This is the side story BEFORE Jack killed Kingpin. The timeline varied. But, you should be able to take the context and place the timeline yourself.
~~~~~
Logan staggered into his quarters at the X-Mansion, his body still aching from his fight with Jack Hou. His wounds looked like they were healing as usual. But something felt… off. His regeneration—slower than usual. "Must be that damn bastard's power messin' with me," he grumbled, rolling his shoulders.
That fight—whatever the hell Jack did to him—had stopped even his healing factor for a while. Now? His body was still trying to catch up.
He sighed. For once, he actually felt tired. Maybe it was Jack's power. Maybe it was just a long-ass day. Either way—Logan collapsed onto his bed. For the first time in a long damn while, he went to sleep before midnight.
Morning came.
The golden sunlight crept through his curtains, painting the room in warmth. Logan groaned, stretched, and got out of bed. His wounds felt better. He moved through his usual morning routine. Took a hot shower. Shaved (roughly). Made himself a big-ass breakfast.
By the time he was done, he felt like himself again. Or at least—he thought he did. Until he stepped into the garage. And saw his motorcycle was gone.
"What the hell?" Logan stared at the empty space where his beloved ride should've been. Then, instinct took over. His claws didn't come out—but his rage did. He took a deep breath—And then roared. "KURT!" The walls shook.
Logan stomped his way through the mansion, straight toward the classroom. As soon as he slammed the door open, every student in the room froze. Colossus—standing at the front, teaching a class—raised an eyebrow.
Logan scanned the room. There—in the back. Kurt Wagner. Joking around with Gabriel Summers and Tenzin.
The moment Kurt saw Logan's face, his eyes widened. Before Logan could even take a step—BAMF! A cloud of sulfuric smoke filled the air.
Kurt reappeared in the farthest corner of the classroom. "I-I didn't do anything!" Kurt blurted out. "After your fight with that guy, Gabriel and Tenzin dragged me to the canteen to steal a snack! Then we went to sleep!"
Gabriel and Tenzin, seated next to each other, exchanged glances. Then—"Hey! You're the one who dragged us!"
Colossus chuckled, shaking his head. "Logan," he said in his deep Russian accent, "Kurt is not lying, comrade. I saw your father riding your bike last night."
Logan froze. His face twitched. "I don't even know who my father is."
Colossus shrugged. "Well, the man was wearing a strange, tattered, black-and-pink robe."
Logan's entire body went stiff. Then—It clicked. The realization hit him like a truck. Jack. Hou. His breathing grew heavy. His hands curled into fists. His entire body shook with fury. Then—In a single, earth-shaking bellow—"JACK HOUUUU!"
…
Madam Gao sipped her tea, sitting in the dimly lit parlor of a hidden Hand stronghold. Across from her, Alessa Geomi stood, arms crossed, her face full of skepticism. "Did you find a suitable residence for the Sage?" Madam Gao asked, voice calm as ever.
Alessa shifted uncomfortably. Even now—after everything—she still couldn't fully grasp what was happening. This organization really—was changing before her very eyes. And it all revolved around one man. A lunatic. A madman. A walking disaster dressed in a traditional robe. Jack Hou.
Alessa's brow furrowed. "Madam, why are we following his words like they're prophecy?" she asked, voice filled with doubt. "He seems like a lunatic. Hell, he is a lunatic."
Madam Gao simply chuckled. A dry, knowing laugh. "Some sages are eccentric, my dear," she said. "Their knowledge is not something we mere mortals can always understand." She placed her teacup down gently. "But if you heed his words, you may find enlightenment as well."
Alessa exhaled sharply. Still not convinced. Still frustrated. "Yes, Madam, but why do I have to be the one personally searching for his house?"
Madam Gao smiled. A knowing, almost mischievous smile. "Take your chances," she said. "Perhaps this will be your first step toward becoming his disciple."
Alessa's face twisted in discomfort. "I already learned everything I needed from you."
Madam Gao leaned forward, folding her hands over her cane. Her next words hit like a hammer. "If you had a choice," she asked, voice soft but firm, "would you study business under a billionaire or a beggar?"
Alessa's breath caught. For a moment—just a moment—she understood. Her doubts didn't vanish. Her frustration remained. But the logic—the undeniable truth—sank in.
She took a slow, deep breath. Then—bowed slightly. "I will do my best, Madam." Madam Gao smiled. "Good girl."
