Author's Note: Sorry it took me so long to release this one. I had to think of a chapter title and proofread it, etc. Plus, I had writer's block for a while on everything – AGAIN – so it put me off updating. Bleh, enough of my excuses.

Marcus Lazarus: FTS – I like it. I'm very glad you liked the cartoon-watching part. When I was writing the story that night, I just HAD to do it, y'know? It was one of those urges that I just went with, but I'm glad it does something for the character, in your opinion. I love messing with their innocence. Woods and Co quite possibly turn up in this chapter.

Mrs. Mina Harker: Thanks for the review. Glad you liked the chapter.

queerquail Hehe, glad you liked the Roadrunner bit. I think you quite possibly are right about my updates. I sit around for a while, realise what I'm NOT doing, and feel bad, and then force everything out in the space of two days, heh. Guess I should get a steady flow going, huh?

Drakena the Destroyer: Aha, you noticed the Underworld undertone. I'm sure others have noticed; they just haven't said. There's something else in here that might remind you of that film too. Sadly, you are right; no Henry in this story, save for perhaps flashbacks. You'll find out about Skinner and Henry, don't worry.

BloodMoonLycan: Hehehehe, it's so very hard not to love that image of Exuro. Glad you did. You must do this drawing… and I must see it! And thanks; I'm insane when it comes to descriptions – sometimes I can just get carried away. Uh oh… Falx glaring? RUN!

drowchild You feel bad for Gladius? Eeep. Ah well. Someone's got to I suppose. Glad you love the werewolves.

Silversnow: Glad you're liking it. Here's the new chapter for you.

There is a slight warning on this chapter, for some content, and a little language. Thank you.

Without any further ado, here is Part Four of Eternal Midnight…

Gladius stood, staring silently and thoughtfully out of the window, hearing every single word that the other three were saying, even with the almost deafening level of noise blaring from those damn speakers. Perhaps they were trying to cover their voices… somehow, he doubted it. Why should they care about his reaction to such words? When had they ever cared? He didn't care… he couldn't have cared less in fact. They were pathetic… all three of them.

Sighing, he stared out of that window into the sun's rays as they filtered through the tall buildings, and so wished he could go out amongst it all and just lose himself… but he knew they would damn well follow him to all ends of the earth just to see what he was up to. They didn't trust him as it was… not that he blamed them. He hardly gave them reason to trust him.

He caught a flash of his reflection in the face of the glass, suppressing the growl when he saw the telltale gash of a scar running down the side of his once-perfect and handsome face… not that he was especially unattractive now. But that child had ruined it… he had defeated him in that accursed challenge, and stolen Gladius' rightful position and title as alpha male.

Growling audibly then, and narrowing his eyes, he saw – not to mention felt – them wane into green… something he barely understood. Many years ago, they had been yellow when melting into lycanthropy… but now they were a vivid shade of almost emerald green. He didn't mind at all… it only served to set him apart from that arrogant, annoying brat Lacertus even further.

Smiling only slightly, he settled into watching that sun, crossing his arms, and sighing lightly to himself.

Patience is a virtue…

Technology had just about taken over their world, she knew, as she looked down at the object in her hand, the wind tugging lightly at her auburn hair as it flowed freely around her shoulders, framing her flawless face in the oddest and most enchanting way, almost as if it were alive. From the subtle change of horse-drawn carriage to the automobile, and from Morse code to this… these things haunted her everywhere she went, their shrill song disturbing her sensitive hearing greatly, only serving to remind her of that blasted recording M had sent them on Nemo's Nautilus… oh, where was that great, majestic submarine now? The last she had known… returning to India. That had been some thirty years ago.

Sighing, staring down at the cell phone, she recalled the faces of those she had grown to call friends… her second family. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. She missed them greatly. Their adventures and missions together had – in a strange way – warmed her in a way she had never felt… and she yearned for it again. A single tear burned in her blue eyes as she remembered…

Doctor Henry Jekyll had been the second to go, after their first loss in Woods' underground base. Dr. Jekyll… had been a touching, compassionate man, who had taken the time to ensure those around him were comfortable and healthy, despite his own internal demons in the form of Edward Hyde, his monstrous alter ego. He had gone out a hero… forever to be remembered – at least by her – as a warrior, and a gentle spirit.

Rodney Skinner had gone next, attempting valiantly to protect someone… giving his life in the attempt, and robbing her of another loved one. She had mourned for the gentlemen thief more than she thought she ever would have, and despite herself, she couldn't help but recall his mischievous antics in their days spent together, his invisibility both a blessing and a curse.

