Gambit's Gamble
The man ran for his life.
He glanced behind him, saw his pursuers gaining, and put on a burst of speed.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his feet were bloodied. Blood was oozing from wounds on his arms. Still, he pushed on, for he knew if they caught him, he was dead. But he also knew that if he didn't find medical assistance, he was also dead.
Getting the man dead was of no concern to his pursuers. They needed his body. Whether his soul was still in it or not.
There were three of them, the man gathered. They were running atop the rooftops in a dark corner of Atlanta, Georgia.
A silenced bullet slammed into the concrete at his feet.
The man took a deep breath and jumped. Time seemed to slow, the air rushed by his ears. He landed on the opposite rooftop with a grunt and rolled.
He came up again, running, holding his side. He jumped behind a doorway and slid down it. He huddled up against it and tried to become one with the night.
He felt rather than heard his pursuers' landing on the roof. They padded quietly by.
The man took as quiet a deep breath as he could. He watched the three black shapes disappear over the other side of the building. After waiting five minutes, he stood. Lightheadedness nearly overtook him as his vision darkened and he felt his world tip. He caught himself and leaned against his staff.
He tore a long piece of material from the bottom of his tattered shirt and tied it tightly around his wounded arm.
He rounded the doorway and opened it.
A stairway descended into black nothingness.
The man gulped, but knew he had to push on. He quietly padded down the stairs, careful not to make a sound.
Stealth was one of his best attributes.
Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs and was about to round the corner, he heard a grunt. No, a growl.
He froze, listened.
Nothing.
All he heard was the beating of his own heart, and his quiet breathing. The only light came from a barely visible moon peeking out from the clouds up the stairs. The hallway couldn't have been darker or more silent.
The man gulped and stepped forward.
Then he heard sniffing. At least, he thought it was sniffing.
He tiptoed deeper into the black hallway. Something breezed by, two yards ahead.
Fear threatened to take hold of the man, but he pushed it down. He knew he must. Or all he worked for would be lost.
He felt for the wall and put his back to it. Then he began to slowly slide along it.
It was obvious that what ever was hunting him in here was not human. Well, not mortal.
The man held his staff close in an en guard position.
He continued forward, came to a doorway. He twisted into it as quickly as he could.
He heard the growling again. Only this time it came from inside the room he'd just entered.
The man cried out as he felt something hurtle into his body. He went flying back, out into the corridor. Instinct took over then.
He somersaulted backward and came to his feet. He twirled his staff in the air in a clock-wise manner, then he slammed the proper end into the ground.
A purple blast seemed to erupt from beneath the ground. In that time he saw the beast coming after him. No, it was a man.
Then the ground under the beast-man exploded. Darkness reigned once again.
But the man was already running. During the moment of light that came with his attack, he'd used half a second to look at his pursuer, and the other half a second to look for an escape route.
He flew down the hall and opened the door at the end of it.
He nearly fell down the flight of stairs.
He grabbed the railing and vaulted himself over it.
He free-fell seven floors before he stretched his staff out and caught onto the railing. He swung himself gently onto the ground floor and ran outside the building just as it began to rain.
Not coming to a stop until he was a mile away from the building, Remy LeBeau—or "Gambit" as he liked to call himself, cowered under a bridge and wept.
Remy's eyes fluttered open.
He sat up straight. Water was sloshing at his bruised and battered feet, gently cleansing the wounds his feet had sustained the previous night. It felt...good.
The rain had apparently overflowed the small stream running under the bridge. Remy pulled his feet to from the water, looked down at them.
They were pale and cold, but at least the cuts were clean. How had he lost his shoes anyway...? Remy didn't even want to try to remember.
Those thugs have been chasing him for over a year now, and they've cost him so many things that it hurt to remember them all. He could always find shoes later.
He shifted his body so that his head was where his feet used to be. He dip his head into the stream, his long brown hair splaying around in the water. He took a few gulps of the water, then came back up for air. He didn't have time to shave. Not that he had a shaver, anyway. He patted his face with his shirt. He ran his hand down along his chest, making sure the light bullet proof vest he had on received no permanent damage.
