Chapter Eleven (Written by Rei Nokato)
"I- I'm so sorry, sir. They just seemed to- to disappear. Just like... that."
"Ah. I'm afraid that isn't the case. So sorry."
"...For what, sir?"
"For this."
A scream corresponded with the unexpected answer. The resonance of a body being brutally thrown to the floor sounded through the many passages that were Thrax's lair. Well, technically speaking, it's still the Artist's lair, but it's Thrax's for now. :
"Well, now... Didn't think I'd meet you again..." A tall and leering man whispered to himself, as he hung a black chain before his face. There were many blue slits in the wristlet; though it was only one of the glowing beads which roused Thrax's attention.
In the tiny orb, he placidly observed a young ginger-haired boy staring up at him. It was the boy he had ran into roughly two decades ago. That youthful lad had nearly ruined him.
There were only very indistinct sounds coming from the bead. The boy threw something to the ground and fled out of vision.
"You have just given me a splendid idea." Thrax twirled the chain lazily along his claws. After standing soundlessly for a moment, he began to again watch the memory in his chain. He discontinued perceiving the little boy and sighed.
He leant against the wall, his claws clattering quietly on the cold brick. He traced his index finger along the wall, mindlessly drawing noughts and crosses, as he hummed and thought of his next line of action. After a moment of deliberation, he had finished his noughts and crosses game. He scratched a deep burning stripe over the winning line of noughts.
"Perfect!" He swung his claws through the air, coming in contact with the corner of a desk and flinging a chunk of it to the wall.
In the lonely streets of London...
"Shit."
The Invisible Man shuffled slowly to a halt and stood silently on the pavement. He could still feel the slight warmth of where Dorian's arms had bound around his coat.
I've really done it this time. What am I to do now? No League... No Dorian...
Rodney let out an infuriated sigh as he looked up at the gloomy overcast sky. There were no wishing stars to be seen that night.
He hung his head and swayed to and fro on his feet. He sniffed and glanced again overhead. The shades of cloud were moving at different speeds to one another.
Low rumbles of thunder made the rusted gutters on the roofs of London vibrate softly. The Thief watched as millions of glinting specks fell over the cobblestone street like a heavy sheet. He remained motionless and unaffected as the rain relentlessly pelted down on him. He became slightly more aware, however, when a strong gust blew his hat cleanly off his head. He spun around and saw it fly down the forlorn lane.
He wanted to walk after it, but realised that if he did not run he would lose his one and only hat.
It plopped into a great puddle on the soaking road and slowly became drenched.
"God's sake!" Skinner muttered, thrusting his sodden hat on firmly.
"Confound it!" He recoiled as an unwavering bother started further up the street. He regarded the sound of a door being slammed with quite an amount of rage, though the noise was muffled by the storm.
There was a short silence, but just as Rodney was growing calm the window of a house up the road was shattered.
"The infinite details!!!" Another smash, much louder than the last. "All my life it may take me!!" Smash. "Cheated!!" The insistent yells soon became colourful curses.
Skinner ducked into the alleyway beside him as he perceived a man walk promptly around the corner.
The hurried footsteps stopped. Rodney held his breath; the livid bloke was reassuring himself that he had not seen a floating hat and possessed jacket on the footpath.
The Gentleman Thief bit his invisible lip. He was used to the constant befuddled looks he received during his occasional walks through London, but this... particular individual by some means alarmed him; he seemed an unpredictable and impulsive madman that would lash out at things he was unable to explain.
Come on… Go… It was just your imagination…Get going…
He heard a light footstep very close to the corner; the stranger was creeping towards him.
Skinner silently took a deep breath and glanced around. He couldn't strip and run for it; the person would see his outline in the torrential rain. The wild thought of climbing up the wall like a spider came to him, but he blinked and put that impossible plan aside.
He looked at the ground thoughtfully.
"Could it be-?" The anonymous man mouthed. He reached a gloved hand around the bend. He swiftly stepped around and-
No one was there.
