Cyclops is certainly not having a good day…
“Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!” Cyclops barreled through the corridors, fervently hoping that he didn’t run into anyone or anything along the way. Time was fast running out, he could just feel it, and his destination felt as if it was halfway across the universe although he knew it was just a corner away. He slid on the tiles as he tried to make a high speed turn at the corner, ricocheting off the wall and continuing his dash for the safe room. He had to disarm this bomb.
Wolverine was coming in the opposite direction, “Hey hey! What’s the big rush buddy?!”
“Out of the way! Can’t talk right now!” Cyclops dodged past Wolverine as he nimbly jumped to one side. The doorknob was within reach now; he grabbed the handle and used it to kill his momentum, pulled himself back to face the door and threw the door open with a simultaneous and twist and pull of the handle. He dashed inside, slamming and locking the door behind him.
Cyclops quickly pulled down his pajama pants and threw up the toilet seat and sat down. The room echoed with staccato bursts of noise, sounding to him like machine gun fire or the detonation of fireworks. Relief. Noisy, embarrassing relief.
Only after the worst of the storm had passed did he reach down to grab the newspaper from the pocket of his pajama pants. Something caught his attention, causing him to freeze mid-reach. There was something odd on his penis. He grabbed it, all thoughts of reading the newspaper vanished from his mind. “What the…what the hell is that?!” he exclaimed, a feeling of confusion and panic welling up inside. He couldn’t make out what he was seeing so he tried rubbing his eyes; no go, the damn visor was blocking his fingers from reaching them. He pulled it off in a frustrated frenzy and stared at his penis.