His conscious drifted in slowly, but there. His vision was a murky, bruised purple, swimming with the after-effects of Lady Deathstrike's neurotoxin. He tried to move his hand. He tried to flex a single, adamantium-laced finger.
Nothing happened.
The commands from his brain simply hit a wall and died. He let out a low, pained groan that scraped against his parched throat like sandpaper.
Slowly, the blurred shapes of his environment sharpened into horrifying focus.
He wasn't on a table. He wasn't chained to a wall. He was suspended in mid-air, held aloft by a piece of technology that defied basic physics. His arms and legs were pulled outward, forming a massive, helpless 'X' in the center of the room. Encircling his wrists and ankles were thick, glowing cuffs of pure energy—shimmering rings of violent blue light that anchored his limbs to invisible magnetic tethers. The device was brilliant no doubt, by irritating. The harder he pulled, the more the energy rings constricted, burning into his flesh and forcing his limbs perfectly straight.
It was a cage made to hold mutants, powerful ones.
"System," Liam thought, his mental voice a frantic, desperate shout. "System, what's going on!? Where am I? Tell me something!"
The blue interface flickered in the corner of his vision, weak and static-laced, like a television struggling for a signal in a storm.
[SYSTEM ALERT: CRITICAL MENTAL-SUPPRESSION]
[MUTANT PHYSIQUE: REGENERATION IMPAIRED BY 88%]
[EXTERNAL RESTRAINTS: CLASS-7 ENERGY TETHERS. MATERIAL:ADAMANTIUM]
[STATUS: CAPTIVE]
He was trapped. Completely and utterly trapped.
The air in the room was freezing, carrying the sharp, metallic scent of ozone, bleach, and something much darker—the smell of old blood. It was a smell Liam recognized from Logan's fractured memories. It was the smell of Alkali Lake. The smell of the Weapon X program.
He struggled, instinctively pulling against the tethers. The blue energy flared, emitting a high-pitched VZZZT, and a shockwave of electricity coursed through his skeleton. His back arched, a raw scream tearing from his lips as the adamantium conducted the current directly into his marrow.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Logan. The tethers operate on a feedback loop. The more force you exert, the more thermal and electrical punishment they return. It's a simple lesson in compliance. One I thought you had already learned."
The voice was calm. Cultured. Dripping with the quiet, terrifying authority of a man who viewed human life as a raw material.
Footsteps echoed on the steel grating of the floor. Out of the shadows of the observation deck stepped Colonel William Stryker.
He looked exactly as Logan remembered, and exactly as Liam feared. He wore a pristine military uniform, his silver hair neatly combed, his eyes cold and devoid of anything resembling empathy. To Stryker, Logan wasn't a man. He wasn't even an animal. He was a piece of property that had gone missing.
"Stryker," Logan spat, the name tasting like poison. The feral anger in his chest was a living thing, clawing at his ribs. "You son of a bitch."
Stryker merely smiled—a thin, bloodless stretching of his lips. He walked slowly around the perimeter of the energy tethers, studying Logan with the detached fascination of a biologist looking at a pinned butterfly.
"It's remarkable, really," Stryker murmured, stopping directly in front of him. "I spent billions of dollars, sacrificed countless lives, and broke every law of God and man to make you the ultimate weapon. I erased your mind so that you could be a blank slate. And yet, here you are. Still fighting. Still clinging to this pathetic delusion that you are a man."
"I am a man," Logan growled, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, cornered light. But inside, Liam was battling a rising rush of panic. He didn't know where Bruce was, he didn't even know what was going on. How did Stryker find him!?
I can't die here, Liam thought, his mind racing. I promised myself. I promised I'd make something of this life. I want to survive. I want to build something. To live according to my own rules. I refuse to let my story end as a footnote in William Stryker's lab notes.
"A man?" Stryker chuckled softly. "No, Logan. A man is fragile. A man is flawed. You are a triumph of science. But you are an incomplete one. You lack... direction."
Before Logan could respond, the heavy steel blast doors at the far end of the laboratory hissed open with a pneumatic TSSSHHH.
The scents hit Logan's enhanced olfactory senses before the figures even stepped into the light. The smells were a nightmare cocktail.
Wet fur, cheap whiskey, and decaying meat.
Gunpowder, chimichangas, and rotting, cancerous flesh.
Freezing metal and the soul-sucking void of Carbonadium.
And beneath it all, the tragic, delicate scent of cherry blossoms drowned in machine oil.
