[ Logan wakes up with wide eyes and a mouth open for gasping.

He'd been shot in the head. That's the last thing he remembers, both in mind and body (his mind builds the memory, his body forces his hand to reach up and touch where the bullet ought to be). There's a smear of blood on his skin where he was hit, but besides that, no trace of anything. His body's regenerated perfectly.

But rather than waking in a military prison, he sees -- ]

What the fucking hell.

[ Fire and metal parts and snow on a beach. Logan sits up, groaning a little as he fixes the cricks in his neck with tilts of his head. He gets to his feet, breaths coming a little heavy, and then walks through the smoke, caring little for the tears it brings to his eyes or the suffocating sense his lungs adopt.

His first instinct is listening for people. Should he hear some cry of help he'll certainly go to collect them (probably with some use of his claws), and if he sees someone in a relatively safe position, he'll call them out. Logan has two objectives: 1) save those in need; and 2) figure out what the fuck is happening. ]