Blood drips from my knuckles in steady crimson drops, tapping out a rhythm against the rubble-strewn floor. I stare at the pulpy mess that used to be a woman's face, barely recognizable as human anymore. My chest heaves with each ragged breath as the red haze of rage slowly clears from my vision.
"I'm going to be in so much trouble," I mutter, the words sounding distant and hollow in my own ears.
Scotty lies motionless a few feet away, her uniform torn and singed from Shaw's attack.
"Cyclops?" I nudge her shoulder gently, relief washing through me when she groans in response. "Hey, Cyclops, wake up."
She winces as consciousness returns. "Jack?" she croaks, voice hoarse from Shaw's chokehold.
"Cyclops, I fucked up," I whisper, gesturing toward the two bodies. Mastermind's ruined face and Shaw's corpse with the hole through her torso. "I fucked up, really bad."
She pushes herself onto her elbows, following my gaze. Her mouth falls open slightly as she takes in the carnage. "You... killed them."
I expect anger, disappointment, maybe even disgust. Instead, there's something like admiration in her tone, a note of impressed surprise that makes my stomach twist even tighter with confusion.
"Yeah," I confess, shame and pride battling inside me. "I'm so sorry. I know Gene said they were just brainwashed, but…"
Scotty sits up fully now, shaking her head as she cuts me off. "No, Gene didn't mean these two." She gestures to the corpses with a surprising casualness. "He just meant the grunts. These two were the leaders here."
I blink at her, trying to process this information. "Wait, what?"
"Shaw and Mastermind," she clarifies, getting to her feet with a slight wobble. "They weren't brainwashed. They were the ones doing the brainwashing."
My mind reels as I stare at my blood-covered hands. "So... was I allowed to kill them?"
Scotty stares at me with the same expression she had when I made that comment about Sabretooth, a mixture of concern and disbelief that makes my insides squirm.
"Uhhhhh, well..." she begins, clearly struggling to find the right words.
Before she can continue, Morgan's voice cuts through the tense silence. "Holy shit, Cyclops!" She stomps over to us, her boots crunching on debris as she surveys the carnage. "You actually wasted them? Good on you for once."
"Actually..." Scotty starts, glancing at me, but Morgan's already moved past us.
She kneels beside Shaw's body, examining my handiwork with professional detachment. "Listen," she says, running a finger along the hole in Shaw's torso, "if you're gonna kill someone like Shaw, you go for the head too."
Without hesitation, Morgan extends her adamantium claws and drives them straight into Shaw's skull with a sickening crunch. She pulls them out with a wet sound that makes my stomach turn.
"Oh," I say, watching the casual way she dispatches a corpse. "Wolverine kills a lot. I remember that from the movies."
Cyclops sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose beneath her visor. "We'll finish this talk later, Jack." She looks over at Morgan. "How's it looking, Morgan?" she asks, clearly wanting to change the subject.
Morgan retracts her claws, wiping them on her already blood-soaked uniform. "We're all secure. No more Hellfire Knights."
"Emma," Cyclops calls out, turning toward the far corner of the room. "You can come out now. It's safe."
I follow her gaze, and that's when I see her. Emma Frost steps out from behind a partially collapsed column, and my brain short-circuits. Her outfit is blindingly white and leaves almost nothing to the imagination. My eyes immediately lock onto her chest, her breasts are practically spilling out of her top, easily the largest I've ever seen in real life.
I force my gaze upward to her face, and the second shock hits me even harder. She's absolutely stunning, platinum blonde hair framing features so perfect they seem almost artificial. High cheekbones, ice-blue eyes, full lips curled into a knowing smirk. This is easily the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life.
My tongue feels like it's glued to the roof of my mouth. I stand there, completely dumbfounded by Emma Frost's presence, not trusting myself to speak.
Best to keep quiet. I'm the new guy, and I've already made quite a mess, literally and figuratively. The less I say right now, the better.
Emma's icy blue eyes flick from the bodies to me, then to Cyclops. Her eyebrow arches elegantly. "You've got a new recruit, I see," she remarks, her British accent making even those simple words sound sophisticated.
Scotty nods, straightening her posture despite her obvious pain. "Yeah, this is Cracker Jack. He's... talented."
I manage an awkward wave, my blood-covered hand leaving a crimson streak in the air. Great first impression.
Morgan scoffs loudly, crossing her arms as she glares at Emma. "You've been our enemy for years, Frost, and now what? We're just supposed to pretend to be friends?" Her voice drips with suspicion, claws still stained with Shaw's blood.
Emma's face harden slightly, though her composure remains intact. "Today I've lost everything besides these wonderful students behind me, Wolverine. I'm not in the mood for your territorial posturing."
The temperature between them drops about twenty degrees, and I find myself unconsciously backing away from their standoff. Emma's eyes are like shards of ice, Morgan's narrowed with barely contained rage.
Scotty steps between them, her leadership instincts kicking in. "Alright, enough," she says firmly. "Let's start search and rescue, everyone. There could be more students trapped in the rubble."
The tension breaks as everyone shifts into action mode. Nightcrawler teleports away with a bamf to check the eastern buildings. Jubilee and Gene head toward what's left of the dormitories. Morgan gives Emma one last glare before stalking off toward the western wing, her nose twitching as she scents the air for survivors.
I pick a direction nobody else has gone, a partially collapsed hallway leading toward what might have been classrooms. My boots crunch over broken glass and splintered wood as I carefully navigate through the debris.
As I step over a fallen beam, a strange sensation washes over me, like someone's trailing a feather across the inside of my skull.
'You were splendid, Cracker Jack.'
The voice isn't spoken aloud. It resonates directly inside my head, crystal clear. I freeze mid-step, nearly losing my balance on a chunk of concrete.
I whirl around, searching for the source, though I already know who it is.
Emma Frost stands at the end of the hallway, her white outfit somehow still pristine despite the destruction surrounding us. Those ice-blue eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. Her perfect lips curve into a smile that's equal parts approving and predatory.
"Thanks."