T+ -- Teen Plus
For readers 16 and up. May contain moderate violence, mild profanity, graphic imagery or suggestive themes.
I was planning to actually do much more on this before I went ahead on it. (Like proof read it and actually outline my plot in greater detail), but I said "F**k it, lets post this b**tch.
Two rules: Don't complain about unproper continuity or character interpertation (though character interpertation should be okay). This does have a place in continuity though. Might edit this so its better written, don't know if its okay or not.
Hopefully this is good, positive critisism is appreciated!
The Observer under the Stars
2 Days Ago
The Man called Logan was sitting on the edge of a cliff. Underneath him there was a hundred meter drop and below that a dark vibrant blue ocean, which had depths unknown to him. He didn't really care either, he wasn't planning to fall in, so it didn't bother him that much. He just sat there, a single speck in the landscape, under the bright sun, sending unrelentless rays of light down on him. Far away, the city of San Francisco was roaring. It was rush hour. Fathers were getting back home to their families, while mothers were going out to pick up their infants in school, just after having spent some time with other parents drinking lightly on cappuccinos and long bottoms. Or the other way round. He didn't really know anymore, what he did know was that the world was a much different place that it was all the while back then, when he had the privilege of knowing innocence. He could remember things now, most of them anyway. Some of them still felt distant somehow, like it had happened it a past life and not to him but Somebody else. Someone he knew quite well, but somebody different all the same. He remembered the rage and the hunt. Especially the hunt. Creeping out with his pack. Stalking his prey. Driving in the last blow. Feeling the dear take its last breaths in between his arms, feeling it striving to break free from his hold, wrangling and turning uncomfortably, till the strength to do so was no more.
And so he sat in Utopia, remembering the past and looking towards the future, as if it could be seen in the Horizon. His left hand held up a glass bottle of Heineken, dark green, glittering in the sun as much as the ocean. All around him lay more than a dozen different bottles, all coloured in the same dark green. All of the empty, with the top scattered randomly, some twisted and deformed as if they had been chewed by rats or foxes or dogs or wolves. Or even better, as if they had been chewed by a Wolverine. A rabid Wolverine.
Looking around Wolverine was happy. Not that he showed it, or even admit it. But he was happy. Even with the grimace that seemed tattooed to his face, the unshaven beard, and the scruffy hair, he was happy. He had accomplished few things in his life that he was proud of, but the X-Men was definitely one of them. He thought about recent events and how his life and all of the Mutants life had turned around. Now they were all huddled up like lambs waiting for the slaughter, hoping to survive, but knowing that the worst was yet to come. He had no doubt in his mind that he was going to pull through. Him and the rest of them. He also had no doubt it would be hard. Turning around, as if his thoughts were leading him to think about how the other were - because that happened often he though - He saw Cyclops through the corner of his eye, seemingly arguing with someone over the phone.
Wolverine smiled. Cyclops had seemingly grown into his new role, but his hard ass routine was occasionally amusing. He knew how to play it well and lots of people were starting to hate him for it. Sometimes - A lot of them - he actually over did it. He didn't see that this new "attitude" could only occasionally take him so far. He still approved - somewhat. He was trying to do the right thing and had a chip on his shoulder, which he dealt with in the best way he knew how to. Wolverine wasn't going to judge him, he wouldn't and he couldn't. He wasn't one to judge, he didn't think one that had done what he had done over his "various" lives should be allowed to judge others in such a way. Deep down he knew he wasn't to blame, but he still never could get over himself. He thought of Kurt. As much differences that the two of them had, they were still very similar to each other. As much as wolverine was afraid to admit it, the biggest enemy he had never was Victor, Anti-Mutant extremists or even the Weapon X program and its affiliates. No. It was himself.
So self-absorbed he was in thought that he never would've noticed the black sleek Jet with the notable S.H.I.E.L.D emblem on its side, hovering over Utopia, coming down at a slow, yet impressive manner. The only reason he did notice anything at all, was because Scott suddenly burst through the double doors that led from a compartment of the building to the outside, walking, but doing so in an incredibly fast manner, as if he was planning to get to the Black Jet's landing spot to stop it with nothing but his bare hands. Wolverine grabbed the last bottle and slashed the top part of the bottle off. With a SNIKT and a SLINKT he had done so, without so much as a flash of his claws showing. He drank the rest of the golden liquid in what seemed like nothing flat and set off to follow the one man he had decided had earned enough respect for him to do so.
As Wolverine treaded through the makeshift Basketball field where the younger members of the island had what little fun they had considering hundereds and thousands of people were trying to kill them. It just served to remind him of all the vile things in the world and how the world had always been rotten.
T+ -- Teen Plus
For readers 16 and up. May contain moderate violence, mild profanity, graphic imagery or suggestive themes.
WOLVERINE, THE X-MEN, BUCKY BARNES, CAPTAIN AMERICA AND ALL CHARACTERS AND SETTINGS ARE THE PROPERTY OF MARVEL INC. AND THEIR RESPECTIVE AFFILIATES. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED,THE ACTUAL PLOT IS MINE, BUT ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND ITS SETTING ARE NOT.
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