TWO YEARS LATER:
A tall man, about thirty or so, opens the door. Noiselessly, he walks into the abandoned warehouse, his tan trench coat swinging behind him. He lifts up his sunglasses so he can see in the dark. Still, he can hardly make anything out in the poor light.
His staff rests easily in his hand, but it's ready for action. He has an uneasy feeling about this. After all, he wasn't even sure who it was that he was supposed to meet here. It could be a trap. He had recently stopped Venom from utterly destroying Spider-Man, and he knew Venom would not forget that. He could well have set this up as a trap, to seek revengeā¦
"Gambit?"
A soft voice, almost like a whisper. He recognized that voice, and that name, from somewhere, long ago, in his past. Still, almost reluctantly, he sprung into action. He jumped and performed a neat back-flip. Raising his staff, he brought it to both hands.
He pressed it to the person's throat, whoever it was. He was behind her, and his staff was choking her. Yes, just another few seconds, and she would be dead. Bloodlessly. He hated blood. It looked so unsightly, so amateur.
But this woman wasn't about to let herself get killed. She ducked under his staff and landed a solid kick to his chest. Falling backwards, he let her help him up. They stood, for several moments, hardly able to see each other, yet still they stared. Finally, she broke the silence.
"Gambit?"
He shuffled uncomfortably. That name was from his past. He was no longer who he used to be. "I was he."
"Was?"
He reached into his coat. She tensed, but relaxed when he pulled out a lighter and a cigarette. He lit the cigarette, and she could see this was not the man she once knew. His once-beautiful face had a jagged scar across it, and his eyes no longer held that defiant twinkle she had adored. He was a new man, most certainly, but still he had a ghost of his old self hiding within his eyes. But only a ghost.
"So, I see. Then who are you?"
"Renegade."
The chosen name did not surprise her, but she wasn't sure why. It didn't matter what he called himself. He was still the man she needed to see.
"Fine. Renegade. I'm still Jubilee."
The flickering light from Renegade's cigarette revealed that she was indeed. Same clothing styles, same accessories, just a slightly more mature body. And more experienced. Her eyes gave that away to easily, even in the little light provided.
"So why am I here?"
Jubilee considered him a good while before answering. "Because we need you."
"Two questions: Who's 'we,' and why?"
She smiled. "'We' is the New Lights. And why? Because we need a leader. If you're interested, of course."
"Why me?"
"Because no one else can. Wolverine's dead, Bishop went back to the future. We need someone rugged. The refinements of everyone else aren't working. Someone less refined. Someone more like you."
"Try the Punisher. Or Marrow. Or Thor. I'm no leader."
"Thor is dead, we can't find Punisher, and Marrow's with us already. She suggested you."
Renegade drew a long breath. He dropped his cigarette, smothered it under his boot. It became satisfactorily dark again. He considered.
"Fine. I'm available. Now what?"
A tall man, about thirty or so, opens the door. Noiselessly, he walks into the abandoned warehouse, his tan trench coat swinging behind him. He lifts up his sunglasses so he can see in the dark. Still, he can hardly make anything out in the poor light.
His staff rests easily in his hand, but it's ready for action. He has an uneasy feeling about this. After all, he wasn't even sure who it was that he was supposed to meet here. It could be a trap. He had recently stopped Venom from utterly destroying Spider-Man, and he knew Venom would not forget that. He could well have set this up as a trap, to seek revengeā¦
"Gambit?"
A soft voice, almost like a whisper. He recognized that voice, and that name, from somewhere, long ago, in his past. Still, almost reluctantly, he sprung into action. He jumped and performed a neat back-flip. Raising his staff, he brought it to both hands.
He pressed it to the person's throat, whoever it was. He was behind her, and his staff was choking her. Yes, just another few seconds, and she would be dead. Bloodlessly. He hated blood. It looked so unsightly, so amateur.
But this woman wasn't about to let herself get killed. She ducked under his staff and landed a solid kick to his chest. Falling backwards, he let her help him up. They stood, for several moments, hardly able to see each other, yet still they stared. Finally, she broke the silence.
"Gambit?"
He shuffled uncomfortably. That name was from his past. He was no longer who he used to be. "I was he."
"Was?"
He reached into his coat. She tensed, but relaxed when he pulled out a lighter and a cigarette. He lit the cigarette, and she could see this was not the man she once knew. His once-beautiful face had a jagged scar across it, and his eyes no longer held that defiant twinkle she had adored. He was a new man, most certainly, but still he had a ghost of his old self hiding within his eyes. But only a ghost.
"So, I see. Then who are you?"
"Renegade."
The chosen name did not surprise her, but she wasn't sure why. It didn't matter what he called himself. He was still the man she needed to see.
"Fine. Renegade. I'm still Jubilee."
The flickering light from Renegade's cigarette revealed that she was indeed. Same clothing styles, same accessories, just a slightly more mature body. And more experienced. Her eyes gave that away to easily, even in the little light provided.
"So why am I here?"
Jubilee considered him a good while before answering. "Because we need you."
"Two questions: Who's 'we,' and why?"
She smiled. "'We' is the New Lights. And why? Because we need a leader. If you're interested, of course."
"Why me?"
"Because no one else can. Wolverine's dead, Bishop went back to the future. We need someone rugged. The refinements of everyone else aren't working. Someone less refined. Someone more like you."
"Try the Punisher. Or Marrow. Or Thor. I'm no leader."
"Thor is dead, we can't find Punisher, and Marrow's with us already. She suggested you."
Renegade drew a long breath. He dropped his cigarette, smothered it under his boot. It became satisfactorily dark again. He considered.
"Fine. I'm available. Now what?"
