Author's Note: The conversation between V and Prothero was taken from the film novel, follows the Vendetta film.

V

She is sleeping again. Curled to one side, and breathing deep. I'm watching her once more, and I wonder how she would react if she knew I was here? It's an unspoken courtesy that this room, just this one room in the entire Gallery, is hers, and that her privacy is something to be respected. I do respect her, but something compels me to watch her as she sleeps- if only for a few minutes, every night that she has been here with me.

I left late last night, to fetch a few things for her. Food, for she is thin, and clothes, for she cannot return to her apartment. On the first night of our meeting, the strangest night of her life, as she called it; I worried about her. I didn't dare go inside, but I knew just from the look of the surrounding neighborhood that it was not a safe place for her to be. Judging from the looks of the area, Fingermen weren't the only things that prowled the night. I will not call that place her home, for this is her home now. She must stay with me, just until I'm finished…I don't know what will become of her after the fifth. Or me, for that matter.

She shifts in her sleep, curling tighter. Evey is beautiful, and beauty is an attribute I had once thought long gone from this world, and yet, here Beauty lies, sleeping before me. It's been over a week since the night I first brought her here, and we've spoken of many things. I steered her away from any mention of my past; in my mind, everything is still crystal-clear, and I have no interest in reliving the horror. Rather, I want to share my knowledge, discuss books and art. Disappointingly, from Evey's blank looks, I often have to remind myself that the girl has been deprived of most everything.

This government controls what its people know, and those in the seats of power had long ago decided that it would be safest for them if their people knew nothing.

Evey stirs again, more this time than before, and her blanket slips to the floor. I take this as a signal to get on; if I should wait any longer, she might wake up, and fear from me the worst intentions if she should find me in her bedroom. Briefly, I wonder if she'd ever encountered Fingermen before. The scene came to my mind's eye an instant after the thought- just the idea of Evey, younger and terrified, bleeding alone in a grimy alley after being taken by Fingermen…this is only part of the reason I am so completely dead-set on bringing an end to this tyranny.

Revenge, yes. Well-deserved, completely justified revenge. I will plan and kill and organize for my personal vendetta against this fascist tyranny- to avenge Valerie and the man I once was, and the countless other victims that dyed in Larkhill; and, to protect the people whose only true crimes were that they allowed fear to get the better of them. Evey Hammond is just one of so very many.

I settle the blanket over her, and then search her wallet for what I need.

An I.D. card; such a little thing, but one that would bring me a great deal of personal satisfaction. I will use Evey's identity and a special blend of poison to do away with the Voice of London. Lewis Prothero had often patrolled the medical block, where he and Dr. Stanton- now called Dr. Surridge- approved patients suitable for testing. He'd handpicked us out of a lineup, over two dozen of us- starved, injured and diseased…if only I had more time…

Prothero had made his fortune in cruelty, beating and raping the detainees in several different camps. In particular, I remember that his favorite pastime was to swing a police baton to the back of one's head, followed by harsh kicks to the ribs and stomach. I remember his polished jackboots and crisp, clean uniform. He's in the shower now, surrounded by his own moving image. The televisions are mounted on nearly every wall of his spacious apartment, not just in the bathroom.

He is reflected in every mirror, echoed off of every tile. I've been watching him for years; my only break from his surveillance had been these last few days I'd kept with Evey. Prothero hadn't broken his routine and it is now time for me to break him.

Evey's card slips through the sensors and allows me access to the top floor of the complex. I let myself into his apartment and have a look around. Prothero's showers are always long, usually half an hour at least. Men in his position can afford to waste water, not that it will do him any good. No matter how long Prothero scrubs, we both known the blood will never wash from his hands.

Out, damn spot!

He showers in time with his show, reciting his lines along with the television as he washes. No commercial breaks, just his continuous monologue echoing back to him. He does not love himself, he is truly obsessed. Looking over his luxurious suede sofas, his glass tabletops and the steel refrigerator stocked with food, I feel nauseated. My head starts to spin with disgust and the near-crippling anticipation of destroying the man. His home is a monument to himself; he is Narcissus incarnate, a sadistic monster.

I will kill him- nothing can stop me tonight. I'd dreamed of this to the point of hallucination, I've watched Prothero for years, waiting for the perfect time and that perfectmoment has finally come. The Old Bailey is destroyed; my message has been broadcasted- the government is acknowledging the very real threat I pose to their hold on this country. The more public my actions, the more and more the Sutler will come to rely on the media to distract the dissenting public.

What will the people say when the Voice of London has fallen silent?

Glancing at the clock, I see that Prothero's time is almost up.

