Chapter 7: Kung-Fu Fighting
Emma hated the Danger Room. She understood its importance and marveled at its technology, but she hated the virtual space with a passion none suspected. The sterile walls, the psychically unreadable illusions, the very real pain--she felt like a cow wearing a large “Tip Me” sign, and Emma Grace Frost NEVER, EVER felt that way... even when she clad herself in leathers and over-indulged on her favorite foods... which was, yet again, something Emma Grace Frost NEVER, EVER did.
Too bad though. Scott “My Problems Are Worse Than Yours” Summers required all local, active members of the X-Men to log at least one hour per week in the blasted room. Sure, she was far from defenseless and rarely made an oaf of herself, but the ineffectiveness of her mental powers tested her patience. Her fighting style hinged on being able to read her opponent, then confusing them with mental illusions. Yes, she could throw a mean punch too, but Emma preferred the others think of her as a fragile, physically incapable female.
This led her to the habit of venturing into the Danger Room alone.
She didn’t mind failing. She didn’t mind the pain too much, especially since she could shift to her diamond form. She didn’t mind the workout and actually appreciated it. However, she minded her weapon of choice being taken from her, and she didn’t want any one knowing she could hold her own without her powers. Back in Generation X, Sean got a surprise when he made that assumption, and Emma wanted to keep that proverbial ace up her sleeve.
Dutifully, the blonde programmed in her normal, light sequence of scenarios and prepared herself for a mish mash of drudgery, combat, mild excitement, and reflex honing. Maybe she could even expel some of that aggression she saved up from last night.
The Danger Room fizzled away, replaced by a sophisticated, indoor firing range. Weapons of all calibers lined the walls, and from the cache, Emma selected two semi-automatic handguns. Targets small and large meandered through the soon-to-be bullet-ridden up no man’s land, attempting in their own little mechanical ways to avoid getting shot.
A series of bangs and a bunch of smoke emanated from where she stood.
“Accuracy: 93.33%,” said the Danger Room’s system, “Retry scenario?”
She hit with twenty eight of thirty bullets--good enough, but she was a perfectionist. However, today, she found target practice (usually her favorite activity) uninspiring, and the drive to do more wasn’t there. Aforementioned aggression? Still there and thirsting for something more.
“End program,” Emma commanded. “Run CQC, level 5.”
In place of the firing range appeared the interior of a nondescript gym. No more guns on the walls, only mirrors. Cement flooring got covered by a room wide mat, perfect for getting thrown on. A deadly looking man resembling a younger and scruffier Kurt Russell decked out in army fatigues stood in the middle. Muscular but not bulky, he fell into his fighting stance with a deliberate, intimidating, and predatory grace. Arms up, knees bent, he seemed to allow a great deal of vulnerability to his gut, but one look at his elbows and feet told the blonde he would be ready to counter any such attack.
Always a cerebral fighter, Emma didn’t respond to the man’s movements, choosing to remain standing and seemingly unprepared. She scoffed at herself for trying to intimidate a computer simulation, but in all honesty, her other encounters with this same program hadn’t gone well. She’d been stuck at this difficulty level for the past four months, and the record was a humbling seventeen and zero in favor of wanna-be Kurt Russell. His fighting skills and physical strength were simply superior to Emma’s, and believe you me, the blonde tried everything short of assuming her diamond form to subdue the man, including but not limited to low blows, concealed weaponry, programmed allies, and firearms.
Until now, she accepted her defeated, noted her weaknesses, worked on them, and hoped the next week would show progress. Today, perhaps caving in to her ever increasing stress, she didn’t want to end up lying on the mat. Pride about her fighting skills welled up, and...
Those were Betsy’s feelings, weren’t they?
Sensing a moment’s distraction, the man threw his fist forward to catch Emma’s jaw. On a good day at the height of her concentration, she would’ve deflected the blow, but no, not today. For some reason, his normally lightning quick strikes slowed a hair, and even with a stray thought occupying her, Emma had the presence of mind to back step out of his range. Unperturbed by the dodge, he lunged again, this time using a standing sweep to trip up his opponent.
Reflexes took over and she stepped into his attack. Instead of his leg connecting on her shins, his thigh ineffectively bumped hers, which didn’t do any damage and left him off balance. Pressing her advantage, Emma hooked his arm and droved his face against the mat. His awkward position and body weight assisted by her force produced an ominous snap, and before she could gloat over her handiwork, the man disappeared.
“CQC level 5 completed. Retry scenario?”
Did she just...? But didn’t the guy...? How come he was so...?
Emma’s eyes widened in excitement. “Scenario revision,” she called out, “CQC level 6.”
