This tale was written by Kyle, a friend of mine who wanted to write in my setting. I have to include this because the parts he included in this story have lasting effects in the overall scheme. Enjoy!

Unusual Alliances

by Kyle

February 25, 2002

"How you like my tie, petite?" Remy tugged at the bow tie that felt like it was cutting off the blood flow to his head. He was not accustomed to the rigors of formal wear.

"It's fine, sugah." The tall woman at Remy's side smiled brilliantly. "You look great." She frowned for a moment. "But must you wear the sunglasses?"

Remy pushed the shades down his nose to reveal his red irises surrounded entirely by black. "But de sunglasses make de outfit, mademoiselle." He winked at her slowly before pushing his glasses back into place.

The lady rolled her eyes at him and shook her head. "Whatevah. Let's just get to the party, okay darlin?" Her smile was dazzling.

Remy returned her smile with a rakish grin. His eyes hungrily followed the curves of her body. She was tightly wrapped in a luxurious scarlet gown that swirled about her feet and buttoned close beneath her chin. Matching gloves extended up the length of her arms and meshed with the sleeves of her dress. Her dark hair spilled across her satin-sheathed shoulders, offset by the streak of brilliant white down the center.

"Shall we, ma chere?" Remy extended his arm with a flourish.

His lady placed her gloved hand on his extended arm. She allowed Remy to guide her up the steps to the grand archway and its glossy oaken doors. They paused at the entrance while Remy pulled a small envelope from his jacket pocket and presented it to the white clad doorman. The somber man examined the note closely before bowing slightly. "Welcome to the Hellfire Club, Mr. LeBeau. I hope you and your companion have a delightful evening."

"How on earth did you get an invitation to the most exclusive club in New York, Remy?" the lady asked as they passed through the immense entryway and into the grand ballroom beyond.

Remy's eyes twinkled over the top of his sunglasses. "I have my ways, chere." He took her hand and bowed gracefully as they stepped onto the polished hardwood dance floor. "Shall we dance?"

The pair swirled across the dance floor to the majestic music that floated down from the orchestra on the balcony above.

"So, petite, what name am I to call you by tonight?" Remy twirled her out along the length of his arm before reeling her back in, tight against his side.

She smiled at him, allowed him to drop her into a graceful dip. "Nice try Remy. You're not going to wheedle it out of me."

Remy casually spun her across the dance floor. "Perhaps I should make up a name for you, then. Let's see… What do you think about 'Marie?' Does that suit you, chere?"

"Call me whatevah you want, sugah." The beautiful woman gave him a dazzling smile. "It won't make it my real name. The closest you're gonna get is Rogue."

Remy sighed as he guided Rogue off the dance floor. "Some day, ma cherie, you are going to slip." He gave her a wicked grin. "And I intend to be there when you do."

As they searched for an available table, Remy pulled a long black pouch from his jacket pocket. He produced a glittering diamond studded necklace from a different pocket, along with matching earrings, several shining gold bracelets, and various rings encrusted with rare jewels. He slipped them all into the pouch and replaced it in its original pocket, right over his heart.

"Remy!" Rogue stared at him, shocked. "You didn't dare!"

Remy raised his eyebrows. "Dare what, petite? Unburden a few of the social elite of the worries of looking after such extravagant trinkets? Don worry, ma chere. I din relieve them of anyting dey can't replace." Rogue's disapproving glare did not alter. Remy shook his head. "Dis is what I do, chere. It's my job. I'm a thief. What can I say?" He shrugged. " I have to obey my nature."

Remy deposited Rogue at a table and straightened his tux jacket. "I'll be just a moment, petite. I have something to take care of in the gentleman's room."

Rogue watched him suspiciously. "Should I be prepared to run when you come back?"

Remy grinned. "It may not be a bad idea at that, cherie."

