Dangling Bait, Thursday 9/8, Scott/Jean/Logan/War/Remy

[Cyclops]

It was the fourth time they'd tried this in a week and a half, and Scott was hoping that this time they might get lucky. There were enough reports of mutant disappearances in the neighbourhood that this was the best place to parade Kurt and Remy around as tempting targets for whoever was capturing them. They just needed patience. But for how much longer? If not, he wasn't sure how many more times they would try. It seemed like a waste of time, especially with other pressing matters back at the Institute making demands on their attention. He still wasn't sure what to do with Rogue, and despite Logan's and the Professor's assurances, felt uncomfortable leaving the junior team behind with her, no matter how much he trusted Alex.

But they had to try. It was the only thing they could do right now.

Even if it was supremely boring to sit there and do nothing but wait. Hopefully, Gambit was out there getting himself seen. Somehow, he didn't think it was a problem for the man.

Suppressing the urge to tap his fingers, not wanting Jean or Logan to notice how tense he was, Cyclops opened a connection to Warren on the communicator. "How are things looking up there, Angel?"

[Gambit]

Being a con artist, Remy was used to putting on different faces, playing parts, being what he presumed his victim needed or wanted him to be. In the past, though, the phrase had always been metaphorical.

He stared at the vague reflection of the hologram being produced somehow around his body. He couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't some kind of malice behind the image the other X-Men had settled on. He was looking at the ugliest son of a bitch he'd ever seen. Big, bulbous bug eyes sat atop his head. Large rolls of grey fat jutted out from beneath a sort of beak-thing where his mouth should have been. From all indications, he didn't have a neck. Or a nose.

This was the fourth time he'd paraded himself around looking like this. He still wasn't used to the idea. "That is some freaky shit," he said aloud, watching the beak open and close, mouthing the words as well as a beak could.

He turned the collar of his duster up. This was an operation. A job. He supposed he might as well do his best. And a guy walking around looking like Gambit looked? Would try to hide as much of his face as he could. The van containing his surveillance team was nowhere to be seen. They had the red-headed mind witch keeping everybody in contact.

This was one of Remy's first field missions. He'd practiced with the team dozens of times in the Danger Room. Somehow, though, he couldn't help feeling extremely vulnerable. There was something to be said for line of sight, if anybody asked him. Which, incidentally, they hadn't.

He moved through the street as if he had a destination and made a special effort to look nervous without checking over his shoulder. He wanted to make it convincing, not impossible for any potential kidnappers.

[Angel]

"All quiet on the western front, Cyclops," Warren murmured from his perch above the streets. He'd found himself a nice, sturdy seeming patch of rooftop to hang around on for a little while, since constantly hovering over Remy wasn't exactly subtle. He was eyes in the sky, but that was absolutely useless if whoever he was supposed to be watching saw him and took off. And considering the number of times they'd be doing this thing until it worked (seemingly infinite), that was the last thing that he wanted to do.

"Gambit is doing the bait thing all right, but can't see anyone," he shrugged. "Acting suspicious." Well, aside from Remy-beak-face, but that was half the point; he was supposed to be getting the attention of these mutant kidnappers so that they could do the rescue thing and find out what the hell was going on.

But no luck so far. Just like the last couple of times, there was no sign of anyone wanting to kidnap Remy (Warren couldn't really blame them). In fact, he had very little to look at for the moment. Which should have pleased him, because no kidnapping was obviously good news, but people had been going missing. He did another scan of the street, spreading his wings behind him for balance as he leaned forward for a better view.

Nope. Still nothing. He relaxed back on his heels, eyes fixed on the X-Man down in the street, and waited in the hopes that something - anything - would happen.

[Logan]

Logan sat in the back of the van with Jean and Scott, supremely bored.

He could hear a multitude of normal daytime sounds happening in the neighbourhood around them, but nothing at all interesting. Not even the slightest hint of a scuffle or the tiniest indication that a kidnapping was -or was about to be- going on.

In fact, the only thing out of the ordinary was that the three of them were sitting in a decrepit old van, apparently doing nothing other than seeming more than slightly tense, looking sparkly-clean and wearing fancy uniforms - in the middle of a ghetto.

With a wry smile he recognised the sound and smell of a medium-sized dog outside marking the right-rear tyre with all his glory. Logan could understand the urge. He'd piss on them too, if he wasn't actually one of them. And if he didn't know that waiting in the decrepit old van in the fancy uniforms might eventually pay off and lead them to the bottom of all this kidnapping bullshit and help protect innocent mutant brats. Not to mention offer them all a good fight against the bad guys.

