Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Look, I don't want the elephant in the room to stomp all over me, but I gotta ask."

The owner, who'd been drying a mug with a rag, stopped and looked up.

"About what?"

"The Princess. What kinda name is that for a bar?"

The burly, yet surprisingly short, owner just shrugged.

"Nostalgia. Long time ago, I lived in a city with a joint called that. Went there a lot. Place was fun. A hell of a lot more action than this dump."

"Yeah? More action?" The customer let out a bitter chuckle, a shiver running through him. There was something forced about the laugh, 'cause deep down, nothing was funny. "Then I don't wanna know where the original Princess is. Must be hell on earth."

The owner, James, shrugged again.

"Somethin' like that? Don't know. Never been there."

James cracked a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"But I guess we get why you decided Brockton Bay was the best place to move, huh?" another man from the congregation chimed in. "Between the laughs and the beers, must remind you of home."

James shrugged.

"That and the discounts," he admitted freely, "and the aid, the rebuilding efforts. Everyone's gotta do their part. Sure, I would've done better anywhere else. But let me tell you, I didn't have, and I still don't have, the kind of cash to start somethin' anywhere else."

No one got angry. No one defended the city where at least half of them had been born and raised. There were just laughs and a lot of nodding heads.

"That's why we stay. Why most of us are still here. Not 'cause we don't want to leave, but 'cause we can't."

"Yeah," said another man, "whatever love I had for this city went down the toilet. And got flushed. It doesn't feel the same now, doesn't even feel like a city."

"Damn, you're a real ray of sunshine."

He complained, but he didn't do anything to change the mood either.

James slammed the beer mug down on the counter. The sound of glass hitting wood cracked like a shotgun blast in the suddenly silent bar. Maybe not every eye was on him, but every ear was listening.

The man had quickly ingratiated himself with the remaining populace of Brockton Bay, at least with those who frequented The Princess, looking for answers at the bottom of a bottle.

"If I've learned one thing," James began, "it's that we humans are some persistent sons of bitches. We can adapt to anything. It's just a matter of time."

"Guess that's true," another guy from across the room chimed in. "But I don't wanna give it time."

His eyes were fixed on the ceiling for some reason. Booze trickled down his chin, but he didn't seem to notice. His mind was somewhere else entirely.

"I volunteered at one of the shelters. One of the less fortunate ones. The number of people, of bodies I pulled from the water… And how many of them weren't whole, just… unrecognizable. I don't wanna give it time," he repeated. "I'd rather be anywhere but here."

"Well, I wouldn't trade it for the world," a woman shot back, followed by an exaggerated burp.

"Oh yeah? And why's that?"

"'Cause lightning might strike twice. But an Endbringer won't."

Silence fell again.

"Looked at that way, this is paradise on earth."

"Good point, good point."

Of course, if the woman was right, that only applied to Leviathan. There were two others. Even if Leviathan didn't attack, disaster could strike again. In fact, the slaughter would be on a much larger scale. Many heroes and villains had died. To protect the city, the fight wouldn't go as favorably as the one against Leviathan. And anyway, the other two were stronger. But of course, no one was going to say that. The atmosphere was already dark and suffocating enough to drown in. They were ghosts, after all. Living among watery ruins. Not human beings.

The bar owner, James Howlett, watched this procession of ghosts with a silent, pitying growl. Watching, gathering intel. Leviathan wasn't the only beast that had come to Brockton Bay to hunt. There was also James, better known as Logan. The Wolverine.

But right now, his getup was different. Not the famous yellow spandex, not the brown suit. Just a sharp, white suit and a black patch over one eye. After all, if Wolverine was known for anything, it was his healing factor. Why would Wolverine need an eye patch?

Here and now, he wasn't Wolverine, he was Patch. And he'd come to dance.

Logan closed up the bar, but he didn't head home. He just ditched the Patch uniform, so to speak, except for the patch itself, swapping it for a brown jacket, a white shirt, black pants, and hiking boots. Then, he went out to get a feel for the lay of the land.

From what he knew, Brockton Bay's decay had started long before Leviathan. Long before the gang war kicked off by the supervillain Bakuda. According to the intel the X-Men had gathered for him, it had also started with the closing of the bay itself. The port, now nothing more than a ship graveyard. But, of course, the recent tragedies hadn't helped matters.

Logan walked among the watery graves, through the ruins of thousands of lives. A dark, lawless land. Sure, the Protectorate was still trying to impose some order. Trying to keep what was left from shattering completely. But it wasn't easy. It was a simple, harsh matter of numbers. Too many problems, not enough heroes.

For centuries, Logan had walked through many places like this. But even for someone who'd lived so long and under so many names, his perspective was skewed. By more recent times, in other words, this wet, stinking shithole reminded him of Madripoor, the inauguration of his new home. Except that place was such a deep cesspool it hadn't needed bombs or an Endbringer attack to end up in a similar state. Which didn't mean it had escaped the Endbringers' attention, of course. Logan himself had been there during the Simurgh's attack half a decade ago. But the people of Madripoor hadn't noticed the difference. It was a city run by crime syndicates that saw attacks and reprisals every day. So what if those criminals lost control, got pushed to even further extremes? It barely moved the needle. No different from the darkness they'd been living in from the start.

Logan hadn't lied. People could adapt to anything. Given time, if only for the mind to protect itself, human beings adapted to whatever you threw at them. It wasn't good or bad, just a fact. Many of his friends—well, his family—wouldn't agree with him. Scott, Jean… hell, most of them saw things differently or tried to. He couldn't. It just wasn't in him.

Just walking around, Logan didn't see anything he hadn't already seen in the half-month he'd been in Brockton Bay. He gave some cash to a few homeless guys and handed his jacket to a woman who was soaked to the bone. He asked if she needed help, real help, and predictably she said, "No, thank you, really," so he moved on.

But soon after, he ran into someone who did need real help, who was screaming for it.

His blood ignited. It was gasoline, and the woman's scream was the match. He moved swiftly through the ruined and not-so-ruined buildings like the wild animal he was, graceful and ferocious.

In the darkness of an alley stood three men—no, three animals. On the ground, a scantily clad woman. No questions needed.

"Look, we don't want any trouble," said one. "Just back off, pal. We can share, but don't make this difficult."

He sounded almost reasonable as he prepared to commit one of the most monstrous acts a human being could. The other two nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, man, c'mon, you don't have to screw this up for us."

The woman must have misinterpreted his inaction. Both wrongly and rightly. Her expression, already shadowed and on the verge of collapse, became almost inhuman with fear.

"I'll pay you!" she suddenly screamed. "Please, I don't have much, but I'll pay you."

"Shut your damn mouth, you fucking bitch."

He didn't wait for a reply. He shut her up with a punch, knocking her to the ground. There was a splash, and the water on the ground was soon mixed with the bitter tears of the terrified, trembling woman.

"I'm here to dance," Wolverine finally said. "But not with the lady. With you three."

A savage grin, as sharp as his adamantium claws. Especially in the fetid, damp darkness.

"You asked for it, you bastard. You gotta know when to keep your damn mouth shut."

The three of them rushed him. They were armed, sure, but not with real weapons. Metal pipes scavenged from somewhere, or wooden planks with nails hammered through them. Improvised weapons, the best they could manage. They didn't even have a knife or a gun in sight. But of course, they had no idea what they were up against. For one, Wolverine wasn't exactly a public figure. To the X-Men, no, he was the bastard who did Xavier's dirty work. Second, he was in disguise.

And third…

"Whatever you say, bub," he said.

He hadn't popped his claws yet. He didn't use their full extent, even though they deserved it. A slash here, a cut there, just enough to take them down even easier, tearing open an abdomen or a leg, leaving them writhing and screaming on the ground. The darkness was good cover, and any glint of steel could just be their imagination. Logan didn't plan on keeping his identity a secret for long. But for now, he would.

They went down fast. Just three losers, regular guys until disaster knocked on their door. Not even thugs. They never stood a chance, even if they'd known what the hell to do in a fight. But it was obvious they didn't have a clue.

The woman crawled toward him on her knees.

"Thank you, thank you..."

Crying, shaking, she hugged his waist, or rather, his chest.

He wasn't very tall.

He kind of regretted giving his jacket to the other woman. This poor soul clearly needed it more. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Just doin' my job," Logan said.

With her attackers' blood pooling on the ground and their screams still echoing in the air, it might have seemed comforting under the circumstances. But it was still a level of violence that most people, normal people, were never personally exposed to.

So the girl wasn't much less scared now that he'd rescued her.

"Easy now, easy. Come with me."

Patch tied up all those bastards. Then he made a little call, making sure as best he could that they'd end up in police hands. He figured they might escape while he was gone since he wasn't going to stick around. He wasn't about to take the credit, to be seen like that. Not yet.

Instead, he walked the girl home. It was intact. Or what passed for intact these days. Well, many areas hadn't suffered as much as others. He was exaggerating a bit.

"Good luck, Cecilia. If you need help, call me."

He handed her a small card, his bar's card, with the contact number. It might not help much, but he felt compelled to make the small gesture.

Then, Logan started the journey back to his home away from home. His new business. But he took a small detour when he saw what he'd been looking for all along.

Proof.

And what proof?

What the hell kind of proof?

A pile of corpses. A grotesque work of biological art.

It wasn't something special that other supervillains couldn't do. But the hunter in him knew. He knew this was Bonesaw's work. Indeed, the Slaughterhouse Nine had chosen their next hunting ground.

But now, now they would meet the real predator.

Chapter Text

"You live in Undersider territory."

Mark lowered his beer mug to the table. He scowled.

"I do now. That Skitter chick took over the area. Just 'cause she felt like it. And there's no one to stop her. Just like all the others."

From behind the bar, Logan might have looked distracted. Serving customers. Wiping down mugs. Generally making sure the bar ran smoothly. And it did. But that didn't stop him from doing two things at once. His sharp ears were always listening for any useful scrap of information. It was why he'd set up this bar in the first place. Why he'd been given the budget for it.

Skitter, huh? Skitter.

"They're all a bunch of freaks. But if I had to pick whose territory to live in, it wouldn't be the bug girl's. I don't like bugs."

"I'd take her. Over some giant hellhounds."

"Oh, right. You're not too fond of normal-sized dogs either."

Mark blushed. All the way to the tips of his ears.

"Shut the hell up."

The other guy, Chase, he thought, laughed. He had a good memory. And he was learning the names. But still, there were a lot of names to learn.

"C'mon, man. Everybody knows."

"Doesn't matter a damn."

"Shut up."

Logan fought back a laugh. So, the guy lived in a supervillain's territory, but he was more worried about people finding out he was afraid of dogs. Humans, as always, had strange priorities. Well, he wasn't one to cast the first stone. He knew damn well he had no right. He was just as strange and just as human as them. Maybe more so.

Roman, or so he thought, dragged his chair over to the two men's table.

"Got any room in your apartment?"

"Well, yeah. Why?"

"'Cause I don't live in anyone's territory. And that's no relief. Quite the opposite."

"Yeah. Yeah. I get it."

Roman rested his arms on the table.

"Look, guys, the city's a corpse. And the vultures are carving up the meat. Okay, we all get that. But that means everything's gonna belong to someone eventually. And I don't want to be there when they fight over who gets first dibs. You understand?"

"Perfectly. And I'll make room for you if that's what you really want."

"Okay. Thanks. Seriously."

"Well, I'd choose to live wherever she operates," said another, swaying. Clearly drunk already. Well, that's what everyone came for.

"Oh yeah?"

"Damn right. I love supervillainesses, you get me? But not like Skitter. Look, the tighter the latex, the better."

He let out a loud laugh. He lost his balance and almost fell flat on his face, but he grabbed onto someone's chair.

"You're not married, are you?"

"Of course I am. And my wife's a supervillain too. With the power to make my life miserable. The Protectorate just has no interest in going after her."

That got a laugh from many. Even from those who had only been listening quietly to the conversation until now and had seemed to be minding their own business.

"If they did that, they'd have to lock up every woman," another commented.

"I don't know about that," someone else chimed in. "Your wife pleases me. Often."

He wasn't surprised at all that the other man laughed instead of getting angry.

"Asshole," he muttered, but nothing more.

"You men are all pigs," a woman commented. Tracy, maybe.

"Sure. As if you wouldn't screw that biker hunk. With a skull for a head."

Tracy rolled her eyes.

"At least he looks like a man. Not a kid."

They kept bickering among themselves. Anyway, the thread of the conversation had been completely lost. He didn't think he'd hear anything useful, seeing how they'd strayed. There'd be more insults, more jokes, but they wouldn't go back. To what? To what really mattered? Of course not. In the end, every single one of them was scared. Supervillains were slowly taking over the city. It might have been more or less obvious that evil had been winning the war, even before Leviathan, but now it was a truth that couldn't be ignored. A truth written on every building's facade. People were scared. And they took refuge in the familiar. That was something Logan could understand perfectly. Even though he was born centuries ago, some things never changed. In the end.

In any case, the slightly uncomfortable conversation, and all the others, came to an abrupt end. Someone kicked the door of The Princess open. A group of dime-a-dozen thugs. Judging by the armbands, Merchants. A better name would be pushers. But hey, pretentiousness was rampant in the criminal world.

"Well, well. Look what we have here," said the one who seemed to be the leader, his words dragging like a snake's hiss.

Pathetic. Just eight thugs. Logan could end this in the blink of an eye. There was just one small problem. Well, more of a medium-sized one. They weren't alone. And he wasn't talking about the bar patrons. His ears weren't his only sharp sense. He could feel eyes on him. Not up close, but from a safe distance. Besides, it was the most abundant thing in the filth and dampness of a city, aside from the corpses. Bugs, of course. Bugs.

Which meant Skitter. One of the Undersiders. Not the boss, maybe, but definitely the most aggressive and forward one. She'd been causing trouble for a while. He didn't know why she was watching, what had made her suspicious. But even though his target was only the Slaughterhouse Nine, revealing himself to the other villain groups in the city wasn't a good idea either. Not like this. Not so soon.

"Shut your mouth!" one of the Merchants yelled, punching a guy in the face.

He fell to the floor, and the table went with him.

I can take these guys with my bare hands, he thought. I don't even need the claws. But so what? She wouldn't know I'm a superhero. And she wouldn't know, but she'd believe I'm just a regular guy who's good in a fight. Maybe she'd even try to recruit me. Either way, I'd get unwanted attention. But if I don't pop the claws and go full berserker rage, I'd be needlessly risking these poor people who've already suffered enough.

Half of the bastards stopped in front of the bar.

"Don't be a hero now. Give us everything in the register." He pointed a shotgun at Logan's head.

But Logan just smiled. He'd made a decision. The only decision worth making. Looking at it, the only decision that made sense, really. Anyway, subterfuge and stealth weren't his thing.

"What are you laughing at?"

"The guy's gone crazy. Scared shitless. The queer. What kind of man names a bar The Princess?"

Then, one of the patrons, not even realizing he was saying it, spoke up:

"James, don't do anything stupid."

Which only managed to attract attention, of course. Many guns were pointed in his direction. It was clear. Yes. Very clear. It was time to open the cage of the animal within.

The shotgun fired, but not at his face. Sometimes he let himself get hurt to show off his regeneration and scare his targets. That was completely unnecessary now. Not to mention counterproductive. Instead, he leaped over the bar and brandished his claws, slicing the shooter's arm off at the shoulder. The pain was what made him pull the trigger, a second before the arm detached from the body. A reaction to pain and fear, nothing more. Too late, of course.

"What the hell was that?"

The bar filled with screams, and not just from the remaining Merchants. Well, from those who still had the oxygen to scream. Because the one whose arm he'd cut off was at his feet, writhing, and seemed to have no energy for anything at all. Wolverine put him out of his misery, striking quickly between the eyebrows. He went out instantly.

The rest swarmed him. Most of them didn't even have firearms. Bats, blades, all that stuff. But no guns, except for the shotgun, which he kicked away to the other end of the room, and a pistol from one guy, who wisely stayed back, firing with trembling hands. Which did him no good, of course. For starters, he was so scared he didn't even care if he hit his own guys. The empty shell was dominated by pure survival instinct.

That is to say, they fell one after another. Easy. Quick. But a couple, even without him having to lift a finger. Of course, they shot him. They ruined his fancy suit, but not his flesh. He was on a roll and already regenerating, pushing the bullets out of his body in the process.

"Holy shit. What the hell is that?"

Wolverine silenced this and other useless screams right away. A few of his customers ran out the door. Some even through a window. Damn, he was going to have to fix that. Others just hid behind furniture or under tables, waiting for it to pass. For the worst to pass.

One of the thugs tried his luck with his bat, which, of course, Wolverine's adamantium claws cut through as if it were made of butter. He stared like an idiot as the pieces, the two halves, fell to the floor. The next moment, before he realized it, he was already dead.

"Stay away from me, you bastard."

The voice, which sounded as high-pitched as a woman's now, belonged, of course, to the last shooter. Who was still wasting ammo on him and now seemed unable to see the obvious: that it wasn't even tickling him. But, of course, what else did he have left? He must have instinctively understood that he couldn't run. So this, as stupid as it was, was his only hope: that his regeneration had limits he could overcome with a simple pistol. That it would eventually work.

Wolverine, with his claws, both at once. And then he threw him against the wall, at the other end of the room. He bounced hard with a dull thud, like a sack of potatoes. He rolled on the floor, stopped, and died, before he had time to drown in his own blood.

Wolverine stood in the midst of the devastation. He hadn't counted on his life. It was like a massacre.

"Get out of here," he ordered.

They deserved to die. Yes, probably. But killing them would serve no purpose beyond his own satisfaction. It wouldn't hide his secret. He had taken out the one with the shotgun and the one with the pistol to make sure they couldn't, that they couldn't pose even the slightest threat. Not to him, but to his customers. A single stray bullet could do a lot of damage. He had taken out the guy with the bat. Because, well, he'd been an idiot. He had it coming. But well, the rest could wait. If he even went after them. He'd come here to hunt a different kind of monster. But he wasn't ruling it out completely. No, sir.

"What's the matter? You heard me. Move your asses, idiots."

Indeed, they moved their asses. One in particular, a little too quickly, slipping and falling headfirst into the pool of blood. His face turned red as a tomato. Haha. But anyway, he let him go too.

Wolverine retracted his claws and slowly became just Logan again. As the last of them left, he looked around. A lot of blood.

The bar was just a temporary ploy, but damn, was it going to cost him more money than he wanted? Or maybe not, he thought as he saw the faces surrounding him, maybe not.

"I understand if you don't want to come back here."

"Thank you," a trembling voice said, "thank you, James."

That didn't answer his question. Logan nodded. The feeling seemed to be prevalent. They were grateful, of course, although it didn't necessarily mean anything beyond that.

He could be wrong, but it seemed that no one had recognized Wolverine. He wasn't surprised yet, but he let out a small sigh of relief. Anyway, the longer the facade lasted, the better.

As for the most attentive member of the audience, the mysterious Skitter, there was no way of knowing what she knew about him now. By herself, or through that Tattletale person, whose name was quite direct. But for now at least, her presence was gone. He supposed she was scared, whatever she knew. Good. She had reason to be.

Chapter Text

It was time for action. He knew his targets, he knew their strengths and weaknesses. At least, he highly doubted he'd learn more on his own; no matter how much he investigated, he'd learn what really mattered by fighting them. So all that was left was the first step, that is, to take it: choose the first target, the first head of the Nine's serpent. Yes, it was just a matter of choosing which one to start with.

Jack Slash was the easy choice. The weakest, at least in terms of powers—superpowers, that is—in theory. But as was almost always the case, it was also the wrong one. Jack was the heart of the group, so to speak. Killing him first would, of course, be a major blow, but it would unleash the remaining targets. It would be unpredictable chaos, which wasn't in his favor.

Bonesaw, then. Without a doubt, she was a priority target. With her powers over biology, she could enhance and protect her fellow killers. But of course, whatever she had done to them—surgeries and modifications—wouldn't magically disappear when she died. That's not how it worked. Still, at the very least, it would prevent her from doing other things and he could cross the possibility of plagues or worse off the danger list. The sky was the limit when it came to powers like hers. It was a matter of sufficient creativity and the right materials. It said a lot that, among a team of serial-killing supervillains, Bonesaw stood out as one of the most dangerous, if not the most dangerous.

So, it was decided: he would kill that child. He would tear her to pieces with his claws.

Logan opened the closet in the small room he had on the second floor of the bar. He burned with the desire to rip the classic yellow uniform off the wall and go out hunting as Wolverine. However, that would be a mistake. If this were a mission for Wolverine, he wouldn't be alone. The others would have joined him to tear the Slaughterhouse Nine apart, to wipe them from the face of the earth. So no, this was a mission for Patch, not for Wolverine. Wolverine didn't always agree with Xavier, but they almost always understood each other. Now both things were true.

Logan left the bathroom, left, Logan left the bar and began the hunt. Yes, he had already made his decision. That's why she seemed like the perfect first target. Anyway, plans weren't his thing, he was guided more by feelings and instincts. It might not seem like he'd thought it through, but it was already clear to him. That is to say, however, it was just a theory on paper. The world immediately threw a wrench in his plans.

Far away, after a walk of about ten kilometers, he smelled fresh blood and then heard a scream.

Ambulances, medical personnel. Something had happened, but he hadn't arrived, like the police, always late. He had arrived just in time to intervene, though not to save all the lives. As soon as he landed on one of the ambulances, jumping from the roof, two members of the medical staff fell to the ground with a choked cry, followed by a gush of thick blood, of an almost unnatural color, forming a large carpet beneath the bodies. The air was filled with water, blood, and the wind carried the screams of horror from the rest, sure that they were going to die too.

Luckily for them, he was here.

"Alan," Logan said, getting down from the ambulance. "Enough."

The Mannequin, who, as his name suggested, looked like a mannequin, stopped and looked at him. There were no features, not a trace of emotion, nor the ability to express it. Alan Green inhabited an empty shell, moved only by rage. He knew his modus operandi perfectly: he killed, above all, tinkers like himself, but not only that. It seemed that now his only mission in life was to prove that no one could change the world for the better, because then what happened to his family, with the Simurgh, hadn't been a tragedy, a failure, but something inevitable. Therefore, no one could surpass him.

Logan supposed that was the only thing keeping the man he once was from drowning completely. He saw this clinically clearly; Logan's heart harbored not the slightest empathy for the monster before his eyes. He had been accumulating rage and pain since he was born centuries ago, and he was no animal. It was no excuse. In fact, Logan suspected that Alan wasn't even a victim of the Simurgh, except in the strictest sense of the word. That thing had killed his family, sure, but it hadn't exerted a direct influence on him, a manipulation that would absolve him of his sins. No, Alan had made one conscious decision after another.

Logan looked around. They hadn't moved, surely out of fear.

"For crying out loud, get the hell out of here!"

Logan let his claws slide out. The sound of metal, like swords being unsheathed at once, was the push they needed, apparently. They ran off and Mannequin let them go. He had to, because Logan lunged at him, jumping. Mannequin made a move to attack one of those poor bastards from behind, but he had to divert the trajectory of his chained arms immediately to intercept the blow. The rest of the impact was absorbed without a problem. Mannequin slid back, his back grazing the ambulance.

"This is the end of the line, Alan."

The empty shell before his eyes had no way of expressing its feelings, but Logan still perceived it. It was angry. Every time he repeated his human name, his real name, it got even angrier. It was still being chased by ghosts. It would be for the rest of its life.

"Let's dance, monster."

Logan lunged at Mannequin, but it dodged, throwing itself to the side, so he bounced off the ambulance. But his claws pierced the metal, tearing the wall first. Sparks flew. Logan spun quickly, jumped again, but Mannequin, a slippery son of a bitch if there ever was one, threw himself to the ground and effortlessly slid under a car. Logan pursued, without hesitation, rolling over the hood. He attacked again and, again, missed the enemy, only tearing up the ground.

Logan clicked his tongue. Well, Alan wasn't an idiot. Monstrous, but not an idiot. He might not know about Wolverine, but he had identified the material of his claws in a tenth of a second. That much was clear. The monster knew it was at a disadvantage, nimbly dodging with the help of the chains, with which it could extend or retract its limbs and fit through many places. Mannequin led him towards the nearest alley. What it thought could be here, what it thought would change, damned if he knew, but it must believe it had some ace up its sleeve. An obvious trap, but he didn't mind jumping headfirst to trigger it. All the better. If Logan had learned anything over the years, it was that the best place to hunt another predator was in its lair.

"You're nothing but a rat, preying on people too weak to fight back, so don't think you're important. Even now, you're not changing the world. You're just another drop in a flooded city."

The killing intent was sharp and direct, but it didn't attack him with ropes, blades, shooting at him, or anything like that. Instead of all that, a gas began to fill the alley. Logan held his breath. He had no idea what the gas was for, but breathing it couldn't be good. The gas was a clue, but where had it hidden? He had to find it, fast.

Maybe it's not a grand strategy, he thought. Maybe it's just a coward afraid of its own reflection, who'd rather shut me up than have to keep listening to me tell the truth.

A funny idea, but no. Obviously it wasn't funny, it was a real attack. Something else entered the closed atmosphere of the alley and an explosion, an explosion that shook the rooftops, moved stones, raised dust. And Logan, Logan went flying backward, against and through the wall of a building.

He rolled on the floor, swallowing dust. The interior was in ruins, in much worse shape than it looked from the outside. Not a bad battlefield.

"So, explosive gas, huh? Yeah?"

He knew it wouldn't kill him, but he started thinking about making Mannequin dig its own grave, bringing this building down on their heads. The only thing stopping him was something very simple, precisely because of the disadvantages it entailed.

He thought it wouldn't follow him into the ruins, thought it would stay behind, or even try to force him out using some human shield. There was also the third option, of course: to run away with its tail between its legs, back to the Slaughterhouse Nine, having achieved very little. Well, possible, but not something it would choose, although of course, the same could be said of what happened.

In reality, it followed him inside, entering over, entering through a lopsided window and grabbing onto a pipe detached from the ceiling, spinning, spinning, spinning and making its biggest jump. In this way, it landed right in front of him, staring at him. A cold killing intent.

"Are you trying to analyze me?" Wolverine asked. "Or are you just scared?"

It came at him, retracting and extending all its limbs at will. Basically, it thought nothing, thought nothing, and its limbs were more like suggestions. So, it simply flowed like a waterfall or a calm river.

Perfect. A pure predator. The only problem is that, after traveling the world so many times, it had found its place to die, with a worse predator.

