Summery: Based on the book by Richard Adams; Logan couldn't remember life beyond the camps. But when a new subject is pushed into his cage, along with her little daughter, he's about to realize how life on the run is. Extremely dark, not for the faint of heart.

Warning: This story may have content that is too much to handle for some. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Author Notes: I've always wanted a story that has something to do with this type of content, and after seeing both Felidae and Plague Dogs, I got the perfect idea. I wrote this all down, just as a little blurb, and it became much more.

This also gave me a chance to reintroduce an old character. She's been in the storage bin for a while, and I've just dusted her off and was looking for a place to use her.

I hope you guys enjoy, and as before, please comment back,and let me know what you think. If I get 5 comments, I'll post the next chapter :)

The cage doors opened with a sharp snap, and the man in the white coat poked his head in. The subject inside glanced at him, and then went back to his book, with a huff.

"C'mon, Number 10, let's not make this harder then it has to be."

Number 10 glared at him sideways, and said nothing. The man in the white coat heaved a sigh, and then pulled his head back, motioning for the men with the guns to do their job. They entered, masks pulled over their face, and their guns cocked and ready to go. Number 10 chuckled, and three seemingly metallic plated claws slid out of his hand with a shink. He placed the book next to him, and pulled his upper shirt on top.

He didn't want to get it bloody.

Thus began a normal day for Subject X, AKA, Number 10, AKA, Logan. And of course the day started, once again, with a struggle and the cleaners having to wash the blood out of his cage. But when they finally did drag him out of the cage (each guard holding onto an arm, and literally dragging him on his ass to the labs) he wore a smug grin, his claws dripping with red. The mangled bodies of the guards were spread across the room, and the cleaners were groaning for their luck.

He overheard one mutter "Why can't he just walk out, like a normal subject?!"

Thing about that was, he wasn't a normal subject. He was…different. They called him a "mutant", but he called himself something else.

'Lucky.' He thought grimly, as they dragged him through the pristine hallway. 'Yea…I'm damn lucky'

The year was 2009, the year of new technology, and advancements beyond any of man's dreams. But, like man has always been, his paranoia has created a problem for all who are different. In 2007, a strain of Influenza appeared that had the symptoms of both Rabies and, in the end, Ebola. It became the new plague, and anyone who was suspected with the disease (anyone who had the genetic makings for getting the disease, baisicly) were rounded up, and sent to "sterile camps", so that they wouldn't affect others.

The problems with these camps were that they were all a sham. The government always called them "safe, healing, and comfortable environments", but they were anything but. The camps were no better then the Nazi's work camps, and some were even worse. Those who had been "infected" were treated like slaves, creating war materials and doing hard labor from sun up to sun down. Every morning, as the sun was rising, they were called for "inspection"; the camp prisoners were made to stand for hours, as their numbers were called aloud. Anyone who slouched or shifted was promptly beaten, sometimes to death. Then the prisoners were sent to work, barely a crust of bread and glass of water crammed in their bellies. Children were sent to factories, their little hands quick and perfect for working with the equipment. The young adults were sent to the fields or to the mills, all picking and harvesting crops and cotton. The adults all had different jobs: some were haulers, some were seamstresses, some built buildings, some worked in the crematoriums. But, the day ended the same for them all: clear chicken broth, stale crust of bread, glass of water, and then to the cramped houses that they slept in until the cycle started again in the morning.

But this was the fate of the lucky ones. The unlucky ones were sent to the labs.

And those who were sent to the labs….well, they were usual never seen again. See, scientists used those who went to the labs as test subjects. The subjects were branded with a new number, and then sent to the cages, kennels that housed the subjects. The cages were just that, cages, with steel doors and locks and chain link fences. If you were lucky, you got a somewhat "okay" cage mate. If you were unlucky, you got a cage mate that was dying (in that case, your cage mate wouldn't be removed until he was already covered in flies and maggots and stinking to high heaven).

If you were really unlucky, you got a cage mate with a red flag on the door. The red flag meant one thing: the inhabitant had killed more then 5 of the residence in the facility, be them scientists or subjects.

