They were gathered in the Danger Room. Disappointingly, it was Sinister who greeted the X-Men the following morning. He looked much the worse for wear, his jaw bruised, lip split, nose broken and eyes blackened. His expression was most displeased, and in spite of the pain he no doubt felt, was not rescinding his control to Gambit. When questioned about his injuries, Sinister was not forthcoming with answers. Sinister sat on the floor in stony silence. It was eerie.

Jean Grey and Elisabeth Braddock sat a distance away on either side of Sinister. Hank McCoy was poised nearby with his bag of medical supplies, having attempted to repair the damage done to Sinister's (rather, Hank preferred to think of it as Remy's) face. Ororo, Magnus, and Logan observed from the booth above. The pair, one telepath and one telekinetic, served as the only solution in chasing Sinister from Remy's mind.

Betsy looked to Jean, who nodded to indicate she was prepared. Betsy was careful to conceal their plan. While Sinister was currently unable to access his own telepathy, once Betsy entered his (or Remy's) mind, she had to carefully protect their scheme. Expecting resistance, Elisabeth was surprised to find herself gaining immediate access. She saw herself again in Gambit's mindscape. It was an approximation of the city of New Orleans, interrupted here and there with scenes of the fantastical. Betsy recognized the Emerald City of Oz from a distance, however, it looked under great disrepair. Now a gray-green instead of the sparkling towers she remembered from her previous visit. The entire environment was not the bright and noisy place she recalled. A steady rain was falling from a dark sky, the buildings around her were shuttered, windows and doors boarded with plywood. A harsh wind jerked the tree limbs forcefully as sheets of rain rippled down the city streets, already ankle deep with rainwater.

Betsy could protect herself from the weather, clad as she was in psychic armor. In the physical world, she knew she appeared as something of a cupcake. She felt her exterior did not match up with her interior. Betsy had joined the X-Men in hopes of improving her physical prowess, to bring it more on par with her mental strength. She forced herself to hold to their ideals, but did not fully embrace their willingness to forgive, to temper violence with mercy. Here, Betsy would not be merciful. She would seek out Sinister, spear him in the skull with a psybolt and hopefully destroy his chances of assuming a new body elsewhere. Betsy wondered why he simply hadn't abandoned Gambit's body. What was his purpose, what did he want with Gambit?

Before she pursued Sinister, she would need to find Gambit. She strode down the city streets, psychic swords held at the ready. Here she was sleek, nimble, her feet made no sound, barely stirred the water as she passed. Betsy (she needed to come up with a code name at some point, was half considering the name Mojo and Spiral had assigned to her) kept to the shadows. She found herself at an alley that ran diagonally rather than following the city grid. Betsy dashed down it, recognizing the location of the bank she and Jean had found. Betsy had wanted to breach Gambit's defenses, uncover what the vault contained. Jean had demurred, insisted on giving Gambit some semblance of privacy. Jean was proved foolish in her judgement. No doubt the parasite Sinister had hidden himself within.

Betsy found the bank destroyed, its contents spilled out onto the cobblestone street. Gold, silver and bronze coins shone dully through the puddles. The rest of the street, which had once appeared a magical version of London, was mostly in ruin. There was a dragon on the roof of the bank, however. He struck Betsy as looking quite pathetic. It gave a half-hearted growl, but otherwise, sank its horny head onto its forepaws.

Failing to find any trace of Gambit, Betsy turned back the way she came. She did not find herself in a portion of the city she recognized from television, movies, or travel brochures. It was a residential street, the pavement cracked, sidewalks glutted with debris from the storm. She passed several derelict homes, the street framed on either side by parked older-model vehicles. Betsy was passing below the sprawling branches of a live oak that stood in a sad, flooded park. The branches stretched across the street on which she walked. Betsy paused, sensing another presence.

"Show yourself," she whispered, her voice swallowed by the sound of rainfall, a rumble of thunder.

An acorn dropped onto her psychic shield. She looked up, swords ready. She saw Gambit perched in the branches above. She was not sure however, if Sinister would himself appear in Gambit's form or as the cadaverous monster she and Shadowcat had fought just outside the cellblock months ago. Betsy did not trust this figure to be Gambit, not until she heard the man speak. Remy's speaking patterns and mannerisms were unmistakable, not to be imitated.

