I own the X Men not. This is a tribute so sue me not.

The story continues directly after A Force of Nature ends so you really need to read that first if you haven't already done so.

Many thanks to all who reviewed AFON and stayed with the story until the end. I hope Full Metal Anarchy will prove to be as popular. :0)

FULL METAL ANARCHY

Chapter 1 – On The Road Again

I ain't alone in the garage no more. The smell of light cologne and dry cleaning chemicals mixed with fine lubricating oil wafts through the cloying garage funk. Don't need to hear the faint whine of an electric motor nor the ragged whisper of rubber rolling over concrete to know Xavier's about to catch me stealing one of his Jeeps. The wheelchair rattles as it rolls over a piece of pock-marked floor and seconds later it, and its occupant, hove into view. Immaculately dressed – his grooming is bordering on mania, right? - he draws to a halt six feet away.

"A minute of your time if you please, Logan."

Time's a-wasting and I ain't in the mood to play his stupid mind games.

"Shouldn't ya be engaged in teaching silly string theory one oh one or whatever it is ya do at this time of day?"

The skin around Xavier's steely blue eyes crinkles as he smiles. The humour's genuine but the bastard's up to something. I can smell it.

"Silly string theory. Yes, very good. I see your recent ordeal has not adversely affected your sense of humour."

So how come I ain't fucking laughing? Leaning nonchalantly against the Jeep I intend to boost, ignoring the uncomfortable bulge of the duffel bag slung over my shoulder, I give the interfering old buzzard a critical glower. Rumour has it Silly String possess useful military applications. Wonder if it can be adapted to bungee Charlie to his desk? Too late to experiment now. Cocking a shrewd eye at the wheelchair bound telepath, past experience insists he's here to do a number on me; give me an unassailable reason why I should stay. Why else would he quit his physics class half way through and head for the garage? Machiavelli woulda sucked dick to have a fraction of the manipulative talents Xavier possesses.

"If ya here to talk me outta leaving you're wasting yer time." Only way anyone's gonna stop me heading out after Jessie is a bullet in the brain. Won't work for long o 'course but if ya wanna piss me off that's the way to go.

"Dissuading you from leaving is not my intention, Logan. I am here to give you this."

Probing the right pocket of his expensively cut charcoal grey suit, Xavier produces a medium sized manila envelope. An amorphous lump spoils the envelope's flatness and a faint metallic smell, coupled with its vague shape, tells me it's probably a key. My curiosity is immediately piqued. I can smell plastic too and printer ink. Opening the envelope I tip the key into the palm my hand; a car key. It's joined by a platinum Amex card with my name on it. Logan Wolff? Whose stupid idea was that? Never mind, I think I can guess. I toss Charlie a quizzical look before reaching into the envelope to retrieve a folded piece of paper.

"What's all this about," I ask suspiciously.

Again the smile. How can an expression so benign get my ass hairs twitching so vigorously?

"Emergency measures notwithstanding, I have reached the conclusion that you are less likely to appropriate personal or school property…"

"Hey, if this is about One-eye's Mazda getting torched that wasn't my fault, okay?" 'Sides, incinerating that Back Street Boys CD was doing Summers a big favour. Might've even hitched his crapped out cred up a notch or two. But probably not. "And I was gonna bring the Jeep back." Just don't ask me when.

"… if you were provided with a vehicle of your own If you would be so kind as to follow me please."

Xavier backs away and performs a perfect three point turn before wheeling off along a row of vehicles. He's heading towards the courtyard where the vehicles are washed. Intrigued, I follow him, wondering if he's persuaded One-eye to part with that amazing bike of his. Nah, that's too much to hope for. He's probably given me one of the school runabouts. A Jeep if I'm lucky. Pearlescent light floods into the bay as Charlie opens the door. For a moment he's silhouetted against the daylight before powering through the door. I'm unprepared for the surprise waiting for me.

"Holy shit!" I exclaim, a wide grin plastering my face.

"I believe your preferences tend more towards durability than style. I consulted Rogue regarding choice of colour." Xavier draws to a halt besides the brand new Jeep Commander. My gaze glides over it's sleek, black exterior, taking in the chunky tyres and the way the pale, overcast sky and encroaching buildings are mirrored by the pristine paint job. That's one hell of a deep shine! It's a million miles way from the ratty camper van I'd been driving around Canada for years.

