Miles sat with his knees scrunched up beneath his chin, his stubble growing in thick and his hair dishevelled. He'd known fear and he thought he had overcome it but this was an entirely new level; inescapable, all powerful, swallowing him up and leaving him to die of it. In these moments, he didn't think he'd mind.

He should have known Creedy would find away. He'd stopped asking for information - that should have been hint enough.
Finch had somewhat disappeared off the radar too, he hadn't tried to contact Miles in weeks, he hadn't even seen Dominique and V – no matter how hard he scanned the roof tops, he couldn't find him. He daren't venture back into the tube station either. His resolve had fallen to pieces simply by being told that he was going to be first in line with the firing squads: he was going to kill people with guns while they fought back feebly with sticks, stones and spades from the garden shed.

He sniffed, he sobbed.

As an extra precaution, the Shadow had been designated rounds. Their job now, was to roam the streets at uncanny times of the day and night and simply cut down whoever was out to deface the country – enemies of the state, they would be labelled. They'd been given bullets to put in their guns and told they were only rubber bullets but Miles had taken a sneak peak and found a lie.

So his dismantled gun and shards of bullet lay on a table a little way away from him, the phone a little way away from it. Evil things that he once used so off-handed now petrified him. Things he took for granted that perhaps, now that he thought on it, he shouldn't have– violent things.

He was a mild man, he thought, he wasn't designed for violence and he never meant to put himself on a path that lead him here; all he wanted to do was hide!

Well, ghosts always come for you.

Miles stood up, weary of his legs as they shook beneath him, exhausted from two days lack of sleep, he did his rounds in a sleepless induced haze, barely seeing what was about him.
He checked the time; 3am in the morning. It was time to do his rounds again anyway; sleep was always going to be interrupted.

He walked out into the night, the air chilling him to his bones despite his thick coat.
And despite the constant failed attempts, Miles wondered about the streets looking up.

"Come on, mate, you have to be watching this," he whispered as his eyes scanned the roof tops. That was how he got about wasn't it?
A clang from an ally had him turning on his heel to find the source of the sound, so offensive it was to the still of the night. Odd though it was, London was one of the few cities that actually did go to sleep at night.

He padded through the darkness, his torch dim in its hue. The circular haze landed upon the country's unity poster, over its words, in red paint was V's sign and below it, a can.

Miles chuckled grimly, throwing his light from his left to his right whereupon it found another familiar site, a tube station.

His grim chuckle lost to the night, Miles went into what can only be described as a trans. He headed off for the central line tube, not too far from where he was but a bus would do though it was slow and the lights went by like a dream. He got off near Trafalgar Square and found his secret 'authorised personal only' door and walked in, only coming back to life once he'd reached the bottom of the broken down escalators.

He tentatively poked his head around the entrance to the platform, memories of his last encounter soaring back like a train to a brick wall.

Once sure there was no one out to get him, Miles jumped down onto the track and started off, the crunch of gravel bouncing off the curved interior of the tube.
He walked with purpose, he walked in between sleep and wake, somewhat absolutely sure that where'd he'd end up, was exactly where he intended to get to.

He stopped suddenly; movement ahead told him to be cautious and on his guard and he reached for his gun to find it wasn't there for he had left it on his table. He cursed under his breath, picked up the biggest rock he could find and kept moving, all but tiptoeing as he approached the dull, eerie light of the platform, loud thuds, footsteps, a grunt here and there, another thud before it stopped and there was the crunch of gravel as someone dropped onto it. Miles stopped.

Then a breath that came from the movement of a cloth and before he knew it, Miles was suddenly heaved and hauled and thrown onto the platform where he rolled in a stiff pain, letting a wince have a sound.

"Ah," a familiar muffled voice came from behind, "Mr Miles, I feared you were someone else, I apologise profusely,"

Miles rolled onto his back, staring up at the mouldy ceiling, grimacing. V bent to him,

"Are you alright?"

"I -…ow, V," Miles glared at him, "Help me up,"

V chuckled, offered his hand and heaved, Miles was on his feet faster than anticipated, the speed leaving him momentarily disorientated. When he came around, he found V carrying large bundles of God knew what in and out of the train, he did so with ease and systematically.

The outside of the train, Miles noticed, was quite beautiful, V had gone to great lengths to make the train shimmer and shine in the light,

"Lovely," Miles commented as V walked past yet again.

V glanced at him, as he walked by,

"Yes, I did it myself; the paint is gelignite as are these bundles of mine,"

Miles' eyes widened,

"Pardon me?"

