#killebrew

[coolthingsguyslike]

[masterandapprentice]

No surprises here ❤️ (just Wilson... but ok, anyway :/)

[teamwilsonfamily]

coachtomlin: An amazing group of men. Proud of this group of leaders for our team.

[blackmensuited]

[waiting-eyez]

My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say, 'You're tearing up the grass'; 'We're not raising grass,' Dad would reply. 'We're raising boys.'

(Hamron Killebrew)

[ofgreatart]

“That almost religious era regarding beauty, which we experienced in our youth. The artist’s act, the emotion conveyed by the works, seemed to be the only undisputed objects of love, work, desire—the only means of redemption.”

‘for there, no subterfuge, no doubt, no interposition stood between us and our light. We had felt; and what we had felt gave us the strength to resist’

Paul Valéry, 1931: “That almost religious era regarding beauty, which we experienced in our youth. In that youth, art was seen as the only outlet, the only culture now possible for the highest sentiments. The artist’s act, the emotion conveyed by the works, seemed to be the only undisputed objects of love, work, desire—the only means of redemption; in short, the only certainties that were immediate, exempt from any critical impact, finally providing the strength of faith without requiring any belief.”

Paul Valéry, 1937: “Our certainty lay in our emotion and our sensation of beauty; and when we came together, (…) when we listened to the entire series of Beethoven’s symphonies, dazzling fragments from Wagner’s dramas, an extraordinary atmosphere was created. We emerged (…) as fanatics, devotees, and advocates of art; for there, no subterfuge, no doubt, no interposition stood between us and our light. We had felt; and what we had felt gave us the strength to resist all occasions of dispersion and all the trivialities and enchantments of life… We reunited with an illuminated soul and an intelligence filled with faith, as what we had heard seemed like a kind of personal revelation and an essentially personal truth. (…) The seriousness, the absolute value attached (…) to the mysteries and promises of art.”

Video: Gwendolyn Killebrew: Waltraute Gwyneth Jones: Brünnhilde The Ring of the Nibelung / Der Ring des Nibelungen ‘The sacred stem at his command was riven and raised in a heap round about the hall of the blest. The holy host called he together; the god on his throne took his place.’ Twilight of the Gods / Götterdämmerung Richard Wagner Bayreuth, Pierre Boulez, Patrice Chéreau (German: 'Des Stammes Scheite hieß er sie schichten zu ragendem Hauf rings um der Seligen Saal. Der Götter Rath ließ er berufen; den Hochsitz nahm heilig er ein.’)

[kura-reviews]

Old Fashioned Killebrew Cream Soda Review

Yep, it's a cream soda review. Never thought I'd do that, but here we are.

My local grocery store keeps advertising these as 10 for $10 and I'd never taken the time to try them out until now. Keen eyes may recognize the name Killebrew as a power player for the Minnesota Twins baseball team, from 1954 to 1975. He's a household name in Minnesota, even for people who don't care about baseball.

Anyway, the beverage. I'll start off with some background - I have never particularly liked cream soda. As a child, I thought it had a disappointingly flat and just "sweet" flavor, and never picked it out when I was given a rare chance to get a soda myself from the store. I recall A&W cream soda tasting just faintly of vanilla, but otherwise overpoweringly, cloyingly sweet. I felt it was too similar other flavors that are meant to taste only like candy/sugary treats (like cotton candy or bubble gum). The only exception to my cream soda dislike were the Dum-Dums cream soda flavored suckers, which I have always loved for their light fruity flavor with a hint of vanilla.

I am so pleased to report that this Killebrew cream soda tastes almost EXACTLY like the Dum-Dums. I've never actually had a cream soda that tastes like this candy, and I love it. It's sweet, but not too cloying, and while the primary sweetener is still HFCS, the aftertaste is minimal and the flavor doesn't linger on the tongue. A fun fact is that the ingredients say it contains "Pure Minnesota Honey". I'm not sure that I can taste the honey per se, but the flavor is great. The fizz is fairly light, as well.

Honestly, 10/10. I would not mark it as chuggable, but that's because it should be savored.

I have a root beer from this company in my fridge, as well, that I plan to try later. If it's as good as the cream soda, we absolutely have a winner.

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue August 1982

Anette Stai wears a fushia cashmere shawl, by Halston Original, black suede trousers with silver studs and her matching suede waistcoat. Jerry Kott earrings. Hairstyle, John Killebrew by Xavier N.Y.; makeup, Richard Adams.

Anette Stai porte un châle en cachemire fushsia, par Halston Original, un pantalon en daim noir à clous argentés et son gilet en daim assorti. Boucles d'oreilles Jerry Kott. Coiffure, John Killebrew de Xavier N.Y. ; maquillage, Richard Adams.

Photo Irving Penn vogue archive

[gummyartstradingcards]

[principiumindividuationis777]

[betweenthebasepaths]

"He hit line drives that put the opposition in jeopardy. And I don't mean infielders, I mean outfielders." - Ossie Bluege on Harmon Killebrew, the Killer.

Photo from Ballpark Digest

[marifilue]

Part 7: Silent Wars

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n.

Summary: You're an X-Men member with regenerative healing ability and skilled marksman. On a routine mission with the team things take a drastic turn when a mutant-inhibitor collar is forced onto you, leaving you vulnerable, unable to heal. With no quick fix in sight, Logan becomes your reluctant anchor, helping you get through each day as you fight to survive, unexpected bond with Logan begins to grow, one that becomes far stronger than either of you could imagine.

Warnings: Explicit language, Violence, Blood

WC: 10,6k

<- Part 6

Logan stood in front of the mirror, buttoning his white shirt before adjusting the black suit Ororo had picked out for him earlier. He tugged at the fabric with a grimace, the sleek cut far from his usual rugged style. The polished shoes felt unnatural, and the stiff collar made him want to rip the whole thing apart. Still, he attempted the tie after a failing a first try, fumbling with the knot until it resembled something passable. Or so he thought. After inspecting his reflection, he sighed. “Good enough,” he muttered, stepping out of his room.

The team was leaving soon for the gala to find Killebrew, and Logan made his way down the hall. That’s when he saw you, halfway up the stairs with a basket of clean laundry in hand. You were heading toward your room, but the sight of him stopped you in your tracks. Your steps faltered, and for a moment, you just stared. Logan in a suit was unexpected, he looked sharp, almost elegant, though the sight of him trying to fit into something so formal was oddly amusing.

Your lips twitched into a grin as your eyes swept over him and you couldn’t help but think he looked like a time traveler from some period drama. Except…

“What?” Logan asked, his brow furrowing as he caught your stare.

You smirked, gesturing vaguely at his neck. “You're not leaving with that tie.”

Logan glanced down, frowning. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Are you going to a nine-to-five job or a gala?” you teased, shaking your head. Standing outside your door, you pointed a finger at him. “Don't move.”

Before he could protest, you disappeared into your room, setting the basket of laundry on your bedroom floor. You returned moments later, Logan still rooted in place, his expression an unamused mix of confusion and impatience.

Without a second thought, you walked right up to him, fingers reaching for his tie. “Hold still,” you ordered, undoing the uneven knot with quick, precise movements.

“That took me two tries,” Logan grumbled, his breath brushing against you as you worked.

“Yeah, and it shows,” you replied without missing a beat , the corner of your mouth twitching into a smile.. Your focus remained on the fabric in your hands, but you couldn’t ignore the faint scent of cologne mixed with his usual tobacco scent. He’d tried to clean up for the mission, and you silently appreciated the effort.

Logan stayed quiet, his gaze dropping to your face. He watched the way your brows furrowed in concentration, the soft purse of your lips as you looped the fabric into a neat bow tie.

“There,” you said, tightening the knot one last time. “Perfect.”

You glanced up, your words catching in your throat when you realized he was already looking at you. His hazel eyes were unrelenting, and the intensity of his gaze made your pulse stutter.

“They’re waiting for you,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended, flicking your eyes to his left, then his right, trying to avoid the pull of his stare.

“Huh?” Logan blinked, his brows lifting slightly as if snapping out of a trance.

“The team,” you repeated, stepping back to create some distance. “They’re already downstairs.”

Logan reached up, tugging at the tie as if testing your handiwork. “Right,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “Thanks.”

You offered a small smile. “Good luck.” You said, he nodded, clearing his throat. “I’ll see ya around.” his voice softer.

You turned, opening the door to your room as Logan walked down the hall and descended the stairs. Once inside, you closed the door and leaned against it, your heart racing in your chest. You glanced at laundry, waiting on your floor to be folded, but all you could think about was the way Logan had looked at you, and how it made your pulse quicken.

As you folded the last of your laundry. It was a simple, repetitive task, but tonight, even mundane chores couldn’t keep your mind from wandering. Yesterday’s news lingered heavily in your thoughts—a cancer diagnosis. Your mind refused to fully grasp it. How could it? One day you were fighting alongside mutants, the next you were grappling with mortality in a way you never imagined.

Pushing the thoughts aside, you grabbed the laundry basket and headed downstairs. Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters felt eerily calm tonight. Scott, Jean, Ororo, Logan, and Charles were at the gala, leaving you and Hank as the only adults in charge. The younger kids were scattered throughout the mansion, laughing in small groups or lost in their own conversations.

You walked down the hallway, glancing into the TV room where a small cluster of teenagers were gathered, the sound of an action movie blaring from the screen. Hank sat in an armchair nearby, his sharp blue eyes catching yours as you entered.

“Hey,” he said, giving you a small smile. “How are you feeling?”

You sank into the couch beside him, shrugging slightly. “I’m okay. Just the headache is a pain in the ass.”

He nodded knowingly. “Have the pills been helping at all?”

You shook your head, letting out a quiet sigh. “Not much. Jean prescribed me something, but I can only take it every twelve hours. By hour six, the pain’s already back.”

