American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 24 Jonathan: It's those IRS bastards again! Right?! (Please read on!)
The night wind swept across the wheat fields, carrying the smell of damp earth. The wheat ears, soaked by rain, hung heavily, shining silver-gray in the moonlight.

The remains of the barn resembled a skeleton torn apart by a giant beast. Blackened beams slanted into the mud, wisps of smoke rising from the broken parts. The puddles reflected a fragmented night sky, and the few remaining pieces of iron roof creaked in the wind.

Locke slowly stood up on his knees, mud and water dripping from his overalls, whose original color could no longer be seen.

He squinted his eyes and looked at the man who suddenly appeared in front of him in the moonlight.

The man jumped down from the beam and leaned against the remaining half of the barn wall, a nearly burned cigarette in his mouth.

The orange-red firelight cast shadows of varying shades on his weathered face. He was wearing a worn leather jacket with the collar open, revealing his muscular chest.

He took a deep puff of cigarette, the night wind blew the man's gray hair, but the smoke he exhaled lingered in the moonlight.

He just stood there quietly, exuding a sense of loneliness and isolation, like an old wolf who had been walking alone for many years.

Logan
Logan.

Wolverine.

[Note: There is no mixing! Both worlds are independent and separate worlds! ]

Locke wiped the mud off his face and suddenly laughed:
"It seems like surprises tonight are coming one after another."

The man didn't answer immediately.

He simply put out the cigarette butt with his bare hands and threw it on the ground casually.

His eyes gleamed with a complex light in the moonlight, as if he was examining Locke, but also as if he was looking through him into the more distant past.

"I followed my inner feelings and found this place."

“Obviously.”

"You seem to know me?" He finally spoke hoarsely, "You"

"Aren't you from this world too?"

Locke shook his head, muddy water dripping down his hair:

"I'm just a corn farmer, sir."

With his eyes narrowed, Logan looked at the muddy farmer in front of him.

From the other person's muddy work boots to the pair of eyes that were unusually calm in the moonlight.

Apart from your clothes, what exactly do you look like a farmer?
What farmer could throw a detonator around and blow a monster made of imitation adamantium to pieces?

A delicate silence hung in the air, broken only by the rustle of distant wheat stalks in the breeze.

"Humph."

"Whatever you say, kid."

With a sneer, Logan took out another cigarette from the inside pocket of his leather jacket, and then frowned as he took out an old-fashioned Zippo lighter.

He opened the lid and rubbed the roller with his thumb.

"Kaka."

Only sporadic sparks flickered in the humid air.

"F**k!"

He cursed softly, pressed hard, and flames shot out.
Only a wisp of blue smoke came out and then it went out.

With an awkward cough, Logan put the lighter back into his pocket:

".This damn weather."

He glanced at Locke and said in a deep voice, "Is there a fire, farmer?"

Locke spread out his muddy hands, where there was a box of matches.

He had just used this to ignite the detonator, but now...
The matchbox was obviously quite wet from the rain.

"Tsk."

The man stuffed the cigarette back into the wrinkled cigarette box and said unhappily, "It's already this day and age, how come you don't even have a decent lighter?"

The complaints stopped abruptly, and his eyes turned sharply to the wheat fields in the distance.

The night wind brought a faint sound of a diesel engine—

Someone was coming up on a tractor.

"It looks like your companions have arrived."

"Listen." He looked at the silver water that was dissolving into smoke, and said in a low, serious voice, "This organization is more dangerous than you think. They are like a pack of jackals that smell blood."

"If someone comes to investigate what happened tonight"

With a "whoosh," a pair of alloy claws sprang from the man's hands, gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

"Just say it was a weirdo who called himself 'Wolf' who saved you."

He turned and walked towards the open barn door, the hem of his leather jacket rustling in the night breeze.

"Don't get involved with those lunatics, kid."

"They're more trouble than all the wheat in your whole farm."

Leaving now?

Looking at Wolverine who was about to leave, Locke suddenly raised his voice:

"and many more!"

"What did you mean by 'not of this world'?"

Logan paused.

The moonlight stretched his back very long, casting it on the muddy ground like a lonely silhouette.

He was silent for a few seconds before he said without turning his head:
"Have you ever seen a talking stone man, kid? Or a purple-skinned sweet potato man?"

The night wind blew across the open space between the two people, carrying with it the unique fragrance of wheat ears after the rain.

"I'm looking for an asshole."

"He dropped us into the wrong world and left me without a home."

Logan's voice suddenly became extremely tired, and then...
"And they kept me locked up in research for another four or five years just to replicate that damned Adelman. I'm such a jerk!"

"Anyway, I'm going to f**k that guy and then **** him!"

"F***, f***, that damn curly-haired ***!"

"."

As if it had been suppressed for a long time, the wolf was constantly roaring asterisks that were not suitable for children.

After venting his anger, Logan took a deep breath and looked much more comfortable. He turned to look at Locke and shrugged, "Are you satisfied with this answer now, Mr. Farmer?"

"father!"

"Locke!"

Before Locke could answer, Dio and Jonathan's family's shouts were heard in the distance, and the pickup truck's headlights swayed in the wheat field.

With one last look at Locke, Logan turned and disappeared into the darkness.

"Mark my words."

His voice drifted out of the night, "This is important."

A few ears of wheat blown by the wind slowly fell down. The figure of the vicissitudes of life man was no longer there. There were only a few deep footprints on the ground and half of a cigar that was still smoking.

Shaking his head, Locke withdrew his gaze, and then shouted in the direction of the beam:
"Dior!"

"Jonathan! Martha!"

"I'm here!"

"Crack——!"

The pickup truck stopped beside the ruins, its headlights making the metal fragments on the ground sparkle.

Dio was the first to jump out of the car. He almost flew over and bumped into Locke's arms.

The boy's arms were tightly wrapped around his father's waist, his mud-covered face buried in Locke's chest, his shoulders trembling slightly.

"I'm fine, brat."

Locke rubbed Dio's wet head, twisting a few straws between his fingers, "You drove the tractor well today!"

"Locke!" Martha hurried forward, her apron still stained with flour, obviously in a hurry. Her hands trembled as she examined Locke's wounds. "God, do you know how scared we were? Dio drove a tractor with a weak Clark straight to our door and even flipped over into the pond! Dio told us not to go out and didn't tell us what happened."

"Locke, where are those guys?!"

Jonathan followed closely behind, carrying an old hunting rifle.

His eyes swept across the shattered barn, then fell on the scattered metal fragments on the ground, his brows knitted into knots:
"Are the IRS here again?!"

"."

Locke couldn't help laughing.

My brother Jonathan, do you hate the IRS more than I do?

(End of this chapter)