The long flight was uneventful, thankfully. Gambit easily located the Blackbird and the mini-jet that Jean and Beast had used to follow the team into whatever fate they may have met. Checking over both of the craft quickly, he found that they were both secure. He then made a great show of taking off in his solo jet, as if abandoning the two craft. He had a feeling he was being watched, and he trusted those instincts. He landed on one of the larger islands, where, with the benefit of mirrored sunglasses hiding his mutant eyes, he was able to charter a boat. Shedding his coat and hood and rolling up his sleeves in deference to the tropical heat, he spent the day sailing around the islands, looking for all the world like a tourist enjoying the scenery.

Having thoroughly scouted Blayze Island from a safe distance, he realised it was a veritable fortress. The whole island was surrounded by concrete walls, guard towers, and razor wire. Armed patrols eyed any boat that came too near with hostile suspicion, and the main gates were heavily guarded. It was clear that there was something inside that Blayze Industries and the military were determined to protect. However, Gambit had identified at least three ways in.

There was a blind spot on the south wall where the cliff met the wall and made patrol impossible; he could rope up the wall and be inside without being spotted, before finding cover in the grounds. Secondly, there was a tall tree overhanging a guard tower on the north-west corner; he would have found it easy to climb the tree, run across the limb, drop into the guard tower, take out the two guards, and progress from there. He chose, however, the third option; a sewerage pipe, large and rusted and forgotten about, feeding waste-water from the facility straight into the waters of the surrounding ocean, blocked up with a large metal grate a Master Thief with mutant abilities ought to have little difficulty in overcoming.

As the sun set, he arced the boat around and headed back to the larger island, returning the boat to the charter company as he re-donned his coat and hood, his eyes scanning the other docked boats from behind his mirrored lenses. Then, once night fell, he returned, easily clambering over the fence, pausing at the tourist's centre to pick the lock and steal a set of scuba gear. He crept down to the dock and swiftly severed one of the ropes holding a small motor boat to the dock. However, he ignored the motor in favour of the convenient oars he had spied, rowing himself out of the bay and into the ocean, away from prying eyes and ears. He then powered up the motor, cruising over the inky-black waters, navigating only by the light of the moon and the stars and his excellent night vision. He stopped, far enough from the island that the guards would not be able to see or hear him.

Gambit silently took off his coat and boots, stuffing them into a waterproof bag. Shouldering on the scuba gear he had stolen from the tourist's centre, he tied the bag to his gear, and, fitting the oxygen regulator between his teeth, he set the goggles over his eyes, checked his equipment, and then slipped silently over the side of the boat, leaving it to drift. The owner would no doubt be upset come morning, but hopefully another boat would come across the drifting ship and return it to the dock, where its midnight sojourn would be put down to a broken mooring rope.

Under the water, he dived down, activating a torch on his wrist that cast a murky light ahead of him. Scuba diving with a cold was a really bad plan, as he could feel the congestion worsening with the water pressure, but he ploughed on; it was not far and he was not going so deep as to cause himself any real problems beyond mild discomfort. Working solely from memory and his impeccable sense of direction, he switched the torch off and broke the surface of the water only a few feet from the sewerage pipe. It was about 6 feet in diameter, and he clambered silently over the rocks, ducking inside the pipe, hidden from the view of any guards that might happen to glance down from those imposing walls. He guessed that Storm and Rogue had flown Scott and Wolverine over the concrete structure; Beast had probably leapt over it while carrying Jean. He had to rely on other means. The metal grate blocking the way to potential intruders was old and rusted. He could easily have blown it up with his powers, but that would have been too loud.

He quickly shed his scuba gear, putting his coat on over his wet uniform. The night was humid, but he could feel a chill in the air... or maybe that was just him. Pulling his boots back on, he took a roll of tape from one of his many pockets, marking out a square big enough for him to fit through in the metal grate. Putting his finger to the tape, he sent a small charge through it. The tape hissed, fizzed, and ate through the metal in seconds, dissolving it. He grasped the metal and, with a firm tug, pulled the section free, setting it to one side. He climbed inside, and drew a card from his pocket. Lighting it with a yellow glow, it illuminated the inside of the pipe.

"Here we go," he muttered, to himself, trying to stifle the urge to cough.

He followed the pipe for several minutes, before it branched off into two different directions. With a shrug, he took the right-hand pipe, and, after several minutes, found what he was looking for – an access ladder, set into the side of the pipe. He leapt at it and easily hauled himself up, climbing for what seemed like an eternity, until he found a manhole cover at the top. With some effort, he shoved the cover upwards, freezing at the grating noise it made. When this seemed to attract no unwanted attention, he pushed it a little further, and then slithered out of the hole, carefully lowering the cover back into place behind him. He found himself within the grounds of those imposing concrete walls.

