Welcome Home, Hank

January 28, 2016:

Logan gets in touch with the X-Men's resident genius, following the latter's time with the Morlocks.

New York City


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Logan waits over 24 hours before actually contacting Henry again. Whether this is because he wants to let the other man rest or because he's letting the memory of his faux pas fade a little is for Henry to figure out.

A few hours ago, he got a text message with an address and nothing else. The address leads to a run down diner in Brooklyn, the sort of place where nobody with any better options would bother with; neither 'good' nor 'bad', just 'there, going through the motions to serve edible food not unlike what could be gotten from a million other diners essentially just like it'. Since it's after lunch but before 3 AM, it's nearly empty save for an old couple in a booth, a hipster with a curly mustache and a Masta Killa shirt at the counter, and Logan at a booth near the window with a Gotham Knights cap pulled low on his head.


Meeting outside the school did give Hank pause for a moment, but he dug into his stash of serum, took a dose, and made his way downtown to the indicated diner in Brooklyn. He barely knew Logan, but the man obviously needed his help so he wasn't going to deny him. It would give him something to focus on…something other than his most recent ordeal and what it means.

Arriving at the diner, the bespectacled, very human-looking scientist glances about before moving to take a seat at the booth with Logan. "This is an odd choice for a location…is there a reason we're…" he glances around, "In Brooklyn?"

"Privacy," Logan grunts without looking up from the beer that he must have smuggled—

Oh, yep, there he goes fetching another bottle from the inside of his bomber jacket and setting it before Hank.

"Hostage, huh?" he then asks in a semi-apologetic grunt. "What happened? Wasn't some racists, was it?"


"Privacy," is repeated. "In a public place. I…see." Hank glances around at the rather empty diner and when he looks back, there's a beer in front of him. He looks at that for a moment before he gives a shrug and opens it. "More like Kidnapped and I suppose it was. Mutant supremacists. Your message sounded urgent. Is everything all right?"

"Busiest this joint's been at this time all week," Logan notes before sipping from his beer.

"I've been working the Purifiers," he then states in a near-whisper while looking up at Hank. "Had someone in their command structure - middle management shithead, but better'n an actual grunt. Goes around doin' events to whip people up—" The shorter mutant abruptly stops to push an annoyed grunt through his nostrils.

"Anyway. I was hopin' you could rig up somethin' to let someone take his place for a little while. Long enough to hit one'a those events as him, get some intel; didn't know you were havin' supremacist problems of your own, though."

Another sip is taken. He isn't done, exactly— but given that he just related a story about disappearing a person to a man who just finished being held hostage, he decides to wait and see how that sinks in before going any further.


"Not Human Supremacists…Mutant ones," Hank points out. He sets his beer down and looks at it for a moment. Blue eyes then look up and over to Logan, "I'm sorry, I don't think I understand. What are you asking me to do? Create an illusion? Couldn't you find someone who could shapeshift?" He also keeps his voice low at this discussion. "Doesn't Red have someone?"

Exasperation creeps into Logan's tone as he grunts, "I know," in response to Hank's specifics. "I got that." It's quickly waved off with his free hand while he takes another sip.

"Nothin' now— not there. I really did come up with an alternative," he then says. "But yeah, basically. Some kinda holo-MatrixTrek shit to make someone look like someone else. Fancy-ass mask, somethin— you're the genius, I wasn't really feelin' picky if it could get the job done. Knew I'd need some kinda outside solution—"

Logan abruptly stops. A couple seconds later, the waitress wanders past their table as part of her intermittent patrol. She just sort of glances their way to gauge for herself whether they're good or not before moving on; so it goes with the other patrons.

"— because when me and some people went to pull this guy from a rally he was puttin' on, he made us almost as soon as we snuck in. They got ways of detectin' us; no idea what else they're good for, but I wasn't about to send anyone with anything extra in there."

The rest of Logan's bottle disappears. He starts to hold it up before remembering where he is, setting it aside, and leaning back to cross his arms.

"So. Comin' back to that whole genius thing: my original problem maybe ain't a problem anymore, so how do you feel about lookin' into the bigger one - the detection? If you ain't already, anyway."


