[ What? Oh. Admittedly, in the chaos, he forgets people here have questions about his deal again as opposed to just slapping a bright red sticker onto him that says mutant.

His expression shifts to vague exasperation. He has one hand on his hip, claws retracted; the other lifts into the air in the universal signal for, Dunno what to tell ya. ]

I heal. [ Which isn't the most satisfying explanation but it's what he's got. ] And I wasn't dead, it's...look, it's a long story. [ He sets the thrown chair upright again, as though it's gonna do anything to help the state of this place. ] You wanna ask questions, ask 'em while we look for your cardboard cutout.

[ Where'd—? He picks up the handgun and hands it to its proper owner. He assumes. Maybe it snatched it off somebody else. He's seen Frank fight. Briefly, but he's seen it. And he's seen the mannequin apparently feel zero pain. The combo doesn't bode well for whichever unlucky bastard runs into it next.

He pushes open the door, a glance over his shoulder. No, Frank hasn't asked him to come, but Logan's also not asking if he can come. He's looking for that thing one way or another. ]