Wolverine

The air in Madripoor’s Lowtown was thick with smoke and tension as Logan stalked through the neon-lit alleys, his boots silent against the damp concrete. Word on the street was that a mutant trafficking ring was moving product through the docks tonight—something Wolverine couldn’t let slide. Cloaked in shadows, he watched a pair of thugs drag a teenage mutant girl into a warehouse, her hands bound, eyes wide with fear. A low growl rumbled from his chest. With a flick of his wrists, six adamantium claws slid into place, catching the light in a dull glint.

"Time to cut the supply line," he muttered, before slipping inside like a predator, ready to do what he did best.