The roars of Wolverine, the sound of his claws dancing, grazing the metal, the material Mannequin's suit was made of, and tearing up the floor and walls. That dominated the dead, empty, faceless house. It filled the space as if to suffocate everything else, what was, what could have been.

The fights were simple, hard, short, and very direct. The real fights, at least. But the one with Mannequin dragged on for a long time, with both unable to touch the other. It seemed almost choreographed, rehearsed to nausea. More gas, green and odorless. More explosives, more explosive gas. But this time, Wolverine was ready. He raised his arms in a cross to protect himself. He flew anyway, but the impact was nowhere near as hard. And neither, of course, was the disconnection. Every time he had to get back into character, to immerse himself in the battle, to dive into a fight to the death, it was the same. The man was what was needed now. He knew it perfectly, even though he was wearing a suit.

Even if the monkey dresses in silk, it's still a monkey. It's true, it's true.

As soon as he lowered his arms, he had it, he saw it on top of him. And then, he could barely dodge the blade. It passed by, grazing his neck, the hairs on his beard. And it was buried in the bricks behind him, in a crack near which a single flower bloomed, red as blood.

"Nature endures, Alan." His claws slashed Mannequin's chest. "Animals endure, humans endure. But you don't. You chose to lock yourself in there. Do you really think you're safe in there, Alan? That nothing can touch you? Well then, you need a good wake-up call."

Mannequin was a slippery son of a bitch, fast as a bullet. His adamantium claws could tear the enemy to shreds in a tenth of a second, but it didn't matter if he couldn't reach him. Its body was malleable: the length of its arms and legs, the distribution of its weight.

In this way, it dodged his attacks and used the terrain to the fullest. And it used the environment to the fullest: every wall, every table or piece of furniture in general, every beam, joist, and pipe, everything. So Mannequin was out of his reach for the moment.

But the same didn't apply to his enemy. He reached him, slashed him all over his body, even if they were basically superficial wounds that his healing factor took care of in a tenth of a second. But that was fine. In fact, that was very good. It might seem like Mannequin was controlling the pace of the battle, but in the end, it was nothing more than a slow defeat against a superior enemy.

Really, that was all. A machine didn't get tired, but sooner or later Logan would get his claws on him and Mannequin couldn't do anything to him. Therefore, there was only one victory condition for the enemy, that is, to flee. But he didn't think that psychopath would flee. No, sir. It would try to kill him, even if it had to take him with it to hell. Even if it cost it everything it had left, because it was nothing.

That conclusion was not the result of the papers he had seen on the blood, but a declaration of his instinct as a hunter, as an animal, and as a human being. Logan trusted his instinct completely. His heart had deceived him many times, but his instinct had never led him astray.

As they attacked each other, Mannequin placed a foot, so to speak, on the wall, turning its ankle. Logan focused on the movement as if it were going to tell him something special. People telegraphed their movements, inevitably. It was just a question of to what extent. But Mannequin was not people. Mannequin was an empty shell, not a human being.

It jumped in exactly the opposite direction of what was expected, not down, but up and then, turning with the help of a pipe to the left. All in an instant. Logan was not hit. This time he didn't stop the blow with his body, but with his teeth, catching the blade, biting down hard. If Mannequin had a face, its eyes would be bulging out of their sockets right now.

I'm a fast bastard too, Alan. But of course, that was just one blow. Each of its limbs hid a weapon and its torso even more. The modifications it made could change day by day at its whim. It was better not to give it time to adapt to him. He had to eliminate it here and now, otherwise it would come back stronger than before.

He stopped the second blow on the other arm an instant after Mannequin withdrew the blade from his mouth, tearing its damn arm off, shattering it.

What was left of the right arm flew through the air, describing circles. A lot of black, tar-like liquid also came out, acting as blood. The floor of the ruined and abandoned building was quickly covered by a curtain blacker than the darkness that the light from outside could not push away.

"You were never the hunter, Alan," he said. "It's time for you to wake up."

Logan, once again, roared, bringing out his claws again. This is the one, for sure. He had no doubt.

Chapter Text

The police, the good guys, were late as always. There was a world of difference between acting and reacting. Logan himself had been lucky to stumble upon this juicy prize during his walk. That was all.

"What the hell is this?" one of the cops exclaimed.

The flashlight from his gun tore through the darkness. Logan was no longer there. He had slipped away long ago. But Mannequin wasn't there either. Not really.

The heroes approached, warning the police and medical personnel to keep their distance. That it wasn't safe yet. But it was. The fight was over. Why? What was left of Mannequin was a torso. No arms, no legs, no head. Nothing but a torso. But alive, without a doubt. Alive because it wasn't destroyed. But it was the only thing he had left intact.

"Oh, hell!" said Assault. "Who could have done this? Just what we needed."

"Yeah, yeah, I know Mannequin's basically dead. I'm saying I have info on his attacker. Tell the boss he'll have a report as soon as I can."

Skitter hung up the phone. First Leviathan's attack, then the appearance of the Slaughterhouse Nine, and now this. Well, she had seen that man before Mannequin, but still, this wasn't good.

A new variable, one that killed villains; true monsters, rather. But still, she doubted it would be as simple as recruiting him, even as a temporary ally. No, it couldn't be that simple.

The only light came from the several monitors.

Tattletale sighed, leaning back with her boots propped on the edge of the desk. A precarious balance. Her head was about to explode.

She closed her eyes. The light was like knives threatening to slide into her gray matter. But it didn't matter, being like this. Even the darkness smelled.

Naturally, after receiving Tyler's report, Coil had ordered her to investigate the newcomer. To Brockton Bay. She was much more concerned about the nine psychotic, super-powered killers on the loose. But there was nothing new she could discover about the Slaughterhouse Nine. Certainly nothing useful that wasn't already known. So at least it was a way to distract herself. She could put other problems aside. Maybe it wasn't particularly productive, since he was apparently against their enemies. But at least it wasn't self-destructive, not entirely.

Besides, she was also motivated to find out about the unknown man. After all, she hated not knowing things. She hated that insecurity more than anything in the world.

The ringtone broke into her private sanctuary. She had lost track of time. She must have been locked up, in deep concentration, for longer than she thought.

"Tattletale, I trust your inquiries have been fruitful."

The silence stretched on. That wasn't what Coil had expected, naturally.

"Tattletale?" he repeated.

He sounded as if he thought the most reasonable explanation for her silence was a problem with the line or something. The only possible explanation for her not giving an immediate response like some kind of pet. Tattletale scowled. But, contrary to what everyone who knew her thought, she did know how to bite her tongue, sometimes.

"It's complicated," she said. "I have photos, videos, proof that he's been employed in shady business and significant incidents to a greater or lesser degree. Aliases from here and there. All over the world. But there are other things."

"Get to the point."

Lisa clicked her tongue. Of course she wanted to get to the point. She didn't like sounding insecure, even when she was. But the information was on a scale that would be impossible to comprehend if it were true. Coil, who wasn't stupid and knew her, well, knew enough, must understand that too. Tattletale took a deep breath.

"Look, I don't know if it's a glitch, some kind of interference, or a consequence of the concentration I've been holding without sleep all day. But my power is telling me he's been alive for centuries."

Silence on the other end of the line, nothing but silence for a long while. Good, it had affected him as much as the news had affected her, how could it not.

"That's impossible. Parahumans aren't that old."

"Maybe so," Lisa replied, opening her eyes and lifting her head, staring at the darkness of the ceiling. "Or maybe not, maybe he's not even a parahuman."

Shatterbird landed.

Jack Slash appeared soon after. He rounded the corner at that very moment, as if he had been waiting for her, as if he had sensed her arrival somehow. Sometimes he gave her that feeling, an almost supernatural feeling, but it clearly had nothing to do with his power. Jack was a cunning fox. Nothing more.

"You don't have to tell me. Mannequin has left us for good."

"I don't understand."

Jack smiled and then stroked Bonesaw's hair as if he were comforting her. His smile was sharper than the knife, than the razors he used.

"I'm more interested in meeting the character who took care of him. He may just be a brute in the end, but for now, that's interesting enough. Isn't it?"

The rest of the Nine appeared in the room, with the exception of Crawler, who was a bit too big for said room.

"The game has begun," Jack Slash continued, "and this time we weren't the ones to fire the starting pistol. That, in the end, is something to celebrate. Don't you agree?"

Jack Slash laughed softly and bowed to an imaginary audience.

"Yes, I can't wait to have a nice chat with that person. Up close and personal."

He licked his lips.

So much effort, Logan thought, looking at himself in the mirror. He had, of course, already returned to his base of operations. And all it did was ruin a good suit for me. Well, it had already served its purpose. By making him attract more attention. He looked like a guy who wasn't rich, but had money to burn. Who had come to Brockton Bay to take advantage of the opportunity. Now, well, he had already received all the attention he was looking for. The rules of the game would change soon enough. So it was all the same.

Logan took off his shirt. Of course, it was a little harder than usual, since the blood made the fabric stick to his body. But he took it off and threw it aside behind him, without looking. He did the same with the rest of his clothes and got in the shower.

He took a deep breath, watching the blood and water mix and run down his body. Mannequin was finished. He had left him alive, so in theory it was possible for him to recover. But only in theory. The local heroes would lock him up. If they weren't capable of doing what they had to do. And just finish him off. Crush the rest. After all, none of the Slaughterhouse Nine were normal supervillains.

Even if they didn't have official kill orders, immediately, exactly, it was understood that it was shoot to kill, that anything else wasn't worth it. Because they didn't play by the rules. He highly doubted the Nine would mount a rescue attempt. Not even for the utility that Mannequin could still provide to the team. No, Jack Slash would surely see him as a broken toy that had served its purpose. He had been entertained for years, but now it was time to leave him in the box gathering dust forever.

Now it came down to the simplest calculation for any psychopath like him, even the most fun toy. And able to see beyond his interests, his fun, there was no ideology or real motives. Just a chaos barely guided by the will of a single man, if you could even call him that. Jack Slash, a tear in the world that wouldn't stop bleeding until someone wiped it from the face of the Earth.

Fortunately, he was perfectly equipped to be the one to do it. Logan placed his hands on the wall, leaning forward, letting the water cascade over his hair. He closed his eyes. The pain was, of course, immense, but Wolverine was more than used to pain, nothing more than a shadow behind everything else. Not to mention that he was already healing, his regenerative factor kicking in.

So what was it?

He was tired, he supposed. The same hunts, the same hunting grounds, over and over again. The field missions with the rest helped, but not enough. He wasn't complaining, but the truth was simply more complicated. Even if it satisfied certain things in him, there were holes he couldn't fill.

And what? he asked himself. Well, and nothing. He wasn't here to whine, it wasn't his style and nothing had to change. However, he was aware that he was the best at what he did, but what he did wasn't very pretty. That was all, in the end. James Howlett, Logan, the Wolverine. Everything, in the end.

Logan dropped onto the bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Not to sleep, it was too early to sleep. He was just resting a bit, mulling over what was to come. All of this was just the beginning. He knew perfectly well that he needed to plan for a wild fight, you know. It wouldn't be in his favor, not against all the members. Anyway, he was very confident that he could defeat the Nine. Hatchet Face wouldn't be a problem, but Crawler, well, there he had his doubts. It wasn't a question of whether he could kill him, but rather if he could die at all or if he would just keep mutating. In short, he had a lot to think about. And little time, he had lit one fuse and Skitter had lit another, for sure. Things would get complicated, his only problem wouldn't be the Nine.

"There's no reason to turn this into a debate," said Miss Militia, her arms crossed. "What's left of Mannequin, we get rid of a monster, that's the only thing that makes sense. They may not have an official kill order, but everyone understands it's a matter of kill or be killed when it comes to them."

Director Piggot leaned back in her seat, staring at her. It was clear she thought she had the power and also thought she was the smartest in the whole room. Even though the entire Protectorate, except for Armsmaster, of course, but he didn't count anymore, was present. The latter wasn't true, of course, she wasn't the smartest in the room. But unfortunately, she did have the power and seemed willing to use it to screw up royally.

"I understand that perfectly," Piggot replied, "but what if we could use him as bait?"

"Bait," Assault repeated, "that's what I said, yes. They're monsters, of course, but Mannequin is strong, he's useful. Why wouldn't you take the bait if we give them a chance to get him back? Besides, they surely want to know how he ended up in this state, as much as we do."

"Are we in any position to set a trap for the Nine?" said Miss Militia.

It wasn't a question. Not really, she knew they weren't, but it was the most professional way to make that point. She hoped that, seeing herself unable to give a good answer, she would be forced to change her mind, to realize the reality. Because Piggot wasn't thinking clearly. No. Hannah believed that, above all, she was trying to score a point. After everything that had happened, it was a natural desire, but no less stupid for it. Quite the opposite.

"It's a possibility I'm considering," the director replied, sharp and direct, "You're right. Setting a trap for the Nine is a suicide mission, but letting them come after us one by one, letting them choose their battles, that's not much better. So I, and all of you, have a lot to think about."

Yes, something like that, but Hannah had nothing to think about, only to do. Miss Militia walked quickly out of the office, determined. If Piggot wasn't going to make the right decision, she would. She would destroy what was left of Mannequin's torso, for everyone's sake.

Chapter Text

Logan went back behind the bar at The Princess, as if nothing had happened. For the past few days, people had been coming and going, maybe fewer than other times. But it wasn't a significant enough reduction to attribute it solely to the Merchants' attack. Or rather, to the horrific spectacle he had directed with his claws. It was just the normal flow of owning a business. There were good days, bad days, and worse days.

Well, it's not like I'm an expert, he thought.

The relative peace of working and listening to customers was quickly shattered.

Logan, a thought inside his head, but not his own.

Logan clicked his tongue. Why now? And for what?

"You always have such perfect timing, Charles. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Can't your old professor just want to know how you're doing?"

"Charles, I've taken care of the first target. And I've attracted the attention of a local supervillain group called the Undersiders. Nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yeah, they're just kids under those masks. Kids with an attitude, but kids nonetheless."

"Aha. Well, as you wish. You're the best at what you do, after all. Although it's true you have a weakness for children, whether they're supervillains or not."

"What are you trying to say?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean. Though I don't blame you, I'm the same way."

Logan grunted. It was what he did when he agreed but didn't want to admit it.

"Good luck, my friend," Charles said, cutting the connection.

He would leave him alone, for now.

Fine, he didn't feel like talking. He'd already done more than enough of that in the past few days. Having to play bartender and not even being able to complain, because it had been his idea.

Charles's voice left him, and peace returned to The Princess.

This time, of course, it didn't take long to be broken either. One of his regulars went to the bar to pay for everything he had ordered. Then he headed for the door to leave. People coming and going, nothing more.

But this one couldn't leave.

He opened the door and, a second later, went flying backward. His feet left the ground and he was thrown as if he weighed nothing at all, landing almost on top of a table, dragged by a wave of heat. He almost killed himself, hitting the edge of the table. Still, he took a good hit against the chair.

Heat? Yes. As soon as the man opened the door, it was like a fire in an apartment building. You open a door or a window and all the hot air is released at once, seeming to rush out to devour you.

Heat? But what had happened? What was this?

"Are you okay? I'll help you," another customer said, getting up to help him.

The man just got up, without a word, too scared for words, surely. No, he wasn't scared, he had no idea what fear was. But he was thoughtful. What had happened?

"I know you're in there," a voice came from outside, a young girl. "Come out or burn with your damn place. The choice is yours."

Now he understood. It was the only reasonable answer from the beginning. Who was responsible for this? Burnscar, simply. One of the Slaughterhouse Nine's relatively recent acquisitions. Like all the others, she had a pretty powerful ability. Not only was she pyrokinetic, but she could teleport between flames without taking damage.

Logan blocked the main door with one of the tables and a chair. It surely wouldn't hold for long, but that didn't mean it wasn't worth doing. At least it was a gesture that benefited the scared civilians, who were standing around waiting for someone to do something, even if it was just a symbolic gesture.

"There's nothing to fear," Logan said. "Follow me. I have a secure basement under the place. It should hold until the authorities arrive, if I don't take care of her first."

The latter, however, he only thought. Talking about what he intended to do, putting up a fight instead of hiding and cutting off some fingers, would be better for when everyone was in the hole. Otherwise, he risked them running with their tails between their legs, like headless chickens.

Logan led them to the secure basement. The back, a secret compartment and a lever. Voila. They plunged into darkness. The lights gradually came on as they passed. They didn't put up much of a fight, just a few complaints that went in one ear and out the other. They could complain all they wanted, but in the end, they hadn't resisted. And that said it all.

"Stay here," Logan said. "I'll take care of her."

No one answered, naturally. Well, they would stay there, whether they wanted to or not. Unless one of them happened to have super strength.

Logan closed the basement and put the key away again. Then, he was ready to run to the front door, but he thought better of it. He grabbed the basement key and bent it so that it wouldn't fit in the lock precisely. This was also close to being a symbolic gesture. Even if he couldn't open it with the key, Burnscar would simply kick it down on her own. In fact, she wouldn't even look for the damn key. But it was something. At least it would slow her down a bit in the worst-case scenario.

Logan came out of the back just in time to welcome the pyromaniac, with open arms.

"What'll you have?" Logan asked.

"Nothing."

"Then I'll ask first, dollface. How is it you know I killed Mannequin?"

It was supposed to be a secret. For the heroes, for everyone. Except for the bug girl who had spied on her. He highly doubted she had shared the information with the Nine, especially in such a short period of time. There was something fishy going on. There had to be a catch.

Burnscar smiled from ear to ear. She looked more like an excited child than a mass murderer.

"Of course you'd like to know. But you won't."

The girl raised both arms, her fists wrapped in flames up to the elbow.

"Because this is the end of the line, Logan."

The flames rose quickly, consuming his establishment.

Son of a bitch, he thought. Son of a bitch. No respect for a man's hard work.

Wolverine unsheathed his claws, so to speak.

It was time to tear it all to shreds.

Wolverine lunged at Burnscar.

The air was thick with the smell of burning wood, and the smoke grew thicker, blacker, and denser with each passing second. He leaped, pouncing on her while screaming like a wild animal. But he never reached her, because Burnscar let herself fall backward, surrendering to the embrace of the flames.

It was no suicide move, of course, nor was it just the natural fire immunity of a pyrokinetic. Burnscar fell in one spot and emerged on the other side of the room, unscathed.

"Don't think you can intimidate me with your little tricks. I know exactly what you can do, Burnscar. I've read the files. Or should I call you Mimi?"

That got the expected reaction. Burnscar scowled and shot fire from both hands. The fireballs flew at high speed and slammed directly into him. But it was useless because Logan had raised his arms in a cross, protecting himself with his claws and forearms—a cross, the X of the X-Men. While shielding himself, he never stopped running, of course, charging straight for his enemy.

When the fire gave him a moment's rest, Logan dropped and slid across the floor. He swept her legs out from under her and tried to end it all in a single blow. But his claws ended up buried in the wood where her damn skull had been just an instant before. So close. Very, very close.

But the difference between almost and nothing was zero in a situation like this. In other words, he didn't kill her. Burnscar slipped from his grasp, rolling on the floor and straight into another cluster of flames, teleporting instantly.

Where to? Up? Down? Left? Right?

He scanned the room quickly. What was left of it under the smoke and flames, anyway. But he didn't see her, and he didn't see the blow coming either.

A blast of fire hit him square-on, lifting his feet off the ground. It sent him flying toward the ceiling, but he never made it. No. Instead, he was slammed back down to earth with a sudden discharge of force. And another.

So that's how it's gonna be, huh? Wolverine thought.

He didn't hit his head on landing but instead stopped himself on the floor. He took the blow, digging his claws into the ground. Logan grabbed one of the chairs, the closest one. He spun it in his hand and then threw it as if it were a knife or something of the sort. Burnscar reduced it to ashes before it even got close.

Well, he hadn't expected any less. He resumed his charge. He had been able to handle the completely inhuman body of the Mannequin, though undoubtedly Bonesaw would have reinforced the more physically vulnerable members of the Nine. There was nothing that adamantium couldn't cut. Therefore, his victory was very simple. He just had to get close. He could end the fight with a single blow. No matter how much she dodged, no matter how much she resisted, a single blow, a graze, would send arms and legs flying. It would put an end to this.

Well, not entirely.

Followed by bursts of fire, Logan ran behind the bar, taking cover. He had to make a good leap, just in time, but in the end, it was worth it. He chose a small change of tactics. The jump hadn't just been for cover. Of course not. Although he didn't need it, he had a shotgun behind the bar, considering it a normal precaution. Something necessary to maintain his cover, given the circumstances in the city or what was left of it. So he grabbed the shotgun and pulled the trigger twice.

It hit Burnscar square in the chest. The girl staggered. Regardless of any modifications she had, it had hit her, hurt her, and made her bleed. Not as much as it perhaps should have, but she wasn't that tough. If he reached her with his claws, he would tear her apart much more easily than Mannequin. That was clear.

"You son of a bitch!"

Burnscar knelt and leaped into the fire. She appeared right behind him. He saw her out of the corner of his eye, reflected in one of the many bottles. He also saw that she was now unharmed. The teleportation had healed her wounds. An atypical regeneration factor. Not as strong as his, not by a long shot. It couldn't be. But still, inconvenient.

Logan spun around, howling, flailing his arms. One of his opponent's arms went flying along with a spray of blood. Logan flew too, over the bar and to the other end of the room, nearly ending up in a cradle of flames.

Burnscar's howl rose even above the roar of the flames. Naturally, she had just lost an arm. And what was worse, she hadn't expected it. Obviously, she went around thinking it couldn't be that easy. That was perhaps the biggest shock. She might have expected a few cuts, but half of her arm had disappeared in an instant instead. In that howl, there was more surprise and rage than pain. For now. Perhaps her power dampened the pain as well. The adrenaline spreading like the fire. Maybe it was something, some modification from Bonesaw. In any case, she didn't seem to really feel it.

Burnscar bent down, retrieving her arm.

"Quite the claws. Now I see why you took care of Mannequin where so many others have failed."

She threw herself into the flames, appearing behind him again. Whole again. With her arm back in its place. Like a phoenix.

"But you're in my territory. It won't be so easy to get rid of me."

Oh yeah? Logan thought. And what happens when the place stops burning and collapses on our heads? When you run out of tricks and second chances?

But he decided not to say anything. It wasn't worth wasting his breath. Mannequin had been easy to agitate in his madness. For this girl, it seemed like everything just rolled off her. Therefore, keeping his mouth shut was the advantage.

He was in the middle of reloading the shotgun, but it didn't matter. It melted in his hands. He dropped the rest to the floor, clicking his tongue. The effect killed. She was a psychopath. So, of course, it wasn't that she chose not to melt him with her mind. It was that she couldn't directly affect him with her powers. Unlike more than one X-Man he could think of. Although, publicly, they had to play by the rules. Pretend as Charles wanted. In any case, she couldn't directly affect biological matter, but a shotgun was another story.

He should have thrown it. From the first moment, is what he meant. He should have known it would only work once, by surprise, and then the enemy would wipe that piece off the map. Well, anyone can make a mistake.

In a cold silence, and in reality more savage than his howls, Wolverine went after Burnscar again and again. And again and again, the little psychopath slipped away at the last moment. She couldn't harm him with her fire, only ruin his clothes. But he couldn't reach her either. A stalemate.

Almost.

In any case, it was broken when a blast of fire sent him through a wall into the back of the establishment, where the flames were just beginning to spread. Burnscar followed him without fear, despite everything. Despite the fact that it temporarily limited her options.

Wolverine leaped to his feet, as if nothing had happened.

"I'm not stupid, you know," Burnscar said. "I haven't forgotten about the customers. I highly doubt they had time to escape. Or that you would have let them go. You probably expected someone to be at the back door, ready to ambush them. Or that I would do it myself. They must be in there. They must still be in here."

"Fine."

She wasn't stupid, true. Burnscar spotted the hatch. Her cold eyes lit up for the first time.

"Ah, there it is. I'm going to incinerate them."

"Easy there, bitch."

Logan planted his feet on the ground. He spread his legs and gathered strength in them to leap, directly at the enemy. His mouth open in a roar. Claws out in front. Hair spiked and full of stuck-on ashes. And full of ashes. His hair stuck to his skin.

Burnscar intercepted him by forming a wall of fire. Logan passed through it without much trouble. But well. The impact diverted his trajectory. He didn't reach Burnscar but landed further away, rolling on the ground. Putting himself out.

That gave the bitch time to melt the hatch and take a step inside.

Logan clicked his tongue.

"Dammit."

He had to protect those poor sons of bitches. If he carried anything, it was the weight of the deaths of countless people. These people wouldn't be the straw that broke the camel's back. Not by a long shot. For starters, it wasn't a glass. Not even a bucket. It was an ocean. But that didn't mean he wanted to let his sins keep piling up.

"Enough!" he shouted.

Burnscar, naturally, turned a deaf ear. He heard her bare feet on each step. Logan got up and went after her, following her inside. He wasn't fast enough to stop her before she entered.

The poor bastards looked at her, terrified. Some tried to flee, even though the murderous psychopath had entered through the only exit. Others, slightly smarter in their fear, tried to hide, to seek refuge, even though they were surrounded by wood and would burn anyway.

And Logan dug his claws into Burnscar's shoulder. The girl winced, falling to her knees.

"I said enough. You're wrong. You're the one in my territory."

Logan wasn't one to waste time talking. He gave her an unnecessary earful, yes, but he started the next attack before he even opened his mouth. Burnscar grabbed his wrist with her other hand. She turned out to be stronger than he thought. Not a resistance he couldn't overcome, but it prevented the claws from sinking into her eye, reaching her brain. One more second and he would break her resistance. He would execute her in front of these civilians.

However, he didn't have that privilege, that one more second. The blast of fire was stronger than all the previous ones. An uncontrolled explosion. The eye of a firestorm.

His back hit the wall again. The impact knocked the wind out of his lungs. Briefly, but it did. Even Burnscar herself was affected. She fell onto a wooden table, breaking it in half. The flames began to spread through the basement. Like any fire, it was getting faster and faster. Soon, the entire establishment would have transformed into a death trap.

Logan had to admit it. He should have sent them out the back door. Trusted that they would find their way home or to any other place they considered safe on their own. He had made a mistake.

He got up again. He always got up. Yes, it was a mistake, but it didn't have to cost anyone their life.

"James!" one of the customers shouted.

"James," Burnscar repeated, "that's funny. You don't look like a James."

Logan didn't take a step forward. The flames gleamed on his adamantium claws.

"You don't look like a Mimi. And yet, here we are."

Burnscar scowled and got up from the ruins of the table.

