|wolvverine (wolvverine) wrote,|
@ 2009-12-24 17:43:00
|Entry tags:||bio, history, logan|
Logan was born James, Jr. to James and Elizabeth Howlett on March 25, 1973. His father was a logger, like his father before him. Tales were told of centuries past when the Howletts were respected, rich plantation owners. Logan never knew anything but hard work in his life.
He was born smallish, like his mother's side of the family, and his own dad called him a runt. He had to earn every ounce of respect he ever got, and there was precious little of that. Because of his size disadvantage, he learned to idolize Bruce Lee movies early on, and later enrolled in a local Koryū, a traditional Japanese martial arts school led by a Master who had left Japan for political reasons and ended holed up in Canada. A logger's son didn't have a lot of disposable income, but Logan was determined. He became the janitor, handyman and errand boy for the school in exchange for being allowed to train there.
Then his father died in a work related incident and Logan chose to drop out of school and go to work at 16 to support his family. His mother died of grief less than a year later, and Logan was on his own. He worked as a logger and continued his training at the dojo whenever he could afford it, but he could never find peace. He ended up leaving the dojo in order to enlist, serving two tours in Kuwait and Iraq throughout 1991 (1st Gulf War: 2 August 1990 – 28 February 1991). He came back changed, and not for the better.
He was always an irascible boy, but his violent streak had been fairly tempered and channeled through his martial arts training. Sadly, the longer he stayed away from the dojo, the more he reverted into a Howlett: a hard, hostile, anti-social, stubborn and disrespectful loner with a tendency to explode into blind rages. He also developed a bad habit of picking fights with bigger guys than him. Much bigger. He may have had the spirit, and some kickass moves from his training, but there is always a bigger, and badder opponent out there. In Logan's case, bigger was almost a given.
He rejoined the work force, but after showing promise as a grassroots worker's rights advocate, he was soon fired from his job. Left with nothing, he became even more bitter and violent. He served another tour in the Canadian Army as part of Operation Medak Pocket (Croatia, 1993), citing that he "had nothing better to do." He came back to no job prospects, so he moved around a lot, taking up jobs in construction. His army training came in handy when it came to explosives, and he ended up training in demolition as well. He did well enough but, like in the army, he was always the grunt, never the boss. His Achilles' heel was his violent temper, he always ended up fighting with someone. He had deep seated anger issues, and these murderous urges he couldn't explain, and could barely control. This is why he kept going back to the army whenever there was a war.
It became a pattern. Get job, sometimes get fairly good at it, mess up prospects because of attitude and volatile temper, go to war and get some of those darker urges out of his system. Then he'd come back to Canada and start the cycle over. Kosovo, 1999. Afghanistan, 2001. Iraq invasion, on exchange to American units, 2003.
When he returned from Iraq, he had a strange yearning for home. He went back to the Northern Territories, but his dojo Master had died. He stayed in the area long enough to meet Kayla Silverfox. Logan had never been in love before, he only knew drive-by lust and short-lived dysfunctional relationships. But that all changed. It was the happiest four years of his life, in which he tried to find his center again, putting in practice the disciplines he had learned at the dojo all those years before. It all ended tragically when Logan came home one day to find Kayla brutally murdered. He thrashed his own house in his grief and basically lost it for days. He was arrested for disorderly conduct and held for suspicion of murder, but his alibi held and he was finally released, only for him to crawl into a whiskey bottle for a few months. He was thirty-four years old.
Logan became a drifter. He could be found roaming the northern United States and Canada, doing odd jobs and the occasional lumberjack gig, but mostly brawling for cash in underground, illegal fight arenas. Any old bar with a cage would do. He was billed as the Wolverine, because he was small but scary fierce, relentless and mean as a snake. The nickname fit for many reasons. The wolverine, or skunk bear, is also known as a glutton, and James certainly seemed to be a glutton for punishment. It is a stocky and muscular carnivore that has a reputation for ferocity and strength out of proportion to its size, with the documented ability to kill prey many times its size.
However, he did finally meet his match in the underground fight circuit. It was early 2008, when he fought a mountain of a man named Creed who wasn't happy that Logan had gotten a few good punches in in the course of their fight. Even though Creed won in the end, due to his greater reach and size (and the fact that Logan did not yet have his healing factor), the big man met Logan in the parking lot after the fight to voice his discontent. Violently. That wasn't by far the last time Logan and Creed brawled. They'd basically hunt each other on and off all over the north. Logan even won a few of those fights, something Creed could never forgive.
Logan was ambushed by his nemesis after one such fight, jumping at him from the shadows and beating him up, then finally breaking off some car's windshield wiper and stabbing Logan in the left eye with it. Logan lost an eye that day, but he resumed drifting and brawling the moment he got out of the hospital. If anything, he was fiercer than ever, and earned the nickname Patch for the black patch he wore over his missing left eye. He shipped out to Kandahar (2009) not long after, volunteering for the most reckless, suicidal missions while he was there. He was promptly shipped back for being too unstable.
Logan wasn't gone that long, this time, and his old friend Creed certainly hadn't forgotten about him. Their last encounter before the solar flare ended up with Creed crushing his right leg against a concrete wall with a hotwired car. By the time Logan was rushed to a hospital, the leg had to be amputated above the knee.
