Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Wolverine's Post M-Day Journal - Entry 1

((Hey, readers!

Being an aspiring writer and a huge nerd, I've decided to supplement my Civil War summary posts with in-character journal entries. Have fun!))

Entry 1:

I really shouldn't be doin' this.

It ain't smart puttin' personal information in an easily compromised place, especially when you've made as many enemies as I have over the years. The wrong guy gets a hold of it and they can make your life into a living Hell.

'Cept, I ain't too worried about Hell, so fuck it. After I got all my memories back by some quirk of chance after Wanda had her way with reality, I've been pretty paranoid of losin' 'em again. If I keep track of what's been goin' on and keep it safe, maybe, in the future if Weapon X drags me back and wipes my mind away, I'll have a way to remember.

But who'd want to remember this?

Wanda Maximoff fucked up all of reality, makin' it so mutants are now an endangered species with millions of us losin' our powers. Now instead of fightin' to save those who hate us, they've got us all cooped up on a reservation guarded by fuckin' Sentinels. Summers doesn't have the spine to do anythin' about it. Sometimes I don't blame him, but lookin' out the window and seeing those bastards keepin' us from leavin' sets my blood to boilin'.

Guess I've got a perverted kind of luck. Still got my powers, otherwise I'd be dead. And, unlike the rest of 'em, my status with the Avengers gets me a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card from the mansion whenever I'd like. I've taken the trip from Westchester to New York more times than I can count in the last six months. Stark owes me gas money.

They're a decent bunch. Put up with me, so that's somethin'. Cap and I go way back, pretty literally. Web-head and I have teamed up more than I'd like to admit, and we work well off each other. When Ben's not hangin' with F-Troop, he's a good drinkin' partner. Same with the God of Thunder. Haven't worked much with Tigra in the past, but I've got to admire a woman with the kind of feral ferocity she's got bubblin' under the surface. Banner's a good guy, when he's not green. Some of 'em get under my skin, though. I don't trust Jessica. Don't like her smell. Always got those pheremones floatin' around, makes my nose burn and my head spin. And a guy could respect Knight's self-righteous quest for vengeance, but the man won't shut his yap. Stark owes me gas money.

So, the minute I stumble into the tower after a long drive from the Mansion, it's time for work. And not the kind of work I like. Bill Foster was sick and goin' on a rampage in the middle of the city and we had to knock him down a peg.  Wasn't too hard, just had to knock some sense in to 'im. That was mostly Stark's job, blastin' the guy with a fully-charged blast after bluffin'. Then the press shows up, which was my cue to leave. Took care of it with all the grace and civility the team has come to expect.

Told 'em to fuck off.

I didn't go straight back to the tower after that. Wasn't interested in watchin' the smart guys poke and prod a giant, and wasn't exactly willing to sit around the Tower watching TV and drinkin'. I was willin' to sit around a bar that smells like piss to drink adn watch TV, however. Took my bike to one of my favorite dives in the area and blew off some steam. I know the 'tender, usually gives me a decent price. Beer isn't bad. Place is quiet enough.

Thought a little bit about whether I really belonged on the Avengers. I ain't used to being a public face of heroism, hence why I avoid the press any chance I can. Bein' the only mutant on the team, I'm representing all of mutant-kind, and that's a responsibility I never asked for. Can't change who I am, but I'll be the first to admit, flipping off reporters and slinging curses on camera ain't the way to change the world's opinion of us.

But, I figure if Daredevil and Moon Knight belong here, maybe the standards of membership have been taken down a few notches.

Eventually, I made my way back to the tower just in time to see the team come back from a lab bust. Banner went on another rampage, which I've come to expect. We can only keep a leash on that monster for so long, which is probably one of the reasons I'm still kept around. Not many people have gone toe-to-toe with Jolly Green more than I have. All the evidence was destroyed, and Iron Man had taken off for a bit.

Hell, don't blame him.

Before the night was over, we loaded up on the Quinjet and took off to Oklahoma to be security detail for some landing site. I've been there once or twice in my long life, never for long or for a good reason. Gonna have to chalk this trip up to that list. Note to self: borrow the Blackbird and show up Ben Grimm at the next available opportunity.

Maria Hill decided to take an interest in our activities of the evening. That woman puts a sour taste in my mouth, and she owes me. I could have ended her life, and I had every good justification to do so. Somethin' held me back, the little voice of reason in the back of my head that reminds me that I ain't an animal. Sometimes it's Jeanie. Sometimes it's Chuck. Sometimes it's even fuckin' Slim. I don't always listen, but that night I did, and Hill better thank whatever God she believes in that I did.

Wouldn't you know it that shortly after we arrive, seein' a giant sword that fell out of the sky, Victor Von Doom and an army of his toys flood the field. After a night of self-doubt and bad moods, that was exactly what I needed. Rather than take Doom head on, I charged the field of Doombots and went to work. Nothin' beats the feelin' of taking down an army, seein' the bodies fall, hearing the sparks crackle and die as your claws tear the material to pieces. Thor was havin' even more fun than I was, probably for the same reasons. Seein' something from your old life sittin' out there as plain as day, ripped back into your consciousness, makes you want to beat somethin'.

Before you know it, the whole force of Avengers is attackin' the man in charge. Murdock took a hard hit, losin' his sense for a moment or two. Still, Doom was distracted by all of the elements at play coming at him from every direction, in every way possible. Even a genius of his level can lose focus, and I took the opportunity. In the midst of the chaos, I was a ghost in the night, tracing shadows, eyes following his, nose keeping track of his stress. At the absolute moment when he was lost, a split second or more, I darted and dug my claws into his back.

By that point, he was gone. A Doombot stood in his place, mechanical and cold as I tore out it's spine and wired entrails. And I was mad.

Before we left, Thor and Moon Knight tried to claim the twisted sword as their own. They failed. It crossed my mind that a samurai like myself would do well with a sword, and that my force of personality and appetite for destruction were more than enough to keep a harbinger of the end of the world at bay.


Adamantium claws trump Asgardian weapons any day of the week, especially in my hands.

I spent the rest of the night fixin' up the bike, and that night I dreamed of Itsu. And Jeanie.

Billy Joel said it best. Only the good die young.



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