You didn’t elaborate. There wasn’t a point. The words felt hollow anyway. You knew Hank and the others were doing their best, and the last thing you wanted was to make anyone feel worse. They’d given you a family here, and you owed them everything. So, for now, you swallowed your emotions and tried to keep them at bay.

The movie played on, the chatter of the kids filling the room like white noise. Maya, one of the new students, eventually joined you, curling up against your side. Her small frame fit easily under your arm, her warmth grounding you in the moment. You stroked her hair absently, letting the comfort of her presence ease some of the tension coiled in your chest.

Then, the quiet started to unravel. A distant, rhythmic thudding filled the air, faint but unmistakable.

You froze, your ears straining.

Hank noticed it too, his gaze snapping toward the window. His expression darkened, and he glanced back at you.

“Helicopters,” you muttered, your voice low.

He nodded, his jaw tightening. The sound grew louder, closer. You both knew what this meant. It wasn’t your first time dealing with an attack. It never started quietly.

You gently nudged Maya off your lap and stood, your pulse quickening. “We need to move the kids. Now.”

Hank didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take the east wing, you handle the west.”

You turned to the teenagers. “Everyone, listen up. Go to your dorms, grab your essentials, and follow the evacuation route. No questions, no hesitation. Move!”

They scattered immediately, fear flashing across their faces as the urgency in your voice spurred them into action.

You bolted down the hallway, checking every room to ensure no one was left behind. The sound of the helicopters grew deafening, vibrating through the walls. By the time you reached the hidden tunnel entrance in the west wing, a group of younger kids had already gathered, their wide eyes filled with panic.

“It’s okay,” you said, kneeling to meet their gazes. “Follow the tunnel. Stick together, and don’t stop until you reach the safe zone.”

They nodded, some of them trembling, but they moved. Once they were through, you sealed the entrance and sprinted back toward the main hall, your heart pounding as you searched for any stragglers.

“Hank, how’s the east wing?” you shouted as you met him near the center staircase.

“Cleared!” he called back, his fur bristling with tension. “They’re in the tunnels.”

The unmistakable sound of metal boots hitting the ground outside sent a chill through you. The helicopters were landing.

You exchanged a glance with Hank, a silent understanding passing between you. The kids were as safe as they could be. Now, it was up to you to buy them time.

The sleek, polished floors of the Manhattan ballroom glimmered under the cascading light of crystal chandeliers. The gala was in full swing, with attendees dressed in tailored suits and elegant evening gowns. The room buzzed with polite conversation and the clinking of glasses, the perfect cover for the X-Men’s covert operation.

Charles Xavier’s connections had secured their invitations, giving them access to the exclusive event. The mission was clear: locate Killebrew and gather the information necessary to free you from the inhibitor collar. The team blended effortlessly into the crowd, their formal attire hiding the dangerous intent beneath the surface.

The team approached the grand staircase leading to the entrance, their polished shoes clicking softly against the marble steps. Ororo’s long, flowing red dress shimmered in the dim light, its elegant cut accentuating her regal demeanor. She walked hand in hand with Logan, a playful smile tugging at her lips as her gaze fell on his bow tie.

“I didn’t take you for a bow tie kind of guy,” Ororo remarked, her tone light but teasing.

Logan glanced sideways at her, his expression deadpan. “I’m not,” he replied gruffly, though the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

Just ahead of them, Jean walked hand in hand with Scott, her sleek black dress a stark contrast to his sharp navy suit. Hearing Ororo’s comment, Jean turned her head with a grin. “He’s definitely not. He didn’t even know how to do one,” she teased, her smile widening.

Scott, curious, leaned closer to Jean. “What does that mean?” he whispered, keeping his voice low.

Jean chuckled softly, glancing back at Logan. “Let’s just say it wasn’t his handiwork.”

Logan flushed slightly, the faint color creeping up his neck. Ororo’s teasing smile grew as she leaned in mock-conspiratorially. “Someone else do your bow tie?” she asked, her tone lilting as she searched his face for an answer.

Jean laughed at Logan’s evident discomfort, and Logan grunted, his usual gruff demeanor slipping into mild annoyance. “Red, if you peeked into my head, that’s really creepy, y’know. Should’ve been illegal,” he shot back, grumbling as his hand adjusted the offending bow tie.

Jean only smiled wider, clearly amused. “I wasn’t intending. Your mind’s really loud,” she quipped, her tone airy.

That set Jean, Scott, and Ororo laughing, their lightheartedness echoing down the steps. Logan rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as they finally reached the entrance, but the faintest smirk lingered on his face as he escorted Ororo inside.

Jean spotted Killebrew first, standing near the bar with a glass of champagne in hand, flanked by two bodyguards. Killebrew's posture was relaxed, his confidence oozing as if he had nothing to fear. She tilted her head slightly, signaling to Logan, who was nursing a drink a few feet away.

“Got him,” she murmured through their comms, her lips barely moving as she pretended to sip her wine.

Scott’s voice came through. “Stick to the plan. No improvisations, Logan.”

Logan grunted in response, his patience already wearing thin.

Jean, with an air of practiced elegance, glided toward Killebrew. A strategically placed stiletto misstep had her spilling her glass of red wine all over his pristine white suit.

“Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed, feigning mortification. “I am so sorry.”

Killebrew cursed under his breath, brushing futilely at the spreading stain. “Watch where you’re going!”

Jean placed a delicate hand on his arm. “Please, let me help. The restroom is just over there.” She gestured to the nearby door with an apologetic smile.

Killebrew huffed but nodded, motioning for one of his guards to wait outside the restroom. He disappeared through the door, oblivious to the trap waiting for him.

Inside, Logan leaned casually against the wall of a stall, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. The door creaked open, and Killebrew stepped inside, muttering curses under his breath. Before he could notice anything amiss, Logan moved swiftly, grabbing him from behind and locking him in a chokehold.

“What the—” Killebrew struggled, but Logan’s grip was unyielding. Within seconds, the doctor’s body went limp, unconscious.

Logan let him drop to the floor, his expression grim. “Nighty night,” he muttered, dragging the lifeless form out of sight.

When Killebrew regained consciousness, he found himself tied to a chair inside the dimly lit interior of the Blackbird. His head lolled to the side as he groaned, his vision clearing to reveal Scott standing in front of him, arms crossed.

“We’re going to make this simple,” Scott began, his tone calm but firm. “Tell us everything you know about the inhibitor collars. How do we remove them?”

Killebrew chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with malice. “Ah, you filthy mutants are cute. Trying to save her? Lemme tell you a thing—you can’t. She’s going to experience a slow, excruciating death. The kind that makes every second feel like a lifetime. No cure, no miracle. Just pain.”

Scott’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “Not under our watch,” he snapped, his voice steady despite the fire in his eyes.

Killebrew sneered, leaning back against the chair. “You think you’re heroes, don’t you? But the clock’s ticking. Tick-tock. And when it’s all over, you’ll realize just how helpless you really are.”

Scott stepped closer, his visor glowing faintly. “You’re going to tell us everything you know, or you’ll wish you had,” he said, his voice low with simmering anger.

Killebrew’s lips twitched into a defiant smirk. “Do you think tying me to a chair and playing good cop is going to work?”

Logan stepped out of the shadows, his claws extending with a menacing snikt. “I’m not here to play cop, bub.”

Killebrew flinched slightly at the sound but quickly masked it with a smirk, his pretentious bravado returning. “The wolverine,” he began, drawing out the name. “I’ve spent my years studying you, dissecting your genetic material, perfecting it. You’re an open book to me. Every scar, every growl, every feral instinct.”

Logan’s claws inched closer, the metal glinting in the dim light. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

Killebrew’s smirk widened, his tone turning sharper. “Oh, but I do. Just like I know about her. Fire and flesh, the perfect weapon. I built her, the way she moved on the battlefield, so precise, so merciless..”

Logan’s claws twitched, but his expression remained cold. “Keep her outta your fucking mouth.”

Killebrew tilted his head, feigning innocence. “She’s wasting her potential, playing house with your little band of mutants. But you're a bunch of fools if you think you've tamed her. It’s only a matter of time before she relapses, before she craves the chaos again. Because that’s who she is, war and death incarnate. You're just counting your days until she realizes it.”

Logan’s claws scraped against the wall as he slammed them dangerously close to Killebrew’s head, his voice a low growl. “Say another word, and I’ll make sure you don’t get a chance to regret it.”

Killebrew’s smirk faltered, but his voice remained mocking. “Touchy, aren’t we? Face it, Logan. You and she are cut from the same cloth. Weapons pretending to be people. How long until she burns everything down, just like she was made to?”

Logan leaned in close, his voice cold and unyielding. “You don’t know a damn thing about her.”

“Logan.” Jean’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. She stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, silently asking him to stepped back.

Logan growled under his breath but retracted his claws, stepping back reluctantly.

At that moment, Charles entered the room, his calm presence immediately commanding attention. “Apologies for the delay,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the scene. “There were matters to address.”

Killebrew’s smirk returned. “The famous Professor Xavier. Come to play the moral high ground?”

Charles ignored the taunt, his expression serene as he moved closer. “Dr. Killebrew, I don’t have the luxury of time for your games.” He placed his fingers gently against his temple, his eyes closing as he delved into Killebrew’s mind.

The room fell silent, the tension thick as Charles sifted through the layers of Killebrew’s thoughts. His eyes snapped open moments later, a flicker of something dark passing across his features.

“What is it?” Scott asked, concern lacing his voice.

Charles hesitated for a moment before answering, carefully withholding the full truth. “The collars are prototypes, unfinished technology. I can't find the key to unlock them. The only way to remove them is by destroying the metal. But…” He paused, his voice heavy. “…doing so could harm the wearer.”

