Logan sat on his bed, thinking. The room was dark, almost to the point where he couldn't see anything.
Two weeks ago, he wouldn't have had any problem bumping into things with the lack of light because of his keen eye sight. Heightened senses had their advantages, but now they were gone, the room seemed extra dark the mansion extra quiet. The array of different scents that used to fill his nostrils with every breath he took were gone. It seemed like dead air to Wolverine. He used to be able to tell someone what brand of deodorant they had used the previous year or what they had eaten for lunch three days ago.
Now it was gone.
Logan grunted loudly. He had always wondered what it was like to be a normal human, but he had never thought about it for long periods at a time. Now he knew and he hated it.
The gruff Canadian leaned toward his night table and flicked on the light. He quickly stood up and began pacing the floor.
Oh the irony!
It almost make Logan laugh. He had been alive a long time. How long? He couldn't really remember, thanks to the Weapon X program. After living for who knew how long, surviving multiple wars, top secret missions for the CIA during the Cold War, battling the blood thirsty Sabretooth and Christmas Eve shopping with Jubilee, he Logan, was going to die of old age.
For Wolverine, that was unheard of. Dying of old age was for everyone else. Not him.