It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and even though the air was crisp, what more could one hope for in November. There were people all over the park taking advantage of the last of the good weather.

One figure sat alone on a park bench, oblivious to the weather, or people around him. In his mind he relived the horrors of one fateful day...

Bodies. There were bodies lying everywhere in the tunnel. So many of them were already beyond his help. As were so many more throughout the other tunnels. So many dead. So many dying.

Blood. His hands were desperately trying to stem the flow of blood coming from the stomach of the child on the floor in front of him. There was so much blood. The light in the ceiling was casting shadows that were turning the tunnel into some devil's realm.

Screams. That was all he could hear. The tunnels making them echo and rebound until he had no idea which direction the original came from. They bombarded the man kneeling on the cold stone floor.

"Concentrate. Damn it all. CONCENTRATE," he raged at himself.

Each scream impacted on him like a fist. His concentration was shot. Without being able to concentrate he couldn't help anyone. There were so many that needed him. The ones that were still alive that was. So many were already past even his ability to help.

He wanted to scream.

To ask "WHY?"

That would only bring the killers back to finish off what they had started. That didn't scare him personally. It would guarantee, however, that those he could help would die.

"No," he whispered to himself.

The figure in the shadows could see the man's chest slow.

Deep breaths. Feel the air go in and out. You've done this before. You can do it again. Those were the only thoughts now going through the man's mind.

He had put aside everything else until later.

As he calmed, a soft blue glow began to surround his hands. The blue struggled to cut through the red of the blood that soaked the stomach of the child. As the glow strengthened it ebbed into the wound. Slowly, ever so slowly, it began to close.

A few more moments and the child would be saved. A small part of his mind acknowledged that fact while his focus remained on saving her.

The figure in the shadows grinned showing razor sharp teeth. "Time to have some fun," he thought.

The Healer's concentration evaporated as he was pulled backwards by his hair. Instead of falling to the floor he was lifted by his hair to face his assailant.

A gasp of recognition escaped his lips, followed by a name. "Sabretooth!"

A young couple with a large dog darted their eyes towards the figure on the bench. The look on their faces gave a very clear picture of what they thought. Disgusting. Some homeless tramp was all they saw. Filth covering their glorious day.

"Why don't the police do something about them?" the woman whispered angrily, refusing to even acknowledge the humanity of the figure.

"Too busy doing other important things like eating donuts," was her husband's disgusted reply.

"Perhaps I should do something myself," the man said. "Chase it away from here so it can go live with the other bums where it belongs."

The woman looked worriedly at her husband. "He's not serious, is he?" she thought to herself. The thing sitting on the bench may be a bum, but it was a very big bum. Must be at least seven feet tall. It'd probably been drinking too. She had read that they drank. That would make it aggressive. She had seen first hand the results of drunkenness. She pulled on the hand of her husband to lead him around the bench,

He continued to talk bravely even as they gave the figure on the bench a wide berth as they walked past.

The figure on the bench didn't hear them. To be honest, he didn't even realize that they were there. He was so far inside himself that it would have taken a physical blow to bring him back to the present. His heart ached for all his friends. All his dead friends. Especially those that he had been unable to save and then killed himself. It was their ghosts that haunted him.

"Why couldn't I save them?"

"Why couldn't I save them?"

The thought repeated endlessly through his mind, along with the images. Those he could never get rid of.

"Let me go Creed," the Healer managed to gasp around the clawed hand constricting his throat.

"Can't do that I'm afraid," the killer known as Sabretooth replied with an icy chuckle. "I have a job to do, and you're making it more difficult."

"But she's going to die."

"That's right. The meat is going to die, which is exactly what I'm being paid to accomplish. Trashing the lowlifes that don't have the backbone to live."

The last was said with a sneer.

"I was going to add you to my count, but I've just had a better idea. Besides I'm not sure I could kill you. You and me's just going to stand here and watch what happens. What do you think of that plan?"

The words were like nails being pounded into the Healer's heart. The vicious, malicious, almost happy way that Creed spoke sickened him. He pounded his hands against the animal's arms and chest but Creed did nothing more than laugh at him.

The pressure around his neck grew and he felt himself slipping into the darkness. However, it appeared that Creed had other plans as he said, "Oh no, you stay with me now. I wouldn't want you to miss the best part."

Grasping the Healer by the back of the neck, Creed forced him to his knees as he crouched at his side watching the child on the floor before them. The moments dragged on and each felt stretched into eternity to the man who knew he could save the child. With a shuddering breath the child's body relaxed and a sob broke free of the Healer.

The killer stood up and looked down at the figure that remained kneeling at his feet. "I'd love to stand around and discuss old times, but I have work to do."

With that Creed loped off up the tunnel and was quickly swallowed up by the shadows.

"Why did you have to do this Creed?" whispered the man on his knees as he gathered the child into his arms and wept.

A man walking his dog turned his face away in disgust as he strode past the figure sitting on the park bench. The thing that had caused him to turn away was a single tear rolling down the cheek of the Healer.

Next Issue: We delve a little further into the fragmented mind of the Morlock Healer. Is there anything that can bring him back? There just might be, but you'll need to come back next time to see what.

Author Notes: Russ has been trying to get me to write something for Marvel2000, so here it is. I've had this story on my hard drive for a long time, not really knowing what to do with it. It's a lot shorter than my other work, and truth be told I could have rolled all three issues into one. However, I couldn't help but feel that the story read better split into the three issues. Let me know what you think, by sending feedback to Des Davies.