DISCLAIMER:  The characters you recognize in this story are the property of
Marvel Comics. They are used without permission,  for entertainment purposes
only, and there is no profit made from this story.  This story is rated
NC-17 due to rather graphic violent content.  If you are beneath the age of
majority in your current legal location or are offended by graphic violence,
please continue no further.  There is no explicit sex.

ARCHIVE:  Usual rules:  if you have been given carte blanche by Indigo,
archive ahead -- otherwise, please be so kind as to ask first.

FEEDBACK:  Welcomed, most enthusiastically encouraged, and most deeply
appreciated at indigo@spork.com.  Anything you have to say, as long as it's
polite - in other words, no flames.

PERMISSIONS:  This story is not to be reproduced as a POP UP FANFIC or as an
MST.

CHALLENGE:  Nise's Winter Romance Challenge (but only in the vaguest
possible sense...)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
Beta and Proof Readers:  Matt Nute, Mitai, Twiller, Ramiel, Falstaff
Brilliant Idea People: Redhawk, Alan Sauer, Jim Smith, Kaylee-Jaya
Research and Reference: Alan Sauer, Foenix, Brucha
Muse Wranglers:  Mitai and Haesslich
Protege:  Still a mystery to the fanfic world, but still deserving of my
encouragement and apprecation.
Marauder Enthusiast: Kielle

SURPRISES:  There's a homage to another Marauders story and an Easter Egg in
this story.  Clever and observant readers will have no problem spotting it,
I'm sure. *twinkle*

Young Marauders in Love
by Indigo

*shring*

A shining sparkle of  razor-sharp edges.

*whhsstt*

A micro-maelstrom of concentrated, spinning air.

*THUK*

*Bullseye.*  He practiced his precision, flinging away the projectiles
without
even looking.

*shring*  *whhsstt* *THUK*

One quarter inch to the left of the bullseye.

*shring* *whhsst* *THUK*

One quarter inch to the right of the bullseye.

He wasn't even aware of  his own plaintive whimper of frustration until it
had muscled its way out of his soul, hijacked his lungs, and clawed its way
free through him;  finding release in the whine of a howling whirlwind of
his own subconscious design.

Then, the spikes, barbs and shuriken were everywhere, spinning 'round the
vortex of which he was the core.  Riptide's practice room, chaotic mess of
shredded plasterboard, became a blur in his vision as the frustration
reached deep and ruptured his control 'til tears flowed from his eyes.

But he did not stop.  Instead,   Riptide spun faster and faster still, until
he was more of a tornado-blur than ordinarily -- if such a word applied to
Janos Quested, the mad dervish.  Until his biosynthetic blades were
exhausted.  Until he crumpled to the floor on his knees, breathless and
dripping with sweat.  Some of his razors had shattered on impact.  Many were
partly embedded in the wall.

~What has become of me?~  whispered Janos Quested in the safety of his own
jumbled thoughts.  ~This feeling, of being trapped. Of needing my freedom.
Where has it come from? I am *happy* as a Marauder!  Murder's in my blood.
The dance of death is as natural to me as ... as...~

He lacked the energy to stand and spin again -- to whirl away the confusion
settling over his mind.  But oh, how he *wanted* to rise and twirl and twist
until only the song of the wind in his ears remained.

"Janos?"   The voice was a breathy, husky whisper, drenched in honeyed
smoke. It was followed by a tentative knock at the steel door -- faint on
his side of the six-inch-thick metal.  A pause, then the knock resumed.

Riptide tossed back his head like a startled colt -- sweat-lankened violet
hair flying backward with the suddenness of the motion.  Marshalling some
reserve of strength he wasn't aware he had, he levered himself  with
boneless grace to his feet and half-staggered, half-danced to the door.   He
was dimly aware of his heart pounding away in his chest like the wings of
some crazed bird.

"Vee."  Riptide raked slender fingers through his tousled mane as he pulled
open the door.  A laugh -- bright and fragmented -- escaped with the smile
he flashed her.  "To what do I owe the honor?"

"Scalphunter, Blockbuster and Arclight are going out for pizza," Vertigo
explained, with an absent twirl of her right hand.  "Scrambler's going for
Chinese.  Prism ordered in Mexican. It's too cold to go out, so I'm ordering
with him.  You want Mexican, or you gonna tag along with the others?"  Her
green eyes, circles within concentric circles, sought his out, seeking
contact as her lips formed the question.

"I feel the need to have the north wind on my face, Vee. Can I persuade you
to bundle up and face the cold with me then, m'dear?" Janos asked. "That is,
once I make m'self presentable, hey?"

One silvery-green brow lifted: silent, inquisitive.   Rip let his rakish
smile be his only answer.

"Your treat?"  Vertigo asked, almost shyly, eyes dropping away from his
face.

He would have touched her then; taken his thumb and forefinger and lifted
her chin so he could look into those whirling spirals of green again.  But
he needed a shower -- badly, and Janos would not permit himself to touch her
until he was clean.  "My treat," he confirmed.

"All right," Vertigo agreed with a faint tilt of her head. "Be ready in 20
minutes?  Spin dry?"  She flashed that quick, winsome smile -- fleeting and
doelike, then whirled on her heel and was off down the hall in a swirl of
green-white hair.

He slammed the door.

~Did I just ask her for a *date*?~  he thought, mind racing.  ~I did. I just
asked her for a *date*!~   Clothing fell behind him as he padded on light
toes into his shower.  His hand shook as he twisted the faucet.  The water
was hot enough to scald his skin pink.  The sound of each droplet was not as
soothing as he customarily found it; patter-patters on the tile as it rinsed
away sweat and resin,  dirt, salt, and blood.

But not confusion.

He took a deep breath. The sharp tangy scent of the industrial soap -- Goop,
was its brand name in this part of the country -- jarred him enough that the
miasma of uncertainty parted and allowed him a moment of clarity -- like one
of Prism's lasers striking to the center of his brain.

~I love her.~

His vision blurred, tears mingling with the shower water and the industrial
soap as it swirled away down the drain.   He staggered from the shower,
wiping a hand across the mirror.  Eyes, violet-blue and suddenly unfamiliar
stared back through the steam-misted glass.

~What next, then, Janos m'boy?  Sweep the lady off her feet?  Rend her to
ribbons, satin and blood? Toss the beautiful shredded, stained corpse into
the sewer?~   His laughter was ragged -- half a sob. The idea made his
stomach clench and his throat close.  ~God help me, I *do* love her.~  The
thought of anyone, let alone Riptide himself, doing that to Vertigo -- his
Vertigo -- was unthinkable.  He was dizzied and sickened by the idea.

He stepped out of the bathroom in a billow of steam,  then whirled himself
dry.   ~So what do I do?~ he asked himself again.

And he answered himself,  ~You take her out. You show her a good time. And
maybe, just maybe, she loves you back.~

~I'm a monster,~ quailed some tiny, human part of his mind. ~A laughing
madman. A murderer.~

~And so, my boy, is she,~  countered the laughing madman who reveled in
being Riptide.

With that thought to comfort and gird him, Janos set to dressing.   He was,
as promised, ready in that scant 20 minutes.  His clothing was immaculate --
Sung would be impressed.  His coat was a sweeping cloak of deep violet
leather -- so dark it was nearly black.  Layered over it was his scarf -- an
operatic affectation -- black satin on one side, white on the other, fringed
at the ends.  Beneath the coat, a white turtleneck, snug against his lithe,
sinuous body -- and a pair of violet-smoky-grey wool trousers.  On his feet,
season be damned, white Capezio jazzers with the soft doeskin sole.

His hair was as nature -- and the man called Sinister -- had made it.
White, with faint wispribbons of violet and blue. In the dark of the night,
no one would notice.   He moved like a ballet dancer, sleepwalking ...
underwater.

"All set to rip the town bloody?"  he asked her, leaning in the doorway of
the common room.

Vertigo looked up from the game of Jenga she was playing with Prism.  "All
set?" she asked, lips curling into a smile.   She rose herself, shrugged
into her own black leather coat, and pulled on the black wig that hid her
green and white hair.   "Bye, Prism. See you later."

*****

At the Trattoria on the upper west side,  Riptide regarded Vertigo over a
plate of fettucine carbonara.   He whirled the tender pasta onto his fork
without a thought.  She made small talk. He chatted back. But some corner of
his mind was still at work, seeking to unravel the Gordian knot his thoughts
had become.

~Loving her is fine, but you must get away.  Getting away is fine -- but
you're Marauders. There is no 'getaway.'   If you take her and run, they'll
find you, kill you, kill her, make you watch, watch her die, die inside, die
for real.  No way out. ~

"You've been quiet,"  Vee observed.  "Penny for your thoughts?"

"I think too much,"  Jano replied, tossing back his red wine.  "But if I
tell you what I think, will you laugh? Or will you spin me off a platform in
front of an F train?"  The operatic music kept their conversation to the
tiny nook of a table they shared.

"Depends on what you think,"  Vee  responded, lidding her eyes like a lazy
kitten.

"Then I'll think about telling you what I think," he murmured around a
smile.  "Shall we go dancing? Shall we go back to the lair and languish
underground, or breathe in the night a while longer?"

"Dance?"  Vertigo widened her eyes. "Dance?  In the clubs with the
bright-colored boys and the gaudy-glitzy girls?"  Her face lit, with a feral
eagerness.  "Dare we?"  ~Why not?~ demanded some corner of her mind.  ~Why
not? Your life was taken from you -- you've made your home in shadowy
corners, and learned to love bleeding and killing more than life itself.
What's wrong with learning to love life, Vertigo? What indeed?~

"Where?" she asked, pushing aside the rum cake that had come for dessert.
"And how can we afford it?"