"You are pardoned," V walked past him again to retrieve another,

"What are you doing with it?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm doing with it but if you want an honest answer, I'm disposing of it. Evey will have nothing to do with it,"

"Have you seen her?"

V stopped briefly; Miles detected a hint of sagging shoulders,

"No," he said finally, "But you might, I feel you might."

He turned to Miles, looking at him directly,

"You and Evey are more similar than you think, you're both equally as brave, equally as doubtful of that trait but I feel in time, a short time I might add, this might come clear,"

Miles smirked,

"I doubt it,"

"Yes well, I don't play with dice. Can you please bring that last box over?"

Miles looked over at the last gelignite box, hesitantly, he was fine with watching V load everything up but to assist…to ASSIST?

He looked at V and then back to the box, to V who looked back and Miles could feel the amusement that resembled the mask he wore, and then back to the box.

"Alright, Mr Miles, I'll spare you this, but your time is coming," he marched past Miles, picked the box up and gestured for Miles to follow him in whereupon he was greeted by dozens of these boxes and it seemed like they were in every cart too,

"Holy shit…" Miles breathed, "It's real…you're going to do it…"

"Did you ever think I would not?"

Miles looked at him, 'vicariously cast as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of fate…'

No, fate had vicariously recast him as the indifference between the two.

"V, one question – why the masks?"

"Can you imagine a thousand of me? Powerful isn't it?"

Miles could feel the self-satisfied grin as it gleamed from within the depths.

"Alright, fine. Why didn't I get one? You left me out, and dare I say, I'm offended?"

"Oh," V pushed past him irritably, "I've got one for you, don't you worry. There, do you feel better?"

"Where is it?"

"First you must ask why you want it,"

Miles fell silent.

"What do you plan to do now, Mr Miles?" V asked, cocking his head,

Miles had no idea…his head was spinning.

"Go home I guess, and wait to see what happens next,"

"There are 4 days before the fifth…at 11pm on November the 4th; if you are in anyway inclined to search for me…I'll be around here,"

Miles frowned but nodded his goodbye, having seen what he'd come to see and retreated into the open, dawn breaking over the city and through the cracks in the walls.

OoOoOoO

Four days slipped by unusually quickly and Finch had become all but a recluse. His experience at Lark Hill led him back to Dominique in a haze. Dominique had then hesitantly given up everything he'd found about the workers of Lark Hill and that further sent him back to his encounter with 'William Rookwood' who was actually V – which infuriated him then but now it no longer mattered. That peculiar encounter opened up his mind in the first place and now Finch was in a place he wished he wasn't. A place where he wished he could have remained ignorant to blasphemy but was also vaguely empowered by the knowledge but then didn't know what to do about it…if anything.

Every now and then he allowed himself to breathe in relief and simply believe that it was ok, and that V had it all covered.
All he really had to do was wait and see, to let it happen.

Things really were going pear shaped as far as he was concerned. Government security was going haywire, surveillance was well and truly gone and everyone knew, all they had were eyes and nobody had eyes at the back of their heads and the need to worry was slowly depleting within.
The government, Finch was sure was the plan, was starting to implode. A slow atomic sort of explosion that rumbled and eventually burst out in light and what…freedom…was freedom a light?...would be thrust upon them and England would be on a new path.

Finch shook his head…now, chaos. Chaos had been thrust upon them, it had burst through his door…it had begun days, even months ago and he had denied it. But V was striving for 'do as you please' not 'take what you want', there was a subtle difference and freedom meant knowing the difference between the two and having a choice between two different futures that started off on the same path.

Morning after morning he'd be awake before his alarm, he'd watch the sun peep over the horizon lazily, his eyes heavy from a sleepless night, his body craving rest and yet his mind kept on keeping on.

This chaos now, the beginnings of it, was the first step – V was taking a risk. They all were.

He couldn't be just anybody; he cared too much about this place, London, this God forsaken spit of city that was as much a hell hole as it was a symbol of power.

The parliament building was cast as shadow against the red light of dawn and everyone knew what they said about Shepherds and red skies. Finch narrowed his eyes – his morals had also been torn up to shreds and left to float down the Thames. It was time for a lot of people to make a choice…

And…

Something was happening. The army…

No…

Finch squinted,

"Oh…" he looked over at his clock, November 4th had finally arrived, "Should have known."

OoOoOoO

Riot police were marching through the streets like nobody's business; the army were setting up outside the houses of parliament and rumours had everybody looking to the sky but only Mr Benjamin Miles knew better; Mr Miles and Evey Hammond.

They hadn't been able to take their eyes off the tube stations whenever they walked passed them.

