A/N Heavy Language and Violence. And I know I said there'd be no expanded Marvel Universe, but the 'Outcasts' needed a pad, and I thought Ororo's husband would be the best fit. Still no expanded universe, I may end up making Wakanda a rogue mutant nation however.

Enjoy!

Italic is thought

They sat in a luxurious New York apartment situated in the centre of Manhattan, overlooking the sun-soaked streets below. Cars went about their business as if nothing was occurring, as if no war had just been initiated. But it had.

Bolivar Trask had taken their people. Had hunted them down and they were going to strike back. So that's why, rather than attending the theatre or visiting Central Park or eating at a local coffee shop, the remaining 'Outcasts' - Gambit, Rogue, Nightcrawler, Cyclops and Storm - were gathered on two plush, cream, leather sofas overlooking an oak table; littered with photographs, surveillance images, satellite images, schematics and ID profiles.

For the last month, they had hit every Trask compound in the area, every Sentinel production facility and every anti-mutant violence rally. Storm's unknown contact, who had also lovingly provided them with this base of operations, had provided them with high-level military intel, and Remy wished he knew how. He could use contacts like that.

Of course he had friends now. Over the last month, they'd bonded in a way he'd only ever done with Kurt. He may have found Scott a bit too boy scout-ish, and Ororo a bit too regal, but he liked them. They had his back, even if he still didn't feel he deserved it.

"So, we finally tracked 'em down, no?" he asked, motioning to a map by his feet. "This is dere main operations facility, we shoul' make a move tonight."

"I agree," Cyclops, their de facto leader added, brushing a hand through his tousled hair as he observed their intel. His lip was pulled back by white teeth before it snapped back and grinned, the others bringing their attention to him. "I think I may even have a plan."

Storm soared like a leaf on the wind, twirling through the night sky, weaving through clouds and quickly approaching their target. She suddenly dropped like a bullet, plummeting to the Earth but she reversed it laughing, soaring back to the skies. Her domain.

Once in range of the base, she swept up her arms, calling to her Goddess, knowing she would provide the required strength and willpower for her mission. A thick fog arose within seconds, covering the buildings, warehouses and watchtowers like a blanket.

She focused her mind and with gesture of her strong arms, a ferocious storm, unlike any seen for half-a-century, began to form in the skies as she descended towards the rendezvous. Lightning flashes rippled around her as she touched down on the ground, sweeping her eyes around for her partner for this mission. As if by luck as she thought it, Rogue flew in, having taken a portion of Ororo's abilities and skidded to a stop next to her. She may have been a natural, but Rogue's fluidity in the air would never match her own if she didn't practice.

"Are you ready, Anna?" she asked politely, bowing slightly.

With a slightly quizzical look, Rogue returned the bow. "Ah hope so, sugah, plan sorta depends on it, don't it?"

Still slightly unaccustomed to the southerner's accent and dialect, she merely nodded. "Um, yes, I agree. Now let us go, keep your mind sharp and your reflexes sharper," she practically shouted past the roaring winds and raging thunder.

The two of them took off, heading into the base by flying in from the west, into an area under heavy construction. Both she and Anna could see in the thick fog - thanks to her abilities - and it would pay off here.

She arched up to the cabin of a nearby crane and a man in freelance armour dragged his face up, causing her to gasp. His skin had been torn by an animal, claw gashes ripping through his oily, pale flesh. His blank eyes met her own as he stood and dashed at her.

Rogue swept down just in time, hooking a fist into his jaw and sending him to the ground from sheer momentum. "What's wrong, sugah? Tha' shoulda been a easy one," she asked.

"I-it's a work of devilry, an abomination! A curse to the Gods themselves," she growled. She stormed up and kicked the rising body from the cabin, sending it tumbling to a cement pit.

Anna's mouth was wide-open, watching Ororo with disgust. "Y-ya killed him?! The hell, 'Roro?"

"It was not alive. Trask has . . . revived it with, with . . . I do not know," she admitted. "But it was not living."

