The Blazer Pub was dead quiet, the kind of quiet that clung to the bones. Dust hung in the air like sleep. The place hadn't changed in decades.
Same chipped wood bar, same crooked neon signs for beers that went out of production twenty years ago. A ceiling fan spun half-heartedly above, one blade squeaking every third rotation.
In the far corner, a jukebox wheezed out a Springsteen track, skipping every couple of bars like it had given up halfway through the chorus. Outside, freezing rain tapped gently against the windows, streaking down the glass in tired lines.
Logan sat at the end of the bar with his boots propped up on the stool next to him, one hand wrapped loosely around a whiskey he hadn't touched. His hat was pulled low, shadowing his eyes, the brim casting a long line across his face. He looked like a man who had no intention of moving for the rest of the night.
The smell of the place was thick with old varnish, wet coats, dried beer, and the ghost of fries cooked in recycled oil. No one else was around. Even the bartender had wandered to the back room, leaving Logan in the kind of solitude he'd learned to prefer.
The door creaked open.
Logan didn't look. He didn't have to.
Nick Fury stepped in like the weather didn't apply to him, long coat dry despite the storm. He didn't bother wiping his boots or taking off his gloves. Just stood there for a second, scanning the place like it might've changed since he last kicked in a door.
"Logan," Fury said.
Logan didn't move. Didn't blink. "Buzz off, bub."
Fury didn't flinch. He walked across the creaky floorboards and slid onto the stool beside him, as casually as someone meeting an old friend for a drink. The wood groaned beneath him.
"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't serious," Fury said, removing a folder from inside his coat.
"I'm not in the mood for another black-ops errand." Logan's voice was low, even, like a blade being sharpened. "You want something done quiet, ask someone else. I'm out. Been out."
Fury set the manila folder down on the bar. The edges were singed. No seal, no stamps. Just a single name scrawled in thick black Sharpie: *********
Logan glanced at it. His eyes didn't move, but something behind them sharpened.
"Kid just came online," Fury said. "Mutant gene triggered three days ago. No control. No awareness. Everything organic within fifty yards is turning to vapor. It's like he's walking death. Town's sealed off and the body count is staggering"
Logan finally turned his head. His eyes met Fury's, hard and tired and old.
"This something only I can handle?" he asked.
Fury nodded once, slow. "You're the only one I trust to do what needs to be done. And the only one who'll actually do it."
A long silence stretched between them. The jukebox finally sputtered out mid-track and didn't start another. The only sound left was the wind outside and the soft ticking of the neon sign in the window.
Logan exhaled through his nose. His shoulders straightened just a bit. The tiredness drained from his face, replaced with something older. Something harder.
"…I'm listening."
____
The private carrier cut silently through the clouded sky, a sleek blur between layers of mist and moonlight. The hum of the engines was steady, almost soothing, like a lullaby for the weary. Inside, the cabin lights were dimmed to a low orange, casting long shadows across leather seats and polished chrome.
Naruto lay sprawled across two seats near the back, one foot dangling off the edge, the other tucked beneath him.
His hoodie was halfway up over his head, hair sticking out in every direction. A half-empty energy drink rolled lazily under his seat with each slight tilt of the plane. His eyes were open, unfocused, and locked on the ceiling like he was seeing something beyond the steel panels.
Kurama sat curled near the window, tails slowly waving, ears twitching every time the pressure shifted. The blinking red winglight outside reflected in his slit pupils, giving them a cold, rhythmic glow. He looked out over the clouds in silence, the way someone might stare into the past.
"You think they'll ever stop hating each other?" Naruto asked softly, not moving. The words slipped out more like a breath than a question.
Kurama grunted, not turning. "Who knows? Humans fear what they can't control. Mutants, sorcerers, aliens, Asgardians. Doesn't matter what you are. If you bend their rules, they'll call it unnatural and start preparing their pitchforks."
"I don't even think it's hate," Naruto said after a pause. "Not really. It's panic. Like deep down, they know the world they built… the laws, the order, the balance.. It's all too fragile to survive people like us."
Kurama finally looked at him, one golden eye narrowed. "Maybe it doesn't deserve to survive. You ever think of that?"