"Oh, right. You know my name. That's not funny."

Chapter Text

"Because this ain't a joke, Mimi," Wolverine shot back.

He was wasting oxygen. He knew it, but something pushed him to keep responding, as if she were listening. Something, he couldn't say what, and in the end, it didn't matter.

"You can't provoke me," Burnscar said. "Not when I'm already out of my mind. Hell, I don't even know what being in my mind is anymore."

The woman, or rather the girl, gave a joyless laugh. But with great energy and violence, she lifted a table and threw it at him. Logan didn't move an inch, didn't even blink. He just stood there, waiting for it to reach him so he could slice it in half. He tore it to shreds, and of course, Burnscar appeared in the gap.

Her hands were wrapped in flames, her eyes burning too. Ready for what she undoubtedly expected to be a final blow.

And so it was. It was the final blow, just not for him.

Burnscar fell immediately because, with a single strike, Wolverine severed her right arm and left leg. She dropped to the floor like a broken doll. The blood, the curtain of blood that spread rapidly, soon reflected the burning ceiling. Almost. Someone choked back a scream. The rest, not so much.

Naturally, Burnscar was nothing but a monster, a threat to their lives, but it was still a brutal thing to witness with their own eyes. They were just stupid civilians.

"Get running," Logan ordered. "Come on, get the hell out of here."

They obeyed. Slowly, but they obeyed. Some stopped halfway to bend over and vomit. Others, however, didn't stop, even as they puked.

Logan crouched in front of Burnscar, or what was left of her. He wasn't going to do what he did with Mannequin, of course. He intended to put her out of her misery. The girl looked back at him with clouded eyes; it was the look of someone who had just woken from a long dream.

Logan didn't hesitate. He raised an arm, ready to plunge his claws between her eyebrows, ending this instantly. He didn't hesitate, but…

"Oh, I've done it again," Mimi said.

Like a beaten dog.

Logan didn't lower his arm. But, well, there were things worth investigating.

"What are you talking about?"

"The more fire, the less guilt, the less pain and fear." The girl coughed several times, spitting blood. "But also less of everything else."

"I see."

"No, you don't, but it doesn't matter."

Her eyelids were already closing.

"I guess this is for the best, deep down. I never had the guts to do it myself. And where I'm going, there will be no more fear. I won't have to feel guilty about anything."

"Guilt isn't something you should hide from," Logan replied. "On the contrary, it makes you human. But I'm not one to give advice. And it doesn't matter anymore."

Burnscar, that is, Mimi, nodded.

"It had to happen sooner or later. A fiery grave is the best I could have hoped for."

Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but she seemed to see through it. If it weren't for half her body being missing, she would look like a normal girl, about to fall asleep. Just that.

"Does it hurt?" Logan asked.

Mimi closed her eyes for the last time.

"No."

Logan nodded, as if she could see him. And quickly, he plunged his claws between her eyebrows. An almost instantaneous death. A kinder end than it looked. Probably, but that wasn't the point.

It was a victory, but not the kind that felt good. Nor the opposite. He certainly wasn't going to vomit and regret it as if he had made some kind of mistake. However, it didn't sit right with him. That was all. It didn't have to be more complicated than that.

Logan stood up, lifting the body, taking it with him. A tomb of flames was most appropriate, but no. Just no. He walked through the smoke and flames to the exit. Apparently, everyone had managed to get out safely. He wouldn't have to rescue anyone from under flaming debris or anything like that. Good.

But the outside world wasn't much better than the inside, and it had bigger problems than a burning bar. As if a bomb had gone off, there was broken glass everywhere, and blood too. Yes, quite a bit. He could hear groans of pain, screams, but he was more concerned about the silences.

Logan quickly understood what had happened. While Burnscar was attacking his place and keeping him distracted, Shatterbird had announced the Nine's arrival in the city in the way she knew best: by singing.

"Great," he muttered, laying the body on the ground for now. "Just great."

No one had said it would be easy, but, well, at least now they were the Seven, not the Nine. That was something.

"Charles," Logan called out in his mind, hoping he would receive it right away.

He was back in his room. The fire had destroyed the first floor of the bar, but not the second. It was still intact.

It was a shame, but the bar itself was no longer useful to him. It had served its purpose: to establish himself, to gather information beyond the reports. It had served him well, so he could accept it. Now he had other things on his mind. He knew he wouldn't like the conversation, but he was wise enough to know that meant he had to have it.

"Logan," Charles replied after a moment. "I didn't expect you to take the initiative. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Burnscar is dead too."

"I see. But I doubt that's all, is it?"

Naturally, it wasn't a question.

"Burnscar's powers were tied to her mental state. Basically, she was a pyromaniac. The more fire, the more euphoria. But without the fire... Well, there was still fire, but on the verge of death... It seems... it seems that was cut off, and in front of me was just a scared and regretful girl. Could you... could you have fixed her, Charles?"

Silence.

"I'm not looking for lies about the supposed limits of your power, or what you would or would never do. I asked you a question. Yes or no?"

"Yes. With the right mental blocks. If... if you were right about her, yes. I could have saved her."

"I see," Wolverine replied, both in his mind and out loud. "That's all I needed to know."

He sat on the bed and ended the conversation.

"I gave you a direct order, Miss Militia."

Director Emily Piggot, looking at her from across the desk, leaned back in her seat, sighing deeply. It was no surprise. She had always given the impression of being one of those people who believed everyone was against them. So it was doubly painful to see it confirmed, at least from her point of view. Therefore, she actually seemed more disappointed than angry.

Hannah recognized that, but she didn't regret it, not at all. She knew it, even if the director wanted to tell her otherwise. She knew she had done what had to be done.

"Being a soldier is about more than just following orders," she continued.

In the end, that plan, to use Mannequin as bait, wasn't a plan. It was suicide, at best. It wouldn't have worked. No one would have gotten hurt, perhaps. But the Nine would have recovered Mannequin, at best.

Piggot sighed again.

"You didn't even hear my proposal."

Hannah wanted to say that it didn't matter, that she was aware that her team, let alone the Wards, of course, were not ready to face the Nine. Not really. And certainly not all at once like that. Luring them all in, the best they could hope for was a quick death. They had a chance, but only if they approached this one by one. Just as Mannequin himself had fallen.

"If it were that simple, the world would have rid itself of the Nine many years ago."

Together they were the most terrifying and powerful group of mass-murdering supervillains in history. But separately, they were just mass murderers with superpowers. Even the leader, Jack, despite controlling them all on his own, seemed even the least threatening. He made it work, but his power wasn't all that great.

Hannah could have said all that, but she chose to keep her mouth shut, aware that it wasn't worth it and that Piggot was eager to lay out her elaborate plan. So she waited until she finally started.

"We could have lured them all into an abandoned building and then bombed it."

"That's the big plan?" Miss Militia blinked. "A few bombs? What about Crawler, the Siberian?"

That animalistic woman was more than just a mass murderer with superpowers. She was a symbol of evil, the person who had killed the first of the superheroes. Not counting Scion, of course. Did she really think it would be as simple as dropping a bunch of bombs? Not that it wasn't a justified response considering everything the Slaughterhouse 9 had done. Still, it didn't matter what she thought of it. The point was, it wouldn't work.

"You didn't let me finish," Director Piggot said. "It's a shame, Hannah. Not just insubordination. You no longer have the basic decency of patience and good manners. Stress affects everyone, but come on."

Piggot shook her head.

"Nobody said anything about normal bombs. We have a stash of Bakuda's bombs. The effects of each bomb are unpredictable. Maybe even to her, at this point."

Piggot shrugged dismissively.

For fuck's sake. Hannah had a lot of practice with bad bosses. Also bosses she just didn't like. And a lot of patience. But the last few days were seriously testing it.

"That's in our favor. Not against us," Piggot continued finally. "It was appropriate, but there was nothing that was going to blow up half the city or anything like that. We can contain the damage. All the esoteric effects would only affect... But more importantly, this isn't a negotiation. I don't have to, nor will I, try to convince you. I'm telling you how things are going to be. Look, Militia, you've robbed us all of that opportunity. It's pointless now, but it would have worked. It would have. We would have done the world a favor. You chose a bad time to start acting unbearably. You may be dismissed."

"You're not going to punish me?"

"What can I do? Make you sit in the corner like a child? You know perfectly well what you did wrong. And whatever you are, I need you out there. I can't afford to lose any men. Armsmaster is enough of a loss already."

Armsmaster was helping as he could, under Dragon's supervision from his prison-like room. But she understood perfectly what she meant, of course. But it wasn't the same, of course.

Why did it have to be this way? she thought, not for the first or last time.

Hannah nodded. Since she was excused, she left without looking back. She hadn't regretted it before. In fact, she was now even more certain that she had made the right decision. She wished she hadn't had to betray the chain of command for it. But few things were as they should be in Brockton Bay in general.

Hannah sighed. She was a soldier. And she would continue to fight until she fell. That's what mattered.

Chapter Text

Of course, the Protectorate paid him a visit right away; it was inevitable they would show interest in him. When they arrived, he was on the sofa, waiting calmly, his gaze fixed on a movie that had already ended, where there were only credits: white text on a black background.

They had no reason to hold him; he hadn't done anything wrong. In fact, quite the opposite, he had done the world a favor, but now they couldn't ignore him. Between killing Mannequin and now Burnscar, they couldn't ignore him.

The first should have been more of a theory, really. From Mannequin's condition, from today's events, from many things... well, it was such a convincing theory that surely none of them doubted it. Even if someone did, he supposed they couldn't settle for a "maybe it's not like that." No, sir. In short, for very good, but irritating, reasons, he soon found himself in an interrogation room, surrounded by clowns, dressed as such.

He was in no position to cast the first stone, of course. He wore the X-Men uniform with the same pride as the others when he wore it, but well, that didn't make it any less true.

The clowns from the Protectorate introduced themselves. Incidentally, according to his information, there were two notable absences. Armsmaster's had an explanation, though it wasn't public knowledge, but Miss Militia's absence irked him a bit. And they didn't stop talking, mostly to state things he already knew: they reminded him that he had killed Wolfgang and accused him of killing Mannequin. They told him he would need protection, that Jack wouldn't stop, not after he had killed two of his own, no matter how much he wanted to live a quieter life.

Logan replied that he didn't give a damn, though not exactly in those words. That he was only here to start over, since a ruined city was the cheapest place he could find for that.

He didn't try too hard and wasn't very subtle, but as mentioned, they couldn't hold him. After too much back and forth, Logan simply stood up from the chair, determined to leave, knowing they couldn't really stop him, but then something changed. More specifically, the screen in the center.

Maybe she had a personal interest, maybe... Well, that didn't matter.

"Logan, I know who you are. Ah, yes, you prefer I call you that. Enough, for those who know how to look, like me. I've built a profile on you, and I know you're not a bad person. Darkness and violence follow you, but you seem to have your heart in the right place."

Dragon crossed her arms.

"So you should help us. You should recognize that it's the right decision, the most logical one."

Logan shrugged.

"Maybe," he admitted, "but I work better alone. To convince me to do something I don't want to do, the easiest thing for a woman is to offer incentives."

Logan approached the screen, each step slow, sure, as if all the power in the room were concentrated in him. Well, they might be members of the Protectorate, but Brockton Bay was not a major city, not by a long shot. Not a great concentration of power. Besides, that was his style: small but tough. He had spent his whole life tearing down taller towers, arrogant but unstable.

He wasn't going to back down from anyone.

"But I'm afraid you lack those... capabilities."

Dragon frowned. She understood instantly that he also knew who she was, somehow. Or rather, what she was. That much was obvious.

"I don't understand," one of the idiots whispered. Assault, he thought his name was.

And his partner, both on and off the battlefield, apparently, whispered back:

"The accident in Newfoundland, stupid. She must have been... that's why she's so reclusive."

Assault had the decency to look ashamed of what that implied. Not too much. They were wrong. But they weren't far off either. It wasn't that Dragon's body had been damaged. It was that she didn't have a body, in the first place. She wasn't human. She was just an AI.

"You won't tell," Dragon said. It wasn't a question. She was sure of his character, for whatever reason.

How much data on him had she had access to? Did she know about Weapon X? Did she know about his work for the X-Men? It bothered him a little that a stranger knew him so well, because, indeed, she was right.

"No," Logan replied. "I'm not like that. I'm just telling you that, for everyone's sake, the best thing you can do is stay, and keep everyone else, out of my way. Wolverine works alone. I'll take care of the Slaughterhouse. They think they're a big deal, untouchable, but this old man in front of you is the true alpha predator. Jack has no idea what he's getting into. And neither do you."

That was also the truth, down to the last word.

"Just tell me one thing." Dragon lowered her arms on the screen. Nothing more than an avatar. Obviously inhuman. Indistinct, without a particular race. Amorphous. "Do you know because of Xavier?"

"No, though you're free not to believe me."

"Actually, I believe you. You have various contacts."

With what she must know about the X-Men, and the dirtier jobs he carried out. Okay, that was irritating. But he didn't let it show.

"Yeah, dollface, you said it."

"Are we really just going to let him walk?" another woman asked. Challenger, he thought. He couldn't remember her powers right now.

Dragon shrugged again.

"What can we do? Arrest him for killing members of the Nine? For protecting civilians in our place?"

"I don't like it," said Triumph, "but she's right."

Of course she is, Logan thought. She's more sensible than all of you put together. And she's not even human. Or maybe that's precisely why. Who knows?

"Good talk."

Logan left, walking out of the interrogation room, out of the building. He just wanted to go home, rest, and think about his next move.

The first floor of The Princess was a complete disaster. It would remain closed for a good while. Well, forever, which was the same thing. He didn't intend to stay in Brockton Bay for long. For the second floor, it was cozy enough. He didn't need a home, just a hole to take refuge in, a roof and four walls. They weren't strictly necessary either.

However, on the way back, things went sideways.

More specifically, something hit him with the force of a freight train. Logan popped his claws and held them in front of him, resisting the pressure. The thing rammed him, smashing him through several half-demolished houses. Despite his efforts to stop, he shattered pillars, destroyed furniture and walls. He kicked up dust, caused showers of debris, and finished the job more than once. At least one of the houses was reduced to nothing more than a pile of rubble.

Well, it could have been worse. It could have been inhabited.

He finally stopped in the middle of the street, after passing through five buildings, no less, as if they were made of paper. Logan, well, he hurt his back a bit, but nothing serious; as if he'd been whipped a few times, no more. Insignificant, almost imperceptible. And, of course, the thing hadn't hurt itself at all either.

Logan took a step back. He looked up, seeing the whole creature: a horrendous mass of arms and eyes and tentacles and all sorts of things. He knew perfectly well what was in front of him. He had seen older photos, different adaptations, things in other places, but well, it evolved very quickly, so it was normal. Crawler, another member of the Slaughterhouse 9, of course.

"Another freak," he said aloud, mockingly.

"Look who's talking," it responded in a predictably deep voice. Before laughing, through many mouths, sounding like a child, like a man, like a woman.

Wolverine almost shivered. Creepy as hell, disgusting.

"I know you. You're looking for someone who can really hurt you, who can force you to adapt even further, because at this point you can resist almost anything. Well, that's what you think. Well, here I am. Today, you're going to die."

"I like you," the monster replied. "I hope you fight as well as you talk."

The brutal fight began in the middle of the ruined, wet street. The few people around had started to get the hell out of there since they crashed through a building, of course.

Logan's claws tore through Crawler's body as if it were made of butter, again and again, while the large, clumsy monster was completely unable to reach him. He moved too fast, jumped too high, and used the terrain too well for that.

However, the wounds didn't last long, and he didn't just regenerate. Although perhaps slower than was normal for his power, it was obvious that he was already beginning to adapt. So it didn't matter that Crawler was unable to touch Logan; in the end, he had the upper hand. If things continued like this, in fact, his victory would be inevitable. The time would come when his claws, his only real weapon, would become useless against the monster. And then he could only flee or die, both equally crushing and unacceptable defeats.

Fortunately, it wasn't going to continue like this. He was no idiot. A wild beast, yes, but not an idiot.

"I see," Logan said, cracking his neck, stretching. "You're a real monster, but that won't let you get away. Don't think it's going to be that easy."

He wasn't bluffing. He meant it, and he knew perfectly well, and was perfectly aware of everything, that Crawler was going to die today.

And he would die.

Chapter Text

Crawler wasted no time. They'd talked enough—now all that remained was to settle this. As a killer himself, he understood that monster instinctively. Few people or things had more blood on their hands than him.

Crawler didn't charge straight at him, at least not at first. Instead, he grabbed one of the cars parked along the roadside—an empty one—and hurled it like it weighed nothing.

Which it didn't. It would take an entire junkyard to match Crawler's mass. The car nearly caught Logan mid-leap as he jumped toward his enemy, but he slashed through it, split it in half, and passed through the gap without breaking stride.

Through that gap, Crawler nearly landed on top of him. Logan planted his feet the instant he touched down. On impact, his claws sank deep into the underside of that abomination's body. He held it a few inches above his head before hurling it back, even as his arms shattered and the blinding pain of regeneration kicked in.

Logan wasn't surprised, but Crawler clearly was—he hadn't expected anything like that. He didn't have a proper face, but it wasn't hard to read what he was thinking. That surprise must have doubled when Logan tossed him aside like a bag of garbage. The ground cracked from the impact.

His arms hurt worse and worse, still not fully healed. Every movement would be an effort. Logan made a snap decision. He threw himself at the nearest lamppost, grabbed it with both hands, and swung around it like a pendulum before launching himself into a spin. He hit the building's facade, his claws punching deep through concrete. He kept climbing, leaping like a leopard and driving his claws in with each bound. He was graceful, his speed almost flight.

Naturally, Crawler pursued him, destroying everything in his path. The cascade of falling debris was relentless, thunderous. Logan jumped from chunk to chunk as soon as he ran out of wall. He planted his boot on one piece, pivoted, and launched himself again, returning to street level. But he hadn't run in circles just to end up back where he started—only close.

Some of the debris severed arms, legs, and other pieces of Crawler's body, that amorphous, chaotic mass that seemed endless—but of course they regenerated immediately. Still, it was a good sign. Logan took a deep breath. A sign that his adaptations weren't absolute, that he could actually hurt him. The building debris had damaged him—just an ordinary building. Not much damage, and it hadn't lasted, but it mattered.

Logan clenched his fists. The bones in his arms were more or less back in place. He didn't know how long this would last. Probably not long. He was no fortune teller, but once again his instincts proved accurate.

Crawler lunged straight at him, giving him neither time nor space to dodge. So he had to stop him head-on. Logan caught those gaping jaws—hungry, wide open—by jamming one set of claws into the roof of its mouth and the other into the bottom, keeping it from biting down but not from trying with everything it had. Logan gritted his teeth. Taking a page from Crawler's playbook, he switched to holding the jaws with one hand. It wouldn't last long, but he didn't need it to. With his free hand, he grabbed the nearest car, his claws punching through the hood, and shoved it straight into that mouth.

He'd thought it would do something—thought the car would explode in there, damage him, or at least give him indigestion. But Crawler simply crushed it with those massive teeth, and his stomach had surely adapted as much as his exterior. He digested it effortlessly, probably melting it with stomach acid.

The thought was horrifying. That, and how many people could have died in there—in that suffocating, humid darkness, dissolving slowly. He didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't help himself. That's just how he was. Besides, it sounded painfully realistic. Pure evil, but realistic.

The most unrealistic thing was this recent notion that there were only misunderstood villains or people led down the wrong path. Villains with souls, with hope for redemption. Pure evil existed—no question. And Crawler was exactly what he appeared to be: nothing more than an adrenaline junkie hooked on the thrill of a fight, of risking his life and killing his enemies. He really was an addict. His own power made the next high harder and harder to reach. The time would come when he'd lose hope of getting stronger, tougher, of finding worthy opponents. And he'd turn all that power against himself. But that moment would never come, because he was going to die here and now.

Logan had sworn it out loud. He was no boy scout. But as an animal and as a hunter, he wouldn't go back on that promise.

Crawler would die today. Nothing more to say.

But it quickly became clear that despite his best efforts, he'd screwed up. Crawler had already adapted to the adamantium in his claws, which made his only weapon basically useless against the monster.

All he could do was grit his teeth and hope for the best.

He'd hoped he'd never have to say that. Hoped he could still turn this around. He could still hurt the monster, but not enough to reach its vital organs or chop it into pieces too small to regenerate. A crazy idea. He saw that now. The only viable solution—he forced himself to the conclusion immediately—was to lure the monster to the sea.

Easier said than done, of course. He didn't have a concrete plan, but one was starting to form. Once they reached the sea, the docks, the bay—everything would be decided one way or another.

Logan ran harder. To his surprise, Crawler didn't try to slow him down or stop him. As he raced through the streets, dodging obstacles and using fleeing civilians as unwitting cover, Crawler completely ignored the people running in panic, letting them escape. He simply followed. He must have known his prey wasn't just fleeing but leading him into a trap. But he didn't give a damn. He wasn't afraid—quite the opposite. The idea excited him. His only goal was to get stronger and stronger through his power's adaptations. So he'd actually welcome the trap working. He couldn't imagine Logan didn't intend to kill him or overwhelm his power somehow, but simply to take him off the board, make him irrelevant.

Or would he risk it anyway, even if he suspected? Didn't matter. He had what he wanted.

Brockton Bay—the bay that gave the city its name, once so vital to its economic growth—was now closed, nothing more than a ship graveyard. Just what he needed.

Logan vaulted the railing, hit the beach in a roll, and kept running. He was small, and among the wrecked ships exposed to the elements 24/7, he seemed even smaller. Crawler, meanwhile, was as tall as the largest vessels, his destructive force comparable to a hurricane—he left nothing intact.

For the first time in a long time, his adamantium claws had failed him. Time to see if the bastard would enjoy a vacation at the bottom of the sea. One-way ticket.

There were plenty of heavy iron chains on the permanently beached ships. They'd serve him well. He grabbed a couple of chains, hefted them, and made the most of his now-limited mobility, circling Crawler, binding him. That mass of a body was covered in limbs—plenty of places to wrap things tight. Making several passes, spinning the chain round and round, it didn't pierce his body, didn't hurt him, but that wasn't the point. He had no illusions that Crawler couldn't break free eventually, but he didn't need them to hold forever—just long enough. It had to work. And if it didn't, well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

His heart pounded—not from fear, but from what he was: a hunter in the middle of a good hunt. He wasn't afraid, but he was slightly uneasy. Some old trauma, a dehumanizing one, one of the worst experiences of his long life—but he had to admit it: he'd gotten used to adamantium, to being able to depend on it, to cutting through anything in his path. Facing an enemy that could adapt even to that was unsettling, and he didn't know what he'd do if this didn't work. Well, he'd figure it out as he went. Like always. He trusted in that.

As Crawler thrashed, trying to reach him and shed the chains, he kicked up clouds of sand. Sand particles, the monster's black blood, and Logan's red human blood mixed in the air, along with the beast's howls—howls from hundreds of mouths.

Okay. Step one: wrap the chains. Done.

Step two was obvious and simple. The only problem was whether he could pull it off before Crawler broke free. He was talking about dragging the ships from their moorings into the sea, letting their weight pull the monster down to the dark depths. Very simple, in theory at least. On paper. He had to try. It was worth the shot.

Logan pushed the first ship with everything he had, dragging it across the sand. His body protested, but he was strong and durable—he didn't even break his arms like when Crawler had landed on him. It took considerable effort, but everything held together. He watched as the first ship slid back into the water and Crawler rolled closer to the sea. In fact, the thing nearly crushed him. He barely jumped clear. Crawler didn't touch the water. He stopped himself with hundreds of arms, legs, and tentacles, and lashed out like a whip despite the weight of the anchors and ships working against him.

The beast roared, but it wasn't just anger—it almost sounded like laughter. He was a monster, a madman, but Logan couldn't say he didn't know what it was like to enjoy a good fight, to savor breaking bones and smelling his enemies' blood. To prove his dominance. Yeah, that animal impulse was something he understood perfectly. That's why he'd known how to exploit it, and that was his only hope the plan would work.

Logan threw the second ship into the sea. From the adrenaline, the pain, and the proximity of victory, maybe, it was even easier than the first. This was a ship graveyard, meaning neither vessel was seaworthy—they couldn't even float. So they sank and dragged Crawler down with them to the dark depths. He'd hit the bottom and never resurface. Not ever.

Logan stood at the water's edge, waves lapping at his boots as they rose and fell, waiting to see if it worked.

It didn't work.

He lost sight of Crawler almost immediately, but he heard enough. He heard the chains breaking.

Logan scowled. Time to change plans. Problem was, he didn't have a plan B. So it was time for a tactical retreat.

Crawler burst from the sea, bellowing. All his roars—hoarse, vicious, full of rage. A hellish cacophony of hundreds of distorted voices, like a glimpse of hell itself. But by then, Logan was gone. While the monster broke the anchors and what remained of the ships, Logan went the opposite direction, diving and swimming toward the far shore.

By the time he emerged, Crawler was already out, looking around for his dance partner. He didn't find him, mostly because he was soon distracted.

They'd finally arrived. A few Protectorate members were already engaging him. Or trying to. Logan seriously doubted they'd have more success than he had. He had more power, more experience. He was a professional.

Anyway, they didn't have to kill him. He'd never expected that from them. That's why he'd turned down their offer to cooperate. They just had to distract him long enough for a tactical retreat. And all signs pointed to that being the case. So everything was fine, as long as he came up with a better plan.

He quickly left the docks behind. And the capes still fighting.

"Guess it could've been worse," Wolverine muttered.

Chapter Text

The coast was clear. He vanished while Crawler was distracted, heading back to The Princess. He didn't like this—it felt humiliating. Leaving a fight unfinished. A tactical retreat didn't feel much different from plain running away. But his head wasn't so full of hot air that he couldn't recognize it was necessary, that he was doing the right thing. Without a plan, all he'd do was tire himself out and needlessly endanger civilians. He needed to think of something. And he would think better alone in the darkness of his temporary room.

It had always been that way. Closing his eyes in the dark made it easier to find himself.

He reached The Princess, opened the main door, and headed upstairs, passing through the shattered furniture, the ash, the dust, and the scattered pieces of wood. The fire had been contained, but the rebuilding hadn't started. There was no point. The bar was never going to last long anyway. Now that this had happened, it was simply time to close it down a little early. That was fine.

What wasn't fine was that he had company. He knew it before he opened the door to the second floor—the small apartment, so to speak. Upon entering, he saw them sitting around the table in the combined dining-bar-kitchen area, still as statues, but he'd heard them immediately. Why? Simple. They couldn't hide their breathing. That was all it took. Logan had very good ears.

