I own nothing and no one

11: Nothing Up My Sleeves

Remy sat with his inner circle, contemplating the latest reports. They certainly didn't look like your average group of high powered mutants, if such a thing can be said to exist. For one, not one of them was wearing a hint of spandex. When they did go into battle, their clothing of choice was body armor. Dark colored, as they did most of their work at night.

The group didn't have an official name. They didn't leave calling cards, nor did they care if they got credit (or blame) for their actions. They knew they were already damned, but why should they take anyone else with them? They would do all they could to protect others, and if their hands got a little dirty while they did it. Well, then so be it.

The twenty-two year old flipped a single card across his knuckles with unconscious skill. Magneto was a problem all right. The older man had vision, and the power to back it up. He had already set plans in motion to bring St. John to the other's attention. However . . .

Gambit sighed, the card disappearing. "No help for it. I'll just have ta go myself." The small group stared at their leader. Remy had never been one to sit on the sidelines, but this was likely to be a long term assignment. What would they do in the meantime?

Finally Pyro spoke. "No offense mate," he said. "But you're a walking, talking atomic bomb. And this Magneto chap doesn't strike me as the type to appreciate equals." Or superiors, the Aussie added in his head.

The Cajun merely shrugged, a smirk crossing his face. "But Magneto doesn't know that. Does he?"

17: Wandering Hitokiri

"Fool! Don't you know who I am." The man cut an impressive figure. Fully a head taller than his opponent, his arms bulged with corded muscle. "I am the Hitokiri Battousai. The Demon of Kyoto." A nasty sneer crossed his features.

The alley's only other occupant merely tilted his head to one side, unconcerned. "And yet," a dangerous voice said softly. "You do not seem to know me." Even before the man had foolishly confessed, he knew he had the right person. The other verily stank of fresh blood. A rare phenomenon in this new era.

The police officer drew his katana, but otherwise remained completely relaxed. At least on the outside, he hadn't survived this long by being careless. "Surely Battousai," he drew the title into an insult. "It has not been that long."

The faintest hints of foreboding began to settle in the faux assassin's stomach. His grip on his blade tightening. "Who are you?" he asked, half afraid of the answer.

"Hajime Saitou. You may have heard of me." The cool response was accompanied by a distinctly wolf-like smirk.

"Saitou," the man echoed resisting the urge to take a step backwards. Surely not the Hajime Saitou. "The Captain of the Third Squad of the Shinsengumi." That Saitou.

"The same." All at once the wolf didn't seem nearly so relaxed, taking a purposeful step towards the other. He had known long before his arrival in Tokyo that this so-called Battousai was a fake. The facts were all wrong. Still, orders were orders, and besides which . . .

"We may have been on opposite sides," the amber eyed swordsman said evenly. "But Kenshin Himura was an honorable opponent." Battousai would have never been party to the slaying of innocents the way this man had done. "A man I respected." His blade came up as he sank into a fighting crouch. "And I will not allow the likes of you to tarnish his memory."

Suddenly there came a low chuckle. "I appreciate your championship of me," a familiar voice reached Saitou's ears at the same time a lithe figure stepped from the shadows. Seemingly out of nowhere, revealing crimson hair and a pair of eyes that burned golden for the first time in many years. He made for an intimidating sight, even before he unshielded his ki.

Battousai, the real Battousai let his eyes slide over his old sparring opponent before the unearthly gaze settled on the reason he had come to Tokyo. "But I believe I have a previous claim on this idiot's life." He had no love for the title he had gained, but that didn't mean he would allow another to claim it.

30: Codename Uriel

Eagle hesitated. Sure, this guy had saved his life, and yes he was grateful. Still, climbing inside strange helicopters that appeared out of nowhere was not a good career move for a professional solider. Heck, it wasn't a good move for anybody.

The man took a deliberate step away from the rope ladder, waving the copter off. He'd take his chances on the ground. It was true the odds were somewhat against him, alone in hostile territory. With skill and a bit of luck though, he could make the border. Probably.

However the helicopter didn't move. Instead the pilot flipped a single switch, activating the external speakers. "Get your ass up here Eagle," came the order. "Unless you want Wolf to know what really happened to his favorite jacket."

A pair of dark eyes widened dramatically. There had only been three people present at that incident and they had all sworn never to breath a word about it. And, he knew for sure Fox was safe several hundred miles away. Which left . . .

"Cub," the solider whispered in disbelief. Their youngest member was alive. Alive! Suddenly Eagle's smile faded. A severe expression crossing his face as he slung his rifle over his back, determinedly starting up the ladder. "I'm going to kill him."