September, 1997
Remy found himself cold and wet in Seattle, Washington. He was spending a good portion of his time alone, in an abandoned theater in a neglected district. He'd had to chase off a few members of the homeless population, not because he begrudged them a roof over their heads, but that he couldn't risk accidentally blowing them to Kingdom Come. The city had a serious housing crisis on its hands that only grew as the West Coast boom continued to explode. Combined with a lack of mental care and drug addiction facilities, the city was filled with abandoned and neglected humans that caused complaints from the people who had to step over them to get to work at Microsoft. Remy found the situation maddening, which was not helpful to his current troubles.
Annoyingly enough, Seattle had somehow become the scene in recent years. Remy had no use for the disaffected apathy pandered by the grunge trend. It was ingested by bored, unimpressed kids who had the good fortune to be born in a situation where they could afford to ignore the world around them. Remy'd experienced enough of that attitude in the last three years to last himself a lifetime. And unfortunately for him, though he'd hardened his heart and had emotions beaten out of him, and was given every opportunity to see evidence to the contrary, Remy still held hope in people. Faith that people would do the right thing if given half a chance. He had to believe that, otherwise there was little chance for himself indeed.
He made no secret of asking after this Essex person in every side alley meeting place, every dark corner of the city. Eventually, this doctor would reveal himself, and Remy could get the measure of the man. He really didn't like going into this situation blind.
He was contemplating whether or not he should hit up the local Hellfire Club branch, which he was loath to do as the odds of him encountering someone he knew there increased exponentially. They were exactly the kind of people he needed to avoid, lest he work himself into a lather that started with him ranting about corporate greed and ended with him blowing up The New York Stock Exchange. After the closing bell, of course. He didn't actually want to kill anyone, just destroy the institution. Which, if it came to that and this whole thing with Essex didn't pan out, seemed like a pretty good use for his uncontrollable bursts of explosive kinetic energy that seemed to be bordering the edge of atomic bomb territory. Remy suspected he might be becoming an anarchist. Really, he was an egalitarian, and considered thieving and wealth redistribution his contribution to evening out the overwhelming unfairness he'd witnessed.
He was sitting, smoking, burrowed into his jacket, staring at the crumbling walls of the theater, on which once hung a variety of silver stars. They were tarnished now, as the moisture from outside seeped into the wood, the upholstery, and curtains left behind to rot. He felt a slight change in the cold, humid atmosphere and wondered if one of the housing challenged locals had snuck in through the side door. When he turned his head, it was to see a man standing backstage, neatly dressed in all black so that he seemed to melt into the shadows. The man's long narrow face, pale skin, and expressionless features put Remy in mind of a certain television show.
You rang...?
Stop that now, Remy scolded himself.
They're creepy and they're kooky…mysterious and -
No jokes, this is for serious.
"I was made to understand that you are looking for me, young man," the dark man intoned.
"Essex?" Remy asked. Lurch? his brain said.
Remy felt a sensation that might have been a brush of telepathy or the subtle touch of telekinesis. That ratcheted his anxiety up to an eleven. He had to maintain composure, to not get so nervous that he set himself off. He already felt that glowing feeling in his gut. The man canted his head slightly, looking askance at Remy. His dark eyes narrowed slightly.
"Yes," he finally replied. "May I ask the nature of your inquiry?"
Remy shifted from where he'd been perched on the edge of the stage, placed one foot on the stage and stood precariously on the ledge. One foot on, one foot off. Took a last drag off his cigarette, and flicked it away where it dissolved into sparks. "I heard you were some kind of doctor. A geneticist, yeah?" He took a few tentative steps along the edge of the stage, moving himself slightly nearer to Essex. But not too close.
The man nodded slightly. "And what need does a thief have for a geneticist?" the man asked.
Okay, so he has some idea who I am, Remy thought. "Am I wrong in assuming you might be a geneticist that specializes in mutants?"
"You are not wrong," the man replied. "And may I surmise you are pursuing my services in order to either remove, suppress, or control your mutant abilities?"
"Remove, certainement pas. But I might be experiencing periods of loss of control," Remy said. "Symptoms include dizziness, hot flashes, intangibility, and spontaneous combustion. I was directed to consult a physician."
There was that look again, the barely there flash of either confusion or irritation.
"Do you have any speculations as to why you are unable to control your abilities?" Essex said, a tinge of disdain in his voice.
"I suspect I was dropped on my head as a child," Remy replied.
