As soon as I get past the gate of the harbor I come to a dead stop.

What the hell...? You've gotta be kiddin’ me... My god damn boots have been goin’ ‘click, clack’ with every fuckin’ step I take. That just ain't gonna do. I'm sure many have caught word o’ the fact that I ain't known fer my stealth, but hell... Ain't it a bitch that on the one flamin’ night I aim fer a bit a sneakin’ around it's pouring cats an’ dogs and my boots are goin’ ‘click’ frickin’ ‘clack’ with every step I take?

Moving quick as I can without being noticed, I head for a dryer spot. I ditch the boots and put ‘em into my pack, and give the old blue and yellows a good looking’ over. It’d sure keep my movements quiet, but the damn thing can be seen from a mile away and I ain't ready to show that I'm a X-Man. Best to leave the gang outta this one. They ain't got the ’moral ambiguity’ I’m so known for to do what's gotta be done.

Leavin’ the "uniform" in the pack with my boots, I zip 'er up and give place another scan over. I need to get a feel o’ the lay of the land before I head in to take care o’ the rats washed out by the rain. Place looks like a maze o’ crates... Heavy looking’ and I'm hopin’ not filled with any o’ Richards' junk. If any of Mr. Fantastic's hi-tech gizmos are packed here... Hell, that changes the whole playin’ field.

Beyond the crates, all I got to look at it a huge crane, the river itself, and some o’ the dimmest set o’ lights. Whole place was kept dank and lookin’ dirty. Not the best visibility even for me, overall, and the air stinks o’ salt… ionized air… It’s that burnt smell ya get after a lightning storm... something I'm more than a little used to bein‘ around Ororo Munroe. I'm also getting’ some unknown scents mixed in with ‘em.

However, what I ain't getting’ is any distinct human scents from anywhere around me - and boys and girls, that's just fine with this Ol’ Canuckle head.

Shouldering my pack, I get to moving as quick and as quietly as I can. Like I said before, bub, I don't use it much but when it comes to stealth? My Kung Fu is strong.

The place is big, but I keep to a fast pace, flitting through the shadows as best as I can while keepin’ my ears wide open fer anything outta the ordinary. After a few minutes, I'm startin’ to hear some thing's I ain't expectin‘. See, if ya been payin’ attention, my plan o’ action was to get to the pier earlier then Radiato's boys. It seems like they got here a bit before me, though... Hell, ain't gonna to change much at all.

The deeper I get into this maze the better I can hear ‘em , but they're barely registering in my ears... Whoever they are, they ain't breathin’ louder then a feather falls and if it weren't fer my keen sense of hearin’, I would a missed ‘em completely. Must be professionals... Not yer run o’ the mill thugs and that tells me this is a pretty damn big shipment. A hell of a lot more important than all the setups I've been takin’ down the last few nights.

Once I get a fix on one a the punks I get movin’ a bit faster toward him. Closer I get, the better I hear him, and I'm finally catchin’ hints o’ cologne mixed with burnt in gun powder and... napalm? Silverburg's hired some serious dudes fer this one.

After a few more seconds o’ this low level tracking shit, I finally catch sight o’ one o’ his soldier boys and he ain't like the wannabe special ops at the subway stop. Punk stands before me in a intersection, all dressed in green fatigues like a reject from Apocalypse now. He's toting around a brand spankin’ new AK-47 and lookin him over for a minute, I'm seein’ about five or more assorted weapons. Too bad none of ‘em are gonna do him any good.

I take a few steps forward and pause long enough to gauge numbnuts' reaction before closing the distance quick as I can. The Vietnam reject is my only target since I ain't gettin’ a whiff o’ anyone else close enough to be a problem just yet. As soon as I'm all but breathin’ down his neck, I clap a hand over his mouth to keep him all nice and quiet before pressing my fist into the small of his back.

His body does a good job returnin’ the favor by mufflin’ the SNIKT my claws make on the way out. The claws do a good job o’ cuttin’ deep through his spine and into chest. I figured I punctured his lungs and heart with that one. There ain't much blood and even less of a struggle as he jerks a few times against me before goin’ limp. I lower him down and drag him off to a more hidden local. I take a second to hide the body a bit better, though it ain't gonna make a difference if its found or not...

