Infinity2

It's been a while, hasn't it. Ah, well. Here's chapter two, people. Enjoy! (And please review. Go on... pretty please? ^_^)

Infinity

By Miss Scarlet

Chapter Two: The Intelligent Mr. Walsh and his Mission

Veronica Ashford watched the coat of arms thoughtfully, as if waiting for the golden bird of prey to leap from its embossed perch. "An eagle," she said to herself. "An eagle No, it shouldn't be an eagle resting, or standing still. The eagle was built for flight and grace, for poetry and dreams. An eagle, with wings outstretched, soaring far above the common people, putting them in their place"

"Miss Ashford!" the old butler called out from the doorway. "My master has expressed a desire to speak with you."

"Oh!" Veronica cast a last longing glance at the silent eagle, and turned to him. "My apologies, Mr Hatton, I was just admiring the coat of arms. May I ask why your master decided to use an eagle?"

Jonathan looked mortified. "He did not create it himself miss, the symbol of the eagle has been in his family for generations!"

Veronica drew in a breath. "I do apologise, sir, please forgive my ignorance. I do not know a thing about lineage, or heraldry. It would mean a great deal to me if somebody could explain a little about it. My mother never got round to telling me about it"

The butler's face softened. "Oh, I'm sorry miss. Please don't be upset. That was tactless, especially with your mother I'm so sorry. If you'd like, I'll go over the basics with you. Would that be acceptable to you, miss?"

She looked up at him, smiling, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Oh, yes. I'd like that very much indeed."

---

Steve opened his eyes. It had happened again what was going on? His very mind felt like it had been invaded by an army of hidden dreams and mysterious women, crocodile tears, and beautiful eagles. An invasion of his innermost thoughts, of everything he held dear. His chest had been ripped open, and his heart placed on a display cabinet for Alfred and Veronica Ashford to gawk at.

No, it was not the most pleasant thing.

Especially when it happened to you on an island overflowing with hideous creatures and armed soldiers and those psychotic zombies.

Claire please let her be all right. I don't care what happens to me, or to Alfred, or whoever the hell else is hanging around here, but just let her be alright. If there is anyone out there, capable of helping her, aside form Alfred, then please save her. Protect her.

Steve half expected some sarcastic response form Alfred to his outburst, but none came. He just wasn't talking. Maybe he was in trouble. Served him right, really.

Steve wondered briefly if, when he concentrated on someone, he could hear what they were doing. So if he thought about Claire, he could listen to her. If he thought about Veronica, then he would hear what she was doing.

He could hear voices close by, just like he had when he had overheard the unusual conversation about Alfred and the T-Veronica virus. It was coming from the prison courtyard, he guessed. He strained his ears, which until today he hadn't even known possible, and tried to overhear what they were saying.

"A plane landed at the airport?"

"Yes sir. A small plane, that couldn't carry more than four people. It looked more like a tourist plane. You know, the kind that does sight seeing trips. Should I send some men to investigate?

"No, don't bother. They'll turn up eventually. Besides, the zombies will have found them by the time we do. No, we'll just leave them. Let nature take its course," he laughed.

"Yes sir."

"Any luck at the palace?"

"Not yet sir. We have discovered a passageway into some sort of private residence, but the passageway is heavily blocked by rubble. We don't stand a chance of getting through."

"Hmm. Luckily for you I know there is a complex sewer system beneath the island. You can probably use that for a way in there. It might not be safe though. Make sure you are all fully armed. I don't want us to suffer any more casualties."

"Thank you sir."

"But first, come with me. I have a hunch that the prison has not displayed all of its wealth yet."

"Excuse me sir?"

"It doesn't matter. Follow me."

Steve raised his eyebrows. They were definitely the same men he had heard before. There was something in the leader's voice, something cold and hard, that made it terrifying to hear. He wished he had a face to go with the terrifying voice.

She was shrouded in darkness; she flaunted it like an ermine robe. Her eyes sparkled malevolently. "Oh, Steve... Where is my dear Alexia? Please, send my children home. Can't you see how lonely I am becoming without them?"

"Damn it!" Steve snarled, punching the air. "Why does she keep doing that?"

His head felt sore and swollen. He leaned gratefully against the wall, closing his eyes, desperate for rest.

The door suddenly slammed open, crashing back against the door and sending a shudder down Steve's spine. His eyes opened blearily, and he reached his hand out for the Magnum.

"Alfred?" he asked automatically.

It wasn't Alfred.

Two men stood before him, both armed with enhanced handguns and wearing bulky combat clothes. One man stood calmly in the background, his gun pointing confidently at Steve. His eyes were covered with sunglasses, and his curly red hair was covered with a mauve beret.

The man standing closest to Steve, and eyeing him with uncommon keenness, was one of the strongest men Steve had ever seen. His muscles bulged under his muddy military gear, and his mouth was curled into a sneer. His deep brown eyes seemed to shimmer as Steve looked at them.

It looked like Steve had found the face that went with the voice.