He left her sitting at the table and crossed to the door discreetly hidden down a side hallway. He pushed through the door marked with a stylized male figure and nodded casually to the attendant within before crossing the marble tiles and finding the correct stall. Remy latched the door behind him and glanced up at the ceiling. The stall he had chosen was situated directly beneath an air vent. Remy stepped lightly up onto the toilet and glanced across the top of the stall for other occupants. Seeing no one other than the old attendant nodding away in the corner, Remy turned his attention to the grate above. His delicate fingers grasped one of the screws holding the grate tight. He felt the potential in the screw, felt its capacity for motion, and urged a tiny amount from potential to reality. The screw twisted beneath his grasp and quickly worked its way out. He repeated the process with the rest of the screws and eased the grate up into the shaft above. Remy grasped the sides of the opening, and with a deft tug and flip he joined the grate in the airshaft.

xXx

Shaw ground out the butt of his cigar in the heavy ashtray atop the mahogany desk. He looked up and nodded as his compatriots entered the well-furnished office. Emma Frost glided imperiously across the room in her white satin gown, which exposed ample amounts of her pale creamy flesh. Magnus entered behind her. His sharp black suit offset his pure white hair. Finally, Wyngarde strolled in, stroking his sideburns. Snatches of music drifted in from the ballroom below before the door shut behind them.

"Geraint has arrived, Sebastian. He'll be joining us in a moment." Magnus' voice carried none of the wavering weakness that would normally accompany his age.

"Has he brought the test subject?" Shaw asked.

Magnus nodded.

Emma's eyes gleamed maliciously. "I'm fascinated to see what he's done with her. If successful, this research could be quite useful."

"Don't get too eager, Frost." Shaw reprimanded. "The Council will decide how and when to implement the results of P.S.I's tests."

Emma scowled at his back. "Are you ready to do your part, Jason?" She turned her attention to the weasely man across the room.

Wyngarde lounged idly in an overstuffed chair. He pulled a thin cigarillo out of his coat pocket and lit it. "Have no worries about me, my dear. Everything is going according to plan. The Council," he gave a mocking half bow to the room's other occupants without leaving his seat, "will not be disappointed."

"Are all the variables accounted for?" Magnus frowned at the man's flippant attitude.

Wyngarde glanced covertly at the air duct in the ceiling before answering. Finally, he waved his hand idly; smoke trailed thickly from the cigarillo dangling between his fingers. "Everything is in place. We're ready to go."

"Very well," Shaw said. He pushed a button on his desk. "Show Mr. Geraint and his guest in please, Ms. Walker."

A moment later, a snippet of music floated into the office as the door opened. A steel haired man in a dark suit entered. He nodded to the room's occupants. He escorted a dark haired beauty, dressed in a shining blue-black gown. Her face modeled the delicate features of a British aristocrat. The cuffs gripping her wrists held her securely despite their delicate appearance. The man shut the door behind them.

"Geraint." Shaw addressed the new arrival. "Glad you could make it."

Geraint smiled, but his eyes did not. "The Inner Council summoned," he nodded to Shaw, Magnus and Frost. "It is wise to obey."

"Indeed," Shaw replied. He took another cigar from a box on the desk. "We are eager to see your progress. The Hellfire Club would hate to think that its investment was not going to pay off." Subtle malice seethed from his words.

Geraint was not fazed. "I think you'll find P.S.I.'s progress quite pleasing, Mr. Shaw." He gestured towards the woman at his side. "I have brought along the most recent prototype of our program for your approval."

Shaw pulled a gold plated rectangle from one of the desk drawers, and used it to clip the end off his cigar. "Ms. Frost, would you do the honors?" He glanced up at the platinum blonde at his side.

Emma's smile was filled with malicious glee. "I would be delighted." She crossed swiftly to the other woman and grasped the captive's head firmly between her hands. The other woman did not resist.

Emma's eyes fluttered closed for a moment. Time ticked past and the men watched with anticipation while Frost remained in deep concentration. Finally, her eyes snapped open and her hands dropped to her sides. "Fascinating, Mr. Geraint. Fascinating indeed." She returned to her place at Shaw's side. "It appears you have made amazing strides."

"Why don't you enlighten the rest of us as to Mr. Geraint's progress," Magnus rumbled.

Emma graced the older man with a sneer. "For the unenlightened, Mr. Geraint has managed to completely dominate Ms. Braddock. All traces of her former life are repressed, completely inaccessible. However, her abilities have been greatly enhanced. Truly an exceptional accomplishment, as Ms. Braddock was quite powerful to begin with."

