Rogue Agent. Chapter 2
wow, so many reviews. I'm going to do something I've never tried before and comment on them all, because its fun!
Sawyer Fan – I read your review and thought "your right" So, your wish has been granted, I hope it has been done ok. Btw I love your stuff!
Ten Mara – I enjoyed writing that comment, I thought it would be fun for Skinner to make fun of him once in a while. I'm so glad you like this!
Laura B- Definitely the best looking! Although, Stuart Townsend takes a close second, I can't resist guys with long hair :P
Faust – No one else is hot enough to play Tom Sawyer! I'm glad you like, as well.
Woodyfan1016 – I'm glad you like, here's the update!
Little Wing- Thanks for the review! Yay you said I have quality! Thanks for telling me about the accent thing, I'm going to change it right now! This chapter is a little longer, I just hope its as ok.
LotRseer3350 – Thank you! Heres the update!
Tonianne – wow, thank you! I feel so happy that you loved it. And, Shane is definitely the best for Tom Sawyer!
Disclaimer: I do not own LXG or anything associated with it. I only own the characters you have never heard of before.
It was a blistering hot day, as it usually was in a hot sandy place such as Kenya. The sun shimmered down above the desert village, burning and making the little Kenyan's sweat in their busy days.
A large white stone building sat on the edge of village. Where it had been reconstructed since the fateful bomb, which had robbed many of their friends. Yet had motivated legend Allan Quatermain and thus saved the world.
The hunter himself was currently lounging in a chair sipping a glass of water. Across from the building his grave sat empty. It wasn't always so, he had been dead in the grave for a few days. His friend the Witchdoctor had remained true to his promise and somehow resurrected the hunter. Allan wished the Witchdoctor had the full healing power, when he had been brought back there was still the whole matter of healing the gaping hole in his shoulder. It had deterred him from contacting the League to inform them of his resurrection. It was his foolish pride, not wanting to let them see how old age slows his healing process. Back when he was young and spry, a knife in the back would have had Allan Quatermain down for a week, two at the most…Not months certainly. Now, when his bones protested the battles and his eyes struggled to read anything without his glasses, Quatermain realised the need to relax, spend his last years in the comforting presence of his friends…When he recovered that's all.
A tap on the shoulder brought Allan out of his musings.
"Mr Quatermain? Mr Quatermain?" A portly man was crouching beside his lounge chair. Allan shook his head a little, as if to rid the elderly thoughts.
"What?" He answered gruffly, slightly annoyed at being interrupted. The man stood back, allowing Allan a good look at him.
He wore a pinstriped black suit, with a smart bow tie at the collar, his slick black hair was hidden by a hat not unlike Sawyers. In his left hand was what drew Allan's attention to the most. An American rifle.
"Mr Quatermain sir, my name is Simon Draven. I am a representative of the International Negotiations and Law-" Allan cut him off.
"I don't want any bloody thing to do with you! Get out of my sight." Draven started at the rough tone of Quatermain's voice, he had been told to expect a harsh greeting but this was beyond his expectations… Still, he'd been told what to do in this situation. With a small cough Draven asked him.
"Tell me Mr Quatermain, Is that wound bothering you enough that you cannot travel?" Allan grimaced and rubbed his shoulder almost unconsciously. He knew he should have at least contacted the League to let them know of his resurrected fate, and that he was recovering. He would have done, if not for foolish pride.
He hated weakness in himself, especially old age, as there is nothing to reverse it. Back when he was young and spry he could have taken a knife in the back and been back on the go within a fortnight at the latest, now? Now, he was bedridden for a month since his blood pressure dropped. He still didn't want to admit it to himself, let alone the League that old age almost had Allan Quatermain beaten.
Draven studied Allan, he watched the reaction and guilt spread across the hunters face, then he continued.
"Of course you may need a while longer to recooperate, but, there is a new threat out there." Allan interrupted him,
"When is there never a new bloody threat!" He barked. He received a narrow glance in return.
"Ahem, as I was saying, this new threat may affect the League more than you think…Especially since you allowed the renegade American to join you." Draven finished with contempt, leaving Allan silent for a moment.
