Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

New Orleans. A bustling city in Louisiana. The streets light up in neon as buskers strum their tunes to the sweet melody of the laughs, cries and cheers that make up their lively home. Beneath the soothing glow of the evening sunset stands Remy LeBeau. Gambit. Carrying himself with an unspoken swagger, he strolls through the streets of his old town with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders swinging loosely. He flicks a coin into the guitar case of a nearby street musician, it makes a soft but satisfying thunk sound as it lands. The singer’s tune continues, uninterrupted, as Remy tips his shades to her with a smile. The sun slips through the gap and burns his eyes, Remy forces them shut and puts the shades back on, but then he catches a quick glance towards the white, wooden church across the road. That’s all it takes for a wave of nostalgia to wash over him as he sees a familiar face. A bald old man clad in white robes with a cross on his necklace sits on a brown bench next to the road, clutching rosary beads with his eyes closed and mumbling something beneath his breath. Standing at the edge of the path, Remy looks to the left and right of the dark line in front of him. A car comes to a stop with a brief yet sharp screech. The driver waves him across the road. Remy smiles and raises his thumb to them. “Father Karl!” The old man looks up and sees Remy jogging across. “You still ain’t hangin’ up wit’ da lord himself?”

Father Karl giggles. “Oh, Remy, my work on God’s world is far from finished.”

“Keep goin’ da way you are, you ain’t never gon’ finish it at dis rate mon ami.” He hops up onto the path and stands in front of Karl.

“So…” Karl leans towards Remy. “The big day… A year without bloodshed. Goes to show how people can unite under a single purpose.” He clutches his necklace and looks up to the orange sky. “Has the thought ever occurred to you that this was an advancement of God’s plan. A tsunami of peace to wash away the blood spilled over the years?”

Remy looks to the sky with him. “...Never thought about it too hard.” Clouds are nowhere to be seen, only the sun appears in the sky, and even then it’s starting to go down. He looks back down at Karl and crosses his arms. “I’ve never been a man o’ God, always lived life on my own terms…”

“I understand that, Remy. Still…” Karl stands up and crosses his hands. “It won’t hurt to have some faith. God gave you the gift of life, after all.”

“I suppose… I’ll think about it.” Remy flashes one last smile at Karl before turning away and waving back to him.

“Be seein’ you!” Father Karl calls out to him, before retreating into the church.

As he strolls along the path filled with good vibes and smiling faces, he sees a store he recognises from when he was a boy. “Goodies.” Bouquets of flowers rest in little black boxes next to the door. Clear windows allow a clear view into the store; the cashier stands at the counter, her back faces the entrance. Remy opens the door and a bell rings, a high pitched ring echoes around the store, alerting the cashier. “Ursula,” He says to the old lady. “Long time no see. How you been?” Remy takes off his shades and slides the temples into a pocket on the chest of his brown trench coat.

Ursula turns her head. “Oh, it’s you.” She notices Remy chuckling. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothin’, nothin’, just figured you look a little younger than when I last saw you mon chère.” He smiles.

“Yeah, yeah, keep talkin’ whippersnapper…! Anyway, what are you doin’ back in New Orleans?” She says, scratching her grey, curly hair.

“Dat memory o’ yours ain’t gettin’ much better either, I see.” He leans over the table.

“Why you little…” She raises her fist and shakes it like she’s playing maracas. A gentle smile spreads across her face as she rubs her pearl necklace. “You excited for the festival? Your fathers done a lot o’ work for it.” Remy nods. “I haven’t spoken to him in a while. Tell Jean-Luc I said hi, yeah?”

“Sure thing, oh and…” He swipes three yellow lollipops from a nearby jar. “I’ll be takin’ these.” He says with a sly wink.

“Oh you loved those little lollies when you were a boy… You know ya oughta pay for ‘em.” Ursula crosses her arms and raises her chin. They stare at each other for a few moments more, the lollipops begin to shake in Remy’s hand and Ursula’s frame fails to stiffen. Remy’s shoulders start jumping as he fails to contain his laughter, Ursula laughs too. “Oh you little idiot Remy LeBeau, go on, get outta here, it’s on the house.” She says, wiping the tear from her eye.

“Merci, Ursula.” Smiling, Remy sticks a lollipop in his mouth, the taste of lemon fills his mouth as he strolls back out of the door. “See you soon - oof.” He bumps into someone. “Sorry ‘bout dat.”

He looks up at the tall man. His face is the color of caramel and his black hair is brushed to the side. The stranger stares back down at Remy. “Don’t worry mi amigo, it happens.” The man speaks with a Spanish accent. Remy tugs his coat and walks away from the shop. The Spaniard’s sight sticks to him as he strolls away. Feeling a hollow pressure on his back, Remy turns back around… but the Spaniard is gone, vanished, like a phantom. A jingle comes from the door as it slowly swings back and forth. He rubs his chin and squints his eyes, wondering to himself, who is he? Brushing off the thought, he flicks his wrist from his chin and walks further from the store.

Street lights illuminate the path Remy walks with a seemingly endless line of conjoined stores and restaurants that line up as far as his eye can see. Still, he’s only here for one of them. Cafe Rich. It calls out to him, like it’s offering him a friendly invitation with its smiling coffee jar mascot on the bright yellow street sign. Pairs of chairs and tables lay empty outside. Remy walks to the door, but he feels a firm grip wrap around his arm. The unknown assailant attempts to drag Remy away, but he jolts forward, removing his arm from the sleeve. “It’s a nice coat, but if you want it so bad…” He turns around to see two skinny men in grey hoodies, the one on the left has his coat. “At least say please.” Remy curls his arms and shrugs with a wry smile.

The crook with the coat widens his eyes. “Wait a minute, is that…?”

His partner leans in. “Who?”

“You know who! Look at his eyes.” The crook’s finger guides him to Remy’s black and red eyes. They slowly turn their heads to look at each other, then quickly back at Remy.

“We can take ‘im, Leo.”

“Johnny are you nuts? He’s gonna kick our butts into next tuesday!”

“Alright, let’s settle down. Imma give you a choice. Gimme da coat and I’ll let you off… or you can whoop me, take the coat and beat it.” Remy crosses his arms. “A word of advice, I’d just leave. ‘Cus Gambit hits back. Hard.”

“No way, we’re done.” Leo releases the coat. As it falls to the ground, Johnny dashes towards Remy.

The world slows down as Remy sees Johnny’s fist gliding towards him like a bubble. He bounces to the left, Johnny misses, then turns to Remy, only to be met with an elegant bitchslap, sending him flying into the door. The glass cracks and rattles from the collision. “Should’ve listened, mon ami.” The reflection in the door shows Leo charging at Remy from behind. Just as he’s about to reach him, Remy jumps up, curls into a ball, flips backwards behind Leo and dropkicks him on the way down, sending him flying towards Johnny. They burst through the door, breaking the latch. Remy scoops up his coat from the ground with his foot and kicks it up to his shoulder. “Excuse me mes amis.” He says as he steps over the crooks. “You gon’ have to pay for dat by da way.” Remy scans the room, raising his brow towards the interior of the cafe, which is identical to the exterior. Chairs and tables fill the room and the walls are painted a canary yellow. The mascot floats next to the till, where a dejected employee stares blankly at the door, before slowly turning his head over to Remy. He doesn’t even try to smile, he just looks at him. Remy’s gaze returns to the door as the crooks get up. “On second thought, maybe I oughta pay for it… Hey wait.”

Leo and Johnny lean on the wall. “What?” Leo says with a wheezy breath.

Remy reaches into his pocket and takes out the two last yellow lollipops he had from Ursula’s. “For your troubles.” The two hesitate to take it, Johnny’s hand inches towards the lollipops. “Cmon now mon ami, don’ be shy.” Remy drops the lollipops into Johnny’s palm. “You run along now… An’ I don’ wanna hear ‘bout no funny business, oui?” They nod in response as Leo takes a lollipop.

“What’d I tell you, we shouldn’t have just taken him on like that, dummy!” Leo sticks the lollipop into his mouth. “This ain’t bad…” He shamefully glances at Remy. “Thanks.”

He punches Johnny in the shoulder. “Uh… Yeah, thank you.” They turn and walk away, mumbling to each other.

Someone in the room starts clapping. “Tres bien, Remy.” Once he looks to the corner, he notices a man in a tuxedo. A relic of his past life, one of honor and loyalty… and mischief. “A year went by just like that, huh?” He snaps his fingers as he says “that”. The well-dressed man looks to the employee. “Don’ worry Han, I’ll handle the door…” He turns to Remy. “...After I have a long awaited talk wit’ my son.” They exchange a quick smile. “Cmon outside. I wanna chat wit’ you, Remy.” Jean-Luc walks outside and Remy follows him through the broken glass door.