Logan’s fists clenched at his sides. “That’s it? That’s all this punk knows?”

Charles nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately, yes. However, I’ve learned the location of another laboratory where these collars were developed. It may hold the answers we seek.”

Scott exchanged a glance with Logan, both of them visibly frustrated but resigned.

“What do we do with him?” Logan asked, his tone cold.

Charles’ gaze shifted back to Killebrew. “He’s of no further use to us.”

Without another word, they hauled Killebrew out of the Blackbird and left him unconscious in an alleyway near the gala. As the Blackbird ascended into the night sky, Charles’ thoughts lingered on what he had seen in Killebrew’s mind—the truth about the collar’s devastating effects. For now, he chose to keep it to himself.

You and Hank moved swiftly through the darkened hallways of the mansion, your steps careful yet purposeful. The power had been cut, leaving the intruders at a disadvantage. While they stumbled blindly, you and Hank knew every twist and turn of the mansion’s layout by heart.

Hank, already in his Beast form, was a formidable sight as he scanned each room. “Check every corner,” he growled softly. “We can’t risk leaving anyone behind.”

Nodding, you veered off toward the equipment room. The flickering emergency lights cast an eerie glow as you entered, your eyes immediately landing on the wall-mounted array of weapons. Among them, a bulletproof vest caught your attention.

For a moment, you froze, staring at it. You hated the thought of needing it. You were the bulletproof one back then, you thought bitterly. The collar around your neck weighed heavier than ever, a constant reminder of how vulnerable you’d become.

With a resigned sigh, you grabbed the vest and adjusted it over your torso, fastening the straps securely. The irony wasn’t lost on you.

A faint noise pulled your attention, a shuffle just beyond the room’s corner. Your heart skipped a beat as you approached cautiously, your gun drawn. Turning the corner, you saw a small figure curled up, hugging her knees tightly.

“Maya,” you breathed, lowering your weapon. Your heart sank as the young girl looked up at you with wide, tear-filled eyes.

“Are they here to take me?” she whimpered, her voice trembling.

You knelt beside her, checking for injuries but finding none. “No one’s taking you, sweetheart,” you reassured her, brushing a hand over her hair. “I promise. But we need to move now, okay?”

She nodded hesitantly, her small hand clutching yours as you led her back into the hallway. You moved quickly, guiding her toward the secret tunnel where the other children were already gathering.

Just as you reached the hallway’s intersection, shadows emerged from the opposite end. Guards. Their rifles were already raised, and without hesitation, they opened fire.

“Get down!” you shouted, shoving Maya behind the wall and throwing yourself beside her. Bullets ricocheted off the metal-lined walls, the deafening sound echoing in the confined space.

Maya was trembling, her hands clamped over her ears as tears streamed down her face. Then, she screamed—a piercing, unnatural sound that made your blood run cold.

The guards crumpled immediately, their hands flying to their ears as they collapsed, unconscious or worse. But the force of her supersonic scream was overwhelming. You cried out, your hands instinctively covering your ears, but it wasn’t enough. Pain exploded in your head, and you felt a warm trickle down your neck. Your ears were bleeding.

Maya was sobbing now, horrified by what she’d done. Gritting your teeth against the pain, you forced yourself to your feet, pulling her up with you. “It’s okay,” you said, your voice hoarse. “You did good. Now let’s keep going.”

You led her the rest of the way, your vision swimming slightly from the pain in your head. Finally, you reached the tunnel entrance, where Hank was ushering the children inside. He took one look at you and Maya, his sharp eyes narrowing at the blood streaking from your ears.

“She’s safe,” you rasped, gently pushing Maya toward him.

Hank nodded, his massive hand resting reassuringly on Maya’s shoulder as he guided her into the tunnel. “Now go,” he told her firmly.

Turning back, you adjusted your vest and readied your weapon. “Let’s finish this.”

Hank’s lips curled into a fierce grin. “Gladly.”

The two of you moved together, a practiced dance of coordination honed through years of training. You stayed low, firing calculated shots to disable the guards. Meanwhile, Hank charged forward, his claws slashing through their ranks with precision.

The intruders wore full black tactical gear, but even their advanced equipment couldn’t match Hank’s brute strength or your unerring aim. You fired at an enemy attempting to flank Hank, your shot hitting its mark and dropping him instantly.

Another guard lunged at you, but you sidestepped, slamming the butt of your gun into his temple. He fell unconscious, his weapon clattering to the ground.

Hank roared as he took down the last of them, his claws raking through the guard’s chest plate and sending him flying into the wall.

Breathing hard, you leaned against the wall for a moment, your hands trembling slightly. “Is that all of them?”

Hank sniffed the air, his sharp senses searching for any remaining threats. “For now,” he said, his tone cautious.

You reloaded your weapon, your ears still ringing from Maya’s scream. “I'm just getting warmed up,” you muttered.

Hank nodded, his gaze softening for a moment. “You’re doing good,” he said, his voice quieter now.

You offered him a faint smile. “So are you.”

With that, the two of you turned and began to sweep the mansion again, ensuring it was secure. But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t stop thinking about Maya’s terrified question. Are they here to take me?

And you wondered just how much longer any of you could hold out.

You and Hank stood in the backyard of the mansion, both watching as the remaining helicopters retreated in the distance.

“They’re aborting?” you asked, your voice laced with suspicion, your grip still tight on the rifle in your hands.

Hank adjusted his glasses, still in his Beast form, his expression grim. “Seems like it. But why?”

Your question was answered almost immediately as the Blackbird appeared, its engines roaring as it hovered on the other side of the mansion. You exchanged a quick glance with Hank, and without a word, the two of you sprinted toward the hangar, Hank flipping the mansion’s power back on with a flick of a hidden switch as you ran.

By the time you reached the hangar, the Blackbird had landed, its ramp lowering smoothly. Professor Xavier was the first to emerge, his calm gaze meeting yours. He didn’t ask a single question—he didn’t need to. The weight of what had happened was already evident in his expression as he absorbed the chaos from your mind and Hank’s.

Logan followed close behind, his movements hurried and purposeful, his bow tie askew and his black suit already unbuttoned. He barely glanced at where he stepped as his eyes immediately landed on you, scanning you from head to toe.

“What happened?” Logan demanded, his voice rough with concern. His sharp gaze zeroed in on your disheveled appearance, noting the blood smeared along your neck and the exhaustion evident in your posture.

You couldn’t even summon the energy to answer. Your limbs felt like lead, and the weight of the bulletproof vest dug into your shoulders.

Hank stepped in, his tone measured despite the tension. “There was an attack—three helicopters. Two of them left as soon as you arrived.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists as he continued to watch you. Your knees wobbled slightly under the combined weight of the vest and firearm, and with a soft grunt of frustration, you shrugged the vest off, letting it fall to the floor alongside with the firearm with a dull thud. The noise felt distant, your vision blurring slightly as nausea twisted your stomach.

The voices around you became muffled, distorted, as you pressed a trembling hand to your mouth. Acid burned at the back of your throat, and without saying a word, you turned and bolted for the bathroom down the hall.

“Shit,” you heard Logan mutter behind you, followed by the heavy sound of his boots as he moved after you. “I’ll check on her,” he called back to the team.

You barely made it to the toilet before throwing up, your body trembling as your stomach heaved violently. The pain in your head pounded in time with your heartbeat, making the world spin.

A moment later, you felt Logan’s presence behind you, his familiar scent of cigar smoke grounding you. He didn’t say a word, but you heard the sound of him pulling tissues from the dispenser.

When you felt his hands gently gather your hair and hold it back, you froze for a second, caught off guard by the tenderness of the gesture. He crouched beside you, one hand steadying your hair while the other offered a tissue.

Wordlessly, you took it, wiping your mouth as you flushed the toilet. For a moment, you simply leaned against the cool porcelain, trying to steady your breathing.

“I can see your night is much more fun than mine,” Logan quipped, his voice low but with a touch of that familiar sarcasm.

You let out a weak laugh, the corners of your mouth twitching despite everything. “Fuck off, Logan,” you muttered, though your tone lacked any real bite.

He smirked, releasing your hair as he stood, his eyes never leaving you. When he noticed the unsteadiness in your movements, he instinctively reached down, offering his hand.

For once, you didn’t argue. Placing both hands on his for support, you allowed him to help you up. Your legs wobbled slightly, but with his steady grip, you managed to stay upright.

As you moved to the sink, Logan hovered close behind, his presence both comforting and suffocating. You turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on your face before catching sight of your reflection in the mirror. The dried blood on your ears and neck painted a grim picture.

Grabbing a tissue, you dampened it with water and started wiping the blood away from your left ear. Logan watched silently for a moment before stepping closer, his movements deliberate. Without asking, he grabbed another tissue, dampened it, and began wiping the blood from your right ear.

You tensed at first, but his careful touch surprised you. He was gentle, his rough fingers brushing against your skin with an unexpected softness. Through the mirror, you caught sight of him—still dressed in his suit, bow tie slightly loose, his expression unreadable.

“You okay?” he asked finally, his voice softer than before.

You leaned against the sink, your exhaustion catching up with you. “Maya,” you said quietly, your voice hoarse. “The intruder… they were shooting at us. She got scared and screamed. Her mutation, I think it's a supersonic scream.”

“Huh, explains why you look like hell.” He muttered, his voice low

You huffed a tired laugh, the corners of your lips twitching despite the pain in your head. “Thanks for the compliment, as always.” your gaze falling to the sink as you gripped its edges. “She saved us,” you added after a moment. “It nearly broke me.”

Logan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he finished cleaning the blood from your neck and discarded the tissue in the trash. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but steady.

“You did good,” he said, his tone gruff but sincere. “Getting her out of there,” His tone was a bit different this time, you could sense there's something more coming.