"Hologram tech isn't very good. The moment you brush up against someone, they'll know or it will flicker. It's just light…there are things that sort of work, but…possibly not for that. Not if they know the person. There are masks, but…" Hank shrugs, not really seeming terribly enthused by the thought of building, well, anything. For anyone.

"If they're involved with the Sentinels at all…and it wouldn't surprise me if they were, they've developed some sort of sensor which can detect the X-Gene. I can surpress it, but it means that you wouldn't have your abilities. I'm not sure that would be useful."

The barely-touched beer is picked up and inspected, but he doesn't drink out of it again yet. "You'd be able to switch back and forth, but…it might get you in, but once you 'activated', it would be detected." There's another pause before he sits back, "Why do they hate us so much? Seriously? Why don't they see that what they're doing has direct parallels to Germany under Hitler? To previous genocides?"

"'cause it ain't really 'people' they're killin," Logan replies with a darkening expression, "not to them. Just shit to be used an' abused an' tossed while they set the world to their version'a 'right'. Just like Hitler, Pol Pot, an' the rest'a the gang. They reckon they got God on their side, an' while I ain't a prayin' man, I can tell you that it ain't hardta convince yourself that the big G's gotcher back if you get to purgin' a few million infidels. My new pal's told me aaaaaaall about it."

Logan's eyes flick towards the empty beer as he tonelessly finishes his point. Briefly, he wonders if perhaps whoever owns this diner isn't an asshole for not inexplicably having a liquor license to serve him at this point in time.

"Suppression'd be fine, as long as it works: gettin' a few of us in undercover's good gravy. Far as I know, there's a sample of whatever detector they were usin'," he goes into his jacket again, fetches a pen and begins writing on a napkin with one hand while covering his work with the other, "but you'd have to ask these guys what they did with it." When he finishes writing, he scoots the paper forward and tilts his hands just enough to let Beast see 'Myers' and 'Drake' written out.

"Whenever you're ready, I guess," he then allows.


Hank just shakes his head as Logan gives his explanation of what he's found. "Anything we do to try and convince them that we aren't trying to take over the world…that we just want to live our lives like normal people…they won't listen. They don't care." He finally takes a swig of the beer, "It makes me wonder if some of these mutant fanatics aren't right. A little."

His own musing done, he glances at the paper handed to him before he pushes it back, "No. If they did something with it, they should bring it to our attention. I'm not going to chase them down when they know full well what they should do." Hank shakes his head again before asking, "Ready for what? I don't have the supplies here and I'm not going to just give you things to distribute. This is a highly-controlled substance!"

"You wanna do things the right way, or do you wanna do somethin' about the racist fucks killin' people?" Logan bluntly asks while narrowing his eyes and gathering the napkin into a little ball. "Fuck what they should be doin'— what are you gonna do?"

Following a beat in which he slowly lets a breath out through clenched teeth, he adds, "Wasn't talkin' about doin' anything now, anyway— I meant when you're feelin'— up to gettin' in touch with 'em, get in touch," while trying to take the growl out of his voice. "On account'a the kidnappin' ordeal an' all." After another of those tense breaths, he offers, "They ain't all Purifiers," in a quiet voice. He sounds mostly sympathetic, but after being holed up with one for a couple weeks - and hunting them down for hurting Jean for even longer than that - there's a bitter edge there.


"I know who they are, Logan. They don't like me and I don't approve of their methods." He -taught- Bobby Drake, for crying out loud! Hank shakes his head, "I'll help you so that you can get them. If they're coming with you, well, they know where to find me and I'm going to want to hear it from them that they're going to be doing this as well." The beer is set down and he looks directly at Logan — blue eyes behind glasses aren't nearly as intimidating as they could be. "Yes, I want to do something about it, but I don't want to be like them."

Logan lets an exasperated, "Jesus Christ, Hank, quit tryin' to gimme the Eye," slip when the doctor puts his foot down. "Someone'll get in touch with someone else, fine."

He looks away from the man across from him, checking for the waitress even though he knows she won't be making another round for a while yet. It's just something to distract himself - if only momentarily - before dipping his toes back into the turbulent waters of X-Drama:

"The hell's the big deal with you and them that the thought of callin' 'em makes you wanna give me that look?"

