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Steam rose from the swimming pool's surface, catching the late afternoon light that filtered through the glass ceiling panels. Emma Frost floated on an oversized inflatable tube, arms sprawled out in pure leisure. The swimsuit she wore was white as fresh snow, cut high on the hips, plunging at the neckline; it walked a fine line between sophisticated and scandalous. Oversized sunglasses shielded her eyes, and her blonde hair fanned out in the water behind her, creating an almost angelic halo effect—deeply ironic considering the woman it surrounded.
She held a crystal glass filled with pink cocktail, garnished with fresh strawberries and a tiny paper umbrella. She looked like she belonged on a yacht in Monaco, not in a private pool in the middle of Manhattan's winter. But then again, Emma Frost had never been one to let something as pedestrian as nature dictate her joy and comfort.
The reason for this tropical warmth sat cross-legged at the pool's edge. A young woman with long vibrant red hair, who had her eyes closed in concentration. Her pale skin seemed to glow faintly, the air around her shimmering with heat distortion. That was microwave radiation pouring from her in waves, which warmed not just the water but the entire space, turning the area into Emma's paradise.
Emma took a leisurely sip of her cocktail, savoring the sweet-tart flavor, while adjusting her sunglasses with one finger. While Charles Xavier sat comfortably in his mansion with Cerebro doing the work for him, Emma had scoured every square inch of the planet, used all the wealth and resources she'd accumulated over the years, followed every lead, checked under every rock in search for any mutant who showed even the most remote manifestation of mutant power.
When she found them—one student at a time—she rearranged their brain engrams to make them undetectable. Because she had more to offer than Charles Xavier and his naive idealism. More than Erik Lehnsherr and his superiority complex.
She offered them something infinitely more valuable: survival, power, and most importantly, a teacher who understood that the world was not kind, would never be kind, and that pretending otherwise was the fastest path to the graveyard.
Angelica Jones, codename Firestar, was one of the few mutants Emma had found before Xavier's machine could locate their location. The girl had tremendous potential. With proper training and motivation, the young redhead could assassinate even Selene, the ancient mutant sorceress who called herself the Moon Goddess.
Of course, Angelica didn't need to know that yet.
Emma's lips curved into a satisfied smile behind her sunglasses. "This is nice."
"Am I doing it right, Ms. Frost?" The girl's voice carried that eager, uncertain quality of youth. So desperate to please, so terrified of disappointing her savior.
"Yeah, of course, darling. You've gotten so much better." Her voice dripped with warmth and affection, only reserved for the handful of mutant children raised by herself. "Some moments of levity are necessary in life. Wouldn't you agree, Angelica?"
Angela's face lit up with pure joy at the praise, like a puppy receiving a treat. "Y-Yes, Ms. Frost!"
Emma's gaze shifted to the other figure by the pool. "What do you think, Psy?"
The question was directed at the Japanese woman sitting with her legs dangling in the water, feet creating small splashes with childlike rhythm. Kwannon, now known as Psylocke, sat there in her combat outfit. A red-sheathed katana lay within arm's reach on the tile beside her.
Her solemn expression didn't match the childish action of splashing water. "I don't know."
Emma took another sip of cocktail. "You can be such a bore, sweetheart."
Psylocke didn't respond, just continued gazing at the ripples across the water's surface.
Emma went back to floating, letting the gentle rocking lull her into a nap. The sound of approaching footsteps disrupted everything. Emma knew who it was by the distinctive click of heels.
"Madame." The voice was soft, feminine, with a French accent that made every word sound elegant. "Blanc wants you to see this."
Emma's eyes opened behind her sunglasses. Blanc would never interrupt her leisure time for trivial matters. She gracefully rolled off the tube and swam to the pool's edge. Water sluiced off her body in rivulets as she pulled herself to sit beside Psylocke.
Blanche, in her black-and-white French maid uniform, passed a tablet to Emma. "Madame."
Angelica quietly walked to behind Emma, curiosity getting the better of her.
Emma played the clip. The footage was shaky, clearly shot on a civilian's phone. A man with a skull for a head, shrouded in mystical blue flames, stood in the middle of Fifth Avenue street—the luxury shops in the background were so easily recognizable to her.