And here, we meet Logan, Number 10, Subject X, and killer of 43 guards, 10 scientists, and 6 subjects. Logan's cage didn't even have a red flag on it, but was in a different room then the other kennels. It was behind an electric wired, unbreakable door, and as tiny as it could be. He had been alone in the facility for years, ever since they had first captured him and sent him there. His only contact was with the guards and scientist, and…Logan closed his eyes, a deep shame coming over him. When he had killed the six subjects, it hadn't been because he wanted too. The scientists had been testing something, something that would-

"C'mon, move it, you bitch!"

Logan's ears perked, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked into a different corridor, and sniffed, a new smell greeting his nose.

A guard had just hit another subject with his gun butt. The particular guard was well known for his cruelty, and especially to the new subjects.

And what a subject she was. A strange creature, wolfish, with white fur and dark brown hair, and a coal black nose, and a tail that dragged along the ground. But beyond that, she looked…human…The subject was new to the labs, obviously, her clothing proving as such. She wore an old, raggedy, brown dress that was badly torn at the bottom, and a tan scarf over her head that covered her eyes. But her irisis refused to be hid, and glowed a dull amber, and were covered by square framed glasses that seamed to scratched too see through.

(Most the lab subjects wore the same white scrubs. All except for Logan, who, no matter how many times it happened, always found a way to worm back into his old jeans and wife-beater. It soon came to be that they gave up on taking the clothes, and let him wear the ragitty old clothes)

She was on the ground, rubbing the back of her head. A few drops of blood fell onto the ground. Her arm was cradling something against her chest.

There was a soft whimper. Logan's eyes widened as a little girl poked her head out the woman's arm. The girl looked much like her mother, with wavy black hair and white fur. But the little girl's eyes were bright grey, and filled with tears.

Their eyes met, blue with grey. He tried to smile, as if to say "everything's going to be all right, everything's going to be okay", but he knew it wasn't. Nothing was ever going to be okay. Nothing was ever going to be all right, ever again.

The little girl slowly raised a hand and wiped her eyes, and then waved to him. He waved as best as he could back.

These monsters would operate on a kid. Wow…and I thought I'd seen everything.

"Well, well, well, looks like they were able to convince you to come out of your cage, Number 10!" said the red haired nurse. He laughed at his own joke; as if it were the funniest thing he had ever heard.

"They were just so charmin', I couldn't say no, doc." Logan retorted. The guards threw him onto the ground, and he huffed, standing…

and froze.

"What's wrong, Number 10? Don't like the water?" The nurse taunted, before Logan felt himself roughly pushed into the glass chamber. He fell forward, and shrank back, as icy cold water began to fill the chamber. He swiveled around, just as the chamber door was locked shut. With a feral roar, he extended his claws, and began to slice at the glass. But, no matter how hard he pushed, no matter how deep his claws went the glass wouldn't break.

Inhumanity is caught from man, From smiling man.

~Edward Young

The water was up to his hips now. Logan's heart was beating faster then it should, and he felt the cold fingers of panic creep in his chest. He's slashing the glass harder, and he feels blood on his hands. Shatters of glass are slicing up his hands, and the blood is dropping into the water, giving it a milky quality.

'It's just illogical' says his more intellectual side. 'You've don't this before, and the outcomes the same, why fight it?'

He ignored the voice, and continued his Sisyphean task

He would never admit it out loud, but when one saw his reaction to water, it was made very clear: Logan was a hydrophobic.

The water was nearly filling the chamber, and Logan was at the top, thrashing in the water, his hands on the top of the chamber, his lungs gasping for air. Shame weighed him down; how could he, the great Wolverine, be afraid of something as simple as water?

His hand was left at the top of the chamber, reaching up, as if waiting for a hand to grasp his, and pull him out of the abysmal darkness he was now flowing in. In the water, he opened his mouth and screamed, as the water began to suck him lower and lower into its darkness.

He heard mechanical whirring. The glass chamber was closing in on itself.

Logan really was panicking at this point. He swam (or more like thrashed) back to the entrance, trying to open it once again. He nearly laughed, his frantic motions reminding him of a hamster in a wheel.

