Chapter Seven (Written by Rei Nokato)
It was a week before Rodney could walk properly again. His back was still severely out of whack, no thanks to Harker, but at least he could walk now without uncontrollably twitching with pain.
The League held a meeting seven days after Skinner's return from his night of hell. He told them of how Dorian had become hyper and had sung and danced for him. His teammates assumed the Immortal had temporarily lost control of himself and that he was going through a brief stage of despair. Rodney didn't make any mention of how he had spiked Gray's sherry.
Mina brought her fist down onto the table. "We should have chained him upside down from the ceiling. Maybe then he wouldn't have escaped."
Rodney gaped at her. She IS kinkier, he thought, spellbound.
He gazed at her for around three seconds before her eyes flashed dangerously in his direction.
"So!" He rubbed his hands together earnestly. "Who fancies a bit o' toast?"
The League stared at him for a moment, before continuing with their planning. A few minutes had gone by before they were interrupted for a second time.
"Mr. Gray will have fallen asleep by now. When people lose their minds, they lose track of time as well, you see." The Captain nodded knowledgeably.
He jumped with shock as Rodney accidentally kicked a vase on the table over whilst trying to put his feet up.
"Mr. Skinner, please..." Nemo shook his head in obvious disgrace and shame. Skinner smiled weakly as Mina gave him a stern and bothered look.
"Quit it, you tool." Sawyer coughed loudly.
The Thief stood up swiftly, looking tall and quite threatening. BLEEP!
Tom whimpered silently. The rest of the League watched warily and held their breaths, remembering what had happened at Dinner when the American had dubbed Skinner as a 'tool'... No, nothing relentless had taken place. Skinner had kept his cool... but thebloke just couldn't resist coming up with some particularly derisive tactics.
Dinner before the Meeting that night...
After the meal, Rodney volunteered heartily in gathering up the tableware. Once he had all of the leftovers on one plate, he placed his coat and gloves on a chair and tipped his unfinished glass of water over his face to remove the greasepaint.
He made sure no one could see the hovering plate of leftovers as he prowled in silence towards Agent Sawyer's bedroom.
When he peeped in to see Tom frozen in front of his mirror, he almost gave himself away by snickering softly with malevolence.
He leisurely strolled into the American's room, the plate held in front of him. Luckily for Rodney the Roguish, Tom was now making another worthless effort to push his hair down.
Sawyer solidified, his hands still in his hair. Both eyes widened as he glimpsed at the reflection of a suspended dish of scraps floating over his head.
"Skinner..." He mouthed at himself in the mirror.
Before Tom could even think of moving out of the way, the Rogue dumped all of the contents of the platter over him. Water and other sauces seeped through the American's hair, several trails oozing slowly down the sides of his face. Chunks of uneaten food slipped down the loose shirt he was clothed in. When all of the foods had affected Tom's appearance in some degrading way, each bit landed with a dull thud on the carpet. All of the leftover rations were on the floor in a matter of five seconds.
The sound of Sawyer's teeth grinding with frustration was unheard as Rodney roared with laughter. He dropped the plate with a clash and fled, incapable of remaining in control of his own mirth.
The Invisible Man picked up the vase slowly first. He held it in the air for a bit, deciding whether he should waste a few flowers and water on the American. Choosing not to, Rodney placed the urn upright on the table.
For three seconds he resided without motion, taking deep breaths, obviously striving to let his ferocity pass him.
"Don't try me, Sawyer..." He said ominously, before sitting down and massaging his knuckles. His teammates stayed silent for a moment. Tom let out a low whistle, relieved he hadn't become a victim of Rodney's hostility again.
The League carried on with their preparing a search party for Dorian. It was fifteen minutes before they were needlessly disrupted once again.
"Psh." They turned around to set their eyes on Skinner, who seemed to have made himself reasonably comfortable. His arms were folded and it appeared he had managed to get his feet up on the table successfully without knocking anything else over. He simply raised his gloved hand in the air, as if to say thank you, thank you.
