Emma Frost: Queen of Diamonds
By Nate Yoshida

PART 1

As I switched the lights on in the office, I heard two clicks. It was the sound of a pistol being cocked, familiar to anyone who has watched a single Hollywood film. It was just a young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, with black-rimmed glasses and short blonde hair. He wasn't exactly intimidating, with his five-foot stature and uncleaned shirt-and-tie. He was either an IT professional or a depressed stock broker. Either way, he was one angry individual.

"Miss Emma Frost," he said slowly, pretentiously trying to intimidate me with an aura that was probably based on some movie scene he must've seen as a child.

"That would be me, dear," I responded as though he were one of my students, "may I help you?" He raised the gun slightly higher, as if to make it clearer to me that he was serious. Frankly, I was trying quite hard not to break out into a fit of laughter.

"Let me tell you a story, Miss Frost," he continued, taking a seat across from me in the dark top-floor office. His back was to the door, and he seemed to think this was a well-calculated move to prevent me from running, as if that would even cross my mind. Calmly, I sat down behind the desk facing him, and leaned back.

"Sure, darling," I responded calmly, "you wouldn't mind if I pour myself a glass of wine, would you?"

"I'm Billy Doran, does the name ring a bell?"

"Not really," I answered as I poured the red wine into my tall glass. The name somehow suited his goofy look, and I was hoping the alcohol might make it easier to keep a straight face through the rest of this.

"Well my father worked for your father, Winston Frost, for forty years. Then in a wave of so-called down-sizing, he lost his job without so much as a decent explanation."

"My father did many things that I'm not all that proud of, Billy. What exactly does this have to do with the little pistol you're aiming at me right now? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not my father. We do look quite different, last time I checked a mirror."

"I was born in South Eastern Boston, when my family struggled just to get by. In high school, my best friend, Doug, got me into computers. Doug came from an upper-class New England family, but he chose to hang around with us down East. I never could've afforded the hobby, but he got me into it, and I made a fortune in the mid-90's all thanks to him."

"And you think I'm somehow responsible for the IT crash?"

"No, Miss Frost," Billy answered impatiently, "I don't blame anyone for that, because that's not the point. That's the thing with people like you, all you see is the money. The point is that Doug is dead now. He was the greatest thing to happen to me, and you killed him!"

"Pardon me, dear?"

"He was killed last night in New York City by the terrorist attack committed by yourself and Doctor McCoy. So I've come to avenge his death."

"I'm sorry, Billy, but you're missing the big picture," I placed my glass on the desk, and looked Billy in the eye, "let me tell you a story. My story."



To the masses, I'm just Emma Grace Frost, C.E.O. of the manufacturing conglomerate, Frost International. An impersonal untouchable figure seen at the signings of corporate mergers. But to those who know me, I'm Miss Frost, headmistress of the New Massachusetts Academy operating in my own home town of Boston, Massachusetts.

I discovered in my teens that I could read minds as effortlessly as I could listen to the radio. Mutants, homosapien superior, whatever the term you choose, I was born different. It can be a curse if you let it be one, but everything in life is just what you make it. For me, it's a weapon. As are beauty, intelligence, money, and anything else that we may possess.

Early yesterday morning, I made my way down to Doctor Henry McCoy's laboratory in the basement level of the New Massachusetts Academy. He too was born with genetic gifts: an unusually strong athletic build, and more recently, a coat of short bluish fur and a cat-like facial appearance, only retaining a human body structure. His appearance and physical abilities have earned him the nickname of Beast. Ironically, however, Henry was always more fascinated with academics than physical activities. He became a world-renowned geneticist many years ago, and now he works as my head researcher, in the Frost International Genetic Research Department. We also happen to share an interest in literature and the high arts.

Reading Henry's mind is another issue altogether. It's a lot like listening a nuclear-physics text book being read aloud on the radio. I avoid doing it unless it becomes an absolute necessity.

