Author's Note: Finally, the week long ban is over and I'm back! Sorry about that… not playing the blame game, so I won't talk about it. On with the show! Sorry to keep you waiting after that… death, I wrote last time. Crappy title I know, lol.
Melanie: Too late…
RogueSparrow: Yes, it is depressing, isn't it? Had to be done… it was either her or the big cuddly bear that is Dmitri.
angelic katty: Um… Lei died, not Anise… o_O
Graymoon74: Me… kill someone? Never! Okay… so I'm actually quite fond of the drama, the death, the tension and the angst, I'll admit, but it's damn fun, lol.
Raven Silvers: *hands you a Kleenex*
Capt. Cow: Sorry 'bout that… no wait, that's a good thing, right? That I made you cry over a character you didn't even like… right?
Sethoz: Tut tut, Sethoz… lost a few points on the misquote there… ah well. You've done swimmingly so far, so I guess I can let this one slide ^_^ A trap?! The preposterousness of it is… non-existent, lol. Oh, and the points have scooted up again for the Landon recovery at the end there… quite a sad one you picked, but it fits. But Lei went out as a hero… it was probably how she wanted to go. There, there…
Beck2: Glad you were pleased. Here's the next chunk.
LotRseer3350: Killing Dmitri as well might be a bit harsh… or is it? cue ominous laughter
Everything seemed to flow in slow motion for Tom Sawyer when he came across the body… if you could even call it that. The throat was all but gone, blood soaking the ground around it, aided only by the slow drizzle of rain that proceeded to fall harder with every passing moment, each of which seemed to drag into eternity as his eyes locked on the face of the victim that lay at his booted feet. The ground all around the corpse was soft underfoot, ruined by the scarlet oozing from her, and there was a clear shredding of the shoulder, and a gash down one side. Her tattered clothes only added to the horrifying image, and he felt his fingers lose their iron grip on the Winchester rifle.
It plummeted to the ground, taking an age to land with a dull thud and a light clatter, rain settling on the stock, barrel and firing guard lightly, dripping away from it off of the curves and edges, onto the grassy ground below. And there it stayed, the gun and the rain, amidst the dirt and blood.
Tom felt the rain run down his hair and face, dripping from his chin and soaking slowly into his duster. He stood there for what felt like agonising hours, letting the trauma of the failure wash over him, his senses dulled to the rest of the world around him.
Lei Cheung was dead… and it was his fault.
Guilt tearing through him, his head hung, his hair hanging damply and limply before his brow, his eyes closing in his mourning for the woman he had barely gotten to know. He hadn't even existed peacefully with her. There had always been an air of tension when the two had been close to one another, but that didn't stop the melancholy from taking a firm grip on the American, and squeezing.
It was his fault. He had told Lei to stay behind with Dmitri and…
His head rose, eyes scanning the darkness, widening when the signs of a struggle – or rather, set of struggles – met his gaze. Gouges in the ground, scuffling skids in the dirt, blood. Without even realising, a subconscious action, Tom sniffed the air, and whirled, scanning the area behind him, breathing quickening.
"Sawyer?"
Tom ignored the calm voice of Quatermain, and closed his eyes, trying to pick out Anise's scent, before letting his feet guide him directly, still closed away in his own hidden land of darkness, his senses moving his boots along for him. And then, as mysteriously as he had started… he stopped, opening his eyes as he crouched, a wet, dripping hand reaching down to the moist ground below him. His fingertips brushed against the flattened grass, brought away coated in blood.
He growled, low and bestial, and if he had been a casual observer, he might have seen the silver glint in his own eyes.
He felt a presence move up behind him, and recognised it to be Mina without even turning his head, saying in a grave manner, "She's gone, and I let them take her."
"Who?" came the quiet, feminine reply.
Tom stood and turned so quickly that Mina's eyes opened a fraction wider, almost unnoticeably. "Who do you think?" he snapped, and he realised his fists had clenched tightly, the other hand staining with blood from the ground. "And for all I know, she's dead, because I left her behind… because I thought I had to."