He had no idea why, but when he found he was tired of something (or in a word 'bored') he would become irritating and infuriating to everybody. Like me!
"If you're not willing to contribute, Mr. Skinner, then I suggest you disappear." The others nodded, agreeing with Dr. Jekyll's proposition.
"Oh, sure! Anything for you, Quack!" Rodney stood up and left the room. After his departure, the League persisted in preparing their next line of action against Dorian.
Skinner meandered down the darkened corridor without a care in the world.
As he walked past a moonlit window covering the wall from ceiling to floor, he heard a rather abrupt yell of angst, which made him jolt with astonishment.
"What the...?" Rove style.Rodney stopped and listened carefully for more noise. He could hear muffled cries for help. He immediately pictured whomever it was in trouble being gagged.
He stayed irresolute in the silvery moon's glow glimmering through the pane. He heard a thump on the roof of the warehouse. He recognised the sound of distinct footsteps making their way across the floor of the room above him.
The tread of glossy black shoes entered the corridor, which enclosed Skinner. He gasped as he noticed a shadowed figure growing larger in front of him.
"Darn -" Rodney said in an undertone, as he felt two hands grasp strongly around his wrists from behind.
"You're coming with us, Mr. Skinner." A male voice holding a strong French twang sounded from within the darkness.
"Oh, that's where you're mistaken." Rodney very suddenly pulled his wrists out of his captor's grip. He punched the lost-looking thug and bolted in the direction of the League's Assembly Quarter, where he hoped to find his teammates.
When he reached the high doors he clasped the doorknob hurriedly. It was barred.
All of a sudden, he found himself being pulled to the floor in a headlock.
"OK! I'm coming!" He yelled at the gangster holding him, the one who had previously restrained him.
He was pulled back up onto his feet. Staggered, he became horrifyingly aware of a pistol being held to his head.
"You have problems following orders anymore?" The thug whispered into his ear. There was no reply. "Well?!" The pistol was thrusted harshly into his prisoner as the brute became frustrated. Rodney shook his head fearfully.
He was escorted vehemently into the courtyard. A lengthy, gleaming limousine awaited them. He couldn't make out who was inside it though; the windows were tinted.
Cars of cheaper worth were driving wildly out the front gates and down the road.
He glanced at a car just starting up. A woman was sitting in the back seat. She was gagged strongly and someone held a gun to the side of her head. Traces of blood seeped down her chin from her mouth under the cloth. He grimaced, presuming she had probably bitten somebody. It was Mina.
Her eyes glittered, seemingly of sadness, when she saw him being steered away. She trembled as the vehicle began moving in the direction of the front gates.
Skinner couldn't look at Harker anymore, for his head was forced down as he was pushed into the back of the limousine. The thug quickly ducked in with him, keeping his gun fixed steady to his captive's head.
The Thief lost sight of everything as a blindfold was swathed over his eyes.
He recognised sounds such as the car rumbling as it was started and the crunching of gravel as the wheels moved smoothly in a turn.
He felt the bump of the car driving onto the road of cobblestone.
The next few minutes passed in complete silence, the only noise being the limo scraping around corners.
"So, Mr. Skinner," The man with the French accent said, sitting opposite from the Thief. "You made off with the valued formula which results in the consumer becoming unseen." His eyes narrowed as he considered Rodney's invisible neck. He leaned forward thoughtfully. "So... what's it like?"
There was a brief silence before the Invisible Man replied. "Let's just say... It allows me to get away with things now and then." He mumbled, a small smile breaking on his grim face.
"Ah. It must be handy, being a thief and all..." A random person shouted from up the front of the limo.
Skinner raised one eyebrow. "Well, of course... But I had quite a knack for pilfering goods before I sampled the serum." He felt like throwing insults at them, the dull-witted idiots that they were. He thought twice about it when he remembered the thug holding a gun to his head.
"Is it OK that I see you?" Rodney murmured unpromisingly, slightly misplacing his patience. He heard someone click in response and after two seconds his blindfold had been removed.
