Apr. 1st, 2009

xp_wolverine: (Default)
Been meaning to do this for a long time now. Everybody knows I got my skull fucked with by the fine folks in Weapon X. Don't remember much at all about the man that I was.

So in case that ever happens again - or if I lose what I've got now - figure it'd be a good idea to get some shit down in a permanent form so I can get back up to speed if I have to.

I'm Logan.

That's not my real name. Heather Hudson and her husband Mac found me near Mount Logan. Naked in the show, livin' like a beast. They brought me back, showed me what it meant to be human. Not just an animal. North tells me he knew me as Jim Logan back in the day, but that doesn't feel right to me either. But I don't know Maverick, don't know him. Maybe he's bein' straight, maybe it's just another lie. More on that later.

Oh yeah. I do a lot on instinct. They don't usually fail me.

So. All I had was a pair of dog-tags that labelled me as "Wolverine". If I've got to have a stupid name, that'll do as well as any. Left a tag behind at Alkali Lake, but took it back the next time I was up there. Still wear 'em to this day. Not because I think Weapon-X has got a hold on me or that I'm gonna go crawlin' back to them.

I earned them. Blood and fire, pain and loss, they're mine.

There's some stuff I remember. Mostly about a cabin up in the mountains, by the treeline. Gorgeous place. Built it myself, by hand. I lived there with a girl. Native, I know that. Called herself Silver Fox.

Second-most beautiful woman I can remember. I know I loved her. Pretty sure she loved me. We wer e happy there, just the two of us.

Until somebody came by on my birthday. I was out hunting, I think it was for deer. Came back and the cabin'd be torn to shreds. Fox had put on her pretty dress and was going to surprise me with a birthday cake. Only she was layin' on the floor in a pool of her own blood. Dress'd been torn to shreds. However she went down, she didn't go soft or easy.

She was a fighter, Fox was.

I don't remember anything after that.

One other thing I gotta know about me.

I'm a killer. Got plenty of blood on my hands. Not proud of it, not ashamed of it. It's just how it's been. Stryker once told me that I'd always been an animal. All he did was give me claws.

It keeps me up some nights thinking that old Bill there wasn't lying to me.

More later. I ain't too good at all this introspection.

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