Entry 3:
It's three in the mornin' and the only thing I can do to try and find some solace is write in this fuckin' journal.
I don't dream anymore. When the eyelids shut and sleep paralysis sets into my adamantium laced bones, a dark figure sits me next to an ancient film projector in a shadowy room. Try as I might, I can't get up, can't shut my eyes. The figure steps into the light on the screen. Sometimes it's Victor. Sometimes it's Mystique... Maybe it's always Mystique? Doesn't matter.
"Which film shall we watch tonight, Logan?" they say in the most irritating tone possible, "The one where you murder Itsu? A classic. If you're in the mood for romance, we could watch some Mariko. Maybe more Jeanie? Ah, but we watch those a little too often, don't you think? We could always play the bloody murder reel..."
Somethin' inside me is trying to stir up the guilt from a life of murder, and despite every attempt I make to keep a gruff exterior, it's startin' to work. I've ruined families, ended lives for no better reason than someone told me to do it, or I was lost in a rage. Every time I decide to make things better, to strive to fix some of the damage I've done, somethin' drags me right back down to my old ways.
That's why I can't be an Avenger.
We had a meetin', somethin' about a revision of the Mutant Registration Act that is gonna effect all of the other freaks of nature and vigilantes that put on tights and try to save the world. Stark wanted to present a unified front, under his own idealism, about the superhuman community tryin' to police itself. Some of the guys there even had the nerve to offer up the X-Mansion as a school for new recruits. Shows how ignorant they are about the livin' Hell we're goin' through over there.
There will be no more mutants. Every mutant that's left, whether they like it or not, has to be cooped up on school grounds, livin' out in tents like a fuckin' reservation. Charles is gone. Scott doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. Sentinels march around the grounds. The last thing we need are some two-bit amateurs walking in with big smiles ready to learn from a dying race.
Stark proposed an internal affairs branch of our... organization, and put up Carol to be in charge of that. Turns out we needed it faster than we ever would have thought. The Crusader shows up at the Avengers mansion with a Shi'ar bomb, guarded on all sides by Purifiers. My blood was boilin' to see those sons of bitches crawl out from the wood work, but I wasn't the only one.
Things go about as expected, with Stark and Banner disarming the bomb and the rest of us fending off the crazed religious fanatics. 'Cept Moon Knight was after some blood, and crippled Crusader. Slashed him right in the spine. If the poor sod lives, he'll be spendin' the rest of his life in a wheelchair, or worse. They clap him in irons and send him off to prison.
I can't be an Avenger, because before you know it, I'll be right in the next cell. I've killed, as an Avenger. Ended the life of Griffin in our first breakout fiasco, and no one cared then. Even though that was a wake-up call, what's to say my berserker rage won't lead me to that place again? My anger is welling up, and I'm liable to burst.
Hopped on my motorcycle afterward to help Stark present his case in front of Congress. Someone had to represent the mutants, but unfortunately, the conversation never turned in that direction. Instead, Dr. Doom is showin' footage of the lot of us tearin' through Doombots and Latverians on behalf of Colonel Nick Fury. Just like my dreams, there I am again, killin', and I can't help but watch.
Things didn't turn out so bad. Congress seemed impressed with Murdock's knowledge of law and the way we handled the Spector debacle earlier. Earned us a man on our side. 'Cept, what's one voice among the majority? Usually, jack-shit.
Next, I was sent to testify for the character of Luke Cage, who was accused of murdering some of the Purifiers, according to a pretty obviously doctored bit of footage. For some Goddamn reason, someone thought it was a good idea to bring in Marc Spector to testify. The bastard got away, after makin' a pretty solid point that the Avengers are a bunch of incompetent assholes. Apparently, someone hasn't let Konshu know that I'm the best there is at what I do, and what I do isn't very nice.
Then the press showed up, and by this point, I was pissed. Really pissed. These assholes are never too far behind when controversial shit goes down. They don't learn. Apparently, a well placed 'go fuck yourself' doesn't send the message. I trashed some equipment, grabbed my bike, and went to a dirty pub somewhere to try the nightly game of tryin' to out-drink my healing factor.
I lost.
My gut is tellin' me that there's something goin' on beyond just a bunch of random events. If anyone knows about conspiracies, it's me. I've been the instrument of more of 'em than I can count on my claws. Someone's trying to strike while the iron is hot, taking down the community through the system. Worst part? One of the smartest men in the world is missin' it, too absorbed by tryin' to run his little band of kids playin' cops and robbers.
I'll let him know. I'll tell him when I resign.
For now, gonna sit on the couch with a beer and watch the news until I fall asleep from boredom. Not like anything news worthy happens in this country anymore.
-Logan
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