…
Inside a classified S.H.I.E.L.D. facility hidden deep in New York City, Natasha Romanoff moved through the halls without a sound. Her presence—like a shadow. Silent. Precise. Deadly. She approached Director Nick Fury's office. Knocked—two sharp taps. A voice answered from within. "Come in, Agent Romanoff."
Natasha stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her. Fury sat behind his desk, one eye locked on her, the other scanning through multiple holographic files floating mid-air. He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit."
Natasha obeyed, sliding into the seat with practiced ease. Fury wasted no time. "Report."
Natasha folded her hands in her lap, her expression unreadable. "Tony Stark." Fury raised an eyebrow. She continued. "He's significantly reduced his patrols. He hasn't used the Iron Man suit frequently—only when necessary."
She paused. "The last time he used it was against a remnant cell of the Ten Rings off the coast of South Africa."
Fury tapped his fingers on the desk. "And?"
Natasha leaned forward slightly. "I believe I need closer observation, sir."
Fury studied her. "Are you suggesting infiltration?"
She nodded.
Fury exhaled slowly. "We wait," he decided. "Something's changed with Stark—he's more careful now. Until we know why, I won't throw you in the middle of it."
Natasha tilted her head. "Could it be because of Jack Hou?"
Fury hesitated—just for a fraction of a second. "I don't think so." His eye flickered toward a separate file. "From what we know, Stark and Hou have never met."
Natasha leaned back, accepting the answer—for now.
Fury shut the floating holograms down with a swipe of his hand. "That's it, then. Continue observation for now. As soon as we open a position for you in Stark's inner circle, you move in. Until then, be on standby."
Natasha gave a curt nod. "Yes, sir." She stood, turning toward the door. Then—paused. Without looking back, she spoke. "Do you need help dealing with Jack Hou, sir?"
Fury let out a low, knowing chuckle. "No."
Natasha finally turned, eyebrow raised. "Are you sure?"
Fury smirked. "I just need to wait until I have all his information in my hands."
His voice dropped slightly, almost amused. "It's not like he can dodge S.H.I.E.L.D. surveillance."
Natasha said nothing. She merely gave a subtle smirk—then walked away.
…
Somewhere deep in the Amazon forest, Bruce Banner woke up. His head throbbed. His body ached. He immediately recognized the feeling. The Hulk took over.
He took a deep breath. 'Where am I this time?' The bed beneath him was crude, handmade from woven palm leaves. The hut's ceiling was thatched, the walls made of clay and wood. This was no hospital. No military base. The air smelled of moist earth and fresh rain.
Then—the door creaked open. A woman stepped inside, carrying folded handmade clothes. She said something. Bruce furrowed his brows. The language—he didn't understand it. It sounded Quechua.
He sighed, rubbing his face. "¿Dónde estoy?"
The woman's eyes turned pure white. Her body shivered violently for a second—Then she spoke. "You are within the Amazon Basin."
Bruce froze. Her English was perfect. The accent—neutral, unnatural. Bruce's instincts screamed. Something wasn't right. But he didn't press. "I need my things," he said. "I'll leave immediately."
The woman tilted her head. Then simply nodded. "Follow me."
Bruce hesitated but complied. As he stepped out of the hut—his eyes widened. It was a secluded village. People were tending animals, chopping wood, weaving cloth. No electricity. No technology. No vehicles. Yet, it was thriving.
An isolated community? Bruce barely had time to process before they reached the edge of the village. A man stood there, holding a worn green duffel bag. Bruce's bag.
The man's eyes were also pure white. With an eerie calm, he handed Bruce the bag. Then—without emotion—he lifted his arm and pointed toward the jungle. "Follow this path. One week of walking will bring you to civilization."
Bruce grabbed his bag. "Thanks." Then—without hesitation—he turned and walked. Faster. As fast as he could. Something was deeply wrong with this place.
A lone figure stood at the balcony, hands clasped behind his back. He watched Bruce Banner disappear into the trees. Then—he smirked. "Fascinating," he muttered.
His voice was smooth, rich—ancient. His blue eyes shimmered, then turned completely white. In the village below, several villagers abruptly stopped their work. Their bodies jerked stiffly—then moved. Without hesitation, they took up weapons.
They moved into the jungle. Hunting. The figure—Druig, one of the Eternals—watched in amusement. "Humans," he mused. "They have come far enough to make monsters of themselves." His lips curled.