Gambit ducked quickly behind a tree as search lights from the guard towers scanned the grounds both inside and outside the walls. He noted several parked jeeps, helicopters and jets, confirming his suspicions – this was indeed a covert military base. There were a selection of huts and outbuildings, no doubt crew quarters and storage rooms, but his attention was caught by the main structure. A large, ugly, four-storey concrete building with only a handful of windows that he could see.

Keeping low to the ground and sticking to cover wherever possible, Gambit did two circuits around the building before deciding that the best point of entrance would be the roof. At one corner of the building, a large eucalyptus tree reached with gnarled and twisted branches high over the roof; this was his way up. Dodging search lights and a couple of guards patrolling the grounds, he silently sprinted over and crouched at the base of the tree, doing his level best to smother a cough with both hands, trying not to gasp for air lest he trigger an uncontrollable fit and give himself away. Once his breathing had levelled out, he eyed the tree, checked his surroundings, and then reached out for the trunk. He shimmied up it with catlike agility, leaping up to the higher branches. None of them quite overhung the roof so he gained some extra height, before he paused, crouching on one sturdy branch, catching his breath as he surveyed the roof. It appeared unguarded, though he spied an access door with a motion-detecting camera above it.

Checking around once more to make sure he was unobserved, Gambit braced, and then launched himself into the air. He performed a graceful somersault, landing on the roof with a tuck and a roll, muffling the sound of his landing, behind the cabin housing the access door. He stretched and jumped, catching the edge of the flat roof over the doorway, hauling himself up on top of it. A small charge from his fingers shorted out the camera without it detecting him. He jumped down and tried the door. It was, of course, locked.

"No problem," he smirked, pulling his lock-picks from his pocket, "Gambit still a proud Master Thief, after all..."

Knowing he probably did not have much time before someone came to check on the shorted camera, he set to work, pausing only to wipe his eyes and nose with a tissue.

"Putain ce rhume..." he groused, to himself, as he worked on the lock.

Damn this cold...

He felt the lock click, and drew his bo, flicking it out to its full length, before he opened the door. He listened, carefully, but there was no sound. Dim bulbs behind industrial glass and metal cages attached to the walls cast a dim glow into the stairwell. Moving as silently as a ghost, Gambit moved quickly down the stairs, until he heard a voice and leapt back, immediately flattening himself against the wall.

"...Dunno, the damn thing just cut out," one voice was saying, "probably just the flamin' cable giving out, the sea air corrodes every damn thing in this shit hole..."

There was an answer Gambit could not make out, laced as it was with static; he realised the man was talking to someone on a radio.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm checkin' it out... no I don't want a guard, I can manage one flamin'camera cable... yeah, I'm probably gonna have a smoke while I'm up here, might as well, not gonna rush an easy job, God knows there's enough other shit needs fixin'... yeah, yeah. If I'm not back in an hour then you can send the guard, alright? Now leave me alone, I'll let ya know when it's done..."

The radio clicked off, and Gambit narrowed his eyes, listening to the heavy footfalls climbing the stairs, ever closer to his position, listening to the man grouse with every step.

"State of the art lab, you'd think they could put in a lift to the roof, but no, no, I gotta climb four flights of stairs every time the flamin' camera cable goes on the fritz..."

He was so busy complaining, he never heard Gambit's sudden movement. He never saw the bo slice through the air. There was a swift, sharp crack, and Gambit caught the unconscious man before he and his heavy tool kit could tumble down the stairs. He quickly carried the man to the top of the stairs, using cable ties from the tool kit to bind his hands and feet and, for good measure, a length of duct tape served as a gag just in case he should awaken earlier than intended. Gambit took the man's radio, finding it conveniently had an earpiece. He tucked the radio into his pocket, wiping the earpiece on the unconscious man's sleeve before inserting it; at least if he could hear the radio chatter, he would know what the guards were up to.

Tuning out the routine status reports from the guards, he resumed his descent down the stairs, until he found an air vent. He took a penknife from his pocket, unscrewed the vent cover, and leapt inside. It was only just wide enough to accommodate him, and he slithered forwards, making several twists and turns, peering through vent covers as he found them, trying to get an idea of the layout – and purpose – of the lab. The vents were dusty, thick with cobwebs, and he found himself having to stifle several coughs and sneezes.

"Mon dieu..."