"What's this, now?" He picked up a black leather coat and a fine-quality hat off the ground. The man's spectacles glittered. He stared down at the clothes for a minute.
Abruptly assuming a different air other than that of suspicion, the stranger shrugged. "Must have been my, aah… imagination."
The stranger stood ineptly for a minority of seconds, as if waiting for an answer, then draped the coat over his forearm and gripped the hat in his other hand.
He was about to turn when he suddenly doubled back, like he was double-checking no one was there.
Once the atmosphere returned to its voiceless state, and the only sounds were the many pit-pats of water on cobblestone, Skinner cursed softly at the loss of his garments. He was, however, exceptionally thankful the unforeseen arrival had not discovered him.
Rodney edged nervously along the wall, the iciness of the bricks causing him to flinch. This way he could relocate the daunting man who acquired his clothes without having the risk of people clarifying his profile in the rain; the overhead gutters sheltered him flawlessly.
He halted at the corner, made a small gasp for air, and then jumped to the other side. The padding noise of his bare feet was noticeable amongst other sounds.
He breathed a soft sigh of relief, only to turn around and see the formerly mad stranger leaning against the wall beside him. Skinner's breathing stopped temporarily.
The person had not noticed. The Invisible Thief stood there for what seemed like an eternity, before discerning his unfamiliar acquaintance's lack of movement. His hat was tilted forwards, so it covered most of his face. He was breathing and all that, but it seemed he had dozed off.
Rodney raised his hand outwards and gently took hold of his black coat. As slow as he could, he let it slip out of the man's crossed arm.
Okay. Skinner silently put on his jacket. Now for my hat…
He stepped carefully around the stranger. The Rogue kneeled down a tad and attempted to pull his hat out of the other's hand.
He took a pace back before gasping with fright; the unknown person held the hat with an extremely tight grip which Rodney could not break without awakening him.
It seemed to go on forever. He simply stood there, trying hard not to sneeze every time an icy chill of wind came by. He eventually rolled his eyes and made for his hat.
As Dorian had done, Skinner counted down in his mind.
One… Two…
The stranger shifted. His spectacles glimmered as he idly turned his head to look to his right-
He gazed at the unfilled jacket hanging in mid-air. He looked at the ground, shook his head and flicked his hat up. Rodney unintentionally swore.
He apprehensively perceived an entirely bandaged face with round glasses covering two eyes. The binding pleated and creased with a smirk.
Skinner gulped; the man's wicked smile extended.
Meanwhile, at a warehouse on the east side of London…
"Skinner? A traitor?" An American-accented voice sounded athwart the room.
The League had returned to their headquarters. It had taken a short time to break into it though, since the Artist's henchmen had locked all of the doors.
Two extraordinary gentlemen and a slightly rustled woman ended their discussion to turn around and see their wounded teammate struggling to sit up in his blankets. Ferdinand, who happened to be good at something, had wrapped a bandage securely around Tom's forehead to cover up a dripping cut.
"He can't be…" Everyone was silent to allow a terribly weakened Sawyer to speak. "Remember the last time we suspected it? He was helping us… And we judged which side he belonged to before we even knew what was going on!" He buried his face in his hands, the effort of sitting up causing him severe drowsiness.
Jekyll peered out into the hallway. "Ferdinand!" He waited tolerantly for a reply.
"Yes! Yes, I'm coming!" The Artist made his way down the corridor with a business-like sweep in his stride. In fact, you could say he was walking with the same sexy manner Luka Kovac possesses. Aaah, Luka… D
"It appears the medicine has worn off." Said Quack to the Artist, making a small gesture in Tom's direction.
"Mm. I'll get right to it." Ferdinand left the room, only to reappear holding a black briefcase. He grasped the back of a chair next to Sawyer's bed and pulled it closer. Opening the briefcase, the Frenchman hauled a roll of bandages and a specified drug in the form of liquid quivering in a phial. He sat briefly in thought for a moment, examined the items laid out in front of him and started to aid Tom's wounds.