Hey, what am I thinking? Ya don't get something for nothing. Not in this fucking world.

"What's the catch?" Far from sounding grateful I'm aware that this thing, if it could talk, would be screaming BRIBE!

Ignoring my question, Xavier begins to extol the main features of the Jeep.

"There's a four point seven litre V8 engine under the hood. The transmission is manual and you can engage the four wheel drive whenever necessary. Satellite navigation has been fitted as standard. There are one or two special features and adaptations you might find useful should you find yourself in a tight corner. A state of the art communications device for instance and an emergency beacon that can be located anywhere in the continental USA, Canada and Alaska. The fuel consumption is rather excessive I'm afraid but that is to be expected. For other specifications I refer you to the manufacturer's manual."

Trailing my fingers along the hood like the paint job is a lover's skin I halt at the driver's door. "No expense spared, huh?" I say turning to face my benefactor.

I open up the driver's door and breath in the newness. Black leather upholstery, grey and cream trim. Wouldn't hurt to try it out so I climb in. Taking the wheel in my hands I run my fingers over the leather grip. Looks good. Smells good. Feels good. But then Xavier knew it would. And there lies the fucking problem. How far does he think my gratitude will extend? I say end of the drive. Lay short odds on Cue-ball wanting it to stretch a lot further than that.

Let's take stock.

Item one: The Jeep didn't appear overnight even if it was bought off the peg, which ain't Charlie's style. Rogue chose the colour so some planning went into it.

Item two: Amex cards don't materialise at an hour's notice. They hafta be applied for and this takes time even if you're a rich bastard like Xavier.

Item three: What the hell is item three? I unfold the piece of paper in my hand. It's a photocopy of some sort of memo dated nineteenth of May, 1984. Names have been coded out but the message is intact. Shame it ain't written in any fucking language I understand. So why does reading it make my skin crawl?

"All current neuro-isolation techniques contraindicative; consecutive failures to eliminate major factors retarding or eradicating post series functional capabilities. Neuro-elimination strategy will be implemented with prosthetic neo-engram overlay introduced post gamma phase zero four. Imperative aptitude profiles are preserved. Primary trials to continue under aegis of Iso-research 8 co-ordinator. Subject will be available for procedure 22nd May at 0800 zulu."

I'm fluent in kick-ass but I musta been out of town the day they covered geek-speak. I read it again carefully and reckon I've caught the jist. "Lotta fifty dollar words here Charlie. Does this say what I think it's saying? It's about my amnesia?"

"I fear so, Logan." The smile has disappeared to be replaced by a pokerfaced expression. Grimness emanates from him, spiced with a vague anger that hardens those steel-blue eyes. "This memo refers to a series of failed brainwashing techniques that were abandoned in favour of permanently eradicating part of the subject's memory and imprinting false memories in its place. Although I cannot be one hundred percent certain you were the unfortunate recipient of this barbaric procedure, there is little doubt in my mind that you are the subject mentioned in the memo."

That don't add up. The recollection of my escape is fragmentary at best but prior to this, there's nothing. "Then why don't I remember anything from before I escaped? Where are these false memories?"

Xavier wheels himself closer and has to crook his neck to look me in the face. "I can only postulate. The damage this process has inflicted on your psyche is extensive and I am at a loss to definitively explain how you are able to function on any level. Yet here you are. This suggests a psychological resilience on a par with your physical ability to regenerate flesh and bone. Telepathic evidence indicates that over time your mind began to expunge or override the false memories, necessitating a renewal procedure. These corrupted engrams would have been purged by your captors in preparation for an upgrade. The psychic scars you bear are consistent with the application of a series of overlays, at least eight and quite possibly more. With every new application the procedure became more aggressive, more damaging. The most recent scarring implies a purge but no new overlay. During the last process something went wrong, perhaps due to lax safeguards or inadequate monitoring. Subsequently, you escaped."

"And how the hell did I do that? I couldn'ta been more than a shambling drool machine."

"I believe the feral half of your psyche, still intact despite the mental devastation, occupied the void left by the purge. Fortunately, over a period of time, your humanity returned and resumed control. The rest of the story I believe you know."

"Why didn't ya tell me this before?"