"Well now," he said calmly, almost as if he'd expected the visit, completely unconcerned. He went to grab a beer from the fridge. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

He looked around. He recognized all of them, of course. The girl with the dog mask—Bitch. The flamboyant French-Canadian. He would've guessed gay, if not for the way he looked at the youngest member of the group. So he was into both. Well, considering who his father was and the kind of environment he grew up in, hedonism was the natural result. No surprise he was into anything. The skull-head surrounded by darkness—Grue, a relatively recent addition. The girl with a cunning, fox-like smile, though now the sharpest thing about her was the scar on her cheek. Curious. That was new. She must have gotten it in the last few days. And, of course, in the center, sitting cross-legged, the bug girl—his secret admirer, Skitter.

The Undersiders had been causing trouble for a long time and could be weeds he needed to pull for the good of the city, to leave it truly safe when he left. Not just killing the Nine, but—well, all in due time.

"We're not looking for a fight," Skitter said. "Sit down."

His first impulse was, as usual, to tell her to go to hell, but then he bit his tongue and decided it would be best to hear what she had to say. Feelings aside, there was no denying they were the Undersiders. They were a pretty effective group of supervillains, achieving victory after victory against the Wards and the Protectorate. And now they were slowly taking over the city. They weren't stupid. Meaning this visit, whatever it was for, had to be important.

"Fine," he said finally, sitting down and putting his feet up on the table. It was his damn table. "I'm listening."

Skitter began to speak, and at first Logan thought the most important thing he'd learn was why Tattletale had a scar—that Jack Slash had shut her up in the most effective way possible. Living up to his name. Surely that urge to shut her up was something she inspired frequently. You didn't have to be a mass-murdering psychopath to feel it. But then Skitter moved on to more interesting things. A game with the Nine. A deal. Not the usual process of tests and candidates for new recruits. If the candidates passed the tests, if they survived, the Nine would leave the city without any further trouble.

It was valuable and inconvenient information for him. The Nine leaving the city was not a victory condition—it was a failure. Anything other than killing them was unacceptable. Several of the Undersiders had been nominated as recruits. They were all... real gems, let's just say.

Then she moved on to the most important part, though it was hard to believe. Logan leaned back in his seat, balancing the chair precariously on its back legs.

"If Jack Slash leaves the city, everyone dies," he repeated. "We're talking about the end of the world caused by a guy who can just extend blades. What are you basing this on?"

"A precog," Skitter began. She didn't get to finish. She was about to share the name, perhaps, but Tattletale put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

"She's very powerful. Reliable. That's all you need to know."

"Even the most powerful precogs are wrong sometimes."

Regent snorted.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't bet on it. I like the world. I live in it."

Grue looked at the Frenchman out of the corner of his eye. Between the darkness and the skull mask, his eyes weren't visible—you couldn't see a damn thing—but Logan knew anyway. Considering their aspirations and the things they'd done, it was a bit of a jarring moment. A reminder that, in the end, they were just a bunch of damn kids. Well, kid or not, he was right. Everything else paled in comparison to the danger of the world's destruction. But Logan had already saved the world more than once and was perfectly capable of doing it again.

"Fair enough, I guess," Logan said, "but for now, I'm doing better than you guys. I've killed two, so... Is there a plan, or am I better off alone? I'm listening."

And he did just that. It wasn't a complicated, multi-step plan. Good. Everyone knew that the more steps, the more likely it was to fail. That wasn't a sign of intelligence—quite the opposite. Or a sign of how desperate the circumstances were, of course.

"What do you think?" Tattletale said.

"Risky, but fine. I'm in."

Logan learned exactly what he'd signed up for. For starters, the Undersiders didn't work alone but cooperated with a group of nomadic supervillains called the Travelers. They hadn't put much thought into the name. All under Coil's umbrella. He knew of Coil and his forces, though not as much as other local groups, precisely because Coil had been less important. He'd been in last place behind Empire 88 and the gang led by Lung—well, before his defeat by Skitter and Bakuda's terrorism campaign, of course. Now Coil was different. Apparently, he had many supervillains under his umbrella, and he was slowly but surely taking over the city. It was a larger and more invasive operation than Logan had thought. Yes, he'd probably have to get rid of Coil, the Travelers, and the Undersiders for this to truly end. But for now, he'd bite his tongue and hold back. Even if he didn't like it, he was no animal. He knew perfectly well he needed the help—but only up to a certain point.

The fate of the world was at stake, but in the end, Logan decided not to tell Charles anything. He decided to handle this on his own, that there was no need to involve the X-Men. The others were busy, and anyway, this was dirty work. This was another job for him. It was best that he finish it with his own hands.

What was the plan? Simple. Jean-Paul—that is, Regent, the little spawn of Heartbreaker—had a power that lived up to his lineage. With enough time to use his power on someone, manipulate their muscles, and get used to the body's signals, Regent could turn other people into his puppets. Humans and parahumans alike. There was no difference.

Therefore, given the kind of enemy they had to face, it seemed like a pretty obvious way to increase their forces. They'd decided to try it on the most apparently vulnerable member, at least now that he'd taken out Burnscar. He was talking about Shatterbird—the bitch who lately announced the arrival of the Slaughterhouse Nine to each city by singing, breaking glass, and causing countless miseries and deaths in an instant. As the song spread, so did the pain. She deserved to end up as some asshole's puppet or whatever. There was no doubt about that. According to Logan, there was no one in the Slaughterhouse Nine who didn't deserve a fate worse than death. He highly doubted he'd find anyone who would argue with that. Many of his friends would tell him it was wrong anyway. But Logan understood the necessity. He didn't have to like it, but he knew how to step aside. He knew when something was necessary.

"When do we move out?" Logan asked.

"They should be passing by here soon," said one of the Travelers. Trickster, the leader.

He looked like he and Regent would get along well.

"We'll see," Logan replied. "If not, we'll do things my way."

"You said you'd cooperate," Skitter said. "Cooperate. There's no need to complicate things."

Logan didn't respond, but he didn't openly challenge her either. Instead, he leaned back against a wall, crossing his arms. He turned his gaze to the road, waiting. What could he say? Tattletale, Skitter—it amused him. There was a fire in them that was hard to find.

It wouldn't be long now. Or so it was supposed, at least. Anyway, he'd signed up, but they hadn't included him much in the plan. In fact, unless something went wrong, he'd have nothing to do. Trickster and Grue covered ninety percent. So, in effect, most of the people on the rooftop were there to stand and watch. At least Bitch got to be the taxi driver. Ha.

Finally, the Nine appeared. Some saw them through binoculars. Skitter apparently just needed her bugs, and his sharp eyesight was enough for him. Among those he hadn't massacred, the biggest problem was Cherish—little Jean-Paul's sister, apparently. She manipulated and read emotions, which was why they had to maintain a very, very safe distance. Better to be safe than sorry, and even then they couldn't be sure it would be enough, that Cherish hadn't already detected them.

Well, as he'd said, it was a simple plan, but that didn't mean it wasn't full of holes.

Logan focused his attention on the Slaughterhouse Nine. Jack Slash, Bonesaw, and Crawler. Above all, the Siberian was the one who would scare most people. A wild and seemingly invincible woman who had not only been able to handle the Triumvirate but had, so to speak, created it by killing Hero. Otherwise there would be four now. Ha.

But Logan had his pride. It still stung a little to have had to make a tactical retreat from Crawler, so he watched him from a distance. Besides, he knew the Siberian's secret. It wouldn't be hard to kill her—or rather, him. So he wasn't worried. He knew that Crawler was actually the hardest member of the Nine to kill.

It seemed they hadn't noticed them, but that couldn't last. Still, they maintained a more than respectable distance, and if everything went well, there wouldn't be a direct fight—only in case of emergency. So it wasn't a big deal. The danger was minimal.

One of the Travelers who was supposed to take Cherish out of the way to start things off began to screw up. Logan frowned, listening to him talk about how she looked like someone from his past, a girl from his class. He listened to him talk about how Cherish was a person after all, while Trickster and even Regent—her brother—tried to convince him to pull the trigger, so to speak. Logan clicked his tongue and frowned even more.

"Are we stupid or what?" Logan said. "It's not like this guy suddenly grew a conscience. Cherish is affecting him."

"From this far away?" Regent asked doubtfully. "I don't know."

Jean-Paul's reaction didn't matter, but Ballistic's did. The doubt, the apprehension vanished from his face in an instant, replaced by anger. No matter how much control Cherish had from such a distance, apparently Ballistic hated being manipulated more.

Because he did it. He completely changed his mind from one second to the next and did it. Cherish collapsed. A red curtain began to spread beneath her body. Where was so much blood coming from? From her head, of course. It was already completely gone. Bam. Ballistic, living up to his name, had wiped Cherish's head off the face of the earth with a single shot.

All these Travelers have awesome powers, Logan thought. Well, he'd also won the lottery when it came to powers. He was aware of that.

Trickster, who had a sniper rifle ready, immediately moved on to the second phase of the plan, shaking off his surprise. Cherish had been the main target, the most they'd hoped to achieve today. That would weaken them and make it easier to approach them by surprise, to ambush them. But Trickster, with a little luck, would finish off Jack Slash. Or that was the idea. Of course, not with a simple sniper rifle. Using his power, Trickster brought Jack considerably closer, swapping him with a corpse at the other end of the street. Trickster held his breath and, with one eye open, squeezed the trigger.

It didn't work. Despite the considerable distance, the Siberian reached Jack in an instant and protected him. The bullet, of course, did absolutely nothing to the projection.

Trickster clicked his tongue.

"Better than nothing," Logan said.

Chapter Text

Nice while it lasted, Logan thought. Now, the Slaughterhouse Nine knew the location of both teams, if they hadn't known from the very beginning. Cherish had obviously affected Ballistic, proving her range was insane, but that didn't mean she hadn't said anything to Jack and the others. Why? Because of what the Undersiders had told him. Tattletale had revealed Cherish's plan to betray Jack, and that's why Jack had marked her. He was furious that she had spoiled the surprise of him already knowing. The pleasure of watching Cherish succumb to despair right after she thought she had won. Given the circumstances, it was very possible the girl didn't want to tell him anything, that she was looking to escape while she could, but in any case, that ship had sailed. The ship of stealth, of the element of surprise. Now the whole thing was shot to hell, but at least they didn't have to worry as much about the Siberian.

She had immense strength and appeared to be invincible, but she could transfer that invincibility to objects or people. That's why the ground didn't break under her feet when she simply walked, for starters. Jack might be crazy, but he was no fool. He knew it was in his best interest to keep the Siberian close to protect himself and the other more vulnerable members of the Slaughterhouse Nine, because in the end, he couldn't do much on his own. He was just a leader of psychopaths for the fun of it. It was the logical thing to do from Jack's point of view, the smart thing.

Logan unsheathed his claws. Unfortunately for Jack, he knew the Siberian's secret, something that probably not even the Slaughterhouse Nine themselves knew, and he was going to end this now.

"Skitter. You can feel through those bugs, can't you? But you see everything, right? See, hear."

"I don't see, but yes. What's going on?"

"I need you to look for a car or maybe a van nearby, but not too close. Parked, one occupant, seemingly unconcerned."

He could almost see her frowning behind the mask, not to mention the looks from the others, judging him, wondering the same thing.

"What's this about now?" Skitter said.

"The Siberian isn't a Brute. She's a Master. With an untouchable projection. But if you cut the head off the snake, it's goodbye, Skitter."

"How can you know that?" Grue demanded.

"Yeah, I doubt you'll find that in the Yellow Pages," Regent said.

Skitter continued to stare at him, defiant. Well, she didn't need to turn in his direction to look at him. So she could look at him and the Slaughterhouse Nine at the same time. Monitoring a large chunk of the battlefield. It was a pretty convenient power. Even if she couldn't literally see through the bugs, she clearly received enough information to substitute for sight. She was too aware of everything, all the time. The truth is, it gave him the creeps, even.

"Well?" Skitter continued.

They had no time to waste. He didn't want to waste oxygen on an explanation, but apparently, he wasn't going to have a choice. But to his surprise, Tattletale intervened on his behalf, stepping closer.

"Skitter, I can't tell you where he found it out. Or how, because I don't know. What I can tell you is that it's true, or at least he believes it is."

Skitter nodded.

"Can I take that to mean you're getting on it?"

"Yes. Now don't bother me, will you?"

Logan chuckled but obeyed in the end. Now he could only hope she'd hurry. And that she'd be lucky. The real Siberian, the master of the projection, had to be nearby. There was a distance limit to finding him. It was a matter of luck to some extent, even with her unique perspective of the battlefield.

Hoping for the best... Logan was more of the type to expect the worst. But he could do the opposite for a change. Very occasionally. And only if he had no other choice.

After a while, Skitter stood up. Even her movements were somewhat unnatural, as if out of sync, as if she perceived too many things at once and her body was often the least important.

"I've got him," she said. "Or I think I do. Looks suspicious, this close to the action without flinching."

Logan nodded.

"Give me the coordinates, then."

Skitter gave them to him.

"I'm going with you," Trickster said.

Logan raised an eyebrow.

"No, you're not. That's not very practical," he replied.

"If he gets away from you, you can shoot that..."

"Dude, it's a man, not a woman."

"Doesn't matter what's between his legs. The point is... someone should back you up."

"I work better alone."

"Maybe so. But... I know the coordinates. You can't stop me from following you. I don't need your permission."

Logan laughed. The kid had balls, at least. Skitter's plan seemed to have several parts, and they were separated into groups for it. Taking Trickster, his sniper rifle, and his power off the board would complicate things for everyone. But on the other hand, the Siberian was a very tempting prize. One they hadn't thought they could aspire to. So I guess he understood why he was insisting.

"Fine," Wolverine said finally. "I'm not wasting any more time. Come if you want. But I'm not waiting for you. Or babysitting."

They set off, descending from the rooftops, approaching. Since Skitter couldn't see through the bugs, she hadn't been able to give him a description of the vehicle in question. But it didn't matter. It should stand out. Because the real Siberian, Manton, had to keep pace with the Slaughterhouse Nine because of the distance limitation. He could afford a considerable distance, but not so great as to stay put as if nothing had happened. The point is, he wouldn't be stationary, but he also wouldn't be moving like a normal car, driven by a normal person who only cared about their own business.

The allowed distance was large enough that the Slaughterhouse Nine hadn't discovered the Siberian's true identity. That was the most likely scenario, on second thought. Since otherwise, the Siberian would probably be dead by now. Jack would have already considered it. He would consider Manton boring. But it was still a critical weakness. The only weakness of that monster.

Trickster took the liberty of helping him move faster on one occasion, teleporting him, swapping him with some piece of trash in the street. It was disorienting, honestly. Not as much as Wanda's portals, but still.

"Don't do that again," Logan barked. "At least ask first, you prick."

"Okay, okay. Let's focus on the mission, shall we?"

A couple of blocks later, they spotted the target. A shitty van, moving as discreetly as possible, keeping pace with the Slaughterhouse Nine despite the distance, maintaining the link.

Using his claws, he climbed back onto the rooftops. He wanted to surprise Manton. He wanted to kill him before he knew he was there. Otherwise, he would call the Siberian back, and the situation would become considerably more complicated.

"Shouldn't I just shoot him from here?" Trickster asked.

"No," sharp and direct. "You stay put. You're here in case he gets away from me, right? Well, let's see. But he's not getting away from me."

He had signed up for this arguing that the most logical thing was for him to go as a contingency plan. Well then, he should stay in his place. Not try to be more. For everyone's sake.

Like a wild animal, Logan dropped from the roof onto the van. When he jumped, the van was further back; observing its speed, Logan had judged the right moment to make the leap. To land on top, grab the edge, and enter the passenger seat, shattering the glass with his boots.

"What the hell..." the little man shouted amidst the rain of glass.

Yes, amidst those hundreds of tiny flashes, his claws gleamed and... a gurgled gasp, a spray of thick, hot, and very fresh blood. It smelled of iron. He slumped over the controls, bleeding out quickly. But he wasn't expecting it. It wasn't enough for his liking. He wasn't dead yet. He could still send the Siberian to rescue him. Logan moved as fast as he could. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough.

The Siberian manifested in the cramped space of the van, preventing him from finishing the job. Logan clicked his tongue. Dammit, he thought. It was a considerable obstacle, but it was still too early to consider this a failure. He would manage somehow. Maybe it would be good that Trickster had come with him. Maybe, but he wasn't counting on it.

The Siberian grabbed him before he could attack again. Handling him as if he weighed nothing, she slammed him against the ceiling, then the floor, and then through the roof and the front of the vehicle as if it were made of butter. That way, she threw him far. Logan bent a lamppost with his back when he landed.

Son of a bitch, he thought. I don't know if I'll get another chance as good as this if I let her get away. After all, Manton had been operating under the assumption that no one knew his secret. Now that that wasn't the case, he would change his tactics. He was no fool. He could adapt, and he would adapt if given time.

At a not-so-safe distance, not with the Siberian on this side of the board, Trickster squeezed the trigger. The bullet, of course, did nothing at all. Logan threw himself on top of the Siberian, away from Manton's body, his real body. At the same time, no attack could reach him now that the Siberian was touching him. He was more than human. After all, being wild... there was the natural instinct to protect himself.

"Idiot!" Logan ordered. "It's over! There's no plan A. There's no plan B or C. It's over. Get out before they kill you."

Trickster hesitated. He fired again, as if expecting something to change. The bullet simply bounced off, doing nothing. Besides, the Siberian easily threw him off. This time he cracked the wall of a building when he sent him flying. Unlike with Crawler, Wolverine wasn't even considering a strategic retreat. Not even at this point. He knew the Siberian's weakness. That was a crucial difference. It couldn't be that hard. He couldn't let him get away. Wolverine forced the Siberian to focus her attention on him, to give him a chance. The life of that supervillain didn't matter to him, but well. He had a plan.

It didn't even last ten attacks and counterattacks. The Siberian grabbed him with one hand and tore him in half. She discarded the halves as if they were trash and stood watching the blood spread.

Trickster finally understood that it was time to flee. Who knows why, precisely at that moment.

Logan closed his eyes. He didn't resist. It had to look real. He had to do one of the things he loved and hated the most: trust everything to his healing factor. He had to believe him dead, or even die for real to be able to fool him. One more punch, his ribs cracked. A couple of seconds later, his heart stopped and then the projection disappeared. But not for long.

He woke up with Manton's back to him, surely ready to flee, to reposition himself, maybe thinking about what he would say to the Slaughterhouse Nine. If not for the fact that the Siberian didn't talk. Ha, ha. Anyway, he wouldn't have to work hard to dispel their suspicions or deal with the fact that they knew his secret.

Why would he disappear now?

"What?" Manton muttered softly. "What hit me?"

He had been pushed a little harder. The claws of both hands protruded from his chest, bathed in blood. Before the Siberian could touch him again and postpone his death, Logan cut off his head. He watched it roll across the asphalt with an expression of stupid surprise.

He had lived the last years of his life hunting other people. Innocents, the defenseless, heroes, other villains. It didn't matter. The point is that his life had been governed by violence, but he had truly believed himself to be untouchable. Believed that no one could return the shot. Oh, he had been so very wrong. Which was no consolation for the families of his numerous victims, but at least he saw the projection vanish before it could get its hands on his neck.

Yes, the Siberian was gone.

Chapter Text

Okay. He'd taken out the Siberian. In the end, it had turned out to be harder than he thought and easier at the same time. Now he just had to keep going, just had to get out of here, meet up with Trickster and the others and make sure they got out alive, because that was what was best for him. The truth is, he hadn't needed the help of those brats to finish off the Siberian, but he had to admit they could be useful against Crawler.

Sundancer, for example.

The Travelers especially had very powerful abilities. Besides, they had at least distracted the projection long enough trying to take out other members of the Nine. Better than nothing. So he went back the way he had come, as fast as he could. By then everything was over, that is, he caught them in the middle of a retreat.

Logan clicked his tongue. He didn't like leaving a job half-finished, but he had to admit it was the sensible thing to do until he had a better plan to finish off Crawler. Direct fights weren't in his favor, so they hauled ass out of there, and the Nine more or less allowed it. Shatterbird could have been hunting them, keeping pace, even those riding on Bitch's dogs, but he supposed Jack had ordered her to stay back due to the numerical disadvantage. Or since Cherish was, well, had been Regent's sister, maybe he had smelled what they were planning, maybe he had come to the conclusion that Shatterbird would be the easiest victim and it wasn't convenient for her to be around, since he was a sadistic, psychopathic son of a bitch, but he was no fool. You had to be cunning to survive so long doing what he did. It was a possibility, but well, he wasn't interested in possibilities, he only cared about facts, and the fact was this:

They had escaped, gotten away with it, eliminated two members of the Slaughterhouse; it could have been worse.

They hid in some random building, relatively intact, but he doubted it was a formalized base to catch their breath, recover, and make sure they hadn't been followed, although it was more than obvious, and Logan could confirm they had a clear path. But well, if they wanted to waste time checking, he wasn't going to stop them.

"That went much better than I thought," Grue admitted. "Two down, this is going well."

"I can't believe we killed the Siberian," Regent said.

His sister, one of many, was dead, before he realized it, with a huge hole in her skull, her body lying in the wet and shattered streets like any other piece of trash. But Regent didn't seem to care or be interested in the slightest: he only had one thing on his mind.

Naturally, but I did all the work, Logan thought.

"I'll inform Coil," Trickster said, sitting down at the table.

Coil, the mysterious boss of both groups of supervillains, the man who essentially held one of the largest shares of power in Brockton Bay and was positioning himself to take the rest. Fine, he had plenty of photos and videos, but it wouldn't hurt to see him face to face and ask him a few questions, maybe. That precog thing still bothered him, who she was, where she was, he'd like to know.

Tattletale had asked Skitter not to share her codename, or perhaps the details about her powers. In any case, she had acted secretively because she had more important things on her mind, but, damned if he wasn't curious. The screen lit up, projected on the wall for everyone to see. Coil was a snake, both in his attitude and in the suit he had chosen to wear as a supervillain; not very subtle of him.

Logan simply stood on the sidelines, listening. Every word that came out of Coil's mouth was truly like the hiss of a snake, false, full of venom. Well, nothing new, he was surrounded by supervillains, after all, but somehow Coil managed to be the most repulsive of them all. He hadn't been listening, but:

"Enough," Logan said, interrupting the conversation, whatever it was, without hesitation. "I hear you got a precog. Who is she? And why are you so damn sure she's right? I want details.""

"James, is it?" Coil asked.

"The name's Patch."

"Patch, eh?" Coil laughed softly. "I suppose you're referring to the accuracy about Jack. Hard to believe, naturally."

"Yeah, well everyone in this room is buyin' it, and it don't sit right with me. What makes you so sure Jack Slash is gonna end the world? Precogs make mistakes. All of 'em."

"It's not exactly Jack. It's... the exact prediction is: if Jack leaves the city, the world will end. More than being directly responsible, we think he will trigger something. Considering what the Slaughterhouse Nine does all over the world, well, it's not out of the question that, for example, he could cause a Trigger Event in the wrong person."

"You're dancin' around it. That doesn't answer my question."

"That's all I can tell you. I can't give you proof or details about her, but I have tested her abilities, and it's not true, Patch: she doesn't fail."

Logan frowned. Now he was even more interested in the true identity of Coil's precog. Such unshakable confidence. He didn't think Coil was lying to him, and he didn't think he was a fool either. But an infallible precog in the hands of a person like that, well, for starters, it would explain how he was taking out all his enemies and taking over the city. Yes, well, the point is, she couldn't have ended up in the hands of a worse person. But man, it was a real disaster. He had a lot to fix. The Slaughterhouse Nine was just the beginning, that's for sure.

"Fine. Doesn't matter. Jack croakin' before he skips town benefits all of us. We're doin' the world a favor either way." Logan sighed.

"Well said!" Coil addressed the rest of the room. "Now you may not have achieved the original objective, but it doesn't matter, because you've achieved something better. Not only have you eliminated two members, but the Siberian. We're on the right track. Keep it up."

Coil cut the call, but before the call was cut, Logan heard small footsteps, from a dwarf or a child. Logan frowned even more, but he didn't have enough information to reach a decision, and for now, he needed Coil for his teams to help him with the rest of the Slaughterhouse Nine.

He shouldn't rush.

Logan ignored the warnings from the Undersiders and the Travelers.

They know where you live. Nothing stops him from sending the others against you, like he did with Burnscar, and you wouldn't survive a fight with all of them at once.

It was funny that Trickster was among those who thought that, after seeing him regenerate after the Siberian tore him in half, but well. They also tried to convince him to go with them to some hideout. Instead, yes, ha, he went to his shack.

A little later, he got a message on his phone, which immediately set off alarms in his head. No one had this phone, no one apart from Charles and a few of the X-Men, just in case, but something told him that wasn't it. This was something alarming, and so it was. The title of the message was simple and direct, like a punch to the sternum: "Information on your new friends and on Coil's precog."

Logan read the text message carefully. When he finished, he clenched his fist, crushing the phone.

Chapter Text

There was a flaw in the world, like a fresh, festering wound, and he had to fix it. That was the only thing he knew, that was the only thing he saw, so to speak, through the curtain of red. Part of him wanted to put on the classic suit, to don his injustice before beginning the massacre, but no. What he was about to do was undoubtedly justice, but no, this had been a job more suited for Patch from the beginning. And so it would be. He shouldn't have cooperated with supervillains, brats or not, he should have burned it all to the ground from the start, but there was still time to remedy his mistake, to save that poor little girl.

Rather, nothing and no one could stop him.

"Look, I know the pay's good, but what he's doing to that kid isn't your average supervillain shit, it's horrifying."

"What do you want me to do? Even if we tried to save her, we couldn't, and we'd end up six feet under."

"Yeah, I know, I know, but..."

"But what? But what? You know it's wrong? Don't look at me like I'm crazy, you know it, admit it."

"Okay, I admit it, it's wrong. What the hell does that fix?"

Well, the man swallowed hard.

"It means that we may be mercenaries, dogs of war, for sale to the highest bidder. Maybe, maybe we're trash, but we're still human, not like Coil. You think that's nothing?"

The silence stretched on.

"I don't know, I just don't know." The other shook his head.

Logan could see it from his hiding place. He had seen everything from the beginning.

"Maybe, but we're not changing anything for the better, yeah, we're not changing a damn thing."