He's in there now, and I feel my mouth and eyes begin to water at the sight of him. So well-fed, while we starved. Dressed in the finest of clothes while we froze in threadbare shifts. I don't see the Voice of London before me, I see Commander Lewis Prothero, just as he never saw me as a human being, but as just another animal strung up in the Funny Farm.

He goes on with the send-off, "England Prevails," and turns off the television. Our eyes meet in the reflection of the screen. "Holy Christ!" he yells, slipping on the tiles in his shock.

"Good evening, Commander Prothero,"

"Oh, my God! How did you get in here?" he demands. Evey's I.D. card is tucked safely in my pocket. I touch it through the material of my clothes as I watch him struggling on the floor, desperate for some way to escape or overpower me. Neither will occur. I watch his eyes slide over to the gilded cellular he'd dropped beside the drain. Oh, yes, nothing but the best for the boss!

He'd been speaking to Dascombe, another man of Sutler's. No worry there, the phone is wet, and hewill notlive long enough to dial. "Don't worry, I've made sure our reunion won't be disturbed by any late-night phone calls, Commander."

His eyes widen, and the fingers that had been clutching at the towel about his waist clench so tightly they adopt the same snowy shade as the terrycloth. "Stop that! Why do you keep calling me that?"

Denial, is it?

"That was your title, remember? When we first met, all those years ago. You wore a uniform in those days."

I see him as what he was, just as I know he's looking at me and seeing the creature that came forth from the fire. "You. It is you," he states, his voice wavering in terror. His confused, desperate horror has the effect of a powerful drug; I feel as if I can't get enough.

He attempts to back away from me as I nod and begin to move forward, "The ghost of Christmas past…"

He tries to fight me, tries to scramble away- it's almost too easy to be entirely satisfying. The poison barely reaches the back of his throat before it starts. The spasms of his pasty body, the bulging of his eyes…he's dead moments after vomiting up his own fetid stomach lining. It leads a garish trail, slowly seeping towards the shower drain- a horrendous combination of coagulating blood, vomit and what's left of the poison itself.

Smiling beneath the mask, I amuse myself with the thought that his last appearance on television could very well have him shown here as he is now: a bloated gray corpse, sprawled naked, leaking filth from his every orifice…

It will not happen, I know that his pathetic end will manage to twist into some heroic death, such as sacrificing himself to save a busload of schoolchildren, or some other nonsense.

There is no need to stay- Prothero is nothing to me. I make my escape just as I made my entrance, swift and to the point, with no one to witness my movements. I am a ghost, am I not? I leave Prothero's posh complex and begin the long walk back to the Gallery. I have no fear of being seen or much less, captured by Creedy or any agents from the Nose, but my steps are quicker than usual. Stopping for a moment in an alley, I realize with no surprise that I am hurrying.

Hurrying back to Evey.

I slip through the city streets, away from the safer, more carefully guarded complexes, past the more modest apartments, and continue on to the more derelict of districts. As I walk, I can't help but glance into windows as I pass. I see families sitting together, watching the telly. I see young children playing with colorful blocks or stuffed animal toys- too young to understand the dark world around them, then. Children are not able to understand, but their parents most certainly do, and I have overheard several mentions of my actions as I toured these last few city blocks.

Madman, terrorist, freedom fighter, anarchist, lunatic, insanely brave…call me what you will, but I will always be V.

In a plain brownstone townhouse, I glimpsed a couple making love in a downstairs bedroom- unlike the more innocent of scenes I'd spied on, I don't linger, but I see enough. The girl is facing the window the moment I happen by, her face lit by a few dim candles set on a nightstand. Her eyes closed in ecstasy, she never saw me. I watch her for but a moment, no longer than two seconds pass before I hasten back on my way.

But those few moments are enough that the girl's champagne curls and breathy moans invade my mind, and her flushed face is quickly replaced by Evey's. I cannot stop myself from taking on the role of her lover, who had been so swarmed by shadows as he was in the bedroom that I could not make out his face. The scene played before me is as erotic as it is foreign; I imagine Evey beneath me, writhing for me, yearning and yielding for my touch…

Clenching my fists, I shake the thought away, disgusted with myself for even conjuring the hateful idea of using her in such a way.

Upon entering, I find the Shadow Gallery just as I'd left it- silent, deathly still. The air is stale, and the only sound is the rustling of my cloak as I remove it and head further inside. I see Evey's door remains half-open.

I look inside to make sure that the blanket has not, once again, slipped from her body. The sexual image I'd conjured is whisked from my mind as I look in on her. Evey is beautiful, and has been hurt by this world. I know now that there is no way that I will be able to keep her here, cosseted away from the world. She is not one of my paintings or a priceless book.

The time will soon come when I will be forced to use Evey as a pawn to achieve my ultimate goal, and all I can do is hope that she will understand what I will ask of her, even if she will not be able to forgive me for it.