CHAPTER 129 – THE HUDSON QUESTION
The snow had quieted, but it wasn't peace. It was the silence of an audience holding its breath after a fight, waiting for the next bell.
The X-Men regrouped near the wreck of the jet. Misty Knight and Colleen Wing ushered the shaken pilots into a warehouse, their voices firm but soft enough to calm nerves. Banshee paced nearby, rubbing his throat. "Sweet saints, I'll be needin' a pint and a half just to oil me pipes again."
Nightcrawler appeared beside him in a puff of brimstone, tail flicking. "I thought you sounded wunderbar, mein freund. Perhaps not a pint, but a recording contract?"
Banshee gave him a sidelong look. "You're lucky ye can vanish, elf, or I'd throttle ye for that one."
Kurt's grin only widened.
Thunderbird stalked around the perimeter, restless energy still in his steps. He kept throwing glances at the snowy horizon, fists clenching and unclenching. "They'll be back. You don't call off an attack like that unless you're planning something bigger."
Colossus placed a hand on his shoulder, solid and calming. "Perhaps. But we survived this battle, John. That is what matters."
Thunderbird shrugged him off with a grunt. "Surviving isn't winning."
Storm, standing tall with cloak wrapped close, interjected. Her voice was calm, but her eyes still burned with the storm's fury. "Winning will not come from chasing phantoms in the snow. We must understand why our foes pursue us… why they pursue Logan."
At that, every eye turned to Wolverine.
Logan had his back to them, crouched low in the snow, dragging the remains of his cigar into the slush. He didn't speak at first. He just breathed, steady and deep, shoulders moving like a man wrestling something heavier than the world.
Cyclops broke the silence. His tone was clipped, commanding, but not unkind. "Logan. You've fought beside us long enough to know how this works. If you've got history with these people, we need to know. You put this team in the crosshairs—twice. Talk."
Logan didn't turn. Just muttered, low. "You ever wear a collar, Summers?"
Cyclops stiffened. "No."
"Then count yourself lucky." Logan stood, slow, and faced them. His eyes were shadowed under his brow, but they burned fierce. "Hudson—Vindicator—whatever he's callin' himself these days… he used to be my handler. Canadian government. I was their dog. Ran their missions. Spilled blood they didn't wanna dirty their hands with."
Nightcrawler tilted his head, curious but careful. "Und you left them… why?"
Logan's lip curled into something half snarl, half bitter smile. "Because I got sick of fetchin' sticks for men who thought they owned me. Sick of bein' a weapon they could aim at their enemies. I wanted somethin' they couldn't give me."
Cyclops' voice was steady. "Freedom."
"Damn right." Logan lit another cigar with a snap of his claws, smoke curling between them. "And now Hudson's still out here, tryin' to drag me back to the kennel."
Thunderbird crossed his arms, unimpressed. "So they think they own you. Fine. But now they're gunning for all of us. That's the part that don't sit right with me."
Banshee chimed in, voice softer. "He's right, lad. Whatever leash they had on ye, it's cut—but the ghosts of it are sniffin' at our door."
Storm stepped closer, her hand brushing Logan's arm. "You are not their dog, Logan. You are an X-Man. Whatever chains they forged, they cannot bind you here."
Logan looked at her hand, then at her face. Something softened, just a flicker. "'Preciate that, darlin'. But don't mistake me. They ain't done. Not by a long shot."
From the shadows, Colleen Wing's voice cut in, sharp and practical. "Then the question is—what do they want with you now?"
Logan blew smoke into the cold. His eyes narrowed at the white horizon where Alpha Flight had vanished.
"They don't want me, sweetheart." He tapped ash from his cigar. "They NEED me."