Chapter 31: Who Needs Rescuing?
Firefighters pulled them out of the bone chilling, pneumonia inducing water and draped them in heavy overcoats. A small crowd gathered there, and amongst them, reporters snapped photos. At first, most thought they were terrorists, but one look at two women played on their prejudice: the duo had to be victims. Women couldn’t be terrorists, especially blonde women. The people went from hostile to concerned, craning their necks to check out these plane crash survivors.
A few overzealous cameramen ducked under the police lines to grab that exclusive shot for tomorrow’s front page. The authorities tried their best to bar these mavericks, but the bulbs still flashed and the masses kept coming. One of the men caught a glance a Emma’s distinctive features and his pulse quickened.
“My God,” he exclaimed, “that’s Emma Frost! That’s the mutant they’re all talkin’ about!”
Of course, the mention of mutant sent everyone into a hysteria. The reporters pressed against the firefighters and police; the crowds whispered in delight. Who knew the night would become so interesting? Muddled shouts drowned out the threats of arrest.
The questions came fast.
“Ms. Frost! Over here!”
“What were you doing in that plane?!”
“We need a statement!”
“How do you respond to Isa Hayes’ accusations?”
“Are you a mutie?!”
Betsy squeezed Emma’s hand as they slowly made their way to the ambulance.
*Don’t let them get to you, Emma.*
*Oh, mark my words, I’ll ruin every one of these pieces of trash if it’s the last thing I do.*
The snide comment eased Betsy’s mind. After seeing Emma so raw and exposed earlier, Betsy wondered how she’d do against adversity and if that indefatigable spirit had been crushed through her ordeal. Glad to know Emma could still channel her inner strength--and inner bitch--when necessary.
*That’s it, honey,* encouraged Betsy, *think evil thoughts.*
*Now we’re giving each other endearing names?*
*Well, you don’t look like a pumpkin. How about I follow Rogue’s lead? Does sugah sound pleasing enough?*
The venomous glare Emma directed at the reporters landed briefly on her fellow X-Woman. *Watch yourself, Betsy. I’m not above petty revenge.*
*What kind of revenge, sweetie pie?*
They stopped at stared at each other for a split second. Emma broke into a maniacal grin. *I christen thee ‘bub.’*
Betsy held her hands up in defeat. *That hurts both of us: you for saying it, me for taking it.*
*A small price to pay, bub.*
Their banter tuned out the crowds and reporters, and by the time Emma resumed glaring at the vultures, they’d been escorted closer to the ambulance. A harried and overwhelmed whelp of a paramedic tried to assess their conditions, take their temperatures, and see what kind of treatment they required.
What he saw astounded him.
The human body operated at an optimal core temperature of 98.6 degrees. Moderate hypothermia set in when the core temperature hit 95 degrees, resulting in shivering, mild confusion, sluggish movements, and speech impediments. In the dead of winter, such a state wasn’t difficult to attain, especially when wet. Doctors defined severe hypothermia as under 90 degrees, and the best way to dip one’s core temperature so dangerously low was to take a long swim in a freezing environment.
Dead of winter. New York. Ice chunks floated in the bay. It qualified.
These two women, who should’ve been suffering from pulmonary edema, respiratory failure, muscle rigidity, and heart fibrillation, showed remarkable qualities.
The blonde--now adequately identified as Emma Frost--retained a 97 degree body temperature, but yet, when the firefighters pulled her up, she was soaking wet. Only someone who’d taken a quick dip in icy waters then been properly insulted afterward could maintain such a state. Witnesses clearly saw the plane go down about a hundred yards from shore: even for the fastest of swimmers, a hundred yards did not equate to a quick dip.
And the other woman? The tall, Asian beauty? She should’ve been dead. Her skin radiated no body heat. She had neither pulse nor blood pressure. She didn’t breathe and didn’t shiver. Instead of looking like someone who’d just escaped death, she looked mildly annoyed.
The paramedic gulped, fear claiming his rationale. Those questions and accusations of “mutant” sounded louder by the second, and self-preservation dominated his thoughts. Yes, paramedics were suppose to help anyone in need, but this... this was asking a little too much. He’d only been on the job for three weeks and he had a family to think about. Treating mutants? What would his friends say? Would these women bite his head off?
One of the firefighters knocked his shoulder. “Yo,” the burly man grimaced, “Don’t you have a job to do?”
“But... but...”
“But nothin’,” said the firefighter, “You’re not going to stand there and watch these girls freeze, are ya?”
“They’re mutants!”
“And we’re right here,” Emma said icily, taking notice of the paramedic’s name on his badge. “Mr. Carter, I’m wet, I’m cold, and I’m besieged by reporters. Unless it’s suddenly become standard protocol to stare at plane crash victims, wipe that dumbstruck look off your face and get us out of here.”
