Author's Note: That's right folks… I'm back, with an update at last! Sorry I left you hanging with that knife floating in front of Tom for so long! Work got crazy (crazier might be a better word), and I got a bit lazy. Not as good as other excuses, but it's flat out honest. Hmm, odd phrase that. Oh well! On with the show, 'eh?
Scene: The knife fight. (All right, all right, calm down! Lol)
Shout Outs:
RogueSparrow: Yup indeedy, Tom is cute… a hell of a lot, bless him. Anyway, enough of that, hmm? You and me can do that over PM, right? No need to show other people, heh. Aw, whap him on the head? That's not very nice… until 'Skinner' quite prominently stayed silent, I thought that was who it was… you don't believe me do you? Fine, fine… : P Socks! Um… sorry, just had sugar *crosses fingers behind back*
angelic katty: I have a sense of humour?! Wow! Awesome! In case you hadn't guessed, I'm not much of a comedian… comedienne… whatever. Lol. All these different words. No wonder English is one of the most difficult languages in the world. Me? Evil! Bwahaha! Why, dear Katty, whatever gave you that im- oh, okay, I can't deny it. Too tempting! Cookie? Thanks! *takes cookie gratefully and munches*
Silent Bob 546: Um… was that sarcastic at the beginning? Lol. I couldn't tell, but… never mind. You don't talk like that in real life do you? Cuz I have a rubber chicken here and I know how to use it, Mwahahaha!
Graymoon74: Ah yes, the remarks… part of what makes this so fun, lol.
Leigh S. Durron: Nice? When, dear Leigh, have you ever known me to be nice in how I write? The amount of awful stuff I've done to my favourite characters… ahem, didn't need to remind you of that now, did I? Hehe. Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you anyway.
Sethoz: Aw, thanks, buddy! Gah, they should have kept the Reed line in the film! Otherwise, who the hell was he? Just some random invisible English person! That's right… it would have been cool for that to be revealed. Oh well… can't have it all, can we? You know very well what's gonna happen to Tom, lol. Ack, Landon lines! A weakness! Oh wait… that would be quite fun to see if you could quote Landon in all of your reviews for me now, hehehehe. Bwahaha! I dare you! : )
LotRseer3350: Ah, never said the end of chapter 11 wasn't going to be a cliffhanger did I? Lol. I've watched the actor commentary… funny stuff! Jason and Tony are hilarious! But, ack! Why couldn't they have Shane in the room with them? O_o
drowchild: Now, as to your ponderings regarding this chapter… I was tempted to mix them both together, but then I figured it might screw up later on, cuz I'd probably forget what I was using, and so I'm (possibly unfortunately) sticking with what we saw on screen. The one in the book was more violent, but I loved when he grabbed the knife, I was like "Go Sawyer!" ^_^
Niani: *takes can of ineffective cliffy spray from you, and tosses it over her shoulder* Now, now… none of that. You know we all love cliffhangers, lol. Where would we be without them, hmm? In some boring land of predictability, that's where! ^_^
Psychozzy: There were some of Tom's lines that made me cringe, cuz it seemed that whenever the writer thought of something obvious or silly, he said "Meh, I'll give it to Sawyer, no one will care." _ D'oh. *slaps writer* Oops… I didn't mean it, please write another film! I do read though all my work carefully before I post it… religiously. I'm quite a geek in that aspect as well, but I'm glad it puts your mind at ease.
kingleby: He will indeed get his revenge! Yay! Hey, never thought of the whole Quatermain influence, but I like that. Cool.
Chisara Notell: Welcome. Would this be your favourite part by any chance? Lol. Just a guess; tell me if I'm right.
freedomfighter82: *puts Muse on* I know… very funny. Anyway, on to your shout out. Don't apologise for going away, just cuz I'm jealous that you went for a vacation, and I didn't… okay, I'm fine now. Jealousy over and done with. *watches you cheerlead* Cool, pulled off like a pro, dear Fighter. Thank you. *hands you throat medicine*
Are you ready for this? Hope – with all my heart – that it satisfies!
Okay… this is really not good… I should have realis-
Tom's thought was cut short when the knife started to weave towards him, and he was forced to dive to the side, hearing the blade crash against the stone wall. With every new stab attempt – aimed directly at his face – Tom gave a slight yelp, his hair tossed in his eyes irritably enough, and making his focus difficult. He ducked to the side as the knife careened towards him again, and he soon found himself backed into a corner, eyes wide at the shredded painting he had just passed.
