SCARS - WOLVERINE X READER FF

ONE

TWENTY YEARS LATER

I sat bolt upright, dripping with sweat from another nightmare. My cell was still as cold and damp as ever. Soon enough, that familiar throb in my head returned—a reminder of what they put me through earlier.

I look around at the four walls that held me. They were covered in scratches and dents from years of my futile attempts to escape. I swung my bruised legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet meeting the concrete floor.

My head panged once more as the fluorescent, buzzing white light above me flickered. Footsteps echoed down the corridor—filling me with dread about what this new hellish day could bring.

I ran a hand through my dark hair, which had grown longer and more unkempt over the years. Time blurred in this place. Every day felt the same, an endless loop of pain and exhaustion. They dragged me out when they needed me, drained me until I was barely conscious, and then threw me back in here like a toy they didn't want to play with anymore.

But recovery took time. My powers—they weren't infinite. They had limits. Limits that frustrated them. They wanted more. And now they were going to take it.

The heavy clang of the metal door jolted me. It creaked open, revealing the same two guards who had been my captors since I was a child. Their once jet black hair now had streaks of silver, and their mouths now had faint crinkled lines, showing that time does in fact still pass beyond these four walls. Their faces were as cold and expressionless as ever, but today, there was something different in the way they moved—more urgency, more purpose.

"Get up," one of them ordered, his voice flat.

I rose to my feet, my body moving automatically, conditioned to obey. I didn't bother to look at their faces. I didn't need to. I knew what they were thinking. Their thoughts buzzed in the back of my mind like flies on rotten meat—disgust, impatience, and a hint of something else... anticipation.

They were tired of the limitations, tired of waiting days for me to recharge. I'd heard of their plans. Snippets of conversations between the doctors and scientists. They were going to make me stronger, faster, more powerful. A newly formed experiment, just like I'd been all those years ago.

They handcuffed me and led me down the corridor, through the maze of sterile, white-walled hallways. The sound of my bare feet slapping on the cold tiles echoed. My mind was going overdrive with every passing body's thoughts, but I kept to my own.

We reached a door I hadn't seen before. One of the guards swiped their keycard, and the door hissed open, revealing a room filled with surgical equipment and monitors. In the center of the room was a large, water-filled tank, surrounded by machines that hummed with a low, menacing frequency.

One of the scientists in a lab coat approached, his mind focused, clinical, detached. "Undress her." he said simply, nodding to the guards. They moved quickly, stripping off my clothes without a word. The cold air hit my naked skin, making my hairs stand on end. But I stayed still, knowing resistance would only bring more pain. I learned that the hard way.

Without much care, two women fitted a breathing tube over my mouth and nose, securing it tightly, before leading me to the edge of the tank. I could feel their thoughts swirling around me—procedural, methodical, uncaring. But then, one thought cut through the rest, sharp and clear: This operation would make me lose my memory.

The heart monitor I was hooked up to started beeping increasingly. They weren't just going to enhance my powers—they were going to erase everything I knew. My childhood, my identity, every fragment of the person I once was would be gone. All I would have left was this place, these walls, this hell.