From one war to the next... I'm starting to get tired of the killing. Is this all there is? Spilling blood just to defend someone else's property or to prove a point? I can feel a growing disgust deep in my gut, a revulsion for the violence that seems to follow this name.
But Victor? Victor thrives here. This chaos is his playground. In the heat of a fight, he can be exactly what he wants to be, a predator without a leash. In this lawless world, nobody can stop him, and he loves every second of it.
Time has a way of blurring together when you've been fighting for forty-six years.
It's been decades since our first taste of war, and eventually, Victor and I went our separate ways. I couldn't hide it from him anymore, I was exhausted. I was tired of the massacres, the endless cycles of blood, and the day-in, day-out slaughter that seemed to follow us like a shadow.
But I'm not a fool. I know Victor; he won't leave me alone for long. Whether I like it or not, the world is restless. I can feel it in the air, in another twenty years or so, another Great War will come for us both.
When the next war starts, I know exactly where I need to be: right beside Victor.
If I'm not there to watch over him, history will repeat itself, and he'll spiral into the monster the movies portrayed. But I have a different goal. I need the future to play out just enough so that I can reach William Stryker. I need his technology. I need his expertise in human experimentation.
I don't care about "preserving the timeline" or deviating from the movies. This isn't a script to me; this is my life. I am Logan Barrakus, and my priority is survival. Everything else—morality, destiny, the fate of the world, is a discussion for another day.
I walked the earth for twenty-five years, traveling from the bustling streets of America to the ancient temples of the East. I didn't move with the speed of a mutant, but with the steady pace of a man seeking a soul.
I sought out the masters of martial arts, not just to learn how to strike, but to learn the art of control. I spent decades practicing the hardest lesson of all: how to let go when things don't go your way. In those mountains and dojos, I learned that true strength isn't just about hardening my skin, it's about the resilience of a mind that cannot be broken by anger or the weight of the past.
I stood at the edge of a muddy trench, the screams of the dying echoing through the fog. Forty-six years ago, a fight with Victor would have set my blood on fire. I would have felt the itch in my knuckles and the red haze of the Berserker Rage clouding my vision.
But twenty-five years in the East had changed me.
As the shells whistled overhead, I didn't flinch. I had learned the art of "giving up" not out of weakness, but out of total control. I gave up the need to be angry. I gave up the desire for revenge. I gave up the fear of what was to come.
The year is 1901. I've been walking for so long now that the miles have lost their meaning. I find myself moving without a destination, drifting through the untouched wilderness of the world just to memorize the scenery.
The way the dawn light filters through the ancient pines, the smell of damp earth after a mountain rain, the absolute silence of a frozen lake, I pull it all into my mind. It calms me. It teaches me to be one with myself, grounding the spirit of Logan Barrakus into the skin of the Wolverine.
For now, I let the beast sleep. I keep him tucked away in the deepest, darkest corner of my soul, lulled to rest by the beauty of the natural world. But I know the truth. When the world finally forces that beast to wake... nothing will stand in his way.
I sat by a fire in the high wilderness, the crackle of burning wood the only sound for miles. For years, I had let the world happen to me—the wars, the tragedies, the constant running. But as I looked at the stars of the new century, I knew the time for wandering was over. I needed to take control.
I began to map out the next hundred years. I knew when the stock markets would crash, when the wars would ignite, and exactly when a man named Stryker would start looking for "volunteers."
I would build a life of resources and influence in the shadows so that when the world came looking for a weapon, they would find a master who had already prepared the cage. I was done being a victim of fate. From now on, I was the architect.
He would use his knowledge to launch his own business. He wanted to create something that would benefit other people and make the world a better place. He would put all his energy into this venture and make it successful.
I settled in the scrublands between Texas and Mexico, a place where the wind always tastes like dust and the law is a suggestion at best. I needed a break from the "Master" and the "Soldier." I just wanted to be a man for a while.
I'm weighing whether to be the face of my brand or a behind-the-scenes founder. Given that the next ten years will involve frequent travel and no permanent home base, I need to choose the path that offers the most flexibility.
I understand that not every plan is a success, and trying to do everything alone makes the path much harder. My initial goal was to start a processing plant for salt, sugar, and spices, but that requires significant space and capital, resources I currently scarse. While the factory is a great concept, it can't come to fruition without a team I can trust implicitly, a 'family' of my own who has my back. For now, I've decided to move forward with Plan B.
Right now, my first step is to establish a timeline based on what I remember from the movies. Howard Stark was born around 1917 or 1918, meaning he came of age during a time of war. This environment likely drove him to build a weapons empire. At his core, his primary motivation was to rescue his mother from his abusive father, he hoped his inventions could provide the financial means to support her and bring her to safety.
