For all intents and purposes, Sam was napping. Guthrie had not been doing much that night, so he decided to catch some much needed shut-eye. When he finally awoke, stumbling into the bathroom and grumbling like an old man, he had slipped on his earpiece once more. The earpiece had been quiet all night, but once Logan's voice erupted, he shot a quick and half-awake "On my way." into it and barreled into his closet. It was no surprise that Sam was itching to get out of the mansion for some action. His casual dress; consisting of a pair of worn-in jeans and a loose shirt with an almost-faded saying across the front of it. A pair of old boots finished it off. The mission credentials eluded his knowledge, but Sam knew one thing: anything with Logan was bound to be crazy.
Once they reached the bar and the powered-up (and subsequently infected) mutants, they went to work on them. Well, Sam didn't bother, Logan didn't require his specialized pyrotechnics as of yet. Sam was ordering a beer already and flirting with patrons of the female persuasion. The southerner downed a couple of beers while Logan made short work of two of them, the third scurrying off made Sam almost spill his current beer. Slamming it on the table and leaving a couple of bills (more than enough to pay), he ran out of the bar after Zap. With keys already in his hand and a swing of the door, Sam climbed into the driver's seat and turned the ignition, waiting to make sure the others were safely inside.
Sam was not drunk. He hadn't eaten anything, but he was not drunk. Guthrie could down alcohol with the best of them. It was more tipsy, then anything else. Concentrating on the road and following a speeding Logan, led to a quieter Cannonball, hence why he wasn't hollering out the window like usual. Once they reached the seemingly normal two-story house, Sam stifled a breath. Something was definitely wrong and Sam didn't like it at all.