V sat in front of the computer motionless for hours. The only thing that surpassed his rage was his need for vengeance. His face grew hot. His blood boiled to a critical level as his mind calculated plans on top of plans. The need had overcome him again and he had to get out to the darkness above to what he had grown accustomed.
He sprang fro his chair and opened the door, glancing at the displays one by one. Something caught his eye. Hidden video cameras positioned in the underground fortress that was once Sutler's hiding place disclosed all that he lavished on while in power.
Now occupied by someone else.
The room was dark, meaning that the individual chose to sit by himself with the lights off. The man was sitting in a deep, cushioned chair. His profile silhouetted. He smoked a cigarette. The cigarette caught V's eye, leaving the intruder's intended concealment in the dark exposed. There was a level of arrogance as he sat there and blew smoke rings, as if to say he belonged there taking his charge and relaxing. V stared at him for a long time in earnest. Unable to get a clear view of the man's identity, V left the man lounging in his chair, confident all would reveal itself.
He rushed to his closet to adorn his cloak and hat, opening a hidden drawer, which held his blades and knife belt. He strapped his belt on and studied each knife to be certain they were gleaming and sharp enough for his liking. Gollum.
This was to make a point. To those who would have the audacity to challenge him, V would deliberately make them aware of how they would die first without mistake in their vision. It was a drama that he was proud of. That gave the prize at the end was the added bonus. The dreadful guarantee. Most were so distracted and mesmerized by his elaborate show, that death came upon them before they had the opportunity to protest.
He liked toying with his prey, and watching their facial expressions. His display was hypnotic, and disturbing, but always well deserved. He checked the monitors before he left the Gallery to view this newfound visitor. The chair was vacant. The man had left the room. V checked some other cameras to no avail. He then searched for Evey and had the monitors pick up the images of the Gallery. She was nowhere and he felt the urge to see her in person before the diversion of the night swallowed him.
He walked out of his rooms toward the edge of the hallway to wait in the dark and see if he could find her. He heard her stir on the leather sofa. He crept over to check on her and make sure she was all right. She was sleeping. Curled up in a soft fleece blanket. A book of poetry, "The Book of Counted Sorrows," was open on the end table. He loomed over and listened to her breathe, wishing he could find the peace that came so readily to her. His eyes roamed along the curves of her body, his desire becoming more and more envious of the coverlet.
He turned to make his exit, and then looked back to Evey's slumbering, whispering underneath the mask. "These violent delights have violent ends." And then vanished. Gone to the night.
A whisper. Evey opened her eyes. She sprang up to look around the Gallery floor. It was quiet, but she felt the air move. She stretched and yawned, and then stretched her head to look at the grandfather clock that read half past one in the morning. She cursed to herself. She knew that whenever she awoke during the night, she usually had a rough time getting back to sleep. She decided to turn on the telly to see the news.
The streets of London looked like a battleground of people fighting on lines for food, medical supplies, and bottled water. Another report this time by Dick and June, pre-recorded from the evening news last night, made the hairs on the back of Evey's neck stand.
Dick reported with his most serious expression, "British intelligence has reported the deployment of military troops from the former United States or the Sovereign Security Union as they are now recognized. We are being told that such deployment is for foreign support for the resistance following the alleged Norsefire terrorist regime, and should not be viewed as a violation of foreign treaty or the United Anti-terrorism Act. It is expected that the SSU troops could be reaching English soil as early as next week. We'll have more on this story as it develops…June."
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V used the low laying fog to his advantage and barely felt the damp air as he raced in pursuit to the sound of people ahead. This time of night, the London streets were desolate of living souls. Any sounds heard, were the last voices of the potential departed before the morning dawn. V timed his excursions with the view to saving the innocent from the hands of Fingermen. But perhaps not on this night.
The curfew in London changed to a mandatory 10:00 PM and no one with any sense would have violated this statute with no protection or law enforcement. V kept his pace as the wind curled the mist in the air and scattered litter in the street. All he heard now was the sound of his own breathing underneath the mask. He stopped to listen. The sound turned faint, almost an undertone, but definitely ahead a few meters, as if whoever it was, was waiting.
At last, V came upon the source. He sheltered himself under the shadow of a broken fire escape at the entrance of an alleyway to observe. Ahead, a man couched with a gun in his hand, and his back turned. He was trying to avoid being seen by two other men ahead of him. The crouching man looked over his shoulder for any unwanted assailants, and V recognized him immediately as Dominic. He watched two Fingermen. What they had done, V was uncertain. He decided to wait to see what would happen next.
"Seems ta me ta be a good enough deal. "His eyebrows lifted as he took a drag of a cigarette and flicked some ashes to the ground. This one had a mustache and one of his eyes looked wounded.
"Yea, but I don't trust em, the guy gives me the willies the way he stares at ya…an tha long fingernail he's sportin," a man in a black trench coat said.
