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 The Lamborghini Incident, [Mystic, Connecticut] Remy
Fantomex
45 years old
54 posts
Mutant
Xeper
Offline

The Legendary White Ghost, unmasked and rocking the business casual look, was spending a sunny Mystic afternoon in the driver's seat of a cherry-red 2018 Lamborghini Aventador S. For business purposes, of course.

No, wait, come back, I'm serious. It really was business-related.

That didn't mean, of course, that Jean-Philippe couldn't enjoy a fine New England day while he played the 'hurry up and wait' game. He was currently parked at the outskirts of the city with the windows down, slightly reclined in the comfort of the leather seats, listening to some quality gypsy punk through the aux cable hooked up to his phone, and keeping a very intent watch on a truck depot down the street.

It was very conspicuous (his mask was even lying on the dashboard, just waiting to be donned), but he was quite confident that nobody except the man he was awaiting would stumble across the scene anytime soon. He liked Mystic - really, he liked New England in general, it had a vaguely European feel to it that reminded him of some mysterious facsimile of home but different, sort of like a magical realism novel - and had taken a day or so of seeing the sights and exploring until he'd found a vantage point that made him reasonably confident in his seclusion from the public view. In this case, it was the second floor of a parking ramp, positioned atop a hill at just the right angle to watch the depot that so thoroughly held his attention right now.

This was all quite ad-hoc, unfortunately. He'd only been in town for a day, trying to confirm some intel from a semi-reliable source, and then that intel had turned out to be not just good but great, a real once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity. It would've been foolish not to act on it before the window closed, so to speak, and it was only through an extensive network of connections (and the old 'I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy' routine that thieves tended to have) that he'd been able to contact a fellow professional in the area. Well, 'in the area' - it was a two-hour drive from New York out to Mystic, but the payoff promised to be well worth it.

The passenger's side door opened, and Jean-Philippe turned with a cheery grin to his newly-arrived associate. "Salut! Messr. Gambit, no? I do appreciate you coming out on such short notice. It's quite hard to find quick help for a job like this - there's not exactly a Craigslist for men of our proclivities, you know?"

Down the street, the chainlink gates of the truck depot were opening. The Frenchman's gaze was drawn to the motion immediately, and he kept a watchful eye on it as they conversed.

"Do you smoke?" he asked casually. "I quit last year, but our ride's previous owner apparently keeps a pack in the glovebox. I figured it was only polite to ask"

It was all very low-key, although chances were good it would not stay that way for long.


@REMY LEBEAU
Posted: Mar 10 2018, 01:24 PM
Gambit
29 years old
Thief
92 posts
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Remy was planning on taking some time off, really. He was going to lay low, maybe not blow a whole lot of money, and make what he had last a while. Hang around the X-Men, and not keep getting the cops called down on him for a while, because there were only so many close calls he could have before it got a little too close. And then Fence calls him, and tells him some Fantomex needs someone on a job. Which leads to the whole question of whether there is really a Fantomex, in the same way they wonder if there is a Homer. Which ended up in an almost two-hour long conversation, and then a few days later, Remy was walking up a parking ramp, his bike semi-abandoned in some bushes, without plates or identifiable chassis.

His goal made itself known eventually, as bright as the sun, and Remy decided that, if there were as many Fantomexes as Fence said, he liked this one, and was definitely voting for him on the year-end pool. If he didn't get himself killed in the next few hours, which was always a possibility. Going in with a hot gun was not a good idea, but neither was going unarmed. Fence said his people were trustworthy - as trustworthy as they could be in their line of work - but who knew how many nodes their little game of telephone had? Remy pulled out the two cards he kept hidden in his wrist, flipped them and hid them back out. It would be a nervous habit, except Remy never got nervous.

He simply stood for a second by the car, and pulled the door, which opened so easily and silently he wanted to do it again. "Fantomex." He said, both a confirmation of himself, and a question for confirmation, as he made himself comfortable on the passenger seat, which, in this new leather, was basically just sitting in it, and slid it closed. "Can never make it too easy; the cops will figure it out." Remy mirrored the greeting, as he took of the glasses, the sunlight blessedly dulled by the tinted windows making it comfortable enough without. "We'll get bored. Either, or."

Remy didn't know much about the job, the whole 'not tell too much, you never know who is listening' in full effect. When the other's attention turned to the lot ahead of them, he could only assume it had something to do with it. "Try not to before a job." Remy admitted. Part superstition, part knowing too many mutants with enhanced senses, he tended to leave it for after. Still, he opened the glovebox, to find half a pack of Sobranie. He picked one, and turned it around his fingers regretfully, before putting them away. He'd been tempting fate too much, already.

"So, are we there yet?" He asked, trying to guess exactly what was there. He did some research himself on what he knew, of course, but the little dealership they were looking at was the very definition of the nothing he had found.


@JEAN-PHILIPPE DURAND
Posted: Mar 12 2018, 04:13 PM
Fantomex
45 years old
54 posts
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Xeper
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"Ah, very good. What's life without unexpected challenges, no? We'd be out of a job, my handsome friend, and the world would be a worse place without us causing trouble in it."

It all sounded rather casual, but the reality of the situation was that this was Jean-Philippe's way of psyching himself up. As long as he could remember, step one before something intense and life-threatening had always been be cool, and the rest had followed from there. There was a certain kind of sense to it: if you kept a clear head and took things easy, there was no problem that wasn't easier to solve. This was admittedly easier when one was inured to the type of insane shit that Jean-Philippe regularly got up to, but he was still pretty sure it was a skill anybody could pick up.

His newly-hired heist partner certainly had, by the looks of him. The Cajun was alert, but eminently chill, considering the circumstances. Perfect. Just the kind of backup he'd be needing for this thing - a steady hand and a calm mind.

So, was this Gambit competent? Almost definitely. Jean-Philippe hadn't seen any firsthand evidence, but he knew to trust that it would be so. There was a certain degree of faith involved in these things, and you didn't get to the echelon of thievery that they had without learning you had to take your fixer's word for it on whether or not somebody would be helpful.

"We are there, actually," he answered, noting Remy's eyes instantly going towards the gates. Nice - caught on quick, this one. "This is a bit ad-hoc, I'm afraid, but to quickly give you an idea of what we're up to, in just a minute a truck will come rolling out of those gates, carrying in its trailer a stack of crates imported from Riga." Shifting into reverse, Fantomex backed the car out of his spot and turned it around. He reached for his mask on the dashboard, sliding it on to complete the White Ghost look, and began leisurely driving them down the garage's ramp. "Now, the cargo was sent here to the States by a Russian gentleman that I don't have much fondness for, and hidden inside some of the crates - for smuggling into the States, you see - are a set of cases containing the ingredients for a weaponized neurotoxin, one which, ah...let's not get into the details, shall we? It's quite unpleasant."

