Scott had received word less than an hour ago that Logan was on his way to his usual haunt, where he would do what he did best and scare some no-good drug dealing kids into giving up their sources. Scott had told him to make sure he did everything by protocol standards if it came to that, and then ended the call with a sigh. Logan was always stuck on some conspiracy, usually involving a large number of individuals with government or anti-mutant connections. He was positive that these n'er do well teenagers who sold MGH to mutants were hired grunts of The Purifiers, an anti-mutant group with nasty violent tendencies similar to the Ku Klux Klan.

Scott wasn't sure if he believed it yet, because unlike some of the people who worked for him; Logan, Remy, and also his girlfriend, Dr. Jean Grey, he liked facts and not instinct or emotions to clog his rational thinking. But, much as he and Logan may always butt heads, he could not deny that Logan was one of his best – maybe one of the best agents currently employed by S.H.I.E.L.D. Sure, he did his own thing and didn't always follow the rules, but he had seen and done more than the average bear could ever hope to see or do.

His phone rang again, and whatever he was going to write down on his memo pad escaped him. Seeing it was Logan, he sighed. "You know," he said as he answered, "I need an occasional update, not one every five damn minutes."

"The Cajun in yet?" Logan asked, ignoring his boss. He did that a lot.

"Am I his secretary?" Scott asked rhetorically. "Call him."

"I tried his desk just now," Logan said. "He didn't answer."

"Try his cell. Leave a message," Scott said, irritated. "Voice mail has been around for quite some time now. Even you should know how to use it by now." Logan was notorious for not wanting to work new technology; he hated computers. He apparently liked to use his cell phone though, even though it was way behind the newest models Tony had sent them to use.

Even as he was scolding him, Scott poked his head out of his office that was located above the bullpen. He saw Remy approaching his desk, and while on his desk phone, sent Remy a text with his cell that said, "Visit me, a-sap," Scott figured Remy wouldn't care if he presumed he was in trouble.

He watched as Remy checked his phone, looked up, and then made his way up the stairs. Scott handed him the phone as Remy entered his office and mouthed 'Logan'.

"What do you want?" Remy asked into the phone.

"Meet me down in MD 1, pronto." Logan was never one for manners or pleasantries, which was why Remy didn't bother with them at the moment.

"Um, sure, let me just ignore everything else to do you a favor," Remy said, sarcastically.

"This is something you'll wanna see, trust me."

Remy couldn't help but make the much older man angry whenever he got the chance – especially if he wasn't in striking distance. "Can you be a little more vague, please? Just in case someone is listening in?"

It did the trick, because Logan was easy to piss off. In a snarl, he said, "That shit happens, Cajun. You're just too damn young to know." Then, out with it, he said, "Got a dead Morlock here."

Remy sobered quickly, and asked, "How do you know it's a Morlock?"

"He's ugly as shit."

The chance of finding a portal teleporter around was slim to none as all of the ones registered in The Academy were just starting out and were not authorized to use their power for any other reason other than training purposes. And the only line-of-sight teleporter Remy knew was Kurt and it would be a cold day in hell before he showed up before seven in the morning. So, it appeared driving was his only option. He didn't mind driving usually, but, it wasn't something he felt like doing today. He would have had Clay Quartermain drive, but he was currently at The Triskelion, preparing for a conference that was the first of its kind.

The first MCRT conference, where Clay would be responsible for explaining the duties and preoccupations of an MCRT agent. He would go into lengthy detail explaining exactly what he had been doing for the past four years and he would explain why such work was necessary. Remy did not envy him. Though Remy was technically in charge of the MCRT, he was twenty years younger than Clay and did not have the clout he did and Clay also wasn't a mutant. The line of thinking was if a baseline agent like Clay could be concerned about mutants then anyone could.

Remy had just left The Triskelion yesterday afternoon, after finishing the grueling process of identifying the remains of fifty two serpentine mutants that had suffered untimely deaths at the hands of, as yet unidentified, sect of Purifiers. The emotional toll, plus the cold he had that he couldn't seem to shake, not that he was exactly doing anything to try, made it seem like a chore to drive to MD1 at Logan's beck and call.

