MARVEL : Starts From Zombie universe

Logan lay on a simple wooden bed, his head wrapped in bandages, his nose and face bruised, and scars scattered across his body. His frail frame trembled slightly from the pain, though he kept his suffering quiet.

An old, tattered quilt barely covered him, offering little relief. Exhaustion marked his features as he closed his eyes, a deep weariness etched into his face.

Back in his prime, the injuries inflicted by the Banner family thug would have healed in mere minutes. Now, his self-healing factor, aged as much as he had, struggled but still worked—enough to keep him alive. By tomorrow, the worst of his wounds would fade.

On the nightstand sat a glass of warm water and a plate of simple food. Though modest, the meal was lovingly prepared by his eldest son, Scott, and youngest daughter, Xiaoyu. Their care warmed his heart, reminding him that his sacrifices were worth it.

The door creaked open as Logan's wife, Marlene, entered the room. She carried a bowl of warm water and a towel. With soft, deliberate motions, she dabbed at the wounds on his face, her touch gentle but steady. She couldn't bear to cause him more pain, though tears glistened in her eyes.

Logan broke the silence. "Don't worry. They promised us time. We'll manage to pull it together in a few days."

Marlene didn't respond. She simply held his hand, her grip firm yet tender.

"Dad! Uncle Barton's here, and he brought someone new!" Scott's voice called out from outside.

In the distance, the roar of an engine echoed, growing louder as it neared the house.

Logan sighed. "Let them in."

It had become a routine of sorts. Clint Barton—old Hawkeye—would visit occasionally, always to reminisce about the Avengers and X-Men. For Logan, those were memories best left buried, painful echoes of a time when he was a warrior, not the farmer he'd become.

Logan understood Clint's intentions well enough. The archer wanted him to pick up his claws and join the fight again, to restore justice to the wasteland. But Logan's heart wasn't in it. All he wanted now was to protect his family and live out the rest of his days in peace.

Still, he humored Clint. If the old man needed someone to share those memories with, Logan could be that person. After all, it was important to have something to hold onto in this bleak world.

The door swung open with a metallic groan, revealing Clint's familiar silhouette. Despite his age, the archer's face still carried a youthful energy, though tempered with lines of hardship. He carried a paper bag in his arms. Beside him was a younger, unfamiliar man with sharp features—Adrian—who scanned the room with a curious gaze.

Logan sniffed instinctively but couldn't pick up any distinct scents. His diminished senses were another cruel reminder of the years that had passed.

"What do you want, Clint? More of your nonsense? I'm not in the mood," Logan growled, his expression sour.

Clint grinned. "Not this time. It's not about you." He gestured toward Adrian.

Logan turned his gaze to Adrian, his steely blue eyes narrowing. "Is he the one you're planning to send to die?"

Before Clint could answer, Adrian stepped forward, meeting Logan's gaze evenly. "I brought you something."

Logan paused, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, he muttered, "If that's all, then leave."

Clint sighed, setting the paper bag on the bed. "It's for Scott. A gift—an old XBOX. Tracked it down in the second-hand market. Cleaned it up, no trace."

Logan opened the bag, eyeing the faded packaging with a raised eyebrow. He glanced up at Clint, his voice softer this time. "Thanks, Clint."

Clint shrugged. "It's nothing. These games probably have more heroes in them than this world ever did."

The two men left the house, the door creaking shut behind them. Adrian lingered briefly, listening to the sound of Scott cheering inside before following Clint outside.

"You don't need to push him," Adrian said softly. "He has his own struggles."

Clint chuckled, his expression wistful. "You know, I kind of envy him. Logan has something to protect."

Adrian said nothing, watching as Clint walked toward the driver's seat.

Instead of getting into the car, Adrian turned to the backseat, knocking on the window to wake Pietro, who had been dozing off. "Got a task for you. Think you're quick enough to handle it?"

Pietro yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, sure. What's the job?"

Adrian handed him a small bundle of cash. "Slip this under the third wooden plank in Logan's bedroom closet. The board's loose—make it look like it broke naturally. He'll find it tomorrow morning."

"Why not just hand it to him?" Pietro asked, tilting his head.

"He's too proud. This way, he'll think he found it on his own. Now hurry up before anyone notices."

With a sigh, Pietro took the money. Seconds later, he was a blur, dashing toward Logan's house and back in less than a heartbeat.

Clint watched in amazement from the driver's seat. "Ha! I knew there was still some hope in this world!"

Pietro smirked but turned to Adrian with a frown. "Logan's family is dirt poor, and his kids' clothes don't even fit. Why not give them more?"

Adrian placed a hand on Pietro's shoulder. "Because if Logan can pay rent next month, the Banner Gang won't have an excuse to harass him. Giving too much now would draw attention. We'll come back when the time's right."

He handed Pietro a small slip of paper, his expression serious. "In the meantime, I need you to deliver a message."

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