"Because until I discovered the original memo, its reverse side used as scrap notepaper and clipped to the back of an unrelated report, I did not understand the full implications of the mental scarring. Unfortunately, this does not bode well for the success of any therapy designed to regress your amnesia."

"You saying that anything I might remember is false? It's a lie?"

"Not at all. The memo mentions the preservation of your aptitude profiles – the skills that made you so valuable to them. Isolating key abilities and memories is not a precise technique. They may well have deleted a large part of your past but they could not have eradicated all of it. A few remaining prior memories is a small price to pay for leaving your skills intact. Bearing this in mind I owe you an apology, Logan. I set you on what I believed to be a path of personal discovery. An impossible journey, it transpires. How can you hope to find within you what no longer exists?"

I'm trying to take the information on board when a new realisation rears up and sucker punches me. "The memo is dated nineteen eighty-four." Adrenalin fuelled rage turns my heart into a trip-hammer and I try not to choke on my next few words. "My memories go back only as far as the winter of eighty-nine. Those bastards fucked me over for at least five years before I slashed my way outta there, probably longer."

What sort of atrocities did I commit for those evil, bottom-feeding shitsuckers while under their control? They didn't give me an adamantium bonded chassis and claws for my health, that's for fucking sure. Fighting off an almost irresistible urge to spring my claws and maul something or someone, I close my eyes and try to regulate my breathing, calm things down so I can think straight.

"I can help you Logan."

Opening my eyes I glare at Xavier. "Ya think?" I don't bother hiding my scorn. I ain't in the market for his brand of trust in the law bullshit "You gonna hold the motherfuckers down while I slowly slice an' dice 'em into shark bait?"

"The Weapon X programme turned you into a living weapon, Logan. I can think of no other connotation for melding adamantium to your skeletal structure and furnishing you with six lethal claws. Their nefarious experiments and barbaric surgical and psychic practices tore apart your mind, your body and your life and believe me, I sympathise with your need for justice. However, justice should not be found on the ends of your claws. Engaging in a murderous crusade and hunting these people down in the name of retribution will only validate their original intention. To forge you into a brutal killer."

Ain't that exactly what I am? "Why should I give a fuck? You think I'm gonna smile and turn the other cheek? Ain't gonna happen. I find 'em, I'll kill 'em." They're gonna die real hard now I have a clearer understanding of how thoroughly they fucked me over.

"Violence is not the answer. Killing criminals rather than bringing them to justice is never a good idea."

"Looks fucking good from where I'm standing."

Xavier scrubs his face with his hand. I think he's regretting sharing the latest information with me. "Logan, killing the ones who implemented the directives of the project may give you a short lived sense of satisfaction but it will be a Pyrrhic victory. What about those who are ultimately responsible? What about the empowered individuals who commissioned this atrocity and probably others of a similar nature? Violently eradicating the project's personnel will drive their paymasters deeper into the shadows. Such evil thrives on secrecy. Exposing it to the light of truth is the most effective weapon we have."

"Bullshit! You wanna curry sympathy from Joe Public? The same fucking upright citizens who are demonstrating in their hundreds of thousands in favour of the Mutant Registration Act? People lobby against animal vivisection, Charlie. They don't give a fuck about muties coz, thanks to your pal Erik, we're up there with Hitler, Stalin and Pol Pot!"

"And that is all we will ever be if we take the law into our own hands. We can police our own, protect the public against the excesses of misguided individuals like Magneto. The X Men are uniquely equipped to deal with threats of this nature. But meting out instant justice is not our purview. Mutants are not above the law, Logan, nor should they be outside it. Criminals must be dealt with by due process of the law. It is the only way."

"So the fuckers can escape and attempt global genocide? Quit using yer head as a butt plug, man. People look at a mutant and they see Magneto, they see terror and death. They don't see heroes or saviours of the world. They don't care about how law abiding the rest of us are. All that concerns their bigoted little minds is the threat they think we symbolise."

"Then we must remove the perceived threat."

"And then what? Teach the faithful how to nail custard to the ceiling? Why d'ya do this, Charlie? Ya think this constant drip, drip of sanctimonious crap is eventually gonna wear me down? It won't. Ya tend to see things in a different light when ya get a hundred pounds of molten adamantium shoved up yer ass. Ya meet lethal force with lethal force. Turning the other cheek with bastards like Magneto and Stryker gets you dead, Charlie. F, U, C, K, E, D, dead!"

