Masks

Chapter 1

Since donning the mantle of V, following the night of the insurrection, Evey's world had not stopped moving. Evey's days were full of learning new skills. Her nights full of shepherding the rebellion to reform what was left of the Hand, Finger, Eye, Ear, Nose, and Mouth. While her mentor V had been extremely adept at removing her fear by exposing her to the same trials that had shaped him; she had not been injected, as he had, with the virus that had bestowed upon him his reflexes, strength, and extraordinary mental capacity. She had been exposed in the hospital while watching her brother die with her parents, but she had neither been fatally infected nor had she seemingly received the effects that V had. This was her new life. He had once told her to "Commit to it." And she certainly intended to do so. She had to build her knowledge from the ground up; she began by moving into the vacant Shadow gallery.

It had been a few days since she had made the journey to Victoria Station to dance with V a final time and after his makeshift funeral, come here to don the mask and mantle of her masked marauder. Without V there, the gallery resonated with the sounds of her footsteps, she explored tentatively at first, having only experienced the main rooms and the fake jail while V was still heading the revolution. She felt that opening V's private quarters and the jail would bring a rush of memories too heavy a burden for her to bear following his death. She began slowly at first; relighting the kitchen, living room, and Valerie's memorial. Valerie's memorial was in a sad state; all of the Scarlet Carsons began to wilt. Evey knew that V was a talented gardener but she wasn't sure where his source was, so she cleaned the dead flowers away and filled the space with a selection from the 872 songs on the old jukebox. While the music was not as resplendent as the rich red roses, the music filled space and for a time the soft strains of songs soothed the emptiness of Evey.

She began reading every book she could find that would contribute to her new role as the face of the revolution. She knew that she could never replace V; but by providing a glimpse of the real mask, true costume, and the unadulterated idea on the television and even in person, she could ensure that the revolution would continue in a manner cohesive to the idea that was her mentor behind the mask. She read voraciously; lounging on the red chaise, next to the piano, the suit of armor and strains of music from the jukebox for company. She studied computer workings; becoming proficient at some things that would prove useful in her future as V. She read martial manuals and watched militant movies; mimicking the moves she observed until the muscle memory moved her. It wasn't until a few weeks had passed, in what was her new home that she began to smell roses.

V awoke to the smell of roses and the rumbling of tracks beneath his body, he bade himself to move. She had given him the most beautiful gift he had ever received; her acceptance. His masked countenance had proclaimed his love for her and she had reciprocated in kind. She had not removed his mask out of deference to the idea that he represented, that had warmed his heart the most. He found that moving was a trial; he knew that he had less than ten minutes to get himself off of this train to certain doom. But the bullets that had passed through his armored plate were making it a task. While his pain tolerance was god-like and his healing rate was astounding, he had passed out already and did not want a repeat performance as he knew what else was confined in the that train car with him. V rolled off of his funeral bier. Placing his feet between him and the floor was a feat in itself, but he managed. With a grimace he staggered to the door that would release him. He clutched at his breast keeping pressure upon the worst of his wounds. He pulled the emergency release for the door. Tucking his limbs to his form, he dove. He rolled onto the tracks. The jarring causing such sharp pains that he had to fight the blackness encroaching upon his vision.

He willed himself forward away from the explosive blast he was sure that was about to follow. He saw the light from the end of the tunnel before he heard the roar and felt the heat from the blast. His work was not yet done though. He staggered to the wall of the tunnel; he had to get out of the underground. He had to be found. This was indeed the night to be found.

Evey made her way to the doors that she dreaded; she had left them cracked accidently on the night she rushed back here to procure a V costume. Slowly she entered his study, circumventing the dominoes that proclaimed loudly who had set them. She made her way to his room; the room where she had hastily ransacked his closet in a rush to join the thousands of Londoners who had marched on Parliament. This was the room he had slept in, presumably for the past 20 years, the room where had he not been Edmond Dantes his Mercedes would not be standing here alone.