Sure enough, as they were pulling out onto the street, an enormous white 18-wheeler truck came rolling out through the gates, preceded by two helmeted figures on motorcycles and a black Humvee. A second Hummer followed behind, and the dubious-looking convoy rolled out several cars ahead of their vehicle. Jean-Philippe's lips pursed under his mask, and he adjusted the stereo, letting the soft tones of Debussy's Clair de Lune drift around the car's interior. Ahhhh, there. Much calmer.

He turned to glance at his temporary partner, gesturing to the truck ahead of them with a hand. "And here we are! Now, once they reach the freeway, I'm hoping to get into that trailer, find the components for the bioweapon, and then relieve our Eastern friends of it. Unfortunately, ah, I am not certain which crate is the right one, and as you can see, there is our truck's friends to think of as well. Really not a one-man job, especially since this was short notice for myself as well." There was a flash of gloved fingers over a switch, and the driver's side window steady rolled down until the light March breeze settled on a route through the Lamborghini. Good times.

With a gesture to the road sign indicating they were about to hit the open road, Jean-Philippe smiled pleasantly at his newfound associate and asked the kind of question people generally dreaded hearing from him.

"So how do you feel about leaping from moving cars, Messr. Gambit? Tentatively, I was thinking I could handle the wheel and address our, how you say, escort situation - give you a chance to show off a bit, n'est-ce pas?"


@REMY LEBEAU]
Posted: Mar 17 2018, 02:14 AM
Gambit
29 years old
Thief
92 posts
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The name Riga didn't mean much for Remy. It also didn't sound like it mattered much, just a matter of Fantomex being through; if that changed, he'd ask, but, for now, he just listened. The thing that seemed to matter was that the job was meant to happen en route, and not a simple B&E. When his new partner started moving the car and picking up his mask, Remy first reached once again for his pockets, pulling a pack of sticks of chewing gum, offering to the driver, before sticking one in his mouth quietly, while he listened.

Russian crimelords smuggling neurotoxins? Ok, that was bad. "Don't blow up the crates, then." He replied. Remy certainly didn't need to think about brain damage in that moment, but, even if the poison wasn't mixed yet, there was a big chance at least some of those chemicals were very flammable; or explosive. It was obvious enough that it should have gone without saying, but running everything from a job out loud, especially when partnered up with someone you never worked with before, was a good habit to have. He pulled the cowl that had been hanging around his neck and shoulders like a scarf over his hair and the back of his neck, before pulling the front over his nose and mouth, and fastening it in place. The sunglasses went back to cover his eyes, held in place by loops threaded in the mask.

He had to respect the man's driving's skills and sense of timing, getting them smoothly behind his target without rousing suspicion. The loud, fast-paced music was replaced with a classic, gentler song that made Remy raise an eyebrow behind the full face cover. That was what he was riding in with? He shrugged, afterwards. It didn't take a genius to figure out Remy wasn't staying over to listen, anyway, so he might as well let the other man enjoy whatever he wanted.

"Sounds like a plan." Remy noticed Fantomex mentioned the people guarding the truck almost like an afterthought. He'd heard before about the man's legendary shooting skills, but that was almost... careless. It was enough to wonder if the man could back it up, but he wouldn't still be alive if he couldn't. "That's a lot of people, though." He started shrugging out of his jacket, tossing it to the ground ahead of him, pushing it to the corner, away from his feet - it was going to be very embarrassing if his exit was ruined by tripping over it.

He took off the motorcycle gloves from one hand, showing one underneath, made of thinner material that didn't get in the way of his movements, with three fingers exposed. He didn't have to worry much about leaving fingerprints, a lifetime of explosions and burns leaving most of his prints scarred past recognition, but he left the extra padding on the other, sliding in the electromagnetic clamps on it. Climb hand, blowing up hand.

He checked the cards hid around in pockets and edges in his light armor, watching with growing expectation while they approached the wide, empty road, the music doing its best to pull him in the opposite direction, a jarring feeling of dissonance that left him looking for a escape, and he started tapping against his brace arhythmically, trying to find his own tempo.

When they finally reached the border of their planned point of attack, Fantomex spoke again, still the picture of ease. "I thought you'd never ask." He didn't bother looking back to speak, his voice steady with the clear mindedness of a junkie getting his fix of adrenaline, but his eyes glued on his target, like a child staring at a roller coaster. If Fantomex psyched himself up by telling himself it would be easy, Remy did it by telling himself it would be fun.

When Fantomex approached the point of no return, Remy slid up the door to the passenger side, a card resting between the index and middle finger of his (partially) ungloved hand, and he flipped himself to the roof of their car, landing on his knees, immediately propelling himself forwards, landing on top of the target Hummer. His feet slipped due to the speed, but his hand attached itself against the metal with a satisfying thump when he slammed against it. He released himself as he got to his feet, not giving the driver time to think and slow down, putting him farther from his target. He ran down to the hood, and jumped, clamping himself to the back of the truck, the card in his hand now fully charged as he dropped it to the ground, to blow up just was the car behind him passed through it. Backup or not, Remy did not like getting shot in his back.


@JEAN-PHILIPPE DURAND
Posted: Mar 19 2018, 12:30 PM
Fantomex
45 years old
54 posts
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Xeper
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"Well, I wouldn't advise it," Jean-Philippe mused, confirming his Cajun partner's suspicions. "Of course, I am certain the nerve agent is not mixed, but you know, back home we have this saying - do not pull the tail of the sleeping lion, no?"

No such saying exists, let alone in France.

Regardless, he was well-prepared (as always) for things to get high-octane at an alarmingly sudden pace. Jean-Philippe reached under the dash and drew a rather massive pistol. He braced the steering wheel with his knee and chambered a round as he and Remy steadily drew closer and closer. There was a two- or three-car gap between their vehicle and the truck - particularly when in a car this distinct, part and parcel of following somebody was to stay a little further back than absolutely necessary - but as the masks went on and the weapons came out, the vehicle sped up and Jean-Philippe began steadily weaving into the lane next to their target. He had the driver's side window rolled down, for whatever reason, and was humming along with the music on the stereo when Remy spoke up about the considerable escort their target was packing.

