Disclaimer: The X-Men do not, I
repeat, do not belong to me. They are the property of Marvel
This little piece of Fan-fiction is written without their
permission, but I gave them their Honour and Glory, so hunting
me down will not help much...
All the settings in this F/F is fictional, so if you really
find a place called Crescent Park, do not blame me! I do not
even life in the US!
Bottom line, this is a story about the beloved Rogue, in one
heckuva jam, so....
If you feel that it is only right to have my head ripped off,
(most probably what you would want to do) or even if you just
want to compliment my story (if that if ever possible), PLEASE
mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org
To The Ladies Vicki & Caroline
Guys, thank you for giving me the inspiration to start writing.
I may not be any good, but thank you anyway...
A very battered Rogue sat huddled in a cold little corner
of the warehouse complex in which she was being held captive.
A fresh murmur of pain escaped her lips as every possible
joint and muscle in her body protested, screaming against
the thoughts of being used...
Rogue determinably bit back the pain that she was experiencing,
and willed herself upright. Her ankles and knees cracked savagely
in protest at her actions, but she ignored them.
Once Rogue was upright, she took a few moments to get her
sense of balance under her command.
She walked forward, cautiously, first testing one leg and
then the other to see if it was strong enough to support her
full body weight.
Once she was satisfied that she could depend upon her legs,
she raked a gloved hand through her auburn hair, and groaned.
At least you're still alive and kicking, girl, she
hotly reprimanded herself, so get of your butt and do somethin'.
Feeling sorry for yourself aint' gonna help much...
Rogue glanced around the warehouse, intently scanning the
room for windows, ventilation shafts, anything that she would
be able to use with her escape.
The only opening she saw was that of the ceiling fan rotors,
but she immediately discarded that idea. The ceiling was way
too high for her to reach, and the heavy rotors would easily
hack her to pieces.
It would've been a sinch with mah powers, but Ah guess
am on mah own this time.
She walked around the inside the warehouse, probing the walls
with exploring fingertips, looking for anything that would
give her an exit. The fact that Rogue saw no visible door
did not mean she was going to give up that easily.
She found nothing. All she felt was the cold stone, wet and
slimy, but she found nothing that would suggest a door of
As her eyes got more accustomed to the dark light, she noted
that although the building had been used as a warehouse once
before, via the few old crates that were scattered about,
it was now effectively turned into a prison. Her prison.
All of the customary warehouse exits and entrances were barricaded
shut with brick walls, and all of the windows were filled
up. As she squinted up into one of the ceiling fan ventilation
shafts, she noticed that even the back of the inlet was criss-crossed
with barb wire.
Even the garage door entrance to the warehouse has been replaced
by a heavy wall of solid steel, which shined with a dull refection.
She was trapped here, and she knew it.
She was so intent on the studying of her surroundings, that
Rogue almost did not notice the little blinking red light
flashing around her neck.
The light was produced by a heavy, ugly, black collar which
was clasped tightly around her neck. She was filled with distaste
at the sight of it, for it must be the cause of her powers
being gone. She glared at the collar darkly as she tried to
yank it of her neck, but her hands immediately fell away from
her neck when a bolt of high voltage electricity danced down
her arms into her shoulder blades.
Rogue gasped at the residues of pain that tormented her already
savaged body, but the sensation passed.
Rogue felt like screaming in frustration at being so helpless,
something she was definitely not used to, but she held it
back, knowing that it would get her nowhere.
Compressing her lips in grim determination, Rogue was sure
that there had to be something that she had missed, so she
started exploring the walls with her fingertips once more...
She was suddenly totally blinded as the steel wall suddenly
and silently slid back into itself, flooding the room with
a blinding light.
Rogue covered her eyes with a hand in an effort to see, but
it was futile, for the light felt like the sun exploding,
barely five feet away from her.
Rogue slowly backed away from the light, squinting, in an
vain effort in trying to see. She saw the shape of a man,
or something that resembled one, walk away form the light,
Half-blind, Rogue could not say what the shape was for sure.
The light closed away, sheathing Rogue and her shadowy visitor
in the thick darkness once again, but not that it mattered
to Rogue, for she was basically totally blinded by the light.
