Victor’s threatening bass softened out of genuine concern for his fellow mutants.
“…You’ve always been so caught up in helpin’ humans. Regardless what they thought about th’ rest of us. Well guess what? They still hate us! An’ they all want us wiped out. They’re bringin’ Weapon X back!” He paused for a moment, to let the shock of the realization settle in.
His eyes fell to the floor. The man repositioned himself, and leaned against a nearby wall with his shoulder. As he continued, Victor's mind trailed off and recalled the brutality it took to obtain this precious, classified information. “Those little piss-ants have been snatchin’ up mutants left an’ right for months now. Pumped up the stronger ones with every chemical you can think of. Puttin’ the weaker ones in induced comas. Takin’ their organs in their sleep… ”
Suddenly, he flinched and looked at his stomach. Creed’s expression didn’t change; the feral watched his healing factor slowly expel a bullet of a rifle that didn’t pierce him entirely, unlike so many others before it. Once he heard it hit the floor, he resumed.
“That ain’t even th’ kicker…” he commented while fresh blood crept from the corner of his mouth. “They’ve rebuilt th’ Sentinels, too. Not th’ giant buckets of shit, no. These are smaller. Smarter… More…powerful. Upgrades I ain’t never seen on anything human made…”
Victor raised his gaze to the ceiling, and allowed the pessimism to return to his voice as he now spoke directly to himself. “After rippin’ ‘em new assholes an’ stomachs for a week, it’s a safe bet that their production has slowed down. Had my team lived, maybe we coulda’ stopped it all.” The blonde grimaced, then re-established eye contact with the men. “An’ just maybe, had you uppity snots left this palace of yer’s once inna while, you’d remember what th’ real world was like!”