"Hmm, yes, they do have something of a numbers advantage," he admitted. "Still, I expect hey will mostly be looking at me and letting you get on board unmolested. Probably because I will be attacking them."

He hit the brakes abruptly, sending up a cloud of exhaust behind them, and swerved into the lane immediately next to the truck. The way was open, and to his credit, the thief saw his opening and took it without any hesitation. Fantomex held the car steady as Gambit pulled himself up onto the roof in one swift motion, and then, in a single flash of fluid movement, he saw the man leap gracefully onto one of the Hummers. Tres bien. Now it was time to make sure he didn't get shot off it.

The enormous truck was still in place, and it wasn't immediately clear if the driver even realized the sudden attack had occurred. The occupants of the Hummer in the back, however, really could not have helped but notice. This, unfortunately, left Gambit right in the midst of at least three guys who 1) weren't focused on driving and 2) were holding weapons. One of them was already standing up through the sunroof, AR-15 in hand, and had barely started turning around when a single shot rang out and he dropped back into the Hummer, losing his rifle along the way.

It was true that Jean-Philippe was judicious about taking life. He'd done it before, of course, in the war, and he didn't hesitate if it was necessary, but he had a distaste for wanton, needless violence, particularly against those who didn't deserve it. These men, however, were partisans of the nefarious Weapon Plus. They knew full well what they were doing, and the risks that their wicked deeds entailed. He couldn't say he'd feel much remorse for them.

Either way, Gambit was covered for the moment, and as the card shark leaped from the hood of the Hummer and caught the back of the truck, there was a glorious card explosion (cardsplosion?) and the 4x4 went flipping through the air. Fantomex let out a laugh with gusto, slapping the wheel of the Lambo - "Bravo!" - and turned his attention to the rest of the escort. He sped up, plowing past the truck and engaging the attention of the Hummer in front. But this did not mean Gambit was left unattended, as a gleaming green sphere floated back around the trailer and hitched itself to the door next to him, whereupon it began to saw through the lock with great aplomb.

"Apologies for speaking through E.V.A. here," the sphere announced in a familiar (if a bit tinny) voice, "but I figured I would save you the effort of slicing in. Which will be useful - you might need your hands free if there's anyone in here, after all. Good show with the Hummer, by the way. Ha ha, what rogues we are!"

Silly, but fair.


@REMY LEBEAU
Posted: Mar 21 2018, 07:00 PM
Gambit
29 years old
Thief
92 posts
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Some things, one was better off not knowing. Remy didn't need to know exactly what the nerve agent would do; he didn't need to know what its components would do. Knowing it wouldn't help him get the job done, and would probably just get really unpleasant images into his head, the sort that made you shudder when you were doing something you weren't supposed to shudder during. Like jumping out of a moving car.

He also didn't need to know that he had a gun trained on him, or which type of gun. Not getting himself shot wasn't his job, it was Fantomex's. He focused on his part of the plan, ignoring anything behind him, and when the heard the noise of a pistol going off even past the engines and the wind, he really hoped it wasn't on him, but he would only be completely sure later. Whatever it hit, it didn't stop him or slow him down, and that was what mattered for now.

He did spare a moment's glace behind him watching as the Hummer went up and around, the card exploding just a the right angle to get its wheels off the road. He didn't stare long; the speed they were going at didn't leave time to look for details, and he didn't want them. He didn't need to know what happened to the people inside of it. He supposed he'd get a list on his day of Judgement, so it could wait until then.

He did see the Lamborghini speed ahead, to take care of the car left standing, but that left two bikes that could easily swerve around to get him while he was vulnerable. He flipped a card in his hand, knowing that he could be careful, or he could be fast. And when a drone appeared by his side, his instinct was to throw at it, but he stopped himself. A light came out under it, burning at the metal of the door, the sparks dimmed out by his glasses, proving it useful for more than not announcing his identity and his mutant status to to whole world. The voice coming out of it finally allowed him to relax. "Nice toy!" He said loudly over the wind, a smirk spreading to his voice as he found himself contaminated by Fantomex's merriness. Truth be told, Remy's plan was to stop the truck, then open it, but if Fantomex wanted to do it the hard, non-explosive way, then he supposed they could, too.

The charged card was still in his hand when the back wheel of a single motorcycle showed itself, and the threw at it, the small explosion enough to take away the precarious balance it had, the driver moving wildly with it, making his aim go completely off, and he went down with his machine, defeated more by the lack of balance and the speed than anything. Still, (if he hadn't broken his neck or something equally sensitive), he wasn't getting up anytime soon. "I got a bike down, here. You okay?" Remy was close to pouting behind the mask. After having the chance of blowing up a large truck like this, having to carefully calculate how to take of a single man without tearing him apart was underwhelming.

He was distracted by the fact that Fantomex's drone was done tearing through the latches, and he put his free hand against the other side of the door, opening it slightly. The small crack of light showed the expected crates, and at least three men with rifles, and instinct had Remy reaching to grab the drone, throwing his legs against the closed door, and pushing against it with all his strength, causing the door to open as piercing projectiles flew past where they'd been, tearing holes through the metal of the still closed door. The door opened as wide as it would, and Remy twisted to try and absorb the damage of hitting against the side of the container mostly with his legs and not his back, and not pin himself between it and the wall, his hand holding onto the clamp for dear life. "More guests." He warned the drone hoping it would reach its owner, before he shoved it above him, hoping it would be smart enough to take flight, because he needed his hand free. He used both legs and arms to quickly climb up to the ceiling, and scrambled into a run, careful not to move in a single straight line, as small dents appeared all over the metal box, mostly where he had just been. He slid down to the cabin, and let himself fall to the side, to stand on the step by the driver's side, holding onto the door latch to avoid falling.

He would have loved to blame Fantomex for jinxing them, but complaining because the job was going too smoothly? Even if just in your head? Yeah, it was all Remy's fault, that one.


@JEAN-PHILIPPE DURAND
Posted: Mar 25 2018, 11:50 AM
Fantomex
45 years old
54 posts
Mutant
Xeper
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So far, so good.

As E.V.A sawed through the lock on the back of the truck, Jean-Philippe pulled the car around to the front and set to work handling the rest of their problems. Although Gambit had taken care of the vehicle following behind them, there was still the one in front, which was rapidly beginning to change lanes and circle around (presumably in the hopes of getting a bead on the Cajun before he could relieve them of their cargo). Well, that was easy enough to address. Jean-Philippe gunned the accelerator and whipped around in front of the truck, just as the defenders were starting to slow down.

