A/N: So I know it's not that long, but I have what I consider to be tremendous ideas for this story. This chapter was intended only to introduce a few things, and the following updates will be longer. I hope you enjoy, but as always, let me know what you think either way.
Also, single quotations (' ') denotes Remy thinking to himself.
'Ugh....Cyclops is going to kill me.'
It was strange the thoughts that first entered a person's head upon waking from unconsciousness. At a time when Remy LeBeau should've been concerned with his personal safety, the majority of his thoughts were centred on the opinion of his team leader. Odd, when one considers the tendency of Remy's to thumb his nose at anyone even remotely resembling an authority figure. After sufficient time had been spent wondering about what the anal-retentive man known as Cyclops, and the rest of his morally astute teammates, would think, Remy's next thoughts were focused on the wedge that was currently being forced through his forehead. It was a pain not unlike a hangover, but the night before a mission even the rebellious Remy was unlikely to go drinking. For a long while he was relatively content to remain where he was, simply breathing in and out while he considered his next move. He was hesitant to open his eyes, for fear of what would greet him when he did. Recent memory alluded him, like trying to remember a dream that stubbornly stay hidden away. That, combined with the almost paralyzing pain in his head, would suggest a concussion. Add that to the sharp twinge on his left side, probaby a broken rib, and one would tend to think that their mission had been less than successful. That much seemed obvious, though. If the mission had been a success, Remy would be at Harry's bar celebrating with a round of beers, trying to get into the pants of the newly hired waitress, not lying on some concrete floor wondering how he got there. There was a dripping sound in the background, like a nagging voice in the back of his mind that wouldn't leave him alone. And he was cold. Not as cold as Antarctica, he doubted he could ever be that cold again, but cold enough to have to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He opened his eyes slowly, so as to let his photosensitive red on black eyes adjust to the floruscent lighting overhead.
He was laying in a twelve by twelve concrete cell, sprawled out in the middle of the floor. A rusted out cot with a pancake thin mattress stood in one corner, while a simple silver bucket stood in the other. The room had an odd smell, like a mixture of mold and urine, that made Remy think he was not the first person to have inhabited it. Upon this thought, he subconsciously shifted away from the suspicious bucket. It was only through the gift of his rather unusual eyesight that he was able to see the doorframe; the seams were too tight and hidden away for normal eyesight. At the top of the door was the tiniest of windows, barely big enough for a pair of eyes to peer through. He was both relieved and intensely frustrated to see he was alone; alone was certainly better than being in the company of enemies, but part of him had been fervently hoping that one or more of his teammates would be nearby. He was hoping that they would be able to shed some light on this rather murky situation.
Remy pushed himself off the floor with his right arm, holding his left close to his chest. He was wearing the same white t-shirt he had put on that morning, but the pants were different than the ones he had worn underneath his body armour. They were thin, felt almost like pajama pants. Light, washed out blue, with a drawstring in the front, they could've been scrubs from a nearby hospital. He wasn't wearing shoes. He sat back on his heels, and reached up to run a hand through his unruly auburn mop. Quite abruptly, his hand froze on the back of his neck as he felt the blood drain from his face. Just beneath his hairline his fingers had encountered a patch of dried blood, underneath which he could feel something imbedded in the muscle. It was small, about the size of a microchip, but Remy feared it nonetheless. In his experience, anything that possibly tied in to the neural system of a mutants' body just screamed 'power suppresion.' In order to prove his frightful theory, he stood with only marginal difficulty.
Remy had the uncanny ability to shift the potential energy in any object, and convert it to kinetic energy; essentially making anything he could physically touch a weapon. But two of his less obvious mutations included a sort of spatial awareness, which made his sometimes incredible agility possible, and an empathic sense, being able to pick up on and influence the emotions of others. He stretched forward with these senses now, angular features twisting into a grimace with the effort. He felt as if he was being smothered by a thick, lead blanket that disrupted his powers the same way it did x-ray radiation. He cursed softly to himself, in a Cajun french that sounded more like a lullaby than a string of expletives. Whoever it was that held him, and for whatever indiscernable reason, they knew who they were dealing with.