Janos shrugged.  "Where do I go when I'm not watching the Scalp and Block
get drunk on their cheap fire water?  What do I do when I'm not practicing
my precision and honing my lethal art?   I go to bars. I look innocent and
rubelike.  I let the burly macho men think they'll eat me alive at darts.

"And instead I eat *them* alive."  Janos shrugged, modestly.  "At least I
don't have to kill them -- well, usually. Sometimes they get uppity over
having lost.  Silly flatscans."  He pulled a few bills from a sizeable roll,
leaving enough for the check and a generous tip.  "Does milady wish to
dance, then?"

"Yes!"  Vee nodded emphatically.  "I want to know what it's like to live
like the surface people live. Like the people live who don't do what we do."

Before she could catch her breath, he had her by the hand and led her,
dodging deftly, ducking and weaving, through the crowd, out the door, and
into the hectic urban night.

*****

Scalphunter, Blockbuster, and Arclight returned,  glowering from their pizza
run.  Prism watched and listened, statue-still  but reflecting the light.
They couldn't tell if he slept or woke from looking at him.

"...Because we'd draw unnecessary attention to each other, you stupid ass!"
snapped Arclight, brushing a hand through the bristly purple thatch of hair
she wore.   "It's beneath us to snap the necks of little pimple-faced punks
'cause we don't feel like paying for the pizza!"

She stalked toward her room, hooking Scalp by his elbow.  "Come on.  I need
to blow off some steam."

Blockbuster rolled his eyes and sat down with one of the ten pizzas.
"Great.  They're gonna fuck like bunnies, and the rest of us are out on the
town. Sure's shit hope the boss doesn't need us tonight. He'll have a fit."

*****

Vertigo sat at the bar, sipping a strawberry daquiri, and watching with an
unaccustomed flutter in her heart and throat as Janos wandered the crowd,
innocent-eyed and smiling like a tourist.  That breathy European accent
helped him here as the drunken bruisers assumed him for an easy mark.

She could barely contain her laughter as they discovered that it was they
who were Janos' easy marks.

But Janos was as swift in thought as he was in motion.   The first hundred
of his winnings at darts bought a round of drinks for the house, and drinks
for the losers thereafter for the next little while.   He watched Vee sip
the frippery drinks, and restrained the urge to show off for her.

With a flourish, he  offered Vertigo his arm.  "Let the night embrace us
once again.  We'll listen to the song of night and dance until dawn's early
light."

Laughing, for that flutter in her throat had stolen her voice,  Vertigo went
along with him.  ~This is wonderful. Almost to good to be true.~

When he purchased a dozen blood red roses for her, the thought niggled
again.  ~What happens when this ends, Vee? What happens when you've
developed a taste for the way the rest of the world lives -- and all you
have left is Vertigo?~

~We'll destroy that bridge when we come to it,~ she told herself, pulling
herself out of her morose reverie.  When she looked up, she realized he was
gazing at her -- the way she had only seen men gaze at women in the movies
she occasionally sneaked away to watch.  The way she'd hoped some man would
look at her someday.

Vee had known that would never be.  She was a transplanted, evolved-up
little heathen from the Savage Land -- made to be killer, nothing more.

But Janos *was* gazing at her that way.

"Janos?" she asked, not even realizing she'd spoken until he blinked and
responded.

"Yes, milady?"

"Why are you looking that way at me?"

Janos blinked,  long snowy-blue lashes flickering rapidly.  She was the
headlight -- he, the faun.  "Am I?" he stammered.

Then, he took her in his arms,  swept his coat around her, and the world
whirled away -- their lips finding each other.  A cyclone of violet and
green swept them across the street -- over rooftops, down through the
subway, up and out again.

"What..."

"Was...."

"THAT?"  they both asked, panting, breathless, clinging to one another.

"A kiss,"  Vertigo breathed.  "A wonderful kiss."

"A kiss like a first breath after almost drowning,"  Janos agreed.

"It's not like before -- with Sung,"  Vee gasped.  "Not simply need.  It is,
but more than that."

"It's not like some harlot I've  swept off her feet.  No, stronger and
sweeter.  I ... I don't understand what's happening."

"You're falling in love, that's what, you crazy kids."

Kim Sung sat on a fire escape and looked down at the panting couple.  "If it
were anything less, you'd have torn each other's clothes off and rutted like
jungle cats in heat,  Winter be damned."   He grinned down at them, swung
gracefully off the rusted platform, and landed soundlessly before them.

"You wear it well," he complimented them, hands in his pockets.  "Enjoy it
while it lasts.  Next cleanup job, it's back to business as usual.  No time
for love in the gutter.  No place for romance on the killing floor.  No room
for whispered sweet nothings when we make of the world our abbatoir."

He winked. "On the other hand, perhaps such a pure thing as love can survive
in our tainted hearts.  I wish you well, 'cause it's a brave thing you
pursue."  Turning on his heel, he walked out into the night, laughing with
wild abandon as the greying sky began to weep fat flakes of snow.

"Christ, he's right," Vertigo gasped, hand going reflexively to her throat.

"About what?"  Janos asked, his hand never straying from her waist.

"About everything!"  Vee whispered, snowflakes melting on her face as they
touched sudden frantic tears springing to her eyes.  "We went on a date --
like normal people!  What's happening to us? We kissed. We touched. I feel
my heart race when you smile at me!"

"I feel it too,"  Janos murmured, looking up to meet her eyes.  "The feeling
like my heart will shrivel, crumble and blow away, leaving a howling
emptiness if I were to lose you.  What caused this?  We used to be
heartless. We once were happy maniacs."

"And now we're what -- maniacs in love?  Can you have love in your heart and
mayhem in your hands and still enjoy it like before?"  Vertigo gasped.
"I've even lost my wig.  My make-believe face for the normal world. We're
not normal and we never will be!"

Blood red rose petals fell from her shaking hands,  got caught in the swirl
of the winter winds, and were swept away.

****

Vertigo's impassioned whisper turned out to be prophetic.

Sinister sent them into the heart of Red Hook, to kill a mutant who could
stop the aging process cold.

Vertigo, at Scalphunter's side,  took point.  Block and Arc came up behind
them.   Rip and Scrambler were final tier -- cleanup.  They didn't even need
Harpoon or Prism.  The two of them would draw way too much attention.

DeLeon, as they'd called the kid with the youth-touch, was a member of the
Red Hook Butchers -- a gang that dealt crack, and pushed only  Sinister knew
what else.

None of which mattered.  Vertigo waved a hand, and one side of the hall
collapsed retching and puking.

Blockbuster bounced bullets until the clips were empty.

Arclight brought down the house, clearing a path for Scalphunter.

Rip and Scrambler broke necks and shredded any survivors.

Six gunshots and it was over.   The news would call it "an execution style
murder" and likely relate it to mob activity, gang unrest, or crack wars.
No one would ever even consider it was a mutant issue.

The Marauders were back on the subway, back in their digs,  back in their
groove within the hour.

And two of them were doing all they could not to run screaming into the
night ... because they'd be chased and put down like dogs.  Execution style.
So no one would ever consider it a mutant issue.

*****

A month later, Janos knew what he had to do.  The feeling for Vertigo hadn't
lessened. It had intensified.  They couldn't steal kisses in the dark of the
shadows.  The occasional date was agonizing because they knew the glorious
moments were fleeting.  Janos and Vee  could be lovers only if they got free
of  Riptide and Vertigo.

Riptide and Vertigo could only begone if they got out of the Marauders.

And they could only get out of the Marauders with help.

Serious help.

Which is why Janos had spent his dart-money on personal ads in the Village
Voice, the New York Post, and the Daily News.   Careful paper trails,  paid
for in cash.  A plea for help spelled out in code,  pieced together after
two weeks of ads that otherwise seemed to be nonsense -- phone sex lines,
dippy love poetry,  AIDS test information, or  exhortations to be Saved by
Jesus.

~I only hope my answer was yes,~  Janos told himself, raking a nervous hand
through his hair.   There was no concern of him walking into the Blarney
Stone bar deep in the heart of the Bowery at midnight.  Janos was Riptide,
and anyone who challenged him would bleed -- fall -- die.  He might even
enjoy it.

Maybe.

So now -- as the clock struck one, he  sat, drinking brandy.   He tried to
not look up hopefully every time the door swung open and the night breeze
wafted past.

Janos had nearly let the brandy lull him into a completely unprofessional
fugue-trance when a figure dropped a handful of clippings to waft onto his
table.  "I came. What you want from me?"

Violet eyes looked up, brimming with gratitude. But Riptide's bravado
covered it.  "Same thing you want from me, LeBeau.  To take him down and see
that he stays down."

The Cajun tipped down his black shades, revealing the luminous red of his
eyes.  "Come again?"

Janos shrugged and kicked out the chair.   The man, when wearing the colors
of the X-Men, was known as Gambit.  Now he wore simple black civvies.  He
regarded the chair dubiously, then turned it around backward, sat, and
leaned his elbows on it.  "A'ight.  I lis'nin'.  What you got in min',
Riptide?"

Janos produced a shining minidisc from his coat and slid it over to Gambit.
"Slot that.  You'll find that Sinister planted those memories in your head.
You were the wedge to drive between the X-Men."

LeBeau's eyes widened.  "Quoi?!"  He shot a hand out, quickly, catching up
the bottle and the other glass in one swift, sweeping motion.  His dark eyes
never left Riptide's face -- searching, searching for some duplicity, some
twitch that indicated this was a lie.

"Figured that'd get your attention,"  Janos nodded.  "I had to hire Weasel
the hacker from the Hellhouse in Chicago for it. "  He stuck a resin-dagger
in the table.  "Cost me every penny I had. Every penny I'd saved.  I can
make them again, if I get a chance.  But to get that chance -- I have to
burn my bridges behind me.   Burn them so there's not even ashes left."