The dog wandered off and Logan shifted his weight, fishing a cigarette out from his pocket, sticking it in his teeth and pushing it to the corner of his mouth. He flicked his lighter and dragged a slow, deep breath through the cigarette. The lighter clicked shut and he slipped it back into his pocket.

"So," He mumbled through the first puff of smoke, leaning back in his seat, "How long are we gonna sit here and wait for ol' bug-beak out there to be netted, boss?"

He looked at Scott as he exhaled the remaining smoke, and waited for a reply.

[Phoenix]

It wasn't like juggling mental balls in the air, Jean thought as she sat with her eyes closed and her awareness spread thin through the neighborhood around the van, so much as like playing telepathic Twister. She was keeping a thought's hand or foot on each of her teammates, passively marking without reading or contacting them, with an extra arm ready to reach out to Betsy if need be to bridge the gap between teams. Minds were faster than radios, after all.

It was giving her a headache, too, or maybe that was from the psychic and physical closeness in the van. With her shields mostly down at the moment, she couldn't help picking up the strongest of subliminal telltales. Scott's tension, Logan's boredom, his smoking -- yes, that, dear God, did he have to do that? She thought longingly for a second about peeling off enough energy and focus from her scanning to try to telekinetically push the smoke away. It probably wouldn't work, but it might be interesting practice to pass the time . . . and, really, her primary power had to be good for more than knocking down Danger Room dummies and holding up an invisible umbrella on rainy-day walks around the Institute's grounds.

"So, how long are we gonna sit here and wait for ol' bug-beak out there to be netted, boss?" Logan asked, and Jean found herself rather curious to hear the answer, too.

Warren's report had been reassuring, and she hadn't felt anything disturbing around Remy. Hadn't found anything, in fact: the neighborhood was just the kind of low-level urban froth of presences and emotions that she'd have expected. A bead of sweat tickled its slowly maddening way down her ribs under one arm. This waiting made her irritable, adding to the fear, anger, and determination she felt over the disappearances, which had brought them out here in the first (and second, third, and fourth) place. With a sigh, she pulled up her shields, opened her eyes, and gave Scott a head-shake for her part of the check-in.

[Cyclops]

"All quiet on the western front, Cyclops. Gambit is doing the bait thing all right, but can't see anyone. Acting suspicious."

As expected. Quiet and more quiet, for the fourth night now. As more and more time passed, Scott was beginning to fear it would stay that way. Maybe it had been too much to expect; a few hours out on the streets, just hoping and waiting for someone to come to them... the odds were slim it would work. But they had to try. All their other leads were dead. Until they heard something by chance, or until anyone else got taken - and god, he hoped that no one else was going to get kidnapped while they were out there, trying to get taken - this was al they had to go on.

No matter how dull it was, he thought, eying Logan whose displeasure was clear in everything from his expression to the way he lit his cigarette. Scott's nose twitched slightly at as the scent reached him, but he ignored it and squashed the little hint of irritation that popped to the surface just as quickly. They were all frustrated. Few things were worse than having to sit around like this, waiting and watching, knowing others of their kind needed their help and seeing the weeks fly by without getting any closer to reaching them.

"So. How long are we gonna sit here and wait for ol' bug-beak out there to be netted, boss?"

His eyes drifted to the built-in clock, thinking it over for a moment, then looked at Jean who gave him the slightest shake of her head. Damn it.

"Another hour," Scott decided. It was long, but he was already unsure of whether this was worth trying a fifth time, should the night turn out as uneventful and unsuccessful as the previous few. As long as they were still out here, it couldn't hurt to wait longer and hope for the best.

It could bore, no doubt, but they'd have to live with that.

"Maybe there's a pattern to the victims that we missed," he mused out loud. Taking a swig from the bottle of water next to him, Scott's thoughts kept going, from clues they might have missed from previous kidnappings to their next course of action. Maybe they needed more street-level investigating than they'd already done...

[Gambit]

//Sorry about the wait, guys. I'll try and keep up with this thread better.

The banter between the X-Men was less than entertaining in Remy's ear. He, of course, couldn't contribute to the conversation lest he be seen talking to himself and drawing suspicion. He'd been versed in the basics of 'telepathic communication,' but it seemed like every time he tried to 'send' a thought to the red-headed mind-witch, his thoughts immediately fell to the filthiest things he could imagine. While that might be entertaining under normal circumstances, he doubted that Jean (or Cyclops by proxy) would be much amused.

