Now

Staunton Island, Liberty City, New Jersey

Liberty City wasn't a place people liked living in. It wasn't a place people liked. Period. It was slightly better in most aspects than it's neighboring Carcer, but that was it. Beneath the façade of being a world grade cosmopolitan city was something else, a province of greed and corruption, though lacking the colorful variety of Gotham's underworld, or the overdramatic flamboyance of Basin City, it had came to be known as America's worst city.

Sayid and O'Brien sat in a parked car in the district known as Torrington, looking across the street as Lana walked alone toward the AM corporation building with Mona following her fifteen feet behind.

"So this is it, then?" asked O'Brien, nervously wiping his oversized sunglasses clean with the bottom of his shirt and putting them back on, "She goes in, has her little pow-wow with Mister Throat, she goes out, bada-bing, bada-boom, our job's done and we get out of dodge, right?"

"That's the plan."

"You don't think anything can go wrong?"

"I would be surprised if it did." Said Sayid as he watched Lana enter the building with Mona following soon, "We were meticulously careful. We haven't been in this city for more than two hours. I can't see how trouble might arise."

"You're right, man. I mean, it's not like Priest is here, right? Now that guy is like an industrial grade magnet for trouble. Oh, god! I'm freaking out."

"So am I."

"You hide it well."

"I practice. Just try and find reasons to be cheerful."

"Right." Said O'Brien as he rolled down a window and looked out, "Priest isn't here. Nothing's going to go wrong."

Carcer City, New Jersey

Codename Bullseye was an obnoxious man, though not of many words. He'd been dispatched from the League's New York Branch a little over a week ago, to be a part of the newly assembled counter-opposition unit, acting as second to Mandy Hughes. An Irishman of average build, sporting a goatee and a bald head that remained under a black wool cap at all times, he was usually decked in black clothes and leather, but wore dark combat gear at the moment, much like the eleven other agents aboard the helicopter flying above the dilapidated city of Carcer.

"Mandy, do you read me?"

Many raised a hand to her ear to better hear Diana's voice coming through her ear-piece.

"Yeah. What do we got?"

"The car's stopped."

"Dammit. Where?"

"Liberty City. Staunton Island."

"Any chance he's stuck in traffic?"

"No. All lights are green at his Bedford Point, and the car's engine is turned off. It's parked."

"Did you hear that?" shouted Mandy.

"I heard it." Replied the pilot, "It'll take us Fifteen minutes."

Liberty City

Lana checked her watch. It was Five-thirty-three. She slowly scanned her surroundings, the underground fluorescent-lit parking garage was packed with cars, but she was the only one standing there. The dossier under her arm grew heavy as time went by at a snail's pace.

Suddenly, the lights flickered out. The garage was filled in darkness, the only lights coming from outside and above, through the ramp leading to outside.

"Lana Lang?"

The voice was powerful, yet smooth. It was stern and composed with a hint of a North New Yorker accent.

"Yes." Said Lana as she looked all around herself, but all she could see was the dark shape of rows of parked cars.

"I'm Deep Throat." Said the voice.

"Where are you?"

"You're facing me right now. Stay where you are."

Lana obliged and swallowed hard.

"I'm informed that you have dirt on Senator McNeil."

"I have evidence." Said Lana, "Contributions accepted illegally, meetings that-"

Care to be more specific."

"For starts, do you know that late husband of hers?" asked Lana, "The marine who died during Dessert Storm? To whom she's been loyal to even after his death? She never married him. She never even met him. Not that anything could possible could happen if they did. Lieutenant Colonel John McNeil was in the closet. There's a man in New Mexico who still makes the trip up to New York twice a year on his birthday and the day he died to lay a flower on his grave and sing him his favorite song; Ballad of the Thin Man by Jude Quinn"

"That's all?"

"What? This woman has robbed a man's life. A soldier, for crying out loud! She's taken all that's left of him to serve her own ends, to form a false image through which she could get to the white house. And the fact that she pulled it off speaks volumes of this conscious-free cesspool of a system that we got.

"And no, that isn't all. McNeil's is mixed up in all kinds of crooked."