He stepped up to the door, and ran his hands along the seams, searching for a weak point, or a subtle gust of air that would indicate there was a gap in the door and the frame. No such luck. It seemed to Remy as though it had been perfectly constructed, possibley even vacuum sealed. One delicate auburn eyebrow rose at that thought. If it was indeed as he suspected, then it was clear whoever held him was not taking any chances. Perhaps they had heard of his reputation, or it could be simpler than that. Maybe they were part of the startingly large group of laymen who thought mutantcy was something a person could "catch." He really had no way of knowing.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he heard the sound of several sets of footsteps echoing around the hall outside. Without a sound he slipped into the corner closest to the door's hinges, the twinge in his ribs forgotten for necessity. The owners of the noisy feet stepped up to the door, and a slightly musical touch tone pattern could be heard. Remy frowned. If the locking mechanism was electric, and connected to a keypad, it would be more difficult to break out. But certainly not impossible. Not for Gambit, master thief extraordinaire.
The door was pushed open slowly, and the muzzle of a heavy looking machine gun was thrust through. Remy's frown deepened further. He was good, but not that good. Maybe if he was one hundred percent, he might be able to avoid the gunfire while making a break for the door, but not now. And definitely not in a twelve by twelve concrete box. The door opened wider, and a man stepped through, wearing worn army fatigues, complete with a dirty green berret on his head. He looked young, baby-ish features and blond hair gave him the appearance of a recent highschool graduate. He looked nervous, like he was going to piss his pants any minute, and Remy wondered what his superiors had told him about mutants, and this mutant in particular.
Remy knew guns, as part of his career he felt it was necessary and so he wisely chose not to go up against his captures with a Troy M14 in the hands of the twitchy point man. He knew exactly what that gun could do at this close range. Instead he merely stepped out of the corner, with his arms raised and palms showing in a gesture of surrender. The guard whirled around, and Remy noticed the gun trembling in his grasp.
"Sit down,"the guard said, in a surprisingly strong tone. "Sit your ass down on the cot."
Gambit made a show of inspecting the cot from afar, then wrinkled his nose in disgust. "If it's jus' de same t'ya, I'd rather not. Ya never know dese days, enh?"
The guard's brow crinkled in a deep frown, and Remy unconsciously steeled his body, waiting for the lash of anger to erupt. When the blows didn't come, and the gun was shaking so badly Remy was sure the bullets would tumble right out, he took pity on the boy. He obviously didn't want to be in that cell, pointing a gun at somebody he didn't even know. Gambit shot him a "you owe-me-but-I'll-never-be-able-to-make-you-pay-up" look, and hesitantly sat down on the mattress. When nothing jumped out at him, and he didn't get swallowed up into a green glob of slime, his body relaxed somewhat.
The guard looked amusingly satisfied, and he must have sent some kind of message to the remainder of the men out in the hallway, because three more dressed in similar outfits came through the open door. Two were holding long, metal cylinders with two silver prongs on the end, probably tasers. The man closest to Remy was remarkabley comparable to the highschool grad, as if they were related in some way. The new arrival was in slightly better control than his counterpart; the taser in his grasp was solid and unmoving. The third man, holding the only other taser, had sharp, angry features like a hawk, only a few inches shorter than Remy but twice as wide as him with bulky muscle. His dark green eyes rested on Remy hungrily, in a way that made the mutant's heart beat a little faster. The last man, obviously the oldest and the one in charge, held the second gun in his capable hands. His hair was mostly black with patches of grey coming in at the temples; he glared at Remy with open disdain and disgust.
"You mind tellin' me what's goin' on?"Remy asked, focusing his question on the machine gun pointed at his forehead. It wasn't the first time he'd had a gun in his face, but back then all he had to do was lay on a finger on it and walk away. The resulting charge was enough to make even the most aggressive of enemies back down. He was unfortunately not in such a position now.
