To Logan, there was never a question of fight or flight. There was only one option. The smell of fire still clung to his nostrils, and the metallic taste of blood lingered on his tongue. His heart flooded with adrenaline, jolting back to life as a needle pierced his skin. In less than a second, he was on his feet, muscles coiled and ready. Instinct took over: he spun, grabbing his attacker by the throat, slamming them against the nearest wall. His other hand poised his claws dangerously close to their face—all before his mind could fully process what was happening.

He took in his surroundings, eyes darting frantically across the room. White walls, sterile chrome surfaces—some kind of medical facility. His nerves buzzed, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations. Then he heard a gurgling noise. His gaze snapped back to his attacker, and he froze.

The person he was holding wasn’t much of a threat—just a young man, barely out of his teens, with strikingly blue eyes that stared back at Logan with a mix of fear and intensity, like he could see straight through to his soul. His pitch-black hair and ashen skin gave him an almost ghostly appearance. Logan’s instincts screamed at him to act, but he hesitated, his mind spinning with questions. Where was he? How did he get here? Who were these people?

He sensed movement behind him. Without a second thought, he released the boy, who crumpled to the floor, and turned, claws at the ready. A tall redhead stood there, hands raised ,palms facing him. She reeked of mutant power. They both did.

“It’s okay, Jean. Leave him be,” the boy said from the floor, his voice strained but calm. He held up a hand as if to shield himself. Logan felt the air crackle with tension, caught between two powers.

“Logan,” a voice echoed in his mind, older and calm. He hated it instantly.

Logan wasn’t familiar with the idea of retreat, but he knew when to tactically withdraw. He bolted out of the room, through a massive, round door, and into a long, futuristic hallway bathed in neon lights. He ripped off the heart monitor stickers clinging to his chest with a huff of annoyance. Even without a visible enemy, he knew he was being watched. Hundreds of scents hit him all at once, an overwhelming assault on his senses.

“Where is he going?” came a whisper, almost lost in the air, but Logan’s ears were sharp.

He slipped into a side room. It looked like a closet of sorts, lined with strange leather suits, each emblazoned with a large “X” on the chest. Next to them were racks of athletic gear. Logan grabbed a hoodie marked with another “X” and slipped it on. Whoever these people were, they were dangerous. Mutants or humans, he didn’t trust either. Everything here stank of power and blood.

He cautiously stepped back into the hall, eyeing another large door ahead. This one also had an “X” etched across its surface. The voice returned, more serious this time: “Where are you going?”

Logan pressed himself against the wall, muscles taut, eyes locked on the door. Something beside him buzzed and slid open—a bullet-shaped elevator, its interior lined with white leather.

“Over here,” the voice whispered, beckoning him. With no other choice, Logan entered. The doors shut with a mechanical hiss, the cabin shot upward, and, moments later, the doors slid open again, revealing a wood-paneled hallway filled with vintage furniture, wooden beams, and warm lantern light. It was like stepping into another world.

“This way,” the voice encouraged softly. “He’s over there.”

He could hear footsteps approaching. Kids. A group of them came running down a staircase, laughing and chattering, oblivious to his presence. What kind of place was this? His ears pricked at the sound of a door opening nearby, and he moved, slipping behind a beam for cover. When the door closed, he felt eyes on him again.

“Good morning, Logan,” said the same voice from his mind, now spoken aloud. Logan turned to see an elderly, bald man behind a large wooden desk, surrounded by a few teenagers who leaned forward to get a better look at him. The man continued as if Logan’s sudden appearance were completely natural. “I’d like your definitions of weak and strong anthropic principles on my desk by Wednesday, all right?”

The teens nodded and started to leave. Logan watched as a young girl, having forgotten her bag, turned back. “Bye, Professor,” she said shyly, walking through the door as if it were an illusion. Logan’s eyes widened. What the hell?

“Physics,” the man explained, holding up a book with the same title. “I’m Charles Xavier. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Where am I?” Logan growled, ignoring the question. He was still squinting around, trying to make sense of everything he was seeing.

