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Logan was alone. He sat in the center of a non-descript metal room, staring ahead at the one-way mirror that dominated the front wall. The only things inside with Wolverine were two metal chairs and a table, all bolted to the white tile floor. The rest of the room was bare of any decoration or furniture. Logan noted the lack of a clock; a classic interrogation tactic. They wanted to make James feel as if he had been isolated for hours, when only thirty six minutes and twelve seconds had passed since he was escorted inside. He'd counted. Logan had also counted the three hours and eight minutes prior where he had been forced into a shower room to wash after his exposure to nuclear fallout, followed by another two hours of being fitted for his own personal X-Gene neutralization collar and finally five more hours of solitary confinement. He'd guessed it was around nine thirty in the morning of the following day. The only living souls Wolverine had laid eyes on during that time were dressed in Hazmat suits. They were testing his resolve. Trying to tear down his morale. But Logan wasn't some purse thief or rank amateur; he could stand spending a couple of hours by himself.

What he couldn't stand was the inhibitor collar. Or the specialized shackles keeping Logan pinned to the floor. He felt naked without his acute senses. And if it came to a fight, he'd have no healing factor or claws to rely on.