He stood up and grabbed his metal staff. His brown trench coat billowed around him, most of the seams ripped and much of the material burnt from past fights.
He climbed the short, yet steep, hill that led down to the small bank and jumped back as he nearly got hit by a passing car.
"Hey watch it-" The driver managed to yell as he swerved back into his lane.
Remy shook his head. It wasn't his fault if the driver had been so careless as to drive off the road. He glanced at his staff.
The small crystal globe sparkled in the sunlight, casting minuscule sun rays around the pavement. The sight took Remy's breath away every time he looked at it.
He'd received the staff from the LeBeau Clan Thieves' Guild, the group that had stolen him from the hospital when he was born and subsequently raised him. He'd also learned his many forms of martial arts combat from the Thieves. He remembered what they used to call him, too. The Le Diable Blanc—the white devil. The fools had believed him to be a prophecy that would merge the Thieves' and the Assassins Guilds.
On Remy's initiation test into the Thieves Guild, he and his team had been captured by the mutant Candra. She had delivered them to Pig—the iugliest/i creature/man/mutant Remy had ever laid eyes on. The mutant had planned to deliver them to HYDRA—a terrorist organization—as boy soldiers. Remy had used his powers to set them free, killing Pig in the process.
He left the Thieves Guild soon after, and was exiled from New Orleans as punishment for leaving the Guild.
Remy placed his hand over the crystal on his staff so as to ward away any thieves from attempting to take it. Not like they could, either way, but he did not feel like getting into a fight until he'd fully recovered from last night's skirmish.
He reached down with his left hand to feel along his belt. He felt the four cartridges—two on each side of his waist—and checked to make sure that each deck of cards was in each cartridge.
Only one cartridge was empty. He'd had to use the entire pack last night. Using an entire pack was rare for Gambit.
Remy crossed the street after looking to make sure no other cars would run him over. He hopped up onto a sidewalk.
The next thing he would need to do is find transportation to leave Atlanta. Stryker knew he was here now. And he was quite sure he hadn't killed Sabretooth in that abandoned building.
Remy didn't have any money to hail a cab. But, of course, he icould/i ride the cab and not pay.
Remy grinned as he rose his hand in the air and stuck up to fingers. Soon enough, a taxi pulled up close to the sidewalk.
"Where to?" The driver asked as Remy slid into the back seat. Remy shrugged and said in his think Cajun accent, "As far away from town as you'll take me."
The driver seemed to look him up and down for a moment, probably taking in his tattered clothes, bruised and unshaven face, and bare feet.
"It'll cost you," the man said warily. Remy nodded. "I understand that."
After look at him for a moment more, then the man seemed to mentally shrug and threw the cab into DRIVE.
Remy looked out the window as they passed through downtown. New Orleans had a pretty big down-town, although most of it had been decimated when Katrina hit, but the people of Louisiana were a strong folk, and the rebuilding was slowly but surely taking place.
Remy adjusted the sweat-band on his head. It was the only thing holding back his thick brown curls from falling into his face.
The driver, glancing in his rear view mirror, asked, "What's your name, kid?" Remy checked himself before answering. He was nearly twenty-five, and he ihated/i it when people called him kid. "Remy," he answered simply. The driver looked back at the road. "Never heard that accent before, Remy. What is it?"
That fact nearly surprised Remy. "Cajun," he told the man. "I was born in Louisiana."
"Is that common there?"
"Yes, very," Remy replied. "It's of French origin."
The driver made an "O" with his mouth. The man must not get out much, Remy decided. Then again...
"So," he said casually, "how long've you been in the cab driving business?"
"Oh, not long. Maybe about a year now," the driver said, equally casual. Maybe this man really was just a cab driver living in Atlanta, GA, Remy thought. He certainly sounded sincere.
But Remy LeBeau had not survived this long basing his thoughts on how "sincere" a person sounded.
Best to be safe, either way. "You know," Remy said, reaching a hand down toward his belt and gribbing his staff tighter, "I think I'll get out here."
