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AN: I tried uploading a trailer for this a while back, but deleted it on the grounds that it wasn't allowed, so I figured I'd just upload the story straight away. Anyway, hope you like it.

A Face in the Crowd

The man sat and stared at the beer in front of him, and wondered how it had come to this.

Where had it all gone wrong? It had seemed so much simpler back then; he'd find the secret, publish it, and the world would be at his feet, as he deserved. But then that… bastard had ruined everything, leaving him on the run. He'd probably still have been in that situation if he hadn't managed to trick that other fool into being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Still… he couldn't deny the last few months had been enjoyable enough, in their own way. The women, the sex, the sights…

He sighed again and took a sip of his beer. It had gotten stale, really. That was the problem; he'd lost interest. After all, he may have been a god among men, but he didn't have an inexhaustible stamina, regrettably; he'd had to quit before his urges destroyed him.

"Everything OK?" a voice said from further down the bar.

The man looked down at the landlord of the pub, an slightly overweight man called simply 'Bert', and just nodded as he took another sip.

Bert nodded in return and turned to look at the only other person in the bar. He gave the man the impression of being a government official of some kind, but he couldn't place what. He was even more overweight than the barlord, and was dressed in a dark, formal business suit with a green waistcoat. His hair was dark and short, and he had a small, curled moustache, holding a small glass of what looked like a martini in his hands.

"Anyway, Campion, how's business these days?" Bert asked the official. It sounded like the two men were friends from a while back, particularly since the man talked to Bert in a very casual manner. It was almost as though neither of them registered the other man in the bar, although he doubted it would have made much difference; he'd developed very acute hearing in recent times.

"Oh, the usual," the fat man sighed, speaking a bit quieter then Bert, although still not quiet enough for the man to not hear them. "The League are being as awkward as ever; quite frankly, after the outburst of the spy, I'm amaze Mycroft's let them stick around this long."

"Well, probably acknowledges it's for the best," Bert said, as he topped up the fat man's martini. "After all, what with that invisible chappie and the vampire woman you mentioned, he probably thinks that it's not worth the risk; it'd be too easy for them to acquire something to hold over your heads."

"True, true…" Campion nodded, as he took another brief sip of his martini. "But still, I do wish they wouldn't keep on sticking around in that bloody thing, wasting our money on those bloody hotels, and giving the doctor and the teacher all those chemicals…" He sighed. "It just gets frustrating at times. They don't even use the hotel rooms half the time; most of them stay in that stupid submarine…"

The man blinked in surprise at the words he'd heard.

There was another…?

He clenched his hand so tight around the glass that it nearly cracked.

No.

There would not be another.

There was him, and him alone.

He was the One.

And if any pretender tried to claim his title…

Downing the last of his beer in one swig, he dropped a few coins onto the table to pay for it, turned up the collar of his coat, and walked out of the bar.