Progress, a League of Extraordinary Gentlemen fanfic

By A. Keller


Chapter 1


In the bookcase-filled, cherry-paneled Round Room, Mycroft Holmes set his teacup into its saucer. He eyed Rodney Skinner - who, to any untrained eye, was no more than a floating white face over a leather trench coat - with disgust and suspicion.

"You mean to say that Edward Hyde, one of the most dangerous men on earth, was taken from you?"

Skinner scratched an invisible collarbone in embarrassment. "I suppose that is wha' I mean to say, sir."

Mycroft hung his face in his palm. Then, after a very deep breath, he looked back up with a frustrated, playful gleam in his eyes.

"Well, this should be rather interesting, then, shouldn't it?"

THREE DAYS EARLIER

A huge, knife-shaped silver vessel, the Nautilus, sat at port outside good old London Town, attracting more than a little attention from passerby. The white ship gleamed in the daylight as a floating anachronism, a beacon of the future. In town, its crew and passengers were enjoying a day's rest. Skinner did his best to paint up his skin and headed for the pubs. Tom Sawyer, the youngest, a naïve but warmhearted American, was led about the city by Mrs. Mina Harker for sightseeing. Henry Jekyll had made sure his vials of elixir were locked up on the ship. He wandered aimlessly and alone through the place he once called home. The Captain, Nemo, preferred to stay on his ship, "just to be sure" everything was pristine and running exceptionally well.

Mina and Tom sat on a bench near the base of the statue of Horatio Nelson, looking out over Trafalgar square. Tom whistled.

"I've got to hand it to you," he said, "England may be just a little island, but damned if it's not old."

Mina let out a closed-mouthed chuckle. "Hundreds of years of history." She looked over at him, teasing. "Your America has some growing up to do."

"Hey, watch it." He shoved her lightly and laughed.

There was a sudden, bright flicker of light as every single one of the electric streetlamps in the area surged simultaneously. They went out for a moment, then flicked back on and resumed their old electric hum. Tom and Mina looked around.

"That was odd," Mina said.

Tom shrugged. "Maybe your country is just taking a little breather, in its old age."

"Oh, stop it." They laughed.

But on the other side of town Rodney Skinner, preparing to take down his fifth Guinness of the day with a rowdy group of new "friends," witnessed the same event. The electric lights in the pub surged and flickered, and with a pop one of the bulbs above the bar burst. Broken glass scattered around bottles of liquor.

"Bloody-" the bartender threw his rag to the ground. "You see, that's the problem with these electric lights, the buggers are never reliable. I just wiped this down a second ago…" He moved to clean the mess. Skinner took a moment to look around in (drunken) confusion, then shrugged and downed his drink.


In a dark London alley, there was a low flash of blue light. Then the sound of two pairs of feet hitting the ground and a chorus of groans and releases of breath.

"Jesus, that was a rough one," said a young male voice.

"Goddamn it, turn of the century, and we hit a point of flux." A slightly older, alto female voice. Both had American accents. "I feel like this happens every time we get something in England. Motherfucker."

There in the alleyway, panting and wincing, had appeared a young man and woman in clothes England wouldn't see for at least the next 100 years. The young man, leaning on his arm against the wall, looked lanky but strong, wearing a wide black sweatband around a thick shock of dark brown hair. He was uniformed in what looked like a modified suit – but oddly squared off and off-centered at the lapel, black, with a navy dress shirt and an electric yellow tie that was so thin it could have passed as a noose. The young woman standing next to him straightened out her posture and tucked a gleaming silver object back in her pocket. Her brassy hair was pulled back in a tight bun, covered with a thick white headband. She was tall, toned in the shoulders and fierce and athletic in the face, clad in a white button down shirt, dark gray jacket, suspenders and skinny black pants. A long, narrow sword was sheathed at her hip. She looked down at her clothes.

"Oh oops. I'm going to get burned at the stake if I walk out wearing this."

The young man caught his breath, straightened his strange tie and stood next to her. "Aw, it's 1900, not 1492. You'll be fine."

"I'm wearing pants. I'll be murdered. Here. Give me the com, I'll call Cassandra." She put out her hand.

The young man reached into a pouch on the holster weighing on his belt and retrieved a strange black device. He handed it to the young woman. She fiddled with a few knobs and buttons and finally leaned her face over the device.

"Transporter contacting base, we've reached our point. Is Cassandra there?"

A voice picked up on the other end. "Hey, is this officer Ryder's transporter? Can you –" "- No, come on, they asked for me, Gill, give me-" another voice fought for the receiver. "Cass, you can't just—" "Give me!" Crackling noises.

"Hey, guys. What's up?" the second voice said victoriously.

"Hey," said the young woman. "We forgot to change. Can you send us some camo?"

"Sure thing, babe. Sending."

A light humming noise, and fully furnished late Victorian outfits materialized on the two in the place of their old garb. The young woman's hair came down out of her bun and fell almost to her waist.

"Thanks. That's all. Transporter out, awaiting further orders." And she shut off the device.

They examined themselves again, satisfied with their dress.

"Okay," said the young man, "Good to go."

"Can I see the name again?"

The young man handed her some sort of ID card. She examined it.

"That's ominous. Doctor Henry Jekyll, Physicite brutus." She handed it back to him. "Hope we're not dealing with Jekyll and Hyde down here."

The young man laughed a little, uneasily. "Give me a break, KC." They walked out of the alley and into the street.


