This idea came upon me as I was travelling home from college today. And by the time I got home, it had fleshed out rather wonderfully. And I just had to write my first chapter! So, please review, let me know what you think! (And yeah, it's more Logan goodness!)

All I Have

Chapter 1

Get out. That's all he could think of. Get out. No matter who or what was in his way.

The room was dark, lit only by the narrow strip light above a large glass tank and an x-ray board against the bank wall. Several x-rays were upon the lit surface, showing different parts of the skeleton that seemed to have been enhanced with additional components. Around the tank stood a small group of people, each clad in pristine white coats and protective gear. A murky glow came from the tank, which was filled with some sort of chemical. Inside was a submerged body, lowered down upon a metal crate.

The group talked quietly, particularly to a man at the head of the tank, preparing some sort of machine.

"It's been a busy day," he said quietly, "but I think we can complete his left set."

The man looked down at the tank slowly, eyes trailing along one of the body's arms that was secured upon a raised plate. He pulled the machine towards him, releasing a long probe that was attached.

"Is it secure?"

"Yes, Mr. Stryker."

"Very well," Stryker lowered the appliance to the body's forearm, sharp tip being pushed upon the skin, and inside. It went deep along the top of the arm, and the man submerged in the liquid stirred slowly. With the press of a button, gurgling silver liquid began to be pumped through the tube, boiling hot. Stryker, with an air of patience and utmost care, slowly pulled the needle-like probe towards him. Hands steady and procedure unhurried. But the man within the tank had felt the pain, he screamed through the murky green liquid, but he couldn't be heard. He writhed and tugged, but the restraints would not move.

The water thrashed as the man tried to free himself from the pain, but the arm never moved once. Locked solidly in place. After agony that felt like hours, the appliance was pulled out from the skin, leaving a gaping wound that quickly began to bleed heavily.

"Take him back," ordered Stryker to his workers, "That's it for the day." As Stryker walked away, removing his additional attire, his white-coated workers flocked around the tank, unfastening the large metal restraints that forced him down. A group of armed soldiers came forth, two of them holding large cuffs. The workers raised the man out of the water, who was gasping desperately air and looked white from the pain. Faint blood stains marked his body, ones that had never been washed away, and only faded from his constant dips in the tank. Both of his hands were gleaming scarlet, but that wasn't the worst thing. From his knuckles, three silver-coloured blades sat, clean and bright.

And yet the workers did not do anything to stop the bleeding, no bandages or any other kind of medical aid. They merely held him upright as the soldiers reached forth to place the strong cuffs on. But then, as if someone had flicked a switched in the injured man's head, his eyes opened. But they were not glazed or tired. They were alert and sharp. And blazingly angry.

The people around him quickly looked up, noticing the normally unresponsive form looking down at them. Normally he ignored them. Too tired, too weak. His difference caused the soldiers to hesitate, thrown off. But that pause cost them everything. With desperation, he swung a fist at one of the soldiers, but instead of his knuckle hitting the man's head, there was an agonised scream as three gleaming blade delved deep into the man's face. From the look of shock on the attacker's face, these claws were something new.

They were not there this morning.

Gasping quietly, he spun round, the water splashing below his knees. As one, the workers turned, running with terrified cries as the soldiers collapsed on the floor with his face unrecognisable. Stryker spun around, staring through his glasses as his workers fled and the man in the tank stood naked and tall with one set of claws gleaming with fresh blood. The man turned swiftly, watching the workers run to the door. Around his neck, a metal dog tag attached to a chain swung slowly against muscular chest. It was stamped with a long numerical code and 'WOLVERINE'. His alias. His given name. Wolverine suddenly leap forward, out of the chemical filled tank, which over flowed at the rapid movement and ran through the dark laboratory.

"No!" bellowed Stryker as his creation bid for escape.

Through the door the workers had exited came soldiers, who instantly turned their guns upon the man. Bullets echoed loudly through the grimy laboratory, each one striking the large Wolverine. But he ploughed forth unaffected; swiping his new found claws at those that blocked his way. Sparing no one who opposed him. With one fell swoop of the new blades, the men collapsed in growing pool of blood. Wolverine fought through the growing opposition, throwing bodies aside, smashing them out of his way. Bones snapped, blood gushed and agonised screams came repeatedly.