Mina did not flinch under his tone, and he knew he was being rash, but everything was building up inside, and he was finding it hard to control all of a sudden. He stared, coldly, the rain falling all around, and felt it trickle down the back of his shirt, sending an ignored shiver down his spine.
Suddenly, everyone in the background appeared very uncomfortable. Jekyll flinched noticeably, and Skinner's eyebrows rose. Nemo cocked his head curiously, and Quatermain furrowed his brow, dropping his jaw just a little.
And Mina sucked in a slight gasp, something very unusual from the vampire.
If Tom could have seen his own eyes, he might have understood their reactions. Nevertheless, no one voiced their surprise; they all stayed silent on the matter, knowing he was angry, and that was the reason for the silver melting into his eyes, overwhelming the normal, soothing shade of green.
And then he closed his eyes, pushing it back subconsciously – for he hadn't even realised what it was that he had done – and sighed heavily. He moved past Mina, glancing coolly at her one last time, and scooped his gun up from the floor with one hand, feeling the comforting weight, easier to heft now.
He walked to the others, without saying a word, and then stopped, silent and intimidating in his ever-prepared posture. It was an unintentional force of habit now though, it seemed, to forever be on the alert for danger, every sense highly tuned to pick out the signs and give him forewarning.
I have to go after her… I can follow her scent. She's still alive; I know it. I can feel it.
But it was obvious that the League weren't just going to let him rush off and potentially get himself killed… not that he cared about the risk. He just cared – perhaps instinctively – about getting Anise back. Dmitri too, since there were no signs of his body. He just hoped they were more or less all right wherever they were… he knew there was no use in hoping they were completely unharmed. Anise's blood gave enough evidence of that.
He stood – inwardly seething – next to Quatermain, his whole body tensed like a spring coiled, ready to set loose and pounce into action… perhaps quite literally.
Mina stood, hovering where he had left her for a while, before glancing back over her shoulder and saying coolly, - but not unsympathetically – "I am sorry, Agent Sawyer."
"No you're not," he whispered harshly, eyes down turned. "You don't care… don't pretend that you do."
The rain and the storm carried on around them, the League being respectively soaked and torn about by the slight breeze, whereas the vampire and the werewolf spy stayed lodged in place, as if rooted. Their eyes locked intensely as lightning flashed, and Quatermain let his gaze cast between them, trying to figure out how to unravel the troubles amidst the two.
"I do care, Tom," Mina retaliated, and she turned to face him properly, the rain flattening her hair against her head and shoulder, still pinned back but now dripping with water. "I cannot understand why you think I do not."
"Why should you?" Tom retorted, shrugging in an exaggerated fashion, narrowing his eyes, even as rain trickled down his cheeks and along his brow. He ignored it, as though it were not there. He raised his arms slightly, out to the side, as if showing he was perhaps challenging her in her claim. "You've never cared about her… or about me, really. I don't care… I don't let it bother me anymore, but this is serious. They took Anise, and I'm going to get her back, whether you help me or not!"
"Sawyer, calm down."
"I am calm," Tom snapped, looking swiftly to Quatermain, who did not flinch or waver in his gaze.
"No you're not," Quatermain told him calmly, and swiftly persisted to avoid retaliation from the younger man, "and it's obvious you're taking this attack personally. I understand that. If they are after you, as it was suggested, then this is a clear ploy to get you out into the open, where you're vulnerable, perhaps even lure you to wherever they are." There was a pause here, long and painful. "But… you cannot know they are still alive."
Tom stared, as thunder rolled along in the heavens. Slowly, he nodded. "Yes…" he said, "… I can."
And with that, he turned, walking away steadily into the trees at the edge of the park, without waiting for anyone else. He heard a voice call after him, recognising it as Quatermain, but simply closed his eyes and let his senses guide him.
He just had to find her… he couldn't lose her again…
"Are we just gonna let him walk off then?" Skinner blurted, gesturing into the darkness where Sawyer had disappeared. He sloshed along the mushy ground to face Quatermain, and then glanced to Mina, saying, "Well? Anyone gonna go after the kid before he does something stupid?"