"Guess we'll find out," the southerner told her, still keeping a wary eye on the woman, "how'd we work this thing?"

"Oh. You should probably have touched him before I got rid of him," Ororo commented.

"Ya think?" Rogue deadpanned with a smile, "hold on a sec." The girl leapt, dropping from the yellow cab into the abyss. Storm watched after her, tapping her foot in impatience. The others were waiting for them, they shouldn't allow delays.

A moment after, she reappeared, a flash of green and yellow, as she slammed down into the driver's seat. Her grey skin and yellow eyes went uncommented upon. "Ah think ah've got the hang o' this now," she muttered, flicking some switches and pulling a few levers. Ororo didn't pay attention, when would she need to drive a crane?

Queen's don't drive cranes. Granted, neither do they break into buildings, but she also does what she must if it means freeing her people from oppression. At least T'Challa doesn't mind me doing this without him.

The arm of the crane began to turn and she gripped the rail for support. Hanging from the arm swung a large container, supposedly filled with explosives. They were going to drop it next to the main entrance, so that Cyclops - now officially called this due to a visor Ororo had provided, that used state-of-the-art technology to regulate his beams - could blow it up, then lead Gambit on a frontal assault. Nightcrawler would be following in their wake, until the maintenance shafts, which he was to take through the base at speed, searching for the prisoners.

Hopefully, all would go to plan.

The echoing clunk reached Remy's ears, the cargo had been deposited. They were ready to strike. He turned to tell Scott, but the cyclops had already began forward, creeping up to the chain-link fence and climbing over.

He followed and the two moved almost silently, darting through the maze of tents and canopies that led to the entrance, housing mess rooms, barracks and armouries. Why they would be outside the building however, worried Gambit more than anything. For such a large facility to need extra room meant something large had to be inside.

They slowed as the container pulled into view, a few guards patrolling the large blast doors behind. Just as they readied to approach, a man dropped down and killed the guards silently. His muscles bulged under kevlar armour, and one eye glowed gold. His left arm appeared to be wrapped under metal, the silver coiling up his limb. On his back, a gun was holstered, but it was unrecognisable to Remy - a rare feat indeed.

The man reached up and drew the futuristic weapon, aiming it into the fog, determination taking over his face. One eye closed and the other, gold one, squinted at the back of a long scope. Its muzzle flashed blue as he squeezed the trigger, though no shot could be heard. A scream, however, could.

Ororo dropped out of the thick fog, falling limp at his feet. Remy made to charge, but Scott held him back. "No, we don't know how powerful he is. He could kill us and we wouldn't know how," he whispered.

"But Anna's gonna attack!" Remy growled back, ripping out of Cyclops' grasp as, just as he had predicted, Rogue flew out the fog, her clenched fists shrouded with lightning. Her first punch was easily evaded by the man, his gun cracking up to meet her. She grabbed it and pulsed the lightning, overloading the gun and causing it to malfunction. She batted it out of his hands and slammed her head forward, their skulls crunching together. The man remained unphased and with a flick of his wrist, sent Anna flying, despite not touching her.

"Shit! Remy, stop! He's a telekinetic!" Scott shouted, sprinting after the cajun.

Remy ignored the warning, pulling out his deck of cards and flipping, soaring over the man's head and dropping an ace from directly above. His boots skidded in the wet mud, rain plastering down his long hair. I need ta start usin' a ponytail.

He turned to the man, but growled when he seemed to have disappeared. As had Scott. The ground beneath him crumbled, swirling around him in a tornado of debris and dirt. He scrambled back and turned to find Cyclops.

His outfit had changed, into some weird spandex costume, blue and yellow. This outlandish Scott yelled, his hand whipping up and turning a dial on his much clunkier visor. The beam of red energy shot out in a blaze but Remy easily rolled under it, kicking at the imposter's shin.

The world rippled, becoming reality once again, the regular Scott glaring at Remy after the kick, his eyebrows furrowed. "What the hell, Remy?" he asked, clenching a fist.

"You . . . you," he stuttered, looking around to see the telekinetic lying on the floor having been impacted by Cyclops' attack. "Somethin's wrong here."

