What the fuck was that mutant doing? Bobbi glared at him as he stumbled around, filling their small enough room with his acrid smoke. Panicking wasn't going to help anybody here, but teleporting really would if he would get his shit together. "Do you speak English?" she asked, still crouched by the body and willing to close his eyes to comfort Mr. Superstitious if it kept him level. "Get help!" she instructed, waving her arms for him to go in case he didn't understand that.
The gun wasn't a reassuring addition. The kid didn't strike her as too much of a threat; in fact, she was pretty sure he wouldn't even touch the thing. Or be much help at all, apparently, choosing to just give them the highlights rather than explain the situation. The mutant, though, was putting Bobbi on edge. She watched him suspiciously for a moment before swiftly following the kid and snatching up the weapon, efficiently checking if it was real and loaded, too. One bullet? Over the kid's shoulder, she squinted at the page, and asked, "Were you going to keep that to yourself, buddy?" She raised her eyebrows, wondering if it really was Superstitious that had some kind of angle here or if he was just stupid. "It says 'The subject who answers incorrectly.' We all answer right, we'll be fine. It's twelve."