The Strike Force had arrived.
They walked into the room, fanning out around Stryker like a pack of monstrous hunting dogs.
First was Victor Creed. Sabretooth. He wore a ragged, fur-lined coat, his massive, clawed hands twitching with pent-up violence. His eyes were wide, dilated, fixed on Logan with a sick, sadistic joy. He ran a long, rough tongue over his elongated canines.
"Look at you, Jimmy," Victor purred, his voice a gravelly rumble that vibrated in Logan's chest. "Strung up like a prized buck. Gotta admit, the view is spectacular."
"Victor," Logan snarled, his muscles bunching uselessly against the energy cuffs. "I thought you were busy playing lapdog for Magneto's Brotherhood."
Victor laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Oh, Erik's got his little mutant superiority crusade going on. It's cute. But when the Colonel called and told me he had you on ice? Well... a brother can't just pass up a family reunion, can he? I had to join the fun. I wanna be front row when they peel you apart."
Next to Victor stood Arkady Rossovich. Omega Red. The giant Russian was still heavily scarred from their battle at the motel, the adamantium slash marks across his armor sealed with hastily welded plates. His pale skin was flushed, radiating a deep, unhealthy heat. His Carbonadium tentacles slithered out from his wrists, hovering in the air like metallic cobras.
"You burned my reserves, Wolverine," Arkady hissed, his thick accent dripping with malice. "You made me weak the last time I saw you. I should drain the marrow from your unbreakable bones right now."
"Get in line, commie," a new voice chirped.
From behind the massive Russian stepped a figure clad in dark red and black tactical leather. He was twirling a Desert Eagle handgun around his finger with dizzying speed. His face was hidden behind a mask, but the chaotic, unhinged energy radiating from him was unmistakable.
Wade Wilson. Deadpool.
"Seriously, the tension in this room is thicker than the plot armor of a self-insert webnovel," Wade quipped, holstering the gun and dramatically crossing his arms. He tilted his head, staring directly at Logan, but it felt like he was looking through him, peering into the very fabric of the universe. "I mean, look at us! It's the 'We Hate Wolverine' club. We've got the angry brother, the Russian vacuum cleaner, the tragic anime ex-girlfriend, and me—the comic relief with a face that looks like an avocado had sex with an older, more disgusting avocado."
Wade sighed, a sudden, surprising weight of serious dropping his shoulders. "Though, honestly, Logan... I kinda just want to shoot you in the kneecaps for old times' sake. The Colonel here scrambled my brains like eggs in a blender. I hear voices, man. Lots of them. But right now, they're all screaming to see if you can grow back a head."
"Enough, Wilson," Stryker commanded, his voice slicing through the room like a scalpel.
Wade immediately mimed zipping his lips shut, locking them, and throwing the invisible key over his shoulder, though his masked eyes still gleamed with chaotic intent.
And finally, standing slightly apart from the others, was Lady Deathstrike. Yuriko.
She wore her tactical gear, her face an unreadable mask of cold, flawless porcelain. Her eyes locked onto Logan's, but there was a flicker there—a micro-expression of conflict, of deep, unresolved sorrow buried beneath layers of programming and burning vengeance. She didn't speak. She didn't need to. The hatred radiating from her was a physical pressure in the room.
Logan's heart ached looking at her. He wanted to speak to her alone, to apologise for actions not his own but he was bound by the narrative of this brutal reality.
"You've got quite the cheerleading squad, Stryker," Logan growled, fighting through the pain of the tethers. "But if you brought me here just to let them rip me apart, you're wasting time. Do it."
"Kill you?" Stryker looked genuinely appalled, though his eyes danced with cruel amusement. "Logan, my boy, you misunderstand your value. Strike Force X is here to keep you contained. They all want you dead, yes. Victor wants his dominance. Arkady wants your life force. Yuriko wants her vengeance. But I... I want your future."
Logan's brow furrowed. "Where is Bruce? Where's Banner ?"
Stryker walked over to a polished steel console and tapped a few keys. A massive holographic screen flared to life above Logan's head. It displayed a live feed of another containment chamber.
Inside a heavily reinforced glass sphere, submerged in a thick, translucent green fluid, was Bruce Banner. He was connected to dozens of tubes and wires, a massive breathing apparatus strapped to his face. He looked pale, fragile, and deeply asleep.
