Title: Shadows of Madripoor
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The neon bar sign flickered in the rain, its blue letters bleeding into puddles along Madripoor’s grimy streets. Inside, the Tiger’s Jaw was loud with the bray of gamblers and the sickly-sweet scent of cheap rum. Elle nursed her drink, eyes sharp in the dimness as Eva hunched beside her.
Eva’s voice was low, urgent. “You’re sure it’s him?”
Elle nodded to the far booth, where a hulking man in a battered leather jacket sat nursing a tumbler of whiskey. He looked up, graying hair tumbling over his rugged brow. Yellow eyes narrowed at her. Logan—Wolverine.
She drew a deep breath and approached. Eva trailed behind, glancing nervously at the back exit.
“Logan,” Elle said softly, sliding into the booth.
He grunted without looking. “Don’t see why you came here, kid.”
Eva leaned in. “We need your help.”
He fixed them both with a sharp stare. “Madripoor ain’t safe for trouble. What’s on your trail?”
Before Elle could answer, the world shattered. The door burst open with a crash. Screams cut through the music as gunshots ripped the air. Bar patrons toppled their tables, whiskey splashed, wood splintered.
“Down!” Logan barked, flipping the heavy table for cover.
Elle was faster—adrenaline surged, slowing the world. Bullets streaked toward them, glinting like silver gnats. She twisted, hand snapping up. With inhuman reflexes, her fingertips hit the lead—redirecting, ricocheting metal harmlessly into bottles and ceiling tiles. The air hummed with gunfire and glass.
Logan stared. “You learned some new tricks.”
“You wanna talk about this later?” Elle shot back.
A second volley screamed. Logan popped claws, steel glinting in moonlight. “Time to move!”
He darted through the chaos, slashing a path to the back door. Elle seized Eva’s hand, her heart in her throat. They ducked flying chairs and bodies, barreling through the kitchen and out into the wet neon-lit alley.
Wolverine paused only long enough to bark, “Stay close,” before tearing down the maze of rain-soaked lanes.
Shadowy figures gave chase—mercenaries, masked, guns drawn. Elle’s arm flashed, palm catching a bullet, spinning it back to strike their pursuer’s weapon. Eva stumbled, crying out, but Elle pulled her upright.
They reached an unmarked door. Wolverine slammed his shoulder into it, crashing inside. The place reeked of oil and steel—an abandoned mechanics shop. He locked the door and yanked down a steel grate, plunging the room into shadow.
For a moment, only the sound of heavy breaths and distant sirens filled the darkness.
Eva sank to the floor, shaking. “Who—who were those men?”
Elle’s gaze was steady, heart pounding. “They weren’t local. Someone followed us here, Logan.”
He knelt, checking a wall panel. The floor shifted, and a hidden hatch popped open. “Down.”
Underneath, a cramped tunnel led through darkness, footfalls echoing. After minutes that bled like hours, they emerged in a concrete bunker, shelves lined with canned food and battered weapons.
Wolverine turned, jaw clenched. “Alright, talk. Who’s hunting you, Elle?”
She gathered herself, glancing at Eva, whose eyes darted, haunted. “We traced the Hydra cipher to Lowtown. I cracked it. That’s when they came.”
Wolverine’s brows knotted. “Hydra in Madripoor?”
“Not just Hydra.” Eva pulled a crumpled photograph from her jacket: grainy, black-and-white. A man in a Hydra mask, rendezvousing with someone masked and tall—a familiar silhouette.
Elle’s voice shook. “They’re after the mutant registry list, Logan. They know about us.”
The old mutant grunted. “So that’s why the heat. You shoulda run.”
“She’s right,” Eva whispered. “We thought we could fix it—”
“You both got fire, I’ll give you that.” Wolverine stalked to a battered safe, tossing them spare ammo and faded X-Men medkits. “But Madripoor don’t forgive mistakes. We’ll lay low ‘til we figure who sold you out.”
Elle watched him, remembering the way he had moved through gunfire like a storm, unafraid. Then she glanced at Eva—her partner, her lifeline. Rain battered the steel shutters above.
For the moment, they were safe. But in Madripoor’s shadows, nothing stayed hidden for long.
Above, somewhere in the howling night, the city waited—for the next shot to ring out.