Quatermain's mind wasn't as slow as his body was becoming. Renegade American? Sawyer? He felt the blood course through his veins a little faster at the thought of his protégé in danger. During their adventures he had felt a strange connection with the boy. Different from the others, a fatherly protectiveness and a growing unwillingness to put him into danger. It was his decision, after all, to let Tom join them at all.
"Sawyer? Is he being threatened? Speak man!" Allan shouted in frustration when he found his voice, his paternal instincts taking charge. Draven showed no outward reaction other than a slight upturn of the lips and a raised eyebrow.
"Apparently, a quiet organisation has been tracing down past Secret Service Agents and employing them. We have a little information on a "Taylor" fellow who was let go from the Service a few years past on account of being too "ruthless". Now, I imagine he must have been bad considering he worked for a company who killed people." Draven told him.
"What has this got to do with Sawyer!" Allan demanded.
"Well, since you invited him along with you on your little save the world mission he decided he liked the League better than the Service. He sent a message back to his supervisor asking to remain stationed with the League - as an American representative. His request was rejected, but, as a true example of stubborn Americanism the boy ignored his summons home and remained with them. He has since been written down as a "Rogue Agent." He is no longer affiliated with America, nor allowed on her soil again."
"That's harsh! Sawyer loves his country! He helped save the damn world for crying out loud. Then they banish him? He's probably better off with the League anyways… Does he know of the banishment?" Allan stormed, fists clenching at the unfairness the boys homeland showed against him. Draven rolled his eyes.
"We are getting off track. No Sawyer does not know of the banishment, nor does he need to. America will offer him amnesty if he helps stop the organisation. But, we are more worried about him joining it." That sent Allan off, his eyes showed cold fury.
"Sawyer shouldn't need to work for them to get back into his own country! And who do you think you are kidding, thinking he will join this organisation. He has morals, and a good heart. Even though his country abandoned him, he will not abandon them!" Allan told him harshly. Draven studied the hunters eyes closely, then said the following sentence slowly, as if afraid that it might set the hunter off again.
"Careful Mr Quatermain, your blood pressure. We do not think that these Agents are joining of their own free will, nor do we think they are now acting of such. They are being forced. Even Taylor, as ruthless as he was, would not commit heinous crimes such as he is now.
Many banks have been robbed. Young children, tortured and killed. Women are being raped daily and men are slaughtered brutally. He possesses an unnatural strength, he cannot be stopped. Worse still, he is not the only one. Otherwise we would have supposed insanity and not called you into this. Many Ex Agents are joining him in these inhumane acts, possessing the same powers. This organisation is increasing, and we fear soon may be unstoppable. Young Agent Sawyer is a prime target for them and he needs your help, to eradicate this organisation before it gets more out of hand. Are you willing to aid us Mr Quatermain?" Draven finished. Allans eyes were lowered to the floor so he could not determine a reaction. When they lifted, a strange light shone in them, one that Draven had hoped to see. It was protective fury.
"Where is he and how soon can we get there!"
Draven smiled.
"Right away, my escort can take us to London where the League have stationed." He stood up and walked out of the building, Quatermain hot on his heels. One thought occupied Draven's mind.
May any man who threatens the protégé of Allan Quatermain have mercy on his soul.
Tom slowly opened his green eyes, wincing at the elephant parade pounding behind them. His neck hurt as if it was nobodies business, and he had a very seasick feeling of fast movement. 'Am I back on the Nautilus?' He wondered, waiting for his eyesight to clear, and he could determine where he was.
He was upside down. That much he knew, from the blood pounding in his skull. Half of him was upside down, and he was lying on something, held in place by some kind of strap on his back. It was an arm. He was draped over someones shoulder. He could see his carriers belt and legs, but not the floor. It was moving by fast, very fast. His stomach suddenly rebelled at the view and he needed to be sick. Tom clenched his teeth and tried to break free of his captors grip. To be on his own feet, not moving at this ridiculous speed…Which brought on the question in Tom's mind. How was this speed capable on foot?
His stomach held no more, and he emptied the contents on the back of his captors legs with a loud groan. His captor didn't even slow! Tom closed his eyes again, the blood pumping louder in his head, and his nerves on fire at his squirming.
