So it'll be a mixture of the movie and the comic because I know the movie better than the comic because I haven't read it but doing all my little obsessive 'research' have found out a bit so! Hopefully, this little journey I have started will be something you all enjoy. Most characters are not mine, but the 'Shadow' and what that contains, is. Ta!

Benjamin Miles sat on his favorite chair in his apartment, a tiny place; comfy and homey.

His brown eyes were focused curiously on the Old Bailey, wondering what mysteries were held in the future. The future, however, didn't look too bright…for anyone, really.
The symbolism of the Old Bailey was dead and everybody knew it but that was why Miles did the job he did, a small and somewhat futile attempt at making his mark on the world, at making a better world.
He wasn't a Fingerman, nor was he an Inspector but he worked under whoever's command was more important depending on the occasion – basically whoever Chancellor Sutler said he had to follow, be it Mr Creedy or Inspector Finch – the Fingers or the Nose of the dictatorship.
He knew that working for the government was not entirely the best place to attempt it, but there was nowhere else he could truly afford to be, not in this day and age. In his bones, he was a mild man.
The entire situation lead him to this moment, staring at the Old Bailey, waiting for something to happen, looking for direction but the Lady of Justice was blind was she not?
Miles frowned at his dilemma; frustrated with it when the sound of music wafted in through the window, disturbing the ever thickening stillness, growing steadily louder; Tchaikovsky's Overture if he remembered correctly, the strings and then the brass, blaring out of the curfew sirens.
Miles snorted sarcastically; 'trying to ease the tension, eh?' thought he with conviction until it changed at the drop of a hat and something did happen. Drastic, emphatic, momentarily catastrophic as an orange haze accompanied by an almighty BANG blinded him briefly and made him jump.

Leaning forward and eyes wide open, Miles looked on in disbelief as the Old Bailey, quite suddenly, got blown straight to hell, all amidst the overture that appeared to be celebrating the entire event, the height of the music beautifully timed with the final explosion sending the Old Bailey's blind and useless head sailing into the air and down again while fireworks…

Miles couldn't lean any further forward without falling out the window…fireworks shot out her severed head, the newly acquired ruins. And how ironic it was to have it blow up just as he was considering the insanity of the ideals based around such a building that held the entire country together…by a shoestring.

By the time the phone rang, Miles was already clad in his official clothes – black and as clean looking as the businessman next door though he never felt quite as he looked. If he had to be honest and all was to be explained in depth, Benjamin Miles worked for a part of the government that operated as a plan-b, the shadow of the body, part of a group of people that poked around in the dark after everyone else had left; undetected, unknown and uncensored, looking for what others had missed. He looked smart but it was sinister attire; his line of work was insidious. Infiltrators, men who donned masks and broke privacy and therefore needed discretion; so to be as cliché as they came, he didn't exist to the general public, he was a shadow people, his line of work didn't exist.

So black all around!

When Miles picked up the phone, he immediately wanted to put it back down again. Creedy's foul, demanding and quiet voice told him,

"Get your arse in here…now,"

Miles removed the receiver from his ear and looked at it, taking his time to respond before placing it back by his ear, his reply equally as hushed, cold and lifeless,

"Yes,"

Two moments later, the receiver was down and he was heading out, the door opening, his coat fluttering about him and then the door shutting behind him all in one swift movement.

Out in the city, he walked with purpose; he walked without mercy, donning a different persona.

He rounded a corner just as a young woman rounded it too; fast, fearful, shaken, she collided with him. He was a whole head taller than she and he knew his persona was imposing,

"Careful," he hissed before all but shoving her out of the way as he proceeded on. She looked so confused at his response, clearly expecting the worst from him. He turned back when he didn't hear her move. She was standing dead still, glancing around hysterically, petrified of who was lurking around in the shadows around him. She had long hair that fell in waves to the middle of her back, a petite frame; grey coat, soft hazel eyes, young face – he processed all that he saw before he addressed her again,

"There's only me…but not for long so you might want to get moving a little more quickly,"

She nodded, unsure; she started to move while he watched, considering a little more,

"Actually, Miss? One more thing,"

She stopped and turned cautiously; her arms crossed tightly about her body but in defence or cold were in question. Her eyes exercised caution while her body feigned casualty but he considered himself decent enough so as to stop a meter or so away from her to avoid any further intimidation.

"I wonder if I might ask your name and what you are doing out after curfew…"

"I was visiting my uncle," she answered carefully, "he's very sick,"

"Ah, well I assume you were out at the time of the explosion too?"

He cocked his head, a small smile spreading, when she didn't answer,

"Did you see who it was, Miss…or perhaps any indication?"

She shook her head, exhaling as if she'd been holding her breath, a cloud of cool night air crystallising before her.

"No?" he asked, raising his chin, lowering his voice, starting to use the power he knew he had, to pressure her, to scare her just a tad, "Are you sure? You do know that with-holding anything let alone the truth could land you in some serious trouble…"

"That's all I know, I swear," she said quickly, shifting from one foot to the other nervously while he paused; considering her cowering form, her answer and what to do about it. At last he nodded and allowed her to carry on her way.