LeBeau swirled his brandy thoughtfully.  "You t'ought dis through den, neh?
You wanna take out de other Marauders? You wanna take on de Bossman?
Sinister himself?"

Janos nodded briskly.  "Sinister's lab must be destroyed. No more clones, no
more Marauders to chase us down.  No more Sinister to make more.  No
Marauders remaining to take their vengeance with a pound of flesh.  It ends.
All of it.  Now.

"Are you in?"  Janos leaned in across the table, tilting onto his hands so
he could look LeBeau in the eyes.

"Gambit in."

*****

Hours later, the rest of the night, dawn and an afternoon later; Janos
returned, haggard and uneasy, to the lair of the Marauders.  Dealing with
LeBeau had been a desperation play on his part.  Necessary, but damnedly
difficult.  But he needed an ally in his bid for freedom.  And LeBeau was
his best chance. His long shadow fell before him. He wondered if that was an
omen  of ill portent.

Something had changed him.  Janos was no longer quite sure who he was.  But
whoever he was - he had to do something or go mad.

"Hey, Rippy."

Janos tilted his head, a sudden 45 degree shift of motion, his thoughts
doing the same,  angling out of the memory of his meeting with the Cajun.
~Did I make the right decision?~

"Hey, Mike."  Janos found that his smile for his old friend and teammate was
as easy as ever.  ~Can I do this?  What I'm contemplating?  Do I really love
her? Can I really turn my back on the only life I know?~

Blockbuster's big hand slapped Janos full in the center of the back, sending
Janos staggering a few steps forward.

"Jack the Ripper,"  Scrambler grinned,  dancing eyes over his beer bottle.
"Penny for your thoughts?"

Vertigo walked out of the kitchenette with a beer for Arclight, one for
herself, and one for him.

Janos grinned, tossing back his violet mane.  "Pennies from heaven, Finger,"
he replied, laughter in his voice.  "Empty sky, empty head."   His eyes then
found her...Vertigo.  And something inside him warmed where only a moment
earlier there had been cold.

Janos forcibly wrestled down the urge to swingsway her into his arms, dip
her back and kiss her with a cinematic passion.   ~I made the right decision
if this all turns out for the best.  But I think a contingency plan is in
order.~  He took the beer,  clinked the glass clumsily with Blockbuster and
Scrambler,  then tilted back and gulped the amber liquid.  ~Courage in the
spirits, then, Janos.~

He could feel her green eyes burning into him -- magnetic, full of the same
longing he felt.   They would have to sneak away and tryst again. Soon.

*****

Kit Pryde was in the Cerebro room, overseeing the installation of the new
computer.  Cerebro itself, after the chaos involving the Professor and the
Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, was a loss.  Pryde had taken it upon herself to
personally write the source code for their new system.  ~May as well put the
mundane education to some good use, hey?~  She wrinkled her nose.  ~Be
honest.  It'll keep your mind off Pete, Kitty Pryde.~

"Katie."

Kitty looked up from her screen.  "You're good, LeBeau," she said without
turning around.  "Sneaking up on me is *not* easy."   She kicked one foot
against the counter, sending the chair spinning to face him.

LeBeau shrugged modestly.  "I'm a thief. Not too much of one if I be makin'
all kinds of noise gettin' from one place to another, neh?"   Without
further ado, he produced a disk.  "You look at dis for me, hmm?  It came
from a source I don' exactly consider reliable. But if it is on de up an'
up, it's an opportunity I can't afford to let go by. It could be a setup
though, an' I don' know anybody who's better than you, Katie."

Kit took the disk between her fingers.  "Really," she mused thoughtfully,
frowning down at the disk as though it might give its secrets to her.  "From
you, that's quite a compliment, Mr. Thieves' Guild.  But I also know from
Logan that you do your homework.  I'll do what I can to crack it."

Remy nodded.  "Merci," he murmured.  "Fact of the matter is dat I know you
only trustin' me 'cause Stormy does, an' cause Wolverine is willin' to.  Dat
li'l bit of trust is more than I deserve from you.  An' you doin' dis for me
is much appreciated.  'Cause it maybe give me de chance to buy back dat li'l
part of my soul I sold to de devil."

Kitty arched one brow curiously.  "Really,"  she repeated, studying the
Cajun's face.  "Now I'm curious.  Let's just hope it doesn't kill the
Shadowcat."

She waved him away.  "Shoo.  I'll let you know if I come up with anything."
She slid the disk into the drive, lowered her fingers to the keyboard.

LeBeau didn't hover; he left Pryde to her work.  He had other arrangements
to make in case Pryde discovered what he hoped was true -- that he really
did have what he needed to take Sinister down...and that he could actually
trust the Marauder called Riptide. Something had been ... different about
him the other night in the bar.

*****

"Who were you before you were Vertigo?" laughed Arclight,  holding her by
her hair.  "No one. Nothing!  You were a little troglodyte in the Savage
Land.  Brainchild made you and forgot you.  Sinister is who made you what
you are!  He owns you -- body and soul.  He owns us all.  You think you're
entitled to a life?"

"I'm human, I'm human,"  Vertigo wept, trying to summon her power and send
Arclight staggering away from her, weak and sick.  Arclight tossed her away
with a sneer.  The wall and her head impacted and for a moment, Vertigo saw
stars and a curtain of black.

"You disgust me," laughed Arclight, stalking away into the dark.

"You're a Marauder, bitch,"  Blockbuster growled, curling a massive hand
around her tiny waist.  "You're Sinister's weapon, and my toy."  He breathed
into her ear -- rank alcoholic breath sickening her.  His hands pawed her
body, moving roughly over her breasts and belly.

She struggled away and fell,  to see her own face reflected back in a dozen
mirrored surfaces.  "Prism..." she pleaded, reaching for him.

"You at least look human.  So you could try to pass.  What have I got?
Nothing. The man of glass.  How dare you dangle a human life in front of me
when I can't follow you out of the dark?"    He backhanded her,  razorshard
fingers scoring her face open.  Warm blood trickled down her face.  She
tasted it on her torn lip.

Scalphunter lifted her by her hair, and put the gun barrel to her head.  He
didn't even speak to her. He just pulled the trigger--*

*BOOM*

Vertigo woke, blanket and a fist stuffed against her mouth to hide the
scream.

~Can I do this?  Do I dare?  Oh, Janos, I'm so frightened...I've never known
fear before this.  Not fear of my own.~

It was some time before she could slow her breathing and her heart enough to
sleep again.  And even concentrating on Janos' lips, his hands, did nothing
to comfort her.

*****

Sinister, in his lair,  strode into the darkened recesses of his computer
nerve center.  On logging in, one of his sniffers informed him that he had
had a security breach.

A slender, black-gloved finger stabbed at a key sequence committed to
memory: tak-tak-tak-tak-taka-tak-taka-tak-tak.

He paused a moment, black-glossed lips curling over shark-pointed teeth in a
frightening parody of a smile.  Then he pressed ENTER.

[[Intruder identified as Advanced Ideas Mechanics - AIM]]

One black brow described the slightest arc.  The finger stabbed again at a
key sequence.

The screen cleared.  Another brief handful of keystrokes and the  IP address
was changed.  AIM would not be breaking into his system to look around again
anytime soon.   And perhaps he would leave them a surprise by way of
intrusion countermeasures.

The genetecist settled back into his chair and pondered, but his mind was
soon taken by more important thoughts.

Thoughts of defeating his ancient enemy, Apocalypse.

A small part of his mind, beneath his conscious thought,  regarded the
break-in with vague amusement, and resolved to watch a bit closer...anyone
brave enough to attempt to hack Sinister's network was either an asset (once
properly broken and thralled)  -- or better dead.  To Sinister's mind, at
any rate.  ~Still,~  he thought subconsciously, ~Perhaps I can turn their
little snoop to my advantage...~

*****

~Unbelievable.~

Kit Pryde stared in amazement at the data that scrolled past her eyes.  It
had been encoded and re-encoded several times. The candy wrappers and empty
soda cans attested to how long it had taken her to break one code, then the
next, before getting the data in its pure form.  Whoever had hacked
Sinister's system had been very, very careful about this disk being useless
to any but the most talented hands.  ~I would have been hard pressed to do
better than this myself.~

~No wonder Gambit hadn't felt comfortable telling me what was on the disk
before I saw it with my own eyes.~  Shadowcat pressed her glasses up onto
her nose and frowned thoughtfully at the screen.

The display indicated that Gambit had never worked with Sinister as he'd
told Rogue (and eventually the rest of the X-Men).   Rather Sinister had
taken pains to telepathically condition the Cajun to believe that -- and
then added an imperative to hide it so that it would come out in a bad
situation. As it had.

        [[Subject LeBeau's additional mental conditioning will render him
        incapable of directly or indirectly interfering with plans or other 
        operatives under my employ.]]

Further, the datafiles on the disk went into greater detail about Sinister's
Marauders, and the various tweaks and adjustments he had made to their DNA
and powers over the years since their  -- 'debut' -- in the Morlock tunnels.

        [[...displaying a bloodthirsty ruthlessness which makes them highly
        effective killers but poorly suited to engage in combat with any 
        opposition. Most often they are killed because their single minded 
        dedication to the termination of targets precludes their own defense. 
        This is unacceptable as cloning resources are neither bountiful nor
        inexpensive.  Adjustments made to three Marauders with a view to 
        improving their survivability factor while on a mission.

        [[Arclight:  no adjustment.]]

        [[Blockbuster:  reflex upgrade 15%.]]

        [[Prism:  no adjustment.]]

        [[Riptide:  intelligence upgrade 55%.  reflex downgrade 12%.
        sociopathic tendencies diminished 30%.  Self preservation instinct 
        upgrade 25%.]]

