Chapter Three: Unfinished Business
The bar settled into uneasy quiet after the stranger's departure, but the air felt heavier than before. Logan stayed near the window, one eye on the street, the other on Rogue, who sat perched on a barstool. She was quiet but visibly restless, tapping her gloved fingers against the wood.
"You gonna tell me what's going on?" Rogue asked, finally breaking the silence.
Logan didn't look at her. "Nothin' good," he muttered, lighting a cigar and taking a long drag. The smoke curled around him, masking the tension in his features. "Guys like that don't show up unless they're lookin' for blood."
"Was he talkin' about you?" Rogue pressed. "About your past?"
Logan's jaw tightened. "He wasn't here for small talk, kid. And yeah… probably."
The day dragged on in fits of unease. Logan barely left the window, eyes scanning the street like a wolf watching for predators. Rogue tried to stay occupied, but her mind kept circling back to the stranger's cryptic words and Logan's refusal to explain.
When night fell, the bar's emptiness felt unnatural. The regulars hadn't shown up, and the usual hum of life had been replaced by an oppressive silence. Rogue busied herself cleaning glasses at the counter, casting wary glances at Logan.
"You're makin' me nervous," she said, trying to keep her tone light.
"Good," Logan replied, his voice like gravel. "Stay nervous. Keeps you sharp."
Before she could retort, the door swung open with a force that made Rogue jump. Logan's claws extended with a metallic *snikt* as he moved between her and the entrance. Three figures stepped into the bar, their faces obscured by shadows cast by the dim, flickering lights.
The leader, a tall woman with sharp cheekbones and piercing green eyes, stepped forward. Her black trench coat swept the floor as she walked, exuding an air of authority and menace.
"Logan," she said, her voice as smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. "Been a while."
Logan didn't lower his claws. "You've got five seconds to explain who you are and what you want."
The woman smiled, a cold, calculated expression that didn't touch her eyes. "Oh, Logan. Always so direct." She gestured to the two men flanking her. One carried a sleek katana, the other a weapon that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie. "We're not here to waste time, either. You took something from us. We want it back."
"I don't know what you're talkin' about," Logan growled, though the slight twitch of his jaw betrayed his unease.
"You don't remember me?" she asked, feigning offense. "I'm hurt. But then again, you've left a lot of wreckage in your wake. Hard to keep track, isn't it?"
"Get to the point," Logan snapped.
The woman's smile vanished. She reached into her coat and pulled out a small, palm-sized device. Its surface glowed faintly with intricate, shifting patterns. "Does this jog your memory?"
Logan stiffened, his claws retracting slightly. Rogue noticed the change immediately and stepped closer. "What is that?" she asked, her voice low.
"Ask him," the woman said, her eyes never leaving Logan. "Ask the man who ripped through a dozen of my people to get his hands on it. Ask him what he traded all that blood for."
Rogue's eyes darted to Logan, searching his face for answers. He said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes.
The woman pressed a button on the device, and a holographic projection filled the room. The image was grainy but clear enough: Logan in a blood-soaked laboratory, surrounded by broken equipment and lifeless bodies. His claws dripped crimson as he tore through figures in lab coats, his face a mask of unrestrained rage.
Rogue's breath hitched. "Logan… what is this?"
He didn't answer, his gaze locked on the projection. Memories clawed their way to the surface—memories he'd spent years burying.
The woman's voice broke through the silence, sharp and cutting. "You thought you could bury it, didn't you? The things you did to survive. The lives you ruined. But the past always finds you."
Logan's claws extended again, the sound slicing through the tension. "You don't know a damn thing about me."
"Oh, I know enough," she replied. "I know you took something you didn't understand. Something that doesn't belong to you. And I know that because of you, a lot of people died."
Rogue stepped forward, her voice trembling but firm. "Whatever he did, I'm sure he had his reasons."
The woman's gaze shifted to Rogue, her lips curling into a smirk. "Oh, he's got you fooled, doesn't he? You think he's some noble warrior? He's an animal. A weapon." Her tone turned icy. "And I'm here to remind him of that."
She turned back to Logan, the smirk fading. "This isn't over. You've got three days to give us what we want. After that, we stop playing nice." She gestured to her men, and the three of them retreated, the door slamming shut behind them.
Rogue stared at Logan, her mind racing. "Logan… what the hell is goin' on?"
He didn't answer right away. He ran a hand over his face, his claws retracting with a slow, deliberate motion. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and strained.
"Trouble," he said, his eyes fixed on the door. "And it's not just mine anymore."