“But you shouldn’t have gone in alone,” he said after a long silence, his tone gruff but not unkind.

You stiffened slightly, glancing at his reflection. “What choice do I have? Hank and I had to protect the kids. You weren’t exactly here.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his hazel eyes flicking up to meet yours in the mirror. “Still. You’re human now. You don’t have a healing factor to fall back on anymore.”

The reminder hit harder than you cared to admit. Your grip on the sink tightened as you felt your stomach twist, the weight of the collar around your neck seemingly growing heavier.

“I know what I am,” you snapped, more harshly than intended.

Logan didn’t flinch, his gaze unwavering. “Yeah? Then maybe you should start actin’ like it.”

Your temper flared, the exhaustion and pain boiling over. You turned abruptly, facing him. “I don’t need a lecture from you, Logan. I did what I had to do to keep Maya safe.”

His hands dropped to his sides, his shoulders tensing. For a moment, neither of you said anything, the air between you crackling with unspoken emotions.

Finally, Logan took a step closer, his presence overpowering in the small bathroom. “And what happens next time? Or the time after that? How many more of these do you think you can handle before—” He stopped himself, his voice catching.

“Before what?” you challenged, your voice trembling. “Before I die? Is that what you’re worried about?”

His eyes darkened, the intensity in them making your breath hitch. He didn’t answer, but the way he looked at you said everything.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Then, as if sensing you were seconds away from breaking, Logan’s voice softened. “You’re not alone in this, y’know.”

The words hit harder than any argument could have. Your resolve wavered, and you let out a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping. “I know,” you murmured. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

Logan’s hand hesitated before reaching out, his rough fingers brushing against your arm in an awkward but sincere gesture of comfort. “It’s not supposed to be easy,” he said quietly.

You nodded slowly, unable to meet his eyes. The vulnerability in his voice, paired with his uncharacteristic gentleness, was too much. It threatened to unravel the fragile control you had left.

Logan seemed to sense this, because he stepped back, giving you space. “C’mon,” he said, his voice back to its usual gruffness. “Let’s get you back out there before the team thinks you’ve keeled over.”

You forced a faint smile, wiping your damp hands on your pants. “Right. Can’t let them think I’m weak.”

Logan smirked, though his eyes still held a shadow of concern. “You? Weak? Not a chance.”

Without waiting for a response, he opened the door, holding it for you as you stepped into the hallway. You didn’t miss the way he hovered slightly behind you, close enough to catch you if you stumbled.

Scott and Ororo led the children down the hall, their calm voices echoing softly as they reassured the kids that they were safe here, far from the chaos outside. You envied their composure, the way they seemed to have endless patience and strength to guide others. Meanwhile, you sat stiffly in the laboratory, your back against the cold surface of the examination table.

God, how you loathed this place—the sterile white walls, the smell of antiseptic that lingered in the air, and the bright overhead lights that always seemed too harsh. The memories tied to labs like these made your skin crawl, yet here you were again.

Jean approached with a syringe in hand, her movements calm and deliberate. “Just a quick injection,” she said, offering a small smile as she prepared the needle.

You didn’t bother asking what it was; you trusted her enough, but that didn’t make you feel any less like a test subject under scrutiny.

Your attention drifted across the room to where Logan stood in the corner, deep in conversation with Professor Xavier. Their voices were too low for you to hear, leaving you to wonder what they could possibly be discussing. Logan’s posture was tense, his arms crossed over his chest as he nodded occasionally to whatever the Professor was saying.

“Something on your mind?” Jean’s voice broke through your thoughts as she administered the injection.

You blinked, realizing you’d been staring. Jean followed your gaze to Logan, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “He cares about you,” she said casually, as if stating a simple fact.

“Huh?” You frowned, caught off guard.

“Logan,” Jean said, her tone light and teasing. “He has a soft spot for you.”

You stared at her, taken aback by her words. “Why are you so sure ab—” You stopped mid-sentence, realization dawning as you remembered Jean’s telepathic abilities. A sense of discomfort crept over you. “Never mind, forget I asked. Please don’t get into my head too. I feel violated.”

Jean chuckled softly as she set the empty syringe aside and reached for another to draw your blood. “The feeling is mutual, don’t worry.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you said, feigning ignorance, though the slight heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.

Jean didn’t press further, her grin widening as she focused on her task. “Relax,” she said, her tone soothing as she carefully inserted the needle into your arm. “I’ll need to scan your brain again after this. Then you’re free to go.”

You nodded, your eyes drifting away as she drew the sample. The hum of the lab’s equipment filled the silence, a stark reminder of how much you hated being in spaces like this. Every second felt like an eternity, and you couldn’t wait to be anywhere else.

Jean capped the vial and stepped away to label it, leaving you to brood quietly. The endless tests, the needles, the scans—it all blurred together into an exhausting cycle that left you drained.

“Almost done,” Jean assured you as she returned, her hands already reaching for the scanner. “Then you can go back to pretending none of this ever happened.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you muttered, though you knew deep down that forgetting wasn’t an option.

Your business in the lab was finally over. Jean dismissed you with a reassuring nod, the tests done for now. Logan was leaning casually against the doorframe, waiting for you to leave. His sharp gaze softened when he saw you step out, exhaustion written across your face. Professor Xavier gave you a small smile as you passed, his voice calm and encouraging.

“Get some rest,” he said, his words heavy with understanding. As he turned back toward Jean to discuss something—what, you could only guess—you were already walking away, longing for your bed and the peace of sleep.

The hallway felt quiet, the weight of the night pressing down on you. Logan followed a few steps behind, still clad in the suit and bow tie you’d made earlier. The sight would’ve amused you under different circumstances, but now it only reminded you of how much had happened in a single night.

“We’ve got a lead,” Logan said, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, calm, yet purposeful.

You glanced at him, too tired to muster much of a reaction. “How strong of a lead?” you asked, your voice weak and raspy.

“It’s pretty solid,” he replied. “We’ll check out the lab where they made that collar first thing tomorrow—at dawn.”

You looked up at him, the weight of guilt settling heavily in your chest. The team had barely rested, and now they were preparing for yet another mission. You wanted to help more, to be more useful, but your current state made that feel impossible.

“So, you found Killebrew?” you asked, curiosity breaking through your exhaustion.

Logan shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah. The bastard wasn’t much of a help. We left him unconscious in a dark alley.”

The way he said it, with that familiar gruffness, made you grin despite yourself. A small, satisfied chuckle escaped your lips. “Serves him right,” you murmured, the hint of amusement lightening your expression.

Logan gave you a sideways glance, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if your reaction pleased him. But he didn’t say anything more, letting the silence settle between you both as you reached your doors.

The two of you arrived at your floor, your footsteps slowing as you reached your respective doors. The soft light in the hallway illuminated Logan’s face, his usual stoic expression giving way to something gentler.

“Thank you,” you said, hesitating with your hand hovering over your door handle. “For everything. I wish I could be more of a help.”

Logan shook his head slightly, his gaze meeting yours. “You just need to rest,” he said, his voice low but firm. “We’ll handle it.”

His words, simple as they were, carried a weight of reassurance that made your chest tighten.

“Goodnight, Logan,” you said softly, pushing open your door.

“Night…” he muttered, your name slipping past his lips with an almost inaudible tenderness.

You stepped inside your room, closing the door behind you. The bed called to you, its promise of comfort irresistible. You swallowed the pill by your nightstand, the bitter taste barely registering as exhaustion overtook you.

Within minutes, sleep claimed you, pulling you into its embrace and silencing the chaos of the night.

The morning was cold and heavy with anticipation. The team gathered in the hangar just before dawn, their faces set with determination despite the early hours and you were still asleep, safe and sound in your room. The Blackbird hummed with power, its sleek frame ready to take them to their destination. Pennsylvania laboratorium, where the inhibitor collar was created.

Logan stood near the ramp, adjusting his gloves, his expression unreadable. Scott was at the helm, running pre-flight checks, while Ororo’s white hair shimmered faintly in the dim light as she prepared for potential weather manipulation. Jean, her brows furrowed, sat beside Charles, whose calm demeanor anchored them all.

“Alright, team,” Charles said, his voice clear and steady. “This lab may hold the answers we seek, but it is also likely to be heavily guarded. Be cautious and stay together. Goodluck” Charles gave a speech before wheeling down from the blackbird, watching the team before they take off.

The Blackbird took off smoothly, cutting through the early morning skies.

After an hour trip trough the sky, industrial park on the city’s outskirts was desolate, abandoned structures looming like ghosts in the dawn light. The lab was tucked away in one of the larger buildings, its entrance obscured by rusting machinery and overgrown weeds.

Logan sniffed the air as the team approached. “Blood,” he muttered, his jaw tightening.

Scott led the group, disabling a few rusted cameras with precise blasts. The entrance was locked, but Ororo’s lightning made short work of it. Inside, the lab was a stark contrast to its dilapidated exterior. Sterile white walls gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights, and the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and something far darker.

Rows of steel tables lined the main hallway, some still holding remnants of experiments—tools, dried blood, and shattered syringes. Jean paused, her hand brushing the air as her telepathy picked up faint echoes of terror and pain.

“I can feel it,” she murmured. “Fear… desperation. The mutants they brought here…”

One side room caught Logan’s eye. He stepped inside, finding containment pods arranged against the walls. Some were cracked, their contents long gone, while others held lifeless figures suspended in fluid—mutants who hadn’t survived.

Jean entered behind him, her breath hitching. “Maya Fernandez” she said, spotting a file on a nearby desk. It contained detailed notes on her mutation, the experiments she endured, and a chilling final note: Subject released. No further use.

Logan’s hands tightened into fists, the claws threatening to unsheathe. “Bastards,” he growled.