People have left, the street is empty, the sun is beginning to set and the moon is starting to show its face to New Orleans. Remy and Jean-Luc take a seat. “First things first. What’s wit’ da tux?”

“I like tuxedo’s.”

“Fair enough.” Remy shrugs. “I heard ya done a whole lot dis past year for the place, but how you been holdin’ up yourself?”

Jean-Luc links his fingers together and places them behind his head, before leaning back into them like pillows. “I’ve been fine. Disbanded the assassins guild a little after you left, which I’m sure rubbed some folks the wrong way…”

“Runs in da family.” They chuckle.

“Yeah… I heard they still scurryin’ round like rats without a hole. Some of ‘em tried to change their lives, but others… well.” He looks over to the side, avoiding Remy’s gaze. Something clicks in him, newfound energy sparks behind his eyes and lights them up. He turns back to Remy. “How’s Anna and those little furballs o’ yours? I thought they’d come.”

“They’re fine, Anna just thought it’d be best if I went on my own cus it’d be more personal or somethin’. I tell ya, she got a way wit’ words cus she somehow convinced me to fly solo.”

“Must be dat silver tongue o’ yours rubbin’ off on her.”

“I thought the same thing. Maybe I’m too good of a boyfriend.”

Jean-Luc laughs to himself. “Oh Remy, with love you can never go too far. It’s brought humanity dis far, right? There’s a reason it’s so precious. Without love, what life is there to be had?”

“Since when are you a philosopher?”

Jean-Luc closes his eyes and arches his arms like a rainbow. “Since the dawn of time itself…” He opens his left eye. Remy sits in silence as Jean-Luc waits for a response. “No? Ah well, can’t please ‘em all.”

“Yeah… Anyway.” Remy clears his throat. “What’s up wit’ da festival again? Imma need a refresher.”

“You got a spongy brain in there, don’t ya. Alright, from da top.” He begins. “Da festival is tomorrow, it celebrates a year of peace in New Orleans. It’s been reborn into a utopia compared to what it was back then, now that thieves and assassins are a thing o’ the past. I’ve pulled some strings to put dis together, gettin’ local bands and circus acts to come, stuff like that. I put some posters up around da town to promote it… I’m sure you’ve seen ‘em, yeah?” Remy puts a big smile onto his face and nods up and down, up and down… ”You haven’t seen them, have you?”

“Nope.”

“Oh my…” Jean-Luc covers his face with his hands. His laughter is muffled behind them. Wiping his tears of laughter away, he looks at Remy. “Alright, I’d better go now. I need to get up early. I booked you a hotel a few blocks down from here, so maybe if you wanna take a sweet young lady with you…”

Remy shakes his head from left to right. “Maybe if I wasn’t already wit’ da best lady in da world, then maybe I’d consider it.”

Jean-Luc winks at him. “You a good man Remy. Never change that mindset, not ‘till the day you die.” He gets up and shakes his hand. Remy watches as his father walks off into the distance, his frame shrinks after each and every step he takes.

The sun has set, leaving only the starry night sky for Remy to look up to. Little dots shine down on him as he leans back into the chair. It’s good to be back. A man in white is behind him. Remy pushes himself up from the seat, but then… “Excuse me.” Looking up, he sees the face of the tall man from Ursula’s shop looming over him with an inverted smile. “I see that there was a duel here. Fue muy bonito, the way you fought them.”

“Uh… Yeah. Bonito.”

As the Spaniard crosses to the other side of the table, he brings his nails up to his eyes and thoroughly examines them. They are cut thin like fresh blades of grass, yet no dirt lies under them. “In my language, it means beautiful. I admire beauty, it makes life so whimsical… to take away.” He pulls out Jean-Luc’s chair.

“What’s dat supposed to mean…?” Remy presses his arms on the table.

“I understand that you are a mutant, yes?” The strange man crosses his fingers. “You are, uh… How you say? X-Men, yes. You are X-Men.”

Remy grits his teeth. “I don’t like it too much when people know about who I am, but I don’t know so much as they’re name mon ami… Who are you?”

The stranger brandishes his teeth. “I am El Matador. I’m sure you have heard of me, the red aesthetic of murder is one that should be celebrated after all.” His voice builds up to a cheerful tone.

“Murder, huh? And why are you tellin’ me dis of all people?” He digs his thumb into his chest. “If you know who I am, you know how I feel about death.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Gambit, that is your name, yes? I think you simply don’t have an eye for the fine arts. Perhaps I shall give one to you.” El Matador waves his hand around Remy’s black and red eyes.

“I don’t take kindly to offers like yours. We’re done here.” Remy gets up from the chair, but just as he starts to walk away…

“Wait!” El Matador gets Remy to turn around. “One last thing.” He gently places two neatly folded fifty dollar bills onto the table. “For the door...” El Matador gets up and silently leaves, the smile still etched onto his face.

The cash lays still on the table as Remy takes a moment to consider taking it. El Matador is an assassin, this could be rotten blood money… But something jumps out at him. Between the cash, a blue piece of paper hangs out from a tiny gap. Pinching the little blue piece, he slips it out from the dirty cash. In his hand now rests a little blue square folded like the money. He takes a moment to unfold it, but it reveals itself to be a poster for… the peace festival. The air freezes, a chill shoots up Remy’s spine. He looks around, but El Matador is nowhere to be seen. If he is who he says he is, then what may become of the peace festival? Or rather, what may become of peace itself? Squeezing his fist, the poster crunches into a little ball. Down comes the rain, washing away the grime and dirt built up through the day, and yet, Remy stays still. His stomach churns, his head aches. Who is he? What does he want? Why does he know all that he knows? It’s time to go. A splash of rainwater covers Remy’s leather boots every step he takes through the damp New Orleans streets.

In a place unseen by all, El Matador keeps smiling…

Chapter Text

Under the pale moonlight that shines over New Orleans, a large crowd gathers beneath rainbow colored lights strung overhead. Disco music blares from loud speakers sitting at the top of the stage, igniting the atmosphere like the sun on a hot summer day. At the back, Ursula sighs as she slouches and taps her fingers on a stand she set up. Father Karl emerges from the crowd and waves to her with a friendly smile. “Evening, Ursula.”

She springs back up. “Father Karl, good to see ya.” She exclaims. “How’re things at the church?”

“They’re fine, thanks for asking. And the store?” He asks.

“Oh y’know… The odd customer every five days or so.”

Karl chuckles. “Same as ever, I see. Say, you don’ happen to sell those lollipops anymore, do you?”

Remy strolls up to the stand. “I was meanin’ to ask just that.” Karl turns back and sees him. “You two enjoyin’ yourselves?”

“It’s shaping up to be a great night, Remy.” Karl says calmly.

“Yeah, and wouldn’t you believe it, I’m almost outta lollies. Lucky I got two more, just for the two o’ you! A dollar each…”

Remy reaches out for one. “Don’ mind if I do.” Ursula yanks her hand away from Remy. She glares down at him with a stern expression.

“I said… a dollar.” She says.

“Oh c’mon now Ursula, you can’t just spare one little-”

“One. Dollar.” Her voice deepens. “You got your welcomin’ gift yesterday. Not today, little man.”

“Little man? For likin’ these? I’m a big boy now, chère.”

“Not a little man? Right… You’re a dead man walkin’ if you don’ pay up...”

Karl nudges him. “Come on Remy, you know how Ursula is.” He winks to Ursula.

Remy pouts and reaches into his pocket. “Alright, you got me. Here…” He places a dollar bill on the counter. “Don’ spend it all in one place.” He says as he takes the lollipop from Ursula. As he takes off the wrapper, he looks to Karl, who has a lollipop in his hand. “Hey, how come he didn’t pay?”

“Because Father Karl is a good man who said please… Unlike someone I know!” She hardly even bothers to glance at Remy.

“But he didn’t… Oh, whatever.” He walks away.

“Oh, and Remy!” He turns back to Ursula. “I hope you choke on it.” She says with a smile. Remy chuckles and walks off as Karl and Ursula laugh.

As Remy shuffles through the crowd, he notices a few odd faces looking at him. Some of their smiles vanish, others bear their teeth. He moves quicker, trying to get to the front. A drop of sweat trickles from his brow, he wipes it away. The beat of the disco tune hastens and Remy’s heartbeat matches its pace. Just as he emerges from the crowd, he gets to the stage. Fireworks launch into the air at the same time and explode, their colors spread through the clouds like rainbow dandelions.