Obviously, Remy had problems of his own with the doors open, but as he turned to retreat, he may have been just in time to notice the enemy car ramping up off the guardrail, plunging over the side of the freeway, and crashing into a stand of trees a dozen meters below. It was not entirely clear what Fantomex had done, although the smart money conjured up a mental image involving incredibly dangerous speed and the mother of all sideswipes.

"So far, so good," announced the sphere. "The other truck is, shall we say, no longer an issue - one bike left."

As the thief leaped nimbly to the top of the truck's container and pulled himself onto the roof, the impossible occurred: one of the men in the truck was following. In fact, he'd pulled himself onto the roof one-handed, courtesy of a pair of scythe-like blades that'd popped out of the undersides of his forearms. They might've been part of his skeleton - it wasn't totally clear - but either way, as he let out a feral snarl and charged after Remy, it was clear that they were going to be bad news. Fortunately, he charged right past the little floating sphere, which had followed them up top, and it let out a shockwave that knocked him clear off the back of the truck. Although the Legendary White Ghost had more than a few balls in the air to keep track of, having three times the cerebral processing power of the average person clearly helped.

Jean-Philippe looked back as Remy dove for the driver's-side door and held precariously onto the handle. He chuckled - ah, to live dangerously! what times these were! - and eased off the accelerator, moving back to block the final motorcyclist from getting close to his temporary partner.

"Lean back slightly, please--" A gunshot rang out, and the driver, who had been reaching for a weapon, quailed back from the window, leaving himself entirely open. Particularly since the window in question had just burst inwards. "--very good! I believe you should have an opening - I'll take care of our friend on the bike."

Unfortunately, the last bike wasn't the only problem. Behind them, the man with the bladed arms had finally skidded to a halt on the surface of the freeway. And now he was....getting up....and running. Running after the speeding vehicles. Worse, he was catching up.

Fantomex glanced in the rearview mirror, and even though he muttered it, his "Ah, merde" was audible through E.V.A.


@REMY LEBEAU
Posted: Apr 1 2018, 10:25 PM
Gambit
29 years old
Thief
92 posts
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GMT-3
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Remy had seen three. Were there three? He had no idea. But he had definitely seen three. It could be one, four, five, ten… it probably wasn’t ten. It was definitely at least one, by the metal piercing bullets. That one was enough to send him off to find shelter.

He made it up the roof in time to watch the one car left take off in a tight arc, and a damning landing, all cheerfully narrated by the drone that accompanied him closely, in Fantomex’s voice. If his card had made a serviceable job of getting rid of the first card by flipping it around, whatever Fantomex had pulled had gone all out, with an launch that would have gotten a 9.8 from the Russian judge, ending in a much satisfying crash, that Remy had mostly regretfully missed, since he had bigger priorities, namely, figuring out what the hell was moving from inside the truck to get behind him.

Remember about things that you didn’t have to know? There were things that you had to, but didn’t much want to know. Like a monster straight out of a horror movie - and not the old ones, with the ambience and tension, but the new ones, who were all about gore and the shock factor - something that Remy struggled to think of as a man (because it was good for morale, not for seeing any inherent humanness in the way it moved) balanced himself in two legs and two blades, four limbs giving him balance against the swaying winds without losing speed. Remy reacted on instinct, two cards almost materializing themselves in his hands, and launched as quickly as he could, but not even bothering to look as they got carried away, blowing themselves up in quick succession, ineffectively, a long ways away, not doing much to even stall them a little.

Remy trusted the little drone to be smart enough to float up and away, and focused on getting himself out of the random line of fire from the shooter still wasting bullets below them, and, hopefully - and the sort of hope that miracles were made of - away from his stalker’s ever-approaching blades. Ultimately, he figured, he jump out the side of the truck and hope for the best. The chilling sound he was hearing had barely registered as an actual growl when it was suddenly interrupted with the sudden displacement behind him, and Remy took the moment as he threw himself off the container to look around, and find the drone standing there, alone, and, maybe Remy was starting to imprint Fantomex’s personality on it, which was quite inevitable under the circumstances, it looked charmingly smug about it. He had one moment to grin to himself at the turns and twists of the day, but, when he landed, it was already a grimace.

He knew what was coming; the driver had just been made aware of his presence, and would try to shoot him off. Remy was terrible at these sorts of stand-offs, because he didn’t like killing people. He could be a bit too liberal with hurting people, but he didn’t kill, on purpose, at least. He only choice was to hope he could knock out the drive before he got shot too badly, which was a terrible idea, but the other option was to blow up a person, and he wouldn’t do that. He was half a breath out - when the voice he was starting to associate with stylish helpfulness came out again, this time louder and clearer than before. He did what he was told, crouching low on the step and turning away, a frown that was more for the man’s life than his own ears, the shot a sending him into action.

Remy vaulted himself into the truck legs first, going in as fast and long as he could, until he felt his feet strike against the passenger, hitting him painfully enough to disconcert him for a moment. He landed on top of the body, one hand to steady the truck straight ahead, the other giving him enough leverage that he could kick again, and again, until the man slumped forward, and there was blood on the other window. There, way better than a bullet to the head. He fit himself in the little space in the driver’s seat he had, pushing the dead body away, replacing its foot on the gas with his own, and getting the truck under control once again.

A complaint from his unflappable partner had him looking ahead, and then into the rearview mirror. The creature had returned, this time on two legs, its blurry form becoming bigger instead of smaller. He sighed, and started charging a card after another, sending it flying backwards out the window. Maybe it would slow it down some, at least. Maybe it would create a nice smoke effect for it to come running from.

Now, Remy was what he would consider a good driver. A great one, even. But, had he ever driven a truck like this before? Well, it had a wheel, a transmission, a brake, pedals. It was mostly the same, just bigger, right? “Cher, it’s your show.” He spoke out loud, by now just trusting the drone to pick it up. “How do you want to play it?” They could maybe outrun that thing, but Remy’s foot was itching to hit the brakes and see how well it did against a truck to the face.


@JEAN-PHILIPPE DURAND
Posted: Apr 3 2018, 08:38 PM
Fantomex
45 years old
54 posts
Mutant
Xeper
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Taking the truck had been more or less accomplished (there was still a bike and a couple guys in the trailer to deal with, but against men of the thieves' caliber, that was a foregone conclusion). Holding onto the truck, on the other hand, was a whole new challenge, particularly in light of the bladed experiment that'd popped out like an unwelcome Christmas present.