All o’ Silverburg's thugs are gonna be bitin’ the big one soon enough.

I get ready to take off when I hear the clickin’ of a handgun. Aw hell... Turnin’ around, I launch myself back at the guy I thought I just took off the board. Punks already sittin’ up and packin’ a heavy handed gun. He lets the bullets fly and I take a shot to the shoulder, blood splatterin’ out from a hole about the size of a golf ball. A second bullet cuts through my side, but none a his shots slow me down even the slightest.

With each shot he earned himself a grunt… but me? Well, what I get fer my trouble is a pretty diagonal slash down through his shoulder and out the side under his arm, cuttin’ through anything in-between. Buddy boy all but falls apart on me, spraying blood out all over the both of us. This time I make sure he's dead.

I retract the claws and give my jacket a good look over… Hell, I take a look at all my frickin’ clothes. This time I don't think a sink is gonna do much to help the case now. Everything... includin’ my favorite jacket is pretty damn covered in blood.

This time I take off right for a good hidin’ spot. These boys are professionals, I can tell from the fact that the dead dude pulled a fast one on me. He took advantage o’ me goin’ fer an attempt at takin’ ‘em all down quick and quiet. Somethin’ ain't right about these guys, though... Somethin’ I can't put my finger on.

I pick out a stack o’ two crates and climb my ass up to the top carefully. Won’t be in my best interest to knock ‘em all over... like I said, who knows what kinda contraptions Richards has got in these damn things? This Ol' Canucklehead ain't too keen on gettin sent to the Quadrahaa-whatchamacallit dimension.

I set to waitin’ fer a few new arrivals. After all... gunshots will bring anyone runnin‘. I ain't kept waitin’ for long as two outta the seven or so punks I got left come up. Hell, all of ‘em are rejects from a bad Vietnam movie. (Look Bub, it ain't easy to remember specific war movies...Talk to Cyclops fer that one.) I'm two crates above ‘em when they get under me and I'm pretty sure they ain't happy with their friend takin’ a bow out a the show. Or maybe not…

"Shit!" exclaimed the first flunky. "Someone diced the fuck out of Rodrick. This changes things, don't it McKenzie?"

"Hell yeah, Dawson. This changes the whole deal," says the guy I'm guessing is McKenzie. This guy's different. He ain't got more than one gun and there's an odd lookin’ gauntlet on his wrist. Thing looks like it's got some kinda electrical current runnin’ through it. The other guy is like his dead pal. I'm expecting ‘em to want some revenge.

"Well, thanks for the extra money, ya fuck up," says Dawson, hocking one hell of a loogy up and spittin’ it out on the corpse. "Got what you deserved, you useless prick. Ain't no one gonna cry for you."

McKenzie rumbles with laughter and kicks his dead bud. "He was just dead weight... Hell, I think the Boss was going to kill him just the same," he said, looking down to the body. "You hear that, ya bastard? You did us a favor!”

Both of ‘em get a chuckle out of that... I guess there really ain't honor among mercs these days. I lay my pack, which honestly has got to be the cleanest thing on me right now, and get ready to get the drop on ‘em. The bullet that's been painin’ me chooses then to pop out and clink off o’ the fuckin’ crate. Both o’ the thugs look right up at me and get ready to let me have it, but they just ain't quick enough. I'm already diving down at ‘em. Both sets a claws pop out with a loud SNIKT as I drop.

I cut straight across as I land in a crouchin’ position and disembowel Dawson before turnin’ to slash across McKenzie's legs. I follow up the slash with a cut up through his crotch and into his stomach.

… Or that's what I expected to happen, but the bastard actually moved. Shit! Got no idea how he did it... but the frickin’ dick got behind me! I look back just in time to catch him pullin’ back that weapon o’ his. The thing hits me square in the back and does it hard. I cry out loud and long and buddy, it ain't from the punch. Feels like something exploded in my body and as I get launched into a few crates I'm coughin’ up a ton a copper tastin’ blood.

I'm down for a minute. It feels like someone set off a grenade in my chest... lungs, heart, guts… All in general feel like they’re on Goddamn fire. What the flamin’ hell is that thing? Never seen anythin’ like it and it's keepin’ the old healing factor workin’ in overdrive. I look back at him from my kneelin’ position, covered in gore and feelin’ like I just took a shot from a tank.