"Who are you?" she asked him.

He did not answer, but held a finger to his lips, demanding silence.

"Prove your identity," Betsy said and pointed a sword at the man's head. "Or I will remove the answers from you."

Gambit considered this for a moment. Then he sucked in his cheeks, crossed his eyes, and made fish-lips at her. Betsy lowered her weapons. Gambit dropped to the street beside her. He nodded his head towards the house across the street. She silently nodded and followed him. They hopped a rusting wrought-iron fence, passed alongside the length of a decaying Greek-revival style mansion. At the rear was what appeared to be an entrance to a root cellar, the two doors barred with a type of biometric lock. It looked almost archaic in design. Gambit passed his hand over it, and the lock was disarmed. He beckoned her forward, directing her to descend into the darkness below.

Betsy held tight to her weapons, indicated Gambit should precede her. He shrugged, stepped down into the cellar, closed one of the doors behind him. Betsy watched as he disappeared from view. Slowly she followed, pulled the second door closed. They were now in darkness, the rain pattered on the door above. Gambit charged a playing card, and she could make out his features fully. Like herself, he had conjured a psychic avatar. While the features were similar, he appeared far more wraithlike, almost inhuman, in his mind than he did in reality. She wondered if it was truly how he saw himself, or an effect of having Sinister in possession of half of his mind.

Gambit started down the steps, his glowing card casting the stone around them in flickering light and shadows. Betsy followed him closely, her weapon on level with the back of the thief's skull. They reached a tunnel. It was remarkably dry.

"Where are we?" Betsy asked, and she winced slightly at the unexpected loudness of her voice in this hushed place.

"Underground tunnels," Gambit informed her, his own voice echoing.

"I thought New Orleans was below sea level," Betsy said. "There aren't any underground tunnels."

"Yes, exactly," Gambit said. "He won't look for us here. He lacks an imagination. Doesn't like my Neighborhood of Make-Believe. You should see what he did to Ankh-Morpork, went and wrecked it in a hissy fit. Guess he doesn't care for Pratchett. No sense of humor, either."

They stalked a ways down the tunnel. Gambit tossed his card into a brazier, setting it alight. Flames illuminated the space. He propped himself against the stone wall of the slightly curved tunnel, lit a cigarette. "Are dese things just as bad for your mind as they are for your body?" he asked.

"Likely," Betsy told him, her weapons for the moment, vanished. "The things that happen to you on this plane can affect your physical form as well."

Gambit exhaled a plume of smoke. "Tant pis," he said.

"I could offer you a telepathic suggestion," Betsy told him. "To encourage you to break your habit."

"But then I won't look as cool," Gambit said, and when he laughed a curl of smoke slipped from his lips.

"You seem in decent enough spirits, all things considered."

He watched her with a faint smile as he pulled another drag from his cigarette. "Looks can be deceivin'."

"The storm above," Betsy nodded to the ceiling. "I would advise you to seek out some professional help. I am not a psychiatrist, but I think you require treatment."

"Storm'll pass in a few days," he said, shrugged.

"Another will follow," Betsy told him. "You're stuck in this weather pattern. It won't resolve itself on its own."

"So chain-smoking and not leaving bed for a few weeks isn't effective treatment, you're sayin'?"

Betsy said nothing, put her hands on her hips.

"You're skinnier here," Gambit observed with a tinge of disappointment.

"So are you," she countered. "What does Sinister want with you?"

Gambit shook his head, conveying incomprehension. "So what's de plan?" he asked.

"You and I will draw Sinister out, into battle."

"Where's Jeannie at?"

Betsy remained silent.

"Got it. Not privy to your plan, am I?"

"It's for your own protection," Betsy said.

"What happens if we lose?"

"We won't," Betsy said. "But I think Wolverine will likely have a contingency plan for you in mind."

Gambit nodded, finished his cigarette and tossed it into the brazier.

"You've been putting up a fair fight," Betsy reassured him. "Without any psychic training. I imagine Sinister is having a hard time making sense of how you function."

