Disclaimer: Here we have it, the next part! Thank you for everyone who reviewed the last part, hope this part is just as good.
I don't own LXG, Tom Sawyer, Allan Quatermain, Mina Hawker, Skinner, Captain Nemo, Dorian Gray, Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde, M or anything else used in the fic.
Some Tom owies this time. *sniff* poor him... hope you all enjoy this part.
Please, please read then leave a review.
Black Pawn, White Pawn.
~~~
Part 2:- The Mouth of Hell.
~~~
"At his remark I drew the weapon out and laid it cocked upon the table. He still smiled and blinked, but there was something about his eyes which made me glad that I had it there."
~Sherlock Holmes. The Adventure of the Final Problem.
~ By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
1899. Venice...
Tom Sawyer ran though the inside of the Nautilus, his mind alert for any sound that may tell him where his pray lurked. Gray had to still be on the Nautilus, if the state of Ishmael was anything to go by. He had been shot very recently. Tom gritted his teeth together, the image of Ishmael's wounds still burned into his mind.
True, he didn't really know the man, in fact he had barely exchanged two words with him. It was the betrayal that got to him, the fact that Ishmael must have trusted Gray, must have looked at him with trust in his eyes, without a sign of fear, because of course, there was no need to be afraid of Gray, he was on their side.
Tom fingered his two pistols, enjoying the cool feel of the metal. He moved closer and closer to Gray's room, his breathing slowing. The door was slightly ajar, blackness spilling out of it onto the brightly lit corridor. He took a deep, slow breath before turning around and kicking the door open. His brought his pistols up and scanned room with narrow eyes.
The room was empty.
Tom slipped back out of the room and moved down the corridor and around the corner, heading for his own room. His American modified Winchester was there, a weapon that he preferred. Not only that but it made a louder noise than his other guns, meaning - in theory - that if he got into any trouble someone would hear it. As he pulled his rifle from his trunk, the image of Ishmael pushed its way back into his head.
Suddenly he froze, a thought flashing into his head.
//Why did Gray shoot him in the first place?\\ Tom shook his head and moved back into the corridor, his two pistols tucked under his jacket, his main weapon held tightly in his hands. His mind began to follow that train of thought and without even realizing it, he began to talk out loud, in a low mutter.
"Gray must have wanted something... something Ishmael had... no, that doesn't make sense." he said, rounding a corner. A quick glance showed it to be as empty as the last one and he walked along it, his mind still following the same train of thought.
"What if Ishmael was in Gray's way. That has to be it. Gray wanted something, Ishmael was between him and it... but... it couldn't have been anything from his room... Ishmeal wouldn't have been near his room." A sound caught his attention, something being dropped some distance away. He inched forward, his mind blank, his nerves taunt.
Sidestepping the corner, he raised his rifle and was confronted by darkness. He slowly lowered his weapon, a faint frown on his face before walking forward, his mind returning to the pervious problem.
"If Gray shoot Ishmeal, then Gray must have wanted to..." a sudden cold fear struck him and held him tightly in his cold grasp. "What if he did something to the engines?" He moved boldly forward, heading for the engine room when a low, metallic sound stopped him. The sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath.
Before he could think or make a sound the sword appeared in front of his neck, his attacker standing behind him.
"Now, now, we don't want the party starting too soon, now do we? You go and search the engine room and you might find the surprise present." the smooth voice said. Tom shifted his rifle slightly and swallowed harshly. The voice belong to none other than Dorian Gray.
Which left Tom at the mercy of his enemy.
"Now, look what I've found myself." Purred Gray in Tom's ear. "My very own American." He brought the tip of the sword a millimeter closer to Tom's exposed neck, a cruel smile on his face. Tom moved his weight slight, oh so slightly and slowly slipped his hand towards one of his pistols. Dorian Gray carried on talking, unaware of the weapon that was moving. Tom pointed the gun straight down, right at one of the other man's foot.
"Now, what am I going to do with you?" Dorian asked.
"Let me go?" Tom asked blandly. Dorian laughed, a laugh that sent a chill down Tom's neck.
"I don't think so." he answered. Tom pulled the trigger on his pistol, the bullet shooting out of it and into Dorian's foot.
The immortal let out a little yelp of surprise as the bullet entered him and without thinking about it, moved the sword slightly away from the younger man's neck. It was all the help Tom needed.
He ducked under the sword, swinging round, his rifle already firing at Gray. The other smiled, a bored smile.
"Is there going to be a point to this?" he asked with a lazy smile. Tom gave a snarl and threw his rifle at him, pulling out his two pistols and firing them both.