So Remy continued to busy himself with the task at hand, hurrying towards a non-destination and doing his best to look ripe for the picking. Amused by his own thought, he considered wagging his rear end a bit for the audience that wasn't. His inner glee was cut short, though, as a door was suddenly thrown open on a shop Remy had believed to have been closed. He turned to face the man rushing from the shop and instantly knew this was the moment. He sensed the ambush even before it reached him.

The sound of the door had been the distraction, the sole charging 'soldier' a decoy. Suddenly, Remy was surrounded by five men, all carrying weapons that Remy didn't recognize. It took all of Gambit's considerable self-control to resist the urge to attempt escape, but the hook wasn't quite deep enough just yet.

Knowing his smile wouldn't register through the image-inducer's hologram, Remy smirked as he raised his hands slowly. "RaaAAAIIiiid!" he cried, mocking the commercials for the insect killer and repellant.

[Angel]

Though he listened to the conversation, held over comms for his and Remy's benefit (probably), Warren didn't bother contributing. He didn't want to make any more noises than he had to, even if there was a level of general street noise around; anyone who could hear him would be suspicious. Mind, it was possible that anyone who could hear him would be able to hear the sound of the comms receiver in his ear, or his heart beating, or whatever, but he still didn't want to take the risk.

Everything happened so quickly that he didn't have a chance to notify the others of the approaching kidnappers; Remy was already surrounded when he said, "We are a go, Cyclops. Repeat, we have movement; Gambit is surrounded." This was the hardest part; now they had to judge whether it was safe to let them take Remy or not, and judging by how organised they seemed...

Warren was hoping that Jean could get a decent insight into the guys. Otherwise they might lose Remy, and that would be somewhat unfortunate.

Whether the other group was having any luck, he had no idea; Warren was leaning forward tensely, like a swimmer on the starter's block. He had to be ready to move, but stay silent and unnoticed, and he was hoping like hell that they didn't just pull Gambit into one of the buildings and take off; he had no way of following if they had some fancy method of disappearing.

[Phoenix]

"Another hour," Scott decided, and Jean refrained from blowing out a sigh of relief. Just barely. She could hear a long, scalding, scrubbing shower calling her name from here. She wanted the city off her (and the cigarette smoke).

He continued, "Maybe there's a pattern to the victims that we missed," but she hardly heard it, or Warren's warning, through the whipcrack of emotion that snapped her back to Remy's vicinity. Sitting bolt upright, her head unconsciously craned in that direction, she sent her mind flying to the knot of psychic turmoil.

Men -- she counted five, and while they weren't as distinct as her teammates, she knew she could track them wherever they went by the oily-slick trail they left in the aether. She started murmuring updates as she strained to sort through the attackers' surface aspects: "Professional types, cool and collected, not intent on hurting him if he cooperates, though one of them has a real hatred for the 'freaks.' He's keeping it under wraps for now, afraid of pissing off the leader and losing his paycheck. Watch out for that one, Gambit: the one, mm, behind you, to your left."

[Cyclops]

"We are a go, Cyclops. Repeat, we have movement; Gambit is surrounded."

Scott's head snapped up. "How many?" This here, this moment, was crucial, and his eyes snapped over to Jean who had a distant look of concentration on her face. She was on it already. If these were the people they'd been trying to lure out, what next? What if they were wrong, if it weren't just kidnappers, if they were expecting and preparing for the wrong thing... painting a bullseye on Gambit and putting him at risk... They needed to know how far they could push this.

He climbed into the driver's seat.

"Professional types, cool and collected, not intent on hurting him if he cooperates, though one of them has a real hatred for the 'freaks.' He's keeping it under wraps for now, afraid of pissing off the leader and losing his paycheck. Watch out for that one, Gambit: the one, mm, behind you, to your left."

It was them. Finally.

Gambit knew to play along unless the immediate risk was deemed too large, but Jean's description sounded safe enough. It was on, then. He contacted the other team with the comm. "This is Cyclops. We're seeing action. Pull Nightcrawler back in."

To Warren: "Angel, what's happening? Any suspicious vehicles parked or approaching?"

They didn't want a confrontation on the streets if they could help it. The further they could follow Gambit, the better - as long as they didn't lose track of him for even a second.

[Logan]

"Professional types, cool and collected, not intent on hurting him if he cooperates, though one of them has a real hatred for the 'freaks.' He's keeping it under wraps for now, afraid of pissing off the leader and losing his paycheck. Watch out for that one, Gambit: the one, mm, behind you, to your left."

Logan tensed, every muscle in his body tightening in anticipation. He couldn't hear much of what was happening out there, but every sense he possessed was telling him that this was definitely it.

