Author's Note: This is my first LXG fic, and it was too tempting in my head to resist, so I gave in. Don't look at me like that, okay? Just stay with me, and I swear you won't regret it. Anyway, reviews are much appreciated, and they will be the fuel that will spur the rest of the story on. Also, feel free to correct any glaring mistakes I make. I'd appreciate it.

Disclaimer: I'm only doing one big one, okay? :P. I do not own League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, no matter how much I really want Sawyer *sigh* Not fair... As I was saying; they are not mine, I did not come up with them, if I did, I would be extremely well of, and not writing this for a start :). The only two characters so far that are mine are Evans and Jacques... you'll see...


            His long black travelling coat billowed gently in the night time London breeze, the chill biting at his exposed face, and the hand that firmly grasped his Winchester rifle. The other hand was buried deep in his coat pocket, protected from the bite of the weather around him. His hat was down turned slightly at an angle so as to partially cast his youthful face in shadow. Soulful green eyes watched the streets from beneath the peak, and a sigh escaped him.

            What was taking so long? He was growing impatient with simply hanging around. It was neither his style nor his pace. It didn't suit him in the least.

            Just then, as he was considering making his way back to the rendezvous point, a bat fluttered past... then another, and then dozens more as a large group. A form lurked in the middle of the animals, and an involuntary shudder travelled down the spine of Tom Sawyer, American Secret Service Agent.

            Wilhelmina Harker winked at him, and then was gone, her otherworldly bats along with her. There was a faint fluttering, and then all was still.

            But not for long, Tom knew. Mina had been just the signal that he had been so patiently waiting for. There was the distant clattering of hooves, and the accompanying rattling of carriage wheels.

            Not long after, he saw the transport amble past him at a brisk pace, and he took off after it at a stealthy jog. He kept his shaded eyes on the target. He didn't want to lose them. The League had been carefully tracking the man for little over a month.

            The carriage pulled to an eventual halt outside of an alleyway, one that Tom knew very well let to a concealed doorway he had seen used two nights previous.

            Now his part was over for the time being. It was the turn of another. Tom knew they should be here any minute; it was just a matter of where.

            "Dammit," he hissed as something intangible brushed by him, "Skinner, I told you not to do that!"

            There was a chuckle that seemed to come from nowhere, shortly before a cheeky cockney accent responded, "Sorry, Sawyer, mate... too good to resist." There was a slight pause. "Ah, I see it's my turn. Remember to be ready in case I bungle it, right?"

            "Don't 'bungle' it, Skinner. We went over this three times already. It should be easy." Tom raised his eyebrows in a warning, and checked his rifle, feeling his twin pistol holsters at his waist.

            "All right, no need to get testy."

            A tall, imposing man stepped mysteriously from the carriage, carrying a bag in one hand, and an umbrella in the other.

            Tom nodded towards the man they knew to be called Charles Evans, and said, "Okay, Skinner, you're up. Be careful."

            "Oh, Tom, I didn't know you cared," Skinner quipped, and then took off swiftly into the alleyway after Evans.

            Tom heard him go, watching the disappearance of their target, recalling their minor adventure so far. They had been contacted by a trustworthy agent of the British Empire, and informed that a man -the man Skinner had just followed- was planning to deal with assassins and play one world leader off another, killing them one at a time in a feeble -somewhat unoriginal- attempt to break down the strength of large countries or ones with power, such as England and America.

            Anyway, the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen -or rather what was left of them- had agreed to this request that they put a stop to the dealing by any means necessary.

            Charles Evans was now planning to deliver payment to these apparent assassins before their plans to kill the Queen fell firmly into place. So far, no one had been hurt.

            Tom hoped it stayed that way.


            Rodney Skinner, gentleman thief, realised what he had done all too late. The assassin had detected his presence, and notified the others of this fact.

            Now Charles Evans was making a rather hasty, and cowardly retreat out of the door with the money. Silly bugger left his brolly though, not that he'd need it.

            Rodney knew they'd be mad, they always got mad at him... always. If it wasn't one thing, it was another.

            He trotted after Evans down the stairs, and saw him slip out of the concealed doorway. Skinner guessed Sawyer had seen him when he heard the rifle firing three times in succession.

            Rodney poked his head out, noticing no bloody body lying on the floor, and deduced the American had missed.

            Rodney emerged from the alley in time to see Evans push the driver off the carriage and whip the two horses into a run, quickening his retreat.

            Dammit, where was Hyde?

            "Sawyer!" Skinner yelled, even as the young agent sprinted out of the alleyway opposite quickly, and took off up the cobble road after Evans.


            He knew Skinner would mess this up. Why had he trusted him to go in there? Not that it had been an individual decision in any case. The others had agreed to it as well.

            His legs were burning painfully now, and his breath was coming in short gasps as his slowly ran out of strength.

            His eyes caught sight of a foolishly unattended saddled horse, and against his better judgement, Tom ran up to it, untied it and mounted the animal. He only then noticed his hat was missing... it had probably fallen off back in the alleyway. He had slung his rifle over his shoulder upon emerging from the hiding place though.

            Tom gave the horse a swift kick in the sides, and it leapt forward, just as its owner decided to poke his lazy head out of an alley, still fastening his pants hurriedly.

            Tom suppressed a laugh, as he yelled over his shoulder, "You'll get it back!"

