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The noise and bustle of the club was the perfect atmosphere for Remy LeBeau. With such a large crowd to deal with, the people working security were less likely to notice a kid who almost certainly shouldn't be in there, and the chances of him being thrown out onto the street were greatly reduced. Of course he knew enough tricks by now to get by, and it had been several months since he'd been kicked out for being underage.
Being kicked out for causing trouble, however… well, that had only been a couple of weeks or so.
As always, he picked out the table closest to the nearest rear exit, familiarising himself with the layout of the building so he knew where to head if things got ugly. A game of cards had already started up by the time he circled towards his chosen table – two gruff-looking men who looked like they could crush bones with their bare hands, a blonde woman with eyes that told Remy she was no stranger to this, and a younger man in a rumpled suit, two days worth of stubble adorning his jaw, one knee bouncing nervously beneath the table. Bingo.
Tipping his fedora forward just enough to shade his eyes, Remy dropped his shoulders to appear more casual, and idly wandered over to the table. The two bigger men looked up at his approach, barely sparing him a glance before one of them grunted and began to awkwardly shuffle the deck of cards. The woman, however, gave him the once-over Remy had expected. She was probably taking a mental note of the expensive clothes he wore, and the pocket that held a very full wallet. He was being marked as a potential target, just as he'd known he would be.
"See you got yourselves an empty seat dere." His kept his voice smooth, almost like a purr, one hand resting on the back of the chair the man in the suit was in.
"What's it to you?" The man with the cards grunted at him. Remy reached into a pocket, not missing how the other man not-so-subtly put a hand inside his jacket, no doubt ready to draw a concealed weapon if necessary. So his company was armed. Well, that wasn't uncommon. With a smirk, Remy dropped a stack of bills right in the centre of the table with a satisfying 'thump'. The man stopped fumbling with the cards, and his companion's eyes widened almost comically. The woman's eyes, however, lit up with glee – and the jittery man's knee ceased its nervous bouncing.
"Will dat buy de seat?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He'd had them from the moment he'd flashed the cash, and the table was his. He circled around them slowly, deliberately taking his time to reach the final chair, sitting empty between the woman and the man with the cards. He smiled as he slid into the seat, crossing one leg over his knee, making sure to keep his posture as relaxed and casual as possible. Play the part, that's what his Papa had taught him. With almost delicate movements, he reached over and plucked the cards from the man's hands, shuffling them with an elegant grace he'd also picked up from his Papa. In the back of his mind, he registered the faint hum of potential energy within his palms, and logged it away for now. That was a worst case scenario at best.
"You got a name, hon?" The woman smiled, leaning into the table very slightly. Remy was almost entirely sure that she was trying to draw his attention to her very womanly figure, no doubt wanting to get an idea of how best to play him.
"Remy." He never gave his full name – not often, anyway – to minimise the risk of someone catching up to him, someone who perhaps had a problem or two with him being in town, but he would never give a false one either. His name was all he had. He pushed up the brim of his fedora with one fingertip, giving her a glimpse of his extraordinary red eyes. He'd found that the 'exotic' card often played well.
"Erika." Her smile shifted from friendly to something a little more sensual, and Remy knew that he'd hooked her.
"Deal the cards." One of the men demanded, and Remy gave a roll of his eyes that only Erika could see. As she concealed another smile, he leant forward and dealt the cards, keeping his eyes upon her. If necessary, he'd use the ace up his sleeve, but he had a feeling she was his already, and things would go smoothly from here.
Only an hour later, and Remy had cleaned out the nervous man in the suit, and both of the bigger men, too. All three had left the table muttering angry curses after tossing down their cards in frustration, and now Remy sat opposite Erika as he counted his winnings. Throughout the game she'd been giving him all the right signals – a flash of a smile, idly twisting her hair around one finger whilst she debated whether to be in or out, and giving him definite 'bedroom eyes' across the table whenever he performed a flashy trick with the cards.
"So what will it be, darlin'?" He purred smoothly, gathering up the cards and shuffling them idly. "Wanna take a chance, double o' not'in'? Or are you out, too?"
"I want to know what your secret is, hon." She was leaning in again, keeping her eyes on his. "You can't be older than what's legal and you wiped the floor with those losers like it was nothing." Remy grinned now, flipping a card from the deck into his other hand.