The guard moved with more speed than Remy would've credited him. Before he had time to wince, the butt of the gun was swung straight to his jaw. He was knocked back against the bunk, his eyes blinking furiously in surprise. He straightened after a moment, sent the man a glare of his own, and spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor.
"I ask the questions around here, you goddam mutie freak. My orders are only to keep you alive. Think about that the next time you want to open your mouth."
Gambit said nothing, but his eyes veritably glowed with anger. He glanced briefly at the other guards, but his gaze settled on the man before him. He nodded. The last thing he wanted to do was play with ball with these tyrants, but if it was a choice between that, and getting beaten to death..he could suffer the humiliation of following their orders for a short time. The guard kicked out, heavily booted foot hitting the edge of the bunk just between Remy's knees.
"You're being held here until my boss decides what to do with you." He must've read the question in Remy's eyes, for he shook his head with a sadistic smile. "And if you think I'm stupid enough to tell you who that is, we're gonna have even more fun than I thought. Until my boss decides just what is the best way to break you, you're ours. Anything we want, whenever we want it. You're gonna give it to us."
Remy couldn't help but cringe. His words were menacing, but he could also detect the promise beneath the fury. He'd met people like this man before, and to this day he was still trying to forget them. The guard was foolish if he expected Remy to just lie back and take whatever it was they were dishing out, though. If that's how he thought it was clear he hadn't done his homework.
"I wouldn't expect rescuing, either. Not only do the X-Men not even know where you are, but I doubt they would come even if they did. All you ever did was betray them. Why in hell would they want you back?"
The collection of guards behind their superior exchanged glances, and smirked to each other. Remy was beginning to wonder if he had jumped the gun, so to speak, in thinking that they hadn't done their homework. A nervous stirring had began in his stomach, but he would not panic. Not yet, anyway. He had been in worse situations and come out okay, there was no reason to believe that wouldn't happen this time. He had to assume that while this guard was clearly not on his side, he was right about the X-Men. He could not depend on being rescued. Instead, Remy would have to run with the assumption that he was on his own.
"Before we go, there's something I would like to give you. A little souvenir to remember me by."
The head guard produced a military issue straight edged blade. Remy's reaction was immediate. He flew from the mattress, knocking the first guard to the floor and attempting to do the same with the other three. In his weakened condition, however, it was entirely too difficult for them to restrain him. Before too long, he was back on the cot, this time with one guard on his legs, the other on his arms, and the last lying across his midsection. Despite the rather uncomfortable form of restriction, Remy writhed and thrashed like a cat that knew what was coming.
The guard he had knocked down got to his feet, his features twisted into a enraged scowl. "That, little man, was not the right thing to do."
The closer he got to Remy with that knife in his hand, the more frantic Remy's endeavours to free himself became. But all it took was for the guard laying across his chest to press his hand in just the wrong spot, forcing broken bones and already firey nerves into unnatural positions, and Remy was seeing stars. He thought he felt the guard armed with a knife kneel on the cot next to his head, but the pain was making his vision swim, and he wasn't sure of anything anymore. After a brief fight with unconsciousness, he could feel a sharp tugging on his head that would increase in intensity for a few seconds, then gradually fade away.
He became aware that someone was speaking, and focused on their words to ground him, bring him back through the agony to reality.
"...oughta learn ya, damn mutie." Remy blinked several times, in rapid succession, in an attempt to clear his vision. Another sharp pain against his scalp, then in one sychronized motion, all the guards moved away from him, and he was free. He sat up slowly, stiffly, to keep the pain in his ribs from sparking up again. The guards all smirked at him, as though they were in on some kind of secret he would never know. He didn't like that feeling. The head guard chuckled softly, and that was when Remy noticed the medium sized pile of auburne hair sitting at his feet. The colour drained from his face in a rush as he brought his hand up to his head, and could feel only the prickly spikes of newly cut stubble.
'Cyclops is definitely going to kill me.'
Please bear with me! To be continued...