The helicopter had landed atop the building that housed the League's Liberty City station, situated at Newport. Mandy, Bullseye and six other agents disembarked while the remaining stayed onboard. They changed into civilian clothes and took two cars to Bedford Point where Priest was thought to had parked the car fifteen minuets earlier.

"Sullivan, Peters." Said Mandy as she got out of her car, holstering a gun and tightening her jacket, "Stay here in case they get back to the car.

"Pope, Rogers; Patrol Northern Torrington and Bedford Point. Smith, Brown; Take Rockford. Bulseye and I will canvas Mid and Southern Torrington on foot. If you spot any of them report back to me. Shoot to maim."

"How did you get all of that?" asked the voice out of the darkness.

"Well, I am an investigative journalist. I have my sources." Said Lana as she paced nervously, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from.

"Would they be prepared to step forward?"

"No."

"Would you be prepared to finger them?"

"I couldn't even if I wanted to. My major source remains completely anonymous, even to me." Said Lana, "How's that for irony, Mr. Throat?"

There was a long pause before Deep Throat spoke again, saying in a tone most practical and urgent.

"Alright. Five feet behind you, by the column is a dark green Station Wagon. The left rear window is cracked wide enough for you to drop your dossier. Make sure everything is inside."

Lana did as she was commanded and dropped the dossier with all its contents into the car. The car's windows were blackened, adding to the darkness of the garage, made it impossible to see anything inside beyond a black void.

"I'm prepared to go all the way…" said Lana.

"That won't be necessary, Miss Lang. You've done your country a great favor."

"I mean it. Whatever it takes, no matter what the cost… I'll do what it takes to get the truth out."

"What are you talking about?"

Lana was surprised by Deep Throat's question, and the genuine puzzlement with which he spoke.

"My expose, my… Look, the deal was that you'd arrange for my story to be published."

"Miss Lang… I am afraid there must have been a misunderstanding."

"Not on my part, my people told me-"

"I am not aware, nor hold any responsibility to honor any agreement."

"But-"

"These are bad days, Miss Lang." said Deep Throat in the darkness, in a voice cold, collected and final, "America is not what it once was. America no longer holds the perception it once did. With all that's happened during the past years, the government of the United States holds wavering credibility."

"The people deserve the truth."

"The people can't handle the truth. If news of McNeil's actions should ever be made public, it would tarnish our image beyond repair. No, this evidence will be used to force McNeil to step down, under some false cover, with dignity. We'll prevent her from becoming our president; that is what matters."

Shaun stood by the magazine rack in the convenience store, trying to figure what publication was even remotely likely to interest him. The Gotham Gazette, The Daily Bugle, The Metropolis Daily Planet. He couldn't decide, the truth of the matter was, he didn't feel like reading, wasn't too keen on staying outside.

The cashier, a surly old man, eyed him with contempt, waiting for an excuse to toss him out. Shaun realized that he'd been standing where was for the past five minutes, and didn't seem about to buy anything. He'd overstayed his welcome.

Shaun walked towards, feeling the cashier loosen up as he was about to become scarce. A bell rang as his foot hit the street outside, as if it was the convenience store's sigh of relief.

He leaned against the bus stop booth outside and scanned his surroundings. Shaun had caught a glimpse of himself in the glass door, and realized he'd allowed his beard to grow out. He hadn't shaved for as long as Priest had been gone, not that there was any connection. Liz wouldn't have had any of it. She'd have badgered him about it to no end until he'd shave it off, not that she would, or have to; all she would have had to do was ask.

A bus arrived and expelled a dozen or so commuters, it stopped for a few moments, picking up a few passengers before blowing away with the haste that was a hallmark of the city. Shaun didn't move, and simply continued watching people come and go; a beat cop patrolling the area on foot, a gang member in urban attire, an old woman shopping. Shaun groaned with boredom, and contemplated going into the convenience store to pick up the first newspaper he could lay his hand upon.

True to her ways, Mona had picked the dullest job for him, to stand guard at an insignificant junction. He was surprised that she didn't task him with the even duller job of keeping Lucy company back at the submarine.

Shaun always realized he was the least experienced of the team, but couldn't help think it went beyond that. He'd suspected that he'd been included on the team out of pity; or worse, as a mascot; something that the hardened killers and professionals could look upon and be reminded of what kind of enemy they were facing.

