A/N: Hi there! Just letting you know that this is my first fanfic on this site. I've been writing it for ages - I posted it on the MB, but it hasn't been well-received (I mean, people liked the first bit, then ditched it). So I decided, to hell with it, post it here!
Also, please note that this will be a pretty long story, if it goes according to plan. But the chapters are kinda short(ish), so hopefully, it balances out. And, as often happens with longer stories, the setting up takes a little while, and can be a little tedious, before any action takes place. So please bear with me.
Oh, and I should probably do the disclaimer. None of the content of The 39 Clues series is mine. This is merely a fan fiction. The basic backbones of some of the OCs and plot points were given to me by the following MBers: ElbowBast1 (Nikki); SilverWolf255 (Essy); ChocolateBlue102; FieryAngel19; PizzaPizza263 (Alissa); AngryNebula1 (Carson); and AnalyzingAcrobatics725 (Emmanuel). I took those ideas (which were all volunteered for the purpose of writing this story) and expanded on them. Thanks, guys!
One more thing: I'll wait until I get a review or two before posting the next chapter. I'd really love to know what you think of it! I'm more than happy with criticism, as long as it's constructive. Much appreciated. :)
Anyhow, I'll get out of the way of the story. Enjoy!
Prologue
Even after fifty years of disuse, the cell was just as he remembered it.
The cell didn't contain much – just a bed, desk, basin and toilet – but it had been enough. Back in the 1960s, the advanced technology of today hadn't existed. People had been fine without it.
The man was sitting on the edge of the bed, his body turned towards the opposite wall of the cell, while his eyes remained settled on the corridor outside. Sunset Strip, as it had been called, was the corridor that lined the cells of D-Block, which contained the maximum security cells used for punishment. The man currently occupying a D-Block cell had spent his four-year sentence in and out of D-Block. It didn't seem to matter whether he followed the rules or not; Olin Blackwell, the warden in charge of the prison from 1961 to its closure in 1963, always had an excuse to send him into Solitary or Strip.
Convicted serial killers did not get off easy in Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary.
Then again, it hadn't helped that Blackwell had been a Cahill.
Olin "Gypsy" Blackwell had been as Cahill as a man could get. With a Lucian mother and Tomas father, Blackwell had inherited leadership, authority and excellent marksmanship. The other inmates had liked Gypsy. He was known as the least strict warden of Alcatraz – but that image was only held by those who weren't enemies of the world's most powerful family.
The Cahills. A bunch of power-hungry, self-centred, ignorant fools. They thought that money and positions of power would ensure security. They saw themselves as untouchable.
The ex-prisoner planned to prove them wrong.
Alcatraz had proved to be a good base. It had been designed as an inescapable fortress, but it was also good at keeping people out. Its position on an island more than two kilometres off the coast of San Francisco made it extremely difficult to access. Boats didn't dare attempt beating the unpredictable, wild currents surrounding the island, just to get to an "abandoned" prison.
The man in Alcatraz's D-Block had bought the island from the U.S. government, purely so he could use it as his base. He had spent years here. He knew the inner workings of the complex. It was perfect.
Just as a smile played on his lips, the man felt, rather than heard, the whispers in the walls. His smile widened. His friends had come out to play.
A minute, he thought. Just another minute.
They seemed to understand, because the whispers withdrew.
The man knew that there were Cahill children who had begun to develop certain abilities. He could guess that these abilities had surfaced specifically to thwart his plans. But it wouldn't matter. The Cahills had shunned him. They had subjected him to hell in Alcatraz. They would pay. And maybe, when they were on their knees, begging for their lives, they would finally see how formidable he was.
He didn't intend to overpower the Cahills with physical prowess or shining intelligence. He would defeat them with an army.
The man knew that the Cahills had many agents, all over the world, trained in warfare. But he didn't need a trained army of live soldiers.
There had always been a rumour that Alcatraz Island was haunted. There were legends about the spirits in the walls. Most disproved these as myths. Now, it was no longer a rumour, or a legend, or a myth.
The ex-prisoner of Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary commandeered an army of the dead. And with it, he would get his revenge on the world's most powerful family.
The Cahills wouldn't stand a chance.