Mina and Quatermain were looking pointedly at each other, Skinner noticed, and it seemed there was an issue of command. Rolling his eyes, thankful no one could see it, he said, "Oh, come on, people, we don't have time for disputes about leadership. Sawyer's gonna get himself killed or captured or whatever if we let him just storm off like that… no pun intended." Lightning had flashed overhead as he had said that, and he eerily noticed the glint of something undistinguishable in Jekyll's eye. The man shook his head, as though internally arguing with Hyde, and Skinner let it slip past. Nemo was annoyingly silent and nonchalant.
The rain fell down silently around them for a few irritating moments – each of which signalled Sawyer's continuing distance from them, and his straying farther and farther into danger – until Quatermain took in a deep breath that caused his chest to heave.
"If we are to go after Sawyer, we had best not delay. With his new abilities, he could have taken off at a run as soon as he hit the trees, and it won't take us long to lose him." Quatermain glanced to his companions, and Skinner saw the readiness in their eyes. Mina paced to the tree line, turning her head back and forth, and seemingly sniffing the air.
"I can track him, but the winds will make it more difficult than usual. We should leave immediately, as Quatermain said." Mina seemed to be in agreement with the 'great white hunter', and for that, Skinner was glad. The last thing they needed was an argument about leadership. It appeared as though the two could share, at least for the time being.
There was a time and place for debate… this certainly was not it.
Sebastian Woods let himself into the room with a flourish as he pushed the doors inward, and smiled at his three soldiers as they stood before the heavily reinforced cage, looking in on their two… 'guests'. They appeared to both be unconscious, but he knew they would prove less than cooperative when back amongst the world of the aware and living.
Falx, Gladius and Lacertus simultaneously turned their glazed eyes towards him as he entered, and half-bowed their heads in recognition of his superiority. He gave them a curt nod, and walked over, saying in a loud, clear voice, "I see this time you were more successful with your quarry." He paused, and an odd smile crept onto his lips, causing lines to mar his face from age. "I also see that the numbers have dwindled… 'misadventure'?"
As usual, it was Gladius who addressed him, the speaker for the three – he supposed he should make that their title, but it would become useless when the fourth member showed up, which would be soon, hopefully, if all went according to plan. In a smooth American accented voice, Gladius reported, "Yes, sir. She was proving problematic and had to be exterminated."
"No matter. She wasn't the one we were interested in anyway." Woods' grey eyes settled upon the feminine figure in the cage, lying on her back with her eyes closed, looking almost peaceful in her unconsciousness. Her dark hair was still damp from the slight drizzle that had started to fall before the three had returned with their quarries, and he noticed her clothes were intact… she had not transformed.
The three themselves were back in black, as it were. They always utterly destroyed their attire when transforming, and it bothered Woods very little that he quite often had to replace their clothing. It wasn't like it could not be afforded, anyway. What was a little expense for new attire when the state of the government was at stake, quite literally?
The way his country worked… it disgusted Sebastian… it really did. There was chaos and disorder everywhere he turned, and the President was a mindless fool, being used like a puppet by the very men who were responsible for the order and safety of America. He couldn't let it continue. And he planned to use the very men – and women in this case he supposed – they had specially trained to protect said government, to destroy it… to tear it down from the inside, with such ferocity and savagery that they would have no choice but to bend to Sebastian's orders and ideas.
He would bring order to chaos, oh yes… he would save his fine country and put her back on her feet. She was just wounded… she was not broken yet. She could be saved, and he intended to see that she was.
Just then, another man walked into the room, throwing Woods a curt salute. Sebastian did not return it, simply snapped, "What is it?"
"Our lookouts along the street have spotted something, sir… something you might be interested in. Very interested."
Sebastian understood the meaning, hidden in the words, and strode from the room, his three elite right behind him, perfectly in stride with one another, black dusters swaying out behind them like shadows of death and doom… to sound melodramatic. They really were messengers of death… wherever they went, people were harmed and destruction was visited upon the worthy of such treatment.