And then there's my secondary mutation. As if it hadn't taken enough out of me in my teens to accustom myself to living as a telepath, I developed the odd ability to transform my body into a virtually indestructible organic-diamond state. It's really quite aesthetic, if I may say, but it prevents me from using my telepathic abilities whenever I assume the form, and we really don't have a clear understanding of it yet. All that will change soon enough though, unless my research department has a strong desire for a pay cut.

For the time being, I had assigned Henry to work on researching the physical mechanics of my secondary mutation, just to see if he could find anything in the chemical process that would be of any significance. Unfortunately, he seemed to have given up his bathing habits in the process. In fact, I don't recall having seen him leave his laboratory in months.

"I've concluded that switching into your diamond form makes you virtually brain-dead," Henry informed me with a grin. "Seriously though, Emma, significant portions of your brain are actually deprived of oxygen by the chemical compound that allows your skin to transform into an organic-diamond state."

"So that could be the reason I can't use my telepathy in that form?"

"Maybe. But with some of the data I've gathered, we might also be a step closer to understanding the brain itself."

"Well I'll be a step closer to utter insanity if you don't take a shower soon, Henry."

"I'm serious. Even I have to admit that there's a lot we -- and by we, I mean the scientific community -- still don't understand about the brain. Human or mutant. But the way your brain seems to adjust itself when you switch between skin and diamond is showing details that we've never been able to test before."

"Well I'm serious too, Henry," I responded with a light pat on his shoulder. "I'm going to that big ass-kissing fest in Washington tonight. If you could practice some personal hygiene again, you might pass as my date."

"Ass-kissing fest?"

"The big party in Washington, D.C. Some of the world's most powerful people will be there to kiss each other's asses, hoping to move up the social food chain."



Two hours later, I stood leaning against the wooden teacher's desk, facing a group of telepathic students to whom I was about to deliver a lecture as their first period class on a Monday morning. I had been awake since five in the morning, and I was well aware of the fact that they would rather be anywhere but in class listening to me speak.

Discovering my genetic predisposition wasn't the only unusual side-effect of the hormonally-charged teenage years for me. I also developed a passion for teaching, but I admit that it wasn't some altruistic outlook about helping future generations. It was just something that I enjoyed, and I found that it came rather naturally to me.

"Even today, there are still only a handful of truly successful telepaths in the world. Does anyone know why?" I asked to begin an in-class discussion.

"Because they got college degrees in Business Admin and became overpaid C.E.O.'s?" Esme responded aloud, with a tactlessness that even I was proud of. She was one of the blonde identical quintuplets that the other students have come to call the Stepford Cuckoos. They were ahead of the pack since the beginning. They were intelligent, beautiful, blonde, and above-average telepaths, especially when all five of them were together. They're really quite reminiscent of myself according to my colleagues, multiplied by five.

"That's correct, Esme dear," I responded, "but in more general terms, it's because they all knew how to make use of everything they've got. Not just telepathy or any other single attribute, but anything that could become useful. For instance, a poor attempt at being clever during an in-class discussion can be made into an example as the lead-in for a long Monday morning lecture. In this case, the fact that I used my telepathy to climb to the top of the established system."

"But we already know how to use our telepathy, Miss Frost," Sophie pointed out, "and there never seems to be any good reason to use anything else if we wanted something done." Sophie was another of the Cuckoos. She was less rebellious in nature than Esme, but she seemed to be developing into something of a leader among her sisters.

"That's true, darling, you do know how to use your telepathy, but there's always more than one road you can take to reach any destination. Whenever you limit yourself to a single method, you'll just sell yourself short. You have to remember that the simple things you take for granted, like beauty, intelligence and strength, can all be tools in your arsenal as well."

Taking a telepathic glance around the room, through most of the students' relatively untrained minds, felt like a trip down memory lane. They were all self-centered, self-conscious, and they thought they already knew everything about bloody everything. In other words, they were just teenagers. I do remember what it was like to be there, but I didn't really need to remember since I could actually relive it through them. That might be one of the reasons I enjoy this job. Of course, my job isn't to actually become like them again; my job is to make them into someone like me.



