Chapter 2:

Monsters and Men

"Who's gonna be our next challenger?"

Logan circled the stage, smoking puffs of his cigar in celebration of defending his title.

"Come on! Are you folks really gonna to let this son of a bitch take all your money away?" The host had climbed on stage to quell the shouts of the upset audience. No one could figure out how Logan managed to battle several different challengers and make it through without even a single scratch.

The host waved a few hundred bucks hoping to persuade them in to the taking. A man from the crowd stood up with an arrogant declaration of "I'll fight him!" He shook off his jacket, revealing an impressive girth on his arms and shoulders, and a physique built to take a lot of hits. "Never lost a fight before." The people cheered, delighted there was hope of getting a profit from their money.

Logan could smell his eagerness for a kill, a pungent odor that was distinctively strong. "Not that you need to know, but I just feel the need to tell you that big guy's killed about four men in his past cage fights." The host warned him.

The 'big guy' entered the cage and cocked his eyebrow.

"Name?" The host inquired after slipping inside the ring.

"Paul Gibbons." Logan cracked his knuckles at his adversary and gave him a side-glance; Paul was hairy in all the wrong places and not a strand of it was on his head.

"Careful, old man. I might just take it easy on you." The amount of rounds Logan had gone through should have worn him out by now. Seeing his work cut out for him, Paul grinned at the anticipation of an easy win.

Logan leaned against the cage, ignoring the raucous hoots and insults. Threats felt so numb now. He didn't care about the countless number of goons that stepped into the cage and left with only a remaining inch of their life. He didn't care about the crowds he's entertained. He didn't care about any of them.

It was easy to take no regard of everybody else when you're disconnected from the world, a situation he's used to. After all, he's a mutant in a society where the humans consider their more evolved kin an inherent abomination. Everyone loathed him, feared him.

That in mind, he no longer had any regard for a family or a home. But really, it was easier this way. An unsocial life only meant he had no one to lose. And nothing to fear.

Fifteen years living in solitude left him detached from anything a normal person would consider a sentimental necessity.

It wasn't a sad case of isolation. He just liked it that way. Logan looked out for Logan. Anyone else was at his disposal. Anyone else couldn't be trusted. Ever since the discovery of mutants, the world divided itself into a fine line, and he knew he was implicitly cast out on the other side. The sooner he realized it, the more he's accepted the life he had chosen to live out on his own.

That was precisely why cage fighting was the best option for a career. It was work free from commitments and demands of a normal life. Although he hated being used as a moneymaker to benefit someone else's pocket, but cage fighting was the only way he could ever let out all the anger and frustration without his claws exposing him to trouble.

He took a fresh smoke of his cigar and tossed it, landing near the foot of the host, whom he caught giving him a snide grin. Of course that bastard's pleased, Logan thought. That host was going to take home a lot of cash tonight, courtesy of his unparalleled strength.

At the sound of the bell, the challenger lunged with fists raised to Logan's dome. Logan expertly dodged and in one fluid motion, he landed a direct punch on the torso and a powerful shot on the chin. Paul staggered back and fell, vision clouded from shock. He held on to the ropes, trying to recover from getting the breath punched out of his lungs.

He could've sworn it wasn't flesh that collided with his face.

The crowd booed and hissed, yelling at him to get back on his feet and finish the champion. He shook his head and attacked Logan again, eagerly swinging an arm to the head and miraculously landing a hit on his left cheek, making Logan stumble and hit the wall of the cage.

Paul grinned, satisfied with payback. The crowd cheered him on as he lifted his arms up in a short-lived triumph.

Logan reeled his head back from the blow. "That all you got, bub?" He growled, before surging forward and throwing a demolishing uppercut at Paul's unguarded head, knocking him stunned on the ground.

In the same instant they cheered him on, the crowd straightaway booed at Paul's defeat. He couldn't find the strength in him to stand up. The impact was unbelievably strong.

That was the last fight of the night. Logan began to retreat from the ring, impatient to leave the tough crowd.

Paul curled in a fetal position, wincing at the pain. "You're a fucking freak!" he yelled. "No one takes a beating like that without a bruise to prove it."

Logan turned his head and pulled out a cigar from his pocket to pop into his mouth. "Is that an excuse you tell yourself now that your face looks like bloody shit?"

"Go to hell you bastard!" He yelled.

Logan paused, inhaling the cigar and puffing out a smoke. "Already been."

"We ain't done you hear me?! Don't walk away from me you fucking—" His desperate stubborn threats faded as Logan proceeded to exit the ring towards the host to collect his money.

But he could tell it wouldn't be the last he'd see of Paul.

The woman was giving him that look.

She was in her late twenties, red hair with an orange glow and an alluring swallow tattoo on her cheekbone. She was eyeing him from across a shadowed corner, enticing him to perch on the stool next to her, or rather, share hers.

Logan figured he had slept with her, probably on several late night occasions. He couldn't remember her name, though. Probably Emma. No, Emma was Wichita. Lisa? No, that was San Jose.

He shrugged and drank another shot. It didn't matter. Their names never mattered to him. All the women he encountered were all just part of a vicious cycle of flirt, fuck and leave. There wasn't anyone who kept his interest long enough. Hell, he couldn't make a reliable commitment.

But while he wasn't on stage beating the shit out of someone, they were a pleasant distraction. At least, before he hits the road again.

Logan was always moving. He didn't know if he was looking for someone or running from something but he knew he didn't like staying in one place. He never really had a place to call home, so that sentiment kept him on a mobile reserve.

Besides, there was nothing in these towns that was a reason for him to stay, a reason for him to come back to. When you've lived a life without knowing a fraction of who you were, it never felt right to just settle down.

