Yep, the Mickey chapter got moved to chappie three, cuz it seemed to make more sense. I think the time frame of the setting is supposed to be whatever time "Peter Pan" takes place in. Whoops, I hope that didn't give too much away… Anyway, without further ado…

-The Tragic Demise of King Mickey-

Mickey slowly walked down the cobblestone street, still trying to figure out how he'd gotten there in the first place.

He was deep in the middle of a cramped neighborhood in a dirty city. The houses, gloomy brick affairs with all the charm of graveyards, loomed on either side of him, packed tight as sardines. A few hollow-eyed children played with a ball outside their homes, casting Mickey dark looks as he passed. The short, fat chimney pots atop the buildings released wisps of smoke that twisted like snakes. In the distance, a factory belched black smoke that blurred and obscured the horizon.

Mickey swallowed uncomfortably, painfully aware of the growing crowd of disconsolate looking teenagers following behind him. One of them kept his hand in his back pocket, obviously gripping a blade of some kind. One of them kicked a pebble. It clattered noisily off the curb. As if that were a signal, the teenagers broke and ran, chasing after Mickey with a grim determination on their faces.

Mickey ran also, trying desperately to avoid them and their scything blades. Mickey raced through the streets, the pack close behind. He ducked into an alley and leaned against the wall, breathing hard, as the teenagers raced past.

"'Allo, guv'nah."

Mickey stifled a yelp and whipped around to face a grimy-looking boy in a cloth cap leaning against the wall. He grinned crookedly at Mickey and stuck his hands in his pockets.

"Ye look like yer in a right fix, so ye do," he said. "Gettin' chased by a gang wifout so much as a ha'penny t' yer name…"

"Who are you?" Mickey asked.

"No one special," the boy said with a shrug. "Jus' a soul wot knows the 'ighways, byways, and not-s'-well-known-ways of London, mate. Anyway, 'ow'd ye get yerself chased by a gang?"

"I don't know, I was just passing through," Mickey replied.

"D'ye want ter get outta 'ere in one piece?" the boy asked. He fished a shilling out of his pocket and started flipping it over his fingers from pointer to pinkie and back again, over and over. "I c'n get ye outta 'ear for nuffin 't'all."

"Why do you want to help me?" Mickey inquired, suspicious of the boy's motives.

"Do I need a reason ter want ter 'elp someone?" the boy replied indignantly. "That lot gets on me wick, so I like t' mess wif 'em when th' opportunity arises. I c'n get ye out o' London and away from them." The sounds of the gang drifted to their ears, and the boy stood off the wall. "C'mon, mate. Gots a long ways t' go an' a short time ter get there."

The two set off through the alleys, winding around lampposts and garbage cans, occasionally taking to rooftops in their efforts to avoid the gang.

"There's Piccadilly," the boy said once, pointing to a crowded looking area of stalls. "There's th' Thames," he pointed to a river, "There's th' bridge, and there's Big Ben." Here he pointed to a massive clock rising out of the city like a great fang. "Ol' Big Ben's probably th' safest place for ye at th' mo'. I'll ge' ye there."

Once again they continued their run through the city. Mickey still had his doubts about his young companion, and, not for the first time, wondered what the boy's motives were.

They left the rooftops by way of a fire escape, and continued through the alleys. Mickey couldn't quite place what, but something seemed to be changing on the boy. Whereas before he'd exuded an aura of curiosity and quiet awareness, he now seemed overtly hostile, with an underlying tone Mickey knew he'd sensed before.

"'Urry up!" he frequently snapped. Finally the two reached Big Ben. Mickey stared up in awe at the majesty of the giant clock.

"This way."

Mickey hurried after his young guide, through a door near the base of the clock. Inside it was quite dark, and full of sound from the gears of the clock. Mickey soon lost his guide in the dark.

"Where are you?" he called.