"You sure?" The driver's surprised look entered the rear view mirror.
Remy gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Quite."
The drier gestured out the wind shield. "Well, we're almost outta town-"
"No, I want to get out here. Now, please," Remy said firmly. The driver looked at him for a moment, then nodded.
He slowed the cab down and pulled up to a sidewalk. Remy suddenly remembered that he would have to flee from the cab as soon as it came to a stop.
"Well, it was-" The man started but Remy never heard what he said next.
He threw the door open and jumped out. A startled cry came to his right, and angry yelling from inside the cab.
Remy started running, but he was suddenly tugged back.
His staff had caught onto something in the cab!
Remy whirled, saw is staff caught up in the seat belt he'd neglected to put on himself.
"Hey you sonuva—you better pay me my money!" The driver seemed equally surprised at the turn of events and was now reaching back to try to grab at Remy.
Cursing, Remy tugged on the staff with all his might. The man managed to punch Remy in the face, not full strength, but it still hurt.
It all went to hell from there.
Remy's anger got out of control and he felt his power grow, it surged into the staff. He was pushed from behind, probably from some mad citizen siding with the driver. The crystal was glowing now with an alien purple light.
When Remy was pushed, his staff went forward and hit the driver's seat. There was a loud boom.
The driver's seat hurtled forward. The man's torso slammed into the steering wheel and kept going, out through the windshield and out onto the street, the seat had all but disintegrated.
From the time Remy had been pushed, it had all happened in the three seconds.
Remy looked up in horror. There was blood on the dash and street.
Screams began to sound from all around him.
Remy untangled his staff and pulled out of the cab.
"What the hell was that?" Someone screamed at him. People began pushing him. "What'd he do?"
"He has a grenade!"
"He's a terrorist!"
"Terrorist!" Screams began louder as the confusion and chaos grew. "Call the police!" Some screamed.
Remy heard distant sirens. Apparently the explosion had resounded further than he thought.
"I..."
"Grab him!" A man to his left came at him, arms stretched out.
Remy grabbed both of his fists, twisted them. He went under the arms and shoved his shoulder into the man's gut. He heaved with all his might and threw the man forward.
He heard another man coming at him from behind.
Remy whirled around, doing a roundhouse kick that would've knocked the Hulk senseless. Well...maybe that was an exaggeration.
The blow caught his attacker in the face and went sprawling back.
Remy let all his power loose into his staff. He twirled it over his head. This was very dangerous, for there were more and more people crowding around him and the crystal could have it either one of them. But it didn't.
He stopped twirling it and held it up over his head, crystal facing the ground. The shoved it into the ground about a foot in front of him.
A loud explosion echoed. Gambit when hurling into the air and back, across the street, as bits and pieces of the sidewalk where he had been standing showered down onto the bystanders and those who were coming after him. He landed on the sidewalk in a crouch, staff held behind him, eyes a deadly purple color.
People screamed.
Gambit fed more power into his staff and tapped it against the ground this time. He went shooting into the air again and landed on top of the building behind him.
Cop cars pulled up on the street below. Remy didn't bother with watching. He ran.
Remy came to a stop ten minutes later, taking shallow breaths. Police helicopters were still patrolling the area for the alleged terrorist. He'd had to ditch the rooftops and take his flight from Atlanta on foot.
Thousands upon hundred thousands of Americans had phones. Maybe more than half of those had phones that could take pictures.
Remy was sure his face would be posted all over the 6 O'clock News later this evening.
He honestly didn't know what to do next. This was the first time he'd been in Georgia, let alone Atlanta. He was on the outskirts of town now, closer to the country side.
There was a large lake off to one side with a barn in front of it and a small house on the other side.
Glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed, Gambit jogged over to the barn, taking care to keep out of sight of the house.
He stopped in front of the barn doors. Locked.
In one smooth motion, he swept his hand down along his waist, slipped a card out of one of his cartridges, and flicked it at the lock.
Purple fire consumed the lock and it disintegrated before his eyes.
