After the Slaughter and After the Civil War

Shaving the last bit of facial hair from my face, I placed down the razor before splashing my face with some water. Looking up at my face in the mirror as I wiped at it with a towel, I had to say that it was odd to see a new face looking back at me.

Bright amber eyes, golden blond hair, defined features and a wild and rough looking face. Though I was much more handsome than you'd expect Sabretooth to be. Proportinate features, a straight nose, sharp jaw...I was genuinely pretty good-looking. Though the sharp fangs, claws, and elongated pupils did give me a bit of an inhuman look.

Good. I have the instincts of a predator, so I need claws and fangs. How else would I put those instincts to good use?

Smiling, I re-purposed a leather jacket - the biggest one in the village - and put it on. Though I had to rip the sleeves off because they were too small for my arms to fit.

Sadly, no one had shirts that could fit me, but with my healing factor, I doubt I'd die of the cold.

Sniffing the air, I felt relaxed when I didn't stink to high hell and block up the surrounding scents with BO. Cleaning and shaving were things I'd done after slaughtering the people who lived in the town I woke up in.

...Thinking about that was odd. I'd killed dozens of people and yet I feel nothing. Must be my new and old personalities merging together. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't a cold-blooded killer in my past life but I wasn't some goody two-shoes who wouldn't hurt a fly. I was indifferent at best and a petty prick at worst. Those people tried to kill me, so put that together with the unique mentality I'd gained by merging with Sabretooth's body...and well, I guess you get someone who doesn't care about killing people.

Which, sadly, is good for the future. I had a look at the year in one of the newspapers and found out it was 1859 which means I still have to weather through the civil war, the first World War and the second. Vietnam as well, if I really want to go over there.

Obviously I'm going to get involved in the American Civil War. War is hell, sure, but it's also an opportunity to refine my use of my instincts and powers. Plus, I have a feeling that after the battle lust I worked up killing those people just now...that I'd quite enjoy slaughtering and fighting a whole bunch of soldiers.

Not the only thing I'm going to do, however. Gotta make some money. And when I say some, I mean a lot of money. A whole lot of fucking money.

I still had a few months before the first person hit oil in America. It was in Pennsylvania, if I remember correctly. A useless bit of trivia if I were still in the 21st century but right now? It's gonna get me a whole lot of money!

Chuckling to myself, I holstered the best quality pistols I found among the people I killed before setting off into the surrounding desert. I was in Nevada, so I had quite a bit of traveling to do. Or I could go to Texas. Depends which side I join in the Civil War. Though joining the South would be like saying I want Slavery to stick around...which I don't.

Decisions, decisions...so many decisions and so much time to make them...

. . .

"Mr. Creed, we've got another one to deal with," Jeremiah, a black guy I rescued not long after the Civil War, spoke to the left of me, he held himself with a confidence that wasn't normal for a black man in the 1800s. Why's that? Because he was a worker of Creed Corp. More importantly, he was a part of the underworld gang I'd been putting together ever since I'd first struck oil.

Selling oil to the government and more importantly to the towns and cities that need it, even selling it to those who needed it overseas, gave a lot of money. But you know what gives more money? Selling oil and doing illegal business at the same time.

Waving my hand, gesturing that I knew, I signed one last piece of paper before standing up and cracking my neck, "Who would've thought running a business would be such a hassle," I joked and Jeremiah cracked a laugh.

"Only you would complain about running the biggest Oil business in America, Boss," he said with a smile and I cracked one back.

"Well, there ain't many men like me, is there, Jeremiah? Ain't many men like us in general, honestly," I said with a shrug and Jeremiah gave his own shrug before passing me a file - more like a few pieces of paper nailed together. Taking it from him, I took a look through the paper, flipping through the contents and thoroughly absorbing it all.

Giving it back to him, I gave him a serious gaze, "Make sure to burn that to a crisp. Don't want anyone catching wind of what we're about to do," I said and he nodded before the air around his hands warped and the paper suddenly caught on fire. He crumbled the piece of paper up and before long it collapsed into dust.

What just happened? Well, Jeremiah here is a mutant, like me. He can increase the temperature of things he touches. But it has a certain limit. It can't melt metal, for instance. Hence why he was unable to escape from his shackles back when he was a slave. Didn't mean he could set fires wherever he was placed.

It was that stubborn drive to never kneel that made me save him in the first place. Surrounded by ex-Confederate soldiers who were donned in white clocks and pointy white hoods, he still tried to put up a fight.

I respected that. He's a fighter. A survivor.

Wanna know how I became the biggest and most successful Oil tycoon in America? I didn't include any of that racist shit most other people in this time sprout. It was 1867, so most people weren't very accepting of people with different skin color. Especially people who owned factories and businesses. But I didn't have the same grievances and I hired everyone who was qualified for the job. I even set up apprenticeships for younger people so I could get them trained to do the jobs I needed.

How do you get a steady, strong, and loyal work force? Treat them like humans. Not because of any sentimental crap but because if you treat someone good, they feel like they owe you.

I give jobs to everyone who needs 'em. Well, as long as they're qualified for the job. People who are down on hard times, people who desperately need some money to feed their families, people with no one else left to turn to...and I help them up. Good ol' Victor Creed. Civil War Veteran who fought for the North and won.