"Whatever," Scott muttered, rubbing his shin. He started choking; his hands gripping at something around his throat. Remy turned to fight the man - but he was gone. When he turned back, the man had his arm round Scott's throat, gun rested against his temple.

"Listen to me carefully boy," the gruff man directed, "otherwise we're all going to die."

"Bi' dramatic," he replied, anger edging into his voice. He looked around for Anna, seeing her raising to her feet unsteadily and some of his worry dissipated. He looked down at Ororo and his rage flamed again. "Wha's wrong wit' her?" he demanded.

"Only a stun pulse," the grey-haired warrior told him. "I'd never hurt a friend."

"Ya know her?" he asked.

"Not yet."

Cyclops strained, his veins pushing out against his skin, but the stranger simply tightened his squeeze, choking the consciousness out of their leader. Remy watched him drop, his head lulling. Scott's strong. Real strong. Dis guy mus' be somethin' special to be able t' take him out like tha'. But none of dem are as strong or fas' as me. Like to test ma skills here, a real challenge.

Remy drew his bo staff, twirling it at his side. "Ya sure, ya wanna take this route?" he asked.

"Hmm. Remy LeBeau: a kineticist, ability to charge inanimate objects; control kinetic movement and block telepathy. Meta strength and speed," he rattled off, as if a computer was feeding the info directly to him. "I can handle those odds. But I don't want to, Gambit, I just want to talk."

"Ya hurt my frien's, my comrades, and we're suppose to jus' talk? Fuck tha'. You's goin' down," he muttered, ignoring the suspicion of how the man could know such things.

"You asked for it." The stranger cracked his neck. "You want the first throw?" he offered, grinning as if this were a sport.

"Mother may I," Remy chided, watching Anna raise her fists behind the man. She stumbled. "Nu-uh Anna," he warned, "I'm gonna have myself some fun."

No need fo' her to get hurt. But best I play it off as aloofness.

She looked worriedly between the two and backed away, leaning against the container. "Be careful," she said softly.

Gambit dashed forward, twisting down and swinging the bo staff at the man's legs. He hopped over, bringing his knee toward Gambit's chin but the thief easily countered, knocking it down and pushing forward with three swift strikes.

The man took them without so much as a flinch or grimace, letting them sink into his chest and wrenching the staff away, pulling Gambit off balance and pushing in; shouldering him down into the mud.

Rogue, unable to just watch, sprinted forward and leapt at the man, her bare hands grasping for his scarred face. He didn't even pay her notice, just flicking his wrist again and sending her tumbling back.

He made sure not to use the same abilities on the Cajun. Knuckles crunched against cheekbone as he knocked back the resurgent opponent. And again, and again.

The fight stopped as Jean Grey, her hair white, skin black and eyes yellow, descended from the fog; a sinister smile flicking up the corners of her dead lips. The man looked up to her and swore. "I'm too late," he grumbled, sadness etching into his very pores.

She looked at Cyclops' collapsed body and shook her head. "Ah, Scott. God, I loved you. But now, I've ascended. I've became . . . purer. They have perfected me."

Remy squinted, motioning for Anna to come by his side, as he picked up Scott from the ground. "Jean Grey, I presume. Wha's wrong wit' you?" he asked.

"Nothing is wrong with me," her broken voice whispered playfully, somehow carrying through the storm. "And I'm no Jean Grey. I am Famine; a Horsemen of Apocalypse."

The man looked over to Remy and Anna. "We need to leave. NOW," he ordered, picking the gun from the ground.

He wanted to argue, to fight or to continue the mission, but he could feel the very power emanating from her, the forces of her mind washing over them, drowning out his willpower, his feeling. Something was very, very wrong.

He weakly nodded and Rogue lifted her arms, a tornado forming and lifting them all, minus Jean into the sky. Kurt betta scamper. He mus' see us leavin'. Get outta here, mon frere.

Anna let the tornado dissipate once they'd been propelled high enough and Cable took over, guiding them all back towards the centre of the city with his mind.