A group of birds flew across the sky, their silhouettes framed against the sun as soft clouds drifted by. Below, the wind gently swayed the tall grass, creating a dance of nature that could soothe any soul. In the midst of this serene field stood an old man—Logan, aka Wolverine—dressed only in long black pants and a white tank top. His body was bloody, his injuries seemingly too severe to heal, but none of this mattered as Logan smiled, feeling the wind caress his skin, offering him a warm welcome. Here, he finally found peace.

As he wandered through this unknown land, his gaze was drawn to the beauty of a wheat field where a single tree stood out. Its leaves were a vibrant gold, the bark's texture so appealing it caught Logan's eye. Approaching the tree, he ran his fingers over its rough surface and sighed, sitting down to rest against it, too tired to think, craving a moment of relaxation.

Not long after, another old man joined him, sitting beside Logan without a word. Logan, not bothering to look at the stranger, grumbled, "I need some time alone, bub. Go find somewhere else to sit." The old man, however, remained, much to Logan's annoyance. With a half-opened eye, Logan glanced at the newcomer.

This man had white hair and an iconic white mustache, wearing red glasses, a green shirt, and brown pants. He was visibly overjoyed, smiling at the sky, his eyes tracing the distant stars. Turning to Logan, he said with a smile, "This place will always be heaven for me; it's my greatest creation. So much freedom here, yet I keep it simple. No need for extravagance." He laughed, returning his gaze to the sky.

Logan chuckled slightly, "So you're the one who made this heavenly place, huh? Got to say, bub, I'm already enjoying it." He closed his eyes again, letting out a sigh, and continued, "We haven't introduced ourselves. I'm Logan. What about you, bub?"

The old man smiled back, "Stan Lee, but you can call me whatever you like. I won't mind." They both enjoyed the scenery for a moment.

Looking back at Stan, Logan pondered aloud, "Are you a god or something? You look like a regular guy, but have we met before?" Stan laughed, shaking his head.

"They always ask that. I don't deny it. I'm somewhat of a god or a watcher—there's no real difference, but I'm more than that." Stan looked at the expanding universe above. Logan nodded, not questioning further, accepting the notion of this old man being a deity. After all, he was already dead and now experiencing this heavenly realm. Stan then posed an important question, "Do you wish to be reborn, Logan?" This made Logan's expression almost betray his surprise.

The question lingered in his mind—did he want to? Was it even possible? "Can I... go back?" Logan asked, knowing it was probably futile but worth a shot.

Stan shook his head, "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but no, you can't return to your previous life. However, I can send you to a different world if you wish, or you could stay here in peace. It's your choice."

Logan nodded, sighing, then looked at Stan, pondering. The stress of decision-making weighed on him, but he quickly decided, "I would like that... the rebirth thing..."

Stan smiled and nodded, "I understand it's tough; everyone goes through this. It's not about what you seek but what you desire to be, and I respect that choice." He stood up, looking into Logan's eyes, extending his hand. "Shake my hand, and it will be settled."

Logan looked at the offered hand with some doubt, "Isn't this a bit sudden? Shouldn't you explain what world I'll be reborn into?"

Stan laughed at the skepticism, "Once you're there, you'll understand what it's like, but I can't promise it'll be pleasant. It's a place of nastiness and violence, but I think it will suit you as a hunting ground."

Logan smirked, intrigued by the challenge, "Well, that sounds interesting to me. Guess I'll shake your hand and head over there." Without hesitation, he shook Stan's hand, his body immediately engulfed in light.

Before he vanished, Stan offered his final words, "Remember, with your presence there, you can reshape stories with your choices. And you'll make good friends, hopefully, it will turn out well for you."

"I'll keep that in mind. See you later, Stan Lee!" With those final words, Logan's form vanished, leaving behind fragments of light that soon disappeared.

Satisfied, Stan sat back against the tree, gazing at the sky once more, "Now that's done, back to waiting for others to arrive—oh, someone's here already. It's that... Johnny Storm."

(Guess what version Johnny Storm is?)