Logan's senses sharpened as he heard the unmistakable click of a gun cocking near his head. His eyes flickered open, squinting in the dim light of early morning. The sharp smell of fresh hay and animals filled his nose, mixing with the scent of oil and steel from the shotgun pointed directly between his eyes. He groaned, rubbing his face with one hand. He felt the cold metal of the barrel nudging closer.

"Don't move!" a voice barked. Logan blinked again and focused on the man standing before him—a weathered farmer, his hands shaking slightly as he held the gun, but his eyes hard with determination.

Logan exhaled through his nose. "Buddy, I've got a real bad hangover. Ain't in the mood for this."

The farmer didn't lower the gun. "Who are you, and why are you here?" he demanded. His eyes darted nervously toward the barnyard behind him. "My animals… they're scared stiff."

Logan lifted an eyebrow and shrugged, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "Never been good with animals. They don't like me much." He ignored the farmer's stammered warnings to stay put as he rose to his feet, his full height just over six feet, his broad shoulders and muscular build towering over the man. His rugged look, a full beard framing his face, combined with the plain white wifebeater and worn jeans, made him appear every bit the stranger the farmer was worried about.

"I said stay right there!" the farmer shouted, his grip tightening on the shotgun as Logan nonchalantly patted his pockets.

Logan sighed when he realized they were empty. "Don't even got my wallet. This is just great…" He rubbed his temple, a dull throbbing behind his eyes. "Look, I'll just leave. Don't want any trouble." He glanced at the fence and with a half-hearted wave, muttered, "Sorry 'bout that," before hopping over it with ease, landing on the other side in a single fluid motion.

As he started walking away, though, a realization hit him. He had no idea where he was. Turning back around, Logan squinted at the farmer. "Hey, old man. Where am I?"

The farmer looked more confused than angry now, the shotgun still held tightly in his hands. "You snuck onto my farm, and you're asking *me* where you are?" He lowered the barrel slightly, his tone gruff. "We're in a village on the border of Vale."

Logan scratched his chin. "Vale?" he repeated, the name unfamiliar and rough on his tongue. "Never heard of it. What country's that in?"

The farmer narrowed his eyes. "You ain't from around here, huh? It's just… Vale. The Kingdom of Vale. What other country would there be?"

Logan's brow furrowed. "Kingdom? What about the continent?"

"The continent? Remnant. Where else would we be?"

Logan's confusion deepened, the strange words not matching anything he knew. He closed his eyes for a moment, searching his memory. He could still remember his last night clearly—drinking alone. It was the day before his birthday, and he knew Sabretooth was coming, like he did every year, to make him bleed. To remind him of every failure. He'd wanted to be alone, away from the X-Men. No need to drag them into his personal hell.

He remembered the drinking… lots of it. Trying to drown the memories. His wife… the people he'd lost… their faces haunting him. His healing factor made it impossible to get truly drunk, but just for a moment, after enough alcohol, he could feel a buzz. That's all he wanted. But now… this place…

Logan opened his eyes and looked around again. "Did I drink myself halfway across the world?" he muttered under his breath.

The farmer watched him cautiously, still uncertain. "You look lost," he observed, his voice a little softer now. "Got a place to go?"

Logan shook his head. "No idea where I even am."

The farmer frowned, thoughtful for a moment, before lowering the shotgun. "I don't know what you're running from, stranger, but if you're willing to work, I suppose you can stay."

Logan arched an eyebrow, surprised by the offer. "Why so trusting all of a sudden?"

The old man's eyes softened with a hint of sadness. "Lost my wife a few years back. No kids. Been alone since… maybe loneliness makes a man soft." He looked at Logan, sizing him up. "Figure I could use some help around here."

Logan gave a short chuckle, a sound more like a growl. "I ain't exactly the best company. Only thing I'm good for is drinkin'."

The farmer smirked slightly, lowering the gun entirely. "Got some whiskey stored somewhere, if that'll keep you in line." He sniffed the air and grimaced. "But first, you're gonna need a shower. You stink worse than my livestock."