Spotlights light up the stage, revealing Jean-Luc in a suit, but not the one from yesterday. His new suit is made up of a square-patterned grey coat and he wears a blue button up shirt underneath. He walks over to a microphone with a smile. “Hello New Orleans!” The crowd cheers, screams and whistles as shadows move in the dark… “Lovin’ the energy people, look alive!” Glowsticks shiver amongst them. “Now… lets get down to it folks.” He takes in a deep breath. “We just gone a whole year without the thieves guild or the assassins guild. Now, I’m sure there’s some o’ you wonderin’ what in da hell I’m doin’ up here considerin’ what I used to be… I’ll admit, I’d be the same if an ex-con told me that he stopped.” The crowd chuckles, Jean-Luc grins. “But that’s the old me. I’m here now with all of you to celebrate peace at New Orleans’ first ever peace festival!” The crowd cheers as Jean-Luc raises his arms and a red cloth falls from the top of the stage to the floor, just behind him. An emblem depicting two swords crossed like an X, dripping with gold, stands above everyone. He leans back into the mic. “Of course, we wouldn’t be here today if not for one man. A man who got forced out of his home because of how he was born, only to come back and show us what good we been missin’ out on…” Jean-Luc looks down to Remy in front of the crowd and reaches his arm out to him. “Please welcome, the one and only, Remy LeBeau!”

With a joyful grin, Remy places his hand on the stage and rolls onto it. As he gets up, Jean-Luc shakes his hand. “Da festival is great dad, thank you.”

“No Remy.” He pulls away and grabs Remy’s shoulders. “Thank you.” They exchange a quick smile, Jean-Luc slaps Remy on the shoulder as he walks up to the microphone.

The crowd goes silent in anticipation. A sharp breath is heard from the speakers as Remy begins his speech. “Gotta say, it’s good to be home.” He looks up to the sign. “Good as new.” He looks back to the crowd. “I get dat you may not be my biggest fans, but listen here… I spent a long while away from New Orleans and I’ll tell ya somethin’. Life has its way of changin’ you. That’s the beauty of it. That’s why it's so precious.” Scanning the silent crowd, Remy scratches his head. “So… When I was younger, the thief life ‘was’ my life. I figured that’s the hand I was dealt, that’s the life I’m meant to live. Lookin’ back now, I just think the old Remy was a selfish idiot. He lied, cheated and stole from a lot o’ you… Most o’ you… No, it was probably all of you. But dat ain’t me now. I have a way wit’ words, but dat don’t mean I can convince you that the new Remy is… What’s a good word? Reformed? It’ll do. Point is, I can’t tell you who I am now. I’ll have to show you instead.” He nods to the crowd. “Thanks a bunch.”

The crowd cheers for Remy as he walks away from the mic. Jean-Luc raises his thumb to him, before going back up to the mic. “Wow… That was borin’.” He says. The crowd laughs as he looks back at Remy with a smug grin. Remy chuckles. Jean-Luc looks back to the crowd. “Now, I’ll shut up and stop buggin’ everybody. But before I go, Imma wish you folks a good night, and for a round of applause for our band tonight… The howlin’ fireflies!”

A jazz group makes their way onto the stage, the crowd erupts in cheers and applause, the echoes of claps fill up the street. The drummer takes his seat with his hand on his chest. Saxophonists tune their instruments and trumpeters await the conductor. The conductor comes onto the stage and shakes Jean-Luc’s hand; his grip is firm, like a vice. He flashes a smile before turning back around. Jean-Luc scratches his head and looks at Remy. His eyes look like they just came face to face with a ghoul… from the past. The crowd falls silent, the spotlight lingers onto the group as people turn on their flashlights in the dark.

They burst into a high-pitched, upbeat tune. The melody dances into the sky and flies above the crowd, circling them like a tornado of butterflies. When the song finishes, the conductor spreads his arms and bows to the crowd - just as the explosive sound of a gun shoots through the air, then another and another. The band members all fall one after another like dominos. The conductor takes his hat off and throws it into the screaming crowd as they run away from the stage. “So nice to finally meet you again, señor LeBeau.” Remy’s eyes widen, El Matador has appeared! But he speaks to Jean-Luc…

“You!” Jean-Luc lunges towards El Matador, attempting to tackle him, but he dodges to the side like he’s made of liquid. Remy jumps in and swings his leg up to El Matador’s head, but he ducks under, spins around, landing between the two. “Remy, I got dis one, the roof boys are yours!”

Remy grits his teeth. “Alright, I’ll be back before ya know it!” He says as El Matador gives him a wry grin.

A child runs onto the stage with a teddy bear dangling from her fingers. “Mommy!” She screams. “Mommy, no…” The girl falls to her knees and shakes a female saxophonist.

Remy runs over to her, picks her up and carries her away. “Dis ain’t no place for a kid, come on!” She reaches out for her mother, tears streaming down her face with a croaking cry. Remy gets her behind the stage and sets her down. “Stay here petit, ‘til I get back.” He says, wiping the tears from her eyes with his sleeve.

“But…” Remy places his finger over her mouth and she keeps quiet. The girl sits down behind the stage with her teddy bear, squeezing it.

The snipers watch as Jean-Luc and El Matador fight. “A beautiful place you have made… And a beautiful place to die!” El Matador throws a quick jab at Jean-Luc. He dodges to the left, and counters with an uppercut. El Matador jumps backwards and does a backwards handspring. He looks at Jean-Luc with a smile.

“You still a springy sunnova…” He goes for a side kick, El Matador arches his torso like a bow, evading the attack. “Still at da killin’ business, huh?” Jean-Luc picks up the mic and swings it at El Matador, but he holds up the stick he used to conduct the band to block the attack. “Ya ain’t doin’ nobody no good Mat’!”

El Matador pulls on the stick, revealing a blade, a dagger. The sheathe deflects the microphone, sending Jean-Luc into a spotlight. “I’m doing a lot of good, Jean-Luc. It is you who holds New Orleans back from being the predatory paradise it once was, back in the days of glory.” He dashes towards Jean-Luc and tries to stab him in the neck, but he swipes the microphone into the air, pushing El Matador’s arm away. He grabs El Matador, and headbutts him, sending him stumbling off the stage and falling down to the concrete. Holding himself up with the mic, Jean-Luc sees El Matador’s head rising back up. “Muy bien.” He jumps onto the stage with one foot and his arms spread like an angel. “Now, let us create something truly beautiful, mi amigo…”

The two walk towards each other, closing the gap, as Remy sprints out towards the street with his bo staff in hand.

BANG!

A shot pierces the air, flying towards Remy, but he narrowly dodges it and keeps going - then again…

BANG!

The shot misses, a street light gets shot out, the glass collapses to the ground with a crunch. Two more shots blast from the air, Remy sends kinetic energy from his fingertips into the staff, charging it, he spins his staff like helicopter blades, the bullets bounce off of it and fly into the ground. As he gets closer and closer, his staff becomes even more enveloped in a pink flame. He raises the staff into the air, then buries it into the ground, launching him into the air. He does a frontflip and lands on a roof, right in front of an assassin. They aim their rifle at him and quickly back away, but Remy swings his kinetic staff into their gun, knocking it away and spinning them around, before Remy kicks him in the back, sending him onto a ledge. The assassin’s legs fly into the air. He falls over the edge - But Remy snatches his leg and pulls him back up. He sits the assassin down; they remain silent. “Don’ go anywhere, you hear?” Remy says.

BANG!

A bullet goes through the assassin’s head. His body falls to the right and his blood covers the ledge. “Sweet mother…” Remy turns around and sees another assassin loading their rifle. Before they can take aim again, he grabs onto the ledge and hops over it, but he still clings to it like a spider. Pulling himself back up over the ledge, he notices four more assassins scattered across the roofs. He ducks back down and looks over to the right. He sees a flagpole. It bends downward under the weight of Remy jumping onto it, before it launches him back up into the air. Pink squares radiate from Remy’s crossed hands. Only three assassins can be seen across the rooftops now… Cards fly from his hands, crashing into the assassins-

KA-KA-KA-KABOOOM

Orange clouds fill up the rooftops as Remy lands on the roof again. He looks back at the assassin with a sorrowful glare. Hopping over the other side of the building, Remy jumps onto a line with multicolored lights on it and swings back to the stage, where El Matador and Jean-Luc continue to duel. BANG! Another gunshot flies through the air like a bolt of lightning, snapping the line before Remy reaches the stage, sending him to the ground. As he lands, his legs fold and he rolls back up to his feet. Behind him stands an assassin wielding a revolver. His gloved hands are accompanied by a brown cloak, covering his masked face. The assassin reaches into their belt as Remy turns around, a charged card already in his hand. They both chuck weapons at each other - Remy, a card, and the assassin, a knife.