Bucky and Steve were born in 1917 and 1918, respectively. Since Howard and Bucky share the same birth year, it makes the timeline much easier to remember. Steve follows just one year later. With these dates established, I have approximately 15 years to develop my plan before the major events begin.
Logan understood the cost of his plan: time and total dedication, The road ahead would be long, demanding every bit of his focus, He was done letting life happen to him. It was time to take the lead, build something meaningful, and breathe life into the dreams he had carried for so long.
Time was a luxury Logan didn't have. In just eleven years, the world would ignite. The turmoil would begin with Hitler's expansion across Europe, spiraling into a global conflict of infantry, heavy armor, and tanks. But the true shadow was darker: the rise of Hydra and their mastery of alien technology. Suddenly, the future didn't look bright, it looked like a battlefield.
The future would come in its own time; for now, Logan had work to do. His immediate mission was clear: he needed to train his body and build a loyal community to support his vision. It was time to leave the past behind and find a new place to call home, a sanctuary where his plan could finally take root.
As I traveled from town to town, I found myself mesmerized by the landscape. Before me lay a world of ancient trees and towering mountains, nature entirely untouched by human intervention. It was hard to believe this was the future site of Houston, at this moment, it was nothing but lush greenery. I had found my place. Now, it was time to move in and start mingling with the locals.
Two years have passed since I first arrived. At first, the townsfolk were suspicious of a stranger appearing from nowhere, but I managed to ease their minds. I told them I had fled the turmoil at the border, that the conflict between America and Mexico had taken everything from me. It was a half-truth, I claimed to be a victim of the war, losing my family to the violence, which explained my solitude without revealing why I didn't age. As I shared these 'memories,' their suspicion turned to sympathy. Slowly, the gates began to open, and I found myself being pulled into the inner circle of the town.
The people of this town are genuinely kind once you earn their trust. After sharing my story over drinks at the local bar, I finally asked for permission to build a home of my own. I had been saving the money I'd scavenged over the years specifically for this moment—to finally own a piece of the earth. They agreed to let me have a small plot of land just outside the town limits. I told them I intended to build a warehouse for a future company, but for now, I'm just grateful to finally have a place to stand.
I turned to the group and asked, "How would you all feel about starting a business right here in town?".
"What kind of business?" one of the locals asked, leaning in with curiosity.
"Salt and pepper," I replied. I couldn't help but grin as I presented the idea, watching the realization dawn on their faces.
I did the math as I walked the streets. The town was modest, home to roughly seventy or eighty families. With an average of two children per household, that put the population at around three hundred souls. It was the perfect size. It was small enough to control and quiet enough to stay off the radar of the coming storm.
Small towns are funny, everyone knows what you had for breakfast before you've even finished your eggs. It took two years for them to stop looking at me like a mystery and start treating me like a friend. It was a long road to get here, but seeing how these people look out for one another? Yeah, it was well worth the effort.
"Since nature didn't give us easy riches", I told them with a smile, "we're going to have to make our own. My plan spans a century. I want the work we do today to be the foundation for our grandkids' futures".
At first, they were stunned. They thought I was just opening a warehouse, but when they realized I was planning for their families too, the mood changed. A wave of warmth moved through the crowd. For the first time, they didn't just see a stranger with a plan, they saw a man who truly belonged to them.
Watching them, Logan felt a weight in his chest. He realized he couldn't build a hundred-year legacy on a foundation of lies. It was time for the truth—the truth about his mutation. He knew he was gambling everything. If they could accept what he was, his plan was halfway to fruition. If they couldn't, he would have to disappear into the night and never look back.
"Guys... I need to tell you the truth about who I am," Logan began. The townsfolk leaned in, their faces etched with curiosity. "I don't age like other men. I age... much slower." Logan's muscles were taut with nerves, He held his breath, his hands gripped tight, ready to make a run for it if they looked at him like he was a monster. He expected gasps or shouts, but instead, the room went quiet as they processed the news that their friend Logan might be around a lot longer than the rest of them.
"What do you mean by that, James?" That voice—it sounded like a dream. I hadn't shared my real name yet, part of the careful act I'd orchestrated. If they accepted me, I could stay; if they booed me out, I'd be gone. The voice belonged to Helen Dean. She was a beautiful girl, the true flower of this town. I'll tell you more about her and the rest of the townsfolk later, but right now, I had to see this plan through to the end.
"I was born in 1836, Helen," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't just my family at the border... it was me."
I waited, watching their faces. The silence was heavy, and the nervous energy made my skin crawl.
"You mean... you're sixty-five years old?" Helen asked, her eyes wide as she did the math. "Is that really what you're telling us, James?"
"Yes, Helen... I am. I'm not joking, and I can prove it to you right now."
"Then show us," she challenged.
Without a word, I drew my knife and drove it deep into my own leg. To say they were shocked would be an understatement; the color drained from every face in the room.