"Youkai?" Psylocke leaned closer. "Demon?"
"Wrong guess, sweet—Walter Hardy and Felicia?" Her eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses as she recognized two figures who came out of the limo. "What's going on?"
Angelica leaned in from the side, trying to understand what she was seeing. "Ms. Frost knows them?"
"Acquaintances, yes, but they don't feel normal."
The next few seconds explained everything as both Hardys transformed. Norman had infected them with symbiotes. Surprisingly, this skull-faced man—"Skullfire" as the people had named him—defeated Walter Hardy in a single move. Symbiote Felicia just fled.
"Could he be...?"
She swiped to the next clip. This one showed Skullfire handing an unconscious Felicia to Ghost Spider. Felicia didn't look the least bit uncomfortable like she knew the person holding her wouldn't harm her. Emma had seen that look on Felicia's face before. Only one person had the ability to bring that expression on Felicia's face.
A man surrounded by mysteries, quick-witted enough to share the same table as Emma Frost yet honest and sincere enough to win over the hearts of Silver Sable, Felicia, and more importantly, Death. He was full of contradictions, but alas, her telepathy couldn't expose his real heart.
She lowered the tablet. "Call Dante."
Blanche pulled out a phone, dialed, and waited. After several moments, she shook her head. "No answer, Madame."
"Try Felicia."
This time, the call connected quickly. Blanche tapped the speaker button and held the phone at a respectful distance.
"Hi, Princess!" Felicia's cheeky voice came through the speaker. The cowering little kitten had grown into a tiger under her boyfriend's protection.
Emma's lips curved into a pleased smile. "Where is your sweetheart?"
"He's resting. Don't you dare disturb him, okay? He went through a lot today."
Emma's smile widened into something that would have terrified those who knew what it meant. "I get it now. His powers might seem almighty on the surface, but he can't use them all the time. Felicia, thank you for selling out your friend."
There was a beat of silence on the other end, then, Felicia said, "I don't know or fucking care. I'm hanging up if you don't say something productive in the next five seconds."
Emma could easily imagine Felicia bristling like an angry cat on the other side.
"Don't be angry, dear. We're allies," Emma said in her exaggerated, dramatic tone. "Felicia, dear, why don't you start by explaining what happened today?"
"Norman has my father," Felicia said, the sound of her grinding teeth coming through the loudspeaker. "I would've become his lapdog if Dante hadn't shown up in time."
Emma listened as Felicia relayed how Norman had lured Felicia using her father, and then infected her with a symbiote. The plan would've worked except Norman hadn't accounted for Dante. No one had accounted for Dante.
"That fool Norman is becoming more and more arrogant," Emma said with a dismissive snort. "Connect me to Dante when he wakes up. We need to take counter-measures against his rampage."
"Gladly, Princess Frost."
"Goodbye, Kitten."
"Fuck you."
Emma giggled as the call disconnected before she watched the next clip. This one was from a news broadcast. J. Jonah Jameson filled the screen, his face red, as he screamed at the camera.
"THIS SKULL MENACE MUST BE STOPPED!" The loud voice forced Emma to move her head back. "LOOK AT THE DESTRUCTION HE HAS CAUSED! HE HAS NO RESPECT FOR LAW! HE—"
"Shut up." Emma locked the tablet and turned to Psylocke. "Our friend made quite a mess today."
Then again, she wouldn't have formed an alliance if he lurked in the shadows like her.
"That he did." Psylocke took her katana. "I'll help him fight these demons."
Emma's eyebrow arched. "You may. Just be careful of those pesky Hand members."
SHIELD had been able to suppress news of superpowers for decades using their influence and resources to keep the public ignorant. But the age of technology won. Everyone knew now through videos, which were spreading like a wildfire.
If SHIELD tried to stop Psylocke, Emma would lay everything out in a press conference in front of the entire world. Frost International had the influence to smear SHIELD's name across every media outlet on the planet.
'If they dare to send out that little girl after me,' Emma thought, her smile turning cold and sharp. 'I'll let my friend handle them.'
Using others was Emma's greatest expertise. And she would use Dante to her heart's content, especially since he had offered his services on a silver platter.