The Gentleman Thief observed the Frenchman. He seemed very distracted. His face was dreadfully red. His bright green eyes darted to the window when he felt Rodney's invisible eyes watching him.
"Who are you exactly?" Skinner mumbled, loud enough for the Frenchy to hear.
The jittery Frenchman squirmed slightly in his seat. "They call me... The Artist!" As if the whole thing were timed or very much on cue, a sudden boom of thunder sounded. The car shook furiously.
Once Skinner had regained his composure from the abrupt rumbling of the limo, he responded, in a way that made 'the Artist' redden to some more extent. "The Artist! Heh! Bit droll, don't you think?" The Thief never would have guessed it, but his familiar provoking grin had resurfaced.
"You think it's funny, do you?" The Artist spluttered slightly. His emerald eyes glistened strangely as he looked into Rodney's imperceptible eyes for the first time. He looked back boldly at him.
It was an odd moment. By looking into the Artist's eyes, the Thief could tell something was troubling him... Or distracting him...
The Artist smirked as the limousine at long last came to a stop.
Every door of the car opened. The thug holding Rodney thrust the pistol into his stomach. "Hurry up! Be quick about it!" He muttered to him through clenched teeth.
"OK, OK!" Skinner tried his best to move away from the barrel of the gun, but the brute kept pressing it into him. Luckily, Rodney's captor didn't catch his hasty comment. "Moody..."
Beams of evanescent moonlight slowly and gradually died as a vast shade of clouds passed over.
Skinner sighed softly as he looked at his surroundings. It wasn't a typical bad man's lair, but the shadow of it still posed a somewhat threat.
The Invisible Man was practically lifted up the front steps by the gangster gripping the gun. Before walking through the massive front doors, Skinner glanced behind him to notice the moonlight spreading across the front again. This encouraged him in some unfamiliar way.
They walked down an endless hall. Rodney tried as hard as possible to keep on his feet and walk progressively, but the brute holding him kept raising him off the marble floor slightly so they could reach wherever they were going at a quicker pace.
Lamps on either wall of the spacious corridor lit up unexpectedly. Lots of the ruffians following him groaned as they squinted against the glare.
Skinner contorted as the man seizing him let go of his weapon. He was afraid it would go off when it hit the marble tiles. When it didn't do anything but make a loud clatter, the Thief turned in the opposite direction and broke into a run.
Ready for his common routine, he grabbed both sides of the dividing in his coat. He began to pull it off his shoulders, when someone grabbed his arm and swiftly manoeuvred him to a halt.
"Oh, no. You're going to have to do better than that." A man hissed in his ear, sounding relieved he had caught Rodney before he had stripped. -
The Invisible Man found himself with a gun placed to the side of his head and was being threatened all over again. The thug, obviously frustrated because of his captive's escape attempt, clasped his pistol firmly, cocked the hammer and positioned his finger on the trigger.
"Now, don't you try anymore sharp moves," The ruffian whispered harshly. "Or a bullet will have to leave this gun."
"Sorry 'bout that." Rodney murmured, feeling bleaker than ever.
He started to be vigorously escorted once more, when there was an abrupt shriek from the end of the corridor.
"Turn the lights out now!!" It was the Frenchman. He seemed terribly distraught.
The lamps flicked off instantly. As the Thief was steered past the Artist, he heard the man muttering to his henchmen. "Lairs are supposed to be dark, you twits."
Skinner smiled dimly and thought silently, "What a moron."
Without warning, a heavy item was hit ruthlessly around the back of his head.
He collapsed, but someone grabbed hold of him before he hit the marble floor.
He rolled over in the person's arms, twitching from the impact on his neck. Every muscle and limb became awkward. His heartbeat was trembling inside his head. Urgent voices echoed around him.
His body relaxed at its own accord, his eyes closing over. He immediately understood what was happening now; He wasn't dying. He was falling unconscious.
-------------------------------------------------------
Skinner woke up with a fright, as though he had just escaped a nightmare. He became painfully apprehensive as he peered around the room and realised he hadn't just experienced a bad dream.