"My lucky lady, cher." He held it up so she could see its face – the Queen of Hearts. "Treat her nice, an' she'll reward you." He leant back in his chair, lifting one leg to rest his foot on the empty chair beside him, assuming a lounging position as he held the deck of cards in his hand, ready. "So what'll it be?"
"Oh, I think I've given you quite enough of my money, hon." She pushed back from the table and rose gracefully, tossing her hair over one shoulder. Remy followed her with his eyes as she circled around the table towards him, and he smirked at her in that devastatingly attractive way he knew best as she leant down over him. "But maybe that lucky lady of yours will get you into a more… private… game." She tucked something into his hand before turning and sauntering off into the club, and Remy grinned to himself as he opened up his hand to reveal a business card with a name and number.
He considered holding the table in case a bunch of tourists wanted to try their hand at some poker, but he'd already gained a sizeable sum of money and the crowd was beginning to thin out as people moved on somewhere else. That was the only problem with this neighbourhood – nobody really stuck around for too long, and there was always another bar or club to visit. Remy liked to move with the crowd, giving himself more chances to score some cash, and it was easier to lose himself and disappear. He gathered up his money and tucked it away, keeping the deck of cards in one hand as he slipped away from the table, heading for the back exit. He might have been able to slip through the front door upon entering, but at this time the security would be tighter on the main entrance, and the last thing he wanted now was to be hauled out into the street with the threat of the cops looming over his head.
No one saw him leave, which was just the way he liked it. Escaping into the night without leaving a trace of himself behind was always best, especially when he was a hunted young man. You could never tell who was an informant for the Assassins, and anyone on the street or in the dark corners of a bar could turn on him in a second. He had a price on his head, and money made people brave. He lingered in the alley behind the club, contemplating his next move – he could follow the crowd, slip into another bar and pick some pockets if there wasn't a game to play, or he could return to his current residence and spend the rest of the night with the pretty young thing across the hall. He was definitely making some progress there.
"Well, well." The sudden voice startled him – and it shouldn't have, which only made him angry with himself. He was usually good at picking up on the approach of an attacker. "Look what I found down here with the rats." A man stepped out from the darkness of the alley, and Remy relaxed just a little. It was only one of the men from the table – and although he looked pretty pissed, Remy knew he could take him quite easily without too much fuss. The other one stepped out behind him, and Remy tipped his hat to them.
"Gentlemen. A fine evenin', wouldn' you say?" As he spoke, his eyes searched the immediate area, finding several routes of escape and a number of potential weapons. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.
"Cut the crap. See, we got this problem. We want our money back." The second man growled, stepping up until he was shoulder-to-shoulder with his companion. Remy knew what they were trying to do. Between them, their bulk blocked the exit onto the main street behind them, and so they believed they had him cornered. Remy, of course, knew these streets, had known them since before he could even write his name, and he knew that just over the fence at his back was another main street lined with people. It wouldn't take much to hop over and disappear into the crowd. They might have thought him trapped, but Remy LeBeau was never trapped.
"Afraid dat can' be, gentlemen. Dat money was won, fair an' square. You got a problem, alrigh', an' dat problem is you bein' bad at poker." He shifted his weight, preparing for an attack, and gave them his most confident, cocky smirk. "Ain' Remy's fault you suck harder dan a gay prostitute." Remy had been in enough brawls in his time to know the type of men he was facing – they were big, and they'd use their bulk and their sheer weight to try and floor their opponent, with minimal accuracy in any punches they might throw. They also got too caught up in their own anger.
When the first man gave a roar of rage and charged towards him, Remy dropped low to the ground and slid between his legs, twisting onto his front at the last minute so he could push up and be on his feet as soon as he was clear. Of course, fighting two of them was going to prove more of a challenge than usual, and their sheer size could pose a problem. Remy wasn't exactly small – he was tall for his age, but very slender and willowy, and not nearly as strong as the two men he was facing. But he was fast, and he was flexible, and he had a secret weapon under his belt if it came to it.
He ducked and dodged and weaved as both men grasped at him, knowing that the second they had hands on him the fight was theirs. Remy tried to keep his head clear, thinking only about his next move, knowing the slightest distraction could tilt things in their favour, which wouldn't do at all. So much for a quiet night.
He came to a dead stop when he realised he was caught between them in the alley – one partially blocked the exit to the street, the other partially blocked the fence and the secondary escape route. Remy glanced up, making a note of the drain pipe rising up the side of one wall, and the lower roof of the building opposite. If he could scale the pipe, he might be able to jump down onto the roof and disappear – if one of the brutes didn't snag his ankle before he could get out of reach.