He plucked the cigarette out from the corner of his mouth and extinguised it in his other palm, shooting a look towards Scott as he did so, watching the man's brain tick over and process all the information, waiting for a decision.

"This is Cyclops. We're seeing action. Pull Nightcrawler back in. Angel, what's happening? Any suspicious vehicles parked or approaching?"

Logan slipped what was left of the cigarette back into his pocket, and cracked his knuckles as he waited for the reply from the sky. This part of the mission was crucial, he knew. One wrong move and everything would turn to ... well, the chaotic mess that missions turned to when wrong moves were made.

He focused his attention on the radio in Cyclops' hand, thinking it almost ironic that as boring as the long wait had been up to this point, the split seconds it took now, waiting for feeds of information and crucial decisions, were just as torturous. He cracked the tenseness out of the joints in his neck, listening for Angel's reply and straining to hear anything useful from outside.

[Gambit]

How long had they been at this bait thing? This was the fourth night Remy had walked the streets looking the part of the freak he really was. And how many hours had he spent, during those long nights, trying to think of the perfect punchline for the moment he was standing at gunpoint?

As he looked at the faces of the men (at least what he could see of them behind the guns brought up to their cheeks), Remy immediately regretted his decision. There wasn't even a spark of recognition. Hell, there wasn't even a chuckle over the communicator in his ear.

He barely listened to Jean Grey's instructions to him. Instead he concentrated on biting his tongue, resisting the urge to hold up his hands and ask for a do-over.

"Move," one of the men instructed him. Remy felt a gun barrel jab into his back, and he stumbled forward, hands still by his side. The violence of the shove (coming from his left, incidentally. The mind-witch definitely had her moments...) brough Remy out of his jocular mood immediately. Now his fingers itched to reach into his pocket, where he knew a deck of fresh cards waited.

The whole crowd moved at a brisk pace across the street, into the store that the 'decoy' had come out of. Remy glanced sideways as one of the men brought his wrist to his face and started mumbling to an unseen coordinator. The gist was, of course, that their target had been nabbed and that they were ready for pickup.

Remy was pushed inside the store, a Hallmark, of all things, and made to duck behind a stand of greeting cards.

"Don't try anything funny," a new voice spoke to Remy. Three of the men were huddled with him, their funky-looking weapons trained on him. "You don't wanna know what this thing feels like." The other two soldiers were standing at the windows, looking to the street, waiting for the paddy wagon to show itself.

[Angel]

"How many?" Scott asked, when Warren reported action. Murmuring again, the winged man told the team that there were "Five," but there could be more in the shops. He was in the wrong place to look, and wasn't willing to risk moving to a better vantage point yet.

"Angel, what's happening? Any suspicious vehicles parked or approaching?"

"No. They came from inside one of the shops - and they're taking Remy in there now. Wait, there's a van. A few streets away still." It was the only traffic in their area at that time of night, and was going a pretty normal speed - not too quickly. Apparently they didn't want to attract attention or something. Well, at least they knew now that Remy was going to be chucked in a vehicle and moved, rather than killed in one of the shops or god-only-knew what else.

The street beneath was, for the moment, deserted, and Warren decided to risk moving. None of them had looked up once, so it was likely safe, and he wanted to see what was going on. Needed to see what was going on. But he had a feeling it could be a spectacularly stupid move; if just one of them looked outside at the right time...

Spreading his wings, he took to the sky, powerful muscles working to take him straight up, high enough that he wouldn't look too unusually large or human (he hoped) if one of them did look. As he flew across the street, he looked back to the van - yep, on a direct course to pick up Remy. He didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, although at least they could be pretty certain this was the right group.

Unless there was more than one. Now there was a pleasant thought. With a shake of his head, Warren turned his thoughts back to the group they did know about, and decided to worry about the rest later on. Hovering almost lazily in place, unnaturally keen eyes gazed down at the shop.

He was at the wrong angle. Tutting to himself, Warren let himself drop down a few feet, and then more, finally shaking his head and swooping back down onto the other roof - where he could finally get a decent look at the group holding Remy. They didn't look too friendly, but then, had he really expected them to? Glancing back toward the van, he told Cyclops, "The van should get to the shop in less than a minute. Are we still happy to observe for now?" The last thing they wanted was to permanently lose Remy to these assholes. So far, the mission was looking OK, but things could go pear-shaped pretty quickly, and Scott needed to make the call on how to proceed while they still had time to choose.

