Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay. Won't happen again. Enjoy the update!


"You sure it was her card he used?" Finch swiveled in his chair to face Dominic. In annoyance, the younger officer slapped down the stack of papers he was holding, and sighed.

"For the tenth time, yes, it was her access card that he used to steal the money. I don't see why you have to keep asking me this."

Finch wasn't sure at first whether he should voice aloud his personal opinion. It went against what common sense would indicate, and what anyone involved in this case would willingly believe. Despite that, Finch decided to speak his mind,

"I don't think she gave it to him."

"Gave what to him?" Dominic asked, not really paying attention. "The card?"

"Yeah…I don't think she gave it to him. In fact, I think he took it from her, and she didn't even know about it."

Finch faced away from his partner, deep in thought. But simply turning away from the now frustrated Dominic did not help him evade the barrage of exasperated comments.

"Have you lost it? She went with him, wasn't like he kidnapped her. And now you're telling me that maybe she had nothing to do with the robbery?" He kicked a garbage can in front of him, not hard enough to send it flying, but with enough strength to tip it over. A few papers scattered across the floor, and Dominic made no move to pick them up. He took a few breaths, aware that he was making a bit of a scene, and lowered his voice.

"Just…think about what you're saying, sir. It isn't logical."

Finch merely grunted, nodding his head a little. He stared at a whiteboard in front of him, where he had begun to construct a crime scene map. The criminal remained in the center of the board, with a few things written around him. An arrow from him pointed directly to Evey Hammond, without the tiniest hint of a squiggle; as if in an attempt to condemn her actions and make her innocence a notion beyond the realm of possibility. But beyond the two faces and only a tenuous arrow connecting them, the board was hopelessly clear and unmarred by marker. As Finch studied the board ahead of him, Dominic began printing something off of his computer.

"What the…?" Perplexed, Dominic snatched the paper off of the printer's tray, and examined it closely, as if hoping he had made some horrible mistake and at any minute the contents would shift to something else.

"What is it?" Finch growled, not liking disturbances while he was so deep in thought.

Deciding that the contents upon the paper would not be changing anytime soon, Dominic didn't say a word; he merely shoved the paper into Finch's line of view.

It took a few seconds for Finch to realize what was so special about the paper. At first, all he could tell was that it was a copy of a map highlighting all stores the criminal had stolen from. But soon, Finch recognized that there was something odd about the stores that had been marked. It was a feeling synonymous with suddenly understanding a math problem that has been slaved over for many hours with no success. And then quite abruptly, one sees the now simple approach to take, and the answer is abundantly clear.

"I didn't believe it at first, I mean, why would he…"

Dominic's words were lost to Finch after that point. Like a man possessed he walked towards the board, and taped the new evidence to it. He grabbed a red marker, and beside the smiling masked man's face he gave him a codename—one that paralleled the shape he had made when carefully selecting which stores to steal from. It was no coincidence that they were in the shape of a

"V", the handwriting was scrawled with a new intensity, no longer uniform and regimented.


A period of prolonged silence had stretched between the two since the unfortunate encounter after watching The Count of Monte Cristo. V had taken to reading; he was always perched upon some chair or sofa, his white and shiny nose buried among the pages. This habit annoyed Evey, but she refused to reveal her feelings. She wandered from room to room—when she wasn't sulking behind her closed door—only when she assumed V wasn't aware of her presence. They had regressed to the way two feuding high school girls would act—ignoring one another, waiting for the other to deliver an apology and an admittance of wrongdoing.

But one day turned into three, and it became apparent to Evey that V would not be approaching her. He was content in being left alone, and though he was aware of a presence that ate his food and slept in one of his rooms, it didn't bother him. So on the eve of the third day, she had devised a plan.

Her only living relative, Gordon had met her for lunch several months ago. While she had been aware of his existence for quite some time, she had never been close to him. But one day, she had bumped into him while walking back from the grocery store. The two had collided, Evey's bag of food dropping out of her hands and crashing onto the pavement. Apologetic, Gordon had helped her collect the scattered items, and while he had been replacing them in the brown paper bag, they had locked eyes for a moment.