"Damn… you're just a damn kid." One of the men sneered, and Remy heard a menacing chuckle from behind him.
"Better watch your back, kid." Remy turned, keeping both of them within his sight, ready for any sudden movement from either. "Else you might disappear, too. Been hearin' about those kids all over the country, just vanishing into thin air. Some o' them aren't so lucky, though. They say it looks like a wild animal attack, scratches all over the walls." Remy heard the familiar sound of a flick-knife clicking into place, and he braced himself ready for his escape. "I think we can make this look like an animal attack, don't you?"
"Oh, aye." Remy calculated how quickly he could get up the pipe against how fast these brutes would follow him, and he figured he might just have enough time if he caught them by surprise. "Might teach him a lesson. Didn't your momma ever tell you not to talk to strangers, little boy? Didn't she tell you to stay out of grown up's business?" There. That was his chance.
"Don' got no Mama, gentlemen." He told them with a casual smile, as the deck of cards he'd hidden up his sleeve slipped down into his hand. "But my Papa taught me a t'ing or two." He felt the hum of energy pass from his fingers to the cards, felt them buzzing in his hand, and he let them fly – scattering them in an arc around him. As the first of the cards made contact and exploded, he leapt forward and caught hold of the pipe, pulling himself up hand-over-hand, his entire body still humming with the explosion of energy he'd released.
By the time the two thugs down in the alley recovered from the unexpected explosion of pink energy, Remy was long gone.
--
Remy shimmied down the broken fire escape, and slipped through the window of his current place of residence, a newspaper clutched in one hand. The room beyond was dark, the only source of light coming from the flashing neon sign on the building across the street, and a faint glow beneath the front door from the hallway outside. He navigated the room with ease, finding the dim lamp on the bedside table, and he flicked it on, slumping down onto the old mattress that barely counted as a bed.
He flipped through the pages of the newspaper hurriedly, until he found what he was searching for. The headline read 'More missing children in bizarre animal attacks' and the article was barely more than a page. Clearly it wasn't big enough for front page news, despite the nature of the topic. Remy skimmed through the text, and then tossed the paper down.
It hadn't been the first he'd heard about the kids going missing, but it had been a couple of weeks since he'd overheard anything about it. The reports always made mentions of bizarre circumstances – the claw marks were one thing, but some kidnapping locations had been ablaze, or plants were growing where no plants had grown before. Everyone seemed to pass over this information after a while, thinking it unrelated or unimportant, but Remy knew better.
Mutants.
Someone was kidnapping mutants.
The children reported missing were all between the ages of twelve and sixteen, with a rare occasion of one being a year or two younger or older. Given that Remy knew mutations often developed around puberty, it only strengthened his theory that someone was targeting mutant children – and that made him a potential target. He was fifteen, still within the age range.
Of course, the news articles only seemed to mention kids who were missed – parents or guardians reporting them missing, leading to an investigation, and Remy wondered how many more mutant children had been snatched, the ones no one would miss because no one would look for them. He glanced around his shady, run-down surroundings, and wondered if anyone would notice if he was snatched, too. A year ago, maybe, when he lived in an expensive house in the nicer part of town, surrounded by people who cared about him, but now? Well… perhaps Papa would notice eventually, but what if it was too late by then? After all, who knew what happened to the kids after they were taken?
He'd have to take even more care from now on, and hope that whoever was responsible for kidnapping mutants wasn't going to come anywhere near New Orleans.
--
Remy typically slept through most of the day, waking only to steal away and pick up what few essentials he needed. It was much easier to go unnoticed once dusk fell and people flocked to the French Quarter to experience the nightlife, and for someone who shouldn't even be in the city it was important for him to be seen as little as possible.
He did his usual patrol of the streets before he selected the first bar to try his luck in, easily slipping through the front door without any hassle. He guessed the light dusting of stubble he was trying out was working in his favour, as the guy on the door barely even glanced at him twice. Didn't even need to flash the fake ID.
It barely took him a couple of hours to pocket a decent sum of cash, wiping clean a number of unfortunate tourists who were all too eager to try their hand at poker with a New Orleans local. He slipped away into the night before anyone decided they wanted to try and get their money back – it happened all too frequently for his liking. Normally he'd head on to another bar or club, or take a quick trip home to stash his earnings, just in case. Not tonight.
