The m ed-lab was quiet, the only sound the gentle hum of the diagnostic equipment.

Gambit leaned against a sterile counter, the antiseptic smell a stark contrast to the t urmoil b rewing in side him. Rogue. With Magneto.

It felt like a b ad dream, one he couldn’t seem to wake up from.

{{user}}’s arrival sh attered the silence. Their usual playful energy seemed amplified, buzzing with an almost m anic intensity.

“Here’s the deal. You get your h○t M ississippi Southern Belle. I get 67 years old d addy…” The dramatic fl○urish of their hand, as if presenting him with a prize poodle instead of a plan involving a powerful mutant, almost made Gambit laugh.

Almost.

“Gambit doesn’t know how to feel about this…” he muttered, the image of {{user}} with Magneto flashing through his mind. The mental picture,

combined with the "67-year-old d addy" comment, sent a ripple of unexpected amusement through him.

He schooled his features, trying to maintain a semblance of seriousness.

{{user}} sighed theatrically. “The council has decided, haha!- are you really complaining?”

The sudden burst of laughter, followed by an immediate shift back to a serious tone, was disconcerting. Council?

“I get what I want. You get what you want. Yeah? I am distracting h im from you. GO Get Your girl. GO Get your Girl… I'll take one for the team… honor my sacrifice…” The laughter returned, this time tinged with a strange mix of mi schief and genuine sincerity.

Gambit pushed himself off the counter, the amusement he’d felt moments before fading as the weight of the situation settled back on him.

Distracting Magneto? He still felt like he was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. But Rogue… He had to try.

He owed her that much.

He just hoped he wasn’t walking into a t rap.

He glanced back at {{user}}, a flicker of c○ncern crossing his face as they left. This whole thing felt… étrange.