"Remy?"

Through the hazy pain of darkness, Gambit could hear his name being softly called. With a groan that sounded like the dead awakening, he slowly opened his eyes, at first seeing only a blur of brown mixed with white and what looked like a human face. Blinking hard, he finally squinted enough to see the concerned face of Rogue peering down at him.

"You've been out for a while sugah. Thought mebbe you didn't wan' a wake up."

Remy flashed a devilish smile. "When it's yo' face I be lookin' at chere, you know I always be wakin' up."

Rogue smiled at his comment. He reached up to brush a piece of hair out of her face, Rogue at first backing her head away, then remembering she was with out powers, allowed him to touch her. She shivered slightly at his warm hand caressing her cheek, then settled into his touch. A sudden cough from Gambit broke the connection.

Hacking, and holding his stomach, Remy fought the pain that threatened to overcome him. Rogue held his head up, while tears stung his eyes. Finally relaxing, he glanced at his hand that covered his mouth. There was blood on it. Furrowing his brows, he looked up at Rogue, who was obviously worried.

"Ah wish ol' Hank were here."

"Don' worry chere. I be alright."

Rogue just stared at him, then shifted her weight so that Remy's head was cradled in her lap. Content, Gambit felt his eyelids growing heavy, and finally let go into a peaceful sleep. Silently, Rogue prayed that it wasn't his last.

Inside her cell that she shared with Beast, the lovely Jean Summers paced furiously back and forth, like a trapped lioness, ready to pounce at her aggressors. Absentmindedly chewing on a fingernail, a habit most unusual for her, she went through every possible scenario that her husband might be going through.

"He is alive Jean. Don't ever doubt that."

Jean spun around, staring hard into the black orbs of Hank McCoy.

"You don't understand, Hank. We have a connection." She pointed to her temple. "Here. And when we lose that connection, I feel like… like…"

"Like you've lost him?" Hank finished.

Sadly, Jean nodded. "I don't know what I'd do without him." She grasped the bars of her cell tightly; a grim look set deep on her face. A thought seemed to strike her, and concentrating deeply on it, she turned to eye Hank sharply. "What if it doesn't work?" She asked, so hushed it was almost a whisper.

The Beast stared at the floor. "It will."

Jean crouched in front of him, clutching his chin in her hand, forcing him to look into her eyes. "But what if it doesn't?"

His silence was enough.

Scott struggled in his restraints, vainly trying to free himself somehow. His entire arm ached from the untreated burn, but he suppressed the pain with his ever-growing panic. Scott rarely panicked, except when Sinister was looming not so far away, with an evil grin on his face, and an even grimmer looking instrument in his hand.

"Well, well, Mr. Summers. Quite a predicament you're in, wouldn't you say?" Sinister gloated.

Scott stopped struggling long enough to glare at him. "Kiss my ass."

Sinister stood back laughing. "My, such strong words for a fearless leader. Tell me something old friend, do you suppose Jean would like you with or without your lungs?"

Scott's head shot up in horror. His struggles became frantic, as Sinister closed in on him, holding a large syringe, white teeth and eyes gleaming with obvious humor. The needle slid deep in his upper arm, prompting a surprised cry from Cyclops. Scott could feel the hot liquid sliding its way through his veins, propelled by the frantic beating of his heart. Gritting his teeth and attempting to focus his vision on one spot, the room took a violent sway. He closed his eyes against the wave of nausea that overtook him, forcing himself to take deep breaths before he would lose his cookies.

Sinister looked thoughtfully at the empty syringe. "Hmm. Works pretty fast I'd say."

With determination, Scott looked at Sinister, but found nothing more than a blurred face that kept swaying back and forth. Finally, in one fluid motion, the breakfast that he'd been trying so hard to keep down, found its way back up.

Staring at the vomit on the floor with disgust, Sinister motioned for his assistant. "See that Mr. Summers is cleaned up. And no food for that one."

"That's a one way ticket for Brazil Mr.?"

Logan looked up into the superficial smiling face of the young brunette on the other side of the desk. "Logan." He growled.

"Of course Mr. Logan. That will be eight hundred and fifty dollars please."

