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[B]The Weapon X Facility, Canada
The Summer of 2018[/B]

Weapon Ten howled victorious, standing tall over than the rest
All agreed he wasn't particularly nice, but at what he did he was the best.

No, nono.  "Weapon Ten howled [I]triumphant[/I]"?

?

Ms. Carol Hines scritched and scratched at her notepad until it had been widdlled away to little more than a on ocean of black, encapsulating a tiny yellow patch. Her poem was terrible. It was awful. She'd always wanted to be a poet or some famous writer. She'd always wanted to be a star. But instead she had wound up hitching her wagon to the tail of the great dragon. She hoped she would be like Emily Dickinson and one day be a goddess herself, the collective unconscious' favorite citizen.

She chews on her pen's tip before feeling her reigns snag. Man, she'd give anything to smoke, just a  touch, just a tad. Just to sip the ichor of the capitalist gods, for a moment, if she could take a nice, slow drag. She still hadn't gotten paid. She felt like this whole operation would go bad. Carol suspected deep down that she'd never have enough money, she'd never be incorruptible like her beautiful but decayed mommy. She doubted she could even do as well as Gwen Stefany.

In the open space on her notepad, she slathered lead across the surface generously, scratching her vision for the perfect couplet into the optical spectrum. 

With the helmet over his head, Logan lives in a void, like drowning in shadow. There's a disturbance, like a cyclone blasting the ocean of darkness to bits. [Code]"Now If you wouldn't mind I would like to blew, and if you wouldn't mind I would like to lose".[/Code] The currents cut through him, chilling his spine like a patriarch chills a beer before the start of 'the game'. [Code]"Love myself, better than you."[/Code] His nipples tighten up, harder than the vibranium in his claws.

There's a quick couple of pops. The darkness comes to a rolling boil, searing all flesh not under the helmet. Burning through his shag and ringing his nerves like a fianceé, until the helmet offers no protection either. There's a quartet of percussive clicks that grab Logan by the ears and drag him face first into the furious atmosphere that abused the rest of his body. He could see the world beyond the grainy footage that had been fed to him. He was alive, or something like that.