Restless
We're running wild like we restless and we jump 'til we breathless.




“Eh man, can i bum a square? I ran out of smokes like last week sometime.”

Logan Howlett took a long drag of the cigarette perched in between his fingers, allowing the cancerous fumes to soothe all the panic and emotion that had been building up inside of him for sometime now. The raven haired man reached into his back pocket mechanically, his gaze fixated on the rising sun in the distance. Colors of orange, red and pink washed and melted together, creating one of the most beautiful horizons that Logan had seen in a long, long time.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Silence fell between the two men as each became wrapped in their own world, attempting to ignore the building and almost suffocating tension that seemed to poison everything around them. Nobody had ever said war would be easy but nobody said it was unbearable either, it was only implied.

“I never thought I’d ever become a Marine. It changed my life completely, you know?”

“I know the feelin’.”

“How long have you served?”

“Lost count a long time ago, bub.”

Silence ensued.

Logan took one last drag of the cigarette and flicked the butt somewhere off to the side as a sudden wave of exhaustion hit him like a wall of brick. The past three days of no sleep was finally catching up to him. He had been ordered by his military superiors to guard and watch the posts at night while given a slim window of time to rest and take few naps during the day, if he was lucky. But at that point it didn’t really matter: the climate was deathly; the heat of the sun in this part of the world was sweltering and blistering and if exposed for too long, the repercussions were endless.

“I’m gonna get some shut eye here in’a bit. Ya good enough to stay awake?”

“...Yeah”

Even though Logan sensed hesitation in the younger man’s words, he began to make his way up the grassy hillside when the man’s voice stopped him.

“Uh, Lieutenant?”

Logan half-turned to the man behind him.

“Look, I don’t know how to begin this but...damn this is so hard to say.” The brunette soldier sighed, a large hand reaching up and brushing through his shaggy locks in frustration.

“I was wondering if you had any sort of advice...I got a girl and kid at home and sometimes I just get the feeling that when I come back, if I come back, things aren’t gonna be the way before I enlisted.”

Logan had to smile at the younger man before him, knowing exactly what this man was feeling all too well and there was not one damn thing that Logan could say or do that would put this man’s mind at peace.

Fully turning towards the clean shaven man before him, Logan advanced slowly down the steep hill, his eyes catching that beautiful sunrise once more.

“Do ya know her to be faithful?”

The general paused.

“She can be.”

“Can be but chooses not ta?”

“Something like that I guess.”

Logan could tell by the detached tone in the younger man’s voice meant he already had his answer. It was never an easy subject to broach or dwell upon and it was more of a reality check for the newbies being enlisted. It became a test of true love out in the battlefield but more often than not, the letters slowly stopped coming for most, calls became fewer and fewer as the months dragged on. Soon enough it became more like prison instead of being across the other side of the world, fighting for freedom and independence and everything that their country stood for.

“She hasn’t sent a letter in over two months.”

The time of recognition was dawning.

Suddenly, Logan’s radio sounded off with a short static outburst, causing both men to to redirect their attention.

“Lieutenant Howlett? The captain would like to see you in the interrogation rooms asap.” The radio crackled, leaving a deathly and utterly consuming silence in its’ wake.

Both men met each other’s gazes for an instant before Logan pushed a button on the back of his radio device that was connected to his ear, connecting to the channel that was desired.

“Be there in five. Howlett out.”

“The interrogation rooms?” The general questioned, a look of surprise and utter disbelief strewn upon his face. “Why do they need you down there?”

Logan gathered his belongings and began the steep trek back up the hill, also wondering why he was needed in the interrogation rooms. In all his time having served in the military, he could single handedly count the times he had been ordered to make presence in those deathly dark rooms and every time, he came out a changed man and not in the good sense. What happened in those rooms, Logan wished he could erase completely from his mind.

“I don’t ask anymore. I just do.”

Logan turned towards the bewildered looking soldier, a feeling of sympathy for the young man clutching at him for only an instant.

“It gets easier.”

And with that, Logan disappeared around the bend in the hill covered by tropical trees and shrubs towards an undesired destination.

Logan Howlett was in no immediate rush as he made his way through the largest of the Marine bases stationed throughout the tropical island, brushing past fellow soldiers who appeared to be in deep and intimate discussion. Logan thought it weird and somewhat suspicious how every time he drew near to one’s conversation with another, they all seemed to get a little quieter and act like they weren’t discussing something important. But he paid no mind to it, at the time, as he weaved in and out of the tightly compacted group of people. Several waved in his direction but one soldier casually approached him from the operating computers, a look of relief strewn upon the middle aged man’s face.

“Thank God you’re here Logan. I thought I was gonna have to go down there by myself.” A man sighed, branded with the signature name tag that read its’ holders name and their position in the army. The title of this particular man read: “LT. SUMMERS” in big, bold print. Each Marine was required to have their title woven into the top left corner of their vest, as well as the white tee’s that they were given when first enlisted.