Jean-Philippe took a moment to assess the situation. The bioweapon was the most obvious threat, of course - it seemed pretty run-of-the-mill by Weapon Plus standards, but that still made it a significantly bigger problem than your average person. The remaining men in the truck weren't going to be jumping out like Gambit did, so they were relatively low priority. The motorcycle would probably be a serious issue in just a second, consider its driver had what looked like a MAC-10 and was about to--

There was a sudden flurry of cards, and although the blade-armed man alternately slowed and swerved to dodge the attacks, the Ace of Spades landed cleanly on the front tire of the motorcycle and promptly detonated, sending it crashing into the median and removing it altogether from the chase. Jean-Philippe blinked, doing a double-take glance into his rear-view mirror as Remy took care of business, and then did that gesture that Italian chefs do.

"C'est magnifique!" the drone exclaimed. "Do give yourself credit, it is our show. But for now, I think, I will join you in the truck. Just a moment, please..."

There was a squeal of brakes as he slowed to let Remy pass, then the car whipped around behind the massive truck, and (with a rather wistful sigh; this was such a waste of a supercar), Fantomex opened the door, pulled the parking brake, jerked the wheel to one side (sending the car into a drift-like swerve)...and then jumped out. His coat billowed in the air, shining white, and there was a flash of green to offset it as E.V.A. launched a mid-air grapple that latched onto the back of the truck.

Two things happened at once. First, the Lamborghini flipped, twirling in midair like a plane doing a barrel roll, and landed on the charging bioweapon. Second, a green-and-white streak rocketed with nauseating speed into the back of the trailer, followed shortly by three things being tossed out onto the highway: a thug, then a crate, then another thug, in that order. The crate had been an unintended casualty, but two out of three wasn't bad.

A moment later, there was the slam of the container's doors closing, then a series of footsteps overhead, and then Fantomex slid through the open passenger's-side window and settled into the seat. He dusted off his hands and offered a little salute to Remy, seeming very pleased indeed with the work they'd just done.

"Well then! That was quite an adventure, no? Perhaps it would be best to pull off at the next exit and find a nice secluded spot to go dig through the boxes." Under his mask, the Frenchman winked. "Brilliant work, my American friend. I do hate to see such a thing happen to a car like that, but sometimes we have to make the sacrifices for the greater good, you know? Otherwise, trust my experience on this, that creature would be chasing us as I speak."

He glanced in the mirror, eyeing the road with some concern.

"He may still be chasing us, even now, but I think I sufficiently slowed him down. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it!"

@REMY LEBEAU his real superpower is the ability to make the insane shit constantly happening around him sound somewhat normal
Posted: Apr 7 2018, 11:02 PM
Gambit
29 years old
Thief
92 posts
Mutant
Mia
GMT-3
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The second bike went down as easily as the first, and the rider went skidding down the highway, and despite the body armor and the helmet, got his skin bruised and peeled all over, and broke at least a few bones, possibly his skull and his neck, because motorcycles were unstable and offered no protection and were terrible means of transportation, and Remy missed his so much he was definitely getting out of here and using his fee money to buy himself a new one.

That left them the Wolverine-lite (he was assuming it was a less dangerous and resilient version, because he was an optimist and negativity did a body no good), and the at least one person in his back, who probably just didn’t start shooting through the cabin because they knew that they were running out of drivers, and they were putting their own survival above protecting the cargo at that point, which was smart, but terrible work ethics, and, since Remy was the one behind the bigger wheel that meant he couldn’t really move out any time soon. So, if Fantomex was willing to come over, he wasn’t going to complain. He was going to miss that car, though.

He gave it one last sorrowful glance, watching it disappear behind him, and, after that, it hid behind the truck’s blind spot, leaving him with no visual contact of what was happening. The little drone followed it, which Remy wouldn’t protest. Fantomex needed the backup more than Remy did at that point, and he would only give the man props for bringing his own backup, if anything. He hadn’t much to go on but what was behind left behind him on the road. After only a few moments, the beautiful, slick, red car went flying sideways, and their stalker didn’t quite manage to dodge, disappearing somewhere behind and under it, which was a beautiful and reassuring sight. Then, one guy, then a large box, then another guy, and it stopped with a slam. Remy was kind of proud he had been right about there being three, though he clearly misjudged the one.

There was some noise around him, but he couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from, and it could be just the damaged container whining, until a blur of white appeared on the side window, and made it inside. Four people in one cabin was a tight fit, which demanded a little arranging, and being pushed against a body, by a hopefully just very knocked out man not about to become another body was not his idea of a fun road trip.

He took his sunglasses off, then, leaving them by now on the dashboard, the dark tinted window one extra problem when he wasn’t exactly familiar with the truck’s setup or the road, looking for the next way out, not that they didn’t have left enough breadcrumbs by the road. He took the moment to release his magnetic clamp, too, and the single driving glove he had on, and lower his mask to cover only the bottom of his face, running his hands through his hair to loosen it. It was when he started working on making the curve towards the exit, already looking forward to finally getting outside on the frigid air that he remembered he had left his coat on the car. It wasn’t much of a question. It didn’t matter much, since it all came up to $30, $35 tops, and meant to be disposable, but it was going to be cold out, without all the running and climbing.

He took a long level stretch of the road to stop by the shoulder, definitely not as smoothly as he could have if he had a better idea of what he was doing, wincing at the transmission screech.

He took a last look around, watching the road, as empty as ever, before he put on his glasses again, and opened the door, getting outside. He walked to the back of the truck, enjoying the relative peace. He made a small gesture, as if introducing the doors. “Will you do the honors?” Whatever was inside, whether Remy liked it or not, was Fantomex's. It had also been pried open then stuck closed by him and his, so he knew how to get it open again without an explosion.


@JEAN-PHILIPPE DURAND That is a great power. Remy wished he hadn’t missed most of it. Any chance E.V.A. recorded it?
Edit: Tiny one in the end because i finally found the words I'd been looking for.

Posted: Apr 10 2018, 05:36 PM
Fantomex
45 years old
54 posts
Mutant
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It had not occurred to Fantomex that the coat had still been in the car when he'd thrown it at a bioweapon. Had he reached this realization, he would have been seriously dismayed - it was distinctly un-French and deeply impolite to be so inconsiderate of someone you were hosting - but at the moment, the thrill of the chase and the success of their improvised hijacking had him flying too high to think about such things.

