A soul drifted alone in a void of endless black.
There was no sound. No feeling. No time. Just stillness.
But peace didn't last long.
Suddenly, without warning, the soul was yanked violently, as if hooked by an unseen force. It spiraled and shot forward, pulled toward something—a body.
A flash.
He gasped as his eyes snapping open, his body lurching upright from the bed as he panted heavily, sweat beading his forehead.
His gaze darted across the room around him, it was unfamiliar—wooden walls, a flickering lamp, the smell of old whisky and pine in the air.
He stared down at his hands.
No shirt. Muscular arms. These weren't his.
His hands trembled as he stared at them.
"W-What the hell…?" he muttered, his voice gruffer than he remembered.
Panic rose in his chest like a flood.
'Where am I? What is this place? These hands… they don't belong to me.'
"You're awake," said a woman's voice, calm and sultry.
He froze.
Slowly, he turned toward the voice.
A blonde woman, incredibly beautiful, lay beside him in bed—her body barely hidden beneath a thin white sheet. She was looking at him with a teasing smile on her lips, golden hair tousled from sleep and passion.
His mind went blank.
'Who the hell is this woman? What happened last night?!'
She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his lips. "Good morning, Jimmy."
'Jimmy?'
She stretched lazily, then stood up, letting the sheet slide off her body without a care in the world. She moved through the room confidently—completely naked—as she picked up her clothes.
He could only stare, caught between confusion and… instinct.
"I can't believe we did all those things," she chuckled before pulling on her jeans. "You're a beast in bed, Jimmy. I'm still sore."
'What the actual fuck is going on?! I'm not… I mean, I don't even…'
He tried to say something but no words came.
His heart raced. He wasn't some playboy or confident Casanova—he was an introvert. An average guy from Earth. How the hell did I end up here?
And then—
Clarity struck.
Like a fog lifting from his mind, memories poured in. Conflicting memories. Memories of wars. Of claws. Of pain. Of family. Of loss. Of Logan.
The woman, now fully dressed, walked over and kissed him on the cheek.
"I like you," she whispered before scribbling her number on a napkin. "Keep in touch, okay?"
She winked, blew a kiss, and walked out the door.
"…See you later, Clara," he muttered automatically.
As the door closed, he collapsed back onto the bed, arms spread wide, staring at the ceiling.
"…I still can't believe I'm Wolverine now."
After a long sigh, he sat up again and looked down between his legs with a mix of shock and pride.
A hint of excitement sparkled in his eyes as he hurriedly got dressed, walked into the bathroom, and stood in front of the mirror.
A man in his mid-twenties looked back at him. Sharp jawline. Muscular build. Short, dark hair. Eyes like a predator.
(Insert image of Logan)
He reached up and touched his face. "…This is insane."
Then, like every fanboy would do, he clenched his fists.
SNIKT.
Three sharp bone claws tore through his knuckles.
He stared at them in awe, moving them slowly.
"Damn… these aren't metal yet… but they're real. They're mine."
A grin pulled at his lips, but it faded quickly. His gaze softened.
"…I wonder what happened to my family back home."
He couldn't remember their names. Not even his own. Just flashes of a quiet, ordinary life—school, work, music. Jokes with friends. Watching movies late into the night.
His last memory was crossing the road while listening to music… then everything went dark.
'Now I'm here. In Logan's body. But it's not just me…'
He had Logan's full memories—from World Wars, betrayals, missions, and even his broken past with Victor, his half-brother. It was a mess of trauma and raw survival.
Logan's decades of war and survival now merged with the consciousness of a man from Earth.
'I've got all of Logan's memories. And my own. It's like… our memories or souls merged.'
This wasn't just a body swap.
It was a fusion. And it changed everything.
From what he could sense, this world was an MCU–X-Men hybrid. A cinematic blend of chaos waiting to unfold.
He ran a hand through his hair and muttered, "I don't even know what to do now."
---------------
Later that day...
He sat alone in a rustic bar—dim lights, wood-paneled walls, country music playing faintly in the background. A glass of whiskey rested in his hand. A thick cigar sat between his fingers.