Logan huffed a dry laugh and shook his head. "Yeah, probably." He glanced up at the strange sky, then back at the farmer. He didn't know where the hell he was, but at least for now, he'd found a roof over his head. Maybe that was enough for the moment. "Lead the way, old man."

The farmer gave Logan a hard look, crossing his arms. "Name's not 'old man,' it's Carl."

Logan nodded, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Carl, huh? Well, I'm Logan."

Carl huffed, giving him a once-over. "Logan, eh? You got a last name or just prefer keepin' it short?"

Logan shrugged. "Last names ain't really important where I'm from."

Carl raised an eyebrow at that but didn't press further. Instead, he jerked his head toward the farmhouse in the distance. "Well, Logan, if you're stickin' around, follow me. The least I can offer is a shower and somethin' to eat. After that, we'll talk work."

Logan followed, his boots crunching on the gravel path as they walked side by side toward the farmhouse. His senses were still on high alert, and the smell of unfamiliar creatures lingered in the air, mixed with the earthy scent of the farm. There was something strange about this place, something that didn't quite sit right with him.

"Got yourself some strange livestock," Logan commented, eyeing the pens as they passed. "Never seen animals like that before."

Carl glanced over at the pens, his face hardening again. "Yeah, well, never seen someone make them act like you did either. They ain't usually this skittish."

Logan shrugged. "Must be my winning personality."

Carl chuckled dryly as they reached the house. "We'll see about that."

Inside, the house was simple but sturdy, the kind of place built for practicality over comfort. Carl pointed down the hall toward the bathroom. "Shower's through there. Water's hot, but don't waste it."

Logan grunted in acknowledgment and made his way to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him, the mirror reflecting back the face of a man who had seen far too much. The scars on his body, though faded from his healing factor, still told stories of countless battles, most of which he wished he could forget.

Stripping off his dirty clothes, he stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over him. For a brief moment, the steam and warmth offered some clarity, but the confusion of where he was gnawed at him. Vale? And did he say Remnant? None of it made sense. This wasn't any place he'd heard of, and he'd been around the world more times than he could count over his two centuries alive.

As the water washed away the grime, Logan's thoughts drifted back to Sabretooth. Last he remembered, that animal was still after him, ready to tear him apart for the umpteenth time.

The feel of the savage tearing him apart gleefully as he "bled out" resounded through him. Sabretooth's mocking laugh was not lost.

Wherever he was, he hoped he was far away from him.

After a while, he shut off the water and grabbed a towel, drying off before slipping back into his clothes. They were still dirty, but it was all he had for now. He made his way back to the kitchen where Carl was already waiting, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses sitting on the table.

Carl looked up as Logan entered. "Figured you could use a drink."

Logan eyed the bottle with a raised brow. "You figured right." He sat down across from Carl, pouring a glass for himself. He took a sip, savoring the burn as it went down. "So, what's the deal with this place? You said we're near Vale, right? Never heard of it."

Carl took a long swig from his own glass, studying Logan for a moment. "You must've hit your head harder than I thought. Vale's one of the four kingdoms in Remnant. We border the wilderness here, so not many folks pass through unless they're huntin' or runnin' from somethin'."

Logan leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table. "Sounds like a lovely place."

"Can be," Carl said, "but the Grimm make it dangerous. They feed off negative emotions, attack villages like ours if we ain't careful. That's why people are on edge. Someone like you, wanderin' around with no memory of where you came from, makes folks nervous."

"Grimm? What the hell is that?" Logan asked with furrowed eyebrows.

Carl looked at him in disbelief. "You don't even know what a Grimm is? You must have truly hit your head, Logan. Grimm are a global threat. Monsters that have wiped out half the population and forced us humans to huddle up like children…"

"Really? And what exactly are these Grimm?"

Carl shrugged, taking a sip of his lighter drink. "Couldn't say. All we know is that they are beasts that come in all shapes and sizes and have a particular appetite for one thing and one thing only; humans."