He was right, of course. Regret wasn't irrelevant, but only if it was accompanied by the will to do something about it. Regretting while continuing to participate in or allow atrocities like that was nothing more than a way to feel good about yourself while continuing to collect checks paid for with the suffering of a child taken from her parents, drugged, diminished, treated like an animal. They weren't willing to act, not really, so Patch would treat them for what they were: animals.

He emerged from his hiding place, that is, from under the truck, and killed them quickly before they could scream for help or even blink. He hid the bodies in the back of the truck, sitting them on the bench almost as if they were asleep. To do so, he was careful to avoid the security cameras, of course. Destroying one or two on occasion wouldn't immediately give away that there was an intruder, but only one or two in moderation; otherwise, it would be the most obvious thing in the world, so he would reserve that for when he really needed it. In case he managed to maintain stealth for a long time, of course, because stealth wasn't his strong suit, he wasn't exactly Nightcrawler. Although, of course, it wasn't much of an achievement, he would also get further if he could turn invisible with a thought.

Logan carefully entered the base. Of course, there were cameras everywhere and soldiers, or rather mercenaries; they also deserved to die, just as he had killed the ones in the truck, but Coil was his main target now. He wasn't here to satisfy his thirst for revenge, but to save Dinah Alcott and return her to her family. Therefore, the ideal would be to kill Coil without anyone sounding the alarm, without giving him the opportunity to escape with Dinah. Of course, if her power was truly that useful, and it must be, he didn't think he had gone this far with the girl for fun. The reason didn't matter, it was an unforgivable crime anyway, but he didn't think so.

Logan heard an elevator coming down, so he stepped back and hid around the corner waiting for the doors to open. With all the steps, the breaths... six people came out of the elevator, six of Coil's slaves. He should have backed away, he should have taken the opportunity to open the door and slip into the elevator shaft without having to touch the buttons, but he had reacted instinctively as anyone would. Well, what's done is done. He waited for them to leave, hung on to the elevator, and entered the shaft from the top. He began to climb by hanging from the cables; he was agile, strong, fast, it wasn't a serious effort for him. The only problem was getting out on the right floor where Coil had his office, without anyone seeing him. It would have been nice to have a certain friend of his here, so he could simply see, take a look through the walls. The inconveniences of working alone. Sometimes he usually cut through any problem in his path, but now he had reasons, unfortunately, to be discreet.

He got out on the 5th floor without anyone seeing him, and to his surprise, he managed to sneak into Coil's office without anyone seeing him. He really didn't think he would get this far like this, although of course, they detected him as soon as he set foot in the office.

"What are you doing here?" Coil himself said. He was more surprised than scared, by his mistake. "How could you have known where this base was?"

But he didn't waste time asking, of course. As he did so, he activated the intercom, or tried to. Logan lunged over the desk, stabbed the machine with his claws, and then threw it, smashing it against the wall.

"Dinah Alcott," Patch said. "Where is she?"

"Are you really here to take her from me, to return her to her parents, not to use her?"

"I'm not an animal like you."

Logan took a step forward and plunged both claws into his chest. Pushing, he lifted his feet off the ground, blood fell abundantly at his feet, pouring out.

"And I'm not stupid either. I'm not giving you time to pull an ace out of your sleeve. I have no idea what your power is, but you're finished."

"We can reach an agreement," he still tried to convince him, even though his mouth was overflowing with blood.

"That's not what this is about," Logan said, and then he plunged the claws of his right hand through his eyes and skull at the same time, pushing until he couldn't anymore.

The crunch sounded like a shotgun blast in the office, deafening and overwhelming. Logan stabbed him with the claws of his other hand as well, and then threw his body against the wall, as if it were a toy he no longer found amusing. There was no point in keeping him alive, even if he asked for the drugs he had used to hook her. Coil wouldn't be honest with him, he wouldn't cooperate at any point, just enough to survive. So this was the right decision, without a doubt. He wouldn't have revealed Dinah's location either, that was clear.

Logan sighed, he would have to find her on his own. The base was large, but it couldn't be that hard, right?

He thought he had broken the intercom, but, although in pieces, there it was.

"I'm hungry," the voice of a young girl transmitted.

His heart sped up, thinking it was Dinah, that for once he had been lucky and the answer would come to him, effortlessly. But Dinah wasn't a young woman, she was a child. This hungry person was undoubtedly a woman, by her voice. Logan frowned. His top priority was the girl, of course. Stolen innocence. Children were the future, as Xavier said. But maybe this woman had been a child when Coil caught her. And maybe he should check it out, too, once he secured Dinah. Or maybe she would tell him where Dinah was. No, better not risk it.

"I'm hungry."

Logan took a couple of steps forward, approaching what was left of the object. Anyway, the intercom was in no condition to hold a real conversation. Meaning, he couldn't answer, even if he wanted to. Logan crushed what was left of the device with his boots and walked out of the office, calmly. He didn't think he would maintain stealth for much longer. Now that the leader was dead, the mercenaries in his army would be disorganized. A few would even leave, seeing the probability of getting paid, a good pay, much less likely. By which he meant, that the probability of someone running away with Dinah was nil. In fact, maybe he should let himself be seen, to see if one of them wouldn't lead him to her. After all, the escape attempt would go nowhere, once they found out Coil was dead, but they hadn't yet.

So, that's what he did. The soldiers seemed to recognize him instantly. There wasn't a moment of hesitation. They pulled the triggers at the same time, as if by reflex, to defend themselves. The bullets went through him, leaving his torso like cheese. Blood flew everywhere, but he didn't kneel. All those bullets barely tickled him. The ones that didn't fall to the ground on their own were expelled as soon as his healing factor kicked in.

"Son of a bitch."

And there he was, small perhaps, but every millimeter of his body, bathed in blood, right there in the middle of the hallway. They couldn't escape, neither forward nor backward. Logan lunged at them, his arms spinning like a top. It would have been funny if not for the claws. There was nothing funny about it, neither for him nor for those present, considering he was sending limbs flying, more than once a second. In fact, he would soon run out of limbs. With a son of a bitch's arm ripped off, he crushed his head with his own arm, for a change. But it wasn't the same, and the battle ended very quickly, leaving a bad taste in his mouth and a slight tingling in his torso, from the mosquito bites, of course.

Next time, he would ask one of the mercenaries for Dinah's location before killing him. It was worth a try. He didn't think they would lie to him. One or two would defy him, knowing they were going to die anyway, but those were special cases. He wondered how many of the mercenaries knew about Dinah. Locking up a child and drugging her to keep her compliant. Well, you had to be a real bastard to overlook that, and if there was one thing the world never lacked, it was real bastards. But would he really just tell it like that? Maybe he would reserve that for the people he had no choice but to trust. It was the sensible thing to do.

Logan fought his way through with great violence. His heart was beating a mile a minute. His blood was like gasoline. Laying a hand on a child, a poor little girl. What a monster. He had killed him, but he wasn't sure he had given him what he deserved. It had been too quick for a monster like that. But what's done is done.

The girl was the priority.

Chapter Text

The soldiers of Coil's army, a headless snake, came out to meet him, and then he massacred them. He didn't even bother to dodge the bullets. He took the hits as if they were tickles. Fear was useful, after all. Seeing that nothing you did worked. This way, there were enemies he defeated before he even reached them. Their spirits broken. But that didn't mean, of course, that he spared their lives. If one got away, fine. But Logan wasn't into mercy. He did what he could to kill everything that got in his way.

"Son of a bitch. How does he regenerate so fast? I don't know any cape like that."

"Do something or he's going to kill us too. Shit, shit, shit."

The air was filled with screams, blood, and guts. The hallways were white and sterile like a hospital. However, Logan was painting them a vibrant red. He wasn't bad at being an interior decorator. Haha.

Someone threw a grenade at him. He hadn't seen who. He couldn't calculate exactly when to throw it back so it would explode on them with no possibility of them throwing it back. It didn't matter. Logan kicked it without a second thought and it was lost among the legs of the soldiers who were still standing.

"Shit, shit, shit..."

He didn't get to finish the sentence. An explosion and like a human piñata, those guys spilled everywhere. But then more came, of course. They had activated the alarm. The red, rotating lights only made the color of the blood on the walls and floor more unreal, brighter and seemingly fake. Of course, steel doors were also falling, blocking the hallways by sectors. All to contain the intruder. They were no obstacle to the soldiers, and neither were the walls. The adamantium of his claws tore through it, he felt unstoppable. And here, he certainly was. There was no one who could stand up to him. The Undersiders and the Travelers were outside, busy with their own things, with their territories and with the plans against the Slaughterhouse 9. Even if they were alerted, they would arrive too late to change anything. Logan had already won. He knew it.

"Where's the girl?" Logan jumped on the legs of a fallen soldier, broke them, and tore a scream from his throat. "Where's the girl?"

They would die anyway or they were simply too afraid to think clearly. But in any case, no one had even tried to tell him to see if they could save their own skins. Logan clicked his tongue.

"Son of a bitch. Damn it all."

He was no closer to Dinah than before he started the massacre. Or he could be. The girl could be right around the corner, but he wouldn't know. Where would he keep her? Probably on this floor. Probably not far from his office so he could consult with the precog whenever he needed. That's why he hadn't changed floors. But where? Dammit, where? Words weren't his thing. But he decided to try again, just as he impaled a son of a bitch against the wall.

"Look, you can't stop me. And I'll find her sooner or later, so you'd better talk. The first one to tell me, I'll spare his life. Besides, you're not fighting for anything. Coil is gone. He's been killed. I tore him to pieces myself."

An idiot shot him point-blank, from behind. He endured the shots. Then, with his free hand, he cut his weapon in two.

"Alright, I'm just here for the girl."

At least one had to accept that offer, right? Now that he had put all the cards on the table.

"Coil dead? Could it be true?" one said. "I wouldn't be surprised with this animal."

The son of a bitch impaled against the wall finally breathed his last. A good punctuation mark to the survivors' questions. Then he retracted his claws, for a second, letting the corpse fall. Well, the torso had lost its legs about ten meters ago. For now, there were only four soldiers in front of him.

"Tell me where the girl is and I'll let you go." He retracted the claws of his other hand.

Finally, though hesitant, one of them told him. As he had expected, Dinah was very close to Coil's office. In fact, he had walked right past her. Logan clicked his tongue. He only gave him directions. He was going to offer to accompany him and show him. Naturally, he didn't need that either. This was more than enough.

"Okay, you can go. Come on, move your asses before I change my mind."

They ran off, each one faster than the last. Logan followed the directions, sniffing the air. Always alert. Those had surrendered. Those knew that Coil was gone. But surely more would get in his way. At least, until the news finished circulating. Well, he didn't think they would waste time warning the rest of their comrades. Indeed, Logan encountered even more resistance on the way back, and it was completely useless.

Logan approached the door. There was no handle and it didn't open automatically when he got close, sliding on the floor. Logan kicked it down. There, on the bed of that room, or rather cell, was a child. She was very small, pale, with sunken and shadowed eyes. The effects of whatever he was using to drug her were evident.

"Dinah Alcott? I'm here to..."

The girl looked at him. Her eyes were piercing.

"Save me, I know."

She got out of bed. She approached him. She put a hand on his, squeezing with complete confidence, despite the fact that he was a hairy, wild beast, bathed in blood from head to toe.

"That easy?"

"The numbers don't lie. There's a one hundred percent chance you'll take me home."

Probabilities. So she wasn't an infallible precog. In the end, it was about probabilities. Well, he had declared her infallible, yes, and... Ha! Wolverine laughed.

"Exactly, kid. Stay behind me. Can you run? Can you?"

"No," Dinah admitted.

"Well, then get on my back and close your eyes."

"Don't... don't worry. I've already seen what you do."

"Close your eyes anyway. You've already seen too much."

Dinah nodded and didn't protest further, climbing onto his back.

"I'll take you back home to your parents. I can also help you with the other problem. Well, I have friends who can do it."

"My candy?" Dinah asked, clenching her arms around his neck.

Logan frowned.

Candy. Candy. Son of a bitch.

"It's not candy, sweetheart. But yes."

"I know what it is, sir. But it does help with my headaches."

"From using your powers, I imagine."

"That's right."

Logan frowned a little more. Very formal and too calm in a situation like this, especially for a child.

"Well, you won't have to use them as much anymore. You can get rid of... of that."

The girl fell silent.

Okay.

Okay.

Logan kept moving. It didn't take long to find more opposition.

"Dinah, are your eyes really closed?"

"Yes. Yes, I swear."

"Okay."

Logan released his claws. They sounded like clashing swords. That sound used to remind him of a different time, a different life, and his lost love.

"Keep it up," Logan said.

Then he sprang into action. The bullets flew. He had to be very careful to protect the girl. Dodge well and end this quickly. He cut off the first son of a bitch's arms. The rifle fell to the floor.

"Coil is dead!" he shouted, bathing himself in even more liters of blood. "You're not fighting. You're fighting for nothing. And even if you weren't, what makes you think you'll have better luck?"

They were shooting at him with some care, a risky bet, but he had decided to assume that all of Coil's soldiers understood the importance of Dinah, just in case. Although, of course, very few would hesitate to pull the trigger if it came down to the life of a child versus their own. But yes, they seemed careful to some extent.

"It's true, I saw it myself."

Dinah's weak voice was barely audible over the agonizing screams of the armless son of a bitch. But it was heard, and apparently it sank in because they said goodbye to their weapons. One after another, they dropped them and got out of the way. Better that way, and better that they didn't change their minds.

"Think twice if you think you can shoot me in the back before you die," Logan said, continuing forward.

No one tried. No one was that stupid. He advanced in this way through the increasingly red hallways, but he wasn't always lucky. He had to fight sometimes and he made sure to be more careful with Dinah, at least placing her back and around the corner before launching into the slaughter. Before transforming into a human blender.

He was an unstoppable predator.

Before he knew it, he was outside, but they weren't alone. The Travelers were waiting for him, all of them without exception. Of course, Genesis wasn't there, literally. Just one of her constructs. But well, same difference.

"You," Trickster spat, "what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"The right thing," Logan said. "Get out of my way, or die."

"Coil is dead," Dinah said. "There's no reason to fight."

"For fuck's sake," Ballistic muttered.

"Is it true?" Sundancer asked.

Dinah nodded, lifting her head, though she could barely do it.

"Yes, it's true. Someone dared to do the right thing. Unlike you. Someone dared to do the right thing."

Sundancer reacted as if she had been slapped. Trickster took a step forward, as if still looking for a fight.

"That's enough," Ballistic said. "It's pointless. And the chances were very low, anyway."

"But Noelle..."

"We should have..." Ballistic swallowed hard. "You know it, I know it. Everyone knows it. And Coil... We're too useful for him to just open a door home for us. It's over, Krouse. Don't you get it? Don't you know when to give up?"

Krouse, apparently, looked away from his companions. Well, were they companions or people forced to live together? Thanks to the X-Men, Logan understood the difference perfectly. He had been on both sides of the equation and was leaning towards the latter in this case.

"If Coil can't help us anymore," Trickster began, "then we'll have to find another way."

"But seriously, are you hearing yourself? Another way? What way?"

"We can't just abandon her."

"Abandon her? Is it even her anymore?"

"Stop!" Sundancer shouted. "Stop, please."

They fell silent, but not willingly. It was obvious they were talking about the hungry girl he had heard over the intercom. The girl Dinah had warned him about. He didn't know what was happening. Maybe they had once been true companions and now only this was left. A real shame, but it wasn't his business, at least not at the moment. If it was so important that this Noelle person not find out that Coil was dead, then her friends or ex-friends would keep the secret as long as possible. That was enough. Now he had too many things to deal with. First Dinah, one thing at a time.

"Leave," Trickster said, "before I change my mind."

Logan smiled.

"You couldn't have stopped me even if you wanted to."

But enough of the theatrics, of the cheap melodrama, of people so dirty and rotten as to stand aside while they did this to a child. It was time to return that child to her home. To make the world a little more sane.

Chapter Text

"You're very quiet," Logan said. "Because of your... candy?"

"They're not going to want me back."

"What did you say?"

"My parents aren't going to want me back."

"Don't be silly, kid."

But he couldn't dismiss it as the senseless worry of a brat. He knew perfectly well that many people had children who shouldn't. There was also the fact that the girl wasn't normal.

"Is it because of your powers?" He hated this, but he had to ask.

"No, it's not that, but I'm different. I'm dirty."

"What are you talking about? What are you saying?"

"I might never be okay again."

For the amount of emotion her words contained, her face was surprisingly expressionless. And her tone too. She was holding back, of course. Or she was numb from everything that had happened, from the drugs. Well, it was the same thing.

"Were they bad parents?"

"No, of course not."

"Then they haven't thought about anything other than getting you back."

"I'm sure, but they'll get tired of me because I'm not... because I'm not normal and I'll never be normal again. This thing in my head isn't something I can just turn off."

Circular logic. No matter what he said, it would go around and around to get to the same place. That her parents would love her, that was something a stranger couldn't prove with mere words. The only thing he could do was take Dinah to her doorstep and let them do the rest. He hoped they wouldn't screw it up. If they reacted badly, they would lose their daughter forever, he was sure. Maybe not physically, but her trust. What was worse?

On the way, more or less, the girl chose to break the silence.

"Again. They were afraid of me. My parents, afraid of my abilities, they wanted to pretend everything was normal. That there was nothing to worry about. They were scared, they were scared. I saw it in their eyes."

"No, kid. They might have been scared then, but so long without you. Wondering, what the hell happened to you? Praying you're alive. They won't care anymore, okay?"

"Maybe we should wait until I'm okay. Detoxed. They won't want me like this."

"Dinah, listen to me, okay? Listen. I can do... I can contact my partners and... and... detox you. In the blink of an eye. If... if you wish. I could even have... someone block the memories of your captivity."

"That easy?"

"Yes, that easy."

Dinah thought about it.

"No, I don't want to. I don't want to forget."

"Why not?"

"They may be bad, but they're my memories. Mine. From now on... I want to be myself. I want to be the one who decides... the answers... and the questions."

"I guess I understand. Okay. Just the express detox, then..."

Logan sighed. It was the kid's decision. He had no right to do something like that, even if he thought it was for the best. Especially not when he would have decided the same thing. Due to his long life, he had tried to forget countless things. But even trying to forget was carrying, carrying the pain. Not just wiping the slate clean. Everything that had happened to him, the good and the bad, maybe especially the bad, made him the person he was. And he wouldn't turn his back on that person. Because he was the only one he could always count on. Therefore, Logan understood perfectly the answer Dinah had reached.

"I should take a dip so I don't scare your parents."

Letting go of Dinah for a moment, he bathed in a puddle. The effect wasn't amazing, but the blood on his suit, which stood out against the white, darkened enough that, in the absence of the smell, it could be mistaken for mud. He supposed. Well, maybe with a little luck...

Logan knocked on the door and set Dinah on the ground. The door opened. On the other side were the father and mother, almost as if they had sensed it. Although of course, that wasn't the case. Things changed instantly.

"Don't be afraid. This isn't extortion or anything like that. I rescued her."

"It's true..." Dinah said, unable to look them in the eyes.

"Listen, Mr. and Mrs. Alcott..." Logan put his hands on the girl's shoulders. "I want you to know that no one physically harmed her. Well, there are no scars. There were no beatings. They took good care of her, even if it was only in a practical and impersonal sense. Because she was useful."

"Useful?" the mother repeated.

"Her abilities, ma'am. That's what I mean. But there's a... there's a... but... a pretty big one. However, my partners can take care of that."

"Get to the point."

"Or better..." the father looked at his daughter. "Dinah, honey, whatever it is, you can tell us."

But Dinah didn't look at him and remained silent.

"Drugs," Logan said bluntly. "Tranquilizers and opiates to keep her docile. Careful doses, no doubt, so as not to overdo it. But still..."

"You're saying she's an addict," the mother asked.

"For the moment," Logan said. "But I can fix that. I can fix it in... maybe five minutes."

"That's blood, isn't it?" the mother continued.

Logan nodded.

"Yes. Precisely because of that. I killed to save your daughter. So, you don't like me at all. It shouldn't be hard for you to trust me a little."

"Okay. Go ahead." The woman nodded. "Come in here and explain yourself."

As she said it, she grabbed Dinah's wrist, pulling her into a hug. With great force. Yes. The force of desperation, of such a long wait. He couldn't even imagine it. Thinking about what Dinah had suffered, Logan felt like throwing up. And she wasn't even his daughter. So the mother's pain must be unthinkable.

After moving to the living room, Logan contacted the X-Men. That is, first Charles, and he then contacted the right people.

"A portal is going to open in the living room. Don't be alarmed."

"A portal?" the father asked.

"Yes. For the cavalry."

Shortly after, indeed, the portal opened. A tear in space. First out of it came the creator of the portal, the sorceress Wanda, that is, the Scarlet Witch. And second, the cavalry, the one who could fix Dinah: Emma Frost. With a seat on the council of Krakoa, Emma and he had had their differences in the past—who hadn't?—but he would never hesitate to call her in a situation like this. Because he knew the truth. What all the X-Men knew. For a child, Frost was willing to do anything. That bit of purity was what had brought her to the side of good, after all. He would never say it out loud, but Frost was probably a better person than him.

"Is this the little angel?" Emma asked. The woman crouched down, hugging the little girl tightly. "Poor thing. Logan. I assume the animal suffered. Whoever did this to her?"

"He's dead, Frost. I took care of it."

"Good. You know how to do things right once in a while. I hope he suffered."

"He suffered, but less than he deserved."

"Mhm. That's for sure."

"You only agree on bloodlust, from what I can see," Wanda said.

"Anyway, the girl... Dinah..."

Emma raised a hand, stopping him. Telling him to shut up. Normally he would have kept talking just out of spite, but given the situation, he closed his mouth.

"She can tell me on her own. Tell me, child," Emma said. "How do you want me to help you?"

"Logan," she began, hesitantly, "said you could make me forget the time with Coil. But I don't... I don't want to forget. I just want to not... stop wanting... that. My... my candy."

Emma nodded solemnly.

"Is this... is this safe?" Mrs. Alcott asked.

Emma looked her in the eyes, and it was with a disarming honesty.

"Ma'am. Although I have never given birth, I know the joys and pains of a mother. Believe me, it is something I take very seriously. If I thought there was a chance that things would go wrong, I wouldn't do it. It is my power. It is something I have done hundreds of times. Hundreds of thousands of times. As natural as breathing. I will protect your daughter."

The mother nodded, overwhelmed. The meeting was already shocking enough, but the portal, Wanda, and Frost... well, that was just too much. It was impossible for her to process it all, not a normal person like any other.

"Everything will be fine, child," Wanda said. She smiled. "Frost is the best at what she does. You can trust her. And if something were to happen, which I'm not saying it will, I can do almost anything. I would fix it."

Emma cradled Dinah's small face in her hands, kneeling on the floor. A bit pompous.

"But she's right. Child, I need you to close your eyes and open your mind. Don't resist. I am not an invading presence, something to repel with all your might. My only intention is to help you. So, let's do it."

Dinah closed her eyes. Frost too, getting to work.

It took its time. And Dinah's parents, naturally, broke the silence of concentration a couple of times. Wanda managed to convince them to leave the room until it was over. The Scarlet Witch had a silver tongue when she wanted. Just like Erik, Logan thought, a chip off the old block.

But there were no more problems.

Finally, Frost removed her hands and opened her eyes.

"It's done. All done. There will be no more pain. As if it never happened."

"I'm not sure what you mean," Dinah said.

"It's normal. Your mind will clear with time."

"The only thing you need to know," Logan said, "is that you have what you wanted. And what your parents wanted too."

"Yes. There was something that was worrying me. Although I can't quite remember it. I remember... feelings. I remember... throwing up."

She had never done that in front of him. Had Coil left her without her... without her candy from time to time? For her own good, that is, for the good of not breaking his tool? Or maybe just to make her suffer and make her more obedient. Proving that he could turn the tap on and off whenever he wanted. The message was clear.

Anyway, Frost kissed Dinah on the forehead.

"You have a lot of courage, little one. You're a real hero."

Chapter Text

"I can handle this alone," Logan said flatly.

"Just because you can, doesn't mean you should," Frost retorted.

"Why don't you discuss it with Charles? He's the one who sent me here."

"Oh, so now you obey him without question, Logan?"

"I didn't say that."

Logan didn't roll his eyes, but he didn't have to.

"I rescued the girl, killed Coil. It's highly unlikely his forces and the supervillains they recruited will organize enough to try and take over the city now. As for the Slaughterhouse Nine, I've already taken care of the Siberian, the most dangerous one."

"Jack is the most dangerous," Wanda interjected, leaning her back against the wall, crossing her arms and ankles.

"You know what I mean. But I might... I might actually need your help with one thing."

"Oh? I'm listening."

"Does this have anything to do with Dinah?" Frost asked.

It never ceased to amaze Logan how quickly she grew attached to children, wherever they came from and whoever they were. She barely knew the girl, they had hardly exchanged words, but there was already warmth, already affection in her voice. And her eyes had softened slightly when she said her name.

"No, not with Dinah."

Frost shrugged.

"Well then, I suppose I'll return to Krakoa."

"Giving up that easily?"

Emma sighed.

"You don't seem to know what you want, whether to push me away or make me fight for it. Yes, that easily, Logan, you're incredibly stubborn. And I suppose you're right, you don't need my help. Not for enemies of this caliber."

"Well, I'm glad you understand."

The Scarlet Witch opened another portal back, and Emma walked through it without a backward glance. Logan stared at the space for a moment after the portal vanished. Krakoa, home to all mutants. He'd had his reservations at first, but the truth was he missed it. The truth was he wanted to finish this quickly, go back to everyone, and just take a deep breath and watch one sunset after another with no more worries on his mind. Because he wasn't a leader, he didn't have to worry about politics or maintaining the charade that mutants didn't exist. That they were just parahumans, a bit more esoteric perhaps, but parahumans nonetheless. That was Magneto's job, Charles's, Emma's, and the rest of the council's. His job was the dirty work. And when it was done, it was time to kick back and do nothing. He couldn't complain about everything, of course.

Logan looked at Wanda. She was powerful, very powerful, just like her father. The person responsible for the world now believing that mutants didn't exist. And how she had done it, with just words, a declaration that had changed the world. Considering she worked on that scale, he didn't know what was wrong with Noelle, but she should be able to help. At least it was worth a try.

"Are you going to tell me what you need, Logan? Or are you just going to stand there staring?"

Logan shook his head.

"I don't even know all the details myself. This is what I know. Dinah wasn't the only person Coil had in captivity. There was also a woman, there is also a woman named Noelle. Although she's... well, 'captivity' isn't the right word. She was there of her own free will, believing he would help her. Deceived, a prisoner in the end, but..."