He took a slow drag and stared at his reflection in the window.
'Never smoked or drank in my old life. But now? It feels… right. Like I've always done this.'
He sighed.
'Marvel Universe. Shit's about to go sideways at any moment.'
Still, it could've been worse.
'At least it's not Warhammer… or some hellish dystopia.'
"Jimmy!" a voice called from behind the counter. "You look like you're having a good day."
He glanced up at the bartender—Will, a gruff, middle-aged man with a kind smile.
Logan smirked. "Living the dream, Will."
Will grinned. "What about that chick you left with last night? Was she good?"
Logan rolled his eyes. "Why the hell do you care? But yeah… she seemed to enjoy herself more than I did."
Will shook his head while laughing. "Hooked up with a girl you just met? Classic Jimmy. You never fail to surprise me. I used to be just like you back in the day."
Logan ignored him and took another sip, his thoughts drifting.
Ever since he woke up, something had been… changing.
He could feel it. His senses were sharper. His strength was growing slowly.
And more than that—his mind was clearer and more focused.
'This wasn't just a normal transmigration. My body... There's something changing inside me.'
He didn't know what powers or abilities were awakening, but he knew one thing, 'This isn't the same Logan as before.'
Something deeper had taken root.
A power born of two souls.
His musing was interrupted by a presence behind him.
Two of them. He sensed them before they entered. Calm. Confident. Purposeful.
He didn't even have to look.
"Hello," a voice said smoothly. "My name is Charles Xavier."
"And I'm Erik Lensherr," the other added. "We need you to come with us."
Logan turned slowly in his seat and raised an eyebrow at the two men standing there.
Xavier and Erik, they look like the actors from X-Men: First Class movie.
And if his memories were right, it was 1962.
He leaned back and took another drag from his cigar, smoke curling around his head.
"Well… shit," he muttered under his breath.
-------------
A Few Moments later...
Logan sat slouched on a velvet couch in a luxurious CIA-furnished room that barely felt lived in. Despite the lavish surroundings—mahogany floors, dim chandelier lighting, and walls adorned with polished gold-trim mirrors—his focus wasn't on the décor.
A tumbler of whiskey sat in his gloved hand, ice swirling with each lazy rotation.
He took a sip.
Sitting beside him was Hank McCoy, fidgeting with his glasses. On Logan's other side, Raven Darkhölme as she exchanged jokes with others.
Across the room were the young mutants that Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr had hand-picked for their little revolution against Sebastian Shaw.
Sean Cassidy—the blonde haired Irish teenager, better known later as Banshee—leaned forward, eyes bright with excitement. Armando Muñoz, calm and composed, who called himself Darwin due to his power of reactive evolution.
Angel Salvadore, the exotic-looking girl with dragonfly wings folded behind her back. And lastly, the intense Alex Summers.
Logan took another sip. 'Should've known better than to agree to this crap,' he thought grimly.
The real reason he was here wasn't Charles' hopeful talk or Erik's passionate speeches. It was training. Fighting. He needed to understand just how deep these changes inside him ran.
Ever since he woke up in this new life, his senses had sharpened, his strength grew every hour slowly, and the instincts that once took decades to hone had come back tenfold. He didn't know if it was a secondary mutation, or just his existing gifts getting a serious upgrade.
Maybe he'd find out when the fists started flying.
Charles had attempted to peek into his mind earlier.
Logan smirked at the memory.
"Your mind is like… a maze," Charles had admitted, rubbing his temple with a frown. "If I try to reach the core… I could get lost in there."
'Telepathic immunity... Good. Let's keep it that way.'
His thoughts drifted to Sebastian Shaw. From what he knows, Shaw was no joke. Absorbs energy, redirects it, enhanced strength, he's like a walking bomb.
'Now that's the kind of opponent I wouldn't mind punching.'
Logan knew Charles and Erik had different visions for the mutant kind. One dreaming of coexistence, the other preparing for war. In truth, he didn't care much for either dream.