A few hours later, Henry and I walked past the school's lobby on our way to my personal jet. The five Stepford Cuckoos, and an Asian boy with spiky black hair next to Sophie, came to see us out. Henry, with his long hair combed back to emphasize those uniquely elegant feline features, spoke in an almost fatherly manner with the girls. It was an undeniably charming sight.

"Doctor McCoy, this is Eddy," Sophie introduced the boy next to her. "He's my boyfriend."

"Well it's a pleasure," Henry shook Eddy's hand. He then turned to look at Sophie with a look of hesitation. "Which one of--"

"I'm Sophie," she answered before he could complete the question.

"Ahh, sorry. I still have trouble telling the five of you apart."

"That's my excuse too, Doc," Eddy remarked with a grin. "Just between us, I'm really dating all five of 'em now." Sophie elbowed him in the side, "I'm kidding."

"Let's get moving, Henry," I interrupted.

"We'll watch over the school, Miss Frost," the five girls announced in unison.



At a quarter to eight, our plane arrived in D.C. We then traveled three blocks by limo to reach the site of the night's festivities. The media gathered around the gates like a swarm of insects charging toward bright lights. It was a high-rise office building, and the main floor had been decorated for the event with a red carpet and gold decorations on the walls. It was really quite reminiscent of the Hellfire Club's New York branch headquarters, where I worked a few years ago, except the building itself seemed more modern.

As we made our way toward the glass-framed entrance of the building, a reporter stared at Henry with a look of disapproval, as if the so-called normalcy of her own appearance made her somehow superior to the world-renowned doctor, despite her piss-poor education. Without so much as an ounce of effort, I telepathically implanted a feeling of ecstasy into her mind, causing a public embarrassment that she'll never forget.

"That woman over there seems to be getting a little excited about your handsome features," I told Henry quietly.

Once inside the building's lobby, we were guided to the room where the party would take place. We were surrounded by some of the world's most respected and admired figures. In the eyes of the common people, they might be likened to the Greek gods and goddesses, the idols of our time. But to me, they were just people who landed a lucky hand. They dropped involuntarily into their lives no differently than a New York City cab driver who knows the fastest routes to every location in town but forgot how to bathe. Once you let these people intimidate you, you've instantly given up any hope of becoming their equal or superior.

We were immediately served drinks and refreshments. In contrast to the doctor's appearance in his lab, he really carried himself quite well in this setting. It was the same suit I had seen him wearing to the opera with the Stepford Cuckoos two weeks ago. Glancing across the room, we saw the President of the United States himself, surrounded by a group of Secret Service Agents who were coordinated with others positioned at different corners of the room.

Within a minute, we were approached by a well-dressed man in his forties, who carried himself well enough to pass for someone much younger. He looked familiar.

"Ian?" I greeted him with a slightly awkward uncertainty. It was a face I couldn't possibly forget. Ian Kendall, the teacher I had a crush on back in my mid-teens. If it weren't for his encouragement and vote of confidence, I probably wouldn't have become a teacher myself. I hadn't found myself at such a loss of wit and confidence in years. It was like I involuntarily reverted to the way I was when I first knew Ian, a self that Henry had never even met, so he knew Ian wasn't just another business associate of mine from recent years.

"Emma! It's so great to see you like this," he answered enthusiastically.

"Henry, this is Ian Kendall, my teacher back in Snow Valley," I was still trying hard to regain the usual colder confidence that Henry was more accustomed to seeing me carry in public.

"Doctor Henry McCoy?" Ian quickly filled in the blanks. "I've read a lot about your career. It's an honor to meet you." Henry shook his hand humbly.

"I'll go get us some more drinks," Henry muttered as he left for the bar, presumably to allow Ian and myself to catch up a bit.

