Author's Note: I'm back, with a vengeance, and ready to scare you all with my dark side... at least, that's the plan anyway. Well the plan is... no, I shouldn't reveal the plan until it is time, or you won't read the story :) That would be silly of me. Anyway, I know I haven't finished uploading Silver Bullet yet, but rest assured, this story will not divert my attention... that's if you're reading that one at all. *cough* Anyway, I will have an update list ready for this story, and if you wish to join it, drop me a line, or let me know in a review, which I hope you will be kind enough to leave for me :) Please? Don't beg, Clez... it sounds desperate. Oh my, I've prattled on haven't I? Yes, anyway, so I hope you enjoy this story, and I hope you're prepared for owies and angst...
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of LXG, whether they are from the comic books, the film, or the novelisation. All original characters, as the title suggests, are mine. I do not mean to commit any sort of crime, and I will make no money from this whatsoever. All I want is to entertain. Please don't sue me... or expect a disclaimer in every chapter :D
* * *
With the approach of nightfall, the conning tower had finally descended below the waves, the solar panels fully charged with enough energy to keep them submerged through the evening and early morning hours. They would most likely surface again once more when the sun rose. That was the way of things about the Nautilus, Sword of The Ocean. Her captain was a very stalwart and precise man who liked to run things by a strict schedule. Her crew and passengers passed the hours performing tasks both necessary and menial alike.
Not only was Nautilus the only submarine of her kind in the world, a one-off marvel to be treasured and respected, she was also the 'home' of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, a skilled team of individuals who were often called upon by the British government to solve problems too risky or serious for their own agents and teams to handle. They were what some liked to call the elite... and what others liked to call downright strange.
Though they were known as 'Gentlemen', in their midst was one woman, not to be underestimated in her own right. She sat now, dressed in her usual skirts, petticoats and blouse, working on a new experiment. A chemist at heart, Wilhelmina Harker always thought of her late husband Jonathan when amongst her test tubes and samples. The tinkle of glass on glass would quite often bring a haunting smile to her face as she remembered days lost in his company.
With a sigh, Mina put down her beaker, and removed her glasses, done for the day. She was starting to hunger, though not in a conventional way. The only thing that usually helped her at this time was to pay one Captain Nemo a visit. He helped her every time... without failing or question.
And so it was that her high-heeled boots carried her steadily to his cabin, where he was musing over some maps and diagrams. Dark, soulful eyes met her face at once, and he furrowed his thick brow.
"Can I help you, Mrs. Harker?" he asked of her politely in regal tones that the crew of the Nautilus dreaded to disobey. He was not a man to be taken lightly. Nemo took his Indian heritage very seriously also, and could quite often be found in his private room praying in front of his statue of Kali, goddess of death.
Mina Harker nodded, her blue eyes wavering from his face for a moment. She tucked a loose strand of auburn hair from her face where it had escaped the confines of her high bun, and replied, "Yes, Captain, I believe you can."
She tried not to keep her eyes on his dark face for too long. Her hunger always tried to overwhelm her, her otherworldly traits kicking in far too savagely for her to contain sometimes. This was when she was most frightened of herself... when she thought she might hurt the ones she cared for.
Nemo traipsed from the room, his ornamental sword and scabbard ever-present at his left hip. He wore his usual blues and whites of captaincy, a turban wrapped intricately about his head, covering his black hair. That in mind, she only assumed he had hair underneath the turban. She supposed he did, what with having a thick black beard and moustache after all.
They travelled on their way silently to the kitchens, but halfway there, Nemo stopped at the dining hall. "Perhaps you should remain here, Mrs. Harker, whilst I gather you some nourishment. You will not be offended if I lock the door behind you?"
Mina nodded. It was wise. If she lost control of her urges and gave in to them completely, they would be in grave danger. She didn't want to have to force them to dispose of her. "Of course, Captain."
With a nod, she stepped into the room, and let him close it behind her. She heard a key turn firmly in the lock, before picking out the sounds of his boots carrying him away.
Sighing heavily, Mina sat herself down in one of the chairs and closed her eyes. She cursed the day that damned Count Dracula had ever brought her under his influence. It had ruined her life... stolen away her beloved husband.
One day I will find a way to be free of this blasted burden, she thought angrily, growling without being able to suppress it, willing Nemo to hurry. The last thing she wanted was to attack him when he came through that door after taking too long.
* * *
With a great crack of thunder overhead, the door to the bar opened once again, and another rabble of loud men slipped in. They were laughing heartily about something they had just seen, and gesturing out the door. No doubt they had already visited another establishment like this one, and had a few drinks already. And no doubt, they wouldn't make it home this night either. Lightning flashed, but still the heavy looming clouds refused to drop their load.
Over in the corner, at a table on his own, sat a young man, musing over an empty glass mug, letting his thoughts run away with him. He had been run off his feet all week, and now that he had a chance to relax, he was bored out of his mind. Despite the lethargy he knew he was feeling inside after the troubles of the mission he had undertaken, he couldn't help but think that he should be doing something.