The same man reappeared in the middle of the room, and he didn’t waste any time. He charged in, tackling Emma and pushing her into the wall. His fists pounded her side, driving the breath from her and refusing to let her recover. Eventually, he eased up to right himself and deliver a knockout hit, but Emma moved too quickly for him: she ducked his roundhouse punch and nailed him between the legs. She stood up and he bent over, allowing the blonde to move to his left and send him flipping with a vicious kick underneath the chin.
Right when he landed, he winked out of existence.
“CQC level 6 completed. Retry scenario?”
“CQC level 7.”
This one put up a minor fight, but he had a date with a mirror and he had to leave.
“Level 8.”
The vast array of moves didn’t save him from all the broken bones.
“Level 9!”
Good, but not good enough. He didn’t expect that head butt.
“Level 10!”
Now, fighting this one energized her. Back and forth the advantage went, and the more blows exchanged, the more her spirit soared. This harmony with her body... unbelievable! Their battled seemed like an improvised masterpiece, fitting together into a painting or a dance or a song. A few instances, Emma even felt like she’d left her body, allowing to it react on its own; the nothingness and weightlessness balanced nicely against the flowing movements. A runner’s high some people called it, but only this combination of satisfaction, adrenaline, and artistry related to the martial arts. And in the final brushstroke, Emma thrust the side of her hand into man’s exposed neck. He coughed, stumbled, then dropped to the floor.
“CQC level 10 completed. Program suite completed.”
Emma gazed at the empty gym. She never experienced any transcending aspects of hand-to-hand combat before, but it felt a lot like her first successful foray into telepathy: exhausting and rewarding. If this was how Betsy felt whenever she fought, then... wow. No wonder she loved the Danger Room.
Suddenly, Tessa’s voice and mild applause crackled over the speakers. “I am impressed, Emma.”
Damn that woman. She was one of the few people who could sneak up on Emma. “Close program and logout.”
The Danger Room in all its sterile glory came back into being, and high above, Tessa loomed behind the control room’s glass.
“Why are you here?” the blonde asked, displeased.
“You went over your allotted time,” said Tessa, “My hour is after yours.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
Emma made for the exit, content to get away from the woman.
Tessa, however, had other ideas. “Your style is remarkably like Psylocke’s. I did not know you studied aikido or karate.”
“You don’t know everything.”
“No, I do not, but I make it my business to scrutinize, analyze, and dissect all information available.” The blonde continued on her way out, ignoring Tessa. “I have found a disturbing trend on the premises of late,” Tessa called out, “Because I only have conjectures at this point, my words to you are simple: I will be watching your every move.”
That sounded like a threat, but to the best of Emma’s knowledge, Tessa never threatened so... so... inelegantly. Her supposed categorical knowledge of everything made her into a wallflower, and when she did act, she preferred cloak and dagger over strong-arm tactics. So then was this a friendly warning? Hard to believe considering their icy relationship (which of course stemmed from their Hellfire days). Despite being part of the X-Men, neither woman would mind the other not showing up for breakfast one morning. What could possibly rattle Tessa so much that she not only acted uncharacteristically but also didn’t approach someone else like the Professor?
Well, maybe the assumptions had a hand in that.
Puzzling woman that one, and compounded by her resistance to Emma’s telepathy, also an annoying one.
On the way to her room, Emma smashed into a seemingly preoccupied Xorn and landed flat on her back.
“Excuse me,” the man immediately said, extending his hands and helping her up.
Since he was so nice, “No harm done.”
All would’ve been fine with the world if Emma could just waltz into her private space and take the relaxing shower she’d been fantasizing about for the past five minutes. But no, her own feet betrayed her, placing her in front of Betsy’s old (Or was it current?) room. Was it so hard to ask for the little things to go right? Really, only two other people made their abodes in this wing--Logan and Kurt--and Emma didn’t want to see either of them.
Sighing, she turned tail and went back down the hall, this time firmly guiding her increasingly scattered thoughts.
*****************
Limbo, the point between everywhere and nowhere, Amanda’s home. Last few days, this bastion had seen more visitors and action than it had in the past year. Doctor Strange left not long ago, and now, she walked amongst her belongings to admire them.
Limbo, the point between everywhere and nowhere, Amanda’s home, was extremely boring like that.
Battle armor, eyes of newt, chains of memories, a giant’s glute, flaming canes, random banes, flowers of spring, instruments of pain, shiny trinkets, missing trinkets, ebony mirrors, iron-
“Hold the phone,” she said to herself, “Missing trinkets?”
She observed her vast collection of trinkets and noticed a small space between her rings and bracelets. What was suppose to be there? Think, think, think...
Ah, yes, a pendant! The pendant which served as a bypass around Limbo, enabling the wearer to go from the Otherworld to the actual world in one clean hop.
“Where did I put that thing?”
Amanda turned Limbo upside down but still couldn’t find it.
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- To be continued...
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