It's a funny thing, forgetting. I've had the misfortune in my life to forget a lot. I've killed people, I've been killed, I've been experimented on, escaped, brainwashed and controlled. But it all comes down to forgetting. Because as the years went by, I lost more and more of myself until I didn't know what was a legitimate memory and what was an illusion. It's no fun, but your mind learns to deal. It bends and contorts, stretches out and patches empty spaces up. And the ending result is the illusion that you're insane.

I might possibly be insane. I don't think so though, because I am completely aware of how strange it sounds when I say my more insane comments. I think it's more that I have a bunch of personalities. One might be my original one, the others are a result of a hard-knock life.

I'd been walking around in a haze for I didn't know how long. I had fought a few more wars, killed a few more people and even died another time or two. But I always managed to remember two faces. And eventually I found my way to New York to a little school for mutants. And guess who I found there?

James Howlett. Except he goes by Logan now. And he was in a similar boat as me. Except admittedly a little better off. He was in a cushy school teaching. I laughed out loud at that one. The world's greatest assassin teaching? But he was. Logan never had a thing for killing, not like his brother. Well, we had a chat about or pasts. I neglected to tell him that Creed was his half brother after he told me he had killed him a few years back. Some things a guy is happier off now knowing. Turns our Creed left Stryker and joined a mutant terrorist group with that purple-haired bitch. Then he told me that Stryker too was dead, though not directly because of him.

He showed me the metal that ran through him now and we compared notes on being human experiments. He had memory loss too, but luckily I remembered stuff about him, and he remembered some stuff about me. Ironic. So that's how I ended up living semi-contently at this school, dividing time between teaching combat with Logan and hitting on this pretty mutant codenamed Storm. She didn't like me too much, but eh, it passed the time.

Purely by coincidence I asked her where she was from one day. She told me she was from Wakanda. And for some reason, that simple answer started the wheels in my head turning. Wakanda. I had been there. I knew people there. There was something important about Kenya. Logan, who pretty much dealt with the same crap I did, figured out I was having some sort of memory flash back and offered to go with me. And because the hottie Kenyan mutant Storm (aka Ororo) missed Africa, she said she'd come too.

Which is why I am now sitting in this giant black jet, chuckling to myself at the sexual tension between Storm and Logan and wondering whether or not I'll find anything here. It's already been a few days, and while it's pretty here, it's not doing too much for my memory. That is until we go into a little village and find out that one of it's leaders just died. His name was Mhina.

And I figure out I know that name. And I ask about him. His wife, they tell me, is still alive. They say she moved back to her childhood home. They say she has family there. And it takes me ten seconds to decided that I need to go see her. Because this is something big. Logan just shrugs, Ororo gives me an encouraging smile and we take off in a little rickety jeep. It's rolling and pitching on the unpaved roads and I tease Logan about how he's about to throw up. He hits me in the leg with an admantium laced fist. I shut up for about five seconds. I've got a high pain tolerance.

We roll into this little city. It looks familiar. I hop out and a tubby old guy comes out to greet me. He looks thrilled; there's this huge smile on his aged face, like a walrus bearing it's tusks. Gary. I remember him. I smile back and we chat. He's thrilled I'm back. I've missed so much. Who are my friends? I barely get a word in edgewise before he turns on my buddies and Logan grunts his responses while Ororo answers politely. I'm not really paying attention. Because the back of a woman's head is distracting me.

I look harder. She's young with dark hair that goes down her back in huge curls. She turns around and I think, "Akina." But it's not her. She's too young. But it looks like her. And then two men join her, familiar looking also. And I remember the kids.

They run up, they look stunned too. The girl doesn't remember me too much, but the boys do. We talk and then I'm asking for their aunt. Because I think I've figured out what this place means to me. They take me to her. She's with their mom they say. Their Uncle just died a few months back. They had been married for 12 years. And I know how long I've been gone. 12 years. Which is a damn long time. You miss a bunch in 12 years. But I think it'll be alright. I notice that one of my personalities seems to have retreated on this trip. In fact, my thoughts seem to be dominated by one voice. It's quiet up there and I almost miss the fights the voices use to have. But Logan and Ororo are fighting about something stupid behind me, so that works.

Two women come out of a room, looking confused. They are older, but still beautiful. One older than the other, her hair still jet black and long, but her faced a little more lined, her skin a little less smooth. She looks up at me and gasps.

Kioni. I say her name before my mind even registers the thought and she's throwing herself into my arms and Logan is chuckling behind me and Ororo is sighing like girls do when they think something is cute. Akina is hugging me too and asking me about how life has been. I wish I had something good to tell them, but I settle on joking around and they buy it, at least for the time being. And then we eat and there are introductions. Kioni has three kids, all pretty young still. And then I find myself alone with her.

And she tells me it took me long enough to get back here. And I told her how I nearly forgot. She tells me she's glad I remembered. And then we stare at each other awkwardly. Then I kiss her. And I remember a lot more now. I remember that night, I remember my promise, the kids, the attack, I remember it all. And I remember not remembering, then remembering again and a whole bunch of weird, way too deep shit.

And I push her backward across a familiar bed and make up for lost time. And it's every bit as good as I thought it would be 12 years ago. Hell it's better. And she's almost asleep in my arms, but she whispers a question.

"What are we going to do now?" And I just kiss her again. Because hell, we can figure that out in the morning. For now I'm just glad I'm back.

I'm just glad I remembered.