Reed – for that was how he had identified himself – hovered for a moment, knife seemingly with a life and mind of its own, bobbing, before it lunged forward with startling speed.
Tom's eyes widened with alarm, and he ducked his head immediately, losing his balance and crashing to the floor, using his hands for stability as he almost fell flat on his back with another startled cry. The knife spun to face him, and Reed brought it down, aiming for Tom's legs.
The American started shuffling backwards quickly, his mind in overdrive. Where the hell is my gun? He groped out behind him with a hand frantically as the blade gleamed in the light shining through cracks in the walls, permitting natural illumination. Tom thought he felt air brush past his pants' leg, and whimpered slightly, before taking a chance, and rocking back on his elbows, slamming his booted feet into Reed's unprotected chest, sending the invisible man flying backwards with the force.
As he moved to rise, he felt the solid shape behind him, and almost shouted in triumph, forcing the urge down, instead whipping the rifle around quickly, and aiming as swiftly as he could, letting off the first shot with a crack like thunder, deafening in the empty corridors of the fortress around him. Reed ducked to the side, avoiding the bullet, and started to weave about like a snake to evade Tom's shots.
Tom let off round after round, turning the barrel in alternating directions to try and hit the Englishman armed with the knife, using the other man's weapon as a kind of target. Reed was – apparently – too quick for him, and each time, the bullet tore into the wall, smashing a chunk free, or dislodging painting from the walls.
Tom bounded to his feet as he aimed for his final shot, levelling the barrel with a determined grimace. Reed took the oppurtunity to slip in behind a door, and close it just as the Winchester fired. The bullet ripped into the steel door, leaving a noticeable dent, and then an eerie silence descended.
Okay… eight shots… reload, Sawyer! Tom looked down at the rifle, as if hoping something miraculous would happen. When his mind snapped back to reality, and he understood that more rounds without reloading was impossible, he started to fumble in the breast pocket of his waistcoat, trying to be as quick as he could. He felt the definite shape, and pulled the round free.
A slam up ahead caused him to look up in a slight panic. C'mon, c'mon, load! The bullet was reluctant, and no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't slide into the chamber on the side of the Winchester, denying him the protection he needed, even as the knife started to charge towards him.
Before it would load and grant him the satisfaction of defence, Tom looked up and dropped his jaw, before pulling a resolute expression, and raising the gun as a makeshift shield, relieved when he felt the blade collide with the solid barrel of the weapon he cherished so much.
You damage this thing, and I'll kill you with my bare hands, he thought without even realising, as he was forced backwards, turning and twisting the gun this way and that to protect his chest, the blade stabbing at him over and over. The gun was oddly useful in this fashion, only until he felt his back crash against a small podium, and then the wall. A statue fell to the floor and smashed into pieces. The gun lowered, and Tom gave a shout when the blade of the knife slashed the skin on his hand between his thumb and forefinger.
Growling, Tom lashed out with a foot, feeling the blood seep from the wound. The man was thrown away with the force of an anvil, Tom's anger projected in the blow. He crashed heavily into a fragile door off to their side, his balance lost. The barricade collapsed into splinters with the force, and Reed slammed against a shelving unit. Bottles and jars toppled, and a stopped fell free from some sort of black powder, something Tom did not recognise. Then he realised he couldn't care less, for it had given him the advantage he so needed.
Reed was partially visible.
I'm not gonna be beaten by any stuffy sneak of a bureaucrat. Tom scowled, and the man gave a shake of the head, panting as he realised his edge was lost. Like the coward he was, Reed fled into the confines of the large storage cupboard. Tom gave a sneer, and then heard a very unsettling 'clunk' from down the corridor where the fight had originated.
Okay… why do I not like the sound of that?
Tom turned his head swiftly, hair flying in his eyes, making him wish he hadn't let it grow so long. That concern was forgotten as an armoured tank of a man came stomping around the corner, a long barrel of some kind held in his gauntleted hands. The only way to describe it was a goliath. That was the word Tom registered, before letting the empty Winchester fall with an unceremonious clatter.
Face covered with determination, he growled again, and tore his Colt pistols from their holsters, cocking back the hammers as he raised them with practised speed and ease. Within a heartbeat, he was letting loose with an accurately aimed hail of bullets, normally fatal to any man… who wasn't wearing impenetrable armour.