But they’re mutants! Filthy mutants who’d use their freaky powers to take over the world! Was he really suppose to help things like that? Nowhere in his contract did it mention anything about treating those of the nonhuman species.
In another second, Emma would’ve did something drastic to his brain. In another second, Betsy would’ve been too late in restraining Emma’s actions. In another second, the young paramedic’s life would’ve changed forever, and not necessarily for the better.
Another second passed, but something else ensued. The ground shook and people gasped. In the distance by the park bathrooms, a red bolt of lightning bundled itself into a globe of electricity. Shadows appeared inside the hovering mass. They distorted then pushed through, oozing onto the grass like gallons of syrup, but no one saw where the shadows ended up. Desperate squeals, most human some not, wailed from behind the trees.
A primal urged stirred inside of Betsy. The hunger from earlier came back; she felt her shadowy tendrils fight against her restraint. All around her stood slabs of meat, of food, so easy, so tempting, so innocent. She hugged the fireman’s overcoat closer to her body, as if huddling up would stave away the demonic need. Everywhere, meat, food. She tried to focus on something else, the ambulance, the ground beneath her feet, anything, but her keen instincts refused to be fooled. Victims. Meals. Victims everywhere.
Victims, all of them, until she looked into a pair of blue eyes.
Unnatural pulses of anger and submission flared through their bond, warping Betsy, and by extension, warping Emma. And Emma didn’t take kindly to psychic invaders. *It’s Belasco, isn’t it?*
Betsy nodded, her motions strained, her thoughts warring against each other--instinct versus instinct, power versus power, self versus self. *I can feel him behind the portal... he... he’s calling to me...*
*He’s telling you to unleash that demon inside of you, telling you to come back to him, telling you to hate and kill and maim.*
*Yes,* she trilled, her claws unconsciously extending and facial features distorting.
*Betsy.* No response.
More forcefully this time. *Betsy.*
Brown eyes opened, disfigured by ecstasy.
*Betsy, look at me.*
The bloodlust stayed, but at least she didn’t look away.
*Am I a victim to you?*
Seconds passed and the screams grew louder. So loud, so musical, so diabolical... they stirred umbral needs, and in turn, the needs called her to join in the battle and please her master. No, please Master, not master. Master saved her, gave her this body, made her whole again when her family left her behind.
*Do you see me as meat?* Emma pressed.
Emma... no... Emma wasn’t a victim... she wasn’t meat... she was Emma. Emma was precious; Emma didn’t force her to do things she didn’t like, not like her master. Beyond the urges to bloodshed, beyond the lure of master, and beyond the hunger stood Emma radiating neither hope nor promises. What they were to each other hadn’t been established yet, but what they felt couldn’t be denied: love. It was a freeing love, one holding no untruths or schoolgirl wishes, just a statement of now, a young love.
What young love lacked in direction, it made up for in strength.
*N... no.*
The blonde leaned closer to her companion. *Answer me.*
*No.*
They clasped hands, Betsy’s aforementioned claws gone. *What did you say?*
*No, you’re not meat.*
*Say it like you mean it, like had to choose between Belasco and me.*
*No. You’re not a victim or meat. You’re my Emma.*
*You have to choose. What am I to you?*
Blue eyes, luscious lips, kind face--Emma had faith in her. Couldn’t let Emma down. Betsy’s muscles relaxed and her bloodlust calmed. Belasco’s hold over her still remained, but another’s hold was stronger. Emma. *You’re my Emma.*
The blonde nodded in approval. *Good, and you’re my Elisabeth. Don’t forget that.*
No sooner had they fended off Betsy’s demon did more malicious ones come barging into view. When the portal flashed to existence, it shocked the crowd and froze the people in place, no amount of yelling and grotesque sounds budging them. However, when the first of the shades approached, the horror became real for them.
Tourists ran for their lives.
The firefighters ushered people away.
Policemen--all fifteen of them--drew guns and fired.
Reporters snapped photos.
Shouts of “Dirty muties!” emanated from the more courageous people, who, upon seeing the monstrosities close up, shut their mouths and ran. The fast wave of fast moving shades succumb to the police’s hail of bullets. Too bad a second wave stomped through the trees and bowled into the police who were reloading their weapons. Bony protrusions exposed organs while sharp incisors lunged at the soft meat. Brawny arms batted away attacks and acidic spit from a particularly nasty shade turned bone into a grainy, soupy broth. The authorities fought valiantly to save the fleeing citizens, but the numbers and stronger individuals rendered resistance futile.
Shades feasted on those brave, fallen frontline fighters and dangled human pieces from their maws like wolves. More shades came, but seeing claimed food and quickly retreating meals, they turned away for easier pickings elsewhere.