She sat on the large fluffy bed; this was not the source of the smell if anything it had faded once she had entered this room. However Evey could not force herself to move just yet, she inhaled deeply taking in the leftover essence of the room's former occupant. The walls were covered in bookshelves, all full of even more books than were in the study. There was a door she had left untouched and the closet she had dug through merely a few weeks ago, in other words a lifetime. She calmed her beating heart and made her way to the closet slowly she ran her hands over the variety of dark clothing, it wasn't until her hand accidently brushed the back wall of the closet that she realized there was an entire arsenal hidden behind the variety of shirts, cloaks, and pants. She smiled of the irony of it; a hidden weapons cache in what was probably the most hidden base in all of London. She had told herself that she was going to commit fully and she sure as hell intended to. She stripped, pulling the lightest item of clothing from the closet, a light gray linen shirt. It enveloped her; drowning her in its soft folds and the rich residual scent that she only briefly was able to enjoy in their last dance and as he laid dying in her arms. Next she pulled out pants; however if the shirt was drowning her, there would be no way to describe what these pants were doing. It was apparent she had either been incredibly lucky the night of the insurrection or she had just gone without pants; she hoped it was the first option. It had been a crazy night after all, a painful night, a scarring night. With some digging she found a pair of pants which were more adjustable; with cuffs and ties that made them fit like a glove. Finally she pulled out a sleeveless doublet or was it jerkin she could never remember; it was vest-like and adjustable to the utmost degree. Pulling her boots on, she buttoned, tied, and adjusted until she felt sharp enough to be a true denizen of the Shadow Gallery. She searched the closet until she found daggers that fit her hands; she did a few passes, all of the clothing allowed her to move.

Having gained a sense of calm in her physical exertions she made her way to the unexplored door. She was shocked by her appearance in a mirror but that was not what brought her hand to her mouth, it was the bathroom itself which was covered in mirrors. She couldn't imagine why V would do this to himself; here was the man who would not reveal his face to her, to the world, was he reminding himself of the monster he had become? Had she been wrong in calling him a monster? Ultimately she had pulled that final lever. She had agreed with his final goals even if his means and motives were questionable.

She gazed at herself in the mirrors; her hair had begun to grow back and spiked in all sorts of directions. She had kept it clipped between the time of her 'imprisonment' and the fifth and now she was in desperate need of clippers. When she had made the Shadow Gallery her home she left many things on the surface only bringing nonperishable food and some bare essentials. She gazed at the hardened face in the mirror and all she could do was laugh; her hair was so askew that even with the hardened eyes and sharp clothing she looked quite silly. Digging through the drawers and cabinets of the bathroom she found the components of V's various disguises, first aid kits yet they were kits much too complicated for a normal household, and old fashioned shave kit, yet absolutely no clippers could be found. She wasn't going to chance a cut using the old fashioned razor. Knowing that V had shaved her head in 'processing' she decided to make her way to the faux jail V had constructed to rid her of her fear. She walked out of his room laughing at her hair; she had books and change of clothes in hand. She was determined to continue looking and feeling like she belonged here; perhaps it would help chase away the shades of the Shadow Gallery.

The medics were not shocked to find yet another body in a Guy Fawkes mask, riddled with bullet holes. While the military had not released fire on the public march some protestors on their way home had been corned by Fingermen who felt it was their duty to uphold the 'law.' As they carted him into the awaiting ambulance it was apparent there was something different about this particular male body. There was the metal plate on his chest for one, next was the quality of his mask, and finally the sheer number of bullet holes in his body led the medics to believe that multiple gun cartridges had been emptied into this man. His breathing was strained and his present unresponsive state, both were indicative of how dire his condition was. The doctors would have to operate immediately if he had any chance to survive; however they would also have to be extremely wary with how much blood the man had lost. He was rushed into the operating room where they immediately prepped him for surgery.