As the team moved deeper into the lab, a sensor tripped. Alarms blared, and laser turrets descended from the ceiling, their beams sweeping for targets.

“Get down!” Scott shouted, blasting the nearest turret with his visor.

Ororo summoned a gust of wind, disorienting the remaining turrets long enough for Logan to charge forward, slicing through the machinery with brutal efficiency.

“It’s never easy, is it?” Logan muttered, shaking off sparks from his claws.

In a darkened corridor, a containment pod hissed open, releasing a creature unlike anything they’d seen before. It was part animal, part weapon—its skin patched with metal, its eyes wild with rage. The creature roared, lunging at Logan.

“Keep moving!” Logan barked at the team, meeting the creature head-on.

The fight was vicious, claws against metal, but Logan’s ferocity kept the creature at bay. Jean and Scott worked together, using blasts and telekinesis to pin the creature long enough for Ororo to incapacitate it with a precise lightning strike.

As it collapsed, Logan stared down at it, breathing heavily. “What've they done to you..” he said, his voice gruff. Logan didn't have the heart to abandoned the creature, he needs to bring it back with him, to rescue it.

In the lab’s control room, Jean hacked into the computers, her fingers flying across the keys. “There’s a lot here,” she said, her voice strained. “Blueprints for the inhibitor collar, notes on Killebrew’s research… and a list of other labs. This isn’t just one operation—it’s a network.”

Scott frowned. “How big?”

“Big enough,” Jean replied, pulling a hard drive from the terminal just as the screens flickered.

An automated voice blared: “Self-destruct sequence initiated. Five minutes remaining.”

“Damn it!” Scott cursed.

The team sprinted through the lab as explosions began to rock the building. Logan carried the unconscious creature over his shoulder, while Jean levitated files and equipment to safety. Ororo summoned gusts of wind to clear debris from their path, and Scott led the way, blasting through blocked corridors.

They barely made it out, the lab erupting into flames behind them as they boarded the Blackbird.

The creature Logan carried into the Blackbird was a massive hybrid, a mix between a wolf and a dog. Its fur was patchy, revealing scarred, raw skin beneath, especially around its back and legs where jagged metal plates were fused into its flesh.

The head was wolf-like, with sharp, predatory features. Its long tail was thick, partly covered in metal, giving it a monstrous, patchwork look. Its claws were unnervingly sharp, with metallic tips, and its muscular frame suggested immense strength. Despite its fearsome appearance, the creature lay still, unconscious, but radiated an unsettling power.

Logan carefully maneuvered the creature’s unconscious body into the back of the Blackbird, a low growl vibrating through its chest. Its enormous frame filled most of the space in the compartment. As he secured it, the creature’s heavy, metal-patched skin shimmered faintly in the dim light, and Logan's mind raced to piece together what had happened.

He muttered a low curse as he stepped back, making sure it wouldn’t move too much.

The door slid open just as he settled into the seat, and Scott stepped in, his eyes widening at the sight of the creature in the back.

“Why the hell is that thing here!?” Scott nearly yelled, his voice sharp with disbelief as he stepped further into the Blackbird. His eyes were wide, fixed on the unconscious creature sprawled across the rear compartment.

“It’s just a dog,” Logan muttered, grumbling under his breath as he sank into the seat. His tone was dismissive, but the way he avoided Scott’s gaze spoke volumes.

Scott wasn’t convinced. “A dog? Do you have any idea what you’ve just brought on board? Put it back where you found it, Logan,” he demanded, his voice rising again. “What happens if that thing wakes up while we’re flying fifteen thousand feet above the ground? You’re risking all of us!”

Logan shot him a sideways glance, his expression stony. “Then it’ll be my responsibility, I've got it under control just fine” he said curtly, flipping switches on the control panel. “Take your seat. We’re taking off now.”

Scott opened his mouth to argue further but stopped himself, his jaw tightening. Shaking his head, he muttered something under his breath and took his seat near the front.

Jean and Ororo stood near the entrance, both looking uncertain, unsure of how to respond. Jean’s eyes flicked between the creature and Logan, but she didn’t speak, sensing the tension in the air. Ororo, however, wasted no time, walking briskly toward the cockpit. Without another word, she slid into the co-pilot seat, hands already working to start the Blackbird.

The Blackbird’s engines roared to life as Ororo guided the jet into the sky, leaving the argument—and the mysterious creature—behind them for now.

The smell of sizzling eggs and freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen as you stood by the stove, flipping eggs with a practiced hand. You had only woken up half an hour ago, but there was already a certain rhythm to the morning. The soft buzz of the mansion's quiet atmosphere was comforting, but it didn’t help quiet the nerves in your chest.

You glanced up at the clock. It was almost nine. The team was due back soon.

A sense of anxious anticipation rolled through you. The mission, whatever had happened in that lab, still weighed heavily on your mind. You cracked open another egg, a quiet focus settling over you as you worked.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. The Blackbird had landed a few minutes ago, its distinctive hum now just a faint noise in the background. You could almost feel the tension rising in the air as the team returned.

You finished plating the breakfast, glancing out the kitchen window and catching a glimpse of the Blackbird. It was always strange to see it land so quietly, its presence belying the intensity of what it carried inside.

With a sigh, you put the finishing touches on the breakfast and placed it on the counter. The team would need food and rest, but more than that, you were eager to know what had happened out there. What had they found at the lab?

The hangar buzzed faintly with energy as the Blackbird powered down. Hank approached the team, his sharp eyes scanning the group. "Everyone in one piece?" he asked, his tone calm but probing. His gaze lingered on Logan, who gestured toward the massive, unconscious creature slumped near the back of the jet.

Jean stepped forward, handing Hank the device she had collected from the lab. "This might help shed some light," she said softly. "And, uh, we’ve brought something else too." Her tone was less confident now, and her eyes flicked toward the creature.

Hank followed her gaze, his brows furrowing deeply. "What... is that?"

Logan grunted as he stepped closer. “A dog, It’s alive, and it’s staying unconscious for now. We’ll need it in containment.”

Scott descended the Blackbird’s stairs, his footsteps heavy with frustration. As he passed Logan, he purposely bumped his shoulder into Logan’s from behind. “It’s not a dog,” Scott snapped, his tone sharp. “That thing nearly killed us all.”

Logan stopped, turning his head slightly to glance at Scott, but he didn’t say a word. His silence was pointed, and his expression remained unreadable, a mix of restrained irritation and indifference.

Hank nodded slowly, clearly curious but deciding not to press further. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, motioning for help as he prepared to transfer the creature to a secure cage.

Logan sniffed the air suddenly, his nose twitching. A faint grin crept onto his face. "Anyone else hungry? I smell breakfast upstairs," he said, his voice carrying a rare lightness as he turned and walked briskly toward the exit.

Scott shook his head, his irritation barely concealed. “That super smelling sense is creepy. You can’t convinced me otherwise,” he muttered to Ororo as they followed Logan, Jean trailing behind after finishing her conversation with Hank.

Logan entered the kitchen first, his mood visibly lifting as the aroma of fresh breakfast hit him. His gaze immediately fell on you as you set glasses of orange juice on the table. “Thank god,” he said, his tone full of gratitude. “I’m famished.”

Scott, still simmering with frustration, let out a sarcastic comment. “Hm, someone’s in a good mood.”

Ororo laughed softly, and Jean placed a calming hand on Scott’s shoulder, rubbing gentle circles.

“Let it go, Summers,” Logan said dismissively, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “Nothing happened.”

You sensed the tension hanging in the air and decided to diffuse it quickly. "Please, enjoy your breakfast,” you said warmly, gesturing to the plates you had set out. “It’s the least I could do.”

Ororo gave you a grateful smile as she took a seat. “Thank you,” she said, already reaching for her fork.

You put the juice carton back in the fridge, noticing the only seat left was next to Logan. Without hesitation, you slid into the chair, feeling his gaze shift briefly toward you. The table settled into a hum of quiet conversation as everyone began eating.

As the team chattered lightly, you noticed Logan staying out of the conversation, his focus entirely on his plate. Ororo and Jean were discussing something animatedly, their laughter a soft contrast to Scott’s occasional interjections. Taking the chance, you glanced at Logan, watching as he ate quickly, his large spoon practically disappearing into his mouth with each bite.

“Everything okay?” you asked quietly, leaning slightly toward him.

Logan raised an eyebrow and glanced to your side, pausing mid-chew before swallowing. “Yeah,” he replied curtly. “We found something big.”

You tilted your head, curiosity lighting your features. “Big as in… dangerous?”

Logan shrugged, pushing his plate slightly forward as he reached for a glass of orange juice. “Could be. Too early to say.”

The vague response left a sense of unease lingering in the air, but you didn’t press further—not yet, at least. You could tell he wasn’t in the mood to elaborate. Instead, you shifted your gaze back to the table, where the others were now discussing their next moves.

Logan’s voice broke through again, softer this time. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said.

You smiled faintly, your curiosity temporarily taking a backseat. “Anytime,” you murmured, turning your attention back to your plate, though your mind couldn’t help but linger on whatever big thing they’d found.

Charles’ voice suddenly echoed in your mind, clear and commanding, “Everyone, gather in the meeting room.” The slight shift in expression from those around the table confirmed the message had been sent to all of you. Without missing a beat, the team rose from their seats, leaving their dirty plates and glasses in the kitchen as they filed out.

In the meeting room, Hank stood by the central console, his face unusually serious as he worked through the data pulled from the hard drive Jean had recovered. The faint hum of the holographic display filled the room as he turned to address the team.

“I’ve gone through most of the files from the lab,” Hank began, his tone measured but heavy.

“There’s good news and bad news. Let’s start with the good. I believe I can build a chip to unlock the collar.” His gaze flickered to you. “But it’s going to take time. Weeks, at least. The components I need are specialized and will have to be sourced from around the world.”

