Wolverine is the property of Marvel Comics.

I finally get back to my place and start peelin' my clothes off. I curse at the sight of bullet holes that have riddled my shirt. Punk ass kid. Gonna have to go shoppin' again soon. Damn, do I ever go through clothes. I'm achin' all over as I feel my body dealin' with all the lead that McLaurence pumped me with. Shirtless, I head for the bathroom, recountin' the day's events. Poor kid. If only I'd gotten there sooner, I might have been able to get to him before those bastards injected him with whatever that stuff was. And what the hell happened to that big, ugly mook I followed in there in the first place? Like he just disappeared.

I can't even remember what happened in there... one minute I'm takin' a couple guards down quiet like, then I smell the kid's scent of death, and the next thing I remember is bodies all aroun' me, everybody dead. I remember the syringe that I shoved in my pocket from the lab. Reaching into get it, so I can stick it on the counter, I feel a shard of glass slice a deep gash into my fingers, and yank my hand back out. The wound is already healin' up. What the hell? I gingerly reach back in and pull out what's left of the shattered syringe. I look at my pants. Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch! There's a bullet hole straight through the pocket of my jeans. I can't believe he shot me there. I grab a Ziploc bag, and pick the rest of the glass and the needle out of my shredded pocket. Maybe McCoy'll still be able to make something out of it.

I can feel my blood starting to boil already. Gotta tone it down... no time to lose control again. I decide to screw the shower. If I stink, I stink. Damn it all. Calm. Gotta stay calm. Why haven't I ever been able to keep this under control? Definitely not time for a shower. Need to meditate. Need to figure out the next move. I drop my pants, and strip naked. I light some candles around the place, and fold my legs, so that I can begin to settle into myself. Find myself... Understand...