That was interesting information, Logan thought and more to add to the strangeness that was this world. It was very clear now to him that he wasn't in his world or at least anywhere that they are aware of. As an X-Men he was privy to many weird things and this didn't even fit the top three.

"Where can I find 'em?"

"Huh?"

Carl turned to him, questioningly.

"I want to fight them." Logan said. "You said they're a problem, right? So I'll get rid of them for ya and then we can call it even, right?"

Carl's mouth went wide for a moment until he regained his composure. "Logan… I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. Grimm are not a singular unit, they are an army! A mass army consisting of many various units, some so deadly they can wipe out an Atlas fleet themself!"

"You seem to be pretty knowledgeable about this, old man."

Carl withheld a scowl at his words and regained his composure. "Of course. I am fifty-five. I have been around the world and witnessed the horrors of this world. I see it for what it truly is. Huntsmen go out every day to try and determine what the Grimm are and to draw them back as best they can. Many of them do not make it back. The best thing we can do is enjoy our time while it lasts."

"Sounds like you've given up to me." Logan commented.

"Don't patronize me!" Carl said. "I have been around for longer than you have. If you were to encounter a Grimm you would feel terror as well. The one I had found was a giant bear. Easily over ten feet tall, fur as black as the night, sharp bone claws that protected it and burning red eyes. I almost died… that is an experience I could never forget."

Logan gave a sardonic chuckle as he held his glass by his face, looking into the glass's interior. "If there is anything I've learned, old man, it's that the best way to conquer your fears is to just face it head on. Trust me I've been there before. I have my fair share of demons. And perhaps I haven't released all of them just yet."

"Well, you better solve the ones you have while your here." Carl said as he stood up, creaking the chair. "Because you have a long day tomorrow filled with gatherin' and tendin'."

"Room's upstairs on the left. I have a few errands to do in the meantime." With that, Carl left the house.

Logan stayed sitting for a while longer simply reflecting on everything until he finally stood up. As he walked through the living room he spotted a picture. It was a group photo of a man, a woman and a child. The child was held between the two parents and they all had happy smiles on their faces.

Logan noticed the similarities between the old man and the man in the picture immediately.

"Family." Didn't he have one? Many years ago. Her name and face were long forgotten but the sensation wasn't. The last remaining grasp of who he was. Not Logan. Not Wolverine.

But James Howlett.

Logan stuck the shovel into the dirt one last time, finishing the last row of beetroot seeds Carl had asked him to plant. His work was efficient, his movements steady and controlled. Even after digging through the soil for an hour straight, his breathing remained calm, his muscles barely feeling the strain. He straightened up and wiped the dirt from his hands, glancing back as Carl stepped out of the farmhouse.

Carl's eyes scanned the rows of freshly planted seeds and he let out a low whistle. "Damn, Logan. You finished quicker than I thought. Don't even look like you're breakin' a sweat."

Logan shrugged, giving a small, crooked grin. "Maybe it's the drink," he said, half-joking.

Carl laughed, shaking his head. "Keep this up, and you might just find yourself a real place here on the farm. Could always use someone who works hard without complainin'."

Logan gave a noncommittal grunt, picking up his shovel and leaning it against the nearby fence.

Carl approached him, wiping his hands on his apron. "Actually, I got somethin' else for you. I need you to head over to one of our neighbors' farms. They've got some ingredients I need for dinner tonight."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "You think they're gonna be fine with some random guy showing up?"

Carl waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry. I'll vouch for you. They won't give you too much trouble."

Logan, still not entirely convinced but with nothing better to do, nodded reluctantly. "Fine, I'll head out."

Carl gave him quick directions, and Logan set off toward the neighboring farm. It was a small village, but the landscape was vast, with wide fields of crops and rolling hills on the horizon. As Logan made his way across the large field, he noticed the houses in the distance—modest, wooden structures lined up on either side of the road.

