One of Us

The Danger Room was rarely truly silent. Even when the simulations were shut down, the walls hummed with advanced technology, itching to create new battles and trials.

Logan, as he often did, stood in the centre of it all, claws out, shoulders rising and falling with each ragged breath.

But this time, something was wrong.

He could feel it under his skin, deeper than bone, deeper than his adamantium. His healing factor was in overdrive, it wasn't just repairing damage anymore, it was doing something else...

“Logan.” Cyclops stepped through the doorway with one hand raised. His visor glowed red, a thin line of warning across his face.

“Easy,” Scott said. “We can help you.” but Logan’s head snapped toward him. His eyes were wild, but there was fear beneath the fury.

“Don’t come any closer, Scott.”

Cyclops stopped. For one second, they were teammates again. Brothers in all but name. Men who had saved each other too many times to count.

Then Cyclops, perhaps on the instinctual, existential danger that Logan somehow posed fired his optic beams at Logan, preparing to take him in unconscious rather than risk what new changes had come over his fellow teammate.

Cyclops fired again and the optic blast tore across the Danger Room, smashing metal plates and sending broken concrete skittering across the floor. Logan rolled beneath the beam, claws scraping sparks from the ground. Before Scott could adjust his aim, Wolverine hit him like a missile and they crashed into the wall.

Logan’s hand clamped around Scott’s shoulder and immediately Logan knew what he did was a mistake...

Scott screamed. Logan tried to pull away, but his body would not obey. Whatever had awakened inside him poured through his fingers and into Cyclops like poison, like fire, like a geas.

Scott shoved him back and staggered away. His glove split first. Dark hair pushed through the torn blue fabric. Muscles tightened under his uniform. His breath became harsh, ragged... animal-like. He stared at his own arm as if it belonged to someone else. “What’s happening to me?” he called out, his voice already becoming deeper.

Logan’s face drained of what little colour it had.

Scott dropped to one knee. His visor flickered as his hands flew to his face. Bone cracked and shifted. Teeth sharpened. Brown hair thickened and swept upward into a feral crest. Heavy sideburns crawled down his jaw.

“No,” Scott gasped. “No, my head.”

But there was no voice to fight. No enemy in his mind, it was a biological process, each individual cell given new instructions; told to re-configure with the sheer genetic determination of Logan's regenerative factor.

With a wet metallic sound, three claws tore from Scott’s fist.

SNIKT.

The sound echoed through the chamber like a verdict.

Logan stepped forward slowly, horrified by what he'd done. “Scott…”

Cyclops looked up. His visor was cracked, red light leaking through the broken glass. His face was still Scott Summers, but rougher now, wilder, reshaped by Logan’s regeneration.

“I’m still Scott,” he said.

His voice trembled.

Then his claws flexed.

He rose to his feet.

“But this…” Scott looked down at himself, at the torn uniform, the hair, the claws, the strength flooding through him. His fear faded into something darker. “This is me now.”

Logan said nothing, what could he say?

For the first time in years, he looked truly afraid.

Scott stepped beside him, holding the shattered remains of his visor in one hand. Two Wolverines stood in the wreckage of the Danger Room: one born to the beast, one remade by it.

From the doorway, another X-Man’s shadow appeared.

Logan turned and his claws gleamed.

Scott smiled.

“Together?” he asked.

Logan’s eyes narrowed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Together.”

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As I said before, I always come back to any of the messages sent to me for when I get a decent result, and here's one of them.