Chapter 9: Consequences and Chaos

Chapter 9: Consequences and Chaos

Deathstroke's Hideout

The air inside the dimly lit hideout was heavy with tension, the kind that seemed to thrum in the walls and resonate through the shadows. Deathstroke moved silently through the hallways, his mind churning. His boots, old but polished to perfection, made only the faintest of sounds on the cold concrete floors. His mask, scarred from countless battles, betrayed nothing of the storm within him. As he reached the door to the armory, he paused, pulling the mask off with a swift motion.

Slade Wilson—the man beneath the mask—was a weathered veteran, every line etched into his face a testament to the wars he had fought, the lives he had taken, and the toll of years in combat. His single eye, sharp and gray as steel, held the kind of weariness that came from decades of violence. The eyepatch covering the other eye told its own story of loss, a grim reminder of the battles that had taken even the greatest toll on him.

Across the room, Rose Wilson—Ravager—stood with her arms crossed, having just returned from their failed mission. She had already taken off her mask, revealing a face equally hardened, but not as weathered. Her silver hair hung around her shoulders, damp from the night's rain. Her eyes flicked over to Slade's, tension crackling between them like the calm before a storm.

"Why didn't you kill him?" Slade's voice was cold, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Rose shifted, narrowing her eyes. "I had him. The Cajun bastard was cornered, but he got the jump on me."

"No," Slade snapped, his voice sharper now. "You got distracted. You let him get into your head. Flirting—" he spat the word like it was poison, "with the target? This isn't a game, Rose. I don't care how charming he is, you finish the mission. You kill him."

She clenched her fists, defiance flashing in her eyes. "I could've taken him down. I was just—"

"Just what?" Slade cut her off, stepping closer, his imposing frame casting a long shadow over her. "Distracted?" His voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. "Do you know what distraction gets you in this line of work? It gets you dead. Or worse, it gets someone else killed because you couldn't keep your head straight."

Rose's jaw tightened, but she didn't back down. "I'm not you, Dad."

"And you never will be if you keep making rookie mistakes," Slade retorted. He pointed to the door behind them, leading deeper into the hideout. "Training room. Ten minutes."

Rose's heart sank. She had known this was coming, but it didn't make it any easier. Slade didn't believe in just reprimanding with words. He would show her the consequences of failure through blood, sweat, and bruises.

"I'll be there," she muttered, her voice strained but defiant.

Slade's eye didn't leave her as he turned away, his disappointment hanging in the air like a noose. "You'd better be."

The city of Detroit sprawled out beneath Remy LeBeau like a canvas of steel and concrete, drenched in neon lights and the pulse of midnight. Gambit moved across the rooftops with the grace of a panther, every jump and twist a precise calculation. The night was his domain, the dark alleys and shadowed streets a familiar landscape. He thrived in this—free running, the thrill of being untouchable, the rush of the wind on his face.

He paused for a moment, crouching on the edge of a crumbling building. The city stretched out below, alive with the sound of distant traffic and the occasional siren. His purple eyes scanned the streets, always alert, always searching.

A flicker of movement caught his attention, and his senses sharpened. Something wasn't right. His body tensed, instinctively ducking as a metallic object whizzed past his head and embedded itself in the brick wall behind him.

Boomerang?

Before Gambit could fully process the thought, a cold blast struck him from behind. The icy beam hit with the force of a freight train, sending him flying off the rooftop. He crashed onto a parked car below, shattering the windshield on impact. Pain shot through his shoulder—still not fully healed from his encounter with Ravager—and he winced as he tried to push himself up.

"Son of a…" Gambit groaned, shaking off the daze. His hand went to his staff, but before he could fully recover, a low mechanical whirring reached his ears. He barely had time to leap from the car before it exploded into a fiery inferno, the shockwave slamming him against the side of a building.

As the flames roared behind him, Gambit's eyes darted around, taking in the scene. A figure stood in the street, holding a large, futuristic-looking gun. The man's face was a smug grin, illuminated by the glow of the fire behind him.

"Guess I hit the jackpot!" the man called out, his accent thick and taunting.

Gambit pushed himself to his feet, his body aching from the assault. "Who the hell are you?"

The man tipped an imaginary hat. "Captain Boomerang, mate. Pleasure doin' business."

Gambit was about to retort when a strange clinking noise echoed from behind him. His heart sank as he glanced back, his eyes locking onto a small, toy-like object rolling toward him—a clownish-looking doll with a ticking clock embedded in its chest.

"Shit," Gambit cursed, diving to the side just as the toy exploded, sending him crashing through the glass window of a nearby shop. Shards of glass cut into his skin as he tumbled inside, hitting the ground hard.