Logan nearly choked on the toothpick he was chewing on. Growling under his breath, he flipped through his wallet, searching for the right plastic.

"Logan."

Wolverine spun around at the mention of his name being called behind him. Professor Charles Xavier's calm façade evoked anger in Logan. "You look pretty relaxed for someone who may have lost his entire team, bub."

"I think that you may want to listen to me before you make any rash decisions Logan."

Wolverine bared his teeth at the Professor's suggestion. "Why, so you can just waste more time while the X-Men are out there dying?"

"Because Logan, it's not the X-Men who will be dying."

Wolverine's bushy eyebrows furrowed in obvious confusion. "What are you saying?"

Xavier motioned for Logan to follow him. "Let's talk."

Bishop sat up suddenly on the gurney. He looked about him, heart racing, preparing for another possible fight. But there was no one there besides him. He realized then, that he was in one of Sinister's labs, and that he'd probably been under for quite some time. Curiously, he reached down to grasp the thin white blanket that covered his legs over top of his uniform. He peeked underneath, and with one hand, gingerly touched his injured leg. Nothing, no pain. He wiggled his toes inside his boot. No pain either. For the ultimate test, he bent his knee, brought it up to his chest, and relaxed it again. Bishop's head cocked to the side. It was odd. Even if there had been surgery done on his leg, there was no way that he should be able to move it this well, without any pain. An obvious idea sparked inside of his head. If he felt no pain, and he had full movement, then there was no reason why he couldn't get out of bed and walk away.

Just as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, a low swishing sound behind him caught his attention. Bishop sighed in defeat.

"Ah, Bishop. Good to see you're feeling up to the weather. How's the leg doing?"

Bishop glared at his captor. "Like it's ready to kick your ass."

Sinister flashed his fangs in a smile. "That's the spirit I wanted to hear. But it won't be my ass you'll be kicking."

Bishop's eyebrow went up in question. "Well you see Bishop, my men, -I think you know them well- they have been cooped up in this dreadful jungle for months. They need some entertainment, some fun, some…action. And I feel it is in my best interest to give my hard working soldiers whatever they require. And what they really want, is to fight an X-Man. Unfortunately, during the first confrontation, they weren't able to get a good match out of you, so I'm willing to give them a second chance with the Mutant from the Future."

Bishop growled under his breath. "So I really hope your leg is feeling better. Your match is at six o'clock."

"And if I don't fight?"

Sinister shrugged nonchalantly. "Then one of your teammates dies. You know Scott Summers is looking a little under the weather these days."

Bishop's hands clenched into fists.

"I knew you'd come to your senses."

"Remy!" Rogue frantically shook Gambit, trying to wake him up. His entire body shook with coughs, and with every cough came more blood.

Remy opened his eyes, then squinted them, clutching his stomach as he choked on the blood caught in the back of his throat. Rogue had her hands on his shoulders, trying to steady him. He groaned as more pain ripped through his abdomen.

"Rogue," he wheezed. "Rogue, I'm dying."

Terror filled her emerald eyes. "No, no you're not shugah. You jus' hang in there."

She ran to the cell bars, peering through them. "Hey! HEEEYYY! I need help in here! Somebody!"

She heard movement at the end of the hall, someone with large boots, maybe a couple of pairs. "Down here! Please!"

"Well, well. I never thought I would hear the day when Rogue begged me to come closer."

"Sinister." Rogue hissed.

"None other." He peered into the cell, seeing a crumpled Gambit, in obvious distress. "What seems to be the problem?" He smirked.

Rogue wanted to knock his block off. "You know what. Sinister you have ta help him. He's dying."

"Oh I can see that. But tell me, why should I?"

Rogue's face turned a cherry shade of red, as she desperately sought to control her anger. "Sinister, ah'm warnin' you…"

Sinister laughed. "Oh hush. You're hardly in a position to be warning me, young lady." He snapped his fingers at the two guards who flanked him. "But I wouldn't want to lose my greatest achievement, now would I?"

The two guards grabbed Remy, roughly hoisting him to his feet, partially dragging him out of the cell. Sinister gave a small laugh at Rogue's shocked face as he turned and walked out of the cell.

Rogue turned her attention to the remnants of Remy's blood splattered on the floor. "Oh gawd, what did he mean?"