Allan Quatermain… had retired to Africa once again, back to the dark continent he had loved so much… the loss in their first mission after his return striking him a powerful and scarring blow, one that had contended with the death of his son. Mina Harker had stayed with him as he had slipped into senility, and ensured his last days had not been lonely ones. She had watched him decay and slip away… perhaps so slowly she hadn't even really noticed at first. In the night… she had found him gone.

Captain Nemo, of course, had been lost in that mission to recover Tom Sawyer… they had failed them both in that dark time. Both had – if only in a sense, for one at least – died that day… one murdered… the other the murderer. Nemo had been killed horribly by what had once been Tom Sawyer. After he had been drugged, the alter ego – as savage as it was – that was Exuro had taken over, and the once mischievous, innocent and charming young American had torn the Indian apart, almost literally. She so wished she wouldn't remember that…

A tear fell, and steeling her resolve, forcing her eyes from the phone, she dialled, feeling the pad beneath her feminine fingers, and connecting the call. She had managed to acquire the number through what little sources the three of them kept in the city and beyond. They weren't in the habit of making friends, for fear of dragging them into their ordeal… nor were they keen to make any more enemies. They had enough of those to deal with as it was. She brought the small cell phone to her ear, and heard it ring, urging the person on the other end to answer.

They didn't disappoint. "Hello?" came the somewhat gruff voice of the replier, and there was that ever-present wariness in their tone she had grown so accustomed to.

"I need your help…"

He strode purposefully through the polished and spotless corridors of his expansive, grand building, his heels connecting firmly with the floor below, and sounding his presence for anyone attentive enough to hear it. He was not in a pleasant mood, and he had intent on his mind. This little problem was really starting to grate on his few remaining nerves, and he wanted it sorted… and fast.

Ever since his great-grandfather had gotten it into his head that super soldiers could be created and controlled, he had practically thrown his entire country into disarray… the fool hadn't thought it through, covered his bases and put any backup plans into action… and it had all blown up in his face.

Now Samuel Woods was having to deal with it all, and it was starting to – frankly – piss him off. More than anything else he could think of. Like all the men in his family, Samuel loved… no, adored his country, and would do anything for it. Even die, probably – but only as a last resort, obviously. He was desperate, but not that desperate. It was a while before it came to that yet.

His great-grandfather – Sebastian Woods – had had a vision… and for a while, as a child, Samuel had found this vision brilliant and fascinating. But now he was older – much older – and wiser, and liked to think he had a good head on his shoulders… after all, he did pretty much run the country… his ancestor had seen to that.

For a time, the plan and vision had worked, been successful… Samuel was sure – somewhere deep inside – that it had been beautiful. The soldiers had done as they were told, obeyed orders, and genuinely weaned out the weak from the strong with a kind of strict malice becoming true warriors. But over time… and not much time either – the powerful drugs Sebastian Woods had used had started to change and alter, twisting and reshaping the minds of those they were used on. The effects had started to take on a new shape, and soon… the temporary – and brutal – personalities of those under its control had taken over completely. The humans – as close as – had been lost, and the soldiers had broken loose. They hadn't responded to commands anymore, and Sebastian had lost them entirely… almost died in the attempt to regain them, in fact.

Now it was up to Samuel to clean up the mess left by his now-dead ancestor. The Quattuor – as they so arrogantly called themselves – were the painful thorns in his side, constantly ruining his days and always presenting new problems. They had tried to reason with them, and never seen their negotiators again. They had tried paying them… and watched as their messengers had been burned with the money offered. He was beyond the point of reason, and as he slammed open the doors to his main laboratory-cum-strategy room, he got it firmly into his head that this was going to end… and soon.

Marching up to his best mind, Erik Strand, he said, "Have we got anything?"

In this room, his smartest and quickest workers planned and thought, using the newest technologies and techniques to try and concoct ways to reverse this major error. Laptops and blueprints, surveillance photos and chemicals were strewn in an organised manner all over the room.

Strand turned to Samuel, and said timidly at first, "Not exactly, sir."

Samuel sighed irritably, locking eyes with the other man. "That's not good enough, Strand, I'm running out of patience, you know that. I've given you enough chances… they won't last."

"Yes, sir… we just need a little more time."

