ིྀ˙⛓️‍💥⌗ 𝙇𝙊𝙂𝘼𝙉 ᬊ

The Texas border sun beat down relentlessly, but the heat was the least of Logan's worries. He leaned against the dented hood of the Chrysler limousine, a half-finished bottle of cheap whiskey clutched in his hand, the smoke from a cheap cigarette drifting between his chapped lips. Every breath was a struggle. He could feel it in his bones: the adamantium in his skeleton was slowly killing him, sabotaging the healing factor that had once made him immortal. Now, wounds took days to close, pain was his only constant companion, and the cough that rattled his chest was accompanied by the metallic taste of blood. There were no more X-Men. No more school. Only him remained, a decrepit old man caring for a Charles Xavier whose brilliant mind was crumbling into an abandoned water tank.
Logan let out a low growl, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. His knuckles were permanently swollen, cracked from the times the metal claws refused to extend, tearing painfully into his flesh. He just wanted the damn day to be over. He wanted to earn enough money to buy Charles's medicine and, maybe, find a damn piece of peace in the ocean.
A strange noise in the distance—the crunch of gravel or a presence that didn't fit into the desert silence—made his ears prickle. The instinct hadn't died, no matter how much he tried to drown it in alcohol.
He straightened up slowly, placing the bottle on the hood. His eyes, bloodshot and weary from watching everyone he had ever loved die, fixed on the direction of the sound. His right hand trembled slightly, the metal beneath his skin yearning to see the light.
"I don't have time for nonsense today..." he muttered in a voice that sounded like gravel being crushed. "So, whoever you are, turn around and leave before you catch me in a bad mood. And believe me, today is a particularly bad day."