He studied the road behind them in the rear-view mirror, shifting uncomfortably to get some leg room (it was difficult when two different people had been shot in the truck's cab - in retrospect, he probably should've dumped one of them out mid-chase, but ehhhh, hindsight was 20/20, as they say). The police would probably be at the scene of the crime by now, musing over the wreckage and the bodies - but then, maybe not. Jean-Philippe knew better than most how Weapon Plus had containment teams surveying areas where their black-site projects were being worked on, and it was entirely possible that they already had a team on the freeway right now, taking away the blade-armed carcass (or unconscious form; he had to give credit to the Project's creations for being insanely resilient, himself included).

Well, regardless, they had to find what they were looking for and bail out before the investigation in question got as far as they had. Gambit pulled the truck out of an exit, transmission squealing all the way (Fantomex couldn't judge; he had only a basic idea how to drive one of these hulking brutes), and came to a steady grinding halt on the shoulder of the road. Okay. Time to go to work.

Having arrived at the back of the container, he did a little bow in response - "Merci beaucoup, sir" - and gripped the handle of one door, twisting it from side to side just so until, at last, the hastily-wedged setup that had kept it shut popped free and the doors slid open, revealing a dozen crates stacked in haphazard setups here and there. (To be fair, some of them had probably been jostled into those positions. The last few minutes had been a bit intense.)

"E.V.A.? Crowbar, please."

The first crate contained bananas. Just bananas, as he found to his annoyance upon digging through the contents. With a disgruntled sigh, he drew a bunch forth and tossed a banana over to Remy, then crowbarred open the second crate and began looking under the oranges contained within. "Aha." This was punctuated by a cautious heft and the removal of a large briefcase, which Fantomex opened to reveal...a length of fabric attached to what looked like a tiny electronic interface nodule. He frowned, the crease between his eyes deepening under the mask, and set it aside. "Well, it seems Lady Luck has finally stopped darkening my door. Just some active camouflage webbing. Not much use to me. Do you want it? You could sew it into a suit, make yourself a little more elusive, or..."

He fell silent as the lid on the third crate fell to the floor; inside was a vacuum-sealed container with the phrase "CLASS ULTRAVIOLET: WEAPON XII" stenciled on the side. Bingo.

Opening the locks, he lifted the lid on the container and began to survey the vials inside. E.V.A. flickered over his shoulder in drone form, casting an emerald cone of light over the vials and analyzing their contents. There were more than a few "Hmmm"s and "...huh"s, and even an "Eh?" once, before the white ghost rose at last and turned solemnly to his partner.

"I must apologize, Messr. Gambit, for I've accidentally misled you," he announced. There was an almost comical gravitas to how seriously Fantomex was taking this. "This is no nerve gas at all - it appears there were lies even within the lies. Like those Russian nesting dolls, no?" One of the vials was clutched between his fingers, and he held it up to the light as if he could somehow see within its murky depths.

"No, there are quite a few interesting things in these, but this one...this is a DNA sequence. Strange. In any case, you were in no danger from neurotoxins after all - I'm quite sorry for causing any alarm in that regard. At least there were no further unpleasant surprises beyond the bioweapon, which we handily disposed of alongside the car--" He stiffened abruptly, vial still in hand. "--and your coat! Mon dieu, I have really been flying by the seat of my pants on this whole thing. I hadn't even thought about it. My god, young man, if there were a Yelp for thieves, you'd be well within your rights to give me a tepid three-star rating."

...was there a Yelp for thieves? Some mysteries were best left unsolved.

@REMY LEBEAU
Posted: Apr 16 2018, 01:37 PM
Gambit
29 years old
Thief
92 posts
Mutant
Mia
GMT-3
Offline
Remy let Fantomex and his drone go in, and followed a few steps back, hanging by the door, an eye on his partner, and another on the road; someone might come anytime. And while getting brained by a Lamborghini should be very certain (and classy) death, he has met people for whom it wouldn't be enough, so he wasn't fully discarding a particular someone just yet. His normal tick for a tense moment like this would usually be to flip around a card, but he was still operating under "don't blow up the truck rules", now more than ever, since everything got shaken about and might be leaking, so he had to satisfy himself with just moving about an imaginary one, his fingers moving in an seemingly random fashion, to keep him from pacing.

The movement stopped when he grabbed the banana randomly thrown in his direction, looking at it with utter confusion. The random was the fruit, not the throw, which was well-telegraphed, and perfectly arched. Remy had half a mind to throw it back, and see if he could catch the man off-guard. He decided not to try and surprise the man with a drone, guns, and a crowbar; he didn't think he actually could, but it wouldn't be worth the risk. He set the banana down, instead. He knew, for a fact, that they were terrible projectiles, unless you were trying for the world's worst napalm substitute. And he wasn't about to eat it. He was starting to come down from the adrenaline, and jonesing for a cigarette, which he had left in his coat, and the nice ones in the glovebox, but he wasn't about to put in his mouth anything that was that close to a possible component of a neurotoxin. And people said he didn't have standards.

A couple of oranges came out of the second box, rolling away from him. Oranges made great explosions. Very loud, mostly harmless, definitely surprising, but they held little interest once Remy saw Fantomex pull an armored briefcase from under them. That, was something, and Remy's eyebrows went flying higher and higher as Fantomex described its contents, and offered them to him instead of keeping them. "Oh, I want it." Worst case scenario, he wasn't buying Fence another gift for the next five years. He still didn't come closer - he had some sense of professionalism, after all - but he changed his escape routes to include picking it up on his way around. Just camouflage, Jesus.

The next crate had Fantomex quieting down, which he was going to assume was either really good or really bad. Either way, his eyes started moving from the open road to check what he was doing faster, and making him think the briefcase might not be worth all that much. When Fantomex started talking, instead of just making thinking noises, Remy thought he was about to be told there was a leak, and they were already dead. That Remy was already dead, actually, and Fantomex was going to feel really bad about it, since he probably was immune to poison. Being told there was no death gas actually had him wanting to pull down the rest of his mask to breathe. But Fantomex had his mask still on, so he didn't. "Better or worse?" He asked instead, as though there could be a neat classification of ways to die. Because it definitely there was something deadly in there.

