[center][img]http://images1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130612040929/marveldatabase/images/a/a3/Gambit_Vol_5_Logo.png[/img]
[b]Somewhere between Connecticut and Rhode Island
September 8th, 2012
3:23 AM[/b][/center]

Remy sped down the i 95 at blistering speeds. The dirt kicked up from the supped up Harley Davidson tittered the chrome muffler and trailed behind him like a comet’s tail. A matte black helmet covered Remy’s face as he sat hunched over on the speeding bike. 

The dossier for this assignment, Fence was really big on dossiers, informed Remy of a trade happening between Trask industries, and, who some may consider, henchmen for the infamous Kingpin. All in all, it was bad guys giving gifts to other bad guys. The data-logs for caches like this always read out as military equipment, so says one of Fence’s stooges. In particular, Remy was tasked with finding prototype all-in-one night-vision goggles. Trask industries recently boasted about this new invention and how it would change the lives of hundreds of thousands of military personnel. Some units may actually make it to the US military, most would find it's way to paramilitary organizations, those without a congress to reign it in. This is exactly the sort of thing Remy would need for his infiltration into Trask HQ. So, rather than letting Trask bolster his friends and allies on the streets, Fence suggested that the cache be liberated. A nearly microscopic tracker was placed in the truck before it left the HQ by Fence’s inside man. 

Remy got lost in thought for a moment as he recapped all this information in his head. He was caught on that last thought, who was this inside man? Could he be trusted? Would he come through when Remy really needed him, on the inside? Unfortunately, these were the unknowable questions, the kinds which espionage types had to let rot in their brains until truth was eventually revealed, and only as a matter of course. Remy was suddenly pelted with different questions, however. Questions which could be answered. 

Like, for example: Was that the delivery truck ahead, it’s bulbous form silhouetted by the crimson glow of it’s break lights? Was the road clear? Was this the ideal opportunity for the ambush? All the questions received a resounding yes from Remy’s instincts, and he kicked into overdrive. 

The motorcycle came right up beside the front wheel of the armored truck. The man in the passenger seat was reaching for his coffee cup in the holster when he noticed the pink glow from his peripheral vision. His reaction, to unholster his pistol, was too late. The glow had disappeared underneath the truck and the motorcycle next to him sped off in front. 

There was always a delay after Remy threw his corrupted items. It mostly depended on the size of the object, and Remy’s focus on said object before and after release. Since his cards were balanced, and he’d been playing with the things all of his life, he had a pretty good handle on how to control them, and so would always use them for situations like this. 

Just as Remy was sufficiently in front of the truck the card exploded, taking with it a section of the wheel, and parts of the radiator. The driver clearly lost control and the vehicle slid to it’s left before skitting to it’s side and toppling over, sliding only a few more feet until stopping. The wreck sent all sorts of shattered debris into the air. The truck seemed in rather good condition as Gambit strode up to it, however; in that, it was not on fire. Startled coughs came from the cab as smoke plumed from the crashed passenger side window. Remy held in one hand a pry bar, a lock-pick set in the other. The motorcycle was haphazardly parked in the middle of the highway, it’s lights illuminating the far off woods.

Intercepting the truck half way through New York and Rhode Island wasn’t the hard part, getting out unseen and unknown was the difficulty. Within moments Remy had the storage compartment lock picked. He pried it open, ending with a satisfying click which sent the rest of the door sliding open. Boxes and crates laid along the slanted truck in disarray. Remy noticed the small black crate, perfect for goggles, laying atop another, longer crate. Remy could tell that the smaller box contained exactly what he’d come here for, so he put it aside and opened the one underneath. A modified Scar-H laid in the cushioned crate, it’s ACOG scope glintning in the moonlight. Remy quickly tucked the things onto the cargo compartment of the sturdy bike and covered them with a black blanket. 

Remy heard noise behind him, feet crunching on glass after a fall. He whirled around with only one thought, his CZ SP-01 held dangerously in his grasp. The goon had an uzi in his hand, didn’t seem to have noticed Remy. The Cajun took his chance, laid one into the man’s arm, another in the knee. The goon drooped the gun and fell to his back in pain, yelling and holding his knee. The driver climbed up from the cab as well, a shotgun held carelessly before him. He immediately saw the Cajun and took aim. Remy had no choice, he capped the guy, spraying blood on the inside of the truck cab. 

Remy dropped the pistol to his side and leaned against the motorcycle in relief. The man on the floor could hardly get a grip on where he was, much less where his gun was. Remy hostered the pistol in his leg holster and straddled the bike, chuckling with a violent anxiety. As the goon screamed in the coastal air Remy placed the helmet on his head and revved the engine. He sped down the way he came, the FUBAR scene behind him. “Damn it!” he whispered to himself, “damn it!”

[center][b]Sewers under 59th St., New York
7:40 AM[/b][/center]

Remy was exhausted as he made his way back to his little closet among the muck. After dropping the equipment and bike back at Fence’s, Remy had to take the train back home. He wasn’t even able to sleep because of the crowded rush-hour traffic. As Remy turned the corner to his alley he noticed some huddled figures under the green light. He pulled his pistol and slid along the wall, being as quiet as he could manage. The figures seemed less and less imposing as Gambit neared, their small and cracking voices becoming clearer and clearer. 

“No, you’re gonna break it!”

“Am not, I’m the one…”

Remy cocked back the hammer of his pistol, “Don’t move” he said, “and don’t run, I’m faster than you.” The figures immediately stopped moving, immediately shut up. After a few moments of dread coursed through them, Remy put his gun down. “Turn around.”

When they did, Remy felt like he ought to reel, but he couldn’t. One had the snout of a pig, the other the beak of a bird, with feathers to match. Both of them, undoubtedly, were children. The feathered one carried a bent bobby pin and a screw driver, the other seemed to have a game boy attached to some computing system.  It didn’t take Remy long to see what was happening here. These little urchins were trying to break into his room, and they were locals. These were the legendary Morlocks, those "freaks" written about in the tabloid journals and confidential files alike. Remy was starting to have those lines blurred for him. 

“Back away.” The children parted with his words, like the Red Sea. He input his password and opened the door with his thumbprint. “You boys are lucky I found you. If you'd managed to open that circuit breaker and rewire it, you probably would'a received a neural shock. Don’t try it again, and I promise to teach you a thing or two.” Gambit Sauntered into the room, dropping his coat on the cot, leaving the door open behind him. He checked the mini-fridge and retrieved a couple of items. He placed the palm-sized plastic cups on his dining table, to be viewed freely. “You boys like pudding?”

The deformed boys eyed each other incredulously, smiled with salivating mouths. They passed through the threshold to receive their unforeseen reward.