"Evey? Is that you?" She remembered her initial fright as he had peered at her closely. When he realized that she had no idea who he was, he frowned in a sad sort of way.

"It's me, Gordon…your cousin." He reminded her, hoping that she would recognize him. "Don't you remember?"

She had vaguely recalled meeting him a few times, the most recent when she was a teenager, he a young man in his mid twenties. They had chatted on the street corner for a bit—not too long because Gordon had to return to work. He was famous, or at least he was on TV—she rarely watched TV, so she didn't know. Before she could question him too much, he had scrawled his address on a scrap of paper, tucking it into her hand along with the insistence that she come see him if she ever needed anything. While at the time she had no intention of ever taking him up on his offer, circumstances had changed. And he had said "anything". With nowhere else to go, Evey decided that she would have to plead her cousin to harbor her—a criminal. The worst possible scenario would end with her being captured by Fingermen. And the alternative, remaining with V, didn't seem much better.

So Evey prepared herself in front of her mirror as an actress would. She practiced the facial expression that would best convey a deep level of humility and embarrassment—as though she was apologetic for having been so wrong. It took many different combinations of eyebrow quirks and lip pouts but eventually she was convinced she looked as humbled as she ever would.

With the "I'm sorry" face frozen in place, she trained her eyes downwards, and approached V. He was perched upon the same couch they had argued upon, engrossed in yet another book. She was positive that he knew all along that she was getting close to him, but his attention remained fully on the story. Deciding that a blatant interruption would be rude—and rudeness in any form would kill her "I'm trying to be nice and I was wrong" cover—she cleared her throat.

"What are you reading?"

V sighed tiredly, in a way that suggested he knew that whatever Evey had to say would be laced in dishonesty and dripping with ulterior motives. But if these were his thoughts, he did not say anything to reveal them.

"Macbeth; a tragic story of what often happens to those in power or influenced by the promise of it."

Evey could not help but smile; he was being talkative. V was rarely ever taciturn, and had he been that would have worried her.

"What happens?" She asked.

"They become corrupt."

"Oh…" Evey clasped her hands behind her back, and made herself a more prominent figure in V's line of sight. She timidly leaned towards him.

"V…I just wanted to apologize…for how I acted…it was wrong…"

She paused, waiting for him to reply. But he was now silent. Desperately, Evey hurried to finish her speech, not wanting to annoy him.

"And, if there's anything at all I can do to help you…even stealing…I'll do it."

Satisfied that her point had been delivered flawlessly, she waited for a response from V. Moments stretched until a full minute passed, with no words exchanged. Evey wanted to speak, to fill the gap with any sort of noise. But she restrained herself.

I have to wait…he's testing me…I have to be patient.

As if he could read her mind, V closed the book and placed it upon his lap.

"I shall keep your gracious and kind offer in mind, Evey. And I accept your apology."

Evey nodded her head, biting her lip to prevent herself from demanding an apology in return. Self-restraint was crucial, she had to play her part, the part that would allow her to escape. Turning away from V, she strode out of the room before she could no longer contain herself.

She never saw him sigh, nor did she see the slight shake of his head that emanated disappointment.


Lewis Prothero had an immense headache, one that required more than a simple over-the-counter remedy. The jackhammer rattling his brains demanded something of a behemoth medicine, a juggernaut of the drug world. And when he had opened his cabinet that contained a rainbow of various pills, he had been horribly annoyed when he noticed his bottle of migraine medicine displayed an absence of color. He grabbed the offending empty container and threw it at the hard tile beneath him. It bounced away, as if trying to put distance between itself and the irate man.

Prothero rubbed his eyes tiredly. He needed sleep, or else his bags would be horrible for tomorrow's shoot. And he didn't care what sort of miracle makeup staff he had, bags were bags and it was impossible to fully conceal them. But until he could dull the throbbing ache in his head, he would not be able to rest. Grumbling to himself, he reached for his jacket, putting it on and then as an afterthought, dug around in one of the pockets. He extracted a thick brown wallet, and from it, removed a tiny white card.

