The dim light of the bar flickered as Logan choked on his beer, his rough coughs breaking the low hum of background chatter. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes sharp as they locked onto mine.
"Making your own place, huh? Well, that's kind of a big leap," he rasped, voice gravelly but steady. Despite the surprise, there was no judgment in his tone—just the quiet intensity of a man who had seen too much to dismiss anything outright.
I smirked, swirling my own drink. "The world won't change for us, Logan. And time sure as hell won't wait." Leaning forward, I lowered my voice. "Unlike Charles and Erik—you know their shit isn't really working, right?"
Logan let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, both of 'em always miss the damn mark." There was a weariness in his voice, the kind that came from years of watching the same battles fought with the same flawed ideals.
I nodded. "Coexistence?... It's just an idea if there's no action or power behind it… And supremacy?" I scoffed.
"That's just unobtainable if there's no one left to rule over…They both want the same damn thing—peace, control, whatever—but they take the most roundabout, pointless paths to get there…And in the end? Nothing changes."
Logan didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the grimy window, watching the rain streak down the glass. He knew I wasn't just talking. I was dead serious.
After a long silence, he finally spoke. "So, what's your plan?"
I took a slow breath. "A real foundation… A safe place for Meta-Humans to live, to learn about themselves without fear. That's the first step. Everything else comes after."
Logan's eyes flicked back to me, sharp and assessing. "So… Like Magneto?"
"Not like him," I shot back immediately, my voice hardening.
"The guy wants to rule the world, turn humanity into his slaves… That's stupid as hell." I leaned in, my next words deliberate. "Me? I just want to look out for our kind. Let them live normal lives for once. No one else cares about us, so we damn well should."
Logan studied me for a long moment before a smirk tugged at his lips. "Not gonna lie, bub, it sounds a little far-fetched. You don't exactly strike me as the 'leader' type."
I couldn't help but laugh. "I can see why you'd think that." My fingers tapped against the glass of my beer before I sighed.
"Truth is, Logan, I just want to enjoy my life. Be free. Safe. Happy. Not looking over my shoulder every second, afraid of being hunted just because I'm different." My voice dropped. "But we both know—in this world, at this time? Even such simple dream… is impossible."
Logan's smirk faded into something darker, more resigned. "Yeah," he muttered, lifting his drink. "What a shitty world we live in."
I let the silence stretch before speaking again, quieter this time. "Things are gonna change, Logan. In a few months… The Wraith will be gone."
His glass froze halfway to his lips. His eyes locked onto mine, widening slightly. "You're serious."
"Dead serious." I held his gaze. "So, when it happens… I need your help."
Logan didn't hesitate. He gave a single, firm nod. "What do you need?"
Reaching into my jacket, I pulled out a thick brown folder and slid it across the table. "Everything you need to know about our kind enemies is in here. Read it. Memorize it. Then burn it." My voice turned steel-cold. "And keep it quiet. From everyone. Even Charles."
Logan's fingers brushed the folder, but he didn't open it yet. "You're asking me to lie to the Professor."
"I'm asking you to trust me," I countered. "Charles probably means well, but his way hasn't worked. Beside…I don't really want him all over my case…You know how annoying that is, right?"
Logan exhaled sharply but didn't argue.
I took another sip of my beer before adding, "One more thing. If you can… keep Magneto and the Brotherhood inside America. Those guys could cause problems for me... and I don't want that…" My grip tightened around the glass. "And I don't like it when people mess with my plans."
Logan raised a brow. "And if they do?"
My eyes met his, unflinching. "Then I'll kill them… Even Magneto."
The air between us grew heavy. Logan didn't look away. He knew I meant it.
After a beat, he grabbed the folder and tucked it into his coat. "You're playing a dangerous game, bub."
I smirked, raising my glass. "Yeah…but this is the only way to win."
Outside, the rain continued to fall, but for the first time in a long while, the future didn't seem so bleak. Logan's grip on the beer bottle tightened as he stared at me, his knuckles whitening. Before his grip loosening up again, this time he took a swig of his beer and looked straight at me. The mood becomes serious again.
His jaw clenched. "Laura Kinney. My daughter." The words sounded foreign on his tongue, like a name he'd never expected to hear.
I leaned forward, keeping my voice steady. "She's in Mexico. Trained to be a killer from birth. Mentally unstable. Brainwashed. Sound familiar?"
Logan's nostrils flared. "They did to her what they did to me."
"Worse," I said bluntly. "She doesn't even know who she is. Just pain. Just orders."
A deep, animalistic snarl rumbled in his chest. His claws twitched, threatening to unsheathe. "Give me the location. I'll settle this myself."
I tossed a napkin toward his bleeding hand. "We'll go. Later. Not now."
"The hell you mean, 'not now'?" His voice was a razor's edge.
"She'll survive a little longer. You know how tough she is—she's a little you, after all."
Logan's claws slid out with a snikt, glinting under the dim bar lights. The few other patrons wisely looked away. "Every second she's there is another second they're breaking her."
I held his gaze. "And if we rush in blind, we lose her and the intel we need. That facility isn't just holding her. It's got research—valuable shit on Meta-Humans. And Sarah Kinney."
His brow furrowed. "Her mother?"
"If she's still alive, she might be useful. Maybe not beyond saving."
Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, retracting his claws. He snatched the napkin and wiped the blood off his hand. "Fine. But not years, Wraith. Not even months. You call me the second you're ready."
"We'll move fast," I promised. "But fair warning—we're gonna have to kill a lot of people to get her out."
A dark smirk twisted his lips. "Nothing unusual there. Been there, done that."
The tension eased, just slightly. We fell back into silence, the weight of what was coming hanging between us. Then, surprisingly, Logan grabbed another beer from the bartender and took a long swig.
"Didn't take you for the chatty type," I remarked.
He snorted. "Bub, you don't know half the shit I've seen. Sometimes, a drink and a talk beat brooding alone."
I smirked. "And here I thought you were the strong, silent type."
"Yeah, well, even I get tired of my own damn thoughts."
By the time we parted ways, Logan had downed enough beer to put down a normal man—roughly $300 worth, not that I cared. Money wasn't an issue.
Later That Night…
Logan pulled his Mustang over on a deserted stretch of road, the engine rumbling softly. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the folder I'd given him, flipping it opens under the dim glow of the car's interior light.
Page after page, the names and faces of enemies stared back at him.
'Church of Humanity. Friends of Humanity. Hellfire Club. Purifiers.'
His scowl deepened with each one.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath. "I wish I didn't know about this."
The sheer scale of it was staggering. These weren't just rogue groups—they were organized, well-funded, and everywhere. Governments, corporations, religious zealots—all of them wanted Meta-Humans erased.
Logan flicked open his lighter and held the flame to the edge of the folder. The paper caught quickly, curling into blackened ash. He watched it burn, the fire reflecting in his eyes.
"The whole damn world wants us dead," he muttered, leaning against his car. He tipped his head back, staring up at the night sky. "No wonder the kid's making his own damn place."
The idea wasn't so crazy now. Logan had spent decades running, hiding, fighting—never a home, never peace. Just survival. The thought of a place where he—where any of them—could live without looking over their shoulders? It was almost too good to believe.
But when he'd looked into my eyes earlier, he'd seen something rare. Not just determination. Not just ruthlessness.
Conviction.
Logan took one last drag of his cigar before crushing it under his boot. He kicked the ashes of the burned folder, scattering them into the wind.
"Probably he can do it," he mused, sliding back into the driver's seat.
The engine roared to life. As he pulled onto the road, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to change—violently, irreversibly. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing.