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Samyo: Like it so far? Wait until you see what's happening here…
Ten Mara: Oh, you'll have to wait and see on that front… First, however, Skinner's going to have quite a bit of work to get done before he realises the danger the League are in…
A Face in the Crowd
Skinner sighed as he nursed a mug of beer while he sat slumped in a bar somewhere off Times Square. He wasn't sure what he was doing there; he'd wandered off a boarding house, dumped his bags and paid the landlord enough money for the next few day's rent, and then gone out for a bit of a walk…
No; he couldn't kid himself about it. He hadn't gone out for a walk, he'd gone to find somewhere to rob. He needed to get back in the game, he needed something nice and expensive to get him started back in this area…
And he couldn't find anything interesting.
Oh, he'd passed by several promising-looking houses on his walks around London- finding potential targets had never been a problem for him.
He just…
He sighed.
He had to admit it.
The targets were too easy for him. Even without his invisibility, after all his time with the League he'd picked up several useful ways to get into places; these places would be child's play for him to break into now, even with his new disadvantage of having to get used to being visible again.
Besides, after his fights with the likes of the Morlocks and the Beast, what did he really have to fear from pulling off burglaries? After everything else he'd seen in his time with the League, prison no longer held any terrors for him; he was pretty sure he could deal with it if he had to. Part of the thrill of being a thief was the risk of getting caught, and if he didn't have that, then, well, there wasn't really much point in trying anything…
"Bad day?" the bartender said, looking curiously at Skinner as he took another sip of his beer.
"You could say that," Skinner shrugged, as he placed his glass back down on the bar and looked over at the bar lord. "I lost my job today; lost something that I needed to work there, and can't get it back, and, well..."
He sighed. "You know how it is; sometimes, you never know what you wanted until you've actually lost it. I always thought I hated the job, but, well, you get pretty used to it, actually. And now…" He groaned. "It's just… ironic, really, y'know? I only joined the job to get the ability to leave it, but now that I have, I dunno what to do with myself."
"Ah," the bartender said, as he picked up a newspaper and passed it over to Skinner. "Try checking the 'Help Wanted' column is all I can say to you; maybe you'll spot something interesting."
"Thanks," Skinner said simply, picking the paper up and starting to flick through it. He wasn't really sure where the 'Help' ads were, and was mostly just counting on pot luck to help him get there…
He froze as an article near the middle of the paper caught his eye.
Miraculous Conceptions at Boarding School
Skinner blinked in surprise.
"What the…" he muttered to himself, as he looked at the heading for a few seconds. Then he picked the paper up and began to read the article, only partly to satisfy his own curiosity.
What he read didn't make him feel any better.
According to the article, an all-girl's school known as Miss Rosa Coote's Correctional Academy for Wayward Gentlewomen had recently become the victim of some visits by something that the girls claimed was the Holy Spirit, which then went on to get very… involved with some of the young women in question.
Whether that was true, or whether the girls had all concocted this bizarre story to hide some weird kind of group sex (Skinner's own thoughts on the matter, naturally; they didn't say anything that explicit in the article), didn't change the facts; In the past few months, at least three girls had become pregnant by this 'Spirit', and, as nobody had seen any sign of somebody going into or leaving the dorms, they were a bit stuck as to an alternative explanation.
Skinner, however, could think of a couple of alternatives right off the top of his head, and none of them were exactly encouraging.
"No…" he muttered to himself, trying desperately to think of some other alternative. "Please, no. Not another…!"
He sighed, swallowed the last of his beer, and continued to stare at the article. There had to be another explanation… There had to be!
He could do this; he'd seen Mina, Jekyll and Sawyer put clues together to make a sensible picture of a situation countless times, he'd flicked through countless copies of the Strand magazine during his old days in London, he knew what could and couldn't constitute a clue…
He sighed, and dropped the paper back on the bar table.
He might as well accept it; this method of solving the problem wasn't getting him anywhere. He'd never exactly been gifted with the possession of a very keen deductive mind; if he was, he'd probably have tried for a career in detection rather than theft. His time with the League had improved many things about him, but they hadn't changed that.
Then again…
Skinner smiled slightly as he studied the article, a plan forming in his mind. Even though the League had never been officially part of any government agency, they had managed to arrange private bank accounts for each of them with the British and American secret services, to act as a kind of 'salary' for them; the way they say it, if they were going to maintain contacts with the Government, they might as well get something out of it for themselves.
Despite all their travels, the League had yet to use any money in the accounts in the four or so months since it had been set up, and there was a fairly substantial amount in there. Not enough to support anyone on a long-term basis, but, if Skinner's plan worked, he wouldn't need to use that much of it…
He smiled.
He had a plan.
And he was going to enjoy putting it into action.
Time to show I'm not just good at going unnoticed, Skinner though to himself, as he stood up, left a few coins on the counter, and walked on out of the bar, his head held high and a plan in his mind.
Sawyer sighed slightly as he took a brief sip of his beer, looking over at Hartdegen as he put it back down on the bar.
"Ideas?" he asked his friend, who was nursing a similar glass to him. Following Skinner's departure, the League were trying to decide what to do about his absence; carry on without him, invite one of their reserves to join the League on a longer-term basis, or just try and work out another way to make someone invisible.