He doesn't even sound mad - well, that mad, he is still kind of annoyed - so much as wearily bemused. And morbidly amused.


"They brought guns into Mutant Town, Logan. They made an already-bad situation worse by bringing in firearms, that I seriously doubt were registered. It's not enough that the NYPD is willing to tear gas mutants over actually interacting with them first, but for them to have done that…no wonder people are afraid of us. If that's the public face of mutant-hood, how are we to convince them that we want peaceful lives?" Hank shakes his head, "If they want my help, they can come to me and ask. I'm not going to reach out to them as if I condone their methods. I do not." He's talking in circles now. "Besides," is offered with a wry twist of his mouth, "I know that look won't work like this."

Logan starts pinching the bridge of his nose at some point during the explanation, but gives Hank a vague handwave and a quiet rumbling in his throat to give him some indication that he gets it and is ready to just move on instead of pressing the issue. Getting wrapped up in the interpersonal conflict - or starting one of his own - wouldn't do anyone any good right now, and this is a rare occasion where he actually has the perspective and frame of mind to see it coming.

"We'll figure something out. One way or another— shuttin' the Purifiers down is my priority right now. They've had too long out here, preyin' on people; someone's gotta step in, protect the ones who can't do it for themselves."

Hank's a smart guy; he can probably work out where Logan actually stands on the issue between him and X-Red even if he doesn't say it outright.


Hank doesn't respond immediately. Hank watches Logan for a moment, even leaning back against the back of the booth, before he asks, "Then what are the plans for those who will take their place? We take them down, but someone's going to use them as martyrs. Someone's going to pick up and fight their fight. We need to do more than take these groups down. We need a large population who won't let them form in the first place…at least not to the level that they've been getting to lately."

"You got a point, but public relations ain't really my area," Logan replies with a non-chalant shrug. "Working on shuttin' 'em down, that I can do; someone else is gonna have figure out the rest. Maybe if more people get to see what these fucks are really about, though, that'll help."


Hank lifts a hand under his glasses to press at the bridge of his nose, "They won't see it, Logan. They'll see mutants attacking humans. They won't see that these people were trying to eradicate others. All they'll see are -mutants attacking humans-." And that's the problem, really. "Can you shut them down politically? Find something to expose? Besides just flat out attacking? Expose them to the media…their plans and their methods? Their plots?"

"Gonna have to get into that rally before I can tell you any'a that," Logan replies with a thin and fleeting smile. "What you're talkin' about takes intel— and a lotta other shit, but intel's the axis for the rest. I'm gettin' it how I can; I'm not gonna promise that nobody's gonna get hurt in the process, because they are. They have been."

Logan pauses briefly to let this lowly voiced point land. The smile is definitely gone by now.

"But whatever y'all wanna do with the intel— as long as it means no more Purifiers, I don't give a fuck how it's done."


"There will always be Purifiers…or people like them. As long as we attack others…as long as we think we're somehow better than they are, they'll always be after us," Hank offers wearily. "History is bound to repeat itself. It always does. We're the despised race of this generation. Maybe we'll survive, maybe we won't." He gets up from the booth and looks at Logan, "When it's personal…we lose sight of the consequences. I want them gone too, but you have to think about the long-run. If you don't, who will? Drake and Myers? You know they won't. Don't leave it to the likes of me. No one cares what I think."

He drops down some money to pay for the smuggled beer, "If you still want your x-gene supressed for this mission, let me know. Or the others will let me know. I don't condone this either." And with that, he starts to make his way back out.

Logan's eyes narrow on the bills as he considers Hank's words. He is scowling by the time the money is on the table; that Hank is at least willing to help only faintly mitigates the disapproval. It isn't even that Logan needs Hank's validation for this thing to sit right with him so much as that he's lived long enough to know that he has a point, even if the specific details of that experience are something of a nightmarish jigsaw puzzle.

The scientist gets a grunt in the affirmative as he leaves. When Logan eventually follows - some twenty minutes later - the beer money stays behind for the waitress.


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