Eye of the Beholder
written by Al's Waiter

A soft cool breeze floated and dance above and through the tall, wild grass. Stars shone down on the warm summer night and the full moon spilled it's white light over the wide field that was surrounded by a thick forest of pine, spruce, oak and maple trees. Crickets sang and chirped together, serenading the some animals as they slept, while others began to salvage around for their breakfast.

Two amber eyes turned quickly in the sockets as the owner maliciously searched the horizon and the surrounding ground before silently proceeding into the clearing from the tree-line. The figure's shadow glided on the ground as silently as his feet moved on the uneven sod. Thick soled shoes quietly crush the fallen leaves and small shrubs. His faded blue jeans were shredded at the knees and the hem. His shirtless back was a mass of large tense muscles. Attached to his broad shoulders were two massive arms and at the end of each hand, five razor sharp claws flashed in the moon light. Long golden threads that had tangled together tossed wildly in the night air. Around his neck he wore, against his will, a collar that could kill him if the electrical shocks were kept on long enough and at full capacity.

He sniffed the air - the scent of a large buck.

A cruel smile spread across his face. The smile consisted of two rows of white sharp teeth that could easily be described as fangs. His amber eyes darted in the direction where the scent had come from.

Victor Creed, the man also known as Sabretooth, chuckled deeply.

The hunt was on.

Quickly and quietly, he moved further away from the camp where a group of mutants were sitting around a fire, laughing, singing and talking happily.

It was enough to make him sick to his stomache.

Sabretooth shook his head. This was one of the most stupidest ideas that the government had ever had - X-Factor on vacation. Technical wizards one thousand miles away from electrical plug. Even now, Forge was tinkering with some sort of gizmo to test when he got back to his lab.

Even Mystique, the traitor, was participating in the campfire circle, roasting marshmallows. She had sworn to Creed that she wouldn't enjoy herself.

Hypocrites. All of them were. Mutants hired to hunt mutants. Creed liked hunting but only when it was on his terms. He hunted when he wanted, where he wanted, what he wanted, how he wanted. Without anyone else and without the aid of a gun. Guns were for weaklings and the fearful.

Creed prefered on the hands on, direct method. It gave a much more personal touch. Plus it was much more statisfying.

Swiftly and silently, Sabretooth crossed the clearing and was soon emurged in the thick brush of the forest.

Guns, Creed found, took the fun out of the hunt. Sure, the tracking of the target, whether it'd be animal or human was fun, but after spotting the target, the use of a gun brings the fun to an abrupt halt. The hunt is over. You get your kill and go home. There's no challenge to it. It's the chase and running down of the prey that is the real hunt. That was the part to look forward to.

Sabretooth sniffed the air again and shifted to the right because the buck had changed direction sometime before. Perhaps an hour ago, maybe two. It shouldn't take too long to catch up.

There were three types of killers, Creed had discovered over the years. The ones who did it for the giant paycheque attached to it. The ones who did it for revenge and the ones who did it purely for the pleasure of the job.

Creed had been all three but the latter for the most part and he proudly remembered every one of his kills. He recalled who's life he had ended and where. Victor figured that he solely held the highest body count in history, with Logan as a close second. Though Logan didn't keep track as Victor did, he had probably killed more people than he would now like to admitt.

The runt had gone soft since running and following Xavier's dream that was doomed to failure.