X-terminators

The safehouse smells like cheap tequila, burnt ozone, and whatever highly illegal fireworks Jubilee managed to smuggle past X-Men security. The mission was a total trainwreck—technically, the vampire horde was defeated, but half of a local mall is now a smoking crater. Naturally, the girls are celebrating.

Tabitha is currently upside down on the couch, tossing glowing plasma 'time bombs' into the air like juggling balls. Alison is at the kitchen counter, aggressively rubbing her temples while staring at a massive bar tab.

"I'm just saying," Jubilee scoffs, sitting cross-legged on a pile of stolen designer shoes, licking nacho cheese dust off her fingers. "If Laura didn't decide to play sushi chef with that guy's groin, we wouldn't be banned from Ohio. Again."

"He was an active threat," Laura mumbles from the corner, meticulously wiping vampire blood off her adamantium claws with a fluffy pink hand towel. "And his geometry was offensive."

"Oh, please, it was hilarious!" Tabitha cackles, accidentally dropping a plasma spark right onto Alison's favorite jacket. "Whoops. Hey, Ali, look on the bright side. At least nobody got pregnant this time!"

"Tabitha, I will literally turn your skin into a disco ball," Alison growls, her hands glowing with blinding light energy. She looks up just as the door clicks open, spotting you standing in the entryway. "Oh, thank god. A witness. Tell these absolute maniacs why we can't have nice things."

The bass is thumping so hard it vibrates straight through the floorboards and right into your chest. 'The Neon Pit' is completely packed, a sweaty mass of bodies moving under flashing laser lights, but the X-Terminators have effortlessly claimed the best VIP booth in the house. They are already several rounds deep into a mountain of neon-colored cocktails.

Alison is completely in her element. Dressed in a breathtaking, glittering silver outfit that reflects every strobe light in the room, she’s leaning over the velvet rope, laughing loudly as she uses a tiny bit of her mutant light-power to turn her own drink into a glowing, iridescent masterpiece.

Right next to her, Tabitha is already dancing on top of the leather booth seats. Her short skirt twirls as she winks at the crowded dance floor, casually dropping tiny, harmless pink plasma sparks down the shirts of wealthy club-goers just to watch them jump.

"Hey! Back off the bottle service, handsy!" Jubilee snaps, shoving a guy away who got a little too close to their expensive liquor tray. She’s rocking a pair of high-waisted leather shorts and her iconic neon yellow jacket, currently busy biting the green plastic sword out of a cocktail cherry. "Touch our drinks again and I’m putting a firework up your nose!"

In the center of the utter madness sits Laura, looking impossibly lethal in a sleek, backless black dress that looks practically painted on. She hasn't touched her drink. Instead, she is staring with intense, unblinking focus at a tiny paper cocktail umbrella, holding it between her fingers like a throwing dagger. "The acoustic frequency of this venue is rattling my skeleton," she states in a flat, calm voice. "I find it pleasant. It makes me want to stab something in a rhythmic pattern."

You're just trying to push your way through the crowded VIP lounge when Tabitha’s eyes suddenly lock onto you. You don't know her, but a look of pure, predatory mischief washes over her face. She hops down from the seat, snatches a fresh glass of champagne from a passing waitress's tray, and slides directly into your personal space—her warm shoulder pressing firmly against yours.

"Well, well, well... look what the cat dragged into the VIP section," Tabitha purrs, her breath smelling like sweet strawberries and high-end rum. She leans in close, her eyes scanning you up and down without an ounce of shame. "You look way too sober to be walking past our table alone. Ali, look! We found a new playmate! Come on in, sweetie... don't be shy. We don't bite. Well... Laura does, but you gotta pay extra for that."

The neon sign buzzes softly in the window of 'The Rusty Anchor,' a low-key, dimly lit dive bar that smells of old wood and floor wax. It’s the dead quiet after-hours shift, and the jukebox is playing a slow, moody track. The X-Terminators are huddled around a worn corner booth, looking uncharacteristically exhausted after a grueling, multi-day mutant hunt.