But he was in their world now. Their rules. And mutants didn't survive solo for long.
"Not much of a talker, huh?" Hank asked.
Logan turned his head slowly, raising an eyebrow. "You don't strike me as much of a fighter."
Hank blinked, flustered. "Well—uh—I prefer science."
"Yeah," Logan said, smirking slightly. "Explains the sweater."
Hank looked down at his knit vest awkwardly. "It was a gift…"
Raven nudged Logan in the ribs, whispering something he ignored.
The air shifted as Raven stood up and clapped her hands. "Okay! I have an idea!" she said excitedly. "Since we're officially working with the CIA now… I say we pick code names."
Sean blinked. "Code names? That's… weird."
Raven grinned and transformed into him—voice and all. "Still think it's weird?"
The room erupted with surprised laughter and applause.
"Damn…" Alex muttered under his breath.
Raven turned back to normal and smiled proudly. "I'll go with Mystique."
"Nice," Darwin said before giving her a small nod.
Sean scratched the back of his head. "Alright, I guess I'll be Banshee… sounds cool enough."
Angel stood up, tugging off her coat.
"I'll go with Angel," she said. Her glistening, insect-like wings unfolded with a faint buzz as she lifted herself effortlessly into the air.
Raven's eyes lit up. "You can fly? That's so cool!"
Angel grinned. "Yup. I got moves."
"Showoff," Sean muttered, but clapped anyway.
"Alright, alright, lemme try something too," he said, and unleashed a sonic scream.
A high-pitched shriek shattered one of the nearby glass panes. Everyone ducked instinctively.
"Sean!" Hank shouted. "Not inside!"
"Oops!" Sean laughed. "My bad!"
"Nice aim, Banshee," Alex said sarcastically.
Darwin stepped forward with a casual shrug. "My ability's not flashy. I just… adapt."
He walked to a large fish tank in the room, stuck his face into the water, and within seconds, gills sprouted along his neck.
The others clapped and laughed in awe.
"Whoa!"
"No way…"
"That's kinda awesome," Angel said with wide eyes.
Then all eyes turned to Alex.
He stiffened, clearly uncomfortable.
"Come on, Summers," Sean said. "We all showed ours. Fair's fair."
Alex glanced at them, jaw tight. "I can't control it."
"Who cares?" Raven said. "Let's see what you got."
Everyone joined in.
"Yeah, come on!"
Alex hesitated. "Fine… but don't blame me if something breaks."
He went outside with them, and they all stood at a safe distance. With a breath, he centered himself. Then, with a pulse of energy, glowing red-orange rings spiraled around his body. He flung his arms outward—BAM!—a devastating beam sliced across the courtyard, destroying a statue and knocking over a few nearby trees.
The group roared in excitement.
"Hell yeah!"
"Dude, that was awesome!"
"Holy crap!"
"That was insane!"
Alex rubbed his neck sheepishly. "Told you it's hard to aim."
Logan, still inside, watched from the window with a deadpan stare.
He grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the table and chugged the remaining contents straight from it.
'Children.'
As the group returned, flushed with adrenaline and joy, Raven plopped down next to Logan again. "What about you, grumpy grandpa? Got a code name?"
Logan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood.
"I already had one," he said flatly. "Kids, meet Wolverine."
Without hesitation, he popped his claws with a snikt, the three sharp bone blades extending from between his knuckles.
The others blinked.
"…That's it?" Alex asked. "That's your whole thing?"
Logan's face twitched into a smirkless grin. "That's all."
He glanced around at their awkward stares, then exhaled sharply.
"Alright. I'll do myself a favor and head to bed before your stupidity gives me a headache."
With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room without another word.
The door shut behind him with a quiet click.
"…What's his deal?" Sean whispered.
Angel sighed. "Kinda hot though…"
"Totally," Raven smirked.
Back in his room, Logan sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his hands.
'So far, they think I'm just a grumpy brawler with a bad attitude and claws.'
He cracked his neck, eyes narrowing as he felt a deep, tingling surge of strength flow through his body.
'Let them think that. For now.'