But then he almost forgot; how silly of him to have almost forgotten and how sly of her to have almost gotten away with it.

"Miss?"

She stopped again, turning to him, this time looking as if she was ready to run,

"Your name,"

She hesitated and he raised his eyebrows,

"Evey," she finally admitted, "Evey Hammond,"

"Evey Hammond," he repeated, securing it in his mind, well aware that she had been setting herself up for a lie but failed herself at the last minute,

"Unity through faith, Miss Hammond," he added ironically, turning from her without looking back. He turned down an ally and veered left before he stopped, finding the Fingermen unconscious; slumped in various positions against various things. The poster to his right, showing the country's motto, had been clearly sliced in an upside down triangle.

One man had his trousers around his ankles and showed very clear signs of arousal – Miles grimaced, turning from him, deciding to leave him be as understanding dawned on him.

Now, why did you lie, Miss Hammond?

He scanned the area, the compact little ally way which hinted at being a maze but lacked the proper twists and turns to pull it off though did the opposite when one was in panic.
His eyes drifted to the Fingerman on the floor again, feeling a want for severe justice – perhaps just a kick for good measure. Just as Miles took a step in the right direction to do so, he heard his name being called from out the darkness.

When he turned to find out who had called, he locked eyes with Mr Chester, known by no other name though they were on the same team, so to speak. Chester was older than Miles by about a decade with a limp and one glass eye to show for it. His skin wrinkled at the corner of his eyes permanently and his hands reminded Miles of sand paper.

Chester was a hard man, he lacked mercy; so quick to anger, so quick to judge but his ideals were the same as Miles'. He wished only good on the world, on England but he reaped what he sowed at the best of times. Either way, Miles and he were what anyone would call friends.

"What have we here, eh?" he smirked as he approached the trouser-less man, coming to halt beside Miles who looked down again, forgetting about his urge to perform violence.

"These men, I presume got in the way,"

"Of what? The blowing up of ol' Miss Justice? Don't see how they'd be too much of a threat,"

"I met a young woman running from the scene of the crime,"

"Ah, rapists…well…I suppose I should have caught that one…"

"Yeah that was fairly obvious, Ches, but I would forgive you if you couldn't see how she would be able to over-power three Fingermen – especially in a way such as this,"

"What's her appearance?"

"Small,"

"I see the problem…" Chester looked up into the night time, "She met the culprit. What a hero,"

"…and villain," Miles mused,

"Well, how villainess is it to blow up Bailey? She was dead anyway,"

Chester was always as blunt as a nail; he never thought too much about who might be listening and it always caused the hairs on the back of Miles' neck to stand on end. Glancing around to make sure, Miles pointed at the poster,

"See that?"

Chester looked over and 'hmm'd' to himself,

"I do now, violation of governmental property,"

"Treason, Sutler would say," Miles answered carefully. There was a momentary pause as Chester gathered his thoughts before he exhaled loudly and turned to Miles,

"Speaking of which, we best be getting on, Creedy will give us a bit if we don't get our arses down there,"

"Creedy isn't in charge yet,"

"Yeah…" Chester had already begun his limp ahead; calling back to Miles as he studied the poster a bit longer, "doesn't mean he doesn't know how to manipulate the chancellor to make it so,"

"V," Miles whispered into the night, locking it away before following Chester to Creedy's office.

They entered the clean white halls of the head of state together and made their way to Creedy's office grudgingly,

"Are you going to tell Creedy, Ben?"

"No," Miles shook his head. It made Chester turn deadly serious and stop with his hand on the door handle to look at Miles,

"That could get you in some serious shit, Benny,"

"I know that," Miles put his hands up defensively, "I'll tell Finch,"

"You better tell somebody," Chester was about to open the door but Miles stopped him,

"Oi, Chess," the man turned, "I'd appreciate it if you held your tongue too,"

Chester only nodded before opening the door to hell.

In the centre, at his desk, Mr Creedy looked most unholy with his chin resting on his chin while on the one side stood his Fingermen and on the other, their own kind. The devide evident in every situation – the Shadow and the Fingers didn't like each other, it was fragile ground they walked on.

"Took you long enough," a Finger snarled, but Chester only sniggered,

"I believe it was because we were doing your job, Bertie,"

'Bertie'…did not reply.

Creedy decided to come to life then, his expression stony and still,

"Did you find anything?"

Chester looked over at Miles who, once again, shook his head,

"No, Sir,"

"I think you did…what was it?"

Miles cocked his head quizzically, feeling Chester's eyes burning into him, urging to just tell them what he knew.

"You will do as I say, Mr Miles, you are under my charge. You've done your prowling – inform me,"

"Sir, with all due respect, we don't 'Prowl'," Miles spat the word out, a dreadful word Creedy and his Fingers used to condescend the Shadow, it was uncharacteristic, Shadows do everything BUT prowl, "And until Chancellor Sutler gives us orders as to who to report too, I am well within my rights to exercise my own judicial discretion and withhold the information I have, if any,"

"Don't test me, Miles," Creedy leant back in his chair, his face darkening as he leant back into his chair. To be fair, Sutler had been favouring Creedy for quite some time and very rarely used Finch as an honest source. It made Miles uneasy, he hated Creedy and Creedy had this annoying habit of getting wind of someone doing bad things, slipping a bag over their heads and then proceeding to have them simply drop off the face of the planet; no records, no information, no nothing.