From around the corner a small, silver gun appeared, aimed at Sawyer's back. Neither Dorian Gray or Tom Sawyer noticed it however, as both were caught up in the fight. Tom had begun to use his pistols as swords, blocking every attack Gray used on him.
Finally with a roar of anger Tom swung his pistols round, knocking the sword out of Gray's grasp. He bent down, picking up the sword from the ground. Dorian sighed and tightened his jacket.
"What are you going to do now? I'm impervious to harm."
"I know that. I know if I stab you, you'll just heal. But let me ask you this. Can you grow back your head?" Sawyer asked, a crazed smile on his face, panting heavily. Dorian's eyes widened slightly at the comment. Before Tom could carry out his threat the silver gun shifted it's position and fired twice, in rapid succession.
The first bullet, missed Tom by pure accident. It whizzed past him, cutting across Dorian's face, leaving a small graze on it, that healed at once.
The second bullet found it's mark. It embedded it's self in his right shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain and drop the sword from his suddenly limp grasp. Dorian picked up the dropped rifle and spun it round so he was holding it by the barrel end.
Using the butt end he smashed it into the back of the Secret Service Agent's head , making him fall forwards. By the time Tom Sawyer hit the floor he was already out cold.
M walked up to the fallen Agent, a frown on his face.
"That took too long." he hissed. "The others may have already started to search for him or even us. Pick him up and let's get going."
"I'm not some luggage boy." Dorian said, his lip twisting upwards. M glared at him, a fire burning in his eyes.
"The League for your painting. That was our agreement. He is part of the League." M snapped before turning and walking down the corridor, towards the exploration pod. Dorian groaned.
"The things I do for Immortality." he sighed, staring down at the prone body. Under Tom's eyelids, the green eyes moved restlessly, caught in a feverish nightmare.
~~~
A few days later, Mongolia...
The green eyes opened slowly, blinking against the harsh light that hit them. All they could see was a wooden floor. The boy blinked again, trying to clear the fog from both his eyes and mind. The cobwebs in his head refused to move.
On the other side of the room, M sat, his leg crossed, a perfect image of a relaxing gentleman. He could afford to wait, it would make the end result all the more worth while.
Tom bit back a groan, his eyes still unfocused. His right shoulder hurt like hell, an invisible fire seemed to be spreading over it. He moved his hand to reach his shoulder - or at least, he tried too. He gave a small gasp of pain as he realized his hands were tied together.
//What the hell happened to me?\\ he thought, his mind still fuzzy, the events of before still a blur to him.
"Ah, you're starting to wake up. I was worried that the drugs I had put in your system would keep you under for too long and therefore; you would miss the party - but you're just in time." M said, uncrossing his legs and moving towards his helpless captive. Tom frowned slightly, wishing the pounding in his head would stop. He squinted at his arms, vaguely making out the shape of metal handcuffs on them as he tried to decipher what the other had said.
"...drugged...?" he whispered, his mouth refusing to work as it should. Out of a whole two sentences, asking who the other person was and why he was drugged, only the word 'drugged' came out.
M smiled, a kind, gentle smile.
"Yes." he said clearly. He bent down and stared at the confused boy, a small frown appearing on his face. "You don't look awake yet." he muttered, his hand reaching out for a metal chain that was hanging by the side of Tom Sawyer.
With one brutal tug, he pulled on the chain. The other end was attached to the handcuffs around Sawyer's hands. They went flying upwards, dragging him with them. He gave an agonized scream as his right shoulder moved stiffly upwards, the dull fire pain braking out and shooting over him.
He gasped for breath, struggling to stay awake. M idly examined his fingernails before turning around and picking up a small sliver object from a nearby table.
"Oh my." he said in mock surprise. "You seem to have a bullet imbedded in your shoulder. Let me get it out for you." His voice dripped with fake sympathy. The metal object flashed in the light as Tom stared at it, willing his mind to work. It was some sort of prong style object. The metal flashed again in the light before diving down on to the open flesh.
M attacked the wound recklessly. There was no care taken, no anesthetic to dull the pain, no speed to make it finish as soon as possible. Tom had stopped screaming after the first five minutes, his voice worn away.
About half-way through the procedure M paused and looked into the face of his captive.
"Would you like the pain to stop?" he asked. Tom raised his head slowly, the pain making it heavy. He stared at the other man and slightly nodded his head.
"Just tell me - is it possible that the League could have survived?" M asked. Tom closed his eyes, trying to work out what M was talking about.
