V stumbles down the dark street, shackles around his ankles, his hands bound behind his back, led by a noose around his neck. The street is lined with people cheering, laughing, mocking and spitting on him as he passes, staggering toward the intersection which holds the pyre, a daunting mound of stacked wood dripping with oil. At each corner of it is a man holding a blazing torch. Distantly he can hear gunshots, as rows of soldiers he can't see take down those who must be his supporters… those brave warriors for the cause he ignited.

The men leading him stop walking and strip him, cutting away his clothes and tossing the rags into the crowds on either side. His knives, hat and wig vanish into the mob of jeering onlookers. He is left naked, still bound, still masked, and shivering as the cold autumn air stabs at the twenty-year-old burns that crisscross his whole body. His head is held high; he will not succumb to his captors, least of all Sutler, who stands triumphantly before the pyre, a hideous grin on his face.

"Behold the terrorist, V!" he roars to the crowd, who increase their fervent cheering. "He has kindly volunteered to be our effigy tonight! He even showed up in costume!"

V stands still and silent, gazing calmly into the face of his nemesis. Sutler grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him toward the pyre; V trips and falls, landing hard against the oily wood, but he stands again, still strong, still defiant. For freedom… and for Evey.

"What, no cocky comebacks this time?" Sutler taunts him. "No last words? How about a farewell speech?" He hits V hard in the stomach; he bends double, coughing, and Sutler strikes him again, knocking him to the pavement.

V struggles to his feet again, and the other men grab him and haul him up onto the pyre. He fights boldly, but bound and unarmed, he is no match for four armed soldiers. As they bind him securely to the top of the pyre, Sutler starts the crowd chanting.

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November: the gunpowder, treason and plot! I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot!"

"Penny for the Guy?" Sutler shouts to the mob, and they all shriek in laughter, throwing pennies at the pyre. Some of them strike V, leaving numerous tiny cuts. Still he struggles against his restraints, hoping his wrists will slide out of the slippery ropes, but the knots hold strongly and the ropes are tight. The black sky above him promises no mercy.

He hears the first sharp crackling as four torches are shoved into the base of the pyre, and in seconds the structure becomes a roaring tower of flame. The crowd's cheering reaches a peak: they shout at the top of their lungs, cackling in sinister glee. He ignores them, his thoughts trained upon the one he loves… the one with whom he battled Sutler's regime, the woman for whom he would and will die.

His mask is hot and heavy on his face, making breathing an exertion. The pennies that landed on his chest and stomach add many small circular burns to the old ones already there. The fire engulfs him, but V is numb to such pain. He endured much the same as it twenty years before. But this time he will not survive.

He closes his eyes as his last breath mingles with the billowing smoke. He knows that, at least for some, the fifth of November will never, ever be forgot.