Chapter 9

Tintin held the gun in one of his sweaty hands; he knew that it wished to slip out of his hands and fly across the room out of reach but that would be his doom. He held on to it tightly because it was his lifeline and without it he would surely perish in this place of death, blood and destruction. There was so much blood in this place, and it reminded him more of the battles he experienced at war, the bodies that had limbs blown off and the organs that were on the floor. Tintin didn't want to die here, but thoughts of his angel kept him strong, when he thought of Anne, the stench of death was less pungent, the fear was lessened.

He was stuffed into a corner; they were shooting at him from only the front and were always trying to sneak around the corner to take him by surprise. But he expected this and shot those if they got too near, managing to steal their bullets to extend the limited time he had, but he would run out soon. Every time one died, three more took his place and the longer Tintin stayed the less likely he was to get out alive, that option was still available and his selfish side kept insisting that he took it. But he stopped listening to that side of himself after he lied to Anne. He made it as such so they would know that this was a suicide mission and that he wasn't intending to see the sun again. He was content in his death when he thought of Snowy and Anne being safe in the darkening world.

They would be fine if he endured this for a bit longer, always a bit longer until he couldn't do it anymore; until he was... He swallowed the word that stuck in his throat and knew that he was more scared than ever, it was a feeling that he didn't have often, but he was deeply afraid. Because he was alone for the first time in many years, he didn't want it to end like this but knew that a battlefield was no place for a dog or for a woman.

He checked the bullets he had – three. Just three left against what seemed like hundreds of men, his time was coming. He would be dead soon, he was uncertain if he could face the unknown, face whatever happened next because he didn't want to die. Tintin's reputation, friends, allies and the lives that he saved, they didn't matter anymore – nothing could matter, not through his eyes.

Tintin heard the man before he saw him, coming around the corner quietly, but not entirely silent and once the head was in view; BANG. An explosion of blood and gone erupted from the man's skull and he dropped to the ground immediately – Tintin sighed with exhaustion from the repetitive actions of pulling the trigger, ending another foolish life through slaughter, two bullets now. Just two against an army of what might as well be millions of troops.

It was then with a heavy gun, heavy heart and conscience he decided once and for all that he would not leave time or luck to decide his fate. He would make it his own and decide when the time was right, when the famous Tintin would at last be killed, what bullet would destroy him and where it would be. He would have that choice, at least, he knew that this was his end, he wished that it wasn't and that he was too stupid to realise but he did. Today was the day that Tintin died, and he would choose what second to come out and face the fire of battle, he would face it like the man he was never thought as. He would be the man that his father may hate or love, he didn't care, he just wanted that man to see what Tintin, his son, had become. A soldier who died on his own terms and did so with an iron face, with no begging or such idiocies that cowards would present themselves with, he would not die a mouse among lions.

Tintin stole another breath; letting the oxygen into his lungs and out as such. He tightened the grip on his gun. Ground his teeth in frustration of his own stubbornness, closing his eyes. He had a good run, but now was the end.

"Hold your fire!"

He opened his eyes. He knew that voice – and it filled him with utter disgust; but surprise and relief that he wasn't dead as well. His fists clenched in utter hate, the grip on his gun increased tenfold.

The bullets stopped almost immediately. No fool would disobey a direct order from a man so feared. "Tintin? Oh, Tintin? Come out so we may settle this like gentlemen."

Tintin stood; he was covered in blood from scars and flesh wounds that would take weeks to heal. His face more dirtied from the dried blood of his enemies, but the fire in his eyes was still enough for some weak men to avert their eyes. The men held their guns loosely in their hands and would shoot him down with a whisper of an order. But he stood his ground. He had to.

"Ah, there you are." George said silkily. "Now I think you know why I'm here. So, please, let's not waste any more time-"

"Go to hell." Tintin spat quickly. "I'm not tellin' you anything."

George's eyes widened at the curse in impressed surprise, some of the men shifted their weight; waiting for the order to blow the idiot boy's brains out. "Are you not? Really? You see I had the impression that this was a suicide mission. One against, what, a thousand of my men? I'm surprised that you got this far, honestly, and that is why I've given you this chance. Because you're a lot braver and stronger than I first thought."

"Why are you doing this?" Tintin asked with nothing but contempt in his voice. "You've killed hundreds of innocent people trying to get here, trying to find Anne, why?"

George flinched, narrowing his eyes as he sneered and strode forward; Tintin pulled his gun up but seconds too late, he was already inches from his ear and was too close for him to blow up any part of him. The man's breath was sour and acidic, burning off Tintin's ear with his toxic words. "Because she belongs to me. She gave herself willingly to me, her father even gave me thousands of pounds so the wedding could be put forward. So I could take her faster into my bed so he could get grandchildren to inherit his broken company and money that Anne didn't deserve. That is what she did to me – she robbed me of my invention that would've made me millions and of the thousands that her father should've given me in advance."

Tintin could barely breathe; he was looking beyond his words, staring at what was invisible to everyone but him. He felt all hope crumble as he stared at Anne, mere feet away, listening to George's poisoned words. Her eyes were solid at staring at them both, but leaking tears that streamed past her cheek and onto the ground below.

"When a fool promises a mass murdering psychopath such as myself his own daughter, one cannot expect to live long once the agreement is broken, can one?"

Tintin turned his head slightly as he said back, "what're you saying?"

"I think you know what I'm saying." George breathed, "You are, after all, a reporter. That is your job, to read between the lines."

He then rose from being so close to Tintin, towering over the boy and peering down at how inferior he truly was. "Now – to business." He snapped his fingers and from nowhere two thugs were upon Tintin, restraining him with their impossibly huge muscles and tightening their grip on him. He felt the hilt of the pistol he held being forced out of his grip and being taken from him. The reporter resisted but could not shake them free; he was too overwhelmed and unprepared to fight back. Yet this didn't stop him from struggling in their grip. "I want something else from you, Tintin, something that you took from me months ago that needs to come back to me. If you can give me the device then you can go home to your work, your dog… even Anne, if you want."