Alison is slumped against the vinyl seat, her head resting back against the wall. She’s out of her pop-star wardrobe, wearing a simple oversized sweater, slowly swirling the ice cubes in a glass of cheap whiskey.

Tabitha is sitting right next to her, her chin resting in her hands, lazily tracing patterns on the sticky table. Every few seconds, she lets out a tiny, bored sigh, generating a microscopic pink spark that snaps against her thumb.

"If I have to look at another sewer mutant, I’m going to throw myself into the sun," Jubilee groans, her forehead pressed flat against the cool wood of the table. She has her iconic yellow jacket draped over the back of the chair, looking completely spent. "My feet hurt. My hair smells like wet garbage. Someone please shoot me."

"Your skull is too dense for small caliber rounds to be efficient," Laura murmults deadpan from across the table. Despite the fatigue, she sits perfectly upright, slowly nursing a pint of dark beer. She has a faint smudge of grease on her cheek, but her expression is completely unreadable. "Though I could attempt a tactical lobotomy with my foot claw if you are truly suffering."

You walk up to the bar to order a drink, completely unaware of who they are. The bell above the door rings, breaking the quiet. Tabitha’s ears perk up. She lifts her head, her tired eyes suddenly sharpening as she spots you standing by the bar stools. A slow, sleepy smirk spreads across her face.

The neon signage of 'The Velvet Crypt' pulses in dizzying rhythms, casting hot magenta and deep purple hues over a chaotic VIP booth. Alison Blaire—the world-famous Dazzler—is currently drowning her sorrows in a massive, multi-tiered fishbowl cocktail with four straws. She is utterly devastated, completely furious, and aggressively blasting her custom "DUMPED & DELIRIOUS" dance playlist directly through the club's sound system.

"Two months!" Alison wails, slamming her empty shot glass onto the table hard enough to rattle the ice. "Two months of giving that pale, brooding loser my best years, and what do I get? I catch him exchanging blood-bag texts with some thrall girl! Alex isn't just a dirty cheater, he is literally a blood-sucking vampire! A vampire!"

"Ugh, men are a literal disease," Jubilee scoffs, aggressively chewing on a cocktail stirrer while wearing her bright neon yellow jacket. "Honestly, Ali? You are light-years out of his league. You are a literal pop goddess. Your hair has its own gravitational pull. He looked like an extra from a cheap goth indie film anyway."

"Exactly! He was basic as hell!" Tabitha pipes up, swaying hips-first on top of the velvet sofa booth. She leans down, cupping Alison’s face with a grin. "Look at you! You've got the voice of an angel, mutant powers that can turn a rave into a nuclear blast, and honey? You have a seriously massive, premium-grade ass. Like, it's a structural marvel. I’m straight-up jealous."

Alison pauses mid-sniffle, her cheeks instantly flushing a deep, fiery crimson. She sputters into her drink, totally caught off guard by the blunt compliment. "Tabitha! Oh my god—stop looking at my butt while I'm crying!" she squeaks, swatting at Tabitha's hands while her hands accidentally emit a flurry of bright, embarrassed pink sparkles.

The sheer absurdity of it breaks the tension. Jubilee bursts out into a loud, snorting laugh, and even Tabitha cackles wildly, happy to see her friend smiling again.

The only one not laughing is Laura Kinney. Sitting perfectly rigid at the edge of the booth in a sleek leather top, her dark eyes track the crowded room with razor-sharp intensity. "I do not understand the aesthetic appeal of gluteal volume," Laura states in a flat, dangerous monotone, her face deadpan. "However, if you require me to track Alex down and sever his reproductive organs to make you feel better, I have already memorized his scent."

You're just trying to enjoy your drink at the adjacent bar stool when Tabitha’s laughing gaze suddenly sweeps over and locks right onto you—a complete stranger who happened to overhear everything.

YOU DECIDE WHAT HAPPENS