For a night, I was Wolverine.

I legitimately had a dream that I was Wolverine last night.


It was -VERY- vivid. I can still recall the odd juxtaposition created by my superheavy skeleton anchoring me to the earth and my mutant musculature making me feel light as a feather. (Think of one of the floatier characters in Smash Bros. with both a Metal Cap and a Bunny Hood.) I can still taste the stogie I was chewin'/smokin' on. I can still feel the way the leather jacket and fitting blue jeans I was wearing stretched and strained over my animalian form. The pleasant sound/feel of my cowboy boot heels striking the metal deck underneath.


But most of all, I remember that split-second icy cold feeling between my knuckles when I would pop one of my claws. A pain so sharp and quick that it was quickly overridden by the pleasure chemicals secreted directly afterward. Indeed, in the short time that I inhabited Logan's bestial body, I became quite masochistic with how liberally I'd allow pain to be inflicted upon me. It was such a rush. And, I'm getting ahead of myself here, whenever heavy pain was issued, in the form of sustained gunfire or massive lacerations, the dull hot throb gave way to blinding white anger that we all know and love as his signature Berserker Rage. Mentally it's a very complex thing to semi-anticipate/look forward to taking a beating just because you know once you reach a certain level, you're unstoppable. It's like in old-school games where after your character takes enough damage, your sprite blinked quickly and you were momentarily invincible. Oh how I welcomed that state.


Anyhoo, it was night and I was on a huge metal freighter. I was on a mission, to find someone or something, though I can't remember exactly what. I was too enthralled in the physical sensations being bestowed upon me by my brain.


It was to be a stealth mission, but being nigh invulnerable, I didn't bother with any camouflage or tactical clothing. Just ma wifebeater, ma jeans, ma boots n ma jacket. And of course my claws.


I sauntered slowly, but purposefully, each footstrike rooting me to the floor in a way I can only describe as magnetic. When I wanted to be attached to ground, I was. When I wanted to break free, I did. It was intoxicating.


The occasional guard would wander into view and/or I'd burst into a room with one or two of them. More often than not, before they could even draw their weapons, I'd already swooped in and dipped a single claw into their neck or thereabouts. Gently setting the lifeless body down.


Toward the end though, right before I woke up, shit got hectic. I had already killed about a dozen or so men and my stogie was quite short. I'd acquired a key, a keycard, some important papers. I felt the mission was coming to a close, and thus, got a little reckless. I'd just popped the top of the room I was in and spryly jumped up to the surface. I had about three seconds back in the salty sea air, when *ZAAAAAANG!!!* my right eye reflexively closed and the white flash in my left eye quickly subsided. I'd been tagged. The ringing had just begun when *THOT, THOT, THOT* traveled down my still vibrating skull. The first two hit my metallic bones and ricocheted back out, but the last one tore through my sternocleidomastoid and was now accompanying the rush of blood filling my throat. I lost my cigar. All I tasted was metal. I swallowed the projectile and a good couple gulps of blood as I ducked low to see where I'd been hit from. The dense little rock shredded all the way down and I welcomed the pain.


I was losing my composure.


I could see him now. Little pussy, high in his tower with his rifle. I sprinted at the base, claws at the ready. There were only three supports I needed to sever and I knew gravity and physics would do the rest. Before I reached the first, I felt a nice hot spray of lead cut up my back from my left hip to my right shoulder. EXCELLENT. I slashed the metal beams quickly and spun before witnessing the result.


An all black-clad soldier had just swung up out of the hole I cut earlier and from the movement and his scent I could tell he wasn't human.


I planted my feet. He'd come to me.


He was sprinting in fast, but not faster than I could see, and his hands both went to one hip. He was drawing a katana, and with decent form. Still, I had him.


*CHA-THOOM!!* a nearby concussive blast caused me to throw my arms up in an x to shield my precious eyes (I'd need those for this fight) from the steadily mounting heat.


I could smell it. My own flesh cooking. Goddamnit. I really liked this jacket.


He was right on top of me, and the moment he brought his blade through the air, he switched sides. Instantaneously. He cut deep into my left shoulder, I could feel the muscle disconnect. That side is gonna be useless for a few minutes. I barely had enough time to block a strike at my head, don't even remember where it came from, but I do remember his sword meeting my metal-laced radius. That surprised him and bought me a much needed moment to get my bearings. I don't know how he switched sides at the last moment. Maybe a teleporter?


The bleeding on my shoulder had stopped, but the muscles weren't functional yet. Also, I could feel hot sticky liquid pouring down my right side.


The distinct coppery aroma queues me in that it's MY blood.


NOW WE'RE STARTIN' TO PARTY.


I DIDN'T EVEN SEE ANYONE TAG ME THERE.


I shake the tatters of my coat off.


He begins his onslaught. He's fast, real fast, but I'm all warmed up now. I'm not sure how he's doing it, and I really don't care, but he has some sort of a mirror power, every blow he throws transfers to the exact opposite side right before it lands. Maybe I don't need my eyes after all... The other men's screaming, both agony and orders is washing back into my ears and we've settled into a nice little flow. I'm learning to predict his moves and he's steadily backing away. Usually I can smell fear at this point, but for some reason his scent remains neutral, still his body language tells me he's scared. I AM EXCITED. I ramp up my assault and he's on the defensive.


The steel lands in my left side, a little below my armpit, I feel the pain, but with everything else that's going on it feels like a slap on the back before a big lift at the gym. I bring my left arm down on the other side and pinch in tight. GOT YOU.


I retract two claws on my right hand and dip in under his ribcage, aimed right at his heart. I get a quick fast jolt and my whole body vibrates as he peels off and backhandsprings.


OOOOOh.


I'm getting ready to re-engage him when it starts coming down. Raining down dense little rocks all over my body. I go to that -other- place, the one I go to when -this- happens. And for a moment, I am perfect. I am calm. I am free.


I can hear the gunfire for a bit and even feel my body being bandied about by the large-caliber bullets assailing it. I raise my arms and welcome the silver stones striking me from all angles.


HERE WE GO.


There are only split second images. Mirages of visuals. Terrified faces holding up hands with fingers severed clean.


When I come to, I'm surrounded by mangled corpses and one sparking mass. A robot or cyborg of some sort. His torso is -here- his head and limbs are -there-.


I'm breathing deeply and I feel amazing, just the way I do after yoga. I can feel all the tiny holes in my flesh lacing themselves back up and for a moment I wonder, "What next?"


Then I remember, I'm not Wolverine. I'm Josh Vish. And I wake up.


MAN, I love dreaming.