The metal ladder creaks as we descend into the bowels of the Veronica, each rung slick with something I don't want to identify. Magik leads the way, her soul sword casting eerie light through the darkness. The ship's interior feels like a horror movie set, all rusted pipes and shadows that move when you're not looking directly at them.
"Stay close," Magik whispers, her blonde hair gleaming in the sword's glow.
I'm right behind her, my heart still hammering from the gunfight above. The bullet holes in my shirt are crusty with dried blood, but at least my skin underneath has healed completely. Mystique follows me, her gun raised and ready, yellow eyes scanning every corner. Emma brings up the rear, still fuming about my "heroics" on deck.
"I smell antiseptic," Mystique murmurs as we reach the bottom of the ladder. "And blood."
The corridor stretches before us, narrow and claustrophobic. Pipes run along the ceiling, dripping condensation that plops onto my head every few steps. The chemical smell gets stronger as we move deeper into the ship.
We clear the first two rooms quickly, storage spaces filled with medical equipment that looks more suited for an autopsy than healing. No people, just empty steel tables with restraints and drains that tell a story I don't want to think about.
"They're butchers," I whisper, eyeing a tray of surgical tools.
"Organ harvesters, most likely," Mystique says with clinical detachment.
My skin crawls at the thought. "Jesus."
"Focus," Magik commands, pushing open another door with the tip of her sword.
We move methodically through the ship's lower deck, checking each room with practiced efficiency. Despite Emma's annoyance, I position myself in front of her at every doorway. Maybe it's stupid, but after seeing Jubilee die, I can't bear the thought of losing someone else.
The last door at the end of the corridor is different, reinforced steel with a digital lock that Mystique makes quick work of. As it slides open with a pneumatic hiss, the antiseptic smell becomes overwhelming.
"Holy shit," I breathe.
The room is a fully equipped operating theater. Bright surgical lights hang from the ceiling, illuminating a stainless steel table at the center. And on that table, completely naked and unconscious, lies Firestar. Her vibrant copper-red hair is spread across the metal surface like a pool of lava, no longer burning but still striking against the cold steel.
I rush forward before anyone can stop me, my heart in my throat. She's breathing, I can see her chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm. No visible injuries, no surgical incisions, just pale skin unmarked against the sterile table.
"Is she alright?" I ask, my voice cracking with urgency as I look for something to cover her with.
Magik moves past me, her armored hand gently brushing Firestar's hair from her face. Her expression softens as she examines her friend with practiced eyes.
"She seems fine," Magik says after a moment, relief evident in her voice. "They drugged her, but they didn't... operate."
Emma steps around me, her white outfit now splattered with dried blood, making her look like some macabre artist's canvas. She sighs heavily, casting a critical eye over Firestar's unconscious form.
Emma drums her fingers against her thigh, looking from Firestar to me with thinly veiled irritation. "Angelica is going to be absolutely thrilled to see me when she wakes up," she says dryly.
"Just wake her up already," Mystique says, checking her gun.
"Yeah, yeah," Emma mutters, kneeling beside the table. She places her fingertips gently against Firestar's temples, closing her eyes in concentration.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then Firestar gasps violently, her entire body jerking upright like she's been shocked with electricity. Her eyes fly open, wild and unfocused as she hyperventilates, chest heaving with panicked breaths. The ends of her hair begin to flicker with small flames.
Her gaze darts around frantically before landing on me.
"Jack?" she whispers, confusion evident in her voice.
I'm about to respond when her eyes drift down to my bullet-riddled shirt. The fabric is torn to shreds from taking about twenty rounds, leaving most of my chest exposed. Her cheeks flush immediately, the color spreading across her face like wildfire.
"I can see your nipples," she blurts out, then claps a hand over her mouth like she can't believe what she just said.
I look down at myself. I hadn't really considered how revealing my shredded shirt had become.
Magik and Mystique both turn their attention to my chest, giving it a thorough once-over. Magik lets out an appreciative whistle, her lips curving into an amused smile.
"What a fun mission this turned out to be," she says, making no attempt to hide her appraisal.