“Westchester, New York,” Xavier replied, rolling toward him in his wheelchair. “You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention.”

“I don’t need medical attention,” Logan huffed.

“Yes, of course,” Xavier said, ever so calm.

“Where’s the girl?”

“Rogue? She’s here, she’s fine.”

Logan didn’t believe a word. Before he could push further, the door swung open, and a woman with hair as white as snow entered. “Ah, Logan, I’d like you to meet Ororo Monroe, also known as Storm.” She nodded in greeting as a tall man with a visor that emitted a faint red glow stepped in behind her. “And this is Scott Summers, also called Cyclops.”

Cyclops offered a hand, but Logan ignored it. He didn’t like him already.

“They saved your life,” Xavier emphasized as two more figures stepped in behind them. The redhead avoided Logan’s gaze, but the blue-eyed young man from earlier met it directly, his stare unwavering.

“I believe you’ve already met Dr. Jean Grey and my son, Dr. Benjamin Xavier.” The professor smiled softly as the young man directed his gaze to him fondly. “You’re in my school for the gifted. For mutants. You’ll be safe here—from Magneto.”

Logan frowned. “What’s a Magneto?”

Xavier remained patient while cyclops looked at Benjamin. “A very powerful mutant who believes a war is coming between mutants and humanity. I’ve been tracking his activities for some time. The man who attacked you is one of his associates, called Sabretooth.”

Logan couldn’t help but chuckle at how absurd it all sounded.

“Sabretooth?” He echoed, then glanced at Storm. “Storm?” He clicked his tongue and turned back to Xavier. “What do they call you? Wheels?” He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He turned to leave, but Cyclops blocked his way. Dangerously calm, Logan eyed him. “Cyclops, right? You wanna get out of my way?” He shoved the taller man, who merely glanced back at Xavier, awaiting instructions.

“Logan,” Xavier’s voice was gentle, probing, “it’s been almost 15 years, hasn’t it?”

Logan froze. “Living from day to day, moving from place to place, with no memory of who or what you are.”

“Shut up!” Logan snapped. The old man wasn’t supposed to know that. Nobody was.

“Give me a chance,” Xavier urged. “I may be able to help you find some answers.”

“How do you know?” Logan’s voice was raw, breathless.

“You’re not the only one with gifts,” Xavier’s voice echoed in his mind again—the very voice that had led him here.

Logan glared at him, still trying to grasp where he was and what this place was about. “What is this place?”

The Professor looked at his son.

“Benji, would you be so kind and show Logan around?”

The young man nodded. “Of course”

-X-

“Jean, Storm, Scott, and I were the first students here,” Benji said, leading Logan across the sprawling school grounds. The place was alive with youthful energy—kids playing, laughing, and challenging each other in friendly competitions. Mutant abilities were on full display: a girl levitated several feet above the ground while reading a book, a boy sprouted flowers along a garden path with every step, and another kid flashed by in a blur, racing against the wind itself. As they passed, the children greeted Benji and the other older mutants with waves and bright smiles.

Logan had never seen anything like this before. They seemed safe, unbothered by the hatred and fear the outside world held for people like them. It was like they were perfectly shielded from it all. Almost as if sensing his thoughts, Benji continued, “The Professor took us in, protected us, and taught us how to use our powers. Now we do the same for these kids.”

Logan frowned, his gaze settling on a group of children who looked no older than ten. “They’re all mutants?”

Benji nodded. “Every single one. Most are runaways—kids who found their way here or who we found. For many, this is the first real home they’ve ever known.”

A young boy suddenly appeared beside Benji with a pop, teleporting directly into his arms. Logan watched as the two shared a conversation without words. Benji chuckled softly and lifted the boy, carrying him a few steps as they continued walking. Inside the school building, he set the child down gently in one of the corridors and nodded for Logan to look through a nearby glass door.

“Some of them have powers so extreme they’re a danger to themselves or others,” Benji explained, his voice dropping to a more somber tone. “Like Rogue. She’ll never be able to have physical human contact, but at least here, she can grow up with kids her own age. She can learn and live, just as accepted as everyone else.”

