After having fun with my new women, I decided it was time to travel to my next movie timeline.
At first, I thought about going to the future—the timeline shown in X-Men: Days of Future Past—to recruit Clarice, also known as Blink, before heading back into the past to alter history. But after careful thought, I chose a more direct and aggressive route. I would intercept the exact moment when Logan's consciousness was being sent back in time.
Instead of letting him go to 1973, I would reroute him to 1962—the setting of X-Men: First Class, the true beginning of everything. This way, we could cut the rot from the root.
If we could eliminate Bolivar Trask early—before he began his work on mutant experimentation and the Sentinel Program—perhaps we could prevent the catastrophic future from ever forming. The original timeline's fall came from too many high-profile disasters: Magneto's assassination attempt on the U.S. President, Apocalypse's near-apocalyptic emergence, and Phoenix's battle with the D'Bari aliens. Humanity never saw mutants as heroes—only threats.
Using the Time Travel ability, a hidden sub-power of my World Travel skill that I hadn't utilized until now, I activated the portal.
[EVE: Time Travel protocols initialized. Target coordinates: 1962. Adjusting multiversal interference fields.]
[EVE: Warning — intercepting active consciousness displacement detected. Subject: James Logan Howlett, alias Wolverine. Trajectory rerouting in progress.]
"Proceed," I ordered calmly.
[EVE: Consciousness redirection successful. Subject diverted from 1973 to 1962. Probability of detection minimal.]
Before stepping through, I hesitated. Earning Logan's trust would be crucial—and if he ever found out I had manipulated his arrival, things could spiral quickly. So, I adjusted my expression to neutral seriousness, burying any trace of amusement. Logan wouldn't know I was the one responsible. I would simply say it was a side effect of my travel—a glitch in the time stream.
As we stepped through the glowing blue portal, the temporal stream whipped around us like a raging current. Lights fractured like shattered glass around our vision, swirling in hues of electric blue, violet, and gold. Time itself bent and twisted in impossible angles—a kaleidoscope of past, present, and future flickering along the tunnel walls. Our bodies stretched and compressed as we flew forward, weightless yet grounded in the flow. I felt the pulse of a thousand timelines brushing against my consciousness, each whispering a different destiny. Then came a flash of white, a gut-wrenching lurch, and—
BOOM!
We were hurled straight through the roof of a familiar run-down bar. The entire building collapsed around us.
I coughed as I pushed a beam off my back and patted out the smoldering edges of my jacket. "You okay?" I asked Angel Dust, who sat up beside me, gritting her teeth.
"Been through worse," she muttered, brushing dust from her hair.
The bar was nearly flattened. Broken beams and shattered glass littered the floor. As I helped Angel Dust to her feet, a low growl cut through the rubble.
A figure emerged—crouched, bloodied, and steaming from dozens of rapidly closing wounds. His eyes locked onto me with primal intensity. Bone claws extended from both hands, blood still dripping from their tips.
Logan.
He stood tall and tense, chest heaving, eyes shifting between me and Angel Dust. Instinct told him to be cautious.
"Who the hell are you?" he growled.
I raised both hands, signaling I meant no harm. "We're not enemies. Just… travelers."
He sniffed the air and frowned. "You're not ordinary; otherwise, you wouldn't have survived the fall. You smell like a mutant." His eyes flicked to Angel Dust. "Both of you." His gaze lingered longer this time, and I could see his suspicion deepen as his eyes briefly scanned our clothing—definitely not something locals from 1962 would wear. From the cut of our jackets to the futuristic wrist tech, he began piecing it together. "You're not from around here, are you?"
That was his first test. He wouldn't talk to strangers unless he knew we were like him.
Angel Dust crossed her arms. "Yeah, we're mutants. And we're from the future. Got a problem?"
Logan's claws retracted slowly. "Maybe. Maybe not. What's the date today?"
I turned toward a half-burnt wall. A cracked calendar still hung there. I pulled it down and showed him.
"June. 1962."
Logan's eyes narrowed. "Shit... that's not right. I was supposed to go to 1973."
I tilted my head, playing it cool. "1973? You're time-traveling?"
He gave me a sharp look. "Yeah. Charles and the others sent me back to stop Mystique from killing Trask. Changing the future. But I overshot. Way overshot."
I nodded solemnly. "Your plan inspired me. You don't know me, but I knew of you. You went back to save your world—but your success led to another disaster."
Logan's eyes flared. "What disaster?"
I sighed and gestured for him to follow. "Let's talk somewhere less exposed. Come on."
We relocated to an abandoned building outside the city. Once I was confident we were secure, we sat down.
I explained everything.
"After you stopped Mystique, mutants didn't face open war anymore. But the government got smarter. They started genetically modifying the food—poisoning it to kill the X-gene in people —so future generations wouldn't develop the X-gene. And surely by the 21st century the birth of new mutants became rare."
Logan looked horrified. "They… what?"
"They created sterile generations. Mutants stopped being born. Then came the black sites that hunted mutants to turn them into slaves with the mutant suppression collars like animals. If they find any powerful mutant they are immediately killed and with their blood sample, they create clones of them with a cyborg mind that can be controlled. Weapon X was just the beginning. Cloning. Mind control. Bio-weapons. The X-Men were nowhere to be found, and even you were in hiding. Eventually, you died in 2029 on the battlefield with adamantium poisoning and your healing ability was unable to keep up.
He tensed. "Bullshit."
"You died protecting a girl named Laura—your daughter a clone created from your blood sample. The last of the natural mutants. The very timeline you created ended with you dying alone in a dying world."
He was silent for a long moment. Angel Dust watched him carefully.
"...So what now?" Logan asked finally.
"We change things together," I said. "We guide Charles and Erik before they fall apart. We mold the future ourselves. With your influence and my power—we can do what neither of you managed before."
Logan cracked his neck. "And Trask?"
"We kill him now completely preventing your future timeline from happening. Make it look like an accident during one of his weapons tests. No mutants involved. Then we find Charles and Erik. There's also someone else we need to deal with—a mutant who calls himself Apocalypse, the first-born mutant in this world. You wouldn't know him; he didn't awaken from his slumber in your timeline. But in ours, he nearly brought about the end of the world."
"And Apocalypse?" Logan added, frowning.
"We still have time before he wakes up. I'll take care of him but first, we should finish the task at hand."
Logan nodded. "Alright. I'm in. But if you lied about any of this..."
"You'll kill me," I said with a smirk. "Yeah, I figured."
Angel Dust chuckled. "He says that like he could."
We shook hands. Three mutants. Three timelines. One mission:
Rewrite mutant history—for good.