What is your major malfunction, numbnuts?!

"Quite," Betsy said. "Give me your hand."

Gambit looked at her warily. She extended her own hand towards him. "I have no intention of hurting you," she continued. When he offered her his hand, she turned it over, palm-side up. With her finger, she drew a mark on his palm, which remained traced in the bright pink of her own power signature.

"Aw, a little heart. I'm afraid my heart belongs to another," Gambit told her. "But I 'preciate de thought."

"Focus on this," Betsy ordered. "It is a method...for remaining lucid. It typically takes weeks, if not months, to perfect. But we don't have time. You need to remember that you are in control of this place. Not Sinister. This is your domain. It is subject to any fancy that crosses your mind. If you feel as though you are losing control, look at this and remember. This reality is yours."

Gambit regarded the mark on his palm. "Okay."

"Remember, what happens to your psychic avatar, may also happen to your physical body. You could be killed. I don't know if what harm Sinister causes you here will also affect your body though, since he seems to want to keep your body alive. But your mind could be wiped out."

"Might not take dat much elbow grease t'do it, chère."

"Negative self-talk is not going to help you," Betsy said sternly.

Gambit drew a steadying breath. "Awright then. I guess we best get to getting. You mind giving me a moment?"

Betsy nodded, proceeded back towards the steps to take her to the surface. Behind her, she sensed him offering a silent prayer to his God, several saints, and a Holy Mother. She began to father some impatience when finally he appeared just behind her.

"Have you prepared yourself, then?"

"As prepared as I ever am," he responded glibly.

"Not reassuring," Betsy murmured and climbed the steps. Back outside, the storm was more violent than before. "Center yourself."

"Think we're comin' up on de eye of it anyhow," Gambit said, and he was battered by a gust of rainwater.

"Do not allow yourself to be pummeled," she said. She demonstrated to him a sort of psychic shield, protecting herself from the weather.

He shook his head, helplessly. "Good thing I got my coat."

"Where do you think Sinister will be?"

Gambit scoffed. "Where all de tourists go," he said critically. "It's not far from here, 'bout two miles."

"Lead the way," Betsy said.

She followed him from the property, across the park, down an alley and then a main street. The houses in the area were all grande dames, in various states of beauty or decay. As they walked the manors and gardens became more regal. Betsy imagined this was some part of the famous Garden District. They emerged along a main street and headed towards the French Quarter.

"Looks like de street cars is down," Gambit remarked, then said apologetically: "Be takin' our lives in our hands, hailin' one of dese cabbies. We'll have to hoof it…..Doesn't usually look like this, chère."

"I recall...it was a lot more colorful before," Betsy said. "There was an interesting odor, as well. I can't say I miss it."

"No idea what you're talkin' 'bout."

"It was a mixture of garbage, fried dough, vomit, and burned sugar."

"Smells like home, t'me."

They increased their pace as they neared Jackson Square. The weatherbeaten streets were empty of people; apparently, they had been evacuated. The storm however, was lessening in severity. Betsy saw that Gambit was right, there was a break in the clouds. The irrepressible heat caused the streets to steam.

"We need to attract Sinister's attention," Betsy said. "Thoughts?"

"Same as how I did last time," Gambit replied. He took her arm and abruptly pulled her into an alleyway. They passed down the rubbish-strewn alley, eventually coming to a sealed door with a grate over the window slot. Gambit banged on the door. The window slid aside. A faceless person stood in the small rectangle of red light shining from within.

"You seen a creep named Essex? Looks like Lurch from de Addams Family? Except wit' less facial expressions?"

The little window slid shut.

"Guess not," Gambit told Betsy. "Let's try de next one."

They passed through several seedy clubs, a casino, more back doors in alleyways, and a cock fight, inquiring as to Essex's whereabouts.

"This is not the most expedient method," Betsy said.

"Patience, ma petite!"

They emerged from another alley to find themselves in the heart of the French Quarter. Each street here was lined with beautiful buildings with gracious balconies decorated with ornate ironwork railings. Greenery dripped wetly in the bright yellow light shining through diminishing raindrops. They emerged into an open space, a small square flanked by hotels, restaurants, and shops.

