In a dive bar somewhere along route 66, a dump that attracted all kinds of shady people, sat a man who's past had been taken from him. Scattered memories of violent events were all he had. Slumped on a stool at the bar he looked rather disheveled. A thick crop of unkept hair and a bushy mutton chop beard along with an ever-present scowl on his face gave the impression of a rugged man.
He mused over his beer, twisting the chilled bottle between his hands, watching the amber liquid coat the sides. He finished off the brew with a final gulp and slid the bottle across the bar counter to the man behind it.
"Another one?" asked Joe the bartender.
"Keep 'em comin', bub," he replied with a confirming nod.
The Wolverine, James Howlett or 'Logan' was what most people knew him as. A mutant and one with an extraordinary gift for absolute violence. He'd been granted a family he never had when Charles Xavier, headmaster of Xavier's School For The Gifted and leader of the X-Men, offered him a home.
As the Wolverine he became notorious among the X-Men for his tendancies to solve problems with his adamantium claws instead of a diplomatic approach. But like a wild animal craving the freedom of hunting and running free, Logan sought solitude. He went out on his own which he was known to do and had been on the road for weeks now.
As a new bottle of beer was put in front of him he reached inside his almost worn out brown-leather jacket, pulling out a picture. He furrowed his brow and sighed.
"Looking at titties or ass?" Joe asked with a sleazy grin and tried sneaking a peek.
"Somethin' like that," Logan mumbled. The picture he held was that of young woman with luscious long red hair sitting on a motorcycle near a lake.
The picture showed lines of being folded numerous times though her face was untouched by the wear and tear. He tucked it away and resumed his mission of drinking to forget.
A pack of cheap cigars had been laying on the counter to the left of him and he drew one out. He clenched it between his teeth while he fumbled looking for a lighter in his jacket. An inward growl followed the annoyance of not finding it and he gestured Joe.
"Ya got a match 'r a lighter, bub?" he asked whilst chewing on the cigar
"Sure thing, pal," Joe said and flipped a little box of matches out of his back pocket. He struck one off and it ignited. "There you go."
Logan nodded once gratefully and puffed vigorously after it had been lit. Because of his heightened senses he could smell everything to a degree of knowing that the group of guys who sat at a table at the opposite end of the room had all had sex with the same woman earlier that day. Smoking cigars masked the smells around him somewhat because of their poignant musty fume.
As the evening drew to a close and a whole lot of empty bottles later, Logan grunted as he finished off the last one. It was very difficult, for Logan to get drunk. Due to his healing factor, alcohol and other intoxicants do not affect him like they would a normal human. Getting slightly buzzed was the best he could manage.
There was a motel not far from where he was and he'd be more than capable to drive the short distance. He pushed himself off the stool, having left a sweaty set of dollar bills on the counter.
"See ya 'round," he said with a hoarse tone of voice to Joe as he left.
"Take care of yourself, and don't be a stranger," Joe replied as he flung a wet towel over his shoulder.
The bar had emptied to about five people including him as he strolled out. Stepping outside he felt the crisp night air hit him in the face and took it in for a moment before searching for his keys.
His motorcycle had been parked on the gravel that surrounded the establishment. He pulled out his keys and sat down on his bike. All of a sudden a powerhouse smack to his back threw him off the vehicle and down on the ground a few feet from it. He felt like he'd been hit by the Juggernaut and gruntingly rose up again.
He turned and his gaze fell upon a sadistically smirking Sabretooth. He held a large car bumper in his hands which was obviously what had struck Logan. The feral mutant who's real name was Victor Creed wore a tathered long trenchcoat and army surplus clothing underneath. His long greasy hair was matted to the sides of his face and his facial hair was stained with bits of dried blood.
"I heard ya'd gotten slower, runt. Would've never been able to sneak up on yer worthless ass in the old days," he taunted and flashed his yellowed fangs.
"Yer stinkin' like any street mutt, I'd go anywhere ta get away from smellin' yer ugly carcass," Logan grunted and the itch to pop his claws was burning.