Each mutant community is usually given two names, one based on their location in whatever city or state they might be in and the other is one that the mutants that live there have come to call themselves. 'Mutant District 1' or MD1, was one of two zones in New York City, and thus, it encompassed about half of The Big Apple. Within the district were four known condemned buildings that mutant communities lived in, and there was also all of the underground to consider, where the Morlocks were. Meaning that Logan would have to be more specific when he said 'meet me in MD1 pronto', but then Remy knew he'd call with exact directions later.

Sure enough he received his coordinates about half way through the drive and saw it was near one of the entrances to the underground, a subway system on 116th street. As soon as he parked his car, he called Logan. "I'm at 116th. Where are you?"

"Couple blocks north. Back of Farinelli's Pizza."

"Okay, be there shortly." He ended the call and began the walk in the icy cold, thankful he had a warm coat on and several layers. Due to the kinetic energy he had running through his body at all times, he felt warm to the touch, but reacted to temperatures as if they were about ten degrees less than everyone else. He gauged the temp today at negative five.

Logan was leaning against the corner of the building smoking a cigar and eating a slice of pizza when Remy arrived. Remy raised an eyebrow at Logan's choices. "Isn't it a little early to be eating pizza?" He didn't also ask if it was a little gross to be eating at a death scene, but he wanted to.

Logan shrugged, "It's good pizza. Body's this way. And, like I said, he's an ugly one."

Remy muffled a series of coughs into the crook of his elbow, and replied, "I usually don't find dead bodies attractive."

"You're still sick?" Logan asked him and he wasn't exactly nice about it, but that didn't mean he didn't care. A regular tough guy.

"Yeah, well, I'm still waiting for my healing factor to kick in," Remy answered sardonically. Logan had told him once, when Remy was still a rookie that he acted as if he had a healing factor – meaning reckless. And Logan would know, of course, since he had one of the fastest, most effective, healing factors known. Remy would be happy at this point with a normal immune system, which he was becoming more and more certain he did not have.

Logan seemed to know what he was thinking. With his own dry tone, he said, "It's called DayQuil and going to bed once in a while."

"I believe it's your fault I'm out here right now. Let's see the body, huh?"

Remy walked around the back of the dumpster and was hit with a wall of emotion he couldn't begin to decipher as he looked down and saw… Red. His large, ugly, mottled red corpse with four arms and moles was unmistakable. He shook his head and in a barely audible voice, he cursed, "Goddamn stupid moron."

"You know him?" Logan asked him, knowing the answer. Many said Remy was hard to read, but Logan had never seen that. Remy tried to be hard to read, but all one had to do was pay attention. He knew most were too preoccupied with Remy's looks to bother with his feelings.

"Yeah. Jesus," Remy said, taking a few steps back from the body. The worst part of being an MCRT agent, in Remy's opinion, was dealing with the dead. Because it was almost always someone he was acquainted with. "Name's Red. I just saw him three days ago."

Logan raised a bushy brow. "You need a minute?" He knew Remy well; the kid was sensitive and usually blamed himself for shit that couldn't possibly have to do with him.

After a pause that could have been the 'minute' he needed, Remy replied. "No. Goddamn it." He ran his hands through his notoriously rumpled chocolate brown hair and sighed. "Let's just call this in."

"I did right after I called you. Should be here any minute."

Remy crouched down next to Red, careful not to touch him, but wanting to take a closer look at what he suspected. Five days ago, Red had been itching his skin hard enough to break the skin, and three days ago the scabs had begun to form. But looking at Red's corpse now, he saw more open wounds than scabs which told Remy at least one thing – Red had not stopped taking MGH after Remy had told him to.

He stood up and again pushed his hands through his hair. "I went through their houses, and didn't find anything. He must have kept some though." He was mostly talking to himself, frustrated that he didn't know Red had lied to him. People did not get away with lying to him, as an empath he had a way of knowing, and he prided himself in it. But, somehow Red had.

"Nothing anyone can do about it now," Logan said. "You at least gave a damn to look."

Much as Remy wanted to tell Logan where to put it, he knew what Logan was getting at. Red could make his own choices. Choices had consequences. Red's consequence was death. What Red hadn't cared about though, was those consequences affected more than just Red.

The forensic team arrived then, and took over the scene, getting ready to transport the body to the nearest morgue, where an autopsy would be performed by a S.H.I.E.L.D. doctor.