The rain comes down like nails.

Neon bleeds across the wet asphalt. Logan smells them before he sees them, gun oil, cheap cologne, fear trying to hide under bravado.

Twelve men. Automatic rifles. One mistake.
He exhales. The claws answer.

Snikt.

Steel sings free of bone and knuckle. The first man turns, mouth opening, and Logan is already there, shoulder through sternum, claws up and out. Blood sprays the rain red. Logan doesn’t slow. He never does.
The alley becomes a grinder.
A muzzle flash pops, rounds hammer his ribs, chew his jacket, tear muscle. He growls and keeps coming. He takes a man by the throat and uses him as cover, bullets thudding into the poor bastard’s back until the gun clicks dry. Logan throws the body aside and opens the shooter from collar to belt. Steam rises where rain hits fresh heat.

They scatter. Bad call.
Logan hits the wall, runs along it, drops into the pack like a wrecking ball. Elbows snap. Knees fold. A scream cuts off mid-note as claws rake sideways, surgical and final. He pivots, headbutts one, claws another, shoulder-checks a third into a dumpster hard enough to cave metal. The man slides down, bones wrong.

Someone tries to flee. Logan grabs him by the ankle, yanks him back, and plants a claw through the concrete beside his head, pinning him there. Logan leans close, eyes flat, animal-calm.
“Should’ve stayed home.”
One clean thrust. Silence.
A shotgun roars. Pellets shred Logan’s chest, spin him. He lands on one knee, bleeding, smiling without humor. He launches. The shotgun goes flying. Logan’s claws come down in a brutal X, and the body hits the ground in two thoughts.
The last three unload everything they have. Logan walks through it. Flesh tears, heals, tears again. He closes the distance and ends it fast, one after another, no speeches, no mercy.
When it’s over, the rain has washed the alley almost clean.
Almost.
Logan stands there, breathing hard, claws dripping, steam curling off his skin as the wounds knit shut. Sirens wail somewhere far away. He looks down at the mess, then at his hands.

Snikt.

The claws slide home. Logan turns his collar up against the rain and disappears into the night, leaving nothing behind but bodies and a lesson no one will be around to learn.