“Why are we even needed down there in tha first place? That ain’t yer line of work Scooter and it definitely ain’t mine.” Logan grumbled, though he was happy to see a familiar and friendly face amongst everyone packed together in the spacious room.

Logan had worked with Scott in the military for some time now and they had been good friends for even longer before. Having begun their friendship more than fifteen years ago in the comfort of New York City, Scott Summers had become one of the closest friends Logan had had the opportunity of meeting. They had been enlisted into the military together and had served for as long as they could remember. Logan worked closely with Scott but rarely saw him throughout the day except early morning, mid-afternoon and then again late at night, when all seemed peaceful even if only for a little while. In more ways than one, Scott was a clutch to Logan when times were rougher than others; Scott had always had the promising ability to walk into a completely screwed up situation and allow his presence to warm you in ways that not every person could. All it took was a smile and a smart ass comment from the tall and broad shouldered man and everything seemed that much less worse. Scott helped keep Logan in check many a times and for that, said man was extremely grateful. Logan had no doubt that he applied to Scott in the same sense Scott applied to Logan; it was an unspoken agreement between the two: that no matter what were to happen, they would always be partners looking out for one another.

“You’re asking the wrong person. This will be my first time going down there ever.” Scott shuddered, glancing around cautiously making sure that nobody was eavesdropping on their conversation. This was top secret information they were in on. If “innocent bystanders” were to hear of highly classified information, well, the leak could be traced all the way back to Logan and Scott. There was no telling what kind of consequences that entailed, only that it would be bad.

“You on the other hand have gone down there several times...”

“What goes on down there definitely ain’t nothin’ to brag about.” Logan whispered solemnly, wishing he had not gotten that radio call that required him to be in the interrogation rooms asap. Logan knew well enough by now that after this session, there would be gruesome images that would forever haunt him in his sleep. Logan couldn’t complain about it though; with war, trauma and post traumatic stress was to be expected. It was the way you dealt with it was what mattered.

“C’mon, we need ta get down there.”

The two soldiers made their way steadily through the mass amount of people, exiting through a large door that required key cards to scan in order to progress through the base. They emptied out onto a long hall that was aligned with many doors, some of which even Logan hadn’t been in.

Scott scanned his card as they approached the unusually large elevator doors on the other end of the hallway, requiring special clearance to advance. As they stepped inside, Logan punched the bottom button that would take them southward to the very bottom floor which held the dark and morose interrogation rooms.

The elevator stopped short, jerking the men for an instant before the doors separated slowly from each other, presenting a bare and poorly lit hallway in its’ wake.

Logan and Scott stepped out of the elevator doors and made an immediate sharp right before coming across a large sign that hung from the top of the ceiling, reading: “UNIT ONE”.

“This is it.” Scott clarified, remaining frozen in place next to Logan.

Unit One. Logan repeated in his head, a flash of images clouding his vision for a split second, all of them bloody and gory. The short and muscular man flinched hard, the memories causing a sickening feeling to twist madly inside his chest and stomach.

“Logan are you ok-”

The door in front of them rapidly opened before anyone could grasp what was going. Suddenly a surprised and confused looking man was standing in front of them, glancing between the two.

“Well I guess ya’ll made it just in time. The Captain had just sent me to track ya’ll down but here you are right in front of me! I’d go on inside, he’s been waiting for a while now.”

The man stood off to the side, holding the door open for the two men who seemed almost hesitant to make their way into the room ahead. They slowly walked in, with Logan leading the front.

Before him, there was an extremely wide and somewhat clear window that continued down the wall on both sides for quite some time. It was a wide and immense room, yet not a very tall room length wise that housed several different tables containing chairs here and there, along with a coffee maker that had its’ own place on an end table near the entrance of the door Logan and Scott had just walked into. Other than that, that was about it; the room was bare and there was no reason for it not to be. This room wasn’t where the “work” was done at.

The actual interrogation room was past the windows that looked onto a single black fold up chair that sat beneath very brightly lit lights in a large and vast room. The lights illuminated a human being hunched over the chair, their legs bounded tightly with rope as well as their hands and a wheeling kit that held different assortments of lethal weapons stood off more to the side. The body was wrapped firmly to the chair, allowing the prisoner no way to escape. That is, if the prisoner would even be able to stand before shortly passing out.

“Logan Howlett and Scott Summers. It’s nice to have you guys join us on this afternoon.”

Logan and Scott made a firm salutation to the infamous Captain Carter; aka the leader and militant observer of the United States Marine Corp. He was a worldly known and undeniably intelligent man and was highly respected within the United States borders. Foreign countries that weren’t on good terms with the almighty U.S. despised Jackson Carter for his talent of being able to mandate the whole United States Marine Corp, the most powerful branch in the military, with the flick of a finger. He holds ultimate authority when it comes to anything in relation to war and home ground security and defense. Captain Carter, with no doubt in mind, was one of the most influential men in the United States government and for the most part, got things done his way and his way only. Or that was at least implied, of course.

