A/N: I know it's been a LONG time since there was an update. And I know this is super short. Unfortunately, I'm a big picture kind of guy. I've got pages upon pages of story that will happen down the road, but I have total writer's block on how to get from A to B. Or rather, I have writer's block on how to get from A to B in a decently interesting fashion that isn't just a direct re-write of what happened in the comics. But the next chapter should come quick – most of it's written (as it was supposed to be part of this one). I'm just cutting myself off here for pacing purposes.
This is really the first time I'm treading on territory that was explicit in the comics. I'm taking a lot of liberties with it (I'm loving my AU safety net), but let me give the disclaimer that a fair amount of dialogue is ripped straight from Marvel. Sorry.
Big thank you to kitsuK8 for being the only person to review my last chapter. A little love is still better than none at all.
Chapter 9: A House of Cards
"Who's here?" Bobby's confusion was rapidly giving way to fright. Invisible enemies? It gave a new meaning to the term "fear of the unknown."
"You mean my friends?" It was then that Bobby noticed Mastermind hadn't so much as twitched at the alarm. In the face of an impending attack, Regan Wyngarde remained casually on the couch she was sharing with Creed, legs crossed and a coy smile playing at the edges of her mouth. He could hear Scott in his head, chewing him out for letting his guard down.
At Lady Mastermind's command, five bodies seemed to materialize out of thin air. A still shimmering specter in the shape of a tall, heavily muscled man spoke - its voice a low, dirt-filled gravel of a sound. "Long time no see, X-Men."
Victor Creed was considered by many to be a man without fear, and rightfully so. After a dozen or so decades of murder and mayhem without a single scar to show for it, tales of fear and terror might as well be fiction. No scars, though, didn't always mean no wounds. Some were older than time, still festering just below the surface waiting for that one, well-timed swing of a sword, well-place shot of a gun to burst open the precarious seal confining an ocean of horror. Lady Mastermind's seeming betrayal had been that blow, but unfortunately for her a man unaccustomed to fear didn't react the way a fearful man should. There were no tremors, no tears – only razor sharp claws and eyes that gave a frightening promise of bloodshed.
When Sabertooth found his voice, it had dropped to an octave so low it was a barely audible growl. "Marauders."
In an instant, the quiet and downright boring scene Bobby Drake had come "home" to evaporated under the heat of barely controlled chaos. The sudden shift left him stunned. He vaguely recognized Creed's command to get off his ass, but something about the juxtaposition of the ice cold leftovers he had planned on reheating still in his hand and Harpoon's expertly thrown shuriken speeding with deadly accuracy towards his face left Bobby's ability to process the current situation lacking. All that ended in an instance, though, as the reality of the situation came crashing down on him, ushered in by a single sound.
There was a gunshot upstairs.
This was too easy. It seemed stubborn was a family trait, especially in the males. It would be interesting to see who would be more embarrassed, father or son, when they finally realized just how strikingly similar they were. Arguing with a sentient computer? There were a lot of people you could out maneuver in a battle of wills, but this game was fixed.
NEGATIVE. PROVIDENCE ISLAND. LOCATION 120 DEGREES NORTH 165 DEGREES WEST. CURRENT POPULATION – TWO.
"Bonjour, mon ami. Pick a card, my friend. For old time's sake."
Cable's eyes snapped to the shadowed recesses of rubble behind him, instantly recognizing the telltale Creole drawl. Squinting, he couldn't quite make out a figure in the darkness, but it wasn't necessary. He found himself under the scrutiny of the red, glowing eyes of the White Devil.
"LeBeau?" The Cajun had ceased to be on Nathan's radar since the Arcadian's run-in with Apocalypse. No one had seen hide nor hair of the X-Man turned Horseman – and Apocalypse's minions tended to have fairly short life spans after their master met his defeat.
"Don' sound so shocked, mon brave. I'm offended - you t'ink I kick de bucket already?" The accented voice trailed off as a figure emerged from the shadows – a sight Cable was rather surprised to see. Before him stood Gambit – not Death. If he had his information correct, it had taken Angel some years and quite a bit of work to revert back to his original form. "Or is it the new duds? Y' know, dey say dere more joy in Heaven for de sinner dat repent, Cable"
Warning bells were ringing in Nathan's mind. Gambit should not have had the means to rid himself of Apocalypse's tampering so quickly. The thief wasn't exactly known for his experience in the field of genetics. And the accent just seemed… forced. And just what in the Hell was he doing on Providence without being seen by Cannonball to boot? Providence was completely surrounded by water with no way in or out save for plane or boat.