A tingle in his arm caught his attention. It was squashed against his captor. The tingle grew, until it became pins and needles, and became extremely uncomfortable. His other arm felt fine, it hung next to his head. Tom wriggled his fingers, smiling at the lack of pain he experienced. An idea formed in his head, moving his arm wouldn't alert his captor any, and he figured he could reach up to his holsters and take out his Colt.
Moving slowly so as not to distract any attention (even though being sick on the captor wasn't distracting.) Tom carefully bent his arm and reached into his left holster, gripping the handle for his handgun. Praising some God that it hadn't fallen out, with this jolting ride he was on.
Tom watched the world in front, upside down. Although his Captor's leg blocked most of the view, and that white papery thing stuck to the side. Naturally curious, Tom held on to his gun with his thumb and forefinger, and snatched the white paper with his other fingers.
Putting his finger cautiously on the trigger, Tom dropped his arm back down to his head, gripping the gun and paper tightly in his closed hand.
The floor was a dark grey. Flashes of colour showing litter, or a childs toy. He reckoned he was on a street in London still. Tom aimed his gun at the back of his captors legs, aiming to shoot when it was furthest back, if he missed the bullet could ricochet and hit him. Lifting his head up and straining his sore neck Tom fired.
His timing was perfect. The bullet went straight through his captors leg. Immediately causing him to slow down. Tom yelped as he was thrown off the shoulder, landing hard on the stone floor. Staring up at his captor and remembering him as the bank robber.
"Heh." Tom smirked. The Agent was ignoring him, choosing to hop on one leg and curse for the moment. Tom grabbed this moment to look at the paper he snatched. It was a letter, he quickly read.
Moore Enterprise
William's Lane
New York
America
Hearing the other Agent begin to recover Tom stashed the letter half under a nearby clod of earth.
"You brat!" The Agent yelled. Storming up to Tom and kicking him in the head. Tom fell to the side, one hand immediately reaching to feel his face. The boot had caught him on the cheek bone, and Tom suspected it to be broken, it felt that way. A small trickle of blood met his hand and Tom pulled it away. His eyes met the Agents and he glared. "That's the second time, you've shot me boy. I don't take kindly to it." The Agent warned him coldly.
"Who are you! What do you want with me!" Tom snarled. His cheek slowly beginning to swell up.
"I'm an Agent, working for my employer. And, my employer will soon be your employer, to answer your second question."
"Whats your name?" Tom asked quietly. The man laughed.
"What use is that? Knowing my name will mean nothing. It's Taylor though. Stephen Taylor. Now do you recognise me?" Tom widened his eyes slightly. He had heard of Stephen Taylor. Fired by the Secret Service for murdering a rebellious prisoner. "Now boy… you wanna know what it feels like to be shot?" One of the two rifles that had been carried in Taylor's other hand lowered, and pointed at Tom's chest. The movement was so quick Tom didn't even register it until he felt the metal on his skin. Gulping he met Taylor's eyes. Trying not to show fear as he gazed up at his soon to be killer.
A roar carried by the wind met the two Agent's ears. Sawyer felt a slight wash of relief, although not enough to calm his rapidly beating heart. Taylor groaned.
"I can't kill you anyway, The boss says I'm not allowed." Tom's sigh of relief was short lived. "However, I can still repay you back."
With that a bullet fired out of Taylor's black Winchester and flew the short distance towards Tom's shoulder. Passing straight through, leaving a cry of pain and splatter of blood behind.
Skinner groaned mid-search of an alley when he heard Tom's rifle fire. The lad was no doubtedly on his own, and in trouble no less. He cast his black trench coat and trilby aside of the alley and set off running in the direction of the sharp noise and his friend.
Whilst running Skinner strained his ears for any sign of Hyde, Mina or even Nemo. There was none. He dived down a small side alley for a short cut, he knew London's alleys like the back of his hand – when it was still visible to him of course. There had been no other sound since Sawyer had fired his gun, that meant one of three things to Skinner. 1. Sawyer had everything under control and was just taking his time in whistling. 2. Sawyer was still locked in combat with the assailant and could make no further noise, or 3. – the cursed thought - It wasn't Tom who had fired…
Skinner fervently prayed it wasn't option three, he prayed he had never even thought of it since now he couldn't clear his mind of thoughts of a dead Thomas Sawyer. It was something he couldn't bear thinking about. Thankfully he was distracted, a long high pitched whistle echoed through the night – Tom's call to say he was fine and had the criminal. Skinner stopped running, he put his fore fingers in his mouth to reply he was on his way when something knocked the breath out of him from behind.