Sawyer and Hartdegen had decided to discuss the matter over a few drinks, while Nemo, Mina and Jekyll, being the chemists in the team, were discussing matters back in the Nautilus. Terry, on the other hand, had simply retired to his room, requesting that he be summoned if they needed his assistance.
"Nothing springs to mind," Hartdegen said, sighing slightly as he took another sip of his beer and looked back at his friend. "After all, none of us are exactly keen to become invisible on top of everything else that's odd about us; quite frankly, I'm amazed Skinner didn't try and get a cure long ago."
"Yeah, it's not exactly an easy thing to live with, is it?" Sawyer sighed, as he stared listlessly into space. Then he shook his head and turned back to Hartdegen. "Anyway, moping about what we can't do to solve this problem isn't helping matters; couldn't we… I dunno, figure out a way to create an outfit of some kind that makes the wearer invisible?"
Hartdegen shook his head. "It wouldn't work," he said. "The serum's only effective on living tissue; we'd need to make a coat out of live animals in order for that plan to get anywhere, and even then all that would probably happen is that we'd have created an invisible suit." He smiled slightly at that thought. "All that we'd have accomplished with that little stunt is literally creatingthe Emperor's New Clothes."
"Oh yeah, that old Hans Christian Andersen story," Sawyer said, nodding in agreement as he took another sip of his beer. "Always preferred 'The Snow Queen' myself…"
Shaking his head to ward off that pointless line of thought, Sawyer looked back at Hartdegen.
"OK, so an invisible suit from now isn't an option; couldn't you use some of your contacts in the future and have them whip something up?" he suggested. "I mean, it's their past they'd be preserving; couldn't you convince them to help us out here?"
Hartdegen sighed.
"Believe me, I wish I could," he said, taking another sip of his beer. "Unfortunately, they've always made one thing clear about our professional relationship; they'll give me something if I'll be destroying it soon afterwards, but they won't entrust me with anything that will be needed on a long-term basis."
He shrugged as he took another sip. "Of course, I can see their point; if I kept anything from then here for very long, there's a chance that it'll fall into the wrong hands, who could use it to change history for the worst."
He smiled briefly at the thought. "It's an understandable concern, I suppose; their world is an incredible place, it's understandable they wish to make sure that it comes to pass."
"Mmm," Sawyer commented half-heartedly, as he took another sip of his beer and glanced up at the clock on the barroom wall. He sighed, and placed the now-empty glass down on the table.
"We'd better get going," he said, indicating the clock. "You heard what Nemo said; he's locking the Nautilus up at eleven, and it's nearly half-past ten already."
As the teacher and the agent stepped out of the bar, the figure, who had been watching them since they left the Nautilus, waiting for his chance to strike, smiled.
Perfect, he mused. In their current condition, even if they weren't totally stoned out of their mind, they definitely weren't in the best of shape, so it would be far easier to take them down.
From this position, he could easily knock out at least one of them with a well-aimed rock or similar projectile, and then all he'd need to do was lure the other one into an alleyway somewhere, and then…
He smiled.
Payback time would begin.
Time they witnessed the power of their true god… he mused to himself.
"Note to self; never drink so much just because you're in a bar…" Sawyer mused to himself private, gazing up at the stars above him reflectively.
He looked over curiously at Hartdegen, who was now clutching his head and looking dazedly around him.
Sawyer sighed; what was it about teachers and drinking? They always overdid it…
"C'mon, Hartdegen," he sighed, reaching over and grabbing his friend's arm. "Let's get-"
"UGH!" Hartdegen grunted, his head reeling back before he collapsed to the ground. As the former university professor collapsed to the ground, Sawyer saw the cause of the collapse; a medium-sized rock, hitting him right in the back of the head and knocking him down for the count.
Sawyer didn't even stop to think; he drew his Colts and spun around, looking for the man who had thrown that rock at the head of his friend…
Nothing.
He blinked in confusion.
Nothing?
There couldn't be nothing there! He knew that there were a couple of alternatives to just normal criminals attacking them, but it couldn't have been that; the Beast wouldn't try something as mundane as a rock, Skinner wouldn't have done something like this even if he was still invisible, and he was pretty sure that Reed was dead…
Sawyer swallowed.
That only left him two options for candidates for this particular stunt.
A ghost…
Or a fourth invisible man.
God, why didn't Griffin write that formula on the bloody wall? Sawyer sighed, as he raised his weapons and looked nervously around himself, trying to spot something- anything- that might be a hint at the presence of this new, unseen foe. A shifting piece of earth, a leaf floating in mid-air…
There has to be something, dammit! Sawyer thought to himself. Skinner said himself that he could be seen by a good observer! I learned from Allan Quartermain; I should be able to see something
He looked again.
Still nothing…
Sighing, Sawyer slid his pistols back into their holsters, turned around to head back towards Hartdegen…
And was instantly struck in the back by something.
As Sawyer fell, he reacted on instinct; he reached inside his jacket, grabbed one of his pistols, rolled over onto his back as he raised the pistol…
And found himself staring at an iron bar, floating in mid-air, held up in what would probably be called a combat stance if he could see the rest of the body that was holding the bar in question.
Sawyer stared at the bar for a few seconds, and then a voice spoke. It wasn't a voice Sawyer recognised; it was deep, and tinged with a madness unlike anything he'd heard before.
"Blasphemer," it said simply.
Then the bar swung towards his head, he heard a resounding crack, and everything went black.
He didn't even have time to wonder what the voice had meant by that last comment.