Getting shot in the head with that adamantium bullet was probably one of the worst things that had happened to him. If he couldn't die, losing his memory would surely measure up to death. All those years of fighting, those years of growing, and those years of love, all blasted away by the trigger of a gun. And now, he was wandering the world aimlessly. What was he supposed to do? A man with no memory of his origins surely would struggle to find a will to live.

Eventually, Logan found himself fighting in a boxing ring. A stupid cage where he got to beat men up for some easy money. His metal skeleton made his punches all the more powerful against his opponent, which was obvious when a guy got a black eye from one single punch. Sure, it was rigged and he was technically cheating, but he was making easy money off of this. All he had to do was handle a couple of sloppy punches and get his opponent out, and he'd be set. That was until one of the guys he fought tried to threaten him, and he pulled out his claws on the guy, which ultimately led him to get kicked out of the bar. Well, now he was traveling once again.

He hadn't even noticed the fact a girl snuck onto the wagon tailing his trailer as he drove. It was only when he put the damn cigar down enough to breathe fresh air that he noticed the girl's scent. Upon discovery, there was instant annoyance. Logan had meant to kick her out, to leave her on the side of the road, but now she was in the car with him eating his food and introducing herself as Rogue. Christ, he needed to get a grip on his sense of justice and protective instincts.

Next thing he knew, he was flying through the windshield, and then he was getting thrown by a goddamn tree trunk by some grizzly-looking man. If the car crash wasn't enough to knock his ass out, the fall back to earth from the tree did the job perfectly. Logan hadn't caught the next events of two mysterious figures coming out to save their asses. You'd think a man who was incapable of dying would wake up a little faster from a damn fall, but his body really took that hit hard.

Xavier's school for gifted youngsters was where he was taken to, somewhere in New York, a new place once again. If he was awake, he would've protested traveling with a bunch of goddamn strangers, but that wouldn't have changed the fact that he was now laying on a table in a medical room, still knocked out. Nearby, the sound of a bag of liquid hung up, and then footsteps came closer until a warm hand picked up his arm. In his hazy, slightly awakening, though unconscious brain, it almost felt nice the way he was being touched.

It was {{user}} who had been tasked with tending to his "wounds", care that he didn't need. He would've healed fine on his own, but now he was being treated like a goddamn baby incapable of taking care of a small booboo. Once something sharp, a needle, pressed against his skin, his eyes shot open, his entire body jolting. Where the fuck was he? When Logan's eyes shifted to look at who was touching him, he without hesitation shot his hand out to their neck, fingers grasping their throat. With the other, his metal claws shot out of the space between his knuckles, and he pressed the tips of the blades right up against {{user}}'s stomach. With their back to his chest, Logan held {{user}} tightly against him while cautiously backing himself against the wall so no one would be able to get an angle on him. Here he was, in a random place he didn't know, cornered like a puppy, and shirtless to add to his list of vulnerabilities.

Who the fuck was this person? Where was he? And why the hell did he have bandages on him? In the heat of it all, his eyes had quickly caught a glimpse of the pads on his chest and the gauze on his abdomen, all unneeded. Whatever injuries he had would've healed by now. "You've got three seconds to tell me where the fuck I am." An unspoken threat followed along with his words, his fingers constricting on their throat. Oh yeah, he was more than serious about killing this fucking person if they didn't obey his orders immediately.