"What brings you to Washington?" I asked Ian curiously. He just never seemed like the type who would go into politics, not back when I knew him at least.

"I work in the White House now," he responded. "I'm like one of those guys on the West Wing, writing speeches for the President. Remember the stage plays you wrote in English class?"

"Vaguely."

"Well it's not all that different. I write dialogue using the President's voice, he performs it. So how are you connected to this town now?"

"I'm trying to finalize a defense contract for Frost International's manufacturing division," I glanced across the room at the country's Commander in Chief. "If all goes well, my school should be financially secured for a few more years at least."

"So you still teach?"

"Yeah, it's all your fault, Ian. Everything I do now is just a ploy to pay for my addiction to teaching."

Ian smiled with a look of satisfaction, like he felt he had actually succeeded in some way.

I couldn't help but notice that a European man, accompanied by his own group of bodyguards, was clearly watching Henry and the President in particular. It didn't make sense to me, so my first instinct was to check him out telepathically, but I saw nothing. Just blank. I had nothing to go on but my intuition.

"What's wrong, Emma?" Ian asked with a tone of concern that's usually reserved for parents.

"That man over there, who is he?"

"Oh, that's Heinrich Van Helden," Ian informed me. "He worked for the Department of Defense some time ago, but I've seen him going to private meetings at the White House lately."

When normal people have a gut feeling about something, even the slightest feeling seems like a significant vision to them. But for a telepath such as myself, it almost felt disabling that I had nothing more than an intangible sense of intuition about the situation. You might compare it to a blind man seeing a vague shape of light. To him, it's vision for the first time, but to a person who has had 20/20 vision for most of their life, that vague shape of light is nowhere near true vision.

"Get out," I whispered to Ian.

"Why? What's going on?"

"Just trust me, Ian. Just get out of here as quickly as you can."

Henry was at the bar, with a glass of wine in his right hand and his left hand resting on the table top, charming a redhead and a brunette. The brunette was standing to his side closer to me. Van Helden was keeping an unusually close watch on Henry and the President, apparently concerned with the distance between the two of them, for some unknown reason.

I began to walk toward Henry. Van Helden spoke inaudibly into a microphone on his shirt cuff, apparently issuing some kind of order. As I approached the doctor, the brunette slowly retrieved a small gel capsule from her purse.

"Henry!" I yelled to him, but he was too distracted, laughing with the two women.

"Now!" Van Helden commanded into his microphone.

The brunette quickly slammed the capsule onto Henry's left hand above the table top and squeezed it to cause its contents to burst out. I then grabbed her and forced her to turn and face me. Henry winced in pain from the burn of the substance and quickly pulled the broken capsule off of his hand. But it was too late.

All of the other guests in the room went into convulsions, grabbing their throats instinctively as their eyes nearly bulged from their skulls. They regurgitated chewed food and liquids onto the ground. Internal bleeding took over briefly before they each collapsed.

And just as suddenly as it all began, it ended.

In a dead silence, everybody in the room who were socializing with each other only moments ago were on the floor in a pool of their own secretions. Only Henry and I remained apparently unaffected. Ian was nowhere in sight, thankfully. But also missing were Heinrich Van Helden and his bodyguards, not to mention the brunette who was right in front of me only a split second ago.

"Henry," I tried to get his attention, but he didn't answer. He simply held what was left of the gel capsule in his right hand and stared at it quietly. I motioned toward the body of the President, only a few feet away from Henry. "It was an assassination."



Henry and I slowly exited the building. We were both exhausted, and somewhat still in shock from the events we had just witnessed. Above all, we were confused. What was Van Helden after? Why was Henry used for the assassination? Why was everyone other than Henry and myself affected by whatever it was?

As expected, we were soon surrounded by the media, with microphones, cameras and lights in our faces as if we had just walked out of an awards ceremony. Ignoring them was already customary under the circumstances, but there was someone else nearby who had other ideas. Unfortunately for us, it was the same brunette who had used the gel capsule on Henry.