This ain't what I would call the best a spots to be in. He's good, faster then his buddies, an’ all together better than the first two and he moves with a hell of a lot more ease. But he's confident... too confident and that's all I need to take him out in the next move. Once I got the inner workings goin’ again I start getting’ up. He made a big mistake... his last mistake… and that was not finishin’ me off.

"Nice shot, bub," I say, finally quittin’ the coughin’ fits. "But it just ain't enough to take care of an old dog like yours truly. What else ya got?" I add, a chuckle and a smirk fer good measure. Let him come to me.

"Yeah, you are an old dog, ain't ya?" McKenzie says. "You want more of Tank Buster? Well, you can have it!!"

He barrels forward and takes a runnin’ shot at me. I step aside as quick as my body will let me, just quick enough to dodge his attack if yer wonderin‘. I let him smash, and bub I do mean smash right into the crate behind me. The impact causes debris and sparks to burst to hell an‘ back.

As he passed me, I took a sizable chunk outta his side and when he goes for the backhand with his sparky fist I'm ready. Jumpin’ back makes it damn easy to dodge him and with a brutal downward slash I make the weapon a non-factor, his arm slicin‘ clean off. I leave him no time to think about life as a one armed punk and I delver a nice an’ quick cross cut that separates his head from the rest of his bloody body.

I don't even wait fer the body to drop before I walk back to the crates I left my pack on. Best to leave it there... I'm already a damn mess. Better to use the junk I got in there after this is all taken care of. I think it’s time I get to talkin’ with the chump in charge.

I take off movin’ around the crates, makin’ sure I ain't heard or seen and against what I'm wantin’ to do, I leave the military punks breathin‘. I'm thinkin’ the guy runnin’ this ain’t too bright. Only brought around seven dudes with him and none of ‘em could spot me even if I had a flamin’ spotlight followin’ me. Either they weren't expecting any trouble or they really think they're the best there is... By now I'm thinkin’ everyone knows who that title belongs to and it sure as hell ain't Spider-Man.

It takes a good five minutes to reach leader boy at the center o’ the place. Buddy boy's standin’ with his back to me, lookin’ like a criminal outta the old Dick Tracy movies. He's got the trench coat and fedora to match, at that. Pretty damn tall and looks to be built like the rest o’ his men.

Givin’ the area a quick scan, I don't waste any time stalkin’ up behind my new best buddy. Closer and closer I get, the stranger the feelin’ I get from this guy... Like his buddies got that burnt smell o’ gun power, but that ain't all...

Somethin’ about him just ain't right, like I was feelin‘ earlier. The way he's standin’ seems too damn familiar and his jacket ain't hanging right. I'm not gettin’ any reaction from him as I sneak up, so I ain't too worried just yet. It's gonna take a hell of a lot more then a strange feelin’ to stop me from cuttin’ his back wide open and endin’ this whole fuckin’ affair.

Once I'm within a few feet a the guy I take off fast, going to slice him to pieces and finish him off as quick as I can. As soon as I'm close enough, I hit him right up the back with a runnin’ upper cut, the claws in my right hand slashin’ straight through his trench coat with a -- the hell!? A screechin’ sound a metal against metal is all I get outta this one with a hell of a shower of sparks.

I wasn't expectin’ what I saw before me... Looks like a red, white, and blue shield on his fuckin’ back. Who the fuck is this guy!? I get ready to jump back, but the bastard's already pivoted on his foot and has a frickin’ machine gun aiming at my face. It don't take a genius to guess what happens next... I took a face full o’ bullets and catch a hell of a lot in the chest as well. The whole barrage sends me flying back head over heels and landin’ in a heap of debris from a nearby, broken crate.

This just ain't how I expected to be spendin’ the night... I'm losin’ a lot of blood, but that ain't outta the ordinary fer me and I bet my face don't look so pretty, either. ‘Course, all o’ this will heal up quick, but that don't mean it doesn't hurt like all flamin’ hell.

He's not stupid like McKenzie, due to the fact he's already stalking closer. I try and stay as still as possible, give the healin’ factor a bit o’ time to knit me back up, and I gotta admit that it wasn’t too easy to get up just the same.