//The League could be dead? How?\\ Even as he thought that, he knew what answer he would give. //If he thinks they are dead, then it gives them an advantage.\\
Tom knew he would pay dearly for what he was about to do, but if there was one thing he wasn't lacking in, it was courage. He took a deep breath, ignoring the pain that seared though him at the simple act. If only his head wasn't so foggy. He opened his mouth and tried to say something.
M leaned closer, in an effort to hear what the boy was trying to say. This was all that Sawyer needed. He tasted the saliva in his mouth, then spat. The liquid flew threw the air and hit M right in the face. He scowled and backed away, before carrying on with taking the bullet out, this time taking even less care with it, not even caring if his instrument cut open new wounds.
The silver bullet finally came away and was dropped into M's hand. He stared at the small metal object, flaked with Tom's blood, then turned back to his victim. He hung from his chains, passed out.
~~~
Skinner was lost. There was no other way to put it. He had been wandering the corridors of M's base for what seemed like days. He was starting to despair when he heard a blood curdling scream. It made his blood run cold and his hair stand on edge.
He knew that voice, even if it was just a primal scream.
The scream belonged to Tom Sawyer. Skinner sped up, running towards the origin of the sound. The scream came again and again, until it finally died. In a way it was worst, at least the screams told him that the American was still alive. This silence on the other hand was dangerous.
He reached a gold door, slightly ajar. Slipping in he was faced by more gold. In any other situation this would have caused Skinner's heart to beat widely and a smile to settle on his invisible features.
Not this time.
This time his attention was taken up by the body hanging from some chains. He slipped forward and peered at face then at the exposed shoulder. He cursed softly.
"Jesus Kid! What did they do to you." he asked.
"...Skinner...?" a voice whispered. Green cloudy eyes were open and looking in his direction. "...Are you here?... I need you to... blueprints..." The green eyes closed again, leaving Skinner with a dilemma. He wanted to help Tom, but how could he until he had somewhere to take him. The only way he could help Tom was by knowing the layout of this place by heart.
"I'll be back." he promised Sawyer, even though he knew there was no way the boy would have been able to hear him.
It was only later that he realized Tom didn't normally have green cloudy eyes. His eyes were normally clear. Skinner wasn't a doctor but for some reason he had a feeling that something was wrong.
Now if only he could figure out what, before it was too late.
TBC...
Please, please, now that you've read it leave a review.
Till next time!
~Sethoz
I don't own LXG, Tom Sawyer, Allan Quatermain, Mina Hawker, Skinner, Captain Nemo, Dorian Gray, Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde, M or anything else used in the fic.
Some Tom owies this time. *sniff* poor him... hope you all enjoy this part.
Please, please read then leave a review.
Black Pawn, White Pawn.
~~~
Part 2:- The Mouth of Hell.
~~~
"At his remark I drew the weapon out and laid it cocked upon the table. He still smiled and blinked, but there was something about his eyes which made me glad that I had it there."
~Sherlock Holmes. The Adventure of the Final Problem.
~ By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
1899. Venice...
Tom Sawyer ran though the inside of the Nautilus, his mind alert for any sound that may tell him where his pray lurked. Gray had to still be on the Nautilus, if the state of Ishmael was anything to go by. He had been shot very recently. Tom gritted his teeth together, the image of Ishmael's wounds still burned into his mind.
True, he didn't really know the man, in fact he had barely exchanged two words with him. It was the betrayal that got to him, the fact that Ishmael must have trusted Gray, must have looked at him with trust in his eyes, without a sign of fear, because of course, there was no need to be afraid of Gray, he was on their side.
Tom fingered his two pistols, enjoying the cool feel of the metal. He moved closer and closer to Gray's room, his breathing slowing. The door was slightly ajar, blackness spilling out of it onto the brightly lit corridor. He took a deep, slow breath before turning around and kicking the door open. His brought his pistols up and scanned room with narrow eyes.
The room was empty.
Tom slipped back out of the room and moved down the corridor and around the corner, heading for his own room. His American modified Winchester was there, a weapon that he preferred. Not only that but it made a louder noise than his other guns, meaning - in theory - that if he got into any trouble someone would hear it. As he pulled his rifle from his trunk, the image of Ishmael pushed its way back into his head.
Suddenly he froze, a thought flashing into his head.
//Why did Gray shoot him in the first place?\\ Tom shook his head and moved back into the corridor, his two pistols tucked under his jacket, his main weapon held tightly in his hands. His mind began to follow that train of thought and without even realizing it, he began to talk out loud, in a low mutter.
"Gray must have wanted something... something Ishmael had... no, that doesn't make sense." he said, rounding a corner. A quick glance showed it to be as empty as the last one and he walked along it, his mind still following the same train of thought.