"You'll let her go?"

George turned away from the boy, pacing in a perfect circling around the child with both hands casually behind his back. The sound of his rich boots reverberated back to Anne's hiding place easily, she flinched at each sound. "I shall consider it; the whore is of no use to me anymore. Besides, it's plain that you want her; where is she, anyway? Where is my property?"

Tintin lowered his gaze, feeling the anger rush through him like a powerful waterfall. All other feelings were destroyed and washed away completely. "Like I would tell you anything about Anne after what you did to her. She's probably miles away from here by now, London's a big enough place, you won't find her."

George paused for a moment. Tintin thought that he had seen past the rouse and would find Anne; then all would be lost. He felt his blood cascade around his body at a speed that he didn't expect from standing so still. He swallowed dryly as the man stared into his face as many like him had before, but this man was sadistic beyond any other adversary that Tintin had fought against.

"You really don't know, do you?" George joked, looking at the boy up and down his bloodied torso. "Twelve murders of London patrons including Anne's father, then the massacre down Whitechapel high street, and you still think that's all coincidence? You think that twelve murdering bastards decided to kill people the exact same way at the same time? Perhaps you really cannot see the genius of what I'm doing."

"And what are you doing?" Tintin spat. "Because to me it looks like you've killed hundreds of innocent people just because of your goddamn ego."

"Ego?" George laughed slightly. "This isn't about ego, Tintin, this is about a new beginning. A new age of civilisation where... well I don't want to spoil the surprise."

Tintin shook his head. "You have no soul."

"Soul?" The man smiled smoothly. "Who needs a soul when I have the world?"

"You're insane, then." Tintin said quietly, the thugs tightened their grip on him.

George's eyes became icy and dark suddenly. He leaped forward at impossible speed, clamping his gigantic hand over Tintin's neck. He squeezed with no conviction and his eyes bore into Tintin's as he struggled for oxygen, he tried to pry the hand away but it was too tight, he tried to punch the hand away, somehow, but could not despite how hard his blows normally were. But nothing came through and the aggressor was barely scratched, the world spun and lights brightened around the corners of his vision, he felt his arms collapse uselessly at his sides, so this was the end. This was his end when he felt so pathetic and weak and stupid, so stupid for how many mistakes that he'd made…

"STOP!" Anne screamed and emerged from where she hid, Snowy just behind her. She was staring wide-eyed at Tintin's inert body with tears in her eyes, she didn't wipe them away, she let them fall. Her voice was quiet to him as everything was, at last, slowing. "Stop it your killing him! STOP IT!"

A laugh of pure enjoyment came from George; it was a game to him, one that he had won. "Good evening, my whore. How's the tattoo I gave you? Does it sting still?"

Anne felt her temper quicken and her hand instinctively reach for the scars on her arm, but she supressed it so Tintin might live, so that they might get out of there alive. Tintin's eyes had rolled over into his skull and he was purple in complexion. "Let him go, he's got nothing to do with this."

"Oh I think you're mistaken, my little bitch, he's got as much to do with this as you or I do in the circumstances." George hissed, also aware that Tintin had lost consciousness, and then let go carefully and methodically. Anne could only stare in disbelief and concern at the unconscious body of the boy reporter with a sore red neck. George only smiled, wondering why many of his friends considered Tintin untouchable. "He did, after all, prevent me from killing you, didn't he?"

Anne remembered the bright gunshot and the intense agony from the bulled in her side. It was sketchy, only flashes could be remembered but it was still there. The horrifying memory stalking her and latching onto her very existence for the rest of time. But her face was serious and cold, she didn't want to give the man before her the satisfaction of her tears. She was much stronger than George could even conceive.

She kept her silence.

"The joke's on him now, isn't it?" George continued, holding her stare. "You just seem to be an unlucky charm all round aren't you? A dumb girl who thinks she knows it all, who plays around with guns despite not touching one before in her life. Just like your father." Anne perked up slightly at the mention. "That pathetic old man begged to die. He begged on his knees for his life, or what was left of it. Not that I can blame him, you did leave him after all, didn't you? You left the house he was going to give you to come to me. To be my very own prostitute."

Anne used all her willpower to not attack the monster. He would overpower her easily and she, for now, had the advantage of staying in control. She looked to Tintin, who was lying on the ground by George's feet; he was barely breathing, but alive. Anne was relieved but too angry to express it; when she spoke it was barely a whisper:

"I will never be yours."

The man scowled. "You always were mine, foolish girl. And now - Tintin is too." He nodded to the other men, who picked up the boy by the arms and dragged him across the bloodied floor. They moved with such impossible speed that by the time Anne reacted to what they were doing they were nearly gone out the door.

"No!" she ran with Snowy just in front, his senses keener than her own; she saw them take the sleeping body of Tintin and couldn't let him go like that. She leaped over boundaries and slipped in blood and gore still left behind but didn't care because they were nearly gone. Their escape was too close to completion and Anne had to stop them, she had to get Tintin back because he would be tortured or… worse. But then she saw them – charges waiting to detonate.

Anne grabbed the dog and nearly slid in her sudden turn away from the explosion coming; she protected Snowy with her body as she ran from the bleeping dynamite that was due to combust. She heard a catastrophic bang that caused debris to fly through the air and snag her arms and legs, her back began to burn uncontrollably from the fire of the infernal power that licked up and down her spine. She heard her own screaming as she flew through the air and smelt smoke from the burning, constant burning and heat that suffocated each inch of her.

Then everything went black when she smacked hard on the concrete ground.