Naruto was quiet for a moment, then closed his eyes. "Sometimes. But I remember what we're trying to protect. There are good people out there. Even if they're scared. Even if they don't understand."
Kurama snorted, low and sharp. "You sound like Charles Xavier."
"I sound like me," Naruto replied, cracking a tired smile. "Besides, if anyone can make the impossible work… it's the people who plant the seeds for the next generation"
Kurama chuckled under his breath, a low rumble like distant thunder. "You really believe that?"
Naruto sat up just a little, leaning his forehead against the cool window as he looked out into the clouds, where the sky slowly shifted from black to violet.
"I have to," he said. "Otherwise, I'm just another weapon waiting to break."
Kurama didn't reply. But after a few seconds, one of his tails nudged Naruto's arm gently. Not a word. Just a presence.
The plane kept flying. And somewhere in the dark, Millbury waited.
____
GREYHAVEN, OHIO.
Jesse Cross's alarm screamed like it was trying to shake the walls apart.
He jolted up, tangled in twisted sheets, sweat-damp hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes were bleary, crusted at the corners. The room smelled like wet drywall and stale pizza, the leftovers from last night still half-open on his desk.
"Mom?" he called, voice cracking.
No answer.
Still tugging on his jeans, Jesse stumbled toward the hallway, half tripping on a backpack strap. His bedroom floor was a minefield of socks, hoodie sleeves, and unopened textbooks.
He took the stairs two at a time, bare feet slapping the wood. The kitchen was quiet. Too quiet.
No sizzling bacon. No coffee pot burbling. No keys rattling.
Just his mom's slippers and her robe, neatly folded beside them.
All laid out in the middle of the linoleum like she'd discarded them mid-way.
"…Hello?" Jesse said to the house.
Silence.
He grabbed his phone. Left a voicemail on the landline, his mom's voicemail. "Something's wrong. I'm heading to school. Call me if you're okay, please."
Outside, the neighborhood looked normal. A little too normal.
Cars sat in their driveways, hoods glazed with morning frost. Lawns crusted with dead grass and frostbite. Trash bins untouched. The air was cold and dry, smelling faintly of salt and something else, something metal, like blood on batteries.
No people.
No kids. No joggers. No mailman. No barking dogs.
Just… absence. It was odd.
Then he saw them.
A small group in the distance, walking slowly up the street. Relief hit him in a wave, and he jogged forward, raising his hand to wave at them.
And froze.
They were disintegrating.
Their bodies didn't burn. They simply evaporated, skin bubbling like acid had hit it, eyes dripping down their cheeks like wax, bones shriveling and collapsing in on themselves. No screams. No collapse. Just a silent crumbling into dust as smoke poured from their mouth.
A breeze blew through and the ashes scattered in the wind.
Jesse stumbled backward, breath catching in his throat. His hands were shaking. A cold sweat coated his back.
"What the hell is happening?" he thought.
He ran and fled the cul-de-sac without grabbing his coat. School was five blocks away. Maybe people there would know. Maybe he was just sick. Maybe this was a nightmare.
The school building was half-lit. No buses in the lot.
He wandered the halls in a daze until the bell rang. Locker clanging. Fluorescent lights buzzing. The world felt... off.
Maya cornered him by his locker, arms crossed, voice sharp. Her mascara was perfect. Her voice wasn't.
"You didn't call me back," she said.
"I.. my parents, they've got this rule, I.."
"Seriously, Jesse? It's one call!"
Her words stopped mid-sentence.
Her face twitched. Her cheek blistered. A second later, her skin began to peel and unravel, like paper left too close to a heater.
"Maya?" Jesse said, his voice high and broken.
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Her lips cracked. Her eyes melted. And then she crumbled into ash at his feet.
Students around him started convulsing. Some screamed. Some didn't get the chance.
Flesh bubbled. Clothes fell empty to the floor. Bones collapsed like rotted wood.
Jesse didn't move.
He just stood there. A silent epicenter in a storm of death.
A cave outside Greyhaven, OH.
