The steam from the bathroom curled around the doorframe in lazy, white ribbons, carrying the scent of cheap motel soap and the metallic tang of the road. Bruce stepped out, rubbing a threadbare towel over his damp hair. He was wearing a fresh set of clothes Logan had scavenged—a plain grey hoodie and loose-fitting jeans. Looking both relieved and relaxed.
"The hot water pressure's great," Bruce said, completely relaxed from the shower.. "I think I can actually feel my legs aga—"
"Shush," Logan snapped.
He wasn't sitting on the bed, but standing beside the edge of the window , his nostrils flaring with rhythmic, animalistic intensity. The world, which had been a muffled blur of motel carpet and stale air, suddenly exploded outwards.
The air didn't just smell like rain and wet asphalt anymore. It smelled of Gun Oil. High-grade polymer. The sharp, ozonic tang of Electrified Stun-Batons. And beneath it all, a smell that made the hair on Logan's neck turn into jagged needles: the cold, dead stench of Carbonadium.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
He counted the heartbeats. They were steady, professional, rhythmic. Five in the bushes to the north. Six behind the dumpster. Three on the roof. And two—two that were moving with a terrifying, heavy weight toward the door. One of them didn't have a heartbeat that sounded human, it sounded like a pump struggling against sludge.
"Logan? What is it?" Bruce's voice went up an octave, his eyes wide.
Logan didn't answer. He held up a hand, palm flat, and made a sharp, jagged downward motion. Get down. Bruce didn't hesitate; he dropped behind the second bed, his breathing hitching in his throat.
SNIKT.
The six adamantium claws slid out with a small trail of blood coming down the gaps of his knucles, but it healed instantly. Logan moved to the window, his movements fluid and predatory. He reached out and slowly, casually, pulled the blinds shut. To anyone outside, it looked like a man settling in for the night. Inside, Logan was a coiled spring ready for a fight.
System, he thought, his mind racing. Status check. Give me everything.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: HOSTILE ENEMIES DETECTED]
[THREAT LEVEL: HIGH]
[ENEMIES DETECTED: 22 STRIKE FORCE X OPERATIVES]
[BOSS ENTITIES DETECTED: ARKADY ROSSOVICH (OMEGA RED) & REDACTED]
Two miles away, the Team Leader adjusted his high-frequency headset. He stared at the thermal readout on his tablet. "Target closed the blinds. We've lost visual," a voice crackled from the ridge. "He's onto us, sir. Requesting orders."
"It doesn't matter," a cold, clinical voice replied over the comms—a voice that belonged to a man who saw the world as a series of spreadsheets and numbers instead of people. "The pheromone dampeners are active. The anomaly won't trigger until it's too late. Send in the Vanguard. Collect the package. Both of them. Intact, if possible. Broken, if necessary."
Logan was crouching beneath the window, his ears tracking the footsteps. They were heavy. Purposeful.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
"Logan, I'm starting to feel... itchy," Bruce whispered from the floor. His eyes were beginning to flicker with a faint, toxic emerald light. The adrenaline was hitting his system, and the "Big Guy" was knocking on the door of his consciousness.
"Hold it in, Doc," Logan hissed, his teeth bared. "Not yet."
Then, he heard it. The faint hiss of a mechanical intake. The scent of Carbonadium reached a breaking point, thick enough to taste. Logan's rage, like when near Sabertooth exploded.
"Omega Red," Logan growled, the name tasting like trash in his mouth.
KRA-KOOOOM!
The motel door exploded inward in a whirlwind of splinters and white plaster dust. Two massive, red-and-white armored tentacles smashed through the frame, whipping through the air like prehistoric serpents seeking heat.
Behind the tentacles stood a giant of a man. His skin was the color of a fresh corpse, his long blonde hair tied back in a messy knot. His red eyes glowed with a sick, parasitic hunger. Arkady Rossovich. Omega Red.
But he wasn't alone.
Beside him stood a figure shrouded in a heavy, charcoal-grey tactical cloak. A deep hood hid their face, but the way they moved—silent, precise, and hauntingly graceful—sent a different kind of chill down Logan's spine.
"Wolverine," Omega Red rumbled, his voice a wet, rattling rasp. "I have missed the taste of your life force. It is so... resilient. So full of vitality to drain. Like a childs"
"You suck, fuck. You want some of me, then come and get a bite, Arkady!" Logan roared.