"Dr. Banner is safely tucked away in Sector 4," Stryker explained smoothly. "He is being kept under a continuous, massive dose of specialized anesthetics and nerve inhibitors. The 'Hulk' cannot manifest if the host's brain activity is suppressed to a vegetative state. We are siphoning his gamma-irradiated blood every hour on the hour."
"You leave him alone!" Logan roared, thrashing against the tethers again. The blue rings flared, sending another agonizing jolt of electricity through his bones, leaving him gasping for air. "HE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!!! It's me you want, not him!!"
"No no no Logan, why would we ever release such prime study matieral. The raw ferocity and power of the Hulk right under my fingers." Stryker replied, stepping back. He looked up at the hologram, a gleam of pure, fanatical madness entering his eyes.
"For years, Weapon X was the pinnacle of my career. But you were flawed. You had a conscience. You had attachments. You rebelled. I tried to replicate you, but the healing factor was always the missing key. Mutants with powers strong enough to change the world always break under the strain of their own gifts."
Stryker turned back to Logan, his voice rising, echoing through the sterile chamber.
"And then, Dr. Banner created the Gamma Bomb. A creature of limitless, world-breaking power. A titan. But the Hulk is uncontrollable. A beast of pure rage. It attacks friend and foe alike. It is a nightmare on the battlefield."
Liam felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. The knowledge of his past life surged to the front of his mind. No. No, he can't be doing what I think he's doing. Not in this universe. It's too soon.
"So, I asked myself a question," Stryker continued, pacing now, energized by his own twisted genius. "How do you control the uncontrollable? How do you harness the infinite power of a Gamma Mutate, and give it the tactical lethality, the indestructible chassis, and the unwavering regenerative stability of Weapon X?"
Stryker stopped, pointing a finger directly at Logan's chest.
"You take the adamantium skeleotn. You take the accelerated cellular regeneration. And you graft it onto a Gamma-irradiated physiology. You use the healing factor to infinitely stabilize the cellular breakdown caused by the Gamma radiation."
Stryker pressed a button on the console. The hologram shifted, displaying a terrifying, three-dimensional genetic rendering. It showed a massive, hulking skeleton laced with adamantium. But it wasn't Logan's skeleton. It was huge, monstrous. And jutting from the knuckles, the elbows, and the knees were massive, jagged adamantium bone-spikes—claws that extruded directly through the skin.
"I present to you," Stryker whispered reverently, "the culmination of my life's work. The ultimate titan. The unkillable soldier. Weapon H."
The room went dead silent. Even Victor and Wade had stopped moving, staring at the horrifying schematic.
"You're insane," Logan breathed, genuinely terrified. "You try to merge my DNA with the Hulk's, you won't get a soldier, Stryker. You'll get an abomination. It'll tear the world apart, starting with you."
"That is a risk I am willing to take for absolute superiority," Stryker said coldly. He turned to the Strike Force. "Victor, Arkady, Wade. Come with me to Sector 4. We need to prepare the centrifuge for the marrow extraction. We begin the first phase of the genetic bonding in one hour."
"Can I at least stab him once?" Wade asked, raising a hand like a student in a classroom. "Just a little poke? I promise to avoid the major arteries. Mostly."
"No," Stryker snapped. "His body needs to be in peak physical condition for the extraction. Any trauma will divert his healing factor."
Victor scoffed, spitting on the floor. "Fine. But when you're done playing God, Will, the scraps belong to me."
"Understood," Stryker nodded. He glanced back at Yuriko. "Deathstrike. Remain here. Monitor his vitals. If he attempts to overload the tethers, increase the neuro-suppressant drip."
Yuriko gave a stiff, mechanical nod. "Yes, Colonel."
Stryker, Victor, Arkady, and Wade filed out of the room, the heavy steel blast doors hissing shut behind them. The locking mechanism engaged with a heavy, final THUNK.
Logan was left alone with Yuriko.
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Yuriko stood at the console, her back to him, her fingers hovering over the holographic keyboards. She didn't look at him. She was a picture of perfect, programmed discipline.
But Liam knew better. He knew the lore. He knew the woman trapped inside the machine.
"Yuriko," Logan said, his voice soft, dropping the feral growl. He let the vulnerability of his situation bleed into his tone.
She didn't move. She didn't acknowledge he had spoken.
"I know you're in there," Logan continued, straining his neck to look at her. "I know Stryker messed with your head. I know he put you back together and filled your brain with control chips and override commands. But I also know that the anger... the hate you feel for me... that's yours. That's real."
