[center][img]http://images1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130612040929/marveldatabase/images/a/a3/Gambit_Vol_5_Logo.png[/img]
[b]September 6th, 2012
2:32 AM[/b][/center]


Remy made his way from the subway to the surface quickly, taking long strides, all wrapped in a leather overcoat. He wore sunglasses to hide the glow from his radiant eyes. As he walked down the nearly empty, damp street and turned into an alleyway, Remy thought about the conversation he’d had with Fence only an few hours before. He turned down another alley and stopped at a dumpster. He figured that going in through the front door of his appartment building might be a little too risky. 110th and Lexington was a major thoroughfare and it would be hard to spot a marker in the crowd. Going through the alleys and up the fire-escapes would be a safer bet. The fresh memories still rang in the darkness of Remy's mind, as if they held a valuable lesson. 

[i]“See these?” Fence held several small metal balls in his hand. 

Remy stood from the loveseat and put his coffee mug down. He was tall and skinny, but his tight, black sneaking suit also showed his solid muscular build. He pulled a wedgey from his crotch as he walked to the powering station. “What are these? For me?” 

Fence dropped the balls into Remy’s hand, turned around to open and read from a holographic screen beside him. “Yeah. I was thinking of an alternative to your cards. They work well, I won’t deny you that. But sometimes we might need something with a little more ‘umph’. These babies will make someone think twice about getting into it with you. Even someone as super-powered as you.” 

Remy juggled the four balls, smiling wide as he did. He tossed one behind his back and it fell right back into his juggling orbit. He tossed one onto his shoulder, caught the other three in one hand, rolled the one on his shoulder to his palm and forced it into the air with his power, caught it in the other hand. He started another round of juggling. “Aw, you been thinking of me, Fence?” His drawl was so strong then, as if to extend it. 

One ball goes over his shoulder and behind him, another higher than the other two. His foot knocks the one behind him further into the air and he catches the two in normal rotation in his right hand. The highest one falls back into his left hand, and he continues the rotation normally as the final one rejoins the juggle. 

“Yeah,” Fence puffed, “whatever you say, loverboy.” Fence turned to see Remy begin a feat the Cajun clearly considered to be impressive. He juggled two balls normally while dribbling one with his foot and the other with his knee, like a mad soccer player. “Alright, enough with the circus act. You ever heard of Trask industries?”

Remy kicked and kneed all the balls into his hand and then dropped them confidently on the table next to him, he breathed heavily (despite his attempts to continue looking as cool as a cucumber). “Sure. You had me hit them in ’06. Some sort of capacitor?”

“It was a solar powered portable generator. And you used it for that mission in Kuwait last year (don’t know why the fuck I gave it to you in the first place).” Fence was salty but Remy could tell that he was being reasonable, he wasn’t angry anymore. 

“What about Trask?”

“Right, well, there’s info in here saying that they’ve approached the government with a prototype Sentinel, these mutant hunters. As far as I’m concerned, the CIA is peripheral to stopping this nonsense. I want you to infiltrate their headquarters. This is a big mission, Remy. Infiltration, subterfuge, sabotage, photographs, evidence. You could be in there for days, who knows? So we need resources, technology, backup even. Do you have any contacts we could use?”
Remy looked down at the floor, his crimson eyes scanned his memory for potential allies. He came up short; as far as he knew, Fence was the only friend he had in the world. “Everyone I knew in the CIA is dead. I don’t think…wait, maybe.” Remy looked in the direction of Fence, yet was doing anything but acknowledging him. He was looking through the metal man, and toward the recesses of his memory, that place which he’d shrouded in the eternal darkness of his mind. “Down south, I could know some people down south.” Remy finally said. “But Fence, I can’t go back there. I—I can’t.”

Fence put his hands on his waist and pondered the situation for a moment. “Alright, you stay up here and gather all the resources and tech that I mark for you. When I get back we can finalize all of our plans and hit Trask.”

“Wait, wait, Fence, where are you going?” Remy had extended his hand, he was touching Fences metal arm. Yet, despite the lack of flesh contact, they were connected, friends again. 

“The Bayou,” Fence said with a smile, “gonna’ round up some sewer rats.”

“Fence, you don’t have to do that on my behalf.” The Cajun was touched, he felt a kinship with this metal man. 

