[CENTER][h1][color=ff7119][b]W  O  L  V  E  R  I  N  E[/b][/color][/h1][color=darkgray][b][sup][h3][color=fdc68a]
[sup]F E A T U R I N G   A L P H A   F L I G H T[/sup][/color][/h3][/sup][/b][/color][img]https://i.imgur.com/RFRcsZm.jpg?1[/img][hr][/center]
[b][color=555555]12[sup]th[/sup] November, 2017
[sub]Alpha Flight Headquarters[/sub]
[sup]Toronto, Canada[/sup][/color][/b]

[color=82ca4c][b]"James, put the news on..."[/b][/color]

James MacDonald Hudson was sat watching the TV as his partner Heather walks in. The headquarters had been unusually quiet and he'd been trying to occupy himself. Smokey and the Bandit blared on the screen. He looks at Heather, scrambling with her keys, phone in hand.

[color=ed1c24][b]"What's up?"[/b][/color]

[color=82ca4c][b]"News, Mac,"[/b][/color] she snaps, dropping her keys off on the side as she continues to check her phone. He turns over to CBC.

[color=aaaaaa][b]"--the Department of Damage Control have been on the scene since the fire had been quelled. A reminder to anyone in the area to remain indoors and to allow law enforcement officials to do their jobs."[/b][/color] A montage of images of the attack on the UN building shows as the broadcaster goes silent.

[color=ed1c24][b]"What the hell's happened?"[/b][/color] James asks, eyes following the images. Heather rests on the sofa beside him, finger scrolling against her phone screen.

[color=82ca4c][b]"Assassins stormed the Atlantis-Lemuria talks - King T'Chaka of Wakanda is among the casualties. Can't be sure exactly what's happened - information's coming in from everywhere."[/b][/color]

[color=ed1c24][b]"Jesus."[/b][/color] He stops, running a hand across his neck.

[color=82ca4c][b]"That's not all."[/b][/color] She hoists her phone infront of his face. Some of the amateur footage taken.

[color=ed1c24][b]"What am I looking at?"[/b][/color]

Heather zooms the picture in. James could just about make out an orange blur near the wreckage.

[color=ed1c24][b]"Is that..."[/b][/color] The TV changes in his peripheral vision, distracting him, before he can process this new information. The montage stops on the screen and it returns to the roving reporter.

[color=aaaaaa][b]"This is the scene at the UN Headquarters, New York City, where just minutes ago it was learned that Deadpool, Crossbones and Cheshire have been placed under arrest, just some of the high profile mercenaries now being held in police custody following the attack. With me here is Thomas Eiling - he was in the building as the events unfolded."[/b][/color] To the reporter's left was a man wrapped in a reflective blanket. He was visibly stirred.

[color=aaaaaa][b]"Thomas, please, tell us what you witnessed." [/b][/color]The survivor looks up, the camera zooming in on his face.

[color=bc9999][b]"It's all a blur. I remember ducking into the office to get some paperwork - I could hear the gunshots as I started to leave and started to panic. I could hear the explosion and instinctively tried to get shelter under the table. But then the smoke came and I..."[/b][/color] He takes a moment to cough. [color=bc9999][b]"I was out for God knows how long. I was pulled out by one of the uhh, the heroes. He dropped me off with the emergency services over there."[/b][/color] More footage plays, showing a man emerging from the smoke, another, the interviewee, strung across his back. It was unmistakable, with his tan and brown costume, facial horns, the man was Logan.

Hudson's jaw drops a peg as he tries to work out what he's seeing. Almost instinctively he shuts the TV off with the remote. He had specifically warned Wolverine against going stateside - now he was embroiled in this. James was in half a mind to launch the remote.

[color=ed1c24][b]"That sanctimonious, piece of..."[/b][/color] 

[color=82ca4c][b]"I know, James... I..."[/b][/color]

[color=ed1c24][b]"What the hell is he playing at?"[/b][/color] James gets up.

[color=82ca4c][b]"Where are you going?"[/b][/color]

[color=ed1c24][b]"For a drive."[/b][/color] He snaps, making towards the door. His car keys stay hanging from their place on the wall as he passes them. He was going to need something a bit more heavy duty. Time to road test the Vindicator.


[hr]
[b][color=555555]13[sup]th[/sup] November, 2017
[sub]The Poseidon Hotel[/sub]
[sup]New York[/sup][/color][/b]

That night, Wolverine slept soundly. As unremarkable as this sounds, for the ex-Weapon X, to whom sleep seldom came easily (and never quietly), it was a blessing. Perhaps the stresses of the day had taken their toll, or weighed upon him too heavily to leave those horrors that waited restlessly in his savage dreams a chance to rear their ugly heads; perhaps it was the rough, cattle-grade hotel mattress which took him back to the comfort of the wild times, and beds made from rock and debris, or the harmonies of the clean-up crews and ambulances jetting about outside that kept his active brain preoccupied like flashing sheep. The result was a mutant at peace, with Logan lay lifelessly for much of the night. 

The radio shakes him awake as the clock strikes ten and he's brought back to the turmoil. He pauses a moment, eyes ajar, the slick bed covers clinging to his matted fur. He peels them off him with a thrash of his arm, using the momentum to lift his other arm to the off switch of the radio. His first thought is understandable. His eyes skate around the room looking for any liquor. No luck. With a lengthy sniff he confirms it - not a drop in the room he hadn't already helped himself to. He considers going back to sleep but decides against it.

With some more effort he's upright on the bed. He finds his feet and ambles to the en-suite, his gait somewhat slurred by his sleep-drunk brain. He find his leather jacket in a heap on the floor. He pats it down for a few seconds, reaching inside and slipping his hand into the pocket holding his cigar case. He fumbles about and pops the lid off, pulling a chubby Corona Gorda from its housing with little grace. In a second, he's to the end table in the bedroom. There was something there, covering his lighter. A note:

[color=00aeef][i]"Use the window. Sprinklers."[/i][/color], read the note, affixed to his zippo. It was scrawled on wet paper that had recently dried. Northstar's handwriting.

He shrugs, releasing the paper from his lighter. He goes over to the window. They were placed in the heart of New York. Logan could see people down on the street level running about the place. No more smoke, from the looks of things. They wouldn't question a little more, he thinks. He unlocks the window and raises it a tad. It only takes a small gap to be made for the winter air to charge through. Logan barely felt it anymore. He leans through and lights up.