Rogue busied herself with trying to blink the flashiness
of residue light out of her eyes, when her shadowy visitor
The sound of the voice chilled Rogue her to the bone. It
was a voice Rogue never hoped to hear, for it was the voice
of her worst nightmare, given life, for it was the voice of
a Past she hated, a Past she was trying to forget
It was the voice of Asgard...
The enormous SR-71 Blackbird cut through the sky like a black
knife, splitting the blue heavens asunder with the sonic backlash
that it produced.
At the helm of the craft was the X-Man known as Cyclops,
Xavier's second-in-command. To those that knew him, he was
known as Scott Summers.
The beautiful redheaded woman that accompanied him was the
X-Woman known as Phoenix, a.k.a Mrs. Scott Summers.
They were not alone, accompanied by Ororo Munroe, the Wind-Rider
better known as Storm for her abilities to bend the Heavens
to her will.
They were returning from Muir Island, after being sent there
by Professor Xavier to represent the X-Men in a meeting between
Excaliber (under the current leadership of former X-Man Nightcrawler),
X-Factor (under the current leadership of Forge) and X-Force
(under the leadership of the time-travelling Mercenary known
The meeting was held to pool the four groups' information
on current happenings, especially violent anti-mutant activists
who were causing quite a stir in Europe lately. The violence
was escalating, and tension was at a breaking point. All of
the mutant groups were worried, as the relationship between
mutants and man was touch and go at the best of times. They
all had to do what they could do keep the bomb from going
off, but things were going downhill, fast.
The Blackbird cruised along at a speed of about 0.9 Mach
with fixed coordinates for Salem Centre, NY, logged into it's
central computers, so there was nothing that the X-Men could
do but patiently wait, whilst the Blackbird's engines roared
dully in the background..
Thanks to the special gravitational aid pods that Doctor
Henry McCoy designed, the occupants of the Blackbird could
move around freely, without having to worry about any G-Force
resistance that was generated.
"I hope that these new outbreaks can be resolved peacefully,
without any power crazed mutant stepping to the fore, trying
to subjugate humanity under the rulership of homo-superior
once again. The last thing we need right now is another
Magneto on our hands," a worried Jean said, airing her
"The same goes for some mad group of idiots wanting
eradicate all of mutantkind," Scott added. "No matter
what we do, we will always be hated." His head drooped
with exhaustion. He was in a foul mood, and the strain that
he felt was showing.
"Hey now, we have been through tough times before. We'll
make it -- trust me, love." Jean answered softly as she
stood behind Scott and began kneading down the knotted muscles
at the back of his neck and shoulder blades. Cyclops let a
soft murmur of appreciation escape from his lips.
"How can you be sure, Jean? How can we be sure of anything,
"I know because I feel it in my gut, love, and my gut
feeling has not let my down yet." She said it with so
much conviction and trust in her voice that Scott could not
"O really, Jean?" Scott quipped, his mood already
starting to break.
It was not Jean, but Storm, who answered him. "A woman's
intuition should never be discarded lightly, Scott, for it
is that that gives us the edge we have above men," Ororo
chimed in, her voice overloaded with mock seriousness.
The comment caught Scott so completely of guard that he forgot
all about his worries, and burst out laughing, relieving the
coiled-up tension inside his body.
Storm and Jean joined him, only too happy to hear him laugh
Jean snuck Ororo a glance of gratitude that spoke volumes,
for Scott was not the only one who needed the release. They
"And don't you ever forget that, buster," Jean
finished smoothly, sending Scott into a fresh bout of laughter.
They were sill laughing, when the on board comm-link bleeped
to life, yet Jean needed no comm-link, for the psychic pain
that came from Xavier tore through her, forcing her to her
knees with it immensity
"Jean!" Ororo cried as she rushed to her friend's
side, catching her lightly in her outstretched arms. "What
is it dear? What is wrong?"
"It's Rogue, Ororo," Jean answered in a faint,
little voice. "Rogue is gone."
Logan drove his jeep from the High Court of New York, with
Jubilee at his side. He was dressed in civvies along with
Jubilee, but right now, none of that mattered very much, for
both of them were fuming in anger.
