That was sensory overload after the stark white walls and off-kilter but unobtrusive furniture. The strange, bitter taste that coated her tongue when the blue guy appeared and she hiccuped in surprise was still lingering at the back of Bobbi's throat and she hadn't yet figured out if he was just a random participant that happened to be blue or specifically brought in to put them off-balance, like the furniture. She was still giddily pleased with the idea of that kind of money for a day's work, and the potential to spend 8 solid hours with Mr. Hunk Rogers over there. And she was still wondering if the anxious kid was like that all the time or if it was just jitters that would be gone by the end of the day.
The taste of the gunpowder mingled with the sulfuric aftertaste of the mutant's teleportation and made Bobbi cough and her eyes well up even as she threw herself to her feet and stumbled. Vision blurry, the shooter's form was a dark smudge that rapidly retreated and disappeared before Bobbi had recovered, and she was left standing impotently as Jitters flipped out. "Calm down," she rasped, quickly approaching to grab him by his collar and haul him back, out of the way and away from the expanding pool of blood. Dropping to one knee, she automatically checked Rogers' throat for a pulse, but the hole perfectly centred between his eyes told her enough. This was a real body. This man was really dead. His skin was singed around the wound and his skull was shattered at the back and the bullet-- there, was buried in the chamber's floor.