"Speakin' of sweet scent, I remember that feisty lil' redhead. She smelled like sugar. Ya remember her, runt? She was a screamer that one," Victor said with a foul look in his eyes. Tormenting Logan was like a sport to him.
Logan's mind snapped back to memories he didn't even know were real or fake. Memories of a woman he loved, a redhead, flashes of her lifeless body laying in a pool of blood somewhere in a cabin. That crushing feeling of her having been murdered by that psychopath was like a pit in his stomach.
"Yer gonna pay fer hurtin' her, Creed," Logan spat after snapping out of the onslaught of flashbacks, baring his teeth with a gutteral growl.
"Ya didn't have the balls to finish me then, and ya certainly ain't got 'em now, runt!" said Victor as he tossed aside the bumper he was still holding.
Enraged and near foaming at the mouth, Logan popped his adamantium claws and launched himself, roaring at Victor. His sadistic foe's first swing sailed over his head and Logan sliced through Victor's groin like a piece of wet paper before bringing his other hand into his throat. Victor coughed and gagged, attempting to fight back. Blood gushing.
Victor was taller than Logan who stood at a mere 5'3, and he managed to hurl Logan at his motorcycle with impressive force. The feral psychopath stumbled back a bit while his wounds healed.
Logan had little time to resume his assault as Victor pounced on top of him and began tearing out chunks of flesh. Like digging for gold he clawed away at Logan's chest and stomach. Blood and bits of flesh covered the gravel underneath them and in a fit of pure will to survive, Logan jammed his left set of claws in Victor's eyes and scraped away, leaving him blind.
Roaring and yelping from unbearable pain, Victor rolled over the ground with his hands covering his eyes.
Logan got up and his supreme healing factor had already begun fixing the gore on his torso.
"Yer not lookin' too good there, bub," Logan sneered and cracked his neck, gearing up for round two.
Logan suddenly sniffed something that drew his attention to the dive bar behind them. The remaining occupants and the bartender himself stood outside watching their fight with disbelief.
Before he had a chance to act or speak he was hit across the face by Victor's sharp talons. The cut drew a big enough chunk of flesh from his face that a part of his adamantium skull was revealed. As Logan hit the ground again it was Victor who noticed the people outside the bar now and he got on all fours and ran toward them.
Like a mad dog that hadn't been fed for weeks, Victor charged while growling fiercely. The bar occupants stumbled over one another trying to get back inside.
When Logan had recovered and the buzzing in his head had stopped he crawled up again only to hear the horrifying screams of help from inside the bar. He ran as fast he could and rushed to find a frightening and sickening sight.
Victor had mutilated and torn apart everyone inside and when Logan charged in he was ripping out Joe's throat with his teeth. There were blood and guts everywhere and Logan's stomach turned.
"We're animals, runt. Yer just like me," Sabretooth said and grinned, dropping Joe's lifeless body to the floor.
Logan's true rage, a berserker state of bloodlust, surged through his muscles and it drove him to charge at Victor again with claws extended. The anger he felt over the innocent lives that Victor had taken because of their hatred for one another was immense.
He pinned Victor against the wall and ripped into his chest cavity, stabbing wildly until all he heard was the slippery gush of wet flesh against his claws followed by the sound of metal. When he backed away, panting, he saw that he had carved a hole through Victor who hit the floor unconscious.
His clothes were torn and he was soaked in blood as he stepped outside again. A thick smoke came from the open entrance as Logan had set fire to the bar. He couldn't bury the innocents that Victor killed because their bodies were mauled so badly beyond recognition. They deserved better more than he could give them, the flames devoured everything.
Sabretooth would heal eventually and he'd be back again. This was a repeating tragedy. Logan's bike had been broken during the fight and was little use to him now. Various cars were parked nearby from the bar occupants and he hotwired one.
As he drove out onto the road and away from the burning mess he left behind he looked into the rearview mirror at the large smoke plumes and growled inward, regretting.
"Fuckin' animal," he snarled and sped up, driving off into the bleak night.