Author's Note- I have a few comments for BanishedOne and Girl With The Cauldron Spir at the end of this chapter- nothing mean, I promise!

V

"Are you going to kill me too?"

Evey, Evey, Evey, you irrational, assuming child. Why would I kill you? You are nothing to me, your actions- no matter what you do- will have no impact on my intentions to destroy the tyranny that has held this country for so many years. No matter what you do, no matter what you say or think of me, more people will die. I will execute without hesitation, discrimination or mercy, as I have been doing for the past decade.

If I had had my way, I would have switched off the television, but you wanted to see the news report- no matter how false the circumstances- and I refuse to act a the censor, especially in the Shadow Gallery, becaus here you will find only truth. What you wish to see, I will not stop you…the exception of my face is immaterial.

I am a man, a man without a past- my life had been destroyed in Larkhill, and with it, much of my humanity. I am a man, but over the years of my imprisonment I became more and more of a beast. I use that term, not in a way of self-pity, but in it's most simple of descriptions. I lost my name, my family and friends, all traces of what becomes a man- except for my hate. Hate had consumed me for years, filling my every breath, contaminating me in a way that Delia Surridge could only dream of.

The beatings, the abuse, the deaths…it went on for years. I'd seen the guards share women, I'd seen them take turns shocking my fellow prisoners with a cattle prod; I'd seen men beaten to death for the crime of attempting to protect their children…hate overcame my fear and anger- it ate me alive.

Hate eventually combined with the poisons of the medical block, swarming over me, taking control. I believed that I was lost to the world, that I would die from the poison and cold hatred flowing through me, that I was no longer a man, but just a human shell containing little more than the toxins that I'd been injected withand the fury of my own making.

I'd lost my will to carry on. If there was nothing to look forward to, no reason tolove, nothing to hope for, thenthere was nothing left for me on this earth…or so I'd believed.

I was lying on the floor, curled into the fetal position, and waiting for Death to knock on my cell door. I could not see, I could not feel- I was deaf, blind and numb to the world…and then it happened, something so simple- I received a letter.

It wasfirst contact with someone other than the guards and medical staff; the guards who took such pleasure in our pain, the doctors that infected our bodies.

The letter itself is brief, written with a shaky hand on a flimsy slip of paper…that letter, that last, desperate message of love and hope had moved me so deeply, more than words can say.

The last testament of Valerie Page had given me all that I needed- a reason to live.

I have nearly no memory of my former self, but I do remember that while I'd been caged in the medical block, I began to see the world in a new way. I'd become detached from the guards, the doctors, even the other prisoners…I no longer felt as if I were a part of human life, rather, I felt that I was on the outside looking in. As memories of a past life that may have been wonderful, full of laughter and love, began to fade away, strange thoughts began to emerge from my disturbed, intoxicated mind.

I began to absorb everything around me- the faces, the voices, the odd bits of conversation…my mind, stripped of it's past, had been reduced to the openness of a child's. I took in everything around me, and I saw my way out in Dr. Surridge. I'd observed the way she lit up when it was our time to spend together during the day- she looked forward to seeing me, and because of the simple truth that I was able to fascinate her to the point of distraction, I knew that I could twist her to my advantage.

Manipulate her, use her…

My vendetta is no simple, petty want for payback- in killing those responsible for Larkhill, I will be setting the world to right. In less than one year, it will all be over. The last few will be dead- Liliman, Surridge, Creedy, Sutler…and however many more people stand between them and I.

There is no anger, no burning hate left within me- what I feel now is the cool, simple certainty of destiny. I will avenge myself and the others who died in Larkhill. I will free the public from Sutler's hold. I will do everything it takes to accomplish this grand task.

This vendetta has become my purpose in life.

Evey doesn't understand why I've killed Prothero, and I am not going to tell her now. If she had been less eager to jump to the assumption that I would kill her with such carefree abandon, if she had given me the opportunity to explain, rather than turning away, I would have told her. Not everything, of course- I'd sooner die than have that slip of a girl pity my past sufferings. If I had the power to remove the sight of my hands from her memory, I would do so.

I won't tell her anything now- she had a chance to hear me out, but instead she chose to assume that I have the worst of intentions toward her. After all that has happened, she still trusts the tyrannical system more than I. It is impossible to pretend that this does not hurt me.

Foolish girl.

Evey had stepped back when I reached out to her, and bolted to her bedroom without a glance back to me. I could have stopped her, but I recalled, once again, someone's advice to me from years ago; I left her alone to calm down.

She has been in her room for over a week- I don't believe that she is starving herself, for I have noticed food missing from the kitchen. I assume that she eats when I am in another area of the Gallery, or while I am aboveground keeping tabs on my next target. Speaking of which…interesting developments have occurred; the opportunity to do away with that perverted priest, Father Liliman, will present itself very soon.