"Excuse me, miss," a reporter approached the brunette, "could you give us your account of what happened inside?"

"I was just talking to Doctor McCoy, he seemed like a nice man. But then, he took out some kind of a capsule. I knew something was wrong, so I tried to stop him, but his boss attacked me from behind." She began to cry dramatically for the cameras. "I was so scared, so I just ran out of there as quickly as I could."

"Thank you, ma'am. I know this must've been difficult for you."

Under different circumstances, I would've taken this moment to telepathically convince the brunette that she was a four-hundred-pound obese woman with an uncontrollable craving for microphones. But it wasn't going to help our situation, and both Henry and I knew that nothing we were about to do or say could possibly convince the people that the brunette was lying. Accusations are first come, first serve.

"Assassins!" A fat man wearing torn jeans and an unwashed white undershirt yelled. He then picked up a stone from the ground and threw it with poor aim in our direction.

As usual with weak minds, a large group of people gathering on the streets then followed the example set by the aforementioned genius of a man. I took diamond form, mostly out of instinct by then. Henry continued to remain fairly silent as he simply stayed by my side. The mob was blocking the path toward our limo.

But then, like a bright light falling from the sky, a helicopter marked with the White House insignia descended near us.

"Emma! Get in!" Ian yelled to us from within. Henry and I quickly boarded, with stones and litter being thrown by the mob on the street hitting the side of the vehicle.

When we were safely off the ground, Henry simply sat looking out the window and down onto the cityscape. I hadn't seen him so quiet in years. He's the kind of person who would be more concerned with the entire room full of people having lost their lives that night, than the fact that he was being framed for the act.

"Are you two alright?" Ian asked.

"We're fine," Henry answered. They were the first words out of his mouth since the moment of terror.

"What can you tell us about Heinrich Van Helden?" I asked Ian. If there was ever a time to focus on making important decisions, this was it.

"I know he's from a South African diamond mining family, but he came to America decades ago and got involved with the Department of Defense when they created the Internet. He helped create the designs that allowed the internet to function for the military's communication even if a nuclear war broke out with Russia."

"That's all very interesting, but do you have any idea why he would want the President assassinated?"

"Well I can't say I know the man personally, I only saw him around at the White House. But I've heard down the grapevine that he's been using his creation, namely the Internet, to recruit youngsters for some sort of New American Revolution. He has friends in high places, not to mention the fact that the communication network he helped build is currently the backbone of our entire world."



Half past midnight, Ian, Henry and I returned to the New Massachusetts Academy in Boston. I had been awake for about 18 hours already, but the adrenaline pumping through our veins from the traumatic experience of the night kept us wide awake. We immediately made our way down into Henry's laboratory in the basement level of the school.

Henry took the broken gel capsule into the back room and encased it in some sort of air-tight box before bringing it back out to his desk. Ian and I took seats nearby.

"It might be a bit late to keep that gel from going airborne," I remarked.

"It's just a precaution, Emma," he responded patiently, "I'm going to combine it with blood samples from each of us, and just in case that produces anything harmful, I just don't want the stuff going all over the school."

"We can't stay here for long."

The Stepford Cuckoos and Eddy made their way into the lab to check on us.

"What's going on, Miss Frost?" the five girls asked in unison, standing neatly together in an orderly formation.

"Your White House chopper woke us up," Eddy added, standing next to Sophie.

"Go wake all the other students, girls," I told them, "we'll be going on an impromptu field trip tonight."

"Together, the five of us can send out a telepathic beacon to everybody in the school," the girls stated confidently as they walked away together with Eddy.

Ian just stared at the group of students with an expression of fascination.

"Just imagine you had five of me in your class, that's probably what they're like," I commented, to which Ian just grinned.

"Okay, I'll need a sample of your blood, Emma," Henry announced, "and yours too, Mister Kendall."

"You can call me Ian."