"Up 'ere." Mickey tried in vain to follow the voice, but it seemed the higher he went the louder the gears became, and the less and less likely he was of finding the boy. As he stood on a narrow walkway overlooking a chasm of gigantic gears, he heard a noise behind him and turned. He felt his heart drop to his stomach.

Ansem stood behind him, a calm smirk on his face.

"Better run," he said. Mickey ran. He took off as fast as he could, clambering over gears and springs. He could hear Ansem's footsteps echoing behind him, and he ran faster. He tripped over a gear and slid forward on his chest. He scrambled to his feet and ran on.

As he ran, it seemed to grow lighter. Soon he could see the lighted face of the clock. He skidded to a halt, gazing up at the numbers. They were reversed, since he was looking at them from behind, and there seemed to be something sinister about that to Mickey. He whipped around as he heard the sound of footfalls behind him. He tensed, preparing to summon his Keyblade.

The boy stumbled into view.

"There ye are!" he cried. "Wot're ye doin'? We gots ter get outta here! The gangs found us!"

"Where do we go?" Mickey asked, still mistrustful of the boy.

"Nowhere, mouse!" The boy's voice had suddenly changed. It was shockingly deep and familiar to Mickey. Shadows grew out of the floor and wrapped around the boy. Mickey stared in horrid fascination as the shadows seemed to eat away at the boy's form to be replaced by Ansem's.

"Who was that boy? What did you do with him?" Mickey demanded.

"He was no one, just a disguise," Ansem replied scornfully. Then he started to laugh. "You really are a fool! You ran right into my trap! You have nowhere else to go!"

Mickey looked around. With a sinking feeling, he realized Ansem was right. Gears rose on either side of him, and while Mickey probably could have climbed over them, he didn't want to risk getting crushed. Ansem stood ahead of him. Then he realized there was a door on the clock's face.

"I'm not entirely trapped!" Mickey yelled. He spun around and ran through the door. Behind him, Ansem grinned.

Mickey emerged onto a wooden board hanging from the top. Numerous cleaning supplies rested on either end. He peered over the edge and yelped. The streets of London loomed below him, several stories below him. He backed up against the clock and fell to his knees. He passed a hand over his eyes.

Ansem floated down from somewhere and hovered in front of him.

"Hello, mouse!" he said cheerfully. "Marvelous night to die, no?" Ropes shot out of the air and affixed themselves to Mickey's neck and the minute hand of the clock. One more bound Mickey to the board and clock face.

Mickey lost all hope then. He closed his eyes and remained silent. Ansem floated back a ways and looked at the clock.

"You have fifteen minutes to live. Then the clock will strike midnight and your head will be ripped off," Ansem said conversationally, as if talking about the weather. He adopted a casual pose, floating in the air as if he was stretched out on someone's couch.

Neither exchanged a word as the fifteen minutes slowly ticked by. Ansem's face remained inscrutable as he floated there, and Mickey was absorbed in thoughts of Minnie. Then the minute hand hit the eleven. The rope tightened considerably, making Mickey give a choking sound. Ansem looked over at him.

"Oh good, five minutes left! I was getting so bored waiting for you," he said eagerly. "Any last words?"

Mickey was struggling with the rope tightening around his neck. As the minute hand drew closer to the twelve, the skin on his neck began to tear. Finally, just as the minute hand struck twelve, his head was torn from his body with a spray of blood. His head sailed through the air to be caught by Ansem.

"Alas, poor Mick, I knew ye not!" he said, holding the head at arm's length. Then he snickered. "I think I know what I'm going to do next!"

-

At the Disney castle, Minnie bustled to the door, hearing the doorbell ring. She opened the door and looked around. She could see no one. She frowned and looked down. A large package lay on the doorstep. She picked up the card.

The Wraith and the Seeker of Darkness send you this with their utmost contempt.

Puzzling the meaning of this, Minnie opened the box. A scream rent the air.

Hidden from view, Ansem and Reivanlocke heard the scream. They both laughed.

-End part three-

A/N: Two bits left! Just Sora and the last bit! XD