Special Agent Thomas Sawyer exhaled slowly, and decided that wasting away his hours in this seedy bar probably wasn't the best idea. So it was that with another sigh, he stood himself up from the table. It felt odd not to be carrying his modified Winchester rifle in his hand, but as he passed through the crowds, he was almost glad he'd left it in his residence.
The Secret Service had contacted him rather miraculously out of the blue not long ago, and proposed a mission to him. Not being the kind to say no to a bit of excitement and intrigue, he had accepted. Of course, it was a marvel on its own that he had managed to escape this one unscathed. It hadn't been without its risks. He had just revealed something major to the government, who -as always- hadn't quite showed their gratitude fairly. A good old figurative pat on the back, and encouragement to keep up the good work.
With a somewhat cynical sneer, Tom Sawyer exited the bar, looking up at the sky. It was black, the stars hidden completely behind the thick, threatening clouds that should have burst with rain hours ago. He reckoned he'd be lucky to make it back to his place without getting soaked.
At least I get to go back to the League tomorrow night, he thought with a sense of relief, remembering the deal he had set up with Nemo and the others to rendezvous with him at midnight the following evening. They had known he'd return... as he had. He found it difficult to stay away now.
Shoving his hands none too gently into his black overcoat pockets, Tom turned left on the street, and started down it at a steady pace. It was quiet out tonight, despite the amount of drunken and rowdy men he had just left behind in that bar, the one he had already forgotten the name of. There was barely a soul in sight.
That was of course, if you didn't count the lone young woman he caught sight of walking along the street adjacent to the one he travelled. Her pace was slow, and her head hung low, a veiled cap on her head, a red gown and evening jacket keeping out the cold.
Furrowing his brow, Tom debated going over for a closer look.
She shouldn't be out on her own, he thought, doesn't she read the papers? People get attacked out here on their own.
It wasn't the fact that she was a woman on her own... he knew first hand how capable the female of the species could be. It was just... not sensible to be walking alone. He reminded himself of what he was doing then, and cleared his throat quietly.
Maybe I could just offer to walk her home; he mused, and cocked his head as she gazed at him. Ice blue eyes could be made out, even at their distance, and for a moment, he couldn't move, as though something in her stare locked him firmly in place.
After a moment, he shook himself out of his reverie, and made his way over to her. She kept on her way, not looking back at him again. She seemed in her own little world... she didn't look as though she were paying attention. He thought it looked as though a carriage could hit her and she wouldn't even have noticed it approaching.
Shaking off the thought, he approached her from behind, pace steady so as not to startle her. When he had seen her face, he had supposed she was around twenty, if that. A dangerous age to be walking alone, especially if one didn't know how to defend theirself. Tom... well, he had his twin Colt pistols to keep him reassured.
"Miss?" he called to her, receiving no response for his troubles. Still, he persisted... maybe she hadn't heard him. "Miss, are you all right? You need someone to walk you-"
She had turned abruptly. Don't follow her, Sawyer, just don't follow her. She wants to be left alone, clearly. I said don't follow her!
His feet were already carrying him after her steadily. Obviously, something had her spooked, and he wanted to know what it was. It was the gentleman inside of him that wanted to help whenever it bloody could... blasted thing.
"Miss? Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you!" he called after her again, even as she started to jog, and glanced over her shoulder to see who was chasing her.
"God dammit," he mumbled, jogging after her, "why do I even bother?" He wasn't even sure of this himself, as he turned a corner.
Why is it always dark alleyways? Tom thought angrily, and then cursed under his breath, and turned to go the other way, before hearing something that sounded like glass shatter down noisily that same alley.
On instinct, he whirled, and ran down the alley, coming out under a wan lamp overhead that served only to illuminate the still shards of a broken bottle, still wet with whatever had been inside it.
"What the-"
That was as far as he got before the young woman stepped out of the shadows, and took in his form curiously, cocking her head to one side. Under her cap, curly black locks could just be seen, pinned back away from her face. She was shorter than him by a good five or six inches, but that didn't stop the chill running down his spine.
"Why is it that a 'gentleman' will always fret over a lonely woman?" she asked of him in a dreamy voice, sounding distant and lost to the real world.
Tom made to pace back from her, before a sharp pain in the rear of his skull made him give an abrupt cry, almost faltering on his feet as he clutched his head in shock. He looked up at the young girl, who was smiling at him now almost in intrigue as to his reaction to... to whatever was going on.
Cursing himself for even following the woman against his better judgement, Tom let out a cry as another wave of searing agony coursed through his skull, threatening to tear it apart any minute. It felt as though someone were ramming white-hot knives into his brain, and twisting them.
He fell to one knee, one hand still clutching his head as if it would help the pain, gasping desperately for air, eyes clamped shut against it all. The light above seemed so bright now.
His other knee gave, and Tom placed a hand on the floor, feeling the cold alley beneath his palm. If he could only reach for his guns...
Another wave, and then another wracked his skull, and before long he was on his side, curled into what he supposed could have been a safe position if he had known who or what the attacker was. It didn't stop the searing agony from tearing at the interior of his skull. Colours swam in his vision, and everything started to blur.
Realising too late that he had stepped right into a trap, he just managed to make out the three forms melting out of the shadows before darkness claimed him, and the pain was lost on him altogether.