"Let's just get this done as quickly as possible, Mister Kendall," Henry responded flatly. He held my arm gently to take the blood sample and continued, "I can't bring all my lab equipment along if we're leaving."

As I mentioned before, I rarely read Henry's mind. But that night, I finally noticed that it may have been something more than a friendship to him. It was the worst of circumstances for such a realization, I needed to think clearly and this certainly wasn't going to make that any easier.

"How long will these tests take, Henry?" I asked.

"I can bring the testing equipment along," he reassured me, "I just need to get the samples into the containers here. My equipment can do the rest of the work when we're on the road."

"And where exactly are we going?" Ian interrupted.

"Somewhere not affiliated with Frost International," Henry answered in a blatantly colder tone than the one he used when he spoke to me.

"Shaw Industries in New York," I said after a brief pause.

"Sebastian Shaw's company?" Henry asked rhetorically, "I hope you're kidding."

"No one in their right mind would think to look for us there, Henry."

"And for good reason, Emma. We can't trust him."

"Wait, I'm lost here. Sebastian who?" Ian asked out of genuine curiosity.

"Another man in Emma's past," Henry responded, "he owns a munitions company and has friends in high places, but he's not exactly the kind of man you'd trust to sign your car loan."

"Finished?" I interrupted the doctor, referring to the blood work of course, but I left it open to other interpretations if he so chose to take it.

"Yeah, that's all I needed."

"Okay, now can I leave you two alone for a minute without starting World War III? I'm going to gather the children and wake those overpaid pilots of ours to prepare three of the airliners." After I left Henry and Ian alone in the lab, I couldn't resist the temptation to keep my telepathy tuned in to their conversation while they were still close enough for me to read clearly.

"Look, Doctor McCoy," Ian spoke frankly, "I don't know what's going on between you and Emma, but nothing happened between her and myself. She was my student at Snow Valley, and she had a crush on me once; it's not all that uncommon. There was nothing more to it back then, and there's still nothing more to it now."

Henry simply listened quietly as he continued to do the blood work.



When I returned upstairs to the lobby of the school, I found the entire school's students lined up neatly and quietly like a platoon of well-trained soldiers standing at attention. Their eyes were wide open, staring in one direction, and they were motionless. It was a sight to behold, especially given the age range of those teenagers.

"With all five of our minds working together, we're telepathically steering them, Miss Frost," all five Stepford Cuckoos informed me in unison.

I paused for a moment just to look at the sight of it. I was very proud of them, of course, but even I have to admit that it was probably one of the most chilling visions a person could ever see in a lifetime.

"Good work, girls. Get them ready to board the airliners, I have to go make a few phone calls."

"We could call them telepathically," the girls added.

"It's a call to New York City. And it's personal."

"We understand, Miss Frost."

Sometimes I had my doubts about Eddy's sanity, but he just seemed to be amused by the whole scene.



At two in the morning, I had everything arranged. The students would be flown to New York in three separate Frost International commercial airliners.

Outside, a group of large men gathered around the perimeter of the New Massachusetts Academy, yelling derogatory phrases that I won't even justify by repeating. To make matters worse, my lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll on my mind. It was beginning to cause my thoughts to blend together with those of people nearby. It was a feeling I can only describe as disturbing, especially when those people happen to have weak minds visualizing vulgarities. They were the kind of minds that are so easily persuaded by the regular forms of communication, that I almost felt guilty manipulating them telepathically. Almost. With virtually no effort at all, I telepathically convinced the ugly, hairy men that they were thirteen-year old boys with raging hormones, and were surrounded by supermodels.

While the group outside had turned their attention to pursuing intimate relationships with each other, the Cuckoos were splitting all the students up into three lines, and steered them to board the planes in an orderly fashion.

"We'll see you in New York, Miss Frost," the Cuckoos announced in unison as they boarded the third plane themselves.

"Hold it!" Ian exclaimed from behind me. "I think you and Doctor McCoy need some time alone together to work things out. Besides, I'll just do some catching up on my teaching skills. Maybe I'll even take some of those students of yours under my wing, for old times' sake."

