Chapter 216: Smoke and Science
The lab was quiet but for the steady hum of machines. Dim monitors pulsed green against the dark. A faint haze hung in the air—Logan's cigar smoke curling upward, defiant of the sterile environment. He sat on a stool, one leg hooked on the rung, claws sheathed, every line of him restless.
Across the table, Charles Xavier hunched slightly forward, peering at the alien console Sikorsky had left behind. The Shi'ar device hummed softly, crystalline panels flickering as data scrolled in unreadable glyphs. To Charles, though, it sang like music.
Logan tapped ash into a tray. "You done starin' at those squiggles yet, Chuck? You're startin' to look like you're marryin' that machine."
Xavier's lips twitched into the smallest smile. "Patience has never been your gift, Logan. But yes. I've seen enough." He leaned back, folding his hands on the desk. "The Shi'ar diagnoser is extraordinary. Far beyond any Terran medical technology. And it confirms my hypothesis."
Logan leaned forward, brow furrowed beneath his messy hair. "Hypothesis, eh? Then spill it. Why the hell's my body turnin' into a copycat carnival act every time I meet some poor bastard who overlaps with me?"
Charles adjusted his glasses with calm deliberation. "It began with Weapon X. When they bonded adamantium to your skeleton, your healing factor was forced into constant overdrive. It had to fight unendingly against the slow, systemic poisoning of the metal. In doing so, your very genetic code… shifted. Mutated further. To adapt. To survive."
Logan's jaw tightened. "So that's it. They broke me so bad, my body started makin' up new rules just to keep me walkin'."
"Yes." Charles nodded. "And in doing so, it created… resonance. When you encounter another mutant whose powers overlap with yours, your body responds to the subtle radiation their X-gene or even normal genes emit. In some cases, this resonance is strong enough to trigger a mutation in your own genome—manifesting as what you call 'copying.'"
Logan blew out smoke, shaking his head. "But it don't always happen. I've met plenty I overlap with. Some I should've copied—nothin' happened. Why's that?"
"Because not every X-gene radiates strongly enough to trigger you. Some resonate faintly—too faint for your body to react. Others, for reasons still unknown, resonate so powerfully that your body is forced to adapt. There is also timing. In the early years, after Weapon X, your genome was still… recalibrating. That is why you didn't copy certain powers then. Only after your battle with the Wendigo did your system finally reach its breaking point. That fight forced the first resonance to manifest."
Logan grunted. "Makes sense. That was one helluva brawl."
Charles tapped the glowing readout. "And now, about last night. The crocodilian mutant you fought. You were wondering why you copied him—what similarity there could be."
Logan snorted. "Yeah. He had scales, teeth, tail. Ain't exactly me."
For once, Charles' calm tone carried a spark of excitement, like a lecturer delivering the heart of his lesson. "It wasn't his appearance you resonated with, Logan. It was his biology. Crocodiles possess an oxygen storage adaptation in their blood. They can remain underwater far longer than most creatures. The mutant version magnified this trait. When you fought him, your body copied that adaptation—reshaped it into something greater."
Logan's cigar paused halfway to his mouth. His eyes narrowed. "You're sayin'…?"
"I am saying," Charles continued smoothly, "you can now store oxygen in your bloodstream, far beyond normal human limits. A crocodile can last one to two hours. A mutant crocodile, longer. But you—your healing factor synergizes with the adaptation. Your cells will not just store oxygen, but cycle it, preserving it, repairing damage from deprivation. Effectively… you could survive in oxygenless environments. Underwater. Even in space."
Logan let out a low whistle. "Breathe in space, huh? That's one helluva party trick."
Charles inclined his head. "For up to a day. After which, you must replenish your oxygen. Your body is still bound by natural law."
Logan shook his head, chuckling darkly. "So I went from bein' a Canucklehead with claws to a walkin' scuba tank. Guess I'll take it." He took another drag, exhaled slowly. "Still weird though, Chuck. Copyin' a mutant power's one thing. But this… this was just a lizard's breathin' trick gone mutant."
"Yes." Charles' eyes softened. "This time, you didn't copy a flamboyant mutation. You copied a human ability—breathing—transformed into something extraordinary. Your body turned the ordinary into the miraculous."
The room was quiet for a moment, save for the hum of the alien machine.
Then Charles' tone shifted, growing weightier. "One more matter, Logan. A warning."
Logan's brow furrowed. "I don't like that tone."
"The Shi'ar data revealed something. Your claws."
Logan's claws snikted out, gleaming silver in the sterile light. He flexed them idly. "What about 'em?"
"You can extend them… unnaturally long now. Past five meters. Correct?"
Logan nodded slowly. "Yeah. Didn't plan it. Just happened in the heat of it."
Charles' voice sharpened. "Be very careful. Weapon X coated your skeleton in adamantium, yes—but not infinitely. When you extend your claws beyond their original length, there isn't enough adamantium reserved to cover them fully. Your body begins siphoning metal from your other bones. Each extension weakens the adamantium in your skeleton."
The cigar nearly fell from Logan's mouth. His voice was low, dangerous. "You're tellin' me if I push it, my whole skeleton could go back to bein' just bones?"
"Yes. And worse—if you act as though your body is still indestructible in such a state, you could be gravely injured. Even die."
Logan was silent for a long time, claws gleaming, smoke curling around his face. Finally he retracted them with a sharp snikt. His voice was rough. "Good to know before I get cocky and try joustin' Sentinels."
Charles allowed himself the faintest smile. "Prudence never hurts, Logan."
Logan leaned back, studying Xavier, really looking at him. His eyes dropped to the professor's chair. He exhaled smoke through his nose. "So tell me somethin', Chuck. Why the hell are you still sittin' in that chair? You got new legs. You can walk. Run. Dance if you want. Why chain yourself to wheels again?"
Charles' face softened with something bittersweet. He looked down at his hands, then at the floor. "Because… habits, Logan. Habits become part of the self. For so long, this chair was my identity. My anchor. Old habits…" He gave a small, weary smile. "…die hard."
Logan stared at him, the words cutting deeper than he liked. He tapped ash one last time, then stubbed the cigar out. "That's the truest truth I ever heard."
They sat in silence then—two men bound by scars, one visible, one invisible. The hum of the Shi'ar machine filled the void.
The night dragged on, heavy with unspoken things.