As soon as he got closer, people outside their homes began to take notice of him. Their wary eyes followed his every step, suspicion clear on their faces. Logan could sense their unease, his heightened senses picking up the murmurs and the shuffle of footsteps. One man, standing farther away, began reaching for something tucked inside his coat.

Logan raised his hands slightly, speaking up before things escalated. "Carl sent me," he said, his voice steady. "I'm just here to pick up his daily ingredients."

A young woman, standing among a few of the villagers, stepped forward. Her dark eyes assessed him carefully. "Where are you from? I've never seen you around here before today."

Logan scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, well… stumbled my way here somehow."

Another villager, a man with a scruffy beard, frowned. "That's impossible. A hunter's in town. No way you got past without him sensing you."

Logan snorted, his lip curling slightly in a smirk. "Guess I just did. Maybe your hunter's slippin'. Could use a few pointers."

The man bristled at the comment, but before he could say anything more, the young woman intervened, her voice calm but firm. "I'll get Carl's stuff. You can wait outside." She pointed toward a barrel by the side of the house. "Sit there."

Logan nodded and made his way to the barrel, sitting down with a heavy sigh. He leaned back against the wall, his eyes scanning the village. The initial tension in the air was starting to dissipate as the villagers returned to their routines, though some still shot him curious glances from time to time.

From down the road, Logan heard the unmistakable sound of children laughing. He turned his head to see a group of kids kicking a ball around. Their play was carefree, oblivious to the concerns of the adults around them. One kid, a little too eager, kicked the ball with more force than intended, sending it soaring through the air—right toward Logan.

Without even thinking, Logan lifted his foot and stopped the ball dead in its tracks. With a small, effortless flick, he kicked it back toward the kids, sending it rolling smoothly along the ground.

"Thanks, mister!" one of the kids, a blonde-haired boy, called out as he jogged over to grab the ball. He stared up at Logan with wide, curious eyes. "Who are you?"

"Name's Logan," he replied, his voice gruff but not unkind.

"What are you doin' here?" the boy asked, clearly fascinated. "You look like a fighter."

Logan shrugged. "Just wanderin'. Workin' for Carl for now."

The boy's eyes lit up. "Are you like the hunter? You look strong! Maybe you're stronger than him!"

Logan's smirk returned, and he leaned forward slightly. "Stronger than your hunter? I'm ten times better."

The kids laughed, not quite believing him, but their excitement was palpable. Before they could ask more questions, the young woman emerged from the house with a basket wrapped around her arm. She approached Logan, handing the basket over.

"Everything should be in there," she said, her tone polite but direct. "If anything's missing, come back and I'll sort it out."

The kids ran up to her, greeting her cheerfully. "Esmeralda!" they called out in unison.

Esmeralda—now revealed to be the young woman's name—smiled at them fondly before turning back to Logan. "You're good with kids."

Logan glanced at the children, then back at her. "Not really. Just kicked a ball back."

Esmeralda gave a small laugh. "They seem to like you already." She then looked at the kids and gently shooed them away. "You should all be heading to school now."

The kids groaned but obeyed, trudging off toward the village square. Esmeralda turned her attention back to Logan. "Sorry if they were bothering you."

Logan shrugged. "They weren't."

Esmeralda nodded, her eyes meeting his briefly. "Well, I'm Esmeralda, in case you didn't catch that. Thanks for helping Carl out. We don't get many newcomers around here."

Logan tipped his head slightly. "Logan. And yeah, seems like I'll be stickin' around for a bit."

She smiled softly. "I'll see you around then, Logan."

With that, Esmeralda turned and headed back inside, leaving Logan standing there with the basket of ingredients. He looked down at it, then back at the road leading to Carl's farm. He could feel the eyes of the villagers still on him.

At a high vantage point overlooking the quiet village, Jacques Schnee stood with his arms folded behind his back, a calculating gleam in his eye. The air was crisp, the sun casting long shadows over the patchwork fields below. His lips curled into a smirk as he murmured to himself, "Does this backwater village truly have what you say it does?"

