The meeting with Michelle was, all in all, a touching moment. She was vibrant, her steps light and her demeanor cheerful—a stark contrast to the broken woman I had rescued from the White Rider MC just a week ago. It was a relief to see her like this, to know that she was healing, that the Xavier Mansion had given her a safe place to recover. Her bubbly personality shone through, and for a moment, I allowed myself to feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for people like her—like us—to find peace in this world. and maybe my suggestion for her worked as intended.
But my relief was short-lived. My attention shifted to the man standing beside her—Logan, also known as Wolverine. I hadn't expected him to come with Michelle, though in hindsight, I should have anticipated it. The Xavier Mansion wasn't exactly an open secret, and Professor X wasn't the type to let someone waltz in without some level of scrutiny.
Still, I had hoped Michelle's arrival would be met with trust and goodwill, from the X-men folks, rather than suspicion. After all, I was banking on the Professor being the decent man he was portrayed as in most iterations of the X-Men—a man who, despite his telepathic abilities, respected the privacy of others. Mostly. Most of the time, Professor X were known to serve the Mutants with kindness and care, the guy was passionate for normalization of Mutant kind.
"You said you saved two children?" Michelle asked, her voice pulling me back to the present. "Where are they?"
Michelle brought me out of, my hesitated moments, my eyes narrowing slightly behind my helmet. I needed to be cautious. For all I knew, Professor X had already probed Michelle's mind, planting suggestions or altering her memories. I couldn't afford to take any chances.
"How long were you with the White Rider MC?" I asked abruptly, catching her off guard.
Michelle blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Four years," she answered without hesitation, her voice steady. "As a slave to them."
Her response was immediate, reactive. No stuttering, no delay. That told me everything I needed to know. If Professor X had tampered with her mind, there would have been some sign—a hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty. But Michelle's memories were intact. She was still herself. That was enough for me.
"At the back," I said, gesturing to the BMW. "They're sleeping peacefully."
I moved to open the back passenger door, but Logan stepped forward, his claws sliding out with a metallic snikt. His stance was predatory, his eyes locked on me like a wolf sizing up its prey.
"Listen here, bub," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "You're not going anywhere until I get some answers."
I didn't flinch. Instead, I turned my head slightly, my helmet's featureless visor reflecting the moonlight. "Calm yourself, James Howlett," I said, my voice calm but firm. "The kids are sleeping."
Logan froze, his eyes narrowing. "Hold on a minute," he said, his tone dangerous. "What did you just call me?"
I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I took a moment to assess him. Logan was a master of combat, his movements fluid and instinctive. The way he positioned himself, the distance he kept between us—it all screamed experience. His animalistic instincts were perfectly blended with his combat skills, making him a formidable opponent. And the fact that he didn't even realize it only made him more dangerous.
"So," I said casually, ignoring his question, "are you going by Logan or Wolverine these days?"
Logan's claws remained extended, his body tense and ready to strike. But before he could respond, Michelle stepped between us, her hands raised in a placating gesture.
"Settle down, boys," she said, her voice firm but calm. "We're here for the kids, remember?"
Logan hesitated, his eyes flicking between Michelle and me. Finally, he retracted his claws with a low growl and pulled out a cigar, lighting it with a flick of his lighter. He leaned against the hood of the Mustang, his posture relaxed but his eyes still sharp.
"Yeah," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
"Logan and Wolverine."
I nodded, my attention shifting back to Michelle. But in the back of my mind, I was acutely aware of Logan's presence. Inside that gruff exterior was a mind as sharp as his claws. He was already sizing me up, analyzing my every move. I could see it in his eyes, the way he watched me like a predator watching its prey.
And I knew what he was thinking. To him, I wasn't just another mutant or some random vigilante. I was something else entirely—a man who moved with the precision of a seasoned assassin, who knew his name, his history, and how to fight him. Every step I took, every word I spoke, was calculated. And Logan knew it.
In his mind, I was dangerous. More dangerous than Magneto, more ruthless than anyone he'd faced before. And he wasn't wrong.
Logan—Wolverine—was watching me like a hawk, his sharp eyes tracking my every move. I could feel his gaze, the tension in his muscles, the readiness in his stance. But what struck me most was the absence of his danger sense. Despite the thick scent of blood clinging to me—evidence of the life I had taken earlier—he didn't see me as an immediate threat. To him, I was non-hostile, but my actions spoke of readiness, of someone who could strike at any moment. It was a strange balance, one that seemed to unsettle him even as he kept his claws retracted.