He swung down by an establishment he usually passed right over on his rounds – the atmosphere was too light, and business leaned more towards good food and friendly company than alcohol and gambling, and so it provided almost nothing for Remy's nightly business. Over the past week and a half, however, it had become a regular stop on Remy's route. Good food and friendly company, he'd found, made for good, up-to-date gossip on things the newspapers neglected to mention.
Like the young girl who'd disappeared from a gentleman's club somewhere on Bourbon St three nights ago.
For all Remy knew, it was a standard kidnapping, something the police would uncover and deal with when somebody finally kicked their asses into gear and got them to dig a little deeper. Unfortunately, the girl had had no family, most of the people she worked with only knew her by her stage name, and she was practically homeless as it was. The police weren't going to look too hard – either they'd find her eventually, or they'd find her body. That's how it was with the unfortunates. No one to care enough.
Well, Remy cared. The actual location of the kidnapping wasn't known, but she'd left work in the early morning hours and hadn't turned up the following night. She could have been taken any time between shifts, from anywhere, and without a crime scene there was little to be learned. Remy sat at the same table every night, idly sipping at a hideously brightly coloured cocktail as he listened to the locals talking, picking up new facts in between all the theories and guesswork. Not everything the locals talked about was relevant of course, but sometimes it didn't need to be.
Because Remy now knew where he could find the scene of the kidnapping.
An angry landlord had caused quite a scene in the street, screaming at his neighbour over some apparent damage the neighbour's dog had caused to his building. The neighbour, it was told, had denied all knowledge of it – indeed, claimed to have been out of town for the past couple of days, with the dog. Remy had taken note of the location – he knew the buildings well enough to work out the address – and he'd finished his drink quickly, but slowly enough for it not to be suspicious.
And now he stood looking upon the scene where 'Star' had been kidnapped. It had to be the spot. He'd perched upon a neatly stacked pile of boxes beside the fence that bordered the yards of the two houses, at first intending to scout the area and assess from a distance before he actually started searching the crime scene itself. The fence that cut through the middle, separating the two yards, was barely more than splinters now – completely torn apart, and deep scratches adorned the remaining sections of fence. Bits of scrap had been tossed around, as well as flower pots and bricks and basically anything that might have been lying around in either of the yards at the time. It looked like a small tornado had hit it.
Nothing seemed amiss. There was nothing overly weird or out of place about the scene – nothing obviously linking this disappearance to those of the mutant kids. That didn't mean it wasn't connected, of course. Not all mutations left marks behind, after all, and even some that did could be passed off as occurring naturally. Remy knew that all too well – after all, how many of his explosions had been ignored, passed off as being caused by electrical faults or propane leaks? Asides from the claw marks, which had been present at almost all of the disappearances, there was nothing to suggest this was a definite link to the other cases.
As much as he hated to admit it, the claw marks could have come from something else. It was unlikely, of course, but he'd been raised to think of every possible angle before rooting anything in his mind as fact. Jumping in before you had every last scrap of information could lead to mistakes, and mistakes could mean death – and for Remy LeBeau, death just wasn't an option.
Two days after he'd scoured the crime scene for any other clues, they found Star's body – mangled and broken and ravaged. Remy overheard a mortician telling his friends that the girl looked as though she'd been attacked by a wild animal. Something akin to panic gripped him for a moment – none of the other kids had turned up at all, dead or alive, which meant one of two things.
Either the kidnapping had gone wrong, and Star had been killed in the process… or she hadn't been the reason the killer was in town in the first place.
He downed the rest of his drink quickly, a little more hurried than usual, but he was too focused on getting himself somewhere he considered safe than worrying about being noticed by the wrong people. Leaving a tip on the table, for Remy was nothing if not polite, he picked up his fedora, tipping it down over his eyes, and he swept off into the night.
He needed to head back home, gather up his things, and move somewhere else. Although he never took the same route home twice in the same week, it wasn't a stretch to assume he'd been followed, or watched. He'd need to hole himself up somewhere different for a while, or keep himself moving. A moving target was a harder one to hit, after all. It'd be a shame – he hadn't gotten any further than a bit of fooling around with the pretty young thing across the hall, and he'd been hoping for a tumble in the sheets before he had to move on. Maybe he'd pay a visit once this was over.
