After a whole day of scorching sun, the entire factory was permeated with a burning atmosphere.
The old fans whirred and creaked, blowing out only hot air.
"James, to be honest, finding this place took me a lot of effort. I must say, it's not a good spot. If you need anything, let me know, and I can find accommodation for you in the best area of the city."
Chris lowered his crossed legs, a smile on his face, but it wasn't warm; on the contrary, it conveyed a sense of danger.
Logan sat down opposite Chris and said calmly, "No need."
As he spoke, he looked around, not seeing the Professor, and sighed in relief.
The Professor was undoubtedly his biggest weakness now; if the other side controlled him, he would be at a complete disadvantage.
However, Chris's words scared him again, eliminating his newfound tranquility.
"Don't be so cautious, James. Just because you don't need it doesn't mean your father doesn't either. Having a ninety-year-old man living in a water tower like that is not a good idea," Chris said with a smile, staring intently at James with a clear warning in his eyes.
Logan's face instantly darkened, clenching his fists so tightly they seemed about to break. "What exactly do you want?"
After years of wandering, how could Logan not perceive the threat in Chris's words?
Chris's words implied only one thing: I know your address and I know you have an elderly person at home who cannot defend himself...
"Don't worry," Chris said with a smile. "You saved my life, so we consider ourselves friends. Friends don't hurt each other, right? Of course, unless someone betrays our friendship, but I really don't want that to happen."
Having said that, he gestured, and a bodyguard took a small, exquisite gift box from his pocket and respectfully placed it in Chris's hand.
"And I heard that this escort mission couldn't have been completed without you. To express our gratitude, the family has prepared a gift for you," Chris said, handing the box to Logan. "It's something we prepared with great care, worthy of your status."
Logan did not reach out, but instead stared intently into Chris's eyes, his face full of caution.
The deep red box was tied with an exquisite red silk knot, like gift wrap from luxury stores.
"Open it, Logan," Chris said, a smile on his face, as if it were his only expression, but with a chilling voice. "I know who you are."
Hearing his name, Logan was startled; all his muscles tensed, he clenched his fists, and felt as if the steel claws between his knuckles were about to burst out.
This time, Logan had made a fatal mistake.
He had been blending into Santa Fe for years and no one had recognized him, which made him mistakenly believe that the world had forgotten Wolverine.
But clearly, that was not the case.
Just as Victor had said, the name Wolverine was simply too grand, so grand that even after decades of oblivion, people would still remember it.
As long as Wolverine remained useful, he would always be remembered.
"No," Chris said, shaking his head and smiling. "At first I thought you were a good henchman, but my father knows you. When he was young, photos of you mutants frequently appeared on the front page of newspapers."
Chris placed the gift box on the table, stood up, patted his trousers, and smiled. "Don't worry. I just came to deliver a gift. I'll let you know when there's a new mission. I have your number saved, remember? But if I can't reach you, maybe I'll have to come in person again."
Having said that, he waved goodbye and led his men out of the factory.
Seeing Chris leave, Caliban ran to the kitchen, grabbed a shotgun from a hidden corner, ran to the front door, locked it, and cautiously peered through the peephole.
Only when Chris's two cars, parked in front of the factory, started and drove away, did Caliban sigh in relief and return to Logan's side.
Meanwhile, Logan looked at the exquisite gift box on the table and carefully opened it.
Inside was a silver revolver, whose exquisite craftsmanship made it look like a work of art. The silver casing shone under the light, and three beautifully crafted silver bullets lay beside it.
"Damn it!" Logan exclaimed, throwing the box and the gun onto the table.
He knew that Chris's action was a clear threat!
"Logan, you told me there would be no problems!" Caliban yelled, planting himself angrily in front of him. "But now someone knows the Professor is here, knows you're here, and they've even come knocking on the door! If more people find out, they could blow us up in our sleep with two rocket launchers!"
"Calm down!"
Logan snatched the shotgun from Caliban, his face grim. "They won't do anything to us anytime soon!"
If Chris wanted to kill him, he wouldn't have come tonight. He could simply inform the government of his location, and a large number of heavily armed soldiers and attack helicopters would surround the area immediately.
Right now, it was clear that Chris was using him for his own purposes!
"Not now, but that doesn't mean not later!" Caliban yelled in a panic. "Logan, we have to pack. Tomorrow, no, tonight, we have to escape. This place is dangerous; they could catch us at any moment!" Caliban even started packing.
"Don't be so impulsive!"
Logan stopped him. "Trust me, I can handle this."
Caliban was still terrified. "Three men had me pinned on the couch; their pistols could kill me at any moment! How am I supposed to stay calm?!"
He looked at Logan, trembling uncontrollably, fear gripping his heart.
"Escaping now will only be more dangerous!" Logan replied calmly.
It was obvious that Chris wouldn't turn him in now; those guys wouldn't easily cut ties as long as they could profit from Wolverine.
But Logan also understood that his life could not be left in the hands of others.
Otherwise, once he stopped being useful, Chris and his men would eliminate him immediately!
And if they escaped now, they wouldn't face the Lawrence family, but a total government blockade: the risk would be much greater!
Hearing this, Caliban slumped onto the couch, head down, hands on his forehead, his face contorted in pain.
He just wanted to live in peace; he didn't want any dangerous things on his head!
"Logan," Charles said, entering through the back door in his wheelchair. "Was that guy your boss?"
He wheeled the wheelchair up to Logan, leaning back. "That guy is not trustworthy."
"I know, don't worry," Logan said, patting his hand. "I'll take care of everything. Don't worry, nothing will happen."
Charles didn't answer, just looked at Logan silently.
Logan's words were soft, but the current situation clearly represented a great challenge for him. "If all else fails, let me..."
Charles hadn't finished speaking when Logan quickly looked up to stop him.
He stared intently into his eyes and shook his head.
Logan understood what the professor meant by the last part: "Let me kill them all!"
"We haven't gotten to that, Charles," Logan said, shaking his head firmly. "That would only bring more danger. If we did that, not only the Lawrence family would know about us."
His strength had deteriorated considerably, and he knew the consequences of being targeted by government agencies: a catastrophic end.
Charles looked at Logan's resolute gaze, wanting to say something more.
Logan didn't give him a chance to speak, turned to Caliban and said: "I bought a lot of things, they're in the trunk. Come with me to get them; we're having a big dinner tonight."
Then, he addressed the professor and said: "Professor, go watch a movie on the couch. Let's forget about what happened tonight for now. Trust me, I can handle everything."
Charles, seeing Logan's expression, had no choice but to keep quiet.
Logan and Caliban took everything Logan had bought out of the trunk.
He had bought a lot of exquisite food, and thanks to Caliban's careful preparation, the rich aroma of the dishes soon filled the factory.
The fragrant aroma calmed everyone, and the three momentarily forgot about Chris's concerns, immersing themselves in the sumptuous dinner.
The exquisite feast whetted their appetites, and they ate for more than an hour before finishing the succulent meal.
After the professor took his medicine, Logan accompanied him to the water tower and settled him in before taking a quick shower and lying down on his bed.
It was a narrow room, with cracked walls leading directly outside. The cold moonlight filtered through the cracks, illuminating his body.
The bullet wounds from the last few days hadn't fully healed; thick scabs of blood had formed over the gun mouths.
Logan looked at his wounds and sighed helplessly.
Ding-dong!
His phone, on the nightstand, suddenly lit up.
His Uber app had received a message.
Logan opened the phone to check it; it was an unknown message: "Aren't you picking up passengers lately?"
Reading this unknown message, Logan was completely stunned.
Why would anyone care if an Uber driver was picking up passengers or not?