Miles held his tongue but stood his ground, he wouldn't tell Creedy anything.

Creedy just sank even further back into the darkness,

"You have four hours, gentlemen, get information and inform me," his face showed promise of vengeance upon those who did not do as bidden.

Everyone waited a moment before Creedy cocked his head,

"Get out," and so they did.

They filtered out like spiders into the night time, the Fingers of the hand spreading, stretching out as far as they dared and the Shadow merely wafting out into the wee hours of the morning.

Miles headed straight for the Bailey, his heart racing, his blood burning, God he hated that man.

"Miles!"

Miles spun mid-stride, finding Chester limping up to him, his face still conveying the disapproval with regards to Miles' decision. Miles had not the mind nor the time to deal with Chester's righteous drabble over the stupidity of playing with fire,

"Chester, please let me deal with my own problems,"

"No, I want her name,"

"Why?" Miles unconsciously took a step back,

"Because I need to save your sorry arse, I'll give the information, it won't matter who knew it first. Just the name of the girl will do the trick,"

"I'll tell Finch,"

"Finch and Creedy hate each other,"

"Ah, at last the truth dawns upon him," Miles said with sarcasm before he proceeded on, not worrying to much about how Chester struggled to keep up for Miles' stride was long and fluent,

"Miles, you have to let go of the people you hate and the people you don't, you don't have the right to choose especially when it concerns Creedy, if you're not careful, you'll land up in one of them bags you hate so very much,"

"Chester, we do have the right to exorcise caution with men like Creedy and given the information half of us have already obtained, Creedy knows that,"

"Yes and guess what, that's exactly my point."

"They can't, Chester, they can't afford to,"

"Benjamin Miles, you look at me,"

Miles stopped and turned to look at his friend, waiting,

"Don't start playing with death after the Bailey…bad timing,"

"That's my problem. I'm going to Finch. I'll see you in a bit,"

He left Chester glaring after him as he swooped through the streets. Finch wasn't hard to find, he was situated directly in front of the rubble; his hands on his hips, shoulders slumped while his prodigy looked much the same. He looked tired, tired of the world rioting and demonstrating, tired and put-out by the magnitude of the latest one. Finch was a man who craved order, maybe not in total agreement with the current government but it was a place in which he knew what was happening, he knew how to deal with it. His was a strange circumstance.

Miles approached him warily, taking note of what was before him; the size of the rubble, how far the explosion stretched, the colour, evidence of explosives – he found himself looking for the head,

"Inspector Finch?"

Finch turned and wasn't too pleased to see him, it appeared. He sighed heavily before saying anything to him,

"Mr Miles, what can I do for you this fine morning?"

"Actually, I believe it's what I can do for you," he said, so very arrogantly that Finch and his man, Dominic looked over at him sceptically and with that, Miles' tongue caught and he found that that which he came to tell them would not leave his head despite it having made the journey to the tip of his tongue,

"Home-made," he forced himself to say just as time was running out,

"What?" Finch asked with a brow furrowed and a mouth set in puzzlement.

"The bomb, home-made…just…thought I'd save you a bit of time,"

"You know this, how?" Dominic asked suspiciously while Finch only stared, waiting for an answer,

Miles snorted,

"I'm 'designed' to know but three Fingermen saw the identity of the vigilant, William Race will give you a good story, me thinks, and he's a revolutionary,"

"Race?"

"The vigilant,"

"Why are you telling me this? Are you not to inform Creedy on all of this?"

"Oh, he'll find it out eventually but as for who I am to report too, that's still under speculation. The Chancellor is yet to make an appearance so I have free reign over who my information goes too,"

"Be careful, Mr Miles, you'll land up in a bag," Finch glanced around nervously but Miles only folded his arms and held a small smile of amusement,

"I've just had this conversation,"

Finch looked back at him, impressed,

"Alright, Mr Miles, you have my attention, what's the story?"

"He blew up the Lady of Justice; he's probably going to start a riot – strange, Justice is –"

"Be careful,"

"If he threatens Parliament, Mr Finch, maybe I'll start worrying but that's all I have, so hopefully that'll keep the wolves from the door, eh?"

Miles said his dues and departed, leaving Dominic and Finch to mull over what they had while Miles took note of dawn and the time and started making his way back to the Head of the Body.

However, later that evening as Miles and Chester were stopped in their tracks as the television flickered, died and restarted with a man in a Guy Fawkes mask gave them all a taste of their own fears, he gave them the truth and indeed threatened parliament.

Miles' head was spinning, his eyes wide while Chester muttered,

"Oh, Christ,"

Miles' head dropped, the conversation with Finch coming back to him,

"Bollocks."

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