Ten dead. Five policemen, two firefighters, and three reporters. Looked like a hundred people were slaughtered here given the rivulets of blood and chunks of limbs scattered about. Five shades enjoyed their victory and fed, oblivious to the world...
Until a clawed hand punched through one of their stomachs. Googly eyes turned to the unexpected disturbance. The skewered shade glanced at his erstwhile midsection, then up at his fellow shades, shuddered at the pain, and finally fell over, disentangling his insides from his killer.
A seven foot, five armed titan let out a roar and stampeded at a smiling Betsy. The woman didn’t even look impressed at the massive bunch of muscles, instead bringing her blood covered hands to her sides and straightening her back. What appeared to an easy kill became a deadly trap when, from the side, a crystallized boot blasted into its square chin. The thing wobbled before tumbling face first to the ground just inches before Betsy.
A diamond Emma flicked a blade of grass off her shoe. “Do you think these things are smart enough to know fear?”
Betsy shrugged. “Probably not.”
And indeed they weren’t. The three left cast away their meals and growled at the two interlopers. One had long, sharp bones jutting out of every conceivable section of its body, something like a disgusting humanoid porcupine. One could only be described as a huge mouth with legs--it derived its menacing countenance from the jagged teeth littering its jaw. The third resembled an ugly, fat man, only across his considerable gut was a slit, a slit which would open and spew corrosives.
They pooled themselves together and stumbled at the pretty, shiny woman.
“I think they like me,” Emma noted.
Betsy went into her defensive stance and peered at the blonde. “What can I say? We demons have a thing for you.”
The tubby acid spitter crashed into Emma, his digestive juice harmlessly beading off her diamond body. Sporting an impious smirk, Emma pulled his orifice closed. The fat demon growled and beat his meaty arms against the blonde, but she didn’t let go. Angry blows turned desperate as his stomach quivered and smoked. His skin lost cohesion, melted by his own acid. A quick knock to the chest separated his upper torso from his lower extremities.
Meanwhile, Betsy tangoed with two shades. Emma opted for dramatics, but Betsy relied on quick, compact, and efficient combat. Nimble enemies these things were not, and one wide sweep brought both of them to their backs. Betsy impaled the mouthy monster to death by kicking it into his bony friend. Making a judgment call as to wear the bony one’s head was, she wrapped her hands around two protrusions and twisted until a snap signaled the end of the fight.
Emma sighed. “We have to get out of here.”
“The portal’s so near,” said Betsy, eyes closed and body geared up for an epic battle, “We can close it before it gets worse.”
“Look to the left.”
She expected more enemies; she got a host of wide-eyed, open-mouthed people. Yes, many fled, but many still remained, morbid curiosity rooting them in place. What were they thinking? Why didn’t they just yield to their fight-or-flight instincts?
Stupid rubberneckers.
“Well?” asked Betsy, “What are you waiting for? Death? Get out of here!”
The people started backing away but still wouldn’t run.
“Um, no, Betsy, your other left.”
A familiar face materialized, followed of course by the appropriate familiar body draped in familiar vestments. Pointy ears, distinctive facial hair, and glistening garbs served to enunciate his unholiness, the former ruler of Limbo, the greatest of demonic magi, the one and only Belasco. His countenance seemed to bolster his forces, for as he descended, beasts roared, cars crashed, and the ground shook. Betsy stifled the temptation to run to the portal prostrate herself before him.
Behind him, a host of winged women pushed through. From a distance, they could’ve been mistaken for angels, but an unholy rage marred their faces, one which chilled the bone of even the most casual observers. Naked, beautiful, and ever so deadly, these sirens let out melodious cries and leapt into the night sky in search of glassy-eyed prey.
Emma grabbed Betsy’s arm and dragged away from the park. “I believe this is where we retreat and call your Otherworld friends.”
“Retreat?” groaned Betsy, “Retreat where? You think anywhere is safe in the city with hell about to come onto earth?”
The blonde pointed her finger at a nearby skyscraper, the home of Frost Enterprises. “Trust me when I say my tower is easier to defend than Battery Park.” Returning to her flesh and blood body, Emma used her telepathy to snatch the crowd’s attention. Once the dumbfounded focused on her, she cleared her throat and declared, “Everyone who doesn’t want to end up as a monster’s midnight snack can seek shelter two blocks away in my company’s building.”
Still few of them budged. Stupid, stupid curious people.
“GO!” A good punch of psychic suggestion laced the order, and only then did people get moving en mass.
A little voice in the back of her head complained about random peons soiling her immaculate office. Undeniable, but as heartless as Emma was, she couldn’t leave these people here to die. Something about a conscience and fighting for the greater good gnawed at her like a rabid pup. She blamed her blossoming humanitarianism squarely on Betsy and their bond.
Young love tended to blind people and induce goodwill.
“God, I’m going soft.”
***************
- To be continued...
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