"I understand how you feel about your mistreatment. I hope to convince you that violence is not the only answer. In the interim I ask that you try to curb your excesses."

Xavier's calm, unruffled exterior is pissing me off. No one can be that much of a pacifist can they? It defies reason for chrissake. While I respect the man for his belief in a peaceful solution it don't make his doctrine the only one or even the right one. How many times do we hafta have this argument and how many times has it gotta end in stalemate before he'll quit trying to convince me? I've had enough. Fuck him.

"I hear ya, bub. Now is there anything else ya wanna share with me before I haul ass outta here?"

"Actually, yes there is."

I had to ask. Rolling my eyes I demand, "What?" He gonna fucking eulogise on why I should return to this dump?

Xavier leans forward in his chair, his expression earnest. "When you sealed the spillway doors at the Alkali Lake complex, how did you know which power conduit to disable?"

Charlie's non sequitur takes me by surprise. "'Scuse me?"

"There were power conduits throughout the base with at least half a dozen of them terminating in a panel on the wall of the complex's main entrance. How did you know which one was wired into the servo mechanism?"

I shrug. "Must've been labelled."

Xavier smiles and says softly, "No Logan, it wasn't."

What will you do, scratch it with your claws? Magneto's sneering words are engraved on the inside of my skull. He used them to dismiss my ad hoc plan to enter the base and open the spillway doors. Ironic really. With lake water roaring along the spillway with the force of a dozen freight trains I just sank my claws into the servo's mechanism, severing the power conduit and sealing the doors. Some fucking scratch you bucket headed asshole.

"Lucky guess?" 'Cept that it wasn't. I instinctively knew which terminal to go for. Didn't even think about it.

"You are doing yourself an injustice."

"Okay. So tell me, Sherlock. How the fuck did I do it?"

"Repressed memory coupled with phenomenal powers of observation linked to your enhanced senses." Xavier says that with a face straighter than an Arizona highway.

I laugh; a humourless, hollow sound. "That's a crock! Where was this phenomenal mojo when I managed not to notice vehicle tracks and the stink of troops and aviation fuel on my first trip to Alkali Lake?"

"I can only speculate. Your skills are obviously latent but appear to be involuntarily accessible in times of extreme need."

"I've had my back to the wall more times'n I can count. Where the fuck were those damn skills then?"

"You may not have been aware your resourcefulness came into play. Again, I can only speculate. Your first escape from Alkali Lake was nothing short of miraculous. You were deeply traumatised, feral, certainly not rational, yet you possessed sufficient resources to evade capture and exit the base. How was this possible?"

Good question. However… "That doesn't explain the spillway doors. I was running into danger, not away from it."

Xavier's smile widens. "Yes you were, but this time you feared for the lives of the children, for the lives of your friends. Flooding of the base being imminent you correctly assumed the spillway to be the most probable escape route we'd take. You averted certain disaster by closing the doors. Extreme need."

The implications sink in and raise a myriad questions. First among 'em is, "These skills, if they exist, why can't I consciously access them?"

"Assuming you effected your escape after a brainwipe but before a new overlay, it is not inconceivable your preserved memories and skills would have been isolated or deactivated for the duration of the process. You left before they could be restored. The knowledge is there, inside your head, waiting to be unlocked."

"Then what are you waitin' for? Read my mind. Let's find out what I'm really capable of."

The smile vanishes. "Logan, I have told you before, A mind, your mind, is not a neatly compartmentalised entity with clearly defined labels. Peeling back the layers of your mind risks collateral damage, probably for both of us. There exists a serious risk my intervention will do more harm than good. This is not an option. The recovery of your skills is a process only you can undertake. I will assist you as ably as I can. I cannot promise more than this."

"But I'm not a telepath, I don't know where to start…"

Smiling like a rat in a granary, Charlie makes a sweeping gesture that encompasses the surrounding buildings. "Where better than Xavier's school for the gifted?"

"What? You fucking crazy? I ain't going back to fucking school!" No way is Captain Anal gonna dish out homework. Not if he values his life.