There was a fire escape ahead that would lead him up onto the rooftops of the city – part of it had rusted and fallen away, and the lowest remaining ladder had been jammed for years and no one had bothered to fix it, but Remy would never be deterred by something like that. He took it at a run, a spark and a crackle of pink energy flashing each time his boots hit the concrete, and then he pushed up, using his built-up energy to boost him higher, both hands catching the bottom rung of the ladder. He swung for a moment, taking a second to get his body under tight control, and then he pulled himself up the ladder, landing on the fire escape with a faint clatter.
Well, what was the point of a mutation if he didn't use it?
Smirking to himself, he climbed the rest of the fire escape at a quick pace, swinging around the rusting framework where ladders had jammed or looked too brittle to risk applying weight onto the rungs, until he stepped up onto the rooftop and breathed in cool, night air. Yeah, this was his city, from the darkest streets to the highest rooftops, from the river to the lake, through uptown and downtown and everything in between. Home.
He had the advantage of being on home turf. Whoever was in town looking for him was going to have trouble finding and catching him here – and Remy had connections, even if he shouldn't be using them. Still… it was probably easier to risk the Assassins catching his trail than the one who mangled Star. He turned in the direction of home and hurried across the roof, swinging down onto a drainpipe on the side of the building and sliding down it until he could hop down onto the roof of the building next to it, rolling as he landed to minimize the risk of injury. It would probably have been quicker down on the streets, but up here he was less likely to be followed.
He knew he'd have to drop down onto the street soon enough, however, and that was when he had to be careful, especially in this part of town. One of the buildings the Assassins Guild used as a safehouse was located nearby – though they probably weren't aware that the location was known to the Thieves Guild – and several of them were likely to be scouting the area. Another threat to add to the list he had to avoid.
The city was a blur of neon lights as he raced across the rooftops, the sound of the crowds below barely registering as more than background noise. He shimmied down another drainpipe when he reached the spot he'd have to turn off down another street, and dropped to the ground in a crouch, ready to push off and run if he needed to. When two silhouettes stepped into the mouth of the alley, he pushed up and twisted around, flattening himself against the wall behind a dumpster, hoping the shadows would conceal him well enough. He hadn't seen their faces, but he had seen the coloured cloth tied around one arm, and he knew it well.
Assassins.
With slow, careful movements, he slipped his hand into one pocket and fished out a handful of playing cards, pressing them into his palm, ready to charge them. The sound of footsteps approached, and he shrank back further into the shadows, waiting.
"You hear 'bout dat girl dey found?" Remy tried to place the voice, but it was unfamiliar. An Assassin he hadn't yet tangled with – that might work in his favour if it came to blows.
"Yeah, a damn shame. Saw her perform once o' twice." The second voice he knew, however. He was nothing special, but they'd crossed paths a number of times in the past. They were just passing the dumpster now, rather close – too close. "Dey know who did it yet?"
"Nuh uh, don' t'ink so. Wouldn' surprise me if de T'ieves blamed us, t'ough." The second man scoffed at that. Remy tensed, ready to attack – they were three steps from his position.
"Naw, dey know better dan dat." There was a pause, and Remy held his breath as they stepped out from around the edge of the dumpster. If either of them looked down, they'd see him. The trick was to keep deadly still – the slightest movement would attract their attention. "Dey may be flashy idiots, but dey know we got mo' style dan dat." Remy's jaw tightened in anger at the careless insult. Flashy idiots. Remy'll remember you said dat.
"Careful what you say." They had passed Remy now, but he dare not move until they were out of sight. He couldn't risk a fight with them, not now – though he might come back later and kick them around for talking about the Guild like that. "Dey're still bitter over de price we put on de Prince's head, an' you know de walls o' dis city have ears."
"I don' care if dey hear! Let 'em come at me. An' dey got not'in' to be bitter about! We were we de ones mournin' a deat' in de family. Dat lil brat o' Jean-Luc's got what was comin' to him." Remy felt the anger rise, and before he could stop it, energy crackled around the cards in his hand. The sound was lost in the conversation the two men were having, as neither of them stopped or turned to see what it was, and Remy had to restrain himself from running after them, or throwing the cards. He reminded himself that if he alerted the Assassins to his presence in the city, he'd have to leave or lie low for a few weeks before things settled down again. It would only be an inconvenience to him.
He slumped back against the wall as the Assassins turned out of the alley and disappeared from sight, and he tightened his grasp on the cards, feeling them bend a little beneath his fingers. Six months ago and he would be running home to report the incident to his father, but that was no longer an option for him. He could never go home. That was the rule. That was what he'd promised.
