Texas, El Paso County. Just before dawn.
Logan had just finished his last fare of the night when the noise dragged him out of sleep. He lay cramped in the back seat of the stretched sedan he'd rented for work, bones aching, head pounding.
"Damn it."
He shoved the door open and stepped out, already knowing what he'd see. It happened too often around here. Thieves from across the border, spotting a nice car, stripping it down piece by piece for parts.
Normally he wouldn't care. Tonight, he had to.
He needed the car to keep working. He needed the money. Charles's medication wasn't cheap, and Logan was still saving for a small boat. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere far from people. Somewhere Charles could spend what time he had left without fear.
Logan himself was tired of living. That feeling had set in decades ago, buried under graves with names he no longer said out loud.
The only thing keeping him moving was Charles Xavier.
If these punks took the wheels, Logan would owe the rental company money he didn't have, lose the job he depended on, and risk everything he'd been holding together by sheer stubbornness.
"Hey," he growled, gripping the door. "Those lug nuts are chrome-plated. You ruin them, I'm charging you. Get lost."
He didn't want violence.
Violence came anyway.
One of them raised a gun and fired without hesitation. The others kept working, as if murder were routine.
The bullet tore into Logan's chest. It hurt. It always hurt more these days. The adamantium poisoning had slowed his healing to a crawl, but it wasn't enough to kill him.
He straightened, claws sliding free with a familiar metallic snarl, and lunged.
Age, exhaustion, and numbers caught up with him fast.
Six men swarmed him. Boots slammed into his ribs. He went down hard, arms raised to shield his head, waiting for the right second to strike back.
In the truck parked nearby, Gabriela watched, her voice tight. "Rowan… are you sure he can still help us?"
They'd spent four hours tracking him down after diverting to El Paso. This wasn't the legend she'd hoped to find.
Rowan Mercer smiled faintly. "He can. More than you think."
He opened the door and jumped down.
Two knives lifted from his hands, guided by an unseen force. They flashed through the dark with surgical precision.
Throats opened.
One after another, the men collapsed, clutching their necks in disbelief before crumpling to the asphalt.
Logan froze.
He lowered his arms slowly, staring at the bodies, then at the boy standing a few steps away. Rowan extended a hand.
"You all right, Logan?"
"I think you've got the wrong guy," Logan said, pushing himself up without taking the hand. "I'm not Wolverine. But… thanks."
Rowan didn't argue. He withdrew his hand calmly.
"My name's Rowan Mercer. I'm a mutant. We're traveling with thirty-five mutant children. We need your help. And Professor Xavier's."
Logan shook his head and crouched to gather the scattered lug nuts. "Mutants are gone. Haven't you heard? There's no Wolverine. No Professor. Just stories people stopped believing in."
Rowan flicked his wrist.
The lug nuts rose off the ground and settled neatly into his palm.
"Natural mutants are rare now," Rowan said evenly. "But lab-made ones aren't. I'm one of them. Spliced from Xavier and Magneto's genes."
Logan's claws snapped out again, one sticking halfway, refusing to extend fully. His eyes hardened.
"What are you?"
Rowan didn't answer directly. Instead, he gestured toward the road.
Gabriela stepped out, followed by Laura and the other children.
"Show him," Rowan said.
Laura's claws slid free. Rikto raised a wall of earth from the ground. Fire flickered, wind twisted, frost spilled into the air. Crude, uncontrolled, but undeniably real.
Gabriela spoke then, telling everything. The lab. The executions. The escape.
Logan listened in silence.
When she finished, he exhaled slowly and shook his head.
"I can't help you," he said at last. "And even if I wanted to, I don't have the strength anymore."
He didn't say Charles's name, but it hung between them. One wrong move, one mistake, and the world would notice again. Charles couldn't survive that.
Gabriela's shoulders slumped.
Rowan had expected this.
"I've seen files from the Westchester incident," Rowan said quietly. "You're driving yourself into the ground to pay for Charles's medication. Helping us is helping him. Helping yourself."
Logan didn't respond.
"If our plan works," Rowan continued, "Charles gets the best treatment in the world. Equipment. Specialists. A real chance to stabilize."
Logan finally spoke, voice rough. "And what if Stark doesn't repay us? You think every man you save becomes your friend? I've saved people who later tried to cut me open for my healing factor."
He wasn't guessing. He was remembering.
The road fell silent again.