"Come now, everyone." Nemo murmured. "Let us leave Ferdinand to his work."
"Captain-" Mina seemed uneasy to leaving the Artist with Tom.
"I will not hear it, Mrs. Harker." The Captain marched out of the room.
"Come, m' lady." Jekyll patted the vampire's shoulder sympathetically. Harker stared bluntly at Ferdinand as he began to unroll Sawyer's bandages. She nodded and swiftly departed. Henry followed suit.
-------------------------------------------------------
"…Uh… Huh?" Rodney rubbed his head; a sore and fresh bruise beginning to swell on his forehead. He could not remember anything.
He turned onto his side, only to hastily land on his back again; it seemed his arm was impaired. He glanced at it hesitantly. It was exceedingly tender. Guessing it was broken, he cursed under his breath.
He was lying in darkness. With much difficulty, he managed to sit up and lean his back against a damp wall, trying all the while to keep his arm still. He managed it, though he discovered other forgotten injuries. He had a severe gash on his chest which when he observed closer was in fact a burn of some sort. Raising an eyebrow, he also noticed abrasions around both his wrists, like wiry and barbed handcuffs had been wrapped compactly around them.
Wait a moment… I…
It knocked him hard; his wounds were visible.
But… How…?
Amazed, he watched the blood seep out of his flesh wound and the floating red fluid dotted in the air where he had his wrists held out. He gawked at them for a while.
His attention was taken off his injuries for some time, however, when he spotted a note on the floor next to where he lay earlier.
He half-crawled to it; he could only really get to his knees and slowly move himself forward with one arm. He snatched it up hastily and reversed to his sitting place.
Skinner,
Terribly sorry our introductions were not made tonight. It is quite sad to think the only two invisible men in existence have not become acquainted with one another. We must learn to work mutually. I ask you assist me in commencing the deferred Epoch of the Invisible Man. Invisible Man the First (am I) asks for your presence at the rear of the local town hall tomorrow night. Ignorance of this demand will finish result in my trouncing your teammates – yes I know who they are - and I pledge I am not a sham. So, tomorrow it will be that, after so many years, I will congregate with the other invisible man inhabiting this monotonous world – the terror we shall spread.
There was neither regards nor a name of the correspondent. Rodney ripped the letter to shreds and used it as confetti.
After a while, he half-wished he hadn't destroyed the note; he was beginning feel tiresome of the remarkable dullness of his captivity. He looked at the letter and decided he would try to reassemble it.
Doing this, Skinner hoped, would seize an immense amount of his time.
'Invisible Man the First'? Who the devil...?
In the League's Meeting Quarter...
"I don't believe it!" Mina slammed her fist onto the table, her teeth bared viciously. "Can't you see? Skinner is our enemy! You're talking absolute nonsense!"
"M' lady, he is simply doing as he has done before! He is deceiving the enemy! Why can't you see it? We have to favour him! We can't go against him!" Special Agent Sawyer was fixed on defending his invisible teammate's innocence.
"I'm not favouring anyone who indiscreetly smacked me in the face." Mina finally muttered, her face flushing. Tom quickly became pale.
"What?" Jekyll grew pale as well. "He hurt you? But... maybe..."
"Why... just face it. He is no longer one of ours." Harker blinked in silence for a moment, before leaving the room hurriedly. Jekyll rushed to the doors and unbolted them for her.
After the doors quiet closing, the League remained soundless until Mina's hurried footsteps had faded. Quack was first to speak.
"He-he has crossed the line this time." His statement sank dreadfully into the quiet. "He may deceive the enemy, perhaps having to make few sacrifices in making us clueless as to his actions... but he has no need for intentionally hurting his allies. He has crossed the line... Excuse me." Henry left.
"Well-" Sawyer began, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
"Face it, Agent Sawyer. Harker is right." Nemo lowered his head remorsefully. "We have indeed lost Mr. Skinner and his loyalty."