His eyes narrowed as he squinted through the slats of a vent. Below him was a large laboratory; computer equipment, stainless steel tables and beds with restraints lined three of the four walls; directly beneath Gambit was the doorway, and a number of screens, though he could not see what was being displayed on them from his vantage point. On one of the tables, he could see Cyclops strapped down with restraints around his ankles, waist, wrists, and across his chest. There was a strange device around his neck, and it looked suspiciously similar to the suppression collars used by Genoshans to prevent mutants from using their powers. Cyclops' visor was missing and his eyes were closed – he appeared to be unconscious.

"This one is useless to us without the regulating visor," said a voice below, "the design seems simple enough, but we will need to analyse it to fabricate a suitable one for testing purposes."

Gambit's red eyes widened, as he watched a white-coated figure toss Cyclops' visor onto a worktop.

"Bring in the next test subject," ordered the familiar figure, and Gambit recognised Dr. Gregory Kolton from the images Professor Xavier had showed the team the previous morning.

"A fascinating specimen, this one, Herr Doktor," said a feminine, German-accented voice, "female, blessed with the powers of flight and super strength, and the ability to drain energy, memories and abilities from other living organisms, especially mutants."

"Rogue," Gambit whispered, and his heart dropped as another bed was wheeled in; the Southern belle was similarly trussed, collared and sedated.

"Much as we are doing, my dear," Kolton commented, "the Genoshans were only half-way there. Using these collars to suppress their mutants, then allowing them to use their powers when it suited them – why they never made the leap to stealing their powers and transferring them to a more willing recipient is beyond me."

"They lacked your foresight and intellect, Herr Doktor," the woman purred, as she pushed the trolley bearing Rogue next to Cyclops, "are you ready, Sergeant Davies?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Gambit's eyes flicked to the military man standing in the corner of the room; he was behind thick protective clear screens, and he wore a collar identical to the ones around Cyclops' and Rogue's necks. As Gambit watched, Kolton picked up a remote control, and pressed a button. Rogue's collar lit up, and even in unconsciousness, she let out a low whimper of pain. Gambit gritted his teeth, watching as Kolton turned a dial on the remote.

"Initiating genetic mutation matching in three... two... one... now!"

The sergeant behind the screens yelped in shock, his hands going to his neck as the collar lit up. His skin seemed to ripple and his eyes glowed briefly, before he shook himself and straightened up again.

"How do you feel, soldier?" Kolton asked, with clinical detachment.

"Like I just got turned inside out, sir, but okay now. I still don't get why it does that."

"As I explained before; that was the genetic re-sequencing. The suppression and transference collar samples the DNA of the mutant specimen and transmits the code to your collar. Your collar replicates the mutant strands and introduces them to your body, much like a virus. This allows you to sample the mutant's power for yourself, and in the event of an emergency, the collar can also suppress those abilities using the remote control. The effect is short lived for now, but we are working on prolonging it. Now, that metal bar on the desk in front of you – bend it."

Sergeant Davies obediently picked up the heavy piece of girder as if it were as light as a feather, bending it into a pretzel loop. He laughed, tossing the metal to one side, and then he lifted one boot off the floor, then the other, floating in midair.

"This is awesome!" he exclaimed, "How long does it last for?"

"A maximum of thirty minutes," Kolton replied, as his assistant scribbled down some notes, "each collar can be matched with a maximum of four mutants. We are looking to increase both the duration and number of hosts. Imagine it, Colonel; an army of mutant super soldiers on duty who revert to normal humans at the push of a button."

"Incredible, doctor. If you can make it work long-term without killing the soldiers."

Gambit cringed – he knew that voice. Colonel Stryker. That mutant-manipulating bastard... the Colonel must have been standing right underneath the vent where Gambit was hiding.

"Only the weak ones die, Colonel."

"You've killed nine of my men so far, doctor, with your experiments," the Colonel did not sound in the least bit upset, "I am sure it will be worth it in the end. The experiments just now with our friend Wolverine were producing the most fascinating results – I witnessed Sergeant Davies here get shot in the head and walk it off a minute later."

"I didn't enjoy that one so much," Davies groused, but nobody seemed to pay him any heed.

"These are the most excellent specimens we have had to date," Kolton commented, with a nod, "imagine it – not just super soldiers – any normal human could put on one of these collars and be endowed with the most incredible powers, without having to become one of these freakish mutants."

He shot a disdainful look at the unconscious Cyclops and Rogue, and Gambit clenched his fists in rage. The Professor's orders to be careful be damned – he had to free his friends. He did not have to wait long. After only a couple of minutes, Kolton, Stryker, Davies and the unknown assistant all left the room, leaving Rogue and Cyclops behind. He waited until he was sure that it was safe, before he pushed off the vent cover and launched himself out, doing a neat flip and landing lightly on his feet, dropping instantly into a crouch, listening for any sound that might indicate he had been discovered. He touched one finger to his earpiece – the guards were calling in their routine all-clears. Good. His intrusion into the laboratory had not yet been discovered.

