Creed could smell Logan, just another few feet down the hallway. It was like Christmas to his senses. The scent of Logan came with fresh blood, tender flesh, salty sweat and poor little orphan mutants falling to their knees around him. It had been that way year after year, for almost as song as he could remember. Hell, they were practically brothers in carnage.
He moved closer, crouching and punching his claws into the floor, dragging himself along like a lame dog.
"Daddy's home..." he growled, the door to the Danger Room just ahead. He wondered how many little roasting chickens Logan had in there with him.