Day One
Victim: Popsicle Boy

Logan cornered Bobby Drake in the gym. He had waited outside until the ice-hole was alone, then he silently entered the room. He had almost reached Bobby, when the young mutant turned around and looked up in what Rogue affectionately called "The Bad-Ass Face".

Bobby sank nervously. Logan just glared at him.

"Sit," the gruff Canadian ordered.

Bobby promptly sat down next to a punching bag.

Logan decided that intimidation would work best in this case.

"Do you know who I am?"

Bobby sank again and nodded quickly.

"I didn't hear you."

"Y...Yes, sir," Bobby stammered.

Logan could smell his fear very clearly and the 'sir' didn't go unnoticed. The boy was scared out of his wits. Perfect.

"Good. You know what I can do, right?"

Bobby sent one terrified look at Logan's hands. The adamantium-claws that lay beneath the skin were quite a legend.

"Yes, sir." Bobby's voice came out a little more steady now.

Logan nodded slowly.

"You've been checking out Marie," he finally said.

Bobby opened his mouth to explain, but Logan cut him off.

"Have you seen the tags around her neck?"

Bobby's eyes widened in terror.

"They mean that she's mine. And I don't like it when people try to hit on my girl. Have I made myself clear?"

"Y...Yes, sir," Bobby stammered.

"Good."

And with that Logan left the terrified boy.

One down, two to go.

---

Day Two
Victim: The Flame-Head

St. John had a bit more guts than Bobby, Logan had to give him that. So when he found the boy alone in a classroom, he opted for a more direct and slightly less intimidating approach.

"Listen bub. Eyes off Marie. She's taken."

The boy smelled a bit frightened but his voice was steady.

"I kinda guessed that since she hasn't given you back the tags. 'S okay, I'll stay clear."

"Bright move, kid," Logan appraised him.

Silence.

"Do you...do you love her?" the boy finally asked and bit his lower lip.

Oh, yeah. This one definitely had guts.

The boy still smelled scared, though. Good. Wouldn't want them to think the Wolverine was getting soft.

Since the kid had been honest, Logan chose to reply in the same manner.

"More than anything," he admitted. And to the Wolverine, that was quite an admission.

St. John nodded.

"Cool. She deserves to be happy."

"Yes, she does," Logan agree and decided that he might even get along with this kid. How very un-Wolverine-y of him.

Then he turned around and left the room.

Two down, one gumbo with a fake accent to go.

---

Day Three
Victim: The Cajun

When Gambit returned late that night after sneaking out, Logan was waiting for him.

"What...?" the Cajun asked when he finally noticed that he was not alone in his room. He quickly reached for his cards, but Logan was faster - With a few well-placed kicks and punches Gambit found himself on the floor, facing three very deadly metal claws.

"Okay, we can do this two ways - the hard or the easy. Easy is if you keep your eyes off Marie and stop calling her 'chere'. Hard is if you don't, in which case I'll use you as target practice in the next Danger Room session until you agree. Have I made myself clear?"

"Y...yes!" Gambit forced out.

"Good."

Logan slowly let go but didn't retract the claws. He really didn't like this little shit.

"Now, I don't care if you fuck every other living being in the mansion, but you keep your hands of Marie...or I will personally remove them," he threatened. Better be sure the little dick-head got the message.

Gambit rubbed his side where one of Logan's punches had hit him.

"Rogue mig't wear de tags, but she don't belong t' you."

Logan just glared at him.

"De petite will tire o' you, an' when she do, Remy be there for 'er."

He spoke of himself in third person? This had to be a joke, Logan decided.

"Let me spell it out for you, bub: Marie belongs with me. I belong with Marie. It's that simple. You got a problem with that, Cajun?"

Gambit definitely looked like that was a problem, but he was smart enough not to discuss it with a man with six metal claws.

"Non. Remy hav' no problem."

Logan smirked and retracted the claws. With one final threatening glare at the Cajun he left.

Three down, zero to go.

The competition was eliminated.

With a happy grin on his face, he headed for Rogue's room.