"I am not suggesting you should. Having given the matter some deliberation I believe you should explore the tactical applications of your weaponisation. Immerse yourself in the various techniques of unarmed combat, stealth and information retrieval. All of these skills would be of great advantage in the field. But remember that many new techniques and technologies have been invented and perfected in the intervening years. Some of your skills may be obsolete but they can be used as a platform to acquire new skills. All of the resources available to the X Men will be made available to you. And I am sure Ms Commeau will be delighted to offer you personal instruction in unarmed combat techniques."

Immerse myself. Will familiarity trigger my latent skills? Sure it will. I got a whole memory cascade when I found the adamantium lab. Possibilities open new doors inside my head.

"I think ya might have sommat there, Charlie. Thanks." Getting personal with Jessie is an obvious perk. Shrugging the duffel off my shoulder, I sling it onto the back seat.

"One final question before you depart, Logan."

"Yeah?"

"When you return will you continue with Rahne's instruction?"

When, not if I return? Arrogant bastard's so sure he's got me. Ah, hell, who'm I kidding. Sure he's got me. This is the real reason he came to the fucking garage. Who else would offer me unlimited resources to help restore an integral part of me?

"I didn't make any promises." Still ain't convinced I'm the kid's only hope.

"You are evading the question, Logan."

What's the fucking use. My conscience won't let me abandon her. "The kid's good people. My kinda people. I won't let her down. That answer yer damn question?"

"Admirably."

-o0o-

Baltimore traffic's a real bitch. The approach to the Baltimore Harbour Tunnel toll booth ain't a road, it's a clogged-up artery. And the smell! Even with the air conditioning switched to recycle the stink of metal, hot engine oil and exhaust fumes is choking me and I ain't even in the damn tunnel yet. Ain't a claustrophobe but I'm sorely tempted fill out an application form and join the club if I don't get out of this fucking traffic jam soon. Right now all I wanna do is execute a one-eighty and head north where ya can breath air instead of pollution. Only thoughts of reaching Jessie keep me pointing south.

Muffled strains of Steppenwolf's Born to be Wild fill the cab; a thin, tinny squawk as annoying as a mosquito whine. Ain't got the radio on coz I hate vacuous, too fond of their own voices to play music DJs so where the fuck's it coming from? My hearing zeros in on the glove box so I lean over and open it giving rise to an increase in both noise and annoyance. Lying on top of a bunch of CD cases is my cell phone. I wonder what fucking joker programmed the ring-tone into it? There's an envelope stuck to the back of it which I rip free and toss on the passenger seat. My irritation evaporates when I see the name of the caller – Jessie.

Pressing the answer button I say, "Hey, baby, whatcha doing? Your Dad okay?"

"Hey back, Wild Man. Dad came out of surgery half an hour ago. His surgeon says the operation went well and that Dad should be okay. I want to be with him when he wakes up. I stepped outside to call you at the school because you were dead to the world last night and missed my last call but Ororo told me you'd left and were heading my way." She pauses, "Logan, is this wise? I mean, you were in a coma less than twenty four hours ago. You almost died for God's sake."

Was that a catch in her voice? "I'm fine," I reassure her. Her honeyed voice in my ear, even stretched thin by the carrier wave, is like a soothing elixir. "Healing factor kicked in once Moira and Reyes wised up and quit trying to cure me. I'm good as new." Almost.

"But you were so desperately ill, Logan. I know you have a healing factor and all but I also know it was thoroughly compromised. Are you sure you're up to this?"

"Hey, if my being there's gonna cause a problem…"

"You can belay that crap right now, mister. You just get your incredibly sexy butt down here right now, ya hear me?"

"How can I say no to that, sweet thing?" I'm grinning like a lunatic which seems to worry the old lady in the car stuck almost level with mine. Giving her a theatrical wink gets me pursed lips and a fuck off and die scowl. Probably just made her day.

"Where are you?"

"Bogged down in Baltimore traffic." Fucking hours away from ya darlin'. "Traffic ain't even crawling along. I could probably fly to London and back in the time it would take me to get outta this snarl up."

"Have you organised somewhere to stay?"

"Not yet. Gonna see what's what when I land."

"We have a spare room. You're welcome to use it."

"I don't think that's a good idea, sweetheart. Things must be tense with ya Dad being ill and everything. Ya don't need a stranger adding to the mix."