"Oh shit," Steve breathed.

---

Hunk strode along cheerfully, his gun pointing casually in front of him, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. Alfred slunk along beside him, his face sullen.

Alfred suddenly stopped walking and staggered backwards, gasping for breath.

Hunk turned and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Sir?" he asked, approaching Alfred carefully. "Something wrong?"

Alfred gazed up at him, his face pale. Well, paler than usual, Hunk noted. "Hunk Something's happened to Steve," he muttered.

"Steve would be whom?" Hunk asked, folding his arms and staring evenly at Alfred. "I don't know any Steve."

"Steve is my bodyguard," Alfred replied slowly, his pale eyes narrowing. "I mentioned him in my email, didn't I?"

Hunk glanced upwards. "Yeah, you did. He's doing a mighty fine job, if you don't mind me saying so Alfred. Where the hell is he?"

"I left him in the prison. I thought it would be safer for him there. He's got a gun, after all." He noticed the curious look Hunk was giving him. "He kinda fainted. He's been having problems like that ever since he died," he explained casually, standing up straight

Hunk raised both eyebrows. "He died. Uh huh. Well, I'm not going to pretend that I know what you're talking about, sir. But that's not important. What's happened to him? And how do you know?"

Alfred walked onwards in silence for a while, forcing Hunk to trot to keep up with him. "I think some people from the other company have found him," he admitted finally, staring up at Hunk. "I have a well, a sixth sense, I guess."

"That so. You into that superstition crap then?"

Alfred grinned. "Hell no," he said dryly, and stalked away.

Hunk stared after him, confused. He didn't understand Alfred one bit. But that wasn't the issue here, he decided, and strode after him, his gun trained on the path ahead.

---

She knocked twice on the heavy oak door, listening carefully for a reply. Hatton the butler hovered uncertainly behind her, his face lined with worry. She knew that Hatton's master was not very well, and he probably wouldn't see another summer go by.

"Come in," croaked a voice from inside uncertainly, his voice muffled by the door to a state of distortion. But perhaps that was how he spoke all the time.

Veronica pushed the door open cautiously, and stepped inside. The old man was lying in his bed, clothed in thick embroidered robes, his wrinkled face twisted into an expression of agony. She wanted to reach out to him, comfort him, and let him know that someone cared. It would be a lie though. Nobody cared about him. He was dying alone and without an heir, abandoned in a four-poster bed. She wasn't going to go that way. That much was definite. She would live on in the hearts and minds of her descendants, and inspiration to them all

"My, dear, dear child," he croaked, smiling weakly. "How are you feeling? I was so sorry to hear about your mother. Such a sweet woman."

Veronica scowled at his insensitivity, and quickly replaced it with a small smile. "I am coping as well as could be expected. Thank you for enquiring."

He smiled at her warmly, his eyes never leaving hers. Veronica didn't look at him. It was such a shock to see how this man had aged. Just a few years ago he had been a benevolent pillar in her life, a person to look up to. Rich, respected, living in splendour. But everyone has to grow old some time.

He had been a close friend of her grandmothers and, Veronica suspected, a lover too. But they had gone their separate ways, and instead of drifting away from the family, he had stayed close, lending financial support through the rough times, and being a more dependable father figure for Veronica's mother than her own father.

And now he was dying. So after Veronica's mother died he had insisted that she come and stay with him, and give him a little company to live out his last days. Veronica shifted uncomfortably, and the old man indicated a chair by his bed. She sat down gratefully, and smiled nervously.

"My dear Veronica I am growing old."

Veronica looked at him properly, his blazing green eyes finally meeting hers. "Yes," she replied, uncertain how to respond to such a remark.

"I must make precautions. I don't want my precious estate to fall into the wrong hands, or to some dimwit relative I have never met. Do you understand, my dear?"

"I think so."

"I am asking for permission to adopt you."

"Adopt me?" she asked, shocked. "But sir!"

"No, no, don't argue until I have had chance to explain." He leant back on the pillow, breathing heavily. "You are the dearest thing in the world to me I want to make us both happy in the inevitable event of my death You can retain your own name Ashford And the estate will, in time, belong to you. You will have complete freedom to do as you please"

Veronica's eyes sparkled. "I would love that dearly. It is so kind of you to even consider such an offer."

"Hush!" he hissed, flapping a withered arm at her. "Don't thank me. Will you permit this? Would you consider becoming my daughter, if only for a short while?"

"It would be the greatest gift anybody could give to me father." Veronica smiled, her eyes gleaming. This was indeed a stroke of luck.

---

So, Steve reflected thoughtfully, rubbing furiously at his eyes. So that was how the Ashford legend had begun. Some old guy on the verge of death looking to continue his bloodline. Not quite as glamorous as he had always expected. He wondered briefly if Alfred knew, and made a point to bring it up with him later. Right now he had more important things to worry about.

One of the two men, the weaker looking one with curly red hair was leaning over him, and the expression on his face reminded Steve greatly of a pig with a bee up its nose.

