American comic book: An aging Wolverine, doing whatever he wants.

Chapter 29 Aren't mutants just animals?

The truck drove along the road between the rice paddies, the golden wheat ears filled with the fragrance of rice, and the warm afternoon breeze carried the aroma everywhere.

Logan used to love the comfort of midday. If he didn't have anything urgent to do, he would slow down, open the windows, and let the warm air blow through, filling the car with fragrance.

But now he was completely distracted, staring warily at Donald driving the truck beside him. "What exactly do you want?"

"Logan, calm down, I'm just going to get something."

Donald glanced at Logan, his expression light, and suddenly asked, "You haven't been in contact with Gabriela, have you?"

Logan noticed Donald's gaze and said coldly, "Ha, with your men watching, would I dare?"

Since Donald has a business relationship with the Lawrence family, Logan believes that his address is probably already known to them, and there are probably still many eyes watching him around that abandoned factory.

"It's best not to lie."

Donald smiled again, then looked down curiously at Logan's hands. "Can your claws still extend?"

Whoosh!

Logan suddenly raised his hand, and steel claws shot out from between his fingers. The silvery-white steel claws gleamed with a blinding cold light in the sunlight.

But it was only half a piece.

Donald looked at the broken steel claw, then glanced at Logan's expression.

He could tell that this was Logan's limit; the steel claws could no longer extend and retract as freely as they had in his youth.

Seeing this, Donald suddenly burst into laughter: "When you reach middle age, it's inevitable to feel a bit powerless, isn't it?"

If it were the young Logan, not many people would want to mess with him; nobody would want to be enemies with a guy who can't die.

As for now...

Donald looked at the steel claw and chuckled softly.

He's just an old man who's dying.

Donald stopped talking, looked away, and continued to stare at the road ahead, even humming a cheerful tune.

Logan smiled helplessly, said nothing, and with a whoosh retracted his steel claws, turning his head to look at the rice paddies rushing past the car window.

Their destination this time was Florida, which, like Santa Fe, is located in the southern United States. The weather there was similar to that of San Antonio, with no sign of autumn and a heavy, oppressive heat in the air.

We arrived at our destination the next morning.

This is a small town on the edge of Florida, surrounded by dense thickets, with lush green forests lining both sides of the road.

The town's transportation was terrible, mostly consisting of bumpy dirt roads. Such roads were a real challenge for the truck's shock absorbers, and for the people inside as well; the bumpy ride made them feel like their bodies were about to fall apart.

"It's time to change cars."

Donald stepped out of the truck and said to Samuel and Josh, who were following behind him, "The truck can't get through the road ahead. There's a motocross rental place nearby."

Samuel kept rubbing his feet against a stone, trying to wipe off the yellow mud stuck to the soles of his shoes, and couldn't help but complain, "Is this some kind of primitive tribe? There isn't even a paved road."

"Kid, I advise you to shut up."

Donald patted Samuel on the back and reminded him, "This is redneck territory."

Logan cautiously scanned his surroundings. There was only a bumpy dirt road, with dense jungle on both sides.

"Let's go, let's make the most of the day and get going."

Logan glanced at the sky; he had no intention of spending the night in this unfamiliar place.

"It seems James is getting impatient."

Donald squinted at the long dirt road and smiled expectantly, "I can't wait to see the goods either."

Logan suddenly frowned; Donald's expression gave him a bad feeling.

Led by Donald, the group found a small rental shop full of mountain bikes at a bend in the road ahead and rented four mountain bikes at a relatively expensive price.

Then, the roar of motorcycles echoed through the woods.

There were no signs, but Donald was clearly very familiar with the area. He twisted the throttle and let the motorcycle engine roar as it sped through the woods.

Logan and his two companions had no choice but to speed up, constantly weaving through the bushes.

Nearly half an hour later, Donald slowed down and finally stopped in front of a clearing deep in the woods.

A large, enclosed house stood on the open ground. Apart from the main entrance at the front, the house had no other entrances or exits, and even the windows were sealed floor-to-ceiling windows.

Logan squinted at the house. He could tell that it wasn't designed for habitation, but rather a secret laboratory hidden deep in the jungle.

However, it seems to have stopped operating. The outer wall plaster has completely peeled off, and dense grass almost completely surrounds the laboratory. Some climbing plants have been climbing up the laboratory and have almost taken over an entire wall.

There was not a sound or a single extra person around.

"What idiot would build a house in this godforsaken place? Are they out of their mind?"

Samuel looked at the laboratory and complained again, feeling irritable from the long journey.

Josh, however, realized that this laboratory was definitely not ordinary. He reached out and poked Samuel in the back, whispering a reminder: "Say less."

Logan turned to look at Donald, his brow furrowed.

"What exactly do you want us to bring back?"

This place is clearly not simple. Although it is dilapidated, there may still be many secrets inside.

Donald chuckled. "You'll find out when you go in."

After saying that, he strode towards the laboratory door.

Having weathered the elements, the gate is covered in rust, and the lock at the entrance is practically useless.

boom!

Donald suddenly kicked the large iron gate open.

The lock snapped open, and the rusty door frame fell straight backward, kicking up dust.

"Follow me!"

Donald waved for the others to follow, and strode into the laboratory.

The quiet, dimly lit laboratory was filled with a putrid smell. A thick layer of dust covered the floor, and on both sides were sealed-off rooms, making it impossible to tell what was hidden inside.

Donald seemed very familiar with the place; even though it was very dark, he led Logan and the others to a room with ease.

He also kicked over the iron gate outside the room.

Inside were sealed iron cages made of steel sheets.

Logan looked at the iron cages, his brow furrowed.

"So many cages."

Samuel leaned closer to examine an iron cage closely; the thick iron cage looked just like a bank safe.

"What kind of animals are these cages used to keep?" he asked Donald curiously, turning to him.

"animal?"

Donald squinted at Logan, then suddenly grinned and snapped a button on the switch next to him.

Boom!

The lights switched on instantly, illuminating the entire room with a blinding glare.

The walls of the room were covered with photos of all kinds of people, each with a different appearance. Some looked no different from normal people, while others retained some animal features.

The photos were labeled with experiment numbers: No. 7, No. 19, No. 21, etc.

Looking at the photos, Donald squinted and murmured, "Aren't mutants just animals?"

(End of this chapter)