"Yeah, yeah. Get to the point."

"The Travelers only work for Coil to help Noelle. Or at least their leader, Trickster. They're a gang of supervillains, nomads. And I guess now I know why they go from place to place."

"So... you want me to snap my fingers and fix this woman?"

Logan shrugged.

"I want you to try, to be more precise."

"Fine, I suppose I can do that. Tell me where I should place the nearest portal."

But before she could do just that, Mrs. Alcott entered the living room again.

"Mr. Logan and Miss..."

"You can call me Wanda," she said.

"Wanda, yes. Yes. Mrs. Frost is gone, yes. Okay. Okay." The woman clasped her trembling hands together. "I wanted to thank you all. My little girl..." her eyes filled with tears. "I thought I had lost her forever."

Wanda looked away. Daddy's little girl could be surprisingly sensitive.

"Saving her is what any good person would have done. You don't have to thank us for anything," Wanda continued.

"That's right," Logan said.

Mrs. Alcott nodded. She looked at Logan and took just a few steps closer.

"Especially you. Thank you. You killed for my daughter. I get the feeling you're used to spilling blood, but still, it must be a sacrifice each time, right?"

Not really, Logan thought. Not when they deserve it.

"Something like that," he said finally.

"You're... you're a good man. Thank you. But I didn't come for this. My little girl wants to see you. Could you stop by her room for a moment before you leave? I would really appreciate it."

Logan glanced at Wanda, but she just smiled. He supposed she found it funny that the wild animal named Logan acted like a teddy bear when it came to a little girl. So Logan sighed slightly. She was looking for a fight, but he couldn't blame her. The truth is, he found it kind of funny too.

"Of course, Mrs. Alcott. I'll be right there. I'll follow you."

He hadn't heard her name, nor her husband's. Well, he supposed it didn't matter. He followed her upstairs.

"Here," she indicated a door.

Logan entered Dinah's room alone. The girl was curled up on the bed, lying on top of the covers. Emma had undoubtedly done a good, thorough job. For the little one's sake, her mental blocks would ensure her addiction ended and never returned. This would also ensure she wouldn't suffer. Wanda, while Frost worked, had made sure to eliminate the toxins from her body, so she wouldn't have to suffer the effects of withdrawal. But that didn't mean she was completely okay, neither physically nor mentally.

"Logan..." the girl called out without turning around. She was looking at the wall.

"What is it, kid?"

"Be careful. Please..."

"Don't you worry about me. I'm like a cockroach, impossible to kill. Besides, I'm the best there is at what I do." And what I do isn't very nice, he thought.

"I know, but... the girl from the chamber and... Jack Slash... just... be careful."

Logan's expression softened. She was a kid, after all. She wasn't looking for logic. She was looking for an almost paternal promise. Even if there was no logic, even if he couldn't really promise it, she needed him to say it. She needed something to believe in. Logan could be quite clumsy with people and even more so with children, but that at least he understood perfectly.

"Look... I promise you, Dinah."

"Thank you. Come here." Logan approached the bed. "Closer." Dinah turned over. "I... I want a hug, you dummy." She opened her arms. So vulnerable.

"I must reek of blood," he protested.

"Logan... do you think I don't stink? Do you think they let me shower regularly?"

Well, now that she mentioned it... Logan stopped protesting and just hugged her. He gave her what she needed. Dinah hugged him back, digging her nails into his back.

Wanda and Logan emerged from the portal near Coil's base. But, of course, the Travelers were already gone. There was no trace of them. He thought there was a chance they would go in there and get Noelle. Or, at least, to see that Coil was dead with their own eyes. Maybe... it seemed unlikely both things in such a short time. So, where could they be?

From the conversations he had overheard, the Undersiders, the Travelers, and other supervillains controlled certain territories. He should try Trickster's first. The Travelers hadn't seemed very united, so without Coil and without hope of helping Noelle, maybe they had split up. Or were thinking about it.

Maybe...

"Are you just going to stand there, Logan?"

"I'm thinking, woman... give me a break."

"Right..." Wanda smiled. "That must be very hard for you."

Wolverine snorted. Well, she had teed that one up for him.

"Let's see if Noelle is still in there," Wolverine said finally. "I'll figure out how to contact the rest later."

"As you wish."

Noelle might still be inside, but the soldiers weren't. Apart from the pieces he had scattered everywhere, of course. They went through empty hallway after empty hallway, without resistance. The whole place was like a ghost town.

"You're always so... precise," Wanda said. "Almost surgical in your work."

"Ha, ha, ha. Anyway, I was pretty pissed off."

"Yes, jokes aside. I would have done the same. Doing something like that to that poor girl. You have to be very twisted. What did Coil want her for? What was so special about her powers?"

"Didn't I say?"

"Well no, you didn't."

"Well, you could have asked earlier." Wolverine crossed his arms. "A precog, much more powerful than usual. Of probabilities. I think by asking questions, asking herself questions, somehow she knew I was coming to save her. I don't know how she even found out I exist."

Wanda shrugged.

"Why not? It wouldn't have been hard for her to have heard Coil or one of his supervillains talking about you, after the entrance you made."

"I guess that must be it. A precog on your payroll. The temptation to see the future, to be able to avoid defeats and calamities. To be able to avoid all defeats and calamities."

"Are you going to say you understand?"

"No, but it's a sweet poison."

Dinah had mentioned the girl in the chamber, so that's what they were looking for, a chamber. Fortunately, it didn't take them too long. Logan popped his claws, ready to get to work, but of course the Scarlet Witch had to erase the chamber doors with a blink, always showing off her magic. They approached a huge pane of glass and then the lights suddenly came on, illuminating the other captive's cell, and the captive herself. But it took him a few seconds to recognize her, because maybe she had been human at some point, but now she certainly didn't look it. She reminded him of Crawler, of all things, a mass of almost everything, disconnected, disgusting.

Ballistic had asked, is it even her anymore?, but her appearance didn't matter. In there was a human being, a woman who needed help. He saw it in her eyes. Maybe Ballistic wasn't capable anymore, but he was. The woman approached the glass.

"Who are you?"

"Coil sent me to heal you," Wanda improvised.

"Are you sure? Don't give me false hope."

"He sent me to try," she clarified. "But I'm sure."

"What do I have to do?"

"Nothing, just stay still." Wanda gathered chaos magic in her hands.

"What is that?"

"Relax. What's wrong with you isn't a big deal. I've done things like this before. Everything will go back to its place."

Chapter Text

Logan wasn't sure if what Wanda had told Noelle was the truth or just what she thought the girl needed to hear. It took a while to get the answer. It was a relatively long process. He stood there for about half an hour, unable to do anything. Well, a little over half an hour, but when it was over, you could tell instantly. The mass disappeared, and in the blink of an eye, there was just a normal girl in front of him—thin, depressed, and somewhat malnourished. Maybe, but a normal girl, nonetheless, human at first glance.

It was possible that only the outside was perfect. Logan wasn't an optimist, so he wouldn't declare victory yet, but it wouldn't surprise him. Still, it was undoubtedly a feat that few people would have been able to replicate. The girl, Noelle, was looking at her hands, arms, and everything else below her neck, dumbfounded. As if she were seeing them for the first time in her life. As if a miracle had been performed. It was no wonder.

"I'm not hungry anymore," Noelle said, and the same surprise was in her voice.

"It's all fixed now," Wanda said, patting the woman on the shoulder, "or at least I think so. I'd recommend you come with me so I can keep a close eye on you, but that's not possible, so I'll just keep an eye on you just in case."

"Just in case," Noelle repeated. "Still, even if the worst happens, this is more than I ever expected. Thank you."

She sounded like she was about to break down. Still, she didn't cry. Maybe she had already cried enough. Maybe she had run dry in the fetid darkness of the chamber, wishing she couldn't see her own reflection in the glass. He didn't know her, but Logan felt a pang of joy for her. Maybe that fate was worse than death, and she had suffered it firsthand, what it was like to be nothing more than a guinea pig on the operating table. He had sworn it would never happen to him again. There was nothing worse than that. Having your own humanity stolen from you, in the end, it almost made you believe it. The ultimate betrayal, the final betrayal, the internal one. At least now everything will be okay, he thought.

"I don't know how to repay you," Noelle continued.

"I do," Wanda replied. "I'm not interested in money. What I want is for you to tell me exactly what happened. How things got to this point. I need the information."

Noelle took a deep breath.

"Okay, for starters, we're not from here. We, the Travelers, are from Aleph. We were just normal kids, playing video games. We even had a team. But things went wrong. We ended up here by chance."

Noelle continued to tell the whole story. Their adventure through the quarantine site, the desperate attempts to escape from the authorities and the power of the Simurgh, as well as any bombs she might have planted. Ending with the hospital. Wounded, Krouse had had no choice but to give her a vial he had found. They gave superpowers, one way or another. That vial turned people into parahumans, and they had decided to share it. The last vial, half and half. A romantic gesture perhaps, but utterly stupid. Mixing doses like that, especially of something so new and volatile, was asking for trouble. But he supposed Trickster had been in a hurry with the authorities on their heels. And he supposed it didn't matter anymore. It was all fixed.

"That vial of superpowers, who made it?" Wanda asked.

"Well, not exactly. There was a symbol on the vials, but..."

"A symbol? Could you draw it for me?"

"Draw it? Easy. Kid's been through enough," Wolverine said. It wasn't usually him who had to offer a more delicate touch, but when the situation demanded it, he supposed he was capable. If only because he had no other choice.

"No, no. I'm grateful. Besides, I understand it's important." She drew it for her on a napkin.

"Aha," Wanda said, tucking it into a pocket. "Thank you."

"Could you take me to my friends? I don't have a phone and I don't know where they are now. When they find out I'm okay..."

"Of course I can take you." Wanda touched her shoulder, squeezing. "Concentrate."

"On what?"

"On the person you want to see the most right now."

"Oh, okay."

Wanda opened another portal and sent Noelle, who was certainly having a day of surprises, through it. And into Trickster's arms. Well, Krouse's. Maybe now, in each other's arms, they were just Krouse and Noelle, not Trickster and a flesh monster that looked alien.

"How is this possible?" Krouse's voice trembled.

"Thank you for having faith. Thank you for never giving up on me. In the end, you were right. I know I haven't treated you very well these past few years. You hate me..."

"Don't be silly." He squeezed her tighter. So tight it must have hurt. But Noelle didn't complain, and instead tried to hug him back just as desperately.

Trickster was a son of a bitch, he and the Travelers he had led for years. But this was a little... Well, he couldn't say he wasn't happy to see this reunion. Nothing more.

Krouse must have seen him over Noelle's shoulder.

"Wait, you, how can I thank you?"

"Wasn't me. Thank her."

Wanda snorted, thoughtfully.

"I don't need anything, just live for yourselves. Live instead of just surviving."

Then she snapped her fingers and closed the portal.

"The Travelers worked for Coil, right?" Wanda asked.

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"Which means Trickster and the others looked the other way while they did that to Dinah."

Logan frowned. He was perfectly aware of that. However, I don't know, he thought. I'll justify it with what Dinah told me, if she makes fun of my supposed sentimentality.

"But maybe we should look the other way too, from time to time."

"Mhm, well, I suppose this is for the best. Is that all you need from me, Logan?"

"Appreciate it."

"My pleasure."

Did she sound sarcastic or not? He wasn't sure. In any case, she returned to Krakoa in the blink of an eye. Now he was going to have to take another long walk to get back home and get out of this base once more on his own two feet. Well, he supposed he couldn't use her as a taxi or something.

Logan returned to The Princess without any more trouble. He was convinced they would attack him by surprise before he could get through the door, or maybe right then. And if not that, what else would happen? For example, a message from a little worm, so to speak, from a little bug, so to speak. But no, nothing, they left him alone for the moment.

Logan took off his clothes, took a good hot shower, put on new clothes just in time to collapse onto the bed. He didn't cover himself, he didn't even bother with that. He was tired, very, very tired. Logan sighed, looked at the ceiling. A lot had happened in a very short time. The text message by which he had discovered Dinah, killing Coil, and then this girl, Noelle, too. Not to mention the most important revelation she had given them: superpowers in a bottle, that changed a lot of things. If it was a side effect of what they were doing, that is, Noelle's appearance, then there could be bigger problems. It could be just as Dinah had warned him, but with other people. Now that they had managed to rescue Noelle, the wrong power in the wrong hands was destructive enough on its own. But if it ended up in the hands or tentacles of a monster, something not human, whether it had been before or not, then everyone would be screwed. And Jack and his little band of psychopaths would just be a footnote.

The end of the world. Dinah had predicted that. If Jack escaped the city, everyone would die. Among so many things, it hadn't even occurred to him to ask for the details. Was it a sure thing to happen, a one hundred percent prediction like his own rescue? Or was it just a possibility? It didn't change anything, of course. The fate of the world couldn't be left to chance. Still, he should have asked, and there were gaps, flaws. He recognized that. It didn't matter.

The question was, what would he do now? What should he do? Logan bit his lip until he tasted blood. He didn't know. So first of all, he would concentrate on his original mission. Eliminate the Slaughterhouse Nine. Shut it down. Maybe his head would be clearer after that.

Logan got up to get his phone. Then he realized he had smashed it in a fit of rage. And of course, among so many things, he hadn't had time to buy a new one. He was going to notify Dragon that it was done. He had rescued Dinah and returned her safe and sound to her family. He had gone a little further than that, the simple physical act of rescuing her, but there was no need to mention the details. He didn't owe Dragon anything to notify her either. If she hadn't found out yet, she would. What did it matter?

He fell back onto the bed. He sighed. He had only done the right thing, what any decent human being would have done in his place. Besides, until recently he had been bathed in the blood of dozens of people. He didn't feel very heroic, even if it was for good reasons, in the end, he had only done the work of a butcher. That's what I am, he thought, and what I'll always be.

He closed his eyes. To his surprise, he managed to fall asleep. A good nap of three or four hours, he wasn't sure. He didn't have good dreams, but no nightmares that he remembered either. Well, you had to take what you could get. What should he do? He needed a new phone. The Travelers, or Trickster at least, would be on his side because of what he had done. But what about the Undersiders? Would they cooperate with him? Even if it was just to kill the Slaughterhouse 9. Now that he had gotten rid of Coil, he wasn't sure. It couldn't hurt. Anyway, the idea of cooperating with people who knew what was happening to Dinah and had done nothing, or at least not enough, made him uncomfortable, but he could swallow his rage and his pride for the sake of the mission. He was perfectly capable of being pragmatic.

He decided to go out and look for the Undersiders. Try his luck. If not, regardless of the answer he received, he would then look for Trickster and the rest of the Travelers.

Chapter Text

Logan had gone out to look for the Undersiders and the Travelers, as many of them as he could anyway, hoping to organize one last attack against Jack before he did something outrageous or tried to escape the city with his tail between his legs. However, they found him first. More accurately, Skitter did, naturally.

He had no idea how far her power reached, but it had to be significant. Enough to have eyes all over her territory. Probably, otherwise she wouldn't have expanded so much with the same confidence. It was just speculation, but that's what his gut told him.

How did he know Skitter did it? Well, very simple. A butterfly suddenly landed on his hand and it clearly wasn't moving like a normal insect. It was quite obvious when she wanted it to be. Not like in the bar, where she had gone unnoticed by dozens of people.

As she watched him, Logan followed the animal to a part of the boardwalk, a part covered by Skitter, of course. And it didn't take long for him to spot her in costume, from head to toe. Of course, he couldn't trust her. The girl was looking out at the sea, while the wind blew through her hair. Logan approached and leaned his hands on the railing. He didn't even look at her. And although it was impossible for the two of them to go unnoticed, he wasn't trying to hide or anything, obviously.

A seagull flew over them and was soon lost in the blue of the sky. Then, the echoes of its cries disappeared too. Brockton Bay felt like several different cities, cut up and forced together. That's what he thought, as he looked around. Maybe it had been like that even before Leviathan, only now it stood out more.

"Why did you call me?" Logan asked.

"To talk," Skitter said, without looking at him directly. "Person to person, not cape to cape."

Oh, I hope so. He supposed she didn't need to look at him to keep an eye on him thanks to the bugs, not that she was turning her back on him or trusting him too much. Meaning, he wouldn't do anything to her. Not yet, at least, but Skitter couldn't know that.

"Oh yeah?" Logan asked.

"Yes. First of all, thank you for saving Dinah. Believe it or not, I'm in this to save her."

Logan raised an eyebrow. To tell the truth, he wasn't sure what to believe. But it was curious. A revelation he hadn't expected at all.

"Undercover?"

"No, I was already acting as a supervillain before that happened," she admitted. "But I was partly to blame for her kidnapping. I didn't know what it was for, but I was part of the distraction. We were part of it." The Undersiders, of course.

And the distraction in question was the bank robbery. The information had contained all that information, everything except the guilt of the complicated girl in front of him. Unlike Trickster, she at least hadn't given up. At least she had been trying something, or so she said. In any case, it was a matter of intention, which he respected. It was one thing to know something was wrong and not be able to do much about it, and another thing entirely to choose not to.

"I understand, I guess," Logan said. "Even for a supervillain, there are limits."

Skitter fell silent, her gaze still fixed on the surface of the water, or perhaps on the horizon. As the sky turned red with the sunset and the sun rippled, he began to think she wouldn't continue, that she would change the subject, but...

"Exactly, although I'm not so sure. Some superheroes and supervillains aren't that different, in the end. They just play on the opposite side. I want to help people, above all else. But I don't trust the system at all, especially now that everything has gone to hell."

I can almost see your surprised face. Logan shrugged.

"What can I say? You're not that unique."

He had certainly dealt with people with the same kind of ideals. For starters, Magneto, Erik, had done many bad things over the years, but his intention had always been what was best for mutants. The worst part is that he couldn't say he was wrong. Even, otherwise, they wouldn't be in hiding as they were now. Charles would have given up. And it's not like they disagree.

"I'll continue," Skitter said. "Logan, the system fails a lot of people. Maybe not the majority, but it fails the majority of the most vulnerable. And that's bad enough."

He would also say that it failed, that the system failed the majority, period. But what was important was the intention of the message. Fights might be his thing, cutting and slashing, but he wasn't completely useless with words either. At least that's what he believed.

"True," Skitter said, almost as if responding to his thoughts. "In any case, I'm glad."

"Or not? Does this mean the Undersiders won't be against me for killing Coil? Right?"

"Yes. I'm not the only one with other intentions."

He couldn't know if she was telling the truth, but he supposed he would trust her for the moment. It's not like he had another choice. Fighting alone wouldn't lead to anything good. Not while Crawler was still standing. The only one who wouldn't fall as if he were made of paper, now that he had been able to adapt to his adamantium claws.

"Okay," Logan said. "I've gotten Trickster's cooperation. Maybe the rest of the Travelers too."

He could almost see her stupefaction again, without her needing to take off her bulging-eyed mask.

"How?"

"I'll explain on the way. To wherever the rest of the world is, of course."

In fact, in the end they were all able to meet in one of the bases to talk strategy. The only Travelers missing were Ballistic and Noelle, of course. She couldn't fight before, maybe, but not now. Wanda had healed her and with it had taken away her powers, or at least sealed them, since they were the source of the problem.

They were all standing around the table. Tattletale got straight to the point.

"Long story short, Jack has taken over Dullton and has holed up."

"What about Parian?"

Tattletale shook her head sadly.

"No news. She's most likely dead."

Well, of course, and if not, she'd better be. Because Jack and the others would make sure she suffered terribly before she died. If not the civilians of Dullton, Parian's modest territory, they had surely wished or were wishing to die. Logan bit the inside of his cheek. Damn, the sooner they got moving, the better. Thinking about it drove him crazy with rage. He had to stop that degenerate, that psychopath. Senseless.

"Do we know if there are, at least if there are, secret entrances or anything? Anything that gives us an advantage."

"What about Crawler?" said Oliver. "There aren't exactly many places to hide the big guy."

A a bit of a timid suggestion, but a good one.

"Yeah, Crawler is the biggest problem," Logan said. "I can handle all the others, but that monster has already adapted to my attacks."

Oliver didn't respond, unless looking away even more counted. It was clear he didn't like being the center of attention, or even stepping forward when necessary, even if he recognized the need. That's why he was simply Oliver, with no codename. Well, that and because his powers were a bit useless. Logan had seen him change in body and face, not very drastically, but change several times, just since he arrived here. After Tattletale explained everything and during this conversation, he had probably changed some more, but they seemed to be unconscious changes and not so dramatic as to do more than go unnoticed when he wanted. He didn't see him copying another person or anything like that, that didn't seem to be how his power worked. He couldn't be far off, for some reason they kept him in reserve. If he could contribute on the battlefield, he would be there. That's what he believed.

Tattletale continued to explain her thoughts, maps of Dullton, approach routes, and yes, the occasional secret entrance or at least ways to take a shortcut with the resources they had available. Logan listened attentively, and the plans to finish off Crawler began and ended with the same thing: Sundancer and her sun. If the beast endured even that, managing to adapt, then they were well and truly screwed, with no alternatives. He supposed it was true, anyway. If it could withstand a miniature sun, what the hell could he do to it?

It felt long, but in reality, it was over quickly. It's just that there wasn't much to talk about. Logan smiled. Finally, it was time to put the ideas into practice.

They divided into two groups, mixing the Undersiders and the Travelers. It was the best for mutual trust, the same thing they had done during the failed plan to kidnap Shatterbird and have Regent bend her to his will. Well, actually in three groups, of course, because Logan was going alone and almost certainly represented the strength of an additional squad.

Logan watched as Group A entered Dullton through the front door, more precisely by knocking it down with the truck. The direct hit caused the glass to shatter, but they continued on without problems, taking the iron gate with them. Anyway, they didn't take the truck very far. They skidded to a stop, emerging while it was still moving. The truck crashed into a building and exploded, blowing a large hole in the facade. Group A got up and quickly got moving. The Slaughterhouse 9 was still there, they were sure of it.

Meanwhile, Group B, with Trickster, Sundancer, Skitter, and Grue, would make a more subtle entrance through the sewers and ventilation ducts.

As for Logan...

He would take a more direct route, of course, as usual. Using his claws, he climbed onto the facade and began to scale it, picking up speed as he did.

A three-pronged attack, trapping what was left of the Slaughterhouse 9 in the middle. At least, that was the idea. It would work one way or another. This ended now. But he didn't follow them to the roof. Instead, he entered the building, jumping through a window. He landed rolling, followed by a shower of broken glass. There was nothing but shadows around him, for now.

"It's about time we met."

His smile, reflected in the broken glass, was grotesque. Savage, brutal. Anything but heroic. Just the way he liked it.

"What a way to announce their arrival. Is the man with the claws there, Bonesaw? Yes? Perfect. I'm very much looking forward to meeting him personally."

He smiled, a smile that didn't reach his eyes, like that of a doll or a mannequin, even. The shadows in the room seemed to come to life around him, and wherever he went, the light dimmed.

"I'm sure we're going to have a blast."

He raised a butcher's knife. His smile widened.

After all, they were the Slaughterhouse 9. It was time to show them why and act like it.

Chapter Text

Logan moved quickly through the ruined building and among the traces of innocent people's lives. If they really had done nothing to deserve this, they had simply been unlucky, and everything they had been, everything they were, and everything they could have become had been stolen in the blink of an eye. The injustice made his blood boil, the red curtain once again covering his vision. He wanted to brandish his claws until nothing was left standing, until he was bathed in blood and guts up to his neck, but for that, he had to find the sons of bitches. He hadn't seen anything yet.

"The residents of Dolltown are still alive," Tattletale reported over the comms, "they've just received forced plastic surgery and had their bone structure modified, too."

"Get to the point," Logan said.

It sounded horrible and his imagination was working fast, but that didn't tell him what he really needed to know, what that meant for them, for the plan, that justified her calling to report it. He surely wasn't the only one to ask that question.

The response was immediate.

"They all look like members of the Slaughterhouse 9, except for Crawler, of course. There are no copies of him."

"I see," Logan muttered, more to himself than anything.

Was it a strategy, he wondered. In that case, it was more to waste their time than anything else. That would only make sense if he planned to flee, but he didn't think so. What fit best was, well yes, a small distraction but mostly out of cruelty, because they could and because that son of a bitch surely found it funny.

"I get it," Logan said. "I have to be sure before I start slashing."

He continued on without slowing down, in fact, he started to run faster. Every time he reached a door, as he had been doing, he threw himself against it, knocking it down, and fell on the other side, rolling on the floor, expecting trouble, but nothing happened. He didn't see the enemies, the priority targets, anywhere yet. It was the same. It was no longer just a matter of time. He didn't even run into one of the modified civilians. It seemed he had landed on the wrong floor. They must be up here, somewhere, but he supposed they had... after all...

Logan clicked his tongue, headed for the nearest window, and jumped through it. Digging his claws into the window's edge, he swung like a pendulum against the window. That's how he changed floors in the blink of an eye. Now it was also possible that he had been wrong and the rest were on the top floor, but he had a feeling he had studied enough. Just that, a feeling. Just that and nothing more.

Shortly after, he was interrupted again.

"Logan."

That was Tattletale's voice again. Only the first had been a general call. Something must have happened to justify this. What could it be? The sounds didn't give him a big clue. He decided not to try.

"We're having trouble with Hatchet Face," Tattletale continued. "We could use a hand, if you can think of a way."

Hatchet Face. His power was simple and very suitable for a serial killer: he projected an area in which powers didn't work, no exceptions. The only option for a cape was to attack from outside his range, something easier said than done, of course, like everything in life. Fortunately, he was not a parahuman, but a mutant. Besides, his adamantium claws were no power. They were just claws. So the problem had an easy fix.

"I'm on my way," Wolverine said.

The truth is, he had intended to go straight for Jack, maybe support Sundancer to get rid of Crawler on the way, but if he had to do this... well, he had no other choice. He ran. Logan ran once more, out the window. He descended as fast as he had climbed and in the same way, almost running on the facade, almost flying. But he didn't enter right where Tattletale and the rest of Group A—Regent and one of Genesis's creatures—were fighting Hatchet Face. No, instead, he landed right on top of him. A grin from ear to ear so wide it split his face. He might be a wild beast, but with that also came a savage cunning.

Logan cut a circle in the floor at the right moment. How did he know it was? Well, thanks to his very fine hearing, of course, listening through the floor. That way, the debris crushed Hatchet Face to the ground and Logan landed on top of him. Then he moved before the monster could throw its hatchet backward, plunging both claws into the back of its skull. The crunch was very satisfying, as was the gray matter and blood flowing in gushes as he went in and when he abruptly withdrew his arms as well. Dead in a single blow. Just like that, no problem.