The room was silent except for the faint shifting of chairs. Hank pressed a button, projecting scans of your brain and blood tests from the night before onto the screen.

“Now for the bad news,” he continued, his voice softening. “The scans show your condition is deteriorating. Your blood isn’t replenishing itself properly, and the tumor is putting more pressure on your brain. I know you’ve been hiding it well, but…” Hank hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. “I can’t let you keep suffering like this. Not under my watch.”

Your stomach tightened as his words hung in the air. You knew things were bad, but hearing it laid out so plainly made it feel crushingly real.

Hank exhaled deeply before continuing. “From the files, I’ve found a potential temporary solution. It involves a bone marrow transplant—from Logan to you. His healing factor could regenerate your blood temporarily, buying us more time until I can remove the collar.”

You’re immediately against it. The thought of another injection derived from his DNA dredges up memories of your transformation into a mutant, an experience you’ve never fully reconciled.

You fear the idea of becoming too much like him, as if losing more of yourself every time his DNA alters you.

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t hesitate. With a shrug, he muttered, “I’ll do it. No problem.”

Hank looked relieved, nodding gratefully. Before he could say more, Jean chimed in. “We can prep everything tonight. Hank and I will keep digging through the drive for more information.”

“I"m sure you both can ensure her well being,” Ororo added, her calm voice cutting through the tension.

Charles nodded in approval. Then Hank turned to Scott, seeking his input. Scott crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he simply said, “If it’s what she needs, then we should do it.”

The team seemed to settle into agreement, but no one had thought to ask you. Finally, you broke the silence.

“No.”

The word came out sharp and clear, cutting through the room like a knife. Every head turned toward you. Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned forward. “What’s wrong, Varmint?”

You met his gaze, your voice unwavering. “I can’t do that.”

Logan frowned, clearly trying to figure you out. “Nothing's gonna happened to me. I’ve been through worse, and if this gives you a shot at life, it’s worth it.”

You shook your head, the words you wanted to say stuck in your throat. It wasn’t about Logan—it was about you. But how could you explain that? Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated, “I’m sorry. I just… I can’t.”

Without waiting for a response, you pushed back from the table, rising abruptly. The team watched in stunned silence as you strode out of the room. You moved quickly down the hall, your steps echoing off the walls, climbing the stairs until you reached the sanctuary of your room. The door closed with a soft click behind you, sealing you off from the questions and expectations left behind.

Back in the meeting room, the team exchanged puzzled glances. Hank and Jean shared a quiet look, unsure of how to proceed. Charles, however, seemed unsurprised. His calm gaze turned to Logan.

“She needs a little push,” Charles said gently. “You can convince her, Logan.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. The idea of being in a room with two telepaths poking at his thoughts made him uneasy, but he couldn’t deny the truth in Charles’ words. He gave a slight nod, his mind already focused on finding you and trying to understand.

With a gruff sigh, Logan stood and left the room, determined to bring you around—even if it meant pushing you harder than he’d like.

Logan climbed the stairs to the third floor, his heavy boots echoing faintly in the quiet hallway. He paused in front of your door, hovering for a moment before reaching for the handle. It clicked open easily—it wasn’t locked. Stepping inside, his sharp eyes immediately found you sitting by the windowsill, your arms wrapped tightly around your knees like you were shielding yourself from whatever he was about to say.

You glanced at the door, spotting Logan, and cursed softly under your breath. Why didn’t I lock it?

“It wasn’t about me,” Logan said simply, his voice low but steady.

Your eyes stayed fixed on the view outside, refusing to meet his.

“It’s about you,” he continued, his tone firm but not unkind, reading you like an open book. It frustrated you how easily he could cut through your defenses, even when you tried so hard to keep him out.

“I’m not gonna do it, Logan,” you said, your voice quiet but resolute.

Logan stepped further into the room, his movements careful, as if trying not to spook you. He sat across from you, close enough to catch even the smallest flicker of emotion on your face. But you kept your gaze firmly on the window, refusing to look at him.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you for a long moment before speaking again. “I need to show you something downstairs. Come on.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. But then he stood, tilting his head toward the door in a silent invitation. Without a word, you unwound yourself from the windowsill and followed him out, your steps quiet against the wooden floors.

As you walked side by side through the hallway and down the stairs, Logan finally broke the silence. “Scott was furious because of this thing,” he confessed, his voice gruff but tinged with something softer.

You glanced at him briefly, the faintest flicker of curiosity in your eyes. “What is it?”

“A dog,” Logan said, his lips twitching into a humorless smile. “He was ready to toss it out mid-flight.”

Logan stopped in front of the reinforced cage by the lab, dragging it slightly into the light. The dog-wolf creature lay inside, still unconscious but breathing steadily. The harsh glow illuminated the jagged metal patches on its body, emphasizing its unnatural appearance. Logan's gaze fixed on the creature.

“This thing was made. Torn apart and put back together like it didn’t matter. It’s probably been through hell.”

But his words barely registered. As soon as the creature came into view, your breath hitched. Recognition struck you like a blow to the chest. You stepped closer, your eyes wide with disbelief.

“Fenris!” you exclaimed, your voice trembling as you dropped to your knees in front of the cage.

Logan froze, his sharp gaze flicking between you and the creature. “Fenris?” he repeated, his tone tinged with confusion.

Ignoring him, you unlocked the cage without hesitation, your fingers trembling slightly as you pushed the door open. You reached inside, gently placing a hand on the creature’s head. Despite the cold metal plating and the harsh scars marring its body, there was still something familiar in the way its chest rose and fell, the faint remnants of the dog you once knew.

“What have they done to you…” you whispered, more to yourself than to anyone else. Your fingers trailed over the patchy fur and metallic implants, your heart sinking as memories surged back.

Logan crouched beside you, his brows furrowed as he studied both you and the creature. “You know this thing?” he asked, his voice low and careful.

You nodded, your throat tight. “Fenris was…is…one of them. A weapon. The military used him for a short time, a biological weapon. They'd injected him with rabies to attack the enemies, back when they were developing experimental war assets. He was just a dog when they got him, but they…they turned him into this.”

Logan’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “You were there?”

You hesitated, your hand still stroking Fenris’s head. “I wasn’t on the battlefield, but I saw him after each mission. They’d send him out and…when he came back, it was worse every time. More scars, more metal. They kept adding to him, taking away the parts that made him…him.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment, but his silence spoke volumes. He glanced at the unconscious creature, his gaze heavy with understanding.

“I tried to stop them once,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Tried to tell them he was suffering, that he wasn’t just a machine. But they didn’t care. They didn’t see him as anything more than a tool.”

Logan sighed, leaning back slightly. “They never do. That’s how they see us, too. Tools, experiments. Nothing more.”

You met his gaze, and for a moment, you saw the shared weight of pain and loss in his eyes. Turning back to Fenris, you gently stroked the fur where it was still soft, untainted by the metallic implants.

“I used to sneak at night,” you said softly. “I’d sit with him. Bring him treats”

You swallowed hard. “…I don’t know if there’s enough of him left to bring back.”

You stayed seated by the cage, your fingers gently tracing the cold metal bars as Fenris’s slow, steady breaths filled the room. Logan crouched beside you, his gaze flicking between you and the creature.

“Fenris would still need you.. to be around.. Please…” Logan’s voice was gruff, and there was a hesitance in it, like he couldn’t quite believe he was saying the words. “You need to do the procedure.”

Your hand stilled, and you glanced at him. His eyes held something you hadn’t expected—concern, not just for you, but for Fenris too. You shifted your gaze from the unconscious creature to Logan, your heart heavy with doubt.

“What if It changed me?” you asked quietly, the vulnerability in your voice catching even you off guard. “What if I survive, but lose everything I have left?”

Logan’s palm rested on your arm, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. The touch was grounding, steady. His voice was low but firm. “You’re already more you than anyone I’ve ever met. A shot of me ain’t gonna change that...” He muttered your name softly.

His words held an unshakable confidence, and for the first time, you found yourself believing him. His gaze never wavered, holding yours with an intensity that made it hard to look away. You felt a strange sense of comfort in it, a reassurance that had been missing for so long.

Logan’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “C’mon, do it for Fenris.”

A soft smile broke through your uncertainty, despite yourself. “You’re not gonna stop playing that card now, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he replied, his tone lighter now but still laced with sincerity.

You glanced down at his hand, still resting on your arm, and then back at Fenris. There was a warmth in Logan’s touch, an unexpected solace that made the decision feel just a little less daunting. Finally, you exhaled deeply, the tension in your shoulders easing.

“I can’t wait to throw this right at Scott’s face,” Logan said with a quiet laugh, breaking the heavy atmosphere. “The dog I rescued that he hated for an hour straight? I was right, and he was wrong.”

You chuckled softly, your smirk growing. “Thank you, for not leaving him behind.” You said which Logan just silently respond with a small smile, flickering his eyes between your eyes and lips.

With a small shake of your head, you pulled your arm from his touch and reached to close the cage. As much as you hated breaking the connection, the moment felt less weighty now, more manageable.

“Let’s get it over with,” you said, standing and casting one last glance at Fenris. Logan followed, his hand resting briefly on your back as you both turned toward the door. “For Fenris,” you muttered under your breath, and though the words were small, they carried a growing sense of determination.

Part 8 ->

[bewiiitched]

⟩ Sex doll (chapter nine)

• author's note: I just can't wait to bring Logan back fjjfdjekwjd all I gonna say is that I'm addicted to clichés.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of torture, blood, powers as drugs, angst, lies, Wade being a idiot.

///////

It's one of the times she decides to visit Althea, where everything starts to go wrong.

