The beer was cold and it was cheap. What more could you ask for?

I was in one of the many dives in this great country that I adopted, with sawdust on the floor, a smoky ambience, and waitresses who still had their looks, albeit barely.

Oh yeah. I'm a mutant.

Being a mutant in today's world in not so bad. I look human, so I can walk around without getting into too much trouble. That's the theory, anyway. The truth is, no matter how hard I try to stay away, trouble has a way of finding me.

My name's Logan, by the way. I have a code-name, and even a fancy-shmancy suit that I wear sometimes. I try not to wear it too often, though. I'm more of a t-shirt and jeans kinda guy.

A mutant. It really is a dirty word. I have animal instincts, and one hell of a healing factor. Cut me, dice me, slice me, and I bounce back, good as new. But it still hurts.

I have friends who are mutants. One of them is blue, furry, and loves to freakin' talk. Half the time I have no idea what he's saying, so I nod along, until he gets to a part I do understand. This morning he started talking. He was running tests on my animal senses; he wanted to know the limits of them. Could I talk to dogs, for example? Like a dog has anything to say.

He said he found an interesting coorelation between my animal senses and my so-called 'Berserker' rages. I told him he was being awful loose with the term 'interesting'.

Hank was a pistol all right. He laughed, which sounded like a big cat purr to me, and said, "Logan, I have a feeling your 'rages' are connected to your instincts. What do you feel when you go into these rages?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. I feel detached. Like I'm outside of my body looking in. Like someone else is driving. Mainly, I just feel liberated, I guess. You think that's what an animal feels? You ain't making me feel any better, comparing me to some animal."

He chuckled again. Hank carefully adjusted his glasses with his huge paws. "Well, at least you don't look like one. I have to admit, I have these.. urges.. at times. I feel the need to just run outside and be alone. But my instincts and senses are nowhere near the level of yours. You have amazing powers of recuperation which seems to suggest certain traits of certain lizards. You have a strong sense of scent, and a strong instinct of worth...you seem to instinctly know who to trust and who not to trust, much like a canine."

I shook my head. "If you say so. I don't know how they work. You wanna figure it out, be my guest. I really don't care one way or the other."

That kinda frustrated ol' Hank. He is about knowing, and can't understand people who doesn't want to learn everything they can about themselves. I know all I need to know about me. I'm a killer. Back in the '60s, some government thought it would be a blast to line my bones with an unbreakable metal and make me a goddam slave by wiping my memories and installing a bunch of fake ones. I have no idea what my birthday is, or even how old I am. Some old-timers have remembered me from WWII. All I know is who I am now.

Anyway, I blew outta of the mansion and headed to one of my homes away from home. I nodded to the bartender; we had an unspoken arrangement. He fills my glass and keeps it full, and I try my damnest to keep it empty. It was quiet that night. I noticed the regulars drinking and running from their lives,and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone that seemed to be out of place.

She was probably in her mid-20's, blonde, and very attractive. She was at the end of the bar, and even without my enhanced senses I knew she was scared. She was also watching me intensely. She ordered another drink, which was a bourbon on the rocks. Can't fault her taste in booze. I was about to walk over and talk to her when the front door slung open.

Frat boys. Drunken frat boys at that. They burst in and began to immediatly outwear their welcome.

The leader was obviously the blonde one. "Come on. Let's get some cheap brews, and then we can hit the club."

"Ugh. This place stinks."

"So hold your breath. Barkeep! Round of brews, let's go!"

I glanced at the bartender. He had that uneasiness about him, like he knew this would all end badly. I had the same feeling.

The boys started drinking, loudly and often. The regulars tried to ignore them, but it wasn't easy. I watched them. I knew what they were. They had never done an honest day's work in their life, and was now preparing to do a lot of dishonest work for the rest of their life. I never had any use for so-called "Higher Learning."

Then one of the boys noticed the blonde. "Hey, honey, what the hell are you doing in this dump?"

She shrank away. She looked down at her drink, hoping he would go away. No such luck.

"Come on, baby. What, are you a 'working girl'? Who the hell do you think you can get to pay for it in here? Most of these guys look like they just got out of the soup kitchen."

"Please, just leave me alone." A meek voice full of fear and pain. My rage started to rise.

The creep laughed and then he touched her face. She recoiled. That made him angry. He grabbed her. "You little whore. You know who my father is? I could have a dozen girls like you anytime I want. But right now I want you."

That was enough. I stood up and walked over. "She wants to be left alone. I suggest you do what she says, and settle down, bub."

He looked at me, blearily. He smiled and let her go. He was full of swagger and arrogance. "What, you her pimp? You little runt, get the hell out of here before me and my boys put you down."

I smiled. "Ready whenever you are."

He laughed and reared back and hit me in the jaw. Not a bad punch. He howled in pain and held his hand. I spat blood and smiled. Unbreakable bones can be fun, sometimes. "You got a free shot. I can either take mine, or you can leave. Your choice."

He was a hard-headed son of a bitch. He snarled through the pain. "Screw you!" His boyfriends came over to see what the hub-bub was. "Get this asshole!"

Three of them; they looked like they worked out. I cracked my knuckles and grinned. "Nice night for a fight."

Fifteen minutes later it was over. The boys from Phi Kappa Idiot were outside, bruised and bloody, but alive. The barkeep sent a beer down for me, on the house. "They come in here every so often. They cause a lot of problems, and the money they spend ain't worth the aggravation. I got a feeling they won't be coming back."

I raised my glass to him and drank. The blonde smiled at me. The night was just beginning.