He figured he had to rid himself the doubts of his past. He needed to find himself somewhere.

"Where the fuck is he?"

Logan stopped his line of thoughts when his highly attuned senses caught a familiar scent; an overwhelmingly powerful stench of conceit and hatred, but now spiked with revenge.

Even without looking, scent alone could let him pinpoint the people around him. He knew the smell of leather-clad bikers who have gone days without showering, women with their alluring perfumes on a night out, and in this case, a murderer in lust for blood.

He turned his head slightly. Paul was right there in the left corner of the room staring at him hard. Logan thought the guy had lost his ability to blink.

He turned around to ignore him. But after a couple of minutes, he felt the shadow of a hulking figure poised behind him like a lumbering ton of weight.

"I said we ain't done." Paul spoke, declaring his presence.

Logan stood up, already pissed, "Listen here, bub. If you think your life is any worth, stay away," he rammed shoulders with Paul to cast him aside as he left the long wooden bar.

"Get back here!" Paul demanded, veins nearly bursting out from his neck. "I know what you are! Your kind killed my brother!"

Logan paused in his tracks, stopping only to curl his hands to a fist. Nothing good ever came out of people finding out his true nature. "I'm warnin' you if you don't shut up, you're gonna end up just like him." Humans were such hypocrites; unaware that the lives they've lost, were only a fraction compared to the lives they've taken from experimenting on his kind.

He should know. His artificial skeleton alone was already proof.

"You mutants don't deserve to live."

"Yeah? How about settling that with another fight?" Logan challenged, fists clenched.

The man before him didn't flinch. Instead, he raised a handgun as a response. "How about something much quicker."

The next moment, several gun shots fired, reverberating around the bar. The unexpected commotion riled the people into gasps and screams as they fled the scene, stumbling over stools and tables in the process. Glasses clattered on the floor while one of the bar attendants struggled to get to the payphone.

Paul widened his eyes in disbelief.

Instead of dropping dead, Logan had only staggered from the wounds on his chest, shoulder and leg. One by one, his body started to push out the bullets embedded in his chest. The hollows they left had quickly started healing.

Logan looked up at Paul with a ghost of a smile. No fight could ever hurt him beyond the repair of his mutation. That was why he never backed down. It was a trademark that justified the codename engraved on his dog tags.

"What-what the hell are you-?" Paul stammered, taking a few steps back.

Logan's metal claws sliced through his knuckles. "Wolverine."

He burst into a sprint towards him. Paul fled to the door, glancing back to fire a few more shots but his trembling hold on the gun only made him miss. He yanked the knob and succeeded opening the door, but not until Logan seized his neck and plunged a claw to his leg to hinder him from escaping,

Paul gave a cry and held on to his leg as he lay crumpled on the floor. Blood oozed from the wound and colored the wooden tiles. Logan stood staring at his pathetic squirming and was almost tempted to rip the rest of his limbs off.

He was interrupted by the noise of police sirens as their vehicles pulled up by the parking lot. Through the open door, they spotted Logan and his bloodied adamantium claws pinning a poor, defenseless man on the floor. Jesus, just why was he always in the wrong place at the wrong time?

"Lose the claws, put your hands up and get down on the floor!" He heard one of them command, threatening to shoot him. The car headlights shone on him like a beacon, drawing all guns to point directly at him.

"What are you waiting for, huh? You're bullet proof anyway." Paul hissed through gritted teeth. "Kill me. That'll show them."

Kill. Logan found himself frowning at the word. Being a murderer wasn't a label he wanted. He might not have known who he was before, but he sure as hell knew what he wasn't.

"I already told you." He flexed his hands until his claws slid back in. "You're not worth it."

The police saw him shut the door, and before they even managed to barge inside, Logan was already gone.

He was lucky all right.

Logan managed to slip from the back unnoticed. He smashed the window of the nearest truck, unlocked the bolt from the inside, and then hopped into the driver's seat. Failing to find any keys, he released a claw and shoved it in the keyhole, successfully turning on the ignition.

Unfuckingbelievable, he cursed as he thrust the vehicle into gear and sped off.

He'd been in Laughlin City for only a few days and now he was back behind the wheel again, not to mention it was stolen. He was so pissed; he had just recently gotten himself a damn toaster to make it a lovely addition to his own truck that he has grown quite attached to. Well, at least it had been a smart decision to keep his roots out of the ground. Never knowing exactly where the conflict comes from, it was better to be flexible and prepared to decamp anything at a moment's notice.

He glanced at the rear view mirrors, checking for anyone in pursuit. He couldn't hear any sirens but he was sure they weren't far behind. He kept his eyes on the road.

He needed to keep going; far away from civilization where unflattering images of his face might show up with ransom captions in TV screens. It was still dark but he knew it was almost morning and he needed to get out of there as soon as possible. Something told him that this road trip was going to take a while. Logan felt his fingers slowly relax on the steering wheel.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Logan whipped his head around. Still nothing showing up on his rear view mirrors, so those were definitely not sirens. But what the hell was making that noise?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound seemed to be coming from the glove compartment. He pushed it open and pulled out some kind of a mobile phone.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He wasn't sure how to make it stop. Technology evolved way faster than he could keep up with. And besides, he didn't want anyone bothering him with this.

One of the buttons were lighting up in sync with the ringtone. Logan figured maybe it would stop if he pressed it-

Beep.

"Hello? Hello, oh thank god!"

A/N:

Thank you so much for the responses. It's always seriously great to hear from you guys so please leave me your thoughts!

Until next week, kids!