The janitor mopped up the remaining vomit on the floor, feeling no signs of disgust. After working for ten years as an elementary school janitor, he was quite used to vomit although he wasn't quite used to it coming from the mouth of a known X-Man. He had to admit, this job was ten times more interesting than his old one. Except for the fact that he was still a janitor.

Just as he was about to replace his bucket for some clean water, a shiny object grabbed his attention. It was small, no larger than a quarter, but it looked like some sort of a cylinder. Curious, he picked it up, studying it. There seemed to be a tiny amount of blue liquid in it. Confused, he glanced up at the X-Man on the bed. To his reassurance, the mutant was out cold. The janitor quickly stuffed the capsule in his pocket and rushed out of the room.

One of Scott's eyes opened.

"It won't work." Logan's blunt comment set the tone for the meeting in the war room.

Professor Xavier smiled gently in reassurance at Wolverine. "Oh but it will."

Logan looked up at Charles, brown eyes burning like hot coals. "Why didn't you tell us? You put half the team at risk because of this little experiment of yours."

"Logan, we had to keep complete confidentiality about this. Any one else who knew could compromise the mission if interrogated." Ororo said. Her pale eyes silently begged his understanding.

Logan shot her a look of disbelief instead. "Jeez Ororo, this ain't Mission Impossible. You're startin' to sound like some damned secret agent. This ain't the way the X-Men are supposed to work."

"Sometimes Wolverine, in the midst of a war, you have to use the enemy's tactics against themselves." Charles reasoned.

"This ain't a war, bub!"

Xavier nodded. "But if we don't stop it now, it will be."

Bishop walked on his own, feeling no pain in his leg as he did so. Two guards flanked him, guns ready if he decided to make a run for it. But he wouldn't. Bishop knew his teammates lives were at stake if he didn't fight. No matter, he knew he was strong, especially adept at hand to hand combat. These people were used to an era were fighting wasn't necessary to get through the day, but he was. If a fight was what they wanted, then that's exactly what they would get. He knew the fire of hatred that pulsed in their veins was meant for a mutie's death, but hatred makes one clumsy. He on the other hand was much more focused.

He was led into a theatre of sorts, almost resembling a small coliseum. Oh great, he thought, they want to see "Gladiator". Sure enough, sitting atop a throne, was the guest of honor, Sinister, fangs gleaming at the thought of blood.

On one side of the arena was a soldier, young enough to still be in college, but who had bulked up since he was young. He eyed Bishop with obvious hatred, not even a trace of fear at Bishop's massive frame. He hopped from foot to foot, warming up as a boxer might. Bishop merely flexed his muscles.

Sinister stood up, raising his hands for silence. "To the death."

A resounding cheer filled the arena, but Bishop was not one of them.

Sinister dropped his hands, a signal for the match to begin. The young soldier charged Bishop, who calmly side stepped him and brought his knee up into the soldier's abdomen. The kid fell the ground with a grunt. Point one to Bishop.

Jean glanced worriedly about her. "Beast, what time is it?"

Hank peered across the cell bars to the clock on the stark white wall. "Just about seven."

She wrapped her arms around her body as though she were cold. "God I hope this works."

Gambit's eyes fluttered open. He squinted against the bright light above him, taking a few moments to adjust to the light. He was on a gurney, oxygen mask covering his face. He was stripped of his uniform, wearing only a pair of white hospital pants. There was a thin blanket covering him, and a large bandage across his abdomen. There were no restraints on his wrists.

"Dis is too easy." He thought. He lifted the oxygen mask off his face and rubbed his eyes. Trying to lift himself up into a sitting position, he found the pain to be overwhelming, and instead opted to roll himself off the bed. A wave of nausea crept over him. Fighting to keep himself conscious, he balanced himself with one hand on the walls, the other on his stomach.

"Let's get dis over wit'." He groaned.

The match had gone well over half an hour, leaving both men bloodied, bruised, and noticeably exhausted. As hard as Bishop hit the kid, he refused to stay down. The young soldier's nose was broken, blood covering the lower half of his face. His ribs were broken in two different places, making his walk a more staggered effort. Bishop had a deep tear on his right knuckles, which made every punch an agonizing procedure. His left eye was swelling up, and he was starting to walk with a limp. Still, he relatively felt fine.

