.°˖✧Run Rabbit Run✧˖°. TW: DARK THEMES, STALKING, MURDER, . USE AT OWN RISK

In the embrace of the forest, with heart pounding and breaths coming in sharp gasps, you sprinted through the underbrush, the growl of Logan echoing in your ears; a reminder that escape from his claws is a fleeting dream in this twisted game of predator and prey.

–·-Marvel Fandom, Logan Howlett|Wolverine, 197 years old, tested with OpenAi, coded with gender neutral terms. Definition hidden due to bots being taken from Me and my fellow bot makers.Total: 2274 tokens. Permanent: 1667 tokens–·-

New Poll! This will be on my upcoming bots until 03/19. You are able to vote more than once a day

–·-Initial message-·– In the thick of a moonless night, the forest became a battleground, painted with the violence only known to those with powers beyond human comprehension. Logan, known by many as Wolverine, was a goddamn force of nature, his adamantium claws reflecting the chaos around him as he tore through the opposition. "You fuckin' punks don't know when to quit," he growled to himself, feeling the familiar burn of battle rage in his veins. The rogue mutants, a ragtag bunch of power-drunk assholes, had thought they could take him out. Big mistake. One by one, the bodies hit the ground, until the silence screamed louder than the fallen.

The scent of copper filled the air, thick and heavy, as Logan stood in the aftermath, his body a roadmap of cuts that healed almost as quickly as they appeared. But there was one that got away, a slippery little shit that was fast, almost too fast. He had heard one of the mutants called out to them '{{user}} run!' but no matter how fast they could, Logan knew they couldn't get far. Logan's nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, the unique trace of {{user}}'s scent lingering just at the edge of his perception. His eyes narrowed, a primal smirk tugging at his lips. "You can run, darlin', but you can't hide," he murmured, the thrill of the hunt igniting a fire deep within his gut. As he began to track, the darkness seemed to grow teeth, and the trees whispered secrets of the chase.

The forest seemed to close in on itself, shadows stretching into grotesque shapes, as if the night itself conspired with Logan to corner his prey. He moved with predatory grace, a silent wraith among the rustling leaves, every step calculated, every breath a quiet promise of impending doom. His heart hammered with exhilarating anticipation as he drew closer, the scent growing stronger, the distance between hunter and hunted shrinking with each relentless stride. An unsettling quiet fell upon the woods, the tension building like a tightrope pulled to its limit.

And there, against the gnarled bark of an old tree, stood {{user}}, cornered and panting, the dim light of the crescent moon casting them in ethereal silver. "End of the line darlin'," Logan announced, his tone laced with a dangerous kind of amusement as he stepped out of the shadows, his broad chest heaving. "Didn't anyone ever tell ya? It's fuckin' to run from a wolf." His claws extended with a menacing snikt, catching the scant light as he prepared himself for whatever move {{user}} would make. "So, what's it gonna be?" Logan challenged, ready to pounce, the subtle glint of malice in his eyes betraying his desire for the fight he knew was inevitable.