Chapter 8: Wolverine's Power Can't Be That Bad
William's voice was calm, but the smile on his lips didn't reach his eyes.
"Tell me, should I call you Jimmy… or Steve?"
His hand — resting casually on Jimmy's shoulder — tightened.
Jimmy winced in pain.
"F–fuck! How the hell do you know that?"
William didn't answer. He just smirked, his grip getting firmer.
"Buddy," he said quietly, "take my advice. Fiona's not the kind of girl you can handle."
And he meant it.
Because William knew exactly how Jimmy Lishman's story ended.
Dragged into the bloody mess of South American cartels, tortured, broken —
all because of Fiona.
If he hadn't fallen for her,
if he'd just stayed the obedient son-in-law of a drug lord,
Jimmy could've lived rich and powerful under the cartel's protection.
Instead, he threw it all away chasing a woman he couldn't save —
and she didn't even remember him half the time.
---
Jimmy hesitated, clearly torn.
At this point, he and Fiona weren't even officially acquainted —
just a name and a spark.
Still, he wasn't ready to give up.
William saw that stubborn glint in his eyes and sighed internally.
His tone darkened.
"Hey. You don't want the cops to find out about your little car theft business, do you… Jimmy Lishman?"
This time, his voice carried weight.
Jimmy froze, his stomach dropping.
How the hell does this guy know that?
For the first time tonight, real fear crept into his eyes.
He could feel it — that heavy, crawling dread —
like he'd just stepped into someone else's trap.
His voice shook. "What the hell do you want from me? You — or whoever you're working for?"
Jimmy wasn't a genius, but he wasn't stupid either.
He'd escaped his rich family, passed med school exams,
and survived as a car thief under fake names.
That took a certain kind of street smarts.
And right now, those instincts were screaming that William wasn't bluffing.
---
William realized there was no point explaining the truth —
that he was a transmigrator trying to save a TV character from his own bad writing.
So he switched tactics.
"You don't need to know who I am," he said, voice low.
"Just stay out of this neighborhood for a while. That's all."
The look in his eyes — cold, predatory —
was enough to make Jimmy's throat go dry.
And suddenly, everything clicked for him.
"Right," Jimmy thought, "he's one of those guys. The kind you don't cross."
If he was this well-informed, he probably worked for someone serious —
maybe one of the gangs whose cars Jimmy had been "borrowing."
Jimmy swallowed hard and raised his hands in surrender.
"Fine. You got it, man. I'm gone. You won't see me around here again."
William gave him a faint smile and a pat on the shoulder —
the kind that said good boy.
"Glad we understand each other."
Jimmy exhaled, half-relieved, half-shaken.
As William walked off, he muttered under his breath,
"Jesus… psycho."
---
William finally let out a breath of his own.
But then — silence.
No system ping. No reward notification.
His stomach sank.
"Wait… don't tell me the mission's not complete because Fiona hasn't actually slept with me yet?"
His expression darkened.
If the system expected him to literally replace Jimmy's role in the story…
that meant sleeping with Fiona.
And without [Regeneration Factor], that was a risk.
A medical risk.
"If I catch something before I unlock healing… can the ability even fix it?"
He sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his hair.
This system was starting to feel like a cosmic joke.
---
"Hey, Jimmy," William said suddenly, turning back.
"You got a—" he paused, smiling faintly,
"—a child extinction pouch on you?"
Jimmy blinked. "A… what?"
William rolled his eyes. "You're in a nightclub, man. Don't tell me you didn't bring a condom."
Jimmy blinked again, confused — then reached into his wallet and fished out two.
William snatched them without a word,
clapped him on the shoulder again,
and walked away.
"Good talk. Let's not see each other again."
Jimmy stood there, arms crossed behind his head,
watching William walk off into the night with Fiona and Veronica.
Part of him was annoyed.
Another part was… afraid.
He didn't know who that blond stranger was,
but one thing was clear —
messing with him was a death sentence.
---
"Ouch!"
Jimmy hissed as his hand brushed the cut on his forehead.
It still stung.
---
Street Corner, 11:42 PM
A taxi idled at the curb, its engine humming.
Fiona and Veronica stood by the door, laughing quietly.
A few steps behind them, William stopped under the streetlight, hands in his pockets.
Fiona hesitated, then turned around, her eyes searching his face.
She bit her lip,
her voice soft, a little breathless.
"Hey… want to come back to my place for a drink?"
Just like with Karen, William couldn't help but suspect something about Fiona.
"She's definitely got a sex addiction," he thought.
The way she looked at him — hungry, desperate —
if they hadn't been standing on a public street, he was pretty sure she would've jumped him right there.
He was still hesitant, sure —
but for the sake of the mission, he decided to take the risk.
After all, we're talking about Wolverine's regeneration, right?
How bad could it really be?
And besides, in the original timeline, Jimmy had slept with Fiona plenty of times —
and he'd never once gone to the hospital afterward.
That was… probably a good sign.
William exhaled slowly, made up his mind, and nodded.
"Alright," he muttered.
Then he followed Fiona into the waiting taxi.
---
2119 North Wallace Street — South Side
After everything that had happened tonight,
they ended up right back here — in front of that house.
The Gallagher house.
William couldn't help but laugh softly to himself.
"Life's funny like that," he thought.
"One night out, and I'm right at the turning point."
"Hey, what are you standing there for?" Fiona called with a playful grin.
"It's freezing out here. Get inside."
He smiled faintly and followed her in.
---
The moment he stepped through the door, the chaos hit him.
Clothes everywhere. Beer bottles. Dishes. Random junk.
It was exactly what he expected —
pure, beautiful South Side dysfunction.
Upstairs, Lip Gallagher sat on his bed, staring across the room at his younger brother, Ian.
Neither of them had fallen asleep.
Ian lay on his back, eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling,
his mind replaying William's words from earlier that day.
No matter how much he tried to shrug it off,
the thought stuck — and the weight of it pressed down harder the longer he stared into the dark.
He thought about Kash, his boss —
a married Muslim man, with kids, and a faith that condemned everything Ian was.
"Is there even a future in that?"
The question gnawed at him, and for once, he couldn't find an answer.
---
Meanwhile, Lip had problems of his own.
Earlier that night, while rummaging around for his notebook,
he'd found a magazine under Ian's bed.
At first, he thought it was just porn — normal teenage stuff.
The cover had a gorgeous woman on it, after all.
But when he flipped through the pages,
there weren't any women.
Just men — shirtless, posing, smiling.
Lip froze.
Then he noticed the small text —
philosophical essays, poetry, quiet reflections about identity and loneliness.
He closed the magazine slowly.
Even in 2010, America wasn't that open yet.
Things like this weren't on store shelves.
They lived under beds, in old boxes, behind closed doors.
And now he knew —
his brother was one of those people who had to hide.
It wasn't the gay thing that really hit him.
It was the fact that Ian — his little brother —
had kept it secret.
---
"Hey, Ian," Lip finally said, breaking the silence.
Ian didn't move.
"What?" he replied, annoyed.
Lip sat up, swung his legs off the bed, and grabbed a cigarette off the desk.
He lit it, took a slow drag, then handed it over.
"I thought we talked about everything."
Ian frowned.
"What's that supposed to mean?"