Marvel: Life is Good

The day after my "liberation," things got wild. Seeing myself on TV, I forgot the most crucial detail—my moms watch TV too. So, there we were, chatting about the news with the gang when Mystique storms in, eyes wide, holding her phone. Now, believe it or not, I'm smart… sometimes. I could tell what was up just from Raven's guilty-as-hell expression. She almost always used her "Misty" form at the school, just like when we first met, so her face said it all. And I knew exactly who was on the other end of that call—my mom, Judy, in full-on MOMMA HULK MODE.

Let me tell you, Stryker got off easy. I just burned her alive. My mom? I don't even want to imagine what she'd have done—Khornites would run screaming in terror. Just thinking about my mom's reaction made me wish I could kill that swine of a colonel all over again. Maybe twice. Then toss the corpse into a pen with a giant necrophiliac, xenophiliac, cannibalistic rhino for some "recycling."

Resigned to my fate, I grabbed the phone. And boy, did it start:

"What torture, Mom? What are you talking about?! It just looked bad; it was nothing! … I got dizzy, that's all, and fell! … No, Mom, I'm fine. Calm down, will you?! And if I puked, it was from seeing those… underwear! Did you see those monstrosities?!"

"Mom, I swear, the scariest thing in that place was those loincloths! … I'm not lying, Mom! Seriously! They even fed us! … Milk porridge or something. It was tasty! I didn't even notice when I ate it."

"What? No, the school food is fine! I didn't notice because we'd been traveling for ages—I was hungry. … Ugh, Moooom!"

And on it went for a solid half hour. Mom doesn't need to stress—she's had enough of that lately because of me. A real man doesn't make his women worry without a damn good reason. At least, that's how I see it.

In the end, we talked it out. Even with the circumstances, hearing Mom's voice lifted my spirits. She told me about G, about Betty's mom, and how they missed me, how they couldn't wait for their son and brother to come home. It was nice. Made me realize how much I missed them too.

No time for reflection, though—Anna-Marie dragged me off to see Charlene in the "therapy room." Honestly, I'm starting to think she's Charlene's personal aide when it comes to "escort Tobias here and there" duties. Or maybe they're just trying to ship us. We chatted a bit on the way—Rogue lucked out in the complex; they didn't drag her into any experiments. She sympathized with me, cursed "those bastards," and invited me to a nearby cafe over the weekend. Of course, I said yes. Why not? First, I'm neer say no when it comes to tasty food. Second, a cafe isn't exactly a wedding chapel. And third, I actually wanted to hang out with her—she's fun and relatively sane.

So, I walk into the "therapy room," and it's all set up: cozy couch, tea on the table, a warm, inviting atmosphere. Charlene's there, all smiles, sitting by the table in her wheelchair. Two options came to mind—it's either therapy time or she'll be asking for money. I'm broke, so therapy it is. Yay.

And I was right. Two hours of mental gymnastics. Honestly, though? I needed it. I'm not a Terminator, and battles and bloody kills leave marks on a person's psyche. So far, I'm coping, but that's probably because the full weight hasn't hit me yet. Charlene's a good therapist. Talking to her calmed me down a bit. There's not much to retell—I vented about my fears, how eerily calm I feel when I recall those events. I didn't break down, even though I wouldn't call myself "steel-hearted."

The biggest thing? I admitted to myself—and Charlene—that I'm terrified I'm either already a psycho or on my way there. I don't want to become a moral void who sees no value in human life. You know, that whole "the ends justify the means" BS, like mass murder over… let's say, a new apartment. Killing dozens for something like that shouldn't ever be okay with me.

In that situation, I still think I did the right thing. I couldn't have known help was already on the way. If I hadn't charged at the colonel, she might've escaped and kept up her horrors. So yeah, I stand by my actions. But my feelings about killing worry me. Charlene "cheered me up," saying that I might face a delayed emotional backlash and that she's there to help if it happens.

I left the session deep in thought. I needed to keep busy. Training was canceled today—everyone was told to rest and recover. Beast wasn't available either; McCoy was too busy sorting out her trashed lab. Poor woman got the short end of the stick—her place looked like a bunch of orcs ransacked it, smashing everything metallic. On top of that, Stryker had interrogated her extensively, using all kinds of nasty methods. To her credit, though, she only took yesterday and last night off. Today, she was back in action, full throttle. I respect her—not just a good person but passionate about her work without overstepping boundaries.

