Cyclops—Scott Summers—stood on the balcony of the room S.H.I.E.L.D. had secured for them, staring out over the Madripoor skyline.
The city burned against the dark. Neon lights bled down the sheer glass of the high-rises like liquid rainbows, twisting the sky into a vortex of crimson and cobalt. Far below, the scattered lights of Lowtown flickered like dying fireflies, entirely swallowed by the blinding, saturated glare of Hightown. Heat distortion warped the air, making the entire island state look like it was floating in a toxic, colorful haze.
Scott gripped the railing. His former comrades had no attachment to the past, and he didn't understand it. They had once been united under Charles Xavier. The Westchester academy had been their home. Now, he was the only one who wanted to hold any of it together.
His fingers tightened against the metal. The ruby-quartz lenses of his combat goggles caught the neon glow, masking his eyes. He wanted to inherit more than just the estate; he wanted to rebuild the X-Men. He wanted to preserve Charles's ideal of coexistence. But standing here, he felt entirely alone.
He let out a slow, heavy breath.
A knock rattled his door.
Before Scott could turn around, a sharp crack echoed through the room. The heavy wooden door snapped off its hinges and slammed flat against the floor, kicking up a cloud of carpet dust.
Peter stood in the hallway, his hand still raised in a knocking position, looking mortified. His strength calibration instability was acting up again.
"Um. Mr. Summers?" Peter winced.
"Just call me Scott," Cyclops said, stepping inside. He barely glanced at the ruined door—S.H.I.E.L.D. could foot the bill. "Is there something I can help you with, kid?"
"I want to talk about Wolverine... Mr. Logan".
Scott held up a hand. "You saw him downstairs. That's just how Logan is. You don't need to worry about it."
"No, I mean... I think I understand what he's doing." Peter stepped over the splintered wood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the neon sprawl. "I'm different from the rest of the Avengers. I don't reveal my identity. I wear a full mask because I'm terrified I don't have the power to protect my family. Even with S.H.I.E.L.D. and Tony backing me up, I can't guarantee some unknown enemy won't go after the people I love."
Scott listened. He didn't interrupt.
"I think Wolverine is doing the exact same thing," Peter continued, turning to face him. "He didn't refuse you because he doesn't care about Professor Xavier's legacy. He refused because he cares too much. He thinks he's a curse. He looks at everyone around him who's ever suffered, assumes it's his fault, and pushes you away to protect you".
Scott stayed quiet for a long moment. Then, the rigid line of his jaw softened. He smiled, stepped forward, and clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder.
A sharp CRACK of bio-electric current snapped between them. Scott yanked his hand back.
"Oh! Sorry, sorry," Peter babbled, shaking his wrist. "I haven't got my abilities locked down yet. A little bit of leakage".
"It's fine, kid," Scott laughed, rubbing his palm. "I've seen plenty of young mutants struggle to control their abilities. You're doing better than most. Go get some rest. I have to step out for a bit".
Peter nodded and turned toward the hallway, then paused, looking back over his shoulder. "Oh, one more thing. Theoretically, the X-gene can be inherited, right? That half-Japanese guy down there—Daken. He called Wolverine a name we don't even know. Is it possible he's Logan's son?".
Downstairs in the Winter House casino, Logan crunched across broken glass. He wore his "Patch" disguise—a pristine white suit and an eyepatch. The lobby was a disaster zone. Most of the patrons had fled after the explosion, but a few stragglers were picking through the wreckage.
In the corner, a twelve-year-old girl in a bright yellow coat was blowing a bubblegum bubble and aggressively pulling the lever of a slot machine.
"That's not exactly for kids, Jubilee," Logan grunted, leaning against the side of the machine.
Jubilee. Her parents had been killed here in Madripoor, and Logan had taken her in, letting her live in the casino under his protection.
"I know minors can't gamble, but I'm just playing," Jubilee said. She snapped her fingers, and a cluster of multicolored pyroelectric sparks danced across the machine's coin slot. "I didn't even use real money. Plus, I helped you chase away the robbers. Where's my 'thank you'?"
Logan scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "You saw what happened today. The ghosts I've been tracking finally found my front door". He avoided looking at her. "I... I found a place for you. Somewhere safe."
Jubilee stopped chewing. Her hand dropped from the lever. "You don't want me anymore?"
"No, it's not—look, kid—" Logan stopped. He flared his nostrils, catching a familiar scent over the ozone and spilled bourbon.
"Why are you here, Slim?"
Scott crunched over the debris, carrying a sleek metal case. He glanced at Jubilee, then locked eyes with Logan. "I wasn't finished talking. There are things you need to hear."
"My mind isn't changing, Scott."
"Listen to me, Logan. Whether you come back or not, I'm rebuilding the X-Men. I just had a conversation with a kid who reminded me that the world still needs us". Scott stopped a few feet away, his posture military-straight. "So I'm telling you this: I'm making you my designated heir. If I die, I don't know who else can lead us but you".
Logan froze. Even Jubilee turned to stare at Scott.
"Stop running away, old man," Scott said, his voice dropping into a register of absolute command. "We need you. You can't keep using 'I have to protect you' as an excuse to bail. Are you going to look at this kid, tell her you're protecting her, and then abandon her? The danger is already here. It doesn't magically vanish just because you leave the room".
Logan stared. His nose didn't lie; Scott Summers had never been this serious.
"If I really was a curse, Scott," Logan growled, "I guarantee you'd be dead by Thursday, and I'd be inheriting a mansion in New York."
Scott shook his head, a genuine laugh breaking through his stoicism. He tossed the metal case.
Logan caught it effortlessly. He popped the latches and flipped the lid. He stared at the contents for a long, silent moment. "What the hell is this?"
"Your suit," Scott said. "Hank designed one for everyone. If you're coming back, you're wearing it".
Logan pinched the fabric and lifted it. It was a Kevlar tactical suit, dyed in aggressive, unapologetic yellow and blue. "This? You're joking. Is there a black leather jacket underneath it?"
"What did you want, Logan? A yellow spandex bodysuit?" Scott deadpanned.
Jubilee snickered, popping her bubblegum.
Logan stared at the bright yellow Kevlar. He looked at Jubilee, then back to the suit. Finally, he shook his head, a reluctant smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"Go to hell, Bob," Logan said.
PS: In Marvel Comics, Wolverine's first full appearance was in Incredible Hulk #181, where he debuted his iconic yellow and blue suit. This chapter marks the moment Logan finally receives his classic Kevlar suit from Hank McCoy.