He wasn't even supposed to be in New Orleans, and if his father knew, he'd be furious with him – but how could he stay away, when New Orleans was all he knew? How could he stay away from the city he was born in, the city he was raised in? More importantly, how could he stay away from the only family he'd ever known? The price on his head could only be enforced within the city, that had been the agreement between the Guilds. If he left, if he was excommunicated from the Thieves Guild and never returned, he could keep his life, but if he was caught within the city, the Assassins had a right to his life – and all because he hadn't been able to control his mutant powers.
In a mixture of anger and grief, he tossed the cards, watching as they exploded against the opposite wall. He didn't care if the Assassins heard and came racing back – in fact, right now he'd enjoy a good fight. He wanted to go home, to walk through the front door and be enveloped in his father's arms, to have his father ruffle his hair and smile proudly as he emptied his pockets of the money he'd won at poker. He wanted to sit at the dinner table and flick peas at Henri whenever their father wasn't looking, and play it up when Henri kicked him beneath the table in return. He wanted to hotwire a car and race it through the streets whilst Henri did his best not to puke in the front seat, and knock back shots of vodka as he picked clean the handful of Thieves who dared to play cards with him despite knowing he'd kick their asses.
But that was a life he could never go back to, no matter how much he wished it.
He stood and stepped out into the alley, staring at the crumbling bricks that had once formed part of the wall. The explosion had been relatively small, considering, and the hole wasn't big enough to cause a problem – it hadn't even gone all the way through. Still, the noise would have attracted some attention, so it was about time he moved on before someone came to investigate. He turned as a shadow fell across the mouth of the alley and he sighed, a lie ready on his tongue – but the words never came. Something about the man standing a few feet set him on edge.
The man's head tilted back a little, just enough for the neon lights to illuminate his features, and when he smiled Remy saw fangs. In the back of his mind he remembered the details of the kidnappings, and how Star had been found – like a wild animal had attacked. Since vampires weren't real – at least not in New Orleans, they weren't – there was only one explanation.
This guy was a mutant, and a bad one.
"You're a hard one to find." He drawled, confidence oozing from every word. He flexed his fingers at his sides, and as Remy watched, his nails grew at an alarming rate until they formed sharp, wicked claws. Definitely a mutant. His head cocked to one side very slightly, and the smile grew, turning cruel. "Remy LeBeau."
"Now dat's a lil unfair. Remy don' know yo' name." Remy shifted his weight, angling his body so he could fight or run at a moment's notice, one hand slipping into his pocket to withdraw a card. "What'll he put on de marker fo' yo' grave?" The man chuckled at that, shaking his head in amusement.
"Names won't matter where you're going." He told him. "But… I like your confidence." The fingers flexed again, the wicked claws scraping together at the movement. "You can call me Victor."
"Yo' de one kidnappin' mutants." It was spoken as a fact, not as a question – Remy knew he should keep him talking whilst he worked out his plan of action. He passed the card into his other hand, feeling the energy humming against his skin, and made a note of the various escape routes he could take. If he could distract Victor – blind him, perhaps – then he could hop on top of the dumpster and clamber up the side of the building and try escaping across the rooftops. It had worked plenty of times before, so it was safe to assume it would work now. "Got a fetish, old man?"
"You sure got a big mouth for such a little kid." Victor took a step forward, and Remy tensed in anticipation for his next move. "And you talk too much." Something glinted around Victor's neck as the light caught it, but he was too far away to make out what it was. Asides from that, he was dressed plainly in black, and Remy couldn't see any weapons tucked away anywhere – and he knew what to look for. It made sense to him that a mutant would rely solely on their power.
But he hadn't been raised a mutant.
"Not de firs' time Remy's been told dat." He smirked, making calculations in his head as Victor took another step forward. "Everyone always says 'dat mout' o' yours will get you into trouble one day', but actually it's often de one t'ing dat gets Remy out o' it." He charged the card in his hand, and lifted it in preparation to throw it, the pink glow reflected in his eyes. Victor's eyes went to it, and then he grinned.
"Oh. Pretty." Remy's smirk twisted into a scowl and he let the card fly – and as it exploded against Victor's chest, Remy reached inside his jacket and withdrew something silver and cylindrical, which extended into a long staff with a well-practised flick of his wrist. He wasted no time once it had clicked into place, leaping up onto the lid of the dumpster to gain some extra height – and then he jumped up, the end of the Bo hitting the ground with a spark of pink energy as he vaulted across the alley. The extra push gave him even more height, and he flipped up and over until his boots made contact with the rooftop.
