Yes, finally some violence! I would like to urge you to please review if you haven't so far. If you've gotten as far as finding fan , that confirms that you must be able to type. IF YOU CAN TYPE, PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE REVIEW!

Arthur Piggot-Smith had been part of the finger since he was twenty one. Back then all the lads were doing it. It was like being in the army but never getting shipped off. Mum approved, Dad didn't care. Anything Arthur did to make money was fine. Dad told him to go as god told him. He was told that god told him to join.

He had registered during a campaign when Norsfire were just coming into power, it was something new, something good. It was a place to go away from his troubles, on the weekends into the camps in the wilderness. Running, firing guns, alcohol, no guilt, no rules except the military rules. It was like being a whole new kind of human. Better, sleeker, higher evolved. It put him up there in high society, people respected him for the first time in his life.

He remembered coming home in the week and spending time with his friends, always telling them about how great it was in the force. Some of them stopped talking to him, some of them liked him more than they ever had. He remembered coming home and seeing Jacinta at her house. She gave him respect, her parents gave him respect. She was good to him and he served for her country. They got married. Her sister died, just a little thing. God the sickness from the water, Jacinta was never the same after that. Arthur didn't get her respect after that. But she soon learned her lesson… although he couldn't remember exactly how. He had been drunk at the time, he and his mates.

He didn't need her anyway.

And it wasn't like he felt guilty because by then he had killed enough people that he didn't care anymore. He wasn't numbed, he was learned. Arty had always thought of it that way. Killing had made him a smarter man. Of coarse when he joined the inter-city, he wasn't allowed to have a gun. He was almost thirty when his he and mates got in into the IC, but he still could do hand to hand, he didn't need a gun. He was strong and he was smart, that was what he told himself as he entered the station, he was strong and he was respected.

The memory of walking the alley with Willy and Jase* festered in his memory, taking down the girl. Jase had the moves, he did the "sweet talking", the Willy came in from the side, did a little scaring. That was what Willy was good at, everyone was scared of Willy. Willy had been there when China had dropped the orange bomb**. People didn't fuck with Willy. He came up behind. That was where the memory blacked out.

That was why he was here.

Willy and Jase were dead, that was why he had come down here. To kill that terrorist fucker with his own two hands. That was all there was to it. He scanned the walls with his flashlight along the left side while Petey took the floor and Blake scanned for bugs…

…YELLOW. Suddenly everything was engulfed in a blanket of yellow.

One week earlier.

He was out. That was when she came. Evey wandered through the abandoned gallery in the darkness, a flashlight in her hand scanning the walls for a door. She remember searching these same halls months before, opening old doors to find new places to explore, searching for some way to get rid of her boredom. She came across the room once in the afternoon and since had not gone back in. The weapons room.

She had waited for at least an hour outside the abandoned tunnel, cloaked by the darkness, waiting for him to go out. The creaking of the door, his silent steps. Seeing him again, tall and dark. She couldn't help drink him in with her eyes. It had been so long since the last time she'd seen him walking. Had she ever really seen him walking? He was so smooth, so sleek. She stared at him long after he had turned a corner and was out of sight, her eyes pinned to the stone in place of where her had been.

Evey opened the door. The flashlight's blare wheedled in between the contents of the metal shelves: knives, swords, throwing stars, grenades, bombs, dynamite, detonators and daggers. It shocked her then as it shocked her now. Delicately she reached to the back of the shelf and took two small spheres that looked like some kind of smoke emitting devices. She stuffed them in her bag.

As soon as the mist appeared V was on the floor, his cape wrapped around his face. There came screams of pain from beside him as fingermen covered their eyes. He crawled towards the exit, the yellow leaking through the fabric and into the holes of the mask. Gas. Mustard gas. He held his breathe. The terrorist slithered up the step and back into the tunnel as the sound of fear-spawned gunfire filled the air. More screaming rang out, fingermen's bullets pierced unexpecting flesh, men stumbled through the mist, clutching their eyes. The sound of Creedy screaming found V's ears and brought a smile across his face. Creedy had been hit, which meant Sutler was in there.

A man screamed and reached for his revolver, aiming it in the direction from which the bullet had come. Another pierced Peter Creedy's side. He squealed. He dropped the gun. The pain shocked through his muscles causing him to spasm and fall to the floor on top of Sutler, still lying unconscious.

Another bullet found the supple skin of his temple.

Arthur stumbled back, firing his automatic into the concrete of the roof. His finger came down on the trigger again and again sending a spark into the inner-concealed firing mechanism which shot the hot bullets.*** To stop his toppling, he threw a foot back but slipped on something and bashed his head against the cement. His unconscious body was soon filled and eaten away by the gas.

As soon as his booted foot had come down on Creedy's revolver the firing mechanism was beared and an ancient switch was pulled igniting the powder. A spark fizzed but was unable to leave the barrel because of the safety switch and, unlike the automatic, the fire was opened to the surface. The fire met with the yellow gas.

V made his way down the tube station tracks, yellow still trailing off his clothes. He ran until he was once again surrounded by blackness and the scent of the fumes was long behind him. It was then that he threw off his mask and gulped in the air once again able to breathe. He lay down on the track, the cold rail soothing against his face.

From behind him came an ear shattering boom. The tunnel's light bulbs shattered, sprinkling glass over his cape and boots. He didn't care. It was over.

It was over and he was alive.

Behind him stood the glorious train, his ship of destiny.

Wrapping one gloved hand around the leaver, he sent the metal beast away.

It was over.

Over...

*Jase is the bloke in the tweed coat and Willy is his scrawny partner, Arthur is the man who comes up behind Evey with a baton.

**In the Graphic Novel, the reason England is the dominating country, is because America and China wiped one another out with chemical warfare ("orange-bomb" = Agent Orange)