He was sitting up against a cold stone wall of an icy cell. His breath condensed in the air before him and faded. As he struggled to stand up, he endured a terrible ache in his head and neck.
How long had he been out of it? The first thing he did was check the pockets of his coat; He had stolen a few bits and pieces the morning before his capture.
"Damn!" He cried aloud, as he took his gloved hands out of unfilled pockets.
"Skinner?" A male voice sounded from outside his bolted door. The Thief ignored the ache in his back as he quickly stood up and walked over to the barred access. He looked out of it, gripping the iron bars tightly in case the soreness in his head made him become off balance.
"Quack?" Rodney smiled faintly as he said this. "Fancy seeing you here!"
Dr. Henry Jekyll beamed. "For once your attitude impresses me." He stuck his face out of the bars to glimpse up and down the little walkway between their cells. His smile became a scowl as his eyes began to follow something.
"What is it?" Skinner whispered curiously. He stayed silent for a moment before he saw what Jekyll was gazing at. A guard leisurely walked past their stone prisons.
Once the dark figure of the sentinel had gone, the two League members continued speaking quietly.
"Apparently the Artist, as he calls himself, has incarcerated Mr. Gray a level below us." Dr. Jekyll explained. "What he wants the League for...? I have yet to discover. I presume Dorian had a chat with him over tea... Perhaps he asked the Artist to eliminate us for him." To Jekyll's surprise, the Invisible Man chuckled.
"Trust me, Quack. This Artist guy... He isn't capable of it." He sat back down against the wall and found himself relaxing and sighing with relief. What was he so unhappy for anyway? The Artist was obviously a beginner at the villain thing, so it wasn't like he knew how to exterminate a skilled group of abnormal human beings.
A few quiet minutes passed before something was brought to Rodney's attention.
"Hey! These bars are artificial!" Dr. Jekyll whispered gleefully.
"What?" The Thief sat up a bit more. Was he really hearing this? "You mean they're fake?"
"Yes! The Artist must be a down-right bloody genius!" Almost effortlessly, Jekyll had slightly curved two bars back. "Skinner, I think it may be best that you leave your cell and find Dorian."
"Huh? Why would I want -?"
"The Artist has no reason for keeping him here." He said simply. "I'm sure Dorian has no business being here either."
"Yeah..." Rodney could see the logic in it. "Why would Dorian want to hire anyone to do his dirty work? (By that he means his evil-doings) Especially a moron like the Artist?"
"Exactly!" Said Jekyll anxiously. "You go down and find Mr. Gray. I'll transform and free the others. Then we can meet out the front of this place."
"Sounds like a plan!" Skinner got back to his feet and bent two of the bars without much force. He grinned at Jekyll. "Guess I don't know my own strength."
The Thief hurriedly undressed himself and wiped his face of the greasepaint making it visible.
Meanwhile, at the front of the Artist's lair...
The trees swung lightly in the cool night breeze. All was quiet around the Artist's hideout. The clouds peacefully drifted over the moon.
A sound disturbed the stillness; the crunching of gravel beneath uninvited lustrous black boots. An unwelcome silhouette appeared around the corner.
The shadow walked without haste. His steps were unhurried, as though he were a tourist taking his time to look around. He whistled a light tune, stirring the air about him.
Contours reached over the front grounds of the dismal lair. The lone outline of a willowy man lingered at the front entrance. He continued whistling the eerie tune, even as one of the Artist's henchmen unlocked the grand doors.
"How can I help-" The guard's sentence was immediately cut short when his breath caught in his throat. He gasped at the slim figure standing before him.
The stranger abruptly stopped whistling. He brought his arm swiftly upon the thug in an inward curve. Concealed claws emerged and tore viciously across his chest.
The stunned sentinel fell backwards. A piercing cry coiled fiercely through the gentle wind. There was a small hush before the attacker replaced his hands in the pockets of his sleek black coat. He stepped over the body of the guard and tactlessly began whistling again, as if nothing had happened.
