Title: Midnight Gambit
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Laura’s boots made no sound as she landed in the narrow alley, loose gravel crunching only in her mind. The night was taut and still, the moon wreathed in the haze of city vapors. She slid along the wall, then dropped to her knees at the warped basement window. Fingers slipped beneath the sash, careful not to jar the aging glass, and she slithered inside, chest barely clearing the lip.
Down in the shadows, the air smelled of dust and old brick, overlaid with the metallic tang of fear sweat—Gambit’s, fresh and sharp. He was stretched out on a ratty cot in the darkness, a deck of battered playing cards by his side, one hand curled around a flashlight.
He sat up before she opened her mouth. “They movin’, petite?”
Laura shook her head, creeping to the window well and peering out through the grime. “They’re still out there. Three or four of them.” She didn’t tell him she had heard their nervous breathing or the scratch of a lighter as someone tried to fend off the sleepiness of a midnight stakeout. “I don’t know if they’re after you. We don’t take chances.”
Gambit grinned, gold eyes gleaming in the scant light. “Always loved your style, X.” But she saw the tension in the set of his jaw, the press of his mouth. Gambit was hunted, too, and he was good at running. But she was better at ending problems.
“I want to take them out,” she admitted, her voice low. “But—”
He leaned over, voice soft now. “No more bodies, cher. Not tonight.”
Laura nodded, guilt flaring hot. Memories flickered: claws parting flesh, those fleeting seconds when instinct overrode conscience. Sometimes she saw their faces when she blinked.
She ducked into the blackness, packing their things with swift, practiced hands. Card deck. Gambit’s coat and scarf. Her own plain backpack. Even the wrapper from the protein bar.
He noticed. “You think we’ll have to run for days, hein?”
“They’re patient,” she said. “They have nowhere else to be. But if they were professionals, they wouldn’t wait in a van under a streetlight. Might just be jumpy locals.”
He shrugged, zipping his bag. “Or they want us to think that.”
She bit back a snarl, muscles knotting. What she wouldn’t give to stalk over there, rip off the van’s doors, and—
No. Blood on her claws. Blood in her dreams.
She climbed up to the window. “Let me check outside.”
He grabbed her wrist—a brief, warm pressure. “Be careful.” His thumb brushed over the ridges of old scars. She slipped free and pushed out into the night.
Ducking low, she pressed her body against the wall. The van’s engine ticked as it cooled, the heat shimmering about the vehicle. She caught fragments of sound—male voices, tense and uncertain. One read from a phone: “She’s dangerous, says here. Approach with caution.” Another: “Don’t care if she’s dangerous. We got bills to pay.” The third was silent, listening.
Bandits, then. Not professionals, but not local teenagers either.
Laura’s heart hammered, animal-fast. They must be watching for one thing: movement. If she moved fast enough, she could…No. No more blood.
She took a different alley, sweeping the streets with her senses. A trash can, a rat, the smell of gasoline. Nothing else. She circled back, crawling under a sagging chain-link fence, coming up by the rear basement window. The van’s view was blocked here by piles of old wooden palettes stacked in the neighbor’s yard.
Returning to Gambit’s side, she whispered, “Back door. In ten seconds. We go left.”
He nodded, trust implicit. He understood what she didn’t say: if they were seen, she’d buy him time.
They moved in silent tandem, slinking down old service corridors, through the underbelly of the city. Laura strode ahead, nose twitching, ears tracking. Gambit followed, cards loose in one hand, eyes flicking back and forth. The van’s doors never opened; the men inside never saw them slip into the maze of alleys and scatter across cracked asphalt.
At the mouth of the alley, the city unfolded before them—a sprawl of sodium lights, hunched shadows, neon bleeding on concrete. Laura slowed, uncertainty flickering through her. The night was never finished with her.
Gambit tapped her shoulder. “You did good, chérie.”
She shook her head. “We ran.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sometimes, that’s the only way to keep your hands clean.” He held out a card—a battered queen of hearts. “For luck.”
Laura took it. She couldn’t help glancing back. In the distance, the white van idled, men growing bored. Waiting for ghosts.
She led the way into the labyrinth, vanishing with Gambit into the city’s restless heart. The mystery at her back, the violence inside her, locked away—for tonight.