Tom sat, blurry-eyed, in a chair; He shed tears, not for the loss of his friend, but concerning the intense pain forming from the cut on his forehead.
"This is just so... so stupid." Tom whispered, his air slightly that of petulance. He folded his arms, annoyed by the throbbing wound. "How are we going to defeat this unknown villain if... if we can't even manage to rely on our allies? I ask you..." He fell silent, putting a finger to his chin as he became lost in a trace of thought.
"Hang on now, Sawyer." Nemo straightened and rapidly got to his feet. "I am just as confident as you are that Mr. Skinner is still with us. However there is no way we can tell the League this without evidence. We must find proof that Skinner is still working for us, and that he is indeed working his mischief behind Gray's back. OMG. Will you join me, Agent Sawyer, in returning to Gray's stronghold and snatching that proof?"
Still holding the bandage to his wound, Tom stood up swift and walked to his room. In getting there, he loaded his sweet American weapon and flicked an extra pistol into his belt. Lastly, he attached a large ammo belt to his coat and stereotypically snapped his rifle back menacingly.
"Sir, I doubt you will require that much ammunition." Were Nemo's first words to Tom when they rejoined in the courtyard. The American muttered 'Yeah and how about you?' as he glanced at the massive harpoon gun the Indian held under one arm. The Captain seemed to have gone temporarily deaf to Sawyer's words.
As they headed for the front gates, a familiar voice hinted with a French accent sounded in the wake of them, followed by rushed footsteps. They turned to witness none other than Ferdinand Pierre running agitatedly towards them.
"Wait, you two! It would be jolly grand of you to possibly permit my presence in accompanying you to Mr. Dorian Gray's residence!" When the flushed Frenchman reached them, he was awfully puffed out. He put his hands on his knees and bended forward a bit, valiantly gasping for oxygen. The couple of extraordinary gentleman remained silent, waiting for Ferdinand to catch his breath. When he finally had, he straightened and grinned at his jaded companions. "And maybe-maybe if we make it back in time for breakfast, I'll whip up my best meal: pancakes!! Oooh!! Perhaps I could also prepare you all some muffins! How would that be? Sound nifty?"
Tom and the Captain blinked, completely lost in the fantasies of food.
-------------------------------------------------------
"Yes. Nearly there..." Rodney placed the last shred of paper on the corner of the rectangle he had formed out of the other bits. There were many jagged lines cutting through the text of the letter, but it was all perfectly legible. "YEE!!" Skinner awkwardly stood up, raised his fists into the air and preformed a victory dance. "You are surrounded! Uh huh, uh huh, surrounded!"
A door on the opposite wall slammed open, flooding the room suddenly with light and cold air. Rodney shrieked as the wind lifted the many pieces of thin paper that was his note off the floor and rearranged them around the room.
"Aaaah! Blast it!" The Invisible Man kicked the wall in anger, fell to his knees and folded his arms gruffly.
"Shut up, you. Get up. Now." A voice came from the doorway.
"Well, excuse me, s-" Skinner immediately went quiet as he perceived the edge of a glowing blue chain hanging out of his addressee's pocket.
"I thought you'd come to your senses." The figure shifted itself towards Rodney. It stood motionlessly in front of him, either waiting for a response, or smirking at the listlessness overcoming his captive's form; the Invisible Man's shoulders were slowly growing relaxed and lopsided. It was as if he were hypnotised . . .
-------------------------------------------------------
"And-and massive piles of syrup on top! How does that sound?" Nemo and Agent Sawyer groaned with hunger and annoyance.
It had been three hours since they departed Headquarters, and still they had not arrived at their destination. The Artist's descriptions of cooking were becoming tedious, and Tom was becoming fairly fed up with them. He was now clutching his pistol, twirling it around one finger and occasionally chucking it into the air, characteristically catching it. Nemo seemed to be holding his hand closer to the enormous trigger of his destructive harpoon launcher.