I was a hero in most people's eyes. Hence why I don't want news of my more unsavory acts to get to the publics ears and eyes. My image matters in the sense that with it, I can become someone without faults.

Who's gonna shit on a War Veteran giving jobs to the people who need them? Sure, there are a bunch of people who hate that I give jobs to black people but who the hell cares what they think? They sure as hell ain't complaining when I supply oil to the lamps that light their streets and keep them one step away from living in the goddamn dark ages.

Motioning Jeremiah to show the way, he nodded before walking ahead of me and I followed him. While following, I flicked out my pocket watch and smiled as I looked at the time. 7PM. Ahh~ The end of my work day.

I had this one last thing to do and then I could go hit up a brothel or something. Fuck a few women, eat a bunch of unhealthy stuff, drink as much tasty liquor as I wanted and then fall asleep knowing I'll wake up fine as a daisy 6AM on the dot.

Smiling to myself, even as I walked into the secret basement under the building I owned. We were currently in New York, so it wasn't that hard to find a building big enough and with enough support to be able to hold a secret basement floor. Coming into a new room, I saw a man sitting on a chair, opposite a wooden table, in the dimly lit room.

He looked scared. Worried. To back up his look, a single whiff of the air showed that he stank of fear. Seeing such a pitiful display, I frowned.

This. This is the type of person I disliked heavily. I respected people with the drive to survive. But I dislike people who act like weasels when their lives are threatened. Neither part of me sees the point in snivelling and acting like a coward to stay alive. Especially in front of someone who holds the proverbial gun to your head whether you cower or not.

"Mr. Creed!" the man, seeing me, hurriedly stood up and put on a flattering smile, "It's good to see you, how are you?" he started with pointless small talk so I just kept a frown on my face.

"Sit down, Harry," I spoke in little more than a growl and he sat his ass down like a trained dog listening to his owner. God, just watching him grates at my animal instincts. "You know why you're here don't you?" I asked and he nodded.

"I know why I'm here Mr. Creed but I promise you I can get you the money back as soon as--" I shut him up with a hand on his throat, his eyes widening at both my speed and my action.

"Shut up," I said, my amber eyes no doubt looking especially predatory right now.

True to that statement, Harry here looked just about ready to piss himself.

Sighing, I carried on, slowly increasing my grip and sinking my extended claws into his cheeks, "I'll pay you back, Mr. Creed. I promise next time I'll get the money to you, Mr. Creed. I just put a bet down and it'll come back big, I promise, Mr. Creed," I said, mocking his voice with what was a cross between a frown and a sneer, "Don't you get tired of messing me about, Harry? I've given you so many chances to pay me back. Kept my boys off of ya and your family and everything. But you still don't give me what I want," I said with another sigh and he instantly started shaking his head side to side aggressively, trying to say I was wrong.

Bringing my hand away, he obviously thought I was giving him a chance to talk, so he did, "Mr. Creed, I have the money now--" but he was cut off by me backhanding him across the face.

He came off his chair and was flung across the basement before he collided with the wall about 8 feet away.

Walking over to him, I squatted down next to his curled up figure, "I know you have the money, Harry. Which is why I've already got my boys over at your house, looting the place and taking the money from wherever it's being stored. Ain't that right, Jeremiah?" I asked, my frown turning to a rather sinister smile.

"Yes sir," Jeremiah replied with a mocking tone, obviously aimed at Harry.

Harry, different from how he reacted to me, turned to Jeremiah with a face of rage, "Keep your mouth shut, you filthy--" I stopped him from speaking with my hand, once again, but I held him mouth so hard this time that his jaw cracked and then snapped. He began to flail around in pain but I easily kept him still.

"I think you're the one who needs to keep his mouth shut, Harry. I can't have you speaking like that to a member of Creed Corp, let alone my personal assistant," I lowered my voice to a growl before standing up and bring Harry with me.

My grip on his face was making his flail even more on pain as I raised him into the air and left his feet dangling in the air.

Letting out a breath of bad air, I started speaking again, this time informing Harry on what was about to happen, "They're going to take that money. They're going to take all the valuables in your house. Hell, I even told 'em to take your wife and daughter and put them in one of the brothels I own. I'm gonna milk you for every last drop of money you have, and you're not gonna be alive to even regret how you fucked me about. You shoulda just given me the money you owed me, Harry. Now your daughter's gonna be thinking 'Why? Why did my daddy do what he did?' every night after some random men are done with her," Harry's eyes widened in absolute horror as his flailing turned into thrashing and the pain in his eyes disappeared, only to be replaced by anger.

But it was useless.

"You're gonna be my message to this city, Harry. Or rather, my message to those people out there who think they can pull a quick one on Creed!" I said with a savage smile and before he could even react, I pulled out his throat with my claws.

Taking a life never gets old. Displaying such dominance just hits the right places in my brain and makes me feel like a hundred bucks.

Dropping the corpse to the side, I turned to Jeremiah who barely even flinched at my display of animalistic savagery, "Get the sign and get some guys to haul this guy to some place visible to a whole load of people. Do it at night and pay off the police so they stay clear of you while you do it. Got it?" I said while cleaning my hand with a white, soon-to-be red, handkerchief.

Jeremiah nodded, so I made my way to the nearest brothel.

I needed to blow off some steam after today.