In what was the mid afternoon for any normal person, the Thieves Guild training area, simply called the gym by all but the oldest and most traditional members, was at its busiest. Currently the feud between the Thieves and their rivals, the Assassins had been put on hold by a ceasefire that had come as a surprise to many. Some decided to take advantage of their rare free time to spend time in the city, but many saw it as the perfect moment to top up their fighting abilities. And all had decided that the perfect time to do so would be right after waking up, which was, because of their rather unconventional sleeping hours, around 4 PM. Many pairs were sparring on mats distributed across the large underground hall filled with the noise of people falling down, hitting each other and taunting yells. On the far left corner of the room two best friends were practicing their skills in hand to hand combat.

"Bang, yer dead!" Just like every time they sparred Emil lay on the ground in defeat and Remy stood above him, triumphant. The two sixteen year old cousins had been friends for the entire time they'd known each other, and always made sure to spar against each other. That way Emil's humiliation at his guaranteed defeat and the anti-mutant slurs thrown at Remy were both kept at a minimum.

Emil dropped his head back and panted heavily. The Guild gym was full to the brim with Thieves of all ages sparring or discussing fighting techniques and usually getting defeated as quickly and easily as Emil usually was would be embarrassing, but everybody was already so used to the way Emil and Remy's sparring sessions panned out that nobody, with the exception of some preteens who had only recently started visiting the sparring area regularly, even blinked at the mutant teen yelling out the little catchphrase that clearly indicated his victory.

"Ugh" Emil groaned "I just don't seem to be able to get better! And do you have to always throw me down that hard?!" Remy's grin faded slightly and Emil suspected the other had misunderstood the banter. Remy had the tendency to occasionally misinterpret jokes for criticism, or the other way around. He quickly quirked a pained grin at his opponent to reassure him that he wasn't actually mad at him.

The red eyed teen's smirk came back at full force and he offered his cousin a hand. Emil grabbed and pulled himself up. Sure, getting beat regularly was embarrassing, but he would never dream of sparring with somebody else. Any other opponent was likely to tell on him to one of the combat instructors, and that wouldn't end too well. They would surely complain about his lack of motivation and schedule him to do even more time in the gym than he already had to endure. Emil didn't really want to be in constant top physical shape like most of his fellow Guild members. He was sure that he could hold his own in a fight against an Assassin, at least for the few seconds that he would need to survive until someone else would jump to his rescue. The others needed to stay in shape to do steal, he was convinced he wouldn't need to. He dreamed of stealing through technology, not by climbing, sneaking or all the other stuff he was constantly told he was shitty at. He had explained himself to Remy many times until the other had finally understood, and he wasn't eager to repeat the tedious process.

Emil pat himself down, getting rid of mostly imaginary dirt, while Remy readjusted the knot he had put his hair in. A man walked up to the two. He had shoulder long dirt-blonde hair, unremarkable light brown eyes and wore casual clothes which wouldn't look too out of place on a college student. The man gestured Emil to leave, and said teen, eager for any excuse to get out of more training, took off happily.

"Bye, Rem! See ya later."

"Huh, what?"

The man tapped Remy's shoulder. The mutant spun around in momentary surprise, but smiled when he recognized the other. Armand Landry was one of the Guild members who had been rather mistrustful of the red-eyed youth when Jean-Luc had first brought him home, but the man had come around about two years ago, after having caught his darling daughter cleaning her room with nothing but her mind. He still wasn't exactly a friend of Remy's, but he was a friendly face. He also was a *somehow* mutant friendly voice on Jean-Luc LeBeau's Council.

"Hey, uhh, what is it?" People rarely walked up to chat to Remy for no reason.

"Remy, your father wants to tell you something. He's in his study." Armand grinned widely, and Remy didn't like that at all.

"You look like you know what this is about..."

"Of course I do."

"You're not gonna tell me, or are you?" If whatever news there was amused his father's council so much, it probably wasn't good news for Remy. Remy sighed and made his way to the changing room in which he had stored his casual clothes. It wouldn't be proper to appear in front of the Guildmaster in exercise wear, even if said Guildmaster was his father.

Twenty minutes later Remy LeBeau was walking down the hallway leading to his father's study. The hallway was dimly lit, the chandeliers only giving just enough light for a normal human to get around comfortably. The light was a lot brighter for the mutant, but didn't blind him or make him uncomfortable. He figured he should be grateful for the Thieves' love for shadows.

He had quickly thrown a nondescript hoodie and some torn jeans over the form-fitting gym clothes he had worn for sparring as to not waste too much time changing and hurried through the catacombs, towards the LeBeau home. Now that he was only a few meters away from his destination he slowed down and took a moment to admire the expensive paintings and flower vases around him. The message hadn't sounded too urgent. Furthermore, urgent messages were rarely, if ever, funny.

Suddenly Remy heard some noise from down the hallway. It sounded like a huff or a bump. Then came another noise, this time a quiet crash, and something resembling a growl. The teen froze for a split second before realizing that those sounds came from his father's study, and that they certainly weren't normal. He promptly sprinted towards the door. When he threw it open he only barely spotted a dark shadow slipping out a window, before his gaze fell upon the grizzly scene in the middle of the room.

On first glance one might believe Jean-Luc LeBeau had simply fallen asleep atop his paperwork. On second glance, it would be hard to miss the small pool of blood which had seeped onto the old mahogany desk. Years of training clicked in and Remy yelled the one word that guaranteed that every single thief in earshot would rush to the origin of the cry: "Assassins!"