He launched himself forward, a blur of leather and silver. One tentacle lashed out, the Carbonadium coils wrapping around Logan's waist with a WHIP-CRACK. The metal was cold—colder than ice—and Logan felt his healing factor immediately start to stutter. Carbonadium was the one thing that could slow him down, the "poison" to his healing factor.
[SYSTEM ALERT: CARBONADIUM TOXICITY DETECTED]
[REGENERATION DEBUFF: 40%]
"Shut up!" Logan screamed at the interface.
He brought his claws down on the coil, the heat of his [Hot Claws] flaring to life. The silver metal turned a bright, searing orange.
SHRA-KKT!
The Carbonadium coil hissed as the heat met the cold metal. Logan sliced through the first layer, but Omega Red was already pulling him in, his other tentacle wrapped around Logans arms as he spun Wolverine around and smashed him through the wall outside in the open.
" HE'S OUT. OPEN FIRE!!!!!!"
RAT-A-TAT-A-TAT!
High-caliber rounds shredded the motel walls, turning the brick and wood into Swiss cheese for numerous rooms, the people and families inside some screaming in terror, their voices reaching Logans ears. The 20 Strike Force X soldiers moved in with synchronized precision, supported by the heavy VRRR-VRRR of three MH-6 Little Bird helicopters hovering above the parking lot, their spotlights cutting through the dark.
"BRUCE! NOW!" Logan yelled as he was slammed into a Ute by a tentacle.
Bruce Banner roared as green veins bulged around his neck and arms. The grey hoodie ripped like wet tissue paper. His skin turned a deep, bruised emerald. The sound of his bones lengthening and thickening was like a series of rapid-fire gunshots.
" ROOOOAAAAARRRRRRR!!!!!"
CRACK-SNAP-THOOM.
"LEAVE... US... ALONE!"
The Hulk tore through the entire front wall with a casual swing of his arm. He stepped into the parking lot, a seven-foot-tall mountain of radioactive muscle. A Stryker armored vehicle was rolling toward the room, its 105mm cannon leveling at the doorway.
Hulk didn't wait for it to fire. He leaped straight at it.
BOOM.
The shockwave from his landing shattered the windows of every car in a fifty-yard radius. He grabbed the barrel of the Stryker's cannon and twisted it like a wet noodle.
SCREE-EEEECH.
He reached under the chassis, his fingers digging into the reinforced steel as if it were clay, and lifted the 18-ton vehicle over his head.
"PUNY METAL BOX!"
He hurled the tank at the nearest helicopter. The pilot barely had time to scream before the Stryker clipped the rotor blades.
KRA-BBOOOOOM!
The helicopter turned into a fireball, spiraling into the gravel lot. The soldiers opened fire, their tracers lighting up the night like a hellish disco, but the bullets just flattened against the Hulk's chest and fell like rain.
Meanwhile Logan was struggling more than he ever thought he could, without his regeneration his adamantium poisoning was hitting him at full force, coupled with Omega Reds life drain. It was becoming too much.
Logan dove under a horizontal sweep, his claws glowing orange-hot. He slashed upward, catching Omega Red across the chest plate.
SKREEEEE!
The adamantium bit deep, sparks flying as it carved through the Russian's armor.
"The cloak!" Logan grunted, noticing the hooded figure moving toward the Hulk's flank with a silent, deadly intent. "Stay back from him!"
He tried to break away from Omega Red, but the Russian laughed, his tentacles tightening until Logan's ribs began to groan. "You are mine, little wolf! I will drink until you are a husk, and then I will drink the green one!"
Logan felt the life force being sucked out of him even more forcefully then before. His vision started to grey at the edges. I ain't dying in a cheap motel, Liam thought, the animal and man inside him screaming for a better ending. System! DO SOMETHING!!!!
[WARNING: METABOLIC OVERLOAD ACTIVATED]
[HOT CLAWS OUTPUT: MAX]
[ WARNING: IF ACTION IS TAKEN HOST WILL ENTER CRITICAL LEVELS, IF REGENERATION IS NOT RESTORED]
Logan's body erupted in a gust of steam. His skin turned a deep, angry red. With a surge of strength, he grabbed both tentacles with his bare hands, ignoring the soul-sucking drain. He twisted his body, using his reinforced bones as a lever, and swung Omega Red like a ragdoll.
WHAP-CRASH!
The Russian giant was sent flying through the remains of the bathroom and through the back wall into the dark woods.