Remy grinned—and was immediately overcome with a sense of guilt. He pushed it aside. If this barn had what he was looking for and he needed to steal—it would only be for the good of mankind.
And if he kept telling himself over and over, he knew he'd believe it one day.
He pushed the doors open and walked inside.
He whistled. A silver Volvo rested in the center of the barn, cobwebs resting on the tires and rims. It looked as if it hadn't been used in quite a while.
He walked around to the driver's side and glanced in the window.
The keys weren't in the ignition, but they were poorly hidden in the ash tray. He tested the door. Locked.
Drawing on his powers, Gambit pulled a card out of one of the cartridges. It levitated before his now-purple eyes.
He pressed the flat side of the card up against the window and—still using his powers—slid it down into the thin space between the window and door.
It was hard to do, unlocked the door, but he managed. He got the card into the right position, eyes closed in concentration, and shoved it against the lock.
A small click sounded. Remy grinned and opened his eyes, drew the card back out. Sliding it back into the cartridge, and opened the door and got inside.
He grabbed the keys from the ashtray and stuck them into the ignition.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the people he knew could not possibly hear him, "it's for the greater good."
iYeah, keep telling yourself that, Rem. Just keep telling yourself that.../i Remy sighed and turned the keys.
As soon as the engine revved up, he floored it and went roaring out of the barn. He fishtailed a bit before turning a hard right.
He was on the road and speeding away before the inhabitants of the house even knew they had been robbed.
Remy decided a few hours later that he hated driving through Georgia. The state was just so frigging ilong/i. About halfway he turned to the left and began heading for Alabama.
By this time he was nearly to Tennessee. But Remy hated Tennessee for different reasons. For instance one of his closest friends had died there.
He spent a few hours driving through Alabama and Mississippi and he hit Arkansas by one AM.
Remy didn't even think about stopping to sleep.
He'd killed a man today, albeit it was an accident. He never slept after killing a man. He hadn't done it often, usually it was in self defense or when he was fighting, but to his conscience it may as well have been first degree murder.
Luckily, the Volvo had a full tank of gas when he stole it but the small hand indicating how much gas he had left was now flirting with the E.
He didn't have any money, and after checking the entire interior of the car, he still had nothing.
He was somewhere near Little Rock, AR, when he spotted a bar. He pulled into the parking lot and parked.
Grabbing his staff from the back seat, he walked into the bar.
Most bars were the same. This one had a strange 70's theme going on, Elvis pictures lining nearly every wall save for the bathroom hall.
Gambit immediately spotted what he'd been hoping for: A poker table filled with people. People with money.
Remy had always been good at playing poker, ever since he was a kid. It always passed the time while he was waiting for a robbery to begin.
Remy walked up to the table and grinned casually. "Room for an extra player?" he asked.
One man glanced up at him. "Sure, kid, pull up a chair."
Remy nodded and pulled a chair from another table. He sat at the end of the poker table. He put his staff in his right hand standing up and began to absently play with the crystal.
He was dealt five cards.
He looked down at them. 8 of Diamonds, 3 of Hearts, Ace of Diamonds, 10 of Clovers, and a King of Hearts.
Remy nodded and smiled.
Two hours, three wins, and four folds later, Remy gathered his winnings up and nodded to the gentlemen he had defeated.
"Good game, gentles. We should play again some time."
One of them muttered something unintelligible and stalked off. Remy walked back to his Volvo and stuffed his winnings into his pockets. There was nearly seven hundred dollars in cash there, more than enough for gas and food and maybe even a hotel room he could rest in.
In Little Rock, he pulled into a gas station and pumped over the Full line.
He then walked into the gas station and bought himself two Big Macs and a milk shake. A bit much, but he was starving.
A short while later, he was back on the road.
Gambit rented a hotel room somewhere in the northern part of Texas. He slept soundly, without dreams.
The next morning, he checked out, grabbed breakfast from the buffet and was back on the road.
Pretty soon, he began to see signs for Las Vegas—some said where dreams could come true, some said it was the dream vacation.
Well. Gambit decided he could use a vacation...