KABOOM

The card and knife blow up in the clash, leaving Remy face to face with the cloaked man. “Nice arm you got there… Shame what ya use it for.” His brow tenses, he takes his staff back out. The assassin unravels a kusarigama from his neck, letting it fall and dangle by his leg with a shivering jingle.

On the stage, El Matador drives the dagger down to Jean-Luc, he blocks it, the dagger drops through Jean-Luc’s arms, El Matador catches it again and digs it deep into Jean-Luc’s stomach. The microphone drops to the floor, a deafening thud roars from the speakers. El Matador looks at Remy. “Ah, you have met Marsh. He can watch as your father becomes my masterpiece…”

Remy turns to El Matador and sees the blood dripping down from Jean-Luc. His eyes narrow. A whistle brings his eyes back to the assassin. His gun is locked onto Remy, ready to blast his head clean off his body. A mix of rage and adrenaline rush through Remy’s blood as Marsh presses down on the trigger…

BANG

Like a flash of light, Remy swipes the bullet out of the air with the staff just as it was about to hit him! But a grunt comes from the stage. Jean-Luc grips his shoulder, blood seeps through his fingers as he coughs up more blood. El Matador kneels down and wraps his arms around Jean-Luc’s waist. He lifts him up and slams him through a spotlight, smashing the glass. Sparks fly out, Jean-Luc’s suit catches fire. He lays motionless, but he still breathes and his heart still beats…

“No!” Remy takes out a card and charges it before wildly throwing it without considering his target, the card flies up to the peace sign.

KABOOM

The sign crumbles down to the floor like a fallen titan, crashing through the stage, buried in the floor. “Aim is not so good, I see.” Mocks El Matador. With his charged staff in hand, Remy dashes onto the stage… But Marsh’s kusarigama wraps around the staff and rips it away from Remy’s grasp, taking him with it. He falls to the ground and turns back around to see El Matador curling his fingers. Marsh tosses the revolver to him. It soars through the air like a vulture to a fresh corpse. He catches it and lifts Jean-Luc out from the spotlight by his collar, before dragging him over to the edge of the stage.

“Remy… you-” Jean-Luc mutters through his red stained lips, reaching out to his son. El Matador kicks him off of the stage, and then...

A bullet exits the gun. It glides through Jean-Luc’s cranium. He falls onto Remy, lying in the middle of the empty street. As he stares up to the sky with its stars lighting up the pitch blackness that surrounds it, a man appears in a black suit, fit for a conductor. The man leans into his face with a microphone. “Bienvenido a mi mundo.” The words erupt from the mic like lava projecting from a volcano. Everything goes hazy, but the last thing he sees before he is absorbed into the wavy darkness…

Is the man smiling.

Chapter Text

Remy awakens with an aching pain in his head. He winces as his eyes adjust to the white light hovering overhead. The brightness burns his eyes, forcing them shut. Despite darkness covering his sight, light seeps through and shows him: flashes of gunshots–a crying child–a burning man soaring through the air. All these images play like filmstrips. A memory? No, it can’t be…

He battles the light and forces his eyes open, shutting out those horrific mind tricks. Light breaths jump from his lips as something slithers through his hair from back to front like a group of snakes. They crawl down to his brows and drag them up–yanking his head back, forcing Remy to stare into El Matador’s inverted face. “I’ve been waiting, mi amigo. Are you prepared for my next piece?” he says with a smile, before shoving Remy’s head forward and elegantly strolling to a seat and canvas just ahead.

Remy surveys the room. It’s like an archive of horror. Oil paintings cling to the green walls, depicting various ways people die. In one, a man’s chest is carved in the shape of a pentagram, his torso leaks a crimson liquid that spills to the bottom of the piece, staining even the frame with blood. In another, a drooling woman, who is hung up by her neck and held down by her ankles with ropes. She stares down at him with hollow eyes. A shiver runs down his spine. He looks away from the paintings and back at El Matador, seated in his stool with a long and thin paintbrush in hand. He wears white pants and a black, long sleeved, button up shirt.

“Nice place.” Remy slurs.

El Matador chuckles. “I put love into it. This piece of mine shall stand in the vacant spot over there.” A lonely pieceless segment of the wall faces Remy across the room, just above the door. “I beg you to remain still as a statue for me. The LeBeau’s are the missing puzzle piece in my gallery’s, shall we say… portfolio.”

The chair creaks and topples over as Remy lunges at El Matador. He lands on his shoulder with a light thud. A rope tightly binds his hands together. “You lucky I’m down here, or I’d beat the hell outta you!” he says, wriggling his wrists to get out. The friction burns, but he keeps going. Despite Remy attempting to escape, El Matador begins painting in silence. “What’re you even paintin’?”

Looking down at the restrained Remy, he smiles with his teeth like a tiger to a fawn. “My masterpiece.”

The rope gets looser. “A masterpiece, huh? Well how’s dis for a masterpiece–me and my dad kickin’ your ass!” The smile quickly vanishes from El Matador’s face and he raises his brow.

“Jean-Luc?” He gets up from the stool and shoves his brush into Remy’s mouth. It tastes stale and wet. “Jean-Luc is my masterpiece, Gambit.” Remy stops moving. “You don’t remember? At the festival?” He kneels down and clamps his hand onto Remy’s face, squeezing his jaw with an iron grip. “Your father is dead. I killed him.” he growls. Remy keeps shuffling with the rope. “He won’t be gone for long though.” Taking in a deep breath, El Matador lets out a warm, deep breath in Remy’s face. “I can just imagine what-” Suddenly, Remy buries his fist into El Matador’s cheekbone, sending him rolling away with a dull pain. Remy gets back up to his feet and bites down on his inner lips, sending a kinetic charge into the brush and lighting it up into a pink flame. He whips his head towards the wall behind him, sending the brush into it, and-

KABOOM

The explosion creates a hole in the wall, sending debris across the floor and to the ground below. As he moves towards the hole, Remy looks down at the ground below him. It seems to be a two story drop, nothing he can’t take. He looks at El Matador once more, who looks back at Remy with his hand on his cheek and a twisted smile to go with it, before jumping out to the street below. Upon landing, he folds his legs and rolls forward, giving him the momentum to sprint far away from El Matador’s gallery. Just as he lands, he realises he has nothing. No coat. No staff. No cards. Just his silver boots, black pants and grey shirt.

Dashing away, he glances back at El Matador, still standing, still smiling, with a phone held up to his ear. Remy can’t hear what he says as he rushes through the empty New Orleans streets. It’s dark. It’s lifeless. It’s quiet, too quiet. The city lacks the soul it once had; now it’s a mere blackened ghost of the hope that came with peace. There is only one place in the whole world where Remy wants to go–no, he needs to go. Home.

The dark path ahead is covered by blank windows that stare down at him, the lights that once brightened New Orleans have reverted to pitch blackness and flipped store signs shut down the market. Suddenly, a brutal sight halts Remy. The peace festival–or rather, the remains of it, call to Remy like an opera that fell apart, reeling him into the violent aftermath. He stumbles forward, bearing witness to the horrors of El Matador’s theatrical massacre.

Victims lie lifeless like a tombless cemetery of forgotten spirits. Something catches in Remy’s throat as he struggles to keep his eyes open at the desperate mimicry of the festival towards the rest of New Orleans. The rainbow lights? Torn, dangling and dark. The food stands? Empty, fallen to the ground. The band? Dead. Lifeless. The stage? Destroyed, the sign still scattered in front of the band. In front of the stage lies a body turned face down to the ground. A trickle of blood swims to their hands, spread open as if telling Remy to leave. Despite the uneasy feeling in his heart, Remy approaches them anyway. His hands tremble more and more after every heavy step he takes. Leaning down to the corpse, Remy places his hand on their shoulder. Their long, dark hair brushes his wrist. Taking in a deep breath, Remy rolls the man to the side… It’s Jean-Luc. His lifeless eyes look up at Remy between the bullet hole carved through his head. They pull something out of Remy–something that makes him lean over his father’s corpse and scream a muffled scream. Pulling himself back up, he carries Jean-Luc’s body in his arms. His cries fill the misty air that surrounds him. El Matador has carved out his place in his world, one with less love. Less peace. Less… Misty air? No–it’s smoke, and it’s filling the area fast!