        [[Scalphunter:  no adjustment.]]

        [[Scrambler:  intelligence upgrade 40%.  martial arts brain dump.
        sociopathic tendencies  diminished 20%.  Self preservation instinct 
        upgrade 2%]]

        [[Vertigo:  intelligence upgrade 45%.   reflex upgrade 10%.
        martial arts brain dump. sociopathic    tendencies diminished 35%.  
        Self preservation instinct upgrade 5%]]

        [[Expendability factor negligible. The Marauders, as always, are
        replacable and replicatable.]]

~Shit,~  Kitty thought, smiling.  ~This is the genuine article.  It clears
Gambit -- sort of -- and it gives us the advantage.   Let's see what else I
can dig up.~  Bending with a new enthusiasm to her task, Kit put her fingers
back on the keyboard.  Flipping a couple of switches,  she sent her own
signal out along the mansion's newly installed T3 and began backtracking to
see from whence this information had come.  ~Sinister didn't bother coding.
He didn't even expect anyone to get close enough to extract anything from
his datacore. Now to find out what else I can get. If  Gambit wants to take
down Sinister, this is a good start...but not quite enough.~

*****

She was still at it,  hours and hours later, when Gambit came to check on
her.   She had hit the "zone" so many computer-cyberspace types spent time
in. She had lost track of time, and of need to eat or sleep.

Remy decided to wait for her to come up for air, and meanwhile read over her
shoulder.  What he saw made him widen his eyes in shock.  ~Dat would explain
why Riptide seem all antsy an' fidgety. An' why he wan' out de Marauders.
Less sociopathic an' more intelligent?  He done made de Marauders more human
in de process of makin' dem less prone to die on de job!~   The Cajun
couldn't help himself;  he laughed, joyously...then he found his eyes
welling with tears as he upscrolled to the part about himself.   ~Oh, yes.
De man is goin' down,~  he swore silently.

His laughter, of course, roused  Kit from her reverie.

"Hey," she greeted him with a triumphant smile.

"Hey y'self, chere. You got de goods.  Damn, but you good.  I been readin'."
Remy gestured to the other monitor, where the decoded data was still posted.

"Heh, this Weasel's pretty good. I tracked his datatrail.  He led back his
hack to AIM.  If Sinister checks back, he will find them first."

"An' prolly look no further,"   Remy concluded. "AIM got reason to wan'
steal Sinister's technology an' resources.  Tres bien."

"You think *that's* good, Gumbo?  I did a little more digging of my own and
found some more interesting tidbits about our Mr. Sinister."  She jabbed a
key, and several of the screens over her head lit, forming one large
multi-screen image.  "Check *this*."

Gambit's jaw dropped.  "Merde," he said appreciatively, and dropped into the
chair beside Pryde.  "Alors. Where de hell you get dis, Chat d'Ombre?"

Pryde grinned.  "Some from the same place Weasel did.  Some from a hunch I
had about ancient pyramids and hieroglyphs which seemed awfully familiar to
some of the code in Sinister's data."

Gambit whirled to frown in amazement at Kitty.  "Pyramids?  You don'
mean..."

"I do too,"  Kitty grinned triumphantly.  "Apocalypse's old hardcopy.  It's
not all thousands of years old. Some of it's only hundreds of years old.

"And a good bit of it is about Sinister."

Remy was on his feet, sweeping Kit off hers, and swinging her around in a
hug.  "Chere, you done good!"

"Natch,"  Kit grinned, blushing despite herself.

Remy set her down and triumphantly pumped his fist.  "I got me a couple
phone calls to make, petite.  When we goin' up against Sinister, we gon'
have de edge.  See if you fin' me some listin' of all his li'l labs, hm?"

"I'm on it!"

Remy nodded at the screens one more time.  "Essex," he said, gazing at one
of the screens.  "Hmm.  I t'ink me an' Monsieur Riptide got somethings
t'talk about."

*****

Vertigo paced uneasily as she dusted the yachting trophies on the mantle.
She had already swept, mopped and waxed the floor, and was running out of
busywork.

In the kitchen,  Scrambler chopped celery, carrots and onions to put in a
pot.  "Appearance is everything, and this is simpler."  When Sinister had
handed down this next assignment to the Marauders -- the assassination of
Reginald Tompkins IV and any offspring,  it had seemed like a cakewalk.

Vee and Sung, as the most two 'human-looking'  Marauders, got hired as
downstairs housekeeper and cook.   This was day five for both of them.
Sung actually was good enough to make himself a living at this.  Vertigo
often wondered if  he felt changed as she did. As Janos did.  If he felt
stirrings that were natural and unnatural at the same time.  She didn't dare
ask;  Janos had told her between stolen kisses that they had to act as
"normal" -- for Marauders -- as possible.  That they didn't dare let on that
they were thinking differently, feeling differently.

"If we give the faintest hint,  the slimmest sign,"  Janos had whispered
into her hair, "They'll wonder what's up. Our advantage will be gone.  And
us with it -- replaced by a Riptide and a Vertigo who have no hearts.  Our
love will die on Sinister's steel table, running off with our blood in the
gutters...not even a memory.  Could you face the prospect of that?"

"Of course not," she'd answered.  It nagged at her, but she kept her
silence.

Outside, it grew dark.  A bird  call indicated to her that the other
Marauders were in position.  Scalphunter would be in one of the trees on the
property -- scope at the ready, gun locked and loaded.   Tompkins' cars
would already be wired to explode when driven as a contingency.

Arclight and Blockbuster would flank the front and rear entrances of the
property -- to stop Tompkins from escaping -- or to do away with witnesses.

Harpoon and Prism  stood with Arc and Block, respectively,  batting
clean-up, as it were.  As for Riptide -- his job was to kill the children.
Messily.  Bloodily. Gruesomely. As only he could.

Why Sinister had chosen the Tompkins family was unknown to them.  It didn't
truly matter.  A job was a job was a job.

Vertigo had killed the upstairs maid shortly after she had brought Mrs.
Tompkins' tea.  A quick blow to the blood vessels on either side of the
head.  A pair of bruises, and to bed with her.  There was an adrenalistic
rush to the act. Usually, all Vertigo had been good for was to knock down
the target and step back to let the others complete the wetwork.  But now
she could kill too.  It would have been invigorating if it wasn't causing a
roiling sickness in her belly.

Mrs. Tompkins' life had ended just before dinner -- courtesy of  Scrambler
breaking her neck with one snap-kick.  She still sat at her tea table, posed
like a mannequin.

Tompkins would be arriving home shortly.  As would his older son and
daughter.  The smaller children were already in the house, their lives
measured in scant moments.

The chauffeur pulled into the driveway and got out of the car.   He opened
the door for the twin son and daughter of Reggie Tompkins IV....then gasped
in horror as the backs of their heads burst like overripe melons, and bloody
holes appeared in their foreheads.  Their sweet faces were otherwise
unmarred.  They wavered, toppled and fell.  Two lives, barely ten years on
this earth -- snuffed out in as many seconds without even the telltale of a
gunshot to signify the end with a bang.  Tina and George didn't even have
time to whimper.

Before the chauffeur could gather voice to cry out in alarm,  Scalphunter
terminated him the same way, and he too lay in a heap beside the dead
children.  In a blur of metal and black hair, the Amerind was out of the
tree and moving toward the house to back up the other Marauders.  Arclight
moved to clear the bodies away and to drive the limosine to a less obvious
location on the property.  It wouldn't do to have the senior Tompkins
discover that his manse had become a slaughterhouse.

Reggie V drove his sportscar up the back  driveway, coming home from his
tennis lesson, and the lurid after-activities with the nubile teacher.   His
face was ruddy with the afterglow from alcohol and exertion.

He frowned, momentarily perplexed by the face of the unfamiliar mechanic in
the garage.  Then he gurgled,  blood frothing from lips and mouth as an
energized harpoon pierced his chest.   He fell, still trying to pull the
javelin free of his body.

Upstairs,  Riptide pranced  into the playroom,  dressed as a sunny, bright
clown.   Three little girls in pink taffeta dresses, two little boys in neat
blue sailor suits all cheered his presence.   Patent leather Mary Janes and
soft kid loafers pitter-pattered across the floor.  "YAY!  Billy's Birthday
Party!"

 ~Forgive me, small ones,~  thought Janos, as Riptide spun free stilettos
and let fly.   He winced with the impact sound of each -- *thuk* *thuk*
*thuk* *thuk* *thuk*  --  ~Your hearts must stop so that mine may become
free. You will be the last, I swear.~

He pulled off the clown nose, wiped at his clown makeup -- he found it
marred by a single tear on his face.  Janos Quested paused to arrange the
dead children neatly, as though they were only asleep like kittens in the
corner.  He took a moment to caress the smooth golden curls of one of the
little girls before whirling on his heel, shredding his clown garb, and
stalking out with a grace belied by the nausea growing in his stomach.

Far out on the edge of the property,  Millicent Tompkins rode her roan mare
Bristol back onto the property from the trails out by the lake.   The horse
reared up in apparent alarm, and Millie patted the roan's neck, murmuring
soothing nonsense into her ears.  "Easy, girl.  Easy, there."

The horse calmed, but could not be cajoled into a canter again;  Millie was
content to let the horse have her own head on the way back to the stable.
She allowed herself to pause reflectively on the earlier part of the day.

She was jerked violently back to the here-and-now as Bristol *screamed*.
The horse's front legs went out from under her, brutally broken as a pair of
rocks flew into them from the underbrush.   Millie was thrown and hit hard,
the breath knocked from her.  It was a second before she could draw enough
breath to try to stand.  When she looked up, the hulking figure of
Blockbuster was above her.

"You're cute,"  he said in a not altogether unpleasant voice,  "But a job's
a job."

