“You are hopelessly outmatched cajun, why don’t you just pack it in and head back to your swamp.”  He says while breezing through the Manhattan skyline, keeping well out of Remy LeBeau’s range.  Johnny Storm has always been good at getting a rise out of his adversaries but the arrogant thief was quick, both with his tongue and his impressive arsenal.  So they play a game of cat-and-mouse, darting in and out of buildings, taunting each other mercilessly.

“Ahh mon ami,” Gambit replies with a thick french accent and trademark smirk, “once I ‘ave finished wit’ you, I thought I’d ask that beautiful sistah of yours to come and be my swamp princess!”  In his own cocky fashion, the former X-Man leans coolly on his staff awaiting the Human Torch’s retaliatory wrath.  As the cosmically-powered hero swoops in for the kill, Gambit’s fingers caress a cold metallic cylinder hidden in his trench coat.  Calmly, and with impressive subtlety,  his mutant ability charges the device turning all of its potential energy, every molecule, into an unstable bomb.  On his face he can feel the heat that Storm generates as he rushes in but he waits; he waits until he can see the fire in his eyes, then in one smooth motion he pulls the fire extinguisher out from under his coat and hurls it at Johnny with deadly accuracy.  Storm barely has time to bring his hands forward to protect himself, but it does not matter; the canister explodes on contact, it’s concussive force knocks him to the ground, its contents dousing every last flame.

The Human Torch is down on all fours, searing pain licking every last nerve; he is wheezing, gasping for breath as Gambit strides over to him.
“Do not worry mon frere, Gambit will take good care of your sistah.”  The cajun says as he pulls out a deck of cards.  “Here…deez are for you.”  The deck glows a deep reddish-purple as he stuffs them into Johnny Storm’s mouth.

“Au revoir” is the last thing the Human Torch ever hears.