BANG-BANG

Remy turns back to see a silhouette through the smoke, with a gun pointed to the air and a hat that slips over to the sides. They move closer to him and it becomes clearer who it is… The assassin from the festival attack. Marsh. “We got some unfinished business, don’ we cowboy?” Remy says, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I’m in da middle o’ somethin’, so if ya don’ mind…” He rips the bloody tie from Jean-Luc’s chest and charges it up in a pink light. ”Leave me to it…” Marsh points his revolver at Remy. “Fine then, if dat’s how you want it-” Remy chucks the tie at Marsh.

KABOOM

The explosion leaves a large crack in the ground, but Marsh is nowhere to be seen… Remy scans the smoke, looking for him. To the left? No. The right? No. He could’ve escaped, Remy thinks, when suddenly he hears a metallic jingle behind him. A chain wraps around his leg and pulls him deeper into the smoke. Planting his chained foot into the ground, Remy swings his free leg into the chain and stomps on it, burying it in the ground. Suddenly, the chain feels loose. It drops from his ankle, rattling as it falls. Looking back into the smoke, Remy doesn’t see Marsh, he doesn’t hear him. He yanks the chain over to him and inspects each end of it. It’s just a simple chain, not a kusarigama like before. It’s non-lethal, which means…

A quiet thud bounces from the back, Remy turns and sees Marsh, airborne and ready to kill with a kunai in his gloved hand. He slashes through the air, but Remy bounces back. Marsh shoots back up to cut Remy once more, but he gets his hand caught in the chain, before Remy shoves his arm to the side. Looking back up, Remy sees a revolver already trained on his face. Point blank. Kissing his nose. As he charges the chain, he looks into Marsh’s hollow eyes, hidden behind a scarf that covers his face.

Taking in a deep breath… Remy throws the chain into Marsh’s chest-

BANG

-and dives to the ground, avoiding the gun shot. The chain is charged, pink and ready to blow. Marsh throws it back at Remy as he scrambles to get up.

KABOOM

Too late. It detonates next to his back, sending him flying out of the smoke and to the side of the stage. Dazed and breathless, Remy clutches his back and looks back to the smoke with his back exposed to the cold nocturnal air, only to see Marsh emerge from it. Again, he gets up and runs as fast as his legs can carry him.

BANG

A sharp pain rushes through Remy’s right leg and he lets out a scream, but he keeps going with all that he has left. Marsh holsters his revolver and rushes towards the limping Remy with a kunai in his hand once more. Desperate, Remy looks to the stage and sees the microphone. Mustering up what strength he has left, he reaches out to it, charges it with his finger, and drops under the stage.

KABOOM

The microphone explodes, sending Marsh flying back into the smoke. Crawling away, Remy looks back to the smoke, then to his father, and it hits him like a sudden strike from a hammer. New Orleans will never be the same.

Nearby shadows drag Remy inside, shrouding him from the restless chaos. He crawls through the dark, a hand on his leg and another pulling him through. Within the neverending blackness of the road, the sparsely lit up windows of shut off homes burn out. Left alone in the abyss, he keeps going, he keeps crawling despite the pain. At the end of this street stands his old abode, still there in reality, but not in spirit. That–it lost just a short while ago. The door towers over Remy’s slumped stature. He has no key. No lockpick either. It won’t be that easy, of course it won’t…

He looks to the side. An open window invites him in. Clinging to the walls, he limps over to it. Blood leaks from his leg as though it were crying. Solitary grunts escape his mouth, each one a gravelly scream to the pain. Once he reaches the window, he leans over the window sill and falls through. A loud thud echoes through the room after he smashes into the floor.

The house is pitch black and quiet like a void. Remy, still weary, still hurting, latches back onto the window sill to pull himself back up. His arms ache the more he pushes. Once he gets up, the pain goes quiet… but it’s still there in his mind. Feeling across the walls for guidance, he touches something that feels like a little stick pointing to his hip. He wraps his fingers around it and lifts it up.

The stick makes a click sound and fills the house with a comforting light. The red stained floor trembles under Remy’s weighted footsteps, from the kitchen, to the stairs, and to the bathroom door. Remy forces down the handle and rushes past the screeching door. Crossing the room, he hops towards the medicine cabinet above the sink. It shatters with a single, powerful blow. Glass falls like rain to the floor as Remy rummages through medicine bottles and other junk until he snatches roll of bandages.

Emerging from the bathroom, Remy unravels the bandages. But just as he takes a step, his foot slips and he tumbles down the stairs, crashing into the cold hard surface below. The bandages leap from his hand across the room, like they wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

Remy lays on the floor like a dead starfish, drowning in his misery. His head throbs as his leg pulses with intense pain. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters–because everything is gone! Jean-Luc, the peace he built, all gone. The only thing left that matters isn’t here, so why bother. Why bother continuing. It would be so easy to just reach to his chest and let it all go. Forever. He can go to a world, a peaceful one, with Jean-Luc, Anna-Marie… Everyone.

A phone rings. Remy looks above the bandages to see the house phone vibrating. Fine then, one more talk. He rises from the floor and hobbles over. The cold metallic sensation of the phone fills Remy’s palm as he gently removes it from the wall and lifts it up to his ear.

“Hello.” he says blankly.

“Remy… is that you?” The voice of an old man comes from the phone.

“Who’s askin’?”

“Karl–Father Karl.”

Remy’s eyes widen. “Hol’ on Karl!” He hangs the phone over his shoulder as he drops down to the bandages. “I’m here, keep talkin’.” He begins wrapping them around his leg.

“I have plenty of people at the church. We’re doing our best to take care of everyone, but I’m afraid of what might happen if-”

“Listen Karl, it’s fine, I’ll get down to da church ASAP. Alright?”

“Okay, thank you. Truly. And about Jean-Luc… I’m sorry.”

“Yeah… thanks.”

“...Are you feeling alright?”

“Never better, father.” Remy stands and slots the phone into the wall. People are still alive. Lives need to be saved. Death will have to wait for Remy LeBeau.

A knock comes from the door. “NOPD, open up!” Remy looks to the door in silence, waiting for them to go away. “We know you’re in here, the lights are on.”

“Crap.” he mutters. Wondering why the cops are here instead of tracking down the assassins, Remy's mind thinks back to El Matador. Who did he call? Could it have been... He crawls over to the door and puts his hand on it.

“We’re just checking in sir, open the door so we can make sure you’re alright.” he says. Remy stays silent. “Sir?” Still, nothing. “Alright then…”

BANG

A thunderous shotgun shell blasts through the handle. The officer kicks the door down, but it suddenly emits a pink glow. Remy dives outside, landing behind the cop. Their eyes meet as the cop takes aim again–

KABOOM

The door explodes, prying the gun from the officer's hands and catapulting him through the air like a shooting star, crashing into the street face-first. Remy limps over and looks down at the officer, unarmed and scarred with the marks of the road. “A boy in blue. Impeccable timin’, I must say.” he says with a smirk. Dazed, the cop barely makes out his shotgun across the street. He inches towards it, but Remy swipes it up and charges it into a pink flame before flinging it into the sky...

KABOOM

Staring up at Remy with the destructive cloud rising over him, the officer pulls a pistol out. Again, Remy grabs it and charges it. Before the gun is even fired, the officer's hands start shaking uncontrollably. His weapon is let loose, his hands fall to the ground, and Remy stops charging it. “If ya don’ mind, I’ll be takin’ this wit’ me.” With a reformed stature, he leaves the officer alone in the street, stuck between Remy and the light coming from his home.

However, the gun starts glowing again. Remy freezes. He leans towards the ground and, like a ballista, hurls the pistol up to the heavens...

KABOOM

The road ahead is dark, but there is still a way back. A way to win. A way to live. As he walks back to town, hands in his pockets, Remy can’t shake off the uneasy feeling of that smile, that horrid smile of the man who executed his father…

The twisted smile of El Matador.

Chapter Text

Remy wanders through New Orleans with a newfound stride, alone and out of the dark. The sun rises above the city, brightening the streets, lighting them up with its welcoming heat. His leg pulses, the sharp remains of gunpowder scream and burn from the inside out, but he keeps moving. There’s more to worry about than a bullet wound. Whispers travel through the air, pulling Remy’s sight to a hooded man leaning on a wall ahead, hiding his hands in his pockets with his back turned. Remy shuffles over to him. “Listen, I hate the indoors too, but–” With the speed of a buzzsaw, the hooded figure turns and drives a knife towards Remy’s neck… But his arm is caught mid-swing. He looks into Remy’s black and red eyes. “As I was sayin’,” he continues. “You better head home, or else you and da shy one ‘round the corner are gonna get hurt. Understand? Dis ain’t a threat mon ami, just a precaution.”