"You're probably right. Mom's real worried and Phil's on edge." Who the fuck is Phil? Gotta be her brother. "There's a really good bed and breakfast a couple of blocks away. Chesapeake House will have rooms available this time of year. The beds are large and comfortable, what's more the food is damn good. The owner's a friend of Mom's. I'll see to it you have a room, okay?"

"Big beds, huh?" Her laughter fills my ear and set my pulse racing.

"You're a bad boy, Logan."

"I wanna be, sweetheart. But in your own time, okay?" I'm sensitive to the notion she has her mind on other things right now. She wants me to be her rock I can do that too.

"I have to go, love. Mom's signalling me to come in which means Dad must be waking up. Make your way to Chesapeake House on Maritime Lane in Eastport. It's well known so you should be able to find it if you ask directions. I'll see you later."

"Maybe we can go somewhere to eat?"

"That sounds nice. I'd like that. You like seafood?"

"Yeah."

"Then I know just the place. Bye, Logan."

"Later, Jessie."

She's gone. And I'm still stuck in traffic. Funny how it don't feel quite so oppressive any more. I give the old lady another wink just for the hell of it and pass the time daydreaming about how frantic, satisfying and mutually inspiring mine and Jessie's reunion will be.

-o0o-

Forty miles the other side of Baltimore I pull over at a gas station after a fruitless search for a diner. Don't people eat around here? I'm in dire need to fill one tank and drain another. Hunger pangs are becoming hard to ignore, I'm still healing after all so I prepare to make do with whatever over-sweet snack is available at the counter, cursing myself out for not raiding the larder before I left Westchester. As I unfasten the seat belt a flash of white catches my peripheral vision; it's the envelope I chucked on the passenger seat when Jessie called. Tearing it open I find two separate pieces of paper. I can detect the vestiges of both Moira's and Maggie's scents. I open one of the notes; Moira's.

Logan, I know I am probably not your most favourite person at the moment but there are some things you need to know. Unfortunately you were so angry yesterday I never had a chance to say what needed to be said.

I apologise for not listening to you. I forgot that being a doctor does not mean I have all the answers Cecilia and I truly believed we were administering the correct course of treatment. Both of us know better now. Cecilia was so upset by what happened she left as soon as she was sure you were recovering. I know she intended to open a clinic specialising in mutant medicine, heaven knows there's a desperate need of such a facility, but her first real experience of treating a mutant has made her shy of her original intention. I hope she reconsiders. Meanwhile she has returned to ordinary medical practice. She hopes that, in time, you will forgive her for her mistake. As I hope you will forgive me.

Although I'm sure this will not be an issue you need to understand that your blood must never, under any circumstances, be used to transfuse another person. It would kill them as surely as injecting them with cyanide. Henry believes he now understands how your healing factor works. Your body manufactures copious amounts of cells similar to stem cells but immeasurably more powerful. These super stem cells can instantaneously begin to repair or replace organs or any other tissue when damage occurs. It also explains why you survived the adamantium process when the bonding effectively prevented your bone marrow replacing blood cells. Unfortunately, it renders you extremely vulnerable if, for any reason, your healing factor fails.

Your behaviour yesterday raised doubts about your suitability as a mentor for Rahne. However, having seen how gentle you were with the wee bairn, even under the duress of a fever and your feral rage, I do not believe you could ever harm her. Rahne herself has expressed a wish that she wants to learn from you. I am not entirely certain what brought about this change of heart but whatever it was, I want you to know that you have my full support should you wish to continue Rahne's training. It is my dearest wish that you return to help my daughter. However, I will not hold it against you if you chose otherwise.

Moira.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, sweetheart. That's where your tender mercies sent me. Rahne's another matter entirely though. If I can help her I will. But you, lady, can stew in yer own juice 'til I return. Then ya can buy me a beer or six and we'll talk about it. I take out my lighter, open the driver's window and set fire to the letter before wafting it outside. No need to tell the world how I can be taken down. I watch the breeze carry away the ash making damn certain nothing is left.

The second note is short and sweet.

You will find what you need in the cargo space. Have a safe journey, pet. Give my regards to Jessica.

Maggie.