Wind howled through the cracks in the rock. The cave was wide and cold, lit only by the dull orange glow of a small campfire. The flames popped and hissed as sapwood burned slow.
Logan sat cross-legged near the center, sleeves rolled up, his coat dusted with road salt and ash. A six-pack of cheap beer rested beside him, mostly untouched.
"Come on out, kid," he said, cracking open a can. "Ya ain't gonna hurt me."
Silence.
"I'll kill you," a voice whispered from the dark. It was soaked in fear and self-loathing.
Logan took a sip. "Don't worry, I got a healing factor," he said. "Already walked through your perimeter. Still breathing. I'm not easy to kill, kid."
A minute passed before Jesse stepped into the firelight.
His hoodie was drawn tight over his head. His face was hollow, eyes red-rimmed, skin pale and sickly. His shoes were covered in soot. Everywhere he walked, the moss wilted. The cave stone beneath his feet darkened like it was dying.
He sat across from Logan. Slow and careful. Like he expected the man to vanish.
Logan didn't move. He just handed him a can.
Jesse took it like it was made of glass and held it in both hands like it might explode.
"You're a mutant," Logan said calmly. "Your powers triggered late. Puberty's rough like that."
Jesse didn't speak.
"You're radiating something. Not heat. Not poison like we know it. It's deeper. Biological. Your cells are pushing out something that melts living tissue on contact. Anything organic. That includes your mom. Your town. Your school."
Jesse's grip tightened on the can. "How many?"
Logan hesitated. Then said, "Two to three thousand. Closest estimate."
Jesse made a choking sound. He didn't cry. Just sat there as the truth settled over him like concrete.
"I thought it was just the school," he whispered. "Two hundred maybe."
"That was yesterday."
The fire popped.
"I was gonna go to the stock car finals," Jesse said. "Me and Maya. I wanted to drive across the country. See some colleges. Maybe… maybe lose my virginity before graduation."
Logan said nothing. He just watched the fire.
Jesse laughed, short and bitter. "Guess I'm not doing any of that now."
"You didn't choose this."
"I still did it."
"No. You survived it. That's the difference."
Jesse looked at the beer. Then set it down gently beside him.
"Just do it," he said.
Logan didn't respond.
"I said do it!" Jesse screamed, eyes wide and glassy. "I can't live like this! I'll never touch anyone again. I'll never breathe near a crowd so just DO it!"
The fire flickered. The wind outside surged, then faded.
Logan exhaled slowly and picked up his own can.
Nodded.
"All right, but drink your beer first."
___
The sun rose slowly over the Ohio hills, bleeding pale gold into the overcast sky. A low mist clung to the treetops like breath on glass, curling and stretching as the morning pushed through the last remnants of night. The rocks around the cave mouth were slick with dew, catching the light like scattered glass.
Birdsong broke the silence. Soft. Hesitant. Like the forest itself was checking if it was safe again.
Logan stepped out of the cave with shoulders squared and his coat drawn tight against the damp chill. His boots pressed into wet leaves and softened dirt, the weight of him steady, deliberate.
There was no rush.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a battered silver case. Flipped it open with muscle memory. Took out a cigarette with the same care someone else might use for a final photo. Bit the end and lit it.
The flame caught quick in the morning air. He inhaled deep, smoke curling around his face before rising into the dawn.
Logan stood there for a long moment, eyes on the woods below. The town sat somewhere past the ridge. It was quiet now.
A place that would never make the news for what had really happened. A place that would be told it suffered a chemical spill. A freak gas leak. Something man-made. Something explainable.
His jaw tightened. Not out of anger. Just the weight of knowing. The weight of doing the lesser evil for the greater good.
He took another pull from the cigar. Then he started walking. Down the slope and through the trees.
No footsteps behind him. No shadow at his side. No sound but the hush of damp leaves and the fading crackle of embers still smoldering in the cave behind him.
He didn't dare speak, nor did he look back.
_____
AUTHOR's NOTE: If you're enjoying American Alien and want to read up to 20 chapters ahead, come support the story (and me) over on Patreon: at patreon.com/banmido.
I update daily, so there's always something new to read! More fights, more chaos, more Naruto being in a world that has no idea what to do with him.