Chapter 3
The campfire crackled below, spitting sparks into the frozen night. Logan slid through the treeline like smoke, low and silent, his breath a mist that vanished before it could betray him. Four men. One leader. Five heartbeats hammering steady in the dark. He tracked their rhythm, memorized it, let his sharpened senses line up the kill like a predator circling its herd.
The nearest guard shifted, stamping his boots against the cold. Logan smelled the cheap tobacco before he saw the glow of the man's cigarette. Easy prey. Logan crept close, crouched low, claws sliding out with a wet metallic snikt.
The guard didn't even gasp before Logan's hand clamped over his mouth and the blades punched clean through his chest, hot blood steaming against the winter air. The man twitched once, then sagged. Logan lowered him gently into the snow, already moving.
"Enemy attack!" another mercenary roared, his rifle swinging up.
Logan was on him before the man's finger found the trigger. Reflexes snapped like lightning down Logan's nerves. He sidestepped, claws flashing silver in the firelight, and slit the merc's throat in one fluid motion. A gurgle, a spray, and then silence as the man collapsed clutching the ruin of his neck.
Two left.
The third man panicked, fumbling with his rifle, shouting, "Talon! We've got—"
Logan's boot crashed into his chest before he could finish. The merc flew back into the snow with a crunch of ribs. Logan's claws came down hard, punching through his gut and pinning him to the ground like meat on a skewer. Logan leaned close, eyes burning gold. "Shoulda stayed home, bub." He yanked his claws free, leaving the man writhing, and spun toward the last.
The fourth merc didn't hesitate — he fired. Bullets ripped through the camp, tearing bark from trees, sparking against rock. Logan zigzagged, reflexes faster than thought, the world slowing into bullet-time clarity. He could see the muzzle flashes, trace the path of each round, twist just far enough to let them hiss past his ribs. By the time the merc paused to reload, Logan was already there.
"Too slow." His claws slashed across the man's chest, shredding body armor like paper. The merc fell, lifeless before he hit the snow.
That left one heartbeat. One voice. One man.
Iron Talon.
---
The leader stood at the fire, gauntlets glowing blue with pulsing energy. He didn't flinch as his men died screaming around him. Instead, he flexed his hands, the light rippling up his arms like living current. His face was scarred, one eye clouded white, the other sharp with soldier's discipline.
"So they sent you," Iron Talon said, voice low, metallic under the hum of his gauntlets. "The government dog. Weapon X."
Logan bared his teeth in a grin. "Funny. Don't feel much like a dog tonight. More like a wolf."
The gauntlets crackled as Talon raised them, arcs of energy snapping in the cold air. "You'll find I'm not as easy to gut as those men. I've killed better than you."
"Yeah?" Logan circled, claws out, muscles coiled tight. "Then let's test that theory."
---
Talon lunged, fists swinging wide, the gauntlets releasing a concussive blast that shook the ground. Snow erupted in a white explosion, trees groaning under the shockwave. Logan dodged left, body reacting before his brain even caught up. Reflexes faster, sharper, like every nerve had been wired to a predator's instinct.
He closed in, claws flashing for Talon's throat, but the mercenary blocked with a gauntlet. Sparks screamed as metal met metal, the claws scraping hard against glowing steel. For a heartbeat, neither gave an inch.
Talon grinned through the clash. "You're strong, Weapon X. But strength isn't enough." He shoved, energy flaring, and Logan was hurled back across the camp, skidding through the snow.
Logan spat blood, rolled to his feet, and grinned. "Strength ain't what I'm testin' tonight, bub."
He lunged again, this time weaving through the gauntlet swings with uncanny precision. Talon's strikes were fast, but Logan's reflexes — his new reflexes — let him see each move before it landed, ducking under one, twisting past another. The claws slashed across Talon's side, tearing fabric and drawing blood.
Talon staggered but didn't fall. He raised both fists, slamming them together. The gauntlets roared with energy, forming a crackling shield of blue force around him.
Logan chuckled, low and feral. "Ain't that cute. You think hidin' behind toys is gonna save you?"
He pressed forward, claws hammering the shield again and again. Each strike screamed like nails on glass. Sparks flew, blue light flared. And then — with one final swing — his claws punched through.
The shield shattered in a burst of light. Talon cried out, stumbling back as one gauntlet sparked violently.
"You—" he coughed, blood spattering the snow. "What the hell are you?"
Logan's eyes gleamed wild in the firelight. "I'm the one they send when they want the job done."
His claws plunged into Talon's chest, carving through the man's defenses, tearing the air with the sound of rending flesh and sparking metal. Talon gasped, staggered, and finally fell, the gauntlets flickering dim before shutting off.
Logan stood over the corpse, chest heaving, claws dripping hot red against the white snow.
---
He crouched and pried the gauntlets free, shaking blood from his hands. They were heavy, humming faintly even without Talon's strength. Department H wanted them back. He didn't care why. All he knew was the mission said bring them, so he would.
He slid the gauntlets into a pack, stood, and lit another cigar from his pocket. The smoke curled up into the star-flecked night, bitter and warm.
The job was done. But as Logan turned from the camp, he couldn't shake the thought burning in the back of his skull: he'd moved faster tonight. Seen things clearer. Fought better. These weren't flukes. They were him.
And maybe, just maybe, he was only getting started.