His father had taught him to fight with a Bo almost from day one, and it was a skill he had passed down to him. Remy had been told many stories about Jean-Luc's talent with the Bo, of how he'd broken spines with a single strike, and had seen the impressive skill first-hand once or twice. Remy never went anywhere without his, and it had saved his life on more than one occasion.
If the explosion hadn't put Victor down, then he'd be following him within minutes, so he had very little time to get as far from here as possible. Gripping his Bo tightly in one hand, Remy darted across the roof, trying to work out where to head next. His best option would be to leave the French Quarter entirely, and hole up somewhere no one would ever think to look for him. He had a few places in mind, and so he turned, intending to scale down the side of the building and make his way north from here.
Thankfully there was a working fire escape on this side of the building, and he took it at a run, clattering down the steps – no ladders for this one – towards the street below. The crowd was thinner than usual, but it was still easy enough to push through and get himself lost within it, keeping his Bo tucked up behind him, the steel pressed along the line of his arm. He no longer cared about being discovered by Assassins – he'd take out anyone who tried to stop him, and they'd never find him once he got himself to a safer location. All he cared about now was putting as much distance between himself and Victor.
He broke free of the crowd on the opposite side of the street, slipping down a narrow alley between two bars. He weaved in and out of crowds for several minutes, hoping that if Victor was following him, he'd be put off by the amount of witnesses around. So far, no one had seen the kids taken – they all went missing on the way home from school, or late at night, or from empty parks. Victor didn't want to be seen.
No one paid much attention to the kid with the big metal stick, not in New Orleans, where weirder things were seen on a daily basis, but they might pay attention if the kid was suddenly taken to the ground and kidnapped right in front of them. Remy was relying on the safety of the crowd for now, at least until he'd put the French Quarter behind him. Of course, there was always the chance that Victor had been seriously wounded from the explosion, if not killed, and he was running from nothing. After all, he'd once blown a hole right through someone's chest – and that had been an accident.
He slipped into a side street, leaning back against the wall as he tried to slow his racing heart. Fear wasn't something Remy was ashamed to feel – if you weren't afraid now and then, you were probably stupid or reckless – but he knew it could be fatal to a clear head, and he really needed to keep his head clear right now. Had he still been the prince of the Thieves Guild, he could have run to any one of the several safehouses scattered throughout the city, and Victor would become nothing but a tale to tell in future, but he was on his own here.
There was no way Victor could have followed him, even if he'd come out of that explosion. He'd taken a really indirect route, weaving back and forth and making it as complicated as possible to find him again. He had time to catch his breath and work out where to go from here.
"I like it when they run." It was definitely fear that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. It was definitely fear that made his blood run cold, and his muscles tense. He whirled on the spot, Bo clutched tightly in one hand, and faced Victor. No… this couldn't be possible. Victor's shirt was singed and shredded, but there wasn't a single mark on his exposed chest – no blood, no burns, nothing. He'd known there was a chance that the exploding card would only inflict minor damage, but for Victor to walk away completely unscathed? That hadn't factored in, because that was impossible. He swung the Bo, the end cracking against Victor's jaw, but despite the hiss of pain upon impact, Victor merely laughed and caught the staff in his hand. "Now, now. That's not very nice."
"Remy don' play nice wit' assholes like you." He growled back, wrapping both hands around the Bo and sending a charge of energy down its length. He smirked when Victor immediately released it as the energy crackled against his skin, and he jabbed forward with it, the energy exploding against Victor's chest and knocking him backwards off his feet. Whether or not it would wound him, it bought him some time. He jumped up onto a couple of trash cans, knocking them over as he jumped again, one hand catching the ledge beneath a window on the side of one building. A hand circled around his ankle and yanked, ripping him down away from the ledge.
As he fell towards the ground, Remy twisted, slamming his Bo into the ground as he brought his other leg around to kick Victor in the face. The grip on his ankle was released and he swung around the Bo with the control a pole-dancer would be envious of, dropping into a fighting stance when he hit the concrete.
"Oh, you are interesting." Victor laughed, wiping blood from his nose. Well, at least the bastard did bleed. "I'm going to enjoy this." He straightened up, the cruel smile back on his face – and then he sniffed the air, deeply. "You act tough but I can smell the fear on you."