The Professor sent the two of them to monitor the court hearing
of Victor Creed, alias Sabretooth, and both of them were displeased
at the outcome.
It has been no secret that there has been bad blood between
Logan and Creed for years, so Logan had his hands full trying
to restrain himself during the hearing. He would have liked
nothing better than to sink his andamantium claws into Creed's
throat, but he was not going to stoop down to Sabretooth's
And when Logan could control himself no longer, he exploded
"How the Hell can they not stick a psychotic killer
like Creed in the slammer?! Are the y fucking nuts?!"
he growled, his distaste of the verdict. "How the Hell
can you postpone a case like that, with the lame excuse that
the sonofabitch needs psychiatric evaluation? Psychiatric
evaluation, for cryin' out loud!"
"I hear ya, Wolvie," Jubilee added her own scorching
remarks. "That bastard should be swinging right now.
Damned if I don't want to take his throat out myself."
"Now ya talking, Lee," Logan growled affectionately
as he gave the girl beside him a little hug. "Thanks
Lee, I needed that."
"Hey, no sweat, Wolvie," Jubilee beamed up at her
It was then that Xavier's mental voice entered her mind.
~Jubilee, Logan, come quickly. I need you here. Rogue
is gone. ~
Then just as suddenly as it come, it left.
Logan barely gave Jubliee a moment to brace herself before
he floored the accelerator, sending the jeep hurdling forward
in a haze of smoke and rubber.
Professor Xavier was seated in his hover chair in the Control
Room, along with Trish Tilby and Hank McCoy, awaiting the
arrival of the other members of the X-Men.
Hank was feverishly trying to trace the signals of Rogue's
comm-link, but he was having no success in his search, and
this was frustrating him to no end. Xavier, on the other hand,
was connected to Cerebro, using the apparatus to enhance is
psi powers. He sent his mind out, searching for Rogue, gently
calling to her.
Even though it was difficult for him to enter her mind, she
still possessed a "psychic signature," so to speak,
and it was that that he was looking for.
He mind swept the Crescent Park Subway System were she was
last heard from, but he found nothing, not even the traces
of her thoughts.
His concentration was broken as he heard the Blackbird's
engines roar to within earshot.
The plane had landed in the hangar, when Jean spoke to him
inside his mind.
~Professor, what is wrong? I felt your pain, and it nearly
knocked me out. ~
~I am sorry Jean. All that I can say now is that Rogue
is missing. I cannot find her anywhere. Meet me in the Control
Room, along with the others. We shall speak more then. ~
The young, lean, sandy-haired man roared down New York Main
on his Harley and took the off-road to Salem. He was dressed
in faded blue Levi's, black leather boots and a white polar
neck, with an old, worn brown trench coat.
He did not wear a motorbike helmet, and the winds played
through his hair in a soft caress.
He conveyed the image of recklessness, as well as one of
untidiness, with his unshaved chin and the old, worn trench
coat. Even so, the ladies went mad for him, and he knew it.
His name was Remy LeBeau, a.k.a Gambit...
As he thundered up the off-road, Remy delighted himself in
the soft sun playing across his face, the wind ruffling through
his hair. His eyes, two twin coals of fiery red bunt into
the solid blackness of night, twinkled with delight as he
thundered up the black asphalt.
Dis sure be de life, mon ami, he thought as he soaked
up the freedom that he felt.
~Gambit.~ the mind voice of Jean Summers-Grey called
out to him, urgent with need.
~What de prob'lem be, Chere?~ he asked mutely, sending
his thoughts out to Jean, his facial expression puzzled.
~It is Rogue, Gambit. She is gone.~
The Cajun almost lost control of the monstrous Harley beneath
him as the full meaning of Jean's words and the feelings expressed
with them struck home.
~Merde! Where she be, Jean?~ Gambit cried out mentally,
his mind awashed through with concern for the woman that he
The only woman he ever did love.
There had been playthings before, both he and Rogue knew
that, but Rogue was the only one he ever truly loved.
~I do not know, Gambit. We cannot find her telepathically,
either. Come to the Mansion. All the others are waiting.~
Then Jean was gone.
Gritting his teeth in anger, Remy gave the Harley it's head,
and sped off to the Mansion at breakneck speed...
Continued in Chapter
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