X Men: Project Revelation

The Wolverine

Three days have past since I woke in the metal dungeon of a man named Charles Xavier. He runs a school for "gifted" as he says, and that he was the voice inside my head. I guess he has some machine that helps him track mutants, and he caught my distress as I was falling from the cliff. "We didn't think we could get to you in time," he had said, "but something told me we had to try." Several hours had passed, my lifeless boy emerged in the water. My body never came up to the surface. Stryker's men must thought that the stream carried my body away, they would wait to recover it once it washed onto land. Charles said he knew I was still alive because he could feel my consciousness, so Xavier's men, the "X-Men" pulled my body from the iced water. "You have some fish scales hiding somewhere?" A dark haired man, the one who tackled me to the ground, chuckled. I was stunned. Telekinesis and advanced agility and some healing abilities were my only documented abilities. How did I survive the freezing water, unable to breath, for several hours? "We're not sure," the Professor had said, "sometimes it is during our most vulnerable  moment in which our gifts reveal themselves. Nature's instinct to survive." He gave me a curious look, his hands unfolding with a sense of controlled excitement, "It is possible that the incident drove to the surface gifts that you didn't know you had."

I had spent the last three days pondering on this. And laying in the hospital bed. And sleeping. I was oh so tired all of the time. My eyes felt heavy and my vision was still blurred. This was making me uneasy. Dr. McCoy, a beast with velvet blue fur, had been attending to my medical needs. Today he presented to me a pair of thick black frames. "I'm afraid that I am not seeing the progress with your vision as I would like. The fall and temperature may have caused some damage. I am not giving up hope yet, but hopefully these will suffice for now," Dr. McCoy had said. He had a warm radiance to him that helped me stay at ease. I placed the frames onto my eyes, using my fingers to tuck fallen tangled hairs behind my ears. A brush would be nice. I did gain enough strength in my legs today to stand long enough to shower. Conveniently there was a small bathroom within whatever secret layer, hospital wing in the basement this place was. I closed the bathroom door, turned the lock, and winced as I twisted my arm to my neck to untie the gown. Geez, for someone who is said to have self-healing capabilities, it sure doesn't feel like it. I was careful to navigate myself in and out of the shower, using my hands to guide my eyes. The warm water felt glorious on my face. I rubbed and rubbed my eyes with my fists, hoping that they would magically clear themselves. Nothing. As my palms pressed firmly onto my squinted eyes, a sudden flash of white replaced the darkness. "Sissy--" I heard a small voice echo within that split second. I stumbled backwards, gasped as I caught myself. Like a lighting bolt, just a flash and then gone. You're just tired, I told myself. You're in shock and in withdrawal of whatever drugs Stryker pumped into you everyday.

Now I sat upright on the bed, trying to untangle my long, maple hair with my fingers. I wore a fresh set of clothes: black spandex shorts and a black crewneck that had a silver "X" with a circle on the left breast. My wet hair dripped onto my collarbone, and with my new glasses I examined the room around me more closely. I realized that next to me sat a small silver table which laid my old uniform, combat boots, and dogtags. I picked up the tags and twirled them between my fingers. Unit 321. X-42. I spun the chain over my head and hid the tag underneath my crewneck. My eyes shot up as I heard a door open and footsteps approach. They were heavy. It was the dark haired man. Now I could actually see his face: scruffy, worn. His stature was tough, full of pride. But there was something...something sad in his eyes.

"Well you're looking better, aren't yeah?" Despite the sadness, he offered what I thin was suppose to be a smile. I nodded. He dragged a swivel chair to the edge of the bed, sat down, and placed a roll of bandages on the bed. "Beastie Boy is caught up with something so I'm gonna help you get this foot wrapped," He began unfolding the roll.

"Are you a doctor?" I asked. Judging by the worn blue jeans, plain t-shirt, and scruffy hair...it wouldn't be my first guess.

He chuckled, "Nope. But I'm as good as you're gonna get." With my foot resting on his knee, he gently wrapped the bandage around my ankle. "Is it broken?" He asked.

"Just a hairline fracture, we think." I replied.

"Oh, well you'll be back on your feet soon enough."

Silence filled the air.

"That was quite the thing you did, trying to escape like that. Almost got yourself killed."

I sighed. "It was either in there or out here. I chose out here."

"Fair enough."

More silence.

"How long?"

"Since I was 9. I'm 17 now. I think."

"Do you remember how you ended up there?" He asked, his hands remain steady as he gently lifts my ankle. My heart raced. I don't know why.
I took a deep breath.

"No. My memory was wiped. I don't know my real name, my birthdate, nothing." The lump in my throat grew. These were the facts, but I had never actually said them out loud. Suddenly it was very real. Who am I? I could feel the cold metal plate resting between my breasts. This identity was all I had known.

His face was stern. Calm. Sad. Suddenly he pulled a metal chain out of his pocket and tossed it to me. I caught it's metal tag and placed it on my palm. 45825243 T78. Logan. My eyes widened and I slowly looked up to meet his eyes. He was in a a war too. Silence. That hard, sad look. Cupping it in my hands as if it were a delicate artifact, I handed the chain back to him.

"William Stryker took everything I had. I thought it was over, but it looks like his son has taken over the family business," he scoffed. "Anything you can tell us about this place might be able to help us take him down...if that's something you want." I nodded, realizing I had been subconsciously chewing my bottom lip. He looked down at the floor, then his eyes met mine. "You're not alone in this kid." He said gently.