The last sight Millicent Tompkins saw was an enormous hand palming her face.
The last sound she heard was her skull stress-fracturing as Blockbuster made
a fist.

The Marauders  gathered in the study to wait for Reginald Tompkins IV.
According to his schedule, he would be arriving on the roof from the
helipad.  Which meant he would not pass any of his relatives.  He would
arrive at the study first.

Had they been of a more malicious and less businesslike mindset, the bodies
of his wife, his children, and grandchildren would have been laid out along
the hall like stepping stones.  Had this been a job for anyone other than
the Marauders.  Sinister cared nothing for drama, for panache.  He just
wanted dead who he wanted dead.

Vertigo struck first.  Tompkins dropped to his knees, retching up the
contents of his stomach.  The smell of bile mingled with the tang of garlic
from his lunch.

"Mm,"  noted Scrambler,  "Looks like he had filet mignon.  Livin' high on
the hog, this one."

"Lived," Arclight corrected, kicking Tompkins in the small of his back,
knocking him face first into his own vomit.

"Lived,"  confirmed Scalphunter,  placing the barrel of his shotgun against
Tompkins' head.

"W-Why?" rasped Tompkins, eyes wide and frightened.

"Why *not*?!" chorused the Marauders.

Scalphunter fired.

The mansion was burning seven minutes later.

The Marauders were on the road  not two minutes after that.

*****

"Mickey Trellayne, Mickey Trellayne. You have a delivery at the courtesy
desk."

Mickey Trellayne looked up from where she was unloading a box of Barbie
dolls onto the shelves of the Toys 'R' Us.  She paused to check her makeup
in her always-present compact, then straightened and bolted for the front of
the the store,  orange smock flying behind her skinny frame.  "A delivery?
But I wasn't expecting --"

Her words ended in a delighted squeal.  There was an enormous floral
arrangement of  red roses and bougainvillea, surrounded by forget-me-nots.
A pair of handcuffs were holding the entire thing together in the brightly
colored paper.

"Ooh," chorused some of the ditzy blonde teenagers who worked cashier,
"Who's it from? Your boyfriend?"

"Yeah," Mickey said with a half-grin.  "My boyfriend."  Her mind was already
racing as her gloved fingers reached for the card.

                You've stolen my heart.
                Call me.
                253-2328

She smiled slowly.  ~I like it.  I didn't even know you knew I was working a
real job, LeBeau,~ she thought, gathering up the floral arrangement.  "I'm
taking the rest of the night off, Elliott," she called to the manager as she
walked toward the door.

"Hey, you can't just blow off half a shift!"  the manager called back.

Mickey smiled and dragged a finger down her face, revealing blue skin under
the peach stage makeup she wore. "In that case, I quit!"

Elliott blinked; or thought he did.  When his vision cleared,  The orange
smock was on the floor and Mickey Trellayne was gone.

*****

LeBeau,  wearing his shades, leathers, and jeans,  leaned against the
bulletproof glass Patch operated behind.   "You can find 'er for me, non?"

"If you can afford her, I can find her,"  the bald little man responded.
"If I can find her, you'll know soon enough."

Remy nodded and sipped his chartreuse.   Various people at the bar had
laughed and called it a pussy drink,  but that had stopped after the first
pint of  Fosters  ignited in Fenway's mouth and came shooting out of his
sinuses in a flaming stream.  "An'body else wan' criticize what I drink?"
Remy had asked.

No one had objected.

Remy remained where he was,  leaning against Patch's booth.  Pryde, who had
insisted on coming along, had done a splendid job of blending into the
background.  He knew she was in the crowd somewhere, but he would actually
have had to do more than a cursory glance to locate her.  ~Girl's good.~
He was impressed.

"Who the fuck're you?"  asked a female voice,  full of contempt.

"I'm the one who found you 'cause he wants to hire you,"  Patch sneered,
unflapped, at the dark-skinned woman in black leather who stood on the other
side of his booth.  He jabbed a thumb toward the bar, where the Cajun sat.

The woman turned, black hair falling down her back as she moved.  She
stalked over to LeBeau, hands on hips, and demanded, once again,  "Who the
fuck're you?"

"Friend of Benjy's,"  Remy said, pulling a small bit of sleight of hand,
producing a $100 bill from behind the woman's ear.

"A hundred? You must be making joke," sneered the woman.

"Did I say Ben came alone? He got friends, but I wanna know if you can do
what you say you can do,"  LeBeau replied calmly.  Pryde was suddenly at his
side, having melted out of the shadows to back him up.

"Okay, prettyboy,"  said the woman, and her smile suddenly grew feral.
"What I can do is -- THIS!"

There was a sudden chill, a flicker of light, and a sudden rush of cold air.
LeBeau felt his stomach lurch, and then suddenly they were no longer in the
Hellhouse.   They were in a sunny field surrounded by cheering men, women
and children, who all looked at the sky.

Blinking to clear his vision, LeBeau followed the gazes of the crowd after
ascertaining Pryde was not with him -- only the leering woman in leather.

Above, the white vapor contrail of the space shuttle Challenger arced up and
up across the sky -- and ended abruptly in a ball of flame and gas.

"Merde--!"  Remy gasped, and then -- the feeling reversed and the Hellhouse
was around him once more.

Pryde did an excellent job of failing to appear nonplussed at his departure
and arrival.

"You can do what you say you can, Locus,"  Remy nodded approvingly.  "How
far back you can go?"

"Within 200 years was the last I tried," she shrugged.  "I may need a bit of
time to pull it together afterwards before we come back."

"We can do dat."  Remy flipped her a cordless phone and $2000.  "Dere more
where dat come from when we ready. I be in touch. Au revoir."

"Pleasure's all mine, pretty boy,"  the woman grinned, "I'll be waiting by
the phone." She tucked the celphone into her cleavage and disappeared again.

"Why did we just hire Locus?"  Pryde asked, as she got on the hog behind
LeBeau.

"'Cause after we wipe out de Marauders, we got one las' ace up our sleeve,
petite."

"Ooh,"  Kit  grinned, flipping down the visor of her helmet.  "Last minute
trump card."

"You catch on fast,"  Remy grinned, and kicked the bike into motion.

*****

                V.
                Our friend has contacted us.
                We'll make arrangements.
                Lunch.
                Separate departures.
                Avert suspicion.
                You know why.
                Remember what.
                Look for the rest.
                More instructions.
                Put it all together.
                Like us.
                R.

Vertigo had no idea how Janos had managed to slip the tiny note into her
bedroom unnoticed.  But her mood, darkened since the massacre of the
Tompkins family, lightened when it appeared.

It took her hours to find the rest of the notes.   The second one was in the
coat she'd worn on their date -- the night they'd realized how they felt
about each other.

                My precious one:

                A meeting has been arranged.
                Two days hence this note's date.
                Enemies become friends become enemies become friends.
                Assistance granted where none is deserved.
                Whirl me there one time.
                Twist you another.

                Your precious one.

Another note,  stuck inside one of her spare working clothes gave further
details.   ~Is he insane?!~ Vertigo found herself wondering -- then
laughing. ~Stupid question. Of course he is.~   The words were not coming as
hard to her as they used to.  She was pleased, once she got over the shock
of realizing Janos had planned to take her to meet the Cajun, Gambit.  ~What
if it's a trap?~

She found another note slipped between the box spring and mattress of her
futon, setting her questions at ease.  Janos had considered the danger, and
had declared their love worth the risk.   The Cajun had something up his
sleeve and was only too willing to be a party to permanently disbanding the
Marauders and taking Sinister out of business forever.

It was the final note,  taped to the  back of the broken mirror she used as
a vanity that gave the final details of the meeting -- instructions that
Vertigo had to leave the lair separately from Riptide, and meet him at the
appointed location.   Further, she now had a glimmer of information about
why her beloved Janos believed the Cajun would not betray them and turn them
in.

She tore the notes into confetti and flushed them after making certain she
remembered all Janos had said was imperative.    She then went to bed, the
better to sleep -- perchance to dream -- and less risk of a slipped tongue
spoiling their plans.

*****

LeBeau and Pryde sat in a dark corner of  Jackson Hole, Wyoming (the
restaurant, not the city), sharing a huge plate of nachos.

"So who're we adding to the team now, coach?" Kit asked, grinning.  She had,
oddly enough, taken to the entire lifestyle she'd found herself immersed in
since Remy had come to her for assistance a few days back.   It reminded her
vaguely of her adventures in  Europe with Wisdom; but even better than that,
it allowed her to see Remy through new eyes.  She now saw what Ororo found
honorable in the Cajun.  She also saw that he was putting the fall of
Sinister in a higher priority than his own revenge at having been a pawn in
the  man's twisted games.

"Ol' friend o' mine. We cross paths once in a while. She a good t'ief but it
her mutant powers I'm needin' dis time."  Remy tilted back his bottle of
beer and took a swig.

Kitty nodded, and glanced at the window unobtrusively.   "I'll know her when
I see her?"

LeBeau chuckled. "Hardly, chere. Mickey, she likely to just --"

"--Show up without warning?"  asked Mickey, popping a nacho into her mouth.
She was suddenly beside Remy, beer in hand.

"Yeah," Remy grinned sardonically.  "Dat. Katie Pryde, meet Mickey
Trellayne.  Shadowcat -- Split Secon'."

"Charmed,"  Mickey grinned, offering the bewildered Kit a handshake. "Any
friend of Remy's is a friend of mine."  Her accent was pure Brooklyn, but
she was otherwise lively and agreeable -- dancing blue eyes under a shock of
black hair with blue stripes.  "So this the big meeting?"

"In a bit, chere, yeah.  You gon' be with me an' Locus.  We got us a trump
card to play - an' I'll need you both to pull it."