“No… You’re about to understa–” Inside the man’s pinky, his joints give in to a slippery pressure that slithers into his palm, yanks away his fingers and snatches his blade. “H–Huh…?”

Remy smirks, swinging the knife between his fingers. “Dunno who you’re dealin’ with, do you?” The man grits his teeth and throws a series of punches, left hand, right hand, but it’s futile, Remy evades his strikes like a fly. “Instead o’ tryin’ to kill me, why not take up a hobby?” Again, the man throws a punch. This time, Remy trips him up, sending him tumbling to the ground. “Dis whole killing thing ain’t cuttin’ it.”

“Yeah?” He says, standing back up. “Well this gig is a team bondin’ exercise.”

“Really pullin’ our weight today, huh?” Rose embers rise from the handle to the tip of the knife. As he arches his elbow, a feminine voice roars from above. Instinctively, Remy leaps to the side and rolls away, meeting the pavement with a soft thud. The lady who struck from above lands, but a crack echoes in tandem with her pained screech. It pierces Remy’s ears. He tuts. Why bother going this far if you can’t handle a little drop? “Gotta be quicker than that.” Gripping his leg, he approaches them with a stutter in his step. Once he comes face to face with the woman, the ground rises to meet his knee. The girl clutches her ankle with her eyes closed. “That’s what happens when little girls like you play rough, petit. Now, which one o’ you is gonna tell me why you’re out past curfew?”

“G-go to hell…” says the girl, crawling away on her back.

“That wasn’t very nice.” He pauses for a moment to think to himself. These people look young. Children? Not quite. More like young adults. Still, some Cajun charm never killed anyone. New Orleans basically has a neo-assassins guild now so… “Alright, listen. I get that things are… a lil’ crazy now, with everyone gettin’ killed. Scary, ain’t it?” They look into his eyes, shivering, lacking their killer instinct, as if it were drained out of them. Remy places his hand on his chest. “I’m scared too. It’s alright, nothing’ wrong wit’ it. But,” With a heavy groan, Remy pushes his foot into the ground and rises back up. “You’re only makin’ yourself a part of the problem, petits. Go home. You’re mom an’ pop must be dead scared.”

The boy perks up. “We don’t...”

“You don’t what?” Moments pass, then he realises. “Oh…” A quiet sob comes from the girl, wiping the tears from her eyes with her coat sleeve. “Woah, hey now, it’s okay.” he says, holding back his own. “I know, I know. It’s not nice. But we gotta keep movin’. What’s your names?”

“Heather.” says the girl.

“Rick.” says the boy.

“Heather…” he glances at the boy. “and Rick… right.” Poor kids, nowhere to truly call home, nobody to wake up to everyday. Not anymore. They need help. They need someone in their corner. “You’re comin’ with me. I’ll keep you two safe. Promise. Oh, and here.” From the softness of the handle to the cold metal of the blade, Remy slips his fingers to the tip of the knife and tosses it over to Rick. He catches it and a flicker of joy appears on his face. Suddenly, a loud clink sounds from behind Remy. A can rolls up to his foot. He looks back and sees two people, a child on the left and an old lady on the right. They rush to Remy, hand-in-hand, with beads of sweat trickling down their heads. Remy squints. The closer they get, the clearer their appearances. The girl holds something close to her chest. The old lady is hunched over, but her facial features are as clear as spring water… Ursula.

“Re–Remy, am I not glad to…” She takes a deep breath, soothing her burning lungs. “See you.”

“Ursula, wh–”

“All o’ you, in there, now!” she says with rapid breaths, pointing her trembling finger towards the empty alley on the right.

Remy scans the asphalt behind Ursula as she, Rick, Heather and the little girl enter the tight space behind him. But there’s nothing. Nobody. It’s empty, save for some litter scattered across the ground and empty cars lining up on the sidewalks. Still, something dark lingers beneath the light. Before he retreats, he snatches the can from the sidewalk and pockets it. It could be useful. “We’re clear. Ursula, what’s eatin’ at you?” Remy says, turning into the alley.

Ursula brings her pointer finger to her lips. The world goes mute. A phantom presence urges the graffitied walls to close in and cage them like a frail group of animals in hunting season. Faint sobs come from the girl, burying her face into Ursula’s wine sweater. Rick’s hand trembles. His pocketed knife quakes; not from pressure, but anticipation. Blood seeps through Remy’s bandages as he clings to the wall, pressing his hands on the wound. Pain throbs through his leg in waves.

Something wraps around his body and turns him around to Rick! It holds his arms back as he writhes in silence. Rick holds his knife again, but now, in a reverse grip. He darts towards Ursula and the girl. Remy throws his head back into his restrainer, Heather. A crack comes from her nose, followed by a trail of blood that drifts through the air after Remy heaves her over him and slams her into the ground. His eyes snap to Rick and Ursula and the girl so quickly the image blurs. He’s tense. He can’t get up. More tortuous flashes of pain beat from his leg, like a rabid animal clawing its way out. There’s no way he can reach Rick… But maybe he doesn’t have to.

A cylindrical object leans on his leg. He rips it from his pocket. The can from earlier, what a life saver. “Incoming!” he shouts, before charging the can and hurling it at Rick. Ursula grips the crying child and drags her around the corner.

KABOOM

It launches Rick out of the alley and into a wall across the street. The knife falls to the ground. Stunned, he pulls his head up from the ground and looks up at Remy. His eyes carry the burden of a soldier left by his comrades to fend for himself, leaning on nobody and nothing but the skills he has learned through a lifetime of action, persistence, and loyalty. Loyalty, a thing these two have yet to learn. Life will teach them such a lesson, that is, if they live it. “Mom an’ pop mustn't have taught you manners.” Remy says. He looks back at Heather, on her back, facing the sky. “Or maybe you’re just bad students.”

Rick takes the knife up from the ground and crawls over to Remy with his back turned towards the little assassin wannabe. His limp fist barely holds the weapon. It’s about to fall. A beat played by Remy’s boots fills the silent street. He taps the ground again and again as Rick lifts himself up for the finishing strike… but the knife slips from his fingers and hits the ground again. He goes stiff. Remy’s hand seizes his collar and chucks him back into the alley, stumbling, collapsing to his knees. Little whimpers echo from the tight space. “Don’t leave us… please.”

“Fool me once, mon ami.”

“Please!” Heather emerges. “We don’t want–”

“Save it, petit.” He turns his back to her. Twice is enough. Now that Ursula and a child are here, another attempt at assassination, as audacious as it would be, isn’t wanted. He takes another look at them. “Your parents are probably rollin’ in their graves. Shame… coulda been friends.” Now, he turns from them, leaving them to be squashed like bugs in this game of death. “You can keep each other safe.”

Ursula tugs Remy’s shoulder. “We oughta get outta here.” He nods. Defeated, Rick and Heather watch as the trio walk, hand-in-hand, to somewhere safer. A looming threat lingers again. They speed up, power walking through the silent streets in search of a safe haven. Goodies, Ursula’s shop, appears in front of them. “In here.”

“We stayin’ in your place now? May as well be target practice here.”

“Shut it an’ get in, Remy!” Ursula hisses. They walk through the front door, then go behind the counter, where a flight of stairs leads underground. Upon reaching the bottom, Remy looks around the room. It’s like a hospital, or a clinic, or something in between. Only the stairs can bring you in or out of here, since there are no doors. A few beds lie perpendicular to the walls, eight by Remy’s count, four on each side, with a chair next to each of them. On the other side, a shelf that stretches across the whole room offers various medical equipment: bandages, ointment, and a bunch of other stuff Remy can't identify. There’s a few people here too. Some look like doctors, others are just staying here, seemingly unharmed, a couple more lay on the beds, and those who aren't lucky... aren't here. “Edna, you go sit down somewhere, me an’ him are gonna have a talk.” The girl nods, wipes the tears from her eyes and sits on a nearby chair.

“Edna, huh?”

“Yep. You saved her at the festival when her momma died.” She scans Remy. "Jeez, you've been through it, huh?"

Remy nods. "I've been shot, I've had a chain blow up on my back. Everyone wants a piece o' me. Heh..."

“About your–”

“I know, Ursula, I know. That guy, uh, what’s his name? El Matador? He took me to his gallery, said pop’s gonna be his masterpiece.”