"Here I am, baby. Signed, sealed, delivered! I'm yours!" Gambit shouted to the sky, extending his arms.

"Gambit, be on guard," Betsy warned. She held her weapons, slowly turning to surveille the area.

They were in a small park, fenced on all sides by wrought iron posts. As they passed a fountain, there came a soft creak, which then became a much louder squeal of rending metal.

"Guess he got de message," Gambit said, then let out a shout of surprise as it seemed metalwork was emerging from the ground around him.

Betsy swung her sword, and it connected with the metal bars with a sharp ringing sound. Her sword rebounded as the metal bars formed a sort of cage around Gambit. His expression, as she saw him though the ironwork, showed panic.

You're in charge here, Gambit! she told him. She spun then, throwing up a defensive shield against the telepathic assault Sinister threw at her.

He was on the opposite side of the park, looking much as he did when Betsy had first encountered him. She parried his attack with one of her own. He tossed it aside with a flick of his wrist, began to move towards her. Betsy ran to meet him, psychic blades raised in either fist. She leapt only to hit a barrier of Sinister's own making. She arced over his head, sliding off his shield, and landed on her feet in a crouch behind him. Now Sinister was between herself and Gambit.

You're a thief locked in a cage! Let yourself out! she shouted.

There's no lock! he responded.

Make one!

Gambit looked down at his palm. Betsy was unable to see if his focal point would work as she swung first one, then the second sword, in Sinister's direction. He seemed not to rely on weaponry, simply stood, slid to the side, avoided her attacks while lashing out in silence, expression vacant. Sinister was increasing Betsy's distance from his captive. He raised a fist skyward and she found herself falling backwards as the ground erupted beneath her feet. She flipped, nearly missing being impaled on sharpened fence points. Now on her feet on the opposite side of the low fence, she saw with some satisfaction that Gambit had freed himself. He was nowhere to be seen, however.

Sinister was casting about, searching for him as well. He was irritated now. Sinister strode towards the empty cage, suddenly finding his foot sinking into marshy turf. He staggered, pulled his foot free. Betsy was over the fence and flying towards Sinister. Her foot connected with his lower back and he arched backwards. She swung her sword to his skull. His hand snapped around her wrist, too quickly to track by sight. He tossed her into the now-empty cage where she landed upside down with a clang. She fell to the marshy turf. Sinister moved forward but again was brought up short as both legs now sunk into swampy grass.

The cage tilted forwards towards Sinister. Betsy ducked and slunk backwards as the cage tipped. She was now free, backing hastily away as the swamp began to spread. From the street behind her came a low growling sound. Something was struggling through the grate from the stormwater runoff drain. At first Betsy thought it to be another dragon, but it was in fact, an alligator. It moved with surprising speed towards the swamp, mouth open and hissing.

Betsy grinned. She didn't see Gambit, but he was fighting back at last. She heard a sharp whistle and turned. Gambit was gesturing from an alleyway. She intended to ignore him and instead attack Sinister again. Sinister was beset by a trio of alligators now, one of them had claimed his leg and was trying to drag him into the ever increasing swamp, twisting its powerful body in a barrel roll that would have torn a normal person limb from limb. When Sinister disappeared beneath the swamp water, she huffed in frustration. She turned and ran towards Gambit.

"I might have had him," she scowled.

"I kinda wanted to beat up on him a bit more," Gambit grinned. "Payback time, enh, chère?"

Betsy allowed herself to smile in response. "He's going to get it."

"Follow me, dis is gonna be a riot," Gambit said and dashed up the alley. They emerged into the chaos of Bourbon Street, now fully occupied with tourists. Betsy noticed the scent had returned, more powerful than before. There was a cacophony of sound, some of which might've been described as music.

Sinister appeared at the far end of the street. He moved through the crowd which mindlessly parted before him.

"Gambit?" Betsy prompted.

"Wait, he's nearly there," Gambit said, watching eagerly.