Aside from being part of a fake bank robbery, Shaun thought, few words could be used to describe his involvement, quite literally. He'd hovered around ever since that first job and held a gun during a helicopter robbery, and even then, the pilot was more fixated with the threat of Sayid, hardly even looking at him.

They trusted him, to be sure, they just didn't want him hurt. Priest alone harbored enough guilt that he was wiling to take all the punishment there was for Shaun to stay in the clear. They thought they could preserve his innocence, hoping that he'd quench his lust for revenge by let him help take the League's plans apart.

As far as safety went, he along with anybody who survived being in London on that September day four days ago, have forever lost any sense of it, and knew that the end of everything lurked around the corner.

As for innocence, whatever he'd had of it was spent when he killed a man in cold blood on the night he was supposed to be visiting his wife's grave, then dismembered the body, following Priest's lessons to the letter, removing all traces of who he was, ensuring no one would ever find out who the man was or who killed him.

And as far as for quenching his revenge went, they were wrong for the third time. They could topple McNeil and it wouldn't make a difference. They could blow all the league's designs to hell and it didn't matter. It wasn't about stopping a coming war for Shaun, he didn't care about the rest of the world. He just wanted to kill them.

Shaun was torn from his musings when one of the people he was watching rang a bell in him. A young woman, short and pale with raven black hair, crossing the street. She didn't seem to notice him, and simply continued to walk across the street, heading in the direction of the AM building. He'd seen her in a Coffee shop in London months ago, meeting with O'Brien undercover, and accompanied by one of the men who killed his wife.

Shaun fixed his eyes on her as he reached for his cell phone, and hurriedly dialed a number from memory, then put the phone to his ear and waited for Mona to pickup.

"Is everything alright, Shaun?"

"They're here." Said Shaun nervously, "That tart who met with Eel in London is here."

"Mandy Hughes? Are you sure?"

"Completely." Said Shaun as he tried to cross the street, only to be scared back and honked at by a car that had come to screeching halt. Shaun went ahead, stalking Mandy from a distance.

"I can take her." Said Shaun feeling the gun in the back of his pants with his free hand, "I can sneak up on her, put a bullet in her head before she gets to you."

"Don't do it."

"It would be so easy."

"She's a highly trained ex-mercenary with years of experience, Shaun. You don't stand a chance. Don't follow her either."

"Well what do you want me to do?" said Shaun as he stood on the other side of the street.

"She's coming up toward me?"

"Yes, from behind."

"Are you sure she saw me?"

"I don't know, but she's not changing direction and she's bound to see you soon."

"How far?"

"I don't know, it'd take her thirty seconds or something."

"Alright, stay on the line…"

"Now, you can't do this!" cried Lana as she bolted forward, toward where Deep Throat's voice was coming from second ago. Deep Throat did not warn her to stay away, nor say anything at all.

Lana couldn't find him; all she reached was a space between two cars and the garage wall ahead.

Lana then heard the sound of an engine coming to life, then the screech of tires as they went into motion. She turned around just in time to smell the burning rubber, and see the Station Wagon bolting from its spot and toward the ramp, bursting onto the street outside.

The lights came on, and Lana saw the speaker taped to the wall, a low-tech device that made her talk to a wall while Deep Throat waited in his car for her to drop everything into his lap. The end result of months of sacrifice and hard work, the story she'd been toiling over for the past days, all gone. Her mission, her triumph, robbed in the blink of an eye.

Lana felt her world coming down around her, she squatted down, burying her head in her hands and closed her eyes as disappointment set in. She couldn't care to look around once she heard the footsteps approaching.

"I have nothing to barter for my life…. Just kill me."

"So I guess you learned, huh?"

The voice was once that Lana hadn't heard for too often or too long, but recognizable.

She looked over her shoulder to see Priest standing by, looking as rum as he ever did.

"You knew, didn't you?"

"Yes." Said Priest callously, "We screwed you over, royally. Now you need to let us get you somewhere safe."

Next Chapter sees the League and the minutemen commit acts of destruction of pubic property, use of a lot of firearms with the intent to kill and of course, grand theft auto.

R&R.