[center][img]https://pbs.twimg.com/media/B9Dhni3IUAAhPsp.jpg[/img][/center]

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 and his claws effectively leashed. 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. If he’d been in this situation back before the adamantium, Logan could’ve broken his own wrist to escape the handcuffs. That was the problem with being invincible. When you were stuck, you were stuck. Wolverine had already tried slicing his way outta the things; but whoever had made the shackles was thorough. Every time he tried to unsheathe, all he managed to do was hurt himself. At this point, James was content to wait out the interrogation.  An opportunity to escape would present itself within time.  Patience had never been one of the mutant’s strong suits, however, so waiting for the proper timing could be a struggle.[i] And here I am with nothing to pass the time.[/i] Logan mused.

The door to the small room swung open. Two men in SHIELD uniforms moved inside, one staying near the door while the other stood against the far wall behind Wolverine. Each carried a sidearm and a remote control of some kind; likely to activate a paralyzing agent in the collar. Neither spoke, which meant they weren’t his actual interrogators. Given Logan’s record, he suspected he would garner the attention of someone of decent rank. After all, there was very recent video footage of him breaking into the Helicarrier.  Add onto that fact that Wolverine was a part of a team that kidnapped the Hulk, was partially responsible for a nuclear explosion in Canada, and was a member of a black ops mutant terror cell...Yeah. Logan would be waiting awhile for parole. The door opened once more, and third figure stepped inside the tiny, non-descript room. Logan recognized the man the instant he saw him. “Fury.”  He grunted. "..." The Director of SHIELD stared at the man across from him with his one good eye for exactly two minutes before he even spoke a word. “You age well.” Nick finally said, taking a seat. “Could say the same to you, you old bastard.” Logan retorted, his face as emotionless and expressionless as a stone. "How you been? How're the commandos?" 

Fury returned the serious gaze. "Aside from the world falling apart at the seams? I'm doing just fine. You know the Howling Commandos. They'll keep doing what they do until they drop." For a moment, it seemed Fury remembered Wolverine rather fondly. That is, until he continued to speak. “Mind telling me what the hell is going on here?” The director finally asked, sounding rather peeved off. “Listen, Nick, I haven’t been myself since-“ He started, only for the SHIELD agent to cut him off with a scoff. “Damn right you haven’t! James Howlett, Canadian war hero and the man who saved my life more times than I can count, turns out to be a terrorist. Something about that isn’t right.” James huffed, struggling against his chains. “Listen, bub. Some son of a bitch named Romulus has been screwing with my mind for years. Maybe decades. And I ain’t the only one. My whole team was compromised.“ He explained. The Canadian-born assassin had never been more sincere in his entire life. Everything hinged upon this moment. He had to convince Nick Fury to give him the benefit of the doubt. If he couldn’t, Wolverine would spend the rest of his immortal life in a cold, dark cell in the middle of nowhere. “Mind control. That’s new.” The sarcasm in the director’s words certainly didn’t help James’ confidence. “Look, bub. I’ll take whatever test you want me to. It’s the truth and I’d do anything to prove it.” Before Fury could respond, a device in his jacket pocket went off. He pulled out a black cube of some sort and glanced at it, sighing. “I’m a busy man and I have more important things to do than chase ghost stories about mind control and the bogeyman. I’ll have someone in here to take your side of the story. But son, it doesn’t look good for you.” 

With that, the Director of SHIELD, and Wolverine’s only chance at escaping custody, stood to leave. 

“But hey. It was good to see a familiar face-“ Fury spoke over his shoulder as he shut the door behind him. 

“-Even if he’s gone batshit crazy.”