Genesis's form had been on the verge of completely dissolving, and Tattletale and the rest hadn't done much with firearms, only managing to tickle him. But he had arrived and had put an end to it all, decisively. Tattletale approached Hatchet Face's corpse and Logan, therefore without fear.

"How the hell did you do that?" Regent asked.

A little more politely, Tattletale joined him.

"How is that possible?"

The claws were retracted, at least. Logan shrugged. He didn't have a good answer and he didn't need one. No more mutants, the Scarlet Witch had said, and so it would be. Even if it made Tattletale suspicious, he couldn't explain this. But the conclusion she reached didn't matter either. It couldn't be "there's a different and much older class of parahumans." The truth was dead and buried. At most, she would think that parahumans weren't such a recent thing after all. Krakoa and his friends, his family, were safe.

"Whatever it is, it came in handy," Regent said.

"Sure, though you're not arguing with me either," he shrugged.

"Enough," Tattletale said. "I guess it's true, it doesn't matter. What's done is done. And you should be more grateful, I just saved your lives."

"That too," Tattletale admitted.

"Well, go on. Go your own way if you want."

"Of course I want to."

Wolverine disappeared through the hole he had formed. Once again, he felt as if he had come back to life. Maybe Tattletale felt damn good about it. He didn't have to go far. After crashing through several walls as if they were made of cardboard, a huge mass hit him with the force of a bullet train. Logan stopped, planted his feet on the ground, and dug his claws into its head. Still, it threw him back about ten meters and, of course, kicked up a large cloud of dust accompanied by small debris.

But Crawler was the real priority target. Jack was just a psychopath with a knife; Crawler was a monster inside and out.

"I found him," he had made it very clear to the team. It was heard over the intercom. "I'm talking about Crawler, he's a very important part of the plan."

"We know," Trickster replied. "Keep him busy for a bit. Sundancer needs time."

He would do that. Besides, his blood was burning for a rematch, even though he was aware that he wasn't physically capable of killing him.

"I would say..." Crawler, of course, hadn't been able to hear Trickster, but I guess it doesn't matter. "The important thing is that we're going to have a great time, little one. We were interrupted, but I'm sure you're a savage, I'm sure you can still surprise me."

Logan smiled, throwing the beast back.

"Of course I can."

The two wild beasts clashed in the middle of the ruined building. Logan moved over Crawler's body like a tick, cutting everything that got in his way. Of course, the wounds recovered immediately. He had adapted. He couldn't do anything to him on his own, but that didn't stop him from attacking with fury and savagery, as if he didn't need Sundancer, as if he believed that if he tried a little harder, he could kill him. Of course, he was someone who didn't hold back whenever he had a good opportunity to let loose. Being part of the X-Men was fine, but there was nothing compared to this. Kill or be killed. The animal instinct to survive by crushing the enemy. His blood was like gasoline and the adrenaline was the match. His entire body was on fire. The same went for the enemy.

"Well said!" Crawler said between laughs that came from hundreds of thousands of mouths and from holes that shouldn't serve that function, but did anyway. "Well said! That's what I like. Big or small, weak or strong, there's no greater pleasure than fighting against someone who likes to fight as much as I do."

"Don't you compare us," Logan replied, spitting.

Crawler's only goal was to find stronger and stronger enemies to beat him up so he could get stronger. In short, the adrenaline and pain junkie above all. But it was insulting to be compared to a mass murderer, especially because he knew he was right.

Logan threw Crawler through a wall and almost made the floor collapse too.

"Patch," Sundancer said. "I still need more time. A few minutes."

Logan didn't respond. There was no way to respond to that. Crawler wasn't an idiot, he would see the trap if it was that obvious.

He couldn't expect him to be so stupid as to let himself be hit by Sundancer's miniature sun, just to see if it could hurt him.

So...

It would all be over if he noticed.

They clashed again. The difference in their sizes might seem comical, if not for the fact that they were destroying everything around them. Walls flew, windows, tables, and doors. They were tearing everything down. If this continued, they could cause the building to collapse. He wouldn't even be surprised. And it wouldn't be a big deal, if not for the civilians. He highly doubted they had evacuated everyone. Tattletale's team... he highly doubted Tattletale's team had evacuated everyone so soon. Well, all in due time.

He screwed up. He screwed up royally. He should have lunged forward. Lunged forward, instead of dodging. As a consequence, the monster crushed him against and through the floor.

He fell one floor. He rolled backward, trying to recover. But as fast as he could, it wasn't fast enough. The monster fell on top of him, again. And they fell two more floors.

His whole body ached. Well, it had been aching for a while now. And he had several broken bones, so it was no wonder. But his healing factor would take care of everything. That's what it was for. He just had to trust it and throw himself into battle as if he were immortal, completely untouchable.

"Don't worry," Sundancer said, as Logan ran up a table and used it as a support to jump towards Crawler's hungry jaws. "We still have him in our sights, just a little longer."

He supposed he would believe her. He had no other choice.

Chapter Text

Logan did everything he could against the behemoth, a creature he couldn't even permanently damage, let alone kill. Under circumstances like these, it was only a matter of time before he screwed up. And he did. Crawler's tail lashed out like a whip, catching him square in the chest. The force of the impact ripped his feet from the ground, and the collision of his back with the building shattered the window he flew through, along with several others nearby.

He soared so far, so high, that for a fleeting moment it felt like he could stretch out his hand and graze the clouds with his fingertips. Of course, it was just a false impression. This wasn't some cartoon. He plummeted back to the ground, landing hard outside the building.

Logan felt several of his internal organs smash against the pavement. He opened his mouth and a cascade of blood gushed out. Damn, he got me good. What surprised him was that he hadn't lost consciousness. Logan took a ragged breath. He bit down on his tongue, hard. Everything hurt, but as counterintuitive as it seemed, a little more pain—a fresh, sharp pain—would help him cling to consciousness. It had always been the thing that focused him most. The pain, the malevolent intentions of others, of monsters. Logan could act like a wild animal, but in the end, he only bit those who kicked him. His vision was filled with black spots, but he would not lose consciousness. He was sure of it.

He watched as Crawler, of course, launched himself out of the same window to follow. Its landing created a considerable crater in the street, from which it promptly emerged.

"All done, little guy?" Crawler asked. "I guess so. I like you, but if those claws are all you've got, I don't see how you plan on killing me."

Logan pushed himself to his feet, a monumental effort, and the remedy felt worse than the disease. His healing factor had already kicked in, but the pain of his bones snapping back into place was ten thousand times worse than the pain of the injuries themselves. On the other hand, it was a familiar pain, his pain, and that too helped him focus.

"Small, but I pack a punch," Logan growled.

"Okay, okay. What a spirit! You're certainly a person like me—very agreeable, pure and honest about what matters to you. Hehe, I'll enjoy this, I suppose, until you've got nothing left to give. Until, I suppose, I have no choice but to eat you or something."

A light ignited in Wolverine's cold eyes. Eat him. Now he had an idea. And to hell with Sundancer. First, he'd try things his own way. To be honest with himself, he craved a rematch more than he craved killing Jack, anyway.

"Eat this, asshole," Logan said.

He then skewered the nearest car with his claws, effortlessly lifting it and hurling it at the monster. It opened its jaws and bit down. To a monster that size, the car might as well have been made of candy. It would be destroyed in a tenth of a second. But he had never thought it would hurt it. And he didn't need it to last.

Logan broke into a dead sprint. He couldn't hesitate for a single second or he'd lose his chance. He'd have to find another, better way. And the sooner he ended this, the better. Less chance of screwing it up. The path he wanted was wide open. He couldn't waste this opportunity. Before Crawler could take another good bite of the car, splitting it in half, Logan leaped. He flew through the car's windows, now empty of glass from the first bite, and landed on the monster's tongue. But he didn't stop there. He willingly rolled forward and dove inside.

One thing was what he could do from the outside, but what about the inside? Could its body adapt just as well? Could it adapt to him tearing out its hearts with his own claws?

"Logan, what the hell are you doing?" Trickster's voice, distant.

"This is more my style," he replied simply, and then shut off the communicator.

It was good, important for knowing when Sundancer would attack, assuming he failed. But he didn't need a fly buzzing in his ear. He had enough annoyances already. For example, the viscous slide that was this creature's throat. All in all, it was not pleasant. He was going to need to shower for a week.

The slide felt endless, but he finally reached the monster's stomach. Inside, objects and corpses were being digested alike. A horrifying sight. The disadvantages of having such good eyesight. Anyway, it was to be expected. And he'd seen more horrible things still. Logan had lived a long time. There were unimaginable horrors, and for those to be replaced by fresher wounds, there were no horrors that left a mark that couldn't be erased. Not ones as impersonal as this, in any case. So, in a way, people were right: time healed all wounds. And in a way, they were wrong.

Logan pressed on. Logan began to attack the stomach walls. That is, slashing here and there, what he did best. Additional gastric fluids gushed out, of course, but also black blood like a waterfall.

"Son of a bitch."

Planting a boot on the wall, he leaped away before the wave of blood could sweep him away. It wasn't the first time he'd had to do that. It was natural. Crawler was a big creature. But maybe it was just his imagination, but he had the feeling it was bigger on the inside than on the outside. Well. And if it was, so what? It wouldn't make much sense, but so what? That wouldn't stop him from tearing out its hearts. Because it undoubtedly had redundancies inside. That wouldn't stop him from tearing it to pieces and emerging from its dead flesh, bathed in blood and viscera.

Logan kept going, using his claws, using other people's ribs—not Crawler's and not his own—using tentacles and anything else that got in his way, as if emerging from the abyss. Triumphant. A perfect victory. Without Sundancer's help. Without anyone's help. He was already another madman in the world, but Crawler had made him retreat. So yes, of course he desired this rematch more than killing Jack. How could he not?

He finally reached the monster's ribs. It felt like each one was as big as a football stadium. He carefully jumped down. The creature thrashed violently, trying to hinder him, but it would be useless. With his claws, he could dig into anything and he wouldn't stop. He thought about going straight for the heart, but decided to slash a lung as he passed, opening it up like a piñata. Then he reached the heart. And he didn't just stop it. He shattered it.

Crawler roared in pain and rage. He could feel it even in the depths. No wonder, the walls trembled. But of course, he had only hurt it. He could hear its other hearts nearby. Nothing would stop him from destroying them too. And he had a clear path. Sundancer wouldn't fire while he was in there. This had nothing to do with Noelle. Even setting that aside, he thought the same. And that was because that girl simply had no killer instinct. She didn't have the stomach, the cold blood for it. That was something a killer like him could detect instantly.

It was a little difficult to distinguish the exact distance and origin, with the two hearts beating so loud and so close. But he did it. He reached the next one and did the same as with the first: he tore it to shreds. It was possible the monster wouldn't die, even after he destroyed the third and final heart. Maybe it would adapt to that or had already adapted before, surviving through photosynthesis like a damn plant with legs. How the hell was he supposed to know? But even if that were the case, he would find a way to end this. Being inside it, it couldn't be that hard.

He wasn't unscathed, not by a long shot. Its gastrointestinal juices were acid. As a result, they had eaten away his clothes in pieces and burned through skin and flesh down to the bone in some places. But his healing factor took care of it. As long as the enemy couldn't hurt him faster than his regeneration worked, he was basically immortal. Meaning, Crawler had lost the moment he allowed him into its mouth. Now it was just a matter of carrying out the inevitable. A matter of when, not if.

He reached the third heart. He made a cross-cut, an X. The four parts fell. Finally, the sound of the heartbeats died down completely. There was no fourth heart, apparently. Nor one created right now as an adaptation, like some kind of emergency generator. He had succeeded, after all. But if the guy was some kind of plant too, the solar energy charge didn't do him much good. First, it stopped thrashing, suddenly. And then it collapsed. How long was it? Everything trembled.

Logan was thrown around like a toy. Up, down, left, right. There was no way to tell. He ended up landing against what had once been the ceiling, he thought. But he wasn't very sure. Maybe he had just returned to the floor. What a pain and what a hassle. He wanted to vomit. The smell didn't help. Of course, the humidity and rot permeated every inch of the beast's interior, but the shaking had been the last straw. Or almost. Because he doubled over. He put his hand over his mouth and doubled over. And he was convinced he would vomit, but he didn't. He just trembled, from head to toe.

Well. It could have gone better. Cleaner. But it had gone. That's what counted. Now he just had to start digging his way out. Logan clicked his tongue. The image in his head was visceral and triumphant, exactly the ending he had wanted for the fight. But clawing his way through all this mass of flesh, bit by bit, was going to be more tedious than satisfying, he feared.

Finally. He finally broke the surface. Finally. The fresh air had never tasted so delicious. He crawled out, the giant viscera like a pressure, like a weight pulling him down. He rolled down the corpse of Crawler and onto the ground.

He turned his communicator back on.

"You're batshit crazy," Sundancer muttered.

"I know, kid. I know."

Chapter Text

Logan leaped toward the building, clinging to the facade with his claws, and then continued to scale it rapidly, heading for the hole created when Crawler had thrown him through the window. The biggest obstacle was dead. Now, it was just a matter of cleaning up. Of killing.

While Bonesaw was technically the most dangerous member of the Slaughterhouse 9, not Crawler or even the Siberian, he could deal with her easily. Her experiments would do nothing to him, and he could kill her in the blink of an eye. As he'd said, what was left was mere cleanup. The remaining members of the Slaughterhouse 9 didn't stand a chance. That's what he sincerely believed. No, it was a fact.

He entered the building, rolled across the floor, and leaped forward again like a yellow panther. Ha, ha.

"Sundancer," Skitter said through the communicator. "Spare me the details. I'd rather not know what he did. But it doesn't matter that Crawler is already dead. It's almost better this way. Save it for Jack."

"Yeah..." Sundancer's voice... there was a hint of doubt in her voice. It was hard not to hear it.

Logan frowned. Why? What reason could she have to hesitate? He didn't need her to finish the job. Still, it was annoying. He had sought this alliance to kill Crawler and the Siberian. Both were permanently off the board. So he didn't need Sundancer or anyone else to finish the job. Still, it was annoying.

"Sun..." Skitter's voice, low and reassuring. Or at least, what he assumed passed for reassuring from her.

Right, apparently he wasn't the only one who had noticed. Of course, Skitter had to be the leader for a reason.

"You know it doesn't matter how monstrous Crawler was on the outside. He's ten times worse on the inside. You're not killing a human being. You can barely call him an animal."

"I know. I know, Skitter, I know."

"That's not what I'm asking you. Will you do it? Will you fire?"

Sundancer took a deep breath. He wondered what kind of face she was making.

"Yes, I'll do it. There's no other choice. Besides, we've already gotten all the civilians to safety."

"Good, that's what I like to hear."

"Yeah, Skitter, just a little longer and we can have a normal life. Maybe we'll never go home. Maybe, but that's okay with us. We don't have to keep fighting. Isn't that all you've dreamed of for a long time? Not going home, but stopping the fight. You know it perfectly well," Sundancer replied, clearly on the verge of tears.

Logan clicked his tongue. The conversation finally ceased. Good, he'd had enough of this soap opera drama. He was tempted to turn off the communicator again, but he needed to at least hear the alert about Jack's location.

"Hasn't anyone found Jack yet?" Logan asked.

"No," Skitter replied. "But we're sure he hasn't escaped the building by blending in with the civilians. He's still in here."

If it were him, he would have already fled with his tail between his legs. This was not a battle he could win. Jack Slash was a maniac with a knife. If he had survived so many years and so many different members, it was because he wasn't a fool. He knew when to fight and when to run. So, because he wasn't giving in, they had to be very careful. He would have a trap prepared or some other ace up his sleeve. Who knows, but something. In any case, thinking that he was simply making a mistake was too convenient. An unrealistic fantasy.

"Be very careful," Logan said. "Wherever he is, we're heading into a trap. It should be obvious. I shouldn't even have to say it. But, just in case, I'm saying it."

He was surrounded by brats, after all. Most of them didn't even have blood on their hands. Very green.

"I've found Jack," Logan risked whispering.

It was true, Jack and the others were right below him, and he had positioned himself in a way that, with a little luck, he could drop right on top of them and end this in the blink of an eye. While Wolverine didn't need help to finish off the remaining members of the Slaughterhouse 9—that is, Shatterbird, Jack Slash, and Bonesaw—but some reinforcements wouldn't hurt, in case those rats... so that... a little caution never hurt.

He had been worried that Jack or one of the other two would hear him, but no one reacted to his voice, at least not in any visible way. Logan took a deep breath. The longer he waited, the worse it would be. He had to try, and he had to try now. Or maybe not, maybe it wasn't the most opportune moment. He waited a little longer, making sure, and came to the conclusion that he should have done it sooner, but that it probably wouldn't matter one way or the other.

So Wolverine leaped on top of Jack through a hole in the floor, that is, the ceiling. Shatterbird reacted immediately, spreading her wings, but she didn't intervene, she didn't need to. Jack grabbed a butcher's knife and projected its blade, slashing him across the chest three or four times, knocking him back. Logan gritted his teeth, for the moment, of course, just for the moment.

"It's about time we met," Jack said. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time. Yes, I hope you turn out to be as fascinating as you seem."

Jack tilted his head, smiled. He didn't know what was sharper: the knife or that inhuman smile.

"If there's one thing I truly hate, it's monotony, boredom."

"You're like a kid in a candy store, always looking for the sweetest treat."

Jack wasn't offended; it would be hard to offend him, he had surely heard it all.

"If you want to see it that way," he said, "go ahead. Then you're the candy, the best candy of the day. Of my visit to Brockton Bay, at least for now."

"The only thing you've earned by coming here is death."

"Yes, do you really think I haven't been in similar situations before? And that I haven't survived? Anyway, you're not the first to try, nor the last, I just hope you're the best so far."

"Don't talk as if you're invincible. Those other similar situations, you surely knew when to run when you had the chance, but now that the Slaughterhouse Nine is the Slaughterhouse Third, you're still here? Why?"

"You know perfectly well why," he said, a little irritated. "Because of you. By now I would have gone to try my luck elsewhere, to start over with recruitment, but you, well, you pique my curiosity. I'd love to find what's left when it all comes crashing down."

My friends are... Logan thought. No, my family. Do you think you're important in some way?

He's too pretentious for a mere mass murderer. Although that's also vulgarly ordinary. There's no nutcase who doesn't think people should read his manifesto.

Jack frowned. Ah! He had hit a nerve there. The first crack in the armor. That had really bothered him.

"I'm not 'just any' nutcase," he said, making air quotes with two fingers of his free hand. "Mr. James, or whatever you prefer I call you."

"Call me James. Call me Logan if you prefer. I don't give a damn. Or Patch."

"Patch, eh. I see why."

"Jack," said Shatterbird. "Just give me the order and..."

"Please, don't get ahead of yourself." Jack raised a finger. "I'm having a pleasant conversation and I'd like to finish it before the cavalry interrupts us."

"There's no conversation to be had. I don't even know why I bothered to answer you. Let's get to the point."

Logan took a step back. He wondered what he had hidden up his sleeve or in his pockets.

"Perhaps," Jack began, "we're not so different, you and I."

Logan's smile widened, though it wasn't a pleasant smile, but one more twisted than ever.

"Yeah, I've killed a lot of nutcases. And most of them think they have the right to ask questions like that, as if the enthusiasm for a good fight is equivalent, is somehow comparable to the enthusiasm for killing and eating babies. Anyway, what can you expect from crazy people?"

Logan shrugged. Jack was no longer smiling. This was the leader of the Slaughterhouse Nine, who had sown pain and terror for so many years: pathetic, like a child, throwing a tantrum to demand everyone's attention. Yes, basically it was all a game. And he hated anyone who wasn't willing to play. Or understood, on the other hand, the rules too well. Neither one thing nor the other. He had made it easy for him, with those reactions. Logan burst out laughing, a forced laugh.

Then he shot towards Jack, like a bullet, but he didn't touch him. Of course, Shatterbird got in the way. He crashed into her, bounced off a table. Shatterbird sang. And the windows that were still intact shattered at once, not just in the building, but over a significant range. The truth is, he didn't remember the exact number, but the range was astounding. For good reason, Jack had been letting Shatterbird announce the Slaughterhouse's arrival in each new city lately.

But the worst part wasn't the singing, but what she could do with the glass. Logan raised his arms in a cross to protect his head from a shower of broken glass. She could control it. She could do whatever she wanted. For example, make it return to her, like a boomerang. That's exactly what she did. Well, what they did. Except for the ones that had already completely shattered on impact, leaving no trace. What speed and power. And he didn't give a damn.

It was all the same to him. She couldn't kill him.

"Now," Skitter said through the communicator, just before Logan and Shatterbird collided in mid-air.

Now. What did she mean? The sudden increase in ambient temperature gave him the answer. Ah, yes. Sundancer and her sun. She had gathered enough energy to kill Crawler, in theory. So, of course, she hadn't held back in the slightest. And, of course, the walls and ceiling didn't last a second. It came in, devouring the left wall and opening the floor like the Red Sea.

Everything trembled. The heat was like a physical weight, so close, so intense. He could already see the steel melting at the other end of the room. The doorknob, even the glass... Shatterbird was fast, she was going for Jack, only she got in the way, without being told. Like a fool, she signed her own death warrant. For fuck's sake.

Seconds later, the floor collapsed. Jack, Bonesaw, and he plummeted to the floor below, but of Shatterbird...

Not even ashes were left of Shatterbird.

Wolverine emerged from under a pile of rubble. Immediately, a metal bar was piercing his heart, but it was just a slight inconvenience. He tore it out as he looked around, searching. Jack and Bonesaw were not in sight, maybe because he had fallen further from them than expected, maybe because they had already had time to hide like the rats they were.

It turned out to be the latter.

"You must think I'm finished, right? My intention was to buy time until you were all in the same room, or at least most of you, but I guess all in due time. And you've ruined almost all my plans in this city. One more isn't much."

But Logan advanced, following the voice. It was a trap, of course it was a trap, but what other choice did he have? Besides, he could handle it, whatever it was. He was unstoppable. He was unstoppable and he felt like it, which was perhaps the most important thing.

But then there was a strange smell, dense, penetrating. A smell that blocked his nostrils, made him collapse, immobilized. Only then did the rats come out of hiding. Although of course, from his position, Logan could only see their shoes. He could almost see Jack's smile anyway.

"Let's see what you're really made of."

He had believed that Bonesaw couldn't affect him. It was obvious that he had been completely wrong.

Chapter Text

"Son of a bitch," Wolverine muttered.

He could barely speak; even breathing was an effort. He could have used that energy to try and warn the others, who were, after all, his only hope, his last hope. But it hadn't crossed his mind. Instead, he spent what could be one of his last breaths on useless words.

Jack brandished the knife. He didn't see it, from this position he couldn't see a damn thing, but he felt it: the pain, the smell of blood filling his own nostrils. The cut was deep, but it would disappear soon. Or maybe not, because his healing factor must be busy, counteracting whatever Bonesaw had used on him. Dammit. Yes, that was also possible, depending on the problems it was giving him. And this small cut, in quotation marks, Jack must have made it to test the theory.

He wanted to vomit from pure rage and helplessness. But he supposed it had been a matter of time and bad luck. And things had been going too well. Some ups and downs along the way, the occasional surprise, but too well nonetheless.

"I'd love to know what you're doing here," Jack said from behind me. "Don't tell me an animal like you is moved by a sense of justice," he added, mockingly.

Logan couldn't answer him, even if he wanted to, and he didn't want to.

"Oh, right! You can't talk," Jack continued, as if he had just realized.

He didn't want to talk, no. He was furious, burning red-hot. If he could, he would tear his throat out with his teeth. But he couldn't. He had to endure. Persevere. And cross his fingers. It wasn't that big of a deal. After all, Skitter and the others couldn't be far, and he wasn't that easy to kill. Worse monsters had tried. Even if he could kill him with that simple butcher's knife, it would take time. And time was one of the many things Jack Slash did not possess.

The knife blade, bright as a full moon, swung again. This time the cut was higher, tracing a serpentine red line on his neck. Logan gritted his teeth. You're going to die, Jack, he thought. And there's nothing you can do to stop it now. Absolutely nothing.

Logan took a deep breath, as deep as he could under the circumstances, and tried to gather the strength to overcome Bonesaw's substance. The poison, or whatever it was, paralyzing. A determination similar to plunging a knife into his own chest. But everything already hurt. And anyway, pain was just that. Pain. An exaggerated feeling. An illusion, almost. He could accept the pain to keep going.

He wasn't able to. Anyway, he wasn't able to say a single word. Of course not. His throat was practically blocked. Not enough oxygen was reaching his lungs. He just kept breathing, it was quite a titanic effort. How annoying. He couldn't even contribute by warning them of the danger. This wasn't like him. He had never felt so helpless.

I'm looking for your cornerstone, he remembered Jack's words. Only it wasn't true. He had felt this way. And even worse. During the Weapon X experiments. The first time they had made him feel as if he weren't even human. This was almost the same as being tied to the operating table, feeling the scalpel cutting, feeling the changes knowing he could do nothing about it. There was no worse feeling in the world and this was forcing him to relive it. Dwelling on the past didn't work. It always caught up with you in the end. But he didn't want to run headfirst into it either. He gritted his teeth. They immediately started chattering.

A cloud of insects descended into the hole. Skitter. Finally, she was taking her time. It had probably felt long and nothing more, but he didn't give a damn. The urgency was very real. It had been a long time since he had felt so helpless. Who the hell liked to feel that way? No one, of course. But when you were used to being untouchable, well, it was worse.

Skitter didn't show herself for now. Instead, she sent swarms of bugs on Bonesaw and Jack. He started slashing with the butcher's knife, using his power to project the blade, but it didn't do much to the cloud of bugs. Not on its own, at least. Bonesaw sent out metal spiders. He didn't know what kind of thing they used, but they started dropping like flies. In the end, Skitter chose to back off.

He couldn't warn her not to get close, that it was most likely that Sundancer would try to wipe Jack off the map once more. From a distance. He couldn't do anything. For now, just watch. He clenched his fists. Helpless. Could there be a worse feeling? Something that would drive him crazier? He doubted it.

They all appeared, looking from the edge of the hole. Not just Skitter, but Tattletale, Regent, Bitch and her damn hellhounds, Trickster. The only absence was Sundancer. Her and her immense destructive power. She was better off at a distance. Trickster must have told her to stay. And she surely hadn't protested.