"James! What are you doing?!" Helen screamed, lunging forward to stop me as I prepared to pull the blade back out.
"The truth, Helen... I want to show you all who I am. What I am. And the story that comes with it."
Right there in the dimly lit bar, surrounded by the seventy families he hoped to call his own, the impossible happened. As James pulled the blade free, the jagged wound didn't bleed out. Instead, the flesh knit itself back together, sealing perfectly in a matter of seconds. A heavy, terrifying silence fell over the room. The townsfolk stared, their faces pale with a shock so deep it bordered on horror. The word 'demon' hung invisibly on their lips, ready to be screamed.
The word 'demon' died in their throats before it could be whispered. How could they call him a monster? This was James, the man who had looked out for every family in town for the last two years. He was gambling his entire future on them, standing exposed and vulnerable. As they looked at his healed skin, the shock turned into something else: a deep, quiet respect. They saw the gamble he was taking, and for the first time, they truly saw the man behind the plan.
"How is this even possible, James?" Helen whispered.
She was trembling, her eyes fixed on the spot where the blade had pierced his skin only seconds ago. There wasn't a scar, a drop of blood, or even a scratch left behind. The shock was written across her face, but beneath the fear, there was a growing sense of wonder. She looked up at him, searching his eyes for the man she thought she knew, trying to reconcile the "James" she liked with the miracle standing before her.
I have healing abilities," I explained, my voice heavy with the weight of my years. "My body repairs itself faster than any human's. That's why I don't age, the cells just keep mending, keeping me stuck in this moment while the world moves on. And if you're wondering if I can save others... I can't. This power starts and ends with me. It's a gift and a curse, all wrapped into one." I let out a long sigh, the sound echoing in the silent bar.
I was ready to run. My muscles were tight, my mind already calculating the fastest route out of town. I expected them to recoil, but the townfolk just stood there, staring at me with a profound sadness. They looked at me the way you look at a soldier returned from a war that never ended. In that quiet bar, eighty families looked at my "gift" and realized the terrible price I'd paid for it. The fear I'd braced for never came, only a shared, silent compassion.
"James... it doesn't matter," Helen said, her voice steady and filled with a warmth I hadn't expected. She stepped closer, her eyes searching mine. "We are all family here. We might be small in number, but we take care of our own. And that includes you."
I felt the sting of tears I hadn't shed in decades. To be seen for exactly what I am and not be met with a pitchfork or a scream of 'demon'... it was everything.
"You have no idea what that means to me," I told them, looking from Helen to the rest of the gathered families. I had spent years running, but here, in this small bar on the edge of nowhere, I had found a foundation. They were willing to bring me into their circle, mutation and all. My 100-year plan wasn't just about a business anymore; it was about protecting the first people who actually saw me as a man.
I looked at them, Helen, Bob, Hunter—the faces of the people who had just saved my soul. "I have a question for you," I said, my voice steady and filled with a new kind of fire. "Do you want to be the richest families in America?"
They stared at me, stunned by the scale of my words.
"I'm not talking about a little extra cash in your pockets," I continued. "I'm talking about building a power that lasts until the end of time. I want this town to be the heart of this region. I want us to be so strong that no one, not even the government, can tell us how to live. Who's with me?"
"How are you gonna do that, James?" Hunter asked, his brow furrowed with a mix of curiosity and caution.
It was a fair question. I hadn't come here to scam them; I hadn't asked for a single penny of their hard-earned money. In fact, I was looking to give them mine. I knew it sounded strange—a man with no past promising a future of limitless wealth.
"I'm not asking for your gold," I said, leaning into the circle. "I'm asking for your hands and your silence. I have the capital, I have the knowledge of markets that haven't even formed yet, and I have a century's worth of secrets on how to stay ahead of the curve. We start with the spice trade, but we won't end there."
"Listen," I said, leaning in so only they could hear. "Being like this makes me a target. I'm not the only one with 'abilities' out there, and most of them see regular people as nothing more than tools or obstacles. If I'm going to stay here, I need to make sure this community is so powerful and so well-hidden that nobody, no government, no monster, ould dare touch us. I'm giving you this money so you can build a wall of influence that keeps your families safe from my world."
"Here's how we protect our future," I told them. "We start simple, spices and sugar. But as the money grows, so does our reach. We'll open our own banks and set up our own telegram offices. Every one of your families will run a branch of this empire. Everyone gets a share. By the time the rest of the world realizes what we've built, we'll be too big to fail and too connected to be touched."
A visible spark went through the crowd as my words sank in. They perked up, their eyes widening as they realized what I was truly offering. This wasn't just a job at a factory; it was sovereignty. In this town, they would control their own money, their own destiny, and their own lives. If we controlled the flow of goods and information across America, the government wouldn't be able to touch us, they'd be coming to us for help. It was an ambition that had never even crossed their minds, but looking at me, they realized it was actually possible.