Sinister passed before the open door to a busy bar. A dozen underdressed women came stumbling out from the bar and onto the street, all holding oversized glasses of a reddish-orange beverage. One of them howled and the others answered like a group of drunken wolves. The first howler was wearing an approximation of a bridal veil which had several plastic penises attached to it. A hen party, Betsy guessed. Sinister found himself embroiled in their midst, looking for a moment as if he might be ill. A woman sloshed her drink down his front. Sinister found himself struck multiple times by a large inflated phallus.

Gambit was laughing quite hard at this, folded over in his mirth.

"Gambit!" Betsy said. "Focus!"

"Okay...okay," he said, trying to catch his breath, wiping tears from his eyes with the palm of his hand. "C'mon up here!"

Gambit leapt up a wall, parkouring himself up the facades of a pair of buildings to an upper landing. Betsy followed, perched on a balcony rail beside Gambit. Sinister had emerged from the bachelorette party, his eyes searching the crowd for Gambit and Betsy. He moved to appear before them on the street in an eyeblink. Gambit was prepared. He tossed handfuls of green, gold and purple beads into the air. The crowd below responded with great enthusiasm. Sinister disappeared beneath the mass of flailing limbs.

"Dis is de most fun I've ever had on dis street!" Gambit said. He called to the crowd: "Whoo! Hey, ladies! Show me your-!"

Betsy smacked another handful of beads from Gambit's hands. "Don't be disgusting."

"Aw!" Gambit said with disappointment. "Chère, it's tradition!" He leapt up and onto the roof of the building. They were running along the rooftops now above the teeming crowds. He led the way to a quieter part of town, where silent residences slept, their eyes sealed with tall black shutters. The sky had been shining brightly, but now grew strangely dim. A mist swirled up from below. Gambit hopped down from a roof onto another balcony. Betsy joined him. The pair waited in silence. Betsy was quite excited, not knowing what Gambit would think of next.

Sinister emerged though the mist below, looking like a vampire in the gloom. Betsy could see his psyche was much battered, diminished. Perhaps it was the first time he'd ever experienced humiliation. She readied her blade, turning it downward in her grip. She intended to drive it through the top of Sinister's head as he passed.

"LeBeau," Sinister said in a hiss. "I will torment you no longer. Come out. I will make your death mercifully quick. I will spare your lover's life. She is not worth my time. Nor is your pitiable family."

Gambit rose slightly. Betsy put a hand to his wrist, thinking to stop him. His eyes slid to hers and he winked.

Regarde, petite, he said silently.

Sinister was now nearly below them. At the street corner, a gas street lamp flickered to life. The only illumination now, the rest of the scene in silver and blue darkness. Below the lamp, a lithe and sensual figure leaned casually; long hair, long coat, a glimmer of light on a bright white smile. Sinister turned toward the figure.

"A wise choice," Sinister said and moved toward the man silhouetted in the lamp light.

"'I am an unwilling devil. I cry like some vagrant child. I want...to go home,'" the figure said in a French-accented voice.

Sinister shook his head slightly. "You continue to speak nonsense," he said. "I will relieve you of the pain of your insanity."

"'If I was a damned thing, then let the son of a bitch come for me! Let him tell me why I was meant to suffer. I would truly like to know. As for oblivion, well, we can wait a little while for that,'" the figure countered and Betsy saw his hair curled soft and blond above his shoulders. His face caught the light and was inhumanly pale, as were his bright gray eyes. The length of his sharpened incisor fell upon his full lower lip.

Sinister seemed to realize the strange, handsome creature before him was not Gambit at all, but so near was he to reach the man, the realization came too late.

"'I am the vampire Lestat again. Back in action. New Orleans is once again my hunting ground,'" Lestat whispered and fell upon Sinister.

"Should we let him have his snack, chère, or did you have somethin' else in mind?" Gambit asked Betsy, gesturing to the grisly scene below.

Betsy was disappointed to admit that perhaps Gambit would finish her job for her.


Next time: It's like a cross between the movie Enchanted and the Slaughter Race song and dance number in Wreck It Ralph 2. It might be a fanfic first.

Neighborhood of Make-Believe - Mr. Rogers

Ankh-Morpork - the city in Terry Pratchett's Discworld

What is your major malfunction? - Full Metal Jacket

Signed, sealed, delivered - Stevie Wonder

The Vampire Lestat - Anne Rice