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The first time Logan gets clocked as a Mutant without getting clocked as himself first, he’s in a bar in Indiana. The guy down the bar from him is staring at his arms. Logan is generally pretty good at ignoring strangers acting in ways he doesn’t understand so long as they aren’t dangerous, especially in bars. The guy isn’t armed, he’s not a criminal or a spy or any kind of threat so far as Logan can tell (and Logan can always tell). But he won’t stop staring and Logan doesn’t have the faintest idea why. It’s not attraction. Logan wouldn’t claim to be the best at knowing what people are thinking just from the way they’re looking at him, but there’s not the faintest scent of arousal.
The guy’s eyes glance back and forth from Logan’s forearm to his hand where it’s flexed around his beer, and Logan starts to get an inkling of what this is about.
“That man over there,” the guy says to the bartender in an undertone not meant to carry, “There’s something off about him. You know if he’s some kind of mutant or something?”
Yep. There it is.
This hasn’t happened to Logan before, not in over a hundred years of living. But he knows exactly what he’s gonna do the moment it does.
He turns to look at the guy square in the eyes, tilts his head back and grins with all his teeth.
”So what if I am, bub?” he says.
The bar fight that ensues is pretty decent as bar fights go, definitely more enjoyable than the shitty beer. But it leaves him uneasy, a little off balance.
Logan isn’t worried for himself. Quite apart from the fact that he can take care of himself, it’s not like real anonymity has been an option for him for a while now. He’s been recognized plenty in recent years, and the mutant haters probably outnumber the fans (for the record, he prefers the mutant haters). But the fact that someone recognized him as a mutant marks a sea change.
This isn’t the first time someone has noticed something off about him. Logan’s hair defies gravity, his canines are too large and too sharp. His forearms are a little too wide, his hands too broad, his knuckles slightly oddly shaped to anchor his claws. His eyes shine at night like raccoons’. None of it is that noticeable on its own. Logan doesn’t show his teeth much around strangers unless he’s making a point. He’s learned not to look directly at bright lights when it’s dark out. It’s easy to dismiss the slight oddness as a trick of the light and slightly whimsical haircut choices. But plenty of people have thought something of it. He’s been accused of being possessed, of being a demon. He’s been mistaken for a werewolf fairly frequently. People have noticed that there’s something off with him, and it’s caused its share of problems. But no one has accused him of being a mutant before, and the fact that they have now is dangerous.
Logan can pass for human. He looks human, mostly. Anything about him that isn’t quite human is easy to explain away. If someone looks at him and sees a mutant, it means that people are looking for mutants. It means that the idea of mutants is taking up valuable brain space in their minds. It means, worst of all, that there are people out there who are going to start using mutants as an excuse.
It means that a consciousness of mutants is about to be embedded into the culture, if it isn’t already. It means that the fear and hatred is no longer a sharp and pointed thing, easy to isolate and parry, but a poisonous miasma that creeps through the air and the groundwater and is integrated into the very fabric of society.
It means that every kid out there who acts a little different, looks a little different, will have all the other kids, and then the adults, too, calling them mutants. Some of them will be, some of them won’t. None of them are safe.