"Wraith, they really are still kids," Michelle said softly, stepping back from the BMW. Her voice was tinged with sadness, but there was also a glimmer of hope. She had been where these children were now, and she knew what it meant to be given a second chance.
"Twins," I confirmed, my voice steady. "Probably ten or eleven. Both of them are mutants, like you."
Michelle's eyes widened slightly. "Close relation?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Parents. Dead," I said bluntly, my tone hardening. "Sold by their own family. And you know why they were sold."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Michelle's face darkened, her hands clenching into fists. She knew all too well the horrors that awaited mutants like Remy and Remi. The world was cruel, and it didn't care how young or innocent its victims were.
I reached into the BMW and pulled out a stack of cash, placing it on the hood of Logan's Mustang. "This is 100,000, plus an extra, 500 for their clothes. $5,000 is your payment, Michelle. Just like before. Take care of them."
Michelle's eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm not doing this for money, Wraith," she said, her voice tinged with annoyance.
"But you need it," I countered, my tone firm. "The $5,000 is your pay. The rest is for their living allowance. From me. Take it."
She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the stack of cash before reluctantly packing it into a duffle bag and tossing it into the back seat of the Mustang. Logan watched the exchange silently, his cigar clenched between his teeth, his expression unreadable.
Without another word, I moved to the BMW and carefully lifted Remy and Remi from the back seat. They were still asleep, their small bodies curled up together. I carried them to the Mustang and gently placed them in the back, making sure they were comfortable. Michelle and Logan watched in silence, their eyes following my every move.
Once the kids were settled, I turned my attention to the BMW. I opened the gas cap, then delivered a single, powerful punch to the side of the car. The impact was devastating—the back half of the vehicle crumpled like paper, the force sending it skidding off the road and into the fence of the abandoned house. The sound of metal crunching echoed through the night, but neither Michelle nor Logan flinched.
I pulled out my gladius and slashed the ground, the blade sparking as it struck the pavement. The spark ignited the spilled gasoline, and within seconds, the BMW was engulfed in flames. The fire roared to life behind me, casting flickering shadows across the scene as I walked back to the Mustang.
"The car was involved in an accident," I said, my voice calm and matter-of-fact. "And no one was here."
Michelle and Logan nodded, understanding the necessity of covering our tracks. But as I approached the Mustang, Logan spoke up, his voice low and gravelly.
"Bub, whatever it is you're doing… don't get drowned in it," he said, his eyes meeting mine. There was no judgment in his gaze, only a quiet understanding. He knew what kind of person I was, and yet, he didn't condemn me. Instead, he offered a warning—one that came from a place of experience.
"I try not to," I replied, my voice heavy with truth. "But it's hard to stop when this kind of thing happens every day, everywhere."
Logan's eyes narrowed, his posture straightening. "What do you mean, 'every day' and 'everywhere'?" he asked, his tone sharp.
I hesitated for a moment, weighing my words. "What happened to you, Logan… it's not unique. You're not the only one who's been given the 'special treatment.' There are people, organizations, even entire nations out there doing this kind of thing. And it's happening more often than you think."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Logan's expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he processed what I had said. It was clear that the X-Men, or at least this version of them, weren't fully aware of the sheer scale of the mutant issue.
Logan, for all his experience, was still the tamer, more honorable version of Wolverine—the one who had a code, who fought for what was right. And yet, even he seemed shaken by the implications of my words.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, to my surprise, Logan spoke again, his voice quieter this time. "I see," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "Do you need help, bub?"
The question caught me off guard. I hadn't expected an offer of assistance, especially not from someone like Logan. But there was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice. He wasn't just asking out of curiosity or obligation. He was offering because he understood—because he knew what it meant to fight a battle that never seemed to end.
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I looked at Michelle, then at the sleeping forms of Remy and Remi in the back seat. They were safe now, but there were countless others who weren't. And as much as I wanted to accept Logan's offer, I knew my path was one I had to walk alone.
"Not yet," I said finally, my voice steady. "But I'll keep it in mind."
Logan nodded; his expression unreadable. He didn't press the issue, and for that, I was grateful..