I've been on a real X-men kick recently, especially when Wolverine is involved. Went through Wolverine and the X-men in a couple of days, then started thinking back to X-men: Evolutions. I really liked the Wolverine from it, but there was a distinct lack of violence on his part. I mean those claws were designed to stab people.

So basically this story is born from the concept that Wolvie was really trying to hold back and be a good guy in the Evolutions story line, but it was only going to be so long before he slipped up and this is how I think it would go.

Chapter 1: It begins at the end

Pain seared through his veins, shot fiery embers from his joints and boiled like magma in his bones. All he could see were flashes of light and colour, but in between he could pick out the shapes of medical implements: a scalpel, a clamp, a needle.

The needle. He could feel that spike of metal stinging deep inside his flesh. There were millions of them, attacking his body from every angle and injecting him with their poison. He felt his mind twist and pull. Flashes of bright white light burned his eyes, the pain spreading deep into his skull. He writhed and attempted to cry out in pain, but no sound escaped his gaping mouth.

There were faces now, fuzzy and undetailed, but he could feel them leering at him. The flesh of their faces blurred into huge white grins. They were mocking him. And how could they not? He was entirely at their mercy, unable to lift a limb to defend himself.

He surged with anger. How could they do this to him? How could he let them do this to him? He had to fight back. The torment had to end.

So he pushed back hard, struggling against the red-hot pain. He fought with everything he could, even though it felt like he was moving through setting concrete. He reached out, desperate to disperse the malevolent apparitions. But all the wild striking of his arms could not make those horrible grins disappear.

One of them, he tried to rip apart. The body disappeared into smoke, but those white hard teeth remained to mock him. If he had a voice then it would have broken with the wild, ragged howl that urged itself to explode from his throat.

He struck at the grin, which had now started to laugh at him. He swiped at it, hit it, but nothing would stop that raucous noise. It filled his skull. With all the pressure he thought it might crack. The noise had to stop. He had to make it stop. He pounded at the disembodied teeth, but nothing he could do would break them.

The laughing got louder. His head started to feel dizzy. The tone was more hysterical, higher pitched, almost like screaming. He struck harder. This had to mean that he was winning. Just a little more and then-

"Logan!" a voice screamed.

He flinched at the use of his name. But no, he had to destroy them all first. They had to pay for what they did to him.

"Logan, please. That's enough," another voice burst through the deafening noise, almost squashing it completely.

The grin disappeared in a haze of red and through it he could just about see the glint of metal. He recoiled slightly. No more needles. No more instruments. He couldn't take it.

But when he took his hand away, the metal came with him. Startled, he rotated his wrist. Claws. He had metal claws coming out of his knuckles and they were coated with blood.

Oh God.

It all came back to him. He remembered who he was, what was done to him and who he was supposed to be now. And this was all very wrong.

The haze cleared, and there was a body beneath him. Although to call it that would have been charitable. In reality, it was a bloody mess; the chest mauled open and the face a mess of slash and stab wounds – barely recognizable as human.

The stench of blood filled his senses so strongly that he could barely smell anything else, but there was fear and a lot of familiar scents, along with a few that he'd never smelt before. The corpse below him, although it reeked of death, had an underlying foreign scent. So he hadn't known its owner. Thank God.

With a slight sense of relief, Logan righted himself to standing. Then he felt his heart stop cold when he realized where he was.

It was dark, but the foyer of the Xavier Institute was instantly recognizable. What were less reassuring were the black clothed bodies that lay scattered around him. All of them had been brutally murdered in one way or another, but they had a common trait: they all looked like they'd been torn apart by a savage beast.

His eyes dropped back down to the razor-sharp metal prongs protruding from his hands. They were definitely dripping with blood.

Logan had no idea how or why, but it was very obvious that he'd killed them. And that was bad. Very bad, when he considered who lived in this building.

Still panting from the exertion he didn't remember, he turned his gaze to see two of his colleagues, the Professor and Ororo, maintaining a safe distance from him. The shock on their faces pulled his stomach into knots.

Of course, the Professor had known exactly what kind of man Logan was when taking him on, but he'd hoped so dearly that the feral man would leave that kind of lifestyle behind when joining the team. He must be so disappointed. And Ororo; she'd known Logan was violent, but she'd probably never even suspected he could do something like this.

Then, of course, there were all the other scents in the room. He didn't want to look, he really didn't, but he could feel his head turning slowly against his will.

They appeared in the corner of his eye, huddled together in a fearful, quivering mass. The children. They'd seen him. They'd witnessed him ripping these people apart. Whether they were intruders, spies or attackers, it didn't matter, because they'd watched as he'd murdered them.