Miles's adrenaline was pumping and had continued to pump through his veins since the moment he first became aware that he was awake. The eve of the infamous November the 5th had arrived and no doubt this was the day for chaos to reign supreme.

Miles stepped out into the cold November air and didn't bother going to the office, instead he listened. He listened to the sounds of the buzzing city as it tossed and turned and shook itself awake, the air was electric, mixed with unstable ingredients of fear and excitement.

Fear meant irrational responses to irrational excitement. Civil war could be so easily provoked, genocide so easily a result, hysteria inevitable –

But Miles, in his heart, had made his choice. He knew this and he knew he'd stand by it and so far so good with not being called in for Riot police, but the day was still young and he also still knew himself to be a mild man, fearful.

He wafted like the shadow he was through streets, alleyways, courtyards, abbey's until he stopped. His eyes took a while to adjust to what was before him.

A woman, balled of head, defined of jaw, petite, brown eyes and lovely yet…she'd hardened and now differed from the woman he first 'met' all those months ago. He would have laughed if he had it in him, the tables had turned. He padded over to her carefully, still unsure if she was actually her.

"Evey Hammond?"

The woman turned her head to look at him, slow and graceful, full of knowledge and fearless. She smiled when she saw him,

"Mr Miles,"

Miles stopped short…the last time they'd met was one well worth forgetting. She was so angry at him and he so angry at her and Mr Deitrich…oh, Mr Deitrich.

"I thought you dead," he whispered, almost inaudibly, "I was…afraid that you were,"

"Yes…" she dropped her gaze and was suddenly thoughtful, "Yes, I was afraid too. So afraid…I thought I would die,"

"How did you get out?"

"V let you me go?"

Miles stalled.

"V…let you go?"

"Yeah…" she chuckled grimly, "He was behind my incarceration…unfortunately not Gordon's, though,"

"God," Miles felt himself weaken, his legs just about ready to fail him.

Evey shifted over and gestured to the seat beside her, allowing Miles to plop down perplexed.

"You look stronger," was all he managed.

"Yes, I have V to thank for that. Mr Miles, he put me through hell. He cut my hair, he tortured me and in so doing, taught me about myself and I am grateful,"

"I would have hated him for that!" Miles felt a misplaced rage rise, confusion bubbling up alongside – he wasn't supposed to be angry at V, not now that he'd invested himself in anarchy.

"And I did…he created a lie and I learnt truth…I am strong. I am brave. I cannot die," she glanced at him knowingly, "The same could be said about you,"

Miles deflated at that point, the rage simmering down to shame, the confusion without point,

"No, it can't. So many times I thought it could but…too many times I have let that slip past me. I'm set for riot police, Evey!" he threw up his hands for emphasise, "If I get caught up in that shit, I'm gone,"

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before pulling out a small, neatly folded A4 sheet of paper and handed it to him.

"What's this?" he took it from her in puzzlement,

"It what helped me survive, it's a small piece of freedom. V gave it to me through a hole in the wall but he didn't write it. Valerie did. V's got his original copy, I wrote this out because I wanted her with me always. I can go back and re-write it from V but you have only this. Sorry," she shrugged, "So keep it. I was shown the doors that led me out of my cage – this helped me find them and helped me decide to take a step out. I think it will help you find the way to your doors too. Also," she let out a puff of air, smiling warmly, "I think you'll relate more,"

Miles unfolded the piece of paper,

"Who's Valerie?"

"She was in the cell next to V, helped him survive – though she didn't,"

Miles looked at her, but Evey only shrugged,

"Read and be enlightened. She was stronger than any of us could ever hope to be but understand this before you take a step through; happiness isn't freedom nor is freedom happiness. They are merely compatriots – sometimes they can hinder each other."

Miles just looked at her incredulously, before returning his attention to the paper,

"Thank you," he said awkwardly, "Oh wise and wonderful one,"

She laughed and stood up,

"Good Bye, Mr Miles, I'll see you when I see you again."

And she was gone. Like a ghost.

With naught else to do, Miles began to read.
And quietly, without thought, as the words read, 'My name is Valerie', Miles whispered,

"Hi Valerie,"

And as if a connection was made, Miles was there with her and he loved her and he hated them and he was angry and then he was calm but at the very end, as tears dribbled down his pale face, he was warm. He was alright.

Then his phone rang, drawing him back and a short time later he was in the office and an even shorter time later he was tucking the biography away into the heart pocket of his new blue, riot uniform all squeaky clean.