While I'm layin’ there I get a good look at the guy plannin‘ me a new one. He looks like a Captain America type to me... He's got a mask like Cap’s on. Red with a white star on his eye. Punk's got on a red armored lookin’ shirt with a bigger white star on it. Whole things red short o’ the white stars and I'm gettin’ the sense of Cap offa this guy... Maybe a protégée gone bad? Who the hell knows... Ain't time fer theorizin’, anyway.

Bizarro Cap drops the coat and I got to say he's a fighter - built like one, at any rate, and from what I can tell ain't too worried about showin’ it. He takes the Cap motif a step further with that shield o’ his. Didn't cut which means it ain't a cheap knock off. I repeat...

Who the fuck is this guy?!

“I'm going to go out on a limb, little man... You must be Wolverine," flagboy says, stalking ever closer to yours truly. "I believe myself to be a respectable man, and I wouldn’t feel it was right to kill an enemy without letting him know my name. You can call me Protocide."

"Protocide?” I say, gathering myself up and getting’ to my feet. “Bub, I ain't got a clue who you are, but if yer working fer Radiato then we got a few issues discuss.“

The bullets are just starting to pop out of my body, takin’ a bit longer then usual... Meanin’ I ain't in the best a shape. But he ain't Cap and it'll be a cold day in hell before I can't teach a cheap imitation o’ Captain America a lesson or two. "How about we settle this like men?"

"No, I don't think we will... You just haven't earned the right to face me yet..." Protocide said, waving his shield in the air. "I have back up to deal with you after all"

From all around us the remainin’ men I didn't kill come runnin‘. Each armed like the rest, ‘cept fer a guy who looks more like a big Indian than a soldier... kinda reminds me of an old friend a mine. A guy who died awhile back by the name o’ Thunderbird. ‘Course if bein’ surrounded weren’t bad enough, more of ‘em start comin’ in though the lines of men. At least a good fifteen of ‘em in total. All in all... this ain't good. In fact, I gotta say... this Ol’ Canucklehead's in some deep, deep shit.

"Oh, and by the way, little man..." Protocide says, chuckling a bit. "We were expecting you. You've been set up, friend."

Set up? Who the hell coulda set me up!? No one knew I was here except... Aw hell. No, that can't be it. Mickey wouldn't back stab me in the back like this. We go too damn far back. The soldier boy’s lyin’ or he's got some explaining to do, and if he ain't willing to talk, well then… I'm gonna hafta cut it right out o’ his hide.

‘Course that might not be happenin’ just yet. Bullets are still hangin’ out in me... Keepin’ me from healin’ up fully just yet and I'm gonna need just a bit more time fer everything to mend up nice. Just gotta stall these wannabe soldiers a bit longer and then its time fer me to take ’em on a good ol’ fashioned trip to town.

"I ain't too worried about your buddies and I ain't to worried about you,“ I say, flexing my hands as the bullets start to pop out. Hurts like hell, but I’m used to it. “I've gone toe-toe with the flag wavin’ patriot, Captain America himself. You ain't as good as him and hell, you ain't even at US Agent's level, punk."

I'm close to bein’ ready fer the brawl comin‘ up, so I may as well lay out the finishing taunt. "In case ya ain't to fast on the uptake, bub, I'm the best there is at what I do - there just ain't anyone better, and that especially counts fer you."

"That so? The best there is at what you do…“ says the flag wavin’ chump, rubbing his chin. “I see, well... I think we're just going to have to see about that, won't we boys?"

Protopaste or whatever the hell he's callin’ himself looks around at his men before chuckling and motionin’ ‘em forward. I don't much like the way this is shapin’ up, but I’ve been up against far worse odds.

"I think its time for my men to test and see if you're doin’ a bit a fast talking, little man," he said, stepping back and setting his shield on his back before crossing his arms. "So, soldiers... lets show this SOB how this company does things. Teach him one helluva lesson and do it rough house style."