"Locus?!"  Trellayne repeated indignantly, tipping down her shades to fix
Remy with a look that clearly communicated she thought he was out of his
Cajun mind to be dealing with her.

"It important, Mick,"  Remy assured her.  "It could mean de difference
between victory an' defeat.  An' since we got a defector,  I stackin' de
deck. You know me."

"Yeah, yeah," Mickey grinned.  "Lucky at cards."

"So,"  Kit interjected when Mickey paused to kiss Remy an affectionate
hello,  "What's your area of expertise?"

Mickey grinned, and without further ado, shook up her beer bottle at Kit,
then unscrewed the top.   Foam frothed forth from the mouth of the bottle,
and Kitty reared back, anticipating a splashing.   Mickey winked, and then
--

-- Suddenly, Kitty and Mickey were the only two people moving. Everyone else
in the restaurant was frozen stiff, including Remy, the waitresses, and the
noisiest small children.   The splash of beer was hanging in mid air, also
frozen.

"This is your power?" Kit gasped, amazed. "Neat."

"I like it," Mickey agreed, and lifted a glass off the tray of a waiter to
catch the beer. She snapped her fingers and time started up again.  The beer
flowed into the glass instead of showering Pryde.

*****

Vertigo was pleased, for the first time in recent memory, to be the shortest
Marauder.  When she'd left their crash pad, she'd noticed Harpoon following
her.  She had led him a merry chase all over the city, but he kept finding
her.   She ran him up and down all seven levels of the Manhattan Mall,
through Bloomingdales, Macy's and Sachs.  And still he kept her within
sight.

But the Inuit was not especially tall either.  It was simplicity itself for
the nimble female to lose herself in the crowds.  He was short and stocky --
good for shouldering his way through the crowds. But only the tiniest
application of her powers would leave people staggering and weaving in her
wake.

Harpoon had been having a hard enough time keeping up as it was -- and all
Marauders were conditioned to avoid any unnecessary kills so as to not draw
attention to themselves.

She looked down at the note she'd written herself.   She swung onto a 6
train and ducked behind a large  trumpet-playing commuter, contentedly
breathing a sigh of relief as she glanced a bewildered Harpoon on the
platform looking for her.

***

Janos had less of an easy time wending his way to the meeting spot.
Scrambler had been tagging along with him from the beginning, and the
energetic Kim Sung was proving difficult to shake.

They'd already spent hours in the virtual reality arcade, killing each other
in the Pterodactyl game,  and had lunch together at a sushi bar on 9th
avenue.   Janos was on the verge of getting the fun started early and
gutting his teammate in an alley.  But it would get blood on his clothes.
He'd have to go home and change.  Too many questions. Too many explanations.
Too much precious time.  LeBeau was waiting.

Vertigo was waiting.

Instead, he walked into BARNEY'S with the impeccably dressed Sung.   As he
hoped,  Scrambler's attention went at once to the newest designer clothes.
He gravitated as if magnetically drawn to the Armani and Versace suits.  And
because of his pretty boy looks, the salesgirls flocked to his side to offer
him help.

"Janos, I know this isn't your thing.  I'll catch you back at the house,
hanh?"  he called, waving distractedly at his teammate as a nubile salesgirl
smoothed the wrinkles out of the silk shirt he'd just shrugged into.

"Done, m'friend, done,"  Janos agreed with a nod, and took his leave with a
dramatic "Exit, stage right!"

Then he darted out into the street, flagging down the first cab and roaring
off uptown toward Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

*****

"Over here, mon ami."

Kit Pryde bristled as her hazel eyes found who Gambit had called to, and
tracked Riptide all the way to the table.   "Cajun..." she whispered
dangerously.

Gambit laid a hand over Pryde's.  "It okay.  Riptide de one who ask for my
help takin' Sinister down. An' you already clear de disk, provin' it ain't
no trap."

"You'll forgive me if I remain wary," Shadowcat murmured with a grateful,
sidelong glance at Split Second.  Something unspoken went between the two
women.   As Riptide slid silently into the booth beside the Cajun,  Pryde
phased out through the floor.

Riptide smiled wryly.  "Can hardly blame her,"  he murmured, eyes dropping
to the floor.  "Vertigo will be along in a moment."

Shadowcat airwalked through the wall, to the fire escape and clambered
nimbly onto the roof.   With the silent skill she'd learned as a child in
Japan,  she watched,  gaze scanning the surrounding streets and rooftops.
Vertigo approached, skittish as a kitten, but Pryde detected no tail on the
slender Marauder.   She watched and waited a full five minutes longer, glad
of her dark clothing,  until she was satisfied that Riptide and Vertigo were
the only two approaching their meeting place.   She then returned her
intangible form to the table where Remy and the others waited -- and found
herself surprised.

Janos and Vertigo were huddled together, backs to the wall, holding hands.
They were poised and calm to the casual onlooker -- but Shadowcat had been
taught by the best.  Their body language spoke of caution and fear,  worry
and -- love?   ~What the hell is going on here?~ she wondered.  She found
herself reminded instantly of the story Jenny Ransome had told her in
Genosha about trying to escape with her love Phillip Corbeau from Genosha --
the country that closed an iron fist around its mutant population.

Brow arced behind her sunglasses, Pryde scooted in beside Split Second and
waited for an explanation.  "We all here?"

"Not quite yet," LeBeau shook his head.  He pulled free a celphone from his
leather jacket and dialed.  He let it ring twice and hung up.

Locus stepped out of the ladies' room exactly sixty seconds later.  "So this
is the party," she said, giving an appraising look to the assemblage.
"What's the game plan?"

"De game plan pretty simple.  De Marauders die.  When Vertigo an' Riptide de
only ones left, dey gon' head back to de boss."

"And I'm going with them,"  Shadowcat interjected.

"Say what?" Remy blinked, turning to stare at the woman across the table
from him.

"Your plan includes taking out Sinister's network.  His clone vats. His
labs.  Right?"  Unflinching,  Pryde looked back at Gambit.

Gambit nodded, dubiously.

"Well, since this Weasel and I hacked his system, he's upped his security. I
will have no shot at all of taking down his system from the outside. I need
to be on site to trigger the Burning Sensation virus."  She cracked her
knuckles absently.  "Besides.  If  certain Marauders get to fall,  I wanna
be there."

Remy arched both brows above his shades.  "I don' like it, petite," he said.

Vertigo and Riptide held hands, silent, watching the conversation go back
and forth in front of them.

"Do we *care* if you like it?" Locus asked, chuckling.  "You want the job
done right, and we wouldn't be here now if you didn't think we were the best
ones for it."

"C'est vrai,"  Remy admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose.  "I was gon'
send Split Secon' in with Vee an' Riptide for de advantage..."

Kitty shook her head again.  "I know what you have planned. Now that I know
what Split Second can do, it's better if she's on that team with you.  I'll
be fine.  I've faced worse, Gambit.  And I'm still here to tell the tale."

"Besides,"  Riptide added hesitantly.  "She'll be able to ... to protect
Vertigo from the other Marauders."  There was a pain in his eyes as he said
this.   "I'm fast enough to manage on my own. But Vee, for all that she can
fight these days, is still fragile."

Vertigo nodded, with the air of one who begrudgingly admitted her weakness
would make her a liability to the operation.

"Okay -- so when do we do this?"  Locus asked, impatient.

Remy glanced at the clock, then at the assorted beer and wine cooler bottles
scattered on the table.  "Tomorrow night,  3:00 a.m."  He glanced to Riptide
and Vertigo for confirmation.   He couldn't trust his own memories of the
Marauders' habits, obviously.

Riptide and Vertigo paused pensively, then nodded.  "Yes. They should all be
down for the count by then,"  Vertigo said.  "Even if I have to help them
along slightly with 'bad Chinese food.' "

Pryde smiled for the first time.  "Hm.  This may come off better than I
thought. "  ~Vertigo's not the vapid little bim I remember.~

"Thank you,"  Vertigo whispered, squeezing Riptide's hand.  "We can't thank
you enough."

"Thank us,"  smirked Locus, "If it comes off with no fatalities and you make
it out alive.  From what I hear, your boss is nobody to trifle with.
Gambit.  I'll meet you and Split Second at Liberty Island at 2:30 a.m.
tomorrow. "  She rose,  dropped a couple of bills on the table to pay for
her drink, and walked back into the Ladies room.  She did not emerge again.

"You two gonna be okay getting back?" Shadowcat asked of the couple.
~They're in love.  Imagine that.  Well, it's true what they say about the
best laid plans. I doubt Sinister even considered making them more
intelligent and sensitive would give them the capacity to love.  And I am
sure it never occurred to him that love would be the catalyst to take him
down. I *love* it!~

"Yes,"  Riptide nodded.  "I've a darts tournament to go to tonight --
standard practice for a Friday night."

"And I always sit up and play Poker with the others," Vee added.  "They
won't expect us to return together.  And I'll bring dinner.  Food is almost
as good as sex when you want to distract the Marauders."

Split Second nodded.   "Good. Then we're on for tomorrow.  See you then."
There was a flicker of blue-white as she kicked her power into active.  She
tapped  Gambit and Shadowcat,  drawing them into her active sector of the
temporal disturbance.  The three of them left money for the bill and walked
out together, scanning the streets for any signs of trouble.

Two motorcycles roared off into the motionless New York Night...and three
blocks away,  Split Second let her temporal disruption go, resuming the
proper flow of time in the area.

Vertigo and Riptide were left alone in the dark, noisy restaurant,  to have
a dinner alone to themselves before their final kills as Marauders.  They
shared a kiss,  a glass of wine,  and spent the rest of the meal in quiet
contemplation before having to separate once again -- hopefully for the last
time.