"Oh, you decided to join us in the world of the living," he sneered, looking up at his boss for confirmation.

The larger man strode over and looked down at Steve, his huge lip curling in disgust. "Be a man," he growled. "For Christ's sake. What the fuck did ya faint for?"

"Long story," Steve replied quietly, his voice sounding unusually frail. "Don't think you'd have the mental capacity to understand it."

The big man laughed. "Oh, a comedian. What luck." He leaned forwards again, his face expressionless. "Where is Alfred?" he asked.

"Who?" Steve replied, shrugging. "Seeing as I don't know who you mean, he could be anywhere. He could even be dead. How should I know?"

"Mr Walsh, sir, who is this boy?" the smaller man asked.

Walsh shrugged, his overly large muscles rippling under his shirt. "Maybe one of those tourists from the plane." He grinned. "But, kid, we know that you know where Alfred Ashford is. You said his name when we came in," he growled. "So you really don't have a leg to stand on."

Steve smiled weakly. "Oh, you noticed? I'm impressed. Your ears are actually connected to your brain, then?"

Walsh, if that really was his name, was about to reply, when a horribly familiar sound burst from the passageway.

"Please deposit any metallic items you have in the security box."

There was dead silence. Steve groaned quietly. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought furiously. Alfred is gonna get himself killed!

The smaller guy stood up and held his gun out, an awful grin spreading across his face. "Looks like we got us some company," he sneered.

Walsh nodded. "The bait caught the fish," he said, with a wink at Steve.

"Screw that," Alfred's voice sounded suddenly. "I have metal buttons on, and I'm not going butt naked." There was a whirring sound, and some lights flickered.

Alfred must have powered down the metal detector, Steve realised with horror. After all, he owns the place; he probably knows how to get past every obstacle, although he doesn't show it that often. Heh most of the time he acts like a headless chicken.

Steve looked around for his Magnum, now that the two men had their full attention on the door through which Alfred would surely emerge. He spotted it eventually, lying forgotten underneath the desk. It would be impossible for him to crawl to the other side of the room without them noticing. His heart fell. Alfred is gonna get himself killed, and then they'll kill me and then they'll, oh, I don't know, kill everyone else on this stupid island. Why can't anything go right? he reflected bitterly. Why can't my gun be close by, so I could save Alfred? Why am I bothered? he asked himself. "Why am I so bothered if Alfred lives or dies?

Because he is my friend, of a sort.

Alfred wandered casually through the door. His face didn't register any surprise when he saw the two armed men in front of him, likewise when he noticed Steve lying on the floor.

"We've got you now, Ashford," Walsh growled, waving the gun menacingly.

"Oh, well done," Alfred sighed sarcastically. "What do you want, a medal? And I made it so difficult for you as well. I'm impressed."

The smaller guy moved forwards with a growl, evidently planning to do something to Alfred that involved his gun, Alfred's head, and a lot of blood.

"Leave it," Walsh warned, cutting him off. "Hand over the T-Veronica virus," he barked to Alfred. "Hand it over now and we'll spare your friend."

Alfred patted his pockets with mock anxiety. "Oh, gee, did I leave it in my other trousers? I'd forget my own head if it weren't screwed on."

"Are you saying you don't have it?" Walsh asked calmly, his gun so close to Alfred's head that it was almost touching. There was a long silence.

Alfred looked at him thoughtfully. "Well yeah, guess I am." He smiled. "I know where it is though. It's on the printing desk through this door. Good hiding place, don't you think?" He watched as his statement sunk in.

"I'll get it," Walsh growled to his companion.

The young redhead nodded obediently, and he trained his handgun on Alfred's head. He waved the gun, indicating Alfred to move aside. Alfred did so, surprisingly complacent, his eyes downcast yet his mouth twisted into a smile.

Walsh barged through the doorway and slammed the door behind him. Alfred tutted quietly. The redhead frowned.

"Shut up," he snapped at Alfred, and risked a glance at Steve, still sitting motionless against the wall, his head resting on his knees.

The door opened behind them. The redhead turned around, forgetting Steve and Alfred, surprised at the intrusion.

Hunk stood in the doorway, smiling thoughtfully, the beginnings of a frown etched into his forehead. Before the redhead could react, Hunk raised his sub-machine gun and fired sixteen shots into the man's chest in quick succession, each bullet sending the man skidding further backwards, until his lifeless body slumped against the wall, outlined in blood.

Hunk lowered the gun. "Hmm," he muttered. "Gory."

---

And it's all over, folks. Sorry about that rather hurried shooting scene with Hunk. I'm no expert on weaponry, you know... Tune in soon for Chapter Three. I guarantee that it will have even more Veronica, Hunk explaining the truth behind his mission, Alfred's insanity catching up with him, and that evil Walsh getting his revenge

You won't want to miss it. (Right? I'm not above bribery, you know.) So tell me what you think, and what you want to happen; End it! End it now!' And just how much you wish I would finish this stupid thing. See you around!