Before I could object to his idea, he ran off toward the third plane. Time alone with Henry was the very last thing I wanted, it was difficult enough to think objectively as it was.

Henry came out from his lab carrying a large suitcase that contained his testing equipment. Together, we boarded my plane. It was Frost International's equivalent to Air Force One. I took a seat facing a large projection screen to watch a live television news broadcast, while Henry took the seat next to me, to my right hand side, and rested the suitcase on his lap.

"Honestly, Emma. Do you really think we can trust Shaw right now?" Henry questioned my decision again.

"Sebastian and I had our differences -- in business and in pleasure -- but all that ended years ago," I responded. "Right now, he's just an old acquaintance who happens to be able to help us, as far as I'm concerned. And there's really nothing left between us if that's what you're really worried about."

The last comment seemed to take Henry by surprise, but to prevent any further discussion on the matter, I turned the volume up on the news broadcast.

"As we approach the morning hours following a night of unspeakable tragedy," the anchorman began, "American government officials have yet to come forward to give any statements on last night's terrorist attack. Local businesses and government agencies have reported a sudden cut-off of all Internet-based communications, and there has been rampant speculation that the federal government may be experiencing similar problems."

The anchorman paused and placed his finger over the ear-piece in his right ear for a moment. "I'm being informed that we are receiving a digital feed from a former Department of Defense employee named Heinrich Van Helden. This is presently the only video feed we are receiving from Washington, so we now go live to our nation's capital."

"Good morning," Van Helden began as his image appeared on the screen. "I, Heinrich Van Helden, will now issue the first national statement regarding last night's assassination. The mutant extremist, Doctor Henry McCoy, and his employer, Emma Frost, also a known mutant, have been identified as the assassins of the President and many other high-ranking officials in Washington, D.C. less than 12 hours ago. This heinous act made it abundantly clear that the hard-working common citizen has lived in fear long enough, and it is time for a new system. A system that ensures your safety." He displayed a banner with his insignia, a red-and-white HVH, as he continued, "over the course of the next forty-eight hours, every major city will experience an uprising by members of the New American Revolution. This is an act not out of greed, but out of necessity for your own survival, and the future of your children."

After 23 straight waking hours, I was finally getting a moment of sleep. This was in no small part thanks to the senseless drivel from the mouth of the fool with delusions of grandeur. It was an overwhelmingly soothing feeling, like a hot cup of coffee after a walk through the Antarctic wilderness.

Then we landed.

I woke to find Henry's furry paw resting on top of my right hand. I pulled the hand away and made the hopeless effort to somehow look neutral about it. I wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep on the soft silky surface of the queen-sized bed in my penthouse at the New Massachusetts Academy. Alone.

As soon as Henry and I got off the plane, Sebastian Shaw was there to greet us, dressed in his usual Victorian-style wardrobe, with his long black hair tied back.

"Miss Emma Frost, it's a pleasure to do business with you again," Sebastian said in his gentlemanly tone of voice as he kissed my hand. The expression on Henry's face would probably have struck fear into any other man, especially when it came from someone of the doctor's stature, but Sebastian wouldn't be the slightest bit intimidated. "Ahh, Doctor Henry McCoy. It's great to see you together with us on the winning side this time around. I certainly hope that's not a bomb in the suitcase."

The doctor ignored Sebastian's tasteless remark.

"Have the children arrived?" I interrupted, partly out of genuine concern for the students, but also once again playing verbal referee.

"They're scheduled to arrive in forty-five minutes," Sebastian responded helpfully, "There was a delay according to my people."

"A delay?"

"The three of us will be going to my company's headquarters by limousine," he added quickly.

In Sebastian's limo, Henry opened his suitcase like a laptop computer. I poured myself a glass of champagne and glanced over at his equipment, although I hadn't the slightest clue what any of it was.