*****

Kit Pryde meditated in the darkness and privacy of her own bedroom after a
long hot bath and an equally hot cup of green tea.   It had been a while
since she had gone through some of the yoga rituals, but she found they
still calmed her as they had after her original ninja training.

~I am going up against the Marauders tomorrow,~  she mused.  ~With two of
them on what better damn well be the side of the angels.~

After an hour, her thoughts had finally stopped chasing each other through
the recesses of her mind, and Pryde went to sleep.

The nightmare came anyway -- the memory of her near-death as a living ghost,
courtesy of Harpoon skewering her in the Morlock tunnels.  She woke gasping
for breath, reaching for Wisdom.  He wasn't there. She was alone in her bed.
Clutching the pillow and stubbornly refusing to give into threatening tears,
Pryde lay still and practiced breathing evenly until sleep came for her once
again.

*****

LeBeau was in the memorial antechamber of the Morlock tunnels,  head bowed
respectfully.  Around him, the chamber was dancing with firelight from half
a hundred candles, all lit by Gambit's own hand.  ~Tomorrow I strike to
avenge you.  Tomorrow I make sure this will never happen again.  Tomorrow is
the day I start earning back the soul Sinister stole from me.~

*****

Locus  spent the night in a similar meditative state.  LeBeau had made clear
where -- and when -- she was to take him and Split Second.   Her time jumps
were usually -- dodgy.  She had been practicing, however, since the money
the Cajun had promised her would bail out the rest of the MLF.   And then,
perhaps, they could free her lover from wherever he'd been taken after the
fight in Las Vegas.

She fell asleep imagining his hands on her.

*****

Split Second also spent the night honing her abilities -- making sure she
had her temporal senses tuned and her disruptions under the tightest control
she could manage them.  LeBeau's life hung in the balance. As did Locus' --
their ride home.  She would not be found wanting.

*****

Finally -- with a desperation borne out of their mutual terror and
anticipation -- Janos and Vee had rented a room at the seedy little  Prince
Charles Hotel.

No room service.  No candlelight.

Just the two of them -- in the dark, monsters whose master had made them
less monstrous.  Lovers whose humanity had enabled them to love.   Killers
whose edge was about to turn on its own.    Their lovemaking was frantic,
chaotic, urgent.

"If I should not live tomorrow, I love you..."

"And I you - for the rest of my life, Janos. As long as that lasts. A
moment.  An hour. Forever."

*****

2:30  a.m.  -- Liberty Island:

The February Hawk across the Hudson River sent ice needles cutting into
LeBeau's skin.  He didn't care. He had his cigarettes and his resolve to
warm him.   Split Second stood beside him, hands in her pockets,  impatient
and nervous, but also steely silent.

Locus appeared out of nowhere.  "We ready, kids?"

"We ready,"  Gambit said, checking the bag at his side,  the usual items in
his pockets and at his belt.

"Let's do it,"  Split Second hissed.

Locus grinned, flung skyward her arms, and the three of them vanished into a
circular portal.

2:45  a.m. -- Fort Apache, the Bronx

Shadowcat stepped off the #3 train and stalked down the stairs from the
platform.  Riptide had promised a newsgroup posting, encoded with directions
to the lair of the Marauders, and he'd come through.   Soundless, she phased
through the wall of the otherwise abandoned building and into the dark.  She
slid the nightvision lenses built into her mask into place, and allowed
herself to sink through the floor to where the defector Marauders waited.

They stood together in the stairwell, and permitted silent sighs of relief
that she had come as promised.

She placed a hand on each of their shoulders, and together, the trio walked
through the wall...

...and into Scalphunter's room.  The gun set up on the door would have gone
off had they walked in that way.

Scalphunter slept, one arm flung over his eyes, mouth open in a buzzsaw
snore.  Coiled around him was Arclight.  The room reeked of gun oil and sex.

Shadowcat glanced at her two charges.  They slipped soundlessly into
fighting stances, and she followed suit.   She had to let them become
tangible that they could use their powers.

Scalphunter, somehow, *heard* the subtle shift that accompanied the
molecular shift.   He mumbled something, which was followed by the sound of
a gun cocking in the dark.

Lightning quick,  Riptide was in motion,  whirling winds separating
Scalphunter from the rest of the room, and tearing the gun from his hands.
Twin stilettos of resin jammed up the double barrels.   The psycho ballerina
boy was on the world's deadliest gunsmith,  hands at his throat.

The scuffle woke Arclight. "What the fuck --?"

Vertigo waved a hand at Arclight and she ended up running into the wall
rather than through the door.   It wasn't enough to knock her unconscious,
even with Vertigo's power  on full scrambling Sontag's  synapses.  But it
did make for slow going.  The room wavered back and forth beneath her like a
boat in stormy seas.

"MARAUDERS! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"  Arclight finally managed to yell between
heaving gasps.   "Scalp --? Where the hell are you,  Scalp?"

Scalp never answered.  In the center of Riptide's cyclone,  Riptide had
extruded resin-blades from his palms and stabbed Scalphunter through both
eyes.    ~One down.~

"Damn, we're made," Shadowcat hissed,  as sounds indicated the other
Marauders had been wakened by Arclight's bellow.

Arclight, still dizzied by Vertigo's attack, pounded a fist into the floor.
The room shook, floor to ceiling.  Pryde airwalked and remained standing.
Vertigo, unfortunately, went flying.   But Riptide, still a-dervish, spun
her off toward the door before she could impact with the wall of woman that
was Arclight.

Prism was the first through the door. "What's goin--"  he started, but never
got the chance to finish.  Two well-placed punches and a kick  from Vertigo
knocked his glass head off his glass body and sent it rolling back out into
the hall, trailing liquid shards of blood.

~Two down,~  Vertigo thought, as Pryde yanked her back, making her
intangible.

Blockbuster barrelled down the hall wearing only his boxers.  Vertigo
stepped out of Shadowcat's influence and sickened him with the strongest
effect she could muster.  He went to one knee moaning, but kept going.
"Arc?!  Scalp?!  What the hell's going on?"

Shadowcat's eyes widened as she saw Sontag lift that immense fist for
another blow.   "We gotta GO!" she shouted, grabbing  Riptide and Vertigo
and diving through the wall with them.   Behind them,  Philippa's fist
connected, and the building shook.    The X-woman ran for all she was worth,
dragging the defectors with her, through walls and debris that fell around
them.  The building, already run down, had not merely been shaken by
Arclight's shockwave -- it was collapsing -- all 30 floors of it.

With Vertigo out of range, the two Marauders regained their equilibrium and
their feet -- just in time to have the floor go out from under them as it
buckled from the stress Arc's punch had put on it.   The air crackled with
electricity -- wires the Marauders had pirated for their power in their
lair.   Glass shattered  and rained down, bouncing harmlessly off the two
heavy-hitters.

Blockbuster curled an arm around Arclight, shielding her from debris above
and taking the brunt of the fall for her.  She rolled out of his grasp,
seeking  a steady floor to stand on.  A chunk of masonry hit her in the
head, knocking her momentarily unconscious.

As a result, she didn't see the rusted girder come swinging down to go
straight through Blockbuster's midsection and fry him alive as it dragged
him the rest of the way down into the subway tunnel beneath the building --
and onto the third rail.    His scream lingered in the night air, but was
drowned out by the sounds of debris raining down.

"That was pure luck," Vertigo panted, when Shadowcat finally phased them in,
clear of the wreckage.

"More luck than we deserve," Shadowcat agreed.  "I wouldn't put it past the
rest of them to still be alive."

"Nor I,"  Riptide agreed.   "We need to make sure."

A blazing spike of metal provided them their answer.  Harpoon, at the least,
had somehow managed to avoid the worst part of the building's collapse.
Shadowcat looked up and the memory of Harpoon's weapon piercing her phased
body came back to her.   She clenched her teeth, refusing to give him the
satisfaction of hearing her scream again,  then ran, letting him think her
spooked and rabbiting.

The Inuit swung down from the fire escape,  pausing as Vertigo and Riptide
vaulted toward the wreckage.  "See to the X-bitch!"  Vertigo snarled.
"We'll make sure the others are still in fighting form to finish the job!"

Harpoon nodded wordlessly, dropping to the ground -- squat form loping after
the fleeing X-Man.  Lights were coming on around the neighborhood, no doubt
disturbed by the thunderous crash of the building Arclight collappsed.

The air sizzled as another harpoon soared past Shadowcat's head.   Gauging
he was close enough to throw, she phased -- right through the wall of the
nearest building.     Harpoon paused, breathing hard,  and waiting for her
to show herself.  "I'll finish the job this time, girlie."

"Allow *me*,"  Shadowcat hissed,  melting out of the wall.  She dove through
the Inuit's body, snagging his quiver on the way past and divesting the
Marauder of his weapons.    Then she was through the street and gone again.

"You think that's gonna stop me, bitch?!"  Harpoon bellowed.  "I'm not
limited to harpoons!" He picked up a bottle,  broke it against the brick
wall Shadowcat had come through, and set it to energizing.    But there was
no sign of her resurfacing.

Flickering energy on glass roiled in his hand.   Behind him, Pryde surfaced.
"You I owe,"  she whispered in his ear.   He swung his weapon at her, but
she unphased, leapt, and it passed through the space where she had been. She
landed in a crouch, swung a foot sweep at his legs.  He dodged.  She sprang
to her feet again.

"Oh, right. You pansy-ass X-Men don't kill."   Harpoon laughed, baring
teeth.

"That was true once,"  Kitty agreed,  in motion again.  She dove through him
one last time,  solidified her fist on the way past, and dragged him partway
through the wall with her.  Once on the other side of the wall, she let go
-- leaving Harpoon embedded in the wall -- and quite messily dead.  "That
was for Kurt. For Piotr.  And for me."