This story was generated by user live.finezja with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a long story about how Elle and her ally Eva were talking to Wolverine in a bar. Suddenly they were attacked and someone was shooting at them. Elle repelled the bullets with her reflexes and asked Wolverine to help them. Wolverine took them to his hideout in Madripoor.
Response: The neon bar sign flickered in the rain, its blue letters bleeding into puddles along Madripoor’s grimy streets. Inside, the Tiger’s Jaw was loud with the bray of gamblers and the sickly-sweet scent of cheap rum. Elle nursed her drink, eyes sharp in the dimness as Eva hunched beside her. Eva’s voice was low, urgent. “You’re sure it’s him?” Elle nodded to the far booth, where a hulking man in a battered leather jacket sat nursing a tumbler of whiskey. He looked up, graying hair tumbling over his rugged brow. Yellow eyes narrowed at her. Logan—Wolverine. She drew a deep breath and approached. Eva trailed behind, glancing nervously at the back exit. “Logan,” Elle said softly, sliding into the booth. He grunted without looking. “Don’t see why you came here, kid.” Eva leaned in. “We need your help.” He fixed them both with a sharp stare. “Madripoor ain’t safe for trouble. What’s on your trail?” Before Elle could answer, the world shattered. The door burst open with a crash. Screams cut through the music as gunshots ripped the air. Bar patrons toppled their tables, whiskey splashed, wood splintered. “Down!” Logan barked, flipping the heavy table for cover. Elle was faster—adrenaline surged, slowing the world. Bullets streaked toward them, glinting like silver gnats. She twisted, hand snapping up. With inhuman reflexes, her fingertips hit the lead—redirecting, ricocheting metal harmlessly into bottles and ceiling tiles. The air hummed with gunfire and glass. Logan stared. “You learned some new tricks.” “You wanna talk about this later?” Elle shot back. A second volley screamed. Logan popped claws, steel glinting in moonlight. “Time to move!” He darted through the chaos, slashing a path to the back door. Elle seized Eva’s hand, her heart in her throat. They ducked flying chairs and bodies, barreling through the kitchen and out into the wet neon-lit alley. Wolverine paused only long enough to bark, “Stay close,” before tearing down the maze of rain-soaked lanes. Shadowy figures gave chase—mercenaries, masked, guns drawn. Elle’s arm flashed, palm catching a bullet, spinning it back to strike their pursuer’s weapon. Eva stumbled, crying out, but Elle pulled her upright. They reached an unmarked door. Wolverine slammed his shoulder into it, crashing inside. The place reeked of oil and steel—an abandoned mechanics shop. He locked the door and yanked down a steel grate, plunging the room into shadow. For a moment, only the sound of heavy breaths and distant sirens filled the darkness. Eva sank to the floor, shaking. “Who—who were those men?” Elle’s gaze was steady, heart pounding. “They weren’t local. Someone followed us here, Logan.” He knelt, checking a wall panel. The floor shifted, and a hidden hatch popped open. “Down.” Underneath, a cramped tunnel led through darkness, footfalls echoing. After minutes that bled like hours, they emerged in a concrete bunker, shelves lined with canned food and battered weapons. Wolverine turned, jaw clenched. “Alright, talk. Who’s hunting you, Elle?” She gathered herself, glancing at Eva, whose eyes darted, haunted. “We traced the Hydra cipher to Lowtown. I cracked it. That’s when they came.” Wolverine’s brows knotted. “Hydra in Madripoor?” “Not just Hydra.” Eva pulled a crumpled photograph from her jacket: grainy, black-and-white. A man in a Hydra mask, rendezvousing with someone masked and tall—a familiar silhouette. Elle’s voice shook. “They’re after the mutant registry list, Logan. They know about us.” The old mutant grunted. “So that’s why the heat. You shoulda run.” “She’s right,” Eva whispered. “We thought we could fix it—” “You both got fire, I’ll give you that.” Wolverine stalked to a battered safe, tossing them spare ammo and faded X-Men medkits. “But Madripoor don’t forgive mistakes. We’ll lay low ‘til we figure who sold you out.” Elle watched him, remembering the way he had moved through gunfire like a storm, unafraid. Then she glanced at Eva—her partner, her lifeline. Rain battered the steel shutters above. For the moment, they were safe. But in Madripoor’s shadows, nothing stayed hidden for long. Above, somewhere in the howling night, the city waited—for the next shot to ring out.
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