"Um, Ms. Psylocke?" Angelica's hesitant voice broke through Emma's thoughts. The young redhead looked between the two older women with hopeful, innocent eyes. "Can I join you? I have these powers. It'd be great to use them to help others."
"No."
The girl's face crumpled, shoulders sagging with disappointment.
Emma's expression softened, realizing she came off as too harsh with Angelica. "Dear, you're much too young and inexperienced to be fighting symbiotes."
She had to maintain the balance between strict and caring to make Hellions loyal without brainwashing them. Telepathy would grant her control over them; it would also completely kill their potential.
Angelica's shoulders sagged further. "Understood."
"I didn't say you can't." Emma stood and put a hand on Angelica's shoulder. "We'll arrange a squad with everyone in the Hellions. You'll all go out to fight symbiotes together. Safety in numbers, dear. You'll watch each other's backs."
Angelica's eyes widened before she beamed a smile. "Thanks, Ms. Frost!"
"Good girl." Emma smiled warmly, proudly as she stroked Angelica's head with surprisingly gentleness, running her fingers through those vibrant red hair like a mother would for her daughter. "Now go and train."
Angelica hurried off, more motivated than ever to train.
Psylocke followed Angelica with her eyes until she left before she gave Emma a look of unmistakable pity. "Your heart is too cruel."
Those soft words struck her harder than a hammer. She put her hands on her hips and looked up at the sun through the glass ceiling. "One needs to be cruel in this world, or they'll be trampled upon by everyone."
Her methods might seem harsh and cruel, but her heart was in the right place. She cared for these young, naive mutants as much as Charles Xavier cared for his X-Men. No, she cared even more because she had seen them personally at their lowest.
She was more than their teacher.
Psylocke shook her head slowly. "I understand your perspective, but I don't agree with it. For a world without kindness is no different from Hell."
"It is Hell, dear. You ought to understand that better than me, Executioner of the Hand."
Although Emma didn't know the exact number, she knew Psylocke's kill count exceeded four digits. The woman had been killing families and wiping out entire clans for decades as the Hand's most lethal assassin.
Brilliant violet light burst from Psylocke's eyes as a psychic butterfly manifested in front of her face.
"Emma Frost."
Psylocke slammed it into the ground. With just her pure strength, the sheathed blade embedded itself in the concrete.
One second she was sitting on the pool side, and in the next, she was standing close enough that their faces were inches apart, and a psychic dagger was pressed against White Queen's throat.
"Call me that again, and I swear I will slay you."
Emma didn't flinch or show a single hint of fear in the face of Psylocke's rage. "Let's be more civil, dear. We are mutants, not barbarians."
Neither woman moved for what felt like eternity. Then, finally, the psychic dagger dissipated into purple mist. Psylocke yanked the katana from the ground and took long strides toward the exit.
The door slammed shut in the distance, conveying how pissed Psylocke actually was. Psylocke despised being reminded of her past career.
An exhausted sigh came from somewhere deep in Emma's chest. She sat down and ran one hand through her wet hair. "What a bothersome woman."
Blanche, who had witnessed everything while maintaining a neutral expression, spoke carefully. "Madame, am I allowed to say something?"
Emma waved her hand. "Go ahead, dear."
She enjoyed controlling people, but only when it served a purpose. There was no point in being too controlling with her own people, especially when they were as utterly loyal as Blanche.
"Madame, it might be rude to say it..." Blanche hesitated, clearly choosing her word with great consideration. "But I feel as if you provoked Ms. Psylocke on purpose. That entire exchange felt... intentional on your part."
Emma arched an eyebrow. "You are quite observant, little girl. Like your older brother."
Blanche bowed her head respectfully. "I don't deserve that compliment."
"Oh, please. I only praise the deserving." Emma laughed fondly. "Yes, it was on purpose. A blade kept in its sheath will rust. Steel must be tempered continuously until it glows like the sun, hammered until it's harder than diamond, and quenched in water until it hisses. Only then will we get a truly lethal blade."
Psylocke's revenge against the Hand would become impossible if she embraced kindness. The woman needed her rage, her hatred, and her killer instinct.
Without those things, she would become weak.
And weakness got people killed.
Emma would be quite ashamed if she let her friend die to something as trivial as weakness.
***
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