The Sabretooth, or as others closer to him called him—Viktor, sharpened his claws.
Bullseye stood next to him.
"Remember, the good doctor wants him alive," Viktor told him.
Bullseye snorted. "Are we even sure he iis/i a doctor?" Viktor glanced at him. "I've worked with the man for years. If he's not a doctor, then he's a very good pretender."
"You say this kid throws cards—as a weapon," Bullseye said.
"Yes. Perhaps even better than you."
"No one throws better than me."
"Oh?"
Viktor felt a slight breeze as something whisked past his fast. When he turned to look, a lock of his hair –along with a small throwing knife—was embedded in the wall ten feet behind him.
He glanced back at Bullseye who had another throwing knife. With an expert hand, he exchanged it between each of his fingers until if finally reached his index again and he sheathed it somewhere in his trench coat.
Viktor glared at the man. "A trench coat? Isn't that a bit cliché?"
"For what? A super villain to be wearing? Yes, I suppose it is," Bullseye returned equally.
Viktor turned to the map laid out on the floor. "When he enters the city, we'll corner him in this plaza right here. I'm gonna need you to take that damned staff of his," Sabretooth said.
"He'll still have his cards," Bullseye pointed out. "But," he plowed on, "he will be no match for me."
Viktor scoffed. "Give me a break, you spend all your time fighting a iblind/i hero. This one can actually look where he's throwing."
"Daredevil is a worthy adversary and could kill you ten times over," Bullseye snarled. Viktor snorted again. "Right, but apparently Elektra was too much for you."
Bullseye looked at Viktor now with cold, dead eyes. "I think you should shut your mouth before it gets you in trouble."
Viktor held up his hands defensively. "Hey, I'm just making an observation, pal."
Bullseye pushed him back. "Can we please worry about the mutant at hand, Pussycat?" Viktor ignored the attempt to get a reaction out of him.
"Gambit will be too worried about hurting the humans nearby to openly use his powers against us. We, on the other hand, are not so cautious with the humans' safety." Bullseye and Viktor grinned. They finally agreed upon something.
Remy drove into Las Vegas with the air of someone who was ready to have a god time, and deserved one.
He smiled at everyone he passed in his car, and saluted a cop as he drove by. He got blank stares or angry glares in return.
He parked the Volvo and got out in front of a clothing store.
Gambit walked inside.
Half an hour later, he walked out with a black trench coat, a button up gray shirt and black slacks. He even had shiny new boots. Although the cost of the new clothes had put a big dent in his winnings, he decided that it was worth it.
He got back into his Volvo and drove to the nearest casino he could find. He parked it and got out. He handed the keys to a waiting valet and gave the man a tip.
The man nodded at Remy and walked toward the stolen Volvo.
A woman on the side of the street touched his arm. He glanced to his right. "Looking for a good time, big man?" she said in what Remy could tell her best impression of a seductive voice.
She was young, this prostitute. Probably a young mother, too. She could use his help.
Remy pulled out his wad of cash and gave her two hundred dollars. She looked surprised for a moment. "I can't go that long, for what you're paying me." He shook his head. "Keep it. Don't spend it on drugs."
She dipped her head as a tear formed at the corner of her eye. "Thank you," she said horsely. "Stop doing this to yourself. Call some family. Get out of Las Vegas. The City of sin is no place for a young woman like you," he told her.
"Don't have nobody," she said.
Remy glanced back at the valet that was just now getting into his Volvo. He'd offer the woman the car, but it was stolen. He didn't want to land her in jail.
"Find a social-" Gambit was cut off as he heard a piercing whine.
He whirled around and saw an RPG heading straight for him. He didn't even stop to think iwhy/i there was an rocket launcher in Las Vegas, let alone why it was being shot at him.
Before he stopped to think, he had pulled out a card—a four of clovers, he noticed—and charged it, hurled it at the oncoming rocket.
The card met the rocket about ten feet away from Gambit and the young woman. He shielded her with his own body and hot wind and pieces of metal flew by.
