So many things went through her brain at once that when Remy dragged her off of the purple mutant, her mind just went completely blank. She sagged against the bar, flinching when the stool hit the mutant in the head. As soon as he was out, the two men still conscious that had been under his control stopped and put their hands up in surrender. One of them actually fell to his knees, whimpering.
Rogue looked at her hand, flexing her fingers. The sensation of the pins and needles had not come from her blood being drawn from the wound. She'd experienced that feeling far too many times to mistake it for something it wasn't. Panic rose in her throat and drove her to her feet. She backed away from the mutant, making her way back behind the bar to grab a clean rag and wrap it around her hand. She couldn't hear the sirens before because of all the commotion, but with silence suddenly upon them they were hard to ignore.
"He wanted to die," she said in a shaking voice. Her eyes went to Remy, guarded. "You're a mutant." Things were sinking in now, things that didn't have time to even make a dent in her subconscious. She was expressionless but shaken up on the inside. "He would have rather died than live as what he is." She shook her head, gaze dropping to the mutant.
The doors opened with a loud bang and a few men filed in with weapons drawn. Rogue wet her lips and raised her arms, looking down at the mess on the floor. The bar had been raided before, sad to say, so she knew the routine. "He's on the floor," she offered. "The purple one."