The goliath staggered slightly with each blow, the barrel of each Colt flaring alternatively with the pulling of the trigger. Tom narrowed his eyes, mouth curled into a snarl, until he heard the double click.
I hate that sound…
The goliath was almost triumphant as he raised the barrel, where Tom saw a small flickering flame of blue.
Eyes wide, Tom felt his heart skip a beat with recognition. "Whoa!"
And he just managed to dart off to his right and into the storeroom where he had sent Reed off in retreat, as a rocket of searing flame shot up behind him. The heat slammed him in the back, and he winced, uncomfortable at once. Unfortunately, the room was stocked from floor to ceiling with flammable parchments and inks, the bottles bursting like balloons with the heat. The papers flared into a fury of crackling as the heat licked at them.
Tom dove behind a shelf, and tried to escape on the other side, only to find the goliath had pursued with vehemence, letting loose streams of burning flame as he went, the whine of the projection making a shiver rise up the American's spine. He was being backed into a corner, like a rabbit down a hole, with a hound on his heels.
Not good… not good! He registered his being backed into a corner, his heart racing and breathing rapid and slightly panicked. As a child, he had always been somewhat fascinated by fire and its affects, but now he quickly decided he hated the stuff.
Drop the damn guns, Sawyer, waste of bullets anyway. He obeyed his thought, and the Colts clattered to the ground, even as he instinctively snatched up the largest and most 'useful' thing he could find at hand… which happened to come in the form of an unlit torch bearing from the wall. He branded it like a club, raising it with a glower.
The goliath pounded up before him, triumph seeping from the man inside – another coward in Tom's humble opinion – in waves. He thought he heard him chuckle as the nozzle rose again, ready to incinerate the trapped American.
Okay… this is it, I'm done for. At least I went down with a fight.
"Sawyer!"
What the-?
A pole or spike of some sort dove out of nowhere, piercing the fuel tank on the rear of the goliath, even as the suddenly recognisable cockney accent yelled, "Run for it!"
Skinner wasn't fast enough, despite his background as a stealth expert, and the goliath whirled, rocketing fire into the thief, who let out a long and pained shout as he ran, limbs flailing, from the room. The smell of burnt flesh trailed from him, and Tom growled loudly, using the chance presented to him in order to charge forward and smash the torch into the pierced tank, which caved under the blow. The goliath collapsed to his knees, and Tom quickly realised that running was in order.
As he fled the scene of conflict, he heard the dull boom of the goliath being destroyed by the fuel and the attacks made upon it. Tom was inwardly victorious, but concerned – more than he had ever felt – on the outside.
Jesus, where is Skinner? Tom looked left and right, guilt swimming in him. The man had saved his life! He found it hard to believe, but then remembered what Quatermain had said about the thief… a hero… seemed the hunter was more accurate with that assessment that he had probably known.
He has to be around here somewhere. Tom instinctively ducked his head as bottles of flammable content shattered, and glass was sent reeling. None came anywhere near him, but the flames still threw out unbelievable heat and he was suddenly very wary of the sensation. The last thing he needed – or wanted, respectively – was to be burnt. God, come on, Skinner, where are you?
"Skinner?" he called to the labyrinth, hoping and praying for some kind of answer. A mumble, a groan… anything. He was rewarded with nothing. His heart started to sink, seemingly finding solace in the pit of his stomach, a very unpleasant sensation.
He pressed on, turning a corner, and hearing someone gasp and give a shiver. His heart just about leapt into his throat as he headed in its general direction. A very odd shape began to come into focus, and he realised with horror what it was.
"Skinner?"
The charred flesh was visible, threads of it hanging loose, nothing but burnt remains of human skin. At least half – if not more – of his body was visible because of the fire's affects. Tom felt awful, and grimaced at the sight despite himself. He couldn't help it. This was his fault.
"That's the last time I play with matches…" Skinner managed, always in good humour.
Tom crouched, balancing on his haunches to perhaps help the wounded thief and companion, but Skinner suddenly reached out with a hand.
Tom cocked his head, confused, pulling off half a smile before he heard the ring of steel, and felt the blade press against his throat. Tom opened his mouth, and paused, knowing instantly who was holding the knife.
Reed… son of a bitch…
The pressure on the blade told him he was to rise, and he did so with a slight mumble of a sound, closing his eyes as he felt the soft chuckle against the back of his neck.
I am such an idiot…
