Disclaimer: I don't own Logan, which makes me very sad to think about...Marvel and 20th Century Fox own him...I'm just borrowing him for a little while...:)
AN: For all of my regular readers, this is a stand-alone one-shot that I wrote for a challenge at the forum some friends of mine from here and I have for our off-site archive website...if you'd like to take a stab at it (heh heh...get it, take a stab?), you can find the address for the forum in my profile...:) If you do decide to give it a whirl, remember that you have to activate your account before you can post...:) Oh, and just so's you all know, the actual body of the story comes in at 997 words...these author's notes add a lot to the word count!
Pain. Fear. Lash out, make it stop. Blood, screaming, death. Run away, get away from the pain, don't stop, don't think.
A figure runs naked through the subterranean maze. It pauses to reorient, but a primal scream echoes through the tunnels as it spies the six razor-sharp claws protruding from its hands. It hears the sound of approaching feet and takes off again, finally coming to a door. Without hesitation, it pushes the door open and emerges into blinding whiteness. Instinctively, it heads for the thick forest surrounding this place, its only hope to lose any pursuers. A few hundred yards later, it climbs a tree and waits.
It's so cold that it's overcome with intense shivers, making the tree shake as well. However, it hears the sound of hunters and forces itself to be still as it waits for its quarry. The hunter doesn't realize he's the hunted. As soon as he's within reach, it leaps down and kills the man quickly. It looks curiously at the body for a moment before stripping it down with brisk efficiency. The clothing isn't a perfect fit, but at least its shivers subside. It leaves the boots behind; they don't fit anyway.
It leaves the scene of its kill and moves towards the mountains. It can smell snow on the wind and it needs to find shelter before the weather turns. It runs as fast as it can, slipping on the snow but never changing its course. After a few hours, the snow begins to fall and it reaches the foothills. Time to find a cave.
It's full dark by the time it finds shelter, a cave that still smells of its previous occupant. But the cave is empty now and it doesn't have time to be choosy. It crawls through the opening and is amazed to find it's much bigger inside than it originally thought. It moves to the back of the cave and finally lets loose the emotions it had been holding back.
It howls in rage, blinded by it. It grips its head, trying desperately to remember what happened, but all it gets is random flashes. Soon, the rage turns to grief. It knows that whatever happened, it's no longer what it used to be. It's a thing now, a monster, a machine. Grief turns to sorrow and it cries, knowing that whatever it was before, it can't go back again. Finally, sorrow turns to despair and it does the only thing it can think of. It ejects the claws from its right hand, gasping as they spring free, and it raises them to its neck. Sobbing, it pulls the claws across its own throat, then lays down and waits to die.
"Oh, my fuckin' head." He groans as he wakes up. He sits up slowly, shaking his head, then notices the overpowering stench of blood. Gagging, he scrambles to his hands and knees, retreating from the cave to vomit. He takes a handful of snow and uses it to rinse his mouth. After he's sure his stomach is settled, he sits back and takes stock of the situation.
'Ok, what's the last thing I remember?' He thinks. 'I was at the bar, drank a lot of whisky. And then, I went to my car and…nothin'.' He shakes his head again and looks down at his blood-soaked coat. 'Wait, this isn't mine. Where…?' He lets the thought trail off as a flash of being submerged in a tank full of fluid crosses his mind. 'The fuck is goin' on here?' He closes his eyes and strains to remember, but nothing makes sense. People in hazmat suits looming over him. A man with a southern accent calling him "Wolverine". A huge needle piercing his skin and liquid fire flowing through his body. A group of men toasting their success with expensive champagne. A sound, something like "snikt" and people screaming. Blood, lots of blood.
His eyes open and he looks at his hands. He knows what he is, he's known for some time. But in that flash, he saw something. Screwing up his courage, he clenches a fist and tenses the muscles in his arms, letting out a yelp as three nine inch metal claws spring from between his knuckles. He stares at them in horror and knows that someone did this to him, because they knew what he was.
Looking around frantically, he stands and starts running. He has a sense that there's a road around here somewhere. He runs for what feels like hours before finding the highway. Before breaking from the trees, he sheds the outer coat and tosses it. Covered in blood like that, he'll never be able to catch a ride. He regrets its loss, but getting away is more important than comfort. About thirty minutes later, he hears a truck approaching and turns towards it.
The rig stops about fifty feet in front of him and he swings up to the door. "Holy shit, buddy, what happened to you?" The driver asks as he settles in.
"I'm not sure. I was hiking with some buddies of mine, got caught in the snow. I lost my pack with all stuff. I fell, hit my head. Can't remember much." He looks down as though ashamed. "But I found a soldier, he was frozen and I needed the clothes, so…"
The driver just snorts. "Ah, don't worry yourself. You did what you had to do." He puts the truck in gear and they start down the road. "We heard there was some missin' hikers out here. You must be one of 'em."
"Yeah, I suppose I am."
"Well, I'll take you as far as Laughlin City. Ain't got a regular doc, but we can call the Provincial Police and they can give you a hand."
"Thanks."
"No big deal." The driver takes out a cigar, clamping it between his teeth. "So, you remember your name, bub?"
He nods. "I'm Logan."
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