Mystique tilts her head slightly, yellow eyes gleaming. "Not bad," she agrees, her voice like silk wrapped around a knife.
"For Christ's sake, stop fucking ogling him!" Emma snaps.
Firestar's still blushing furiously, Magik's grin is downright predatory, and Mystique's eyes are doing that slow up-and-down thing that makes me feel like I'm being mentally undressed.
"Seriously?" Emma huffs, stepping between me and their appraising gazes. She waves a hand dismissively at Magik. "Can you please do something about this situation?"
Magik's smirk doesn't fade as she raises her gleaming sword. With a casual flick of her wrist, she sweeps the blade through the air in front of me, the metal passing inches from my skin. There's a strange tingling sensation across my torso, and suddenly I'm wearing a brand new black t-shirt, perfectly fitted like it was made for me.
"Whoa," I breathe, looking down at myself in amazement. "That's pretty nifty."
"Basic magic," Magik says with a shrug, though I can tell she's pleased by my reaction. She turns to Firestar next, who's still sitting naked and awkward on the examination table. Another sweep of the sword and Firestar's suddenly dressed in a red superhero suit, complete with matching eye mask.
"Thanks, Illyana," Firestar murmurs, relief evident in her voice as she slides off the table, testing her balance.
"You good?" I ask her, genuinely concerned. "Those U-Women had you drugged pretty heavily."
"I'm okay," she nods, though her legs still look a bit wobbly. "Just... processing."
Mystique pulls out her phone, already typing something with quick, efficient movements. "I'll call Voght," she announces without looking up. "She'll get a team to look into this for us, figure out what the U-Women were planning and if there are more ships like this one."
My stomach drops as a sudden realization hits me. "Wait, what about the little girl? The man's daughter?"
Before anyone can answer, a muffled banging sound echoes from somewhere deeper in the ship. We all freeze, eyes darting around to locate the source.
"That came from there," Magik says, pointing toward what looks like a storage cabinet against the far wall.
I move toward it immediately, heart hammering against my ribs. The banging grows more insistent as I approach, and I can hear what sounds like a child's whimper from inside. I grab the handle and yank the door open.
Inside the cabinet, I find myself staring at the strangest sight, a little girl, maybe seven years old, with terrified eyes and a massive shark fin protruding from the top of her head. It's charcoal gray, at least a foot tall, and perfectly shaped like something straight out of Jaws. She's huddled in the corner, knees pulled tight against her chest, trembling.
"Hey there," I say softly, crouching down to her level. "It's okay. We're not going to hurt you."
The girl's eyes dart between us, lingering on Mystique's blue skin and Magik's glowing sword. She shrinks further into herself, the fin somehow seeming to droop with her fear.
"That man, the one who helped capture Firestar, he was human, right?" I ask over my shoulder, keeping my voice gentle so I don't scare the child more than she already is.
Emma steps forward, her blood-spattered white outfit probably not the most comforting sight for a terrified kid. "Well, apparently his daughter is a mutant," she says, studying the girl with clinical interest.
Mystique moves past me with surprising gentleness, kneeling in front of the cabinet. "Hey, kid," she says, her normally sharp voice softening to something almost maternal.
The little girl stares at Mystique, her eyes wide with wonder despite her fear. "You're blue," she whispers.
"Yup," Mystique replies with a casual nod.
The girl's shoulders relax slightly. "Are the mean women gone?" she asks, her voice so small it breaks my heart.
"Yup," Mystique confirms, extending a hand toward the child. "They can't hurt you anymore."
Hope flickers across the girl's face. "Can I see my dad?" she asks, her fin perking up slightly.
Mystique hesitates, exchanging a quick glance with Emma. "Uhh, we'll see..." she says, not quite meeting the girl's eyes.
The little girl starts to crawl out of the cabinet, her movements cautious like she's expecting to be shoved back in at any moment. My chest tightens at the thought of what she might have been through.
Mystique helps her to her feet, then looks at the rest of us. "Don't worry," she says. "Voght will take care of this girl too."