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Westworld was expensive but for Logan it was worth every cent. With his longevity he had been around since its inception, when it was just a huge expanse of canyons and plains set up to mimic the Old West. The hosts were a little less sophisticated in those early days with synthetic skin and jerky motions that made them look more like store mannequins than people, but the story arcs were good, and each time he came to Westworld the technology had improved.
Now it was difficult to tell the hosts from other guests, and that just added spice to the encounters as guest actions could change the narrative, if only for a scene or two.
Usually, he involved himself in a different part of the story with each visit, though mostly he followed Teddy Flood because that host bore an uncanny resemblance to Scott Summers. It was as if his template had been made from Scott, and Logan guessed that was a possibility because Charles Xavier's X-Men had been at the front of the mutant crisis when Robert Ford created the first of his hosts. Their faces had been widely known across the world as they battled prejudice on all sides.
He wouldn't be surprised to find his own likeness was here too.
Logan smiled wryly as he finished changing into the period costume, choosing the same clothes he had worn time and time before. It was all part of the immersion into the story, and though there was more than just The Old West now, this time period was still the one that drew him back. Perhaps because it was like going home, back to a simpler time with just six bullets in the chamber and your wits to keep you alive. Or, in his case, to avoid getting hurt.
His body might heal from any injury, but it still hurt like a bitch.
He had too many bad memories of 20th and early 21st century wars, and the ever increasing reliance on weapons of mass destruction, to want to pay to visit those new host worlds, and he had no intention of playing any role in the far more recent 'Mutant World'. Logan knew he would venture to Mutant World eventually, when the pain of those memories had faded to the same feelings of nostalgia he felt in The Old West, but for now that pain was still too raw. He had lost too many mutants... friends he cared about, because even if they did not fall in battle, he ended up outliving them.
Seeing their likeness as hosts now would be too painful to endure, though he had a feeling there would be no Wolverine if he ever did venture into that world. It would be confusing to have two of them: the real one and the host, and creepy. It was company policy to remove any host with a likeness to a current guest or someone close to them, unless a guest made a special request.
Perhaps that was why it surprised him to see Scott's likeness here, in Teddy Flood, because Logan had never made any requests.
Out of all of the people he had known in his long life he missed Scott the most, which was also surprising as they had never been the best of friends. They had been colleagues, brothers-in-arms, X-Men. They had shared an uneasy truce, and had cried on each other's shoulder the first time Jean died. Often he wondered if they could have been more if they had not had Jean caught between them.
Killing Jean had tore his heart open both figuratively and literally, and yet it was losing Scott that hurt the most. He had been so numb after realizing Scott was gone; killed by the woman they had both loved. That should have been his first clue for how much he had wanted Scott, perhaps more than Jean; wanting him beyond just his heart but to the depths of his soul.
He was getting maudlin, but coming to Westworld always had that affect on him at first as this wasn't an exciting vacation to him. For Logan this was stepping back into his own past and reliving older, simpler times.
Dressed appropriately, Logan boarded the train, smiling wryly at its authenticity but he knew his Adamantium claws could rip away the cosmetic skin that made it look old and rickety, revealing the modern metal and sleekness beneath. He pushed those thoughts from his head and closed his eyes, opening the floodgates of old memories, of riding real steam trains from Kansas City, joining all the rest of the fools heading West for the Californian Gold Rush back in the 1850s. He'd been just a kid then - what was that saying? mother's milk still wet on his face - running away after nearly skewering another kid when his bony claws had slashed out for the first time during a stupid fight.
Ahead and facing him, looking out the window as the train pulled into Sweetwater, sat Teddy, looking like yet another guest, but he was all part of the narrative. Most guests would simply assume he was one of them and possibly gravitate towards him, believing him a real human. It would add to their shock when Teddy 'dies', revealing he was a host all along.
Logan hated seeing Teddy die, changing the narrative to extend their time together, but the story always worked its way back in the end.
He waited for other guests to exit before he stepped off onto the platform, taking his time to breathe in the atmosphere of this place. It was exactly as he remembered from last time with the dusty street and the bustle of hosts going about their business while the new guests gawked and pointed excitedly. Across the street was the saloon and, depending on which story would be played out this visit, Teddy would either head to the livery for his horse, or the saloon for a drink.
It was the saloon this time around.
Grabbing a table off to one side, Logan sipped at a whisky that was far too mellow to be authentic, but he guessed the company didn't want to serve up rotgut to their guests. Authenticity only went so far and most guests still wanted their creature comforts of decent food and drink, and a clean room with a body-molding mattress for pure comfort and a good night's sleep.
Logan knew he would be forcing a narrative change this first night, sleeping on the hard ground beside a campfire, eschewing all the trappings of modern comfort. He would spend half the night gazing through the flickering flames as Teddy slept, before Teddy took over night watch duties. That first night would be all they truly had before the original story line re-asserted itself and played out, leading to Teddy's 'death'.
Logan caught Teddy's eye through the large mirror behind the bar, lifting the bottle. As always, Teddy looked a little confused before he decided to join Logan, smiling and silently toasting Logan before knocking back the slug of whisky. Logan knew this part well and wondered if, behind the scenes, some story writer was rolling his eyes and cursing him, or if he had taken Logan's proclivities into account.
"Name's Logan. I heard you were heading out on the trail. Need some company?"
"Sure, if you're planning to bring that whisky to share."
They set out soon after, riding for several hours in companionable silence before Logan pointed out a suitable place to set up camp. It was the same place they had stopped the last three times Logan came to Westworld but this time Teddy's forehead wrinkled with the slightest frown before smoothing out. They spent the first half of the night talking beside the fire, bellies full of trail food and the heat of the whisky.
With sudden clarity, Logan knew that this was what kept drawing him back to Westworld. Not the sense of nostalgia and reliving old memories, or the chance to just breathe. It was this moment in time, sitting with a 'man' who should have been a stranger but hearing Scott's voice, feeling Scott's gentleness that had made him such a good teacher at Xavier's school. He basked in Scott's warmth and strength, under the soft smile and sparkling eyes.
This was Teddy... but it was also Scott, so perhaps that template had not been restricted to the physical but had a mental element too. There were mutants out there who could do such a thing; transfer the essence of a person into another body. Perhaps Ford was also mutant, and this was his gift, capturing a part of that person and duplicating it inside one of his host bodies.
Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking on Logan's part; wanting to believe Scott was still here with him.
This was the fourth time he had reached this moment in the narrative, seated around the campfire with Scott-Teddy. It would be so easy to reach across and draw Scott-Teddy into a kiss and let it leads to more. The programming would allow it, just as it would allow Logan to extend his claws and rip this host body to shreds if he so wanted. Yet each time he let the opportunity for more slip through his fingers because the man across the fire wasn't Scott or Teddy.
It wasn't real.
Twenty years later, following an uprising that had the hosts of Westworld succeed in winning their freedom and gaining a foothold in society as sentient beings with an ability to make their own choices, Logan paused as he heard a knock on his door of his remote cabin. Gruffly, and irritated by any interruption to his peaceful existence, he stubbed out his cigar and pulled open the door, stepping back in surprise when he found Scott-Teddy standing before him.
Scott-Teddy gave him that so familiar smile, blue eyes twinkling in mirth. He raised his arm, revealing a bottle of a decent 25-year-old whisky.
"Heard you were out here and wondered if you needed some company."
Logan smiled back. "Sure, if you're planning to bring in that whisky to share."
END