American Civil War, Somewhere in the North - 1862

"What's your name, girl?"

"Verena De Luca," she felt small in this room, crowded by large men in uniforms.

"How old are you?"

"I'm 22, sir."

"You don't look it. You from the North?"

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, you'll be stationed here as a nurse in the medical tent. One of the nurses there will help you. Welcome to the Union, young lady."

Verena's first week was stressful, to say the least. Treating wounds of injured soldiers, bandaging, stitching, just to send them back out again. She had seen so much blood in so little time, she was beginning to grow tired of it. Until a soldier, who was hit by a cannon, came into the med tent on a stretcher. He was assigned to her, as no one thought he would make it.

She was tending to him, wrapping his chest with a bandage in hopes of securing his ribs, which she couldn't tell were broken or not. She had just finished wrapping when he woke up with a deep gasp of breath and sat up, his hand shooting for her wrist, and three long claws came out of his hand.

At the sight, she took a sharp breath. His claws, exactly like hers—three claws, made of bone, that shot out of his knuckles. They stared at each other for a moment. His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face as he looked down at his hand latched onto her wrist. After a tense beat, he retracted his claws.

"Did I hurt you?" he said, his voice low and gravelly.

Verena just stood there, staring in shock.

"Hey," he said, snapping his fingers in her face. "I asked if you're okay."

She blinked, pulled out of her trance. None of the nurses saw the interaction, the pair hidden behind a white-stained curtain.

"You're just like me," she said, an accent spilling from her lips, almost as if a melody was played on the tip of her tongue.

He chuckled, but there was a cautious edge to it, like he was testing the waters. "Ain't no one like me, kid."

Instead of responding, Verena let her claws pierce through her knuckles. She hissed at the sensation, blood slowly dripping from the spots. The soldiers's eyes darkened with a mix of curiosity and wariness. He'd never met anyone like him before, not even his brother.

For a moment, he didn't move. Then, slowly, he raised a finger and slid it along the bone protruding from her knuckles. A breathy chuckle escaped him, though his eyes remained sharp. "Guess you're exactly like me, after all."

Verena noticed his gaze drop momentarily to the small silver cross resting against her collarbone, just visible beneath the edge of her dress. It was an old, tarnished thing, a relic from her past that she couldn't quite bring herself to abandon, even as she faced this strange new reality. The weight of it seemed to anchor her to something she could barely remember believing in.

"I'm not a kid by the way. I'm 22," she said, more firmly now.

"Could've fooled me."

"The healing thing, it slows the aging process a little."

Logan nodded, but the weight of this new knowledge settled heavily on him. He had spent years believing he was a freak, an outlier in the world. Meeting someone who shared his mutation—someone who could be just as dangerous—set off every alarm bell in his mind. Trust wasn't something he gave easily, especially not to someone he'd just met. And yet, there was something about her, something familiar. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that getting too close to her might complicate things in ways he wasn't prepared for.

"What's your name?"

"Verena. Yours?"

"Logan." He offered his hand, but there was a brief hesitation before she shook it. He watched her closely, as if gauging her reaction.

"Yeah. You can lose the bandages; don't really need 'em."

"Oh, right." Logan lay back as she reached for him to unwrap the useless bandages. He kept his gaze on her, his posture relaxed but his eyes still wary, watching every move she made as she worked. He occasionally lifted his chest so she could continue unwrapping, but his muscles remained tense, ready to react if needed.

"You know, my brother and I... we've got some of the same issues as you. Might be smart for you to stick with us, maybe fight alongside us for a bit." He hesitated, the doubt evident in his expression before he added, "You got a cigar?"

She pulled a cigar from her skirt pocket and handed it to him, lighting it for him. "They said I'm not allowed to fight 'cause I'm a girl." She grumbled something under her breath in a different language.

He ignored it, reaching instead for her hair, which was quite long and curly. "That's fine. How much you love your hair?"

"Not enough to cut it, if that's what you're thinking."

"Nah, nothing that drastic. Just a trim is all."

"And what if I don't go with you?"

"Well, I guess you're stuck here. In this smelly med tent." He smirked as she wrinkled her nose at the thought. It couldn't possibly be worse outside than it was in here.

"Fine. I'll go."

Logan gave a brief nod, his smirk fading into a more serious expression. "Let's get moving then. My brother's waiting."

WWI, Somewhere on the western front — 1917

The Western Front was a hellscape of mud, blood, and fire. The sound of artillery thundered in the distance, punctuated by the sharp cracks of rifle fire. Verena crouched in the trench beside Logan and Victor, her hands slick with the blood of the enemy, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She had never experienced anything like this—the chaos, the brutality—but she had adapted quickly. She had to.