Once the words get out of his mouth all o’ his buds swarm in on me at once, and boy howdy, do they've got me on numbers. But ain't no one going to take me out till I find out what flag boy’s talking about. I don't give ‘em a stationary target as I take off, bolting straight for Protoplast with both sets o’ claws waitin’ to "disarm" the asshole. That’s the plan, but it doesn't quite go the way I woulda liked.

They pile in on me, grabbing and pullin’ me back, but I start dragging ‘em along with me as I charge for the Cap reject. I'm so close to him I could just about nick him and what bothers me is he ain't concerned in the least. It ain't to be, though. Punks manage to pull me away and bub, I'm not happy about that in the god damn least!

There’s a lot of ‘em and they ain't giving me too much room to move, but I start slashing like a mad man. I feel it all slipping away and I can feel my claws gutting one jackass in particular. I can feel the animal in me, tearing away, tryin’ to get out and I let my claws do the tearin’ on the outside. Each slash and cutting is another badly wounded punk, but I'm just not nailin’ ‘em fast enough. Each one I gut, amputate a frickin’ limb from, or just take large chunks out of, another one takes their place.

They've got melee weapons, too. Regulation knives and they’ve been cutting into me since it all started. I can feel ‘em all over. A knife cuts deep into my side, another set of ‘em slash open my back, and one even digs into my chest. Nothing I can't handle, ‘till the Indian stabs me right through the back, the blade popping out my stomach and the damn thing sends a charge of electricity through my whole frickin’ body... Like havin’ a stun gun go off in yer innards. Thing stuns me and it ain't the only one he's got, the second one tacking my wrist down to the docks floor once I all but drop to the ground.

Now I gotta say, this just ain't the way I wanted to spend my night. They’re pounding me but good and... wait a flamin’ minute... all o’ the punks lay off me for a minute and amid a hell of a lot of cursin’ I get the picture something just ain't right. Thought I heard something familiar and when at least a good nine of ‘em are sent off me, I know exactly who it was I heard.

I heard him again before I was able to see him. Sounds like a walking, breathing, rockslide. I take a good look up, right eye swollen shut, but I get a good look at my back up - all six feet and five hundred pounds of him. Big orange and covered in rock, Ben Grimm…also known as The Thing… has arrived to tonight’s brawl.

The whole lot of ‘em back off - well at least the ones still standin’ do - while I yank the stun knife from my wrist and, as best as I can, the knife from my back. These knives are damn fine, charged and nearly as sharp as my claws. I stab ‘em down into the ground and get myself up.

"Hey Grimm, who invited yer rocky ass to the jamboree?" I said, my wounds takin’ their time to heal up. Something about these weapons these guys are using are makin’ the ol’ healing factor sluggish. I'm guessing I look like crap, too, as all I've got left is a pair of bloody jeans and the remains of a shredded fuckin’ shirt. Bastards ruined my favorite bomber jacket and my good hat. At least I get to take the worth out in their blood.

"First and foremost, shorty, you look like a ragged an’ soaked dog,” The Thing said, punching his palm hard before chuckling. “Two, this is my old stompin’ grounds you’re hangin’ in and I ain't to happy about you bringing yer fights here. So, fill me in. Whose the punk in the flag and why the hell are they messing up FF property?"

"Short version, rockhead? The Cap wannabe and his soldier boys ambushed me while I was checkin‘ into something‘ personal," I said. "Not sure why they picked here or why their boss needs me so damn badly."

"Could be steppin’ out on a limb here, bud, but they could be here to escort ya to the ugly awards. You might even be the grand winner,” Grimm rumbled with a grin. “Now, how's about we punch a few things?"

Who the hell does he think he is callin’ me ugly? Like the frickin’ kettle callin’ the fuckin’ pot black. I shake my head and look to my best bud, Protocise, and I gotta say to his credit he ain't too raddled. He's already got nine of his boys ready to fight and I think he's about set to go himself. Still pourin’ out and the rain bouncing off o’ Grimm sounds like drops o’ water hitting shingles, but at least I ain't covered in blood no more thanks to it.

"Looks like the rapid dog brought some backup of his own, boys," Protocide said, looking around to all o’ his men. "Brought out the big bad orange monster cause he just ain’t big enough to take us on his own. Best there is my ass!"

"Bub, you are just sooo askin’ fer it," I snarl, getting myself set to cut right through all of his boys to get to him. "Benjy boy, the big boss is mine. How ‘bout you make yerself useful and stomp on a few merc heads, eh?"