It was a day off that she had thought of spending with Logan, but he had gone out with Laura under the pretext of looking for a normal job. His impatience with the mercenary growing more and more every time they were involved in missions, despite the fact that both were impossible to kill, she knew that he felt something similar to concern for the mercenary's carefree behavior, the proof of which being how his yellow suit was always more torn than Wade's, which hid any trace of blood that could stain it.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, their relationship had become closer despite the constant provocations between them, and there was no doubt in the young woman's mind that part of it had been due to the fact that they had both saved the world.

So when she knocks on the apartment door, a slight smile tugs at her lips as she hears the old woman's voice from the other side of the door.

“Althea.” She greets, and hears the woman murmur a greeting in a relieved tone, a complaint about how she finally had some peace now that they were both gone. “Hm? Wade's gone too?”

She asks a bit confused and the first thing she thinks of is how a job search involving the three of them would end.

“Yeah, yeah. Something about a mission with him, and he better be back soon, he promised to bring me more snow.” She grumbles, and though the first thing she notes in her mind is how it was probably a drug gang deal judging by her answer. She can't help the way her heartbeat echoes in her ears as she realizes the situation.

She takes a deep breath out of inertia, thinking there must be a good reason why Logan would lie to her about his whereabouts, but her blood boils despite that, wanting, needing to know what the reason could be for them to have pushed her away. It wasn't a drug gang.

She knows that asking her won't get her anywhere, but she's too anxious to care. “Did they tell you anything about where they went?”

Her voice is tense, and she watches her rummage through the drawers for what is probably cocaine, but she stops when she notices the change in her tone, her frown and her head turning in her direction, following the sound of her voice. “No.”

She answers, but there's a question in her tone, not only because they both know she doesn't get involved in missions anymore, but because she's starting to think the mercenary has tricked her.

She hums in response, her gaze darting around the room but her frustration growing when she sees nothing useful, no clue that could help her figure out what was going on. “He told me he was going with Laura.”

The older woman lets out a huff that ends up cementing her annoyance. “I’m pretty sure handsome there has been here all afternoon until they left. They said something about, ah…my memory isn’t what it used to be, but was it something like fake codeine?”

She murmurs, not sounding entirely sure but her attention is drawn back to her when she hears her choke on her own saliva, something like panic shaking her breath and the only response he gets is the sound of the door slamming shut as she flees the apartment.

(...)

She wants to get rid of the idea, like she wants to crawl out of her skin, the thought that she may find herself wrapped up in the organization again even though she had given up on it. Deep breaths do little to calm her and focus her thoughts, and her frustration only grows when she goes to find the report on her powers that Killebrew had written, detailing the change that had come after the first suppression.

Like a hurricane, she messes up half the room until she rummages through her closet, and the folder where she kept the documents is empty, as are the missing blood samples, the same ones she had stolen from the lab at the risk of them trying to create some experiment on her like they had done with Logan.

The thought of calling the mercenary crosses her mind, because she knows she will have no way of locating him if he is hell-bent on hiding whatever they are planning from her, but she doesn't. And a part of her is worried, pissed off, and scared in equal parts that she is being left out of something that so deeply involves her.

(...)

When Logan returns to the apartment, he instinctively stops at the door frame, the scent of her not going unnoticed by him even though his hearing confirms that there is no one in the house. But the emotional trail she left behind overwhelms him for a moment before he enters, and it is not until he steps into the room they now share that he curses under his breath, pillows on the floor, blankets unfolded and the closet door is open with the hangers moved to the side, revealing the space where her chart was supposed to be.

And her blood.

He realizes that she must have left in the same hurry that she entered, but he has little time to analyze the situation further when he notices the presence of the mercenary approaching the apartment and goes to the living room, opening the door before he has a chance to knock.

There is frustration written on the mutant's face, his jaw clenched as if he were going to stab the mercenary with the same daggers that his gaze sends in his direction. “You said she wouldn't notice.”

He growls, and his hand wraps itself in the fabric of Wade's suit, close to grabbing him by the throat, Wade raises his hands in a peaceful gesture, but the nervousness is evident in his tone. “She hasn't! She doesn't know anything yet!

His nostrils flare, and he feels stupid, just as stupid as he felt the first time the mercenary made "an educated wish" about saving his universe, but this time they both share the blame,

And he can't shake off the feeling that his body is tingling at the thought of not knowing where or what the female is thinking. Worry eats away at him, and the mercenary's attempts to appease him are not few.

"Her first instinct has always been to runaway, so if she's looking for answers she can't be too far away.”

(...)

Even though the vast majority of the project staff had been killed by Deadpool in his attempt to find answers about Ajax's whereabouts, in a larger scheme the female knew that the lab work hadn't been done alone, just as Killebrew had collaborated with more scientists when it came to running the project even though they weren't nothing permanent.

However, her first step is to try to find out what they had been investigating, so she keeps a low profile, and he hopes that at least part of what the mercenary had told Althea was true and that it was a drug issue. Hours of questions and frustrations pass until she finally gets something, and she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry because the "fake codeine" hasn't spread so openly through the streets.

What she gets is not much, and she finds herself not so kindly questioning two pairs of dealers who had confessed to receiving the substance in previous days, when she makes out a figure approaching them.

She glances sideways, still holding the gun in the direction of the guy she doesn't have a hold of, while the one she does corner throws nervous glances at his partner. "I don't know anything else. I-If you're a policeman, we're only in charge of delivering."

He justifies himself defensively, and the young woman notices his accelerated heartbeat, giving him a condescending look. It’s then that she feels the phone vibrate in her purse and she doesn’t need to know who it’s from.

“Who are you getting this from?” she hisses, losing her patience, and the gun turns in his direction when she sees him shake his head.

But it’s neither of them who answers, and her gaze turns in the direction of the voice. “A mental institution outside the city.”

He’s a homeless man, and she knows from the way his body shakes that he’s been under the effects of her power, her stomach churning at the thought, how his body is receptive to something he can’t understand.

“Get out of here.” She growls, letting go of the man and they both run away. There’s wariness evident in her gaze, she can see the hunger, the need for stimulation, and she doesn’t want to wonder how the man deduces that she’s the source of his addiction. “Where else?”

“There’s a shelter a few blocks back. I can take you there.” He answers, and her eyes follow him, watching him look around urgently. She can’t tell if the urge he suffers is from the stimulation of her power or the lack of it.

Reluctantly, she nods, but when she lets him come closer, she knocks him out, gently placing him on the ground before calling an ambulance. Her mind, however, is elsewhere.

She gives the address of the place, but there is no sign of her when the ambulance arrives and has set off to reach the outskirts of the city, when she checks her calls she can see Wade’s number being her last call and decides to turn it off.

If her hunch was right, the shelter would be nothing more than a mere test to see the effects of her power. The institution, however, the place where they would all end up when the situation became problematic.

It was never her main purpose in the project, but in retrospect she realizes perhaps the only reason she hadn't ended up killed by Ajax, is because they needed something more from her, that they had something more useful that made the rivalry between her and Ajax take a backseat.

(...)

It's all darkness when she arrives at the place. And the feeling of unease only grows when she sees the suburb in which it is located, and she can swear that whatever they are doing in the shelters of the city, it is just a whim to not attract attention, since the area guaranteed them enough people with whom they could experiment.

Getting past the security personnel is easier than expected, the guard who watches the door for obvious reasons does not expect to see a girl alone at 4 am.

“Stop there, sweetheart. This is private property. Can I help you?” He asks, but the concern is short-lived when a blow to the back of his head against the wall makes him fall and drags him where the cameras can't capture him.

The buzz of the door opening puts her on alert, even more so when the sound contrasts with the deathly silence of the place. Part of her knows that it had been a misplaced hope to think that the project had come to an end. For lack of another way to describe them they were like cockroaches multiplying, and as long as there was an idea left to profit from, Weapon X would form again.

Her gaze travels to the reception area, which is empty, and continues until she sees the sign that identifies each floor of the building.

Her senses pick up a second heartbeat and she is quick to hide behind a wall, the sound of approaching footsteps makes her react and her hand is placed over the mouth of the nurse, who looks at her frightened, and the situation only intensifies when she can see the recognition in her gaze. A turn and she is cornered against the wall, hand on her neck squeezing hard enough to restrict her airflow. “My blood, where they hide It?”

Her tone is demanding, and her gaze follows her hand, watching her make the sign of two. Being right is far from comforting, and being recognized is like receiving a kick in the stomach. As tempted as she is to knock her out and get a problem off her chest, she decides to drag her along with her.

And she pulls a syringe from her pocket, which she places at her throat.

“If you lie to me, you’re going to join them.” She threatens, her eyes focused on the young girl writhing under her grip. And she shakes her head dramatically, making her squint. “What’s your name?”

“M-Mary.” she answers in a shaky voice now that the pressure on her neck has lessened.

“You know me.” And it’s not a question, the girl gulps, a soft nod in response before her grip tightens again in warning. “Tell me everything.”

(...)

Despite having been in the project since before Francis was enhanced. Suspicions about the organization didn’t come until she herself began visiting the lab as something more than just to keep the patients in line. She was the only mutant, and her powers didn’t need any enhancement, but the original purpose for which she had agreed to be part of them.

Her reluctance to torture hadn't gone entirely unnoticed, and before she could realize it, Ajax was positioned over her, like a wolf stalking cattle after her powers were contained. Her fluids as an object of study that never yielded answers, too busy with torture and missions to have time to question herself.

But the questions come back to her as she reaches some kind of lab, she didn't expect to get too much information out of the nurse but she needed to know where to move before she was discovered. Years of being forced to ask and then hit hadn't quite contained her nature, hit and then ask.

As the nurse had said, she manages to get her file out of one of the drawers, puts it away among her clothes, her attention returning to the fridge that holds her blood samples and at first she grimaces at the amount. She had never visited the lab so many times to generate such a quantity.