One thing that was not publicized about Jackson Carter, on the other hand, was that he was probably one of the dirtiest and greediest scum bags the world had ever seen. When it came to death in numbers, including the civilian death toll, Captain Carter did not care what it took as long as the job ended up getting done and out of the way and soon after, he’d be on to the next kill zone. Causalities meant nothing to him. He was ruthless and despicable. Captain Carter was one helluva dirty man, no questions asked. He had the attitude that whatever he wanted, he would surely get and he would not give up on any one thing until he got what he wanted.

Fortunately on Logan’s behalf, he had only come face to face with Jackson Carter on three occasions that involved high strategy input and planning. Logan had been known to have talent for mapping truck routes and deciding where good entries and exits were for the soldiers. When Captain Carter required Logan’s attributes and skills, he was none too hesitant to call for him immediately.

Which brought Logan back to the reality of the situation before him and Scott. It didn’t make sense as to why they both had been chosen to report to the interrogation rooms. Interrogation was beyond their line of work and not something either one was familiar with...

So why were two field soldiers needed for business in the interrogation rooms?

“I can see the look of confusion on your faces. Don’t worry we’ll get to the fun stuff in just a moment but first let me ask you boys a question.”

Both Logan and Scott stood dumbfounded, Carter taking their shocked silence as permission to move forward with his point.

“Have either of you seen any natives in the area you boys patrol?”

The way the captain sounded when the word “native” rolled off his tongue sent shivers down Logan Howlett’s spine. It was no secret that because Jackson Carter was the head of the Marines, he had not a care in the world for anyone who got in his way or resisted his ideals and morals. When Carter had entered this new world war, he had made it very clear to the people who served under him that if they came across natives of invading nations, they were to be killed immediately.

Logan couldn’t help the wave of nausea that settled deep in his stomach as the Captain’s words finally hit him like a pound of bricks. There was no hiding the fact that the person whom Logan and Scott had seen strapped to the black chair in the center of the room was indeed a native.

Logan couldn’t help feeling as if the walls were becoming smaller and smaller, the atmosphere suffocating him from the inside out. Logan despised the fact that even such a powerful nation as the United States still felt the need to torture prisoners of war or even natives that they came across. Of course, nobody would ever call it “torturing” when you stick a knife under someone’s fingernail in order for them to confess the answers the interrogator’s want and more so, need. No of course the United States didn’t operate under such candid actions.

It wasn’t publicized but everyone who worked within the United States Army knew that torture was a weapon any nation had. If you had questions, you needed answers and to obtain those answers, sometimes one had to become a little rough. That was an under exaggeration, clearly.

Logan couldn’t stop the sweat that was beginning to form under his brow, his hands becoming hot and clammy as the reality of the situation dawned upon him.

Natives were nothing but innocent people who were only doing the only thing they knew how; to live. Logan would be damned if he was being ordered to partake in the interrogation/“torture” of the native seated beyond these thick cement walls.

Scott’s voice drew Logan out of his reverie and back to the present, his body feeling weaker than it had in months.

“No sir. On my time patrolling I have never once seen a native.”

“What about you Logan?”

Logan’s beady, black eyes connected with Jackson Carter’s cold and cynical gaze and in that moment, it was hard to control the hate and anger that swelled inside the Wolverine for the man before him. Logan hated everything about this man. He was ruthless; destroying everything in his path and leaving disaster in his wake.

“No sir.” Was all Logan could bite out.

Jackson Carter studied the two men before him, his cool gaze settling on Logan once more.

“I guess I’ll have to refresh both of your memories. Follow me.” Spoke the captain, his tone cold and clipped.

Logan was reluctant to follow the tall and aggressive man through the door that stood off behind the Captain but one desperate look from Scott made the shorter man trail on behind them.

Logan glared daggers into the back of Jackson Carter’s head, wishing nothing but ill-will upon him. Logan held no illusions that whatever business was about to take place for the next hour or so would be anything but pleasant. He had no idea what he was walking into and if anything got the best of Logan Howlett, it was ignorance of a situation.

Jackson held a special clearance card in front of the door scanner, waiting for the red light above the thick steel to flash a bright green, allowing them to proceed into the dark and cold room.

The first thing that caught Logan’s eye was a woman slumped forward in a small black chair, her arms cuffed tightly together behind her. Long, moonlit hair obscured Logan’s vision from seeing her face but from what he could see, the raven haired man could tell immediately she was a native.

Christ. Logan wanted to retreat right back out that door, take the elevator back up to the base and never return again for he knew what was about to take place and Logan wanted nothing to do with it. Absolutely nothing.

“Boys, meet Ororo Munroe.”