Protocide sets his men in a line, blocking himself off, but he ain't countin’ on my large companion. Grimm leaps over me, his muscles sendin’ him up into the air and his fall brings him back down with crater causin’ impact on the mercs. Once he lands, I take off and use the rock pile of a man as a ramp to leap off of. Gotta say one thing fer Grimm - he's got some decent foot holds.

"It's clobbering time!" The Thing yells out, already beginning to clean house. "Come on you mooks. Thought youse chumps were supposed to be tough!?"

While Thingy smashes the Apache through his own men, usin’ him as a club of all things, I'm slashing all six claws down over Protocide's shield. Sparks fly out and I knock him back a step. He responds by takin’ out that gun o’ his and he even manages to get off a few rounds at me, but I’m already dropping down out of the way. An upper cut slash slices apart the gun and leaves me wide open - a fact he does not miss. A sharp hard kick hits me in the side a as I slash at his leg, scoring a small wound.

Protopunk follows through by cracking me across the head with that flaming shield o’ his. Stepping back, I throw a feint in the form of a slash aimed at his head and when he blocks, I give him a snap kick to the stomach.

This boys good, though. It sends him back a few steps, but he keeps me from movin’ in and buys himself some time by flinging the shield at me. Things sharper than I expected and cuts right into my side as it passes. Unlike Cap’s disk shield, it ain’t comin’ back, but while I’m distracted he comes in and starts landing hard right, left combos. He’s stronger, stronger than Cap and faster by a bit. Hell, he’s almost as good a fighter as him.

Almost.

Protocide’s keeping me off balance and the pains startin’ to set me off. The red haze sets in and I go berserk on the guy, my attacks comin’ on him faster and I’m slashing wildly, growling and in other words not doin’ shit. All I care about is opening him up and playin’ with his innards, but he’s the one doing the damage - hitting me hard and dodging me too damn well for me to keep ujp. Anything I catch him with ain’t more than superficial damage. With a hard punch to the gut, followed by a sharp knee to my jaw, he sets me up fer a Tyson worthy punch. I ain’t too happy to say that he floors me and a minute of beating later is all set to finish me off.

“The short guys with me, chump, so hands off!” yells the Thing as he launches a runnin’ punch at soldier boy. Protocide leaps over the chargin’ rock man and rolls, landing by his shield. Once that’s collected he takes a good long look around, and I’m guessin’ he ain’t too happy. All of his men ‘cept the Apache are laid out, and knife boy ain’t doing too well. Protocide seems to decide to call it a day - my bet since he knows its all a lost cause by this point - and I’m almost my feet.

“Well, hot damn boys. Seems I underestimated you, Wolverine, and your monster man-friend, too,” He said, standing up and clicking something on his belt. “HQ, ‘port all of my men still breathing and myself home.”

Hell no is he gettin’ away! Me and Grimm both charge for him, but we ain’t fast enough.

“We’ll be meeting again. Count on that, Logan,” Protocide says, smilin’ and givin’ me a mock-salute. “Next time, we’ll see who really is the best there is at what they do…”

With that said, him and his surviving boys vanish in a flash of light, leavin’ me and Grim standin’ in the pouring rain. Finally, after what was probably a good few minutes, I broke the silence.

“So, bub… how ‘bout a ride outta this dump?” I ask. “I think it’s time I found a place to stay fer the night.”

“Heh,“ Grimm responded. “As long as you ain’t stayin’ at the plaza with that wet dog smell of yers.”

"Hardy har, Grimm…You're just like a present day Carson tonight. Almost as bad as the Web Head." I say, already turning to head back into the crate maze. I do have some clothes to get back. "How about you swing yer ride around and pick me up as soon as I get my things together?"

I don't wait for an answer as I take off back toward the pile o’ crates where I left my pack. Hopefully the damn thing ain't been soaked through by all the rain. Last thing I need is a soaked set o’ unstable molecular tights and drenched spare clothes. Well, if it happens... it'll cap off the night pretty damn nicely.

