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It had been so long since Logan had seen a blue sky. The clouds were grey from the lingering smoke of bombs and the sky took on a maroon hue, as if the blood spilt in this meaningless war painted a mural over the world. Turning his head slightly, he looked upon his weary companions. Ororo, Cassidy, LeBeau, and himself were heading towards a field hospital to the east where Doctors Grey and Summers were treating wounded mutant stragglers from battle. A week ago Dr. Grey had contacted Ororo asking for help to tend to the onslaught of patients.

“It’s more than they can handle,” Ororo had said, “We need to go and help them.”

“So while the real war is happening out there,” Logan had stated, motioning toward gunfire heard in the distance, “We’re going to go help pass out band-aids , give a few enimas, and buy some time while the real fighters put their lives on the line.” As could be determined by his sarcasm and heightened brow, Logan had every possible objection to taking the mission to the hospital. It would be at least six days off the war zone and so much could be lost in that time.

“If it weren’t for that hospital, Logan, we would have even fewer numbers than we do now,” finalized General Sean Cassidy. For the most part, Logan was silenced.

You can’t argue with obvious fuckin logic.

Tonight the quartet had pitched a camp in a vast field hidden by a monstrous wall of trees. The forest was so thick it seemed like an impenetrable barricade. Above the trees an orange glow blared across the tree tops, leaving Logan with an overwhelming feeling of guilt and uselessness. Another explosion boomed miles away.

Since when do I walk away from all the fun?

It felt wrong to be only hearing the echoes of the battle and not planting himself in the middle of it. He knew he was necessary more among those trapped in the fire rather than watching the flames crackle a hundred miles away. Mutants were now having to use their powers to defend themselves against the human race’s purge of their existence. They claimed that mutants were dangerous, but tell someone that they’re going to war and anyone becomes dangerous. Logan fought for the mutants’ right to existence, especially his own. Humans fueled the mutants’ hatred with their own and now was the time to prove who had the overall power.

For a moment, Logan’s mind drifted back to when the war within himself had started; cradling the body of his bloody, broken love, with an animalistic roar erupting from his lungs. Swearing vengeance against Victor for taking away his only token of peace. Since, only one name had spun around in his mind like the drone of a broken record: Stryker. Logan had been equipped as a weapon and from that day shook the earth like a tank. William Stryker had made Logan was of the most dangerous men on earth. He was the best at what he did, but what he did wasn’t very nice.

Logan could not remember a time when his mind was not set on breaking down an obstruction in front of him, but, once in great deal of time, he stopped and remembered that softness he had once felt, that peace of mind that only came with remembering a time before he was Wolverine.

“I’m so tired,” Logan whispered. For the first time, his ageless body felt at its breaking point.

“We’re all tired, Logan,” came Ororo’s voice.

Logan turned as she came to stand beside him. She had hair the color he remembered the moon to be and eyes blue like a boundless ocean.

“How long do they seriously think this is going to go on? They can get rid of us today but there’ll be a thousand more born tomorrow,” Logan said matter-of-factly. To him, this was a fight for an outcome that no one really believed was real but they still hoped for something just as good.

“They’ll keep going as long as we do,” answered LeBeau’s voice from the open flap in his tent.

“He’s right. To them the world is better off half destroyed to bring about our destruction rather than co-existing with us,” said Ororo, staring straight ahead as Logan had been. In the distance they could hear more explosions.

Logan took a cigar from his front jacket pocket and put it between his lips. “Well I don’t know about you guys,” he said with the cigar between his teeth, “but I’m not planning on doing this forever.”

“So how long will you last,” asked Ororo, turning to look at him?

Logan struck a match and took the cigar out of his mouth to speak. He looked at her for a long moment and noticed that her eyes had taken on an intensity he had never seen. They were glossy and bright, not with tears but with a challenging curiosity that often became her.

“Last time I checked I didn’t have an expiration date,” he answered, putting the cigar back into his mouth and stroked the end with the lit match.

“Oh good. Then you won’t be leaving us anytime soon,” said Ororo snottily as she walked back toward he tent.

“If you keep that nice attitude of yours up I’ll make it a guarantee,” Logan said after her.

He sneered and took a long drag on his cigar. The smoke swiveled up in the air and disappeared as the clouds overhead turned grey and silver sparks of light blared in the sky and then…

BOOM!

Logan was drenched in an instant and, cigar still between his lips, he looked up at the sky and saw that the foreboding crimson in the sky had vanished and was replaced by a swarm of black clouds. Tossing the cigar irritably aside, Logan turned and walked toward his own tent, making a point to pass Ororo’s on his way.

“Was that really necessary,” he mumbled towards the opening in her tent?






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