Mkay, yay, new story! My muse has a tendency to manifest itself at random times, so this was written in Calculus class the other day. Um, I really like the tentative plot line I have for the story, so I'm going to do my best to keep up with regular postings.

Disclaimer: I've never read/seen any of the comics, so I apologize for any and all mistakes. Also, I haven't seen the movies in a little while, most of which this will be based off of (though slightly AU) so if I make mistakes, please, point them out. I'd love to know, and I'll most likely go back and change it if it's a major mistake. Marvel owns any and all characters, the only thing that's mine is Riley.

On a seperate note, I'll try and make the chapters long, this one ended up being something of an intro/teaser thing? I'm not sure, but it just seemed the perfect cut off, though it was really short.


The stench invaded his senses, the trashy bar an assault on even a normal man's. The cold, dank atmosphere and the stink of old beer and vomit. It's his life. The man is used to the cold, the stink, the pain. It's his life. There isn't anything he can do about it, and he is resigned to it. It's his life. There are others here, though he doesn't acknowledge them, any more then they acknowledge him. He is nothing, a ghost, a spirit, vapor. Just a man, who can't even remember who he is. There is loss, and there is suffering. It's his own, and he can smell it. Who is he really? Logan is but a name, the soul lays twisted in deep, dark corners of the recesses of his mind. He doesn't care anymore. There is nothing to care about.

This place is merely a stopover; long enough to drink, fight, and maybe find a woman for a night. Logan sighed, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. Answers to his past weren't going to suddenly manifest themselves, but he didn't know what he wanted from life. All he knew was this. The solid rhythm of punches, the cool slide of liquor down his throat, and the breathy little moans of a woman. He parked away from everyone else, near the edge of the snowy forest. The engine rumbled, and was silent. For a long moment, Logan stared into the darkness of the trees, and he thought he saw two pinpricks of light. Eyes? But when he looked closer, they were gone.


It was like any other night, in any other bar. He was half drunk, staggering a little bit, but still coherent and conscious. Logan stopped short of the vehicle, blinking. He's sure he's much, much drunker then he thought. It isn't possible that a snow leopard had curled up beneath the driver's door. It looks half-starved and broken, and when he came closer, Logan saw that its back leg was broken, and the blood stained the snow. Something woke it up, and the massive head turned to look at him. Almost… pleading? It staggered to its feet, and a low whine escaped the beast. His heart went out to it. He couldn't help it. She, he decided it was a she though he didn't know why, looked so helpless. And being half feral himself, he rather understood.

Slowly extending one hand, Logan approached the snow leopard. She just stared at him with forlorn eyes, and when he gently placed a hand on top of her head, she began to purr. A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "There, you're not so bad, are you girl?" He said softly. She mewed, like a house cat, only deeper. "Ima brace that leg of yours, is that what you want darlin'?" He said, moving the back of the truck. She laboriously followed, limping and letting out a small sound of pain as she went. Logan opened the doors, and searched through the room until he found a rather stout piece of wood, and some soft cloth as well as a roll of twine. She was waiting for him.

It was newly broken, so luckily it hadn't begun to heal improperly. Logan did his best to guide the two pieces together gently as he could. She whined softly, but didn't fight him. Once he'd strapped the board to the broken leg, twine wrapped in cloth so as not to rub against the skin, Logan expected her to leave. He was surprised to find that she jumped into the back, careful not to land on superficial wounds, and curled up on the floor. Her amber eyes looked at him with what looked like relief and thanks reflected in them, and proceeded to rest her head gently on massive paws. She eyed him carefully, as if expecting him to do the same. Bedtime she seemed to be saying. Go to sleep. With a soft laugh, Logan shut the door, and climbed in behind the wheel. Gently reclining back in the chair, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.