Geraint produced his cold smile again. "Thank you. We have worked hard to come this far." He put a hand on the captive woman's shoulder, glanced into her vacant, staring eyes. "With her mind a clean slate, she should be easily reprogrammed. She is scheduled to enter training immediately, and when completed, she will be ready for the Council to deploy as they see fit."

Emma leaned eagerly across the desk. "And are you able to reproduce these results?"

Geraint nodded. "As a matter of fact, we have several candidates in mind to bring into the program. As soon as this prototype has completed the training and we can evaluate our results, we will begin the next phase of the project."

"Excellent." Shaw lit his cigar and took a swift pull before continuing. "We will continue as planned, then." He released the heavy smoke in a thick stream. "Continue your research, with the full backing of the Hellfire Club. We will convene at your facility in upstate New York to reevaluate when you have completed the next phase."

Geraint nodded. "P.S.I. appreciates the Council's continued support. Good evening." With a quick nod to the Council, he guided his charge out the door and was gone.

Silently, a shadow shifted in the airshaft above and disappeared.

Once the door shut behind Geraint, Shaw turned to Wyngarde. "Was the ruse successful?"

Jason smiled his thin-lipped sneer. "Our visitor saw what the rest of you saw." He flicked ash off the tip of his cigarillo. "As far as our uninvited guest was concerned, Ms. Braddock stood here, bound and submissive. Only myself and Emma could tell that in reality she was nothing more than that waif of a maid you keep on staff." Wyngarde shook his head. "I must say, I still don't understand the point of this silly charade."

Shaw glared sternly at the other man. "It was important that Ms. Braddock appeared as she was prior to her recent… modifications. For the bait to be taken, she had to look familiar to our uninvited guest." He glanced at the other occupants of the room. "You all know what to do. Follow the plan and everything will work out nicely." His smile was that of a wolf sizing up its prey.

xXx

Remy cut swiftly across the ballroom to where Rogue sat, twirling her wine glass distractedly.

"Come, petite, it's time for us to go." He grasped her arm and guided her to her feet with gentle and insistent pressure.

Rogue glowered at him, but allowed herself to be guided towards the doors. "Remy, you disappear on me and now that you're back, you want to leave? I thought we came here to dance!"

"But of course, cherie," Remy muttered distractedly without slowing down. "Unfortunately, someting has come up." He stopped. With a swift tug, Rogue was pressed against him, his arms about her tightly. "I'll have to take a rain check on another dance. But don't worry, cheri, Remy LeBeau always honors his debts."

Rouge pushed away from him. "Whatevah, sugah. I'll believe it when I see it." She grabbed at her flowing skirts and strode swiftly towards the door. "If we're goin', let's go."

Remy sighed. After admiring her retreating posterior for a moment, he followed her out of the club.

February 26, 2002

Logan grunted as he cracked the ax through the log. Clear, place, strike. He clung to the clean simplicity of the task.

Whack!

The physical labor wasn't enough to tire him, but it stretched his muscles and cleared his often-chaotic thoughts.

Whack!

Eventually, Logan realized he'd reached the end of the woodpile. He gave the ax one last swing and left it protruding from the stump that served as a chopping block. After stacking the chopped wood neatly, he grabbed an armful and headed back to the rough log cabin across the clearing.

Halfway back, he stopped. His nostrils flared as they tasted the scents that floated to him on the afternoon breeze. After a moment, he continued his trek to the cabin. Logan placed is armload of firewood in the bin out front and pushed though the door into the shelter's dark interior. He was not surprised to find someone waiting for him.

"What is it you need?" he growled at the tall, thin visitor.

Remy gave Logan one of his most winning smiles. It didn't have any effect on the shorter man's stern expression. "I'm hurt, mon ami. You ever tink dat maybe I just stop by to say hello?"

Logan snorted. He opened an old, yellowed box sitting atop the rough hewn table that dominated the cabin's one room. He withdrew a thick cigar. "Since when do you make social calls?"

Remy dropped his casual façade. "I need your help, Logan."

Logan ripped off the end of the cigar with his oversized canines and lit up. "You? Need help? I thought you always played it solo."

Remy shrugged. "Dat's my nature, mon ami. Dis is different. You ever heard of a place called P.S.I.?"

