19XX, Dublin, Ireland 

Irish kings were not simple in their reestablishment of their esteemed republic. 

It'd be met honestly, and thus they needed the man known to everyone as James Howlett, but to them, he was the Wolverine. The dreaded killer with over a hundred bodies. 

He was like them, a fighter of freedom. 

Charles Xavier and Erik Leshner were different men, but that guy? James, he was a killer. 

One that understood the paths that no one truly saw but him. 

Maybe they'd need to set him on another path, another choice, and it'd decide how far this relationship could go. 

Sitting around a wooden table, glasses of amber filled to the brim with scotch had brought an ease, a sense of calm. 

The Irish Kings had called a meeting, and the cause of their current climate was none other than one of their trusted associates in the U.S

"Fallon has moved recklessly, Galen. Your relationship with him is not good for our cause, and neither is the fact that our distribution in the United States has been getting locked up. We need assurances, and if Fallon can't be that..."

Donahue, one of the oldest and wisest of the Irish kings. He'd been here longer, further, and greater than Galen. Yet, even he wished to make money and to see his home restored to what it should be. 

Everyone deferred to him as some sort of emperor, the end-all and be-all. 

"I will not strike down a valued member of our organisation. Fallon has hit a few rough patches, sure, but it doesn't warrant his death, nor does it call for it." Galen had defended his trusted associate for a while now, but others knew why. 

The relationship between Xavier, Erik, and Galen had always been explosive. Now? Countless moments and eras; it'd not be simple for them to move on if it could not be with James. 

"Then move. Fallon is too close to some federal disagreements, and we need Chief Calhoun. He's the only one that understands our way; otherwise, it'll be a moment too soon, a moment too fast. So, as it stands, I've called us here today to grab James; he's waiting for our phone call. Are we all in agreement at this table as a majority?"

Four of the five kings had raised their hands, but Galen had not. 

Instead, he waited and watched. His plans seemed to go up in smoke around him as everyone collided, bit by bit, and piece by piece. 

The phone rang, and soon the gruff roughness of James Howlett was clear to the entirety of the kings. His voice was scratchy; perhaps he'd been woken up, and yet there was a tell-tale sign of a woman's laugh in the background as they'd heard the door close and realised he'd asked for privacy. 

"Wolf." Fergus had called out first; he'd been the one to lean forward, the neutral party for all the kings, as James had responded in kind, a certain enjoyment in his voice. 

"Gentlemen, what can I help you with? It's been a busy couple of weeks, but I've almost got a few weeks ready for the job you've tasked me with." James had uttered, his voice quieter, softer, as it seemed as if the preparations had caused him to consider a bonus of sorts. 

"Task? We'd never tasked you with anything, our friend. What is this task and from whom, a mutual friend?" Fergus had eased, continuing as if the mounting tension wasn't apparent to everyone. 

"Our mutual friend, my point of contact in the U.S. of A." James' voice clearly held some amusement, but even he seemed to worry, to question the sincere request of their assumed task. 

"Aye, please, continue." Fergus had drawn it out, but his gaze had swept to Galen, whose brows knitted together, and for a moment, there seemed to be a moment that every other king had glared at him. 

Question in their eyes that needed to be answered. 

"I was tasked with escorting a chief of LAPD, Calhoun. He said he's set port dogs and his guys on shipments. Business has been said to be slow, and with that in mind, I've also needed to adjust my business approach. Is this not what you wished, Fergus?" James' voice made it clear that Fallon had already tiptoed around business one too many times, or one too few, it seemed, and he'd gladly pay it back. 

"Calhoun is a trusted ally to us, to our interests. We'd like you to handle another task for us, James, but we'll call you with the details another time; for now, sleep. We'll see you soon."

The kings had hung up without another word as their collective eyes had turned to Galen.

"I do not like the power you are giving to these guys, eventually, they'll turn. Every single one of them, and where we will our cause be?" Galen had tried to make them see the bigger picture, but it was Donahue who stood, glaring at where his supposed equal sat. 

"Listen, Galen. James is going to bring our cause international. Why? Because of his connection, the Fallen Angels. A motorcycle club, yes; however, James' brother is the national president of the club. I'm telling you, there'll be a chance that our republic will be seen again, brother." 

Galen stared at Donahue; there was a certain pause between them both that rose and ebbed in such tension that it might as well have been a warning to one another. 

"And he's not Irish. I don't trust him. He doesn't bleed like we do, Don. Maybe it'll be too late, but James has ambitions far greater than playing mule for us." Galen whispered that, but he knew he was outvoted as the other kings lent their voices to the conversation. 

Soon, however, it had dipped into the clear treason of one of their own. "It is of this council's clear and obvious conviction that there is a cancer in our midst. All in favour of Fallon Gall meeting Donn and being guided?"

A majority of the hands rose, and soon, they had all eyed Galen, and he'd nodded, raising his hand into the air. 

"I'll make the arrangements and send our new man, Padraic, and he'll bring what is necessary for this organisation. Meeting adjourned, gentlemen. Have a safe flight; it'll be exactly what we need."

And like, the Irish kings might have found a veritable and polished solution in the Wolverine.