GOD I'M STUPID!!!! I CAN'T BELIEVE I SKIPPED THIS CHAPTER WHEN I UPLOADED!!!!
That's what I get for writing so far ahead of what I post. Sorry. This one's nice and long, and should be rather enlightening to all you poor people that I thoroughly confused with my mistake. (Thanks for the questions! I might never have known, otherwise!) Apologies to everyone! I feel so bad!
PLEASE REVIEW! MY SELF-ESTEEM IS CENTERED IN MY BIG TOE IN LIGHT OF THIS GARMANTUOUS MISTAKE!
Disclaimer: They's not mine. They's Marvel's. And the movie industry's, now. But they're not doing a good enough job, so, here we are. Sue away. I might just give you my gas money. Oh wait.
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The first energy blast hit the hovering helicopter's tail. It dropped three feet back onto the roof, smoking. Gambit looked up in time to see a man in black leather and a visor jump down from the sleek black plane onto the rocks and strike a hero stance. Then another energy blast, from the man's visor, took the rocks out from under Gambit's feet.
Could dis get any richer? He thought sardonically as his feet flirted with the sliding rocks; catching the momentum of the shock wave, he used his natural agility and instincts to flip to solid ground. Gambit didn't like heroes. He liked heroes with energy blast capabilities even less. He ducked into a narrow but deep crack and activated his hologram. It was programmed to chameleon his surroundings: maybe he could wait out this hero brawl, or at least see what it was about.
Safely hidden, he observed the surreal scene of chaos; it was like peeking into someone else's dream. Screams, orders, and roars rang out in the darkness. A strikingly exotic black woman with white hair was sending gales of wind and rain at Magneto's group, and occasional lightning flashes lit other random scenes (which also served to effectively screw up Gambit's night vision). He blinked wildly as the toad man scurried up a wall and hooked his prehensile tongue around Mr. Hero's foot. FLASH. Mystique was defending Magneto by the helicopter. FLASH. And finally, a dark, animalistic shape was edging toward his hiding place, sniffing the air.
Not dis time, 'Tooth. Gripping his bo staff, he waited until the shape came closer, and—
Remy gathered a scant handful of rock dust. A nanosecond's charging served its purpose; the dust particles exploded with tiny pops! on contact with the hunter's face, just as the bo connected with his solar plexus, doubling him over. Another quick swipe and he was on his back, legs knocked out from under him. A low growl emanated from the dark heap on the ground, and the lightning bolt illuminated a rather short, very angry, dark-haired man with—SNIKT!—two sets of foot-long metal claws. Not quite who Remy expected . . .
Merde—if I hurt him, dey ain't never gonna believe I'm not wit' Magneto's gang—he vaulted over the man and ran lightly over the debris, the mists from the summoned rainstorm slicking his face and hair and making his coat heavy.
FLASH. Lightning hit the ground near Gambit, searing his vision painfully, but he did glimpse Sabretooth sneaking up behind the African woman.
FLASH. She staggered, holding her side. The thick, heavy darkness pushed in once more though the clouds still roiled with unspent energy. With a running calculation, Gambit grabbed a fist-sized rock from the ground, charged it, and lobbed it, with a glowing arc of energy residue, at Sabretooth's head. Maybe, just maybe, if he saved her, they'd believe he wasn't against them (and leave him alone, of course). And it didn't feel too bad to get back at Sabretooth, either. "Don' you know it ain't polite to attack from behind, 'Tooth?" he taunted. "'Specially a pretty lady like dis one . . ." For good measure, he dropped and swept his leg under a growling 'Toothy, who fell like a ton of bricks. Remy leapt nimbly back to his feet, scooped up the nearly unconscious woman (after all, Sabretooth wasn't dead, just incapacitated) and bolted for the roof.
