Author's Note: Okay, yes, so a lot of projects on the go already, but Sethoz tempted me into going for this one ASAP… so I am. Don't know how it will go, and I'll try to update every few days to keep the pacing as best I can. If it works, it works; if it doesn't, it doesn't… c'est la vie, 'eh?
Iblis: Well, here you go, now you can have it.
Leigh S. Durron: Thanks, Leigh. How many times did you read that trailer? Teaser: Aha, attention is good.
Nimmo Gray: Thanks. Glad you liked the trailer. Teaser: Ack, not good. Oh well, it will still be here when you get back.
BloodMoonLycan: Glad you liked it, and have high hopes. I appreciate that.
drowchild: Heh, your reviews always make me laugh. And today isn't Saturday, dear Drowchild, it's Monday ::nods:: Sorry you had to wait, but I thought it best. Glad you liked the trailer anyway. Ack, me making movies? Well, the cute guys of Hollywood would never be out of work ::grins like a moron::
funyun: Fun? Not sure Tom would agree with you, but glad you find it promising. And yes, it sounds a lot like Black Pawn, White Pawn. Same premise, different twists. I wasn't sure what to have M say to Tom at first in regards to "Go to hell…" so I just went with whatever seemed natural. Of course, the trailer – like they are with the movies – are subject to slight alteration. Gratuitous Sawyer Abuse, 'eh? Why do I feel like I need to make that – along with Angst-Addict – into a badge to wear? Heh… might get a few odd looks in the street. Figured I had to have Dante feature… couldn't resist. My boss at work reminds me a tad of Shane West, irritably, cuz he's kind of a moron… -- Teaser: I don't hate you… I love you, it's just fun to tease. Knuckle dusters are basically, like you said, brass knuckles, worn on the hand to increase the power behind a blow . Ouch… It'll be the same Skinner burning as in the film basically, just a little different cuz of circumstances. Heh. But if you really want a warning, I'll give you one.
Sethoz: Notice July 5th is just after Independence Day… maybe I did that on purpose… maybe not. ::shrugs:: Ack, watch the wall, and yes, I'm hurrying! Teaser: It… I… thank you! And yes, thinking of stories usually helps me at work too.
queerquail: It's here now, so don't panic! And Tom seems like the kind to always get in trouble, so… Teaser: I am very evil, yes. You should know this by now. Mwahahaha!
freedomfighter82: Yes, shouting is bad for your voice. Don't worry, I'll warn as to the level of angst, shall I? Just for you. This one's only tame. Ice? ::offers you ice:: Teaser: Heh, it was about 6:50am for me when you were reading that. So yeah, I was asleep. Heh. And here it is! Have no fear!
Lyn: Thanks. Here it is.
TARilus: I'm glad it's making more sense. And yes, this is rather similar to BPWP by Sethoz… remember I had her blessings and urging though… ::pokes Sethoz:: Hope you like it. Teaser: Teasers are fun… they tease, Bwahaha. And yes… get to use all the dead people… mwahahaha!
Ellina: I must torture Tom because… it's too easy? People seem to flock to it? I don't know really… thanks.
Without further ado, and thanking you all for your tremendous patience when I tormented you so much… here is Envenom: Part One…
Tom Sawyer unhooked his foot from the base of the seat where it had decided to wind itself, and gave a yelp as he tumbled headfirst out of the chair. He put his arms down to stop from giving himself a head injury, and fell with a thud to the rubble-strewn ground underneath the well and truly battered vehicle.
"That hurt…" Tom grumbled, and started picking his way to where wan light penetrated the edges of the topless car. He used his hands to pull himself free from the chest up, wincing as he did so. He was more than a little sore, but he definitely remembered firing the flare… hopefully Nemo had seen it.