Yuriko's hands stopped hovering. She slowly turned around. Her amber and obsidian eyes locked onto his, and for the first time, she spoke. Her voice was beautiful, melodic, but wrapped in a shroud of icy sorrow.
"You do not get to speak of what is real, murderer," she said softly.
"I know what you saw," Logan said, his voice cracking slightly. The emotional weight of the memories Liam had witnessed in the nightmare flooded his chest. "I know I killed your father. Kenji Oyama. Lord Dark Wind. I know his blood is on my hands."
"You slaughtered him like an animal," Yuriko hissed, taking a slow step toward the containment tethers. The long, needle-thin adamantium talons slid from her fingertips with a soft, deadly snikt. "He was a visionary. He created the bonding process. He gave you your indestructible bones, and you repaid him by carving his heart from his chest."
"He was a monster, Yuriko!" Logan pleaded, straining against the cuffs. "He wanted to use the process to create an army of assassins! He was going to sell it to the highest bidder. I was a slave to Stryker's programming then, just like you are now. But even through the programming, the man inside me knew that Kenji had to be stopped."
"Lies," she whispered, stepping closer. She raised her hand, the tip of her index talon resting lightly against the bare skin of his chest, right over his heart. The metal was cold.
"It's not a lie," Liam pushed through. He needed to connect with her humanity. He needed to be the man who understood character arcs, not just the brute with the claws. "Yuriko... look at me. Look into my eyes."
She hesitated, her eyes flickering up to meet his.
"I remember the cherry blossoms in Osaka," Logan whispered, pouring every ounce of genuine emotion into the words. "I remember the silk kimono. I remember the way your hand felt in mine. I loved you, Yuriko. The man who killed your father wasn't the man who loved you. It was the beast they made me. And now... Stryker is making you into an animal, too."
Yuriko's breath hitched. For a fraction of a second, the cold, dead look in her eyes shattered. A profound, overwhelming wave of grief washed over her face. Her hand trembled. The talon resting against his chest shook, drawing a single, tiny bead of blood.
She was fighting it. She was fighting the programming, the vengeance, the absolute tragedy of their existence.
"You... you took everything from me," she choked out, a single tear escaping her eye and rolling down her pale cheek. It was a violently human reaction from a woman who was supposed to be a machine.
"And Stryker is taking the rest," Logan said softly. "He doesn't care about your father. He doesn't care about your honor. He just wants a guard dog. You're better than this, Yuriko. You are a warrior, not a puppet."
She stared at him, the tear dropping from her chin and splashing onto the metal floor. She pulled her hand back, retracting her claws. She looked at her own hands, as if seeing the cybernetic enhancements for the first time with a clear mind.
"I cannot stop him, Logan," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "The control chip in my spine... if I disobey a direct command, it will paralyze my nervous system. I am a prisoner in my own body."
"Then just loosen the tethers," Logan pleaded. "Just by a fraction. Give me an inch. I'll do the rest. I'll save Bruce, and I swear to you, Yuriko, I will tear the control chip out of your spine myself. I will set you free. We can end Stryker. Together."
Yuriko looked up at the holographic display of Weapon H. She looked at the monstrosity Stryker was planning to unleash on the world. She closed her eyes, a war raging within her soul—the duty to her father's vengeance, against the horrific reality of Stryker's ambition.
Slowly, she walked back to the console. She placed her hands on the keyboard.
"The tethers operate on a magnetic frequency," she said quietly, her back to him again. "If the frequency fluctuates, the kinetic dampeners will briefly reset to recalibrate."
She didn't look at him. She just began to type.
"I am not doing this for you, Logan," she said, her voice hardening, though the tremor remained. "I am doing this because Kenji Oyama's legacy will not be this... abomination."
"Thank you," Logan whispered.
In the back of his mind, Liam felt the system interface flicker. The static began to clear. The deep, suppressed energy of his Level 3 Mutant Physique began to bubble up from the marrow of his bones.
[SYSTEM ALERT: EXTERNAL RESTRAINTS FLUCTUATING]
[NEURO-SUPPRESSION LIFTING]
[REGENERATION ACTIVE]
He felt the heat returning to his knuckles. He felt the animal waking up, smelling the blood in the water. He wasn't going to be a lab rat. He wasn't going to let them finish Weapon H. He was going to survive, and he was going to burn this facility to the ground.
Yuriko's finger hovered over the execute key.
"Be ready," she whispered.
And then, she pressed the button.