If he hadn't been wearing the bullet proof vest under the new clothes, he may have gotten shrapnel embedded into his back.
"Run," he whispered to the woman. He gave her a gentle yet firm shove and she was off.
Screams and shouts were rising up form all around him. Remy whirled back around, staff in hand. Something went zooming by, caught his staff, and slammed into the far wall behind him. Remy gasped and glanced back.
It looked like a ipitchfork/i had yanked his staff out of his hands. He began running for it...and stopped dead when Sabretooth jumped down from the building in which the pitchfork had embedded itself into.
"Nifty toy, Gambit," he sneered and grabbed the staff. He held it like a spear and threw it up, over the building.
Something—no, two somethings slammed into Gambit's waist. Right through his card cartridges. The tiny points of the throwing knives dug into the side of his waist.
He winced and yanked them out.
"I can still use my cards, even if they have holes in them, Sabretooth!" He shouted above the growing hysteria.
Sabretooth cocked his head...and grinned as all the cards in the two cartridges on Gambit's right side scattered all over the floor.
As he whirled around to try and get the cards, two more knives hit his left side cartridges. The cards scattered too.
Gambit looked up fearfully.
Another man jumped down from the opposite building.
"Gambit, I'd like you to meet Bullseye. Bullseye, Gambit," Sabretooth said.
Gambit glared at the newcomer as the villain bowed. "Pleasure to meet with you, Gambit."
"I wish I could say the same."
"Come quietly, Gambit," Sabretooth said.
"The cops are bound to be here any moment," Gambit said, voice shaky. Sabretooth shrugged. "Oh, I don't think so...they have more pressing things to deal with."
"Like?"
"Well, the Mirage Casino is on fire for one thing."
"You monster," Gambit hissed.
"That's what they call me, at times. Depends on my mood."
"I'm not going with you," Gambit said defiantly. At the same time, his eyes began to turn that deadly purple color.
"Okay then, if you want to do this the hard way..." Sabretooth's eyes flashed forward. "I'll be a very happy camper."
Then the man got down on all fours and began charging at him. Bullseye began to do the same—except not on all fours.
"You," Gambit said, eyes flashing—"Will not"—the wind picked up and he cards began to rise, seemingly on the own accord, straight up in the air—"iTAKE ME!/i"
Fifteen cards flashed forward as Sabretooth leaped in the air to pounce on his prey. All fifteen found their mark. Numerous explosions ripped the air as Sabretooth screamed and was hurled back.
Gambit turned his attention to Bullseye, who had stopped his charge and was not watching Gambit, evaluating.
He pulled eight throwing knives out, four in each hand.
Gambit used his powers to begin making a whirlwind of cards around himself. The figure of Bullseye became distorted as hundreds of cards whirled around in front of Gambit's face.
The card-tornado Gambit had created around himself didn't stop Bullseye from hurling his projectiles at the other mutant.
Seven of the knives met cards in mid-air and more explosions ripped the already chaotic night. One made it through the every-moving barrier. The knife went right through the clothing and bullet proff vest.
Gambit felt fiery pain erupt form his chest.
The cards stopped their crazed whirling and hung in mid-air.
Gambit looked down at his chest. Right where his heart was, there was a gleaming knife handle sticking out. Blood was slowly and surely oozing out of the wound around the knife.
Gambit locked eyes with Bullseye for a moment, mouth open in shock.
"I knew I was a better throw than you," Bullseye said.
Gambit then fell forward onto his face. Hard.
The cards fell around him.
The sounds and lights of Las Vegas became distant, muted...
Black.
In the realm of the blackness Gambit—no, he was Remy here—found himself in, things didn't seem so bad for him.
It was dark, quiet, and very peaceful.
Here, he wasn't a fugitive, he wasn't being hunted, and he didn't have powers. His wife got to live, and he never was apart of the Thieves Guild.
Here, there was just black. Blacker than pitch—black.
Remy LeBeau continued to float in the blackness.
Sabretooth and Bullseye walked through the doors that led into the control room of the Island.