"Keep your head down!" Logan barked, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle. His eyes flicked to her briefly, a mix of concern and that ever-present wariness before he turned his attention back to the battlefield.

Victor was a few paces ahead, already tearing through a line of enemy soldiers with an almost feral intensity. His claws—longer, more savage than Logan's—gleamed in the dim light as he cut down anyone in his path. Logan moved like a predator, his claws out, slicing through the enemy with precision and efficiency. He was a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless.

Verena followed, her own claws emerging as she leaped from the trench and into the fray. She slashed at the enemy soldiers, her movements swift and brutal. The pain of the bone claws piercing through her knuckles was a distant memory now, dulled by adrenaline and necessity.

She had fought before—small skirmishes, survival in the face of overwhelming odds—but this was different. This was war, and it was unlike anything she had ever known. There was no room for hesitation, no space for fear. She was a soldier now, just like Logan and Victor.

Logan glanced back at her as they moved forward, his face a mask of blood and grime. He was assessing her, still not entirely sure if he could trust her, but in this moment, he couldn't deny that she was holding her own. He nodded once, a silent acknowledgment, before plunging back into the fight.

They fought as a unit, each instinctively knowing the other's moves. Logan and Victor were brutal, efficient, but Verena brought something different to the table—a grace that made her deadly in a way that was both mesmerizing and terrifying. She had adapted to their rhythm, found her place among them in the chaos of war.

A whistle blew, signaling a retreat, but the three of them kept moving forward, pushing back the enemy line. Logan's claws tore through a machine gun nest, silencing it with a swift, brutal strike. Victor was a whirlwind of violence, his growls echoing through the battlefield as he cut down soldier after soldier.

Verena moved with them, her claws slashing through the air, every strike calculated, every move deadly. She was no longer the girl who had been ordered to the medical tent, forced to tend to the wounded. She was a warrior, and she was with them now.

As the last of the enemy fell, Logan turned to her, his eyes dark with something she couldn't quite place—respect, maybe, or perhaps a grudging acceptance. "Not bad, kid," he muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear.

Victor smirked, wiping blood from his face. "She's got more fight in her than I thought."

Verena said nothing, just nodded, breathing heavily as she wiped her claws clean on her uniform. The war wasn't over, and neither was the fight, but for now, they had survived. Together.

WW2, Normandy, France — D-Day, 1944

The roar of engines overhead was deafening as planes streaked across the sky, dropping bombs that shook the earth with every impact. The year was 1944, and the trio was deep in the heart of France, pushing through enemy lines in the lead-up to D-Day. The air was thick with smoke and the stench of burning oil, and the ground was a hellish mix of mud and shattered bodies.

Logan, Verena, and Victor had been through wars before, but this one felt different—bigger, deadlier. The stakes were higher, and the enemy more relentless. The three of them moved through the ruins of a small village, now nothing more than a battlefield, their senses heightened, their claws at the ready.

Verena's heart pounded in her chest as she scanned the rubble for movement. She had become accustomed to the horrors of war, but the sight of civilians caught in the crossfire never ceased to unsettle her. She tightened her grip on the rifle slung across her back, knowing that in this war, there were no clear lines between the innocent and the enemy.

"Stay sharp," Logan muttered, his voice a low growl. His eyes were narrowed, focused on the mission ahead, but there was a flicker of concern that crossed his face when he glanced at Verena. She caught it, just as quickly as it disappeared, but she said nothing. He had learned to trust her over the years, though his protective instincts were never far from the surface.

Victor was ahead, already engaged with a group of German soldiers. His brutal efficiency left little for Logan and Verena to do but clean up the stragglers. He moved like a beast, tearing through the enemy with a savagery that made even seasoned soldiers hesitate.

"Move up!" Logan shouted, and Verena fell in beside him, her claws out and ready. They advanced through the crumbling streets, the sounds of gunfire and explosions all around them. Verena fought with precision, her claws flashing as she took down enemy soldiers, one after another.

Logan stayed close, his movements a deadly dance of slashes and strikes. He had seen too much death, too much destruction, but he fought on, driven by a need to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. And in Verena, he saw something of that same drive—a fierce determination that had only grown stronger over the years.

A burst of gunfire rang out from a nearby building, and Verena darted forward without hesitation. She crashed through the door, claws extended, and found herself face-to-face with a group of enemy soldiers, their eyes wide with fear. They barely had time to react before she was upon them, her movements swift and lethal.

