What if Remy LeBeau never grew up in the Thieves' Guild? What if Rogue wasn't raised by Irene? What will happen to them when, instead of growing to know one another among the faithful X-men, they bond in desperation in the grip of HYDRA and what comes after? My own AU of what would happen if they did, and who they would grow to be.

Prologue

The small boy huddled in the corner of the bare room. The lights had been dulled, but the harsh white walls still glared in his sensitive eyes. The hard bed didn't help him to sleep. He hadn't slept in he didn't know how long. Ever since he had been taken all he saw were metallic and white walls, cold floors. He was no older than five or six, but he already yearned for home. Home: the smell of spices in a warm and bustling city, the mysteries of the bayous just beyond the glorious lights of the ever-wakeful streets. Jazz music pouring from the clubs and laughter ringing with it. Even in poverty and living on the streets he could appreciate the beauty of his home, New Orleans, the Crescent City. Now he wondered if he would ever see it again.

He remembered the last time he had seen it. The day had been humid, the sweat dripping down his small and scrawny back as he trolled for full pockets. A simple thing with all the ignorent tourists living it up, never suspecting the skinny auburn-haired shark circling for prey.

A good day that had been, his dirty trousers stuffed with the contents of an afternoon's rich pickings. Fagan would be proud, and he would prove those boys who taunted him what he was truly made of. He would never have guessed that he wouldn't be returning to Fagan that night, nor ever again.

He turned down a side alley, moving as silently and swiftly as a cat. He didn't observe the shadows expertly tailing him. He could do nothing when they struck, slamming the tiny boy into the wall.

He cried in pain and terror. The people were dressed in black and green, completely covered despite the heat of the day. What looked almost like night vision goggles covered their eyes as they turned to the other, consulting. The only useful thing the boy could see was an unfamiliar insignia: a badge containing a many legged creature, like an octopus. The man that had him pinned turned back to his captive. The boy's eyes widened, wondering what they meant to do to him. Were they cops, come to punish him for his thievery?

The one holding him kept one hand at quarry's throat while lifting the other to his ear.

"Yes ma'am, from the precog's description, this is the one. Red on black eyes. Looks like we caught the real White Devil."

The boy gasped slightly. How could they know that taunting name he had been given because of his unique and frightening eyes? Though the boys always called him le Diable Blanc, in French.

"Certainly ma'am, we'll bring him immediately. By the morning you'll have your newest acquistion."

The other man stepped forward, and in his hand he held a funny-smelling cloth. He placed it over the little boy's mouth and nose. The vapor stung his nostrils and he struggled to rip it away. His attempts were futile due to the man still holding him and the fact that he was growing sluggish and unnaturally sleepy. The skyline of New Orleans grew dim and then blinked out as Remy collapsed.

That had been his last glimpse. Would he ever see it again? Tears rolled down his cheeks. He had never known family or even friends, but as long as his city protected him he could get by. Now she was gone, and he was utterly alone, without a soul to wonder where he was or care. Salty tears continued to trace down from his ruby and onyx eyes as, with exhaustion, he sank to the floor and fell into haunted sleep.