Ursula hugs herself, like she got a chill just hearing his name. “Do… Do you know who he is?” Remy silently nods left to right. “That psycho was a part of the assassin’s guild when Jean-Luc disbanded it. Everyone here knows him because he makes art of everyone he kills. After he killed Jean-Luc, all the assassins cooped up in New Orleans were let outta their cages.”

“How many?”

“Beats me. Why, someone come at you? Well, besides those punks from earlier.”

“Some copper.”

“So called lawman on the beat at this time. I’d reckon he was in on it. So much for keeping the peace, right?” The two share a quick chuckle, but they quickly return to reality. "Seriously though, it's like New Orleans was always a city full of killers. Maybe it was."

“But why? Why did he do it?”

“I dunno… Before your dad died, he wanted you to take everything he had, wrote it in his will an’ all. Wait there.” Ursula walks to the wide shelf. She stretches her arm near the top, but can’t quite get there. Sighing, she looks back at Remy. He gets the picture. He totters towards the shelf and hops up with his left leg. Something lies at the surface. It feels tough and long and it rolls back to Remy, dropping down from the top and into his hands… A black staff. Remy’s eyebrow raises as he examines the staff, twirling it, swinging it. “Recognise it?”

“No, but–” He gets cut off by a flash of the past, a flash that stood as a strong memory since its inception. The day Remy started learning how to use a staff. He was just eleven years old, a little thief in the making, playing with the broom. Swinging it is an overstatement. Not even a compliment. Just a bald-faced-lie. That never mattered to Jean-Luc though. He was happy just watching his little crook have fun, building his future as a well respected criminal.

Eventually, he looked at his watch and decided he had to step in. He swiped the broomstick from Remy with his left hand. “Heh, helluva job ya done makin’ a dummy outta yourself, Remy. Come on, I’ll show you how we use it for real.” He brought Remy to the backyard, picking up his own staff, a black staff, along the way. They got outside, bathed in sunlight. “Alright, little man.” He holds his left hand out. “Dis here is how–huh?”

Remy’s no telepath, but even he could tell by the look in Jean-Luc’s eyes that he had a prodigy living with him when he saw his son wielding the same broom that got swiped from him earlier. “You’re on, pop.”

“Clever.” The young Remy poked forward with his broom, but Jean-Luc evaded it, wrapped his staff around Remy’s torso, and brought him to the ground. It didn’t hurt on the outside, but Remy’s pride was struck that day.

“No fair!”

“No fair? You’re a thief, you're supposed to be unfair.” Jean-Luc said with a smile.

Remy sighed. He turned back into Jean-Luc’s chest. “Pop, what time is it?”

“Hm? It’s–oh, you’ve done it again!” Remy flaunted his watch in front of his face with a smile that would piss off even the calmest of men. “Remy, I oughta take you down!” Jean-Luc smothered Remy in his chest, but Remy started blowing on him, which made a big, loud fart sound! The two burst into a fit of laughter. “Remy, Remy.” His son looked up to him. “You wanna be a thief, don’t you?” He nodded. “So you don’ like the assassins, do you?” Remy shook his head. “An’ why?”

“Because killin’ is bad. We don’t take lives, we take what makes ‘em matter!”

“Harsh way o’ sayin’ it, but sure. Now, for the big one. Are you happy with the life you're gonna live?”

Remy took in a big, deep breath and shouted “YES!” Jean-Luc flinched, but he flinched with a smile… It was a nice smile.

“It’s yours now.” says Ursula.

“Thank you. Really.” Remy gulps, holding back his tears. This staff is an heirloom, passed from Jean-Luc to him, and now that he has it, it will be passed from him to his child. “How’d you get this?”

“Me an’ your dad have known each other for a long, long time. Before you were even born.” She looks to the side

“I never thought you knew each other that well…” An odd question springs to his mind. “Ursula. Do you… do you know who my mother is?”

The air thickens with the nonexistent tragedy of an unfound bond as Ursula looks back up to him and gulps. “No.” That’s what she says, but Remy has been around long enough to know when to tell a truth from a lie… this was no showing of honesty. He never knew his mother. It probably isn’t Ursula, well, it better not be, but it would still be nice to know the woman Jean-Luc loved… No, let’s not dwell on this. More important things need to be done. He nods in silence and leaves the room, walking up the stairs.

The girl starts crying again. Remy and Ursula look over to her, tightening her grip on the teddy bear. “Woah, no it’s alright…” He glances at Ursula, she mouths the name ‘E-D-N-A’. Remy nods. “Ella.”

“Edna!” snaps Ursula

“Edna.” Remy hastily replies. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me, you, or Ursula. Just stay here an’ you’ll be okay, got it?” Edna’s sobs get so intense, she starts rapidly gasping for air. Whatever Remy says won’t get through to her.

Ursula tugs his shoulder again. “Edna, honey, I’ll be back in five okay?” she says softly, then leans into Remy. “Lemme walk ya up. I’ll even treat you to somethin’.” she whispers.

“I love surprises.” he whispers back

“Then let’s go.” As they leave, Ursula raises her voice back to her normal tone. “I’ve already had the talk with her about her mom. She’s gonna be a little… y’know.” Once they reach the top of the stairs, Ursula takes a jar of lollipops from under the counter. “Kept some here as a little secret.” She opens the jar and gives it to Remy. “For the road.”

“Alright… Just the one though.” He holds up a lollipop to Ursula’s face before she even realised he took one out. Remy winks and puts the lollipop in his mouth. “I’m off to da church to meet wit’ Father Karl. You can keep these folks safe, right?”

“Of course I can, you don’t get to my age without a few scars ya mutt!” They chuckle as Remy leaves the store, with Ursula left alone and the sun peaking through the blinds. Jingles ring from the door as the bell shakes, and Remy vanishes. She smiles to herself. With Remy around, there is some hope that all this will go away… Until she hears another jingle from the door moments after his departure. “You forget somethin’, Remy?” When she looks at who just came in, she sees something worse. Not Remy. A smile. A sharp one. One that bites, doesn’t let go, and chews anything it likes into magnificent ribbons.

This smile… is a smile that comes from El Matador.

Chapter Text

They’re watching him, the deadly eyes of New Orleans. Locked onto Remy Lebeau. They observe his staff being planted into the ground and helping him forward. His bandages are loose and blood is spilling from the gunshot wound, painting his leg scarlet. The only thing bringing Remy comfort is a lollipop’s sour flavour. Crows caw nearby. He looks up to them, resting their wings in the air. Birds have a luxurious freedom unique to them, a freedom that guides them through the sky’s cotton candy, a place they fill with happy chirps and mournful caws. It’s their space. Remy wishes he was in a place where he can just be. A space that’s his. Today’s New Orleans is not a place like that. It is one of terror, not the utopian wonderland he was promised…

Behind the birds stands the church, holding Father Karl and the others. Remy looks from his feet to the road that guides his eyes to the white structure of faith. A flash of light comes from its head, where the hunter marks him through a scope. Air catches in his throat. He dives to the ground, taking cover behind a cab. There is a jewellery store to his left with the name Heaven’s Bells written over the front door. The entrance, made of glass, allows Remy to examine the interior. In the center, a glass counter displays its products. Some gold, others silver. The colors are all he can make out. A door waits behind the counter. He pushes up from the ground, ready to bolt through–

BANG

A bullet rips through the air. Shards of glass eject from the cab, sprinkling the turtled Remy with its razor sharp edges. Close call, he thinks to himself. If he hadn’t ducked, the bullet would have taken him out. The sound of the shot mimicked the explosive kind found in rifles, so the marksman should be reloading their gun.