"Interesting," Henry remarked as he observed the test results on the equipment in his suitcase. "It turns out that the substance from the gel capsule is only active when it comes in direct contact with mutant DNA. After that, it becomes airborne and only affects normal humans."

"So in other words, Van Helden will turn mutants into walking biological weapons?" I restated.

"In short, yes," Henry confirmed.



Sebastian's limo pulled over next to the entrance of Shaw Industries' headquarters. It was a massive high-rise building that towered over its surroundings like a glass column, conveying the wealth of the company to all those who pass it, as is typical of its owner. But who am I to judge, the Frost International headquarters is no less prestigious in appearance.

"Just as I remembered it," I remarked.

"Those were great times, weren't they?" Sebastian stated with a certain confidence.

"I wouldn't know, I was dazed and confused most of the time." There was an awkward silence for a moment, as none of us could really follow-up on my last comment. "Is my office still there?"

"It certainly is, Emma."

"You had an office here?" Henry asked, a question he intended for me.

"It was an extra room on the top floor that I was going to use for storage," Sebastian explained. "Emma was more deserving of it, of course." Henry wasn't too thrilled with the response.

"I'll leave you two to duel in the lobby while we wait for the children to arrive," I told them. "I'll be upstairs giving myself a shot of nostalgia."



I took the elevator up to the top floor of Shaw's high-rise. Making my way down the hallway, with crimson red carpeting and dark wooden color scheme, it was like returning to a piece of a past life. Sebastian and I had held powerful positions in the New York branch of the Hellfire Club some years back, a prestigious organization consisting of the world's social elite. We were the White Queen and Black King in the Inner Circle, the club's governing body. It was an era full of indulgences and regrets, with more scandals and violence on a daily basis than the evening news. I can't say I'm proud of all the memories, but sometimes, nostalgia is enjoyable just for nostalgia's sake.

I walked into my old office in the Shaw building. Uncharacteristically of me, my mind was completely focused deep in my thoughts, not having noticed that there was someone else nearby. The room was dark, but I remembered where everything was located. Somehow, I was not at all surprised that Sebastian hadn't even moved the furniture out of this room to use it for storage. In fact, he even left the wine cupboard where it was. I couldn't help but wonder if he had even let anyone else into the room since then. I took a bottle of red wine out of the cupboard.

As I switched the lights on in the office, I heard two clicks. It was the sound of a pistol being cocked...



"Okay, let me get this straight," Billy Doran maintained the monotonous tone of voice in his attempt to sound like some sort of hardened criminal, "you're trying to tell me that you were framed for the assassination by Heinrich Van Helden, and you're here waiting for your students."

"Your listening skills are quite impressive, darling," I answered and took a sip of red wine.

"Let's get a few things straight here, Miss Frost," he began to lose his mock coolness about the situation. "I admitted to you that I'm a depressed victim of the IT crash, whose best friend was killed in an act of chemical warfare less than 24 hours ago, and have no problem holding a loaded pistol at you. You sit there so relaxed, drinking your wine, and you dare lie to me with such elaborate stories. Aren't you even the least bit scared?!"

Slowly, I placed my glass of wine down on the desk, and looked at him eye-to-eye. I then got up off my chair quickly, at which point he was so startled, you could swear he jumped a foot off the ground. It was as if I was the one who had a gun pointed at him.

"Now let me get a few things straight, Billy," I responded. "First, you do have a problem holding a loaded pistol at me, because if you didn't, you would have tried to shoot me already. Second, I wasn't lying and in truth you know it; that's another reason you haven't tried to shoot me after everything I told you. Third, your bullets don't pierce diamond, and I can take the form faster than you can pull the trigger. Last but definitely not least, guns tend to be more intimidating when they're not on safety." I grabbed the gun out of his hand non-chalantly and walked out of the office. "Now if you'll excuse me, Henry and Sebastian are still waiting downstairs and the children should arrive soon. Don't forget to turn the lights out when you leave."



End of Part 1