“Everything we’re doing is on your behalf, Remy. The fact of the matter is that you’re my only friend in the world and I don’t know what I’d do without you. Okay? So don’t start questioning my plans simply because they are about you. You start doing that, you might as well kill yourself now.” Fence ended his conversation by pulling the powering cord from his chest and stepping from the station. 

Remy stood at the dais a little embarrassed, but mostly proud.[/i]

The Cajun climbed the narrow, steep steps of a fire-escape all the way to the 12th floor. The reputable Manhattan skyline hung before him in the humid air like a painting. It was just as beautiful as it had always been, a stunning spectacle. He turned to look into his window, noticed the light was on. Either there was someone in there currently, or there had been someone there before. Fence had warned him about that, about going back to his apartment, but Remy wouldn’t listen. Just as he didn’t listen to his instincts which screamed at him to run away now. Instead he opened the window slowly and carefully. There were simply things he couldn't run away without. He wore his armored suit now, the one Fence designed for him. It was light and allowed agility but had dark purple plating all about it for enhanced protection. Most of that was hidden underneath his coat. 

[i]“Why do you have to go back? If you’re going to fucking kill yourself I might as well know why!” Fence was furious at this point, a little drunk as well. After they made up and planned the hit on Trask, they drank plenty of rum and vodka. 

“My cards, asshole! I need my cards, and my staff. Pictures, too, damnit. Leave me alone.” Remy calmly stumbled to the door, Fence stayed at the table rubbing his belly. 

“Turn your locator on!” he yelled behind the Cajun, just in case.[/i]

That was a few hours before Remy crouched on the precipice of his window suffocated by the hot, dense New York air. He was a little more sober now, a little calmer. Remy had turned his locator on, he figured it was the least he could do. Fence was currently watching the Cajun’s vital signs and Seinfeld concurrently. 

Remy stepped from the sill onto the hardwood floor. He was careful not to make it squeak. He superhumanly shifted his weight so he wouldn’t be putting excess pressure onto the foot on the floor. Once he was comfortably inside he heard a small clattering, it came from the kitchen. Remy quickly pressed the small device Fence had worked out to deliver the small metal balls he’d gifted the Cajun earlier. One smooth orb fell into Remy’s waiting palm, he rubbed it lovingly. The thief walked from the living-room, where he’d entered, and slipped into the hallway heading into the kitchen. Remy heard a ruffling behind him, his bedroom, and quickly spun in time to see an MIB, utterly unprepared. Remy acted quickly, sending the uncharged ball into the man’s chest. It knocked the air from his lungs and sent him back a little. Remy completed the attack by kicking the man in the chest, and following him further into the room. The spook crashed into the closet behind him and tried to draw his pistol. Remy kicked the man in the face, breaking his nose and knocking him unconscious in one hit. The Cajun turned toward the door of the bedroom, saw another spook in the kitchen. He dropped a ball into his hand just as the MIB drew his pistol. Remy tossed the charged orb into the kitchen and jumped to his side just as the agent fired. Remy bounced over his bed and dropped to the other side, he looked under the bed to find his bo staff case. The Orb exploded and a scream came from the kitchen. 

Remy stepped out into the hallway, broken glass crunching under his feet, bo staff in hand. He entered the soot covered kitchen, noticed the twitching feet poking out from behind the island countertop. The agent had been blown to the other side of the kitchen, shrapnel was stuck into his neck and chest. Remy’s heartbeat increased and his breathing seemed sporadic. Fence looked over from Seinfeld to see the spike in Remy’s vitals. He leaned forward and whispered to himself, “Come on, Remy. Get out of there.” 

The metal man couldn’t tell what had Remy so worked up, he couldn't know that he was no longer in immediate danger. He was frightened because he’d just been responsible for the death of a government agent. And, if the .22 caliber pistol next to the corpse meant anything, it was probably a CIA agent. Remy was fast after that, he packed some clothes, and his bo staff, and pictures of him and his adopted family, the LeBeau’s. Along with all that came a pistol, and a few extra clips. 

[center][b]3:30 AM[/b][/center]

Remy sauntered up to the reception area of the motel, tapped the bell. It didn’t take him too long to head uptown and find this motel in the North Bronx. He signed a phony name in the registration book, gave the clerk 50 bucks, and made his way upstairs. Remy stripped the bed clean, found no bedbugs, and so laid his head on the naked pillow. He hoped to get enough sleep to be functional for the mid-afternoon meeting he had scheduled with Fence. The Cajun’s stomach growled and he tried his best to ignore it.