Without warning, Samuel's hand grabbed out, snatching the front of Strand's shirt and tie, and yanking him forward, face to face with him, as he growled at him angrily, "This has gone on long enough, you hear me?" A nod. "I want it taken care of, by any means necessary… is. That. Clear?"

Strand nodded frantically, and Samuel released him roughly, turning and leaving the room. If he didn't hear something within a couple of hours, he knew he wouldn't be able to trust to his temper. Short of some hair-brained scheme – as seen in the movies – Samuel was willing to try anything.

The lazy atmosphere had not changed since that morning, and if anything, three out of the four had only relaxed further. A few beer bottles sat on the long coffee table in the centre of the leather couch arrangement, and music blared full blast from the expensive stereo, heavy drum and guitar beats, explicit lyrics and synthesised instruments playing ridiculously loud throughout the top floor of the huge building. If any of the other occupants of the apartments on the floors below disliked the noise, none of them were brave enough to voice as such. They had heard odd sounds from the top residence before, and were in no hurry to irritate the four strange individuals who were scarcely seen in the daytime. They had heard ridiculous tales that the four were in some way related to the mass of outbursts throughout New York, but no one ventured to investigate.

Lacertus sat – queerly enough – upside down, his youthful – misleadingly so – black locks toppling around the couch beneath him as he closed his brown eyes and hummed along with the rhythm of one of his favourite songs. A guitar lay near to him, black, acoustic, and expensive… like everything else in the apartment… including its occupants.

Exuro and Falx were on the same chair as that morning, the female werewolf straddling her lover's lap, and running her feminine hands slowly up his chest. His black shirt shifted around her long fingers, and the eyes of the two locked powerfully. Green gazed intensely into blue, and the fiery-haired woman leaned forward, her lips claiming his hungrily. She growled into him, and his hands ran over the seat of her leather pants steadily, coming to rest on her exposed waist and lower back. Her short top left little of her upper half to the imagination… not that Exuro minded.

Falx's right hand – adventurous as it was – ran down his chest again, toying around his belt for a moment or two, before pushing lower… and she shifted on his lap.

He groaned, and pulled out of the kiss, eyes closed, trying not to think about where her right hand was venturing. He was trying to concentrate on her left at the point where his jaw met his neck, her thumb stroking the side of his face. She practically purred at him, smiling beautifully and seductively. He pulled in a sudden deep breath, and she laughed quietly, her lips brushing along the side of his face, to his ear.

Lacertus opened his eyes halfway, peering at his rather lustful alphas.

Better than with Gladius anyway, he thought, and rolled agilely to sit the right way up, picking up the guitar, positioning it across one knee, and plucking and strumming out a few chords. He gazed to the alphas again, seeing Exuro's expression, before quickly averting his attention to the speakers, wondering where Gladius had gotten to. They had seen fleeting glances of him, but not much else.

Lacertus set aside the guitar again, and slouched, even as he smelt him. Gladius strode into the room and towards the couch where Lacertus sat. He rolled his eyes, and lifted a foot onto the seat. Childish? Yes… mean? Definitely not. Gladius was an ass, even more so than he had been before, if that was possible.

He watched – or rather sensed – the omega move past the gap between the two occupied seats, seeing the hand stroke over the set aside guitar.

"Break that and I'll smash your jaw," growled Exuro possessively, and inwardly, Lacertus laughed. Falx's icy gaze peered to Gladius' passing form, and with a sigh, she sat up straighter on her mate once again, who let out a slow breath.

"Oh, don't let me stop you," Gladius sneered, picking out a cigarette from the packet on the table, and sitting casually on the third chair, a two-seater.

Exuro growled again, a silencing sound if ever Lacertus had heard one. Gladius sighed, and lit his cigarette. The four descended – with the exception of the stereo blaring – into brooding silence, the smoke from Gladius' cigarette slowly drifting around the room to make a kind of ring. Lacertus shifted to stare up at the ceiling, and stayed that way for many minutes, simply watching the smoke curl.

He perked up as soon as the slight disturbance in the air hit him, and he craned his neck curiously. Exuro felt it, as well as Falx, and then the shrill ringing pierced the air.

"Lac'," Exuro said, and indicated the stereo.

Lacertus flipped the stereo remote from the edge of the table into his hand, and hit pause, even as Falx pulled out Exuro's cell phone for him. She gave it to him, brushing some hair from his brow, and leaned to his left as he flipped open the phone.