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Jean was waiting impatiently in the blackbird; she was ready to be of assistance but knew her power didn't really come in handy in a fight like this. She could feel the psychic imprints of people moving around below her and all around, but she couldn't see much of anything in the limited range of vision the windshield allowed. Cyclops—Scott—had told her to stay with the blackbird, guard it, but surely there was something she could do . . . she felt Storm come quickly closer, radiating distress and pain. Finally. Something to do. She lowered the stairs and hopped out, scanning for any danger, when suddenly, a shower of electrical sparks cascaded over her. Looking up, she saw a twisted beam from the prison ceiling thrust clean through the blackbird's cockpit. If she'd stayed inside, she'd be dead. "Thank you, Storm . . ." she muttered to herself. ~ The Blackbird's down. No telling how long it'll take to fix. Over, ~ she informed Scott telepathically. A blue flash of light caught her eye . . .
Gambit ran hard up the incline of loose rocks (not an easy job with a person slung across his shoulder), the rock chips scattering under his boots and plinking down the sharp incline. But just as he reached the top, he heard something behind him. He whirled just in time to see an indecisive Sabretooth turn from a would-be attack and lumber toward the damaged chopper, which was just taking off. Except—the blades weren't spinning . . .
Gambit could only stare. A sphere of crackling bluish energy surrounded the helicopter, glinting in the darkness like the moon off rippling water. It was a stunning display of the flexibility of Magneto's powers. Gambit watched, a little dumbstruck, as it flew peacefully, silently away toward the horizon. There went any plans of stowing away.
A shout brought Gambit back to the present. It came from Mr. Hero (sounding quite frustrated)—he obviously fancied himself the leader of this little band of do-gooders. Anyway all Gambit heard was "------verine! Forget Sabret---! GET HIM!" Gambit knew a warning when he halfway heard one. He swore and sprinted hard, trying not to jar the injured woman too much.
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Jean was frustrated. First Magneto escaped, now her power seemed to be malfunctioning. "—Storm?" she called into the darkness. She should be right on top of her . . . Quite suddenly she was face-to-face with a young, startlingly attractive man of about twenty, carrying Storm, wounded, in his arms. He wore a black jumpsuit and a trench coat, and his eyes were covered with sleek, reflective wraparound glasses despite the hour of night—but none of that was responsible for her surprise. She simply—didn't—sense him. If she concentrated very hard, she could feel something—well, someone, obviously—mingled closely with Storm's presence—but it was more like a shadow, a memory of a person than like the consciousness of a young man. Her mouth worked soundlessly with confusion and shock, but he didn't leave her any time to work in another emotion; instead, he gently laid down the woman, turned, and bolted toward the edge. "Wait!" she cried belatedly, but then duty took over and she fell to caring for her fallen teammate, who had a nasty set of deep claw marks across her back.
It was always a possibility, to have a heist spoiled as badly as this one, but Gambit had never believed it. He did remember the rule though—as if it was hard to remember. Get out. Whatever you have to do, get out. So he sprinted as quickly as his long legs could carry him, silently striding across the wide, flat roof of the prison; the air was heavy with ozone from the lightning strikes, and it made his lungs feel strangely clean as he breathed deeply, preparing to jump . . .
He really hadn't counted on the short man with claws making it up to the roof so quickly. Gambit's quick reflexes threw him to the side, and kept the claws' swipe from going clean through his stomach, but as it was he received a burning slash about the length of his hand across the side of his ribcage. It hurt like hell. Maybe that was why he didn't see the edge of the building coming up so quickly, why he couldn't compensate fast enough. Whatever it was, he fell. Only long hours of training kept him from panicking—he righted himself with a twisting flip and landed lightly on his feet (sort of). He didn't take more than four or five somewhat unsteady steps, however, before all his efforts became useless. An energy beam caught him in the lower back, throwing him heavily forward onto the dry, dusty grass. Mr. Hero had made the climb up to the roof and decided to immobilize the only link to this mystery he could still see.
Damn heroes.