Logan ended up in Toronto in the years leading up to Black Friday, the day of the 2012 solar flare that changed his world forever. He had to get by on just his modest soldier's pension and some disability money, which he mostly spent on booze. He mostly stayed home drinking, unkempt and staring at a picture of his Silver Fox when he wasn't terrorizing the neighbors and generally making an arse out of himself. At thirty-eight years old, his life was over. Around mid-2012, Logan started getting sick a lot. Rashes, itches, much sniffling and coughing. It was as if his immune system was quitting on him too, and leaving for greener pastures. He couldn't understand it, and neither could the doctors. They blamed his drinking for it, claiming it must be somehow suppressing his immunities, but on a level that was completely out of the ordinary. He even developed an unspecific condition akin to a walking pneumonia.
For a country boy who'd never been sick a day in his life, it was mighty strange to suddenly develop some sort of battery of severe environmental allergies. He was constantly sick for the six weeks prior to December 21, 2012. Three days before the flare, he had to be admitted with a devilishly high fever that would not break. He spent most of those three days delirious. Lucidity came with the solar flare, along with unimaginable agony that sent him flying from his gurney and onto the floor. His howls of pain were heard all over the clinic as his missing leg and eye miraculously regenerated, growing back within hours after being missing for years. Not only that, but he developed some abnormal bony growth, thought to be bone spurs, between his knuckles.
Amid the pain of massive tissue regeneration, those spurs cut right through the flesh, extending fully to show three distinct, roughly foot-long, claws in each hand. The claws randomly extending and retracting was like having spikes driven through his hands every time. It was not a pleasant experience, especially considering his healing factor made it so that once fully housed in his forearms, the claws would have to tear through whole flesh once again in order to extend out of his hands. Likely, the fact that he'd been a brawler all those years, and a logger before that, making sure he was well accustomed to pain, prevented him from going completely insane as his pain receptors were overwhelmed.
Reports of an ex-soldier who had regrown a limb soon made it through the grapevine, and a bewildered James was collected by Department H, a special ops division of the Canadian military with ties with the newly emerged Perfect Soldier Program. James was less than willing to be experimented on, and he seemed to be growing more feral and animalistic with each passing day, so the program decided to wipe his memories and brainwash him into obedience before the seemingly unkillable soldier could become a problem.
The process did not account for James' healing factor. No matter how many times they went in, they couldn't fully erase his memories, and merely left him with a jumble of incomplete snippets of what his life had been. However, the body remembered what the mind did not. Almost completely feral by this point, his enhanced senses assaulted by the lab smells and the scent of horror, aggression and fear coming from the others being experimented on, James flew into a berserker rage and quite literally clawed his way out of the facility. He has no recollection of how many soldiers he killed to get out. He can't even remember his own name. All he knows is that he came to with a bloody set of dog tags all tangled up in his claws. Since he vaguely remembered being a soldier many times, and he wasn't wearing any, he concluded they were his. One mystery solved, or so he thought. He still wears those dog tags around his neck today. They read LOGAN and the first four digits of a half-melted down serial number. By the time he was conscious of himself again and not an animal, he'd put too many miles between him and the facility, and the snows and rains had faded the trail down to nothing.
Thinking of himself as Logan, he survived in the wild, more animal than man, for several months. The longer he spent time in nature, the calmer he'd become, and some of his humanity started coming back to him. He drifted down to the states once more, keeping to little populated areas. Avoiding people helped keep his pronounced feral aggression in check. Mostly.
He eventually made it to the Haven but he stayed outside of it, in the surrounding woods, to do some recon and make sure it wasn't a trap. He had not forgotten about the Perfect Soldier facility, even though he couldn't recall any details, or even find his way back, since he had been in the throes of a berserker rage when he escaped. Once he ascertained that the place didn’t look sinister, and the inmates seemed to come and go as they pleased, looking healthy and happy, for the most part, Logan decided to introduce himself.
More recently, he made a place for himself at the Haven, finding both a home in the X-men and a woman who loved him, warts and all. He was later recaptured by the Perfect Soldier Program and, secretly led by Sinister, had nearly indestructible Adamantium bonded into his whole skeleton. His bone claws were filed to razor sharpness before the bonding process, leaving him with six metal claws instead of his old rougher bone ones.
He was reprogrammed as a killer, and came back to the Haven in a rampage after escaping his captors, almost killing Xavier in the process. Cured of his brainwashing, he returned to active service in the X-men as well as being tapped by Warpath for his secret black ops and wetworks mutant team. He also returned to the arms of his woman, only to have her be brutally murdered by Sabretooth.
Having his old foe targeting people he loved made Logan hunt down Karr, the son he hadn't known he had until very recently, and bring him back to the Haven for his safety. While their bond is powerful, they can rarely seem to see eye to eye except when it comes to meat, beer and bar brawls.
But more surprises await. Unbeknownst to Logan, a certain donation he had made for cash years ago resulted in a girl, Laura, who inherited bone claws like her daddy's when the Solar Flare hit.