The sight of this rectangular piece of paper relaxed him slightly. In his meaty fist was his access to any and all medications currently manufactured in England. Some were even unavailable to the regular public. But prominent Party members such as Lewis weren't part of the masses of people who were constantly restricted and denied basic needs. At his fingertips lay infinite possibilities; as much food as he desired, whatever medications he wanted, he could have it all so long as he carried that little white card with him.

Smirking in a self-satisfied and superior way, Prothero tucked the card back into his wallet, and returned it to the pocket it had originally been nestled in. He reached for his car keys and headed out into the dreary night.

The pharmacy wasn't crowded—it was dangerously close to curfew. Prothero strode into the store, an air of superiority palpable in his presence. He didn't bother browsing, what he required was behind the counter. With no regard for his surroundings, he made a beeline for the back of the store, nearly knocking over an elderly woman in his hurry. The poor woman was hunched over, her black shawl drawn tightly around her, and she grunted slightly at the push.

Prothero reached the counter in a surprisingly short amount of time for a man of his stature. He slammed a pudgy fist on the counter, an unnecessary gesture that made the clerk slightly uncomfortable.

"Mr. Prothero," the young man presumed in a meek tone, "may I help you?"

"Yes, in fact you can, that's why I'm standing here in front of you, waiting for some assistance." The impatience only served to make the young man behind the counter more nervous, and he wrung his hands in front of himself.

"Er, well, Mr. Prothero, if you'll just tell me what you'd like I'm sure I can--"

Prothero slapped the ID card down on the table—which at this point was a completely unnecessary gesture, but he did so anyway. "I don't care for your banter, just get me a fucking prescription."

"A-alright Mr. Prothero, I'll pull up your file, and just make sure everything's in order."

The clerk turned away, Prothero's ID card in hand, and headed for a computer in the far corner. He began to rapidly type away, and Prothero leaned on the counter, sighing in irritation. But his brooding was interrupted by a shrill scream—one that only added to the massive pain in his head—and he turned angrily at the source of the vile noise. Evey had sprinted into the store, her shirt torn and her hair disheveled. What little customers were present turned in confusion, curious about the source of the noise, but showing no genuine concern.

"There's a crazy man out there! He's trying to kill me! Please, somebody help me!" She collapsed onto the ground, sinking to her knees and then falling onto her side. Nobody made a move to assist her, instead the people chose to stare at the doors, waiting for the supposed maniac to come running in. But a few moments passed, and no one entered the store. The clerk behind the counter was more perturbed than ever. From his computer he watched the scene unfold; his widened eyelids expanded to a dangerous amount, as if his eyeballs were attempting to escape from their sockets. This delay only served to infuriate Prothero.

"Will you fucking hurry--" The clerk stifled a cry and Prothero followed the path of his bug eyes. Turning around, the rotund man only saw a smiling white face, inches from his own. It took him several seconds to realize that this face was not only the one that had been broadcast on the news as the famed V terrorist, but it was also the same old woman he had pushed over earlier.

"You should really learn to respect your elders, Lewis…that's your name isn't it?"

Prothero couldn't even stutter a reply. He only managed half of a curse before a cold, metallic angel of death came into contact with his forehead. It's silver fingertip kissed his flesh for less than a second, before piercing right through his head. With a decisive thump, the body fell onto its knees, before tilting to itself and collapsing with a massive crash onto the ground.

V didn't pay attention to his victim, he simply pointed the gun in the direction of the frightened clerk; and gave orders for him to get the money out of the cashbox, and put it into a bag. The nervous young man's hands shook, but he complied with the polite yet commanding voice. While the gun did nothing to soothe his nerves, the absence of the belligerent Prothero seemed to calm him slightly.

After the transaction was complete; the man handing V the bag overflowing with money, V nodded his head in appreciation, before turning to face the scattered customers of the store. He gave a slight bow in apology before speaking.

"I am sorry to have disturbed your evening, please allow me to take this opportunity to genuinely apologize. I hope you will all have a safe journey home, but now I must ask you all to depart."

