I don't own anything Marvel does! :D
Oh and pardon the accent this is my first time writing for Remy and its a little hard to get it down totally right.
He lounged across the bed, his arm underneath his head wondering when he would be able to sleep. It had been weeks, months even since he was able to close his eyes and let the peaceful sleep invade him. Nothing seemed to help either, whether it be rigorous exercise (the thieving or the pleasing kind). He would free run across the tops of buildings using his bo-staff to pole vault from one to another, he would roam the streets picking pockets and gambling occasionally, and he spent his nights with women hoping to find the solace of slumber between their legs.
In the end the horrendous act which he committed plagued him all these nights and he sat in the seedy hotel room, cradling his head with one arm, flipping through his most prized possession: his deck of cards, with his other hand, and wondering to himself if there was some way to atone for his past sins; all of them. He flipped the last card over revealing the Queen of Hearts and laid that card against his bare chest and closed his eyes.
He was in tunnels, running quickly. He knew very well that he needed to work quickly if he was to accomplish his task; and his employer (owner was a more operative word) would be more than angry if he wasn't. His feet sloshed in the filth that covered the ground and for a moment he thought about the disgusting mess he was going to be in after he finished his job. He stood in the intersection of all the tunnels just as his pale faced, cold eyed employer had told him to, waiting for the signal to set the cross section aglow with his kinetic energy.
"Are you in position?" a voice echoed in the dark tunnel. He looked down at the walkie-talkie pinned to his chest piece. He pressed a button and then responded.
"O' co'se Remy's in position, that Remy's job remember," his voice was filled with annoyance and to some degree frustration. One thing he hated was the rest of his employer's lackeys; they lacked the finesse and training that Remy had been exposed to for the majority of his childhood, but everyone had a debt to pay to Mr. Sinister and that was the only tithe that Remy had to him. After this he would be able to leave, to finally return to a life of thieving, gambling, and lechery; but part of him knew that Sinister would not easily release him from his grasp.
He let go of the button and heard the voice again, "Cocky ass Cajun. It's almost time set the charges in t- minus two minutes." He pressed another button located on the walkie-talkie and a timer started to count down from two minutes. Just then he heard the voices. At first it was just what sounded like people passing by in an adjoining tunnel. He told himself to ignore the sound; it was not his job to listen for people that was Vertigo's job; to keep up the perimeter.
Suddenly he heard the small footsteps, and the laughter (or was it something more stressed) of who he could easily recognize as a child. He pressed the button on the walkie- talkie again.
"I thought ya'll was suppose' to keep a perimeter. Remy keep hearing voices and footsteps."
There was static and then he heard from the other side, "Shut the fuck up and do your job Gambit! We're taking care of our part!" In between Vertigo's yells Remy heard the distinct sounds of screams, of fighting, of bullets and rampaging mutants, of what he would soon find to be a massacre.
His eyes snapped open and sweat beaded his chest and face. He sat up quivering, breathing heavily. He looked at the clock set on the cheap night stand as it flashed 12:21 am. He stood up and walked over to the rickety table and packed his pack of cigarettes before removing one and lighting his fingertip and slowly touching the end of the cigarette. It exploded in front of his eyes and he watched as the pieces were set aglow with embers burning on the stained carpet of the hotel. He removed another cigarette and lit it this time with a match. He then unscrewed the cap of a bottle of Jack Daniels that sat alongside the cigarettes and gulped from the bottle until his thirst was satiated. It burned as it slid down his throat and into his intestines and he thought to himself that this was nowhere near the penance he had or wanted to pay.
He thought about checking out of the motel early, just leaving his owed money on the nightstand and then taking off, riding until dark again. He rifled through his trench looking for his keys to his Harley but they weren't there. He puffed his cigarette thinking to himself about where to head to next; once he found his keys that is. He couldn't head south; he would surely meet death if he returned, he couldn't head west either; too big of a chance he'd run into the crazed scientist that was Sinister, he figured his best bet was to head east, Boston maybe, or possibly a small town in Connecticut. He chuckled at the thought of staying in a small town. Maybe he could find a job as a farm hand. He laughed again at the thought and then decided on New York, after all the nightlife was Remy's specialty and while there was no comparison to the nightlife of New Orleans he was sure New York City was a close second.
He had decided and was now on a search for his keys. He finally opened the drawer to the nightstand and saw beside the huge leather bound Bible his keys. But it was not his keys he picked up. In his days at the guild Jean Luc and the others had done everything to keep him from believing in the sanctity of the church or of God but Tante had always told him that God was not something to be feared but someone who was there to love you when no one else could. He laughed at the thought of short dark old Tante smacking him with the end of her wooden spoon and telling him to not listen to Jean Luc's stupidity regarding religion, "You believe what y' want to believe, ya hear. Don' let dem fools tell y' any different."
He sat there on the edge of the bed, Bible between his hands and just as he was about to open it he heard a knock at the door.
He jumped up, clad only in boxers he was nowhere near ready to face whoever or whatever was after him behind that door. He sprung for his deck of cards and then went to the door. He slid out the first card already set aglow with kinetic energy poised to fling it the second he opened the door. He stood for a brief time in front of the door trying to figure out who it could be outside his door. He was too far north for the Assassin's Guild to have found him, and he was so sporadic about where he stayed that Sinister would not be able to find a pattern in his traveling through which to find him. And then a thought flashed in his mind. It was his sins coming for retribution and he now accepted that it was time for him to pay his debt to God or whoever else had come to collect. He tucked his card back into his deck and threw it on to the table. Then without fear he opened the door set for death to reign upon him sweetly.