Prologue:

The Returns

A large, hulking figure in the older sewers of London took a harsh, labored breath as he curled up. Pathetically in the sewer water, not even caring that his battered form was surrounded by filth as he tried to keep warm in the freezing air. Nothing really mattered to the figure, it once the flawless body was now a hulking, massive mess of disfigurement and he was simply lucky to be alive. If one could call this life, feeding on refuse and waste, skulking about in the dark as his mind swirled around missteps and hate. And it filled him with a seething rage at the thought of the person that had caused this, that had rendered his once beautiful self into this.

What never failed to anger him, yet somewhat sadden him, if only the tiniest bit, was that he was alone in this dark, dank place. How could he, of all people want company? Was it maybe because of his disfigurement? He, after all in the past, had never wanted company. His intelligence had always put a bit of distance between himself and his peers, even when he hadn't been 'evil'. Once he had turned into a criminal, he had been all but surrounded. With idiots mostly, but he had had his beloved Felicia. Of course, he thought with a slight snarl and growl, Basil had been the only person in his life that had cared for him that had not been a starving kitten he had found years ago.

After he left his beloved college, ruined and embarrassed by his colleges lack of understanding of his grander vision of a new world, he had went to his old friend, asking him to join him in his newly enlighten path: his path of discovering that he was simply fit to rule over all mouse down if he couldn't educate their idiotic leaders in the University setting. The bastard had vowed then and there to never to rest until he saw him behind bars.

Well, that or dead.

Since at the moment he was neither, though he felt that he was at least half dead, he simply mocked Basil from his underground excuse of a home. With a jolt, he figured that he had waited enough. Eight long years had passed and now that stupid twit of a mouse would never expect to see him now. With thousands of ache and pains, the figure stood, his left leg a little stiff, and his right leg of wood echoing dully in the pungent waters of the sewers. His mouth pulled into a broken sneer, his yellow eyes widen slightly with madness. A rusty, small chuckle escaped him, slightly broken, but there nonetheless. His voice floated out, the only thing that was not broken of him, still as smooth as ever and still perfect:

"Basil, Old boy... Be prepared."

~()~

Elsewhere, away in far-off Scotland, a small mouse tugged absently on her long hair, placing her freshly sealed letter in the hand of the overnight express Carrier mouse. He took it easily and smiled at the young woman.

"Where to miss?" asked the mouse, the letter still in his hand as he made small talk.

"London, I want to give some sort of warning that I'm coming," responded the mouse, a small and girlish giggle escaping her as she imagined the face of the man that would receive the letter.

Quickly, she reigned in her excitement, straightening her back and allowing nervous paws to settle on the handle of her trunk.

"Going there all by ye self?" asked the mouse, his Scottish lit escaping in his worry at the young girl in front of him, not seeing a soul around her.

He just knew that from here she was going to go to the train station, judging by her large and battered trunk, her smart coat and traveling hat. As a father himself he couldn't help but feel panic at the thought of this young woman traveling alone. To his surprise, her deep blue eyes just looked at him, calmly and piercing, and he found himself comparing them to Loch Ness because he felt them to be just as dark as the waters and just as deep. He was also startled to see that her eyes were incredibly old for a mouse of sixteen or so.

"I can take care of myself, sir. Do not worry yourself," she responded, not a hint of anger in her tone as she turned sharply around, her long blue skirt blowing out dramatically as she started to walk away.

The Carrier mouse felt regret pour into him, but he still felt worry enter him. With a quick glance at the letter, and he hoped that this Basil of Baker street was worth the trip to London for the girl. With a sigh, he went off to deliver the letter to the train that would take it to London post haste.