"You were ordered not to kill him," Stryker's voice echoed around them. Bullseye paused as if in thought. "Last I checked with medical bay, he wasn't dead—yet."
"If your blade had hit him just a millimeter lower, it would have penetrated his heart."
"Look, I know where I was aiming! I don't miss," he stated.
Looking over at Bullseye, Viktor sneered at him.
"I am disappointed in both of you," Stryker's voice said. "That was one of the most asinine ambushes I've ever heard of. Any number of things could have gone wrong!"
"But they didn't," Viktor said. "And stop acting as if you are my superior, Stryker. We are equals here."
Stryker snorted. He began descending the long curving stairs that led up to another portion of the control room.
"I think the radiation of the power plant here is getting to you, Viktor."
Viktor growled. "Watch it."
Stryker moved off the subject. "Have you checked on the others?"
"Yes, their testing goes on as planned," Viktor said. "Good," Stryker replied. "I have another mutant for you to fetch for me."
He handed them a photo. "Warren Worthington III. Has the ability to fly with large feathery wings on his back. He's only about fourteen. Should be easy enough to catch."
"Should be. We'll shoot that bird right out of the sky," Bullseye sneered.
"He doesn't use his powers that much," Stryker said. "He doesn't like being a mutant. He almost went unnoticed. The coordinates are being sent to your personal computers. You will leave immediately."
Viktor was as fast as a bolt of lightning.
He suddenly had him by the throat, two feet of the ground.
"Listen, old man, as soon you get it through your thick skull that we aren't your slave dogs, maybe—just maybe—we'll do something for you. We clear?"
Stryker sputtered, choked. Viktor dropped him to the ground. The other man landed with a thud and gasp.
"Okay," Stryker said, horsely and rubbing his neck. "I'm sorry."
Viktor nodded. "That's more like it." Then he turned and left.
Remy fought his way back to consciousness.
He jerked his head up, tried to make his body do the same.
His body jerked, but it was restrained against a cold surface.
"Don't move," a voice said. Remy glared around for the ominous sounding voice. "Who's there?" he bit out.
"I am Tanya. You may call me Doctor Tanya."
"Where am I?" Remy asked, still searching for the woman.
"We are at the Island. Dr. Stryker's HQ where he brings mutants in for testing and experimentations," Tanya said in a matter-of-fact voice.
"Let me go," Remy demanded. Tanya was silent. "Or what? Do you have anything to threaten me with? No. I don't believe you do. Let me tell you something, Remy LeBeau. There is no hope. There is no chance of escape for you here. We will not give you an opportunity to use your powers, and you will be guarded at all times. We will have our way with you, then you will be executed." She took a breath. "You will be..finished. Consider your purpose on this Earth over."
Remy blinked back tears. There was no emotion in the woman's voice whatsoever. No evidence that she cared whether or not he lived or died. She only wanted his body for their sick studies.
When you got so apathetic that you didn't care whether another human being lived or died, that was true evil.
Remy swallowed.
"You'll pay for this. For all the mutants you've ever—"
"I've ever what, Remy? There's no proof that shows I've done tests on mutants."
"The government will find you," Remy said.
Tanya hesitated, then she laughed. It was the deadest thing Remy'd ever heard. "The government? The government is ifunding/i us. Even if they don't know it."
Remy struggled helplessly at his restraints.
"You will be taken to the holding room with the others. Any attempt at escape will be dealt with swiftly and surely. Always remember, Remy: No hope. That is all."
Then she was gone. Remy still hadn't seen that damned woman.
Something snapped off of his wrists, feet, chest, and arms. Rough hands grabbed him and pulled him up.
He didn't dare struggle. The four guards pushed him down a long hallway until they get to a colorless door.
One of them pulled up a card and swung it in front of a small blue screen. The door swished open. The guards pushed Remy inside.
Remy gasped.
There were at least a dozen tall cages with brown bars across the grand room. Children were in the cages.
The guards led Remy to an empty cage, did the same thing with the card, and pushed him inside. Then they left, muttering dinner was going to be arriving soon.
The half-dozen or so children in the room all turned their piercing gazes on him.