Pain flared through his side, but Gambit forced himself to his feet, blood trickling from a gash on his forehead. He wiped it away, his head spinning. "What the fuck is goin' on here?"

As he steadied himself, four figures emerged from the wreckage of the explosion, stepping into the flickering light of the burning car. Gambit's heart sank as he recognized them. He'd seen their faces plastered on the news back in his previous life. They were legends in their own right—The Rogues.

Captain Boomerang, now smugly tossing another boomerang between his hands, stood at the front. Beside him, a man with a cold gun casually resting on his shoulder, his breath visible in the frigid air—Captain Cold. To his left, a man with a wild, fire-obsessed grin and a flamethrower strapped to his back—Heatwave. And lastly, a clownish figure, his gaudy costume contrasting with the explosives strapped to his waist—The Trickster.

"No hard feelings, eh, mate?" Captain Cold said, his voice cold and detached. "But five hundred million dollars is five hundred million dollars. Business is business."

Gambit's eyes narrowed. "So, y'all here to cash in on dat bounty, huh? Figures."

Before he could prepare himself, Captain Cold raised his gun and fired a blast of concentrated ice. Gambit barely had time to dodge, the beam freezing the ground where he'd just been standing.

The fight had begun.

Gambit darted between the aisles of the shop, his bo staff spinning in his hands as he assessed the situation. The Rogues were notorious for their teamwork, and they wasted no time in proving it. Captain Boomerang was already in motion, his projectiles flying through the air in erratic patterns, forcing Gambit to duck and weave as explosions erupted around him. Every dodge cost him energy, and his still-injured shoulder throbbed with pain.

Heatwave joined the fray, unleashing a torrent of fire that engulfed the storefront in a fiery blaze. The heat was intense, the flames licking at Gambit's clothes as he rolled out of the way, narrowly avoiding being charred alive.

But it was The Trickster who caught him off guard next. As Gambit regained his footing, a loud ticking noise filled the air once more. He barely had time to react before another toy bomb detonated near him, the shockwave sending him crashing into a row of shelves, the impact leaving him winded and disoriented.

"I can keep this up all day, Cajun!" Trickster called out, his voice gleeful. "But can you?"

Gambit gritted his teeth, his frustration mounting. Every time he tried to counter, the Rogues' teamwork made it impossible. Boomerang, Cold, Heatwave, and Trickster moved like a well-oiled machine, each attack perfectly timed to keep Gambit off balance.

But Gambit wasn't just a brawler. He was a strategist.

As Captain Cold prepared to fire another blast of ice, Gambit threw a charged card at the ground between them. The resulting explosion sent shards of concrete flying, creating a thick cloud of dust and debris that momentarily blinded the Rogues.

Using the cover, Gambit moved quickly. He flanked Captain Boomerang, disarming him with a swift strike to the wrist before delivering a roundhouse kick to his jaw. The Aussie hit the ground hard, dazed.

Heatwave turned, unleashing another wave of fire, but Gambit was faster. He leaped over the flames, landing a devastating blow to Heatwave's side with his staff, knocking the wind out of him.

Before Trickster could react, Gambit hurled another card at him, the explosion sending the madman sprawling across the floor.

Only Captain Cold remained, his cold gun raised, but Gambit was already in motion. He spun his staff, charging it with kinetic energy before slamming it into the ground. The resulting shockwave sent Captain Cold flying backward, his gun clattering to the ground.

The battle was over.

Gambit stood, breathing heavily, his body battered and bruised. His shoulder ached, and his head throbbed, but he'd won.

Or so he thought.

Black Manta Arrives

Before Gambit could catch his breath, a powerful blast hit him square in the chest, sending him flying through the air and crashing into a parked car with a sickening thud. He groaned in pain, his vision blurred as he tried to push himself up.

Through the haze, a towering figure approached, clad in black armor, his eyes glowing red through the dark visor. The distinctive helmet, the sleek design—it was unmistakable.

"Black Manta…" Gambit muttered, his voice hoarse.

The villain said nothing, simply brandishing a trident that crackled with electricity. He moved with purpose, his silence more menacing than any threat.

Gambit staggered to his feet, gripping his bo staff tightly. "Another one here to get his ass handed to him?"

Black Manta's response was a simple, silent step forward, his trident raised and sparking with deadly energy.

Gambit smirked, twirling his staff and charging it with kinetic energy. "Not a talker, huh?" He adopted a fighting stance, eyes locked on the deadly foe before him. "Let's dance."

The battle wasn't over. It was only just beginning.