for chips, thank you." He grinned, revealing sharp, terrifying canines. "I've been watching you all for a few days now, and I've decided this is a good place. I'm going to play a few hands."
"Welcome, sir."
The front desk lady's fingers trembled slightly as she quickly counted the bills and pushed a stack of chips forward. The man grabbed them, walked to a specific gambling table, sat down, and tapped the table with his fingertips, as if waiting for a signal. His five senses were already open, like an invisible net, capturing every movement in the casino.
"Stay calm, buddy."
The voices of his utterly untrustworthy companions came through the hidden earpiece, warning him: "Now's not a good time to move on Weapon X."
"Ha, Weapon X. Every time I hear that name, I want to laugh. He's already forgotten everything about himself, so why give him a name from the past?"
The man nonchalantly held his cards, then raised the bet, and showed his hand. He lost, but he didn't care, simply smiling and starting another hand. Anyway, there were still plenty of chips; no rush, he could take his time.
He focused on the gambling table, but his five senses were elsewhere. He saw the person he was looking for, knew that the person seemed to be meeting someone, and that person had entered the office behind him. There were only five people in the office, all with unfamiliar scents, no threat. He could make his move.
He revealed his hand again, lost again, and then the man whistled, before starting another hand. Just then, a shapely woman approached, her red lips slightly parted, offering a glass of red wine.
"Hello, madam."
The mixed-race Japanese man wrapped an arm around the woman's waist, smiled, and took the glass she offered. He tilted his head back and drank it all, his Adam's apple bobbing. The voice in his earpiece spoke again:
"Everything's ready. Prepare to move. Remember your mission, don't kill Weapon X."
He simply smiled at the woman.
A sudden explosion ripped through the casino, throwing the place into a panic. Three people in strange costumes burst into the casino, carrying various weapons. The one in front wore a red combat suit with black markings on his mask where the eyes would be. He wielded dual katanas, slashing indiscriminately. Another was incredibly tall, also in a pure red combat suit. His golden hair billowed with the shockwave of the explosion, and two freely moving metallic tendrils extended from beneath his arms, wantonly piercing the bodies of the gamblers.
The last one was squatting over a torn corpse, his overly long fingernails stained with blood, which had even soaked his yellow fur coat, with droplets dotting the fur collar.
These were three members of the Weapon X program: Deadpool, Omega Red, and Sabretooth.
"Casino grand giveaway! Third prize, your head chopped off by me!"
Deadpool said, as he chopped off a man's head, then continued to shout excitedly: "Second prize, your legs chopped off by me! First prize, your arms chopped off by me!"
"And the grand prize—" Deadpool stood before a gambler who hadn't had time to run. The gambler shivered, looking at Deadpool's almond-shaped eye coverings on his mask, and the three gamblers behind him, missing their heads, arms, and legs.
Deadpool gave him an enthusiastic hug.
"You survived! Now run!"
The gambler, feeling he had escaped death, quickly ran towards the hole blasted open by the bomb. But halfway there, Sabretooth grabbed him by the neck, piercing the poor man's throat with his claws.
Deadpool involuntarily knelt, weeping.
"No! Victor! Why are you so cruel!"
Omega Red's only comment was:
"Manic."
Facing such a bloody and chaotic scene, the mixed-race man merely smiled, released the woman he was holding, but then clamped his hand around her neck. Two sharp, metal-reinforced claws shot from his hand, piercing the woman's skull.
Then, he took the lead, leaping through the window into Wolverine's office, unleashing the roar he had prepared for days.
"Die, James Howlett! I want you to remember that I, Daken Akihiro, am the one who killed you!"
Daken, bursting into the office, spread his arms. Three metal claws shot from his hands—two extending from the backs of his hands, and one from inside his wrist. He had only one goal: to kill Wolverine.
However, things didn't seem to go as he expected, because in the office, besides Logan, there were indeed four other people. But the problem was, these four people were: a pure blue Beast, a freak in a red and blue bodysuit, a girl in a black combat suit with her face covered, and finally, a middle-aged man in a large trench coat, his hand already on a button.
A crimson beam of light blasted from Cyclops's visor, sending Daken Akihiro directly out of the office. Cyclops then looked at Wolverine.
"Looks like you don't even need to go find your Weapon X friends; they came looking for you."