Remy got the impression that this Essex person was not enjoying their exchange in the least. Remy suspected that the man was probably used to incurring some kind of fear or awe in people. Not that Remy wasn't fearful, he was in fact, quite terrified. But Remy had a habit, that when offered a stick and presented with a bear, he would inevitably conduct a great deal of poking. And when he became increasingly frightened, words tended to come flying out of his mouth at an alarming rate. All of them being inappropriate to the situation.
"What would you propose to offer in exchange for the ability to control your powers?" Essex asked.
"I can offer my very particular skills in thievery and general trouble-making," Remy told him. "Also, I make a killer roux. I could make you up a pot of gumbo."
Essex chose to ignore the latter statement. "I am not interested in procuring jewelry, or artwork, or mystical artifacts, or tomes of the occult."
"I see my reputation precedes me," Remy said. "If we're negotiating terms then, does this mean you can actually...fix my problem?"
"I am more than capable," the man replied. "It would not take more than an hour, to make the proper...adjustments."
Remy was not reassured by this profession of skill in the least. It made him even leerier. Anything that came easily was usually not worth having. "And what do you propose I do for you? For your help with my powers?"
"I would request the commitment of your services for no less than a year," the man said. "In enlisting the aid and directing various acquaintances of yours to conduct a mission. One involving the...removal of misplaced mutant research."
Remy could barely hear, for all the alarm bells sounding in his mind. Danger, Will Robinson! Danger! And after having been indentured in servitude for the last three years, he was not too keen on continuing that line of people management. "What acquaintances would those be? I mean, if you're interested, I happen to know a single lady into goth type-."
Essex cut a hand through the air, a sharp gesture demanding silence. Remy thought he might be getting under the man's pasty skin. "In order for me to continue my research into the great mutant experiment, I require the services of certain individuals able to operate in secrecy and expediency."
"Sneaky and speedy, got it."
"Individuals who do not balk at unpleasant and difficult tasks. Who ask few questions. Given your short yet storied career, I imagine you have made numerous connections."
Remy's right leg swung back and forth over the open space between the stage edge and the orchestra floor. "I've recently made adjustments to my career goals. And as it turns out, I seem to have misplaced my Rolodex."
"You do not understand the gravity of your situation, Remy LeBeau...or Gambit, as you have so named yourself," Essex said, and at this Remy was given pause. "Your powers will only increase in strength, and lack of control...in severity. Your inability to control even your thoughts from random and nonsensical diversions only worsen your situation. I ask you, what choice do you believe you have? At best, you have a chance at living a life spent entirely alone in constant terror. At worst, oblivion in the destruction you will no doubt cause...potentially to the entire planet."
That glowing sensation was increasing in his gut, spreading up to his diaphragm, pushing against his lungs. Remy drew a shaking breath. Essex smiled cruelly at him.
"Or, for your cooperation and coordination, I would provide you with a different life. One where you may rejoin the random and chaotic world in which you thrive. One where you rejoin, perhaps...your family?"
Okay, so Essex made him blink. Remy tried to swallow the sensation of energy pushing up against his throat. Remy had spent a few years on the streets as a child. He had a sense of which people to avoid, the ones that gave you that instinctual not-quite-right feeling in your gut. This man he looked at now was exactly the kind of person you ran from, screaming and windmilling your arms in terror. Remy's instincts were telling him this guy was Bad News, and that was a major understatement.
There had to be another choice.
"I'll think it over," Remy hedged. "You gave me somethin' to chew on."
"You will not be afforded the luxury of time," Essex told him. "You will choose now."
Remy had a brief flash of what his life might be like should he accept Essex's offer. A year didn't seem so long compared to the three he'd just endured. And what did Essex want? For him to destroy some documents, some lab somewhere? He could do that, no problem, and probably solo too. But he knew, if it was anything like the torment he'd recently escaped, he'd carry that time with him for the rest of his life. "I choose my freedom over service t'you," Remy told him. "I wish you bad luck on your great experiment. Hope you never make your love connections. And misfortune in your every endeavor." With a little flourish he added: "And so, I bid you adieu."
"You will come to regret your choice," Essex said. He was cold and expressionless, and all the more threatening than if he'd become enraged. "You will at least live long enough for that."
With this pronouncement made, Essex disappeared into the black gloom of the backstage shadows. Remy let out the breath he'd been holding and the glowing feeling subsided somewhat. Remy felt a chill, as if someone had stepped over his grave. He knew that if he'd chosen to leave with Essex, he would live to regret it. Now, he had to face something perhaps even more frightening: the unknown.
Next: Gambit does his homework.