She paused to get her bearings. The night had gone quiet again.  ~If the
fall didn't kill Arclight and Blockbuster, that leaves just them and
Scrambler.  They weren't prepared for being turned on by one of their own.~
She bolted back toward the rubble, certain her two charges would need help
against the remaining Marauders.

Blockbuster was really dead.  The  blackened, blooded corpse with the
massive chunk of metal jutting out of its chest was proof of that.  But
Janos and Vee found no sign of Arclight.  This, they concluded, was an
extremely bad sign.

Riptide grasped his lover by the waist and lifted her to catch a handhold
and climb back out of the pit Arclight's last shockwave had created.  She
trembled against his touch -- she was frightened.  Janos couldn't blame her.
He was frightened too.  They'd been lucky so far -- damn lucky.  But
Arclight, Harpoon and Scrambler were going to be hard to take down.

Vertigo leaned back down to offer her lover a hand up.  He grasped her wrist
and levered himself up with that same inhumanly nimble grace he applied to
all things.  She could feel the tension making his lithe sinuous form taut
and stiff.   She knew he was mirroring her terror.  A job was a job. But
this wasn't -- this was turning against the only friends and family they had
ever known -- all in the name of a love they hadn't expected or wanted --
but couldn't turn away from once tasted.

Beads of sweat shone on Janos' face. His violet hair  hung lank past his
shoulders.  Vertigo looked like a wilted dandelion herself.  The two of them
hadn't been enough to take out Arclight the first time.  They didn't stand
much of a chance against her, unless Shadowcat assisted.

"Traitorous bitch," came the ragged sound of Arclight's voice.   It was not
accompanied by a shockwave.  Instead, it was herald to a haymaker right,
that caught  Vertigo full in the midsection.

The former Savage Lander felt ribs crack and tasted blood in her mouth as
she went flying into a wall, and lay still.

"You think I wouldn't know it was you making me sick?  Who paid you to turn
on us, Rip? Who?"   Philippa's eyes were ashine with rage -- madness --
grief.    Riptide found himself wondering if she had had feelings for the
deceased Scalphunter.

~Too late to dwell on it,~  he thought,  beginning to twirl again,  in the
hopes of evading her.  He couldn't think about Vertigo, lying motionless
against the wall where Arclight had knocked her.  He couldn't think of
Shadowcat,  perhaps dead by Harpoon's hand.  He could only think of
surviving, and pray he could get Vertigo help in time.   He clenched his
teeth,  willing the resin to his skin,  making of himself a spiked doll.

"You okay, Phil?"  Sung asked, clapping a hand on her shoulder.   "What the
hell is happening here?"

~Please...~ Janos thought, and let fly.    The deadly resin-spikes flew from
his body, straight for  Philippa.

"Shit,"  squeaked Scrambler, and threw himself to the ground.

Arclight's powers, shut off by Sung's touch, failed her.  Riptide's shuriken
and stilettos scored her head to toe.  She staggered back,  back, back, and
fell through the hole, landing impaled atop the corpse of Blockbuster.

"Damn,"  Scrambler gasped, pulling a spike from his left arm and leg.  "You
don't fuck around, do you, Ques--URK!"

Riptide had Scrambler by the lapels,  and was spinning again already, so
fast the Korean fashion plate couldn't get his bearings or put his hands on
Janos.

"You saw what we were doing.  You helped. Why?"

"Why the hell do you *think*?" Scrambler demanded.  "I saw what you two were
becoming and I saw myself in your disgust at the job we do.  I wanted out
like you do.  I didn't think you'd take me along if I asked -- so I figured
to show you I was sincere.

"What do we do now?"  Scrambler asked.  "I hadn't thought much further ahead
than this."

"We go back to Sinister," Shadowcat said, kneeling beside the fallen
Vertigo.

~Please, don't let her be dead. Please, don't let her be dead.~    Riptide
knelt opposite Shadowcat, and breathed a sigh of relief that was at least
half sob when Vertigo stirred and coughed, struggling to sit up.

"Okay. Time to take me prisoner," Shadowcat said, once ascertaining Vertigo
would survive her injuries.

The three surviving Marauders nodded,  already feeling the death protocols
programmed into their heads activating and letting them know where to return
to Sinister this time.

*****

"You got it?"  Gambit asked.

"For the third time, yeah, but if you keep distracting me, I am gonna lose
it,"  Splilt Second hissed back, brow knitted in concentration.

"If you two are done yammering, can we *go* now?" Locus demanded.

Remy checked the precious cargo supported between Split Second and himself.
"Yeah.  Go."

Locus nodded, and the portal opened up again.

*****

One phone call and a code phrase later, the  three surviving Marauders,
with their prisoner, Shadowcat, stepped into the Lair of Sinister -- oddly
enough on Eastern Long Island.

Over her black fighting togs,  Pryde wore a dampener collar;  Remy had
procured it for the sake of the charade.  It was also a homing device, for
Remy's team to track her by when they returned from their part of the
Gambit's plan.

Scrambler, for the sake of effect, held her in a fireman's carry over the
shoulder.

"She lives?"  demanded their master in a basso rumble.

"Figured you'd want to make her one of us, Boss,"  Scrambler chirped at
once, without so much as missing a beat.

"Interesting prospect.  It would strike the X-Men at the heart to lose so
young and innocent a one as this."

Kitty looked hatefully at Sinister through her hair and played her part to
the hilt. "I'd rather die first."

Vertigo, clutching at her broken ribs, chuckled raggedly.  "It may come to
that.  But he'll clone you, just like us."   ~Where the hell is Gambit?~

Sinister raised a brow,  lowered it.    He smiled, revealilng the sharklike
points of his teeth.  "Did you think I would not see through this feeble
ploy?  You seek to betray Sinister."

"Nothing of the sort, actually,"  Scrambler said, shrugging as he set
Shadowcat on her feet. "We just want our pink slip."  His tone was
conversational, as though it were a simple request -- as though there were
any way out of the Marauders other than through death.

"Really,"  Sinister responded,  coldly -- faintly amused.  "And what have
you to offer Sinister besides this youngling in exchange for your paltry
lives and your freedom?"   He regarded the quartet as though they were
nothing more than curious specimens.

A circle appeared on the floor between Sinister and his remaining marauders.
It was no bigger than a laser-pointer image at first, but then expanded to
the size of a dining room table.  Rising from it were  Locus,  Gambit, Split
Second -- and their precious cargo.

"Funny you should ask,"  Shadowcat said with a smile as the cavalry arrived.

"What've they got? What've they got?"  Scrambler demanded with the intense
curiosity of a seven year old.

"They wouldn't tell us," Vertigo coughed,  craning her neck to see as well.

"Monsieur Diabolique,"  Gambit said in his best theatrical voice.  "Gambit
here to make you an offer you can't refuse."     He swept the white cloth
off the object that Split Second guarded...

..and revealed a beautiful woman.

Her skin was alabaster porcelain.  Her hair was kohl-black,  and framing a
heart-shaped aristocratic face.  Her lips held the faintest blush.  She
slept,  frozen in time, unaware of anything.   Her belly was quite obviously
convex  -- indicating the final stages of pregnancy.

The three Marauders gawked cluelessly.

She wore a fine silken nightdress -- lace frothing at sleeves and wrists,
covering her from ears to toes.

Sinister, for his part,  stared -- red eyes wide and disbelieving.    Then,
after an eternity of silence only moments long, he spoke; one breathless
word full of an emotion Sinister had ever denied having.

"Rebecca."

"Give de man a cigar," Gambit smirked.  "Straight outta de 1880s, delivered
fresh to you.  In exchange for you freein' dese Marauders, you get you wife
back.  An' you son."

Sinister's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.  The spiky vanes of
his cape quivered, indicating that  there was far more going on beneath the
stony expression.

"Some trick,"  Sinister whispered through clenched teeth.

"Mais non," Remy shook his head.  "You 'member dis nightdress, f'sure, neh?"

Sinister turned his head away.  Looked back.  Turned his head away.   Looked
back.   ~The night she went into labor the second time.  The night she
died.~

He was sufficiently distracted that he failed to notice Shadowcat
surreptitiously sticking a chip into the nearest terminal.  The Burning
Sensation virus began winnowing its way into Sinister's network.

"How?"  Sinister finally asked at length.

"Does it matter?"  Gambit asked with a shrug. He paused to light a
cigarette.  "Dese de terms.  We give you back you wife if you let dem go.
If not, I sure we could ask Locus here to give you a ride somewhere."

"Like the deck of the Titanic on April 14,"  Locus said sweetly.

"Think of it, Sinister,"  Shadowcat added.  "She died in childbirth the
first time.  Because medical science was not advanced enough to save her.
But now -- now with all the skill and facilities at the mundane world's
command -- you could save her.  Save her, and your son.

"How many people get a second chance like that?"

Sinister paced like a caged panther for several long moments.  Vertigo,
struggling for consciousness, leaned against Riptide as they slowly paced
behind Locus, willing to make a break for it if their master refused.

"Know this," Sinister said slowly after another moment.  "If Sinister
discovers this was a trick ... a sham...in any way, shape or form,  Sinister
will destroy you all with his bare hands."

"If you can find us, big fella,"  Locus sneered.  "We'll take that as a
deal. Forgive us if we don't shake on it, hm?"  The stepping disk opened,
taking Locus and the others with her.

Sinister's current laboratory began to break down around him.   Rebecca
Essex, no longer held between ticks of the clock, awakened,  with a flutter
of her blue eyes.    "N-Nathaniel...?"

"I am here,"  said Nathaniel Essex,  having assumed the form he hadn't worn
in 100 years.  "And everything will be all right."

He gathered close the woman he loved,  activated the tesseract, and
vanished.

His laboratory self-destructed ninety seconds later.

END