"First things first," I told the gathered families. "We secure the water. It's the lifeblood of everything we're going to build. Then, we start the stills. We'll make the best spirits in the state and use that capital to fund the farms. I'm talking about thousands of acres, a reach that spans from coast to coast. We're going to plant the seeds of a legacy that our great-grandchildren will still be harvesting a hundred years from now."
"You mean... we're doing everything?" Hunter asked, his voice full of disbelief.
He had assumed I wanted to open a local general store or a small mill, something just big enough for the town. But as he looked into my eyes, he saw a fire that didn't belong to a small-town businessman. He saw a man who had lived through centuries and was tired of being at the mercy of others. My ambition wasn't just to help the town; it was to make the town the center of the world.
"Everything that makes us essential," I replied. "If the world needs it to survive, we're going to be the ones providing it."
"Yes, Hunter. Every business we can start, we will. We're going to build this until we are a global powerhouse, until we are so strong that no one, not even the bravest fool in Washington, would dare touch this town until the end of time."
To say they were shocked would be an understatement. They looked at one another, the weight of my words pressing down on the room. They realized then why I was doing this. I couldn't do it alone, and I wasn't asking for servants. I was inviting them to be the pillars of an empire. I wasn't just helping them survive; I was weaving their lives into a plan that would protect their children's children forever.
"What does all this mean for you, James? Why go through all this trouble?" Bob finally spoke up, his voice breaking the long silence of my monologue.
I looked at him, letting the mask of the "businessman" slip for a moment. "I want to hide, Bob. I've spent a lifetime being hunted. If I build this... if I'm the ghost behind a global empire... they won't ever think to look for me here. They'll be looking for a soldier or a freak in the woods. They won't be looking for the man who owns the water, the banks, and the lifeblood of this country. I want to disappear in plain sight."
The air in the bar turned cold as the truth settled over them. They looked at me, at the man who had fixed their fences and shared their meals, and finally understood the nightmare I lived in. I wasn't just "gifted", I was a prize. There were people out there, powerful and heartless people, who would cut me open just to see how the pieces fit back together. They would turn me into a lab rat.
The shock on their faces turned into a fierce, protective anger. They realized that the "100-year plan" wasn't just about money, it was about building a cage for the world so the world couldn't put me in one.
"Then when do we start?!" Helen asked, her eyes bright with an excitement I hadn't seen in years.
She looked around the dusty bar, then back at me. I could see the wheels turning in her head, she was imagining a world where her children didn't just survive, but thrived. The slowness of this town had always been a weight, but now, it was a blank canvas.
"Tonight," I said, standing up. "We start tonight by mapping the water lines. We don't wait for the world to change, Helen. We change it ourselves."
"We start by buying books," I said, a wide, predatory grin spreading across my face.
"Every book the world has to offer. Science, history, philosophy, engineering, if it's printed on paper, I want it here. We're going to build a library for this town that is big enough to hold the knowledge of the next century. I want your children to be the smartest people on this planet. While the rest of the world is stumbling in the dark, we will be the ones holding the lantern."
The Night of the First Blueprint
The heavy oak door of the bar was locked from the inside. Outside, the Montana wind howled, but inside, the air was thick with the smell of old paper and the heat of eighty hearts beating in sync.
James stood at the center of the largest table, a simple piece of charcoal in his hand. He began to draw on the bare wood. He wasn't drawing a shop; he was drawing a fortress.
"Look here," James said, his voice a low growl that commanded total silence. "The North Ridge has the aquifer. We don't just dig a well; we build a pumping station that can support ten times our current population. Hunter, you and the boys start clearing the path tomorrow. We tell the outsiders we're just building a better irrigation system for the cattle."
Hunter nodded, his face split by a grin that made him look ten years younger. "And the library, James? Where does that go?"
"In the center of the town," James replied, his eyes gleaming. "We'll use the limestone from the quarry. It'll have walls three feet thick. Fireproof. Thief-proof. While the rest of the country is burning their furniture to stay warm during the winters to come, our kids will be in there learning how to build the next century."
Everyone began to lean in, their hands resting on the table, literally touching the "plan."
Helen was already making a list of the first books they'd need, medical texts, agricultural guides, and law books so they could outsmart any government agent who came knocking.
Bob was calculating how many stills they could hide in the basement of the "Spice Factory" to start generating the untraceable cash they needed for the bank.
The Younger Men were whispering about the "Telegram lines", the idea that they would be the first to know the news of the world before it even hit the papers.
For the first time in their lives, these people didn't feel like "small-town folk" stuck in the mud. They felt like architects.
James looked around the room. He saw his "moist eyes" reflected in theirs. They weren't looking at him as a "freak" anymore; they were looking at him as their General. He had given them a purpose that was bigger than a single lifetime.