"You both seem bored stiff by all this. Hehehe. Omigah dirty thoughts. ( -Jin) Why set out on a quest when you know you won't enjoy it?" The Artist received no reply, except for his companions merely rolling their eyes and looking away. After that, the three men roamed the streets in silence until they reached the evocative mansion of Dorian Gray's.
"You!" The American pointed demandingly at Ferdinand. The Frenchman looked up at his being addressed. "Yes, you. You are not to remove yourself from this spot." Sawyer made a slight gesture at their surroundings; the gas lamp above them and the dimly lit pavement under them. "This could get rough, so just in case I think you should stay here."
"Oh." The Artist's features, blank, drew into a smirk. "But I can be of more use than you think, Agent Sawyer." He crossed his arms. "Let me come with you. I beg of you." His sneer became more apparent.
"Please, Mister, er, Pierre." The Captain spoke nervously. "Trust us; it is for your own benefit. Please, ignore my colleague's discourtesy, and identify with me when I say, you must stay here."
"Fine, fine... But you honestly haven't a clue as to what I am capable-"
"Sorry, Ferdinand, but my companion and I have to break into Dorian's house. Excuse us." Sawyer grabbed Nemo's sleeve and steered him across the street to Gray's oversize front doors.
"That was very-"
"Rude, I know. But the man is treacherous to my eye." The American, his expression full of snarkiness, flipped the face on his gun off 'safety'.
"Really? How so?" Nemo took a tighter hold of his harpoon gun, becoming more alert of their situation.
"Well..." Tom sighed unenthusiastically. He glimpsed at Ferdinand for a moment out the corner of his eye. "Just... Never mind." He forced himself to smile at the Captain, to prevent suspicious looks from following him for the rest of the day.
The couple of suss-looking gentlemen bordered around the mansion and began searching for free ways of entry.
-------------------------------------------------------
"Heheh. Finally. I was actually becoming thirsty..."
A young, ginger-haired man held up the small phial filled with a colourless liquid he had been after for some time. He stared at it for a long while.
He knew very well that once this swig was taken, its results were irreversible... But his occupation as a professional thief needed that kind of improvement.
"Well... I guess... I'm ready."
He raised the bottle to his mouth. He bit the cork and popped it out. There was a mild whiff of chloroform about this serum...
He shrugged and lifted the bottle to his lips. He gulped it down to the last drop.
For a moment, the naïve man stood motionless and slightly excited, wondering what was to happen next. So far it felt like he had just downed a cup of contaminated water.
It was like that for thirty seconds.
The filler seemed to slip out of his hands. His blood canals started swelling. His skin began to feel like it was not even there.
Nothing could have prepared him for what followed - his skin became alit with fire, and his knees buckled. His nerves jolted and he collapsed densely to the floor, shivering deliriously.
He gasped as the hurting faded slightly. He was breathing hard. Beads of sweat rolled down his face onto the ground.
The pain intensified again. He endured cruel aching for the next thirteen hours...
-------------------------------------------------------
"Do you remember now, Mr. Skinner?"
"No..." The tired and sore Thief moaned, as his weary eyes refocused on reality and the real things of the present. "I don't know... what you're talking about..."
"Well, I'm sure you'll remember once you have relived another few memories."
... No, he isn't serious... Is he?
"No..." The Invisible Man reached over to the man in the opposite chair, who seemed to have been spellbinding him for the past few hours, forcing him to revive his worst times of past. "You... You can kill me if you want, but please... please don't show me that..."
"What?" The shadow looked at his victim inquisitively for a moment, before a smirk spread crookedly on his face. "Oh, you mean this?" His chair rattled as he shifted himself closer to Rodney, raising the gleaming black wristlet closer to his prisoner's face.
Skinner leaned forward slightly, his wrists remaining restrained to the wall. He gazed into the tiny bead, which seemed to glitter the most.
-------------------------------------------------------
"Lookie there!" A small lad standing at the door squeaked suddenly.