They shoved a shield into his hands and told him to march, this bazaar man Mr Durnham with his entire face seemingly put on askew, a big nose and hard, hard eyes and the other policeman around Miles equally as hard and mismatched. Miles, beneath his helmet, tried to find some of his own but it was impossible to tell with the balaclava hiding that which the helmet left out. He felt violent, he felt small and fickle but he had Valerie's letter in his pocket – it would be ok, he knew what he was going to do and if he timed it right…it might just throw everything.

In a moment of self-acceptance, the first time he'd ever felt it, he turned to his comrade with a shrug,

"I'm about to do something stupid,"

His comrade looked at him, his eyes showing his carelessness, and he snorted,

"We all are, bud,"

Miles wanted to say something else but didn't get the chance.

"MOVE OUT!" shouted Durnham and they all piled into one tiny police van after another, squashed in within an inch of their lives and it smelled like sweat and un-brushed teeth and alcohol.

"I'm fuckin' quitting," Miles growled against the shoulder of another man. He didn't think anyone heard him but was proved otherwise when someone else agreed and they all laughed.

The rides were uncomfortable and with one roaring turn after another leaving them all swearing through the barred window at the driver, they finally arrived and as they had all piled in, so they all piled out…fell out.

"Assemble! MOVE, Boys, ASSEMBLE! MR MILES!"

Miles poked his head around the broad back of the man in front of him,

"Yeah?" He wasn't quite sure where his nonchalance had come from but he enjoyed it.

Durnham scowled at him and muttered something incomprehensible,

"Front and centre, Creedy has had a place especially organised for you – step back, kid," said he to the man in front of Miles and so they gingerly swapped places, Miles offering up a quick thanks but was ignored. Not that he cared.

"Alright, around this next corner is hell – can you hear it?"

Silence.
Miles listened, listened hard but there was nothing. Miles squinted over at Durnham but he paid no attention. He took a deep, manly sniff and then gathered his height,

"Let's move."

He took the first step, prompting every man beside and behind to follow and suddenly, in pristine fashion, Miles was marching beside London's finest to stamp out people with sticks…

They rounded the corner and there, to Miles' sudden shock and surprise, awaited the public – angry, ready for war.

So this was it.

They stopped - the riot police did, following Durnham to a T. He banged his baton against his plastic shield once, twice, thrice and then so did they all. It felt like a battle cry –

"Come on, you bastards," Miles heard Durnham mutter but the crowd hesitated, intimidated by the brutal attire that accommodated the brutality that surely waited. What once seemed so easy, seemed, now, so impossible.

Miles then heard a chuckle…

"We'll just have to do it without the fun then,"

Miles' shoulder's dropped. He had a plan, but his plan was to blend in – this situation required him to stand out.

He took a step forward, then, Valerie's letter still in his pocket and everything stilled. The sound of his own breathing loud within the confines of the mask, his heart pounding in his chest, threatening to jump out his mouth –

Be calm…be still…

Miles turned and looked Durnham, whose eyes were wide and uncomprehending, dead in the eye – took a breath and found the courage and the blub and with all the force he could muster, he swung it.

It cracked against the shield but the plastic thing remained unharmed and so Miles kicked and he got it out of the way, clubbing Durnham in the face; someone else had turned on Miles and he swung at them too, kicked at another, threw his shield in the face of yet another – with every ounce of rage did he fight until he was overwhelmed and he was punched, gutted and thrown to the floor and in the commotion, Miles could see Durnham looking angrily down at him, reaching for his gun.

Miles' eyes widened, he was going to die.

But a roaring, thundering storm of feet and spade and gravel drew all their attention away from him and as Miles arched his back to see over his shoulder, he was just in time to see one roaring man leap over him with such ferocity that it didn't seem to matter whichever way he landed.

Then came them all and Miles had to scramble to his feet amidst war but none of the citizens tried to fight him or even hurt him and so he fought like them. He turned and he continued to beat down fiercely on shield and helmet and like wild fire, news spread within a day.

The police were beaten down, betrayed by one of their own and it became the most important fact of the decade.
It was a small piece of history, when the government realised that even their own people were angry enough to turn on them so cunningly.
Within a day, news had spread all over the country, people fought back without fear and V…

OoOoOoO

V sat cross legged at the head of his fallen dominoes,

"Poor little things," he whispered, letting Guy Fawkse smile for him for the mask was infinitely better at it, "All numbered on your blank little faces, set up by callous fate, affected most and understand the least and understanding, invariably, arrived too late. Numbered and ranked as tiny wooden men. Poor, poor little things," he chuckled, "A snap of history's fingers and down you went."