Logan didn't stop to breathe. He turned his gaze to the hooded figure. They were standing on the edge of the parking lot, watching the chaos. Logan growled, a primal sound, and launched himself at them. He was going to stop them too. He was going to slash through that cloak and end this.
"Who are you?!" he roared, his claws aimed at the figure's chest.
At the last possible second, the figure threw back the hood.
Logan stopped. Not because he was hit. Not because he was tired. He stopped because his own body was frozen in horror.
The face underneath was beautiful, but it was a beauty carved from pure, jagged agony. Dark hair caught in the wind, eyes that were deep pools of amber and obsidian—eyes that were currently burning with a hate so cold it froze the blood in Logan's veins.
"Yuriko?" Logan whispered, his voice failing him.
Lady Deathstrike.
In that instant, the "Logan" memories flooded Liam's mind like it did from his nightmares. He saw the cherry blossoms of Osaka. He felt the softness of her silk kimono. And then, he saw the blood. He saw Lord Dark Wind—Kenji Oyama—slumped over, his life extinguished by Logan's own claws. He heard the scream that had haunted his nightmares: "MURDERER! I HATE YOU!"
The guilt hit him like a physical blow. He was looking at the woman whose life he—or rather Logan—had destroyed. His claws, inches from her chest, trembled.
Finding his own body refusing to harm her, he didn't push forward. He was a statue of regret.
Yuriko didn't hesitate. Her face didn't soften. If anything, the sight of his hesitation only made her snarl.
"For my father," she hissed, her voice a blade.
SHLKT. SHLKT. SHLKT.
Her hands, equipped with five long, needle-thin adamantium talons, flashed in the moonlight. She dove inside his guard and drove her claws deep into his chest and stomach.
"GAH-AHHH!"
The tips were coated in a shimmering, iridescent fluid—a cocktail of neural inhibitors and magical dampeners designed specifically for his physiology. Logan felt his legs turn to water. The "System" in his head went into a frantic, static-filled reboot.
[CRITICAL ERROR: NEUROTOXIN DETECTED]
[ADAPTIVE REGENERATION: INNAFECTIVE]
[MOTOR FUNCTIONS: DISCONNECTED]
Logan collapsed to his knees, his claws retracting with a weak clack. He looked up at her, his vision swimming with tears and poison. "Yuriko... I'm... sorry..."
She didn't answer. She just looked at him with a cold, hollow satisfaction.
The Hulk, sensing Logan's collapse, turned away from the last remaining helicopter. He let out a roar of pure, rage.
"LOGAN!"
He charged toward Yuriko, his massive footsteps cracking the asphalt like eggshells. He was a force of nature, a bulldozer of rage. He was ten feet away, his fist pulled back to level the entire motel row.
"PUNY LADY—"
He never finished.
From the shadows of the woods, Omega Red returned. And struck like a viper. Both of his tentacles shot out, the Carbonadium coils wrapping around the Hulk's back and throat. Then stabbing into his back.
" GRAAAAAAAAAH!!!!"
The Hulk struggled, his muscles bulging until they looked ready to burst the skin. But Omega Red wasn't stopping. He was feeding with a vicious intensity.
"Yes... give it to me, Beast!" Omega Red screamed, his pale skin flushing a vibrant pink as the Gamma-irradiated life force flowed into him.
The Hulk's roar turned into a wet, rattling groan. The green light in his eyes began to dim. The massive muscles started to sag and shrink. The Carbonadium poison was working its way into his radioactive blood. Omega Red's death-factor was the perfect vacuum for the Hulk's life-factor.
Slowly, the great green giant fell to his knees. His body shrunk, the emerald skin fading back to the pale, bruised flesh of Bruce Banner. He looked at Logan, one hand reaching out in the dirt, before his eyes rolled back in his head.
The silence that followed was more terrifying than the battle.
The remaining Strike Force X soldiers moved in, their boots crunching on the gravel. Lady Deathstrike stood over the paralyzed Logan, her eyes fixed on the horizon. She tapped her communicator.
"The package has been collected. Both subjects are neutralized."
Over the comms, the cold voice acknowledged. "Good job, Yuriko. Bring the package home."
Logan tried to scream. He tried to force his System to override the paralysis. But his eyes drifted shut. The last thing he saw was Yuriko's silhouette against the moon, a dark angel of vengeance, as the black transport helicopters descended like vultures to carry them into the dark.