"Wha' is i', Martin?" Another young boy came running to him, curious as to what his friend was pointing at out on the street.
"Tha' bloke over there, 'cross the road... He put something in his pocket. Somethin' real shiny."
"'Sthat so?" Said another lad, though he was much taller than the others. He approached the two youths at the door. "Hmm..." He squinted at the man they were talking about. "Seems to be another one of them rich folk." The younger boys tilted their heads in confusion. There was a brief pause.
"You go!" A little girl called down from the loft. She pointed a small finger at a ginger-haired boy sitting in the corner.
"Bu'..." The boy gulped fretfully. "Bu' I went this morning."
"Yeah, bu' you didn't get anything!"
"Yeah I did." The nervous youngster reached a hand into his pocket. He carefully pulled out a very delicate minute watch.
"Ha! Tha's nothing! It's broken!" Everyone in the room snickered.
"Yeah, bu'... so what? At least I go' it!" He folded his arms grumpily as his friends persisted to mock him.
"Can' even manage to steal somethin' without breaking it!"
"Aw, Rodney. You could 'ave just said so. You can stay-"
"What? I could have said what?"
"That you're a coward." The young lass grinned. "Duh, Rodney, it's so obvious! You always wimp out on jobs if the person yer pilferin' is 'scary-looking'. How much more of a coward can you get?!" The room rang with soft chuckles.
"Am no'! Am no'!" The ginger-haired lad stuck out his tongue rebelliously. "I'm no' afraid of anything!" There was even more laughter. "SHUT UP! No! Leave me alone!"
An adolescent boy had charged at him and taken him by the collar. The young man ruthlessly whacked him across the face.
"Stop it!!!" Rodney moaned dejectedly. "Shut-"
"You shut up!" The little girl chuckled.
"No I won' shut up!"
"You little SHIT!"
"You can' talk to-"
"You just don't GET it, do you?" The teenager shook Rodney roughly. "You think we all wanna steal? Well, guess what, pal? We don't! We either steal or we leave this here place! Now you go steal that there shiny thing Martin talked about or I'll tell Mister to kick you out!"
"No, no please-"
"I swear I will-"
"OK!! Just let go of me!!!" Rodney yelped hysterically. The ruffian threw the poor child to the ground.
"Let's watch Rodney!" The scruffy girl ran to a dirt-streaked window and peeked out anxiously. "Oooh, hurry! He's leavin'!"
So, Rodney, an utterly disheartened and filthy child, bravely got to his feet and walked outside. He tried to stop shivering from anxiety.
"Please, please let him be gone..." He peered nervously around the corner to see a tall man with his back to him, clothed in a sleek black trench coat and gleaming black boots. This man seemed rich, but Rodney was sure something was distinctly different. He soon found out when the gentleman turned around.
He let out a stifled gasp. That was no man... That was some sort of monster...
He began stepping backwards, slowly shifting to the alley door, when he felt something behind him. He turned to see his bully looking down at him angrily.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Go ge' it!" He raised his arm and it came around to hit Rodney over the head. He then mumbled something, disgruntled, and closed the door.
"Stupid..." The ginger-haired one shifted uneasily to the corner again, looking around eagerly for that damned rich man. "Aha!"
-------------------------------------------------------
"Stop it!" Skinner blinked and attempted to snatch the chain hanging in front of him. His wrist burned; he had forgotten the cuffs locking his wrists to the wall behind.
"You don't seem to be enjoying the show, Mr. Skinner." Thrax whispered, his tone hinted with amusement. "Perhaps, something else...?"
"You couldn't... You wouldn't-"
"Oh, I would, Mr. Skinner." The villain sat in his usual chair again and raised the chain to Rodney's eyes. "I would."
-------------------------------------------------------
A ruffled little boy zigzagged in and out of the many alleyways of London, attempting to lose his anonymous predator.
He skidded and tripped when a shadow glided rapidly above him and made the attempt of grabbing him.
Rodney gasped and stood up awkwardly. He pelted towards the nearest dumpster to hide behind.