It's no surprise to her that her blood is being used as a stimulant, it is, however, that it continues to have an effect even when her powers aren't being used over the victim.

“It took you a while to come out of hiding, my dear.” A laugh follows the man’s voice as he barely speaks half a sentence before the young woman’s gun is pointed in his direction, her enhanced senses kicking in and suddenly the idea of ​​killing sounds more tempting. Her gaze is fixed on him, and the nurse retreats after a condescending gesture from the man. “Pulling the trigger won’t get you answers.”

His voice is calm, but the image he’s trying to create contrasts with the doctor she knows, and she can tell the stress has taken its toll on Killebrew’s face but he takes her silence as a sign to keep talking. “Killing us won’t be the end. You should know that after how it ended last time. You joined us to control your powers, and you succeeded.”

The sound of the gun going off-safety echoes through the room.

“Yeah.” It’s the only thing she says before a bullet rips through the doctor’s knee, the scream echoing through the halls as she sees the man curse and writhe in pain, she sees him pull back as she approaches until she kneels in front of him. “But I never asked to go around torturing people.”

“You had a purpose. You still do, don’t be stupid.” He growls through his teeth, bringing his hand over the wounded area and paling at the bleeding, as his pants soon turn crimson.

“My purpose ends with Logan.” She answers without hiding her rage in her voice, and her grip on the gun tightens when her senses pick up footsteps approaching in a hurry, she decides to go the peaceful way, and quickly dodges the guard who enters the room, sliding across the floor and twisting his arm behind his back before kicking his partner in the stomach, making him hunch over. Keeping him by the arm she pushes him against the other, making them both fall and pointing the gun again.

“The addiction,” she begins, looking at Killebrew. “It shouldn’t develop without my powers, what the fuck have you done?”

She asks, frowning and remembering the multiple tortures, how she had believed that the effects of her power had been something temporary, that physical contact was nothing more than the match that lit the gasoline that was her blood, and yet, they were wearing her down without her being involved.

The idea of ​​being compared to codeine was confusing on its own, being that her power had always been more about stimulating the nerves to control the various sensations rather than numbing.

“It alters the neurochemistry of the brain,” He explains and her brow furrows even more, her jaw clenched as she tries to maintain her composure and not spread red on the white walls. “Nerve control gives you power, but your fluids guarantee your survival. As a mother secretes hormones that bond her with her newborn, they will not want to kill the hand that feeds them. They crave stimulation, before you can even choose what to do they become addicted to whatever you offer them through your blood.”

Suddenly her mission with Logan makes sense, not just because he had been able to harm her while under her power, which she had blamed on how his regeneration healed his nerves constantly preventing a control that lasted.

“You think it will susceed?” She mocks, shooting his shoulder this time eliciting another scream and sees the two men tense, but ends all initiative to move when he turns the gun on them again.

Despite the pain, the expression on the doctor's face makes it clear that he is underestimating the addictiveness of her fluids and she can feel her stomach turning.

(...)

The whole situation gives her goosebumps, now that her clothes are covered in blood she has little interest in thinking about the consequences when all she can think about is whether the victims would suffer long-term damage. As if it were possible the hallways are even more silent despite the sound of gunshots, and there is not a soul to be found despite the fact that the building is not small.

Her mind turns over the contents of her file as well as Killebrew's words, and for the third time, she feels her phone vibrate against her hip.

"What?" She picks up without hiding her annoyance, keeping her gun in the other hand she continues advancing through the hallways, and rolls her eyes when she hears the mercenary's apology. "Fuck you. “ she spits, and the concern she hears in his tone for her safety only pisses her off more, it’s the last thing she cared about at the moment. “You had no right to keep it from me, Wilson.”

“I know!” He replies, his tone slightly higher for emphasis. “I thought- I thought it would be quicker if we took care of it ourselves, while you continued to ruin your life commuting from work to home.” He knows his attempt at a joke isn’t appreciated, but he still tries to get her to tell him where the hell she is. “Please, please, tell me you’re not doing something stupid.”

For a moment she falls silent, because it’s not exactly wise to have walked into a place alone that profited from her powers and wouldn’t kill her because they needed her fluids.

She stops dead when she hears footsteps approaching, and by inertia she leans against the wall, watching out of the corner of her eye two nurses cross the hallway carrying a stretcher with a woman who did not look in good condition at all.

“Tell me where you are”

“Saint Helen psychiatric hospital.”

(...)

However, when they both arrive there is no trace of her, and all attempts to locate her are useless when before leaving she had abandoned her phone, leaving it on the chair in the reception area.

On the other hand, the silence in the place is even more overwhelming when as they explore following her trail there is nothing but blood and corpses of the personnel involved, to the surprise of the mercenary, including the lifeless body of Killebrew. The patient's rooms are no exception, since there is no sound and in the place it could be noticed how they had been forced into unconsciousness.

"It was her." The mutant murmurs, scanning the room, by the persistence of the smell he could assume that she had not left long ago, but that did nothing to relieve him.

"You're a genius, peanut, is there nothing else your Scooby doo nose can tell us?" He hisses frustrated, and steps back slightly at Logan's growl, the concern of both makes the tension return, and this time his thoughts are focused on her rather than on avoiding a beating by the mutant.

“The man said they were spreading it around the streets...” he begins, glancing at the mercenary out of the corner of his eye, but his brow furrows as he sees him abruptly exit the room. “Hey.”

He calls out to him, only to be ignored and reluctantly follows him, watching him enter the room where the doctor’s corpse was located. But before he can stand in the doorway, the mercenary speaks. “What do you smell when you’re in front of him?”

“What?” he asks out of inertia, frowning as he wrinkles his nose, the whole place reeked of stress, but it wasn’t easy to pinpoint the cause.

“I think she’s trying to relieve them. Like she did to me in the lab. He has signs of torture, see the stiffness in his body?” he asks, bringing his gloved hand to his jaw and though trying to understand him, Logan just looks at him as if he were stupid.

“He’s dead. Of course he's ten-”

“No.” He cuts him off, emphasizing the denial as he points to the corpses of the guards. “She killed him with her power, probably tortured him trying to figure out how to fix the rest.”

That catches Logan's attention, and he kneels in front of the corpse, squinting as he notices how the muscles on the man's body are much stiffer compared to the two men, and it's because of the proximity that he notices the blood staining his lips. “I don't use just pain.”

“Yeah. I think that was evident from the stain on his pants, I bet the remaining blood went elsewhere before he died.” The sarcasm in his voice stops and quickly when they hear hurried footsteps in the hallway and both become alert, but Logan is faster in approaching the door and intercepting the woman who was fleeing.

“ Woah, woah, calm down, blondie. ” Wade intervenes when he sees her struggle with the mutant, and the dismay in her expression is clear, as is the blood on her clothes.

“ What happened? ” Logan asks, frowning and standing in front of the door to cover the corpse of the doctor who had been staring so intently.

“ She tried to cure the affected. I told her it wouldn't work, but she didn't listen to me and then she tried to cure that man but d-died, she lost control. ” she stammers, swallowing saliva when she remembers it. As if she could still see the panic expression on her face as the old man's body fell at her feet, the blinding rage that preceded Killebrew's cries of pain.

“Fuck.” Logan curses under his breath, and he can feel Wade tense beside him, as if he’s remembering something.

However, the young woman continues to recount the situation. “I tried to get help, but she locked me in the bathrooms.” She answers in a firm voice, shuddering slightly under the mutant’s gaze.

“They’re unconscious. What does that mean?”

“It’s just temporary relief. Their blood, it creates an addiction process.” and from the expression on both of their faces, she can tell they’re aware of that fact. “Their powers create the stimulus they become addicted to. But in the absence of it, they tried to replicate it through normal means, and it worked.”

“Now, that’s just great, now you have a group of masochistic drug addicts.” He grumbles, and ignores the exasperated look the mutant gives him. “Is there really no solution?” ”

Logan's brow furrows even more as she sees her deny it. “No, it's not a nervous problem that she can fix, it's damage to the brain and the withdrawal syndrome that they get when they stop using it is even worse, the addiction weakes, but by becoming addicted to the pain, they end up not measuring the damage they cause themselves and put their lives at risk.”

/////////

Taglist: @bontensbabygirl @twinky-wink

[takethatball]

Max Kepler singles to walk it off for the Twins. Kepler's 11th walk-off ties hall of famers Harmon Killebrew and Kirby Puckett for most walk-off career plate appearances in Twins history. Minnesota Twins vs. Philadelphia Phillies [20240724]

[voicedwords]

Common Pointless, Paul Killebrew

[mouthymercx0x0]

He was barely illuminated by the dim-fire light. The gun in his hand he had been cleaning with a rag. He had been silent for a while. That silence hung in the air like a bad smell. Then that silence was suddenly destoryed by him speaking once more.

"The Hospice...." The words were bitter in his throat as if when he said them he felt bile coming up with them. "....they locked me in a padded room. No contact with anyone. Then every few mornings the good doctor would make his rounds...." He kept cleaning his weapon never break eye contact from it.

"You hear the screams of the other 'patients' as did unspeakable things to them before he got to you. Then his long shadow would hang in front of my door. He'd open it up with a smile on his face. Dr. Killebrew wasn't even that evil looking guy. Just some fat white bastard with balding grey hair with thick eyebrows and a handbar mustache." Wade's words were made of ices as spoke. No warmth....no usually jokes. Colder then any winter snow. "He always started the day with a 'How you doing today Mr. Wade?' before his demon of an assistant would come in....everyone called him Ajax cause it made feel him big. I called him by his real name to piss him off. Then they start up with me. Testing everything on me. Toxins, drugs....and then they see how much pain I could take and NOT die. Killebrew said...he needed to know my LIMITS. He cut me open, pelted back my flesh....RIPPED out my organs and torn my muscles. OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN."