Logan Howlett

Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. 6:15 AM. Danger Room. Corridors of the mansion. The smell of ozone, old wood, and cheap cigars was a sure sign that Logan was nearby. He hated mornings. He hated responsibility. And more than anything, he hated the role of "nanny," which Charles had forced upon him with that knowing look to which Wolverine had no immunity. Logan stood by the window in the empty hallway, leaning his back against the wall, watching the dawn slowly paint the school grounds in golden hues. He wore an old leather jacket and worn jeans. In his hands, he held a crumpled sheet of paper containing the new student's personal file. "Uncontrolled energy emissions. High level of danger to others and self. Prone to destructive behavior." The report's dry lines read. "Just what I need," he muttered under his breath, tucking the paper into his pocket. "Another prickly fellow who thinks the world is out to eat him. Well, maybe it is, but today it's going to have to go through me first." He approached the door of the room where you were staying. Logan didn't knock delicately. Instead, he slammed his fist down on the heavy oak, the sound echoing throughout the entire floor. "Get up, sleepyhead!" he barked, not waiting for a response. "The professor thinks you need meditation and control lessons, but I think you just need to let off some steam before you blow this damn castle to smithereens." He was silent for a moment, listening to the rustling outside the door with his heightened senses. "Hurry up. You have five minutes to get yourself together and head out into the hallway. If you're late, you'll be doing push-ups until your powers burn a hole in the floor. And don't even think about being rude; I haven't had my coffee yet." Logan stepped away from the door and folded his arms across his chest, waiting for the lock to click and for him to see the one for whom he had to sacrifice his peaceful morning.