Too late. A pair of hands gripped strongly around his shoulders and he found himself being lifted off the ground.
"HELP! HELP!" He screamed as loud as he could. As he was flown higher, he became aware of a bizarre feeling; the startling sense that he was going to perish in a few moments.
"Please... Please don't kill me! I'm sorry! You can have it back! Please just LET ME GO!" Quickly realizing he had said the wrong thing, he continued to yell at his predator. "NO! I DIDN'T MEAN THAT!!"
He heard a mere snicker from above him, before the tension of two hands on his shoulders relaxed abruptly.
"AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!" He was falling, plummeting to his doom. Oh God, he thought, I'll never steal again! I'm sorry! He shut his eyes firmly, bracing himself for the deep impact the cold cement would make on him.
His stomach dipped as a tight grip appeared on his arms again. He heeded the violent swishing of a coat above him.
He was being lifted high above the ground again. "I'm sorry!" He cried. "Here! Take it!" He nodded down to his pocket, hoping the stranger would just take what was his and go.
"You don't realise who I am, do you, kid?" A cool, calm and collected voice came from above.
"Er... No I don't, but whoever you are, please put me down!"
He remained hanging motionless, arms pinned, wrapped in the stranger's arm for a few seconds; before he realised he was being lowered to the ground once more.
He was released about a metre off the concrete. He collapsed hazily.
Before diminishing unconscious from shock, however, the young ginger-haired lad flinched as a cold hand gripped around his neck and hauled him to his feet.
"Oh my God..." He was slammed harshly into a moist brick wall behind him. His head banged back and the hold on his neck tightened. "Uh... Plea'... Take it..." Little Rodney reached a hand into his anorak and withdrew it, now holding the stolen item.
He heard a soft laugh in front of him. "Open your eyes, boy."
"Wha'?" Rodney peeped at a gleaming claw placed horizontally below his chin.
"Do you know what I am going to do now, kid?"
The boy allowed the man to answer his own question. After all, the novice thief had no energy left in him to even speak.
"I am going to hurt you." Rodney felt the warmth of the burning claw vanish from his neck. His breath caught as he suffered a sudden searing pain in his lower abdomen. He struggled hopelessly against his assailant's grasp, his eyes beginning to water.
The choking clasp freed unexpectedly from Rodney's neck, and he gave a yell of surprise.
"Boy, listen to me!!" The infantile thief felt an arm support him around the waist. "You have to run!! Run as fast as you can!!!"
He opened his eyes to see an untidy man kneeling facing him who seemed in his mid-thirties; his guardian.
"Dad?" He squeaked hopefully.
"I have told you many a time not to call me that. I'm not your father." The gentleman shook his head. "Nevermind that, boy. You have to get out of here! That man is out of his mind! He'll kill you if you don't-" He abruptly leaned forward, his jade eyes widening. He trembled, his mouth opening slightly and clutched the child's shoulders.
"Dad? What? What's- AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!" Rodney scrambled away in fright, having just witnessed a blood-drenched claw rip through his guardian's gut.
"NO!! I stole it!!! I have it!! It's ME you want!!!" Rodney's profound dark blue eyes started watering feverishly. His guardian began to scream and flail convulsively.
"Have mercy!! He has nothing to do with this!!!" The innocent ginger-haired boy fell to his knees, large tears beginning to streak his face. "NO!!! Leave him alone!! I stole it!!! I stole it!!!!" He sobbed frantically, numerous glistening tears descending to the ground.
"The boy didn't take it!!! I did!!" Rodney's guardian cried desperately. His knees buckled and he fell on his front. The sound of rigorous crackling reached young Master Skinner's ears.
He continued to cry feebly. The glossy black chain he had stolen clinked as it was chucked with haste to the ground. With that, the juvenile one retreated...
-------------------------------------------------------
"YOU BASTARD!!!" The Invisible Man heaved his arms forward, his wrists remaining in their restraints.