I can take an educated guess at what particular need Maggie has provided for and sure enough, when I climb outta the cab and open the tailgate there's a big cool-box. Lifting the lid gets my nose twitching; roast chicken, various kinds of sandwiches, boiled eggs, bottled water and precious treasure – three AOTs. Yer a real lady Maggie. But see here, this is another example of forward planning by a third party. Am I so fucking predictable? Guess I'm looking at the answer. The cool-box ain't the only item stowed in cargo. Prising the lid off a large, flat cardboard box enhances the aroma of new leather. Tugging back several layers of tissue paper reveals a black biker jacket with yet another note.

"Hey, buddy! You gonna fill up or what? Some of us poor schmucks gotta work for a living ya know." The speaker, who's head is thrust out of the open driver's window of his beaten up blue van, is a podgy middle-ager with bulldog jowls and a shock of straw coloured hair.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be done real quick," I snap back as I slam the tailgate shut. The guy glowers and mouths asshole at me as he pulls his head inside the cab but I laugh. He ain't looking for trouble and neither am I.

After I fill up I drive away from the pump giving the gas station attendant cause to panic judging by the expression on his face. False alarm, bub. I'm just giving space to the hardworking schmuck. Ya should be thanking me for my generosity. After paying for the gas and using the john, I take the Jeep onto a piece of scrubland next to the station and break out the food. Belly full and a coupla beers inside me, I take a closer look at the contents of the cardboard box. The note turns out to be from Rahne.

Dear Mr. Logan,

Because I ripped your jacket I decided to buy you a new one. Mummy subbed my pocket money for at least a zillion years and Storm took me shopping in town. I wanted to chose a nice shiny new one but Storm said you would like a retro scruffy one better. I picked this one because of the buckles and the way it fastens and because it looks really cool.

Piotr told me that all cool biker jackets need artwork on the back and he should know because he's seen lots of movies. I told him what you might like and he did some sketches. I chose the one I liked the best. I hope you like it too.

Rahne.

PS I like Jessica a lot so please tell her I said hi and hope her dad gets better soon.

The jacket is of classic style with a Harley Davidson label. It looks well worn, like it's been kicked from one end of Canada to the other, but it's obviously brand new. Musta cost the kid a packet. Feel kinda guilty coz I won the old one in a poker game years ago and it'd seen better days even then. Turning the jacket I look into the airbrushed face of a snarling wolf that has been rendered so subtly onto the leather it's like it's been there forever. That takes talent. If Metal Boy ever decides to quit ricocheting live rounds and throwing bad guys through walls he'll make a comfortable living as an artist.

"Thanks kid," I murmur as I don the jacket. It fits like it belongs there. I'm not normally keen on jacket artwork but Rahne chose the wolf design for its special significance. It's an acknowledgement, a description and a warning all rolled into one. I kinda like it.

Switching on the radio leaves me cursing and then I remember the CDs in the glove box. There's half a dozen of them, some bands I recognise some I don't. There's a post-it note stuck to one of the cases.

Logan. If you're reading this it means you snuck off without telling me, dammit! Hope you like the CDs. Love Rogue XXX

Yeah, sorry about that, kid. I'll make it up to ya.

This is a day full of surprises. All these gifts, all this good will. Anyone'd think all my birthdays'd come at once. Course it would help if I knew when my birthday was. I scan the CDs. Rogue's choices, while not exactly eclectic, are pleasing; either rock or heavy metal. I choose the Rammstein CD because it has the most interesting cover and slam the disc into the player. Ain't a band I'm familiar with but I'm game for anything. As the first track starts playing and the guttural voice of the lead singer blares out I realise he's singing in German and I understand some of the words. While on the road I let the CD play through twice more and discover I can understand more of the lyrics. Enough for a rough translation anyhow.

Fuck me, I can Sprechen Sie Deutsche; sorta. Well waddaya know? Looks like both Charlie and Maggie were right on the button after all. I do got hidden skills. Only one way to know for sure. Just as soon as I return to Westchester I'll let Elf buy me a beer.

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Logan has hidden talents. The problem is he can't remember where he left them. Xavier has an idea where to find them and offers to help. Rahne, no longer afraid of Logan, is keen for him to help her control her mutation. Still recovering from his brush with death, Logan heads for Annapolis and Jessica. He saves a life and becomes embroiled in a conspiracy that threatens the very foundations of civilisation.