I decided to chill upstairs. The school has these terrace-like spots that look like medieval towers with decorative battlements. Found a seat between two battlements—chilly for the butt, but my bald head got a nice breeze. Speaking of baldness, I have to do something about my hair with my powers. Sure, being hairless is manageable, but rocking the full Saitama look—no brows, no lashes? Total nightmare. And what about all those women who used to love ruffling my hair? Now they'll just slap my head like a baby's bottom. No thanks!

And my powers? Gotta figure those out too. If I could instinctively handle thermal energy, maybe, with effort, I can branch out into other types. For example, I'd love to cosplay Palpatine and shoot lightning while yelling, "UNLIMITED POWERRR!" A fifteen-year-old can dream, right? 

Even if that doesn't work, I need to master what I already have. Life's made it clear—peace isn't in the cards for me. My power has serious potential, and if I don't join Xavier's team or the Sisterhood, other players will come knocking. SHIELD, Hydra, The Hand, you name it. Marvel's crawling with these types. I need to think hard about who I align myself with. Mutants will always see me as "one of them," and burning bridges with them by teaming up with antagonists? Bad move. Besides, the mutants have done so much for me. I owe them at least that much.

Stealing power-ups to boost my own game? Genius plan. SHIELD could hook me up with that Eternity Serum—longevity, super strength, killer reflexes. Kamartaj? Magic galore! Portals! Imagine grabbing a shawarma mid-battle via a portal. Past-life dream achieved. And let's not forget martial arts—my thermal punches and shield are begging for some moves like Flaming Dragon Kick That Sets the Sky on Fire. A must-have.

Caught up in these totally productive thoughts, Kristi found me and dragged me off to somewhere cozier. On the way, we passed the lounge, and then I heard something that made my skin crawl—every hair follicle I didn't have shivered in unison. Jubilee. Giving a speech.

Jubilee. Sharing stories.

With the full force of her skill, Explosive Enthusiasm, cranked to max.

I gently stopped Kristi and edged closer to the gathering, curiosity getting the better of me. Jubilee's voice rang out:

"...and then I hear gunshots! I peek out the window, and oh my god, it's madness! Eight big, scary women shooting at Tobias like crazy, but he doesn't even flinch. He just keeps walking towards them, all badass and bulletproof, with this predatory smirk on his face and those wild eyes of his! He stops right in front of them. They stop shooting—like, they don't even know what's happening! Then he says—get this—'Now it's my turn, bitches.' And he goes HAM. 

"Blood everywhere—intestines, brains, limbs flying! And he's laughing, yelling, 'Mess with me now, idiots!' He straight-up popped one woman's head like a watermelon! The last three tried to run, but oh no, not with him. He chases them down, shouting, 'You're not escaping, sluts!' Then he tears off all their legs, stands over them like a demon, and—wait for it—rips out their hearts. AND EATS THEM. All three! After that, he looks up at me, puts his finger to his lips like, 'Shh, don't tell.' Girls, I swear, I nearly melted in my panties. Kristi better act fast, or I'm wife material before she even blinks."

I stood there, fighting every urge to facepalm. Some of the girls in the group started looking past Jubilee, wide grins forming as they spotted me and Kristi. Jubilee caught on, turned around, and oh boy—Kristi was not amused.

I always thought my little demoness couldn't get mad. Turns out, I was wrong. Her narrowed eyes, furrowed brows, flaring nostrils, that twitching tail, and that absolutely wicked smile? Chef's kiss. What a masterpiece. I'm 100% ready to provoke her on purpose for more of this. Meanwhile, I stayed calm, letting Kristi's brewing fury work its magic. Jubilee's gonna get spanked, and I don't even have to lift a finger. Win-win.

Jubilee, of course, exaggerated for fun—she's always been like this: hyper, bubbly, and utterly incorrigible. I didn't stop Kristi as she delivered some well-deserved under-the-table justice—literally. Jubilee yelped after a couple of well-placed kicks and a smack upside the head, all while Kristi moved with elegance. Damn, she's graceful. My admiration must've been obvious because Kristi blushed a shade of violet that had me grinning like an idiot.