This story was generated by user dizzy.bizzy93 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a long story about mutant Laura Kinney, who was sitting on the roof, watching a white van parked under a streetlight. With her heightened senses, she could tell that there were three or four men in the van. She wasn't sure if they were the bandits who were chasing her friend Gambit, who was currently sleeping in the basement of the building. Despite that, she wanted to attack them and deal with them. But she didn't want to risk killing innocent people. She had enough blood on her hands as it was. She jumped off the roof and slipped through the basement window. Laura knew that the bandits didn't have a good view of the basement window from the van, so she and Gambit could get out and disappear into the twisting streets
Response: Laura’s boots made no sound as she landed in the narrow alley, loose gravel crunching only in her mind. The night was taut and still, the moon wreathed in the haze of city vapors. She slid along the wall, then dropped to her knees at the warped basement window. Fingers slipped beneath the sash, careful not to jar the aging glass, and she slithered inside, chest barely clearing the lip. Down in the shadows, the air smelled of dust and old brick, overlaid with the metallic tang of fear sweat—Gambit’s, fresh and sharp. He was stretched out on a ratty cot in the darkness, a deck of battered playing cards by his side, one hand curled around a flashlight. He sat up before she opened her mouth. “They movin’, petite?” Laura shook her head, creeping to the window well and peering out through the grime. “They’re still out there. Three or four of them.” She didn’t tell him she had heard their nervous breathing or the scratch of a lighter as someone tried to fend off the sleepiness of a midnight stakeout. “I don’t know if they’re after you. We don’t take chances.” Gambit grinned, gold eyes gleaming in the scant light. “Always loved your style, X.” But she saw the tension in the set of his jaw, the press of his mouth. Gambit was hunted, too, and he was good at running. But she was better at ending problems. “I want to take them out,” she admitted, her voice low. “But—” He leaned over, voice soft now. “No more bodies, cher. Not tonight.” Laura nodded, guilt flaring hot. Memories flickered: claws parting flesh, those fleeting seconds when instinct overrode conscience. Sometimes she saw their faces when she blinked. She ducked into the blackness, packing their things with swift, practiced hands. Card deck. Gambit’s coat and scarf. Her own plain backpack. Even the wrapper from the protein bar. He noticed. “You think we’ll have to run for days, hein?” “They’re patient,” she said. “They have nowhere else to be. But if they were professionals, they wouldn’t wait in a van under a streetlight. Might just be jumpy locals.” He shrugged, zipping his bag. “Or they want us to think that.” She bit back a snarl, muscles knotting. What she wouldn’t give to stalk over there, rip off the van’s doors, and— No. Blood on her claws. Blood in her dreams. She climbed up to the window. “Let me check outside.” He grabbed her wrist—a brief, warm pressure. “Be careful.” His thumb brushed over the ridges of old scars. She slipped free and pushed out into the night. Ducking low, she pressed her body against the wall. The van’s engine ticked as it cooled, the heat shimmering about the vehicle. She caught fragments of sound—male voices, tense and uncertain. One read from a phone: “She’s dangerous, says here. Approach with caution.” Another: “Don’t care if she’s dangerous. We got bills to pay.” The third was silent, listening. Bandits, then. Not professionals, but not local teenagers either. Laura’s heart hammered, animal-fast. They must be watching for one thing: movement. If she moved fast enough, she could…No. No more blood. She took a different alley, sweeping the streets with her senses. A trash can, a rat, the smell of gasoline. Nothing else. She circled back, crawling under a sagging chain-link fence, coming up by the rear basement window. The van’s view was blocked here by piles of old wooden palettes stacked in the neighbor’s yard. Returning to Gambit’s side, she whispered, “Back door. In ten seconds. We go left.” He nodded, trust implicit. He understood what she didn’t say: if they were seen, she’d buy him time. They moved in silent tandem, slinking down old service corridors, through the underbelly of the city. Laura strode ahead, nose twitching, ears tracking. Gambit followed, cards loose in one hand, eyes flicking back and forth. The van’s doors never opened; the men inside never saw them slip into the maze of alleys and scatter across cracked asphalt. At the mouth of the alley, the city unfolded before them—a sprawl of sodium lights, hunched shadows, neon bleeding on concrete. Laura slowed, uncertainty flickering through her. The night was never finished with her. Gambit tapped her shoulder. “You did good, chérie.” She shook her head. “We ran.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sometimes, that’s the only way to keep your hands clean.” He held out a card—a battered queen of hearts. “For luck.” Laura took it. She couldn’t help glancing back. In the distance, the white van idled, men growing bored. Waiting for ghosts. She led the way into the labyrinth, vanishing with Gambit into the city’s restless heart. The mystery at her back, the violence inside her, locked away—for tonight.
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