Behind him, his assistant, Cole, a man of stern demeanor, gave a curt nod. "Based on the readings from our scanners, sir, this village is a secret goldmine. The dust deposits are hidden well, but they're here—somewhere. Pure dust, the likes that hasn't been seen before in quite some time. Should we get a hold of it our power will increase exponentially."

"Should? You mean, when." Jacques' smirk deepened. "The villagers… they know nothing of this dust?"

Cole shook his head. "No, sir. If they did, they would have already exploited the deposits."

"Good," Jacques said, the word like a hiss. "That means it's mine for the taking." He turned away from the view, straightening his pristine white suit. "This will be the gift I offer to Nicholas Schnee. A gift that will secure my marriage to his daughter, Willow."

Cole frowned, his expression tight with hesitation. "The village may not give it up so easily, sir. And this kind of operation is technically illegal. This village is under Vale's protection, and we are in their territory. Their council won't approve."

Jacques waved a hand dismissively. "The Valean Council? They are of little concern to me. They can be bribed easily enough. Money speaks louder than laws."

Cole hesitated. "And the villagers?"

Jacques gave a cold, calculating smile. "That's what the men are for." At his signal, several armed men stepped out of a large transport truck parked behind them, all wearing body armor and carrying high-powered rifles. Their movements were precise, practiced, ready for the task at hand.

Cole's shoulders sagged slightly as he looked at the armed group. "Sir, the villagers… they won't take too kindly to this…"

Jacques chuckled, already turning toward his sleek black limousine. "Any disagreements can be solved with a bullet, Cole. That's why you're in charge of the operation. And if there were to be any casualties, well… a Grimm may have stumbled upon this poor poor village. Now then, I will be leaving the plans to you. Ensure that I obtain my dust."

Without waiting for a reply, Jacques strode toward his limo, where a chilled glass of expensive wine waited for him. He had no interest in getting his hands dirty. His men would do the work, and he would reap the rewards.

Cole sighed heavily, turning back to the mercenaries. "All right, you heard the boss. We move swiftly. We don't need to start a war, but if they resist, we do what we have to. Load up, we're heading down."

The men nodded and began piling into the trucks, their weapons ready. Cole climbed into one of the vehicles, glancing once more at Jacques as he sipped his drink from the comfort of his limousine. He knew how ruthless the man was, but that didn't make the task any easier.

As the trucks rumbled to life, Cole couldn't shake the feeling that this operation was going to be more complicated than Jacques anticipated.

The convoy of trucks began rolling down the hill toward the village, the sound of engines low and ominous in the quiet morning air.

Logan growled in frustration as he sprinted after the elusive chicken, arms wide, trying to corner the feathered menace. The chicken squawked in panic, darting through the legs of cows and skirting past sheep, using every animal as a barrier between itself and the determined mutant.

"Get back here, you little—" Logan lunged again, but the chicken dodged him with impressive agility. It tore through the other side of the animal pen, heading straight for a gap in the fence.

But Logan was quicker this time. Anticipating its move, he was already waiting on the other side. With a swift grab, he caught the chicken in his hands, ignoring its frantic flapping and squirming as it tried to wriggle free.

"Not gettin' away this time," Logan muttered, glaring at the bird. "I'll get that egg, one way or another."

True to his word, after a bit of patient waiting and gently corralling the chicken into an enclosed space, the bird eventually relented and laid an egg. Logan watched it with a mix of irritation and amusement, finally letting the bird go as it scurried off, clucking in protest.

Logan sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow and holding up the egg like it was some kind of prize. "All that work for one little egg. Too much trouble if you ask me."

He stood, dusting off his jeans, satisfied that the rest of the day's chores were done. He'd fed the animals, made sure they had water, and, as absurd as it seemed, even managed to wrangle the animals that had been nervous around him when he first arrived. At first, their reactions to him were fearful; the stronger ones kept their distance, while the more timid creatures seemed ready to bolt at the sight of him. But now, they were slowly adjusting. They might not have trusted him completely, but at least they weren't on the verge of passing out every time he entered the pen.