"What if Ishmael was in Gray's way. That has to be it. Gray wanted something, Ishmael was between him and it... but... it couldn't have been anything from his room... Ishmeal wouldn't have been near his room." A sound caught his attention, something being dropped some distance away. He inched forward, his mind blank, his nerves taunt.
Sidestepping the corner, he raised his rifle and was confronted by darkness. He slowly lowered his weapon, a faint frown on his face before walking forward, his mind returning to the pervious problem.
"If Gray shoot Ishmeal, then Gray must have wanted to..." a sudden cold fear struck him and held him tightly in his cold grasp. "What if he did something to the engines?" He moved boldly forward, heading for the engine room when a low, metallic sound stopped him. The sound of a sword being pulled from its sheath.
Before he could think or make a sound the sword appeared in front of his neck, his attacker standing behind him.
"Now, now, we don't want the party starting too soon, now do we? You go and search the engine room and you might find the surprise present." the smooth voice said. Tom shifted his rifle slightly and swallowed harshly. The voice belong to none other than Dorian Gray.
Which left Tom at the mercy of his enemy.
"Now, look what I've found myself." Purred Gray in Tom's ear. "My very own American." He brought the tip of the sword a millimeter closer to Tom's exposed neck, a cruel smile on his face. Tom moved his weight slight, oh so slightly and slowly slipped his hand towards one of his pistols. Dorian Gray carried on talking, unaware of the weapon that was moving. Tom pointed the gun straight down, right at one of the other man's foot.
"Now, what am I going to do with you?" Dorian asked.
"Let me go?" Tom asked blandly. Dorian laughed, a laugh that sent a chill down Tom's neck.
"I don't think so." he answered. Tom pulled the trigger on his pistol, the bullet shooting out of it and into Dorian's foot.
The immortal let out a little yelp of surprise as the bullet entered him and without thinking about it, moved the sword slightly away from the younger man's neck. It was all the help Tom needed.
He ducked under the sword, swinging round, his rifle already firing at Gray. The other smiled, a bored smile.
"Is there going to be a point to this?" he asked with a lazy smile. Tom gave a snarl and threw his rifle at him, pulling out his two pistols and firing them both.
From around the corner a small, silver gun appeared, aimed at Sawyer's back. Neither Dorian Gray or Tom Sawyer noticed it however, as both were caught up in the fight. Tom had begun to use his pistols as swords, blocking every attack Gray used on him.
Finally with a roar of anger Tom swung his pistols round, knocking the sword out of Gray's grasp. He bent down, picking up the sword from the ground. Dorian sighed and tightened his jacket.
"What are you going to do now? I'm impervious to harm."
"I know that. I know if I stab you, you'll just heal. But let me ask you this. Can you grow back your head?" Sawyer asked, a crazed smile on his face, panting heavily. Dorian's eyes widened slightly at the comment. Before Tom could carry out his threat the silver gun shifted it's position and fired twice, in rapid succession.
The first bullet, missed Tom by pure accident. It whizzed past him, cutting across Dorian's face, leaving a small graze on it, that healed at once.
The second bullet found it's mark. It embedded it's self in his right shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain and drop the sword from his suddenly limp grasp. Dorian picked up the dropped rifle and spun it round so he was holding it by the barrel end.
Using the butt end he smashed it into the back of the Secret Service Agent's head , making him fall forwards. By the time Tom Sawyer hit the floor he was already out cold.
M walked up to the fallen Agent, a frown on his face.
"That took too long." he hissed. "The others may have already started to search for him or even us. Pick him up and let's get going."
"I'm not some luggage boy." Dorian said, his lip twisting upwards. M glared at him, a fire burning in his eyes.
"The League for your painting. That was our agreement. He is part of the League." M snapped before turning and walking down the corridor, towards the exploration pod. Dorian groaned.
"The things I do for Immortality." he sighed, staring down at the prone body. Under Tom's eyelids, the green eyes moved restlessly, caught in a feverish nightmare.
~~~
A few days later, Mongolia...
The green eyes opened slowly, blinking against the harsh light that hit them. All they could see was a wooden floor. The boy blinked again, trying to clear the fog from both his eyes and mind. The cobwebs in his head refused to move.
On the other side of the room, M sat, his leg crossed, a perfect image of a relaxing gentleman. He could afford to wait, it would make the end result all the more worth while.
Tom bit back a groan, his eyes still unfocused. His right shoulder hurt like hell, an invisible fire seemed to be spreading over it. He moved his hand to reach his shoulder - or at least, he tried too. He gave a small gasp of pain as he realized his hands were tied together.