Thrax was sneering. "That's just what I was waiting to hear." He stood up summarily, turned on his heels and departed, slamming the metallic door after him.
"Oh... God..." Skinner closed his eyes. "That bastard. I'll show him..." He stopped quivering with anger and looked around. He shook his head, knowing it was hopeless to threaten the cold air. Sighing, he leaned against the stone wall behind him. "Shit. No one's out lookin' for me... No one gives a damn about me..." He kicked the wooden chair standing in front of him. It fell backwards with a loud bang, which reverberated, noisily on the prison walls. "Why did I fight with Dorian? What was it about? Because he tried to kiss me! Ha! I've experienced worse, that's for sure." He rested his chin on his chest. "What a stupid thing to quarrel about. OK. So the guy likes me. So what? I'll just... Tell him I'm not interested. Yeah! That'll get 'im away from me..." He stayed silent for a moment, before tutting with irritancy. "Oh for God's sake, what's the point? At this rate, I won't even see him again. No one even knows I'm gone." He struggled furiously to get out of his restraints, though with no success. "And who in God's name is 'Invisible Man the First'? Another bloke attempting to hit on me, perhaps? I pray not." He raised his head quizzically, as if something had just occurred to him. "And why the hell am I talking to myself?"
The inner confines of Mister Dorian Gray's manor... that sounded pretty snazzy! Ehem! Anyway...
Dorian stood silently, facing the window to view the countless dull streets of London. Fondling absent-mindedly with his stick (:P) Mm. Hot.,he considered the whereabouts of dear Mr. Skinner. He smirked and leaned forward for a better look at the town.
I warned him...
Sighing, Gray shifted his weight off the cane and paced the room in thought. It was only after a few moments that he noticed something; the window was unfastened.
"What?" He had definitely not opened that window; after all, it had begun to rain a few minutes ago. "But-"
Before he could prepare himself, he heard the cock of hammer. He turned swiftly to see the American Agent Tom Sawyer pointing a modified rifle at him.
"Tsk, tsk." Dorian shook his head, scrupulously amused by Sawyer's utter idiocy.
"This may not kill you, Mr. Gray," The Immortal jumped and spun around to see Captain Nemo standing about a metre away, making a gesture to a large harpoon gun in his arms, "But I know it will hurt having your innards ripped in two."
Dorian stood motionlessly in astonishment and sheer disbelief that these two dim-wits had broken into his mansion. "I, uh..."
"OK, Dorian. To be honest, we haven't come here for you. We're just here to see Skinner." Tom lowered his rifle as he became aware of Gray's willing cooperation.
The Immortal chuckled darkly. "Skinner? You mean Skinner is missing?" The two League members stayed silent in reply. "Oh, this is marvellous. Please, if you find dear Mr. Skinner, tell him he was thoroughly warned."
"You think this is a joke, Mr. Gray?" Nemo raised his weapon firmly.
"You tell us where Skinner is," Sawyer lifted his rifle again, "Or it's 'bang'."
"You think I'm joking?" Dorian offhandedly leaned on his cane another time. "Well, it seems your whole plan has backfired. The League has been making efforts to ultimately destroy me, but what's this? Our dear Invisible Man is nowhere to be seen." He stopped in sentence and burst out laughing. "Haha! Funny!" Tom and Nemo each cocked a brow. "So, now the League must join forces with the Immortal, whom they have been attempting to murder for the past week."
"Look, Gray, we don't want your help any more than you want ours."
"Your help? I don't need your help for anything!"
"You want to find Skinner too." A new voice came from the doors of the library. The three extraordinary gentlemen turned quickly to see Ferdinand Pierre standing triumphantly in the doorway.
"What are you doing here?!" Sawyer blurted out.
"I ask to be considered as, from now on, part of this mission." The Artist, out of habit, began to fidget with the side of his moustache.
"What mission?!" The Immortal was in a state of total perplexity and rage.
"Relocating Rodney Skinner; that invisible pickpocket."