Sinister took in the entire proceedings with a gleeful delight. It wasn't very often that he was able to truly study his specimens in a fighting situation. And Bishop was certainly a specimen to behold. Sinister had very few records on the mutant, but now he was getting spectacular results up close. The man could hold himself in a cyborg like manner, calm yet ruthless, more than likely the result of an extremely harsh childhood. What this mutant could do for Sinister's cause. He was just about to explore the possibilities in his mind, when a tap on his shoulder disrupted him.

He turned to face whoever it was, with more than a little annoyance. It was the janitor, of all people.

"Yes," he leaned in to look closer at the man's nametag. "Herman."

Herman straightened himself to look taller in Sinister's presence. "I found this on the floor, beside the mutie's bed." He opened his hand to reveal the capsule.

Sinister squinted to get a better look. Taking it between his thumb and forefinger, he held it up to the light, not that it was any help. Curiosity spurred within him.

A loud roar from the crowd made him jump suddenly, and the capsule seemed to burst between his fingers. A tiny amount of blue liquid seeped out into his hand. Sinister turned his attention to the arena below him. The soldier was face down on the ground, unconscious. Bishop stood towering above him, victorious. Sinister nodded to Captain Sensa, who handed Bishop a knife.

"Finish him." Sensa growled to Bishop.

Defiant, Bishop threw the knife to the ground. Sensa backhanded him. A small smile crept across Bishop's face, as he stroked his jaw where Sensa had made his mark. Sensa looked up to Sinister for a command.

Sinister stared at the liquid in question. Absently, he waved his hand to Sensa, not even bothering to watch the approaching finale. He rose from his throne, still staring at his hand, and left the arena.

Sensa picked up the knife, and to Bishop's horror, slit the throat of the young soldier.

Scott ran from room to room, peering in each one for a few seconds, hiding whenever he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He ducked behind a corridor as he heard some now. But these weren't boots that he heard; it was more the slapping of bare feet. He peeked around the corner to see Gambit, half-naked trying to jog. Scott ran up to the injured thief.

"Are you okay?"

Gambit seemed to be out of breath, but he nodded. "Can't find Rogue."

Scott looked about them. "I haven't had much luck finding anyone either. We have to hurry." Scott offered a hand to Gambit, who reluctantly took it. Throwing one of Gambit's arms around his shoulders, Cyclops led them down a hallway.

Gambit pointed to an open door. "I tink I 'member dat one."

The two entered the bright white room, and saw a cell at one end. They rushed towards it, seeing the familiar white-gloved hands of Rogue clutching the bars.

"Remy!" She exclaimed. "Are y'all alright?"

"We're okay." Scott answered for both of them. He opened the cage door, where an exuberant Rogue embraced Remy.

"Easy chere." Gambit pointed to his stomach.

Slightly embarrassed, Rogue cut her hug short, muttering an apology. "Ah forgot."

"Come on guys." Scott motioned for the door. "We don't have much time."

Rogue eyed him carefully. "What's goin' on Scott?"

"Nothing. But while we're standing around here chatting, who knows what's happening to our teammates."

Rogue and Remy nodded simultaneously, as Rogue took over Scott's duties, slinging Gambit's arm over her shoulder.

The roar of engines coming to life slightly shook the grounds of Xavier's humble mansion. Storm, Wolverine, Bobby, Warren, and the Professor piled into the small reserve jet.

"Ow, get off my hand Warren!"

"Shove over whiner!"

Logan turned around violently and roared. "Both of you shut the hell up!"

Charles kept his eyes on the controls. "You certainly have a way with people Logan."

"I learned from the best." He growled.

"This wasn't part of the original plans." Storm commented.

"Yeah well, look how good that plan worked. We're gonna do things my way for a bit."

Ororo studied her feral friend. She had always known of Wolverine's die hard loyalty to those he cared for, but rarely did he have this kind of passion. She was honored to be at his side.

"Keep your knickers on people, only a couple of hours till we're there."

Bobby exhaled deeply. They were headed for the killing fields.

TO BE CONTINUED….