The collective group did not need to be told twice, and soon everyone had filed out of the small drugstore.

"Does that include-"

"Yes, Mr. Michaels, you too should leave."

Stunned the clerk opened his mouth, but V anticipated his question.

"Your nametage."

"Ah…alright…sorry" The clerk mumbled apologies profusely as he moved from behind the counter. He sidestepped around the pile of flesh that had been Prothero, and then tiptoed around V. As he exited the building, he turned, his eyes meek and questioning.

"Erm…if it's not too much trouble…would you mind locking up?"

"Of course," V replied.

"Oh, alright then…key's in the third drawer from the right, under the spare paperclips….G'night."

He waited until he was positive that the store was devoid of all persons, then he called out to Evey.

"You're still in here, I hope."

Evey had concealed herself behind a table displaying makeup. She hadn't watched the scene unfold because she had been debating whether or not to make a breakaway. Her reason for coming with V had been to escape, and yet she had remained. When the perfect opportunity had been handed to her, when all she had to do was follow the small crowd of people leaving the store, she hadn't budged. As of this moment, her actions dictated that she would remain with V for the time being, and hiding would be futile.

"Yeah," she replied, standing up from behind the cosmetics.

"Good, we need to leave. There'll be police any minute now."

A siren wailed in the far off distance, but Evey did not hear it. Her eyes remained trained on the body lying on the floor that she has just caught sight of, particularly on the pool of blood that had formed by his head. She knew who that was, she has convinced she had seen him before. The body, the hair, it was all so familiar.

Suddenly, Evey knew exactly who V had shot. She ran past V to the opposite end of the store.

"Oh my God." Evey stared down in shock at the pile of what was once a living person. Dropping to her knees, she muttered a string of words so harsh that V turned his head toward her. She took no notice of her accomplice, though. All of her attention was focused on the corpse. Hands trembling, and lip quivering, Evey reached out and tentatively grasped the fallen man's jacket, digging her nails into the material. She hesitated for a moment, before quickly jerking the coat toward her, causing the man's head to loll over. His lifeless eyes stared into space and Evey covered her mouth—in an attempt to muffle a cry, and to prevent herself from vomiting.

"You…you killed Lewis Prothero!" Her words were shaky and frightened. She sounded like a child who had just witnessed a cuddly animal being devoured by a carnivorous beast.

"Who?" Was all V offered in an apologetic, yet coldly indifferent tone.

"Lewis Prothero," Evey repeated incredulously. "You must know him."

"No, I'm afraid I don't. Would you care to enlighten me, or shall I stand here and continue to watch you behave hysterically?" V did not enjoy being kept in the dark, and he made that pet peeve abundantly clear with his sarcasm.

"Lewis Prothero," she yet again repeated, much to V's irritation, "he broadcasts that TV show late at night…the Voice of Fate. It's the only TV I ever really watch but I know it's him…He's one of the single most important Party members, because his show is one of the most watched. He's influential and powerful…and now…you've killed him," she indicated the dead body, as if proving to V that he really was deceased.

The sirens wailed louder, a reminder from reality.

"Evey, we don't have time for this, we need to go," V insisted.

Tears pinpricking the corners of her eyes, Evey glanced upwards at V, her hands still hovering near the dead body. Whether she decided to wait for the police, in the hope for leniency, or run off with the lunatic, V; her prospects weren't good. She could run to Gordon—but she doubted he would harbor someone as wanted as she, even if she was family.

V would leave her if she didn't make up her mind soon. He wouldn't risk capture because she was unable to decide which path to take on the moral trail. With a shaky sigh, she pushed herself up onto her feet and stared hard at V. She had made her decision.

Wordlessly, the two began heading for the door. The patrol cars sounded as though they were a few blocks away. They couldn't afford to waste any time. And yet, V suddenly turned, and headed back into the store

"V—what are you?"

She watched in disbelief as he headed toward the back, and opened a drawer near the register. He rifled through a few things before extracting a set of keys. Evey gaped as he locked both glass doors securely, testing them once before nodding in approval.

"You really are mad like they say," was all Evey could retort as the two skulked off into the night.