"You know dat's creepy, righ'?" Remy adjusted his grip on the Bo, watching as Victor crouched a little, flexing his fingers as he prepared to strike. "Grown men shouldn' be sniffin' teenage boys." The attack came then – Victor leapt forward in a very animalistic manner, teeth bared and claws extended, and Remy swung the Bo, twirling with the movement. He felt it connect with Victor's head, and this time he didn't give him chance to recover. He flipped over him as he bent over from the impact, landing in a crouch and sweeping the Bo around to connect with the back of his legs, aiming to take him down. Victor was bigger than he was, and almost certainly stronger, but Remy knew that only brought them down harder.
Only Victor wasn't just some thug he'd pissed off in a bar. Victor was a mutant with a purpose, and he was proving to be much more difficult to keep down. Only mere seconds after he sprawled on his back, he was back on his feet and lurching forward, catching Remy around the middle. As his back slammed into hard concrete, Remy cursed himself for getting caught by surprise like that. He tried to lift his arm to swing his Bo, but Victor anticipated it, and Remy cried out when he felt the bones of his wrist shatter beneath Victor's fist. His next thought was for the cards in his pocket, but Victor had his other arm pinned at his side and he couldn't get to them.
The fear he'd felt earlier returned fiercely as Victor loomed over him, sneering cruelly as he reached inside his coat. As he leant over, a set of dog tags swung forward, glinting as they caught the light, and Remy picked out the name stamped into them – Victor Creed. If he survived this, he'd remember that.
"Time for your nap." Victor smirked, pulling out a device that Remy was unfamiliar with – but it wasn't difficult to work out what it did. The tip pressed against his neck, and he vainly tried to struggle free, despite knowing it was almost certainly useless. When Victor pulled the trigger, he felt the short, sharp pain of a needle prick, and then his vision went black.
--
When he came to, he realised he was lying on a cold, hard floor.
Slowly, groggy from whatever had been done to him, he pushed himself up and blinked several times to get his eyes to focus. His head felt like the morning after Mardi Gras, and he ached from head to toe. When the image of Victor looming over him jumped to the front of his mind, he jerked upright and glanced around in panic – and realised the cold, hard floor was part of a cage.
Gone were his expensive clothes, replaced instead with a maroon jumpsuit, and at some point someone had strapped up his broken wrist. His Bo was gone, along with his cards, and anything he could use as a weapon. Well… that wouldn't stop him. No cage had ever held Remy LeBeau before, and he wasn't going to let this one beat him, either.
Being careful to avoid applying any pressure to his wrist, he rose to his feet and staggered towards the bars, his legs feeling like dead weights. The tranquiliser Victor had used must have been a strong one. With a smirk, Remy extended one hand towards the bars – a simple charge and he'd blow these right off, and be out of here.
But when his skin connected with the iron, a shock jarred his bones and knocked him off balance, sending him sprawling on the ground once more. His hand felt like it was on fire, and a quick glance told him that he'd suffered a minor burn, his palm already turning an angry red.
"It won't work." He glanced up at the sudden, new voice, and watched as a man in a uniform stepped up to the bars. "I've had this particular cage set up to give you a nasty little shock if you touch it. You won't be blowing your way out of this one, Mr LeBeau." Remy fixed him with a fierce glare, anger replacing his initial panic.
"An' who de hell are you, eh?" He clambered to his feet, stepping as close to the bars as he'd dare. "A coward, by de sound o' it."
"I am Colonel William Stryker, and you will obey my commands. Get used to your surroundings, Mr LeBeau." He gestured around, and Remy turned, noticing two lines of cages following on from his own. "If you co-operate, and give me what I want, then life here will be pleasant for you. Maybe you'll even be rewarded. But fight me, and you will suffer." He turned on his heel and began striding down between the cages.
"You won' keep Remy here! No cage can hold Remy LeBeau!" He screamed after him, the panic creeping back in, extinguishing the anger. "I'll get out o' dis cage, an' den I'm comin' fo' you, Stryker! Dat's a promise!" His words fell on deaf ears, and silence was his only response. He stood for a moment longer, and then he staggered back and slumped to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest. Not for the first time, he wished he was home with the Guild, safe and warm and surrounded by people who loved him.
"Hey…" He turned at the quiet voice, and his eyes found a young girl with dark skin and shockingly white hair crouching against the bars in the cage next to his. A thick metal collar was locked around her neck, and she gave him a lost, sad little smile as she said four words that would haunt Remy for the rest of his life. "Welcome to the Island."