The chamber was so small now; he was barely able to turn around. His lungs burned, and despite all intentions, he gasped in. Water flooded his lungs and he choked, flailing in the water. He could hear himself screaming, clawing at the water, searching for an exit.

Perhaps he wouldn't be so scared of water if this hadn't become a daily thing for him. When he was first transferred to the facility, he had experienced his first taste of such evil, by this very chamber.

He had been fast asleep in one of the kennels (they had slipped something in he food, he knew it) and they had dragged him into the chamber, still sleeping, and started the test. The water had startled Logan, shaking him from his slumber. Still groggy, and the water now pushing him up to the ceiling, he had panicked, and started to drown.

But that was the strange thing about Logan. Along with the bone claws, he had the ability to heal himself from any wound, be they a laceration, or a burn…

or drowning.

Thus, it goes without saying that the water chamber experiment was possibly the most painful (and traumatizing) of the experiments. Soon, it got so that he could barely be around water without shrinking back in fear. Even the water dish in his cage could make his heart quicken and lungs contract. When you can drown without dying, without blacking out, just…thrashing about in agony, as your lungs shrivel up, and your insides burn, and the silence is so defining, you think your going mad…

The water roared, and suddenly, Logan feels himself being pulled downward. And, not the sinking feeling he had at first, the water really was pulling him into her mouth. He fought against the water, but the current was much too powerful, and he was pulled into the black whirlpool, spinning faster, and faster, until-

The water was sucked into the floor, and left Logan, gasping for breath, and writhing in both fear and agony. His eyes were so dilated that when the scientists went into the chamber to check his vitals, they thought he'd gone blind.

He hadn't, of course, and the moment he go this whit about him (which wasn't very long) his claws unshaved with a sharp shink, and were through a rookie's skull faster then you could say "guards"

One of the female nurses screamed, and ran out. The guards fired their weapons, and it made none the difference. The chamber was still coated in the young medics and nurses blood.

The head doctors stood on a platform above, observing the carnage. It was nothing new to these doctors, who called themselves patriots (Logan called them hypocrites) Number 10 was well known for killing the workers at the plant. Of course, they never told the new applicants that. Be bad for business, and all. A doctor snorted, and turned back to his paperwork, jotting notes down as fast as he could. The observation of Number 10 was like watching the interaction of animals: always different, always unique.

A black, red headed woman turned to him, crossing her arms over her white jacket.

"What do you think, Dr. Robespierre?"

The doctor who was taking notes paused for a moment, and looked back to Number 10's carnage. The doctor had grey hair, despite being relatively young, and watery eyes. He coughed, and placed his notes down, straightening his jacket.

"We shall go through the with merging of Number 10 an d Number 85." He said rather dully.

Number 10 roared as a bullet pierced his shoulder. A few second later, the head of the offending guard smacked against the glass, and slid down, blood splattering against the glass.

"Are you sure about this sir? Number 10 is extremely dangerous, and getting more dangerous by the day. The only reason he's not in underground kennels is because he's such an excellent test subject. Number 85 couldn't possibly-"

"Now, now, Miss Ivy, you must calm yourself. Remember, Number 85 has a trick up her sleeve."

'What's that?"

The grey haired doctor removed his glasses and cleaned them against his shirt. He replaced them, and they shone, his eyes invisible by the light.

"Number 86. He wouldn't harm number 86 even if it led to his death."

"Are you sure, sir?"

Number 10 gave one final roar. Then he stopped, and looked around, as if confused. He went against the left wall, pressing his ear to it. A look of sheer horror replaced his look of unbridled furry, and he sank down, still listening to what was going on in the next chamber.

"...Positive."

What do you guys think?

I know you hardcore X-Men fans are going to get on me like a ton of bricks, but, hear me out. The character of Logan is always this stoic, hard-lined man who has this "Them vs. Me" feel to him. But, underneath it all, his physiological aspects could drive a psychologist wild. I wanted to play on that, if only for a little bit.

Chapter 1 Soundtrack:

Main Theme: Sleeping with Ghosts by Placebo

Chapter theme: "Handlebars" by Flobots