This didn't add up.
Cable's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How did you manage that, exactly?"
"Wit' a little help from my friends." With a shrug of his shoulders, Remy turned and started walking. It was a play at disinterest. A convincing play for most, but Nathan saw it for what it was. The Cajun was circling him like the predator he did his damnedest to pretend not to be. "Cable, I didn' come here t' fight you. Just wanna run a petite question by dat computer o' yours."
The strategist in Cable instantly began process the new information. He wasn't Gambit's target. Remy was after Professor and Cable was just collateral damage. This could get interesting.
Content to play along for the time being, Nathan took the bait. "About what?"
"Not'ing important. Just de time." Another shrug, equally disinterested. Remy let the moment stretch for a moment, making a show at inspecting his nails. He always did have a flare for the dramatic. "My friends, dey t'ink it about one minute before dawn."
Shiro watched his partner from a low bluff in the distance. Remy had insisted that he kept his distance. "Watching for trouble" was the phrasing the Cajun had chosen. An obvious cover. They were on a remote, uninhabited island that had long ceased to be of concern to any type of authority group. Cable's lone ally close enough to come to his aid had taken his watch to the air – circling wide arcs around the island, miles off the coast, in the X-Men's Blackbird. His next pass into a visible area wasn't for another 20 minutes and this was a quick, in and out operation. Besides, Sunfire was confident that the two X-Men wouldn't stand a chance against them.
The Cajun was often a mystery – though in this instance Shiro suspected his actions would only be considered strange if you believed the guise Remy put forth. Sinister believed his first and foremost Marauder to be of great use in espionage but fairly incompetent on the battlefield – hence Sunfire's required involvement in the current mission. Cable would underestimate Gambit, believing him to be cocky and unprepared. Both were shortsighted and lacking in honor. Shiro, though, was wired differently.
Gambit considered Nathan Summers a former comrade in arms and therefore his duty to dispose of.
"What are you-?" Cable cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head and a cock of his rifle. He couldn't let Gambit catch a glimpse at the recognition in his eyes. "It doesn't matter. I don't have time for your games, Gambit."
"No time f' games, mon ami?" The falsely amicable smile Remy held quickly turned malicious as the brace of cards in his hand that Nathan had failed to notice slowly began to glow a lurid pink. "Not even a card trick?"
Scott's mind was still going over his earlier encounter with the Professor. It was infuriating, of course, but also somewhat confusing. Ever since the incident with Cerebro, the Professor had been acting rather strange. Rachel only seemed to be exasperating the situation. What he wouldn't give for looser morals at the moment – the kind that would give him no qualms about asking Emma to probe the man. Of course, that was assuming she could. He had known personally – and in some cases intimately – the top three telepaths in the world, and occasionally the lines dividing their prowess blurred. He had witnessed the Phoenix down right over power the Professor, and Emma had succeeded in controlling Scott's powers where both Xavier and Jean had failed. Logically, that should put her at the top of the list, shouldn't it? It was ironic to Scott – or perhaps convenient - that telepaths were the only ones that could truly understand all the ins and outs of their own powers.
His train of thought was cut off rather abruptly when his communicator began its shrill alert. Rogue's team was taking it easy. Cable was on a routine information gathering run in Providence. The only mission with potential trouble was the reacquisition of Beast and the mobile Cerebro. How appropriate that something the Professor was involved with would bring yet another headache.
Steeling himself for whatever bad news Xavier had, Scott activated his communicator. "Cyclops."
Scott! Come in! Gold Team needs extraction – NOW!
Scott wasted no time on confusion, jumping straight to business at the frantic tone of his friend's voice. "Bobby? What's wrong?"
It was an ambush, Scott. We were completely blindsided. You need to get us out of here!
"Ambush?" What was an ambush? For all intents and purposes, Bobby and the rest of Rogue's team were on leave. In Mississippi of all places. "What are you talking about, Bobby?"
The Marauders. Quick, Scott. They've shot Rogue.
Quick A/N: In case anyone's befuddled, the "Professor" in the scene with Cable is the AI that controls Providence. Marvel loves to be confusing like that.