Yes, it's been done, please don't write me telling me it's been done. I'm aware. But everyone has their own little geek fantasies and this has been one of mine for a long time. With that said, I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: Owning naught
A New League For a New Time
An extremely nervous gentleman, (ordinary, not extraordinary) was walking quickly down a plain hallway in an undisclosed location hidden from the world. His superiors had called him in and they did not sound happy. He had short brown hair and a brown mustache, neatly trimmed. Factor in a boring gray suit and he was as plain and forgettable as the hallway he strode through, which was the whole point.
Finally, he reached the rather unnecessary darkness of the situations room, where he was to briefed on whatever it was that had his employers in such a tizzy.
"Hello Mr. Jones. Thank you for showing up promptly," said deep voice.
Mr. Jones managed to shrug in a way that didn't look sloppy. "No trouble, this is my job after all. So, if I may be so bold as to ask, what's the predicament?"
This time a woman's voice answered. "Are you aware of the man who was known as the Phantom?"
Mr. Jones nodded. "Of course, he was Professor James Moriarity, the man who created a league of extraordinary individuals to use bits of them and sell them to countries so they could make war on each other."
The woman continued. "Yes, but he was stopped by the very same league he created to use, after which a real league was set up to be recruited whenever trouble would arise."
"Yes, yes, I know the history of our establishment, what does this have to with anything?" Mr. Jones asked.
"Have you not read the papers Mr. Jones? Countries are at each other's throats! Not an unusual occurrence, but what is unusual is that these incidents practically mirror those that commenced in 1899. Even odder, the president is having a peace council with more than half the world leaders in one week, guess where?"
Jones's throat felt dry. "Venice?"
"Correct."
Jones swallowed. "But, this can't be Moriarity! He was killed, and even if he wasn't, he'd be dead now! How could someone be copying the secret dealings of a madman that were done one hundred and seven years ago?"
"We don't know Mr. Jones, but we must stop it, while we compile more information, it is your responsibility to recruit a new league for a new era to combat an old evil, we have the list and location, all you have to do is round them up, and point them in the right direction."
Jones looked even more nervous than before he came in. "I humbly accept the task and hope that I shall prevail."
"You had better," Was all the encouragement he received.
He was handed a thick envelope of profiles, which he leafed through as walked back to his office. So this was to be the new league:
An assassin/single mother, a millionaire with a vigilante streak, a daredevil turned CIA agent, a thief with a head for strategy, two Englishmen: an ex-military driver and an exorcist, as well as a creature from Hell itself. Interesting.
Meanwhile, in a modest adobe house somewhere in the Southwest, a tall, blonde woman loomed threateningly over her latest foe.
"You're all out of options with nowhere to go," she sneered, "I eat punks like you for breakfast!"
And with that, she cracked him over the edge of a frying pan, gooey egg splattering the inside of it.
Beatrix Kiddo, otherwise known as the Bride, was making omelets.
Her now five-year old daughter BB was watching cartoons in the living room. Beatrix leaned out of the kitchen. "What do want in your omelet BB?"
"Cheese," she answered. "Mommy, Spongebob's gone!"
"What?" asked Beatrix as she came into the room. She saw that Spongebob was indeed gone and had been replaced with a stiff-looking man in a suit.
"This is a Channel 10 news update. Tensions in Europe continue to rise as London has been trampled by what eyewitnesses are describing as a massive, super-tank. The perpetrators captured are all ex-military Germans, but German officials are claiming ignorance and that they have no affiliation with the attackers. This is just yet another item that will be addressed at the Nations Conference in Venice."
"How strange," she muttered, as the broadcast finished and Spongebob returned.
But the day was about to get a good deal stranger. And it would start with a knock at the door.
Knock! Knock!
Beatrix looked through the peephole, her hand flitting to the sword concealed in the umbrella rack. You never could be too careful.
But the man on her doorstep did not look like an assassin, and Beatrix had seen plenty of assassins, had even been on herself, this man looked more like an accountant.
She opened the door. "Yes?"
"Are you Ms. Kiddo?" he asked, all politeness and formality.
"Yes, and you are?"
"You may call me Mr. Jones ma'am. I have something rather important to tell you. May I come in?"
Beatrix raised an eyebrow. "What can you tell me inside that you can't tell me right here?"
Mr. Jones actually smiled. "Ms. Kiddo, I do not intend to harm you or your daughter, I am quite well informed of your skills and know you could kill me in an instant with your five-point palm exploding heart technique."
Her eyes widened. "How could you know that?"
"My employers are very well informed. Now, may I please come in?"
"Fine."
She led him to a sitting room filled with photographs, mostly of BB or her and BB, but one small one was of her and an older man with a wide smile on his face.
"Your husband?"
"No," she replied stiffly, "One of my former employers."
Mr. Jones wisely decided to change the subject.
"Anyway, to get right to the heart of the matter, I have come on behalf of my employers to tell you that the world is in danger and that only you and six other gifted individuals have a chance of saving it."
Beatrix glanced back to the umbrella rack. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to laugh?"
"I'm dead serious! Who do you know who would go to such trouble to make you believe this? And for that matter do I strike you as the joking type?"
Beatrix thought about it. The man definitely did not look like the type to play games, and anyone who would try to set her up was dead. This kind of thing really wasn't their style anyway.
She sighed. "Say I believe you, what sort of 'danger' is the world facing?"
"An evil that was thought to be extinguished over a hundred years ago. A man who called himself the Phantom tried to throw the world into chaos…"
It was more than an hour later when Mr. Jones finished explaining and BB wandered in to ask about the omelets.
Mr. Jones turned to Beatrix. "Think about what could happen if this new man succeeds, to the world…to your daughter."
Beatrix, in all honesty, couldn't care less about the world, but she would do anything for her daughter. And if things were going to get as nasty as this man Jones claimed, well, perhaps it was time once again to strap on her Hattori Hanzo sword and kick some ass. To be honest, she'd been a little bored lately. Not that she wanted to repeat her spree that ended so recently, God no. But Bill had even said she'd never really change. Once a killer, always a killer, well maybe now she could kill for the good guys.
"What her, where can she stay?" the former bride asked quietly.
"I would take her to the facility, it's the safest place on the planet and I swear to God I won't let anything happen to her."
"You'd better not," she replied, grabbing the sword from the umbrella stand and shoving it against his throat faster than he could blink.
"Because if something does happen to her while I'm gone, I get to watch you choke to death on your own blood."
"Charming."
She sheathed the sword and stood up. "Mr. Jones, I agree to help you."
He nodded and stood up. "Welcome to the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen!"
And that's all for the first chapter. It'll be a little slow because I want to go through all the characters, give each of 'em a chance. Some of them are obvious from their descriptions but I think I'll surprise you with a few. See ya next time!