Either way I backtrack pretty quickly, and find a bit of my earlier grizzly work... Rain’s washed away the blood but lets ya see the grim details in sharp relief. I give ‘em a minute o’ my time with a good look before leavin’ it all behind to climb up the crates where my pack rested. Just as I get to the top, meaning about a few seconds later, the frickin’ rain stops. I double check the pack. The duffle bag pretty much kept the water out and left my spare flannel shirt, jeans, and belt pretty damn dry, so I hoist the thing up and wait for Grimm to come get me.

I ain't waiting long though when I see him come hoverin’ down, sittin’ in one o’ those Fantasti-cars. The things pretty much silent, but I gotta ask...

"Grimm, why the hell did you have to bring yer flying bathtub?"

"Look, buddy, you’s wanna ride or what?" Ben said, crossing his heavy arms over his chest. "I mean, if yer gonna be makin’ jokes the whole ride I may as well make ya walk."

"Fine, fine…. Thing, it ain't a bathtub and I'm sure it ain't really as stupid as it looks," I say before jumping in and takin’ a seat. "Now lets blow this joint and get me to a hotel."

"Sure thing, little man. I'll get ya to an outta the way dump," Ben said, already jetting us off to wherever the hell he chose. "May have to do a bit more walking, buddy boy. I ain't in the mood to drop in on the hotel manager and spark off a "monster invasion" crisis."

"Even after all yer publicity with the Fantastic Four and everything you guys been through, you still think yer some kinda monster, Grimm?" I say, leaning back in the seat, letting the wind dry me off. "You ain't ever been a monster, bub. Not even close to one."

"What would you know about it, Wolverine? You ain't gotta mug as ugly as roadwork!" Grimm growls, taking us off further into the city. "If you ain't noticed, I look like a damn alien rock monster outta some space adventure."

"You just don't get it, do ya Benjy? It ain't the flaming outside that makes you a monster," I practically yell, putting my boot wearin’ feet up on a crate. "Hell. Just lookin’ at some o’ the mutants on the side of the angels should show ya that. Yer a good man, Grimm, on the inside yer a stand up guy and ya gotta be one o’ the most selfless outta all of us heroes. Nah, you ain't anywhere near bein’ a monster... Not like me, bub."

"What you gettin’ at, Logan?" Grimm asks, looking back at me. "I mean, you ain't pretty but ya look damn normal to me."

"Ain't what’s on the outside, rockhead. Not with me... It’s what’s inside me that counts," I say, running a hand through my hair. "The monster's inside me, clawing and tearing to get out. Always been there, always will be, bub... trying to make me into an even bigger animal then I am. It’s the person you are inside, Grimm, that makes ya who you are... me? I'm an animal on the inside, a killin’ monster and you... Well, damn, I’ll say again and again if I gotta. Yer a good man."

Grimm looks back at me again but this time he spares me the response. I'm looking out over the city, lettin’ my mind wander a bit instead of thinkin’ about what I said. After a few minutes o’ this I get changed, stuffin’ the old junk in the pack. I look at least presentable and it'll be enough to get a room. I've got the money fer the room out and decently dry by the time we get to a low end dive of a place. Grimm drops me off there.

As I'm gettin’ out I get a look at the crate. Musta been the reason why he had shown up.

"Thanks fer the lift Grimm…“ I say as I hop out of the Fantasti-car. “Think about what I said. Ya ain't a monster... not like some o’ us other costumed folk, anyway.”

"A pleasure as always, shorty," Grimm says, his gravelly voice a bit more pensive. Least I think it is. "Make sure to take care of yerself. I don't wanna have to tell yer X-Buddies how ya died in FF territory."

I give him a final thumbs up as I turn around and walk towards the hotel. I reach the door and give Grimm a short wave before goin’ in. I pretty much moved as fast as I could through all this garbage. The desk clerk was a might odd, but took my money fast and passed me a key. I gotta say by this point I'm dead tired and in a rush to get some shut eye. I grab my pack and get my ass up to my room.

After a few minutes o’ getting settled in, I find myself on my back in a pair a boxers on the bed. Been a long night. This place is pretty outta the way... it'll take one hell of a tracker to find me here, especially after cruisin‘ over the Manhattan skyline. I’m feelin’ pretty secure and before I know it, I'm out like a light in a New York minute...