"But did ya see the sweetie he had waitin for him…man I wish I coulda had me a piece of that arse."
"Not after he gets through with her…he'll probably finish her off when he's done." Laughter again.
As they were speaking, another man entered the alley behind Dominic and passed right in front of V without noticing him. Dominic turned around. The man took hold of his arm and bent it back. Dominic struggled and yelled in agony. The gun dropped to the ground. The man held him by the arms as the other two now came in front of Dominic and started taking turns punching him in the gut.
"Good goin! Now what the bloody hell were ya gonna do with that?" Trench coat said.
They both seemed unfazed as they looked at the gun and then at Dominic, kicking him as he went down. Dominic was on the ground gasping for air.
"I hate these fucking coppers."
Dominic faced the ground as the man with the mustache kicked him in the face. One of the other men picked up Dominic's gun and pointed it a few inches from his head.
With a sudden whoosh sound, a dagger flew and hit the gun hand. The assailant dropped it and screamed landing hard on his knees.
"What the hell?" The man with the mustache yelled out as the three of them looked in horror at the vision of V.
He twirled another dagger in his hand.
"The world is grown so bad, that wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch," V spoke with a calm and ease, and rushed toward them with a graceful sweep. The look of fright and awe on their wretched faces was beautiful. They couldn't rip their sights away long enough to defend themselves.
The man with the dagger wedged in his hand needed silencing. The sound of his squeals became irritating. V sliced his throat effortlessly as he passed behind him. The man fell forward dead in a pool of blood, still holding his own hand.
Coiling a dagger now in each hand, V lurched forward to lodge them simultaneously in to the sternums of the other two men. Lifting them off the ground, V pitched them sideways toward each other so they collided. Their constant expression of terror remained a mask forever.
V retrieved his blades, and as he did so, he heard Dominic cough and moan.
"Are you alright?" V asked him, as he finished collecting his knives and belting them.
"Yea, I…I think so." He was keeping his right arm bent in front of him and his face was full of blood.
"Do you need assistance?" V stood waiting for a response.
"No." He put a hand up in protest. "Just let me be for a minute, I'll be ok."
"Very well then."
He allowed V to walk a few steps, and then remembered. "Wait!"
"Yes," V turned back around to face him.
"I…I thought you were dead."
V contemplated for a moment and turned his back to him. Then turned again slightly so Dominic could see his profile.
"I am," he said.
Dominic winced in pain and his eyes shut when he tried to get up, and when he opened them again, V was gone.
Back to the fog. V drank in the dark. This was his home, his London and he would die a thousand times before he let anyone take it from him again. He walked on the pavement aware of the work he had ahead of him, of all of the things he knew and of what he learned. Something was coming. He would have to move fast or all could be lost. Although, there was still time, he had to get started with his plan. Stopping short in front of a run down apartment building, V looked at the small amount of light that shined from the window on the top floor.
Rick Webster was the kind of individual that enjoyed his solitude. He knew where everything was located in his lofty flat, and that is just the way he liked it. There were magazines and books stacked everywhere, pieces of machinery, ammunition, guns in hiding places, wiring… hell, he even had one of the original Spiderman comics tucked away in a safe place. He could get anything that money could buy, albeit illegal or not.
He hated playing both sides of the fence, but hey, he had to eat. He eyed at a small piece of pizza crust left over from five hours ago, and shoved it into his mouth. Tonight was one of those nights when the adrenalin ran high. The music played on a consistent basis, keeping him up somewhere past three A.M.
He was working on a complex robotic system design program and it was in the most crucial stage. There was no way he could sleep now. He didn't want to. He was wired, man, he was wired. He liked to work under a small bright desk light with a large magnifying glass. Chain-smoking to help keep his focus.
"You're a genius! You're a God Damn genius." He giggled to himself satisfied with the outcome of his latest project.
Then, the small table light went out.
"Shit!" He tried to switch it on again, and was about to get up and start looking for the stupid tiny light bulb.
"Greetings." A voice said in the darkness.
A pause of recognition. He sat there stunned and knew not to move. "What can I do for ya?" He yelled out.
"I need something from you, and I need it now," Footsteps moved closer.
He rolled his eyes in the dark. God Dammit! Rick hated dealing with this guy. He always caught him off guard. "It's gonna cost ya."
"Money is not an issue Ricky, you knowthat." He taunted. The voice came from behind him. Closer now. Rick reached for the gun holstered underneath the desk.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you Ricky. Just give me what I want, and I'll be on my way."
Rick put both of his hands on the table. "So…uh…what did ya have in mind?" The pay off would be great and the man in the dark would always say something as a sort of gratitude when he finished going through things. After he collected what he wanted. A little, 'fuck you see ya later.'
"Love what you've done to the place."
Then the fucker disappeared as the little light on the desk came back on.
"Pleasure doing business with ya!" Rick yelled out to no one. Then there would be the envelope of cash on the desk. Rick always had the shakes afterwards.