He continued walking at a smooth pace. His whistling stopped and changed to humming. He stalked along a blackened corridor; the same hall the League had been guided down.
Another oaf moved in front of him from the indistinguishable sides of the passage. The shadow halted and discontinued his humming.
"Wh-" The guard had no time to speak. The outsider had taken his hands out of his trench coat. The thug was now held in a harmless headlock, with a glowing golden- orange claw pointing to the side of his head like a weapon.
"Now tell me," The anonymous man said in a professional tone. "Where is the fool who calls himself the Artist?"
"Or... what?" The sentinel sneered. "You'll stab me?"
"No..." The man smiled corruptly at his hostage. "Trust me," Claws uncurled from his other palm and he held them out as though he were admiring them,
"I'm sure you couldn't endure that intensity of pain."
"You don't scare me." The thug declared indignantly. "Do your worst!"
The stranger didn't seem taken aback at all. In fact, he seemed very unruffled.
The gleaming claw connected calmly with the side of the guard's head. Instantaneously, skin on that one side of his face began to blister and peel.
The henchman screamed and struggled to be free of the headlock. The attacker stayed perfectly composed, keeping his arm around his victim's neck with ease, a blank expression drawing across his features.
The claw slickly moved away from its sufferer's skin. The guard's face was still burning cruelly.
The uninvited man held the same claw an inch away from his prisoner's throat. This stopped his detainee from screaming. "What have we learned?" The thug helplessly burst into tears.
"The-the Artist is-" The harassed sentry gulped. "The Artist is- downstairs. On the... the-the-the-the-"
"You're stuttering," Whispered the criminal, a broad smile beginning to extend obliquely on his lips.
Droplets of blood and tears rolled from the patroller's face onto the predator's arm. He took a deep breath, intended to make him relax, but he quivered wildly. His bloodshot eyes continued watering.
"The Artist is on- on the-the-" Losing patience, the invader tightened grip on his captive's neck. "On the... bottom floor..." The guard said in a strangled gasp, before blacking out. He lost his stance and hung limply in the attacker's headlock.
With that, the sinister intruder released the sentinel. The flaccid body fell with a thump on the marble flooring.
The heartless sinner's expression made him look unaware of what had just occurred. Lacking any sympathy or feeling, he persisted in casually walking down the passage.
When he reached the end of the corridor, he perceived a staircase leading to the Artist's underground hideout. He shuffled quietly to a halt, as he heeded the vague echoes of voices down the stairwell.
After another moment of deliberation, the mysterious male strode down the stairs in a relatively sophisticated manner. His arm extended towards the wall on one side of him. A claw extended further and scraped lazily against the wall. As he paced suavely down the flight of steps, a thin trail of scorched stone sizzled in the cold rock wall, revealing his claw's languid path.
The bad guy introduced just now is pretty much the same as Thrax in the animated movie Osmosis Jones. I know this isn't an Osmosis Jones fanfic... But I HAD to put him in! The only differences to the character in this fanfic as to the original are that he is human, not a deadly microscopic virus. He is owned by and copyright to the creators of Osmosis Jones. I'm just telling you this in case you recognise him and say 'Hey, she so totally copied that!' I'm putting him in because I saw Osmosis Jones while I was still thinking about who the bad guy would be in Immisible. When he first arrived and said in that totally suave, smooth and utterly EVIL (OK. I think you get it) voice "Careful. I'm contagious," I GATHPED and thought 'SEXY!!' cough I mean 'PERFECT!!!' I can hear you mumbling 'What an unimaginative worm...' Well, that's what Jin will be thinking anyway. If you want to see Thrax in Osmosis Jones, I recommend you toddle off and do that... Just so then you have an idea of how MAD he is!
Awe, naw. O o Only Beth is an unimaginative worm. And anyway, the Artist is like a demented version of Mr. Burns during the 'See My Vest' sequence.
Hahaha. Take THAT Pec. –vanishes- - Jin. WhOO