            "You cheeky bastard! That's my horse!"

            Well obviously, thought Tom sarcastically as he turned the horse sharply around a corner, the carriage coming back in to view. At least he hadn't lost it.

            Where the hell was Hyde?

            Tom knew for a fact that the monstrous Mr Hyde should have reared his rather ugly head the minute Evans had passed the mouth of that alley if something had gone wrong. Well in any case, he should have been there waiting, and he hadn't been.

            The dark horse he rode travelled at a risky gallop, the damp cobbles underfoot treacherously slippery to the shoes on the animal's feet. Tom was wary taking corners.

            The carriage made a sharp right turn ahead, and Tom futilely yelled at the animal he rode to speed it up. It whinnied and snorted, perhaps catching a whiff of something it didn't like.

            Tom's eyes cast about the rooftops for Hyde.

            He looked back to the road and realised he needed to turn urgently, and yanked hard on the reins, tearing the horse's head to the right, the rest of the neck and body following not long after. For one terrifying moment, Tom felt the horse skid badly, and thought it was going to fall, but it righted itself and they were soon galloping up behind the carriage.

            The horse charged on harder and faster, and before long Tom found himself level with the body of the carriage, moving up towards where Evans was sitting.

            He ducked instinctively upon reaching the front of the carriage, even as the bullet exploded out of the pistol aimed roughly and hurriedly at where his head should have been.

            When his head came back up, his dishevelled dirty blonde hair partially covering his eyes, Tom brought one of his own guns up with him, firing it. The bullet slammed into the wood of the carriage inches from Evans, who started violently. He was so shocked that he conveniently dropped his own firearm.

            Tom fired his gun again, this time seeing it graze Evans' arm badly. The man gave a cry, and jumped haphazardly and desperately from the carriage. The horses kept going.

            He pulled back on the reins, gun still in his hand, feeling the horse lurch to one side. Its footing failed, and it went down in a frightened heap. Tom managed to shift himself from the saddle in time to jump and roll to safety, avoiding being crushed.

            The horse scrambled back upright again, seemingly unharmed, but Tom had already taken off at a run after Evans. The short ride had given his legs time to recover, and his speed and strength had returned to him.

            Alleys again... why was it always alleyways?

            He stopped running, drawing his left pistol, holding both at the ready should he need them. He had the feeling he was going to.

            There was a shadow in the darkness up ahead, and Tom aimed both guns squarely at it, recognising it as Evans.

            "End of the line," he said quietly, and with a subtle triumph.

            There was a gentle laugh that somewhat quashed Tom's sense of victory.

            "Yes, my boy, end of the line," chuckled Evans in a very eloquent way, "but not for me."

            And that was when Tom felt the barrel of a gun run through the hair at the back of his head, and he swallowed. He had walked right into a trap.

            Evans stepped into the wan streetlight now, smug grin clear on his pale face. His ice blue eyes were alight with amusement.

            "Lower the guns," a voice behind Tom said, practically a growl, gruff and low, perhaps even foreign.

            Tom obeyed, lowering his weapons slowly so that they were no longer pointed at Evans' chest.

            "That was foolish of you," Evans sighed. "I would have thought one of your freaky supernatural 'friends' would have accompanied you."

            From out of the darkness behind Evans loomed a figure, much larger and more imposing than any seen previously that evening.

            Overhead, a bat fluttered.

            Tom smiled.

            "What are you grinning about, boy? You find the prospect of your own death amusing?"

            Tom stared at Evans, still smiling. "Not particularly. The fact that I'm far from alone is what I find amusing." He nodded to the shape behind Evans. There was a deep rumbling snarl.

            The man turned, and gasped.

            Mr Hyde stomped forward, baring his teeth threateningly.

            "Your friend with the gun to my head might wanna take a peek over his shoulder too."

            There was a moment of silence before the low voice grumbled, "The vampire..."

            Evans saw Mina too now, it seemed, and he practically barked his next word, something Tom made out to be a name; "Jacques!"

            Before he could do anything to stop it, Tom felt himself physically torn from where he stood, a hand latching onto and in the back on his coat, hurling him backwards and sending him flying through the air before he collided forcefully with Mina, who gasped.

            Tom winced and opened his eyes, looking to where he had been standing moments before.

            "What the hell..."

            Mina looked up from beside him now, and her delicate brow knitted in twin confusion.

            There, before them, half cast into shadow and gloom was a shaggy towering form of a man, shreds of clothing hanging off of him, much in the style of Hyde, who could now be seen facing off his unusual opponent.

            "What is that thing?" Tom asked of his vampire companion. 

            She shook her beautiful head. "I do not know."

            There was then a rushing of action in which taloned claws and razor teeth slashed and snapped at Hyde, yellow eyes flashing.

            The monstrous bulk that was Hyde thrust his own body backward to avoid being struck, and swung a mighty arm out, pummelling it into the strange thing that was trying to attack.

            Whatever it was received the full force of the blow in the stomach, and they were sent careening through the air, over the ducking figures of Tom and Mina, crashing into the street.

            Something not too dissimilar to the cry from a pained animal emanated from it, and shortly after, it gathered itself to its feet and sprinted off with a speed Tom had never seen.

            Tom's eyes met Mina's, and then both glanced back at Hyde.

            There was something else too. Tom groaned.

            "What happened to Evans?"