//What the hell happened to me?\\ he thought, his mind still fuzzy, the events of before still a blur to him.
"Ah, you're starting to wake up. I was worried that the drugs I had put in your system would keep you under for too long and therefore; you would miss the party - but you're just in time." M said, uncrossing his legs and moving towards his helpless captive. Tom frowned slightly, wishing the pounding in his head would stop. He squinted at his arms, vaguely making out the shape of metal handcuffs on them as he tried to decipher what the other had said.
"...drugged...?" he whispered, his mouth refusing to work as it should. Out of a whole two sentences, asking who the other person was and why he was drugged, only the word 'drugged' came out.
M smiled, a kind, gentle smile.
"Yes." he said clearly. He bent down and stared at the confused boy, a small frown appearing on his face. "You don't look awake yet." he muttered, his hand reaching out for a metal chain that was hanging by the side of Tom Sawyer.
With one brutal tug, he pulled on the chain. The other end was attached to the handcuffs around Sawyer's hands. They went flying upwards, dragging him with them. He gave an agonized scream as his right shoulder moved stiffly upwards, the dull fire pain braking out and shooting over him.
He gasped for breath, struggling to stay awake. M idly examined his fingernails before turning around and picking up a small sliver object from a nearby table.
"Oh my." he said in mock surprise. "You seem to have a bullet imbedded in your shoulder. Let me get it out for you." His voice dripped with fake sympathy. The metal object flashed in the light as Tom stared at it, willing his mind to work. It was some sort of prong style object. The metal flashed again in the light before diving down on to the open flesh.
M attacked the wound recklessly. There was no care taken, no anesthetic to dull the pain, no speed to make it finish as soon as possible. Tom had stopped screaming after the first five minutes, his voice worn away.
About half-way through the procedure M paused and looked into the face of his captive.
"Would you like the pain to stop?" he asked. Tom raised his head slowly, the pain making it heavy. He stared at the other man and slightly nodded his head.
"Just tell me - is it possible that the League could have survived?" M asked. Tom closed his eyes, trying to work out what M was talking about.
//The League could be dead? How?\\ Even as he thought that, he knew what answer he would give. //If he thinks they are dead, then it gives them an advantage.\\
Tom knew he would pay dearly for what he was about to do, but if there was one thing he wasn't lacking in, it was courage. He took a deep breath, ignoring the pain that seared though him at the simple act. If only his head wasn't so foggy. He opened his mouth and tried to say something.
M leaned closer, in an effort to hear what the boy was trying to say. This was all that Sawyer needed. He tasted the saliva in his mouth, then spat. The liquid flew threw the air and hit M right in the face. He scowled and backed away, before carrying on with taking the bullet out, this time taking even less care with it, not even caring if his instrument cut open new wounds.
The silver bullet finally came away and was dropped into M's hand. He stared at the small metal object, flaked with Tom's blood, then turned back to his victim. He hung from his chains, passed out.
~~~
Skinner was lost. There was no other way to put it. He had been wandering the corridors of M's base for what seemed like days. He was starting to despair when he heard a blood curdling scream. It made his blood run cold and his hair stand on edge.
He knew that voice, even if it was just a primal scream.
The scream belonged to Tom Sawyer. Skinner sped up, running towards the origin of the sound. The scream came again and again, until it finally died. In a way it was worst, at least the screams told him that the American was still alive. This silence on the other hand was dangerous.
He reached a gold door, slightly ajar. Slipping in he was faced by more gold. In any other situation this would have caused Skinner's heart to beat widely and a smile to settle on his invisible features.
Not this time.
This time his attention was taken up by the body hanging from some chains. He slipped forward and peered at face then at the exposed shoulder. He cursed softly.
"Jesus Kid! What did they do to you." he asked.
"...Skinner...?" a voice whispered. Green cloudy eyes were open and looking in his direction. "...Are you here?... I need you to... blueprints..." The green eyes closed again, leaving Skinner with a dilemma. He wanted to help Tom, but how could he until he had somewhere to take him. The only way he could help Tom was by knowing the layout of this place by heart.
"I'll be back." he promised Sawyer, even though he knew there was no way the boy would have been able to hear him.
It was only later that he realized Tom didn't normally have green cloudy eyes. His eyes were normally clear. Skinner wasn't a doctor but for some reason he had a feeling that something was wrong.
Now if only he could figure out what, before it was too late.
TBC...
Please, please, now that you've read it leave a review.
Till next time!
~Sethoz