It seems our Father Liliman likes to take an indulgence whenever he can. Soon, he will be leaving for Perth, and even sooner, a girl of barely thirteen will be placed with him in a large, decadentbedroom of Westminster Abbey- the poor girl will be nowhere near ready, and anything but willing. Not that it matters; this is the way he likes them, you understand.

Sick bastard- I may enjoy this more than when I do away with Sutler and Creedy.

Liliman, by habit, will not have his fun until the day of his departure from the country- he is afraid of heights, and from what I understand, raping a young girl is the only way to relieve such tension before the long flight south.

I have seen him with the children in Larkhill...

Irony is a beautiful thing- I have created a special Communion tablet for Liliman. The moment it dissolves on his tongue, he will meet the Lord that he has served so faithfully these many years. With all my heart, I believethis to be a long overdue reunion.

A door openssomewhere down the corridor; Evey has emerged from her bedroom. Finally, she has come back to me. I make no move to greet her, and she frowns as she moves closer. Is she still displeased? Her stepstoward the loungeslow, and she approaches more carefully. I watch her movements, and it occurs to me that because I have not moved or spoken, Evey might believe me to be sleeping. Often, I forget I wear a mask, and that Evey has only ever seen smiling Guy Fawkes, but never my true face.

I want her to be the first to speak, so I move just enough so that it is obvious I am alert to her presence in the room with me. One nod of the head, and she falters, just for a moment, but quickly regains herself.

"Hi, I've been thinking, and I want to ask you something, but I don't think you'll understand why until you know a few things about me…"

She moves closer and, sitting down beside me on the chaise lounge, Evey went on to tell me her story- the death of her brother, the passion for politics her parents shared, the terror of the black bags…so many events have factored into the development of the timid young woman before me.

Poor Evey has a faraway look in her eyes as she tells me about her life. Her curls shimmer in the dim Gallery lighting, the burgundy dress I've provided brings flattering warmth to her skin. Evey's lips and cheeks share the same soft, girlish shade of rose without the aid of cosmetics. She is a beauty- her loveliness is bewildering, frightening and foreign.

I am drawn to her- I can feel her anger and defiance, it roils just beneath her well-mannered surface. In Evey Hammond, I sense a kindred spirit; it's strange, butI feel thatI have longed for her before we'd even met, that I've been waitingover a decade for her to join me.

She has alreadyproven that she has aspark within, that day when she stepped in to help me at Jordan Tower.Perhaps it was the overature from the night beforethat had woken up something inside of her, something that said, "Don't let them trod over you! Let them know you're here, make them listen, make them understand!"

Music has that effect- it canawaken something we once thought had been beaten into permanent submission. No wonder that the government has black-listed everything, save fortheir own military march anthems, the constant chanting of "England Prevails!"

I love you, Evey, and I am sorry...

"…which is why I wanted to ask if there's anything I can do to help make it right, please, let me know."

The nymph before me finishes her story with the soft plea that I let her help in some small way. Her eyes are wide and warm; they shine with tears that, if things were different, I would offer her the comfort of my hands lifting to caress her cheek. I might take her in my arms and bring her closer, perhaps hold her against me, perhaps even run an ever-gloved hand through her honey curls…

But I do nothing.

I do nothing because I can see the lie in her eyes. Evey may have wowed the crowd as a child in a school production of Twelfth Night, but she is no actress now, and this is no play. She is lying right to me and I can see it plain as day that the only one Evey is concerned about helping is herself.

Eveydeclared that she wanted to help me change the world…I wish that I could believe her…

BanishedOne- You are spot on in the comments you made about V cursing; he was angered by Evey and let's not forget what a stressful day he'd had at that point! Considering that technically, V was just thinking and not speaking, I hadn't thought that a little cursing was beyond the realm of possibility- if I'd gone through everything that he had, I'd be cursing up a storm! As for the sexual thoughts- he's a man, and they were nothing more than fleeting thoughts- we all have those. As V proves, even a priest is not beyond that base human urge; at least V has the decency not to act on his impulses!

Girl With The Cauldron Spir- You're a real sweetie, thank you! Since you haven't read the novel yet, I should tell you that the part where Evey asks if V will kill her is in the book (ch. 8, pg. 131)- she asks the question, V says that of course he won't kill her, he stands up and reaches to her, Evey says, "No, don't," backs away from him and then goes back to her room…I'm still mad that they didn't leave that part in the film, but I'll wait for the DVD, maybe it'll be on a deleted scene- I hope so! And all of the love/sex stuff between them, don't worry, I know good and well how far I can go with this so there won't be any smut, but there will be something…