Inspector Finch was leaving work when he heard a bang from the Old London… he first suspected an attack on 10 Downing Street to the High Chancellor Sutler, but the red light in his car didn't light up, which meant that the attack was performed in another important somewhat less tactical location, the city has gone insane in the last couple of days, odd stories about a tall man with a theatre mask beaten up fingermen, not that he actually cared because those son of bitches were hired by Creedy the leader of the Norsefire Party, thugs and snitches doing his dirty work, national security they kept telling him… so why don't we ever have witnesses? Nobody to ask what happen, not a single proof of this vigilante, then a call comes in…. no tea for me tonight.

-Finch- Picking up the phone in the professional tone a well trained cop.

-Chief inspector Finch, you have been summoned to the Royalty Hotel Suite, leaders of the party are on their way- A manly voice in his mid-thirties was on the line, a norsefire political aide.

-It will take me 10 minutes- Finch replies.

-Make it 5, may I remind you that discretion is pivotal in this matter-

-No- and just hang the phone.

He knew that it was big and they were scared.

Vic couldn't get out in the front door, they were taking people to the lobby… but not the service of the hotel, but young soldiers wearing full body armor uniforms…it's not likely to happen, how can you get soldiers in here in 5 minutes? Unless you already have them here…good conjecture, not because of the recent attack but to protect the buildings and the tourists…but from what… I don't have time to figure out that one…not yet, but I will, I love this trip…too many questions, the transformation from the news reporter to the vigilante is slow but consuming, every second that passes Vic is in less control and that kook the questions seemed to take over.

I'm contemplating the possibilities and a soldier comes and grabs my arm. I don't like it so I pushed him away.

-Bollocks, mate- Don't make it hard on you, we have to move.

I pretend to understand him, but I don't want to go… I need to go to the John? I said pretending to be peeing in my pants.

What?

John…bathroom…the tinker, I said remembering all those BBC movies.

-You need to go to the tinker lad- Carry on…signaling the rest rooms, I'll pick you in a couple of minutes, don't want you tourist getting hurt or anything.

Before leaving I have to ask who old the building is.

-1700's it a defiant old lady, she won't break-

Thanks getting fast to the bathroom.

I miss my outfit, this civilian clothes (a black sweater and gray pants) made look older, I have to think fast, in a couple of minutes the soldier will come in a realized that I'm gone…that could be a problem since Helena is upstairs and I'm unable to communicate with her, I remember the traveling guide stating that the underground of London is one of the oldest in Europe, but whoever did this is not going through the underground, that would be obvious… they would use the sewer.

Time for a change (Helena is going to kill me) Get my mace can and something that looks like a paper sheet from my wallet…I put the sheet in front of my face and mace it…a viscous gas fills the room…and the Question emerges, my hair turned from Light brown to Black, and my speech takes a darker tone, my tone. I started to mumble Tchaikovsky 1812, obvious choice.

-You ok sir? must take you to the hall- The soldier said.

-Come in-

As soon as he came, a big powerful arm grabbed him inside…he never knew what hit him.

A shadow jumps out of the window, finds a sewer hole and jumps into darkness.

If he thinks I'm going to stick around waiting like the damsel in distress he is crazy!

Helena was already changed, black jeans and a purple sweater…she might have to do it without her usual dark purple cape…but Vic's brown overcoat will do…

Ok, third floor… can't jump…She looks around only to see the soldier and a police car arrived… can't climb off this window…what to do?

Simple… she doesn't have any guns and her lovable crossbow is home so she is technically unarmed, unless you consider butter knives as weapons… she opens the door only to find the soldier going inside every room… thinks fast, soldier, man, stupid.

The soldier opens up just to find this beautiful girl with her hair covering her breasts… he mumbles something, he looks back…she is inviting him…that's for sure, and he walks in only to be hit by a champagne bottle in the forehead.

She takes his bowie knife…she'll try the emergency staircases.

He's been gone 7 minutes… too long.

She walks out not knowing what happened or where is him, the only thing that is certain to her is that even he doesn't realize it, he needs her.

Evey moved fast through dark tunnels with this marked creature….She was scared and suddenly had to stop. She had to push him away.

He felt her fear, he stop and moves towards her.

-Who are you? - Evey asked frightened, everything is happening so fast around her, half an hour ago she was going to have a date, then they tried to rape her…he showed up and killed them…that made her an accessory to murder if she didn't go to the police right away, she'll be fucked, but no she cannot go because he blew up the Old Bailey…which made them terrorists…this is not happening, it's a surreal dream.

-Who is the form following the function of a what, and what I am is a man in a mask.- V answered.

-Well I can see that- Evey replies.

-Of course you can, I'm not questioning your powers of observation, I'm merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man who he is.-

He's got that one right…said a frightening voice in the end of the tunnel, he stands tall...it's hazy because of the smoke from the pipes, but undoubtedly he is standing in the middle of the road… but there is something threatening in his stance, V wanted to test this newcomer.

-Abash the devil stood and fell how awful goodness is- V shouted to the silhouette.

-And fell how awful goodness is, John Milton, Paradise Lost- the person replies back.

-An enlightened man- V asked to the shadowy figure.

-No, just a nut with a taste for tragedy and conspirators-

-Did you happen to see the fireworks tonight?-

If you mean the explosion that ended my happy vacation, yes… Must I add that the music was an original touch, certainly dramatic for all purpose intended.

-My kind of man- V answered readily. Did Sutler send you to scourge and impoverish the people?

-No, but you just quote Brougham, Late 18Th century writer… how long do you want to keep this?-

-Not long- Dare I may ask the name of the executioner?

He takes a step forward so the lights shines upon his face…I am know as the Question.

-And the paradox continues its entropy.- V replies back.

Let's play.