She grabbed my hand—no resistance from me—and whisked me off somewhere more private. There, we melted into each other, exchanging endless kisses and warm embraces. She murmured sweet nothings in German, her tail coiling around my leg, and I basked in it all. Dinner? Skipped. Couldn't care less. Kristi's attention was addictive.

Though we didn't cross any major lines, and honestly? A bit of a bummer for me. Still, I think the intensity came from everything she'd been through. After such a terrifying ordeal, emotions run high, and here I was—safe and sound, reassuring her. It was beautiful, raw, and perfect.

Of course, Mystique eventually found us, dragging us to the dining hall. She even gave Kristi a sly thumbs-up and winked at me. Approval from mom? Check. Guess I'm in her good graces.

The evening ended with a late dinner, some teasing from Pyro and Iceman about my new look. I promised to recruit Kitty for a nighttime raid to shave their heads in retaliation, earning a pillow to the face.

Despite the laughs, there was a lingering weight. Tomorrow, we'd bury Sandi, one of the kids who didn't survive the Striker compound. The image of her lifeless body on that cold table haunted me. Every time it came back, anger surged.

I just wanted to enjoy life. But could I, knowing that somewhere, another twisted monster was torturing a helpless child? I couldn't save everyone. That's the cruel truth. Still, the guilt was suffocating.

For now, I forced the thoughts aside. Tomorrow's grief would come soon enough.

I was in the morgue, staring at Sandi's small, pale body. She lay on the table, still and silent, covered by a thin sheet. At my feet, a corpse twitched weakly—a woman whose face I'd burned beyond recognition. She rasped horribly, trying to cling to life. Irritated, I nudged her with my foot, muttering for her to shut up. Her head caved in under the pressure, spraying bone and brain matter. Quiet again, but not peaceful.

"You're late."

A soft, cold, emotionless voice broke the silence. Sandi turned her head toward me, her dead eyes locking onto mine.

"You didn't hurry to save me, Tobias. If you hadn't gone to sleep after getting your powers, I might still be alive. Then you wouldn't have to attend my funeral tomorrow."

She tugged the sheet down, running a small finger along the gaping incision on her chest.

"They took my heart, Tobias. How am I supposed to live without a heart?"

I stared into her lifeless eyes, tears silently streaming down my face. Bitterness choked my throat, shame weighed heavy on my chest, and anger—blistering anger at my own hesitation—burned through my lungs.

"They took everything from me," her pale blue lips whispered. "They stole my life, the youth I was supposed to live. They took my first kiss—one that should've been waiting for me in the future. A future that will never come. I'll never see the sun again. I won't play with my friends or hug my mom. I'll never meet my love or have children. I'll lie in the ground, Tobias. In a wooden box, rotting, being devoured by worms, stinking to high heaven."

She pulled the sheet back over herself, her dead gaze drifting back to the ceiling as she returned her head to its original position.

"Go, Tobias," she said softly. "Just leave me here. Leave me to freeze on this iron table under this thin sheet... without my heart."

Late at night… I lay there, my pillow damp with tears, my blanket soaked with cold sweat. Logically, I understood—I couldn't have made it to her in that state. Resting wasn't a mistake. But in that moment… if only I'd been able to use my powers sooner. If I'd been stronger. If I'd taken things seriously from the start.

My smug little "positive selfishness" that I used to be so proud of, my flippant attitude toward life, my 'whatever, not my problem' philosophy… all of it had kept me from saving that girl.

I'm not saying her death was solely my fault. If you go down that rabbit hole, you could pin the blame on anyone. Xavier's team for failing to protect us. The Sisterhood for not getting there in time. The U.S. president for allowing such atrocities. SHIELD, Hydra—hell, everyone. But that's a dead-end road, a pointless waste of time and energy. What matters now is learning from this and moving forward.

And the lesson is simple: "Not my problem" doesn't cut it anymore.

I don't want dreams like this haunting me. I've been given a second life, and maybe it's time I grew the hell up. Time to take responsibility and act before circumstances force me to.

This world—it's real. My reality. It's beautiful, but it's brutal. It worships strength and ignores the weak.

If I want the people I care about to be okay, if I want them safe and happy, then sweet little Tobias needs to step it up. I need to be truly strong—strong enough that at the mere thought of messing with me, any would-be enemy starts shitting bricks.