“First meetings usually warrant introductions,” Mr. Quatermain commented with unperturbed calm.

“Of course,” the masked main said with a foreign inflection coloring his speech. “I am the Fantom. You are the League of so-called Extraordinary Gentlemen. Introductions made.

“Oh, and I’m scarred Mr. Quatermain, not blind. Drop the gun.”

Mr. Q. did as was requested (twenty rifles aimed at one’s head influence one’s course of action, presumably) as the Fantom continued.

“Your mission is to stop me. That, of course, I cannot permit. So I give to you all special one-time invitation. Join me.”

“You think we’ll help start a war that will consume the planet?” Captain Nemo asked.

“While you profit from your arms race?” Mr. Q. continued, not expecting an answer.

His speech unfinished, the Fantom began to descend the flight of stairs.

“I cannot deny that fortunes are made in war. Imagine the riches a world war will yield.”

Mr. Skinner turned. “He’s not wrong. Mm.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dorian replied without emotion.

The Fantom approached the hunter, the two watching the other as only men battling for dominance are prone to do. Suddenly the pistol thrown to the floor moments ago flew behind a bookcase, having been kicked by the villain. Unflinching, Mr. Q. remained standing, seemingly unfazed.

I looked up at our would-be assassins, my eyes then returning to the scene playing out before me. Mr. Quatermain turned slightly, his gaze flickering to one of the gunmen behind the Fantom.

A voice in the same direction shouted, and one of the henchmen attacked another. I, for one, surely found this turn of events unexpected, although hadn’t the time to contemplate this phenomenon as my removal from the situation by Captain Nemo halted my observations. Undoubtedly due to the fact that I am a woman, men, especially those I now kept company with, feel the need to gallantly remove me from what they deem dangerous situations inappropriate for women despite any protests I may make. Admittedly in this particular scenario I made no objections at the time, remaining grateful that the Captiain saw it fit to prevent me from being wounded at his own theoretical expense.

My hasty emancipation from the impeding skirmish powerfully forced the air out of my lungs.

“Oh!” I gasped. The good Captain hid us behind one of the numerous bookshelves as the automatic rifles sought their targets and the pages went flying. Though the Captain’s close physical proximity w ould usually be deemed inappropriate, I hardly believed this to be the proper time to be particularly mindful of etiquette.

Mr. Quatermain sheltered himself behind a neighboring shelf, shooting a man fool enough to follow him. Shielded by the Cpatin, I was prevented from fighting as well as from catching sight of what became of my unusual colleagues.

At the approach of more gunmen, Captain Nemo left me in order to confront them.

“Mrs. Harker, I request that you ensure your own safety and remain here at present,” he asked politely before stepping away.

“Draw your pistol!” An assassin demanded.

Darkly calm, Nemo replied, “I walk a different path.”

His combat with three armed men, the Captain was unprotected by firearms and chose instead to physically force his rivals into submission. After performing quite well considering the odds against him, the good Captain Nemo returned once more to my side. Apparently his ship, wherever –and whatever– it might be, was not the sole reason M chose Nemo to join our interesting League.

Dorian, meanwhile, made his way unhurriedly across the room. One of the gunmen observing this, released a shower of bullets into him.

“Dorian!” I cried. No!

I reached out, only to be restrained by Nemo. The death of Dorian Gray, especially right before my eyes, was unthinkable.

After waiting almost patiently for it to end, Dorian angled his head, removed the gun from his chest and stabbed his would-be killer.

“What are you?” The dying man asked.

“Complicated,” was the chilly reply.

The battle seemed to end there, though I hadn’t seen where the Fantom ran of too. Judging by Mr. Quatermain’s absence, he wasn’t alone. I remained where I was, taking stock of the situation and dusting myself off.

“I thought I was special. You’re invulnerable to harm!” I heard Skinner exclaim with clear –and sickening– admiration.

“I don’t like to boast,” Dorian drawled. “What happened to Mina?”

“Oh she’s probably hip-deep in some sort of trouble,” Mr. Q. commented a shade too casually for my liking.

“Don’t be such an alarmist, Mr. Q.,” I said, reappearing and calmly rewrapping my scarf around my neck. “And my hips are-“ I bent to retrieve my hat, “none of your business.”

As I was about to rise once more, I found myself being yanked up by a man I presumed dead. One hand found itself at my waist, restraining me, the other held a knife to my throat.