He clutches his staff and focuses. Kinetic energy flows from his hands to his weapon, shifting it from black to a radiant pink. It’s been three seconds since the shot. A couple more and he can pop another one. Remy twists to the left, aiming his chest at the jewellery store. He breathes deep, inflating his lungs as much as he can, before spitting the air out. Placing the round end of the staff on the door, his body toughens up. He whacks the charged staff, catapulting him through the glass entrance of the jewellery store and into the back door. The impact rips the door from its hinges. Shielding Remy, it crashes into a brick wall, but the force of the collision snaps the door in two. Remy’s body feels deflated. Shards of glass pierce his clothes, but only kiss the skin on his arms. His head swims and spins. He inhales, taking a moment to recover. Right now, nobody is here to help. All Remy has are himself and his tools. He takes a roll of bandages out of his pocket and unwraps the ones he has on. As he tosses them aside, a man makes his appearance at the entrance of the store. El Matador. He strolls past the shattered window. Glass crunches under his white loafers. Remy sees his brown trench coat folded over El Matador’s forearm and a small book lying in his left hand, letting him work with the fountain pen in his right hand. What is he doing? Writing? Drawing? The book is the only thing he is focused on. His white gloved hands are stained red. That man has been somewhere before this… His figure disappears, his shadow follows, leaving Remy to a moment of solitude and recovery. He yanks a handful of bandages off the roll and hovers them over his reddened leg–

BANG

The bandages fly out of Remy’s hand. He turns to the left and sees the cop from earlier, still dressed in his NOPD uniform. The lawman has a new look on his face, however; a relieved smile. “Lucky the car had a spare.” he says, his pistol trained on Remy. With his staff in one hand and a bandage in the other, Remy jolts forward, landing on all fours in the store. He swings the staff, smashing the glass counter into little pieces. The cop appears from behind the door frame, clutching the radio on his chest. “He’s in Heaven’s Bells!” he says.

Remy snatches rings, bracelets and necklaces from the stand. He looks at the cop as he aims his gun at Remy. “Go for gold!” Remy says, igniting the jewellery. Pink dots scramble through the air as the cop retreats into the alley.

KABOOM

The ceiling collapses. Remy bolts outside of the store and dives through the cab window, landing in the driver’s seat, staining it with glass, before looking back at Heaven’s Bells. It was one of his favourite places to steal when he was younger. Strange how he was the one to destroy it.

His leg leaks a crimson drool. Hovering the bandage over his wound, an image of the officer comes into his mind. Heaven’s Bells is the second-to-last store on the street. That cop could come around the corner of the store next to it and shoot. A bullet could take him out before he even got the bandage on. Returning the bandage to his pocket, he lies on the driver’s seat and begins hotwiring the car, frantically fiddling with the wires as beads of sweat scamper along his face.

Electricity sparks and the engine growls. Remy stomps on the pedal and reverses the car out of its parking space. Heaven’s Bells crumbling image in the windshield shrinks. The car spins around like the chamber of a revolver, dismissing the Jewellery shop from its view, now shining its headlights on Father Karl’s church. Tire rubber screams and scorches the ground, leaving a black trail on the road. Remy’s eyes are fixed on what’s in front of him.

BANG

A shot comes from above, ripping through the front wheel and manipulating the cab into ramming the church. The steering wheel drifts against Remy’s control. Piloting the vehicle is now like riding a horse full of adrenaline for the first time: chaotic, scary, and a premonition that says you’re about to be propelled into a tree. Remy snatches his staff from the passenger’s seat, kicks the door open and dives. He lands and rolls on a soft patch of grass. The car ploughs the bench next to the road. Wood crunches, it falls to the green below.

Remy plants his staff into the Earth and stands back up, spitting out the lollipop that rested in his mouth, accompanied by the metallic taste of blood that blocked out its comforting sourness. Once Remy looks up, he sees the cop standing in front of him. His pistol is trained on Remy. “Now what, chump? Got any more tricks up your sleeve?” he says with an impish smile and a youthful voice.

“Officer, tricks are,” he takes a deep breath. “Tricks are my… My thing.” Looking up to the sun, Remy lets his eyes close and runs the numbers. How does he die? How might he live? Fighting won’t do any good with that leg of his. The burning pain has turned to a freezing numbness, dulling all sensation from thigh to foot. His body, inside and out, has deflated. This guy is a trained killer. Right now, Remy has no chance. But forget combat, a bullet from the cop’s gun would be quicker than any speed he could generate right now. There’s one tool he has left though. His silver tongue. “Nice weather we’re havin’ today, don’t you think?”

The cop raises his eyebrow. “...Sure.”

Remy returns to the wet grass, dampening his backside. “Day’s young. Sun’s shining. Not bad.”

“Hey, buddy! You know I’m trying to kill you, right?”

Remy chuckles. The officer’s words pass by him like a paper airplane. “You hear people say they wanna head to… the moon.” He takes in another breath. “But I’d love to fly to the sun with my girl.” Lowering his gaze, a flash of confusion appears on the officer’s face. “That’s my dream, mon ami. You don’ wanna mess up a man’s dream, right? What’s your name?”

“...Brad.”

“Brad, I’m Remy.” he says, placing his hand on his chest. “I dunno you, I dunno why you do what you do, but what I do know is that you don’ agree wit’ it.” The officer’s breath hastens. “You haven’t killed me yet. Must have some humanity left.” Remy leans against the staff. “You ain’t all bad. Not even da worst cop I knew.” Brad shakes his head and takes a step towards Remy, his hands rattling. Remy lets the staff fall, and nods towards Brad. “I’m a thief. You’re a cop. We ain’t da same, not one bit… But jus’ for today, make my choice with me, Brad. Please.” The weapon chatters, staring into Remy’s red and black eyes. Brad’s breath hastens, Remy’s steadies.

Eventually, Brad lowers the gun. Remy meets the action with an affirming smile. “Okay… Now what?” Remy points his thumb over his shoulder and towards the top of the church. Arching his neck, Brad shakes his head left to right. “Nobody’s there. Not even…”

“Who?” Remy asks.

“Nothing–nobody.” Brad’s voice weakens.

Remy grabs his staff, stands, turns and looks to the roof. The sniper vanished. “...Coulda hurt someone, wavin’ that thing around.” A cold sensation pokes his nape, freezing his body and urging a shiver to dive down his spine and around his core. Remy raises his hands.

Brad laughs. “It’s been too long since I’ve done this.”

“Thought we were friends now. What happened to the nice Brad?”

“Nice? There is no ‘nice Brad’, Remy LeBeau.” Remy’s eyes widen. Brad chuckles. “Yeah, I know you, how you took down the assassin’s guild last year. We’ve all been itching to have a go with you, pal. Who would’ve thought it’d be this easy?”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” The word prompts Remy to think, does the events that transpired last year have to do with what’s happening now?

Ahead, the doors to the church burst open, swinging towards Remy and Brad, and revealing Marsh, arms spread. “And–and look at that, we have an audience.” As Marsh’s feet drag him forward, Brad meets him with a smile. “That, uh, that–that tire shot of yours was something, huh?” Remy feels the gun vibrate. Is it adrenaline? Excitement? Or could it be… fear? Marsh twists his body and reaches deep into his cloak. “I got–We got him… you wanna do… it?” Silver flashes. It disappears.

Feeling the metal slide down his back, Remy dashes forward. He turns around and sees Brad, clenching his teeth, and waving the gory, empty space where his arm used to be. Now smothered by the grass, it lies limp and bloodied, carrying his pistol in its wet palm. Brad’s banshee-like scream shakes Remy, but leaves Marsh unphased, holding his sword in the air. Scarlet droplets stain the green, showering the gun, the hand, the arm. His tight glove bathes in the blood, savouring it, creating a memory to be relived. Remy glances at the severed arm, imagining Brad’s pain and fear of the Reaper’s oncoming doom. Leaning forward, reaching for the gun, Marsh turns. He digs his sword into the forearm and flings it at Brad’s head, knocking him down onto the road. Powerless to stop Marsh, Remy watches as he drags Brad to a kneeling position. His blue NOPD uniform is now stained red like a blossomed flower set aflame. As Marsh brings his blade to the side, Remy makes out the words: help me, coming from Brad’s lips, before Marsh swings into his neck, slicing through with ease, decapitating him. His head cracks off the ground. A bloody mess is left between it and his body, still kneeling. Eye contact is made with Remy, branding his mind with an image that stays with a person forever, ensuring they never forget what happened.

Remy looks from Brad’s head to his killer. Blood spills from Marsh’s saturated blade. As he lingers morbidly, his limbs shake, his breath quickens, his grip on the staff tightens and he steps back, but slips on the blood soaked grass. The door to the church behind him shamefully watches as Remy scrambles up to his feet, gripping its handle. Marsh charges at Remy. Dripping with the juice of a lost life, he aims his sword, ready to exterminate him. Remy charges his staff and slams it diagonally into the ground. The impact propels him through the door and away from Marsh. He bounces off the ground and tumbles into the centre of the nave.

“Espera!” A voice shouts, elegant and authoritative. Remy, lying on his back, looks down, past his feet and sees the discreetly rabid Marsh. With his weapon in the air, he stands still and silent, like a statue in a battlefield. “Gambit, it has been an eventful day for you, si?” Remy cranks his head back up and sees him, El Matador, holding Remy’s coat in one hand and Father Karl’s ear in the other…

...And he looks at Remy with an inverted smile.