After making sure everything was settled, Logan decided to find Carl to let him know he was done. Heading toward the house, he walked through the barn and across the yard, but Carl was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't in any of the usual places—inside the house or out in the fields.

Logan paused, sniffing the air, his keen senses picking up Carl's scent. It was faint but present, lingering somewhere… below. Frowning, Logan scoured the house again but still didn't find him. The scent led to only one place—the basement.

Logan hesitated for a moment, but then rationalized that maybe the old man had fallen down there or needed help. Taking the first step cautiously, Logan descended into the basement. It creaked under his weight, the smell of musty earth and dampness heavy in the air. But there was something else, something odd mixed in.

It was a flurry of strange smells—carbon dioxide, electricity, and something… raw, elemental, like energy. Logan's heightened senses immediately went on high alert as he moved deeper into the dimly lit basement.

The stairs led down to what appeared to be an ordinary room at first glance, but something didn't sit right. In the center of the room, the carpet had been pulled back, revealing a hidden staircase leading further underground. A faint blue glow pulsed from below.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Logan followed the staircase, and soon, the wooden steps gave way to stone. The air became cooler, and the light shifted from a faint glow to a more prominent blue. Finally, he stepped into a vast cave, its walls lined with glowing crystals of varying colors, humming softly with energy.

At the center of the cave stood Carl, patting one of the larger crystals as if it were a cherished family heirloom.

"Carl," Logan called out, his voice echoing slightly in the cavern.

Carl's head snapped toward Logan so quickly it was unnatural, his eyes wide and wild with nervous energy. "How did you get down here?" he demanded, his voice sharp.

Logan crossed his arms, unimpressed by the outburst. "I was lookin' for you. Wanted to know what my next task was." He glanced around the cave, taking in the strange sight. "What is this place?"

Carl snarled, his demeanor completely different now. His pupils were dilated, and the calm, friendly farmer was nowhere to be seen. "This… this is what you've been after the whole time, isn't it?" Carl spat, pointing a shaky finger at Logan. "You took advantage of my kindness, just like everyone else. You humans… always using us."

Logan's brow furrowed. "Carl, you're talkin' crazy. Maybe you had too much to drink."

Carl's face twisted with rage as he reached for his shotgun, gripping it tightly. "You want the Dust, don't you? Everyone does. I won't let you have it."

Logan raised his hands, keeping his voice calm but firm. "I don't care about the Dust. I don't even know what it is."

"You're lying!" Carl shouted, his voice trembling. "You're just like the rest! Faunus like me… we're always used. Abused. But not this time."

Logan's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a growl. "Carl, I don't want your Dust. You really think I'm here for that?"

Carl's eyes flickered with doubt, the grip on his shotgun tightening. "Are you willing to stand by that, even when staring down the barrel of a gun?"

Logan didn't flinch, his expression dead serious. "Yeah. I'm tellin' the truth."

For a long, tense moment, they stared each other down, neither man willing to back down. But finally, Carl's shoulders sagged, and he lowered the shotgun, looking every bit his age.

Logan took a step forward, cautiously. "Now, you wanna tell me what this stuff is?"

Carl sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You really don't know, do you?" He shook his head. "It's Dust. Been around since the creation of Remnant. It powers everything—our homes, our machines, our weapons. Each crystal is aligned to an element, and a pure crystal like these…" He gestured to the glowing cavern around them. "...is worth more than you can imagine. Enough to set a man up for life."

Logan glanced around, taking in the significance of what Carl was saying. "So why haven't you sold it?"

Carl's face darkened. "Because it's not mine to sell. This mine… it's sacred. It's been in my wife's family for generations. They believed it brought good luck, and that selling it would only bring disaster." His voice grew quiet. "And they were right. The Grimm came. They destroyed our village, killed my wife, Daisy. I couldn't stop them…"

Logan listened in silence as Carl recounted the tragedy, the pain evident in his voice. When Carl finally finished, Logan nodded. "I get it. Greed corrupts, and money talks. Maybe it's better this stuff stays buried."