Logan nodded. "'Parapsychological Studies Institute.' Had a couple a run ins with them in the past." He eased himself into a chair at the table and tilted back on two chair legs. His boots crossed on the edge of the table. "Why?"

Remy watched Logan for a moment before he replied. "They've got Braddock," he said quietly.

"Last I heard, she was workin for em," Logan shrugged. "Somethin about a research project. None a my business, so I left her to it." His stiff tone implied that he did not approve.

Remy shook his head. "She's no working for them, Logan. They have her captive."

Logan's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He waited for the Remy to elaborate.

"I tink they brainwash her or someting like dat." Remy tapped his own head for emphasis. "It din sound like she was a willing participant to me."

Logan shook his head. "No. Betsy wouldn't let anyone go messin' around in her head. You're sure about this, Cajun?"

Remy crossed himself. "I swear to God, mon ami. It's truth."

"What did you have in mind?" Logan pulled deeply on his cigar, certain he knew the other man's answer. He was not disappointed.

February 27, 2002

"Yer late," Logan said as soon as Remy's motorcycle engine died.

"Bonjour to you, too, mon ami," Remy said, dismounting. "I had some last minute tings to take care of."

Logan slid off the hood of his truck, dropped his cigar, and crushed out the last glowing ash with his toe. "While I was waitin, I did a little recon. The facility is the other side a the hill." He pointed through the surrounding woods to the distant mound of earth to the south. "Electrified fencing all the way around, topped with barbed wire. Guard patrols, video cameras, the whole bit."

Remy grinned as he shrugged out of his leather jacket. "Piece of cake, non?" Beneath his jacket he wore a tight, matte black bodysuit that highlighted his trim muscular form. He shoved his clothes into the saddlebags of the bike and pulled out a stiff, flexible armor vest. It form-fitted to his torso as he shrugged it on.

Logan eyed him with curiosity. "Looks like yer preparin ta fight an army."

"Never hurts to be prepared, non? I don't have the benefit of accelerated healing to keep me alive." Remy glanced pointedly at Logan's own outfit. Dirt caked boots poked out from beneath well-worn jeans, which were topped by a flannel shirt. A cowboy hat dismally failed to restrain his wild mane of dark hair.

Logan shrugged. "Point for you. Sure you can handle this?"

Remy pulled another object from the opposite saddlebag. He snapped the staff to full extension and gave it a practiced twirl. "Noting I haven't tangled wit before, mon ami. Besides." He slipped a pack of playing cards from a pouch at his waist. He shuffled the stack from one hand to the other with practiced ease. Pulling the bottom card from the deck, he flipped it over for Logan to see. The Ace of Spades. "I've got an Ace up my sleeve." The card disappeared beneath his palm. The rest of the cards quickly followed.

Logan grunted. "Let's get this thing started."

They slipped into the woods and separated.

xXx

"What have we here."

The man peered intently through his light enhancing binoculars. He knelt back among the foliage of the surrounding forest, his vision focused on the two forms sneaking closer to the compound in the clearing. He watched silently as one approached the nearby fence while the other continued moving around to the far side of the facility.

Without pulling his gaze from the binoculars, he slipped a headset on and flipped the activation switch.

"Status report, Forge," he muttered.

"What happened to radio silence, boss-man?" the radio squawked in his ear.

"Never mind that. How soon will you be ready for extraction?" He moved the binoculars to follow the figure that lurked close to the fence on the near side of the facility.

"I'm almost to the control room. What's up, Cable?" the com chattered.

Cable turned his binoculars as new movement caught his eye. Through the thick tangle of woods, he could make out headlights approaching on the distant road. As they moved closer, the lights resolved into a limousine approaching the front gate of the compound.

"Looks like we've got some new visitors," Cable said to the radio.

"This just gets better and better," the voice whispered back.

Cable watched the vehicle pass through the gates and out of view beyond the buildings surrounding the courtyard on the far side.

"Just stick to the plan," Cable muttered to his partner. "And hurry up about it. Let's get this done before things get messy."

He switched his gaze back to the infiltrator he could still see. The sullen glow from Cable's left eye cast eerie shadows across his craggy features.

"Got it boss. I'm on it. Forge out." The static died.

Cable cut the radio and returned to his silent vigil.