The First Encounter of an Unlikely Friendship
Logan was nursing a drink, a cigar clamped between his teeth, looking as unbothered as ever when trouble came looking for him.
The instigator was a massive brute, all brawn and no brains. Ignoring his friends' attempts to hold him back, he pulled out a knife and lunged straight at Logan.
A young girl who'd been watching from the sidelines shrieked in alarm.
But Logan was faster. With a quick pivot, he sidestepped the attack, slamming the brute against the wall. As he raised his fist, sharp metal claws shot out from between his knuckles, stopping just inches from the man's throat.
The crowd around them was stunned into silence, jaws dropping at the sudden display.
It was hard not to wonder how the brute had failed to realize Logan wasn't an ordinary man. Picking a fight with him was practically asking for a beatdown. But this confrontation also highlighted an undeniable truth: most of the general public harbored hostility, prejudice, and even fear toward mutants. Despite the fact that the brute had been the one to start the trouble, the bar owner pulled out a shotgun and pointed it at Logan's head, snarling, "Get out, you freak!"
This scene struck a chord with some of the audience watching on screens outside the bar.
Particularly among Black viewers, who saw echoes of their own struggles with discrimination and prejudice. Many couldn't help but sympathize with mutants, relating their struggles to their own history.
"No matter the time, these people always think they're better than everyone else. Makes me sick! Mutants are treated just like us Black folks once were. They should stand up, protest, and fight for their rights!"
"Exactly! Mutants face the same damn oppression we do. Just watch—these people will try to make them work like a slave in modern society!"
Of course, for most, this was just an excuse to vent frustrations or, for some, to jump at an opportunity for chaos. Only a few truly understood the deeper issues mutants faced, which were, in many ways, far worse than anything they'd experienced. Those who had fought hard to assimilate into mainstream society—particularly those in elite circles—saw little reason to sympathize with mutants.
Back in the bar, Logan wasn't exactly feeling patient. When the bar owner tried to intimidate him, Logan calmly extended his other hand, claws flashing out as he sliced the shotgun's barrel clean in two. The sight shocked the bar owner; his weapon was rendered as useless as a stick against someone like Logan.
Logan had no interest in escalating things further. Under the suspicious, frightened stares of the other patrons, he turned and walked out, knowing he wasn't welcome there. From his reaction, it was clear this wasn't his first time dealing with such hostility. And as mutants became more known to the public, tensions like this only seemed to be increasing.
In the parking lot outside, an old, beat-up RV waited. This was Logan's "home." With no memory of his past, he drifted from place to place, ready to leave whenever trouble found him. Settling into the driver's seat, he ran a hand over his knuckles, a distant look in his eyes.
Unbeknownst to him, a young girl had snuck onto his vehicle. She was curled up under a blanket in the small trailer hitched to the back, a rough-looking motorcycle strapped alongside her. This girl, Anna Marie, had probably figured out that Logan was a mutant, just like her. Intrigued by the similarities, she'd seized the chance to hitch a ride.
Watching from afar, Erik couldn't help but chuckle when he saw the motorcycle. "Logan, you really do love those bikes, huh? Even with your memory gone, some things never change."
Logan scoffed, knowing full well that he loved motorcycles for the sense of freedom they gave him. Airplanes, on the other hand, he couldn't stand—being trapped in a metal box high above the ground terrified him, not that he'd ever admit it out loud.
After driving for a while, Logan finally noticed the stowaway. He stopped, pulled the sleeping girl out of the trailer, and unceremoniously set her on the snowy road, ignoring her pleas to stay. Anna Marie protested, "Hey, I saved you back there in the bar!"
Logan only snorted at her words. Even with his memory gone, he hadn't fallen so low as to need rescuing from a kid. Leaving her there, he started to drive off, his characteristic coldness unshaken. But as he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw her standing alone in the snow, looking small and vulnerable, his tough exterior softened. Sighing, he braked.
Seeing this, Anna Marie quickly grabbed her bag and sprinted toward the RV. Once inside, she made herself at home, immediately asking for something to eat.
Bold and outgoing, Anna Marie was clearly a girl who could handle herself. Otherwise, she wouldn't have dared to run away from home and travel through such a frozen, desolate landscape all by herself. As they drove, the two began to chat, exchanging names. She introduced herself as "Rogue" and noticed the dog tags around Logan's neck that read "Wolverine."
During the conversation, Logan couldn't help but show a softer side. Noticing Anna Marie rubbing her hands together to keep warm, he pulled out a hand warmer and offered it to her. She flinched back, though, avoiding any skin contact.
Logan looked a bit awkward, quickly assuring her, "I'm not going to hurt you." Reluctantly, Rogue explained her unique "condition"—any skin contact with another person could harm them.
She watched Logan's hands on the wheel, ordinary-looking, yet hiding deadly claws within. Remembering what she'd seen at the bar, her curiosity got the best of her, and she blurted out, "Does it hurt… when the claws come out?"
In front of this brave and curious young girl, Logan found himself dropping his guard. Like a lone wolf coming across a gentle rabbit, he instinctively felt the urge to protect her, rather than intimidate.
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