But before Logan could say anything else, his heightened senses caught a sound—a distant murmur, faint but unmistakable. His eyes narrowed, and he turned toward the entrance.

"Did you hear that?" Logan asked.

Carl shook his head. "We're too deep underground to hear anything."

Logan's gut told him otherwise. "Something's going on up there. We need to move."

Carl, still confused, followed as Logan rushed back up the stairs, his instincts screaming that something was wrong.

"Cover it up, Carl!"

"What?!"

"Cover up the entrance! Something is going on! I think my bad luck has finally worked its magic." Logan said, muttering the last part to himself.

"That's impossible, Logan, there is no way they could know!" Carl replied, clearly nervous as he went through his procedures to make the living room look normal.

As they emerged from the farmhouse, the unmistakable sound of voices—loud, angry, and forceful—filled the air.

Logan stepped out of the farmhouse, his senses immediately heightened by the tense energy permeating the air. The entire village was gathered near the gates, and while he couldn't see what had everyone so rattled, a sleek, advanced truck parked just outside caught his eye. It was far more high-tech than anything he'd seen around this quiet farming town. Curious, Logan pushed his way through the crowd, not exactly gentle, until he got a clear view.

What greeted him was an army of men, lined up in a precise formation, each of them holding advanced rifles. Their uniforms were pristine, and they stood as still as statues, radiating an air of cold, professional menace.

The villagers were visibly nervous, shifting uneasily as they stared at the menacing group. Finally, one brave soul mustered the courage to speak.

"What do you want from us?" the villager called out, his voice shaky but defiant.

The armed men remained silent, their expressions blank. Instead, they began to shift as a figure moved through them—a man with neatly combed brown hair, dressed in a tailored blue suit and tie. He exuded confidence and authority, his glasses catching the light as he approached, hands clasped behind his back.

"Greetings, people of…" He paused, glancing around as if expecting an answer to his unspoken question. When none came, he simply continued, "Ah, no matter. I don't believe I have the name of your village, but that's irrelevant. My name is Professor Zach Cole, and I apologize for interrupting your peaceful day. However, it has come to my employer's attention that a particular resource exists here, one that he has a great deal of interest in." His voice was calm, almost pleasant, though it did nothing to ease the tension.

Esmerelda, standing near the front of the crowd, narrowed her eyes at him. "We don't know anything about that. The only things we have here are crops and livestock. There's nothing valuable enough to bring an army here."

Professor Cole smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm afraid I can't divulge the specifics, but suffice it to say that this resource is of great importance. If we don't find it, well… things could become difficult for everyone here."

Esmerelda scoffed, folding her arms. "Difficult? You're trespassing in Vale territory with Atlas soldiers. Last I checked, that's illegal. What makes you think you can just stroll in here and do whatever you want?"

Cole's smirk widened. "Ah, but you see, we do have permission. My employer, Jacques Meier, soon to be the head of the SDC, owns substantial shares of Valean property. And wouldn't you know it? This village falls right in the middle of his future empire."

A murmur of disbelief rippled through the crowd. "No way…" someone whispered.

Another villager, his voice rising in panic, shouted, "What are you going to do with us? Are we gonna be your slaves?"

"I won't be anyone's slave!" a woman cried, her voice filled with fear.

Cole raised a hand, a lazy gesture meant to silence them, and the crowd fell into a reluctant hush. "Calm yourselves, my dear people. As I've said, there is no need for violence. The men behind me are merely… insurance. To ensure that business proceeds smoothly." He glanced back at the soldiers, as if to remind everyone of their presence. "As long as you cooperate, there will be no need for bloodshed."

A scraggly-looking man near the back of the crowd stepped forward, his expression sly. He was the type Logan had seen countless times before—the kind who would sell out his own kin for a quick buck. "Seems to me," the man drawled, "business would go a lot smoother if we got a little cut of whatever you're lookin' for. Fair's fair, ain't it?"