Henry Jekyll had taken to sitting on the curb by the cobblestone, head in his hands. Edward Hyde pressed him.

You know where it is, we've been there so many times before. Just a little bit of blood, Henry, that's all I need.

"No, you bastard." Jekyll hissed to himself. "Y-you know I can't, anyway, I left every vial on the ship."

Don't be stupid. We share this body of yours. I know you brought one, just one, and put it in your coat pocket.

"Shut up." He bit his lip, pushing his fingers through his hair.

Blood, Henry. All of those despicable whores, all of their blood. I've missed tearing them to pieces.

"We just got back home, I'll not let you dirty my hands with blood." His face took on the gleam of a cold sweat.

You're worthless! You mean nothing without me, and you know it. Drink it.

"No! No, no, no…" Shaking, he dug his fingernails into his scalp.


The young man and woman from the alley had rounded a corner and were making their way down the street, past carriages and chatting passers-by.

"We can't just ask people if they know him," said the young man. "What if he's been terrorizing the city? What if we're implicated?"

"We've got to do something. I'm not going to wander around London all day in hopes of finding him."

"Fine, fine." The young man took the ID card from earlier and extracted the black and white image from it. The two approached an older, bearded fellow.

"Excuse me, sir," said the young man. "Do you know this man? Henry Jekyll?"

The man touched his beard and nodded. "Yes, Jekyll. Fine man, my nephew knew him. But I believe he moved out of London a year or so ago, for academic reasons or what have you." He eyed them suspiciously. "What does a young couple like you need from him?"

The young man laughed awkwardly. "We're not a couple. We just need to ask him a few questions, that's all."

"Well, I can't help you, I'm very sorry. Good day." The man made off down the street.

"Could have been worse, I guess," said the young woman.

The young man massaged his temples. "Oh, man, why would they send us to London if he's moved out? I… Are you sure your coordinates are right?"

"Hey. Of course they are. London, September 12th, 1900. That's what I was given."

The young man hissed between his teeth and turned around anxiously. The streets swam with black- and gray- suited, pale, sideburned Englishmen. Jekyll could be anywhere, he could be everywhere, he could be nowhere. The young man continued to turn in circles as he pressed his palms over his face. He stopped, peered forward across the street.

Then he froze.

"Lucky," he said. He tugged on the young woman's sleeve. "Constantine, look."

She turned to see the man from the photograph, Jekyll in the flesh, sitting on a curb with his knees at his chest.

"All right!" She said. "Jesus, is he okay?"

The young man pulled a small hypodermic syringe out of his belt-pouch and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He exhaled nervously, preparing.

"In broad daylight," he said, and they began to move warily toward the man. "Here we go. Doctor Jekyll."

The two crossed the street and approached the doctor, who appeared to be talking to himself. His hair was a dark, fiery red and his skin was incredibly pale, glazed with sweat. Regardless, the young woman raised both eyebrows and let out a hum of approval. The young man elbowed her in censure. They stopped next to the doctor.

Dr. Jekyll didn't notice them. The young man cleared his throat loudly and the doctor jumped and looked up as if he'd broken from a trance.

"I – I'm sorry," he said shakily. "May I be of service?" Then his eyes moved off them for a moment and, as if someone had suggested something incredibly rude, he said sharply, "No!"

The young man and woman looked at each other.

"Doctor Jekyll," said the young man, assuming an authoritative stance. He dove into protocol. "Please don't transform at this time. My name is officer Rotto Ryder, of the Division of Varos Affairs. It's my job to bring you in for trial regarding the use of your abilities for criminal behavior. You have the right to remain silent."

You see, Henry? Someone has found you out. You're no more than a vessel for me. They'll hurt us, Henry. Quick, drink!

Stunned, the doctor tried to fight off Hyde and comprehend the strange couple standing before him. "What are you talking about? You're Americans… how… who do you work for?"

"We're from the future," said the young man.

"Rotto, don't confuse him," said the young woman.

Doctor Jekyll reared back. "You're completely mad. What have I done?"

"Apparently a lot," said the young woman. "A lot of murder, a lot of destruction. Ringing any bells?"

Do it, you swine! Save us!

Jekyll went white. "Y-you have the wrong man." One hand reached slowly inside his jacket. Rotto looked at his partner and she nodded back at him.

In a flash, Jekyll grabbed his vial of formula, removed the stopper and poured it down his throat. Officer Rotto Ryder moved just as fast. Before the bottle was completely empty the young man had stabbed the small syringe through Jekyll's coat and into his shoulder, injecting all the liquid therein. He ripped it out and Jekyll cried out in pain, pushing him away and doubling back, still seated. Then, after a moment, he looked back up at the two people standing over him. Streetgoers continued to pass by.

"Look what you've done," he said, quietly, menacingly. "In a few moments, everyone on this street is in danger. Especially you lot. You'll see." He winced in pain and leaned back. He held there for a moment, waiting.

The doctor's eyes flew open. Nothing had happened. He looked up at his attackers in sheer terror and they gathered him off the ground, one under each arm. Weakness spread through his body.

"What have you done?" He said. "What have you done? Oh God…"

People began to stare as they effectively dragged him off. The young woman nodded at them to mind their own business. She faked an English accent.

"Just taking ol' dad back to therapy, don't worry about us; move along now," she said. They listened.

And the young officer Rotto Ryder and his assistant dragged a groaning, semi-conscious Henry Jekyll away down the street.