Only now did Angela remember she’d come here for a mission.
The system really was generous.
Not only had it handed over EXP for the mission itself, it had even counted that little skirmish just now as combat and converted it into experience too.
Come to think of it, one Magneto had netted her two supply packs—what a valuable man he was.
She found herself looking on Magneto a little more fondly than she had a moment ago.
If only the supply packs could turn up something gold-tier.
(New mission issued: escort Magneto and his family to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.)
Angela’s smile stalled.
Could this system really not take a compliment?
The second she said something nice, it had to act up?
There was no time to lose, and a group of people each nursing their own thoughts wasn’t about to stand around chatting in the woods.
Erik Lehnsherr scooped up his wife and meant to ask Hank to lend a hand—only for his daughter, Nina, to insist that the “angel” lady carry her instead.
He looked a little awkward, but Angela was easy enough about it; she simply lifted the injured girl into her arms and murmured gently that the pain would be gone before long.
Jean Grey came over too, fussing tenderly over Nina.
Hank walked over and clapped Scott on the shoulder.
“What is it? Come on, keep up.”
Scott hesitated a few seconds, then lowered his voice.
“So that’s the ‘angel’s’ ability? Pulling someone back from the brink of death in a single instant? And her shooting—it’s a little too good. What kind of doctor shoots that cleanly?”
Headshot after headshot, never a miss—that kind of quick, pinpoint marksmanship was rare even among the X-Men.
Of course, that was partly because mutants leaned more on their own powers.
Still, they did go through proper combat training, and with how easy guns were to come by in America, most of them had practiced with one too—it was just that very few took it to that level of mastery.
On this point Hank was a bit taken aback as well.
But once he thought of the matter of the “healing factor,” he quickly convinced himself he’d found the explanation—of course a relative of Wolverine’s would be good in a fight.
“There are even more surprising things about her, Scott.
The long and short of it is, Dr. Ziegler is a partner you can count on. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
With her around from now on, none of us will have to worry half so much on a mission.”
“True enough.
With healing on that level, most injuries wouldn’t trouble us at all.”
Following Hank’s lead, Scott let himself imagine it for a moment—and found himself feeling oddly buoyant, downright pleased.
All at once he’d grasped just how good it was to have a real doctor on the team.
The thought slipped, just a little, into his expression: a faint air of there’s simply no comparing a professional to an amateur.
Hank gave him a dubious look.
“What’s with that look?”
Scott changed tack at once.
“The angel said she’s going to operate, but we didn’t bring the right instruments, did we? We packed a few medical supplies, but…”
Hank’s tone was light.
“Oh, those. Dr. Ziegler already has them ready.”
Scott sized up Angela ahead of them, wrapped in that skintight combat suit, and couldn’t for the life of him see where she’d be stashing any surgical tools.
“Did she leave them on the jet?
Should I go grab them?”
“No, no need.” Hank deliberately drew out the suspense.
“You’ll find out soon enough. The ‘angel’s’ real ability isn’t ‘healing,’ you know.”
Scott was full of question marks.
Not healing—then what?
Pulling out a gun and shooting people?
The matter of the missing instruments soon came up again.
Angela gave a reassuring smile to the middle-aged man, anxious and short-tempered with worry, and gestured for him to clear the clutter out of the room and secure the doors and windows.
“Professional work should be left to professionals. I’m a doctor, ‘Magneto.'”
Erik Lehnsherr could only rein in his temper for the time being.
He swiftly cleared out a room as she’d asked, curious to see just how the “angel” intended to pull this off.
Standing in the emptied room, Angela gauged the distances by eye, then proceeded to “produce” an operating table, a scalpel, a whole set of neatly arranged forceps, surgical drapes, and more straight out of her storage—after which, with a single tap, she swapped her outfit, trading the combat suit for her white coat once again.
To everyone else’s eyes, this was nothing short of a magic show.
An empty room had abruptly become an operating theater.
Angela had no time to walk them through it slowly.
She simply glanced back at the few people outside the door and quickly singled one out by name.
“Dr. McCoy, might I trouble you to assist with this operation? I can’t tend to two patients at once—I’ll need you to watch over the other one while I’m operating.”
Hank stepped forward at once, taking it as his clear duty.
“Of course.”
The famous Magneto, Phoenix, and Cyclops all, at that very moment, tacitly made themselves scarce, each more eager than the last to volunteer for guard duty outside and keep anyone from barging in to disturb the operation.
Could they help it?
They knew nothing about surgery; just standing there, they’d have felt like they were getting in the way.
By now Erik Lehnsherr had finally calmed down.
He looked over at Scott and said in a low voice, “Thank you. And thank Charles for me.”
Scott was a little caught off guard that Magneto would thank them so plainly.
It took him a moment to respond.
“I’ll pass it along to the Professor.”
Jean Grey seized the chance.
“Magneto, what happened today is only the beginning. Those men didn’t make it back, and the people above them will soon piece together what happened. If you stay here, you and the family you have now will both be in danger. The Professor hopes you’ll come back to America with us.”
Erik Lehnsherr let out a scornful laugh, his expression unreadable.
“Back to America? No. I’m not American, and that place isn’t my home. I’ve no wish to go hide out at Xavier’s School with a pack of children.”
Scott privately curled his lip and called out to Jean Grey in his mind.
(I knew it. There’s no way Magneto would ever agree. The Professor just worries about him too much.)
Jean Grey answered him, mind to mind.
(What lies between the Professor and Magneto is beyond us—it’s not our place to say more. We’re only here to pass along the Professor’s words.)
Scott held his tongue, still plainly carrying his grudge against Magneto.
Professor X had asked Jean Grey to handle this in particular, and she still wanted to make a real effort to see his wish through.
So she looked toward the little girl undergoing surgery inside the room and tried once more.
“Magneto, you know how few scruples those people have when it comes to dealing with mutants. They came here carrying bows and arrows, not a scrap of metal on them—clearly all to counter you. Nothing went wrong this time, but what about the next? If they come back with power inhibitors, can you promise you’ll be able to protect your family every single time?”
Erik Lehnsherr fired back almost out of pure habit.
“Xavier’s School isn’t necessarily any safer. It’s not as if the military has never sent people to round up mutants there before.”
Jean Grey used her telepathy to hold Scott in check, heading off a quarrel between them, and went on, even and calm.
“At the very least, more people means we can help one another. Even if you don’t want to come to the school—Poland is simply too far. It’s hard for us to get word in time, every time.”
Erik Lehnsherr looked at his daughter undergoing surgery in the room, and at his wife beside her, anesthetized and waiting for her own operation.
After a long silence he answered, a note of dejection in his voice, “Let me think on it a while longer.”