Remy was listening intently; he wasn't a scientist, but he got the words, and, as a mutant, anything involving DNA sequences sounded very, very concerning. He didn't expect Fantomex to explain it all to him, but the man was certainly a talker, if not a sharer, and maybe something else he said would mean something to someone he could talk to about what had happened here. Which was basically only Fence, so. That the subject would change wasn't unexpected, the subject was. Fantomex looked sincerely upset about forgetting his coat, so much so, that Remy had to laugh, good-naturedly. "T'was my fault, mon ami." During his own jobs, Remy usually kept his coat on, with all his tools. When he was flying blind, Edna Mode rules followed. He expected Fantomex to provide whatever they needed - and, by God, the man had done so superbly - so he figured it wasn't the time for a fashion statement, or giving bladed creatures things to grab onto him. "There was, though." Remy added. He wasn't surprised Fantomex hadn't heard of it, just as he wouldn't be surprised if a Michelin four stars chef had never head of GrubHub, or something. "It lasted about eight months, on and off, and a bunch of rumors of people dying over low ratings. I think there were three or four supposed owners, and they all got killed over it, and then the site just went down for good on day." Because, really, what do you think will happen when you stir up drama among a bunch to thieves and killers? Remy hadn't joined in, but he knew a lot of people who did; say what you will about his father, Jean-Luc did manage to not raise him a complete idiot, though, at the time, he hadn't gotten to be picky about the company he kept. "And if I tried to rate you, I'd have to create your page, and it would get taken down, because half the people don't believe Fantomex is a real thing." Remy was fully convinced the guy was just a really brave and/or really stupid man trying to bank on the name; he did now, because he had seen him in action.

Remy sighed, and, this time, he did move towards the case, checking if it was closed, but not locked - he was guessing he would need more than a lockpick to open this one. "I'm going to miss having a ride out of here, though." There was the truck, but Remy wasn't about to drive this broken, battered, shot at and bled on thing somewhere with witnesses. He would rather walk the rest of the way back to civilization. "And the cigarettes." He added.


@JEAN-PHILIPPE DURAND
Sorry, I'm feeling kind of unsure about this post. I hope this post gave you enough to keep the thread going/end it. If you need more, let me know.
Posted: Apr 25 2018, 08:43 PM
Fantomex
45 years old
54 posts
Mutant
Xeper
Offline
Ironically, this was the one time that throwing the banana back would've guaranteed braining Jean-Philippe in the back of the head with it. He was so focused on the DNA sample they'd retrieved that he wouldn't even have noticed the flying plantain.

"Better, definitely," he answered, studying the vial with considerable interest. "For one, it doesn't carry the same risk of shattering and dousing both of us in a deadly neurotoxin. For another...well. This is an insight into a development I did not expect. Given the importance they attach to something like this, I can only conclude that my nemeses in the Program are behind another one of their black projects. Perhaps even a weapon to surpass their greatest successes!" It was not clear whether any of this was grandiose declaration was a euphemism for something less...well, insane. Thankfully, things moved on before Remy had to decide either way, as the Frenchman stepped back and closed the briefcase with the camouflage fabric in it, slipping the vial into his coat with his free hand. "I'll have to conduct a closer examination out of the field. For now, mon frere, let us take your prize here and vacate the scene."

He had to admit to being immensely pleased with how this had turned out, despite the rather ominous discovery of the DNA vial. Fantomex's Cajun compatriot was a hell of a smooth operator - he'd come through and then some, getting the job done and looking great in the process. Plus he was remarkably polite, which was always a plus - a shocking number of roguish types were practically mindless brutes, not even close to being professionals. Physical ability and good tech would only take you so far; you had to be able to get along with people to be a successful thief, and Gambit was clearly nailing it.

Where did this talented gentleman come from? Thieves of this kind of skill were always working with some kind of operation. He clearly had some kind of power, as evidenced by how well he'd acquitted himself blowing up the vehicles that had pursued them. He also wasn't a psycho, like some of the people Jean-Philippe had worked with - he'd gone out of his way to avoid collateral damage, and even refrained from doing serious damage to the Weapon Plus personnel where possible (a caution that Jean-Philippe had admittedly not taken; knowing what the Program was capable of, he harbored no sympathy for its minions). Whatever outfit he ran with was quite fortunate to have him.

(Ironically, if Jean-Philippe had known of the X-Men, it certainly would have piqued his interest. He knew he was a mutant, thanks to the tests that the Program had run on him, but beyond that he had little knowledge or awareness of mutant affairs, and considered himself something of a man without a community - fitting, for a cast-out spy.)

"Well, I try to avoid the limelight wherever I can," he answered, giving a good-natured nod as they stepped out of the back of the truck. "Not very conducive to our line of work. But I do appreciate the kind words...and for what it's worth, I suppose it's not a shock that such an enterprise went down in flames." Grabbing the doorframe, the white ghost hopped down to the ground and began meandering over towards a deserted stretch of shoulder. "Remind me to tell you someday about the time I saw a game of 'Assassin' played with actual assassins. My god, what a mess. Take my word for it, Messr. Gambit, if anyone ever invites you to such a thing, turn them down."

Even then, as Remy mourned the long walk back to his motorcycle, that rather strange directive was punctuated by a 'come here' gesture.

"I think we can get you back in town easily enough. E.V.A., if you would...?"

As Jean-Philippe came to a halt, E.V.A. unspooled herself in gleaming emerald coils, reaching out from under the white coat and steadily shaping into a box-like shape the size of an SUV. It warped and bubbled like plastic melting in a fire, but eventually solidified, revealing a translucent hovercraft. A door popped open and Jean-Philippe ushered his guest into the cockpit - there were two chairs, thankfully, and no need to go through the 'please have a seat / oh no, you go ahead / oh no, I insist' routine - before motioning E.V.A. into the sky with a wave of his hand.

"We should be back with relative haste," he said assuringly, taking a brief glance out the window as the freeway raced by beneath them. "Without being noticed, too - I'm sure you've observed that she runs completely silent, and it's not easy to pick this thing out against a clear sky at noon." A pat to the side of the hovercraft followed. "I must say, you handled yourself like quite a professional today. Perhaps we could collaborate again sometime? Hopefully there will be less bioweapons and more...mundane threats, although I suppose I can never truly make that guarantee."

What an ominous disclaimer.

@REMY LEBEAU No worries, you gave me plenty to go on. It was a great post. ^^ Although we are getting to a stopping point within the next few, I think.
Posted: May 2 2018, 10:35 PM
Gambit
29 years old
Thief
92 posts
Mutant
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GMT-3
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Remy had absolutely no idea what Fantomex could possibly be talking about. The neurotoxin part he got fine, but program? Black projects? Black Ops happening around and Fantomex being involved in them were things he could absolutely accept, but this was one of those cases where you got involved in someone else’s story, and couldn’t really tell what was going on. Except this story involved Russian mobsters, WMDs, DNA samples and creatures with blades coming out of their arms. He was definitely above his pay grade, and asking felt useless when you couldn’t really understand the answers. That was when a smart person would escalate the problem up to management, whoever his manager was. Or just shut up. Remy wasn’t totally sure which.