They made it all the way to the brain of the organisation, wherein several men turned their heads to meet their collective gaze. Many visibly edged back at the sight of the werewolves in human form, and Sebastian rolled his eyes none too discreetly.
Pathetic… they won't be harmed, don't they realise this? So long as they follow orders… Sebastian walked up to his right-hand man, Edmunds, and demanded, "What's going on?"
Edmunds turned his blue eyes to Sebastian, and replied in a crisp voice, saying, "Well, sir, something you might enjoy. It seems we're going to get a visitor… in the form of a certain Special Agent."
Inwardly, Sebastian was triumphant. It was going quicker than he had anticipated, and he had expected Sawyer to at least return to the Nautilus for a regrouping before heading to their headquarters, which he had no doubt found via the Frenchwoman's scent.
"Excellent news." He turned his head to the three. "Good work. Go and guard our 'guests'. Sawyer will make his way to you. He is not to be harmed… not unless it is absolutely necessary, do you understand me?"
A combined nod was his answer, even as another of the suited men – Mannings was his name – ventured to say, "But, sir, won't he heal?"
"Open your mouth again, and I'll show you just why I don't want those three letting themselves go, understand?" Even as Sebastian spoke, the three dismissed themselves from the room, no longer needed. Mannings fell utterly silent and dejected, but not daring to say or do anything else.
Sebastian settled himself rather triumphantly into a leather chair, and sighed quietly, glancing knowingly to Edmunds, who grinned slyly.
The rain was still pelting down, and his temper rose dramatically with each flash of eerie lightning, each rumble of threatening thunder. He gripped his Winchester so tightly in his hand he thought he might crack or shatter the stock, and at least bend the lever. His other hand was balled into a tight fist, and he knew he was being watched. He didn't care… couldn't have cared less even if he had put serious effort into it.
He ignored the rain running down his face and dripping from his hair, weighing down his black cloth jacket and pants, not to mention collecting only marginally in the soles of his boots, squelching very slightly whenever he took a long stride towards the building he had homed in on as containing Anise and Dmitri's scent. In truth, he had only really followed Anise's… it was more… comforting to him, and therefore what he had picked up on more prominently.
His senses were all on the alert, but he barely seemed to notice, as he strode right up to the building in front of him, without a care for his own safety. Normally, he would have watched the building for a while; staked out the activity around it and determined a stealthy way in. Right now… he shunned all of that for directness.
Kicking out with a solid boot, he felt it connect with the frame of the front door to the building. It was knocked inwards with enough force to splinter it, and he raised the rifle at once, blasting right into the first man he saw. The man was thrown back with the impact, and he quickly turned the gun on the next figure, cocking his head as the guard reached instinctively for his own trigger.
"No…" was all Tom said, more or less in a growl, but it appeared the guard had already reconsidered, and was moving away from the door he had been standing beside, the same with the other man on the mirrored side of the barricade. "Good idea," Tom mumbled, and kept his eyes on them as he moved.
The guards sidled nonchalantly aside, and he knew he should have been more aware of the suspiciousness of their actions, but he simply opened the door, and slipped inside, slamming it behind him, discarding discretion.
He sprinted down the stairs, following their spiral agilely, and with the stealth and spryness becoming a hunter, as he jogged along the corridor leading away from the area of descent. Tom followed the scent, realising it was becoming stronger and ignored many doors – no doubt locked, not that it would have stopped him – on his way to the room he didn't know the position of yet… he could just smell it, with her inside.
And others… Dmitri… and… and them. Tom growled despite himself, and gave in to the burst of speed he knew had been waiting to erupt since he had entered the building where Anise was being held.
And when he reached the door, he shoved aside patience and care, and slammed bodily into it, sending it half off its hinges to rock precariously from the frame. Tom let out a growl as he saw three figures standing before a large, imposing cage, the bars stretching like thick trunks from floor to ceiling, clearly made of metal.
They stood nonchalantly in a row, regarding him almost in a bored fashion… at least until he rose the barrel of the Winchester.
And fired.