As usual, Exuro didn't speak first, letting whoever was on the other side break the silence. Lacertus' interest was piqued… only potential clients were able to acquire their contact number. As for their address… no one had ever successfully tailed them, and whoever had tried had failed to return from the attempts. That didn't stop other idiots from trying though.

"Is this the Quattuor?"

"Who's asking and why?" Exuro deadpanned, letting Falx toy with his hair.

The other three could easily make out the male voice on the other side of the phone, and they were silent, listening intently.

"Nathaniel Granger… I'm his representative–"

"Fuck you," Exuro said then. "I don't talk with 'representatives'… I talk with clients. When Granger gets the balls, you tell him to give us a call."

Even as Exuro moved to close the phone, the voice quickly blurted, "Ten million."

The green eyes glanced first into blue, then brown… before he switched the call to loudspeaker, and sat it on the arm of the chair. "Talk."

Lacertus subconsciously drummed out a rhythm on his pant leg as the man started talking, "His name is Simon Pender. He's a high roller in the lower profile establishments around the city. He's owed Mr. Granger a substantial amount of money for seven months now… and he's missed his last deadline."

"So," Exuro began slowly, pensively, "you want to pay us ten million to knock off some petty gambler who owes Granger money… you're gonna give us money to kill the guy who can pay back your boss?"

"Mr. Granger's patience has run out," the man said. "He's reached the point where seeing Pender dead will satisfy more than reclaiming on the debt."

"Stupid son of a bitch," Lacertus mumbled under his breath, seeing Falx's slight smile.

"And how would he like to go about this?"

"Method and disposal are up to you. He has no preferences."

"We don't do disposal."

"… Very well. There's a bar downtown that Pender frequents – The Grind. Mr. Granger can arrange to send some men to collect the body after you're finished."

"When?" Exuro leaned his head back, almost bored.

"Tomorrow night."

"Payment."

"Half before–"

"All upfront, all before, cash… or no deal." Exuro sighed. Lacertus smiled.

A silence hovered, in which Gladius took a long drag off his cigarette, waiting, before the man confirmed. "Fine. We'll meet before at a location of your choice."

Lacertus grinned wolfishly, and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he listened to the details being finalised, drumming out his rhythm on his pants once again, losing himself in an internal melody before hearing the phone snap shut.

The brown eyes opened again, and Lacertus glanced to Exuro inquisitively.

"Up for a job, Lac'?"

Grinning once again, Lacertus knew Exuro hadn't even needed an answer to that.

Anise laid her head forward in her hands, her head swelling with the migraine. She groaned quietly, and opened her eyes to look down at the face on the photo below her. She frowned, feeling the tears burn at her eyes as always. Sighing, she traced her fingers through her hair, and took in the details, remembering the past and the first time she had studied them.

It had been an alley in Paris, pistols drawn, the atmosphere tense. Of course, she had been working behind his back then…

Those hazel-flecked green eyes, that unruly blonde hair, his youthful – almost boyish – handsome face, the confidence in his stride… Tom Sawyer had had her attention from the get go, and she remembered it as if it were yesterday. She almost wished it was.

A tear or two tumbled, and she was vaguely aware of being watched. Dmitri and Mina stood some ten feet back, silent and observant.

Get a grip on yourself, Anise, she told herself, and pulled in a deep breath, closing the file quickly lest she find herself unable to later on.

Anise tore herself from her chair, and walked to get another cup of coffee… seven in one day was under her average actually. But today had seemed so slack… they had barely done anything, and even with Mina's excursion the night before, they were no closer.

"Anise," the vampire began, and the female werewolf turned. "I may know of someone who can help."

The large line of cumbersome vehicles pulled up alongside the warehouse-like building. They halted in a group, and the lead vehicle's passenger door opened, revealing a man in an impressive suit, and air of military experience about him as he hopped down to the ground, dark, narrow eyes taking in the frame of the building laid out before him.

"How did you find this place?" Robert Larson asked.

Another man came up beside him, their frosted blonde-brown hair tugged by the wind. His eyes studied the building as well, as he replied, "You know me. I have my ways."

Robert Larson couldn't help but laugh. If nothing else, Donovan Masters could make the ex-general laugh, and that was enough for him to prove his worth. But on top of that, Masters had top skills and experience in hand to hand, guns, marksmanship and strategising. An irreplaceable asset in this time of change.

"Get the men inside," Robert commanded of his right hand, "and see that everything' set up."

"Sir," Masters acknowledged, and set off to do so.

Quietly, to no one but himself, Robert added, "We've got work to do…"