His words stirred the villagers, the murmurs of agreement growing louder. The tension in the air spiked, and the soldiers responded immediately, rifles raising as one in a well-rehearsed motion. The crowd recoiled, gasping in fear.

For a moment, the standoff seemed ready to explode.

Cole sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "It seems negotiations have broken down. Such a shame." He extended his hand, palm facing outward. Logan's keen senses tingled as the air around them shifted, growing denser. Without warning, a powerful gust of wind tore through the crowd, sending villagers tumbling backward, including Logan himself.

But when the wind settled, one person remained on her feet—Esmerelda, propelled forward straight into Cole's grasp. His arms wrapped around her waist, locking her in place as she struggled to free herself.

"I really didn't want it to come to this," Cole said, his voice mockingly regretful, "but you've left me no choice. You care for this young woman, don't you? If you refuse to cooperate, I'll be forced to kill her. And believe me, I'm not bluffing."

"Esmerelda!" a man in the crowd shouted, his face pale with fear. "Dad!" she cried, thrashing against Cole's hold, but it was no use.

The villagers erupted into angry protests, but Logan had seen enough. He stepped forward, growling under his breath. "Hey, bub. Let her go."

The crowd fell silent, eyes turning toward Logan, as if suddenly remembering his presence. Esmerelda's eyes widened. "Logan…"

Cole raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Logan, is it? Perhaps you're her husband, then?" His smile was cruel as he tightened his grip on her. "Either way, the demand stands. Cooperate, or she dies. Then, the rest of you."

Logan's expression didn't waver. "You're not gonna do shit."

Cole's smirk faltered. "What did you say?"

Logan began walking forward, unbothered by the rifles now trained on him. "I said, you're not gonna do shit."

The crowd behind him gasped in horror, shouting warnings for him to stop, but Logan had long since learned to ignore those. He kept moving, his eyes locked on Cole.

Bang!

The first shot rang out, hitting Logan square in the chest. More followed in rapid succession, riddling his body with bullets. His white tank top was soon stained crimson, but Logan kept standing, unmoved even as his body was peppered with gunfire.

The villagers scattered in panic as the shots rang out, some of them nearly hit by stray bullets.

Cole watched in mild surprise as Logan's body finally crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. "Hmph. I expected more, honestly," he said with a sigh. "No aura, after all. A pity."

He stepped over Logan's motionless body, his men following suit. "See, was that so hard, everyone?" Cole asked, turning his attention back to the villagers, now scattered and terrified. "With that little distraction out of the way, we can begin our search in earnest. Get the scanners. I want this Dust located before—"

"Ouch… that hurt more than I thought it would."

Cole froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. Slowly, he turned back to see Logan pushing himself up from the ground, bullets falling from his skin. The holes in his body sealed up almost instantly, leaving only the bloodstains on his shirt as evidence that anything had happened.

"That was some powerful stuff. Strongest rifle shots I've taken in a while," Logan growled, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off a mild inconvenience. "But now it's my turn."

One of the soldiers gasped in horror. "He bled! That means he doesn't have an aura! How is this possible?"

Logan grinned, his expression feral. "Aura? Never heard of it. But there's a field full of assholes here, and I'm about to take you all down."

With a snikt, Logan's claws extended from his knuckles, the razor-sharp adamantium gleaming in the light. He crossed them in front of him in a lethal X formation.

Then he lunged.

Yes. New Story. Hurray.

This is just something I decided to do as a little filler. You'll notice little stories pop up here and there that I haven't spoken about.

I did this partly because well, Logan is my third favorite comic book character, my number one being Batman and number 2 being Spider-Man (fic coming soon) so I just had to do a fic with him.

I chose the RWBY verse because I believe he'll fit in well with it or at least to the point where it's not boring. Not too overpowered, not too underpowered and pretty much situational. The world he comes from is Logan before the whole disease stuff in the movie "Logan" so if you want a good idea of what he looked like take it from the movie. I'm one of those people who absolutely loves Logan as he is in the movie and Hugh Jackman played him well.