Ducking silently against the wall and slowing his breathing Skinner narrowed his invisible eyes for the assailant, it didn't take him long to find him. A tall man stood in the centre of the alley, head lifted to an angle as if he was listening to something faint. Skinner suddenly became very worried. This man was the cowboy that robbed the bank! He had the same grey Winchester over his shoulder and wore almost the same outfit as Sawyer. So, if the cowboy was here, what was Tom doing?
A faint cry fell through the night and Skinner clenched his fists. He recognised the voice as Tom's, but he couldn't reply because the cowboy was still stood not 5 feet away. Seemingly satisfied with the cry the cowboy leapt high onto a building and vanished into the night. Skinner was stunned by the actions, no human could manage that leap, yet the Cowboy did, with ease. Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind Skinner shoved his fingers in his mouth and sent out the distress whistle to tell the others to hurry up. He had a feeling they were going to be needed
Smiling grimly when he heard Hyde's bellow from down the streets Skinner set off at a jog to find his lost friend.
5 minutes later he arrived at a grim scene. There was a lot of blood on the floor and one of Sawyers prized handguns. Hyde seemed overly excited.
"Bugger." Skinner cursed, running to the pool of blood and the lone Colt lying in it. Hyde stared at him, somehow the beast could always sense where Skinner was, a fact that unnerved him and felt robbed him of his power.
"Eh, don't worry, it isn't the Yank's." Hyde told him in that gruff bestial voice. Skinner sighed, it seemed like option number one was more of an obvious choice now, seeing as the shot had hit the other person. But, if that was the case, why did Tom cry out and where was he now?
A flutter of bats told him of Mina's arrival, she too looked very worried until she took a sniff of the blood.
"Not Tom's. Where is he?" She asked, a small bit of red bleeding into her irises at the smell of the blood. Skinner shrugged at her, but then remembered he was invisible. He opened his mouth to answer her verbally.
"That's what the bloody hell I'd like to know!" A gruff voice beat him to it. Skinner whirled around and almost fainted, gripping the wall for support. Before him stood a man he hadn't thought he'd see again. For once in his life Skinner had nothing to say.
Mina's eyes had regained their icy blue colour, and they were open wide. Very wide. Her breath hitched as she tried to speak. Her voice failing her, she just settled for staring.
It was Hyde who broke the silence.
"Well, I thought the smell was yours but passed it off as someone else wearing a sweaty cologne. Welcome back Quatermain." The big man's face broke into a smile. He respected the Hunter most out of the League, since he was the one who actually managed to catch him. Hyde also knew that Allan was the object of envy for quivering Jekyll, who never did have much confidence in himself.
Allan would have enjoyed the surprise reuniting, had it been for an extra member being surprised with them. Not wanting to waste time he asked again.
"Where's Sawyer!" Mina finally shook herself out of the shock, her eyes reduced to their normal size and she glanced at Hyde, who sniffed the air suspiciously.
"We don't kn-" Her voice broke off at the sound of a gunshot. Her ears pricked up. " That was North East." She glanced at the others and prepared her body to change into the more agile bat form. Quatermain narrowed his eyes.
"What are we waiting for? That could be Sawyer!" He ran off into through the alleys, whilst Hyde leapt to the rooftops, followed by a mass of shrieking bats.
Skinner watched them go, his own feet not moving him anywhere.
"I suppose I should go inform Nemo of the situation… Poor guy never knows anything outside of his ship. I wonder what he'll say to the zombie's return from Kenya. Extraordinary Indeed!" He mused to no one in particular, before jogging off in the direction of the ship. Pausing and cursing loudly when another shot echoed through the quiet London streets. 'Don't worry Tom. Quatermain has your back, as well as the League. We'll get you back.' Skinner promised as he turned his jog into a full sprint.
I hope you all like this chapter as well, please review!