Logan’s eyes found Rogue through the glass. She stood a bit apart from her classmates, but there was a softness in her eyes as she accepted a delicate rose sculpted from ice, a gift from a boy standing shyly in front of her.

“What happens to her?” Logan asked, his voice quieter, almost hesitant.

Benji shrugged, a wistful look crossing his face. “That’s up to her. She could choose to rejoin the world as an educated young woman, live among humans, or stay on here and become a teacher herself, joining what the kids affectionately call the X-Men. I always hope for the latter. We could use all the help we can get. And it’s never easy letting them go.”

He sent a small wave toward Storm, who was currently teaching the class, and she returned it with a faint, knowing smile. “Usually, I’m the one teaching history,” Benji added with a soft chuckle. “But I had a feeling I’d need a substitute today.”

Logan glanced at him, noting the warmth in Benji’s eyes. It was a kindness that seemed out of place for a man who had seen the darker side of the world. It made Logan feel uneasy, not used to being so welcomed, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He also didn’t quite know what to make of these “X-Men,” especially the Professor and his son. Every time Benji looked at him to point out some detail about the school, it felt like being caught in a spotlight—those blue eyes sparkling a little too much for Logan’s comfort. And yet, he found himself listening carefully, not daring to interrupt.

After a brisk walk through the hallways and classrooms, they came to a stop in front of a nondescript wall. Benji pressed a hidden panel, and a concealed elevator door slid open. “Maybe you’ve noticed, the school is just a front. The real work happens down below,” Benji said with a small, almost shy smile as they stepped into the elevator. The small space was tight, and Logan was relieved when the doors finally opened again, revealing a long, sterile corridor bathed in white light.

“This is the X-Men base,” Benji said as they stepped out. He nodded toward a hallway branching off to the left. “Over there, you’ll find the locker rooms—where you snagged that hoodie from my locker.”

Logan glanced down at the oversized hoodie he was wearing, realizing it wouldn’t fit Benji’s leaner frame. “Doesn’t look like your size,” he muttered.

Benji’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he quickly added, “Don’t worry, you can keep it. I have plenty more.” His awkward smile was strangely endearing, and Logan couldn’t help but puff out his chest a little as he continued walking.

“So, you’re an X-Man too?” Logan asked, his tone almost mocking as he eyed Benji up and down.

“One of the first,” Benji replied, his posture straightening with pride.

“What’s your power?”

Benji’s lips curled into a mysterious smile. “That’s something I might show you later.”

They stopped in front of a large, round door. It slid open with a hiss, revealing a spacious room made of gleaming metal. In the center of the room stood a sleek, futuristic jet, its wing stretching wide like a bird poised to take flight. Beneath the wing, the Professor waited, a welcoming smile on his face.

“What do you think?” the Professor asked as they approached.

Logan snorted. “I think it’s all pretty damn ridiculous.”

The Professor chuckled softly. “That’s certainly one way to put it. I thought the same when I first realized I had powers.”

He glanced at Benji, who grinned back, then turned his attention to Logan. “When I was a boy, I discovered I could control people’s minds—make them think or do whatever I wanted. When I was seventeen, I met a young man named Erik Lensherr. He, too, had a unique ability—he could create magnetic fields and control metal.”

Logan, who had been wandering around the room, stopped dead in his tracks, raising an eyebrow. “You’re telling me there’s a guy out there who can control metal?”

The Professor nodded. “Believing that humanity would never accept us, Erik grew angry and vengeful. He became Magneto. There are mutants out there with incredible powers, Logan, and many do not share my respect for mankind. If there’s no one to oppose them, humanity’s days could be numbered.”

He paused, his gaze piercing into Logan’s. “I’ll make a deal with you. Give me forty-eight hours to find out what Magneto wants with you, and I promise we’ll use all our resources to help you piece together what you’ve lost—and what you’re looking for.”

Logan stared back at him, feeling the weight of the offer. He had nothing to lose and nowhere else to go. “Deal,” he grunted.

Suddenly, the idea of the X-Men didn’t seem so ridiculous after all.