"Things are getting ugly. Where is she?" Jack said. "The kid. If she was a kid." He giggled like a schoolgirl, as if there were no danger at all, despite the situation, despite being so significantly outnumbered and outgunned.

He must be counting on the dust he had used on him to paralyze the others as well. And why the hell not? If it could keep him, of all people, paralyzed for so long, it was possible that it would kill those brats outright. He hoped his fallen body was warning enough. They couldn't think that Jack had defeated him so easily, no, especially with the lack of wounds on his body.

"Just you wait and see the sun. You're finished."

"And this," Tattletale smiled, "is not an exit."

Jack laughed too, as if she had said something funny. Personally, he didn't get it. And of course, he didn't care. Less talk and more work, he thought. Please. But what else could you expect from brats in tights? The first thing you lost in training was arrogance. He knew that. Because if not, you were sending them to their deaths. But they were just brats who had made the decision to put on a mask. And now they were facing psychopathic killers.

They were supervillains, without a doubt. And it would be better for everyone if they were behind bars. But still, he couldn't help but feel a certain sympathy as a teacher. He had never... he didn't know their circumstances, but it should never have come to this point.

"We'll see about that," Jack said.

Bitch whistled, sending the dogs after Jack. It was over, right? There was no way he could get out of this. The dust probably couldn't do anything to the dogs. Because the real power, as he had learned, was in there. Their monstrous appearance was nothing more than flesh suits. And sure enough, nothing happened to the dogs. But the owner was the first to fall, collapsing. Skitter caught her before she could fall through the hole, but she was already unconscious. How was that possible? And so fast? What the hell could that Bonesaw have done?

Logan took a deep breath. He tried to gather strength in his body. Trying to get up suddenly wouldn't do him any good. But maybe if he started by gathering strength in his fingertips, little by little he could break the paralysis and do something before the situation became irreversible.

Logan focused solely on himself. He didn't close his eyes, but everything else around him disappeared. Even the sounds. If he wanted to do this, he had to concentrate on the biggest obstacle: himself. Come on, he thought. Just a little more.

A few minutes passed. That was an eternity for a substance to seriously affect him. Even if it seemed impossible, he would get up. And he would end this. He had to.

Logan stood up.

"How is that possible?" Jack muttered, glancing at him.

Bitch had been the first, but not the last. The others were dropping like flies. There was a strange smell in the air, now that he noticed. Bonesaw must have filtered it. Maybe through those mechanical spiders. Maybe in some other way. And of course, made the Slaughterhouse 9 invulnerable. But this ended now. It had to end now. Here and now.

Wolverine took a step forward. He swayed and lost his balance. He almost ended up on the floor, but only almost. He took another step forward. And another. And another. His steps were becoming more and more confident. However, that meant nothing. The next step made something explode, made his vision go almost completely black. He couldn't say there were black spots in his vision. If anything, on the contrary, there was vision in his black spots. Ha, ha, ha. It wasn't funny at all. With a tremendous effort of will, an effort that defied logic, common sense, and everything, he took another step towards the enemy and collapsed. His eyelids were as heavy as a tombstone. They closed immediately. Forever.

No. Not forever.

Logan woke up with a jolt, his heart starting up again. It was in his throat, almost, beating hard. His face was covered in sweat, redder than a tomato. Dammit. He had no intention of dying pathetically. And especially after rejecting the help of Wanda and Frost, and indirectly of all the willing X-Men, who would be eager to lend a hand if they knew about this. He could and had to do it.

Jack approached Trickster and put the knife to his throat. He could, of course, kill him from a distance, but apparently, he preferred to slit his throat like a pig. Now that they were defenseless, affected by this crap.

Logan gritted his teeth. He thought of Noelle.

He had only seen them together once, but he remembered the way they had hugged.

What better than love to lead a person straight to hell?

"That's enough," Logan said. Against all odds, he managed to stand up.

"You were supposed to be out of commission for longer." Jack shrugged and glanced at Bonesaw. "Well, everyone makes mistakes."

Logan took a step forward.

"You're like a clown, eh. Everything's a joke to you."

Jack let go of Trickster's head and moved the knife away from his neck.

"On the contrary, I take it more seriously than most people." With a casual movement, he cut his leg without moving from his spot. Logan barely reacted.

"Yeah, whatever you say, but you're going to die today."

He had been gathering energy. He used it in an explosive leap directly at the enemy. He crashed into Jack, dragging him to a window. Logan was far from fine. He could barely stand. But he was standing. And he would hold on long enough to put an end to this. Because he could. Because he had to.

"I feel like there's a special connection between us," Jack continued, grabbing his forearms. "As if I've been waiting for someone like you for a long time."

The claws sank into Jack's arms at a shallow depth, but they did. Adamantium was one of the hardest substances on earth. It must be agony. Even a cut like that was agony. But Jack didn't react to the pain. Bonesaw. If she had put certain protections on them, she had surely also operated on and modified them so they could simply turn off their sense of pain when it was most convenient for them. It's what he would do in her position.

"You're sick," Logan spat, trying to push deeper.

"Maybe so. But who isn't?"

Jack jumped backward, through the window, and tried to drag him with him. Instinctively, Logan planted his feet on the ground and didn't let himself be carried away. On the contrary, he cut off one of the arms with which he was holding him. Not even then did Jack's expression change one bit. Well, it did change. It became crazier than before, darker, but not in response to the pain. There was jubilation on his face, even as he fell, because he let go of the other arm before he could do the same. Logan clicked his tongue. The fall wouldn't kill him. That was clear, but he wouldn't get very far. Not that fast, in any case, he should have time to...

Logan turned, focusing his attention on Bonesaw. He got rid of the mechanical spiders she sent against him without a problem, making them jump on him, under him, everywhere, running over his body like ants on a rotting corpse. But he got rid of each and every one of the spiders and then grabbed Bonesaw by the neck, slammed her against the wall with one hand, and raised the other, ready to execute her. But then, then he saw a flash of fear and then he saw, he saw that she was a child, just a child. What was her fault?

He wouldn't say she was completely devoid of responsibility for her actions, but whatever had happened to her... regardless of the details, the point is that she had been recruited young, distorted. She had never had a chance. Could he, should he, really kill her here, just like that? Was that really the right thing to do? His pulse faltered.

He knew perfectly well that most of his companions would lock her up and try to extend a hand because she was just a child. Even he had a soft spot for brats, so the others, who were better people, you can imagine.

"What are you doing?" Skitter managed to say, though barely. "Kill her, kill her, we almost have them! Kill her!"

Of course, it was very easy to sit there, well, lie there, judging him. He thought Skitter would have the cold blood to finish the job. She had come far for Dinah, after all, and maybe if he hadn't intervened, maybe she would have even succeeded and could have pulled the trigger to kill Coil. To kill an adult. And to kill a child, even if both were mass murderers... although the truth is that Bonesaw had carried out worse atrocities. The stain she had left on the world was much darker.

She was still a brat. It shouldn't have come to this point. That a child was in this situation was a failure of the world.

Even knowing that he might regret it, Logan let her go. And the girl looked at him, confused, blinking rapidly.

"What are you doing?" She was basically encouraging him to kill her, because letting her live didn't make sense.

Damn, that a child had such a twisted point of view. It was to be expected, growing up in the Slaughterhouse Nine, but nevertheless, for the teacher and for the father within him, that was agony.

Logan tied her arms and legs. Damn, this was stupid. Even if everything went perfectly, Bonesaw had committed too many atrocities. They wouldn't lock her up, they wouldn't even settle for throwing her into the Birdcage. The entire Slaughterhouse Nine had a kill order on them. Bonesaw was no different, so the most she could expect was a bullet between the eyebrows, or a visit to the electric chair. He couldn't save her, but maybe he didn't have to condemn her. Maybe that was okay.

Logan took a deep breath and then punched her in the face.

"The antidote! Give it to me!"

"Don't let Jack get away!" Skitter continued.

"Give me the antidote!" Logan repeated, turning a deaf ear.

Bonesaw smiled. It was the widest smile he had ever seen. He met it with another punch, breaking her nose.

"Tell me!" Of course, he had retracted his claws. Otherwise, they wouldn't be punches, it would be like pushing her face into a blender. "I know you must have it on you, or at least you can make it quickly. I'm not playing. Give it to me!"

Bonesaw's smile somehow got wider.

"If you had the balls for it, I'd already be dead."

Logan didn't think twice, knowing that otherwise, he wouldn't do it. Do what? Well, he hit her across the face a third time, but this time, with his claws, forming three deep red furrows on her right cheek.

Bonesaw shrieked in pain. She too must be able to suppress her sensation of pain, but she shrieked as if she were in agony. Anyway, maybe it was more fear than pain.

Chapter Text

In the end, Bonesaw stopped screaming, fell silent, and her head dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. Logan swallowed hard. He didn't like doing this, torturing, especially a kid, but he would do what he had to do.

"There is no antidote," Bonesaw muttered finally, shaking her head. "There isn't one."

"Then make it."

"There's no need. It's not... it's not made to kill. We wanted to trap you, open you up,"

"Study me..." Logan finished. "Yeah, you're not the first. But why should I trust you?"

"I don't want to die."

It wasn't funny at all, but Logan managed a twisted smile. Of course, after killing so many people, she didn't want to die, she wasn't ready to die. He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword, might be a well-known expression, but few people really followed it when the time came. It would be funny if he weren't sick of hearing things like that when he had enemies at his mercy.

"She's telling the truth," Tattletale muttered.

Logan nodded without turning around.

"I guess it's your lucky day."

Then he turned and jumped out through the hole, going after Jack. Just as he had thought, he hadn't gotten far. The only thing that surprised him was that the arm he had cut off was back in its place, as if nothing had happened. Healing factor. No, nothing like that. If that were one of Jack Slash's powers, it would be a known fact. Powers could have weaknesses and other subtle elements, but regenerating body parts like a lizard would be very obvious. He had a feeling, or at least that's what he thought as he ran after Jack, pretending to catch him before he even rounded the corner. Anyway, he had a feeling that he had simply picked up the arm and pressed it into the stump as if it were a toy or a robot, not a human being. Bonesaw's modifications must have been extensive. Well, anyone would make the most of being a thinker in bioengineering and one of the most powerful in the world. Besides, he supposed he should have even expected it.

"It's over, Jack. It's over. You're dead."

He caught up with him without a problem. He grabbed him by the neck and plunged his claws, without hesitation, into his belly. They went through the skin, the flesh, his organs, and even the wall behind. A red waterfall trickled between his claws. He deserved to suffer, not just die, but he wasn't going to give him time to somehow get out of this. He pulled his arm back and prepared to crush his skull and tear his brain apart.

"It seems so," Jack said, "but I'm not the only one."

Something in his tone, something made him stop anyway.

"What are you talking about?"

Then he smiled, a truly diabolical smile that chilled the blood. The smile twisted his face to such an extent... Dammit! It was so unnatural that it looked like there were no bones underneath.

"Am I talking about poor Dinah? Of course."

"You'd better choose your next words carefully. You're going to die anyway, but it can always get worse."

"That's very true. Get worse. Poor little girl rescued from being locked up and drugged, and now she's in the hands of a Nazi."

Logan tore off the left side of his face completely with a single swipe.

"Talk!"

"The recruitment efforts haven't been entirely unsuccessful. We have Hookwolf on our side, who knew we needed... so he has Dinah. I don't know why you bothered to rescue that brat, but it's obvious you care about her, and not just for her usefulness. I guess children are your weak spot. You didn't kill Bonesaw either, although you should have and you had a better chance than anyone who has tried so far. Do I remind you of the Siberian? She also had a weakness for children, and not because their meat was more tender."

Logan gritted his teeth. Hookwolf. Maybe Jack Slash couldn't order him to execute her. He had no contacts. It wasn't the checkmate this psychopath thought it was. However, just to be sure...

"Where's Dinah?" Logan demanded.

"Sure, sure, I'm in a hurry to die, so I'll tell you right now."

Logan gritted his teeth harder.

"So we're holding, eh? You'll do what you'll do, won't you? And how do you plan to achieve that?"

"Charles!" Logan shouted, his rage barely contained, his bloodlust blinding and deafening. "The job is almost done, but I need a portal now. Here and now."

He received a mental response, of course. Shortly after, the portal drew itself in front of him. It led to the open air, on the island of Krakoa, undoubtedly near Charles's study.

"What the hell is this?" Jack said. "I don't know the distance, but a portal... a power like that... you're with Cauldron."

"I have no idea what that is. But you will talk."

Logan dragged him inside and the portal closed. Normally, the secret mutant island of Krakoa could only be accessed through the portals that only accepted mutants, that is, people with the X-gene. But exceptions could always be made for revenge and prisoners. Logan cut off Jack's legs and let them fall on the grass, spreading more red paint.

"Damn, damn, what a hero you are."

"I never said I was a hero," Wolverine said, retracting the claws on his free hand enough to take off his patch without cutting himself. "I'm the best there is at what I do, but what I do isn't very nice."

Logan advanced.

"Professor Logan." A student approached them, though not too close, smart enough to keep a safe distance. "What is that?"

"A souvenir from my most recent mission, kid. You go back to whatever you were doing."

The girl, her name was Jennifer by the way, turned around. Jack and he attracted attention on the way to Charles's study, for obvious reasons. He burst into the study. Charles was alone, standing, with his arms crossed behind his back and looking at a library shelf as if lost in thought. The Cerebro helmet covered his face. He was glad to see him. After all, he had simply assumed he was in the study; he could have been somewhere else.

"Logan." Charles...

Logan dropped Jack on the carpet.

"Break him," Logan said. "I need him to talk."

"What's the matter? Are you going to hesitate now? It's a use of your powers with very little force, with very little ethical complexity, especially considering what passes for normal here. We're talking about the life of a kid versus the mind of a psychopath."

"Emma and Wanda told me about the girl."

"Yes." Charles turned around. "Very well, Logan, I'll do it."

"So this is the famous, the famous Professor X," Jack muttered, somehow projecting a certain confidence, even without legs and at the mercy of the most powerful telepath in the world. Even with only the publicly available information, it was as if he believed himself to be in control of the situation, or as if he were so crazy that his mind couldn't digest the alternative. In any case, it didn't matter.

Charles approached Jack, a hand on the helmet, and began to work. It didn't take him long, it never did.

"I see. You weren't able to process it, were you? Coming out and seeing that everything was fine, not after years of hearing what they wanted you to hear. So much pain, so much suffering ingrained in the world. And all because some people who should never have been parents had a child. Depressingly common. But you turned out to have powers, and you went much further." "Yes." Charles sighed. "Jack's confidence had evaporated like the morning mist. Now he seemed nothing more than..." "You're just a child buried in a bunker. Yes or no, Charles? Sad. Pathetic. Meaningless. You're looking for meaning, but there was never any meaning, son. It just happened. But what happened next... you could have been better. You could have helped people like you. That didn't just happen. You made a choice. You did that to yourself."

It was nice not to be on the receiving end of the speech, for a change.

"What about Dinah?"

"Yes, the girl. We have her location."

Charles told him. Logan nodded, ready to set off, and prepared to kill Jack. But Charles raised an arm, stopping him.

"What now? Don't tell me you feel sorry for him."

"Of course I do, but that doesn't mean he's not going to die. It's just... we'll take care of him, Logan. We will."

"And why's that?"

"We can't leave all the dirty work to you."

Well, what do you know, Logan thought. But he just shrugged, for whatever reason. He didn't give a damn. He wasn't going to leave Jack alive, or some other stupid thing like that. He was sure of that. So the details, he didn't give a crap about them.

He left the office to ask for another portal back to Brockton Bay. While he was at it, he could go see Wanda personally. He ran into none other than...

"Hello, old friend. You look as cheerful as ever."

Erik, better known as Magneto.

"It's a long story. I'll get to the point."

He gave him a direct explanation. The parts that would interest him the most, anyway. Normally, he would have just passed by, straight to finishing the job. But he'd had a good idea.

When he finished the short explanation, Magneto frowned.

"I see. I'll go with you."

Logan smiled. He loved it when a plan came together.

Wanda made the exit portal, right in front of the building where Hookwolf and Dinah were. The Nazi must be waiting for a signal from the new guy holding the leash, not knowing it would never come. It was a decrepit church on the outskirts of the city. No one would bother them. Anyway, this would be over quickly.

Logan opened the door and slipped inside the church, without even popping his claws. Hookwolf was sitting on the altar, already prepared for a fight. That is, in his steel armor in the shape of a wolf, controlled by him. He was a ferrokinetic.

He had faced better ferrokinetics. More powerful. More versatile. This would be nothing. Logan took a few more steps forward.

"I'd say you've stooped very low," Logan said, "but that's not possible. Being a Nazi already." "Tell me, how did Jack Slash get to you? What made you join his traveling circus?"

"Is that what he told you?" Hookwolf asked. "Of course. He didn't realize then, that I really have no interest in the Slaughterhouse. I'm here to fight you. The kid is good bait, and Jack let me know about this easy opportunity. Let her go, I don't want her for anything. But you won't leave here alive."

"Then let her go."

To his surprise, Hookwolf untied her and ripped the gag from her lips.

"Come on, run. Run before I change my mind and gut you like a pig."

Dinah didn't need to be told twice. She ran to him and hugged him tightly, trembling.

"Go," Logan said. "I'll catch up with you in a minute."

He gave her a pat, encouraging her. She hesitated, but in the end, she trusted him.

"Very well," Hookwolf said. "We can fight to the death at last. Patch, or whatever you call yourself."

Logan looked back at him, or well, more or less. It was impossible to see his eyes in that form. He responded bluntly.

"That wasn't a question," Hookwolf said. "I'm not giving you a choice."

Magneto entered the room, floating a few inches above the ground. Large and intimidating. His arms were like tree trunks. And that's not even talking about his powers. There was a reason he was an omega-level mutant. The master of magnetism.

"First, you'll fight this Jew," Wolverine continued.

"The Jew thinks he's a big deal, eh?" the Nazi said. "Fine, I'll tear him to shreds. Then, nothing can interrupt our duel."

He didn't know what he was getting into. But of course, how could he know? Charles was a public figure, but the information about his powers had been deliberately limited, to avoid comparisons with the Simurgh. Meanwhile, Magneto, by his own choice, was not a public figure like him. And his powers even less so. He had judged that he would sow too much fear. Probably, surely with good reason. Magneto didn't like to hide, so yes, if there had been another way, he would have done it. Frost was one of the few public figures on the council. Although of course, things like memory manipulation, no one had to know. Her diamond form was quite... it was a flashy enough superpower.

He was rambling. Maybe a little. But there was no fight here. Hookwolf lunged at Magneto, an enemy who controlled metal, who was encased in metal as if it were armor. Meaning, he was just food for the master of magnetism. Although unnecessarily, Magneto raised his right hand and clenched his fist. Then, Hookwolf exploded. His own metal turned against him and exploded everywhere, piercing his body, the body, in countless directions. An almost instantaneous death, but only almost. He would live long enough to more or less realize what had happened to him and that his death was inevitable. He would live long enough, in that mess of broken metal and blood, to suffer.

"He was looking for a worthy opponent, I suppose," Magneto said. "The glory of battle. A chance to prove his supremacy. Or some other fascist nonsense. Fascists don't deserve an honorable battle. They don't know what honor is."

Nice sentiment. He agreed, of course, but Logan could only think: I'm the only one here, Erik. Well, me and the poor girl who's probably trembling out there, waiting for us to come out. You don't have to give one of your speeches. Sometimes I can really see how you and Charles are brothers.

But he bit his tongue. All's well that ends well, he thought. Yes.

Chapter Text

Logan sat on the edge of a rooftop, looking out over Brockton Bay, looking at what was left of the city, which was perhaps enough. He had seen many people struggling to move on, despite everything, no matter how low they fell. His stay had been short, but he could say with certainty that the city was not dead, as long as there were still people to fight for it.

And, of course, he wasn't talking about the superheroes, even less about the supervillains who wanted to take it over for their own purposes, even if indirectly, even if they would also improve the quality of life for the citizens in certain ways. He was talking, of course, about the citizens themselves. The people were the soul of every city, the only thing that kept the structure standing, even if people always forgot and took advantage of them, leaving them aside. That was the truth.

There were many bad people, as in any other part of the world, but among those who had had no choice but to stay and those who had chosen to stay, despite everything, Logan believed, sincerely, that there were more good people than bad. Maybe he had to believe it. The good people had a few fewer monsters to worry about.

There was the question of Cauldron, of course, superpowers in a bottle and whatever else, and their intentions, which apparently involved Jack in some way, otherwise, how did he know of its existence? Anyway, the battle was won. Peace had returned to the city, at least for now.

One of Dragon's mechs landed on the rooftop, right next to him. A direct chat was better than buying another phone and waiting for her to find him. Obviously, Dragon herself wasn't inside the suit, she wasn't anywhere. She was a robot, a bunch of zeros and ones, but he believed she had...

"Want to talk?" she asked.

"I know you didn't just catch Bonesaw, but also Trickster and Genesis, although the Undersiders managed to escape."

"That's right, so what?"

"I want you to release them, not to do whatever they want, but into my custody."

"Why should I do that?"

"I'm not saying those brats don't have crimes to pay for, but I know why they formed the Travelers. It was a cluster of bad circumstances, they're not even from this world. They just wanted to heal their companion and find a way home. I already made sure she was healed, and I can help them find their way. If you let me, they won't be a problem for this world and I'll keep a close eye on them."

"You know they have blood on their hands, right?" Dragon crossed her arms. "We suspect they were at least responsible for several incidents where dozens of people died."

"I know, but not even you have clean hands, right? Intention matters. That's what I think."

Logan continued, standing up. Although the height difference was still too obvious and, of course, the piece of rooftop where he was standing was slightly elevated, right at the edge. But still nothing.

"They're not like the Undersiders. They weren't in this for money, or for power. Just love and fear. Don't they deserve a second chance? They're just brats."

Dragon was silent for a long time. Logan was convinced she was going to say no, and that he would have to go the hard way.

"However, I can't release them."

"You can't or you won't?"

"I can't release them," she repeated, emphasis on the "can't."

"Ah! The programming," Logan said. "You can look the other way."

"I will. Maybe it's a mistake, but I trust you. Behind those... behind those growls and that grumpy face, you have a good heart. For starters, otherwise, you wouldn't have bothered to come and ask me for anything for them. You would have left the city. Your mission accomplished. Period. Not to mention that saving Dinah like that, killing Coil, complicated things for you a bit, didn't it?"

Yeah, well. In the end, it had given him the key to victory. Rescuing Dinah, finding Noelle, healing her. That had made the seamless cooperation of the Travelers and the Undersiders possible. Although in the end, they had been little more than bodies in the fight. They had made a difference. For starters, if he had been alone, Jack would have killed him. Period. As soon as he fell under the effects of Bonesaw's dust. Instead, he had wasted time with Trickster, and that had given him the time and energy he needed for a final push. Still, he understood. The truth is, he hadn't made any calculations. He hadn't thought that way. He had just felt the urge to do what was right. Apparently, he wasn't the only one.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Logan said. "You know, you're more human than many others, than many humans."

"You bet I am. It's a problem every day."

He got Trickster and Genesis out of their cells while Dragon looked the other way. That is, she briefly turned off the cameras and other security systems. Then, he looked for Oliver and Noelle, who had hidden in one of Coil's safe houses. And he took them with him to Krakoa. That is, all except Ballistic. There was no trace of him. Trickster didn't seem to mind this fact, but he changed his mind as soon as Noelle insisted. Something about a promise. About not leaving anyone behind. Anyway, they were friends. They were family. Despite everything, it would be nice to be able to reunite them and take them home. Almost as if nothing had happened. Almost.

How long it would take to find Ballistic, not to mention the path. Not to mention opening a path to the right world for the Travelers. He didn't know, but they would keep trying. And in the meantime, well, there were worse places to live than a paradise island full of magical plants and lots of sex.

"He's gone. But what will we do if he comes back? What can we do?" Skitter didn't really expect an answer. Not after everything they had seen. And she didn't get one. However, she had even less expected...

"Nothing," Tattletale said. "We couldn't do anything. I think we have to start accepting that."

"And that's it?" Grue asked. "After coming this far, we just turn around and give up?"

"Hey, I don't like it either, but it is what it is. If he decides it would be better to get rid of us, he will. I don't know if what I saw about his age was true, but answers to real or imagined mysteries have nothing to do with the fact that we've all seen we can't beat him in a fight. We could have beaten the Slaughterhouse Nine without his help, maybe, but not so easily. And most likely not without casualties either."

All of that was true. It couldn't be denied. Still, what a bad taste in her mouth to see Tattletale give up. She had thought her too stubborn for that. But maybe she had been wrong. From the beginning, after all, she was just admitting that this Patch was the strongest in the room, not the smartest.

"We have to prepare, anyway, just in case. We've come too far. At this point, we can't have second thoughts."

"How do we prepare?" Skitter said.

An idea. She supposed she could only hope that something would change in the coming weeks or months. Something that would serve as an ace up her sleeve. It might not be much, but it was what they had right now. Anyway, now that Dinah was rescued, despite what she had just said, she wasn't sure if she wanted to continue in the first place. She had a lot to think about.

Logan went down to the beach. On the way, he saw many friends, old and new. Of course, also many enemies. All old. I think it was a new beginning, after all. Whether he liked it or not. Besides, now he was shaking hands with Magneto. Little could surprise him.

He saw Krouse and Noelle. There was no one with them, but no one bothered them either. That was something. Newcomers and not even mutants. He could imagine what most of them were thinking. But as long as they kept it to themselves, it was fine.

Logan approached.

"How are you guys?"

"Oh, Logan." Krouse turned his head, smiling. They were just lying there, sunbathing. "Glad to see you."

"Me too," said Noelle. "We're okay, but I think we can get through this and move on. That's what counts."

Logan nodded.

"That's all you can ask of anyone, whether they're human, mutant, or robot."

Logan smiled.

"Do you mind if I sit?"

"No, man. Of course not."

Logan sat down nearby, on the sand, and just stayed there, watching the sun, its reflection on the water, clear as a mirror.

After a while, Magik passed by, offering a fantastic show in her swimsuit. Noelle glanced at Krouse, clearly expecting to see his jaw drop. Noelle was cute, but a bit plain in that department. Krouse didn't look too long, although it clearly took a valiant effort.

"You've been away for a while, Logan," said Illyana. She had a surfboard under her arm. "What have you been up to?"

Logan thought about it.

"Fishing," he said.

FIN