He swallowed thickly. All his efforts, all his restraint had come to nothing. They knew what he was now. The scent of fear almost overwhelmed the horrid stench of blood. So much so, that Logan felt something crack inside him.

Overcome by the urge to escape, he sheathed his claws and stalked past the Professor and Ororo to climb the huge curving staircase, back to his room. He tried so hard not to hear the combined intake of breath from his audience, but his heightened senses wouldn't allow it.

Once in his room, Logan slammed his hands down on the wooden dresser, feeling it splinter underneath his weight as he leaned forward to glare into its shaking mirror.

Hateful eyes stared back at him, set in a grim, blood-splattered face. His black hair was stuck together in thick strands, no doubt soaked with the crimson liquid. It spread all down his shoulders and bare chest as well. He was covered in it. Of course, it definitely wasn't the first time he'd taken a blood bath, but right now it was making him feel filthy.

Heaving himself off the dresser, he turned to look around his room. He needed a shower, he knew he did, but that urge to escape was screaming even louder. There was no time to wash off the blood. He had to get out. So he made do with picking up a white wife-beater from the bed and dragged it over his skin. By the time he was done, not an inch was left white. He let it linger in his grasp before letting it drop to the floor. His expression fell solemn and distant. If only he'd woken up sooner, if only he'd realized what he was doing.

No. It was over now. He couldn't make excuses. There was nothing left for it, he had to leave.

Hastily, he turned back to the dresser. When he opened the drawers they threatened to fall out entirely and the dresser wobbled with the impact, but he hardly noticed. He quickly dressed and started flinging clothes into a leather duffel bag.

He became vaguely aware of a presence behind him, but chose to ignore it and started to throw some personal possessions into the bag. There weren't many, mostly just a pack of cigars and the dog tags he'd taken off the day he set foot in this place. He was careful to avoid packing any mementos from the last few years. There was no point bringing up the memories he'd just ruined.

"Logan," the Professor finally spoke softly. He didn't respond, just zipped up the bag and threw it over his shoulder.

"Logan, you don't have to leave," the Professor continued.

"Yeah, I do," Logan growled, turning to face him. Charles had positioned his wheelchair close to the exit without obstructing it. Smart man.

"You were just trying to protect the children, they will understand," Xavier said, carefully weighting his words to make sure they sank in.

"No, they won't," Logan gave an exasperated sigh. Sometimes the Professor really was too optimistic. "They've seen what I am now, they know I'm a monster."

He pushed his way past the old man, stepping into the light of the hallway.

"You are not a monster, Logan," the Professor said firmly.

The feral mutant stopped in his tracks and squeezed his eyes shut. His jaw clenched as he inhaled and exhaled deeply. He'd wanted so badly to believe that was true – it was part of the reason he took on the job of a teacher to begin with – but clearly there was evidence to suggest otherwise.

"I was dreaming Chuck," he said quietly, despite the fact that the telepath had probably already worked that one out. "It could have been anyone I tore to shreds. I wouldn't have known and I wouldn't have cared. Not 'til it was too late."

The Professor held his tongue, most likely because he knew he couldn't make false promises about that not being true. Logan opened his eyes, the light of the hallway making him squint slightly.

In better circumstances, he'd have liked to thank Charles for everything he'd done for him and the trust he'd put in him. Only now the words would taste sour, so he kept his mouth shut and carried on walking.

You'll always be welcome here, Logan, the Professor's voice filled his head. It served as little comfort to know that was probably the last time he'd ever hear the man communicate with him in such a way.

He grunted and turned the corner, only to come face to face with one of the quivering students from earlier. Kitty Pryde. She looked up at him with big wide eyes, like a deer in headlights. He caught a whiff of her terror and scowled. He couldn't deal with it, not now. Barreling on, he carefully raised his gaze above her head. He expected her to move out of the way, she should have been scared enough to turn and run, so it was hardly worth looking at her as he walked past. Unfortunately, that meant he couldn't have been prepared for what happened next.

His eyes widened as a strange sensation overcame him. He almost immediately realized what it was. She'd phased through him. The use of her power left a chill down his spine and a cold empty feeling in his gut.

She'd phased through him, like he already wasn't even there, like he'd never – No. He was reading into it too much. He had to get out.

He didn't turn back and he didn't see another soul as he went to collect his motorbike. When he cleared the manor gates, the building behind him seemed to press heavily on his back, almost as if it was pushing him away. He didn't need the encouragement though. This time, when his motorbike kicked up dirt on the road behind him, it wouldn't be going back the other way.

Please review, feedback would be very appreciated, seeing as I haven't run this past a beta yet.