The flare… the rocket! His mind suddenly snapped into focus, and he turned his head to the gaping hole he had smashed through the front of the abandoned theatre, chunks of the building still toppling loose of their previous fixtures. He could see the ever-approaching collapse, and it was coming fast, creeping up on the canal that he had decided to launch the automobile over.
Not good, Tom's mind rambled, and he scrambled to pull his legs free of the trappings of the car, biting off a curse as he did so, feeling his feet come free just as he heard the roar of the rocket overhead. For a terrifying moment, he almost froze, and then his subconscious screamed for him to run as fast as his legs would carry him.
He was about to start, when he remembered his rifle, actually cursing this time, and reaching an arm under the overturned car, finding it down by the seat at an angle and wrenching it loose.
Winchester rifle in hand, he bolted for the only opening he could find that would provide some sort of escape, which just happened to be in the form of a dusty old window, the glass smashed. There were still jagged edges, but he pushed the fact from his mind as he bodily threw himself out of the hole, just as the roar of the rocket reached a deafening crescendo and slammed into the roof of the dilapidated building.
Tom let out a shout – whether due to fright or adrenaline he didn't know and probably never would – as he tumbled to the ground, rolling as he had trained himself, and covered his head with his arms, even as the rocket blew the theatre apart with an awful booming, resonating explosion that made Tom's ears ache.
The heat rushed over him as flames reached out hungrily like arms grasping for purchase, and Tom closed his eyes tight and gritted his teeth as the force of the explosion caused his blonde hair to whip about his head, and his coat to billow.
Only when the heat and breeze had died down entirely did Tom remove his head shakily from under his arms, hands trembling… he was still alive. He could have laughed if his heart wasn't threatening to break from the confines of his chest. His eyes wandered back to the building he had just escaped from, wide as saucers, and he took panting breaths in shock that he had just lived through what had happened. The building was now nothing more than a blackened broken shell of what it had been, rubble still tumbling to the ground in all directions as the fires died out.
So much for the car, he thought, letting the beginnings of a smile touch the corner of his mouth, and he laughed in shock more than anything, just before he felt the stinging on his temple.
More than a little shaken, but beyond relieved, the young Special Agent rose from the ground, a little unsteadily at first, touching a hand to his temple, bringing his fingers away very slightly tipped with blood. He winced, and sighed, wiping his hand on his already filthy coat and glancing around, hearing the far off cheers and cries of the survivors from the carnival.
They would never know what had happened… Tom wasn't sure how to feel about that. He was accustomed to being ignored, with the nature of his occupation. It required a low profile, but sometimes a little appreciation went a long way. He supposed he might get that in the form of the other League members… if they were alive. He sincerely found himself hoping they were. He had lost sight of all of them in the end. Nemo and Jekyll had been left back at the ship; Dorian Gray had leapt from the car in motion to fight the snipers; Mina had taken flight to deal with the men in the gauntlet from above; and Quatermain had… abandoned him. He supposed Quatermain had seen something, but without asking the hunter, there was little he could do to answer that internal question.
Better be getting back, or they'll think I'm dead, he thought to himself, not in the least consoled by the musing, and turned on his heel to try and find his way back to the canal, and to the Nautilus.
But even as he turned, he cursed his distraction, when a fist struck him out of nowhere, catching him on the jaw and downing him instantly with the sheer vehemence and force behind the blow. He gasped and winced, colours dancing behind his tightly closed eyes, his grip lost on the Winchester, even as he felt and heard someone come up beside him, chuckling to themselves.
"Americans," someone sighed almost lazily, and slammed the flat of a heavy boot down into the small of Tom's back, ploughing him to the stone ground with enough force to wind the agent. "All the same. Hardly worth the effort."
I know that voice… Before Tom could process the thought any further, the toe of a boot rolled him over, and then something crouched down beside him, and grabbed in the roots of his hair with tight fingers, lifting his head up a little way… and then ramming it back.
Tom was immediately robbed of all awareness, and sunk into the internal void of unconsciousness.
To Be Continued…