He crossed swiftly to the beds, realising that his friends were being kept unconscious by drugs being drip fed directly into their veins. Gambit swiftly removed the needles, leaving the lines tucked under their sleeves, so to a causal glance they would appear to be attached, using clean tissues from his pocket to blot away the droplets of blood resulting from the removal.

"Chère?" he whispered, urgently, giving Rogue's arm a shake, "chère, wake up!"

There was no response, and Gambit knew it would take a few minutes for the effects of the sedatives to wear off. He paced to the door, doing his best to peer outside, before ducking down quickly; two guards stood outside the door, heavily armed and resolute. Gambit considered his options, and decided that sometimes, Logan was right; the best defence was a good offence.

Gambit straightened up, opened his bo, grasped the door handle, and yanked it open. The guards' startled exclamations turned into yelps of pain as they fell in rapid succession to the twirling of the staff in his expert hands. He glanced up and down the corridor, and then dragged the two unconscious men into the lab. He pulled the curtain down over the door window, crossing back to Cyclops and Rogue. He busied himself with removing their restraints, as Cyclops let out a low moan, indicating an impending return to consciousness.

"Shush, mon amis," Gambit hissed, in his ear, as he undid the strap around his chest, "Gambit here, need yo' to be quiet..."

"G...Gambit? W...what's going on?" Cyclops stuttered, "My... my eyes... my powers..."

"Suppressed, mon amis," Gambit told him, quickly, "by dat collar. Can't remove it, need da key. You see to Rogue an' get dese guys tied up, oui?"

"Ugh... yeah. Okay..."

Gambit left Scott to it for a few minutes as he checked the corridor once more, and then hastily jogged to the next door. Peering through the window, he found it unguarded and empty. At the end of the corridor there turned a corner; a quick glance down it and he saw two more burly guards outside a door.

"Safe to assume mes amis in dere," he breathed, to himself.

He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a couple of dice.

"Don' ever let it be said Gambit only good wit' de cards," he smirked to himself.

Charging the dice, he rolled them down the corridor, aiming for the nearest guard's booted foot.

"Hey, what the hell-? Argh!"

The man yelled out as the dice he picked up exploded in his hand with a tiny detonation, but enough to knock him off his feet. Two charged cards followed, taking down the other man just as quickly. Gambit froze to the spot, but, by some miracle, it seemed nobody had heard the noise. He opened the door, slipping inside and closing it behind him. Beast and Wolverine were strapped to tables. Once again, Gambit dragged the guards out of the corridor, and made quick work of removing the intravenous lines and restraints from his friends. Leaving them for a moment, he jogged back to the other room, where he found Cyclops and Rogue, both looking dazed and confused, but at least standing.

"No time to explain," he held up one hand, quickly, to stave off their questions, "grab dere guns and come wit' me!"

They obeyed, snatching up the weapons from the fallen guards. Cyclops also grabbed his visor from the table, looping it around his neck for safe keeping. Gambit led them down the corridor and ushered them into the next room, closing the door and pulling down the blind. Beast and Wolverine had clearly metabolised the sedative much faster than their slighter companions, for they were already awakening.

"Gambit," hissed Cyclops, "what the hell is going on? What are you and Beast doing here?"

"Dey stealin' yo' powers, mon amis," Gambit explained, quickly, "Seen dem use dese collars to replicate yo' mutations in a normal human soldier. Don' know how to get de collars off wit'out a remote control key, but no' seen one yet. Gambit came to find you. You need to stay here..."

"We're comin' with ya, Cajun," Wolverine growled, curling his fists and unsheathing his claws, "might not have ma healing powers, but I can still fight!"

"Den defend de others," Gambit told him, urgently, "get yo'selves outta here, mes amis! Dere are jets outside; find one an' wait for me dere."

"Wait – what about Storm?" Rogue asked, rubbing her head, glancing around.

"She probably wit' Jean," Gambit replied, "don' worry, mes amis – Gambit find dem, just like he find you."

"Jean's here too?" Cyclops sounded immediately concerned.

"She and I came after you when we lost contact with you," Beast explained, quickly, picking up a rifle from an unconscious guard and handing it to Wolverine, "I am sure we will have plenty of time to review the circumstances of our capture at a more advantageous time. For now I suggest we do as Gambit says, and with alacrity."

"One of us should come with you," Cyclops began, but faltered, putting a hand to his head as he waved slightly, and Rogue laid a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Non," Gambit shook his head, "get yo'selves outta here. Gambit gonna find Storm an' Jean, and den dis place..." he trailed off, a dark look flickering across his demonic eyes, "dis place – we come back, an' we wipe it off de map."