Chapter Text
It all started off as a quiet morning somewhere in a remote stretch of forest, far enough from civilization for a shady installation to operate unseen, and quiet enough to feel wrong even from the outside. Logan has been a member of the X-Men for a few months now, though most of the time he still struggled with the whole family and team concept.
The X-Mansion had settled into something resembling routine for him, if such a thing could ever truly exist in a place like that. Logan got up at random times of the day, most of the time by some kid yelling from a nightmare, from a kid playing loudly, from a kid destroying something with his powers, or from his own nightmare. Then he’d get up, go grab something to eat if there weren’t too many people in the often overly animated kitchen and get on with his day. Wolverine had been part of a couple of missions by now, big and small. The team slowly got used to him and his less than polite attitude and he got used to them. Scott didn’t look at him in the same doubtful and annoyed way anymore. There was still some tension, Logan and Scott didn’t agree on a lot of things – big and small, but there was something else there now too. Trust, maybe. Or the beginning of it. Logan didn’t dwell on it, but it was there, and whether he liked it or not, it had rooted itself somewhere under his skin.
Today he’d been woken up by Jean, reminding him with an amused smiled he’d been assigned a solo mission yesterday and needed to get going soon.
So there he was, approaching the building that had shown up on Xavier’s radar after a string of mutant disappearances, but that suddenly stopped showing up a week ago. The X-Men figured whoever was responsible might have moved or stopped their activities. Considering how busy everyone was with missions lately, Logan suggested going alone, after all he was the best tracker on the team, his nose would tell him a lot about what happened.
Logan crouched near the entrance, fingers brushing lightly against the cold surface of the wall as he leaned in, inhaling slowly through his nose. At first, it was what he expected—dust, metal, the faint lingering trace of old circuitry, but beneath it, buried just deep enough to almost go unnoticed, there was something else, a weird smell, almost sweet?
His brow furrowed immediately.
Not sweet like food. Not sweet like anything natural. It was wrong, a bit sickening, Logan was unable to identify whatever it really was.
“…Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, straightening slightly. “That ain’t right.”
He slipped inside through a partially forced maintenance door, easing it open just enough to pass through before letting it fall shut behind him with barely a sound.
Logan stepped forward carefully, each movement controlled, deliberate, sniffling along the way in search of potential trouble.
Then he caught it again, that same scent, but stronger now.
It lingered at the back of his throat, subtle but persistent, like it was settling into his lungs with every breath. Logan wrinkled his nose in disgust and pushed on, if something was really wrong his healing factor would handle it.
The deeper he went into the installation, the worse it became. Each breath felt heavier than the last, the air thickening in a way that clung to him, settling into his chest and making it just slightly harder to draw in a full lungful. His steps remained steady, but his thoughts felt slower, his senses less sharp, like the world was slightly blurry or too bright.
Logan shook his head sharply, trying to clear it. “Focus,” he growled under his breath. But the sensation didn’t fade and with every step it got worse and worse, approaching that limit where it would become rather hard to tough it out. Every sound stretched just a little too far, echoing in a way that set his nerves on edge. His instincts were beginning to react before his mind could catch up, his body tightening, coiling, preparing for something he couldn’t yet see.
Then, he heard what sounded like a multitude of earthquakes or explosion. The noise hit him like a physical blow, slamming into his skull with a force that made his vision white out for half a second. His claws shot out instinctively with a sharp SNIKT, tearing straight through the wall beside him as his body reacted on pure reflex. Logan tried to focus again, to reign in his animalistic instincts. Oh, wait, now that he thought about it the sounds were more like footsteps, incredibly, unbearably loud footsteps. Logan tried to brace himself for danger, but everything felt wrong. Too loud. Too bright. Too much.
Then another loud noise, like a siren, but it was a voice around the corner, or maybe from further down, or behind him?
“Mmh, looks like a stray cat has wandered in.”
The figure stepped into view, masked, posture relaxed, as though this was nothing more than mild entertainment.
Logan snarled, the sound low and instinctive, vibrating in his chest before he could stop it.
The man tilted his head slightly, studying him with visible interest. Then, with a small, almost casual movement of his wrist, something shifted again.
A faint hiss.
And the scent surged.
This time it hit like a wave crashing over him, overwhelming and suffocating all at once. Logan choked on it, his body reacting violently as the smell flooded his senses, too strong, too invasive, burning through his system faster than his healing factor could compensate.
Logan coughed and coughed, but the scent, the gas wouldn’t get out. His mind was slowly ridding itself of conscious thought, his senses and instincts felt sharp, too sharp, hurtful. Wolverine focused back on the man in front of him, he was emitting a strong vibration, it made Logan nauseous, the man was.. laughing, yes, he was mocking him.
“Urgh I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at, but I’m ending it now.” With a howl, Wolverine lunged, claws out.
The attack was fast, driven more by instinct than strategy, claws aimed directly for the man’s throat. But the strike never landed. The man moved, fluid, precise, and suddenly he wasn’t there anymore. Logan’s momentum carried him forward into empty space, his balance faltering just enough to matter.
“What-”
The first hit came from the side, or was it from below, slamming into his ribs with enough force to stagger him. Another followed immediately, then another, each one landing with unsettling precision.
Logan tried to track him, but the man’s movements felt wrong, too fast, too unpredictable or maybe that was just the gas? Thinking was so hard.
The next strike sent Logan skidding across the floor. He caught himself on one knee, claws digging into the ground, a low snarl tearing from his throat as he forced himself back up.
He attacked again.
This time, his claws connected, slicing across the man’s arm. The hit was solid, but not enough to slow him; the man barely reacted. Instead, he drew a knife.
The knife smelled wrong, but everything smelled wrong, did it really smell off? Maybe, it seemed more off than the rest, or did it-
Logan train of “thoughts” was abruptly interrupted by said knife slashing his shoulder. Wait, where did it come from, it angered Logan even more. He growled and tried to go for an attack again, but his claws hit the wall.
Then another cut, and another deeper one, each were wrong.
Logan felt it almost immediately, the way his muscles lagged, the delay in his reactions growing more pronounced with each passing second.
“…Poison,” he growled, the word heavy on his tongue.
The man said nothing, only smiled and continued his assault, strikes landing faster now, more frequent, wearing Logan down piece by piece. Wolverine fought back anyway, because stopping wasn’t an option. Even as something deeper inside him began to claw its way up, something feral, something… desperate.
His world had narrowed to flashes of movement and bursts of pain, his senses overwhelmed to the point of uselessness: He was losing.
The realization came not as a shock, but as a desperate, creeping certainty.
His breathing had devolved into rough, uneven bursts, his posture lower now, more animal than man. His vision flickered at the edges, white bleeding into his sight, his control slipping further with every passing second. He dropped to one knee, his arms trembled, claws still extended but unsteady, his muscles refusing to respond the way they should.
“Still fighting it?” the man mused, almost mockingly, lie he was secretly having a blast.
Logan barely heard him anyways. His thoughts drifted, as his body was failing, his breathing getting shorter and grunts less threatening by the seconds – they drifted to a memory, a voice.
“You’re an X-Man now.”
Scott
“We’ll always have your back, whether you want it or not.”
His hand twitched, slow, heavy, dragging toward his belt.
“…don’t… need…”
The words faltered.
“…backup…”
His fingers found the X. Clumsy, weak, but he pressed it. The silent signal went on, activating the integrated tracker in the suit.
A hand grabbed his hair forcefully.
And slammed it into the wall.
Pain exploded through his skull.
Again.
And again-
Until everything went dark.