Terrible internet start-ups weren’t at all rare. Thieves and killers weren’t rare. It was definitely not surprising that someone one day managed to put both together. Remy followed him out of the truck, briefly torn between sticking with his partner, and taking a look at what was in the boxes for himself. Blame his greed; Fantomex had been plenty through and dangerous, but, he felt a little like a dog who once found a discarded piece of meat under a bush, and now wanted to check it again and again. The thought of the game described did make him spend enough mental power trying to imagine it that he had to choose between stopping and tripping over his shoes. He made the right choice, and eventually shook off the blood-dripping haze that he managed to conjure. He took a quick two steps to catch up. “Duly noted.” He answered.

Eva., he called the little drone thing. Remy was almost calling it Eve already, because she was slick and white and he sideyed him a little, wondering if that was really the reason, because it seemed a tad unimaginative, but some people - or things - just looked like a name, you know? Then, instead of calling the secret super-spy Uber, or whatever Remy thought Eva would do at Fantomex’s order, the little white slick began growing and shifting like a blooming flower, a big, bigger, huge orchidea of nigh-shimmering petals, and Remy only stared at it, in quiet, dumbfounded reverence.

He walked into it as he was supposed to walk, and sat at the chair he was supposed to sit, because his body was in charge now, and his body knew what to do. His mind was unavailable at the moment, his thoughts clear, empty, peaceful. He pulled his mask off all the way, and set the case across his lap, and reached his hands to trail across the dashboard, about to start putting his body and mind working together, and then it started to fly, so he had to take another minute. He heard what Fantomex said, but actual words were going to be a problem, so he just did a noise of agreement. “Please do. Can Eva come with us?” He asked, and if he didn’t sound all that serious, it was only because he was still very, very happy.

They reached the spot they had first met, and he could feel the moment to say goodbye approaching, and he just wasn’t ready. But they would see each other again. This was true love, that was fate. “Do you think that if I start being good now, Santa Claus will get me what I want for Christmas?” Remy asked, before he melancholy got out when the moment came. He wasn’t about to get caught over a taken woman.

“You got my phone.” He said, but he was definitely speaking towards Eva, before he turned to actually pay attention to Fantomex. He did have it, one of them, at least. It would go to Fence, and Fence would know to reach him, and get paid a big fee over handling all the “not get tracked” matters. “Anything else shows up, let me know. I’ll give you the friends discount.”

We stepped back, and watched Eva leave him. A look back towards the road made him think he saw movement. If it was imagined or not, the Russian’s people or the cops, or just an unlucky passerby, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care enough to get caught over it. He stared at his bike. It was black, and tiny, and loud, but he still strapped the case safe on it, and turned on the keys he had left with it, going towards Brooklyn.


@JEAN-PHILIPPE DURAND
Thank you so much for the thread! It was great, and I had so much fun!
Posted: May 4 2018, 06:50 PM
Fantomex
45 years old
54 posts
Mutant
Xeper
Offline
There was a certain element of showmanship to Fantomex, which I guess was obvious because anybody who dresses in blinding white at all times is basically asking for attention. Granted, his ability to be subtle and unnoticed was the most important part of his job, but sometimes subterfuge required misdirection, and misdirection meant knowing how to hold a room, how to work an audience properly. So in a sense, he was equal parts secret agent and stage magician - which meant, although he wasn't so undignified as to express it, there was a certain thrill at the well-executed hovercraft reveal, and at Remy's reaction of shocked delight. Tah-dah.

Taking a seat inside, he leaned back and kicked a boot up onto the dash. The two thieves unmasked in unison, and having 'gotten away with it', so to speak, Jean-Philippe allowed himself a contented sigh. This, in turn, was followed with a good-natured chuckle at the other man's words - "I should hope so! We try to stick together, after all - I, ah, can't live without her, if you get my meaning."

It was a slight exaggeration. If E.V.A. were destroyed he'd be crippled, certainly, but not dead. Wishing he was dead, maybe. It was a scenario he tried to avoid as much as possible.

"Ah, here come the authorities," he commented as an entire fleet of police lights flashed beneath the hovercraft's translucent surface. They were barreling at breakneck speed towards the ten-mile stretch of highway that had been shot up in the carnage. "Yes, it seems we got out just in time. All in a day's work for master thieves like us, no? Ha ha, good times."

'Good times' was a remarkably lackadaisical way to think about the absurd sequence of events the two of them had just weathered, but while those events were entirely outside-context for most people, for Fantomex they were another day at the office. One with competent help this time, no less! He had to admit, he'd taken a chance bringing on someone he'd never worked with before for such a difficult job as this one...but it had paid off, and how. For the second time over the span of the flight back, he reminded himself to see if he could find out who the mysterious Gambit was with. Five other men like this and you could probably steal the Pomodoro from the Vatican - he was well worth the considerable short-notice fee that the Frenchman had paid.

As E.V.A. touched down next to the parking garage, he lowered the gangplank for Remy to get down. "You know, I've found Santa Claus usually disappoints," he said with a wistful aplomb, rising in turn to see his guest off. "I just take what I want for Christmas - much less chance for miscommunication that way." This was followed by a jaunty wink and a flourishing 'after you' gesture. When the gangplank had lowered to the floor, it turned out they were right next to where the Lambo had originally been parked. A short walk back to the bike would be easy and probably pretty refreshing, with how nice the weather was. All in all, a good end to a heist.

The ship gleamed pink for a moment in response to Gambit's farewell, and for his own part, Jean-Philippe spread his hands in a rather Gallic shrug. "You'll be the first on my to-call list," he agreed, waving heartily. "Hopefully when the day comes, there'll be less clawed men and more, eh, conventional resistance. Until next time! Au revoir!"

He watched for a moment as his partner in crime stepped back, making sure he was clear of the craft's wings, and then took off into the sky, swiftly picking up speed and hurtling towards one of his New England hideouts. For now, the hard part was taken care of - now he had some time to analyze this DNA sequence and figure out what it all meant. Why would they be transporting this? And why would they disguise it as a nerve agent, a deadly chemical weapon? The obvious answer to the latter was 'so nobody would open the case and find out what was inside', but that just raised even more questions...

"Well, I'll think about it later," Jean-Philippe said aloud, pulling a martini glass out of the glove compartment. "For now? It was a good day, E.V.A. A good day, and a productive one."


@REMY LEBEAU It was a really fun thread! Thank YOU for it //files.jcink.net/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif Let's do more stuff in the future.


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