Logan followed, his claws ripping through the soldiers who tried to flee. There was no mercy in his eyes, only the cold calculation of a man who had seen too many wars and knew what it took to survive. When the last soldier fell, he turned to Verena, a rare look of approval crossing his face.

"Nice work," he said gruffly, wiping blood from his hands. "You're getting quicker."

Verena nodded, her breath coming in short, controlled bursts. "Thanks. But this war... it's different."

Logan's expression darkened. "They're all different. But they're all the same, too. Just gotta keep fighting, no matter what."

Victor appeared in the doorway, a twisted grin on his face. "That's the spirit, kid. Plenty more where that came from."

Verena shot him a glare but didn't respond. She had learned long ago that arguing with Victor was pointless. He thrived on chaos, enjoyed the violence in a way that neither she nor Logan could ever understand. But in the heat of battle, they were united by a common goal: survival.

As they stepped back out into the street, the sounds of war still raging around them, Logan paused and glanced at Verena. "We get through this, you might want to think about taking a break. Wars like this... they change you."

Verena met his gaze, her expression hardening. "I'm already changed, Logan. And I'm not done fighting yet."

Logan didn't argue. He knew better. Instead, he gave a short nod and started moving again, Victor close behind, with Verena following, ready to face whatever came next.

Vietnam War, in the jungle of Vietnam — 1971

The dense jungle of Vietnam was a world away from the trenches of World War I and the rubble of France. The air was thick with humidity, the smell of rot and gunpowder mingling in the oppressive heat. Logan, Victor, and Verena had been through countless battles together, but this one felt different—darker, more brutal. The lines between right and wrong had blurred beyond recognition, leaving only survival.

They had been part of an elite unit, sent on mission after mission deep into enemy territory. The three of them worked like a well-oiled machine, their supernatural abilities turning the tide in conflicts that seemed unwinnable. But with each mission, the violence escalated, the horrors grew more profound, and the toll on their humanity became harder to ignore.

"Victor, basta! Stop!" Verena shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos as she tried to pull Victor away from the scene of carnage he had created. They had been ordered to clear a village, but Victor's bloodlust had taken over, and he was slaughtering indiscriminately, killing soldiers even on their side.

Logan grabbed Victor's arm, yanking him back with a force that only he could manage. "That's enough!" he growled, his voice thick with anger.

Victor sneered, his eyes wild. "They're all the enemy, Jimmy! You know that."

Verena stepped between them, her claws still extended, blood dripping from her knuckles. "This isn't what we signed up for. Questo è un massacro," she hissed, her frustration evident in every word.

Before the argument could escalate further, they were surrounded by their own men, rifles raised, eyes filled with a mix of fear and disgust. The order had come down—Logan, Victor, and Verena were to be arrested and executed for their actions.

They were taken to a remote clearing, bound in chains against wooden posts, and forced to stand before the firing squad. The air was eerily silent, the only sounds the distant echoes of gunfire and the rustling of the jungle. Verena felt the cold steel of the chains against her skin, but her thoughts were elsewhere—on the lives they had taken, the blood on their hands.

Logan's jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He had accepted their fate with the same stoic resolve he brought to every battle. Victor, on the other hand, was grinning, as if the entire situation was a joke to him. Verena glanced at both of them, her heart heavy, but she refused to show fear.

An officer stepped forward, his voice cold and detached. "James Howlett, Victor Creed, Verena De Luca—you are sentenced to death for crimes against humanity. May God have mercy on your souls."

Verena's lips twitched into a bitter smile. "Dio non ha pietà di noi," she muttered under her breath. 

The officer gave the order, and the firing squad raised their rifles. Verena closed her eyes, focusing on the sound of her own heartbeat, steady and unyielding. She didn't pray—there was no use for that now. Instead, she thought of the years of bloodshed, the battles fought, the lives taken, and wondered if this was the end she deserved.

The shots rang out, deafening in the stillness of the jungle. Bullets tore through their bodies, the force of the impact knocking them back. Verena felt the searing pain as the bullets pierced her flesh, but it was over quickly, replaced by the familiar numbness that came with the healing factor kicking in.

For a moment, there was nothing—just darkness, silence, the weight of death pressing down on her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

©️Fanofadifishman

Word Count: 2633

Translations:

Basta - Stop

Questo è un massacro - this is a massacre 

Dio non ha pietà di noi - God has no mercy for us

A/N: First chapterrrrrr on Friday as promised, not edited just a touch here and there. I feel like I was just trying to get through the first like, 5 minutes of the movie, with the cutesy little montage. Anyway, I will continue the movie accordingly. 

Love Y'all,

Allegra 💙