[Phoenix]

Jean clenched her fists in her lap; the fingernails digging into her palms helped her focus. She wasn't a first-order telepath, for all her training and experience. Maintaining loose, slippery contact with the minds surrounding Remy -- Ring-around-the-rosie, she thought irreverently to continue the games metaphor -- threatened headache and, worse, a gradual sliding away into the howling, undifferentiated madness of the city's soul. The pain in her hands helped. Grounded her. Reminded her of what was at stake.

Eyes twitching behind lids at half mast, she tracked the targets on their short travel and permitted herself a touch of relief when they stopped still inside her working range. Without the movement, focus was easier, contact was easier, scanning was easier. She bent her attention to sniffing mentally around the abductors' surroundings.

"The van should get to the shop in less than a minute. Are we still happy to observe for now?"

"No one nearby to worry about," Jean reported. "They picked their spot well. They've done this before, all right. All the protocols in place, practiced, ready to go . . ." It chilled her, pulling her shoulders slightly in with a frown. An organization, however small, not just some gang pouncing on random opportunity and having no idea what to do next.

[Cyclops]

Five men. Trained, professional, but so was Gambit. Scott didn't know if he'd be able to take them all on, not for one hundred percent sure, but he did know that if they needed him alive, he could damn well fend for himself long enough if trouble arose for them to come to his aid.

So they'd wait. Follow. See where it took them, hope it was to a less populated area than this, and then step in. The less confrontation, the better, and they didn't want to involve others if they could help it.

He needed to know their next move.

"No. They came from inside one of the shops - and they're taking Remy in there now. Wait, there's a van. A few streets away still."

"Good. Keep me updated." Scott started the engine. He pulled the van out and into an alleyway, dimming the lights in case someone passed, but ready to veer out once the other van got closer. With Angel as their eyes in the sky, they could follow unseen, trailing blocks behind; but they needed to let them get close enough, first.

The information Jean had given played in his mind. There was pay involved, which meant Gambit's attackers were hired professionals. Hitmen? A whole organisation? Soldiers? Couldn't be an anti-mutant organisation training their men from within, not with the attitudes Jean had described, so they had to be all-round. This was just a job. In all likelihood, they had no loyalty to their employer. Could they be convinced to work against their employers? Bribed?

He chewed on his lips. There was no way to know how much information the men even had until they got closer. Maybe this wouldn't lead them to where they needed to be, not yet, but it would at least get them one step further.

The other team was running into trouble. He kept an ear out on the com, but it wasn't anything they couldn't handle. He trusted Beast to make the right call.

"The van should get to the shop in less than a minute. Are we still happy to observe for now?"

His eyes flicked over to Jean, his other source of information, for an update.

"No one nearby to worry about. They picked their spot well. They've done this before, all right. All the protocols in place, practiced, ready to go . . ."

"We are," Scott spoke into the communicator. "We'll follow a few blocks behind." Don't lose them. It went unspoken. Angel knew his job. They all did.

"It's a good thing," he assured Jean. "The more experienced they are, the less likely they are to screw up. If their mission isn't to hurt Gambit - for now, he's safe." In a way, he was safer than he'd been just minutes ago, when they'd had no idea what to expect. They'd guessed, connected what little information they'd had, but they couldn't have been sure. Now, they were.

What came next, though... they'd have to see about that. Scott pinched the bridge of his nose, banishing the potential scenarios from his mind. He'd gone over them a million times already, analysed risks and played out the possibilities. What if, what if, what if... he had his plan and he'd stick to it until he had more information. Right now, he needed to focus on this. "Okay. Here we go. Which direction?" Slowly, the van pulled out of the alley, and he waited for Angel's voice.

[Angel]

When Scott confirmed that the mission was to go ahead as planned, Warren nodded. To himself, obviously, because no-one else could see him. Crouching down, one hand steadying himself on the roof with fingers splayed, he watched with unnaturally keen eyes as the van pulled up and the group bundled Remy inside. They were definitely professionals, there was no question about that. He didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Weapon X had been pretty damn professional, too.

As the van started to move again, Warren rose and spread his wings. He couldn't lose them; that didn't even need to be said. But he couldn't be seen, either, so his job was a bit more difficult now. Especially since he really needed to be able to see the van the others were in, too - he couldn't exactly direct them if he didn't know where they were.

He just hoped that none of them looked up out the windows. Most people didn't make a habit of looking up at the sky, but it would only take one of them.

"Okay. Here we go. Which direction?"

"North," Warren told Scott, as he flapped his wings hard to gain altitude. "They're still travelling forward on the same street for now." He wished for a moment that he was more familiar with the street names around here, not that it would necessarily help unless everyone else was too. After a minute he said, "Left, three streets from where you are now."