When all around him were down, Wolverine spun round, scouring the room with sharp eyes. Stryker, whoever he was, had gone. Swiftly, Wolverine darted forth meeting a few more soldiers as he sprinted down the corridor. They, expectedly, shot at him, but Wolverine swatted them out of his way, stabbing the two men as he passed. He panted quietly to himself, pained with shock and injury and left feeling so lost and alone. He had no idea were he was, no idea what the claws were coming out of his body, no idea who these people were. But he had just murdered many. He turned a corner, stumbling down a long dark tunnel as he gasped and cried. His blind desperation to get out had made him do things he wouldn't normally do. He wasn't a murderer.

He came to a halt in the tunnel, raising his bloodied claws to his face in inspection. They dripped with blood, the stench horribly strong and sickening. His victim's blood. Caused by the claws he had never seen before, that were implanted into his body. His emotional turbulence reached its threshold as he closed his eyes, letting out an agonised scream of desperation. He lowered his eyes slowly, staring blearily ahead through tear-filled eyes. Ahead of him was a door. Feeling suddenly weak, he stumbled towards it, coughing quietly as he panted for clean air. His bloodied hands pressed on the cold heavy door and shoved it open, disappearing outside.

He was free.

With Christmas around the corner, jaunty songs played on the radio, leading to a tap-along with fingertips on the steering wheel. Anna Thompson guided the red, battered pick-up truck across the icy roads with a slight smile on her face as she hummed along to the tune that crackled out of her old car stereo. On the back of a truck was a large fir tree, strapped down safely as she trundled along. A cold blizzard blew through the snowy roads of Canada, howling violently against her truck as she drove against it. Her small spindly windscreen wipers rocked furiously against the oncoming snow. With the heating on the blink, she was wrapped up in thick layers. She could handle driving through bad weather; after all, she had made similar trips often over the years.

But then, the blinding whiteness before her was disturbed as she saw something move into the road. The brake pedal was slammed down, the truck screeching as it slid forward along the ice, veering to one side as it skidded. Anna fell against the steering wheel as her moving vehicle came to a halt. Pushing herself up, she straightened, peering out onto the road before her. She couldn't see anything, and she hadn't hit anything.. was she seeing things?

She shifted uncomfortably. There was been a death on this road a long time ago, and she was never particularly pleased about driving down here. It had been a car accident, and the person that died had been her mother. Reassuring herself with gentle mutters, she moved to set off again, but a sudden noise caught her attention. She quickly looked up, and saw a hand grabbing onto her bonnet; the body was out of view. Then slowly, another hand appeared, and a man pulled himself up from the road, using the front of the truck for support. He remained slightly crouched, panting to himself as he sat in the bitter cold wind.

Anna stared, feeling a sickening shudder in her gut. I've hit him.. I hit him..

She could only see the top part of his head, until he pushed himself to his feet, and she saw that he was covered in blood and was apparently naked, "My God.." she quickly pushed open her door, stumbling out onto the white covered roads. "I'm so sorry, oh God.." she quickly moved over to him as he looked round quickly, staring at her with glazed eyes. He was shivering, dark hair dotted by snow. He staggered slowly, a hand dropping down the grab the trunk bonnet once more for support.

Anna stared at him before she turned, running back to her truck where she retrieved a large thick blanket that were stored in case of emergencies. Reaching his side, she quickly forced the blanket around his naked form, fastening it tight as she tucked the rim down. "Come on, I need to get you to hospital." She tried to take him, guiding him towards her truck, but he looked confused, pushing her away.

"No.." he rasped quietly, shaking his head, "I'm not hurt. They're not wounds."

She looked up at him slowly, "What?"

"I'm not hurt," he repeated softly, "I – " he stumbled without her support, coughing quietly as he closed his eyes.

"Come on, I'm not far from home. I'm gonna get you warm at least," she urged him towards the truck, which he moved towards slowly. He didn't think things could get worse, whether this woman's aid was genuine or not, he was willing to take the risk. He didn't have the strength to refuse anymore, merely allowing himself to be guided into the truck's passenger seat. As Anna made her way to the driver's seat, he leant back slowly, pulling the blanket close against his form. Beneath the blanket, a hand clutched against the ice-cold tag that lay against his chest.

He had trekked for hours through the deathly cold landscape, trudging through the thick snow and fighting against the harsh winds. Starved and cold, he was undoubtedly weak, but he was alive. Which was more than any normal human would be after such a situation. He knew that this woman had unanswered questions. Many.

But then again, so did he.

If you're reading this, it means you've read my chapter, and this is where you recieve my greatest thanks! Please review if you feel like it, they always help.